Reuben too was appalled by them, but would not for worlds have shown it. He attacked the knives and forks with such vigour that he did not get really involved in them till the joint, and as he refused no drink the waiter offered he soon had all his glasses harmlessly occupied. Nor was he at a loss for conversation. He was resolved that neither Richard nor Anne should ignore the greatness of his farm; if only he could stir[Pg 392] up a spark of home-sickness in his son's white-shirted breast, his triumph would be complete.Sometimes he would be more interested, and, in a fit of reaction from his proud loneliness, turn to her as of old for comfort. But those were the bitterest hours of all, for in them he would glimpse a difference, an aloofness. She had been much quieter since the birth of the second boy, she had not recovered her health so rapidly, and her eyes were big in the midst of bistred rings. She had given up flirting with Handshut, or with the young men from Rye, but she did not turn from them to her husband. Though he could see she was sorry for him, he feltvaguely, uncertainly, yet tormentinglythat she was not all his, as she had been in brighter months. Sometimes he did not much caresometimes a dreadful passion would consume him, and once he caught her to his breast and bruised her in his arms, crying"I w?an't lose youI w?an't lose you too."
Little more remains to be said. De Boteler, upon discovering that Byles held Holgrave's land by virtue of the mortgage transferred by the usurer to Calverley, pronounced, in the most summary way, the whole thing illegal. Byles was dispossessed, and the farm, now the largest in the manor, returned to Holgrave, who thus, like old Job, became the possessor of greater wealth after his misfortunes than he had enjoyed before."NoI d?an't say it. I did write 'em. But it's all your fault that I didso you've no right to miscall me."This evening he sat very still beside the dead. Only once he drew down the sheet from his father's face and gazed at the calm features, already wearing that strange sculpt look which is the gift of death. The peaceful lips, the folded hands, seemed part of an embracing restfulness. Reuben's heart warmed with a love in which was little grief. He thought of his father's lifecalm, kindly, comfortable, ambitionless. He had[Pg 23] been happy; having wanted little he had attained it and had died enjoying it.The yeoman muttered an excuse; but his speech betrayed him."What!" said Black Jack, laughing, "think you squire Calverley would busy himself about the dead! Come, come, tell out the silver, and replenish the flagon: we are yours for this adventureand, by the green wax! a strange one it is."
