MITH 'f^^fefQ^V'^^SV ^^^M ^^^m^^ V ^ MATTHEW TINDALE ^ j:obcL BY AUGUSTA A. VARTY-SMITH. AUTHOR OF *' THE FAWCETTS AND GARODS. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON ^ubltsi)Ers in ©rtiinars to |t?cr fHajcsts tf}c ©urm. 1891. XAll rights reserved.) V. 1 I DEDICATE TO MY BKOTHEES THIS STORY OF c^ A. BROTHERS LOVE. 4 4 4 " Quod in strage liomiuum magna eveuit, quum ipse se populus premit, nemo ita cadit, ut non alium in se adtrahat ; primi exitio sequentibus sunt; hoc in omni vita accidere videas lie«t; nemo sibi tantummodo errat, sed alieni erroris et causa et auctor est." — Seneca. " To know the whole of a man's past as he knows it himself would be, perhaps, to be unable to leproaeh him with his worst crimes." — Julia Wedgwood. CONTENTS OF VOL. I. BOOK I. CHAPTER PAGE I. Introduction ... ... ... 1 II. Brother and Sister ... ... 33 III. The Aschenburgs, Guardian and Ward 63 IV. The Trysting-Place ... ... 82 V. Sidney reflects ... ... ... 105 VI. Quoit-Playing ... ... ... 126 VII. The Tindales at Home ... ... 148 VIII. Matthew visits his Lawyer ... 176 BOOK II. I. Frances Carter ... ... ... 199 II. Undercurrents ... ... ... 218 III. Will he be True? ... ... ... 247 IV. Waking Thoughts ... ... 263 V. Good-bye ... .. ... ... 277 MATTHEW TINDALE BOOK I. CHAPTER I. INTEODUCTIOX. It was the first week in July. The haj harvest had begun, and the fields were lying covered with green swathes which would soon be tossed and turned and piled up into sweet- smelling masses. At Staneby the heavy rains that had fallen in the spring months, filling up the ponds and making the ditches look like rivulets, had continued, with brief intervals of sunshine, until the end of June. There was grass in abundance ; but then, grumbled the farmers, what was the use of grass without ' VOL. I. 1 2 MATTHEW TINDALE. the sunshine and wind to turn it into hay? Blackened and mildewed fodder was unwhole- some, and cattle and horses couldn't be ex- pected to thrive on it ; and if the cattle and horses didn't thrive, how were rents to be paid ? So those who possessed weather- glasses rapped them heavily with their knuckles. Oh, it was enough to make even such good men as parsons swear, to see such rain ! Thus exclaiming, they would look up at the sky whose clouds were leaden-coloured and without a break. At length the rain ceased, and in a day or two the ponds were less full and the ditches had dwindled so that they dared not claim kinship with the brooks, their pretty babbling cousins. The sun struggled through the clouds, and but for the mists that rose ^nd refreshed the leaves and grass, which, over-grown things as they were, had no strength to cope successfully with old Sol's rays, the farmers would have had to cry out for rain, and rap their weather-glasses in INTRODUCTION. 3 liopes of seeing the pointer move down from fair to change. But as it was, the luxuriant growth of the spring months drank up the mists, the delicate stems and tissues learning to hold themselves uninjured to the sun. So the hearts of the farmers were cheered at last, and scythes were sharpened and haymaking was begun in the fields around Staneby. How hot it had been all day ! So at least the haymakers said ; but then they had been standing out in the sun since the early morn- ing, and had walked a good many miles as they went up and down the fields raking and tossing the sweet-smelling stuff. Nobody else thought it had been so very hot. But because it had been so hot, and because the most faint-hearted of the farmers could not find any room for doubting that the weather was settled, the haymakers agreed that there was no need to work over-hours ; perhaps at the beginning of the week when the hay was really dry, and the horses and carts had been brought out to carry it home, 4 MATTHEW TINDALE. things would be different, and they would not be particular about leaving off at the regular hour. So the men and women for the most part shouldered their rakes, and made their way home in noisy talkative groups before the clock in the belfry tower of Staneby Hall chimed the quarter after six. Thin curls of smoke began to rise soon after from the cottage chimneys. AH sounds of toil were hushed, and but for the occasional cry of a child from an open doorway, or a laugh that had been raised by some rustic jest, or the faint hum of voices fitful and disjointed, sleep might have fallen upon the village. It was only from the last group of buildings which stands upon the road running north- wards out of Staneby — the road goes through the village in the form of the letter T, branch- ing north, south, and west — that signs of work might still be heard. But if any one had chosen to step past the dwelling-house with its one good-sized window on each side of the doorway, and three above, occupied by INTEODUCTION. 5 Jonathan Tindale, blacksmith, to the smithy which stood on a lower level and some twenty paces from the road, he could have looked through the square opening that did duty for a window in the smithy wall, and whose shutters wdth their simple wooden latch were thrown back, and would have seen Jonathan Tindale and his son Matthew still at work. The rays of the setting sun w^ere reflected from a vice screwed to a rough bench immedi- ately in front of the window, and from a con- fused mass of pincers, hammers, and nails lying- near it. A smell of sulphur, burnt leather, and refuse filled the shop, overpow^ering the sweet scent of the honeysuckle that grew round the doorway. A low under-current of sound caused by the steady blowing of the bellows under Matthew's pow^erful hand, ran as an acccom- paniment to the rap-tap of the elder Tindale's hammer, \Yho in leathern apron and rolled-up shirt-sleeves was bending over the anvil in the centre of the shop, and striking out sparks that glimmered faintly in the sunlight. 6 MATTHEW TINDALE. The younger man stood with his straight broad shoulders turned upon the elder one. This was Matthew Tindale, the best shoer of a horse and the best worker in iron that the Fell-side could produce. One begrimed arm was moving the wooden pole by which the bellows were worked, while the other was thrusting a bar of iron into the glowing coals and then withdrawing it, and then again pushing it back where the heat was at its whitest. His blue checked shirt was loosened at the throat, leaving unfettered a brawny chest and neck whose sinews looked like taut ropes. He turned his head from time to time and glanced over his shoulder at the old man ; and when he did so the sunlight fell upon his closely cropped fair hair and upon his face. His roughly hewn features were thrown into strong relief by the sunlight ; the dark thick eyebrows, the large but well-formed mouth, and the deep-set eyes with their clear and steady expression. He had had a long day s work, from the early July morning till far INTRODUCTIOX. 7 into the afternoon. Some of the smoke and soot with which his arms were begrimed had settled upon his upper lip and chin, so that the usually well defined line of the whiskers, that were cropped even more closely than the hair, was faintly distinguishable. Not handsome — no one would have thought of callino; Matthew Tindale handsome — but comely look- ing, straight, tall, and strong : a man who looked as if an old sea-king might have been his progenitor, so proud and self-reliant was his mien. There was little likeness between the father and the son, and it would have been difficult to discover any physical trait in the stooping form at the anvil pointing to a relationship. The elder man was short and broad set, a fringe of white hair hang- ing beneath his battered hat and resting on cheeks which showed the growth of a week's beard. Bushy white eyebrows over- hung the dark eyes, that were as keen and bright as in the days when, with a piece of 8 MATTHEW TINDALE. hawthorn jin his button-hole, he wandered down the lanes where he knew pretty Martha Fletcher might be found herding her father's cows. He had been handsome then, and village maidens had been wont to hang their heads coquettishly whenever he came past their doors, and had feigned to be too busy with their knitting to mark how gallantly he stepped and how bravely he swung his arms. But if he failed to speak to them, their fingers would stop their deft movements, and they would crane their necks to look after him — and this for disappointment — but Jonathan Tindale, not knowing the ways of women, missed this flattery. Now the once straight back is bent, and the head that was held so smartly droops forward habitually on the chest ; and the arms are rendered unshapely by muscles enormously developed, and the hands are scarred, and the finger-joints twisted and overgrown. With each blow of the hammer, the breath came through Jonathan Tindale's nostrils with a short grunting sound, as if forced from him INTKODUCTIOX. 9 by the exertion ; and when the sweat trickled down his forehead and cheeks, and he stopped to wipe it off with his grimy arm, he cleared his throat with a deep sonorous cough. In one of these pauses he turned to his son, saying, as he looked at him from under the brim of his hat — " Where's oor Maggie off to this efterneun ? She passed me when I was busy [with them nails in t' winda, an' I looked after her just as a body might w^hen their mind's ta'en up with summut else, for I wasn't rightly thinkin' on her — an' I saw her stop by t' gate theer, an' then in a minute, afore one could say 'Jack Eobinson,' she hed her foot on t' bottom bar an' was ower't like a shot." " Mother'll likely know," answered Matthew indifferently, bringing the iron bar from the fire and laying it on the anvil. Then, taking up a hammer, he began to swing it with one arm, causing blow after blow to echo through the forge, unti], his father joining him, the two men faced each other, and, striking the 10 MATTHEW TINDALE. glowing mass alternately, chimed out a wild music of clashing sounds. " How many inches did ye say was t'measure across t' crank ? " asked the elder Tindale. ** Five ; but we're not ready for that," returned the son, as he lifted up the bar and put it into the fire. " I doubt if ye'll hev't ready by to-morrow morning." The old man straightened his back as he spoke, and rubbing a hand across his forehead pushed his hat to the back of his head. "Well, I promised it, an I've a pride in sayin' I never give back my word to any man. There's a good many hours atw^een now an daybreak, an' Matthew Tindale isn't one to turn his back on a bit o' work." " Chances are if he'll want it after a'. He's such a queer chap. Folks never rightly know how to take him. Old Aschenburg is worth fifty such as yon." There was a pause which was broken only by the sound of the bellows, the elder man INTEODUCTION. 11 resting his hands on his hips and watching each movement of his son with an observant eye. Then, as if he had been pondering upon an answer to the question he was about to j)ut, he said — *' I wonder what he can want with such a fandanglcment. Did he tell ye ? " '' He said he was wan tin' an omertary, an' I wad be as likely a chap to help him as any he could find." ''A what?'' *'An omertary. That's what he called it anyway." " I never heard tell o' one," returned the old man in a perplexed tone. " Neither hev I," answered the son dryly, drawing the red-hot bar as he spoke from the fire ; " but I know I could go to France and make as good a horseshoe as them frog-eating chaps an' never know their name for't." " Hum," returned the old man, taking up his hammer and feeling that he was unable to see the point of Matthew's remark. 12 MATTHEW TINDALE. Again savage music was struck out, as the hammers fell alternately with mighty swing upon the bar. The glowing metal turned to a clingy red and finally to a slate colour, as it slowly broadened under the blows until, at last cooling, both men ceased from work, the elder one leaning on his hammer, the younger with his great chest expanded and his head held up that he might breath more freely. Beads of sweat stood on the old man's forehead, and Matthew's eyes falling at that moment on the stooping figure and weary face,'he stretched out his hand for the hammer upon which his father's fingers were folded tremulously. " Here, give us hold," he said. " Ye've wrought hard. The likes o' you should take rest afore this. It's only such chaps as me as can go from sunrise to sunset of a July day." "Nay, nay, I'se good for a deal o' work yet ; " and the elder man impatiently put his son's hand aside. " Aw^ay wi' ther. Put t' bar intul t' fire, an' lets hev another gang wi' it.' INTRODUCTIOX. 18 The son took no notice of these words, but stepping lip to one of the wooden shutters, looked at his watch which was hanorins; there over a nail. " She's just gone nine" — Matthew kept his watch an hour before the day — '' an' it's almost a wonder mother hasn't called us afore this." "Just gone nine, hes 't ? " The old man seemed to be deliberating over some question in his own mind as he said this. He put down his hammer with an air of hesitation, and then taking off his hat busied himself with arranging the lining. " Well, if it's as late as that, I won't argyfye but what it's time for us to shut up. A day's work's a day's work ; not but what I can put in as long a one as ever I did. We can both do that, you and me. But as you say, my lad, I think we may as well strike work for to-day." The old man having arranged the lining of his hat, he gave a look at his son which told unmistakably how much more satisfied he would be if they left the forge together. Old 14 MATTHEW TINDALE. Jonathan Tinclale always resented the idea that he ever gave up working before his son. "Are ye comin', Mattha ?" For the old man still hesitated. '' Ay, I'm cominV' was the laconic answer ; but instead of doing what his words intimated, Matthew began raking the scattered cinders together on the hearthstone. And so somewhat unwillingly Jonathan Tindale moved towards the door. The fire made up, Matthew went to the window and looked out over the fair English landscape. The distant hills that bounded the western horizon had turned a rosy purple, their outlines dimly defined in the brilliancy of the light which like a sheet of molten gold marked the position of the setting sun. His eyes looked unflinchingly at the light ; they were strong eyes ; when the smithy fire roared beneath the furious blasts driven by his hand, and both coal aud iron were turned to a w^hite heat, they needed no protection ; so in like manner they met unfalteringly the glow INTRODUCTION. 15 of light that rose up from the west. For fully a minute he stood thus, then slowly and abstractedly his eyes roved from one well-known landmark within the valley to another — the undulating hills and dales; the scattered groups of trees ; the stretches of com- pact woods ; distant villages and homesteads, each were regarded by him in turn. Then his eyes followed the road, which now appear- ing distinctly, now disappearing behind some knoll or steep acclivity, ran with many devia- tions from the market town of Merton up to the village of Staneby. There, just where that triangular- shaped field skirts the long narrow strip of wood, the road first touches the Staneby Hall estate, and Matthew called to mind how at that point Sir William Garod's gamekeepers had come upon Neddy Kendal, the village shoemaker, who was often suspected of poaching, and how they had lost their case because they could not prove that he had been on the Staneby side of the wall. A quarter of a mile nearer the village the road is bounded 16 MATTHEW TINDALE. on both sides by Sir "William Garod's land ; but here the bank which rises abruptly from the valley and runs gradually up to the foot of the Pennine rans^e of hills, and on the breast of which Staneby stands, obstructed Matthew's view of the road, and he turned his eyes, which half mechanically had traced its windings, to the thick plantation stretching to his right from the foot of the bank far up toward the hills, and within whose embracing arm rose the red sandstone chimneys of Derthwaite. This led him to think of young Mr. Sidney Aschen- burg, its owner, and the " omertary " which he had commissioned him to make. And straight- way Matthew Tindale turned from the window, and lifting the bar of iron from the anvil, began once more to consider how best it should be made to take the many curves and angles of the " omertary's " fantastic shape. There is a book in the library at Derthwaite containing a paragraph marked with a line of red ink ; and, as if that were not sufficient INTRODUCTION. . 17 to draw the reader's attentioD, au arrow pointing to it has been drawn upon the side of the page. It runs as follows : — "Derthwaite, in Cumberland, occupies the site of a Cistercian priory w^hich was founded by Eobert de Malleban in the first year of the reign of Eichard Coeur de Lion. Before joining the army of the Crusaders, de Malleban gave to the community the ground on which the priory was to stand, and three corucates of land and ten acres of meadow in the immediate neighbourhood, with two hundred and fifty acres of land, lying on the west side of the river Eden ; pannage for their hogs, and those of their tenants in the forest of HeltoD, and sufficient timber for their houses ; common of pasture for their cattle upon the Fell, belonging to the town- ship of Merton ; a well or spring at Talby, for daily remembrance at the altar of the Blessed Virgin for the soul of Catherine his wife ; a yearly rent of half a mark of silver out of his lands at Ulgarth ; one free net in VOL. I. 2 18 MATTHEW TINDALE. the river Eden ; the tithes of all the venison, fts well in flesh as skins, and of the skins of foxes, wherever they should be hunted; of his lakes and fishings, and the tithes in his waste lands of fowls, calves, lambs, pigs, w^ool, cheese, and butter, and, when cultivated, tithes of the produce of those lands. The priory was surrendered to the commissioners of Henry VIII. in 1536, at which time the community consisted of a prior and eight monks, their revenue being .£57 7s, lid. This priory remained in the possession of the crown until the reign of Elizabeth who, on March the 1st, 1560, granted the priory and the adjacent lands to William Malby, after- wards Sir William Malby, Knt., an illegitimate son of William, Lord Malby of the North. Thomas Malby, grandson of Sir William Malby, to whom the grant of Derthwaite Priory was made, sold the property to Sir John Bletcher, Knt., of Sutton, who gave it in marriage with his eldest daughter Bridget, to John, second son of James Carrodan, Esq., of Kindenlow, INTRODUCTION. 19 with whose descendants it remained until 1850, when it was sold to Dr. Joseph Aschenburg of London, who left it by will to his son Sidney/' Mrs. Aschenburg had been reading this paragraph on the same evening as that on which Jonathan and Matthew Tindale were working at what the elder had termed ''a fandanglement " of her son. And as she paced the terrace which runs in front of Derthwaite, a white shawl wrapped round her shoulders, and her left hand gathering up the skirts of her black silk gown, her mind turned upon it with some complacency. This pedigree of her son's estate was long and aristocratic, and had, through a curious process of reasoning, come to be looked upon by Mrs. Aschenburg as a fit substitute for the long line of ancestry which she would have liked to possess. For Mrs. Aschenburg was a proud woman, and would have ignored, if she could, the fact of being daughter and sole heiress of a Hackney brewer. A low band of cloud, turned by the sun 20 MATTHEW TINDALE. into a semblance of molten gold, lay behind Helvellyn, Skiddaw, and Blencathra. Bars of cloud hung in bright refulgence upon the amber sky, and above these stretched bands of rose colour and deepest crimson, which as they approached the zenith paled and changed to clouds of grey. Each object in the valley which lies between the wooded hill that shelters Derthwaite from the cast, and the mountains that, rising suddenly out of the fertile plain, form a barrier in the west, w^as seen in the distinctness peculiar to evening light. The fields of young corn, and those' which were lying under the swathes of grass- left by the mower ; the clusters of white- cottagers ; the scattered buildings which dot the landscape ; undulating woodlands that break the monotony of meadow and arable lands-; the windings of the river Eden; — everything was illuminated by that clearness of atmosphere which has a beauty of its- own, though it has to yield the j^alm to the suggestive loveliness of mist and haze. INTRODUCTION. 21 The lowing of cattle broke occasionally upon the stillness, with now and then the bleating of a lamb, the bark of a dog, or the voices of a few^ straggling haymakers returning home. Birds w^arbled softly in the trees, as they sat wdth puffed-out feathers and heads buried deeply in their breasts ; others hopped from twig to twig with low chirps, or, with sudden thought, leaned forward with outstretched heads and ex- tended wings, to fly across some open space and alight in a tree beyond. Far-travelled bees came home on wearied wings, their soft hum sounding as a faint accompaniment to the burr of the night insect which was setting out thus early on its wanderings. All the loveliness of a summer evening had spread itself over the land. Derthwaite stood in the stiff formalitv of early nineteenth-century architecture. The sunset fell upon its windows — six of equal size on either side of the doorway and thirteen above — all blazino; like sheets of ^2 MATTHEW TINDALE. flame. The old priory, which had been built in place of that partially demolished by the Scotch at the beginning of the sixteenth century, had been pulled down in 1805 by one of the Carrodans, and replaced by this more modern structure, whose frontage and wing, running back on the north side to the stables, showed the rich colouring of red sandstone, subdued a little by weather and tinted with lichens. Below the broad gravelled terrace is a garden of irregularly shaped beds, clumps of heather, and clipped box trees. Then the ground slopes gradually, and is intersected by several yew hedges of great age, and beyond that is a shrubbery with winding paths ; then comes a rustic paling and meadows, which are skirted by the river Eden. To the south, and therefore between Derth- waite and Staneby, the meadow land is broken by an out-crop of sandstone that rears itself in high-piled strata on each side of the stream, which it narrows into sullen INTRODUCTION. 23 blackness. It is in this gorge that the salmon, now headstrong, now full of fear, nestle against the rocks that are hidden beneath the dark waters, or suddenly, with a quick movement, flash like a beam of lis^ht throuorh the air, to fall with splashes and foam. Brambles stretch out their prickly trailers and hang over the face of the cliffs ; tufts of heather, with here and there a clump of gorse, grow where the ledges have caught the crumbling waste of centuries ; and in the deeper niches, safely hidden from the rays of the midday sun, the enchanter's nightshade may be found. It is here that the low swift flight of the dipper is seen as it skims from one resting-place to another ; and in the hollow of the old tree which stands where the meadow merges into the upheaved land, is built the nest of the pied fly-catcher. A wood of oak, larch, and pine stretches from this gorge, which is known amongst the country people by the name of The Devil's Pot, hedging in the meadows and gently 24 MATTHEW TINDALE. sloping ground, until rising it encircles the back of Dertliwaite itself, which it shelters from the driving force of the east wind. As Mrs. Aschenburg slowly paced the terrace, her shawl slipped down and displayed the handsome shoulders which were proudly borne, and the outline of her bosom with its ample width and depth. She was a woman of good presence, whose maturity suggested development only and gave no hint of decay. A tall, fair woman, with blue eyes, that had lost but little of their youthful brightness, and which still turned in dignified astonish- ment upon any who touched with profane hand the border of her garment. Her pink and white complexion was scarcely less clear than in the days when young men contended with each other at supper parties for the honour of proposing the health of the Hackney belle ; and if her hair, which she wore in flat curls upon the sides of her face, was sprinkled with grey, the fairness of its original colour rendered the grey scarcely visible. Her hands were large. INTRODUCTION. 25 white and well formed, hands which looked as though they would take others stretched out to greet them into warm palms, and fold lithe fingers round them with a tender yet firm embrace, but which instead ofi'ered but the cold nerveless touch, and the pressure of fingers and thumb which is scarcely per- ceptible. Eight o'clock sounded from the tower above the stables, and no one had summoned Mrs. Aschenburg to dinner. She had turned round several times and looked with an observant expression tow^ard the open doorway of the house, and had drawn out her watch and gravely contemplated it. At length there was the flutter of a light print dress, and a tiny old woman, a little under five feet in height, appeared on the steps, pausing as if in search of some one, with hand shading her eyes. Mrs. Aschenburg saw her and stood motionless, her face turned toward, the new-comer ; but she neither called nor made any sign with her hand. 26 MATTHEW TINDALE. Presently the dim eyes — which were often distinctly stated by their owner to be as good as ever at a long distance, only just a little weak for open hemming and feather- stitching — caught sight of the tall figure standing at the end of the terrace with head and shoulders outlined against the sky; and the little old woman trotted down the short flight of steps leading from the entrance door and came toward it, while the edge of her print dress caught and rolled over the larger stones of the gravel. This was Abel, who as a plump rosy young woman had had the charge of Mrs. Aschenburg in her babyhood. A white muslin cap with a deep border enclosed the face, which was still smooth and rosy, and a neckerchief of the same material was folded round her throat, and tucked under her dress. A pretty, clean- looking old woman, with thin strands of grey hair, which were brought carefully down her cheeks, and turned up beneath her ears. " My dear," she said, as she got near to INTEODUCTIOK 27 Mrs. Aschenburg, speaking with a slight lisp, for the teeth being gone from the upper jaw, her lip was fain to fall in, " you're letting your shawl come right off your shoulders — and you that suffers at night from rheumatics." No one but Abel ever used a term of endearment to Mrs. Aschenburg, and it always sounded curiously inapplicable to the woman, whose self-confidence and self-complacency seemed to carry her far above the sphere which could be reached by the love and sympathy of any one. Strangers who heard her thus addressed by the old servant, experi- enced a sensation of pitying wonder and com- passion, just as though they had seen the rosy lips of a child pressed half in playfulness, half in love, "upon the cheek of a marble statue ; and then their pitying sympathetic feelings would grow after a time into one of astonish- ment alone, that such familiarity — for in some way or other a caress given by any one to Mrs. Aschenburg always appeared to be a familiarity — was not resented. 28 MATTHEW TINDALE. '' I am not cold, thank you, Abel." Never- theless one of Mrs. Aschenburg's large white hands drew the shawl round her shoulders as she spoke. " Why is dinner not ready ? " And then, without waiting for a reply, she continued with a slight touch of asperity in her tone, "The usual reason, I suppose; Mr. Sidney has a sky to finish, a song to sing, or a new book that must be looked at." " Well, my dear," began the little old woman, shading her eyes with her hand, as she lifted her face to her mistress's, for there was still brightness in the evening sky, " I tell you many and many a time you expect that boy to behave himself like a grown-up man ; " — Sidney Aschenburg was five and twenty, but Abel could never realize the fact — "you cannot, and you never will put old heads on young shoulders ; leastways, not on such shoulders as Master Sidney has, bless him. Why, they were never made to carry trouble and care and thought ; at any rate, not for many a year to come. You should not ^ INTRODUCTIOX. 29 expect it, and you shouldn't ask it. You'll see when he gets old enough he'll be ready enough to take thought for every oue." " Is that why dinner is late, Abel ? " " I thought, my dear, you would not mind waiting ten minutes, and giving him a chance of getting in. Mr. Spark es asked me about it, and I said I was quite sure you would be agreeable.'' There was a touch of pride in the way in which Mrs. Aschenburg here lifted up her face. Then she asked if her son had left any message before going out. '* Yes, my dear, of course he did. I always say if any one in this world is misunderstood, it's that boy. Why, my dear, he went and gave himself the trouble of telling ]\Ir. Sparkes that if he was late for dinner, he had to o^ive you his compliments, and say that he was ' skying,' and beg you to excuse him." " But you said he had gone out." *'Yes. And no wonder that he changed his mind this beautiful evening, and went out 30 MATTHEW TINDALE. for a walk instead of messing on witli his paints. No one can blame liim for that. Sarah tells me she saw him take up his hat and stick a couple of hours ago, and set off in that direction," Here a finger was stretched out toward the river. *' He has very often kept me waiting dinner lately." " Not so many times if they were properly reckoned up," urged the old nurse tenderly, as she smiled at her mistress. ''But it's far easier, they say, to do addition than subtrac- tion, and I dare say they're right — indeed, I am sure of it, when I remember the number of things people always find to say against my boy." The faintest shadow of a smile flitted over the proud face of the listener, and then she rejoined, ''No one can charge you, good Abel, with handing over a balance of evil-speaking. But then you put false payments to the credit side, and surely that is quite as bad. How- ever, we will talk no more of it, for I would INTRODUCTION. 31 like you to go in now and tell Sparkes that I will wait dinner no longer for Mr. Sidney," Mrs. Aschenburg watched the little pink-and- white apple-blossom of an old woman as she trotted along, with hands folded above the muslin apron, and feet that planted themselves unhesitatingly upon the gravelled path ; then, so soon as the diminutive figure had disap- peared within the doorway, she turned her head and began pacing once more up and down the terrace. Not many minutes had elapsed, however, before the folds of her dress began to slip through her slackening hold, her eyes no longer looking upon the distant hills, but lowered to the ground, while her steps became uneven and hesitating, until at length she stopped altogether in her walk. She re- mained in this position for a minute or more, then a flush stole over the handsome face, and as it crept over temple, cheek, and ear she was recalled to a consciousness of her surroundino-s. She hastily drew herself up, cast a suspicious glance at the windows which were nearest to 32; MATTHEW TINDALE. her, and then with erect head and firm step went toward the farthest boundary of the terrace. The air perhaps had turned suddenly chilly, or the night dews had begun to fall, or it might be that something in the far-spreading expanse of country, its mountains fading from purple to ashen grey, its golden sky losing its luminous brightness and assuming the opalescence of evening, the mist rising from the low lying lands and softening the outlines of every object with its thin haze, had a depressing influence upon Mrs. Aschenburg's spirits ; for she gave a deep shivering sigh, and, drawing her shawl more tightly round her shoulders, turned her eyes from the distant landscape and bent them upon the gravel-i3ath at her feet. CHAPTEE 11. BEOTHER AND SISTER. While Mrs. Aschenbnrg was pacing the terrace in front of Derthwaite, Matthew Tindale was patiently working the bar of iron, on which he was engaged for her son, into strange and fantastic shapes. Now it was bent at right angles, now curved, now flattened and broadened in one part, now narrowed and made tapering. Now under the blows of Matthew's hammer it bent itself into delicate curves. Where it had been thinned and beaten into a flat and shapeless mass it grew into the likeness of leaves and tendrils, and in its thickest part it yielded to the force of steel and suffered a network of VOL. I. 3 34 MATTHEW TIXDALE. piercings. Many times did Matthew take his foot rule, and measuring its proportions, compare them with the directions written round a pen-and-ink drawing which was nailed up in the window. At length he seemed satisfied, and with one final glance at each turn and curve, he placed his work carefully on a shelf. In a few minutes he had raked the fire together, and with one stride had got upon the hearthstone, where a seat was placed against the wall, capable of holding half a dozen people if they were content to sit close. Then he pulled a pipe out of his pocket and prepared for his evening smoke. He had not sat many minutes, however, when he heard the sound of footsteps ap- proaching the window, followed by a voice, saying, in a low tone — " Mattha, are ye there ? " Matthew, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees, and his hands held toward the fire, started slightly, and then, without moving the pipe from his lips, said — BROTHER AND SISTER. 35 " Come away, Maggie, come along. I'm just hevin' my pipe." Another minute, and a tall figure stooped to pass under the long trailers of honeysuckle which hung above the doorway. Then it hesitated and paused. *' Are ye there by yerself, Mattha ? " asked the new-comer. "Yes, come away, an' I'll give ye a hand up." The woman came forward into the dim firelight, and, placing her foot on the edge of a stone trough that stood near, stepped, with the ease of one accustomed to the task, upon the cinder-strewn hearth, and took her seat at Matthew's side. This was Maggie, Jonathan and Martha Tindale's only daughter. She was Matthew's junior by ten years, but so tall and finely proportioned that she looked more like five and twenty than the eighteen years which she had reckoned at Whitsuntide. Her com- plexion was of a clear olive, and her features 36 MATTHEW TIXDALE. were well cut and regular ; the mouth and nose were delicately formed, and the eyes were of a deep violet with timidity suggested in their expression. She took off her hat so soon as she was seated by her brother's side, letting all the mass of black hair be seen which grew low upon her forehead, its heavy bands tucked above her ears and gathered in a knot hanging somewhat low at the nape of the neck. A very beautiful woman, of that refined type which is rarely met with amongst the people ; beautiful as a Nile lily growing in its native streams, untended, uncared for, with no setting of Etruscan vase nor back- ground of mirrors and palms. She held a bunch of harebells in her hand, and as she sought to fasten them together several slipped from her hold and fell amongst the ashes at her feet. There was no sound for several minutes but the rustling of the harebells and the steady puffing of Matthew's pipe. At length, with eyes fixed on the fire and the long powerful BROTHER AND SISTER. 37 hands held out toward its warmth, he said — " Where hev ye been, Maggie ? " His companion- gave a slight start at these words, and there was a momentary hesitation before she answered, saying, " Away out for a walk — down the river-side a little bit, to see if I could find some forget-me-nots." " Yer wadn't find many. I should say it's late for such as them." As Matthew spoke he put his hand thought- fully into his breast-pocket, and brought out the sheet of paper with the pen-and-ink drawing, that had hung on the window while he was at work. He unfolded it ; then, stoop- ing down, held it so that it should catch the firelight, while he slowly read the measure- ments aloud in a subdued tone, and occasion- ally examined the drawing. Is it true that these great, loving, passionate souls of ours are dependent for a medium of communication one with the other upon service clumsily rendered by the lip, or eye, 38 MATTHEW TINDALE. or ear ? Has that spiritual essence, with its mighty foretaste of life apart from all the conditions imposed upon it by time and space, to yield itself to the puerile powers of the material body, and be dependent upon it for its means of expression ? Must the soul with its throbbing heart — ay, heart that is but faintly imaged in the slowly pulsating one of flesh — must it pant, and agonize, and leave the bitter workings of its life-blood to be expressed through mortal channels ? Has the soul, with powers scarcely other than diviue, been thus chained during the far- gone vista of years wherein wave after wave of generations ebbs back into the sea of the golden age and is lost upon its shore ? or did not men in that happy time consciously live in their dual world, the spiritual part untrammelled by the material, and without voice, or sign, or gesture of their grosser form communicate in a speecli now lost to man ? Is it the remembrance of this power which clings to us in fantastic moments, or are we dreaming of orient beams, BEOTHER AND SISTER. 3^ which, as faint shafts foretelliDg the rising of the king of day, are stealing upon us with promise of a dawn full of roseate splendour, to be followed by a meridian of glorious light ? Simple Maggie Tindale, as she sat in front of the smithy fire beside her brother, her trembling fingers raising flower after flower to be fastened together by a blade of meadow grass, was struggling under a sore need of that communication of soul with soul which desires something finer than words, and some- thing of more subtile essence than sound. Words are vague and unsatisfactory things to employ, when we would picture the world of emotion which lies within ; and the very sound of our own voice startles us by its rough incongruity, and causes us to shrink back from giving the confidences after which our souls yearn. Maggie's breath came thickly as the minutes passed, and her fingers at length failed to do the task that she had laid out for them, while her head drooped lower and lower on her 40 MATTHEW TINDALE. bosom. The firelight fell upon her clearly cut profile and threw it into strong contrast with the dark background beyond ; the droop of the beautiful eyelids, the curve of the lips and chin appearing like carved ivory against the thick shadows which were now creeping out of the corners, and down from the smithy roof, encircling every part with their weird arms, save that tiny spot which was guarded by the red embers on the hearth. Ten minutes must have passed in this way, the brother and sister silently occupied with their own thoughts, until at length the latter raised her head, and with a visible efi'ort said — " Did ye ever feel as if every place had all of a sudden grown bonnier, an' as if the sun- shine was warmer an' brighter than ever ye'd seen it before ? " Matthew moved his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other, but did not turn his head toward Maggie, or in any way alter his position ; he merely raised his eyes from the BROTHER AND SISTER. 41 paper in his hand to the wall opposite, and drew the smoke through his pipe with a long steady breath as though he would signify by these things that he was attending to her. Maggie had turned giddy at the sound of her own voice, and paused for a second or two before she could continue. To her, those simple words which she had just spoken seemed to contain the very confession of a lifetime, and that no matter how many more words she might add to them their meaning could never be intensified, nor a deeper truth told than that which they had already re- vealed. "When she had recovered her self- possession, it was therefore with some surprise and disappointment that she saw how little her brother had been impressed by what she had said. For a moment natural reserve and timidity struggled together to hold her silent, until a new and stronger power that had risen lately within her, a power which was widening the boundaries of her world, made its presence felt, and broke down the old 42 MATTHEW TINDALE. opposing barriers of shyness and pride. Then she continued — " Have you ever in your life felt, Mattha, as if everything outside o' the house was fairly glintin' with sunshine, an that even if ye pulled up a little wee daisy an' looked at it, that the white fringe shone like satin, an' its yella eye was far more beautiful than even ye'd thought on ? " Here Maggie's voice became tremulous, and her dark eyes moist and shining with a liquid light. '' An' the birds — why that they're just fit to crack their little throats with singin', an' that they make one's heart fairly loup right up in one's bosom for gladness. Did ye never feel such a like feel as that, Mattha ? " Matthew turned himself a little on his seat so that he could look at his sister, and began to rub his chin thoughtfully between his thumb and forefinger. Then he said — '' I think God Almighty's world is a grand place to live in, Maggie. An' even when the sun fairly pours into the smithy on the hottest BROTHER AND SISTER. 43 day, an' I've got more work than I can get done afore sunset, an' the sweat just running off me like water, I've a right thankful feel in my heart all the time, and every now and again I cannot help striking out a tune just to show it like." "But this is quite a partic'lar feel that I mean. I'm glad here" And Maggie laid one hand on her bosom as she spoke. Then, seeing that he made no attempt to answer her, she went on hesitatingly, while a delicate flush overspread her face, '' Ye're older nor me a long way, Mattha, an' surely ye must hev seen somebody that has made ye feel as I feel." Now at least he will understand me, she thought ; now he will help me to say all that I want to say. It was a minute before Matthew answered her. His eyes were fixed thoughtfully on her face, as if he were trying to gather the full meaning of her words and compare it with his own experience. Then he took a deep breath, and said — 44 MATTHEW TINDALE. " I've never been beholden to any man for happiness ; Fm beholden to them for being put out at times, but never for being happy. I remember when father an' me differed there, when he was wantin' to put me to joinerin', I didn't feel comfortable an' couldn't sleep at nights, but as soon as ever he said I might come into t' shop with him I felt just the same as I'd always done. But it wasn't him that made me easy like — he had only bothered me, an' when he gave it up I slipped back into my old place." *'Eh, but, Mattha, would ye still hev that real glad feel if ye were sittin' with yer hands in front o' ye, no pipe nor nothing ? I have it sure enough when I'm workin' about the house washin' dishes an' such like ; but when everything's tidied an' put away an' I may take my kuittiug to the door, an' if I like, just lay my stocking down in my lap an' look right over the fields an' woods until I feel quite dreamy, then it is that I feel the hap- piest feel of all." Maggie paused for her BROTHER AND SISTER. 45 brother to reply ; but, seeing that he made no attempt to speak, she continued in a dis- appointed tone, '' It's a queer thing that ye cannot understand me. I'm wantin' to tell ye something very badly, Mattha, an' I cannot rightly get at the words." " It's mebbe because ye're a woman an I'm a man that I cannot just make out yer meaning." Here Matthew put out one of his hands and took that of his sister's which lay nearest, and placing it on his knee smoothed it caressingly with his open palm. A simple action, but it is difficult for the undemonstrative Northern nature to make any sign by which the loveliness and depth of its pent-up feeling may be discerned. Only a grasp of the hand may be given, or a rough word, coupled perhaps with a rustic oath, and yet it may be that a friend has been gained who may be reckoned on in the hour of need so long as life lasts. Maggie understood this little caressive action 46 MATTHEW TINDALE. of her brothers, and a warm glow of love toward him shot through her frame ; but the hand that was lying on his knee remained motionless, and there was no perceptible move- ment made which would bring her nearer to him. The response came in the ready rising of the words to her lips, and in the ease with which her low clear voice spoke every word, "A curious thing has happened to me, Mattha ; an' though it has made me feel just as if my feet scarcely touched the ground for gladness, yet at the back of it all I'm frightened, an' feel as scared as if I had had a warnin such as came to us the week before grandmother died. I have the same creepy feel as when we heard the rustlin' at the winda, an.' that queer tappin' as if somebody was beatin' with their finger-nails against the wall — the death-watch, grandmother said it was ; I can mind it as if it only happened yesterday. Well, I feel just like that at times, only ye understand there's no rustlin', nor tappin', nor nothing, only just the feel BROTHER AND SISTER. 47 that I have inside of me. Yet, Mattha, it's very wicked of me to talk like this, for I've nothing that should make me afraid." Matthew never turned his eyes from his sister s face as she said these words, nor did he cease the caressive smoothing of her hand. Nevertheless, a startled feeling had taken possession of him, and there was a beating against the walls of his chest as though he had set himself a mighty task of wrestling with anvil and hammer. His mind was filled with vague doubt, anxiety, and dread as to what she could be going to tell him. "Mattha, I can tell ye very little about it," Maggie continued, in the same steady tones, *' for he has made me promise to keep it from mother an' father an' everybody — indeed I don't want the folks here in the village to know about it, or it wad be like puttin' a match into one of Neddy Kendal's tins o' gunpowder ; there Avad be no tellin* where such a burst-out might end." " I see what ye're wantin' to tell me, 48 MATTHEW TINDALE. Maggie — there's some courting going on. But it's a queerish thing that a chap should try to keep it from them that hes a right to know it. I don't like the sound. If a chap means fair to a woman, he'll step out in broad daylight an' let them that will say him nay. I don't like it, Maggie, I tell ye ; and I don't think much of him, whoever he is, to hev asked ye to give him yer word in such a business." Matthew's hand stopped the slow backward and forward action, and now closed firmly over his sister's, and he lifted himself up, and brought his face to a nearer level with hers. '' I tell ye, Maggie, I don't like it," he con- tinued, " an' I'm glad ye've opened yer mind to me ; an' if ye'll give me his name, I'll go to him an' tell him if he means to hev a chance of winnin' ye he must speak ye fair, an' come about the place after ye like a man." ''Mattha, I can't do that; I've promised him. Besides, if ye knew all about it ye'd say I'd fairly gone wrong o' my head, an' was only fit for t' 'sylum. An' yet " — here it was BROTHER AND SISTER. 49 Maggie's turn to make some outward token of afifection, her hand releasing itself from her brother's grasj), and interlacing its fingers with those of the powerful hand that covered it — '' an' yet ye wouldn't call me crazy if ye knew the feel that's come into my heart. I've not gone wrong o' my head, Mattha, but I'm fairly giddy with happiness ; and behind it all comes that queer feel that makes me scared, an' as if I would like to run away from myself an' everybody, an' forget all about the last few months." A perturbed expression was upon Matthew's face as he listened to these words, and he gave several uneasy movements with his shoulders, until the broad straight back and muscular neck and head towered some inches above his sister's. "Ye must tell me the chap's name," he began, "for ye've made me feel very uneasy about this courtin'. There's somethinor wrono^ about it." "Mattha, what do ye mean?" and there YOL. I. 4 50 MATTHEW TINDALE. was a faint sound of reproach in Maggie's voice as she said these words. " Nay, not wrong on your side, my lass ; I'm not blamin' you. But whenever I hear tell of secret doings — a'most about anything — I begin to say to myself, them chaps are not dressed up i' their right clothes, an' if we were to rive them off, we would most likely find such a set of smellin' rags as we couldn't easily light of in a day's march. Depend upon it, when folks can only go about at nights wdth dark lanterns in their ban's, they're not going the same road as honest ones. An' that's just what I feel about this chap of yours." *' Don't, Mattha ; ye're forge ttin' who ye're talkin' about." "Nay; I've never known," was the grim reply. "But ye know this much — ye know he's fairly made the whole world a different place to me. I cannot bear to hear anything against him, Mattha, so ye mustn't try." The girl's BEOTHER AND SISTER. 51 hand here curled itself round that of the man and held it tenderly, while the low voice thrilled with the depths of the love that was striving for utterance. " To say, Mattha, that he will ever be my husband, would be like a little common flower in the hedgerow saying that the sun would shine upon it always — I can never get my thoughts as far as that — but he is the man noio who says he loves me, an' whose voice is the sweetest sound that ever came into my ears, an' I feel as if I must stand by him, an' not let any one speak against him just as if I were his wife." "Ye're right enough in that, Maggie. I tell ye it's him that's wrong to go an' persuade ye to keep his courtin' of ye from yer own folk. But there's promises which is a sin to break, an' there's promises which is a sin to keep, an' I take it that this is one of them." "Mattha, I cannot tell ye." The girl's delicate complexion seemed to turn a paler hue as she said this, and the dark, lovely eyes looked up earnestly into her brother's face. TILINOIS LlBRARt 52 MATTHEW TINDALE. '* I have told ye all that I can rightly tell ye. For it seemed such a thing, that when me an' you had been so close together for all these years, more like twin brother an' sister than anything else, I should hev anything in my bosom hid away from ye. I've long been wantin' to tell ye the little that I could, an' now that I've done it I feel right glad an' thankful in my heart." Then, after a pause, and in a broken voice, she added, " Mattha, old chap, I feel as if I've set off to walk by myself through a wood with holes in it, an' rocks, an' all kind of horrible places ; an' ye I didn't set off myself; things just fell out, an' I walked on quite unconscious like." "Maggie, tell me his name." And Matthew turned round on the bench at these words, so that his face was brought almost opposite to his sister's, while he grasped both her hands and held them with the firm clasp which implies that an answer must be given before there will be any release. "Ye said right," he went on, " about you an' me bein true BROTHER AND SISTER. 53 brother and sister. But do ye think ye are doin fair by me to keep back his name? Ye've put very uneasy thoughts in my mind — thoughts that'll be with me first thing when I awake in the mornin^, an' the last thing when I lie down at night." "Don't make me wish I had kept it all back from ye, Mattha." The girl's uplifted eyes were becoming slowly filled with tears. '' I've done nothing wrong — nothing that you or anybody else could point a finger at. I'm as honest a girl as ever steps the village, an' my name's as white as it was on my (ihristenin' mornin'." Matthew loosened her hands suddenly, his voice growino: hoarse and his manner con- strained as he spoke. "Then tell him that ye've a brother that has no notion of any underhanded courtin', and that if he won't let you tell me bis name, I'll find a way that'll make him call it out before all Staneby." " Mattha, I see ye're getting angry with 54 MATTHEW TINDALE. me." And two great tears rolled over the dark eyelashes of the speaker, and fell from her cheek to her folded hands. "Nay, my lass; but youVe put such a thorn in my breast as will prevent me workin* easy for many a day." " I wish I hadn t told ye ; I wish I had kept it all to myself." Maggie's voice was slightly raised with these words, and there was a touch of bitterness in it. "Menfolk make such a song about things. I never thought that you'd hev taken on so about it, or I'd never have told. I'm not the first woman that's had a sweetheart of a different rank of life to her own, an' I'm pretty sure I shall not be the last." " Don't talk o' that way, Maggie, or I shall think I've spoken roughly to ye." " Well, ye make a body vexed, goin' on o' that way. Just as if I wasn't able to take care of myself. Why, I was eighteen last Whit- suntide, an' I'm an inch taller than mother when she holds herself at the straightest. BROTHER AND SISTER. 55 an' she promised father to wed him before she was my age. Ye're forgettin', Mattha ; ye're just thinkin' I'm a bit of a child, same as I used to be. I can tell je, I think myself a woman, an' feel like one too." The irritable tone of Macroie's voice had increased. " Yes, Maggie, I'm forgettin' ; ye say true. It never came into my mind until to-night that you'd grown up to be a woman. But it only makes me feel that I must stand up an' take all the more care of ye." The strong man's voice was low and tender, and the expression of his face was full of gentleness as he turned it upon his sister. Then, as if he wished to end a fruitless discussion, he added, " I think ye'd better go in to mother now, for it's a long way past bedtime, an' tell her to leave the door on the latch, an' I'll be in before she has got the light put out." Maggie rose from her seat, and treading carefully among the cinders, let herself down 56 MATTHEW TINDALE. from the raised liearthstone to the ground. She went as far as the door, and stood for a moment in a hesitating, an uncertain manner ; then turned round and looked at her brother, who in the fading firelight was stooping over his pipe and shaking the ashes out of it against his knee. Should she go back and speak to him, she thought ; should she try to make amends for the bitterness of her last words ? Another minute and she stood beside the hearthstone, with face up- turned, and the trembling movements of lip and chin with which a child seeks tearfully for pardon. " Mattha," she said, '' I'm going to ask him to let me tell ye all about it. An' then ye willn't be angry with me any more, old chap ? " " That's my lass." And Matthew looked up from his pipe with a well-pleased expres- sion on his face. " Them words are t' best ye've said yet." Then, seeing that her eyes were again filled with tears, he added hastily, " Ye've made me feel like another man ; so BROTHER AND SISTER. 57 away wi' thee, an' get to bed as fast as ever ye can, an' we'll forget all about sweethearts till the mornin'." When we have watched a child growing np to womanhood, the different periods of life, which in the abstract are definitely marked out, become, by reason of our close inspection and the continuity of our inter- course, so overlapped that we fail to dis- tinguish the point at which infancy merges into childhood, childhood into girlhood, girl- hood into w^omanhood. So it was with Matthew Tindale. His sister, born ten years after him, and who was at first a delicate plaything to be only looked at and admired, grew into a downy creature, which on Sundays mio'ht be carried into the fields outside Staneby, and be allowed to show her growing intelligence by suffering the daisy chain to hang uninjured round her neck, and by trying with weak baby hands to toss the cowslip balls back against his feet. And it was not until babyhood had passed into childhood 58 MATTHEW TINDALE. that the lad of seventeen started with the painfulness of the thought, that the little confiding creature who had gone so willingly anywhere if led by his hand, had for ever departed from him ; the baby face, the cooing voice, the tiny hands which laid hold indis- criminately of any object that came near, were all vanished, as if the mist of intervening years had already risen and blurred the little figure which would now only toddle toward him in the dim perspective. The baby for whom he had learned to feel an idolatrous afiection was gone irrevocably from him, and in its place a little maiden had slowly come ; and, as the changing view of a magic picture, this tiny seven-year-old had taken the place of the dark-eyed kitten, which used to nestle in his bosom and der, der itself to sleep. He loved the little maiden, but not as he loved the baby- child. Then the child grew into girlhood, and he marked it not, thinking it was still the seven-year-old which prattled at his side. And so, when Maggie tasted of BROTHER AND SISTER. 59 that cup by which the cheek is flushed with the first approach of coming womanhood, Matthew had not noticed it, still believing her to be the little sister who had loved ta bring her knitting to the forge, and, joining her treble voice to his deep tones, had learned to sing many a ballad without divining that it was heaven on earth when each Darby had won his Joan. But to-night as he sat alone on the hearth- stone, the knowledge that she had assumed the distinctive individuality of womanhood came upon him, and he started back from the thought, as a man who, after combating only with physical dangers, shrinks when brought into contact with one which is in- corporeal. Hitherto the guardianship which he had extended to his sister, made no further demands upon him than such as a muscular arm and tender thoughtful n ess for her could supply. It had been easy for the tall strong youth to swing the little child upon his shoulder, and stride past the village tyrant, 60 MATTHEW TINDALE. whose outstretched wiDgs and open beak threatened a too close proximity. Or, when the sun was beating with fierce rays, and the child had come to its favourite playground in front of the smithy door, to call it in and, seating it in a place of safety, to bid it watch the sparks that danced about like fairies so soon as he had struck the iron. How often, too, when she was weary with being indoors on the long wet autumn days, did he bring her into the forge, and opening a box full of assorted nails, place it beside the little sister on the bench, telling her to play with them until the big finger on his watch, which always hung upon the shutter, had reached a certain point, when he would not be sur- prised — so he always told her — if a pepper- mint were to fall from the roof into her lap. And how pretty were the movements on the part of the child : the little head lifted in expectation to the grimy roof, and then turned in glee upon the brother who, in the midst of his work, was always watchful of this little BEOTHER AND SISTER. 61 sister ; or babbling out some baby words of song, while in momentary forgetfulness of tlie expected gift, she would fix her attention upon the nails which she had turned out indiscriminately on the bench — and which patient Matthew would presently have to sort —and beat them with the palms of her fat hands. Or, wearying of this, she would look with wondering eyes at the watch, whose finger seemed to " walk " so slowly, and, pressing her rosy lips upon its face, would give it bubbling kisses and tell it to make haste and go on, faster ; or, looking up at the roof with eyes full of contemplative gravity, and a mind with who can tell what strivings after definite thought, would sit motionless for several seconds, and then, turning to the place where her brother stood, would vociferate in baby accents for the " tumin' " of the promised peppermint. These were the services which Matthew knew well how to render. But now that his sister stood on the borderland of womanhood. 62 MATTHEW TINDALE. it was as if she were going to slip beyond the reach of his protecting arm into a world whose modes of thought and action he did not understand — it never occurring to him that, by very reason of his manhood, and the knowledge and experience appertaining to it, he was peculiarly fitted to be her guardian. CHAPTER III. THE ASCHEXBURGS, GUARDIAN AND WARD. The diniDg-room at Derthwaite was long and low-roofed, with black oak panellings on ceiling and walls, and heavy window draperies, from which at night the gloom was imperfectly dispelled by a single lamp that hung above the oval dining-table. It was the same evening on which Abel had delayed the dinner-hour for her young master, and Mr. John Aschenburg, or Mr. Aschenburg as he was usually called, a cousin of the late owner of Derthwaite, was seated, its solitary occupant, with his chair turned a little away from the table, and his legs crossed upon the morocco seat of another. 64 MATTHEW TINDALE. He was a man. of medium height, with a handsome face, in which the high arched nose and delicate though firmly closing mouth were the most marked features. His eyes were of that undefined colour which can neither be said to be blue nor grey ; his complexion was slightly florid, his face closely shaven, while a profusion of white hair, thick, smooth, and silvery, covered his head. But for this white hair it would have been difficult to believe that he had counted all the forties, and was now in his fifty- sixth year, so comely was his person, so suggestive was every movement of the latent vitality which was yet stored within his frame. Perhaps, however, the expression upon his face would have borne testimony to the number of his years to an acute observer, for there was something in its placidity which belongs to the sunshine and stillness of an autumn day. He was a man of few gestures ; and, but to take the cigarette from his lips, or to raise a cofi'ee cup from the table, he never moved his THE ASCHENBURGS. 65 hands, the one carelessly thrust between his waistcoat and shirt, the other lightly hold- ing the back of the chair upon which his legs were crossed. Pre-eminently in tastes and habits a student, he sat during the first few minutes of real leisure which the day had offered, his thoughts busied with the work upon which he had been occupied. And yet he was smoking his cigarette with a manner of conscious enjoyment, throwing his head a little backward as each curl of smoke passed between his lips, and watching it melt into thin air. But instead of the grey rolling curves, his eyes saw nothing but the pages of an open folio, mellowed to a soft dun colour by cen- turies, and having its broad margins written over with notes in a stiff, monkish hand. There the pen had slipped, and the most important word had been made illegible ; and while Mr. Aschenburg seemed steadily to be w^atching a vanishing curl of smoke, he tried to decipher it, and went again and again over TOL. I. 5 €6 MATTHEW TINDALE. the context us though there were hope of it yielding up its meaning. The dim-paged folio with its vellum back, melted away, and loose sheets of manuscript took its place — oblong sheets covered with thin writing, which crossed them in irregular lines, and with blots and erasures here and there. These sheets were numbered, the number very nearly approaching a thousand ; and as Mr. Aschen- burg considered the four figures that were thinly scratched upon one of the upper corners, he sighed deeply, and, taking the cigarette from his lips, looked fixedly across the darkened room, seeing nothing, however, not even those sheets of the beloved manuscript, nor the folio upon which he was making the commentaries that were being eagerly waited for. The fatigue which overtakes the weary traveller who marks the milestone which tells him he is not yet half w^ay to his desired goal,. had fallen on him. A languor ran through his veins, and for a moment his mind became possessed by it, and was vacant of all thought.. THE ASCHENBUEGS. 67 Then he quickly collected himself, and, making some exclamation aloud, pushed away the chair upon which his legs had been crossed, with a resolute action, and, lifting up his coffee-cup, quickly swallowed its contents. " A bad thing to look forward," said Mr. Aschenburg. He had acquired this habit of speaking aloud through living the solitary life of a student ; for when Dr. Aschenburg died and the unexpected duty of guardianship to the son who was then a minor had fallen upon him, he had but moved from his Hampshire cottage to Derthwaite, stipulating that but for the new duties which he would in no way endeavour to shirk, his life should in all other respects be allowed to remain the same. " A bad thing to look forward," continued Mr. Aschenburg, soliloquizing ; '' one's mind gets weary regarding a long perspective. Not often I fall into such a mistake." Here a slight noise in the hall attracted his attention. Some one appeared to be putting 68 MATTHEW TINDALE. down light objects, sucli as a fishing-rod and tackle, upon the great oak table, and then there came the faint sound of a tune being hummed with closed lips, then a quick firm step upon the polished floor, and the dining- room door was suddenly opened. The cheeriness of some men's smile, the look of gladness in their eyes, is like the clasp of a warm hand or the glow which follows a draught of generous wine. Mr. Aschenburg was one of these men, and it was with such an expression that he turned under the light of the single lamp and faced the new-comer. " My boy, you are late." " Late, am 11" The words were carelessly spoken, as the young owner of Derthwaite, Sidney Aschenburg, came forward. " Your mother has left the dining-room twenty minutes." '^Keally!" By this time Sidney had reached the table, and drawing one of the chairs toward him, sat down. He was a fair specimen of a good-looking young Englishman, THE ASCHENBURGS. 6^ with, light hair curling in thick close masses, and eyes large and bright with the expression of alertness in them which belongs to rapidity of thought. The lower part of his face was sunburnt, making his forehead appear, by reason of the contrast, singularly white. " I have been down to the river," he began, as though beguiled against his will into making an excuse. " It was horribly hot indoors." The eyes of the elder man were fixed benignantly and with a half-amused expres- sion upon the speaker ; his steadily maintained position, one arm leaning upon the back of his chair, the fingers running lightly through his white hair and rumpling it, forming a strong contrast to the restless movements of his companion, who, after pushing aside one glass and then another on the table, had caught up a fork, and was seemingly intent upon balancing it across his finger. " What were you doing ? Fishing ? *' There was a slight pause before Sidney re- plied, then he said — 70 MATTHEW TINDALE. ''I Iiacl my fishing-rod with me, but did not make any use of it." '' There has been thunder about to-day. I should have thought it scarcely worth your while to have gone to the river." " Oh, I don't know," and the fork going down at this moment with a clatter, Sidney threw himself somewhat suddenly back in his chair and wondered " whenever dinner would be coming." '' Do the servants know you are in ? " *'I really cannot say." And Sidney gave a shrug of the shoulders expressive of in- difference, and got up and rang the bell. For the next half-hour a trifling kind of conversation was kept up between the two men ; the weather was touched upon, the state of the crops, various bits of local gossip, until at length the servants leaving the room, Mr. Aschenburg squared himself round to the table, and, folding his hands, rested his arms upon it, thus turning his profile upon young Aschenburg. Like many who pass their THE ASCHENBURGS. 7! lives in the seclusion of their own study, he was always conscious of a difficulty in speaking upon a subject of any import, if he were compelled to fix his eyes on the face of the person addressed ; the expression upon it, if sympathetic, confused him and distracted his thoughts ; if stony and unmoved, his mind became paralysed beneath its influence. Sidney saw the action and understood it, but it did not prevent him sugaring his straw- berries with complete unconcern. Mr. Aschenburg cleared his throat several times, and a cloud of thoughfulness settled on his eyes and brow. Then he said — *' Your mother tells me that you have given up all thoughts of going to Norway." Sidney's indifi*erence concerning anything that could be said by his mother or the man who until within the last few months had stood in the position of guardian to him, had kept even the idlest speculations as to what Mr. Aschenburg could possibly be going to say from his mind. So when the subject 72 MATTHEW TINDALE. of his trip to Norway was suddenly launclied upon him he paused before replying, while he slowly placed a strawberry between the short white teeth that were visible beneath his upper lip and fair moustache. Then he answered quietly in the affirmative. " I thought your plans were all made, and you were going to start the week after next." Sidney raised his eyebrows before replying, then, with a little laugh, said, "They tvere made, it is true, but " The sentence remained unfinished, and again the young- man gave a careless shrug of indifierence. " I do not like this constant change and vacillation, Sidney." As the elder man spoke, the cloud which had settled upon the upper part of his face, spread to his mouth, and hardened its corners, and there was a touch of severity in his tone as he added the words, " Your moods are as chauofeable as the wind, and you entirely subject yourself to them." THE ASCHENBUEGS. 73 " Moods are nature's winds and tempests ; they keep us from stagnation." '' My dear boy, depend upon it, if moods. are nature's winds and tempests, they also are the powers that, being uncontrolled, work ruin. If you sufifer yourself to be governed by your moods, you will awaken some morning to find yourself undone." "You take a trifling matter very seriously. Why should I not give up the idea of going to Norway if, after making arrangements for it, the idea palls upon me ? " " It is not this particular change in your plans of which I especially complain ; it is of the habit that is growing upon you and which creeps into everything." It was not the first time Sidney Aschen- burg had had to listen to expostulations upon this subject from his guardian ; but he sat unconcernedly enough, tossing over his straw- berries, while a slight smile played about his mouth. There was a pause of several seconds, and 74 MATTHEW TINDALE. then Mr. Aschenbursf, 'with the touch of as- perity gone from his voice and manner, said, "Think well before you come to a decision upon anything ; but, having come to it, stick to it — unless, of course, there is some absolutely good reason for change." Then, as if he felt he had been speaking with undue harshness, he turned for the first time to the young man, the old kindly smile in his eyes, saying, " And now, my boy, go to Norway and have a pleasant trip, and let us forget there was any talk of change." For the first time the unconcern depicted on Sidney's face gave way, and he looked at the elder man resolutely, his straight eyebrows knitting themselves, and the mobile mouth stiffening in a haughty determined way. " You have been tutoring me to be reso- lute, therefore I need not apologize if I say once and for all that I shall not go to Norway." Mr. Aschenburg did not change his position, but kept his arms on the table and leant over THE ASCHENBURGS. 75 them, Hs face with its benevolent expression turned upon his companion. '* I am determined to stay at Derthwaite through the summer months at least." Mr. Aschenburg did not immediately reply. He seemed to be debating with himself on some point. Then reluctantly, and as though he were trying to find a reason which should be an excuse in his eyes for Sidney's sudden determination to remain at Derthwaite, he said, " At any rate it will please your mother." Again the expression upon the young man's face changed ; the brilliant eyes became gradually clouded, the mouth relaxed, and he tugged at his short fair moustache in a per- turbed manner. " Your mother is fond of Derthwaite," con- tinued Mr. Aschenburg, trying to forget that it was the '' love of change," which he never lost an opportunity of condemning, which, as he believed, was detaining the young man. Still Sidney made no answer, looking straight however into Mr. Aschenburg's face. 76 MATTHEW TINDALE. *' She always hoped that when you left college, and had had a year's freedom abroad, that you would be content to settle down here. You have a good income and a good estate^ and nothing in the world to do but find an occupation for yourself and keep to it." To Mr. Aschenburg, with his scholarly instincts, this seemed one of the easiest of things. " Besides," he went on, speaking from a sudden impulse, " you have come of age, and I sadly want you to take the management of afiairs into your own hands. You know, Sidney, that practically, though much against my will, I am still master here." The elder man was noticing, with a certain feeling of satisfaction, the signs of uneasiness in the younger one's face and manner, believ- ing as he did that they were evidences of unusual consideration and thought, and he went on — " If you could bring yourself into settliug-- six months in the year at Derthwaite " " Oh, pray do not harp on that everlasting THE ASCHENBURGS. 77 subject," interrupted Sidney. " Derthwaite is very rarely endurable." "You seem to bave been able to amuse yourself here for the past two months, although for the greater part of that time your mother and I were in town." " Oh, well " — and for a moment Sidney was embarrassed — ''the fishing, you know, was good." '• I thought you had been working chiefly on your cantata." " No ; I have thrown that up long since." Mr. Aschenburg did what was unusual with him, and began playing a tattoo lightly with the fingers of one hand upon the table. He was perplexed ; and it was not until several minutes had elapsed that he spoke again. '' With one thing I am satisfied — you seem inclined to stay at Derthwaite. That of course is very desirable, for it is a bad thing for a young man, the owner of property, to think that any place is to be preferred to his own. Still, I would rather you were staying from 78 MATTHEW TINDALE. some commendable motive, than from the shilly-shallying kind of rule which guides you." The young man had drawn a silver basket of dried fruit to him, and was tossing over first one then another with a fork, his face held in a sufficiently stooping posture for no light from the lamp to fall on it, saving where it touched the upper part of the forehead and the fair hair. But when the last words fell from Mr. Aschenburg, Sidney started, and looked with a keen glance at his guardian. What did he mean by such a remark ? he asked himself What had he heard ? " You know, Sidney, how I am for ever trying to combat that spirit of change which you constantly betray, whether in intel- lectual pursuits or in the most ordinary employments. The cup of one intellectual pleasure seems to be no sooner raised to your lips, than another diverts your attention; music, paintiug, literature, each is taken up THE ASCHENBURGS. 79 by you in turn, to be laid aside for the veriest thistle-down which floats on the summer air. And so with the more serious matters of life." Mr. Aschenburg stopped abruptly. He had been tempted to pursue his subject by the quick earnest glance which had been turned upon him by his companion, but it gradually relaxing, and the expression of careless in- difference, which was the one most commonly seen on the young squire's handsome face, again settling upon it, the flow of the elder man's thoughts had been effectually checked. He could not know that his words had brought a feeling of relief to Sidney, testifying as they did that the remark, which to the young man had been charged with a double meaning, was innocent enough ; to him, Sidney's mood of thoughtfulness had passed away, and therefore the moment favourable for making some im- pression upon him was gone. The two men were silent for a little time. The younger one had refused a proffered 80 MATTHEW TINDALE.