Roger Trewinion Part 12

"Oh, but I hope it will," he said. "Why, the people are saying that you jumped from the top of the highest p.r.o.ng of the 'Devil's Tooth' on to the wreck, that you waded through water several feet deep, and that just when you had carried little Ruth on the deck the vessel broke in pieces, upon which you plunged into the sea and carried her ash.o.r.e. I had no idea I had such a brother."

He laughed jeeringly.

His manner of speaking made me feel that if Wilfred had ever possessed any love for me it was becoming embittered.

"Have you seen Ruth?" he went on.

"Yes, I saw her to-day."

"Father introduced you to her, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"And no doubt she was exceedingly anxious to glorify the hero who saved her."

"No, I don't think she was, but I did not stay long with her. I fancy she doesn't like me."

"No?" he said, questioningly. "I wonder at that, for she seems to like me a great deal; indeed, we are great friends."

"I am glad to hear it," I replied, "for somehow I can't be friendly with strange girls."

"No," he said, "I don't think you are cut out for a girl's friend, and you are not the kind of fellow a girl would like."

There is something in every man's heart which causes him to feel hurt when he hears another say something about him that he would have no hesitation in saying about himself. I had said many times that I was not a lad whom girls liked, and yet when Wilfred said it I was annoyed.

"After all, it's right," he went on. "It is not fair that you should have everything and I, nothing. You have the Trewinion name, its houses, its lands, and its blessings, while I have nothing but my brains, and people's love."

"There are curses in connexion with Trewinion's heir as well as blessings," I said. "I am fettered on every hand."

"Curses," he sneered; "all old wives' tales. I wonder at you thinking about them. Were I the eldest son I would throw all that to the wind, I would see the world; I would enjoy myself, and spend some of the h.o.a.rded gold of generations."

He looked at me closely as he said this, and I began to feel that perhaps the old stories were foolishness. All my father had told me seemed real in the night time, but in daylight it was shadowy and unreal.

"Do you know about these stories?" I said.

"Yes."

"How?"

He looked a little confused, and then said, hurriedly:

"Oh, I have read the history of our house, and have hunted up the family doc.u.ments. You see, while you have been climbing the 'Devil's Tooth' I have been grinding away at the story of the devil's curses.

But, bah, Roger, what are curses to you? Surely, you can laugh at them all."

Throughout the conversation I felt that he had some purpose in his talk. It seemed as though he were sifting me and seeking to read my thoughts, and so I was silent.

"Do you know anything about little Ruth's family?" he went on.

"No," I replied.

"Her father owned miles of land," he said, "and it is all left to her.

Your estate, Roger, is but a patch on hers. Morton Hall, too, is about twice as big as this house. Eh, but you were lucky to save her life."

Looking back after a long lapse of years I feel that this is not the natural talk of a boy of sixteen, and as I write, I ask myself whether I have not incorrectly recorded our conversation. It is true I only write from memory; nevertheless, I think I have faithfully described what was said. Really, Wilfred was never a true boy. He was always older than I, though born two years later, and when quite a child he had an old-fas.h.i.+oned way of speaking. The villagers were in the habit of saying that Wilfred had the brains of the family, while I had the heart. Anyhow, he could always outwit me, and if ever we were matched against each other, I, in the long run, always came off second best.

A few days later I was able to be out again, and once more lived my old, free, untrammelled life. My father and I still continued friends and companions; but Wilfred was little with me. I noticed, however, that he was always anxious to please me. He ceased to sneer when speaking of me, and I thought he looked sad and downhearted. This made me gentle and forbearing towards him; so much so, that I often went out of my way to help him.

I often thought of old Deborah Teague's words as to whether he were or were not my brother; but I could find no answer to my questionings.

That we both had the same father I did not doubt; but was his mother my mother? Was that tall, stately woman who always treated me so coldly really and truly my mother? I asked old Deborah again and again, but my father I dared not ask.

My mother's demeanour to me was always the same. I never had a mother's cares, never realised a mother's love, and so I could do no other than to watch, even as old Deborah told me to watch.

Ruth Morton and I did not become friendly. Evidently she did not like me. I noticed that she looked at me furtively, and would never be alone with me by choice. I could not help feeling that in some way her mind had been poisoned concerning me, and I was not long in deciding who was the poisoner.

It is true that I did not try to win her liking.

I felt it rather hard that she should treat me so harshly, and so I never forced my company upon her.

This state of things existed for nearly two years. Wilfred was friendly, and, evidently, beloved by her, but I was disliked. Often my brother took her and my sisters for long walks, but I never did. I was busy on my father's estate and learning the secrets of agriculture, while he in the hours not devoted to study would be away with them, and became, I thought, more than ever a favourite with Ruth and my sisters.

During these two years I had become quite a man in stature, while Wilfred had likewise grown to be a tall, handsome fellow. I remember that all this time my mother encouraged the growing friends.h.i.+p of Ruth and Wilfred, and seemed delighted when she noticed her evident dislike for me.

I was now twenty. Wilfred was more than eighteen, Ruth was sixteen, and had grown quite a young woman. Katherine, too, who was the same age, had become a splendid example of a healthy, happy, country girl, while Elizabeth promised to become the beauty of the family.

At this time an event happened which made us better friends.

One afternoon I was sitting on the great headland overlooking the sea.

It was a glorious day. The sky was clear, the sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly, and the bright waves beneath were laughing and playing in the light of the sun. To me, as I sat there, the great sea was singing a wondrous song, full of a rich, rare music, which touched the deepest feelings of my nature. I had not heard much in my life about religion, and I am afraid I had not thought much about G.o.d, but as I sat there that day, a great rock above me and hundreds of feet of cliff beneath, while the sea chanted a song which the tones of a thousand organs could not reproduce, I felt a longing in my heart to serve my Maker and to do my duty while here below such as I had never felt before.

While I sat there I heard voices above me. Someone was standing on the great rock in a crevice of which I sat.

"Let's ask Roger to go with us?" said a voice.

I recognised it in a second as my sister Katherine's and I waited for the answer.

"No," I heard Wilfred say, "he hates girls; besides, he'll be as ugly as a bear with a sore head."

"That's not fair, Wilfred," said Katherine. "Roger does not hate us, and as for his being ugly, you know he's not."

"Well, we can't find him, anyhow," said Wilfred, "so let us go."

I must confess I felt angered by this, for I should have liked to accompany them. I strove to banish my brother's unkind words from my mind, however, and again tried to listen to the music of the sea; but it was all driven from my heart. For I have learnt this is truth: we must have music within us if we are to realise music in anything without.

I could not sit there long. My brother's words began to burn and sting; I would go for a walk, too.

I had not gone far when I saw someone running towards me. It was Wilfred.

"Help, Roger!" he shouted.