It was an old-world room —there was not an article of
furniture
in it that was less than a hundred years old, and the old silver and old china arranged in the cabinets and on the side- tables were as antiquated as the chairs, the old bureau, and the pictures.
Fletcher - Lucian the Dreamer
The boy'U be like him some day.
He came walking through Simons- tower on his way from Scarhaven, and naught would content him but that he must set up his easel and make a picture of the village.
He found lodgings at old
Grant's, and settled down, and he was one of that sort that makes themselves at home with every- body in five minutes. He'd an open face and an open hand; he'd talk to high and low in just the same way; and he'd a smile for everybody. '
' And naturally all the lasses fell in love with him,' suggested Mr. Trippett, with a hearty laugh. 'I've heard my missis say he'd a way with him that was taking with the wenches — specially them as were inclined that way, like. '
' Undoubtedly he had,' said Mr. Pepperdine. * Undoubtedly he had. But after he'd seen her, he'd no eyes for any lass but our Lucy. He fell in love with her and she with him as naturally as a duckling
takes to water. Ah
Mother
!
I don't think I ever did see two
young people quite so badly smitten as they were. It became evident to everybody in the place. But he
acted like a man all through—oh yes !
alive then, you know, 'Trippett,' Mr. Pepperdine con- tinued, with a sigh. She was a straight-laced 'un, was my mother, and had no hking for foreigners, and Damerel had a livelyish time with her when he came to th' house and asked her, bold as brass, if he might marry her daughter. '
' I'll lay he wo'd; I'll lay he wo'd,' chuckled Mr. Trippett.
' Ay, and so he had,' continued Mr. Pepperdine. ' She was very stiff and stand-off, was our old lady, and she treated him to some remarks about foreigners
and papists, and what not, and gave him to under- stand that she'd as soon seen her daughter marry a gipsy as a strolling artist, 'cause you see, being old- lashioned, she'd no idea of what an artist, if he's up to his trade, can make. But he was one too many for
My mother was
LUCIAN THE DREAIMER 21
her, was Damerel. He listened to all she had to say, and then he offered to give her references about him- self, and he told her who he was, the son of an ItaHan gentleman that had come to live in England 'cause of poHtical reasons, and what he earned, and he made it clear enough that Lucy wouldn't want for bread and butter, nor a silk gown neither. '
' Good reasoning,' commented Mr. Trippett.
' Well, there were no doubt about Damerel 's making
' Very good reasoning. Love-making's
but it's nowt wi'out a bit o' money at th' back on't. '
said Mr. Pepperdine, 'and we'd soon good proof o' that; for as soon as he'd finished his picture of the village he sold it to th' Earl for five hundred pound, and it hangs i' the dining-room at th' castle to this day. I saw it the last time I paid my rent there. Mistress Jones, th' housekeeper, let me have
a look at it. And of course, seeing that the young man was able to support a wife, th' old lady had to
money,'
all very well,
and they were married. Fifteen year ago that is,' concluded Mr. Pepperdine with a shake of the head. * Dear-a-me! it seems only like yesterday since that day—they made the handsomest bride and bride- groom I ever saw. '
' She died soon, didn't she? ' inquired Mr. Trippett.
* Lived a matter of four years after the marriage,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' She wasn't a strong woman, wasn't poor Lucy—there was something wrong with her lungs, and after the boy came she seemed to wear away. He did all that a man could, did her husband—took her off to the south of Europe. Eh, dear, the letters that Keziah and Judith used to have from her, describing the places she saw—they read fair beautiful! But it were no good—she died at Rome,
poor lass, when the boy was two years' old. '
And had all that
'
give way,
' Poor thing! ' said Mr. Trippett. she wanted, seemingly. '
' Everything,' said Mr. Pepperdine. short but sweet, as you may say. '
Her hfe was
22 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* And now he's gone an' all,' said Mr. Trippett.
Mr. Pepperdine nodded.
' Ay,' he said, ' he's gone an' all. I don't think he
ever rightly got over his wife's death—anyway, he led a very restless life ever after, first one place and then another, never settling anywhere. Sometimes it was
Italy, sometimes something, Damerel. '
Paris, sometimes London —he's seen has that boy. Ay, he's dead, is poor
' Leave owt behind him like? * asked Mr. Trippett
sententiously.
Mr. Pepperdine polished the end of his nose.
' Well,' he said, ' there'll be a nice little nest-egg for the boy when all's settled up, I dare say. He wasn't a saving sort of man, I should think, but dear-a-me, he must ha' made a lot of money in his time — and
'
spent it, too. '
' Easy come and easy go,' said Mr. Trippett.
I've heard that's the way with that sort. Will this lad take
after his father, then? '
* Nay,' said Mr. Pepperdine, * I don't think he will.
He can't draw a line—doesn't seem to have it in him. Curious thing that, but it is so. No—he's all for read- ing. I never saw such a lad for books. He's got a great chest full o' books at the station yonder—wouldn't leave London without them. '
' Happen turn out a parson or a lawyer,' suggested
Mr. Trippett. ' * Nay,' said Mr. Pepperdine.
It's my impression he'll turn out a poet, or something o' that sort. They
tell me there's a good living to be made out o' that
nowadays. '
Mr. Trippett Hfted the kettle on to the brightest part
of the fire, mixed himself another glass of grog, and pushed the decanter towards his friend.
' There were only a' poorish market at Oakbro' t'other day,' he said. Very low prices, and none so much stuff there, nayther. '
Mr. Pepperdine followed his host's example with
LUCIAN THE DREAIVIER
23
respect to the grog, and meditated upon the market news. They plunged into a discussion upon prices. Mrs. Trippett entered the room, took up a basket of stockings, planted herself in her easy-chair, and began to look for holes in toes and heels. The two farmers
talked; the grandfather's clock ticked; the fire crackled; the whole atmosphere was peaceful and homelike. At last the talk of prices and produce was interrupted by the entrance of the stout serving-maid.
' If you please'm, there's Jim Wood from the station with two trunks for Mr. Pepperdine, and he says is he to put 'em in Mr. Pepperdine's trap? ' she said, gazing at her mistress.
' Tell him to put them in the shed,' said Mr. Pepper- dine. * I'll put 'em in the trap myself. And here, my lass, give him this for his trouble, ' he added, diving into his pocket and producing a shilling.
' And give him a pint o' beer and something to eat,' said Mr. Trippett.
' Give him some cold beef and pickles, Mary,' said
Mrs. Trippett. ' Yes, sir—Yes'm,' and Mary responded
closed the door. Mr. Pepperdine, gazing at the clock with an air of surprise, remarked that he had no idea it was so
late, and he must be departing.
' Nowt o' th' sort ! ' said Mr. Trippett. ' You're all
right for another hour—help yourself, my lad. '
' The little boy's all right,' said Mrs. Trippett softly. ' He's soon made friends with John and Mary—they
were as thick as thieves when I left them just now. '
' Then let's be comfortable,' said the host. ' Dang my buttons, there's nowt like comfort by your own
fireside. And how were London town looking, then, Mr. Pepperdine? —mucky as ever, I expect. '
Mr. Pepperdine, with a replenished glass and a newly charged pipe, plunged into a description of what he had seen in London. The time slipped away—the old clock struck nine at last, and suddenly reminded him
24
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
that he had six miles to drive and that his sisters would be ' expecting his arrival with the boy.
Time flies fast in good company/ he remarked as he rose with evident reluctance. ' I always enjoy an evening by your hospitable fireside, Mrs. Trippett, ma'am. '
' You're in a great hurry to leave anyhow,' said Mr. Trippett, with broad grin. Sit ye down again, man—you'll be home in half an hour with that mare o' yours, and it's only nine o'clock, and ten to one th' owd clock's wrong. '
Ay, but my watch isn't,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. Nay, we must go — Keziah and Judith '11 be on the
look-out for us, and they'll want to see the boy. '
Ay, expect they will,' said Mr. Trippett. Well,
you must you must—take another glass and light cigar. '
Mr. Pepperdine refused neither of these aids to com- fort, and lingered few minutes longer. But at last they all went out into the great kitchen, Mrs. Trippett leading the way with words of regret at her guest's departure. She paused upon the threshold and turned to the two men with gesture which commanded silence.
The farmhouse kitchen, quaint and picturesque with
its old oak furniture, its flitches of bacon and
hams hanging from the ceiling, its bunches of dried herbs and strings of onions depending from hooks in the comers, its wide fireplace and general warmth and cheeriness, formed the background of group which roused some sense of the artistic in Mrs. Trippett usually matter-of-fact intellect. On the long settle which stretched on one side of the hearth sat four shock-
headed ploughboys, leaning shoulder to shoulder; in an easy-chair opposite sat the red-cheeked maid-ser- vant; close to her, on low stool, sat little girl with Mrs. Trippett features and eyes, whose sunny hair fell
in wavy masses over her shoulders; behind her, hands in pockets, sturdy and strong, stood miniature edition
great
a
a
a
it,
's
a
's a
a
if
I
* '*
aa
'
*
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 25
of Mr. Trippett, even to the sandy hair, the breeches, and the gaiters; in the centre of the floor, at a round
table on which stood a great oil lamp, sat the porter, busy with a round of beef, a foaming tankard of ale,
and a crusty loaf. Of these eight human beings a similar peculiarity was evident. Each one sat with mouth more or less open—the ploughboys' mouths in particular had revolved themselves into round O's, while the porter, struck as it were in the very act of
mouth,
who stood on the hearth, his back to the fire, his face
glowing in the lamphght, winding up in a low and thrilling voice the last passages of what appeared to be a particularly blood-curdling narrative.
Mr. Trippett poked Mr. Pepperdine in the 'ribs.
* Seems to ha' fixed 'em,' he whispered. Gow— the lad's gotten the gift o' the gab! —he talks like a book. '
' H'sh,' commanded Mrs. Trippett.
' And so the body hung on the gibbet,' Lucian was saying, ' through all that winter, and the rain, and the hail, and the snow fell upon it, and when the spring came again there remained nothing but the bones of the brigand, and they were bleached as white as the eternal
snows; and Giacomo came and took them dow^i and buried them in the Httle cemetery under the cypress- trees; but the chain still dangles from the gibbet, and you may hear it rattle as you pass that way as it used to rattle when Luigi's bones hung swaying in the wind. '
The spell was broken; the porter sighed deeply, and
conveyed the interrupted forkful to his mouth; the ploughboys drew deep breaths, and looked as if they
had arisen from a deep sleep; the little girl, catching sight of her mother, ran to her with a cry of ' Is it true?
forking a large lump of beef into a cavernous
looked like a man who has suddenly become paralysed and cannot move. The maid-servant's eyes were wider than her mouth; the little girl shrank against the maid's apron as if afraid— it was only the sturdy boy in the rear who showed some symptoms of a faint smile. And the object upon which all eyes were fixed was Lucian,
26 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Is it true? ' and Mr. Trippett brought everybody back to real life by loud calls for Mr. Pepperdine's horse and trap. Then followed the putting on of overcoats and wraps, and the bestowal of a glass of ginger- wine upon Lucian by Mr. Trippett, in order that the cold might be kept out, and then good-nights and God- speeds, and he was in the dogcart at Mr. Pepperdine's side, and the mare, very fresh, was speeding oyer the
six miles of highway which separated stable from her own.
Mr. Trippett's
necessary,
CHAPTER III
While Mr. Pepperdine refreshed himself at his friend's house, his sisters awaited the coming of himself and his charge with as much patience as they could summon to their aid. Each knew that patience was not only
but inevitable. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Mr. Pepperdine to have driven straight home from the station and supped in
that, under the circumstances,
his own parlour, and
would have seemed the most reasonable thing to do. But Mr. Pepperdine made a rule of never passing the
Farm, and his sisters knew that he would tarry there on his homeward journey, accept Mrs. Trippett's invitation to tea, and spend an hour or two afterwards in convivial intercourse with Mr.
gates
of the Grange
and time Mr. Pepperdine had occasion to travel by train; and the Misses Pepperdine knew that it would
go on taking place as long as their brother Simpson and his friends at the Grange Farm continued to exist.
At nine o'clock Miss Pepperdine, who had been
knitting by the parlour fire since seven, grew some-
what impatient.
' I think Simpson might have come home straight
Trippett. every
That took place every market-day
station,' she said in sharp, decided tones. ' The child is sure to be tired. '
from the
Miss Judith Pepperdine, engaged on fancy needle- work on the opposite side of the hearth, shook her head. ' Simpson never passes the Grange,' she said.
' That night I came with him from Oakborough last winter, I couldn't get him to come home. He coaxed me to go in for just ten minutes, and we had to stop four hours. '
Miss Pepperdine sniffed. Her needles clicked vigor- ously for a few minutes longer; she laid them down at a
27
28 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
quarter past nine, went across the parlour to a cup- board, unlocked it, produced a spirit-case and three glasses, and set them on the table in the middle of the room. At the same moment a tap sounded on the door, and a maid entered bearing a jug of hot water, a dish of lemons, and a bowl of sugar. She was about to leave the room after setting her tray down when
Miss Pepperdine stopped her.
* I wonder what the boy had better have, Judith? '
she said, looking at her sister. ' He's sure to have had a good tea at the Grange — Sarah Trippett would see to that—but he'll be cold. Some hot milk, I should think. Bring some new milk in the brass pan, Anne,
and another glass—I'll heat it myself over this fire. ' Then, without waiting to hear whether Miss Judith
approved the notion of hot milk or not, she sat down to her knitting again, and when the maid had brought
the brass pan and the glass and withdrawn, the parlour became hushed and silent.
It was an old-world room —there was not an article of furniture in it that was less than a hundred years old, and the old silver and old china arranged in the cabinets and on the side- tables were as antiquated as the chairs, the old bureau, and the pictures. Everything was old, good, and sub- stantial; everything smelled of a bygone age and of dried rose-leaves.
The two sisters, facing each other across the hearth, were in thorough keeping with the old-world atmo- sphere of their parlour. Miss Keziah Pepperdine, senior member of the family, and by no means afraid of admitting that she had attained her fiftieth year, was tall and well-built; a fine figure of a woman, with a handsome face, jet-black hair, and eyes of a decided keenness. There was character and decision in her every movement; in her sharp, incisive speech; in her quick glance; and in the nervous, resolute click of her knitting needles. As she knitted, she kept her lips pursed tightly together and her eyes fixed upon her work: it needed little observation to make sure that
Judith
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
29
whatever Miss Pepperdine did would be done with resolution and thoroughness. She was a woman to be respected rather than loved; feared more than honoured; and there was a flash in her hawk's eyes, and a grim- ness about her mouth, which indicated a temper that could strike with force and purpose. Further indica- tions of her character were seen in her attire, which was severely simple — a gown of black, unrelieved by any speck of white, hanging in prim, straight folds, and utterly unadorned, but, to a knowing eye, fashioned of most excellent and costly material.
Pepperdine, many years younger than her sister, was dressed in black too, but the sombreness of her attire was relieved by white cuffs and collar, and by a very long thin gold chain, which was festooned twice round her neck ere it sought refuge in the watch- pocket at her waist. She had a slender figure of great elegance, and was proud of it, just as she was proud of the fact that at forty years of age she was still a pretty woman. There was something of the girl still left in her: some dreaminess of eye, a suspicion of coquetry, an innate desire to please the other sex and to be admired by men. Her cheek was still smooth and peach-like; her eyes still bright, and her brown hair glossy; old maid that she undoubtedly was, there were
many good-looking girls in the district who had not half her attractions. To her natural good looks Judith Pepperdine added a native refinement and elegance; she knew how to move about a room and walk the village street. Her smile was famous — old Dr. Stub- bins, of Normanfold, an authority in such matters, said
that for sweetness and charm he would back Judith Pepperdine 's smile against the world.
There were many people who wondered why the handsome Miss Pepperdine had never married, but there was scarcely one who knew why she had remained and meant to remain single. Soon after the marriage of her sister Lucy to Cyprian Damerel, Judith developed a love-affair of her own with a dash-
30
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
ing cavalry man, a sergeant of the 13th Hussars, then quartered at Oakborough. He was a handsome young man, the son of a local farmer, and his ambition had been for soldiering from boyhood. Coming into the neighbourhood in all his glory, and often meeting Judith at the houses of mutual friends, he had soon laid siege to her and captured her susceptible heart. Their engagement was kept secret, for old Mrs. Pepperdine had almost as great an objection to soldiers as to foreigners, and would have considered a non-commis- sioned officer beneath her daughter's notice. The sergeant, however, had aspirations—it was his hope to secure a commission in an infantry regiment, and his ambition in this direction seemed likely to be furthered when his regiment was ordered out to India and presently engaged in a frontier campaign. But there his good luck came to an untimely end—he performed a brave action which won him the Victoria Cross, but he was so severely wounded in doing it that he died soon afterwards, and Judith's romance came to a bitter end. She had had many offers of marriage since, and had refused them all—the memory of the handsome Hussar still lived in her sentimental heart, and her most cherished possession was the cross which he had won and had not lived to receive. Time had healed the wound: she no longer experienced the pangs and sorrows of her first grief. Everything had been mel- lowed down into a soft regret, and the still living affec- tion for the memory of a dead man kept her heart young.
That night Judith for once in a while had no thought of her dead lover—she was thinking of the boy whom Simpson was bringing to them. She remembered Lucy with wondering thoughts, trying to recall her as she was when Cyprian Damerel took her away to London and a new life. None of her own people had ever seen Lucy again—they were stay-at-home folk, and the artist and his wife had spent most of their short married Hfe on the Continent. Now Damerel, too, was dead.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
31
and the boy was coming back to his mother's people,
and Judith, who was given to dreaming, speculated
much concerning him.
* I wonder,' she said, scarcely knowing that she
' I wonder what Lucian will be like. '
* And I wonder,' said Miss Pepperdine, ' if Damerel
spoke,
has left any money for him. '
* Surely ! ' exclaimed Judith. ' He earned such large
sums by his paintings. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked more sharply than
ever.
' He spent large sums too,* she said. * I've heard of
the way in which he lived. He was an extravagant man, Uke most of his sort. That sort of money is earned easily and spent easily. With his ideas and his tastes, he ought to have been a duke. I hope he has provided for the boy—times are not as good as they might be. '
to Lucy's child, sister? ' said Judith timidly, and with a wistful glance at Miss Pepperdine 's stem countenance. 'I'm
* You would never begrudge anything
sure I shouldn't —he is welcome to all I have. '
* Umph ! ' replied Miss Pepperdine. ' Who talked of begrudging anything to the child? All I say is, I hope
his father has provided for him. '
made no answer to this remark, and the silence which followed was suddenly broken by the sound of wheels on the drive outside the house. Both
Judith
sisters rose to their feet; each showed traces of some emotion. Without a word they passed out of the room into the hall. The maid-servant had already opened the door, and in the light of the hanging lamp they saw their brother helping Lucian out of the dogcart* The sisters moved forward.
' Now, then, here we are ! ' said Mr. Pepperdine. * Home again, safe and sound, and no breakages. Lucian, my boy, here's your aunts Keziah and Judith. Take him in, lassies, and warm him — it's a keenish night. '
32
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
The boy stepped into the hall, and lifted his hat as he looked up at the two women.
* How do you do? ' he said politely.
Miss Pepperdine drew a quick breath. She took the outstretched hand and bent down and kissed the boy's cheek; in the lamplight she had seen her dead sister's eyes look out of the young face, and for the moment she could not trust herself to speak. Judith trembled all over; as the boy turned to her she put both arms round him and drew him into the parlour, and there embraced him warmly. He looked at her somewhat wonderingly and critically, and then responded to her embrace.
one. '
Judith kissed him again. She had fallen in love with
' You are my Aunt Judith,' he said. ' Uncle Pepperdine told me about you. You are the handsome
him on the spot.
' Yes, I am your Aunt Judith, my dear,' she said.
' And I am very, very glad to see you—we are all glad. ' She still held him in her arms, looking at him long
and hungrily. Miss Pepperdine came in, businesslike and bustling; she had lingered in the hall, ostensibly to give an order to the servant, but in reality to get rid of a tear or two.
* Now, then, let me have a look at him,' she said, and drew the boy ' out of Judith's hands and turned him to the light. Your Aunt ' Judith,' she continued as she scanned him critically, is the handsome one, as I heard you say just now—I'm the ugly one. Do you think you'll like me? '
Lucian stared back at her with a glance as keen and searching as her own. He looked her through and through.
' Yes,' he said, ' Ilike you. Ithink ' He paused and smiled a little.
' You think— what? '
* I think you might be cross sometimes, but you're good,' he said, still staring at her.
'No,'
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
33
Miss Pepperdine laughed. Judith knew that she was conquered.
' Well, you'll find out,' said Miss Pepperdine. ' Now, then, off with your coat—are you hungry? '
answered Lucian. ' I ate too much at Mrs. Trippett's — EngUsh people have such big meals, I think. '
' Give him a drop of something warm,* said Mr. Pepperdine, entering 'with much rubbing of hands and stamping of feet. 'Tis cold as Christmas, driving through them woods 'twixt here and Wellsby. '
Miss Pepperdine set the brass pan on the fire, and presently handed Lucian a glass of hot milk, and pro- duced an old-fashioned biscuit-box from the cupboard. The boy sat down near Judith, ate and drank, and looked about him, all unconscious that the two women and the man were watching him with all their eyes.
' I like this room better than Mrs. Trippett's,' he said suddenly. ' Hers is a pretty room, but this shows more taste. And all the furniture is Chippendale! '
' Bless his heart ! ' said Miss Pepperdine, * so it is. How did you know that, my dear? '
' I know a lot about old furniture,* he said; ' my father taught me. ' He yawned and looked apologetic.
Lucian stared at her.
' I think I should like to go to bed,' he added, glanc- ing at Miss Pepperdine. ' I am sleepy —we have been travelling all day. '
rose from her chair with alacrity. She was pining to get the boy all to herself.
Judith
' I'll take him to his room,' she said. ' Come along, dear, your room is all ready for you. '
The boy shook hands with Aunt Keziah. She kissed him again and patted his head. He crossed over to Mr. Pepperdine, who was pulling off his boots.
'I'll go riding with you in the morning,' he said. ' After breakfast, I suppose, eh? '
' Ay, after breakfast,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' I'll tell John to have the pony ready. Good-night,
C
34
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
my lad; your Aunt Judith'll see you're all comfortable. ' Lucian shook hands with his uncle, and went cheer- fully away with Judith. Miss Pepperdine sighed as
the door closed upon them.
' He's the very image of Cyprian Damerel,' she said;
* but he has Lucy's eyes. '
* He's a fine Httle lad,' said Mr. Pepperdine. * An
uncommon fine little lad, and quite the gentleman. I'm proud of him. '
He had got into his slippers by this time, and he cast a longing eye at the spirit-case on the table. Miss Pepperdine rose, produced an old-fashioned pewter thimble, measured whisky into it, poured it into a tumbler, added lemon, sugar, and hot water, and handed it to her brother, who received it with an expression of gratitude, and sipped it critically. She measured a less quantity into two other glasses and mixed each with similar ingredients.
' That's a blessing,' said Mr. Pepperdine, stretching his legs.
Miss Pepperdine put away her knitting, removed the spirit-case into the cupboard, locked the door and put the key in her pocket, and took up the little tray on which she had placed the tumblers intended for herself and her sister. But on the verge of leaving the room she paused and looked at her brother.
* We were glad you got there in time, Simpson,' she said. ' And you did right to bring the child home— it was the right thing to do. I hope Damerel has made provision for him? '
Mr. Pepperdine was seized with a mighty yawning. * Oh ay! ' he said as soon as he could speak. * The
* Judith
won't be coming down again,' she said. 'I'll take her tumbler up to her room; and I'm going
to bed myself—we've had a long day with churning. You'll not want any news to-night, Simpson; it'll keep till to-morrow, and there's Httle to tell—all's gone on right. '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
35
lad's all right, Keziah—all right. Everything's in my
hands —yes, it's all right. '
' You must tell me about it afterwards,' said Miss
* I'll go now—I just want to see that the boy has all he wants. Good-night, Simpson. '
Pepperdine.
Good-night, my lass, good-night,' said the farmer. * I'll just look round and be off to bed myself. '
Miss Pepperdine left the room and closed the door;
her brother heard the ancient staircase creak as she
climbed to the sleeping-chambers. He waited a few minutes, and then, rising from his chair, he produced a key from his pocket, walked over to the old bureau, imlocked a small cupboard, and brought forth a bottle of whisky. He drew the cork with a meditative air and added a liberal dose of spirit to that handed to him by his sister. He replaced the bottle and locked up the cupboard, poured a little more hot water into his
and sipped the strengthened mixture with
glass,
approbation.
tion in the old mirror above the chimney-piece, and sat down before the fire to enjoy his nightcap in privacy and comfort.
Then he winked solemnly at his reflec-
CHAPTER IV
LuciAN went to sleep in a chamber smelling of lavender. He was very tired, and passed into a land of gentle dreams as soon as his head touched the pillow. Almost before he realised that he was falling asleep he was wide awake again and it was morning. Broad rays of sunlight flooded the room; he heard the notes of many birds singing outside the window; it was plain that another day was already hastening to noon. He
glanced at his watch: it was eight o'clock. Lucian left his bed, drew up the blind, and looked out of the
window.
He had seen nothing of Simonstower on the previous
evening: it had seemed to him that after leaving Mr. Trippett's farmstead he and Mr. Pepperdine had been swallowed up in deep woods. He had remarked during the course of the journey that the woods smelled like the pine forests of Ravenna, and Mr. Pepperdine had answered that there was a deal of pine thereabouts and Ukewise fir. Out of the woods they had not emerged until they drove into the lights of a village, clattered across a bridge which spanned a brawling stream, and climbed a winding road that led them into more woods. Then had come the open door, and the new faces, and bed, and now Lucian had his first opportunity of look- ing about him.
The house stood halfway up a hillside. He saw, on leaning out of the window, that it was stoutly fashioned of great blocks of grey stone and that some of the upper portions were timbered with mighty oak beams. Over the main doorway, a little to the right of his window, a slab of weather-worn stone exhibited a coat of arms, an almost illegible motto or legend, of which he could only make out a few letters, and the initials ' S. P. ' over the date 1594. The house, then, was of a respect-
30
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 37
able antiquity, and he was pleased because of it. He was pleased, too, to find the greater part of its exterior half obscured b^ ivy, jessamine, climbing rose-trees, honeysuckle, and wistaria, and that the garden which stretched before it was green and shady and old- fashioned. He recognised some features of it—the old, moss-grown sun-dial; the arbour beneath the copper- beech; the rustic bench beneath the lilac-tree—he had seen one or other of these things in his father's pictures,
and now knew what memories had placed them there.
further afield Lucian now saw the village through which they had driven in the darkness. It lay in the valley, half a mile beneath him, a quaint, pic-
Looking
street, in which at that moment he saw many children running about.
turesque place of one long straggling
The houses and cottages were all of grey stone; some were thatched, some roofed with red tiles; each stood amidst gardens and orchards. He now saw the bridge over which Mr. Pepper^ine's mare had clattered the night before — a high, single arch spanning a winding
river thickly fenced in from the meadows by alder and willow. Near it on rising ground stood the church, square-towered, high of roof and gable, in the rnidst
of a green churchyard which in one comer contained the fallen masonry of some old abbey or priory. On the opposite side of the river, in a small square which seemed to indicate the forum of the village, stood the inn, easily recognisable even at that distance by the pole which stood outside bearing aloft swinging sign, and by the size of the stables surrounding it. This picture, too, was famihar to the boy's eyes—he
had seen in pictures thousand times.
Over the village, frowning upon as lion frowns
upon the victim at its feet, hung the grim, gaunt castle which, after all, was the principal feature of the land- scape on which Lucian gazed. It stood on spur of rocky ground which jutted like promontory from the hills behind —on three sides at least its situation was
impregnable.
From Lucian's point of vantage still
it
a it
a
a
a
it
it
a
it,
38
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
wore the aspect of strength and power; the rustic walls were undamaged; the smaller towers and turrets showed httle sign of decay; and the great Norman keep rose like a menace in stone above the skyline of the hills. All over the giant mass of the old stronghold hung a drifting cloud of blue smoke, which gradually mingled with the spirals rising from the village chimneys and with the shadowy mists that curled about the pine-clad uplands. And over everything —village, church, river, castle, meadow, and hill, man and beast—shone the
spring sun, hfe-giving and generous. Lucian looked and saw and understood, and made haste to dress in
order that he might go out and possess all these things. He had a quick eye for beauty and an unerring taste, and he recognised that in this village of the grey North there was a charm and a romance which nothing could exhaust. His father had recognised its beauty before him and had immortahsed it on canvas; Lucian, lack- ing the power to make a picture of had yet keener aesthetic sense of its appeal and its influence. It was
thousand voices — he was that he grudged the time Miss Pepperdine expressed some fears as to the poorness of his appetite; Miss
already calling to him with so impatient to revel in
given to his breakfast.
Judith, understanding the boy's eagerness somewhat better, crammed thick shoe of cake into his pocket as he set out. He was in such haste that he had only time to tell Mr. Pepperdine that he would not ride the pony that morning—he was going to explore the vil- lage, and the pony might wait. Then he ran off, eager, excited.
Grant's, and settled down, and he was one of that sort that makes themselves at home with every- body in five minutes. He'd an open face and an open hand; he'd talk to high and low in just the same way; and he'd a smile for everybody. '
' And naturally all the lasses fell in love with him,' suggested Mr. Trippett, with a hearty laugh. 'I've heard my missis say he'd a way with him that was taking with the wenches — specially them as were inclined that way, like. '
' Undoubtedly he had,' said Mr. Pepperdine. * Undoubtedly he had. But after he'd seen her, he'd no eyes for any lass but our Lucy. He fell in love with her and she with him as naturally as a duckling
takes to water. Ah
Mother
!
I don't think I ever did see two
young people quite so badly smitten as they were. It became evident to everybody in the place. But he
acted like a man all through—oh yes !
alive then, you know, 'Trippett,' Mr. Pepperdine con- tinued, with a sigh. She was a straight-laced 'un, was my mother, and had no hking for foreigners, and Damerel had a livelyish time with her when he came to th' house and asked her, bold as brass, if he might marry her daughter. '
' I'll lay he wo'd; I'll lay he wo'd,' chuckled Mr. Trippett.
' Ay, and so he had,' continued Mr. Pepperdine. ' She was very stiff and stand-off, was our old lady, and she treated him to some remarks about foreigners
and papists, and what not, and gave him to under- stand that she'd as soon seen her daughter marry a gipsy as a strolling artist, 'cause you see, being old- lashioned, she'd no idea of what an artist, if he's up to his trade, can make. But he was one too many for
My mother was
LUCIAN THE DREAIMER 21
her, was Damerel. He listened to all she had to say, and then he offered to give her references about him- self, and he told her who he was, the son of an ItaHan gentleman that had come to live in England 'cause of poHtical reasons, and what he earned, and he made it clear enough that Lucy wouldn't want for bread and butter, nor a silk gown neither. '
' Good reasoning,' commented Mr. Trippett.
' Well, there were no doubt about Damerel 's making
' Very good reasoning. Love-making's
but it's nowt wi'out a bit o' money at th' back on't. '
said Mr. Pepperdine, 'and we'd soon good proof o' that; for as soon as he'd finished his picture of the village he sold it to th' Earl for five hundred pound, and it hangs i' the dining-room at th' castle to this day. I saw it the last time I paid my rent there. Mistress Jones, th' housekeeper, let me have
a look at it. And of course, seeing that the young man was able to support a wife, th' old lady had to
money,'
all very well,
and they were married. Fifteen year ago that is,' concluded Mr. Pepperdine with a shake of the head. * Dear-a-me! it seems only like yesterday since that day—they made the handsomest bride and bride- groom I ever saw. '
' She died soon, didn't she? ' inquired Mr. Trippett.
* Lived a matter of four years after the marriage,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' She wasn't a strong woman, wasn't poor Lucy—there was something wrong with her lungs, and after the boy came she seemed to wear away. He did all that a man could, did her husband—took her off to the south of Europe. Eh, dear, the letters that Keziah and Judith used to have from her, describing the places she saw—they read fair beautiful! But it were no good—she died at Rome,
poor lass, when the boy was two years' old. '
And had all that
'
give way,
' Poor thing! ' said Mr. Trippett. she wanted, seemingly. '
' Everything,' said Mr. Pepperdine. short but sweet, as you may say. '
Her hfe was
22 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
* And now he's gone an' all,' said Mr. Trippett.
Mr. Pepperdine nodded.
' Ay,' he said, ' he's gone an' all. I don't think he
ever rightly got over his wife's death—anyway, he led a very restless life ever after, first one place and then another, never settling anywhere. Sometimes it was
Italy, sometimes something, Damerel. '
Paris, sometimes London —he's seen has that boy. Ay, he's dead, is poor
' Leave owt behind him like? * asked Mr. Trippett
sententiously.
Mr. Pepperdine polished the end of his nose.
' Well,' he said, ' there'll be a nice little nest-egg for the boy when all's settled up, I dare say. He wasn't a saving sort of man, I should think, but dear-a-me, he must ha' made a lot of money in his time — and
'
spent it, too. '
' Easy come and easy go,' said Mr. Trippett.
I've heard that's the way with that sort. Will this lad take
after his father, then? '
* Nay,' said Mr. Pepperdine, * I don't think he will.
He can't draw a line—doesn't seem to have it in him. Curious thing that, but it is so. No—he's all for read- ing. I never saw such a lad for books. He's got a great chest full o' books at the station yonder—wouldn't leave London without them. '
' Happen turn out a parson or a lawyer,' suggested
Mr. Trippett. ' * Nay,' said Mr. Pepperdine.
It's my impression he'll turn out a poet, or something o' that sort. They
tell me there's a good living to be made out o' that
nowadays. '
Mr. Trippett Hfted the kettle on to the brightest part
of the fire, mixed himself another glass of grog, and pushed the decanter towards his friend.
' There were only a' poorish market at Oakbro' t'other day,' he said. Very low prices, and none so much stuff there, nayther. '
Mr. Pepperdine followed his host's example with
LUCIAN THE DREAIVIER
23
respect to the grog, and meditated upon the market news. They plunged into a discussion upon prices. Mrs. Trippett entered the room, took up a basket of stockings, planted herself in her easy-chair, and began to look for holes in toes and heels. The two farmers
talked; the grandfather's clock ticked; the fire crackled; the whole atmosphere was peaceful and homelike. At last the talk of prices and produce was interrupted by the entrance of the stout serving-maid.
' If you please'm, there's Jim Wood from the station with two trunks for Mr. Pepperdine, and he says is he to put 'em in Mr. Pepperdine's trap? ' she said, gazing at her mistress.
' Tell him to put them in the shed,' said Mr. Pepper- dine. * I'll put 'em in the trap myself. And here, my lass, give him this for his trouble, ' he added, diving into his pocket and producing a shilling.
' And give him a pint o' beer and something to eat,' said Mr. Trippett.
' Give him some cold beef and pickles, Mary,' said
Mrs. Trippett. ' Yes, sir—Yes'm,' and Mary responded
closed the door. Mr. Pepperdine, gazing at the clock with an air of surprise, remarked that he had no idea it was so
late, and he must be departing.
' Nowt o' th' sort ! ' said Mr. Trippett. ' You're all
right for another hour—help yourself, my lad. '
' The little boy's all right,' said Mrs. Trippett softly. ' He's soon made friends with John and Mary—they
were as thick as thieves when I left them just now. '
' Then let's be comfortable,' said the host. ' Dang my buttons, there's nowt like comfort by your own
fireside. And how were London town looking, then, Mr. Pepperdine? —mucky as ever, I expect. '
Mr. Pepperdine, with a replenished glass and a newly charged pipe, plunged into a description of what he had seen in London. The time slipped away—the old clock struck nine at last, and suddenly reminded him
24
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
that he had six miles to drive and that his sisters would be ' expecting his arrival with the boy.
Time flies fast in good company/ he remarked as he rose with evident reluctance. ' I always enjoy an evening by your hospitable fireside, Mrs. Trippett, ma'am. '
' You're in a great hurry to leave anyhow,' said Mr. Trippett, with broad grin. Sit ye down again, man—you'll be home in half an hour with that mare o' yours, and it's only nine o'clock, and ten to one th' owd clock's wrong. '
Ay, but my watch isn't,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. Nay, we must go — Keziah and Judith '11 be on the
look-out for us, and they'll want to see the boy. '
Ay, expect they will,' said Mr. Trippett. Well,
you must you must—take another glass and light cigar. '
Mr. Pepperdine refused neither of these aids to com- fort, and lingered few minutes longer. But at last they all went out into the great kitchen, Mrs. Trippett leading the way with words of regret at her guest's departure. She paused upon the threshold and turned to the two men with gesture which commanded silence.
The farmhouse kitchen, quaint and picturesque with
its old oak furniture, its flitches of bacon and
hams hanging from the ceiling, its bunches of dried herbs and strings of onions depending from hooks in the comers, its wide fireplace and general warmth and cheeriness, formed the background of group which roused some sense of the artistic in Mrs. Trippett usually matter-of-fact intellect. On the long settle which stretched on one side of the hearth sat four shock-
headed ploughboys, leaning shoulder to shoulder; in an easy-chair opposite sat the red-cheeked maid-ser- vant; close to her, on low stool, sat little girl with Mrs. Trippett features and eyes, whose sunny hair fell
in wavy masses over her shoulders; behind her, hands in pockets, sturdy and strong, stood miniature edition
great
a
a
a
it,
's
a
's a
a
if
I
* '*
aa
'
*
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 25
of Mr. Trippett, even to the sandy hair, the breeches, and the gaiters; in the centre of the floor, at a round
table on which stood a great oil lamp, sat the porter, busy with a round of beef, a foaming tankard of ale,
and a crusty loaf. Of these eight human beings a similar peculiarity was evident. Each one sat with mouth more or less open—the ploughboys' mouths in particular had revolved themselves into round O's, while the porter, struck as it were in the very act of
mouth,
who stood on the hearth, his back to the fire, his face
glowing in the lamphght, winding up in a low and thrilling voice the last passages of what appeared to be a particularly blood-curdling narrative.
Mr. Trippett poked Mr. Pepperdine in the 'ribs.
* Seems to ha' fixed 'em,' he whispered. Gow— the lad's gotten the gift o' the gab! —he talks like a book. '
' H'sh,' commanded Mrs. Trippett.
' And so the body hung on the gibbet,' Lucian was saying, ' through all that winter, and the rain, and the hail, and the snow fell upon it, and when the spring came again there remained nothing but the bones of the brigand, and they were bleached as white as the eternal
snows; and Giacomo came and took them dow^i and buried them in the Httle cemetery under the cypress- trees; but the chain still dangles from the gibbet, and you may hear it rattle as you pass that way as it used to rattle when Luigi's bones hung swaying in the wind. '
The spell was broken; the porter sighed deeply, and
conveyed the interrupted forkful to his mouth; the ploughboys drew deep breaths, and looked as if they
had arisen from a deep sleep; the little girl, catching sight of her mother, ran to her with a cry of ' Is it true?
forking a large lump of beef into a cavernous
looked like a man who has suddenly become paralysed and cannot move. The maid-servant's eyes were wider than her mouth; the little girl shrank against the maid's apron as if afraid— it was only the sturdy boy in the rear who showed some symptoms of a faint smile. And the object upon which all eyes were fixed was Lucian,
26 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
Is it true? ' and Mr. Trippett brought everybody back to real life by loud calls for Mr. Pepperdine's horse and trap. Then followed the putting on of overcoats and wraps, and the bestowal of a glass of ginger- wine upon Lucian by Mr. Trippett, in order that the cold might be kept out, and then good-nights and God- speeds, and he was in the dogcart at Mr. Pepperdine's side, and the mare, very fresh, was speeding oyer the
six miles of highway which separated stable from her own.
Mr. Trippett's
necessary,
CHAPTER III
While Mr. Pepperdine refreshed himself at his friend's house, his sisters awaited the coming of himself and his charge with as much patience as they could summon to their aid. Each knew that patience was not only
but inevitable. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for Mr. Pepperdine to have driven straight home from the station and supped in
that, under the circumstances,
his own parlour, and
would have seemed the most reasonable thing to do. But Mr. Pepperdine made a rule of never passing the
Farm, and his sisters knew that he would tarry there on his homeward journey, accept Mrs. Trippett's invitation to tea, and spend an hour or two afterwards in convivial intercourse with Mr.
gates
of the Grange
and time Mr. Pepperdine had occasion to travel by train; and the Misses Pepperdine knew that it would
go on taking place as long as their brother Simpson and his friends at the Grange Farm continued to exist.
At nine o'clock Miss Pepperdine, who had been
knitting by the parlour fire since seven, grew some-
what impatient.
' I think Simpson might have come home straight
Trippett. every
That took place every market-day
station,' she said in sharp, decided tones. ' The child is sure to be tired. '
from the
Miss Judith Pepperdine, engaged on fancy needle- work on the opposite side of the hearth, shook her head. ' Simpson never passes the Grange,' she said.
' That night I came with him from Oakborough last winter, I couldn't get him to come home. He coaxed me to go in for just ten minutes, and we had to stop four hours. '
Miss Pepperdine sniffed. Her needles clicked vigor- ously for a few minutes longer; she laid them down at a
27
28 LUCIAN THE DREAMER
quarter past nine, went across the parlour to a cup- board, unlocked it, produced a spirit-case and three glasses, and set them on the table in the middle of the room. At the same moment a tap sounded on the door, and a maid entered bearing a jug of hot water, a dish of lemons, and a bowl of sugar. She was about to leave the room after setting her tray down when
Miss Pepperdine stopped her.
* I wonder what the boy had better have, Judith? '
she said, looking at her sister. ' He's sure to have had a good tea at the Grange — Sarah Trippett would see to that—but he'll be cold. Some hot milk, I should think. Bring some new milk in the brass pan, Anne,
and another glass—I'll heat it myself over this fire. ' Then, without waiting to hear whether Miss Judith
approved the notion of hot milk or not, she sat down to her knitting again, and when the maid had brought
the brass pan and the glass and withdrawn, the parlour became hushed and silent.
It was an old-world room —there was not an article of furniture in it that was less than a hundred years old, and the old silver and old china arranged in the cabinets and on the side- tables were as antiquated as the chairs, the old bureau, and the pictures. Everything was old, good, and sub- stantial; everything smelled of a bygone age and of dried rose-leaves.
The two sisters, facing each other across the hearth, were in thorough keeping with the old-world atmo- sphere of their parlour. Miss Keziah Pepperdine, senior member of the family, and by no means afraid of admitting that she had attained her fiftieth year, was tall and well-built; a fine figure of a woman, with a handsome face, jet-black hair, and eyes of a decided keenness. There was character and decision in her every movement; in her sharp, incisive speech; in her quick glance; and in the nervous, resolute click of her knitting needles. As she knitted, she kept her lips pursed tightly together and her eyes fixed upon her work: it needed little observation to make sure that
Judith
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
29
whatever Miss Pepperdine did would be done with resolution and thoroughness. She was a woman to be respected rather than loved; feared more than honoured; and there was a flash in her hawk's eyes, and a grim- ness about her mouth, which indicated a temper that could strike with force and purpose. Further indica- tions of her character were seen in her attire, which was severely simple — a gown of black, unrelieved by any speck of white, hanging in prim, straight folds, and utterly unadorned, but, to a knowing eye, fashioned of most excellent and costly material.
Pepperdine, many years younger than her sister, was dressed in black too, but the sombreness of her attire was relieved by white cuffs and collar, and by a very long thin gold chain, which was festooned twice round her neck ere it sought refuge in the watch- pocket at her waist. She had a slender figure of great elegance, and was proud of it, just as she was proud of the fact that at forty years of age she was still a pretty woman. There was something of the girl still left in her: some dreaminess of eye, a suspicion of coquetry, an innate desire to please the other sex and to be admired by men. Her cheek was still smooth and peach-like; her eyes still bright, and her brown hair glossy; old maid that she undoubtedly was, there were
many good-looking girls in the district who had not half her attractions. To her natural good looks Judith Pepperdine added a native refinement and elegance; she knew how to move about a room and walk the village street. Her smile was famous — old Dr. Stub- bins, of Normanfold, an authority in such matters, said
that for sweetness and charm he would back Judith Pepperdine 's smile against the world.
There were many people who wondered why the handsome Miss Pepperdine had never married, but there was scarcely one who knew why she had remained and meant to remain single. Soon after the marriage of her sister Lucy to Cyprian Damerel, Judith developed a love-affair of her own with a dash-
30
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
ing cavalry man, a sergeant of the 13th Hussars, then quartered at Oakborough. He was a handsome young man, the son of a local farmer, and his ambition had been for soldiering from boyhood. Coming into the neighbourhood in all his glory, and often meeting Judith at the houses of mutual friends, he had soon laid siege to her and captured her susceptible heart. Their engagement was kept secret, for old Mrs. Pepperdine had almost as great an objection to soldiers as to foreigners, and would have considered a non-commis- sioned officer beneath her daughter's notice. The sergeant, however, had aspirations—it was his hope to secure a commission in an infantry regiment, and his ambition in this direction seemed likely to be furthered when his regiment was ordered out to India and presently engaged in a frontier campaign. But there his good luck came to an untimely end—he performed a brave action which won him the Victoria Cross, but he was so severely wounded in doing it that he died soon afterwards, and Judith's romance came to a bitter end. She had had many offers of marriage since, and had refused them all—the memory of the handsome Hussar still lived in her sentimental heart, and her most cherished possession was the cross which he had won and had not lived to receive. Time had healed the wound: she no longer experienced the pangs and sorrows of her first grief. Everything had been mel- lowed down into a soft regret, and the still living affec- tion for the memory of a dead man kept her heart young.
That night Judith for once in a while had no thought of her dead lover—she was thinking of the boy whom Simpson was bringing to them. She remembered Lucy with wondering thoughts, trying to recall her as she was when Cyprian Damerel took her away to London and a new life. None of her own people had ever seen Lucy again—they were stay-at-home folk, and the artist and his wife had spent most of their short married Hfe on the Continent. Now Damerel, too, was dead.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
31
and the boy was coming back to his mother's people,
and Judith, who was given to dreaming, speculated
much concerning him.
* I wonder,' she said, scarcely knowing that she
' I wonder what Lucian will be like. '
* And I wonder,' said Miss Pepperdine, ' if Damerel
spoke,
has left any money for him. '
* Surely ! ' exclaimed Judith. ' He earned such large
sums by his paintings. '
Miss Pepperdine's needles clicked more sharply than
ever.
' He spent large sums too,* she said. * I've heard of
the way in which he lived. He was an extravagant man, Uke most of his sort. That sort of money is earned easily and spent easily. With his ideas and his tastes, he ought to have been a duke. I hope he has provided for the boy—times are not as good as they might be. '
to Lucy's child, sister? ' said Judith timidly, and with a wistful glance at Miss Pepperdine 's stem countenance. 'I'm
* You would never begrudge anything
sure I shouldn't —he is welcome to all I have. '
* Umph ! ' replied Miss Pepperdine. ' Who talked of begrudging anything to the child? All I say is, I hope
his father has provided for him. '
made no answer to this remark, and the silence which followed was suddenly broken by the sound of wheels on the drive outside the house. Both
Judith
sisters rose to their feet; each showed traces of some emotion. Without a word they passed out of the room into the hall. The maid-servant had already opened the door, and in the light of the hanging lamp they saw their brother helping Lucian out of the dogcart* The sisters moved forward.
' Now, then, here we are ! ' said Mr. Pepperdine. * Home again, safe and sound, and no breakages. Lucian, my boy, here's your aunts Keziah and Judith. Take him in, lassies, and warm him — it's a keenish night. '
32
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
The boy stepped into the hall, and lifted his hat as he looked up at the two women.
* How do you do? ' he said politely.
Miss Pepperdine drew a quick breath. She took the outstretched hand and bent down and kissed the boy's cheek; in the lamplight she had seen her dead sister's eyes look out of the young face, and for the moment she could not trust herself to speak. Judith trembled all over; as the boy turned to her she put both arms round him and drew him into the parlour, and there embraced him warmly. He looked at her somewhat wonderingly and critically, and then responded to her embrace.
one. '
Judith kissed him again. She had fallen in love with
' You are my Aunt Judith,' he said. ' Uncle Pepperdine told me about you. You are the handsome
him on the spot.
' Yes, I am your Aunt Judith, my dear,' she said.
' And I am very, very glad to see you—we are all glad. ' She still held him in her arms, looking at him long
and hungrily. Miss Pepperdine came in, businesslike and bustling; she had lingered in the hall, ostensibly to give an order to the servant, but in reality to get rid of a tear or two.
* Now, then, let me have a look at him,' she said, and drew the boy ' out of Judith's hands and turned him to the light. Your Aunt ' Judith,' she continued as she scanned him critically, is the handsome one, as I heard you say just now—I'm the ugly one. Do you think you'll like me? '
Lucian stared back at her with a glance as keen and searching as her own. He looked her through and through.
' Yes,' he said, ' Ilike you. Ithink ' He paused and smiled a little.
' You think— what? '
* I think you might be cross sometimes, but you're good,' he said, still staring at her.
'No,'
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
33
Miss Pepperdine laughed. Judith knew that she was conquered.
' Well, you'll find out,' said Miss Pepperdine. ' Now, then, off with your coat—are you hungry? '
answered Lucian. ' I ate too much at Mrs. Trippett's — EngUsh people have such big meals, I think. '
' Give him a drop of something warm,* said Mr. Pepperdine, entering 'with much rubbing of hands and stamping of feet. 'Tis cold as Christmas, driving through them woods 'twixt here and Wellsby. '
Miss Pepperdine set the brass pan on the fire, and presently handed Lucian a glass of hot milk, and pro- duced an old-fashioned biscuit-box from the cupboard. The boy sat down near Judith, ate and drank, and looked about him, all unconscious that the two women and the man were watching him with all their eyes.
' I like this room better than Mrs. Trippett's,' he said suddenly. ' Hers is a pretty room, but this shows more taste. And all the furniture is Chippendale! '
' Bless his heart ! ' said Miss Pepperdine, * so it is. How did you know that, my dear? '
' I know a lot about old furniture,* he said; ' my father taught me. ' He yawned and looked apologetic.
Lucian stared at her.
' I think I should like to go to bed,' he added, glanc- ing at Miss Pepperdine. ' I am sleepy —we have been travelling all day. '
rose from her chair with alacrity. She was pining to get the boy all to herself.
Judith
' I'll take him to his room,' she said. ' Come along, dear, your room is all ready for you. '
The boy shook hands with Aunt Keziah. She kissed him again and patted his head. He crossed over to Mr. Pepperdine, who was pulling off his boots.
'I'll go riding with you in the morning,' he said. ' After breakfast, I suppose, eh? '
' Ay, after breakfast,' answered Mr. Pepperdine. ' I'll tell John to have the pony ready. Good-night,
C
34
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
my lad; your Aunt Judith'll see you're all comfortable. ' Lucian shook hands with his uncle, and went cheer- fully away with Judith. Miss Pepperdine sighed as
the door closed upon them.
' He's the very image of Cyprian Damerel,' she said;
* but he has Lucy's eyes. '
* He's a fine Httle lad,' said Mr. Pepperdine. * An
uncommon fine little lad, and quite the gentleman. I'm proud of him. '
He had got into his slippers by this time, and he cast a longing eye at the spirit-case on the table. Miss Pepperdine rose, produced an old-fashioned pewter thimble, measured whisky into it, poured it into a tumbler, added lemon, sugar, and hot water, and handed it to her brother, who received it with an expression of gratitude, and sipped it critically. She measured a less quantity into two other glasses and mixed each with similar ingredients.
' That's a blessing,' said Mr. Pepperdine, stretching his legs.
Miss Pepperdine put away her knitting, removed the spirit-case into the cupboard, locked the door and put the key in her pocket, and took up the little tray on which she had placed the tumblers intended for herself and her sister. But on the verge of leaving the room she paused and looked at her brother.
* We were glad you got there in time, Simpson,' she said. ' And you did right to bring the child home— it was the right thing to do. I hope Damerel has made provision for him? '
Mr. Pepperdine was seized with a mighty yawning. * Oh ay! ' he said as soon as he could speak. * The
* Judith
won't be coming down again,' she said. 'I'll take her tumbler up to her room; and I'm going
to bed myself—we've had a long day with churning. You'll not want any news to-night, Simpson; it'll keep till to-morrow, and there's Httle to tell—all's gone on right. '
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
35
lad's all right, Keziah—all right. Everything's in my
hands —yes, it's all right. '
' You must tell me about it afterwards,' said Miss
* I'll go now—I just want to see that the boy has all he wants. Good-night, Simpson. '
Pepperdine.
Good-night, my lass, good-night,' said the farmer. * I'll just look round and be off to bed myself. '
Miss Pepperdine left the room and closed the door;
her brother heard the ancient staircase creak as she
climbed to the sleeping-chambers. He waited a few minutes, and then, rising from his chair, he produced a key from his pocket, walked over to the old bureau, imlocked a small cupboard, and brought forth a bottle of whisky. He drew the cork with a meditative air and added a liberal dose of spirit to that handed to him by his sister. He replaced the bottle and locked up the cupboard, poured a little more hot water into his
and sipped the strengthened mixture with
glass,
approbation.
tion in the old mirror above the chimney-piece, and sat down before the fire to enjoy his nightcap in privacy and comfort.
Then he winked solemnly at his reflec-
CHAPTER IV
LuciAN went to sleep in a chamber smelling of lavender. He was very tired, and passed into a land of gentle dreams as soon as his head touched the pillow. Almost before he realised that he was falling asleep he was wide awake again and it was morning. Broad rays of sunlight flooded the room; he heard the notes of many birds singing outside the window; it was plain that another day was already hastening to noon. He
glanced at his watch: it was eight o'clock. Lucian left his bed, drew up the blind, and looked out of the
window.
He had seen nothing of Simonstower on the previous
evening: it had seemed to him that after leaving Mr. Trippett's farmstead he and Mr. Pepperdine had been swallowed up in deep woods. He had remarked during the course of the journey that the woods smelled like the pine forests of Ravenna, and Mr. Pepperdine had answered that there was a deal of pine thereabouts and Ukewise fir. Out of the woods they had not emerged until they drove into the lights of a village, clattered across a bridge which spanned a brawling stream, and climbed a winding road that led them into more woods. Then had come the open door, and the new faces, and bed, and now Lucian had his first opportunity of look- ing about him.
The house stood halfway up a hillside. He saw, on leaning out of the window, that it was stoutly fashioned of great blocks of grey stone and that some of the upper portions were timbered with mighty oak beams. Over the main doorway, a little to the right of his window, a slab of weather-worn stone exhibited a coat of arms, an almost illegible motto or legend, of which he could only make out a few letters, and the initials ' S. P. ' over the date 1594. The house, then, was of a respect-
30
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 37
able antiquity, and he was pleased because of it. He was pleased, too, to find the greater part of its exterior half obscured b^ ivy, jessamine, climbing rose-trees, honeysuckle, and wistaria, and that the garden which stretched before it was green and shady and old- fashioned. He recognised some features of it—the old, moss-grown sun-dial; the arbour beneath the copper- beech; the rustic bench beneath the lilac-tree—he had seen one or other of these things in his father's pictures,
and now knew what memories had placed them there.
further afield Lucian now saw the village through which they had driven in the darkness. It lay in the valley, half a mile beneath him, a quaint, pic-
Looking
street, in which at that moment he saw many children running about.
turesque place of one long straggling
The houses and cottages were all of grey stone; some were thatched, some roofed with red tiles; each stood amidst gardens and orchards. He now saw the bridge over which Mr. Pepper^ine's mare had clattered the night before — a high, single arch spanning a winding
river thickly fenced in from the meadows by alder and willow. Near it on rising ground stood the church, square-towered, high of roof and gable, in the rnidst
of a green churchyard which in one comer contained the fallen masonry of some old abbey or priory. On the opposite side of the river, in a small square which seemed to indicate the forum of the village, stood the inn, easily recognisable even at that distance by the pole which stood outside bearing aloft swinging sign, and by the size of the stables surrounding it. This picture, too, was famihar to the boy's eyes—he
had seen in pictures thousand times.
Over the village, frowning upon as lion frowns
upon the victim at its feet, hung the grim, gaunt castle which, after all, was the principal feature of the land- scape on which Lucian gazed. It stood on spur of rocky ground which jutted like promontory from the hills behind —on three sides at least its situation was
impregnable.
From Lucian's point of vantage still
it
a it
a
a
a
it
it
a
it,
38
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
wore the aspect of strength and power; the rustic walls were undamaged; the smaller towers and turrets showed httle sign of decay; and the great Norman keep rose like a menace in stone above the skyline of the hills. All over the giant mass of the old stronghold hung a drifting cloud of blue smoke, which gradually mingled with the spirals rising from the village chimneys and with the shadowy mists that curled about the pine-clad uplands. And over everything —village, church, river, castle, meadow, and hill, man and beast—shone the
spring sun, hfe-giving and generous. Lucian looked and saw and understood, and made haste to dress in
order that he might go out and possess all these things. He had a quick eye for beauty and an unerring taste, and he recognised that in this village of the grey North there was a charm and a romance which nothing could exhaust. His father had recognised its beauty before him and had immortahsed it on canvas; Lucian, lack- ing the power to make a picture of had yet keener aesthetic sense of its appeal and its influence. It was
thousand voices — he was that he grudged the time Miss Pepperdine expressed some fears as to the poorness of his appetite; Miss
already calling to him with so impatient to revel in
given to his breakfast.
Judith, understanding the boy's eagerness somewhat better, crammed thick shoe of cake into his pocket as he set out. He was in such haste that he had only time to tell Mr. Pepperdine that he would not ride the pony that morning—he was going to explore the vil- lage, and the pony might wait. Then he ran off, eager, excited.
