The Golden Shaft

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BY G. CHRISTOPHER DAVIES, AUTHOR OF " MOUNTAIN, MEADOW AND MERE." " Oh, she that hath a heart of that fine frame To pay this debt of love but to a brother. How will she love, when the rick golden shaft Hath killed the slock of aU affections else That live in her ; when liver, brain, and heart, These sovereign thrones, arc all supplied, and filled, tiler sweet perfections) with one self king !" TWELFTH NIGHT — ACT I. SCENE I. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON-. RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1875. The Right of Translation is reserved.

Chapter I. The

next Saturday, there being a half holiday, Harold sauntered down to the river's side, dressed in his yachting costume of blue jacket and trousers. He entered Mason's boat yard, and went up to a group of men who stood on the wharf looking at some object on the water, " Looks like a skimming dish," said one. VOL. II. B " That big sail ought to take her along," said another. "Take her over, more likely," rejoined another. "Well, I hope the fellow as is going to sail her can swim," said the first speaker. " Swim ! Aye, like a fish," said Harold, whose boat was the subject of their remarks, " but there will be no need of such an accomplishment with her. She is as stiff as a brig." "Don't you be too venturesome, Master, them shallow big-sailed boats go over all at once, when you least expects it."

"Well, just watch me sail her up and down this reach. There's enough wind for that sail, isn't there ?" "A good deal too much, Sir," said Mason, who had just come up. " You had better take a reef in." " Not I," said Harold. The boat, christened the May Queen, had just been built after Harold's own design. She was what is known as a centre boarder. She was about fifteen feet long, and six feet wide, very shallow and flat, with a drop keel or centreboard amidships. She was fitted with a large single sail, reaching from the mast, which was stepped well in the bows, to far over her stem. She was a splendid sailor, could " go through the eye of a needle," sail almost in the wind's eye, come round on her own length, and was altogether very handy. Of course she was not all perfection. She had one great fault, in common with all boats of this type, but as Harold was well aware of it, he knew how to guard against it.

She was very stiff, that is, did not heel over much in a strong wind — up to a certain B point. When the pressure on the sails passed that point, she was liable to go over without any warning. Such a propensity had to be guarded against by easing off the sheet, or throwing her up into the wind when the gusts were too strong. Harold was very fond of his boat, and when he stepped into her he felt really and thoroughly happy, as a man may sometimes feel astride a good horse, or as others feel when they are by the water's side on a good breezy day, with a pike rod in their hands, or when they tread the stubble with a trusty double barrel, and the birds lie well. Just above the boat-yard, was the bridge and a weir. Up to this weir the tide came. For about four miles the river ran between straight, high banks, without a curve, then it expanded into a noble estuary, with woods thickly covering its banks, and pleasant villas peeping through them.

A stiff breeze blew right down the river, and out to sea, and Harold just ran a little way down, and then coming about like a top, the boat actually spinning around on the axis of her centreboard, he beat up the river against wind and tide to the boat yard, in a manner that elicited the hearty commendation of the boatmen there assembled. Then satisfied with having vin dicated the character of his boat, he laid her before the wind again, and flew down stream, the water foaming away astern and seething up at the bows. Out in the estuary, more careful sailing was demanded. The channel wound its devious way through shallow water, which departing with the ebbing tide, would leave the sand and gleaming mud banks bare, famous feeding ground for the long-legged shore birds, the sooty cormorant and the solemn heron.

Harold knew the channel pretty well, and as the breeze freshened, and he still disdained to take in a reef in his snowy white sail, he flew here and there as his fancy listed, now coming up into the wind to stop and have a look at some weather-beaten collier, and have a chat with its grimy occupants. One collier he saw resting on the mud, and her whole frame bent quite out of shape with her own unequally supported weight. He called out : " I say, your old boat won't stand many more voyages, will she ?" "Oh, aye, she's as stout as many a younger ship now, old as she is, and she's nigh a hundred year old. Would ye like to come on board, Sir, and see some little dawgs we've got here." " I will," said Harold, and running the May Queen aground, he jumped, and seizing a chain that hung from the bow sprit, he swung himself aboard.

The dogs were most exquisite little animals, white and curly, and of some Spanish breed, with faces singularly intelli gent and bright. The men had two or three generations of them on board. The master had brought the progenitors with him from Spain. Harold was so smitten with their beauty that he bought one of the young ones, and after inspecting the interior economy of the vessel, which appeared to consist chiefly of dirt, he took his leave. At one point, the channel ran close to the bank. It was precipitous, and clothed with dwarf oaks, grey stemmed ashes, and drooping silver birches. Beneath their shade, the broad-fronded bracken spread out its shining masses, the red foxglove nodded to its white brother, the long mosses that hung from the rocky ledges, moistened with slowly dripping water, glowed in vivid green.

Here and there the hazel bushes, bent beneath their load of nuts, and the purple blackberries and trailing briar grew in un checked profusion. At intervals were broader ledges carpeted with grass, over spread with sweet wild thyme, or golden with the bird's soot trefoil. Out of the depth of green there burned the yellow gorse, and the white-tailed rabbit, leaping through the bushes, shook off yards of silken gossamer which partially veiled their radiance. On the other side of the channel the glistening water and sand reflected the white wings of the sea-fowl that wheeled above them, seeking for some spot where molluscs and sand worms offered a tasty dinner. Beyond the sands and the shining waves, and the dull sailed colliers, rose the ruins of a magnifi cent castle, whose towers and battlements frowned in contrast to the blue green sky, across which the white drift was scudding before the breeze.

And suddenly, from out of the harbour near the castle, there shot a fleet of fishing boats that spread their red sails to the favouring gale, and sped away in close array, in haste to get over the bar while the tide left them sufficient water to do so. Harold " wavered " his boat backwards and forwards in keen enjoyment of the scene, and the breeze and the salt air, when glanc ing up the river, he was aware of a yacht coming down in rather a remarkable manner. She was of an unusual rig for a pleasure boat — a lugger. Her mainsail was a standing lug of great size, and she had a fore-and-aft mizen behind. Now luggers are like lateens, in running before a stiff breeze, the sail, stepped far forward as it necessarily must be, presses the bows of the boat down, and if care is not taken, may perhaps swamp it.

This yacht, in spite of the wind which was rising, had her topsail up, and came along with a "cauliflower" at her bows, that is, with a white bunch of foam spurting up in front of her, and on to her deck. She was also badly steered, and " yawed " considerably ; and as she neared Harold, the sail gybed when there was no necessity for it to do so, and without the boat being eased by the man at the helm, so that the immense boom swung across with tremendous force, and was brought up by the sheet with a jerk that shook the yacht from stem to stern. Harold was at this time sailing up stream close hauled, and it was the duty of the yacht, as coming " free " with the wind and tide to make way for him ; but instead of doing that, she kept on her course, and Harold had to throw his boat up in the wind only just in time to prevent being run down.

The presence of some ladies on board the yacht prevented his slanging the steersman ; Harold noticed something further wrong with the yacht. Her sheets were only rove once through the blocks, so that the pur chase was insufficient to hold the sail properly in, and it had been suffered to get so far forward that it was a wonder the mast head was not twisted off. He called out — " Haul in your sheet, and reeve it again through the block. You will carry some thing away." No notice was taken of his warning, and convinced that some accident would happen, Harold put his helm up and bore away after them. Surely he knew that old gentle man sitting in the stern sheets, and that young lady who now crossed from one side to the other. Yes — it was — it must be — Miss Stanhope. Hurrah ! now he might bring himself under her notice, perhaps make her acquaintance, who knows?

He would try at any rate. The chase now be came exciting. In spite of his throwing water on his sail to make it hold the wind better, the yacht distanced him, and it was fully half a mile away when he saw it make for a pretty little village just inside the bar. " By Jove ! she has carried her topsail away. I thought something would happen." They were making the yacht fast to the quay as Harold came up. Mrs., Mr. and Miss Stanhope had landed and proceeded up the hill. Of course Harold could not follow them, but he loitered about until four o'clock, and just as the tide was on the turn they came back. In the meantime their steersman had got drunk. He was nearly so coming down ; and Harold saw, with some alarm, that he was quite in capable of steering the yacht safely back. Here was a golden opportunity.

He stepped up to Mr. Stanhope, taking off his hat to the ladies and said — " Pray excuse me, but your steersman is so drunk that you cannot possibly have him on board going back." " Oh, Mamma, I thought he was drunk as we came down. What shall we do ?" " Drunk !" thundered out the old gentle man. " What the deuce do you mean by getting drunk, Sir ?" he said to the man, who had got aboard and was leaning stupidly over the tiller. " Thank you, Sir, for telling me," he added to Harold. The man refused to leave the yacht, saying he was as sober as Mr. Stanhope. He likewise became so impertinent, that Harold saw some decisive measures must be adopted. So he said to Mr. Stanhope, — " Will you give me leave to remove the fellow from your boat?" " I shall be very glad if you can do it, but he is as strong as three ordinary men.

Pray take care what you do." Harold stepped up to the yacht, and said — " Now come out of that yacht, or I'll make you." " Make me, you young whippersnapper ! Why, hang me if I don't break every bone in your body." " Come on shore, and try to do it ;" said Harold. The challenge had the desired effect. The fellow came out of the boat swearing horribly, and proceeded to throw off his jacket and waistcoat, expressing his intention, in language more forcible than polite, of reducing Harold's body to a mummy, which from his size and strength he appeared fully capable of doing. As Harold stood with his coat off, and clad in a tight fitting jersey, with his right arm across his breast and the other held out easily in front of him, the elbow well in, the very perfection of boxing attitude, and his small thin hand tightly clenched ; his teeth set, his eyes gleaming with that eagerness for the fray, which somehow lays hold of a man when he finds that he is really in for a row, his head thrown well back, hat off, and his curls lifting in the breeze — Christine Stanhope, frightened as she was, saw before her a fine manly specimen of the British youth, and felt— well — very favourably towards him.

Harold knew he had his work cut out before him, but he relied on his skill and activity. Had his opponent been sober, his weight and strength and capacity for stand ing punishment, would perhaps have gained the victory ; but mad with drink and rage, he rushed wildly at Harold, without the least attempt at guarding himself, and was met by a sharp left hander on his nose and a heavy dig of Harold's right in the cavity left in the breast by the parting of the ribs, a deadly spot to receive a blow. The first round was over. Damage done ; a severe cut on Harold's knuckles, and a stream of blood trickling down his opponent's face, with a slight shortness of wind. Second round — Harold landed a second blow on his adversary's midriff, and got away untouched. Third round — Harold got his left hand in at the midriff, and with his right gave a very severe blow on the fellow's nose, which made the blood fly all over his face, but received a round-handed hit himself on the right side of his head, which rather stunned him.

Fourth and fifth rounds — Harold convol. 11. c tented himself with saving his breath, and tiring his opponent. Sixth round — His opponent enraged by the jeers of the on-lookers, who, by this time had formed a crowd around them, rushed fiercely at him. Harold stepped aside, and with all the force of his strong right arm, with the weight of his body scientifically thrown into the blow, struck the fellow just behind the left ear. The man staggered forward a little way, and then fell senseless on his face. He was carried away to the public-house kitchen, where he shortly came round. Harold, elated by his easy victory, was unconscious that the blood was flowing down the right side of his head, until he was made aware of it by the exclamations of the ladies, who had been frightened spectators of the scene.

Major Stanhope was loud in his praise of Harold's courage, and the wounds of the latter were dressed by the fair fingers of Miss Christine herself, who cut away the hair from around the cut and washed it, and then some sticking plaister being procured, it was ■ properly bound up. Christine asked her mother to be the operator, but she was too nervous to do so, and, to Harold's great delight, Christine had to do it herself. Harold wished, when she had finished, that he had half a dozen more bruises for her to dress. He offered to sail the yacht back, and his offer was thankfully accepted, his own boat being taken in tow. He made the Stan hopes aware of his name and profession, and exultingly felt that he must now be looked upon as an acquaintance. They sailed merrily homeward, reaching their anchorage by moonlight.

As the great c red disc of the moon rose over the trees, and the mists from the water, Major and Mrs. Stanhope retired to the cabin, but Christine sat, well wrapped up, in the stern sheets. They were not quite alone, because a man stood on the counter, holding the sheet of the mizen ; but still they were sufficiently alone to make Harold feel that he was indeed a fortunate fellow. Yet now, when there was such a good opportunity of ingratiating himself with his companion, he was silent and stupid, and could not think of anything to talk about. Christine led the conversation with comparative freedom, and wondered to find him apparently so care less of her company. She thought, perhaps, that his thoughts were intent on the manage ment of the yacht, but as evening came on, the wind had fallen, and Harold's work was easy.

" What a lovely little dog this is !" she said. " I should so much like to have one like it." " Pray allow me to give you that," said Harold eagerly. " Oh, no, I could not possibly rob you of it," she said, colouring. " You would not rob me at all. I have only just bought it, and it has not got used to me, or I to it, and I am sure it would not be very happy at my lodgings, alone all day." " You are very kind, but I cannot accept it," she said decisively, and Harold, of course, did not further press his gift upon her. The Stanhopes' carriage was waiting for them, and as Harold shook hands with them all, the impudent fellow dared to give Christine's hand a palpable squeeze. She hastily withdrew it. Major Stanhope, who had been much taken with Harold's pluck, said to him, " Mr. Featherstonhaugh, we are exceed ingly obliged to you, and we shall be glad to know you better.

Will you do us the honour of dining with us on Monday, at seven r Harold accepted with thanks, and then as they drove away, he, unperceived by them, the carriage being a close one, lifted the dog on to the box by the side of the coachman, saying, " For Miss Stanhope." The coachman supposing it was all right, took charge of the dog and gave it to Miss Christine on the arrival of the carriage at the Grange.

Chapter II. On

Monday morning the dog was brought back by a man-servant. with the following note. " Dear Sir, " Your dog evidently accompanied us home by mistake. Pray take care that you do not lose him again. It would be such a pity. " Yours truly. " C. Stanhope." " Well," said Harold to himself, " I have got in her black books, I am afraid, but I'll be shot if she shan't have the dog, sooner or later. I wonder what she will say to me this evening at dinner." The Grange stood on the outskirts of Portwich, and was a large old-fashioned mansion built in the Elizabethan style. The Stanhope family had owned it for generations. It was approached by a fine avenue of trees, up which the visitor could see, as in a framed picture, its fantastic architecture, rich in cross beams, oaken carvings and gilded points.

Over the door was a motto in old English, express ing a welcome to all who entered the porch. It may be imagined that Harold, anxious to make an impression, got himself up with extreme care. He looked better in evening dress than in any other, and he knew it ; and although, as a rule, he was anything but vain of his personal appearance, yet he tried, and no blame to him, to make the most of the advantages he possessed. As he rang the bell at the Grange, he was smitten with a sudden and unusual ner vousness, and a fear that perhaps he had committed some gaucherie — gone in coloured trousers, as his friend Godfrey once did, in a fit of absentness, believing that he had changed those articles of attire, when he had not done so ; or something of the same kind. A rapid inspection of himself in the hall, convinced Harold that everything about him was comme il faut.

He stepped up to Mrs. Stanhope, and received a cordial welcome. The Major, with more warmth than his pompous manner seemed capable of, shook hands with him heartily. " My eldest daughter," said the Major. Harold turned round and faced, not Christine, but, seated in a low invalid chair, a thin, pale, sweet-faced girl, evidently in very delicate health. " My second daughter, Christine, you have met before, Mr. Featherston haugh." If Harold was smitten with Christine before, he certainly thought her exquisitely beautiful in her evening dress. She had seated herself on an ottoman, and the luxurious ease of her position brought out in greater perfection the salient points of her beauty. She looked lovely in her white raiment ; " dress " is too hard a word fully to express the exquisite, tasteful garment she wore.

" Mr. Pearson," and a handsome young Curate rose and bowed stiffly, and then reseated himself beside Christine. Harold felt a dislike towards him immediately. Then there was Dr. Wainwright and his wife, and Harold was acquainted with every one present. " How are your knuckles, Mr. Feather stonhaugh ?" said Major Stanhope. " They are cut rather severely, Sir, and needed a considerable application of diachylon. Indeed, Mrs. Stanhope, I shall be obliged to keep my gloves on, during dinner." "I don't know what we should have done without your aid," said Mrs. Stan hope, " and I am afraid we have not sufficiently thanked you." " More than sufficiently," Harold replied, " the service was but trifling." " And how is your head, Mr. Feather stonhaugh ? How unkind of me not to ask you before?" " Nearly quite well ; thanks to Miss Christine's ministrations," and Harold glanced at Christine.

While doing so, he suddenly remembered the episode of the dog, which for the moment had escaped his memory, and as she was thinking of it also as their eyes met, they both glanced down again in some confusion. Dinner was announced. " Are you well enough to sit up to dinner to-day, Kate, dear?" Mrs. Stanhope said to her eldest daughter. " Yes, mamma, I think so ; will you ring for William to carry me in. He jerks me so over those steps in the hall when he wheels me." " Pray let me carry you in," Harold said, " I am sure I could carry you more easily than William, if William is that stout fellow I saw as I came in." " William is that stout fellow ; but I do not like to trouble you, Mr. Featherston haugh." " I assure you it is no trouble," and before she could make any further protests, Harold had lifted her easily in his arms ; she was but a feather-weight, and stood waiting for some one to lead the way.

Harold had a peculiarly sympathetic feeling with sick people, and also with children. When he was doing some little office for the former, or playing with the latter, his face assumed quite a different expression to its ordinary one. It was better and more full of kind feeling, and he himself was aware, that the avenue to the higher part of his nature was through the instrumentality of his weaker brothers and sisters. Hence his present act was the result of an irresistible impulse, and although some what unconventional, the gleam of kind ness and sympathy in his eyes, showed why it was done, and won for him at once the regard of his blushing freight, and of her mother. He did not even repent him of his deed, when he saw Christine, whom he otherwise would have taken in, ushered into the dining-room by the curate, and his self-denial was rewarded by finding that he was to sit next her, while the ob noxious curate was placed on the other side of the table, out of sight behind an epergne of flowers.

The dinner was good and well served, and the wines were beyond praise, so Harold, who liked good eating and drinking, just as he liked all the other good things and pleasures that came in his way, but without inordinate longings for them, felt in a toler ably good frame of mind. He tried his best to get up a conversation with Christine, but somehow he could not get beyond the merest commonplaces, so rather disgusted with himself, he turned his attention to what was going on at the rest of the table. Anxious to please, and trying his best to do so, he succeeded. Mrs. Stanhope was charmed with his unassuming, quiet, pleasant manner. The Major found him a patient and attentive listener to his oracular utterances. The Doctor thought him a clever, sociable young fellow. The Curate thought him an insuffer able prig, and managed to let everybody know that he thought so, whereby the Curate took a step down the ladder.

Christine thought he might have paid her more attention, and was piqued at his apparent indifference; so you see that Harold's best friend could not have wished him better success. When the dessert was on the table, the Major got into a discussion with the Doctor on a political topic, on which they argued nearly every day with the most tiresome prosiness, and Harold was free to amuse himself elsewhere. He turned to Christine, who was trying to hold a conversation with the Curate around the epergne, on the interesting subject of Church decora tion, and he said, "Are you very angry with me, Miss Christine ?" " Angry with you, Mr. Featherston haugh ! What have you done to make me angry ?" " If you do not know, Miss Christine, then I suppose you are not angry with me, and I am very glad to hear it."

" Should you be very much distressed if I were angry with you ?" "You have asked a question, Miss Christine. Do you expect a truthful answer ?" said Harold, looking down into her eyes meaningly. She turned her head away, and answered, " I always prefer truthful answers to my questions. I should not care to know anyone who did not give me truthful y y answers. " Then," Harold said gravely, " I should VOL. II. D be very much distressed indeed if you were angry with me, and that for a reason which, perhaps, you would not like me to tell you just yet." Christine knew not what answer to make to this rather plain speech. To her relief, and yet, so contrary is human nature, to her slight vexation, her mother at this moment arose, and the ladies retired to the drawing-room, Harold beating the Curate by a head, in the race to open the dining room door for their exit.

The men drew their chairs together, and the Major commenced talking on boating subjects. " That is a nice little boat of yours, Mr. Featherstonhaugh." " Yes, she is a beauty. She sails nearly as fast as your big yacht. By the way, why did you choose such a rig for your boat ? I should have thought a cutter would have been best." This at once set the Major off on a defence of his boat, the vehemence of which shewed that his usual pomposity of man ner was a veneer, that was continually getting worn through. He and Harold got into a warm discussion upon the relative merits of various rigs, and Harold seeing that he could not convince Major Stanhope, allowed himself to be silenced, so that the Major thought he was vanquished, and himself being the victor, he felt a proportionate increase of regard for Harold, which the latter was not slow to see.

" Do you row at all, Mr. Featherston haugh?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "Oh, yes, I have just joined the Nautilus D rowing club. We have a boat down every day." " Those Nautilus fellows are a very fast, disreputable set. They will do you no good," said the Curate. Now Harold had observed that Mr. Pearson had made several hits at him during dinner, and the patronising tone in which he made this last observation nettled him. At the very first meeting of the rowing club Harold had attended, he recollected to have heard the name of Pearson proposed, and afterwards blackballed, so knowing that at Portwich the clerical element took to the river, as in some places it does to cricket, he said at a guess, " I suppose your sentiments have changed since you were blackballed, Mr. Pear son r He saw by the Curate's changing colour that his shot had hit the mark, and anxious to drive it home, he remarked : " We are a very exclusive club.

We have none but good fellows in it. It certainly is fast, but unfortunately there only seem to be two classes of fellows in Portwich, the good, apron-stringed, namby-pamby young men, and the jolly, good-natured, gentlemanly and fast set. I know which I'd choose." The Curate gulped his wine in silence. He was not prepared with a retort. "Gad! it is so in all places," said Major Stanhope. " What ! are you fellows going to join the ladies so soon? Featherston haugh, my boy, do you sit here and keep me company, we must finish another bottle of port." Harold complied, taking care, however, that the Major had the largest share of the wine. Not that Harold's head was unable to stand it. Like many young fellows of the present day, he was able to stand a good deal, and this, perhaps, led him to drink more than he need have done, knowing that he could do it with compa rative impunity.