at the mention of his name. Of course he went at once, and he told me that he never, in all his experience as a clergyman, saw any one so completely broken down with grief.’
I found a great many of his letters among my father’s papers,’ said Philip; ‘and it was a very touching one that he wrote to me on my father’s death. Those Redclyffe people certainly have great force of character.’
‘And was it then he settled his property on my uncle?’ said Charles.
‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone. ‘My brother did not like his doing so, but he would not be at rest till it was settled. It was in vain to put him in mind of his grandchild, for he would not believe it could live; and, indeed, its life hung on a thread. I remember my brother telling me how he went to Moorworth to see it—for it could not be brought home—in hopes of bringing, back a report that might cheer its grandfather, but how he found it so weak and delicate, that he did not dare to try to make him take interest in it. It was not till the child was two or three years old, that Sir Guy ventured to let himself grow fond of it.’
‘Sir Guy was a very striking person,’ said Philip; ‘I shall not easily forget my visit to Redclyffe four years ago. It was more like a scene in a romance than anything real—the fine old red sandstone house crumbling away in the exposed parts, the arched gateway covered with ivy; the great quadrangle where the sun never shone, and full of echoes; the large hall and black wainscoted rooms, which the candles never would light up. It is a fit place to be haunted.’
‘That poor boy alone there!’ said Mrs. Edmonstone; ‘I am glad you and your uncle are going to him.’
‘Tell us about him,’ said Laura.
‘He was the most incongruous thing there,’ said Philip. ‘There was a calm, deep melancholy about the old man added to the grand courtesy which showed he had been what old books call a fine gentleman, that made him suit his house as a hermit does his cell, or a knight his castle; but breaking in on this “penseroso” scene, there was Guy—’
‘In what way?’ asked Laura.
‘Always in wild spirits, rushing about, playing antics, provoking the solemn echoes with shouting, whooping, singing, whistling. There was something in that whistle of his that always made me angry.’
‘How did this suit old Sir Guy?’
‘It was curious to see how Guy could rattle on to him, pour out the whole history of his doings, laughing, rubbing his hands, springing about with animation—all with as little answer as if he had been talking to a statue.’
‘Do you mean that Sir Guy did not like it?’
‘He did in his own way. There was now and then a glance or a nod, to show that he was attending; but it was such slight encouragement, that any less buoyant spirits must have been checked.’
‘Did you like him, on the whole?’ asked Laura. ‘I hope he has not this tremendous Morville temper? Oh, you don’t say so. What a grievous thing.’
‘He is a fine fellow,’ said Philip; ‘but I did not think Sir Guy managed him well. Poor old man, he was quite wrapped up in him, and only thought how to keep him out of harm’s way. He would never let him be with other boys, and kept him so fettered by rules, so strictly watched, and so sternly called to account, that I cannot think how any boy could stand it.’
‘Yet, you say, he told everything freely to his grandfather,’ said Amy.
‘Yes,’ added her mother, ‘I was going to say that, as long as that went on, I should think all safe.
‘As I said before,’ resumed Philip, ‘he has a great deal of frankness, much of the making of a fine character; but he is a thorough Morville. I remember something that will show you his best and worst sides. You know Redclyffe is a beautiful place, with magnificent cliffs overhanging the sea, and fine woods crowning them. On one of the most inaccessible of these crags there was a hawk’s nest, about half-way down, so that looking from the top of the precipice, we could see the old birds fly in and out. Well, what does Master Guy do, but go down this headlong descent after the nest. How he escaped alive no one could guess; and his grandfather could not bear to look at the place afterwards—but climb it he did, and came back with two young hawks, buttoned up inside his jacket.’
‘There’s a regular brick for you!’ cried Charles, delighted.
‘His heart was set on training these birds. He turned the library upside down in search of books on falconry, and spent every spare moment on them. At last, a servant left some door open, and they escaped. I shall never forget Guy’s passion; I am sure I don’t exaggerate when I say he was perfectly beside himself with anger.’
‘Poor boy!’ said Mrs. Edmonstone.
‘Served the rascal right,’ said Charles.
‘Nothing had any effect on him till his grandfather came out, and, at the sight of him, he was tamed in an instant, hung his head, came up to his grandfather, and said—“I am very sorry,” Sir Guy answered, “My poor boy!” and there was not another word. I saw Guy no more that day, and all the next he was quiet and subdued. But the most remarkable part of the story is to come. A couple of days afterwards we were walking in the woods, when, at the sound of Guy’s whistle, we heard a flapping and rustling, and beheld, tumbling along, with their clipped wings, these two identical hawks, very glad to be caught. They drew themselves up proudly for him to stroke them, and their yellow eyes looked at him with positive affection.’
‘Pretty creatures!’ said Amabel. ‘That is a very nice end to the story.’
‘It is not the end,’ said Philip. ‘I was surprised to see Guy so sober, instead of going into one of his usual raptures. He took them home; but the first thing I heard in the morning was, that he was gone to offer them to a farmer, to keep the birds from his fruit.’
‘Did he do it of his own accord?’ asked Laura.
‘That was just what I wanted to know; but any hint about them brought such a cloud over his face that I thought it would be wanton to irritate him by questions. However, I must be going. Good-bye, Amy, I hope your Camellia will have another blossom before I come back. At least, I shall escape the horticultural meeting.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Charles. ‘Put the feud in your pocket till you can bury it in old Sir Guy’s grave, unless you mean to fight it out with his grandson, which would be more romantic and exciting.’
Philip was gone before he could finish. Mrs. Edmonstone looked annoyed, and Laura said, ‘Charlie, I wish you would not let your spirits carry you away.’
‘I wish I had anything else to carry me away!’ was the reply.
‘Yes,’ said his mother, looking sadly at him. ‘Your high spirits are a blessing; but why misuse them? If they are given to support you through pain and confinement, why make mischief with them?’
Charles looked more impatient than abashed, and the compunction seemed chiefly to rest with Amabel.
‘Now,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, ‘I must go and see after my poor little prisoner.’
‘Ah!’ said Laura, as she went; ‘it was no kindness in you to encourage Charlotte to stay, Amy, when you know how often that inquisitive temper has got her into scrapes.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Amy, regretfully; ‘but I had not the heart to send her away.’
‘That
