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Updated: June 26, 2025
And what has he learned by leaning on his own soul? Is it to be happier than others? or to be better? Not he! he is as wretched and wicked a dog as any unhung. He "leans on his own soul," and makes love to the Countess and seduces Alice Darvell.
It was a mild spring evening, and Mrs Frank Darvell was toiling slowly up Whiteleaf Hill on her way back from market. She had walked every step of the way there to sell her ducklings, and now the basket on her arm was heavy with the weight of various small grocery packets.
At the moment when Mrs Darvell began to climb Whiteleaf Hill with her heavy basket, Frank was lying at the foot of a big beech-tree in the wood near his home; his face was buried in his hands, and every now and then sobs shook his little thin frame.
He was one of the best singers in Danecross choir, and Mrs Darvell held her head very high when she heard her boy's voice in church; so he answered with a certain pride: "Ah, I can sing proper well." "Sing summat," said the boy. Frank waited a minute to choose a tune, and then sang "Ring the Bell, Watchman," straight through.
Before he had realised his situation she had flown down the road, reached the two figures, and enveloped Frank in her embrace, Darvell standing by meanwhile with a broad smile on his fair and foolish countenance. The neighbours gathered round the group, and all the dogs, and pigs, and chickens belonging to the settlement also drew near.
The air had that vaguely uneasy feeling in it that precedes a storm. Presently there would be the first clap of thunder. The clock struck nine. No Frank. An unheard-of hour for any of the Green Highland folk to be out of their beds and awake. Mr Darvell rose, stretched himself, glanced nervously at his wife, and suggested humbly: "Shall us go to bed?"
"How should I know where he is?" he answered sullenly. "I haven't seen him, not for these two hours. He's foolin' round somewheres with the other lads." "That's not like our Frank," said Mrs Darvell, giving an anxious look round at the tall clock. "Why, it's gone eight," she went on. "What can have got him?" Her eyes rested suspiciously on her husband, who shifted about uneasily.
Mrs Darvell shrugged her shoulders, and made an expressive movement with her head in the direction of Danecross. "I reckon he's where he generally is now," she answered moodily, "at the `Nag's Head." "Why, that's something new, isn't it? I always consider Darvell one of the steadiest men in my parish." Mrs Darvell looked up defiantly.
'A man as has robbed his partners of every shilling, and has married a young lady when he has got another wife living out in the colony. At least she was out in the colony. She ain't there now, Darvell. She's somewhere else now. That's what your master is, Darvell. You'll have to look out for a place, because your master'll be in quod before long. How much is it they gets for bigamy, Jack?
Just look at the difference of the crops. There's a place with wheat on each side of you. I was looking at them before dinner." "Brownriggs is in a different parish. Brownriggs is in Bostock." "But the land is of the same quality. Of course Walker is a different sort of man from Darvell. I believe there are nearly four hundred acres in Brownriggs." "All that," said the father.
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