On the day of Ralph's return, Sam came a third time.
"Yes, I'll take you this evening," William said. "I want to see Ralph myself. I've great faith in Ralph's judgment." And William sighed.
"Is something troubling you?" Sam asked, with a sudden touch of apprehension.
"I am a bit worried," William answered slowly, "and troubles never come singly."
"Is there anything I can do for you?"
"No, I don't think so," William answered. "But get on your hat; it's a goodish walk."
CHAPTER XXIX
A QUESTION OF MOTIVES
William introduced his cousin with an air of easy indifference, apologised for calling at so late an hour, but excused himself on the ground that he wanted to see Ralph particularly on a little matter of business. Sam was welcomed graciously and heartily, for William's sake. William had been almost the best friend they had ever known. In the darkest days of their life he had come to them almost a stranger, had revealed the kindness of his heart in numberless little ways, had kept himself in the background with a delicacy and sensitiveness worthy of all praise, and had never once presumed on the kindness he had shown them.
For a moment or two William saw only Ruth, and he thought she had never looked more charming and winsome. The warmth of her welcome he attributed entirely to a sense of gratitude on her part, and he was very grateful that she counted him worthy to be her friend. When he saw his cousin glance at her with admiring eyes, a pang of jealousy shot through him such as he had never experienced before. He had scarcely troubled till now that his youth had slipped away from him; but when he looked at Sam's smooth, handsome face; his wealth of hair, untouched by Time; his tall, vigorous frame – he could not help wishing that he were ten years younger, and not a shopkeeper.
Sam and Ruth quickly got into conversation, and then Ralph led William into a little parlour which he used as an office.
"I haven't the remotest idea what I am going to do," Ralph said, in answer to a question from William, "though I know well enough what I would do if I only had money."
"Yes?" William questioned, raising his eyes slowly.
"I'd buy the freehold of Hillside Farm."
"It isn't for sale, is it?" William questioned, in a tone of surprise.
"It is." And Ralph informed him how he came by the information.
For several minutes there was silence in the room, then William said, as if speaking to himself —
"But the place isn't worth the money."
"To a stranger – no; but to me it might be cheap at the price."
"Are you so good at farming?"
Ralph laughed.
"Well, no," he answered. "I'm afraid farming is not exactly my forte; but let us drop the subject. As I told Sir John Liskeard, I might as well think of buying the moon."
"But you are fond of the old place?" William questioned.
"In a sense, yes; but I do not look at it with such longing eyes as Ruth does."
"She would like to live there again?" William questioned eagerly.
"She would dance for joy at the most distant hope of it."
"Then it is for your sister's sake you would like to turn farmer?" William questioned, after a pause.
"I have no wish to turn farmer at all," Ralph answered. "No, no, my dreams and ambitions don't lie in that direction; but why talk about impossibilities? You came across to discuss some other matter?"
"Yes, that is true," William said absently; and then a ripple of laughter from the adjoining room touched his heart with a curious sense of pain.
"They are on friendly terms already," he said to himself. "And in a little while he will make love to her, and what will Hillside Farm be to her then? I would do anything for her sake – anything." And he sighed unconsciously.
Ralph heard the sigh, and looked at him searchingly.
"I'm in an awful hole myself," William blurted out, after a long pause.
"In an awful hole?" Ralph questioned, with raised eyebrows.
"It's always the unexpected that happens, they say," William went on, "but I confess I never expected to be flung on my beam-ends as I have been. If it were not for mother, I'd sell up and clear out of the country."
"Why, what is the matter?" Ralph questioned in alarm.
"You know the part I took in the County Council election?"
"Very well."
"Of course, I knew that Lord St. Goram didn't quite like it. He expects every tenant and lease-holder to vote just as he wishes them. Poor people are not supposed to have any rights or opinions, but I thought the day had gone by when a man was to be punished for thinking for himself."
"But what has happened?" Ralph asked eagerly.
"I'm to be turned out of my shop."
"No!"
"It's the solemn truth. I had a seven years' lease, which expires next March, and Lord St. Goram refuses to renew it."
"For what reason?"
"He gives no reason at all. But it is easy to guess. I opposed him at the election, you know. I had a perfect right to do it, but rights go for nothing. Now he is taking his revenge. I've not only to clear out in March, but I've to restore the premises to the exact condition they were in when I took them."
"But you've improved the place in every way."
"No doubt I have, but I did it at my own risk, and at my own expense. He never gave his formal consent to my taking out the side of the house and putting in that big window. His steward assured me it was all right, though he hinted that in case I left his lordship might feel under no obligation to grant compensation."
"But why should he want you to restore the house to its original condition?"
"Just to be revenged, that's all. To show his power over me and to give his tenants an object-lesson as to what will happen if they are unwise enough to think for themselves."
"It's tyranny," Ralph said indignantly. "It's a piece of mean, contemptible tyranny."
"You can call it by any name you like," William answered sadly, "and there's no name too bad for it; but the point to be recollected is, I've got to submit."
"There's no redress for you?"
"Not a bit. I've consulted Doubleday, who's the best lawyer about here, and he says it would be sheer madness to contest it."
"Then what will you do?"
"I've not the remotest idea. There's no other place in St. Goram I can get. His lordship professes that he would far rather have twenty small shops and twenty small shopkeepers all living from hand to mouth than one prosperous tradesman selling the best and the freshest and at the lowest possible price."
"Well, I can sympathise with him in that," Ralph answered, with a smile.
"And yet you are no more fond of buying stale things than other people."
"That may be true. And yet the way the big concerns are crushing out the small men is not a pleasant spectacle."
"But no shopkeeper compels people to buy his goods," William said, with a troubled expression in his eyes. "And when they come to his shop, is he to say he won't supply them? And when his business shows signs of expansion, is he to say it shall not expand?"
"No, no. I don't mean that at all. I like to see an honest business man prospering. And a man who attends to his business and his customers deserves to prosper. But I confess I don't like to see these huge combines and trusts deliberately pushing out the smaller men – not by fair competition, mind you, but by unfair – selling things below cost price until their competitors are in the bankruptcy court, and then reaping a big harvest."
"I like that as little as you do," William said mildly. "Every honest, industrious man ought to have a chance of life, but the chances appear to be becoming fewer every day." And he sighed again.
For several minutes neither of them spoke, then William said —
"I thought I would like to tell you all about it at the earliest opportunity. I knew I should have your sympathy."
"I wish I could help you," Ralph answered. "You helped me when I hadn't a friend in the world."
"I have your sympathy," William answered, "and that's a great thing; for the rest we must trust in God." And he rose to his feet and looked towards the door.
William and Sam did not say much on their way back to St. Goram. They talked more freely when they got into the house.
"It's awfully good of you to introduce me," Sam said, when Mrs. Menire had retired to her room. "I'm more in love with her than ever."
William's heart gave a painful thump, but he answered mildly enough —
"You seemed to get on very well together."
"She was delightfully friendly, but I owe that all to you. She said that any friend of yours was welcome at their house."
"It was very kind of her," William answered slowly. "Did she give you permission to call again?"
"I'm not exactly sure. She did say that any time you brought me along I should be welcome, or words to that effect. So we must arrange another little excursion soon."
"Must we?"
"We must; and what is more, you might, you know, in the meanwhile – that is, if you can honestly do so – that is – you know what I mean, don't you?"
"I don't think I do," William answered, in a tone of mild surprise.
"It's asking a lot, I know," Sam replied, fidgeting uneasily in his chair. "But if you could – that – that is – without compromising yourself in any way, speak a good word for me, it would go miles and miles."
"Do you think so?"
"I'm sure of it. She thinks the world of you, and a word from you would be worth a week's pleading on my part."
"I'm not so sure of that," William answered. "I think all love affairs are best managed by those concerned. The meddling of outsiders generally does more harm than good."
"But there are exceptions to every rule," Sam persisted. "You see, I am awfully handicapped by being so much of a stranger. If I can once get a footing as a friend, the rest will be easy."
William smiled wistfully.
"I wouldn't be precipitate, if I were you," he said. "And in the meanwhile I'll do my best."
Sam slept soundly till morning, but William lay awake most of the night. When he did sleep it was to dream that he was young and prosperous, and that Ruth Penlogan had promised to be his wife.
After an early breakfast, he saw his cousin mount his horse and ride away toward Pentudy, and very soon after William climbed into his trap and went out to get orders.
One of his first places of call was Hillside Farm, and as he drove slowly up to the house he looked at it with a new interest. All sorts of vague fancies seemed to float about in his mind. He saw Ruth back there again, looking happier than any queen; he saw himself with some kind of proprietary interest in the place; he saw Ralph looking in when the fancy pleased him; he saw a number of new combinations and relationships, but so vaguely that he could not fit them into their places.
He found Farmer Jenkins in a very doleful mood.
"I wish I had never seen the place," he declared. "I've lost money ever since I came, and I'm going to clear out at the earliest opportunity."
"Do you really mean it?" William questioned.
"I was never more serious in my life. I sent a letter to the squire a week ago, and told him unless he lowered the rent thirty per cent. I should fling up the farm."
"And has he consented to lower it?"
"Not he. He says he'll call soon and talk the matter over with me, and that in the meantime I'd better keep quiet; but I shan't keep quiet, and I shan't stay."
As William drove away from Hillside an idea, or a suggestion, shot through his brain that made him gasp. Before he got to the village of Veryan he was trembling on his seat. It seemed almost like a suggestion from the Evil One, so subtle was the temptation. He had tried all his life to do the thing that was right. He had never, as far as he knew, taken an unfair advantage of anyone. He had aimed strictly to do what was just and honourable between man and man. But if he bought Hillside Farm, would it be fair dealing? Would it be fair to his Cousin Sam? Would it be fair to Ruth?
William tried to face the problem honestly. He would rather Ruth passed out of his life altogether than do anything mean or unworthy. To keep his conscience clean, and his love free from the taint of selfishness, seemed to him the supreme end of life. But if he bought Hillside Farm, what motive would lie at the back of it? Would it be that he wanted the farm, that he wanted to turn farmer? or would it be the hope that Ruth, with her passionate love of the place, would be willing even to accept the protection of his arms?
"All's fair in love and war," something seemed to whisper in his ear.
But William drew himself up squarely, and a resolute look came into his eyes.
"No," he said to himself, "that is false philosophy. Nothing that is mean or selfish or underhand can be fair or right. If the motive is wrong, the transaction will be wrong."
It took William a much longer time than usual to make his rounds that morning. He was so absent-minded – or, more correctly, his mind was so engrossed with other things – that he allowed his horse on several occasions to nibble the grass by the roadside.
He was no more interested in business matters when he got back. He would pause in the middle of weighing a pound of sugar or starch, completely forgetting where he was or what he was doing.
His mother let him be. She knew that he was greatly troubled at Lord St. Goram's refusal to renew the lease of his shop, and, like a wise woman, did not worry him with needless questions.
That evening, when the shutters were put up, he went to St. Ivel again. He would have some further talk with Ralph about the farm. He would be able also to feast his eyes again on Ruth's sweet face; perhaps, also, if he had strength and courage enough, he might be able to speak a good word for his Cousin Sam.
His thoughts, however, were in such a tangle, and his motives so uncertain, that he walked very slowly, and did not see a single thing on the road. Before he reached the cottage he stopped short, and, taking an order-book and a pencil from his pocket, he dotted down in a series of propositions and questions the chief points of the problem. They ran in this order: —
1. I have as much right to love Ruth Penlogan as anyone else.
2. Though I'm only a shopkeeper, and a dozen years her senior, there's nothing to hinder me from taking my chance.
3. If buying Hillside would help me, and make Ruth happy, where's the wrong? Cannot say.
4. But if buying Hillside would spoil Sam's chance, is that right? Doubtful.
5. Am I called upon to help Sam's cause to the detriment of my own? Also doubtful.
6. Is Ruth likely to be influenced by anything I may do or say? Don't know enough about women to answer that question.
7. Have I the smallest chance? No.
8. Has Sam? Most decidedly.
9. Am I a fool for thinking about Ruth at all? Certainly.
At this point William thrust his order-book into his pocket and quickened his pace.
"It's not a bit of use speculating on possibilities or probabilities," he said to himself a little impatiently. "I'll have to do the thing that seems right and wise. The rest I must leave."
A minute or two later he was knocking at the cottage door.
CHAPTER XXX
SELF AND ANOTHER
Ralph had gone to Perranpool to see Robert Telfer, but Ruth expected him back every moment.
"Won't you come in and wait for him?" Ruth questioned, looking beyond him into the gathering twilight.
William hesitated for a moment, and then decided that he would.
"I am sure he will not be long," Ruth said, as she busied herself getting the lamp ready. "Mr. Telfer wanted to settle with him, as – as he can, of course, deliver no more concrete."
"It's an awful shame," William said abruptly, and he dropped into Ralph's easy-chair.
"It seems very hard," Ruth said reflectively; "but I tell Ralph it may be all for the best. Perhaps he was getting on too fast and too suddenly."
"He is not the sort to have his head turned by a bit of prosperity," William said, watching his fair hostess out of the corner of his eye.
"At any rate, the danger has been removed – if it was a danger." And Ruth sighed gently.
For several moments there was silence in the room. Ruth had the lamp to light and the blind to pull down and a fresh cover to lay on the table. William watched her with averted face and half-closed eyes. How womanly she was in all her movements; how dainty in her appearance; how gentle in her manner and speech!
William felt as if he would almost risk his hope of heaven for the chance of calling her his, and yet he had not the courage even to hint at what he felt. Her very daintiness and winsomeness seemed to widen the gulf between them. Who was he that he should dare make love to one who was fit for the best in the land? It seemed to him – so unworthy did he seem in his own eyes – utterly impossible that Ruth should ever care for a man of his type.
William was almost morbidly self-depreciatory when in the presence of Ruth. His love so glorified her that by contrast he was commoner than commonest clay.
"I was so sorry to hear you are to be turned out of your shop," Ruth said at length, taking a seat on the other side of the table.
"Ralph told you?" he questioned.
"We stayed up till quite late last night, talking about it," she replied. "Ralph is very indignant."
"I am very indignant myself," he answered; "but what's the good? Those who have the power use it as they like."
"I am sorry it has happened," she said gently; "sorry for all our sakes. Ralph's reverence for the ruling classes was not great before. It is less now."
"You cannot wonder at that," he said quickly.
"No, one cannot wonder. And yet there is a danger in judging the whole by a few. Besides, if we had real power, we might not use it any more wisely or justly. The best of people, after all, are only human."
"That being so," he answered, with a smile, "it does not seem right that any individual, or any class of individuals, should have so much power. Who made these people rulers and dividers over us?"
"Ah, now you are getting beyond me," she said; "but since things are as they are, should we not make the best of them?"
"And try to mend them at the same time?"
"Oh yes, by all means – that is, if we can."
"But you have not much hope of mending things?" he questioned.
"Not very much. Besides, if you levelled things up to-morrow, they would be levelled down again the day after."
"Isn't that a rather fatalistic way of looking at things?" he questioned, raising his eyes timidly to her face.
"Is it?" she questioned, and a soft blush swept over her face as she caught his glance. Then silence fell again for several moments.
"The chances of life are very bewildering," he said at length, reopening the conversation. "Some people seem to get all the luck, and others all the misfortune. Look at my Cousin Sam."
"Is he very unfortunate?"
William laughed.
"On the contrary, he has all the luck. He has never known what poverty means, or sickness, or hardship. He was born to affluence, and now, at twenty-six, he's his own master, with a house of his own and plenty of money."
"But he may not be a whit happier than those who have less."
"I don't see how he can help it," William answered. "He's never worried about ways and means. He has troops of friends, absolutely wants nothing except a wife to help him to spend his money."
"Then you should advise him to keep single," Ruth said, with a laugh, "for if he gets married, his troubles may begin."
"There's risk in everything, no doubt," William said meditatively. "Still, if I were in his place, I should take the risk."
"You would?" Ruth questioned, arching her eyebrows, "and you a bachelor?"
"Ah, that is my misfortune," William answered, looking hard at a picture on the wall. "But Sam's way is quite clear."
"Is it?"
"He's a good fellow, too, is Sam. Never a word of slander has been breathed against his name since he was born. He'll make a good husband, whoever gets him."
"I did not know you had such a cousin till last evening," Ruth said meaningly.
"Oh, well, no. We've never seen very much of each other. You see, the Tremails have always been rather big people, and then we have lived a long way apart, and I have never cared to presume on my relationship."
"So he has hunted you up?"
"Well, yes. He came to see me just a fortnight ago or so, and he has ridden over once or twice since. Don't you think he's a fine, handsome fellow?"
"Yes; he is not bad-looking."
"Oh, I call him handsome. It must be nice to be young and have so much strength and energy."
"Well, are you not young?"
"I'm ten years older than Sam," he said, a little sadly, "and ten years is a big slice out of one's life."
"Are you growing pessimistic?" she questioned. "You are usually so hopeful."
"There are some things too good to hope for," he replied, "too beautiful, too far away. I almost envy a man like my Cousin Sam. He has everything within his reach."
"You seem to be quite enthusiastic about your cousin," she said, with a smile.
"Am I? Oh, well, you know, he is my cousin, and a good fellow, and if I can speak a good – I mean, if I can appreciate – that is, if I can cultivate a right feeling toward him, and – and – all that, you know, don't you think I ought to do so?"
"Oh, no doubt," Ruth said, laughing. "It's generally well to be on good terms with one's relations – at least so I've been told," and she went to the door and looked out into the darkness.
Ruth came back again after a few moments, and turned the lamp a little higher.
"Ralph is much longer than I expected he would be," she remarked, without looking at William.
"Perhaps Mr. Telfer was out," he suggested.
"I don't think that. You see he went by appointment. I expect it has taken them longer to square their accounts than they thought."
"I hope Ralph will come well out of it," he said musingly. "He's had a rough time of it so far."
"I am sometimes afraid he will grow bitter and give up. He has talked again and again of trying his fortune abroad."
"But if he went abroad, what would become of you?" William asked, with a sudden touch of anxiety in his voice.
"He would send for me when he got settled."
William gave a little gasp.
"Would you like to go abroad?" he questioned.
"I would much prefer to stay here if I could; but you see we cannot always have what we would like best."
"No, that is true," he said slowly and meditatively. "The things we would like best are often not for us. I don't know why it should be so. Some people seem to get all they desire. There is my Cousin Sam, for instance."
"He is one of the lucky ones, you say?"
"It seems so from my point of view. Did he tell you when he first saw you?"
"No."
"He would not like to remind you. It was the day of the sale at Hillside. He was greatly – that is, of course he could not help noticing you. Since then he has seen you lots of times. A fortunate fellow is Sam."
"Perhaps he does not think so."
"Oh, I fancy he does. I don't see how he can help it. He lives in a beautiful old house. It's years since I saw it, but it remains in my memory a pleasant picture. His wife will have a rare time of it."
"How do you know he does not intend to follow your example and remain a bachelor?"
"How? Sam knows better than that. Do you think I would remain a bachelor if – if – but there! You remember what you said just now about the things we want most?"
"I did not know – " Then a step sounded on the gravel outside. "Oh, here comes Ralph." And Ruth sprang to her feet and rushed to the door.
A moment later the two men were shaking hands.
"I hope I have not kept you waiting long," Ralph said. "The truth is, Telfer and I have been settling up."
"So your sister told me."
"And I'm bound to say he's treated me most handsomely. Technically, he might have got the better of me on a dozen points; but no! he's been most fair. It's a real pleasure to come across a man who doesn't want to Jew you."
"Oh, bless you, there's lots of honest people in the world!" William said, with a smile.
"Yes, I suppose there are; the misfortune is one so often tumbles across the other sort."
"Perhaps you will have better luck in the future," William replied.
"I only want fair play," Ralph answered; "I ask for nothing more than that."
"And have you hit upon anything for the future?"
"Not yet. But I don't want to be in a hurry. I've ready money enough to last me a year or two. I really didn't think I had done so well, for I'm a duffer at figures. If I only had about four times as much I'd buy Hillside."
"And turn farmer?"
"No, farming is not my forte." And he turned and looked towards the door of the pantry behind which Ruth was engaged getting supper ready.
"Let's go into my room," he continued, in a half-whisper. "I've something I want to say to you."
William followed him without a word.
"I don't want to awaken any vain hopes in Ruth's mind," Ralph went on. "The thing is too remote to be talked about almost. But you have wondered why I should want Hillside Farm when I've no love for farming?"
"I have supposed it was for your sister's sake."
"No, it's not that exactly. It's my love of adventure, or you might call it my love of speculation."
"I don't quite understand."
"Of course you don't. So I'll explain. You are the best friend I ever had, and I can trust you. Besides, if I ever did anything I should want your help. You are a business man, I'm a dreamer. You are good at accounts, I'm a fool at them."
William's eyes opened wider and wider, but he did not interrupt.
"Now, there's just the possibility of a fortune in Hillside," Ralph went on. "Not on the surface, mind you. The crops raised there will never be a fortune for anybody; but my father believed there was a rich tin lode running through it."
"Why didn't he test it?"
"He had no opportunity."
"Why not? The farm was his as long as the 'lives' remained alive."
"But all the mineral rights were reserved by the ground landlord. So that if my father had discovered a gold mine he would have got nothing out of it."
"So he kept silent?"
"Naturally; for if a mine was started, not only would he get no good out of it, but his farm would be ruined."
William remained silent and thoughtful.
"Now, if I could get the freehold," Ralph went on, "I should be free from every interference. I could sink a shaft for a few fathoms and test the thing. If it proved to be worthless, very little harm would be done. I should still have the farm to work or to let. Do you see my point?"
"I do, but – "
"I know what you would say. I have not the money," Ralph interrupted. "That is quite true. But I've more than I thought I had. And if the Brick, Tile, and Clay Company will take my plant at a fair valuation, I shall have more. Now I want to ask you, as a business man, if you think I could get a mortgage for the rest?"
"Possibly you might," William said slowly, "but there are a good many objections to such a course."
"Well, what are they?"
"We'll take one thing at a time," William answered meditatively. "To begin with: I don't believe Sir John Hamblyn would sell the place to you under any circumstances if he knew."
"Why not?"
"Because he has wronged you, and so he hates you. Nothing would please him better than for you to leave the country."
"Well?"
"If you begin to look round for a mortgage, or for securities – "
"Yes, I see."
"If you are to get the place, your name must not be given at the outset; you must buy through an agent or solicitor. You must be ready with the money on the nail."
Ralph looked thoughtful for several moments.
"I'm afraid it's of no use hoping," he said at length; "though when Robert Telfer handed me over his cheque this evening the world did look bright for a moment."
"But if you bought the farm you might lose everything," William suggested; "and it would be a pity to throw away your first earnings."
"Why so? There's no good in hoarding money. I want to be doing something. Besides, I might find work for half the parish."
"Then you have faith in the tin lode of which your father spoke?"
"I am confident there is a lode there. My father was not likely to be mistaken in a matter of that kind. As a practical miner and mineralogist there was not his equal in the county."
"But he did not test the lode?"
"He had no chance."
"Hence, it may be worthless."
"I admit it. Mind you, my father was confident that it was rich in tin. Of course, he may have been mistaken."
"But you are prepared to risk your all on it?"
"I am. I wish I had ten times as much to risk."
The next moment Ruth appeared, with the announcement that supper was ready.
"Let me sleep over it," William whispered to Ralph; "and to-morrow morning you come up to my shop and we'll see what we can make of it."
And he turned and followed Ruth into the next room.