"Hadn"t you better tell her first?" suggested Richard.
"She knows--knows what you didn"t know--what I"ve been thinking all the time," rejoined Barbara, with a rosy look of confidence into his eyes.
"She can never have been willing you should marry a tradesman--and one, besides, who--!"
"She knew I would--and that I should have money, else she might not have been willing. I don"t say she likes the idea, but she is determined I shall have the man I love--if he will have me," she added shyly.
"Did you tell her you--cared for me?"
He could not say loved yet; he felt an earthy pebble beside a celestial sapphire!
"Of course I did, when papa wanted me to have Arthur!--not till then; there was no occasion! I could not tell what your thoughts were, but my own were enough for that."
Mrs. Wylder was taken with Richard the moment she saw him; and when she heard his story, she was overjoyed, and would scarcely listen to a word about the uncertainty of his prospects. That her Bab should marry the man she loved, and that the alliance should be what the world counted respectable, was enough for her. When Richard told his father what he had done, saying they had fallen in love with each other while yet ignorant of his parentage, a glow of more than satisfaction warmed sir Wilton"s consciousness. It was lovely! Lady Ann was being fooled on all sides!
"Richard has been making good use of his morning!" he said at dinner.
"He has already proposed to Miss Wylder and been accepted! Richard is a man of action--a practical fellow!"
Lady Ann did perhaps turn a shade paler, but she smiled. It was not such a blow as it might have been, for she too had given up hope of securing her for Arthur. But it was not pleasant to her that the grandchild of the blacksmith should have Barbara"s money. Theodora was puzzled.
CHAPTER LXII. _THE QUARREL_.
For a few weeks, things went smoothly enough. Not a jar occurred in the feeble harmony, not a questionable cloud appeared above the horizon. The home-weather seemed to have grown settled. Lady Ann was not unfriendly.
Richard, having provided himself with tools for the purpose, bound her prayer-book in violet velvet, with her arms cut out in gold on the cover; and she had not seemed altogether ungrateful. Arthur showed no active hostility, made indeed some little fight with himself to behave as a brother ought to a brother he would rather not have found. Far from inseparable, they were yet to be seen together about the place. Vixen had not once made a face to his face; I will not say she had made none at his back. Theodora and he were fast friends. Miss Malliver, now a sort of upper slave to lady Ann, cringed to him.
Arthur readily sold him Miss Brown, and every day she carried him to Barbara. But he took the advice of Wingfold, and was not long from home any day, but much at hand to his father"s call, who had many things for him to do, and was rejoiced to find him, unlike Arthur, both able and ready. He would even send him where a domestic might have done as well; but Richard went with hearty good will. It gladdened him to be of service to the old man. Then a rumour reached his father"s ears, carried to lady Ann by her elderly maid, that Richard had been seen in low company; and he was not long in suspecting the truth of the matter.
Not once before since Richard"s return, had sir Wilton given the Mansons a thought, never doubting his son"s residence at Oxford must have cured him of a merely accidental inclination to such low company, and made evident to him that recognition of such relationship as his to them was an unheard-of impropriety, a sin against social order, a cla.s.s-treachery.
Almost every day Richard went to Wylder Hall, he had a few minutes with Alice at the parsonage. Neither Barbara nor her lawless, great-hearted mother, would have been pleased to have it otherwise. Barbara treated Alice as a sister, and so did Helen Wingfold, who held that such service as hers must be recompensed with love, and the money thrown in. Their kindness, with her new peace of heart, and plenty of food and fresh air, had made her strong and almost beautiful.
It was Richard"s custom to ride over in the morning, but one day it was more convenient for him to go in the evening, and that same evening it happened that Arthur Manson had gone to see his sister. When Richard, on his way back from the Hall, found him at the parsonage, he proposed to see him home: Miss Brown was a good walker, and if Arthur did not choose to ride all the way, they would ride and walk alternately. Arthur was delighted, and they set out in the dusk on foot, Alice going a little way with them. Richard led Miss Brown, and Alice clung joyously to his arm: but for Richard, she would not have known that human being ever was or could be so happy! The western sky was a smoky red; the stars were coming out; the wind was mild, and seemed to fill her soul with life from the fountain of life, from G.o.d himself. For Alice had been learning from Barbara--not to think things, but to feel realities, the reality of real things--to see truths themselves. Often, when Mrs. Wingfold could spare her, Barbara would take her out for a walk. Then sometimes as they walked she would quite forget her presence, and through that very forgetting, Alice learned much. When first she saw Barbara lost in silent joy, and could see nothing to make her look glad, she wondered a moment, then swiftly concluded she must be thinking of G.o.d. When she saw her spread out her arms as if to embrace the wind that flowed to meet them, then too she wondered, but presently began to feel what a thing the wind was--how full of something strange and sweet. She began to learn that nothing is dead, that there cannot be a physical abstraction, that nothing exists for the sake of the laws of its phenomena. She did not put it so to herself, I need hardly say; but she was, in a word, learning to feel that the world was alive. Of the three she was the merriest that night as they went together along the quiet road. A little way out of the village, Richard set her on the mare, and walked by her side, leading Miss Brown. Such was the tolerably sufficient foundation for the report that he was seen rollicking with a common-looking lad and a servant girl on the high road, in the immediate vicinity of Wylder Hall.
"He is his father"s son!" reflected lady Ann.
"He"s a chip of the old block!" said sir Wilton to himself. But he did not approve of the openness of the thing. To let such doings be seen was low! Presently fell an ugly light on the affair.
"By Jove!" he said to himself, "it"s the d.a.m.ned Manson girl! I"ll lay my life on it! The fellow is too much of a puritan to flaunt his own foibles in the public eye; but, d.a.m.n him, he don"t love his father enough not to flaunt his! Dead and buried, the rascal hauls them out of their graves for men to see! It"s all the d.a.m.ned socialism of his mother"s relations! Otherwise the fellow would be all a father could wish! I might have known it! The Armour blood was sure to break out!
What business has he with what his father did before he was born! He was nowhere then, the insolent dog! He shall do as I tell him or go about his business--go and herd with the Mansons and all the rest of them if he likes, and be hanged to them!"
He sat in smouldering rage for a while, and then again his thoughts took shape in words, though not in speech.
"How those fools of Wylders will squirm when I cut the rascal off with a shilling, and settle the property on the man the little lady refused!
But d.i.c.k will never be such a fool! He cannot reconcile his puritanism with such brazen-faced conduct! I shall never make a gentleman of him!
He will revert to the original type! It had disappeared in his mother!
What"s bred in the d.a.m.ned bone will never out of the d.a.m.ned flesh!"
Richard was at the moment walking with Mr. Wingfold in the rectory garden. They were speaking of what the Lord meant when he said a man must leave all for him. As soon us he entered his father"s room, he saw that something had gone wrong with him.
"What is it, father?" he said.
"Richard, sit down," said sir Wilton. "I must have a word with you:--What young man and woman were you walking with two nights ago, not far from Wylder Hall?"
"My brother and sister, sir--the Mansons."
"My G.o.d, I thought as much!" cried the baronet, and started to his feet--but sat down again: the fetter of his gout pulled him back. "Hold up your right hand," he went on--sir Wilton was a magistrate--"and swear by G.o.d that you will never more in your life speak one word to either of those--persons, or leave my house at once."
"Father," said Richard, his voice trembling a little, "I cannot obey you. To deny my friends and relations, even at your command, would be to forsake my Master. It would be to break the bonds that bind men, G.o.d"s children, together."
"Hold your cursed jargon! Bonds indeed! Is there no bond between you and your father!"
"Believe me, father, I am very sorry, but I cannot help it. I dare not obey you. You have been very kind to me, and I thank you from my heart,--"
"Shut up, you young hypocrite! you have tongue enough for three!--Come, I will give you one chance more! Drop those persons you call your brother and sister, or I drop you."
"You must drop me, then, father!" said Richard with a sigh.
"Will you do as I tell you?"
"No, sir. I dare not."
"Then leave the house."
Richard rose.
"Good-bye, sir," he said.
"Get out of the house."
"May I not take my tools, sir?"
"What tools, d.a.m.n you!"
"I got some to bind lady Ann"s prayer-book."
"She"s taken him in! By Jove, she"s done him, the fool! She"s been keeping him up to it, to enrage me and get rid of him!" said the baronet to himself.
"What do you want them for?" he asked, a little calmer.
"To work at my trade. If you turn me out, I must go back to that."
"d.a.m.n your soul! it never was, and never will be anything but a tradesman"s! d.a.m.n _my_ soul, if I wouldn"t rather make young Manson my heir than you!--No, by Jove, you shall _not_ have your d.a.m.ned tools!
Leave the house. You cannot claim a chair-leg in it!"
Richard bowed, and went; got his hat and stick; and walked from the house with about thirty shillings in his pocket. His heart was like a lump of lead, but he was nowise dismayed. He was in no perplexity how to live. Happy the man who knows his hands the gift of G.o.d, the providers for his body! I would in especial that teachers of righteousness were able, with St. Paul, to live by their hands! Outside the lodge-gate he paused, and stood in the middle of the road thinking. Thus far he had seen his way, but no farther. To which hand must he turn? Should he go to his grandfather, or to Barbara?