CHAPTER XLVI.

SOUR GRAPES.

'Hast thou forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away? Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wast owned by none.' _Wordsworth's 'Pet Lamb.'_

The London surgeon met Tom May and Page, and gave every hope of little Gerald's ultimate recovery, though for the present there was not much to be done except watching him, and encouraging such exertion as did not excite or fatigue. Cherry was so anxious about the examination, its result and the directions she received, that she never perceived that the doctor spent a much longer time in the study with her brothers than was needed on the little boy's account.

This, her preoccupation and bliss of ignorance, was a relief to both Felix and Clement. They believed there would be ample preparation, and not only were willing to defer paining her, but would have missed her cheerfulness, and wished to spare her the protracted suspense that might undermine her health and power of meeting a crisis that might be deferred for weeks, months, nay years, or possibly might never come at all; for there was a chance that treatment might disperse the evil. The suffering did not increase, and was not constant, but only brought on by sudden movements or in certain attitudes, and any token of it was always laid to the credit of the strain. No one could fail to perceive that Felix was more inert, more grave, and, if possible, more gentle, but the acknowledged injury, as well as the loss of his two brothers, might account both for this and his disinclination to the ordinary summer gaieties. No one indeed, wished for them, now that Angela professed to have broken with the world, and Geraldine's whole mind was absorbed in the anxious tendance of the little nephew, who preferred her to all others, and was continually needing to be soothed or amused, with a precocious intellect stimulated by all he had undergone, and at the same time with spirits and nerves too much shattered to bear the least strain on mind or body. Edgar's child she must have loved, but this little tender, fitful, dependent creature, used to be the half-comprehending recipient of his sad memories and confidences, was inexpressibly dear to her.

There was hardly any visiting that summer, except the calls of a few friends, and in September Felix decided on asking the two Lambs to the Priory. He had business affairs to arrange with his partner, and thought it would be unforgiving to mortify the wife by excluding her from the invitation, so he braved Cherry's absolute indignation. Poor Cherry! had she known all, she would not have exploded as she had hardly done since her girlish contentions with Alda. 'It is really weak to give that woman her wish, and at such a time.'

'I am sorry for the infliction on you, Cherry.'

'You know very well that is not what I care for. It is the insult to dear Edgar's memory to have her here pranking herself off.'

'I cannot quite see it in that light.'

'No, you always had some infatuation about her: you sacrificed Lance to her when you let her into the house at Bexley, and now you are letting her fulfil her aim of coming gossiping here.'

'One can only try to do what one feels to be right, Cherry. I am very sorry, but I cannot be guilty of a marked slight.'

'The more marked the better, I should say.'

'Hush, Geraldine,' sternly interposed Clement; 'you forget yourself.'

She was greatly startled, for she had thought him entirely on her side.

'I understand her,' said Felix, as usual unable to bear reproof to his sister. 'No one can be more fully aware than myself of poor Mrs. Lamb's undeserts, but Cherry will one day perceive that this is the very reason I do not choose to treat her with mortifying neglect. If it be a foolish fancy of mine, my dear, please bear with it.'

She was entirely disarmed, burst into tears, undertook to do whatever he wished, and apologised for her crossness, but in private with Clement, she could not help expressing her wonder and annoyance.

'You had better say no more about it,' he answered, 'or you will be sorry.'

'I shall say no more, but it is impossible that you should not think this a great pity and mistake.'

'No, I don't.'

'I know I was wrong in flying out in my old way,' said Cherry, humbly. 'Perhaps there was more female spite in it than I know, and I am thankful to you for catching me up. Of course this is Felix's house; he invites whom he pleases, and I shall make them welcome; but still I think this is a very unnecessary attention, and if you had seen as much of her as we have, I think you would have enforced my opinion.'

He smiled a little sadly, and let it pass, and Cherry inferred that even a cassock could not guard the male sex from weak toleration of a pretty woman. Yet her loyalty was so strong that, when Wilmet's surprise and aversion were expressed with equal plainness, she maintained her brother's right to practise romantic generosity in his own house, especially since his prudence had abstained as long as any speculations could be thereby encouraged.

The visit was to last from Saturday to Monday, and in due time Mrs. Lamb made her appearance, pretty, youthful, and charmingly dressed, with her husband looking so proud of her as almost to overpower his bashfulness.

They were a great contrast, he so honestly simple and affectionate, adoring every word she uttered, however alien to his nature, and she with the claws full grown that poor Edgar had detected in the kitten. Indeed she was not unlike a handsome sleek cat or managing wife, an excellent and tender mother, dainty and demure, but not by any means indisposed to give a sharp scratch with her velvet paw.

When she exclaimed with playful surprise, 'Oh! what a queer old place. So different from what I expected!' or, 'Looking into the churchyard! It would give me the horrors in a week! Such a melancholy noise from the river!' Cherry might conclude that the grapes were sour, but the admirable Lamb was solaced by his wife's sweet preference for her humble home. Such scratches as would have been patent to that good man were reserved for his absence, as when she bewailed the low tastes of such a promising young man as Lance--Cherry made some effort to discover what she could possibly mean, and found that the low tastes signified his preference for Mrs. Froggatt's company, and his assiduity at the Shakespeare Club and Penny Readings.

Of course she commiserated Wilmet for her children's red hair--predicted that Gerald would be a cripple for life, and lamented Angela's being 'sadly gone off.' Angela did in fact avoid the lady as much as possible, and on the Sunday afternoon went off to what she had in her unconverted days been wont to term the Hepburn Methody Meeting, i.e., a Bible class with exposition and prayer held by the good ladies in their own dining-room, an institution dating from the darkest ages of the parish.

Their green-shuttered house looked out upon a space shaped like a triangle, grassy, and formed by the divergence of the Blackstone lane, the nearest approach to a village-green possessed by Vale Leston. Angela was lingering after the dismissal of the class, discussing Will Harewood's sermon, which by-the-by, the clever Miss Isabella much preferred to the Vicar's, probably because Will, a far larger-minded and more intellectual man, was a great deal the most metaphysical, and had more points of contact with her, when the sound of a bawling voice, interspersed with the singing of a hymn, became audible through the open window, and a procession consisting of a pale-faced young man, one old one, three able-bodied women, and four little girls came from the Ewmouth road, and having arrived at the triangle, the young man mounted a log of timber and began to preach. Sounds ensued which made the invalid Miss Hepburn exclaim: 'Oh! there are those people again! There will be an uproar! Oh! my dear, shut the window, and come into the other room!'

'What for?' demanded Angela, who was trying to hear.

'My dear, you can't think how dreadful it was. Such a noise, and that terrible Timins set his big dog at the preacher, and the poor old Squire said it served him right, and would not commit him.'

'Such a thing might be stopped in a moment,' cried Angela. 'Couldn't you, Miss Isabel?'

'My dear, I did not feel free when it was the message of the Gospel.'

'I didn't mean the preacher, but the persecutors. You could stop them directly.'

'Go out there! A lady, my dear Angela!' cried Miss Bridget

'One does not stick at trifles in such cases!' cried Angela.

'Trifles!' was echoed round her.

At that moment a coarse derisive laugh made Miss Hepburn scream and Miss Martha fly to shut the window, while Angela caught up her bonnet saying, 'I'll soon put an end to it.'

'My dearest Angela, you are not going out; your brother would not like it.'

'Lydia never asked what her brother liked by the river-side,' said Angela, hastily fastening her head gear.

'Oh! don't let her go. Isa--Bridget--they'll hurt her. My dear! Stop her,' entreated the sick sister.

'Miss Underwood going out to a Ranter!' cried Miss Bridget.

'Your brothers will never forgive us,' sobbed Miss Martha. And Miss Isabella laid hands on her. 'It is not proper, Angela, I cannot suffer it.'

'I cannot suffer violence to be done to one who is preaching that Name for petty scruples of worldly propriety.'

'They'll throw stones--She'll be hurt,' sobbed Miss Hepburn.

'You know better, dear Miss Hepburn,' said Angela, turning with a smile.

In another moment she was gone, out into the road.

There was a hush at once. The boys all turned round, and the nearest, a lively mischievous fellow, accosted her with a touch of his hat, and evident sense of high desert. 'Us aint a bin listening to that there chap, ma'am. Us be going to send he off faster than he came. Us don't want none of his sort.'

'How do you know that, George?' responded Angela, to his great amazement. 'How do you know he has not the very message you have been wanting so long.'

The boy opened the roundest eyes. If any opinion was strongly established, it was the ill savour of ranters in the nostrils of the gentry.

'Squire'd be against it, ma'am,' said an older man, 'and Mr. Eddard! Us knows our dooty better than to hearken to such like trash.'

'For shame, Brand,' returned the young lady. 'How dare you speak so of a man who comes in that Name. Now! Here I mean you to stand and listen. Who can tell what good he may do us?'

'Miss Angela' was the universal favorite with the village youth, having fascinated them from the first; and if they had of late remarked any change in her, it was set down to 'taking on' about her brothers, and her defence was undisputed quite as much from attachment as from sheer amazement. The preacher had, on the apparition of the tall lady in black with the lightly waving crape streamers and mantle, expected a rescue from insult and violence, but a warning to depart; and his amazement was great when she took a position in advance of the rabble rout, and signed to him to go on.

He was a man above the average of his class, and his discourse was considerably affecting Angela, when down the lane from Blackstone Gulley came Robina, Stella, Bernard, and Will Harewood, showing Mr. and Mrs. Lamb the beauties of the country.

'Holloa, what's the row? A fellow jawing away somewhere!' quoth Bernard.

'I thought you had no dissenters here, Robina,' said Mrs. Lamb.

'No more we have,' stoutly affirmed Robina, in spite of the strange voices on the blast.

'What's that?'

'An obliging mission from our neighbour.'

'Soon to be refuted by our boys,' added Bernard, 'most likely a cricket ball is flying at his bumptious head by this time! Hollo there!'

For he turned the corner and stood in blank amaze.

Alice tittered.

Robina and Stella were prepared for anything from Angela.

Even Will only perpetrated a long whistle, and the observation 'This is coming it strong.'

Bernard's measures were more decisive. After the first shock he marched forward with the peremptory admonition, 'Come, my man, be off with you, we allow none of this here.'

The young man stood his ground. 'By what authority Sir?'

'I'll soon show you--I say--You here, little Pryde, run down and tell the policeman to step up.'

'Stay Bernard,' exclaimed Will, 'this is nothing the police can interfere with.'

'Don't tell me that, canting and ranting here on our ground,' cried Bernard, with a fine development of the insolence of the lord of the soil. 'Pity you're a parson, Bill (and Lamb a sheep),' he added under his breath, 'or we'd have a jolly good shindy. All you're good for is to walk off the ladies. Here, Angel, you mad party, go with him, I say, the joke has lasted long enough.'

'I shall not move, Bernard, I am here to protect this good man from insult.'

'I tell you 'tis the very way to make me insult the impudent scoundrel to see you standing there among the rabble, making a spectacle of yourself.'

'Neither you nor any one else will touch him while I am here,' said Angela, heroically moving nearer the preacher, and further from her brother. 'He is giving us the message that is too much obscured, and I will not have him silenced. I only wish you would listen! Go on, if you please.'

But the unwonted style of this interruption had disconcerted the ardent missionary more than unlimited rotten eggs could have done. The young lady's presence, though embarrassing, had been stimulating; but when three gentlemen, including a clergyman, were added to the audience, all his confidence in his mission could not bring back his eloquence, and, addressing himself to Angela, his only attentive hearer, he said, 'The tenor of our discourse has been interrupted; thank you, Miss, we will resume on a more favourable occasion.'

'When I'll bring down the garden engine,' muttered Bernard, clutching in vain at his sister as she stepped forward to shake hands with the preacher and say, 'We are greatly obliged to you, and I am sorry you should have been so interfered with.'

William, premising that he was not the parish priest, turned to walk with the amateur in his own profession, as much because he was curious about this phase of life as to see him courteously off the ground--while Bernard was scolding and deriding Angela on what he deemed her most monstrous aberration of all, and Angela marching on, impervious alike to displeasure and ridicule. Mrs. Lamb was trying to condole with Robina, and Robina was coolly stating that Angela was quite justified in using her influence to prevent the man from being assaulted.

The fame of Mr. Froggatt's state-dinner party and of another on behalf of Mr. Bruce had reached Mrs. Lamb, and, on the strength of it, she had freshly trimmed her wedding dress, and was greatly aggrieved to find her labour lost; disregarding her husband's representations of the recent bereavements and Mr. Underwood's state of health, and insisting on attributing the slight by turns to Geraldine's spite, and to the meanness that hindered the family from enjoying their fortune when they had got it.

Though Geraldine had withheld this indulgence, aware that a long late dinner would be a great fatigue to Felix, she believed in dilution, and had arranged to gratify her guest so far as to take this opportunity of inviting one or two Ewmouth families who hardly ever had a day in the country except what they spent at Vale Leston, and whom it would have been almost unkind to deprive of their summer treat.

So on Monday afternoon there was a gathering on the lawn large enough to be a formidable spectacle to at least one pair of eyes in the Kittiwake's gig as she came up the river, and to evoke a strong expletive from a mouth whose fringes were grizzled enough for it to have learnt to be less impulsive.

'Can't be helped, skipper. Come on,' laughed the joyous youth at the prow in the ease of summer attire. 'What, hasn't your domestication proceeded further? One would think you were the one newly caught from the bush.'

'I shall set you ashore and come back at dark when the bear fight is over.'

'Not a bit of it! See here she comes, the little darling Star, bless her,' as over the wire netting, that guarded the croquet balls from the river, sprang the little figure attracted by the well-known boat.

'Oh! I'm so sorry,' was her apologetic cry to the captain, then stopping short, the bright colour flew to her cheeks.

'Well you may, to have such a mob to receive what I've brought you, my pretty. Yes, yes, no mistake about him,' as Charlie bounded to her side; 'but what's this? who's this big fellow in the yellow beard? Did you ever see anybody like him? He looks as much astounded as you.'

'You didn't say it was Stella!' ejaculated the tall, powerful personage designated. 'She was just toddling when I went out.'

'You're Fulbert then!' she said, looking up as she was folded in a big brotherly embrace.

'Yes, to be sure, you pretty little thing. I declare you are a beauty after all! And who's this?'

'I can't expect to be remembered,' said the white-whiskered sunburnt clergyman in a broad shady hat and green shade over his eyes.

'But I think I remember your voice,' said Stella, 'Oh how glad my brother will be!'

'And Lance, is he here?' cried Fulbert, eagerly.

'No, but every one else is at home.'

'At home! I believe so,' grumbled Captain Audley. 'I thought myself secure from launchings out this year.'

'It is only the Colmans and Strachans and Parkers, just to amuse Mrs. Lamb. I did not warn you, for I thought you were yachting to-day.'

'I was on board, going to sail this morning, when I got a telegram from Charlie, and just as I expected him to turn up, who should drop in but these two, fresh from Liverpool. Charles, this one, I mean, not _ours_, thought it best not to startle my mother, and came here first, so I brought them over as soon as they had eaten a mouthful, and now I'll take a cruise up the river till it is all quiet.'

'O no, please don't be so unkind,' pleaded Stella. 'I'll take you to my brother in his study without coming across anybody. He went in as soon as we began to play at croquet. Here, through the laburnum path.'

She led him by the hand in a passive condition, highly amusing to his son and brother, and Fulbert followed in a state of bewilderment.

'What an exquisite place!' exclaimed the elder Charles, catching sight of the cloister through the trees. 'What a treat to see old walls! It is like Oxford.'

'Pretty?' said Fulbert, 'I can't think how any one can stand being cramped up by all these walks and enclosures!' and indeed his great robust swinging step seemed to spurn them. 'All well?' he asked.

'Doesn't he know?' said Stella, pausing and touching her crape.

'Yes, yes, my dear,' said Captain Audley, 'they understand all that.'

'But Fulbert is more than half lost,' said the uncle, 'and for my own