Of High Descent Part 76

Dark days of clouds with gloomy days of rain, such as washes the fertile soil from the tops of the granite hills, leaving all bare and desolate, with nothing to break the savage desolation of the Cornish prospect but a few projecting blocks, and here and there a grim-looking, desolate engine-house standing up like a rough mausoleum erected to the memory of so much dead coin.

There were several of these in the neighbourhood of Hakemouth, records of mining adventures where blasting and piercing had gone on for years in search of that rich vein of copper or tin, which experts said existed so many feet below gra.s.s, but which always proved to be a few feet lower than was ever reached, and instead of the working leading to the resurrection of capital, it only became its grave.

The rain fell, and on the third day the wind beat, and much soil was washed down into the verdant, ferny gullies, and out to sea. The waves beat and eddied and churned up the viscous sea-wrack till the foam was fixed and sent flying in b.a.l.l.s and flakes up the rocks and over the fields, where it lay like dirty snow.

In and out of the caverns the sea rushed and bellowed and roared, driving the air in before it, till the earth seemed to quiver, and the confined air escaped with a report like that of some explosion. Then the gale pa.s.sed over, the stars came out, and in the morning, save that the sea looked muddy instead of crystal clear and pure, all was sunshine and joy.

During the storm there had been an inquest, and with the rain pouring down till there were inches of water in the grave, the body of the unfortunate man was laid to rest.

Duncan Leslie had been busy for a couple of hours in a restless, excited way, till, happening to look down from up by his engine-house, he caught sight of a grey-looking figure seated upon a stone by the cliff-path.

Giving a few orders, he hurried along the track.

Uncle Luke saw him coming, out of the corner of one eye, but he did not move, only sat with his hands resting upon his stick, gazing out at the fishing-boats, which seemed to be revelling in the calm and sunshine, and gliding out to sea.

"Good morning."

"Bah! nothing of the kind," said Uncle Luke, viciously. "There isn't such a thing."

"No?" said Leslie, smiling sadly.

"Nothing of the kind. Life's all a mistake. The world's a round ball of brambles with a trouble on every thorn. Young Harry has the best of it, after all. Get wet?"

"Yesterday at the funeral? Yes, very."

"Hah! Saw you were there. Horrible day. Well, good job it's all over."

Leslie was silent, and stood watching the old man.

"Something upset you?" he said at last.

"Upset me? Do you think it's possible for me to go to my brother's without being upset?"

"No, no. It has been a terrible business for you all."

"Wasn't talking about that," snapped out Uncle Luke. "That's dead and buried and forgotten."

"No, sir; not forgotten."

"I said, 'and forgotten.'"

Leslie bowed.

"Confound that woman!" continued Uncle Luke, after a pause. "Talk about Huguenot martyrs, sir; my brother George and that girl have lived a life of martyrdom putting up with her."

"She is old and eccentric."

"She has no business to be old and eccentric. n.o.body has, sir; unless-- unless he shuts himself up all alone as I do myself. I never worry any one; I only ask to be let alone. There, you needn't sneer."

"I did not sneer, sir."

"No, you didn't, Leslie. I beg pardon. You're a good fellow, Leslie.

True gentleman. No man could have done more for us. But only to think of that woman attacking poor George and me as soon as we got back from the funeral. Abused him for degrading his son, and driving him to his terrible death. It was horrible, sir. Said she would never forgive him, and drove Louise sobbing out of the room."

Duncan Leslie winced, and Uncle Luke gave him a stern look.

"Ah, fool--fool--fool!" he exclaimed. "Can't you keep out of those trammels? Louise? Yes, a nice girl--now; but she'll grow up exactly like her aunt. We're a half-mad family, Leslie. Keep away from us."

"Mr Luke Vine--"

"No, no. You need not say anything. Be content as you are, young man.

Women are little better than monkeys, only better-looking. Look at my sister. Told George last night that he was living under false pretences, because he signed his name Vine. Bah! she's an idiot. Half mad."

He turned sharply round from gazing out to sea, and looked keenly in Leslie's face.

"Very well," he said quickly. "I don't care if you think I am."

"Really, Mr Luke Vine, I--"

"Don't trouble yourself to say it. You thought I wasn't much better than my sister. I could see you did. Very well; perhaps I am not, but I don't go dancing my lunacy in everybody's face. Ah, it's a queer world, Leslie."

"No, sir; it is the people who are queer."

"Humph! That's not bad for you, Leslie. Yes; you are about right. It is the people who are queer. I'm a queer one, so my folks think, because I sent my plate to the bank, had my furniture in a big town house sold, and came to live down here. My sister says, to disgrace them all. There, I'm better now. Want to speak to me?"

"N-no, nothing very particular, Mr Vine."

Uncle Luke tightened his lips, and stared fiercely out to sea.

"Even he can't tell the truth," he said. "Stupid fellow! Just as if I couldn't read him through and through."

The meeting was a.s.suming an unpleasant form when there was a diversion, Poll Perrow coming slowly up, basket on back, examining each face keenly with her sharp, dark eyes.

"Morning, Master Leslie," she said in her sing-song tone. "Nice morning, my son. Morning, Master Luke Vine, sir. Got any fish for me to-day?"

Leslie nodded impatiently; Uncle Luke did not turn his head.

"I said to myself," continued the old woman, "Master Luke Vine saw that shoal of ba.s.s off the point this morning, and he'll be sure to have a heavy basket for me of what he don't want. Dessay I can sell you one, Mr Leslie, sir."

"Can't you see when two gentlemen are talking?" said Uncle Luke, snappishly. "Go away."

"Ay, that I will, Master Luke, only let's have the fish first."

"I told you I haven't been fishing."

"Nay, not a word, Master Luke. Now, did he, Master Leslie? No fish, and I've tramped all the way up here for nothing."

"Shouldn't have come, then."

"It's very hard on a poor woman," sighed Poll, sinking on a stone, and resting her hands on her knees, her basket creaking loudly. "All this way up and no fish."