War to the Knife 60

War to the Knife 60

One of the reasons which actuated Mr. Lexington, a shrewd though

liberal man in business matters, was a dislike to paying the income-tax

in two countries at the same time. He could afford it, certainly,

but it struck him as wasteful, and in a measure unfair, to make an

Australian pay extravagantly for desiring to live in the mother-land.

Then, after assisting to enlarge the empire abroad, the price of

landed estates in England had gone down seriously--was, indeed, going

down still. With a probability of a serious fall in values in both

hemispheres, it was better to part with his English investment while he

could get a purchaser for it, who, like himself, was not disposed to

stand upon trifles.

 

So it came to pass that, after a conference between his own and the

Massinger solicitors, Mr. Lexington accepted the proposal to sell

Massinger Court, with the Hereford herd of high-bred cattle, hacks,

hunters, carriage-horses, vehicles, saddlery--indeed, everything just

as it stood. All these adjuncts to be taken at a valuation, and added

to the price of the estate, the re-purchase of which by a member of the

family was what most probably, though his solicitor declined to say,

old Mr. Hamon de Massinger, the testator, had in view all along.

 

The county was ridiculously overjoyed, as some acidulated person

said, that the rightful heir, so to speak, was come to his own again.

Independently of such feeling, nowhere stronger than in English county

society, few localities but would feel a certain satisfaction at the

return of a county magnate--rich, unmarried, and distinguished, as a

man must always be who has fought England's battles abroad, and shed

his blood in upholding her honour. Thus, although the free-handed and

unaffected Australian family was heartily regretted, and "farewelled"

with suitable honours, the sentimental corner in all hearts responded

fervently to the news that the young squire had returned to the home

of his ancestors, and would henceforth, as he declared at the tenants'

enthusiastically joyous reception, live among his own people.

 

Of course, all sorts of exaggerated versions of his life in the

far South prevailed. These comprised prowess in war, hairbreadth

escapes, wounds, and captivity, the whole rounded off with a legend

of a beautiful native princess, who had brought him as her dower a

principality beneath the Southern Cross. To these romantic rumours he

paid no attention whatever, refusing to be drawn, and giving the most

cursory answers to direct questions. But when, after spending a quiet

year on his estate, in the management of which he took great interest,

it was announced that he was about to be married to the beautiful,

distinguished, fascinating, eccentric Hypatia Tollemache, all the

county was wildly excited. When the event took place, the particulars

of the quiet wedding were read and re-read by every one in his own and

the adjacent counties.

 

Fresh tales and legends, however, continued to be circulated. His first

wife--for he had married a beautiful Maori princess; at any rate, a

chief's daughter--was killed fighting by his side in a tribal war. She

was jealous of Miss Tollemache, and had committed suicide. Not at all.

Her father, a great war-chief, disapproved of the union, and, carrying

her off, had immured her in his stronghold, surrounded by a lake, which

her despairing husband could not cross. So she pined away and died.

_That_ was the reason for his occasional fits of depression, and his

insensibility to the charms of the local belles.

 

He was obdurate with respect to giving information as to the truth

or otherwise of these interesting narratives; indeed, so obviously

unwilling to gratify even the most natural curiosity, that at length

even the most hardened inquisitor gave up the task in despair.

 

The county had more reason for complaint when it was further announced

that Sir Roland and his bride had left for the Continent immediately

after the wedding, whence they did not propose returning until the near

approach of Christmas-tide. Then such old-world festivities as were

still remembered by the villagers in connection with former lords of

the manor would be conscientiously kept up, while the largesse to the

poor, which under the new _régime_ had not by any means fallen into

disuse, would be disbursed with exceptional profusion.

 

After the sale Mr. Lexington had been besought to consult his own

convenience, absolutely and unreservedly, as to the time and manner

of his departure. The purchase-money having been received, and all

legal forms completed, he was to consider the house and all things

appertaining thereto at his service. Messrs. Nourse and Lympett had

instructions to take delivery of the estate whenever it suited him to

vacate it. The Australian gentleman, having had much experience in the

sale and taking over of "stations" in Australia--always regarded as a

crucial test of liberality--was heard to declare that never in his life

had he purchased and resold so extensive a property with so little

trouble, or concluded so considerable a transaction with less friction

or misunderstanding on either side.

 

And so, when the leaves in the woods around the Chase had fallen, and

the ancient oaks and elms were arrayed in all their frost and snow

jewellery, word came that the squire with his bride were returning from

their extended tour. They would arrive on a certain day, prepared to

inhabit the old hall which had sheltered in pride and power so many

generations of the race. Then the whole county went off its head, and

prepared for his home-coming. Such a demonstration had not been heard

of since Sir Hugo de Massinger, constable of Chester, came home from

the wars in Wales after the death of Gwenwyn.

 

When the train drew up to the platform, such a crowd was there that

Hypatia looked forth with amazement, wondering whether there was a

contested election, with the chairing of the successful candidate

imminent. Every man of note in the county was there, from the Duke

of Dunstanburgh to the last created knight. Every tenant, every

villager, with their wives and daughters, sons and visitors; every

tradesman--in fact, every soul within walking, riding, or driving

distance--had turned up to do honour to Sir Roland of the Court, who,

after adventures by sea and land, through war and bloodshed, had been

suffered, doubtless by the direct interposition of Providence, to come

to his own again.

 

As Sir Roland and his fair dame passed through the crowd towards their

chariot, it was quickly understood what was to be the order of the day.

The horses were taken out, and a dozen willing hands grasped the pole,

preparatory to setting forth for the Court, some three miles distant.

Waving his hand to request silence, the bridegroom said--

 

"My lord duke, ladies and gentlemen, and you my good friends, who have

known me from childhood, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for

the welcome which you have given to me and my dear wife on our return

to our native country and the home of my ancestors. My wife would

thank you on her part, if her heart was not too full. We trust that in

the future we may show by our lives, lived among you, how deeply, how

intensely, we appreciate your generous welcome. At present I can say

nothing more, than to invite you, one and all, to accompany us to the

Court, to do us the honour to accept the first hospitality we have been

in a position to offer since I left England."

 

Due notice had been given. Preparations had been made on a scale

of unprecedented magnitude. A partial surprise awaited the wedded

pair as the carriage passed through the massive gates, above which

the triumphal arch seemed to have levied contributions on half the

evergreens in the park. The heraldic beasts, each "a demi-Pegasus

quarterly or in gules," on the moss-grown pillars, were garlanded with

hot-house flowers, as also with the holly-bush and berries appropriate

to the season. Marquees had been erected on the lawns, where all manner

of meats, from the lordly baron of beef to the humbler flitch of bacon,

were exhibited in such profusion as might lead to the inference that a

regiment had been billeted on the village. It would not have been for

the first time. Cromwell's Ironsides _had_, indeed, tried demi-saker,

arblast, and culverin on the massive walls of the old hall, without,

however, much decisive effect. Hogsheads of ale were there more than

sufficient to wash down the solid fare, for which the keen bright

atmosphere furnished suitable appetites.

 

The nobility and gentry were entertained in the great dining-hall,

where a _déjeuner_ had been prepared, thoroughly up to date, abounding

in all modern requirements. Champagne and claret flowed in perennial

abundance. The plate, both silver and gold, heirlooms of the ancient

house, had been brought back from their resting-places. It was evident

that the whole thing--the cuisinerie, the decorations, the waiters, the

fruit, and flowers--had been sent down from London days before; and

as Sir Roland and Hypatia took their places at the head of the table,

mirth and joyous converse commenced to ripple and flow ceaselessly.

Even the ancestral portraits seemed to have acquired a glow of

gratification as the lovely and the brave, the gallant courtiers or

the grim warriors, looked down upon their descendant and his bride; on

those fortunate ones so lately restored to the pride and power of their

position--so lately in peril of losing these historic possessions, and

their lives at the same time.

 

Did Hypatia, as an __EXPRESSION__ of thoughtful retrospection shaded her

countenance momentarily, recall another scene, scarcely two years

since, when the bridegroom, now rejoicing in the pride of manhood, lay

wounded, and a captive, helplessly awaiting an agonizing death; herself

in the power of maddened savages, as was Cyril Summers with his wife

and children? Then the miraculous interposition--the fierce Ropata

sweeping away the rebel fanatics, with the fire of his wrath! And

she--alas! the faithful, the devoted Erena, but for whose sacrificial

tenderness Sir Roland would not have been by her side today! What was

she, Hypatia, more than others, that such things should have been done

for her? The tears _would_ rise to her eyes, in spite of her efforts to

compose her countenance, as she looked on the joyous faces around. Mary

Summers and her husband sat in calm enjoyment of the scene. Then, with

a heartfelt inward prayer to Him who had so disposed their fortunes to

this happy ending, she strove to mould her feelings to a mood more in

accordance with her present surroundings.

 

A change in the proceedings was at hand. The Duke of Dunstanburgh,

rising, besought his good friends and neighbours to charge their

glasses, and to bear with him for a few moments, while he proposed a

toast which doubtless they had all anticipated.

 

His young friend, as he was proud to call him, whose father he had

known and loved, had this day been restored to the seat of his

ancestors, to the ancient home of the De Massingers in their county.

He would but touch lightly on his adventures, by flood and field, in

that far land, to which he had elected to find--er--an--outlet for

his energy. Danger had there been, as they all knew. Blood had been

shed. The lives of himself and his lovely bride, who now shed lustre