The Trespasser | Page 5

with the barbarian; here are the roofs of ivory. I've had my
day with my mother's people; voila! for my father's. You heard what
Becky Lawson said. My father was sick of it at twenty-five, and got out.
We'll see what my father's son will do. . . . I'm going to say my say to
you, and have done with it. As like as not there isn't another man that

I'd have brought with me. You're all right. But I'm not going to rub
noses. I stick when I do stick, but I know what's got to be done here;
and I've told you. You'll not have the fun out of it that I will, but you
won't have the worry. Now, we start fresh. I'm to be obeyed; I'm
Napoleon. I've got a devil, yet it needn't hurt you, and it won't. But if I
make enemies here--and I'm sure to--let them look out. Give me your
hand, Jacques; and don't you forget that there are two Gaston Belwards,
and the one you have hunted and lived with is the one you want to
remember when you get raw with the new one. For you'll hear no more
slang like this from me, and you'll have to get used to lots of things."
Without waiting reply, Belward urged on his horse, and at last paused
on the top of a hill, and waited for Jacques. It was now dusk, and the
landscape showed soft, sleepy, and warm.
"It's all of a piece," Belward said to himself, glancing from the trim
hedges, the small, perfectly-tilled fields and the smooth roads, to
Ridley Court itself, where many lights were burning and gates opening
and shutting. There was some affair on at the Court, and he smiled to
think of his own appearance among the guests.
"It's a pity I haven't clothes with me, Brillon; they have a show going
there."
He had dropped again into the new form of master and man. His voice
was cadenced, gentlemanly. Jacques pointed to his own saddle-bag.
"No, no, they are not the things needed. I want the evening-dress which
cost that cool hundred dollars in New York."
Still Jacques was silent. He did not know whether, in his new position,
he was expected to suggest. Belward understood, and it pleased him.
"If we had lost the track of a buck moose, or were nosing a cache of
furs, you'd find a way, Brillon."
"Voila," said Jacques; "then, why not wear the buckskin vest, the red-
silk sash, and the boots like these?"--tapping his own leathers. "You

look a grand seigneur so."
"But I am here to look an English gentleman, not a grand seigneur, nor
a company's trader on a break. Never mind, the thing will wait till we
stand in my ancestral halls," he added, with a dry laugh.
They neared the Court. The village church was close by the Court-wall.
It drew Belward's attention. One by one lights were springing up in it.
It was a Friday evening, and the choir were come to practise. They saw
buxom village girls stroll in, followed by the organist, one or two
young men and a handful of boys. Presently the horsemen were seen,
and a staring group gathered at the church door. An idea came to
Belward.
"Kings used to make pilgrimages before they took their crowns, why
shouldn't I?!" he said half-jestingly. Most men placed similarly would
have been so engaged with the main event that they had never thought
of this other. But Belward was not excited. He was moving deliberately,
prepared for every situation. He had a great game in hand, and he had
no fear of his ability to play it. He suddenly stopped his horse, and
threw the bridle to Jacques, saying:
"I'll be back directly, Brillon."
He entered the churchyard, and passed to the door. As he came the
group under the crumbling arch fell back, and at the call of the organist
went to the chancel. Belward came slowly up the aisle, and paused
about the middle. Something in the scene gave him a new sensation.
The church was old, dilapidated; but the timbered roof, the Norman and
Early English arches incongruously side by side, with patches of
ancient distemper and paintings, and, more than all, the marble figures
on the tombs, with hands folded so foolishly,--yet impressively too,
brought him up with a quick throb of the heart. It was his first real
contact with England; for he had not seen London, save at Euston
Station and in the north-west district. But here he was in touch with his
heritage. He rested his hand upon a tomb beside him, and looked
around slowly.

The choir began the psalm for the following Sunday. At first he did not
listen;