LITMIR.BIZ

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I remember was lying on the grass in the park, and Markham saying, ‘Well, sir, if you do wish to throw away your life, let it be for something better worth saving than Farmer Holt’s vicious old ram!’

      ‘In the language of the great Mr. Toots,’ said Charles ‘I am afraid you got very wet.’

      ‘Were you the worse for it?’ said Amy.

      ‘Not in the least. I was so glad to hear it was Holt’s! for you must know that I had behaved very ill to Farmer Holt. I had been very angry at his beating our old hound, for, as he thought, worrying his sheep; not that Dart ever did, though.

      ‘And was the ram saved?’

      ‘Yes, and next time I saw it, it nearly knocked me down.’

      ‘Would you do it again?’ said Philip.

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘I hope you had a medal from the Humane Society,’ said Charles.

      ‘That would have been more proper for Triton.’

      ‘Yours should have been an ovation,’ said Charles, cutting the o absurdly short, and looking at Philip.

      Laura saw that the spirit of teasing was strong in Charles this morning and suspected that he wanted to stir up what he called the deadly feud, and she hastened to change the conversation by saying, ‘You quite impressed Guy with your translation of Fra Cristoforo.’

      ‘Indeed I must thank you for recommending the book,’ said Guy; ‘how beautiful it is!’

      ‘I am glad you entered into it,’ said Philip; ‘it has every quality that a fiction ought to have.’

      ‘I never read anything equal to the repentance of the nameless man.’

      ‘Is he your favourite character?’ said Philip, looking at him attentively.

      ‘Oh no—of course not—though he is so grand that one thinks most about him, but no one can be cared about as much as Lucia.’

      ‘Lucia! She never struck me as more than a well-painted peasant girl,’ said Philip.

      ‘Oh!’ cried Guy, indignantly; then, controlling himself, he continued: ‘She pretends to no more than she is, but she shows the beauty of goodness in itself in a—a—wonderful way. And think of the power of those words of hers over that gloomy, desperate man.’

      ‘Your sympathy with the Innominato again,’ said Philip. Every subject seemed to excite Guy to a dangerous extent, as Laura thought, and she turned to Philip to ask if he would not read to them again.

      ‘I brought this book on purpose,’ said Philip. ‘I wished to read you a description of that print from Raffaelle—you know it—the Madonna di San Sisto?’

      ‘The one you brought to show us?’ said Amy, ‘with the two little angels?’

      ‘Yes, here is the description,’ and he began to read—

      ‘Dwell on the form of the Child, more than human in grandeur, seated on the arms of the Blessed Virgin as on an august throne. Note the tokens of divine grace, His ardent eyes, what a spirit, what a countenance is His; yet His very resemblance to His mother denotes sufficiently that He is of us and takes care for us. Beneath are two figures adoring, each in their own manner. On one side is a pontiff, on the other a virgin each a most sweet and solemn example, the one of aged, the other of maidenly piety and reverence. Between, are two winged boys, evidently presenting a wonderful pattern of childlike piety. Their eyes, indeed, are not turned towards the Virgin, but both in face and gesture, they show how careless of themselves they are in the presence of God.’

      All were struck by the description. Guy did not speak at first, but the solemn expression of his face showed how he felt its power and reverence. Philip asked if they would like to hear more, and Charles assented: Amy worked, Laura went on with her perspective, and Guy sat by her side, making concentric circles with her compasses, or when she wanted them he tormented her parallel ruler, or cut the pencils, never letting his fingers rest except at some high or deep passage, or when some interesting discussion arose. All were surprised when luncheon time arrived; Charles held out his hand for the book; it was given with a slight smile, and he exclaimed’ Latin! I thought you were translating. Is it your own property?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Is it very tough? I would read it, if any one would read it with me.’

      ‘Do you mean me?’ said Guy; ‘I should like it very much, but you have seen how little Latin I know.’

      ‘That is the very thing,’ said Charles; ‘that Ovis of yours was music; I would have made you a Knight of the Golden Fleece on the spot. Tutors I could get by shoals, but a fellow-dunce is inestimable.’

      ‘It is a bargain, then,’ said Guy; ‘if Philip has done with the book and will lend it to us.’

      The luncheon bell rang, and they all adjourned to the dining-room. Mr. Edmonstone came in when luncheon was nearly over, rejoicing that his letters were done, but then he looked disconsolately from the window, and pitied the weather. ‘Nothing for it but billiards. People might say it was nonsense to have a billiard-table in such a house, but for his part he found there was no getting through a wet day without them. Philip must beat him as usual, and Guy might have one of the young ladies to make a fourth.’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Guy, ‘but I don’t play.’

      ‘Not play—eh?’ Well, we will teach you in the spinning of a ball, and I’ll have my little Amy to help me against you and Philip.’

      ‘No, thank you,’ repeated Guy, colouring, ‘I am under a promise.’

      ‘Ha! Eh? What? Your grandfather? He could see no harm in such play as this. For nothing, you understand. You did not suppose I meant anything else?’

      ‘O no, of course not,’ eagerly replied Guy; ‘but it is impossible for me to play, thank you. I have promised never even to look on at a game at billiards.’

      ‘Ah, poor man, he had too much reason.’ uttered Mr. Edmonstone to himself, but catching a warning look from his wife, he became suddenly silent. Guy, meanwhile, sat looking lost in sad thoughts, till, rousing himself, he exclaimed, ‘Don’t let me prevent you.’

      Mr. Edmonstone needed but little persuasion, and carried Philip off to the billiard-table in the front hall.

      ‘O, I am so glad!’ cried Charlotte, who had, within the last week, learnt Guy’s value as a playfellow. ‘Now you will never go to those stupid billiards, but I shall have you always, every rainy day. Come and have a real good game at ball on the stairs.’

      She already had hold of his hand, and would have dragged him off at once, had he not waited to help Charles back to his sofa; and in the mean time she tried in vain to persuade her more constant playmate, Amabel, to join the game. Poor little Amy regretted the being obliged to refuse, as she listened to the merry sounds and bouncing balls, sighing more than once at having turned into a grown-up young lady; while Philip observed to Laura, who was officiating as billiard-marker, that Guy was still a mere boy.

      The fates favoured Amy at last for about half after three, the billiards were interrupted, and Philip, pronouncing the rain to be almost over, invited Guy to take a walk, and they set out in a very gray wet mist, while Charlotte and Amy commenced a vigorous game at battledore and shuttle-cock.

      The gray mist had faded into twilight, and twilight into something like night, when Charles was crossing the hall, with the aid of Amy’s arm, Charlotte carrying the crutch behind him, and Mrs. Edmonstone helping Laura with her perspective apparatus, all on their way to dress for dinner; the door opened and in came the two Morvilles. Guy, without, even stopping to take off his great coat, ran at once up-stairs, and the next moment the door of his room was shut with a bang that shook the house, and made them all start and look at Philip for explanation.

      ‘Redclyffe temper,’ said he, coolly, with a half-smile curling his short upper lip.

      ‘What have you been doing to him?’ said Charles.’

      ‘Nothing.

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