Part 13 (1/2)
The incident calmed her. She finished her toilet in haste, and went down-stairs. All the rooms were lighted, and she saw Julius and Sophia pacing up and down the main parlor, hand in hand, so interested in their _sotto voce_ conversation as to be quite unconscious that she had stood a moment at the open door for their recognition. So she pa.s.sed on without troubling them. She heard her mother's happy laugh in the large dining-room, and she guessed from its tone that Harry was with her. Mrs.
Sandal was beautifully dressed in black satin, and she held in her hand a handsome silver salver. Evidently she had been about to leave the room with it, when detained by some remark of her son's; for she was half-way between the table and the door, her pretty, kindly face all alight with love and happiness.
Harry was standing on the hearth-rug, facing the room,--a splendidly handsome young fellow in a crimson and yellow uniform. He was in the midst of a hearty laugh, but when he saw Charlotte there was a sudden and wonderful transformation in his face. It grew in a moment much finer, more thoughtful, wistful, human. He sprang forward, took her in his arms, and kissed her. Then he held her from him a little, looked at her again, and kissed her again; and with that last kiss he whispered, ”You good sister. You saved me, Charlotte, with that five hundred pounds.”
”I would have given it had it been my all, it been fifty times as much, Harry.”
There was no need to say another word. Harry and Charlotte understood each other, and Harry turned the conversation upon his cousin.
”This Indian fellow, this Sandal of the Brahminical caste, what is he like, Charley?”
”He does not admire me, Harry; so how can I admire him?”
”Then there must be something wrong with him in the fundamentals; a natural-born inability to admire what is lovely and good.”
”You mustn't say such a thing as that, Harry. I am sure that Sophia is engaged to him.”
”Does father like him?”
”Not much; but Julius is a Sandal, after all, and”--
”After me, the next heir. Exactly. It shall not be my fault, Charley, if he does not stand a little farther off soon. I can get married too.”
”O Harry, if you only would! It is your duty; and there is little Emily Beverley. She is so beautiful and good, and she adores you, Harry.”
”Dear little Emmy. I used to love Emmy a long time ago.”
”It would make father so happy, and mother and me too. And the Beverleys are related to mother,--and isn't mother sweet. Father was saying”--
At that moment the squire entered the room. His face was a little severe; but the moment his eyes fell upon Charlotte and Harry, every line of sternness was gone like a flash. Harry's arm was round his sister's waist, her head against his shoulder; but in a moment he gently released himself, and went to his father. And in his nineteenth-century way he said what the erring son of old said, ”Father, I have not done right lately. I am very sorry.”
”Say no more, Harry, my lad. There shall be no back reckoning between you and me. You have been mixed up with a sight of follies, but you can over-get all that. You take after me in looks. Up-sitting and down-sitting, you are my son. You come of a good kind; you have a kind heart and plenty of dint;[Dint, energy.] now, then, make a fresh start, Harry. Oh, my dear, dear son!” The father's eyes were full of tears, his face shone with love, and he held the young man's hand in a clasp which forgave every thing in the past, and promised everything for the future.
Then Julius and Sophia came in, and there was barely time to introduce the young men before dinner was served. They disliked each other on sight; indeed, the dislike was anterior to sight, and may be said to have commenced when Harry first heard how thoroughly at home Julius had made himself at Seat-Sandal, and when Julius first saw what a desirable estate and fine old ”seat” Harry's existence deprived him of. And in half an hour this general aversion began to particularize itself. The slim, suave youth, with his black eyes and soft speech, and small hands and feet, seemed to Harry Sandal in every respect an interloper. The Saxon in this Sandal was lost in the Oriental. The two races were, indeed, distinctly evident in the two men in many ways, but noticeably in their eyes: Harry's being large, blue, and wide open; those of Julius, very black; and in their long, narrow setting and dreamy look, expressing centuries of tranquil contemplation.
But the dinner pa.s.sed off very pleasantly, more so than family festivals usually pa.s.s. After it the lovers went into private session to consider whether they should declare their new relations.h.i.+p during the evening, or wait until Julius could have a private audience with the squire.
Sophia was inclined to the first course, because of the presence of the rector. She felt that his blessing on her betrothal would add a religious grace to the event, but Julius was averse to speak on any matter so private to himself before Harry Sandal. He felt that he could neither endure his congratulations nor his dissent; that, in fact, he did not want his opinion on the matter at all. Besides, he had determined to have but one discussion of the affair, and that must include all pertaining to Sophia's rights and her personal fortune.
While they were deciding this momentous question, the rector and Charlotte were singing over the carols for the Christmas service; the squire was smoking and listening; and Harry was talking in a low voice to his mother. But after the rector had gone, it became very difficult to avoid a feeling of _ennui_ and restraint, although it was Christmas Eve. Mrs. Sandal soon went into the housekeeper's room to a.s.sist in the preparation of the Yule hampers for the families of the men who worked on the estate. Sandal fell into a musing fit, and soon appeared to be dozing; although Charlotte saw that he occasionally opened his eyes, and looked at the whispering lovers, or else shot her a glance full of sympathetic intelligence.
Music has many according charms, and Charlotte tried it, but with small success. Julius and Sophia had a song in their own hearts, and this night they knew no other. Harry loved his sister very dearly, but he was not inclined to ”carolling;” and the repression and constraint were soon evident through all the conventional efforts to be ”merry.” It was the squire who finally hit upon the circ.u.mstance which tided over the evening, and sent every one to bed in a ripple of laughter. For, when the piano was closed, he opened his eyes, and said, ”Sophia, your mother tells me she has had a very nice Christmas present from the little maid you took such a liking to,--little Agnes Bulteel. It is a carriage hap made of sheepskins white as the snow, and from some new breed of sheep surely; for the wool is longer and silkier than ever I saw.”
”Agnes Bulteel!” cried Charlotte. ”O Sophia! where are her last letters?
I am sure father would like to hear about Joe and the jolly-jist.”
”Joe Bulteel is no fool,” said the squire warmly. ”It is the way around here to laugh a bit at Joe; but Joe aims to do right, and he is a very spirity lad. What are you and Sophia laughing at? Eh? What?”
”Get the letters, Sophia. Julius and Harry will enjoy them I know. Harry must remember Joe Bulteel.”
”Certainly. Joe has carried my line and creel many a day. Trout couldn't fool Joe. He was the one to find plovers' eggs, and to spot a blaeberry patch. Joe has some senses ordinary people do not have, I think. I should like to hear about Joe and the _what_?”