The artist took one, and they stood smoking for a few minutes, till Artingale, who had been watchfully
while the carriage went slowly on towards Kensington Gardens, stopping with the stream again and again.
Julia, cried Cynthia, flushing with annoyance, as soon as they were alone, has papa gone mad?
Hush! the servants will hear you, said her sister, reprovingly.
I cant help it, dear, it makes me so excited that I cant bear it. How you can let that hateful creature come and patronise and monopolise, and seem to constrict you as he does, like a horrible short fat snake, I cant imagine. Papa must be going mad to encourage it. If he were as rich as Cassius or Croesus, or whatever the mans name was, it ought to be no excuse. I declare if you do not pluck up spirit and make a fight, I will. You cant like him.
Oh, no, cried her sister, with a look of revulsion.
Then you must you shall put a stop to his pretensions. Why, I declare to-day he behaved before Harrys friend as if he were engaged to you. I felt as if Id have given my pearls to have been at liberty to box his ears.
I think him detestable, said Julia, sadly.
Then you shall speak up, dear, or I will. I declare Ill revolt, or no Harry shall shoot him. I shall command him never to approach our presence again till he has rid society of that dreadful monster with his Nature worship and stuff. Good gracious, Julia, what is the matter?
The carriage had stopped, as the younger sister prattled on, close by the railings near the Gardens, and Julia Mallow crouched shrinking in the carriage, gazing with a horrified, fascinated fixity of eye at the great half-gipsy-looking vagabond, who, with his folded arms resting upon one of the iron posts, and his bearded chin upon them, was staring at her in an insolent mocking fashion.
The spell only lasted for a few moments before the carriage went on, and with a low hysterical cry, Julia caught at her sisters hand to whisper hoarsely
Oh, Cynthia, that dreadful man again!
Part 1, Chapter XX. Jock Morrisons Threat
It was a curious thing, and at first it had passed almost unnoticed, but just before the Mallows left the rectory, undergoing a process of smoking out, Frank and Cyril being the smoke producers, Jock Morrison, whose three months had been over now for some time, appeared once more in the neighbourhood of Lawford.
Julia and Cynthia met him one day by Tom Morrisons cottage, leaning against the doorpost and talking to little Polly.
He had stared hard at them and then slouched away, Polly apologising for his presence.
You see, Miss Julia, Miss Cynthia, hes my husbands own brother, and we dont want him to feel that we turn our backs upon him.
No, of course not, said Cynthia, but I wish he would keep away; and then they had a long chat with the little wife. She looked very pretty and pathetic in her deep mourning, and they parted very tenderly, Julias heart bleeding for the stricken woman.
Id have given anything to have asked her to show me where they buried poor baby, said Cynthia, but I dare not even allude to it.
No, of course not, said Julia, with a shiver. It was very sad; I cant bear to think of it at all. Keep close to me, Cynthy, she whispered.
They had suddenly come upon Jock Morrison, smoking his pipe as he sat upon a stile by the side of the lane, and as they passed he stared hard at Julia and laughed in a half-mocking way.
How dare he stare at us like that! said Cynthia haughtily, and then she began chatting about Polly Morrisons trouble, and wishing that papa had not been so strict, and the meeting was forgotten till, three days later, when they reached London, and as they got out of the train, Julia started, for there, leaning against a barrier with his hands in his pockets, was Jock Morrison again.
The next day she saw him staring up at the house, and day after day afterwards she was sure to encounter his bold fierce gaze somewhere or another, till she grew quite nervous, telling her sister that she was certain that the mail was meditating some form of revenge against their father for sending him to prison.
Nonsense! cried Cynthia. Papa is a magistrate, and he would not dare.
Back at Lawford, and they were free of the incubus, in fact Jock Morrison passed out of mind; for
Mr Perry-Morton upon that greyhound-framed hunter, which was full of fire and fidget with every one but Cynthia, who could have curbed her with a silken thread, for that gentleman was an admirer of repose even on horseback, and would only ride the quietest horse he could hire at the Kings Head, although Lord Artingale offered him the pick of his little stud.
Repose, too, gave him so many excellent opportunities for putting forward his suit with Julia, upon whom he beamed in a mezzo-tinto style, the lady hardly realising his meaning, only thinking him very absurd, and laughingly telling her sister that she owed her a long debt of gratitude for giving her so many opportunities for a long canter one of those delightful long canters from which Cynthia used to come back with a delicious glow upon her cheeks, and with eyes that literally sparkled with health and pleasure combined.