An Old Debt

Part I

— SPRING. I. Brother and Sister .... 3 H. Guardian and Ward . . . 15 III. A Promise given . . . . .32 IV. Thistle-down . . . . . . 51 V. Strife . . . . . .69 VI. Conquest . . . . . . 85 VII. Disappointment . . . . .99

Part II

— SUMMER. I. A New Campaign . . . .■ . 125 IL A decisive Stroke . . . .139 III. Skirmishes _ . . . . 168 IV. Surrender .... .202 V. The Cloud and the Kock . . . . 232 VI. Sunshine ..... .252 VII. Shadows of the Clouds . . . . 270 VIII. An Alpine Journey . . . .2 88 LX. Up in the Mountains . . . . . 299 X. Summer in the Alps ....

PART I.

-fjirijvg. " A wintry and a barren time, when bitter winds repressed Each germ of kindly growth, of struggling Use, in Nature's breast, When vainly through thick heavy clouds the sunbeams strove to shine, And the leafless boughs no music heard — even such a Spring was mine. Anon. VOL. I. is

Chapter I. Brother And Sister

" Wise wretch, with pleasures too refined to please ; With too much spirit to be e'er at ease ; With too much quickness ever to be taught ; With too much thinking to have common thought, You purchase pain with all that joy can give, And die of nothing but a rage to live." Pope. The sun had sunk below the horizon, but a pale watery gleam still lingered in the western sky, its brightness enhanced by surrounding clouds. It illuminated the west front of Conyng ford Castle with a clear, soft radiance, glittering in the long row of windows, mellowing the old grey walls into an almost golden hue, and shining in the rain-drops on the ivy, till the green leaves seemed covered with jewels. The yellow rays, struggling in through one of the windows, lighted up to some degree the sombre, shadowy library, and the figures of its two inhabitants.

That room was not congenial to any other light but that of the intellect : heavy stone mullions, overhanging ivy leaves, and thick, semi-opaque diamond panes struggled to exclude the light of day ; the oak pannelling, crimson hangings, and heavy dark furniture refused to reflect it ; nor did it ever penetrate during the brightest noon into the many recesses which the large irregular-shaped apartment contained. Now all was dim and shadowy, and the two figures were only distinctly visible because one sat in the window-seat and the other on the rug before the wide, old-fashioned fireplace. It was a room well suited for Rembrandtesque shadows; for rich, warm, sombre effects of colouring ; a room to go to sleep in comfortably, or in which to play at hide-and-seek. Yet it need not have feared the light; a full blaze of it would have revealed nothing that was not costly, or handsome, or in perfect keeping with the general character of antiquity.

The bronzes, the few good pictures, the massive furniture, all were good in themselves and in harmony with the character of the rest. The only things in it which did not look heavy and venerable were the two fair young creatures who formed, as it were, the luminous points to the whole ; the one illumined by the departing light of day, the other by that of the glowing embers. Fair they were, both of them ; the boy the fairest of the two. His was not a manly type of beauty; his delicate features would evidently never develope into anything that might entitle him to be described as a handsome man. Yet, taking him as he was, there could hardly be a lovelier face, where the unpleasing appearance of sickliness was alike present. And now even this defect was less apparent than ordinarily ; for the firelight lent a fictitious glow to the pale cheek, and showed but partially the emaciation of the small figure.

As he lay coiled up on the rug in one of those attitudes into which only a boy can twist himself, smiling at the antics of a little dog, he might have formed the model of an angel for some early painter. Not one of the earnest awe-struck cherubs of Raphael but one of those pure, seraphic beings, portrayed by less skilful hands where purity and innocence seem to have been embodied, rather than any deep feeling of solemn awe. His sister — such she evidently seemed, in spite of the great contrast between them — was plainly no angel, whatever else she might be. If a mediæval painter might have found a subject in him, she would have provided an equally favourable model for an ancient sculptor. There was something in the chiselling of her well-defined features that reminded the observer of some antique cameo ; if an expression of vague, restless dissatisfaction could be imagined as being substituted for the cold sweet severity of the classical ideal.

The epithets usually applied to men and women must be reversed to suit the brother and sister : he was very lovely, and she very handsome. They might have exchanged occupations too as well as looks, for the sister was reading Plato and the brother was playing with a little King Charles's spaniel. Plato found himself in strange company, it is true. A pile of books stood on the window-seat beside the reader : a volume of "Marmontel's Coutes Moraux," a novel of the day, " Bacon's Essays," and a volume of poems. Nor, various as the literature was, it had not been her only resource. The carved massive table by her side was strewed with drawing materials, and by the side of an unfinished drawing stood an embroidery-frame, the model for which — a spray of ivy recently gathered — lay on the table.

A luxurious epicurean she looked with all this elegant confusion about her, these numerous resources for activity or ennui. She seemed at last to have found an occupation which suited her : her brows were bent in a frown of attention, and her whole attitude expressed an absorbing interest in the book before her. She was interrupted by her brother calling out, " I say, Nell, shut up. Tempus fugit, mors venit — and likewise dinner. The half-hour bell has rung some time." "That is to say you are tired of playing with Bijou, and as you have done nothing else all the afternoon I don't wonder. Go and dress." " Go and dress yourself. Don't sit there trying to look like Lady Jane Grey, thinking you care more for Plato than for your dinner." She deigned no reply, and after a few minutes pronounced, rather sententiously, that, " If any body but Plato had written this, we should think a great deal of it utter nonsense."

"That's modest!" "As if all these proofs of the immortality of the soul could " " Oh, mercy on us ! now she 's going to talk about the immortality of the soul, when she ought to be dressing for dinner. Do be in time, Nelly : Lord Conyngford didn't at all like waiting so long yesterday." " I am not Lord Conyngford's slave, thank Heaven." " Precious hard slavery, to come down in time for dinner ! " " I do so hate dinner here: I wish I needn't go in." " Come, Nelly, you like a good dinner as well as anybody : don't pretend to be ethereal." " A good dinner a la bonne heure, but the company Oh Fred, how long are we to be kept in this dismal jail, I wonder ? " "You want a few balls, that's the fact. You that were dying for a little rural quiet a month ago ! I thought nothing was wanting to your perfect felicity but a milkpail and a pigstye."

" I never said I was dying to come to this ' House of Correction.' There is no rural quiet here ; it is just like being at Court." "Courts and houses of correction are not generally thought exactly like each other." " Conyngford combines the disadvantages of both. It has all the ceremony, and etiquette, and fuss " " I thought most people in civilized countries were expected to be in time for dinner ; which is all the ceremony, and etiquette, and fuss, you have been obliged to undergo." " And then," she pursued without noticing his interruption, " there never was an Eastern despot, I am sure, with more consummate courtiers than some of our company here." " Which of us are the courtiers : mamma, I, Mr. Morant, or Edward Young ? I'm sure you're not, so there can be no great choice." " All of you, more or less.

But Edward Young eclipses you all." " Edward Young ! Well I declare I should as much have expected to hear him called a thief as a courtier." She laughed contemptuously. " Anybody who didn't despise people for being rather small would just as soon call him the one as the other." " It 's very well done, I '11 allow, my dear. He understands my lord." " And admires him." " You little innocent ! Don't you see that the Conyngford vicarage, shaded away into a bishop ric, casts a halo round our noble guardian! " The boy's sensitive face assumed an expression of something like disgust. " How can you, Nelly?" "You're a dear little fellow," said the sister, with a hard metallic laugh. " I wish I knew as little of the wicked world as you." "I wish you would not talk in that way. Surely it would be very odd if Edward was not grateful to Lord Conyngford, who has taken care of him and sent him to Oxford like his own son.

And as for admiring him — why, Nell, do you think my father would have asked him to be our guardian, if he hadn't admired him?" "He little knew what sort of a guardian he was giving us." " As they were at college together, he probably knew him much better than we do. And when has he been otherwise than very kind to us, I should like to know?" " He has never knocked me down, if you mean that style of kindness." "And I tell you what, Nell, it hasn't been for want of provocation. I declare sometimes I have expected him to swear at you." " Why should he ? He doesn't care a straw about me : he minds what I say no more than if it were a dog barking — not so much. It 's very easy to keep one's temper when one hardly listens to what a person says." " If you think he doesn't know when you 're quizzing him you 're very much mistaken, I can tell you that."

"I cannot think how it was," she pursued in a tone of perplexity, without noticing her brother's speech, " that papa ever fixed upon him. I cannot think why papa cares for him so much." " I wonder much more at your disliking him so much." "I don't dislike him. I should as soon think of disliking his great-grandfather in the dining room: the one takes as much interest in our concerns as the other. No Fred, the only tie between papa and Lord Conyngford must have been old association ; and in his last days he clung so much to that. Papa could not have felt any real affection for such a petrifaction." " I think he cared about Lord Conyngford very much ; and I am sure he never cared for anybody who wasn't worth caring for. And I think, Nell, you are very unfair ; you are as rude as a bear to him, and then wonder he doesn't dote upon you : but there's no use talking about it, we shall only quarrel."

And he rose and approached the window. " Let me look at your drawing. Oh, you have been doing the room. Who is the lovely woman in yellow satin ? " " I wanted a bit of light colour among all that crimson and brown. I think that is about the costume of the Vandyke Lady Conyngford which hangs in the dining-room." " Why didn't you put in a gay cavalier, with a guitar ? " " One figure is enough, I think. She may be a disconsolate maiden, waiting for her lover to come back from the wars." " Or waiting for a lover to come at all, and then she would just do for you ! " " Looking out of the window to see if she can see anything like one " replied she, laughing. " I think I ought to have put a preux chevalier in that bit of shadow, watching her with eager eyes, while she is all unconscious of his presence. — Oh dear !

" and the sentimental speech ended in a yawn. " Come, Nelly, you shall put away all these untidy things, and go and dress for dinner." She answered by bestowing upon him a moustache with her paint-brush, which he tried to take from her; but without success, as she was much the stronger of the two. "Poor little Fred!" she said laughing, "you are almost as small as Edward Young himself. Oh, how venomous you were about my despising little people ! " I believe you despise everybody, little or big. Take care, Nelly; pride must have a fall. I live in hope of seeing you under somebody's thumb." "May you live till that is the case, my dear, and you'll reach a ripe old age. Now we will go and adorn ourselves for the solemn ceremony. I always feel as if I were going to take part in some great sacrifice when I go to dinner here."

Chapter II. Guardian And Ward

" Woman, when I behold thee flippant, vain, Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies " Keats. Ellen had retired to her room so short a time before the hour of dinner, that there was a considerable interval between the sound of the dinner-bell and her re-appearance in the drawing room, during which the assembled guests stood in a group round the fireplace trying to think of something to say. They were five in number, and chance rarely throws together five persons in whom so much could be found to admire at first sight. They were all, with one exception, endowed with more than the average of personal beauty, and with a certain air of high-breeding which marked them at the first glance as belonging to the privileged classes of society; all had evidently been accustomed from childhood to refinement and luxury, and the attentions of those who approached them.

The most remarkable among them was Ellen's guardian and host, Lord Conyngford. A marked resemblance might be traced in his handsome face to the Vandykes on the walls ; there were the same straight, well-defined features and grave thoughtful expression ; his attitude, too, had all the quiet stateliness of one of the cavaliers whom Vandyke has associated with all that is courtly and highbred. Lord Conyngford seldom appeared in public without occasioning the question, " Who is he?" But curiosity once gratified, most people were satisfied with observing him from a distance. They felt instinctively that those thin compressed lips would open slowly and reluctantly ; that the words which issued from them would be few and very cold, and unaccompanied by any kindly gleam in the piercing eyes. His mere presence had the effect of making every one feel as if they were upon stilts.

It seemed impossible to make the most common-place remark in an easy un constrained manner when he was listenins: a sort of spiritual starch, as it were, infused itself into every word and gesture of those who had to do with him. Rarely, very rarely, in his forty years of life had a favour been asked of him or a liberty taken with him ; there were few advantages one would not rather have foregone than encountered a repulse from him, and few moods in which one would have approached the brink of familiarity with so cold and formidable a being as he appeared. There were, however, exceptions to these rules. Two years ago the father of the young Scuda mores had implored him to accept the guardianship of his orphan children. He would not have been more dismayed had his dying friend requested him to go out as a missionary to the Sandwich Islands : he felt about as much aptitude for the one task as the other.

He was a bachelor, a lonely man, whose habits, now hardened in a rigid mould, were diametrically opposed to any such responsibility, and whose position as member of the Govern ment rendered it most onerous. It was a strange, VOL. I. c unreasonable request for his friend to make ; but he granted it, gave up his habits of seclusion, summoned an elder sister to live with him, and for the last two years the Castle had been the home of Ellen and Frederick Scudamore, and their stepmother. Lord Conyngford has been described as he appeared at first sight, not as he was in the estimation of those who knew him intimately. But scarcely any one now alive did know him intimately: Mr. Scudamore must have done so; but he appeared to have inspired his friend with little affection, whatever he may have felt for him.

Certainly his children had little reason to believe that their father's memory occupied much of the thoughts of their guardian, if his interest in them was the measure of it. With such a master, it may be easily imagined that the Castle was no very cheerful abode. Ellen expressed the general feeling on the subject when she called it a House of Correction. But one of the company who have been awaiting her arrival all this time, had the power of modifying the chilling influence of the host in some degree. This was Lionel Morant, Lord Conyngford's first cousin, and next heir to the earldom. There was some family resemblance between the two ; but nothing could be more different than the impression produced by the grave austere earl and his lively, versatile cousin. The latter had the happy art of putting every one at their ease ; he seemed to discover by intuition the wishes and interests of every one he approached, and to mould his conversation accordingly.

Every movement of his light, supple figure, every gesture of his handsome face expressed a mind confident in its own resources, and perceptive of those of others. Lord Conyngford should have kept his young cousin constantly near him, if he wished to prevent the influence of his own society from being too oppressive. But Lionel Morant was not quite strong enough to neutralise it entirely. He was talking to a very pretty little woman of about thirty — a woman of fashion to the tips of her taper fingers. There was not much else to notice about her, when this fact had been observed. At a little distance stood Frederick, looking nervously at the clock, and by his side a young man of about three-and-twenty ; the only one of the group who was not above the average in regard to appearance. He constituted the repose of the picture: there was nothing in him that would call for notice amongst the aristocratic inmates of Conyngford Castle.

During the awkward pause which is felt by a party waiting the announcement of dinner, Frede rick made several attempts at conversation with his companion ; who, from being nearer his age than any one else there, was much thrown with him. But his attention was too much absorbed in watching for his sister's entrance to pursue these efforts very satisfactorily, and they were not seconded with much energy by the other party in the conversation. " Ten minutes past. What can she be doing?" he sighed at last, in low and doleful accents. " Don't you think, Edward, that if I were to ask Lord Conyngford he 'd go in to dinner ? " His companion shook his head with a con temptuous smile. " If he would only take up a book ! Oh, dear, this is quite horrible ! " Another smile was the only answer. " Do talk to him, do say something.

If some thing would but happen ! Do engage him in con versation : couldn't you, Edward ? " This speech was concluded in most persuasive accents. " I couldn't, indeed," replied the immoveable Edward. " There goes the quarter. Oh, dear, I must go and see if she knows " But as he rose to do so Lord Conyngford called to him : " I think you had better remain here now, Frederick. We shall go to dinner when your sister joins us." " I was going to call her, sir." " She must have heard the bell ; she will come as soon as it suits her, I suppose." Fred mumbled something about having taken a long walk, but not being of a sufficiently lively imagination left the legend uncompleted. To his indescribable relief, the door opened at that moment, and in sailed his sister, looking as cool and self-possessed as if she had not kept four of her elders waiting dinner a quarter of an hour.

" Well, Ellen," began her stepmother, " I hope you have not hurried yourself. I think Lord Conyngford will have to change his dinner-hour ; seven o'clock does not seem to suit you." "I am really very sorry, sir," she said, with evident sincerity, turning to her guardian. " I — I don't know how it was." " We will go in to dinner now without settling that point, if you are quite ready" replied he, as he offered his arm to Mrs. Scudamore. " We shall soon get accustomed to these fashionable habits, I suppose." An angry flush overspread Ellen's pale cheek, and she followed in silence. As they seated themselves at table, however, she recovered herself and began a lively conversation with Morant, who had taken her in to dinner. No one else joined it, and an uncomfortable sense of something jarring and discordant was felt by the rest of the party.

"Edward," said the host, when it was ended, " you eat nothing. You have been reading too hard." " Oh, no ; I am quite well : I have not been doing much." GUARDIAN AND AVARD. 23 " I am no friend to the system of cramming for examinations. The mind, like the body, can only assimilate a certain amount of food, the surplus must be so much waste." " I am quite of your lordship's opinion in that matter." " Indeed," interposed Ellen, " I must have misunderstood you then the other day, when I thought you were defending the system in your argument with Mr. Wentworth. The female mind is liable to misconception on these points, I suppose." There was a tinge of imitation in the senten tious manner in which she said the last words, at which two of the company present could scarcely refrain from a smile.

The subject of the imitation was the only person at table who did not perceive it, and he merely turned to Edward Young and asked him to explain his inconsistency. Somehow or other Edward managed to drop his knife at the moment of hearing the question, and in picking it up to upset a glass of wine, so that in the slight confusion it remained unanswered. Something in this little circumstance seemed to amuse Ellen exceedingly; she bent down her head over her plate to conceal her laughter, but in vain ; it burst all the bounds of good breeding, and infected her brother: they both laughed heartily. Lord Conyngford looked at them in grave displeasure. "You young people seem easily amused," he said, with icy coldness. " I beg your pardon sir," said Fred, turning scarlet ; " I don't at all know what I was laugh ing at."

" As for being easily amused," said his sister, " it is a quality which I prize greatly, and would not exchange it for any other." " It is abstractedly a desirable quality certainly," pursued Lord Conyngford, in his cold deliberate manner — though a tinge of colour in his face showed that he understood the insinuation im plied in the last speech. " But I cannot quite agree with you in thinking that there are no others for which it might not be exchanged with advantage." " Opinions on that point would vary, no doubt," she replied, flippantly. " The same person might decide differently upon it according to his circumstances. In some cases I think I should have a considerable majority on my side." Something in her manner made her meaning so offensively evident that her guardian did not trust himself to reply.

He made some slight remark to Mrs. Scudamore, and did not address either the brother or sister again during the meal ; for the conclusion of which all who partook of it longed most anxiously. To appreciate the effect of Ellen's impertinent speech, it must be observed that it was the last of a long series in which she had seemed to be determined to exceed the limits of her guardian's patience, or indifference, as the case might be. This limit she seemed at last to have discovered and passed ; his displeasure was evident through the self-control of his manner, during the whole of that dinner. He did not appear with the other gentlemen in the drawing-room ; but some time afterwards, as Ellen was playing at chess with her brother, she was surprised and somewhat agitated to receive a summons to his study.

" Oh, Ellen ! what shall you do ?" "Throw myself at his feet, I suppose," she replied, with a feeble attempt at a laugh. " What a dressing I shall get ! Good-bye, Fred ! perhaps I shan't survive it, and you'll never see me H again. This little dialogue took place at one end of the long drawing-room, and she thought it was unheard by any of the other three, and fancied she had slipt away unperceived. Lord Conyngford rose as she entered, and placed a seat for her with all due politeness. She tried to look as if she were not frightened out of her senses as she took it, but failed. " I am sorry, Ellen," he spoke in a very low, gentle voice, "to hear that you find my house so dull." She had no resource but exclamations of per plexity. " I think you can hardly be quite sincere in asking me what I mean, after your speech at dinner."

" I didn't mean — I don't recollect " " Stop," he interrupted her with severity, " you are on the verge of a falsehood." She was silent, " I have no wish to detain any one here against their will. It seems on the whole that it would be better for us to part. I have, I suppose, executed my charge ill ; the result seems unfortunate. You can go to Enscombe or to Ashurst, as you prefer, and I will look for some companion to accompany you. I am sorry I cannot give you the alternative of London. In three more years you will be of age, and my control over you will be at an end," he looked as if he thanked Heaven most devoutly for that fact; "but while it lasts I feel it my duty to prevent your going there. As long as I am answerable for any doings of yours, I must do all I can to prevent a recurrence of the extrava gance of last spring."

He paused, but there was no reply. "I daresay I have made you a very bad guardian. I can only say that it is want of power, not want of will that has made me so. I have tried to fulfil my promise to your father, when I told him I would take his place towards you to the utmost of my power. I have failed signally, it seems : my influence has been power less for good, and I think I should best fulfil the spirit of my promise by breaking it in the letter." " If you think so, sir, I am perfectly willing. Do you wish me to leave your house to-night ?" " I wish to part from you in a different spirit," he replied, with perfect self-control. " I do not wish you to consider me as speaking from any personal feeling. It is not because it is disagreeable to me to be treated with disrespect, but because, in our relative positions, disrespect from you is a sign that my influence must be worse than useless.

It is not pleasant to me to say this, Ellen : it is not pleasant to enlarge upon what is due towards myself; but for once it is necessary. Your speech would have been uncourteous towards any one, and I expect something more than courtesy from those to whom I am to act as a father." He paused again, but Ellen could not or would not speak. " But what surprises me even more than your behaviour towards myself, is your manner to Edward Young. I can understand disrespect towards an elder, better than want of consideration towards an inferior." " When have I shown want of consideration to wards him?" exclaimed Ellen, through angry tears. " When have you not ? You turn every word he says into ridicule ; you neglect the commonest forms of politeness towards him ; you seek every opportunity of mortifying and annoying him.