The Squire's Daughter
"Ah, now you are getting beyond me," she said; "but since things are as they are, should we not make the best of them?"
"And try to mend them at the same time?"
"Oh yes, by all means – that is, if we can."
"But you have not much hope of mending things?" he questioned.
"Not very much. Besides, if you levelled things up to-morrow, they would be levelled down again the day after."
"Isn't that a rather fatalistic way of looking at things?" he questioned, raising his eyes timidly to her face.
"Is it?" she questioned, and a soft blush swept over her face as she caught his glance. Then silence fell again for several moments.
"The chances of life are very bewildering," he said at length, reopening the conversation. "Some people seem to get all the luck, and others all the misfortune. Look at my Cousin Sam."
"Is he very unfortunate?"
William laughed.
"On the contrary, he has all the luck. He has never known what poverty means, or sickness, or hardship. He was born to affluence, and now, at twenty-six, he's his own master, with a house of his own and plenty of money."
"But he may not be a whit happier than those who have less."
"I don't see how he can help it," William answered. "He's never worried about ways and means. He has troops of friends, absolutely wants nothing except a wife to help him to spend his money."
"Then you should advise him to keep single," Ruth said, with a laugh, "for if he gets married, his troubles may begin."
"There's risk in everything, no doubt," William said meditatively. "Still, if I were in his place, I should take the risk."
"You would?" Ruth questioned, arching her eyebrows, "and you a bachelor?"
"Ah, that is my misfortune," William answered, looking hard at a picture on the wall. "But Sam's way is quite clear."
"Is it?"
"He's a good fellow, too, is Sam. Never a word of slander has been breathed against his name since he was born. He'll make a good husband, whoever gets him."
"I did not know you had such a cousin till last evening," Ruth said meaningly.
"Oh, well, no. We've never seen very much of each other. You see, the Tremails have always been rather big people, and then we have lived a long way apart, and I have never cared to presume on my relationship."
"So he has hunted you up?"
"Well, yes. He came to see me just a fortnight ago or so, and he has ridden over once or twice since. Don't you think he's a fine, handsome fellow?"
"Yes; he is not bad-looking."
"Oh, I call him handsome. It must be nice to be young and have so much strength and energy."
"Well, are you not young?"
"I'm ten years older than Sam," he said, a little sadly, "and ten years is a big slice out of one's life."
"Are you growing pessimistic?" she questioned. "You are usually so hopeful."
"There are some things too good to hope for," he replied, "too beautiful, too far away. I almost envy a man like my Cousin Sam. He has everything within his reach."
"You seem to be quite enthusiastic about your cousin," she said, with a smile.
"Am I? Oh, well, you know, he is my cousin, and a good fellow, and if I can speak a good – I mean, if I can appreciate – that is, if I can cultivate a right feeling toward him, and – and – all that, you know, don't you think I ought to do so?"
"Oh, no doubt," Ruth said, laughing. "It's generally well to be on good terms with one's relations – at least so I've been told," and she went to the door and looked out into the darkness.
Ruth came back again after a few moments, and turned the lamp a little higher.
"Ralph is much longer than I expected he would be," she remarked, without looking at William.
"Perhaps Mr. Telfer was out," he suggested.
"I don't think that. You see he went by appointment. I expect it has taken them longer to square their accounts than they thought."
"I hope Ralph will come well out of it," he said musingly. "He's had a rough time of it so far."
"I am sometimes afraid he will grow bitter and give up. He has talked again and again of trying his fortune abroad."
"But if he went abroad, what would become of you?" William asked, with a sudden touch of anxiety in his voice.
"He would send for me when he got settled."
William gave a little gasp.
"Would you like to go abroad?" he questioned.
"I would much prefer to stay here if I could; but you see we cannot always have what we would like best."
"No, that is true," he said slowly and meditatively. "The things we would like best are often not for us. I don't know why it should be so. Some people seem to get all they desire. There is my Cousin Sam, for instance."
"He is one of the lucky ones, you say?"
"It seems so from my point of view. Did he tell you when he first saw you?"
"No."
"He would not like to remind you. It was the day of the sale at Hillside. He was greatly – that is, of course he could not help noticing you. Since then he has seen you lots of times. A fortunate fellow is Sam."
"Perhaps he does not think so."
"Oh, I fancy he does. I don't see how he can help it. He lives in a beautiful old house. It's years since I saw it, but it remains in my memory a pleasant picture. His wife will have a rare time of it."
"How do you know he does not intend to follow your example and remain a bachelor?"
"How? Sam knows better than that. Do you think I would remain a bachelor if – if – but there! You remember what you said just now about the things we want most?"
"I did not know – " Then a step sounded on the gravel outside. "Oh, here comes Ralph." And Ruth sprang to her feet and rushed to the door.
A moment later the two men were shaking hands.
"I hope I have not kept you waiting long," Ralph said. "The truth is, Telfer and I have been settling up."
"So your sister told me."
"And I'm bound to say he's treated me most handsomely. Technically, he might have got the better of me on a dozen points; but no! he's been most fair. It's a real pleasure to come across a man who doesn't want to Jew you."
"Oh, bless you, there's lots of honest people in the world!" William said, with a smile.
"Yes, I suppose there are; the misfortune is one so often tumbles across the other sort."
"Perhaps you will have better luck in the future," William replied.
"I only want fair play," Ralph answered; "I ask for nothing more than that."
"And have you hit upon anything for the future?"
"Not yet. But I don't want to be in a hurry. I've ready money enough to last me a year or two. I really didn't think I had done so well, for I'm a duffer at figures. If I only had about four times as much I'd buy Hillside."
"And turn farmer?"
"No, farming is not my forte." And he turned and looked towards the door of the pantry behind which Ruth was engaged getting supper ready.
"Let's go into my room," he continued, in a half-whisper. "I've something I want to say to you."
William followed him without a word.
"I don't want to awaken any vain hopes in Ruth's mind," Ralph went on. "The thing is too remote to be talked about almost. But you have wondered why I should want Hillside Farm when I've no love for farming?"
"I have supposed it was for your sister's sake."
"No, it's not that exactly. It's my love of adventure, or you might call it my love of speculation."
"I don't quite understand."
"Of course you don't. So I'll explain. You are the best friend I ever had, and I can trust you. Besides, if I ever did anything I should want your help. You are a business man, I'm a dreamer. You are good at accounts, I'm a fool at them."
William's eyes opened wider and wider, but he did not interrupt.
"Now, there's just the possibility of a fortune in Hillside," Ralph went on. "Not on the surface, mind you. The crops raised there will never be a fortune for anybody; but my father believed there was a rich tin lode running through it."
"Why didn't he test it?"
"He had no opportunity."
"Why not? The farm was his as long as the 'lives' remained alive."
"But all the mineral rights were reserved by the ground landlord. So that if my father had discovered a gold mine he would have got nothing out of it."
"So he kept silent?"
"Naturally; for if a mine was started, not only would he get no good out of it, but his farm would be ruined."
William remained silent and thoughtful.
"Now, if I could get the freehold," Ralph went on, "I should be free from every interference. I could sink a shaft for a few fathoms and test the thing. If it proved to be worthless, very little harm would be done. I should still have the farm to work or to let. Do you see my point?"
"I do, but – "
"I know what you would say. I have not the money," Ralph interrupted. "That is quite true. But I've more than I thought I had. And if the Brick, Tile, and Clay Company will take my plant at a fair valuation, I shall have more. Now I want to ask you, as a business man, if you think I could get a mortgage for the rest?"
"Possibly you might," William said slowly, "but there are a good many objections to such a course."
"Well, what are they?"
"We'll take one thing at a time," William answered meditatively. "To begin with: I don't believe Sir John Hamblyn would sell the place to you under any circumstances if he knew."
"Why not?"
"Because he has wronged you, and so he hates you. Nothing would please him better than for you to leave the country."
"Well?"
"If you begin to look round for a mortgage, or for securities – "
"Yes, I see."
"If you are to get the place, your name must not be given at the outset; you must buy through an agent or solicitor. You must be ready with the money on the nail."
Ralph looked thoughtful for several moments.
"I'm afraid it's of no use hoping," he said at length; "though when Robert Telfer handed me over his cheque this evening the world did look bright for a moment."
"But if you bought the farm you might lose everything," William suggested; "and it would be a pity to throw away your first earnings."
"Why so? There's no good in hoarding money. I want to be doing something. Besides, I might find work for half the parish."
"Then you have faith in the tin lode of which your father spoke?"
"I am confident there is a lode there. My father was not likely to be mistaken in a matter of that kind. As a practical miner and mineralogist there was not his equal in the county."
"But he did not test the lode?"
"He had no chance."
"Hence, it may be worthless."
"I admit it. Mind you, my father was confident that it was rich in tin. Of course, he may have been mistaken."
"But you are prepared to risk your all on it?"
"I am. I wish I had ten times as much to risk."
The next moment Ruth appeared, with the announcement that supper was ready.
"Let me sleep over it," William whispered to Ralph; "and to-morrow morning you come up to my shop and we'll see what we can make of it."
And he turned and followed Ruth into the next room.
CHAPTER XXXI
A PARTNERSHIP
It was late when William left Ralph Penlogan's cottage, but he was in no hurry to get to St. Goram. He sauntered slowly along the dark and deserted lane with his hands in his pockets and his eyes nowhere in particular. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that he had not been selfish – that he had done his best for his Cousin Sam, that he had spoken the good word that he promised.
But for some reason the reward of virtue was not so great as he had hoped. There was no feeling of exultation in his heart at his triumph over temptation; in truth, he was much more inclined to call himself a fool for lending aid to his cousin at all.
This reflection reacted on his spirits in another way. He was more selfish than he could have believed. He was like the man who gave half a crown at a collection, and regretted it all his life afterwards. He had forced himself to speak a good word for his cousin, but there was no virtue in it. Service rendered so grudgingly was deserving of no reward.
"I am like the dog in the manger," he said to himself, a little disconsolately; "I cannot have her myself, and I don't want anybody else to have her."
Then he fell to thinking of Ruth's many attractions. He had never seen anyone before with such a wealth of hair, and he was sure there was no one in the three parishes who arranged her hair so gloriously as Ruth did. And then her figure was just perfection in his eyes. She was neither too short nor too tall, too stout nor too thin. There was not a single line or curve that he would have altered.
And her character was as perfect as her form and as beautiful as her face. William's love shed over her and around her a golden haze which hid every fault and magnified every virtue.
By morning he was able to see things a little more in their true perspective, and when Ralph called he was able to put love aside and talk business, though he was by no means sure that in business matters Ruth did not influence him unconsciously.
Ralph had great faith in William's judgment and sagacity. He always looked at both sides of a question before deciding. If he erred at all, it was on the side of excessive caution.
Ralph could not help wondering what was in William's mind. He had said practically nothing the previous evening. He had asked a few questions, and pointed out certain difficulties, but he had committed himself to nothing, yet it seemed clear that he had some scheme in his mind which he would reveal when he had duly considered it.
For a few minutes they talked generalities, then William plunged into the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts of both.
"I don't wonder that you want to get hold of the freehold of Hillside," he said. "I should if I were in your place. Apart from sentiment, the business side appeals strongly. The discovery of a good tin lode there would be the making of St. Goram – "
"And the ruin of the farm," Ralph interjected.
"Well, the erection of a big engine-house on the top of the hill and fire stamps in Dingley Bottom would certainly not improve the appearance of things from an artistic point of view."
"'There is no gain except by loss,'" Ralph quoted, with a smile.
"True; but we all ought to consider the greatest good of the greatest number."
Ralph laughed.
"Don't credit me with virtues I don't possess," he said. "I confess I'm thinking in the first instance only of myself."
"Well, I suppose that's only natural," William said seriously. "But now to business. If you purchase the farm at the squire's price, how much money will you require beyond what you have?"
Ralph named the sum.
"Is that all?"
"Yes. I told you last night the concrete had turned out well."
"It can be done easily," William said, with a sudden brightening of his face.
"How?" – with an eager look.
"I will advance you all the money you want, either as a loan or on mortgage."
"You really mean it?"
"I do. But on one condition – and that is that you do not say anything to your sister about it."
"But why not? I have no secrets from Ruth."
William coloured and looked uncomfortable.
"It's merely a whim of mine," he said. "Women don't understand business, and she might think I was doing you a great favour, and I don't want her to think anything of the kind."
"But you are doing me an immense favour!"
"I'm not, really. The margin of security will be, if not ample, at least sufficient; and if the lode should prove of value, why, you will be able to pay off the loan in no time."
"If the lode should prove of any value, William, you shall go shares!" Ralph said impulsively.
"No, no! If I take no risk, I take no reward. You will risk everything in testing the thing."
"I'm fond of risks," Ralph said, with a laugh. "A little adventure is the very spice of life. Oh, I do hope the farm is not already sold!"
"I don't think it can be," William answered. "We have wasted no time yet. If it is sold, you will have to wait, and hope the buyer will get tired of his bargain."
Ralph shook his head.
"If I can't get it now," he said, "I shall try my fortune beyond the seas."
"Well, we needn't wait an hour longer. You can have my trap to drive to St. Hilary. Let some lawyer whom you can trust act for you."
"Won't you go with me?" Ralph questioned eagerly. "You see, the question of security will come up first thing."
"It would be almost better if you could keep out of sight altogether."
"I know it. Couldn't you see the whole thing through for me?"
"I might try."
Half an hour later Ralph had sent word to Ruth that he would not be home till evening, and was driving away with William Menire in the direction of St. Hilary.
They were both too excited to talk much. Ralph felt as though the whole universe were trembling in the balance. If he failed, there would be nothing left worth considering. If he succeeded, paradise threw open her gates to him.
Far away beyond the hills there was a great city called London, and in that city dwelt one who was more to him than all the world beside. She was out of his reach because he was poor and nameless and obscure. But if he won for himself a position, what was to hinder him from wooing her, and perhaps winning her? Money for its own sake he cared nothing for. The passion for position had never been a factor in his life. He loved beautiful things – art and music and literature – partly from instinct, and partly because he had been educated to appreciate them, but there was not an ounce of snobbery in his composition. He had no reverence for rank as such, or for mere social position, but he had sense enough to recognise their existence, and the part they played in the evolution of the race. He could not get rid of things by shutting his eyes to their existence.
So they drove along the quiet road mainly in silence. Each was busy with his own thoughts. Each had a secret that he dared not reveal to the other.
"I believe you will win," William said abruptly after a long interval of silence. "I always said you would."
"Win?" Ralph questioned absently, for he was thinking of Dorothy Hamblyn at the time.
"Your father was a shrewd man where mineral was concerned."
"Yes. And yet he loved corn and cows far more than copper and tin."
"I wouldn't mind being in your place."
"You would not be afraid of the risk?"
"No. I would like it."
"Then let's go shares!" Ralph said eagerly. "It's what I've wanted all along, but did not like to propose it."
"You really mean it?"
"My dear fellow, it is what I would desire above everything else! You have business capacity, and I haven't a scrap."
"If I were sure I could help you."
"We should help each other; but the gain would be chiefly mine."
"Partnerships don't always turn out well," William said reflectively.
"I'll gladly risk it," Ralph answered, with a laugh.
William dropped his driving whip into the socket and reached across his hand. It was his way of sealing the contract.
Ralph seized it in a moment.
"This is the proudest day of my life!" William said. And there were distinct traces of emotion in his voice.
"I hope you will not be sorry later on," Ralph answered dubiously.
"Never!" was the firm reply. And he thought of Ruth, and wondered what the future had in store for him.
For the rest of the way they drove in silence. There were things in the lives of both too sacred to be talked about.
CHAPTER XXXII
FOOD FOR REFLECTION
There was widespread interest of a mild kind when it became known in St. Goram that Sir John Hamblyn had disposed of the freehold of Hillside Farm. It was an action altogether unprecedented in the history of the Hamblyn family. What it portended no one knew, but it seemed to crystallise into a concrete fact all the rumours that had been in circulation for the last two or three years.
The first news reached Farmer Jenkins in a letter from Sir John. It was brief and to the point: —
"I have this day sold the freehold of Hillside Farm. Your new landlord will no doubt communicate with you shortly. – Yours truly,
"John Hamblyn."Farmer Jenkins stared at the letter for a considerable time after he had mastered its contents.
"So-ho!" he said to himself at length. "Now I understand why he wanted the matter of reduction of rent to stand over. 'Cute dog is Sir John. If he's sold the place on the basis of present rental he's swindled somebody. I wonder who the fool is who bought it. Anyhow, I won't stay here after Lady Day." And he pushed the letter into his pocket, pulled a weather-beaten wideawake hat over his bald pate, and started out in the direction of St. Goram.
William Menire was standing behind his desk when Jenkins stumbled into his shop. He laid down his pen at once, and prepared himself to execute the farmer's order.
It was not a large order by any means – something that had been forgotten on the previous day – and when the farmer had stuffed it into one of his big pockets he looked up suddenly and said —
"You ain't heard no news, I expect?"
"What sort of news?" William questioned.
"Oh, any sort."
"Well, no. There doesn't seem to be much stirring at the present time."
"More stirring than you think, perhaps," Jenkins said mysteriously.
"That's possible, of course. Have you been hearing something?"
"Squire's cleared out, ain't he?"
"I hear he has practically closed the Manor for an indefinite period."
"Purty hard up, I reckon."
"Why do you think so?"
"Took to sellin' his estate."
"No!" William said, with a little gasp.
"It's solemn truth. I got a letter from him just now sayin' he'd sold Hillside Farm."
"Sold it?"
"Them's his very words. Here's the letter, if you like to read it."
William took the letter and retired to the window. He did not want the farmer to see his agitation. He had been waiting day after day for nearly a month for some definite news, and here it was in black and white. He wondered what Ralph would say when he heard. Once more his hopes had been blown to the wind. His dream of success, not for the first time or the second, had been dashed to the ground.
"Seems definite enough, don't it?" questioned the farmer, coming nearer.
"Oh yes, there can be no mistake about it," William answered, trying his best to keep his voice steady.
"Well, it don't make no difference to me," the farmer said indifferently. "I've made up my mind to clear out at Lady Day. There ain't no luck about the place. I keep feelin' as though there was a kind of blight upon it."
"Indeed?"
"The way the squire shoved it on to me wasn't square to David Penlogan. I can see it clear enough now, and I've never felt quite comfortable since David died. I keep feelin' at times as though he was about the place still."
"Who – David?"
"Ay. He was terrible fond of the place by all accounts. It was a pity Sir John didn't let him stay on. He might have been livin' to this day if he had."
"Yes, that is quite true; but we must not forget that David is better off. He was a good man, if ever there was one."
"Anyhow, the place don't prosper under me, somehow. And if the new landlord is willin' to lower the rent I shan't stay on. I've got my eye on something I think'll suit me better." And, turning slowly round, the farmer walked out of the shop.
William stood staring at the door long after the farmer had disappeared. He had seen the possibility of the farm falling into other hands from the first, but had never fully realised till now how much that might mean to him. His own future was involved just as much as Ralph's. While there was a prospect of getting the farm he had not troubled about his own notice to quit. Now the whole problem would have to be thought out again. Nor was that all – nor even the most important part. He had seen, in fancy, Ruth installed in the old home that she loved so much; seen how Hillside had called to her more loudly and potently than all the pleadings of Sam Tremail; seen the gulf that now lay between them gradually close up and disappear; seen her advance to meet him till their hands had clasped in a bond that only death could break.
It was a foolish fancy, perhaps, but he had not been able to help it taking possession of him from time to time, and with the passing of the days and weeks the fancy had become more and more vivid and real.
