Of High Descent. Fenn George Manville
say if a man chooses to turn himself into a sort of modern Diogenes – ”
“Diogenes be hanged, sir! All a myth. I don’t believe there ever was such a body. And look here, Leslie, I imitate no man – no myth. I prefer to live this way for my own satisfaction, and I shall.”
“And welcome for me, old fellow; only don’t scold me for living my way.”
“Not going to. Here, stop! I want to talk to you. How’s copper?”
“Up a good deal, but you don’t want to know.”
“Of course I don’t. But look here. What do you think of my nephew?”
“Tall, good-looking young fellow.”
“Humph! What’s the good of that? You know all about him, of course?”
“I should prefer not to sit in judgment on the gentleman in question.”
“So I suppose. Nice boy, though, isn’t he?”
Leslie was silent.
“I say he’s a nice boy, isn’t he?” cried the old man, raising his voice.
“I heard what you said. He is your nephew.”
“Worse luck! How is he getting on at Van Heldre’s?”
“I have not the least idea, sir.”
“More have I. They won’t tell me. How about that friend of his? What do you think of him?”
“Really, Mr Vine,” said Leslie, laughing, “I do not set up as a judge of young men’s character. It is nothing to me.”
“Yes, it is. Do you suppose I’m blind? Do you suppose I can’t tell which way the wind blows? If I were young, do you know what I should do?”
“Do away with the chimney-shaft and the stamps,” said Leslie, laughing.
“No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to where the coach starts.”
Leslie’s face looked warm.
“And then I should say, ‘Jump up, and when you get to the station, book for London; and if ever you show your face in Hakemouth again I’ll break your neck.’”
“You must excuse me, Mr Luke; I’m busy this morning,” said Leslie, and he began to descend the steep path.
“Touched him on the tender place,” said Uncle Luke, with a chuckle. “Humph! wonder whether Louie will come and see me to-day.”
Duncan Leslie went on down the zigzag cliff-path leading from the Wheal Germains copper-mine to the town. It was a picturesque way, with a fresh view at every turn west and east; and an advanced member of the town board had proposed and carried the suggestion of placing rough granite seats here and there in the best parts for resting those who climbed, and for giving others attractive places for sunning themselves and looking out to sea.
About half-way down Leslie passed an invalid, who had taken possession of a seat, and was gazing right away south, and dreaming of lands where the sun always shone – wondering whether the bright maiden Health could be found there.
Lower still Leslie was going on thoughtfully, pondering on Uncle Luke’s hints, when the blood suddenly flushed into his cheeks, his heart began to beat rapidly, and he increased his pace. For there unmistakably were two ladies going down the zigzag, and there were no two others in Hakemouth could be mistaken for them.
He hurried on to overtake them. Then he checked himself.
“Where had they been?”
His sinking heart suggested that they had been on their way to visit Uncle Luke, but that they had caught sight of him, and in consequence returned.
His brow grew gloomy, and he walked slowly on, when the blood flushed to his cheeks again, as if he had been surprised in some guilty act, for a sharp voice said —
“No, Mr Leslie; you would not be able to overtake them now.”
He stopped short, and turned to the warm sheltered nook among the rocks where Aunt Margaret was seated; her grey lavender dress was carefully spread about her, her white hair turned back beneath a black velvet satin-lined hood, and a lace fichu pinned across her breast.
“You here, Miss Vine?”
“Yes; and I thought I would save you a thankless effort. You could not overtake the girls unless you ran.”
“I was not going to try and overtake them, Miss Vine,” said Leslie coldly.
“Indeed! I beg your pardon; I thought you were. But would you mind, Mr Leslie – it is a very trifling request, but I set store by these little relics of our early history – Miss Marguerite Vine, if you would be so kind?”
Leslie bowed. “Certainly, Miss Marguerite,” he said quietly.
“Thank you,” she said, detaining him. “It is very good of you. Of course you are surprised to see me up here?”
“Oh no,” said Leslie quietly. “It is a delightful place to sit and rest and read.”
“Ye-es; but I cannot say that I care much for the rough walking of this part of the world, and my brother seems somehow to have taken quite a dislike to the idea of having a carriage?”
“Yes?”
“So I am obliged to walk when I do come out. There are certain duties one is forced to attend to. For instance, there is my poor brother up yonder. I feel bound to see him from time to time. You see him frequently, of course?”
“Every day, necessarily. We are so near.”
“Poor fellow! yes. Very eccentric and peculiar; but you need be under no apprehension, Mr Leslie. He is quite harmless, I am sure.”
“Oh, quite harmless, Miss Marguerite. Merely original.”
“It is very good of you to call it originality; but as friends, Mr Leslie, there is no harm in our alluding to his poor brain. Softening, a medical man told me.”
“Hardening, I should say,” thought Leslie.
“Very peculiar! very peculiar! Father and uncle both so different from my dear nephew. He is in very bad spirits. Ah! Mr Leslie, I shall be very glad to see him once more as a Des Vignes should be. With him placed in the position that should be his, and that engagement carried out regarding my darling Louise’s future, I could leave this world of sorrow without a sigh.”
Leslie winced, but it was not perceptible to Aunt Marguerite, who, feeling dissatisfied with the result of her shot, fired again.
“Of course it would involve losing my darling; but at my time of life, Mr Leslie, one has learned that it is one’s duty always to study self-sacrifice. The Des Vignes were always a self-sacrificing family. When it was not for some one or other of their kindred it was for their king, and then for their faith. You know our old French motto, Mr Leslie?”
“I? No. I beg pardon.”
“Really? I should have thought that you could not fail to see that. It is almost the only trace of our former greatness that my misguided brother – ”
“Were you alluding to Mr Luke Vine?”
“No, no, no, no! To my brother, George des Vignes. Surely, Mr Leslie, you must have noted our arms upon the dining-room windows.”
“Oh, yes, of course, of course; and the motto, Roy et Foy.”
“Exactly,” said Aunt Marguerite, smiling. “I thought it must have caught your eye.” Something else was catching Duncan Leslie’s eye just then – the last flutter of the scarf Louise wore before it disappeared round the foot of the cliff.
“I shall bear it, I dare say, and with fortitude, Mr Leslie, for it will be a grand position that she will take. The De Lignys are a family almost as old as our own; and fate might arrange for me to visit them and make a long stay. She’s a sweet girl, is she not, Mr Leslie?”
“Miss