"Yes, and I shall be obliged to go too."

Magnus smiled.

"Well, yes, of course," said Artingale, quickly, "I want to be near Cynthy. There, I'm not ashamed; I am very fond of the little girl. I must be, or I should never stand those brothers of hers."

"Anything fresh about them?" said Magnus, who seemed deeply interested in the conversation.

"Fresh? Yes--no--only the old game. Being so near down there, my people hear everything at Gatley, and though I don't encourage tattling, I can't help hearing a lot about my beautiful brothers-in-law, and yours too if you like."

"Don't be foolish. Go on."

"Well, 'pon my soul, Mag, they're a pair of scamps, and once I've got my little Cynthy, hang me if I don't cut them. They haven't the decency to wait till I am their brother, but are always borrowing money. Sort of blackmail for letting me court their sister," he added, bitterly. "'Pon my word, Mag, it would be a charity to get Julia away as well."

"It is a great pity," said Magnus, thoughtfully. "What an anxiety to the poor sick mother!"

"Who is quite an angel of goodness in her way, Mag, only too ready to look over those two fellows' faults. Bah! I haven't patience with them."

"Why does not the Rector get them away?"

"Get them away? Well, he has, over and over again, but they always come back. The townspeople call them _The Bad Shilling_ and _The Boomerang_ on that account. The Rector's a good old fellow, only obstinate and weak, and with too big an idea of his sacred prerogative, which the folks down there won't stand. Here, get well, Mag, and come down and help me rout the enemy."

"I wish I could," sighed Magnus. "Only wants will, my lad. If you are using my billiard-table and horses it will keep those fellows off, but mind they don't rook you."

"I thought you told me that Frank had made a lot of money at the gold fields?"

"So he gives it out, but I don't believe it. If he had he wouldn't be borrowing of me and getting Perry-Morton to do bills for him."

"It seems strange."

"Strange! yes. I believe it's all gammon. Hang that fellow, I don't like him at all. Of course this is all in confidence, Mag." Magnus looked up at him with a smile. "My people tell me that he is always going over to Lewby, close by my place. It's one of the farms that came to me. Nice jolly farmer fellow there. Bluff chap, John Berry, with a pretty little wife fifteen years younger; and it seems there was something on between the lady and Master Frank before he went to the antipodes."

"That's bad," said Magnus, frowning.

"d.a.m.n bad," said Artingale; "but I try to make it smooth by thinking he is interceding for his brother."

"Interceding for his brother? What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, Mrs Berry was Rue Portlock, and Cyril has been paying attentions to her sister Sage."

"Rue? Sage?"

"Yes; rum idea. Two such pretty girls. I call 'em the sweet herbs.

Quaint idea of their father."

"And Cyril is paying attentions to one of them?"

"Yes; little Sage. She is the Lawford schoolmistress, and engaged to some one else."

"Humph! Better than paying attentions to a married lady, as his brother does."

"Oh, bless him, he is not perfect. Master Cyril has an affair on at the ford just outside Lawford. There is a pretty wheelwright's wife--no, hang it, I mean the pretty wife of a wheelwright there. She used to be Julia's and Cynthia's maid, you know, and I hear that Master Cyril has been seen hanging about."

"They seem to be a nice pair," said Magnus, gruffly.

"Beauties," said Artingale, sharply. "Hang 'em, they shall have it warmly when once I have got Cynthia away. Of course I have to swallow it all now. There, you see how badly you're wanted. It's an unhappy family, and you would be doing a charitable act in giving Julia a good husband."

"Let her marry Perry-Morton," said Magnus, changing his position with a weary sigh.

"Bah! you need not mind that, my dear boy. I feel certain that some fine morning the Rector will p.r.i.c.k Perry-Morton and find out what a bag of wind he is. Besides, see what allies you have--Cynthia, your humble servant, and the lady's heart."

Magnus shook his head sadly.

"But I say you have, and that it is waiting to beat to any tune you like to teach. Come, the will has no end to do with the body. Just swear you will get well and come and help me put those big brothers in order, and thrash the big rascal who--No, I say though, Magnus, 'pon my word, I think you ought to bless that fellow, for he will frighten poor little Julie right into your arms."

Whether it was his friend's encouraging words, and that hopes were raised in the artist's breast, or whether it was simply the fact that he was already mending fast, at all events James Magnus rapidly got better now, and at the end of another two months he was about once more, though still weak from his injury, and likely to be for months.

PART ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE RECTOR GIVES WAY.

Cyril Mallow was right. He had three women to fight upon his side, and he was not long in bringing their power to bear. Petted, spoiled son as he was, literally idolised by the patient invalid, to whom his presence formed the greater part of the sunshine of her life, he was not long in winning her to his side.

"It is no light fancy, dear," he said tenderly, as he sat beside her couch. "She is to me the woman who will bless my life as you have blessed my father's."

The sick woman shook her head mournfully.

"I repeat my words," he said: "as you have blessed my father's life.

Well, I have been restless and foolish, perhaps, but I am sobered down now, and I mean to marry. I cannot help it, mamma, and I am quite prepared to have plenty of opposition to my proposal, and to be told that I am marrying beneath me; all the same, I mean to marry Sage Portlock, and I ask you to help me."

Mrs Mallow tried persuasion, pointed out how directly this would be in opposition to his father's wishes, and how the Churchwarden had set his face against it; but all she said only seemed to strengthen her son's desire, and the natural consequence was that very soon Mrs Mallow began to talk earnestly to the Rector, but for quite a month without any other effect than angering him more against his son, whom he accused of fighting against his sisters' prospects.

But when the father began to find that with patient pertinacity the son was keeping up his pursuit of Sage, the words of his wife began to have more effect, and one day, during a visit to the school, the old gentleman found himself speaking to Sage with greater deference, and thoughtfully musing over the possibility of her becoming his sons wife.

"It is terrible though," he mused; "just as his sisters are about to make brilliant matches. It is like degrading them."

That night, however, the Rector heard something about Cyril having been seen a great deal down by the ford lately, and quick to take alarm, warned as he had been by earlier escapades, he began to think more seriously, and went down to the school a great deal more.

"Better that than disgrace," he said; "a fresh scandal would almost kill her, poor sweet. Ah, me! she has much to bear."

He sighed weakly and went to the school again, setting Sage Portlock in a flutter by his quiet paternal ways, and he came away at last avowing that if the object of his son's affections had been the daughter of a brother clergyman, he would have been delighted to find in her the child his son should bring to him to take a place within his heart.

Then he began thinking about Lord Artingale and Mr Perry-Morton, and he grew angry; but again he was obliged to say to himself, It would settle Cyril perhaps. Better that than a fresh scandal.

He tried to find failings in Sage--seeing in her conduct cause of offence--but without avail, for she gave him no hold whatever, and he went away thinking of her deeply, and wondering what was to be the end.

Cyril Mallow smiled as he saw that he was right, and that it was only a matter of time. He liked Sage Portlock, and he told himself that he loved her pa.s.sionately, and that without her he should die, and then he entered into pecuniary calculations.