tiser. [ONTO est Tooth' Powder; the teeth and pre- ecay; contains no gritty substances, orthless imitations, r only Rowlands' I Everywhere. Post for 2s. lid. by larden, London. "ING'S COUGH LOZENGES, BEST AND SURE REMEDY FOR COUGHS, ASTHMA, BRONCHITIS. Sold in Tins, la. ljd. each. WONDERFUL INFANT'S MEDICINE. In these days of drugging infants to sleep when the poor children are suffering from Gripes, Wind, and Colic, it is refreshing to know that Thomas Keating, the well-ihewn Chemist, introduces a reliable cure (the relief is almost instant, the child at once ceasing to be troubled), guaranteed free from any Sedative in any form whatever—it is emphatically a pure and simple natural remedy, it is called NURSE EDDA'S BABY SOOTHER. Price is. per bottle, of any Chemist, who will obtain it if not kept in his stock, or free by post for 12 stamps. THOMAS KEATING, CHEMIST, LONDON. Manuscript, Archives, and Rare Book Library EMORY UNIVERSITY Sold inTins6vl/-&'2/6 Routledge's Railway Library Advertiser. THE GREAT MEDICINE. It gives instant relief in HEADACHE, SEA or BILIOUS SICKNESS, CONSTIPATION, INDIGESTION, LASSL dMn&k TUDE, HEARTBURN, and FEVERISH COLDS; prevents quickly relieves or cures the worst form of TYPHUS, SCARLET, and other FEVERS, SMALLPOX, MEASLES. and ERUPTIVE or SKIN COMPLAINTS, and various other altered conditions of the Blood. It is THE Cure for CHOLERA. The Testimony of Medical Gentlemen and the Professional Press has been unqualified in praise of LAMPLOUGH'S PYRETIC SALINE as possessing most important elements calculated to restore and maintain Health with perfect Vigour of Body and Mind. It is effervescing and tasteless, and forms a most invigorating, vitalizing, and refreshing beverage. JJf, MORGAN.—" I' furnishes the blood with its lost saliuc constituents." Dr. TtTRIiEY.—" I found it act as a specific, in my experience and family, in the worst forms Scarlet Vorer, 110 other medicine being required." Sr. S. GIBBON1 (formerly Physician to the London Hospital).—"I have been in the habit of using it in private practice for many years. In hot climates it is of special value.1' Br, SPARKS (Gorernment Medical Inspector of Emigrants from the port of London) writes:—"* haVe great pleasure in bearing my cordial testimony to its efficacy iu the treatment of many of the ordinary and chronio forms of Gastric Complaints and other forms of Febrile Dyspepsia." 1 Dr.J.W. DOWSING.-"! used it in the treatment of forty-two cases of Yellow Fever, and am lisppy to state I never lost a single case." Dr\ W. STEVEDTS.—" Sinceits introduction, the fatal West India Feversare deprived of their terror." Br. ALEX, MILNE,-" In searching for the best combination of Salines we alighted on that of Mr. LamploughT Its utility as a remedy in fevers and as a cooling drink in diseases of children, such as Scarlet Fever, Measles, &c., has been testified to by the leading members of the profession." "I prescribe il also to my patients frequently."— J9th May, 1880. RER MAJESTY'S REPRESENTATIVE, the GOVERNOR of SIERRA EEONE, in a letter of request for an additional supply of the l'yretic Saline, states:—"It is of great val-ue, and I shall rejoice to hear it is iu the hands of all Europeans visiting the tropics." In Patent Glass-stoppered Bottles, as. 6d., 4s. 6d., 11s., and 21s. each. LAMPLOUGH'S CONCENTRATED LIME JUICE SYRUP. From the Fresh Fruit, as imported for the Hospitals ; a perfect luxury ; forms, with the addition of Pyretic Saline, a most delicious and invigorating beverage, particularly for Total Abstainers, the Delicate, and Invalid ; of special service in Scrofula, Fevers, and Rheumatism, and a low or altered condition ot the system. Most Chemists sell the above with the Pyretic Saline. In Patent Glass-stoppered Bottles, 2s., and 4s. Cd. each. Or. POWELS BALSAMIC LOZENGES, For Coughs, Asthmatic, Bronchial and Consumptive Complaints. These excellent Lozenges, prepared only by H. Lamplough, have for many years been found of great service ; their occasional use often prevents attacks from colds and inflammation. Price is. per Box. " Have them in your houses, and forget them not in your travels." NOTICE MY TRADE MARK AND NAME, H. LAMPLOUGH, m, holborn hill, london, e.g. Routledge's Railway Library Advertiser, BARBER & COMPANY'S (THIS SEASON'S GROWTH) RICH SIRUPY ONFA CONGO, ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE PER POUND. A TEA abounding in Strength and Quality Never Sold in ENGLAND before at the PRICE. "COMPARE" it with that SOLD by others at TWO SHIELINGS. 6lbs. sent free by Parcels Post to any Post Town in the United Kingdom for 10s. {compare this with that Advertised at 12s. 3d.), or 2 jibs.for 4J. 3d. BARBER AND COMPANY, 274, Regent Circus, Oxford Street, W. 61, Bishopsgate Street, E.C. ; The Boro', London Bridge, S.E.; King's Cross, N.; 102, Westbourne Grove, W.; 42, Gt. Titchfield Street, W.; Manchester, Birmingham, Brighton, Bristol, Preston; and 1, Church Street, and Minster Buildings, and London Road, Liverpool. Remittances to le crossed "London and Westminster Bank." P.O. Orders payable at London Ge7ieral Post Office. This sweetly scented Emollient Milk is superior to every other preparation for rendering the Skin SOFT, SMOOTH, AND WHITE. It entirely removes and prevents all ROUGHNESS, REDNESS, SUNBURN, CHAPS, And all other blemishes of the Skin caused by SUMMER'S HEAT or WINTER'S COLD. It keeps the Skin Cool and Refreshed on the Hottest Day in Summer, and Soft and Smooth in the Coldest Winter. Bottles, if, 1/9, 2/6. Of all Chemists and Perfumers. Free for 3d. extra by the Makers. M. BEETHAM & SON, CHEMISTS, CHELTENHAM. WOMAN'S GLORY % %ssU\ by SARAH DOUDNEY author of "when we two parted," "strangers yet," etc. LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS Broadway, Ludgate Hill NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE 1884 itoag RECENT VOLUMES. JOCK O' HAZELGREEN. By the author of " Story of a Sin." CHERRY RIPE. By the author of " Story of a Sin." MISS CHEYNE OF ESSILMONT. By James Grant. STANLEY BRERETON. By W, Harrison Ainsworth. OLIVIA RALEIGH. By the author of "Tom Singleton." CONTENTS. CHAP. PACE i. 'oh that we two were Maying!' ... i ii. 'she lookit east, and she lookit west' 9 iii. 'when i look east my heart grows sair ' 19 iv. 'shy she was, and i thought her cold' 28 v. ' i would my father look'd but with my eyes' ... ... ... ... 39 vi. 'a hit, a very palpable hit' ... ... 51 vii. 'rise from the feast of sorrow, lady' 63 viii. 'roses will bloom, nor want beholders' 76 ix. ' by my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady !' 88 x. "'now ye maun go with me," she said' 97 xi. 'it is jove's doing, and jove make me thankful!' ... ... ... hi xii. 'there might you have beheld one joy crown another' ... ... ... 119 xiii. 'but thou shalt be alone no more' ... 128 xiv. going away ... ... ... ... 137 xv. 'much is to learn, much to forget' ... 151 xvi. 'is thy face like thy mother's, my fair child?' ... ... ... ... 158 xvii. 'and ye shall walk in silk attire' ... 166 xviii. 'certain first steps were achieved' ... 174 xix. 'heaven, i thought, was in her air' ... 182 xx. 'i'm deep in love wi' thee' ... ... 189 xxi. 'speak, my fair, and fairly, i pray thee' t98 xxii. 'she is so self-endeared' ... ... 208 iv CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE xxiii. 'ah, old thoughts, they cling, they cling!' ... ... ... 216 xxiv. 'she was a phantom of delight' ... 225 xxv. 'the heart is all athirst again, the drops are all of gold' ... ... 234 xxvi. ' for she is wise, if i can judge of her' 242 xxvii. "tis wiser to forget' ... ... 251 xxviii. 'was ever man so beaten?' ... 258 xxix. ' 'tis not unknown to you, madam, i am a poor fellow' ... ... 263 xxx. 'speakest thou in sober meanings?', 270 xxxi. 'she charm'd my soul, i wistna how' 279 xxxii. 'though i do my best i shall scarce succeed' ... ... ... 289 xxxiii. 'some with lives that came to nothing' 295 xxxiv. ' farewell the tranquil mind ! fare- well content!' ... ... 303 xxxv. 'it is not worth the keeping j let it go' ... ... ... ... 308 xxxvi. forgiven ... ... ... ... 313 xxxvii. among the sunflowers ... ... 318 xxxviii. foolish fears ... ... ... 328 xxxix. in maud's garden ... ... ... 335 xl. a fellowship with hearts ... ... 341 xli. a last love gift ... ... ... 349 xlii. a family gathering ... ... 355 xliii. 'old faces' ... ... ... 362 xliv. Eunice's paradise ... ... ... 366 xlv. 'oh, first love! oh, last love !' ... 370 A WOMAN'S GLORY. CHAPTER I. ' oh that we two were maying !' The month was May; the time six o'clock in the evening; and the place a world-forgotten piece of land, where the ruins of an old sea-fortress were slowly crumbling away. The tide was high, so high that it washed the sturdy Roman wall which had withstood its encroachments for many a century; and two persons, seated just out of reach of the waves, were languidly watching their advances on the shore. A girl of twenty, and a man about six years older, were dreaming away golden hours in that quiet nook by the water-side. The man, who lounged on the beach with a certain easy grace, could boast of little to distinguish him at a first glance from other men of his class. His face was oval, with deli- cate features and a sallow-fair complexion; his figure, slightly made, did not rise above middle height. But, fragile as he seemed, the soldier was legibly stamped upon him ; and you knew instinctively that the sleepy eyes, now shining softly in the evening sunlight, could be keen and watchful enough in front of the foe. Under that habitual air of insouciance lay the cool courage and ready daring which our drawing-room 2 A WOMAN'S GLORY. triflers have so often displayed in the day of battle. But this was the day of peace; and Victor Ashburn was enjoying it after his own idle fashion. 4 Nice old place, Seacastle,' he said lazily. 4 I had no idea that I was going to get so fond of it. But then, of course, I didn't know ' 4 Didn't know what?' demanded his companion. 4 That I should find you here, and be so jolly, and that sort of thing.' 41 haven't found it particularly jolly,' said the girl discon- tentediy. 4 It's a dreadful place to live in year after year, I can tell you.' 4 But you have not lived here many years, you sweet grumbler!' 4 Four years, or rather four ages ! It seems as if an indefi- nite number of dreary summers and winters had crawled by, while I've been getting 44 rusted with a vile repose." The first twelvemonth was not so bad; I had just left school, and any change was agreeable to the girlish mind. But after I had become intimately acquainted with everybody in the village, and they had all made themselves familiar with the weak points of my character, the torture began.' 4 You shouldn't have got intimate with the people. In nine cases out of ten, intimacies are a mistake.' 4 Ah, it is easy to see that you have never lived in a very small sphere ! You may just as well tell the old castle-wall that it shouldn't get intimate with the waves. Of course it shouldn't. They are gradually wearing away the masonry, and creeping a little farther into its crevices everyday; but there it has got to stay, and be quietly worn out.' 4 But why compare yourself with those inanimate stones ?' asked Victor Ashburn, actually becoming so interested in the conversation that he propped himself upon his elbow for half a minute. 4 You have got plenty of intelligence, and a strong will of your own.' 'True; but intelligence and will are but feeble barriers 'OH THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING/' 3 against the persistency of the Seacastle folk. They come in like a flood, and find their way into every cranny of your innermost life. You cannot have any good or evil happen to you without their knowledge. If you are seized with a fit of indigestion, they have seen the attack coming on, and have got a dose all ready for you to take. And they stand over you steadily till you do take it. The only way to be at peace here, is to renounce independence of action and privacy of thought.' 'And is'that what you have done? I can't believe that Bride Netterville would submit tamely to such bondage !' She smiled a little pensively. ' It is just because I cannot submit tamely, that I don't get on with my neighbours,' she answered. ' If I could only accept my fate, and let them have their will with me, all would go comfortably enough. But I must needs make a little show of resistance, and that accounts for my unpopu- larity. They don't like me.' It would be very difficult to dislike her, Victor thought, gazing at her from under his heavy eyelids; that is, it would be very difficult for a man to dislike her. But then, the population of Seacastle was chiefly composed of women. Her straw hat lay beside her on the beach, and the golden atmosphere invested her head with a soft glow that reminded Victor of a portrait by Giorgione. Her hair, a warm brown shading off into ruddy gold, harmonized perfectly with the cream tints of her skin; but the eyebrows and lashes were very dark, adding a deep shadow to the large blue eyes. Those eyes seemed to be always musing, even when the mouth was faintly smiling; and faint smiles were more frequent with Bride than any others. Everything about this girl was delicate and refined, from the chiselling of her features to the shape of the little hands, lying loosely clasped in her lap. There was an unconscious stateliness, too, in her movements, and a peculiar quietness 4 A WOMAN'S GLORY. in her voice, oddly at variance, sometimes, with the senti- ments that she uttered. 'Seacastle is a delusive old place,' she went on; 'it holds out all kinds of romantic possibilities, and perpetually disap- points you. For months I lived on the hope of discovering a subterraneous passage in the old castle; of course there ought to be one inside that grim square tower. But there isn't; and what do you find within its walls? Nothing but roughly-boarded floors and bits of paper and orange-peel—■ traces of those excursionists whose " customs are nasty, and their manners, none."' ' But the village is really pretty; don't be too hard upon it!' ' Pretty, if you only walk through it in the beginning of the summer, and are careful to hold your nose.' 4 Why, there are big gardens, full of sweet-smelling flowers!' ' And no drainage at all to speak of! Then, too, there is a scarcity of trees; and I can find no hawthorn save the pink sort that grows in the shrubberies.' '"Oh, that we two were maying !"' chanted Victor, in his lazy tenor. ' Shall we go over the hills and far away ? ' 'We need not go over the hills to find hawthorn. There is plenty on that little island, and nobody goes to gather it.' She pointed to an islet, rising out of the sunshiny sea, and showing its soft greenness above the surrounding blue. It was but a little way off—just far enough to be glorified by distance; and the intervening space of water was asleep in a sunny calm, scarcely stirred by the gentle breath of a faint breeze. Victor's eyes followed the direction of her finger, and his face suddenly assumed a look of positive animation. ' By Jove, we'll go there !' he said, beginning to stir him- self in earnest. ' The place isn't peopled with Calibans, or anything disagreeable, I suppose ?' ' I have never been there,' she replied. ' But I know that there are neither people nor cattle on Hawthorn Island, There is a farm; but it is untenanted at present.' 'OH THAT WE TWO WE'RE MAYING /' 5 4 Then we'll take old Rumsey's boat, and be off at once. I've been wanting to give you a row.' 4 We cannot take Rumsey's boat without telling him.' 4 Nonsense J it would waste ever so much time to get to him, and the evening is slipping away. You have a shawl ? That's right; it may be chill on the water.' 41 must not go,' said Bride, still keeping her seat. 'Hannah will be expecting me, you know.' .'What does it matter about Hannah?' he asked, with a touch of fretfulness that was perfectly boyish. 'Your uncle and aunt are not at home, and there is no reason why you shouldn't enjoy yourself. We shall be back again very soon.' 41 think we had better not go.' 'Oh, why not? Why did you put the island into my head, if you did not mean to go there ?' 4 Let us forget it,' she said, picking up a stone, and throw- ing it away. 41 did want to go; but people would talk if we chanced to be seen in the boat, making for an uninhabited spot.' 4 No one can see us from the windows of the houses. Besides, everybody is gone to the fete at Marsham ; the village is delightfully empty. Afid we shall be back again in a very little while; long before we can possibly be missed.' There was a silence; just one of those slight pauses in which lives are made or marred, reputations saved or blighted, heaven itself won or lost. 4 Come,' he pleaded,4 why will you lose golden moments ? 44 It is not always May;" perhaps we shall never have another evening like this.' The faint ring of sadness in his voice touched her, and called forth a long sigh. 4 We shall want some pleasant memories to feed on by- and-by,' he added gently. By-and-by ! To him it might mean change, fresh pleasures, 6 A WOMAN'S GLORY. gay companions; but her 1 by-and-by' would be poor and bare enough. A girl's colourless life and tame occupations; days made bitter with unsatisfied longings, or wasted in sweet foolish dreams: this was all that she had to look forward to. '1 will go,' she said, suddenly looking up, and rising from her seat. His face instantly brightened, and they walked down the slope of the beach to old Rumsey's boat. Not a single human being was to be seen, and no sound of village life met their ears; the world around them seemed to be lulled to sleep by the sweetness and stillness of the time. And it was with a strange thrill of freedom and delight that Bride felt the boat moving, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the hour. It was an evening of pure lights and delicate shadows, with no deep colours in earth or sky. The scene was full of soft greys and greens, all touched with a tender shine of gold; and the tint of the water was a pale azure. Every object was distinctly outlined, and yet idealized in the ' saintly clearness ' of the air ; and Hawthorn Island, with its clusters of trees and farm-buildings, became a veritable Eden in Bride's eyes. At first it was pleasure enough to let her glance wander from the little isle to the shining sea around it, and then to the adjacent shores, all green with summer grass. But presently her eyes rested on the slim oarsman, pulling with long, steady strokes; and then a faint colour tinged her cheeks, and the smile that answered his was sweeter, yet shyer, than it had ever been before. There was a change, too, in the face she gazed upon : a swift, subtle change that half troubled, and wholly gladdened her. The dark-grey eyes looked deeply into hers ; the old insouciant languor was gone. It was a moment of involuntary revelations, although both were silent; and both were trying to forget the word 4 to-morrow.' Stern realities and hard ' OH THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING!' 7 facts were put away from their thoughts: what had they to do with the future while they were together, and the present was so entirely their own ? At length the boat grated on the shallows, close to a spot which had evidently been often used as a landing-place, and Bride sprang lightly on shore. ' It is even prettier than I thought!' she cried, climbing up a rough bank, and finding herself on a piece of level ground. Away to right and left stretched the greensward, dotted with little bushes here and there, and gay with the profusion of wildflowers which early summer always scatters over untrodden ways. The sod was sweet with those wild herbs which grow where human footsteps seldom come; and thymy scents were crushed out by the light pressure of Bride's little feet. After making fast the boat, Victor followed her; and the pair strolled slowly along a beaten track that led straight to the farm. The house was simply one of those substantial old farm- houses which are built to stand the test of time and weather : quaint little casements peeped out of the gambrel-roof, and twinkled in the westering sun; but the lawn-windows were shuttered, and the door securely closed. There was a garden, which was fast becoming a wilderness : large moon- daisies had sprung up among the rose-bushes; wild camo- mile choked the paths, and buttercups flaunted over modest tufts of white pinks and pansies. Around the farm-build- ings, and all over the island, flourished the hawthorns which gave the place its name, and made it a very paradise of sweetness and bloom. Stately trees grew there too: oak and ash whispered the old lore of the merry greenwood, and the leaf-music was as sweet as the ripple of the tide. The pair who had come to this spot were only cut off from the neighbouring shores by a little space of water, and yet they felt themselves completely severed from the world. 8 A WOMAN'S GLORY. The sense of isolation, in its earliest stages, is generally sweet; both were young enough to delight in anything that had the flavour of an adventure; and both were wilful enough to enjoy the consciousness of being truants, escaped from the school of propriety and conventionalism. They laughed together over little incidents with the gaiety of children; broke off boughs of hawthorn, and piled them in a scented heap upon the grass; and crept on tiptoe to a bush to peep into a bird's nest. It was like breaking into the prose of life with an idyl, as fresh and pastoral as ever was sung in olden times. At last the deepening gold in the west warned them that their little poem must come to an end. The sky-colours were growing warmer; the shadows had gained in depth, and gathered soft purples as the day waned; and the transparent sea-tints caught the mellow amber of evening. Even the grim tower of Seacastle took a touch of glory from the sinking sun, and a faint mist began to creep along the old walls, and dim the outlines of the shore. ' I have been so happy!' sighed Bride, looking westward with wistful eyes. Victor drew closer to her side. It was their last moment on this enchanted island, the last golden drop left in their cup of delight. ' Bride,' he said, taking her hand in his,' I have been hap- pier than words can say; and I want to thank you now, dear, for all the pleasure you have given me. A man has worries and difficulties in his life that a woman can never know. But I will not talk about my troubles; I will only tell you that you have helped me to bear them. There are unspoken sympathies, Bride—affinities that comfort one unawares.' ' I know it,' she answered. 'We have known each other six weeks,' he went on; ' and yet we are better acquainted than some couples who have lived under one roof for six years. I feel that you have taken root in my very life.' 'OH THAT WE TWO WERE MAYING!' 9 ' You are going away in a few days,' she said, in a low voice. ' Yes, I am going—going to scramble out of my sea of perplexities as well as I can. If it were not for all these bothers of mine, there should be no good-bye between us. I love you, Bride.' The last words escaped his lips in spite of an effort to keep them back. Just for one moment his arms closed round her, and he kissed her cheek, and felt her tremble in his clasp. ' Let us go now,' she said earnestly. ' I am afraid we have stayed too long. It is growing late.' In silence they walked away from the hawthorns, leaving their fragrant spoils forgotten on the grass. A soft wind was rising, setting the trees rustling and the wildflowers quivering, as they hastened down the slope to the landing- place. The little wavelets were washing over white stones and masses of silky green weed, and the sea was getting more and more golden in the low sunlight. But the boat was gone. CHAPTER II. ' she lookit east, and she lookit west.' ' The deuce!' Any woman who has heard that exclamation uttered in a low tone by an undemonstrative man, must surely know what it portends. It is his way of admitting that he has pulled up in front of a barrier that he cannot overleap, and that the demon, who so often thwarts ' the best-laid schemes of men and mice,' has been too much for him at last. And Bride, although inexperienced in masculine nature, had not 10 A WOMAN'S GLORY. spent six weeks in daily intercourse with Victor Ashburn without learning something from the companionship. She made no despairing outcry; but her lips whitened in a moment, and a shiver passed over her frame. A woman of slower understanding would have poured forth a hundred suggestions, all equally valueless; but this girl took in the hopelessness of the situation at a glance, and accepted it in silence. ' Could I swim there, I wonder, and bring back a boat ?' said Victor, after a moment's pause. He could not. A stout swimmer, trained to his work, might have braved the strong current, and gained the oppo- site shore in safety; but Victor was wholly out of training, and the feat was beyond his powers. ' You would only drown yourself,' remarked Bride, in the quietest of tones; 1 and that would not mend the matter at all.' ' I almost think it would,' he muttered. ' Only that drowning is too good for me.' She looked at him with all the womanly sweetness stealing back into her face. 1 It is as much my fault as yours,' she said generously. 4 Didn't I put the island into your head 1' The golden lights were fast changing into dusky saffron, and the sunset glitter was dying off the waves. As the glory faded, the chill breath of night came sighing over the sea, bringing a fresh sense of helplessness and misery to Bride Netterville, and blanching her face once more. She thought of old Hannah, watching patiently through long hours, and then going forth in desperation to give the alarm to the village. She pictured the shocked looks, the clamour of voices, and the general consternation that poor Hannah's tidings would call forth; and then, last of all, the inevitable construction that would be put upon her disap- pearance. She had been last seen in his company. Well did she remember the peculiar nod of disapprobation < SHE LOOKIT EAST, AND SHE L00K1T WEST: n bestowed upon her by a certain Mrs. Goad, who had met her walking with Victor through the village street. The absence of her uncle and aunt, too, gave a darker colour to the affair. It must appear to everyone as if she had purposely slipped off while her lawful guardians were away; and altogether it seemed to Bride that all ' the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune' were turned against her at that moment. Unconsciously her hands met; and the slim fingers were interlaced in an anguish which was denied any other form of expression. ' My poor child !' said Victor, with a world of tenderness in his sad voice. ' I little thought that I should ever have brought you to such a pass as this. If only I could save you from their confounded tongues ' 'You cannot,' she interrupted mournfully. 'As I said before, the fault is as much mine as yours, and I must dree my weird. But oh, Captain Ashburn, I have been a wilful girl from beginning to end 1' The words died away in a sob, and wrung a bitter groan from the man by her side. ' You must not stay here,' he said, after a pause of troubled thought. ' The wind is blowing up cold from the sea; we will go back to the farm, and find a sheltered spot. Poor child, how white and chilled you look already !' ' It will be only a short night,' she answered, plucking up spirit again. ' There will be boats pulling out from Seacastle at early morning; and we can make signals. Something is sure to turn up for us, you know.' ' I hope so,' he replied, with a sigh. They retraced their steps, slowly mounting the rugged bank again, and crossing the flowery green. The little island, with the night softly descending upon it, was as sweet, or sweeter, than it had been in the sunshine. Every perfumed thing that grew upon the spot sent out its fragrance, from the faintly scented elder to the mint and balm in the neglected garden. A smothered chirp or two 12 A WOMAN'S GLORY. came from a sleepy bird. Leaves whispered those mysteri- ous secrets which they never reveal by day; a few white petals drifted down from the abundant bloom of the haw- thorn. Then a nightingale was heard. Clear trills and shakes came trembling through the twilight, and Bride's troubled heart began to yield to the spell of melody and peace. 4 Isn't it lovely here ?' she said. 41 could fancy myself in a bit of fairyland, and I think I feel something like a damsel spirited away by the elves.' 41 wish we could make the Seacastle people believe that you had been spirited away. It would be such a splendid way of accounting for the adventure,' said Victor gloomily. 4 If I could only be Bonny Kilmeny!' sighed Bride. 'They wafted her off to "the land of thocht," and gave her the gift of eternal bloom. ' "When seven lang years had cumit and fled, When grief was calm, and hope was dead, When scarce was rememberit Kilmeny's name, Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame." ' Victor Ashburn looked down into the beautiful face, pale in the dusky light. It was almost too fair at that moment, he thought, to belong to a mortal maiden. Her voice, naturally plaintive, deepened the pathos of the quaint old lines, and toned well with the soft sounds around them. An everyday life, such as his had been, does not always quench the faculty of imagination. This girl's fanciful talk had a singular charm for him. 'Who are you, Bride?' he asked, between jest and earnest. 4 There is something a little unearthly about you —something that makes me believe you are half a fairy.' 41 wish I could end our difficulties by dissolving into the night-mist,' she answered lightly. 4 But there is a touch of mystery in my life, I confess.' 'You must tell me all about yourself; more than you have ever told me yet. It will help us to forget our mis- 1 SHE LOOICIT EAST, AND SHE LOOKIT WEST.1 13 fortunes. But first let us examine the farm before it grows darker; I will find a roof to cover you if I can.' They walked slowly round the old house, but doors and windows were found to be well secured. The dwelling had not been untenanted long enough for rust and decay to begin their work, and no way of ingress could be found. 'I am glad we can't get in,' said Bride, with a little shudder; ' empty houses are always full of ghosts. Let us try the outbuildings; they don't look quite so eerie.' Here their investigations were carried on with better success. The doors of barn and stable were padlocked; but there was a long low shed which had no door at all, and Victor, on entering, was glad to see the floor littered with hay, and a couple of trusses of straw in a corner. ' I can find no fitter resting-place for you, poor child !' he said regretfully. ' Anyhow it will be better for you to sleep here than to stay out of doors all night, and I will mount guard outside.' 'But I am not in the least drowsy,' replied Bride. ' Not yet; but you will be very tired before morning, and faint with hunger, I am afraid. As for myself, I wish I could forget the vulture that gnaws within me.' 'Let me sing to you,' she suggested, with ready cheerful- ness. ' I am sure you are in a worse case than I am ; it is such a dreadful thing for a man to miss his dinner. We will sit here, just within the shelter of the doorway, and you shall hear some of my' old ballads.' ' You shall sing me one song,' he answered. "'Kathleen Mavourneen;" it will be sweet enough to drive dull care away.' Never, perhaps, had Bride's rich voice been heard to greater advantage. She sang as only those can sing who delight in their own music ; and when at last her clear notes died away, the sea and the trees took up the melody, and murmured it all night through to Victor Ashburn. It B 14 A WOMANS GLORY. haunted him, too, through many other nights when the singer was far off, and the little island had become only a shadowy remembrance. He knew, as he listened, that there is always one £ voice of the heart' that is never silenced till the heart itself is still. < Talk to me about yourself, Bride,' he said, breaking the pause that followed the song. ' Begin with your earliest recollections. You have often told me that you did not belong to Seacastle.' ' I was born near London,' she replied. ' Uncle Andrew was minister of a Presbyterian Chapel there, and my mother died in his house soon after my birth.' 'And your father?' ' Ah, that is my little mystery ! I have never once seen him, and he does not even write to me. Aunt Margery hears from him sometimes, and he sends her money, I suppose; but she never tells me anything about him. She even contrives to baffle the Seacastle people by simply saying that he is in bad health, and lives abroad. Nobody can get any more out of her than that; and Uncle Andrew is quite as reserved as she is.' A very natural suspicion found its way into Victor Ashburn's mind; but her next words put it to flight. ' Hannah was present at my mother's marriage,' she went on. 'But when I ask her questions I can never get any satisfactory answers. I used to think that my father must be a pirate captain, like Cleveland, but I have given up that notion. Pirates always send home pearls and massive gold ornaments to their families, and I have never had even a coral necklace.' 'Too bad,'said Victor sympathizingly. 'He ought to send you presents, of course; but I should object to see you bedizened with gold and coral. Flowers are the most fitting ornaments for you to wear.' 'Well, I don't care much for jewellery, you know, but I should like to have a token of remembrance. For years SHE LOOKIT EAST, AND SHE LOOKIT WEST: 15 and years I used to expect my father's return; it was a favourite dream of mine. I always pictured him a tall dark stranger, wrapped in a cloak, and standing at the door in the moonlight. At the sight of me he started, extended his arms, and exclaimed : " Ha ! my child; behold thy long-lost sire!"' ' There is no mystery in the matter,' said Victor, laughing. ' You may rely upon it that he is merely a confirmed invalid with roving habits. But you are fond of the Ormistons ?' 'Very fond of them, especially of Uncle Andrew. You can't imagine what a charming companion he is, and what delightful stories he can tell—stories of fairies and witches, and sanguinary tales of the Covenanting days.' But Victor did not want to hear about Covenanters. ' I wish this was the Island of Monte Cristo,' he said, suppressing a yawn. ' Ah, Bride, if we could only return to the opposite shore with our pockets stuffed with diamonds, we might set all the tongues at defiance !' She was silent, and he gazed moodily out into the gloam- ing, until he heard a stifled sob by his side. ' Poor pet! poor darling !' he murmured sadly. ' I knew that brave spirit would break down at last! You don't know what it costs me, dear, to see you suffer, and have no power to help you !' ' I have been wilful,' sighed Bride. ' Aunt Margery said that—that people would talk if you and I were always mooning about together. But I went on in spite of warn- ings, and this is the end of it.' He stretched his arms towards her, and then drew back again. 'Your words sting me,' he muttered. 'It's the old story: " evil is wrought by want of thought." We began our intercourse just to pass away the time in a dull place, and then it grew too sweet to be given up.' She had stayed her sobs, but dared not trust her voice to speak. b 2 i6 A WOMAN'S GLORY. He rose hastily, and paced up and down with quick strides before the doorway of the shed. 'You are a mere girl, dear,' he said, stopping in his hurried walk at last, ' and you are all the sweeter for that girlishness. A woman of the world would understand my position without any explanations. I am fettered with embarrassments, Bride; mean fetters, that are more like brambles than anything else. They cling to me always, and if I tear one away, another clasps me. Of course, they grew out of my early recklessness and self-indulgence, and I have never been able to get rid of them.' ' Oh,' she sighed, ' I did not dream' that you had any troubles! I have quite envied your life sometimes; it seemed so pleasant and free.' ' I believe I am as happy as most men of my class,' he answered, more composedly. 'That is, I was tolerably comfortable till I got fond of you; life is becoming almost unendurable now! But I must not talk nonsense, pet: it will only make us both wretched. Try to get some rest. " Thou art inclined to sleep; 'tis a good dulness." ' But poor Bride's sleep was not so sound as the slumber of Miranda. She retired in silence to the corner of the shed to court repose on her couch of straw; and youth and weari- ness so far prevailed over a troubled spirit, that she did indeed fall into a doze. Her dreams were of that uncanny kind that often visit us when we lie down burdened in soul. Now she was in a boat gliding over smooth waters, while Victor, a drowning man, besought her in vain for aid. With a miserable sense of helplessness, she stretched out her hands towards him. And then the vision vanished, and another came in its place. She saw herself arrayed in white robes, and wearing an orange-blossom wreath: a bride, waiting at the altar for a bridegroom who never came. Fingers were pointed at her, as if in scorn; strange voices rang in her ears; and she ' SHE LOO KIT EAST, AND SHE LOOKIT WEST,!' 17 looked around for familiar faces, and only saw the cold eyes of strangers turned upon her in disdain. Waking up with a start, she found the soft light of a summer dawn stealing into the shed. Victor was at the doorway, speaking in a quick, eager tone. ' A boat is coming to us !' he cried. ' It's one of the Seacastle fishing-boats. We shall get back before the village is astir!' Still dreamy and bewildered, Bride crept out into the sweet morning air, to find that the hopes of last night were realized. A waterman and his boy had put off from the opposite shore to cast their nets near Hawthorn Island, and Victor's signals had been quickly perceived. The boat, rowed by two sturdy pairs of arms, was rapidly nearing the landing; the time*of relief had come indeed, and suspense and anxiety were at an end. The man and his son were no strangers to Bride. Aunt Margery Ormiston had often bought the fish that they brought to her door, and both were perfectly well acquainted with Miss Netterville. A few words from Victor explained the predicament; and then, in utter silence, the pair were rowed back to Seacastle, and landed at the very spot from which they had pushed off before sunset. They parted at the landing-place, with scarcely any form of leave-taking. Victor lingered to pay the watermen for their services ; and Bride, like a. scared, half-guilty creature, hurried desperately along the silent street of the village. A walk of a few minutes brought her to the gate of a thatched cottage, standing back from the road, and half smothered in creepers and roses. An elderly woman, shading her weary eyes with her hand, stood waiting at the open door. ' Thank God!' she murmured, as the girl hastened towards her. 4 It's been an awful night, my dearie; and I was all alone, and knew not what to do ! Ah me ! you are as wan as a ghost, poor child 1' i8 A WOMAN'S GLORY. Bat the strength which had nerved Bride until she had gained her home, failed her suddenly when she found hersel. safe within its walls. She tottered as she entered the little breakfast-room, and was caught in Hannah's strong arms before she fell. Some minutes elapsed before consciousness came back; and when at last she was able to sit up and take food, it was no easy task to tell her story. Hannah's face grew graver and graver as she listened; but while her faithful heart sank within her, she strove to comfort her nursling. ' It will never be forgotten while I live in this place !' the girl sobbed. ' Years may come and go, but it will still be remembered against me. Oh, Hannah, what is to be done ?' 'Take courage, dearie,' the good woman answered. 'You must just live your daily life as usual, Miss Bride, and let folks talk till they are tired of the matter. The longest tongue will stop wagging at last.' * If I could only go away from Seacastle !' said Bride, in a despairing tone. 'No, dearie, that wouldn't be the best way. There are gossips who would say worse things behind our backs, than they would dare to say if we stayed and faced them. Be quiet and calm ; and if people speak to you about the mis- hap, just answer them straightforwardly, and tell them how it happened, that's all. But now, try to get a little rest before the master and mistress come home; it would grieve them sorely to see you look so worn and white.' And Bride allowed herself to be soothed, and lay quietly on her little bed, watching the dance of leaves about the casement, and the sunbeams at play upon the broad window-sill. Sheltered, consoled, and caressed, it was hard to realize that a heavy price must be paid for the folly of last night. Youth is slow to believe in the consequences of its mis- doings; but middle age is always deploring its mistakes, and 1 MY HEART GROWS SAIR.' 19 looking out feverishly for evil results. While Bride, lulled by a sense of safety, sank into a peaceful sleep, Hannah was vexing the spirit with the fear of ill to come. CHAPTER III. 'when i look east, my heart grows sair.' Mrs. Collington, of Verbena Lodge, was aunt to Captain Ashburn, and might, if she had cared about the honour, have been the leading lady of the village. But having once queened it as belle and beauty through two seasons in town, she was utterly indifferent to any distinction that could be conferred upon her by Seacastle. A general's widow, with ample means, she had stayed in the world long enough to marry her daughter satisfactorily, and had then come down to the country with a good cook and a strong desire to end her days in peace. She had lived twelve months in Verbena Lodge, and there was only one person in Seacastle with whom she had con- descended to associate. That person was the Vicar, an amiable bachelor of seventy, who found her so agreeable that he was -quite ready to excuse the quiet haughtiness that excluded his flock. She was really delicate, he declared; her doctors had enjoined perfect repose, and she had entirely given up going into society. But as months passed on, it was found that Mrs. Colling- ton frequently had people to stay with her. Men and women, utterly unknown to the Seacastle world, came to Verbena Lodge, and revelled in its roses. And the guest who stayed longest, and attracted most notice, was a certain Miss Wallace, a beautiful woman of four or five and twenty. Seacastle girls secretly envied her dress and style, and 20 A WOMAN'S GLORY. would have been grateful for the smallest chance of begin- ning an acquaintance. But the beauty appeared to be tranquilly unconscious of their existence; and even Mrs. Goad, the most dauntless matron in the village, would hardly have ventured to brave the calm stare of Miss Wallace's splendid hazel eyes. It was through the simple-minded Vicar that Captain Ashburn had obtained an introduction to the Ormistons, and their young niece. He had persuaded the clergyman to take him to the old minister's cottage, under the pretence of examining some rare books; and then he had followed up his advantage with true military tact and skill. To the rest of Seacastle he was as calmly indifferent as Mrs. Collington herself. But Bride, singled out as an object of special atten- tion, had incurred a good many animosities, and not a few unpleasant speeches, from the neglected fair ones of the place. After parting with Miss Netterville at the landing-place, Victor Ashburn had struck across the fields to Verbena Lodge, and had let himself in with a latch-key. Before breakfast was over, everyone in the house was made acquainted with the adventure of the preceding night, and Victor read the knowledge in the face of the servant who brought his coffee upstairs. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when he left his room. The luncheon-hour had found him too sleepy to come down, and cutlets had been benevolently sent to his chamber. But it was impossible to stay up there all day. The world had to be faced ; yet, with genuine masculine cowardliness, he put off facing it as long as he could. The garden was a place of refuge. There all one's troubles might be brooded over in delightful silence, and a cigarette smfoked in peace. Mrs. Collington, seated in her most luxurious chair, with her feet upon her favourite footstool, was bewailing herself with gentle sighs to her friend, Miss Wallace. 'MY HEART GROWS SAIR.' 21 ' This is a very unpleasant affair, Cora,' she said. ' I am sorry now that I invited Victor here; but how could one suppose that a man would do any mischief in a place like this ? I'm sure I didn't know that there was a pretty girl to be found in the village. In fact I had a general impression that the women were all ugly and dowdy to the last degree. And I'm really fond of Victor, don't you know.' ' He is agreeable,' admitted Cora Wallace. ' Yes; he has nice, soft, lounging ways, which make him pleasant in a house. I never could endure a. loud man with a great fund of animal spirits. That is why it is such a trial to have Maud's husband down here; he will talk perpetually in a comic strain, and be so dreadfully bluff and hearty! However, he was an excellent match for my poor darling.' ' I don't think there is any harm done,' said Cora, reverting to the subject first started. ' The whole thing will be merely a nine days' wonder. And after all, as the girl is not in society, it doesn't matter much. It will not affect her future prospects in the least.' ' Have you ever noticed her ?' inquired Mrs. Collington languidly. ' She is good-looking, I suppose ? Has the charm of youth, and that sort of thing? ' ' The charm of youth is absurdly overrated,' replied Miss Wallace, with rather a grim smile. 'Everybody talks of it, and nobody admires it. Girls never know how to make a good use of youth till it has fled ; as soon as they have got over their young gawkiness they are staid women. It takes half a life-time to learn how to wear a frock properly, and sit down and get up in good style.' ' Perfectly true, Cora. But about this poor Miss Butter- worth ?' ' Netterville. It is by no means a plebeian name. - Yes, I have noticed her with some interest. She is pretty —indeed, more than pretty. A little careful training and dressing would make her a beauty of the first order.' 22 A WOMAN'S GLORY. ' Good gracious, Cora! I had no idea that she was so awfully attractive. Of course, I wouldn't have exposed Victor to danger on any account. Why, she has had no end of opportunities ! They have been maundering and daundering together every day since he has been here. A sea-shore always does lead to so much philandering; I have known some most undesirable matches come to pass through fooling among sea-weed and shells. Think of all the trouble that Maud gave me in the Isle of Wight— picking up. mussels, and hiding behind rocks with Captain Ludlow ! And the perils I went through in scrambling after them, to see what they were about!' ' Don't excite yourself, dear Mrs. Collington,' said Miss Wallace, tranquilly amused. ' I was merely speaking of the possibilities latent in Miss Netterville. She isn't at all dangerous in her undeveloped state, and your nephew is too sensible to ' ' ' Oh, yes, poor fellow ! And too much embarrassed. It was quite too ridiculous of me to get frightened; but my nerves are unstrung. When Penton told me abruptly, this morning, that Victor and Miss What's-her-name had been alone on a desert island all night, I was terribly upset. Servants are so inconsiderate.' 'And they do so delight in a scandal,' said Cora. ' Feminine nature in the servants' hall is much the same as it is in the drawing-room. We don't pull characters to pieces so roughly as our maids, perhaps ; but our work of destruction is quite as effectual. It is the sole amusement of which women never tire. They may get sick of husbands, lovers, and children, and fancy themselves weary of life. But give them a hint of a reputation to be demolished, and they will fly to the task as if the very thought of it gave them fresh strength.' Mrs. Collington's eyes sought her friend's face inquiringly for a moment. Cora had spoken with more energy than usual, and, perhaps, with a little more bitterness. 'MY HEART GROWS SAIR: 23 'You are right in the main, my dear,' she answered. ' But there are good women in the world; women who would rather patch up a character than tear it to shreds.' ' Dear Mrs. Collington, you are far more good-natured than most of the sex.' 'Perhaps I am; but mine is merely that kind of good nature which proceeds from laziness. It costs me no effort to be amiable. Yet there are women who can really be influenced by a high motive; I mean, by the desire to succour and save.' 'That is religion, I suppose,' said Cora coldly. 'It is the essence of religion. We recognize it as such when we have forgotten half the creeds.' There was a brief pause, and the widow's placid face looked unusually grave. Even the most serene spirits are sometimes troubled with sudden glimpses of duties left undone. There are swift lights that flash in now and then upon our selfish natures, and show us things that we would rather hide from our own eyes. 'Shall I go and hunt up our Don Juan?' asked Miss Wallace gaily. ' He is loafing dismally in the garden, and keeping his back to the windows.' ' Yes, do go,' responded Mrs. Collington with gratitude. ' Make him tell you how it all happened; and then come back and tell me what he says. I am so puzzled to know where they could possibly have found a desert island ! It must have been heaved up out of the sea on purpose for them.' 'It is evident that you have not studied the coast scenery,' said Cora, laughing, and taking a shady hat from the table. She was a queenly woman, dark-haired, but hardly ' brown enough to be termed a brunette. Her complexion had that faint tinge of olive which brings out the bright red of ripe lips and the soft carmine of the cheek. There was a cluster of yellow roses in the black lace that covered the 24 A WOMAN'S GLORY. hat; and all the advantages derived from dress, and careful choice of colours, were used to set off Miss Wallace's remarkable beauty. Seacastle was marvellously rich in gardens, and Verbena Lodge had its paradise of bloom, shut in by mouldering brick walls. May held a feast of roses in this favoured spot; sheltered from sharp winds, and nourished by a kindly soil, they came early to perfection. Lilacs had flowered themselves to death, but laburnums swung golden tresses in the soft air; it was a time that made you forget yourself, and become a part of this little world of blossoms. Victor, after vaguely enjoying perfume and sunshine for some minutes, looked about for an object to divert him from unpleasant meditations, and fixed upon a spider's *web. ' What are you doing ?' asked a clear voice behind him. ' Good day, Miss Wallace,' he said, wheeling sharply round and lifting his hat. ' I'm disappointing this brute by taking away his flies ; that's .all. Look, here goes another!' ' A sweet and kindly sport. The Humane Society ought to give you a medal.' 'I am too modest to make my merits known. But I flatter myself that with practice I might become the most successful baffler of spiders that the world has yet seen. How is my aunt to-day 1" 'Very much concerned about you, and longing to hear the true history of last night,' replied Cora, smiling. ' But I tell her it will all be forgotten in a month. You are going off to India, and there will be nothing to revive an interest in the adventure.' Victor's sallow cheek flushed. Those lightly uttered words, 'You are going off to India,' fell like a sharp stroke upon his aching heart. There had never been anything deeper than ordinary acquaintance between Cora and himself. Yet, as a man and woman of the world, they had thought that they perfectly understood each other. 1 MY HEART GROWS SAIR25 How could she suppose that the idea of leaving England had now become an agony? Two months ago he would himself have laughed at anyone who had talked of regrets and sorrowful farewells. ' It was the most unlucky affair I ever knew,' he began, rather awkwardly. ' I thought I'd made the boat fast ' ' Old Rumsey's boat, wasn't it ? He'll demand a fabulous sum for compensation.' ' He's always .good-natured when he's a little screwed. I shall be base enough to ply him with liquor before we discuss the subject. It was an old brute of a boat that couldn't have held together much longer. But this is a wretched business. I am sorry for her sake, you understand ?' 'Take my advice—treat the whole thing lightly,' said Cora. ' Nothing is ever gained by being too serious. Laugh yourself, and others will laugh too. You know how easy it is to start a joke.' Victor's brow cleared a little. 'Miss Netterville is awfully upset,' he said; 'and the fault was all mine. She didn't want to go to that con- founded island at all. She only consented out of good- nature. I must have been a greater fool than usual, when I took her there, poor child !' Cora gave him a keen glance. Was this distress nothing deeper than the chivalrous regret of a gentleman who feels that he has unwittingly compromised an innocent girl? She could not quite fathom his feelings yet; but she spoke with the ready tact of a clever woman. 'I dare say she was terribly worried; it was a most disagreeable position to be placed in. I will call at her house by-and-by, and ask how she is.' ' Will you really be so good ?' exclaimed Victor eagerly. ' It would be the best and kindest thing! I was going there myself; but I'm afraid Mr. and Mrs. Ormiston will hate the sight of me now. The old lady has never encouraged my visits.' 26 A WOMAN'S GLORY. 'All prudent dowagers frown on danglers,' remarked Cora lightly. 'I should be a perfect dragon, myself, if I had to be chaperon to a young girl. But we will make a call together, Captain Ashburn.' Again Victor looked and spoke his gratitude. He was perfectly aware that any mark of attention coming from Verbena Lodge would help to set Bride beyond the reach of slanderous tongues. 'There is no need for delay,' said Miss Wallace, moving towards the house. ' I will tell Mrs. Collington what we are going to do. She is so good-natured that she is sure to approve of our plan.' The widow had not changed her attitude of luxurious repose, and looked, as she always did, the very impersona- tion of matronly dignity. If, in the course of her life, she had ever known a trouble, it had not left the slightest mark- upon her face. Serene, comfortable, and admirably dressed in the quietest taste, she was still quite handsome enough to give one a fair idea of the beauty that she had possessed in her prime. She read little, worked less, and appeared to pass most of her time in a state of pleasant reverie. ' There is no joy but calm' was her motto ; and so perfectly trained were her servants, that guests came and went without giving her any trouble. Her house was always in order; her table always supplied with the fare she liked best, and her home sedulously guarded from the small worries that beset less fortunate establishments. To feel disturbed was such a new sensation, that she was disposed to regard herself as personally injured by Victor's misadventure. And yet, as she sat in her shady room, with her favourite flowers around her, she could not help thinking a little about the young girl who had been compromised by her nephew's thoughtlessness. The Ormistons and their niece were retiring people. They had never made efforts to force their acquaintance upon her, as Mrs. Goad had done, and 'MY HEART GROWS SAIR.' 2 7 they were, moreover, respected and liked by Mr. Bassett, the Vicar. It was too provoking to think that Victor had brought discomfort into such a quiet family, and Mrs. Collington began to feel that she should like to do some- thing to make amends. ' Captain Ashburn is quite miserable,' said Cora, coming to her side, and speaking in a low tone. ' He says it was all his fault, and I believe it was. So I think, Mrs. Collington, that I will call on the poor girl, and let the village know that I feel kindly towards her. Don't you see that it will be the right thing to do ?' ' Certainly, my dear Cora. And I wish you to ask her to dine here to-morrow. It is Victor's last day; there can be no harm in sanctioning an intimacy that is so soon to be ended.' 'Then Captain Ashburn and I will go to the Ormistons' house this very afternoon. He will not be happy till we have shown them some civility.' A few minutes later Miss Wallace and Victor Ashburn were walking through the village street on their way to the old minister's dwelling. Eager eyes surveyed them furtively through lace curtains, for the Seacastle ladies were adepts in the art of seeing without being seen, and feminine curiosity had now reached its height. Mr. Ormiston's house, known as The Nest, was one of the smallest cottages in the place. So thickly was it covered with ivy and creepers, that the colour of its walls could scarcely be seen; and the boughs of chestnut and walnut trees stretched far over its low-thatched roof. Seen in the afternoon sunshine, and muffled up in the luxuriance of May flowers and foliage, it was a perfect bower of blossom and greenery. It could boast of only two stories, and under its broad eaves the swallows found a comfortable shelter year after year. • There was always a flutter of wings about the little house; and endless chirping and twittering went on from dawn till dusk, for the inmates of The Nest 23 A WOMAN'S GLORY. were on the best of terms with the birds. Small latticed casements, set deep in ivy, were opened to admit the soft air; and the door stood open too, under a porch that was laden with a mass of green. Cora regarded this rustic cot with an amused smile, and wondered how it was possible for anybody to live in it. ' It must be full of earwigs and snails,' she said, as Victor opened the gate. ' I should not like to pass even a single night under that dreadful thatch ; but I suppose there are people who can get used to anything !' CHAPTER IV. 'SHY SHE WAS, AND I THOUGHT HER COLD.' Two melancholy faces greeted Miss Wallace and her companion in the dim little parlour. The minister and his wife had come home, and Bride had related her unlucky adventure with much fear and trembling. Mrs. Ormiston had been severe in her censures. All her disregarded warnings were brought up against the ill- starred Bride; and the girl had not a word to throw at a dog. But when the good lady's wrath had nearly spent itself, her niece stole timidly to the minister's side, and, sitting down on a low stool, laid her head upon his knee. There were no words, but the attitude was eloquent. It spoke plainly of a wounded and humbled spirit, and Davie Deans himself might have been melted by the mute self-abasement expressed in that bowed head. A slighter sign of penitence would have moved Mr. Ormiston to condone a girlish indiscretion. He was one of those men in whom a stern creed was happily neutralized '/ THOUGHT HER COLD: 29 by a most gentle nature and a daily practice of charity. His sermons had been marred by ' hard sayings' that few could hear and receive. But his life was so full of sweetness and gracious deeds, that men forgot the harsh doctrines he preached, and thought only of the perfect gospel that he lived. And when his voice failed, and he gave up his church, there were few who missed his wearisome elabor- ation of theology, but many who felt the loss of his everyday example and never-failing kindness. His wife understood the look that came into his eyes when Bride cast herself at his feet. Angry and excited as Mrs. Ormiston was, that look had power to seal her lips and soften her heart. 'We will speak no more about this matter, my bairn,' he said, laying his hand gently on the bright hair. ' There is a saying that " a wilfu' woman should be unco wise;" and maybe you will be guided by our wisdom in future, seeing that you cannot trust your own. But be happy now, dear, and shed no more tears.' There was still a Scotch accent lingering in the minister's speech. To listen to him was to think of the scent of heather braes. His simple words came fresh from an un- worldly heart, always tender and true. Bride looked at him with grateful eyes, and kissed his cheek in silence. The agitation of that little scene had left its traces on Mr. Ormiston and his wife. They were too unskilled in acting to receive their callers with a show of cheerfulness. But there was nothing churlish in their gravity. Miss Wallace found her task easier than she had expected, and seated herself in the dim little room quite at ease. A furtive glance at Victor convinced her that he was far from feeling self-possessed. Never, perhaps, had that illus- trious baffler of spiders been so desperately uncomfortable or so utterly dependent on the tact of a companion. But Cora, knowing all that was required of her, was equal to the occasion. c 3° A WOMAN'S GLORY. 'We came chiefly to inquire for Miss Netterville,' she said frankly. 'Mrs. Collington has been quite anxious. She persists in thinking that there has been a really dangerous adventure.' ' There was no danger, I think,' said the minister, in his quiet voice. 'The child was only frightened and distressed.' ' Ah, I suppose so. I have come to ask her to dine with us to-morrow. We want, you see, to hear the whole story from her own lips. Captain Ashburn does tell it so stupidly,' added Cora, smiling at him playfully. ' It is very kind,' replied Mrs. Ormiston, brightening. ' Bride is well, quite well. But she has been nervous and over-tired. I was almost afraid of an illness.' Victor, flushed to the temples, and looking abjectly wretched, was incapable at that moment of uttering a single word. But Cora sustained the conversation with never- failing ease and grace. ' The whole thing was so exquisitely absurd, wasn't it, Mrs. Ormiston?' she said lightly. 'To be so near home, and yet to be cut off from all communication with human beings ! And to be obliged to fast all those hours, just be- cause a stupid old boat got loose and drifted away! Is Miss Netterville very hungry? As to Captain Ashburn, he has been steadily consuming food ever since he returned to Verbena Lodge.' The spell of gravity was broken. The minister's face gave way first, and then Aunt Margery permitted herself to smile. If the little world of Seacastle would take a comic view of the matter, surely no great harm could come of it. And. why should not Seacastle look at the case with Miss Wallace's eyes? A heavy weight seemed to be suddenly lifted from Mrs. Ormiston's heart. A little while ago she had told herself that her niece's good name was blighted, and no one would ever get over the miserable escapade. Now it no longer seemed such a terrible thing that had taken place. Miss Wallace could treat the mishap as a '/ THOUGHT HER COLD.' 31 mere joke, and they might all hold up their heads again. Poor Bride, sitting moodily in her room, caught an echo of the gaiety, and instantly brightened. After all, her sky was not entirely clouded if they could laugh downstairs. And with a natural impulse she sprang up and looked at herself in the glass, to see if her face had got back its usual expression. The afternoon light came golden-green into that small chamber. Sunbeams had to force their way through a screen of leaves before they illumined the figure at the toilet-table. . But the reflection in the glass was clear enough to satisfy her inquiring eyes. Bride had not wept long enough to be disfigured by her tears. Moreover, the faithful Hannah had stolen upstairs to comfort her with tender words and a can of warm water. The girl smoothed her hair, and smiled at herself again as if all her troubles were ended. She was 'sweet-and- twenty,' and her lover was in the room below. Her gown, of no costly material, was the colour of the moss that made patches of olive velvet on the thatch, and took a richer tint wherever the sun touched it. Although untrained, she was as true an artist in dress as Miss Wallace herself, and understood the right use and value of flowers, those God-sent ornaments of women. The casement was open: hundreds of roses were climbing up among the ivy; it was but the work of a moment to gather a handful, and arrange them in her own fashion. Bound into a full cluster, they lay in a mass of pale pink upon the bosom of the sober olive gown, and imparted their delicate bloom to the wearer. Mrs. Ormiston entered the little chamber with a face that told of a relieved mind. Nevertheless, she still thought fit to address her niece with an air of gravity. The culprit might be pardoned; but her fault could not yet be wholly forgotten. 32 A WOMAN'S GLORY. ' You must come downstairs, Bride,' she said. 'Miss Wallace and Captain Ashburn are here, and Mrs. Collington has sent you an invitation to dine to-morrow.' 'Am I really to dine at Verbena Lodge, Aunt Margery? You have not refused ?' 'No, I have not refused. After what has occurred, Mrs. Collington's countenance and civility are worth having, and as to-morrow is Captain Ashburn's last day in Seacastle, I can make no objection. Had it been otherwise ' Yes, Aunt Margery; I know. Had it been otherwise you would have kept me at home. Well, I own I have been foolish and self-willed ; but it is all over now.' ' It will be all over after to-morrow,' said Mrs. Ormiston, true to her stern sense of duty. 'And I hope you will forget Captain Ashburn as easily as he will forget you.' The eyes of the aunt and niece met. Bride's graceful head took a backward poise, and her lips curled in scorn. ' Thank you, Aunt Margery,' she replied coolly. ' I can answer confidently for my own power of forgetting.' And then, still carrying herself in regal fashion, she swept past the old lady, and went downstairs to the parlour. It is doubtful whether the old ever realize the number of untruths they wring from the young. There was a dull pain in Bride's heart which sadly belied her haughty words j but she was none the less proud of her falsehood. The consciousness of having sat upon Aunt Margery sustained her spirit. She was able to meet her visitors with admirable self-possession, and even to return Victor's first anxious glance with an open smile. ' How composed the chit looks !' thought Cora, watching her with no small interest. ' She ought to get through life very well with that cool manner of hers.' Bride's cheeks were never reddened in moments of excitement. Her blush was merely a tinge of shell-pink that came gradually and faded slowly. And Cora, who had lI THOUGHT HER COLD: £3 looked for quick changes of colour and a subdued flutter of nervousness, felt an involuntary respect for her new acquaintance. The dress, too, was tolerable; nay, even creditable, when one considered the limited resources of the wearer. Miss Wallace was thoroughly cordial in her adieu, and went away in high good-humour. ' What a pity that she should be buried in that earwiggy little Nest!' she remarked to Victor, as they walked home- wards. ' She is really pretty, and such good form, too! I shall make Mrs. Collington take her up.' ' It is very nice of you,' said Captain Ashburn. But he did not care to hear Bride praised in Cora's cool fashion. He was conscious, moreover, that he did not want her to be lured out of her Nest, and invited often to his aunt's house. People were always going to Verbena Lodge; loungers came down from town to gather fruit in the old garden, and retail the latest club scandals to their pleasant hostess ; military men turned up there frequently, sometimes with blushing honours thick upon them, and women were never insensible to anything in the shape of a hero. And yet what right had he to be uneasy about the matter ? The flower that he coveted must be plucked and worn by some one else ; it was not for him. If Miss Wallace divined his feelings, she seemed to find a certain pleasure in skilfully playing upon them. At dinner that evening she made frequent references to Bride Netterville, and speculated on her possible future in a way that amused Mrs. Collington as much as it annoyed Captain Ashburn. The two ladies ran through a long list of beautiful nobodies who had married well and taken high places in society; and Victor, ill at ease, and heartily sick of their persiflage, excused himself from joining them in the drawing-room, and went off, as he said, to write letters in his own room. 34 A WOMAN'S GLORY. Meanwhile Bride, in a favourite retreat at the bottom of the garden, was watching the sunset, and listening to the murmur of the west wind. No one ever came to disturb her when she stole away to that rickety bench among the evergreens. Great bushes of laurel and laurestinus concealed her from prying eyes, and in front of her seat there was only the low wall that divided the garden from a lonely field. Beyond the stone fence lay the level waste of grass, glistening with the gilding of low sunbeams, and stretching away to the boundary hedge of another meadow, now growing hazy with a golden mist. The wind was lisping a story to the syringa; a few ivory blossoms nodded above Bride's head, and then a slight shiver ran over the buttercups, as if they, too, had caught the zephyr's whisper. The girl fancied that the breeze had a 'nevermore' murmur for her ears alone. It had talked with her so often across that ivied wall, that it had become a companion, and she had almost persuaded her- self that she understood its language as well as the flowers and leaves did. At any rate, in her dreamy moods it was far better company than many beings of visible shape. But it seemed that the west wind was unkind that evening. Over and over again it repeated Aunt Margery's words in another form, breathing them in a balmy sigh that stirred the fading roses on Bride's bosom, and chilled the warm heart that beat beneath them. Her glance wandered wearily across the golden meadow; and she began to ask herself if she must sit here in future evenings, always listening to that airy dirge ? Was there no hint of a promise that might yet be fulfilled in this young life of hers ? It was a lonely life, far too full of dreams and indefinite longings ; and it was hard to go on living it without a hope of happy change. There was a slight rustle in the grass, a hand crushed the ivy on the top of the low wall, and a lithe figure vaulted over '/ THOUGHT HER COLD: 35 it. Another moment, and Victor Ashburn had taken his place by her side. 'We shall meet to-morrow,'he said; 'but I wanted a quiet hour with you to-night.' Too happy to look up into his face, she glanced downward at the yellow pollen of buttercups upon his feet, and wondered if he had been seen stealing through the meadows. Then everything was forgotten in the clasp of his arm round her waist and the touch of his lips. ' If I could take you with me to India !' he murmured. Her heart said : ' Take me anywhere ; only let there be no parting. Let us brave poverty, toil, danger—ay, death itself, rather than be torn asunder. I can make any sacrifice, endure any privation, for your sake. Only do not leave me here alone, with the memory of your face haunting me always, and your kiss ever living on my lips.' But aloud she spake not a word. And in the silence he was looking far ahead at the solitary path that he must tread. He began to think of all his shifts to raise money and satisfy the demands of impatient creditors. And then he remembered certain new burdens taken up that old ones might be laid down: a plan that sent the luckless pilgrim staggering on under a heavier load than before. At that moment, tossed about as he was by conflicting feelings, he almost cursed himself for letting this love spring up amid the weeds and brambles of his life. Bride sat calm and still, her face looking like an ivory cameo against the background of dark foliage. No suspicion of the real depth of her feeling crossed her companion's mind; he was absorbed in self-pity, self-blame, and self- disgust. The serene and delicate face by his side betrayed no secrets, and he was only conscious of his own pain. ' Dear,' he said abruptly, ' I have never had such good chances as other men, believe me ! From the very beginning of my life I was guideless, and all but friendless. You will think as kindly of me as you can ?' 36 A WOMAN'S GLORY. ' Why should I not think kindly ?' she asked, in a very low voice. ' Because I have done you more harm than good. I can- not remember last night without blaming myself bitterly. My selfish folly dragged you into a scrape, and I can't help feeling like a brute at this moment! Everything would be different if I could but see a gleam of light upon the future ; but 1 am not leaving you unhappy, Bride ?' The question was asked suddenly. He had heard one little sigh beside him, but that was all. She had made no other sign of suffering. 'I shall try not to be unhappy,' she answered, with a simplicity that seemed almost childlike. 'But my life was very dull before you came, and it will be duller than ever when you are gone.' 'But you will be only dull, not miserable? Dear child, it would be agony to know that I had left you with a heartache like my own !' ' I shall miss you,' she said, drawing a long breath. ' I am only a girl, Captain Ashburn, and nobody ever noticed me very much till I met you. I think, perhaps, I shall get meeker and humbler when you are gone away. Aunt Margery won't find me so troublesome. But the days will seem long, and I shall wish and wish for some break in the dreadful sameness. You men have troubles, but you do not know what monotony is. It is the peculiar bane of woman- hood.' 'The longest lane will have a turning,' he answered, half absently. ' Perhaps it will.' She spoke the words with a sweet weary patience, the full meaning of which he could not fathom. There are few men to whom it is given to get a deep, insight into a woman's heart. It is woman who read woman, and know all that is conveyed in the change of a tone, in the sudden paling of a cheek, or the trembling of a hand. '/ THOUGHT HER COLD: 37 • 'Her deepest self is untouched,' Victor thought. 'She will forget me, as children forget their playmates: but I shall remember her for many a day. What a calm child it is, and how she might have cooled the fitful fever of my life!' Then aloud he said: ' Bride, I must not even ask you to write to me. Time will not stand still at my bidding, and long before we ever meet again, you will have found out the true value of yourself. Unless I could learn the charm of "woven paces, and of waving hands," and leave you here in a trance until I came to claim you, you would never be kept for me.' ' Merlin's charm,' she answered, with one of her faint smiles. ' I would scorn to use it on one I loved. Should you care for the truth of a woman who could only be kept true by dulling her senses? I am not versed in love-lore, but I fancy there is little worth in a heart which must be mesmerised before you can rely upon its constancy.' 'You are romantic,' he said sadly. 'But even the truest heart must have a prop of hope to lean upon. You could not expect a wide-awake princess to be faithful for a hundred years, unless she was sure that the prince would really come at last.' The west wind was whispering its old dirge again, and Bride knew well what it was saying. To the shrivelled lilacs it said, 'Yourblossoms will be gay again next spring.' And to the laburnum, 'Your golden tresses are getting white and sere : yet another May.shall restore their sunshine.' But in the girl's ears it breathed no promise, and she felt the warning conveyed in its scented sigh. The light was now an amber mist, spreading far over the fields, and turning the familiar scenes into dreamland. Away to the right of the garden the old tower of the castle rose solemn and stern, untouched by any wandering rays ; a grey mass standing against a dusky sky. The breeze rustled the leaves over their heads, and then went creeping off into the 33 A WOMAN'S GLORY. flower-beds behind the shrubbery. Bride slowly rose from her seat. ' Good-night,' she said simply. Aunt Margery herself could not have spoken the words in a calmer tone. All the result of Bride's early training was making itself manifest at last. She had been no spoiled baby, allowed to yield to every whim; self-repression had been one of the laws of her young life. Her nature had rebelled, often enough, at the stern discipline of a woman who had never had any children of her own. But in this moment of supreme anguish she was unconsciously guided by that very discipline. 'Good-night,' he answered; 'not good-bye yet; but, yes —this is the real good-bye.' • To outward observers it would have seemed a passionless parting. So far as the girl was concerned, they would have said that the man was the only sufferer. He had had his early loves and farewells, like other men of his stamp, and he was not unused to that over-redundancy of speech with which women sometimes bewail themselves on such occa- sions. But this unbroken calm was new to him. It crushed his own strong feeling back upon his heart, and left him to bear the burden of grief alone. ' I ought to be glad that you do not suffer, darling,' he said. And yet as he spoke he held both her hands in his clasp, and looked yearningly into her face for some sign of pain. But no sign was given him. The chill little hands were gently withdrawn from his; and then, very quietly, she turned and went her way. The wind followed her up that long, long garden path, where over-arching boughs shut out the dim sky. Her old companions, the flowers, had many a greeting for her as she passed. A full-blown rose swung its heavy head against her fingers ; a sweetbrier tendril laid hold of her skirt; and a columbine shook its bells. But she heeded them not; 67 notion of goodness, Cora; and I cannot honestly call myself good.' ' Well, other people call you so,' returned Cora lightly. Mrs. Collington's thoughts had strayed back to early days; seeking, perhaps, the source from which that notion of hers had been derived. But as she could never think without getting drowsy, her eyes gradually closed, and her head sank gently into the downy cushions of her chair. For a few moments Cora sat contemplating the handsome placid face that showed so little of life's wear and tear. The room itself was as cool and calm as a lotus-eater's paradise. Subdued light and rose-scented air made a dreamy atmo- sphere around the sleeper, and Miss Wallace began to feel that a gentle languor was stealing over her own senses. ' I must rouse myself,' she thought, with a smile. 'It will not do for me to indulge in afternoon naps, and develop a tendency to embonpoint. She has gained her haven; but my bark has not yet come into port.' Quietly rising from her seat, Cora glided away to her room, donned her hat, and went out into the afternoon sunshine. A little later Mrs. Goad, stationed at her bay-window, beheld Miss Wallace and Miss Netterville sauntering along the village street together. By mutual consent the pair took their way to the old castle. Passing through the shadows of the massive gateway, they entered the keep, and sat down on a bench in a shady spot. There were no excursionists to be seen that day within those mouldering grey walls. No footstep was heard upon the steps that led to the great tower, no voice echoed through the empty chambers of the ruin. And for some minutes the silence of the place was unbroken by the two girls, who sat side by side absorbed in their own musings. The grass was thick and green in this enclosure, and the milky-white blossoms of the elder filled the air with their faint scent. Elder-bushes grew and flourished luxuriantly in all parts of the ruined castle, filling up broken arches, 68 A WOMAN'S GLORY. and springing out of the rents in the rough walls. Here and there the ivy made a dense bower of its own, hiding the grim entrance to a dungeon, or hanging a thick veil over some unsightly heap of stones. A few wallflowers gave a touch of gold to the crumbling masonry, but wild-flowers were not plentiful. There was a desolateness in the decay of this fortress that is seldom found in ruins far removed from the sea. In rich midland valleys the convent moulders peacefully away, and even the stern feudal castle gathers the sweetness of a smiling country into its wasted strength. But where the sea is, there is the sadness of desolation; the chill of its briny mists, and the sting of its biting breath. 'Seacastle is a depressing place,' said Bride suddenly. ' I should be heartily glad to turn my back upon it*now and for ever!' It was a little burst of impatience that could not be repressed at that moment; and Cora understood it very well. It told her a story that is as old as the hills, a story that under- lies a good many of the striking histories of women. Did Elsie, of the ' Golden Legend,' discover that ' the life of woman was full of woe' before Prince Henry of Hohen- heck came to Gotlieb's farm ? Better the long journey to Salerno, and the shedding of young blood, than the monotony of a peasant's home in which he had no part. Did not Rose Bradwardine find all she needed within her father's walls before Waverley became 'an honoured guest' of Tully- Veolan? And did Elaine sicken of the Castle of Astolat, among the quiet downs, till Lancelot came and went, and left his shield behind? Before she new Victor A shburn, Bride had been only mildly discontented with her lot, the sort of discontent that spends itself occasionally in a few girlish grumblings. But now there was the restlessness of a dissatisfied heart, the secret consciousness that everything which had made life interesting was gone. ' Poor child !' said Cora, in a caressing tone j' we must try 'RISE FROM THE FEAST OF SORROW, LADY! 69 to brighten your lot if we can. Why did not Mr. Ormiston choose some cheerier spot to settle in ?' 'The Nest was left to him by a distant relation/ Bride answered; ' and they decided that we must live here. Uncle Andrew is contented; they both love retirement and seclusion. ' But seclusion is not good for a young girl/ remarked Cora, with decision. ' It is not altogether good for me,' admitted JBride. ' In so small a place I cannot run away from myself. ' And in the great world we can run away from everything, even from our loves.' There was a faint smile of incredulity on Bride's fair face. Cora observed it, and went on. ' Love,' she said, ' is kept alive by associations, especially in the case of a woman. Many a girl, like Moore's Zelica, is fool enough to hold as sacred the gem or flower that her Azim's hand has touched. But let hei; be removed from the paths where they dreamed and sentimentalized, and his memory will fade.' Bride shook her head. •You don't believe me? I tell you that it is only the sweet, morbid feeling that she has cherished, not the man who has inspired it. A flame may outlive the person who first kindled it, you know. It often does.' ' Perhaps you are right,' said Bride, in a tone which told that she was half weary of the subject. 'But I think there is a saying that " the heart hurt young, is hurt for long."' 'Ay, if it nurses its hurt in solitude and silence,' Cora replied. ' Trust me, my dear child, that all the wounds of first love may be healed by the balsams sold in Vanity Fair!' Bride knew well enough that her secret was no secret from her keen-sighted companion. She was attached to Miss Wallace, and honestly grateful for her kindness. And yet she felt no inclination to lay bare her heart to the gaze of her 7 o A WOMAN'S GLORY. new friend. It was impossible to blind Cora's eyes or baffle her quick instinct. But Bride would make no voluntary revelation. There was another silence. Miss Wallace waited to see if any confession were forthcoming. But none came, and she spoke again in her lightest manner. 'By the way, don't you think it is possible to have too much of the scent of elder-blossoms? If we sit here any longer, I shall imagine myself under the spell of Andersen's Elder-mother.' 'She was one of my nursery friends,' said Bride. 'A wonderful combination of old woman and little girl, who wore a grey gown bordered with elder-flowers.' 'I wonder somebody doesn't go to a fancy ball in that costume,' remarked Cora, rising. 'One is always tired to death of Italian peasants and shepherdesses. Now I must return to Mrs. Collington; she will be waiting for me to pour out her five-o'clock tea.' The friends strolled slowly out of the castle precincts, and retraced their steps through the village street. Again Mrs. Goad caught a glimpse of them from her bay-window, and followed them with a long gaze. ' It was very mean of Eunice to take up that girl's cause,' she said to Lavinia, who was sitting with her. ' But I can see her motive quite plainly. She wants to creep into Verbena Lodge through Bride Netterville! Our society does not content her, I suppose; and she is pining after Mrs. Collington and her set.' ' I don't know what she pines for,' Lavinia replied; ' she does pine, certainly; and it makes her get very plain.' ' Very plain indeed ; it is quite painful to see her. Some- times I think she is devoured with discontent. Papa says he is always telling her to be thankful and happy.' Lavinia was silent; but it occurred to her that it could not be very easy to cultivate content when you received a daily lecture on unthankfulness. What with Mrs. Goad's 'RISE FROM THE FEAST OF SORROW, LADY71 complaints of Eunice, and his own conviction of her bad disposition, Mr. Swift was moved to lead the girl a trouble- some life. 'What do you think-will become of her, Lavinia?' asked the elder sister^breaking the pause. 'She will never marry, that is certain; and as to the little Barrons, they will soon be sent to school. There are no other pupils to be found here ; and when she loses them she will lose her occupation.' ' Eunice is clever,' said Lavinia, in a hesitating tone. ' Perhaps she will try to get a situation as teacher, or ' ' Now that is so ridiculous !' Matilda interrupted. ' No one wants her to leave home. You know I disliked her teaching Mrs. Barron's children; but she was determined to make a slave of herself. Why should she go away when she has a shelter in Seacastle ? Why should she persistently set herself against me and my sisterly kindness ? ' 'She feels that she ought not to be a burden,' rejoined Lavinia. 'That is what she is always saying.' ' She is worse than a burden : she is positively a thorn in the flesh. It is so irritating to feel that she secretly thinks herself superior to any of us. As to her cleverness, we have never had any substantial proof of it. Harriet Cox says she tells nonsensical stories to the Sunday School; and Mr. Bassett, who is certainly in his dotage, declares that he admires them.' ' Mrs. Cox and Harriet called at the Nest to-day,' said Lavinia, not sorry to impart the intelligence. ' I saw them as I passed the door.' 'Well, I confess I am disappointed in Harriet,' Mrs. Goad observed, with a sigh. ' And, indeed, all my neigh- bours seem to have lost confidence in my judgment. They placed me in the front of the battle, and then retired.' Again Lavinia was silent. She would not straight- forwardly say that Matilda had rushed to the front of her own accord, and expected everybody to follow. Mrs. Bertie was a person who never deviated from the course 72 A WOMAN'S GLORY. that she had laid down for herself. And that course was perfect submission to Matilda Goad. ' Harriet Cox has been ungrateful,' Matilda continued. 'I never deserted her. You remember how I took her part against those Barcombes, when they said she was a tale-bearer ?' 'You have been very kind to her,' Lavinia replied. ' It is hard that I should get no return. It has lately seemed to me, Lavinia, that you and dear papa are the only grateful persons in my world. Of course it is disheartening to see one's opinion disregarded, and one's counsel set at nought.' ' Of course it is,' the faithful echo answered. ' And I think that Eunice is in a great measure to blame for the—the disrespectful way in which I have been treated. She openly defied me. It all began with that!' ' Her behaviour was very inconsiderate.' ' I can forgive her, Lavinia ; it is not in my nature to bear malice. But if she gets up a friendship with Bride Netter- ville it will annoy me very much. Mrs. Ormiston plainly said that any invitation of mine would be declined by her niece. After that it will never do for my own sister to become Miss Netterville's friend. Such an intimacy would be a direct insult to me.' 11 dare say Miss Netterville will repulse her if she makes any advances,' responded Lavinia confidently. ' One can see that Bride is regularly taken up by Mr&. Collington and her clique. She will not want Eunice's attentions.' The foliage had thickened round Bride's old bower at the bottom of the garden ; and the sigh of the west wind was softer now, than it had been in those May days that seemed so long ago. The syringa had put forth its thick clusters, starry blossoms that looked as if they were carved out of ivory; the air was heavy with their breath. An amorous honey- suckle clasped the low wall, and buried the ivy under amass 'RISE FROM THE FEAST OF SORROW, LADY: 73 of bloom. All day the place was haunted by swarms of bees; and at eventide it was the favourite rendezvous of things that crawled and crept and wriggled. Neither morn nor eve ever saw Aunt Margery penetrate to this secluded nook; so well was it defended by snails, slugs, spiders, and woodlice, that Bride was perfectly safe from intrusion. Even Hannah gathered her skirts tightly round her, and cast suspicious glances to right and left, when she was sent here in search of Miss Bride. 'Cora Wallace thinks me a little fool,' mused Bride, sitting down on her crazy bench, and turning her face to the sunset. ' I am as silly as Zelica, every bit. Don't I love this rotten old seat because he sat here by my side ! And after he had kissed me in my olive gown, the poor old frock was " sacred from that hour" ! There may be forgetfulness. in the world, but it is not in me to forget. I should be glad to go away—glad to lose sight of this dreary place for ever. But wherever I go I must carry his memory with me, let Cora say what she will.' There was a steadfast look in the blue eyes as they gazed across the quiet field. He had loved her. Nothing in her future could ever deprive her of that joy. Looking forward through a vista of long years, Bride saw herself an old woman, with the fresh heart of a young girl still throbbing for her first lover. Her form might be bowed, her eye dim; but the love of her youth, she thought, could undergo no change. It is almost impossible for girlhood to realize inconstancy. While there is perfect ignorance of life, there is always a blind belief in the immutability of feeling. The gentle and gradual process by which time detaches the useless hopes from our lives is wholly disbelieved in. And poor Bride, sitting disconsolately among the snails, never dreamed of a day when her heart should yield to unknown influences and learn to forget. Suddenly she became aware that a small, slight figure was 74 A WOMAN'S GLORY. crossing the field and approaching the garden wall. A little vexed and surprised, she moved uneasily in her seat, half resolved to leave the spot. No one had ever come across that field to seek her nook since he went away. She dreaded the thought of an intruder. It would be sacrilege for any other to find out this retreat and ask for a place by her side. Had the crazy bench been Solomon's throne of gold and ivory, it could not have seemed more precious in her eyes. As the figure drew nearer her indignation increased, and not even Cora Wallace could have called up a haughtier look. But the frown vanished, and her heart softened at once, when she recognized the face of Eunice Swift. 4 I beg pardon, Miss Netterville,' said Eunice's sweet voice. 4 I did not know that you were sitting there. It was the honeysuckle that attracted me.' 4 Don't go away !' exclaimed Bride. 4 I have never yet thanked you for the roses you gave me. As to the honey- suckle, it is half wild, and overruns the wall. Do you want to gather some ?' Eunice said 'Yes,' and began to break off a few sprays, while Bride attentively studied her worn face. 4 You are looking pale and tired, Miss Swift,' she remarked, after a pause. 4 I am always tired,' Eunice answered quietly. 4 And yet,' she added, 4 I wish I had more work to do.' 4 What kind of work ? ' Bride asked. 4 I should like to be a secretary or amanuensis. Only, I suppose, those posts are seldom given to women.' 41 don't know much about secretaries,' Bride confessed; 4 but I dare say you find it wearisome to teach easy lessons to children. It would be nice if you had a pleasanter occupation—an employment that would not tire you.' ' The employment does not tire me.' Eunice trifled with her honeysuckle, and spoke in a hesitating tone. 41 would not mind being a teacher in a school; in fact, I would be anything, or do anything, if I could ' 'RISE FROM THE FEAST OF SORROW, LADY,\ 75 ' Leave Seacastle ?' said Bride, filling up the gap. Eunice looked at her and smiled, and the smile brought tears into Bride's eyes, and made her forget herself and her own sorrows. She realized, all at once, that here was a life far harder and lonelier than hers. Certain hints that Hannah had dropped concerning the Swifts returned to her mind at that moment. She understood why Eunice was tired. Not tired of working, but tired of being nagged at, and scolded, and regarded as a family encumbrance. In all her days, Bride had never known what it was to feel herself a burden to others. Aunt Margery was severe, but her niece was dear to her as the apple of her eye ; Uncle Andrew was a man of few words, but the girl knew that he loved the very sound of her footfall in the cottage. But none of this tenderness had ever brightened the path of Eunice Swift. ' Do not stand there,' cried Bride inconsequently. ' Come and sit here by my side.' And she made room for Eunice upon the sacred bench without a moment's hesitation. But the little governess paused, and glanced timidly across the field. The warm light was not yet beginning to fade; not a human being could be seen ; and there was small fear of being followed or observed. Her wan face brightened. She climbed the low wall lightly enough, and took the seat that had never been occupied since Victor Ashburn went away. Before the first shades of dusk had begun to fall, Bride had made herself thoroughly acquainted with those yearnings which had long been cherished in secret. Eunice Swift was of an open nature; hers was one of those frank con- fiding spirits that always suffer under repression; and yet there had been no kindly ear to listen to her poor little hopes and dreams. A mother might have sympathized with and guided the girl, and defended her from the harshness of the coarser natures around her; but Mrs. Swift had been 76 A WOMAN'S GLORY. dead for years, and Eunice, a luckless little vessel of porce- lain, had got chipped and cracked by contact with the earthenware pots amongst which her lot was cast. Nevertheless, she made no complaints of her relations. Not one word did she say of the railings and upbraidings that were making her life intolerable, and depriving her of her small share of health and strength. But Bride knew all that was not put into words, and her heart opened to receive this friendless girl, and give her help and comfort. When Eunice had gone her way, Bride went slowly up the long garden-path to the house, conscious of a new interest in life. For the first time since Victor's departure, her thoughts were entirely occupied with another subject; and Hannah, coming down the path to meet her young lady, was gladdened by the sight of her bright, eager face, and cheerful eyes. CHAPTER VIII. ' roses will bloom, nor want beholders.' The London season had drawn to a close. People were hurrying out of town by hundreds, and seeking fresh air in quiet places where soiled costumes might be worn, and economy practised in comfort. The luxurious calm of Verbena Lodge was broken up. Mrs. Collington's daughter Maud had arrived with her husband and baby, and there was an end to peace. Handsome, Maud Heatherstone certainly was. Hers was a solid type of beauty which if it had lacked the charm of a pure complexion, might have been pronounced a trifle coarse. She had a straight but somewhat thick nose, and a well-cut but heavy mouth and chin. Her eyes, deep set, were of the very darkest shade of blue; and her mother 'ROSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS.' 77 well knew what sudden gleams of wrath could be shot out through their thick fringes. Miss Wallace had once un- generously said that Maud always reminded her of a slumbering volcano. Yet the comparison was apt enough ; and even slight acquaintances were sometimes conscious of the existence of a smouldering fire in that handsome Mrs. Heatherstone. As to Mr. Heatherstone, he had been said by all his wife's friends to be the very husband for dear Maud. A big, rosy Saxon, with a loud voice, never-failing spirits, and ten thousand a year, he held to the firm belief that he was one of the luckiest men in the universe. If Maud displayed ill-temper he never noticed it. She was a beauty; just the kind of beauty that suited his taste. People openly admired her; he admired her himself y and that was quite enough for him. On other men Mr. Heatherstone was in the habit of lavish- ing a good deal of pity. They were ' poor devils, always getting into the blues, don't you know? Thought their livers must be all wrong. Didn't know anything about his own liver, thank heaven ! Never had a day's illness in his life ; took regular exercise, and never worried himself about anything. Men came to him, and said, "By Jove, Heatherstone, how well you look !' Always told them his secret. Very simple—hang all doctors, and don't worry yourself!' People who were wholly unaccustomed to Mr. Heather- stone's style sometimes listened to his talk, at first with a certain amount of approval, and thought that there might, perhaps, be' something in it.' But the Heatherstone convers- ation was speedily found to grow monotonous, and in some cases was known to produce almost maddening results. That unassailable belief in his immunity from all ills, frequently inspired his hearers with a desire to punch his head. 'Take my advice, never worry yourself,' he would say to those who were suffering from incurable maladies, or F 78 A WOMAN'S GLORY. groaning under a load of embarrassments; and they turned from him with a disgust too deep for words. Of all the sundry and manifold plagues that infest society, your eternally jovial man is perhaps the least patiently endured. Maud had brought her sister-in-law to Verbena Lodge; and Lilly Heatherstone, an heiress and a pretty girl, was reckoned no unimportant person in the world. But it was impossible to divest one's mind of the idea that Miss Heatherstone was a large child, plump and good-humoured, and caring for very little beyond its meals and its pretty frocks. Her soft golden hair was rough with natural curli- ness; her eyes, a light-blue, were round, and always widely opened unless it was near bedtime. A nondescript baby- nose; a. pouting mouth, and a skin as purely pink-and-white as it was in her nursery days, completed her infantile ap- pearance. Her manner agreed with her face; she lisped a little, and brought out her words slowly; and altogether it seemed absurd to dress her like a grown-up woman, and set her in the company of adults, who did not find her par- ticularly interesting. The arrival of the Heatherstones was the beginning of a course of dinner-parties and afternoon teas. Seacastle was near enough to a large garrison town for military visitors to come and go with ease; and Bride, now regarded as an intimate acquaintance by Mrs. Collington, soon proved that she could be useful to her friends. Her singing was found to be so far above the average that Cora Wallace practised duets with her protegee. Then, too, her beauty charmed Mrs. Collington's guests, and had the merit of being perfectly fresh and new. At one of the dinner-parties there were present a certain Captain Torwood and his sister. It seemed to be pretty well understood by the Heatherstones and Mrs. Collington that Lilly, or the baby-face, must soon be settled in life, and it was thought that Captain Torwood had his eyes upon the little heiress. 'ROSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS: 79 Bride's heart beat quickly at the name of Torwood. She had heard that name from Victor Ashburn, and it had ac- quired a charm. True, it had only been mentioned once or twice, but the men had known and liked each other, and Bride had linked them together in her mind. ' I don't think he would be a bad match for Lilly,' said Mrs. Collington, just before the dinner-party, ' and I fancy Robert Heatherstone wouldn't object to him.' ' But she ought to do better,' remarked Cora. 'Oh, Captain Torwood has expectations. He will have all his aunt's fortune, and he is a very nice man indeed.' So Miss Heatherstone and Captain Torwood were per- mitted to have opportunities, and Bride watched , them with quiet interest. It was not easy to sustain a conversation with Lilly at dinner. Her thoughts were always so fully occupied with her plate, that the most delicate flattery failed to make any impression on her mind. Her round blue eyes were ever on the watch for new dainties. Her rosebud of a mouth was too busy to respond to those pretty speeches which Captain Torwood knew so well how to make. After many valiant efforts that gallant officer began to grow weary. He was getting heartily tired of the golden-haired gourmand by his side. Still, she was a sweet little thing, he told himself a hundred times, and perhaps it was all for the best that she had so excellent an appetite. Women who were fond of good eating were generally amiable, he believed; and it would certainly be easy enough to keep Miss Heatherstone amused if you liberally supplied her with nice things. Then, if he married her, it would be in his power to make Angeline perfectly comfortable; and Laurence Torwood had a deep affection for his sister Angeline. These reflections stimulated him to persevere in his attentions after dinner. Lilly in the drawing-room was a shade more interesting than Lilly at the table. She exerted F 2 8o A WOMAN'S GLORY. herself to speak when she was spoken to, and showed her dimples very prettily. 'What did you think of Mrs. Heatherstone's por- trait?' Captain Torwood asked. 'People said it was one of Palette's best things.' ' It was sweet,' said Lilly; ' she had such a lovely frock on.' ' Ah, peacock-blue ! wasn't it ? I suppose you are aesthetic, too, Miss Heatherstone ?' ' Oh yes, very.' 'And do you go in immensely for peacock's feathers?' ' Oh yes ; I've got a little hat covered with them.' ' It must be charming! Why didn't Palette paint your portrait for this year's Exhibition ? I heard he was going to do it.' ' Maud said I was to wait till hers was done.' 'Do you always obey Mrs. Heatherstone? I should think it must be very easy to get on with you if you are so easily managed by your sister-in-law.' ' Oh yes ; Maud says I'm very easy to manage.' At that moment Mrs. Collington came to Lilly's side, and begged for a song, not without a secret hope that the peti- tion might be refused. But Lilly was' far too amiable to utter a negative, and took her place at the piano at once. The hostess had a vague impression that those who had once listened to Miss Heatherstone's performance would not desire a repetition of that delight. Lilly's upper notes were husky; she had no notion of tune, and her plump little hands thumped out wrong chords with a force that had often made her music-master grind his teeth. Mrs. Heatherstone, sitting sulkily on a sofa, made an impatient movement of her handsome shoulders when Lilly began to play her little prelude, and as she proceeded, Captain Torwood's heart sank within him. Angeline Torwood cast a sympathizing glance at her brother. Kind old Laurence! he had been steadily doing 'J?OSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS: 81 the thing that he conceived to be his duty! But would he have strength to go on to the end, and make yonder lisping doll his wife? The sister knew that he was perfectly heart-free, yet she had never counselled heiress hunting, and her spirit was oppressed with a vague dread of unhappiness to come. Without being a thoroughly intellectual man, Laurence was intelligent; a lover of books and art, and he had always found in Angeline a sympathizing and cultivated companion. How would it be with him if he were bound for life to a girl like Lilly Heatherstone ? The charm of her baby prettiness would soon lose its freshness; one could see at a glance that a few more years of easy living and unbroken self-complacency would turn the rosebud into a very full- blown rose. It was a relief to everybody when Lilly rose from the piano and resumed her seat. But although she sat looking exquisitely pretty after her mild exertions, Captain Torwood did not return to her side. Bride was the next singer ; and as Miss Heatherstone had blundered painfully through a modern ballad, it occurred to Miss Netterville to sing an old song. She chose ' Kathleen Mavourneen,' and then forgot to sing for effect. The power of memory swept her away from Mrs. Collington's drawing-room, and carried her back to Hawthorn Island in the twilight of the bygone May. A silence'fell upon the room; the soft buzz of conversation was entirely hushed. Even Mr. Heatherstone was moved to listen, and Lilly was perhaps the only person present who did not feel the influence of that rich, fresh voice. ' You never sang so well before,' said Miss Wallace, gliding up to Bride's side when the song was finished. ' Everyone is charmed with you, my child.' But Bride's heart was full of one whose simple word of thanks was worth a thousand praises like these. She mur- mured some commonplace reply, and made her escape to a 82 A WOMAN'S GLORY, seat near the open window. The room was warm; the night was balmy and still. Outside the French windows was the veranda, with its pendent baskets of flowers, and its slender pillars wreathed with clematis and jessamine. Cora, with her usual tact, had covered her friend's retreat, and Bride found it easy to slip out into the cool evening air. Of all the many places suitable for decorous flirtation, a veranda is perhaps the best. Although you may be within a few paces of mothers and chaperons, there is little danger of being overheard if you are careful to keep the wall behind you. Then, too, there is the perfume of flowers; the fresh breath of the vesper wind; the flutter of light tendrils against the sky. It is the very spot most favourable for whispering soft nothings ; and Captain Torwood, stealing out after Bride, was in the mood for philandering. Little pink-and-white Lilly had by no means absorbed his whole attention, although he had paid her a good deal of external homage. Bride's perfectly chiselled face had attracted many a glance that ought to have been bestowed, in prudence, upon the little heiress. The song completed the spell, and Captain Torwood flung policy to the winds, and stepped out in pursuit of Miss Netterville. Cora Wallace looked after the pair with concealed amuse- ment. If this were the beginning of a new flirtation, so much the better for Bride. A second admirer would drive the first out of the girl's head, and cure her of fretting and low spirits. As to the Torwood-Heatherstone alliance, Miss Wallace did not concern herself about it in the least. If Captain Torwood were seriously smitten by Bride's charms, Cora saw no reason why he should not propose to her. He had not committed himself with Lilly, and Cora, having no liking for the Heatherstones, was rather pleased at the thought of any slight mortification that they might possibly undergo. Even the simple-minded Lilly was not without a touch of her brother's self-complacency. There would be a 'ROSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS: 83 positive pleasure in seeing the heiress neglected for the sake of a portionless girl like Bride. Meanwhile Captain Torwood was beginning his new game with much ardour. In the sweet air, among the flowers, he could breathe freely, and there was a sense of relief in escaping from Miss Heatherstone's side. But Miss Netterville, although she accepted his pleasant speeches with a good grace, was evidently not disposed for flirtation. She could talk, and talk well, and she showed no desire to avoid him. Yet there was a vague something in her manner that made him conscious of her indifference to the most subtle flattery. ' Seacastle is really quite a charming old village,' he remarked, after a little pause. ' I used to wonder why Mrs. Collington chose to bury herself here, but now I think that she has done wisely. Her nephew seemed to amuse himself in this place very well. By the way, you must have met him—Captain Ashburn ? ' 'Yes : I knew him,' answered Bride. There was a peculiar quietness in her tone, which instantly awakened suspicion. The voice was almost too com- posed, and the words were followed by an involuntary long breath. Laurence Torwood remembered that Ashburn had expressed himself as being uncommonly well satisfied with Seacastle. ' I wonder I did not guess that there was a pretty face here,' he thought, laughing to himself. And then aloud he said, very quietly: ' It must have been pleasant for Ashburn'to find people worth knowing ! I can quite understand now why he thought the place so attractive, and lingered in it so long.' Bride was thankful to the kindly evening for drawing its light veil over her face. It would not be difficult to speak of Victor in the dusk; and she could trust the steadiness of her voice. To speak of him at all was an indescribable delight; and here was one whom he had liked and known 84 A WOMAN'S GLORY. well, a pleasant, unsuspicious kind of man, she thought— just the sort of person who would never divine her secret. Thus mused a girl learned in books, and wholly unlearned in men and women. The man by her side was waiting to hear what came next; he stood idly winding a spray of clematis round his fingers, and listening intently for another sigh. ' I suppose Captain Ashburn will be very gay in India,' she said, looking away to the soft yellow light in the west. 1 As gay as most men,' replied her companion. ' He wouldn't have gone out if he could have helped it, I believe; but he could not, so far as I can see, have taken any other course.' ' He was not rich,' said Bride, in a lower tone. ' Very far from rich. But he was a downright good fellow, and I wish him well. He went away in rather low spirits, I thought However, a few years of foreign service will work a cure for many ailments.' ' I thought India was dreadfully bad for the health,' remarked Bride, with a simplicity that might have befitted Lilly Heatherstone. 4 It plays the mischief with the liver, but sets the heart all to rights,' Captain Torwood answered, stripping the blossoms of his spray, and then casting it to the winds. And this was all that foolish Bride obtained by speaking on the subject that lay nearest to her heart. In rather a sullen mood Captain Torwood took his departure from Verbena Lodge; and Angeline, seeing that he was disinclined for conversation, kept silence until they had reached "the boarding-house which was her temporary home. It was not late enough for the large drawing-room to be empty. Like other places of the same kind, the house was full of visitors at that season of the year; and many of the boarders, who had been strolling by the sea all day, were 'ROSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS.' 85 now writing letters before going to rest. Angeline found a sofa in a retired corner, and couxed her brother to come and sit by her side. ' Stay with me for a few minutes, Laurence,' she pleaded. ' We have hardly exchanged a word all day.' He took the seat, but his face still showed signs of depres- sion and discontent. 'That little girl is by no means interesting,' he said at last. ' And her singing—wasn't it terrible ? She ought always to wear a pinafore, and be kept in the nursery.' ' I knew it wouldn't do, old man,' remarked Angeline softly. ' And you mustn't try to make it do.' ' But there is her fortune, Angeline.' ' Yes, Laurence, and a man may pay too high a price for a fortune.' ' If I could make you a better allowance, dear, I wouldn't bother myself about heiresses,' he said. ' But we are so miserably cramped ; and Aunt Virginia ' ' Don't be wishing for her end, Laurence. Honestly, I do not believe her to be the invalid that she thinks herself. As far as I am concerned, dear boy, my wants are all satis- fied; and I should be quite happy if you did not stint yourself for my sake.' ' As if I could possibly do less ! A paltry hundred a year, Angeline.' ' I would not accept any more, even if you married the heiress. But be advised by me, Laurence, and let nothing short of love ever lure you into matrimony.' ' You romantic, old-fashioned girl!' he said, laughing. ' I wonder what Miss Wallace would say to such notions ?' ' I should not care for her opinion,' replied Angeline composedly. ' She is a splendid woman, Laurence, but heartless if I am not mistaken.' ' You are not often mistaken, little wiseacre; she is heart- less. How handsome she looked to-day !' 'Why doesn't she marry?' Angeline asked. 'She is 86 A WOMAN'S GLORY. getting past girlhood, and such beauty as hers ought to achieve something wonderful.' 'She always flies at high game,' Captain Torwood an- swered. ' She will make a good match one of these days, I dare say. But, Angeline, that new girl, with the great blue eyes, is the lovelier of the two.' ' I quite agree with you,5 said Angeline, nodding sagely. ' You wanted to flirt with her, didn't you, old man ? ' ' Very much; but the spirit of flirting is not in her. My old friend Ashburn has been fooling with her, I am afraid.' 'Well, let them all go their ways,' responded Angeline, giving his arm an affectionate squeeze; ' and do you just wait till you see somebody you should like to live with, and then propose to her. You wouldn't like to spend a lifetime with Baby Heatherstone, you know. She is a good-looking infant, but her sweet lispings would bore you to death before the honeymoon was ended.' Captain Torwood wished his sister good-night, and went off to his quarters with a lighter spirit. It was a relief to know that Angeline did not want him to sacrifice himself for the sake of Miss Heatherstone's money. Never before had she spoken out her opinions in such plain language; and although he had pretended to laugh at her ' notions,' he thoroughly agreed with her in his heart. Angeline, with her ideas about love, was not more romantic than her mother had been when she ran away from a luxurious home to marry a poor soldier. The father of Captain Torwood, with nothing besides a captain's pay, had wooed and won Sir John Paisley's youngest daughter; but neither prayers nor tears could move the old baronet to pardon the imprudent couple, and he went to his grave without granting them forgiveness. The whole of his property was left to his elder child; that ' Aunt Virginia' who was now supposed to be a confirmed invalid. For many years Colonel Torwood survived the young wife who had given up friends and fortune for his sake. 'ROSES WILL BLOOM, NOR WANT BEHOLDERS: 87 There was very little left for his two children after his death; but fate proved kinder to the son than to the daughter. Laurence inherited three hundred a year from his godfather; and then Miss Paisley astonished every one by taking a sudden fancy to her nephew. She openly announced her intention of making him her heir, but obstinately refused to have anything to do with her niece. Angeline, she said, might shift for herself. The girl had her father's features and expression; and Miss Paisley had always detested Colonel Torwood. But her aunt's injustice seemed to take very little effect upon the well-balanced mind of Angeline. She was one of those girls to whom all hearts and all doors seem to open naturally; and yet few could have told why she was such a general favourite. Her accomplishments were not brilliant; she could do things quickly and cleverly, yet not better than many others could do them. She was pleasant to look upon, but by no means beautiful; and when Miss Paisley, in contempt, had spoken of her niece as an 'unremarkable person,' she was not very far wrong. But does the world ever estimate its 'unremarkable persons' at their full value ? It has no laurels to give them in life, nor does it erect monuments to their memory; and yet they are the most useful and best beloved members of society. Not brilliant enough to excite jealousy, nor ambi- tious enough to pine for a higher station, they fill up all the social gaps, and quietly pick up the common duties that our beauties and geniuses too often fling down. Their names are not to be found in Society journals, but they are spoken of tenderly and familiarly by the fireside. Their photographs are not exhibited in shop-windows, but people put them into those sacred albums which contain only the portraits of friends. And so they pass pleasantly through life—these happy, everyday men and women—and have but little cause to envy the celebrities. Better, a thou- sand times better, to gather heart's-ease in the Valley of 88 A WOMAN'S GLORY. Humiliation, than be tricked out in all the gaudy decor- ations of Vanity Fair. Angeline, in one of the rooms of the crowded boarding- house, went peacefully and happily to sleep. Her mind was set at rest about dear old Laurence. He would not, she felt convinced, plunge rashly into an engagement with Miss Heatherstone; and he would still be her own intimate and beloved companion, dearer to her than to any one else in the world. ' But I shall give him up cheerfully enough when the right woman comes,' she thought. '1 only want to be sure that she is the right woman, and that my boy feels he can't do without her. Until he has got that kind of feeling he had better content himself with his old comrades in the regiment, and his plain sister Angeline.' CHAPTER IX. * by my troth, a pleasant-spirited lady ! ' Eunice Swift had given her last lessons to Mrs. Barron's children. They were to be sent away to boarding-school when the midsummer holidays were over; and the poor little governess was looking about anxiously for other pupils. Many a confidential talk went on at the bottom of the old garden. Only the birds and flowers were near to listen to Eunice's revelations. To her, Bride seemed a sort of fairy princess, and the shrubbery seat" was an enchanted bower. Hannah alone was aware of the full extent of this intimacy. Like a wise woman as she was, she encouraged it with all her heart. Bride, exalted to the post of counsellor, had less leisure for lonely musing. She was called upon to pass judgment on Eunice's literary efforts, and began to feel herself of some importance. *A PLEASANT-SPIRITED LADYP 89 ' Do you think it ever will be printed ?' sighed Eunice, with a pile of manuscript on her knee. ' They say that fools are always trying to write books. Am I a fool or not ? It's so difficult to know.' ' If you are one,' said Bride, ' I prefer fools to wise people. Anyhow, they are much nicer and more amusing. But now I have just got hold of a brilliant idea !' Eunice listened, open-eyed 'I'm going to lend your manuscript to Cora Wallace. She is a clever woman, fond of books. She has a cool head, too, and somehow her judgment is always right. I like you so much, Eunice, that I can hardly trust my own.' Miss Wallace accepted the office of critic without hesi- tation. The manuscript had fallen into good hands. The earlier part of Cora's life had been spent among literary people, and she had learnt to read and reflect. Eunice's story was something to enliven the tedium of these long summer days. The air of Seacastle was languid in sultry weather. The old castle, with its cool grey shadows, was a welcome place of shelter ; and a party from Verbena Lodge were often to be found within its walls. The citadel, with its soft grass and broken arches, was their favourite resort. And one afternoon they chanced to light upon Eunice Swift, sitting on a fragment of stone, and rapidly filling a page of her drawing-book with quaint figures. Bride at once approached her friend, and begged for a a view of the drawings. Miss Wallace came up to Eunice with her usual frank grace, and was quickly followed by Captain Torwood and his sister. Lilly Heatherstone, whose baby blue eyes had been getting sleepy, was roused to child- ish pleasure at the sight of the sketches, and the forlorn •little governess soon found herself the centre of an admiring group. They were all more or less disposed to hail a new face with satisfaction. The warm weather, and certain conditions of mind, had made them politely tired of each other, and 9° A WOMAN'S GLORY. their efforts to veil the general boredom were fast giving way to apathy. Captain Torwood admired Bride as much as ever, but he could not quite forgive her for being deeply interested in Ashburn. On her side, Bride felt it impossible to pardon him for insinuating that India was a cure for heartache. Angeline found the heat trying, and thought Lilly Heather- stone sillier than ever. And Cora, although perfectly amiable, did not exert herself to amuse the others in the least. As to Eunice, she felt as if these people had stepped out of the pages of her favourite books. Lilly, she thought at first, was like Lucy Ashton. But no; poor Lucy had surely never looked so plump and self-satisfied. And Captain Torwood did not in the least resemble the Master of Ravenswood; she fancied that he had a look of Lord Nigel Olifaunt. For he was tall and straight, and had a shade of red gold in his hair and moustache ; and there was a spark of martial fire in his bright blue eyes. ' What have we here ? ' said Cora, busy with the sketch- book. ' A very pretty maiden, waving a handkerchief on the castle-wall. What a light, graceful figure it is ! Of course there is a departing lover in the distance ?' 'Yes; but I have not put him in yet,' replied Eunice. ' He is riding out into the world in quest of adventures.' ' Depend upon it he will forget all about the maiden,' remarked Cora lightly. ' Change of place means change of heart; doesn't it, Captain Torwood ?' 'It very often does,' he answered, with an involuntary glance at Bride. ' I don't accept that doctrine,' said Miss Netterville, her cheeks showing a delicate tinge of pink. ' It is only youth that believes in constancy,' observed Cora, taking her seat upon a bench, and looking round on the little group with her queenly smile. ' What does maturity believe in 1' Bride asked. 'In the world's good opinion, in Worth's costumes, 'A PLEASANT-SPIRITED LADY!' 91 perfect cookery, and dry champagne. In all the pleasant things that are sanctioned by society, and all the substan- tial things that carry us creditably through life. As for love and constancy, they are merely the dreams of our bread-and-butter days.' i But love and constancy are realities sometimes,' said Eunice's sweet voice, softly breaking the pause that followed Cora's speech. ' I heard a little story one day of a girl's devotion. In the time of the last war with France a French privateer was captured in the Channel yonder, and the crew were brought as prisoners to this old castle. Amongst them was a slim lad, who lived quietly among his fellow-captives for eight or ten months without attracting any particular notice. At last he fell ill, and then the supposed French sailor-boy was discovered to be a woman. Her lover had been taken prisoner by the English, and she had resolved to follow his fortunes. Fate was kind; she found him here, within these very walls, and joyfully shared his captivity.' ' But the end ? ' asked Bride eagerly. * " Like an old tale still." The girl received an assurance of his approaching exchange. She laid aside her boy's dress, and went back to France. He followed her, and so they met in their own land again • I like to think of their living happily ever afterwards. How often they must have talked over their captive days ! " Stone walls do not a prison make " when true hearts are beating together.' Eunice's eyes were lifted to the stern grey tower, now bathed in sunshine. But Captain Torwood was looking fixedly at her. She had told her little story simply, and without the least straining after effect. But it had been told in a remarkably sweet voice, and with an easy flow of words. And, plain as she was, she had the charm of looking well when she talked. When she spoke her expression was a pleasant surprise. 92 A WOMAN'S GLORY. The sad eyes took a sudden lustre, the mouth revealed soft curves that were hidden in repose. Angeline, who was watching her with newly awakened interest, felt herself instinctively drawn towards this shabby young person. ' A pretty story,' said Cora, ' and Miss Swift has the gift of story-telling. I dare say the lover was glad to meet his sweetheart in this grim old place ! But if she had found him in a palace instead of a prison, what then ? There was nothing to test his faith, you see.' 'You are too cynical, Miss Wallace,' said Captain Torwood. ' The world is bad enough, but honour and manliness haven't utterly died out of it yet. It's quite pos- sible, believe me, for a man to be true to his love in " the fearless old fashion."' Eunice looked at him with pleasure shining in her grey eyes. Bride gave him a glance of astonishment. She had set him down as a heartless trifler, and now he was appearing in a new character. Cora smiled and softly applauded him. ' Captain Torwood turns out to be a man of sentiment!' she cried. ' Why Have we never known you till this present happy moment ?' ' One doesn't always air one's sentiments,' he answered. ' Well, I'm beginning to feel myself a grovelling cynic,' Cora went on. ' You all believe in the dignity of human nature. And Miss Swift has nearly converted me. But I think she made the story out of her own head.' 'Indeed I didn't,' said Eunice ; ' it is quite true.' 'True or false, it was charmingly told. And we owe you a thousand thanks for waking us out of our apathy,' Cora replied. ' I should like to hear some more stories another day,' said Captain Torwood, as they were leaving the citadel. Lilly Heatherstone, who had been half asleep, awoke at the words ' afternoon tea,' and smiled at the thought of cream and cake. Bride gave Eunice a parting look of 1A PLEASANT-SPIRITED LADY!' 93 approval, and then the party sauntered lazily back to Verbena Lodge. ' Laurence, that little story-telling girl is very nice,' said Angeline, speaking confidentially to her brother. ' I never heard a sweeter voice nor a prettier accent. And she lights up wonderfully although she is plain.' ' It isn't a common style of plainness,' he replied. ' I can imagine that girl looking very different under other circumstances. But she has been snubbed and sat upon, they say.' ■ 'Yes 3 worried to death by her relations.' ' Poor little thing ! Relations are not a pleasant race, upon the whole. We have had some experience of their amiable ways. I'm glad I've only one sister. If there had been another, she might have made herself a nuisance to us both.' ' I have got on very well without sisters,' said Angeline contentedly. ' I should not have liked interference, I am afraid. My amiability is due to my being let alone.' ' It would be a good thing if that poor little Miss Swift could be let alone; she looks as if another year of worrying and scolding would send her straight to heaven.' ' Life is very hard for some girls, Laurence. I could not help glancing from that thin, sad little face to Miss Heather- stone ' ' Who was only half awake. You will hardly agree with me, Angeline; but if Miss Swift lives • and prospers, I believe she will yet be the better-looking of the two. That pretty baby will eat, and drink, and sleep, until she loses all shape and feature. If I were her husband, the sight of that round face, growing fatter and rounder every day, would drive me to desperation. How could I ever have seriously entertained the idea of marrying her?' ' Perhaps if you had asked her she would have said " No," suggested Angeline. G 94 A WOMAN'S GLORY\ 'Nonsense! She is far too amiable to refuse anybody, unless her brother made her do it.' 'What do you think of Mrs. Heatherstone?' Angeline asked. 'A handsome, ill-tempered woman. She looks sulkier now than she did in her maiden days, when she was flirting with Sidney Ludlow.' 'Ah, I have heard of that affair,' said Miss Torwood musingly ■ ' and Captain Ludlow, was he really fond of her?,' • ' As fond as ever man was of woman. In her way, she liked him better than any one else, I believe; but she never dreamt of marrying him. I didn't like Maud Collington, and I do not like Mrs. Heatherstone.' ' She seemed to be making advances to Miss Netterville,' Angeline remarked. ' I wonder why ?' ' Miss Netterville will do well to keep out of her way. There is something dangerous in that woman. I am sure she is always plotting mischief.' Cora Wallace had bestowed a good deal of thought upon Eunice's manuscript. Her opinion was more favourable than Bride had dared to hope. ' That woman is really clever,' she said; ' she has an original mind. I have thoroughly enjoyed her bogles and fairies. And I think I know a way to help her.' Bride said nothing; but she caught Cora's hand and pressed it. 'Ah, I see you have taken Eunice Swift to your heart. Well, you might have taken many worse people. I am going to ask my godfather to look after her.' ' Your godfather ?' ' Yes j you must have heard of Mr. Redcliffe ? He writes historical works, and no end of heavy books. And yet, in his spare hours, he has actually written stories for children. I was rather a matter-of-fact little girl myself, but I can remember the delight those tales gave me.' 1A PLEASANT-SPIRITED LADY!' 95 'And will he take an interest in Eunice? It seems too much to hope for,' said Bride. ' It is certain that he will. And I shall put the manuscript into his hands to-morrow. I am going up to town.' ' In this hot weather, when everybody is away ?' 'Yes; my godfather is also my guardian. There are certain business matters to be arranged, and I must see him at once. He lives with a sister, older than himself, in an old house in Queen Anne Street. They wanted me to make my home with them; but I never could endure their tame life.' ' ' Yet your life here is tame.' ' True ; but Mrs. Collington is a woman of the world, and we can mingle sympathies. My godfather's sister, at seventy, is as simple as a daisy. I am too worldly for such society. There would not be a single link between Mrs. Densley and myself.' ' I suppose not,' said Bride. ' And yet I should think it must be a peaceful home.' ' Peaceful, but painfully dull. Bride, I have a word of warning for you before I go away.' ' But, Cora, you will soon return ?' ' Of course, child ; I am only going to stay a week in town. But a good deal of mischief may be done in six or seven days. Beware of making a friend of Maud Heatherstone !' ' I do not like her,' said Bride decidedly. 'Few women do. Nevertheless, when Maud chooses to be agreeable, she has a way of bending people to her will. She possesses force of character.' 'But I will not be bent,' cried Bride haughtily; 'and, really, I don't think she will want to grow intimate with me. I am not a person of consequence.' ' She has been pointedly civil to you, Bride; and when Maud takes the trouble to be civil, I always know that she has a design in her head.' G 2 96 A WOMAN'S GLORY. ' What design ?' ' How can I possibly answer such a question, child ?' said Cora wearily. All I know is, that Maud never makes up to people without'a purpose. I remember her ways when we were children together. She seldom failed to gain her point.' 'But there is no weakness in you, Cora. You are surely a match for Mrs. Heatherstone ? ' ' Yes,' replied Miss Wallace, with a slight smile. ' Maud will not venture to play tricks while I am looking on. But in my absence there will be no one to guard you.' 'Forewarned is forearmed,' said Bride confidently. 'She will find me proof against her devices.' The time was six o'clock in the evening, and the two were standing under the porch of the Nest. The air was laden with the sweetness of the jessamine, now shedding white stars upon the ground, and flinging its feathery sprays over the trellised sides of the rustic portico. After the heat of a long day, a cool breath came stealing through the shrubs and trees that sheltered the cottage, and the freshness seemed to tempt Cora to linger. ' I like you, Bride,' she said softly, laying her hand on the girl's shoulder. ' It's an admission that I do not often make. I don't know why I should stand here saying foolish things in this maundering fashion.' ' Indeed, Cora, you have said a very pleasant thing.' ' Well, it was said in all sincerity. Farewell, little one; and don't forget my warning.' The two beautiful /aces met in a kiss, and then Miss Wallace went her way. With all her high opinion of Cora's wisdom, Bride was a little disposed to make light of that warning. In her.eyes Maud was not at all a dangerous person, but simply a lazy and rather uninteresting woman. She did not like Maud, and did not desire a closer intimacy. But she thought that Cora had unconsciously magnified her defects. 'NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME.' 97 And then, too, Bride felt perfectly sure of being on her guard. She rather prided herself on the tact that can repel politely. ' If I find that Mrs. Heatherstone is getting too demon- strative, I can build up a little barrier of reserve,' she thought. ' But she is too indolent to make advances. Cora must have been dreaming.' CHAPTER X. ' " now ye maun go with me," she said.' Cora Wallace had been absent for two days, and Bride was busying herself with home occupations. Poor Eunice was in disgrace again. That ' little bird,' who is always on the watch in every small community, had espied the group under the castle-walls, and flew to Mrs. Goad with the news. Matilda immediately declared that her worst fears were realized. Eunice was bent on copying Miss Netterville's ways, and would end in bringing trouble upon her family. She had been seen seated in the middle of a party from Verbena Lodge, and making herself the centre of attraction. And she had actually had the assurance to amuse those strangers by telling them one of her ridiculous stories. ' It would not have been quite so bad if they had all been ladies,' Mrs. Goad continued; ' although even then Eunice's self-confidence would have disgusted me. But there was an officer among them—a vain, frivolous, dissipated military fop. And she tried to attract his notice by telling a love-tale!' 'I never tried to attract his notice,' said Eunice indignantly. 'And I only told an old story connected with the castle. It was a true tale; not one of my inventions.' ' It does not matter what it was,' Matilda replied; ' it is quite clear that you are trying to get intimate with people who 98 A WOMAN'S GLORY. will not associate with your own relations. It's that aspiring spirit of yours, Eunice, that is at the bottom of everything. You want to hold your head above us all.' There was another storm; the little servant trembled in the kitchen when she heard Mr. Swift raging. Eunice crept up-stairs to her attic, and sat down by the window in her old attitude of despair. ' How long ?' she murmured, half aloud. ' How long ?' And then, remembering that thousands of tortured souls were sending up the same cry, her head sank upon her hands. Who was she, that she should expect to be relieved, while so many were waiting for an answer ? It was no comfort at that moment to think of herself as. belonging to a brotherhood of sufferers. When a multitude is calling for help, what hope is there for one among the million ? For some minutes she sat and struggled with her misery, while the afternoon light streamed in through her case- ment, and merry swallows twittered under the eaves. Looking back afterwards on that wretched day, she saw that it was like the dark hour before the dawning. Every pang that she endured was a round in the ladder by which she was to climb to fame. But she knew nothing of that bright future as she sat crouching in the sunbeams, and wishing that they were shining upon her grave. Meanwhile, Aunt Margery and Bride were tasting the sweets of repose after a busy morning. All the doors and windows of the little house were standing open, and flies and bees came humming in and out, keeping up a drowsy din that lulled Uncle Andrew into the soundest of afternoon naps. Mrs. Ormiston began to nod over the stocking she was knitting, and Bride found a pleasant dreaminess stealing over her own senses. Her needlework was not important enough to keep her interest awake, and by-and-by the lace and muslin lay untouched upon her lap. Outside the open window was the green gloom of the shrubbery, shutting in the cottage with thick foliage, and hiding its lower storey 1 NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME: 99 from passers-by. Every faint sigh of the south wind brought in the rich breath of the jessamine, and her thoughts went wandering away—far away to a land of temples, and palms, and flowers. He was there; in 'yonder shining orient where his life began to beat.' The land where he drew his first breath, was destined, perhaps, to be his last resting-place. It had been the burial-ground of many of our bravest sons and fairest daughters—that vast, costly India. The graves of his parents were there; and under the wings of the great white angel at Cawnpore, a little sister lay at rest. What marvel if the soil which had proved fatal to all his kindred, should demand his life also? ' If I could but see him once again !' sighed Bride ; ' if I could only know that, before I die, he would kiss* me once more ! That little hope would make it quite easy to go on living; but now there is nothing to cling to— nothing that seems to connect my life with him.' Her eyes closed ; the longings began to be half realized in dream. Uncle Andrew, in the next room, was roaming in spirit over his old Highland braes, and listening to the voices of his youth. Aunt Margery, in her slumber, heard the chime of her father's church-bells, and saw the village folk coming in companies across the fields of her childhood. And Bride, in her sleep, was sitting in the sunset light on the beach of Seacastle, with Victor Ashburn by her side. A loud, discordant sound rudely dissolved the spells of dreamland, and brought the three sleepers sharply back to the realities of earth. It was only a double-knock at the open house-door; but it broke in upon the stillness like a clap of thunder. Aunt Margery started into an upright posture, and gave her cap an involuntary twitch, which displaced the top bow. Another moment, and then there was a soft rustle in the entry, as Hannah ushered in Mrs. Heatherstone. Maud wore the historic gown of peacock-blue, with some IOO A WOMAN'S GLORY. pale yellow roses at the bosom. She looked strikingly handsome, and her face when animated was always seen at its best. It was only in her sullen moods that the heavy moulding of lips and chin became observable, and the look of animalism was brought into notice. Even Bride, who had been little disposed to admire her, began to see that she had never done full justice to Maud's beauty. It has been said, not unfrequently, that we suffer when we disregard a warning conveyed in a first impression. The face that at first repelled, may captivate on closer acquaint- ance ; but the first instinct was the true guide. The king, in Grimm's fairy-tale, who could not help shuddering when he was introduced to the witch's beautiful daughter, and yet ended in taking her home to his palace, was not such an uncommon fool after all. And Bride, in spite of her own premonitory dislike, and Cora's words, allowed herself to be fascinated. Maud excelled in the art of delicate flattery. When it suited her to be amiable, she could throw all her natural haughtiness aside. And in a few minutes she had managed to captivate Mrs. Ormiston. ' It is too cruel of Miss Nettqrville to stay away' from Verbena Lodge,' she said ; ' we haven't seen her for three whole days ! And now that Cora has deserted us, we are a terribly dull household.' Aunt Margery was pleased that Bride was missed. She even suffered a gleam of satisfaction to be visible in her face. ' Where have you been hiding ?' continued Maud, turning swiftly to Bride. ' I have pined for a sight of you. My husband has gone out boating; and as to Lilly, she lites in the garden, devouring greengages. You have no idea how lonely I am !' As she spoke, she looked straight in. Bride's face, and smiled. There was a compelling power in that smile, and 'NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME: ioi a sort of witchery in her eyes. The girl's prejudices were beginning to give way. 'Won't you walk with me to the railway station?' she went on, coaxingly. ' It's only a little distance, but I hate walking alone. You will make me eternally grateful if you will come.' It was almost impossible to refuse such pleading. Bride yielded cheerfully, and even dressed herself with unusual care. She tied a delicate muslin fichu over her shoulders, picked out her best gloves, and put a cluster of scarlet geranium into her bodice. Maud gave her a swift glance of criticism when she came downstairs, and then the two went off together. It was one of those perfect afternoons which often come to us when the wheat is nearly ready for the sickle ; a day when the sunny south coast was steeped in languid calm. Looking across the warm gold of corn-fields, you saw the creek of Seacastle brimming with blue sea-water, and caught a glimpse of white sails gleaming in the sun. The mouldering old village lay half asleep amid a wealth of broad-leaved fig-trees, and orchard-boughs heavily laden with ripening apples and pears. Very few persons were to be met on the dusty high road. A hurdy-gurdy player stood resting under the shade of a grey wall; and a brown Italian woman, with a string of gilt beads round her neck, besought the ladies for aims. But the village people were busily gathering plums and early pippins ; and even the children were not to be seen. As they drew near the quiet railway station, Maud ceased talking, and slightly quickened her pace. The pink on her cheeks had deepened now into carmine ; and there was the sparkle of the sapphire in her eyes. ' Certainly I have never done justice to her beauty,' Bride thought. 'She is kind and pleasant to me. I wonder why I don't thoroughly like her ?' Why indeed ? When hearts as unlike as those two can 102 A WOMAN'S, GLORY. beat in unison, the time shall have truly come when the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and the wolf shall dwell with the lamb. They ascended the steep flight of steps that led to the railway platform; and Maud turned at once towards the booking-office. ' I am going to Marsham,' she said abruptly. ' The train will come up in seven minutes.' There was no one on the platform, and Bride sat down on a bench to wait till Mrs. Heatherstone had taken her ticket. The spell of drowsiness and dreams seemed still to linger about her ; and her perceptions were, perhaps, hardly so keen as usual. She sat looking lazily away to the chalky downs that made a barrier between the low-lying coast villages and the fair inland country. And then it occurred to her to wonder vaguely why Maud should go to Marsham ? .Marsham was the slowest and most prosaic of market- towns, containing no first-rate shops, and few objects of interest. It was a place that seemed to be always buried under a weight of sleepy gentility; and even its rare festivities were of so tame a kind that Bride had stayed away from them without a single pang of regret. She had never entered its broad, quiet street, full of stately houses, without longing to get back to the rambling old garden of the Nest, where she might hide among the flowers, and keep tryst with fancy. What could there be in Marsham to lure Mrs. Heatherstone there ? ' The whole world seems to be asleep this afternoon,' said Maud, coming out of the office. ' The ticket-man was dozing in his stuffy little den, and gave me my ticket in a dream.' She took a seat by Bride's side, and gazed eagerly down the shining metals that went winding along the white rail- road. There was still the same light in her eyes, although her voice was perfectly firm and calm. 'NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME.' 103 Presently the little platform began to quiver with the thunder of the train, and in a few seconds more it came rushing into the station. Without waiting for assistance Maud herself turned the handle of a first-class carriage, and pulled the door open with a strong hand. ' You are coming with me,' she said to Bride, speaking as if the matter had been already decided between them. ' No,' Bride answered, with a surprised look. ' But I took two tickets. Pray come; I detest being alone in a railway carriage,' pleaded Maud, with her foot on the step. ' Indeed I cannot; they will be expecting me at home.' Mrs. Heatherstone seated herself quickly. Trains waited scarcely a minute at that sleepy little station; and there was no time to be lost. 'Miss Netterville !' she cried suddenly, 'jump in for one instant—you must, indeed! I want to say something important; we can make them wait.' She seized the girl's hand with a grasp of steel; and before Bride realized her intention, she found herself forcibly drawn into the carriage. ' I must go;—let me get out!' exclaimed the victim. But the door was slammed sharply by a porter, and the train moved on. ' Too late, too late ! The words have been echoing through the world ever since Adam fell!' said Maud, in a chanting tone of triumph that brought a flush of annoyance into Bride's cheeks. Then instantly changing her manner, she began to plead for forgiveness. ' Don't be very angry,' she entreated. ' It was only a childish trick. I have been sadly petted and indulged all my life, and I can't help always trying to get my own way. I know I'm babyish and undignified ; but do pardon me.' There are women who can play the part of a spoiled child to perfection; but to succeed in such a rdle there must be a certain childishness of heart. No touch of the i°4 A WOMAN'S GLORY. child had ever lingered in Maud's nature; she was woman all through, with some of the worst qualities of her sex. The excuses Jiad a false ring; Bride thought bitterly of Cora's warning, and blamed herself for having been so easily taken in. Self-control enabled Maud's unwilling companion to smother her vexation. Her manner was cold and quiet; but it retained all its smoothness. Although Mrs. Heather- stone was occupied with her own concerns that dignified composure was not lost upon her. She knew, by instinct, •that Bride would never forgive the trick that had been played her that day. Yet the girl's fair face was as tranquil as ever, the voice perfectly clear; and any casual observer would have said that Miss Netterville was entirely unruffled. 'I'm glad she takes it so calmly,' Maud thought. 'The child is marvellously well bred. Some girls would have made me an awful scene; I might have had to alight at Marsham with a flushed and palpitating specimen of maidenhood. But now I shall be quite comfortable.' The journey was so short that there was no need to make conversation; and after offering her apologies, Mrs. Heatherstone drew back silently into her corner. The train rushed on, speeding along between trim hedges, with the low hills on the right hand, and the blue waters of the harbour on the left. Then, crossing a viaduct that spanned the muddy creek of Marsham, it slackened speed, and ran quietly into the station of the old market-town. There were people on the platform, porters hurried to and fro, and altogether some show of bustling life was presented here. Maud descended quickly, gave up the tickets, and led the way out into the dusty road. But they seemed to have left all stir and movement inside the station. A few flymen, nodding on their box- seats, woke up to cast inquiring glances on the ladies; then, resigning all hope of a fare, went comfortably off to sleep again. Bride, feeling desperately bored, was begin- 'NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME.' 105 ning to wonder whether Mrs. Heatherstone's shopping would be a lengthy business ? Some vague hint had been dropped about purchasing gloves, but that was all. ' Do you know when the next down-train is due ?' she asked wearily. 'Not yet/ Maud answered. 'I'm afraid we shall have ever so long to wait. It is very tiresome.' 'Shall I step back to the station and make inquiries?' 'No;—yes, please. Perhaps it is well to know exactly how much time we have to spend here,' Maud replied. Bride turned at once, and retraced her steps. A civil porter met her at the door of the station, and answered her question without delay. Two hours before the next down-train came in ! Two hours to be spent in daundering about the dull town, and wearying of Maud's society ! The strain upon her temper was severe, and she fought a silent battle with herself as she returned slowly to her companion. Maud was waiting for her on the footpath, but not alone. A tall, handsome man was standing by her side, and she was speaking fast and low. Catching sight of Bride she advanced a few steps to meet her, with eyes that sparkled like jewels, and cheeks glowing with the richest rose. ' Fancy meeting an old friend in this deadly-lively place !' she cried. 'Let me introduce Captain Ludlow—Miss Netterville.' The young man lifted his hat, and Bride's glance sought his face with a doubting look. An attractive face it undoubtedly was, with bold clearly- cut features, and a perfectly frank expression. Perhaps the chief charm lay in the kindly brown eyes, which looked (as some brown eyes always do) as if they kept sunshine imprisoned under their thick lashes. The skin was brown too ; a dark moustache shaded the mouth, and wavy hair, nearly black, rippled smoothly over the closely cropped head. As to the figure, it matched the face to perfection, io6 A WOMAN'S GLORY. and was tall and strong; but there was nothing gigantic about Sidney Ludlow. He was just a good specimen of a stalwart Englishman—deep-chested, long-limbed, a thorough soldier and sportsman. 4 Two hours to wait!' echoed Maud, when Bride had stated the result of her inquiries. ' That is even worse than I thought. Shall we hire one of those horrid flies, and drive back to Seacastle ?' ' There is a pleasanter conveyance to be had, if you would really like the drive,' said Captain Ludlow, and it seemed to Bride that he spoke as if he were repeating a lesson. 'I borrowed Ainslie's phaeton to-day; it is standing at the Oak, Shall I take you home?' ' That would be quite too delightful!' Maud responded. ' We found the train stifling. And there need be no dawdling here; we can be off at once. You approve of the plan, Miss Netterville ?' Bride did not approve, but her objections could hardly be put into words. She now saw, only too clearly, that Mrs. Heatherstone had made use of her to serve her own ends, and there was a quiet but deep resentment in the girl's heart. A bitter scorn, too, was mingling with the just indignation. She had been tricked and dragged here, that Maud might be defended by the shadowy image of propriety. 'Have you forgotten the gloves?' Bride asked, with the faintest suspicion of a sneer. 'Of course not,' Maud answered promptly. 'We shall pass several shops on our way to the Oak.' They walked on through the broad, quiet street of the town, and Mrs. Heatherstone paused at the first draper's door that presented itself. It was impossible not to see through her flimsy pretence. She asked for gloves, bought a pair at random, and came out gaily, in all the pride of her beauty, flinging an insolent glance at Bride. Captain Ludlow, in spite of Maud's attempts to set him 'NOIV YE MAUN GO WITH ME: at ease, was obviously constrained and uncomfortable. Nature had not intended him for a deceiver, and he played his part so badly that his bolder confederate almost lost patience with him. The Oak was one of those prim old-fashioned hotels that are always to be found in places like Marsham. It was a stiff, bow-windowed old house, with flowers blooming over the portico, and the inevitable waiter lounging in the door- way. To-day the waiter had come beyond the door, and was standing on the kerb to talk to the smart, cockaded groom in charge of a phaeton and pair. ' Capital horses,' said Maud, with an approving glance at the fiery bays. ' Don't like the flies, do they ? Well, we won't keep them standing any longer.' And without paying the least attention to Bride, she sprang up quickly into the front of the phaeton, leaving Captain Ludlow to place Miss Netterville in the back seat. Mrs. Heatherstone had achieved her purpose. She had secured the companionship of a girl who was on intimate terms with her mother and Cora Wallace, and was using her as a shield against possible scandal. But she knew full well that never again should she have the chance of duping Bride. This was not the kind of shield that could be used a second time. And Maud, reading resentment in that calm young face, was coarse enough to be rude. Very gravely, and without a gleam of pleasure in his eyes, Captain Ludlow took his place by Maud's side. He drew the reins scientifically through his strong fingers, and the servant released the heads of the impatient bays. Off they started with an exulting bound, and away went the phaeton down the street, leaving the groom to wait at the Oak till its return. 'It is a nuisance to have that girl sitting behind us,' said Mrs. Heatherstone, with a bright glance at her gloomy knight. ' But it was well for you to have a pair of ladies on your hands.' ioS A WOMAN'S GLORY. ' Who is she ?' he asked. 'Never mind. One of the mother's pet nobodies, that's all. And now, Sidney, are you not very glad to see me again ?' ' Can you doubt it ?' he said, rather awkwardly. ' Humph ! I don't see any signs of rapture. I think, considering the trouble I have taken to get here, that you might have given me a 'more cordial greeting.' The road from Marsham to Seacastle was not remarkable for any striking charms of scenery. The principal street ended abruptly in the sharp descent of a narrow, tree- shadowed lane, that opened out upon the bridge and creek. At low tide this creek was a mere waste of greenish mud, displeasing alike to eyes and nose. But at high water, when the willow-boughs dipped their slender leaves into the ripples, and little wavelets came washing up to the margin of the road, the aspect of the place was pleasant enough. To-day the creek was full, and its fresh, briny scent filled the air. Maud drew in a long breath, and leaned back in her seat with a look of satisfaction. ' This is simply delicious !' she said. ' There is quite a cool breeze. Don't drive too fast, Sidney.' ' The horses want to go their own pace,' he answered. 'I fancy Ainslie hasn't given them enough to do lately. They are pulling my arms off. Steady, then, steady! be quiet, can't you ?' ' Don't talk to them !' cried his companion, with a touch of pettishness. ' We have a thousand things to say to each other. Now, to make a beginning; you know that I expect you to come to Firwood?' The bays became very troublesome at that moment, and the effort of controlling them sent the blood up into the driver's brow. 'I—think—perhaps it's better not to come,' he muttered, getting out the words with evident difficulty. c NOW YE MAUN GO WITH ME: 109 The rich bloom on Mrs. Heatherstone's cheek suddenly paled, and there shot from her eyes just one purple gleam of anger. Such a look the lady of Smaylho'me might have cast upon the phantom Sir Richard, when she conjured him to come to her bower. All the force of the woman's strong will was concentrated in her tone when she spoke again; and yet she had never spoken more softly. 'Do I deserve to be slighted, Sidney?' she asked. 'I thought we were to be friends—friends always.' 'We are friends,'he replied. 'And if there is anything that I can do to prove my friendship, you know how gladly it will be done.' She laughed, very gently, but bitterly. ' You can say that,' she said, ' and yet decline my invita- tion. The first proof of friendship that I ask for, you refuse to give.' His face showed plainly that a struggle was going on within, and she watched him keenly. But not to take the part of his better self. There are women who will help a man to fight against his good angel, rather than lose one jot or one tittle of their- power. He spoke at last, in a low voice, earnestly, and without glancing at Mrs. Heatherstone. 'You must forgive me, Maud, if I have seemed formal and distant. From the very day of your marriage I have honestly tried to conquer the old feeling, but—it is not easily overcome; and until I have quite succeeded in mastering my folly, I think we had better not meet too often. Now you know all, and you will not urge me to go to Firwood.' ' Oh, Sidney !' she said plaintively, ' I am sure you are imagining a danger. I have so longed to renew the eld intercourse, and there cannot possibly be any harm in friendship.' ' No harm at all, so long as the friendship is kept within certain limits. Only, Maud, don't tempt me to tread on H I IO A WOMAN'S GLORY. dangerous ground. Let us say no more about the matter; I am not a man of many words, you know. And I hate talking about this kind of thing.' The bays resented an unnecessary cut with the whip. They gave a plunge that startled Bride, busy with her own medita- tions, and taking little thought of the pair on the front seat. 'Ah,' sighed Maud, 'I might have been happy, but for the mother's worldliness ! It is quite too hard.' ' I don't think it is fair to blame the mother,' said Captain Ludlow frankly. 'You were very firm once when I was weak enough to lose my head and talk nonsense. No, Maud; you never had a thought of becoming the wife of a wandering soldier; and of course you were quite right.' ' The wisest man on earth is but a poor judge of a woman,' she murmured sadly. ' You don't know what a pressure was brought to bear upon me; you little guess what argu- ments were used. If you did know all, you would not speak so harshly.' ' I am not harsh, Maud. I hope I have said nothing to give you pain,' said poor Ludlow. ' You have wounded me deeply,' she replied, with a meek and patient sweetness that was new in her. ' But I forgive you for old sake's sake. Never mind my pain; I can bear that and all my other troubles alone.' It was only the old well-worn trick which cost Samson his liberty, and Merlin his glory, and brought the Scottish James to his woeful end on the Field of Flodden. But it seldom fails, even in these prosaic days, when men are sup- posed to be thoroughly versed in all the wiles of the weaker sex. The stratagem never changes; the nature of the fair ensnarer repeats itself from age to age. Delilah, Vivien, Dame Heron of Ford—the spirit of the sorceress was in them all, and lives again in all its evil strength in the bosoms of such women as Maud Heatherstone. Captain Ludlow gave one look into his companion's dark- blue eyes, and she knew that her game was won. 'NOW YE MAUN GO WITH MEI iii { Don't speak so,' he said hoarsely. ' I had no suspicion that you were unhappy. I have been a brute, Maud, if I've hurt you. Only tell me what I can do to make amends for my clumsiness!' ' Come to Firwood, Sidney. Let me have my old friend by my side again, just for a little while. Let me try to feel myself a girl once more. It isn't wicked to cling to the memory of the old life, and all its dear associations.' ' I will come,! he answered, speaking very low. I had no idea that you wished it so earnestly. Right or wrong, I will do my utmost to please you.' They were now drawing near the end of the drive ; the road, a perfectly level one, ran on between hedges wreathed with bind-weed, and banks sprinkled with poppies. Captain Ludlow, more shaken and agitated than he cared to show, had perhaps relaxed a little in his watchful care of the bays. Moreover, there appeared to be small need for such extreme vigilance; no vehicle of any kind was in sight, and the way seemed to be thoroughly clear and quiet. Maud was just looking up, with eloquent eyes, into the handsome troubled face by her side, when the horses gave a start and sprang suddenly to the other side of the road. Another instant, and the phaeton, with its three occupants was completely overturned; and the maddened bays, strain- ing and plunging, were held fast and entangled by the harness and the fallen carriage. CHAPTER XI. ' it is jove's doing, and jove make me thankful !' It was just one of those accidents which seem at first to be utterly inexplicable ; but the cause was to be found in the prostrate figure of a tramp, asleep under the hedge with a bundle by his side. h 2 112 A WOMAN'S GLORY. The sight of such a shabby heap of humanity had been too much for the irritable nerves of the bays ; and they might have been conscious, too, that the hand which held the reins had slackened in his firm grasp. Anyhow the start, and the crash that followed it, took place in the space of a few seconds ; and the miserable tramp, rudely aroused from his slumbers, woke up to see that terrible jumble by the roadside. Captain Ludlow, half persuaded that he must be in the middle of a bad dream, discovered that he was sitting in a bed of nettles. His first thoughts were for his companions; but Maud's voice soon let him know that she was close at hand, and in a pitiful plight. The hedge had received Mrs. Heatherstone in a close embrace. Amorous brambles were laying hold of the peacock-blue gown, and clutching the Parisian bonnet. With some difficulty she was extracted from her thorny predicament, leaving fragments of her costume upon bush and brier, and wearing a scratch upon her cheek which Would be visible for weeks to come. It was a sorry ending to that dramatic little dialogue which she had managed with such skill and success. Beauty in distress is popularly supposed to have a resistless charm. But beauty scratched and torn, and hampered with strips of tattered raiment, can hardly hope to escape a touch of the ridiculous. Moreover, the temper th^t all Maud's family knew so well had got the better of her judgment, and was showing itself too plainly. 11 am awfully hurt,' she cried, and Captain Ludlow's fears on her account instantly vanished. ' My face is disfigured for life. Don't take hold of my arm j all the skin is torn off. Oh! what an idiot I was to trust myself with a man who doesn't know how to drive !' If her luckless knight winced under this thrust, he was too brave to show that it had gone home. With all possible care and tenderness, he extricated her from the brambles, 'it is jove's doing: 113 and seated her on the grass that bordered the road. Then, remembering her young companion, he turned quickly away and heard a husky voice saying : ' Seems to me, sir, this lady's badly hurt!' It was the tramp who had spoken. With real concern on his sunburnt features, he was bending over Bride, and gazing into her beautiful, still face. The two men, who stood so helplessly looking down upon her, both thought at first that her young life was at an end. Gentleman and vagrant, forgetting the vast social gulf that lay between them, had met in spirit over that prostrate form, and were moved by the same feeling of unutterable regret. ' Why do you leave me sitting here ?' demanded Maud, in an indignant whine. ' You must go on to Verbena Lodge at once, Sidney, and get mamma's carriage. Don't bother about Miss Netterville ; she has only fainted. Girls always do faint when anything happens. It is the people who are seriously injured that retain their miserable consciousness ! I only wish / could faint.' Perhaps at that moment it might have occurred to Captain Ludlow that he was a luckier man than Robert Heather- stone. There are such strange chances and changes in our lives that the heart-breaking loss of to-day may look like a deliverance to-morrow; and a man may live long enough to pity a successful rival. It is possible that Beauseant might have learnt, in time, not only to forgive Melnotte for winning the Lady of Lyons, but also to thank the kind foe who had snatched the once-coveted treasure from his grasp. It is only death that has the power of idealizing our lost treasures. Life, as a rule, teaches us that they were not of much value, after all. 'I am afraid Miss Netterville is stunned,' said Sidney Ludlow gravely. ' I tell you it is nothing but a fainting-fit !' cried Maud angrily. ' How can she be hurt when she was pitched out upon soft grass ? My own state is really serious, and you ii4 A WOMAN'S GLORY. don't pay me the least attention. It's quite too awfully cruel of you to neglect me so !' A welcome sound of wheels, coming from the direction of Marsham, prevented Captain Ludlow's reply. Maud at once left off bewailing herself, and began to make futile attempts to straighten her bonnet. The sound came nearer, and then a carriage and pair appeared in sight. A solitary gentleman occupied the vehicle, which proved to be an open fly belonging to the Oak. The driver, who instantly recognized Captain Ludlow and the bays, pulled up at once, and the gentleman got out. ' It is Lord Inglefield !]' muttered Maud; 1 and here am I in this horrible condition !' A very few words sufficed to explain the whole matter. Mrs. Heatherstone, suddenly becoming gentle and gracious, gladly accepted a seat in the fly, and showed herself deeply concerned about ' that poor dear child.' Bride was gently lifted in by the new-comer, and the carriage moved on, leaving the captain and the tramp upon the scene of the disaster. As the wheels rolled away, Sidney Ludlow drew a long breath of relief. The temper that Maud had so freely dis- played to him was instantly controlled by the presence of the peer. Before Lord Inglefield, too, she was ready to make a show of womanly tenderness to the poor girl whom she had totally neglected a few moments ago. For the old love's sake, Sidney might have excused her temper, but he could not condone her selfishness and meanness. As he stood in the dusty road, surveying the wreck of the phaeton, he felt that one danger had been the means of delivering him from another. He had lost his head; and this crash had brought him back to his senses, and given him a new view of Maud's character. With something like contempt, he recalled the parting smile which had been supposed to make amends for all her faults, and win him back 'IT IS JOVE'S DOING: 115 to his former allegiance. Of a truth, it is the sorceress herself who is often the breaker of her own spell. Slowly and painfully Bride Netterville returned to con- sciousness, but not until the carriage stopped at the gate of The Nest. Strong arms carried her along the garden-path to the cottage, and she became vaguely aware that the face bending over her seemed scarcely to belong to the every-day world. Bruised and bewildered as she was, that face could not fail to leave a clear impression on her memory. It haunted her troubled dreams all through that night of pain. Sometimes the features seemed to be those of the great archangel who trampled the fiend under his feet; and sometimes they belonged to King Arthur, and wore the look that he had bent upon his fallen queen. While she tossed and turned in restless slumber, Bride always beheld that face, lifted high above her, pitiful, yet a little stern, and ever calm. At intervals she woke to the full consciousness of her bruised condition, and was relieved to find herself lying in her own bed. Hannah was keeping sleepless watch by her side; the casement had been left unfastened, and the scented breath of the summer night crept into the little chamber. Once a large moth flitted in, and hovered round the taper, casting a wavering shadow of wings upon the walls. And then the soft light of dawn filled the room wrth a faint glow that brightened and deepened into the full glory of morning. The day brought Mrs. Collington, in real concern and distress, to the Nest. Her knowledge of Maud and Maud's ways convinced her that Bride had been a dupe and a victim. But she was too worldly-wise to make excuses for her daughter, and simply confined herself to regret and sym- pathy most warmly expressed. Her best light wines, her choicest fruits, were sent to the sufferer; and her cook was directed to prepare daily dainties and send them to the cottage. All these attentions were so delicately paid that it A WOMAN'S GLORY. would have been ungracious to refuse them. And poor Aunt Margery, shaken and anxious to the fast degree, found them useful and comforting. The accident made an excellent opportunity for a display of kindliness on the part of the ladies of Seacastle. One and all availed themselves eagerly of the chance, and were unremitting in their inquiries. Even Mrs. Goad ventured to present herself once more at The Nest, and was received with a stately courtesy, that made her feel smaller than ever. She returned to her home, grumbling at the incon- stancy of her neighbours, and complaining loudly of the haughtiness of the Ormistons. And somehow, when Mrs. Goad's temper was ruffled, Eunice Swift was always a sufferer. Long afterwards, Eunice was wont to call this period of her life her ' worst time.' Heaven only knew her sicken- ing anxiety to learn the fate of her manuscripts. The friend that she loved best was lying in a sick chamber, and home troubles pressed her to the very dust. Even Lavinia Bertie was beginning to feel exceedingly uncomfortable. She knew that the people of Seacastle were all regarding Eunice with compassion, and the girl's sad face told her story. Moreover, Lavinia's conscience (by no means over-sensitive as a rule) was now bestirring itself, and pleading for this unhappy youngest sister, who seemed to be standing quite alone in her little world. Naturally of a cold temperament, Lavinia has always endured Matilda's tyranny equably and patiently. Her own married life had been very brief; no great love had ever taken deep root in the barren soil of her nature; no aspiration had ever troubled her placid spirit. Such as it was, she made the best of her lot, and accepted Matilda as the ruler and benefactor of the family. Lavinia had no influence with Mr. Swift; she had never had any influence with anybody. But she saw, plainly enough, that he was using Eunice ill, and she lamented it in a dull, helpless fashion. 'IT IS JOVE'S DOING.' 117 To do Lavinia justice, she was not possessed by that spirit of toadyism which was the ruling trait in Mr. Swift's character. She did not wish to accept favours from Matilda. Her wants were few, and she could have lived a contented life supported by her own little income. But it was right that she should be her father's housekeeper in his old age. And if she desired solitude, she did not let him know it. She could best please him by accepting Matilda's bounties, and being humble and grateful. But of late her conscience, long torpid, had begun to disturb her peace. The sight of Eunice's worn face had given her many a dull pang. It was not in Lavinia to feel anything keenly ; but she was conscious of a desire to take the girl's part. She saw that Mr. Swift, obstinate and obtuse, had no idea of the harm he was doing. He was firmly persuaded that his was a just and fatherly resentment. Eunice, in his eyes, was the veritable black sheep of the family. After her last call at The Nest, Matilda hastened to pour her complaints into her father's willing ear. 'The whole village has turned against me!' she said. 'Was there ever anything so cruel, papa? The Ormistons received me with the greatest coldness. It doesn't seem to matter to them whether I make advances or not! And there was quite a crowd of inquirers round the door. You should have seen Harriet Cox's smirk when she asked for dear Miss Netterville. I don't believe they would make such a fuss if I broke all my bones at once !' Mr. Swift was overflowing with sympathy. 'Eunice has been privately undermining me,' said Mrs. Goad, rising to take her leave. ' I have to thank her for it all.' Eunice had another scolding before she went to bed that night, and she looked so ill, that Lavinia took a desperate resolution. She waited till the house was still, and then crept noiselessly upstairs, carrying some sandwiches and a n8 A WOMAN'S GLORY. bottle of wine. For a few seconds she listened at the door of Eunice's attic, but heard no sound within. ' Eunice !' she said, knocking softly. There was no answer. Her heart beat a little faster as she turned the handle of the door, and found that it was not locked. It was the first time that she had ever broken in upon hgr sister's solitude; the first time that she had ever striven to minister to the fainting spirit under her own roof. Yet it was by no means the first time that she had performed an errand of mercy. For two short years she had been the wife of a curate in a large manufacturing town, and it had been her business to visit those who were in poverty and affliction. She had done her duties con- scientiously, in a machine-like manner, it is true, but still with an honest desire to do her best. But there are not a few among us who can remember the needy out of doors, and forget the sufferers at home. The stranger is often tended with ease and readiness, while the kinsman is approached with difficulty and reluctance. Lavinia, hesitating at her sister's door, was conscious of having neglected a duty that lay very near her feet. And yet it cost her a mighty effort to take it up. Eunice was sitting on a low seat near her attic window, and the room was sweet and cool with the fresh air of night. She had put out the candle, but the chamber was not dark; so clear was the atmosphere, and so fair was the starlight, that the outlines of her face and figure were distinctly seen. She sat in her old despairing attitude, her hands clasped in her lap, her face uplifted to the sky; and so absorbed was she in her own reverie of sorrow, that she did not hear Lavinia's quiet entrance. 'You have eaten hardly anything to-day, Eunice,' Mrs. Bertie said softly. 'I have brought you some wine and sandwiches. It won't do for you to be making yourself ill, you know.' Ir9 CHAPTER XII. 'there might you have beheld one joy crown another.' At the sound of Lavinia's voice Eunice started slightly; but she was too apathetic just then to be very much astonished at anything. She really had a vague consciousness that she was getting ill, and yet she knew that she had pulled through a good many incipient illnesses in that old attic. It had been one of Matilda's established rules to declare that there never was anything the matter with Eunice. If the poor girl had a headache, Matilda always called it a fit of the sulks; and on one occasion, when Eunice spent a day in bed, Mrs. Goad came to White Cottage in a state of virtuous indignation. Even now so strong was the force of habit and influence, that Lavinia approached her with the old formula : ' It won't do for you to be making yourself ill.' No, it wouldn't do. Some voice within Eunice's dull heart seemed to echo the words, and she made an earnest effort to rouse herself. ' I know I ought to be in bed,' she said meekly. ' My head throbbed, and I didn't want to lie down. ' But I won't sit up any longer.' ' Don't lie down till you have had the wine and sand- wiches,' replied Mrs. Bertie, depositing her tray upon the bed, and then softly closing the door. She groped about for the matches, and lighted the candle again, while Eunice sat and watched her movements with languid surprise. ' If that is papa's wine, Lavinia, I won't drink it,' she said at last. ' It is my own wine,' Mrs. Bertie answered. ' I hope you are not going to be absurd. You have got weak and 120 A WOMAN'S GLORY. exhausted, and you'll have a fearful neuralgic headache to-morrow if you don't take something.' ' I didn't know that you kept any wine of your own,' said Eunice heavily. ' I keep it in a cupboard in my room,' confessed Lavinia after a moment's hesitation. ' But you mustn't mention it to Matilda. She might take it into her head that I was becoming a drunkard. I only keep it because I don't want to drink any that she sends to papa.' Eunice raised herself slowly from her weary posture. She let Lavinia put the wine-glass into her hand, and the plate into her lap. ' It bothers me to eat,' she said with a sigh. ' I dare say it does,' Lavinia replied. ' But we have all got to do things that bother us. I don't very much enjoy eating and drinking, as a rule, myself.' ' I don't think you enjoy anything very much, Lavinia,' said Eunice, wj'io had taken a few mouthfuls, and found them rather nice. 'No, I don't. There's nothing in life that's worth going into raptures about.' ' Oh, I think there is !' exclaimed Eunice, emptying her glass. ' Life doesn't seem half so dreary when you have had some wine. I feel quite a new creature.' ' Then you shall have another glass,' said Lavinia, promptly producing the bottle. ' If ever I get rich,' Eunice remarked with increasing cheerfulness, ' I'll have a regular burst with champagne. And I'll invite all the people who have got heartaches, and fill them up bumpers. I hope you'll come to my feast, Lavinia! I should like, just for once, to see you slightly intoxicated!' 'You are slightly intoxicated yourself,' said Lavinia coolly. ' But I really believe it agrees with you !' 'Yes, it does. I only need a wreath of vine-leaves to make me a perfect Bacchante ! c ONE JOY CROWN ANOTHER: '" Fill the bumper fair ; Every drop we sprinkle On the brow of Care Smooths away a wrinkle !" ' ' Good gracious, what a queer girl you are, Eunice !' said Mrs. Bertie wonderingly. ' You must have been very much run down, if a little wine takes such an effect on you !' 'It isn't mere wine; it's the stolen fire of Prometheus ! You are a brick, Lavinia. We shall both remember this carousal in happy years to come !' Later on they did remember it. Eunice wished her sister a cheerful good-night, and went obediently to bed. And Mrs. Bertie crept down to her own room in a puzzled frame of mind. Was there anything prophetic in Eunice's queer words ? Or did she only talk in that way because the wine had got into her head ? Lavinia was a dull woman. But it had often occurred to her that Eunice had in her some sparks of the thing called genius. The girl had the sensitive temperament that is instantly kindled by a gleam of hope. A breath could dim her. flame ; a breath could revive it. She had a bright wit, ever ready to shine through the gloom of her life. Without knowing it, she possessed the very qualities that made up the true poet nature : the pathos, the strong feeling, and that curious dash of the bon-vivant which imparts such a charm to other gifts. If she ever did develop into a somebody, she would make more friends than enemies. If she ever did ! When this thought had once found' its way into Lavinia's brain, it lingered there. She even began to chuckle over it in the solitude of her room. She was not gifted with a vivid fancy; but she could manage to picture Mrs. Goad's discomfiture. Yet farther than this her imagination could not go. She could not paint the ugly duckling in her swan's plumage, nor realize the marvellous changes that success can make. Still she 122 A WOMAN'S GLORY. had got up quite a little entertainment for herself, and was merry over it in secret. For her own part she had grown quite used to being sat upon by Matilda. But she could still find pleasure in the thought of seeing Matilda sat upon in her turn. Eunice slept soundly, and woke rather later than usual. Her heart felt a little lighter as she rose and dressed, and yet there was really no change in her lot There was another weary day to be gone through; and, worst of all, there was no work for those willing hands to accomplish. Even the drudgery of teaching dull children was a thousand times better than inaction. She had begun to eat the bread of independence, and it was the only kind of food that had a wholesome taste. After breakfast she slipped away from the house as soon as possible, and went out into the fields, carrying a work-bag on her arm. Could she ever contrive to earn a living by her needle, she wondered ? Alas, her skill as a sempstress was not great; and she almost thought she should prefer being a parlour-maid or a nurse. Parlour-maids and nurses were always in request; but somehow the demand for governesses appeared to be terribly small. It was a perfect summer-day : a day of such strong light and untempered brilliancy that one was glad to avoid the glaring white road, and keep to the grass. The shouts of a band of charity children kept Eunice away from the castle and its precincts. She wanted to take counsel with herself and be quiet, and her head was not quite strong enough to stand the cheering. Yet it was pleasant to hear the out- bursts softened by distance, and to think of the poor little souls so heartily enjoying a rare holiday. Eunice was a woman of large sympathies; her thoughts and prayers embraced the whole world, and she could thank God that others basked in the sun, even while she walked in the shade. There was no ill-temper now in her poor worn face and sad eyes; and she smiled to herself as she ' ONE JOY CRO WN A NO THER.' 12 3 listened to the children's cheers. There were trees in the fields, and she sauntered on towards a group of elms that had often sheltered her on days like this. There was an inviting spot of soft turf just at the foot of the largest tree, and Eunice was about to settle herself comfortably, work-bag and all, when a clear voice said ' Good morning.' It was Cora Wallace who had spoken, as she came out from behind the elms, a queenly figure in ' a pretty figured linen gown' such as Lady Teazle might have worn. She wore a coarse gipsy straw hat, with a bunch of poppies in it and her face, framed in this rustic fashion, looked so rarely beautiful that Eunice's honest admiration shone in her eyes, and half amused and wholly gratified Cora. It was seldom indeed that Miss Wallace met so sweet and frank a gaze from any woman in her own set. She laughed to herself at the remembrance of the bland smiles that scarcely veiled the spite and heart-burning of some of her rivals. Here, at any rate, was a plain girl taking a genuine pleasure in the beauty of another woman, and looking at her without a spark of envy in her candid glance. ' I have some news for you,' said Cora kindly, holding out her hand. Eunice's heart throbbed painfully, and a hot flush dyed her sallow cheeks. But surely the news must be good ; for Cora's look and tone were full of encouragement. 'News about my manuscript?' she asked falteringly. 'Yes,.capital news. My godfather says that your story is really almost perfect in its kind. There need be no more doubts about your power, Miss Swift; you have the true literary capacity.' Eunice's poor tired face became deadly pale; her lips parted in a vain attempt to say grateful words, but only a choking sob could be heard. Yet there was something so infinitely pathetic in that dumb gratitude that Cora's heart was moved. It was seldom that Miss Wallace found her feelings getting 124 A WOMAN'S GLORY. the upper hand. From her earliest girlhood she had trained herself to self-possession. By controlling herself she had generally succeeded in managing others. No one had ever seen her discomposed; and, it was tacitly assumed that she was a philosopher. But to-day there were no worldly eyes looking on. She was alone in the fields with this poor girl; and for once in her life she was deeply stirred. 'I have other good things to say,' she said gently. 'Do you think you can hear them now ?' ' Yes,' Eunice whispered. ' Oh, how kind you are ! You will have a little patience with my weakness ?' There was a brief pause. Again the sound of laughing voices came drifting across the quiet field. Cora looked away from Eunice to the grey tower. A flag was flying from its summit, unfurling its gay folds in the clear air. But tower and flag were seen dimly, as through a mist; for her eyes were full of tears. After all, what a little kindness she had done! It was absurdly easy, she thought, to make some people happy. Her own cravings were not so easily satisfied. Her present life seemed commonplace and cold, a dull march of days tending onwards to nothing. She had always missed the thing that she desired most. Once or twice she had been near to gaining, it: time and opportunity must surely have made it her own. But time and opportunity had been denied. Her beauty was not yet on the wane. It was tlie kind of beauty that ripens gradually, and fades slowly. Only a minute ago Eunice's frank glance had paid a tribute to her charms. But this waiting and watching life would soon begin to leave its traces. For half a moment she could almost have envied the girl she had befriended. Eunice at any rate had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. 'Well,' she said, rousing herself from her dream, 'I've not told you anything yet. My godfather has placed your manuscript in good hands. You will get a letter from a 1 ONE JOY CROWN ANOTHER: 125 publisher very soon; and you must go on writing more stories.' Eunice's eyes glistened. 'There is still something else. Mr. Redcliffe is an old man, and his sight is failing fast. He wants some one to write down his thoughts for him. His sister cannot do it, of coarse; she is older than himself. Do youthink you could go and help him ? ' ' Go to him ? Live in London ?' 'Yes. They are in a dull old house in Queen Anne Street. But you don't mind dulness ? It would be a real home; and Mrs. Densley would be like a mother. Ah, that pleases you, doesn't it ?' 'Pleases me !' Eunice repeated. 'Oh, you don't under- stand! I know now how the princess felt when she got a glimpse of heaven.' ' Poor child! how miserable you must have been in this place! I dare say Queen Anne Street will be a heaven to you. To me it seems like a very different region. They will want you there very soon. You must begin to make your preparations.' ' When am I to go ?' Eunice asked eagerly. ' This is August. Well, they will be ready for you on the first of October. The doctors are sending my godfather to the seaside. But he hates to be away from home.' ' I was afraid I might have to wait a long time.' She drew a deep breath of relief. ' Miss Wallace, I shall try to thank you by-and-by.' ' Oh, never mind the thanks,' said Cora lightly. ' I wonder whether you will ever know the good you have done? No ; I don't think you ever will. To know it you would have to realize the sort of life I have led.' ' Perhaps I do realize it a little. I have often been very sorry for you.' 'I dare say I ought to have liked it better,' said Eunice simply. ' I tried to get on, but they will all be happier 126 A WOMAN'S GLORY. without me. As for me, I am set free; and I owe every- thing to you.' ' Good-bye,' said Cora kindly. ' I shall be fancying my- self an angel of goodness if I stay longer. You will be happy and famous too some day.' She went her way across the wide sunny field. And Eunice sat down at the foot of the elm, and watched her with misty eyes. The blue sky seemed suddenly to grow dim; a haze gathered over the old castle, and the children's voices died away. Her head sank back against the trunk of the tree. There was a sound in her ears like the noise of many waters; she was fast losing her hold of realities. Life itself had become a dream. Yet she was not altogether without consciousness; after a second or two the rushing noise ceased, and the mist cleared gradually away. Presently she could hear again the soft stir of leaves overhead, and the hum of insects around. Through all these gentle murmurs there came a whisper, low as the summer breeze, that told her that her trials were ended. Whatever sorrows the future might bring, the old misery of humiliation and bitterness could never be endured again. The first part of her life was done with for ever. She was set free—free to move the cramped limbs of the spirit, and rejoice in liberty and sunshine. She was going away from Seacastle—going to enter into a blissful region where Matilda's influence was unknown. There would be new voices in the new life ; the old rasping tones, always blaming or sneering, would die into the silence of the past. She might have to toil and suffer, perhaps, but not here. She scarcely dared to think that she should be quite happy; and yet—yet Miss Wallace had spoken of a real home. Nearly two hours passed away before she stirred from her resting-place. Extreme exhaustion succeeded the shock of joy. Dame Nature, in her summer mood, was kind to this tired child, who lay wearily in her lap. Bees hummed a 'ONE JOY CROWN ANOTHER.' 127 droning lullaby; tinted butterflies flitted before the heavy eyes ; the south wind fanned her aching brow. She slumb- ered, sweetly and soundly, under the shadow of the old tree. Two charity-boys, strolling in the meadow, hushed their voices when they came suddenly upon the sleeping woman. Even children seem to realize that there is something sacred in a deep sleep; and they stood and looked at her in silence. At the first glance, they almost decided that she must be a tramp or a gipsy. Her brown cotton frock was faded and old; her hat, a soft grey felt, discarded by Mrs. Goad, had fallen back from her face, and made a pillow for her head. One thick coil of dark chestnut hair had escaped from its fastenings, and lay on her shoulder in a rough heavy curl. But the little hands, slim and delicate, were not the hands of a vagrant; and one of the boys pointed to them silently. 4It's a lady, ain't it?' he whispered, as they moved away. They had crossed the field, and gone out of sight, before her eyes unclosed. The languid air was fresher and sweeter. Eunice raised herself slowly, pinned up the loose curl, care- fully dusted the ancient felt hat, and then, picking up the neglected work-bag, began to think about turning home- wards. It was odd, she thought, that sleep had overpowered her when her heart was so full of its new joy. And yet, long afterwards, when she recalled the wakeful nights and anxious days that had preceded that memorable morning, she knew that it was not strange at all. It was verily the work of sleep to ' knit up the ravelled sleeve of care,' and repair the waste that trouble and suspense had wrought. 'He giveth His beloved sleep.' The words were ringing in her ears like a soft chime, as she retraced her steps over the sunburnt grass. That little spell of oblivion was as good a gift as her new happiness; and it gave her strength to bear her load of delight. She could go home calmly now, and carry herself as composedly as if there were no change in her destiny. 1 2 128 A WOMAN'S GLORY, She did not enter the house by the front door, but stole quietly through the little garden, and into the kitchen. Rachel, the maid-of-all-work, was beginning to dish up the one-o'clock dinner; but she paused to glance at Eunice, and ask her how she did? Poor Rachel, in her humble way, had been a comforter to her young lady, and loved her with an unselfish affection. It was one of the charges brought against Eunice, that she won the love of servants and work-people, and received from them such heart-service as they never rendered to the rich Mrs. Goad. ' I am much better, Rachel,' Eunice answered, with glad eyes. And then she went lightly upstairs to her attic to brush her rough hair, and bathe her face, before she ventured to meet her father and Mrs. Bertie. CHAPTER XIII. 'BUT THOU SHALT BE ALONE NO MORE.' To look at Lavinia, one would have supposed that she had utterly forgotten the episode of last night No one would have believed her capable of a smile. She presided over the beef-steak pudding with her usual gloom, and did not speak a word unless her father addressed her. But Mr. Swift seldom cared to hear anybody's voice but his own. Matilda was the only person who ventured to speak unrestrainedly in his presence. He was one of those men who talk in season and out of season. Like the brave companion of the pilgrims, h,e could talk of ' things heavenly, or things earthly; things moral, or things evangelical; things sacred, or things profane ; things foreign, or things at home.' And truly might it have been said of him, ' All that he hath, lieth in his tongue.' People either fled before his face, or 'BUT THOU SHALT BE ALONE NO MORE: 129 encountered him with gloomy resignation; the Vicar had been known to hide himself in odd nooks and corners, rather than meet this garrulous parishioner. But still Mr. Swift talked on, blissfully unconscious of the horror he excited; and talk he would, so long as his vocal powers were left. He held forth as unceasingly as usual over the beef-steak pudding. Eunice, trying to eat her portion, felt the old desire to put up her hands to her ears; and then remem- bered that the days of endurance were nearly done. She began to picture her future dinners in Queen Anne Street 3 the soft voices of Mrs. Densley and Mr. Redcliffe seemed to be speaking near her; a noiseless servant glided to and fro. She was sure that they both spoke softly; and she was quite sure, too, that their rooms were shadowy and cool. The last idea was suggested by the dreadful glare in the little dining-room; the roller-blind being pulled up as high as it would go, and the curtains pushed back to allow a full view of the road. Presently, being much charmed with her fancy-pictures, she smiled. The smile made Lavinia profoundly uncomfort- able, and she darted a warning glance at her sister. At that moment Mr. Swift was in the middle of giving them his notions of sermons—sermons, not as they were preached in Seacastle, but as they ought to be preached everywhere ! He had got through firstly and secondly while Eunice was in her dreams, and was just beginning on thirdly. ' These are solemn thoughts,' he was saying, 'awfully solemn thoughts for unbelievers.' And then Eunice smiled. She was detected, of course. Mr. Swift chanced to look at her just when that unlucky smile was brightest. He stopped short, and no one ever heard the conclusion of thirdly. ' What are you laughing at, Eunice ?' he demanded, glaring at her across the table. ' I wasn't laughing, papa,' she answered, innocently enough. 130 A WOMAN'S GLORY. 'Not laughing!' he repeated furiously. 'You -were laughing in my face. You want to turn everything solemn into ridicule, I suppose ! Really, as Matilda says, we must all tremble when we think of your future lot!' ' Indeed, papa, I didn't know that I was smiling. I did not hear what you were saying,' said Eunice. ' You are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ears! Always busy with your vain imaginations, instead of listening to instructive conversation!' Eunice took care not to smile again, and slipped quietly away as soon as dinner was over. Lavinia, after a little while, followed her, and found her in the garden. The Swifts' garden was merely a strip of ground where serviceable vegetables grew thickly. There were no flowers; no plants with poetical associations. But sometimes, when Mr. Swift was safely out of the house, Eunice had found a kind of pleasantness here. The butterflies (those fairy friends of hers) were condescending enough to come and alight upon the cabbages. The summer wind brought a breath of sweetness from her neighbours' roses; even the cats, with their sleek fur shining in the sun, blinked at her with lazy friendliness from the top of the wall. She had heard the bang of the hall-door, and knew that Mr. Swift had gone out. And so, with a happy sense of freedom, she sauntered up and down the narrow path, softly humming an old tune. 'Oh, you are here,' said Lavinia, appearing at the end of the path. ' Eunice, I'm afraid you have very much upset papa.' ' I always do upset him, don't I ?' 'Well, yes. But you ought to have been on your guard to-day. It was really silly to sit there smiling at nothing.' 'Perhaps I had something to smile at.' ' Only your own fancies. I am come to warn you. Matilda met me in the village this morning, and seemed quite ex- asperated. It's the old story; people are turning against her, she says. And she blames you.' 'BUT THOU SHALT BE ALONE NO MORE: 131 ' Well, that's nothing new. If she fell down in the street and broke her leg, she'd blame me.' And Eunice put her hands behind her, and hummed again. £ Papa is gone to Myrtle Villa,' Mrs. Bertie went on. ' I wish he hadn't. But he always does go there when he is in rather an unpleasant mood. He'll be worse when he comes back. They are sure to talk you over.' ' Oh, they've done that thousands of times ! Look here, Lavinia, why are you in a fidget ? You are quite used to these things, and so am I.' ' Because everything seems to be getting worse ! Because people are beginning to pity you openly. Mrs. Barron goes about declaring that you are being worried into your grave. And you really do look very thin and miserable.' 'I'm not going to my grave yet,' smiled Eunice. ' Then don't look as if you were ! You ate nothing to-day. I'll buy some cod-liver oil if you will promise to take it and get stouter. Or some quinine. Or Rachel shall make some camomile tea?' ' I've had something better than cod-liver oil, or quinine, or camomile tea.' ' What was that ?' Lavinia asked. 'A dose of heartsease.' ' Rubbish !' said Lavinia impatiently. 'My dear Lavinia, you have been prescribing rubbish'! All that I need is hope—freedom—occupation. And I'm going to have what I want.' Mrs. Bertie was puzzled. Eunice's grey eyes looked brightly into hers, and there was perfect confidence in her tone. ' I don't understand you, Eunice,' she said. ' But I should be thankful for anything that brought us peace. I think Matilda believes you are trying to starve yourself, on purpose to annoy her. And I really don't see what is to be done.' 'There's only one thing to be done, Lavinia. And I'm going to do it.' 132 A WOMAN'S GLORY. * I hope it's nothing rash or foolish. I'm afraid they won't think it right, whatever it is,' said Mrs. Bertie, with a sigh. ' Of course they won't think it right. But in time to come they may feel differently. While I am with them they will always misunderstand me, and quarrel with me. The-only way to make them think more kindly is to leave them.' ' Oh, you are going away! Lavinia drew a long breath, and a dull flush came into her sallow cheek. 1 But you have no money, no friends—no place to go to ?' ' I have found friends and a home. Indeed, Lavinia, this isn't one of my empty dreams. I will tell you all about it by-and-by.' ' But who has taken you up ? Are you sure that there is no uncertainty ?' Mrs. Bertie asked anxiously. ' When people are wretched, they often grasp at shadows.' ' This is no shadow. It is Miss Wallace who has come to my help.' ' Oh, if it's Miss Wallace ' Lavinia began, and then stopped in her sentence. Her doubts had all vanished at the mention of that name. Eunice looked fixedly at her for a moment, smiled, and ran away. Left to herself, Lavinia glanced round cautiously to be certain that she was not observed. Then, pulling out her handkerchief, she quietly shed a few tears. Quite suddenly, her memory pictured the room in the old farm-house, where her mother lay dying; and she seemed to see Eunice, a child of five, sitting mutely beside the bed. She remembered how a thin hand had wandered over the little girl's head; and a weak voice had whispered, ' Be kind to her when I am gone.' Had they been kind ? Lavinia's tears flowed faster, and she crept away to the end of the garden to hide them. Eunice, upstairs in her garret, was crying a little, too. She knew that poor Lavinia had meant well. On the wall, among the pen-and-ink sketches, hung a photograph in a little oak frame. It was the portrait of a lady, with a sweet, calm face—a teacher who had been 'BUT THOU SHALT BE ALONE NO MORE: 133 Eunice's guardian angel in her school-days. She looked at it through her tears, and then rested her head on her hands. ' Will Mrs. Densley be as good to me as you were ?' she murmured. 1 Oh, I'm afraid they will think me shy and plain ! I am timid, I know, and not very strong. Will they understand? Will they know that I want to please them? I am stupid, sometimes. And, worst of all, I want to cry when any one speaks kindly.' She looked up once more at the portrait of her dead friend; and the calm face seemed to restore her strength and courage. 41 must conquer all my weakness,' she said bravely. I must fight hard against this distrust of self.' Meanwhile Bride Netterville was still a prisoner in her little chamber in the Nest, and was bearing her captivity with languid patience. The window filled up nearly the whole of one side of the room—a long, low window, with latticed casements that were flung wide open, affording a free entrance to breezes, butter- flies, and all the other sweet things that drift indoors to us on summer days. Hour after hour, Bride would lie motionless, giving a mute welcome to the tokens from garden and meadow; watching such sky-changes as were visible through a network of boughs, and listening to the trill and chirp of birds. The roses did their best to enliven her solitude, wafting fragrant sighs across her face, and sometimes scat- tering a few pink petals over her pillow. Looking back, long afterwards, on this period of enforced quietness, she used to say that it was the very last bit of her old life. It was the last time that she was to hold unbroken com- munion with the memory of her first love, and talk of him to the west wind in her girlish fashion. In these quiet days he was still entirely her own; she could recall, with just the old thrill, the touch of his hand and the pressure of his lips. The world was shut out of her silent room; and he was near 134 A WOMAN'S GLORY. her always, a dear phantom, with sad grey eyes that seemed to speak of an eternal love. She clung to her dream—clung to it with the unconscious tenacity with which we always grasp that part of ourselves that is slipping away. But Miss Wallace's return put an end to her reverie. It was impossible to go on dreaming, when Cora, worldly and practical, came to spend long hours in the little room, creating a new atmosphere around her. She sat by the open lattice and talked, pleasantly enough, in the good- natured cynical strain which always amused Bride, even while it made her heart ache. ' The Heatherstones have gone back to Firwood,' she said, with a mischievous light in her eyes. ' Mrs. Collington is unfeignedly thankful to be left in peace ; and we shall have no more dinner-parties at present. Poor Maud will hide her disfigured cheek in the shades of her rural home.' ' Is she scratched very badly ?' Bride asked. 'Not half so badly as she ought to have been. However, for the present she has spoiled her three-quarter face : the portrait aspect, you know. And she must have suffered tortures when Lord Inglefield found her sitting in tatters by the road-side. But, by-the-way, ma belle, how did it come to pass that you were in that luckless phaeton ? ' Bride coloured faintly under the inquisitive glance of the brilliant hazel eyes. ' It will take quite a long time to tell you the story, Cora,' she said. ' After your warning, it was very weak of me to be taken in Mrs. Heatherstone's toils.' ' Oh, I saw that she was determined to make use of you,' replied Miss Wallace. ' I am well acquainted with all her ways and doings. Go on, my child, if you really are strong enough to tell the tale.' In a languid voice poor Bride went through the history of that disastrous trip to Marsham, beginning with Maud's afternoon visit, and leaving out none of the details. And 'BUT THOU SHALT BE ALONE NO MORE: 135 Cora listened with a curling lip, and a bright attentive gaze fixed upon the speaker. ' It was a Maud-like trick,' she said, when Bride's story was ended. ' As to Mr. Heatherstone, he has gone home with the firm conviction that Maud was the innocent victim of your flightiness. " Dangerous girl, that Miss Netterville," he remarked confidentially to me. " Insisted on jumping into Ludlow's phaeton, and got my wife into no end of a scrape !"' < Mr. Heatherstone may rest undisturbed in his belief,' replied Bride, with quiet haughtiness. ' But I hope Mrs. Collington doesn't misjudge me ? ' 'She understands her daughter,' responded Cora. ' Very few words passed between Maud and her mother; but Mrs. Collington told her child some home-truths. I fancy it will be long before Maud ventures on another visit to Seacastle.' c It was altogether a miserable affair,' sighed Bride. ' But there was a bit of romance at the end. Lord Inglefield came most opportunely to the rescue. He is a man that society raves about; did you happen to get a glimpse of his face? ' ' Yes; I came to my senses as he was carrying me into the house. He has a wonderful face, Cora, like ' 1 ' Like the Archangel Michael, and St. George, and King Arthur. Like all the heroes that we have been worshipping in picture-galleries all our lives.' ' Exactly,' said Bride, smiling. ' In short, he looks half a saint. Is he really a good man ? ' ' Somebody once remarked that he lived up to his face,' Miss Wallace answered. ' Yes ; he is a fine character— goes in for moral elevation and that sort of thing. And as he is rich, handsome, and a viscount, of course he is sure to succeed. Everybody is delighted to be elevated by his influence. But you have been talking too much, my child; and I will leave you to sleep.' 136 A WOMAN'S GLORY. So Cora kissed her friend and went her way; and Bride was left to stillness. She was too languid and tired now to care about anything but rest; the effort of talking had overtaxed her shaken nerves, and she lay back among her pillows with a sigh of weariness. It was sunset; the room was filled with the mellow amber of the dying day, and the leaves were whispering softly outside the window. The hour was so calm and sweet that all angry thoughts of Maud Heather- stone died out of Bride's mind; the roses were breathing of peace, and the golden light soothed her to a deep repose. She thought of Eunice Swift, the poor desolate girl whose journey through the Valley of Humiliation was now nearly at an end. Already Eunice had won her^ heart's desire; her foot was planted firmly on the first stepping- stone to fame; and she would soon leave Seacastle and its dreary associations far behind. And Bride began to wonder dreamily whether her own path was still destined to run on in the old course, without turning to the right hand or the left. Aunt Margery was always saying that the world was full of snares; but her niece was conscious of many a yearning after that enchanted ground that lay beyond her narrow way. Old Hannah, coming into the room with a dainty little evening meal, found her young lady lying with half-closed eyes, and stole softly to the bedside. ' I am not asleep, Hannah,' Bride said drowsily. * I was just wondering whether any changes will ever come to me. Eunice Swift will soon be going away, you know; but it seems as if I were doomed to stay on in this place till the end of my days.' 137 CHAPTER XIV. going away. Mrs. Collington had taken a liking to the Torwoods, and Angeline was asked to stay at Verbena Lodge. Lilly Heatherstone had returned to Firwood with her brother and his wife ; and without any words it was quietly under- stood that the Torwood-Heatherstone alliance would never come to pass. After the bustle of a fashionable watering-place, the sleepy calm of Seacastle was pleasant to Angeline. August had now come to an end; the early September days were dreamy and sweet; at evening there were golden mists veiling the low-lying fields and pebbled beach, and creeping up to the old castle walls. Bride Netterville was released from her room, and wandered about all day in the autumn sunshine. Cora and Angeline were her daily companions, and, in spite of Mrs. Goad, Eunice was now bold enough to join them. The thought of her approaching emancipation had in- spired her with new courage; and somehow Matilda (a little crushed, perhaps) was beginning to see that Eunice was throwing off her yoke. Anyhow, the girl had plucked up spirit, and ventured to join her friends, even when Captain Torwood was of the party. 'She was uncommonly nice to talk to.' That was Captain Torwood's opinion of Eunice Swift; and yet he saw clearly that she had never been trained in the world, and knew nothing of the conventional style of conversation. The truth was that, in talking, Eunice forgot herself; all the small miseries of her life were put out of sight, and she became a free and happy soul. Captain Torwood was well satisfied to listen sometimes without speaking; and he could speak or hold his peace as he chose. She did not 138 A WOMAN'S GLORY. look for compliments or attentions. Anything untrammelled is amusing; and as Laurence Torwood loved being amused, and dreaded nothing so much as a bore, the pain quickly glided into friendliness. As they grew better acquainted, Eunice ceased to find resemblances between Captain Torwood and any of her beloved heroes of fiction. This man of everyday life (by no means a remarkable fellow, if the truth must be toldj was rapidly becoming more interesting than the Nigels and Peverils who had' so long enchained her fancy. It was, in fact, the first time that she had ever been brought into close contact with a man of the period. Captain Torwood, with his gentlemanly languor and quiet grace of manner, was a good type of the class to which he belonged, so far as externals went. As regarded the inner self, he was, on the whole, more liberally endowed with brains and heart than many of his associates. But neither brains nor heart had ever yet been called into full play. He lived much as other men lived, spending most of his energies in endeavouring to escape boredom, and never quite succeeding. He was in the swim; fair faces smiled upon him, and matronly eyes encouraged him to make advances towards the blossoms that were carefully guarded from undesirable hands. ' Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,' they seemed to say; but somehow he was slow in availing himself of the permission. Flower after flower was hovered over and sighed over, until he found it suddenly snatched away, or was sickened of its sweetness. A true laggard in love was Laurence Torwood: dallying with opportunities ; sauntering when he should have put forth all his speed; whispering soft nothings when he should have uttered decisive words; and letting all his chances slip, just because he could never be thoroughly in earnest. He could not contemplate marriage without leaping over the bridal day, and seeing an arid waste beyond the orange- blossoms. Sometimes (when a thinking mood was on him) GOING AWAY. 139 he would roughly divide the women of society into two classes. Firstly, there were the soft-spoken girls, formal and well-trained, who might be trusted to make good wives, and slowly bore a man to death. And secondly, there were the gay coquettes, who never failed to sparkle and amuse, but whose witcheries had a dash of diablerie—just enough to warn, while it enchanted a possible suitor. On all sides he found women to waltz with, and ride with, and laugh with. But .where were the women to marry ? Doubtless they were to be found, as everything is to be found, if the seeker is resolved to find. But he was merely a seeker in name, never putting his heart into the search. And on the whole he was rather pleased with his want of success. After a few walks with Eunice Swift, he discovered that she possessed a quality which is rare in her sex; she could be a good comrade. And yet there was nothing in the least masculine in her manner or nature. Something soft and shy in the grey eyes, and something infinitely gentle in the sweet voice, always reminded him that she was a very woman. They talked or were silent as the fancy of the moment dictated; there was no fetter nor barrier between them. And at every meeting some new similarity of thought was discovered, some fresh sympathy found out. Narrow as her world had been, her charity was wide, her judgment sound and true. He could speak to her as to a woman—not as he would have spoken to a society belle; and he was conscious of finding in her presence a haven of peace. ' You are going to leave this place?' he said one day. It was afternoon—just such an afternoon as might have reigned perpetually in the Lotos-eater's paradise. ' All round the coast the languid air did swoon, Breathing like one that hath a weary dream.' The waters of the harbour were clouded by a thin haze, through which the vessels showed like phantoms; there was 14° A WOMAN'S GLORY. not a touch of intense colour anywhere to be found, nor a sharp outline to be seen ; everything was dreamy and vague. You could not tell where shadow ended and substance began ; there' were no boundary lines visible; earth and sea and sky were all blended in the soft mist. Even the castle towers had lost their stern contour, and seemed to be slowly fading into a background of neutral tints. A purplish vapour had crept into the ruined chambers of the citadel; the elder-bushes that grew so luxuriantly in every nook and cavity were motionless in the still atmosphere. The ivy, hanging in heavy masses over the crumbling stones, had put forth those thick clusters of small greenish blossoms which tell us that the year is near its end. Captain Torwood and Eunice, apart from the rest of their party, were standing on the top of the flight of steps that led to the interior of the great tower. 'Yes, I am going away,' she answered absently. ' And you will be glad to go ? You want to mingle with the madding crowd ?' ' I shall only be a looker-on ; I don't think I was meant to " mix with action," ' Eunice replied. ' Mine must always be a contemplative kind of life.' ' But you are one of the workers,' he said. ' Miss Wallace has been telling us about your book. You will be a swell one of these days.' ' Have I the elements of a swell in me ?' she asked, with her soft little laugh. ' I am sure you have. It is lucky that you have plenty of occupation before you, Miss Swift; you will never know the horrors of ennui' ' I think it will be a long while before I come to the end of all the things that interest me,' Eunice said frankly. ' Then you will keep young a long time. We never grow old while we are capable of being amused,' remarked Captain Torwood. ' For my part, I have used up all objects of interest, and age steals on me apace.' GOING AWAY. 141 Eunice glanced at him with an incredulous smile as he stood leaning against the broken masonry; a graceful figure, well-knit and strong. It was impossible to look long at that fair, handsome face without seeing in it the lines of power and thought; the golden moustache shaded a boldly-cut mouth and chin, and if the lips took a slight curve of disdain, it did not mar their beauty. The eyes, deep-blue, had the brightness and clearness of a boy's eyes, and looked out honestly and fearlessly upon the whole world. Undoubtedly it was a beautiful face, Eunice thought, and its owner must be destined to live a life of ease always, never knowing a thwarted wish, nor finding a crumpled rose-leaf. As she looked at him, quietly and earnestly, she was conscious of a half-formed pain, the dull beginning of a heartache that she could not understand. She might hope to rise steadily and surely in the world, never getting very high, perhaps, but just high enough to be lifted above the reach of want and care. But no matter how high she stood, he would never need a helping hand of hers; there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that she could ever do for him. Deep down in the heart of every true woman there is always a desire to render service to the man who is her chosen friend. In her nature there must ever be a craving after the queenly privilege of giving. Eunice, with this unconscious royalty of mind, began to suffer from a sense of poverty that could never be put into words. She looked at the heir of the rich Miss Paisley, much as the dumb mermaid looked at the beautiful prince. She did not belong to his kingdom. And there could be nothing, she thought, that he would covet in her own sea-world of coral and shells. It was a fair world enough, purer and pleasanter than the region that he dwelt in ; but society knew nothing about it. And a mermaid, although she might prove an amusing companion for a day, would K 142 A WOMAN'S GLORY. be wise if she stayed patiently in the retirement of her native deep. There was silence for a few seconds; and then he became conscious of her scrutiny. He met the thoughtful eyes with a questioning glance. 'Why don't you resist the advances of old age?' she asked. He slightly raised his eyebrows. ' Why do these stones let the ivy come creeping over them ? ' he said. ' Will you tell me how to begin resisting?' 'Just put forth some of your disused power, that's all. Just make an effort to get interested in something. Find an object ' 'No, don't tell me to find objects,' he entreated. 'The person with an object is such an atrocious nuisance to his fellows. He always wants them to see it too. He can't be content to gaze and press towards it alone. Somebody once wrote an excellent little book with a title that made me shudder. It was called "Life in Earnest" ; and I think it was cheap. Yes, I'm sure it was cheap, because an aunt of mine, in one of her benevolent moments, presented me with a copy.' ' I know the book,' Eunice said quietly. ' And you like it ? If you were a rich aunt, you would present it to your frivolous nephew ?' ' I don't know how it feels to be a rich aunt. But I was wondering where Longfellow discovered the young man who is supposed to give utterance to the " Psalm of Life." He doesn't exist nowadays, does he ?' ' I think he does, in America. The Yankees are always wanting to make their lives sublime.' ' And some of them succeed, I fancy. Anyhow, they give us glimpses of the sublime in their books.' 'Yes, they do,' he admitted frankly. 'And they have more "go" in them, and a stronger sense of humour than we have. We never get any fun out of anything.' GOING AWAY. 143 * That's a melancholy confession,' said Eunice. ' I can almost find it in my heart to pity you, although I'm one of the poorest little women in the world. You remind me of Mrs. Browning's tired child at a show— " Who sees through tears the jugglers leap." Now I am quite certain that I can get fun out of everything —jugglers and all.' 'Because the jugglers will be new to you,' he replied. 'You do well to pity me, Miss Swift; I envy your unwearied eyes! I dare say you have managed to be amused some- times, even here ?' 'Yes,' she answered, thinking of the little comedies which had made her dull life endurable. ' I have really found something to laugh at now and then, even in Seacastle. But I hope to laugh more by-and-by,' she added, in a tone which told him that mirth had probably been one of her prohibited things. ' Poor child!' he said, in a soft voice. The best part of his nature was aroused at that moment; a man's compassion for a patient, suffering woman shone in his blue eyes. It would be a pleasant thing, he thought, to watch the light of happiness and the bloom of health coming into that wan face; it would be a positive joy to take her by the hand, and lead her out into the world, and witness her innocent delight in new scenes. Thinking these thoughts, he surveyed her critically as she stood beside him in the mellow sunshine. If she were dressed as the women of his circle dressed, how would she look ? Pretty she never could be ; but in the carriage of her small person, and the pose of her shapely head, there was a certain something which we call distinguished for want of a better word. And it was a significant fact that Eunice, despite her shabbiness, always received from servants, railway-porters, and shopmen, that involuntary respect which Mrs. Goad could never command. K 2 144 A WOMAN'S GLORY. Captain Torwood's glance, long-practised, took in all the girl's good points in an instant. There was in her sad face a kind of nobility which made him reverence her while he pitied. He realized the dignity of this lonely woman, who had quietly defended her refinement and self-respect against those who had tried hard to deprive her of both. She turned and looked at him with a frank gratitude in her grey eyes, just as if she could read all those kindly yearnings that had never risen to his lips. And the look and smile thrilled him suddenly and strangely, piercing through the thick crust of selfishness and conventionalism which had been forming over his heart for years. He was by no means an impulsive man; and yet it is certain that an impulse did verily master him just at that moment. Her fingers were trifling idly with the ivy-leaves that clustered all round them on the ruined wall. And with a quick movement he took possession of that little hand, and kept it fast imprisoned in his own. It need scarcely be said that he was perfectly well used to imprisoning little hands in this fashion; but it would have been hard to explain why the touch of these fragile fingers saddened him, and made him half ashamed of himself. They were, however, soon withdrawn from his clasp, and Eunice said simply: 'I shall be expected at home, Captain Torwood; I must go.' She began to descend the flight of steps as she spoke, and he mechanically followed her. Down below they found Cora Wallace, seated on a bench between Angeline and Bride, and Eunice said adieu to them all. • As she turned her steps towards White Cottage she felt as if she were leaving a fairy-land behind her. Never had the Castle precincts looked so beautiful, invested as they were with the golden charm of autumn; never had that green spot upon the old wall appeared so like an enchanted bower. But stern common-sense was never far away from GOING AWAY. 145 Eunice Swift, and it aided her that day to escape from a perilous dreamland. ' Eunice is not so plain as she was,' thought Mrs. Bertie, meeting her sister in the entry. The next morning brought a letter which was destined to shorten her stay in Seacastle. Mr. Redcliffe, tired of the sea-side, and impatient to get back to his literary work, had insisted on returning to town. He sent an urgent request to Miss Swift to come at once to Queen Anne Street. And Eunice was thankful for the summons, and felt herself quite ready to depart. Mr. Swift and Matilda appeared to have washed their hands of the girl and her concerns. She would surely come back again, they said, like the bad shilling; and when Lavinia faintly hinted that Eunice might possibly get on in the world, she was answered with angry sneers. So Lavinia was silent, and did not venture to show any great interest in Eunice's humble preparations, which were, however, very speedily completed. When her school trunk was packed, and all the luggage- labels made ready, Eunice snatched half-an-hour to go and say farewell to some of her old friends—those lowly friends who dwelt in shabby cottages, and sent their little boys and girls to the Sunday-school. She refrained from taking leave of any of the upper-class neighbours; to have done so would have irritated Mrs. Goad, who would instantly have declared that she was trying to win their sympathy and work upon their compassion. So she resolved to content herself with the good-byes and parting blessings of the poor, and in truth desired nothing more. It was her intention to leave Seacastle early on a Tuesday morning, and it was on Monday evening that her last vi^Tts had to be paid. She slipped out, just at sunset, when the mists were rising and the light waning, and took her way first to a little cottage that stood, quite alone, upon a desolate part of the shore. 146 A WOMAN'S GLORY. A man, dressed in a dark-blue woollen shirt, was standing in the doorway, looking out across the waste of greenish mud left by the receding tide. That mud was his harvest field, where periwinkles were to be found ; but Luke Gosling had other occupations besides ' winkling.' He had a share in a wherry, and went out fishing with his mates, and in his spare hours he cultivated vegetables in his garden. Of late, life had gone pretty smoothly with Luke; he had been able to provide comfortably for the wife and little ones, and had even risen so high as to purchase a donkey and cart. But, not so very long ago, he had known what it was to be very low in the world, so low that he had almost lost the hope of ever rising again. In those days there had been a friend who had sat by his side in his sickness, and had talked to him, and told him stories that had made him forget his troubles. While she had talked, her hands were' often busy with patching and mending—doing some of that necessary work which his poor burdened wife had been forced to leave undone. She had never given him any money ; he had known quite well that the kind heart and the empty purse often go together. But, in a way past explaining, she had managed to help the whole family. She had come in amongst them and toiled with them, putting her shoulder to the wheel just as if they had a right to demand her services, and they had all felt the most perfect confidence in her strength and sympathy. And now Luke Gosling knew that this friend was going away. The news had been whispered to his little Jenny by Rachel at White Cottage; and Jenny had come home to her mother in an agony of tears. Cffhe tide-pools were glittering here and there v.ith amber light; golden rays came slanting across the coarse grass that grew sparsely outside his garden fence. The donkey, standing contentedly in her shed, put her grey nose out of the doorway as if to remind Luke of her presence. He GOING AWAY. 147 glanced at her with all the pardonable pride of ownership, but his thoughts soon came back to the cause of little Jenny's grief; and then his wife stepped out upon the threshold and stood by his side. 'I s'pose there's no mistake, Jane !' he said. ' It must be true enough that Miss Swift's going away ? ' 'Oh yes, it's true enough,' she answered. 'And Rachel said she was a-going to a good home—a home up in London. That child Jenny nearly cried herself sick, and no wonder!' 'She's goin', jane; goin', and we can't make her no returns. That's what frets me !' Jane Gosling gave her husband's arm an energetic pull. Although the low light was dazzling her eyes, she had caught sight of a slim figure coming towards them across the coarse grass, and Luke looked up to meet Eunice's wistful gaze. ' Miss,' he said abruptly, ' be you really come to say good-bye ?' 'Yes, Luke,' she replied. 'And I have come, too, to ask you to do me a kindness: the very last kindness, perhaps, that I ever shall ask of any one here.' 'Think o' that, Jane!' said Luke ecstatically. 'It do seem as if she'd read my very thoughts !' 'I want you to take my luggage to the station in your donkey-cart,' Eunice continued. ' It will be a great help to me, Luke; the fly costs eighteen-pence, you know. I start to-morrow morning by the eight o' clock train.' The faces of husband and wife literally beamed at this request: it tempered the pain of parting, as Eunice had intended that it should. Luke Gosling was proud of his new possessions, and all his pride in them was doubled a*d trebled at this moment; moreover, there was no small pleasure in knowing that the landlord of the Crab, who kept a fly or two, and charged fancy prices for their use, would lose one-and-sixpence. Miss Swift (bless her heart!) should 148 A WOMAN'S GLORY. have her boxes carried to the railway-station for nothing; and Luke would be at White Cottage by seven o'clock to bring the luggage downstairs. 'Rachel '11 want me to lend her a hand, miss,' he said cheerily, ' and I shan't leave your things till I've seen 'em all safe into the luggage-van.' 'Thank you, Luke; that will be a great comfort,' answered Eunice simply. ' I'm not well used to travelling, you know, and I shall be glad to have some one to look after me.' She spoke bravely enough, and yet, just for an instant, a pain smote her sharply. Other women had fathers, brothers or lovers to ' look after them;' she had only Luke Gosling, the rough fisherman. But the pang passed as quickly as it came ; the farewells were cheerfully spoken, and even little Jenny's tears were stayed by the promise of a brand-new story-book to be sent to her from London, Eunice walked homeward along the lonely shore, remembering the days when she had trodden this very path in bitterness of heart, and comparing the doleful past with the hopeful present. She had a spirit that was ' thankfu' for sma' mercies,' perhaps ; but then the 'mercies' that would have seemed but molehills to some people were like mountains of joy to her. There were patches of blue in the sky that had been long covered with clouds, and the soul of this poor traveller was full of gratitude and peace. One or two other cottages were visited before the September night set in, and then Eunice returned to her attic. It looked very bare and cheerless now ; all the pen- and-ink pictures were taken down from the walls, and the photograph in its oak frame was packed up with her scanty stock of treasures. She was too tired to take a tender farewell of her old chamber that night; and even the parting with her father did not move her as she had thought that it would. GOING AWAY. 149 'Well, Eunice,' said Mr. Swift, taking up his bedroom candle, 'you are determined to choose your own course, and I hope you'll keep to the straight road. As you couldn't treat Matilda properly, you would only have embittered my last days if you had stayed here. I wish that you may prosper, but I doubt it.' ' Thank you, papa,' Eunice answered quite cheerfully. A word of tenderness, a touch of regret, would have unnerved her at once, and sent her to bed weeping and distrusting herself. But the harshness and the reference to Matilda gave her strength, and hardened the poor little heart that was only too ready to be soft and wavering. If, at this sharp turning-point'of her life, things had shaped themselves differently, she might have gone back to the dead level of her old dull existence, and have resolutely extinguished her yearnings after a larger sphere. But the point was past ; and she went to her attic as cool and firm as if no change awaited her on the morrow. The morning was fresh and still, and the village was scarcely astir when the cavalcade passed through the street on its way to the railway-station. First came Eunice, carrying her satchel and a shabby shawl; Luke followed, walking proudly at the donkey's head, and glancing over his shoulder sometimes to assure himself of the safety of the luggage in the cart. Ted Gosling, a sturdy lad of fourteen, brought up the rear, and gave himself airs of importance. The procession passed Myrtle Villa, and was greeted with derision by Mrs. Goad, peeping cautiously through the closed blinds of her bedroom. But Eunice marched on without bestowing a single glance upon Matilda's windows. As she drew near the gate of The Nest, her heart began to beat with a faint hope of catching one last glimpse of Bride. Eunice had written her a loving note of farewell, but Bride was still delicate, and the old habit of early rising had been discontinued since her fall from the phaeton. Her friend had, therefore, but small expectation of seeing her in A WOMAN'S GLORY. these last moments, and yet, in her heart-loneliness, Eunice felt that the least parting sign would be unspeakably dear. She was young; it seemed to be a hard fate that had con- demned her to be utterly self-sufficing. She yearned for a little love, a little sympathy to look back upon and think over in years to come. The gate opened as she approached, and Hannah appeared with a tin box of sandwiches. In the next instant Bride herself came tripping down the garden path and joined^ her. 'Eunice,' she said, 'I'm going with you to the railway station. You must take Hannah's sandwiches, else she'll be mortally wounded. And Aunt Margery has sent you a bottle of cherry cordial. Now give me that satchel directly, and don't look at me like that!' For tears were gathering in Eunice's eyes, and there was the faintest possibility of a scene. Bride made a snatch at the satchel, deposited the sandwiches and cordial inside it, and then drew Eunice's arm within her own. 'Come,' she cried, 'this isn't only the prosaic road to the train, it's the direct path to fame. Think of all the people who have ever gone marching on to victory, and then march serenely after them.' ' I am marching after them,' Eunice answered with a tremulous little laugh. ' But not quite serenely, I'm afraid.' They walked at a brisk pace along the quiet road, and Eunice took a silent leave of all the familiar things. Strips of gossamer clung to the yellowing hedges, and floated on the still air. Sparrows chirped and twittered. The light was dreamy and soft, and white mists hung gauze-like over the level fields. Seacastle was a flowery old place, and its gardens always made a brave show in autumn. The fluted velvet of dahlias could be seen behind decaying fences; yellow snap-dragons flourished in the crannies of mouldering walls; old porches were laden with the tender pink clusters