Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War by R. D. Blackmore (red queen ebook .TXT) 📖

Blyth. And now, my child, the third piece of news concerns yourself—your good, and dutiful, and exceedingly sensible self. Ahem!” cried the Admiral, as he always did, when he feared that he might have overstepped the truth.

“I know what it is; you need not tell me,” Faith answered, confirming her fear at once. “It is no use, father; it is no good at all—unless you intend to forget your own promise.”

“That I shall never do,” he replied, while looking at her sadly; “no, my dear child, I shall never attempt to drive instead of lead you. But you have not heard me out as yet. You don't even know who it is I mean.”

“Oh yes, I do; I know well enough, father. I am not like Dolly, universally admired. Because I do not want to be. You mean Lord Dashville—can you tell me that you don't?”

“No, my dear”—Sir Charles was a little surprised that Faith should be so quick, for (like most people of gentle nature) she was taken to be slow, because she never snapped—“I cannot deny that it is Lord Dashville, because that is the man, and no other. But how you could tell surpasses me, and it shows that he must be very often in your mind:” the Admiral thought he had caught her there. “Now can you say anything against him? Is he not honest, manly, single-minded, faithful as yourself, I do believe, good-looking, well-bred, a Tory, and a gentleman, certain to make any woman happy whom he loves? Can you say a syllable against all that?”

“No,” replied Faith—a very long, slow “no,” as if she only wished she could say something hard about him.

“Very well,” her father went on, with triumph, “and can you deny that he is just the person you might have taken a great liking to—fallen in love with, as they call it—if only he had come before your mind was full of somebody else—a very fine young fellow, no doubt; but—my darling, I won't say a word against him, only you know what I mean too well. And are you forever to be like a nun because it has pleased the Lord to take him from you?”

“Lord Dashville has not advanced himself in my good opinion, if he cares for that,” said Faith, starting sideways, as a woman always does, from the direct issue, “by going to you, when I declined to have anything more to say to him.”

“My dear, you are unjust,” replied Sir Charles; “not purposely, I know, for you are the most upright darling that can be, in general. But you accuse young Dashville of what he never did. It was his good mother, the Countess of Blankton, a most kind-hearted and lady-like person, without any nonsense about her, who gave me the best cup of tea I ever tasted, and spoke with the very best feeling possible. She put it so sweetly that I only wish you could have been there to hear her.”

“Father, what is the good of it all? You hate turncoats even worse than traitors. Would you like your daughter to be one? And when she would seem to have turned her coat—for the ladies wear coats now, the horrid ugly things!—for the sake of position, and title, and all that. If Lord Dashville had been a poor man, with his own way to make in the world, a plain Mister, there might have been more to be said for it. But to think that I should throw over my poor darling because he will come home without a penny, and perhaps tattoed, but at any rate turned black, for the sake of a coronet, and a heap of gold—oh, father, I shall break down, if you go on so!”

“My dear girl, I will not say a word to vex you. But you are famous for common-sense, as well as every other good quality, and I would ask you to employ just a little of it. Can you bear me to speak of your trouble, darling?”

“Oh yes, I am so well accustomed to it now; and I know that it is nothing compared to what thousands of people have to bear. Sometimes I am quite ashamed of giving way to it.”

“You do not give way to it, Faith. No person can possibly say that of you. You are my brave, unselfish, cheerful, sweet-natured, upright, and loving child. Nobody knows, but you and I—and perhaps I know it even more than you do—the greatness of the self-command you use, to be pleasant and gay and agreeable, simply for the sake of those around you.”

“Then, father,” cried Faith, who was surprised at this, for the Admiral had never said a word about such matters, “you think, after all, that I am—that I am almost as good as Dolly!”

“You jealous little vixen, I shall recall every word I have said in your favour! My child, and my pride, you are not only as good as Dolly, but my best hope is that when Dolly grows older she may be like you. Don't cry, darling; I can't stand crying, when it comes from eyes that so seldom do it. And now that you know what I think of you, allow me to think a little for you. I have some right to interfere in your life; you will allow that—won't you?”

“Father, you have all right, and a thousand times as much, because you are so gentle about using it.”

“I calls that bad English, as Zeb Tugwell says when he doesn't want to understand a thing. But, my pretty dear, you must remember that you will not have a father always. Who will look after you, when I am gone, except the Almighty?—and He does not do it, except for the few who look after themselves. It is my duty to consider these points, and they override sentimentality. To me it is nothing that Dashville will be an Earl, and a man of great influence, if he keeps up his present high character; but it is something to me that I find him modest, truthful, not led away by phantoms, a gentleman—which is more than a nobleman—and with his whole heart given to my dear child Faith.”

Faith sighed heavily, partly for herself, but mainly, perhaps, for the sake of a fine heart sadly thrown away on her. “I believe he is all that,” she said.

“In that case, what more can you have?” pursued the triumphant Admiral. “It is one of the clearest things I ever knew, and one of the most consistent”—consistent was a great word in those days—“as well as in every way desirable. Consider, not yourself—which you never do—but the state of the Country, and of Dolly. They have made me a baronet, for being away from home nearly every night of my life; and if I had Dashville to see to things here, I might stay away long enough to be a lord myself, like my late middy the present Duke of Bronte.”

Faith laughed heartily. “You call me jealous! My dear father, I know that you could have done a great deal more than Lord Nelson has, because he learned all that he knows from you. And now who is it that really defends the whole south coast of England against the French? Is it Lord Nelson? He has as much as he can do to look after their fleet in the Mediterranean. Admiral Cornwallis and Sir Charles Darling are the real defenders of England.”

“No, my dear, you must never say that, except of course in private. There may be some truth in it, but it would be laughed