jeffray, much impressed by mr. lancelot’s brotherly ardor, trudged down across the park that evening and took the road to rodenham village. the shrovetide cock-throwing was at an end, and beer had succeeded to brutality. villagers were shouting and singing in front of the inn, where a fuddled old fiddler with a wooden leg sat perched on a barrel, scraping away at his violin. the red, hairy faces, with their animal laughter and their vociferous mouths, made the master of rodenham shudder. a number of lads and wenches were racing and scrimmaging on the green, tumbling one another upon the grass, their coarse laughter sounding through the village. jeffray pushed through the crowd towards the inn, holding his head high and turning his flushed face neither to the right nor the left. he found wilson in the private parlor dining on steak and potatoes, with a pot of porter at his elbow. the painter sprang up and gripped jeffray’s hand as the lad blurted out the result of his conference with mr. lot. wilson’s rough face brightened. he wiped his great mouth, and looked at richard with affection.
“ah, sir,” he said, “i am glad to hear the sky is clearing. there is a weight, richard, a great weight off my mind. i was not afraid, sir, of mr. hardacre’s sword, but i was afraid of injuring your happiness.”
jeffray sat down and talked to wilson, while the painter, after blunt apologies, went on with his dinner. richard was for having wilson back at rodenham, but the honest fellow would consent to no such diplomatic error.
“no, no, richard,” he said, after a pull at the pot, “i am best away, sir, at such a crisis, though i thank you heartily for your kindness. i shall tramp on to lewes and see more of these glorious fellows—the downs. i have money in my purse, and, egad, what irony, i won some of it from your august aunt at cards. i believe she let me win it, sir, to keep me in a good temper, and the cash will pay for the portrait i painted. i shall come back by this road, richard, and if i slink in for a meal at rodenham you must not be amazed.”
“come when you will, dick,” said jeffray, “the priory will be open to you when this quarrel is at end. jilian has a kind heart; she will not grudge me a friend.”
wilson shook his head and smiled shrewdly.
“i have no desire to make experiments, sir,” he said; “and if i turn in to see you, it will only be for a short day. if you have a priest’s hiding-hole at rodenham, you might put it at my service for a night. take my advice, richard, and don’t fling my name in miss hardacre’s face. there are some things women like to leave in the lumber-room. lud, what an infernal din those boors are making!”
jeffray said farewell to the painter with no little regret, for he was one of the few men he had met to whom he could confide his poetical enthusiasm. there was a goodly world of beauty behind richard wilson’s ugly face. jeffray walked back to rodenham with a grave sense of responsibility increasing upon him. the lady letitia had sent word that she would come down to sup with her nephew, and richard dreaded not a little the ordeal that loomed across the night. no doubt his aunt had heard of mr. hardacre’s visit. jeffray had need of some of the courage of a perseus to face this acrimonious and awe-inspiring dame.
the lady letitia’s attitude and expression may be imagined when jeffray, looking pale but very composed, informed her that it would be necessary for her to leave rodenham in her coach. the old lady expressed the most haughty astonishment, scanned her nephew as though he were an impudent urchin of ten, and began to insist that wilson, the painter fellow, was a most unprincipled liar. had he not occasioned all the disturbance at hardacre by deceiving the dear old lady as to the nature of his past association with miss jilian? was richard jeffray going to bundle his father’s sister out of his house as though she were no better than some unfortunate slut? angels and martyrs, the lady letitia had no intention of stomaching such arbitrary treatment. she had pride, sir, and if her presence caused her nephew any inconvenience, she could take her departure without orders.
richard held his tongue and kept his temper throughout the dowager’s explosive harangue, sitting with pale face and compressed mouth, and drumming on the table with his fingers.
“you will pardon me, madam,” he said, very politely, “but for the present peace of the neighborhood i conceive it expedient for you to leave rodenham—for a time.”
the old lady’s red nose admonished her nephew. she twitched her eyebrows, flapped and fluttered with her fan, looking outraged both as to pride and affection.
“certainly, my dear nephew,” she said, with an ironical twist of the mouth. “i am a little older than miss jilian hardacre. we are both of us out of temper, sweet jill and your old aunt, and when two cats will quarrel under one’s bedroom one of ’em must be silenced. precisely so, my dear richard; i will cumber your hospitality no longer.”
jeffray, flushed and uncomfortable, and suffering the usual feelings of discourtesy and ingratitude that assail a young man on such occasions, clung to the conviction none the less, that the feud would not end without the lady letitia’s departure.
“i am sorry, madam,” he said, “that i am compelled to speak to you like this, but i shall be unable to quit myself as a man of honor to the hardacres so long as you remain at rodenham.”
aunt letitia’s eyes glittered as though it would please her to repeat a certain episode of her nephew’s youth when she had tanned him royally with a slipper.
“do not apologize, sir,” she said; “perhaps you will have the goodness to tell me whether i am to be ejected to-morrow, or will you grant me a week’s respite to prepare for exile?”
“i pray you, consider your own convenience,” returned jeffray, blushing.
“i must send parsons to the wells to engage decent rooms for me. my bankers must be negotiated with. this is so sudden, sir, that you have caught me unprepared.”
jeffray suggested that he would be happy to oblige his aunt in any way that she might desire. aunt letitia frowned and played with her fan. the dowager’s treasure-chest was nearly empty, and it would be a month or more before she could count upon the paying of her dividends. could her nephew oblige her with a loan of a hundred guineas at an interest of five per cent.? aunt letitia appeared in no wise distressed by having to confide such delicate matters to her nephew. in fact, she built a grievance out of her inconveniences, and spoke with sarcastic significance of being “taken by so sudden a surprise.” richard, eager to salve the old lady’s feelings, offered her a loan of two hundred guineas, repudiating the very thought of usury with scorn. aunt letitia clutched at the concession, and the interview ended with some symptoms of amiability, the dowager actually kissing her nephew before she hobbled off to bed.
richard was in the saddle early next morning and away for hardacre with the spring sun streaming down upon the greens and purples of pevensel. the bright zest of the day was in his blood, generous and blithe as the spirit of youth itself. he was eager to crave jilian’s forgiveness, and to quit himself as his manhood prompted in the matter of saluting the hardacre honor. richard rode in the belief that he had shamed his kinswoman, and that he had bruised her kind heart by his aunt’s duplicity.
with the thickets of pevensel towering on every hand, jeffray’s thoughts sped back from hardacre to the glowing face of bess of the woods. richard, despite his sensitive obedience to the promptings of honor, could not think of the girl without a flush of feeling sweeping across his mind. her face brought both mystery and gladness, deep witchery and a prophecy of pain. what was this tall, black-haired, lissome wench to him that she should make his heart beat louder as over the tragic breathing of some song? richard, riding through pevensel, strove to laugh such romantic memories away. because the girl had a fine body and a passionate face, should he suffer his thoughts to dally with her in the deeps of her own mysterious woods? yet despite his strainings after sanity he found himself wondering how she fared in the forest, whether black dan still pestered her, and whether she carried one of his pistols in her bosom?
in due course jeffray came to hardacre chase where the oaks, gray and purple, with brown bracken beneath, strode down in giant companies upon the road. mr. lancelot, who had remained at home that morning in expectation of jeffray’s coming, met his cousin as he rode up to the gate house. there was a cheering smile upon mr. hardacre’s face, for the inimitable lot had no doubt at all of his sister’s willingness to forgive richard jeffray. sir peter, who happened to be standing in the oriel-window of the main gallery, had seen the young squire of rodenham ride up. the baronet and his son had discussed the problem that very morning.
“good luck to ye, richard,” said mr. lot, with confidential solemnity. “i have had a terrible tussle with sir peter. egad, cousin, i had to sweat to persuade the governor to let you see jill. i’ll take your horse. you know the room, richard?”
richard, who had dismounted, pressed mr. lancelot’s hand.
“i shall not forget your kindness, lot,” he said.
“bosh, sir, i always side with a man of spirit. go up to her, cousin, and do your best. i’ll see you’re not interfered with.”
richard, blushing, turned away and entered the house. as for mr. lot, he thrust his hands deep into his breeches-pockets, looked after his cousin whimsically, and laughed.
what a sweet picture of sanctity met mr. richard’s eyes as he opened the door of miss hardacre’s parlor bashfully after his knock had been softly acknowledged! miss jilian was seated in the window-seat, dressed in a silky green gown that rippled like water as she rose to meet her cousin. there was much lace upon her bosom and a knot of red ribbon over her heart.
“cousin jilian.”
miss hardacre let her eyes rest only for a moment on richard’s face. jeffray was blushing very handsomely.
“jilian, i have come to ask you to forgive me.”
he went close to his cousin, and stood looking at her with humbled ardor on his face. miss hardacre appeared much distressed. surely his sweet cousin’s eyes were somewhat red and swollen. and were those wrinkles under the lids?
“jilian, will you forgive me?”
“oh, richard!”
“aunt letitia made fools of both of us, jilian. i have told her to leave my house.”
miss hardacre hung her head and pressed her hands together.
“you know everything, richard.”
“poor wilson told me everything, and it was nothing, jilian.”
“i am a shamed and miserable woman.”
“shamed, jilian? let me hear any man breathe a word against you.”
miss hardacre suffered her eyes to quaver up for a moment to richard’s face. the lad could see tears ready to well up into those pellucid wells of light.
“what can i say to you, richard?” she said. “oh, i am very miserable.”
how could an honorable and generous youth refrain from going down on one knee, pressing the lady’s hand to his lips, and gazing up with enthusiastic homage into her face? the hot words were betwixt richard’s lips in a moment, and miss hardacre was hiding her blushes behind her hand.
and then, for the climax, richard’s lips pressed to miss jilian’s, and sir peter, who had been listening shrewdly on the landing, standing with admirable dumfoundedness before the innocently opened door. of course miss jilian gave a shy scream, and richard, red as the lips he had kissed, turned to play the hero before the parental demigod.
“sir peter hardacre,” he said, with bashful dignity, “i have come to apologize to your daughter, sir, for the distress i innocently brought upon her the other night. i offer you my apologies, sir, also; i have always honored you, and you have been very kind to me.”
the lad drew himself up creditably, squared his shoulders, and looked the baronet straight in the face.
“egad, sir,” quoth sir peter, glaring at his daughter and preparing to seem parental, “you appear quick at consoling the ladies. the hardacre honor, sir—”
mr. richard became aware suddenly of a warm hand stealing into his. miss jilian gave him a look out of her gray eyes and a whispered word that carried a command. she went down on her knees before her father.
“what! bless my soul, what’s this, eh? stars and garters, jill, what am i to understand from this?”
“cousin richard has asked me to be his wife,” said miss hardacre, with a divine simper.
“what!”
“with your consent, sir peter,” added cousin richard, half grimly.
and sir peter, noble and forgiving soul, put his pride in his pocket, beamed, and blessed them!
