<h2 class="p4">CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
<p class="p2">Beside the embowered stream that forms the
eastern verge of the chase, young Cradock Nowell
sat and gazed, every now and then, into the
water. Through a break in the trees beyond it,
he could see one chimney–top and a streak of the
thatch of the Rectory. In vain he hoped that Dr.
Hutton would leave him to himself; for he did not
wish to go into the proofs, but to meditate on the
consequences. Some bitterness, no doubt, there
was in the corner of his heart, when he thought of
all that Clayton now had to offer Amy Rosedew.
He had lately been told, as a mighty secret, something
which grieved and angered him; and the
more, that he must not speak of it, as his straightforward
nature urged him. The secret was that
innocent Amy met his brother Clayton, more than
once, in the dusk of the forest, and met him by
appointment. It grieved poor Cradock, because he
loved Amy with all his unchangeable heart; it<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</SPAN></span>
angered him, because he thought it very mean of
Clayton to take advantage of one so young and
ignorant of the world. But never until the present
moment, as he looked at the homely thatch in
the distance, and the thin smoke curling over it,
had it occurred to his honest mind, that his brother
might not be like himself—that Clayton might
mean ill by the maiden.</p>
<p>And now for the moment it seemed more likely,
as he glanced back at the lordly house, commanding
the country for miles around, and all that
country its fief and its thrall, and now the whole
destined for Clayton. He thought of the meanness
about the Ireland, and two or three other
little things, proofs of a little nature. Then he
gazed at the Rectory thatch again, and the smoke
from the kitchen chimney, and seemed to see pure
playful Amy making something nice for her
father.</p>
<p>“Good God! I would shoot him if he did; or
strike him dead into this water”.</p>
<p>In the hot haste of youth he had spoken aloud,
with his fist gathered up, and his eyes flashing
fire. Rufus Hutton saw and heard him, and
thought of it many times after that day.</p>
<p>“Oh, you are thinking of Caldo, because he
snapped at me. There are no signs of hydrophobia.
You must not think of shooting him”.</p>
<p>“I was not thinking of Caldo. I hope I did
not mean it. God knows, I am very wicked”.</p>
<p>“So we are all, my boy. I should like to see a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</SPAN></span>
fellow that wasnʼt. Iʼd pay fifty pounds for his
body, and dissect him into an angel”.</p>
<p>Cradock Nowell smiled a little at such a reward
for excellence, and then renewed his gaze of dreary
bewilderment at the water.</p>
<p>“Now let me show you my tracings, Cradock.
Three times I have pulled them out, and you wonʼt
condescend to glance at them. You have made
up your mind to abdicate upon my <i>ipse dixi</i>. Now
look at the bend sinister, that is yours; the bend
dexter is for the elder brother”.</p>
<p>“Dr. Hutton, it may be, and is, I believe, false
shame on my part; but I wish to hear nothing
about it. Perhaps, if my mother were living, I
might not have been so particular. But giving, as
she did, her life for mine, I cannot regard it medically.
The question is now for my father. I will
not enter into it”.</p>
<p>“Oh the subjectiveness of the age”! said Rufus
Hutton, rising, then walking to and fro on the
bank, as he held discourse with himself; “here is
a youth who ought to be proud, although at the
cost of his inheritance, of illustrating, in the most remarkable
manner, indeed I may say of originating,
my metrostigmatic theory. He carries upon the
cervical column a clear impression of grapes,
and they say that before the show at Romsey
the gardener was very cross indeed about his
choice Black Hamburgs. His brother carries
the identical impress, only with the direction
inverted—dexter in fact, and dexter was the<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</SPAN></span>
mark of the elder son. This I can prove by the
tracing made at the time, not with any view to
future identification, but from the interest I felt,
at an early stage of my experience, in a question
then under controversy. If I prove this, what
happens? Why, that he loses everything—the
importance, the house, the lands, the title; and
becomes the laughing–stock of the county as the
sham Sir Cradock. What ought he to do at
once, then? Why, perhaps to toss me into that
hole, where I should never get out again. By
Gad, I am rash to trust myself with him, and no
other soul in the secret”! Here Dr. Hutton shuddered
to think how little water it would take to
drown him, and the river so dark and so taciturn!
“At any rate, he ought to fall upon me with
forceps, and probe, and scalpel, and tear my evidence
to atoms. For, after all, what is it, without
corroboration? But instead of that, he only says,
‘Dr. Hutton, no more of this, if you please, no
more of this! The question is now for my father’.
And he must know well enough to which side his
father will lean in the inquiry. Confound the
boy! If he had only coaxed me with those great
eyes, I would have kept it all snug till Doomsday.
Oh what will my Rosa say to me? She has
always loved this boy, and admired him so immensely”.</p>
<p>Perhaps it was his pretty young wifeʼs high
approval of Cradock which first had made the testy
Rufus a partisan of Clayton. The cause of his<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</SPAN></span>
having settled at “Geopharmacy Lodge” was, that
upon his return from India he fell in love with a
Hampshire maiden, whom he met “above bar” at
Southampton. How he contrived to get introduced
to her, he alone can tell; but he was a most
persevering fellow, and little hampered with diffidence.
She proved to be the eldest daughter of
Sir Cradockʼs largest tenant, a man of good standing
and education, who lived near Fordingbridge.
As Rufus had brought home tidy pickings from
his appointment in India, the only thing he had to
do was to secure the ladyʼs heart. And this he
was not long about, for many ladies like high
colour even more than hairiness. First she laughed
at his dancing ways, incessant mobility, and sharp
eyes; but very soon she began to like him, and
now she thought him a wonderful man. This
opinion (with proper change of gender) was heartily
reciprocated, and the result was that a happier
couple never yet made fools of themselves, in the
judgment of the world; never yet enjoyed themselves,
in the sterling wisdom of home. They
suited each other admirably in their very differences;
they laughed at each other and themselves,
and any one else who laughed at them.</p>
<p>“Well, I shall be off”, said Dr. Hutton at last,
in feigned disgust; “you will stare at the water all
day, Mr. Cradock, and take no notice of me”.</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, I forgot myself; I did not
mean to be rude, I assure you”.</p>
<p>“I know you did not. I know you would never<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</SPAN></span>
be rude to any one. Good–bye, I have business
on hand”.</p>
<p>“You will be back, Dr. Hutton, when my father
returns from his ride? It is very foolish of me,
but I cannot bear this suspense”.</p>
<p>“Trust me. I will see to it. But he will not
be back, they tell me, till nearly four oʼclock”.</p>
<p>“Oh, what a time to wait! Donʼt send for me
if you can help it. But, if he wants me, I will
come”.</p>
<p>“Good–bye, my lad. Keep your pecker up.
There are hundreds of men in the world with
harder lines than yours”.</p>
<p>“I should rather think so. I only wish there
were not”.</p>
<p>Cradock attempted a lively smile, and executed
a pleasant one, as Rufus Hutton shook his hand,
and set off upon his business. And his business
was to ride at once as far as the “Jolly Foresters”,
that lonely inn on the Beaulieu–road, at the eastern
end of the parish, whereat John Rosedew baited
Coræbus at the turn of the pastoral tour. The
little doctor knew well enough, though he seldom
passed that way, how the smart Miss Penny of
former days, Mrs. OʼGaghanʼs assistant, was now
the important Mrs. George Cripps, hostess of the
“Jolly Foresters”, where the four roads met.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, the scaffolds went on merrily under
Mr. Garnetʼs care, and so did the awnings, marquees,
&c., and the terraces for the ladies. The
lamps in the old oak being fixed, the boughs were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</SPAN></span>
manned, like a frigateʼs yards, with dexterous fellows
hoisting flags, devices, and transparencies, all
prepared to express in fire the mighty name of
Cradock. All the men must finish that night, lest
any one lose his legitimate chance of being ancestrally
drunk on the morrow. Cradock Nowell,
wandering about, could not bear to go near them.
Those two hours seemed longer to him than any
year of his previous life. He went and told Caldo
all about it; and that helped him on a little.</p>
<p>Caldo was a noble setter, pure of breed, and high
of soul, and heavily feathered on legs and tail.
His colour was such a lily white, that you grieved
for him on a wet fallow; and the bright red spots
he was endowed with were like the cheeks of
Helen. Delicate carmine, enriched with scarlet,
mapped his back with islands; and the pink of his
cheeks, where the whiskers grew, made all the
young ladies kiss him. His nostrils were black
as a double–lined tunnel leading into a pencil–mine;
and his gums were starred with violet, and his teeth
as white as new mushrooms. In all the county of
Hants there was no dog to compare with him; for
he came of a glorious strain, made perfect at
Kingston, in Berkshire. Lift but a finger, and
down he went, in the height of his hottest excitement;
wave the finger, and off he dashed, his great
eyes looking back for repression. For style of
ranging, all dogs were rats to him, anywhere in the
New Forest; so freely he went, so buoyant, so careful,
and yet all the while so hilarious. Only one<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</SPAN></span>
fault he had, and I never knew dog without one;
he was jealous to the backbone.</p>
<p>Cradock was dreadfully proud of him. Anything
else he had in the world he would have given
to Clayton, but he could not quite give Caldo;
even though Clayton had begged, instead of backing
his Wena against him. Wena was a very nice
creature, anxious to please, and elegant; but of
a different order entirely from the high–minded
Caldo. Dogs differ as widely as we do. Who
shall blame either of us?</p>
<p>Cradock now leaned over Caldo, with the hot
tears in his eyes, and gently titillating the sensitive
part of his ears, and looking straight into his heart,
begged to inform him of the trouble they were
both involved in. “Have they taken the shooting
from us”? was Caldoʼs first inquiry; and his eyes
felt rather sore in his head that he should have to
ask the question. “No, my boy, they havenʼt.
But we must not go shooting any more, until the
whole matter is settled”. “I hate putting off
things till to–morrow”, Caldo replied, impatiently;
“the cock–pheasants come almost up to my kennel.
What the deuce is to come of it”? “Caldo, please
to be frigido. You shall come to my room by–and–by.
I shall be able then to smoke a pipe, and we
will talk about it together. You know that I have
never cared about the title and all that stuff”.</p>
<p>“I know that well enough”, said Caldo; “nevertheless,
I do. It gives me a status as a dog, which
I thoroughly appreciate. Am I to come down<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</SPAN></span>
from goodly paunches to liver and lights and
horses’ heads and hounds’ food? I donʼt think I
could stand it. But I would live on a crust a day,
if you would only come and live with me”. And
he nuzzled up to his master, in a way that made his
tears come.</p>
<p>Cradock was sent for suddenly. Old Hogstaff
trotted across the yard (wherein he seldom ventured)
to say that Sir Cradock Nowell wished to see his
son. Cradock following hastily, with all his heart
in his mouth, wondered at the penny–wort, the
wall–rue, and the snap–dragons, which he had never
seen before. Hogstaff tottered along before him,
picking uneasily over the stones, bobbing his chin,
and muttering.</p>
<p>Sir Cradock sat in the long heavy room known
as the “justice–hall”, where he and his brother
magistrates held oyer of many a culprit. The great
oak table was dabbed with ink, and the grey walls
with mop–shaped blotches, where sullen prisoners
had thrown their heads back, and refused to
answer. At the lower end was Rufus Hutton,
jerky, dogmatical, keenly important; while the old
man sat at the head of the table, with his back to
the pointed window, and looked (perhaps from local
usage) more like a magistrate than a father.
Straight up the long room Cradock walked, as
calmly as if he were going to see where his quoit
was stuck; then he made salutation to his father,
as his custom was, for many bygone fashions were
retained in the ancient family. Sir Cradock was<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</SPAN></span>
proud of his sonʼs self–command and dignified
manly carriage, and if Dr. Hutton had not been
there, he would have arisen to comfort him. As
it was, he only said, with a faint and doubtful
smile—</p>
<p>“So, sir, I find that, after all, you are but an
impostor”.</p>
<p>Young Cradock was a proud man—man from
that day forth, I shall call him “lad” no longer—ay,
a prouder man, pile upon pile, than the father
who once had spoiled him. But his pride was of
the right sort—self–respect, not self–esteem. So
he did not appeal, by word or look, to the sympathy
lurking, and no doubt working, in the pith
of his fatherʼs heart, but answered calmly and
coldly, though his soul was hot with sorrow—</p>
<p>“Sir, I believe it is so”. His eyes were on his
fatherʼs. He longed to look him down, and felt
the power to do it; but dropped them as should
a good son. Although the white–haired man was
glad at the promotion of his favourite, his heart
was yearning towards the child more worthy to
succeed him. But his notions of filial duty—which
himself had been called upon to practise chiefly in
memory, having seen very little of his father, and
having lost him early—were of the stern, cold order
now, the buckle and buckram style; though much
relaxed at intervals in Master Claytonʼs favour.
Finding no compunction, no humility in his sonʼs
look, for a mistake which was wholly of others,
and receiving no expression of grief at the loss of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</SPAN></span>
heirship, Sir Cradock hardened back again into
his proper dignity, and resumed his air of inquiry.
“I wish John Rosedew were here”, he
thought, and then it repented him of the wish, for
he knew how stubborn the parson was, and how
he would have Craddy the foremost.</p>
<p>Rufus Hutton, all this time, was in the agony of
holding his tongue. He tried to think of his
Rosa, and so to abstract himself airily from the
present scene. He had ridden over to see her
yesterday, and now dwelt upon their doings.
Rosa was to come to–morrow, and he would go to
fetch his wife in a carriage that would amaze her.
Then he met Cradock Nowellʼs eyes, and wondered
what he was thinking of.</p>
<p>“Now, Sir Cradock Nowell, this wonʼt do at
all. How long are we to play fast and loose with
a finer fellow than either of us”? Oh, that hot–headed
Rufus, what mischief he did then! “Although
I have not the honour, sir, of being in the
commission of peace for this little county, I have
taken magisterial duty in a district rather larger
than Ireland thrown into Great Britain. And I can
grow, per acre, thrice the amount of corn that any
of your farmers can”. His colour deepened with
self–assertion, like the central quills of a dahlia.</p>
<p>“We must have you to teach us, Dr. Hutton.
It is a thing to be thought about. But at present
you are kindly interested in—in giving your
evidence”.</p>
<p>Even then, if Dr. Hutton, with all his practised<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</SPAN></span>
acumen, had mixed one grain of the knowledge of
men, he might have done what he liked with Sir
Cradock, and re–established the dynasty; unless,
indeed, young Cradock were bent upon going
through with everything. But the only mode
Rufus Hutton knew of meeting the world was
antagonism.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir, you may think nothing of it. But
I have hunted a thing for three hundred leagues,
and got at it through the biggest liars that ever
stole a white manʼs galligaskins”.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Dr. Hutton”, said Cradock, diverting
the contest; “<i>λωποδύτης</i> is the word you mean.
And I fear it applies to me also”.</p>
<p>“Perhaps, young man”, cried Rufus Hutton,
“you know more Hindustani than I do. Translate—— ”,
and he poured out a sentence which I
dare not try to write down. “But, my good fellow,
you forget it is we who are stealing yours”.</p>
<p>“I think”, said Sir Cradock, slowly, and seriously
displeased—Good Heavens! to joke about the
succession to the Nowelhurst title and lands!—“I
think, sir, this can hardly be looked upon as
evidence. I always cut short the depositions, sir.
As Chairman of the Quarter Sessions, I always cut
short the depositions”.</p>
<p>“And so you wish to cut short, sir, the deposition
of your son”. Rufus laughed at his own bad
joke, and expected the others to laugh with him.
It made things worse than ever. Sir Cradock was
afraid to speak, lest he might say anything unseemly<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</SPAN></span>
to a visitor. The young man saw his
opportunity, and took advantage of it.</p>
<p>“Father, I beg you to let me go. You would
not wish me, I am sure, to be here; only you
think it my right to be. If you please, I will
waive that right; I can wholly trust your decision”.</p>
<p>He bowed to his father with cold respect, being
hurt at his rapid conviction, to Rufus Hutton with
some contempt and a smile at the situation. Then
he marched down the long room placidly, and
whistled when he was out of it. The next moment
he bolted away to his bedroom, and wept there
very heavily.</p>
<p>“Glorious fellow”! cried Dr. Hutton. “But
we donʼt at all appreciate him. Requires a man
of mind to do that. And now for Mrs. OʼGaghan”!
Leaving Sir Cradock this speech to digest, he
arose and rang the bell sharply. He felt himself
fully invested now with supreme judicial authority,
and he longed to be at the Irishwoman, who had
called him a “red gossoon”.</p>
<hr class="chap" /></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</SPAN></span></p>
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