A COUNTY FAMILY.

Bruce Herald, Volume XI, Issue 1015, 4 June 1878, Page 7

A COUNTY FAMILY.

(By the author of "Lost Sir Massingberd." CHAPTEB IV. THE LETTER FROM DERBYSHIRE: When Mrs Blackburn got within doors, she found Ellen with her elbows on the window-sill, staring through the diamond panes,' as though a beloved object could be beheld by reraction, even though it had . passed the range of the horizon. - - '* It is a good wind that blows nobody in," thought her grandmother ; "Mr John Denton is like to lose his mistress if Anthony gets his own. Ellen," said she, laying her hand upon the young girl's head, who started and blushed at her touch, " there's a letter come for grandfather." " Indeed, grandmother : what a pity that John has gone !" The old woman smiled. "I mean," stammered Ellen, blushing w^kgaih, " because he could ha?e taken grandfather his letter." x'/ Vi A . " That may have been as though a schoolboy should carry the cane with which he is to be beaten to the master's hands," observed Mrs Blackburn gravely. "I do not understand you, grandmother," said Ellen, with wondering eyes. " No, child j and perhaps there may be no need that you should. But listen — if, at least, you can hear anything but that handsome young fellow's last words, which are ringing in your ears like marriage bells, I know." " What it is, grandmother ? How strange you look I how your eyes glisten ! Are you well?" " Am I well ?". repeated the old woman, passionately. "What a life I must have led these many years, if, when one seed of hope springs up in my withered heart, and makes my face to shine, folks think I have the fever ! Yes, lam well, child, and very well ; that is, if this be well;" and she placed the letter just received in the girl's hand. "Do you recognise the handwriting?" Ellen shook her head. x!A- --" What ! do so many letters then^ come to Moor Cottage," continued Mrs BlaCkburn, excitedly, ( that you cannot tell one from the other 1 "To be sure, I forgot that. John Denton writes whenever he cannot come to see your pretty face. But I tell you there may be something in this letter worth fifty of your John Dentons, with his house of eight rooms, and two hundred pounds a year to" boot." "Worth fifty John Dentons!" ejaculated the young girl, with the air of one who says, "fifty millions," and endeavours in vain to picture to herself so fabulous a Bum. "Yes, child," pursued the old woman ; „- "and if you were 'not crazed with love, yon would know what I mead at once. This letter is from the family lawyer— ■ the Bedcombe lawyer— the same who wrote to us, only a year ago, to say that Richard Blackburn was dead ; and this, you see, has a black border and a black seal, as that had." "Dd you think that poor young gentleman—his son— is dead then also ?'* " I hope he is, child. Poor young gentleman ! He was never poor ; he never knew what it was to fare hardly, and work for pence, while youth and health were ~ stealing away, APoor, indeed? he that was rolling in iHgotten wealth, while your grandfather and I were hereV\ and she looked round with Bcorn at the bare walls of the cottage. "That was not his fault, grandmother," pleaded Ellen, gently, " for you know that his first act, when his father died, was to offer to assist us." "Yes, to assist us with our own money ; that was a fine thing to do, indeed !" The speaker delivered herself of this last remark with the greatest bitterness, because she herself, on the principle of half a loaf being better, than no bread j had been for accepting th 3 young gentleman's proferred aid, a suggestion to which old Anthony would not listen. Her granddaughter, though well aware of this circumstance, was not so imprudent as to recall it to her; she contented herself with quietly saying, " Bat how do you know what is in the letter, grandmother?" " How do I know ! Why, for what e^se can it be, except to say that the lad's dead, that Mr Moffat writes ? He pro-" ► mised your grandfather to do so, you know, whenever anything of importance v occurred in the family." '; "Bat why should he not write, then, to tell us that ypung Mr Eichard was engaged to be married, which John himself heard to-day on Slogan P" " I never thought of that," Baid the old woman, falling into rather than sitting down npon a chair. " Alack, that is worse than all ! To be so buoyed ; up as I was, and now to be sunk deeper than ever !" Her voice, so jubilant, and even fierce, had, at once returned to its old hoarse and hopeless tone ; the gleam of her eyes was quenched; she looked ten years older than she had done a minute before, as thetearß rolled down her furrowed cheeks without a sob. " But why should the letter be in mourning?" observed she eagerly, after a little silence. " Well, grandmother, Mr Moffat himself may be in monrning, for all we know." "Ay, that's true," remarked the old woman sadly. " Everybody dies but them as ought to die." - " Would you please to give me that sixpence?" observed a shrill voice al the cottage door. "f. promised to be back at the Btable at four o'clock, 'cause Borne ladies and children has hired donkeys, and I'm the donkey boy." " It's the lad who brought the letter,", explained- Mrs Blackburn. " I promised him twopence extra, because I thought it was sure to be good news ; and now I wish he had never come with it at aIL"

" Come, none of that, reading first, and then not paying," began this irrepressible youth j when suddenly catching sight Of the young girl, his countenance fell, and he added in tones that_were meant to be respectful, " I beg your parding, Miss Ellen ; I did not know as you were at home." f .. . . "That is no reason why you should be impudent, Jemmy," observed Allien. "My teaching at school does not seem to have done you mnch good, I fear, since you are so rude." . _ " Oh yes, Miss, it did leastways so long as you was doin' on it. But we aint got no such,teacher now ; and besides now I ? m a donkey l>oy, I don't go to school at all." " Send bim away, send him away," cried Mr Blackburn, querulously. "I have twopence here, and the other fourpence must be taken out of your father's box yonder, which holds you grandfather's 'bacco-money." - "There's only threepence in the box, grandmother." "Alack ! no more there is. I forgot it was tbe end- of the week. Look here, lad ; hero is fipence for thee ; and instead of the other penny, I will cut some bread and cheese, and give thee a draught of milk. Dear, dear," muttered the old woman, "to part with money and good food, just to hear bad news that has been already told us !" . The boy had . beea. fed and dismissed, and the afternoon was . drawing on, but still Mrs Blackburn sat in the rushbottomed cliair, her generally so active arms quite still, and folded before her, and her eyes fixed on the letter, which had been placed on theimantleahelf. Ellen sat by tbe windW working nimbly with needle and thread, but without venturing to interrupt the silence. At last she rose, with a quiet," Here is grandfather home already ;" and she went put on to the moor, as was her custom, to welcome the old man. He received her, as he always did, with a loving kiss ; but she strove in vain to discover, from his looks and manner, whether John Denton had spoken with him or not upon the matter which lay next her heart. Anthony's face was haggard, and his step -more slow* she thought, than it was wont to be ; but this could be easily accounted for if he had heard the news of Eichard Blackburn's engagement. -On the other hand, she knew enough of her grandfather not to expect to find him elated, as his wife had been, by the young overlooker's improved prospects, even though John should -have, proposed for her. In the first place, the old man thought his Ellen a prize 'for. any man ; and in the second, he still clung, with a tenacity that neither years nor disappointment could weaken, to the idea that he should one day enjoy his own again, as the Squire of Blackburn Manor, it would have been ludicrous, were it not so mournful, to contrast with so grand an expectation the toilsome appearance, the mean attire, and even the usual topics of talk of him that held it. Whatever, colour . his ..dreams might wear, his waking thpughte r wpre clad in drab, concerned themselves only with the practical realities of life, unless, as by the stranger that day on Slogan, that chord chanced to be struck which always vibrated too powerfully for Anthony's self command. THad the pane been mended, was his first question, which Thomas the glazier had promised to step up to see about, in the window of the bedroom ? And when he heard that it was not, his brow grew cloudier than before. . The winter Would come upon them, he foresaw, with that job still undone, and he should have again that rheumatism in his joints, which had crippled him so last spring. "I trust not, grandfather," said the young girl, affectionately; "and as for the window, if that remains as it is, and lam not subject to rheumatism, grandmother and you shall have my room." "To which we shall be all the more welcome," remarked the old man, grimly, "because you hope to be elsewhere '-^eh'i you jade ?— where the panes of glass-are sound." " Indeed, grandfather— — " /* There, there ; don't tell stories, girl," interrupted Anthony, pettishly. "I know all about it ; Denton has been talking to me for an hour or more. I dare say he thinks its a mighty generous thing to offer to marry a quarryman's daughter, he being the master of us all ; but I can tell him — and indeed I did tell him — that Anthony Blackburn's granddaughter has as good blood in her veins — from one side lat least — as any girl in England, and may one day yet hold up her head with the highest. Two hundred a year, indeed ! Who, unless young Eichard has kicked it down— which is-ieidt Very likely, since he is still a minor — there is four thousand a year about the manor ; and the Mosedale property, Mr tells me, is worth ten times what it was, now that the town has sprung up." '.' There is a letter cpme for you from Mr Moffat, grandfather," said> Ellen, quietly, to whom the opportunity for thus interrupting the old man's recital of his possible greatnees was welcome enough. " I expected there would be," returned he, coldly ; " and my expectations, when at least misfortunes are anticipated, are 1 generally realised. John Denton took care to tell me that young Eichard is engaged to be married ; buFthere's many a slip between the cup and the lip, and instead of the marriage, the grave sometimes receives " "Nay, grandfather, do not talk like "that ; lam sure you do not mean it. You are too kind, too good " "Do I not, granddaughter ?" And the old man stood still, while over his bearded face there stole a terrible look. "T tell you, that if by raising my finger— thus — I I could save that young man's life—--" * " Yes) but you would not take it ; Oh, say youwould not take- it. grandfather."

pleaded the young girl, passionately. " The seal of the letter is black, and there is black on the border of the envelope, and for all we know, we may be talking of one whom death has already matched." " Black on the border " cried the old man, his eyes lighting with sudden fire and his limbs moving with hasty stride towards I he-cottage. . "Where is the letter ?— where ißit wife. I say ?"•' "It is on the mantleshelf, next to your 'bacca-box-, Anthony ; and we took out your last three pennies, besides two Of my own, lo pay tbe lad as brought it, and unul Saturday we have not a farth'ng iv the house. Yet it brings nought but bad news, Ellen tells me—^-" a "It brings the best of news," exclaimed the old mau .excitedly. "I say it must bring it. Get me a chair, Nelly, for I feel my head .go round 7 ; there is something dancing, before my eyes, and I cannot make out a word. Bead it aloud, child. But no ;_ I can't bear that: let us know the news at once in a aingleword." " Mr Eichard Blackburn is dead," said Ellen, in a solemn voice. •'■ Then justice ia done at last," ejaculated Anthony, , clasping his hands ; "At last after fifty years ? " a ' " " And there is money in the letternotes !" exclaimed Mrs Blackburn, snatching, both them and it from her grand, daughter's hand. "There is fifty pounds, in case we may have present need of money be writes, and to defray expenses on our journey home." "Home!" repeated tjbe old man. "Home at last !" Then his lips moved without a sound. "It was appleplexy, and quite sudden," observed Mrs Blackburn, looking up from the letter. " You know we were once told that he had a short neck. How I wish that we had got this money in golden pounds; it don't look half so much in paper! — does it?" The sight of such an unaccustomed sum within her very palm,-prevented all speculation on the future; the letter itself, with its Contents, was disregarded in comparison with such a present gain.* "What a terrible blow for they bung girl who was engaged to be married to poor Mr Eichard !" exclaimed Ellerij sorrowfully, her genuine regret doubtless increased by the position in which she herself stood' with respect to the y oung overlooker. " My darling Nelly," said the old man, softly, "let me kiss you ! You are a good girl, and heaven has rewarded you for it : that charming face, of yours has now the fortune which always seemed by rights to belong to it. Within six months j you will be the belle of the country. I wish you~ joy, my dear, with all my. heart." " Tbankyou, grandfather," replied Ellen timidly. " I hope that you and grandmother will find all the happiness from this change of position which you anticipate ;" and with that she glided from the room into her bedchamber. "I "am afraid she wilt hanker after that John Denton still," said the old man. slowly ; "and though of course, he is not to be thought of now, it is lucky I did not give him a definite promise." "It is not that, Anthony, which makes Nelly sad," said Mrs. Blackburn, earnestly "it is the thought that we are such a divided family : you don't know how she frets about that. Surely, now that you have got your own again, you will forgive and forget." "I cannot forget, woman," returned he gloomily ; the remembrance of which you speak forces itself upon me now with tenfold bitterness. But I will endeavour to forgive." An hour ago, one would have said that such news as they have just received • must needs have made every member of the little household happy. Yet Anthony Blackburn, unable to dismiss from his mind the recollection which" his wife had just' evoked, took his way towards the little seaside town with no very radient looks ; and Ellen, filled with sad fore- ', bodings, lay on her little bed with her face to the wall, to sad too shed a tear. Mrs Blackburn alone seemed to feel these sudden rays of.the sunshine of prosperity strike to her very corei " She could sit doWn to do nothing," as she expressed it, from sheer delerious joy, but moved briskly about the cottage, again and again stopping to smooth out the two bank-notes which her husband had left with her (he had gone to get change for the rest), and to murmur to herself that her Willy was" coming home, for good, to be a gentleman. CHAPTEB V. CO MING HOH E. It is not, many days since that eventful letter arrived, for which Mrs Blackburn had disbursed all the money in the family coffers ; yet the cottage on the moor is tenantleßs; and a carriage-and-four is conveying its three inmates to the home that is so old to two of them, and so new to the third, aB fast as the steepness of the Derbyshire hills will permit. The l railway has brought them no nearer than j within twelve miles of the Manor ; and to i Mrs Blackburn, eagerly desirous of be- , holding the great house of which she is at last the mistress, this distance appears interminable. Prosperity, if it has already taught her impatience, has, however, worked wonders for her externally ; her attire, by no means sombre in its tints— for Anthony has peremptorily forbidden the least pretence of mourning for , his deceased nephew, and she is far from I wishing to be disobedient in this respect j — becomes her well ; the Bplendour, at ' which she herself would fain have aimed, j has been judiciously mitigated by her granddaughter's good taste, but enough remains for striking effect. The best remedy for her impatience seems to consist in regarding closely the texture of her costly mantle, or stroking the unac-

v customed gloves that conceal her red rough hands. Besides her sits her husband, his eyes restlessly roving from object to object on the road, which, with every revolution of the wheels, seem to grow more and more familiar to him ; still, every now and then, his recollection is evidently at fault ; and this seems to pain him. He will then stand up and put aquestion or two to the nearest postboy, albeit he receives little satisfaction from that source; The postboy has not a map of the district around Blackburn Manor, fifty years old, before A& mind's eye, so as to be able to„ appreciate minute changes, although he can indicate important ones. Thus, after having reached the top of a long winding hill, from which a vast extent of country could be seen, " What's that /"-• cried Anthony, eagerly, pointing to where from some far distant valley rose the smoke of a thousand fires. "Why Mosedale, Sir," answered the man, turning round in his saddle with great astonishment, while panting horses rested for a minute. "There's twenty thousand folks and 'more lives down yonder now, Sir." V "Ah, tp -be ;.'siire, I had forgotten," returned Anthony, with the colour in his ancient cheeks. "But that high mound' j yonder to the left is surely new?" He pointed to the verge of the far-stretching purple moor, where something resembling earthworks seemed to have been recently thrown up. ;' That is the new reservoir, Sir, for supplying the town with water. They do say. it cost fifty thousand pounds." a Anthony nodded gravely, and his bearded face grew sad. The last time he had stood.upon, that moor — gun in hand, and full of strength and youth— not only was there no such mound to be seen, but no cloud of smoke hung over yonder valley. He felt like Eip Van Winkle after his long sleep ; and, indeed, his condition was even worse, for not only were his people changed beyond recognition, and mostly by death itself, but the places i in which theyi had dwelt had altered also, j Hefelt, somehow ashamed ofhis ignorance: and put his next question with a faltering voicej and in form that admitted of retreat : "That is not Curlew Hall with the tall turret, is it ?" "Yes, Yindeed it is, Sir j though I dare say the new wing, built byfthe. la te squire, i makes it look : strange,; 'and., yet that! must have been done^ these -ten years. They dp say he crippled himsetf with the expense; but you, Mr Herbert would have run through the money anyhow, so; it's just as well -sjperit r in bricks ahd c : mortar." The carriage moved rapidly on, and the observations of the communicative postboy were thereby cut short ; but they awoke a train of reflection in the old man, who lay back as if fatigued, regarding with halfshut eyes "the X pale features of his beautiful granddaughter who sat .opposite to him. " That is the young Herbert Stanhope," ran his thoughts, ll whom I saw on Slogan the other day, and whose grandfather was once my bosom-friend. He has a good heart," 1 think, even if he be a spendthrift, since he offered an old quarryman a drink from his flass. Perhaps it was for the sake of Nelly's pretty face ; but if so, so much the better. The Curlew and Blackburn estates join at the Longacre: His family, is the oldest in the country, except our own ; and if he is in want of money, there will be less of scruple. " Some unpleasant thought had here arisen in the "old man's brain, for he sighed heavily, and once more raised himself and looked around, as though to avoid dwelling upon it. "We surely ought to see Bedcombe from here, man, -ought we not?" enquired he. " One used to catch the church-tower from all points of the moor, I thought." "Ay," Sir, but that was before the woods growed," bawled the postboy. "You don't see neither church nor Manor now till you come close upon 'em." Even the very face of nature, then, was altered beyond recognition : changes such as the rapid growth of Mosedale— which had much enriched the Blackburn estate, by-tle-by — the old man had expected to see, but this strangeness of the material features of the landscape was entirely unbooked for. The home picture which ' he had had before his eyes for so many years in imagination, and which he had thought to see released that afternoon, did not, then, even exist, but had been, swept away with the generation which was familiar with it. Anthony ventured upon no more questions^ lest he should learn that any of his usurping kinsfolk might have altered the Manor-house itself. But as the vehicle rapidly descended into the valley, where the village nestled beneath spreading elms, field after field was passed that he knew well, farm after farm, which; though with a new outbuilding here and there, was each still very recognisable ; the open green with apparently the self-same groups of children on it, and the same flocks of geese that he had seeu there when he last beheld it; then the ancient ivy-covered church unchanged by a mere fifty additional years, and from which those bells were pedling blithely for bis return, which had been forbidden to hail his. marriageday ; and last the Manor-house itself, no stick nor stone of which seemed otherwise than the exile had figured it : perhaps the truth was, though memory had enriched the picture with her softened lights, time too, on his part, had invested the reality with hie mellow charms. Blackburn Manor was an Elizabethan mansion, not indeed of imposing size, but still of large proportions; with a broad stone terrace (upon which the peacocks strutted and screamed)/ approached by broad Btone steps, with urns of Btone ablaze with scarlet flowers. The whole" face of the house seemed veiled from the evening sun by a network of greenery, out of which peeped many a blossom of

rose and passion-flower j and upon the terrace balcony, as on the steps, the geraniums shone like lines of festal fire. These last had indeed been planted by order of the late squire,> to please the eye of his betrothed, but they now flashed a gorgeous welcome on the newcomers. A ring of " ducking" villagers at the gates, and an obsequious courtesy from the lodge-keeper were all they had hitherto met with in the way of greeting. The country-folk were puzzled as to the course of conduct they should pursue. Was joy at the reception of old Squire Anthony entirely to erase regret for young Squire Bichard's untimely demise ? or was a decent middle course to be adopted ? In the carriage- sweep, however, and on the terrace steps, there was a considerable concourse of tenantry and. others assembled to do their new morter, who, the king being dead, were prepared to cry, "Long •live the king !" Mr Mowbray Moffat, an ancient personage, much bowed in the shoulders, but with keen intelligent eyes, stood at the head of tbem. "We are glad to see you back again amongst us, squire, after so many years "-. was his grave salutation ; and €< Glad to see you, Sir," was echoed respectfully around. There Was no cordiality in the sound, r however; nor indeed was it to be expected. Eichard. Blackburn, a youth of really noble promise, had been a general favourite; the heart of a landlord of seventy was not likely to be so impressionable aa that of one of nineteen, and his dependants naturally enough regretted the change. Moreover, there were scarcely half a dozen present who had ever set eyes on Anthony before, and of course not one Who recognised him. Still, they all knew he had been badly treated, had heard from their mothers' lips the story of his dismissal from his ancestral home, and pitied him. It interested even the dullest to behold by his side the woman for whose Bake he had sacrificed so much and. for so long. "She is for certain most uncommon lovely," muttered one young tenant-far-mer thoughtfully. "Tut, man, that's his drahddaughter," replied his neighbour, laughing under his ■breath.,- ;■" •; ' " Ayj true," returned the other slowly, and with that imperviousness to ridicule which seems peculiar to the profession of , agriculture j "I had forgofcton it was fifty years ago But I dare say the old" one. was a dainty morsel iii her time." "Hush, man : the squire is gong to give us a speech;" and, indeed, instead of taking advantage Of the open chaise door, and the Bcore of. outstretched hands that offered themselves to help him down, the old man had got upon the carriage seat, and was beckoning with his hand for silence. a ' " Neighbours and friends," said he in a hoarse voice , "I thank you for your welcome. You ought to know me well, though you do not- Hut this is not my fault nor yours. I thought to stand here, thanking your fathers for drinking my good health j as their young squire, when I should have come of age^ just fifty years ago.. That was when Mr Moffat yonder was as young as any man here, and long before most of you wereborn. lam like a dead man out of mind to almost all of you." Here the old man -paused, over-' come with emotion, and a sympathetic murmur arose from his auditors. " I cannot expect that you should entertain much ! regard for a mau of whom you have pro- ; bable heard nothing but ill . from those | who have wronged him. But I. was sent forth from this place a wanderer on the face of the earth, like Cain, for no crime, but because I fell in love with my wife. Or, rather, I was like Esau of old, with Ferdinand and Charles and Eichard — all Jacobs — for my false brethren. That is not your concern ' you would say. But when I thus revisit- the home of my fathers, through the good will of no man, but by the judgment of God, I cannot but feel some bitterness. However, what has been ill for me will be good for you, I ..hope, inasmuch as I have known, like some of you, what it is to be poor, to work with these arms for bread.", Again a murmer arose from the crowd, around, and one man cried out " Shame !" " Yes, my man," continued the squire, turning towards the spot from which the voice proceeded; "it was. indeed shameful in those who were the cause, for they not only drove me to work in which there is no, shame, but to want. That seems strange to you, does it not, that the right, ful owner of Blackburn Manor, and his flesh and blood here, should stand in need of daily bread V The old man pointed to Ellen, ' whose pale face, made Ealer by emotion; or perhaps by appreension, of, what her grandfather in his passion against his brethren, might say, seemed to bear out the old man's words. "I swear to you that this tender delicate girl beside me has been in need bread." Every eye was turned towards her as he spoke, and. many were full of tears. " Oh, grandfather "pleaded Ellen, softly, " pray, pray say no more."* " Yes, my friends," continued he, "the thing* which we have'suffered in our own persons are easily forgiven ; but there are some wrongs — I say there are some crimes which even God does not pardon ; at least, I have seen that he punishes those who commit them from generation to generation. This brings me to what I had! in my mind from the first to say to you. I hope to be a good landlord, a good neighbour, and a good friend to you all. In return I would ask one favour of you. Do not speak to me — try to remember not to speak [to me — of these persons who have proceeded me here. I will'never forgive them, but I would fain forget them. Ido not wish' if it be possible, ever again to hear their names." These words, spoken so. calmly and with inch earnest preciseness, seemed to freeze

epeech and -motion in those who heard them; not a- voice was raised, not an arm Was streached forth to aid him, -M the old man descended from the seat, and quitted the carriage. As if afraid of the Stern bearded face and those implacable eyes, the crowd drew back on both sides ; and through the living lane this formed, the squire slowly climed the terrace steps and passed through the open door into his home. His wife and granddaughter followed more rapidly, each leaning on an arm of MrM^ffat. 7 y ~A X ;, (To be Continued.) ..__..