Love, strong as Death. A novel

Chapter I

There are only two of them, Hesba and Charlie Thistlewaite, and they are very poor indeed, so poor that they have to live with their Uncle Walter and his step-sister; indeed, Aunt Martha, as they call her, is really not their aunt at all. She is kind enough sometimes to tell them that the little money they have is all spent upon Charlie's education and that Uncle Walter supports them. I daresay it is true, but Uncle Walter never looks upon them as anything but his own chil dren, nor ever reminds them by word or look that they are dependent upon him. With Miss Martha Pye it is different. She seems to delight in making them feel uncomfortable, though she must have well known how angry he would have been had he ever guessed at such a state of things. But she takes advantage sometimes of his being an absent, dreamy bookworm, shut up B for hours, and, sometimes, even days together, in his study, surrounded by his beloved books, and lost to the whole world round him, till Hesba rushes in upon him, perhaps with some request, and coaxes him into allowing her some indul gence, for she can make Uncle Walter do almost anything she likes.

She is so much like his own only sister, her mother, who died when Charlie was a baby. Do you want to know what she is like ? Well, as this story is the story of her life, its incidents all happened in a few short months, and is, as Hesba knows, all the story that can ever come into it ; for in these short months she has lived and loved, and suffered a whole life time. She is seventeen ; brown-haired, blue-eyed, fair, with cheeks like a damask rose ; she is not very tall, but very pretty. Charlie, her brother, says " She'll do ; " Uncle Walter calls her, when his eyes rest on her, " Bonnie Hesba," and Miss Pye's opinion is, " That Hesba is an unfortunate mixture of a hoyden and a young lady, the latter not predominating in her as much as could be desired." Now, reader, take your choice of these opinions and judge of her, as she will appear to you in the following pages.

Charlie aud she are gifted with cheerful dispo sitions, or they would long ago have become as gloomy and morose as Miss Pye herself, and during Charlie's half-yearly holidays they laugh and amuse themselves till they nearly drive her wild ; and the months between, while the boy is at school, Hesba is obliged to get on as best she can, with walks, books and gardening, generally singing through her various pursuits, as if life were only one long holiday of sunshine. Of gaieties she is allowed none, Aunt Martha's love of the serious, and, perhaps, eveu alittle spice of loving to thwart Hesba, will not permit them, and it Dever occurs to Hesba to appeal to Uncle Walter, for she avoids all that might annoy him, as to have wearisome discussions and arguments with his sister would. The house stands quite in the country ; solemn old yew trees shade the garden, with its tall hedges, where flowers grow in a wild luxuriance, refreshing after the trim geometrical, well-kept flower beds of the present day.

There flowers stray over borders at will, and blossom as I never see other flowers blossom. There the Banksia roses droop, and woo the sweet-scented honeysuckle, and no gardener's hand, with cruel clippers, comes to trim away their graceful trails. Well, Hesba is seventeen, perhaps a little more. That sunny June afternoon she stands by the old fashioned lattice window, looking out upon the roses, and she sings, in a fashion quite original r " Into each life some rain must fall, Some days be dark and dreary." The words make her pause and think. Now, her life is not a particularly cheerful one, " but then it isn't a very miserable one," thinks Hesba. " No rain, real, hard, pelting rain must fall into my life, not into mine, not into mine; I would rather die at once than lead a sorrowful life.

I could not feel resigned ; it isn't in my nature ; the very word ' resigned ' has such a pitiful sound. Think of being resigned, when all the sunlight of one's life has, perhaps, been suddenly dashed out of it ! No, I should sit down and cry, and cry, till I couldn't cry any longer, and then, if I could, I would die, and — " " And a pretty guy you would make of your self, Miss Hesba," interrupts curly-headed Charlie, who has stolen up behind her ; and she finds she has actually been imitating a young lady in a book, and been thinking aloud. " Well, if I did make a guy of myself there would be no one to care, and I shouldn't care myself, Charlie." " I'll believe that when I see it ; you will not be Hesba Thistlewaite any longer when you like to be seen with red eyes." She laughs and replies, " Well, never mind, I don't feel much like crying now, but I do wish, Charlie, something would happen to rout us all up, and give us something fresh to think about."

" It's my idea you will have something fresh to think about before long, for I heard something about some one coming to stay somewhere, and should have heard more, only Aunt Martha sent me off with one of her speeches about ' little pitchers.' " That sounds mysterious, some one coming to stay somewhere ; oh, dear ! I do hope the some one will be of the masculine gender, and that the somewhere may be here, but it isn't in the least likely. Then if the some one is masculine, he is sure to be a friend of Uncle Walter's, some old fossil or other. " Oh, what fuu it would be if it might be some one come to spoon Aunt Martha, and then marry her right off, before he finds out her temper, and leave us in peace." They laugh heartily at the very idea of such a thing, and long for the rash and adventurous mortal who would dare thaw through the ice of Aunt Martha's primness, acidity and propriety, and finally reach the hitherto undiscovered polar regions of Aunt Martha's heart, always suppos ing her to be possessed of such a thing, which they seem, however, rather to doubt.

Their laugh ter is interrupted by the harsh " clang, clang, clang " of the tea bell in the hall below, for Uncle Walter is not fashionable, and will not dine late. He adheres to the old-fashioned customs of his youth, and has tea at six and supper at half-past nine. "Oh, Charlie, those hands won't pass muster." " All right, I'll be off, have a scrub, and be down in a minute." They then hurry down, for in Aunt Martha's eyes there is no sin more unpardonable than unpunctuality, and they prefer escaping a lecture if possible. There she is, seated at the head of the long table, which always looks so grimly bare when only four of them sit round it. Miss Pye has the whole paraphernalia for making tea before her, and is performing her duties in that line with the painful, careful exactness which be tokens the station and calling of an old maid.

She is very* tall and thin, gaunt, sallow, thin-lipped and dark-haired ; altogether quite a person of a bye-gone age, though still of age uncertain. She speaks in a thin, clipping manner, and has a sharp, observant eye, which takes in defects at a glance. They silently take their places, and wait for Uncle Walter, the only unpunctual person in the whole house. Aunt Martha has vainly tried to cure him of this habit, but he does as he likes in his own house, when he thinks about it, which is rarely. After a few minutes, Hesba's restless nature will remain quiet no longer, and she begins to balance her knife on her plate, making a rattling, jingling noise, and Charlie mildly tries to whistle under his breath, but this effervescence is quickly quelled, for Miss Pye remarks tartly, " Do not fidget, Hesba, there is nothing more unladylike ; and, Charlie, if you wish to whistle, pray retire to the stable yard."

Mr. Fortescue's slow step in the passage pre vents a reply from either of them, and they rise for grace, which he says in the slow, methodical manner peculiar to him. Poor Uncle Walter Fortescue, he looks as if but recently unearthed by Mr. Pengelly, from Kent's Cavern, and has an absent, dreamy manner, as if he had been suddenly routed up and brought into daylight by the persevering efforts of the geologist. The silence at tea after a while becomes oppressive, and Hesba feels an insane desire to laugh loudly when she sees Charlie imitating his aunt's prim way of eating her bread and butter, which is only increased by the fact that the lady sees him also. To prevent an explosion, Hesba begins wildly, " Uncle Walter, isn't some one coming to stay here soon ?" Charlie telegraphs amazement to her, but Uncle Walter hardly appears to under stand, and answers as if in sequence to his own thoughts, " Yes, yes, my dear, certainly, there is no edition that I can discover earlier than 1650, though—" Perhaps he sees the twinkle in Hesba's eyes, for he stops and asks her to repeat the question, which she does.

" Some one coming to stay here ? — well, let me see. Surely, Martha, I did hear something about it ; didn't 1 get a letter ? " and he feels in his pocket, hastily. " I cannot see, Walter, how your visitors can possibly concern Hesba ; her curiosity is unpar donable." " Oh no, not at all," cries Uncle Walter, half distressed, "It really will concern her far more than you or me, for Leonard, being more of her age than ours, will naturally turn to her for amusement and companionship." Miss Pye draws herself up stiffly at this remote allusion to her age, whde Hesba's heart gives a bound as she hears that the expected visitor is actually masculine, as she had wished, and cannot be very old, as she is expected to be companionable to him. " Who is Leonard, Uncle Walter ? I never heard of him before."

" Well, Leonard is some kind of relation to me, what, I cannot at this moment exactly recollect; but I believe it is not very far distant, for they used, he and his brother, when they came to England as boys, to consider this their home." " But I never heard of them before, they have never been here since I remember." "No; Leonard and Lawrence came here last, just before your mo — just before you came to live here, and I have not seen them since ; that is eleven years ago." " And how old was he then ? " Hesba asks, de termined to get at his age, and utterly regardless of the black look Miss Pye directs towards her ; she never dare snub the girl openly before her brother, and so Hesba takes advantage of her spell of liberty, for she knows full well that from Miss Pye she will learn nothing.

" Well, I should say they were about sixteen," he replied, dreamily, his thoughts already gone back to his beloved editions of 1650, and Hesba thinks it would be too cruel to drag him back to 1876 again ; so she leaves him in peace, and takes it for granted that they were about sixteen, means that Leonard was about sixteen. Meanwhile Charlie is consuming marmalade and cake at an alarming rate, and with his mouth full of these dainties he bursts out, " I hope he'll be a brick, and go out fishing, won't we have fun, we'll leave the old fogies at home, and — " but he is suddenly recalled to a sense of Miss Pye's august presence by an indignant " Charles ! " and meekly retires into his tea-cup, trying hard to conceal a laugh, which eventually ends in his partial strangulation, and he is sternly sent from the table to recover himself as best he may, while Hesba remains tranquil, but alas ! to no purpose, for, though longing to laugh at Charlie's absurd exit, she is overcome by conflicting emotions ; curiosity conquers, for she longs to hear more of the visitor, but Uncle Walter hastily finishes his tea, and she well knows the roclc of Gibraltar is as likely to afford her information as her aunt.

CHAPTEK II. ON CHINTZ. It is a lovely June morning, not more than nine o'clock, for they are early at Desborough, and breakfast this morning is already a thing of the past. Hesba is standing in the little thatched porch, waiting for Charlie ; on the rustic bench by her lies their luncheon basket filled with dainties, the result of a daring raid of the boy's into the larder, which, ere this, must but too surely have been discovered by Miss Pye. Charlie is getting together his fishing tackle and bait, for he vainly imagines the canny trout are going to allow themselves to be caught this sunny day ; if the trout are canny, Charlie is not, to think of it even for a moment. However, a day spent outdoors, on the stream's bank, has its attractions, even though their luncheon is con tested for by daddy-longlegs, and little stray terriers who visit them at intervals, smelling cold meat, like the proverbial policeman.

Hesba stands and listens to all the sweet sounds round her, she snuffs up the combined scents of fragrant honeysuckles, hay, roses, and a kind of smell of new bread just baking, which pervades the house, countrified, but none the worse for that, oh, fastidious reader ! Sweeter than pat chouli or bergamotte, if only you would believe it. And she listens to a particularly drawling, dreary version of the Old Hundredth, which Sam, the farm boy, thinks evidently it is his duty to serenade the cart horses with. The whistling of the blackbirds, even the chattering of the jack daws is preferable, but she listens, wondering how long his patience will hold out, how many verses he will accomplish, and how long Charlie will be. " Hesba !" Ah me, that voice! Oh, Aunt Martha, why is it so inharmonious ?

She holds her breath, and even sits down in the corner so that she may not catch sight of her, for she fears her clay in the fields and woods may become a myth ; but, alas ! her blue cambric dress betrays her, it flutters in the breeze, and in an instant Miss Pye is stand ing beside her. Hesba looks guilty, and turns red, like a schoolboy caught " mitching," as we of Devonshire have it. " Why did you not answer, and where are you going?" " Out with Charlie." " Always on the tramp ; why can't you stop at home, like a decent Christian?" " Because I am not one, I suppose," Hesba replies carelessly. " Well, the sooner you become one the better, and you may as well begin at once. You can't go out to-day, I want you." Hesba flashes up at this. " Who says I can't ? " " Who says so ? I do ; and you will soon know why ; for I suppose you will not refuse to try and earn a little of the bread you are so ready to eat."

Hesba's blood boils at the coarseness of the remark, but she hears words of the kind so often that it really is a wonder that it continues to boil. " How dare you, Aunt Martha, say that to me?" She grins unpleasantly, and then seeing the unlucky luncheon basket beside her, pouDces on it, opens it, and sees their booty. " And, may I ask, who gave you leave to take this? and how you dared — " " Yes you may ; and if you think Uncle Walter would mind our having some luncheon to take with us, I will go and ask him, I am not afraid," Hesba answers calmly, looking her full in the face. Hesba does not go, and Miss Pye says nothing to this, for she knows better, then continues — " Put it will be of no use to you, however, even if it is to Charlie, for you will have to stay at home to-day. There are all the new chintz hangings of the spare room to make up, and the pincushion, and you may as well help me to do it, it will save my having in a workwoman, and you may as well be useful for once in your life.

And you can work the sewing machine, which I can't." " Thank you, I don't in the least wish to, and whether the spare room ever has new hangings or not is of the very slightest importance to me ; so if y*ou will kindly reconsider your orders for the day, I will go off to the stream with Charlie, and you will at least be spared the annoyance of seeing my idleness." At this audacious speech of Hesba's, Miss Pye's pale eyes glitter uncomfortably. Unfortu nately at this moment Mr. Fortescue passes in one of his dreamy moods, his soft felt hat well pressed down on his bent head, his hands clasped behind his back, his thoughts, as he walks on, far away back in past ages. Miss Pye sees her opportunity, and says hurriedly to him as he passes — " Do you wish Hesba to obey me or not, while she lives in your house ?"

Mr. Fortescue does not hear one word of what she says, but the sound of her voice is never very pleasant to him, and to get away from it he utters the first sentence that comes into his head — " Certainly, certainly," and goes off as quickly as his thoughts will let him, for fear he should be once more dragged into nineteenth century affairs. "There!" and Miss Pye turns triumphantly to Hesba, " Now, perhaps you will understand, and will go upstairs, take off your hat, and get your working materials." Hesba looks longingly after her uncle's retreat ing figure, and longs to rush after him, and appeal, for well she knows what would be the result. " But no," she thinks, " poor old darling, let him be quiet, in his dreams of folios and black-letter editions ; after all, I do owe everything to him, and I will do the chintz hangings for him, if not for Aunt Martha."

So Hesba goes somewhat disconsolately up stairs, chafing aud sighing inwardly, yet with a lingering softness about her, for Uncle Walter' s unconscious helplessness. Just as we only pity, and do not get angry, with a wee baby's crying, even though it should chance to rouse us from the sweetest dreams of our first beauty sleep. She flings her hat and jacket half impatiently down on the bed, then glancing out of the win dow, sees Charlie going off on the excursion she ought to have joined, merrily, and whistling just as gaily as though no Hesba existed. " Oh, the selfishness of boys ! " she thinks. Going down to the spare room, where Aunt Martha has rigorously shut out every breath of sweet June air, on account of incipient tooth ache, Hesba inwardly groans over the piles of crackling sea-green chintz, with its glaring pattern of flaunting hollyhocks and tulips, and secretly wonders at Miss Pye's taste, and what Mr. Cary will feel like when first he comes under the influence of its folds and glare.

Certainly Miss Pye has but little taste, for who would choose such hangings for a small, much whitewashed country bedroom ; where the roses and honeysuckles round the window peep in to give artistic colour to the bare white ceiling and grey painted panellings. But cleanliness in Miss Pye's nature takes up the entire space usually allotted to mortals for good taste and love of the beautiful. For several weary hours Hesba cuts and tacks crackling piles of chintz, then stitches them in the sewing machine, under Miss Pye's vigilant eyes, and all the while feels a strong, though secret grudge, against the coming visitor, who has thus unwittingly made her his unwilling slave. She feels her powers of endurance are nearly come to an end, when a huge pincushion is put into her hands, with some stiff pink calico, and numberless frillings of muslin and lace, with a heap of little stiff satin bows, and she is told to invest the ungainly object with innumerable petticoats and rows of bows and frills.

However, she gets a reprieve — so far that she is told that she is allowed to take the obnoxious pincushion out under the yew trees to trim, instead of doing it in the stuffy spare room where Aunt Martha, utterly regard less of the brilliant sunshine without, sits and sews ; and all this time poor little Hesba has not been rewarded with a single word of infor mation respecting Leonard Cary. Some days after this, when the chintz hangings are fairly made, and put into their places, to gether with the smart pink pincushion in its ridiculous muslin crinoline, Hesba succeeds in getting away from the house with Charlie, his rod, and a luncheon basket, this time superin tended by Aunt Martha herself, who is unusually amiable, and has voted large and liberal supplies to the famished forces of the future.

Charlie and Hesba make for the trout stream, which is a good five miles off ; not that they have the very re motest idea of catching a fish, for Charlie's rod is only a pretence for the excursion, and they are no sooner well out of sight of the house than Charlie carefully hides his rod and tackle in the hollow trunk of a tree, previously attaching, schoolboy fashion, a label to his rod, with his name on it, and underneath he writes :— " Mine, not yours," and " Remember the eighth command ment." These latter sentences as gentle hints to any one who may chance to discover Charlie's cache. Once well in among the shady overhanging Devonshire lanes, the boy behaves just like a little fox terrier let loose ; and indeed he is not very unlike one, with his brown intelligent eyes, his sharp quick movements, and his wild over powering spirits.

He rushes here, there, and everywhere ; now, as he would himself express it, "chivies" a rabbit, then gives chase to a cat out in the hedges on the look out for unwary sparrows, which, were you to listen to its mistress, bears the character of being the most innocent and harmless of cats, never even so much as winking at a bird. Oh, dear no ! pussy is wise, she does not wink at the birds, she only eats them. Hesba and Charlie chatter, and laugh as they go at the mildest of jokes — family ones, therefore to be revered, but not by any means amusing to outsiders. All sorts of topics are discussed as they trudge along — Uncle Walter's last piece of absence of mind, how he came down to breakfast that morning with his watch in his hand, looking ruefully at it, as it hung by the chain from his fingers, drops of water trickling down over it; and how in reply to their volley of questions, he had calmly answered, " I mistook it for the soap while dressing, and I was rub bing my hands with it, and it was only when I didn't see any lather that I found it was my watch I was using.

It is a pity, it's such a good watch," he had added with trouble in his voice, not heeding Charlie's — " And had you put the soap in your waistcoat pocket, Uncle Walter ?" On they go, busy with their tongues and feet, till they get to the trout stream, where they do not intend to fish, and which is bordered by a small copse, which now affords a grateful shelter to the heated couple. Charlie at once divests himself of various upper garments, and discards cricket cap, coat and waistcoat, aye, and even collar and tie, before he throws himself down flat on his back for his well earned siesta. But Hesba, alas ! of the less noble and independent sex, can only dispose of her hat and jacket before she follows his example. Day dreams fill her mind and brain, as she lies back, gazing idly at the whispering trees overhead, which the slanting rays of sunlight try to penetrate.

Wonderings about the coming stranger become part of her thoughts, and then, when she has imagined all sorts of impossible fancies about him, as to his personal appearance and so on, she becomes aware that nature is asserting her rights, and proclaims a strong sense of the present. Day dreams and wonderings at once disappear before this patent reality. Hesba rouses up Charlie to go and fetch them some clear, cold-water to mix with the little flask of sherry Aunt Martha has provided them with ; while she displays upon a table cloth of wide cool ferns, their dinner. A goodly portion of chicken pie, fit to appease even two such young appetites as theirs, is provided for them, with some hard eggs, cheese cakes, and some of the old cook's wee sweet cakes, for Charlie's own especial edification. The repast takes some little time to complete ; Hesba has a thorough healthy appetite, but one which cannot at all come near that of the boy's, which is indeed simply super human.

When they have caused all the good things prepared for them by Eebecca to dis appear, and digestion has satisfactorily com pleted its work, Charlie cries — " Now Hesba, we can't stay here all day doing nothing; what shall we do?" " I have an idea, let's go and see Mrs. Jarman ; we haven't been there for a long time ?" "The very thing; Jarman said he'd got a colley dog he could spare ; if I could only keep it out of Aunt Martha's way, I could have it. " " The worst of it is," replies Hesba, almost disinclined to move, " she'll never let us off without eating something." " Well, never mind if she doesn't ; I'm good for any amount ; you needn't if you don't like." " Oh, Charlie ! after all that pie, six eggs, four cheesecakes, and every* one of those cakes ! " " Well, I can't help it, nature made me capacious, so why shouldn't I oblige her by fill ing up the eating compartments she has so kindly supplied me with.

You do the talking to Mother Jarman, and I'll promise to do the eating." " Come along, then, that's a bargain." Hesba rises as she speaks, and they go off towards a large thatched farm building, which lies up the hill behind which they have lunched. It does not take them more than half-an-hour to reach the farm, and while Charlie goes off to the yards, Hesba knocks at the heavy oaken door within the rose-hung porch. An old woman answers it, she is one of the true old Devonshire type now, alas, almost totally extinct ; she wears a short lilac cotton gown, much gathered round the hips, a red and black tartan turn-over, and a starched mob cap. Pattens are on this old lady's feet, for, wet or dry, she always wears them — habit is second nature. " Lor, Miss Hesba, and who'd a thought a seein' you.

Why I han't set eyes on you these dree months," she says in her rich Devon accent. " No, I haven't been up this way lately, and then you see, Mrs. Jarman, you have been away too." " E'es, so I have, so 1 have, but step in, Miss Hesba, and please to take a seat, aud now what'll you take ? " " Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Jarman," replies Hesba, with the recollection of her large lunch till heavy on her mind. " Oh, no, now ; come that isn't hearty of you, but may be you'll change your mind presently, I'll just get a junket, and I sim I hear Master Charlie's voice, and if you won't eat it, I'll warrant he will." Hesba laughs, and " steps " into the old fashioned kitchen, where the farmer, his family, and most of his labourers partake of their daily meals. It is a place smelling strong of soap and water and beeswax ; in spite of the time of year, a large wood fire burns on the hearth, which is a hearth ; iron dogs support the logs, and in the centre hangs a large iron pot or kettle, piled over with wood ashes, in which in this southern farm all the household bread is baked.

Hesba sits down on the long low window seat, and when the old woman has set her milk to warm before making her junket in its earthen dish, she sits herself down on the oak settle by the fire, and begins — " Yes, Miss Hesba, as you say, e'es fay ! (fay, in Devon, means faith) my dotter have been so bad that I had to stay and nuss her through with her tenth, and I do assure you her's 'ad a time of it." Hesba duly sympathises, and prepares to listen to the long story she knows is coming, and which generally proves amusing. "Her was bad, Miss Hesba, terrible, and while her was a bed her man he makes me tend to everything, and see every one that called to ast after her. Well, one day, the passon's wife, her come in — and I mus tell you, miss, that there've been terrible disturbances in that parish, all along of a chapel of ease, as they calls it, which had been a opened, and which the passon, Mr. Vorn, had a given over to his curate to tend to, not a knawing as how he were so high in his doctrine — High Church, I think they calls it, Miss Hesba.