Eli's Children Part 99

In obedience to his promise, Luke. Ross set earnestly to work to try and obtain an alleviation of the stern sentence pa.s.sed upon Cyril Mallow.

It was an exceedingly awkward task to come from the prosecuting counsel, but Luke did not shrink, striving with all his might, offending several people high in position by his perseverance, and doing himself no little injury; but he strove on, with the inevitable result that his application came back from the Home Office with the information that the Right Honourable the Secretary of State saw nothing in the sentence to make him interfere with the just course of the law, adding, moreover, his opinion that it was a very proper punishment for one whose education and antecedents should have guided him to a better course.

These doc.u.ments were sent by Luke, without word of comment, to Kilby Farm, where he knew from his father that Sage was residing with her children; and by return of post came a very brief letter from the widowed wife, thanking him for what he had done, and ending with the hope that he would forgive the words uttered during an agony of soul that without some utterance would have driven the speaker mad.

"She did not mean it," said Luke, sadly, as he carefully folded and put away the letter. "She knows me better in her heart."

Then time went on, till a year had pa.s.sed. Luke had not been near Lawford, for the place, in spite of its being the home of his birth, was too full of sad memories to induce him to go down. Besides, there was the fact that Sage Mallow had, in defiance of looks askance from those who had known her in her earlier days, permanently taken up her residence there.

"I'd like to hear any one say a slighting word to thee, my bairn," said Portlock, fiercely. "It's no fault of thine that thy husband got into trouble. I'd live here, if it was only out of defiance to the kind-hearted Christians, as they call themselves, who slight thee."

So Sage remained a fixture at the farm, settling down quite into her former life, but no longer with the light elasticity of step, and the rooms no more echoed with the ring of her musical voice. Time had given her an older and a sadder look, but her features had grown refined, and there was a ladylike mien in every movement that made her aunt gaze upon her with a kind of awe.

"Let her come back to the old nest again, mother," said Portlock.

"There's room enough for the la.s.s, and as for the little ones--My word, mother, it's almost like being grandfather and granny."

Many a heartache had Sage had about her dependent position, and the heavy losses that had occurred to her uncle in the money she and her husband had had; but Portlock, in his bluff way, made light of it.

"I dare say I can make some more, my bairn, and it will do for these two young tyrants. Hang me, what a slave they do make of me, to be sure!"

It was the faint wintry sunshine of Sage Mallow's life to see the newly-born love of the old people for her children, whom they idolised, and great was the jealousy of Rue whenever she came across to Kilby.

But it was no wonder, for they were as attractive in appearance as they were pretty in their ways. One was always out in the gig with the Churchwarden, while the other was seriously devoting herself to domestic duties and hindering Mrs Portlock, who bore the infliction with huge delight.

"I never saw such bairns," cried the old lady.

"Nor anybody else," said Portlock, proudly. "Let's see, mother, there's a year gone by out of the fourteen. Bless my soul, I wish it had been twenty-one instead."

"For shame, Joseph!" cried Mrs Portlock. "How can you!"

"Well, all I can say is that it's a blessing he was shut up where he could do no further mischief."

"But it's so dreadful for the bairns."

"Tchah! not it. They can't help it, bless 'em. See how they've improved since they have been down here."

"Well, yes, they have," said Mrs Portlock, "and Sage's a deal better."

"Better, poor la.s.sie! I should think she is. Of course, she frets after him a bit now and then, and feels the disgrace a good deal, but, bless my soul, mother, she's like a new woman compared to what she was.

For my part, I hope they'll never let him out again."

"For shame, Joseph!" said Mrs Portlock. "Mr Mallow was over here this morning."

"Was he? Ah, I'll be bound to say he wanted to take the bairns over to the rectory."

"Yes, and he took them."

"Hah!" said the farmer, sharply. "I'm very sorry for the poor old lady, but I am glad that she is so ill that she can't bear to have them much."

"What a shame, Joseph!" cried Mrs Portlock, indignantly. "How can you say such a cruel thing! Glad she is so ill!"

"I didn't mean I was glad she was ill," said the Churchwarden, chuckling. "I meant I was glad she was too ill to have the bairns."

"But it sounds so dreadful."

"Let it. What do I care! I don't want for us to be always squabbling over those children. They're my Sage's bairns, and consequently they're ours."

"But they're Cyril Mal--"

"Tchah! Don't mention his name," cried the Churchwarden.

"Fie, Joseph! you do make me jump so when you talk like that."

"Shouldn't mention that fellow's name then. I told you not."

"Well, then, they are Mr and Mrs Mallow's children just as much as ours, Joseph," said the old lady.

"No they ain't; they're mine, and there's an end of it. I say, though, old Michael Ross is ill."

"Ah! poor man. I'm sorry; but he's very old, Joseph."

"Not he. Young man yet," said the Churchwarden, who was getting touchy on the score of age. "I don't call a man old this side of a hundred.

Look at the old chaps in the Bible, as Sammy Warmoth used to say."

"Yes, Joseph, but they were great and good men."

"Oh, were they?" said the Churchwarden. "I don't know so much about that. Some of 'em were; but others did things that the Lawford people wouldn't stand if I were to try 'em on."

"But what is the matter with Michael Ross?"

"Break up. I went in to see him, and the old man got me to write a letter to Luke, asking him to come down and see him."

"And did you, Joseph?"

"Did I? Why, of course I did. Do you suppose I've got iron bowels, woman, and no compa.s.sion in me at all?"

"I wish you wouldn't talk such nonsense, Joseph," said Mrs Portlock, sharply. "And do you think Luke Ross will come down?"

"Of course he will."

"He hasn't been down for a very long time now. I suppose he has grown to be such a great man that he is ashamed of poor old Lawford."

"Who's talking nonsense now?" cried the Churchwarden. "Nice temptation there is for him to come down here, isn't there? Bless the lad, I wonder he even cares to set foot in the place again."

"It would be unpleasant for him, I suppose, after all that has taken place. But you think he will come?"

"Sure to. I told him it was urgent, and that I'd drive over to Morbro and meet the train, so as to save him time. He's a good man, is Luke Ross, as old Michael said with tears in his eyes to-day, and he wants to see him badly."

"Poor old man!"