"I like partridge pie," said Master Cheese, as he seated himself before it, his mouth watering. "I have not tasted one this season. Do you happen to have a drop of bottled ale, Tynn?"
"I'll fetch a bottle," answered Tynn. "Is there anything else you'd like, sir?"
"What else is there?" asked Master Cheese. "Anything in the sweets line?"
"There's about a hundred baked plum puddings. My wife has got some custards, too, in her larder. The custards are not intended for out here, but you can have one."
Master Cheese wiped his damp face; he had gone all over into a glow of delight. "Bring a pudding and a custard or two, Tynn," said he. "There's nothing in the world half so nice as a plate of plum pudding swimming in custard."
Tynn was in the act of supplying his wants, when a movement and a noise in the distance came floating on the air. Tynn dashed the dish of custards on to the table, and ran like the rest. Everybody ran--except Master Cheese.
It was turning slowly into the grounds--the blue and silver carriage of the Verners, its four horses prancing under their studded harness.
Lionel and his wife of a few days descended from it, when they found themselves in the midst of this unexpected crowd. They had cause, those serfs, to shout out a welcome to their lord; for never again would they live in a degrading position, if he could help it. The various improvements for their welfare, which he had so persistently and hopefully planned, were not only begun, but nearly ended.
Sir Henry clasped Lucy's sweet face to his own bronzed one, pushing back her white bonnet to take his kiss from it. Then followed Lady Verner, then Decima, then Mary Elmsley. Lucy shook herself free, and laughed.
"I don't like so many kisses all at once," said she.
Lionel was everywhere. Shaking hands with old Mr. Bitterworth, with the Misses West, with Sir Edmund Hautley, with Lord Garle, with the Countess of Elmsley, with all that came in his way. Next he looked round upon a poorer class; and the first hand taken in his was Robin Frost's. By and by he encountered Jan.
"Well, Jan, old fellow!" said he, his affection shining out in his earnest, dark-blue eyes, "I am glad to be with you again. Is Cheese here?"
"He came," replied Jan. "But where he has disappeared to, I can't tell."
"Please, sir, I see'd him just now in an alcove," interposed Dan Duff, addressing Lionel.
"And how are you, Dan?" asked Lionel, with his kindly smile. "Saw Mr.
Cheese in an alcove, did you?"
"It was that there one," responded Dan, extending his finger in the direction of a spot not far distant. "He was tucking in at a pie. I see'd him, please sir."
"I must go to him," said Lionel, winding his arm within Jan's, and proceeding in the direction of the alcove. Master Cheese, his hands full of cold pudding and his mouth covered with custard, started up when surprised at his feast.
"It's only a little bit I'm tasting," said he apologetically, "against it's time to begin. I hope you have come back well, sir."
"Taste away, Cheese," replied Lionel, with a laugh, as he cast his eyes on some remaining fragments. "Partridge pie! do you like it?"
"Like it!" returned Master Cheese, the tears coming into his eyes with eagerness, "I wish I could be where I should have nothing else for a whole week."
"The first week's holiday you get at Bartholomew's, you must come and pay Verner's Pride a visit, and we will keep you supplied. Mrs. Verner will be glad to see you."
Master Cheese gave a great gasp. The words seemed too good to be real.
"Do you mean it, sir?" he asked.
"Of course I mean it," replied Lionel. "I owe you a debt, you know. But for your having blown yourself and the room up, I might not now be in possession of Verner's Pride. You come and spend a week with us when you can."
"That's glorious, and I'm much obliged to you, sir," said Master Cheese, in an ecstasy. "I think I'll have just another custard on the strength of it."
Jan was imperturbable--he had seen too much of Master Cheese for any display to affect him--but Lionel laughed heartily as they left the gentleman and the alcove. How well he looked--Lionel! The indented line of pain had gone from his brow: he was as a man at rest within.
"Jan, I feel truly glad at the news sent to us a day or two ago!" he exclaimed, pressing his brother's arm. "I always feared you would not marry. I never thought you would marry one so desirable as Mary Elmsley."
"I don't think I'd have had anybody else," answered Jan. "I like her; always did like her; and if she has taken a fancy to me, and doesn't mind putting up with a husband that's called out at all hours, why--it's all right."
"You will not give up your profession, Jan?"
"Give up my profession?" echoed Jan, in surprise, staring with all his eyes at Lionel. "What should I do that for?"
"When Mary shall be Lady Mary Verner, she may be for wishing it."
"No, she won't," answered Jan. "She knows her wishing it would be of no use. She marries my profession as much as she marries me. It is all settled. Lord Elmsley makes it a point that I take my degree, and I don't mind doing that to please him. I shall be a hard-working doctor always, and Mary knows it."
"Have you taken Belvedere House?"
"I intend to take it. Mary likes it, and I can afford it, with her income joined to mine. If she is a lady, she's not a fine one," added Jan, "and I shall be just as quiet and comfortable as I have been in the old place. She says she'll see to the housekeeping and to my shirts, and--"
Jan stopped. They had come up with Lady Verner, and Mary Elmsley. Lionel spoke laughingly.
"So Jan is appreciated at last!"
Lady Verner lifted her hands with a deprecatory movement. "It took me three whole days before I would believe it," she gravely said. "Even now, there are times when I think Mary must be playing with him."
Lady Mary shook her head with a blush and a smile. Lionel took her on his arm, and walked away with her.
"You cannot think how happy it has made me and Lucy. We never thought Jan was, or could be, appreciated."
"He was by me. He is worth--shall I tell it you, Lionel?--more than all the rest of Deerham put together. Yourself included."
"I will indorse the assertion," answered Lionel. "I am glad you are going to have him."
"I would have had him, had he asked me, years ago," candidly avowed Lady Mary.
"I was inquiring of Jan, whether you would not wish him to give up his profession. He was half offended with me for suggesting it."
"If Jan could ever be the one to lead an idle, useless life, I think half my love for him would die out," was her warm answer. "It was Jan's practical industry, his way of always doing the right in straightforward simplicity, that I believe first won me to like him. This world was made to work in; the next for rest--as I look upon it, Lionel. I shall be prouder of being wife to the surgeon Jan Verner, than I should be had I married a duke's eldest son."
"He is to take his degree, he says."
"I believe so: but he will practise generally all the same--just as he does now. Not that I care that he should become Dr. Verner; it is papa."
"If he--Why, who can they be?"
Lionel Verner's interrupted sentence and question of surprise were caused by the appearance of some singular-looking forms who were stalking into the grounds. Poor, stooping, miserable, travel-soiled objects, looking fit for nothing but the tramp-house. A murmer of astonishment burst from all present when they were recognised. It was Grind's lot. Grind and his family, who had gone off with the Mormons, returning now in humility, like dogs with burnt tails.
"Why, Grind, can it be you?" exclaimed Lionel, gazing with pity at the man's despairing aspect.
He, poor meek Grind, not less meek and civil than of yore, sat down upon a bench and burst into tears. They gathered round him in crowds, while he told his tale. How they had, after innumerable hardships on the road, too long to recite then, after losing some of their party by death, two of his children being amongst them--how they had at length reached the Salt Lake city, so gloriously depicted by Brother Jarrum. And what did they find? Instead of an abode of peace and plenty, of luxury, of immunity from work, they found misery and discomfort. Things were strange to them, and they were strange in turn. He'd describe it all another time, he said; but it was quite enough to tell them what it was, by saying that he resolved to come away if possible, and face again the hardships of the way, though it was only to die in the old land, than he'd stop in it. Brother Jarrum was a awful impostor, so to have led 'em away!