Arminell, a social romance. Baring-Gould Sabine
Mrs. Saltren; "though I say it, who ought not, this is a pretty and comfortable house with a certain elegance which I have introduced into it. My brother, James Welsh, is a gentleman, and writes a great deal. You may understand how troubled my husband is at the thought of leaving it."
"But—why leave?"
"Because, Miss Inglett, he will have no work here. He will be driven to go to America, and, unfortunately, he has expended his savings in doing up the house and planting the garden. I am too delicate to risk the voyage, so I shall be separated from my husband. My son Giles has already been taken from me." Then she began to cry.
A pair of clove-pinks glowed in Arminell's cheeks. She could hardly control her voice. These poor Saltrens were badly used; her father was to blame. He was the occasion of their trouble.
"It must not be," said Arminell, starting up, "I will go at once and speak to his lordship."
Chapter 7: A VISION.
CHAPTER VII.
A VISION.
Without another word Arminell left the cottage. As she did so, she passed Captain Saltren speaking to Captain Tubb. The former scarce touched his hat, but the latter saluted her with profound respect.
When she was out of hearing, Saltren, whose dark eyes had pursued her, said in a low, vibrating tone:
"There she goes—one of the Gilded Clique."
"I think you might have shown her more respect, man," said Tubb. "Honour to whom honour is due, and she is honourable."
"Why should I show respect to her? If she were a poor girl earning her bread, I would salute her with true reverence, for God hath chosen the poor, rich in faith. But is it not written that it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than for the rich to enter into heaven?"
"You've queer fancies, Cap'n."
"They are not fancies," answered Saltren; "as it is written, so I speak." Then he hesitated. Something was working in his mind, and for a moment he doubted whether to speak to one whom he did not regard as of the elect.
But Saltren was not a man who could restrain himself under an over-mastering conviction, and he burst forth in a torrent of words, and as he spoke his sombre eyes gleamed with excitement, and sparks lit up and flashed in them. Soft they usually were, and dreamy, but now, all at once they kindled into vehement life.
"I tell you, Tubb, the Lord hath spoken. The last days are at hand. I read my Bible and I read my newspaper, and I know that the aristocracy are a scandal and a burden to the country. Now the long-suffering of heaven will not tarry. It has been revealed to me that they are doomed to destruction."
"Revealed to you!"
"Yes, to me, an unworthy creature, as none know better than myself, full of errors and faults and blindness—and yet—to me. I was wrestling in spirit near the water's edge, thinking of these things, when, suddenly, I heard a voice from heaven calling me."
"How—by name? Did it call you Cap'n?"
Saltren hesitated. "I can't mind just now whether it said, Saltren, Saltren! or whether it said Mister, or whether Cap'n, or Stephen. I daresay I shall remember by-and-by when I come to turn it over in my mind. But all has come on me so freshly, so suddenly, that I am still dazed with the revelations."
"Go on," said Tubb, shaking his head dubiously.
"And when I looked up, I saw a book come flying down to me out of heaven, and I held up my hands to receive it, but it went by me into the water hard by where I was."
"Somebody chucked it at you," exclaimed the practical Tubb.
"I tell you, it came down out of heaven," said Saltren, impatiently. "You have no faith. I saw the book, and before I could lay hold of it, it went under the raft—I mean, it went down, down in the water, and I beheld it no more."
"What sort of a book was it?"
"I saw it but for a moment, as it floated with the back upwards, before it disappeared. There was a head on it and a title. I could not make out whose head, but I read the title, and the title was clear."
"What was it?"
"'The Gilded Clique.'"
"Clique! what was that?"
"A society, a party, and I know what was meant."
"Some one must have chucked the book," again reasoned the prosaic Tubb.
"It was not chucked, it fell. I was wrong to tell you of my vision. The revelation is not for such as you. I will say no more."
"And pray, what do you make out of this queer tale?" asked the captain of the lime quarry, with ill-disguised incredulity.
"Is it not plain as the day? I have had revealed to me that the doom of the British aristocracy is pronounced, the House of Lords, the privileged class—in a word, the whole Gilded Clique?"
Tubb shook his head.
"You'll never satisfy me it weren't chucked," he said. "But, to change the subject, Saltren. You have read and studied more than I have. Can you tell me what sort of a plant Quinquagesima is, and whether it is grown from seed, or cuttings, or layers?"
Chapter 8: ABREAST.
CHAPTER VIII.
ABREAST.
As Arminell left Chillacot she did not observe the scant courtesy shown her by Captain Saltren. She was brimming with sympathy for him in his trouble, with tender feeling for the wife who had so loved her mother, and for the son who was out of his proper element. It did not occur to her that possibly she might be regarded by Saltren with disfavour. She had not gone many paces from the house before she came on a middle-aged couple, walking in the sun, abreast, arm in arm, the man smoking a pipe, which he removed and concealed in the pocket of his old velvet shooting coat, when he saw Arminell, and then he respectfully removed his hat. The two had been at church. Arminell knew them by sight, but she had not spoken at any time to either. The man, she had heard, had once been a gamekeeper on the property, but had been dismissed, the reason forgotten, probably dishonesty. The woman was handsome, with bright complexion, and very clear, crystalline eyes, a boldly cut nose, and well curved lips. The cast of her features was strong, yet the expression of the face was timid, patient and pleading.
She had fair, very fair hair, hair that would imperceptibly become white, so that on a certain day, those who knew her would exclaim, "Why, Joan! who would have thought it? Your hair is white." But some years must pass before the bleaching of Joan's head was accomplished. She was only forty, and was hale and strongly built.
She unlinked her arm from that of her companion and came curtseying to Arminell, who saw that she wore a hideous crude green kerchief, and in her bonnet, magenta bows.
"Do you want me?" she asked coldly. The unæsthetic colours offended her.
"Please, my lady!"
"I am not 'my lady.'"