“Don’t—don’t talk of it. Of course they would,” said Cherry, with a shudder.
“Ah! I fear you will dream of it, as you used of the mountain at Ronda. It will hurt you more than it has hurt me.”
“No,” said Cherry; “but if we had lost you! We can hardly believe yet that we have you safe.”
“But,” said Alvar, with unusual persistency, “then you would have been the squire, after all. Ah! I am cruel to hurt you; but, Cheriton, once they would not have grieved.”
Cheriton could not command an answer, and Alvar quitted the subject; but the unmistakable affection showed to him at last by his brothers and sister healed the old wounds as nothing else would have done.
No one would own that the fright and agitation demanded a quiet evening, and the ladies all repaired to Hazelby, to sit in the gallery at the Town-hall to hear the speeches, Mrs Lester, who had happily not been present in the morning, accompanying them; and Jack, going to fetch Virginia, and after overwhelming her with the story of the alarm, assuring her that she must come and hear Alvar’s health drunk. Sir John Hubbard intended it should be done.
And so, when the usual toasts were over, old Sir John rose, and, full of compunction for past prejudices, and of gratitude for what Alvar had done for him, said that this was really the first public occasion they had had of welcoming Mr Lester among them; spoke of his father’s merits, of the difficulty a stranger might have in accommodating himself to their north-country fashions; touched lightly and gracefully on the reason of Alvar’s recent absence, and their pleasure in welcoming back again “one long known and loved,” and how much was owing to the elder brother’s care; hinted how Alvar had won “one of the best of their county prizes;” and then, out of the fulness of his heart, thanked him for his heroic behaviour in saving the life of Lady Hubbard, and himself from an irreparable loss, and, moreover, a frightful sense of responsibility.
Then Alvar’s health was drunk with all the honours, and it was long before the enthusiasm subsided sufficiently to allow him to reply.
He stood up, in his unusual height and dignity, and said, slowly and simply, “I thank you much, gentlemen. Sir John Hubbard need not thank me for rescuing my sister, and the betrothed of my brother. I was at hand, and of the danger I did not think.” (“No, no; of course not,” cried a voice.) “I have been a stranger, but I have no other country but England now, and it is my wish to be your friend and your neighbour, as my father was. I will endeavour to fill his place to my tenants; but I am ignorant, and have little skill. I think it is not perhaps permitted to me to name the one who will most help me in future, one of whom I am all unworthy. But there is another, who has always given me love, whom I love most dearly, as I think you do also. My brother Cheriton has taught me how to be an English squire.”
And among all those who cheered Alvar’s speech, the voice that was raised the loudest was Edward Fleming’s.