Chapter XV: Lionel's Cruel Speech

THE next occasion on which Dick spent a few hours at the Manor House, he was informed by Lionel that they could fire off the old blunderbuss as soon as ever there was a suitable opportunity, for the necessary ammunition had been procured, and was at the present moment hidden away in one of the disused rooms. The boys were alone together in the hall when Lionel imparted this information to his cousin.

"We'll try to slip away quietly to the woods by ourselves presently," Lionel said, carefully lowering his voice to a whisper for fear of being overheard, "and soon find out if the old gun's fit for anything. Mother's going for a drive, and she'll take Ruth with her; and grandfather's having his afternoon nap in the dining-room, so there'll be no one to interfere with us!"

Whilst he was speaking his mother and sister descended the wide staircase. The former smiled upon Dick, and gave him an affectionate kiss; she was moving away when a sudden thought struck her, and she paused as she was going out of the front door followed by her little daughter, and said impressively:—

"Remember what I told you about that old blunderbuss, Lionel! Ruth tells me you really spoke of firing it! Understand, I forbid you to attempt to do so. Where is it now?"

"Upstairs," Lionel answered shortly.

"That's right. I dislike fire-arms for playthings even when I know they are unloaded; that toy cannon of yours always makes me shudder!"

She nodded to the boys, and a few minutes later she and Ruth were driven away.

Dick had listened to his aunt's parting words with dismay and disappointment; he now turned a very serious countenance towards his cousin.

"What a pity!" he exclaimed.

"It's all Ruth's fault!" Lionel cried vindictively. "She's such a chatterbox, and repeats everything she hears! She hasn't found out that I've got the powder and shot, thank goodness! We'll fire off the blunderbuss in spite of her!"

"But Aunt Arabella said we were not to!" Dick objected, amazed that his cousin should contemplate such an act of deliberate disobedience, for he had been taught himself that to obey those set in authority over him was his plain duty in life.

"I know she said so," Lionel acknowledged with a frown, "but I mean to do as I like. We'll take the blunderbuss a long distance from the house, far away into the woods, and mother will never know whether we've been firing it or not!"

"Oh, Lionel! you don't mean it—you can't! It would be awfully wrong! And if she doesn't know we've disobeyed her, God will! Oh, you don't mean to be so wicked as that!"

"You miserable little coward!" Lionel cried irately. "What a funk you're in! Now it's coming to the point you're afraid to fire off the blunderbuss, I suppose!"

"No, I'm not," Dick replied, his eyes flashing angrily at this taunt; "but I'm not going to disobey Aunt Arabella. I won't go with you—there! I know what father would say about it!"

"Oh, do you? What, then?"

"That it's our duty to obey Aunt Arabella! I'm certain he'd think so! Father says the first lesson a soldier has to learn is to obey, and I'm going to be a soldier when I'm a man! I'm not a miserable little coward, and I dare you to say it!"

Dick was vastly indignant. As usual when deeply moved he had turned very pale.

Lionel glanced at him doubtfully, longing to box his ears soundly, and "put the youngster in his place," as he mentally expressed it; but he remembered the first occasion on which he and his cousin had met, and recalled the swift blow which had proved to him far more effectually than any words would have done, that Dick had a temper which it was unwise to rouse. Except for that one disagreement, the boys had been excellent friends until this moment, simply because Lionel had refrained from disparaging those Dick loved, and Dick had allowed him to take the lead in every way. Now it was a question of right and wrong, the younger boy refused to be led. He never for a moment hesitated, but flatly declined to join in an act of disobedience.

"Do you really mean you won't help me fire off the blunderbuss after all the trouble I've taken to get the powder and shot?" inquired Lionel, putting a curb upon his temper, and affecting a reproachful tone. "I declare it's too bad of you!"

"I can't help it," Dick responded; "I'm very sorry."

"You're not!"

"I am! I am indeed! Oh, Lionel, do say you won't—"

"But I will!" Lionel interrupted angrily. "Mother's no right to spoil our fun! She treats me like a baby!"

"I can't think how you can want to fire off the blunderbuss after what she said! I know if my mother—"

"Your mother!" Lionel cried, rudely interrupting again. "You think a lot of her, don't you? Your mother, indeed! You're about the only one in this house who thinks anything of her. Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother! So, there!"

For a moment Dick's face expressed nothing but blank amazement, then the colour rushed to his cheeks in a flood of crimson, and dying away, left him ghastly pale. The two boys looked at each other, the elder triumphant, the younger with a great horror slowly creeping into his eyes. Neither spoke, and neither noticed that the dining-room door had opened, and Sir Richard was watching them. The old man had heard every word of Lionel's last speech, and knew that the boys must have been quarrelling. Perhaps, never until he had heard his sentiments towards his son's wife so plainly stated— "Grandfather hates her! That's why he's angry with your father—because he married your mother!" —did he realise in what an unfavourable light his unforgiving spirit must appear to others. Strange as it may seem, he was not angry with Lionel for blurting out the truth; perhaps he recognised that a spirit of vindictiveness very like his own had animated the cruel speech. As he slowly stepped towards the boys, they suddenly became aware of his presence. Lionel slunk out of the hall by way of the front door without a word; and Dick, after one shrinking glance at his grandfather, sped wildly upstairs.

Sir Richard followed the small flying figure, which in another instant was out of sight; but the old man heard the heavy door leading to the picture-gallery open and shut, and knew where the fugitive had fled. The little boy, hiding in the darkest corner of the picture-gallery, heard Sir Richard's slow footsteps pause momentarily outside the door, and hoped they would proceed further. He did not want to face his grandfather when his heart was bursting with mingled pain and indignation; but there was no help for it, he must do so, for Sir Richard had entered, and was peering about in search of him.

"Dick," he said anxiously, "Dick, where are you?"

"Here," Dick answered, from the distant corner where he was crouching behind an old velvet settee. He was not crying, but he felt as though he had been struck a blow which had stunned him. He turned a white face with a pair of miserable eyes towards Sir Richard as he approached.

"Dick, don't look like that!" Sir Richard said, with an unusually gentle intonation in his voice. "Lionel had no right to speak as he did of—of your mother. He said it to anger you. Think no more of it."

"Wasn't it true?" Dick asked, his countenance brightening; then, as his grandfather hesitated to reply, he continued in a broken, hopeless tone: "Yes, I know it's true! And that's why father never spoke of you! That's why I couldn't understand! Oh, it's dreadful—dreadful! Oh, how can you be so wicked as to hate mother! Oh, mother! mother!" —and the little boy sobbed aloud.

"Don't, child, don't!" Sir Richard exclaimed. He was strangely moved by the intensity of Dick's grief and despair. "Don't, don't!" he said again.

Dick raised his head and looked at him suddenly with an ominous flash in his tearful eyes, whilst he slowly came out of the corner, and stood in front of his grandfather—a small forlorn figure with a stern, set face.

"I'm going," he said, "and I'm never coming to see you again. She—she said I was to treat you with respect, and I can't—not now I know you hate her! I am very sorry, because I—I liked you— rather—I didn't at first, you know, because I thought you were cross and disagreeable; but you've been kind to me. I'm never coming here again—I'll stay at home with Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Theophilus—they love her—and I wish I'd never seen you, or the Manor House, or Lionel!"

"Stop, stop!" interposed Sir Richard hastily. He saw the child was trembling with passion, and deep in his heart he sympathised with him, and admired him for his plain speaking. "Don't be hasty, Dick! There are many things little boys can't understand about their elders!"

"Why do you hate her?" Dick enquired suddenly, his accusing eyes still fixed on his grandfather's face. "There's no one like mother, no one! Father says so too! He ought to know! Oh, why did they ever send me to England away from them both!"

"I—I hardly knew your mother," Sir Richard said, "and—and I have little doubt now that she is all you say. Did you ever hear me speak a word against her?"

"No," the little boy acknowledged. "You couldn't," he added quickly, "not without you said what wasn't true, and I don't think you tell stories—I know you don't!"

Sir Richard literally gasped with astonishment at this very plain speaking; but he was anxious to be at peace with the child, and proceeded:—

"You see, Dick, your father's marriage was a disappointment to me—you are too young to understand why—and I was naturally offended with him. I said I should never forgive him, but I should like to be friendly with him again, and let bygones be bygones. Now, I'm sure you'll try to forget what Lionel said, and come to the Manor House as usual?"

"No," said Dick stubbornly, "because I should always be thinking of how you hate mother!"

"Nonsense, my boy, I don't hate your mother now!" The words were out almost before Sir Richard was aware he had said them, so eager was he that Dick's frequent visits should not cease. "I think she must be a good woman if her son loves her so well," he continued, speaking gruffly to hide deep feeling, "and she has taught you to be honest and truth-loving—a gentleman at heart!"

Dick flushed, and a slight tremulous smile played around his mouth, whilst the hard, stern expression which had looked so out of place on his young face, disappeared altogether.

"There is no one like mother!" he said again. It was his favourite formula when speaking of her. "If you are sure, quite sure that you don't hate her, I will come to the Manor House as often as you like; and I shall know it is not true if Lionel says it again!"

"What were you quarrelling about?" Sir Richard enquired, with a return of his old, sharp manner.

"I would rather not say," Dick responded firmly; "please don't ask me, because I don't mean to tell!"

His grandfather did not press the question, supposing they had disagreed upon some unimportant matter. He turned the conversation into another channel; and seated on the faded velvet settee beyond which Dick had hidden, he watched the little boy draw the curtain back from Paul Gidley's picture.

"He was a soldier too, wasn't he?" Dick said softly, as he stood looking up into the martyr's face. "Uncle Theophilus says he was a soldier of Christ. He fought the good fight of faith; and a man must be very brave to do that!"

The mellow August sunshine fell upon the pale, calm countenance of the young monk, and upon the uplifted face of the boy; once again Sir Richard was struck by the likeness between the two.

"Dick," he said suddenly, "come here!"

Dick let the curtain fall before the picture, and returned to his grandfather, regarding him with questioning brown eyes.

"I'm getting an old man, Dick," Sir Richard said gravely. "I wish your father was coming home before next year! Since he went to India I've neglected the property; I've had no heart to see to things; but when he comes back he shall do as he likes here!"

"Then I expect he'll begin by shooting the rabbits," Dick replied seriously; "Groves says they're a great nuisance, but I rather like to see them about!"

Sir Richard laughed, whilst Dick continued to regard him with great gravity.

"Well?" the old man said. "There is a question in your eyes, Dick! What is it?"

"Don't be angry," Dick responded, "but I should like to know—something."

"Well?"

"I should like to know, if you hated mother, why you've changed your mind! Did God show you it was wrong?"

"Yes," Sir Richard replied briefly; and his little interrogator was quite satisfied.

Dick was very subdued during the remainder of his visit that day. When the time came for him to return to No. 8 Fore Street, Mrs. Compton and Ruth had been home for more than an hour; but Lionel had not reappeared upon the scene. Dick wondered if he had gone away to fire off the blunderbuss, or if he was ashamed to face him after the way he had spoken of his mother.

Ruth accompanied her cousin as far as the lodge gates, and then went back to the Manor House whilst Dick turned towards Holton. His way led through lanes which lay between rich pasture-lands where feathery meadow-sweet grew in the lush hedgerows, scenting the air with its heavy perfume. The sun was setting like a ball of fire behind the hills, promising a hot day on the morrow, and over all hung the hush of coming night.

Dick had been much upset that day, and he had started from the Manor House depressed in spirits; but he had not gone far before the peace and beauty of the early autumn evening stole into his heart; and he fell to thinking of next year, when he hoped his parents would be coming home. He dwelt on the joy of his reunion with them, and forgot the passionate pain which had filled his heart at the thought of his grandfather's hatred for his mother. Then he looked up at a turn in the lane, and saw Aunt Mary Ann coming to meet him with a welcoming smile upon her happy face, and he quickened his pace to a run, crying,—

"Oh, Aunt Mary Ann, how good of you to come to meet me! Oh, I have such a lot to tell you!" —and he poured into her attentive ears the story of his interview with his grandfather in the picture-gallery subsequent to Lionel's cruel speech.