Clare Avery Part 47

"The woman is nought, Aunt. 'Tis her fortune."

"Very good. I reckon she will say, 'The man is naught.' And she'll speak truth."

Rachel was playing, as many did in her day, on the similarity of sound between "nought," nothing, and "naught," good-for-nothing.

"Like enough," said Jack placidly.

"I will spare thee what money I can, Jack," said his father sighing.

"But I do thee to wit that 'twill not pay thy debt--no, or the half thereof. For the rest, I must leave thee to find thine own means: but, Jack!--let them be such means that an honest man and true need not be 'shamed thereof."

"Oh!--of course, sir," said Jack lightly.

"Jack Feversham!" asked Sir Thomas, turning suddenly to his young visitor, "supposing this debt were thine, how shouldst thou pay it?"

"G.o.d forbid it were!" answered Feversham gravely. "But an' it were, sir, I would pay the same."

"At the dice?" grimly inquired Rachel.

"I never game, my mistress."

"A monopoly?" pursued she.

"I am little like to win one," said Feversham laughingly.

"Or by wedding of an heir?"

"For the sake of her money? Nay, I would think I did her lesser ill of the twain to put my hand in her pocket and steal it."

"Then, whereby?" asked Sir Thomas, anxious to draw John out.

"By honest work, Sir, whatso I might win: yea, though it were the meanest that is, and should take my life to the work."

"Making of bricks?" sneered Jack.

"I would not choose that," replied Feversham quietly. "But if I could earn money in no daintier fas.h.i.+on, I would do it."

"I despise mean-spirited loons!" muttered Jack, addressing himself to the fire.

"So doth not G.o.d, my son," said his father quietly.

Blanche felt uncertain whether she did or not. In fact, the state of Blanche's mind just then was chaos. She thought sometimes there must be two of her, each intent upon pursuing a direction opposite to that of the other. Blanche was in the state termed in the Hebrew Old Testament, "an heart and an heart." She wished to serve G.o.d, but she also wanted to please herself. She was under the impression--(how many share it with her!)--that religion meant just two things--giving up everything that one liked, and doing everything that one disliked. She did not realise that what it really does mean is a change in the liking. But at present she was ready to accept Christ's salvation from punishment, if only she might dispense with the good works which G.o.d had prepared for her to walk in.

And when the heart is thus divided between G.o.d and self, it will be found as a rule that, in all perplexities which have to be decided, self carries the day.

The only result of the struggle in Blanche's mind which was apparent to those around her was that she was very cross and disagreeable. He who is dissatisfied with himself can never be pleased with other people.

Ah, how little we all know--how little we can know, as regards one another--of the working of that internal kingdom which is in every man's breast! A woman's heart may be crushed to death within her, and those who habitually talk and eat and dwell with her may only suppose that she has a headache.

And those around Blanche entirely misunderstood her. Lady Enville thought she was fretting over her crossed love, and lavished endless pity and petting upon her. Clare only saw, in a vague kind of way, that something was the matter with her sister which she could not understand, and let her alone. Her Aunt Rachel treated her to divers acidulated lectures upon the ingrat.i.tude of her behaviour, and the intensity with which she ought to be ashamed of herself. None of these courses of treatment was exactly what Blanche needed; but perhaps the nipping north wind of Aunt Rachel was better than the dead calm of Clare, and far superior to the soft summer breeze of Lady Enville.

It was a bright, crisp, winter day. The pond in the grounds at Enville Court was frozen over, and Jack, declaring that no consideration should baulk him of a slide, had gone down to it for that purpose. John Feversham followed more deliberately; and a little later, Clare and Blanche sauntered down in the same direction. They found the two Johns sliding on the pond, and old Abel, the head gardener, earnestly adjuring Master Jack to keep off the south end of it.

"Th' ice is good enough at this end; but 'tis a deal too thin o'er yon.

You'd best have a care, of you'll be in ere you know aught about it."

"Thou go learn thy gra'mmer!" [teach thy grandmother] said Jack scornfully. "Hallo, maids! Come on the ice--'tis as jolly as a play."

Clare smilingly declined, but Blanche stepped on the ice, aided by Jack's hand, and was soon sliding away as lithely and merrily as himself.

"Ay me! yonder goeth the dinner bell," said Blanche at last. "Help me back on the bank, Jack; I must away."

"b.u.t.ter the dinner bell!" responded Jack. "Once more--one grand slide, Snowdrop."

This had been Jack's pet name for his youngest sister in childhood, and he used it now when he was in a particularly good temper.

"Master! Master! yo're comin' too near th' thin!" shouted old Abel.

Jack and Blanche, executing their final and most superb slide, heard or cared not. They came flying along the pond,--when all at once there was a shriek of horror, and Jack--who was not able to stop himself--finished the slide alone. Blanche had disappeared. Near the south end of the great pond was a round jagged hole in the ice, showing where she had gone down.

"Hold her up, Master, quick!" cried old Abel. "Dunnot let her be sucked under, as what happens! Creep along to th' edge, and lay you down; and when hoo comes to th' top, catch her by her gown, or her hure [hair], or aught as 'll hold. I'll get ye help as soon as I can;" and as fast as his limbs would carry him, Abel hurried away.

Jack did not move.

"I shall be drowned! I can't swim!" he murmured, with white lips, "I would sure go in likewise."

Neither he nor Clare saw in the first moment of shocked excitement that somebody else had been quicker and braver than they.

"I have her!" said John Feversham's voice, just a little less calm than usual. "I think I can keep her head above water till help cometh. Jack Enville, fetch a rope or a plank--quick!"

They saw then that Feversham was lying on his face on the ice, and holding firmly to Blanche by her fair hair, thus bringing her face above the water.

"O Jack, Jack!" cried Clare in an agony. "Where is a rope or plank?"

Even in that moment, Jack was pre-eminently a gentleman--in his own sense of the term.

"How should I know? I am no serving-man."

Clare dashed off towards the house without another word. She met Sir Thomas at the garden gate, hastening out to ascertain the meaning of the screams which had been heard.

"Father!--a rope--a plank!" she panted breathlessly. "Oh, help!

Blanche is drowning!"

Before Clare's sentence was gasped out, Sim and d.i.c.k ran past, the one with a plank, the other with a coil of rope, sent by Abel to the rescue.

Sir Thomas followed them at his utmost speed.

The sight which met his eyes at the pond, had it been less serious, would have been ludicrous. Feversham still lay on the ice, grasping Blanche, who was white and motionless; while Jack, standing in perfect safety on the bank, was favouring the hero with sundry sc.r.a.ps of cheap advice.

"Hasten!" said Feversham in a low, constrained voice, when he heard help coming. "I am wellnigh spent."