console you?"
"Is it on my account?"

"Only, as I guess, in so far as she accuses you of having played the
devil with her plan for marrying me up with my cousin Di'?  If Di'
had been the last woman in the world. . . .  But the old harridan
never spoke to me after the grooming I gave her that morning at
Natchett.  'Faith, and I did treat her to some plain talk!" he wound
up with another laugh.

"But what harm can she do you?"

He explained that his late uncle Sir Thomas had, in the closing years
of his life, shown unmistakable signs of brain-softening, and that a
symptom of his complaint had been his addiction to making a number of
wills--"two-thirds of 'em incoherent.  Every two or three days he'd
compose a new one and send for Huskisson, his lawyer; and Huskisson,
after reading the rigmarole through, as solemn as a judge, would get
it solemnly witnessed and carry it off.  He had three boxes full of
these lunacies when the old man died, and I'll wager he has not
destroyed 'em.  Lawyers never destroy handwriting, however foolish.
It's against their principles."

"But," said Ruth, musing.  "I understood that he died of a jail
fever, caught at the Assizes, where he was serving on--what do you
call it?"

"The Grand Jury."

"Well, how could he be serving on a Grand Jury if his head was
affected as you say?"

"You don't know England," he assured her.  "Ten to one as a County
magnate he stickled for it, and the High Sheriff put him on the panel
to keep him amused."

"But a Grand Jury deals sometimes with matters of life and death,
does it not?"

"Often, but only in the first instance.  It finds a true bill
usually, and sends the cause down to be tried by judge and jury, who
dispose of it.  Actually the incompetence of a grand juror or two
doesn't count, if the scandal be not too glaring. . . .  But I see
your drift.  It will be a point for the other side, no matter how
lunatic the document, that after perpetrating it he was still thought
capable by the High Sheriff of his county."

"I do not know that the point struck me.  I was wondering--"  Here
she broke off.  The thought, in fact, uppermost in her mind was that
he had not suggested her voyaging to England with him.

"It _is_ a point, anyway," he persisted.  "But it won't stand against
Huskisson's documentary proof of lunacy. . . . You see, the greater
part of the property was entailed, and the poor old fool couldn't
touch it.  But there's an unentailed estate in Devonshire--Downton by
name--worth about two thousand a year.  By a will made in '41, when
his mind was admittedly sound, he left it to me with a charge upon it
of five hundred for Lady Caroline.  By a second, made three years
later and duly witnessed, he left her Downton for her life; and with
that I chose not to quarrel, though I could have brought evidence
that he was unfit to make any will.  I agreed with the infernal woman
to let things stand on that.  But now, being at daggers drawn with
me, she digs up (if you please) a will made in '46 and apparently
sane in wording, by which, without any provision for the heir-at-law,
the whole bagful, real and personal, goes to her, to be used by her
and willed away, as she pleases; this, although she well knows I can
prove Sir Thomas to have been a blethering idiot at the time."

"Is it worth while?"

"Worth while?" he echoed, as if doubtful that she had understood.
"The woman is doing it out of spite, of course.  Very likely she is
fool enough to think that, fixed here with the Atlantic between us, I
shall give her the double gratification of annoying me and letting
her win by default."

"It is a large sum," she mused.

"Of course it is," he agreed sharply.  "An estate yielding two
thousand pounds interest.  You would not suggest my letting it go, I
should hope!"

"Certainly not, if you cannot afford it."

"If it were a twentieth part of the sum, I'd not be jockeyed out of
it." He laughed harshly.  "As men go, I am well-to-do: but, dear, has
it never occurred to you to wonder what this place and its household
cost me?"

She answered with a small wry smile.  "Often it has occurred to me.
Often I tell myself that I am wicked to accept, as you are foolish
perhaps to give, all this luxury."

"You adorn it. . . . Dear, do not misunderstand me.  All the offering
I can bring is too little for my love."

"I know," she murmured, looking up at him with moist eyes.  "I know;
and yet--"

"I meant only that you are not used to handling money or calculating
it--as why should you be?"

"If my lord will only try me!"

"Hey?"

"Of what use is a wife if she may not contrive for her husband's
good--take thought for his household?  Ah, my dear, these cares are
half a woman's happiness! . . . I might make mistakes.  Nay, 'tis
certain.  I would the house were smaller: in a sense I would that
your wealth were smaller--it would frighten me less.  But something
tells me that, though frightened, I should not fail you."

He stared down at her, pulling his lip moodily.  "I was thinking,"
said he, "to ask Langton to be my steward.  Would you really choose
to be cumbered with all this business?"

She held her breath for a moment; for his question meant that he had
no design to take her with him.  Her face paled a little, but she
answered steadily.

"It will at least fill my empty hours. . . .  Better, dear--it will
keep you before me in all the day's duties; since, though I miss you,
all day long I shall be learning to be a good wife."

As she said it her hand went up to her side beneath her left breast,
as something fluttered there, soft as a bird's wing stirring.
It fluttered for a moment under her palm, then ceased.  The room had
grown strangely still. . . .  Yet he was speaking.

He was saying--"I'll teach these good people who's Head of the
Family!"

Ah, yes--"the Family!"  Should she tell him? . . . She bethought her
of Mrs. Harry's sudden giddiness in the waggon.  Mrs. Harry
was now the mother of a lusty boy--Sir Oliver's heir, and the
Family's prospective Head. . . .  Should she tell him? . . .

He stooped and kissed her.  "Love, you are pale.  I have broken this
news too roughly."

She faltered.  "When must you start?"

"In three days.  That's as soon as the _Maryland_ can take in the
rest of her cargo and clear the customs."

"They will be busy days for you."

"Desperately."

"Yet you must spare me a part of one, and teach me to keep accounts,"
said she, and smiled bravely albeit her face was wan.



Chapter III.


MISCALCULATING WRATH.


Mr. Langton sat in his private apartment by Boston Quay trying the
balance of a malacca cane.

Sir Oliver had sailed a week ago.  Mr. Langton had walked down to the
ship with him and taken his farewell instructions.

"By the way," said Sir Oliver, "I want you to make occasion to visit
Eagles now and again, and pay your respects.  I shall write to you as
well as to her; and the pair of you can exchange news from your
letters.  She likes you."

"I hope so," answered Langton, "because 'tis an open secret that I
adore her."

Sir Oliver smiled, a trifle ruefully.  "Then you'll understand how it
hits a man to leave her.  Maybe--for I had meant to make you
paymaster in my absence--you'll also forgive me for having changed my
mind?"

"I'd have called you a damned fool if you hadn't," said Langton
equably.  "She's your wife, hang it all: and I'll lay you five pounds
you'll return to find her with hair dishevelled over your monstrous
careless bookkeeping.  My dear Noll, a woman--a good woman--is never
completely happy till convinced that she, and only she, has saved the
man she loves from ruin; and, what's more, she's a fool if she can't
prove it."

"Nevertheless she's a beginner; and I'll be glad of your promise to
run over from time to time.  A question or two will soon discover if
things are running on an even keel."

"I shall attempt no method so coarse," Langton assured him.  "I don't
want to be ordered out of the house--must I repeat that I adore her?
It may be news to you that she repays my attachment with a certain
respect. . . .  Should she find herself in any difficulty--and she
will not--I shall be sent for and consulted.  In any event, fond man,
you may count on my calling."

As they shook hands Sir Oliver asked, "Don't you envy me, Batty?"

"Constantly and in everything," answered Langton; "though--ass that I
am--I have rather prided myself on concealing it."

"I mean, don't you wish that you, and not I, were sailing for
England?  For that matter, though, there's nothing prevents you."

"Oh yes--there is."

"What, then?"

"Use and wont, if you will; indolence, if you choose; affection for
you, Noll, if you prefer it."

"That had been an excellent reason for coming with me."

"It may be a better one for staying. . . . Well, as you walk up St.
James's, give it my regards."


"For so fine an intelligence Noll can be infernally crass at times,"
muttered Mr. Langton to himself as he walked back to his lodgings.

He kept his promise and rode over to Eagles ten days later, to pay
Ruth a visit.  He found her astonishingly cheerful.  The sum left by
Sir Oliver for her stewardship had scared her at first.  It scared
her worse to discover how the heap began to drain away as through a
sieve.  But slowly she saw her way to stop some of the holes in that
sieve.  He had calculated her expenses, taking for basis the accounts
of the past few months; and in the matter of entertaining, for
example, she would save vast sums. . . . She foresaw herself a miser
almost, to earn his praise.

"_--Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies.
The heart of her husband shall safely trust in her, so that he shall
have no need of spoil.  She will do him good and not evil all the
days of his life_."

"_She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.
She is like the merchants's ships; she bringeth her food from afar.
She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her
household. . . . She considereth a field and buyeth it. . . .
She looketh well into the ways of her household_."

"_Her children rise up, and call her blessed. . . ._"  Her children?
But she had let him go, after all, without telling her secret.


Mr. Langton sat and balanced a malacca cane in his hand.  When his
man announced the Reverend Mr. Silk, he laid it down carefully on the
floor beside him.

"Show Mr. Silk up, if you please."

Mr. Silk entered with an affable smile.  "Ah, good-morning, Mr.
Langton!" said he, depositing his hat on the table and pulling off a
pair of thick woollen gloves.  "I am prompt on your call, eh?
But this cold weather invites a man to walk briskly.  Not to
mention," he added, with an effort at facetiousness, "that when Mr.
Langton sends for a clergyman his need is presumably urgent."

"It is," said Mr. Langton, seemingly blind to the hand he proferred.
"Would you, before taking a seat, oblige me by throwing a log on the
fire? . . . Thank you--the weather is raw, as you say."

"Urgent?  But not serious, I hope?"

"Both.  Sit down, please. . . . I am, as you know, a particular
friend of Sir Oliver Vyell's."

"Say, rather, his best."  Mr. Silk bowed and smiled.

"Possibly.  At all events so close a friend that, being absent, he
gives me the right to resent any dishonouring suspicion that touches
him--or touches his lady.  It comes to the same thing."

Mr. Silk cocked his head sideways, like a bird considering a worm.
"Does it?" he queried, after a slight pause.

"Certainly.  A rumour is current through Boston, touching Lady
Vyell's virtue; or, at least, her conduct before marriage."

"'Tis a censorious world, Mr. Langton."

"Maybe; but let us avoid generalities, Mr. Silk.  What grounds have
you for imputing this misconduct to Lady Vyell?"

"Me, sir?" cried Mr. Silk, startled out of his grammar.

"You, sir." Mr. Langton arose lazily, and stepping to the door,
turned the key; then returning to the hearth, in leisurely manner
turned back his cuff's.  "I have traced the slander to you, and hold
the proofs.  Perhaps you had best stand up and recant it before you
take your hiding.  But, whether or no, I am going to hide you," he
promised, with his engaging smile.  Stooping swiftly he caught up the
malacca.  Mr. Silk sprang to his feet and snatched at the chair,
dodging sideways.

"Strike as you please," he snarled; "Ruth Josselin is a--"  But
before the word could out Batty Langton's first blow beat down his
guard.  The second fell across his exposed shoulders, the third
stunningly on the nape of his neck.  The fourth--a back-hander--
welted him full in the face, and the wretched man sank screaming for
pity.

Batty Langton had no pity.  "Stand up, you hound!" he commanded.
The command was absurd, and he laughed savagely, tickled by its
absurdity even in his fury, while he smote again and again.
He showered blows until, between blow and blow, he caught his breath
and panted.  Mr. Silk's screams had sunk to blubbings and whimpers.
Between the strokes he heard them.

His valet was knocking timorously on the door.  "All right!" called
Langton, lifting his cane and lowering it slowly--for his victim lay
still.  He stooped to drag aside the arm covering the huddled face.
As he did so, Mr. Silk snarled again, raised his head and bit
blindly, fastening his teeth in the flesh of the left hand.  Langton
wrenched free and, as the man scrambled to his feet, dealt him with
the same hand a smashing blow on the mouth--a blow that sent him
reeling, to overbalance and pitch backward to the floor again across
an overturned chair.

Somehow the pleasure of getting in that blow restored--literally at a
stroke--Langton's good temper.  He laughed and tossed the cane into a
corner.

"You may stand up now," said he sweetly.  "You are not going to be
beaten any more."

Mr. Silk stood up.  His mouth trickled blood, and he nursed his right
wrist, where the cane had smitten across the bone.  Langton stepped
to the door and, unlocking it, admitted his trembling valet.

"My good fool," he said, "didn't I call to you not to be alarmed?
Mr. Silk, here, has been seized with a--a kind of epileptic fit.
Help him downstairs and call a chair for him.  Don't stare; he will
not bite again for a very long time."


But in this Mr. Langton was mistaken.

He took the precaution of cauterising his bitten hand; and before
retiring to rest that night contemplated it grimly, holding it out to
the warmth of his bachelor fire.  It was bandaged; but above the edge
of the bandage his knuckles bore evidence how they had retaliated
upon Mr. Silk's teeth.

He eyed these abrasions for a while and ended with a soft complacent
laugh.  "Queer, how little removed we are, after all, from the
natural savage!" he murmured.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to
introduce to your notice Batty Langton, Esquire, a child of nature--
not perhaps of the best period--still using his naked fists and for a
woman--primitive cause of quarrel.  And didn't he enjoy it, by
George!"

He laughed again softly.  But, could he have foreseen, he had been
willing rather to cut the hand off for its day's work.



Chapter IV.


THE TERRACE.


Ruth was happy.  To-day, and for a whole week to come, she was
determined to be purely happy, blithe as the spring sunshine upon the
terrace.  For a week she would, like Walton's milkmaid, cast away
care and refuse to load her mind with any fears of many things that
will never be.  Her spirit sang birdlike within her.  And the
reason?--that the _Venus_ had arrived in harbour, with Dicky on
board.

Peace had been signed, or was on the point to be signed, and in the
North Atlantic waters His Majesty's captains of frigates could make
a holiday of duty.  Captain Harry used his holiday to sail up for
Boston, standing in for Carolina on his way and fetching off his
wife and his firstborn--a bouncing boy.  It was time, they agreed,
to pay their ceremonial visit to Sir Oliver and his bride; high
time also for Dicky to return and embrace his father.

Sir Oliver had written of his approaching marriage.  "Well, dear,"
was Mrs. Harry's comment, "'twas always certain he would marry.  As
for Ruth Josselin, she is an amazingly beautiful girl and I believe
her to be good.  So there's no more to be said but to wish 'em joy."

Captain Harry kissed his wife.  "Glad you take it so, Sally.  I was
half afraid--for of course there _was_ the chance, you know--"

"I'm not a goose, I hope, to cry for the moon!"

"Is that the way of geese?" he asked, and they both laughed.

A second letter had come to them from Eagles, telling them of his
happiness, and franking a note in which Ruth prettily acknowledged
Mrs. Harry's congratulations.

A third had been despatched; a hurried one, announcing his departure
for England.  Before this reached Carolina, however, the _Venus_ had
sailed, and Dicky rushed home to find his father gone.

But a message came down to Boston Quay, with the great coach for Mrs.
Vyell, and the baggage and saddle-horses for the gentlemen.  There
were three saddle-horses, for Ruth added an invitation for
Mr. Hanmer, "if the discipline of the ship would allow."

"She always was the thoughtfullest!" cried Dicky.  "Why, sir, to be
sure you must come too. . . . We'll go shooting.  Is it too late for
partridge? . . . One forgets the time of year, down in the islands."

Strangely enough Mr. Hanmer, so shy by habit, offered but a slight
resistance.


It was Dicky who, as Ruth sped to him with a happy little cry, hung
on his heel a moment and blushed violently.  She took him in her
arms, exclaiming at his growth.

"Why--look, Tatty--'tis a man!  And is that what he means?--Ah,
Dicky, don't say you're too tall to kiss your old playmate."

Then, holding him a little away and still observing his confusion,
she remembered his absurd boyish love for her and how he had
confessed it.  Well, she must put him at his ease. . . . She turned
laughingly to welcome the others, and now for a moment she too
flushed rosy-red as she shook hands with Mr. Hanmer.  She could not
have told why; but perhaps it was that instead of returning her
smile, his eyes rested on her face gravely, intently, as though
unable to drag themselves away.

Captain Harry and his wife marvelled, as well they might, at the
house and its wonders.  Sir Oliver had chosen to take his meals
French fashion and at French hours; and Ruth apologised for having
kept up the custom. Captain Harry, after protesting against so
ungodly a practice, admitted that his ride had hungered him, and at
_dejeuner_ proved it not only upon the courses but upon the cold
meats on the side-table.

"You must have a jewel of a housekeeper, my dear!" Mrs.  Harry had
been taking in every detail of the ordered service.  "'Housekeeper,'
do I say?  'Major-domo'--you'll forgive me--"

Ruth swept her a bow.  "I take the compliment."

"And she deserves it," added Miss Quiney.

"What? You don't tell me you manage it all yourself? . . . This
palace of a house!"

"Already you are making it feel less empty to me.  Yes, alone I do
it; but if you wish to praise me, you should see my accounts.  _They_
are my real pride.  But no, they are too holy to be shown!"

They sat later--the gentlemen by their wine--on the stone terrace
overlooking the wide champaign.

"But," said Ruth, for she observed that the boy was restless, "I must
leave Tatty to play hostess while I take a scamper with Dick.
There's a pool below here, Dicky, with oh, such trout!"

Dicky was on his feet in a trice.  "Rods?"

"Rods, if you will.  But there are the stables, too, to be seen; and
the gunroom--"

"Stables?  Gunroom?--Oh, come along!--the day is too short!"  Here
Dicky paused.  "But would you like to come too, sir?" he asked,
addressing Mr. Hanmer.

Mrs. Harry laughed.  "Those two," she told Ruth, "are like master and
dog, and one never can be quite sure which is which."

"My dear boy," said Mr. Hanmer, "you must surely see that Lady Vyell
wants you all to herself.  Yet I dare say the captain and I will be
strolling around to the stables before long."

"Ay, when this decanter is done," agreed Captain Harry.


"That was rather pretty of you," said Ruth, as she and the boy went
down the terrace stairs together.

"What?--asking old Hanmer to come with us? . . . Oh, but he's the
best in the world, and, what's more, never speaks out of his turn.
He has a tremendous opinion of you, too."

"Indeed?"

"Worships the very ground you tread on."

Ruth laughed.  "Were those his words?"

Dicky laughed too.  "Likely they would be! Fancy old Han talking like
a sick schoolgirl!  I made the words up to please you: but it's the
truth, all the same."

They reached the pool; and the boy, after ten minutes spent in
discovering the biggest monster among the trout and attempting to
tickle him with a twig, fell to prodding the turfed brink
thoughtfully.

"We talked a deal about you, first-along," he blurted at length.  "I
fancy old Han guessed that I was--was--well, fond of you and all that
sort of thing."

"Dear Dicky!"

"Boys are terrible softies at this age," my young master admitted.
"And, after all, it was rather a knockdown, you know, when papa's
letter came with the news."

"But we're friends, eh?--you and I--just as before?"

"Oh, of course--only you might have told. . . . And I've brought you
a parrot.  Remember the parrots in that old fellow's shop in Port
Nassau?"

She led him to talk of his sea adventures, of the ship, of the West
Indies among which they had been cruising; and as they wandered
back from terrace to terrace he poured out a stream of boyish
gossip about his shipmates, from Captain Vyell down to the cook's
dog.  Half of it was Hebrew to her; but in every sentence of it, and
in the gay, eager voice, she read that the child had unerringly
found his vocation; that the sea lent him back to the shore for a
romp and a holiday, but that to the sea he belonged.

"There's one thing against shipboard though."  He had come to a halt,
head aslant, and said it softly, eyeing a tree some thirty yards
distant.

"What?"

"No stones lying about."  Picking up one, he launched it at a
nuthatch that clung pecking at the moss on the bark.  "Hit him, by
George!  Come--"

He ran and she raced after him for a few paces, but stopped half-way,
with her hand to her side.  The nuthatch was not hit after all, but
had bobbed away into the green gloom.

"Tell you what--you can't run as you used," he said critically.

"No? . . ."  She was wondering at the mysterious life a-flutter in
her side--that it should be his brother.

"Not half.  I'll have to get you into training. . . . Now show me the
stables, please."

They were retracing their steps when along a green alley they saw Mr.
Hanmer coming down to meet them.  He was alone, and his face, always
grave, seemed to Ruth graver than ever.

"Dicky!" said he.  "Service, if you please."

"Ay, sir!"  Dicky's small person stiffened at once, and Dicky's hand
went up to the salute.

"Wait here, please.  I wish a word in private with Lady Vyell--if you
will forgive me, ma'am?"

"Why to be sure, sir," she answered, wondering.  As he turned, she
walked on with him.  After some fifty paces she confronted him under
the pale-green dappled shadows of the alley.

"Something has happened?  Is it serious?"

"Yes."

Looking straight before him, as they resumed their walk, he told her;
in brief words that seemed, as he jerked them out, to be pumped from
him; that made no single coherent sentence, and yet were concise as a
despatch.

This in substance was Mr. Hanmer's report:--

They had remained on the terrace, seated, as she had left them--
Captain and Mrs. Harry, Miss Quiney and he. The Captain was talking.
. . . A servant brought word that two ladies--Mr. Hanmer could not
recall their names--had called from Boston and desired to see Mrs.
Vyell.  "Surely," protested Mrs. Harry, "they must mean Lady Vyell?"
The servant was positive: Mrs. Captain Vyell had been the name.
"They are anxious to pay their respects," suggested Miss Quiney.
"Anxious indeed!  Why we landed but a few hours since.  They must
have galloped."  Miss Quiney was sent to offer them refreshment and
discover their business.

Miss Quiney goes off on her errand.  Minutes elapse.  After many
minutes the servant reappears.  "Miss Quiney requests Mrs. Harry's
attendance." Mrs. Harry goes.

"Women are queer cattle," says Captain Harry sententiously, and
talks on.  By-and-by the servant appears yet again.  Mr. Hanmer is
sent for.  "Why, 'tis like a story I've read somewhere, about a
family sent one by one to stop a tap running," says Captain Harry.
"But I'll say this for the women--I'm always the last they bother."

Following the servant, Mr. Hanmer--so runs his report--enters the
great drawing-room to find Miss Quiney stretched on the sofa, her
face buried in cushions, and Mrs. Harry standing erect and
confronting two ladies of forbidding aspect.

"In brief," concluded Mr. Hanmer, "she sent me for you."

"To confront them with her?  I wonder what their business can
be. . . ."  With a glance at his side face she added, "I think you
have not told me all."

"No," he confessed haltingly; "that's true enough.  In--in fact
Mrs. Harry first employed me to show them to the door."

"And--on the way?"

"Honoured madam--"

"They said--what?--quoting whom?"

"A Mr. Silk.  But again--ma'am, I am awkward at lying.  I cannot
manage it."

"I like you the better for it."

"I did not believe--"

"Yet you might have believed. . . . And suppose that it were true,
sir?"

He shook visibly.  "I pray God to protect you," he managed to
stammer.