Chapter I

Two children, a boy of eleven, a girl just twelve months younger, motherless and neglected. Such were my brother and I, Norman and Bertha Savell.

Our home, King's Court, ought to have been equally beautiful, well-ordered, and abounding with everything that could promote the happiness of those who dwelt under its roof. For many a generation past, it had been one of the show places of the county, and brought many a tourist out of his way to inspect the art treasures and heirlooms that had been gathering for centuries within its walls.

As children, Norman and I knew little of the glories of King's Court. They had been waning ever since our mother's death, which even my brother could not remember. We knew in after days that she had been alike good and beautiful—a woman of culture, refinement, and strong religious principle, whose faith was manifested by her daily life. Our father had been used to lean on her, rather than she on him, for, though noble looking and most devoted to his wife, he was weak-willed, and easily led either for good or evil. After having lost the love of his life, he cared little what became of home, self, or even the children she had bequeathed to him.

A season of violent, unreasoning grief was followed by years of reckless living. The stately man became a wreck of his old self, and all his surroundings changed for the worse.

King's Court was robbed of all the treasures its owner had the power to dispose of, and old friends held aloof from its master, whilst they shook their heads and looked pityingly after the children who ran almost wild, and scarcely heeded by the one parent left to them.

It was said that Mr. Savell would have married again for money rather than love some six years after his wife's death, but that Norman and I were the obstacles.

The lady would have accepted the owner of King's Court, and dedicated her wealth to the paying off of mortgages and re-purchase of its scattered treasures, if there had been no son to whom the broad acres must eventually pass. But she did not care to redeem the estates for another woman's child to inherit, so this plan fell through.

Norman and I could remember how, once, in a fit of passion, our father used hard words to us, called us "clogs" and "incumbrances," and uttered some wish, the purport of which, happily, did not reach our ears.

Such hard words were exceptional. As a rule, we were only neglected. But for our vicar, Mr. Pemberton, we might have grown-up with less education than many of the village children received, but he pleaded for permission to teach Norman with his own boys, and induced my father to place me under the governess who instructed his own little Lucy.

When I was ten and Norman eleven years old, a new era began in our young lives. Our father had gone out with the hounds in the early morning, and, after a hard run, had indulged too freely at table. Refusing the offered hospitality of the neighbour at whose house he dined, he insisted that he must sleep at King's Court, and started homeward in the darkness and alone.

At midnight, the waiting servants heard the clattering of a horse's feet as it galloped down the avenue. It was their master's hunter, but riderless, and a brief search resulted in the discovery of our father's dead body on the road. He had been thrown from his horse, and his temple having struck on a sharp stone, he had died instantly.

In this emergency our uncle, Bernard Savell, was summoned. Many a long year had passed since he last crossed the threshold of King's Court, for he had grievously affronted his father and brother by investing his own slender patrimony in trade, at the instance of his godfather. Eventually, he became first the partner, then the heir, of this gentleman, and was at forty, wealthy and a bachelor. My father was very little Uncle Bernard's senior—only a couple of years—and the two had been much attached to each other as boys; but family pride severed and kept them apart. Now the younger came to grieve over the long-estranged brother, and to take charge of his orphan children. He brought his fine business talents to bear on the tangled web presented by the state of affairs at King's Court, and soon reduced it to something like order.

"The squire has imperilled the broad acres," said Uncle Bernard; "the tradesman shall redeem them. Your father has scattered many of the treasures which were the glory of King's Court; but I have had my eyes and ears open, and I know where they are to be found."

We knew afterwards that Uncle Bernard had long been aware of what was going on in his old home, and had employed agents to purchase what his brother was only too willing to sell; so that before many months were over the house was renovated, its treasures restored, lands were redeemed, debts paid, and King's Court was once again the pride of the county.

Norman and I, the neglected boy and girl, were placed under careful supervision, yet treated with such infinite tenderness by our good uncle that we were happier than we had ever been before. As to the kind and generous relative who had brought about these rapid changes, he found his own happiness in the knowledge of ours, and the almost worshipping affection we gave him in return.

I think there never was such a large-hearted and loving guardian as Uncle Bernard, and yet he was equally generous and prudent. He made no secret of his intentions towards Norman, who was already heir of King's Court—but not of unencumbered acres; for everything had been done according to law, and our uncle was sole mortgagee, in place of several different ones to whom our father was indebted when he died.

"It will all be yours, my boy, if you deserve it. But you must prove yourself fit to own and rule the old estate before I quite loose my hold on it," said my uncle to Norman; and as the years passed on he became satisfied of my brother's fitness to manage the estates and do honour to the old name.

He was very good and generous to me also—almost too lavish; for he petted his "Berty," as he preferred to call me, and was ever ready to bestow new dresses, new jewels, new everything that could please a girl's taste. But after each instance of prodigality, he would say, "Remember, Berty, I expect Aunt Bella to give you your dowry. She has plenty of money, which came by our grandmother; and as I have made things smooth for Norman, I consider it only reasonable that she should provide for you."

"Depend upon it, Aunt Bella will do nothing of the kind. She was angry at my father because he wanted to borrow from her, though she declined to lend. She never could endure me, because I was not called after her, though I could not be responsible for the action of my sponsors at such an early age as four weeks. She will leave her money to somebody who has already more than enough, after the fashion of spinster aunts."

"And what of bachelor uncles, Berty? Are they not often cross-grained and contrary?"

"I only know one, and he is the best and kindest darling in the world," I replied, kissing the dear face, which seemed to me goodness personified.

"Though he vows he will leave you no money," continued Uncle Bernard, after returning the kiss, as he held me encircled with his arm.

"Yes, though he will leave me no legacy. I do not want him to leave money to anybody, but just to live on and take care of me."

"Ah, lassie, I know a certain young maiden's mind better than that. She will soon prefer the care of a younger bachelor than Uncle Bernard. Do you think I was blind when Stephen Hastings spent last Long Vacation at King's Court? I could see that somebody's bright eyes grew brighter, and the colour on her cheek deepened, when that young man's firm step came within hearing."

Again I stopped Uncle Bernard's mouth with a kiss, and then placed my hand on his lips to prevent further tale-telling.

"I will allow no such insinuations," I said. "To come back to the previous question, let me ask if you have not acted unpardonably by encouraging extravagant tastes, giving me dresses fit for a princess, and then threatening me with Aunt Bella's tender mercies? I have a great mind to sell off all my finery, invest the proceeds against a rainy day, and dress for the future in blue and white prints of the milkmaid pattern. Far better do this than foster habits of luxury which cannot be continued in the future."

"Do all these things, darling," replied my uncle, composedly, "and prove the truth of what I have often told you."

"What do you allude to?"

"That you owe nothing to dress, Berty, but are equally attractive in shimmering satin or humble print. Still, I hope Aunt Bella will ensure you the choice of materials."

"I do not care a straw for Aunt Bella's money; Norman will always take care of me," I replied.

"That is what I call comfortable confidence, Berty; but you have good reason for it. Norman would not be dear as a son to me if he were not a good, unselfish brother. I do believe that whilst he owns a shilling you will be certain of sixpence."

I had like faith in my brother, and there was also a hidden consciousness that if I stood otherwise alone in the world, I could claim the devotion of a true heart and the protection of a strong arm to bless and shield me in my journey through life, if I so willed it.

True, Stephen Hastings had not spoken to me of love, except by those eloquent eyes of his, and all the thoughtful, tender attentions which it was possible for him to pay me during his visit to King's Court. I think I knew why he hesitated to speak. Stephen was a younger brother, with small means, and his way to make; but he had first-rate abilities, and great energy and perseverance, with friends also who desired to help him into a position where he could find scope for all these.

It was only to wait and trust, and I felt that Stephen deserved all confidence and was worth waiting for.