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Page 81
"Dear mother, there was no wrong in that. But why did you let the world
think you loved a man beneath you? an uneducated shepherd like my
reputed father? That wronged not only you, but those behind and those
after you."
"We were afraid of many things, and we wished to spare the friendship
between our fathers. There were many other reasons, scarcely worth
repeating now."
"And what became of the shepherd?"
"He was not Cumberland born. He came from the Cheviot Hills, and was
always fretting for the border life: so he gladly fell in with the
proposal your father made him. One summer morning he said he was going
to herd the lambs on Latrigg Fell, but he went to Egremont. Your father
had gone there a week before; but he came back that night, and met me at
Ravenglass. We were married in Egremont church, by Parson Sellafield,
and went to Whitehaven, where we lived quietly and happily for many a
week. Pattison witnessed our marriage, and then, with gold in his
pocket, took the border road. He went to Moffat and wed the girl he
loved, and has been shepherding on Loch Fell ever since."
"He is alive, then?"
"He is at the Salutation Inn at Ambleside to-night. So, also, is Parson
Sellafield, and the man and woman with whom we staid in Whitehaven, and
in whose house you were born and lived until your fourth year. They are
called Chisholm, and have been at Up-Hill many times."
"I remember them."
"And I did not intend that they should forget you."
"I have always heard that Launcelot Sandal was drowned."
"You have always heard that your father was drowned? That was near by
the truth. While in Whitehaven, he wrote to his brother Tom, who was
living and doing well in India. When his answer came, we determined to
go to Calcutta; but I was not in a state of health fit for such a
journey as that then was. So it was decided that your father should go
first, and get a home ready for me. He left in the 'Lady Liddel,' and
she was lost at sea. Your father was in an open boat for many days, and
died of exhaustion."
"Who told you so, mother?"
"The captain lived to reach his home again, and he brought me his watch
and ring and last message. He never saw your face, my lad, he never saw
your face."
A silence of some minutes ensued. Ducie had long ceased to weep for her
dead love, but he was unforgotten. Her silence was not oblivion: it was
a sanctuary where lights were burning round the shrine, over which the
wings of affection were folded.
"When my father was gone, then you came back to Up-Hill?"
"No: I did not come back until you were in your fourth year. Then my
mother died, and I brought you home. At the first moment you went
straight to your grandfather's heart; and that night, as you lay asleep
upon his knee, I told him the truth, as I tell it to you this night. And
he said to me, 'Ducie, things have settled a bit lately. The squire has
got over his trouble about Launcie; and young William is the
acknowledged heir, and the welcome heir. He is going to marry Alice
Morecombe at the long last, but it will make a big difference if
Launcelot's son steps in where nobody wants him. Now, then,' he said, 'I
will tell thee a far better way. We will give this dear lad my own name,
none better in old Cumbria; and we will save gold, and we will make
gold, to put it to the very front in the new times that are coming. And
he will keep my name on the face of the earth, and so please the great
company of his kin behind him. And it will be far better for him to be
the top-sheaf of the Latriggs, than to force his way into Seat-Sandal,
where there is neither love nor welcome for him.'
"And I thought the same thing, Stephen; and after that, our one care was
to make you happy, and to do well to you. That you were a born Sandal,
was a great joy to him, for he loved your father and your grandfather;
and, when Harry came, he loved him also, and he liked well to see you
two on the fells together. Often he called me to come and look at you
going off with your rods or guns; and often he said, 'Both fine lads,
Ducie, but our Steve is the finer.'"
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