SELF AND ANOTHER
Ralph had gone to Perranpool to see Robert Telfer, but Ruth expected him back every moment.
"Won't you come in and wait for him?" Ruth questioned, looking beyond him into the gathering twilight.
William hesitated for a moment, and then decided that he would.
"I am sure he will not be long," Ruth said, as she busied herself getting the lamp ready. "Mr. Telfer wanted to settle with him, as—as he can, of course, deliver no more concrete."
"It's an awful shame," William said abruptly, and he dropped into Ralph's easy-chair.
"It seems very hard," Ruth said reflectively; "but I tell Ralph it may be all for the best. Perhaps he was getting on too fast and too suddenly."
"He is not the sort to have his head turned by a bit of prosperity," William said, watching his fair hostess out of the corner of his eye.
"At any rate, the danger has been removed—if it was a danger." And Ruth sighed gently.
For several moments there was silence in the room. Ruth had the lamp to light and the blind to pull down and a fresh cover to lay on the table. William watched her with averted face and half-closed eyes. How womanly she was in all her movements; how dainty in her appearance; how gentle in her manner and speech!
William felt as if he would almost risk his hope of heaven for the chance of calling her his, and yet he had not the courage even to hint at what he felt. Her very daintiness and winsomeness seemed to widen the gulf between them. Who was he that he should dare make love to one who was fit for the best in the land? It seemed to him—so unworthy did he seem in his own eyes—utterly impossible that Ruth should ever care for a man of his type.
William was almost morbidly self-depreciatory when in the presence of Ruth. His love so glorified her that by contrast he was commoner than commonest clay.
"I was so sorry to hear you are to be turned out of your shop," Ruth said at length, taking a seat on the other side of the table.
"Ralph told you?" he questioned.
"We stayed up till quite late last night, talking about it," she replied. "Ralph is very indignant."
"I am very indignant myself," he answered; "but what's the good? Those who have the power use it as they like."
"I am sorry it has happened," she said gently; "sorry for all our sakes. Ralph's reverence for the ruling classes was not great before. It is less now."
"You cannot wonder at that," he said quickly.
"No, one cannot wonder. And yet there is a danger in judging the whole by a few. Besides, if we had real power, we might not use it any more wisely or justly. The best of people, after all, are only human."
"That being so," he answered, with a smile, "it does not seem right that any individual, or any class of individuals, should have so much power. Who made these people rulers and dividers over us?"
"Ah, now you are getting beyond me," she said; "but since things are as they are, should we not make the best of them?"
"And try to mend them at the same time?"
"Oh yes, by all means—that is, if we can."
"But you have not much hope of mending things?" he questioned.
"Not very much. Besides, if you levelled things up to-morrow, they would be levelled down again the day after."
"Isn't that a rather fatalistic way of looking at things?" he questioned, raising his eyes timidly to her face.
"Is it?" she questioned, and a soft blush swept over her face as she caught his glance. Then silence fell again for several moments.
"The chances of life are very bewildering," he said at length, reopening the conversation. "Some people seem to get all the luck, and others all the misfortune. Look at my Cousin Sam."
"Is he very unfortunate?"
William laughed.
"On the contrary, he has all the luck. He has never known what poverty means, or sickness, or hardship. He was born to affluence, and now, at twenty-six, he's his own master, with a house of his own and plenty of money."
"But he may not be a whit happier than those who have less."
"I don't see how he can help it," William answered. "He's never worried about ways and means. He has troops of friends, absolutely wants nothing except a wife to help him to spend his money."
"Then you should advise him to keep single," Ruth said, with a laugh, "for if he gets married, his troubles may begin."
"There's risk in everything, no doubt," William said meditatively. "Still, if I were in his place, I should take the risk."
"You would?" Ruth questioned, arching her eyebrows, "and you a bachelor?"
"Ah, that is my misfortune," William answered, looking hard at a picture on the wall. "But Sam's way is quite clear."
"Is it?"
"He's a good fellow, too, is Sam. Never a word of slander has been breathed against his name since he was born. He'll make a good husband, whoever gets him."
"I did not know you had such a cousin till last evening," Ruth said meaningly.
"Oh, well, no. We've never seen very much of each other. You see, the Tremails have always been rather big people, and then we have lived a long way apart, and I have never cared to presume on my relationship."
"So he has hunted you up?"
"Well, yes. He came to see me just a fortnight ago or so, and he has ridden over once or twice since. Don't you think he's a fine, handsome fellow?"
"Yes; he is not bad-looking."
"Oh, I call him handsome. It must be nice to be young and have so much strength and energy."
"Well, are you not young?"
"I'm ten years older than Sam," he said, a little sadly, "and ten years is a big slice out of one's life."
"Are you growing pessimistic?" she questioned. "You are usually so hopeful."
"There are some things too good to hope for," he replied, "too beautiful, too far away. I almost envy a man like my Cousin Sam. He has everything within his reach."
"You seem to be quite enthusiastic about your cousin," she said, with a smile.
"Am I? Oh, well, you know, he is my cousin, and a good fellow, and if I can speak a good—I mean, if I can appreciate—that is, if I can cultivate a right feeling toward him, and—and—all that, you know, don't you think I ought to do so?"
"Oh, no doubt," Ruth said, laughing. "It's generally well to be on good terms with one's relations—at least so I've been told," and she went to the door and looked out into the darkness.
Ruth came back again after a few moments, and turned the lamp a little higher.
"Ralph is much longer than I expected he would be," she remarked, without looking at William.
"Perhaps Mr. Telfer was out," he suggested.
"I don't think that. You see he went by appointment. I expect it has taken them longer to square their accounts than they thought."
"I hope Ralph will come well out of it," he said musingly. "He's had a rough time of it so far."
"I am sometimes afraid he will grow bitter and give up. He has talked again and again of trying his fortune abroad."
"But if he went abroad, what would become of you?" William asked, with a sudden touch of anxiety in his voice.
"He would send for me when he got settled."
William gave a little gasp.
"Would you like to go abroad?" he questioned.
"I would much prefer to stay here if I could; but you see we cannot always have what we would like best."
"No, that is true," he said slowly and meditatively. "The things we would like best are often not for us. I don't know why it should be so. Some people seem to get all they desire. There is my Cousin Sam, for instance."
"He is one of the lucky ones, you say?"
"It seems so from my point of view. Did he tell you when he first saw you?"
"No."
"He would not like to remind you. It was the day of the sale at Hillside. He was greatly—that is, of course he could not help noticing you. Since then he has seen you lots of times. A fortunate fellow is Sam."
"Perhaps he does not think so."
"Oh, I fancy he does. I don't see how he can help it. He lives in a beautiful old house. It's years since I saw it, but it remains in my memory a pleasant picture. His wife will have a rare time of it."
"How do you know he does not intend to follow your example and remain a bachelor?"
"How? Sam knows better than that. Do you think I would remain a bachelor if—if—but there! You remember what you said just now about the things we want most?"
"I did not know——" Then a step sounded on the gravel outside. "Oh, here comes Ralph." And Ruth sprang to her feet and rushed to the door.
A moment later the two men were shaking hands.
"I hope I have not kept you waiting long," Ralph said. "The truth is, Telfer and I have been settling up."
"So your sister told me."
"And I'm bound to say he's treated me most handsomely. Technically, he might have got the better of me on a dozen points; but no! he's been most fair. It's a real pleasure to come across a man who doesn't want to Jew you."
"Oh, bless you, there's lots of honest people in the world!" William said, with a smile.
"Yes, I suppose there are; the misfortune is one so often tumbles across the other sort."
"Perhaps you will have better luck in the future," William replied.
"I only want fair play," Ralph answered; "I ask for nothing more than that."
"And have you hit upon anything for the future?"
"Not yet. But I don't want to be in a hurry. I've ready money enough to last me a year or two. I really didn't think I had done so well, for I'm a duffer at figures. If I only had about four times as much I'd buy Hillside."
"And turn farmer?"
"No, farming is not my forte." And he turned and looked towards the door of the pantry behind which Ruth was engaged getting supper ready.
"Let's go into my room," he continued, in a half-whisper. "I've something I want to say to you."
William followed him without a word.
"I don't want to awaken any vain hopes in Ruth's mind," Ralph went on. "The thing is too remote to be talked about almost. But you have wondered why I should want Hillside Farm when I've no love for farming?"
"I have supposed it was for your sister's sake."
"No, it's not that exactly. It's my love of adventure, or you might call it my love of speculation."
"I don't quite understand."
"Of course you don't. So I'll explain. You are the best friend I ever had, and I can trust you. Besides, if I ever did anything I should want your help. You are a business man, I'm a dreamer. You are good at accounts, I'm a fool at them."
William's eyes opened wider and wider, but he did not interrupt.
"Now, there's just the possibility of a fortune in Hillside," Ralph went on. "Not on the surface, mind you. The crops raised there will never be a fortune for anybody; but my father believed there was a rich tin lode running through it."
"Why didn't he test it?"
"He had no opportunity."
"Why not? The farm was his as long as the 'lives' remained alive."
"But all the mineral rights were reserved by the ground landlord. So that if my father had discovered a gold mine he would have got nothing out of it."
"So he kept silent?"
"Naturally; for if a mine was started, not only would he get no good out of it, but his farm would be ruined."
William remained silent and thoughtful.
"Now, if I could get the freehold," Ralph went on, "I should be free from every interference. I could sink a shaft for a few fathoms and test the thing. If it proved to be worthless, very little harm would be done. I should still have the farm to work or to let. Do you see my point?"
"I do, but——"
"I know what you would say. I have not the money," Ralph interrupted. "That is quite true. But I've more than I thought I had. And if the Brick, Tile, and Clay Company will take my plant at a fair valuation, I shall have more. Now I want to ask you, as a business man, if you think I could get a mortgage for the rest?"
"Possibly you might," William said slowly, "but there are a good many objections to such a course."
"Well, what are they?"
"We'll take one thing at a time," William answered meditatively. "To begin with: I don't believe Sir John Hamblyn would sell the place to you under any circumstances if he knew."
"Why not?"
"Because he has wronged you, and so he hates you. Nothing would please him better than for you to leave the country."
"Well?"
"If you begin to look round for a mortgage, or for securities——"
"Yes, I see."
"If you are to get the place, your name must not be given at the outset; you must buy through an agent or solicitor. You must be ready with the money on the nail."
Ralph looked thoughtful for several moments.
"I'm afraid it's of no use hoping," he said at length; "though when Robert Telfer handed me over his cheque this evening the world did look bright for a moment."
"But if you bought the farm you might lose everything," William suggested; "and it would be a pity to throw away your first earnings."
"Why so? There's no good in hoarding money. I want to be doing something. Besides, I might find work for half the parish."
"Then you have faith in the tin lode of which your father spoke?"
"I am confident there is a lode there. My father was not likely to be mistaken in a matter of that kind. As a practical miner and mineralogist there was not his equal in the county."
"But he did not test the lode?"
"He had no chance."
"Hence, it may be worthless."
"I admit it. Mind you, my father was confident that it was rich in tin. Of course, he may have been mistaken."
"But you are prepared to risk your all on it?"
"I am. I wish I had ten times as much to risk."
The next moment Ruth appeared, with the announcement that supper was ready.
"Let me sleep over it," William whispered to Ralph; "and to-morrow morning you come up to my shop and we'll see what we can make of it."
And he turned and followed Ruth into the next room.