The Man Between by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (inspirational novels txt) 📖

Yorkshire gentleman."

"I have strictly and positively promised myself that my Prince shall be a fine American gentleman."

"My dear Ethel, it is very seldom


"'the time, and the place,
And the Loved One, come together.'"


"I live in the land of good hope, Ruth, and my hopes will be realized."

"We shall see."



PART THIRD -- "I WENT DOWN INTO THE GARDEN TO SEE IF THE POMEGRANATES BUDDED."

--Song of Solomon, VI. 11.


CHAPTER VII

IT was a lovely afternoon on the last day of May. The sea and all the toil and travail belonging to it was overpass, and Judge Rawdon, Ruth and Ethel were driving in lazy, blissful contentment through one of the lovely roads of the West Riding. On either hand the beautifully cut hedges were white and sweet, and a caress of scent--the soul of the hawthorne flower enfolded them. Robins were singing on the topmost sprays, and the linnet's sweet babbling was heard from the happy nests in its secret places; while from some unseen steeple the joyful sound of chiming bells made music between heaven and earth fit for bands of traveling angels.

They had dined at a wayside inn on jugged hare, roast beef, and Yorkshire pudding, clotted cream and haver (oaten) bread, and the careless stillness of physical well-being and of minds at ease needed no speech, but the mutual smiling nod of intimate sympathy. For the sense of joy and beauty which makes us eloquent is far inferior to that sense which makes us silent.

This exquisite pause in life was suddenly ended by an exclamation from the Judge. They were at the great iron gates of Rawdon Park, and soon were slowly traversing its woody solitudes. The soft light, the unspeakable green of the turf, the voice of ancient days murmuring in the great oak trees, the deer asleep among the ferns, the stillness of the summer afternoon filling the air with drowsy peace this was the atmosphere into which they entered. Their road through this grand park of three hundred acres was a wide, straight avenue shaded with beech trees. The green turf on either hand was starred with primroses. In the deep undergrowth, ferns waved and fanned each other, and the scent of hidden violets saluted as they passed. Drowsily, as if half asleep, the blackbirds whistled their couplets, and in the thickest hedges the little brown thrushes sang softly to their brooding mates. For half an hour they kept this heavenly path, and then a sudden turn brought them their first sight of the old home.

It was a stately, irregular building of red brick, sandaled and veiled in ivy. The numerous windows were all latticed, the chimneys in picturesque stacks, the sloping roof made of flags of sandstone. It stood in the center of a large garden, at the bottom of which ran a babbling little river--a cheerful tongue of life in the sweet, silent place. They crossed it by a pretty bridge, and in a few minutes stood at the great door of the mansion. It was wide open, and the Squire, with outstretched hands, rose to meet them. While yet upon the threshold he kissed both Ethel and Ruth, and, clasping the Judge's hand, gazed at him with such a piercing, kindly look that the eyes of both men filled with tears.

He led them into the hall, and standing there he seemed almost a part of it. In his youth he had been a son of Anak, and his great size had been matched by his great strength. His stature was still large, his face broad and massive, and an abundance of snow-white hair emphasized the dignity of a countenance which age had made nobler. The generations of eight hundred years were crystallized in this benignant old man, looking with such eager interest into the faces of his strange kindred from a far-off land.

In the evening they sat together in the old hall talking of the Rawdons. "There is great family of us, living and dead," said the Squire, "and I count them all my friends. Bare is the back that has no kin behind it. That is not our case. Eight hundred years ago there was a Rawdon in Rawdon, and one has never been wanting since. Saxon, Danish, Norman, and Stuart kings have been and gone their way, and we remain; and I can tell you every Rawdon born since the House of Hanover came to England. We have had our share in all England's strife and glory, for if there was ever a fight going on anywhere Rawdon was never far off. Yes, we can string the centuries together in the battle flags we have won. See there!" he cried, pointing to two standards interwoven above the central chimney-piece; "one was taken from the Paynim in the first Crusade, and the other my grandson took in Africa. It seems but yesterday, and Queen Victoria gave him the Cross for it. Poor lad, he had it on when he died. It went to the grave with him. I wouldn't have it touched. I fancy the Rawdons would know it. No one dare say they don't. I think they meddle a good deal more with this life than we count on."

The days that followed were days in The House Wonderful. It held the treasure-trove of centuries; all its rooms were full of secrets. Even the common sitting-room had an antique homeliness that provoked questions as to the dates of its furniture and the whereabouts of its wall cupboards and hidden recesses. Its china had the marks of forgotten makers, its silver was puzzling with half-obliterated names and dates, its sideboard of oak was black with age and full of table accessories, the very names of which were forgotten. For this house had not been built in the ordinary sense, it had grown through centuries; grown out of desire and necessity, just as a tree grows, and was therefore fit and beautiful. And it was no wonder that about every room floated the perfume of ancient things and the peculiar family aura that had saturated all the inanimate objects around them.

In a few days, life settled itself to orderly occupations. The Squire was a late riser; the Judge and his family breakfasted very early. Then the two women had a ride in the park, or wandered in the garden, or sat reading, or sewing, or writing in some of the sweet, fair rooms. Many visitors soon appeared, and there were calls to return and courtesies to accept. Among these visitors the Tyrrel-Rawdons were the earliest. The representatives of that family were Nicholas Rawdon and his wife Lydia. Nicholas Rawdon was a large, stout man, very arrogant, very complete, very alert for this world, and not caring much about the other. He was not pleased at Judge Rawdon's visit, but thought it best to be cousinly until his cousin interfered with his plans--"rights" he called them--"and then!" and his "THEN" implied a great deal, for Nicholas Rawdon was a man incapable of conceiving the idea of loving an enemy.

His wife was a pleasant, garrulous woman, who interested Ethel very much. Her family was her chief topic of conversation. She had two daughters, one of whom had married a baronet, "a man with money and easy to manage"; and the other, "a rich cotton lord in Manchester."

"They haven't done badly," she said confidentially, "and it's a great thing to get girls off your hands early. Adelaide and Martha were well educated and suitable, but," she added with a glow of pride, "you should see my John Thomas. He's manager of the mill, and he loves the mill, and he knows every pound of warp or weft that comes in or goes out of the mill; and what his father would do without him, I'm sure I don't know. And he is a member of Parliament, too--Radical ticket. Won over Mostyn. Wiped Mostyn out pretty well. That was a thing to do, wasn't it?"

"I suppose Mr. Mostyn was the Conservative candidate?"

"You may be sure of that. But my John Thomas doesn't blame him for it--the gentry have to be Conservatives. John Thomas said little against his politics; he just set the crowd laughing at his ways--his dandified ways. And he tried to wear one eyeglass, and let it fall, and fall, and then told the men 'he couldn't manage half a pair of spectacles; but he could manage their interests and fight for their rights,' and such like talk. And he walked like Mostyn, and he talked like Mostyn, and spread out his legs, and twirled his walking stick like Mostyn, and asked them 'if they would wish him to go to Parliament in that kind of a shape, as he'd try and do it if they wanted a tailor-made man'; and they laughed him down, and then he spoke reasonable to them. John Thomas knows what Yorkshire weavers want, and he just prom-ised them everything they had set their hearts on; and so they sent him to Parliament, and Mostyn went to America, where, perhaps, they'll teach him that a man's life is worth a bit more than a bird or a rabbit. Mostyn is all for preserving game, and his father was a mean creature. When one thinks of his father, one has to excuse the young man a little bit."

"I saw a good deal of Mr. Mostyn in New York," said Ethel. "He used to speak highly of his father."

"I'll warrant he did; and he ought to keep at it, for he's the only one in this world that will use his tongue for that end. Old Samuel Mostyn never learned to live godly or even manly, but after his death he ceased to do evil, and that, I've no doubt, often feels like a blessing to them that had to live anyway near to him. But my John Thomas!"

"Oh," cried Ethel, laughing, "you must not tell me so much about John Thomas; he might not like it."

"John Thomas can look all he does and all he says straight in the face. You may talk of him all day, and find nothing to say that a good girl like you might not listen to. I should have brought him with us, but he's away now taking a bit of a holiday. I'm sure he needs it."

"Where is he taking his holiday?"

"Why, he went with a cousin to show him the sights of London; but somehow they got through London sights very quick, and thought they might as well put Paris in. I wish they hadn't. I don't trust foreigners and foreign ways, and they don't have the same kind of money as ours; but Nicholas says I needn't worry; he is sure that our John Thomas, if change is to make, will make it to suit himself."

"How soon will he be home?"

"I might say to-day or any other early day. He's been idling for a month now, and his father says 'the very looms are calling out for him.' I'll bring him to see you just as soon as he comes home, looms or no looms, and he'll be fain to come. No one appreciates a pretty girl more than John Thomas does."

So the days passed sweetly and swiftly onward, and there was no trouble in them. Such business as was to be done went on behind the closed doors of the Squire's office, and with no one present but himself, Judge Rawdon, and the attorneys attached to the Rawdon and Mostyn estates. And as there were no entanglements and no possible reason