“Tell Dragon he’s an old fool, and that he had better think what he says,” said Harry himself, who suddenly made his appearance as Violet spoke; “and you, Lettie, mind your own business, and don’t be so officious in reporting what everybody tells you. Why don’t you get these children off to school, Agnes? Yes, it’s my horse. I hope no one has any objection.”
Poor Harry! in this morning light, his own conscience has weighty objections, and upbraids him with folly and extravagance. But Harry feels miserable, and is not well—angry with himself, and defiant of all around him—and he feels himself bound in honour to defend his horse.
But no one attacks it; poor little Agnes is only anxious and deprecatory, eager to smile away his impatience, and cheer the depression which she very well knows is sure to follow; while Martha still stands at the open window, without ever turning her head, and vacantly draws the long, pliant branch of jasmine through her fingers, and says not a word.
“They are just going away,” said Agnes, hastily tying on the bonnet which Lettie had brought in her hand; “they have just breakfasted, you see, Harry. We are rather late this morning; and Mr. Charteris is not down stairs yet.”
Harry left the room immediately, and went out. The arrival of this horse did him good—dispersing the clouds of his depression, and its consequent ill-humour—and before he returned to the breakfast-room, Harry had consoled his conscience by a resolution to begin immediately his agricultural labours, and to spend no more of Miss Jean’s money, except lawfully, on the object for which he borrowed it.
When he re-entered the room Cuthbert was there, and Harry had to smooth his brow and welcome his guest. Agnes still half trembling, and growing talkative in her anxiety to restore ease to the conversation, found herself, to her great delight and astonishment, seconded by Martha, as they took their places round the table. And the still composure of Martha’s manner did more for this end, than the tremulous eagerness of the little wife. They regained the every-day tone, the every-day level of quietness and repose; and Agnes began to flatter herself that nothing unusual had happened last night after all, and Harry to think that his conscience blamed him unjustly; only the sickness in Martha’s heart lay still, uneased, and undisturbed. She was done with struggling—now she had only to wait for what it pleased God to reveal.
Charteris was to stay a week, and numerous excursions were discussed at the breakfast-table. It was a relief to them all, to have these things to speak about; but Cuthbert exerted himself to-day to gain the confidence of Harry, and did in some degree gain it. They spoke together of the projected improvements; and though Harry said with a little braggadocio that it was “an old rich aunt” who had given him the necessary capital, he was tolerably frank about his intentions, and very glad to receive introductions to some agricultural authorities whom Cuthbert knew. They walked together over the farm which the tenant was to leave at Martinmas, and together commented on the lean and scanty crops, which sparely covered the half-cultured soil. It was a fresh, showery day, enlivened by a light breeze, which brought down the chiller breath of the hills over the green lowland country; and as this wind waved about his hair, and blew the sparkling rain against his cheeks, Harry struggled under the uneasy burden on his heart, and tried to throw it off, and let it vex him no more. “Forgetting the things that are behind,” he muttered to himself, as they paused on a little eminence, and saw the sun touch into brilliant light a thousand rain-drops among the waving corn, and on the roadside trees—for still a heavy consciousness gnawed at his heart, and compelled him to try some bargain with it for rest—and Harry gladly turned to look away from the past, into the broad life which lay before him, as bright as this sunny strath, though, like it, dewed with tears; and in the future his sanguine eyes again saw nothing but hope.
“Forgetting the things that are behind!” Alas, poor Harry! for it was only too easy to forget.
But there followed a few days of cheerful activity, the very first of which dissipated into thin air the last remnant of Harry’s remorseful consciousness—for Cuthbert and he rode together to call on some of the agricultural authorities before mentioned, and take counsel with them—not always sweet—concerning all the processes of the warfare which should subjugate this stubborn soil; and Harry advertised in the local newspapers for a manager to take charge of his farming operations, and heard of one before his advertisement was printed, so suitable, as it seemed, in every respect, that Harry, fearing he might not wait till Martinmas, engaged him out of hand in July, that no one else might seize on such a treasure.
Not only so—but Harry, whose pride had been greatly hurt by Dragon’s implied opinion that he was a timid rider, subdued his horse, at no small cost to his own nerves, and rode a dozen miles to a cattle-show, partly in self-assertion, partly to acquire some knowledge of “the beasts,” which his agricultural instructors discoursed of so learnedly; but Harry was not the man to study beasts, and his long ride exhausted him, though it was a triumph. He had settled matters, however, with his conscience which now, rather applauded than condemned—and Harry was content.