Interludes Part 6

"Look at Miss Bagshaw," said the artist to me. "What a good girl she is!

I am so sorry for her!" Pity is kin to love, thought I, as I watched the beautiful girl move swiftly up to her father and mother, and in a moment all three moved quietly away.

"Who's the old girl?" asked Captain O'Brien of Captain Kelly.

"The celebwated Mrs. Bagshaw, wife of Colonel Bagshaw. She was a gweat singer or something not very long ago. Very wich, Tom; chance for you, you know; only daughter, rather a pwetty girl, not much style, father-in- law and mother-in-law not desiwable, devil of a wow, wampageous, both of them!"

"How much?" "Say twenty thou." "Can't be done at the pwice." "Don't know that--lunatic asylums--go abroad--that sort of thing---young lady chawming!" "Ah!"

"What do you say to a row in the old four oar?" said Harry Barton. "With all my heart," said I. "Let us make up a party. The Delameres will go, the two young ladies and Thornton. Don't let's have the mother, she jaws so confoundedly. Go and ask Mrs. Bagshaw and her daughter to make things proper."

"All right! Thornton shall steer; you three; I stroke; Glenville two; Hawkstone bow, to look out ahead and see all safe." And off he went to ask Mrs. Bagshaw, who was now all smiles and sunshine, and managed very cleverly to secure the two Misses Delamere and Thornton without the mamma. And so we all went down to the harbour, where we found Hawkstone looking out for our party as usual.

CHAPTER IV.--BOATING.

"Muscular Christianity is very great!" said the Archangel. "The devil it is!" said Satan, "see how I will deal with it!" In the days of Job he said, "Touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse thee to thy face"--

"But Satan now is wiser than of yore, And tempts by making _strong_, not making poor."

Muscular Christianity was at one time the cant phrase. Can we even now talk of Christian muscularity? For my part I think an Eton lad or a Camford man is a sight for G.o.ds and fishes. The glory of his neck-tie is terrible. He saith among the cricket b.a.l.l.s, Ha, ha, and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thud of the oars and the shouting. I suppose the voice of the people is the voice of G.o.d; but let a thing once become fashionable and the devil steps in and leads the dance. When Lady Somebody, or Sir John n.o.body, gives away the prizes at the county athletic sports, amid the ringing cheers of the surrounding ladies and gentlemen, I suspect the recipient, in nine times out of ten, is little better than an obtainer of goods by false pretences. When that ardent youth, Tommy Leapwell, brings home a magnificent silver goblet for the "high jump," what a fuss is made of it and of him both at home and in the newspapers; whereas when that exemplary young student, Mugger, after a term's hard labour, receives as a reward a volume of Macaulay's _Essays_, in calf, price two and sixpence, very little is said about the matter; and, at all events, the dismal circ.u.mstance is not mentioned outside the family circle.

Nelly Crayshaw was talking saucily with Hawkstone as we came down to the quay. I noticed Barton shaking hands with her, and whispering a few words as we got into the boat; and I noticed also a certain sheepish, and rather sulky look upon Hawkstone's face, as he did so; and if I was not mistaken, my learned friend Glenville let something very like an oath escape him as he shouted: "Barton, Barton, come along; we are all waiting for you!"

I do not think Nelly could be called a beauty. The face was too flat, the mouth was too large, and the colour of the cheeks was too brilliant.

Yet she was very charming. The blue of her eyes underneath dark eyelashes and eyebrows was--well--heavenly. The whole face beamed and glowed through ma.s.ses of brown hair, which were arranged in a somewhat disorderly manner, and yet with an evident eye to effect. The aspect was frank and good-humoured, though somewhat soft and sensuous; and the form, though full, was not without elegance, and showed both strength and agility. No one could pa.s.s by her without being arrested by her appearance, but we used to quarrel very much as to her claims to be called a "clipper," or a "stunner," or whatever was the word in use among us to express our ideal.

Barton jumped into the boat and away we went, Thornton steering, Mrs.

Bagshaw, her daughter, and the Misses Delamere in the stern, Barton stroke, myself three, Glenville two, and Hawkstone bow--a very fine crew, let me tell you, for we all knew how to handle an oar,--especially in smooth water. And so we pa.s.sed in front of the parade, waving our pocket handkerchiefs in answer to those which fluttered on the sh.o.r.e, and rowing away into the wide sea. Mrs. Bagshaw, who was an excellent musician, and her daughter, who had a lovely voice, sang duets and songs for our amus.e.m.e.nt; and, with the aid of the two Misses Delamere, made up some tolerable glees and choruses, in the latter of which we all joined at intervals, to the confusion of the whole effect,--of the singing in point of tune, and of the rowing in point of time.

As we were rounding Horn Point, Thornton said to Mrs. Bagshaw, "Do you know, there are some such splendid ferns grow in a little ravine you can see there on the side of that hill. Do let us land and get some."

"What do you want ferns for?" asked I, innocently.

"Silence in the boat, three," cried Glenville. "What a hard-hearted monster you must be!" he whispered in my ear.

"Oh, do let us land," said Miss Delamere, "I do so want some common bracken"--or whatever it was, for she cared no more than you or I about the ferns--"I want some for my book, and mamma says we really must collect some rare specimens before we go home." Mrs. Bagshaw guessed what sort of flower they would be looking for--heartsease, I suppose, or forget-me-not; but she very good-naturedly agreed to the proposal, and Hawkstone undertook to show us where we could land. We were soon ash.o.r.e, and Hawkstone said, "You must not be long, gentlemen, if you please, for the wind is rising, and it will come on squally before long; and we have wind and tide against us going back, and a tough job it is often to round the lighthouse hill."

"All right," said Thornton, "how long can you give us?"

"Twenty minutes at the most," said the boatman, "and you will only just have time to mount the cliff and come back."

I heard an indistinct, dull murmur, half of the sea and half of the wind, and, looking far out to sea, could fancy I saw little white sheep on the waves. We left Glenville with Hawkstone talking and smoking. They were really great friends, although in such different ranks in life. Glenville used to rave about him as a true specimen of the old Devon rover. He was a tall, well-proportioned man, with a clear, open face, very ruddy with sun and wind and rough exercise, a very pleasant smile, and grey eyes, rather piercing and deep set. The brow was fine, and the features regular, though ma.s.sive. The hair and beard were brown and rough-looking, but his manner was gentle, and had that peculiar courtesy which makes many a Devon man a gentleman and many a Devon la.s.s a lady, let them be of ever so humble an origin.

Barton paired off with the younger Miss Delamere, Thornton with the elder. Mrs. Bagshaw and I followed, conversing cheerfully of many things. I found her a very entertaining and agreeable lady, accomplished, frank, and amiable. There was nothing at all peculiar either in her appearance or conversation. While I was talking to her I kept wondering whether her outbreaks of temper were the result of some real or supposed cause of jealousy, or were to be attributed solely to a chronic feeling of irritability against her husband. In the course of our walk together Mrs. Bagshaw said to me--

"Your friend, Mr. Thornton, is evidently very much smitten with Florence Delamere."

"Yes, I think so," I replied, "but I daresay nothing will come of it. Her family would not like it, I suppose; for, you know, they are of a good family in Norfolk, and Thornton is only the son of a grocer."

"I did not know that," she said, "but I have thought your friend had not quite the manners of the cla.s.s to which the Delameres clearly belong.

Mrs. Delamere is perhaps not anyone in particular, and she certainly talks overmuch upon subjects which probably she does not understand. The young ladies are most agreeable and lady-like, and I think Mr. Thornton has found that out. It is easy to see that objections to any engagement would be of the gravest sort--indeed, I imagine, insurmountable. It is most unfortunate that this should happen when the young man is away from his parents, who might guide him out of the difficulty. I think Mrs.

Delamere is aware of the attachment, and is not inclined to favour it. Do you think you could influence your friend in any way? You will do him a great service if you can warn him of his danger; if he does not attend to you, you might tell Mr. Porkington, and consult with him."

I promised to follow her advice as well as I could, for I felt that it was both kindly meant and reasonable, although I felt myself rather too young to be entangled in such matters.

"Oh what a lovely fern, such a nice little one too. Do try and dig it up for me," said Florence.

"I will try to do my best," said Thornton; "I have got a knife." And down he went upon his knees, and soon extracted a little brittle bladder, which he handed to the young lady, saying, "I hope it will live. Do you think it will?"

"Oh, yes," she said. "I can keep it here till we go home, and then plant it in my rockery, where they flourish nicely, as it is beautifully sheltered from the sun."

"I wish it were rather a handsomer-looking thing," said the young man, looking rather ruefully at the little specimen.

"I shall prize it for the sake of the giver," she said, with a slight blush. "But I am afraid you have spoilt your knife."

"Oh, not at all. Do let me dig up some more."

"No, thank you; do not trouble. See what a pretty bank of wild thyme."

"Would you like to sit down upon it? You know it smells all the sweeter for being crushed."

"Well, it does really look most inviting." Florence sat down, saying as she did so, "How lovely the wild flowers are--heather and harebells."

"Let me gather some for you." He began plucking the flowers, which flourished in such profusion and variety that a nosegay grew in every foot of turf. "When do you think of leaving Babbicombe?"

"In two or three days."

"So soon!"

"Yes; for papa has to go back to attend to his Quarter Sessions."

"I am very, very sorry you are going. I had hoped you would stay much longer. These three weeks have flown like three days."

"Why, Mr. Thornton, I declare you are throwing my flowers away as fast as you gather them."

"So I am," he said. "The fact is I hardly know what I am doing." The colour was blazing into his face, and his heart beating wildly.

"Florence," he cried, flinging himself upon his knees beside her, "forgive me if I speak rashly or wildly--I don't know how to speak. I don't know what to tell you--but I love you dearly, dearly, with my whole heart. I cannot tell--I hope--I think you may like me. Do not say no, I implore you. If you do not like me to speak so wildly, tell me so; but don't say you will not love me. Tell me you will love me--if you can."

Florence was young, and was taken by surprise, or perhaps she might have stopped the young gentleman at once; but after all it is not unpleasant to a pretty girl to see a good-looking young lad at her feet and to listen to his pa.s.sionate words of homage. At length, when he seemed to come to a pause, she replied: "Oh, Mr. Thornton, please, please do not talk so. This is so sudden. Our parents know nothing of this!"

"Do you love me--tell me?"

"We are too young. You really must not--"