Garstin

“ His introduction to Lord Garstin resulted, about a fortnight after it took place, in an invitation to a bachelor dinner. An invitation to one of Lord Garstin’s dinners was, in its way, about as desirable a thing as a young man “in Society” could receive; and the pleased, repressed importance on Julian’s face as he came into the drawing-room to his mother before he started to keep the engagement, was like a faint reflection of the satisfaction with which Mrs. Romayne’s expression was transfused. ”

“ The good news I mean is, that a first-rate man, Mr. Transome, of Transome Court, has offered himself to represent you in Parliament, sirs. I say you in particular, for what he has at heart is the welfare of the workingman—of the brave fellows that wield the pickaxe, and the saw, and the hammer. He's rich—has more money than Garstin—but he doesn't want to keep it to himself. ”

“ From among the dark huddle of houses came a woman’s scream, two—three—and then pandemonium, shouts, oaths, crashes, horses stamping, the noise of people rushing and struggling, and, above all, a boy’s voice hysterically shouting, “Fire! Curse you! Fire!”
“Christ!” said Ortho. “The Riders! Hey, push her off! For God’s sake, push!”
The two bowmen, standing in the water, put their backs to the boat and hove; Ortho and Anson in the stern used their oars pole-wise.
“All together, he-ave!”
Slowly the gig began to make stern-way. ”

“ He liked to have young men about him; to be admired and imitated by them. His manner to Julian was characteristic of these tastes; free from condescension as superiority can only be when it is absolute and unassailable, and full of easy familiarity.
Mrs. Romayne, standing fanning herself between them, listened for Julian’s reply with a certain intent suspense beneath her smile; Lord Garstin’s approval was so important to him. The simple, unaffected frankness of the answer satisfied her ear, and Lord Garstin’s expression, as he listened to it, satisfied her eye ”

“ Ortho held out his hand. “Rufus” swung back the stick and measured the distance with a puckered eye. Ortho hated him; he was a loathly sight, lying back in his chair, shapeless legs straddled out before him, fat jowl bristling with the rusty stubble from which he got his name, protuberant waistcoat stained with beer and snuff—a hateful beast! An icy glitter of cruelty—a flicker as of lightning reflected on a stagnant pool—suddenly lit the indolent eyes of the junior usher and down came the cane whistling. But Ortho’s hand was not there to receive it. ”

“ She yelled, dropped Ortho and the birch as if white-hot, and grabbed her leg. In the skin of the tendon was imprinted a semi-circle of red dents—Eli’s little sharp teeth marks. She limped round the kitchen for some minutes, vowing dreadful vengeance on the brothers, who, in the meanwhile, were sitting astride the yard gate munching the pasty. ”

“ Ortho could hear drums beating inside, while from the towers came defiant yells and splutters of musketry.
“If we can’t get in soon the snow will drive us away—and they know it,” he said to the man beside him, and the man shivered and thought of warm Tafilet.
“Yes, lord,” said he, “and there’s naught of value in that roua. Had there been, the Sari would have not thrown the looting open. A sheep, a goat or so—paugh! It is not worth our trouble.”
“They must be taught a lesson, I suppose,” said Ortho.
The man shrugged. “They will be dead when they learn it.” ”

“ She had a short nose, high cheekbones and very dark eyes with odd lights in them; her bare head was covered with crisp black curls and she wore big brass earrings; a little guitar was tucked under one arm. The tattered cloak was drawn tight about her, showing the thin but graceful lines of her figure—a handsome trollop.
“If you won’t speak you won’t . . . but, remember, I have warned you,” said John, but with less heat, as he untied his horse and mounted. As he turned the corner he glanced furtively back and met the girl’s eyes full. He put spurs to the mare, flushing hotly. ”

“ I thought you had gone to the south and would not return to . . . to . . . this house. Spare me, O amiable prince.”
“And why should I not return to this house?” said Ortho.
The beggar hesitated. “Muley, I made sure . . . I thought . . . it was not customary . . . young men do not linger in the places of lost love.”
“Dog,” said Ortho, suddenly cold about the heart, “what do you mean?”
“Surely the Kaid knows?” There was a note of surprise in the mendicant’s voice.
“I know nothing; I have been away . . . the lalla Ourida?” ”

“ One evening Albert Edward loitered up to the hen-house I was occupying at the time and chatted to me through the wires as I shaved.
"Put up seventeen hares and ten covey of partridges visiting outposts to-day—take my advice and scrap that moustache while you're about it, it must be a heavy drain on your system—and twenty hares and four covey riding home. Do you find lathering the ears improves their growth, or what?"
"The country is crawling with game," said I, ignoring his personalities, "and here we are hanging body and soul together on bully and dog biscuit." ”

“ When Eli came home at midsummer he could hardly credit his eyes. Ortho had performed miracles. Very wisely he had not attempted to fight back the moor everywhere, but had concentrated, and the fields he had put in crop were done thoroughly, deep-plowed, well manured and evenly sown—Penaluna could not make a better show.
The brothers walked over the land on the evening of Eli’s return; everywhere the young crops stood up thick and healthy, pushing forwards to fruition. Ortho glowed with justifiable pride, talked farming eagerly. He and Ned had given the old place a hammering, he said. ”

“ Wyburn, I'm sure. What a charming place this is of yours, Mrs. Wyburn. I always say the Green Gate is the most picturesque place in the neighbourhood. And Mr. de Freyne, I understand, is an artist. Do you know my daughter, Marion, is so interested in art! And my younger son, Garstin, though he is only twelve years old, shows great artistic talent, too. He did a map of Buckinghamshire that really surprised me, almost any one would recognise it at a glance. I always say I'm sure some day Garstin will be in the Royal Academy."
[220] Van Buren had approached and began to talk to Mrs. Campbell. ”

“ It was good to be home . . . and yet, and yet . . . things moved briskly outside, one found adventures out in the world, adventures that set the blood racing. He was boyishly pleased with his tussle with the vagabond, had tricked him rather neatly, he thought; he must tell Bohenna about that. Then the girl. She had not winced at the sight of his face, not a quiver, had smiled at him even. He wondered if she were still standing in the cow track, the blue cloak drawn about her, squelching mud through her bare toes—or was she ranging the fields after more turnips—turnips! ”

“ He spoke to the girl. “Be quiet, beauty, or I will shackle you with your own bangles. Will you be sensible?”
For answer the girl began to struggle, tugged at his grasp, wrenched this way and that with the frantic abandon of a wild animal in a gin. She was as supple as an eel and, for all her slimness, marvelously strong. Despite his superior weight and power, Ortho had all he could do to hold her. But her struggles were too wild to last and at length exhaustion calmed her. Ortho tied her hands with the orange scarf and began to take her jewelry off and cram it in his pouch. ”

“ I was pulling stroke in boat.”
“Son o’ yourn, George? He don’t favor ’e, seem me.”
“Naw. Young Squire Penhale from Bosula up-valley.”
“You knaw en?”
“Since he were weaned.”
“Ah, ha! Ah, ha!” The smuggler’s blue eyes rested on Ortho, benevolent yet probing. “And where can you find thirty horses, my son? ’Tis a brear passell.”
“Gypsy Herne rests on my land over winter; he has plenty.”
“An Egyptian! An idolater! A worshiper after false gods! Put not thy trust in such, boy—though I do hear many of the young ones is baptized and coming to the way of Light. Hum! Ha! . . . ”

“ Dawn was breaking, the mists were rolling up, the hills loomed gigantic in the half-light, studded with granite escarpments, patchworked with clumps of gorse, thorn and bracken—his battlefield.
Ortho had gone again, gone singing to try his fortune in the great world among foreign multitudes. For him the dour grapple with the wilderness—and he was glad of it. He disliked foreigners, disliked taking chances. Here was something definite, something to lock his teeth in, something to be subdued by sheer dogged tenacity. He broke the news that Ortho had gone gypsying again that evening at supper. ”

“ The gypsy camp saw Ortho early and late. He returned to Bosula only to sleep and fill his pockets with food. Food in wasteful plenty lay about everywhere in that slip-shod establishment; the door was never bolted. He would creep home through the orchard, silence the dogs with a word, take off his shoes in the kitchen, listen to Teresa’s hearty snores in the room above, drive the cats off the remains of supper, help himself and tiptoe up to bed. Nobody, except Eli, knew where he spent his days; nobody cared. ”

“ The cutter swung slowly on her heel, drifted beam on to the lapping tide, felt her helm and was gone, blotted out, swallowed up, might never have been.
But King Nick was in the boat! Ortho could not see him—he was merely a smudged silhouette—but he was in the stern-sheets not a yard distant. Their calves were actually rubbing! Could such things be?
They paddled in and hung a couple of cables’ length off shore waiting Anson’s signal. The smuggler began his argument again, and this time Ortho heard all; he couldn’t help it.
“Think of the money in it, George. You’ve got a growing family. ”

“ He pointed to the north. “Knitra’s over there, bit of a kasba like this. Er-rhossi has it; a sturdy fellow for a Greek, but my soul what a man to drink! Stayed here for a week and ’pon my conscience he had me baled dry in two days—me! Back there’s the forest, there’s pig . . . what are you staring at?”
Ortho spun about guiltily. “Me? Oh, nothing, nothing, nothing. What were you saying? The forest . . .”
He became suddenly engrossed in the view of the forest of Marmora.
“What’s the matter? You look excited, like as if you’d seen something,” said MacBride suspiciously. ”

“ The unpleasantness spread, for twenty-four hours later came a chit for our Albert Edward, saying if he had nothing better to do would he drop in and swop yarns with the General at noon that day? Our Albert Edward made his will, pulled on his parade boots, drank half a bottle of brandy neat, kissed us farewell and rode off to his doom. As he passed the borders of the camp The O'Murphy uncorked himself from a drain, and, seeing his boon-companion faring forth a-horse, abandoned the ratstrafe and trotted after him. ”

“ The warmer grew the others, the colder he became.
He scowled at the junketers from his priggish altitude and blundered bedward to find it already occupied by the St. Gwithian blacksmith, who, dark with the transferable stains of his toil, lay sprawled across it, boots where his head should have been. Eli rolled the unconscious artificer to the floor (an act which in no way disturbed that worthy’s slumbers) and turned in, sick and sulky.
With Ortho, on the other hand, things were never better. ”

“ King Nick’s voice took on a slightly pained tone. “George, George, my dear life, ponder, will ’e? Consider where between St. Ives and Sennen can I run a cargo. And how many days a week in winter can I land at Sennen—eh? Not one. Not one in a month hardly. ‘He gathereth the waters of the sea together, as it was upon a heap.’ Psalm thirty-three. And it’s in winter that the notable hard drinking’s done, as thou well knowest. What else is the poor dear souls to do in the long bitter evenings? Think o’ they poor St. Just tinners down in the damp and dark all day. ”

“ She arrived to witness what appeared to be a fratricidal war between the seafaring stalwarts of the parish and the farm hands. A mob of boys and men surged about a field, battling claw and hoof for the possession of a cow-hide ball which occasionally lobbed into view, but more often lay buried under a pile of writhing bodies.
Teresa was very fond of these rough sports and journeyed far and wide to see them, but what held her interest most that afternoon was a party of gentry who had ridden from Penzance to watch the barbarians at play. ”

“ But Kitty was a beauty. She gave promise of being so when she was still a child, for she had large, dark eyes, liquid and vivacious, brown, curling hair in which there was a reddish tint, exquisite teeth and a lovely skin. Her features would never be very good, for her chin was too square and her nose, though not so long as Doris's, too big. Her beauty depended a good deal on her youth, and Mrs. Garstin realised that she must marry in the first flush of her maidenhood. ”

“ She was uneasy about her precious Ortho; his courtship of the Penaluna girl was not progressing favorably. He had not mentioned the affair, but to his doting mother all was plain as daylight. She knew perfectly well where he spent his evenings, and she knew as well as if he had told her that he was making no headway. Men successful in love do not flare like tinder at any tiny mishap, sigh and brood apart in corners, come stumbling to bed at night damning the door latches for not springing to meet their hands, the stairs for tripping them up ”

“ It is a little masterpiece conceived almost in the hopeless bitterness of Hardy at his darkest, most pessimistic moment. The crudeness in workmanship has gone, only the relentless inevitability of it all remains like the tragedies of life itself. Rosa Blencarn, the parson’s niece, a mere cheap flirt of unfinished comeliness, is but the bone of contention between the personalities of Antony and his mother. The widow Garstin is as fine a character as Crackanthorpe, in his twenty-two stories, has created. She lives, and in her veins flows the passion of disappointed age. ”