The gardener shook his head, and said that “the plahnts wiltered” for want of light, and wanted to cut away the greater part of the tendril-like stems of the huge wistaria, which twisted itself into cables, and formed loops and sprays all over the top glass; but Glynne looked at him in horror, and forbade him to cut a stem. Consequently, in the spring-time, great lavender racemes of the lovely flowers clustered about the broad window at which the mistress of the Hall loved to sit and sketch “bits” of the beautiful landscape around, and make study after study of the precipitous pine-crowned hill a mile away, behind whose dark trees the sun would set, and give her opportunities to paint in gorgeous hues the tints of the western sky.
Here Lucy Alleyne would be brought after their walks, to sit and read, while Glynne filled in sketches she had made; and many a pleasant hour was passed by the two girls, while the soft breezes of the sunny country waved the long wistaria strands.
“It’s no use for me to speak, Mr Morris,” said the gardener one day. “It ’most breaks my heart, for all about there, and under the little glass house is the untidiest bit about my garden. I told Sir John about it, and he said, ‘Why don’t you cut it then, booby?’ and when I told him why, and ast him to speak to Miss Glynne, he said, ‘Be off, and leave it alone.’”
“And of course you did,” said Morris, the butler.
“Sack’s the word if I hadn’t, sir. But you mark my words: one of these days – I mean nights – them London burglars ’ll give us a visit, and they won’t want no ladder to get up to the first-floor windows. A baby could climb up them great glycene ropes and get in at that window; and then away goes my young lady’s jewels.”
“Well, they won’t get my plate,” said Morris with a chuckle. “I’ve two loaded pistols in my pantry for anyone who comes, so let ’em look out; and if I shout for help, the major’s got his loaded too.”
Glynne Day was seated one afternoon in her conservatory, bending over her last water-colour sketch by the open window, when a loud, reverberating bang echoed along the corridor, making the windows rattle outside her room. Starting up, knowing from old experience that it was only an earthquake, one of the social kind which affected Brackley from time to time, she hurried into her little study, and out into the passage, to go to the end, and tap sharply at the door facing her.
“Come in,” was shouted in the same tones as he who uttered the order had cried “wheel into line!” and Glynne entered to find the major with his hair looking knotted, his moustache bristling, and his eyes rolling in their sockets.
“What is the matter, uncle?”
“Matter?” cried the major, who was purple with rage. “Matter? He’s your father, Glynne, and he’s my brother, but if – if I could only feel that it wasn’t wicked to cut him down with the sword I used at Chillianwallah, I’d be thankful.”
“Now, uncle, dear, you don’t feel anything of the kind,” said Glynne, leaning upon the old gentleman’s arm.
“I do feel it, and I mean it this time. Now, girl, look here! Why am I such an old idiot – ”
“Oh, uncle!”
” – As to stop here, and let that bullying, farm-labouring, overbearing bumpkin – I beg your pardon, my dear, but he is – father of yours, ride rough-shod over me?”
“But, uncle, dear – ”
“But, niece, dear, he does; and how I can be such an idiot as to stop here, I don’t know. If I were his dependent, it couldn’t be worse.”
“But, uncle, dear, I’m afraid you do show a little temper sometimes.”
“Temper! I show temper! Nothing of the kind,” cried the old fellow, angrily, and his grey curls seemed to stand out wildly from his head. “Only decision – just so much decision as a military man should show – nothing more. Temper, indeed!”
“But you are hasty, dear, and papa so soon gets warm.”
“Warm? Red hot. White hot. He has a temper that would irritate a saint, and heaven knows I am no saint.”
“It does seem such a pity for you and papa to quarrel.”
“Pity? It’s abominable, my child, when we might live together as peaceably as pigeons. But he shall have it his own way now. I’ve done. I’ll have no more of it I’m not a child.”
“What are you going to do, uncle?”
“Do? Pack up and go, this very day. Then he may come to my chambers and beg till all’s blue, but he’ll never persuade me to come out here again.”
“Oh, uncle! It will be so dull if you go away.”
“No, no, not it, my dear. You’ve got your captain; and there’ll be peace in the house then till he finds someone else to bully. Why, I might be one of his farm labourers; that I might. But there’s an end of it now.”
“But, uncle!” cried Glynne, looking perplexed and troubled, “come back with me into the library. I’m sure, if papa was in the wrong, he’ll be sorry.”
“If he was in the wrong! He was in the wrong. Me go to him? Not I. My mind’s made up. I’ll not have my old age embittered by his abominable temper. Don’t stop me, girl. I’m going, and nothing shall stay me now.”
“How tiresome it is!” said Glynne, softly, as her broad, white forehead grew full of wrinkles. “Dear uncle; he must not go. I must do something,” and then, with a smile dawning upon her perplexed face, she descended the stairs, and went softly to the library door, opened it gently, and found Sir John tramping up and down the Turkey carpet, like some wild beast in its cage.
“Who’s that? How dare you enter without – Oh, it’s you, Glynne.”
“Yes, papa. Uncle has gone upstairs and banged his door.”
“I’m glad of it; I’m very glad of it,” cried Sir John, “and I hope it’s for the last time.”
“What has been the matter, papa?” said Glynne, laying her hands upon his shoulders. “Sit down, dear, and tell me.”
“No, no, my dear, don’t bother me. I don’t want to sit down, Glynne.”
“Yes, yes, dear, and tell me all about it.”
Fighting against it all the while, the choleric baronet allowed himself to be pressed down into one of the easy-chairs, Glynne drawing a footstool to his side, sitting at his feet, and clasping and resting her hands upon his knees.
“Well, there, now; are you satisfied?” he said, half laughing, half angry.
“No, papa. I want to know why you and uncle quarrelled.”
“Oh, the old reason,” said Sir John, colouring. “He will be as obstinate as a mule, and the more you try to reason with him, the more he turns to you his hind legs and kicks.”
“Did you try to reason with Uncle James, papa?”
“Did I try to reason with him? Why, of course I did, but you might as well try to reason with a stone trough.”
“What was it about?” said Glynne, quietly.
“What was it about? Oh, about the – about the – bless my soul, what did it begin about? Some, some, some – dear me, how absurd, Glynne. He upset me so that it has completely gone out of my head. What do you mean? What do you mean by shaking your head like that? Confound it all, Glynne, are you going to turn against me?”
“Oh, papa, papa, how sad it is,” said Glynne, gently. “You have upset poor uncle like this all about some trifle of so little consequence that you have even forgotten what it was.”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” cried Sir John, trying to rise, but Glynne laid her hand upon his chest and kept him back. “It was no trifle, and it is no joke for your Uncle James to launch out in his confounded haughty, military way, and try to take the reins from my hands. I’m master here. I remember now; it was about Rob.”
“Indeed, papa!” said Glynne, with a sad tone in her voice.
“Yes, finding fault about his training. I don’t want him to go about like some confounded foot-racing fellow, but he’s my son-in-law elect, and he shall do as he pleases. What next, I wonder? Your uncle will be wanting to manage my farm.”
Glynne remained very thoughtful and silent for a few minutes, during which time her father continued to fume, and utter expressions of annoyance, till Glynne said suddenly as she looked up in his face, —
“You were wrong, papa, dear. You should not quarrel with Uncle James.”
“Wrong? Wrong? Why, the girl’s mad,” cried Sir John. “Do you approve of his taking your future husband to task over his amusements?”
“I don’t know,” said Glynne slowly, as she turned her great, frank-looking eyes upon her father. “I don’t know, papa, dear. I don’t think I do; but Uncle James is so good and wise, and I know he loves me very much.”
“Of course he does; so does everybody else,” cried the baronet, excitedly. “I should like to see the man who did not. But I will not have his interference here, and I’m very glad – very glad indeed – that he is going.”
“Uncle James meant it for the best, I’m sure, papa,” said Glynne, thoughtfully, “and it was wrong of you to quarrel with him.”
“I tell you I did not quarrel with him, Glynne; he quarrelled with me,” roared Sir John.
“And you ought to go and apologise to him.”
“I’d go and hang myself sooner. I’d sooner go and commit suicide in my new patent thrashing-machine.”
“Nonsense, papa, dear,” said Glynne quietly. “You ought to go and apologise. If you don’t, Uncle James will leave us.”
“Let him.”
“And then you will be very much put out and grieved.”
“And a good job too. I mean a good job if he’d leave, for then we should have peace in the place.”
“Now, papa!”
“I tell you I’d be very glad of it; a confounded peppery old Nero, talking to me as if I were a private under him. Bully me, indeed! I won’t stand it. There!”
“Papa, dear, go upstairs and apologise to Uncle James.”
“I won’t, Glynne. There’s an end of it now. Just because he can’t have everything his own way. He has never forgiven me for being the eldest son and taking the baronetcy. Was it my fault that I was born first?”
“Now, papa, dear, that’s talking at random; I don’t believe Uncle James ever envied you for having the title.”
“Then he shouldn’t act as if he did. Confound him!”
“Then you’ll go up and speak to him. Come, dear, don’t let’s have this cloud over the house!”
“Cloud? I’ll make it a regular tempest,” cried Sir John, furiously. “I’ll go upstairs and see that he does go, and at once. See if I ferret him out of his nasty, dark, stuffy, dismal chambers again. Brought him down here, and made a healthy, hearty man of him, and this is my reward.”
“Is that you talking, papa?” said Glynne, rising with him, for he made a rush now out of his seat, and she smiled in his face as she put her arms round his neck and kissed him.
“Bah! Get out! Pst! Puss!” cried Sir John, and swinging round, he strode out of the library, and banged the door as if he had caught his brother’s habit.
Glynne stood looking after him, smiling as she listened to his steps on the polished oak floor of the hall, and then seemed quite satisfied as she detected the fact that he had gone upstairs. Then it was that a dreamy, strange look came into her eyes, and she stood there, with one hand resting upon the table, thinking – thinking – thinking of the cause of the quarrel, of the words her uncle had spoken regarding Rolph; and it seemed to her that there was a mist before her, stretching out farther and farther, and hiding the future.
For the major was always so gentle and kind to her. He never spoke to her about Rolph as he had spoken to her father; but she had noticed that he was a little cold and sarcastic sometimes towards her lover.
Was there trouble coming? Did she love Robert as dearly as she should?
She wanted answers to these questions, and the responses were hidden in the mist ahead. Then, as she gazed, it seemed to her that her future was like the vast space into which she had looked from her window by night; and though for a time it was brightened with dazzling, hopeful points, these again became clouded over, and all was misty and dull once more.
Volume One – Chapter Twelve.
The Professor in Company
Sir John went upstairs furiously, taking three steps at a time – twice. Then he finished that flight two at a time; walked fast up the first half of the second flight, one step at a time; slowly up the second half; paused on the landing, and then went deliberately along the corridor, with its row of painted ancestors watching him from one side, as if wondering when he was coming to join them there.
Sir John Day was a man who soon made up his mind, whether it was about turning an arable field into pasture, or the setting of a new kind of corn. He settled in five minutes to have steam upon the farm, and did not ponder upon Glynne’s engagement for more than ten; so that he was able to make his plans very well in the sixty feet that he had to traverse before he reached his brother’s door, upon whose panel he gave a tremendous thump, and then entered at once.
The major was in his shirt-sleeves, apparently turning himself into a jack-in-the-box, for he was standing in an old bullock trunk, one which had journeyed with him pretty well all over India; and as Sir John entered the room sharply, and closed the door behind him, the major started up, looking fiercely and angrily at the intruder.
“Oh, you’re packing, then?” said Sir John, in the most uncompromising tone.
“Yes, sir, I am packing,” said the major, getting out of the trunk, and slamming down the lid; “and I think, sir, that I might be permitted to do that in peace and quietness.”
“Peace? Yes, of course you may,” said Sir John, sharply, “only you will make it war.”
“I was not aware,” said the major, “that it was necessary for me to lock my door – I beg your pardon – your door. And now, may I ask the object of this intrusion? If it is to resume the quarrel, you may spare yourself the pains.”
“Indeed!” said Sir John shortly.
“Well,” continued the major, “why have you come?”
“You are going, then?”
“Of course I am, sir.”
“Well, I came to tell you I’m very glad of it,” cried Sir John, clapping his brother on the shoulder; and then – “I say, Jem, I wish I hadn’t such a peppery temper.”
“No, no, Jack, no, no,” cried the major, excitedly; “it was I who was to blame.”
“Wrong, Jem. I contradicted you – very offensively, too, and I am confoundedly in the wrong. I didn’t know it till Glynne came and pulled me up short. I say, it’s a great pity for us to quarrel, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said the major, laying his hands upon his brother’s shoulders, “it is – it is, indeed, Jack, and I can’t help thinking that I shall be doing wisely in going back to my old chambers, for this projected wedding worries me. We’ll see one another more seldom, and we won’t have words together then. You see – no; stop a moment! Let me speak. You see, I feel my old wound now and then, and it makes me irritable, and then the climate has touched up my liver a bit. Yes, I had better go.”
“Don’t be a fool, Jem,” cried Sir John. “Go, indeed! Why, what the dickens do you suppose I should do without you here? Tchah! tush! you go! Absurd. There, get dressed, man, and come down to dinner. No: come along down with me first, and we’ll get a bottle or two out of the number six bin. There’ll just be time.”
The major shook his head, as he looked at the bullock trunk and a very much bruised and battered old portmanteau waiting to be filled.
“Now, Jem, old fellow, don’t let’s quarrel again,” cried Sir John, pathetically.
“No, no, certainly not, my dear Jack. No more quarrelling, but I think this time I’ll hold to my word.”
“Now, my dear old fellow,” cried Sir John, gripping his brother’s shoulders more tightly, and shaking him to and fro, “do be reasonable. Look here: I’ve asked little Lucy Alleyne to come sans façon, and – ”
“Is she coming?” cried the major, eagerly.
“Yes, and you can talk toadstools as long as you like.”
The major seemed to be hesitating, and he looked curiously at his brother.
“Is Alleyne coming?”
“I asked him, but he is very doubtful; perhaps he is glued to the end of his telescope for the next twelve hours. Here, have that confounded baggage put away.”
The major looked a little more thoughtful. He was hesitating, and thinking of Glynne, who just then tapped softly at the door.
“Come in,” roared Sir John; and she entered, looked quickly from one to the other, and then went up to her uncle, and kissed him affectionately.
“There,” cried Sir John, looking half-pleased, half-annoyed; “it’s enough to make a man wish you would go, Jem.”
“No, it isn’t,” said the major, drawing his niece closer to him. “There, there, my dear, you were quite right. I’m a terrible old capsicum, am I not?”
“No, uncle,” said Glynne, nestling to him; “but hadn’t we better forget all this?”
“Right, my dear, right,” cried Sir John. “There, come along, and let your uncle dress for dinner. Where’s Rob?”
“I think he went for a long walk, papa.”
“Humph! I hope he’ll be in training at last,” said Sir John, good-humouredly. “You’re a lucky girl, Glynne, to have a man wanting to make himself perfect before he marries you. You ought to go and do likewise.”
“Don’t try, Glynne, my dear,” said her uncle affectionately. “A perfect woman would be a horror. You are just right as you are.”
“Well, you are not, Jem,” said Sir John, laughing, “so make haste, and come down. Come along, Glynne.”
He led the way, and, as he passed through the door, Glynne turned to look back at her uncle, their eyes meeting in a peculiarly wistful, inquiring look, that seemed to suggest a mutual desire to know the other’s thoughts.
Then the door closed, and in the most matter-of-fact way, the major proceeded to dress for dinner as if he had never quarrelled with his brother in his life.
When he descended, it was to find Alleyne in the drawing-room with his sister. Glynne was entertaining them, for Sir John had, on leaving his brother, gone down into the cellar for the special bottle of port, and, after its selection, found so much satisfaction in the mildewy, sawdusty, damp-smelling place that he stopped for some twenty minutes, poking his bedroom candlestick into dark corners and archways where the bottoms of bottles could be seen resting as they had rested for many years past – each bin having a little history of its own, so full of recollections that the baronet had at last to drag himself away, and hurry up to dress.
Rolph was also late – so much so that he had encountered Sir John on the stairs, and the party in the drawing-room had a good quarter of an hour’s chat in the twilight, before the candles were lit.
“And you think it possible that it is caused by another planet?” Glynne was saying as the major entered the room; and he paused for a moment or two noting the change that had come over his niece. There was an eager look in her eyes; her face was more animated as she sat in the window catching the last reflections of the western glow, listening the while to Alleyne, who, with his back to the light, was talking in a low, deep voice of some problem in his favourite pursuit.
“Yes; just as happened over Neptune. That appears to be the only solution of the difficulty,” he replied.
“Then why not direct your glass exactly at the place where you feel this planet must be?”
Alleyne smiled as he spoke next.
“I did not explain to you,” he said, “that if such a planet does exist it must be, comparatively, very small, and so surrounded by the intense light of the sun that no glass we have yet made would render it visible.”
“How strange!” said Glynne, thoughtfully; and her eyes vaguely wandered over the evening sky, and then back to rest in a rapt, dreamy way upon the quiet, absorbed face of the visitor.
“I was looking at Jupiter last night,” she said, suddenly, “trying to see his moons.”
“Yes?”
“But our glass is not sufficiently powerful. I could only distinguish two.”
“Perhaps it was not the fault of your glass,” said Alleyne, smiling. “A glass of a very low power will show them. I have often watched them through a good binocular.”
“I’m afraid ours is a very bad one,” said Glynne.
“No, I should be more disposed to think it a good one, Miss Day. The reason you did not see them is this; one was eclipsed by the planet – in other words, behind it – while the others are passing across its body, whose brightness almost hides them – in fact, does hide them to such an extent that they would not be seen by you.”
There was a few minutes’ silence here, broken at last by Glynne, as she said in a low, thoughtful voice, —
“How much you know. How grand it must be.”
Alleyne laughed softly before replying.
“How much I know!” he said, in a voice full of regret. “My dear madam, I know just enough to see what a very little I have learned; how pitifully small in such a science as astronomy is all that a life devoted to its depths would be.”
“For shame, Moray,” cried Lucy, warmly. “You know that people say you are very clever indeed.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I know what they say; but that is only their judgment. I know how trifling are the things I have learned compared with what there is to acquire.”
“What a goose Glynne is,” said the major to himself, as he stood listening to the conversation. “Why, this man is worth a dozen Rolphs.”
“But, Mr Alleyne,” said Glynne, eagerly, “is it possible – could I – I mean, should you think I was asking too much if I expressed a wish to see something of these wonders of which you have been speaking?”
“Oh, no, Moray would show you everything he could. He’s the most unselfish, patient fellow in the world,” cried Lucy.
Glynne turned from her almost impatiently to Alleyne, who said, with a grave smile upon his face, —
“You have no brother, Miss Day. If you had, I hope you would not do all you could, by flattery and spoiling, to make him weak and conceited.”
“Indeed I don’t do anything of the kind, Moray,” said Lucy, indignantly; “and now, for that, I’ll tell the truth, Glynne; he’s a regular bat, an owl, a recluse, and we’re obliged to drag him out into the light of day, or he’d stop in his room till he grew mouldy, that he would. Why, he goes in spirit right away to the moon sometimes, and it only seems as if his body was left behind.”
“What, do you mean to say he’s moonstruck?” said the major, merrily, and looking half-surprised at the quick, indignant look darted at him by Glynne.
“I’m afraid that Lucy here is quite right,” said Alleyne, smiling as he took his sister’s hand in his and patted it. “I do get so intent upon my studies that all every-day life affairs are regularly forgotten. But I do not work half so hard now. They fetched a doctor to me, and it is forbidden. In fact, I have plenty of time now, and if Miss Day will pay my my poor observatory a visit, I will show her everything that lies in my power.”
“Oh, Mr Alleyne, I should be so glad,” cried Glynne eagerly, and to Lucy’s great delight. “I want to see Saturn’s rings, and the seas and continents in Mars, and the twin stars.”
“Well, you needn’t trouble Mr Alleyne,” said Rolph, who had just entered. “There’s a fellow at Hyde Park corner, with a big glass, lets people look through for a penny. He’d be glad enough to come down for a half-crown or two.”
“Why, how absurd, Robert,” said Glynne, turning upon him good-humouredly. “I want to see and learn about these things from someone who is an astronomer.”
“Oh,” said Rolph, “do you? Well, I see no reason why you shouldn’t go and have a peep or two through Mr Alleyne’s glass. I’ll come with you.”
“Here, I’m very sorry, Alleyne. Miss Alleyne, I don’t know what sort of a host you’ll think me for being so late,” cried Sir John, bustling in. “I hope Glynne has been playing my part well.”
“Admirably, Sir John,” replied Alleyne. “We have been talking upon my favourite topic, and the time soon glides by when one is engaged upon questions regarding the planets.”
“But I say, you know, Mr Alleyne,” said Rolph, who, with all the confidence of one in his own house and proprietary rights over the lady, came and seated himself upon the elbow of the easy-chair in which Glynne reclined, and laid his arm behind her on the back, “I want to know what’s the good of a fellow sacrificing his health, and shutting himself up from society, for the study of these abstruse scientific matters. ’Pon my word, I can’t see what difference it makes to us whether Jupiter has got one moon, or ten moons, or a hundred. He’s such a precious long way off.”
Glynne looked up at him with a good-humoured air of pain, but only to turn back and listen to Alleyne.
