The Trial | Page 5

first place they should

visit, and calling forth minute directions for their pilgrimage to the
scenes of his youth, promising to come home and tell him all, no
wonder he felt himself rather gaining a child than losing one. He was
very bright and happy; and no one but Ethel understood how all the
time there was a sensation that the present was but a strange dreamy
parody of that marriage which had been the theme of earlier hopes.
The wedding had taken place shortly after Easter; and immediately
after, the Rivers family had departed for London, and Tom May had
returned to Cambridge, leaving the home party at the minimum of four,
since, Cocksmoor Parsonage being complete, Richard had become only
a daily visitor instead of a constant inhabitant.
There he sat, occupying his never idle hands with a net that he kept for
such moments, whilst Ethel sat behind her urn, now giving out its last
sighs, profiting by the leisure to read the county newspaper, while she
continually filled up her cup with tea or milk as occasion served,
indifferent to the increasing pallor of the liquid.
Mary, a 'fine young woman,' as George Rivers called her, of blooming
face and sweet open expression, had begun, at Gertrude's entreaty, a
game of French billiards. Gertrude had still her childish sunny face and
bright hair, and even at the trying age of twelve was pleasing, chiefly
owing to the caressing freedom of manner belonging to an unspoilable
pet. Her request to Aubrey to join the sport had been answered with a
half petulant shake of the head, and he flung himself into his father's
chair, his long legs hanging over one arm--an attitude that those who
had ever been under Mrs. May's discipline thought impossible in the
drawing-room; but Aubrey was a rival pet, and with the family
characteristics of aquiline features, dark gray eyes, and beautiful teeth,
had an air of fragility and easy languor that showed his exercise of the
immunities of ill-health. He had been Ethel's pupil till Tom's last year
at Eton, when he was sent thither, and had taken a good place; but his
brother's vigilant and tender care could not save him from an attack on
the chest, that settled his public-school education for ever, to his severe
mortification, just when Tom's shower of honours was displaying to
him the sweets of emulation and success. Ethel regained her pupil, and

put forth her utmost powers for his benefit, causing Tom to examine
him at each vacation, with adjurations to let her know the instant he
discovered that her task of tuition was getting beyond her. In truth,
Tom fraternally held her cheap, and would have enjoyed a triumph over
her scholarship; but to this he had not attained, and in spite of his desire
to keep his brother in a salutary state of humiliation, candour wrung
from him the admission that, even in verses, Aubrey did as well as
other fellows of his standing.
Conceit was not Aubrey's fault. His father was more guarded than in
the case of his elder sons, and the home atmosphere was not such as to
give the boy a sense of superiority, especially when diligently kept
down by his brother. Even the half year at Eton had not produced
superciliousness, though it had given Eton polish to the home-bred
manners; it had made sisters valuable, and awakened a desire for
masculine companionship. He did not rebel against his sister's rule; she
was nearly a mother to him, and had always been the most active
president of his studies and pursuits; and he was perfectly obedient and
dutiful to her, only asserting his equality, in imitation of Harry and
Tom, by a little of the good-humoured raillery and teasing that treated
Ethel as the family butt, while she was really the family authority.
'All gone, Ethel,' he said, with a lazy smile, as Ethel mechanically, with
her eyes on the newspaper, tried all her vessels round, and found
cream-jug, milk-jug, tea-pot, and urn exhausted; 'will you have in the
river next?'
'What a shame!' said Ethel, awakening and laughing. 'Those are the
tea-maker's snares.'
'Do send it away then,' said Aubrey, 'the urn oppresses the atmosphere.'
'Very well, I'll make a fresh brew when papa comes home, and perhaps
you'll have some then. You did not half finish to-night.'
Aubrey yawned; and after some speculation about their father's absence,
Gertrude went to bed; and Aubrey, calling himself tired, stood up,
stretched every limb portentously, and said he should go off too. Ethel

looked at him anxiously, felt his hand, and asked if he were sure he had
not a cold coming on. 'You are always thinking of colds,' was all the
satisfaction she received.
'What has he been doing?' said