by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER III.
THE WANDERER'S RETURN.
Had the circumstances of William Tunstall's leaving his home beenmore recent, or had the son of Edgar Tunstall been older, the newsthat William Tunstall had returned and had taken up his residenceat Byrneside as master of the portion of the estate left him by hisbrother, and as guardian to the young heir to the remainder, would havecaused a good deal of interest and excitement in the county. The twentyyears, however, that had elapsed since Will Tunstall had left home,and the fact that when he went away he was but a lad quite unknownpersonally to his father's acquaintances, deprived the matter of anypersonal interest. It had generally been thought that it was hard thathe should have been entirely cut out of his father's will, and theclause forbidding his brother to make any division of the property wasconsidered particularly so, especially as it was known that Edgar wasattached to his brother, and would have gladly shared the property withhim.
But William had been away twenty years, and no one had a personalinterest in him. Ten years had elapsed since he had been finallydisinherited by his father's will. Beyond a feeling of satisfactionthat justice had been done, and that there would not be a long minorityat Byrneside, the news that the eldest son had returned created noexcitement.
Messrs. Randolph & Son of Carlisle, who were business agents for halfthe estates in the county, reported well of the new-comer. They hadnever seen him as a boy, but they expressed themselves as agreeablysurprised that the long period he had passed knocking about amongrough people in the States had in no way affected him unfavourably. Hismanners were particularly good, his appearance was altogether in hisfavour, he was a true Cumberland man, tall and powerful like his fatherand brother, though somewhat slighter in build.
He was accompanied by his wife. Yes, they had seen her. They had bothdined with them. They had not been previously aware that Mr. Tunstallwas married. Their client, Mr. Edgar Tunstall, had not mentioned thefact to them. They were not prepared to give any decided opinion asto Mrs. Tunstall. She had spoken but little, and struck them as beingnervous; probably the position was a novel one for her. There were,they understood, no children.
Messrs. Randolph, father and son, old-fashioned practitioners, had fromthe first considered the scruples of their agents in San Franciscoto be absurd. Mr. Tunstall had presented himself as soon as they hadadvertised. He had produced the letters of his brother as proof ofhis identity, and had offered to bring forward witnesses who had knownhim for years as William Tunstall. What on earth would they have hadmore than that? Mr. Tunstall had had reason already for resentment,and it was not surprising that he had refused to set out at oncefor England when he found his identity so absurdly questioned. Sothey had immediately sent off the abstract of the will and a copy ofEdgar Tunstall's letter, and were much gratified when in due time Mr.Tunstall had presented himself at their office, and had personallyannounced his arrival.
It was indeed a relief to them; for, had he not arrived, variousdifficulties would have arisen as to his moiety of the estate, therebeing no provision in the will as to what was to be done should herefuse to accept it. Moreover, application must have been made to thecourt for the appointment of fresh guardians for the boy. Altogetherthey were glad that a business that might have been troublesome wassatisfactorily settled. Mr. Tunstall, after introducing himself,had produced the letters he had received from his brother, with theabstract of the will and copy of the letter they had sent him.
He had said smilingly, "I don't know whether this is sufficient,gentlemen, for I am not up in English law. If it is necessary I can, ofcourse, get a dozen witnesses from the States to prove that I have beenalways known as William Tunstall; though I generally passed, as is thecustom there, under a variety of nicknames, such as English Bill, StiffBill, and a whole lot of others. It will naturally take some littletime and great expense to get witnesses over, especially as men areearning pretty high wages in California at present; but, of course, itcan be managed if necessary."
"I do not see that there is any necessity for it," Mr. Randolph said."Besides, no doubt we shall find plenty of people here to identifyyou."
"I don't know that, Mr. Randolph. You see I was little more than aboy when I went away. I had been at Rugby for years, and often didnot come home for the holidays. Twenty years have completely changedme in appearance, and I own that I have but a very faint recollectionof Byrneside. Of course I remember the house itself, and the stablesand grounds; but as to the neighbours, I don't recollect any of them.Neither my brother nor myself dined in the parlour when my father haddinner parties; but it seems to me that, after all, the best proof ofmy identity is my correspondence with my brother. Certainly, he wouldnot have been deceived by any stranger, and the fact that we exchangedletters occasionally for some years seems to me definite proof that herecognized me as his brother."
"Undoubtedly so," Mr. Randolph said. "That in itself is the strongestproof that can be brought. We mentioned that in our letter to Mr.Campbell in San Francisco. His doubts appeared to us, I may say, to beabsurd."
"Not altogether absurd, Mr. Randolph. California has been turned prettywell topsy-turvy during the last four or five years, and he was not tobe blamed for being suspicious. May I ask you if you have come acrossmy letters to my brother among his papers?"
"No, we have not done so. In fact, your brother told us that he hadnot preserved them, for as you were wandering about constantly theaddresses you gave were no benefit, and that beyond the fact that youwere in California he had no idea where you could be found. That is whyit became necessary to advertise for you."
"It is unfortunate that he did not keep them, Mr. Randolph, for in thatcase, of course, I could have told you most of their contents, and thatwould have been an additional proof of my identity."
"There is not the least occasion for it, Mr. Tunstall. We are perfectlyand entirely satisfied. Mr. Edgar's recognition of you as his brother,your possession of his letters, the fact that you answered at once tothe advertisement in California, your knowledge of your early lifeat Rugby, and so on, all tend to one plain conclusion; in fact, noshadow of doubt was entertained by my son or myself from the first. Icongratulate you very heartily on your return, because to some extentthe very hard treatment which was dealt to you by your father, Mr.Philip Tunstall, has now been atoned for. Of course you only receiveda short abstract of your brother's will; the various properties whichfall to you are detailed in full in it. Byrneside itself goes to hisson; but against that may be set off a sum invested in good securities,and equal to the value of the house and home park, so that you caneither build or purchase a mansion as good as Byrneside. We may tellyou also that the estates were added to in your father's time, and thatother properties have been bought by your brother, who, owing to thedeath of his wife and the state of his health, has for some years led avery secluded life, investing the greater part of his savings in land.So that, in fact, your moiety of the estates will be quite as largeas the elder son's portion you might have expected to receive in theordinary course of events."
"What sort of boy is my nephew, Mr. Randolph?"
"I have seen him two or three times when I have been over at Byrneside.Of course I did not notice him particularly, but he is a bright lad,and promises to grow into a very fine young man. I fancy from somethinghis father let drop that his disposition resembles yours. He isvery fond of outdoor exercises, knows every foot of the hills roundByrneside, and though but eleven or twelve years old he is perfectly athome on horseback, and he is a good shot. He has, in fact, run a littlewild. His father spoke of him as being warmhearted and of excellentimpulses, but lamented that, like you, he was somewhat quick-temperedand headstrong."
"Edgar ought not to have selected me for his guardian, Mr. Randolph."
"I said almost as much, Mr. Tunstall, when I drew out the will; butMr. Edgar remarked that you had doubtless got over all that long ago,and would be able to make more allowance for him and to manage him farbetter than anyone else c
ould do."
"I shall try and merit Edgar's confidence, Mr. Randolph. I havesuffered enough from my headstrong temper, and have certainly learnt tocontrol it. I shall not be hard upon him, never fear."
"Are you going over to Byrneside at once, Mr. Tunstall?"
"No; I shall go up to London to-morrow morning. I want a regular outfitbefore I present myself there for inspection. Besides, I would ratherthat you should give notice to them at Byrneside that I have returned.It is unpleasant to arrive at a place unannounced, and to have toexplain who you are."
"Perhaps you would like to see the will, and go through the schedule?"
"Not at all, Mr. Randolph. There will be plenty of time for that aftermy return."
"You will excuse my asking if you want any money for present use, Mr.Tunstall?"
"No, thank you; I am amply provided. I was doing very well at thediggings when your letters called me away, and I have plenty of cashfor present purposes."
"You will, I hope, dine with us to-day, Mr. Tunstall."
"I thank you. I should have been very happy, but I have my wife withme. I have left her at the 'Bull.'"
"Oh, indeed! I was not aware--"
"That I was married? Yes, I have been married for some years. I did notthink it necessary to mention it to Edgar, as he would only have usedit as an additional argument why I should accept his generous offers."
"We shall be very glad, Mrs. Randolph and myself, if you will bringMrs. Tunstall with you."
And so Mrs. Tunstall came. She was a dark woman, and, as Mr. Randolphand his wife agreed, was probably of Mexican or Spanish blood, andspoke English with a strange accent. She had evidently at one timebeen strikingly pretty, though now faded. She had rather a worn, hardexpression on her face, and impressed Mr. Randolph, his wife, son, anddaughter-in-law less favourably than the lawyer had thought it right tosay to those who made inquiries about her; but she had, as they said,spoken but little, and had seemed somewhat nervous and ill at ease.
Mr. Tunstall did not appear for some time at Byrneside. He went down toRugby to see his nephew, who had, in accordance with his father's wish,been placed there a month or two after his death. The holidays wereto begin a week later, and Hugh was delighted when his uncle told himthat he and his aunt were thinking of going to the Continent for a fewmonths before settling down at Byrneside, and would take him with them.
Hugh was very much pleased with his new relative. "He is a splendidfellow," he told his school-boy friends. "Awful jolly to talk to,and has been doing all sorts of things--fighting Indians, and huntingbuffalo, and working in the gold diggings. Of course he didn't tell memuch about them; there wasn't time for that. He tipped me a couple ofsovs. I am sure we shall get on first-rate together." And so during thesummer holidays Hugh travelled with his uncle and aunt in Switzerlandand Italy. He did not very much like his aunt. She seemed to try tobe kind to him, and yet he thought she did not like him. His uncle hadtaken him about everywhere, and had told him lots of splendid yarns.
At Christmas they would be all together at Byrneside. His uncle hadbeen very much interested in the place, and was never tired of histalk about his rambles there. He remembered the pool where his fatherhad told him they both used to fish as boys, and about Harry Gowan thefisherman who used to go out in his boat, and who was with them whenthat storm suddenly broke when the boat was wrecked on the island andthey were all nearly drowned. He was very glad to hear that Gowan wasstill alive; and that James Wilson, who was then under stableman andused to look after their ponies, was now coachman; and that Sam, thegardener's boy who used to show them where the birds' nests were, wasnow head-gardener; and that Mr. Holbeach the vicar was still alive,and so was his sister Miss Elizabeth; and that, in fact, he rememberedquite well all the people who had been there when he was a boy.Altogether it had been a glorious holiday.
His uncle and aunt returned with him when it was over, the formersaying he had had enough of travelling for the present, and instead ofbeing away, as he had intended, for another couple of months he shouldgo down home at once. They went with him as far as Rugby, dropped himthere, and then journeyed north. On their arrival at Byrneside, wherethey had not been expected, Mr. Tunstall soon made himself extremelypopular. Scarcely had they entered the house when he sent out for Jamesthe coachman, and greeted him with the greatest heartiness.
"I should not have known you, James," he said, "and I don't suppose youwould have known me?"
"No, sir; I cannot say as I should. You were only a slip of a lad then,though you didn't think yourself so. No, I should not have known you abit."
"Twenty years makes a lot of difference, Jim. Ah, we had good fun inthose days! Don't you remember that day's ratting we had when the bigstack was pulled down, and how one of them bit you in the ear, and howyou holloaed?"
"I remember that, sir. Mr. Edgar has often laughed with me about it."
"And you remember how my poor brother and I dressed up in sheets once,and nearly scared you out of your life, Jim?"
"Ay, ay; I mind that too, sir. That wasn't a fair joke, that wasn't."
"No, that wasn't fair, Jim. Ah! well, I am past such pranks now. Well,I am very glad to see you again after all these years, and to findyou well. I hear that Sam is still about the old place, and is nowhead-gardener. You may as well come out and help me find him while Mrs.Tunstall is taking off her things."
Sam was soon found, and was as delighted as James at Mr. Tunstall'srecollection of some of their bird-nesting exploits. After a long chatwith him, Mr. Tunstall returned to the house, where a meal was alreadyprepared.
"You need not wait," he said, after the butler had handed the dishes."I have not been accustomed to have a man-servant behind my chair forthe last twenty years, and can do without it now."
He laid down his knife and fork with an air of relief as the doorclosed behind the servant.
"Well, Lola," he said in Spanish, "everything has gone off well."
"Yes," she said, "I suppose it has," in the same language. "It is allvery oppressive. I wish we were back in California again."
"You used to be always grumbling there," he said savagely. "I wasalways away from you, and altogether you were the most ill-used womanin the world. Now you have got everything a woman could want. A grandhouse, and carriages, and horses; the garden and park. What can youwant more?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I shall get accustomed to it in time," shesaid, "but so far I do not like it. It is all stiff and cold. I wouldrather have a little hacienda down on the Del Norte, with a hammockto swing in, and a cigarette between my lips, and a horse to take ascamper on if I am disposed, and you with me, than live in this drearypalace."
"Baby! you will get accustomed to it in time, and you can have ahammock here if you like, though it is not often that it is warm enoughto use it. And you can smoke cigarettes all day. It would shock them ifyou were an Englishwoman, but in a Mexican they will think it right andproper enough. And you have got your guitar with you, so you can havemost of your pleasures; and as for the heat, there is sure to be somebig glass houses where they grow fruit and flowers, and you can haveone of them fitted up with Mexican plants, and hang your hammock there;and it won't need a very long stretch of imagination to fancy that youare at your hacienda on the Del Norte."
"If you can manage that it will be nice," the woman said.
"Anything can be managed in this country when we have got money to payfor it."
"At any rate it will be a comfort to know that there is no fear of yourbeing shot here. Every time you went away from me, if it was only fora week or two, I knew I might never see you again, and that you mightget shot by some of those drunken miners. Well, I shall be free of allthat now, and I own that I was wrong to grumble. I shall be happy herewith you, and I see that it was indeed fortunate that you found thosepapers on the body of the man you came across dead in the woods."
She looked closely at him as she spoke.
"Well, that is a subject that there is no use talking about,
Lola. Itwas a slice of luck; but there is an English proverb, that walls haveears, and it is much better that you should try and forget the past.Remember only that I am William Tunstall, who has come back here afterbeing away twenty years."
She nodded. "I shall not forget it. You know, you always said I wasa splendid actress, and many a fool with more dollars than wit have Ilured on, and got to play with you in the old days at Santa Fe."
"There, there, drop it, Lola," he said; "the less we have of oldmemories the better. Now we will have the servants in, or they willbegin to think we have gone to sleep over our meal." And he struck thebell which the butler, when he went out, had placed on the table besidehim.
"Have you been over the house?" he asked when they were alone again.
"Not over it all. The old woman--she called herself thehousekeeper--showed me a great room which she said was thedrawing-room, and a pretty little room which had been her mistress'sboudoir, and another room full of books, and a gallery with a lot ofugly pictures in it, and the bed-room that is to be ours, and a lot ofothers opening out of it."
"Well, I will go over them now with you, Lola. Of course I am supposedto know them all. Ah! this is the boudoir. Well, I am sure you can becomfortable here, Lola. Those chairs are as soft and easy as a hammock.This will be your sanctum, and you can lounge and smoke, and playyour guitar to your heart's content. Yes, this is a fine drawing-room,but it is a deal too large for two of us; though in summer, with thewindows all open, I daresay it is pleasant enough." Having made atour of the rooms that had been shown Lola, they came down to the hallagain.
"Now let us stroll out into the garden," he said. "You will likethat." He lit a cigar, and Lola a cigarette. The latter was unfeignedlydelighted with the masses of flowers and the beautifully kept lawns,and the views from the terrace, with a stretch of fair country, and thesea sparkling in the sunshine two miles away.
"Here comes the head-gardener, Lola, my old friend. This is Sam, Lola,"he said, as the gardener came up and touched his hat. "You know youhave heard me speak of him. My wife is delighted with the garden, Sam.She has never seen an English garden before."
"It is past its best now, sir. You should have seen it two months ago."
"I don't think it could be more beautiful," Lola said; "there isnothing like this in my country. We have gardens with many flowers, butnot grass like this, so smooth and so level. Does it grow no higher?"
"Oh, it grows fast enough, and a good deal too fast to please us, andhas to be cut twice a week."
"I see you are looking surprised at my wife smoking," William Tunstallsaid with a smile. "In her country all ladies smoke. Show her thegreen-houses; I think they will surprise her even more than thegarden."
The long ranges of green-houses were visited, and Sam was gratifiedat his new mistress's delight at the flowers, many of which sherecognized, and still more at the fruit--the grapes covering the roofswith black and yellow bunches; the peaches and nectarines nestlingagainst the walls.
"The early sorts are all over," Sam said; "but I made a shift to keepthese back, though I did not think there was much chance of any but thegrapes being here when you got back, as we heard that you would not behome much before Christmas."
"We changed our mind, you see, Sam, and I am glad we did, for ifwe had come then, Mrs. Tunstall would have been frightened at thecold and bleakness. I'll tell you what I want done, Sam. I want thisconservatory next the house filled as much as possible with Mexicanand South American plants. Of course, you can put palms and otherthings that will stand heat along with them. I want the stages clearedaway, and the place made to look as much like a room as possible. Mrs.Tunstall will use it as a sitting-room."
"I think we shall have to put another row of pipes in, Mr. William.Those plants will want more heat than we have got here."
"Then we must put them in. My wife will not care how hot it is, but ofcourse we don't want tropical heat. I should put some rockery down theside here to hide the pipes, and in the centre we will have a fountainwith water plants, a foot or two below the level of the floor, and alow bank of ferns round. That is the only change, as far as I can see,that we shall want in the house. I shall be going over to Carlislein a day or two, and I'll arrange with somebody there to make thealterations."
"Very well, Mr. William, if you will get some masons to do the rockeryand fountain, I can answer for the rest; but I think I shall need agood many fresh plants. We are not very strong in hot subjects. Mr.Edgar never cared for them much."
"If you will make out a list of what you want, and tell me who is thebest man to send to, Sam, I will order them as soon as you are ready toput them in."
And so, when Hugh returned at Christmas for the holidays, he wasastonished at finding his aunt swinging in a hammock, smoking acigarette, slung near a sparkling little fountain, and surrounded bysemi-tropical plants. The smoking did not surprise him, for he hadoften seen her with a cigarette during their trip together; but thetransformation of the conservatory astonished him.
"Well, Hugh, what do you think of it?" she asked, smiling at hissurprise.
"It is beautiful!" he said; "it isn't like a green-house. It is justlike a bit out of a foreign country."
"That is what we tried to make it, Hugh. You see, on the side next tothe house where there is a wall, we have had a Mexican view paintedwith a blue sky, such as we have there, and mountains, and a villageat the foot of the hills. As I lie here I can fancy myself back again,if I don't look up at the sashes overhead. Oh, how I wish one coulddo without them, and that it could be covered with one great sheet ofglass!"
"It would be better," Hugh admitted, "but it is stunning as it is.Uncle told me, as he drove me over from Carlisle, that he had beenaltering the conservatory, and making it a sort of sitting-room foryou, but I never thought that it would be like this. What are thoseplants growing on the rocks?"
"Those are American aloes, they are one of our most useful plants,Hugh. They have strong fibres which we use for string, and they makea drink out of the juice fermented; it is called pulque, and is ournational drink, though of late years people drink spirits too, whichare bad for them, and make them quarrelsome."
During the holidays Hugh got over his former dislike for his aunt,and came to like her more than his uncle. She was always kind andpleasant with him, while he found that, although his uncle at timeswas very friendly, his temper was uncertain. The want of some regularoccupation, and the absence of anything like excitement, told heavilyupon a man accustomed to both. At first there was the interest inplaying his part: of meeting people who had known him in his boyhood,of receiving and returning the visits of the few resident gentry withina circuit of ten miles, of avoiding mistakes and evading dangers; butall this was so easy that he soon tired of it. He had tried to makeLola contented, and yet her lazy contentment with her surroundingsirritated him.
She had created a good impression upon the ladies who had called.The expression of her face had softened since her first visit toCarlisle, and the nervous expression that had struck Mr. Randolphthen had disappeared. Her slight accent, and the foreign style of herdress, were interesting novelties to her visitors, and after the firstdinner-party given in their honour, at which she appeared in a dressof dull gold with a profusion of rich black lace, she was pronouncedcharming. Her husband, too, was considered to be an acquisition to thecounty. Everyone had expected that he would have returned, after solong an absence, rough and unpolished, whereas his manners were quietand courteous.
He was perhaps less popular among the sturdy Cumberland squires thanwith their wives. He did not hunt; he did not shoot. "I should havethought," one of his neighbours said to him, "that everyone who hadbeen living a rough life in the States would have been a good shot."
"A good many of us are good shots, perhaps most of us, but it is withthe pistol and rifle. Shot-guns are not of much use when you have aparty of Red-skins yelling and shooting round you, and it is not ahandy weapon to go and fetch when a man draws a revolver on you. As to
shooting little birds, it may be done by men who live on their farmsand like an occasional change from the bacon and tinned meat that theylive on from year's end to year's end. Out there a hunter is a man whoshoots game--I mean deer and buffalo and bear and other animals--forthe sake of their skins, although, of course, he does use the meatof such as are eatable. With us a good shot means a man who can puta ball into a Red-skin's body at five hundred yards certain, and whowith a pistol can knock a pipe out of a man's mouth ten yards away,twenty times following; and it isn't only straightness of shooting, butquickness of handling, that is necessary. A man has to draw, and cock,and fire, in an instant. The twinkling of an eye makes the differenceof life or death.
"Oh, yes! I am a good shot, but not in your way. I went away from heretoo young to get to care about tramping over the country all day toshoot a dozen or two of birds, and I have never been in the way oflearning to like it since. I wish I had, for it seems an importantpart of country life here, and I know I shall never be considered as acredit to the county unless I spend half my time in winter riding afterfoxes or tramping after birds; but I am afraid I am too old now everto take to those sports. I heartily wish I could, for I find it dullhaving no pursuit. When a man has been earning his living by hunting,or gold digging, or prospecting for mines all his life, he finds ithard to get up in the morning and know that there is nothing for himto do but just to look round the garden or to go out for a drive merelyfor the sake of driving."
When summer came Mr. Tunstall found some amusements to his taste. Ifthere was a wrestling match anywhere in the county or in Westmorelandhe would be present, and he became a regular attendant at all therace-courses in the north of England. He did not bet. As he said to asporting neighbour, who always had a ten-pound note on the principalraces, "I like to bet when the chances are even, or when I can match myskill against another man's; but in this horse-racing you are riskingyour money against those who know more than you do. Unless you areup to all the tricks and dodges, you have no more chance of winningthan a man has who gambles with a cheat who plays with marked cards. Ilike to go because it is an excitement; besides, at most of the largemeetings there is a little gambling in the evening. In Mexico andCalifornia everyone gambles more or less. It is one of the few ways ofspending money, and I like a game occasionally." The result was thatMr. Tunstall was seldom at home during the summer.
When Hugh came home his aunt said: "I have been talking to your uncleabout you, and he does not care about going away this year. He hastaken to have an interest in horse-racing. Of course it is a dull lifefor him here after leading an active one for so many years, and I amvery glad he has found something to interest him."
"I should think that it is very dull for you, aunt."
"I am accustomed to be alone, Hugh. In countries where every man hasto earn his living, women cannot expect to have their husbands alwayswith them. They may be away a month at a time up in the mountains, orat the mines, or hunting in the plains. I am quite accustomed to that.But I was going to talk about you. I should like a change, and you andI will go away where we like. Not, of course, to travel about as we didlast year, but to any seaside place you would like to go to. We neednot stop all the time at one, but can go to three or four of them. Ihave been getting some books about them lately, and I think it would bemost pleasant to go down to Devonshire. There seem to be lots of prettywatering-places there, and the climate is warmer than in the towns onthe east coast."
"I should like it very much, aunt; but I should like a fortnight herefirst, if you don't mind. My pony wants exercise terribly, Jim says.He has been out at grass for months now; besides, I shall forget how toride if I don't have some practice."
So for the next fortnight Hugh was out from morning until night eitherriding or sailing with Gowan, and then he went south with his auntand spent the rest of his holidays in Devonshire and Cornwall. He hada delightful time of it, his aunt allowing him to do just as he likedin the way of sailing and going out excursions. She always took roomsoverlooking the sea, and was well content to sit all day at the openwindow; seldom moving until towards evening, when she would go outfor a stroll with Hugh. Occasionally she would take long drives withhim in a pony-carriage; but she seldom proposed these expeditions. AsHugh several times met with schoolfellows, and always struck up anacquaintance a few hours after arriving at a place with some of theboatmen and fishermen, he never found it dull. At first he was disposedto pity his aunt and to urge her to go out with him; but she assuredhim that she was quite contented to be alone, and to enjoy the sight ofthe sea and to breathe the balmy air.
"I have not enjoyed myself so much, Hugh," she said when the holidayswere drawing to a close, "since I was a girl."
"I am awfully glad of that, aunt. I have enjoyed myself tremendously;but it always seems to me that it must be dull for you."
"You English never seem to be happy unless you are exerting yourselves,Hugh; but that is not our idea of happiness. People in warm climatesfind their pleasure in sitting still, in going out after the heat ofthe day is over for a promenade, and in listening to the music, justas we have been doing here. Besides it has been a pleasure to me to seethat you have been happy."
When the summer holidays had passed away, Hugh returned to Rugby, andLola went back to Cumberland.