After long Years

Chapter I. The Old Homestead

More than forty years ago there stood among the Monmouthshire hills a farm-house called Old Pencoed. It had weathered the storms of many a long year, but it was neither quaint nor picturesque ; not an ideal farm-house by any means. It was a homely, yellow-washed, two-storied building ; but though unpretending, it was substantial and in good repair, and there was a comfortable well-to-do air about the place generally, that gave it a cheerful and inviting aspect. The homestead was situated in a slight hollow, B and surrounded on all sides by pleasant meadows. The house faced the south-east, and its upper windows commanded a distant view of the Bristol Channel. There was a little lawn in front, enclosed by a low stone wall. A paved footpath ran from the front door to the small gate which opened into the road.

On either side of the path was a smooth grass plat, and beyond, a narrow flower-border, which in summer time was gay with roses, wall-flowers, sweet williams, sweet-peas, mignonette, and other fragrant old-fashioned flowers. A bush of white lilac grew in one corner, and a fine dark honeysuckle was trained against the wall. Entering the house by the front door, you found yourself in a small nagged porch whose only furni ture was an oak cupboard fixed in one corner. On the farther side of the porch was a second door, passing through which you entered a large cold apartment, flagged also — like all the other rooms on the ground floor — and called the " hall." It contained several tables ranged against the wall, some oak chairs, a bureau, the upper part of which served as a I-] THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 3 book-case, and an eight-day clock in a painted case, said to be one of the oldest in the parish.

The fire place was large, and surmounted by a high, wide mantel-shelf, on which were displayed some bright brass candlesticks and an old sword. This apartment might be considered the centre of the house, as the staircase communicating with the upper story de scended into it, and all the rooms on the same floor opened out of it. Up one step, and through the door on the right was the parlour, a long, low wain scoted room, with a casement window at each end, one looking into the farm-yard, and the other on to the little lawn in front, or as it was familiarly called, the green. In each window there was a comfortable seat ; but there were no easy chairs, no pretty ornaments scattered about ; an air of severe simplicity pervaded the apartment. In the centre of the carpeted floor stood an old-fashioned round table with straight legs, and heavy mahogany chairs, inter spersed with smaller tables, were arranged round the room.

There was a corner cupboard on either side of the fire-place, and each being partly fronted with glass, their treasures of pretty old china, quaint decanters, and fragile wine-glasses, were displayed to the public view. A long narrow looking-glass, in a gilt frame, hung forward opposite the fire-place, and four hunting prints adorned the walls. Every afternoon, throughout the cold weather, a sire burned in the parlour grate, but the room was not much used, except for drinking tea in when visitors came ; and visitors were few and far between at Old Pencoed, and as a living room the family preferred the cosy little kitchen on the other side of the hall, with its speckless floor, old oak settle on one side of the fire, and arm-chair on the other, with the handy little round table that could be moved from place to place, and the bright-coloured plates and dishes on the polished dresser.

The cooking and other domestic operations were all carried on in the "big" kitchen, which was detached from the house, and, together with the dairy, situated a few yards from the " little " kitchen door ; and thus the latter was kept ever clean and tidy as a comfortable living room for Mrs. Lloyd and I.] THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 5 her daughters, while the maid and the farm-servants took their meals and sat in the former. Mrs. Lloyd was the owner as well as the occupier of Old Pencoed. It had descended to her from her father, and had been the property of her forefathers for many successive generations. She had lost her husband and two sons many years before, and her family at the time my story commences consisted of one son and three daughters. The former was married and lived at Newport, the girls were un married and resided with their mother ; their names were respectively, Ruth, Susan, and Joan.

It was the month of November in the year 18 — , and the family at Old Pencoed were gathered round the fire in the little kitchen. Mrs. Lloyd, in her dark stuff gown and spotless mob cap, sat comfort ably in her arm-chair, and her hands, once so industrious, lay idle in her lap. Poor lady, her sight had been failing for some time, and she was now almost blind. Next to her sat her eldest daughter Ruth, sewing beside the little round table. She was a plump, pretty girl of five-and-twenty, with large brown eyes and soft brown hair. On the other side of the table was Susan, plain, but pleasant, with a heavy volume of Rapin's History of England on her knee, from which she was reading aloud for the general amusement, for that, not instruction, was the object in view. In the opposite corner sat Joan, the youngest sister.

She too had been sewing, but her work had dropped from her fingers, and she was gazing dreamily into the fire. She was not like either of her sisters, nor yet like her mother ; in fact, she bore no resemblance to any one of the family, unless it was to some ancestor or ancestress long since dead and forgotten. Her features were large, her mouth flexible and expressive, her teeth white, but irregular. Her hair was dark, and hung in long, rough, loose curls over her shoulders, and curled naturally in little rings on her low white forehead. Her eyes were very dark, and eyebrows and eyelashes quite black. She was a girl who would look handsome when suitably dressed, but who would attract little or no attention on ordinary occasions, though a keen observer might find I] THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 7 her a more interesting study than either of her sisters.

It was a wild winter night. The wind roared in the half dozen fine trees that stood about the homestead, and swept in great gusts around the house, rattling the shuttered windows. But the inmates of the cosy kitchen paid little heed to the storm. The big fire blazed cheerfully, Mrs. Lloyd fell into a doze, and pussy too was asleep on the hearth. Ruth sewed away diligently, her busy needle dispatching more than one long seam • Joan sat still in her corner, sometimes working, but oftener dreaming with open eyes ; and Susan read on unweariedly, her clear voice telling in that quiet room of the clash of battles and the whisper of sedition, of traitors, heroes, and fair princesses, of the dim prison chamber, and the blood stained block on Tower Hill. In this fashion were most of the winter evenings spent at Old Pencoed, each member of the family doing pretty much the same as on the present occa sion, with the exception that the three girls took it in turn to read.

Joan's turn did not come very often, for she was not so good a reader as her sisters ; she was in too great a hurry to know what was coming, and often stopped to look on. So it generally happened that she sat in her corner and looked wist fully into the fire ; if the book pleased her, she worked and listened, if it did not, she dropped her sewing, and betook herself to the study of the glowing coals, seeking in her own vivid imaginings for that interest and excitement which was wanting in her life. It must not be supposed that Joan was one of those disagreeable and unfortunate persons who are always discontented with the position in which it has pleased Providence to place them. Nothing of the kind. She was a healthy, active, good-tempered young woman, who bustled about the house, and made cheese and butter as well as either of her sisters ; but Nature having endowed her with an enthusiastic and highly imaginative temperament which conceived and craved a brighter, fuller life than was included in the cheerful discharge of her light but routine duties in the house and dairy, she gradually and insensibly took to dreaming pleasant THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 9 dreams, and building airy castles, as a sort of intel lectual recreation and amusement ; which same habit was a mute, unconscious protest against the prosaic monotony of her existence.

But, to-night, her chateau en Espagnc had really some earthly foundation, for on the morrow she was to leave home to spend two or three weeks at Newport with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Robert Lloyd ; and, as may be readily supposed, this was a great event in Joan's quiet life. Ruth and Susan had each spent several weeks at their brother's house ; but Joan, though twice invited, had never yet stayed there, something having occurred on the two previous occasions to postpone her in tended visit. Now at last, however, the time for that important event had really arrived, and Joan looked forward to it with much pleasure, mingled, however, with some shrinking from the many strange faces she would see, and a great deal of fear and trembling lest her slender wardrobe should not meet with the approval of Mrs. Robert Lloyd, of whom, as a lady used to society, the three country-bred sisters stood con siderably in awe.

With an injustice that is but too common, Mr. Lloyd had left to his son landed property to the amount of two thousand per annum, while he only gave to his daughters a small farm each, and that they were not to inherit until after their mother's death. In the meantime, they had not so much as twenty pounds a year to buy clothes with, and had some difficulty in maintaining that lady-like appearance which they were justly entitled to assume. Joan had but three dresses to take with her. A dark coburg for mornings, a pretty red French merino, which had been her best dress the winter before, and a violet silk, which she had bought the previous summer, but had scarcely worn, thinking to keep it good for her visit to Newport. These were carefully packed in her trunk, and her dark grey cloak and velvet bonnet were placed out on the bed in the spare room, in readiness for the morrow.

I-] THE OLD HOMESTEAD. 11 The clock struck nine, Susan closed her book,. and the servant came in with the supper tray. " I hope it will be a fine day to-morrow," said Joan, awaking from her reverie, and briskly turning to the realities of life. " I hope so," replied Susan. " Have you packed up everything ? " " Yes ; everything. My box is quite ready for Roger to take down to Brynglas." Brynglas was a small town two miles distant, from whence the coach to Newport started. " I hope you will have a pleasant visit," said Ruth. " And don't leave your heart behind you," added Susan, shyly. " Did you ? " retorted Joan. " Girls, don't talk nonsense," said Mrs. Lloyd, severely.

Chapter II

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. The coach set Joan down at her brother's house, and Mrs. Robert Lloyd came to the door to meet her, greeted her kindly, and after a little conversation, took her upstairs and showed her to her bedroom. " We lunch at one," she said, looking at her watch. " It is ten minutes to one now, so you will just have time to take off your things. I won't stay talking, as that would hinder you I dare say ; so good-bye for the present." Left to herself, Joan quickly laid aside her bonnet and cloak, brushed her rough curls, and, fearing that their wild luxuriance might be displeasing to her sister-in-law's love of order, deftly gathered them up with a common horn comb into a pretty knot at the back of her head, washed her hands, and having CHAP. II.] A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 13 taken a hasty peep out of the window, descended into the dining-room.

Luncheon was on the table, but the room was empty. Joan went to the fire, and sat for a few minutes warming her hands and looking about her. In her eyes, accustomed to the simplicity of her own home, the comfortably furnished dining-room appeared quite a grand apartment, and she thought — with just the ghost of a sigh — how pleasant it must be to live always in a house where the floors were all carpeted, and the walls papered, where the chairs were soft, and where, above all, there were plenty of books to read. " I shall have a treat here, at any rate," she said to herself, leaving her seat by the fire and crossing over to the well-filled book-case at the other end of the room. With lively interest she scanned the titles of the neatly arranged volumes, and uttered an involuntary cry of delight as her eye caught the magic words of "Ivanhoe," "Guy Mannering," "Rob Roy," and the " Fair Maid of Perth."

The fame of the Waverley CHAP. novels had penetrated even to Old Pencoed, and Joan had longed sorely for a peep into the wonderful books, about which she had been told all the world was talking. Now the opportunity was hers, and taking down a volume of " Ivanhoe," she opened it at the ninth chapter, and began to read the glowing description of the tournament at Ashby. So absorbed was she. in the delightful story, that when a few minutes later the door opened, and a brown-haired gentlemanly young man about five-and-twenty entered the room, she remained quite unconscious of his presence. He looked at her, and smiled as he noted how her eager eyes devoured the printed pages. "Ahem," said he, aloud. Joan shut the book, and turned round in confusion. " Miss Joan Lloyd, I presume ? " said the gentle man, bowing.

"That is my name," she replied, blushing furiously and making him a little stiff countrified •curtsy. II.] A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 15 " Allow me." And he put a chair for her near the fire, for the day was cold. Joan was not used to such politeness, and this again disconcerted her a little. She sat down and remained silent. It was trying to feel the eyes of this strange gentleman bent upon her as he stood calmly leaning his elbow on the mantel-shelf. She wondered who he was ; wished she knew what to say, and regretted that she had so recently washed her hands in cold water, they looked so dreadfully red as they lay in her lap. " And so you are fond of reading ? " Very ; when I have anything interesting to read," she answered, feeling more at her ease now that he had broken the ice. " Is that a rare occurrence, then ?"

" Yes, indeed. We have very few books, and I have read them all ; some of them two or three times over." "Can you tell me the names of any of them?" asked the young man. " I can tell you them all, they are so few. First [CHAP. we have a very large Bible, with pictures ; then there is ' Rites and Ceremonies,' of different religions, you know, which is a great book like the Bible. We have also ' Rapin's History of England,' ' Foxe's Book of Martyrs,' ' Pilgrim's Progress,' two volumes of the ' Spectator,' five or six of Shakspeare's Plays, and Pope's translation of Homer's ' Iliad.' " " Are those all ?" " Yes. That is, all that we care to read. We have a good many old sermons and religious Dis courses and Dissertations, but they are not interesting. I have tried to read some of them," added Joan, looking pensively into the fire, " but I could not get on with them."

"I dare say not," thought her companion, with some amusement. " But, as you have so few books, why do you not buy some ?" he added aloud. Joan looked up with a slight smile ; and her interrogator was surprised by the liquid beauty of the dark eyes that met his own. "Buy some!" she repeated. " Who is to buy some ? My mother is almost blind, and does not II.] A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 17 care about books, and my sisters and I have no money to spare." The gentleman was embarrassed by the straight forward simplicity of this reply. " Indeed," he remarked, and let the subject drop. At this juncture, Mrs. Robert Lloyd entered the room. "Why, Mr. Dynevor!" she exclaimed, "Where did you come from ? I thought you were staying with friends at Gloucester." " So I have been for the last fortnight ; but I left early this morning, and have only just arrived.

As I was walking down High Street, I met Mr. Lloyd, and he asked me to look in, and mentioned that he was expecting his youngest sister to arrive to-day." " Yes, here she is," and Mrs. Lloyd duly per formed the ceremony of introduction. "When I found a young lady here, I concluded that she must be Miss Joan Lloyd, and therefore presumed to address her as such. Rather to her surprise, I think," added Mr. Dynevor, smiling. c [CHAr. 18 AFTER LONG YEARS. "Very much to my surprise," returned Joan, frankly. " No doubt," said her sister-in-law, slightly scan dalized to find that the young people appeared to have got on very well together before the important ceremony of introduction had taken place. " I am sorry, Joan," she continued, " to have kept you waiting for your luncheon, no doubt you are hungry after your journey ; but my dressmaker called for instructions about a new dress, and as her time is valuable, I thought you would not mind waiting for a few minutes."

"Not at all." " We will not wait any longer, however," observed Mrs. Lloyd, taking her seat at the head of the table. " Robert knows our luncheon hour perfectly well, and will probably be in shortly." After some desultory conversation, Mr. Dynevor inquired, "What stay do you propose making at Newport, Miss Joan ? " "About a fortnight or so," replied the young lady, glancing at her sister-in-law. II.] A NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 19 " A fortnight ! Nonsense, child, you will stay a month at least. And that reminds me, Mr. Dynevor," turning to the young man, " of something I want to ask you. Shall you be at home the first week in December? We think of giving a quadrille party about that time ; but before I fix the day and send out the invitations, I wish to make sure that you will accept yours when it arrives, for we cannot do without your valuable assistance."

Homfray Dynevor laughed good-humouredly. " I shall be most happy to be of any use, and pledge myself to accept the invitation," .he replied. " Very good. Then Joan and I will send out the invitations to-morrow or the next day," said Mrs. Robert Lloyd. Joan's face beamed with pleasure at the mention of a party, then quickly fell, to the surprise of the observant gentleman on the opposite side of the table. " Are you fond of parties, Miss Joan ? ' " I have never been to any," she answered, simply. " My mother-in-law is advanced in years, and requires great attention, therefore her daughters do not at present go much into society," remarked Mrs. Robert Lloyd, stiffly. She aspired to be a leader of fashion in the town of Newport, and it did not please her that the simple, unpretending habits of her husband's relatives at Old Pencoed should become known to the circle of her friends and acquaintance. "Ah, just so," returned Homfray, carelessly.

Chapter III. The Lesson

Homfray Dynevor was the only child of a gentle man of independent means. At one time, Edward Dynevor had been in the possession of a modest fortune ; but, unfortunately, being joint executor with an unprincipled man in a contested Will, he was forced into a tedious and expensive lawsuit, which for many years caused him much worry and anxiety ; and when it was at length concluded — having bene fited no one but the lawyers — left him so impover ished in purse, that at the time of his death, twelve months prior to the opening of this story, he had but four hundred per annum to bequeath to his wife and son ; two hundred and fifty to the former for her life, and one hundred and fifty to the latter. Having suffered so much from the law, it would appear singular that Edward Dynevor should bring up his son to be a lawyer.

But such was the case. He seemed to have a cloudy idea, that by so doing, Homfray would reap some advantage from the large sums of money that he had lost in the wearisome law suit, or that he should in some mysterious way receive, in the person of his son, some compensation for what he had suffered ; though what the nature of this shadowy compensation was to be he could not explain, probably not even to himself. But if he could not explain why he wished Homfray to be a lawyer, he was quite determined that he should be one ; and a lawyer accordingly the lad was made, to his mother's pained surprise, and his own intense disgust. Homfray hated the law. As a boy, he had felt the gloom which the harassing lawsuit had cast over his once happy and prosperous home ; had seen their luxuries and comforts gradually curtail, his father grow harsh and morose, and his mother depressed and tearful under the irritating influence of the horrible incubus, which they were powerless to throw III.]

THE LESSON. 23 off; while the passionate thankfulness with which both parents hailed the news that the matter had been brought to a final conclusion, and the air of freedom and relief which instantly sprang up in their home, despite their straitened means, made a deep and never-to-be-forgotten impression on his mind. When he became an articled clerk, and began to study law, he learned to hate it for its own sake. For its shifty, roundabout ways, its sophistries, its injustice, its cold caution, and its heart-breaking delays. He disliked all lawyers too, as lawyers, how ever much he might respect and esteem some mem bers of the profession as men ; and nothing angered the young man more than to call him a " lawyer," which in truth he was, having passed his examin ations, and being fully qualified to practise on his own account, had he chosen to do so.

But Homfray did not choose. He had ever been a dutiful and affectionate son, and as long as Mr. Dynevor lived, he had, to please him, remained as clerk in the office of the local solicitor to whom he [chap. AFTER LONG YEARS. 24 had been articled. But when his kind old father was laid in the grave, he resigned his situation, with the fervent hope that he might never again be called upon to open a law-book, or put his foot inside a lawyer's office. Nor did his mother blame him. She greatly regretted the time and money which had been wasted ; but she did not wish her son to spend his life in following a profession which was so extremely distasteful to him, and for which she herself had no great liking. When, therefore, he told her of his intention of resigning the law, she calmly acquiesced, and the thing was done.

Soon after her husband's death, Mrs. Dynevor left her former residence, and settled herself in a pretty little cottage, about half a mile from New port. She rented a few acres of land, and kept a cow and a pony, and amused herself in improving her garden, tending her flowers, and taking country drives in a little low pony carriage ; striving by these innocent means to divert her mind from dwelling overmuch on her recent sad loss. She had her son still with her, and that was a comfort ; but she knew ill.] THE LESSON. 25 that the day would soon come, when he would be taking flight, and leaving her alone, and strove by creating small interests in her quiet life, to fortify herself for that dreaded separation when it should arrive. In the meanwhile, Homfray, finding his head and his hands free to employ as he pleased, did not waste his time in idleness, but turned his attention to the study of mechanics and mathematics, with the view of becoming a civil engineer ; and possessing some constructive ability, and a fair knowledge of mechan ical drawing, he was ere long received into the office of a civil engineer residing in Newport.

Homfray had his wits about him, and a great deal of quiet energy to boot, and Mr. Jarvis — his employer — soon found him very useful, and had already given him the management of several small undertakings ; and the young man's recent visit to Gloucester had been an agreeable combination of business and pleasure. One morning, a day or two after her arrival, as Joan was busily engaged directing Mrs. Robert Lloyd's invitations for the coming party, Homfray Dynevor again walked in. " Hard at work, I see, Miss Lloyd," he remarked, as they shook hands. "Yes; for this party," replied Joan, rather rue fully, Homfray thought. " I am afraid you do not look forward to it with any pleasure," he said, kindly. " I do, and do not." " May I ask for an explanation ? " The girl's dark eyes made a critical survey of the pleasant looking face before her.

" I think you are a kind young man," she said, simply. " And perhaps you could help me ? " " It would give me the greatest pleasure to be of any service to you," answered Homfray, conscious of a growing interest in this plain-spoken young woman. " Thank you. I will tell you what I mean. I should look forward to this party with the greatest pleasure if it were to take place any where else, where Ellen — that is, my sister-in-law — would not be present. I cannot dance, and I am so unacquainted UK] THE LESSON. 27 with the ways of what she calls " Society," that I fear I shall commit some dreadful blunder, and cover Ellen with shame for her unfortunate relative ; and she is so kind and hospitable, that I should be grieved to vex her ; and if you would be so kind as to give me a hint when you see me about to do or say anything I ought not, I should be very grateful."

" Certainly I will, if you need it," replied young Dynevor, cordially. " But I am sure your own good taste will be a sufficient guide." " If it were not for Ellen, I should not mind half so much if I did make a few mistakes. After all, it would only show that I am not accustomed to society ; and, as that is just the truth, and is no fault of mine, I do not know why I should be so very much ashamed of it. I can soon learn." " To be sure you can ; and can soon learn to walk through a quadrille." Joan shook her head despondingly. " I have no notion of what a quadrille is like." " But you know something of dancing ? " " Indeed, no. I have never been present when dancing has been going on." " What an extraordinary place you must have lived in," said Homfray, laughing. " It is extraordinarily quiet, I believe," replied Joan.

" I think there are few girls whose lives are so uneventful as ours." " But you must go away sometimes." " We go to church on Sundays, and walk down to Brynglas about once a fortnight, and go out to tea, perhaps, once in three months ; and since my brother has been married, visit Newport occasionally." "But, does nothing ever happen at Old Pencoed?" persisted Homfray. " Well, things do happen sometimes, but they are only small events. The butter won't come; a hen steals her nest, a horse drops a shoe, somebody buys a new dress, or has a headache, or gets into a bad temper, or a neighbour drops in, or, rarest of all, one or two persons come by invitation to drink tea and spend the evening. Ah, that is a great event," added Joan, drolly. " No doubt. How do you signalise it ? " " By making cakes for tea, and bringing out the best china," replied the girl, with a twinkle in her eye.

" Would you do as much for me, if I came ? " Joan looked at him in surprise. " You are not likely to come," she answered, rather disdainfully. "You are too fine a gentleman to come to Old Pencoed." " I am not a fine gentleman ; I am a hard working man." •' You don't look like one." " But I am though. But you have not answered my question." " What is it ? " " Would you welcome me if I found my way to your home ? " Joan looked him honestly in the face. " I will tell you when I know you better," was the frank answer. "Very good. I shall not fail to remind you of your promise. And now to business." " What may that mean ? " " It means that / mean, that when this party comes off, you shall dance as much as anybody." " I ? Impossible ! " " Nothing is impossible to a willing mind, Miss Joan. Please to favour me with your hand and your attention ; I am going to teach you the first figure of the quadrilles."