Part 33 (2/2)

Well let them complete the ruin. It is as well. I hope to be dead by that time though. Life, then, will be intolerable. I hope to sleep with those worthy champions of labour--my ancestors--in the churchyard yonder.

”Books!--what do they want books for? I never yet knew a man who read books that was worth a farthing.

”I knew one once who was versed in book-lore, but, worse luck to him, he could not bind a wheat-sheaf or weed a perch of parsnips, and the result--bankruptcy; failure. That's what it comes to.

”Books!--do they want to make schoolmasters of us all, or do they wish us to be always reading our eyes out instead of attending to our business?

”Books!--they are only good for idle loafers; they offer an excuse for shunning one's duty. 'I want to read a bit,' they say when told to do something. 'Oh, let me just finish this page, it is so interesting,' they plead, when asked to quickly fetch some article.

This is what Adele used to do, but I nipped this slothful tendency in the bud. I would have none of it.”

He stopped his discourse and his walk, gazed at his nephew who had fallen across the table and was now sleeping soundly; then recommenced his peregrinations.

”I am disgusted with the world; I don't know what it will all come to. Some of these modern farmers are even discarding the _grande charrue_. Oh! shades of our ancestors. The great plough--the only feast of the year that is worth anything, mutton and roast beef, ham and veal, cider by the gallon and a jovial company of good old sons of the soil.

”It is horrible thus to see our old routine trampled underfoot, our ancestors' customs sneered at.”

Mr. Rougeant was extremely animated. Like nearly every other country Guernseyman, he was opposed to change.

He walked about with distorted features, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with a strange light.

He thought of his family dwindling away; of his daughter disregarding his commands and disobeying him. In his innermost soul he felt convinced that she would never marry his nephew. He cast his eyes in the direction of the latter. What! he was sleeping while _he_ was enduring all the agony of a king who is being dethroned; of a general, whose army is in open mutiny against him; of a millionaire who sees his whole fortune disappear through some awful catastrophe! It was unendurable.

He again began to pace the room. Having finally arrived at a decision as to his future conduct, and thinking just then of his daughter's disregard for his tastes, he shouted in a voice of thunder, bringing down his fist upon the table with an awful crash.

”_Palfrancordi!_ let her act according to her own stubborn will, but she'll not inherit a penny of mine, not one double.”

He was now quite close to his nephew and the latter, aroused by the noise which his uncle had made, raised his head and yawningly drawled out: ”You're quite right, uncle.”

The farmer stood straight in front of Tom Soher, his arms folded, his penetrating eye fixed scrutinizingly on his nephew. He perceived the latter's state; his wrath increased. ”What!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; ”you are drunk!”

Tom was in such a plight that he understood not his uncle, neither did he perceive his anger. He muttered: ”You're quite right, uncle.”

”Then begone, you wretched inebriate. I'll not have intoxicated brutes about my house.”

So saying, he seized bewildered Tom, dragged him through the vestibule and hurled him outside, slamming the door after his nephew without even waiting to see what became of him.

Then, wearied and tired out by his exertions, he sank into a chair and began to ponder about this new discovery. He mentally resolved that he would never have a drunkard for his son-in-law.

Then he gradually grew calmer. The reaction was setting in.

He was still engaged in his reflections when he heard a cry. 'Twas his daughter's. He lightened a candle and hastened to open the door, wondering what could have happened. The sight of his nephew lying there, chilled him with terror. Was he dead? Had he killed him? If so, it was the crowning point of all his woes.

How he raised him and sent him home we have already seen.

When Mr. Rougeant was again with his daughter, he kept a dogged silence. She gathered from his demeanour that he had had a frightful shock, but took great care not to question him. Hardly a word was exchanged between them that evening.

Adele was glad of it, for she had her thoughts occupied with her wedding which was to come off in three weeks.

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