Half Brothers

by Hesba Stretton

In this Sidney was satisfied. Philip could do all things customary to young men of his station and prospects, but he did not specially excel in any of them. In his father's eyes there was in him a slight touch of listlessness, the listlessness of certainty. There was a lack of something to strive for, which had been no characteristic of his own. Sidney could still recall the strain of anxiety to retain his uncle's favor, and the sacrifices he had made, and was ready to make, to secure his vast fortune falling to himself. It could not be the same with his son. The large estate in Yorkshire, which was entailed upon him, secured his future, and deprived him at the same time of the stimulus of uncertainty. It was the same with his younger boy, Hugh. Their mother had taught them so to value wealth and position that they had no ambition to increase either, while their ancestors had taken care they should not be compelled to work for their living. It was a knot in the silken thread of their lives which Sidney could not untie, and was equally powerless to cut through.

CHAPTER XX.
BRACKENBURN.

The large estate in Yorkshire to which Philip was heir had been seldom visited by Sidney. It was much too far from London to be a place of residence for him while he remained in business, and Margaret's house at Apley exactly met all their requirements as a country place within a short distance from town. The Yorkshire estate had been left to an agent, and the house had been let for a term of twenty-one years soon after his settling upon Apley as their home. Hitherto, therefore, it had been little more to them than a source of income. The tenant of Brackenburn was reported to be an eccentric man, who greatly resented the occasional visits of the agent, and neither Sidney nor Philip had cared to intrude upon him. The house was small, and Sir John Martin had left the sum of £50,000 for building one more suitable for his heirs. Now that Philip was so nearly of age it became a question of some importance when and how the new hall should be built. Architects were consulted and plans drawn up, bringing more forcibly to Philip's mind that he, too, like Hugh, to whom Apley would come, was heir to a large property in land. The love of land awoke within him. He threw himself with ardor into the questions of building and planting. The tenant's lease would expire shortly after he came of age, and it was then proposed that Philip should take up his abode in the old Manor House, and superintend the erection of the new mansion. When thinking of it, he always thought of Phyllis as being there beside him.

But some months before Philip's coming of age Sidney received a letter from a firm of solicitors in York informing him that his tenant, Mr. Churchill, was dead, and that he was left sole executor of his will, and the guardian of his only child; "having no friend whom I can trust in the whole world," was added. Sidney had seen his tenant only a few times, and nothing had been said to him of the service thus thrust upon him by Mr. Churchill's will. It was a surprise and an annoyance to him; but the words, "no friend whom I can trust in the whole world," appealed to his and to Margaret's sympathy, and, telegraphing that he was starting immediately, he set out on his northward journey.

"It is odd," he said to Margaret before leaving her, "that we have no idea whether the only child is a son or daughter, or what the amount of property left may be. But in any case we can befriend Mr. Churchill's only child."

It was early morning when Sidney reached the little road-side station nearest to Brackenburn, and a walk of four miles lay between it and the old Manor House. His temperament was still alive to all the simple pleasures of a solitary walk like this, at an unwonted hour and in the very heart of the country. London lay very far away from him. His love of nature had no touch of age upon it, and as he sauntered along the lanes, with the joyous caroling of little songbirds all around him, and the bracing air of the dawn caressing his face, he felt almost like a boy again. If Margaret had but come with him, his enjoyment would have been perfect. The fever of city life always running in his veins cooled down into an unusual calm and tranquillity, and for once he asked himself if his satisfied ambition was worth the sacrifice he had made for it.

The old Manor House of Brackenburn stood at the head of a long dale, with wide stretches of heather-clad moor rising behind it and lying in long curves against the distant horizon. It was an old timber house, the heavy beams black with age, and the interstices, which had once been kept white with frequent lime-washing, were now weather-stained and discolored. But the front of the old house was hidden under a thick mantle of ivy, which had never been touched or trained, and which grew in long, luxuriant sprays that waved to and fro restlessly in the breeze. A stone wall, ten feet high, surrounded the house and concealed the lower story, and Sidney found it difficult to push open the heavy iron gates, which admitted him to the forecourt. The windows were still closed with outer wooden shutters, and the only sign of life was a thin line of smoke rising from one of the great stacks of chimneys, and floating softly across the blue of the morning sky. Sidney rang gently, in order not to disturb the household at so early an hour, and the door was presently opened by an old woman, who appeared with a candle in her hand, and led him into a darkened room. He told her briefly who he was.

"I'll call Dorothy to you," she said as she shut the door upon him.

There was something about being left in this way to wait for some unknown person which brought back very vividly to his memory his first meeting with Margaret. He could see her coming in, and drawing near to him, with her simple, unconscious grace, and hear her addressing him as frankly as if she had been a little child. He had loved her with all his heart from that moment. Was it possible that it was more than twenty-two years ago? It might have been but yesterday; only she was dearer to him now, and her love was more necessary and more precious to him. How foolish he was to waste so much time in business, which might be spent in companionship with her. Well, as soon as Philip, or Hugh, was ready to take his place, he would himself relax his pursuit of wealth and power.