The decision unanimously come to on the Monday was that Hans should ride down to Oxford and see Aubrey before anything else was settled. Lady Louvaine would have liked dearly to return home to Selwick, but Aubrey was its master, and was of age, and he might be contemplating matrimony when he could afford it. If so, she would make a long visit—possibly a life-long one—to her beloved Joyce at Minster Lovel, accompanied by Edith. Temperance and Lettice were to return to Keswick: Faith must please herself. That Faith would please herself, and would not much trouble herself about the pleasing of any one else, they were tolerably convinced: and of course Aubrey’s own mother had a greater claim on him than more distant relatives. She would probably queen it at Selwick, unless Aubrey provided the Hall with a younger queen in her place.
It was on a lovely summer afternoon that Hans rode into Oxford by the Water Gate or Little Gate, from which a short street led up northwards to Christ Church and Saint Aldate’s. Just beyond these, he passed through the city portal of South Gate, and turning to the left down Brewers’ Street, he soon came to Mr Whitstable’s shop under the shadow, of West Gate. Just on the eastern side was a livery-stable, where Hans put up his horse: and then, wishing to see Aubrey before he should be recognised, he walked straight into the shop. At the further end, Aubrey was showing some solid-looking tomes to two solid-looking dons, while Mr Whitstable himself was just delivering a purchase to a gentleman in canonicals. Hans stepped up to the bookseller, and in a low tone asked him for a Book of Articles. This meant the famous Thirty-Nine, then sold separate from the Prayer-Book at a cost of about sixpence.
Mr Whitstable laid three copies on the counter, of which Hans selected one, and then said, still speaking low—
“May I, with your good leave, tarry till my brother yonder is at liberty, and have speech of him? I have ridden from London to see him.”
The keen eyes examined Hans critically.
“You—brothers?” was all the reply of the old bookseller.
“Not by blood,” said Hans with a smile, “nor truly by nation: but we were bred up as brothers from our cradles.”
“You may tarry. Pray you, sit.”
Hans complied, and sat for a few minutes watching Aubrey. He perceived with satisfaction that his costume was simple and suitable, entirely devoid of frippery and foppery; that his mind seemed to be taken up with his employment; that he was looking well, and appeared to understand his business. At last the grave and reverend signors had made their choice; Bullinger’s Decades, at nine shillings, was selected, and Beza’s New Testament, at sixteen: Aubrey received the money, gave the change, and delivered the books. He was following his customers down the shop when his eyes fell on Hans. Whether on this occasion he was welcome or not, Hans was not left to doubt. Every feature of Aubrey’s face, every accent of his voice, spoke gratification in no measured tones.
“Hans, my dear brother!” he said as they clasped hands. “When came you? and have you had to eat since? How left you all at home?”