Eli's Children Part 44

"No," she cried, with a fresh accession of strength, as she laid her hand upon the gate; "I have promised to be Luke Ross's wife."

"His you shall never be," he said, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "You do not love him, and you shall not fling yourself away. Sage, you shall be mine, and--"

"Well, young man, are you obliged to whisper what you say to my niece?

Come, Sage, my girl, it's time you were indoors."

"Uncle!" cried Sage, joyously, as she sprang to his side with a sigh of relief.

"Yes, my girl," he said, coldly, "it is uncle;" and he stuck his thistle staff down into the soft earth, and leaned his hands upon the round top.

"You can go on," he continued; "I'm not coming home yet."

"But, uncle," she cried, excitedly.

"Go home, my la.s.s," he said, imperatively.

"Yes, dear," she half sobbed; "but you will not--"

"I say go home!" he shouted; and, with a low wail, she turned off, and walked hurriedly towards the farm, her uncle standing watching her, while Cyril Mallow coolly took a cigar-case from his breast pocket, opened it, carefully selected a cigar, picking, choosing, and returning one after the other till he had found one to his fancy, when he snapped to the case once more and thrust it back in his pocket, afterwards biting off the cigar-end and proceeding to light it with a fusee that evinced a strong dislike to burst into sparks and then smoulder away.

As he did this, however, he kept glancing furtively at the Churchwarden, who was watching the retiring form of Sage, her troubled mien winning a glance or two from Cyril as well.

The cigar burned badly, and had to be lit again, this time being watched by the Churchwarden with a kind of good-humoured contempt for the man who could smoke those rolls of tobacco-leaf in place of an honest pipe.

At last the cigar drew freely, and the eyes of the two men met.

"I'm in for another row now," said Cyril, to himself. "Awkward; very.

Never mind; I don't care."

"Now, young man," said Portlock, at last, in a very short, blunt fashion, "it seems to me that you and I had better have a few words together of a sort."

"When and where you please," said Cyril, carelessly.

"Let's walk along here, then," said the Churchwarden, pointing down the lane with his thistle staff.

"Away from the farm, eh?" thought Cyril. "All right, old friend." Then aloud, "Whichever way you please, sir."

"I didn't know things had gone so far as this," continued the Churchwarden, leading the way. "People say that you are the idlest chap in these parts; but it seems to me that, with the work thou likest, thou canst be as busy as the best."

Cyril flushed a little, and bit his lip, for he told himself that he was a gentleman, and the farmer was making far too free in his way of address; but he checked his annoyance, and said quietly--

"Perhaps, sir, you will kindly explain what you mean." Then, after a furtive glance at the stern, angry-looking man, he muttered to himself--

"You dare not strike me; and, as to your words, say what you like-- little Sage is mine."

"Now, sir," exclaimed Sage's uncle, after a few moments' pause, "will you have the goodness to explain the meaning of the scene I have just witnessed?"

"Explain, sir?" said Cyril, coolly; "surely it needs no explanation. I am young, and of one s.e.x; Miss Portlock is young and of the other s.e.x, and a mutual attachment has sprung up."

"Mutual!"

"Well, yes; I hope so, sir. Perhaps, though, I ought to be content with alluding to my own feelings."

"Humph! Your own feelings, eh? And pray does Mr Cyril Mallow mean to say that he has become attached to my niece?"

"Certainly he does, sir. You are not surprised?"

"But I am surprised," said the farmer, angrily, "and I am very glad to have witnessed what I did before the mischief went further. Now, look here, Mr Cyril Mallow, I am a man of business, and when I have an unpleasant matter to tackle I go straight to it at once."

"A very good plan," said Cyril, calmly.

"I'm glad you think so, sir," said the Churchwarden, ironically. "And now, if you please, we'll walk straight up to the rectory."

"What for?" cried Cyril, who was startled by his words.

"What for? Why to talk this matter over with your father."

"But suppose he does not approve of the engagement, Mr Portlock?" said Cyril, who was taken somewhat aback by this very prompt way of treating the affair.

"Approve? Whoever thought he would approve, sir? Of course he does not, any more than I do. What I want is for you to be given to understand in a quiet way that it is time you gave up visiting at my place, and hanging about to catch sight of my little girl, when she is leaving or going to the school."

"Mr Portlock!" exclaimed Cyril, haughtily.

"Mr Cyril Mallow!" cried the Churchwarden. "Now just look here, sir.

If I were one of your set, should you be making approaches to my niece in the way you have? Not you: it would not be considered proper.

Aunt's and uncle's consent would be asked first; but as I'm only a farmer, I'm hardly worth notice. It seems that my little la.s.sie has taken your fancy, and so you come running after her; but not a word to me."

"But hear me a minute," protested Cyril.

"No, sir; nor yet half a minute. A farmer's a man, if he is not what you call a gentleman, and thinks as much of his people as the highest in the land. I dare say, in your high and mighty way, as our rector's son, and a gentleman who has been at college, you think you are stooping to notice my niece; so let me tell you, once for all, I don't think you are; and, what's more, it will be a far better man than you have shown yourself to be who gets my consent to make her his wife."

"I can a.s.sure you, Mr Portlock--" began Cyril; but the farmer would not hear him. He was thoroughly angry, and his face flushed up a deep red.

"And I can a.s.sure you, sir, that I want no such reckless, idling fellow seeking after my niece. We had bother enough when your brother was after Sage's sister. I tell you, then, plainly, once for all, that I won't have it; so don't show your face at my place again."

He turned sharply round and strode off, leaving Cyril mortified and angry; for, in his way, he had felt that he was stooping, and falling away from his position, in noticing the little schoolmistress, so that this sharp rebuff came like a rude shock to his feelings, and made the end at which he aimed seem less likely to be achieved.

"Confound his insolence!" he cried, as he saw the broad back of the farmer disappearing through his own gate. "It is too bad to be borne."

But in a few minutes' time, as he walked slowly homeward, he began to smile and think over his position.

"Let him talk and speak loud," he said. "I thought he was going to threaten me once. What does it matter? My father is dead against it, and he and Master Portlock will make common cause against me. But what does it matter when Aunt Portlock is on my side, and little Sage is as good as won? Then, as to madame, my poor mother? Pish! she will refuse me nothing. So, Master Churchwarden, I have three women on my side, and the game is mine, do what you like."

He walked on a little way, amusing himself the while by thinking of the divided sides, and how much stronger his must be.

"Let them fight us," he said, laughing. "We shall be four to two, and we must win; but stay, I had forgotten another enemy--Master Luke Ross.

Poor fellow!" he said, contemptuously, "his chance against me is about the value of _nil_."