CHAPTER IX.

VILLIERS.

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WHEN Villiers Egerton went to Ireland, nothing seemed less likely than that he would encounter his uncle or any of his cousins. The inhabitants of the county in which Ballintra is situated are wont to boast or to complain (according to their temper) that it is the "end of the world, and leads to nowhere;" nay, I have even heard it called an "after-thought," as if, Ireland being already finished, a little bit of material had been left, and added on to it, to make this county. For all that, it is well worth visiting, though no one visits it, because its beauties are less well known than those of its sister county, Wicklow, or the more distant Lakes of Killarney.

Altogether nothing was less likely than that Villiers Egerton would find his way to the banks of the beautiful Slaney; so his grandfather did not caution him against turning his steps in that direction. But, as time went on, Killarney and the Causeway having been visited in turn, Eustace Villiers was summoned home by the illness of his father, and the merry little party broke up without having made the projected tour in Connemara.

The others all returned, but Villiers was in no hurry to follow their example. Home he was determined not to go until September brought the shooting season round again, when the presence of a few guests would make Egerton Highland more endurable. He had promised Eustace to go with him next year, if possible, to Connemara, so he would not go now in that direction. He had plenty of money, and as Sir Aymer did not know that Eustace's departure had broken up the party, Villiers wrote to tell his mother not to be uneasy if she did not hear from him for some time. And returning to Dublin, he set forth alone to wander through Wicklow, sketching, dawdling, poetising, and thoroughly enjoying himself.

He had a whole month to dispose of, and did not care to keep in the track of the general tourist, so he wandered far and wide, and presently wandered as far as to Newtownbarry, and thence determined to follow the course of the infant Slaney down to the sea, as the beauty of its banks and the scenery all along its course took his fancy greatly; all the more so, because he felt that he was finding it out for himself, instead of obeying guide or guide-books.

Oh, had Sir Aymer only known where his young heir was, and whither he was going, what a state of mind he would have been in!

The bright days of summer had an unusual effect upon Clarice Egerton this year. Perhaps, because Lizzie and Donald had seemed to think it possible to carry her off to their home in the shanderadan, the wish to get into the open air took possession of her; and Aymer and Guy carried her out on her couch, and placed her in the shade of a grand old beech tree not far from the house. How she enjoyed it! The sunlight, green grass, the blue river, the sky, with its ever-shifting cloud scenery!

It became quite a common thing for the boys to carry the invalid out after the early dinner; and if the day was warm and pleasant, she stayed there until evening. While Agnes was always at hand to run for her brothers if Clarice got tired, or the wind rose, or the baby cried too much, and required change of scene to soothe his feelings. It was new life to Clarice; until this summer the least movement had brought back inflammation and all the bad symptoms in her knee, but this year, she could bear the slight jolting quite well.

Here, under her favourite tree, with baby in her arms, and Agnes sitting beside her, she was enjoying herself one lovely evening, when she perceived some one coming up the lane from the river, a tall, slight young man; but where she lay, she could not see him very plainly.

"Who is that, Agnes? He seems to be coming directly towards us."

"I don't know him; why, it's Guy," was the child's contradictory answer.

Clarice raised herself to look—yes, it was Guy. He was now quite near.

"Why, how do you come to take us by surprise in this way, Guy? I thought you were in the garden, and here—"

The young man stopped short in his rapid approach and took off his hat. It was not Guy! How had she ever made such a mistake? When did Guy possess such a well-made, easy-fitting grey suit, or such a soft felt wideawake, or such a pair of boots, or such a dandy knapsack as this youth carried? Then she looked again at his face.

"Guy—surely it is Guy? What trick are you playing us, Master Guy?"

Then the new-comer spoke, and his voice ended her delusion. It was a pleasant voice too, but higher-pitched, sharper and more ringing than Guy's, and he spoke much faster, too.

"I fear I have startled you; and I am sure I am trespassing; but believe me it is an accident. I only saw this little girl, and came up from the river to ask her a question."

"It does not matter at all," Clarice answered, smiling. "You are in our lawn; but you need not mind that. What did you want to know?"

"I want to know if I am near any town or village where I can get something to eat and lodging for the night. I am quite a stranger, travelling for amusement, and to see the country; and I have followed the course of this river from Newtownbarry to-day, coming part of the way in a boat, or float, rather, which I borrowed at a cottage. I fancy I have come a long way."

"Newtownbarry! Why, you must be half dead, I think you must be starved! And there is no inn at Kilsteen, which is three miles off, or more; and E— is six miles off."

All the time she spoke, she kept looking at him, half wondering if he would not resolve himself into the familiar Guy, and confess that he was playing her a trick. Clarice was a little short-sighted, which added to her perplexity.

The stranger cast his hat upon the ground in pretended despair.

"Will you kindly dig a grave for me at once?" he said, gravely. "I may as well die here, for I shall never live to reach E—. I am dead-beat, and half-starved already."

"We can at least give you some dinner," said Clarice, laughing shyly. "Agnes dear, run and call Guy. I suppose he is somewhere about the garden; and go to Katty, and see what you can get to bring out here."

The child, whose blue eyes were full of astonishment, ran off at full speed, and Clarice continued:

"There's a chair there; won't you sit down? You must not think I am rude, but I cannot move."

Villiers Egerton (for of course you know that it was Villiers) felt that at last he was beginning to meet with adventures, which was all that was wanted to make his holiday perfect. He took off his knapsack, and let it fall beside his hat, brought forward the chair, and sat down, looking curiously at Clarice and the baby. What a lovely face, if it were only a little less pale and thin; but why on earth did it seem familiar to him?

"What did you call me just now?" he said. "You mistook me for some one, I think; and the curious thing is, that you remind me of some one."

"I thought you were my brother Guy. Indeed, I cannot quite get rid of the idea yet, until you speak; you have a different voice."

"Your brother Guy? Where have I heard that name before? It is not a common one."

"Not here; but we are not Irish."

"What is your brother's other name?" asked Villiers, thinking with pride that he had managed that question very nicely.

"Egerton," answered Clarice, and then uttered a very small scream, for the mysterious stranger sprang to his feet with a shout, and Clarice for one moment thought that she and the baby were lost!

"Egerton! Why, that's my name! I am Villiers Aymer Egerton."

Clarice forgot her shyness, and looked at him earnestly.

"You are very like Guy. My eldest brother's name is Aymer. I wonder—"

"I know who you are now," he interrupted, eagerly. "Why, this is as good as a play! You must be my uncle Guy's children. I never heard of him till the other day; but I remember now. Am I not right?"

"Yes; at least my father's name is Guy. His father is Sir Aymer Egerton, of Egerton Highfield; is that the same?"

"My venerated grandfather! Then you are my cousin; do shake hands with me! What's your name? It ought to be Clarice, for I know now who you are like: the picture at home of another Clarice Egerton."

"I am Clarice. You have guessed right, and I believe I was named after my father's only sister. Oh, I do wish Guy would come; this is so very strange."

"Yes, is it not? Ireland's the place for adventures, after all. Here am I, taking my solitary ramble in unknown regions, and I find a cousin lying under a big tree—quite promiscuous, as I may say."

"Three cousins, for you have found Agnes and baby too. Here comes Guy at last. Oh, Guy, only think what has happened: he came here quite by accident, and he is our cousin Villiers Egerton! And oh, Guy, what will papa say?"

Guy was the handsomer of the two, she thought, as they stood face to face, looking curiously at each other.

"He cannot be displeased, I think," Guy answered. "You are very welcome, Cousin Villiers. Agnes told me some one was here who was starving and tired; was that you?"

"It was, and is. Unless you give me food, and that quickly, I shall be tempted to take a bite out of that nice soft baby there, who, I am told, is another cousin."

"I'll go and speak to Katty," said Guy; "and I suppose I had better tell my father, Clarice?"

"Certainly, tell him at once. Tell Katty to bring the tray out here, Guy; and you bring the little table I always use, that he may dine here, for Helen and Aymer won't be home for half an hour yet. They crossed the river to go to the Pearsons."

"Helen! Another cousin, I suppose?" said Villiers. "Yes, and Aymer, and there is one more—Elise; but she is married. She is not here."

Villiers sat down again, and smiled genially at Clarice.

"How glad I am I saw that child! I'm sure I shall like you all; and I have so few cousins. And, except in this way, I suppose we should never have met."

"I suppose not; and I am afraid papa will not be pleased."

"Oh," said Villiers, easily, "I'll talk him over. He won't turn me out, will he? Because now that I have found you, I want to know you all. I'll stay with you, if you'll have me. But I suppose," he added quickly, "I ought to make my petition to Mrs. Egerton?"

"You mean my mother," Clarice said. "My mother is dead."

"Oh, Clarice, I am so sorry I said that. I ought to have noticed that you were in mourning. It was very thoughtless of me."

Meantime Guy had run to the house and hurried Katty's proceedings. Luckily, there was cold meat in the house, and plenty of bread, and Katty arranged a tray according to her own ideas of propriety, while Guy went and knocked at the study door.

No answer was made, and muttering, "I shall never get him to hear me," he went boldly in. Even then, though it was a rare thing for any one to enter the study, Mr. Egerton took no notice of him, though Guy fancied he saw him at once.

"Father, can you attend to me for a moment? Clarice is out on the lawn, and she sent for me because some one had come up from the river to ask his way; but before I reached her, they had found out that he is our cousin, Villiers Egerton."

"Villiers—Aymer's boy? What brings him here?"

"I don't know, sir. I fancy it is an accident."

"Ay, I suppose so. I wish he had not come."

His face flushed crimson as he glanced at Guy, whose dress and hands bore evident marks of his late labours in the garden.

"How old is he? About your age, I think."

"About that, I think. Won't you come and see him, sir?"

"Yes, I suppose I must. It is an unlucky chance."

He looked down at his own dusty well-worn clothes, and said, "Can you get me a clothes-brush, Guy?"

Guy could quite sympathise with his desire to appear as little shabby as might be. So he ran for a brush, and brushed his garments well, got him his hat, and set out with him to the beech tree. Mr. Egerton walked slowly, and looked so old, that Villiers never thought that this could be his uncle. Sir Aymer, though his hair was white, looked younger and more vigorous.

"Here is papa," Clarice said.

And somehow her evident nervousness infected Villiers, who was far less certain of a welcome than he had expected to be.

Mr. Egerton came up in silence.

Guy said, "This is Villiers, sir."

"Ay, I see him. You are—welcome to my house, Villiers, though truly I have not much to make you welcome to. Did you come—do you bring any message to me?"

"Oh no, Uncle Guy. I am wandering about just to amuse myself, and pass the time. My coming here was accidental."

"Ah, I thought so. You are weary and hungry; I daresay they can supply your wants. Where is—where is Helen?"

"She went over the river with Aymer, papa, for she wanted to speak to Mrs. Pearson; but Katty will bring out some dinner for my cousin. Here she comes."

Villiers opened his eyes a little as Katty, her gown of no particular colour, pinned up so as to display a petticoat of every colour of the rainbow—a perfect marvel of patches!—her battered sun-bonnet flapping wildly in the breeze, came up, followed by Agnes, who carried a small table.

Mr. Egerton caught the look.

"Yes," he said, "we can give you food, and perhaps a bed: I don't know; Helen will tell you. For the rest, you must be content with what your cousins here are used to. It is late, too late for you to go on to-day, I fear; but you can escape to-morrow."

He turned and walked away, leaving Villiers in great dismay.

"What does he mean, Cousin Clarice? Is he angry? Shall I go away as soon as I have eaten?"

"Oh no, no!" she cried, earnestly. "He does not mean that. He is mortified, because everything here is so unlike what you are used to,—but you don't mind that, do you? We will do our best to please you. Oh, do stay!"

Villiers was more flattered by her entreaties than he would have been, had he been aware that the thought in her mind was, "Surely he could help Guy; this may be the opportunity we have been waiting for."

Guy and Clarice proved excellent entertainers, and Villiers made a hearty meal, and chatted away as if he had known them all. Privately, he concluded that their mother must have been a lady, and that Guy had only been digging for his amusement.

A loud halloa! from the river made them all look that way; and there was the old flat-bottomed boat coming across with Helen and Aymer. Guy sprang down the hill to help Helen to land.

"Ah, the old boat," said Clarice. "It makes me think of the day I met with my accident; I've never been in her since."

"Was it an accident? I mean, is that why you cannot get off your sofa?" with a doubtful glance at the contrivance on which she lay.

"Yes, I have never been able to stand since."

"How dreadful!" Villiers said under his breath. "But you will soon be better, don't you think?"

"No, I think not. It is years ago now. I've nearly forgotten what it was like to be able to run about; I was just as old then as Agnes is now. Here they come. Helen is tired, I'm afraid."

Helen was only shy, a feeling from which Clarice was so free that she could not think what ailed her sister. Aymer looked glum; that she could partly understand, though she did not feel the same. But Villiers had so much ease of manner, such a pleasant, genial smile, that Helen was soon herself again, and even Aymer was charmed, prejudiced as he was against his father's family.

Villiers was cordially pressed to stay, and he stayed, nothing loth. He stayed long enough to perceive that neither Aymer nor Helen was as well-educated or as naturally polished as Guy and Clarice; to see Elise and her good farmer husband, and to know that his cousins' lives were by no means either easy or bright, except for the brightness of mutual love, and that shed round her by gentle Clarice's heaven-enlightened heart.

All this Villiers had eyes to see, and he reverenced and admired the poor crippled girl with all the warmth of his young heart. All his life long, Villiers Egerton will be the better for those few days at Ballintra. He wrote to tell his mother of his adventures, and in a short time, he received an answer.

Lady Anne had been so frightened that she had actually put off telling Sir Aymer until some expected visitors had arrived, when, as she said "he could not scold all day."

But he knew now, and Villiers was to go home without an hour's delay. Lady Anne begged him to obey, and mildly wondered how he could be so imprudent! Villiers put on a look which none of his cousins had seen before (he was sitting with Clarice and her small charge), and Clarice asked him what was wrong.

"My grandfather is enraged because I am here, and he orders me home as if I were a groom. But I shan't go until I like."

"Oh, Villiers, how we shall all miss you!"

"But I tell you I shan't go!"

"Ah, but you don't mean that. You have told me how afraid of him your mother is; and so you cannot leave her alone with him, if he is angry. It has been very pleasant—very; but you'll have to go now."

Villiers argued the matter for some time, but he knew he ought to go, so he suffered himself to be persuaded to do so.

"And now, Villiers, will you think hardly of me if I ask you to do something for me? You know us now; you see what our life is, and you will forgive me, won't you?"

"What can I do for you, Cousin Clarice? Indeed I will do it—anything—you cannot think how glad I shall be to do anything for you."

"But this is not a little thing, Villiers. You see what Guy is. He has had no teachers, no help of any kind, except when papa gave me a few lessons once. Yet you see he knows nearly as much as you do, though you have been at school so long."

"He knows an awful lot more, I assure you. I was always an idle fellow."

"He knows Latin, German, French, and Italian, he knows a little Greek, and—"

"And is a better mathematical scholar than I am, though that is what I know best."

"And with all that, Villiers, he can get nothing to do here except what any labourer could do as well, and that Post-office business, which is very little indeed. If you could find something for Guy to do,—some situation. Oh, Villiers, you don't know how he longs for this, though he never speaks of it."

"But what should you do without Guy?" was the answer.

Clarice burst into tears. "I don't know! But it would be for his good. If we can save money, we mean to emigrate. We hope to go to Now Zealand some day. You know this place is not ours, only held on a lease for papa's life. So we really want to make money; and I am sure Guy could earn more than he gets here."

"Of course he could! I'll do my best, Clarice. If I fail, don't blame me, for I promise you, I will do my best. And don't fancy I am forgetting it, if you don't hear at once; for you know I am not my own master."

Next day Villiers left them, and returned to Dublin. He sent them a big box before he left Ireland—a box so big that Aymer had to take the cart into E— for it; but no one grudged the time and trouble when that delightful box was unpacked.

For Helen there was an inlaid work-box, containing everything she could possibly want for needlework, and several cunning devices of which she did not know the use, and with which she sorely pinched her fingers in making experiments. For Aymer a box of carpenter's tools, really good ones. For Agnes a doll of surpassing beauty. For baby a rattle. While for Guy and Clarice there were books; a small edition of Sir Walter Scott's novels, some of Miss Edgeworth's, some of Dickens', and a few graver volumes, chosen as well as Villiers knew how. Never having read a story of any kind, it can hardly be imagined what these books were to the young Egertons.

Clarice read aloud to the rest every evening; and it never happened now that Aymer fell asleep—a thing not utterly unknown before. "Old Mortality" was the first they read; and the shouts of laughter over Cuddie Headrigg disturbed Mr. Egerton in his study, until he actually came out to ask what was the matter—an event which his children considered little short of a miracle.

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