Father and son--a goodly sight,as they paced side by side up and down the gravel walk--(alas!the pretty field-path belonged to days that were!)--up and down the broad,sunshiny walk,in front of the breakfast-room windows of Beechwood Hall.
It was early--little past eight o'clock;but we kept Longfield hours and Longfield ways still.And besides,this was a grand day--the day of Guy's coming of age.Curious it seemed to watch him,as he walked along by his father,looking every inch "the young heir;"and perhaps not unconscious that he did so;--curious enough,remembering how meekly the boy had come into the world,at a certain old house at Norton Bury,one rainy December morning,twenty-one years ago.
It was a bright day to-day--bright as all our faces were,I think,as we gathered round the cosy breakfast-table.There,as heretofore,it was the mother's pride and the father's pleasure that not one face should be missing--that,summer and winter,all should assemble for an hour of family fun and family chat,before the busy cares of the day;and by general consent,which had grown into habit,every one tried to keep unclouded this little bit of early sunshine,before the father and brothers went away.No sour or dreary looks,no painful topics,were ever brought to the breakfast-table.
Thus it was against all custom when Mr.Halifax,laying down his paper with a grave countenance,said:
"This is very ill news.Ten Bank failures in the Gazette to-day.""But it will not harm us,father."
"Edwin is always thinking of 'us,'and 'our business,'"remarked Guy,rather sharply.It was one of the slight--the very slight--jars in our household,that these two lads,excellent lads both,as they grew into manhood did not exactly "pull together.""Edwin is scarcely wrong in thinking of 'us,'since upon us depend so many,"observed the father,in that quiet tone with which,when he did happen to interfere between his sons,he generally smoothed matters down and kept the balance even."Yet though we are ourselves secure,I trust the losses everywhere around us make it the more necessary that we should not parade our good fortune by launching out into any of Guy's magnificences--eh,my boy?"The youth looked down.It was well known in the family that since we came to Beechwood his pleasure-loving temperament had wanted all sorts of improvements on our style of living--fox-hounds,dinner-parties,balls;that the father's ways,which,though extended to liberal hospitalities,forbade outward show,and made our life a thorough family life still--were somewhat distasteful to that most fascinating young gentleman,Guy Halifax,Esquire,heir of Beechwood Hall.
"You may call it 'magnificence,'or what you choose;but I know Ishould like to live a little more as our neighbours do.And I think we ought too--we that are known to be the wealthiest family--"He stopped abruptly--for the door opened;and Guy had too much good taste and good feeling to discuss our riches before Maud's poor governess--the tall,grave,sad-looking,sad-clothed Miss Silver;the same whom John had seen at Mr.Jessop's bank;and who had been with us four months--ever since we came to Beechwood.
One of the boys rose and offered her a chair;for the parents set the example of treating her with entire respect--nay,would gladly have made her altogether one of the family,had she not been so very reserved.
Miss Silver came forward with the daily nosegay which Mrs.Halifax had confided to her superintendence.
"They are the best I can find,madam--I believe Watkins keeps all his greenhouse flowers for to-night.""Thank you,my dear.These will do very well.--Yes,Guy,persuade Miss Silver to take your place by the fire.She looks so cold."But Miss Silver,declining the kindness,passed on to her own seat opposite.
Ursula busied herself over the breakfast equipage rather nervously.
Though an admirable person,Miss Silver in her extreme and all but repellant quietness was one whom the mother found it difficult to get on with.She was scrupulously kind to her;and the governess was as scrupulously exact in all courtesy and attention;still that impassible,self-contained demeanour,that great reticence--it might be shyness,it might be pride--sometimes,Ursula privately admitted,"fidgeted"her.
To-day was to be a general holiday for both masters and servants;a dinner at the mills;and in the evening something which,though we call it a tea-drinking,began to look,I was amused to see,exceedingly like "a ball."But on this occasion both parents had yielded to their young people's wishes,and half the neighbourhood had been invited,by the universally-popular Mr.Guy Halifax to celebrate his coming of age.
"Only once in a way,"said the mother,half ashamed of herself for thus indulging the boy--as,giving his shoulder a fond shake,she called him "a foolish fellow."Then we all dispersed;Guy and Walter to ride to the manor-house,Edwin vanishing with his sister,to whom he was giving daily Latin lessons in the school-room.
John asked me to take a walk on the hill with him.
"Go,Phineas,"whispered his wife--"it will do him good.And don't let him talk too much of old times.This is a hard week for him."The mother's eyes were mournful,for Guy and "the child"had been born within a year and three days of each other;but she never hinted--it never would have struck her to hint--"this is a hard week for ME."That grief--the one great grief of their life,had come to her more wholesomely than to her husband:either because men,the very best of men,can only suffer,while women can endure;or because in the mysterious ordinance of nature Maud's baby lips had sucked away the bitterness of the pang from the bereaved mother,while her loss was yet new.It had never been left to rankle in that warm heart,which had room for every living child,while it cherished,in tenderness above all sorrow,the child that was no more.
