Chapter XX.

Otago Witness, Issue 1156, 24 January 1874, Page 23

Chapter XX.

Though the baronet had proposed this visit to Mr. Carew, he was in no haste to leave that place of shadows, the old churchyard. This was the first time that he and Sylvia had ever met alone, and it seemed too good an opportunity to be lost. He wanted to know something about the antecedents of the girl who had stolen his heart before he was aware. Her father would be close and guarded, no doubt, if there were anything to conceal ; but these lovely lips must be candour itself. " A fine old church," said Sir Aubrey, as if his thoughts had taken an archfeological bent. "You have lived in Hedingham a long time, I suppose, Miss Carew," he went on, dismissing the church in a breath. "Ever since I can remember — all my life." "You were born here, then, I conclude."

"No."

Happily for Sylvia the dusk hid that deep blush of shame which dyed her cheek. She did not even know the name of her birthplace, so dumb had her father been about the past. What should she do if Sir Aubrey asked her home questions 1 " Your father has no provincial accent, I observed," continued Sir Aubrey, trying to put his inquiries in a purely conversational form. "Heis a Londoner, I conolude." " He came here from London. "And yet Carew is a west country name." "Is it?" asked Sylvia, helplessly ; and then, thinking that some degree of candour might help her better than persistent reserve, she said, " My father began life in much better circumstances, I believe, and he does not like talking about the past. I only know that we have lived here ever since I can remember, and always the same kind of life. It is very monotonous." To Sir Aubrey this complaint seemed somewhat puerile. He had lived the same life for the last thirty years of choice ; vibrating, like a pendulum, between Perriam Place and the Faubourg St. Honore, and living in Paris almost as quietly as he lived at Perriam. " My fair child," he said, in his grand way, "yotith is full of restless fancies. When you are a few years older you will know that there is no life so happy as that which glides on smoothly amidst familiar scenes.

Sylvia sighed, but did. not presume to argue the point with Sir Aubrey. She only thought that had she power such wealth as his can give she would not waste life in monotony. That young aspiring spirit hungered for variety. Sylvia Carew possessed, in an eminent degree, that quality which is at once perilous to the peace of the heart, and conducive to the growth of the mind. She was ambitious ; and her ambition, fostered in solitude, and fed on dreams, was at the root of this eager desire for change. "You are at least happy in the privilege of inhabiting so beautiful a place as Hedingham," said the baronet. "Is it really beautiful 1 You have seen the Danube— the Black Forest— the Hartz — the Tyrol— the Alps— Rome— Venice— and yet you think Hedingham beautiful." She ran over the name of river, forest, mountain, and city, breathlessly. They were on the tip of her tongue, so ardently had she longed to see the scenes they represented. " Yes," drawled Sir Aubrey, with that soft languor which was not without its charm, " I have done the grand tour. Very fatiguing business in my day. A succession of wretched inns, musty postchaises, and dust and bad roads ; and — ahem — insects — which politeness forbids me to particularise. In my time it was esteemed essential for a gentleman to do the grand tour. Now-a-days it is the common people who travel. There is a railroad up the Righi, and Mont Blanc is the Primrose Hill of the modern counter jumper." Sylvia sighed. She began to feel that ahe lived too late. The world had become vulgarised, and the glory of this earth had, in a measure departed. " Will you come to see Papa now, Sir Aubrey," she asked, rising from her seat on the tomb.

" Whenever you will be land enough to show m 8 the way." Sir Aubrey felt that lie had obtained very little information. It was something to hear that the father of the woman he admired had seen better days ; yet, as the Vicar had told him the same thing, he was no wiser for his talk with Sylvia. She had the air of a lady, he thought, though not that society manner which he should have desired for the future Lady Perriam. There was a suddenness, a freedom in her

speech, like a creature only half tamed. The beauties whom Sir Aubrey had hitherto admired had been distinguished by a graceful lassitude, an elegant weariness. This girl looked as if her veins held quicksilver. But then she was lovelier than the fairest of those more courtly beauties ; and there was a novel charm in that energy — wliich was never loud- voiced or masculine — that pretty petulance which had so bewitching an air of candour. Those hazel eyes, which she turned to him now in the summer dusk — the fair paleness of that divine complexion ! Where, out of an Italian picture, could he find such beauty ? He followed her along the little path, through the gate into the garden, where the lavender bushes looked gray under the stars.

"Papa," said Sylvia, going into the parlour, " Sir Aubrey Perriam has come to talk to you about the school." Mr. Carew put aside his pipe and rose hastily to greet the visitor. A very different guest from that wretched supplicant of last night. The schoolmaster was more moved by this unexpected honour than a man of his temperament should have been, but he contrived to conceal his emotion, and received Sir Aubrey as calmly as if he had been accustomed to the "dropping in " of baronets.

Yet in his heart there was a swelling sense of triumph. "What can he come for, except to see her ?" he asked himself; ' ' and a man of his age once hit must be hit deeply. I should draw no augury from a young man's philandering. But this means something serious." The baronet began to talk about the school, and succeeded pretty well_ in giving a parochial tone to his visit. Would a new schoolhouse prove a positive advantage to the village of Hedingham, or was it only a hobby of the vicar's ) And was the present site the bestpossible ground for such a building ; and was the scheme popular among the Hedingham people ? Before committing himself to any promise of assistance Sir Aubrey desired to be assured of these facts.

All these questions sounded strictly proprietorial questions, which a Lord of the Manor would naturally put to his lieges. But James Carew saw through the flimsy pretext, and marked the eyes which wandered involuntarily to the spot where Sylvia sat with her back to the open lattice, the night wind faintly stirring her hair. " You are fond of books, Miss Carew, I see," said Sir Aubrey, glancing at 'the recess on one side of the fireplace, where hung three small painted shelves, adorned with blue ribbons. Those scraps of blue told the baronet to whom the books belonged. " Yes," said the father, with a touch of pride, "she is more studious than most girls of her age, and has taught herself French and German — and, I believe, a little Latin, with very small help from me."

Many a time and oft had he grumbled at those studious propensities, complaining with scant justice, that Sylvia neglected his comforts in order to pore over her books. But he felt to-night that her accomplishments were something to boast of. Sir Aubrey went over to the recess, and looked at the books. The Sorrows of Werter, in the original. Eugenic Grandet, Faust, also in the original. Lamartine's Girondists, Victor Hugo's Odes et Ballades, Bulwer's Lanoniz, and a dozen others of the same class. Nothing that was not classic.

Sir Aubrey took down one of the volumes haphazard. It was Werter. He opened the book, and in the fly-leaf saw something that startled him almost as if his hand had lighted on an adder. Sylvia, From Edmund, In memory of Sunday, April 4th. This Sunday was the day on which Edmund first saw Sylvia in church. "From Edmund," said Sir Aubrey, looking at the inscription. " Your brother or cousin, I presume." "She has neither brother nor cousin," answered Mr. CareAV, looking daggers at his daughter. Those very books had hung above his head for the last three months, and he had never taken the trouble to examine them.

"Some village admirer, no doubt," said the baronet, blandly, but pierced to the heart by jealousy's sharp pang. While he had been debating whether he should or should not offend the tutelary Deity of the Perriams by a misalliance, this girl was perhaps the plighted wife of some clodhopper — a boor whose vulgar desires had never soared above a whitewashed hovel, and an arbour of scarlet runners. Mr. Oarew, seeing rocks .to leeward, took rapid counsel with himself, and decided that candour was best. After all he could best exalt his child by showing that she had already been Bought by her superior in station. It was just possible that the baronet might be of that jealous temper which bids a man draw back from the pursuit of

the dearest object, does he but think he has a rival. But this narrow and captious temper is happily rare. Mr. Carew reflected that Mr. Standen's courtship of his daughter was most likely known to the village gossips, and woiild probably reach the ears of Sir Aubrey. Yes, there could be no doubt that the true policy here was candour. "Mr. Standen would hardly like to hear himself called a village admirer," said the schoolmaster. " Standen ! What, the banker's son V "Yes. He has had the misfortune to fall in love with my foolish daughter yonder, and she has been so silly as to give him some slight encouragement. However, that is all over now. The young gentleman called upon me yesterday morning to urge his suit, and I gave him a very straightforward answer." "You refused him!" asked the baronet.

" Unconditionally. You look surprised, Sir Aubrey. You think a banker's son would be a very good match for a parish schoolmaster's daughter. And so I grant you he would have been, were there no drawback. If he marries my daughter he marries her in direct opposition to his mother. And, though lam a poor man, I hold honotir before _ selfinterest. I will not suffer my child to enter a family which refuses her an affectionate welcome. '

This sounded noble, especially as Mr. Carew's speech gave no hint of Mrs. Standen's power to disinherit her son. "I applaud your spirit, sir," saidthe baronet, stealing a look at Sylvia, curio as to know how near this subject was to her heart.

That drooping face, bent over the needlework in the girl's hands, tol t him nothing. He next saw the fair yaing brow, the downcast eyelids with their auburn lashes. The attitude was of calmest repose. Passion could scarcely stir the heart beneath that tranquil bosom.

Having discussed the Vicar's pet scheme in all its bearings, Sir Aubrey had no excuse for lingering. Yet he lingered, talking of the village and it 3 surroundings, keenly interested in discovering what kind of a man Mr. Carew was^ An educated man evidently to begin with, and a man who had at some period of his existence been familiar with polite society. The glory of Sir Aubrey's presence abashed him not at all.

The little Dutch clock struck ten, and Sir Aubrey rose with a guilty start. "Upon my word, [ owe you a hundred apologies," he said, "these summer evenings delude me into a forgetfulnoss of the time."

" Pray do not apologise for the lateness of your visit, Sir Aubrey. The evening is the only time in which I am my own master, and free to receive a visitor." " Then I may drop in again some evening to hear how the plans progress ? '' asked Sir Aubrey, quite ignoring the fact that nothing serious was likely to" be done for the next two years. " 1 shall be honoured by your visit, Sir Aubrey." " You are very good," returned the baronet, and then with some hesitation he went on, "If at any time while the summer evenings last, you would like to bring Miss Carew to see Perriam — unless, indeed, she has seen it already — I should be very happy to show you the house and gardens. There is nothing new-fangled, none of those frivolous inventions for spending money with which people fill their places now-a-days, but the gardens are large, and the house is well built. It might repay the trouble of a visit." " We shall be delighted to come, Sir Aubrey. Neither I nor my daughter have seen Perriam Place."

' ' Why not fix upon a day, then ? Could you come to-morrow ? " ' ' We have no engagements," said Mr. Carew, with his somewhat bitter smile.

' ' Let it be to-morrow, then. I shall expect you at eight o'clock, and you can give me any new ideas that may have occurred to you about the school. Shall I send a carriage for you and Miss Carew?" "You are too kind, Sir Aubrey. No, thanks ; we would rather walk over to Perriam. It is a pleasant walk across the fields."

"So be it, then. My brother and I will show you the house and gardens. Parhaps we had better say half -past seven. There might be hardly light enough after eight," said Sir Aubrey gravely." This advancement of the hour would, oblige him to dine a little earlier than usual, a serious consideration for a gentleman of fixed habits.

"Half -past seven, if you prefer that hour, Sir Aubrey," replied the schoolmaster.

"Thanks, good night. Good night, Miss Carew. You mustn't laugh at our old-fashionod ways at Perriam. People tell me we are half a century behind the times. But the Perriams have been Tories ever since they were Perriams. Good night." And thus, with a somewhat lingering pressure of Sylvia's little hand, Sir Aubrey departed. Mr. Oarevr escorted liim to the garden

gate with ceremonious politeness. Hd knew exactly where to draw the line between the respect clue to the lord of the soil and the servility of a slavish mind. He stood at the gate and watched the slim upright figure till it vanished in the half dark of the summer night. Then he went slowly back to the parlour. Sylvia had thrown aside her work. She was sitting in a listless attitude, with fixed brooding eyes bent upon the ground, the attitude of one absorbed in deepest thought. Mr. Carew looked at her curiously as he barred the door. There is si tide in the affairs of men,

\\ hich, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune, he said, very slowly. And this was his sole comment upon Sir Aubrey's visit.