Of High Descent
“Of course you will. I know you will. We began by being playmates – almost like brother and sister.”
“Yes, Harry.”
“But I always felt as I grew older that I should some day ask you to be my darling little wife; and, come now, you always thought so too?”
“Yes, Harry, I always thought so too.”
“Ah, that’s right, dear,” said the young man, flushing. “You always were the dearest and most honest and plain-spoken girl I ever met.”
“I try to be.”
“Of course; and look yonder, there’s old Pradelle, the dearest and best friend a fellow ever had, talking to Louie as I’m talking to you.”
“Yes, I’m afraid he is.”
“Afraid? Oh, come now, don’t be prejudiced. I want you to like Victor.”
“That would be impossible.”
“Impossible! What, the man who will most likely be Louie’s husband?”
“Mr Pradelle will never be Louie’s husband.”
“What! Why, how do you know?”
“Because I know your sister’s heart too well.”
“And you don’t like Pradelle?”
“No, Harry; and I’m sorry you ever chose him for a companion.”
“Oh, come, dear, that’s prejudice and a bit of jealousy. Well, never mind about that now. I want to talk about ourselves.”
“Yes, Harry.”
“I want you to promise to be my little wife. I’m four-and-twenty, and you are nearly twenty, so it’s quite time to talk about it.”
Madelaine shook her head.
“Oh, come!” he said merrily, “no girl’s coyness: we are too old friends for that, and understand one another too well. Come, dear, when is it to be?”
She turned and looked in the handsome flushed face beside her, and then said in the most cool and matter-of-fact way:
“It is too soon to talk like that, Harry.”
“Too soon? Not a bit of it. You have told me that you will be my wife.”
“Some day, perhaps.”
“Oh, nonsense, dear! I’ve been thinking this all over well. You see, Maddy, you’ve let my not sticking to business trouble you.”
“Yes, Harry, very much.”
“Well, I’m very sorry, clear; and I suppose I have been a bit to blame, but I’ve been doing distasteful work, and I’ve been like a boat swinging about without an anchor. I want you to be my anchor to hold me fast. I’ve wanted something to steady me – something to work for; and if I’ve got you for a wife I shall be a different man directly.”
Madelaine sighed.
“Aunt Marguerite won’t like it, because she is not very fond of you.”
“No,” said Madelaine, “she does not like fat Dutch frauleins – Dutch dolls.”
“Get out! What stuff! She’s a prejudiced old woman full of fads. She never did like you.”
“Never, Harry.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter a bit.”
“No. That does not matter a bit.”
“You see I’ve had no end of thinks about all this, and it seems to me that if we’re married at once, it will settle all the worries and bothers I’ve had lately. The governor wants me to go to business again: but what’s the use of that? He’s rich, and so is your father, and they can easily supply us with all that we should want, and then we shall be as happy as can be. Of course I shall work at something. I don’t believe in a fellow with nothing to do. You don’t either?”
“No, Harry.”
“Of course not, but all that toiling and moiling for the sake of money is a mistake. Never mind what Aunt Marguerite says. I’ll soon work her round, and of course I can do what I like with the governor. He’s so fond of you that he’ll be delighted, and he knows it will do me good. So now there’s nothing to do but for me to go and see your father and ask his consent. I did think of letting you coax him round: but that would be cowardly, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, Harry, very cowardly, and lower you very much in my eyes.”
“Of course: but, I say, don’t be so serious. Well, it’s a bitter pill to swallow, for your governor will be down on me tremendously. I’ll face him, though. I’ll talk about our love and all that sort of thing, and it will be all right. I’ll go to him to-day.”
“No, Harry,” said Madelaine, looking him full in the face, “don’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because it would expose you to a very severe rebuff.”
“Will you speak to him then? No: I’ll do it.”
“No. If you did my father would immediately speak to me, and I should have to tell him what I am going to tell you.”
“Well? Out with it.”
“Do you suppose,” said Madelaine, once more turning her clear frank eyes upon the young man, and speaking with a quiet decision that startled him; “do you suppose I could be so wanting in duty to those at home, so wanting in love to you, Harry, that I could consent to a marriage which would only mean fixing you permanently in your present thoughtless ways?”
“Madelaine!”
“Let me finish, Harry, and tell you what has been on my lips for months past. I am younger by several years than you, but do you think I am so wanting in worldly experience that I am blind to your reckless folly, or the pain you are giving father and sister by your acts?”
“Why, Maddy,” he cried, in a voice full of vexation, which belied the mocking laugh upon his lips, “I didn’t think you could preach like that.”
“It is time to preach, Harry, when I see you so lost to self-respect, and find that you are ready to place yourself and the girl you wish to call wife, in a dependent position, instead of proudly and manfully making yourself your own master.”
“Well, this is pleasant! Am I to understand that you throw me over?”
“No, Harry,” said Madelaine sadly, “you are to understand that I care for you too much to encourage you in a weak folly.”
“A weak folly – to ask you what you have always expected I should, ask!”
“Yes, to ask it at such a time when, after being placed in post after post by my father’s help, and losing them one by one by your folly, you – ”
“Oh, come, that will do,” cried the young man angrily; “if it’s to be like this it’s a good job that we came to an explanation at once. So this is gentle, amiable, sweet-tempered Madelaine, eh! Hallo! You!”
He turned sharply. Louise and Pradelle had come over a stretch of sand with their footsteps inaudible.
“It is quite time we returned, Madelaine,” said Louise gravely; and without another word the two girls walked away.
“’Pon my word,” cried Harry with a laugh, “things are improving. Well, Vic, how did you get on?”
“How did I get on indeed!” cried Pradelle angrily. “Look here, Harry Vine, are you playing square with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I say: are you honest, or have you been setting her against me?”
“Why you – no, I won’t quarrel,” cried Harry. “What did she say to you?”
“Say to me? I was never so snubbed in my life. Her ladyship doesn’t know me if she thinks I’m going to give up like that.”
“There, that’ll do, Vic. No threats, please.”
“Oh, no; I’m not going to threaten. I can wait.”
“Yes,” said Harry, thoughtfully; “we chose the wrong time. We mustn’t give up, Vic; we shall have to wait.”
And they went back to their old nook beneath the cliff to smoke their pipes, while as the thin blue vapour arose Harry’s hot anger grew cool, and he began to think of his aunt’s words, of Comte Henri des Vignes, and of the fair daughters of France – a reverie from which he was aroused by his companion, as he said suddenly —
“I say, Harry, lad, I want you to lend me a little coin.”
Volume One – Chapter Seven.
Chez Van Heldre
The two friends parted at the gate, Madelaine refusing to go in.
“No,” she said; “they will be expecting me at home.”
“Maddy dear, ought we not to confide in each other?”
“Ah!” exclaimed Madelaine, with a sigh of relief that the constraint was over. “Yes, dear. Did Mr Pradelle propose to you?”
“Yes.”
“And you told him it was impossible?”
“Yes. What did my brother want to say?”
“That we ought to be married now, and it would make him a better man.”
“And you told him it was impossible?”
“Yes.”
There was another sigh as if of relief on both sides, and the two girls kissed again and parted.
It was a brisk quarter of an hour’s walk to the Van Heldres’, which lay at the end of the main street up the valley down which the little river ran; and on entering the door, with a longing upon her to go at once to her room and sit down and cry, Madelaine uttered a sigh full of misery, for she saw that it was impossible.
As she approached the great stone porch leading into the broad hall, which was one of the most attractive-looking places in the house, filled as it was with curiosities and other objects brought by the various captains from the Mediterranean, and embracing cabinets from Constantinople with rugs and pipes, little terra-cotta figures from Sardinia, and pictures and pieces of statuary from Rome, Naples, and Trieste, she was saluted with —
“Ah, my dear, I’m so glad you’ve come back. Where’s papa?”
“I have not seen him, mamma.”
“Busy, I suppose. How he does work!” Then suddenly, “By the way, that Mr Pradelle. I don’t like him, my dear.”
“Neither do I, mamma.”
“That’s right, my dear; I’m very glad to hear you say so; but surely Louie Vine is not going to be beguiled by him?”
“Oh no.”
“All, that’s all very well; but Luke Vine came in as he went by, to say in his sneering fashion that Louie and Mr Pradelle were down on the shore, and that you were walking some distance behind with Harry.”
“Mr Luke Vine seems to have plenty of time for watching his neighbours,” said Madelaine contemptuously.
“Yes; he is always noticing things; but don’t blame him, dear. I’m sure he means well, and I can forgive him anything for that. Here’s your father.”
“Ah! my dears,” said Van Heldre cheerily. “Tired out.”
“You must be,” said Mrs Van Heldre, bustling about him to take his hat and gloves.
“Here, do come and sit down.”
The merchant went into the drawing-room very readily, and submitted to several little pleasant attentions from wife and daughter.
Evening came on with Van Heldre seated in his easy-chair, thoughtfully watching wife and daughter; both of whom had work in their laps; but Mrs Van Heldre’s was all a pretence, for, after a few stitches, her head began to nod forward, then back against the cushion, and then, as if by magic, she was fast asleep.
Madelaine’s needle, however, flew fast, and she went on working, with her father watching her attentively, till she raised her eyes.
“You want to say something to me, Maddy,” he said in a low voice.
“Yes, papa.”
“About your walk down on the beach?”
Madelaine nodded.
“You know I went.”
“Yes; I saw you, and Luke Vine came and told me as well.”
“It was very kind of him,” said Madelaine, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.
“Kind and unkind, my dear. You see he has no business – nothing to do but to think of other people. But he means well, my dear, and he likes you.”
“I have often thought so.”
“Yes; and you were right. He warned me that I was not to let your intimacy grow closer with his nephew.”
“Indeed, papa!”
“Yes, my dear. He said that I was a – well, I will not tell you what, for not stopping it directly, for that Harry was rapidly drifting into a bad course – that it was a hopeless case.”
“That is not the way to redeem him, father.”
“No, my clear, it is not. But you were going to say something to me?”
“Yes,” said Madelaine, hesitating. Then putting down her work she rose and went to her father’s side, knelt down, and resting her arms upon his knees, looked straight up in his face.
“Well, Maddy?”
“I wanted to speak to you about Harry.” There was a slight twitching about the merchant’s brows, but his face was calm directly, and he said coolly —
“What about Harry Vine?” Madelaine hesitated for a few moments, and then spoke out firmly and bravely.
“I have been thinking about his position, father, and of how sad it is for him to be wasting his days as he is down here.”
“Very sad, Maddy. He is, as Luke Vine says, going wrong. Well?”
“I have been thinking, papa, that you might take him into your office and give him a chance of redeeming the past.”
“Nice suggestion, my dear. What would old Crampton say?”
“Mr Crampton could only say that you had done a very kind act for the son of your old friend.”
“Humph! Well?”
“You could easily arrange to take him, papa, and with your firm hand over him it would do an immense deal of good.”
“Not to me.”
There was a pause, and Van Heldre gazed into his child’s unblenching eyes.
“So we are coming at facts,” he said at last. “Harry asked you to interfere on his behalf?”
Madelaine shook her head and smiled.
“Is this your own idea?”
“Entirely.”
“Then what was the meaning of the walk on the beach to-day?”
“Harry sought for it, and said that we had been playfellows from children, that he loved me very dearly, and he asked me to be his wife.”
“The – ”
Van Heldre checked himself.
“And what did you say?”
“That it was impossible.”
“Then you do not care for him?”
Madelaine was silent.
“Then you do not care for him?”
“I’m afraid I care for him very much indeed,” said Madelaine firmly.
“Let me thoroughly understand you, my darling. You love George Vine’s son – your old friend’s brother?”
“Yes, father,” said Madelaine, in a voice little above a whisper.
“And he has asked you to be his wife?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what answer you gave him.”
“That I would never marry a man so wanting in self-respect.”
“Hah!”
“He said that our parents were rich, that there was no need for him to toil as he had done, but that if I consented it would give him an impetus to work.”
“And you declined conditionally?”
“I declined absolutely, father.”
“And yet you love him?”
“I’m afraid I love him very dearly.”
“You are a strange girl, Madelaine.”
“Yes, father.”
“Do you know what it means for me to take this fellow into my office?”
“Much trouble and care.”
“Yes. Then why should I?”
“Because, as you have so often taught me, we cannot live for ourselves alone. Because he is the son of your very old friend.”
“Yes,” said Van Heldre softly.
“Because it might save him from a downward course now that there is, I believe, a crisis in his life.”
“And because you love him, Maddy?”
She answered with a look.
“And if I were so insane, so quixotic, as to do all this, what guarantee have I that he would not gradually lead you to think differently – to consent to be his wife before he had redeemed his character?”
“The trust you have in me.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Van Heldre again. And there was another long silence.
“I feel that I must plead for him, father. You could influence him so much.”
“I’m afraid not, my child. If he has not the manliness to do what is right for your sake, anything I could do or say would not be of much avail.”
“You underrate your power, father,” said Madelaine, with a look full of pride in him.
“And if I did this I might have absolute confidence that matters should go no farther until he had completely changed?”
“You know you might.”
“Hah!” sighed Van Heldre.
“You will think this over, father?”
“There is no need, my dear.”
“No need?”
“No, my child. I have for some days past been thinking over this very thing, just in the light in which you placed it.”
“You have?”
“Yes, and I had a long talk with George Vine this afternoon respecting his son.”
“Oh, father!”
“I told him I could see that the trouble was growing bigger and telling upon him, and proposed that I should take Harry here.”
Madelaine had started to her feet.
“Presuming that he does not refuse after his father has made my proposals known, Harry Vine comes here daily to work.”
Madelaine’s arms were round her father’s neck.
“You have made me feel very happy and satisfied, my dear, and may Heaven speed what is going to be a very arduous task.”
Just then Mrs Van Heldre raised her head and looked round.
“Bless my heart!” she exclaimed. “I do believe I have nearly been to sleep.”
Volume One – Chapter Eight.
Uncle Luke Speaks his Mind
“Hallo, Scotchman!”
“Hallo, Eng – I mean French – What am I to call you, Mr Luke Vine?”
“Englishman, of course.”
Uncle Luke was seated, in a very shabby-looking grey tweed Norfolk jacket made long, a garment which suited his tastes, from its being an easy comfortable article of attire. He had on an old Panama hat, a good deal stained, and had a thick stick armed with a strong iron point useful for walking among the rocks, and upon this staff he rested as he sat outside his cottage door watching the sea and pondering as to the probability of a shoal of fish being off the point.
His home with its tiny scrap of rough walled-in garden, which grew nothing but sea holly and tamarisk, was desolate-looking in the extreme, but the view therefrom of the half natural pier sheltering the vessels in the harbour of the twin town was glorious.
He had had his breakfast and taken his seat out in the sunshine, when he became aware of the fact that Duncan Leslie was coming down from the mine buildings above, and he hailed him with a snarl and the above words.
“Glorious morning.”
“Humph! Yes, but what’s that got to do with you?”
“Everything. Do you suppose I don’t like fine weather?”
“I thought you didn’t care for anything but money-grubbing.”
“Then you were mistaken, because I do.”
“Nonsense! You think of nothing but copper, spoiling the face of nature with the broken rubbish your men dig out of the bowels of the earth, poisoning the air with the fumes of those abominable furnaces. Look at that!”
The old man raised his stick and made a vicious dig with it in the direction of the mine.
“Look at what?”
“That shaft. Looks like some huge worm that your men disturbed down below, and sent it crawling along the hill slope till it could rear its abominable head in the air and look which way to go to be at rest.”
“It was there when I took the mine, and it answers its purpose.”
“Bah! What purpose? To make money?”
“Yes; to make money. Very useful thing, Mr Luke.”
“Rubbish! You’re as bad as Van Heldre with his ships and his smelting works. Money! Money! Money! Always money, morning, noon, and night. One constant hunt for the accursed stuff. Look at me!”
“I was looking at you, old fellow; and studying you.”
“Humph! Waste of time, unless you follow my example.”
“Then it will be waste of time, sir, for I certainly shall not follow your example.”
“Why not, boy? Look at me. I have no troubles. I pay no rent. My wants are few. I am nearly independent of tradespeople and tax men. I’ve no slatternly wife to worry me, no young children to be always tumbling down the rocks or catching the measles. I’m free of all these troubles, and I’m a happy man.”
“Well, then, your appearance belies you, sir, for you do not look it,” said Leslie laughing.
“Never you mind my appearance,” said Uncle Luke sharply. “I am happy; at least, I should be, if you’d do away with that great smoky chimney and stop those rattling stamps.”
“Then I’m afraid that I cannot oblige you, neighbour.”
“Humph! Neighbour!”
“I fancy that an unbiassed person would blame you and not me.”
“Of course he would.”
“He’d say if a man chooses to turn himself into a sort of modern Diogenes – ”
“Diogenes be hanged, sir! All a myth. I don’t believe there ever was such a body. And look here, Leslie, I imitate no man – no myth. I prefer to live this way for my own satisfaction, and I shall.”
“And welcome for me, old fellow; only don’t scold me for living my way.”
“Not going to. Here, stop! I want to talk to you. How’s copper?”
“Up a good deal, but you don’t want to know.”
“Of course I don’t. But look here. What do you think of my nephew?”
“Tall, good-looking young fellow.”
“Humph! What’s the good of that? You know all about him, of course?”
“I should prefer not to sit in judgment on the gentleman in question.”
“So I suppose. Nice boy, though, isn’t he?”
Leslie was silent.
“I say he’s a nice boy, isn’t he?” cried the old man, raising his voice.
“I heard what you said. He is your nephew.”
“Worse luck! How is he getting on at Van Heldre’s?”
“I have not the least idea, sir.”
“More have I. They won’t tell me. How about that friend of his? What do you think of him?”
“Really, Mr Vine,” said Leslie, laughing, “I do not set up as a judge of young men’s character. It is nothing to me.”
“Yes, it is. Do you suppose I’m blind? Do you suppose I can’t tell which way the wind blows? If I were young, do you know what I should do?”
“Do away with the chimney-shaft and the stamps,” said Leslie, laughing.
“No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to where the coach starts.”
Leslie’s face looked warm.
“And then I should say, ‘Jump up, and when you get to the station, book for London; and if ever you show your face in Hakemouth again I’ll break your neck.’”
“You must excuse me, Mr Luke; I’m busy this morning,” said Leslie, and he began to descend the steep path.
“Touched him on the tender place,” said Uncle Luke, with a chuckle. “Humph! wonder whether Louie will come and see me to-day.”
Duncan Leslie went on down the zigzag cliff-path leading from the Wheal Germains copper-mine to the town. It was a picturesque way, with a fresh view at every turn west and east; and an advanced member of the town board had proposed and carried the suggestion of placing rough granite seats here and there in the best parts for resting those who climbed, and for giving others attractive places for sunning themselves and looking out to sea.
About half-way down Leslie passed an invalid, who had taken possession of a seat, and was gazing right away south, and dreaming of lands where the sun always shone – wondering whether the bright maiden Health could be found there.
Lower still Leslie was going on thoughtfully, pondering on Uncle Luke’s hints, when the blood suddenly flushed into his cheeks, his heart began to beat rapidly, and he increased his pace. For there unmistakably were two ladies going down the zigzag, and there were no two others in Hakemouth could be mistaken for them.
He hurried on to overtake them. Then he checked himself.
“Where had they been?”
His sinking heart suggested that they had been on their way to visit Uncle Luke, but that they had caught sight of him, and in consequence returned.
His brow grew gloomy, and he walked slowly on, when the blood flushed to his cheeks again, as if he had been surprised in some guilty act, for a sharp voice said —
“No, Mr Leslie; you would not be able to overtake them now.”
He stopped short, and turned to the warm sheltered nook among the rocks where Aunt Margaret was seated; her grey lavender dress was carefully spread about her, her white hair turned back beneath a black velvet satin-lined hood, and a lace fichu pinned across her breast.
“You here, Miss Vine?”
“Yes; and I thought I would save you a thankless effort. You could not overtake the girls unless you ran.”
“I was not going to try and overtake them, Miss Vine,” said Leslie coldly.
“Indeed! I beg your pardon; I thought you were. But would you mind, Mr Leslie – it is a very trifling request, but I set store by these little relics of our early history – Miss Marguerite Vine, if you would be so kind?”
Leslie bowed. “Certainly, Miss Marguerite,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she said, detaining him. “It is very good of you. Of course you are surprised to see me up here?”
“Oh no,” said Leslie quietly. “It is a delightful place to sit and rest and read.”
“Ye-es; but I cannot say that I care much for the rough walking of this part of the world, and my brother seems somehow to have taken quite a dislike to the idea of having a carriage?”
“Yes?”
“So I am obliged to walk when I do come out. There are certain duties one is forced to attend to. For instance, there is my poor brother up yonder. I feel bound to see him from time to time. You see him frequently, of course?”
“Every day, necessarily. We are so near.”
“Poor fellow! yes. Very eccentric and peculiar; but you need be under no apprehension, Mr Leslie. He is quite harmless, I am sure.”