The Heir of Redclyffe

Laura fetched it; Guy, with a constrained ‘thank you,’ was going to take it up rather as if he was putting a force upon himself, when Philip more quickly took the first volume, and eagerly turned over the pages—I can’t stand this,’ he said, ‘where is the original?’

It was soon produced; and Philip, finding the beautiful history of Fra Cristoforo, began to translate it fluently and with an admirable choice of language that silenced Charles’s attempts to interrupt and criticise. Soon Guy, who had at first lent only reluctant attention, was entirely absorbed, his eyebrows relaxed, a look of earnest interest succeeded, his countenance softened, and when Fra Cristoforo humbled himself, exchanged forgiveness, and received “il pane del perdono,” tears hung on his eyelashes.

The chapter was finished, and with a smothered exclamation of admiration, he joined the others in begging Philip to proceed. The story thus read was very unlike what it had been to Laura and Amy, when they puzzled it out as an Italian lesson, or to Charles, when he carelessly tossed over the translation in search of Don Abbondio’s humours; and thus between reading and conversation, the morning passed very agreeably.

At luncheon, Mr. Edmonstone asked Philip to come and spend a day or two at Hollywell, and he accepted the invitation for the next week. ‘I will make Thorndale drive me out if you will give him a dinner.’

‘Of course, of course,’ said Mr. Edmonstone, ‘we shall be delighted. We were talking of asking him, a day or two ago; eh, mamma?’

‘Thank you,’ said Philip; ‘a family party is an especial treat to him,’ laying a particular stress on the word ‘family party,’ and looking at his aunt.

At that moment the butler came in, saying, ‘Sir Guy’s servant is come, and has brought the horse, sir.’

‘Deloraine come!’ cried Guy, springing up. ‘Where?’

‘At the door, sir.’

Guy darted out, Mr. Edmonstone following. In another instant, however, Guy put his head into the room again. ‘Mrs. Edmonstone, won’t you come and see him? Philip, you have not seen Deloraine.’

Off he rushed, and the others were just in time to see the cordial look of honest gladness with which William, the groom, received his young master’s greeting, and the delighted recognition between Guy, Bustle, and Deloraine. Guy had no attention for anything else till he had heard how they had prospered on the journey; and then he turned to claim his friend’s admiration for the beautiful chestnut, his grandfather’s birthday present. The ladies admired with earnestness that compensated for want of knowledge, the gentlemen with greater science and discrimination; indeed, Philip, as a connoisseur, could not but, for the sake of his own reputation, discover something to criticise. Guy’s brows drew together again, and his eyes glanced as if he was much inclined to resent the remarks, as attacks at once on Deloraine and on his grandfather; but he said nothing, and presently went to the stable with Mr. Edmonstone, to see about the horse’s accommodations. Philip stood in the hall with the ladies.

‘So I perceive you have dropped the title already,’ observed he to Laura.

‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, replying for her daughter, ‘it seemed to give him pain by reminding him of his loss, and he was so strange and forlorn just at first, that we were glad to do what we could to make him feel himself more at home.’

‘Then you get on pretty well now?’

The reply was in chorus with variations—‘Oh, excellently!’

‘He is so entertaining,’ said Charlotte.

‘He sings so beautifully,’ said Amabel.

‘He is so right-minded,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone.

‘So very well informed,’ said Laura.

Then it all began again.

‘He plays chess so well,’ said Amy.

‘Bustle is such a dear dog,’ said Charlotte.

‘He is so attentive to Charlie,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, going into the drawing-room to her son.

‘Papa says he will make up for the faults of all his ancestors,’ said Amabel.

‘His music! oh, his music!’ said Laura.

‘Philip,’ said Charlotte, earnestly, ‘you really should learn to like him.’

‘Learn, impertinent little puss?’ said Philip, smiling, ‘why should I not like him?’

‘I was sure you would try,’ said Charlotte, impressively.

‘Is it hard?’ said Amy. ‘But, oh, Philip! you could not help liking his singing.’

‘I never heard such a splendid voice,’ said Laura; ‘so clear and powerful, and yet so wonderfully sweet in the low soft notes. And a very fine ear: he has a real talent for music.’

‘Ah! inherited, poor fellow,’ said Philip, compassionately.

‘Do you pity him for it?’ said Amy, smiling.

‘Do you forget?’ said Philip. ‘I would not advise you to make much of this talent in public; it is too much a badge of his descent.’

‘Mamma did not think so,’ said Amy. ‘She thought it a pity he should not learn regularly, with such a talent; so the other day, when Mr. Radford was giving us a lesson, she asked Guy just to sing up and down the scale. I never saw anything so funny as old Mr Radford’s surprise, it was almost like the music lesson in “La Figlia del Reggimento”; he started, and looked at Guy, and seemed in a perfect transport, and now Guy is to take regular lessons.

‘Indeed.’

‘But do you really mean,’ said Laura, ‘that if your mother had been a musician’s daughter, and you had inherited her talent, that you would be ashamed of it.’

‘Indeed, Laura,’ said Philip, with a smile, ‘I am equally far from guessing what I should do if my mother had been anything but what she was, as from guessing what I should do if I had a talent for music.’

Mrs. Edmonstone here called her daughters to get ready for their walk, as she intended to go to East-hill, and they might as well walk with Philip as far as their roads lay together.

Philip and Laura walked on by themselves, a little in advance of the others. Laura was very anxious to arrive at a right understanding of her cousin’s opinion of Guy.

‘I am sure there is much to like in him,’ she said.

‘There is; but is it the highest praise to say there is much to like? People are not so cautious when they accept a man in toto.’

‘Then, do you not?’

Philip’s answer was—

‘He who the lion’s whelp has nurst,
At home with fostering hand,
Finds it a gentle thing at first,
Obedient to command,’

‘Do you think him a lion’s whelp?’

‘I am afraid I saw the lion just now in his flashing eyes and contracted brow. There is an impatience of advice, a vehemence of manner that I can hardly deem satisfactory. I do not speak from prejudice, for I think highly of his candour, warmth of heart, and desire to do right; but from all I have seen, I should not venture as yet to place much dependence on his steadiness of character or command of temper.’

‘He seems to have been very fond of his grandfather, in spite of his severity. He is but just beginning to brighten up a little.’

‘Yes; his disposition is very affectionate,—almost a misfortune to one so isolated from family ties. He showed remarkably well at Redclyffe, the other day; boyish of course, and without much self-command, but very amiably. It is very well for him that he is removed from thence, for all the people idolize him to such a degree that they could not fail to spoil him.’

‘It would be a great pity if he went wrong.’