CHAPTER I

KIT'S WELCOME

Kit was comfortably tired when he sat down by the beck at the head of the dale. He had been at Ashness for a week, and finding much to be done had occupied himself with characteristic energy. It was a relief to feel that the heat of the tropics had not relaxed his muscles as much as he had thought, and that the languidness he had sometimes fought against was vanishing before the bracing winds that swept his native hills. The ache in his arms had come from using the draining spade and his knees were stiff after a long walk through the heather to examine the Herdwick sheep. His vigor was coming back and he was conscious of a keen but tranquil satisfaction with the quiet dale.

Filling his pipe lazily, he looked about. The sun was near the summit of the fells and the long slopes were turning gray in the shadow. The yellow light touched the other side of the valley, and the narrow bottom, through which shining water ran, was a belt of cool dark-green. A faint bleating of sheep came down the hill, and the beck splashed softly among the stones.

Kit found the quiet soothing. He had had enough excitement and adventure, and had half-consciously recognized that the life he had led in the tropics was not for him. On the whole, he thought he had made good. One did one's best at the work one found, but intrigue was not his proper job. For all that, he did not mean to philosophize and had something to think about.

When he sold the _Rio Negro_ and paid his debts he found a larger surplus than he had hoped. Moreover, his agents had not yet enforced all business claims and might be able to send him a fresh sum. The money he brought home would not have made him a rich man in America, but it would go a long way in the dale, and the soil and flocks at Ashness could be improved by modern methods and carefully spent capital. Kit had begun at once and found his task engrossing, but when the day's work was over he felt a gentle melancholy and a sense of loneliness. Adam and Peter had gone and he had loved them both; he knew he would not meet their like again. Yet he had not lost them altogether. They had, so to speak, blazed the trail for him, and he must try to follow, fronting obstacles with their fearless calm.

Then he took his pipe from his mouth and his heart beat as a figure came round a bend of the road. The girl was some distance off and he could not see her face, but he knew her and braced himself. He had known the meeting must come and much depended on her att.i.tude. Grace was no longer a romantic girl, and though he had not forgotten her, she might have been persuaded that she had nothing to do with him. Now she must choose her line, and he sat still, half prepared for her to pa.s.s him with a bow. While he waited, his dog got up and ran along the road. Old Bob knew Grace, and it looked as if she had spoken to, and perhaps petted, him while his master was away.

She stopped, and Kit felt ashamed when he got up, for she gave him her hand with a friendly look and he saw she had not changed as much as he had thought. The proud calm he approved was perhaps more marked, but he imagined the generous rashness he had liked as well still lurked beneath the surface. He had met attractive girls in the tropics who knew they were beautiful and added by art to their physical charm. Grace, however, used hers unconsciously; he thought she was too proud to care if she had such charm or not.

"I am glad to see you back," she said and stroked the dog that leaped upon her. "Bob and I are friends. He knew me when I came round the corner."

"So did I," Kit rejoined quietly.

He thought he noted a touch of color in her face, but she smiled.

"You did not get up. Perhaps you were not sure, like Bob?"

"I think I was sure. But I have been away some time and it was not my part to force you to acknowledge me."

"If I didn't want to?" Grace suggested. "Well, I do not forget my friends, and now, if you are satisfied, we can let that go." She paused and resumed when he went on with her: "The dalesfolk have missed you, particularly since your father died. It must have been a shock--I felt it, too, because I saw him now and then. We were friends in spite of all."

Kit was grateful for her frank sympathy, and felt he could talk to her about his father.

"He did not tell me this, but he liked you."

"He was just," Grace replied. "People knew, and trusted him. He had none of the rancor that often leads us wrong. When he was firm he did not get angry. That kind of att.i.tude is hard, but it makes things easier. But you were in America with his brother, were you not?"

"I was in the United States, and afterwards in some of the countries on the Caribbean."

"Ah," said Grace with curiosity, "that must have been interesting! One understands that is a beautiful and romantic coast, with its memories of the great Elizabethan sailors and the pirates."

"It is romantic, and dangerous in parts. You can land at some of the towns from modern mail-boats and find smart shops and cafes; others have fallen into ruin and lie, half-hidden by the forest, beside malaria-haunted lagoons. You steal in through the mist at the top of a high tide, much as the old pirates did, and when you land, find hints of a vanished civilization and the Spaniards' broken power. But you seem to know something about the coast."

Grace smiled. "You look surprised! There is a library at Tarnside, although it is not often used, and we have books about the voyages of the buccaneers. One book is rather fascinating. But what were you doing in the lagoons?"

"Sometimes we loaded dyewoods and rubber; sometimes we lent money to ambitious politicians in return for unlawful trading privileges, and now and then engaged in business that was something like that of the old adventurers."

"After that, you must find the dale very tame," Grace remarked, and quietly studied Kit.

She had liked his honesty and resolution before he went abroad, but he had gained something she had not noted then. Although he wore rough working clothes and had obviously been digging, he had an elusive touch of distinction, and there was a hint of command in his quiet look. He had seen the world, confronted dangers, and used power, and this had put a stamp on him.

"It is hard to imagine you a pirate," she remarked with a twinkle. "You don't look the part, and, no doubt, like other occupations, it requires some study."

Kit laughed. "One does the best one can! I rather think taking trouble and a determination to make good are as useful as specialized training."

"Perhaps that's true. It's curious, in a way, but I expect a good farmer, for example, might make a successful buccaneer. One understands, though, that the last pirate was hanged a hundred years since."

"There are a few left, although their methods have changed with the times. Some day I would like to tell you about my uncle. He was, so to speak, a survival, and I think you would appreciate him. But how have things been going in the dale?"

Grace's twinkle vanished, her look became serious, and Kit thought he noted signs of strain. After all, she had changed since he left Ashness.

It was not that she looked older, although she was now a rather stately woman and not an impulsive girl; he felt that she had known care.

"On the whole," she said, "things have not gone very well. We have had wet summers and heavy snow in spring. The flocks are poor and rents have come down. Bell has gone; he quarreled with Hayes about some new machinery for the mill. All is much the same at Tarnside, though my father is not so active. Gerald left Woolwich--perhaps you knew--and is in a London bank."

Kit hid his surprise. Gerald was not the stuff of which good bank clerks are made, although Osborn's influence with the local manager had, no doubt, got him the post. Kit imagined the lad had been forced to leave Woolwich, but money must be scarce at Tarnside, since he had gone into business. This threw some light on the hint of weariness he had noted about Grace. If fresh economy was needful, she and Mrs. Osborn must carry the load.

"Hayes is still your agent. I met him yesterday and he gave me a sour nod," Kit remarked.

"Yes," said Grace, and added quietly: "I sometimes wish he were not!"

"Well, I never liked the man. All the same, he's a very good agent, from the landlord's point of view, and your father's interests ought to be safe with him."

"I suppose so," Grace agreed, but her look was doubtful, and they reached the Ashness lonning a few minutes later. When Kit stopped she gave him her hand. "I hear you are going to make a number of improvements, and wish you good luck!"

Kit went up the lonning and sitting down in the porch lighted his pipe.

Grace had not forgotten; she had given him his real welcome home and he thrilled as he thought about her quiet friendliness. Perhaps the meeting was awkward for her, but she had struck the right note, with the dignified simplicity he had expected. It said something for her pluck that she had met him as if the interview at Ashness, when Osborn had driven him away, had never taken place. All this was comforting, but Kit was vaguely disturbed on her account.

He had noted a hint of anxiety and she had implied that things were not going well for the Osborns. He meant to marry Grace; his longing for her was keener than he had felt it yet, but it was not altogether selfish.

She must be removed from surroundings in which she could not thrive.

Tarnside, with its rash extravagance, pretense, and stern private economy, was not the place for her. But he felt he must be patient and cautious; there were numerous obstacles in his way.

In the meantime, Grace met Thorn farther along the road and tried to hide her annoyance as he advanced. Perhaps it was the contrast between him and Kit, whose thin, brown face had a half-ascetic look, for Alan was fat and getting coa.r.s.e. Grace had noted this before, but not so plainly as she did now. His manners were urbane and he belonged to her circle; to some extent, his code was hers and she had his prejudices and tastes. All the same, she did not like him; for one thing, he was a type her father approved, a man of local importance and strictly local ideas, and Osborn had forced her into rebellion. Alan managed the otter hounds well and knew much about farming, but he was satisfied with this. Although he belonged to a smart London club, Grace imagined he only went there because he thought he ought. Yet he was cunning and patient, and knowing why he bore with Osborn, she was sometimes afraid.

"Was that Askew?" he inquired when he turned and went on with her.

Grace said it was and he gave her a careless look.

"I heard he had come back. Might have been better if he had stayed away.

A fellow like that is rather disturbing."

"I don't think he could do much harm, when you and Hayes are on your guard," Grace rejoined.

"That is so," Thorn agreed and she could not tell if he knew she had meant to be ironical. "Anyhow, I don't suppose he wants to do much harm; I was thinking about his example."

"Is it a dangerous example to improve one's land? I thought you advocated scientific farming?"

"So I do. I don't mean that, although I don't know if Askew's farming is scientific or not. One can't judge yet. His independence and habit of taking his own line might be dangerous."

"Mr. Askew's independence is justified. Ashness is his."

"Yes," said Thorn thoughtfully, "that's the trouble. If he was a farming tenant, things would be easier."