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."Martin looked disdain, but vouchsafed no further reply.Meantime Mark, who for some minutes had been rummaging amongst a pile of books on a side-table, took the word.He spoke in a peculiarly slow, quiet voice, and with an expression of still irony in his face not easy to describe."Mr.Moore," said he, "you think perhaps it was a compliment on Miss Caroline Helstone's part to say you were not sentimental.I thought you appeared confused when my sisters told you the words, as if you felt flattered.You turned red, just like a certain vain little lad at our school, who always thinks proper to blush when he gets a rise in the class.For your benefit, Mr.Moore, I've been looking up the word 'sentimental' in the dictionary, and I find it to mean 'tinctured with sentiment.' On examining further, 'sentiment' is explained to be thought, idea, notion.A sentimental man, then, is one who has thoughts, ideas, notions; an unsentimental man is one destitute of thought, idea, or notion."And Mark stopped.He did not smile, he did not look round for admiration.He had said his say, and was silent."Ma foi! mon ami," observed Mr.Moore to Yorke, "ce sont vraiment des enfants terribles, que les vôtres!"Rose, who had been listening attentively to Mark's speech, replied to him, "There are different kinds of thoughts, ideas, and notions," said she, "good and bad.Sentimental must refer to the bad, or Miss Helstone must have taken it in that sense, for she was not blaming Mr.Moore; she was defending him.""That's my kind little advocate!" said Moore, taking Rose's hand."She was defending him," repeated Rose, "as I should have done had I been in her place, for the other ladies seemed to speak spitefully.""Ladies always do speak spitefully," observed Martin."It is the nature of womenites to be spiteful."Matthew now, for the first time, opened his lips."What a fool Martin is, to be always gabbling about what he does not understand!""It is my privilege, as a freeman, to gabble on whatever subject I like," responded Martin."You use it, or rather abuse it, to such an extent," rejoined the elder brother, "that you prove you ought to have been a slave.""A slave! a slave! That to a Yorke, and from a Yorke! This fellow," he added, standing up at the table, and pointing across it to Matthew—"this fellow forgets, what every cottier in Briarfield knows, that all born of our house have that arched instep under which water can flow—proof that there has not been a slave of the blood for three hundred years.""Mountebank!" said Matthew."Lads, be silent!" exclaimed Mr.Yorke.—"Martin, you are a mischief-maker.There would have been no disturbance but for you.""Indeed! Is that correct? Did I begin, or did Matthew? Had I spoken to him when he accused me of gabbling like a fool?""A presumptuous fool!" repeated Matthew.Here Mrs.Yorke commenced rocking herself—rather a portentous movement with her, as it was occasionally followed, especially when Matthew was worsted in a conflict, by a fit of hysterics."I don't see why I should bear insolence from Matthew Yorke, or what right he has to use bad language to me," observed Martin."He has no right, my lad; but forgive your brother until seventy-and-seven times," said Mr.Yorke soothingly."Always alike, and theory and practice always adverse!" murmured Martin as he turned to leave the room."Where art thou going, my son?" asked the father."Somewhere where I shall be safe from insult, if in this house I can find any such place."Matthew laughed very insolently.Martin threw a strange look at him, and trembled through all his slight lad's frame; but he restrained himself."I suppose there is no objection to my withdrawing?" he inquired."No.Go, my lad; but remember not to bear malice."Martin went, and Matthew sent another insolent laugh after him.Rose, lifting her fair head from Moore's shoulder, against which, for a moment, it had been resting, said, as she directed a steady gaze to Matthew, "Martin is grieved, and you are glad; but I would rather be Martin than you.I dislike your nature."Here Mr.Moore, by way of averting, or at least escaping, a scene—which a sob from Mrs.Yorke warned him was likely to come on—rose, and putting Jessy off his knee, he kissed her and Rose, reminding them, at the same time, to be sure and come to the Hollow in good time to-morrow afternoon; then, having taken leave of his hostess, he said to Mr.Yorke, "May I speak a word with you?" and was followed by him from the room.Their brief conference took place in the hall."Have you employment for a good workman?" asked Moore."A nonsense question in these times, when you know that every master has many good workmen to whom he cannot give full employment.""You must oblige me by taking on this man, if possible.""My lad, I can take on no more hands to oblige all England.""It does not signify; I must find him a place somewhere.""Who is he?""William Farren.""I know William.A right-down honest man is William.""He has been out of work three months.He has a large family.We are sure they cannot live without wages.He was one of the deputation of cloth-dressers who came to me this morning to complain and threaten.William did not threaten.He only asked me to give them rather more time—to make my changes more slowly.You know I cannot do that: straitened on all sides as I am, I have nothing for it but to push on.I thought it would be idle to palaver long with them.I sent them away, after arresting a rascal amongst them, whom I hope to transport—a fellow who preaches at the chapel yonder sometimes.""Not Moses Barraclough?""Yes.""Ah! you've arrested him? Good! Then out of a scoundrel you're going to make a martyr.You've done a wise thing.""I've done a right thing.Well, the short and the long of it is, I'm determined to get Farren a place, and I reckon on you to give him one.""This is cool, however!" exclaimed Mr.Yorke."What right have you to reckon on me to provide for your dismissed workmen? What do I know about your Farrens and your Williams? I've heard he's an honest man, but am I to support all the honest men in Yorkshire? You may say that would be no great charge to undertake; but great or little, I'll none of it.""Come, Mr.Yorke, what can you find for him to do?""I find! You'll make me use language I'm not accustomed to use.I wish you would go home.Here is the door; set off."Moore sat down on one of the hall chairs."You can't give him work in your mill—good; but you have land.Find him some occupation on your land, Mr.Yorke.""Bob, I thought you cared nothing about our lourdauds de paysans.I don't understand this change.""I do.The fellow spoke to me nothing but truth and sense.I answered him just as roughly as I did the rest, who jabbered mere gibberish.I couldn't make distinctions there and then.His appearance told what he had gone through lately clearer than his words; but where is the use of explaining? Let him have work.""Let him have it yourself.If you are so very much in earnest, strain a point.""If there was a point left in my affairs to strain, I would strain it till it cracked again; but I received letters this morning which showed me pretty clearly where I stand, and it is not far off the end of the plank.My foreign market, at any rate, is gorged.If there is no change—if there dawns no prospect of peace—if the Orders in Council are not, at least, suspended, so as to open our way in the West—I do not know where I am to turn.I see no more light than if I were sealed in a rock, so that for me to pretend to offer a man a livelihood would be to do a dishonest thing.""Come, let us take a turn on the front.It is a starlight night," said Mr.Yorke.They passed out, closing the front door after them, and side by side paced the frost-white pavement to and fro [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]