The Beautiful Wretch by William Black (best books to read for self development .txt) 📖

song, with a refrain something like this--


_Ho thy way_,[1] my bonnie bairn,
_Ho thy way_, upon my airm,
_Ho thy way_, thou still may learn
To say Dada sae bonnie.


It was very clear that Sal was proud of her performance; and she had a good right to be, for she had caught the guttural accent to perfection. For the rest it was an instructive song to be sung as a lullaby to a child; for this was what Nan more or less made out amid the various experiments and repetitions:--


Oh, Johnnie is a clever lad;
Last neet he fuddled all he had;
This morn he wasna very bad;
He looked the best of ony!

When Johnnie's drunk he'll tak a knife,
And threaten sair to hae my life:
Wha wadna be a pitman's wife,
To hae a lad like Johnnie!

Yonder's Johnnie coming noo;
He looks the best of a' the crew!
They've all gone to the barley moo,
To hae a glass wi' Johnny.

So let's go get the bacon fried,
And let us mak a clean fireside,
And when he comes he will thee ride
Upon his knee sae cannie.

_Ho thy way_, my bonnie bairn,
_Ho thy way_, upon my airm,
_Ho thy way_, thou still may learn
To say Dada sae bonnie!


But this was likely to go on for ever; so Nan quietly stepped round to the door of the hut, where she found Singing Sal sitting on the little cross bench, entirely occupied with her guitar and the new song. When she looked up, on finding the door darkened, she did not scream; her nerves were not excitable.

'Oh, dear me, is it you, Miss?' she said. 'No wonder I did not hear ye; for I was making enough noise myself. I hope you are very well, Miss; it is many a day since I have seen you on the downs.'

'I have been living in Lewes for some time,' said Nan. 'I have been listening to the song you were singing. That is not the kind of song that sailors like, is it?'

So they had begun about sailors again; and the good genius Ormuzd was clean forgotten.



[1] A corruption, I am told, of 'haud thy way'--'hold on thy way.' The song is a common one in the North of England.



CHAPTER XIV.


AT HOME.

All that night, as Frank King had feared, a heavy gale from the south-west raged furiously; the wind shaking the houses with violent gusts; the sea thundering along the beach. But in the morning, when Brighton awoke, it found that the worst of the storm had passed over, leaving only a disturbed and dangerous look about the elements, and also a singular clearness in the air, so that the low hard colours of water and land and sky were strangely intense and vivid. Near the shore the sea had been beaten into a muddy brown; then that melted into a cold green farther out; and that again deepened and deepened until it was lost in a narrow line of ominous purple, black just where the sea met the vague and vaporous gray sky. In fact, at this moment, the seaward view from any Brighton window resembled nothing so much as an attempt at water-colour that a schoolgirl has got into a hopeless mess through washing and washing away at her skies, until she has got her heaviest colour smudged over the horizon-line.

But then that was only temporary. Every few minutes another change would steal over this strange, shifting, clear, dark world. Sometimes a long streak of sunny green--as sharp as the edge of a knife--far out at sea told that there was some unseen rift declaring itself overhead in that watery sky. Then a pale grayness would come up from the south-west and slowly cover over Worthing as with a veil; and then again that could be seen to go trailing away inland, and the long spur beyond the bay appear blacker than ever. Sometimes too, as if in contrast with all these cold hard tones and colours, a wonder of light would slowly concentrate on the far cliffs in the east, until Seaford Head became a mass of glorified golden white, hung apparently between sea and sky. Altogether, it was not a day to tempt fashionable folk to go out for their accustomed promenade; and assuredly it was not a day, supposing them bent on going out, to suggest that they should be too elaborate about their costume.

Nevertheless, when Miss Madge Beresford came into the billiard-room, where her brother was patiently practising the spot stroke, her appearance seemed to produce a great effect.

'Well, we _have_ got on a swagger dress this time!' cried Mr. Tom, who, though he had never been to Oxford, was a genuine free-trader in slang, and was ready to import it from anywhere.

He stared at her--at her dark Indian-red hat and skirt, and her long tight-fitting black sealskin coat--and she bore the scrutiny patiently.

'You are not going out on a morning like this?' he said, at length.

'There is no rain now; and the streets are quite dry,' pleaded Madge. 'I know it's going to be fine.'

'It's no use, Baby. There won't be a soul to admire your new dress. Better go and finish those slippers for me.'

He proceeded with his billiards.

'Won't you come, Tom?' she said. 'I went to the bazaar with you, when you wanted to see Kate Harman.'

'Wanted to see Kate Harman?' he said, contemptuously. 'Couldn't anybody see Kate Harman who paid half-a-crown at the door?'

'But I took you up and introduced you to her.'

'Introduced me to her! What introduction do you need at a stall at a bazaar, except to pay a couple of sovereigns for a shilling's worth of scent? Who told you I wanted to speak to Kate Harman? I'll tell you what it is, Baby; it's very unladylike to impute motives.'

'I never did anything of the kind,' said his sister, hotly. 'Never.'

She did not quite understand what accusation had been brought against her; but she did not like the sound of the word 'unladylike.'

'Very well,' said he, laying down his cue, 'since you say I am incapable of speaking the truth, I suppose I must go and walk up and down the pier with you. There's one thing sure: I shan't be stared at.'

So he went and got his hat and cane and gloves, and when he had buttoned himself all over into the smallest possible compass, he called for his sister, and together they went out into the gusty, clear, sea-scented morning.

They had the spacious thoroughfare nearly to themselves, though the pavements were fairly dry now. For the day was wild-looking still, the occasional gleam of sunlight was spectral and watery, and a black shadow melting into a soft gray told of showers falling far away at sea. At a great many drawing-room windows, coffee-room windows, club windows, were people standing, their hands behind their back, apparently uncertain whether or not to venture out. And no doubt some of these, remarking Tom and Madge Beresford pass, must have thought they formed a very handsome couple--the tall, well-built young fellow who looked three-and-twenty, though he was not so much, and the pretty girl of eighteen who also had a good figure and walked well. Their features were much alike too; most would have guessed them to be brother and sister.

'I observe,' remarked Mr. Tom, profoundly, as he gazed with admiration at his own boots, 'that when I come out with you, Baby, I have to do all the talking. When I go out with Nan, now, she does it all and I am amused. It isn't that I am selfish; but a girl come to your time of life--a woman indeed--ought to cultivate the art of amusing people. There is a want of originality about you----'

'There is a want of politeness about you,' said Miss Madge, calmly.

'There is not that flow of ideas that helps one to pass the time. Now that ought to be the business of women. Men who have the hard work of the world to get through require to be entertained, and women should make a study of it, and learn to be amusing----'

'You won't talk like that to your rich widow,' said his sister, 'when you have to go to her for a cheque.'

'Now, there's what I would call a sort of vacuity in your mind,' he continued, bending his cane from time to time on the pavement, 'that might be filled up with something. You might read the newspapers. You might get to know that a Conservative Government and a Liberal Government are not in office at the same time--not generally, at least.'

'Tom,' she said, 'do you think you could get Captain King to come to the Hunt ball?'

He glanced at her suspiciously.

'Captain King?' said he. 'How do you know I am going to see Captain King again? How do you know that he did not go back to town this morning?'

'Because,' she answered, with her eyes fixed on some distant object, 'because I can see him on the pier.'

Tom Beresford had a quick, dark suspicion that he had been made a fool of, even while he was lecturing his sister on her ignorance; but he was not going to admit anything of the kind.

'Yes,' he said, carelessly, 'I fancy that is King coming along. I hope he won't be gone before we get there; I want him to tell me where he gets his boots. Mine aren't bad, you know,' he said, glancing approvingly at these important objects, 'but there's a style about his that I rather fancy.'

'Don't forget about the ball, Tom,' said his sister; 'it would be very nice if we could get up a little party amongst ourselves.'

But Tom, as he walked along, continued to glance down at his glazed boots in a thoughtful and preoccupied manner; it was clear that his mind was charged concerning them.

Frank King was on the pier, and very few others besides, except the musicians in their box. He threw away a cigar, and came forward quickly. His face expressed much pleasure, though he regarded Madge Beresford with something of timidity.

'I was afraid you would not venture out on such a morning,' he said, looking at the clear blue-gray eyes that were immediately turned away.

Her manner was civil, but that was all. She shook hands with him, of course, and regarded him for half a second; but then she turned aside somewhat, so that he and Tom might talk together. For he was Mr. Tom's friend, and no doubt they might have something to say to each other about boots or cigars, or such things.

However, the three of them very soon found themselves walking together, up towards the end of the empty pier, and Tom was in an amazingly good humour,