Margaret Capel, vol. 1. Ellen Wallace
Mr. Grey was a small, quiet old gentleman, with a thin, pale face, wearing his white hair cut almost close to the head; very mild and pleasing in his address, with a little of the kind and polished formality of the old school. She thought she never had seen so hideous an old man as Mr. Casement, with his snaky grey and sandy hair, his ragged teeth and long projecting upper lip. As he sat, with the lamp on the other side of his head, the exaggerated shadow traced upon the wall perfectly amazed her when she reflected that it belonged to a human creature. She then looked with some curiosity at the room, which was large though not lofty, with dark oak panels, and heavy crimson curtains; all the furniture was of carved oak and crimson velvet, which gave a rich but somewhat gloomy appearance to the apartment.
"You are very hungry, ain't you, little woman?" said Mr. Casement, who generally knew exactly what would most annoy those to whom he spoke. A school-girl never likes to be thought very hungry; and as Margaret was not tall, she was extremely sensitive to her small stature. With hands and arms like a Greek nymph, and a small round neck that would have delighted a sculptor, she envied every girl in the school, however ugly, who measured any thing above her own five feet two inches. She was very shy, with all her apparent self-possession; and she sat deeply colouring, first at the imputation of being hungry, and secondly with a distressing consciousness that she ought, as the only lady present, to offer her services in making the tea, instead of allowing the old butler to prepare it.
The tea being made, and Mr. Grey informed of the fact, the butler withdrew; and then Mr. Casement remarked that the little girl would pour it out, and it would be good practise against she grew to be a woman, and had a house of her own.
Margaret went to the tea-table, and Mr. Casement followed her to explain his peculiar fancies. "That large cup is mine," he said, "give me four lumps of sugar, and put the cream in first; it makes all the difference."
She complied with his directions in silence; but she turned to Mr. Grey and asked if she had made his tea right for him, in that soft low voice which is in itself a courtesy.
"Quite right, my dear," said Mr. Grey, "a great deal better than when Land makes it."
"And so, you left school to-day;" said Mr. Casement, as soon as tea was over.
"Yesterday," replied Margaret, "I went as far as Winchester with a school-fellow, and staid all night there, and came on here to-day."
"Are you sorry you have left school?"
"No, Sir."
"What—did you not like it?"
"Not much, Sir."
"How's that? Were you a naughty girl, eh? Did you not learn your lessons?"
"Yes, Sir, I learned my lessons."
"Why did you not like school, my dear?" asked Mr. Grey, kindly.
"Didn't give her enough to eat, I dare say!" exclaimed Mr. Casement.
"Quite enough, Sir," replied Margaret; "but I felt I was wasting my time there."
"Ay!" cried Mr. Casement, delighted at the reply; "no young sparks there, eh? No inamoratos! A little in the convent style, is it not? Ugly old music master, ditto drawing, and dancing taught by a lady!"
"Don't mind him, my dear," said Mr. Grey, taking Margaret's hand in his, "tell me about it."
Although the indignant blood flashed fast over neck and brow, Margaret made no answer to Mr. Casement, but turned to Mr. Grey.
"I was learning words all day, Sir," she replied, "and music; they gave me no time for thinking. I should be sorry if there was no more to learn than what they teach at school."
"You will have plenty of time here for thinking, little woman," said Mr. Casement, "for hardly a soul ever crosses his threshold; but I am afraid you will have nobody to think about, if you have not a spark already, I don't know where you are to find one. Such a neighbourhood for young men!"
"There are as many young men hereabouts as there are in other places, I suppose," said Mr. Grey. "What has become of the young Gages?"
"He lives in the Ark," said Mr. Casement, pointing to Mr. Grey. "The Gages are all flown. George is in Ireland, and Everard in Canada, and Hubert I hope from my heart at the bottom of the sea! But they won't do for you, my dear, naughty, swearing troopers. You don't like troopers, do you?"
"I don't know any, Sir," returned Margaret.
"I thought Hubert Gage was a sailor?" said Mr. Grey.
"Right as my glove," said Mr. Casement, "so he is, I forgot. I hate the Gages. George Gage drew a caricature of me; and Everard used to take me off to my face; and Hubert, he used to bolt out of my way as if I was poison. I have known him jump out of the parlour window as I came in at the door."
Margaret found nothing singular in the conduct of the young Gages, she only wondered what a caricature of Mr. Casement could be like.
"The only one of the family worth any thing is Elizabeth. I mean Elizabeth for my second," said Mr. Casement.
This remark let Margaret into the secret that he had one wife to begin with, a thing she would otherwise have thought impossible.
"Though I don't know, now I have seen you," he said turning to Margaret.
"Casement, be quiet; you shall not teaze my child," said Mr. Grey, drawing Margaret towards him as he marked the angry flush again rise to her brow.
Neither of them were prepared for what followed—she burst into a passion of tears.
Mr. Grey passed his hand over her hair, and pressed her closer to him. Mr. Casement was confused.
"I am really very sorry I have made you cry—I am, indeed," he said.
"You did not, Sir," returned Margaret, becoming calm by a single effort, and wiping the tears from her bright eyes.
"What was it then, my darling?" asked Mr. Grey.
"You said, 'my child,' and it is so very long since—" A choking in her throat prevented her finishing the sentence.
"Well, I'm glad it was not my fault," said Mr. Casement. "Good night, I must be going homeward, or my old woman will scold."
"Does he come here very often, Sir?" asked Margaret, looking up into Mr. Grey's face, as Mr. Casement closed the door after him.
"Yes, he does, my dear," replied the old gentleman; "but you need not mind that. You will get used to his ways, and he does not mean any harm."
CHAPTER II
Ma chi conosce amor, e sua possanza Fará la scusa dí quel cavaliero Ch' amor il senno, el' intelletto avanza, Ne giova al provveder arte, o pensiero; Giovanni e vecchi vanno a la sua danza, La bassa plebe col signor altiero; Non ha rimedio amor, se non la morte, Ciascun prende d' ogni gente, e d' ogni sorte.
When Mr. Grey came down to breakfast the next morning, he found Margaret sitting close by the fire reading from a large book. She advanced to greet him, half shy, half smiling, and looked more fresh and softly beautiful from a long and undisturbed night's rest. As soon as Mr. Grey had inquired, with scrupulous care, how she had slept, and whether she had found everything comfortable in her room, he begged to know what book it was she had been reading. It was Josephus. He laughed a little, and stroked her hair, and told her not to read too much for fear of spoiling her good looks; but he was glad, he said, that she liked reading, because he lived very much alone. He was a great invalid, and unable to pay visits, or receive company. As he spoke he led her to the window, and remarked that there was but a dreary prospect for her at present; but that in summer she would find the grounds very pretty.
Immediately under the windows the men were sweeping the snow from a broad terrace. Beyond that, lay a wide lawn, dotted with clumps of shrubs, and skirted by magnificent cedars, whose boughs lay darkly upon the whitened grass.
Margaret