An English Squire

“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth, “I have been thinking of the possibility of strained ankles too.”

“You see,” said Cherry, “they must have left their mules somewhere; at least we shall fall in with them.”

“Ah – ah! they are coming,” cried Gipsy, with a scream of joy, as the sound of hoofs were heard along the street.

Cherry dashed forward, but as the party came into sight he stopped suddenly, then hurried on to meet them; for only Pedro, one of the mule-drivers who had accompanied them, appeared, riding one mule and leading the other.

In the sudden downfall, Gipsy’s very senses seemed to fail her; as she saw Cherry lay his hand on the mule as if to support himself, and look up, unable to frame a question; she could hardly hear the confusion of voices that followed.

Soon, however, she gathered that no terrible news had come – no news at all. Don Alvar and Don Juan had ascended the mountain with their guide José, and had never returned; and, after waiting for their descent in the early morning, Pedro had come back without them. What could have happened? They might have gone a long way round, in fact a three days’ route – there was no other, or they might have fallen from a precipice.

“In short, you know nothing about them. We must go and see,” interrupted Cherry, briefly; “at least, I will. What mules have you? Who is the best guide now in Ronda?”

“My dear boy,” said Mr Stanforth gently and reluctantly, “you must not try the mountain yourself. You know it must be done on foot, and the fatigue – ”

“How can I think of that now? What does it matter?” said Cherry, with the roughness of excessive pain. “It is far worse to wait.”

“Yes, but depend upon it, they are as anxious as you are. Certainly I shall go, and the guides; but, you see, speed is an object.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t cough and lose my breath now!” said Cherry. “Indeed, I can walk up hill.”

Mr Stanforth could hardly answer him, and he went on vehemently, —

“You know Alvar is much too fidgety; he thinks I can do nothing. But, at least, let us all ride to the foot of the mountain; perhaps we shall meet them yet.”

“Yes, that at any rate we will do. Give your orders, and then come and get some chocolate.”

Miss Weston had taken care that this was ready, and Cherry sat down and ate and drank, trying to put a good face on the matter before the ladies.

After they started on their ride he was very silent, and hardly spoke a word till they came to the little inn where the mules had been left the day before. Then he said very quietly to Mr Stanforth, —

“Perhaps I had better wait – I might hinder you.”

“I think it would be best,” said Mr Stanforth, with merciful absence of comment, for he knew what the sense of incapacity must have been to Cherry then.

The kindest thing was to start on the steep ascent at once. Miss Weston, in what Gipsy thought a cold-blooded manner, took out her drawing materials, and sat down to sketch the mountain peaks, Cheriton started from his silent watch of the ascending party, and asked Gipsy to take a little walk with him: and as she gladly came, they gathered plants and talked a little about the view, showing their terror by their utter silence on the real object of their thoughts. Then he exerted himself to get some lunch for them; so that the first hours of the day passed pretty well. But as the afternoon wore on, he sat down under a great walnut-tree, and watched the mountain – the great pitiless creature with its steep bare sides and snowy summits. He gave no outward sign of impatience, only watched as if he could not turn his eyes away; and Miss Weston, almost as anxious for him as for the missing ones, thought it best to leave him to follow his own bent.

No one was anxious about poor Gipsy, who wandered about, running out of sight in the vain hope of seeing something on the bare hill-side on her return.

At last, just as the wonderful violet and rose tints of the sunset began to colour the white peaks, Cheriton sprang to his feet, and pointed to the hill-side, where, far in the distance, were moving figures.

“How many?” he said, for, in the hurry of their start, they had left the field-glasses, which would have brought certainty a little sooner, behind.

“Oh, there are surely a great many,” said Gipsy.

Cheriton watched with the keen sight trained on his native moorlands; while the ladies counted and miscounted, and thought they saw Jack’s white puggaree.

“No,” said Cherry, “there are only Mr Stanforth and the two guides. I cannot wait,” he added, impetuously, and began to hurry up the hill, till he stopped perforce for want of breath.

“There can have been no accident; we have found no one – nothing whatever,” cried Mr Stanforth, as soon as he came within speaking distance. “They must have gone the other way; there is no trace.”

He spoke in a tone of would-be congratulation, but an ominous whisper passed among the guides, bandidas, and the utter blank was almost more terrifying than direct ill news.

“We must go back to Ronda, and see what can be done to-morrow.”

“But,” said Cherry, rather incoherently, “I don’t know – you see, I must take care of Jack.”

“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth, “but any little detention would not hurt either of them, and they must not find that you are knocked up. We can consult the authorities at Ronda.”

“Yes, thank you; I hope you are not over-tired,” said Cherry, half dreamily. “I? oh, no; I am quite well; but I can’t help being anxious.”

“No, it is very perplexing; but I feel quite hopeful of good news myself,” said Mr Stanforth.

But somehow the necessity of this assurance struck a sharper pang to Cherry’s heart than his own vague forebodings.

End of Volume Two

Chapter Eight.

Civis Romanus Sum

“The mightiest of all peoples under Heaven!”

“I tell you, you stupid, blundering blockheads, that he is my brother; and we are Englishmen, and we know nothing whatever of your Carlist brigands, or whoever they are! We are British subjects, and you had better let us go, or the British Government will know the reason why,” thundered Jack Lester, in exceedingly bad Spanish, interspersed with English epithets, at the top of his voice.

“Gentlemen, it is true; our passports are at Ronda; conduct us thither, if you will. We are travelling for pleasure only, and have no concern with any political matters at all,” said Alvar, in far more courteous accents.

The scene was the mountain side, the time evening, and Alvar and Jack were just beginning their descent, when they were confronted by an official, and surrounded by a small troop of soldiers in the government uniform. They had been suddenly encountered and stopped, and desired to produce their passports, and, these not being forthcoming, their account of themselves was met with civil incredulity, and they were desired to consider themselves under arrest.

“But – but don’t you see that you’re making an utter fool of yourself,” shouted Jack, in a fury. “I tell you this gentleman is my brother, and we are the sons of Mr Lester, of Oakby Hall, Westmoreland, and have nothing to do with your confounded Carlists. I’ll knock the first fellow down – ”

“Hush, Jack! Keep your temper,” whispered Alvar, in English. “Señor, I am the grandson of Señor Don Guzman de la Rosa, of Seville, well known as a friend to the government, and this is my half-brother from England.”

“One of the De la Rosas, señor, is exactly what we know you to be; but as for this extraordinary falsehood by which you call yourself an Englishman – and the brother of this gentleman – why, you make matters worse for yourselves for attempting it.”

“Ask the guide,” said Alvar.

“Ah, doubtless; the fellow was known as having been engaged in the late war. Come, señores, you may as well accompany me in silence.”

“Will you send a message by the direct route to Ronda, asking for our passports, and informing our friends of our safety?” said Alvar.

No, informing their friends was the last thing wished for. In the morning they would see.

“Do not resist, Jack,” said Alvar; “it is quite useless; we must come.”

“Don’t you hear he is talking English to me?” said Jack, as a last appeal, and, of course, a vain one.

“I am sure they haven’t got a magistrate’s warrant,” said Jack, as his alpenstock was taken away from him, and, closely guarded, he was made to precede Alvar down the hill, in a state of offended dignity and incredulous indignation. He was very angry, but not at all frightened; it was incredible that any Spanish officials should hurt him. Indeed, as he cooled down a little, the adventure might have been a good joke, but for the certainty that Cherry would be imagining them at the bottom of a precipice.

After walking for some way along a different road from the one they had come by, they stopped at a little wayside tavern, where they were given to understand that they were to pass the night.

“But it’s impossible; they can’t keep us here,” cried Jack. “Isn’t there a parish priest, or a magistrate, or a policeman, or some one to appeal to?”

“No one who could help us,” answered Alvar. “I do not think there is anything to be afraid of for ourselves; we can easily prove that we are English when we get to some town; it is of Cherry that I think – he will be so frightened.”

“You don’t think they’ll go and take him up?”

“Oh, no; I hope they will send to Ronda for our passports in the morning. But, Jack, do not fly in a passion. We must be very civil, and say we are quite willing to be detained in the service of the government.”

“I’m hanged if I say anything of the sort,” muttered Jack, whose prominent sensation was rage at the idea that he, an Englishman, a gentleman, a man with an address, and a card – though he had unluckily left it at home – should be subjected to such an indignity, stopped in his proceedings by a dozen trumpery Spaniards!

Alvar was not so full of a sense of the liberty of the subject; he felt sure that he was mistaken for Manoel, and more than suspected that the government might have been justified in detaining his cousin. He did not, however, wish to confide this to Jack, of whose prudence he was doubtful, and knew that if the worst came to the worst, his grandfather could get them out of the scrape.

There might be no danger, but it was very uncomfortable, and provisions being scarce in the emergency, the captain – who looked much more like a bandit than an officer – gave his prisoners no supper but a bit of bread. Alvar was Spaniard enough to endure the fasting, but Jack, after his day of mountain climbing, was ready to eat his fingers off with hunger; and as the hours wore on, began really to feel sick, wretched, and low-spirited, and though he preserved an unmoved demeanour, to wonder inwardly what his father would say if he knew where he was, and to remember that the Spaniards were a cruel people and invented the Inquisition! And then he wondered if Gipsy was thinking of him.

Moreover, it was very cold, and they were of course tired to begin with, so that, when at length the morning dawned, Alvar was startled to see how like Jack looked to Cheriton after a bad night, and made such representations to the captain that Englishmen could not bear cold and hunger, that he obtained a fair share of bread and a couple of onions – provisions which Jack enjoyed more than he would have done had he guessed what Alvar had said to procure them.

“I’m up to anything now,” he said. “If they would only let us put a note in the post for Cherry, it would be rather a lark after all.”

“I do not know where you will find a post-office,” said Alvar disconsolately, as they were marched off in an opposite direction to Ronda. “If Cherry only does not climb that mountain to look for us!”

“I should like to set this country to rights a little,” said Jack.

“That,” said Alvar dryly, “is what many have tried to do, but they have not succeeded.”

The prisoners were very well guarded, and though Alvar made more than one attempt to converse with the captain, he got scarcely any answer. Still, from the exceedingly curious glances with which he regarded them, Alvar suspected that he was not quite clear in his own mind as to their identity. After a long day’s march they struck down on a small Moorish-looking town, called Zahara, built beside a wide, quick-rushing river.

And now Alvar’s hopes rose, as here resided an acquaintance of his grandfather, a noted breeder of bulls, who knew him well, and had once seen Cheriton at Seville. Besides, the authorities of Zahara might be amenable to reason.

However, they could get no hearing that night, and were shut up in what Jack called the station-house, but which was really a round Moorish tower with horseshoe arches. Here Alvar obtained a piece of paper, and they concocted a full description of themselves, their travelling companions, and their destination, which Alvar signed with his full name, —

“Alvaro Guzman Lester, of Westmoreland, England,” and directed to El Señor Don Luis Pavieco, Zahara, and this he desired might be given to the local authorities. He also tried hard, but in vain, to get a note sent to Ronda.

They hoped that the early morning might produce Don Luis, but they saw nothing of any one but the soldier who brought them their food, which was still of the poorest.

Alvar’s patience began to give way at last; he walked up and down the room.

“Oh, I am mad when I think of my brother!” he exclaimed. “My poor Cheriton. What he will suffer!”

“Don’t you think they’ll let us out soon?” said Jack, who had subsided into a sort of glum despair.

“Oh, they will wait – and delay – and linger. It drives me mad!” he repeated vehemently, and throwing himself into a seat he hid his face in his arms on the table.

“Well,” said Jack, “it’s dogged as does it. I wish I hadn’t used up all my tobacco though.”

Early the next morning their door was opened at an unusual hour, and they were summoned into a sort of hall, where they found “el Capitano,” another officer in a respectable uniform, and, to Alvar’s joy, Don Luis Pavieco himself.

The thing was ended with ludicrous ease. Don Luis bowed to Alvar, and turning to the officer declared that Don Alvar Lester was perfectly well known to him, and that the other gentleman was certainly his half-brother and an Englishman. The officer bowed also, smiled, hoped that they had not been incommoded; it was a slight mistake.

“Mistake!” exclaimed Jack; “and pray, Alvar, what’s the Spanish for apology – damages?”

Alvar turned a deaf ear, and bowed and smiled with equal politeness.

“He had been sure that in due time the slight mistake would be rectified. Were they now free to go?”

“Yes;” and Don Luis interposed, begging them to come and get some breakfast with him while their horses could be got ready. Their guide? – oh, he was still detained on suspicion.

“Well,” ejaculated Jack, “they are the coolest hands. Incommoded! I should think we have been incommoded indeed!”

In the meantime no hint of how matters had really gone reached the anxious hearts at Ronda. The authorities had scouted the idea of brigands, and had revealed the existence of a dangerous ravine, some short distance from the mountain path. Doubtless the darkness had overtaken them, and they had been lost. The guides declared that nothing was more unlikely, as it was hardly possible to reach the ravine from the path, the rocks were so steep. A search was however made by some of the most active, it need not be said, in vain. Cheriton, afterwards, never could bear a reference to those days and nights of suspense – suspense lasting long enough to change the hope of good tidings into the dread of evil tidings, till he feared rather than longed for the sounds for which his whole being seemed to watch.

Nothing could exceed Mr Stanforth’s kindness to him, and he held up at first bravely, and submitted to his friend’s care. On the third morning they resolved that Don Guzman should be written to, and Cherry, who had been wandering about in an access of restless misery, tried to begin the letter; but he put down the pen, turning faint and dizzy, and unable to frame a sentence.

“I cannot,” he said faintly. “I cannot see.”

“You must lie down, my dear boy; you have had no rest. I will do it.”

“My father, too,” Cheriton said, with a painful effort at self-control. “I think – there’s no chance. I must try to do it; but – oh – Jack – Jack!”

He buried his face on his arms with a sob that seemed as if it would tear him to pieces.

“You must not write yet to your father,” said Mr Stanforth. “I do not give up hope. Courage, my boy!”

Suddenly a loud scream rang through the house, and an outburst of voices, and one raised joyously, —

“My brother – my brother – are you here? – we are safe!” and as Cherry started to his feet Alvar, followed by Jack, rushed into the room, and clasped him in his arms.

“Safe! yes, the abominable, idiotic brutes of soldiers! But we’re all right, Cherry. You mustn’t mind now.”

“Yes, we are here, and it is over.”

“Thank Heaven for His great mercy!” cried Mr Stanforth, almost bursting into tears as he grasped Alvar’s hand.

“Bandits, bandits?” cried half-a-dozen voices.

But Cherry could not speak a word; he only put out his hand and caught Jack’s, as if to feel sure of his presence also.

“Mi querido,” said Alvar in his gentle, natural tones, “all the terror is over – now you can rest. I think you had better go, Jack. I will take care of him,” he added.

“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth; “this has been far too much. Come, Jack – come and tell us all that has chanced.”

Chapter Nine.

Jack on his Mettle

“Lat me alone in chesing of my wyf,That charge upon my bak I wol endure.”Chaucer.

That same morning, when Jack and Alvar had ridden hurriedly up to the hotel, looking eagerly to catch sight of those who were so anxiously watching for them, their eyes fell on Gipsy’s solitary figure, standing motionless, with eyes turned towards the mountain, and hands dropped listlessly before her. Jack’s heart gave a great bound, and at the sound of the horses’ hoofs, she turned with a start and scream of joy, and sprang towards them, while Jack, jumping off, caught both her hands, crying, —

“Oh, don’t be frightened any more, we’re come!”

“Your brother!” exclaimed Gipsy, as she flew into the house; but her cry of “Papa! papa!” was suddenly choked with such an outburst of blinding, stifling tears and sobs, that she paused perforce; and as they ran upstairs, Mariquita, the pretty Spanish girl who waited on them, caught her hand and kissed her fervently.

“Ah, señorita, dear señorita; thanks to the saints, they have sent her lover back to her. Sweet señorita, now she will not cry!”

A sudden access of self-consciousness seized on Gipsy; she blushed to her fingertips, and only anxious to hide the tears she could not check, she hurried away, round to the back of the inn, into a sort of orchard, where grew peach and nectarine trees, apples and pears already showing buds, and where the ground was covered with jonquils and crocuses, while beyond was the rocky precipice, and, far off, the snowy peaks that still made Gipsy shudder. Unconscious of the strain she had been enduring, she was terrified at the violence of her own emotion, for Gipsy was not a girl who was given to gusts of feeling. Probably the air and the solitude were her best remedies, for she soon began to recover herself, and sat up among the jonquils. Oh, how thankful she was that the danger was over, and the bright, kindly Cheriton spared from such a terrible sorrow! But was it for Cheriton’s sake that these last two days had been like a frightful dream, that her very existence seemed to have been staked on news of the lost ones? No one —no one could help such feelings. Miss Weston had cried about it, and her father had never been able to touch a pencil. But that foolish Mariquita! Here Gipsy sprang to her feet with a start, for close at her side stood Jack. At sight of him, strong and ruddy and safe, her feeling overpowered her consciousness of it, and she said, earnestly, —

“Oh, I am so thankful you are safe! It was so dreadful!”

“And it was not dreadful at all in reality, only tiresome and absurd,” said Jack.

“It was very dreadful here,” said Gipsy, in a low voice, with fresh tears springing.

“Oh, if you felt so!” cried Jack ardently; “I wish it could happen to me twenty times over!”

“Oh, never again!” she murmured; and then Jack, suddenly and impetuously, —

“But I am glad it happened, for I found out up in that dirty hole how I felt. There was never any one like you. I – I – could you ever get to think of me? Oh, Gipsy, I mean it. I love you!” cried the boy, his stern, thoughtful face radiant with eagerness, as he seized her hand.

“Oh, no – you don’t!” stammered Gipsy, not knowing what she said.

“I do!” cried Jack desperately. “I never was a fellow that did not know his own mind. Of course I know I’m young yet; but I only want to look forward. I shall work and get on, and – and up there at school and at Oakby I never thought there was any one like you. I disliked girls. But now – oh, Gipsy, won’t you begin at the very beginning with me, and let us live our lives together?”

Boy as he was, there was a strength of intention in Jack’s earnest tones that carried conviction. Perhaps the mutual attraction might have remained hidden for long, or even have passed away, but for the sudden and intense excitement that had brought it to the surface.

“Won’t you – won’t you?” reiterated Jack; and Gipsy said “Yes.”

They stood in the glowing sunshine, and Jack felt a sort of ecstasy of unknown bliss. He did not know how long was the pause before Gipsy, starting, and as if finishing the sentence, went on, —

“Yes – but I don’t know. What will they all say? Isn’t it wrong when we are so young?”

“Wrong! as if a year or two made any difference to feelings like mine!” cried Jack. “If I were twenty-five, if I were thirty, I couldn’t love you better!”

“Yes – but – ” said Gipsy, in her quick, practical way. “You are young, and – and – papa – If he says – ”

“Of course I shall tell him,” said Jack. “I am not going to steal you. If you will wait, I’ll work and show your father that I am a man. For I love you!”

“I’ll wait!” said Gipsy softly; and then voices sounded near, and she started away from him, while Jack – but Jack could never recollect exactly what he did during the next ten minutes, till the thought of how he was to tell his story sobered him. Practical life had not hitherto occupied much of Jack’s mind; he had had no distinct intentions beyond taking honours, and if possible a fellowship, till he had been seized upon by this sudden passion, which in most lads would probably have been a passing fancy, but in so earnest and serious a nature took at once a real and practical shape. But when Jack thought of facing Mr Stanforth, and still worse his own father, with his wishes and his hopes, a fearful embarrassment seized on him. No, he must first make his cause good with the only person who was likely to be listened to – he must find Cherry. However, the first person he met was Mr Stanforth, who innocently asked him if he knew where his daughter was. Jack blushed and stared, answering incoherently, —

“I was only looking for Cherry.”

“There he is. I heard him asking for you. Perhaps Gipsy is in the orchard.” Jack felt very foolish and cowardly, but for his very life he could not begin to speak, and he turned towards the bench where Cherry sat in the sun, smoking his pipe comfortably, and conscious of little but a sense of utter rest and relief.

“Well, Jack, I haven’t heard your story yet,” he said, as Jack came and sat down beside him. “I don’t think you have grown thin, though Alvar says they nearly starved you to death.”

“Where is Alvar?” asked Jack.

“I got him to go to the mayor, intendant, whatever the official is called here, and see if anything could be done for poor Pedro. His mother was here just now in an agony. Jack, I think the ‘evils of government’ might receive some illustrations.”

“Cheriton,” said Jack, with unusual solemnity, “I’ve got to ask your advice – that is, your opinion – that is, to tell you something.”