Then all went out together, and he was apparently as much interested in his young wheat as ever, and even more anxious to make her look at and appreciate crops and cattle, speaking about them in his hearty, simple way, as if his pleasure in them was not flagging, perhaps because it had never been excessive. He had always sat loose to them, and thus they could please and occupy him even when the touch of the iron hand had made itself felt.
And again she saw him engrossed in arranging some petty matter of business for one of the poor people; and when they had wandered down to the gate, pelting the turn-out of the boys' school with a pocket full of apples that he said he had taken up while in conference with the housekeeper, laughing and speaking merrily as the varlets touched their caps to him, and always turning to her for sympathy in his pleasures of success or of good nature, as though her visit were thorough enjoyment to him. And so it almost was to her. The influence of the dear old scenes was something, and his cheeriness was a great deal more; the peaceful present was not harassed or disturbed, and the foreboding, on which she might not dwell, made it the more precious. That slow wandering about the farm and village, and the desultory remarks, the old pleasant reminiscences, the inquiries and replies about the villagers and neighbours had a quiet charm about them, as free and happy as when, youth and child, they had frisked through the same paths; nay, the old scenes so brought back the old habits that she found herself discoursing to him in her former eager fashion upon the last historical character who had bitten her fancy.
'My old way,' she said, catching herself up; 'dinning all this into your ears as usual, when you don't care.'
'Don't I?' said Humfrey, with his sincere face turned on her in all its sweetness. 'Perhaps I never showed you how much, Honor; and I beg your pardon, but I would not have been without it!'
The Savilles came up, while Honor's heart was brimful at this compliment, and then it was all commonplace again, except for that sunset light, that rich radiance of the declining day, that seemed unconsciously to pervade all Humfrey's cheerfulness, and to give his mirth and playfulness a solid happiness.
Some mutual friends of long standing came to dinner, and the evening was not unlike the last, quite as free from gloom, and Mr. Charlecote as bright as ever, evidently taking his full share in county business, and giving his mind to it. Only Honor noted that he quietly avoided an invitation to a very gay party which was proposed; and his great ally, Sir John Raymond, seemed rather vexed with him for not taking part in some new and expensive experiment in farming, and asked incredulously whether it were true that he wished to let a farm that he had kept for several years in his own hands. Humfrey agreed that it was so, and said something farther of wishing to come to terms quickly. She guessed that this was for her sake, when she thought all this over in her bedroom.
Such was the effect of his calmness that it had not been a day of agitation. There was more peace than tumult in her mind as she lay down to rest, sad, but not analyzing her sadness, and lulled by the present into putting aside the future. So she slept quietly, and awoke with a weight at her heart, but softened and sustained by reverent awe and obedience towards her cousin.
When they met, he scanned her looks with a bright, tender glance, and smiled commendation when he detected no air of sleeplessness. He talked and moved as though his secret were one of untold bliss, and this was not far from the truth; for when, after breakfast, he asked her for another interview in the study, they were no sooner alone than he rubbed his hands together with satisfaction, saying-'So, Honor, you could have had me after all!' looking at her with a broad, undisguised, exulting smile.
'Oh! Humfrey!'
'Don't say it if you don't like it; but you can't guess the pleasure it gives me. I could hardly tell at first what was making me so happy when I awoke this morning.'
'I can't see how it should,' said Honor, her eyes swimming with tears, 'never to have met with any gratitude for-I have used you too ill-never valued, scarcely even believed in what you lavished on poor silly me-and now, when all is too late, you are glad-'
'Glad! of course I am,' returned Humfrey; 'I never wished to obtrude my feelings on you after I knew how it stood with you. It would have been a shame. Your choice went far above me. For the rest, if to find you disposed towards me at the last makes me so happy,' and he looked at her again with beaming affection, 'how could I have borne to leave you if all had been as I wished? No, no, it is best as it is. You lose nothing in position, and you are free to begin the world again, not knocked down or crushed.'
'Don't talk so, Humfrey! It is breaking my heart to think that I might have been making you happy all this time.'
'Heaven did not will it so,' said Humfrey, reverently, 'and it might not have proved what we fancy. You might not have found such a clodhopper all you wanted, and my stupidity might have vexed you, though now you fancy otherwise. And I have had a very happy life-indeed I have, Honor; I never knew the time when I could not say with all my heart, "The lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground, yea, I have a goodly heritage." Everybody and everything, you and all the rest, have been very kind and friendly, and I have never wanted for happiness. It has been all right. You could fulfil your duty as a daughter undividedly, and now I trust those children will be your object and comfort-only, Honor, not your idols. Perhaps it was jealousy, but I have sometimes fancied that your tendency with their father-'
'Oh! how often I must have given you pain.'
'I did not mean that, but, as I say, perhaps I was no fair judge. One thing is well, the relations will be much less likely to take them from you when you are living here.'
She held up her hands in deprecation.
'Honor dear,' he said pleadingly, yet with authority, 'pray let me talk to you. There are things which I wish very much to say; indeed, without which I could hardly have asked for this indulgence. It is for your own sake, and that of the place and people.'
'Poor place, poor people.'
He sighed, but then turned his smiling countenance towards her again. 'No one else can care for it or them as you do, Honor. Our "goodly heritage"-it was so when I had it from my father, and I don't think it has got worse under my charge, and I want you to do your duty by it, Honor, and hand it on the same, whoever may come after.'
'For your sake, Humfrey-even if I did not love it. But-'
'Yes, it is a duty,' proceeded Humfrey, gravely. 'It may seem but a bit of earth after all, but the owner of a property has a duty to let it do its share in producing food, or maybe in not lessening the number of pleasant things here below. I mean it is as much my office to keep my trees and woods fair to look at, as it is not to let my land lie waste.'
She had recovered a good deal while he was moralizing, and became interested. 'I did not suspect you of the poetical view, Humfrey,' she said.
'It is plain sense, I think,' he said, 'that to grub up a fine tree, or a pretty bit of copse without fair reason, only out of eagerness for gain, is a bit of selfishness. But mind, Honor, you must not go and be romantic. You must have the timber marked when the trees are injuring each other.'
'Ah! I've often done it with you.'
'I wish you would come out with me to-day. I'm going to the out-wood, I could show you.'
She agreed readily, almost forgetting the wherefore.
'And above all, Honor, you must not be romantic about wages! It is not right by other proprietors, nor by the people themselves. No one is ever the better for a fancy price for his labour.'