An admirable restorative luncheon followed the return from church, which the intense cold did certainly make exceedingly welcome to the whole party; and after this the ladies, all, and every of them, retired to the warm comforts of their respective chambers. Mr. Wilkins placed himself in an arm-chair, on the centre of the hearth rug, and Mr. Spencer read the newspapers, which Major Heathcote took up in succession, as fast as the gentleman of the Treasury laid them down. Algernon had stolen away to the library, long before the rest had finished their repast, and thither Sir Charles followed him as soon as the ladies disappeared; while the two young Spencers conveyed themselves out of sight, nobody knew where. One of the housemaids, indeed, remarked to Mr. Grimstone, that if it had not been a church-going day, she would have been willing to take her oath that she had heard folks playing at billiards as she went along the passage.... But Mr. Grimstone assured her that she must have been mistaken.
The whole of his company being thus disposed of, Mr. Thorpe mounted by a back staircase to his own bedroom, and having sat down, sadly enough, in a chair which stood, now and ever, opposite to the portrait of his lost son, he gazed on it unremittingly for many minutes. Then, suddenly rising, he rang the bell, which as speedily brought Mrs. Barnes to his side, as if she had no Christmas dinner to superintend.
“Step here, Barnes,” said her master, placing himself in the best possible light for looking at the portrait. “Stand close to me, just there. Now, Barnes, look at that portrait, and tell me which of the young people who are visiting here it is most like. You told me, you know, that you had taken care to get a sight of them all. — Which of them most resembles that picture, Barnes?”
Before Mrs. Barnes replied, she discreetly took a minute or two to consider. Had she answered at once, and with perfect sincerity, she would have said, “I cannot see any likeness to any of them.” But she plainly perceived that this would not be satisfactory; and setting her memory to work upon the countenances of the two young Spencers and Algernon, (for it never occurred to her that the dark-browned youth whose “counterfeit presentment” she was looking at, could be thought like a young lady,) she replied, “Why, to my seeming, sir, it is far most like the dark-haired Master Spencer,”
“Very well, Barnes, that will do,” replied the vexed old man: “and now you may go to your minced-pies and plum-pudding again,”
“My plum-pudding, sir?” returned the housekeeper, with a slight smile. “my plum-pudding has been on and boiling since four o’clock this morning.”
Once more left alone, Mr. Thorpe resumed his arm-chair, and fell again to the contemplation of the picture.
“Foolish! foolish!” said he, in words addressed to his own spirit, but not given to the air, “most foolish, to feel ready to quarrel with that gentle puddinger because she sees not, and feels not, like her master! Poor portionless orphan!” he continued, “pitied, but not cherished, in the only home her helpless head can find! Poor gentle, humble, meek-spirited Sophia!.... True, she has not the delicate loveliness of the graceful Florence, nor the aristocratic bearing of the puppy Spencers; but, as if to atone for all deficiencies, and to compensate at once for all the harshness of her fate, Nature has given her a look that shall out-value all the grace and beauty of her race.... The last shall be first,”.... he murmured, articulately; and then, rising from his wonted seat, with a smile on his lip and a tear in his eye, he returned to the dining-room, rang the bell, sent round the house to collect the church-goers for evening prayers, and in a few minutes was at the head of the walking party, with Miss Martin leaning on his arm.
When Sir Charles Temple entered the library in search of Algernon, he had found him, as he expected, in plenary enjoyment of the many good things around him; an excellent fire, an easy chair, a commodious table.... and the “Paradise Lost,” making no inconsiderable part of his Paradise found.
“Shall you wish me away if I enter, Algernon?” said the young baronet, pausing at the door, and looking at the happy student with a well-pleased eye.
“Not you, Sir Charles Temple,” replied the boy, fixing his bright glance full upon him for a moment, and then looking triumphantly round with an air that seemed to say, “am I not got into famous quarters?”
“You certainly seem to know extremely well how to get a snuff retreat, Algernon; and it looks a little cruel, does it not, to break in upon you? But I, too, sometimes like to creep away and hide myself; and I think you and I may read together here without being much in each other’s way.”
“You will never be in my way, you may depend upon it, Sir Charles Temple,” replied Algernon; “for I am quite sure that I shall enjoy reading a great deal more if you are in the room with me; that is, if you will let me speak to you now and then when I have anything very particular to say.”
“Agreed,” returned Sir Charles, drawing a chair to the fire, and then selecting a companion from the shelves.
For a short space the tête-à-tête was a silent one, except that from time to time the breast of the boy actually seemed to heave, and he breathed hard, like a war-horse, when he hears the trumpet sound, — indications of what was going on within him, which were exceedingly intelligible to the baronet. At length the threatened “something very particular to say” appeared to have occurred to the young student, for he suddenly laid down his book, and without apology or preface, exclaimed, “Can you tell me, sir, how it is that words seem, to change their ordinary nature sometimes? I do not believe that the thoughts only, — and yet thoughts must be the soul of the poetry, and words more like the body in which it is clothed; — but if the thoughts could be sent into my mind without any words at all, I don’t believe they would seem so glorious as they do here. This description of making gunpowder, for instance. I remember reading all about it in my father’s encyclopaedia, and that it was exceedingly curious, and the man a very clever fellow for finding it out. But listen to Milton’s way of describing it, and it seems to be a work quite dignified enough for an angel, a fallen one at least.... to be employed upon: —
‘Which of us, who beholds the bright surface
Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand,
This continent of spacious heaven, adorned
With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems, and gold;
Whose eye so superficially surveys
These things, as not to mind from whence they grow
Deep under ground, materials dark and crude,
Of spiritous and fiery spume? * * *
* — * — * — * — * up they turned
Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath
The originals of nature in their crude Conception.’ * * * *
And then their labour ended. How they seem to dazzle the eye of one’s fancy as they come forth to battle!
‘Now when fair morn orient in heaven appear’d,
Up rose the victor-angels, and to arms
The matin trumpet sung; in arms they stood
Of golden panoply, refulgent host.’
And then the firing off the cannon. Does not one seem to hew and feel the shock?
“From those deep-throated engines belch’d, whose roar
Embowell’d with outrageous noise the air,
And all her entrails tore.’ * * * *
Do you know, Sir Charles, I should be afraid that the high-sounding words were catching my ears, and making a fool of me, were it not that now and then a quiet phrase like this occurs: —
‘While we, suspense,
Collected stood within our thoughts amused.’
And again, a little farther on, where he describes —
— ‘The Almighty Father, where he sits
Shrined in his sanctuary of heaven secure,
Consulting oft the turn of things;” * *
and as these make me feel his power more strongly still, I don’t think it is merely the blaze of words that so enchants me. But I wish you would explain to me what it is, in Milton, that makes me fancy, as I read on, that I have got into a quite new w
orld, and that even the speech and language is not the same as! have been used to?”
“It is only because,” replied Temple, laughing, “you happen to be perusing, for the first time, the most magnificent thoughts that ever entered into the mind of man, clothed in words the best suited to express them.... That is all, my dear boy.”
“ALL!” exclaimed Algernon. “How little did I think, when I was sitting stiff with cold, in the chaise that brought us here, how little did I think, Sir Charles, that I was going to be so very happy! If I could have looked beforehand at the ‘sum of things’ I should have come here in much better humour.”
“Then you did not greatly like the expedition, Algernon?” said Sir Charles, setting down his book, drawing his chair nearer to the fire, stirring it into a fresh blaze, and appearing altogether quite ready for a little farther conversation with his companion. “No, sir, — I could not bear the idea of it.”
“And why not? Though you might not have anticipated Mr. Thorpe’s noble library, nor prophesied an introduction to the ‘Paradise Lost,’ you must at least have known that you were about to enter upon ‘fresh fields and pastures new,’ and this alone, I should have thought, would have been sufficient to render the excursion agreeable to you.”
“And had it been this alone, Sir Charles, I, and Florence too, should have set forth with joy and gladness, had we come in a wheel-barrow instead of a post-chaise, and had the frost been a dozen degrees harder still. — But to come and be looked at, Sir Charles, for the chance of one of us being picked out by our unknown uncle, to carry away the precious prize that all were longing for, can you think we should like it?.... However, I do not care a farthing for all that now.... nor Florence either, I believe. The moment I found out that she and I should have nothing to do with it, I could look on and enjoy the fun as much as any one,”
“How do you mean, Algernon, that you have nothing to do with it? What makes you say so?”
“Perhaps I ought not to say it at all, or at least not to anybody but my mother and Florence. — But you and I have somehow or other got to be friends, Sir Charles, though you are a great man and a baronet — and so you must excuse my talking to you so freely,”
“Do not apologize to me for being my friend, Algernon, or I must treat you in the same style; but tell me candidly, as you have opened the subject, what are your reasons for saying that you and your sister have nothing to do with the business which you seem so well to know is going on here?”
“For a very good reason, Sir Charles,” replied the boy, laughing— “Do you not see that the important question is settled already? and that Florence, and I, and five more of us, need trouble ourselves no more about it, but be as gay and as giddy as we like?”
“No, really, my dear Algernon, I see nothing of the kind — and I very seriously recommend you not to take any such ideas into your head. I ought to know my old friend, Mr. Thorpe, better than you do, and I protest to you that I see no reason whatever for believing that he has yet decided who his heir shall be.” Algernon laughed.
“Is our friendship ripe enough to permit my asking who you think is the favoured individual?” resumed Sir Charles.
“It would be fifty times better sport for you to find out, yourself,” returned the boy. “Do try, Sir Charles; I shall so very much enjoy it!”
“That will be amusing yourself most abominably at the expense of my patience, Algernon. Come, tell me at once, there’s a good fellow.”
“Shall you go to church, this evening, Sir Charles Temple?” said Algernon.
“I certainly intend to do so. Why do you ask?”
“For reasons, germain, as Hamlet says, to the subject we are talking about.”
“Do you mean that you will give me the information I ask for, if I remain at home with you?”
“Why not exactly. — I only wanted to give you an opportunity of judging for yourself. However, I do not wish to bribe you not to go to church. I think it is very wrong not to go, unless you happen to have a dear good step-mother like mine, who would be miserable if you did.... She thinks I should be out too late if I went this afternoon.” —
“But is there no hour, Algernon, but that of divine service, in which you can communicate this very mysterious information?” said Sir Charles.
“I must have the coast clear for it,” returned the boy; “but two minutes would do, as well as two hours. As you would be able to move rather faster than most of them, could you not stay behind a little while, and promise to follow them?”
“Certainly. I will take care to do so.”
Sir Charles managed the matter so well, that no attention was excited by his saying, “I will follow in a moment;” but the whole party moved off without him, and were speedily followed by very nearly all the household, such being the custom of Thorpe-Combe, whether the family were large or small.
“Now then, my young conjurer,” said the baronet, returning to the library as soon as he had watched the last of the troop through the lodge gates, “be pleased to let me know what light it is which you intend to vouchsafe me.”
“They are all off? You are quite sure of that, Sir Charles?”
“Perfectly.”
“Come along, then. You will wonder how I found my way first, but I could not rest till I had seen every corner of this beautiful old house.”
So saying, Algernon Heathcote led the way across the great hall, along a passage that opened from it, and up a small staircase which led into one of the smaller corridors above.
“Stay one moment, Sir Charles; I think I am right; but I never was here but once. I think this is the door; but I should not like to march into one of my fine Welsh cousins’ rooms, if I could help it.”
While saying this, Algernon opened the door before which they stood, and looked in. “Yes, this is it; come on.” Sir Charles Temple obeyed; and having followed his young conductor across a dressing-room, found himself in a spacious bed-chamber, and stopping where Algernon stopped, exactly in front of the portrait of his old friend’s lamented son.
“Did you ever see any one of whom this picture reminds you, Sir Charles?” demanded the boy.
“Not that I remember,” was the reply, “excepting the original.”
“No!.... What not the hair and the shirt-collar? This picture, as you must well know, is the likeness of uncle Thorpe’s lost son. Did you never see any one else like it?”
“I see it! I see it!” hastily exclaimed Sir Charles. “It is as clear as light, Algernon. That little brown cousin of yours, — that Miss Sophia Martin, came down to breakfast this morning with her curly hair and her collar arranged exactly in imitation of this picture.”
“I find thee apt,” said the young Shakspearian, “and duller should’st thou be than I take thee for, Sir Baronet, if thou hadst not found it out,” returned Algernon, rubbing his hands in great glee, “But is this all the proof you have got to show, my good fellow, that the question of Mr. Thorpe’s inheritance is settled?”
“It is all I can show you now, Sir Charles. Perhaps you may see more another time.”
“But, Algernon, this proves nothing, but that your curly-headed cousin has found her way to this room as well as yourself, and that she has done her very best to look as like her defunct cousin as possible. There is something comical enough in the discovery, I confess, and shows pretty plainly what the quiet little lady has in her thoughts; but it strikes me that this is more an indication of her mind upon the subject than that of her uncle.”
“Well, sir, — now, I think, you had better go to church, because it is quite time; and I really have nothing more to show you. About all the rest, you have quite as much opportunity of judging as I have. Good-b’ye!”
“You are right about its being time to set off,” replied Sir Charles, taking his hat as he passed through the hall; “but I cannot say that you have gone far towards proving your assertion. However, we shall see. Time is the great discoverer. He will solve this question as well as all others. Back to y
our blazing hearth, my dear boy! Do not stand in the cutting draught of this door. Dear Mrs. Heathcote would scold us both if she were here.”
And so the new friends parted, the happy Algernon returning to his new-found treasure in the library, and Sir Charles Temple striding across a short cut to the church, which brought him to the door in time to enter it with the rest of the party.
CHAPTER IX.
It may be feared that the thoughts of Sir Charles Temple were not as steadily fixed on the business of that cheering and holy hour, as he himself would have wished them to be; but in truth he could not get the notion of Algernon out of his head. It was a notion that in no way pleased him. In most affectionate and simple-hearted sincerity he wished that his old friend should bestow his property in the manner that would be most creditable to his memory; and excepting perhaps the identical Miss Wilkyns who had so obligingly selected herself as the principal object of his attention, there was not one of the old gentleman’s nepotine connections, whom he would not have considered as a more desirable heir than Miss Martin. He thought her not only extremely plain, but, according to his ideas, singularly unladylike in her appearance. Her very neatness revolted him: it was the neatness of a young lady behind a counter. Her still, subdued, and most unyouthful manner of stepping and moving, gave him, as he subsequently expressed it, the same sensation as a cat was wont to produce on him, who is always found where she is least expected — and as to any latent, abstract qualities of mind, though, as he was ready enough to confess, he had nothing but instinct to guide him, he felt a conviction, which, as far as its certainty was concerned, was completely satisfactory, that whatever of that nature made a part of her, was of a quality in no way calculated to atone for the absence of grace and beauty.
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