of course not,” said Beck. “How absurd!”
“Well, what’s the matter? You’re just off to sea, I believe.”
“Yes. Long voyage,” said the young man huskily. “Go on; I’m all attention.”
Tom Beck did not go on, but stood examining his right hand, and frowning.
“What’s the matter with your hand?”
“Oh, nothing. Miss Lydon’s horse gave it a nip the other day.”
“Humph! Vicious brute. Those girls are more like rough riders than ladies.”
Beck looked at him curiously, while the young doctor flushed under the scrutiny, and said hastily:
“Well, boy, what is it? Isabel?”
“Yes,” cried Beck, snatching at the words. “You see I may be gone for two years, and I wanted – and I thought that – ”
“Thought what? Is she very hard to please?”
“Heaven bless her! no,” cried the young sailor eagerly. “There, I can speak to you, Neil. You have always been to me like a big brother. And you know that I care for her.”
“Well, I suppose I have thought so, my lad. What’s the matter?”
“That’s the matter,” said the sailor, giving his head a side nod in the direction of Sir Cheltnam, who was crossing the lawn.
“Humph! Burwood? You think so?”
“He comes here a good deal, and I can’t help being fidgety. It’s the going away, you see. Can you help me?”
“No,” said Neil. “You must help yourself. Have you spoken to my father?”
“No.”
“Why not? ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’ boy. Go and speak to him like a man.”
“All very well for an argumentative, scientific fellow like you. I can’t talk; you can.”
“Nonsense!”
“I know. I’m only a quiet, thoughtful sailor, and I tell you frankly, old fellow, I felt so miserable one day about your sister that I thought the best way out of it all would be to go and drown myself.”
“And did you?”
“No, Irishman, I did not; but, ’pon my word, seeing how Burwood is encouraged here, I have been really disposed, not to drown myself, but my sorrows – in drink.”
“And did you?” said Neil, mockingly.
“No,” replied Beck dryly. “It was no good to try; they all know how to swim.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Neil laughing. “You’re a queer fellow, Beck. So you think you love my sister?”
“Neil, old fellow, I swear – ”
“No rhapsodies, please. Be matter of fact. I don’t believe it’s love; it’s liver. Better let me prescribe for you.”
“Yes, do, old chap. Tell me what to do.”
“Go straight to my father and tell him in a frank, manly way that you care for Isabel, and as you are going away for so long, you would like to be engaged.”
“Neil, old fellow, I feel as if I dare not.”
“Nonsense! You, a sailor, who faces storms?”
“Yes, but your father’s a regular typhoon. I say, though, wouldn’t it be premature?”
“Of course not.”
“You would go – really?”
“If I cared for the lady, certainly,” said Neil, laughing at the combination of frank, manly daring and shrinking bashfulness before him. “It is not capital punishment if you fail.”
“No,” said Beck thoughtfully, “it isn’t. I’ve no cause to be afraid, have I?”
“Not a bit.”
“Then hang it all, I will the first moment I can get your father alone.”
“Bravo, brave man!” cried Neil merrily.
“Ah, it’s all very well for you to laugh, old fellow. You don’t know how bad it is. But I say, Neil, you wouldn’t mind, would you?”
“My dear Tom,” said Neil, clapping him warmly on the shoulder, “it seems to me something like sacrilege for a man to come here to the old home, and to want to rob us of my darling, innocent little sister; but if it is to be I do not know a man to whom I would sooner see her given than you.”
“Thank you,” cried the young sailor warmly, and his voice sounding a little husky from the emotion he felt. “Thank you, Neil, old fellow, you seem more than ever like a big brother to me now.”
“Here is my father,” said Neil, quickly. “Wait your opportunity, and get it over.”
For at that instant Mr Elthorne appeared at the door, looking the beau-idéal of a tall, middle-aged country gentleman, with many years of hearty, vigorous life before him.
“Morning, Beck,” he cried. “Ah, Neil, my boy, glad to see you down already. Why, you ought to have had a few hours’ more rest.”
“I’m accustomed to short and broken nights,” said the young man, warmly returning the grasp of his father’s hand. “How well you look, sir!”
“Sorry I can’t return the compliment, my boy. You look, white and careworn. Never mind; we’ll soon blow the London smoke out of you. Can you manage a ride after breakfast?”
“Yes, and enjoy it.”
“That’s right. The Lydon girls are coming over, and we’ll mount you on the old cob. By the way, I thought I heard Burwood’s voice.”
“He is down the garden with Alison,” said Neil.
“That’s right. I asked him to come over to breakfast. He is going to try my new purchase for me. But it’s of no use to talk horseflesh to you. Well, my dear?”
This to Isabel, who came running out, looking very innocent and girlish.
“Good-morning, papa,” she cried, kissing him. “I did not know you were down. Good-morning, Mr Beck,” she continued shyly, as she let her hand rest in his for a moment, and then turned to her brother to kiss him affectionately. “I’m so glad you’ve come, dear Neil.”
“Let’s have breakfast, Isabel. Aunt’s not down, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes, papa, and waiting for us.”
“Wonderful!” said Mr Elthorne grimly. “Run down the garden, Isabel, and fetch Alison and Sir Cheltnam in to breakfast. Will you have a cup of coffee, Beck?” he continued rather coldly.
“Thank
