An English Squire. Coleridge Christabel Rose

in the fire-light, her golden hair flying in the gust of wind, her hands together, like a wild thing at bay. Bob remained perched, half-way up the ladder, and Jack made a step or two forward.

      A tall figure in a dark cloak, with bright crimson lining, and a large felt hat, stood in the doorway.

      “Are you Cheriton?” he said eagerly, and with a strong foreign accent.

      “No; he’s out. I’m Jack. How d’ye do? We didn’t know when you were coming,” said Jack, in a tone from which embarrassment took every shade of cordiality. He put out his hand quickly, however, as the stranger made a movement as if possibly intending a more tender salutation. Alvar took it, then removed his hat, and advancing towards the speechless Nettie said, —

      “This is my sister? May I not salute her?” and lightly touched her cheek with his lips. “I have thought of you, my sister,” he said.

      “Have you?” stammered Nettie, hanging down her head like a child. Bob remained motionless on his ladder, and Jack said, —

      “Here’s my father,” as Mr Lester came hurriedly into the hall, nearly as much embarrassed as his children, and pale with an agitation which they did not share. Alvar turned round, and bowed low with a respectful grace that his brothers certainly could not have imitated.

      Mr Lester came forward and held out his hand. It needed all his innate sense of good breeding to overcome the repulsion which the very idea of his strange son caused him. The sense of owing him amends for long-neglected duty, the knowledge how utterly out of place this foreigner must be as heir of Oakby, the feeling that by so recognising him he was wronging alike his forefathers and his other children, while he yet knew how much his whole life through he had wronged Alvar himself, came upon him with renewed force. Then as he heard such tones, and saw such a face as he had not seen for years, what rush of long past sentiment, what dead and buried love and hate came rushing over him with such agitating force, that in the effort to avoid a scene, and a display of feeling which, yielded to, might have smoothed the relations between them for ever, his greeting to his son was as cold as ice!

      “How do you do, Alvar? I am glad to see you. We did not expect you so soon. You must have found your journey very cold.”

      “I did not delay. It was my wish to see my father,” said Alvar, a little wistfully. “My father, I trust, will find me a dutiful son.”

      Here Bob giggled, and Jack nearly knocked him off the ladder with the nudge evoked by his greater sense of propriety.

      “No doubt – no doubt,” said Mr Lester. “I hope we shall understand each other, soon. Where’s Cheriton? Jack, suppose you show – him – your brother, his room. Dinner at seven, you know. I daresay you’re hungry.”

      “I did take a cup of coffee, but it was not good,” said Alvar, as he followed Jack upstairs; and the latter, mortally afraid of a tête-à-tête, shut him into the bedroom prepared for him, and rushed downstairs to encounter Cheriton, who came hurrying in, thinking himself late for dinner.

      “Cherry, he’s come!”

      “Oh, Cherry, he’s so queer! He makes pretty speeches, and he bows!”

      “He’s a regular nigger, he’s so black!”

      “Oh, Cherry, it’s awful!”

      “What have you done with him? Where’s the squire?” said Cherry, as soon as he could make himself heard.

      “Oh, papa has seen him, and Jack’s taken him into his room,” said Nettie.

      “He thought I was you,” said Jack. Cheriton stood still for a moment, as shy as the rest, then, with an effort, he ran upstairs.

      “It’s only kind to go and say how d’ye do to a fellow,” he thought, as he tapped at the bedroom door, and entered with outstretched hand, and blushing to the tips of his ears. “Oh, how d’ye do? I’m so sorry I was out of the way; they kept me to nail up the wreaths. I’m very glad to see you. Aren’t you very cold?”

      Probably the foreigner understood about half of this lucid and connected greeting; but something in the warmth of the tone made him come forward eagerly.

      “You are then really my brother Cheriton? I thought it was again the other one.”

      “What, Jack? Yes, we’re thought alike, I believe.”

      “I do not see that,” said Alvar, contemplating him gravely; “but I have known you in my thoughts – always.”

      “I’m sure – we’ve all thought a great deal about you. But there’s no one to help you. Have you got your things? I’ll ring,” nearly pulling down the bell-rope. “And, look here, I’ll just dress and come back, and go down with you – shall I?” Cheriton’s summons was rapidly answered, as curiosity inspired the servants as well as their masters; and leaving Alvar to make his toilet, he hastened upstairs. The three brothers slept in a long passage at the top of the house, over the drawing-room. As Cherry’s step sounded, both his brothers’ doors burst open simultaneously, and Jack and Bob, in various stages of dressing, at once ejaculated, —

      “Well!”

      “How can I tell? It’s awfully late. I shall never be ready,” and Cherry banged his own door, too much astounded by the new brother to stand a discussion on him.

      As soon as he was ready he went down stairs, and found Alvar, rather to his relief, attired in correct evening costume.

      “I suppose you haven’t seen my grandmother yet?” he said.

      “Your grandmother? I did not know there was a grandmother,” said Alvar, in a much puzzled voice, which, together with the sense of how much his brother had to learn, nearly upset Cherry’s gravity.

      “My father’s mother, you know. She lives with us,” he said. “She is your grandmother too.”

      “Ah!” said Alvar, “I loved my grandmother much. This other one, she will be most venerable, I am sure.”

      “Come along then,” said Cherry, unable to stand more conversation at present.

      Mrs Lester, whatever her private opinions might be, had too much respect for the heir, for herself, and for the house of Lester, not to attire herself with unusual dignity, and to rise and advance to receive her grandson.

      “How do you do, Alvar?” she said. “You have been a long time in coming to see us.”

      Alvar, after a moment’s pause, as if doubtful what sort of salutation would be acceptable, bowed low and kissed her hand. Nettie laughed; but her grandmother drew herself up as if the act of homage was not altogether displeasing to her, and then looked keenly at the new grandson, who, as far as looks went, was no unworthy scion of the handsome Lesters.

      He was as tall as his father, though of a different and slighter make, and stood with a sort of graceful stiffness, unlike the easy loose-limbed air of most young English gentlemen. He had a dark olive skin, and oval face; but his features were not unlike the prevailing family type; and though his hair was raven black, it grew and curled in the picturesque fashion of his father’s, which Cheriton alone of the other sons inherited. But he had the splendid black liquid eyes, with blue whites, and slender arched eyebrows of his Spanish mother, and possessed a picturesque foreign beauty that seemed to group the fair-haired brothers into a commonplace herd. He had a grave, impassive face, and held his head up with an air suggestive of Spanish grandees.

      It was very difficult to make conversation when they went in to dinner, the more so as Alvar evidently did not easily follow rapid English, and either he was bewildered by new impressions, or not very open to them, for he had not much to say about his journey. Cheriton, as he tried to talk as if there was no perplexing stranger present, could not help wondering whether all that was so strange to himself came with any familiarity to his father. Had he known what his son would be like? Could he touch any chord to which Alvar could find a response? Had eyes like those great rolling black ones ever looked love into his own? And if so, was it all forgotten, or was the remembrance distasteful?

      “He was older than I am now,”