Part 8

"What a very strange young gent," the girl thought. "If I love him indeed! There's a nice way of talking!" She tossed her head, yet went off to get the tea and the bread and butter.

"If I love him indeed, well of all the impudence!"

*CHAPTER XIV*

*"HIS SON'S WIFE"*

"Well, well, my boy, what do you think of it all? How do you think the garden looks?"

"Wonderful!"

"Wonderful, yes, that old Markabee's a treasure; you won't part with him, Allan?"

"Nothing would induce me to, father. I hope he'll stay here another twenty years at least!"

"That'll make him a hundred and two, the old man is very proud of his age, eighty something!"

"Eighty-two and seems a mere boy!" Allan went to his father and put his arms about the old man's shoulders.

"I--I'm not going to try and thank you!" he said.

"Don't, there's nothing to thank me for! I--I did it--I enjoyed doing it, never enjoyed anything so much in my life, put myself into it heart and soul. I'd like Cutler, you know Cutler, his daughter married the Governor of somewhere or other--I'd like him to see this place!"

"Then why not?"

"Bless me--so I may--one day--I might bring him down, but, Allan, I'm not going to interfere with you, not me! Two's company, three's none! I know that! And--good morning, my dear, and I don't need to ask how you slept! As fresh as a rose you look this morning, as fresh and as handsome too!"

And she did, her cheeks were glowing, her eyes were bright. Fresh from her cold bath, she was a picture of glowing health and beauty. She went to him and put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him.

"And now I want to know what is the meaning of those horrible looking bags and portmanteaux and things I saw on the landing?"

"Why--why bless me--they are mine--I--I didn't mean to leave 'em about, my dear. I'd never have forgiven myself if you'd tripped and fallen over them, but----"

"I don't mean that; what I want to know is: Why are they packed?"

"Because--because there's my things in 'em and I'm off for London. Bletsoe's got his orders and after breakfast I'll start----"

"But supposing I don't mean to let you go?"

"Thank you, my dear, thank you and God bless you! I--I know what you mean, but thank you, my dear, all the same! I--I like to think that you're not in a hurry to push the old fellow out! I'll be glad to remember that!" His eyes shone. "Yes, my love, I'll be glad to remember that, but----"

"How are we going to manage without you?" she asked. "You have been so clever, it's all so wonderful what you have done here. Allan told me what a terrible, terrible state the place was in and how like a fairy, a good fairy, you have touched it with your wand and it--is like it is now! And we can't let our fairy go, can we?"

"But he'll come back, my love, he'll come back!" The old man cried happily. "But you and Allan have got to settle down and I--I know what it is, my dear, when Allan's mother and me were married, settling down is a bit difficult--I think you and Allan are best left to yourselves, and then when you want me, why I'll come, I'll come, you won't have to ask twice. You ought to have the telephone on--" he paused, took out his pocketbook and made a rapid note, "arrange telephone, Homewood," then you'll be able to ring me up and I'll be able to ring you up--now and again, not that I want to be a nuisance or a worry to you--but--but--what's that? What's that? Breakfast, eh?"

"Yes, sir, breakfast!" said the manservant.

Over breakfast they discussed an idea that had come to Kathleen.

"We must have a house warming," she said, "you know the old superstition, there'll be no luck about the house unless we have a warming!"

"To be sure!" said Sir Josiah, a little puzzled, "but I had the fires lighted and kep' going for weeks and----"

"I know!" she laughed. "But I mean a party, a house party, just a few of our nearest and dearest. You, of course, first and before all and my--" she hesitated, "my father, of course, and then you will have one or two of your own friends, Sir Josiah, won't you? Friends of yours you might like to bring down?"

His eyes shone. "Cutler!" he said. "I'd like to bring him, take the shine out of him, it will too. I'm fed up with Her Excellency, the Governor's wife, that's Cutler's daughter. Why, my love, it'll stifle him, that's what it will do! Why, of course, I'll come! And there'll be a few things, wines and spirits and like that. I'll see about them, see about 'em at once--and now----"

And now the time for parting had come, the time he had dreaded, but it must come; the car was at the door, the bags were put into the car. And the owner of the car dallied, he was in the morning room and Kathleen was with him. She put her hand on his arm and delayed him, she had smiled a signal to Allan to go out and leave them together for a moment or so, and Allan had gone.

"You have been very, very good to us, you have given us this beautiful home, you have given us more--I know--" she said and her eyes were very bright and very kind, as she stood, a queenly young figure, with her slim white hand resting on his arm--"And I want to tell you this--I want to--to earn it all. I want to earn all your kindness and affection. I want to prove myself worthy of it! You have given me all this and you have given me your son and he--he is the best of all! A little while ago I thought that I was an old, old woman; life seemed to hold very, very little for me, my whole life was one long struggle, a struggle between pride and poverty. I suffered--" she paused, "more than I can ever tell. I knew what people said of me and of--" she paused, "of--of me, and now all suddenly I seem to realise that I am not old, but that I am young, and that I am not afraid of the years that lie before me. Our marriage, Allan's and mine, was--was--at first sordid and mercenary, and I hated it, but Allan and I talked about it and we agreed, long ago, that we would make the best, the very, very best possible of our lives and I think we are doing it. I know how you love him and I know how deeply he loves you and so--so I wanted to tell you that Allan's wife will try, with God's help, to be worthy of him and of you, that she will be a good, true and faithful wife to him, helping him when she may help, comforting him if he should need comfort. Perhaps--" she said softly, "I am not a religious woman, I wish I were! But no religious woman could have prayed to her God more fervently, more from her heart than I have prayed from mine that I may never fail in my duty, that I shall be all that he would have me, that I shall be a good, true and faithful wife and friend to the man whose name I bear!"

He did not speak, his lips trembled a little, he put his arms about her and held her very tightly for a moment and then he went out, seeing nothing very clearly, for the mist that was before his eyes.

And as he drove through the little town and out into the white Sussex roads, past the green fields and under the shadow of the Downs, he remembered, not that his daughter was Lady Kathleen, daughter of the Earl of Gowerhurst, but that she was the sweetest and the best woman he had ever known.

*CHAPTER XV.*

*"WILL YOU TAKE THIS MAN?"*

The kindly cup of tea of which Mrs. Colley had spoken to Abram Lestwick must have grown cold or been replaced and renewed many times, but it was not partaken of by him for whom it was so hospitably intended.

Mrs. Colley, a short, little body, with a long, lean, bony face and black hair, dragged back painfully from a protruding and shiny forehead, watched for Abram as eagerly as ever a maid watched for the coming of her lover.

'Lizabeth, sallow faced, black haired like her grandmother, and with the bad teeth possessed by too many country girls, tossed her head.

"I don't go running after no man!" she said. "Abram Lestwick least of all! I say if he doan't want our tea, let him stop away!"

"You fool!" said her grandmother, "and there be that Mrs. Hanson forever dangling after he. Would you be beat, 'Lizabeth, by a pink and white dolly faced hussy like Mrs. Hanson's Betty? I'd have more pride, I would!"

"She be welcome to he!" said 'Lizabeth. "Too quiet and mum mouthed he be to my liking and----"

"There he be!" said Mrs. Colley.

She bounded out of her chair and was across the little sitting room kitchen and down the garden path to the gate all in a moment; a very energetic woman, Mrs. Colley!

"Oh, Abram!" she said a little breathlessly. "Funny me coming out this moment and meeting 'ee promiscus like, but I did see a great slug a-settling on my geraniums and just at this very moment 'Lizabeth be laying the tea and a fresh biscuit she hev baked, all hot from the oven, so du 'ee come in now, Abram, for there be a powerful lot of things I want to speak wi' 'ee about!"

"I be sorry," he said gloomily, "afraid I be I cannot stop!"

"And the tea fresh brewed and on the hob and the water on it not more'n three minutes, Abram, and the biscuit of 'Lizabeth's baking, a currant biscuit, Abram!"

He shook his head. "I wish 'ee good evening, Mrs. Colley," he said, "and must be getting along!" He lifted his hat to her, a polite man, Abram Lestwick, and went on. Mrs. Colley went back, beaten and angry.

"She hev laid a spell on him, 'tis a good thing for Mother Hanson her bain't living a hundred years ago, or burned for a witch her would be, certain sure! And his coat buttons, I never see such a sight, 'Lizabeth!"

"Drat his coat buttons! What be they to me?"

"Two gone out of the four and two others hanging by threads, and him working his fingers whiles he were talking wi' me, pulling they off, a rare busy time wi' her needle will Abram Lestwick's wife hev! Wonderful restless and nervis he be about the hands, 'Lizabeth!"

"Drat his hands!" said Elizabeth Colley. "He doan't catch me sewing on his buttons for him, no nor for the best man living neither, which Abram Lestwick b'aint!"

Down the road went Abram Lestwick, the weak chin under the straggling growth of black hair looked a shade more resolute this evening, for he had made up his mind.

Was he, Abram Lestwick, the man to stand nonsense from a mere maid who dared oppose his will with her own? No! Was he not Farmer Patcham's foreman and first hand, looked up to and respected? He was!

Had he not a cottage of four rooms of his own? He had! Was he not in receipt of a steady income of thirty-five shillings a week, of which he had no less than forty-three pounds ten saved and standing in the Post Office Savings Bank to his credit? He was!

Very well then!

Down the road strode Abram Lestwick.

"I'll put up wi' no more dilly dallying wi' she!" he said to himself, "I be a strong intentioned man, not a boy like some, to be put off wi' a grimace and a shake o' a head, and such like! And so I'll let her know and I hev her grandmother's good wishes!"

He did not falter, he flung open the little green painted gate of Mrs. Hanson's front garden and trod manfully up the broken stone pathway to the cottage door.

"Why if it bain't Abram!" said Mrs. Hanson, in a tone of surprise, though she had been watching the clock for him this past half hour. Betty, pouring boiling water from the kettle into the brown teapot, started, so that the hot water splashed on her hand, but she uttered no sound. Her face turned white, perhaps it was the pain from the boiling water, perhaps the sound of the man's voice!

"Good evening!" he said.

"Good evening to 'ee, Abram," said Mrs. Hanson. She looked across the room to the girl. "Betty, here be Abram!"

"Aye, I know!"

Abram had taken off his hat, he was twisting it between his restless fingers, plucking at the felt, bending the brim. Mrs. Hanson stared resolutely at his face.

"Wun't 'ee draw a chair and set down, Abram?" she said. "An' put your hat down!"

He nodded, he put his hat down and sat by the table. Betty's face was white and set hard, her small round chin was thrust out obstinately.

Abram looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.

"I du hear good accounts of the new people at the Manor," he said.

"Aye, a sweet and pleasant spoken lady and the daughter of a Lord!" said Mrs. Hanson. "And Mr. Allan Homewood, who I did speak with the very day he came here first, a very nicely spoken gentleman, I'm sure!" She looked at Betty.

Betty sat down, she stared straight before her, she knew that these were but preliminaries, that which they were saying now mattered nothing at all. Her grandmother poured out the tea. Abram took his cup, he twisted it round and round in the saucer.

"I see Mrs. Colley as I passed the door, picking slugs she were! She asked me in to tea, she said there was a fresh biscuit of 'Lizbeth's baking!"

It was meant for conversation, and not as a reflection on the present tea table, which was guiltless of a currant biscuit.

"A wunnerful hand at cooking, 'Lizbeth Colley be!" he said.

Mrs. Hanson shrugged her shoulders, "Hev you ever noticed her teeth, Abram, terribul teeth they be!"

"Terribul!" he agreed; he looked at the girl facing him. He could not see her teeth, for her small rosebud mouth was tightly compressed, but he had seen them and remembered them for the whitest pearls he had ever seen.

"A rare hand at fashioning and managing, 'Lizbeth Colley," he remarked. He paused to drink with his mouth full of bread and butter. It was not a pretty exhibition, but neither Mrs. Hanson nor Betty remarked it. Bread and butter and tea taken at one meal had to mingle, sooner or later; why not sooner than later?

The meal went on, Abram smacked his lips noisily. Mrs. Hanson tried to make conversation.

"A bit of luck for an old man like Markabee getting a permanent job at his time of life! I wonder how long du they think they'll keep he?" she asked.

"Ah!"

"Though I du admit very agile he be for his years!"

It was all idle, it was all eating up time, till the meal should be over. These, as Betty knew, were merely preliminaries, presently the real business would start. Her grandmother had warned her.

"Ahram be here to-night, he be, to hev a direct answer and for 'ee to make up thy mind and name the day!" said Mrs. Hanson.

"He'll get his direct answer, he will! And as for naming the day, there wun't he no day to name!" said Betty.

"We'll see, my gell!"

"Aye, we'll see!" said Betty.

"I can't think what have come to that maid!" Mrs. Hanson thought. "All contrairy and perilous defiant her be, and once----"

"Help me clear they things!" Mrs. Hanson said.

The meal was over at last. Abram brought out his pipe; he did not light it, he did not even put it between his long, yellowish teeth. He held it in his hand, he twisted it and turned it. He made of the bowl a thimble, which he set on his finger; he picked at the thin silver mount and all the time he watched Betty. And always that weak chin of his under the coarse, sparse black hairs, seemed to grow stronger and more protruberant, more pronounced.

Mrs. Hanson spun out the washing up, but it was over at last and she came back and took her usual seat by the fireplace.

"And now, Abram?" she said.

It was the signal, Betty stiffened up, she clenched her small hands; Abram dropped the pipe and stooped to recover it.

"Mrs. Hanson, Ma'am, and Betty, you both know full well why I be here to-night," he said. "Terribul slow of speech I be--" He dropped the pipe again and went in search of it; groping along the floor, again he recovered it.

"Why not put the pipe down, Abram?" Mrs. Hanson said. "Pipes be terribul easy things to drop!"

He nodded, he put the pipe down on the table and fell to plucking out the horsehairs from the chair seat.

"Terribul slow of speech I be!" he repeated. "But you, Ma'am, Mrs. Hanson, know, I think, why I be here to'night! 'Tis about the maid, Betty, your grand-darter, Ma'am!"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Hanson.

"What hev your visits to do wi' me?" Betty demanded, a spot of vivid colour in her white cheeks.

"I du love 'ee and want 'ee to marry me!" he said simply.

"That be well spoken, straight and to the point, that be!" said Mrs. Hanson. "No man could speak fairer!"

"Then I will speak straight and to the point tu," Betty said. "I du not love 'ee and will never marry 'ee! I would sooner be dead, and drownd myself I will before I marry 'ee, Abram Lestwick!"

"Ah!" he said, his eyes roved towards Mrs. Hanson. What had she to say to that?

"A perilous bad maid 'ee be!" said Mrs. Hanson.

"So 'ee've told me till I be sick to death o' hearing it. Perilous bad and wicked and ungrateful, I be--an all that's bad! Why do he come here a persecutering me? Why doan't he leave I alone?" the girl cried passionately. "I doan't ask him to--to foller me and worry me--why doan't he go and marry 'Lizbeth Colley, wi' her currant biscuits? A wonderful fashioner and manager she be! He said it, said it and I--I wun't marry him. I'll die--die willing and glad, yes die! Yes, I'll die!"

She leaped to her feet, her face was burning, her eyes brilliant with defiance and anger.

"No one hasn't the right to so persecute a maid like he du persecute I! I doan't want him here. I--I can't bear nor bide 'ee, Abram Lestwick, I can't!"

Her voice faltered. He sat there staring at her, never speaking a word and his silence disconcerted her.

"A perilous--" began Mrs. Hanson.

"Say--say it again, say it again!" Betty panted, "And I'll scream, I'll scream till I be dead. Say it, again!"

"And 'ee be my son Garge's child. Garge as were ever mild and quiet, and I be Garge's mother!" Up rose Mrs. Hanson. "I be Garge's mother and thy grandmother and I be the one to speak, Betty Hanson, and speak I will!" She lifted a strong arm and pointed a long, thick-jointed finger at the girl. "Marry him 'ee shall, and I say it! And wi' a good grace tu, and come to your senses, 'ee shall, my maid, if I break a stick over your back! And I'll hev no more o' these tantrums, no more of them, I say, a perilous bad and wicked maid 'ee be! Hev not Abram done we a great honour? Hev he not----"

"I'll kill myself before I marry him!" the girl said, but she said it without passion, only with an immense certainty in her voice.

Abram blinked, he stared at the ill smelling, newly lighted lamp.

"Listen to me, Betty Hanson. Here be Abram asking 'ee to marry 'ee and asking 'ee to name the day--answer!"

"I hev answered!"

"Answer as I order 'ee!"

"I shan't!"

Mrs. Hanson stalked across the room, she went to a corner by the fireplace, in that corner stood the stout old stick that had supported her husband's declining years. She had always kept that stick in the corner, it was more homely to see it there. She took it now, she came back to Betty.

"Will 'ee marry this good man?"

"No!"

One, two, three, down came the stick, heavily across the slender shoulders. The girl's eyes filled with tears, born of the smart of the blows, but she kept her white teeth clenched.

"I ask 'ee again, will 'ee name the day?"

"No, never!"

Thud, thud, thud!

Ahram Lestwick leaned forward, he stared at them both. He was tearing the threads out of the fringe of the cheap tablecloth now. He watched Betty's face without emotion. "Dogged abst'nate her be!" he muttered.

"Betty Hanson, my mind be made up! Will 'ee take this man to be your lawful wedded husband, in sickness and in health, for better an' for worser, till death du 'ee part?"

"I wun't, I hate him!"

Thud, thud, thud.

"And I hate 'ee tu!" said Betty suddenly.

"That be enough!" The stick fell. "'Ee've said it, Betty Hanson! Said it! Said it past recall! Hate me, 'ee said it! And to-morrow 'ee go out, go out, my maid, for I live in no house where hate du abide!"

"I'll go and glad, glad!" the girl said.

Abram rose slowly.

"I beg to thank 'ee for a good tea, which I did enjoy, Mrs. Hanson, 'tis time for me to be going!" he turned towards the door. "A very good tea!" he said. "I bain't partial to new baked currant biscuits!" He paused at the door and looked at Betty.

"I'll ask 'ee to name the day some other time, my maid! I be a patient man, a very patient man, I be in no hurry, no hurry at all! And I wish 'ee good night, Mrs. Hanson, and thank 'ee for your good tea once again!"

Betty stared at him, her eyes were wide, filled with terror. She lifted her hands to her face, she gripped her face between them, the sharp little nails dug into the soft, peach-like cheeks, but she felt no pain, was unconscious of what she was doing.

He looked at her and smiled, he backed out and closed the door, but she did not move. She heard his steps outside, her breast was rising and falling and when she spoke, she spoke in gasps, in short breathless sentences.

"Did 'ee see--grandmother, did 'ee see--his hands--his hateful hands? Grandmother, did 'ee see? One day--he'll kill someone wi' they hands, kill 'em--grandmother, maybe--maybe 'twill be--me!"

*CHAPTER XVI*

*"MY LADY MERCIFUL"*

"I am glad Mr. Dalabey spared her," said Kathleen.

She nodded towards the little figure of the nymph standing up from the middle of the lake.

"So am I!" Allan said. "But I've a great respect for Dalabey, he does not look it, but he is an artist. He has a right perception, a sense of fitness. Dalabey is a reader and a thinker, too. Kathleen, you would be surprised by the depth of Dalabey's knowledge, for all that, he says 'I be' and 'Du 'ee?' Which, after all, may be better English than that which you and I speak. You would hardly believe that Dalabey and Ruskin have more than a nodding acquaintance, but so it is! Yes, I'm glad he spared the little stone maid. Do you know the first morning we were here, dear, I worried about her. I rose early and came out to see if she were still here and there she was, a monument to Dalabey's good sense! I've congratulated him since!"

She was listening to him with a smile on her lips. Now she glanced at him, at the tall, big young man by her side--her husband!

"Allan," she said suddenly, "Allan, you seem to be very happy!"

"Happy!" he was startled. "Of course I am happy. Why--why did you say that? I am happy and content. I Have the dearest and best man in the world for father. I have a wife who is friend and comrade----" he pressed her hand. "I have a home, the like of which there is not to be found in all England! Happy--why not, Kathleen?"

She was silent for a moment. He had said the dearest father and his wife--after all his wife was only friend and comrade--only! Why did she feel vaguely dissatisfied, had she not set herself to be just that very thing, that he said she was--friend, comrade, and now he had said it, she felt a little regret.

"And you would not have things different from what they are, Allan?"

"No!" he said. "I'm very, very content, very proud and very happy, Kathleen."

"And the dream," she said, "the dream you told me of, Allan, the pretty girl who came----"

He laughed frankly, almost boyishly, a laugh so clear and so ringing that it, was infectious.

"Because I had a pleasant dream and dreamed a pretty girl was imprudent enough to come and kiss me, shall I moon about disconsolate and unhappy, my mind filled with stupid longing and foolish regrets, eh?"

"But the dream did affect you for a time, Allan?"

"For a time," he said, "it was so clear, so real, so strange, so--so undreamlike that it must affect me! Kathleen, I never think of it now, I've put it out of my mind, I've sat there a score of times on that very seat and no dreams have come, I've smiled at the foolish fancy of it, laughed it all to scorn--and forgotten it----"

"But if it were not--all a dream, if one day she came into your life--that girl----"

He shook his head. "She was a dream and she doesn't exist, she never will and never can--she came and she went--for good!"

"And yet," she persisted, with a woman's strange persistence, "Allan, if--if she came, if you saw her in life, if----"