A PARISH SCANDAL.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 6384, 27 November 1890, Page 4

A PARISH SCANDAL.

LITERATURE- ;

It has become pretty evident already that this is a story of quarrel, and that almost everybody concerned in it is or will be at daggers-drawn with everybody else. A stranger visiting Thorbury would have thought it a home of perfect peace. An air of repose brooded everywhere, and nowhere more notably than about the Chase, where Marmaduke Boyer lived in the house of his forefathers. Yet whilst all nature was preparing for its nightly rest without, and the slowely darkening house grew to look more and more like the very birthplace and home of Best, - that peppery fox: coloured Squire and his son were having a royal row within. It was the'first they had ever bad in tbeir lives, for it takes two to make a quarrel, and until this evening Frank had resolutely refused to quarrel with bis father, though the elder gentleman had by no means neglected to provide him with opportunity. The two had dined together rather

silently, but with no hint of want of temper on either side, and then Master Frank had walked into the hall, and

possessed himself of his hut, with intent to stroll down to the Eeotory and contrive a meeting with Ophelia. The Squire tapped the dining-room window as Frank appeared upon the lawn, and when his son turned beckoned him with a rather imperative wave of , the band. * Where are you going ?’ he asked. ‘ Oh !’ said Frank, ‘Tm going out for a stroll.’ ‘ And when do you intend that your stroll should lead you P’ Now Frank had never told his father a lie in his life, and at five-and-twenty deceit is rather a difficult thing to begin. Like many other arts, that of lying must be begun young and practised, or it rarely comes to anything. ‘ I’d rather you wouldn’t ask, sir,’ he said. ‘ Well, now,’ said his father, quiet enough as yet upon the surface, * I’d ' rather you’d tell me, if you please.’ ‘i If you please, sir.’ The young man made one propitiatory effort* before he obeyed, ‘ You’re one of the most amiable men in the world father, and you can’t nurse a grievance long. I’d a great deal rather you hadn’t asked me until a certain little quarrel bad blown over.’

‘ I dare say,’ said the Squire, ‘ but I prefer to ask you now. Where are you going ?’ ' ‘I was going to meet Ophelia. . Then the storm burst with wind and deluge, and the young man bowed his head to it and said nothing, for a while. Bat when the passionate roan forbade him to speak to his sweetheart again, or to look at her on pain of hie displeasure, he positively laughed, in a disdainful angry wonder, at the order. The Squire paused at the laugh. It seero<d to strike him dumL ‘ I’in sorry you think and feel like that, sir,’ Frank said, in a rather tremulous voice. He had a good deal of his lather in him, and it cost him something not to let the old man see a copy of himself. ‘ I hope we’re not going to be ill friends about it, but I shall never alter. I thought you knew of what was going on, and that you were contented,’ ‘ You’re a liar I’ stormed his father.

. * No, I’m nor, sir/ FrauK answered. Mere abuse from his father never angered him. He was practised in it and knew what it was worth. ‘ You know I’m not, and you’d kick any other man who said I was.’

‘ To have my son marrying the niece of that infernal old canting Papistical meddler in other men’s affairs—-— 1 ’ cried Boyer, skipping from that false stand point.

‘ I’m very sorry, sir,’ said Frank, when he could get a word in edgewise. ‘ I’m very sorry that you take it in this way. I have asked Ophelia to marry me, and she has promised. I had asked Dr Hay’s consent on the very day on which you had a row with him about that poaching rascal, Jonah Wood. I came home to ask yours, and you know very well, sir, that if I could have seen you before (he shindy began you would have given it.' *; Hold your tongue, sir ! ’ roared the

Squire. ‘ But I beg your pardon, father. I can’t hold my tongue, and I must not hold my tongue. I’ve been a fairly good son, and in all reasonable matters Tm ready to obey you. But here I can’t.’

‘ You’d take a different tone if the estate weren’t entailed,’ said his father.

' Suppose we quarrel like gentlemen, sir,’ Frank suggested ; and then whatever relic of self-possession the elder man had left vanished entirely for the moment. He roared so that the servants heard him, and gathered in a listening excited group in the hall. He’d ruin the estate, he’d beggar the worthless blackguard who defied him, he’d never see him or speak to him more, ‘Leave my house to-night on that errand, and leave it for ever so long as I am in it.’

* That ought to be enough for any man,’ said Trank, ‘ and it should be enough for me if I thought yon meant it.’ _ . , ‘ Mean it ? By Heaven, I mean it.’ * You don’t,’ said his son,, facing him in a dogged resolve not to lose his own self-control. ‘ Did I ever wilfully give you a trouble mmy life ? Do you mean to tell me that father and son are going to part like this after five-and* twenty jears’ friendship ? ’ At this be grew himself suddenly softened. 1 Come, dad ; we’ve always been good friends. Why should we quarrel ? _ I’ve heard you say yourself that Ophelia’s the best and prettiest girl for twenty miles found. And so she is, and for five thousand, for that matter. Why shouldn’t I marry a blameless beautiful girl, who’s my equal in station, and my superior in everything else, if I've set my heart on her, and if she’ll have me * That’s enough, ’ said the Squire, throwing himself with fi crash into an armoha r, and waving a-backwari hand of renunciation. Go your own way. JSut never darken my doors again.’

‘ Very well.’ returned Frank. ‘ But before I go, look here. I’m no party to this idiotic shindy. I’m just as fond of you as ever I was, and this row is going to make no difference at all to my feelings. I’ll tell Walker to send down a portmanteau to the Fox and Dogs. Good-night, dad.’ * Good-bye,’ growled the Squire, with his back turned, and the set of bis shoulders full of obstinacy and anger. Frank looked at him in silence lor a minute, and then marched away sore, hearted. He gave his farewell orders in his father’s house, and, lingering a (little on the threshold, walked on to the lawn. He turned there to look at the darkening building, and, standing there was aware that his father had opened the French windows of the dining-room and was looking towards him. Seeing that his presence was perceived, Marmaduke walked forward a dozen swift and angry paces. ‘ You understand what it means ?’ he said. * You know what you’re doing P’ ‘ I do, lather,” the young man answered regretfully. 1 1 wish you did. I’m leaving the best friend I ever had, because he bids me be a scoundrel. Good-bye. You’re a good man after all, and a just man, and you’ll see the rights and wrongs ot this one day, as I do.’ The lather broke in with a curse and a passionate gesture. ‘Ah, you will, though ! You’re not the man to hold an ounce of malice, and you know 'in vour own heart that you’re wrong, this minute. There ! I won’t make things worse than they are. Good bye and God bless you, dad, and that’s the worst word that you shall ever hear from me.’ That was the end of the scene, for Marmaduke walked away without further speech, and Frank went heivily towards the Bectory, hanging hie head somewhat,and feeling extremely dejected and unhappy, as was natural, all things considered. One bitterness was spared him. He bad money in plenty,. for a maiden aunt bad left him her fortune, and all his mother’s possessions had come into his hands when he was at the age of one-and-twenty. He had money enough to marry on, for that matter, but to have urged on the marriage whilst the Squire and the Eector had ill blood between them would have only been to secure a leud between bis father and himself, aod to marry now, before a reconciliation could be effected, could only perpetuate eternally the strife already begun.

Ta he Continued )