respectable, both old and young, the drunkards and the disorderly.

He was not afflicted with bashfulness, nor nice about truth, and over
his ale he boasted of what he had seen and done in India.  He said no
more about his self-inflicted wound; and was loud in his declamation
against the injustice of his officers, and the ingratitude of his
country which cast him adrift, a maimed man, without compensation and
pension.  When he had drunk he was noisy and quarrelsome; and those who
sat with him about the tavern table were cautious not to fall into
dispute with him.  There was a fire in his eye which led them to shirk a
quarrel.

About a mile from the church in a new house lived a certain Squire
Impey, a gentleman who had bought a property there, but who did not
belong to those parts.  No one knew exactly whence he came.  He was a
jovial man, who kept hounds, hunted and drank.  Charles went to him, and
he was the only man for whom he condescended to do some work, and from
whom to take pay; but the work was occasional, Charles was an amusing
man to talk to, and Impey liked to have a chat with him.  Then he
rambled away to Coombe Park, where he made himself so disagreeable by
his insolence, that he was ordered off the premises.  His father and
brothers and sisters did not see much of him; he returned home
occasionally to sleep, and when the mind took him to go to market, he
went in the van with his father.

Much was said in the place of the conduct of Charles Luxmore—more, a
great deal, than came to the ears of Honor.  Oliver heard everything,
for in the van the parish was discussed on the journey to market, and
those who sat within did not consider whether the driver on the box
heard what they said.  Oliver never repeated these things to his eldest
daughter, but Honor knew quite enough of the proceedings of Charles
without this.  She spoke to Charles himself, rebuked him, remonstrated
with him, entreated him with tears in her eyes to be more steady; but
she only made matters worse; she angered him the more because he knew
that she was right.  He scoffed at her anxiety about himself; he swore
and burst into paroxysms of fury when she reprimanded him.

’Do not you suppose,’ said he, ’that I am going to be brought under your
thumb, like father and the rest.’

Possibly she might have been more successful had she gone to work more
gently.  But with her clear understanding she supposed that every one
else could be governed by reason, and she appealed to his sense, not to
his heart. He must see, she argued, to what end this disorderly life
would lead, if she put it before him nakedly.  She supposed she could
prove to him her sisterly affection in no truer way than by rebuke and
advice.

Although Honor’s heart was full of womanly tenderness, there was
something masculine in her character.  There could not fail to be. Since
her mother’s death she had been the strength of the house, to her all
had held. Circumstances had given her a hardness which was not natural
to her.

Charles vowed after each fresh contest with Honor that he could not go
near the cottage again.  He would go elsewhere, out of range of her
guns; but he did not keep his vow.  It was forgotten on the morrow.
Honor was not a scold.  She had too good judgment to go on rebuking and
grumbling, but she spoke her mind once, and acted with decision.  She
withstood Charles whenever his inconsiderate good nature or his
disorderly conduct threatened to disturb the clocklike working of the
house, to upset the confidence the children had in her, and to mar their
simplicity.  She encountered his violence with fearlessness.  She never
became angry, and returned words for words, but she held to her decision
with toughness.  Her father was afraid of Charles, and counselled his
daughter to yield.  Opposition, he argued, was unavailing, and would
aggravate unpleasantnesses.

Honor suffered more than transpired.  Her brother’s disrepute rankled in
her heart.  She was a proud girl, and though she placed no store on her
father’s dreams of Coombe Park, she had a strong sense of family
dignity, and she was cut to the quick when Charles’s conduct became the
talk of the neighbourhood.  Never a talker, she grew more than ever
reserved. When she went to or returned from church on Sunday, she
shunned acquaintances; she would not linger for a gossip in the
churchyard, or join company with a neighbour in the lane. She took a
child by each hand, and with set face, and brows sternly contracted,
looking neither right nor left, she went her way. Brightness had faded
from her face.  She was too proud to show the humiliation she felt at
heart.  ’Oh my,’ said the urchins, ’bain’t Red Spider mighty stuck up!
Too proud to speak to nobody, now, seeming.’

Honor saw little of young Larry.  Once or twice he made as though he
would walk home with her from church, but she gave him no encouragement;
she held little Charity’s hand, and made Charity hold that of Martha,
and kept Charity and Martha between her and the young man, breaking all
familiar converse.  She had not the heart to talk to him.

’You need not take on about Charles,’ said her father one day.  ’Every
one knows that you are a good girl, and makes allowances for a soldier.’

’Disorderly ways,’ answered Honor, ’are like infectious diseases.  When
one has an attack, it runs through the house.’

’Why do you not encourage folk to be friendly?  You hold yourself aloof
from all.’

Honor sighed.

’I cannot forget Charles, and the shame he is bringing on us.  For me it
matters little, but it matters much to the rest.  The children will lose
sense of fear at bad language, lies and bragging.  Kate is a pretty
girl, and some decent lad may take a fancy to her; but who would make a
maid his wife who had such a brother?’

’Oh! as for that, young Larry Nanspian is after her.  You should see how
they go on together, tormenting and joking each other.’

Honor coloured and turned her face aside. She said nothing for a minute,
then with composed voice and manner she went on.

’See the bad example set to Joe.  He tries his wings to fly away from
me, as is natural; boys resist being controlled by the apron.  He sees
his elder brother, he hears him, he copies him, and he will follow him
down the road to destruction.  We must get Joe away into service unless
we can make Charles go, which would be the better plan of the two.’

’Charles has been away for some years. We must not drive him out of the
house now we have him home again.’

’Father, I wish you would be firm with him.’

’I—I!’ he shook his head, ’I cannot be hard with the boy.  Remember what
he has gone through in India, in the wars.  Look at his poor hand.  Home
is a place to which a child returns when no other house is open to it.’

Honor looked sadly at the carrier.  No help was to be had from him.

’I suppose, father,’ she said, ’that there are rights all round.  If
Charles comes home claiming the shelter of our roof and a place at our
table, he is bound in some way.  He has no right to dishonour the roof
and disturb the table.  I grudge him no pains to make him comfortable,
but I do expect he will not make it impossible for me to keep the home
decent.’

’Of course, of course, Honor,’ said the carrier, rubbing his palms
slowly between his knees, and looking vacantly into the fire. ’That is
reasonable.’

’And right,’ Honor.  ’And, father, you should make a stand.  Now, all
the responsibility falls on me.’

’Oh, yes.  I will make a stand; certainly, certainly,’ said Luxmore.
’Now let us change the subject.’

’No,’ the girl.  ’I cannot, and I will not.  Charles must be made to
conduct himself properly.  I will not allow the little ones to hear his
profane talk, see his devil-may-care ways.  Mother committed them to me,
and I will stand between them and evil. If it comes to a fight, we shall
fight.  All I wish is that the fight not to be between brother and
sister.’  Her voice became hard, her brows contracted, her face became
pale with intensity of feeling.

’There, there!’ groaned Oliver Luxmore, ’don’t make out matters worse
they are. A sheep looks as big as a cow in a fog.  You see ghosts where
I see thorn-trees.  Be gentler with Charles, not so peremptory.  Men
will not be ordered about by women.  Charles is not a bad boy.  There is
meat on a trout as well as bones.  All will come right in the end.’

Honor said no more.  Her eyes filled; she stooped over her needlework to
conceal them; her hand moved quickly, but the stitches were uneven.

’I will do something, I will indeed,’ said Luxmore, rising.  He took his
hat and went out, but returned quickly a few minutes later, agitated,
and went through the room, saying hastily, ’Honor! he is coming, and—I
think—drunk.’

Then he escaped into the back kitchen and out into the paddock in the
rear where he kept his horse.  That was all the help Honor was likely to
get from him—to be forewarned.

Next moment two of the children flew up the steps frightened and heated.

’O, Honor!  Charlie is tight!’

Honor stood up, folded her needlework, put it aside, and went to the
door.

’Children,’ she said, ’go behind into the field to father.’  Then she
went to the head of the steps and looked down the lane.

She saw her brother, coming on with a lurching walk, holding a stick,
followed by a swarm of school-children, recently dismissed, who jeered,
pelted him, and when he turned to threaten, dispersed to gather again
and continue tormenting.  Charles was not thoroughly drunk, but he was
not sober.  Honor’s brow became blood-red for a moment, and her hand
trembled on the rail; but the colour left her forehead again, and her
hand was firm as she descended the steps.

At the sight of Honor Luxmore the children fell back, and ceased from
their molestations.

’Halloa, Honor!’ shouted Charles, staggering to the foot of the steps.
’A parcel of gadflies, all buzz and sting!  I’ll teach ’em to touch a
soldier!  Let me pass, Honor, and get away from the creatures.’

’No, Charles,’ answered his sister, ’you do not pass.’

’Why not?’

’Because I will not let you—drunk.’

’I am not drunk, not at all.  It is you who are in liquor.  Let me
pass.’  He put his hand on the rail, and took a step up.

’You shall not pass!’ she spoke coolly, resolutely.

’Curse you for a pig-headed fool,’ said Charles, ’I’m not going to be
stopped by such as you.’

’Such as I shall stop you,’ answered Honor. ’Shame on you to dishonour
the steps by which our mother went down to her burial!  Verily, I saw
her in my dreams, putting her hands over her face in her grave to hide
the sight of her son.’

’Stand aside.’

’I will not budge!’

’I was a fool to come home,’ muttered Charles, ’to be pickled in vinegar
like walnuts. I wish I’d stayed away.’

’I wish you had, Charles, till you had learned to conduct yourself with
decency.’

’I will not be preached to,’ he growled; then becoming lachrymose, he
said, ’I come home after having been away, a wanderer, for many years.
I come home from bloody wars, covered with wounds, and find all against
me. This is a heartless world.  I did expect to find love at home, and
pity from my sister.’

’I love and pity you,’ said Honor, ’but I can only respect him who is
respectable.’

’Let me pass!

’I will not, Charles.’

Then he laid hold of her, and tried to pull her off the steps; but she
had a firm grip of the rail, and she was strong.

The children in the lane, seeing the scuffle, drew near and watched with
mischievous delight.  Charles was not so tipsy that he did not know what
he was about, not so far gone as to be easily shaken off.  Honor was
obliged to hold with both hands to the rail.  He caught her round the
waist, and slung her from side to side, whilst oaths poured from his
lips.  In the struggle her hair broke loose, and fell about her
shoulders.

She set her teeth and her eyes glittered. Fire flamed in her cheeks.
She was resolved at all costs not to let him go by.  She had threatened
that she would fight him, and now, before she had expected it, the fight
was forced upon her.

Finding himself foiled, unable to dislodge her, and unable to pass her,
Charles let go, went down the steps, and kicked and thrust at the
support of the handrail, till he broke it down.  Then, with a laugh of
defiance, he sprang up the steps brandishing the post. But, when the
rail gave way, Honor seized it, and ascending before him, facing him,
stepping backward, she planted herself against the cottage door, with
the rail athwart it, behind her, held with both hands, blocking the
entrance.

Charles was forced to stay himself with the broken post he held, as he
ascended the steps.

’Honor!’ he shouted, ’get out of the way at once, I am dangerous when
opposed.’

’Not to me,’ she answered; ’I am not afraid of you, drunk or sober.  You
shall not cross this doorstep.’

He stood eyeing her, with the post half raised, threateningly.  She met
his unsteady gaze without flinching.  Was there no one to see her there
but the tipsy Charles and the frightened children?  A pity if there was
not.  She was erect, dignified, with bosom expanded, as her bare arms
were behind her. Her cheeks were brilliant with colour, her fallen hair,
raining about her shoulders, blazed with the reel evening sun on it, her
large hazel eyes were also full of fire.  Her bosom heaved as she
breathed fast and hard.  She wore a pale, faded print dress, and a white
apron. Below, her red ankles and feet were planted firm as iron on the
sacred doorstep of Home, that she protected.

As Charles stood irresolute, opposite her, the children in the lane,
thinking he was about to strike her, began to scream.

In a moment Hillary Nanspian appeared, sprang up the steps, caught
Charles by the shoulder, struck the post out of his hand, and dragging
him down the steps, flung him his length in the road.

’Lie there, you drunken blackguard!’ he said; ’you shall not stand up
till you have begged your sister’s pardon, and asked permission to sleep
off your drink in the stable.’

                             *CHAPTER XI.*

                            *IN THE LINNEY.*

Next morning, when Charles Luxmore awoke, he found himself lying on the
hay in the little ’linney,’ or lean-to shed, of his father.  The door
was open and the sun streamed in, intense and glaring.  In the doorway,
on a bundle of straw, sat his sister Honor, knitting.  The sun was
shining in and through her golden hair, and the strong, fiery light
shone through her hands, and nose, and lips, crimson—or seemed to do so.
Charles watched her for some time out of his half-closed eyes, and
confessed to himself that she was a fine, noble-looking girl, a girl for
a brother to be proud of. Her profile was to the light, the nose
straight, the lips sharp-cut, now expanded, then closed tight, as moved
by her thoughts, and her hair shone like the morning clouds above the
rising sun.

’What! sentinel, keeping guard?’ shouted Charles, stretching his limbs
and sitting up. ’In custody, am I?  Eh?’

’I have brought you your breakfast, Charles,’ answered Honor.  ’There is
a bowl of bread and milk at your elbow.’

He was hungry, so he took the bowl.  His hair was ruffled, and full of
strands of hay; he passed his hand over his face.

’I’ve had many a sleep in a barn before now,’ he said; ’there are worse
bedrooms, but there is one drawback.  You can’t smoke a pipe in one, or
you run the chance of setting fire to bed and house.  I did that once,
and had a near scratch to escape before the flames roasted me.  Best
was, I managed to escape before any one was on the spot, so I was not
taken up; suspicion fell on a labourer who had been dismissed a
fortnight before.’

’And you said nothing?’

’Certainly not.  Do you take me for a fool?’

Honor’s lips contracted, so did her brow.

Charles put the spoon into the bread and milk, then, as he was setting
it to his mouth, burst out laughing, and spilt the sop over his clothes.

’It was enough to make a fellow laugh,’ he explained.  ’To see last
night how scared the kids were—Martha and Charity—and how they cut along
when they saw me coming home.’

’This is not a cause for laughter.  If you had a heart you would weep.’

’I thought I caught sight of father.’

’You did, but he also turned and left you. He could not face you as you
were.  You should be ashamed of yourself, Charles.’

’There, there!’ he exclaimed impatiently, ’I will listen to no rebukes.
I was not drunk, only a bit fresh.’

’Drunk or fresh matters little, you were not in a fit condition to come
home; and what is more, I will not allow you to live in this cottage
longer.’

’You will not?’

’No, I will not.’

’Who is to prevent me?’

’I will.’

’You!—and what if I force you out of the way, and go in and brave you?’

’You may go in, but I leave and take with me all the little ones.  I
have made up my mind what to do; I can work and earn enough to support
the children, but I will not—no, I will not let them see you and hear
you more.’

He looked at her.  Her face was resolute. She was the girl to carry out
her threat.

’I curse the day I came back to see your wry face,’ he muttered, and
rolled over on his side, away from her.

She made no reply.  Her lips quivered. He did not see it, as he was no
longer looking at the door.

’Home is home,’ he said, ’and go where one will there are threads that
draw one back to it.’

Honor was softened.  ’I am glad, Charles, that you love home.  If you
love it, respect it.’

’Don’t fancy that I came home out of love for you.’

Honor sighed.

’I came home to see how father fared about Coombe Park, and how mother
was flourishing.’

’Well, Charles, I am glad you thought of father and mother.  You must
have a right heart, at ground.  Mother is dead, but I know she shames
over your bad conduct, and would rejoice were you to mend.’

’How do you know that?  There is no postal communication with the other
world, that I am aware of.’

’Never mind how I know it, but I do.’

’I was a fool to return.  There is no kindness left in the world.  If
there were I should find a pinch at home, and pity from you.’

’Charles, if I have been harsh with you, it has been through your own
fault.  God, who reads all hearts, knows that I love you. But then, I
love all the rest of my brothers and sisters, and now that mother is not
here to see after them, whom have they got but myself to protect them?
I defend them as a cat defends her kittens from a dog.  Charles, I am
sorry if I have been rough and unkind, and unsisterly to you, but
indeed, indeed I cannot help myself.  Mother laid the duty on me when
she was dying.  She caught my hand—so,’ she grasped his wrist, and
looking earnestly in his face, said, ’and laid it on me to be father and
mother to the little ones.  I bent over her and kissed her, and promised
I would, and she died with her hand still holding my wrist.  I feel her
grip there to this day, whenever danger threatens the children.  When
you first came into the house, on your return, I felt her fingers close
as tight on me as when she died.  She is always with me, keeping me up
to my duty.  I cannot help myself, Charles; I must do what I know I
ought, and I am sure it is wrong for me to allow you to remain with us
longer.  Consider, Charles, what the life is that you are now leading.’

’The life is all right,’ said he moodily.  ’I can pay my way.  I have
more brains than any of these clodhoppers round, and can always earn my
livelihood.’

’Begin about it,’ urged Honor.

’Time enough for that when the last copper is gone wherewith to stop a
pipe and fill a can of ale.’

’O Charles!  Charles!’ exclaimed his sister, ’your own coppers are spent
long ago.  Now you are smoking the clothes off your little brothers’ and
sisters’ backs, and drinking and squandering the little money I have for
feeding them.  For shame!’ the blood rushed into her cheeks with sudden
anger, as the injustice of his conduct presented itself before her
vividly.  ’Your father works that you may idle!  It is a shame!  It is a
sin.’

’Hold your tongue!’

’I will not hold my tongue,’ she answered hotly.  ’You know how good,
and gentle, and forbearing father is, how ready he is to give everything
to his children, how unwilling to say to any one a harsh word, and you
take advantage of his good nature; you, that should be building up the
house, are tearing it down on the heads of all of us, father, Kate,
Patience, Joe, Willy—down to little Temperance, all, all!’

’That is right, Honor, comb his head with a rake and the locks will lie
smooth.’

Both Honor and Charles looked up.  Hillary stood before them in the
doorway.  The girl had turned her face to her brother, and had not
observed his approach.  She was ill-pleased at his arrival.  She wished
no stranger to inter-meddle with her family troubles.

’You here?’ exclaimed Charles, starting to one knee.  ’Mr. Larry
Nanspian, I owe you something, and I shall repay it when the occasion
comes.  Not now, though I have a mind to it, because I have a headache.
But I can order you off the premises.  Get along, or I’ll kick you.’

Larry gave a contemptuous shrug with his shoulders, and looked to Honor.

’Well, Honor, have you a good-morning for me?’

’I have ordered you off the premises,’ shouted Charles.

’Shall I pitch him into the road again?’ asked Larry of the girl.

Then Honor said, ’I did not ask your help yesterday, and I do not seek
your interference now.’

Charles burst into a rude laugh.  ’You have your answer, Mr. Larry,’ he
said; ’about face and away with you, and learn that there is one girl in
the place whose head you have not turned.’

’If I am not wanted, of course I go,’ said Hillary, annoyed.

Then he walked away, whistling, with his hands in his pockets.  ’There
are more cherries on the tree than that on the topmost twig,’ he said to
himself in a tone of dissatisfaction.  ’If Honor can’t be pleasant
others are not so particular.’

Larry Nanspian was a spoiled lad.  The girls of Bratton made much of
him.  He was a fine young man, and he was heir to a good estate.  The
girls not only did not go out of their way to avoid him, but they threw
themselves, unblushingly, ostentatiously in his path; and their efforts
to catch him were supported by their mothers.  The girls hung about the
lanes after church hoping to have a word with him, and sighed and cast
him languishing glances during Divine worship.  Their mothers flattered
him.  This was enough to make the lad conceited.  Only Honor kept away
from him. She scarcely looked at him, and held him at a distance.  The
other girls accepted his most impudent sallies without offence; he did
not venture a jest with Honor.  Her refusal of the homage which he had
come to regard as his due piqued him, and forced him to think of Honor
more often than of any other girl in the place.  He did not know his own
mind about her, whether he liked or whether he disliked her, but he knew
that he was chagrined at her indifference.

Sulky, he sauntered on to Broadbury, towards Wellon’s Cairn.  The moor
was stretched around, unbroken by a hedge, or wall, or tree. Before him
rose the Tumulus.  ’Hah!’ he said to himself, ’she was ready to talk to
me here; we were to have been good friends, but that cursed White Hare
brought us all ill-luck.’

As he spoke to his surprise he saw something white emerge from the
cutting in the side.  He stood still, and in a moment Mrs. Veale leaped
out of the hollow, went over the side, and disappeared down a dyke that
ran in the direction of Langford.

The apparition and disappearance were so sudden, the sight of the woman
so surprising, that Hillary was hardly sure he was in his senses, and
not the prey to a hallucination. He was made very uncomfortable by what
he had seen, and instead of going on towards the mound, he turned and
walked away.

’This is wonderful,’ he said.  ’Whatever could take Mrs. Veale to
Wellon’s Cairn?  If it were she—and I’d not take my oath on it—I’m too
bewildered to guess her purpose.’

He halted and mused.  ’I always said she was a witch, and now I believe
it.  She’s been there after her devilries, to get some bones or dust of
the gibbeted man, or a link of his chain, to work some further
wickedness with. I’ll see Honor again, I will, for all the airs she
gives herself, and warn her not to sit on Wellon’s mount.  It’s not
safe.’

                             *CHAPTER XII.*

                              *LANGFORD.*

Honor put on her hat and threw a kerchief over her shoulders, and took
her little brother Willy by the hand.

’Whither are you going, Honor?’ asked Kate.

’I am going to find a place for Charles, as he will not seek one for
himself.  I have turned him out of this house, and must secure him
shelter elsewhere.’

’Who will have him?’ asked Kate contemptuously.  She was less forbearing
with Charles than Honor.  Honor did not answer immediately.

’Try Chimsworthy,’ suggested Kate; ’Larry would put in a word for us.’

Honor slightly coloured.  She put on her red cloak.

’I cannot, Kate.  Larry and Charles have quarrelled.’

’Larry bears no grudges.  I will answer for him.’

’I do not wish to ask a favour of the Nanspians.’

’Why not?’

Honor made no reply.  She clasped the child’s hand tightly and closed
her lips.  Then, without another word, she left the cottage. Kate
shrugged her shoulders.

Honor went slowly up the lane to Broadbury; she did not speak to her
little brother her head was slightly bowed, she was deep in thought, and
hectic spots of colour tinged her cheeks.

’What!  Honor, in your scarlet!’ exclaimed Larry.  She looked up in
surprise.  He had come up to Broadbury the second time that day, drawn
there irresistibly by desire to see Honor.  He thought it probable, as
the day was fine, that she would go there with her knitting.

’What has brought you to Broadbury in this array, Honor?’ asked Hillary,
standing before her, and intercepting her path.

’I am on my road to Langford,’ answered the girl with composure.

’Take care, Honor, take care where you go.  There is a witch there, Mrs.
Veale; if you get in her bad books you will rue it.  I have seen her
to-day at Wellon’s Cairn gathering the dead man’s dust, out of which to
mix some hell-potion.’

Honor shook her head.

’It is true,’ said Hillary earnestly; ’she jumped and ran—and her ways
were those of that white hare we saw at the mound. Nothing will now
persuade me that she was not that hare.  Do not go on, Honor; leave
Langford alone.  No luck awaits you there.’

’Nonsense, Larry, you cannot have seen Mrs. Veale up here.’

’I tell you that I did.  I saw something white hopping and running, and
I am sure it was she in the hole scooped by the treasure-seekers.’

’What can she have wanted there?’

’What but the dust of old Wellon?  And what good can she do with that?
None—she needs it only for some devilry.  Do not go near her, Honor; I
have come here on purpose to warn you that the woman is dangerous.’

’I must go on,’ said Honor.  ’It is kind of you, Larry, but I have
business which I must do at Langford.  I have never harmed Mrs. Veale,
and she will not want to hurt me, But now, Larry, let me say that I am
sorry if I offended you this morning.  I spoke rather rough, because I
was afraid of a quarrel and a fight between you and Charles.  Do not
take it amiss.  Now do not stay me, I must go forward.’

’I will let you go on one promise—that you will not cross Mrs. Veale.’
He caught her hand.

’How can I give offence to her?  She is nothing to me, nor I to her.
You must really make way, Larry.’

He shook his head.  ’I don’t like it,’ he said; but he could not further
stay her.

Langford lies under the brow of Broadbury, looking over the tossing
sea-like expanse of hill and dale.  It lies at a very considerable
elevation, nearly a thousand feet above the sea, and to protect it from
the weather is covered with slate, as though mail-clad.  Few trees stand
about it affording shelter.  Honor walked through the yard to the door
and thrice knocked. Very tardy was the reply.  Mrs. Veale opened the
door, and stood holding it with one hand, barring the entrance with her
body and the other hand.  She was in a light cotton dress, from which
the colours had been washed.  Her face, her eyes, her hair had the same
bleached appearance.  Her eyelashes were white, overhanging faded eyes,
to which they gave a blinking uncertain look.

’What do you want?’ asked the housekeeper, looking at her with surprise
and with flickering eyes.

’I have come to see Mr. Langford,’ answered Honor; ’is your master at
home?’

’My _master_, oh yes!’ with a sneer, ’my master is at home—my mistress
not yet.  Oh no! not yet.’

’I want to see him.’

’You do?  Come, this is sharp, quick work. You follow one on another as
April on March.’

Honor did not understand her.  She thought the woman was out of her
mind.  She made no reply, but looking firmly at her, said, ’I will go
into the kitchen and sit down till your master is disengaged.  Is he in
the house now?’

’You know he is, and you know who is with him.’

Honor drew her brother after her, and entered.  She was too proud to
give the woman words.

’What do you want?  Where are you going?’ asked the housekeeper,
standing aside to let Honor pass, but casting at her a look so full of
malevolence, that Honor turned down her thumb in her palm instinctively
to counteract the evil eye.  Honor took a kitchen chair and seated
herself.  ’I will wait here,’ she said, ’till Mr. Langford can see me.’

Mrs. Veale stood, still holding the door, looking at her, her white face
quivering, her eyes flickering.  The child, startled, crept close to his
sister, and clung to her.

Mrs. Veale came forward, without removing her eyes from the girl.  ’Take
care!’ she said in a husky voice.  ’Take care! you are not here yet.’

Then Honor laughed.

’Not here, Mrs. Veale?  What do you mean?  I am here.’

Before the housekeeper could speak again men’s voices were audible in
the passage, and, to her astonishment, Honor recognised that of her
father.  She rose at once, and confronted him and Taverner Langford as
they entered the kitchen.

’What—you here?’ exclaimed Oliver Luxmore with undisguised astonishment.
’Why, Honor, what in the world has drawn you to Langford?  I did not
know that you and Mrs. Veale were friends.’

’I have come to speak to Mr. Langford,’ was her reply, spoken quietly;
’but I am glad, father, that you are here, as I should prefer to speak
before you.  May we go into the parlour?’

She looked at Mrs. Veale, as much as to say that she did not care to
speak before witnesses.

’Mrs. Veale,’ said Langford, with a sharp tone, ’I heard steps from the
parlour door two minutes ago.  I object to listeners at key-holes. Do
you understand?’

He did not wait for an answer, but turned and led the way down the
passage he and Luxmore had just emerged from.

Little Willy uttered a cry.  ’Don’t leave me with the old woman, please,
please, Honor!’

’You shall come with me,’ answered the girl, and she drew the child with
her into the parlour.

’Here we are,’ said Taverner, shutting the door.  ’Take a seat, take a
seat!  The little boy can find a stool at the window.’

’Thank you, Mr. Langford, I will not detain you five minutes.  I prefer
to stand.  I am glad my father is here.  Doubtless he has come on the
same matter as myself.’

The two men exchanged glances.

’I have come to ask you to try Charles,’ she continued.  ’Some little
while ago you told father that you wanted a man to act as drover for
you.  I have not heard that you have met with such a servant.  Try my
brother Charles. He is doing no work now, and Satan sets snares in the
way of the idle.  If you will please to give him a chance, you will
confer on us a great favour, and be doing a good work as well, for which
the Lord will reward you.’

’That is what has brought you here?’ asked the yeoman.

’Yes, sir.’

’Have you heard it said throughout the country that I am not a man to
grant favours?’

’I do not heed what folks say.  Besides, I know that this is not so.
You have already acted very kindly to us.  You lent father a very good
horse.’

’Why have you not applied elsewhere? at Chimsworthy, for instance.’

’Because I do not wish to be beholden to the Nanspians, sir,’ answered
Honor.

’You do not approve of your sister keeping company with that Merry
Andrew,’ said Taverner approvingly.

’She does not keep company with him,’ answered the girl gravely.

At any rate she lets him dance after her, draws him on.  Well, well! it
is natural, perhaps.  But don’t advise her to be too eager. Young Larry
is not so great a catch as some suppose, and as he and his father give
out. Look at Chimsworthy—a wilderness of thistles, and rushes springing
where grass grew to my recollection.  There is no saying, some day you
may be seated at Coombe Park, and then the Nanspians will be below you.’

’Coombe Park!’ echoed Honor, looking at her father, then at old
Langford.  ’Surely, sir, you think nothing of that!  Do not encourage
father in that fancy; we never were and never will be at Coombe Park.’

’Honor!’ exclaimed Oliver Luxmore, working his feet uneasily under the
table, ’there you are wrong.  The Luxmores have had it for many
generations.  You have only to look in the registers to see that.’

’Yes, father, some Luxmores have been there, but not our Luxmores as far
as we know. I wish you would not trouble your head about Coombe Park.
We shall never get it.  I doubt if we have a thread of a right to it.
If we have, I never saw it.’

’We shall see, we shall see,’ said the carrier. ’Girls haven’t got
lawyers’ minds, and don’t follow evidence.’

’I have undertaken to go with your father to Lawyer Physick at
Okehampton,’ said Taverner Langford, ’and to help him to have his right
examined.’

’Nothing can come of it but heart-breakings,’ sighed Honor; ’father will
slip certainties to seize shadows.’

’I have nothing to lose,’ said Oliver, ’and much to gain.’

Honor knew it was in vain to attempt to disabuse him of his cherished
delusion.  She so far shared his views as to believe that the family had
gentle blood in their veins, and were descended somehow, in some vague,
undefined manner, from the Luxmores of Coombe Park, through, perhaps,
some younger son of a junior branch, and she liked to suppose that the
beauty and superiority of manner in her brothers and sisters were due to
this, but she did not share in her father’s expectations of recovering
the property.  Her understanding was too clear to harbour this.

’I will go back to what I asked of Mr. Langford,’ she said, after a
pause.  ’Will you take my brother Charles into your service, sir?  He
wants a firm hand over him.  He is not bad at heart, but he is infirm of
purpose, easily led astray.  If he were here with you, he would be far
from the "Ring of Bells," and his work would sever him from idle
companions.’

’So, you don’t want him to be at Chimsworthy?’

’I do not desire to be under obligation there.’

’You have no objection to placing yourself under obligation to me?’

Honor did not like the tone.  She did not understand his returning to
the same point; she turned uneasily to her father, and asked him to put
in a word for poor Charles.

’Mr. Langford is more likely to grant a boon to you than to me,’
answered Oliver evasively.

’Sit down, Honor,’ he said.  ’You have remained standing the whole time
you have been here.’

’I have been making a request,’ she answered.

’The request is granted.  Sit down.’

She was reluctant, yet unwilling to disoblige.

Oliver signed to her to take a place.  She obeyed.  She was
uncomfortable.  There was an indefinable something in the way in which
the old yeoman looked at and addressed her, something equally
indefinable in her father’s manner, that combined to disturb her.

Mrs. Veale came in on some excuse, to ask her master a question, with
her white eyelashes quivering.  She cast a sidelong glance at Honor full
of malice, as she entered.  When she left the room she did not shut the
door, and the girl saw her white face and flickering eyes turned towards
her, watching her out of the darkness of the passage.  She was for a
moment spellbound, but recovered herself when Taverner Longford, with an
impatient exclamation, slammed the door.

’I shall be glad to be rid of the old prying cat,’ he said.

’Is Mrs. Veale going to leave you?’ asked Honor.  Then she caught her
father and Langford exchange glances, and her brow became hot—she hardly
knew wherefore.

’I am thinking of a change,’ said the yeoman.

’I hope you are going to have as good a housekeeper,’ said Honor; ’a
better you cannot have.’

’Oh!’ he laughed, ’a better, certainly, and—what is quite as certain—a
prettier one.  If I had not been sure of that, I would not have——’  He
checked himself and nodded to the carrier, who laughed.

Honor looked from one to the other inquiringly, then asked somewhat
sternly, ’You would not have—what, Mr. Langford?’

’Humph!  I would not have taken Charles.’

’What is the connection?’ asked the girl.

’More things are connected than sleeve-links,’ answered Langford.  ’I
would not have let your father have the horse if you were thriftless at
home.  I would not take Charles into service, unless I thought to find
in him some of the qualities of the sister.’

’Put my qualities, such as they are, on one side,’ said Honor roughly.

’That,’ said Langford, looking across at Luxmore, ’that is not to be
thought of.’

Then the carrier laughed nervously, and with a side glance at his
daughter.

Honor coloured.  She was offended, but unable to say at what.  She put
her hand on her little brother’s head and stroked it nervously.

Then the yeoman began to talk to the carrier about his estate, the
quality of the land, his cows and horses, his woods, his pastures, the
money he was able to put away every year, and contrasted his style of
farming with that of the Nanspians at Chimsworthy.  As he spoke he fixed
his eyes on Honor, to see if his wealth impressed her.  But her face
expressed no concern.  It was clouded; she was thinking, not listening.

All at once the insinuations of Mrs. Veale rushed into her mind.  She
saw her meaning. She connected that with the looks of the two men.
Blood rushed to her face.  She sprang to her feet.  The room swam before
her eyes.

’I must go,’ she said.  ’I am wanted at home.’

                            *CHAPTER XIII.*

                              *THE REVEL.*

If to Sally in our alley and the apprentice who loved her, ’Of all the
days within the week there was no day but one day,’ so to all the maids
and all the lads in country villages, in olden times, there was no day
in all the year that might compare with the day of the village Revel.

The Revel is now a thing of the past, or lingers on, a limp and faded
semblance of the robust festival that fifty years ago was looked forward
to through half the year, and looked back on through the other half, and
formed the topic of conversation for the entire twelve months.

On Revel day horse-races were run, got up by the village taverner, for a
plated mug or a punch ladle; wrestling matches were played for a
champion belt, booths were set up in streets of canvas and board for the
sale of brooches, ribbons, toys, sweetstuff, and saffron-cakes.  There
were merry-go-rounds, peep-shows, menageries, and waxworks.  The
cheap-jack was never wanting, the focus of merriment.

In and about 1849 the commons were enclosed on which the races had been
run, and the tents pitched, and gipsies had encamped. Magistrates,
squires, parsons, and police conspired against Revels, routed them out
of the field, and supplied their places with other
attractions,—cottage-garden shows, harvest thanksgivings, and school
teas.

Possibly there were objectionable features in those old Revels which
made their abolition advisable, but the writer remembers none of these.
He saw them through the eyes of a child, and recalls the childish
delight they afforded.

The day was clear and sunny.  People streamed into Bratton Clovelly from
the country round, many on foot, others in gigs and carts, all in gayest
apparel.  Honor had dressed the children neatly, had assumed her scarlet
cloak, and stood at the cottage door turning the key ready to depart
with the little eager company, when the tramp of a horse’s hoof was
heard, and Larry Nanspian drew up before the house. He was driving his
dappled cob in the shafts of a two-wheeled tax-cart.

’What, Larry!’ exclaimed Kate, ’mounted on high to display the flowery
waistcoat? Lost your legs that you cannot walk a mile?’

’Not a bit, sharp-tongue,’ answered the young man, good-naturedly.  ’I
have come round for Honor and you and the little ones.’

’We have feet, sixteen among us.’

’But the tiny feet will be tired with trotting all day.  You will have
fairings moreover to bring home.’

’Thank you for the kind thought, Larry,’ said Honor, softened by his
consideration and by the pleasant smile that attended his words. ’Kate
and I will walk, but we accept your offer for the children.’

’I cannot take them without you,’ said the young man.  ’I hold the whip
with one hand and the reins with the other.  I have not a third
wherewith to control a load of wriggling worms.’

’Jump in, Honor,’ said Kate; ’sit between me and the driver, to keep the
peace.’

The eldest sister packed the children in behind and before, then,
without more ado, ascended the seat by Larry, and was followed by Kate,
with elastic spring.

’Heigho!’ exclaimed the young man, ’I reckon no showman at the Revel has
half so fine wares as myself to exhibit.’

’What, the waistcoat?’ asked Kate, leaning forward to look in his face.

’No, not the waistcoat,’ answered he; ’cutlery, keen and bright.’

’Your wit must have gone through much sharpening.’

’I do not allude to my wit.  I mean the pretty wares beside me.’

’But, driver, the wares are not and never will be yours.’

As they drew near Bratton they heard a shout from behind, and turning
saw Taverner Langford driving in, with Mrs. Veale beside him, at a
rattling pace.  Larry drew aside to let them pass; as they went by
Taverner looked keenly at Honor, and Mrs. Veale cast her a spiteful
glance, then turned to her master and whispered something.

’Upon my word!’ exclaimed Larry, ’I’ve a mind to play a lark.  Say
nothing, girls, but don’t be surprised if we give Uncle Langford a
hare-hunt.’

He drew rein and went slow through the street of the ’church town.’  The
street and the open space before the church gate were full of people.
It was, moreover, enlivened with booths.  Larry was well content to
appear in state at the fair, driving instead of walking like a common
labourer, and driving with two such pretty girls as Honor and Kate at
his side. He contrasted his company to that of his uncle. ’I wonder my
uncle don’t get rid of that Mrs. Veale.  No wonder he has turned sour
with her face always before him.’  He shouted to those who stood in the
road to clear the way; he cracked his whip, and when some paid no
attention brought the lash across their shoulders. Then they started
aside, whether angry or good-humoured mattered nothing to the
thoughtless lad.

He drew up before the ’Ring of Bells,’ cast the reins to the ostler,
jumped out, and helped the sisters to descend, then lifted the children
down with a cheerful word to each.

The little party strolled through the fair. Honor holding Charity by her
left and Temperance by her right hand; but the crowd was too great for
the youngest to see anything. Honor stooped and took the little girl on
her right arm, but immediately Larry lifted the child from her to his
shoulder.

’See!’ whispered Joe, holding a coin under Kate’s eyes, ’Larry Nanspian
gived me this.’

’And I have something; too from him,’ said Pattie.

’And so have I,’ whispered Willy.

Honor pretended not to hear, but she was touched, and looked with kindly
eyes at the young man.  He had his faults, his foolish vanity; but there
was good in him, or he would not trouble himself about the little ones.
She had not been able to give the children more than a penny each for
fairing.  The village was thronged.  The noise was great.  The
cheap-jack shouted in a voice made hoarse by professional exercise.  The
ringers had got to the bells in the church tower.  At a stall was a man
with a gun, a target, and a tray of nuts, calling ’Only a halfpenny a
shot!’  There was Charles there trying the gun, and his failures to hit
the bull’s-eye elicited shouts of laughter, which became more boisterous
as he lost his temper.  The barrel was purposely bent to prevent a level
shot reaching the mark.  A boy paraded gaudy paper-mills on sticks that
whirled in the wind—only one penny each.  A barrel organ ground forth,
’The flaxen-headed Plowboy,’ and a miserable blinking monkey on it held
out a tin for coppers.  Honor was so fully engrossed in the children,
watching that they did not stray, get knocked over or crushed, that she
had not attention to give to the sights of the fair; but Kate was all
excitement and delight.  Larry kept near the sisters, but could not say
much to them: the noise was deafening and little Temperance exacting.

Presently the party drew up before a table behind which stood a man
selling rat poison. A stick was attached to the table, and to this stick
was affixed a board, above the heads of the people, on which was a
pictorial representation of rats and mice expiring in attitudes of
mortal agony.  The man vended also small hones.  He took a knife, drew
the edge of the blade over his thumb to show that it was blunt, then
swept it once, twice, thrice, this way, that way, on the bit of stone,
and see! he plucked a hair from his beard, and cut, and the blade
severed it.  Fourpence for a small stone, six-pence, a shilling,
according to sizes.  The coins were tossed on the table, and the hones
carried away.

’What is it, ma’am.—a hone?’ asked the dealer.

’No, the poison.’

A white arm was thrust between those who lined the table.  Hillary
turned, and saw Mrs. Veale.

’Keep it locked up, ma’am.  There’s enough in that packet to poison a
regiment.’

Whether a regiment of soldiers or of rats he did not explain.

At the crockery stall Larry halted, and passed Temperance over to Honor.
Now his reason for driving in the spring-cart became apparent.  He had
been commissioned to purchase a supply of pots, and mugs, and dishes,
and plates, for home use.  Honor also made purchases at this stall, and
the young man carried them for her to his cart, as well as his own
supply.  Then she lingered at a drapery stall, and bought some strong
material for frocks for the youngest sisters.  Whilst she was thus
engaged, Larry went to a stall of sweetstuff, presided over by a man in
white apron, with copper scales, and bought some twisted red and white
barbers’ poles of peppermint. Immediately the atmosphere about the
little party was impregnated with the fragrance of peppermint.

A few steps beyond was a menagerie.  A painted canvas before the
enclosure of vans represented Noah’s ark, with the animals ascending a
plank and entering it by a door in the side.  In another compartment was
a picture of a boa-constrictor catching a negro, and opening his jaws to
swallow him.  Over this picture was inscribed, ’Twine, gentle
evergreen,’ and the serpent was painted emerald.  In another
compartment, again, was a polar scene, with icebergs and white bears,
seals and whales.

’Oh, we must see the wild beasts!’ exclaimed Kate.

A consultation ensued.  Larry wished to treat the whole party, but to
this Honor would not agree.  Finally, it was decided that Kate, Joe, and
Pattie should enter, and that Honor should remain without with the
children. Accordingly the three went in with Larry, and presently
returned disappointed and laughing. The menagerie had resolved itself
into a few moulting parrots, a torpid snake in a blanket, two unsavoury
monkeys, and an ass painted with stripes to pass as a zebra.

Adjoining the menagerie was another exhibition, even more pretentious.
Three men appeared before it on a platform, one with a trumpet, another
with cymbals, the third with a drum.  Then forth leaped clown, harlequin
and columbine, and danced, cut jokes, and went head over heels.  The
clown balanced a knife on his nose; then bang! toot, toot! clash! bang,
bang, bang! from the three instruments, working the children into the
wildest speculation.  Honor had spent the money laid aside for
amusement, and could not afford to take her party in, and she would
accept no further favours from Larry.

Just then up came Charles.

’Halloo, mates! you all here!’ he shouted, elbowing his way to them.
’That is prime.  I will treat you; I’ve a yellow boy,’ he spun a
half-sovereign in the air and caught it between both palms.  ’Come
along, kids.  I’m going to treat half a dozen young chaps as well. Shall
I stand for you, Larry?’ he asked contemptuously, ’or have the thistles
and rushes sold so well you can afford to treat yourself?’

Larry frowned.  ’I see my father yonder signing to me,’ he said.  ’I
must go to him.’

Then Hillary worked his way to the rear, offended at the insolence of
Charles, red in face, and vowing he would not do another kindness to the
family.

Old Nanspian was in the long-room of the ’King of Bells,’ at the window.
He had caught sight of his son, whose flowered satin waistcoat was
conspicuous, and was beckoning to him with his clay pipe; he wanted to
know whether he had bought the crockery—_vulgo_ ’cloam’—as desired, and
what he had paid for it.

’Come on, you fellows!’ called Charles to some of his companions.  ’How
many are you? Six, and myself, and the two girls, that makes nine
sixpences, and the little tins at half-price makes five threepences.
Temperance is a baby and don’t count.  That is all, five-and-nine;
shovel out the change, old girl, four-and-three.’

He threw down the gold coin on the table, where a gorgeous woman in red
and blue and spangles, wearing a gilt foil crown and huge earrings, was
taking money and giving greasy admission tickets.  The circus was small.
The seats were one row deep, deal planks laid on trestles.  Only at one
end were reserved places covered with red baize for the nobility,
gentry, and clergy, who, as a bill informed the public, greedily
patronised the show.  On this occasion these benches were conspicuously
empty.  The performers appeared in faded fleshings, very soiled at the
elbows and knees; the paint on the faces was laid on coarsely; the
sawdust in the ring was damp and smelt sour.

The clown cut his jests with the conductor, carried off his cap, and
received a crack of the whip.  He leaped high in the air, turned a
somersault, and ran round the arena on hands and feet, peering between
his legs.

A dappled horse was led out, and the columbine mounted and galloped
round the ring.  Every now and then the hoofs struck the enclosing
boards, and the children shrank against Honor and Kate in terror.  Then
a spray of sawdust was showered over the lads, who roared with laughter,
thinking it a joke.

A second horse was led out to be ridden by the harlequin, but the clown
insisted on mounting it, and was kicked off.  Then the harlequin ran
across the area, whilst the horse was in full career, and leaped upon
its back, held the columbine’s hand, and round and round they went
together.  All was wretchedly poor.  The jokes of the clown were as
threadbare as the silks, and as dull as the spangles on the equestrians.
Poverty and squalor peered through the tawdry show.  But an audience of
country folk is uncritical and easily pleased. The jests were relished,
the costumes admired, and the somersaults applauded.  All at once a
commotion ensued.  The queen in red and blue, who had sold the tickets
of admission, appeared in a state of loud and hot excitement, calling
for the manager and gesticulating vehemently.  The performance was
interrupted. The horses of harlequin and columbine were restrained, and
were walked leisurely round the arena, whilst the lady in gauze (very
crumpled) seated herself on the flat saddle and looked at the
spectators, who curiously scrutinised her features and compared opinions
as to her beauty.  Presently the clown ran to the scene of commotion.
The queen was in very unregal excitement, shaking her head, with her
pendant earrings flapping, very loud and vulgar in voice; some of the
audience crowded about the speakers.

Then Honor was aware that faces and fingers were pointed towards the
bench which she and her party occupied, and in another moment the
manager, the crowned lady-manageress, the clown, now joined by the
harlequin, who had given his horse to a boy, and a throng of inquisitive
spectators, came down—some across the arena, others stumbling over the
deal benches—towards the little party.

’That’s he!’ shouted the lady in crimson and blue, shaking her black
curls, puffing with anger, and indicating with a fat and dirty hand,
’That’s the blackguard who has cheated us.’  She pointed at Charles.

The columbine drew rein and stood her horse before the group, looking
down on it. She had holes in her stockings, and the cherry silk of her
bodice was frayed.  Kate saw that.

’Look here, you rascal!  What do you mean by trying to cheat us poor
artists, with horses and babies to feed, and all our wardrobe to keep in
trim, eh?  What do you mean by it?’

Then the clown in broad cockney, ’What do you mean by it, eh?  Some one
run for the constable, will you?  Though we be travelling showmen we’re
true-born Britons, and the law is made to protect all alike.’

’What is the matter?’ asked Honor, rising, with the frightened
Temperance in her arms clinging to her neck and screaming, and Charity
and Martha holding her skirts, wrapping themselves in her red cloak and
sobbing.

’Ah, you may well ask what is the matter!’ exclaimed the queen.  ’If
that young chap belongs to you in any way, more’s the pity.’

’It is an indictable offence,’ put in the manager.  ’It is cheating
honest folk; that is what it is.’

Charles burst out laughing.

’I’ve a right to pay you in your own coin, eh?’ he said contemptuously,
thrusting his hands into his pockets, and planting a foot on the
barrier.

’What do you mean by our own coin?’ asked the angry manageress, planting
her arms akimbo.

’Giving false for false,’ mocked Charles.

’It is insulting of us he is!’ exclaimed the columbine, from her vantage
post.  ’And he calls himself a gentleman.’

’Pray what right have you to invite the public to such a spectacle as
this?’ asked Charles.  ’You have only a couple of screws for horses, and
an old girl of forty for columbine, a harlequin with the lumbago, and a
clown without wit—and you don’t call this cheating?’

’Turn him out!’ cried the lady in crumpled muslin, ’it’s but
twenty-three I am.’

’What is this all about?’ asked Honor, vainly endeavouring to gather the
cause of the quarrel and compose the frightened children at the same
time.  The bystanders, indignant at the disparagement of the
performance, hissed.  All those on the further side of the arena, losing
their awe of the sawdust, came over it, crowding round the gauzy
columbine and her horse, asking what the row was about, and getting no
answer.

The columbine was obliged to use her whip lightly to keep them off.
Boys were picking spangles off the saddle-cloth, and pulling hairs out
of the mane of the horse.

’How many was it?  Fourteen persons let in?’ asked the manager.

’And I gave him back change, four-and-three,’ added the manageress.

’You shall have your cursed change,’ said Charles.  ’Get along with you
all.  Go on with your wretched performance.  Here are four shillings,
the boys shall scramble for the pence when I find them.’  He held out
some silver.

’No, I won’t take it.  You shall pay for all the tickets,’ said the
woman.  ’You ain’t a-going to defraud us nohows if I can help It. Let’s
see, how many was you?  Four-and-three from ten makes five-and-nine.’

’I can’t do it,’ said Charles, becoming sulky.  ’If you were the fool to
accept a brass token you must pay for the lesson, and be sharper next
time.  I have no more money.’

’Cheat! cheat!  Passing bad money!’ the bystanders groaned, hissed,
hooted.  Charles waxed angry and blazed red.  He cursed those who made
such a noise, he swore he would not pay a halfpenny, he had no money.
They might search his pockets.  They might squeeze him.  They would get
nothing out of him. They might keep the brass token, and welcome, he had
nothing else to give them.  He turned his pockets out to show they were
empty.

The whole assembly, performers in tights, muslin, velvets, ochre and
whitening, the spectators—country lads with their lasses, farmers and
their wives—were crushed in a dense mass about the scene of altercation.
Many of the lads disliked Charles for his swagger and superiority, and
were glad to vent their envy in groans and hisses.  The elder men
thought it incumbent on them to see that justice was done; they called
out that the money must be paid.

Charles, becoming heated, cast his words about, regardless whom he hurt.
The manager stared, the queen screamed, the clown swore, and columbine,
who held a hoop, tried to throw it over the head of the offender, and
pull him down over the barrier.  By a sudden movement the young man
wrenched the whip from the hand of the manager, and raising it over his
head threatened to clear a way with the lash. The people started back.
Then into the space Honor advanced.

’What has he done?  I am his sister. Show me the piece of money.’

’Look at that—and turn yeller,’ exclaimed the manager’s wife.  ’Darn it
now, if I ain’t a-gone and broke one o’ them pearl drops in my ear.
Look at the coin,’ she put the token into the girl’s hand.  ’What do yer
say to that?’  Then she whisked her head of curls about as if to
overtake her ear and see the wreck of pearl-drop—silvered glass which
had been crushed in the press.  ’And this also, young man, comes of yer
wickedness.  What am I to do with one pendant?  Can’t wear it in my nose
like an Injun.  Now then, young woman in scarlet, what do yer call
that?’

Honor turned the coin over in her palm,

’This is a brass tradesman’s token,’ she said, ’it is not money.  We
stand in your debt five-and-ninepence.  I have nothing by me.  You must
trust me; you shall be paid.’

’No, no! we won’t trust none of you,’ said the angry woman.  ’We ain’t
a-going to let you out without the money.  Pay or to prison you walk.
Someone run for the constable, and I’ll give him a ticket gratis for
this evening’s entertainment.’

Then many voices were raised to deprecate her wrath.  ’This is Honor.’
’Trust Honor as you’d trust granite.’  ’Honor in name and Honor in
truth.’  ’Honor never wronged a fly.’  ’Red spider is a lucky insect.’
’Why don’t the red spider spin money now?’

’Leave her alone, she’s good as gold.  She can’t help if the brother is
a rascal.’

But though many voices were raised in her favour, no hands were thrust
into pockets to produce the requisite money.

Honor looked about.  She was hot, and her brow moist; her lips quivered;
a streak of sun was on her scarlet cloak and sent a red reflection over
her face.

’We will not be beholden to you, madam,’ she said, with as much
composure as she could muster.  Then she unloosed her cloak from her
neck and from the encircling arms of Temperance.  ’There,’ she said,
’take this; the cloth is good.  It is worth more money than what we owe
you.  Keep it till I come or send to redeem it.’

She put the scarlet cloak into the woman’s hands, then turned, gathered
the children about her, and looking at those who stood in front, said
with dignity, ’I will trouble you to make way.  We will interrupt the
performance no longer.’

Then, gravely, with set lips and erect head, she went out, drawing her
little party after her, Kate following, flushed and crying, and Charles,
with a swagger and a laugh and jest to those he passed, behind Kate.

When they came outside, however, Charles slunk away.  The six young men
whom Charles had treated remained.  They had worked their way along the
benches to dissociate themselves from the party of the Luxmores, and put
on a look as if they had paid for their own seats. ’We needn’t go, for
sure,’ whispered one to another.  ’We be paid for now out of Miss
Honor’s red cloak.’

                             *CHAPTER XIV.*

                           *THE LAMB-KILLER.*

Honor could not recover herself at once.  Her heart beat fast and her
breathing was quick. Her hands that clasped the children twitched
convulsively.  She looked round at Charles before he slipped away, and
their eyes met. His expression rapidly changed, his colour went, his
eyes fell before those of his sister. He drew his cap over his face, and
elbowed his way through the crowd out of sight.

Honor felt keenly what had occurred; she was the sister of a rogue; the
honourable name of Luxmore was tarnished.  How would her father bear
this?  This, the family honour, was the one thing on which he prided
himself. And what about Charles?  Would not he be forced to leave the
place she had found for him?  Would Taverner Langford keep in his employ
a man who cheated?

But Honor took a more serious view of the occurrence than the general
public.  Popular opinion was not as censorious as her conscience.  Those
whom Charles had attempted to defraud were strangers—vagrants belonging
to no parish, and without the pale, fair game for a sharp man to
overreach.  If the public virtue had protested loudly in the show, it
was not in the interests of fair dealing, but as an opportunity of
annoying a braggart.

Honor, wounded and ashamed, shrank from contact with her acquaintances,
and with Kate worked her way out of the throng, away from the fair, and
home, without seeing more of Larry.

Kate took Charles’s misconduct to heart in a different way from Honor;
she was angry, disappointed because her pleasure was spoiled, and
fretted.  But the children, as they trotted homewards, were not weary of
talking of the wonders they had seen and the enjoyment they had had.

In the evening Hillary drove up with his spring-cart, and called the
girls out to take their fairings from his trap, some crocks, a roll of
drapery, and some other small matters. Hillary was cheerful and full of
fun.  He repeated the jokes of the cheap-jack, and told of the
neighbours that had been taken in.  He mentioned whom he had met, and
what he had seen.  He allowed the dappled horse to stand in the road,
with the reins on the ground, whilst, with one foot planted on the
steps, he lingered chatting with the girls before their door. He was so
bright and amusing that Kate forgot her vexation and laughed.  Even the
grave Honor was unable to forbear a smile.  Of the disturbance in the
circus caused by Charles he said nothing, and Honor felt grateful for
his tact. He remained talking for half an hour.  He carried the girls’
parcels into the cottage for them, and insisted on a kiss from the tiny
ones. It almost seemed as if he were tarrying for something—an
opportunity which did not offer; but this did not occur to the girls.
They felt his kindness in halting to cheer them.  Their father was not
yet returned from the fair.  They were not likely to see Charles again
that day.

’By the way, Honor,’ said Larry, ’you have some lambs, have you not?’

’Yes, five.’

’Can you fasten them and the ewes in at night?’

’No—we have no place.  But why?  They will not take hurt at this time of
the year.’

’Don’t reckon on that,’ said the young man; ’I’ve heard tell there is a
lamb-killer about.  Farmer Hegadon lost three, and one went from
Swaddledown last night.  Have you not heard?  Watches must be set.  None
can tell whose dog has taken to lamb-killing till it is seen in the
act.’

’A bad business for us if we lose our lambs,’ said Honor.  ’We reckon on
selling them and the ewes in the fall, to meet our debt to Mr. Langford
for the horse.’

’Then forewarned is forearmed.  Lock them up.’

’It can’t be done, Larry.  You can’t pocket your watch when you’re
without a pocket.’

’In that case I hope the lamb-killer will look elsewhere.  That is all.
Good-night. But before I go mind this.  If you have trouble about your
lambs, call on me.  I’ll watch for you now you have not Charles at your
command. We’re neighbours and must be neighbourly.’

’Thank you heartily, Larry.  I will do so.’

Then the lad went away, whistling in his cart, but as he went he turned
and waved his hand to the sisters.

The children were tired and put to bed. Kate was weary and soon left.
Honor had to sit up for her father, whose van was in request that day to
convey people and their purchases from the fair to their distant homes.
After Oliver had come in and had his supper, Honor put away the plates,
brushed up the crumbs, set the chairs straight, and went to bed.  Kate
and the children were sound asleep. Honor’s brain was excited, and she
kept awake. She was unobserved now, and could let her tears flow.  She
had borne up bravely all day; the relaxation was necessary for her now.
Before her family and the world Honor was reserved and restrained.  She
was forced to assume a coldness that was not natural to her heart.
There was not one person in the house who could be relied on.  Her
father was devoid of moral backbone.  He remembered the commissions of
his customers, but his memory failed respecting his duties to his
children and the obligations of home.  Kate had too sharp a tongue and a
humour too capricious to exercise authority.  She set the children by
the ears.  As for the little ones, they were too young to be supposed to
think.  So Honor had to consider for her father and the other seven
inmates of the cottage, also of late for Charles—to have a head to think
for nine creatures who did not think for themselves.  There was not one
of the nine who stood firm, who was not shiftless.  There are few
occupations more trying to the temper than the setting up of nine-pins
on a skittle-floor.  Honor did not become querulous, as is the manner of
most women who have more duties to discharge than their strength allows.
She was overtaxed, but she sheltered herself under an assumption of
coldness.  Some thought her proud, others unfeeling.  Kate could not
fathom her.  Oliver took all she did as a matter of course.  He neither
spared her nor applauded her.  Perhaps no one in the parish was so blind
to her excellence as her father.  Kate was his favourite daughter.

Honor dried her tears on the pillow. What would the end be?  Kate was at
her side fast asleep.  Honor leaned on her elbow and looked at her
sleeping sister.  The moon was shining.  A muslin blind was drawn across
the window, but a patch of light was on the whitewashed wall, and was
brilliant enough to irradiate the whole chamber.  Kate’s light silky
hair was ruffled about her head.  She lay with one arm out, and the hand
under her head; her delicate arm was bare.  Honor looked long at her;
her lips quivered, she stooped over Kate and kissed her, and her lips
quivered no more.  ’How pretty she is,’ she said to her own heart; ’no
wonder he went away whistling "Kathleen Mavourneen."’

All at once Honor started, as though electrified.  She heard the sheep
in the paddock making an unwonted noise, and recalled what Larry had
said.  In a moment she was out of bed, and had drawn aside the
window-blind.  The sheep and lambs were running wildly about.  Some
leaped at the hedge, trying to scramble up and over; others huddled
against the gate leading to the lane.  Honor opened the casement and put
forth her head. Then she saw a dark shadow sweep across the field,
before which the clustered sheep scattered.

Honor slipped on a few garments, descended the stair, opened the kitchen
door, and went forth armed with a stick.  The lamb-killer was in the
paddock, chasing down one of the flock that he had managed to separate
from the rest. Honor called, but her voice was unheeded or unheard,
owing to the bleating of the frightened sheep.  She ran through the dewy
grass, but her pace was as nothing to that of the dog. The frightened
lamb fled from side to side, and up and down, till its powers were
exhausted; and then it stood piteously bleating, paralysed with terror,
and the dog was at its throat and had torn it before Honor could reach
the spot.

When she approached the dog leaped the hedge and disappeared through a
gap in the bushes at the top.  The girl went about the field pacifying
the sheep, calling them, and counting them.  They came about her skirts,
pressing one on another, bleating, entreating protection, interfering
with her movements. Two of the lambs were gone.  One she had seen
killed; a second was missing.  She searched and found it; it had been
overrun and had got jammed between two rails.  In its efforts to escape,
it had become injured.  Its life was spent with exhaustion and fear, but
it was not quite dead.  It still panted.  She disengaged the little
creature, and carried it in her arms into the house, followed by the
agitated ewes, whom she could hardly drive back from the garden gate.

Honor did not expect the dog to return that night, but she sat up
watching for a couple of hours, and then returned to her bedroom, though
not to sleep.

Here was a fresh trouble come upon the family.  The loss of two lambs,
in their state of poverty, was a serious loss, and she could not be sure
that this was the end.  The dog might return another night and kill
more, and that was a crushing loss to poor people.

Next morning, when Kate and the children heard the news, their distress
was great.  Many tears were shed over the dead lambs.  Kate was loud in
her indignation against those who let their dogs rove at night.  She was
sure it was done on purpose, out of malice.  It was impossible to
suppose that the owner of a lamb-killer was ignorant of the proclivities
of his dog.  If they could only find out whose dog it was they would
make him pay for the mischief.

’I suppose, father, you will sit up to-night and watch for the brute?’

’I—I!’ answered the carrier.  ’What will that avail?  I never shot
anything in my life but one sparrow, and that I blew to pieces.  I
rested my gun-barrel on the shiver (bar) of a gate, and waited till a
sparrow came to some crumbs I had scattered.  Then I fired, and a splash
of blood and some feathers were all that remained of the sparrow.  No, I
am no shot. The noise close to my ear unnerves me. Besides, I am
short-sighted.  No; if the dog takes the lambs, let him, I cannot
prevent it.’

’But you must sit up, father.’

’What can I do?  If I saw the dog I should not know whose ’t was.  Honor
saw it, she can say whose it was.’

’I do not know.  It struck me as like Mr. Langford’s Rover, but I cannot
be sure; the ash-trees were between the moon and the meadow, and
flickered.’

’Oh! if it be Rover we are right.’

’How so, father?’

’Langford will pay if his dog has done the damage.’

’He must be made to pay,’ said Kate.  ’He won’t do it if he can scrape
out.’

’I cannot be sure it was Rover,’ said Honor. ’I saw a dark beast, but
the ash flickered in the wind, and the flakes of moonlight ran over the
grass like lambs, and the shadows like black dogs.  I was not near
enough to make sure.  Unless we can swear to Rover, we must be content
to lose.’

’Mr. Langford will not dispute about a lamb or two,’ said Oliver,
rubbing his ear.

’Then he will be different in this to what he is in everything else,’
said Kate.

’He won’t be hard on us,’ said her father. Honor was accustomed to see
him take his troubles easily, but he was unwontedly, perplexingly
indifferent now, and the loss was grave and might be graver.

’I will watch with you to-night, Honor,’ said Kate.  ’And what is more,
I will swear to Rover, if I see the end of his tail.  Then we can charge
the lambs at a pound a-piece to old Langford.’

’As for that,’ said the father, with a side-glance at his eldest
daughter, ’Mr. Langford—don’t call him old Langford any more, Kate, it’s
not respectful—Mr. Langford won’t press for the horse.  It lies with you
whether we have him for nothing or have to return him.’

He spoke looking at Honor, but he had addressed Kate just before.  The
latter did not heed his words.  Honor had been crossing the room with a
bowl in her hands.  She stood still and looked at him.  A question as to
his meaning rose to her lips, but she did not allow it to pass over
them.  She saw that a knowing smile lurked at her father’s
mouth-corners, and that he was rubbing his hands nervously.  The subject
was not one to be prosecuted in the presence of her brothers and
sisters.  She considered a moment, then went into the back kitchen with
the bowl.  She would make her father explain himself when they were
together alone.

Dark and shapeless thoughts passed through her mind, like the shadows of
the ash foliage in the moonlight.  She was full of undefined
apprehension of coming trouble.  But Honor had no time to give way to
her fears.  There was no leisure for an explanation.  The dead lambs had
to be skinned and their meat disposed of.

Honor was busily engaged the whole morning. She was forced to
concentrate her mind on her task, but unable to escape the apprehension
which clouded her.  It did not escape her that her father’s manner
changed, as soon as the children were despatched to school and Kate had
gone forth.  He became perceptibly nervous.  He was shy of being in the
room with Honor, and started when she spoke to him. He pretended to look
for means of fastening up the flock for the night, but he went about it
listlessly.  His playful humour had evaporated; he seemed to expect to
be taken to task for his words, and to dread the explanation.  His
troubled face cleared when he saw Hillary Nanspian appear at the top of
the hedge that divided the Chimsworthy property from the carrier’s
paddock.  The young man swung himself up by a bough, and stood on the
hedge parting some hazel-bushes.

’What is this I hear?  The lamb-killer been to you last night?’

’Yes, Larry, and I am trying to find how we may pen the sheep in out of
reach.  I’ve only the linhay, and that is full.’

’Are you going to sit up?’

’No, Larry, I am not a shot, and like a beetle at night.’

’I’ll do it.  Where are Kate and Honor? I promised them I would do it,
and I keep my word.  Little Joe tells me Honor thinks the dog was Rover.
What a game if I shoot Uncle Taverner’s dog!  I hope I may have that
luck. Expect me.  I will bring my gun to-night.’

                             *CHAPTER XV.*

                        *A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.*

Honor’s kitchen work was done.  She came to her father after Larry
Nanspian had departed, and said, ’Now, father, I want to know your
meaning, when you said that it lay with me whether you should keep the
horse or not?’

Then she seated herself near the door, with a gown of little Pattie’s
she was turning.

’It was so to speak rigmarole,’ answered Oliver colouring, and
pretending to plait a lash for his whip.

She shook her head.  ’You did not speak the words without purpose.’

’We lead a hard life,’ said Oliver evasively. ’That you can’t deny and
keep an honest tongue.’

’I do not attempt to deny it,’ she said, threading a needle at the light
that streamed in through the open door.  The carrier looked at her
appealingly.  Behind her, seen through the door, was a bank of bushes
and pink foxgloves, ’flopadocks’ is the local name.  He looked at the
sunlit picture with dreamy eyes.

’I shouldn’t wonder,’ he said, ’if there was a hundred flowers on that
there tallest flopadock.’

’I should not either,’ said Honor without looking off her work.  Then
ensued another pause.

Presently the carrier sighed and said, ’It be main difficult to make
both ends meet. The children are growing up.  Their appetites increase.
Their clothes get more expensive. The carrying business don’t prosper as
it ought. Kate, I reckon, will have to go into service, we can’t keep
her at home; but I don’t like the notion—she a Luxmore of Coombe Park.’

’We are not Luxmores of Coombe Park, but Luxmores out of it,’ said
Honor.

’Coombe Park should be ours by right, and it rests with you whether we
get our rights.’

’How so?  This is the second hint you have given that much depends on
me.  What have I to do with the recovery of Coombe Park?  How does the
debt for the horse rest with me?’

’It is a hard matter to be kept out of our rights,’ said Oliver.  ’A
beautiful property, a fine house and a fishpond—only a hundred pounds
wanted to search the registers to get it.’

’No hundred pounds will come to us,’ said Honor.  ’The clouds drop
thunderbolts, not nuggets.  So as well make up our minds to be where we
are.’

’No, I can’t do that,’ said the carrier, plaiting vigorously.  ’You
haven’t got a bit of green silk, have you, to finish the lash with?’

’Whether from wishing or from working, no hundred pounds will come,’
continued the girl.

’And see what a rain of troubles has come on us,’ said the carrier.
’First comes your poor mother’s death, then the horse, now the lambs,
and on top of all poor Charles.’

’More the reason why we should put aside all thought of a hundred
pounds.’

’Providence never deserts the deserving,’ said Luxmore.  ’I’m sure I’ve
done my duty in that state o’ life in which I am.  It is darkest before
dawn.’

’I see no daylight breaking.’

’Larry Nanspian makes great count of Kate,’ mused Luxmore, and then
abruptly, ’confound it!  I’ve plaited the lash wrong, and must unravel
it again.’

’What will come of Larry’s liking for Kate?  Will that bring us a
hundred pounds and Coombe Park?’ asked Honor bluntly.

’I can’t quite say that.  But I reckon it would be a rare thing to have
her settled at Chimsworthy.’

’No,’ said Honor, ’not unless Larry alters. Chimsworthy grows weeds.
The old man is more given to boasting than to work.  Larry cares more to
be flattered than to mind the plough.’

’I won’t have a Luxmore of mine marry out of her station.  We must hold
up our heads.’

’Of course we must,’ said Honor.  ’What am I doing all day, thinking of
all night, but how we may keep our heads upright?’

’What a mercy it would be not to be always fretting over ha’pence!  If
you and Kate were well married, what a satisfaction it would be to me
and what a comfort all round.’

’Do not reckon on me,’ said Honor; ’I shall not marry, I have the
children to care for.  You do not want to drive me out of the house, do
y’, father?’

’No, certainly not.  But I should like to see you and Kate well married,
Kate to Larry Nanspian and Chimsworthy, and you—well, you equally well
placed.  Then you might combine to help me to my own.  Consider this,
Honor!  If we had Coombe Park, all our troubles would clear like clouds
before a setting sun.  Charles would no longer be a trouble to us.  He
shows his gentle blood by dislike for work.  If he were not forced to
labour he would make a proper gentleman. Why then, Honor, what a
satisfaction to you to have been the saving, the making of your
brother!’

’_Then_ won’t stand on the feet of _If_,’ said Honor.

’It depends on you.’

’How on me?’ she rested her hands on her lap, and looked steadily at her
father.  He unravelled his lash with nervous hands.  Honor saw that they
shook.  Then without turning his eyes from his plaiting, he said
timidly, ’I only thought how well it would be for us if you were at
Langford.’

’How can I be at Langford?  Mrs. Veale is the housekeeper, and I do not
wish for her place.’

’Oh no, not her place—not her place by any means,’ said her father.

’What other place then?’ she was resolved to force him to speak out,
though she guessed his meaning.

He did not answer her immediately.  He looked at the ’flopadocks’
through the front door, then he looked to see if there was a way of
escape open by the back.

’I—I thought—that is to say—I hoped—you might fancy to become Mrs.
Langford.’

Honor rose proudly from her seat, and placed her needlework in the
chair.  She stood in the doorway, with the illumined hedge behind her.
If Oliver had looked at her face he could not have seen it; he would
have seen only the dark head set on a long and upright neck, with a haze
of golden brown about it. But he did not look up; he drew a long breath.
The worst was over.  He had spoken, and Honor knew all.

In the morning the carrier had flattered himself it would be easy to
tell Honor, but when he prepared to come to the point he found it
difficult.  He knew that the proposal would offend his daughter, that it
would not appear to her in the light in which he saw it. He was afraid
of her, as an inferior nature fears one that is greater, purer than
itself. Now he felt like a schoolboy who has been caught cribbing, and
expects the cane.

’You see, Honor,’ said he in an apologetic tone, ’Taverner Langford is a
rich man, and of very good family.  It would be no disgrace to him to
marry you, and you cannot reckon to look higher.  I don’t know but that
his family and ours date back to Adam.  He has kept his acres, and we
have lost ours.  However, with your help, I hope we may recover Coombe
Park and our proper position.  What a fine thing, Honor, to be able to
restore a fallen family, and to be the means of saving a brother!
Taverner Langford is proud, and would like to see his wife’s relations
among the landed gentry.  He would help us with a hundred pounds.
Indeed, he has almost promised the money.  As to the horse, we need not
concern ourselves about that, and the lambs need trouble you no more.
There is a special blessing pronounced on the peace-makers, Honor, and
that would be yours if you married Taverner, and Kate took Hillary, for
then Langford must make up his quarrel with the Nanspians.’

Honor reseated herself, and put her work back on her lap.  Oliver had
not the courage to look at her face, or he would have seen that she was
with difficulty controlling the strong emotion that nigh choked her.  He
sat with averted eyes, and maundered on upon the advantages of the
connection.

’So,’ exclaimed Honor at length, ’Taverner Langford has asked for me to
be his wife!  But, father, he asked before he knew of that affair
yesterday.  That alters the look.  He will back out when he hears of
Charles’s conduct.’

’Not at all.  I saw him yesterday evening, and he laughed at the story.
He took it as a practical joke played on the circus folk—and what harm?
Everyone likes his jokes, and the Revel is the time for playing them.’

’He has not dismissed Charles?’

’Certainly not.’

’I would have done so, had he been my servant.’

Then she leaned her head on her hand and gazed before her, full of
gloomy thought.  Her father watched her, when he saw she was not looking
at him.

’The advantage for Charles would be so great,’ he said.

’Yes,’ she exclaimed, with a tone of impatience.  ’But there are some
sacrifices it is not fair to expect of a sister.’

’Consider that, instead of being a servant in the house, Charles would
regard himself as at home at Langford.  He is not a bad fellow, his
blood is against his doing menial work.  When he mounts to his proper
place you will see he will be a credit to us all.  You don’t take razors
to cut cabbages.  I, also, will no longer be forced to earn my
livelihood by carrying.  If your mind be healthy, Honor, you will see
how unbecoming it is for a Luxmore to be a common carrier.  Lord bless
me! When I am at Coombe Park, you at Langford, and Kate at Chimsworthy,
what a power we shall be in the place.  Why, I may even become a feoffee
of Coryndon’s Charity! Langford is rich.  He has a good estate.  He has
spent nothing on himself for many years. There must be a lot of money
laid by somewhere. He cannot have saved less than three hundred pounds a
year, and I should not stare to hear he had put by five.  Say this has
been going on for twenty years.  That amounts to ten thousand pounds at
the lowest reckoning. Ten thousand pounds!  Think of that, Honor. Then
remember that old Hillary Nanspian is in debt to Taverner Langford, and
pressed to raise the money, as the debt has been called up.  You must
persuade Taverner to let the money lie where it is, and so you will
bring peace to Chimsworthy.’

Honor shook her head.

’It cannot be, father,’ she said, in a low tone.

’I feared you would raise difficulties,’ he said, in an altered,
disappointed voice.  ’Of course he is too old for you.  That is what you
girls think most about.’

She shook her head.

’Perhaps you have fancied someone else,’ he went on; ’well, we can’t
have plum cake every day.  It is true enough that Taverner Langford is
not a yellow gosling; but then he has ten thousand pounds, and they say
that a young man’s slave is an old man’s darling.  He won’t live for
ever, and then you know——’

Honor’s cheeks flushed; she raised her head, passed her hand over her
brow, and looking at her father with dim eyes, said, ’That is not it—no,
that is not it.’  Then with an access of energy, ’I will tell you the
real truth.  I cannot marry whom I do not love, and I cannot love whom I
do not respect. Mr. Langford is a hard man.  He has been hard on his
kinsman, Mr. Nanspian, and though the old man had a stroke, Mr. Langford
never went near him, never sent to ask how he was, and remained his
enemy.  About what?  I’ve heard tell about a little red spider.  Mr.
Langford may be rich, but he loves his money more than his flesh and
blood, and such an one I cannot respect.’

The carrier forced a laugh.  ’Is not this pot falling foul of kettle?’
he asked.  ’Who is hard if you are not?  Have you shown gentleness to
Charles, who is your very brother? Whereas Nanspian is but a
brother-in-law.’

’I have not been hard with Charles.  I must protect the children from
him.  He is my brother, and I love him.  But I love the others also.  I
will do all I can for him, but I will not have the others spoiled for
his amusement.’

’We don’t all see ourselves as others see us,’ said Oliver sulkily.
Honor was stung by his injustice, but she made no reply.  She took up
her sewing again, but she could not see to make stitches.  She laid her
work again on her lap, and mused, looking out of the door at the
fox-gloves, and the honeysuckle and wild rose in the hedge.  The scent
of the honeysuckle was wafted into the room.

’Why should Mr. Langford want me as his wife?’ she asked dreamily;
’surely Mrs. Veale will suit him better.  She is near his age, and
accustomed to his ways.  Besides,’ she paused, then resumed, ’there have
been queer tales about him and her.’

’Pshaw, Honor! a pack of lies.’

’I have no doubt of that,’ she said; ’still—I cannot see why he wants
me.’

’Honor, my child,’ said her father slowly and with his face turned from
her; ’he and Nanspian of Chimsworthy don’t hit it off together, and the
property is so left that if he hasn’t children it will pass to his
sister’s son, young Larry.  The old man can’t bear to think of that, and
on their reckoning on his dead shoes, and he’d draw a trump from his
pack against those Nanspians.’

Honor flamed crimson and her eyes flashed. ’And so—so this is it!  I am
to help to widen the split!  I am to stand between Larry and his rights!
Father, dear father, how can you urge me?  How can you hope this?  No,
never, never will I consent.  Let him look elsewhere.  There are plenty
of maidens in Bratton less nice than me.  No, never, never will I have
him.’

Oliver Luxmore stood up, troubled and ashamed.

’You put everything upside down,’ he said; ’I thought you would be a
peace-maker.’

’You yourself tell me that I am chosen out of spite to make the strife
hotter.  Now you have told me the why, the matter is made worse.  Such
an offer is an outrage.  Never, father, no, never, never,’ she stamped,
so strong, so intense was her disgust.  ’I will hear no more.  I grieve
that you have spoken, father.  I grieve more that you have thought such
a thing possible.  I grieve most of all that you have wished it.’

’Turn the offer over in your mind, Honor,’ he said sauntering to the
door, from which she had withdrawn.  She was leaning against the wall
between the door and the window, with her hands over her face.  ’Milk
runs through the fingers when first you dip ’em, but by turning and
turning you turn out butter.  So, I dare be bound, the whole thing will
look different if you turn it over.’

’I will put it away from me, out of my thought,’ she said hotly.  She
was hurt and angry.

’If you refuse him we shall have to buy a horse.’

’Well, we must buy.  I will work the flesh from my fingers till I earn
it, and get out of obligation.  But I never, never, never will consent
to be Taverner Langford’s wife, not for your sake, father, nor for that
of Charles.’

’Well,’ said the carrier; ’some folks don’t know what is good for ’em.
I reckon there’s a hundred bells on that there flopadock.  I’ll go and
count ’em.’

                             *CHAPTER XVI.*

                            *KEEPING WATCH.*

In the evening Hillary the younger arrived, according to promise, with
his gun.  Oliver Luxmore feebly protested against troubling him.  ’It is
very good of you, Larry, but I don’t think I ought to accept it.’

’It is pleasure, not trouble,’ answered Larry.

’If the dog does not come to-night, I will keep guard on the morrow,’
said the carrier. ’I may not be able to shoot the dog, but I can scare
him away with a bang.’

’I hope to kill him,’ said Hillary.  ’Have you not heard that a guinea
is offered for his carcase?  Several farmers have clubbed and offered
the reward.’

’Have your lambs suffered, Larry?’

’Ours are all right; driven under cover.’

The young man supped with the Luxmores. He was full of mirth.  Kate did
not spare her tongue; she attacked and he retaliated, but all
good-humouredly.  ’They make a pair, do they not?’ whispered Oliver to
his eldest daughter.  ’Better spar before marriage and kiss after, than
kiss first and squabble later.’

’Larry,’ said Honor, ’I will keep the fire up with a mote (tree-stump).
You may be cold during the night, and like to run in and warm yourself.’

’Ay, Honor,’ said her father.  ’Have a cider posset on the hob to
furnish inner comfort.’

’Let no one sit up for me; I shall want nothing,’ answered Hillary,
’unless one of you girls will give me an hour of your company to break
the back of the watch.’

’Your zeal is oozing out at your elbows,’ said Kate.  ’Honor or I, or
even little Joe, could manage to drive away the dog.’

’But not shoot it,’ retorted Hillary.  ’Lock your door and leave me
without.  I shall be content if I earn the guinea.’

’I will remain below,’ said Honor quietly. ’We must not let all the
burden rest on you. And if you are kind enough, Larry, to look after our
lambs, we are bound to look after you.’

’If one of you remains astir, let it be Honor,’ said the young man.
’Kate and I would quarrel, and the uproar would keep the dog away.’

’I do not offer to sit up to-night,’ said the carrier, ’as my turn comes
on the morrow, and I have had heavy work to-day that has tired me.’

Then he rose, held out his hand to Larry, kissed his daughters, and went
upstairs to his room.  Kate followed him speedily.  Larry took up his
gun and went out, and walked round the field.  Then he came to the
kitchen and said, ’All is quiet, not a sign to be seen of the enemy.  I
hope he will not disappoint me. You must have your red cloak again.’

’My red cloak?’ repeated Honor.

’Ay, your red cloak that you parted with to the woman at the circus.  I
heard about it. If I shoot the dog, half the prize money goes to you.’

’Not so, Larry.  It is, or will be, all your own.’

’But you first saw the dog, you share the watch, you keep up the fire,
and brew me a posset.  How was it with David’s soldiers? What was his
decision?  They that tarried with the stuff should share with those that
went to war.  You have Scripture against you, Honor, and will have to
take ten-and-six.’

’Don’t reckon and divide before the dog is shot.’

’If he comes this way he shall sup off lead, never doubt.  Then you
shall have your red cloak again.’

Honor sighed.  ’No, Larry, I shall never see it more.  The fair is over,
the circus gone, whither I know no more than what has become of
yesterday.’

’Charles behaved very badly.  Of course I did not mention it before, but
we are alone together now, and I may say it.’

’He did not act rightly—he meant it as a joke.’

’I can’t forgive him for robbing you of your pretty red cloak.  Here,
Honor, take it.  I have it.’

Then he pulled out a closely folded bundle and extended it to her.  The
girl was surprised and pleased.  This was considerate and kind of Larry.
She had noticed him carrying this bundle, but had given no thought as to
what it was.  Her eyes filled.

’Oh Larry!  God bless you for your kindness.’

’I was tempted to hang it round my neck till I gave it back, I should
have looked quite military in it.’

’It was my mother’s cloak,’ she answered quickly.  ’You might have worn
it and it would have done you good.  My mother will bless you out of
paradise for your consideration. Oh my dear, dear mother! she was so
wise, and thoughtful, and good.’  Honor spread the cloak over the young
man’s head.  ’There,’ she said, ’take that as if she had touched you.
You have lost your mother.’

’Yes, but I do not remember her.’

’Oh! it is a bad thing for you to be without your mother, Larry.’  She
paused, then held out her hand to him, and her honest eyes met his
slowing with gratitude, swimming with feeling.

’All right,’ he said.  ’No thanks.  We are neighbours and good friends.
If I help you to-day you will stand by me to-morrow. That is so, is it
not, dear Honor?’

He threw his gun over his shoulder and went out into the meadow.  He was
glad to escape the pressure of her hand; the look of her eyes had made
his heart beat with unwonted emotion.  She had never given him such a
look before.  She was not as cold as he supposed.  He was aware that he
had acted well in the matter of the cloak.  He had gone to the
manageress of the circus directly he heard what had taken place, and had
made an offer for the garment.  The woman, seeing his eagerness to
secure it, refused to surrender it under a sum more than its value.  He
had bought it with the sacrifice of the rest of his pocket-money.  That
was one reason why he hoped to kill the dog.  He would replenish his
empty purse.  In this matter he had acted as his heart dictated, but he
was quite aware that he had done a fine thing.  Honor paid him his due,
and that raised Honor in his estimation.  ’She has heart,’ he said,
’though she don’t often show it.  A girl must have heart to do as she
did for that worthless brother.’

Whilst Larry stood without waiting for the dog, Honor was within,
sitting by the fire, a prey to distressing thoughts.  She was not
thinking of Larry or of Charles; she was thinking of what had passed
between her and her father.

She occupied a low stool on the hearth, rested her head in her lap,
folded her hands round her knees.  The red glow of the smouldering fire
made her head like copper, and gave to her faded red stockings a
brilliancy they lacked by day.

She had dimly suspected that something was plotted against her on the
occasion of her visit to Langford, when she had found her father with
Langford.  What she had dreaded had come to pass.  Her father had
consented to sell her so as to extricate himself from a petty debt, but,
above all, that he might be given means of prosecuting his imaginary
claims.  Coombe Park was a curse to them. It had blighted Charles, it
had spoiled her father’s energies, it was doomed to make a breach
between her and her father.  She had never herself thought of Coombe
Park; she had treated its acquisition as an impossible dream, only not
to be put aside as absurd because harboured by her father.  She was
conscious now of a slight stirring of reproach in her heart against him,
but she battled it and beat it down.  Strong in her sense of filial
respect, she would not allow herself to entertain a thought that her
father was unjust.  She apologised to herself for his conduct.  She
explained his motives.  He had supposed that the prospect of being
mistress of a large house, over wide acres, would fill her ambition.  He
meant well, but men do not understand the cravings of the hearts of
women. But, explain away his conduct as she would, she was unable to
dissipate the sense of wrong inflicted, to salve the wound caused by his
apparent eagerness to get rid of her out of the house.  The back door
was opened softly.

’Honor! still awake?’

’Yes, Larry.’

’Will you give me a drop of hot cider? I am chilled.  Have you a potato
sack I can cast over my shoulders?  The dew falls heavily.’

’No sign of the dog yet?’

’None at all.  The sheep are browsing at ease.  It is dull work standing
at a gate watching them.  I wish the dog would come.’

’Let us change places, Larry.  You come by the fire and I will watch at
the gate.  The moment that I see him I will give warning.’

’And scare him away!  No, Honor, I want the prize-money.’

’Then I will come out and keep you company.  Here are two potato sacks,
one for your shoulders, the other for mine.  If we talk in a low tone we
shall not warn off the dog.’

’That is well, Honor.  So we shall make the hours spin.  The moon is
shining brightly. There have been clouds, and then the dew did not fall
as cold and chill.  I have been hearkening to the owls, what a
screeching and a hooting they make, and there is one in the apple-tree
snoring like my father.’

’Have you been standing all the while, Larry?’

’Yes, Honor, leaning against the gate.  If there had been anything to
sit on I should have seated myself.  My fingers are numb.  I must thaw
them at your coals.’

He went to the fire and held his hands in the glow.  ’Honor!’ he said,
’you have been crying.  I see the glitter of the tears on your cheeks.’

’Yes, I have been crying—not much.’

’What made you cry?’

’Girl’s troubles,’ she answered.

’Girl’s troubles!  What are they?’

’Little matters to those they do not concern. Here is a low stool on
which the children sit by the heart.  I will take it out and set it
under the hedge.  We can sit on it and talk together awaiting the dog.’

’What is the time, Honor?  Is the clock right?  Eleven!  I will wait
till after midnight and then go.  He will not come to-night if he does
not come before that.  He will have gone hunting elsewhere.  Perhaps he
remembers that you scared him last night.’  Honor carried out a low
bench, and placed it near the gate under the hedge where a thorn tree
overhung.

’We shall do well here,’ said Hillary. ’The dog will not see us, and we
shall know he is in the field by the fright of the sheep.’

He seated himself on the bench and Honor did the same, at a distance
from him—as far away as the bench permitted.  She had thrown the potato
sack over her head, and wore it as a hood; it covered her shoulders as
well, and shaded her face.  The dew was falling heavily, the meadow in
the moon was white with it, as though frosted, and through the white
sprinkled grass went dark tracks, as furrows, where the sheep had
trodden and dispersed the sparkling drops.

’Do you hear the owls?’ asked Larry. ’I’ve heard there are three which
are seen every night fleeting over Wellon’s Cairn, and that they are the
souls of the three women Wellon killed.  I’ve never been there at night,
have you, Honor?’

’No, I do not go about at night.’

’I should not like to be on Broadbury after dark, not near the old
gibbet hill, anyhow.  Listen to the old fellow snoring in the
apple-tree.  I thought owls slept by day and waked by night, but this
fellow is dead asleep, judging by the noise he makes.’

After silence of a few moments, during which they listened to the owls,
’I wonder, Honor,’ said the young man, ’that you liked to sit on the
mound where Wellon was hung. It’s a queer, whisht (uncanny) place.’

’I only sit there by day, and that only now and then when I can get out
a bit.  I have not been there for some time.’

Then ensued another pause.

’I wish you would tell me one thing,’ said the girl, ’yet it is what I
have no right to ask.  Do you owe Mr. Langford a great deal of money?’

’Oh yes,’ answered Hillary carelessly, ’a great deal.  He has called it
in, and we shall have to pay in a month or two.’

’Can you do so out of your savings?’

’We have no savings.  We shall go to Mr. Physick—father and I—and get a
mortgage made on the property.  It is easily done.  I am of age.  Father
couldn’t have done it by himself, but I can join and let him.’  He held
up his head.  He was proud of the consequence gained by consenting to a
mortgage.

’The first thing you have to do with the property is to burden it,’ said
Honor.

Hillary screwed up his mouth.

’You may put it so if you like.’  Instead of looking round at him
admiring his consequence, she reproached him.

’That is something to be ashamed of, I think,’ she said.

’Not at all.  If I did not, Uncle Taverner could come down on us and
have a sale of our cattle and waggons and what not.  But, maybe, that
would suit your ideas better?’

’No,’ said Honor gravely, ’not at all. No doubt you are right; but you
are old enough not to have let it come to this.  Your service on the
farm ought to have been worth fifty pounds a year for the last four
years.  I doubt if it has been worth as many shillings.’

He clicked his tongue in the side of his mouth, and threw out his right
leg impatiently.

’Mr. Langford has saved thousands of pounds.  He puts by several
hundreds every year, and his land is no better than yours.’

’Uncle Taverner is a screw.’  Then, jauntily, ’we Nanspians are
open-handed, we can’t screw.’

’But you can save, Larry.’

’If Uncle Taverner puts away hundreds, I wonder where he puts them
away?’

’That, of course, I cannot say.’

’I wonder if Mrs. Veale knows?’  Then he chuckled, and said, ’Honor,
some of the chaps be talking of giving him a hare-hunt.  We think he
ought to be shamed out of letting that woman tongue-lash him as she
does?’

’Larry!’ exclaimed Honor, turning sharply on him and clutching his arm,
’for God’s sake do not be mixed up in such an affair.  He is your uncle,
and you may be very unjust.’  He shrugged his shoulders.

’I’m not over sweet on Uncle Taverner,’ he said.  ’It is mean of him
calling in that money, and he deserves to be touched up on the raw.’

’Larry, you warned me against Mrs. Veale. Now I warn you to have no hand
in this save to hold it back.  It must not be; and for you to share in
it will be scandalous.’

’How the owls are hooting!  To-whoo! Whoo!  Whoo!  I wonder what sort of
voice the old white owl has.  He goes about noiseless, like a bit of
cotton grass blown by the wind.’

Then Honor went back to what she was speaking of before.  ’It goes to my
heart to see good land neglected.  Your nettle-seeds sow our land, and
thistle-heads blow over our hedge.  Now that your father is not what he
was, you should grasp the plough-handle firmly. Larry, you know the
knack of the plough. Throw your weight on the handles.  If you do not,
what happens?’

’The plough throws you.’

’Yes, flings you up and falls over.  It is so with the farm.  Throw your
whole weight on it, through your arms, or it will throw you.’

’That old snorer is waking,’ said Hillary.

’You love pleasure, and do not care for work,’ pursued Honor.  ’You are
good-natured, and are everyone’s friend and your own enemy. You shut
your eyes to your proper interest and open your purse to the parish.
The bee and the wasp both build combs, both fly over the same flowers
and enjoy the same summer, but one gathers honey and the other
emptiness. Larry, do not be offended with me if I speak the truth.  The
girls flirt with you and flatter you, and the elder folk call you a
Merry Andrew, and say you have no mischief in you, and it is a pity you
have not brains.  That is not true.  You have brains, but you do not use
them.  Larry, you have no sister and no mother to speak openly to you.
Let me speak to you as if I were your sister, and take it well, as it is
meant.’

So she talked to him.  Her voice was soft and low, her tone tremulous.
She was afraid to hurt him, and yet desirous to let him know his duty.

She was stirred to the depth of her heart by the events of the day.

Larry was unaccustomed to rebuke.  He knew that she spoke the truth, but
it wounded his vanity, as well as flattered it, to be taken to task by
her.  It wounded him, because it showed him he was no hero in her eyes;
it flattered him, because he saw that she took a strong interest in his
welfare.  He tried to vindicate himself.  She listened patiently; his
excuses were lame.  She beat them aside with a few direct words.  ’Do
not be offended with me,’ she pleaded, turning her face to him, and then
the moonlight fell over her noble features; the potato sack had slipped
back. ’I think of you, dear Larry, as a brother, as a kind brother who
has done many a good turn to us, and I feel for you as an elder sister.’

’But, Honor, you are younger than I am by eighteen months.’

’I am older in experience, Larry; in that I am very, very old.  You are
not angry with me?’

’No, Honor, but I am not as bad as you make out.’

’Bad!  Oh Larry, I never, never thought, I never said you were bad.  Far
otherwise.  I know that your heart is rich and deep and good. It is like
the soil of your best meadows.  But then, Larry, the best soil will grow
the strongest weeds.  Sometimes when I look through the gates of
Chimsworthy I long to be within, with a hook reaping down and rooting
up.  And now I am peering through the gates of your honest eyes, and the
same longing comes over me.’

He could see by the earnest expression of her face, by the twinkle of
tears on her lashes, that she spoke out of the fulness of her heart. She
was not praising him, she was rebuking him, yet he was not angry.  He
looked intently at her pure, beautiful face.  She could not bear his
gaze, he saw her weakness.  He put his finger to her eyelashes.  ’The
dew is falling heavily, and has dropped some diamonds here,’ he said.

She stood up.

’Hark!’ she said, and turned her head. ’The cuckoo clock in the kitchen
is calling midnight.  We need remain here no longer.’

’I should like to remain till day,’ said Larry.

’What, to be scolded?’

’To be told the truth, dear Honor.’

’Do not forget what I have said.  I spoke because I care for you.  The
sheep will not be disturbed to-night.  Will you have some posset and go
home?’

’Your father will keep guard to-morrow night, but the night after that I
will be here again.  Oh Honor, you will sit up with me, will you not?’
He took her hand.  ’How much better I had been, how the Chimsworthy
coomb would have flowed with honey, had God given me such a sister as
you.’

’Well, begin to weed yourself and Chimsworthy,’ she said with a smile.

’Will you not give me a word of praise as well as of blame?’

’When you deserve it.’

She pressed his hand, then withdrew it, entered the cottage, and
fastened, the door.

Hillary walked away with his gun over his shoulder, musing as he had not
mused before.

                            *CHAPTER XVII.*

                             *MRS. VEALE.*

Charles Luxmore had left the Revel shortly after the departure of his
sisters.  He returned to Langford covered with shame and full of anger.
He was not ashamed of his rascality. He thought himself justified in
playing a trick on tricksters.  But he was ashamed at being conquered by
his sister, and he was unable to disguise to himself that he cut an
ignoble figure beside her.  At the circus there had been a general
recognition of her worth, and as general a disparagement of himself.
Why had she interfered?  He had courted a ’row’ in which he might have
held his own against the equestrians, sure of support from the young
Brattonians.  That would have been sport, better than tumbling in the
sawdust and skipping through hoops.  If he could only have excited a
fight, the occasion would have been forgotten in the results; he would
have come out in flaming colours as a gallant fellow.  Now, because
Honor had interfered and put him in the wrong, he had been dismissed as
a rogue.

He knew well enough the red cloak Honor had given away.  He knew that it
had belonged to her mother, and that Honor prized it highly, and that it
was very necessary to her.

Let him excuse himself as he would, a sense of degradation oppressed him
which he was unable to shake off.

The behaviour of his comrades had changed towards him, and this galled
him.  After leaving the circus he had essayed swagger, but it had not
availed.  His companions withdrew from him as if ashamed to be seen in
his society. The popular feeling was roused in behalf of Honor, who was
universally esteemed, rather than offended at the fraud played on the
equestrians.  It was well known that he, Charles, had not behaved
towards her with consideration, that he had increased the burden she
bore so bravely.  This last act was the climax of his wrong-doing.
Charles’s inordinate vanity had been hurt, and he was angry with
everyone but himself.

He returned to the farmhouse, where he had been taken in, cursing the
stupidity of the villagers, the meddlesomeness of his sisters, the
cowardice of his companions, and his own generosity.

He was without money now, and with no prospect of getting any till his
wage was paid.

He turned out his pockets; there was nothing in them, not even the brass
token. He too proud to borrow of his boon companions; he questioned
whether, if he asked, they would lend him any.  He doubted if the
innkeeper would let him drink upon trust.  How intolerable for him to be
without money!  To have to lounge his evenings away in the settle before
the fire at Langford, or loafing about the lanes!  ’I know well enough,’
he muttered, ’why the louts keep away from me.  ’Tis because they know
I’m cleaned out. It’s not along of that cursed token, not a bit.  If I’d
my pockets full they’d be round me again as thick as flies on a cow’s
nose.’

He had only been a few days in the service of Taverner Langford.  He had
entered the service rather surlily, only because forced to do so, as
Honor refused to allow him to sleep and have meals at home.  ’It’ll keep
me in meat for a bit, and I’ll look about me,’ he said; ’but it is not
the sort o’ place for a gentleman—a Luxmore.’

He had not asked leave to take a holiday on the occasion of the Revel.
He had taken it as a matter of course.  The Revel was a holiday, of
course; so is Sunday.  ’I don’t ask old Langford whether I’m to keep the
Sabbath by doing nothing: I do nothing.  I don’t ask him if I’m to enjoy
myself Revel day: I enjoy myself.  These are understood things.’  He
curled his lip contemptuously.  ’What a shabby wage I get, or am to
get!’ he muttered.  ’No pay, no work; short pay, short work.  That
stands to reason—like buttering parsnips.’

He sauntered into the Langford kitchen and threw himself into the
settle, with his hat on, and his legs outstretched, and his hands in his
pockets.  Disappointment, humiliation, impecuniosity combined to chafe
his temper, and give him a dejected, hang-dog appearance.

Mrs. Veale passed and repassed without speaking.  She observed him
without allowing him to perceive that she observed him. Indeed, he
hardly noticed her, and he was startled by her voice when she said, as
he bent over the fire, ’Charles Luxmore, what do y’ think of the Revel
now?  I’ve a-been there, and to my reckoning it were grand, but, Lord!
you’ve been over the world, and seen so many fine things that our poor
Revel is nought in your eyes, I reckon.’

’Bah! poor stuff, indeed.  You should see Bombay, or the bazaar at
Candahar!  Bratton Clovelly!  Bah!  Punjab, Cawbul, Delhi, Peshawur!
Ghuznee!  Hyderabad!’  The utterance of these names, which he knew would
convey no idea whatever to the mind of Mrs. Veale, afforded him relief.
It morally elevated him.  It showed him that he knew more of the world
than Mrs. Veale.  ’You don’t happen to know Dost Mahommed?’

’Oh, dear, no!’

’Nor ever heard tell of him?’

’No, Mr. Luxmore.’

’He’s an Ameer.’

’Is he now?’

’I’ve fought him.  Leastways his son, Akbar Khan.’

’You wasn’t hard on him, I hope?’

’No, I wasn’t that.  I merely carried off the doors of his mosque.’

’Did that hurt him much?’

’His feelings, Mrs. Veale, awful.’

’Lord bless me!’ exclaimed the woman, looking at him over her shoulder
as she stirred a pot on the fire, with her queer blinking eyes studying
his expression but expressing nothing themselves.

’I do wonder you be home from the Revel so early.  A soldier like you,
and a fine young chap, ought to have stayed and enjoyed yourself. The
best of the fun, I’ve heard tell, is in the evening.’

’How can I stay at the Revel when I haven’t a copper to spend there?’
asked Charles surlily.

’I don’t like to see a grand young fellow like you sitting at home, like
an old man with the rheumatics.  We will be friends, Charles. I will
give you a crown to buy your good-will.’  She took the money from her
pocket and handed it him.

’I thank you,’ he said grandly—she had called him a grand young man—’but
I can’t go to the Revel now.’  Nevertheless he pocketed the crown.
’I’ve seen enough of it, and got sick of it.  Wretched stalls where
nothing is for sale worth buying, wretched shows where nothing is seen
worth seeing.  I came away because the Revel wearied me.’

’You’ll find it dull here,’ said the housekeeper. ’We poor ignorant
creatures think the Revel and all in it mighty fine things, because we
know no better and haven’t seen the world. It seems to me, Mr. Luxmore,
you’re in the wrong place, as the elephant said to the stickleback that
had got into the ark.’

’I should just about think I was,’ said Charles, kicking out with both
his heels. Mrs. Veale was a plain, not to say unpleasant-looking woman,
much older than himself; he would not have given her a thought had she
not called him ’Mr. Luxmore,’ and so recognised that he was a superior
being to the Dicks and Toms on the farm.

’Peshawur!  Jelalabad!  Cawbul! that’s how they come,’ said Charles.
Mrs. Veale stood with hand on the handle of the pan, an iron spoon
uplifted in the other, waiting to drink in further information.
’Through the Khyber Pass,’ he added, drawing his brows together and
screwing up his mouth.

’No doubt about it,’ said Mrs. Veale.  ’It must be so, if you sez it.
And Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.’  She
stirred the pot; then, thinking she had not made herself intelligible,
she explained, ’I mean that Solomon, though the wisest of men, didn’t
know that, I reckon.’

’How could he,’ asked Charles, ’never having been there?’

’I do wonder, now, if you’ll excuse the remark,’ said the housekeeper,
’that you didn’t bring the silver belt here and hang it up over the
mantel-shelf.’

’Silver belt?  What silver belt?’

’Oh! you know.  The champion wrestler’s belt that is to be tried for
this afternoon.  I suppose you didn’t go in for it because you thought
it wouldn’t be fair on the young chaps here to take from them
everything.’

’I did not consider it worth my while trying for it,’ said Charles, with
a kick at the hearth with his toes—not an irritated kick, but a
flattered, self-satisfied, pleased kick.  ’Of course I could have had it
if I had tried.’

’Of course you might, you who’ve been a soldier in the wars, and fought
them blood-thirsty Afghans, Lord!  I reckon they was like Goliaths of
Gath, the weight of whose spear was as a weaver’s beam.’

Charles jerked his head knowingly.

’Afghanistan was a hard nut to crack.’

’Ah!’ acquiesced Mrs. Veale.  ’So said old Goodie as she mumbled
pebbles.’  Then she stood up and looked at him.  ’I know a fine man when
I see him,’ she said, ’able to hold himself like the best gentleman, and
walking with his head in the air as if the country belonged to him.’

’Ah!’ said Charles, taking off his hat and sitting erect, ’if all men
had their rights Coombe Park would be ours.’

’Don’t I know that?’ asked the housekeeper. ’Everyone knows that.
Nobody can look at you without seeing you’re a gentleman born.  And I
say it is a shame and a sin that you should be kicked out of your proper
nest, and it the habitation of strangers, cuckoos who never built it,
but have turned out the rightful owners.  I reckon it made me turn
scarlet as your sister’s cloak to see her come crawling here t’other day
on bended knees to ask the master to take you in.  She’s no lady, not
got a drop of blue blood in her veins, or she’d not ha’ done that.  I’ll
tell you what it is, Mr. Charles.  All the gentle blood has run one way
and all the vulgar blood the other, as in our barton field the sweet
water comes out at the well, and the riddam (ferruginous red water) at
the alders.’  She spoke with such acrimony, and with a look so spiteful,
that Charles asked, ’What has Honor done to offend you?’

’Oh nothing, nothing at all!  I don’t stoop to take offence at her.’
Then, observing that the young man resented this disparagement of his
sister, she added hastily, ’There, enough of her.  She’s good enough to
wash and comb the little uns and patch their clothes.  We will talk
about yourself, as the fox said to the goose, when she axed him if duck
weren’t more tasty.  Why have you come from the Revel? There be some
better reason than an empty pocket.’

’I have been insulted.’

’Of course you have,’ said Mrs. Veale, ’and I know the reason.  The
young men here can’t abide you.  For why?  Because you’re too much of a
gentleman, you’re too high for ’em.  As the churchyard cross said to the
cross on the spire, "Us can’t talk wi’out shouting."  Do you know what
the poacher as was convicted said to the justice o’ peace? "I’m not in a
position, your worship, to punch your head, but I can spit on your
shadow."’

’Without any boasting, I may admit that I and these young clodhopping
louts ain’t of the same sort,’ said Charles proudly.

’That’s just what the urchin (hedgehog) said to the little rabbits when
he curled up in their nest.’

’Ah!’ laughed Charles, ’but the urchin had quills and could turn the
rabbits out, and I have not.’

’You’ve been in the army, and that gives a man bearing, and you’ve been
half over the world, and that gives knowledge; and nature have favoured
you with good looks. The lads are jealous of you.’

’They do not appreciate me, certainly,’ said Charles, swelling with
self-importance.

’This is a wicked world,’ said Mrs. Veale. Then she produced a bottle of
gin and a glass, and put them at Charles’s elbow.  ’Take a drop of
comfort,’ she said persuasively, ’though for such as you it should be
old crusted port and not the Plymouth liquor, as folks say is distilled
from turnips.’

Young Luxmore needed no pressing; he helped himself.

’I reckon,’ pursued Mrs. Veale, ’you were done out of Coombe Park by
those who didn’t scruple to swear it away.  Money and law together will
turn the best rights topsy-turvy.’

’No doubt about that, ma’am,’ said Charles. ’I’ve heard my father say,
many a time, that with a hundred pounds he could win Coombe Park back.’

’Then why do you not lay out the hundred pounds?’

’Because I haven’t got ’em,’ answered Charles.

’Oh! they’re to be got,’ said the housekeeper, ’as the gipsy said to his
wife when she told ’n she were partial to chickens.’

’It seems to me,’ said the young man, ’that it is a hard world for them
that is straight. The crooked ones have the best of it.’

’Not at all,’ answered the housekeeper. ’The crooked ones can’t go
through a straight hole.  It is they who can bend about like the ferret
as gets on best, straight or crooked as suits the occasion.’

Charles stood up, drank off his glass, and paced the room.  The
housekeeper filled his glass again.  The young man observed her actions
and returned to his seat.  As he flung himself into the settle again he
said, ’I don’t know what the devil makes you take such an interest in my
affairs.’

Mrs. Veale looked hard at him, and answered, ’A woman can’t be
indifferent to a goodlooking man.’  Charles tossed off his glass to hide
his confusion.  So this bleached creature had fallen in love with him!—a
woman his senior by some fifteen years.  He was flattered, but felt that
the situation was unpleasant.

’This is a bad world,’ he said, ’and I wish I had the re-making of it.
The good luck goes to the undeserving.’

’That is only true because those who have wits want readiness.  A screw
will go in and hold where a nail would split.  Coombe Park is yours by
right; it has been taken from you by wrong.  I should get it back again
were I you, and not be too nice about the means.’  Charles sighed and
shook his head.

’What a life you would lead as young squire,’ said Mrs. Veale.  ’The
maidens now run after Larry Nanspian, because he is heir to Chimsworthy,
and don’t give much attention to you, because you’ve nothing in present
and nothing in prospect.  But if you were at Coombe Park they’d come
round you thick as damsels in Shushan to be seen of Ahasuerus, and Larry
Nanspian would be nowhere in their thoughts.’  She laughed scornfully.
’And the fellows that turn up their noses at you now, because you eat
Langford’s bread crusts and earn ninepence, how they would cringe to you
and call you sir, and run errands for you, and be thankful for a nod or
a word!  Then the farmers who now call you a good-for-naught would pipe
another note, and be proud to shake hands.  And Parson Robbins would
wait with his white gown on, and not venture to say, "When the wicked
man," till he saw you in the Coombe Park pew. And the landlord’s door at
the "King of Bells" would be ever open to you, and his best seat by the
fire would be yours.  And I—poor I—would be proud to think I’d poured
out a glass of Plymouth spirit to the young squire, and that he’d
listened to my foolish words.’

Charles tossed his head, and threw up and turned over the crown in his
trousers pocket. Then, unsolicited, he poured himself out another glass
and tossed it off.  That would be a grand day when he was squire and all
Bratton was at his feet.

Mrs. Veale stood erect before him with flickering eyes.  ’Do y’ know the
stone steps beside the door?’ she asked.

’Yes!’

’What be they put there for?’

’They are stepping-stones to help to mount into the saddle.’

’What stones be they?’

’I’m sure I can’t say,’

’Right; no more does he know or care who uses them.  Well, I’m naught,
but I can help you into the saddle of Coombe Park.’

                            *CHAPTER XVIII.*

                           *TREASURE TROVE.*

Charles Luxmore was not able to sleep much that night.  It was not that
his conscience troubled him.  He gave hardly a thought to the affair at
the circus.  His imagination was excited; that delusive faculty, which,
according to Paley, is the parent of so much error and evil.  The idea
of Coombe Park recurred incessantly to his mind and kept him awake. But
it was not the acquisition of wealth and position that made the prospect
so alluring; it was the hope of crowing over all those who had despised
him, of exciting the envy of those who now looked down on him.

The ’Ring of Bells’ was on the Coombe estate.  How he could swagger
there as the landlord’s overlord!  The Nanspians, Taverner Langford, had
but a few hundred acres, and the Coombe Park property was nigh on two
thousand.

Squire Impey and he would be the two great men of the place, and as the
squire at Culm Court was a hunting man, he, Charles Luxmore, would be
hand in glove with him.

It would be worth much to ride in scarlet after the hounds, with his top
boots and a black velvet cap, and the hand holding a whip curled on the
thigh so, and to jog past old Langford, and cast him a ’’Do, Taverner,
this morning?  Middling, eh?’ and to crack the whip at Hillary Nanspian
and shout, ’Out o’ the way, you cub, or I’ll ride you down.’  He sat up
in bed and flapped his arms, holding the blanket as reins, and clicked
with his tongue, and imagined himself galloping over the field after the
hounds at full cry.  Right along Broadbury, over the fences of Langford,
across Taverner’s land, tearing, breaking through the hedges of
Chimsworthy, tally-ho! With a kick, Charles sent the bedclothes flying
on to the floor.

’By George!’ he said.  ’We shall have a meet in front of Coombe Park,
and Honor and Kate shall serve out cherry-brandy to the huntsmen.’  Then
he scrambled about the floor collecting his bed-clothes and rearranging
them.  ’I’ll go to Coombe Park to-morrow, and look where the kennels are
to be.  I’ll give an eye also to the pond.  I don’t believe it has been
properly cleaned out and fit for trout since the place left our hands.
I’m afraid Honor will never rise to her situation—always keep a
maid-of-all-work mind.  Confound these bed-clothes, I’ve got them all
askew.’

So possessed was Charles with the idea that it did not forsake him when
morning came. It clung to him all the day.  ’There’s only a hundred
pounds wanted,’ he said, ’for us to establish our claim.’

Then he paused in the work on which he was engaged.  ’How am I to reach
a hundred pounds on ninepence a day, I’d like to know? Ninepence a day
is four-and-six a week, and that makes eleven guineas or thereabouts per
annum.  I must have something to spend on clothing and amusement.  Say I
put away seven guineas in the year, why it would take me thirteen to
fourteen years to earn a hundred pounds—going straight as a nail, not as
a screw, nor as a ferret.’

In the evening Charles wandered away to Coombe Park.  The owner, a
yeoman named Pengelly, who, however, owned only the home farm, not the
entire property, had been accustomed to the visits of Oliver Luxmore,
which had been regarded as a sort of necessary nuisance.  He was by no
means disposed to have his place haunted by the young man also, of whose
conduct he had received a bad report from all sides.  He therefore
treated Charles with scant courtesy, and when young Luxmore tried
bluster and brag, he ordered him off the premises.

Charles returned to Langford foaming with rage.  Mrs. Veale awaited him.

’The master is not home,’ she said; ’where have you been?’

’Been to see my proper home,’ he answered, ’and been threatened with the
constable if I did not clear away.  What do you mean by giving me all
sorts of ideas and expectations, and subjecting me to insult, eh? answer
me that.’

’Don’t you fly out in flaming fury, Mr. Charles.’

’I’m like to when treated as I have been. So would you.  So will you, if
what I hear is like to come about.  There’s talk of a hare-hunt.’

’A what?’

’A hare-hunt.’

’Where?’  Mrs. Veale stood before him growing deadlier white every
moment, and quivering in all her members and in every fibre of her pale
dress, in every hair of her blinking eyelids.

’Why here—at Langford.’

She caught his arm and shook him.  ’You will not suffer it!  You will
stay it!’

’Should they try it on, trust me,’ said Charles mockingly.  ’Specially
if Larry Nanspian be in it.  I’ve a grudge against him must be paid
off.’

Mrs. Veale passed her hand over her brow.  ’To think they should dare!
should dare!’ she muttered.  ’But you’ll not suffer it.  A hare-hunt!
what do they take me for?’

Charles Luxmore uttered a short ironical laugh.  ’Dear blood!’[1] she
muttered, and her sharp fingers nipped and played on his arm as though
she were fingering a flute. ’You’ll revenge me if they do!  Trust me!
when I’m deadly wronged I can hurt, and hurt I will, and when one does
me good I repay it—to a hundred pounds.’

[1] A Devonshire expression, meaning ’Dear fellow.’

She laughed bitterly.  There was something painful in her laugh.  It was
devoid of mirth, and provoked no laughter.  Although she said many odd
things, invented quaint similes, or used those which were traditional,
they hardly ever awoke a smile, her tone was so cheerless, husky and
unpleasant.