Eli's Children Part 35

Dinner in, my la.s.s? That's well. Come along, Luke. Tchah! nonsense!

you shall stay. You can tell the old man your reasons better when you've got a bit of roast beef under your waistcoat, and some of my ale.

Why, Sage, la.s.s, what ails you? Your face is as white as a bit o'

dough."

"Oh, nothing, uncle, nothing," she replied, forcing a smile, as she hurried to a tall press to get out a napkin for their visitor, and soon after they were seated at the hospitable meal, which was more bounteous on a market-day, the nearness of the farm to the town making it always probable that the Churchwarden might bring up a friend.

But Luke Ross was the only stranger on that occasion, and he sat opposite Sage, whose countenance, though less troubled than when she had overheard her uncle's words, was lacking in its ordinary composure.

Luke saw this, and attributed it to their conversation, and the interest she took in his affairs. Her aunt saw it, too, and, with the idea of comforting her niece, kept turning the conversation to the Rector and his family, but not to do any good, for out of mere contrariety, and with a twinkle in his eye as he glanced at Luke, the Churchwarden set to and roundly abused the Rector and his sons for their ways.

"Come, Luke," he said, "you are not making half a meal. I suppose by and by, sir, you will be as fas.h.i.+onable as Master Cyril Mallow, and won't eat a bit at dinner-time without calling it lunch. Ha, ha, ha!"

"There, do have done, Joseph," cried Mrs Portlock. "What have you got to laugh at now?"

"I was thinking of the horse-whipping I gave the young dogs--ay, it's twelve or fourteen years ago now--that night I caught them in the orchard."

"There, do let bygones be bygones, Joseph," cried Mrs Portlock, sharply. "Boys will be boys. I'll be bound to say you stole apples yourself when you were young."

"Ay, that I did, and got thrashed for it, too. But I must say that Cyril Mallow don't bear any malice for what I did."

A regular duel was fought over that meal between the heads, Sage hardly raising her eyes, but looking more and more troubled as the Mallow attack and defence went on, while Luke Ross was so intent upon his own thoughts that he hardly heard a word.

It was with quite a feeling of relief, then, that Sage heard her uncle say--

"I like parson, not as a parson, but as a man: for the way in which he has tended that poor sick woman 's an honour to him; but, as for his way of bringing up children, why, if I had carried on my farm in such a fas.h.i.+on I should have been in the Court o' Bankruptcy years ago. Best thing Mallow could do would be to put the fellow with me to learn farming, and me have the right to do what I liked with him, and five-and-twenty to two? Is it, my dear? I didn't know it was so late-- and make us truly thankful, Amen."

There was a general scrooping of chairs after this condensed grace, Sage hurrying off to put on her hat and jacket, and her aunt running after her to say, in a mysterious whispered confidence--

"Don't you take any notice of uncle, my dear. He don't mean half he says."

"You'll walk back with Sage, of course, Luke?" said the Churchwarden, quietly, as he drew his chair to the fire for his after-dinner pipe.

"Well, my boy, I think you're right about what you settled; but I suppose I had something to do with your altering your mind?"

"Yes, sir, I must own to that."

"Well," said the Churchwarden, thoughtfully, "I hope it's for the best; I meant it to be. You'll go back to London, then, soon?"

"Almost directly, sir, to begin working hard."

"That's right, my boy. I believe in work. Come over here whenever you are down at Lawford. I shall be very glad to see you, my lad, very."

Then, pulling out his watch, he consulted it, and went on chatting for a few minutes as if to keep Luke from speaking about the subject near to his heart, but at last he broke in--"I need hardly say, sir, that I go meaning to work up to the point you named, and--"

"Yes, yes, yes, my lad; let that rest. Let's see how things go. You're both young," he cried, pulling out his big silver watch once more. "I say, mother," he shouted, "tell Sage that Luke's waiting to walk back with her. She'll be late for school."

Then like a chill to Luke Ross came back Mrs Portlock's voice--

"Sage? Oh, she went out by the back way ten minutes ago."

PART ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

CYNTHIA'S KNIGHTS.

That was all--those few insolent, grossly-insulting words--and then the big fellow stood staring after the frightened girls.

"Take my hand, Julia," whispered the younger sister; and if, as we read in the old novelists, a glance would kill, the flash of indignant lightning that darted from her bright eyes would have laid Jock Morrison dead in the road.

But, powerful as are the effects of a lady's eyes, they had none other here than to make the great picturesque fellow smile at her mockingly before turning his hawk-like gaze on the frightened girl who clung to her sister's hand as they hurried away.

"Has he gone, Cynthy?" whispered Julia, at the end of a few moments.

"I don't know. I can't hear them, and I won't look back, or they'll think we are afraid--and we are not."

"I am--horribly afraid," said Julia, in a choking voice.

"I'm not," said Cynthia. "A nasty, rude, impudent pig that he is. Oh, if I were a man, I'd whip him till he lay down on the ground and begged for mercy. To insult two inoffensive girls like that! Harry shall beat him well, that he shall, or I'll never speak to him again."

"Make haste," whispered Julia. "Let's run."

"I won't run," cried Cynthia. "I wouldn't run away from the biggest man that ever lived. I never heard of such a thing. Oh, how cross papa will be."

"We had better not tell him," said Julia, faintly; and her face was deadly pale.

"Not tell papa? Why, you foolish little coward, Julie! But only to think of the insufferable impudence of the wretch. I wish he had said it to me."

"No, no: don't wish that," cried Julia, excitedly. "It is too horrible.

Oh, Cynthy dear, I shall dream of that man."

"You shan't do anything of the kind," cried her sister, whose eyes sparkled and face flushed with excitement. "Such nonsense! Two unprotected maidens walking through the forest met a wicked ogre, and he opened his ugly great mouth, and gaped as he showed his big white teeth like a lion, and then he said, I am going to gobble up the prettiest of those two little maids; and then they ran away, and a gallant knight coming along, they fled to him for help, and fell upon their poor knees in a wet place, and said, 'Oh, brave and gallant paladin, go and smite down that wicked ogre, and we will give you smiles, and gloves to wear in your helm, and tie scarves round your waist, and if you will promise not to eat us, you shall some day have one of us for a pet!' And the name of the gallant knight was Sir Perrino Mortoni, and--"

"Oh pray be quiet, Cynthy, I feel so upset you cannot tell."

"Stuff and nonsense! Don't interrupt my story. The ogre has gone."

"I shall always be afraid of meeting that man."

"What, after the gallant knight has killed him? Oh, I see, you are afraid that Sir Perrino would not slay him, but would bind him in chains, and keep him at his castle for an artist's model. Then we will appeal to another knight, Lord Harry the Saucy, and he shall do the deed. Where is the gallant I wis not," she added, laughing.

"I know who he is," said Julia, who was trembling still.

"So do I," said Cynthia, merrily. "Well, never mind, my darling sissy; don't let a thing like that upset you. Come: be brave. They are gone now, and we shall never see them again."

"Never see them again," said Julia, with a wild look in her eye. "That man will haunt me wherever I go."

"Will he, dear?" said Cynthia, merrily; "then the gallant knight shall not quite kill him, though I don't believe in haunting ghosts. Here they are."

"Cynthia!" gasped Julia, with a cry of horror.