There & Back - George MacDonald (best e book reader for android TXT) 📗

the brain of a scientist, and the hands of a workman-hands, that is, made for making, Richard talked so vitally that in most families not one but all would have been interested; and indeed Arthur too would have enjoyed listening, but that he was otherwise occupied. That he had to look unconcerned at his own deposition, while regarding as an intruder the man whose place he had so long in a sense usurped, was not his sorest trial: regarding as a prig the man who talked about things worth talking about, he could not help feeling himself a poor creature, an empty sack, beside the son of the low-born woman. But indeed Richard, brought face to face with life, and taught to meet necessity with labour, had had immeasurable advantages over Arthur.

The younger insisted to himself that his brother could not have the feelings of a gentleman; that he must have poverty-stricken ways of looking at things. He could, it was true, find nothing in his manners, carriage, or speech, unlike a gentleman, but the vulgarity must be there, and he watched to find it. For he was not himself a gentleman yet.

When they went to the drawing-room, and Richard had sung a ballad so as almost to make lady Ann drop a scale or two from her fish-eyes, Arthur went out of the room stung with envy, and not ashamed of it. The thing most alien to the true idea of humanity, is the notion that our well-being lies in surpassing our fellows. We have to rise above ourselves, not above our neighbours; to take all the good of them, not
from them, and give them all our good in return. That which cannot be freely shared, can never be possessed. Arthur went to his room with a gnawing at his heart. Not merely must he knock under to the foundling, but confess that the foundling could do most things better than he-was out of sight his superior in accomplishment as well as education.-"But let us see how he rides and shoots!" he thought.

Even Vixen, who had been saying to herself all the time of dinner, "Mean fellow! to come like a fox and steal poor Arthur's property!"-even she was cowed a little by his singing, and felt for the moment in the presence of her superior.

Sir Wilton was delighted. Here was a son to represent him!-the son of the woman the county had declined to acknowledge! What was lady Ann's plebeian litter beside this high-bred, modest, self-possessed fellow! He was worthy of his father, by Jove!

He went early to bed, and Richard was not sorry. He too retired early, leaving the rest to talk him over.

How they did it, I do not care to put on record. Theodora said little, for her heart had come awake with a new and lovely sense of gladness and hope.

"If he would but fall in love with Barbara Wylder!" she thought; "-or rather if Barbara would but fall in love with him, for nobody can help falling in love with her, how happy I should be! they are the two I love best in the world!-next to papa and mamma, of course!" she added, being a loyal girl.

The next morning, Richard came upon Arthur shooting at a mark, and both with pistols and rifle beat him thoroughly. But when Arthur began to talk about shooting pheasants, he found in Richard a rooted dislike to killing. This moved Arthur's contempt.

"Keep it dark," he said; "you'll be laughed at if you don't. My father won't like it."

"Why must a man enjoy himself at the expense of joy?" answered Richard. "I pass no judgment upon your sport. I merely say I don't choose to kill birds. What men may think of me for it, is a matter of indifference to me. I think of them much as they think of a Frenchman or an Italian, who shoots larks and blackbirds and thrushes and nightingales: I don't see the great difference!"

They strolled into the stable. There stood Miss Brown, looking over the door of her box. She received Richard with glad recognition.

"How comes Miss Brown here?" he asked. "Where can her mistress be?"

"The mare's at home," answered Arthur. "I bought her." "Oh!" said Richard, and going into the box, lifted her foot and looked at the shoe. Alas, Miss Brown had worn out many shoes since Barbara drove a nail in her hoof! Had there been one of hers there, he would have known it-by a pretty peculiarity in the turn of the point back into the hoof which she called her mark. The mare sniffed about his head in friendly fashion.

"She smells the smithy!" said Arthur to himself.-"Yes; your grandfather's work." he remarked. "I should be sorry to see any other man shoe horse of mine!"

"So should I!" answered Richard. "-I wonder why Miss Wylder sold Miss Brown!" he said, after a pause.

"I am not so curious!" rejoined Arthur. "She sold her, and I bought her."

Neither divined that the animal stood there a sacrifice to Barbara's love of Richard.

Arthur had given up hope of winning Barbara, but the thought that the bookbinder-fellow might now, as he vulgarly phrased it to himself, go in and win, swelled his heart with a yet fiercer jealousy. "I hate him," he said in his heart. Yet Arthur was not a bad fellow as fellows go. He was only a man for himself, believing every man must be for himself, and count the man in his way his enemy. He was just a man who had not begun to stop being a devil.

At breakfast lady Ann was almost attentive to her stepson. As it happened they were left alone at the table. Suddenly she addressed him.

"Richard, I have one request to make of you," she said; "I hope you will grant it me!"

"I will if I can," he answered; "but I must not promise without knowing what it is."

"You do not feel bound to please me, I know! I have the misfortune not to be your mother!"

"I feel bound to please you where I can, and shall be more than glad to do so."

"It is a small thing I am going to ask. I should not have thought of mentioning it, but for the terms you seem upon with Mr. Wingfold."

"I hope to see him within an hour or so."

"I thought as much!-Do you happen to remember a small person who came a good deal about the house when you were at work here?"

"If your ladyship means Miss Wylder, I remember her perfectly."

"It is necessary to let you know, and then I shall leave the matter to your good sense, that Mrs. Wylder, and indeed the girl herself at various times, has behaved to me with such rudeness, that you cannot in ordinary decency have acquaintance with them. I mention it in case Mr. Wingfold should want to take you to see them. They are parishioners of his."

"I am sorry I must disappoint you," said Richard. Lady Ann rose with a grey glitter in her eyes.

"Am I to understand you intend calling on the Wylders?" she said.

"I have imperative reasons for calling upon them this very morning," answered Richard.

"I am sorry you should so immediately show your antagonism!" said lady Ann.

"My obligations to Miss Wylder are such that I must see her the first possible moment."

"Have you asked your father's permission?"

"I have not," answered Richard, and left the room hurriedly.

The next moment he was out of the house: lady Ann might go to his father, and he would gladly avoid the necessity of disobeying him the first morning after his return! He did not know how small was her influence with her husband.

He took the path across the fields, and ran until he was out of sight of Mortgrange.


CHAPTER LXI.


HEART TO HEART .

When he came to the parsonage, which he had to pass on his way to the Hall, he saw Mr. Wingfold through the open window of the drawing-room, and turned to the door. The parson met him on the threshold.

"Welcome!" he said. "How did you get through your dinner?"

"Better than I expected," replied Richard. "But this morning my stepmother began feeling my mouth: she would have me promise not to call on the Wylders. They had been rude to her, she said."

"Come into the drawing-room. A friend of mine is there who will be glad to see you."

The drawing-room of the parsonage was low and dark, with its two windows close together on the same side. At the farther end stood a lady, seemingly occupied with an engraving on the wall. She did not move when they entered. Wingfold led Richard up to her, then turned without a word, and left the room. Before either knew, they were each in the other's arms.

Barbara was sobbing. Richard thought he had dared too much and had frightened her.

"I couldn't help it!" Barbara said pleadingly.

"My life has been a longing for you!" said Richard.

"I have wanted you every day!" said Barbara, and began again to sob, but recovered herself with an effort.

"This will never do!" she cried, laughing through her tears. "I shall go crazy with having you! And I've not seen you yet! Let me go, please. I want to look at you!"

Richard released her. She lifted a blushing, tearful face to his. But there was only joy, no pain in her tears; only delight, no shame in her blushes. One glance at the simple, manly face before her, so full of the trust that induces trust, would have satisfied any true woman that she was as safe in his thoughts as in those of her mother. She gazed at him one long silent moment.

"How splendid you are!" she cried, like a wild schoolgirl. "How good of you to grow like that! I wish I could see you on Miss Brown!-What are you going to do, Richard?"

While she spoke, Richard was pasturing his eyes, the two mouths of his soul, on the heavenly meadow of her face; and she for very necessity went on talking, that she might not cry again.

"Are you going back to the bookbinding?" she said.

"I do not know. Sir Wilton-my father hasn't told me yet what he wants me to do.-Wasn't it good of him to send me to Oxford?"

"You've been at Oxford then all this time?-I suppose he will make an officer of you now!-Not that I care! I am content with whatever contents you!"

"I dare say he will hardly like me to live by my hands!" answered Richard, laughing. "He would count it a degradation! There I shall never be able to think like a gentleman!"

Barbara looked perplexed.

"You don't mean to say he's going to treat you just like one of the rest" she exclaimed.

"I really do not know," answered Richard; "but I think he would hardly enjoy the thought of Sir Richard Lestrange over a bookbinder's shop in Hammersmith or Brentford!"

"Sir Richard! You do not mean-?"

Her face grew white; her eyes fell; her hand trembled on Richard's arm.

"What is troubling you, dearest?" he asked, in his turn perplexed.

"I can't understand it." she answered.

"Is it possible you do not know, Barbara?" he returned. "I thought