"Maybe he is the best to sail with, but that is not being the best to live with," said the heir of Maplewood disconsolately. "Alan himself always said he never knew what home was, till he got to your father and Margaret."
"So will you," said Harry; "why, my father is your master, or whatever you may call it."
"No, Captain Gordon is my guardian."
"Eh! what's become of the will then?"
"What will?" cried Hector. "Did Alan make one after all?"
"Ay. At Valparaiso, he had a touch of fever; I went ashore to nurse him, to a merchant's, who took us in for love of our Scottish blood. Mr. Ernescliffe made a will there, and left it in his charge."
"Do you think he made Dr. May my guardian?"
"He asked me whether I thought he would dislike it, and I told him, no."
"That's right!" cried Hector. "That's like dear old Alan! I shall get back to the doctor and Margaret after all. Mind you write to the captain, Harry!"
Hector was quite inspirited and ready to return to the others, but Harry paused to express a hope that he did not let Tom make such a fool of himself as he had done to-day.
"Not he," said Hector. "He is liked as much as any one in the house- -he has been five times sent up for good. See there in the Eton list! He is a real clever fellow."
"Ay, but what's the good of all that, if you let him be a puppy?"
"Oh, he'll be cured. A fellow that has been a sloven always is a puppy for a bit," said Hector philosophically.
Norman was meantime taking Tom to task for these same airs, and, hearing it was from the desire to see his brother respectable-- Stoneborough men never cared for what they looked like, and he must have Harry do himself credit.
"You need not fear," said Norman. "He did not require Eton to make him a gentleman. How now? Why, Tom, old man, you are not taking that to heart? That's all over long ago."
For that black spot in his life had never passed out of the lad's memory, and it might be from the lurking want of self-respect that there was about him so much of self-assertion, in attention to trifles. He was very reserved, and no one except Norman had ever found the way to anything like confidence, and Norman had vexed him by the proposal he had made in the holidays.
He made no answer, but stood looking at Norman with an odd undecided gaze.
"Well, what now, old fellow?" said Norman, half fearing "that" might not be absolutely over. "One would think you were not glad to see Harry."
"I suppose he has made you all the more set upon that mad notion of yours," said Tom.
"So far as making me feel that that part of the world has a strong claim on us," replied Norman.
"I'm sure you don't look as if you found your pleasure in it," cried Tom.
"Pleasure is not what I seek," said Norman.
"What is the matter with you?" said Tom. "You said I did not seem rejoiced--you look worse, I am sure." Tom put his arm on Norman's shoulder, and looked solicitously at him--demonstrations of affection very rare with him.
"I wonder which would really make you happiest, to have your own way, and go to these black villains--"
"Remember, that but for others who have done so, Harry--"
"Pshaw," said Tom, rubbing some invisible dust from his coat sleeve. "If it would keep you at home, I would say I never would hear of doctoring."
"I thought you had said so."
"What's the use of my coming here, if I'm to be a country doctor?"
"I have told you I do not mean to victimise you. If you have a distaste to it, there's an end of it--I am quite ready."
Tom gave a great sigh. "No," he said, "if I must, I must; I don't mind the part of it that you do. I only hate the name of it, and the being tied down to a country place like that, while you go out thousands of miles off to these savages; but if it is the only thing to content you, I wont stand in your way. I can't bear your looking disconsolate."
"Don't think yourself bound, if you really dislike the profession."
"I don't," said Tom. "It is my free choice. If it were not for horrid sick people, I should like it."
Promising! it must be confessed!
Perhaps Tom had expected Norman to brighten at once, but it was a fallacious hope. The gaining his point involved no pleasant prospect, and his young brother's moody devotion to him suggested scruples whether he ought to exact the sacrifice, though, in his own mind, convinced that it was Tom's vocation; and knowing that would give him many of the advantages of an eldest son.
Eton fully justified Hector's declaration that it would not regard the cut of Harry's coat. The hero of a lost ship and savage isle was the object of universal admiration and curiosity, and inestimable were the favours conferred by Hector and Tom in giving introductions to him, till he had shaken hands with half the school, and departed amid deafening cheers.
In spite of Harry, the day had been long and heavy to Norman, and though he chid himself for his depression, he shrank from the sight of Meta and Sir Henry Walkinghame together, and was ready to plead an aching head as an excuse for not appearing at the evening party; but, besides that this might attract notice, he thought himself bound to take care of Harry in so new a world, where the boy must be at a great loss.
"I say, old June," cried a voice at his door, "are you ready?"
"I have not begun dressing yet. Will you wait?"
"Not I. The fun is beginning."
Norman heard the light foot scampering downstairs, and prepared to follow, to assume the protection of him.
Music sounded as Norman left his room, and he turned aside to avoid the stream of company flowing up the flower-decked stairs, and made his way into the rooms through Flora's boudoir. He was almost dazzled by the bright lights, and the gay murmurs of the brilliant throng. Young ladies with flowers and velvet streamers down their backs, old ladies portly and bejewelled, gentlemen looking civil, abounded wherever he turned his eyes. He could see Flora's graceful head bending as she received guest after guest, and the smile with which she answered congratulations on her brother's return; but Harry he did not so quickly perceive, and he was trying to discover in what corner he might have hidden himself, when Meta stood beside him, asking whether their Eton journey had prospered, and how poor Hector was feeling at Harry's return.
"Where is Harry?" asked Norman. "Is he not rather out of his element?"
"No, indeed," said Meta, smiling. "Why, he is the lion of the night!"
"Poor fellow, how he must hate it!"
"Come this way, into the front room. There, look at him--is it not nice to see him, so perfectly simple and at his ease, neither shy nor elated? And what a fine-looking fellow he is!"
Meta might well say so. The trim, well-knit, broad-chested form, the rosy embrowned honest face, the shining light-brown curly locks, the dancing well-opened blue eyes, and merry hearty smile showed to the best advantage, in array that even Tom would not have spurned, put on with naval neatness; and his attitude and manner were so full of manly ease, that it was no wonder that every eye rested on him with pleasure. Norman smiled at his own mistake, and asked who were the lady and gentleman conversing with him. Meta mentioned one of the most distinguished of English names, and shared his amusement in seeing Harry talking to them with the same frank unembarrassed ease as when he had that morning shaken hands with their son, in the capacity of Hector Ernescliffe's fag. No one present inspired him with a tithe of the awe he felt for a post-captain--it was simply a pleasant assembly of good-natured folks, glad to welcome home a battered sailor, and of pretty girls, for whom he had a sailor's admiration, but without forwardness or presumption--all in happy grateful simplicity.
"I suppose you cannot dance?" said Flora to him.
"I!" was Harry's interjection; and while she was looking round for a partner to whom to present him, he had turned to the young daughter of his new acquaintance, and had her on his arm, unconscious that George had been making his way to her.