Roger Trewinion Part 18

"Ah, Roger," said Wilfred, lightly, "enjoying yourself in the old way?

All play and no work. Happy fellow, you, Roger; but then, some people are born lucky."

I felt myself treated as a child. There was a jeering look upon his face as he spoke, and his tone was that of a man speaking to another of inferior intellect.

I did not answer his sally. I only felt desirous of joining in their walk, of having a chance, no less than he, of speaking to Ruth; so I stammered out:

"You are going for a walk; let me go with you."

He did not hesitate a minute before replying, and in the same tone as he spoke before.

"You won't mind, I'm sure, Roger, when I tell you that we prefer taking this walk alone. We haven't met for three years, and have so much to say to each other."

Again I was treated as a child, and I became angry. I was about to say something very foolish, but before I could utter the words they were gone, and I heard Wilfred laugh a low, jibing kind of laugh.

I think I was mad during the remainder of that afternoon. My brain was on fire, and everything seemed to whirl around me. My love was no sooner known to myself than the object of it was s.n.a.t.c.hed from me by another, and that other my other brother.

I tried to convince myself that he was more worthy than I. I told myself that I was a country b.u.mpkin, an ignorant clown, and unworthy to aspire to a maiden like Ruth Morton. That I was under a curse, that I dared not leave the Trewinion lands for six months at a time, and that it was better she should love Wilfred. This however, did not satisfy me. Try as I would to stifle it, I could not help thinking I had more claims to her love than he. What had he done for her? Nothing! I, on the other hand, had twice risked my life for hers. But for me she would have died, and yet she had bestowed her love on another. Had she? I was not sure, and yet there could be little or no doubt about it. Wilfred was capable of winning any woman's affection, and I felt certain she would not resist his wishes. The very first day of his return they had gone away together, and no doubt he would impress her with his cleverness and greatness.

I would know the truth and that soon. Such was my determination. I would ask her to walk alone with me as she had done with Wilfred, and then I would find out.

I cannot describe my new found love, or, rather, the knowledge of the love I had felt for years. It was so strange, so great. I had from the first taken a special interest in Ruth; from the first I had regarded her as a very dear sister. Now she was a thousand times more than a sister. Nothing was too good for her. My one great thought was to give Ruth happiness and joy. Why, then, did I not without a murmur sacrifice her to Wilfred. Surely he could give her more happiness and joy than I? Strange as it may seem, I felt that he could not. I shuddered at the thought of her belonging to him in any way, and I ground my teeth at the thought of their being together.

Perhaps this was because of my jealousy. Nevertheless, I am sure that rough, uncouth, ay, half savage as I was, I would willingly have laid down my life to save her from pain.

I had no chance to speak to her that day, nor the next, nor indeed for many days. When my chance came, something stepped in between us.

Either Wilfred was with Ruth, or my mother claimed the girl as her companion. I need not say that this maddened me more than ever and made me act in anything but a creditable way. I would leave the merry family party and go down to the village to talk with the fishermen. I would seek to forget my own sorrows by laughing at their jokes, or entering into their lives. Again, I would indulge in long, lonely walks, or go away fishing alone. I knew I was fighting against my own interests by doing this. I knew I was allowing my brother to use every fascinating art in his power.

At length, my time came. We had all been out in the harvest fields together, watching the reapers cut the golden wheat and gather it into sheaves.

Surely the earth has few fairer sights than this! I have travelled over a great deal of the globe, but I have seen nothing fairer than our old Trewinion fields at harvest time. Especially was this so beneath the light of the harvest moon. I shall never forget it. As twilight faded, a thin mist rose from the earth, which, as the pale moon's rays shone through it, looked strangely beautiful. The corn moughs (stacks), too, looked weird and ghastly in the dim light, while the silver sea in the distance made a low, delicious music as it gently rippled on the sh.o.r.e.

In the distance I could hear the men and women singing on their homeward way some plaintive Cornish songs, which to me blended sweetly with the low sighing of the wind.

Ruth and I had by some means became separated from the rest, and my heart fluttered rapidly, for I had determined to find out if she loved my brother Wilfred. It has never been my way to lead up slowly to a subject. What I have to say I must blurt out at once, ofttimes in a way that gives pain to those to whom I speak.

"Ruth," I said, "I have long wished to tell you something."

"Have you, Roger?" she said, cheerfully "then tell me at once, for you have made me curious. What can you wish to say to me?"

There was no hesitation, no trembling in her voice.

She spoke as naturally as my own sisters might have spoken.

"Let us go home by Pentvargle Cove," I said, "and turn in at Honeysuckle-lane."

"Very well," she said, gaily; "and you'll pluck some of the honeysuckle for me, won't you? I can smell it from here; how delicious it is.

Wouldn't Wilfred enjoy this?"

She was thinking of Wilfred even now, when she was alone with me, and I was about to burst out with an angry remark about my brother when I looked down into her face.

To me it seemed like the face of an angel. Her large, l.u.s.trous grey eyes had a far-away look in them, and an expression of sweet, placid contentment rested on every feature. Never have I seen a face so sweet, so beautiful. Tenderness, truth, purity were there, mingled with courage, sacrifice, daring. It was a face never to be forgotten when once seen. Never did I love her as I did then, and I could not say angry words about my brother.

I have said I was clumsy in my mode of expression. I could say nothing as it should be said; and now, when I felt I ought to be more than usually careful, I was more than ever confused.

"Come Roger," she said, "what is it you want to tell me?"

"I want to know, Ruth," I said, my voice trembling, "why you shun me, dislike me, hate me so?"

CHAPTER IX

OMENS OF DARKNESS

Look here upon this picture, and on this; The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.

See what grace was seated on his brow; Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself.

An eye like Mars to threaten or command.

--_Hamlet_, Act III, Scene 3.

She looked up as if surprised at my question.

"Hate you, shun you, Roger," she repeated. "Whatever led you to ask such a question?"

"How can I help asking it," I said, "when it is true? You never have a word for me now. Your every thought is given to my brother. I suppose it is because Roger is a boor, Roger is a clown, Roger is ugly."

"What can possess you to speak in such a way?" she said.

I knew I had spoken foolishly; but I could not help it. I was mad with rage and jealousy. Having once begun to speak, all judgment and discretion were gone. I was determined to know my fate, determined to know if she loved my brother Wilfred.

"Possess me!" I answered. "Well, I hardly know; but this I know. Ever since my prig of a brother has come home from Oxford with his affected smile and flattering ways, Ruth has had no ears or eyes for any one else."

"Still I fail to understand you," she said.

"I do not doubt," I replied, savagely, "that I am too ignorant a clown to make my meaning clear. Were Wilfred speaking, you would understand him. He would put his thoughts in such poetic language, and speak in such cooing tones, that little Ruth would be made to think as he thought, and feel as he felt; but I--I am n.o.body."

"Roger," she said, "you are not kind, you are not speaking like my big brother."

"No, I cannot," I said, "I do not feel that I am your brother. What kind feeling have you towards me? Not a jot. It is Wilfred, Wilfred, ever Wilfred."

She walked on by my side in silence, I feeling that I had been a brute, a savage. What right had I to speak so roughly, and thus to annoy her?

I looked down at her face, and I saw that her eyes were filled with tears and her lips trembled. For a moment my jealousy and anger were gone.

"Forgive me, sister Ruth," I said, "I ought not to speak so. Try and forget what I have said. See, we are in Honeysuckle-lane, and here is some."

I picked a sprig of honeysuckle as I spoke and gave it to her, which she received kindly. This emboldened me. Perhaps after all I was not so hateful to her.