you were in your farming days.”
“Farming days?”
“Ay,” chuckled the Churchwarden, “sowing thy wild oats, my lad.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Why, Portlock, you’re as fond of a joke as ever. Ladies, I hope you won’t mind so much smoking,” he said, puffing away vigorously all the same, while Luke Ross gazed uneasily from one brother to the other, till he caught Cyril looking at him in a haughty, offended manner, when in spite of himself his eyes fell.
“Old folks surprised to see you, eh, sir?” said the Churchwarden, to break the blank in the conversation.
“Yes, preciously,” was the short reply.
“Humph!”
Frank Mallow, who was staring at Rue, while his brother was trying to catch her sister’s eye, turned at this loud grunt and smiled.
“Oh, you’re there!” he exclaimed. “And how is Doctor Vinnicombe?”
“Doctor Vinnicombe is in very good health, and in the best of spirits,” said the doctor, sarcastically, “for one of his old patients has come back, evidently to pay a heavy bill that his father refused to acknowledge.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Frank Mallow.
“And how have you got on, Mr Frank?” said the Churchwarden. “I hope you’ve made a better hit of it than Mr Cyril there, and after all the teaching I gave him about sheep.”
“Better hit? Well, I hope so. Nice fellow he was to come out to the other side of the world, and never call upon his brother.”
“You took precious good care not to let us know your address,” retorted Cyril.
“And what may you have been doing, Mr Frank?” said the Churchwarden, who was beginning to have an uneasy idea that the visitors were not adding to the harmony of the evening, and also recalling the ugly little affairs that had to do with Frank’s departure.
“Doing?”
“Yes; sir; did you try tillage?”
“Not I, farmer,” exclaimed Frank Mallow, staring hard at Rue, who kept her eyes fixed upon the carpet, or talked in a low voice to Sage, while bluff John Berry listened eagerly for what seemed likely to be an interesting narrative.
“Let’s see, Mr Frank, you went to New Zealand?”
“Yes, but I did not stay there; I ran on to Australia, and tried the diggings.”
“And did you get any gold, sir?” said John Berry, eagerly.
“Pretty well,” replied Frank Mallow; “enough to buy and stock a good sheep farm; and now I’m as warm as some of them out there,” he added, with a coarse laugh, “and I’ve come back home for a wife to take care of the house I’ve built.”
“That’s right, sir,” said John Berry, nodding his head, and smiling at Rue; “nothing like a good wife, sir, to keep you square.”
“Then you are not going to stay?” said the Churchwarden.
“Stay! what here? No thanky; I had enough of England when I was here. Other side of the world for me.”
The Churchwarden was right in his ideas, for, as the night wore on, Frank Mallow seemed to be trying to pique Rue by his strange bantering ways, while all the time he was so persevering in his free attentions to Sage that Luke’s face grew red, and a frown gathered upon his forehead.
Cyril saw it too, and as he found that his brother’s conduct annoyed both Sage and Luke, he increased his attentions, laughingly telling Frank not to monopolise the ladies, but to leave a chance for some one else.
“And they call themselves gentlemen!” thought Luke Ross, as he listened gravely to all that was said, and tried to keep from feeling annoyed at the free and easy way of the two brothers, who seemed to have put on their Australian manners for the occasion, and refused to believe in Mrs Portlock being troubled and her nieces annoyed.
They had the greater part of the conversation, and thoroughly spoiled the evening, so that it was with a feeling of relief that Luke heard Cyril Mallow say —
“Well, come along; we must get back. Past twelve; and the governor likes early hours in the country.”
“Let him,” said Frank Mallow, lighting his fourth cigar.
“But the mater said she should wait up to see you before she went to bed,” said Cyril.
“Poor old girl! then I suppose we must go,” said Frank, rising. “Ladies, I kiss your hands, as we say in the east. Good-night!”
He shook hands all round, holding Rue Berry’s hand very tightly for a moment, at the same time that her brother had Sage’s little trembling fingers in his clasp.
“Good-night, gentlemen; you don’t go our way.”
The next minute Mrs Portlock uttered a sigh of relief, for the dogs were barking at the visitors whom Churchwarden Portlock was seeing to the gate.
“There’s a something I like about that young fellow,” said John Berry, breaking the silence, as the sisters stood hand clasped in hand, with Mrs Portlock looking at them in a troubled way. “I’ve heard a good deal of evil spoke of him, but a young fellow who is fond of his mother can’t be so very bad. Good-night, doctor; good-night, Mr Ross; good-night, Luke Ross. I’ll walk with you to the gate.”
The “good-night” between Luke and Sage was not a warm one, for the girl felt troubled and ill at ease, but Luke was quiet and tender.
“She’s very tired,” he said, “and I promised her – yes, I promised her – ”
He did not say what he promised her, as he went thoughtfully home, leaving his father and Doctor Vinnicombe to do all the talking; but as they parted at the doctor’s door in the High Street, the latter turned sharply, and said —
“Good-night, Luke Ross. I say, Michael Ross, I don’t think you need envy the parson his good fortune in the matter of boys.”
“I don’t envy him, Luke, my boy,” said the little thin, dry old man, as soon as they were out of hearing; “and if I were you, my boy, I’d have precious little to do with these young fellows.”
“Don’t be alarmed, father,” said Luke, laughing; “they would think it an act of condescension to associate with me.”
“No,” he said to himself, as he stood at last in his clean, plainly-furnished bedroom in the quaint little market-place, “I should be insulting Sage if I thought she could care for any one but me.”
But all the same Luke Ross’s dreams were not of a very pleasant kind that night; and those of the two sisters of a less happy character still.
Part 1, Chapter XV.
The Prodigal Sons
To look at the red-brick gabled rectory, with its rose and wistaria-covered trellis-work, the latter at its season one mass of lovely pendent lavender racemes, and the former in some form or other brightening the house with blossoms all the year round, it might
