Part 4 (1/2)

Charles Vining gazed half laughingly in his father's earnest face; then throwing himself back, he burst into an uncontrolled fit of merriment.

”Ha, ha, ha! Me married! Why, my dear father, what next?” Then, seeing the look of pain in Sir Philip's countenance, he rose and stood by his side, resting one hand upon his shoulder. ”Why, my dear father,”

he said, ”what ever put that in your head? I never even thought of such a thing!”

”My dear boy, I know it--I know it; and that's why I speak. You see, you are now just twenty-seven, and a fine handsome young fellow--”

Charley made a grimace.

”While I am getting an old man, Charley, and the time cannot be so very far off before I must go to my sleep. You are my only child, and I want the Squire of Blandfield to keep up the dignity of the old family.

Don't interrupt me, my boy, I have not done yet. I must soon go the way of all flesh--”

”Heaven forbid!” said Charley fervently.

”And it is the dearest wish of my heart to see you married to some lady of good birth--one who shall well do the honours of your table.

Blandfield must not pa.s.s to a collateral branch, Charley; we must have an heir to these broad acres; for I hope the time will come, my boy, when in this very library you will be seated, grey and aged as I am, talking to some fine stalwart son, who, like you, shall possess his dear mother's eyes, ever to bring to remembrance happy days gone by, my boy-- gone by never to return.”

The old man's voice trembled as he spoke, and the next moment his son's hands were clasped in his, while as eye met eye there was a weak tear glistening in that of the elder, and the lines seemed more deeply cut in his son's fine open countenance.

”My dear father!” said the young man softly.

”My dear Charley!” said Sir Philip.

There was silence for a while as father and son thought of the days of sorrow ten years back, when Blandfield Court was darkened, and steps pa.s.sed lightly about the fine old mansion, because its lady--loved of all for miles round--had been suddenly called away from the field of labour that she had blessed. And then they looked up to the portrait gazing down at them from the chimneypiece, seeming almost to smile sadly upon them as they watched the skilful limning of the beloved features.

A few moments after, a smile dawned upon the old man's quivering lip, as, still retaining his son's hand, he motioned him to take a seat by his side.

”My dear Charley,” he said at last, ”I think you understand my wishes.”

”My dear father, yes.”

”And you will try?”

”To gratify you?--Yes, yes, of course; but really, father--”

”My dear boy, I know--I know what you would say. But look here, Charley--there has always been complete confidence between us; is there--is there anything?”

”Any lady in the case? What, any tender _penchant_?” laughed Charley.

”My dear father, no. I think I've hardly given a thought to anything but my horses and dogs.”

”I'm glad of it, Charley, I'm glad of it! And now let's quietly chat it over. Do you know, my dear boy, that you are shutting yourself out from an Eden? Do you not believe in love?”

”Well, ye-e-es. I believe that you and my dear mother were most truly happy.”

”We were, my dear boy, we were. And why should not you be as happy?”

”Hem!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Charley; and then firmly: ”because, sir, I believe that there is not such a woman as my dear mother upon earth.”

The old gentleman shaded his eyes for a few moments with his disengaged hand.

”Frankly again, father,” said the young man, ”is there a lady in view?”