it when he went downstairs. Was it that his mind was a light mind, easily blown about by any wind? or that God had given him that preservative which He gives to those whom He has destined to bear much in this world? At so early a moment, when his life lay all vague before him, this was a question which nobody could answer. There was one indication, however, that his elasticity was strength rather than weakness, which was this—that he had not forgotten what had moved him so strongly, but was able, his sunny nature helping him, to put it away.
CHAPTER VI
The first day at Arden had been play; the second, work began again, and the new life which was so unfamiliar to the young Squire came pouring in upon him like a tide. In the morning he had an appointment with the family solicitor, who was coming, full of business, to lay his affairs before him, and to inaugurate his curiously changed existence. In the evening, his old friends in the village were coming to dine with this equally old friend, and Edgar felt that he would, without doubt, have a great deal of good advice to encounter, and probably many reminiscences which would not be pleasant to hear. None of these very old friends knew in the least the character of the young man with whom they had to do. They saw, as everybody did, his light-heartedness, his cheerful oblivion of all the wrongs of the past, and quiet commencement of his new career; but they did not know nor suspect the thorns that past had left in his mind—the haunting horror of his father’s look, the aching wonder as to the meaning of treatment so extraordinary, which had never left him since he caught that glance, coupled with a strange consciousness that some time or other he must find out the secret of this unnatural enmity. Edgar, though he was so buoyant as almost to appear deficient in feeling to the careless observer, kept this thought lying deep down in his heart. He would find it out some time, whatever it was; and though he could not frame to himself the remotest idea what it was, he felt and knew that the discovery, when it came, would be such as to embitter if not to change his whole existence. No one had any clue to the cause of the Squire’s behaviour to his son. To Clare it had seemed little more than a preference for herself, which was cruel to her brother, as shutting him out from his just share in his father’s heart, but not of any great importance otherwise; and at least one of the theories entertained on the subject outside the house of Arden was such as could not be named to the heir. Therefore, he had not a single gleam from without to assist him in resolving this great question; yet he felt in the depths of his heart that some time or other it would be resolved, and that the illumination, when it came, could not but bring grief and trouble in its train.
“I never saw this Mr. Fazakerley,” he said, as Clare and he sat alone over their breakfast on that second morning. Already it had become natural to him to be the master of the great house, of all those silent servants, the centre of a life so unlike anything that he had known. His mind was very rapid, went quickly over the preliminary stages, and accustomed itself to a hundred novelties, while a slower fancy would but have been having its first gaze at them; but the absolutely New startled him to a greater degree than it ever could have startled a more leisurely imagination. “I don’t know him a bit,” he repeated, with a half laugh, in which there was more nervousness than amusement. “What sort of a man is he? I always like to know–”
“Mr. Fazakerley!” said Clare, with a soft echo of wonder, “why, all the Ardens have known all the Fazakerleys from their cradles. He must have had you on his knee a hundred times, as I am sure he had me.”
“I don’t think so,” said Edgar, suppressing, because of the servants, any other question, “or, if I ever saw him I have forgotten. Why must we have business breaking in upon us at every turn? I am afraid I like play.”
“I am afraid you have had too much play,” Clare said, looking at him with those eyes of young wisdom, utterly without experience, which look so soft yet judge so hardly; “but, Edgar, you must remember you are not a wanderer now. You have begun serious life.”
“I wonder if life is as serious as you are, Clare,” he said, looking at her with that half-tender, half mocking look, which Clare did not quite understand nor like; “or whether this lawyer and his green bag will be half as alarming as those looks of yours. I may satisfy him; but I fear I shall never come up to your mark.”
“Don’t speak so, please,” said Clare. “Why shouldn’t you come up to my mark? I like a man to be very high-minded and generous, and that you are, Edgar; but then I like people to have proper pride, and believe in their own position, and feel its duties. That is all—and I like people to be English–, and it would be so nice to think you were going to show yourself a true Arden, in spite of everything.” This was said at a fortunate moment, when Wilkins, the butler, was at the very other end of the great room, fetching something from the sideboard, and could not hear. She leant across the table hastily, before the man turned round, and added, in a hurried tone, “Don’t discuss such things before the servants, Edgar; they listen to everything we say.”
“I forgot,” he said; “I never had servants before who knew English. You don’t recollect that English has always been a grand foreign language to me.”
“The more’s the pity!” said Clare, with a deep sigh. This sentiment made her beautiful face so long, and drooped the corners of her mouth so sadly, that her brother laughed in spite of himself.
“But it is possible to live out of England for all that,” he said; “and I know people in Germany that would have the deepest sympathy with you. The Von Dummkopfs think just the same of themselves as the Ardens do, and look down just as much upon outsiders. I wonder how you would like the Fraulein Ida? They have twenty quarterings in their arms, and blood that has been filtered through all the veins worth speaking of in Germany for ever so many centuries; but then the Von Dummkopfs are not so rich as we are, Clare.”
“As if I ever thought of that!” she said. “Who is Fraulein Ida? I have no doubt I shall like her—if she is nice. But, Edgar, though I would not say a word against your German friends, it would be so much nicer if you would marry an English girl. I should be able to love her so much more.”
“Softly,” said Edgar; “don’t go so fast, please. I have not the least intention of marrying any one; and I don’t admire the Fraulein Ida. I want nobody but my sister, as long as she will keep faithful to me. Let us have the good of each other for a little now, without any one to interfere.”
“Edgar, no one can interfere,” said Clare hurriedly. “Now that man is gone, oh, Edgar! I must say one word for poor papa. I know he was hard upon you, dear; but he never interfered—never said a word—never tried to keep me from loving you. Indeed, indeed, he never did! I know I was cross yesterday about that picture. If you don’t like it, it shall come down; it is only right it should come down. But oh, Edgar, he was so kind, he was so good to me!”
Edgar had risen before the words were half said, and stood by her, holding her tenderly in his arms. “My dear little sister!” he said, “you have always been the one star I had to cheer me. You shall hang all the house with his picture if you like. I forgive him all my grievances because he was good to you. But, Clare, he hated me.”
“No, Edgar, not hated,” cried Clare, raising to him her weeping face. “Oh, not hated; but he loved mamma so, and you were so like her, he never could bear–”
Her voice faltered as she spoke. It was all she could say, but she did not believe it. As for Edgar, he shook his head with a smile that was half bitter half sad.
“I know better,” he said; “but it is a question we need not discuss. Believe the gentle fiction, dear, if you can. But I will never say a word again about any picture. Let it be. It would be hard if your brother could not put up with anything that was dear to you. Now tell me about Mr. Fazakerley, and what he is going to say.”
“Edgar, it all belongs to the same subject,” said Clare, drying her eyes. “I am glad you have spoken. I should not have had the
