He had seen nothing of
Simonstower
on the previous
evening: it had seemed to him that after leaving Mr.
evening: it had seemed to him that after leaving Mr.
Fletcher - Lucian the Dreamer
' 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.
He came back at noon, hungry as ploughman, delighted with his morning's adventures. He had been all over the village, in the church tower, inside the inn, where he had chatted with the landlord and the land- lady, he had looked inside the infants' school and praised the red cloaks worn by the girls to an evi-
dently surprised acquaintance
schoolmistress, and he had formed an with the blacksmith and the carpenter.
a
a
it
a
it,
a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 39
* And I went up to the castle, too,' he said in con- clusion, ' and saw the earl, and he showed me the picture which my father painted —it is hanging in the great hall. ' Lucian's relatives betrayed various emo-
tions. Mr. Pepperdine's mouth slowly opened until it became cavernous; Miss Pepperdine paused in the act of lifting a potato to her mouth; Miss Judith clapped her hands.
' You went to the castle and saw the earl? ' said
Miss Pepperdine.
' Yes,' answered Lucian, unaware of the sensation
he was causing. ' I saw him and the picture, and other things too. He was very kind—he made his foot- man give me a glass of wine, but it was home-made and much too sweet. '
Mr. Pepperdine winked at his sisters and cut Lucian another slice of roast-beef.
' And how might you have come to be so hand-in- glove with his lordship, the mighty Earl of Simons- tower? ' he inquired. ' He's a very nice, affable old
isn't he, Keziah? Ah—very—specially when he's got the gout. '
gentleman,
* Oh, I went to the castle and rang the bell, and asked if the Earl of Simonstower was at home,' Lucian
' And I told the footman my name, and he went away, and then came back and told me to follow him, and he took me into a big study where there was an old, very cross-looking old gentleman in an old- fashioned coat writing letters. He had very keen
replied.
eyes
. . . '
' Ah, indeed! ' interrupted Mr. Pepperdine. ' Like
a hawk's! '
* . . . and he stared at me,* continued Lucian,
' and I stared at him. And then he said, " Well, my boy, what do you want? " and I said, " Please, if you are the Earl of Simonstower, I want to see the picture you bought from my father some years ago. " Then he stared harder than ever, and he said, " Are you Cyprian Damerel's son? " and I said "Yes. '* He
40
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
pointed to a chair and told me to sit down, and he talked about my father and his work, and then he took me out to look at the pictures. He wanted to know if I, too, was going to paint, and I had to tell him that I couldn't draw at all, and that I meant to be a poet. Then he showed me his library, or a part of it—I stopped with him a long time, and he shook hands with me when I left, and said I might go again whenever I wished to. '
' Hear, hear! ' said Mr. Pepperdine. ' It's very evident there's a soft spot somewhere in the old gentle- man's heart. '
' And what did his lordship talk to you about? ' asked Miss Pepperdine, who had sufficiently recovered from her surprise to resume her dinner. ' I hope you said '' my lord '' and '' your lordship *' when you spoke to him? '
' No, I didn't, because I didn't know,' said Lucian. ' I said '* sir," because he was an old man. Oh, we talked about Italy—fancy, he hasn't been in Italy for
twenty years! —and he asked me a lot of questions about several things, and he got me to translate a letter for him which he had just received from a professor at Florence—his own Italian, he said, is getting rusty. '
' And could you do it? * asked Miss Pepperdine. Lucian stared at her with wide-open eyes.
' Why, yes,' he answered. * It is my native tongue.
I know much, much more Italian than
Sometimes I cannot find the right word in English —it is a difficult language to learn. '
Lucian's adventures of his first morning pleased Mr. Pepperdine greatly. He chuckled to himself as he smoked his after-dinner pipe—the notion of his nephew bearding the grim old earl in his tumble-down castle was vastly gratifying and amusing : it was also pleasing to find Lucian treated with such politeness. As the Earl of Simonstower's tenant Mr. Pepperdine had much respect but httle affection for his titled neighbour: the old gentleman was arbitrary and autocratic and totally
English.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 41
deaf to whatever might be said to him about bad times.
Mr. Pepperdine was glad to get some small change out
of the earl through his nephew. ' * Did his lordship mention me or your aunties at all?
he said, puffing at his pipe as they all sat round the
parlour fire.
' Yes,' answered Lucian, * he spoke of you. *
' And what did he say Uke? Something sweet, no doubt,' said Mr. Pepperdine.
Lucian looked at Miss Judith and made no answer.
* Out with it, lad ! ' said Mr. Pepperdine.
' It was only about Aunt Judith,' answered Lucian.
' He said she was a very pretty woman. '
in bursts of hearty laughter; Miss Judith blushed Uke any girl; Miss Pepperdine snorted with indignation. She was about
to make some remark on the old nobleman's taste when a diversion was caused by the announcement that Lucian 's beloved chest of books had arrived from Wellsby station. Nothing would satisfy the boy but that he must unpack them there and then; he seized Miss Judith by the hand and dragged her away to help him. For the rest of the afternoon the two were
arranging the books in an old bookcase which they unearthed from a lumber-room and set up in Lucian 's sleeping chamber. Mr. Pepperdine, looking in upon them once or twice and notmg their fervour, retired to the parlour or the kitchen with a remark to his elder sister that they were as throng as Throp's wife. Judith, indeed, had some taste in the way of literature —in her own room she treasured a collection of volumes which she had read over and over again. Her taste was
Mr. Pepperdine exploded
Moore, Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon, and the sentimentalists; she treasured a steel-
chiefly for Lord Byron,
of Byron as if it had been a sacred picture, and gazed with awe upon her nephew when he
told her that he had seen the palazzo in which Byron lived during his residence in Pisa, and the house which he had occupied in Venice. Her own romance had
plate engraving
42
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
given Judith a love of poetry: she told Lucian as she
him to unpack his books and arrange them that she should expect him to read to her. Modern literature was an unexplored field in her case; her know- ledge of letters was essentially early Victorian, and her ideas those of the age in which a poet was most popular when most miserable, and young ladies wore white stockings and low shoes with ankle-straps. She associated fiction with high waists, and essays with full-bottomed wigs, and it seemed the most natural thing to her to shed the tear of sympathy over the Corsair and to sigh with pity for Childe Harold.
helped
CHAPTER V
LuciAN settled down in his new surroundings with a readiness and docility that surprised his relatives. He rarely made any allusion to the loss of his father—he appeared to possess a philosophic spirit that enabled him, even at so early an age, to accept the facts of life
backward, however, in talking of the past. He had been his father's constant
as they are. He was never
companion for six years, and had travelled with him wherever he went, especially in Italy, and he brought out of his memory stores of reminiscences with which to interest and amuse his newly found relatives. He would talk to Mr. Pepperdine of Italian agriculture; to Keziah of ItaHan domestic life; to Judith of the treasures of Rome and Naples, Pisa and Florence, of the blue skies and sun-kissed groves of his native land. He always insisted on his nationahty—the accident of his connection with England on the maternal side seemed to have no meaning for him.
' I am Italian,' he would say when Mr. Pepperdine slyly teased him. ' It does not matter that I was bom in England. My real name is Luciano Damerelli, and my father's, if he had used was Cypriano. '
Little by little they began to find out the boy's quaH- ties and characteristics. He was strangely old- fashioned, precocious, and unnaturally grave, and cared little for the society of other children, at whom he had trick of staring as they had been insects impaled beneath microscope and he scientist examin- ing them. He appeared to have two great passions—
one for out-door life and nature; the other for reading. He would sit for hours on the bridge watching the river run by, or lie on his back on the lawn in front of the house staring at the drifting clouds. He knew every nook of the ruinous part of the castle and every comer
43
a
a
a
it, if
44
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
of the old church before he had been at Simonstower many weeks. He made friends with everybody in the village, and if he found out that an old man had some strange legend to tell, he pestered the life out of him until it was told. And every day he did so much read- ing, always with the stem concentration of the student who means to possess a full mind.
When Lucian had been nearly two months at the farm it was borne in upon Miss Pepperdine's mind that he ought to be sent to school. She was by no means anxious to get rid of him—on the contary she was glad to have him in the house: she loved to hear him talk, to see him going about, and to watch his various pro- ceedings. But Keziah Pepperdine had been endowed at birth with the desire to manage—she was one of those people who are never happy unless they are con- trolling, devising, or superintending. — Moreover, she possessed a very strict sense of justice she believed in doing one's duty, especially to those people to whom duty was owing, and who could not extract it for them- selves. It seemed to her that it was the plain duty of Lucian 's relatives to send Lucian to school. She was full of anxieties for his future. Every attempt which she had made to get her brother to tell her anj^hing about the boy's affairs had resulted in sheer failure— Simpson Pepperdine, celebrated from the North Sea to the Westmoreland border as the easiest-going and best- natured man that ever lived, was a past master in the art of evading direct questions. Keziah could get no information from him, and she was anxious for Lucian 's
sake. The boy, she said, ought to be fitted out for some walk in life.
She took the vicar into her confidence, seizing the opportunity when he called one day and found no one but herself at home.
' Of course,' she said, ' the boy is a great bookworm. Reading is all that he seems to care about. He brought a quantity of books with him—he has bought others since. He reads in an old-fashioned sort of way—not
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 45
as you would think a child would. I offered him a child's book one night—it was one that a little boy who
once stayed here had left in the house. politely enough, and pretended to look at plain to see that he was amused. He child, Mr. Chilverstone. '
He took it but was precocious
The vicar agreed. He suggested that he might be better able to judge the situation, and to advise Miss Pepper-
thereon, he were allowed to inspect Lucian's library, and Keziah accordingly escorted him to the boy's room. Mr. Chilverstone was somewhat taken aback on being confronted by an assemblage of some three or four hundred volumes, arranged with great precision and bearing evidences of constant use. He remarked that the sight was most interesting, and pro- ceeded to make general inspection. rapid survey of Lucian's books showed him that the boy had three favourite subjects —history, mediaeval romance, and
dine
There were histories of almost every country in Europe, and at least three of the United States of
poetry.
chronicles; th great ItaHan poets were all there in the original; the English poets, ancient and modem, were there too,
America; there were editions of the ancient
in editions that bespoke the care of book-lover. There was nothing of juvenile, or even frivolous nature from the top of the old bookcase to the bottom—the nearest approach to anything in the shape of light litera- ture was found in the presence of certain famous histori- cal romances of undoubted verisimilitude, and in much- thumbed copies of Robinson Crusoe and The Pilgrim's Progress.
Air. Chilverstone was puzzled. As at least one-half of the books before him were in Italian, he concluded that Lucicin was as well acquainted with that language as with EngHsh, and said so. Miss Pepperdine
him on the point, and gave him rapid sketch of Lucian's history.
enlightened
so, just so,' said he. 'No doubt the boy's father formed his taste. It really most interesting.
Just
is
'
a
it
a
a
if
a a
A is
a it,
46
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
It is very evident that the child has an uncommon mind —you say that he reads with great attention and con- centration? '
* You might let off a cannon at his elbow and he wouldn't take any notice,' said Miss Pepperdine.
' It is evident that he is a born student. This is a capital collection of modem histories,' said Mr. Chilver- stone. * If your nephew has read and digested them all he must be well informed as to the rise and progress of nations. I should like, I think, to have an oppor- tunity of conversing with him. '
Although he did not say so to Miss Pepperdine, the vicar was secretly anxious to find out what had diverted the boy's attention from the usual pursuits of child- hood into these paths. He contrived to waylay Lucian and to draw him into conversation, and being a man of some talent and of considerable sympathy, he soon knew all that the boy had to tell. He found that Lucian had never received any education of the ordi- nary type; had never been to school or known tutor or governess. He could not remember who taught him to read, but cherished a notion that reading and writ- ing had come to him with his speech. As to his choice of books, that had largely had its initiative in his father's recommendation; but there had been a further incentive in the fact that the boy had travelled a great deal, was familiar with many historic scenes and places, and had a natural desire to re-create the past in his own imagination. For six years, in short, he had been receiving an education such as few children are privi- leged to acquire. He talked of mediaeval Italy as if he
had Uved in its sunny-tinted hours, and of modem Rome as though it lay in the next parish. But Mr. Chilverstone saw that the boy was in no danger of becoming either prig or pedant, and that his mind was as normal as his body was healthy. He was the mere outcome of an exceptional environment. He had Hved amongst men who talked and worked and thought but with one object—Art—and their enthusiasm had filled
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 47
him too. * I am to be a poet—a great poet,' he said, with serious face and a straight stare from the violet eyes whose beauty brought everybody captive to his feet. ' It is my destiny. ' locked
Mr. Chilverstone had a sheaf of yellow papers
away in a secret drawer which he had never exhibited to living man or woman—verses written in long dead college days. He was sentimental about them still, and the sentiment inclined him to tenderness with youthful genius. He assured Lucian that he sincerely trusted that he might achieve his heart's desire, and
added a word of good advice as to the inadvisability of writing too soon. But he discovered that some one had been beforehand with the boy on that point—the
future poet, with a touch of worldly
sounded as odd as it was quaint, assured the parson that he had a horror of immaturity and had been com- manded by his father never to print anything until it had stood the test of cool-headed reflection and twelve months' keeping.
But in presenting report to Miss Pepperdine the vicar said that it would do the boy good to go to school. He would mix with
him with its complexities.
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.
He came back at noon, hungry as ploughman, delighted with his morning's adventures. He had been all over the village, in the church tower, inside the inn, where he had chatted with the landlord and the land- lady, he had looked inside the infants' school and praised the red cloaks worn by the girls to an evi-
dently surprised acquaintance
schoolmistress, and he had formed an with the blacksmith and the carpenter.
a
a
it
a
it,
a
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 39
* And I went up to the castle, too,' he said in con- clusion, ' and saw the earl, and he showed me the picture which my father painted —it is hanging in the great hall. ' Lucian's relatives betrayed various emo-
tions. Mr. Pepperdine's mouth slowly opened until it became cavernous; Miss Pepperdine paused in the act of lifting a potato to her mouth; Miss Judith clapped her hands.
' You went to the castle and saw the earl? ' said
Miss Pepperdine.
' Yes,' answered Lucian, unaware of the sensation
he was causing. ' I saw him and the picture, and other things too. He was very kind—he made his foot- man give me a glass of wine, but it was home-made and much too sweet. '
Mr. Pepperdine winked at his sisters and cut Lucian another slice of roast-beef.
' And how might you have come to be so hand-in- glove with his lordship, the mighty Earl of Simons- tower? ' he inquired. ' He's a very nice, affable old
isn't he, Keziah? Ah—very—specially when he's got the gout. '
gentleman,
* Oh, I went to the castle and rang the bell, and asked if the Earl of Simonstower was at home,' Lucian
' And I told the footman my name, and he went away, and then came back and told me to follow him, and he took me into a big study where there was an old, very cross-looking old gentleman in an old- fashioned coat writing letters. He had very keen
replied.
eyes
. . . '
' Ah, indeed! ' interrupted Mr. Pepperdine. ' Like
a hawk's! '
* . . . and he stared at me,* continued Lucian,
' and I stared at him. And then he said, " Well, my boy, what do you want? " and I said, " Please, if you are the Earl of Simonstower, I want to see the picture you bought from my father some years ago. " Then he stared harder than ever, and he said, " Are you Cyprian Damerel's son? " and I said "Yes. '* He
40
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
pointed to a chair and told me to sit down, and he talked about my father and his work, and then he took me out to look at the pictures. He wanted to know if I, too, was going to paint, and I had to tell him that I couldn't draw at all, and that I meant to be a poet. Then he showed me his library, or a part of it—I stopped with him a long time, and he shook hands with me when I left, and said I might go again whenever I wished to. '
' Hear, hear! ' said Mr. Pepperdine. ' It's very evident there's a soft spot somewhere in the old gentle- man's heart. '
' And what did his lordship talk to you about? ' asked Miss Pepperdine, who had sufficiently recovered from her surprise to resume her dinner. ' I hope you said '' my lord '' and '' your lordship *' when you spoke to him? '
' No, I didn't, because I didn't know,' said Lucian. ' I said '* sir," because he was an old man. Oh, we talked about Italy—fancy, he hasn't been in Italy for
twenty years! —and he asked me a lot of questions about several things, and he got me to translate a letter for him which he had just received from a professor at Florence—his own Italian, he said, is getting rusty. '
' And could you do it? * asked Miss Pepperdine. Lucian stared at her with wide-open eyes.
' Why, yes,' he answered. * It is my native tongue.
I know much, much more Italian than
Sometimes I cannot find the right word in English —it is a difficult language to learn. '
Lucian's adventures of his first morning pleased Mr. Pepperdine greatly. He chuckled to himself as he smoked his after-dinner pipe—the notion of his nephew bearding the grim old earl in his tumble-down castle was vastly gratifying and amusing : it was also pleasing to find Lucian treated with such politeness. As the Earl of Simonstower's tenant Mr. Pepperdine had much respect but httle affection for his titled neighbour: the old gentleman was arbitrary and autocratic and totally
English.
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 41
deaf to whatever might be said to him about bad times.
Mr. Pepperdine was glad to get some small change out
of the earl through his nephew. ' * Did his lordship mention me or your aunties at all?
he said, puffing at his pipe as they all sat round the
parlour fire.
' Yes,' answered Lucian, * he spoke of you. *
' And what did he say Uke? Something sweet, no doubt,' said Mr. Pepperdine.
Lucian looked at Miss Judith and made no answer.
* Out with it, lad ! ' said Mr. Pepperdine.
' It was only about Aunt Judith,' answered Lucian.
' He said she was a very pretty woman. '
in bursts of hearty laughter; Miss Judith blushed Uke any girl; Miss Pepperdine snorted with indignation. She was about
to make some remark on the old nobleman's taste when a diversion was caused by the announcement that Lucian 's beloved chest of books had arrived from Wellsby station. Nothing would satisfy the boy but that he must unpack them there and then; he seized Miss Judith by the hand and dragged her away to help him. For the rest of the afternoon the two were
arranging the books in an old bookcase which they unearthed from a lumber-room and set up in Lucian 's sleeping chamber. Mr. Pepperdine, looking in upon them once or twice and notmg their fervour, retired to the parlour or the kitchen with a remark to his elder sister that they were as throng as Throp's wife. Judith, indeed, had some taste in the way of literature —in her own room she treasured a collection of volumes which she had read over and over again. Her taste was
Mr. Pepperdine exploded
Moore, Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon, and the sentimentalists; she treasured a steel-
chiefly for Lord Byron,
of Byron as if it had been a sacred picture, and gazed with awe upon her nephew when he
told her that he had seen the palazzo in which Byron lived during his residence in Pisa, and the house which he had occupied in Venice. Her own romance had
plate engraving
42
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
given Judith a love of poetry: she told Lucian as she
him to unpack his books and arrange them that she should expect him to read to her. Modern literature was an unexplored field in her case; her know- ledge of letters was essentially early Victorian, and her ideas those of the age in which a poet was most popular when most miserable, and young ladies wore white stockings and low shoes with ankle-straps. She associated fiction with high waists, and essays with full-bottomed wigs, and it seemed the most natural thing to her to shed the tear of sympathy over the Corsair and to sigh with pity for Childe Harold.
helped
CHAPTER V
LuciAN settled down in his new surroundings with a readiness and docility that surprised his relatives. He rarely made any allusion to the loss of his father—he appeared to possess a philosophic spirit that enabled him, even at so early an age, to accept the facts of life
backward, however, in talking of the past. He had been his father's constant
as they are. He was never
companion for six years, and had travelled with him wherever he went, especially in Italy, and he brought out of his memory stores of reminiscences with which to interest and amuse his newly found relatives. He would talk to Mr. Pepperdine of Italian agriculture; to Keziah of ItaHan domestic life; to Judith of the treasures of Rome and Naples, Pisa and Florence, of the blue skies and sun-kissed groves of his native land. He always insisted on his nationahty—the accident of his connection with England on the maternal side seemed to have no meaning for him.
' I am Italian,' he would say when Mr. Pepperdine slyly teased him. ' It does not matter that I was bom in England. My real name is Luciano Damerelli, and my father's, if he had used was Cypriano. '
Little by little they began to find out the boy's quaH- ties and characteristics. He was strangely old- fashioned, precocious, and unnaturally grave, and cared little for the society of other children, at whom he had trick of staring as they had been insects impaled beneath microscope and he scientist examin- ing them. He appeared to have two great passions—
one for out-door life and nature; the other for reading. He would sit for hours on the bridge watching the river run by, or lie on his back on the lawn in front of the house staring at the drifting clouds. He knew every nook of the ruinous part of the castle and every comer
43
a
a
a
it, if
44
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
of the old church before he had been at Simonstower many weeks. He made friends with everybody in the village, and if he found out that an old man had some strange legend to tell, he pestered the life out of him until it was told. And every day he did so much read- ing, always with the stem concentration of the student who means to possess a full mind.
When Lucian had been nearly two months at the farm it was borne in upon Miss Pepperdine's mind that he ought to be sent to school. She was by no means anxious to get rid of him—on the contary she was glad to have him in the house: she loved to hear him talk, to see him going about, and to watch his various pro- ceedings. But Keziah Pepperdine had been endowed at birth with the desire to manage—she was one of those people who are never happy unless they are con- trolling, devising, or superintending. — Moreover, she possessed a very strict sense of justice she believed in doing one's duty, especially to those people to whom duty was owing, and who could not extract it for them- selves. It seemed to her that it was the plain duty of Lucian 's relatives to send Lucian to school. She was full of anxieties for his future. Every attempt which she had made to get her brother to tell her anj^hing about the boy's affairs had resulted in sheer failure— Simpson Pepperdine, celebrated from the North Sea to the Westmoreland border as the easiest-going and best- natured man that ever lived, was a past master in the art of evading direct questions. Keziah could get no information from him, and she was anxious for Lucian 's
sake. The boy, she said, ought to be fitted out for some walk in life.
She took the vicar into her confidence, seizing the opportunity when he called one day and found no one but herself at home.
' Of course,' she said, ' the boy is a great bookworm. Reading is all that he seems to care about. He brought a quantity of books with him—he has bought others since. He reads in an old-fashioned sort of way—not
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 45
as you would think a child would. I offered him a child's book one night—it was one that a little boy who
once stayed here had left in the house. politely enough, and pretended to look at plain to see that he was amused. He child, Mr. Chilverstone. '
He took it but was precocious
The vicar agreed. He suggested that he might be better able to judge the situation, and to advise Miss Pepper-
thereon, he were allowed to inspect Lucian's library, and Keziah accordingly escorted him to the boy's room. Mr. Chilverstone was somewhat taken aback on being confronted by an assemblage of some three or four hundred volumes, arranged with great precision and bearing evidences of constant use. He remarked that the sight was most interesting, and pro- ceeded to make general inspection. rapid survey of Lucian's books showed him that the boy had three favourite subjects —history, mediaeval romance, and
dine
There were histories of almost every country in Europe, and at least three of the United States of
poetry.
chronicles; th great ItaHan poets were all there in the original; the English poets, ancient and modem, were there too,
America; there were editions of the ancient
in editions that bespoke the care of book-lover. There was nothing of juvenile, or even frivolous nature from the top of the old bookcase to the bottom—the nearest approach to anything in the shape of light litera- ture was found in the presence of certain famous histori- cal romances of undoubted verisimilitude, and in much- thumbed copies of Robinson Crusoe and The Pilgrim's Progress.
Air. Chilverstone was puzzled. As at least one-half of the books before him were in Italian, he concluded that Lucicin was as well acquainted with that language as with EngHsh, and said so. Miss Pepperdine
him on the point, and gave him rapid sketch of Lucian's history.
enlightened
so, just so,' said he. 'No doubt the boy's father formed his taste. It really most interesting.
Just
is
'
a
it
a
a
if
a a
A is
a it,
46
LUCIAN THE DREAMER
It is very evident that the child has an uncommon mind —you say that he reads with great attention and con- centration? '
* You might let off a cannon at his elbow and he wouldn't take any notice,' said Miss Pepperdine.
' It is evident that he is a born student. This is a capital collection of modem histories,' said Mr. Chilver- stone. * If your nephew has read and digested them all he must be well informed as to the rise and progress of nations. I should like, I think, to have an oppor- tunity of conversing with him. '
Although he did not say so to Miss Pepperdine, the vicar was secretly anxious to find out what had diverted the boy's attention from the usual pursuits of child- hood into these paths. He contrived to waylay Lucian and to draw him into conversation, and being a man of some talent and of considerable sympathy, he soon knew all that the boy had to tell. He found that Lucian had never received any education of the ordi- nary type; had never been to school or known tutor or governess. He could not remember who taught him to read, but cherished a notion that reading and writ- ing had come to him with his speech. As to his choice of books, that had largely had its initiative in his father's recommendation; but there had been a further incentive in the fact that the boy had travelled a great deal, was familiar with many historic scenes and places, and had a natural desire to re-create the past in his own imagination. For six years, in short, he had been receiving an education such as few children are privi- leged to acquire. He talked of mediaeval Italy as if he
had Uved in its sunny-tinted hours, and of modem Rome as though it lay in the next parish. But Mr. Chilverstone saw that the boy was in no danger of becoming either prig or pedant, and that his mind was as normal as his body was healthy. He was the mere outcome of an exceptional environment. He had Hved amongst men who talked and worked and thought but with one object—Art—and their enthusiasm had filled
LUCIAN THE DREAMER 47
him too. * I am to be a poet—a great poet,' he said, with serious face and a straight stare from the violet eyes whose beauty brought everybody captive to his feet. ' It is my destiny. ' locked
Mr. Chilverstone had a sheaf of yellow papers
away in a secret drawer which he had never exhibited to living man or woman—verses written in long dead college days. He was sentimental about them still, and the sentiment inclined him to tenderness with youthful genius. He assured Lucian that he sincerely trusted that he might achieve his heart's desire, and
added a word of good advice as to the inadvisability of writing too soon. But he discovered that some one had been beforehand with the boy on that point—the
future poet, with a touch of worldly
sounded as odd as it was quaint, assured the parson that he had a horror of immaturity and had been com- manded by his father never to print anything until it had stood the test of cool-headed reflection and twelve months' keeping.
But in presenting report to Miss Pepperdine the vicar said that it would do the boy good to go to school. He would mix with
him with its complexities.
