CHAPTER XXXIII.

BRIGHTENING PROSPECTS.

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It was a day or two afterwards, that Mr. Gibson made time to ride

round by Hamley, desirous to learn more exact particulars of this

scheme for Roger than he could obtain from any extraneous source, and

rather puzzled to know whether he should interfere in the project or

not. The state of the case was this:--Osborne's symptoms were, in Mr.

Gibson's opinion, signs of his having a fatal disease. Dr. Nicholls

had differed from him on this head, and Mr. Gibson knew that the old

physician had had long experience, and was considered very skilful

in the profession. Still he believed that he himself was right, and,

if so, the complaint was one which might continue for years in the

same state as at present, or might end the young man's life in an

hour--a minute. Supposing that Mr. Gibson was right, would it be well

for Roger to be away where no sudden calls for his presence could

reach him--away for two years? Yet if the affair was concluded, the

interference of a medical man might accelerate the very evil to be

feared; and after all, Dr. Nicholls might be right, and the symptoms

might proceed from some other cause. Might? Yes. Probably did? No.

Mr. Gibson could not bring himself to say "yes" to this latter form

of sentence. So he rode on, meditating; his reins slack, his head

a little bent. It was one of those still and lovely autumn days

when the red and yellow leaves are hanging-pegs to dewy, brilliant

gossamer-webs; when the hedges are full of trailing brambles, loaded

with ripe blackberries; when the air is full of the farewell whistles

and pipes of birds, clear and short--not the long full-throated

warbles of spring; when the whirr of the partridge's wings is heard

in the stubble-fields, as the sharp hoof-blows fall on the paved

lanes; when here and there a leaf floats and flutters down to the

ground, although there is not a single breath of wind. The country

surgeon felt the beauty of the seasons perhaps more than most men.

He saw more of it by day, by night, in storm and sunshine, or in the

still, soft, cloudy weather. He never spoke about what he felt on

the subject; indeed, he did not put his feelings into words, even to

himself. But if his mood ever approached to the sentimental, it was

on such days as this. He rode into the stable-yard, gave his horse to

a man, and went into the house by a side entrance. In the passage he

met the Squire.

"That's capital, Gibson! what good wind blew you here? You'll have

some lunch? it's on the table, I only just this minute left the

room." And he kept shaking Mr. Gibson's hand all the time till he had

placed him, nothing loth, at the well-covered dining-table.

"What's this I hear about Roger?" said Mr. Gibson, plunging at once

into the subject.

"Aha! so you've heard, have you? It's famous, isn't it? He's a boy to

be proud of, is old Roger. Steady Roger; we used to think him slow,

but it seems to me that slow and sure wins the race. But tell me;

what have you heard? how much is known? Nay, you must have a glass

full. It's old ale, such as we don't brew now-a-days; it's as old

as Osborne. We brewed it that autumn, and we called it the young

squire's ale. I thought to have tapped it on his marriage, but I

don't know when that will come to pass, so we've tapped it now in

Roger's honour."

The old squire had evidently been enjoying the young squire's ale

to the verge of prudence. It was indeed as he said, "as strong as

brandy," and Mr. Gibson had to sip it very carefully as he ate his

cold roast beef.

"Well! and what have you heard? There's a deal to hear, and all good

news, though I shall miss the lad, I know that."

"I did not know it was settled; I only heard that it was in

progress."

"Well, it was only in progress, as you call it, till last Tuesday.

He never let me know anything about it, though; he says he thought I

might be fidgety with thinking of the pros and cons. So I never knew

a word on't till I had a letter from my Lord Hollingford--where is

it?" pulling out a great black leathern receptacle for all manner of

papers. And putting on his spectacles, he read aloud their headings.

"'Measurement of timber, new railings,' 'drench for cows, from Farmer

Hayes,' 'Dobson's accounts,'--'um 'um--here it is. Now read that

letter," handing it to Mr. Gibson.

It was a manly, feeling, sensible letter, explaining to the old

father in very simple language the services which were demanded

by the terms of the will to which he and two or three others were

trustees; the liberal allowance for expenses, the still more liberal

reward for performance, which had tempted several men of considerable

renown to offer themselves as candidates for the appointment. Lord

Hollingford then went on to say that, having seen a good deal of

Roger lately, since the publication of his article in reply to the

French osteologist, he had had reason to think that in him the

trustees would find united the various qualities required in a

greater measure than in any of the applicants who had at that time

presented themselves. Roger had deep interest in the subject; much

acquired knowledge, and at the same time, great natural powers of

comparison, and classification of facts; he had shown himself to be

an observer of a fine and accurate kind; he was of the right age, in

the very prime of health and strength, and unshackled by any family

ties. Here Mr. Gibson paused for consideration. He hardly cared to

ascertain by what steps the result had been arrived at--he already

knew what that result was; but his mind was again arrested as his eye

caught on the remuneration offered, which was indeed most liberal;

and then he read with attention the high praise bestowed on the

son in this letter to the father. The Squire had been watching Mr.

Gibson--waiting till he came to this part--and he rubbed his hands

together as he said,--

"Ay! you've come to it at last. It's the best part of the whole,

isn't it? God bless the boy! and from a Whig, mind you, which makes

it the more handsome. And there's more to come still. I say, Gibson,

I think my luck is turning at last," passing him on yet another

letter to read. "That only came this morning; but I've acted on it

already, I sent for the foreman of the drainage works at once, I did;

and to-morrow, please God, they'll be at work again."

Mr. Gibson read the second letter, from Roger. To a certain degree

it was a modest repetition of what Lord Hollingford had said, with

an explanation of how he had come to take so decided a step in life

without consulting his father. He did not wish him to be in suspense

for one reason. Another was that he felt, as no one else could feel

for him, that by accepting this offer, he entered upon the kind of

life for which he knew himself to be most fitted. And then he merged

the whole into business. He said that he knew well the suffering his

father had gone through when he had had to give up his drainage works

for want of money; that he, Roger, had been enabled at once to raise

money upon the remuneration he was to receive on the accomplishment

of his two years' work; and that he had also insured his life, in

order to provide for the repayment of the money he had raised, in

case he did not live to return to England. He said that the sum he

had borrowed on this security would at once be forwarded to his

father.

Mr. Gibson laid down the letter without speaking a word for some

time; then he said,--"He'll have to pay a pretty sum for insuring his

life beyond seas."

"He's got his Fellowship money," said the Squire, a little depressed

at Mr. Gibson's remark.

"Yes; that's true. And he's a strong young fellow, as I know."

"I wish I could tell his mother," said the Squire in an under-tone.

"It seems all settled now," said Mr. Gibson, more in reply to his own

thoughts than to the Squire's remark.

"Yes!" said the Squire; "and they're not going to let the grass grow

under his feet. He's to be off as soon as he can get his scientific

traps ready. I almost wish he wasn't to go. You don't seem quite to

like it, doctor?"

"Yes, I do," said Mr. Gibson in a more cheerful tone than before. "It

can't be helped now without doing a mischief," thought he to himself.

"Why, Squire, I think it a great honour to have such a son. I envy

you, that's what I do. Here's a lad of three or four and twenty

distinguishing himself in more ways than one, and as simple and

affectionate at home as any fellow need to be--not a bit set up."

"Ay, ay; he's twice as much a son to me as Osborne, who has been all

his life set up on nothing at all, as one may say."

"Come, Squire, I mustn't hear anything against Osborne; we may praise

one, without hitting at the other. Osborne hasn't had the strong

health which has enabled Roger to work as he has done. I met a man

who knew his tutor at Trinity the other day, and of course we began

cracking about Roger--it's not every day that one can reckon a senior

wrangler amongst one's friends, and I'm nearly as proud of the lad

as you are. This Mr. Mason told me the tutor said that only half of

Roger's success was owing to his mental powers; the other half was

owing to his perfect health, which enabled him to work harder and

more continuously than most men without suffering. He said that in

all his experience he had never known any one with an equal capacity

for mental labour; and that he could come again with a fresh appetite

to his studies after shorter intervals of rest than most. Now I,

being a doctor, trace a good deal of his superiority to the material

cause of a thoroughly good constitution, which Osborne hasn't got."

"Osborne might have, if he got out o' doors more," said the Squire,

moodily; "but except when he can loaf into Hollingford he doesn't

care to go out at all. I hope," he continued, with a glance of sudden

suspicion at Mr. Gibson, "he's not after one of your girls? I don't

mean any offence, you know; but he'll have the estate, and it won't

be free, and he must marry money. I don't think I could allow it in

Roger; but Osborne's the eldest son, you know."

Mr. Gibson reddened; he was offended for a moment. Then the partial

truth of what the Squire said was presented to his mind, and he

remembered their old friendship, so he spoke quietly, if shortly.

"I don't believe there's anything of the kind going on. I'm not much

at home, you know; but I've never heard or seen anything that should

make me suppose that there is. When I do, I'll let you know."

"Now, Gibson, don't go and be offended. I'm glad for the boys to have

a pleasant house to go to, and I thank you and Mrs. Gibson for making

it pleasant. Only keep off love; it can come to no good. That's

all. I don't believe Osborne will ever earn a farthing to keep a

wife during my life, and if I were to die to-morrow, she would have

to bring some money to clear the estate. And if I do speak as I

shouldn't have done formerly--a little sharp or so--why, it's because

I've been worried by many a care no one knows anything of."

"I'm not going to take offence," said Mr. Gibson, "but let us

understand each other clearly. If you don't want your sons to come

as much to my house as they do, tell them so yourself. I like the

lads, and am glad to see them; but if they do come, you must take the

consequences, whatever they are, and not blame me, or them either,

for what may happen from the frequent intercourse between two young

men and two young women; and what is more, though, as I said, I see

nothing whatever of the kind you fear at present, and have promised

to tell you of the first symptoms I do see, yet farther than that

I won't go. If there's an attachment at any future time, I won't

interfere."

"I shouldn't so much mind if Roger fell in love with your Molly. He

can fight for himself, you see, and she's an uncommon nice girl. My

poor wife was so fond of her," answered the Squire. "It's Osborne and

the estate I'm thinking of!"

"Well, then, tell him not to come near us. I shall be sorry, but you

will be safe."

"I'll think about it; but he's difficult to manage. I've always to

get my blood well up before I can speak my mind to him."

Mr. Gibson was leaving the room, but at these words he turned and

laid his hand on the Squire's arm.

"Take my advice, Squire. As I said, there's no harm done as yet, as

far as I know. Prevention is better than cure. Speak out, but speak

gently to Osborne, and do it at once. I shall understand how it is if

he doesn't show his face for some months in my house. If you speak

gently to him, he'll take the advice as from a friend. If he can

assure you there's no danger, of course he'll come just as usual,

when he likes."

It was all very fine giving the Squire this good advice; but as

Osborne had already formed the very kind of marriage his father most

deprecated, it did not act quite as well as Mr. Gibson had hoped. The

Squire began the conversation with unusual self-control; but he grew

irritated when Osborne denied his father's right to interfere in any

marriage he might contemplate; denied it with a certain degree of

doggedness and weariness of the subject that drove the Squire into

one of his passions; and although, on after reflection, he remembered

that he had his son's promise and solemn word not to think of either

Cynthia or Molly for his wife, yet the father and son had passed

through one of those altercations which help to estrange men for

life. Each had said bitter things to the other; and, if the brotherly

affection had not been so true between Osborne and Roger, they

too might have become alienated, in consequence of the Squire's

exaggerated and injudicious comparison of their characters and deeds.

But as Roger in his boyhood had loved Osborne too well to be jealous

of the praise and love which the eldest son, the beautiful brilliant

lad, had received, to the disparagement of his own plain awkwardness

and slowness, so now Osborne strove against any feeling of envy or

jealousy with all his might; but his efforts were conscious, Roger's

had been the simple consequence of affection, and the end to poor

Osborne was that he became moody and depressed in mind and body; but

both father and son concealed their feelings in Roger's presence.

When he came home just before sailing, busy and happy, the Squire

caught his infectious energy, and Osborne looked up and was cheerful.

There was no time to be lost. He was bound to a hot climate, and must

take all advantage possible of the winter months. He was to go first

to Paris, to have interviews with some of the scientific men there.

Some of his outfit, instruments, &c., were to follow him to Havre,

from which port he was to embark, after transacting his business in

Paris. The Squire learnt all his arrangements and plans, and even

tried in after-dinner conversations to penetrate into the questions

involved in the researches his son was about to make. But Roger's

visit home could not be prolonged beyond two days.

The last day he rode into Hollingford earlier than he needed to have

done to catch the London coach, in order to bid the Gibsons good-by.

He had been too actively busy for some time to have leisure to bestow

much thought on Cynthia; but there was no need for fresh meditation

on that subject. Her image as a prize to be worked for, to be served

for seven years, and seven years more, was safe and sacred in his

heart. It was very bad, this going away, and wishing her good-by

for two long years; and he wondered much during his ride how far he

should be justified in telling her mother, perhaps in telling her own

sweet self, what his feelings were without expecting, nay, indeed

reprobating, any answer on her part. Then she would know at any

rate how dearly she was beloved by one who was absent; how in all

difficulties or dangers the thought of her would be a polar star,

high up in the heavens, and so on, and so on; for with all a lover's

quickness of imagination and triteness of fancy, he called her

a star, a flower, a nymph, a witch, an angel, or a mermaid, a

nightingale, a siren, as one or another of her attributes rose up

before him.