THE WRITINGS OF ANNE ISABELLA THACKERAY. WITH ILL USTRATIONS. NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE. I 8 70. CONTENTS. PAGE THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF....................................................................... FROM AN ISLAND.......................................................................................... 107 FIVE OLD FRIENDS: THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD.............................................. 139 CINDERELLA................................................................................................... 145 BEAUTY AND THE BEAST.......................................................................... 17 LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.................................................. 175 JACK THE GIANT-KILLER................................................................................. 193 THE STORY OF ELIZABETI.......................................................................... 233 TO ESTHER.................................................................................................... 283 OUT OF THE W ORLD..................................................................................... 305 MAKING MERRY............................................................................................. 327 SOL............................................................................................................... 33 MORETTI'S CAMPANULA................................................................................ 363 MISCELLANIES: LITTLE SCHOLARS........................................8.................... 385 TOILERS AND SPINSTERS.................................................................................. 391 THE END OF A LONG DAYS WOR.................................................................... 398 HEROINES AND THEIR GRAND IOTHERS.......................................................... 400 A SAD HOUR................................................................................................. 406 OUT OF THE SILENCE..................................................................................... 413 A CITY OF REFUGE........................................................................................ 416 CHIRPING CRICKETS............................................................. 421 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. DEDICATED TO HARRIET THACKERAY. Brighton, 7anuary 27, I867. PREFACE. WI E have all of us in the course of our life's journeys sometimes lived for a little while in places which were wearisome and monotonous to us at the time; which had little to attract or to interest; we may have left them without regret, never even wishing to return. But'yet as we have travelled away, we may have found that through some subtle and unconscious attraction, sights, sounds, and peculiarities which we thought we had scarcely noticed, seem to be repeating themselves in our brains; the atmosphere of the place seems to be haunting us, as though unwilling to let us escape. And this peculiar distinctness and vividness does not appear to wear out with time and distance. The pictures are like those of a magic-lantern, and come suddenly out of the dimness and darkness, starting into life when the lamp is lighted by some chance association; so clearly and sharply defined and colored, that we can scarcely believe that they are only reflections from old slides which have been lying in our store for years past. The slides upon which this little history is painted, somewhat rudely and roughly, have come from Petitport in Normandy, a dull little fishing-town upon the coast. It stands almost opposite to Ryde, in the Isle of Wight. The place is quite uninteresting, the district is not beautiful, but broad and fertile and sad and pleasant together. The country folks are high-spirited and sometimes gay, but usually grave, as people are who live by the sea. They are a well-grown, stately race, good-mannered, ready and shrewd in their talk and their dealings; they are willing to make friends, but they are at the same time reserved and careful of what they say. English people are little known at Petitport-one or two had staid at the Chateau de Tracy "dans le temps," they told me, for Madame herself was of English parentage, and so was Madame Fontaine, who married from there. But the strangers who came to lodge in the place for the sake of the sea-bathing and the fine sands were from Caen and Bayeux for the most part, and only remained during a week or two. Except just on fete-days and while the bathing-time lasted, every thing was very still at Petitport. Sometimes all the men would go away together in the boats, leaving the women and children alone in the village. I was there after the bathing-season was over, and before the first fishing-fleet left. The fishermen's wives were all busy preparing provisions, making ready, sewing at warm clothes, and helping to mend the nets before their husbands' departure. I could see them hard at work through the open doors as I walked up the steep little village street. There is a precipitous path at the farther end of the village which leads down to the beach below. One comes to it by some steps which descend along the side of a smart little house built on the very edge of the cliff-a " chalet," they call it. It has many windows and weathercocks, and muslin curtains and wooden balconies; and there is a sort of embankment or terrace-walk halfway to the sea. This was Madame Fontaine's chalet, the people told me-her husband had left it to her in his last will and testament-but she did not inhabit it. I had never seen any one come out of the place except once a fiercely capped maid-servant with beetle brows, who went climbing up the hill beyond the chalet, and finally disappeared over its crest. It seemed as if the maid and the house were destined to be blown right away in time; all the winds came rushing across the fields and the country, and beating against the hillside, and it was a battle to reach the steps which led down to the quiet below. A wide sea is heaving and flashing at one's feet, as one descends the steep, the boats lie like specks on the shingle, birds go flying wind-blown below one's feet, and the rushing sound of the tide seems to fill the air. When I reached the foot of the cliff at last, I looked about for some place to rest. A young countrywoman was sitting not far off on the side of a boat, -a shabby old boat it was, full of water and sand and sea-weed, with a patch of deal in its old brown coat. I was tired, and I went and sat down too. The woman did not look round or make any movement, and remained quite still, a quiet figure against the long line of coast, staring at the receding tide. Some sailors not far off were shouting to one another, and busy with a fishing-smack which they had dragged up high and dry, and safe iv PREFACE. from the water. Presently one of the men came plodding up over the shingle, and I asked him if he wanted his boat.' Even if I wanted it, I should not think of disturbing you and Mademoiselle Reine," answered the old fellow. He had a kindly puzzled weather-beaten face. " Remain, remain," he said. " He, huh " shouted his companions, filing off, " come and eat." But he paid no attention to their call, and went on talking. He had been out all night, but he had only caught cuttle-fish, he told me. They were not good to eat-they required so much beating before they could be cooked. They seize the boats with their long straggling legs..... "Did I hear of their clutching hold of poor old Nanon Lefebvre the other day, when she was setting her nets? Mademoiselle Reine could tell the long and short of it, for she was on the spot and called for help." "And you came and killed the beast, and there was an end of it," said Mademoiselle Reine, shortly, glancing round with a pair of flashing bright eyes, and then turning her back upon us once more. Hers was a striking and heroic type of physiognomy. She interested me then, as she has done ever since that day. There was something fierce, bright, good-humored about her. There was a heart and strength and sentiment in her face-so I thought, at least, as she flashed round upon us. It is a rare combination, for women are not often both gentle and strong. She had turned her back again, however, and I went on talking to the old sailor. Had he had a good season-had he been fortunate in his fishing? A strange, doubting look came into his face, and he spoke very slowly. " I have read in the Holy Gospels," he said, turning his cap round in his hands, " that when St. Peter and his companions were commanded to let down their nets, they inclosed such a multitude of fishes that their nets brake. I am sorry that the time for miracles is past. I have often caught fish, but my nets have never yet broken from the quantity they contained." " You are all preparing to start for Dieppe?" I said, to change the subject. " We go in a day or two," he answered; " perhaps a hundred boats will be starting. We go here, we go there-may be at a league's distance. It is curious to see. We are drifting about; we ask one another,' Hast thou found the herring?' and we answer,'No! there is no sign:' and perhaps at last some one says,'It is at such and such a place.' We have landmarks. We have one at Asnelles, for instance," and he pointed to the glittering distant village, on the tongue of land which jutted into the sea at the horizon. "And then it happens," said the old fellow, "that all of a sudden we come upon what we are searching for...... We have enough then, for we find them close-packed together, like this;" and he pressed his two brown hands against one another. " And is not that a miracle to satisfy you, Christophe Lefebvre?" said the woman, speaking in a deep sweet voice, with a strange ringing chord in it, and once more flashing round. "Ah, mademoiselle," he said, quite seriously, " they are but herrings. Now St. Peter caught trout in his nets. I saw that in the picture which you showed me last Easter, when I went up to Tracy. I am only a rough man," he went on, speaking to me again. " I can't speak like those smart gentlemen from Paris, who make'calembours,' and who have been to college; you must forgive me if I have offended you, or said any thing wrongly. I have only been to one school in our little village; I learnt what I could there....." "And to that other school, Christophe," said the deep voice again; and the young woman pointed to the sea. Then he brightened up. "There, indeed, I have learnt a great many things, and I defy any of those fine gentlemen to teach me a single fact regarding it." "And yet there are some of them-of the fine gentlemen, as you call them," she said, looking him full in the face, "who are not out of place on board a boat, as you ought to know well enough." Lefebvre shrugged his shoulders. " Monsieur Richard, he said, " and M. de Tracy too, they liked being on board, and were not afraid of a wetting. Monsieur Fontaine, pauvre homme, it was not courage he wanted. Vous n'avez pas tort, Mademoiselle Reine. Permit me to ask you if you have had news lately of the widow? She is a good and pretty person" (he said to me), "and we of the country all like her." " She is good and pretty, as you say," answered the young woman, shortly. "You ask me for news, Christophe. I heard some news of her this morning; they say Madame. Fontaine is going to be married again." And then suddenly turning away, Mademoiselle Reine rose abruptly from her seat, and walked across the sands out towards the distant sea. THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. beautiful, but broad, and fertile, and sad, and pleasant together. The country folks are high< D o } a f spirited and sometimes gay, but usually grave, ^. ^S /^ 9 E ^as people are who live by the sea. They are a. J i d! i \well-grown, stately race, good-mannered, ready and shrewd in their talk and their dealings; they are willing to make friends, but they are at the same time reserved and careful of what they say. English people are little known at Petitport-one or two had staid at the Chteau de Tracy " dans le temps," they told me, for Madame herself was of English parentage, and ^"nl Al\ X t-1so was Madame Fontaine who married from there. But the strangers who came to lodge in the place for the sake of the sea-bathing and the D /Aw\\^ \^ -~ mfine sands were from Caen and Bayeux for the'~ I|ff\RSSW~~~ /T ~ most part, and only remained during a week or two. Except just on fete-days and while the bathing-time lasted, every thing was very still at Petitport. Sometimes all the men would go away together in their boats, leaving the women -T~PREFACE. rand children alone in the village. I was there after the bathing-season was over, and before WE have all of us, in the course of our life's the.first fishing-fleet left. The fishermen's tvives journeys, sometimes lived for a little while in were all busy preparing provisions, making ready, places which were.wearisome and monotonous sewing at warm clothes, and helping to mend to us at the time; which had little to attract or the nets before their husbands' departure. I to interest; we may have left them without re- could see them hard at work through the open gret, never even wishing to return. But yet, doors as I walked up the steep little village as we havetraiveled away, we may have found street. that, through.some subtle and unconscious at- There is a precipitous path at the farther end traction, sights, sounds, and peculiarities which of the village which leads down to the beach we thought we had scarcely noticed, seem to below. One comes to it by some steps which be repeating themselves in our brains; the-tt- descend along the side of a smart little house mosphere of the place, seems to be haunting us, built on the very edge of the cliff- a " chalet" as though unwilling to let us escape. And this they call it. It has many windows and weathpeculiar distinctness and vividness does not ap- er-cocks, and muslin curtains and wooden balpear to wear out with time and distance. The conies, and there is a sort of embankment or pictures are like those of a magic-lantern, and terrace-walk half way to the sea. This was come suddenly out of the dimness and darkness, Madame Fontaine's chalet, the people told me starting into life when the lamp is lighted by -her husband had left it to her in his last will some chance association, so clearly and sharply and testament -but she did not inhabit it. I defined and colored that we can scarcely believe had never seen. any one come out of the place that they are only reflections from old slides except once a fiercely-capped maid-servant with. which have been lying in our store for years past. beetle brows, who went climbing up the hill beThe slides upon which this little history is yond the chalet, and finally disappeared over its painted, somewhat rudely and roughly, have crest. It seemed as if the maid and the house come from Petitport, in Normandy, a dull little were destined to be blown right away in time; fishing town upon the coast. It stands almost all the winds came rushing across the fields and opposite to Ryde, in the Isle of Wight. The the country, and beating against the hill-side, place is quite uninteresting, the district is not and it was a battle to reach the steps which led 6 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. down to the quiet below. A wide sea is heav- "You are all preparing to start for Dieppe?" ing and flashing at one's feet, as one descends I said, to change the subject. the steep; the boats lie like specks on the shin- "We go in a day or two," he answered; gle; birds go flying wind-blown below one's "perhaps a hundred boats will be starting. feet, and the rushing sound of the tide seems to We go here, we go there-may be at a league's fill the air. When I reached the foot of the distance. It is curious to see. We are driftcliff at last, I looked about for some place to ing about; we ask one another,'Hast thou rest. A young countrywoman was sitting not found the herring?' and we answer,'No! there far off on the side of a boat-a shabby old boat is no sign;' and perhaps at last some one says, it was, full of water, and sand, and sea-weed,'It is at such and such a place.' We have with a patch of deal in its old brown coat. I landmarks. We have one at Asnelles, for inwas tired, and I went and sat down too. stance," and he pointed to the glittering distant The woman did not look round or make any, village on the tongue of land which jutted into movement, and remained quite still, a quiet fig- the sea at the horizon. "And then it happens," ure against the long line of coast, staring at the said the old fellow, " that all of a sudden we receding tide. Some sailors not far off were come upon what we are searching for... We shouting to one another, and busy with a fishing- have enough then, for we find them close-packsmack which they had dragged up high and dry ed together like this;" and he pressed his two and safe from the water. Presently one of the brown hands against one another. men came plodding up over the shingle, and I "And is not that a miracle to satisfy you, asked him if he wanted his boat. Christopher Lefebvre?" said the woman, speak" Even if I wanted it, I should not think of ing in a deep sweet voice, with a strange ringdisturbing you and Mademoiselle Reine," an- ing chord in it, and once more flashing round. swered the old fellow. He had a kindly puz- "Ah! mademoiselle," he said, quite seriously, zled weather-beaten face. "Remain, remain," " they are but herrings. Now St. Peter caught he said. trout in his nets. I saw that in the picture "lHe, huh!" shouted his companions, filing which you showed me last Easter, when I went off, "come and eat." But he paid no attention up to Tracy. I am only a rough man," he to their call, and went on talking. He had went on, speaking to me again. "I can't been out all night, but he had only caught cut- speak like those smart gentlemen from Paris, tie-fish, he told me. They were not good to eat who make' calembours,' and who have been to -they required so much beating before they college; you must forgive me if I have offended could be cooked. They seize the boats with you, or said any thing wrongly. I have only their long straggling legs... "Did I hear been to one school at our little village; I learnt of their clutching hold of poor old Nanon Le- what I could there..." febvre the other day, when she was setting her "And to that other school, Christophe," said nets? Mademoiselle Reine could tell me the the deep voice again; and the young woman long and the short of it, for she was on the spot pointed to the sea. and called for help." Then he brightened up. "There, indeed, I " And you came and killed the beast, and have learnt a great many things, and I defy any there was an end of it," said Mademoiselle one of those fine gentlemen to teach me a sinReine, shortly, glancing round with a pair of gle fact regarding it." flashing bright eyes, and then turning her back "And yet there are some of them -of the upon us once more. fine gentlemen, as you call them," she said, Hers was a striking and heroic type of phys- looking him full in the face, "wl are not out iognomy. She interested me then, as she has of place on board a boat, as you ought to know done ever since that day. There was some- well enough." thing fierce, bright,'good-humored about her. Lefebvre shrugged his shoulders. "MonThere was heart, and strength, and sentiment sieutr Richard," he said, "and M. de Tracy in her face-so I thought, at least, as she flashed too, they liked being on board, and were not round upon us. It is a rare combination, for afraid of a wetting. Monsieur Fontaine, pauvre women are not often both gentle and strong. homme, it was not courage he wanted. Vous She had turned her back again, however, and I n'avez pas tort, Mademoiselle Reine. Permit went on talking to the old sailor. Had he had me to ask you if you have had news lately of a good season - had he been fortunate in his the widow? She is a good and pretty person" fishing? (he said to me), "and we of the country all A strange doubting look came into his face, like her." and he spoke very slowly. "I have read in "She is good and pretty, as you say," anthe Holy Gospels," he said, turning his cap swered the young woman, shortly. "You ask round in his hands, " that when St. Peter and me for news, Christophe. I had some news of his companions were commanded to let down her this morning; Madame Fontaine is going their nets, they inclosed such a multitude of to be married again." And then suddenly turnfishes that their nets brake. I am sorry that ing away, Mademoiselle Reine rose abruptly the time for miracles is past. I have often from her seat and walked across the sands out caught fish, but my nets have never yet broken toward the distant sea. from the quantity they contained." THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 7 CHAPTER I. girls, rushing along, tumbling down, shouting and screaming at the pitch of their voices, to the ADIEU, CHARMANT PAYS. scandal of the other children who are better FIVE o'clock on a fine Sunday-western brought up, and who are soberly trotting in light streaming along the shore, low cliffs their small bourrelets, and bibs and blouses, by stretching away on either side, with tufted grass- the side of their fathers and mothers. The baes and thin straggling flowers growing from the ties are the solemnest and the funniest of all, loose arid soil-far-away promontories, flashing as they stare at the sea and the company from and distant shores, which the tides have not yet their tight maillots or cocoons. overlapped, all shining in the sun. The waves The country folks meet, greet one another swell steadily inward, the foam sparkles where cheerfully, and part with signs and jokes; the the ripples meet the sands. bathers go on shouting and beating the water; The horizon is solemn dark blue, but a great the lights dance. In the distance, across the streak of light crosses the sea; three white sails sands, you see the figures walking leisurely gleam, so do the white caps of the peasant-wom- homeward before the tide overtakes them; the en, and the wings of the sea-gulls as they go sky gleams whiter and whiter at the horizon, swimming through the air. and bluer and more blue behind the arid grasses Holiday people are out in their Sunday that fringe the overhanging edge of the cliffs. clothes. They go strolling along the shore, or Four or five little boys come running up one bathing and screaming to each other in the wa- by one, handkerchief- flying umbrella -bearer ters. The countrymen wear their blue smocks ahead to the martial sound of a penny trumpet. of a darker blue than the sea, and they walk by The little captain pursues them breathless their wives and sweethearts in their gay-colored and exhausted, brandishing his sword in an Sunday petticoats. A priest goes by; a grand agony of command. "Soldats," he says, adlady in frills, yellow shoes, red jacket, fly-away dressing his refractory troops, "soldats, souvehat, and a cane. Her husband is also in scar- nez-vous qu'il ne faut jamais courrir. Soldats, let and yellow. Then come more women and ne courrez pas, je vous en prrrrie-une, deux, Normandy caps flapping, gossiping together, and trois," and away they march to the relief of a baskets and babies, and huge umbrellas. A sand fort which is being attacked by the sea. figure, harlequin-like, all stripes and long legs, And so the day goes on, and the children play suddenly darts from behind a rock, and frisks Among the waste and lumber of the shore. into the water, followed by a dog barking furi- Hard coils of cordage, swarthy fishing-nets, ously. More priests go by from the seminary at Anchors of rusty fluke and boats updrawn; Asnelles. Then perhaps a sister of charity, with and while they build "their castles of dissolvher large flat shoes, accompanied by two grand- ing sand to watch them overflow," the air, and looking bonnets. the sounds, and the colors in which all these I believe M. le Sous-prefet himself had been people are moving seem to grow clearer and seen on the sands that afternoon by Marion, by clearer; you can see the country people clamIsabeau, by Madame Potier, and all the village, bering the cliffs behind the village, and hear the in short. M. le Maire had also been remarked voices and the laughter of the groups assembled walking with the English gentlemen from the on the embanked market-place. And meanchateau; one pair of eyes watched the two cu- while M. le Maire and the Englishman are riously as they went by. The little English- walking slowly along the sands toward Tracy, man was sauntering in his odd loose clothes; with long grotesque shadows lengthening as the Monsieur IFtaine, the maire, tripping beside sun begins to set. him with shbrt, quick military steps, neat gai- "I hope you will revisit our little town beters, a cane, thread gloves, and a curly-rimmed fore long," M. Fontaine was politely remarking Panama hat. M. Fontaine was the taller of to his companion. "I hear that you start tothe two, but the Englishman seemed to keep morrow, and that Madame de Tracy accompaahead somehow, although he only sauntered and nies you." dragged one leg lazily after the other. Pelot- "My aunt declares she can not possibly go tier, the inn-keeper, had been parading up and alone," said the Englishman, shrugging his down all the afternoon with his rich and hideous shoulders, and speaking in very good French for bride. She went mincing along, with a parasol, an Englishman, "or I should have been glad and mittens, and gold earrings, and a great gold to stay another week." ring on her fore finger, and a Paris cap stuck "You have not yet visited the oyster-park at over with pins and orange-flowers. She looked Coutseulles," said M. le Maire, looking condaggers at Reine Chretien, who had scorned Pe- cerned. "It is a pity that you depart so soon." lottier, and boxed his great red ears, it was said, "I am very unfortunate to miss such a earrings and all. As for Reine, she marched chance," said the Englishman, smiling. past the couple in her Normandy peasant dress, The Maire of Petitport seemed to think this with its beautiful old laces and gold ornaments, a most natural regret. " Courseulles is a deeplooking straight before her, as she took the arm ly interesting spot," he said. " Strangers travof her grandfather, the old farmer from Tracy. el from far to visit it. You have nothing of Besides all these grown-up people there comes the sort in your country; I believe.. You would occasionally a little flying squadron of boys and see the education of the oyster there brought to 8 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. its highest point of perfection. They are most who might have made an amiable mother to my intelligent animals, I am assured; one would child, but the affair came to nothing. I do not not have imagined it. You would see them mind telling you it was Mademoiselle Chretien sorted out according to size, in commodious herself that I had in view. After all, why tanks. Every variety is there-from enormous should I marry? Hein? My good mother patriarchal oysters to little baby ones, en maillot, takes care of my little son; my father-in-law is I may say. The returns are enormous, I be* much attached to him; I have an excellent cuilieve. And then you have such a fine air at siniere, entirely devoted to our family-you know Courseulles; magnificent plains-a vast hori- Justine? Sometimes," said M. Fontaine, gazzon-no trees, nothing to interrupt the coup- ing at the sea,'" a vague feeling comes over me d'ceil. The effect of the moon shining on the that if I could find a suitable person, life might marshes and the establishment is really strik- appear less monotonous, more interesting. I ing." should feel more gay, in better spirits, with the "I think old Chrdtien has a share in the con- society of an agreeable companion. These are cern," said the Englishman. mere reveries, the emotions of a poetic imagina"Mademoiselle Reine and her grandfather tion; for where am I to find the person?" are very reserved upon the subject, and I have "Is there much difficulty?" said Butler, never been able to ascertain exactly what their amused. yearly percentage amounts to," said Fontaine, "I do not generally mention it, but I do not confidentially holding up one thin hand. "I mind telling you," said M. le Maire, "that our know that she drives over once a month in her family, through misfortunes-by the stupidity spring-cart to superintend the affairs. She is a of some, the ill conduct of others —no longer person, as you are aware, of great method and holds the place in society to which it is entitled. order; and, indeed, in affairs, it is absolutely But I do not forget that I belong to an ancient necessary." race. I would wish for a certain refinement in " She seems to manage the farm very fairly," my future companion which I can not discover said the other. "Old Chretien is a stupid old among the ladies of the vicinity. There is nothfellow, always drinking cider; he don't seem to ing to suit me at Bayeux; at Caen I may possido much else." bly discover what I require. I shall certainly "Alas! no," replied Fontaine. "I look upon make inquiries on my next visit." drunkenness as a real misfortune. He has told "And so you did not arrange matters with me in confidence that he can not exist without Mademoiselle Reine?" said the Englishman. the stimulant of cider. Even Mademoiselle "Steps were taken," M. Fontaine replied, Reine can not persuade him to abandon it." mysteriously nodding his head, "but without "I can not imagine any body having any dif- any result. I, for one, do not regret it. With ficulty in refraining from cider," said the other, all her excellent qualities and her good blood smiling again.- " She was good to give me some -her mother was of a noble house, we all know the other day, with soupe aux choux; and I -there is a certain abruptness-in a word, confess-" Mademoiselle Reine is somewhat bourgeoise in " Comment, Mbnsieur Butler! You do not her manner, and I am not sorry that the transaclike our cider?" said the maire, looking quite tion fell through. Old Pere Chretien required surprised. " It is because you have the taste me to produce a sum out of all reason. Neiof your'potter' stillinyourmouth. Comeback ther he nor Mademoiselle Reine were in the to us, and I promise to convert you." least accomodating- Ha, Madane Michaud" Very well, that is a bargain," said Butler, Madame!" a bow, a flourish of the Panama to a looking about him a little distractedly. Ma- stout old lady with a clean cap and a parasol. dame Pelottier, who happened to be passing, The maire had held Butler fast for the last hour, imagined that he was admiring her elegance. and might have gone on chattering indefinitely, She drew herself up, stuck out her fore finger, if the Englishman, seeing him involved with his and bowed. The maire, with a brisk glissade, new friend, had not pulled out his watch and returned the salute. escaped, saying he must go home. The maire "I sometimes ask," Fontaine remarked, as took a disconsolate leave. Nemesis, in the he replaced his curly-rimmed hat, "how that ex- shape of Madame Michaud, with some wrongs cellent fellow, Pelottier, can have married him- and a great deal to say about them, had overself with that monstrous person. She brought taken Monsieur le Maire and held him fast prishim, it is true, an excellent dot and a good con- oner, while Richard Butler marched off with nection at Caen, also at Bayeux; but in his that odd sauntering walk of his, and made the place nothing would have persuaded me to unite best of his way to the chateau. myself with a young lady so disgracious and ill- He tramped along the foot of the cliff, crunchbrought-up." ing over sea-weed, and stones, and mussel-shells. "Then you have thought of marrying again?" He passed old Nanette Lefebvre trimming her asked Butler, glancing at the spruce figure be- nets, sitting in a heap on the sand, with her side him. bare legs in huge wooden sabots, and her pettiThe maire looked conscious, and buttoned his coats tucked up. Though it was a f6te-day, coat. "I once contemplated some proposals," the old fish-wife could not afford to miss her he said, "to a person who was well off, and chance of a bonne aubaine. "J'allons mettre THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 9 mes filets a la basse maree," said Nanon, quite and now he felt he should get into a scrape if contented. "Je vous souhaite le bonsoir, mon he staid, and they had sent for him home again. petit monsieur." Mr. Hook might have made His uncle, Charles Butler, had paid his debts a pretty sketch of the old brown face with the once more, and his uncle Hervey had written shrewd black eyes, and the white coif, of the him a lofty and discursive epistle conveying his crisp rocks, the blue sea, and the tattered striped forgiveness, desiring him to come back to his petticoat. A peculiar brightness and clearness work and his studio. His aunt, Madame de of atmosphere is like a varnish to the live pie- Tracy, announced that she would accompany tures one meets with at every turn on the shores him to England, spend a short time with her yonder. The colors are fainter and brighter two brothers, and make the way smooth for her than in England, the backgrounds lie flat, undi- nephew. Madame de Tracy had but ten finversified, scantily broken by trees, but the fig- gers, but if she had possessed twenty she would ures stand out in pale relief, with a grace, an have wished to make use of each one of them in unconscious pastoral sentiment which is almost that culinary process to which the old proverb unknown among us. Have we not outgrown alludes. Her efforts had never been successful the charm of tradition, old songs and saws, and as far as Butler was concerned. ways and appliances, national dress, and simple Dick, as his friends call him, had been cursed country life? Faded, battered wire bonnets; with a facility for getting into scrapes all his vulgarity, millinery, affectation, parasols, crino- lifetime. He had an odd fantastic mind, which lines-it seems strange that such things should had come to him no one knew how or why. so surely supersede in time all the dear and He was sensitive, artistic, appreciative. He was touching relics of the by-going still life of our vain and diffident; he was generous and selfancestors. Perhaps a day will come when the ish; he was warm-hearted, and yet he was too old charm will exorcise the land again, bringing much a man of the world not to have been someback its songs and rural poetry, its grace and what tainted by its ways. Like other and betvanishing sentiment. ter men, Dick's tastes were with the aristocracy, It almost appears as if consciousness destroy- his sympathies with the people. He was not ed and blighted whatever it laid its fatal hand strong enough to carry out his own theories, upon. We have all learned to love and admire though he could propound them very eloquentart in our daily life, and to look for it here and ly, in a gentle drawling voice, not unpleasant there; but as we look, somehow, and as we ex- to listen to. He was impressionable enough to claim, Here or there behold it! the fairies van- be easily talked over and persuaded for a time, ish, the birds fly away, the tranquil silence is but there was with it all a fund of secret obstibroken, the simple unconsciousness is gone for- nacy and determination which would suddenly ever, and you suddenly awake from your pleas- reassert itself, at inconvenient moments someant dream. A ruin inclosed by a wall and times. In that last scrape of his, Dick having viewed with a ticket; a model old woman in a first got deeply into debt, in a moment of abersham rustic cottage at the park gate; even the ration had proposed to a very plain but good-nared cloaks of the village children which the lady tured young lady with a great deal of money. at the hall brought down from Marshall and He had made the offer at the instigation of his Snellgrove's, when she was in town last Tues- relations, and to quiet them and deliver himself day-all these only become scenes in a panto- from their persecutions, and he then behaved mime somehow. In these days, one is so used shamefully, as it is called, for he was no sooner to sham and imitation, and Brummagem, that accepted, to his surprise and consternation, than when by chance one comes to the real thing, it he wrote a very humble but explicit note to the is hard to believe in it. At least so Butler heiress, telling her that the thing was impossithought as he trudged along. ble. That she must forgive him if she could, Presently he began to climb the cliff, and he but he felt that the mercenary motives which. reached the top at last with the great fields and had induced him to come forward were so unthe sea on either side, and the fresh breezes worthy of her and of himself, that the only blowing. He did not go into the village, but course remaining to him was toconfess his turned straight off and strode up the hill. He meanness and to throw himself upon her goodpassed groups all along the road, resting or plod- nature. Poor Dick! the storm which broke ding through the dust. The west was all aglow upon his curly head was a terrible one. He with sunset, great ranges of cloud-mountains had fled in alarm. were coming from a distance and hanging over- His curly head had stood him in stead of head in the sky. He beheld fiery lakes, calm many a better quality; his confidence and good seas, wonderful countries. He could see land, manners had helped him out of many a welland sky, and sea glowing for miles and miles in deserved scrape, but he was certainly no sinewy wreathing vapors of loveliest tint, andgolden sun- hero, no giant, no Titan, like those who have floods. Butler trudged along, admiring, won- lately revisited the earth-(and the circulating dering, and at the same time with his head full libraries, to their very great advantage and imof one thing and another. provement). So far he was effeminate that he He was loth enough to go, but there was no had great quickness of perception, that he was help for it. He had been in scrapes and troub- enthusiastic and self-indulgent, and shrunk les at home, and had come away for a change, from pain for himself or for others. He had 10 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. been petted and spoiled in his youth, and he ness, recklessness. He thought if he could turn might have been a mere puppet and walking his back upon it all, and take up a new life ungentleman to this day, if it had not been for der another name, he would be well contentthat possession, that odd little craze in his mind if he could put on a blouse and dig in the fields which seemed to bring him to life somehow, like these sunburnt fellows, and forget all cares, and force him into independence and self-deni- and anxieties, and perplexities in hard physical al; and Charles Butler, his eldest uncle, used labor and fatigue. A foolish, passionate longto make jokes at him, or occasionally burst out ing for the simpler forms of life had come over in a fume when Dick gravely assured him he him of late. He was sick of cities, of men, of believed himself possessed, and unaccountable fine ladies, of unsuccessful efforts, of constant for his actions. But, for all his vexation, the disappointment and failure. He was tired of old man could not resist the young fellow's being tired, and of the problems of daily life handsome face, and his honest, unaffected ways, which haunted and perplexed him. Here, perand his cleverness, and his droll conceit, and haps, he might be at peace, living from day to humility, and grateful ingratitude, so to speak. day, and from hour to hour. His scrapes, after all, were thoughtless, not And yet he felt that the best and truest part wicked ones, and so old Butler paid and paid, of him, such as it was, was given to his art, and and preached a little, and jibed a great deal, that he would sacrifice every thing, every hope and offered him regular employment, but Dick for better things, if he sacrificed to weariness, to would not be regularly employed, would not be laziness-to a fancy-what he would not give up helped, would not be made angry;. it seemed for expediency and success. He was no genius, all in vain to try to influence him. he could not look for any brilliant future; he "If your pictures were worth the canvas," was discouraged and out of heart. He blinked the old man would say, "I should be only too with his short-sighted eyes across the country thankful to see you so harmlessly occupied; but toward a hollow far away, where a farmstead what is this violet female biting an orange, and was nestling; he could see the tall roof gleamstanding with her toes turned in and her elbows ing among the trees and the stacks. How loth turned out? P.R. B's. I have no patience he was to go. He imagined himself driving catwith the nonsense. Pray, were Sir Joshua, tle to market along the dusty roads; bargainand Lawrence, and Gainsborough, and Romney ing, hiring laborers, digging drains, tossing hay before Raphael or after? and could they paint into carts; training fruit-trees, working in the a pretty woman, or could they not?" fields. It was an absurdity, and Butler sighed, "They could paint in their way," Dick would for he knew it was absurd. He must go whether answer, twirling his mustache, "and I, proba- he would or not; he had seen the last of the place bly, can appreciate them better than you can, and the people in it; he had tasted of the fruit of sir. You haven't read my article in the Art the tree of good and of evil; it was too late; he Review, I see." And then the two would talk could not be Adam living with his Eve in the away at one another for an hour or more. It Garden of Eden. It was a garden full of apall ended in Dick going his own way, wasting ples, bounteous, fruitful, which was spread out his time, throwing away opportunities, picking before him, stretching from the lilac hills all up shreds that he seemed to have thrown away, down to the sea, but it was not the Garden of making friends wherever he went with the chil- Eden. Had Eve bright, quick brown eyes, Butdren of light or of darkness, as the case might be. ler wondered? did she come and go busily? did As Dick walked along the high road to Tracy she make ciders and salads, and light fires of this afternoon, he replied to one greeting and dried sticks in the evenings?, Did she carefulanother: good-humored-looking women, step- ly pick up the fruit that fell to the ground and ping out by their men-companions, grinned and store it away? did she pull flowers to decorate nodded to him as they passed on; children trot- her bower with, and feed the young heifers with ting along the road cried out " Bon-soir" in the leaves out of her hand? Did she scatter grain true Normandy sing-song. Butler occasionally for the fowls of the air? did she call all the aniinterrupted his somewhat remorseful medita- mals by their names, and fondle them with her tions to reply to them. "What a fool he was!" pretty slim fingers? did she, when they had been he was thinking. Alas! this is often what people turned out of Paradise, weave garments for herare thinking as they walk for a little way alone self and for Adam with a spinning-wheel, as along the high road of life. How he had wasted Butler had seen the women use in these parts? his youth, his time, his chances. Here he was, Had she a sweet odd voice, with a sort of chord at eight-and-twenty, a loiterer in the race. He in it? Dick sighed again, and walked on quickhad tried hard enough at times, but life had ly, watching a great cloud-ship high overhead. gone wrong with him somehow. "Why was he And as he walked, writing his cares with his always in trouble?" poor Butler asked himself; footsteps on the dust, as Carlyle says somewhere, "dissatisfied, out of pocket and temper? Why a cart which had been jolting up the hill-side was he unhappy now when matters were begin- passed him on the road. ning to brighten, and one more chance offered It was full of country people: a young man itself for him to retrieve the past?" He had a with a flower stuck into his cap was driving, terror lest the future should only be a repetition an old man was sitting beside him. Inside the of times gone by-thoughtless imprudence, idle- cart were three women and some children. One THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 11 little fellow was leaning right over, blowing a dwelling, or the lamp placed in the window as a big trumpet and holding a flag. The other signal to Dominic and her grandfather that the children were waving branches and pulling at a supper was ready? "It is as well I am gogarland of vine-leaves, of which one end was ing to-morrow," Butler ruefully thought once dragging;. baskets were slung to the shaft be- more. low; two dogs were following and barking; It was almost dark by the time he reached while the people in the cart were chanting a the iron gate of the Chateau de Tracy, where sort of chorus as they wentjolting along the road. his dinner was cooking, and his French relaThey sang while the children waved their tions were awaiting his return. They were sitbranches in accompaniment. It looked like a ting out-dusky forms of aunts and cousins-on christening party, with the white ribbons and chairs and benches, upon the terrace in front of flowers. One of the young women held a little the old place, enjoying the evening breeze, fresh white baby in her arms; another sat as if she though it was. English people would have budwas in a boat, holding fast a pretty little curly- died into cloaks and bonnets, or gathered round headed girl, while the other arm dropped loose- close up to the wood-fire in the great bare saloon ly over the side. on a night like this; but French people are less As the cart jogged past him, the children cautious and chilly than we are, and indeed there recognized Butler, who was well known to them, are no insidious damps lurking in the keen dry and they began to call to him and to wave their atmosphere of Normandy, no hidden dangers to toys to attract his attention. The two men took fear as with us. To-night the mansarde winoff their caps, the women nodded, and went on dows in the high roof, the little narrow windows singing; all except the young woman who had in the turret, and many of the shuttered casebeen leaning back-she looked up, smiled, and ments down below were lighted up brightly. made the little girl next her kiss her hand to the The old house looked more cheerful than in the wayfarer. daytime, when to English eyes a certain mouldi"Good-by, Reine," said Butler, in English, ness and neglect seemed to hang about the place. starting forward. "I'm going to-morrow." Persons passing by at night, when the lamps Reine,,jogging away, did not seem to under- were lighted, travelers in the diligence from Bastand what he said. She stretched out her long yeux, and other wayfarers sometimes noticed neck, half turned to the others, then looked back the old chateau blazing by the roadside, and again at Dick. The other two women did not speculated dimly-as people do when they see heed her, but went on shrilly chanting- signs of an unknown life-as to what sort of Si le chemil nous ennuie people were living, what sort of a history was L'un a l'autre nous boirons! passing, behind the gray walls. There would And a second verse- be voices on the terrace, music coming from the Voici tons gens de courage open windows. The servants clustering round Lesquels s'en vont en voyage I Lesquels s'eu vent en voynge the gates, after their work was over, would greet Jusque par-de-lb des monts Faire ce pee1rinage. the drivers of the passing vehicles. As the dilTous boire nous ne pouvons. igence pulled up, something would be handed Que la bouteille on n'oublie. En regrettant Normandie, down, or some one would get out of the interior, Enregrettant.... and vanish into this unknown existence-the went thq chorus, with the men's voices joining cheerful voices would exchange good-nights. in. There was a sudden decline in the hill,... When Richard Butler first came he arand the horses that had been going slowly be- rived by this very Bayeux diligence, and he was fore set off at a trot. Reine was still leaning interested and amused as he would have been back and looking after Butler. Dick never turn- by a scene at the play. ed his head as he walked quietly on toward It was by this same Bayeux diligence that he Tracy. It seemed to him as if the sun had set started early the next morning after his walk suddenly, and that a cold east wind was coming along the cliff. Madame de Tracy, who always up from the sea. wanted other people to alter their plans suddenThe cart jogged off toward the farmstead ly at the last moment, and for no particular reawhich Dick had seen nestling among the trees son, had endeavored to persuade her nephew to -Dick went on his road through the growing put off his departure for twenty-fourhours. But dusk. About half an hour later, Madame Mi- Dick was uneasy, and anxious to be off. He had chaud, belated and in a great hurry, drove past made up his mind that it was best to go, and him in her little open gig; she pulled up, how- this waiting about and lingering was miserable ever, to offer him a lift, which Butler declined work. Besides, he had received a letter from a with thanks. friend, who was looking out for him at a certain The road makes a sudden turn about a mile shabby little hotel at Caen, well known to them before you reach the chateau, and Dick could both. Dick told his aunt that he would stay perceive the glow of the windows of the old there and wait until she came the next day, but place already beginning to light up. He could that he should leave Tracy by the first diligence also see a distant speck of light in the plain, in the morning; and for once he spoke as if he shining through darker shadow. Had Reine meant what he said. reached home, he wondered? was that the flare And so it was settled, and Richard packed up of the Colza blaze through the open door of the his picture overnight, and went off at seven 12 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. o'clock, without his breakfast, in the rattling lit- The maire himself descended at the bankei's. tie diligence. An unexpected pleasure was in It was an old-fashioned porte-cochere, leading store for him. He found M. Fontaine already into a sunny, deserted court-yard. M. Fontaine seated within it, tightly wedged between two stood in the doorway. He was collecting his farmers' wives, who were going to market with mind for one last parting effort. "My dear their big baskets and umbrellas, and their gold fren'! good voyage," he said in English, wavearrings and banded caps. M. le Maire was go- ing his Panama, as Dick drove off to the station. ing into Bayeux, "pour affaire," he informed the M. Fontaine accomplished his business, and company. But Richard Butler was silent, and jogged back to Petitport in the diligence that little inclined for the conversation which M. Fon- evening, once more in company with Madame taine tried to keep up as well as he could through Binaud, and Madame Nicholas, who had disthe handles of the baskets with his English friend, posed of her peaches. with the other occupants of the vehicle, and with "I1 est gentil, le petit Monsieur Anglais," the ladies on his right and his left. He suited said Madame Nicholas. "Anglais, Allemand; his subjects to his auditory. He asked Madame c'est la meme chose, n'est-ce pas, Monsieur Nicholas if she was going to the fair at Creuil- Fontaine?" ly, and if she had reason to believe that there "Not at all, not at all; the nations are enwould be as much amusement there this year as tirely distinct," says Fontaine, delighted to have the last. He talked to Madame Binaud of the an opportunity of exhibiting his varied informaconcert in the church the week before, and of tion before the passengers. the sum which M. le Cure had cleared by the "I should like to know where he has got to entertainment. To Dick he observed, in allu- by this time," said Madame Binaud, solemnly sion to his intended journey, " What a wonder- nodding her stupid old head. ful power is le steam! You can, if you choose, dine at Paris to-night, and breakfast in London Dick is only a very little way off, sitting upon to-morrow morning. What should we do,"ask- a pile, and saying farewell for a time to the ed Fontaine, "without the aid of this useful country he loves. "Adieu, charmant pays de and surprising invention?" France," he is whistling somewhat dolefully. "Eh bien! moi qui vous parle, Monsieur le There is a river, and some people are sitting Maire," said Madame Binaud; "I have never on some logs of wood which have been left lying yet been in one of those machines a vapeur, nor along the embankment, there is a dying sundo I ever desire to go. Binaud, he went up to streak in the west, and the stars are quietly Paris last harvest-time, and he came back, sure brightening overhead. enough. But I don't like them," said Madame The water reflects the sunstreak and the Binaud, shaking her head, and showing her keels of the ships which are moored to the quai. white teeth. Beyond the quai the river flows across a plain, Madame Binaud was a Conservative. She through gray and twilight mystery toward Paris was very stout, and wore a high cap with big with its domes and triumphal arches miles and flaps that were somewhat out of date. Madame miles away. Here, against the golden-vaulted Nicholas was a bright, lively little woman, with background, crowd masts, and spires, and gablea great store of peaches in her basket, a crino- roofs like those of a goblin city, and casements line, a Paris cap, and all the latest innovations. from which the lights of the old town ore beginThey went on slowly climbing the hill for ning to shine and to be reflected in the water. some time, and as they turned a corner, Dick The old town whose lights are kindling is caught. one more sight of Petitport, all white Caen, in Normandy. The people who are sitagainst the blue sea, and very distinct in the ting on the logs are some country folks, and two early fmoining light. Then the diligence rolled English travelers who have strolled out with on more quickly, and the great towers of Ba- their cigars after dinner. yeux Cathedral came rising across the plain. It seems a favorite hour with the Caennois; Butler looked back again and again, but he many townsfolk are out and about. They have could see the village no: more. What was the done their day's work, their suppers are getting charm which attracted him so strangely to the ready by the gleaming gable lights, and before poor little place? he asked himself. Did he going in to eat, to rest, to sleep, they come to love the country for its own sake, or only for breathe"the cool air, to look at the shipping, to the sake of the people he left there? But the peer down into the dark waters, and to stroll diligence was banging and rattling over the under the trees of the Cours. The avenues Bayeux stones by this time, and it was no use gloom damp, and dark, and vaporous in the asking himself any more questions. twilight, but one can imagine some natures lik"Monsieur," solemnly said Madame Binaud, ing to walk under trees at night and t6 listen to as she and her fiiend prepared to get down, the dreary chirping of the crickets. Fo6 En"je vous souhaite un bon voyage." glish people who have trees and shady groves at "Bon jour, messieurs!" said Madame Nich- home, there are other things to do at Caen beolas, cheerfully, while M. Fontaine carefully sides strolling along the dark Cours. There handed out the ladies' baskets and umbrellas, are the quais, and the quaint old courts and and a pair of sabots belonging to Madame Bi- open squares, and the busy old streets all alight naud. and full of life. They go climbing, descending, THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 13 ascending with gables and corners, where shrines ly ornaments which patient hands had carved are and turrets with weather-cocks, and bits of and traced upon the stone. It was all very symtag hanging from upper windows; carved lin- pathetic and resting to his mind. It was like tels, heads peeping from the high casements, the conversation of a friend, who sometimes voices calling, pigeons flying and perching, flow- listens, sometimes discourses, saying all sorts of ers hanging from topmost stories, and then over pleasant things; suggesting, turning your own all these the upward spires and the ivy-grown dull and wearied thoughts into new ideas, brighttowers of the old castle standing on the hill, ening as you brighten, interesting you, leading and down below crumbling Roman walls and you away from the worn-out old'dangerous paths green moats all luxuriant with autumn gar- where you were stumbling and struggling, and lands. All day long the bright Norman sky up and down which you had been wandering as had been shining upon the gardens and hill- if bewitched. sides, and between the carved stones, and para- Dick went back to the. table-d'hote at five pets, and high roofs of the city. o'clock, and desired the waiter to keep a vacant Richard Butler had been wandering about seat beside him. Before the soupe had been all the afternoon in this pleasant confusion of handed round, another young man, not unlike sight, and sound, and bright color. He had Dick in manner, but taller and better looking, missed the friend he expected to meet, but this came strolling in, and with a nod and a smile, did not greatly affect him, for he knew he would and a shake of the hand, sat down beside him. turn up that night at the hotel-at the table- Where have you been?" said Dick. d'hate most likely; and, in the mean time, "Looking for you," said the other. "Britwandering round and about, stopping at every tany-that sort of thing. Have you got on with corner, looking into every church, noting the your picture?" bright pictures, framed as it were in the arches, "Yes," Butler answered, "finished it and bestaring up at the gables, at the quaint wares in gun another. You know I'm on my way home. the shops.; making mental notes of one kind Better come too, Beamish, and help me to look and another, which might be useful some day- after all my aunt's boxes." he had spent a tranquil solitary afternoon. He "Which aunt's boxes?" said Beamish, eagerhad seen a score of subjects: once, sitting on a ly. bench in one of the churches, a side door had "Not Mrs. Butler's," Dick answered, smiling. opened, and with a sudden flood of light from " But Catharine is flourishing-at least she was a green court-yard outside, an old bent wom- looking very pretty when I came away, and an came in, carrying great bunches of flowers. will, I have no doubt, be very glad to see me She came slowly out of the sunlight, and went again." with dragging step to the altar of the beautiful And then, when dinner was over, and the white Virgin where the tapers were burning. odd-looking British couples had retired to their And then she placed the flowers on the altar rooms, the two young men lighted their cigars, and crept away. Here was a subject, Butler and strolled out across the Place together, went thought, and he tried to discover why it affected out and sat upon the log, until quite late at him? A pretty young girl tripping in, blush- night, talking and smoking together in the quiet ing with her offering and her petition, would and darkness. not have touched him as did the sight of this lonely and aged woman, coming sadly along with her fresh wreaths and nosegays. Poor soul! what can she have to pray for? "Her CHAPTER II. flowers should be withered immortelles," he thought, but the combinations of real life do not pose for effect, and the simple, natural in- THERE are some things dull, and shabby, and congruities of every day are more harmonious uninteresting to one person, which to another than any compositions or allusions, no matter are all shining with a mysterious light and how elaborate. Butler thought of Uhland's glamour of their own. A dingy London hall, chaplet, "Es pfluickte bliimlein minnigfalt," with some hats on pegs, a broad staircase with and taking out his note-book he wrote down, a faded blue and yellow Turkey carpet, occa"Old people's petitions, St. G. 4 o'clock. Of- sionally a gloomy echoing of distant plates, and fering up flowers, old woman blue petticoat, unseen pots and pans in the kitchens below; a white stripe. Pointed Gothic doorway, light drawing-room up above, the piano which gives from I to r through Red St. glass. Uhland." out the usual tunes over and over again, like a The next place into which he strolled was a musical snuff-box; the sofa, the table, the sidedeserted little court of exchange, silent and ten- table, the paper-cutter, the Edinburgh, and the antless, though the great busy street rolled by Cornhill, and the Saturday Review; the usual only a few score yards away. There were stat- mamma, with her lace cap, sitting on the sofa, ues in florid niches, windows behind, a wonder the other lady at the writing-table, the young of carved stonework, of pillars, of polished stems man just going away standing by the fireplace, and brackets. It was a silent little nook, with the two young ladies sitting in the window with the deep sky shining overhead, and the great waves of crinoline and their heads dressed. black shadows striking and marking out the love- The people outside the window passing, repass 14 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. ing, and driving through Eaton Square, the dis- Algy, with a squirt, has been able to write his tant, unnoticed drone of an organ, the steeple initials and those of Miss Cornelia Bouchon, a of St. Peter's Church. This one spot, so dull, former governess; there are blots on the chilso strange to Madame de Tracy after her own dren's fingers and elbows, and on Sarah's nose, pleasant green pastures, so like a thousand oth- and all over Augusta's exercise; only Miss ers to a thousand other people, was so unlike to George seems free from the prevailing epidemic. one poor little person I know of; its charm was There she sits, poor little soul! round-faced, so strange and so powerful that she could scarce- dark-eyed; laughing sometimes, and scolding ly trust herself to think of it at one time. In at others; looking quite desperate very often, after years she turned from the remembrance as her appealing glances are now cast at Algy, with a constant pain and effort, until at last by now at Augusta or Lydia, as the case may be. degrees the charm traveled elsewhere, and the Little Sarah is always good and gives no trousunlight lit up othel*places. ble; but the other three are silly children, and My little person is only Miss George, a poor tiresome occasionally. The governess is very little twenty-year-old governess, part worried, young and. silly, too, for her age, and quite unpart puzzled, part sad, and part happy too, for fitted for her situation. To-day the children mere youth and good spirits. You can see it are especially lively and difficult to deal with. all in her round face, which brightens, changes, An aunt arriving in a cab, with a French maid smiles, and saddens many times a day. She with tall gray boxes; with chocolate in her catches glimpses of the Paradise I have been de- bag; with frizz curls and French boots, and scribing as she runs up and down stairs in pur- a funny-looking bonnet; welcomings, embrasuit of naughty, refractory Augusta, or dilatory cings, expeditions proposed; Dick with a bag little Sarah, or careless Lydia, who has lost her slung across his shoulder; the spare room made lesson, and her pinafore, and her pocket-hand- ready, a dinner-party to-morrow, the play on kerchief, or of Algy, whose life hangs by a Thursday, Augusta and Lydia to appear at leather strap as he slides up and down the pre- breakfast in their afternoon dresses-(so Streatcipitous banisters, and suspends himself from ton, their mother's maid, had decreed): all the landing by various contrivances of his own. this is quite enough to excite such very excita"What a noise those children are making," ble young people. Algy nearly dislocates evsays the aunt, looking up from her letter to the cry joint in his body; Augusta reads her hismamma in the drawing - room. The young tory in a loud, drawling voice, without paying man shuts the door as the little person goes attention to the stops, and longs to be grown up past flying after Algy; she captures him and like Catharine and Georgie. Lydia ponders on brings him back, a sulky little prisoner, to the her aunt's attire, and composes rich toilets in school-room on the stairs, where she herself, the air for herself, such as she should like to under the grand-sounding title of "governess," wear if she were married, and a French countis a prisoner too. In this Domestic Bastile, ess like her aunt Matilda. Sarah nibbles her with its ground-glass windows, from which es- chocolate and learns her poetry distractedly; cape is impossible-for they look into the areas even Miss George finds it difficult to keep up deep down below, and into mews where there are her interest in the battle of Tewkesbury which horses and coachmen constantly passing-all tle happened so many years ago, when all sorts ancient terrors and appliances are kept up. Sol- of exciting things are going on at that very itary confinement, the Question by Torture (Pin- instant, perhaps, just outside the school-room nock, Mangnall, etc., are the names given by the door. executioners to the various instruments). The There is a sound of rustling, of voices, of disthumb-screw stands in one corner of the room, cussion. Presently the mother's voice is raised with a stool which turns round and round, ac- above the rest. Catharine, make haste; the cording to the length of the performer's legs; a horses are here," she calls. registry is kept of secret marks where the vari- Miss George blushes up and says, with a little ons crimes and offenses are noted down. Heavy cough, " Go on, my dear Gussie." fines are supposed to be levied; utter silence "Kitty," cries another voice, "don't forget and implicit obedience are requested. But all to leave the note for Dick." this is only in theory after all; the prisoners have And Miss George gives another little gulp. conspired, mutinied, and carried every thing be- It is very foolish; she does not know how foolfore them since Miss George's dominion set in. ish and how much she minds it, or I think she She presides in her official chair by the ta- would try to struggle against the feeling. She, ble, with her work in her hand, looking very too, used to be called "Kitty," "Cathy," "Cathbright and pretty, and not in the least like a arine," once upon a time when she was sevengoverness. All the things about her look like teen. But that was three years ago, and no a school-room-the walls, and the maps, and one ever says any thing but "Miss George" the drugget, and the crumpled chintz. There now, except Algy, who sometimes cries out, are a few brown-paper books in the cases, and "Hullo, George, you have got another new there is a worn-out table-cover on the table, bonnet!" Even that is better than being a and a blotted ink-stand. There are blots every " Miss" always, from one day's end to another, where, indeed, insid6 the books, on the chairs, and from morning to night, poor little "George" under-the table, on the ceiling, where ingenious thinks. THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 15 All day long, it seems to her, outside th'e "I should like to see one," says Algy, in an school-room door she hears voices calling-fa- off-hand way. "I shall get papa to take me, or thers, mothers, brothers and sisters- cousin Dick. I'm sure he will, if I ask him." "Catharine, the horses are here! Catha- "You horrid children!" says Miss George; rine, we are all waiting for you! Catharine, "how can you talk about such dreadful things. some flowers have come for you!" Please, dear Algy, do your sum, and don't draw As I have said, the school-room was on the blocks and heads. Go on, Augusta." drawing-room stairs, and the children and the "'Queen Margaret and her son were taken governess could hear all that passed. It did prisoners,' "said Augusta, "'and brought to the seem a little hard sometimes that all the liappi- king, who asked the prince, after an insulting ness and love, and all the fun and delight of life, manner, how he dared to invade his dominions. and the hope, and the care, and the protection, "'The young prince, more mindful of his should be for one Catharine-all the hard work, high birth than of his present fortune, replied and the struggles, and loneliness, and friend- that he came thither to claim his just inheritlessness for the other. Music, bright days, ance; the ungenerous Edward, insensible to pity, pleasant talk, sympathy, pearls, turquoises, flow- struck him on the face with his gauntlet' " ers, pretty things, beautiful dresses, for one- "Oh l" says Sarah, reproachfully-"' and the only slate-pencils scratching, monotony, silence, Dukes of Clarence and Glou-'" But here the rules, rulers, ink-blots, unsatisfied longings, ill- door opened, and instead of heroic and unfortuwritten exercises, copy-books, thumbed-out die- nate princes, of kings savage and remorseless, tionaries, for the other. There are days when of wicked uncles and fierce bearded barons, and Miss George finds it very hard to listen with heart-broken and desperate queens, a beautiful lively interest to Augusta's reluctant account young lady came into the room in a riding-habit, of the battle of Tewkesbury. The sun shines, smiling, with her gold hair in a net. This was poor the clock ticks, birds hop up on the window- Catharine's shadow, her namesake, the happy ledge, pens scratch on the paper, people come Catharine, who haunted, and vexed, and charmand talk outside the door, every thing happens ed her all at once, who stood in the open doorto distract. Thoughts come buzzing and fan- way, with all the sunshine behind her, and who cies bewilder. was saying it was her birthday, and the little " That is Mr. Beamish's voice," Lydia would prisoners were to be set free. say; picking up her ears. "How often he "You will be able to go and see your sisters, comes." Miss George," Miss Butler says, smiling, for "No, it is cousin Dick," said Augusta; "he mamma is going to take the children out to lunch is going to ride out with them. Oh, how I wish and for all the afternoon." they would take me too." "And where are you going to? tell me, tell "Go on, my dear, with your reading," says me, Kitty, please tell me," says Augusta, flinging the governess, sternly. her arms round her. "'She advanced through the counties of "I am going to ride in the park with papa, Devon, Somerset, and Gloucester, increasing and Georgie, and Mr. Beamish," said Catharine, her army on each day's march,'" says the lit- "and this afternoon aunt Matilda wants us to tle lectress, in a loud, disgusted voice; "'each go to Sydenham with her." day's... but was at last overtaken by the "What fun you do have, to be sure!" said rapid-the rapid and expeditious Edward-'" Augusta, with a long groan. "It is Mr. Beamish, Miss George," said Lyd- And then one of the voices as usual cries, ia, complacently. "Catharine, Catharine," from below, and smil" And then Mrs. Butler was heard through ing once more, and nodding to them, the girl the keyhole, saying, "We must dine at six runs down stairs into the hall, where her father o'clock, and mind you bring Richard, M. Beam- and the others are waiting, impatient to ride ish. Tell him his aunt, Madame de Tracy, de- away into the bright summer parks. sires him to come." The children went off much excited half an "Go on, my dear," says Miss George. hour later, Augusta chattering, Lydia bustling "'On the banks of the Severn,'" Augusta and consequential, and carrying a bag; Algy continues. And there the armies apparently indulging in various hops, jerks, and other gymcome to a dead stop, for some one is heard to nastic signs of content; Sarah saying little, but say something about "the children too." looking all round eyes and happiness. Lunch "Certainly not," replies the mother's voice, with their cousins-shopping with mamma-the and so Gussie begins again in crestfallen tones: Zoological Gardens —buns for the bears-nuts "' The Lancastrians were here totally de- for the monkeys-there seemed to be no end of feated. The Earl of Devonshire and Lord Wen- delights in store for them as they tripped down loc were killed on the field. The Duke of stairs all ribbon-ends and expectation. Somerset and about twenty other persons of "Good-by, Miss George," cried Lydia. distinction, having taken shelter in a church, "Good-by, horrid school-room," said Auwere surrounded, dragged out, and immediately gusta. beheaded."' " "I do so like going out with mamma! wish "Miss George, have you ever seen an execu- I always did," said little Sarah. tion?" says Sarah. The children were not unkind, but they would 16 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. have naturally preferred feeding monkeys to do- lightful liberty before her. It was all sunny and inglong-division sums with an angel from heaven, silent. The pots and pans down below were at and poor Catharine, who was only a mortal after rest for once, and hanging quietly upon their all, wrinkled up her eyebrows and sighed. But pegs. The bedroom doors were open, the study her momentary ill-humor was gone in an instant. was empty; there was no one in the drawingFrom her place on the landing she heard the room when she looked in, only the sun beating start-the brief squabble with which children upon the blinds and pouring in through the coninvariably set off-the bland maternal inter- servatory window. ference..... Catharine brought away a Tennyson and a The carriage - wheels rolled away, the door Saturday Review, and came back into the schoolclosed, and Catharine found herself all alone in room again, and sat down upon the little shabby a great empty house, with an afternoon of de- sofa. She was not long in making up her mind start —the brief squabble with which children upon the blinds and pouring in through the coninvariably set off —the bland maternal inter- servatory window. ference.... Catharine brought away a Tennyson and a The carriage - wheels rolled away, the door Saturday Review, and came back into the schoolclosed, and Catharine found herself all alone in room again, and sat down upon the little shabby a great empty house, with an afternoon of de- sofa. She was not long in making up her mind THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 1? as to what she should do with her precious hours' ful effort. Thus, at least, it would have seemed of liberty; Her two little sisters filled every spare to us small moralizers looking on from our fanthought and moment in Catharine's busy life, cy-ware repositories, where right and wrong, and and her poor little heart yearned toward the oughts, and should-have-beens, are taken down grim house in Kensington Square, with the five from the shelf and measured out so liberally to narrow windows, and the prim-looking wire- supply the demand.... Half a yard of favor blinds, behind which Rosy and Totty's curly for this person-three quarters of trimming for heads were bobbing at work and at play, as the that one-slashings let into one surtout of which case might be. we do not happen to fancy the color-or, instead As Catharine waited, resting in the school- of slashings, loopholes, perhaps, neatly inserted room for a few minutes, she thought, with one into another; blue ribbons, gold cords and tasmore envious sigh, how she wished that she, too, sels, and rope-ends-there is no end to our stock, had a large open carriage to drive off in. She and the things we dispense as we will upon our longed-it was silly enough-to be the happy, imaginary men and women: we give them out fortunate Catharine, instead of the hard-work- complacently and without hesitation, and we ing, neglected one. She thought how tired she would fain bestow the same measure in like was, and of the long, hot Kensington Road; manner upon the living people we see all about she thought of the other Catharine riding away us. But-it is in vain we would measure out, disthrough the Park, in her waving gray habit, pense, approve,revoke. The fates roll on silent, under the bright green trees, with that kind, red- immutable, carrying us and our various opinions bearded Mr. Beamish curvetting beside her. It along with them, and the oughts and shoulds, is only an every-day story-one little pig goes to and praises and blamings, and the progress of market, another stays at home. One eats bread events. and butter, another has none, and cries squeak, There was a great deal of talking and discussqueak, squeak. The clock struck one mean- sion about little Catharine at one time-of course while. It was no use going off to her sisters until the family should have provided for the three after their dinner; luncheon was not ready yet, girls; her step-mother's relations ought to have and Catharine threw herself down at full length adopted Catharine, since she had no relations of upon the sofa, and opened the paper she had her own; Mrs. Buckington was well-off; Lady brought off the drawing-room table. In at the Farebrother had more money than she knew window some sweet sultry summer air came what to do with; but it all ended in the little blowing through a smutty lilac-tree. There was step-sisters being put to school, and in Cathaa clinking of pails and heavy footsteps. She read rine obtaining an excellent situation through an the review of a novel, of a new book of poetry, advertisement in The Times. She got sixty and then she turned to an essay. It was some- pounds a year, and as she owned the interest of thing about women and marrying, about feeble- a thousand pounds besides, she was rich for a ness and inaptitude, and missing their vocation; governess. But then she helped to pay for her about the just dislike of the world for the persons sisters' schooling. She could not bear them to who could not conduce to its amusement or corn- go to the cheap and retired establishment Lady fort. Catharine pushed it away impatiently. Farebrother had suggested. The aunts did not She did not want to read in black and white insist when Catharine offered to pay the differwhat she knew so well already-what she had ence. People said it was a shame, but only to read always in the black and white of day what might have been expected of such worldly, and of night-what with unconscious philoso- pushing, disagreeable women as Mrs. Buckingphy she tried so hard to ignore. ton and her sister, and so the matter ended. A poor little thing, just beginning life with And so little Catharine at nineteen set to work all the worlds and dreams of early youth in her for herself. She came-a blushing, eager little heart, chafing, and piteously holding out her soft thing-to a certain house in Eaton Square to little hands against the stern laws of existence. earn her own living, to help those who were No wonder she turned from the hard sentences. most dear to her, to teach Mrs. Butler's children Any body seeing the childish face, the gentle lit- a great many things she had never learned hertie movements, the pretty little hands which had self. What a strange new world it was! of stir, just flung the paper away, would have been of hard work, of thoughts and feelings undreamt sorry for her. Catharine did not look even her of in the quiet old days, before she left her twenty years, for she was backward and scarcely home; running in the garden, playing with her full-grown. She looked too young and too little sister in the old wainscoted hall-only yeschildish, one might have thought, to be sent terday, so it appeared-adoring her step-mother, out by fate and respectable references into the being naughty sometimes, being loved and happy world. One might have thought that she always-this was all her experience; so small, should have had older and wiser heads to think so even, so quiet, that it seemed as though it for her, kind hands to pull her out of difficulties, might have lasted for years to come; instead of kind hearts to cherish her. She should have which now already all was over, and the tranbeen alternately scolded and taken for treats, quil memories were haunting poor little Cathalike the children; sent to bed early, set lessons rine as sadly as though they were of sorrow, of to learn-other than those hard ones which are passion, of stirring events. taught with stripes, and learned only with pain- She had staid in Eaton Place for a year and B 18 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. more, depending for subsistence on her own ex- or the shabby school-room walls any more, but ertions, for sympathy on a dream or two, for suddenly there appeared King Arthur sitting love, and home, and family on two little school- high in hall, holding his court at Caerleon upon girls, whose pencil-notes she read over and over Usk. It was Prince Geraint who, issued from a again on the many long days when she could world of wood, and, climbing upon a fair and not fly off to Mrs. Martingale's school in Ken- even ridge, a moment showed himself against sington Square to see two little ugly girls, who the sky. It was the little town gleaming in the would rush into the room and spring into her long valley, and the white fortress and the casarms with as many jumps of delight as Algy him- tle in decay; and presently in the dreary courtself. Catharine used to tell them every thing, yard it was some one singing as the sweet voice and depended upon them for advice and assist- of a bird-" Turn, fortune, turn thy wheel; our ance in all her difficulties. She had a way of hoard is little, but our hearts are great." Cathclinging to every support and outstretched hand arine read on, and Enid rode away all dressed which tame in her road. She had lived too in faded silk, and then Catharine went followlong with her step-mother not to have learned ing too, through many a woodland pass, by from her to trust and believe in every one who swamps, and pools, and wilds, through dreamy made any advance, or who seemed in the least castle halls, and out into the country once more, inclined to be kind and helpful. If she had to where phantom figures came and fell upon Gepay for this credulity, it is hard to say what raint. False Doorm, and Edryn, wild Lirnours price would be too great to give for it, it is worth on his black horse, like the thunder-cloud whose in itself so much. Time after time, when any skirts are loosened by the rising storm... The one spoke by chance a few good-natured words, shadowy arms struck without sound, clashing and seemed to ask with some small interest how in silence. Great fresh winds from a distance she was, how her sisters were, how she liked her were blowing about the room; the measured situation, and so forth, her foolish little heart musical tramp of the rhythm was ringing in her would leap with gratitude. " Here is a friend ears; there was a sort of odd dazzle of sunlight indeed," she would think to herself; "I see it of martial strains very distant; the wheel of in her face, in his manner. Oh, how fortunate fortune was making a pumping noise in the I am-how good people are." And then the court of the castle outside; and in the midst of good-natured person would go away and forget it all the door opened, and some one-it might all about the little governess, unconscious of the have been Geraint-walked in. For a moment bitter pang of longing disappointment he or she Catharine looked up, dreaming still. It only had inflicted, took an instant for her to be metamorphosed Meanwhile time went on:!Catharine had into a governess once more. worked very hard for many weeks, kept her "They are all gone out, Mr. Butler," she temper, made the best of troublesome times, said. " Mr. and Miss Butler are riding to Caerand struggled bravely in her small little feeble leon, but they will be back to lunch." way, and she began to feel a little tired, as peo- Catharine, who had quite recovered her everyple do sometimes, a little lonely and injured; day composure, wondered why young Mr. Butshe was not quite so simple, cheery, unconscious, lar smiled as he glanced at the little green volas she had been when she first came, and the ume in her hand. He was not so good-looking way in which people change and fail under vex- a man as Prince Geraint- he was not so broad ation and worry has always seemed to me the or so big; he had fair curly hair, a straight saddest part of pain. The Butlers were very nose, sleepy, gray eyes, and a smart little mus-. kind to her, bbat she lived by herself in the big tache. He was dressed like a young man of busy house, and if she dreamed and longed for fashion, with a flower in his coat. companionship and sympathy that might not be'I am afraid I can't wait till they come hers, one can not blame her very harshly. Cath- in," Richard said. "Perhaps you would let arine thought that it was because she was a gov- them know that it is to-morrow, not Thursday, erness that such things were denied to her; sh6 I want them to drink tea at my place, and the did not know then that to no one-neither to children too. Please tell them I shall be exgovernesses, nor pupils, nor parents-is that full cessively disappointed if any body fails me. and entire sympathy given for which so many Good-morning, Miss James," said Richard, afpeople-women especially-go seeking all their fably, " I see you are reading my book of lives long. Idylls." For all this discouraging doctrine, a happy Butler ran down stairs, thinking as he went: golden hour came to the little weary Catharine " Why do people ever choose ugly governesses? in her school-room this afternoon. My aunt's Miss James is a little dear. Riding The sympathetic friend who could rouse the to Caerleon. She didn't know what she was downcast heart and understand its need, the saying. I should like to see my uncle Hervey mighty enchanter whose incantations could be- accoutred as a knight of Arthur's round table. witch the wearied little spirit from every- day Poor old Hervey!" life and bondage, and set it free for a time, As for " Miss James," as Richard called her, was at hand. Catharine opened the book she she looked into the beginning of the book, and had brought, and immediately the spell began to saw R. X. B., in three whirligig letters, all curlwork. She did not see herself, or her troubles, ing up into one corner of the page. She blushed THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 19 up now all by herself. "I wish people would much of him, and have very nearly spoilt him not speak to one in that affable, joking voice," among you. Painting and music is all very she thought; and she did not read any more, well in its way, but, mark my words, it may be but went and put the book back on the drawing- pushed too far." And with this solemn warnroom table, where it had been lying for months ing the master of the house filled himself a glass past. of sherry, and left the room. At luncheon she duly gave her message. Miss George, as she tied on her bonnet-strings Only Mr. Butler and his two daughters, hungry, after luncheon, was somewhat haunted by Dick's blown about, cheerfully excited by their morn- sleepy face. The vision of Geraint, and Launceing's expedition, were present. lot, and Enid, and King Arthur's solemn shade, Mr. Butler was the usual middle-aged En- still seemed hovering about her as she went glishman, with very square-toed boots and griz- along the dusty road to Kensington, where two zly whiskers. He was' fond of active pursuits. little figures were beckoning from behind the He talked gossip and statistics. He naturally iron rail of their school-house yard. Presently looked to his older brother Charles, who had nev- the children's arms were tightly clutched round er married, to assist him with his large family. Catharine's neck, as the three went and sat down Daughters grown up, and growing daily, tem- all in a heap on Mrs. Martingale's gray schoolpestuous school-boys at Eton, a midshipman, house sofa, and there chattered, and chirped, and two wild young fellows in India, another very chirruped for an hour together, like little birds promising stupid son at college, who had gone up in a nest. for his little go with great eclat, Mr. Butler would tell you. There was no end to the young But- lers. But, unfortunately, Charles Butler greatly preferred Dick to any of his brother's sons. The boy was like his mother, and a look in his eyes had pleaded for him often and often when I Dick himself wondered at his uncle's forbear- l ance. Now the cousins only resembled their father, who greatly bored Charles Butler with his long stories and his animal spirits. "We must go without mamma, if it is to be I to-morrow," said Catharine Butler. "We could not possibly go without a chape- g - rone," said Georgina, who was great on etiquette. She was not so pretty as Catharine, and much more self-conscious. "Capital cold beef this is," said Mr. Butler. "Can't Matilda play chaperone for the occasion? By-the-by, Catharine, I am not sorry to hear a good report of your friend Mr. Beamish. I can't afford any imprudent sons-in-law. Remember that, yioung ladies." Should you like Dick, papa il said Georgie, III with a laugh. "'Humph! that depends," said her father, with his mouth full of cold beef. "I should have thought my brother Charles must be pretty well tired out by this time, but I believe that if he were to drop to-morrow, I)ick would come in for Muttondale and Lambswold. Capital land,CHAPTER III. it is, too. 1 don't believe my poor boys have a chance-not one of them. Down, Sandy, down." BY THE I V. Sandy was Catharine's little Scotch terrier, who CATHARINE had forgotten her morning vialso was fond of cold beef. sions; they had turned into very matter-of-fact "Dick is such a dear fellow," said Catharine speculations about Totty's new hat and Rosa's Butler, looking very sweet and cousinly, and Sunday frock, as she came home through the peeping round the dish-covers at her father. park late in the afternoon. A long procession " Of course, I love my brothers best, papa, but I of beautiful ladies was slowly passing, gorgeous can understand Uncle Charles being very fond young men were walking up and down and of Richard." along the Row, looking at the carriages and "Oh, Richard is a capital good fellow," said parasols, and recognizing their acquaintances. Mr. Butler (not quite so enthusiastically as The trees and the grass were still green and in when he spoke of the beef a minute before). festive dress; the close of this beautiful day "Let him get hold of any thing he likes, and was all sweet, and balmy, and full of delight for keep it if he can. I, for one, don't grudge him those who could linger out in the long daylight. his good fortune. Only you women make too The Serpentine gleamed through the old elm 20 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. trees and in the slant sun-rays. Catharine shutters had been put up. There was matting was delighted with the sweet fresh air and child- on the floor, and some comfortable queer-shaped ishly amused by the crowd, but she thought she chairs were standing round the fireplace. The had better get out of it. As she was turning walls were paneled to about four feet from the out of the broad pathway by one of the small ground, and from hooks, and nails, and brackiron gates of the park, she came face to face ets hung a hundred trophies of Butler's fancies with Dick Butler walking with a couple of and experiences. Pictures begun and never friends. He took off his hat as he passed, and finished, plaster casts, boxing-gloves, foils, TurkMiss George again bowed with the air of a meek ish pipes and cimeters, brown jugs of graceful little princess. slender form, out of Egyptian tombs. Bits of "Who is that?" said Beamish. "I don't blue china, and then odd garments hanging know her." from hooks, Venetian brocades of gold and silMr. Beamish was destined to improve his ac- ver, woven with silk, and pale and strange-colquaintance, for there came a little note from ored stuffs and gauzes, sea-green, salmon-color, Mrs. Butler to Dick early next morning. fainting-blue, and saffron and angry orange"MY DEAR RicHARD,-II am very sorry to browns. English words can not describe the "MY DEAR RICHARD,-I am very sorry to find that I can not possibly join your party this queer, fanciful colors. afternoon, but the girls and your aunt will b e was a comfortable sofa with cushions, delighted,.to. the children dlare your and a great soft carpet spread at one end ofthe delighted to come. The children declare you would be horribly disappointed if they did not oom, upon whi the tea-table stood, all ready make their appearance. I am afraid of their laid with cakes and flowers. Beamish had gone out that morning and bought a wagon-load of being troublesome. May I send Miss George out that morning and bought a wagon-load of to keep them in order? They are beyond their flowers for the studio and the balcony. There to keep them in order? They are beyond their sisters' control, I fear, was a piano in a dark corner of the room, where sisters' control I fear. "Evsters affectionIfeatey ys the curtains cast a gloom, but the windows on " Ever affectionately yours, S. BIUTLER. the balcony were set wide open, and the river P. S. —Will not you and Mr. Beamish be rolled by gray and silvery, and with a rush, carP.S.-Will not, you and Mr.sBeeamebe gs a n n burdens amiable and look in upon us this evening? you rying its swift steamers, and boats, and burdens. will find some friends." The distant banks gleamed through the fullwill find some friends." leaved branches, a quiet figure stood here and Dick's studio was in Queen's Walk. He there under the trees, watching the flow of the lived in one of those old brown houses facing stream. It was a strange, quaint piece of medithe river. He could see the barges go by, and seval life set into the heart of to-day. The young the boats and the steamers sliding between the men should have worn powder and periwigs, or trees which were planted along the water-side. a still more ancient garb. In the church near An echo of the roar of London seemed passing at hand a martyr lies buried, and it is the old by outside the ancient gates of his garden; with- by-gone world that every thing tells of-as the in every thing was still and silent, and haunted river flows past the ancient houses. Presently by the past. An old dais of Queen Anne's the clock from the steeple of old St. Mary's time still hung over his doorway, and he was Church clanged out, and at that very instant very proud of his wainscoted hall and drawing- there was a loud ring at the bell. Beamish room, and of the oaken stairs which led up to started up. Dick looked over the balcony. It his studio. His friend lived with him there. was only the punctual children, who had insistMr. Beamish was in the Foreign Office, and had ed upon starting much too soon, and who had good expectations. As he was an only son and been walking up and down the street, waiting had been very rigidly brought up, he naturally until it should be time for them to make their inclined to Dick, and to his Bohemian life, and appearance. the two young men got on very well together. "Do you know, we very nearly didn't come The house had been a convent school before at all, Dick?" they instantly began telling him they came to it, and gentle black-veiled nuns fiom down below in the hall. "Mamma said had slid from room to room, rosy ragged chil- she couldn't come, and Miss George didn't want dren had played about the passages and the to-did you, Miss George? and they said we oaken hall, and had clattered their mugs and should be a bother; and we were afraid we crumbled their bread and butter in the great were late, but we weren't." All this was chiefly bow-windowed dining-room at the back. The in Algy's falsetto. Lydia joined in: " Wouldn't young men had seen the place by chance one you have been disappointed if we had not come, day, were struck by its quaintness and capabil- Dick? and why have you hung up all these litities, and they agreed to take it together and to tie things?" live there. The children and the nuns went "They are kitchen plates and old clothes," away through the iron gates. Butler put work- says Algy, splitting with laughter; "' and some men in to repair, and polish, and make ready, foils-oh, jolly." and then he came and established himself, with "Algy," said Miss George, very determined his paint-pots and canvases. and severe, because she was so shy, "remember The studio was a great long room, with a that I am going to take you away if you are cross-light that could be changed and altered troublesome." at will, for which purpose heavy curtains and "He won't be troublesome, Miss George. He THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 21 never is," said Dick, good-humoredly. "Look and love-makings, lodgings, and various conhere! won't you sit down?" and he pushed for- cerns. ward the enormous tapestried chair in which he "But how well off you are here, Dick! I had been lounging. Catharine sat down. She congratulate you! you must feel quite cramped looked a very small little person in her white at Tracy after this. Catharine, look at that gown, lost in the great arm-chair. She glanced river and the flowers... Is it not charming? round curiously with her bright eyes, and forgot You are quite magnificent; my dear Dick, you her role of governess for a minute. are receiving us like a prince!" "How delightful the river is-what a dear "Beamish got the flowers," said Richard, old place!" she said in her plaintive childish smiling; "I only stood the cakes. Now, then, voice. "What nice china!"-she happened to Catharine, you must make tea, please." have a fancy for bowls and cracked tea-pots, They all went and sat round the tea-table in and had kept the key of her step-mother's china- a group. Madame de Tracy and Georgina were closet. "This is Dutch, isn't it?" she asked. upon the sofa. The children were squatting on And then she blushed up shyly, and felt very the floor, while Miss George stood handing them forward all of a sudden. their'cakes and their tea, for Dick's chairs were "Here is a nice old bit," said Beamish, corn- big and comfortable, but not very numerous. ing up to Dick's assistance with a hideous tureen Catharine Butler, with deft, gentle fingers, diphe had picked up a bargain. " Butler and I are ped the china into the basin, poured water from rival collectors, you know." the kettle with its little flame, measured, with "Are you?" said Catharine, blushing again. silver tongs and queer old silver spoons, the "Yes," said Beamish. And then there was cream and sugar into the fragrant cups. She a pause in the conversation, and they heard might have been the priestess of the flowerthe river rushing, and both grew shyer and decked altar, offering up steaming sacrifices to shyer. Fortune. Beamish secretly pledged her in the Meanwhile Dick was going about with the cup she handed him with her two hands, and children, who had fortunately preserved their one of her bright sudden smiles. A little percomposure, and who seemed all over the place son in white, who was standing against some in a minute. tapestry in the background, cutting bread and "And now show us something else," said Al- jam for the hungry children, caught sight of the gy. " Miss George!" he shouted, "I mean to two, and thrilled with a femirine kindness, and be an artist like Dick-when I'm a man." then smiled, hanging her head over the brown "What a brilliant career Algy is chalking loaf. Dick, who was deeply interested in the out for himself, isn't he, Beamish?" said poor issue of the meeting that afternoon, was sitting Dick. on the back of the sofa, and by chance he saw "He might do worse," Beamish answered, one Catharine's face reflected in the other's. kindly. "You must let Miss George see your He was touched by the governess's gentle sympicture. He has painted a capital picture this pathy, and noticed, for the first time, that she time, Miss George." had been somewhat neglected. Dick had modestly turned it with its face to "You want a table, Miss George," said Dick, the wall. "They don't want to see my pic. placing one before her, and a chair... "And ture," said Dick; and he went on pulling one you have no tea yourself. You have been so thing out after another, to the delight of the busy attending to every body else. Catharine, three little girls who stood all in a row, absorb- we want some tea here... Beamish, why don't ed in his wonderful possessions. Algy was in- you go and play the piano, and let us feast with epecting a lay figure, and quite silent and en- music like the Arabian Nights?..." tranced by the charming creature. Poor little "How pretty the flowers are growing," cried Miss George, meanwhile, sat in her big chair, little Sarah, pointing. "Oh, do look, Miss growing shyer and shyer every minute: she was George, dear..." longing for the others to appear. Perhaps Beam- "It's the sun shining through the leaves," ish also was looking out for them. said Madame de Tracy, in a matter-of-fact tone. They came at last, with a roll of wheels, a "The water shines too," said Augusta. "I rustle, some gentle laughter and confusion on wish there was a river in Eaton Square; don't the stairs, and the two young fellows rushed you, Catharine?" down to receive their guests. Georgie was in "I envy you your drawing-room, Dick," blue, and had her affected manner on; Catha- said Madame de Tracy, conclusively. "Mr. rine Butler was all in a light gray cloud from Beamish, pray give us an air." head to foot, and looked like a beautiful appari- Beamish now got up and went to the piano. tion as she came under the curtain of the door, " If I play, you must show them your picture," following her aunt. Madame de Tracy was bus- he said, striking a number of chords very quicktling in, without any poetic or romantic second ly, and then he sat down and began to play thoughts, exclaiming at every thing she saw- parts of that wonderful Kreutzer sonata, which delighted with the convenience of the house. few people can listen to unmoved. The piano She was unlike Mrs. Butler in the sincere and was near where Catharine Butler had been unaffected interest she took in all sorts of other making the tea, and she turned her head and people's schemes, arrangements, money-matters listened, sitting quite still with her hands in her 22 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. lap. I think Beamish was only playing to her, It was a sharp, sudden thorn of aloneness and although all the others were listening round utter forlornness, which stung her so keenly in about. I know he only looked up at her every her excited and eager state that two great tears now and then as he played. Little Catharine came and stood in her eyes; but they were George had sunk down on a low chair by the youthful tears, fresh and salt, of clear crystal, children, and had fallen into one of her dreams unsoiled, undimmed as yet by the stains of life. again... She understood, though no one had Dick, who was himself interested for his ever told her, all that was passing before her. friend, and excited beyond his custom, and who She listened to the music; it seemed warning, had begun to feel a sort of interest in the sensibeseeching, prophesying by turns. There is one tive little guest, thought she was feeling neglectmagnificent song without words in the adagio, ed. He had noticed her from across the room, in which it seems as if one person alone is ut- and he now came up to her, saying very gently tering and telling a story, passionate, pathetic, and kindly, " Would you care to see my picture, unutterably touching. Catharine thought it Miss George? my aunt and my cousin say they was Beamish telling his own story in those beau- want to see it. It's little enough to look at." tiful, passionate notes to Catharine, as she sat As he said, it was no very ambitious effort. there in her gray cloud dress, with her golden An interior. A fishwife sitting watching for hair shining in the sunset. Was she listening? her husband's return, with her baby asleep on Did she understand him? Ah! yes. Ah! her knee. One has seen a score of such compoyes, she must. Did every body listen to a story sitions. This one was charmingly painted, with like this once in their lives? Catharine George feeling and expression. The colors were warm wondered. People said so. But, ah! was it and transparent; the woman's face was very true? It was true for such as Catharine But- touching, bright and sad at once; her brown ler, perhaps-for beautiful young women, loved, eyes looked out of the picture. There was life and happy, and cherished; but was it true for a in them somehow, although the artist had, aclonely and forlorn little creature, without friends, cording to the fashion of his school, set her head without beauty (Catharine had only seen her- against a window, and painted hard black shadself in her glass darkly as yet), with no wealth ows and deeply marked lines with ruthless fidelof her own to buy the priceless treasure of love ity. The kitchen was evidently painted from a and sympathy? The sun was shining outside; real interior. The great carved cupboard, with the steamers and boats were still sailing by; the two wooden birds pecketing each other's Catharine Butler's future was being decided. beaks, and the gleaming steel hinges, with two Little Catharine sat in a trance; her dark eyes remarkable rays of light issuing from them; were glowing. Beamish suddenly changed the the great chimney, with the fire" blazing (the measure, and crashed about on the piano, until shovel was an elaborate triumph of art); the by degrees it was Mendelssohn's "Wedding half-open window, looking out across fields to March," which went swinging through the room the sea; the distaff, the odd shuttles for making in great vibrations. Then Catharine George string, hanging from the ceiling; the great brass seemed to see the medimval street, the old Ger- pan upon the ground with the startling reflecman town, the figures passing, the bridegroom tions-it was all more than true to nature, and tramping ahead, the young men marching along the kitchen-somewhat modified, and less carein procession. She could almost see the crisp fully polished-might be seen in any of the cotbrocades and the strange-cut dresses, and hear tages and farmsteads round about the Chateau the whispering of the maidens following with de Tracy for miles. the crowned bride; while from the gables of the " My dear Dick, you have made an immense queer old-town —(she even gave it a name, and start," said his aunt. "It's admirable. It's by vaguely called it Augsburg or Nuremberg to far the best thing you have done yet. Who is herself)-people's heads were pushing and star- it so like? Catharine, only look at the brass ing at the gay procession. It was one of those pan and the cupboard. Madame Binaud has strange phantasmagorias we all know at times, got just such a one in her kitchen." so vivid for the moment that we can not but be- Dick shrugged his shoulders, but he was lieve we have seen it once, or are destined to pleased at the praise. "I have another thing witness it at some future time in reality. here," he said, smiling, "only it isn't finished." Beamish left off playing suddenly, and bent And he rolled out another canvas on an easel. over the instrument, and began talking to Cath- "It's quite charming! What's the subject?" arine Butler in low, eager tones. Madame de said Madame de Tracy, looking through her Tracy and Georgie, who had had enough music, eyeglass. were standing at the window by this time, watch- "Oh, I don't know. Any thing you like. ing the scene outside. The children, too, had A cart-Normandy peasants going for a drive jumped up, and ran out one by one upon the -coming back from market," said Dick, blushbalcony. Not for the first time, and, alas! not ing and looking a little conscious... "I have for the last, poor child! a weary, strange, lost been obliged to paint out the girl's head, Georfeeling came over Catharine George, as she sat gie. I wish you'd sit to me." And looking on an overturned chest in the great, strange up as. he spoke-not to Georgie-he met the room. It came to her from her very sympathy glance of two soft dark eyes which were not for the other two, and gladness in their content. Georgie's. " I wish You would sit to me, Miss THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 23 George," cried Dick, suddenly inspired. "You much occupied, and the children mustn't be negwould make a first-rate fishwife; wouldn't she, lected, and I hope they are not in trouble now," Aunt Matilda?" she added, looking round. "I'm afraid it is time " I think Miss George would look very nice for us to go." The clock of the old church had indeed in the costume," Madame de Tracy good- struck six some time, and, as she said, it was humoredly said. "She is a brunette, like all time to go. ~i ii~ our girls." And Madame de Tracy turned her Madame de Tracy looked at her watch, and eyeglass on Miss George, and nodded. She then gave a little scream. " Yes, indeed," she said, glanced at Dick. " my brother Charles and half a dozen other " I should be very glad to sit to Mr. Butler," people dine in Eaton Square to-night. Are you said Miss George in her gentle way, " but I am coming?" afraid I should not have time. I am very "Beamish and I are coming in to dessert," 24 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. said Dick; at least he seemed to wish it this down her pails, the cart full of oranges and blue morning. paper, the grocer taking in fagots two by two "We have to get home, we have to dress," out of a cart-all was grist that came to their litsaid Madame de Tracy, preoccupied. "Geor- tie mills, and delayed the fatal return to evengie, where is my parasol? Catharine, are you ing tasks and bed. For the little governess the ready? Have you finished your talk?" sweet summer twilight was all aglow, and she Beamish and Catharine had finished their was in a sort of enchanted world, where perfect talk by this time, or begun it rather, for it was happiness was waiting at unexpected corners; a life-long talk that they had entered into. where people understood what was in one anThe carriage had come back for the elders of other's hearts; where there was a little trouble the party. The children, who had eaten enor- to begin with, but where at two or three-andmously, went off slightly subdued. twenty (Miss Butler was little more), or even The two young men stood in the iron gate- sooner, the fragrant bunch of lilacs flowered for way, watching the carriage as it drove away, most people, and then what mattered all the and the governess and the little pupils slowly rest? If the flowers were blooming on the sauntering homeward along the river side. branches, a passing storm, or wind, or darkness Beamish looked very tall and very odd as he could not unmake the spring. stood leaning against the iron gate, round which One privilege belonging to her position Miss some clematis was clinging. George had not, perhaps, valued so highly as she Dick glanced at him, and then at the river, might have done. It was that of coming down and then at his friend again. " Well!" he said, in white muslin with Augusta after dinner whenat last, pulling a leaf off a twig. ever she liked. Little sleepy Sarah, and the ag"It is all right," Beamish said, with the light grieved Lydia, would be popped into white calico in his face as he put out his hand to Dick; and and disposed of between the sheets, but Miss then the two cordially shook hands, to the sur- George and Augusta were at liberty to enjoy the prise of some little ragged children who were intoxicating scene if they felt so inclined. squatting in the road. Mr. Butler nodding off over the paper-Mrs. Butler at her davenport, writing civil notes, one ~*~v-~ ~ after another, in her large, even handwritingCatharine and Georgina strumming on the piCHAPTER IV. ano-forte-the back room quite dark, and the EAT DRINK AND BE MERRYtea stagnating on a small table near the doorway: this was when there was nobody there. CATHARINE held little Sarah's hand tightly When there was company the aspect of things clasped in hers as they went home along the was very different. Both the chandeliers would busy streets. She had not met with so much be lighted, the round sofa wheeled out into the romance in her short hard life, this poor little middle of the room. Three ladies would be sitCatharine, that she could witness it unmoved in ting upon it with their backs turned to one anothers. She had read of such things in books other; Georgina and a friend, in full evening before now, of Lord Orville exclaiming with ir- dress, suppressing a yawn, would be looking over resistible fire, "My sweet, my beloved Miss An- a book of photographs. ville!" of Rochester's energetic love -making; "Do you like this one of me?" Georgina would of Mr. Knightley's expressive eyes as he said, say, with a slight increase of animation. "Oh, "My dearest Emma, for dearest you will be to what a horrid thing!" the young lady would reme, whatever may be the result of this morn- ply; "if it was me, I should burn it-indeed I ing's conversation." And she had read of the should. And is that your sister?-a Silvy, I am sweet bunch of fragrant lilac which a young sure." Yes; my cousin Richard can not beat lover had sent to his lady, and now here was a it; he says she looks as if her neck was being sweet bunch of lilac for Catharine Butler; so wrung." In the mean time, Catharine Butler, the little governess called it to herself, and the kindly attentive and smiling, would be talking to sweetness and scent seemed diffused all round, old Lady Shiverington, and trying to listen to her until they, the by-standers, were all perfumed account of her last influenza, while Mrs. Butler, and made fragrant too. with her usual tact, was devoting herself to the Catharine had heard Mr. Beamish saying " I next grander lady present. Madame de Tracy, shall come this evening and see you, " as he put after being very animated all dinner-time, would Miss Butler into the carriage. The girl had be sitting a little subdued with her fan before her not answered, but her face looked very sweet eyes. Coffee would be handed round by the servand conscious, as she bent over and held out ants. After which the climax of the evening her hand to him. Poor Dick was looking on would be attained, the ddor would fly open, and too, and a little old refrain came into his head. the gentlemen come straggling up from dinner, "En regrettant la Normandie," it went, "En while tea on silver trays was being served to regrettant..." This sweet dream of love-mak- the expectant guests. ing made the way short and pleasant, though Mr. Butler, with a laugh, disappears into the the children lagged and stopped at every inter- brilliantly-lighted back room with a couple of esting sight along the road. The man pouring congenial white neckcloths, while Mr. Bartholobeer out of his can, the milk-woman setting mew, the great railway contractor, treads heavily THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 25 across the room to his hostess, and asks if these ed out her feathers like a bird by the side of a are some more of her young ladies? and how was pool. it that they had not had the pleasure of their She thought her common gown shabby and company at dinner? "My daughterAugusta is crumpled, and she pulled out for the first time only twelve, Mr. Bartholomew, and is not think- one of those which had been lying by ever since ing ofcomingout,"Mrs. Butler would say; "and she had left her own home. This was a soft that is Miss George, my children's governess. It India muslin, prettily made up with lace and blue amuses her to come down, poor girl. Have you ribbons. Time had yellowed it a little, but it had any tea?" was none the worse for that, and if the colors of Miss George, far from being amused by all this the blue ribbons had faded somewhat, they were brilliancy, generally kept carefully out of the all the softer and more harmonious. With her way; but on this particular evening, after the five rough dark hair piled up in a knot, she looked o'clock tea at the studio, she had been haunted like a little Sir Joshua lady when she had tied by a vague curiosity and excitement, and she felt the bead necklace that encircled her round little as if she must come down-as if it would be hor- throat, and then she came down and waited for rible to sit all alone and silent in the school-room, Augusta in the empty drawing-room. Catharine out of reach, out of knowledge, out of sight, was one of those people who grow suddenly beauwhile below, in the more favored drawing-room, tiful at times, as there are others who become the people were all alive with interest, and ex- amiable all at once, or who have flashes of wit or pectation, and happiness. good spirits; Catharine's odd, sudden loveliness Just before dinner she had met Madame de was like an inspiration, and I don't think she Tracy on the stairs, fastening her bracelets and knew of it. The little thing was in a strange running down in a great hurry. Catharine look- state of sympathy and excitement. She tried to ed up at her and smiled as she made way, and think of other things, but her thoughts reverted the elder lady, who was brimming over with ex- again and again to the sunny studio, the river citement and discretion, and longing to talk to rushing by, the music, the kind young men, and every one on the subject which absorbed her, the beautiful, happy Catharine, leaning back in said, the old carved chair, with her bright eyes shining "Ah! Miss George, I see you found out our as she listened to Beamish's long story. The sun secret this afternoon-not a word to the children. had set since he had told it, and a starlight night Mr. Beamish is coming to-night after dinner to was now reigning overhead. The drawing-room speak to my brother. Hush! some one is on the windows were open, letting in a glimmer of stars stairs." and a faint incense from Catharine Butler's flowMiss George was not the only person in the ers outside on the balcony. Little Miss George establishment who surmised that something was took up her place in a quiet corner, and glanced going on. Madame de Tracy's vehement under- again and again from the dull drawing-room tones had roused the butler's curiosity; he had walls to the great dazzling vault without, until heard the master of the house confessing that he the stars were hidden from her by the hand of was not totally unprepared; while Mrs. Butler the butler, who came in to pull down the blinds was late for dinner, an unprecedented event, and and light the extra candles, and to place the had been seen embracing her daughter with more chairs against the wall. While he was thus enthan usual effusion in her room up stairs. Mrs. gaged in making the room comfortable, he reButler was one of those motherly women entirely marked that "the ladies would not be up for devoted to their husbands and children, and who ten minutes or more, and if Miss George and do not care very much for any body else in all Miss Augusta would please to take a little ice the world, except so far as they are conducive to there would be plenty of time." the happiness of their own family. She worked, "Yes, certainly," said Augusta;'bring some thought, bustled, wrote notes, arranged and con- directly, Freeman." And she and Miss George trived for her husband and children. Her daven- shared their little feast with one spoon between port was a sort of handmill, at which she ground them. down paper, pens, monograms, stamps, regrets, The ladies came up from dinner, and Augusta delights, into notes, and turned them out by the was summoned to talk to them, and little Miss dozen. Her standard was not a very highone George was left alone in her corner. She was in this world or in the next, but she acted in- quite happy, although she had no one to speak dustriously up to it, such as it was, and although to; she was absorbed in the romance of which her maternal heart was stirred with sympathy, she had conned the first chapters, and of which she was able to attend to her guests and make the heroine was before her in her white gauze small talk as usual. I do not think that one dress, with the azalias in her hair. of them, from her manner, could have guessed And so one Catharine gazed wondering and how she longed secretly to be rid of them all. speculating, while the other sat there patiently' Catharine George, who was only the little listening to the old ladies' complaining talk-to governess and looker-on, felt her heart stirred stories of doctors, and ailments, and old age, and too as she dressed in her little room up stairs to approaching death, coming so soon after the come down after dinner; unconsciously she took brilliant strains of youth, and music, and romore than usual pains with herself; she peered mance. into her looking-glass, and plumed and smooth- One Catharine's bright cheeks turned very 26 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. pale; the other, who was only looking on, "I am quite convinced the fault of all armblushed up, when, almost immediately after the chairs is that they are not made deep enough tea-tray, the door opened, and Dick and Mr. in the seat; my legs are quite cramped and stiff Beamish walked in without being announced. from that abominable contrivance in which I Mrs. Butler looked up and smiled, and held out have been sitting. I can not imagine how my her hand. Mr. Butler came striding forward brother can go to sleep in it night after night in from the back room. Madame de Tracy put up the way he does." her eye-glass; Catharine Butler looked down, " Isn't Mr. Butler's arm-chair comfortable?" hut she could say "yes" quite quietly to old said Catharine, smiling. "The children and I Lady Shiverington, who asked, in a loud whis- have always looked at it with respect: we never per, if that was Mr. Beamish. "The young men should venture to sit in it, or not to think it deep come to dinner, my dear, time after time," said enough in the seat." the old lady, nodding her ancient head, " but " I see Mr. Beamish is not too shy to occupy they are all so much alike I don't know one the chair of state," said old Mr. Butler, glancing fiom another." at Catharine from under his thick eyebrows, and And so this was all that Catharine had come unconsciously frightening her into silence. out of her school-room to see. Charles Butler Catharine was oppressed by circumstance, had been looking on too from the other end of and somewhat morbid by nature, as people are the room, with little blinking eyes instead of who have lively imaginations, and are without dark fawn-like orbs, and at this stage of the pro- the power of expansion. She had lived with ceedings he moved out of the way, and came dull people all her life, and had never learnt to across and sank down, much to Miss George's talk or to think. Her step-mother was a tenderalarm, in avacant arm-chair beside her. There hearted and sweet-natured sad woman, who was she sat in her muslin, fair, pretty, soft, with shy, accustomed to only see the outside of things. quick, curious glances; and there sat the old Mrs. George had two dozen little sentences in fellow with his wrinkled face and thick eye- her repertory, which she must have said over brows; she need not have been afraid, though many thousand times in the course of her life, he looked somewhat alarming. If Mr. Barthol- and which Catharine had been accustomed hithomew, who was standing by, could have known erto to repeat after her, and to think of as what was passing in the minds of these two peo- enough for all the exigencies and philosophy ple, he might have been struck, had he been ro- of life. But now every thing was changing, and mantically inclined, by the duet they were un- she was beginning to idea thoughts for herself, consciously playing. and to want words to put them into; and with " Matilda has been in great force to-night," the thoughts and the words, alas!'came the thought Mr. Butler; "but her confidences are longing for some one to listen to her strange new overpowering, whispery mystery-hiss, hiss, hiss discoveries, and to tell her what they meant. -how she does delight in a love-affair. If it But it was not old Charles Butler to whom she had been poor unlucky Dick now-but I sup- could talk. She looked across the room. pose no woman of sense would have a word to Yes, Beamish was there installed; they were say to him, and he will make a terrible fool of all welcoming him for the sake of their beloved himself sooner or later. Eh, eh, we have all princess. "Ah! what am I thinking?" thought made fools of ourselves... It is only about Catharine again; "would there be any one in half a century since I first saw his mother under the world to care if-" She did not finish the the lime-trees. Poor dear! Poor dear!" and sentence, but a vague impossibility, in the shape the old fellow began to beat a tune to a dirge of a Geraint with sleepy eyes and without a with his foot as he thought of what was past. name, passed through her mind. As chance Meanwhile Miss George was playing her treble would have it, Dick Butler came sauntering up in the duet. "What can it be like," the little at this minute, and she started and blushed as governess was thinking, "to love, to be loved, usual, and her visions vanished. Catharine alactually to live the dreams and the stories? most felt as if he must see them flying away. Oh, I can not imagine it. Is it like listening to It was not Dick, with his short-sighted eyes, music? is it like that day when we climbed the who saw the little fancies flying away, but there hill in the sunset, my mother and I, higher and were others present who were more experienced higher, and it was all like heaven in the valley? and more alive to what was passing. Madame Is there some secret sympathy which makes de Tracy was a woman of lively imagination, quite old and wrinkled people care when they who scarcely knew any of the people present, see such things, or does one only cease to feel and had nobody to talk to, and it so happened in time? How calm Catharine looks; she that at the end of a quarter of an hour she bescarcely speaks to Mr. Beamish. I can see gan to think that her nephew had been conversMadame de Tracy smiling and nodding her ing quite long enough with Miss George. head to her across the room. Can people care All the world might have heard what he was really and truly, and with all their hearts, and saying to her. Dick was only telling Miss give no more sign? What should I do if I George about Normandy, about the beautiful were Catharine? Ah! what am I thinking?" old ruins, the churches turned into barns, talkHere Mr. Butler suddenly gave a grunt and ing Murray and little else. For reasons best said, ] known to himself, he liked telling of the places THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 27 he had lately seen, although he said but little "Young fellows like Dick often talk a great of the people he had known there. And Miss deal of nonsense," said old Butler, kindly, as George was a good listener; she said notmuch, Catharine sat looking after the two as they but her bright little face brightened as he went walked away arm-in-arm. " Depend upon it, on with his stories. They were prosy enough, my nephew would no more wish to marry upon some people might have thought. His uncle an incompetence than I should. Remember, had joined in once and exclaimed, " Spare us he is not the man to endure privation except the description of the next church you visited, for his own amusement." Richard;" but Catharine George liked every He spoke so expressively, blinking his little word, and listened in delighted attention. Cath- gray eyes, that the girl looked up curiously, arine listened; she had better far have sat up wondering whether he could mean any thing. all alone in her school-room, poor child, with All the evening she had been sitting there in her candle-ends and fancies of what might have her white gown, feeling like a shade, a thing been. of no account among all this living people, a Later in life, when people have outlived the blank in the closely written page, a dumb note passionate impatience of youth, when the mad in the music. A sort of longing had come wild longings are quieted, and the things their over her to be alive, to make music too; and own, perhaps, and no longer valued, for which now to be warned even, to be acting a part they would have given their lives once-long ever so small in this midsummer night's dream, ago-when people are sober and matter-of-fact, was enough to thrill her sad little childish heart when they have almost forgotten that strange with excitement. Could he be warning her? impetuous self of former days, it is easy to Then it came like a flash, and her heart began blame and to phoo-phoo, to crush and brush to beat faster and faster. There was something away the bright beautiful bubbles which the possible, after all, besides governessing and leschildren are making in their play. Madame son-books in her dull life-something to beware de Tracy did not feel one moment's remorse, of, to give interest, even the interest of danger sentimental as she was, when she came across to the monotonous road. To be scorned did and interrupted little Catharine's happy half not seem to her so unutterably sad as to be hour, and Dick in his eloquent talk. utterly passed by and ignored. Charles Butler Dick was asking Catharine what she thought never guessed the harm he had done. of the five o'clock tea. "We had music, Uncle It was not the Miss George who had dressed Charles, hadn't we, Miss George? Beamish herself in her yellowed muslin who went up played first fiddle, Ah ti voglio ben assai, a Nea- stairs to bed that night. It was another Cathpolitan air, Uncle Charles. Nobody ever sung arine George. The little moth had burst out it to you." And Dick, who was excited and in of its cocoon, the wings had grown, and it was high spirits, began humming and nodding his fluttering and fluttering in the candle's beautihead in time. He suddenly stopped-old ful golden light. Charles made a warning sign. "Miss George My simile would have been better if Cathawas present and knows all about it; don't be rine, the moth, had not herself blown out her afraid, she is discretion itself, and of course we candle when she reached her bedroom up stairs. all are thinking about the same thing. What She was hanging out of her window, trying to is the use of pretending?" drink the night calm into her veins. "Is that "If Miss George is discretion itself, that bright beautiful planet my star, I wonder?" the quite alters the case," said Mr. Butler. governess was thinking. " How gayly it sparMeanwhile Dick was going on —" Look at kles; it seems to be dancing in space. How Uncle Hervey performing the pere noble, and the night wanes and shines; how the stars blaze making Beamish look foolish. Dear old Beam- beyond the house-tops! Did any one ever tell ish, I shouldn't let him marry Catharine if he me that was my star? Why do I think so?" was not the best fellow in the whole world." As Catharine gazed at the heavens and thought "My niece is fortunate to have secured such all this, not in words, but with quick sensitive a paragon," said Charles, showing his sympathy flashes —down below, just under her feet, the by a little extra dryness. well was being dug into which the poor little "'Their faces are something alike, I think," philosopher was doomed to tumble. Ah me! said Miss George, timidly; "they seem very was truth at the bottom of it, I wonder, instead well suited." of up overhead in the beautiful shining stars of " Of course," said Dick; " ~5000 a year in good promise? prospect-what can be more suitable? If they It seemed to little Catharine as if a burst of had no better reason for wanting to get married sunshine had come out suddenly into her dull than because they were in love with one another, life. She did not know whence or how it came; then you should hear the hue-and-cry their af- she did not know very clearly what she was feelfectionate relatives can raise." ing; she did not tell herself that she ought to " Quite right too," said old Mr. Butler. shut her heart, and ears, and eyes, until some Catharine glanced from one to the other. one suitable in fortune and worldly circum" You don't think it quite right, do you, Miss stances came across her way. She is only twenGeorge?" said Dick, and then his aunt came ty years old, impressionable, soft-hearted. What up and carried him off. can her girlish day-dreams have taught her? 28 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. Can she have learned from them to mistrust ing down demurely at the end of the little propeople who are kind-to be careful, and cau- cession, never knew who she might find down tious, and reserved-to wall up and bury the below. One great triumph Richard had to annatural emotions of youth? nounce. He had sold his picture, and got a For the first time in her short life, ideas, feel- good price for it; although he hesitated, to the ings, sensations hitherto unthought and unfelt, dealer's surprise, when it came to parting with came crowding upon Catharine George. Every his beloved fishwife. He had also received an thing seemed changed, although she walked the order for the " Country-cart" as soon as it should same walks in the square-corrected the same be finished, and once again he said at luncheon, mistakes in the children's exercises-sat in her "Miss George, I wish you would let me put old place in the school-room. The walls seem- you into my cart." ed to have opened somehow to let in the unfa- Some shy impulse made her refuse —she miliar crowd of strange new ideas, of feelings im- saw Mrs. Butler looking prim and severe, and possible to realize or to define. The difference Madame de Tracy unconsciously shaking her in Catharine was not greater than that which a head. It seemed very hard. Catharine nearly passing cloud makes in the sky, or a burst of cried afterward when she woke up in the night sunshine breaking across the landscape. Out and wondered whether Richard had thought her of the vague images and shadows which had ungrateful. What could he think after all his hitherto made up her solitary life came a sud- kindness? why had she been so shy and foolden reality. The drifting dreams and fancies ishly reserved?... "No, Lydia, it was Wilof what might be had vanished forever; they liam the Conqueror who came over in 1066, not were gone, and in their stead it was to-day; and Julius Caesar." Catharine, as she was-no ideal self to be-who Meanwhile Richard the Conqueror, Butler was sitting there, and who had awakened one Caesar, went about his business and his pleasmorning to find herself living her own life in ure with feelings quite unwounded by any thing the world of the present. Other discoveries she Catharine could do or say; when she saw him might make as she traveled farther; and times again he had forgotten all about her refusal, might come to her, as to most of us, when sol- and, to her delight and surprise, his manner was emner visions close round about once more, and quite unchanged and as kind as ever. What we realize with terrible distinctness that we are trifles she pondered over and treasured up! It only dreaming in a kingdom of mists and shad- was like the old German stories of twigs and ows-a kingdom where the sounds die into si- dried leaves carefully counted and put away in lence-where the suns set day by day. But at the place of gold pieces-chance encountersthis time every thing was real and keen enough absurdities —she did not know what she was to the poor little thing, of vast meaning and about. moment-never to finish, she thought-never to Madame de Tracy, who never let go an idea, seem of import less vital-never, ah! never! or who let it go a hundred times to return to it again and again at stray intervals, shook her head at all these chance meetings. Her departure was approaching —her vigilance would be CHAPTER V. removed-she could not bear to think of what might not happen in her absence, and she had WHAT CATHARINE WISHED FOR. a spoken to Mrs. Butler of a scheme for appealing FATE, which for some time past seemed to to Dick's own better feelings. have strangely overlooked the thread of Catha- "My dear Matilda, I entreat you to do nothrine George's existence, now suddenly began to ing of the sort. Dick can bear no remonspin it somewhat faster, and to tie a few knots strance," Mrs. Butler cried. " I will see that in the loose little string. For one thing, Ma- all is right, and, if needs be, Miss George must dame de Tracy's thread flew so fast that it was go. I have a most tempting account of this apt to entangle itself with others alongside, and German governess. Charles told me to bring it would set all those round about flying with Miss George to his picnic on Friday, but I think the vibrations of its rapid progress. it will be as well that she should not be of the Dick was a great deal in Eaton Square at this party." time, more than he had ever been before. The Poor unconscious little Catharine! She would house was not generally so pleasant as it was have died of horror, I think, if she had guessed just then; Madame de Tracy was there bus- how quietly the secrets of her heart were distling about and enjoying herself, and making a cussed by unsympathetic by- standers, as she great talk, and life, and stir. Charles Butler, went on her way, singing her song without too, was in town, and often with his sister, and words. It was a foolish song, perhaps, about Dick was unaffectedly fond of his uncle's society. silly things, but the voice that sang it was clear, Every body used to scold the young painter when and sweet, and true. he appeared day by day for leaving his work; Charles Butler, the giver of the profound enbut all the same, they would not let him go back tertainment, was one of those instances of waste to it, when once he was with them. of good material which are so often to be met "I ought to go," Dick would say, as he re- with in the world —a tender-hearted man, with mained to take his pleasure, and Catharine, corn- few people to love him, living alone, with no THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 29 nearer ties than other people's children; a man room, which represented all her enjoyment, all of ability, who had never done any thing except her hopes, her beginning and ending-then a attend to the commonplaces of life; and these great wave of disappointment, and wishing, and were always better arranged and controlled at regretting seemed to overflow and to choke the Lambswold than any where else, for he knew poor little instructress of youth, the superior what should be done and how to make other mind whose business in life it was to direct othpeople to do it, and perhaps gave an attention ers and to lead the way to the calm researches and effort to small things which should have of science, instead of longing childishly for the gone elsewhere. It was a kindly spirit, in a strawberries of life. But there were strawbelr wrinkled, ugly, cranky old body. Charles But- ries ripening for Catharine. ler's hook nose, and protruding teeth, and fierce One afternoon she was with the children, eyebrows, his contradictoriness and harsh little crossing the road to the house; they were carlaugh, were crimes of nature, so to speak, for rying camp-stools, work, reels, scissors, the Iheir they frightened away women, and children, and of Redclyffe, covered in brown paper, for readtimid people. They had frightened Charles ing aloud; the Boy's Own Magazine, Peter ParButler himself into mistrusting his own powers, ley, a Squib; Sandy, tightly clasped round the into believing that there was something about neck by Algy; a rug, and various other means him which must inevitably repel; they had de- for passing an hour; when suddenly Catharine's stroyed his life, his best chance for happiness. eyes began to brighten as they had a trick of He was a diffident man; for years he had doing, Sandy made a gasping attempt at a bark, doubted, and hesitated, and waited-waited for and little Sarah, rushing forward, embraced a this sad, lonely, aching old age which had come young gentleman affectionately round the waist. upon him now. His little nephews and nieces, He was standing on the side of the pavement, however, had learned not to be afraid of him on and laughing and saying, " Do you always walk a certain day in the year when it was his custom out with all this luggage?" to ask them all down for the day to Lambswold "We have only a very few things," said little in honor of his god-daughter Augusta's birthday. Sarah. "Are you coming to our house? Oh, They often staid there at other times, but this Richard, is it arranged about the picnic?" one day was the happiest of all, they thought. "The carriage has not come back yetIt came in midsummer, with a thrill of sweet- there's nobody at home. Oh, Dick, do wait and ness in the air, with the song of the thrush, have tea with us," cried Lydia. when the strawberry-heads were hanging full " I think you might as well," Augusta said, and crimson, when all the roses were flushing. in an aggrieved tone; "but I suppose you Little Sarah used to say she thought Lambswold won't, because we are children." was a pink place. "Oh do, do, do, do, do," said Algy, hopping It was an old-fashioned country house, stand- about with poor Sandy, still choking, for a parting in the hollow of two hills, with a great slope ner. in front, and a wide, plenteous world of wheat- "I want to see my aunt and settle about fields, farmsteads, and straggling nut-woods to Lambswold," said Richard, walking along with gaze at from the dining-room windows and the Miss George. " I think we shall have a fine terrace. There were rising green meads on day." either side, and at the back of it kitchen-gardens, "I hope you will," Catharine answered. fruit-walls, and green-houses, and farm-build- "You are coming, of course?" said Dick, folings, all in excellent order and admirably kept. lowing them up stairs into the school-room. "Oh, Miss George, how sorry you must be "I am going to see my sisters," said Cathanot to come!" Algy would say. rine, blushing up. She took off her bonnet as " Yes, I am very sorry," Catharine honestly she spoke, and pushed back her black cloud of answered in her child's voice; for she had not hair. yet outgrown the golden age when all things Richard thought Catharine looked much pretcall and beckon, and the apples, and the loaves, tier when she.went up stairs, blushing still and and the cakes cry, Come eat us, come eat us, confused, with disheveled locks, than when she and the children, wandering in fairy-land, reply, came down all neatly smoothed and trimmed a We come, we come. She loved cakes, and ap- few minutes after, and sat down demurely at the ples, and all good things still, and had not reach- tea-caddy. ed to the time when it is no penalty to be deprived Outside she may have looked prim and deof them. But she had to pay the price of her mure-inside she was happier than any of the youth; and to those who are tied and bound children, as she sat there with her radiant downdown by circumstance, youth is often, indeed, cast eyes reflected on the tea-pot. Never was only a blessing turned into a curse. It consumes a guest more welcome, and more made of, than with its own fire and tears with its own strength. Richard at his little cousins' tea-table. He was And so when Catharine, with a sinking heart, to be waited on by them all at once; he was to heard them all talking over arrangements for have the arm-chair; he was to choose his favorspending a day in Paradise with the angels-so ite cup. He chose Algy's little old mug, to the it seemed to her-and not one word was spoken children's screams of laughter. to include her in the scheme; when she guess- "I think I shall make this my dinner," said ed that she was only to be left in the school- Dick. "A slice and a half of thick bread and 30 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. butter will be about enough. I don't want to studio, a swift pang came piercing through her. be ungrateful for hospitality, but, pray, why is it She felt all alone-suddenly quite alone-in a cut so very thick?" great, cruel, terrible world in which she was of "Don't you like it?" said Lydia, anxiously. no account, in which she was carried along "I will go and beg Mrs. Bluestring for a small against her will, feeling- oh, so strangelypiece of cake for you." helpless and impotent. She did not know what Augusta and Miss George began to laugh. she wanted, she did not know what she feared, Dick said he was not accustomed to cake, and but she shrunk from her own self with an achinsisted upon eating his thick bread and butter. ing impatience. The children dispatched theirs, and chattered She jumped up and ran to the window to and enjoyed his jokes, and so did the little gov- shake her new terror off. She looked down erness at her tea-tray. The coachmen were, as into the yard, where the hard-working coachman usual, pumping in the court. was pumping still, and a couple of dogs were Again came the sunshine streaming through turning over and over in play. Every thing was the window. Dick's hair was all brushed up, ugly, sad, desolate, that had been so gay and deand his gray eyes were twinkling. The chil- lightful a minute before. Utterly depressed and dren's high spirits and delight were infectious; bewildered, the poor little thing sat down on the all Miss George's primness, too, seemed to have window-sill, and leant her weary head against melted away; pretty little looks of expression the pane. Richard Butler, coming down a few of interest, of happiness, were coming and going minutes later, saw her through the half-open in her round face. One of the golden half door still sitting there, a dark little figure against hours which are flying about all over the world the light. had come to them. They had done nothing to "Good-night, Miss George," he said, with a deserve it, but it was there. kind inflection in his voice, coming in and shakCatharine was still presiding at her little feast ing her by the hand; " and thank you for your when the carriage came home with Charles But- good tea." And then he went away. ler and the two elder ladies, who were surprised He had spoken kindly; he had said someto hear unusual shouts of laughter coming from thing-nothing; but it was more than enough the school-room. to make her happy again. As for Richard him"They all seem very merry," said Mrs. But- self, he was vexed, chafed, disquieted. He had ler, stopping with her hand on the lock. had a little talk with his aunts up stairs, which "I am certain I heard Richard's voice," said had made him indignant and angry. They had Madame de Tracy to Charles, who was toiling taken him to task gently enough; but all that up more slowly; and as Mrs. Butler opened the they said jarred upon him, and stirred up secret door, to one person within it seemed as if all the springs of which they had no conception. He fun and the merriment, all the laughter and could hardly conceal his irritation as the two brightness, escaped with a rush, and left the went on, blandly pouring out their advice from room quite empty. either side of the tea-table, when he asked wheth" Oh, mamma," said Lydia, sighing from con- er Miss George was not to be of the party. tentment, "we have had such fun; Dick has "No; I had not thought of inviting Miss been having tea with us out of Algy's old mug." George," said Mrs. Butler, stiffly. "It is always "So I perceive," said Madame de Tracy, with doubtful in these cases..." a glance at Catharine. "Not to speak of the danger of mixin' the "Come in, come in," cried the children, hos- different grades of society," said Hervey, who pitably, "do come in too." was present, cross-legged, and looking like the " I think you may come up stairs to us," said Solomon who was to decide all difficulties. their mother, after a moment's hesitation, "for "Danger," said Richard; "what possible our tea is ready in the drawing-room." And danger can there be?" then somehow to Catharine-it was like a dream " You had better bring her," grunted Charles. -all the gay little figures disappeared, dancing "She has got a pair of uncommon bright eyes; off, chattering and talking still, with Sandy and I suppose there are strawberries enough for barking after them. The sunset was still shin- us all?" ing in, but the beautiful glowing colors had " Or we might take down a pottle on purchanged to glare. Dick had risen from his pose for Miss George of an inferior quality," place when the two aunts entered, and he seem- Richard said. " I do think it is hard lines that ed to vanish away quite naturally with the rest. a nice little pretty thing like that should be shut It was, indeed, like waking up from a happy lit- up from morning to night in a dreary little hole tie dream of friends' faces and brightness, and of a sch-" with the music of beloved voices still ringing in Mrs. Butler, with a glance at Lydia, who was one's ears, to find one's self alone in the dark. standing by, absorbed in the conversation, hastCatharine remained sitting at the tea-table ened to interpose. with the scraps and dregs, the crumbled bits of " She is quite admirable and excellent in her bread-Algy's half-eaten slice-Lydia's cup own way (children, go into the back drawingoverturned before her. She sat quite still; no room); but, my dear Richard, there is nothing one had noticed her; even Dick had gone off more undesirable than putting people into false without saying good-by. As on that day at the positions... The person of whom you speak THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 31 is notJde notre classe, and it would be but mis- yet people are not always conscious of their own taken kindness." feelings. But, under the circumstances, we must "Precisely so," said Hervey, much pleased take Miss George, or Dick will fancy..." with the expression; "Miss George is not de "Oh, certainly, if you all wish it," said Mrs. notre classe." Butler. "Will you have any more tea, Matil" Confound notre classe," said Richard, hast- da? Now, children, what are you all about? ily. You may go and ask Miss George to the picnic, " Don't be blasphemous, Dick," said his uncle and then come up and help me to dress." Charles. Meanwhile Richard was walking away, biting "And then, remembering that this was not and pulling his mustache. He went along Eaton the way to speak in such company, the young Square until he came to the public house at the man stopped short, and begged Mrs. Butler's corner of Hobart Place. There he was stopped pardon. by a crowd of children and idlers who had taken She was pouring out small black-looking cups up their position on the pavement, for Mr. Punch of tea, and looking offended with a turned-down was squeaking at the top of his voice from his mouth; and, indeed, the maternal autocrat was pulpit, and they had all gathered round to listen not used to such plain talking. to his morality. The children had already taken "It seems to me, Richard, that you are up their places in the stalls and were sitting in scarcely the person to provide amusement for a row on the curb-stone. "Ookedookedookedoo," Miss George," she said. said Mr. Punch, "where's the babby? Throw "Ah! Dick," cried Madame de Tracy, giving the babby out of window." a little shriek and forgetting her prudence; she "Dook! dere it go," cried another baby, sitcould keep silence no longer. "Be careful, my ting in the gutter clapping its dirty little hands. dearest boy; do not let yourself be carried away Richard stopped for a minute to look at by your feelings. I guessed-I am rapid to no- Punch's antics, going on with his reflections tice things-I have trembled ever since that day meanwhile. It seemed to him as if the world, at the studio." She looked so anxious and so as it is called, was a great cruel Punch, remorseconcerned between her frizzy curls that Dick lessly throwing babies and children out of winburst out laughing. dow, and Miss George among the rest, while the " So this is your fine scheme? No, you have people looked on and applauded, and Toby the not guessed right, Aunt Matilda. Poor little philosopher sat by quite indifferent in his frill Miss George is not dangerous for me, but I can collar. not help losing my temper when I hear persons "That poor little thing," he was thinking, of sense using the wicked old commonplaces "her wistful, helpless glances move me with which have made so many people miserable, pity; was there ever a more innocent little and which condemn a poor child to such a scapegoat? Oh, those women! their talk, and dreary, unsatisfactory mockery of existence. their assumption, and suspicions make me so There, she is just as well-mannered and pretty angry I can scarcely contain myself. De notre as Georgie or Catharine; and I am not to eat a classe," and he began to laugh again, while piece of bread and butter in her company for Punch, capering and singing his song of "ookefear of being contaminated," cried Dick, in a dook," was triumphantly beating the policeman fume. about the head. "Would they think Reine de "Ah! my poor Dick," said Madame de Tra- notre classe, I wonder?" he said to himself; cy, "you are unconscious, perhaps, of the senti- "will it be her turn some day to be discussed, ment; but I fear it is there." and snubbed, and patronized? My poor noble " I am speaking from no personal feeling," Reine"-and Richard seemed to see her pass becried Dick, still angry; and to Madame de Tra- fore him, with her eagle face —" is there one of cy at least his words carried conviction at the them to compare to her among the dolls and time. (But was it so, I wonder; and had Miss lay figures de notre classe?" He walked on; George's soft, pretty eyes nothing to do with Punch's shrieks were following him, and ringthe question?) "It is a mere sense of fairness ing in his ears with the children's laughter. and justice," Dick went on, "which would make As he went along, the thought of Reine returnme dislike to see any fellow-creature hardly ed to him again and again, as it had done that used; and if I have spoken half a dozen words day he walked along the, sands to Tracy; again of kindness to her, it was because... It is and again he was wondering what she was dono use staying any longer; I shall only offend ing: was she in her farm superintending, was more and more. Good-night." And then he she gone on one of her many journeys along the suddenly took up his hat and went away. On straight and dusty roads, or was she spinning flax his way down stairs, he relieved his mind by be- perhaps at the open door, or reading by the dying even more kind than usual to.a person whom ing daylight out of one of her mother's old he considered unjustly treated by the world in brown books?... A distant echo of Punch's general and his aunts in particular. weird " ookedookedoo" reached him like a warn" Women usually respect a man when he is ing as he walked away. angry, even when he is in the wrong and Richard was not in the wrong. "I think for once I The day at Lambswold was a great success, was mistaken," said Madame de Tracy; "and the children thought. It was about twelve 32 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. o'clock, when the shadows were shortest and the birds most silent, that the drag and the fly from the station came driving up the steep and into the court. Charles Butler received them all at the door, shaking hands with each as they as''i cended the steps. Catharine and the children had come in the fly, and the others preceded i them in the drag. The house had been silent for months, and now, one instant after the arrival, the voices were echoing in the hall, up stairs in the bedroom, the children were racing round and round, Sandy was scampering up and down. It was like one of Washington Irving's tales of the Alhambra, and of deserted'~ halls suddenly repeopled with the life of other I days. There was a great array of muslins, and smart hats and feathers. Catharine, too, had B unconsciously put out all her simple science to \\ l make herself look harmonious, as it were, and llili in keeping with the holiday, with the summer \^il\ \3 \' \ J'i, 1 parks, and the gardens full of flowers, with the'ilf \\ fields through which they had been speeding, |' ~ —,' ~'i. i. ll daisy-sprinkled, cool, and deeply shadowed, with 1i' m cattle grazing in the sunshine; in keeping with (| the sky which was iridescent, azure, and gently fleeced; in keeping with her own youth and delight in its freshness. As Miss George came with her pupils, smiling, up the ancient flight CHAPTER VI. of stone steps leading to the house, Charles But- M L I H I MY LOVE IN HER ATTIRE DOTH SHOW HER WIT. ler was pleased with the bright, happy face he was looking down upon. It is only older peo- THE morning room at Lambswold was a pie, after all, who are quite unselfish, and feel gray, melancholy, sunshiny room. The light the greatest pleasure in witnessing the happi- shone in through two great open windows on ness of others. the gray walls and ancient possessions. A "I am very glad to see you here," he said, glass drop chandelier, quaint and old-fashioned, shaking hands with her courteously. reflected it in bright prisms. A shrouded harp Mrs. Butler, who was in the hall, looked round stood in one corner of the room. There was surprised at the unusual urbanity. Catharine an old pink carpet, with a pattern of faded George herself was not surprised; she expected wreaths; a tall chimney-piece, with marble every body to be kind to-day, every thing to be garlands, yellowed by time; and fountains and delightful. The pretty figure came climbing graceful ornamentations. A picture was hangthe steps, with all the landscape for a back- ing over it-a picture of a lady, all blue and ground. The sun was shining through the fly- green shadows in a clouded world of paint, with ing folds of her muslin draperies, it was again a sort of white turban or night-cap on. She reflected in the burning feather in her hat. had the pretty coquettish grace which belonged The lights shone from the dark eyes in antici- to the women of her time, who still seem to be pation of the happiness which was already hers. smiling archly out of their frames at their gapWhat did not she expect?-for the minute any ing descendants. thing, every thing. Like many of us, she Through the window there was a sight of a thought happiness was yet to come, and behold, lawn and a great spreading tree, where figures the guest was here beside her. Happiness is were busy preparing the tables, and beyond but a shy goddess, as we all know; she comes them again a sweet pastoral valley and misty bashfully into the room, all the hearts suddenly morning hills. leap and the eyes begin to brighten, but she is " Ah! how pretty!" cried Catharine Butler, very apt to fly if we rush forward to embrace stepping out at once through the window. her. "How remarkably well Miss George is Beamish, who had been cross coming down, looking," said Beamish to his future mother- and who had fancied she talked too much to in-law. Dick's new friend, Mr. Holland, followed her to "Oh yes," said Mrs. Butler, "remarkably give her a scolding; but Catharine met him well." with a smile and a great red rose she had just pulled off the trellis. And so the two made it up, and stood picking rose-buds for one anoth~, —— ~- er, like a Dresden shepherd and shepherdess. " What time do we dine?" said Hervey. "I suppose this is only luncheon, Charles?" "Humph!" said Charles, "I don't know THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 33 what this is-earwigs most likely. Dick would ing himself up (a tall figure in an iron-gray suit, have it out there." such as young men wear nowadays, with a smart "Alas! we are no longer young enough to yellow rose in the button-hole). "Art-critic! go without our dinners, my dear brother," cried art-history! word-painting! germ-spoiling of Madame de Tracy. "Do you remember-" English. Pah! I tell you, my dear fellow, "I see the croquet ground is in very good whatever you may choose to criticise, Gainsorder," said Georgie, who had been standing borough looked at nature in the right way. I absorbed before one of the windows, and who tell you he'd got another sort of spectacles on had not been listening to what they were saying, his noble nose than what are worn nowadays by while Frank Holland (he was a well-known your new-fangled would-be regenerators of art. animal painter) walked straight up to the chim- If you want the sort of truth you are talking ney and looked up at the picture. about, you had better get a microscope at once "Isn't this a Gainsborough?" asked the young to paint with, and the stronger the instrument man. the more truthful you'll be. I tell you," con"This, ladies and gentlemen," said Dick, tinued Holland, more and more excited, "if who began-to play showman, "is the celebrated you and your friends are right, then Titian, and portrait of my great-aunt, Miss Paventry, the Giorgione, and Tintoret are wrong." heiress. She brought Lambswold into the fami- "Hang Titian!" interrupted Dick, with quiet ly, and two very ugly wine-coolers, which shall superiority, while his hobby-horse gave a sudden be exhibited free of any extra charge. That" plunge and became almost unmanageable. "'-He -pointing to a picture between the windows- was utterly false and conventional —infernally "is Richard Butler, thefirst martyr of the name. clever, if you like. But we want truth-we He was burned at the stake at Smithfield in want to go back to a more reverential treatment Queen Mary's reign, surnamed the-" of Nature, and that is only to be done by patience "What a charming picture!" said Holland, and humble imitation." who had been all this time looking at the por- The reformer Dick was still lounging among trait of Miss Paventry, while the children stood the cushions, but his gray eyes were twinkling round, staring at him ih turn. as they did when he was excited. " Charming!" echoed Dick, suddenly astride Miss George, who had been listening absorbed on his hobby-horse; "I didn't expect this from all this time, looked up into his face almost frightyou, Holland." ened at the speech about.Titian. Mrs. Butler "Ta-ta-ta," said Charles Butler. "What said, "Pie, fie, you naughty boy!" with lumhave I done with the cellar key? I shall only bering playfulness. The sun was shining so get out my second-best sherry; it is quite good brightly outside that the roses looked like little enough for any of you." And the host trotted flames, and the grass:was transfigured; the chiloff with a candle to a sacred inner vault, where dren were tumbling about in it. nobody but himself ever penetrated-not even Miss George should have remembered that Mundy, the devoted factotum upon whose head there was youth and inexperience to palliate it was always found necessary to empty the vials Richard Butler's irreverence. Youth has a right before any thing could be considered as satis- to be arrogant, or is at least an excuse for prefactorily arranged. sumption, since it can't have experience; and, Meanwhile Dick was careering round and moreover, Dick's exaggeration had its kernel of round at full gallop on his favorite steed, al- truth amid a vast deal of frothy pulp. though he was lounging back to all appearance The truth, as Dick would write it, was that on the sofa by Madame de Tracy. "I see no he and his comrades were reformers, and like charm in a lie," he was saying, in his quiet, reformers they would have broken the time-honlanguid way; "and the picture is a lie from ored images of the old worship in their new-born beginning to end." Holland was beginning to zeal. It is healthier to try and paint a blade interrupt, but Dick went on pointing as he of grass to the utmost of your ability, than to spoke: "Look at that shapeless, impudent sub- dash in a bold background and fancy you are a stitute for a tree; do you see the grain of the Reynolds or a Gainsborough. But honest Dick bark? Is there any attempt at drawing in those will find that to imitate blades of grass, and coarse blotches meant, I suppose, for ivy leaves? bits of fern and birds'-nests with bluish eggs, Look at those plants in the foreground-do you however well and skillfully, is not the end and call that a truthful rendering of fact? Where the object of painting. And, indeed, the right is the delicate tracery of Nature's lacework?" treatment was already visible in his works, fight"In the first place, I don't quite understand ing against system and theories. What can what you mean by a rendering of fact," said they produce but dry pieces of mechanism? Holland; "I can't help thinking you have The true painter is the man who paints with cribbed that precious phrase out of a celebrated his soul, and so finds his way to the hearts of art-critic." his fellow-creatures. " The phrase isn't English," said Madame de " She was a most delightful person, I believe," Tracy, who always longed to rush into any dis- said Mrs. Butler, gazing in her turn at Miss Pacussion, whether she understood or not what it ventry. "She never married." was all about. "It is very curious," said Holland, "but don't "I hate all the jargon," said Holland, draw- you see a decided likeness?" and he looked fiom C 34 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. the picture to one of the persons present, and good almost to be true. It seemed to Catha.then back at the picture again. rine as if the song in her heart was pouring out; "You mean Miss George," said Dick. "I've she could not contain it, and all the air seemed often noticed it; but she has got a much pret- full of music. She wondered if the others were tier and more becoming hat on than that affair listening to it too. But they were busy unpackof poor old Aunt Lydia's. I like your red ing the hampers and getting out the sherry, nor feather," said he, turning to Catharine. "If I had they all of them the ears to hear. were a woman," Dick went on, still contrary Some gifts are dangerous to those who possess and discursive, "I should like to be a green them: this one of Catharine's means much diswoman, or a blue woman, or a red one-I cord in life as well as great harmony; saddest shouldn't like to be a particolored woman. I silence, the endless terrors and miseries of an don't know why ladies are so much afraid of imaginative nature; the disappointment of cawearing their own colors, and are all for semi- pacities for happiness too great to be ever satistones and mixtures. Now that feather of yours fled in this world. is a capital bit of color, and gives one pleasure But, in the mean time, Mrs. Butler, returning to look at." from a short excursion to the hampers, could "I should think the reason that most ladies hardly believe it was her silent and subdued prefer quiet colors," said Mrs. Butler, stiffly, "is little governess who was standing there chatterthat they do not generally wish to make them- ing and laughing. Her eyes were dancing and selves conspicuous. No lady wishes to attract her voice thrilling, for was not Dick standing attention by overfine clothes," she repeated, by? glancing at the obnoxious feather, and rustling Providence made a great mistake when it put in all the conscious superiority of two pale hearts into girls-hearts all ready to love, and mauve daughters, and garments of flowing dun- to admire,'and to be grateful and happy with a color and sickly magenta and white. word, with a nothing. And if Providence had "I do believe, my dear aunt, there are people made a still farther mistake, and made dependwho would like to boil down the Union Jack into ents of the same stuff as the rest, and allowed a sort of neutral tint," said Dick, "and mix up them to forget for one idstant their real station the poor old buff and blue of one's youth into a, in life, Mrs. Butler was determined to supply nondescript green." any such deficiencies, and to remind Miss George "Such things have certainly been tried be- if ever she chanced to forget. But poor little fore now," said Holland, while Butler, turning Catharine, as I have said, defied her in her brief to Catharine, went on: "Don't let them put lour of happiness. She would not remember, you out of conceit with your flame-color, Miss and, indeed, she could not prevent her cheeks George; it is very pretty indeed, and very be- from blushing and her eyes from shining more coming." He was vexed with his aunt for the brightly than any others present. Her youth, rude, pointed way in which she had spoken; he her beauty, her sweet, abrupt girlishness assertsaw Catharine looking shy and unhappy. But ed themselves for once, and could not be reshe soon brightened up, and as she blushed pressed. Nobody could put them out. Even with pleasure to hear Dick liked her feather, its when she was silent these things were speaking flames seemed to mount into her cheeks. In for her in a language no one could fail to underthe fair apparel of youth, and innocence, and hap- stand. If it had been one of Mrs. Butler's own piness, no wonder she looked well, and charmed daughters, she would have looked on with genthem all by her artless arts. There is no dress tlest maternal sympathy at so much innocent more gorgeous and dazzling than Catharine's happiness; but for Miss George she had no that day. Not Solomon in all his glory, not feeling save that of uneasiness and disquiet. It Madame Rachel in all her nostrums, not all the was hard upon the poor mother to have to stand hair-pins, and eye-washes, and affectations can by and see her own well-educated, perfectly cornequal it. I can not attempt to define how rightly monplace Georgie eclipsed-put out-distanced or wrongly Catharine was behaving in looking altogether by this stiff, startled, dark-eyed little so pretty and feeling so happy in Dick Butler's creature, with the sudden bright blushes coming company, in having placed an idol upon her and going in her cheeks. Mrs. Butler could most secret shrine, and then fallen down and not help seeing that they all liked talking to worshiped it-an idol somewhat languid and her. Charles Butler, Holland (Mr. Holland had nonchalant, with mustaches, with a name, alas! quite lost his heart to the pretty little governess), by this time. Poor little worshiper! it was in Dick, and Beamish even. But then Georgie secret that she brought her offerings, her turtle- did not look up all grateful and delighted if dove's eggs, and flowers, and crystal drops, and any body noticed her, and flush up like a snow sudden lights, and flickering tapers. She was mountain at sunrise! a modest and silent little worshiper; she said Of course Catharine would have been behaving nothing, did nothing: only to be in this para- much better if she had shown far more strength dise with her idol there before her walking about of character, and never thought of any thing in a black velvet suit; to be listening to his talk, less desirable than Augusta's French or Lydia's and to the song of the birds, and to the scythe history, and if she had overcome any feelingsof the reapers; to witness such beautiful sights, even before she was conscious of them-except gracious aspects, changing skies- it was too those connected with her interesting profession. TIlE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 35 But Catharine had no strength of mind. She The luncheon did credit, to Mundy and the was led by any body and any thing that came hampers. There were ilo earwigs, only little across her way. She was one of those people soft winds to stir the cloth, cross-lights, and a who are better liked by men than by women; gentle check-work of gray shadow upon the for it is difficult sometimes for the weary and dresses. Charles Butler's second best wine was hardly-tried amazons of life to feel a perfect so good that they all laughed, and asked'what tolerance and sympathy with other women of his best could be. Sandy frisked about and weaker mould and nature. These latter are feasted upon mayonnaise and pressed veal. generally shielded and carried along by other Sandy had a companion, Mr. Holland's dog Pestrength than their own; they rest all through ter, a self-conscious pug, with many affectations, the heat of the day, leaving others to fight their and with all the weaknesses belonging to a sensibattles and to defend them, and then, when the tive nature. He was nevertheless a faithful and battle is over, are resting still. The strongest devoted friend, tender-hearted and curly-tailed. and fiercest of amazons would be glad to lay Sandy had seen less of the world, and sniffed down her arms at times, and rest, and be weak, about in a little rough coat without any pretenand cared for; but the help comes not for her; sions, and was altogether of a less impressionable she must bear the burden of her strength and and artistic nature. Ile loved good sport, good courage, and fight on until the night. bones, and a comfortable nap after dinner. His Mrs. Butler was one of the amazons of the master was of a different calibre to Peter's, and many tribes of amazons that still exist in the dogs are certainly influenced by the people with world. They are married as well as unmarried. whom they live. All day long Peter walked This woman for years and years had worked, about at Holland's heels, quite regardless of Sanand striven, and battled for her husband and dy's unmeaning attacks and invitations to race children; she managed them, and her husband, or to growl. Peter only shook him off, and adand his affairs; she dictated, and ruled, and vanced in that confidential, consequential mancommanded; she was very anxious at times, ner which is peculiar to his race. very weary, very dispirited, but she gave no sign, Luncheon had come to an end. Catharine ~allowed no complaint to escape her, bore her suf- looked up, and breathed a great breath as she ferings in silence. Once, and once only, to her looked into the keen glimmer overhead; soft eldest daughter she had spoken a little half word, little winds, scented with pine-wood and rosewhen things were going very wrong-when Fran- trees, came and blew about. Holland and Dick cis's debts were most overwhelming-when Rob- had got into a new discussion over the famous crt had got into some new scrape worse than the Gainsborough, and the children, who thought it last -when money was not forthcoming, and all very stupid, had jumped up one by one and every thing was looking dark. " Dear mam- run away to the croquet-ground. But Catharine ma," Catharine Butler had said, with her tender forgot to go. There she sat on the grass, with smile, and closed her arms round the poor bar- her back against the trunk of the tree, saying assed mother's neck in a yoke that never galled. nothing, looking every thing, listening and abAs the day wore on, Mrs. Butler seemed to sorbed. Catharine did well to rest in this green avoid little Catharine, or only to speak to her in bower for a little before starting along the dusty a cold, indifferent voice, that made the girl won- high-road again. People are forever uttering der what she had done amiss. Now and again warnings, and telling of the dangers, and deep she started at the rude set-downs to which she precipices, and roaring torrents to be passed; was little accustomed. Whit did it all mean-? but there are every where, thanks be to heaven, What crime was she guilty of-? She could not green bowers and shady places along the steepbring herself to think otherwise than tenderly of est roads. And so, too, when the tempest blows any one belonging to the house she had learnt without and the rain is beating-tired, and cold, to love.. She meekly pursued her persecutrix and weary, you come, perhaps, to a little roadwith beseeching eyes. She might as well have side inn, where lights are burning, and food and tried to melt a glacier. To people who have rest await you. The storm has not ceased; it taken a prejudice or a dislike, every word is mis- is raging still, but a shelter interposes between understood, every look offends; and Catharine's you and it for a time, and you set off with new wistful glances only annoyed and worried Mrs. strength and new courage to face it. Butler, who did not wish to be touched. Had Mrs. Butler, as usual, recalled Catharine to some malicious Puck squeezed some of the juice herself. of Oberon's purple flower upon Catharine's scar- " Miss George, be so good as to see what the let feather to set them all wandering and at cross children are doing." And so poor Catharine purposes all through this midsummer's day? In was dismissed from her green bower. It was and out of the house, the garden, the woods, this hard to have to go-to be dismissed in disgrace, little Helen went along with the rest, looking as it were, with Dick standing by to see it. The prettier, more pathetic, every minute. We all children were close at hand, and not thinking of have a gift ofsecond-sight more or less developed, mischief. and Catharine knew something was coming now "We don't want you, Miss George," cried that the first burst of happiness was over. An Lydia; " we are four already; stand there and old saw came into her head about a light heart sec me croquet Augusta." Miss George stood in the morning bringing tears before night. where she was told, but she looked beyond the 36 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. point which was of all-absorbing interest to not tear herself away. She was standing by a Lydia at that instant. Her sad eyes strayed to tall lily, with her nose in the cup, sniffing up the the group under the tree. There was Dick lying faint sleepy fragrance, when she heard steps upon at full length on the grass: he was smoking, the gravel-walk, and, turning round, she saw a and had hung up his red cap on a branch. Iol- bright red cap, and beside it a careless figure land; in his iron-gray suit, was leaning against coming along with the peculiar swinging walk the trunk; Catharine Butler and Beamish were she knew so well. Ever after the scent of lilies side by side in the shadow. Georgie was in the conjured up the little scene. sunshine, with her dress all beflecked with trem- Long afterward, Dick, too, remembered the bling lights and shades, while the elders sat at little figure turning round with startled eyes, the table talking over by-gone times. Catharine and looking as guilty as if it were a crime to be turned away; she could not bear the sight; it found smelling the lilies. Holland thought she made her feel so forlorn and alone to stand apart might have been an Italian Madonna in her and watch all these people together. framework of flowers, such as the old painters Catharine was afraid, too, lest some one should loved to paint. come up and see her eyes full of tears as she stood "Have you been hiding yourself away here watching the balls roll and listening to the tap all the afternoon?" said Dick. "Ain't it a of the mallets. It was all so lovely and yet so charming little corner?" perverse. The sweetness, the roses, the sun- The two young men waited for a few minutes, shine, made it hurt more, she thought, when and seemed to take it for granted Catharine was other things were unkind. This day's pleasure coming back to the house with them. was like a false friend with a smiling face; like "Do you dislike our cigars?" said Butler, a beautiful sweet rose which she had picked just seeing that she hesitated. now, with a great sharp thorn set under the leaf. " Oh no! It was-" What had she done? Why did Mrs. Butler She stopped short, blushed, and came hastily look so cold and so displeased when she spoke? forward. What would Mrs. Butler say, she was Whenever she was happiest something occurred thinking; and then she was afraid lest they to remind her and warn her that happiness was should have guessed what she thought. not for her. Catharine longed to be alone, but What would Mrs. Butler say? What did she it was quite late in the afternoon before she say when she saw the three walking quietly could get away. The children were all called toward the house, sauntering across the lawn, into the drawing-room by their sisters, and then stopping, advancing again, and talking as the3 the little governess escaped along the avenue came? where the rose-leaves which Beamish and Cath- Catharine's fate, like most people's, was setarine had scattered were lying. She was sick tled by chance, ag it were. People seem themat heart and disappointed. It was something selves to give the signal to destiny, Fall axe, more than mere vanity wounded which stung strike fatal match. Catharine dropped a rose her as she realized that for some inscrutable she was holding, and Dick bent down and pickreason it is heaven's decree that people should ed it up for her, and that was the signal. No not be alike; that some must be alone and some one saw the axe, but it fell at that moment, and in company; some sad and some merry; that the poor little thing's doom was fulfilled. some should have the knowledge of good and The ladies, tired of the noise indoors, had others the knowledge of evil. She must not come out upon the terrace. The children had hope for roses such as Catharine's. She must been dancing-a Spanish dance, they called itnot be like Georgie, even, and speak out her own for the last twenty minutes; gracefully sliding mind, and make her own friends, and be her own about, and waving their legs and arms to Georself. It was hard to be humiliated before Dick.. gie's performance on the piano-forte. The jinIt was no humiliation to be a governess and to gle of the music reached the terrace, but it was earn her own living; but to have forgotten her only loud enough to give a certain zest to the place, and to be sent down lower like the man mildness and quiet of the sunset. The long in the parable-ah! it was hard. shadows were streaking the hills, a glow shiverCatharine wandered on without much caring ed, spread, and tranquilly illumined the landwhere she went, until she found herself in a scape, as the two figures on the terrace looked quaint, sunny nook, where all sorts of old-fash- out at the three others advancing across the lawn. ioned flowers were blowing-tiger lilies, white "Miss George forgets herself strangely," said lilies, balsam, carnations-in a blaze against the Mrs. Butler; "to-morrow shall end all this; lichen-grown walls. The colors.were so bright, but it is really very embarrassing to be obliged the place so silent, and sweet, and perfumed, to dismiss her. I shall send her to Mrs. Marthat Catharine, coming into it, forgot her dull tingale's, from whom I hope to get a German speculations. It had been a flower-garden which this time." Miss Paventry had laid out once upon a time, "Poor child!" said Madame de Tracy, comand it had been kept unchanged ever since. passionately; "she means no harm. I have a Quaint, bright, strange, it was the almost forgot- great mind to take her back to Ernestine. I ten perfume of other times that these flowers am sure my daughter-in-law would be delighted were exhaling. with her, Ernestine is so fastidious." Catharine staid there a long time. She could "I really can not advise you," said Mrs. But THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 37 ler. " This is a warning to me never to engage it from her; she should remember it always. a pretty governess again." And Catharine said grace, as the children do, "She can not help being pretty," said Ma- sitting therein her quiet corner. " Oh, I wish dame de Tracy. "I detest ugly people," re- I was always happy," thought the girl;- "I do marked this Good Samaritan. "I believe she so like being happy!.. would be a treasure to Ernestine. Those.be- "Nothing could have gone off better," said loved children are darlings, but they speak En- Hervey, at the window, as they all got out at glish like little cats; their accent is deplorable, Victoria Station. and yet their mother will not allow it. I am "That idiot Mundy very nearly ruined the sure she ought to be eternally grateful to me if whole thing," said Charles. "He forgot the I take back Miss George." soda-water. I had to telegraph to G -" " Pray take care, my dear Matilda," said Mrs. "Thanks so much,' said Mrs. Butler, coming Butler. "Interference is always so undesirable. up. "Now, children? Has any one called a I always try to keep to my own side of the cab for them? The carriage has come for us." way. I really could not blame Ernestine if she " Good-night, Miss George," said Dick, unshould.." der a lamp-post; and every body else said Madame de Tracy could not endure opposi- "Good-night, good-night." tion. "I do not agree with you. There is.nothing so valuable as judicious interference. I know perfectly what I am about; Ernestine will be quite enchanted." Madame de Tracy CHAPTER VII. was so positive that Mrs. Butler hesitated; she "11 AUOl JE SONGE:." disliked scenes and explanations. Here was an easy way of getting rid of the poor little objec- MEANWHILE Catharine's fate was settled, and tion at once, without effort or trouble; she would Mrs. Butler came into the school-room next be provided for, and Mrs. Butler was not with- morning to announce it. A sort of feeling out one single grain of kindness in her compo- came over her, poor child, that it was her deathsition. Miss George had been very useful and warrant which this gracious lady in black silk conscientious; she had nursed Algy when he robes was announcing in a particularly bland, was ill. Mrs. Butler was angry with Catharine, encouraging tone of voice. What had she but she did not wish her harm; she was, to a done? against whom had she conspired? of certain point, a just woman with her temper un- what treason was she guilty? der control. " Oh, why am I to go?" said Catharine, look"I think it would be an excellent opportuni- ing up very pale from her book with round, ty," said she, "if Ernestine really wishes for a dark, startled eyes. governess for her children, and you are not Even Mrs. Butler's much preoccupied heart afraid of the responsibility." was touched by the little thing's helpless, woe"Oh, I will answer for that," said Madame begone appeal. de Tracy, waving a welcome to the two young "You have always been quite invaluable to men. "The thing is arranged. HIush —shsh!" me, my dear Miss George, and I shall miss you Madame de Tracy's warnings usually came excessively, but it is sincerely in your own inafter the flash, like the report of a gun. Cath- terest that I am recommending this step to you," arine, coming along and listening a little anx- Mrs. Butler said, not unkindly. iously for the first greetings, caught the words " Oh no, no," said Catharine, feebly clutchand the glance of significance. What had they ing at the table-cover. "This is too far; I been saying? what did it mean? Her quick can not speak French. I could not bear to be apprehensions conjured up a hundred different away, to leave my sisters, every body!" And solutions; reprimands in store, no more holi- she suddenly burst out crying. "Oh, I am so days, no more merry-making. The reality oc- silly, so sorry," she sobbed, "for of course I curred to her as an impossibility almost. To must leave, if you wish it." very young people changes are so impossible. "Pray, my dear Miss George," said Mrs. They would like to come and to go, and to Butler, still kind, yet provoked, "do not dissee all the world, but to return always to the tress yourself unnecessarily. You are really nest in the same old creaking branch of the quite blind, on this occasion, to your own adtree. Catharine was fiightened and uneasy. vantage" (and this was a thing that was almost All the way home in the drag, through the gray incomprehensible to Mrs. Butler). "Forgive and golden evening; in the railway, scudding me for saying so, but I do think it is your duty through a dusky wide country, where lights (as it is that of every one of us) to make the best shone from the farmsteads, and pools still re- of circumstances, particularly when there is an fleeted the yellow in the west, she sat silent in increase of salary and an excellent opportunity her corner, with little Sarah asleep beside her. for improving in French. I do seriously recCatharine sat there half happy, almost satisfied, ormmend you to think my sister-in-law's proposal and yet very sad, and imagining coming evils, well over, and to consult your friends." Let them come! They only seemed to make And the messenger of fate hastened off to her the day which was just over shine brighter and davenport, and poor Catharine sat crying, with brighter by comparison. They could not take the tears dripping over the page. 38 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. No, no, no; she could not bear to go tossing timely end when the narrator heard who was about all alone in the world; it was too hard, up stairs. too hard. What was she to do? who would Catharine was waiting in the great drawingtell her what she was to do? Once a wild room with the many windows and the photothought came to her of asking Dick to help her; graph books, and the fancy-work mats presented he was kind-he would not let them send her by retiring pupils, and the wax water-lily on the away. Why were they driving her from their piece of looking-glass, a tribute from an accomdoor? What had she done? -what indeed? plished dancing-mistress. She came to meet A swift terror jarred through her beyond the her sisters, looking very pale, with dark rings other sad complex emotions that were passing round her eyes. in disorder through her mind. Could they'Cathy, Cathy, why do you look so funny?" think, could they imagine for one minute? The said Totty, clutching her round the waist. little pale face began to burn, and the eyes to "Oh, Totty dear," said Cathy, holding the flash, and her hands seemed to grow cold with children tight to her, and trying not to cry, and horror; but no, no, it was impossible. They to speak cheerfully, "I look funny because I am could not read her heart; and if they did, what going away from Mrs. Butler's. I don't know was there for them to see? They were worldly, what to do. I want you and Rosy to tell me hard people; they did not know what friend- what you think." And then she told them her ship meant, how faithful it could be, how long little history in her plaintive voice, holding the, it could last, how much it was ready to give, hands tight —tight in hers. She had dreaded how little it required. And then, after a time, so telling them, that, now that it was over, she a revulsion came, and she felt as if all she felt happier and almost relieved; it was not wanted was to go -to go away and hide her nearly so bad as she had feared. head from them all. If it were not for Rosy "It is no use asking our aunts," said Rosy; and Totty, she did not care what was to "they will write great long letters, and be no come. help at all." She went to bed that night with a heart ach- As for little Totty, she was so indignant with ing dully, and she dreamt sad dreams until Mrs. Butler, so delighted at the promise of a the morning came; and then, as Mrs. Butler whole six weeks' holiday next year to be spent advised, Catharine thought of consulting her alone with Catharine and Rosy in a cottage in friends. She walked down to Kensington to the air, that she forgot the distance and the sepMrs. Martingale's school, where her two chief aration, and bore the news far more bravely advisers were to be found, and she wrote a than Catharine herself. Rosy, who was as tall couple of notes, which she posted on her way- as Catharine nearly,-held her hand very.tight, one was to Lady Farebrother, at Tunbridge and did not say much. She was old for her Wells, who belonged to the religious communi- age-a downright girl, with more courage than ty there; the other was to Mrs. Buckington, who poor little Catharine, and a sort of elder sister was staying at Brighton for her health. It feeling for her, though she was only thirteen. was another bright summer day; dinner was But some girls have the motherly element over, and the school-girls and governesses seem- strongly developed in them fiom their veriest ed to have agreed to a truce, and to have come babyhood, when they nurse their dolls to sleep out together for an hour's peace and refresh- upon their soft little arms, and carefully put ment on the green overgrown garden at the away the little broken toy because it must be in back of the house. Jessamines were on the pain. And Rosy was one of these. She was walls, and there were spreading trees, under one not clever, but she seemed to understand with of which the French governess was reading a her heart what other people felt. She took limp Journal des Demoiselles, smelling of hair- Cathy's aching head in her arms, and laid it on pins and pomatum from the drawer in which it her shoulder, and kissed her again and again, as was kept. a mother might have done. Miss Strumpf, the German governess (she was "My poor old darling," said Rosy, "don't be to leave this quarter, it was darkly whispered), unhappy at leaving us; I'll take care of Totty, was eating a small piece of cheese which she and some day I'll take care of you too." had saved fiom her dinner, and a rotten-looking' "But where shall we go to in the holidays?" medlar she had picked up off the grass. Some said Totty, cheering up. "Let there be donof the girls were dancing a quadrille on the keys, please." lawn; others were singing and aimlessly rush- Fraulein Strumpf, who was curious by nature, ing about the space inclosed by the four moss- happened to peep in at the drawing-room door, grown walls, against which jessamines, and ja- as she was passing, to see who the little girls' ponicas,and Virginian creepers were growing. visitor might be. She was rather scandalized'Rosy and Totty, and a few chosen friends, were to see Rosy sitting in a big arm-chair, with her in a group on the step of the cistern. Totty, visitor kneeling on the floor before her, and Totwho was a quaint and funny little girl of ten, ty leaning with straggling legs and drooping with a red curly wig, and a great deal of imag- curls over the arm. It seemed like a liberty, ination, was telling a story: her stories were in this gray grim drawing-room, to be kneelin: very popular among the literary portion of the down on the floor instead of sitting upright ant. community; but her heroine came to an un-: stiff at intervals upon the high-backed chair. THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 39 Even the sunshine came in through the tall fairs into consideration, so you had better write windows in subdued streaks, playing on the an- to her at once, and act upon what she says, at cient ceiling and the worn-out carpet. The the same time using your own judgment in three heads were very close together, and they what you think best. Ever your affectionate had settled that it was to be a farn-house in aunt, SOPIIA BUCIINGTON. Surrey, where they had once staid before. "Do you remember the little wood where Tabor Villa, Mount Zion, Tunbridge Wells. we picnicked?" said Rosy. "And the farmer's MY DEAREST NIECE,-Surrounded as I am cart?" cried Totty, quite happy by this time. by duties that to every humble Christian spirit Catharine had all the troubles of youth to bear stand first and foremost in the path of life, I on her poor little shoulders, but she had also have but little leisure or inclination to attend to its best consolation. Here she was with the any thing belonging to this world rather than to other two children, almost happy again at the the next. I am the last person to whom you thought of a go-cart and a baby-house, and should apply for counsel, except, indeed, in matsome live toys to play with in the fields. ters relating to your spiritualwelfare, for I have When she went away the color had come made it a rule never to waste time or thought back into her cheeks. Rosy and Totty were over the trifling cares of every-day life. My leaning over the old-fashioned tall balcony, and sister, Mrs. Buckington, isbetter versed in worldkissing their hands. She saw them for many a ly wisdom than I am, and I should recommend day after, and carried one more vision away with you always to ask and follow her advice in your her of the quaint old square, with its green gar- little dilemmas; but you must not think that I den, and ancient panes and doorways, of the am neglectful of you, or that I am not always dear, dear little faces smiling through their ready to give my poor help in those subjects tears, and bidding her good speed. which lie within my field of work and thought. She did not trust herself to say good-by to Only yesterday I had an opportunity of speakthem again; and when Madame de Tracy went ing long and earnestly about you with my dear off in her cab with her maid and her tall gray friend and pastor, Mr. Bland. He and I both boxes, little Catharine vanished too out of her agreed that should you decide upon going to accustomed corner in the school-room, and Frau- France, the one essential point to be considered lein Strumpf reigned in her stead. The morn- is whether a young and feeble mind does not ing's post brought Catharine two letters, which run a great risk of falling into the too-tempting she read in the railway carriage on her way to snares of Popery. But then again Mr. Bland Dover. said, who could tell but that you might be the Mutton's Mansion, Oriental Place, Brighton. humble means of bringing some of those lost MY DEAR CATIIARINE,-Your letter was for- sheep to light! Surely it would be well to be warded to me here from Park Crescent, which I provided with a few simple tracts, which you left on Tuesday. For the last three weeks I could distribute whenever you saw a fitting mohad been feeling far from well, and scarcely ment. Before you leave London, do not fail to strong enough to bear the exertion of my daily go to the Religious Tract Society in Piccadilly, drive round the Regent's Park. My appetite and ask for the Rev. Walpole Bland's Tracts for also had fallen off sadly, and I hardly knew what home and foreign use. By presenting a card it was to enjoy a meal. My good friend and of Mr. Bland's that I inclose you, you will get able physician, Dr. Pattie, urgently recommend- them at the reduced rate of half a crown a hunded me to try sea air; and, notwithstanding red-a small sum, indeed, for so great a treasmy usual reluctance to move from home, I re- ure! I should also be glad if you would take solved to follow his advice. Dr. Pattie consid- with you to France a little parcel of Irish point ers that there is nothing equal to sea-bathing lace, for which the French ladies (always so fond for strengthening the nerves and the appetite, of dress) would, I dare say, like to raffle thirty and he also has a high opinion of the merits of tickets, 12s. 6d. each, for the benefit of the Poa fish diet, believing it to be exceedingly light lish Protestant colporteurs. and nutritive. But the difficulty here, and I I shall be glad to hear that you are getting on believe it to be the case in all sea-port towns, satisfactorily, and believe me, my dear Cathais to get a variety of fish. I have only twice rine, yours affectionately, ventured to bathe, and found it very trying; but P. G. FAREBROTHER. I must say that I am daily gaining strength, and that my appetite has certainly improved, Catharine sighed as she folded up the two although it is not yet all that I could wish. To letters and put them into her pocket. It was return to your letter. I am truly concerned to not the first time she had corresponded with her hear that any thing should have occurred to un- step-mother's sisters, but she was too sad to take settle your plans, and make you think of leaving things philosophically and to laugh. your present excellent situation; but I am not All the way Madame de Tracy was in high indeed in a fit state of health to be able to offer spirits; she was delighted to get back to her you any advice. Thinking tells so upon my children, to carry off Miss George, to have senerves, that Dr. Pattie has forbidden me to make cured a pure English accent for Nanine, and any exertion of the sort. Your aunt Farebroth- Henri, and Madelaine. She sat surrounded by er is far better able than I am to take your af- bags of which the contents seemed to fly from 40 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. one to the other, like in some one of those con- dows, the single lights here and there in the dark juror's tricks. From bag to bag Madame de plain, and listening to the voices at the little Tracy and Barbe, her long-suffering attendant, stations, sounding melancholy and sudden as pursued a Bradshaw, a rouleau of sovereigns, a voices always do in the dark. letter which had arrived that morning, a paper- Her protectress peacefully dreamt through cutter, all of which were captured and replaced the long hours that Catharine watched and in their various homes, only to be dispersed and wondered. What would the day be like that hunted for again. had not yet dawned, the new world which await"Barbe, I have left my parasol in the cab- ed her? thought the girl with her wide-open and my purse! We must telegraph. I dis- shining eyes. Catharine George somehow extinctly remember laying it down on the waiting- pected that the sun would never rise; that the room table. Ah! what a misfo-" land would be always dark, and strange, and " Madame, there it is in your lap," said Bar- desolate to her; that she would find herself utbe, calmly, " and your parasol is behind you." terly alone, and wandering here and there in "Ah! what an escape!" sighed Madame de the gloom.... Tracy. "The tickets, and more than thirty She forgot in how great a measure one's fupounds, are in this purse, and I could not possi- ture is made up of one's past-how we see and bly have lost them; I am utterly ruined, I have understand things by all those which have prebought so many things in London. Miss George, ceded them-how it is yesterday which makes I see your book wants cutting; give it to me, I to-morrow. The future is never so strange as adore cutting open books. I envy you, you look we picture it to ourselves. A hundred golden so calm; you have none of these troublesome threads bind us to it already. It is all one's concerns to attend to-but some one must do whole past life which claims the future and it. Barbe, where is the paper-cutter?" draws it into itself. The lesson given long, They had started late in the afternoon, and long ago by the love which foresaw, teaches in were to sleep at Calais, and to go on to Tracy after years when the occasion has come. One the next day. They crossed on a still night thing recalls another, as one thing forebodes anwith a waning moon. Many and many a sad, other, and sometimes the two together make a confused thought must have come to the little full chord of happiness, or maybe of sadness, so traveler by the light of the creaking lamp in grateful and so sweet, that it seems as if it must the cabin. Faces, pictures, all the events of the be happiness. last few weeks, were dancing about in the dark- At any rate, when the next day came, Cathaness; voices were sounding, the children's faces rine found that instead of creeping slowly along, were looking at her out of dark corners. The all gray and black, and dark and terrible, the lamp swung on its hinges, the vessel throbbed future had come for her with a cheery clatter, and shook, Catharine felt as if she was, indeed, and crack of whips, andblowing of horns, frienda waif upon a great sea tossed hither and thith- ly faces looking out, a barking of dogs, some er by wayward winds. How oddly distinct the one to help her up the steps, as with cheerful convoices and images fell upon her brain; Kitty, fusion, and noise and jingle, they start through Cathy, she seemed to hear her little sisters call- the bright light streets and cross the fertile plains ing her through the moans of the sea, by all the of Normandy. names they liked to give her; and another voice They had all finished dinner at Tracy, and sounded in her foolish little ears, and her last were sitting about in the great drawing-room. few words with Dick seemed to be repeated to The muffled piano stood in the middle of the her by all the rolling waves. room; the lamps were placed here and there; She had only seen him once after that day at the polished floors were only covered by little Lambswold. Catharine thought it was a cruel square carpets, sprinkled sparsely about. Two fate which prevented their meeting. It was rows of pink-striped chairs stood in lines from more likely a sensible precaution. Doors, stairs, the fireplace, over which the Tracys had erectconventionalisms, had been piled in a great heap ed a tall and elaborately-carved chimney-piece. between them, and there is nothing so hard to The furniture of the castle corresponded in date pass as these simple impediments. The stairs to the mahogany reign of terror in England, are carpeted and easy to climb; the doors are but in France at that period all was harmony on the latch, with nice china handles to open and fitness, and you need dread no four-post them; there is nothing to prevent; and yet beds at Tracy, no fierce sideboards, no glowerprison bars have been burst open, burning des- ing washstands and looming wardrobes. erts crossed, icy passes and steep mountains The old clock over the chimney was ticking scaled and surmounted more easily than these nine o'clock, the windows were open upon a sea simple obstacles. of moonlight in the garden. There were glasses There was a train to Paris, Madame de Tracy and bottles upon a side-table, where Marthe de heard on landing, and she determined to go on. Coitlogon, Ernestine's sister, was playing domCatharine cared not. The night seemed to her inoes with the cure, who had been asked to dinlike a sort of summary or epilogue to the little ner. Monsieur de Tracy and Monsieur Fonslice of a life which had belonged to her hither- taine, who had also had the honor of being in. to. She sat watching the black ghosts of trees, vited, were smoking in the moonlit alleys of the and walls, and wayside inns flying past the win- garden. THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 41 Mademoiselle de Coetlogon had a sweet, plac- prayers, outcries of all these women, differently id face, over which a smile would break now and expressed and experienced though they are, do then-not very often. She sat there in her not go up together in one common utterance to long white dress, with her soft hair tied up sim- that place where there is pity for the sorrowful ply with a blue ribbon, and the light of the lamp and compassion for the weary? falling upon her face and the old cure's bald Dick Butler, who had a tender heart himself, head. It seemed incongruous, somehow, that said one day, smoking his pipe, to some one who she should be playing dominoes, with that Ma- had cried out that she could not understand donna-like head-still and tender at once. She how the good God who made the little ones so had been vowed to the Virgin by her father pretty and so touching could bear to hear them from the day she was born. Her life had been weep for pain, " People seem to think themselves saved by a miracle, it was said, and Marthe grew in some ways superior to Heaven itself when up strong and well, but never like other people. they complain of the sorrow and want round She had a vocation from her earliest youth; about them. And yet it is not the Devil for never changed her mind or faltered for one min- certain who puts pity into their hearts." ute. She was four- and- twenty now. In a It is vain to try to answer such questions, but year she would be of an age, according to the it is difficult not to wonder and speculate, as evFrench law, to decide for herself. No one could ery day one sees stranger and subtler contrasts influence her: not Jean, who could not bear the and forms of life. There is the good mother of subject named before him; not her mother, a the family-useful, busy, happy, bright-eyed and widow, who, wistful, half timid, half angry, scold- light-hearted, approaching her home, of which ed, entreated, cried, and implored and forbade the shimmer seems to cheer and warm her as in vain. Ernestine, her sister, was the only one she sees it gleaming from a distance. There is of them who did not really object; on the con- the forlorn little traveler from Jerusalem whose trary, such devotion seemed to reflect a certain wounds have been bound up with wine and oil, credit on the family. But all the same; Ma- coming in her charge to the inn. dame de Tracy, at her mother's desire, did her On the sofa, like a little lady out of Watteau, best to distract her sister from her intentions by eating bonbons, sits young Madame de Tracy, taking Marthe all one year into the world. Ma- occasionally smiling at the good old cure's comdame de Coetlogon, too, accompanied her daugh- pliments. She is a graceful young woman, with ter. Toilettes, partis, music, gayeties of every bright blue eyes, with a plaintive expression; description, poor Marthe endured in patience; and as she really has every thing in the world but all these well-meant distractions had a very she wishes for, no wonder she is dissatisfied. different effect to that which the poor mother Her life lies before her quite smooth, flat, uninhoped and longed for. teresting, all sunshine, and not a bit of shade It seems strange to us commonplace, corn- any where, except what she can make for hermon-sense Protestant people, in these days of self by raising an occasional storm, and, fortucommonplace and common sense, living in the nately, her temper is easily upset. rough and ready world of iron, of progress, of Ernestine dressed charmingly in white, and matter of fact, to hear of passionate revival, and lilac, and pink; she left blue ribbons to Marthe. romance, and abstract speculation, to be told of She was very graceful in all her movements, the different experiences of living beings now even when she was angry. Her husband was a existing together. While the still women go plain, good-natured-looking man, with a ribbon gliding along their convent passages to the in his button-hole, and a hooked eye-glass. lHe sound of the prayer-bells, with their long veils was very rich, and gave her every thing she hanging between them and the coarse, hard liked, and attended very patiently to all her reworld of every day, the vulgar, careworn toilers, proaches. Ernestine liked him, and was proud the charwomen and factory hands of life are at of his abilities and indignant at his want of amtheir unceasing toil, amid squalor, and grime, bition. She was very proud also of her blue and oaths, and cruel denseness; the hard-work- eyes, which she inherited fiom her mother; and ed mothers of sickly children are slaving, day as she did not bury her talents in a napkin, they after day, in common lodging-houses, feeding on were very much admired in the world at Paris, hard fare, scraps and ends from the butchers' where she had an apartment, all full of great shops, or refuse and broken victuals from some vases and cabinets, in which she spent her winrich neighbor's kitchen; while others, again, ters. In the spring and the summer she came warmed and fed in the body, wearing and starv- down to her mother-in-law's house. ing mentally, are struggling through passionate Madame Jean de Tracy was just popping a sorrow and privation....chocolate bonbon into her mouth when her husAre work and suffering the litanies of some band and M. Fontaine came in from the garden. lives, one wonders? are patience, and pain, and "Madame, we have just seen a carriage turn humiliation, the fasts and the penances of oth- into the long avenue," said M. Fontaine, hasters? No veils hang between the hard, brazen ening to tell the news; "we surmise that it may faces and the world; no convent bars inclose be madame votre belle-mere returning." them other than the starting, ill-built brick walls "It is.certain to be her," cried Ernestine; of their shabby homes and lodging-places. But " she told us not to expect her; and it is so late who shall say that the struggles, the pangs, too." 42 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. "It is no use going to meet her; she will be great dining-room-a long and lofty room, with here directly," said Jean, walking to the door in a fine ceiling, and many tall windows, barred his deliberate way. and shuttered. The one lamp only lighted the Almost directly there was a sound of voices, table, where cold meat, and cream cheese, and of exclamations-the cook, the valet-de-cham- a melon and grapes were spread. Jean accombre, Sidonie, Madame Jean's maid, appeared to panied them, and so did Ernestine, who flung a announce the safe arrival of the travelers. A pretty white hood over her head, and sat watchcouple of dogs came in barking-even the chil- ing them at their meal. dren's bonne came rushing down from up stairs; " And your grandmother, how is she?" asked the game of dominoes was interrupted; Jean Madame de Tracy of her son. embraced his mother very affectionately as she "She is as usual," said Jean; " she has entered the room; Fontaine hovered about, heard of your return, and Baptiste has just conce deeply interested in the meeting, and hastened down to ask for a little supper for her from to relieve Madame de Tracy of her parasol; par- your table. Miss George, you do not eat. You eels were wildly handed about like buckets at a must get a good appetite at Tracy. I hope you conflagration; then came more embraces, expla- are going to stay with us for some time." nations, and exclamations. "You never came Again Catharine blushed up, and looked from to meet me. I forgot to post my letter. Casi- her host to the little lady with the bright eyes. mir brought us up in his little carriage." Un- "I thought-I hoped," she stammeredfortunately we have dined. There is sure to be "We have got her safe," interrupted Madame something. Bon jour, Barbe, here you are re- de Tracy, flurriedly, carving away at a cold turned from England!"'"We nearly did not chicken. "We are not going to part from get home at all; old Chretien ran his cart up her." Poor lady, her courage was failing her against us. He was quite tipsy. Oh, I am somewhat. She did not like the looks Madame sure of it. Give us something to eat, for I am Jeane was casting at her little protegee. She famished." All this in a crescendo, which was made haste to send Catharine to bed as soon as brought to a climax by a sudden shriek from she had done her supper. Baptiste with a canMadame Jean. die, and Barbe, were both deputed to show Miss "Who is that in the window?" she cried, George the way up the broad stone stairs, witl pointing. "Look, there is somebody;"and she curiously-scrolled iron railings, along a great seized her husband's arm. stone passage, dark with shadows, and with "I am really too forgetful. Come here, my windows at intervals looking on the moonlit dear child," cried Madame de Tracy. "Here court-yard. Their footsteps echoed, and their is my dear young friend, Miss George, Ernes- moon-shadows flitted along with them. Cathatine; I have persuaded her to come back with rine looked out once, and saw a figure crossing me." the court. The iron gates opened to let it out, At this incantation the little apparition who and she recognized the tall dark gentleman had been standing clasping her great warm they had called Monsieur Fontaine. "I imshawl, and childishly absorbed in the scene, agined he was Monsieur de Tracy when I first wondering who each person could be, advanced came in," Catharine thought. "They were blushing, with ruffled hair, and trailing her long both very kind." draperies. She looked up into their faces with "What is that distant noise?" she asked that confiding way she had. Madame Jean Barbe, as she followed her up more stairs and made her a little inclination; Jean came up and passages. good-naturedly shook hands a l'Anglaise; Mon- "That is the sound of the sea, mademoisieur Fontaine, parasol in hand, bowed pro- selle," said Barbe. "We hear it very well foundly. Tired as she was, hungry, preoccupied from here when the wind blows in this direcby her return home, an idea flashed through tion." Madame de Tracy's fertile mind at that instant, Catharine dreamt of the sea that night, of which, alas! unlike many of her ideas, she was her journey, of the abbd and Monsieur Fondestined to put into execution. taine, of Beamish, playing his marches and "Monsieur Fontaine, our excellent maire," sonatas in Dick's studio. She dreamt that she said she, going on with her introductions; heard the music even, and then, somehow, she "Mademoiselle de Coetlogon, M. l'Abbe Ver- herself was playing, and they were all listening dier. Ernestine we will give Miss George the to her; but the notes would not strike —in vain yellow room, and some supper. My dear child, she tried-she-could bring forth no sound; and I am dying of hunger. I have eaten nothing the sea came nearer and nearer all the time, but little tartlets all day." and the waves flowed in tune. It was a horriThe tartlets, the chateau, the moonlight, the ble dream, though when she awoke there was ladies, the whole journey, seemed to come out nothing much in it. of the Arabian Nights, Catharine thought, only the abbe did not belong to them. The quiet little old man, sitting in the corner, caused a thrill to this stern Protestant of which he was happily unconscious. Catharine and her protectress supped in the THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 43 CHAPTER VIII. morning tides come and sweep away, suddenly they seem to grow angry, and they wrathfully XR~EINE. ~ pick up the pebbles and fling them at one anTHuE tide which sways between the two great other, wounding, and cutting, and bruising with shores of England and of France sometimes the sharp edges. beats against our chalk cliffs, which spread in How long ago is it since the children at their long low lines gleaming tranquilly in the sun, play were striking the flints together to make while the great wave-armies roll up with thun- fires to burn the impious ones who dared to dering might to attack them; sometimes it point to the advancing tides and say, See, they rushes over the vast sand-plains and sand-hills, come to wash away your boundaries. The adthe dunes and the marshes of France, spreading vancing tides, thanks be to God, have in their and spreading until its fury of approach is spent, turn put out those cruel fires; but sharp stones and then perhaps, as the sun begins to set, and still go flying through the air, and handfuls of the sky to clear, suddenly the water stills and sand, and pebbles, and long, straggling bunches brightens, and the fishing-boats put out to sea of sea-weed that do no great harm, perhaps, but with the retiring tide. Some people living on which sting and draggle where they fall. the shores listen to the distant moan of the wa- Reine, on her sea-shore, picked up her stones ters as they roll and roll away; some are so with the rest of us, and carefully treasured the used by long custom that they scarcely heed the relics which she inherited firom her mother, the sad echoing. ]But others are never accustom- good Catholic, since whose death her life would ed. One woman has told me that for years have been a sad one if it had not been so full after she first came to live in her husband's of small concerns of unintermitting work. She, house by the sea, the consciousness of its moan too, like the other woman of whom I have been never left her. She never could grow used to writing, heard the sound of the sea as she went it. It haunted her in her sleep, in her talk, in about her daily occupations, but to Rcine it her daily occupations. She thought at one seemed like the supplement and encouragement time she should go mad if the sound did not of her lonely life. She listened to it as she cease; it would die away into the distance, went her rounds from the great kitchen to the and then come rolling nearer and louder, with outer boundaries of the farm, across the orpassionate sobs and sudden moans, and the wild, chards and fields to the garden a mile off where startling, discordant cries of the water-birds. her beans were growing, or sometimes sitting, She had a foolish superstition that she should resting by the blazing hearth, where the wood be happy when she ceased to hear the moan of was heaped and the dried colza grass flaring. the sea. Reine's religion was that in which she had What is this strange voice of Nature that been brought up from a child. Her mother says with one utterance so many unlike things? professed the same faith as the Marions, and the Is it that we only hear the voice of our own Sabeaus, and the Picards of the place. She hearts in the sound of the waves, in the sad had used the same words and outward signs as cries of birds as they fly, of animals, the shiver- her husband until his death —as old Pierre ing of trees, the creaking and starting of the Chrdtien, the grandfather-but their sense was daily familiar things all about their homes? not the same. The old grandfather, in his This echo of the sea, which to some was a blouse, rather avoided contemplating the future. complaint and a reproach, was to Reine Chrd- He had a pretty clear idea of a place not untien like the voice of a friend and teacher-of a like the chapel of the Deliverande, only larger, religion almost. There are images so natural with statuettes at intervals, and Monsieur le and simple that they become more than mere Curd triumphant. It was more comfortable, on images and symbols; and to her, when she the whole, to retire to the kitchen of the Golden looked at the gleaming immensity, it was al- Sun, where Pdlottier dispensed cider and good most actually and in truth to her the great sea, wine at twopence a bottle, and from whence upon the shores of which we say we are as chil- Pierre's granddaughter, with angry, dogged eyes, dren playing with the pebbles. It was her had fetched him away on more than one occaformula. Her prayers went out unconsciously sion: a terrible apparition in her beauty and her toward the horizon, as some pray looking to- indignation. The children themselves would ward heaven, in the words which their fathers fly before her on such occasions, and they were have used; and some pray by the pains they generally her best friends. suffer; and some by the love which is in them; Reine was one of those people wlhose inner and some, again, without many words, pray in life works upon their outer life, and battles with their lives and their daily work, but do not often it. She had inherited her mother's emotional put into actual phrases and periphrases the story nature, and her father's strong and vigorous of their labors, and weariness, and effort. The constitution. She was strong where her mothother children on the shore are sometimes at va- er had been weak. She had thoughts and inriance with these latter in their play; for while tuitions undreamt of by those among whom she they are all heaping up their stores of pebbles, lived. But things went crossways with her, and and stones, and shells, and building strange fan- she suffered from it. She was hard and rough tastic piles, and drawing intricate figures upon the at times, and had not that gentleness and opensand, and busily digging foundations which the ness which belong to education and to culture. 44 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. Beyond the horizon dawned for her the king- bien, Madame Marteau, am I to have Josette dom of saints and martyrs, for which her moth- to-day to come and play with the little chicker before her had longed as each weary day ens?" went by; the kingdom where, for the poor wor- Josette was Reine's goddaughter, who had an, the star-crowned Queen of Heaven reigned been christened Josephine Marine Reine des with pitiful eyes. Reine did not want pity or Cieux, after her "marraine." She was a tiny compassion as yet. She was a woman with love little girl, with two round eyes, and a little tight in her heart, but she was not tender, as some black cap tied under her chin, and a little black are, or long-suffering; she was not unselfish, as stuff pinafore and trowsers to match. Reine others who abnegate and submit until nothing was fond of the child, and charming with her. remains but a soulless body, a cataleptic subject She was one of those people who are like angels mesmerized by a stronger will. She was not when they protect and take care of others, and humble, easily entreated, unsuspicious of evil. who are hard, ungrateful, suspicious, unjust, to The devil and his angels had sown tares enough those to whom they are obliged to look up. in her heart to spring up in the good soil thick, On this particular Sunday, while the luncheon and rank, and abundant; only it was good soil trays were steaming into the dining -room in in which they were growing, and in which the Eaton Square, with Dick driving up to the door grain of mustard-seed would spring up too, and in a hansom, and Mr. Butler still rustling the become a great tree in time, with wide-spread- Observer in his study; while Beamish and Cathing branches, although the thick weeds and pois- arine were slowly walking home from church, onous grasses were tangling in a wilderness at and little Catharine, who had preceded them, its root. was standing all by herself in the school-room, Reine on her knees, under the great arch of vacantly plaiting and unplaiting the tassel of Bayeux Cathedral, with the triumphant strains the blind, and pulling the ragged ends, and of the anthem resounding in her ears, would thinking of the future looming darkly-it was have seemed to some a not unworthy type of her last day in the dismal little bastile; and, the Peasant Girl of Domremy, in Lorraine. As now that the end was come, she looked back the music rung higher and shriller, the vibra- with a child's passion of persistence and longing tions of the organ filled the crowded edifice. to the threads and straws with which she had Priests stood at the high altar celebrating their beguiled her time-while all this was going on mysteries; the incense was rising in streams in one small corner of the world, in another fiom the censers; people's heads went bending Reine was pulling out her strong arms, and lower and lower; to Reine a glory seemed to fill lifting little Josette on to the donkey's back. the place like the glory of the pink cloud in the Josette's mother-a care-worn woman in Temple, and the heavens of her heart were un- shabby clothes-was standing in the sun, shadfolded. The saints and visions of her dim in- ing her dimmed eyes: the light dazzled poor aginations had no high commands for their Madame Marteau. Her life was spent in a votary; they did not bid her deliver her coun- sort of twilight gloom, nursing the bedridden try, but sent her home to her plodding ways and husband whose voice even now might be heard her daily task, moved, disturbed, with a gentler muttering and calling fiom an inner room. fire in her eye, and with the soft chord in her The poor woman looked on with a glimpse of voice stirred and harmonizing its harsher tone. pleasure in her sad face, grateful to Reine for Reine's voice was a peculiar one, and must carrying off the little maiden into a wholesome, have struck any one hearing it for the first bright atmosphere, where there were flowers time. It rung odd, sudden, harmonious, with a growing, and little chickens running about, and sort of jar in it, or chord. Voices of this qual- a little boy to play with sometimes, to a place ity are capable of infinite modulation. Some- where Josette expanded with delight in all the times they soften into gay yet melancholy mu- glory of childhood, instead of being dwarfed sic, like Mozart's, of which they always remind into a precocious little woman by Pere Marme; sometimes they harden into the roughest teau's railings and scoldings. and iciest of discordant accents. "Well, Josette, what does one say?" said She liked going back by herself, after the Madame Marteau. service was over, quietly across the plain. She "Bo zour, marraine," lisped Josette, hangwas strong, and the three miles to Tracy, skirt- ing her head, and pretending to be shy. ing the road and the corn-fields, were no fatigue "Josette is coming home with me," said to her, esecially in the summer, when the corn Reine, "to see Belette and Min,- and to ask was waving gold, and the blue bright flowers Petitpere to give her some bri6che," to all of and the poppies blazed among the tall yellow which propositions Josette nodded her head. stalks. Sometimes Reine would ride back on And then she said something which sounded her donkey. This was when she stopped at a like J'allonsvoirletitoto. low long house with windows opening on the "They begin soon enough," said Madame street at the entrance of the town, at the door Marteau, shrugging her weary shoulders. " She of which she would find poor Annette waiting is always talking about le petit Toto. M. Fonpatiently, tied to a ring in the wall. taine must take care...." On these occasions Reine would go to the Here, like a distant roll of musketry, came a window and call out in her kindest voice, "Eh volley of r-r-r's from the inner room. Reine THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 45 frowned and turned away. Madame Marteau the apples," said she, smiling, as the two little hastily nodded good-by and passed in, disap- creatures came tumbling and pushing through pearing into the gloom, while Reine and little the deep sea of hay. Josette rode on together through the sunlit Monsieur de Tracy from the chateau happenfields. ed to be passing along the high-road at that inJosette had her.wish, and Toto was allowed stant, and he, too, smiled good-naturedly and to come and spend the day with her. Toto's took off his hat. grandmother favored Mademoiselle Chretien, "Bon jour, Mademoiselle Chretien," he said. and never denied her requests. The two chil- "Are you not afraid of spoiling your hay?" dren dined with Reine and her father in the Reine scarcely acknowledged his greeting; great dark farm-kitchen. They had soup with she looked fierce and defiant, and gave a little bread in it, and cider, and stewed beef and cab- stiff nod, and went on reading a book. bage, and as much galette as they could eat. "Is not that M. Fontaine's little boy?" said Reine took care of them and old Chretien; she Jean, stopping and looking at the trio among poured out the cider, and went away herself to the sweet dry grasses and flowers. The chilfetch a particular dish of eggs which her grand- dren were peeping at him bright-eyed and infather liked. Dominique dined with them too. terested from a safe distance. Reine never liftThe great dog came marching in through the ed her eyes off her book: "Marie, qui avez open door; the cocks and hens came and peep- mene une vie simple et laborieuse, priez pour ed at them. Outside it was all sunny and still; moi afin que j'apprenne a me contenter de peu inside there was galette and two pretty little de chose et a travailler selon les devoirs de ma plates and tumblers for the children to use, and condition," she was murmuring to herself, and all Reine's treasures-brooches, and rosaries, she did not cease her pious exercise until M. de and reliquaries-for them to play with after Tracy had walked on. dinner, and Reine herself bustling about with "I wonder why that girl always behaves so her gold earrings bobbing as she bent over the strangely?" thought Jean, as he walked away. table. But she was silent, although she at- "Can my mothershave vexed her in any way? tended to them all, and she looked at the door I must ask my wife." once and sighed. Madame Jean held up her pretty little hands Old Chretien joked her, and asked Domi- at the question. nique what was the matter. Reine answered "Mon ami, it is not I who would like to anshort and quick. For one thing, the thought swer for what your mother may or may not of that poor woman's wretchedness oppressed have said," laughed she. her. "I name no names because of the chil- But Madame de Tracy had said nothing, and dren," she said, "but it seems to me it must be indeed she was a favorite with the people all like a hell upon earth to be chained to wild about. They laughed at her flightiness and exbeasts, as some women are." pansiveness, mistrusted her promise, but they "And that is why she don't marry," said could not help liking her. Reine took to her old Chretien to Dominique, filling his glass. more kindly than to the rest of the family; all "Well, we all please ourselves! I have seen her worst self would come up when she was more than one ill-assorted couple in my time. brought in contact with these people, who came. Here in this very room..." stepping down from their superior grandeur to Reine flushed up. "Now, children, make be intrusively civil to those who did not want haste," she said, in her harsh, quick voice. them. "What does he mean by his Mademoi"Dominique! you will be here. I shall come selle Chrdtiens, and eye-glasses, and politeback in an hour. Petitpere, here is your pipe ness?" thought the foolish girl. "I know well already lighted." And then, taking one child enough at what rate he holds us, and I try to by each hand, she dragged them away across tell him so in my way." Reine was not a bad the great deserted-looking court, and out at the girl, but the sight of all this prosperity turned arched gateway into the road, and into a tall her sour. "'How do you do? Take care of hay-field which skirted it. Paris, the great your hay'-Madame Jean's maddening little dog, came too, and Reine pulled a book out of nod as she trips in her Paris toilette, and Maher pocket and sank down in the hay, while demoiselle Martha's great blue eyes-it all ofthe two little things, hand in hand, swam and fends me," said Reine, cutting the matter short. struggled through the tall grasses. Their heads This was the class to which her mother beonly overtopped the hay by a very little. Toto longed. These were the men and the women made way, and valiantly knocked down a mar- who had cast her off-never forgiven her-forguerite which stood in Josette's way, and chased gotten her utterly. These were the people who away a bluebottle which frightened her with would do the same to-morrow again; who would its.noises. Josette laughed, and capered, and insult her and scorn her, as they had scorned danced on her little stout boots. her mother before her, for all her beauty, and "Oh, the waves, the waves!" cried Toto, as good blood, and wealth, if-if she were not firm a soft wind came blowing from afar, bending to a certain resolve she had made. No, she the tall grass and the flower-heads, and shak- would never marry, never, never. Not if he ing a few apples off the branches of the tree came back again and again to ask her. Rcine where Reine was sitting. "Come and fish for had an instinct about the person of whom she 46 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. was thinking. She believed that no one whom make conversation under the circumstances. she loved could help loving her; but she was Only once a sort of groan escaped her. As proud at the same time. She knew her own they were turning the corner by the church, worth, and a poor, struggling painter, with all again she came upon the whole community of his education, did not seem to her any very bril- Tracys - Jean and his wife, and his wife's liant match for an heiress like herself, with the brother and sister, and the three children runblood of the D'Argouges in her veins, and the ning on ahead. farms at Tracy, at Petitport, the oyster-parks at Old Chretien attempted a low, uncertain bow. Courseulles, the houses at Bayeux, for her dow- Reine thought she saw them smile. She gave er.' Venez, mes enfants," said Reine, shut- one fierce glance and walked on: her heart was ting up her prayer-book when the hour was beating with indignation, with pride and pasover, and leading them back by the way she sionate shame. They scorned her and her had come under the archway across the great grandfather. Their glances, their laughter court, where Paris was lying stretched out like maddened her. There she was, condemned a lion in the sun, and where Reine looked to for life to live with a few tipsy men and vulgar find her grandfather on the bench where he was dull women, who saw na shame in their husaccustomed to smoke his afternoon pipe. There bands' degradation. There were those people was only Dominique on the bench stretched out born into an atmosphere of light and refinement. on his back at full length. What had they done, what had she done, to deReine went up and shook him angrily. serve such happiness, such misery? Why was "Dominique, are you not ashamed to sleep she not like the rest of her class? Poor grandlike a sluggard? Where is Petitpere?" father-poor old man, he was only what he had Dominique sat up and rubbed his eyes. " He been taught to be from his earliest youth: his is asleep in the kitchen," said he, hazarding the servile bow to the grandees from the castle, what statement. was that but a part and parcel of the rest? She "Ah!" cried Reine, taking one step forward, turned to him with a sudden tender impulse of and looking through the barWed window, "he is pity and protection, and yet all the time a fierce not in the kitchen. You know as well as I do impatience and anger were tearing at the womwhere he is gone." an's heart; as she walked along the dusty road, While Dominique and the children were hav- she stamped her foot in the dust once. ing a game in front of the farm-gates, which "Comme elle est en colere, cette Reine," made the old place echo with Toto's screams of whispered Marion Lefebvre, who saw them laughter, Reine was marching down the little pass. "Le pauvre pere Chretien, she leads village street, tall, erect, with her terrible face him a rude life." on. Poor Reine! poor Petitpere! He was Poor Reine, she was wrong to be angry, to discoursing very happily and incoherently in be impatient, to wish for the things which only one of the little bowers at the back of the time and silent progress can bring about. Like Golden Sun. A very little of M. Pelottier's many another before her, she was a little in cider was enough to change the aspect of things advance of her days, and of the people among for poor old Chretien. He was treating every whom she lived; and the price people are conbody, and offering his granddaughter in mar- demned to pay for being somewhat ahead of riage to another old gentleman in a blouse, sit- their neighbors is a heavy one. ting at the same little table. "Je te l'accorde," said pere Chretien, "avec ses cent cinquante mille livres de rente. Mon ami Barbeau, elle est toi." CHAPTER IX. "Merci bien, mon ami," said Barbeau, thumping the little wooden table. REINE IN HER FARM-YARD. "Et Madame Barbeau, what will she think CATHARINE found herself transported, as if of the arrangement?" said a countrywoman, by magic, from the long, dreary, brick-inclosed who was sitting at the next table, looking bowers to a charming world, where vine garlands round grinning. were wreathing under cloudless skies. There Barbeau looked puzzled. "Ma femme?" was at once more light, more sound, more sentisaid he. "Le pere Chretien se charge de-tout. ment and drowsy peace in it than she had ever Buvons a sa sant!" known in all her life before. She awakened to It was at this instant that the bottle was sud- a dazzle streaming through the vine round her denly wrenched out of poor old Chretien's trem- window, and flickering upon the red brick floor bling hand, and that Reine, pale and with black of her little room; to a glitter, to a cheerful vieyes gleaming, took him by the arm in her un- bration of noises. Some one would bring her flinching gripe. a little roll and a cup of steaming coffee, and " Come," she said, with a glance of indigna- then, when she was dressed, the children would tion at the people who were grinning all round come tapping and fumbling at her door. Little about under Pelottier's little vine bower, and she Henri de Tracy sometimes attempted a rdveillee walked away back toward Tracy with her pris- upon his horn, which would be instantly suponer. Old Chretien shambled beside her in pressed by a voice outside. Nanine, who was silence; he knew her too well to attempt to nine years old, and had elegant little manners TIHE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 47 "I' i'l!,,lliti i i\ niii l \1i you come lupon these fortified abbayes, built for.I I~' ( i- "k ~Il P praying and fighting once, and ruined now, and l!!i'!;f]~ig, t~ turned to different uses. It is like Samson's riddle to see the carcass of the lions with honey flowing from them. "Out of the eater came forth meat; out of the strong came forth sweetness." There is a great archway at the farm at Tracy, with heavy wooden doors studded with nails. There is rust in plenty, and part of a moat still remaining. The hay is stacked in what was a chapel once; the yellow trusses are hanging through the crumbling flamboyant east window. There is a tall watch-tower, to which \i9/ X S +a pigeon-cote has been affixed, and low cloisters'llillll K / I ^Biki ~that are turned into out-houses and kitchens. \^l^^' l / ~ 7 ^1 i^ I The white walls tell a story of penance and ja D/ fLI' tfierce battlings, which are over now, as far as j W ^ - ^ Ki ^they are concerned. The great harvest wagons pass through the archway without unloading; i0 4- f Wl - I so do the cows at milking-time. Cocks and i _, hens are pecketing the fallen grains, the pigeons ____VI ccircle overhead suddenly white against the sky. As the children and Miss George pushed open the heavy doors and came into the wide sunny court, a figure descended the stone steps leading *~"'~, t I ] 1lll/ /:l f from the strong tower where the apples are kept. like a lady, would wish Catharine good-morning; It was Reine in her hite coiffe, who advanced and Madelaine, who was foulr and "tres raiSon'- |with deliberate footsteps, carrying an earthennable," Suzanne her nurse said, consented to be ware pan under her am, and who stood waiting kissed through the iron-work balusters of the in the middle of the great deserted-looking staircase. place until they should come up to her. The children would lead the way through the Catharine wondered whether all Normandy great dining-room, where Baptiste was hopping peasant-girls were like this one. It was a prinabout on one leg, polishing the shining floor, |cess keepingthe cows. There shestood, straight, across the terrace, through green avenues slender, vigorous; dressed in the Sunday dress gardens, looking a little neglected, but fresh with of the women of those parts, with this difference, dew, and luxuriant with flowers and fruit-trees. that instead of two plastered loops of hair like a Pumpins, carnations, and roses were growing doll's, a tay ipple flowed unde the lace of between vine-clad walls. There were bees, and her cap and low over her arched brows. As for there was an old stone well full of deep water, her eyes, they were quick, dancing gray eyes, like Jocelyn's well_-' that looked black when she was angry-clouds Dont 1a chaine rouill6e a poli la margelle, and lightning somebody once told her they were, Et qu'une vigne 6treint de sa verte dentelle. but the lightning became warm sunlight when From the terrace there was a distant view of she smiled upon those she liked. She smiled the sea-of the blue line of the horizon flashing now, for Reine was a child-lover, and even little beyond the golden corn-fields. De Tracys were welcome, as they came toward One morning Nanine said, "We are to go to her with their bunches of flowers out of the the Ferme, Miss George, to-day, with a commis- fields, and the pretty strange lady following. sion from grandmamma. We will go out at the " Who are you bringing me?" Reine asked, door in the Potager, if you'd not mind, and come "and what do you want, my children? aback the other way." It was all the same to delaine, shall I give you some milk and some Catharine, who followed her little conductors peaches?" through the kitchen-garden door out into the "Out of Josette's little menage," said Madeopen country, and along the path skirting the laine, while Henri cried out, "Oh, there is old corn-fields which spread to the sea. Henri went Paris!" and went and clasped the big dog round first, blowing his horn; Nanine loitered to pick the neck. the poppies and bleu-bleus, as she called the Nanine, meanwhile advancing very politely corn-flowers; Madelaine trotted by Catharine, and prettily, in a smart little toilette, explained holding her hand. It was like the nursery that Miss George was a demoiselle Anglaise rhyme. Miss George thought of the little boy who was staying with them, and that they had blue, only the sheep were wanting. come to request Mademoiselle Chrdtien to supFrom outside the farm at Tracy still looks ply them with butter for a few days. "Our more like a ruined fortress than a farm where cows are ill," said Nanine, shrugging her shoulmilk is sold in cans, and little pats of butter pre- ders, "and we are all but reduced to. dry pared, and eggs counted out in dozens, and pigs bread." fattened for the market. All over Normandy "There are others besides you who cat their 48 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. bread dry," said Reine; "but your grandmarm- wheat-field inclosed by four walls, against which ma can have as much butter as she likes, Ma- nectarines and apricots were ripening. The demoiselle Nanine, at the market price, since cows were all out in the meadows, but there she has money to pay for it." She did not say were a few sheep in a stable; and at last she this rudely, but rather sadly, and then she sud- brought them into the great farm-kitchen. It denly turned to Catharine, and asked her if she had been added on to the rest of the buildings; would not like some milk too. "And'so you so had Reine's own room, which was over it, are English?" Reine said, in her odd sweet and reached by stone steps from outside. voice, pushing open a door with both her hands. Petitpere was sitting at the table, eating Reine's hands were not like Madame Binaud's, bread and soup. He looked hot and tired, but two red paws which could be seen shining a he got up to make a bow and a little speech. mile off, but thin and white like a lady's. He was a hospitable and courteous old fellow, Catharine glanced at them a little curiously as whatever his other defects may have been. they lay outspread upon the oak, and she saw "Ladies, you are welcome to the farm," he said. that Reine wore a signet-ring on one finger; "Pray excuse my continuing my breakfast. I then she looked up in her face again, and Reine have been out since five o'clock in the fields, Chretien caught the glance and melted some- with the soldiers." how toward the little thing with the startled "We have not men enough to get in the look and curious soft eyesthat seemed to be harvest," Reine explained to Catharine, "and taking every thing in. The love-making of we send for the soldiers to help us." friendship is not unlike that of sentiment, and'And have you, too, been up since sunrise?" friends are friends sometimes in an instant al- Catharine asked. most, even though they may not have set the "I see it every morning of my life," said feeling to the tune of words and protestations. Reine. "I should like to show it you from our I hardly know which of these two women archway. The sea awakens first, all our anineeded the other most, when they' met by mals stir as if they knew; it is a most beautiful chance in the silent, sunny court-yard that hour," she said gravely, "and like a prayer bemorning. In after times, doubt, trouble, cruel fore the work." suspicion, pain, and jealousy came to part them, What was there about Reine Chretien that atbut they were faithful to one another through tracted and interested her so curiously? Cathit all. There was something to forgive and to arine asked herself this, and also how was it forget for each of them, but they loved one an- and why was it that the place seemed so strangeother well enough to be able to remember and ly familiar? Had she been there in some preto need no forgiveness. They suited. Some- vious existence? She turned and looked round how there was a certain affinity between them about. The window, the great cupboard, with which is priceless in friendship. It is worth all the gleaming hinges, she had seen them before the virtues, and merits, and accomplishments somewhere-she could not understand it. Peput together to people who care for one anoth- titpere went on composedly drinking his soup; er, or who ought to care. Catharine still stood in a puzzle. She had a Catharine, who had never in her life spoken silly little fancy there would be a bright brass to a Normandy peasant before, listened and pot in one of the corners, but it was not there as looked with all her eyes. There was Reine, she expected: she could not understand it at all. dressed like a doll, in flaps, and apron, and or- neine begged them to come and see her naments; but Catharine was touched and fasci- again, and stood watching them thoughtfully nated by the grave, noble face, the pathetic under the archway as they went home across voice. Alas! she was not the first Reine had the fields where the soldiers were reaping with charmed. peaceful scythes, and the corn fell against the The girl gave the children their milk out of horizon, and the figures of the gleaners with a great brass pan standing surrounded by little their golden troven treasures stood out with barrels for making butter. "Should you like garments flying against the sky. Then she to see the farm?" she asked them. "This is turned and crossed the court once more, and where we keep our cider;" and, opening a door once she stopped and pulled a letter from her into an old vaulted cellar, she showed them six pocket and read it over twice. huge butts, standing side by side, and reach- Catharine thought as she walked back that ing to the ceiling. Each one of them was morning that if she could have forgotten all large enough to drown the whole party. Na- that had passed before she came to Tracy, all nine exclaimed at their size. "They are half the people she had known, all the things she of them empty already," said Reine, laughing. had thought, she could breathe on for years "Dominique alone could drink one of those for happily enough in this fruitful country. But his supper. I don't offer you any," she said to who is there who would forget willingly what Catharine, leading them away, and locking the has gone before? There are few who would door behind her. "I know English people do not remember more if they could, if it were not like cider," and she sighed as she spoke. even the pangs they have forgotten. She went before them through many courts, As they reached the court-yard, they met opening arched doors, into store-rooms heaped Monsieur de Tracy heavily booted and gaiterwith the oily colza grain. She showed them a ed, all dressed in white, and finishing his morn THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 49 ing rounds. Monsieur Fontaine was with him, dazzling his eyes, like sunlight through the also in linen clothes. He acted as a sort of double eye-glass, and at that minute Jean agent or manager in Tracy's absence, and used moved, after patiently standing until his decoraoften to come up to talk over business and bail- tion was complete, and, alas for poor little Maifs. They all metjust inside the iron gates of delaine, all the flowers fell off him. the court-yard. Fontaine bowed profoundly to "Good-morning, Monsieur le Maire," said the pretty, fresh-looking little miss, with the Madame de Tracy, suddenly appearing at the great bunch of field-flowers in her hand, and the hall door. "Won't you stay and breakfast blue ribbons in her crisp black hair. The chil. with us?" dren clustered round their father, and Ienri "Madame," said the maire, "you are too held him prisoner while Nanine stuck poppies good. I shall be quite delighted." into all his button-holes, and little Madelaine, Catharine liked the breakfast-hour at Tracy. who could reach no higher, ornamented his They all came in cheerful and fieshly dressed, gaiters with flowers. and took their places in the long, picturesqueMeanwhile the following conversation was looking salle, with its vaulted roof and many going on: windows. The food was carefully and prettily "You have quite recovered from the fatigue served and ornamented; the white bright china of your journey, I trust?" said Fontaine. "One glittered on the table; the golden and purple need scarcely ask mademoiselle the question." fruit was heaped up bountifully. She liked to "Oui, monsieur," said Catharine, looking up look at it all from her place by Madame de shyly. Tracy, as she liked looking at Marthe's pale, "And mademoiselle has already surrounded beautiful head opposite to her, or Madame herself with flowers," said Fontaine, alluding to Jean's smart ribbons. Catharine used somethe bouquet. times to compare the scene at Tracy —the cool "Oui, monsieur," said Catharine, who did green windows, the festive-looking table, the not know what else to say. ripple of talk-to the sombre dining-room in "And I hope that mademoiselle is pleased Eaton Square, where the smoke had settled in with our country?" said Fontaine, speaking clouds upon the faded stucco walls, where Mr. both in his public and his private capacity. Butler sliced the eternal legs of mutton while "Oti, monsieur," said Catharine, with great every body sat round and watched the process originality, half laughing at her own stupidity, in silence and anxiety. and moving away toward the house, to put an Monsieur Fontaine sat next Catharine toend to such a silly conversation. day; Madame de Tracy sent them in together. It was like a scene in a play, like a picture She could not help thinking, as she followed on a fan or a bonbon box. It seemed as ifnoth- the couple, what an easy solution there might ing could be less serious. The little banality, be to all her difficulties. The little thing would the bow, the courtesy, it was a nothing, Cath- be the very wife for Fontaine-he would make arine thought, or she would have thought so had an excellent husband. It would be a home for she thought at all. To the children it was an her-the maire's admiration was evident, and instant of great anxiety: would the flowers turn- Ernestine had been too provoking that morning. ble off their papa when he moved his legs? There had been an explanation, ending as but Catharine tripped away unconscious and explanations generally end, by hopelessly conunconcerned. fusing matters. Ernestine declared with the Poor Fontaine's fate, too, was decided in that utmost liveliness that she had not room to lodge instant, when he bowed so profoundly, and a fly in her apartments at Paris, and that nothCatharine turned away with her quick little ing would induce her to have a governess in the smile. Not at Bayeux,.not at Caen, not in- house. eluding Madame la Sous-Prefette herself, was "But it is certain neither I nor your grandthere any one to be compared to this charming mother require one," said poor Madame de young Englishwoman, thought the maire. As Tracy, at her wit's end. "And we go to V for a dot, he would prefer Miss George with a on the twentieth of next month. What am I moderate sum, to Reine with all her fortune; to do? How can I tell her?" and then something told him that the English It seemed like a second inspiration to this were so orderly, such excellent housekeepers, impulsive lady when on her way to the breakcaring nothing for follies and expenses. " Toi- fast-room she happened to see the little scene lette is their aversion," thought Fontaine, re- in the court-yard. The bow, the respectful membering at the same time some of the bills look of admiration, which said nothing to Miss he had paid for. Toto's poor mother. He built George, were like signals of approaching succor a castle in the air, a Tower of Babel it was, poor to the distressed hostess. Madame de Tracy fellow, reaching to heaven. He perceived him- thought no more of parceling out the future of self passing Reine Chretien, with a lovely and two living souls than she did of matching her charmingly mannered Madame Fontaine beside cap-strings. As she sat there at the head of the him, elegantly but not expensively attired; he table, she talked, schemed, made, looked after pictured her to himself embroidering by his fire- them all, carved out destinies and chicken with side, superintending his menage. As he thought admirable precision and rapidity. "Baptiste, of Catharine, a sweet, arch, gentle glance came take this wing to Monsieur de Tracy. Marthe, D 50 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. I know it is no use offering you any. Monsieur possible Madame Fontaines in existence, and le Maire, do you prefer omelette?" certainly the most graceful and charming of them This was the first Friday that Catharine had all. There was only that unfortunate question spent at Tracy, and she saw with a thrill that of the dot to outweigh so much amiability and omelettes were being handed round, and great refinement. flowery roast potatoes and fried fish. There After breakfast every body disappeared in difwere, however, chickens too, and cutlets, of ferentdirections. The children and Miss George which, as a Protestant,.she felt bound to pal- went up into Madame de Tracy's bedroom, take. So did Jean and his grandmother. His where she had desired them to sit of a mornmother was of an amphibious persuasion, some- ing. It was a comfortable Napoleonic aparttimes fish, sometimes flesh, as the fancy took her. ment, with bureaus, and brass inlaid tables, upon She was by way of being a Protestant, but she which bonbonnieres, and liqueur-stands, and arwent to mass with her family, and fasted on rangements for sugar and water were disposed. Fridays when Marthe and Ernestine were there. A laurel-crowned clock was on the chimneyMadame de Tracy mere, as they called the old piece, over which the late M. de Tracy's silhoulady up stairs, had a dispensation. Catharine ette legion of honor and lock of hair were hangwas rather disappointed to see them all quietly ing neatly framed and glazed. The children peppering and salting the nice little dishes be- sat with their heads together spelling out their fore them, and enjoying their breakfasts. She tasks. Catharine's bright eyes glanced up and thought of her auntFarebrother's warnings; the round about the room; and out across the garscene did not look very alarming. Monsieur dens, and the vine-clad roofs of the out-houses, Fontaine, although strictly adhering to the rules the flies came buzzing. There was silence and laid down by his church, managed to make an a scent of ripe fruit from the garden. Suddenexcellent repast, attending at the same time to ly, with a swift pang, she remembered that it his companions' wants, and passing salt, and was a week to-day since she had said good-by pepper, and sugar with great empressement and to Rosy and Totty, and to Dick. The three gallantry. Catharine herself, before breakfast names used to come together somehow in her was over, became conscious of his devotion, and, thoughts. A week already since she had bade I am sorry to say, was woman enough to be him a hasty farewell at the door of a room with amused and not displeased by it. Once she every body standing round... She could not caught Madame de Tracy's glance; there were bear to think of it, she thought, as she began to no frozen looks now to chill and terrify. "I recall every expression, every sound, every asam determined I will speak to him on the sub- pect of that instant, which had been to her like ject immediately after breakfast," Madame de Mohammed's, and which had seemed to last for Tracy was thinking. a thousand years. " Monsieur le Maire, I want to show you my The last few days had been so sunny, so easy, new plantation. Ernestine, little Madelaine is so harmonious a medley of sweet summer weathlonging for a bunch of grapes. Baptiste, has er, and gardens and grapes, and lively talk, that Madame de Tracy melre's breakfast been taken Catharine had been too much absorbed to dream. up?" People do not dream when theyare happy. For " Madame desires a little more chicken," said the last few days she had remembered without Baptiste, respectfully. " Mademoiselle Picard bitterness. Life seemed to have grown suddenhas just come down to fetch some; also a little ly bearable, and almost easy once more. If she Burgundy wine, and an egg, and some figs." had known how short a time her tranquillity Catharine used to wonder at the supplies was to last, she might have made more of it perwhich were daily sent up from every meal to haps, and counted each minute as it passed. this invisible invalid. She had seen the shut- But she did not know, and she wasted many of ters of her rooms from without, but she never them as she was doing now, as we all do, in penetrated into the interior of the apartment unavailing hankering and regrets-precious litwhich Madame de Tracy wnere inhabited. Once tie instants flying by only too quickly, and piping or twice, in passing, she had heard a hoarse voice to us very sweetly, and we do not dance. Looklike a man's calling Picard or Baptiste (they ing back, one laments not so much the unavoidwere the old lady's personal attendants); once able sorrows of life as its wasted peace and hapCatharine had seen a pair of stumpy velvet shoes piness, and then more precious minutes pass in standing outside her door. That was all. Old remorse for happiness wasted long ago. Madame de Tracy was a voice, an appetite, a "I wonder what grandmamma is talling to pair of shoes to Catharine, no more. Monsieur Fontaine about?" said Nanine, standEvery body is something to somebody else. ing on tiptoe and peeping out. "Look, Miss Certain hieroglyphics stand to us in lieu of most George, how they go walking up and down the of our neighbors. Poor little Catharine herself allee verte." was a possible storm and discussion to some of "Monsieur Fontaine seems very much exthe people present-to Marthe, a soul to be cited," said Catharine, smiling, as Fontaine besaved; to Madame de Tracy, a problem to be gan gesticulating suddenly, and stopped short solved and comfortably disposed of; to Monsieur in his walk to give more emphasis to what he Fontaine, carried away by his feelings, the un- was saying. conscious Catharine appeared as one of the many If she could have heard what he was saying! THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 51 CHAPTER X. nice flowers you have got in your garden! Will you give me one of them?" X BOUQUET OF MARGUERITES. "Papa and I water them every evening," said ABOUT this time one or two people came oc- Toto, picking a slug-eaten specimen and holdcasionally to stay in the house for a night or ing it up. "I have a little watering-pot of my two: the De Vernons, who were neighbors, own." young Robert de Coetlogon, Ernestine's broth- The sea looked so blue, the shutters so green, er, and others from time to time. Catharine the sunlight so yellow, the marguerites so brildid not see very much of them; they came and liant, that Catharine's eyes were dazzled, and they went without any reference to her. Ma- she scarcely noticed the curious, dissatisfied dame de Tracy was very kind to her always. glances old Madame Mdrard was casting in her Even Madame Jean had melted, and got to like direction. Madame de Tracy, however, saw the bright-faced little thing, although she never them, and quickly hurried Catharine away, for altered her vexatious determination to admit no fear she should be frightened by this somewhat governess into her house. Madame de Tracy alarming person. had begged that Catharine might not be told. "Pray tell Monsieur le Maire we asked for She did not want the poor child to be unneces- him," said Madame de Tracy, as they walked sarily distressed, and she looked so happy and away, bowing, and forcing herself to be civil to comfortably settled, that it seemed a shame to the old lady of the chalet. disturb her, when, perhaps, every thing, might For Fontaine himself Madame de Tracy bearrange itself smoothly, and without any expla- gan to feel almost a sentimental interest. She nations. Madame de Tracy used to take Cath- looked upon him from an entirely new point of arine out sometimes. One day they drove to view; a bore no longer, but a hero of romance, Bayeux, with its cathedral towers, and winding an enthusiastic and disinterested lover. Mastreets, and jewelers' shops all twinkling. An- dame de Tracy felt that if she were Catharine, other day they went to Petitport: the fishwives nothing in the world would be more delightful looked up grinning and nodding as the lady of to her than a marriage with Monsieur Fontaine. the manor passed by. " Do you see the pretty "Handsome, amiable, warm-hearted, a good man little chalet on the cliff overlooking the sea?" of business, musical, universally respected; it is said Madame de Tracy, pointing to the little a piece of good fortune I never dared hope for," house with the pink.curtains, and all its wooden said the chatelaine to herself. "I should like balconies and weather-cocks. "That is where the marriage to take place, if possible, before Fontaine lives. Is it not a charming little the 15th of next month. It was too absurd of place? I have to speak to him. We will leave Sarah Butler to alarm me so unnecessarily about the ponies down here at Pelottier's." And Ma- Dick. One might be very comfortable in that dame de Tracy put the reins into some idler's nice house ofFontaine's," said Madame de Trahands, and panted up the cliff, too busy, and cy, aloud. "Don't you think so, Catharine?" preoccupied, and breathless to glance at the sap- " Oh yes," said Catharine, not knowing what phire sea at her feet. she was saying. Fontaine was not at home, but an old gentle- Another time Madame de Tracy suddenly man's head was to be seen through one of the asked her how she should like to pass her life windows, and a fat old lady with mustaches was among them always. Catharine thought that sitting in the garden with her hands on her two she was speaking of her as a governess, and knees, and her feet on a footstool, and Toto was said, with grateful effusion, "You are so good galloping round and round the little gravel to me; I am more happy with you than I could path. be with any body else. I almost forget I am a "My son is out, unfortunately, Madame la governess." Comtesse," said the old lady, bowing from her "My dear child, I meant how should you seat to Madame de Tracy, who remained outside like to settle down among us and marry?" said the gate. "He will be in despair when I tell Madame de Tracy, apparently unconcerned. him you passed this way," she added, stiffly. "I shall never marry," said Catharine, turn"I hope you are well, Madame Merard," said ing away disappointed, with a wistful, perplexed Madame de Tracy, willing to propitiate. "Your look in her eyes. son gives me news of you fiom time to time. Madame de Tracy did not press the subject, What a charming little habitation this is!" but she went on asking Fontaine to breakfast "They offered us five hundred fiancs a month and dinner, until Ernestine declared it was quite for it only yesterday," said Madame Mdrard, intolerable, and even Marthe gently remonstrawith dignity. "I do all I can to prevail upon ted. Charles to let it. Rents are enormous just now. Catharine looked happy and contented, but One should make one's profit when one can. presently, while all was going on as usual, there But Charles will not hear reason." came a secret change. Outside every thing was Meanwhile Toto and Catharine were making the same, inside it was all different. These two acquaintance. The little boy had come up to existences side by side, "l'ame et la bete," as look at the pretty lady his papa had told him De Maistre calls them, seem sometimes to lead about; and Catharine, bending over the low two lives almost apart, leading in different dirailing and holding out her hand, said, "What rections with different results. Do they in their 52 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. differences supplement one another, one is some- book fall on the table, and the poor little heart times tempted to ask, and keep the balance gave a great leap, and began throbbing and even? In one calm and uneventful existence, crying aloud in its own language. If Catharine angels may know of terrible tragedies, of happi- had seen Dick himself she might have been less ness, and overwhelming misfortune, scarcely ac- moved. A calm belongs to certainty which knowledged even by the " bete" itself; whereas does not come when there is only a hint, a posanother life, outwardly hopeless, deserted, un- sible chance, an impossible disappointment in successful in every thing, may from within have store. "Was he coming? Oh, was he coming, won all the prizes that seemed to have failed it. perhaps?" When Catharine had been a little time at Catharine could not herself have told you how Tracy, when she began to know her way about it was that she recognized his handwriting in an the house, and the vine-grown garden, and along instant among all the others. She had only the hedgeless paths to the sea, to the farm, to once seen his initials on the fly-leaf of a bookthe church; narrow paths skirting the fields, but she knew it-she did not need the English dust-blown, fringed with straggling flowers and post-mark to tell her whence the letter came: scattered with stones-when she had tasted her here was his writing, and she might not read fill of the grapes that were sweetening upon the it; here was a secret he himself had closed and walls, when she had gathered handfuls of the sealed against her. His thoughts, his words, flowers that were growing all about the gardens were there, but they were not for her. It and courts in a sweet yet disordered luxuriance seemed to her suddenly as if the thing in the -when all this had grown familiar, she began whole world that she most longed for was that to turn away from it all, and look back once letter-even more than to see him again. Did more toward the past which was already begin- it come straight from the river-side? She rening to glow with a distant radiance. It was membered a table in the studio, where books, like some one dazzled for a little by a sudden and loose papers, and envelopes were lying: illumination who begins to see clearly again- was that where it was written? She longed to more clearly, alas! than before. take it up and to read the post-mark, and to look She had met Reine once or twice in her walks, at the stamp upon the seal. With a sudden and had promised to go and see her. movement like a child's, she put her hands be"'I shall look out for you every day until you hind her to keep them out of temptation, and come," said Reine, in her odd, jarring voice, then, poor little foolish, foolish thing, she bent that sometimes began harshly, and ended in a suddenly forward and touched it with her lips. pathetic cadence. "It is not often that any A minute afterward she would have given, one comes to see me that I care for." oh, how much! not to have done this. She sat Reine had, like others infinitely wiser and there in scorn with her own weakness, angry better than herself, to pay a certain penalty of with herself, indignant; the red and white loneliness and misapprehension which seems to flames were still coming and going in her be the doom of all those who live upon the cheeks when Madame de Tracy came bustling mountain'tops. Catharine, too, was lonely in into the room, followed by the inevitable M. her way, and the country girl's cordial sym- Fontaine, who had just arrived. pathy was very grateful and sweet to her. But "This is the only punctual person in the Catharine was lonely from outward influences, house, Monsieur le Maire," said Madame de and not from inner causes. Poor little soul, it Tracy, smiling and nodding at Catharine as she was not for the mountain tops that she longed. spoke, and then she went straight up to the letAny green valley, any fertile, tranquil. plain, ters, and then she looked up curiously at Cathawould have contented her, if she could only rine a second time, and caught the girl's odd, have seen the shadow of one person falling wistful glance, and saw her suddenly change across it and advancing toward her. color. As for Fontaine, he thought he had One Sunday evening-it was the day after never seen Miss George in greater beauty. "If she had called at the chalet-Catharine came she were dressed by one of our first modistes in down dressed for dinner before any body else. Caen," thought Monsieur Fontaine, " not MaShe came into the drawing-room. It was dame la Sous-Prefette herself would present a empty, and one lamp only was standing upon more distinguished appearance." He took a a table, and casting its circlet of light upon the chair amid sat down opposite to her in the lampcloth. It lit up a card-rack, and Madame de light, and began thanking her for her kindness Tracy's paroissien with its golden cross, and to his little boy the day before. some letters which had just arrived by the post, "Toto has been talking of you ever since, and which had been left there by the servant. mademoiselle," said Monsieur le Maire. "His Catharine had a book in her hand (it was Eu- grandmother and I had some difficulty in pregenie Grandet, which M. de Tracy had lent her), venting him from quitting his bed to accompany and she. walked quietly across the dark room to me here to-night. Toto has a great deal of the light, and knelt down by the table to read, character, poor little fellow," sighed Fontaine, as she had a trick of doing when she was alone, with real kindness and tenderness. "He has But she did not open her novel: in an instant no mother, and one is always afraid of not being she saw one letter lying there with the others, gentle enough with him. I am afraid we are and she started with a sort of shock, and let the not quite so decided as we ought to be." THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 53 It was impossible not to like Fontaine when They seemed to drop the subject by tacit he talked about his little son. This man was consent. Ernestine asked no more questions. genuinely and unaffectedly kind- hearted and Catharine's heart gave one more flutter, and affectionate. He was absurd, prosy, fussy; he sank down and down. Ah! why would they had all sorts of tiresome peculiarities, but he not at least talk, and say what they meant. This was incapable of a harsh or unkind action. was all she was to know. This was all the Madame de Tracy opened her letters, and uncertainty: all her life she might expect no read them one by one. Catharine answered more-nothing else. This horrible instinct of Fontaine from beyond the sea, as it were; from what they were thinking was her only certainty. the river-side, from the quaint old studio; lis- To Catharine, the sight of the letter had brought tening to some one else the whole time, to a every thing back with a rush. Poor little thing, distant music, playing across all the days that she had thought her house was swept and garhad passed since she heard it. nished, and here were seven devils worse than Every body began to enter the room. "Noth- the first who had taken possession. It was an ing for me?" said Ernestine, coming in, in a absurdity, a childishness, but she longed for that marvelous shimmering toilette. "It is too pro- letter. The sudden conviction that for all her voking! people never write-Jean sends me a life she should have no right even to read what telegram when he goes away... Isn't this he had written, even to ask a question or to from Dick?" she continued, looking over her speak his name, was a sort of passing torture. mother-in-law's shoulder. "What does he It lasted until dinner was announced, some ten say?" minutes after. It seemed like an hour of agony "We will talk it over another time," said to Catharine, there in the lamplight, sitting in Madame de Tracy, in a constrained sort of way her muslins as if nothing had happened. It was -and she handed the letter to Ernestine. nonsense; and yet she suffered as keenly as "He asks for fricandeau!" said Ernestine, from any of the certainty that came to her later. looking puzzled. From his hand it was easy to bear any blow; "Poor little prodigal!" said Jean, laughing but to be parted by others. kindly, and in his turn beginning to read. " Permit me, mademoiselle, to have the honQueen's Walk, Sept. 1 or," said Monsieur le Maire, offering his arm. IMY DEAR AUJNT,-I have been working very Catharine suddenly felt as if she hated poor hard, or I should have written to you before. Fontaine, ambling and complimenting beside There is a bit of the cliff at Petitport which her, as if it was a cruel mockery of fate to come must come into my picture, and I am thinking with this absurd compromise to jeer at her and of running over before the wedding. Will you turn her into ridicule. She had never before take me and my canvas for a day or two, and felt so sure of poor Fontaine's admiration, and once more prepare the fricandeau for your af- never thought of it so seriously. All dinnerfectionate R. B. time she was silent; she turned from him —she P.S.-Uncle Charles has been buying some lwas almost rude. He had never before seen wonderful sherry, he says. Hervey is gone on her so little amiable, so inattentive. a walking tour with Francis. The affair is set- Monsieur Fontaine departed early in the eventied for the 9th. ing, very crestfallen and out of spirits. For the first time in his life he told himself his heart This was the letter Jean de Tracy read in si- was really touched. He was humble, as most lence. Madame de Tracy for once looked stern, vain people are, and he alternated from absurd and glanced meaningly at her son as he return- complacency to utter despondency. Never uned it. She folded it up without a word. til now had he felt like this about any one. His Catharine's troubled manner, Dick's proposal first wife was a small heiress, and the match had to return so soon again, had filled her with been purely one of convenience. For Reine, a vague alarm once more. Dick might be uncon- terrified fascination induced him reluctantly to scions, serious, amusing himself with a passing come forward at his mother's suggestion; but flirtation-it was impossible to say what he was Catharine's gentleness charmed and touched about. He had certainly declared once that him at once. Here was a person he could Miss George was nothing to him,but it was understand and sympathize with. He longed well to be on the safe side. "We must make to protect her, to make some great sacrifice for some excuse to keep him away a little longer," her, to bring her home proudly to his chalet thought Madame de Tracy. She wanted to be and garden, and to say, "All this is yours; a good genius to all these people. She liked only love me a little and be good to Toto." managing, arranging: she meant rather well: " My excellent mother will regret her want of it was convenient to dispose of Miss George, fortune," thought Fontaine. "Alas! who knows and amusing to occupy herself with these senti- whether she will ever have the occasion to do mental matters. How bitterly she regretted so. And yet," said the maire to himself, with afterward the irreparable work she had accom- a certain simple dignity, "that child might do plished! The good lady disquieted herself a worse than accept the hand of an honest man." good deal at one time as to whether she had not, He did not go into his chalet through the kitchperhaps, materially interfered with the plans of en as usual, but walked down the garden to his Providence. "cabane," a small wooden sentry-box facing 54 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. the sea. It had been erected at the bottom of the fruit, sweet, and ripe, and tempting to her the sloping embankment for the convenience of lips, and to whisper at the same time cruel bathing. A little heap of white stones that warnings: "This is for others, not for you. Toto had placed upon the seat were gleaming This is for the other Catharine, who does not in the darkness. Fontaine pushed them care- very much care-this will be for him some day fully into one corner, and then sat down and when he chooses. Do you wish? You may smoked one cigar after another until quite late wish, and wish, and wish, you will be no nearin the night. er; put out your hand, and you will see all these Meanwhile the drawing-room of the chateau beautiful purple, sweet peaches turn into poisonwas still lighted up. Some one had been sing- ous berries, bitter and sickening. And yet I ing, the others had been dancing, but Catharine did not go after it," thought the girl, with a would not join them. Poor child, was the mu- passionate movement. "Why does this come sic of her life only to be for other people to dance to me, crossing my path to distract, to vex, to to? Were her dreams of love to be so cruelly bewilder?" Catharine was but a child still: realized? Fontaine, with all his devotion, at- she leaned over the old moss-grown parapet of tention, conversation, was not as much alive to the well and let her tears drop deep, deep into Catharine as that one little bit of paper in Ma- it. What a still passage it was down into the dame de Tracy's pocket. cool heart of the earth. She heard a fresh Catharine was standing ready in the hall next bubble of water rippling at the bottom, and she morning when the children came running up to watched her tears as they fell sparkling into the her. She had awakened late, refreshed by a dark silent depths. "Nobody will find them long dreamless sleep, and she thought she had there," she said to herself, smiling sadly at the shaken off the vivid impressions of the night be- poor little conceit. "I will never cry again if fore. But how relentlessly people are pursued I can help it, but if rcan not help it I will come in life by any idea which has once taken posses- here to cry." sion of them! Every thing seems to suggest And yet this poor little hopeless, sorrowful and bring it back: the very stones cry out; we love of Catharine's was teaching and educating open a book, and we read something concern- her, although she did not know it. She was ing it; chance people speak of it to us; even only ashamed of it. The thought that they the children in their play told Catharine that suspected it, that it was no chance which had she was alone, and had neither home nor friend caused them all to avoid Dick's name so careto shield her. The children went into the fully, made her shrink with shame. The poor kitchen-garden, and Miss George followed them little wistful, silly thing, with the quick little there. fancies and warm tender heart, was changing Catharine sat down on the side of the old day by day, making discoveries, suddenly unwell; the vines were creeping up the iron bars, derstanding things she read, words people spoke. the grapes were hanging between the leaves. The whole pulse of life seemed to be beating There was one great ripe bunch dropping more quickly. Something had come into her against the sky, painted purple upon the blue. face which was not there a year ago. She was A few wasps were floating drowsily; a bird flew thinner, and the moulding of her two arched swiftly by, glancing down for one instant with brows showed as it had not done before. Her its bright sleepy eye. There was again that little round mouth was longer and more finely scent of fruit and indescribable sweetness in the drawn; her eyes looked you more straightly in air. As she sat there, Catharine began to feel the face through their soft gloom. She got up, as if she had known it all from the beginning. hearing voices and footsteps approaching: it It was like that strange remembrance in the was the children, who came running along the farm-kitchen, only less vivid. It was all very pathway. sweet and lovely; but she thought, with a sud- Henri was holding a great big nosegay, done den thrill, that the ugliest London street along up in stamped paper. It was chiefly made of which Dick Butler had walked would be more marguerites, sorted into wheels, red, white, to her than this. orange, violet. It was a prim-looking offering, Was she never to see him again? ah! was with leaves and little buds at regular intervals, she never to see him again? And as she as Nature never intended them to grow. thought this, his face seemed to go before her "This is for you!" cried little Henri, trieyes. They had been singing a little song the umphantly. "This beautiful big bouquet. night before at the chateau, Toto and M. Fontaine have brought it. You " Si vous n'avez rien A me dire, pourquoi venir aupr6s de will let me smell it, won't you?" moi?" " The flowers are magnificent," said Nanine, itwent. Dreams said nothing to her now. She following panting and indignant. "M. Fonlooked at them in a sort of despair as they went taine confided them to me; but Henri seized it by. and ran away. I do not like rude little boys." "Why does he come, why does he come?" "You must tell Monsieur Fontaine I am very sighed the little thing, clinging to the iron much obliged to him," said Catharine. "And crank. " Why am I haunted like this?" She you can put it in water if you like, Nanine." felt as if it was cruel-yes, cruel of Fate to "You must thank him yourself," said the litmock her and tempt her thus; to have brought tie girl, walking beside her. "I know you like THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 55 marguerites. You wore some in your hair last nose. Little Josette and Toto, hand in hand, night. They look pretty with your white mus- were wandering up and down. Toto was maglin dresses." nificent in Sunday clothes. " Voyez comme Catharine followed the children sadly, walk- Toto est beau," said Josette, pointing with her ing under the song of birds and the glimmering little finger and forgetting to be shy in her exgreen branches. She would have escaped, but citement. Reine was preparing a basketful of Madame de Tracy, with Monsieur Fontaine and provisions in the kitchen-cream in a brass can, Toto, came to meet them; the chatelaine was roast apples, galette, salad and cold meat, all calling out cheerfully and waving her parasol. nicely packed in white napkins, also a terrinee Fontaine sprang forward. He looked spruce or rice pudding for the children, and a piled-up as usual in his white linen dress; his Panama dish full of ripe figs and green leaves and grapes was in his hand; he wore a double eye-glass for dessert. Toto's Sunday clothes looked like like Jean de Tracy. "We are proud, made- a holiday expedition. His grandmother pleased moiselle, that you honor us by accepting the herself by inventing little costumes for him. produce of our little garden," said Fontaine. On this occasion he wore what she called a tur"Toto and I cultivate our flowers with some ban ecossais. This Scotch turban was ornamentcare, and we feel more than repaid..." ed by long streamers, glass buttons, and straw "Thank you," interrupted Catharine, me- tassels. He also wore a very short jacket and chanically. She spoke, looking away over the trowsers of the same magnificent plaid. His wall at some poplar-trees that were swaying in hair was cropped quite close, so as to make his the wind. It brought with it a sound of the sea head look smooth and round like a ball. Toto that seemed to fill the air. himself was much pleased with his appearance, "Accustomed as you must be to the magnifi- and gazed at his reflection approvingly in a tub cent products of your Chatswors and Kieus," of dirty water which was standing in a corner said Fontaine, "our poor marguerites must of the court. seem very insignificant. Such as they are, we "They will take me for a soldier, Josette," have gathered our best to offer you." said he, strutting about. He said it almost pathetically, and Catharine "Come in, come in," cried Reine from her was touched. But how oddly people affect and kitchen to Catharine, who was standing uncerchange one another. This shy, frightened little tain where to go. girl became cold. dignified, absent in Monsieur A very odd and unexpected little revelation Fontaine's presence, as she stood enduring rath- was awaiting Miss George (at least, so she er than accepting his attentions, thought it) as she came, with eyes dazzled by'Thank you. They are very pretty," she the sunny court, under the old stone porch into repeated; "but I am sorry you should have the dark kitchen, where Reine was standing, gathered your best for me." and where Petitpere had been eating his breakfast the time before. The odd-shaped shuttles ~*~ —o —- ~ for making string were hanging from the ceil.ing and swaying a little in the draught from the CHAPTER XI. open door. There was the brass pan in the corner, which she had looked for; suddenly she recognized it all, the great carved cupboard with A CERTAIN expedition had long been arranged the hinges, the vine window looking across the for the next day. The ladies wanted to shop, blazing fields! Now she remembered in an inTracy had business in Caen. They were all to stant where, and when, and how it was she had go over and dine at the hotel, and come home first seen Reine in her farm-kitchen-how could in the evening. Catharine begged Madame de she have ever forgotten? Here was the picture Tracv to leave her behind. She was shy and Dick had shown her on his easel, only it was out of spirits, and was glad when the elder lady alive. The shuttles swayed, the light flickered acceded. Nanine and Henri were carried off; on the brazen pan, one of the cupboard doors only Madelaine, Catharine, and the invisible was swinging on its hinges, and Reine herself, Madame mere were left at home. In the si- with no hard black lines in her face, only smiles ]ence of the house Catharine heard the deep and soft changing shadows, came forward, tall, voice resounding more than once. and bright, and kind, to meet her. So Dick had Miss George went out soon after breakfast, been here before her, and painted his picture leaving Madelaine with her nurse as usual. She here where she was standing. When this little remembered her promise to Reine, and there was revelation came to her, Catharine, who had been something cordial and cheering in the French- attracted before, felt as if she loved Reine now woman's kindness. The thought of the farm for something more than her own sake. This was always connected with brightness in Catha- was the explanation-it was all natural enough rine's mind, and immediately after breakfast she as she came to think of it, but it struck her like;et off along the fields to see her friend. Some- a miracle almost, worked for her benefit. She thing was evidently contemplated at the farm. seized Reine by the arm; all the color came A cart was waiting in the court-yard as Catha- rushing into her cheek. "Now I know where rine walked in; Dominique was standing at the I have seen you," she cried. "Ah! Reine, how old mare's head and affectionately rubbing her strangely things happen!" 56 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. "What do you mean?" said Reine, with a then she had had a drop of water, poor little quick matter-of-fact glance as she shut down the fool, when she did not expect it. Reine smiled cover of the basket. to see her so gay, and then sighed as she thought Catharine went on, looking all about the of former expeditions to the Deliverande. place. "When' did Mr. Butler paint you?- The old farm stood basking in the sun. The used you to sit to him?-was it not a beautiful cart rolled on, past stubble-fields and wide horipicture? He showed it to us in his studio." zons of corn, and clouds, and meadow-land; the "It was like the kitchen," said Reine, not St. Claire was over, and the colza had been reapseeming much surprised, with another odd, re- ed. They passed through villages with lovely served glance at Catharine. " I didn't think it old church towers and Norman arched windows. very like me. I wanted him to paint the court- They passed acacia-trees, with their bright scaryard and the archway, with Dominique and Pe- let berries, hanging low garden walls. They titpere on the bench. A kitchen is always a passed more farms, with great archways and kitchen. Mademoiselle, howl wish you were brilliant vines wreathing upon the stone. The coming with us to-day," she said, in another distance was a great panorama of sky, and corn, tone. "We are going to the chapel of the and distant sea. The country folks along the Deliverande." road cried out to them as they passed, "Vous Catharine did not answer; she had not done voila en route, pere Chretien," " Amusez-vous with her questions. Here at last was some one bien," and so on. Other carts came up to them to whom she could talk without exciting sus- as they approached the chapel, and people went picion. Any one may speak of a picture in an walking in the same direction. They passed unconcerned tone of voice, of Miss Philomel's little roadside inns and buvettes for the conventalent for music, of Strephon's odd-shaped crook, ience of the neighbors, and here and there little or Chloris's pretty little lambs, but they should altars. Once, on the summit of a hill, they choose their confidantes carefully. Let them came to a great cross, with a life-size figure nailbeware of women of a certain age and senti- ed upon it. Two women were sitting on the mental turn; let them, above all, avoid persons stone step at its foot, and the cloud-drifts were also interested in music, and flocks, and shep- tossing beyond it. It was very awful, Cathaherds' crooks, or woe betide any one's secret. I rine thought. think if Catharine had been quite silent, and An hour later she was sitting in the chapel never mentioned Dick's name, Reine would by of the Deliverande.- In a dark, incense-scented degrees have guessed as much as she did the in- place, full of flames, and priests, and music, and stant the little girl spoke Miss George herself crowding country people, a gorgeously dressed was not deficient in quickness, but she was pre- altar was twinkling and glittering in her eves, occupied just now. where the Virgin of the Deliverande, in stiff "How little I ever thought I should really embroideries, was standing, with a blaze of taknow you," said Catharine. pers burning among the fresh flowers. Voices "That is how things happen," said Reine. of boys and girls were loudly chanting the hymn "It has been a great pleasure and happiness to the Virgin in the darkness behind it. Cathto me. Mademoiselle, you have not said No. arine had groped her way in the dazzling obWill you not honor us by coming to-day? It scurity to some seats, and when she could see might amuse you to see the chapel. They say she found the children side by side in front of that to-day any thing is accorded that one asks her, and she saw Reine on her knees, and Petitfor there. They say so to make people come pere's meek gray head bowed. One other thing perhaps," added the skeptic. she saw, which seemed to her sad and almost "Oh, Reine, what shall you ask for?" said cruel-poor old Nanon Lefebvre creeping up the Catharine, who believed every thing. centre aisle, and setting her basket onthe ground, "An explanation," said Reine, dryly. "I and then kneeling, and with difficulty kissing the have been expecting one some time. Et vous, cross let into the marble pavement in front of mademoiselle?" the altar, and saying a prayer, and slinking Catharine's color rose again and fell. "One quickly away. Poor old Nanon! the penances would never have the courage to ask for what of poverty and old age were also allotted to her. one wished," she faltered. " Yes, I should like Just over Catharine's head, on a side altar, stood to come with you. I suppose Madame de Tracy a placid saint, with outstretched arms, at whose will not mind." feet numberless little offerings had been placed "We can send a message by Dominique," -orange-flowers and wreaths of immortelles, said Reine; and so the matter was settled. and a long string of silver hearts. Catharine, Petitpere appeared, brushing his tall beaver who had almost thought it wrong to come into hat, and then clambered with strong trembling a Popish chapel, found herself presently wonderhands into his place. The two women sat oppo- ing whether by offering up a silver heart she site to one another, on straw chairs. Josette and could ever ease the dull aching in her own. It Toto had a little plank to themselves. The would have been no hard matter at this time bechildren were delighted, and clapped their hands fore her marriage to bring this impressionable at a wind-mill, an old cow, a flight of crows; so little sheep into the fold of the ancient Church. did Catharine, at their request. Something like But Monsieur le Cure of Petitport, who was of a reaction had come after her weariness, and an energetic and decided turn of mind, was THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 57 away, and the gentle old Abbd Verdier, who had But Catharine gave a sudden exclamation, taken his place for a time, did not dream of con- and put down her glass untouched. "Look! versions. Catharine changed very much after ah! look," she cried, pointing through the winher marriage, and the opportunity was lost. dow. " Who is that?" she cried out. She half Petitpire having concluded his devotions, pres- feared it was a vision that would vanish inently announced in a loud whisper that he should stantly as it seemed to have come. Who was go and see about the dejezner; he took the chil- that standing there in a straw hat, looking as dren with him. Reine and Catharine staid a she had seen him look a hundred times before? little longer. Catharine was fascinated by the It was no dream, no " longing passion unfulodd signs, the barbarous fantastic images, which filled" taking form and substance for a time. expressed the faith, and patience, and devotion It was Richard Butler, and no other, who was of these simple people. standing there in the middle of the place, look, "Venez," said Reine at last, laying a kind ing up curiously at their window. Petitpere heavy hand on Catharine's shoulder, and the two knew him directly. went out again through the porch into the white "C'est Monsieur Richard," he said, hospitadaylight. bly, and as if it was a matter of course. "Reine, my child, look there. He must come up. The inn was crowded with pilgrims, who, C'est monsieur Anglais qui fait de la peinture," whether or not their petitions were granted, he explained hastily to Catharine. "But you were breakfasting with plenty of wine and very recognize him. The English are acquainted good appetites in the quaint old stone kitchen. among each other." The cook was busy at his frizzling saucepans at Recognize him! Dick was so constantly in a fireplace in the centre. The country folks Catharine's thoughts that, if he had suddenly were sitting all about unpacking their baskets, appeared in the place of the Virgin on the high opening cider-bottles. There was a great cop- altar of the chapel, I think she would scarcely per fountain let into the massive wall, from have been very much surprised after the first which the people filled their jugs with water; a instant.'That he should be there seemed a winding staircase in the thickness of the wall led matter of'course; that he should be absent was to the upper story. the only thing that she found it so impossible "Par ici," said Petitpire, triumphantly lead- to believe. As for Reine, she sat quite still ing the way: he had engaged a private room in with her head turned away; she did not move Catharine's honor, for he had some tact, and until the door opened and Dick came in, stoophad been used to his daughter-in-law's refine- ing under the low archway. He was just as ments, and he said he thought mademoiselle usual; they might have been in Mrs. Butwould not care to dine below with all those noisy ler's drawing-room in Eaton Square Catharine people. The private room had a couple of beds thought as he shook hands first with one and in it and various pictures-of the Emperor at then with another. Austerlitz, and three shepherdesses in red bod- "Did you not know I was coming to Tracy?" ices and colored religious prints alternately; it he said to Catharine. "I found nobody there had also a window opening upon the little place, and no preparations just now, but they told me and exactly opposite the chapel where services you were here, and I got Pelottier to give me a were constantly going on. liftfor I thought you would bring me back," he Reine laid the cloth, piling up the fruit in added, turning to Reine. She looked up at the centre, and pushing the table into the win- last, and seemed trying to speak indifferently. dow. Petitpere made the salad very quickly X "You know we are going back in a cart," and dexterously, and uncorked the wine and the Reine answered harshly. cider. Reine had no fear of his transgressing "Do you think I am likely to hve been dazbefore Catharine. "If my aunts were to see zled by the splendor of Pelottier's gig?" Dick me now," thought Catharine, and she smiled asked. to herself as she thought of Mrs. Buckington's Reine did not like being laughed at. " You face of apoplectic horror at the sight of Petit- used to object to many things," she said, vexed, pere's blouse at the head of the table; of Lady and then melting. " Such as they are, you Farebrother trembling in horror of popery upon know you are welcome to any of ours." Mount Ephraim. It was amusing to watch all "Am I?" Dick answered, looking kindly at the tide of white caps and blouses down below; her. it was odd and exciting to be dining in this Catharine enviedReine at that instant. She quaint old tower, with all the people shouting had nothing, not even a flower of her own to and laughing underneath. offer Dick, except, indeed, she thought; with a It was not so great a novelty to Reine as to little smile, that great bouquet out of poor MonCatharine; she was a little silent, and once she sieur Fontaine's garden. sighed, but she was full of kind care for them If it was a sort of Miserere before, what a triall, and bright and responding. "Petitpere," umphal service was not the little evening prayshe said, "give mademoiselle some wine, and er to Catharine! They went into the chapel Toto and Josette too." after dinner for a minute or two. Sitting there "Let us drink to the health of the absent," in the darkness, she thought, silly child, that said Petitpire, solemnly. heaven itself would not seem more beautiful 58 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. with all the radiance of the crystal seas and should prize it she never expected; that he rolling suns than did this little shrine. To her should return it had never once crossed her as toPetitpere the Deliverande was alittle heav- mind. All her longing was to see him and en just now, but for Petitpere Dick's presence or hear of him, and some day, perhaps, to do him absence added but little to its splendor. There some service, to be a help, to manifest her love was Dick meanwhile, a shadowy living figure in secret alms of self-devotion, and fidelity, and in the dimness. Catharine could see him from charity. She looked up at the string of silver where she sat by Reine. How happy she was. hearts; no longer did they seem to her emIn all this visionary love of hers, only once had blems of sad hearts hung up in bitterness, but she thought of herself-that day when she sat tokens of gladness placed there before the by the well -at other times she had only shrine. thought of Dick, and poured out all the treas- Petitpere was driving, and proposed to go ure in her kind heart before him. That he back another way. The others sat face to face THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 59 as they had come. The afternoon turned gray back in the evening," cried the maire, going off and a little chilly. Reine took Josette on her and waving his hat. knee; Catharine wrapped Toto in her shawl. "Monsieur Richard, you also get down here," Dick had asked Catharine all the questions peo- said Petitpere, growing impatient at the horse's ple ask by this time. He didn't see her doubt- head, for Dick delayed and stood talking to ful face when he told her he had not waited for Reine. an answer to the letter announcing his coming. The two had been alone with Josette in the "Madame de Tracy isn't like you, Mademoi- cart for a minute. Now Richard took Reine's selle Chretien," said Dick. "She doesn't unwilling hand in his, and looked her fixedly snub people when they ask for hospitality." in the face, but he only said, "Au revoir, MaIt struck Catharine a little oddly, afterward, demoiselle Reine, is it not so?" that Dick should speak to Reine in this re- Reine seemed to hesitate, "Au revoir," she proachful tone; that Reine should answer so faltered at last, in the pathetic voice, and she shortly and yet so softly, so that one could looked away. hardly have told whether she was pleased or Catharine was safely landed down below, and angry-at the time she only thought that he heard nothing. "He came because he could was there. Yesterday she had longed for a not help it," she was saying to herself over and sight of the lines his pen had scratched upon a over again. For the first time a wild wondering paper; to-day she was sitting opposite to him thrill of hope came into her head. It was a with no one to say one word. Petitpere's short certainty while it lasted-she never afterward cut was longer than it should have been, but forgot that minute. She stood outside the iron Catharine would have gone on forever if she gate, the moon was rising palely, the evening had held the reins. All the gray sky encom- seemed to thrill with a sudden tremor, the earth passed them-all the fields spread into the dusk shook under her feet. While it lasted the cer-the soft, fresh winds came from a distance. tainty was complete, the moment was perfect. The pale yellow shield of the horizon was turn- How many such are there even in the most ing to silver. The warm lights were coming prosperous lives? This one minute lasted until out in the cottage lattices. As the evening the cart drove away. closed in, they were sprinkled like glow-worms As Catharine and Dick were walking slowly here and there in the country. Sometimes the across the court together, he stopped short. "I cart passed under trees arching black against know I can trust you, Miss George," he said. the pale sky; once they crossed a bridge with a "I-I think you must have guessed how things rush of water below. There was not much are with me," and a bright look came into his color any where, nor form in the twilight, but face. "Praydo not say any thing here. Reine exquisite tone and sentiment every where. is a thousand times too good for me," he said, They passed one or two groups strolling and with a shake in his voice, "or for them, and sitting out in the twilight as they approached they wouldn't understand; and I can't afford to Petitport, and the rushing of the sea seemed marry yet, but I know I shall win her in time. coming up to meet them at times. They were Dear Miss George, I know you will keep my all very silent. Petitpere had been humming secret. We have always been friends, have we a little tune to himself for the last half hour; not?" and he held out his hand. Dick had spoken to Reine once or twice, always "Yes," Catharine said, in a dreamy sort of in that bantering tone; to Catharine he was way, as if she wast hinking of something else. charming, gay, and kind- and courteous, and Friends! If love is the faith, then friendship like himself in short. is the charity of life. Catharine said yes very "Are you going to stay here, Mr. Butler?" softly, very gently, and put her hand into his, asked Catharine once, suddenly. and then went away into the house. There "Only a day or two," Dick said abruptly. was no bitterness in her heart, no pang of vanity "I must go back for Beamish's wedding. I wounded just then; only an inexpressible sadcame because-because I could not keep away ness had succeeded that instant of foolish, mad any longer, Miss George. Here we are at the certainty. The real depth, and truth, and sweetchateau." ness of her nature seemed stirred and brought "There is M. le Maire," cried Petitpere, pull- to light by the blow which had shattered the ing up abruptly. frail fabric she had erected for herself. But Fontaine had come down to look for Toto, when she went up stairs into her room, the first who was asleep and very tired. The turban thing she saw was the great nosegay of marecossais slid off the little nodding head as Dick guerites which the children had placed upon hauled the child to his father over the side of her table, and then she began to cry. the cart. She was quite calm when she came down "Good-night, Reine, and thank you," Cath- again. Dick tried to speak to her again, but arine said. "It has been-oh, such a happy he was somehow enveloped by Madame de day!" Tracy, who was all the more glad to see him Fontaine only waited to assist Miss George because she had written to him not to come. to jump down, to express his surprise and de- After dinner they all began to dance again, light at Mr. Butler's return, and then hurried as they had done the night before, and Marthe off with his little sleepy Toto. "I shall come went to the piano and began to play for them. 60 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. Ernestine would have liked, if possible, that all all just then as she went flying along, only as the gentlemen should have danced with her, she was turning up the dark pathway leading to but that could not be so; he was content to let the house a figure suddenly emerged into the the two little demoiselles de Vernon share in moonlight. It was no ghost. It was only Fonthe amusements. Dick came and asked Miss taine, with his eye-glasses gleaming in the moon George to dance, but she shook her head, and rays. But she started and looked back, thinksaid she was tired. The little ball lasted some ing in vague despair where she should go to esten minutes perhaps, and ended as suddenly as cape. Fontaine seemed to guess her thoughtit had begun. Marthe closed the piano with a "Will you not remain one instant with me, sigh: she had very brilliant and supple fingers, mademoiselle?" he said. "I was looking for and played with grace and sentiment; it was a you. Madame de Tracy told me I might find sort of farewell to which they had all been you here." dancing. Ernestine put one hand into her He spoke oddly. There was a tone in his husband's arm, and one into Dick's. "Come," voice she had never heard before. What had she said, dragging them out thr6ugh the open come to him? Suddenly she heard him speakwindow. ing again, thoroughly in earnest; and when peo"Jeunesse! jeunesse!" said the countess pie are in earnest, their words come strongly kindly to Catharine as the young people went and simply. All his affectations had left him; scampering and flitting across the grass and dis- his voice sounded almost angry and fierce. appeared in the winding walks of the garden. "I know that to you we country folks seem Catharine answered with a faint smile. Ma- simple, and perhaps ridiculous at times," he dame de Tracy took up the newspaper, and said. "Perhaps you compare us with others, drew her chair to the lamp, and then it was and to our disadvantage. But the day might that Catharine slid quietly out of the room, come when you would not regret having acand crept along the front of the house, and cepted the protection and the name of an honest suddenly began flying down the avenue to the man," cried Fontaine. "Madame de Tracy has straight terrace walk, from whence she could told me of your circumstances-your sisters. see the sea gleaming silver under the vast pur- You know me, and you know my son. The afple-black dome of night. It was full moon fection of a child, the devotion of a lifetime, again. All the light rippled over the country. count for something, do they not? And this at The old pots on the parapet were turned to sil- least I offer you," said Fontaine, "in all good ver. The trees shivered, and seemed to shake faith and sincerity. You have no mother to the moonlight from their twigs and branches. whom I can address myself, and I come to you, Once the far-away voices reached her through mademoiselle; and I think you owe me an anthe silence; but poor little Catharine only shiv- swer." ered when she heard them. She felt so utterly There was a moment's silence; a little wind forsaken, and out of tune and harmony in this came rustling through the trees, bringing with vast harmony, that she found herself clinging to it a sound of distant voices and laughter. Caththe old pot with the lichen creeping up the outer arine shivered again; it sounded so sad and so edge, and crying and crying as if her heart must desolate. She found herself touched, and surbreak. Poor little moonstruck creature, shed- prised, and frightened all at once by Fontaine's ding her silver tears in the moonlight; she was vehemence. In an hour of weakness he had like a little lichen herself, with her soft hands found her. "Take it, take it," some voice grasping the cold stone, and crying over them, seemed saying to her; "give friendship, since and asking them for sympathy. She shivered, love is not for you!" It seemed like a strange but she did not heed the chill; she seemed in- unbelievable dream to be there, making up her gulfed, as it were, in the great bitter sea of pas- mind, while the young people, laughing still sionate regret and shame, struggling and strug- and talking, were coming nearer and nearer. gling, with no one to help. The moon traveled Suddenly Fontaine saw a pale, wistful face in on, and now came streaming full upon the ter- the moonlight-two hands put up helplessly. race, changing every thing fantastically. The "Take me away, oh, take me away!" she said, gleam of the lamp by which Madame de Tracy with a sudden appealing movement. "I can was standing pierced through the trees. Some- do nothing for you in return, not even love times a bird stirred in its sleep; sometimes a you." dog barked in the valley. "Do not say that, my child," said Fontaine. The voices which had sounded so distant "Do not be afraid; all will be well." presently came nearer and nearer; shadows, A minute later they were standing before figures, sudden bursts of laughter, the shrill ex- Madame de Tracy. "She consents," said Fonclamations, the deeper tones of the men. Cath- taine; "you were wrong, madame. How shall arine, looking up, saw them all at the end of I ever thank you for making me know her?" the walk: she could not face them; she started and fled. The others saw the white figure flit- It was Dick who first told Reine the news ting before them. of the engagement. "I don't half like her to "It is a ghost!" some one cried. marry that fellow, poor little thing," he said. "It is Miss George, " said Dick. Reine, who was churning-she always made a Catharine had no thought but to avoid them point of working harder when Dick was present THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 61 than at any other time-looked at him over herl, l j'l,, Larrel.'I should not have done it in her ( place," she said, "but then we are different. Dick thought her less kind at that minute than 1! he had ever known her before. Love is the faith, and friendship should be the charity of life, and yet Reine in her own happiness could scarcely forgive Catharine for *? what she had done. Guessing and fearing what she did, she judged her as she would have judged herself. She forgot that she was a strong woman, and Catharine a child still in many things, and lonely and unhappy, while Reine was a happy woman now, at last, for the first time. For her pride had given way, and /i l the struggle was over. Beine, who would not I / come unwelcome into any family, who still less \ A ^ "..//////l 1'; would consent to a secret engagement, had sue- cumbed suddenly and entirely when she saw Dick standing before her again. She had not ~.. answered his letter telling her that he would I i'come and see her once more. She had vowed. that she would never think of him again. When he had gone away the first time without speaking, she had protested in her heart; but when he spoke to her at last, the protest died away on her lips, and in her heart too. And so it came first." And as she spoke Heine sent her shuttle about that these two were standing on either swiftly whirling, and caught it deftly, while Joside of the churn, talking over their own hopes sette, who had grown. up tall and pretty, stood and future, and poor little Catharine's too. by, scissors in hand, cutting the string into With all her hardness-it came partly from a lengths. sort of vague remorse-Reine's heart melted But this was long years afterward, when Cathwith pity when she thought of her friend, and arine looked back, as at a dream, to the vagTe, instinctively guessed at her story. and strange, and unreal time which had pre"'Why do you ask me so many questions ceded her marriage. There had been a quick about Miss George?" Dick said at last. "Poor confusion, a hurry, a coming and going; it child, she deserves a better fate." seemed to her like a kaleidoscope turning a.nd blending the old accustomed colors and forms ~^~~- { ~~~~of life into new combinations and patterns. Catharine had watched it all with a bewildered CHAPTER XII. indifference. She had taken the step, she was LATIC cAIRCUMSTANCE. starting on the journey through the maze of the labyrinth, she had not the heart to go back. ONCE long afterward, Catharine, speaking of There had been long talks and explanations the time before her marriage, said to Reine, which never explained, and indecisions that all "Ah! Reine, you can not imagine what it is tended one way, and decided her fate as certo have been afraid, as I have been. I am tainly as the strongest resolves. Once she had ashamed, when I think of my cowardice and been on the very point of breaking every thing want of trust: and yet I do' not know that if off; and, looking back, she seemed to see herthe time were to come again, I might not be as self again-by the sea-side, watching the waves, weak, in my foolish, wicked longing for a fan- and telling them that they should determine; cied security." or tete-&-tete with Fontaine, silent and embar"I don't know whether strong people are rassed, trying to make him understand how litmore or less to be pitied than weak ones, when tie she had to give in return for all his attentive they are in perplexity,"Reine answered, brusque- devotion. He would not, perhaps he could not, ly. "You are much mistaken if you think I understand her feeling for him? Why was she have never been afraid. I tell you, there have troubling herself? He looked conscious, elated, been days when I have been afraid of jumping perfectly satisfied; for Fontaine, like a wise over the cliff into the sea, like the swine in the man, regarded the outside aspect of things, and Scriptures, to escape from the torments of the did not disturb himself concerning their secret condemned. But we take things more at our and more difficult complications. She had ease now," said Reine, with a sigh. " One promised to be his wife. She was a charming would soon die of it, if one was always to be person, he required no more; he had even deyoung. And yet, for the matter of that," she clared that for the present he would not touch a added, glancing kindly at Catharine, "you look single farthing of the small yearly sum which to me very much as you did when I knew you belonged to her. It was to be expended as 62 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. heretofore upon the education of her sisters. visionaries like Dick. And thev are safer cornIn the holidays they were to find a home in the panions, perhaps, than others of finer nerve and chalet. Fontaine felt that he was behaving more sympathetic fibre. Catharine might have liberally and handsomely, and it added to his been heart-whole and laughing still with the satisfaction. Madame Merard groaned in ago- children in the garden if Dick Butler had beny over her snuff-box at his infatuation. That longed to the tribe of Mr. Grundys. Unluckily her son-in-law should marry again she had al- for her, he was gentle and kind-hearted, and ways expected; "but never, never, Monsieur chivalrous after a fashion. He could not help Merard, did I think him capable of a folly like being touched by helplessness and simplicity. this!" cried the old lady. Monsieur Mdrard, He had said nothing to Catharine more than who was an extremely fat and good-humored he had said to any of the young ladies of his old gentleman, tried to look as if the matter acquaintance, but the mere fact of her dependwas not perfectly indifferent to him. There ence and inequality-although he would not were but three things in life that really mat- own it-gave importance to what had no importtered; all the rest must be taken as it came; ance. It would have been truer kindness to this pvas his experience: have left her alone, for it is no longer the busiI. Your coffee should be hot in the morning. ness of knights-errant to go about rescuing damII. You should have at least five trumps be- sels in distress. tween you and your partner. And yet Dick had the gift, which does not III. Your washerwoman should not be allow- belong to all men- a gift of sympathy and an ed to starch your shirt-collars into uncomfort- intuitive tenderness. "What chance of happiable ridges. ness was there for that impressionable little That very day she had sent them home in creature with the well-meaning but tiresome this horrible condition. Monsieur Mdrard could Fontaine?" So he said to himself and to his not turn his head without suffering. That Fon- aunt one day; but Madame de Tracy only astaine should marry more or less to please Ma- sured him that he was mistaken in his estimate dame Merard seemed a trifle in such an emer- of Fontaine. It was a charming arrangement, gency. and Catharine was perfectly happy. Dick was the only person who doubted the Catharine's perfect happiness manifested itexpediency of the proposed arrangement, or, at self by a strange restlessness; she scarcely ate, least, who said as much to Catharine herself. her dreams were troubled, music would make HWe found a moment to speak to her alone in hereyes fill up with tears. " Voi hee sapete," the hall. some one was singing one evening; she could "Forgive me," he said. "I know I of all not bear it, andjumped up and went out through people have the least right to speak; hut have the open window into the night. She did not you thought well over the tremendous import- go very far, and stood looking in at them all, ane of the step you are taking. You are feeling like a little stray sprite out of the woods young enough to look for something different peering in at the happy united company assemfrom... If you wanted a home, Reine is al- bled in the great saloon. ways there... Fontaine is an excellent fel- Madame de Tracy was surprised and somelow; but your tastes are so unlike; your whole what disappointed at the silence and calmness education and way of thinking..." with which Catharine accepted her new lot in "You don't know what it is," said Catharine, life. She took the girl up into her room that controlling herself and speaking very gently; night, and talked to her for nearly an hour, "I shall have a home and some one to look congratulated, recapitulated, embraced her afto;" but her heart sank as she spoke. fectionately, and then sat holding her hand beButler himself was one of those weak-minded tween her own fat white fingers; but it was all natures that sometimes trouble themselves about in vain. Her heroine would not perform; the other concerns besides their own and those of little thing had no'confidence to give in return; their own belongings. The stalwart hero who she seemed suddenly to have frozen up; still, succeeds in life, loves his wife and his children, chill, pale, answering only by monosyllables, sior the object of his affections, his friends, his lent and impenetrable, Catharine seemed transdog, but worries himself no farther about the formed into somebody else. She was not undifficulties and sorrows, expressed and unex- grateful for the elder lady's kindness, but her pressed, by which he is surrounded. He does eyes looked with a beseeching, fawn-like glance, his day's work, exchanges good-humored greet- which seemed to say, " Only leave me-only let ings with the passers-by, but he lets them pass me be." This was not in the least amusing or on. He would never, for instance, dream of interesting to Madame de Tracy or Catharine. being sorry for a lonely, fanciful little woman It was a sort of slow torture. Dazed and a litwho chanced to cross his path. He might throw tle stupefied, and longing for silence, to be exher a sovereign if she were starving, and shut pected to talk sentiment when she felt none, to the door, but that would be the extent of his blush, to laugh consciously, to listen to all the sympathy. The Mr. Grundys of life are sensi- countess's raptures and exclamations, was weary ble, manly fellows, business-like, matter-of-fact, work. The child did her best, tried to speak, and they would very sensibly condemn the fool- but the words died away on her lips; tried to ish vagaries and compunctions of unpractical say she was happy, but then a sudden pain in THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 63 her heart seemed to rise and choke her. What traveling, and you did not expect to remain with was she doing? Dick disapproved. Wasit too us long." late to undo the work she had begun? "I brought all the prettiest dresses I had, Fontaine did not come up to the chateau that Nanine," Catharine said, sadly, wondering how evening. It was perhaps fortunate for him that much the children knew already. "Why do he was detained by Madame Merard. Catha- you think I am not going to stay with you?" rine thought not of the countess's congratula- Nanine turned red and did not answer; but tions, but of Dick's two words of warning that Henri cried out, "Oh no, Mademoiselle la Cunight, as she was sitting upon her bed half un- rieuse. Miss George has found you out. Miss dressed, with all her hair tumbling about her. George, she heard mamma say there was no room She could hear them all dispersing below, and for you at Paris the day grandmamma was anDick's voice humming Voi che sapete as he gry, and mamma had her migraine. It is not tramped along the gallery; then a door banged, pretty to listen, is it?" said Henri, who had not and all was silent. forgiven certain sisterly lectures. She was thinking of his words again in the Miss George blushed too, like Nanine, and did court-yard next morning, sitting with her work not answer. She began slowly throwing the upon a bench under a tree. The De Vernons, chestnuts one by one into the basket at her side, and Ernestine, and Dick were at the piano in and then suddenly started up. All the chestthe little boudoir, of which the windows were nuts which had remained in her lap fell to the open. Little Henri was marching in and out, ground and rolled away. She left the amazed and beating time with his whip. The young children to collect their scattered treasures. It people were singing and screaming with laugh- was a nothing that the children had inadvertter, and banging false notes on the piano some- ently revealed to her, and yet in her excited times, and laughing again. "Take care, Hen- state it seemed the last drop in her cup. "What ri, do not get out of the window," cried his moth- did it all mean?" she said to herself. "Who er from within; but Henri paid no attention. can I trust? where can I go? Only Mr. Butler The gay jangle went on, and the laughter and and Reine speak the truth to me. Ah! would music poured out to where Catharine was sit- Reine help me if I went to her? I think-I ting with her chin resting on her two folded think she cares for me a little." hands. She could see through the iron gates; beyond the road lay a distance smiling in sun- Meanwhile Dick, who had not gone to the vilshine. She watched the smoke from a chim- lage after all, was walking along the cliff to the ney drifting in the breeze. "Clang a rang, farm. He found lReine sitting in the window clang a rang, Ta ra, ta ta ra," sang the young of the kitchen, with her head resting upon her people; and then came a burst of laughter, and hand, as perplexed as Catharine herself, only then more voices joined in. Catharine recog- facing her troubles and looking to no one else nized Dick's in the medley of sounds. The sun for help. What was she afraid of? She scarceshone hotter and hotter; a chestnut fell to the ly knew. She was afraid for Dick far more than ground with a sudden snap, and the brown, for herself. bright fruit showed through the green pod. Who can account for painful impressions? Again the music sounded and her ribbon flut- Reine's was a strong and healthy organization, tered gently. How happy they all seemed! and of all people she would have seemed the What good spirits Butler was in! The languid least likely to be subject to vague terrors, to young Englishman seemed to have caught some- alarms indefinite and without a cause; and yet thing of the life and gayety of the people among there were moments of foreboding and depreswhom he was staying. But he had looked sion against which she found it almost impossigrave when he spoke to her, Catharine thought. ble to struggle; almost, I say, because therein How good of him to think of her! Just then did her healthy and strengthful nature reassert he came out and quickly crossed the yard with- itself, battling with these invisible foes, and reout seeing her. "Do not be late," cried Er- sisting them valiantly. nestine from the window. She, too, sometimes asked herself whether she Dick nodded, and strode away along the dusty had done wisely and well? Whether she, a road toward the village. Catharine watched him simple country girl, without experience of the from under her tree until he disappeared, and world, would ever be able to suffice to a grand Henri and Nanine came up disposed for con- seigneur like Dick. Once she had thought herversation, and bringing a supply of chestnuts for self more than his equal, but that was over now. Miss George's work-basket. She was rich and he was poor, he told her; but "Mon cousin is very disagreeable," Henri said. it was a magnificent sort of poverty, and the "He would not take me with him. I don't care word had not the same meaning for him as it for him any more." had for old Nanon, for example, mumbling her "Mademoiselle, what stuff is this?" said Na- crusts. nine, taking hold of Catharine's gown. "Some- "Ah! was he, could he be in earnest?" thing English, is it not? Have you many more Reine asked herself. Dick's languid manner toilettes in your box up stairs? Though to be might have been that of any young Machiavel sure," added the child, with instinctive polite- of society; it frightened her sometimes, though ness, "one does not require much when one is she laughed at it to him; but his heart was a 64 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. simple blunderiug machlne, full of kindness and Reine was not troubling herself about such simpe fn all this bcrude workmanShiP uhatever Dick, evel more than for herself, and asked, for all his crude W Ca u of ten herself wet h -en he pi entlean fl o n- h whe he ht not do himself injury dearness. It is cleverness which belongs perhaps b i d o he to the children of this world. Some, a to he hiss Dickc and Reine and sad peop:le have genius, though the world and asked what she was thinking of, and why may not count it as such-a genius for love, or she looked so di stred. for patience, or for prayer, maybe. We know er ans aer didl not quite please him sometef divne sakiheendtre in this world- how, though as se spoke se looked more beathe davine spa,,rk is hre rid there in this woheti,l, lea h' hd ever seen her, blisgh ong, t,'~ who shall say under what manifestation or hum- t te see h bie disguisea? tender deep eyes, as she sat in the light of the THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 65 window. "Why do you always want to take Reine wiped her tears out of her eyes-I don't care of me?" said Butler. "Am I not big know that she was the less sad for that-she enough to take care of myself? Reine, when came to the doorway and stood beside him. we are married I shall take care of you too. I "Poor child!" she said; "was she looking in?" shall not let you work any more, and I shall " She looked very strange," said Richard.,paint you just as you look now, and not one of "It may have been my fancy —" And then, the fine ladies will be able to hold a candle to catching Reine's steady gaze, he turned red in you." his turn. "Don't look like that, dear," said " They will despise me," said Reine, "as they he, trying to laugh, " or I shall think it was a did my mother; perhaps for your sake they will ghost I saw." just touch me with the end of their fans. You A ghost indeed! the ghost of a dead love. know well enough that it is from no want of Only yesterday some one was saying, with a love for you that I speak," said Reine, blushing sigh, " There are other deaths sadder than death more deeply. "I love you so well that I had itself: friendships die and people live on, and rather you left me here now this moment than love dies too, and that is the saddest of all." that you were ever ashamed of me or sorry for The saddest of all! and sometimes people come what you have done," and suddenly Reine the and look in through windows and see it. overbearing, Reine the magnificent, burst into Petitpere came in a minute after, and found tears. Reine and Richard still standing in the doorway. Dick tried to reassure her, to console her, by "What have you been doing to the little deevery tender word he could think of; but Reine, moiselle Anglaise?" said he. "She passed recovering and ashamed of her weakness, pushed close by the barn just now without speaking to him away. " Go, go," she said, as he bent over me, and I think she was crying." her, full of concern and gentleness. He was a Catharine meanwhile was going quickly away little hurt; he loved her, but he could not al- from the place, leaving them, "together in their ways understand her-her odd abruptness and happiness," so she kept telling herself. She independence-her strange moods. He turned hurried along the dusty road; she did not go away-how well he remembered the scene in back to the house, but she took a footway leadafter years! The quaint, straggling room, with ing to the cliff, and she came to the edge at last its odd, picturesque accessories, even the flower- and looked over. The small sandy convolvuluspot in the window, and the faint scent from its es were creeping at her feet, the wind shook the blossoms; Reine's noble head bent low, and the dry, faint-colored, scentless flowers. The wavelight upon it. He turned away, and as he did lets were rolling in, and the light struck and so he caught sight for one instant of a pale face made fire upon each flashing crest. She clamlooking in through the window-a pale, wistful, bered down the side of the cliff by a narrow litsad face, that disappeared in a moment. Poor tle pathway which the fishermen had made there, sad eyes! the sight of the two together was more and she came down upon the beach at last, and than they could bear. Human nature is very went stumbling over the shingle, and sea-weed, weak as well as very strong. Catharine had and heaps of sea-drift. come across the sultry fields, looking to the farm Catharine had gone stumbling along under for help and consolation. If Reine also advised the shadow of the cliff. She did not care or it, she thought she would break forever with the think where she was going. She had come schemes she had consented to; go back, work upon the smooth, rippled sands; the sea was hard, and struggle on as best she could. Dear swelling inland in a great rushing curve. She Reine! she at least could be depended upon. had passed the village; she heard the sounds Coming to the farm at last, she had found only of life overhead as she went by; she had come Paris to welcome her with a lazy wag of his tail. to the terrace at the end of Fontaine's garden. There was no one about; all the doors were A little river of sea-waterwas running in a cleft shut; even the house-door, with its bars and in the sand. Catharine had to jump to cross heavyheaded nails all distinct in the sun. She it. Ever afterward she remembered the weary tapped once or twice without being heard. She effort it was to her to spring. But she crossed turned away at last disappointed, thinking Reine the little ford, and came safely to the other side; must be out in the fields; and then, as she turn- and it was at this instant that somebody, rushed, she glanced in through the window and saw ing up, came and clasped her knees with many the two. Catharine could think of them to- expressions of delight. ItwasToto, whoin his gether with a certain gentle, loving sympathy; little childish squeak gladly exclaimed, "I saw but to come knocking at the door wanting help, you from the cabane. Papa sent me, and I and not be heard; to stand by unnoticed, and ran." The child was clinging to her still when see them engrossed, utterly oblivious of her ex- Fontaine himself made his appearance, slipperistence-oh, it was hard; life was cruel, friend- ed, and newspaper in hand, hastening to welship was an illusion! come her. " Can any thing be the matter?" Dick said, "Were you coming to find us, chere demoistarting up. "That was little Miss George." selle?" said he. "Come, you are at home, you And he went to the door and looked out. He know." was only in time to see the little figure disap- Was she indeed at home? Catharine felt as pearing under the archway. if she had been crazy for a few minutes with B 66 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFFE doubt, mistrust, indecision. She hated herself, Madame de Tracy was anxious to have it over and felt herself unworthy of Fontaine's kind- before she left for Paris. Lady Farebrother, ness, and yet she was inexpressibly touched and who was written to, sent back her consent in cheered by it. She said to herself that she had a strange jumble of religion and worldliness. found a friend in her sore necessity-that she Mrs. Buckington, to every body's surprise, came should never, never forget his kindness, and in- out with a fifty-pound note for Catharine's trousdeed she kept her vow. This was the last of seau. The modest little outfit did not take long her indecisions. to make ready. Fontaine undertook the other A little later Fontaine walked back to the necessary arrangements at Caen, for from the chateau with her. As they were going along difference of religion there were some slight she asked him if he knew that they had meant complications beyond those which usually attend to send her away when they left for Paris? weddings. The day came very quickly, almost "Chere demoiselle," said he, "how should I unexpectedly and suddenly at last, like most know it? It may or may not be true. I care eventful days. not, since you remain." The Protestant church is a great, gray, vault"I felt as if nobody wanted me," Catharine like place, with many columns and sad-colored said, as they went in at the gates together. walls. Catharine, who had slept at Caen the Butler was alone on the terrace, smoking a night before in a house belonging to the I)e Vercigar, when they came back. When he saw nons, came driving up to the door with Madame them he got up and came to meet them. He de Tracy just as the party arrived from Petitport looked a little curious, a little languid, and bythe early train. They all passed in together, slightly sentimental. but Catharine felt a chill as she came into the "Why did you go away?" he said. "I sombre place. It was so big, so full of echoes; rushed out to call you, Miss George, but you some one brushed against a chair as the little would have nothing to do with us." procession passed up the centre aisle, the dismal "I-I did not want to stop just then," she scraping sound reverberated from column to said, hastily. He had recognized her then! column. The clergyman was a kind-looking, She turned to Fontaine in a confused sort of white-haired old man, who read the service in way, and called him to her. a plaintive, mumbling voice. He was only "Charles," she said, calling him by his Chris- passing through the place; he knew none of the tian name for the first time, "have you... people, but he was interested in the little sweetWill you..." The words died away. But eyed bride, and long afterward he remembered after that first moment she was quite outwardly her when he met her again. Fontaine was uncalm again. Butler had recognized her. She comfortable, and very glad when this part of made agreat effort. She spoke quietly and in- the ceremony was over. There was no knowdifferently, while to herself she said passionately ing where these mysterious rites to which he was that at least he could not read her heart. She exposed, defenseless and without redress, might had taken her resolution, she would abide by it. not lead him. He was not anxious for CathaReine, in her place, would have done differ- rine. She was inured to it, and she was so ently. Catharine was doing wrong, perhaps, docile and gentle, too, that nothing would be but with no evil intent-she was false with a counted very heavily against her; but for a good single heart. She thought there was no other Catholic like himself, who knew better, who had solution to her small perplexities than this des- been carefully instructed, there was no saying perate one she had taken. If she had been what dangers he might not be incurring. older she would have been wiser. Wait. That The service was soon over, but Madame de is the answer to most sorrows, to most troubled Tracy had made some mistake in her orders, consciences. But how can one believe in this and when the wedding-party came out into the when one has not waited for any thing? Some peristyle of the church, the carriages had both one says, very wisely and touchingly, " To the disappeared. It was but a short way to the old, sorrow is sorrow; to the young, sorrow is church where they were going. Most of them despair." What other interpretation may there had intended to walk, and there was now no not be hidden beneath the dark veil to those who other alternative. "Venez, madame," said can see from afar? Jean de Tracy, offering Catharine his arm, while Fontaine followed with Madame de Tracy; then came Marthe, with some children; and last of all, Dick, and a strange lady, who had also arCHAPTER XIII. rived from Petitport by the early train. It was MENDELSSOHN'S WEDDING-MARCH not Madame Merard. She, naturally enough, refused to be present at the ceremony; Madame CATHARINE BUTLER was to have been mar- Ernestine, too, found it quite out of the quesried on the 10th, but old Mr. Beamish was sud- tion to be up at such an impossible hour. The denly taken ill, and every thing had to be put strange lady was handsomely dressed in a gray off indefinitely. Dick offered himself to remain silk gown and a pale-colored Cashmere shawl. at Tracy until after Catharine George's wed- She kept a little apart from the rest, never lifting ding. her eyes off her book during the service. MaThis wedding was fixed for a very early date. dame de Tracy could not imagine who she was THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 67 at first, but Catharine's eyes brightened when until the others came up. Fontaine and Mashe saw her. dame de Tracy first entered, the others followThe strange lady looked a little ashamed, and ing after, and then there was a sudden stop, and shy, and fierce at once. She had fancied peo- no one advanced any farther. If the Protestant pie stared at her as she came along; and no temple seemed melancholy, this was terrible to wonder, for a more beautiful and noble-looking them as they came in out of the cheerful clatter young creature than Reire Chrdtien at that time and sunshine, into a gloom and darkness which never existed. Under her bonnet her eyes startled them all. The high altar was hung looked bigger and brighter, and her rippled hair completely in black; the lights burnt dimly: by was no longer hidden under the starch of her degrees, when they could distinguish more clearcap; she came up with a certain grace and state- ly, they saw that figures in mourning were passly swing which she had caught from her mother. ing up the long aisle, while voices at the altar Secretly, she felt uncomfortable in her long- were chanting a requiem for the dead. Cathtrained gown; but she came bravely along, as arine gave a little cry, and seized hold of scme if she had been used to her draperies all her life. one who was standing near her. Dick was amused and interested to see his peas- "Ah! how terrible!" cried Madame de Traant maiden so transformed. cy, involuntarily. "Reine, I never should have dared to fall in " There must be some mistake," said Dick. love with you i'f I had first known you like this," "Have we come to the wrong church?" said he, watching his opportunity, and taking his "It often happens so in our churches," Reine place beside her. said, quietly taking Catharine's hand. "I do'"Don't laugh at me," said Reine. not think there is any mistake." "What a dismal affair this has been! I know Fontaine and Jean deTracy went hastily formy aunt has cooked the whole thing up," Dick ward to speak to an official who was advancing went on. "They are not in the least suited to up a side aisle. As Reine said, there was no each other." mistake-they were expected; a little side-altar Reine sighed. "Ill-assorted marriages nev- had been made ready for them, where l'Abbe er answer," she said,in the quick, harsh tones Verdier's well-known face somewhat reassured she sometimes used. them, but not entirely..We all know that the "But well-assorted marriages, mademoiselle," marriage service goes on though there are said Dick, gayly and kindly, and then he stopped mourners in the world. Why not face the short. A sad glance had crossed his; Catha- truth? and yet it was sad and very depressing. rine looked back with her pale face, and the The ceremony was hurried through, but Cathayoung man, who always said out what was in rine was sobbing long before it came to an end. his mind, began pitying her to his companion. Marthe was the person who was least moved. Reine, never very talkative, became quite si- It put her in mind of her own profession, now lent by degrees. soon approaching, when neither marriage nor Some bells were ringing from some of the burial-service, but something between the two, steeples, and to Catharine they seemed playing would be read over her. Reine was trying to one of the bars of Mendelssohn's wedding-march cheer and reassure the children. Toto said he over and over again. They were passing by wanted' to go; he was frightened, and began to some of those old wooden houses which still ex- whimper, and at last Reine took him out into ist in the quaint old city, piled with carvings, the porch. and balconies, and flowers, chiefly balsams, flam- Butler, who always seemed to know where ing'against the blackened walls; heads were she was, followed her a minute after, and stood peeping through the windows, casements were with her under the noble old porch, with its orgleaming. It was like the realization of a fan- namentations and gurgoyles carved against the cy Catharine once had long ago, when she was blue of the sky; stony saints and flowers, fanlistening to Beamish in the studio. tastic patterns, wreaths, birds flying, arch built "How loudly those bells are ringing! they upon arch, delightful bounty and intricate lovewill break their necks," said Jean de Tracy, by liness, toned and tinted by the years which had way of something to say, for conversation was a passed since these noble gates were put up to little difficult under the circumstances, and si- the house of the Lord, and the towers overhead lence was difficult too. were piled. Dick thought he should be well All round the church of St. Pierre there is a content to stand there with Reine like the abflower-garden. The church stands at the end bots and saints all about, and see the centuries of the quai, and at the meeting of many streets. go by, and the great tides of the generations of The market-people were in groups all about people. when the wedding-party arrived. There seemed Reine was busy meanwhile answering Toto's to be an unusual stir in the place. It is always impatient little questions; her shawl was half gay and alive; to-day it was more than usual- slipping off as she leant against a niche in the ly crowded with white caps, and flowers, and wall; with one hand (it was a trick she had) blouses, and baskets of vegetables. Jean de she was shading her eyes from the sun, with the Tracy, who was used to the place, led the way other she was holding Toto's little stout fist. across to a side door, which hetopened and held "I am trying to give you a name," said Dick back for Catharine to pass in, but she waited at last, smiling. "I do not know what noble 68 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. lady was martyred in Cashmere, for whom you Fontaine took his wife away to Rouen for a might stand, in your niche, just as you are." fortnight's distraction after the ceremony. While As he spoke, some more of the mourners the two were going off in a nervous tete-a-tete in passed in. It was the funeral of a high digni- the coupe of a railway carriage, the others were tary in the place, and numbers of people were returning to Tracy, silent and depressed, for the attending it. "What a sad wedding for poor most part, like people after an unsuccessful ex-Catharine," Reine said, looking after them. pedition. "Poor little thing! It must be almost over "I am going to smoke a cigar," said Dick, now," Dick answered. looking in at the door of the carriage where Ma"I shall not be sorry for one, if it were, only dame de Tracy, and Marthe, and the children to get rid of all this," said Reine, tugging at were installed. De Tracy, hearing this, started her great Indian shawl, "and to go back to Pe- up from his seat and said he would come too, titport quietly in my own every-day clothes." and Dick walked along the second-class car"I think, after all, I like you best in your riages until he had made his selection. cap and apron," said Butler, looking at her crit- In one corner of a crowded department sat a ically. peasant-girl with two great baskets at her knees. "I knew it —I knew it!" Reine cried, sud- De Tracy got in without even observing her, sat denly flashing up; "I am not used or fit for down at the other end of the bench, and let any thing else but what I am accustomed to. down the window and puffed his smoke out into I often feel, if I ever put off my poor peasant the open air. Dick did not light his cigar after dress, it may turn out an evil day for you and all, but sat turning one thing and another in his me. You might change and be ashamed of me head. Once looking up, he caught the glance perhaps, and... " of Reine's two kind eyes fixed upon him, and "Hush, Reine," said Butler; "it isn't worthy he could not help saying, "What has become of of you to have so little trust in me. Why the grand lady, Mademoiselle Chretien?" Reine wouldn't you believe me the other day, as now, pointed to her baskets and looked down, trying when I tell you..." to be grave. Butler did not speak to her any "Shall I tell you what makes me mistrust more; the compartment was full of blouses; he you?" the girl answered, and her eyes seemed had only wanted to see her safe to herjourney's to dilate, and then she suddenly broke off and end. went on angrily: "Ah! I am no angel from Dominique was at the station with the cart heaven; I have told you that often enough. he had brought for Reine, and the Tracy carWe in our class are not like you others. We riage was waiting too. Madame de Tracy, noddon't pretend to take things as they come, and ding greetings right and left, got in, followed by to care, as you do, for nothing, nor do we wom- Marthe, and the children, and little Toto, who en trick our husbands, and speak prettily to was to spend a couple of days at the chateau them as if they were children to be coaxed and before he went to his grandmother. Madame humored. I have good blood in my veins, but de Tracy knew every body by name, and graI am a woman of the people for all that, and I ciously inquired after numbers of Christian love frankness above all things; and there are names. things belonging to this dress —belonging to "Jean, there is that excellent Casimir," rich people I hate, and I always shall hate; pointing to a repulsive-looking man with one never will I condescend to deceive you, to pre- eye. "Bring him here to me. How do you tend to be what I am not. I can not dissem- do? Ilow is your poor wife? Ah! I forgot ble, do you see?" she cried; "and if there is you are not married.. How are you yourself? any thing in my mind, it comes out in time- Not coming, Jean? Then drive on, Jourdain. hatred, or jealousy, or whatever it may be." Baptiste, put Monsieur Toto on my great fur "You are pretending to be what you are not cloak; yes, my child, you must, indeed; I should when you make yourself out worse than you never forgive myself if you were to catch cold now are," Dick said gravely, chipping off a little your papa is away. Never mind being a little piece of the cathedral with his penknife. The too warm." And so the carriage load drove off little bit of soft stone fell to the ground like in slight confusion, poor Toto choking, and trydust. Reine looked up, hesitated, and suddenly ing in vain to get his mouth out of the fur. calmed down. Forgive me," she said at last, Meanwhile Dick went and helped Reine into with a thrilling low voice; "I was wrong to her cart with as much courtesy as if she was a doubt you;" and she tore off her glove and put duchess getting into a magnificent chariot. She her honest hand in his. Butler was touched, blushed, nodded good-night, and drove off imand stooped and kissed it; but he wished, and mediately; and then Butler came back and in his turn hated himself for wishing,' that she joined his cousin, who was standing by, looking had not pulled off her glove. rather surprised. And so the martyr came out of her niche, and "Come along, my Don Quixote," said Jean, it was time to go; but before the wedding-party turning off the little platform and striking out left the church some one whispered to M. Fon- toward the fields. It was a quiet twilight walk. taine to come out by the side door, for the fu- They both went on in silence for a time. There neral carriages were drawn up at the great front was a sound of grasshoppers quizzing at their entrance. feet from every grass tuft and distant coppice THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 69 and hedgerow. One or two villagers passed and Dick hardly knew how to explain to her the them, tramping home to their cottages. things he was so used to. "I hope my mother is satisfied," said Jean "I hope you will never fan yourself with de Tracy at last, "and easy in her mind. I your pocket-handkerchief," he said, when Reine must confess, Dick, that I myself had some mis- described her visions for the future. He owned givings. That poor little thing! I could see to himself sometimes that she was right in what very well that it was not Fontaine she was think- she said. He liked her best when he thought ing of all the time. He! It is not the first of her as herself, at home in her farm, with her wedding I have been at." servants and her animals round her. There she, Dick could not answer; he felt horribly guilty was, simple, and gentle, and thoughtful in all and uncomfortable. "Heaven knows," he was her ministrations, occupied always, unselfish, thinking to himself, "I am unconscious of ever and only careful for others. After that last outhaving said a word or done any thing to make break she met him with a sweet humility and that poor child fancy I cared for her!".... womanliness which charmed him and touched He was haunted by the remembrance of that him utterly. The night he said good-by to her pale face looking in through the window, and she came out with him under the great arch, yet it might have been a mere chance after all. and stood looking at him with her noble tender His course was plain enough now; to Reine he face. had spoken words of love; to her he was bound "Fate has done its best to separate us, has it by every tie of honor and sincere affection, and not?" said Reine, smiling; "putting us like yet his head was full of all sorts of regrets and this, on different sides of the sea. But you will remorses. Reine's sudden outbreak had left a come back —is it not so?" she said, " and I discomfort in his mind which he tried in vain to have no fear any more. I shall wait for you shake off-a discomfort which concerned Reine here." herself as well as poor little Catharine. He be- The sunset was illuminating the old farm and gan to hate concealment, to tell himself that the, the crumbling barns, and Petipbre's blue smock sooner he had done with mysteries the better. and white locks, as he sat on his bench smoking Should he tell them all now, directly; should his evening pipe; some cows were crossing the he speak to his cousin here walking beside him, road from one field to another, with tinkling and tell him of his plans, or wait a little longer bells sounding far into the distance; the great until he had spoken to his uncle Charles first dog came up and rubbed his head at his misbefore declaring himself to the others? On tress's knee. "H e will know you again, "Reine the whole, he decided this last plan would be said, holding out both her hands, "when you best. But he vowed to himself that Reine at come back to me," and so they parted. least should have no cause to reproach him. The next day the whole family of Tracys "At all events, she is rich; they ought to ap- started together for Paris. Madame mere in a prove of that," thought Dick, bitterly. " I shall huge bonnet, which almost completely concealed have a terrible time of it, but that can not be her face, was assisted from her apartment by her helped." He would work hard and make him- grandson o a close carriage. She was anxious self independent, and brave the coming storm. to consult some Paris doctors on the state of her It was true that she had enough for them both, health. even now; but to accept her money was an impossibility, and she had acknowledged it herself when she had once told him how rich she CHAPTER XIV. was. Now that Reine knew him better, that a cer- MADAME FONTAINE AT HOME IN THE CHALET. tain education in the way of.the world had come WHEN Catharine and her husband returned to her, she began to understand better than she from their trip a fortnight later and looked out had done before their relative positions. It was through the diligence windows at the chateau, no longer the poor and struggling artist aspiring the blinds were drawn, the shutters shut, the to the hand of the rich ferniere who had been garden chairs were turned up on their seats, the so courted and much made of by the small dig- great iron gates were closed fast. Catharine nitaries and needy proprietaires of the place. never had realized so completely that she was She understood better the differences between not coming back there any more, but to the litthem; she began to see the gulf which she must tie chalet with the balconies and weathercocks cross if she did not wish to shock him and re- which Madame de Tracy had shown her. It pulse him unconsciously at almost every step. was like the story of Rip Van Winkle: she had He could not come to her as she had imagined been away among the elves and gnomes a hundonce: she must go to him.- Her heart failed red years. Every body was gone that she was her sometimes. That sham, idle, frittering, fidg- used to: Dick was gone, the others dispersed ety, trammeled, uneasy life had no attractions here and there; most of the strangers lodging for her. Reine imagined herself playing the in the village had left; even Catharine George piano and nodding her head in time, and occa- had vanished; Monsieur and Madame Merard sionally fanning herself with a scented pocket- had retired to their campagne. It was a'mouldy handkerchief, and burst out laughing at the little villa on the high road to Bayeux; but idea. Her notions of society were rather vague, Fontaine assured her from experience that they 70 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. would doubtless return before long. Perhaps cious of their rights, and enjoyed nothing so in his heart of hearts the worthy maire regretted much as a good lawsuit. Even old Nanon Lethat his tete-h-tete should be so soon interrupted, febvre once insisted on spending her wretched but he blamed himself severely for the inconsid- earnings in summoning her cousin Leroi at erate feeling. "After all that I owe to these Bayeux, who had unjustly grasped a sum of excellent parents," he explained, " the magnifi- two pounds, she declared, to which she was encent dot which their daughter brought me, I feel titled. She lost her trial, and received back a that they must always look upon the chalet as few shillings from Fontaine's own pocket, with their home whenever they feel inclined to do a lecture which she took in very ill part. She so. You, ma tres-chere amie, are gifted with a never would believe he had not made some sehappy and equable temper: I know you will not cret profit by the transaction. hesitate to bestow upon them those filial atten- The very first morning after her arrival, tions which are so graceful when accorded by Catharine, who was outside upon the terrace, youth to old age. Believe me, I shall not be heard the stormy voices of some of Monsieur le ungrateful." Maire's clients coming shrill and excited from Catharine smiled at the solemn little address: the kitchen, where Fontaine often administered she was glad that there.was any thing she could justice. From the little embankment Cathado for her husband. For already his kindness, rine could see the sea and the village street dehis happiness, his entire contentment, had made scending, and the lavatoire, where the village her ashamed. " Ah! it was cruel to have taken women in their black stockings, and white coiffs, so much, to have so little to give in return," she and cotton nightcaps were congregated, scrubhad thought once or twice. At least she would bing, and flapping, and chattering together. do her duty by him, she told herself, and it was The busy sounds came in gusts to Catharine in with a very humble and yet hopeful heart that her garden, the fresh sea-breezes reached her she passed the threshold of her new home. Toto scented by rose-trees. On fine days she could was there to welcome them, and to trample upon make out in the far distance the faint shimmer all the folds of Catharine's muslin dress with of the rocks of the Calvados out at sea, where his happy little feet, and Justine, the excellent the Spanish galleon struck. It struck and went cook, came out to stare at the new inmate of the down, and all on board perished, the legend chalet. runs, and the terrible rocks were called by its' Soyez la bienvenue," said Fontaine, embrac- name for a warning. But nowadays all the ing his wife:affectionately; and they all three country round is christened Calvados, and the sat down very happily, to dine by the light of name is so common that it has lost its terror. the lamp. The entertainment began with a Fontaine sometimes administered justice in melon. the kitchen, sometimes in a little dark draughty "Grandmamma is coming on Saturday week," office, where he kept odd pieces of string, some said Toto. "Mr. Pelottier will call for them on ink, some sealing-wax, and some carpenter's his way back from Caen." tools. The chalet was more picturesque than " Ah! so much the better," said Justine, who comfortable as a habitation. The winds came was carrying away the empty dishes. Justine thundering against the thin walls, and through did not approve of second marriages. the chinks and crevices; the weathercocks would Madame Fontaine soon found that she would go twirling madly round and round, with a sound have little or nothing to do with the domestic like distant drums. In the spring tides, Justine arrangements in the chalet. She was much too had said, the water would come up over the emgreatly in awe of Justine, the excellent cook, bankment and spread over the marguerite beds who had fried Fontaine's cutlets for fifteen years, and the rose-trees, and the rain falling from the to venture to interfere in the kitchen. Fontaine cliff would make pools in front of the dininghimself had been accustomed, during his long room door. The drawing-room was up stairs. bachelor life and after his first wife's death, to It was a room of which the shutters were always interest himself in the cares of the menage. He closed, the covers tied down tightly over the superintended the purchase of fish, the market- furniture, the table-cloths and rugs rolled up, ing, the proper concocting of the pot-au-feu. and the piano locked. The room was never He broke sugar, and made himself generally used. When Monsieur Merard was there they useful in the house. IHe might be discovered were in the habit of sitting in his bedroom of an sometimes of a fine morning busily employed in evening, Fontaine told his wife. "C'est plus the court-yard, sawing up pieces of wood for the snog, comme vous dites," he said., Catharine stove. He cut pegs with his penknife to hang demurred at this, and begged to be allowed to up the clothes in the field; he had even assisted open the drawing-room, and make use of it and on occasion to get them in before a shower came of the piano. Fontaine agreed-to what would down. He knocked nails, gardened, mended he not have agreed that she wished?-but it was windows, signed papers for the villagers, con- evidently a pang to him, and he seemed afraid tracts of marriage, agreements, disagreements. of what Madame Mdrard might say. The people of Petitport were constantly coming The second day seemed a little longer to to their maire for redress and advice. Catharine than the first at the chalet, and the Fontaine used to do his best to dissuade them third a little longer than the second. Not to from going to law, but the neighbors were tena- Fontaine, whlo settled down to his accustomed THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 71 occupations, came, went, always taking care that own roof. The pretty room up stairs, looking Catharine should not be left for any time alone, down the street, should be theirs, she thought; Now and then, as days went on, she wished that she would buy two little beds, some flower-pots she could be by herself a little more; she was for the window. Every day she looked in on used to solitude, and this constant society and Iher way up and down, planning small preparaattention was a little fatiguing. All that was tions for them, and one little scheme and anothexpected from her was, "Yes, mon ami," "Non, er to please them. How happy they would be! mon ami." At the end of a month it became This thought was almost perfect delight to her. just a little wearisome; for, counting the fort- She loved to picture them there, with their litnight at Rouen, Catharine had now been mar- tle beloved ugly heads. She took Toto into her ried a month. Petitport had begun to put on confidence, and one day he came rushing in with its nightcap; scarcely any one remained; shut- a plaster statuette of Napoleon at St. Helena he ters were put up, and there was silence in the had bought in the street. "C'est pour tes pestreet. She walked up to the farm, but Reine tites scours," said he, and his stepmother caught had been away at Caen for some time, Domi- him in her arms and covered his round face with nique told her. One day was like another. kisses. Fontaine happened to be passing by the Nobody came. Fontaine talked on, and Catha- door at the moment. His double eyeglasses rine almost looked forward to the arrival of were quite dim, for his eyes had filled with tears Toto's grandparents to break the monotony. of happiness as he witnessed the little scene. " Ce qui cofite le plus pour plaire, c'est de "Je me trouve tout attendri!" said he, comcacher que l'on s'ennuie." Catharine had read ing in. "Ah! mon amie, you have made two this somewhere in a book of French maxims, people very happy by coming here. I am shedand the words used to jangle in her ears long ding tears of joy. They relieve the heart." afterward, as words do. Sometimes she used to It was a pathetic jumble. When Fontaine think of them involuntarily in those early days was unconscious he was affecting in his kindliin the beginning of her married life, when she ness and tenderness of heart, and then the next would be sitting by her own fireside alone with moment he would by an afterthought become Fontaine. Monsieur le Maire was generally suddenly absurd. bolt upright on a stiff-backed chair by the table, In the first excitement of his return Fontaine delightedly contemplating the realization of his had forgotten many little harmless precisions dreams; while Madame Fontaine, on a low lit- and peculiarities which gradually revived as tie seat by the fire, with her work falling upon time went by. On the morning that Monsieur her lap, was wondering, perhaps, whether this andMadame Merard were expected he appearcould be her own self and the end of all her ed in a neat baize apron, dusting with a feather vague ideals. The little gold ring upon her brush, arranging furniture, bustling in and out finger seemed to assure her it was so indeed. of the kitchen, and personally superintending This was her home at last. There sat her hus- all the preparations made to receive them. band, attentive, devoted, irreproachable, discur- "Can't I do something?" Catharine timidly sive-how discursive! Conversatio:i was Fon- asked. taine's forte, his weakness, his passion, his ne- "Va-t'en, mon enfant," said Fontaine, emcessity. The most utterly uninteresting and bracing her. "I am busy." unlikely subjects would suggest words to this Catharine knew it was silly, but she could fertile brain; his talk was a wonder of ingenu- not bear to see him so occupied. She took her ity and unintermittingness. Now, for the first work, went and sat in the dining-room window time for many years, he had secured a patient waiting, and as she sat there she thought of the and a silent listener, and the torrent which had day she had come with Madame de Tracy, a long been partially pent up had found a vent. stranger, to the gate of her future home. Poor Fontaine was happy and in high spirits; Toto came running in at last to announce and, under the circumstances, could any repeti- the arrival of his grandmother and grandfather. tion, retrospection, interrogation, asseveration, Fontaine took off his apron and rushed into the be sufficient? Must not every possible form of garden, and Catharine went and stood at the speech be employed to tell Catharine how sensi- door to welcome them, a little shy, but glad, on ble'he was to the happiness which had befallen the whole, to do her best to please her husband him? "And you too are happy," he used to I and his relations. say, triumphantly; and if his wife smiled grate- Monsieur and Madame Merard were heavy fully, and answered "Yes," no one, I think, people. Theyhad to be carefully helped down could blame her. from the little high carriage in which they had She was happy after a fashion. It was so arrived by Justine and Fontaine, who together strange to be wanted, to be loved and of import- carried in their moderate boxes and packages. ance, and looked for and welcomed. She found Although her trunk was small, Madame Merard this as difficult to believe in as all the rest. was neatly and brilliantly dressed. Monsieur Fontaine was always thinking of what would | Merard, who was a very, very stout old gentlegive her pleasure. Her sisters were to come to man, wore slippers, a velvet cap, and short her for their holidays always-whenever she checked trowsers. He took off his coat immeliked, he said; and Catharine's heart beat with diately on arriving, as a matter of course, and delight at the thought of welcoming them to her sat down, breathless, in a chair near the window. 72 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. "Venez, mon amie," said Fontaine, much fastened his napkin across his shirt-front. Maexcited, leading Catharine up by the hand. dame Merard freely used her knife to cut bread, "Mon pere, ma mere" (the maire had a turn to eat dainty morsels off her plate. Every thing for oratory and situation),' I bring you a daugh- went on pretty smoothly until Toto, who had ter," he said; " accord to her a portion of that af- been perfectly good for a whole fortnight, infection you have for manyyears bestowed on me." cited by the reappearance of his grandparents, A snuffy kiss from Madame Merard on her and perhaps excited by some wine the old lady forehead, something between a sniff and a shake had administered, became as one possessed. He of the head, was the portion evidently reserved put his hands into the dishes, helped himself in for Catharine. Monsieur Merard signed to her this fashion to a nice little sole he had taken a to advance, and also embraced her slowly, on fancy to, beat the rappel with his spoon upon account of his great size. After that they seem- the table-cloth, and held up his plate for more, ed to take no more notice of her, only every now so that the gravy dropped down upon Cathaand then Catharine felt the old lady's sharp eyes rine's dress. She put her gentle hands upon his fixed upon her like the prick of two pins. shoulder, and whispered' gravely to him. This "Eh bien, Justine," said Madame Merard, was a terrible offense. Madame Merard took addressing the cuisiniere. "Has every thing snuff, and wiped both eyes and nose in her been going on well?, You have taken good handkerchief, shaking her head. care of Monsieur and of Toto? What are you "Ah!" she said, "Charles, do you remember going to give us for our breakfast to-day?" how patient his poor mother used to be with " Monsieur is responsible for the breakfast," him? She never reproved him-never." said Justine, irascible now that she was sure of "I don't think poor Leonie herself could be an ally. "If he thinks it is possible for a cook more gentle with her son than his stepmother to attend to her business when the masters are is," Fontaine answered, with great courage, holdperpetually in and out of the kitchen, he is much ing out his hand to Catharine with a smile. mistaken." But this scarcely made matters better. Cath" You are right, ma fille," said Madame Me- arine had found no favor in Madame Merard's rard, soothingly. " I have told him so a hund- little ferret eyes. She looked afraid of her for red times. Eh bien, dites-moi! Where have one thing, and there is nothing more provoking you been taking your butter since I left?" to people with difficult tempers and good hearts "I have taken it from Madame Binaud, as than to see others afraid. All day long Cathmadame desired," said Justine. arine did her best. She walked out a little " That is right," said Madame Merard; "and way with the old couple; she even took a hand yet there is no trusting any one. Imagine, at whist. They began at one and played till Charles, that I have been paying thirty-eight five. Then Monsieur le Cure came in to see sous a pound! It was for good Isyngny butter, his old friend Madame Merard, and Catharine that is true, but thirty-eight sous! Ah! it is escaped into the garden to breathe a little air abominable. How much do you pay for butter upon the terrace, and to try and forget the huin England, madame?" said the old lady, sud- miliations and weariness of the day. So this denly turning round upon Catharine, and evi- was the life she had deliberately chosen; these dently expecting a direct answer to a plain ques- were to be the companions with whom she was tion. to journey henceforth. What an old menagere! "Half a cr-I don't know," said Catharine, what economies! what mustaches! what fierce looking to Fontaine to help her. Fontaine little eyes! what a living tariff of prices! A turned away much disappointed: he wanted his cool, delicious evening breeze came blowing wife to shine, and he guessed the painful im- through her rose-trees, consoling her somewhat, pression her ignorance would produce. and a minute afterward Catharine saw her hus"Ho! ho!" said old Merard, in a droll little band coming toward her. He looked beaming, squeaking voice, "Madame Mdrard must give as if he had just heard good news; he waved his you some lessons, my young lady." He was hand in the air, and sprung lightly forward to good-naturedly trying to avert disagreeables. where she was standing. "Lessons!" said Madame Merard, hoarsely. "All the morning I have not been without anx" It is no longer the fashion for young women iety; I was afraid that something was wrong," to interest themselves in the management of he confided frankly to Catharine. "But now their domestic expenses. It is perhaps because I am greatly relieved. My mother is telling they contribute nothing to them." Monsieur le Curd that she and my stepfather "Catharine felt very angry at this unpro- fully intend to pass the winter with us." Cathvoked attack. She made an effort. "'I shall arine tried to say something, but could not sucbe very glad to learn any thing you will teach ceed-her husband noticed nothing. me," she said. But already she was beginning Fontaine, from the very good-nature and afto wonder whether she had not been wrong to fectionate fidelity of his disposition, seemed to wish for the tete —te'te to be interrupted. If it cling very much to his early associates, and to is hard to seem amused when one is wearied, it the peculiar prejudices which he had learned is also difficult to conceal one's pain when one from them. The odd ways were familiar to is wounded. They all sat down to breakfast. him, the talk did not seem strange. It was of Monsieur Merard asked for a pin, and carefully people and places he had known all his life. THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 73 Their habits did not offend any very fine sense written upon these withered stalks and leaves? of taste. The translations which English minds She felt as if the story and life all had belonged make to themselves of foreign ways and customs to some one else. She opened the drawer-no arenecessarilyincorrectandprejudiced. Things one else had been there. As she took up the which to Catharine seemed childish, partly hu- rose a thorn pricked her finger. " Neither scent, morons, partly wearisome, were to Fontaine only nor color, nor smell, only a thorn left to prick," the simple and natural arrangements of every Catharine sadly sighed: "these other poor limp day. He could sit contentedly talking for hours flowers at least have no thorns." So she thought. in his cabane, with the little flag flying from the Then she went and sat down upon the bed, and roof. He could play away the bright long aft- began to tell herself how good Fontaine had ernoons with a greasy pack of cards or a box of been to her, and to say to herself that it was too dominoes. He could assume different costumes late now to wonder whether she had done rightwith perfect complacency-the sport costume, ly or wrongly in marrying him. But, at least, when he went to the shooting-gallery some en- she would try to be good, and contented, and terprising speculator had opened at Bayeux- not ungrateful. Perhaps, if she was very good, the black gaiters pour affaire-the red flannel and patient, and contented, she might see Dick shirt for the sea-side stroll... Fontaine again some day, and be his friend and Reine's, asked her one day if she would come down to and the thorn would be gone out of the dead rose. the chateau with him. He had some business Fontaine's voice calling her name disturbed her with the bailiff, who was to meet him there. resolutions. Leaving the Merards installed upon the terrace, She found her husband waiting for her at the Catharine went for her hood and her cloak, and foot of the stairs. walked down the steep little ascent, and through "Shall we revisit together the spot where we the street, rm in arm with Monsieur le Maire. first read in each other's hearts," said he, sentiShe had not been at the place since she left on mentally. the eve of her marriage. She began to think "Not this evening," said Catharine, gently. of it all; she remembered her doubts, her de- "I should like to go down to the sea before it spair. They came to the gates at last, where grows quite dark." only a few weeks ago Dick had told her of his Every body had not left Petitport, for one or love for Reine; the whole thing seemed running two families were still sitting in their little woodthrough her head like the unwinding'of a skein. en boxes along the edge of the sands, and a hum While Fontaine was talking to the bailiff she of conversation seemed sounding in the air with went and rang at the bell, and told Baptiste, the monotonous wash of the sea. The ladies who opened the door, that she wanted to go up wore bright-colored hoods; the waves were gray, to her room. fresh, and buoyant, rising in crisp crests against' Mais certainement, madame! Vous allez a faint yellow sky. A great line of soft clouds, bien? Vous voyez il n'y a plus personne." curled and tossed by high currentsof wind, was Catharine crossed the hall and looked into the crossing the sea. One or two pale brown stars deserted drawing-room-how different it looked were coming out one by one, pulsating like little -how silent! The voices and music had drifted living hearts in the vast universe. Catharine elsewhere, and Catharine George, she no longer went down close to the water's edge, and then existed. Only a little smoke was left curling threw something she held in her hand as far as fiom the charred embers and relics of the past. she could throw. Thinking thus, she went up to her own old little "What is that?" Fontaine asked, adjusting room, which was dismantled and looked quite his eyeglass. empty, and as if it had belonged to a dead per- "Only some dead flowers I found in a drawson. er," said Catharine. Catharine's heart was very full; she looked "My dear child, why give yourself such needround and about; the sunset was streaming in less trouble?" asked the practical husband. through the curtainless window; she heard the " You might have left them where they were or faint old sound of the sea; she went to the little in the court-yard, if you did not wish to litter secretaire presently, and opened one of the draw- the room, or.." ers and looked in. "It was a little piece of sentiment," said That last night when she had been packing Catharine, humbly trying to make a confession. her clothes, she had come upon one little relic "Some one gave me a rose once in England, which she had not had the heart to destroy. long ago, and..." She had thrust it fnto a drawer in the bureau "Some one who-who-who loved you," Fonwhere she had already thrown some dead mar- taine interrupted, in a sudden fume, stammering guerites, and locked it in. No one finding it and turning round upon her. there would have been any the wiser. It was "Oh no," Catharine answered; "you are only a dead crumpled brown rose which Dick the only person who has ever loved me." had picked up off th3 grass one day, but that She said it so gently and sweetly that Fonhad not prevented it from withering like other taine was touched beyond measure. And yet, roses. It was still lying in the drawer among though she spoke gently, his sudden anger had a handful of dry marguerites. Who would have terrified her. She felt guilty that she could not guessed that the whole story of her life was bring herself to tell him more. She could not 74 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. have made him understand her; why disquiet ever, while others are struggling for words, toilhim with stories of the past, and destroy his ing with effort, trying in vain to break the bonds happiness and her own too? Alas! already which fetter them so cruelly. What sermon, this had come to her. what text, is like that of a tender heart, speaking silently in its own beauty and purity, and conscious only of the meaning of its own sincerity? What words can speak so eloquently as TERI XIV disila ppAthe clear sweet eyes looking to all good, all love, all trust, encouraging with their tender smile? Queen's Walk did not look so deserted as the ITseemed other more fashionable parts of London. The dirty little children had not left town. The barges were sailing by; the garden door was set wide open. The housekeeper let him in, smiln t Hn Ch ien ing, in her best cap. Mr. Beamish was away, valibl apishe told him, in Durham with his father, who wrhy | | I~~1~~ hwas recovering, poor gentleman. There were a great many letters waiting on the'all table, she and aftersaid. Dick pulled a long face at the piles of cheap-looking envelopes directed very low down, with single initial-letters upon the seals. Mrs. But\ | Bushy had cleaned down and rubbed up the old staircase to shining pitch. The studio, too, looked very clean, and cool, and comfortable. Every body was away. Mr. and Mrs. Hervey Butler were at Brighton, and Mr. Charles Butler had not been up in town for some time; Mr. Beamish had desired all his letters to be forwarded to Durham; he was coming back as soon as he could leave his father. gl, te al h -te Every body knows the grateful, restful feeling ca -meio "Diselck'si of coming home te after a holiday; crowded hotels, fierce landladies' extortions, excursions, all CHAPTER XV. disappear up the chimney; every thing looks IN ln E TWILIGHTbAT WOL life is put to rights for a time, and one seems to IT seemed that there were many things of start afresh. Mrs. Busby had had the carpets which Fontaine was unconscious. Catharine beat, she said, and dinner would be quite ready never dared to trust him with the secret of Dick's at six. Dick, who was not sorry to have an exengagement to Reine Chrdtien. This was too cuse to stay where he was and to put off the a nvaluable a piece of gossip to be confided to the nouncement he had in his mind, wrote a few worthy maire's indiscretion. The country peo- words to Lambswold, saying that he would come ple talked a little; but they were all used to down in a week or two, as soon as he had finMademoiselle Chrttien's odd, independent ways, ished a picture he bad brought back with him and after Dick had been gone some weeks they from Tracy. appeared for a time to trouble their heads no For some weeks Dick worked very hard — more about him. harder than he had ever done in his life before. But Richard Butler reached home more than "I suppose the figures upon my canvas have ever determined to make a clean breast of it, as come there somehow out of my brain," he wrote the saying goes. Reine's good-by and last bright to Reine, "but they seem to have an odd, dislook seemed to give him courage. What would tinct life of their own, so that I am sometimes he not do for her sake? almost frightened at my own performance." The Her knight in ancient times would have gone picture he was painting was a melancholy one: out valiantly, prepared to conquer dragons, fierce a wash of brown transparent sea, a mist of gray giants, monsters of land and sea. Theonly fierce sky, and some black-looking figures coming dragon in Butler's way was the kind old man at across the shingle, carrying a drowned man. A Lambswold; and yet, somehow, he thought he woman and a child were plodding dully alongwould rather encounter many dragons, poison- side. It was unlike any of the pictures Butler ous darts, fiery tails and all. But then he had ever painted before. There was no attempt thought again of Reine standing in the sunset at detail; every thing was vague and undcetermglory, in all her sweet nobility, and a gentle look ined; but the waves came springing in, and it came into Dick's own face. Women who have seemed as if there was a sunlight behind the the rare gift of great beauty may well cherish it mist... Sometimes he fell into utter despondand be grateful to Heaven. With the uncon- ency over his work, plodding on at it as he did, scions breath of a moment, they can utter all day after day, with no one to speak to or enthat is in them. They have said it at once, for- courage him; but he struggled on, and at last THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 75 said to himself one day that, with all its faults been writing to you. My master is very poorand incompleteness, there was miore true stuff in ly, I am sorry to say-very poorly indeed." it than in any thing he had yet produced. Old Mr. Butler was alone in the morningOne day Dick received a short note in his room when his nephew came in. IHe had had uncle Charles's careful handwriting: "When a fire lighted, and he was sitting, wrapped in an are you coming down here?" the old man wrote. old-fashioned palm dressing-gown, in a big chair "I have not been well, or I should have been up drawn close up to the fender. The tall windows to town. I suppose you could paint here as well were unshuttered still, and a great cloud of mist as in your studio or under Matilda's auspices? was hanging like a veil over the landscape. but this place is dismal, and silent, and empty, "Well, my dear boy," said a strange yet faand has no such attractions as those which, from miliar voice, "I didn't expect you so soon." all accounts, Tracy seems to hold out, so I shall It was like some very old man speaking and not be surprised if I do not see you. Mundy holding out an eager, trembling hand. As old takes very good care of me. If I really want Butler spoke, he shut up and put into his pocket you I will send for you. Yours, C. B." a little old brown prayer-book in which he had "What has he heard?" thought Dick, when been reading. Dick, who had been picturing he read the note. "Who can have told him imaginary pangs to himself all the way coming any thing? Is he vexed or only out of spirits?" down, now found how different a real aching ButLr felt he must go, of course. It was tire- pain is to the visionary emotions we all inflict some, now that he was just gettinginto the swing, upon ourselves occasionally. It was with a real and doing the first piece of work which was worth foreboding that he saw that some terrible change the canvas upon which it was painted. As for for tie worse had come over the old man. His taking his picture there, Dick was more afraid face was altered, his voice faint and sharp, and of his uncle's sarcastic little compliments than his hand was burning. of any amount of criticism; and, besides, there "Why didn't you send for me, my dear Unwas no knowing what might be the result of their cle Charles? I never knew... I only got meeting. He would go down and pay him a your letter this morning. If I had thought for visit, and tell him his story, and then, if he were one instant..." not turned out forever, it would be time enough "My note was written last week," said to see about transporting the canvas. Charles. "I kept it back on purpose. You Dick took his ticket in a somewhat injured were hard at work, weren't you?" Dick said frame of mind. All the way down in the rail- nothing. He had got tight hold of the tremway carriage he was rehearsing the scene that bling, burning hand. "I'm very bad," said old was to take place;. he took a perverse pleasure Charles, looking up at the young fellow. "You in going over it again and again. Sometimes won't have long to wait for my old slippers." he turned himself out of doors, sometimes he "Don't, my dear, dear old boy," cried Dick. conjured up Charles Butler's harsh little sar- "Pah!" said old Butler; "your own turn castic laugh, sneering and disowning him. Once will come sooner or later. You won't find it he saw himself a traitor abandoning Reine for difficult to go. I think you won't," said the old the sake of the bribe; but no, that was impossi- broken man, patting Dick's hand gently. ble; that was the only thing which could not Dick was so shocked by the suddenness of the happen. When he got to the station he had to blow he was scarcely able to believe it. hire the fly, as he was not expected, and to drive "Have you seen any one?" the young man along the lanes. They were damp and rotting asked. with leaves: gray mists came rolling along the "I've seen Hickson, and this morning Dr. de furrows; a few belated birds were singing an M- came down to me," Charles Butler anautumnal song. swered, as if it was a matter of every-day occur"They say the old gentleman's a-breaking up rence. " He says it's serious, so I told Mundy fast," said the flyman, cheerfully, as he dis- to write to you." mounted at the foot of one of the muddy hills. Old Charles seemed quite cheerful and in "He's not an old man, by no meansyet, but my good spirits; he described his symptoms, and missis she see him go by last Sunday for'night, seemed to like talking of what might be-he and says she to me just so,'Why,' says she, even made little jokes.'old Mr. Butler ain't half the man he wer' in "You ungrateful boy," he said, smiling, the spring-time.'" "there is many a young man who would be Dick could not help feeling uncomfortable; thankful for his good luck, instead of putting on he was not in the best of spirits; the still, close a scared face like yours. Well, what have you afternoon, with the rotting vegetation all about, been about?" and the clouds bearing heavily down, predis- It was horrible. Dick tried to answer and to posed him to a gloomy view of things. They speak as usual, but he turned sick once, and bit drove in at the well-known gates. his lip, and looked away when his uncle, after a "I hope I shall find my uncle better," he question or two, began telling him about some said, trying to speak hopefully as he got down scheme he wanted carried out upon the estate. at the hall door and ran up the old-fashioned "Won't'you send for Uncle Hervey," Dick steps. Mundy opened the door. said gravely, " or for my aunt?" " Oh, Mr. Richard." he said, "I have just' Time enough-time enough," the other an 76 -THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. swered. "They make such a talking. I want was a moment's silence. Dick flushed up, and to put matters straight first. I've got Baxter the veins of his temples began to throb, and a coming here this afternoon." sort of cloud came before his eyes. He must Mr. Baxter was the family attorney. Dick speak. He could not let his uncle do this, had for the minute forgotten all about what he when, if he knew all, he would for certain feel had come intending to say. Now he looked in and act so differently. He tried to thank him, the fire, and suddenly told himself that if he had but the words were too hard to speak. He to tell his uncle what had been on his mind all would have given much to keep silence, but he these last months, the sooner it was done the could not somehow. Charles wondered at his better. But now, at such a crisis-it was an agitation, and watched him moving uneasily. impossibility. Suddenly he burst out. So the two sat by the fire in the waning light "Uncle Charles," said Dick at last, with a of the short autumn day. The night was near sort of cho.ke for breath, "don't ask why; leave at hand, Dick thought. There was a ring at me nothing-except-except the Gainsborough, the bell, and some one came in from the hall. if you will. I mustn't take your money..." It was not the lawyer, but Dr. Hickson again, "What the devil do you mean?" said the and it seemed like a reprieve to the young man old man, frightened, and yet trying to laugh. to have a few minutes longer to make up his " What have you been doing?" mind. He followed the doctor out into the "I've done no wrong," Dick said, looking up, hall. His grave face was not reassuring. Dick with the truth in his honest eyes, and speaking could see it by the light of the old lattice-window.' very quick. "I don't want to bother you now. "Tell me honestly," he said, "what you think I want to do something you might not approve. of my uncle's state. I never even heard he was I had come down to tell you, and I couldn't let ill till this morning." you make your will without warning..." "My dear Mr. Richard," said Dr. Hickson, The young fellow had turned quite pale, but " we must hope for the best. Dr. de M- the horrible moment was past, the temptation to agreed with me in considering the case very silence was overcome. In all Dick's life this serious. I can not take upon myself to dis- was one of the hardest straits he ever encounguise this from you. Your uncle himself has tered. It was not the money; covetousness but little idea of recovering; his mind is as yet was not one of his faults, but he said to himself wonderfully clear and collected... and there that he should have sacrificed faith, honor, any may be little change for weeks, but I should ad- thing, every thing, sooner than have had the vise you to see that any arrangements... cruelty to inflict one pang at such a time. But Dear me! dear me!" the next instant something told him he had The little overworked doctor hurried down done right; he saw that a very gentle, tender the steps and rode away, all out of spirits, and look had come into the old man's eyes as he leaving scant comfort behind him. He was leant back in his chair. thinking of all that there was to make life easy "I suppose you are going to get married," and prosperous in that big, well-ordered house, Charles said, faintly, "and that is the meaning and of his own little struggling home, with his of all this? Well," he went on, recovering peevpoor Polly and her six babies, who would have ishly, "why the deuce don't you go on, sir?" scarcely enough to put bread in their mouths if This little return of the old manner made it he were to be taken. He was thinking that it easier for the young man to speak. "I've was a lonely ending to a lonely life, with only promised to marry a woman; I love her, and interested people watchers, waiting by the old that is my secret," he said, still speaking very man's death-bed. Dr. Hickson scarcely did jus- quickly. "I'm not quite crazy; she is educatice to Dick, who had spoken in his usual quiet ted and good, and very beautiful, but she is only manner, who had made no professions, but who a farmer's daughter at Tracy. Her mother was was pacing up and down the gravel sweep, back- a lady, and her name is Reine Chrdtien." ward and forward, and round and round, bare- Dick, having spoken, sat staring at the fire. headed, in the chill dark, not thinking of inher- "And-and you mean to establish that-this itance or money, but only of the kind, forbearing farmer's daughter here as soon as..." Charles, benefactor to whom he owed so much, and to- trembling very much, tried to get up from his ward whom he felt like a traitor in his heart. chair, and sank down again. He went back into the morning-room, where "You know I don't," said Dick, with a sad Mundy had lighted some candles, and he forced voice,'" or I should not have told you." himself to look hopeful, but he nearly broke Then there was another silence. down when Charles began saying in his faint, "I-I can't bear much agitation," Charles cheerful voice, " I've made a most unjust will. said at last, while a faint color came into his Baxter is bringing it for me to sign this evening. cheeks. "Let us talk of something else. Is I have left almost every thing to a scapegrace the paper come yet? Ring the bell and ask." nephew of. mine, who will, I'm afraid, never The paper had come, and Dick read out colmake a fortune for himself. Shall I throw in umn after column, scarcely attending to the the Gainsborough?" he added, nodding at the meaning of one word before him. And yet all lady who was smiling as usual out of her frame, the strange every-day life rushing into the sick"You will appreciate her some day." There room jarred horribly upon his nerves. Records THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 77 of speeches, and meetings, and crime, and ad- Dick's answer was very incoherent, but his vertisements-all the busy stir and roar of the uncle understood him. Only the old man felt world seemed stamped upon the great sheet be- a doubt as to the young man's stability of purfore him. His own love, and interest, and fu- pose, and once more spoke of the twelve months ture seemed part of this unquiet tide of life, which he desired should elapse before the marwhile the old man sat waiting in his big chair, riage was publicly announced; he asked him to away from it all; and the fire burnt quietly, say nothing for the present. He owned with a lighting up the room, and outside the white faint smile that he did not want discussion. mist was lying upon the trees and the gardens. Of course Dick promised; and then he wrote At last Dick saw, to his great relief, that his to Reine, and told her of the condition, and of uncle had fallen asleep, and then he gently got the kind old uncle's consent. up from his chair, and went and looked out at Twelve months seemed but a very little while the twilight lawn. He thought of the picnic, to Dick, faithful and busy with a prosperous and all the figures under the trees; he could lifetime opening before him. As days went on not face the present; his mind turned and his uncle rallied a little; but he knew that this shifted, as people's minds do in the presence of improvement could not continue, and of course great realities. he was not able to get away. He often wrote "Dick!" cried the old man, waking anxious- to Reine, and in a few simple words he would ly, " are you there? Don't leave me. I shall tell her of his gratitude to his uncle, and of his be more comfortable in bed. Call Mundy and happiness in the thought of sharing his future, help me up." whatever it might be, with her. " Although They had to carry him almost up the old- heaven knows," he said, "how sincerely I pray fashioned wooden flight. that this succession may be put off for years; Richard Butler dined alone in the great dis- for you, my Reine, do not care for these things, mal dining-room, and while he was at dinner and will take me, I think, without a farthing." Mundy told him the lawyer had come. "Mr. But a year to Reine was a long, weary time Butler desired me to open a bottle of his best of suspense to look forward to. She found the claret for you, sir," said Mundy; " he wishes strain very great; the doubts, which returned to see you again after dinner. Mr. Baxter is for all her efforts against them, the terror of with him now." what might be in store. She loved Dick as she The lawyer had not left when Dick came into hated his surroundings, and sometimes she althe room. He was tying red tape round long most feared that her love was not worthy of his, folded slips of paper and parchment. Old and sometimes the foolish, impatient woman Charles was in his old-fashioned four-post bed, would cry out to herself that it was he who with the ancient chintz hangings, upon which wanted to be set fiee. wonderful patterns of dragons and phoenix's had been stamped. Dick had often wondered at these - awful scrolled figures when he was a child; he used to think they were horrible dreams which CHAPTER XVI. had got fixed upon the curtains somehow. Charles was sitting upright in the middle of it all; he had shrunk away and looked very small. IT had required all Fontaine's persuasion, "I'm more comfortable up here,"the old man backed by the prestige of his municipal ausaid. " I've been talking to Mr. Baxter about thority, to persuade Justine to open the drawthis business of yours, Dick. It's lucky for you, ing-room shutters, and to allow Catharine to use sir, it didn't happen a year ago-isn't it, Baxter?" that long-abandoned territory. With many "Your uncle shows great trust in you, Mr. mumbles, and grumblings, and rumblings of Butler," the attorney said. "There are not furniture, the innovation had been achieved a many like him who..." few days before Madame Merard's return; Mon"You see, Dick, one thing now is very much sieur Fontaine himself assisting in most of the the same as another to me," interrupted the work, or it never would have been accomplished. master of Lambswold. "It seems a risk to run, He was not the man to do things by halves. but that is your look-out, as you say, and I Catharine wished for a drawing-room and a should have known nothing about it if you had piano; poor Leonie's instrument was standing not told me. If in another year's time you have there, it is true, but cracked and jarred, and with not changed your mind... Mr. Baxter has a faded front. Soon a piece of bright new red provided, as you will find. I have experienced silk replaced the sickly green, the rosewood a great many blessings in my life," he said, in complexion was polished to a brilliant brown by an altered tone-" a very great many. I don't the indefatigable master of the house; he would think I have been as thankful as I might have have tuned it if he could, but this was beyond been for them, and-and-. I should like you, his powers, and the organist was mysteriously too, to have some one you care for by your bed- brought in by a back door, while Toto was deside when Lambswold changes masters again," sired to detain Catharine on the terrace until a Charles Butler said, holding out his kind old preconcerted signal should announce that all hand once more. "I was very fond of your was ready for her to be brought in, in triumph. mother, Dick." Monsieur le Maire was delighted. He led her 78 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. in with both hands, and then stepped back to which he had disinterred from its, green-baize contemplate the result of his labors. "Now sarcophagus, and rubbed up during office hours. we shall make music," he said. "Come, Cath- He had practiced upon it in his early youth, and arine, place yourself at the piano. Another he now amused himself by accompanying the day, perhaps I myself..." Catharine looked movements of Catharine's gentle little fingers up with her dark grateful eyes, and began to with sudden sounds, somewhat uncertain perplay as she was bid. haps, but often very loud. Justine sulkily called Monsieur Fontaine contented himself at first it a "' vacarme" as she banged the kitchen door. by beating time to his wife's performance with Passers-by, driving their cows or plodding home great spirit and accuracy; but one evening, with their fish-baskets, stopped outside, astonsomewhat to her dismay, he produced a cornet, ished, to ask what it could be. The old cider THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 79 bibbers at Pelottier's could hear the rich notes martyr, working miracles against her will. when the wind blew in that direction. Poor Madame de Tracy, with all her household, was Madame Fontaine herself burst out laughing, not so well served as Fontaine, with this terrible and put her hands up to her ears the first time ewe-lamb of his. she heard her husband's music; but Monsieur Madame Merard was the only person who le Maire instantly stopped short, and looked so ventured to drive this alarming creature; but pained and disappointed that she begged him to then, to judge from the old lady's conversation, go on, and immediately began to play again. she seemed gifted with a sort of second sight. Only she took care afterward to select the calm- She could see through cupboard doors into the est, and the most pastoral and least impassioned inside of barrels; she could overhear conversamusic in her repertory. When she came to tions five miles off, or the day after to-morrow. passages marked con expressione or with awpeg- Madame Nicholas must have been nearly degios, or when she sawfff's looming appallingly mented when she tried to palm off her Tuesin the distance, she would set her teeth and day's eggsupon herlastFriday. Justineherself brace up her courage for the onslaught. By de- never attempted to impose upon this mistressgrees, however, Fontaine's first ardor toned mind, and would take from her, in plain landown, or Catharine's nerves grew stronger. guage, what the maire, with all his official digToto thought it great fun, only he wished they nity, would never have ventured to hint. would play polkas and waltzes, as he stoodlean- At Madame Merard's own suggestion and Jusing against the piano with his round eyes fixed tine's, a girl from the village had been lately upon Catharine's face. People almost always added on to the establishment. A girl? a suclook their best when they are making music; cession of girls rather. They would come up how often one sees quite plain and uninterest- in their Sunday clothes, smiling and cheerful, ing faces kindle with sweet sound into an un- bobbing courtesies to the Mdrards, to Toto, to conscious harmony of expression. Catharine Monsieur, to Madame, to the all-powerful Juswas no great performer, but she played with feel- tine, anxious for employment, and willing to do ing and precision. There always was a charm their best. And then they would immediately about her, which it would be difficult to define, begin to perish away, little by little: smiles and now especially, with her dark head bent a would fade, the color go out of their cheeks, and little forward to where the light fell upon her one day, at last, they would disappear, and never music-book, she would have made a lovely little be heard of any more. Justine the Terrible had study-for Dick Butler, letus say. "A Woman claws, and a long tongue, and a heavy hand: set to Music" it might have been called.; she she did not drive them over the cliff, but she felt nothing but a harmony of sound at such a sent them home in tears to their mothers. Fontime, except, indeed, when the cornet burst in taine used to try to interfere in the behalf of with a wrong note. Monsieur Fontaine, be- these victims, but it was in vain. Catharine tween the intervals of his own performance, made a desperate sally once into the kitchen; liked to look at her proudly and admiringly. she was routed ignominiously by Madame MdAny stranger coming in would have thought it rard, who would be superintending the punisha pretty picture of a happy family group, and ment. carried away the pleasant image. "Why don't you send Justine away?" CathJustine was not so easily taken in. Having arine said to her husband one morning after one banged her door, she would shrug her shoulders of these scenes. down in her kitchen below; she could bide her "My dear, you do not think of what you are time. Madame Merard was coming. She was saying! It is not from you, my dear Catharine, not fond of music any more than Justine. that I should have expected such a proposition." Fontaine felt as if some guilty secret was AndFontaine, who had interrupted hishammerburied in his bosom, when, for the first two ing for an instant, shocked at the bold proposal, nights after the old people's arrival, lie tried to resumed his occupation. make excuses for remaining down stairs in the Madame Mlrard had observed one or two dining-room, and was glad that Catharine re- motes calling for remark in the last arrival's tired early with a headache. Justine said noth- goggle blue eyes, and she went stumping down ing. She left every body to make their own stairs early one morning for a little consultation discoveries. These would not be long about, she in the kitchen before breakfast. The old lady, knew; for Madame Merard's fierce little eyes in her morning costume, and short jacket or went poking here and there with a leisurely yet camisole, and stiff starched cap, and slippers, unceasing scrutiny. managed to look quite as formidable as she did It was Madame Merard who had educated laterin the day. Her mustaches seemed to curl Justine, placed her in Fontaine's kitchen, and more fiercely, unrelieved by the contrast of a desired her to remain there; and the invaluable varied and brilliant toilette; her little, even servant had accordingly, for years past, done her white teeth, with which she could crack a whole best to make his life miserable, his soup and his plateful of nuts, seemed to gleam beneath the coffee clear, strong, and well-flavored. She did mustaches. Madame Merard was surprised to many other things-washed, scrubbed, marketed, see that the drawing-room door was open as she waited at table, put Toto to bed-no easy mat- passed; still more aghast was she when she ter. She would go about with the air of a sulky looked in and perceived the shutters unclosed, 80 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. the little bits of rug spread out here and there " oor child!" he said, very tenderly. "Go, upon the floor, the furniture standing on its legs go. I will explain to my good mother; she instead of being piled up in a heap, the piano does not understand; perhaps a little eau sudragged out from its dark recess in a convenient cree... Try it, mon amie. We will follow imangle for playing.... What was the meaning mediately." of all this? What madness did it denote? This was the first encounter between these Were they going to give an evening party? very unequal opponents. Fontaine was so humHad they given one without her knowledge? ble and affectionate that he presently brought The old lady trotted up to the piano-her own the old lady down to breakfast almost mollified. daughter's piano-magnificently done up, with She was really fond of him, and when he made music piled upon the top! She looked round a personal request, and talked of the rest after and saw a window open, a cup with flowers in his mental occupations, the diversion and repose the window, and a work-basket and writing ma- the pursuit of music gave him, she reluctantly terials upon the table.... The light began to consented, with a pinch of snuff, to the innovadawn upon her. What! did they make a con- tion. It was not the only one. mon sitting-room of Ldonie's state drawing- At one time Madame Merard suddenly beroom, which was never made use of in her life- came quite affectionate in her manners. This time except on the occasion of Toto's christen- was soon after her arrival, when M. le Cure was ing, and once when a ball was given which a great deal at the house. He also treated Madame Merard herself had opened? Oh, it Catharine with great kindness, and called her could not be; it was impossible! But as she mon enfant. Old Merard would dispose himself was still staring, bewildered, the door opened, for sleep during these visits, and Monsieur le and Catharine came in, looking quite at home, Cure and Madame Merard would enter into bringing some more leaves and berries from her long and pointed conversations upon the subject winter-garden, and looking as if she was quite of their common faith. Monsieur le Cure would used to the place, and sat in it every hour of produce little brown books from his ample pockthe day. ets, with the pictures of bishops, and fathers and " Good-morning, " said Madame Fontaine, in mothers, and agonizing saints upon their narrow her gentle, cheerful way, unconscious of the pallets; and from one sign and another Masword hanging over her head. "I think break- dame Fontaine guessed that the time had come fast is on the table." when it was considered fitting for her to prepare "'Indeed!" said Madame Merard. "I am to go over to the religion of the strangers among looking in surprise, madame. I was not aware whom she lived. She would look at the two of the changes which had taken place during sitting in the window, Madame Merard taking my absence." snuff as she listened, the cure, with his long' Monsieur Fontaine was kind enough to get brown nose, and all the little buttons down his the piano tuned for me," said Catharine, "and shabby frock, and his heavy black legs crossed, I asked him to let me use this room. It has and his thick fingers distended as he talked. such a pleasant look-out." And still provok- The Abbe Verdier was a gentleman, and once ingly unconcerned she put her leaves into the Catharine might have been willing to be gently flower-cup, and began putting her writing things converted by him to a faith which had at all together. times a great attraction for this little heretic; "And you are not afraid, madame, of the but now to be dragged over by main force, by damage which may befall this handsome furni- the muscular cure, to the religion of Madame ture, for which my daughter paid so large a Merard-never, never. Fontaine used to look sum?" cried the old lady, in a voice of sup- in sometimes, and retire immediately on tiptoe pressed thunder. "She took care of it, but when the cure was there. The maire had promyou, no doubt, not having contributed anything, ised before his marriage not to interfere with can afford..." his wife's religious opinions; but, all the same, Catharine looked up frightened, and was he did not wish to disturb the good work by any shocked by the angry gleam she encountered; inopportune creaking noises. When Catharine Madame Merard looked stiff with indignation. was younger, before she had gone through a " You have, without doubt, madame, engaged certain experience which comes to most people, servants in abundance to attend to your various her conversion might have been possible, and wants?" she went on quivering. "We quiet even likely; but now it was too late. From people must seem to you very contemptible as inner causes working silently, and from outer you sit in your elegant drawing-room. Pray, adverse influence, a change had come over her; do you intend to receive your fine friends here, she could no longer accept new beliefs and in the apartment upon which my poor Leonie creeds, and vivid emotions which she could not bestowed so much care and expense? Ah! even realize, they seemed so distant. She could there are only English capable of such baseness." only cling with a loving persistence to the things Madame Merard stopped, much satisfied, for of the past, which were still her own and part Catharine had turned pale, and then looking of her own old life. round, and seeing Fontaine standing in the The cure was a clever man, although bigotdoorway, the silly little thing ran up to him and ed, and unlike the abbe in his gentle charity and burst out crying. sympathy even for heretics; after a time he THE VILLAGE.ON THE CLIFF. 81 ceased importuning, and only snubbed Madame imitation for all the pains she took, wearing it Fontaine; Madame Mdrard scowled afresh; out in the garden,with no one to see. If CathJustine, who had also temporarily suspended arine had only scolded, and worried, and cornhostilities, banged her door in disgust, and took plained of migraine, and lived with her husband care for many weeks to iron Madame Fontaine's in a way Madame Merard could understand, she fine things all crooked and on the wrong side. might in time have got to like her, but all this Monsieur le Maire was grievously disappointed, good temper was insupportable. but he said nothing, and only seemed, if possi- The time passed on. The people at Petitble, more tender, more gentle and anxious to port heard but little from without. The Tracys make his wife happy. were still at Paris; Charles Butler lingered It was on this occasion that Madame Mdrard still, although the poison in his system had alwas at least relieved from another special grief ready attacked some vital organ. It was a long which she cherished against Catharine. One sad watch for Dick. In the beginning of the Protestant impoverished Englishwoman in the winter, at Charles Butler's own request, Cathafamily was bad enough; but the contemplated rine Butler had been married quite quietly to arrivalof two more at Christmas, their admis- Beamish. The news of the marriage came sion into the chalet built with Leonie's money, across the sea to Catharine Fontaine, but it all furnished with her taste-oh, it was not to be seemed very distant and hard to realize. endured. The very thought had to be chased As the winter went on the people in the cotaway with much snuff, and many wavings of tages lit larger fires in the deep chimneys, and the big checked handkerchief. The poor little huddled round the blaze. The winds seemed girls, however, escaped the exorcisings to which to shake the very foundations of the wooden they would doubtless have been subject if they house, and the maire anxiously inspected his had arrived, for Lady Farebrother, taking alarm embankment against the expected onslaught of at some chance expressions in Catharine's let- the early spring-tides. Outside the chalet there ters, wrote in her flowing capitals to tell her was cold, and drift, and storm, and low mists that she felt she would not be justified in ex- came rolling over the fields and along the edges posing Rosa and Totty to the insidious and of the cliffs; inside, fires of wood and charcoal poisoned influences of Jesuitism, and that, act- were burning, stew-pots simmering on the hob, ing upon Mr. Bland's suggestion, she had de- and the daily pendulum of life swung on mrotermined to make other arrangements for the notonously. Old Mdrard's taper burnt with a children during the holidays. And poor Cath- quiet flicker as he warmed himself in his chimarine's eyes filled up with bitter tears as she ney corner. Madame Merard's light blazed, read the heart-broken little scrawls inclosed in and hissed, and spluttered; it was not set under her aunt's more elaborate epistle. And yet a bushel; nor was Justine's, as she sat below she could scarcely have borne to see them un- darning away the long winter evenings, while kindly treated. For herself she did not care. Fontaine busily rapped, tapped, conversed, pracShe looked upon it as an expiation in some ticed his cornet, settled his accounts, came and sort. Often and often she felt ashamed and went, cheerfully humming little snatches from guilty as she caught the maire's kind and ad- operas, or with alacrity joined the inevitable miring glance. So much affection and devo- pariie. That horrible, greasy pack of cards tion deserved some better return than the grate- which was brought out every afternoon inspired ful toleration which was all she had to give. A poor Catharine with a morbid feeling of disgust little patience, a few small services-this was all that would have been absurd if she had not she could pay toward that vast debt she owed struggled so hard against it. When they all him. As she began to love her husband a lit- noisily insisted that she must join them, she tie, she found out how little it was. She ought would put down her book in silence and come never to have married him. She knew it now, to the table. No one noticed the weary look in although at the time, in her agitation and ex- her dark eyes, or would have understood it any citement, she had fancied that she could at will more than did the knaves of clubs and spades, forget where she would, love where she should; with the thumb-marks across their legs, staring and that, by flinging away a poor faded rose, at her with their goggle eyes. Sometimes, she could cast from her all memory of the time thinking of other things as the hours went on, when it was sweet and red. Alas! the wrong she would forget and hold the cards so loosely was done, and could not be undone. She could that old Mdrard, in his odd little piping voice, only do her best now, and repair as much as it would cry out, "Take care! take care! What lay in her power, by patient effort, the harm are you about?" and then Catharine would one moment's weakness had brought about. start and blush, and try to be more careful. Catharine's gentleness maddened the old lady, Little Madame Fontaine's lamp, although she who was afraid her victim would escape her by was somewhat dazzled by the light as she tried, sheer obedience and sweetness. Why didn't with a trembling, unaccustomed hand, to trim she laugh and make jokes? Why didn't she the wick, was burning more brightly now perget angry? Why was she so indifferent? Even haps than it had ever done in all her life before; when she gained four tricks running the night and yet she might have told you (only that she before, she did not seem to care. The elegant found it difficult to speak) she had never thought veil Fontaine presented to her might have been so hardly of herself, never felt so ashamed, so F 82 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. sorry for all that she had done amiss. Fon- der. A great house! she liked her brick-floored taine must have sometimes had a dim suspicion room better than any splendid apartment in a that his wife was tired, as she drooped over the palace. Her cotton curtains and quilt, with the cards, for he would send her to the piano while stamped blue pictures from the life of Joan of he dealt the cards to the elders, and to himself, Arc, were more familiar to her than down, and and the dummy that replaced her, to the sound damask, and quilting. Better than any carpetof Catharine's music. The shabby kings and ed flight to her was the old stone staircase leadqueens, performing their nightly dance, circled ing to her bedroom, built without shelter against round and round, and in and out, in the coun- the outside wall of the house; she went up to try dance which mortals call whist, and kept bed in the rain, sometimes with the roar of the unconscious time to the measure. The lamp sea booming on the wind from a distance; somewould spread its green light, the blue flames of times she sat down on the steps on still nights the wood fire would sparkle and crackle, old when the stars were shining over the horizon, Merard, in his velvet cap with the long hanging and thought of Richard Butler, and looked, and tassel, would unconsciously whistle a little ac- wondered, and felt at peace. But in the daycompaniment to the music as he pondered over light she was unquiet and restless; she came his trumps, and Fontaine would beat time with and went, and worked harder than ever before his foot under the table; as for Madame Me- Petitpere remonstrated with her and told her she rard, erect and preoccupied, she avoided as could afford to spare herself. He did not know much as possible listening to the sounds which how things were going, but he had a shrewd distracted her, for the flick of her cards falling suspicion. Reine said no, she could not spare upon the table was the music she loved best to herself; she must go on working for the preshear. ent. And now she came half crying to CathaOne night Madame Fontaine suddenly ceased rine. "I hate the secrecy," she said; "it is playing, and went and looked out through the not fair upon me. If I were one of them they unshuttered window. Handfuls of stars were would not treat me so." scattered in the sky. There was the sound of Only yesterday Madame Pelottier had spoken the distant sea washing against the bastions of to her in a way she could not misunderstand the terrace. The moon had not yet risen; the about people who set their caps so high that narrow garden-paths glimmered in the darkness; they tumbled off; some one else had laughed, except where two long rays of light from the and asked her what she thought of Mr. Butler's window lit up every pebble and blade of grass, great fortune; Petitpere, too, who so rarely inelsewhere shadows were heaping, and the great terfered, had rubbed his old chin, and told her cliff rose black purple before the sky. Catha- that he heard from Barbeau, Monsieur Richrine, looking out, saw some one coming through ard's visits at the farm had been remarked upon. the gloom, and stop at the gate and open it, and Petitpere warned Reine to be careful if she saw she recognized Reine by the quick movement. him again-people might chatter. "Knave of trumps," said Madame Merard, It is my grandfather himself and Pere Bartriumphantly, as Madame Fontaine stepped beau who chatter," said Reine. "They do not gently out of the room, and went out to meet know what harm they do me. This morning her friend. The two women stood in the door- only I met M. de Tracy and his wife. Did you way talking in low tones, which seemed to suit not know they were come back? Catharine, the silence; they could scarcely see each other's they looked at me so strangely." faces, only Reine's white flaps streamed in the Catharine laughed. "Dear Reine, you fanshadow; her voice shook a little as she spoke, cy things." and her hand was trembling in Catharine's soft, "1I am ridiculous, and I know it-ridiculous warm fingers. Poor Reine, she had come to as well as unhappy. Oh, if he loved me he Catharine in a sad and troubled mood. She would not make me so unhappy." had received a sad, hurried word from Dick to Catharine felt a little frightened when she tell her all was over at last; that there was con- heard Reine say this. As a little drift upon fusion and stir now in the house of which he the darkness, she seemed to see her own storywas virtually the master. Mr. Baxter had un- that poor little humble, hopeless love flitting betied his red tapes, and read the will by which it fore her; and then she thought of Dick, kind, was left to him. Dick was not to take actual and gay, and loyal, and unsuspecting: of his possession for a year, during which the income fidelity there was no doubt. was to be applied to keeping up the estate as "Ah! Reine," she said, almost involuntarily, usual, and to succession expenses. Only a small " he is too kind to do any thing willingly to sum was apportioned to Dick himself until he make you unhappy. I sometimes think," she came into the property. And for the present said, speaking quickly, and frightened at her their engagement was still to be secret. And own temerity, " that you scarcely know what a poor Reine, in her perplexity, had written back prize you have gained. Mr. Butler makes no to offer to set him free. "He ought to marry professions, but he is true as steel; he never a great lady now," she said. It was not fitting speaks a harsh word, nor thinks an ungenerous that she should be his wife. His prospect of thought." How could he help this promise if succession gave her no pleasure; on the con- his dying uncle asked for it? "It seems so trary, it seemed to put them more widely asun-, hard," she went on, with suppressed emotion, THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 83 "to see those who have for their very own the upon the tall iron spikes, when Dick came walkthings others would have once given their whole ing up to the chalet one February morning about lives to possess, doubting, unhappy..." twelve o'clock. He rang the bell. Madame She stopped short: there was a sound, a win- Merard saw him through the dining-room window opening overhead, and Fontaine's voice dow, and called to Justine to let the gentleman cried out, "Catharine! where are you? impru- in. dent child." "Monsieur was not at home," Justine said. Catharine only answered quickly, "Yes, mon " Madame Fontaine was on the terrace. Would ami, I am coming..." Long afterward she he like to see Madame Merard?" used to hear the voice calling, although some- Dick hastily replied that he would try and times at the moment she scarcely heeded it. find Madame Fontaine, and he strode off in the "Reine, you are not angry," she said. direction Justine indicated. "Angry! no, indeed," said Reine, her soft, "You can not lose your way," she said, as pathetic tones thrilling through the darkness. she went back to her kitchen, well pleased to "One other thing I came to tell you. I shall escape so easily, and the dining-room door opengo into retreat on Wednesday. Will you go ed to invite the gentleman in just as he had disup and visit Petitpere one day during my ab- appeared round the corner of the house. sence?" As Dick went walking down the little slopes "Oh,Reine, are you really going," saidCath- which led from terrace to terrace, he took in at arine, to whom it seemed a terrible determin- a glance the look of Catharine's life and the ation. sound of it, the many-voiced sea with its flashReine thought little of it. She had been be- ing lights, the distant village on the jutting promfore with her mother to the convent of the Au- ontory, Petitport close at hand with its cheerful gustines at Caen. Impatient, sick at heart, sounds, its market-place and echoes, the hamvexed with herself, the girl longed for a few mer of the forge, the dogs barking on the cliff, days of rest and prayer in a place where the the distant crow of cocks. The sun was shinrumors and anxieties of the world would only ing in his eyes, so that it was Toto who saw reach her as if from a far distance. In Reine Dick first, and came running up hastily from the Chrdtien's class the proceeding is not common, cabane, calling to his step-mother. Then Cathabut grand ladies not unfrequently escape in this rine appeared with a glow upon her cheeks, for fashion from the toil and penalty of the world, the morning air was fresh and delightful. Madame Jean de Tracy herself had once retired The two met very quietly. A gentleman in for a few days, without much result. The nuns mourning took off his hat, a lady in a scarlet put up a muslin toilet-table in her cell, and made hood came up and held out her hand. As she her welcome, but she left sooner than had been did so Catharine thought she was holding out expected. The air disagreed with her, she said. her hand across a great gulf. Heaven had been Marthe was now in this very convent corn- merciful to her, and she was safe, standing on mencing her novitiate. She had entered soon the other side. Now that she saw him again after Catharine's marriage. Jean, who had seen she knew that she was safe. This was the moher, said she was looking well, and more beau- ment she had secretly dreaded and trembled to tiful than ever. The air did not disagree with contemplate, and it was not very terrible after her. Before long, Madame de Tracy and Ma- all. dame Mere returned to the chateau, with Barbe "I am sorry my husband is out," said Cathaand all the servants in deep mourning: the last rine, after she had asked him when he had come, sad news had reached them at Paris of Charles and heard that the Beamishes had crossed with Butler's death. Madame de Tracy bustled down him the day before and wanted to see her again. to see Catharine in her new home; she was very We all talk a sort of algebra now and then, as kind, and cried a good deal when she spoke of Catharine talked just now. The history of the her brother, and asked many questions, and em- past, the faith of the future, tile pain, the hope, braced Catharine very often. She did not pay the efforts of her poor little life, its tremulous a long visit, and having fluttered off and on her unknown quantities, were all expressed in these many wraps, departed, desiring madame to be few common platitudes-'" Iow do you do? I sure to come constantly to see her. Catharine am glad to see you. My husband is not at home." was glad to go; it made a break in the monotony To all of which, indeed, Dick paid but little of her life. heed, though he returned suitable answers. He was sorry to miss Fontaine, and yet he was glad ~*~-~ — +to find her alone, he said. Something had vexed him, and, like Reine, he had come to CHAPTER XVII. Catharine for sympathy and advice, only before he began upon his own concerns he looked at M. AND N. M. AND N. ^her. Now that the flush had faded he saw that ALL the autumn blaze of dahlias and margue- Madame Fontaine was a little thin and worn; rites in front of the little chalet had been put her eyes were bright as ever, but there was a out by the wintry rains and winds; only the touching tired look under the dropping eyelids shutters looked as brilliantly green as ever, and which made him fear all was not well. And yet the little weathercocks were twirling cheerfully her manner was very sweet, cordial, and placid, 84 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. like that of a happy woman. She seemed un- penetrate, transfix. Oh, it was not easy to affectedly glad to see him, as indeed she was; blind Madame Merard; she could see Catharine and it was with an innocent womanly triumph looking and talking earnestly to this unknown that she felt she could welcome him in her own young man; she could see his expression as he home for the first time. The time had come, replied to her appeal. Secret-surely Madame she told herself, when she could hold out her Fontaine had said secret. Oh! it was horrible. hand and be of help to him, and show him how Madame Merard knew enough English for that. truly and sincerely she was his friend. It was Secret! could she have heard aright? all she had ever dared to hope for, and the time "I do not know this gentleman," said Mahad come at last. Perhaps, if she had been less dame Merard, standing in the middle of the humble, less single-minded and inexperienced pathway on her two feet, and staring blankly. in the ways of the world, she might have been " Let me present Mr. Butler," said Catlarine, more conscious, more careful, more afraid; but gently, in French. the fiesh, crisp winter sun was illuminating her "Monsieur Fontaine is not at home," said world; every thing seemed to speak to her of Madame Merard, still scowling and sniffing the hope, promise, courage, and the dead thorn had sea breeze. ceased to wound. "Mr. Butler is coming again to-morrow to "I was told to come here to find you," Dick see him," said Catharine. said, after the first few words. "Madame "Indeed!" said the old lady. Fontaine, I want you to tell me about Reine. If Madame Merard could have had her way, I can not understand it. I have just come from Dick would never have entered the chalet again. the farm; they tell me she has gone into a con- What infatuation was it that prompted Madame vent; she will not be home for a week. What Fontaine to ask him to dinner-to invite himfolly is this?" to press refreshment on him? Even old MeCatharine saw he was vexed, and she tried rard came out with some proposition. Eau suto describe to him the state of depression and cree? One would think it flowed ready made anxiety in which Reine had come to her to tell from the sea. Happily she herself was there. her of her resolution... "She had no idea No doubt her presence would prevent this young you were coming," said Madame Fontaine. man from coming as often as he would other"But what else could she expect?" said Dick. wise have done. There was a secretflattery in " She writes a miserable letter, poor dear! She this reflection. proposes to give me up; she says I am cruel, But Dick was hardly out of the house when and leave her here alone to bear all sorts of in- Madame Merard began to speak her mind. jurious suspicion and insult. Of course she Perhaps it was an English custom for young must have known that this would bring me, and women to invite strange gentlemen to dinner in when I come I find her gone-vanished in this their husband's absence. Oh, she required no absurd way. Indeed, I wrote and told her to explanation. She could see quite plainly for expect me; but I see the letter unopened at the herself, only she confessed that it was what she farm." Dick, whose faults were those of over- herself would not have done-not now, at her easiness, was now vexed and almost unreason- present age. In her time a wife could devote able. For one thing, he was angry with Reine herself to the domestic hearth. Her husband's for being unhappy. "Why will she always approbation was all that she desired. Now it doubt and torture herself in this needless way? seemed that excitement, dissipation, admiration, Why should she mind the gossip of a few idiots? were indispensable. "Dinners in town," said I want to see her, and hear fiom her that she the old lady, darkly, "music at home, expedoes not mean all she says about throwing me ditions, literature, correspondence, visits!..." oVer." " Dear Madame Merard," said Catharine, "I "Oh, indeed," said Madame Fontaine, " she only go to Tracy." does not mean it." "Hon! and is not that enough?" said Ma"It is a very little time to wait, and I could dame Merard, angrily stirring something in a not help promising. My good old uncle has saucepan (it was the tisane the devoted wife done every thing for us," Butler went on; "she liked to administer to poor Monsieur Mdrard, ought not to have been so over-sensitive when who secretly loathed the decoction. He was she knew it would all be set right." now sitting in the office to avoid the fumes). Catharine wished he could have seen the girl; " Tracy! that abode of vanity and frivolity! one look of her proud sweet eyes would have been Where else would you go?" more to the purpose than all her own gentle ex- Tracy, in truth, was the secret mainspring of postulations. They were walking slowly toward all Madame Merard's indignation and jealousy. the house all this time, when at a turn of the The chateau had never called upon the chalet path, and coming from behind a bush, they met in Ldonie's reign-never once. Madame Mda short stumpy figure in a sun-bonnet. " I rard herself was not invited, even now. But have not even told my husband your secret," now, since the family had returned, notes and Catharine was saying, and she stopped short, al- messages were forever coming for this Englishthough she remembered afterward that Madame woman. Madame de Tracy had caught cold; Merard spoke no English. Catharine must go down to see her in her bedBut Madame Merard's little eyes could see, room. Madame de Tracy had bought a new THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 85 bonnet; Catharine must give her opinion. Ma- the last few years had been! In and out, and dame de Traoy could not disagree with any round and about she had wandered, hoping to member of her household that Madame Fontaine go right, and coming out again and again at the was not sent for to listen to the story. And, in same blank passage. And yet she had tried, truth, Catharine was so discreet, so silent and Heaven knows she had tried, and prayed to be sympathetic, that she seemed created to play the helped, and hoped for peace in time, and this r6le of confidante. The countess really loved was the end!-a good man's life embittered and the little woman. Poor Catharine! she some- destroyed- had not his mother said so? - her times thought that she would be glad to go no own life saddened and wasted in hopeless endurmore to a place where she was so much made ance, when elsewhere, perhaps, a worthier fate of and so kindly treated. It seemed hard to might have been hers. What had she done, come home and to compare the two. One place she thought, to be so tortured? She had got full of welcoming words of kindness and liber- up on the cliff by this time. She was plucking ality; the other, narrow, chill, confined. And the long stems of the poppies as she went along. yet here she had met with truest kindness, She felt as if she, too, had been torn up by some thought the little creature, remembering all Fon- strong hand only to be flung away. She had taine's devotion and patient kindness. She was been mad, or she would never have taken this thinking of this now as she met the onslaught fatal step. And yet she had hoped for a peaceof the old lady, who went on with her attack, ful home, and she had.thought that her poor litbombs flying, shells exploding, cannon going off, tle sisters at,least might have found a safe refwhile the horrible steam of the saucepan seemed uge, and now, by her own act, they were parted to choke and sicken the poor little enemy. from her forever perhaps. Yes," cried the furious old lady. "If you With small strength of her own to bear with loved your husband, I could forgive you all! wrongs or to assert her rights, she was apt to but you do not love him, and he knows it, and cling to those about her, to rely on them, to his life is destroyed. You have come into this leave her fate in their hands. She wished no peaceful circle with a heart elsewhere. You harm to any mortal being; she could not say a look upon us with contempt. You scorn our hard word, but she could fear, and shrink away, simple ways. Your fine friends come and in- and wince and shriek with pain. The sensitive sult me, and you secretly compare us with them little frame could thrill with a terror and anand their powdered lackeys. Ah! do you im- guish unconceived by stronger and tougher oragine that we do not know it, though you are ganizations. It was not of Dick she was thinkso silent? Do you imagine that Charles is not ing, but of Fontaine all this time, and her reaware of all that passes in your mind? He morse was all the greater because her heart was knows it, for I have told him. But he is loyal, so true and so full of gratitude to him. She and good, and tender, and he does not reproach had left her fate in the hands of others, and this you for having brought sorrow and disturbance was what had come of it; a poor little heart into the chalet, formerly so peaceful." And crushed and half broken, another person dragged old Merard banged the lid of the saucepan, and by her fault into sorrow and remorse, a deed took a great flourish of snuff. Poor Catharine done which could never, never be undone. A turned as pale as she had done once before, and crime! ah! was it indeed a crime which she had gave a little cry and ran to the door. Fon- committed that could never be repented of? taine was not standing there to make things Was there no atonement possible-no pardonsmoother. no relenting of fate? It was horrible, and, what was most hard to bear was, there was some truth in the angry old The colors were all aglow still, for the sun woman's reproach - how much truth Madame was scarcely set; the red, and blue, and striped Merard herself did not know. Catharine could petticoats, and the white caps of the fish-wives not bear the house; it seemed to stifle her; the down in Petitport, jumbled up into bright, pretfumes of that choking stew seemed pursuing tycombinations. The creeping grays and shades her. She pulled a cloak over her shoulders, gave tone and softness to the pretty scene. Inand took up her hood, and went out. Another doors the fires were flaring and crackling, and time she might have been less moved. But to- presently the church bell came ringing up the day, when she had met Dick again, when all her street in very sweet tinkling tones, calling the heart had been softened and stirred by memo- villagers to the salut, or evening service. The ries of past emotions, these reproaches seemed peaceful twilight prayers, coming at the close to her to have a meaning they might not have of the day's work, seem to sanctify to silence the had another time. Old Merard nodded, and busy cares of the long noisy hours-to absolve, called to her through the office window, but to tranquilize before the darkness of the night. Catharine shook her head with a gentle little The bell tolled on -the cure left his house movement and hurried out. This was what the and walked through his wild overgrown wildersight of her old love had done for her. She ness to the vestiary. Poor little Catharine, had been glad at the time to see him once more, who had been flitting along the hedge of the but now, when she thought of Fontaine, her great field, heard it too. She had walked till heart seemed to die within her. Was he un- she was weary, then she had rested till her heart happy, and-by her fault? What a weary maze grew so sad that she could not sit still, and she 86 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. jumped up again and walked to Arcy without through which she had entered. Her chief stopping, and without purpose, and then came troubles in life had come from the timidity and back along the cliffs and across into the fields. want of courage and trust in herself. She did She was weary of pain; she felt as if she had not know why she was flying from her husband no strength left to bear, or even to suffer or to now-from poor Fontaine, who also had been repent; she dragged on, utterly worn and dis- offering up his petitions. He prayed for his pirited, holding one or two poppies in her hand mother's rheumatism; he prayed for a blessing still with the white drapery of her dress. Cath- upon his wife and child; for Catharine's conarine was a delicate and orderly person, and she version and happiness; for a little more calm held up her dress with unconscious care, even and repose at home in the chalet; for a little when she was struggling in the Slough of De- gayety even, if possible. Fontaine did not like spond. It was indeed the Slough of Despond to ask for too much at once; and though one for her. A vision of the future came before her smiles at such a simple creed, it does not seem so utterly unendurable, with a struggle between as if a humble petition for a calm and cheerful right, and duty, and wrong, for which she felt spirit was the worse means of attaining so good herself so unfitted that she longed to lie down a thing. The maire jumped up quickly from in the hard brown' furrows of the field and die, his knees when the service was over, and unconand own herself vanquished, and give up the sciously made for the same side door through fight, and struggle no longer. which his wife was escaping, and so it happened I think it was just then the bell began to toll. that the two came face to face. It seemed like a sudden sympathy, and com- "At last I find you!" he cried, as they both panionship, and comfort to the poor thing. It stepped out almost together on to the worn stone turned her thoughts, it gave her some present flight which led down by a few steps to the object, for she began to walk in the direction of ground. Fontaine was almost inclined to bethe church. She crossed the brook, along which lieve in a miracle after all as he looked at his the figures were coming, with the great glowing wife. They were a handsome couple, M6re west at their backs. She turned up the quiet Nanon thought, hobbling away with her great end of the village, and followed M. le Cure at a basket on her back. They stood looking at one distance as he led the way through the back another in the glow of the gloaming; the breeze court of the church into which the vestry open- came salt andfresh from the sea; the twilight ed; and the side door near the altar of St. Jo- was warm still, with brown and fading golden seph was where the poor little heart-petition tints; the silver stars were coming out overwas offered up for strength, and help, and peace. head. "Imagine my anxiety," said Fontaine. Catharine saw the people prostrate all about. " I have been looking for you every where. I She knew what passionate prayers some of them went home. Ma mere told me you were gone. were praying. There was poor Thdrese Four- You wyere not at the farm. I did not know nier, whose little girl was dying. There was what to do or where to search." Joseph Leroux, who had cruel trouble in his "I walked to Arcy," said Catharine, looking home; and then presently Madame Fontaine up with her dark, wistful eyes. "Oh, Charles, caught sight of some one kneeling on a low I am very unhappy." straw chair, and she recognized her husband, "Unhappy, dear?" said Fontaine. although his face was buried in his hands. "I am unhappy to think that through me you It was very quiet and solemn. Very few of are unhappy," said the poor little woman. "Inus can come in to an evening service untouched deed and indeed I have tried to do my duty." or unsoftened. To many it is but the contrast "Don't talk like this," said Fontaine. "You of the daylight and the candles which makes are a little angel, my Catharine. What has the scene impressive. But some of us must be any one been saying to you?" content to be dazzled by a candle in this world, Poor little Catharine! Half in sobs, half in to measure the sun's light by a taper's flame. words, the explanation came, and with the exIn this man's church and that man's, candles planation half her terrors vanished. Fontaine are shining at the high altar, which seem bright was a little puzzled. She did not love him enough for a time: only when the service is enough! Why not? She would gladly love over and the prayers are ended shall we come him more. Only now that he was so kind did out into the open air, and shall our eyes behold she know how much he deserved to be loved. the fathomless waves of the mighty light of She had broken his heart. Madame Merard heaven. said so. It was a bewildering story. But he Catharine, who was worn out and exhausted, began to understand by degrees. sank into a chair in her dim corner, grateful for "Dear Catharine," Fontaine said at last, ease after her pain. She was no longer feeling very sensibly, "I am many years older than much: a sort of calm had come after the storm. you. I do not require a romantic affection: I The priest's voice ceased uttering, the choristers want a good, kind little wife to take a little care were silent, the service was ended, and people of me, and to like me a little. I am satisfied rose from their knees, took up their baskets and -more than satisfied. In my eyes there is no umbrellas-one old woman slung on her hotte one to compare to you. Madame Merard is a again-and they all went away. Catharine most excellent person, but impressionable; she mechanically tried to escape by the side door does not mean always what she says. Do not THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 87 be unhappy, my very dear friend; believe I am them all up with her sweet spirits and happihappy if you are; I ask for nothing else." ness. She enjoyed every thing, insisted upon But before they reached home Catharine had going every where, charmed every one. Ertold him why it was that Madame Merard's re- nestine was furious at being made to play a secproaches had stung her so sharply. ond. The very morning after all this agitation "Do you remember one night when you asked Mrs. Beamish sent a little note by the maire, me why I threw some dead flowers into the who had been up there, to implore Catharine to sea?" said Catharine. "I wanted to throw join them immediately. They were all going away the memory of my silly girlish faincies. sight-seeing to Bayeux, first to the museum, and Indeed it is true what I told you then-no one then to Caen, to pay Marthe a visit in her conever loved me but you; I have never spoken to vent; would Catharine please come too? She any one of what I am speaking now. You are was longing to see her. the only person in all the world who cared "I promised for you," said Fontaine. "I enough for me to give me a resting-place." thought it would do you good to be with your Fontaine begged her to leave off. He believed friends. Madame de Tracy says you are lookher, and understood her perfectly. But Catha- ing ill," he added, looking anxiously at her. rine could not stop; and as she poured forth "How kind you are to me, Charles," cried her story, in her agitation and emotion poor Catharine, delighted, and looking well on an inDick's secret escaped her somehow. " To-day stant, as she jumped up and upset all her bobbins Mr. Butler came to speak to me of something and reels. I have known ever since-ever since the sum- Fortunately for her, Monsieur and Madame mer. He and Reine are going to marry one Mdrard were not present. When they came in another. Sometimes they have come to me to from a short stroll to the fish-market, Fontaine help them. Oh, Charles, I can not help being and Catharine had started. Toto told them that glad to be his friend, and to help him when I maman was going with the countess, and that can, even though I am your wife. But oh! she had got on her Indian shawl and her pretty what have I done? I ought not to have told rose-colored bonnet. you." "Grandmamma, do you like rose-color?" As they walked along many of the villagers asked Toto. wondered what Monsieur Fontaine and his wife "No, no, no, my child," said Madame Mewere talking of so earnestly. They spoke of it rard with a shudder. afterward, and Catharine, too, remembered that walk. They went along the dusky street-the - little woman with dark eyes glowing beneath her scarlet hood Fontaine looked very pale, _ -:for he was much affected by her confidence. "I am profoundly touched, " he said, "by the trust you repose in me. You shall see that I — = have entire confidence in you. The news you give me is surprising, but not utterly unexpect- ed. At this moment I am too much preoccupied to realize its great impqrtance." Candles were alight in the chalet, the dinner- table was laid, and spmething was simmering on the hob. It was a tisanelde-thd, without any milk, which Madame Merard was preparing as _ a conciliation treat for her dauighter-in-law. The old lady had been alarmed by her long absence; ~ _ she thought she had gone too far, perhaps, and was sincerely glad to see her come in safely with her husband. "Coffee is good, and so is wine, and a little eau de carmes occasionally to fortify the stom. - i, ach," said old Merard, in his little piping voice, after dinner; "but tea is worth nothing at all."?\, "Englishwomen like to destroy themselves with tea, Monsieur Merard," said his wife, al- most graciously for her. While the little party at the chalet discussed the merits of tea and eau de carmes-while Fon- CHAPTER XVIII. taine, always kind and gentle, seemed to try in THE ABBA:E AUX DAMES. a thousand ways to show his wife how happy he T was, and how he loved her, and how unfounded MEANWHILE Catharine, in good spirits and her terrors had been-Dick waited impatiently in better heart than she had felt for many a day, at the chateau for Reine's return. Catharine was picking her way between the stones, and Beamish smiled, and chattered, and brightened walking up the little village street with her hus 88 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. band. Fontaine, nimbly advancing with neatly- as she staggered along under her load of seagaitered feet, bowed right and left to his ac- weed. "Christophe was a fool," she said. quaintance, stopping every now and then to in- "What did he mean by giving in to that dolt quire more particularly after this person's health, of a Joseph?" So she passed in her turn, mutor that one's interest, as was his custom. The tering and grumbling. Catharine would have children were at play in the little gardens in stopped and spoken to her, but the old woman front of the cottages, the women were sitting in shook her head and trudged on. " What is it groups dancing their bobbins, spinning, whir- to you?" she was saying. "You have your ring, twisting, stitching. Their tongues were man dry and safe upon shore, always at your wagging to the flying of their fingers and the side; he is'not driven to go out at the peril of bobbing of their white caps. Some of the men his life to find bread to put into your mouth." were winding string upon nails fixed to the The old woman's words meant nothing perwalls, some were mending their nets, others haps, but they struck Catharine with a feeling were talking to the women, who answered, of vivid reality, for which she could hardly never ceasing their work for an instant. Be- account. Poor souls, what a life was theirs-a tween the houses a faint, hazy sea showed glit- life of which the sweetest and wholesomest food tering against the lime walls. Dominique, must be imbittered by the thought of the price from the farm, came down the middle of the which they might be called upon to pay for it street with some horses clattering down. to the som.e day. Yes, she had her "man," as Nanon water; Marion and others called out a greeting called Monsieur Fontaine, and she looked at to him as he passed. "And when does Ma- him as he walked beside her, active and brisk, demoiselle Chretien return?" said Madame Po- and full of life and good-humor. He talked tier from the door of her shop. away cheerfully, of storms, and fish, and fisher" Who can tell?" said Dominique, clattering men, of the Ecole de Natation at Bayeux, which away. "To-morrow perhaps." I He took off he had attended with much interest, and where his hat to Monsieur Fontaine, and Madame Po- he meant Toto to go before long; he talked of tier beamed a recognition as they passed. the good and bad weather, storms, and of the Catharine asked her husband why so many great piles of sea-weed with which the coast was of the men were at home. She had not been sometimes covered when the tide went down after long enough by the sea to read the signs of the a boisterous night. "That is a sight you must times in the southwest wind now blowing gently see, my very dear Catharine," said the maire. in their faces-in the haze which hid the dark "People rise at the earliest dawn, and come rocks of the Calvados. down with carts and spades, and barrows and Fontaine adjusted his glasses and looked up baskets. It would amuse you to see the variat the sky, and then at the faint blue horizontal ous expedients for carrying away the varech beline. "These fine mornings are often decep- fore the evening tide." tive," said he, "although it is hard to believe "But what do they do with it?" said Cathain bad weather on such a day as this." Every rine thing was so bright and so still, the wind so "It forms a most valuable manure," said the gentle, that it seemed as if gales could never maire, in his instructive voice. "The odor is blow again, or storms rise. The sun poured not agreeable, but its beneficial properties can down upon the dusty road. Now and then the not be too highly commended. I remember, threads of the women at work stirred in the soft last spring, in the early dawn, some one tapping little breeze; the voices sounded unusually dis- at my window, saying,' Get up, get up, Montinct —a cheerful echo of life from every door- sieur le Maire, the varech is arrived.' I hastily way. Presently two men and a boy, tramping dressed, and found all the company assembled down toward the sea, passed by, carrying oars upon the beach, although it was but three o'clock and rope-ends.'These were Lefebvres, who in the morning." They had come to the church evidently thought, like Catharine, that no storm at the end of the village by this time, and Monneed be apprehended when the sun shone so sieur le Cure was descending the well-worn steadily and the sea lay so calm. The boy steps. He pulled off his three-cornered hat, looked up and grinned, and his bright blue eyes and Fontaine, hastily stepping forward, panama gave a gleam of recognition, for he knew Ma- in hand, returned the salutation, and asked M. dame Fontaine; one of the men, Christophe le Curd whether he would be at home in the Lefebvre, touched his cap; the other, who was course of half an hour? "I have certain his cousin, tramped on doggedly. Joseph Le- paperasses to sign," said the maire, with a febvre was the most obstinate man in the village, beaming and important face, " and I venture to and no one dared remonstrate with him. Chris- ask if you would kindly witness them? I will retophe and he had words that morning, it was turn after escorting my wife to the chateau," said said, about their coming expedition, but it end- the maire, with some slight complaisance at the ed in Christophe going too at Isabeau's prayer. thought of such good company. "She joins He never refused Isabeau any thing she asked, the niece of Madame de Tracy and others in an poor fellow-that was known to them all. The expedition to Bayeux." men went their way, and at some distance, "We. shall have rain soon," said the cure, watching them, and muttering to herself, old looking at the horizon from the church. "We Nanon followed: her brown old legs trembled must make the most of this fine sunshine while THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 89 it; lasts." And as he spoke the whole place nuns, and it is almost a city which you come to seemed to grow bright. within the great outer gates. Life and prayer, "Joseph Lefebvre is putting out," said the and work, and faith, the despairs of this world, maire. "It seems hazardous; but these people and the emblems of the next, meet you at every are fish, not men." And he adjusted his eye- step in the halls, and courts, and quiet gardens, glass, and looked at a long low bank of clouds in the sunshine and shadow, peopled by this beyond the rocks of the Calvados. pathetic multitude-men, and women, and chil"There will be a storm to-night," said the dren, who have fled hither for refuge. They cure, dryly. "Madame, however, has time to come up from the great battle-fields of the divert herself before it comes. I'm afraid Joseph world, and from the narrow streets and dark will scarcely return a sec." tenements below. Some go to the hospital, "Monsieur le Cure," cried Fontaine, walking some to the convent, and some to the little off, "I shall drop in at the presbytery on my grave-yard upon the hill-side, from whence you my way home." may see the city lying in the plain, and the Catharine looked after the cure as he trudged river shining and flowing, and the distant curve away toward a cottage, where she, too, some- of encompassing hills painted with the faint and times paid visits of charity. The black figure delicate colors of the north. with its heavy skirts passed through the brilliant De Tracy led the two Catharines, Dick and waves of light. This light seemed to make Beamish toiling up the steep streets with their every thing new and beautiful, the fields, the dis- rugged stones. They crossed a lonely "Place" tant lanes, the very grass along the roadside.. at last, where the sun beat upon the grass-grown The two, walking toward Tracy, presently reach- pavements, and no one was to be seen but some ed a place where the field-path joined the road, masons chipping at the great blocks of marble and where one of those wayside crosses which which were being prepared for the restoration are. so common.in Normandy had been erected. of the cathedral. There it stood before them, Some faded garlands were still hanging to it, high up above the town, silent, and gleaming and the grass was growing between the stone white, and beyond it the two great gates, closed steps. Here Fontaine stopped. and barred, with the words HOTEL DIEU em"Is not that the carriage from Tracy coming blazoned upon them. Reine had passed to meet us?" through those gates. Butler was thinking as "Yes, I think so,". Catharine answered. he stood waiting with the others for the porter"Then I will leave you with your friends, for ess to come with the key and admit them into I have several things to do," Fontaine said, the precincts. To Butler there was an indehastily. "Good-by, dear Catharine; they will scribable sadness about the place. The monotsee you home; they promised me they would, onous sound of the blows from the workmen's if I spared you to them." mallets seemed to fill the air. He looked.at "Good-by, Charles," said Catharine. "Thank the closed way, at the great silent cathedral, at you for coming with me when you were so the distant valley; some presentiment saddened busy." and oppressed him: none of the others felt as Fontaine smred and kissed her forehead. he did. Catharine was in high spirits-gay in "Good-by, my -little Catharine," said he, a the passing excitement, thankful for relief after second time, so kindly that it seemed to her her pain, happy in the consciousness of her that the sound of his voice echoed long after he husband's trust and Butler's friendship. had spoken. When the carriage drove up, As for Mrs. Beamish, every thing was grist Catharine was standing quite still by the cross, that came to her mill; she was one of those watching Fontaine as he walked away. Once princesses who know how to grind gold out of he turned and looked back, and then the slope straw. Beamish used to laugh at her energy of the field hid him from her eyes. and enthusiasm, but he loved her for it. Fos"It was not like Monsieur Fontaine to run sils, doubtful relics, Bishop Odo's staff, jolting away from us," said Mrs. Beamish, cheerfully, omnibuses, long half-hours in waiting-roomsdriving up in her furs and smiles. "We came Mrs. Beamish laughed, and enjoyed every thing to meet you. My aunt changed her mind at untiringly. She stood now leaning against the the last moment, andwouldn't come. Ernestine iron gate, and holding one great bar in her declares we are going to see old rags and bones, hand, as she chattered on in her pleasant way, and that it is a fast-day, and they won't let us while Catharine, who had perched herself upon into the convent. But we mean to try, don't a block of stone, sat listening to the talk of we? Jump in, dear." the others. It was only woman's talk after all The convent of the Augustines at Caen stands -of needle-work, and of samplers, and of upon a hill next to the great Cathedral of the stitches, but the stitches had been set eight Holy Trinity, which the people call l'Abbaye hundred years ago, and the seamstress was an aux Dames. The convent walls inclose shady empress, and the pattern was the pattern of her lime-walks, and quadrangles, and galleries, and times. They had just come from the Bayeux flights of steps, along which the white nuns go tapestry. "I should as soon have thought of drifting. The galleries lead to sick wards and seeing the Gordian knot," cried Mrs. Beamish, dispensaries, to refuges and nurseries. The flippantly. care of the soldier's hospital is given to the'Or Penelope's web"said Dick. 90 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. "Hush," said Beamish. "Here comes the "I think if I had not married I should have abbess." liked this life," said Mrs. Beamish thoughtfully. A little, bright-eyed, white-robed sister, fol- "And you, Madame Fontaine?" lowed by an attendant in a blue cotton gown, Little Catharine flushed up, and shook her now came to the gate and unlocked it. "Ma- head gently. demoiselle will conduct you over the hospital," "Our sisters are very happy," said their she said, in answer to their various requests and conductress. "We have three who are over inquiries. "You wish to see Mademoiselle eighty years of age. They never come out of Chretien, madame? The ladies here who are the convent, where they remain with the noviin retreat admit no visits. I am sorry to re- ces." fuse you, but the convent is closed to the pub- "Do any of them ever go back into the lie." Then they asked for Marthe. It was a world?" asked Beamish in a John Bull sort of fast-day, and as Ernestine had predicted, no tone. strangers could be allowed to see the ladies. "Last year a novice came," said the conductAny vague hopes which might have brought ress; "there was a grand ceremony at her reDick all the way from Petitport were quickly ception. She came, dressed as a bride, in a extinguished by the gentle little nun who glided great carriage with two horses, and many genaway from them along the arched cloister, in tlemen and ladies were present to take leave and out of the shade and the light, with silent of her. Then her mother came and cried, and steps, like a ghost. threw herself at her feet. The unfortunate Then the lay sister took ap the story in a girl's courage failed; apparently hers was no cheerful, sing-song voice, and began to recite real vocation. She left in a common hackneythe statistics of this House Beautiful. So many coach next morning, disgraced and pitied by us loaves, so many fishes, so many doctors, so many all.... This is the Abbaye, which is, as you caldrons of soup, of physic, so many people see, in reparation." cured, so many buried. She led them into the Matilda and her successors have raised the kitchen, where two nuns were busy cooking vege- church upon tall upspringing arches, so light, so tables, while a third was sitting at a table chant- beautiful, that they strike one like the vibrations ing out canticles from the Psalms, to which the of music as one enters. If our faith of late others responded loudly. She led them into the years had been shown by such works as these, long wards where the sick were lying, with their what strange creeds and beliefs would have nurses coming and going from bedside to bed- seemed represented by the Egyptian mausoside; one pale man, with great dark eyes, raised leums, the stucco, the Grecian temples, in which himself wearily to see them go by, and then fell we have been content to assemble. "Here, back again upon his pillow. The curtains of through a side-door in the massive wall, they the bed next to his were drawn close, and entered in among the springing forest of arches, Catharine bent her head as she hurried past it. first passing through a small outer chapel which The nursery was the prettiest and most cheer- seemed echoing with a distant chant, and where ful sight of all. It was on the ground floor, a coffin was lying on the marble pavement. where two or three rooms opened out upon one The lay sister quietly pointed to it, saying, of the cloisters, and in these rooms were small "The bearers will be presently here to take it cradles and babies asleep, with their little fat away. It is a young man who died in the hoshands warm and soft upon the pillows, and pital two days ago. We do not know his name." some little children playing quietly, and some And then she opened a grating and led them old nuns keeping watch. The shadows made into the church. They were all silent as they a shifting pattern on their woolen gowns, and moved about; the whiteness and cheerfulness the lights through the open door painted the of the place seemed at once lovely and sad to.unconscious little groups. They sat there busy, Catharine: she was glad to be there. "The peaceful, beatified, with the children all about tomb of the empress is in the choir," their conthem, and saintly halos round about their worn ductress continued, "behind that black curtain. old heads. They were not saints, only old You have seen her tapisserie, no doubt. I can women as yet. Though, indeed, it is not more not take you in, for, as I told you, the service is difficult to imagine them as saints and angels going on, but, if you like, I may raise the curone day yet to come, than to think of them like tain for an instant." the children round about-young, golden-haired, She was quite at home and matter-of-fact. round-eyed. One of the children, a little boy Catharine Beamish was silent and impressed; called Henri, took a great fancy to Dick, and Catharine Fontaine felt as if it was a sort of trotted up to him with a sticky piece' of sugar, allegorical vision passing before her; she could which he silently thrust into his hand. A baby, hardly believe in the reality of this calm oasis in who was sitting upon the floor, began to make the midst of the roaring work-a-day world: the a cooing noise as if to call attention, but when coffin, the children, the sick people, all seemed Mrs. Beamish stooped to take her up into her like a dream somehow. She was thinking this arms she saw that the poor little thing was when the sister called them to the grating which blind. separated the choir from the nave, and raised " Blind from her birth," the nurse cried, "but the curtain, and as she did so a flood of yellow a little angel of goodness." light from the west window came pouring THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 91 through the bars, and then the most unreal sight Reine Chretien thought once that she had disof all met Catharine's eyes. It was like some covered it to the sound of the chanted prayers vision of a saint in ecstasy. In the midst of in the companionship of sacred, indifferent the choir stood the great black tomb; all round women. She had been torn by mistrust. about the praying nuns knelt motionless in their Catharine's poor little warning had roused the white garments. The priests at the altar were sleeping jealousy of this strange and difficult intoning in a low sing-song voice. All the nature. She had hated herself-struggled faces were toward them; closed eyes, some against it, forgotten it in a passionate enthusiasm hands clasped, some crossed devoutly, some of devotion, of gratitude; and by some strange outstretched in supplication. Catharine sud- chance, praying in the choir, within the gates denly seized Dick's arm: "Look!" she whis- of the convent, she had opened her eyes to see pered. the curtain raised, and, like a terrible revela"Do you see her?" he asked, eagerly, in a tion, the secret visions of her heart standing low voice, turning to Madame Fontaine; but realized before her. There were Dick and the curtain fell almost at that instant, and it Catharine standing outside at the grating, side was too late. by side; and within it, the nuns at their prayers, "No, madame," said the lay sister, decidedly, and Reine still on her knees, with a sudden tem"I must not do it again; it is impossible." pest raging in her heart. She was deaf to all their entreaties, and stood Another time the chance might have meant before the pully to prevent any one attempting nothing, but now she was in a demoralized state to look again. of mind, and, as it often happens, the very efforts " She saw you," said Catharine to Butler, as which she had made to overcome the evil seemed they walked away at once, touched, impressed, to increase its strength, like water poured upon and curious, with the sound of the chanting in the flames. their ears. Presently the unconscious Beamish Certain combinations, which at one time, to began asking them all if they had seen that some people, seem utterly shifting and unmeanbeautiful young woman to the right? "She ing, to others are, as it were, stamped and was not so well trained as the others, and opened arrested forever in their minds. A certain set her eyes," said he. of emotions have led up to them; a certain reThe last thing to see was the garden, where sult follows. The real events of life happen the sick people were strolling in the sunshine, silently, and in our hearts the outward images and then by a great alley of lime-trees they are but signs and faint reflections of its hopes, came to the hill beyond the grave-yard, from longings, failings, victories. whence they could look for miles and miles at plains and hills all bathed in misty sunshine. - A little wind was blowing, and smoke drifting over the gables of the town, and an odd bank of CHAPTER XIX. clouds seemed piled against the west. Coming back under the bare branches of the avenueFONTAINE TO THE RESC they met the little funeral procession, and stood IN the absence of his wife, poor Fontaine had still to let it pass. Two choristers were trudg- been making mischief at home; he had let out ing ahead, chanting as they hurried along; an Dick's secret to Madame de Tracy, who hapold white-headed priest was hurrying beside pened to meet him as he was coming out of the the coffin. Some birds were faintly chirruping cure's house with his paperasses, as he called overhead, the wind came rushing through the them, in his hands. She had been transacting bare branches, shaking the shadows upon the some business with the lace-makers at the end dry turf. of the village, and had walked home with him, "It does one good to come to this place. I talking of one thing and another, little thinking shall ask my husband to bring me here again," as she went along that this was the last of their said Catharine. many gossips. Madame de Tracy listened with No one answered her. Butler was a little interest to Fontaine, who was speaking of his ahead, walking with his hands deep in his pock- wife, and saying how happy he was, how good ets. Catharine Beamish had got hold of her she was, how charmingly she bore with the husband's arm and was talking to him. For small peculiarities of a tender and excellent, the first time that day a strange chill presenti- but over-anxious and particular mother. ment came to Madame Fontaine; she remem- " My nephew told me that he was afraid Mabered it afterward. As she came out through dame Merard had taken a great dislike to him," the gates again it seemed to her as if she was said the countess, laughing. " I know she is leaving behind her more of peace and of prayer a little difficult at times." than were to be found outside, and yet she was "She is a person of great experience," said glad to escape and to be carried away by the Fontaine, "and one can not blame her, madame, tide of life. for feeling that in a usual way the acquaintance Who shall say where peace is to be found? of an elegant young man of the world is not deGeorge Eliot has nobly written that the king- sirable for a young wife in Catharine's position. dom of heaven is within us, and not to be found She might be tempted to draw comparisonshere or there by those who vainly search for it. but of course, under the circumstances-Mon 92 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. sieur Butler is engaged," and here poor Fontaine swiftness, and presently they came in sight of a suddenly stopped short and looked Madame de brown sea tossing fiercely in the twilight. Tracy Tracy in the face.... "You did not know stood up upon the box, and tried to make out it," he said; "I have forgotten myself-ma- something of the boat, but the wind blew his dame, I entreat you to ask' no more-let my hat off into the carriage, and he could see nothwords be buried in oblivion." ing. The wind had changed since the morning, He might have known'that Madame de and was now blowing in fierce gusts from the Tracy, of all the people in the world, was the northwest. They passed the wayside cross, last person to comply with such a request. She upon which the wet garlands were swinging to asked a hundred questions, she plied him in and fro; the wet was dripping upon the stony every way. She never rested for one instant steps, the mists were thickening behind it. until she finally extracted poor Reine's name Catharine could hardly believe that this was the from her victim. Her next proceeding was to sunshiny place where she had parted from her rush off to the farm in a state of indescribable husband in the morning. Then they passed agitation. Petitpere was plodding about in com- the church, and the dark-looking gates of the pany with his friend Barbeau, the wisps of presbytery, over which the bushy branches were straw hanging from their wooden sabots. To- swinging and creaking; and then they came at gether they poked the pigs, inspected their last to Lefebvre's cottage, which stood by itself barns, examined the white horse's lame foot. at some little distance from the street. Here The apparition of the countess took them by Jean pulled up, but no one seemed to be there. surprise; but old Chretien courteously replied There was the sound of an infant's voice screamto all Madame de Tracy's agitated questions. ing within, and at last two or three little frightReine was absent; she would return next day ened children came crowding round the door, -offered her refreshment, a little bread and and peeped out and ran away. "Ills sont alle butter after her walk, a little milk-would she voire," one little girl said at last; and the not rest? She was tired, would she not per- countess was gone too, she told them, in reply mit him to send her home on Annette, who to Catharine's questions. should be instantly saddled? for the weather The rain fell with soaking force. The child was threatening, and as he spoke the storm inside the cottage went on crying in piercing which Fontaine had predicted broke. So Ma- sad tones, forlorn, helpless, deserted. Jean lookdame de Tracy had to wait for shelter at the ed in. "It is on the floor, poor little wretch," farm, and meanwhile the little party of excur- he said. sionists had not yet reached home. The car- "Please let me out, " Catharine cried suddenriage was waiting at the station, and as they ly; "that poor little baby! Iknowit. I will passed through the streets Bayeux looked black, wait here for Madame de Tracy, if you will tell and then again suddenly lighted by gleams my husband where I am, and ask him to come from the setting sun, the window-panes blazed for me presently." here and there, drops of rain began to fall, and " Had we not better take you home," said presently clouds came spreading and hid in the Jean; "how will you get back?" pale gold, and the rain began to pour upon the "Oh, Charles does not mind the rain; it is a roads and hedges, by the stunted fruit-trees, very little way," Catharine said. "I must stay upon the wide fields which spread to the sea; with these children." and soon the mists came creeping up, and hid The two young men turned and walked away, the distant glimpses of the sea and the hills, with the empty carriage following, as Catharine They were all tired and silent, and spoke disappeared into the cottage. She took the little on the way back. Baptiste was standing wailing child into her arms, and throwing a few at the door of the chateau when the carriage branches of colza upon the fire, she sat down drove up through the gusts of rain. "Madame upon a low stool, and tried to warm it and comhas not yet returned from the village," he said.,fort it by the blaze. It was a long, dark room, "She has sent a message; she wishes the car- with the usual oaken cupboard and the deep riage to go for her to Lefebvre's cottage. The chimney of those parts, like the chimneys in our poor wife is in great trouble; he has not yet own cottages. The wind shook the windowreturned. They, say the boat has been seen panes, and the slant rain struck against it as it making for the port." fell; the fire seemed to make a melancholy and "Ah! poor woman!" said Madame Fon- fitful glare, every now and then lighting up a taine, with an ache in her heart. A sudden little plaster statuette of the Virgin, ornamented gust of wind and rain came blowing in her face, with a tiny garland of artificial flowers. The and Baptiste staggered under the great umbrella kitchen was in confusion: chairs pushed about, which he was holding over Mrs. Beamish as she the spinning-shuttle lying on the floor. Cathaalighted. rine noticed it all when her eyes grew accusDick had got down too, but he sprang into tomed to the darkness; for little light came the carriage again when he found that De Tracy from the window, and she had asked the childid not get off the box, but was buttoning up his dren to close the door. They were standing coat and preparing to go on. "Good-by," said round her now, staring in amazement. One of Catharine Beamish, and then the carriage set them who had not seen her before thought it off again. The'horses went with a sudden was, perhaps, a lady from heaven who had come THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 93 to quiet the baby. As she hushed the wailing would want a dry one when he came home; baby, she had taken off her bonnet, and her and I was arranging a pretty little pair of sabots sweet little dark head was bent thoughtfully as for my petiot.' This is what Marion said to one thing after another very far away from the me:'Perhaps he may never want them, my cottage came into her mind. Every now and poor Nanon.' And then I looked up, and I saw then the baby gave a little appealing moan; that more people had come in.'Qui se moubut after a time it dropped off to sleep in the chiaient,' said the old woman, in her Norman folds of the Cashmere shawl. Now and then patois. And I said,'Listen to me, Marion; I Catharine would think she heard a step, and like best to know the worst. I have lost my imagined it might be Fontaine coming to fetch husband?' Ah! madame, it was not my husher; but no one came for a very long time-so band then; my husband had come safe to at least it seemed to her. shore: the men of St. Laurent had saved him. When the door did open at last it was old But my petiot; he was holding on to his father Nanon who appeared, slowly hobbling in from in the water, and the cravate give way. Ah! the storm outside, and staring and blinking with I have had misfortune in my time."... And her odd, bloodshot eyes. A little rush of sleet old Nanon Went on spinning. seemed to burst in with her, and the baby set It was just then that the door opened, and up a fresh moaning. The old woman did not the cure of the village came in. Catharine seem surprised to see Catharine there. started up, holding the baby to her, and gave a "I came back to look to the children," she little cry. She seemed to guess instinctively said. "If I had known you were here I should that sorrow was at hand. The cure advanced have staid down below. They can't get the to meet her with a face full of compassion. boat round the point. Isabeau has gone to the "My poor child," he said, "come home. I Chapel of our Lady to pray for their safety. have come to fetch you home. There has been That child wants food." And, going to a cup- an accident." board, she poured some milk into a cup, and Catharine said nothing; she put the child gave it to the baby. The other children clam- quickly down and pulled the shawl over her ored round her, but Nanon pushed them away. head as they hurried through the wet street in Then she pulled the wheel with trembling haste the storm of sleet and wind. It seemed to up to the fire, and began to spin as if from habit, Madame Fontaine that one or two people came mumbling and looking at the door. "They to their doors and looked at them, but she was will bring us news," she said. "M. le Maire not sure; she did not dare to ask what had is on the plage, and M. de Tracy and the count- happened; she knew without being told, someess. Ah! it is not the first time they have gone how. The cure was holding her hand and hurdown.... Look at my wheel; there it is, rying her along through the rain. As they forty years old. Many things have happened came out upon the ascent leading to the chalet, since it first began to turn." Catharine saw a crowd of people down below "How many thousand times it must have upon the shingle, and some people standing in turned!" Catharine said. the little garden in front. " They have got him "Ah! madame, many a time I have sat up home," the cure said. "Let us hurry, my poor till two o'clock in the morning to get bread to child; therd is no time to lose." put into my children's mouths, after my poor Catharine gave a cry, and put her hand to defunct man's death. They used to cry some- her head, and began running through the rain. times because I had no food to give them. But The people at her door made way for her; but M. le Cure was very good to me.' Courage, no haste she could have made would have been my poor girl,' he said; and he made a quete of of any avail. four francs for me. That was one day when I The two young men had come upon the had nothing in the house." beach just as the other boats had been hauled Catharine shivered as she listened to the sad up safe and dry; the men were waiting to give old voice complaining of the troubles of by-gone a helping hand to the poor Lefebvres, whose years. She began to long to get away-to be boat -La Belle Marion- had just appeared at home. The place seemed unutterably sad. through the mist. It was endeavoring to round The baby was asleep by this time. She listened a little promontory which jutted out into the to the sound of the rain pattering without, of sea beyond the terrace of the chalet, and which, the fire blazing fitfully, of the wheel turning, with the rocks at the other extremity of the The elder children had begun a little game with village, helped to form a small harbor for the a broom in a corner, and were laughing over it. fishing-boats. The name of the place came Old Nanon span on. "Ah! what trouble I from this little natural port. There were some have had!" she was mumbling. " My' petiot,' sunk rocks round the promontory against which he was only ten-so gentle, so obedient. Listen, the water dashed fiercely at all times. To-day that I may tell you. He went out with his the whole horizon was upheaving and tossing in father and his elder brother; and about the time the twilight. There was one faint gleam in the I was expecting them I went into a neighbor's west where the black waves were tumbling, and house, and she said,'My poor Nanon, will you where clouds seemed to be shifting and tearing spin two pounds of flax?' But I said,'No, I had behind the mist, while below the terrible flushto repair the "camiche" of my husband. He ing sea was sobbing in passionate fury. Each 94 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. time the boat attempted to weather the point to himself he was lying on the shingle, some round which it had to pass before making for one was pouring brandy down his throat, and the shore, the shrieking wind and the great some one else was rubbing his hands. throbbing flood tide drove it back again and Richard sat up, bewildered. They had caragain; once a great wave came rolling from ried him far away to a sheltered place, where they afar, gathering strength as it approached, and were less exposed to the storm; the sea was completely covered the poor little laboring bark. roaring still, but the fury of the wind had abaThere was a cry of terror from the poor ted. As he looked, he saw that some people women looking on, but the water rolled away, were carrying away the lifeless form of a man and the three sailors were still there, fighting upon their shoulders; a women with fluttering for their lives upon this terrible battle-field. garments, and a child, sobbing in piteous tones, Two or three of the people upon the beach were trudging alongside. hurried to the little promontory of which men- "Thank God!" said Madame de Tracy, tion has been made. There was only standing- flinging her arms round Dick's neck, while Jean place for two or three. Dick and Fontaine nodded and put up his brandy-flask. were among the number. Fontaine was very "You must take him home in the carriage, much excited; he gesticulated vehemently, and mamma," said Tracy; "and now I will go and with the others shouted to the men; but the see how it fares with my poor Fontaine." wind carried their voices away. The storm was How it fared! He lay quite still upon his at its height. The white horses were dashing bed, with Toto still sobbing and holding his against the embankment at the extremity of the hand, and the old Merards coming and going maire's little garden, and the spray came wash- with scared white faces, and with remedies that ing over the promontory. The wind shrieked were not wanted now, for he would suffer no like a human voice. The poor little boat more. Some terrible blow in the water had seemed doomed; in its efforts to get under stunned him to death. It was no living man shelter it came too near the wind, and once that poor Dick had brought to shore. Poor again entirely disappeared. It was like a Fontaine had been dashed by the storm against miracle to the lookers-on, standing helpless on the barrel or some sunken rock. the beach, to see that when it emerged a second Dear simple heart! So foolish, so absurd, time, bottom upward, from the water, the three so confident, so tender and thoughtful for men were clinging to it still; but it only rose others! "He could swim like a fish," le had to be drifted rapidly past into the mist by the said, to some one. "It was not for him to refurious tide from the shore. It passed only main behind when others were going to their some twenty yards from the sand-bank upon deaths." Ridicule is hushed, the humble are which they were standing-Fontaine and Dick, crowned with good things when the solemn and the two other men. wave which cast Fontaine upon the unknown "Good heavens! one of them is gone," said shore comes for each in turn. Some of those Dick, beginning, by a sort.of instinct, to fasten who had laughed at his odd, kindly ways were a rope round his waist. waiting outside in the rain with eyes full of Fontaine pointing to an object floating upon tears; some who had prayed more fervently, a wave. "Look,"said he, "what is that?" felt more deeply, perhaps realized the solemn and as he spoke, in his excitement, he seized a mysteries of life and death more vividly, than rope, and dashed into the water before any one this simple soul, were awe-stricken and silent as could prevent him. Poor fellow, it was only a they thought of him now, for he was wiser than barrel, and as he caught at it it slipped from they. Love thy neighbor as thyself is the divine his grasp. There came a shriek from the wind, law of life, and if ever man fulfilled it cheerfully, and a sudden squall of rain, and the rope came unpretendingly, it was Fontaine. He had done slack into the hand of the man who held it. his task gayly, kindly, ungrudgingly; he had " He has let go the rope," said one of the men, gone his way, and died in harness. horrified, and then, somehow, it was Dick, in Madame de Tracy awoke from troubled sleep his turn, who was struggling in the sea. in great agitation and depression on the mornIt was a strange and awful moment as he rose ing after the storm. She could not rest: her upon the great roaring wave which caught him nerves had been greatly shaken by the terrible off his feet. The sky seemed to fall to meet calamity of the day before, by the sight of the him, his heart stood still, chill mountains were poor little widow's terror and anguish. The rising and falling. At first he was quite con- good chatelaine longed to be of use to her, but scions; he could even notice a long string of Catharine had begged her to go, to leave her black sea-weed pass before his face. Suddenly, alone. sooner than he had expected, he seemed flung Poor lady! all night long she had wonderwith a dash against some floating substance, ed, reproached herself, sorrowed for her friend, which he clutched; the water closed over his trembled, and reproached herself again. Mahead; and then they began to pull the rope in dame de Tracy rose at last from her uneasy bed, from the shore. He scarcely knew what he was where the little sharp points of conscience were grasping; his senses seemed to fail; stunned piercing the down and the elastic mattresses; and bewildered, he struggled through the terrible she went to one of the windows, and opened it, valley of the shadow of death. When he came and looked out. From this window she could THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 95 see the chalet far away, and a bit of the sea white cap-strings flying, as if it had been five and of the beach, upon which a light was o'clock in the afternoon instead of in the mornburning, and she saw that the shingle was ing. "Barbe, go to Mr. Richard's door and quite black with the sea-weed which the ask him how he feels." night's storm had cast up. The chalet looked "Madame, he is asleep," said Barbe; "his very still; no one seemed moving; but pres- door was open as I passed." ently from one of its upper windows there came "Asleep! ah! perhaps it is the best thing for a light. him. Tell me, is any one stirring in the house?" Madame de Tracy looked at it with a pain "I think, madame, that M. Le Comte is risaching and tugging at her kind old heart; she ing." waited for a while, and then rang for Barbe, who "Barbe! go and knock gently at his door. appeared presently, bright and smiling, with Ah! no; prepare my dressing things and a 96 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. small cup of coffee, and one also for yourself. I pale chilly gold; but some deep shadows were want you to come with me to the chalet. I heaping against the faint background. The must go and see after that poor child. Ah! windows of the farm were lighted, up warmly, what a terrible scene! I little thought when and looked home-like and welcoming to the they sent for me..." young mistress of the house as she reached the When Barbe and her mistress reached the great arch and went in. village it was all alive with early voices. The She thought her own home had never looked morning after the storm had broken with bril- so home-like, with its friendly seamed face, and liant sunshine, although great mountains of quaint yet familiar aspect. She had a feeling clouds still hung mid-air. The doors were as of a living friend or spirit of the hearth welopen, the people busily coming and going, the coming her, and inclosing her within open arms. children half-dressed were peeping, the early She was glad to come back to liberty, to daily plants in the gardens were bathed in brightness. work-glad to meet her grandfather-glad to Even Madame Potier was at her unopened shop. meet Dick once more. But something-a preShe stared at Madame de Tracy, who, for the sentiment, perhaps, growing out of the feelings first time for many years, appeared in public of the last few days-seemed to mix with the without her frizzy curls. happiness which she felt. It was like a little bit"You have heard the news, madame?" she ter taste, a little passing fear-like a small cloud cried. "They came back in the night. They no bigger than a man's hand rising out of the managed to get on shore at St. Laurent! It is horizon. a miracle." From the steep ascent to the cha- We all know how strangely, as we travel on let Madame de Tracy could see the figures in life, we suddenly reach new countries, states crowding down below like ants, to clear away of mind, and of being, undreamt of, or at least the great piles of black sea-weed, and gather the unrealized by us. Those terrible phantoms of harvest which the storm had cast up upon the our youth-the selves to be of the future-come shore. Nanon had her holte full of the long silently upon us before we are aware. They hanging fringes: carts heaped with the flutter- come vigorously at first, impatiently, with quick ing ribbons slowly rolled away. Poor Catharine, blood flowing. Then more indifferent. Then too, saw the sight, looking out at early dawn, middle-aged, careworn, lean and slippered figand languidly wondering what the bright lights ures, advancing quietly out of the unknown, moving here and there upon the beach could whispering secrets to us which we have not mean. Were they watching as she was? It suspected, telling us truths that we sometimes seemed to her like a great pall cast up out of hate to hear, sometimes thank heaven with unthe sea, and she turned away with a sickening speakable relief for knowing at last. There had pang and a groan. She was afraid she had been a strange revelation to Reine in that sudawakened Toto, who was lying asleep in a great den withdrawing of the curtain of the chapel. chair, but the poor child only stirred uneasily, She had seen, as it were, the thoughts, the unand breathed gently to sleep again. expressed anxieties of her secret heart, in flesh About midday the storm came on again with and blood, there actually represented before her. so much fury that they were obliged to close the The sight might have meant nothing if it had shutters of the ch&let, and burn candles all day not been for the feelings which had preceded it: long. Dick at his ease among those rustling silks and On the third day it abated, and poor Fontaine furs; Catharine there, and, as it were, one of was laid in his grave. them. What had Reine in common with it all? Once after the funeral Catharine saw the Nothing-ah! nothing but her great love. So little feather brush which had vexed her so great it was that she sometimes felt alone in it: often lying on a table. She caught it up, the her love, which was as a pain and a burden to poor little widow, in her long black dress, and her, for she could not express it. It was scarcecovered it with kisses and tears. Tears of such ly a part of herself, she thought sometimes. It tender love, and longing, and remorse; no hero seemed to her like something from without, of romance, no knight dying in tournament, bearing down upon her from a great distance. could have inspired truer and more tender sor- She could only offer it up with terror and awe, row. in solemn sacrifice to an unknown God. Alas On the third day after the storm Reine came poor woman, these great silent emotions are not walking quietly across the fields from the station, the offerings which are accepted most willingly wrapping her cloak round about her, for the in this good-humored world. Thousands of evening was chill. Every thing looked dusky, little affectionate fires are burning on our neatsilent; low pale lights were shining through the ly-blackened hearths, in our kitchens, in our hosbroken heaps of cloud that were, at last. dis- pitals and refuges. We deal out our fuel in persing in the west. The salt pool under the scuttlefuls, and put in a few sticks of sentiment dark bushes at the end of the road was gleaming if the flame is very low; but I think Reine with these pale lights. The horses in the fields would have lighted a great pile, if she could were moving here and there, scarcely distin- have heaped upon it all the most worthy and guishable in the darkness. Just over the farm, valuable things; flung into it all the rich flowers, where the clouds had not yet risen, a little bit sweet fiuit, and a few bitter herbs and incense, of red moon was hanging. The lights were set fire to it all, and walked herself into. the THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 97 flames had she seen the occasion. Reine, with the little tragedy. " IIe ought to be alive at all her defects and her tenderness, her jealousy, this moment, and there he was in the cimeher fidelity, her passionate emotions, her angry, tiere, while two old fellows were still in their rough words, could speak of the small passing sabots." Strangely enough, poor Fontaine had feelings of an instant; but it was so hard to her signed his will that very morning, in the presto put words to the great harmonious discords ence of M. le Cure and his gardener, so Barof her secret heart that she rarely tried to do so. beau reported. It was not known for certain, It was in the look of her eyes, the flush of her but it was said that he had left every thing to face, its sometimes tender brilliance of anger his widow for her life, and appointed her sole and sweetness, that Richard Butler could read guardian to his boy. Poor little woman! it was her heart. a rude shock for her. People talked of her reAlthough Reine was old for her years in feel- turn to England. Then Pere Chretien went on ing, she was young in the knowledge of the to other things: The white cow was ill: it had world, and many a child of thirteen is wiser been hurt in the nostril; Barbeau had examthan she was then. It is only as women grow ined the wound; lhe thought badly of it; and, older and know more of life that they escape by the way, what was the matter with Madame from the Rhadamanthine adoration which haunts la Comtesse? She had been up at the farm their inexperience. They find out later how asking all manner of questions, ferreting here fallible all human judgments are-how unsatis- and every where.'" She didn't discover much," factory and incomplete-and they discover, when said old Chretien, with a chuckle; "but take it is too late sometimes, that the tall superior care, my girl: she looked malicious; I could see beings who are to take the calm direction of it plain enough." Barbeau, too, had commenttheir poor little flustered souls are myths and ed upon the circumstance. "They don't like impossibilities. the Englishman to come too often, that is not Poor Reine's ideal had appeared to her hard to divine. Only this morning I had to through the bars in company with two rustling send him off very short," said Petitpbre, coinladies of another country, and class, and religion placently. That sort of person it comes, and to her own. Little combinations which at one goes, and amuses itself, and thinks itself of contime and to some people seem utterly shifting sequence. He might-have broken his head in and unmeaning, to others are arrested forever the sea in the place of poor Fontaine for all he in their minds. A certain set of emotions have cared. "Voil," the old fellow concluded philbeen silently leading up to this particular in- osophically, "Barbeau says there is no dependstant, and date from it ever after. The girl ing-" walked across the court with the heavy, deliber- "Oh, don't, don't, Petitpere," cried poor ate footstep of the Chretiens. The ladies of Reine, flinging herself down upon the oak bench the d'Argouges family, her mother's ancestors, against the wall, and beginning to cry. "Poor had not been in the habit of wearing such heavy Fontaine, poor friend, poor, poor Catharine! leather shoes; but one of them, Jeanne d'Argou- Oh, what a sad world! Oh, how bitter was ges, had once been painted in a peasant dress life!" she cried, in her pathetic voice, hiding her with the same old golden crucifix hanging round face in her hands, while the sobs came faster and her neck that Reine now wore. She used to be faster. "Fontaine dead; that kind creature, called "La Fee," and the girl had often heard so alive, so full of gentleness and goodness." her mother tell the story of her sad end, and Poor soul, was it only for Fontaine that she how she died of a cruel word. Reine was like was mourning, and did her tears flow for all sad the picture, poor Madame Chrdtien thought, hearts, all future troubles, all possible separaand she had been used to laugh and say that tion? perhaps her daughter's beauty came to her fron She was sitting there still; the old man had the drop of fairy blood in her veins. put down his pipe, and was patting her on the As she came in, Petitpere, who was sitting shoulder with his horny old fingers, and doing by the fire, looked up and smiled at her, and his best to console her. knocked the ashes out of his pipe. "Now then, now then," said he, "you are not his widow to give way to desolation like this. _-~~~_ ~ —-- Hush! there is some one coming. It is perhaps A VBarbeau.,." CHAPTER XX. Bareau But even the hated name of Barbeau did not NEVER, NEVER. rouse poorReine as did the step upon the tiled PETITPERE looked up and smiled, and shook floor of the kitchen, and the voice which gladly his head a moment after, as he began the recital exclaimed and called her by her name, and then of all that had befallen them since Reine had the sweet tear-stained face looked up, and the been away. It was too true that sad and terri- pathetic eyes met Dick's proud glad glance. For ble things had happened, and yet tobacco and a minute Reine forgot all her doubts, jealousy, gossip were not the less sweet because storms hard resolves-forgot every thing but Dick for a had raged and misfortunes thickened; and the minute, as he stood before her, holding both her old fellow puffed his pipe, and leisurely recount- hands in his, and then he spoke. cd his story. "He6! poor boy, who would have "You have been badly wanted, dear Reine. thought it?" said old Chreticn, as he finished I have come for you. I promised that poor litG 98 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. tie woman to bring you back to her. I knew I up at the farm yesterday? She asked my grandshould find you this time..." father a great many questions. Can she susWhy did he speak? Ah! why, if this was pect the truth? Can Madame Fontaine have all he had to say? The tender heart seemed told her..." suddenly to grow hard and rough, the light died "I am sure she guesses the real state of the out of the wistful eyes. Why did he speak, if case," Dick said;"but Catharine Fontaine has his first words were to be of Catharine? It was not told her. Poor little woman! she has othin vain that the girl tried to hush the devilish er things to think of just now." voice, the hateful thought away. Reine stood, "Is she very unhappy?" with dry eyes and a pale face, glancing from "How can you ask? Should not you be unDick to Petitpire, who was once again sitting happy if I had been drowned instead of Fondoubled up over the fire, shaking his head doubt- taine?" fully to himself every now and then. The girl shivered, and then suddenly, with a "Could you come now?" Dick persisted. passionate movement, drew her hand from his " Not to-night, sir," interrupted old Chretien, arm, and almost pushed him away. without looking round. "Reine is tired, and "I am not married to you," she said, bitterly has come from far. To-morrow she will visit and furiously; "perhaps if I were only your the poor lady." widow, I could bear to part from you. Widows "Where is she?" Reine asked, in an odd, in- recover and marry again..." different voice; beginning to tie on her cloak. "Hush, Reine!" said Dick, angrily. Petitpere shrugged his shoulders. In a minute "Why do you mind my saying this?" permore Reine and Butler were crossing the dark sisted the girl, in her rough, grating voice. court-yard together. "Because it is not like you to show no sym"I shall send Dominique after you with the pathy for some one in great sorrow. I think cart," cried Petitpere, coming to the door. you must be already sorry for what you have "Reine, you would have done better to stay." said," the young man answered, gravely. They came out into the wide open plain. The girl did not speak, except, indeed, by a There were rolling mists, clouds, sudden winds; strange and wistful look, and walked on by his darkness was descending like a veil. The two side in silence. went side by side through wreathing vapors; I have no excuse to make for Reine Chretien, they scarcely broke the silence. For a minute nor do I want to make one for her. With all Petitpire watched their dusky figures, which her faults, her pride, her waywardness, there were hardly perceptible as they crossed the road was a noble truth and devotion in her nature and struck across the fields. Reine, walking that spoke for itself, and forced you to forgive, along beside her lover, tried to put away all even while you were vexed still and angry. The thought that was not of the present-of a pres- two walked on for a long way. For once evil ent that to others might seem dark, and doubt- and good were urging her in the same direction. ful, and chill, and yet which to them both was'Her jealousy was helping her to fulfill what she vibrating with an unconscious and unspeakable had grown to look upon as a duty. delight, for were they not walking together Ah me! how often it happens in life that the through the darkness, and yet, at the same time, generous self, the passionate great heart, unconthey were both doubting whether it was a reality scions, or perhaps ashamed of its own tenderness that made them happy, or only a semblance of and nobility, takes, in self-defense, small means what might have been true once. to accomplish great ends. Reine was one of Alas! Reine was not strong enough to forbid those who would swallow a camel and strain at sad thoughts of the future to come between a gnat. We have all of us been blinded and them. She was so strange, so reserved, at once ungrateful in our life, at one time or another, so agitated and so unmoved, that Butler, who unconsciously accepting together the great saehad been looking forward all through his long rifice and the small one, grudgingly granted; we sick watch to this happy meeting, was disap- have all complained, perhaps, of the vexing pointed, wounded, and pained. When Catha- word, the passing caprice of a moment, unconrine had sent for him, and begged him to bring scions, ah! forever unconscious of the whole her friend, it was not of this Reine he had been world, of love, of sacrifice, of utter devotion, thinking, but of another, tender and full of sym- which was ours just then to forget, to ignore, to pathy. This was so sad and so cold that she accept without thanks, to abandon, if we could. seemed to freeze him over and sadden him, and They had reached the gate of the chalet by all the while the poor soul was aching and sick- this time; the moonlight seemed to be streamening for the loving words, the tender reassur- ing every where. ances she had waited and hoped to hear. It "Oh, Richard, Richard, do you mean to tell was in vain Dick tried to extort the sympathy me you do not know that she has always loved from her he wanted. She would not, could not you?" cried Reine, with a sudden burst, and respond. Reine was for the moment wondering then with a scared sort of look, and she broke who might be most to be pitied if-if- She away from him, and pushed at the door of the interrupted him once when he was speaking of house, and went in. Catharine. The poor little chalet, with all its absurd or"Do you know that Madame de Tracy was namentations, and whirling flags and weather THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 99 cocks, looked so sad and forlorn, so black and and near the kitchen; she had always wanted a hearse-like in the darkness. The blinds of some place for her table-cloths. Coming down stairs of the windows were down; a pale light shone with an arnt full of linen, she met Reine leaving in Catharine's window. Dick, pacing up and Catharine's room. "You are wanted in the down outside in the moonlight, looked up at it kitchen," said she. "Madame de Tracy cermore than once, and laughed a little bitterly to tainly will not let you go without seeing her." himself over the perversity of women. He did And as she spoke, Madame de Tracy, with her not like Reine the better for her jealousy. It bonnet all on one side, came out at the sound was not worthy of her, he thought. The house of the voices, and held open the door with much was very dark and silent within and without. difficulty. Monsieur and Madame Mdrard had gone away "I have to speak to you; come in here, if for a few days; Madame Binaud had come for you please. My nephew is outside, but it is to them, andcCatharine had piteously begged them you, mademoiselle, I address myself. He is to go-to leave her with Toto. She was only waiting for you —do not deny it; I know alllonging for silence and rest. everything." And the countess blazed round Poor old Merard's little piping voice quaver- upon the peasant girl, who, however, seemed but ed when he came to say good-by, and his jolly little discomposed by the attack. "All! madeface seemed circled with dark round wrinkles moiselle," continued Madame de Tracy, suddenwhich had not been there before. "Pauvre ly changing from ferocity to supplication, "if petite," said he, kissing the two little cold cling- you do really care for that foolish, impetuous ing hands which he held in his. Madame Me- boy, you will forgive me and sympathize with rard, too, seemed changed and greatly shaken. me when I implore you to reflect upon the sacShe said little, but trotted about, overturning rifice he is making-a sacrifice that will disgrace drawers, and keeping vigilant watch over the him, and drag him down in the eyes of the goings-on in the house. Just before starting world. It is so hard in its judgments. Is that she carried up a cup of strong broth to Catha- door securely closed? I would not for the rine, which she had made with her own hands. world that Justine should overhear, that Dick " Drink it down hot," said she. "There is a should suspect me of influencing you. He was good pound of meat in it, for I arranged it my- furious once not long ago, when I foolishly self." dreaded another attraction, but this would be Dick would not have thought Reine hard or still less...still more-Catharine at least perverse could he have seen into the room from was..." The poor lady stopped short, emwhere the faint ray of light was streaming, and barrassed, unable to finish her sentence; well where poor little Catharine was sitting on a she might be, for she caught sight of Reine's inlow chair by the smouldering fire, while Reine dignant cheeks burning, and of the much-dreadknelt beside her, holding her hand in a tender ed Dick himself coming in through the glass clasp. Reine had that strange gift of healing door. A chill night-wind surged in as he openand comfort which some people possess; there ed the door, of which the shutters had not yet was strength and peace in the touch of her strong been closed. He had been quietly walking outgentle hands, and in the wise, wistful look of her side up and down, biding his time. It had eyes. Catharlne spoke a few broken words tell- come now; and now Dick guessed in an instant ing her how it had happened, speaking of Dick's what had happened; he went straight up to courage and devotion. Reine listened, gazing Reine, and put his arm round her, as if to deinto the fire, keeping time with her heart to fend her, and yet Reine was strong enough to Richard's footsteps outside. It was long before defy the poor trembling, agitated lady without she listened to them again; the clock ticked his assistance. monotonously, and time went on. "You mustn't say any thing to Reine, Aunt And then they heard a voice speaking down Matilda, that you wouldn't say to me," said below. "Justine, do- not let Mademoiselle Dick, haughtily. Chrdtien go without seeing me," said somebody. "Dear boy," cried Madame de Tracy, more "It is Madame de Tracy," said Catharine, and more fluttered and anxious, "indeed, and languidly. "She has been here all day." indeed, I only speak for your good and hers. It was Madame de Tracy's voice; it was Of course you have passed your word, but you Madame de Tracy herself who stood waiting in do not know the world as I do, nor to what you ambush in the kitchen, waiting in agitation, pal- are exposing.. you-you..." pitation, and excitement, expecting her prey, "HI-ush!" said Dick, speaking savagely, alnot without some alarm, poor lady; for her own most for the first time in his life. " Reine and claws were not very fierce, nor her bites very fa- I understand one another very well, and are tal, and, dragon though she was, she would have quite willing to put up with any inconvenience," liked to run away. Justine the cynical saw and his voice softened: he looked at the girl that something was going on. It did not con- with a smile. But she did not answer; she was cern her; she only shrugged her shoulders as quite pale, and her eyes were on fire; she drew she plodded about the house from one creaking herself up to her full length, and stood there in wooden room to another. She was putting the moonlight in her country dress, looking like away the linen in the maire's little office, which a wraith; even her words sounded faint and was now, at last, disponible. It was convenient toneless. 100 TIHE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. "Heaven knows, " she said, quietly, " that I Madame de Tracy retired with fluttering digniam ready to die for you, Richard, but I will nev- ty to her own apartment. Jean thought it a er marry you-never, never. It is not for the bad business; but it was his maxim not to infirst time that I hear these things, that I reflect terfere. It was no affair of his. Dick was old upon the sacrifice you make, upon the danger enough to attend to his own concerns; and of marriage ill assorted and unhappy. Nothing though Mrs. Beamish and Ernestine went down will ever change my affection; you are part of upon their knees to him, they could not undo my life, of my prayers, ever since I first knew the past, or prevent him from thinking that there you... The passionate cadence of her voice was but one woman in the world, and her name broke into a sob. Reine spoke with emotion, was Reine Chlrdtien. feeling that she was safe in Madame de Tracy's Dick made up his mind very quietly without agitated presence; she imagined Richard would asking any one's leave. He was a little touchsay nothing, do nothing, but somehow she was ed, and very much provoked, by the allusions to mistaken, and she found herself folded in the poor Madame Fontainc; but he hoped there young man's arms. was some mistake, and rather avoided dwelling "My Reine," he said,"I want no words-I upon that part of the subject. Reine had been understand." But the girl put herself quickly jealous, as women are sometimes. He walked away out of his embrace. What strange love- up to the farm before breakfast. The fine weathparting was this in the sad house of mourning. er had come at last; fields and furrows were'You do not understand me," cried Reine; twinkling with early dew; athousand lights,' and you, madame, need not be so much afraid and crystals, and refractions were shining out of the harm I shall do him," she said, passion.- of t'he earth; a cheerful sound of labor echoed ately, turning to Madame de Tracy. "I shall under the dazzling morning vault. Old Chrdnot drag him down; I shall not force him to tien was sitting on the bench sunning himself keep his word; I shall not disgrace him!" outside the great archway in his blue smock; The girl's anger and sorrow had gradually the queer old pinnacles, and chimney-stacks, reached a hysterical and almost uncontrollable and pigeon-cotes were all distinct against the point. The things Madame de Tracy had glibly clear heaven, and the two tall poplar-trees on explained, meaning no harm, poor lady! had the roadside showed every twig and spray full nearly maddened her.: HIer allusion to Catha- with the coming leaves. Paris came to meet rine was the last drop in the brimming cup. In Dick, shaking his lazy long body and wagging vain Dick tried to calm and to soothe her. She his tail. Petitpere sat staring at the field where did not listen; she would not look at him even; his men were busy digging up vegetables and for a minute she stared through the glass door loading a cart. into the moonlight without, and then at Ma- "Good- morning," cried Dick, cheerfully. dame de Tracy, agitated and fleckered by the "Monsieur Chretien, where shall I find your blaze of the fire. granddaughter?" " Catharine, of whom you spoke just now," "That is more than I can tell you," said the cried the girl, "would have been a thousand old fellow, looking utterly vacant and stupid. thousand times more suited than I should ever "Reine is gone, and I am busy enough in her be. Ah! do not interfere again, madame. absence. As monsieur sees, I am getting in my You do not know what you are doing!" and turnips;" and he pointed to the field where they with a scared sort of look Reine broke away were growing, and where the laborers were busy from Dick, and pushed at the glass door, and digging up the earth. It was the field which ran out into the night. She had forgotten all the lovers had crossed in the darkness the night about it, but she found Dominique, with the cart, before. waiting-at the garden gate. Dick, following an "Gone," said Dick, looking at the turnips, instant after only, came in time to see her drive without seeing any thing before him. away. " She is gone back to the convent," the old I think, if he had caught her then, if he had man said. "I should not like it for myself, scolded, and then forgiven her, all would have but she finds her pleasure there." been right between them then; but the horse "Did she leave no letter-no message for set off at a trot down the hill; the cart rolled me?" Richard asked, trying to light a cigar, away with a dull jolt of wheels over the sodden though his fingers were trembling as he did so. earth; mists came between them, and distance Petitpere gazed stupidly at the young man. greater and greater. Butler was too angry and " I was to let her know as soon as you were hurt to follow her at the time-more angry, I gone, that she might come back and see to the think, because she went off in the cart than for fatting of the pigs," said he; "that was what all she had said to vex him. she said." "Never-never." Did some one whisper it With a sudden movement, Dick threw the in his ear? What a strange creature-lovely, unlighted cigar away over the hedge. womanly, tender, and pathetic, and furious; how " She need not delay her return on my achard to satisfy, how difficult to love, how impos- count," said Butler, flushing up, and turning his sible not to love. back to Petitpere. "I shall leave the place toDick spent a sulky evening at the chateau, day for good. Pray tell her so when she comes smoking by himself in the smoking-room, while back to-to her pigs." THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 101 Old Petitpere shrugged his shoulders for the count for it; she unfortunately had full opporlast time in this little history, and rubbed his tunityfor exercising her gift. Fever and famine old knees, pleased with the effect of that part- were common enough in the poor little village; ing shaft; and yet he was a little sorry, too, for these two grim visitors were almost as certain the young fellow, as he went swinging angrily to come in their season as the bathers and holialong the road, and disappeared at the turn by day-makers with the summer and sunshine. the willow-trees. This year fell unusually heavy upon the little Dick was far away, safe among the green pas- population; there was hardly a family that had tures and cool waters of Lambswold, and Reine not some member stricken with the fever. Reine might have come back from her convent without herself lost her grandfather soon before I came fear of meeting him; but many and many a day to the village. For some time she was living by went by before the girl returned to the farm- herself in a great empty farm-house on a hill. kitchen, to her accustomed ways and works, and When I knew her first she seemed to take to when she came, it was a wan, and weak, and me, perhaps because I was English, perhaps beweary woman recovering fiom an illness through cause I happened to know something of the peowhich the good nuns had nursed her. Poor pie she most cared for, partly because I was fasReine! she came back to Petitpere, and the pigs, cinated by her. After that day on the sands I and the cows for companionship and sympathy. went up to see her once or twice at the farm. She could not think of the past, it filled her with A widow woman was living with her, a certain such doubt and remorse; she did not dare to con- Madame Marteau, to whose little daughter she template the future, it seemed so endless, so gray, was greatly attached. so unbearable; she would not have been sorry to Poor Reine! these were hard times for her. die in the convent in the sunny ward among the On the very day I first made her acquaintance tranquil nuns, and so to solve the difficulty and she had heard a report from Justine at the cha riddle of her life. But it was only a low nervous let concerning Catharinc, which had stirred up fever from which she had suffered, and she knew many a feeling still fiesh and vivid, though she that there was no chance of any end to it but scarcely believed the report. Sometimes she that prosaic end of getting well an'd going home spoke of the past, but with evident pain and to her dull and neglected duties. If Catharine shrinking, and doubt and remorse. Had she had been at Petitport she would have found com- done right? Had she done wrong? She seemfort and happiness with the tender little woman; ed to be sure of nothing but of the love which but a chance had happened, which would have was in her. been stranger if it had happened sooner, and Once, only once, she sat down to write to Catharine was away in England with her sisters, him. She never meant to send the letter, but looking after some property which had come to it was a relief to her to put down upon paper her and to them. What did she want with it all that was in her heart-all her loving renow? Fontaine had provided for her, and she membrance; to write the words of benediction, liked better to owe ease and comfort to him, to although he might never need her blessing now. his care and his tender thought for her, than to When she had written the tender little scrawl, a chance by which Lady Farebrother had died she burnt it; but the words were somewhere, before she could sign her name to a will. Mr. every where, she thought, as she saw the cinders Bland would have been a good many thousand float away. She said to herself that no fire pounds the richer if the poor lady had lived a could burn them out, nothing could destroy few hours longer. He never had even the sat- them; in some distant world, if not in this one, isfaction of knowing it; for, though both the they would find him. doctor and lawyer were sent for, they both came too late. As it was, Catharine's two little sisters came in for no inconsiderable portion of their aunt's possession, and a certain sum was left to CHAPTER LAST. Catharine, their guardian, by their mother' will. TUR, FORTUNE, TURN THY WHEEL." It was in autumn, this year, after poor Fon- ONE day, Reine, walking down the village taine's death, that I staid at Petitport, and first street, met Madame Merard coming from the made Reine Chretien's acquaintance on the sea- chalet, where she had been superintending some shore, as I described in the beginning of my packing and re-ordering. The old lady was little history. These were not prosperous times. trotting heavily along, with a large packet on There was a great deal of sickness in the village, her arm. She was panting fiercely, in a state the harvest had failed, and wherever I went I of fume and excitement. No wonder. "LShe heard complaints, and witnessed pain and suffer- had heard an announcement," she said, " which ing. Reine seemed to be every where, helping she had always predicted-always. What else and tending her poorer neighbors. It is im- was to be expected of a young woman so enpossible not to believe that some people have an tirely engrossed by society and amusement as unexplained power, which must be magnetic of Madame Fontaine had always shown herself?" its kind, for healing and soothing pain. Reine Madame Merard declined to give her authority possessed this odd influence over the sick, and for the news she had heard. "Non! time would was conscious of it, although she could not ac- prove the truth of her assertions. Well-in 102 TIE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. formed and dispassionate persons had assured wanted that, I tried for this, I would have her that Catharine Fontaine was on the eve of been the person that I am not. I would contracting a second and highly advantageous have liked the happiness which is denied me. alliance with Mr. Butler. In that event, the Give, give, O Lord, unto thy servant. Is not chalet and all the elegant fittings would return happiness my right? Is not content my right, to Toto. Most providentially a clause to that and success, and love, and prosperity?" And effect had been inserted in the will, at the cure's even amid the fierce pangs of pain and dissuggestion; for the poor infatuated Charles appointment the mad question is answered. would never have shown this necessary previ- "Why should not sorrow and disappointment sion. Poor man, already forgotten! Ah! how be thy right? Why should not the experience differently she, Madame Merard, had acted un- of grief be thine; the knowledge of evil as well der similar circumstances. Although assidu- as of good? Submit, oh, submit, poor heart!" ously pressed, within six months of her widow- And the spirit seems to speak to the weary hood, to make up her mind, by no less than three body, and one last desperate effort comes for different gentlemen, in no wise connected with resignation, for obedience to the terrible teachone another, she had refused to give any answer ing, for acquiescence. whatever for a space of two whole years, during We bow to Heaven that willed it so. which their attentions had been unremitting. In this frame of mind every thing all round At the end of that time, having made Monsieur about seems to have an answering voice to urge, Merard's acquaintance, she had dismissed the to help, to comfort. When all seems lost, there other aspirants with every mark of esteem and comes a new courage, a new peace dawning overconsideration. Nowadays things were different. head, life bursting from the dry branches, light Do not seek for disinterested affection. Oh, from the clouds, the very stones cry out and no," said Madame Merard, "for it would be no testify in the world all round about. Reine, use." And the old lady stumped away at her walking'homeward along the cliff; read a thouquickest pace up the road and across the field; sand meanings in the sights along her wayshe had business at the chateau, she vaguely peace, resignation, regret, remembrances more intimated, snorting and shaking her head. In or less aching, but singing a song all the while, truth, her authority was only that of Justine which echoed with hitherto undreamt-of meanat the chalet, who had heard the news from ing: there was comfort in the sound of the sea, Baptiste at the chateau, who had it in a letter in its flowing music, its minor notes, in the cries from Barbe, now in England with her mistress; for help, in the rush of wind blowing here and and Madame Merard was anxious to gather ev- there, in the very moods of her heart, changing cry particular. from one emotion to another. Even the tremPoor Reine did not take so much pains to bling shadow of the poplar-tree upon the turf verify the news. She had heard some such re- seemed to whisper peace to her and tranquilport before, that seemed corroborated now. It lity; and so, by degrees, her sad excitement was natural, and only what she had expected all abated. She did not reproach herself; she did along. The blow had fallen at last. Amen. not know now whether she had been most to She knotted her two hands together, and walk- blame for that which she should regret all her ed along erect and abstracted, with eyes that life; but when she reached home, she felt someseemed looking at a far-off distance, silent, witli how that the worst was over. Little Josette a passionate cry in her heart. She walked on ran up to her, and pulled her by the hand into to the little village grave-yard on the roadside, the every-day world again, telling her to come behind the iron railing where her mother was and see the galette she and her mother had lying, and Petitpere resting under the poplar- cooked for dinner; Paris rubbed his head tree, and where, in a sunny corner, Fontaine's against his mistress's black gown; Madame name was carved upon the stone cross which Marteau came smiling to the door to greet her. Catharine had put up to his memory, and over Reine, coming and going about her business which the ivy was creeping. with a pale face and a sad heart, all that day The struggle which came to Reine then was kept telling herself that it was too late to rethat sore one which comes to each one of us gret, but not too late to love still, and then she at one time or another; when passionate hopes determined to write to Dick once again; and die away, and longings, how eager none can this time the letter was sent. It was adknow, except each one for himself; when the dressed to Catharine, though it was intended last hope fails, and when the aching void and for Dick. Only a few words, in the Frenchemptiness of the future seem bearing down like woman's quaint, stiff handwriting: "I have the inevitable dusk at the end of a busy day. heard news of you," she wrote. "With my Darkness, and oblivion, and death would seem whole heart I pray heaven for your happiness welcome at such times, rather than the dim -that heart which is full of love for you, of shadow and gray silence of these sad twilight hope for the future, and of faith in your tenhours-dark gray, though the sun is shining, der friendship. You will come here some day perhaps, and the summer lights flooding the -will you not?-both of you, and give me the land. Then the fight begins, a lonely one with greatest happiness which I can hope for on no witness, for who can see or understand an- earth-the happiness of seeing you happy?" other's mood? And the fight is this. "I And then Reine, holding Josette by the hand, THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. 103 went and slipped the letter herself into the box life. She knew well enough by this time that in the village wall, where it lay until old Pierre, poor Madame de Tracy was only eager to rethe postman, with his clumsy key and his old pair the breach between her and her nephew; worn pouch, carried it away to Baydux, across that Mrs. Butler and Catharine Beamish were the plain. longing to prevent the possible and horrible misalliance that was always hanging over the famDick was sitting with Catharine when this ily; and that they would all have gladly and letter was put into her hand. She flushed up, eagerly consented to a marriage between Mapoor little widow, and began to tremble when dame Fontaine and this terrible Richard. She she read it, and with a sudden movement half sadly wonders why she, a widow woman, is held it out to Butler, and then changed her mind deemed a fitter wife for Dick now than two years and took it back once more; and so sat, with- ago, when all her heart's best devotion was his. out speaking for a minute, with her dark eyes Catharine felt she loved him still, as some womfixed gravely upon his face. She looked like a en must love the ideal of their youth-loved him child trying to remember some half-forgotten with a gentle, true-hearted friendship and faithlesson, and Dick wondered what words she was ful sympathy that would be always his; but not trying to fashion. It was a long, low, old- as Reine loved him. Ah! that love was alive, fashioned room in which they were sitting-the and did not die at its birth. As for Dick himdrawing-room of a house on the terrace at Rich- self, he made no profession of affection-he was mond, with three deep windows looking out upon sincerely fond of Catharine. He was touchedthe loveliest haze and distance upon the river — how could he help it?-by the knowledge of her wandering at its own sweet will-upon the old affection for him. He came, with a longshowers of autumnal gold sparkling beneath the ing for sympathy, for a kind soul to talk to, from mists that were spreading to the silver hills. his empty, lonely house, to Catharine's tranquil, Toto and Totty were in one of the windows, bright home. He came with a sad scorn for whispering and exploding into sudden shrieks himself in his heart, but there he was sitting beof laughter at one another's witticisms. Rosy side her day after day. She suited him better was curled up over a novel on the floor; and than his own relations. Reine, who he thought Catharine, sitting in her little bowery corner, was true as steel, had deceived him and jilted with some work and some flowers on her table, him. Catharine had but to put out her hand, was looking prettier and more gentle than ever he was not unwilling; and Catharine, still lookin her black dress, with her plaintive childish ing him full in the face, put out her hand, but face crowned with the sad dignity of a widow's Reine's little letter was in it. cap. So she sat talking to the melancholy and " Oh, Richard," Madame Fontaine said, unill-humored young man in the arm-chair beside consciously calling him by his Christian name, her. "You must find me a great bore," Dick "I want you to read this-to forgive me for was saying; "I come and grumble, and abuse what I am going to say-" every body and every thing. I tried to go back Her eyes were brimming, her voice was failto my painting this morning-confound it, I can ing, but she made' a great effort and spoke. do nothing with it; I can do nothing but grum- Just now every thing seemed of very little conble." Dick often rode over to see the little wid- sequence to her in comparison with the great ow; he would come in the worst of spirits, and sadness which had long filled her heart. There go away cheered and touched by Madame Fon- was a pathos in her tones of which she was untaine's constant kindness and sympathy. The conscious, as she tried, by talking as straight little woman had learned out of the depths of her and direct to the point as Reine herself might own morbid experiences to be tender, and gen- have done, to put away at once, forever, all mistle, and forbearing with others wandering in the conception. At another time, perhaps, she same dreary labyrinth in which she had been could not have spoken as she did justthen. But utterly lost only a very little while ago; so it her sorrow still encompassed her like a shield; seemed to her, looking back. Things were dif- she was invulnerable; a new strength had come ferent now, and Catharine could not help won- to her from her very weakness and remorse for dering why, sometimes, and feeling that to the the past. dearest friend, the tenderest, the most loyal sim- "I did not love my husband as I ought to pie heart that ever beat, she owed more than she have loved him when I married him," she said. could ever pay with a lifetime of love and fidel- " I deserve any thing-every thing. Even this ity. She did not feel any particular gratitude explanation is a punishment for my folly. But to Lady Farebrother, whose money had contrib- if I had to live my life again now, and if I might uted to the pleasant home and its various luxu- choose, with open eyes, between the man who ries, and was doing more good now than it had loved me and - and-I would not have things ever done in the old lady's lifetime; but the otherwise. Oh, Richard, you do not think me helping hand, the kindness, the protecting love ungrateful for speaking? I know all that passwhich first rescued her was Fontaine's, and ed. Poor Reine-dear Reine," said the trueCatharine did not forget it: one was a chance, hearted little woman, " there is no one so noble, the other a blessing. Catharine, sitting there so faithful. She left you because she loved you. with Reine's letter in her hand, wondered over Do you know how ill she has been? Miss Wilthe many changes and chances of this mortal liamson (it was of the present writer that Cath 104 THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. arine was speaking then) has written to me about M. de Tracy's bay mare, and who quietly asks her. She thinks she will die some day if you him to see to the horse, and to tell him where leave her much longer alone. Oh, Richard, dear Mademoiselle Chretien is to be found. friend, won't you forgive her and me, and go "Mademoiselle is in the counting-house," back to her again? No one has ever loved you says Dominique, staring and grinning, and showas she does." ing his great red gums; and Richard, for it is Those of my good friends who already despise Richard of course, makes his way across the Dick Butler, and who think him a poor creature desolate waste between the inn and the oysterat best, and no better than his paintings, will, I tanks, and opens a gate for himself, and walks fear, despise him still more, for his eyes were along a narrow raised pathway leading to the full of tears when he looked up at last from the little counting-house. paper on which Reine's few words of sad con- Before Butler could reach the door it opened, gratulation were standing in black and white be- and Reine came out and stood for an instant fore him. looking at the great waste where the dredgers " God bless you, dear lady," he said, taking were at work, and where a dirty red gleam of Madame Fontaine's outstretched hand, and start- sunset was glaring upon the mud. She sighed, ing up. "You have saved me fiom committing and then she turned suddenly, feeling, as people a great wrong. I will write to you to-morrow do, that some one was watching her. Some one! when I have seen her." She turned and looked with a quick, sudden mo. And then he went away quickly, without no- tion, and then, although she stood quite still, ticing the children, and a minute afterward they all her heart seemed to go out to welcome the heard his horse's feet clattering down the road. one person in the whole world she most weaThen the three children, who had been listening ried for, and least thought she should see ever with all their ears, and perfectly understanding again. She did not speak, but somehow she every thing, and thrilling with sympathy as chil- was in his arms, and her wondering, tender, pasdren do, came and flung themselves upon the lit- sionate eyes were recounting silently all the tlewidow, almostcrushingherdown uponthe sofa. story of the long sad months through which "No, no, no," said Toto, in his broken En- she had wasted; and as Dick looked at her glish, "I shall not'ave you marry. I want you, when he saw her sweet face once more, the and when I'm a man..." " Oh, Cathy, you dreary marshes, the falling houses, seemed to be won't leave us again, will you? Promise, please touched with some brightest and most sudden promise," cried Totty, and Rosa said nothing, brilliance. Every thing was plain to them both. but threw away her novel, griped one of Cathy's I don't think they either of them ever knew how poor little hands tight in hers, crushing it with or in what words the story was told-the best all her might, until her sister, half laughing, and most perfect story which belongs to this half crying, had to call out for mercy. And so, complaining world-to the world in which there with one last bright appealing look, Catharine are sad histories and wicked ones, in which happily disappears, in the children's adoring but some stories are well forgotten, and others, somewhat tyrannical embrace. alas! never uttered, but in which the sacred inGood-by, little Catharine. Yours is no hard spiration of love comes now and again to kindle fate, after all. Toto is your defender; Rosy cold hearts, to brighten sad lives, to bless and to and Totty your faithful companions; friends, cheer the failing and doubtful, and to tell them and plenty, and peaceful leisure are yours now. that a living and sacred power is moving upon the troubled waters of life. Courseulles, where the oysters are preserved, We most of us have seen at one time or anand where the establishment is situated of which other great rocks piled upon rocks, landslips, poor Fontaine spoke with so much enthusiasm, and devastations, blasted trunks of trees sliding is a dreary little tumble-down village of odds down the fierce sides of the mountains, the overand ends; of broken barrels, torn garments, oys- flow of angry waters, vapor floating mid air in ter-heaps, and swinging shutters, standing upon the solitude. And Nature, working by some the border of a great mud marsh, which at low great law unknown, and only vaguely apprewater reaches out for a mile or more to meet a hended by us insects crawling a little way up gray and turbid sea. The oysters are sorted the sides of her vast chasms, heaps and orders out in long tanks, according to size, and fatten in some mighty fashion, and brings about noblest undisturbed, and in their places, round a little harmonies out of chaos. And so, too, out of counting-house which stands in the middle of the dire dismays and confusions of the secret these calm and melancholy waters. The shut- world come results both mighty and gentle: ters swing, in the village a child or two turns great rocks stand shading daisies from the midover the oyster-heaps, the ragged garments flut- day heat; trees uptorn by some avalanche lie ter in the wind. It is not a place likely to at- soft upon lichen and little clinging mosses; tract mere pleasure-seekers, and yet, as Domi- there are fissures where the snow lies dazzling; nique, the day after that little conversation at and huge stones sliding down the sides of the Richmond, comes leading the horse out of the mountain seem arrested by the soft sprays of stable of the inn at Courseulles, he meets a gen- gentle little creeping plants, whose green leaves tieman who has ridden over from Petitport upon sparkle against the granite. FROM AN ISLAND, FROM AN ISLAND. J~I-.~ ~ This was not very interesting, except to the housekeeper: Mrs. St. Julian had set me to THE long room was full of people sitting keep house for her down here in the country. quietly in the twilight. Only one lamp was The children, however, who generally insisted burning at the far end. The verandah outside upon reading all my correspondence, were much was dim with shadow; between each leafy arch excited by the paragraph in which Mr. Tiggs there glimmered a line of sea and of down. It mentioned cherries and dried apricots. " Why was agray stillevening, sad, with distant storms. did Mr. Tiggs forget them?" said little SuSt. Julian, the master of the house, was sitting san the granddaughter, solemnly. "Oh, I under the verandah, smoking, with William, the wish they would come!" said Nelly. "Greedy, eldest son. The mother and Mrs.William were greedy!" sung George, the youngest boy. on a sofa together, talking in a low voice over Meanwhile the elders were discussing their one thing and another. Iester was sitting at correspondence, and the mother had been readthe piano with her hands in her lap, looking ing out Mr. Hexham's note:music, though she was not playing, with her Lyndhurst, September 21. white dress quivering in the gloom. Lord HAVE you room for me, my dear Mrs. St. JuUlleskelf, who had come over to see us, was lian, and may I come to-morrow for a few days talking to Emilia, the married daughter, and to with my van? I find it is a most delightful Aileen, the youngest of the three; while I and mode of conveyance, and I have been successful my own little Mona and the little ones were enough to take some'most lovely photographic playing at the other end of the room at a sort views in the New Forest. I now hope to cxof twilight game of beating hands and singing plore your island, beginning with the "Lodges," sing-song nursery rhymes-haymaking, the chil- if you are still in the same hospitable mind you dren called it. were when I last saw you. "Are there any letters?" said St. Julian, With best remembrances to your husband looking in at them all from his verandah. "Has and the young ladies, your devoted Emmy got hers?" G. HEXHAM. "I have sent Rogers into Tarmouth to meet the post," said the mother; and as she spoke I like Mr. Hexham. I am glad he is comthe door opened, and the post came in. ing," said Mrs. St. Julian. Poor Emmy's face, which had lighted up "This is an official-iooking missive," said eagerly, fell in an instant: she saw that there Lord Ulleskelf, holding out the large square enwas no foreign letter for her. velope, with a great red seal, which had come It was a small mail, not worth sending for, for Emmy. Mrs. St. Julian evidently thought as she looked "What a handwriting!" cried Aileen. She at her daughter with her kind, anxious eyes. was only fifteen, but she was taller already than "Here is something for you, Emmy," she said; her married sister, and stood reading over her "for you," Queenie (to me). "My letter is shoulder. "What a letter! Oh Emmy, what from Mr. Hexham; he is coming to-morrow." a-" My letter was from the grocer:- But Mrs. St. Julian, seeing Emmy flush up, MRs. CAMPBELL is respectfully informed by interposed again:Mr. Tiggs that he has sent different samples of "Aileen, take these papers to your father. tea and coffee for her approbation, for the use What is it, my dear?" to Emilia. of Mr. St. Julian's household and family: also "It is from my sister-in-law," Emilia said, a choice assortment of sperms. Mr. Tiggs re- blushing in the light of the lamp. "Mamma, grets extremely that any delay should have what a trouble I am to you...! She says arisen in the delivery of the preserved cherries she is-may she come to stay...? Andand apricots. He forwards the order this day, and-you see she is dear Bevis's sister, and-" as per invoice. Mr. T. trusts that his unremit- "Of course, my dear," said her mother, alting exertions may meet with Mrs. C.'s approval most reproachfully. " How can you ask?" and continued recommendation and patronage. Emilia looked a little relieved, but wistful ALBERT EDWARD HOUSE. still. "Have you room? To-morrow?" she September 21. faltered. 108 FROM AN ISLAND. Mrs. St. Julian gave her a kiss, and smiled until the storm burst which had been gathering, and said, "Plenty of room, you goose." And through which he insisted on hurrying home, then she read:- notwithstanding all they could say to detain him. To the Hon. Mns. BEVIS BEVERLEY, The Isl- We had expected Lady Jane by the boat and, Tarwouthl, Broadshlire. which brought our other guest the next day, Scudamore Castle, September 21. but only Mr. Hexham's dark close-cropped head MY DEAR EMILIA,-Bevis told me to be sure appeared out of the carriage which had been and pay you a visit in his absence, if I had an sent to meet them. The coachman declared opportunity, and so I shall come, if convenient there was no lady alone on board. Emilia to you, with my maid and a man, on Saturday, wondered why her sister-in-lawhad failed: the across country from Scudamore Castle. I hear others took Lady Jane's absence very calmly, I must cross from Ielmington. I can not im- and after some five-o'clock tea St. Julian proagine how people can live on an island when posed a walk. there is the main-land for them to choose. "Perhaps Ihad better stay," Mrs. Beverley Yours is not even an island on the map. said to her mother. Things have been very pleasant here till two "No, my dear, your fither will be disapdays ago, when it began to pour with rain, and pointed. She can not come now," said Mrs. my stepmother arrived unexpectedly with Clem, St. Julian, decidedly; " and if she does, I am and Clem lost her temper, and Pritchard spoilt here to receive her. Mr. H-exham, vou did not my new dress, and several pleasant people went see her on board? A lady alone....?" away, and I, too, determined to take myself off. No. Hexham had not seen any lone lady on I shall only stay a couple of days with you, so board. There was a good-looking person who pray tell Mrs. St. Julian that I shall not, I might have answered the description, but she hope, be much in her way. Do not let her had a gentleman with her. He lost sight of make any changes for me; I shall be quite will- them at Tarmouth, as he was looking after his ing to live exactly as you are all in the habit of man, and his van, and his photographic appadoing. Any room will do for my man. The ratus. It was settled Lady Jane could not posmaid need only have a little room next to sibly come till next day. mine. You won't mind, I know, if I go my own gait while I stay with you, for I am an odd creature, as I dare sayyou may have often heard fiom Bevis. I expect to feel dreadfully small witll all of you clever artistic people, but I shall be safe from my lady and Clem, who would never LADY JANE BEVERLEY had always declared venture to come near you. that she hated three things-islands, clever peoMy father is all alone at home, and I want ple, and interference. She knew she was clevto get back to him if I can steal a march on my er, but she did not encourage this disposition. lady. She is so jealous that she will not let It made people bores and radical in her own me be alone with him for one hour if she can class of life, and forward if they were low. She help it, in her absence. Before she left Castle- was not pretty. No; she didn't care for beauty, rookham she sent for that odious sister of hers though she confessed she should be very sorry to play piquet with him, and there was a general if she was not able to afford to dress in the last scene when I objected. My father took part fashion. It was all very well for artists and against me, so I started off in a huff, but he has such people to say the contrary, but she knew managed to shake off the old wretch, I hear, that a plain woman well dressed would look and so I do not mind going back. I must say better than the loveliest dowdy that ever tied it is very pleasant to have a few half-pence that her bonnet-strings crooked. It was true her one can call one's own, and to be able to come brother Bevis had thought otherwise. He had and go one's own way. I assure you that the married Emilia, who was not in his own rank said half-pence do not last forever, however. of life; but Lady Jane supposed he had taught Clem took ~50 to pay her milliner's bill, and her to dress properly after her marriage. She Bevis borrowed ~100 before he left, but I dare had done her very best to dissuade him from say he will pay me back. that crazy step: once it was over she made the So good-bye, my dear Emilia, for the present. best of it, thotgh none of them would listen to Yours ever. JANE BEVERLEY. her; and indeed she had twice had to lend him sums of money when his father stopped his alMrs. St. Julian did not offer to show Lady lowance. It is true he paid her back, otherJane's letter to St. Julian, but folded it up with wise she really did not know how she could a faint little suppressed smile. "I think she have paid her bills that quarter. If she had not must be a character, Emmy," she said. "I had her own independence she scarcely could dare say she will be very happy with us. have- got on at all or borne with all Lady Queenie" (to me), "will you see what can be Mountmore's whims. However, thanks to old (lone to! make Lady Jane comfortable?" and aunt Adelaide, she need not think of any body there was an end of the matter. Lord Ulleskelf but herself, and that was a very great comfort went and sat out in the verandah, with the others to her in her many vexations. As it was, Clem FROM AN ISLAND. 109 was forever riding Bazook, and laming her round and round. She was still too young to ponies, and borrowing money. Beverley and have crystallized into a regular old maid. She Bevis, of course, being her own brothers, had a had never known any love in her life except right to expect she would be ready to lend them from Bevis, but Bevis had been a little afraid a little now and then; but really Clem was only of her. Beverley was utterly indifferent to any her step-sister, and considering the terms she and body but himself. Lady Mountmore were on.... Lady Jane had Lady Jane had fifteen hundred a year of her a way of rambling on, though she was a young own. She was not at all bad-looking. Her woman still, not more than six or seven and thick reddish hair was of the fashionable color. twenty. It was quite true that she had had to She was a better woman than some people gave fight her own battles at home, or else she would her credit for being, seeing this tall, over-dresshave been utterly fleeced and set aside. Bev- ed, and overbearing young person going about erley, her eldest brother, never quite forgave her the world with her two startled attendants and for being the old aunt's heiress, and did not help her hunters. Lady Jane had not the smallest her as he should have done. Bevis was always sense of humor or feeling for art: at least, this away on his missions or in disgrace. Old Lord latter faculty had never been cultivated, though Mountmore was feeble and almost childish. she had furnished her boudoir with bran new Lady Mountmore was not a pleasant person damask and sprawling gilt legs, and dressed herto deal with, and such heart as she possess- self in the same style; and had had her picture ed was naturally given to Lady Clem, her own taken by some travelling artist-a pastel all child. frame and rose-colored chalk-which hung up Lady Jane was fortunately not of a sensitive over her chimney, smirking at a rose, to the disposition. She took life calmly, and did not amusement of some of her visitors. Lady yearn for the affection that was not there toget, Jane's notion of artists and art were mainly but she made the best of things, and when Bevis formed upon this trophy, and by what she had was sent to South America on a mission, she it seen of the artist who had produced it. Lady was who brought about a sort of general-recon- Clem used to say that Jane was a born old maid, ciliation. She was very much pleased with her- and would never marry; but every body was self on this occasion. Every body looked to her not of that opinion. LadyJane had been made and consulted her. "You will go and seeEmmy agreat deal of at Scudamore Castle, especially by sometimes; won't you, Jane?" said poor Bevis, a certain Captain Sigourney, who had been staywho was a kind and handsome young fellow. ing there, a nephew of Lady Scudamore's-tall, Lady Jane said, "Most likely," and congratu- dark, interesting, in want of money, notwithlated herself on her own tact and successon this standing his many accomplishments. Poor occasion, as well as on her general ways, looks, Tom Sigourney had been for many years a style, and position in life. She thought poor hanger-on at Scudamore. They were extremeEmmy was not certainly worth all this fuss, but ly tired of him, knew his words, looks, tones, determined to look after her. Lady Jane was by heart. Handsome as he undoubtedly was, rather Low Church, slightly suspicious, but there was something indescribably wearisome good-natured and not unamenable to reason. about him after the first introduction-a certain She cultivated an abrupt frankness and inde- gentle drawl and prose that irritated some pcopendence of manner. Her frankness was al- pie. But Lady Jane was immensely taken by most bewildering at times, as Lady Jane ex- him. His deference pleased her. She was not pected her dictums to be received in silence and insensible to the respectful flattery with which humility by the unlucky victims of her pene- he listened to every word she spoke. Tom Sigtration. But still, as I have said, being a true- ourney said she was a fine spirited girl, and hearted woman, if she was once convinced that Lady Scudamore seized the happy occasionshe was in the wrong, she would always own to it. urged Tom forward, made much of Lady Jane. Marriage was rather a sore subject with this "Poor girl! she needs a protector," said Lady lady. She had once notified to a young evan- Scudamore gravely to her daughters. At which gelical rector that although his prospects were the young ladies burst out laughing. " Can not brilliant, yet she was not indisposed to share you fancy Tom Sigourney taking care of any them, if he liked to come forward. To her ut- body?" they cried. ter amazement, the young man got up in a con- Lady Mountmore arrived unexpectedly, and fused manner, walked across the room, talked the whole little fabric was destroyed. Sigourto Lady Clem for the rest of his visit, and never ney, who had not much impudence, was simply called again. Lady Jane was much surprised; driven off the field by the elder lady's impertibut, as her heart was not deeply concerned in nences. Lady Jane was indignant, and dethe matter, she forgave him on deliberation. lared she should not stay any longer under The one softness in this strange woman's na- the same roof as her mother-in-law. Lady ture lay in her love for children. Little Bevis, Scudamore did not press her to remain. She her brother's baby, would coo at her, and beat had not time to attend to her any longer or to her high cheek-bones with his soft little fat family dissensions; but she did write a few hand; she let him pull her hair, the curls, and words to Tom, telling him of Lady Jane's movefrill, and plaits of an hour's erection, poke his ments, and then made it up with Lady Mountfingers into her eyes, swing her watch violently more all the more cordially that she felt she 110 FROM AN ISLAND. had not been quite loyal to her in sending off stuffed carp and cuttle-fish on the walls, and this little missive. listening with a charmed ear to Tom's reminisThe little steamer starts for Tarmouth in a cences of the time when he was quartered at little crowd and excitement of rolling barrels Portsmouth. and oxen driven and plunging sheep in barges. Tle fast horse did not go much quicker than The people come and look over the side of the his predecessors, and Lady Jane arrived at the wooden pier and talk to the captain at his Lodges about an hour after Ilexhan, and at wheel. Afternoon rays stream slant, and the the same time as his great photographic van. island glistens across the straits, and the rocks stand out in the water; limpid waters beat against the rocks, and toss the buoys and splash against the busy little tug'; one or two coal-II barges make way. Idlers and a child or two in the way of the half-dozen passengers are TI-nEY were all strolling along the cliffs tocalled upon by name to stand aside on this wards the beacon. It stood upon the summit occasion. There are two country dames re- of High Down, a long way off as yet, though turning from market; friend Hexham in an it seemed close at hand, so clearly did it stand excitement about his van, which is to follow in out in the still atmosphere of the sunset. It a barge; and there is a languid, dark, hand- stood there stiff and black upon its knoll, an some gentleman talking to a grandly dressed old weather-beaten stick with a creaking coop lady, whose attendants have been piling up for a crown, the pivot round which most of wraps and Times and dressing-cases and umn- this little story turns. For when these holiday brellas. people travelled away out of its reach, they also "Let me hold this for you, it will tire you," passed out of my ken. We could see the beasaid the gentleman, tenderly taking The Times con from most of our windows, through all the out of her hand; "'are you resting? I thought autumnal clematis and ivy sprays falling and I would try and meet you, and see if I could drifting about. The children loved the beacon, save you from fatigue. My aunt Scudamore and their little lives were one perpetual struggle told me you were coming this way. There, to reach it in despite of winds, of time of meals, that is where my people live: that white house of tutors and lessons. The elders, too, loved it among the trees." after their fashion. Had they not come and "It is a nice place," said Lady Jane. established themselves under the shadow of The rocks were coming nearer, and the island High Down, where it had stood as long as the was brightening to life and color, and the quaint oldest inhabitant could remember! Lord Ulleold bricks and terraces of Tarmouth were be- skelf, in his yacht out at sea, was always glad ginning to show. There was a great ship in to see the familiar old stubby finger rising iup the distance sliding out to sea, and a couple of out of the mist. My cousin, St. Julian the I. gulls flew overhead. A., had made a strange, rough sketch of it, and "Before I retired from the service," said of his wife and her eldest daughter sitting beSigourney, "I was quartered at Portsmouth. neath it; and a sea, and a cloud horizon, gray, I know this coast well; that is Tarmouth op- green, mysterious beyond. He had painted a posite, and that is-ah,'m-a pretty place, and drapery over their heads, and young Emilia's an uncommon pretty girl at the hotel." arms round the stem. It was an awful little "How am I to get to these people if they picture, Emilia the mother thought when she have not sent to meet me, I wonder?" inter. saw it, and she begged her husband to turn.its rupted Lady Jane, rather absently. face to the wall in his studio. "Leave that to me," said Captain Sigour- "I)on't you see how limpid the water is, and ney; "I am perfectly at home here and I will how the mist is transparent and drifting before order a fly. They all know me, and if they are the wind?" St. Julian said. "Why do you not engaged will always come for me. You go object, you perverse woman?" to the inn. I order you a cup of tea, and one The wife didn't answer, but her soft cheeks for your maid. I see a fast horse put up into flushed. Emilia the daughter spoke, a little a trap, and start you straight off." frightened. " Oh, Captain Sigourney, I am very much "They are like mourners, papa," she whisobliged," said Lady Jane; and so the artless pered. conversation went on. St. Julian shrugged his shoulders at them. At Tarmouth the ingenious captain would "'And this is a painter's wife!" he cried; "and not let her ask whose was a carriage she saw a painter's daughter!" But he put the picture standing there, nor take one of the two usual away, for he was too tender to pain them, and flys in waiting, but he made her turn into the it lay now forgotten in a closet. This was two inn until a special fast horse, with whose paces years ago, before Emilia was married, or had he was well acquainted, could be harnessed. come home with her little son during her busThis took a long time; but Lady Jane, excited band's absence. She was carrying the child in by the novelty of the adventure, calmly enjoyed her arms as she toiled up the hill in company her afternoon tea and devotion, and sat on the with the others, a tender bright flush in her horse-hair sofa of the little inn, admiring the face. Her little Bevis thinks it is he who is FROM AN ISLAND. 11l carrying "Mozzer," as he clutches her tight As they all climb the hill together on this round the neck with his two little arms. special day, the fathers go walking first, then I suppose nobody ever reached the top of a comes a pretty rout of maidens and children, high cliff without some momentary feeling of and Hexham's tall dark head among them. elation-so much left behind, so much achieved. Little Mona goes wandering by the edge of the There you stand at peace, glowing with exer- cliff, with her long gleaming locks hanging in tion, raised far above the din of the world. They ripples not unlike those of the sea. The two were gazing as they came along (for it is only elder girls had come out with some bright-colorof an island that I am writing) at the great sight ed scarfs tied round their necks; but finding of shining waters, of smiling fertile fields and them oppressive, they had pulled them off, and country; and of distant waters again, that sepa- given them to the boys to carry. These scarfs rated them from the pale glimmering coast of were now banners streaming in the air as the the main-land. The straits, which lie between boys attacked a tumulus where the peaceful the island and Broadshire, are not deserted like bones of the bygone Danish invaders were lying the horizon on the other side (it lies calm, and buried. The gay young voices echo across the tossing, and self-sufficing, for the coast is a dan- heather calling to each other. gerous one, and little frequented); but are Hester comes last with Mrs. William-Hester crowded and alive with boats and white sails: with the mysterious sweet eyes and crown of ships go sliding past, yachts drift, and great soft hair. It is not very thick, but like a dark brigs slowly travel in tow of the tiny steamer yet gleaming cloud about her pretty head. She that crosses and recrosses the water with letters is quite pale, but her lips are bright carnation and provisions, and comers and goers and guests red, and when she smiles she blushes. Hester is to Ulles Hall and to the Lodge, where St. Julian tall, as are all the sisters, Emilia Beverley, and and his family live all through the summer- Aileen, who is only fifteen, but the tallest of the time; and where some of us indeed remain the three. Aileen is walking a little ahead with whole year round. Mrs. William's children, and driving them away The little procession comes winding up the from the edge of the cliff, towards which these down, Lord Ulleskelf and the painter walking little moths seem perpetually buzzing. first, in broad-brimmed hats and coats fashion- The sun begins to set in a strange wild glory, ed in the island, of a somewhat looser and more and the light to flow along the heights; all these comfortable cut than London coats. The tutor people look to one another like beatified men is with them. Mr. Hexham, too, is with them; and women. Ulleskelf and St. Julian cease their as I can see, a little puzzled and interested by discussion at last, and stand looking seaward. the ways of us islanders. "Look at that band of fire on the sea," said As St. Julian talks his eyes flash, and he puts Lord Ulleskelf. out one hand to emphasize what he is saying. "What an evening vesper!" said St. Julian. He is not calm and self-contained as one might " Hester, are you there?" imagine so great a painter, but a man of strong Hester was there, with sweet, wondering sunconvictions, alive to every life about him and to set eyes. Her father put his hand fondly on every event. His cordial heart and bright art- her shoulder. There was a sympathy between istic nature are quickly touched and moved. the two which was very touching; they liked to He believes in his own genius, grasps at life as admire together, to praise together. In sorrow it passes, and translates it into a strange, quaint or trouble St. Julian looked for his wife, in haprevelation of his own, and brings others into his piness he instinctively seemed to turn to his faway of seeing things almost by magic. But his vorite daughter. charm is almost irresistible, and he knows it, Hester's charm did not always strike people at and likes to know it. The time that he is best first sight. She was like some of those sweet himself is when he is at his painting; his brown simple tunes which haunt you after you have eyes are alight in his pale face, his thick gray heard them, or like some of those flowers of hair stands on end; he is a middle-aged man, which the faint delicate scent only comes to you broad, firmly knit, with a curly gray beard, act- when you have waited for an instant. ive, mighty in his kingdom. He lets people in Hexham, for instance, until now had admired to his sacred temple; but he makes them put Mrs. Beverley infinitely more than he did her their shoes off, so to speak, and will allow no sister. He thought Miss St. Julian handsome word of criticism except from one or two. In a certainly, but charmless; whereas the sweet, moment his thick brows knit, and the master gentle young mother, whose wistful eyes seemed turns upon the unlucky victim. looking beyond the sunset, and trying in vain to The old tutor had a special and unlucky knack reach the distant world where her husband would of exciting St. Julian's ire. He teaches the presently see it rise, appealed to every manly boys as he taught St. Julian in bygone days, but feeling in his nature. But as the father and he can not forget that he is not always St. Juli- daughter turned to each other, something in the an's tutor, and constantly stings and irritates girl's face-a dim reflex light from the pure him with his caustic, disappointed old wits. But bright soul within-seemed to touch him, to St. Julian bears it all with admirable impatience disclose a something, I can not tell you what. for the sake of old days and of age and misfor- It seemed to Hexham as if the scales had fallen tune. suddenly from his eyes, and as if in that instant 112 FROM AN ISLAND. Hester was revealed to him. She moved on a and downs and distant roof-tops blazed in this little way with two of the children who had join- great illumination, and the shadows fell black ed her. The young man followed her with his upon the turf. eyes, and almost started when some one spoke Here Mrs. William began saying in a plaintive to him... tone of voice that she was tired, and I offered to As St. Julian walked on, he began mechani- go back with her. Every body indeed was on the cally to turn over possible effects and combina- move, but we two took a shorter cut, while the tions in his mind. The great colorist under- others went home with the Ulleskelfs, turning stood better than any other how to lay his col- down by a turning of the down towards a lane ors, luminous, harmonious, shining with the real that leads to Ulles Hall. light of nature, for they were in conformity to And so, having climbed up with some toil and her laws; and suddenly he spoke, turning to effort to that beautiful height, we all began to Hexham, who was a photographer, as I have descend once more into the every-day of life, and said, and who indeed was now travelling in a turn from glowing seas and calm-sailing clouds gypsy fashion, in search of subjects for his cam- to the thought of cutlets and chickens. The era. girls had taken back their scarfs and were run"In many things,"he said; "my art can ing down hill. Aileen was carrying one of equal yours, but how helpless we both are when Margaret's children, Emilia Beverly had her litwe look at such scenes as these. It makes me tle Bevis in her arms, Hester was holding by sometimes mad to think that I am only a man her father's arm, as they came back rather siwith oil-pots attempting to reproduce such won- lent, but satisfied and happy. The sounds firom ders." the village below began to reach us, and the'Fortunately they will reproduce themselves lights in the cottages and houses to twinkle; whether you succeed or not,' said the tutor. the cliffs rose higher and higher as we descendSt. Julian looked at him with his bright eyes. ed our different ways. The old beacon stood The old man had spoken quite simply. He did out black against the ruddy sky: a moon began not mean to be rude-and the painter was si- to hang in the high faint heaven, and a bright lent. star to pierce through the daylight. "My art is'a game half of skill, half of Ulles Hall stands on the way from Tarmouth chance,' "said Hexham. "When both these to the Lodges: it is a lovely old house standdivinities favor me I shall beoin to think myself ing among woods in a hollow, and blown by searepaid for the time and the money and the breezes that come through pine-stems and sweet chemicals I have wasted." green glades, starred with primroses in spring, "Have you ever tried to photograph figures and sprinkled with russet leaves in autumn. in a full blaze of light?" Lord Ulleskelf asked, The Lodges where St. Julian lives are built a looking at Mona and his own little girl standing mile nearer to the sea. Houses built on the with Hester, and shading their eyes from a roadside, but inclosed by tall banks and hedges, bright stream that was playing like a halo about and with long green gardens running to the their heads. There was something unconscious down. They have been built piece by piece. and lovely in the little group, with their white It would be difficult to describe them: a gable draperies and flowing locks. A bunch of illu- here, a wooden gallery thatched, a window mined berries and trailing creepers hung from twinkling in a bed of ivy, hanging creepers, little lady Millicent's hair: the light of youth clematis and loveliest Virginian sprays reddenand of life, the sweet wondering eyes, all went ing and drinking in the western light, and reto make a more beautiful picture than graces or fleeting it undimmed in their beautiful scarlet models could ever attain to. St. Julian looked veins-scarlet gold melting into green: one of and smiled with Lord Ulleskelf. the rooms streams with light like light through Hexham answered, a little distractedly, that stained windows of a church.* he should like to show Lord Ulleskelf the attempt he had once made. "Nature is a very uncertain sort of assistant," he added; "and I, too, might exclaim,' Oh that I am but a man, IV. with a bit of yellow paper across my window, As I reached the door with Mrs. William, I and a row of bottles on my shelf, trying to evoke saw a bustle f some sot, a fly, some boes, a life from the film upon my glasses....! III think you are all of you talking very pro- man, a maid, a tall lady of about seven or eight "I think you are all of you talking very pro- fanely," said Lord Ulleskelf; "before all these *A little child passing by in the road looked up one children, and in such a sight as this. But I day at the Lodges, and said: "Oh, what pretty leafhouses I Oh, mother, do let us live there! I think tlc shall be very glad to come down and look at your robins must have made them."'I think that is where photographs, Mr. Hexham, to-morrow morn- we are going to, Mona," said the mother. She was a poor " a fearing te y g mn young widowed cousin of St. Julian's. She came for a ing," he added, fearing the young man might time, but they took her in and never let her go again out be hurt by his tone. of the leaf-house. She staid and became a sort of friend, The firebrand in the still rippled sea turned chaperone, governess, and house-keeper: and to these kind and tender friends and relations, if she were to attempt from flame to silver as the light changed and to set down here all that she owes to them, to their warm, ebhed. Thie ligh}t on the sea seemed dimmern, cordial hearts, and bright, sweet natures, it would make a story apart from the one she has in her mind to write tobut then the land caught fire in turn, and trees day. FROM AN ISLAND. 113 and twenty, dressed in the very height of fash- "your maid's room leads out of your dressingion, with a very tall hat and feather, whom I room." The arrangement seemed obvious, but guessed at once to be Lady Jane. Mrs. Wil- Lady Jane was not quite in a temper to be liam, who has not the good manners of the pleased. rest of the family, shrank back a little, saying "Is it comfortable, Pritchard? Shall you be -"I really can not face her: it's that Lady able to work there? I must speak about it if Jane;" but at that moment Lady Jane, who you are not comfortable." was talking in a loud querulous tone, suddenly Pritchard was a person who did not like to ceased, and turned round. commit herself. Not that she wished to com"Here is Mrs. St. Julian," said the flyman, plain, but she should prefer her ladyship to and my dear mistress came out into the garden judge; it was not for her to say. She looked to receive her guest. so mysterious that Lady Jane ran up the little "I am so glad you have come," I heard her winding stair that led to the turret, and found say, quietly; "we had given you up-are you a little white-curtained chamber, with a pleasant tired? Come in. Let the servant see to your bright look-out over land and sea. luggage." She put out her white gentle hand, "Why, this is a delightful room, Pritchard," and I was amused to see Lady Jane's undis- said Lady Jane. " I should like it myself; it guised look of surprise: she had expected to meet is most comfortable." with some bustling, good-humored housekeeper. "Yes, my lady, I thought it was highly comBevis had always praised his mother-in-law to fortable," said Pritchard; "but it was not for her, but Lady Jane had a way of not always me to venture to say so." listening to what people said, as she rambled on Lady Jane was a little afraid of Mrs. St. Juin her own fashion; and now, having fully made lian's questionings. To tell the truth, she felt up her mind as to the sort of person Mrs. St. that she had been somewhat imprudent; and Julian would be, Lady Jane felt slightly ag- though she was a person of mature age and ingrieved at her utter dissimilarity to her precon- dependence, yet she was not willing to resign ceptions. She followed her into the house, with entirely all pretensions to youthful dependence, her high hat stuck upon the top of her tall head, and she was determined, if possible, not to menwalking in a slightly defiant manner. tion Sigourney's name to her entertainers. Hav" I thought Emilia would have been here to ing frizzed up her curling red locks, with Mrs. receive me," said Lady Jane, not over-pleased. Pritchard's assistance, shaken out her short "I sent her out," the mother said. "I skirts, added a few more bracelets, tied on a thought you would let me be your hostess for coroneted locket, and girded in her tight silver an houl. Will you come up into my room?" waistband, she prepared to return to her hostess Mrs. St. Julian led the way into the drawing- and her tea. She felt excessively ill used by room, where Lady Jane sank down into a chair, Emilia's absence, but, as I have said, dared not crossing her top-boots and shaking out her complain for fear of more questions as to the skirts. cause of her delay. "I am afraid there was a mistake about All along the passage were more odds and meeting you," said the hostess; "the carriage ends, paintings, pictures, sketches framed, a went, but only brought back Mr. Hexham and cabinet or two full of china. Lady Jane was a message that you were not there." too much used to the ways of the world to mis" fortunately met a friend on board," said take the real merit of this.heterogeneous collecLady Jane, hurriedly. "He got me a fly; tion; but she supposed that the artists made thank you, it did not signify." the things up, or perhaps sold them again to Lady Jane was not anxious to enter into par- advantage, and that there was some meaning ticulars, and when Mrs. St. Julian went on to which would be presently explained for it all. ask how it was she had had to wait so long, the What most impressed Lady Jane with a feeling young lady abruptly said something about after- of respect for the inhabitants of the house was noon tea, asked to see her room and to speak to a huge Scotch sheep-dog, who came slowly down her maid. the gallery to meet her, and then passed on "Will you come back to me when you have with a snuff and a wag of his tail. givenyour orders?" said Mrs. St. Julian. "My The door of the mistress's room, as it was cousin, Mrs. Campbell, will show you the way." called, was open; and as Lady Jane followed her Lady Jane, with a haughty nod to poor Mrs. conductress in, she found a second five o'clock Campbell, followed with her high head up the tea and a table spread with rolls and country quaint wooden stairs along the gallery with its butter and home-made cake. A stream of westodd windows and slits, and china, and orna- ern light was flowing through the room and out ments. into the gallery beyond, where the old majolica "This is your room; I hope you will find it plates flashed in the glitter of its sparkle. The comfortable," said the housekeeper, opening a mistress herself was standing with her back door, through which came a flood of light. turned, looking out through the window across "Is that for my maid?" asked Lady Jane, the sea, and trying to compose herself before pointing to a large and very comfortably fur- she asked a question she had very near at heart. nished room just opposite to her own door. Lady Jane remained waiting, feeling for once " That room is Mr. Hexham's," said Queenie; a little shy, and not knowing exactly what to do H 114 FROM AN ISLAND. next, for Mrs. Campbell, who was not without with a little laugh. "I have no doubt h^ will a certain amount of feminine malice, stood let you see the letter since you wish it so much." meekly until Lady Jane should take the lead. "Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. St. Julian, The young lady was not accustomed to deal with " and for the good news you have given me; inferiors who did not exactly behave as such, and I will now confess to you," she added, smiland though inwardly indignant, she did not ing, "that I sent Emmy out on purpose that I quite know how to resent the indifference with might have this little talk. Are you rested? which she considered she was treated. She Will you come into the garden with me for a tossed her head, and at last said, not in the little?" most conciliatory voice, "I suppose I may take Lady Jane was touched by the sweet matersome tea, Mrs. St. Julian?" The sight of the nal manner of the elder woman, and followed sweet pale face turning round at her question quite meekly and kindly. As the two ladies softened her tone. Mrs. St. Julian came slowly were pacing the garden-walk they were joined forward, and began to push a chair with her by the housekeeper and by Mrs. William, with white feeble hands, evidently so unfit for such her little dribble of small-talk. work, that Jane, who was kind-hearted, sprang Many of the windows of the Lodges were forward, lockets, top-boots, and all, to prevent alight. The light from without still painted the her. "You had much better sit down your- creepers, the lights from within were coming self," said she, good-naturedly. "I thought and going, and the gleams were falling upon you looked ill just now, though I had never seen the ivy-leaves here and there. One-half of the you in my life before. Let me pour out the place was ini shadow, and the western side in tea." daylight still. There was a sweet rush of scent Mrs. St. Julian softened, too, in the other's from the sweetbriers and clematis. It seemed unexpected heartiness and kindness. "I had to hang in the still evening air. LUnderneath something to say to you. I think it upset me the hedges, bright-colored flowers seemed suda little. I heard-I feared "-she said, nerv- denly starting out of the twilight, while above, ously hesitating. "Lady Jane, did you hear in the lingering daylight, the red berries sparkled from your brother-from Bevis-by the last and caught the stray limpid rays. There was mail...? Emmy does not know the mail is a sound of sea waves washing the not distant in. I. have been a little anxious for her," beach;, a fisherman or two, and soldiers from and Mrs. St. Julian changed color. the little fort, were strolling along the road, and "Certainly I heard," said Lady Jane; "or peering in as they passed the bright little homes. at least my father did. Bevis wanted some The doors were wide open, and now and then a money raised. Why were you so anxious, Mrs. figure passed-a servant, Mrs. Campbell-who St. Julian?" asked Lady Jane, with a slightly was always coming and going: William, the amused look in her face. It was really too ab- eldest son, coming out of the house: he had surd to have these people making scenes and been at work all day. alarms when she was perfectly at her ease. The walking party came up so silently that " I am thankful you have heard," said Mrs. they were there in the garden almost before the St. Julian, with a sudden flush and brightness others had heard them: a beloved crowd, exin her wan face, which made Lady Jane open claiming, dispersing again. It was a pretty her eyes in wonder. sight to see the meetings; little Susan running " I)o you care so much?" said she, a little straight to her father, William St. Julian. He puzzled. "I am glad that I do not belong to adored his little round-eyed daughter, and iman anxious family. I am very like Bevis, they mediately carried her off in his arms. Little say; and I know there is nothing that he dis- Mona, too, had got hold of her mother's hand, likes so much as a fuss about nothing." while Lady Jane was admiring Bevis, and being "I know it," said Mrs. St. Julian. "He is greeted by the rest of the party, and introduced very good and kind to bear with my foolish to those whom she did not already know. alarms, and I wonder-could you-would you "We had quite given you up, dear Jane," too-forgive me for my foolishness, Lady Jane, said little Emilia, wistfully gazing and trying if I were to ask you a great favor? Do you to see some look of 1ig Bevis in his sister's face. think I might see that letter to your father? I "How I wish I had staid, but you had mamcan not tell you what a relief it would be to me. ma." I told you Emilia does not know that the mail "We gave you up," said Hester,'" when Mr. is in; and if-if she might learn it by seeing in Hexham came without you..... his own handwriting that Bevis was well, I "I now find I had the honor of travelling with think it would make all the difference to her, Lady Jane, " said Hexham, looking amused, and poor child." making a little bow. There was something in the elder lady's gentle Lady Jane turned her back upon Mr. Hexpersistence which struck the young one as odd, ham. She had taken a great dislike to him on and yet touching; and although she was much board the boat; she had noticed him looking at inclined to refuse, from a usual habit of con- her once or twice, and at Captain Sigourney. tradiction, she did not know how to do so when She found it a very good plan, and always it came to the point. turned her back upon people she did not like. "I'll write to my father," said Lady Jane, It checked any familiarity. It was much betri vrtuLY115'LLCIy L FRO.M A'N- ISLAND. 115 ter to do so at once, and let them see what their The evening, the sweet stillness, the trembling proper place was. If people of a certain posi- garden hedges, the fields beyond, the sweet tion in the world did not keep others in their girlish tinkle of Hester's voice, made Hexham proper places, there was no knowing what fa- feel for the first time in his life as if he was miliarity might not ensue. And then she ran standing in a living shrine, and as if he ought back to little Bevis again, and lifted him up, to fall down on his knees and worship. struggling. For the child had forgotten her, "CanI help you?" he said. "Miss Hester, and seemed not much attracted by her appear- may I have a flower for my button-hole?" ance. "There are nothing but big lilies," said the " Lady Jane Beverley has something milita- voice. ry abont her," said Hexham to Mrs. Campbell. As he spoke a great loud bell began to ring, and with a little chorus of exclamations, the la- V. dies began to disperse to dress for dinner. "You know your way, Mr. Hexham," said IN. writing this little episode I have tried to Mrs. Campbell, pointing. "Go through that put together one thing and another-to describe side door, and straight up and along the gal- some scenes that I saw myself and some that lery." were described to me. My window looks out Mrs. St. Julian had put her arm into her hus- upon the garden, and is just over the great bed band's, and walked a little way with him towards of lilies. I shut it down, and began to dress the house. for dinner, with an odd dim feeling already of "Henry," she said, "thank Heaven, all is what the future might have in store. It was a well. Lord MIountmore heard from Bevis by half-conscious consciousness of what was passthis mail. Lady Jane has promised to show ing in the minds of those all about. For some me the letter: she had heard nothing of that days past Mrs. St. Julian's anxious face seemed dreadful report." to follow me about the room. Poor little Emi"It was not likely," St. Julian said; " U- lia's forced patience and cheerfulness were more leskelf only saw the paper by chance. I am sad to me than any impatience or fretfulness. glad you were so discreet, my dear." Hexham, Hester, even Lady Jane, each seemed "I should like to paint a picture of them," to strike a note in my present excited and recepsaid Hexham to the housekeeper, looking at tive state of mind. It is one for which there is them once more before he hurried into the no name, but which few people have not expehouse. rienced. I dressed quickly, the dark corners The two were standing at the threshold of of my room seemed looming at me, and it was their home, Mrs. St. Julian leaning upon her with an odd, anxious conviction of disturbance husband's arm: the strong keen-faced man with at hand that I hurried down along the gallery his bright gallant bearing, and the wife with her to the drawing-room, where we assembled besoft and feminine looks fixed upon him as she fore dinner. On my way I met Emilia on the bent anxiously to catch his glance. She was stairs, in her white dinner-dress, with a soft as tall as he was: for St. Julian was a middle- white knitted shawl drawn closely round her. sized man, and Mrs. St. Julian was tall for a She slid her little chill hand through my arm, woman. and askedeme why I looked so pale. Dear soft Meanwhile Hexham, who was not familiar little woman, she seemed of us all the most tenwith the ways of the house, and who took time der and disarming. Even sorrow and desolaat his toilet, ran up stairs, hastily passed his tion, I thought, should be vanquished by her own door, went along a passage, up a staircase, sweetness. And perhaps I was right when I down a staircase..... He found himself in thought so. the dusky garden again, where the lights were We were not the last. Hester followed us. almost put out by this time, though all the flow- She was dressed in a floating gauze dress, and ers were glimmering, and scenting, and awake she had one great white lily in her dark hair. still. There was a red streak in the sky; all "It is a great deal too big, Hester," cried Mrs. the people had vanished, bat turning round he William; but I thought I had never seen her saw-he blinked his eyes at the sight-a white more charming. figure standing, visionary, mystical, in the very "How much better mamma is looking!" centre of a bed of tall lilies, in a soft gloom of Hester said that evening at dinner, and as she evening light. Was it a vision? For the first spoke she glanced at her mother sitting at the time in his life Hexham felt a little strangely, head of the long table in the tall carved chair. and as if he could believe in the super-nature When the party was large, and the sons of which he sometimes had scoffed at; the young the house at home, we dined in an old disused man made one step forward and stopped again. studio of St. Julian's: a great wooden room, "It is I, Mr. Hexham," said a shy, clear voice. unpapered and raftered, with a tressle table of "I came to find some flowers for Emilia." It the painter's designing, and half-finished freswas Hester's voice. Surely some kindly provi- coes and sketches hanging upon the walls. dence sets true lovers' way in pleasant places There was a high wooden chimney,: and an oldand all they do and say has a grace of its own fashioned glass reflecting the scene, the table, which they impart to all inanimate things. the people, the crimson drugget, of which a 116 FROM AN ISLAND. square covered the boards. In every thing St. girl when she got home on Monday; not that Julian touched there was a broad quaint stamp M rs. William was disposed to rely entirely upon of his own, and this room had been inhabited Mrs. Mickleman, who was certainly given to exand altered by him. Two rough hanging aggerate, etc. The girls were in the garden. lamps from the rafter lit up the long white ta- Emilia had gone up to little Bevis. Lady Jane ble, and the cups of red berries and green leaves jumped up with the usual rattle of bracelets and with which I had attempted to dress it. There necklaces, and said she should take a turn too was something almost patriarchal in this little and join the young ladies. assembly: the father at the end of the table, Mrs. William confessed, as Lady Jane left the the sons and daughters all around, William and verandah, that she was glad she was not her sishis wife by Mrs. St. Julian, and pretty Hester ter-in-law. sitting by her father. On the other side Lady "She has such a strange abrupt manner," Jane was established. St. Julian had taken said the poor lady. "Don't you find it very her in. He had asked her a few questions at awkward, Queenie? I never know whether she,first, specially about the letter she had received likes me to talk to her or not-do you?" from Bevis, but carefully, so that Emilia should "I have no doubt about it," I said, laughnot overhear them. ing. "He seemed to be enjoying himself," said The evening was irresistible: starlit, moonLady Jane. "He was talking of going on a lit, soft-winded. shooting-party a little way up the river, if he A few minutes later I, too, went out into the could get through his work in time." garden, and walked along the dark alley towards She did not notice St. Julian's grave look as the knoll, from whence there is a pretty view of she spoke, and went on in her usual fashion. the sea by night, and over the hedge and along I remember she was giving him one person's the lane. From where I stood 1 saw that the views on art and another's, and her own, and garden-gate was open, for the moon was shining describing the pastel she had had done. St. in a broad silver stream along the lane that led Julian looked graver and graver, and more im- to the farm. The farm was not really ours, but patient as she went on. Patience was not his all our supplies came from there, and we felt as strong point. if it belonged to us. Mona knew the cows and " How long does it take you to paint a pic- the horses, and the very sheep inclosed in their ture, Mr. St. Julian?" Lady Jane asked. "I pen for the night. As I was standing peaceful wish I could paint, and I'm sure I wish Bever- and resting under the starlit dome, something a ley could, for he can not manage upon his al- little strange and in'explicable now happened, lowance at all. How nice it must be to take which I could not at all understand at the time. up a brush and-paint checks, in fact, as you I saw some one moving in the lane beyond the do. Clem can sketch wonderfully quickly; she hedge. I certainly recognized Lady Jane walktook off Lord Scudamore capitally. Of course ing away in the shadow that lay along the banks she would not choose to sketch for money, but of that moonlit stream; but what was curious artists have said they would gladly offer large to me was this: it seemed to me that she was sums for her paintings. Doyour daughters help not alone, that a dark tall figure of a man was you?" inquired poor Lady Jane affably, feeling beside her. It was not one of our men, though that she was suiting her conversation to her I could not see the face-of this I felt quite company. " Do you ever do caricatures?" sure. The two went on a little way, then she "' We will talk about painting, Lady Jane, turned; and I could have declared that I saw when you have been here some days longer," the gleam of his face in the distance through said St. Julian. "You had better ask the girls. the shadow. Lady Jane's hand was hanging in any questions you may wish to have answered, the moonlight, and her trinkets glistening. Of and get them, if possible, to give you some idea her identity I had no doubt. There is a big of the world we live in." tree which hangs over the road, and when they, To poor Lady Jane's utter amazement St. or when she, reached it, she stopped for a mo-'Julian then began talking to Hexham across the ment, as if to look about her, and then, only table, and signed to his wife to move imme- Lady Jane appeared from its shadow-the othdiately after dinner was over. We all went er figure had vanished. I could not understand back walking across the garden to the drawing- it at all. I have confessed that I am a foolish room, for the night was fine, and the little cover- person and superstitious at times. I had never ed way was for bad weather. seen poor Bevis. Had any thing happened? Some of us sat in the verandah. It was a Could it be a vision of him that I had seen? I bright starry evening. A great bright planet got a little frightened, and my heart began to was rising from behind the sweeping down. beat. It was only for an instant that I was so The lights from the wooden room were shining absurd. I walked hastily towards the garden too. Lady Jane presently seemed to get tired of door, and met Lady Jane only a few steps off, listening to poor Mrs. William's nursery retro- coming up very coolly. spections,-Mary Annes, and Susans, and tea "How lovely this moonlight is, Mrs. Campand sugar, and what Mrs. Mickleman had said bell!" she cried, more affably than usual. when she parted from her nursery-maid; and "Who was that with you? Didn't I see some what Mrs. William herself meant to say to the one with you, Lady Jane?" I asked, hurriedly. FROM AN ISLAND. 117 Lady Jane looked me full in the face. I left her stirring her cup, with Mrs. William "What do you mean?" said she. "I went still half asleep in her corner, and I myself out for a stroll by myself. I am quite alone, as went up to my room. Mrs. St. Julian was sityou see." ting with her husband in the studio, the parlorSomething in her tone reassured me. I felt maid told me. Outside was the great burning sure she was not speaking the truth. It was no night, inside a silent house, dark, with empty apparition I had seen, but a real tangible person. chambers and doors wide open on the dim stairIt was no affair of mine, though it struck me as case and passages. I would gladly have staid a singular proceeding. We both walked back out with the others, but I had a week's accounts to the house together. The girls' white dress- to overlook on this Saturday night. The odd es were gleaming here and there upon the lawn. anxiety I had felt before dinner came back to Hexham passed us hastily and went on and me again now that I was alone. I tried to joined them. William was taking a turn with shake off the feeling which oppressed me, and his cigar. As we passed the dining-room win- I went in and stood for a moment by my little dow I happened to look in. St. Julian was sit- Mona's bedside. Her sweet face, her quiet ting at the table, with his head resting on his breath, and peaceful dreams seemed to me to hands, and beside him Mrs. St. Julian, who must belong to the stars outside. As I looked at have gone back to the room after dinner. A the child, I found myself once more thinking paper was before them, over which the two were over my odd little adventure with Lady Jane, bending. and wondering whether it would be well to We found no one in the drawing-room, and speak of it, and to whom? I had lived long only a lamp spluttering and a tea-table simmer- enough to feel some of the troubles and coming in one corner, and Mrs. William, who was plications both of speech and of silence. Once half asleep on the sofa. " I shall go back to more my heart sank, as it used to do when difthe others," said my companion; and I follow- ficulties seemed to grow on every side before I ed, nothing loath. had come to this kind house of refuge; and What a night it was! Still, dark, sweet, fia- yet, difficult as life was undoubtedly to me, as grant shadows, quivering upon the moon-stream; well as to others, it seemed to me, looking back, a sudden, glowing summer's night, coming like that, seen from a distance, a light shone from a gem set in the midst of gray days, of storms, the hearts and doings of the children of men, swift gales, of falling autumnal leaves and sea- as clear as the light of which Hexham had sons. spoken, reflected from this sin-weighted and The clear three-quarter moon was hanging sorrow-driven world. I pulled my table and over the gables and roofs of the Lodges; the my lamp to the window: the figures were still high stars streamed light; a distant sea burnt wandering in the garden; I saw Hester's white with pale radiance; the young folks chattered dress flit by more than once. Such nights in the trembling gleams. count in the sum of one's life. "Look at'that great planet rising over the down," said Hexham. " Should you like that to be your star, Miss St. Julian?" "I should like a fixed star," Hester answer- VI ed, gravely. " I should like it to be quite still and unchanging, and to shine with an even MONA was standing ready dressed in her light!" Sunday frills and ribbons by my bedside when "That is not a bit like you, Hester," said I awoke next morning. William, who had come up, and who still had "It is raining, mamma," she said. "We a school-boy trick of teasing his sisters; "it had wanted to go up to the beacon before is much more like Emilia, or my wife. You breakfast." describe them and take all the credit to your- It seemed difficult to believe that this was the self." same world that I had closed my eyes upon. "Oh William! Emilia is any thing but a The silent, brilliant, mysterious world of stars fixed star," cried Aileen. "She would like to and sentiment was now gray, and mist-wreathed jump out of her orbit to-morrow, and go off to and rain-drenched. The practical result of my Bevis, if she could. Margaret is certainly more observations was to say, "Mona, go and tell like." them to light a fire in the dining-room." "You shall have the whole earth for your St. Julian, who is possessed by a horrible planet, Miss Hester," said Hexham. Then he stray demon of punctuality, likes all his family added less seriously, "They say it looks very to assemble to the sound of a certain clanging bright a little way off." bell that is poor Emilia's special aversion. Moonlight gives a strange, intensified mean- Mrs. St. Julian never comes down to breaking to voices as well as to shadows. No one fast. I was only just in time this morning to spoke for a minute, until Lady Jane, who was fulfill my duties and make the tea and the cofeasily bored, jumped up and said that people fee. Hester came out of her room as I passed ought to be ashamed to talk about stars now- the door. She, too, had come back to everyadays, so much had been said already; and day life again, and had put away her white that, after all, she should go back for some tea. robes and lilies for a stuff dress-a quaint blue 118 FROM AN ISLAND. dress, with puffed sleeves, and a pretty fanciful in hand. Does one not know the kindly Suntrimming of her mother's devising, gold braid day throng, as it assembles, across fields and and velvet round the wrists and neck. Her downs, from nestling farm and village byways? pretty gloom of dark hair was pinned up with Mrs. William's children came trotting behind golden pins. As I looked at her admiringly, I her, exchanging cautious glances with the Sunbegan to think to myself that, after all, rainy day-school, and trying to imitate a certain busmornings were perhaps as compatible with sen- iness-like, church-going air which their mother timent as purple starry skies. I could not help affected. Hexham and the others were followthinking that there was something a little shy ing at some little distance. Emilia never spoke and conscious in her manner: she seemed to much, and to-day she was very silent; but tread gently, as if she were afraid of waking though she was silent I could feel, her depressome one, as if she were thinking of other sion, and knew, as well as if she had put it all things. She waited for me, and would not go into words, what was passing in her mind. into the dining-room until she had made sure Once during the service, I heard a low shiverthat I was following. Only Hexham was ing sigh by my side, but when I glanced at her, there, reading his letters by the burning fire her face looked placid, and as we came away of wood, when we first came in. He turned the light of the setting sun came shining full round and smiled:-had the stars left their upon it. A row of boys were sitting on the imprint upon him too? He carried his selec- low churchyard wall in this western light, tion of eggs and cutlets and toasted bread from which lit up the fields and streamed across the the side-table, and put himself quietly down by homeward paths of the little congregation. I Hester's side: all the others dropped in by de- must not forget to say that, as we passed out, grees. it seemed to me that, in the crowd waiting'Here is another French newspaper for you, about the door, I recognized a tall and bendpapa," said Emilia, turning over her letters with ing figure that I had seen somewhere before. a sigh. St. Julian took it from her quickly, Somewhere-by moonlight. I remembered and put it in his pocket. presently when and where it was. Breakfast was over. The rain was still pour- "Who was that?" asked Emilia, seeing me ing in a fitful, gusty way, green ivy-leaves were glance curiously. dripping, creepers hanging dully glistening about "That is what I should like to know," said the windows, against which the great fresh drops 1. " Shall we wait for Lady Jane? I have a came tumbling. The children stood curiously notion she could tell us." watching, and making a play of the falling drops. We waited, but no Lady Jane appeared. There was Susy's rain-drop, and George's on the " She must have gone on," said Emilia. window-ledge, and Mr. Hexhams's. "It is getting cold; let us follow them, dear "Oh, Mr. Hexham's has won!" cried Susy, Queenie." clasping her little fat hands in an agony of in- I was still undecided as to what I had betterest. ter do. It seemed that it would' be better to I looked out and saw the great gusts of rain speak to Lady Jane herself than to relate my beating and drifting against the hedgerows, vague suspicions to any body else. Little wind-blown mists crossing the fields and the Emilia, of all people, was so innocent and undowns. It was a stormy Sunday, coming after suspecting that I hesitated before I told her what that night of wonders. But' the wind was I had seen. I was hesitating still, when Emmy high; the clouds might break. The church took my arm again. was two miles off, and we could not get there Come!" she said; andso we went on tothen; later we hoped we might have a calmer gether through the darkening village street, hour to walk to it. past the cottages where the pans were shining The afternoon brightened as we had expect- against the walls as the kitchen fires flamed. ed, and most of us went to afternoon service The people began to disperse once more: some snugly wrapped in cloaks, and stoutly shod, were at home, stooping as they crossed their walking up hill and down hill between the low cottage thresholds; others were walking bright and dripping hedges to the little white- away along the paths and the hills that slope washed building where we Islanders are ex- from the village church to cottages by the sea. horted, buried, christened, married by turns. We saw Hester and Aileen and Hexham going It is always to me a touching sight to see the off by the long way over the downs; but no country folks gathering to the sound of the old Lady Jane was with them. We were not far jangling village bells, as they ring their pleas- from home when Emilia stopped before a little ant calls from among the ivy and bird's-nests rising mound by the roadside, on which a tuftin the steeple, and summon-what a strange, ed holly-tree was standing, already reddened toil-worn, weather-beaten company!-to prayer against the winter. and praise. Furrowed faces bent, hymn-books "That is the tree my husband likes," said grasped in hard crooked fingers, the honest red she. "It was bright red with holly-berries the smiling cheeks of the lads and lasses trudging morning we were married. Little Bevvy watchalong side by side, the ancient garments from es the berries beginning to burn, as he calls it. lavender drawers, the brown old women from I often bring him here." their kitchen corners, the babies toddling hand -Some people can not put themselves into FROM AN ISLAND. 119 words, and they say, not the actual thing they Do I dream it, or did I hear the two words, are feeling, but sumething quite unlike, and " impertinent interference," as she turned round yet which means all they would say. Some with the air of an empress, and shut her door other people, it is true, have words enough, loud in my face? Mrs. St. Julian happened but no selves to put to them. Emilia never to be in her room, and the noise brought her said a striking thing, rarely a pathetic one; but kind head out into the passage, and, not I ant her commonplaces came often more near to me afraid very calmly or colerently, I told her what than the most passionate expressions of love or had happened. devotion. Something in the way she looked,':I must try and appease her, I suppose my in the tone with which she spoke of the holly- husband has spoken to her," said Mrs. St. Jutree, touched me more than there seemed any lian; and she boldly went and knocked at the occasion for. I can not tell what it was; but door of Lady Jane's room, and, after an instant's this I do know, that silence, dullness, every hesitation, walked quietly in. I do not know thing, utters at times, the very stones cry out, what charm she used, but, somewhat to my disand, in one way or another, love finds a lan- may, a messenger came to me in the drawingguage that we all can understand. room presently to beg that I would speak to We stood for a few minutes under the holly- Lady Jane. I saw malicious Ailcen with a tree, and then walked quickly home. I let gleam of fun in her eyes at my unfeigned alarm. Emilia go in. I waited outside in the dim gray I found Lady Jane standing in the middle of garden, pacing up and down in the twilight.. the room, in a majestic sort of dressing-gown, Lady Jane, as I expected, arrived some ten with all herlong tawny locks about her shoulminutes after we did; but I missed the opportu- ders. Mrs. St. Julian was sitting in an armnity I had wished for, for Hexham and the two chair near the toilet-table, which was all glittergirls appeared almost at the same minute, with ing with little bottles and ivory handles. This bright eyes and fresh rosy faces, from their walk, scarlet apparition came straight up to me as I enand we all went up to tea in the mistress's room. tered, with three brisk strides. " I find I did you This was the Williams' last evening. Only an injustice," she said, loftily relenting, though one little incident somewhat spoiled its bar- indignant still. "Mrs. St. Julian has explained mony. matters to me. I thought you would be glad "Who was that Captain Sigourncy, who to know at once that I was aware of the mistake called just after we had gone to church?" Mrs. I had made. I beg your pardon. Good-evening, William asked innocently, during a pause in Mrs. Campbell," said Lady Jane dismissing me the talk at dinner. all of a breath. I found myself outside in the This simple question caused some of us to dark passage again, with a curious dazzle of the look up curiously. brilliantly lighted room, with its odd perfume " Captain Sigourney," said Lady Jane, in a of ottar of roses, of that weird apparition with loud trumpet-like tone, "is a fiiend of mine. I its flaming robe and red hair and burning asked him to call upon me." cheeks. St. Julian gave one of his flashes, a look I was too busy next morning helping Mrs. half amused, half angry. lie glanced at his William and her children and boxes to get off wife, and then at Lady Jane, who was cutting by the early boat, to have much time to think up her mutton into long strips, calmly excited of apparitions or my own wounded feelings. and prepared for battle. St. Julian was silent, Dear little Georgy and Susey peeped out of the however, and the engagement, if engagement carriage-window with many farewell kisses. there was to be, did not take place until later The three girls stood waving their hands as the in the evening. I felt very glad that the matter carriage drove past the garden. The usual was taking this turn and that the absurd mys- breakfast-bell rang and we all assembled, and tery, whatever it might be, should come to an Lady Jane, whose anger was never long-lived, end without my being implicated in it. It was came down in pretty good humor. To me she no affair of mine if Lady Jane liked to have a was most friendly. There was a shade of disdozen captains in attendance upon her, but it pleasure in her manner to St. Julian. To Hexseemed to me a foolish proceeding. I had rea- hamshe said that she had quite determined upon son to conclude that St. Julian had said some- an expedition to Warren Bay that afternoon, thing to Lady Jane that evening. I was not in and to the castle next day, and she hoped he the drawing-room after dinner. One of the would come too. Lady Jane bustled off after servants was ill, and I was obliged to attend breakfast to order a carriage. to her; but as I was coming down to say goodnight to them all I met Lady Jane-I met a whirlwind in the passage. She gave me one look. Her whole aspect was terrible: her II. chains and many trinkets seemed rattling with indignation. She looked quite handsome inher FROM "the mistress's room," with its corner fury; her red hair and false plaits seemed to windows looking out every way, we could see stand on end, her eyes to pierce me through downs, and sea, and fields, and the busy road and through, and if I had been guilty I think I down to the shore. Mrs. St. Julian was able must have run away from this irate apparition. to be out so little that she liked life at second 120 FROM AN ISLAND. hand, and the sight of people passing, and of before her, and I stitched on. At last the mothher children swinging at the gate, and of St. er spoke again:Julian as he came and went from his studio " I wish you would go to Emilia, my Hester," sometimes, with his pipe and his broad-brim- she said, a little anxiously. " I am afraid she med hat-all this was a never-failing delight is fretting sometimes when she is by herself." to her. Hester sat writing for her mother this "You poor mamma," cried Hester, jumping morning. It was the Monday after Lady Jane's up and running to her, and kissing her again arrival; and I established myself with my work and again; "you have all our pain and none in the window. Suddenly the mother asked, of our fun." "Where is Emilia?" "Don't you think so, my dear," said the "Emilia is in the garden with Bevis," said mother; "I think I have both." Then she Hester; "they were picking red berries off the called Hester back to her, held her hand, and hedge when I came up." looked into her face tenderly for a minute. "Go, "And where is Lady Jane?" said Mrs. St. darling! —but-but take care," she said, as she Julian. let her go. "She is gone to look at a pony-carriage, with "Take care of what, mamma?" the girl her maid," said Hester. asked, a little consciously; and then Hester ran "Poor Lady Jane was very indignant last off, as all young girls will.do, nothing loath to night. You will be amused to hear that I am get out into the sunshine. supposed to be encouraging a young man at this I stitched on at my work, but presently lookmoment, for purposes of my own, to carry her ing up I saw that Hester and Emilia were not off," said Mrs. St. Julian. "I am afraid Henry alone; Mr. Hexham, who had, I suppose, been is vexed about it. Look here." As she spoke smoking his cigar in the garden, had joined she gave me a satiny, flowingly written note to them. He was lifting Bevis high up overhead, read. to pick the berries that were shining in the Castle Scudamore, Saturday. hedge. The Lodges seemed built for pretty DEAR MRS. ST. JULIAN-I have been made live pictures; and the mistress's room, most aware that my step-daughter has been followed specially of all the rooms in the house, is a peepto your house by a person with whom I and her show to see them from. Through this window, father are most anxious that she should have no with its illuminated border of clematis and ivy communication whatever. Whether this has and Virginian creeper, I could see the bit of garhappened with your cognizance I can not tell,, den lawn, green still and sunlit; the two pretty but I shall naturally consider you responsible sisters, in their flowing dresses, straight and while she is under your roof, and I must beg slim, smiling at little Bevis; the high sweetyou will be so good as not to continue to admit brier hedge, branching like a bower over their Captain Sigourney's visits. He is a person to- heads; and the swallows skimming across the tally unsuitable in every respect to my step- distant down. This was the most romantic daughter, and it is a marriage her father could window of the three which lighted her room, not sanction. and I asked my cousin to come and see a pretI hope Emilia is well, and that she has had ty group. She smiled, and then sighed as she satisfactory accounts by this last mail. We re- looked. Poor troubled mother! ceived a few lines only, on business, from Bevis. "I can not feel one moment's ease about BeBelieve me, yours truly, vis," she said. "My poor Emmy! And yet E. MOUNTMORE. Lady Jane was very positive." "We shall know to-morrow. You are too "The whole thing is almost too absurd to be anxious, I think,"I answered cheerfully; and vexed about," said Mrs. St. Julian, smiling, then I could not help asking her if she thought "Why was Lady Jane so angry with you, she should ever be as anxious about George Queenie?" Hester asked; and then it was I con- Hexhanm. fessed what I had seen that evening on the She did not answer except by a soft little Knoll. smile. Then she sighed again. "Lady Jane told me all about it," my mis- Lady Jane's expected letter had not come tress continued. "She says Captain Sigour- that Monday evening, but Mrs. St. Julian hoped ney's only object in life is to see her pass by. on. Emilia was daily growing more anxious; To tell you the truth, I do not think she cares she said very little, but every opening door in the least for him. She found him at the gate startled her, every word seemed to her to have that evening, she says." Mrs. St. Julian hesi- a meaning. She began to have a clear, ill-detated, and then went on. " She must be very fined feeling that they were hiding something attractive. She tells me that she believes Mr. from her, and yet, poor little thing, she did not Hexham admires her very much, and that, on dare ask, for fear of getting bad news. Her soft, the whole, she thinks he is more the sort of per- wan, appealing looks went to the very hearts of son to suit her." Mrs. St. Julian spoke with a the people looking on. Lady Jane was the little gentle malice; and yet I could see she only person who could resist her. She was, or half believed, and that there was prudence, too, seemed to be, ruffled and annoyed that any one in what she was saying. should be anxious when she had said there was There was a pause. Hester looked straight no occasion for fear. Mrs. St. Julian would FROM AN ISLAND. 121 have quietly put off a certain expedition which his watch, and St. Julian looked on almost as had been arranged some time before for the next excited as the photographer. As Hexham day; but Lady Jane, out of very opposition, was rushed away into his van, with the glass under most eager and decided that it should take place. his arm, we all began talking again. An invitation came for the girls to a ball; this "It takes one's breath away," said St. Julian, the parents decidedly refused, though Hexham, quite excited, "to have the picture there, breathand Hester too, looked sorely disappointed. Of ing on the glass, and to feel every instant that course Lady Jane knew no reason for any spe- it may vanish or dissolve with a word, with a cial anxiety, any more than Emilia, and perhaps breath. I should never have nerve for photogher confidence and cheerfulness were the best raphy." medicine for the poor young wife; who, seeing "I believe the great objection is that it blackthe sister so bright, began to think that she had ens one's fingers so," said Lady Jane. "I over-estimated dangers which she only dimly felt should have tried it myself, but I did not care and guessed at. So the carriages were ordered to spoil my hands." after luncheon; but the sun was shining bright As for the picture, Hexham came out wildly in the morning, and HIexham asked Hester and exclaiming from his little dark room; never had Aileen (shyly, and hesitating as he spoke) if he done any thing so strangely beautiful-he they would mind being photographed directly. could not believe it-it was magical. The self"Why should you not try a group?" said controlled young man was quite wild with deSt. Julian. "Here are Hester, Lady Jane, light and excitement. Lord Ulleskelf walked Mona, Aileen, and Emilia, all wanting to be up, just as we were all clustering round, and he, done at once." too, admired immensely. Emilia shrank back, and said she only wanted Hexham rushed up to St. Julian. "It is baby done, not herself. your doing," he said. " It is wonderful. My "I was longing to try a group," said Hex- fortune is made." He all but embraced his ham, " and only waiting for leave. How will precious glass. you sit?" And he began placing them in a sort St. Julian was to be the next subject. What of row, two up and one down, with a property- a noble wild head it was! There was sometable in the middle. He then began focusing, thing human and yet almost mysterious to me and presently emerged, pale and breathless and in the flash of those pale circling eyes with the excited, from the little black hood into which black brows and shaggy gray hair. But Hexhe had dived. "Will you look?" said he to ham's luck failed him, perhaps from over-exciteSt. Julian. ment and inexperience in success. Three or "I think it might be improved upon," said four attempts failed, and we were still at it when St. Julian, getting interested. " Look up, Mona, the luncheon-bell rang. Hexham was for going -up, up. That is better. And can not you on all day; but St. Julian laughed and said it take the ribbon out of your hair?" should be another time. This sentiment was "Yes, Uncle St. Julian," said Mona; "but particularly approved by Lady Jane, who had a it will all tumble down." childish liking for expeditions and picnickings, "Never mind that," said he; and with one and who had set her heart upon carrying out hand Mona pulled away the snood, and then her drive that afternoon. the beautiful stream came flowing and rippling and falling all about her shoulders. _ " That is excellent," said the painter. " You, too, Aileen, shake out your locks." Then he V began sending one for one thing and one for another. I was dispatched for some lilies into HEHIIAM had known scarcely any thing bethe garden, and Lady Jane came too, carrying fore this of home life or home peace. He had little Bevis in her arms. When we got back carefully' treasured his liberty, and vowed to we found one of the prettiest sights I have ever himself that he would keep that liberty always. yet seen-a dream of fair ladies against an ivy But now that he had seen Hester, fair, and wall, flowers and flowing locks, and sweeping maidenly, and serene, he could not tell what garments. It is impossible to describe the pe- mysterious sympathy had attracted him.'To culiar charm of this living, breathing picture. speak to her, to hear her shy tender voice, afEmilia, after all, had been made to come into fected him strangely. George Hexham did not it; little Bevis clapped his hands, and said, care to give way to sentimental emotion; he felt "Pooty mamma!" when he saw her. that his hour had come. He had shared the "I don't mind being done in the group," said common lot of men. It was a pity, perhaps, Lady Jane, " if you will promise not to put any to give up independence and freedom and peace of those absurd white pinafores on me." of mind, but no sacrifice was too great to win so Neither of the gentlemen answered, they were dear a prize. So said George to himself as he both too busy. As for me, I shall never forget looked at the glass upon which her image was the sweet child-wonder in my little Mona's face, printed, the image with the wondering eyes. He Hester's bright deep eyes, or my poor Emilia's must get one more picture, he thought, eating patient and most affecting expression, as they his luncheon thoughtfully, but with a good apall stood there motionless; while Hexham held petite undisturbed by these reflections-ore 122 FROM AN ISLAND. more of Hester alone. He determined to try I have words to put to it-a smiling plain of' and keep her at home that afternoon. glassy blue sea, a vast firmament of heaven; and He followed her as she left the room. close at hand bright sandy banks, shining with You are not going? Do stay," said Hex- streams of color reflected from the crystals and ham, imploringly; "I want you; I want a pic- strata upheaved in shining strands; and farther ture of you all to myself. I told my man we off the boats drifting towards the opal Broadshould come back after luncheon." shire Hills. Hester colored up. Her mother's warning I do not suppose that any body seeing us was still in her ears. strolling along these lovely cliffs would have " I-I am afraid I must go," she said shyly. guessed the odd and depressing influence that " What nonsense!" cried Hexham, who was was at work upon most of us. As far as Lady perfectly unused to contradiction, and excited Jane and Hexham and Aileen were concerned, by his success. "I shallgo and tell your moth- the expedition seemed successful enough; they er that it is horrible tyranny to send you off with laughed and chattered, and laughed again. that corvee of children and women, and that you Emilia and her sister followed, listening to their want to stay behind. Lady Jane would stay if shrieks, in silence, with little Bevis between I asked her." them. Mona and I brought up the rear. Lady Hester did not quite approve of this familiar Jane seemed quite well pleased with her comway of speaking. She drew herself up more panion, and evidently accepted his homage all and more shyly and coldly. to herself. I could have shaken her for being' No, thank you," she said, "'mamma lets so stupid. Could she not see that not one single me do just as I like. I had rather go with the word he spoke was intended for her. Every one others." of Hexham's arrows flew straight to the gentle " In that case," said Hexham, offended, " I heart for which they were intended. It was not shall not presume to interfere." And he turn- a very long walk-perhaps half an hour in dued and walked away. ration-but half an hour is long enough to What is a difference? A word that means change a lifetime, to put a new meaning to all nothing-a look a little to the right or to the that has passed, and to all that is yet to come. left of an appealing glance. I think that peo- People may laugh at such a thing as desillsionple who quarrel are often as fond of one anoth- Yement, but it is a very real and very bitter thing, er as people who embrace. They speak a differ- for all that people may say. To some constant ent language, that is all. Affection and agree- natures certainty and unchangeableness are the ment are things quite apart. To agree with the great charm, the whole meaning of love. Hespeople you love is a blessing unspeakable. But ter, suddenly bewildered and made to doubt, people who differ may also be travelling along would freeze, and change, and fly at a shadow; the same road on opposite sides. And there are where Hester, once certain, would endure all two sides to every road that both lead the same things, bear, and hope, and forgive. I could sec way. that Hexham did not dislike a little excitement; Hexham was so unused to being opposed that l'imprevu had an immense charm for him. He his indignation knew no bounds. He first was rapid, determined; so sure of himself that thought of remaining behind, and showing his he could afford not to be sure of others. Hexdispleasure by a haughty seclusion. But Lady ham's tactics were very simple. He loved HesJane happened to drive up with Aileen in the ter. Of this he had no doubt, but he had no pony-carriage she had hired, feathers flying, idea of loving a woman as Shakspeare, for ingauntleted, all prepared to go to conquer. stance, was content to love, or at least to write "Won't you come fyith us, Mr. Hexham?" of it-" Being your slave, what should I do but she said, in her most gracious tone. wait?" This was not in Hexham's philosophy. After a moment's hesitation, Hexham jump- Hester had offended him, and he had been snubed in, for he saw Hester standing not far off, bed; he would show her his indifference, and and he began immediately to make himself as punish her for his punishment. agreeable as he possibly could to his compan- We were all on our way back to the carriages ion. It was not much that happened this after- when Hester stopped suddenly at a little zigzag noon, but trifles show which way the wind is path leading down to the sands, down which blowing. Lady Jane and her cavalier went Mona and I had been scrambling. "Do you first, the rest of us followed in Mrs. St. Julian's think Bevvy could, get down here?" she asked. carriage. We were bound for a certain pretty "Do let us go down, Emilia. I think we have bay some two miles off. The way there led time; the carriages are not yet ready." across a wide and desolate warren, where sand Emilia, although frightened out of her wits, and gorse spread on either side to meet a sky instantly assented, and Mona and I watched Heswhose reflections always seemed to me saddened ter springing from rock to rock and from step by the dark growth of this arid place. A broad to step. She lifted Bevis safe down the steep stony military road led to a building on the side; little falling stones and shells and sands edge of the cliff-a hotel, where the carriages went showering on to the shingle below; a seaput up. Then we began clambering down the gull came out of a hole in the sand, and flew side of the cliff, out of this somewhat dreary re- out to sea. Bevvy screamed with delight. giln, into a world brighter and more lovelythan I Hester's quick light step seemed every where; FROM AN ISLAND. 123 ste put him safe down below, and then.sprang was at this instant that I saw, to my inexpressible up again to her sister's help. The little ex- relief, two keen eyes peering over the edge of citement acted like a tonic. "How pretty it is the cliff, and Hexham coming down the little here!" she said. path to our relief. We had sat for some ten minutes under the "I could not think where you had got to," wing of the great cliff, in an arch or hollow, he said; " I came back to see. Will you take lined with a slender tracery of granite lines hold of my stick, Mrs. Beverley? I will come close following one another. The arching back for the boy, Miss St. Julian." Hexham ridge of the cliff cut the high line of blue sea would have returned a third time for Hester, sharply into a curve. but she was close behind him, and silently re"It was like a desert island," Hester said, jected his proffered help. George Hexham looking at the little cove inclosed in its mighty turned away in silence. Hester was already walls, with the smooth unfurrowed crescent of scarcely grateful to him for coming back at all. shingle gleaming and shining, and the white, He had spoken to her, but her manner had light little waves rushing against the stones; been so cold, his voice so hard, that it seemed "an island upon which we had been wrecked." as if indeed all was over between them. Hes"An island," I thought to myself, " no Hex- ter was no gentle Griselda, but a tender and yet ham had as yet discovered." I wondered how imperious princess, accustomed to confer favors long it would be desert? and to receive gratitude from her subjects. Mona, tired of sitting, soon wandered off, and Here was one who had revolted from her alledisappeared at the side of the cliff. I do not giance. know how long we should have staid there if * * * * * little Bevis, who had never yet heard of a desert (Fragment of a letter found in Mr. Hexham's island, and who thought people always all lived room after his departure:) together, and that it was naughty to be shy,....A little bit of the island is shining and that he was getting very hungry, and that through my open glass-pane. I see a green he had better cry a little, had not suddenly set field with a low hedge, a thatched farm, woods, up a shrill and imperious demand for his din- flecks of shade, a line of down rising from the nel, his "'ome,"as he called it, Toosanhis frill of the muslin blind to the straggling branch nurse, and his rocking-horse. Emilia jumped of clematis that has been put to grow round my up, and Hester too. window. It is all a nothing compared to real"It must be time for us to go," said Mrs. ly beautiful scenery, and yet it is every thing Beverley. when one has once been conquered by the It is generally easier to climb up than to de- charm of the place-the still, sweet influence scend, and so it would have been now for Hes- of its tender lights, its charming humility and ter alone. I do not know why the sun-beaten unpretension, if one can so speak of any thing path seemed so hard, the blocks of stone so inanimate. It is six, o'clock; the sky is patchloose and crumbling. Hester went first, with ed and streaked with gray and yellowish clouds Bevis in her arms, and at first got on pretty upon a faint sunsetaquamarine; awind from the well; but for some reason or other-perhaps sea is moving through the clematis and making that in coming down we had disturbed the the light tendrils dance and swing; a sudden unstones-certainly as she went on her footsteps expected gleam of light has worked enchantment seemed less rapid and lucky than they usually with the field and the farmstead, the straw is were. She stumbled, righted herself, took an- aflame, the thatch is golden, the dry stubble is other step, Bevis clinging tight to her neck. gleaming. A sense of peace and evening and Emilia cried out, frightened. Hester, a little rest comes over me as I write and look fiom my nervous, put Bevvy on a big stone, and stood window. This sort of family life suits me. I breathless for an instant. "Come up, Efh- do not find time heavy on my hands. St. Jumy," she said; "this way-there, to that next lian is a lucky fellow to be the ruler of such a big step." Emmy did her best, but before she pleasant dominion. I never saw any thing could catch at Hester's extended hand her foot more charmingly pretty than its boundaries slipped again, and she gave another little studded with scarlet berries, and twisted twigs, scream. with birds starting and flying across the road, " Hester, help me!" almost under our horses' feet, as we came along. I was at some little distance. I had tried a I am glad I came. Old St. Julian is as ever little independent track of my own, which capital company, and the most hospitable of proved more impracticable than I had expected. hosts. Mrs. St. Julian is an old love of mine: It was in vain I tried to get to Emilia's assist- she is a sweet and gracious creature. This is ance. There was no real danger for Emilia, more than I can say of my fellow-guest, Lady clinging to a big granite boulder fixed in the Jane Beverley, who is the most overpowering of sand, but it was absurd and not pleasant. The women. I carefully keep out of her way, but I sun baked upon the sandy paths. Hester told can not always escape her. Hester St. Julian Bevvy to sit still while she went to help mamma. is very like her mother, but with something of "No, no, no," cried little Bevis when his aunt St. Julian's strength of character-she has alattempted to leave him, clutching at her with a most too much. She was angry with me tosudden spring, which nearly overset her. It day. Perhaps I deserved-it. I hope she has 124 FROM AN ISLAND. forgiven me by this time, for I, to tell the truth, Thysoul was like a star, and dwelt apart, can not afford to quarrel with her. Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. can not afford to quarrel with her. Lord Ulleskelf is here a good deal; his long "I hate Wordsworth. He is always preachwhite hair is more silvery than ever; he came ing to one," said Hexham, not very politely, as up this morning to see my photography; I wish St. Julian ceased reading. "I never feel so you had been standing by to see our general wicked as when I am being preached to." eagerness and excitement; the fact is, that here "I am sorry for you," said St. Julian dryly. in this island the simplest emotions seem in- "I have never been able to read this passage tensified and magnified. Its very stillness and of Wordsworth without emotion since I was a isolation keep us and our energies from over- boy, and first found it in my school-books." passing its boundaries. I have been here two Hester had jumped up and slipped out of the days-I feel as if I had spent a lifetime in the room while this discussion was going on; I folplace, and were never going away any more, lowed presently, for I remembered a little bit and as if the world all about was as visionary of work which St. Julian had asked us to see to as the gray Broadshire Hills that we see from that evening. High Down. As for certain old loves and in- He used sometimes to give me work to do for terests that you may have known of, I do not him, although I was not so clever as Hester in believe they ever existed, except upon paper. fashioning and fitting the things he wanted for If I mistake not, I have fbund an interest here his models; but I did my best, and between us more deep than any passing fancy. we had produced some very respectable coiffes, * * * * * * wimples, slashed bodices, and other bygone elegances. We had also concocted an Italian peasant, and a medieval princess, and a dear Ix. little Dutch girl-our triumph. I found I had not my materials at hand, and I went to the THE day had begun well and brightly, but studio to look for them. I was looking for a there was a jar in the music that evening which certain piece of silken stuff which I thought I was evident enough to most of us. We had all had seen in the outer studio, and which my been highly wrought from one cause and an- cousin had asked me to stitch together so as to other, and this may have accounted for some make a cloak. I turned the things over and natural reaction. For one thing, we missed over, but I could not discover what I was in William and his family; tiresome as Mrs. Wil- quest of among the piles and heaped-up properliam undoubtedly was, her placid monotone ties that were kept there. I supposed it must harmonized with the rest of the performance, be in the inner room, and I lifted the curtain for though she was prosy, she was certainly and went in. I had expected to find the place sweet-tempered, and the children were charm- dark, and silent, and empty. But the room was ing. It had seemed like the beginning of the not dark. The wood-fire was burning; the tall summer's end to see them drive off; little hands candles were lighted; the pictures on the walls waving and rosy faces smiling good-bye. Poor were reflecting the light, and looking almost Mona was in despair, and went to bed early. alive, crowding there, and gazing with those Lady Jane sat looking still black and offended strange living eyes that St. Julian knew so well with her host in her corner; something had oc- how to paint; a statesman in his robe; a mucasioned a renewed access of indignation. Mrs. sician leaning against the wall, drawing his bow St. Julian did her very best to propitiate her across the strings of his violin. As I looked at indignant guest, but the poor lady gave up try- him in the stream of the fire-flame, I almost exing at last, and leaned back in her chair weari pected to hear the conquering sound of the ly, and closed her eyes. I myself was haunted wailing melody. But he did not play; he seemby the ill-defined feeling of something amiss- ed to me to be waiting, and looking out, and of trouble present or at hand. Hester, too, was listening to other music than his own. All out of spirits. It was evident that she and Mr. these pictures were so familiar to us all as we Hexham had not quite forgiven each other for came and went, that we often scarcely paused the morning's discussion. Altogether, it was a to look at them. But to-night, in the firelight, dismal disjointed evening, during which a new they impressed me anew with a sense of admiraphase of Hexham's character was revealed to tion for the wonderful power of the man who had us, and it was not the best or the kindest. produced them. Over the chimney hung a poet, There was a hard look in his handsome face and noble and simple and kingly, as St. Julian had skeptical tone in his voice. He seemed possess- painted him. Next to the poet was the head of ed by what the French call l'espit moqueur. a calm and beautiful woman, bending in a Hester, pained and silenced at last, would stream of light. It was either Emilia or her scarcely answer him when he spoke. Her fa- mother in her youth..... An evangelist, ther with an effort got up and took a book and with a grand, quiet brow and a white flood of began to read something out of one of Words- silver beard, came next; and then warriors, and worth's sonnets. It is always delightful to me nobles, and maidens with flowing hair. They to hear St. Julian read. His voice rolled and seemed almost touched to life to-night. Hester thrilled through the room, and we were all si- was standing underneath the picture of the lent for a moment:- evangelist, a real living picture. Her head was FROM AN ISLAND. 125 leaning wearily against the wall. She had come Every thing was as it should be, he thought; in before me, and seemed standing in a dreary the sun was shining as photographers wish it to way, with hanging hands. The silk stuffs she shine. Once, hearing steps, Hexham turned had collected were on the ground at her feet, hastily, but it was only St. Julian on his way and the pattern cloak was hanging from a chair; to his studio; Lady Jane went by presently; but she had thrown her work away. I don't then it was Lord Ulleskelf who passed by; and know why, unless it was that her eyes were full each time Hexham felt more aggrieved and disof great tired tears that she was trying vainly appointed. Hexham came to me twice as I to keep back. sat at work in the drawing-room window, but "My dear," I said, frightened; "my dear, I did not know where Hester had gone, or if what is it? What has happened? Has he she meant to sit to him. Little Mona went by vexed you?" Ihated myself the next instant. I last of all. The child had her hands full of had spoken hastily and without reflection. My grasses that I had sent her to gather. She went question upset her; she struggled for a minute, wandering on between the garden beds with a and then burst out crying, though she was a little busy brain full of pretty fancies, strange brave girl-courageous, and not given to use- fairy-dreams and stories of a world ih which less complaints. Then she looked up, flushing she was living apart from us all. It was an crimson reproach at me. "It is not what you enchanted world, a court where lords and ladies seem to think," she said.'Don't you know were doing stately obeisance to a fairy Queen me better?. It is something-I don't know in the lily-bed. The tall pampas grasses waved what. How foolish I am!" And this time, over my little maiden's head and bowed their with an effort, she conquered her tears. "Oh yellow flowers in the wind. The myrtles glimQueenie!" she said, "I know there is some- mered mysteriously, the tamarisks drooped their thing wrong; some terrible news. I don't dare fringed stems, wind-blown shrubs shivered and ask, for they have not told me; and I don't, shook, while a woodpecker from the outer world don't dare ask," she repeated. I was silent, for who had ventured into fairy realms was laborishe was speaking the thought which had been ously climbing the stem of a slender elm-tree. in my own heart of late. At last I said, " One Hexham asked Mona if she knew where Heshas foolish, nervous frights at times. What ter was, and the child, waking up, pointed to makes you so afraid, Hester?" the house: " She was there, at work for Uncle Hester smiled faintly, with her tear-dimmed Henry, in the housekeeper's room, as I passed," face. said Mona. "There has been another absurd and pro- Hexham was, as I have said, a young man voking scene," she said, "with Lady Jane. of an impatient humor. He was a little hard, Something she said of anxiety, and a letter, as young men are apt to be. But there was and-and-I don't know what frightened me," something reassuring in his very hardness and said Hester, faltering. "She said she would faith in himself and his own doings-reassurgo immediately, that she should marry, meet, ing because it was a genuine expression of write, invite any body she chose, and that if it youthful strength and power. No bad man were not for this anxiety for Emilia-some let- could have had that perfect confidence which ter she expected-she would leave us that in- marked most of George Hexham's sayings and stant; and then my mother stopped her, and doings. His was, after all, the complacency of that is all I know," said Hester, with a great good intentions. sigh. "It is not worth crying for, is it, Queen- He had taken it as a matter of course, not ie?" only that Hester would come, but that she As she spoke the door opened and St. Julian would come with a feeling not unlike the feeland He'xham came in to smoke their evening ing with which he was expecting her. He could pipes. Hester drew herself up with bright not understand her absence, her continued coldflushed cheeks and said a haughty good-night ness. What did it mean? did it, could it mean to Hexham as she passed him. But in my that she was unconscious of his admiration? heart I thought more than one doubt had It had suddenly become a matter of utter concaused Hester's tears to flow that night. sequence to the young man that he should find Hexham seemed unconscious enough. " I her now, reproach her, read her face, and disshall be quite ready for sitters to-morrow morn- cover why she had thwarted him. He might ing, Miss Hester," said the provoking young see her all day and at any hour, and yet this man, cheerfully. "You won't disappoint me was the hour he had set apart as his ownagain?" when he wanted her-the hour he had looked Hester did not answer, and walked out of the forward to and counted on and longed for. He room. came to me a third time, and asked me if I Hexham tried to persuade himself next day would take a message for him. I was a little that he had made it all right with Hester over- sorry for him, although I thought he deserved night. He had come down late and had miss- this gentle punishment. ed her at breakfast, but he made sure she would "If you will come with me we will go and not fail him, and he got ready his chemicals and look for her," I said. kept telling himself that she would come. The "You are doing me an immense kindness," glasses were polished bright, and in their places. cried Hexham, gratefully. 126 FROM AN ISLAND. The housekeeper's room could be entered by his long quick strides. Hexham followed them the court-yard: it was next to the outer studio, to the door, and then turned back slowly. into which it led by a door. It was used for Hester had sunk wearily in the chair in models and had been taken from the servants. which she had been sitting, leaning her head As Mona had said, Hester was sitting in the upon her hand. She thought it was all over; window at work when we came in; the door Hexham was gone.' She did not care," she into the studio was open, and I heard voices of said to herself; as people say they do not care, people, talking within. when they know in their heart of hearts that Hester's needle flew along in a sort of rhyth- they have but to speak to call a welcome anmic measure. She knew Hexham had come swering voice, to put out their hand for another in with me, but she did not look up, only work- hand to grasp. They do not say so when all ed on. Poor Hester! her heart was too heavy is really gone, and there is no answer any where. for blushes or passing agitations. Hexham had Sometimes she softened, but Hester was indigwounded her and disappointed her, but, young nant to think of the possibility of having been as she was, the girl had a sense of the fitness laughed at and made a play of when she herself of things which kept her from betraying all she had come with a heart trusting and true and felt; and, indeed, this great unaccountable feel- tender. He could not care for Lady Jane, but ing of anxiety now occupied most thoughts and he had ventured to say more than he really felt feelings, except those to which she would not to Hester herself. Now it seemed to her that own. George Hexham stood with a curious the whole aim and object of her care should be face, full of anger and, sympathy and compunc- to prevent Hexham from guessing what she had tion, watching her stitches as they flew. One, foolishly fancied-Hexham, who had come back,' two, three, he counted, and the quaint little and who was standing looking with keen doubtgarment turned and twisted in her pale hands. ful glances into her face. She turned her two Once she looked up at him. It would have clear inscrutable eyes upon him once more, and been better if she had looked reproachful; tried to meet his gaze quietly, but her eyes fell but no, it was a grave cold glance she gave, beneath his. and then her head bent down once more over "Hester," he said once again, and stopped her work. I left them to their own explana- short, hearing a step at the door. Poor Hester lions, and went back to my drawing-room win- blushed up crimson with blushes that she blushed dow. for again. Had she betrayed herself? Ah, Afterward Hester told me how angry she no, no! She started up. "I must go," she was with me for bringing him. said. Ah! she would go to her father. There "Have you nearly done? May I talk to you was love, tender and generous love, to shield, when you have finished that stitching?" he to protect, to help her; not love like this, that said to her presently. was but a play, false, cruel, ready to wound. "I can listen while I work," said Hester, "Dear Hester, don't go! Stay!" Hexham still sewing, and if she paused it was only to entreated, as she began to move toward the measure the seams upon the little model for door leading to her father's studio. He had whom they were intended. not chosen his time well, poor fellow, for Lady That needle flying seemed to poor Hexham Jane, who was still in the outer studio, hearing an impassable barrier-a weapon wielded by this his voice, came to the door, looked in for one Amazon that he could not overcome. It kept instant, and turned away with an odd expreshim at arms' length; it absorbed her attention; sion in her face and a brisk shrug of the shoulshe scarcely listened to what he said, as she ders. They both saw her. Hester looked up stuck and threaded and travelled along the once again, with doubtful, questioning eyes, and strange little garment. He found himself then there was a minute's silence. llexham counting the stitches-one, two, three, four, understood her: a minute ago he had been genfive, six, seven, eight-it was absurd; it was tie, now her doubts angered him. like an enchantment. "Why are you so hard to me?" he burst out "Hester," cried Hexham, "you won't un- at last, a little indignantly, and thoroughly in derstand me!" Hester worked on and did not earnest. " I-ow can you suppose I have ever answer. His voice was quick, passionate, and fancied that odious woman? Will you believe agitated. " You are so calm," he cried. "I me, or not, when I tell you how truly and dedo not believe the common weaknesses of life votedly I love and admire you? You are the touch you in the least, or that you ever know only woman I have ever seen whom I would how to make any allowance for others." make my wife. If you send me away, you will "I can'make allowance," faltered Hester, crush all that is best and truest in my nature, as with trembling hands she stooped and began and destroy my only chance of salvation." tying on the child's little garment. This is not the way to speak," said Hester, To Hexham's annoyance, at that moment St. gravely, with a beating heart. His hardness Julian appeared. frightened her, as her coldness and self-control "You here, Hexham? Come and see Lord angered him; and yet he could not quite forget Ulleskelf. Is the child ready?" he asked. her sudden emotion of a moment before. It "That is right;" and he led off the little girl, was a curious reluctant attraction that seemed in her funny Velasquez dress, trotting along to to unite these two people, who loved each other, FROM AN ISLAND. 127 and yet were cold; and who, like a pair of chil- the mother: any trouble which befell them came dren as they were, were playing with their best home to him almost as a personal matter.... chance of happiness, and willfully putting it "It is perfectly absurd," the young lady went away. They stood looking at each other, on. "We have heard at home all was well; doubtful still, excited, at once angry and gentle. and I can not sympathize with this mawkish sen"How can I trust you," said proud Hester, timentality. I hate humbug. I'm a peculiar coldly still, "after yesterday?-after-no, you character, and I always dislike much ado about do not really care for me, or —" nothing. I am something of a stoic." It was, I think, at that moment that they "You heard by this mail?" said Lord Ullesheard a sort of low stifled scream from outside, kelf, anxiously. and then hasty footsteps. Hester started. "Of course we did," said Lady Jane. "I "Was that Lady Jane?" she said. " Oh, what had written to my father to send me the letter. is it? Oh, has it come?" Unnerved, excited, Here it is." And she put it into his hand. she put up her two hands nervously, and in- They had walked on side by side, and come stinctively turning to Hexham for help. almost in front of the house, with its open win" My dearest," said Hexham, melting, utterly dows. Lady Jane was utterly vexed and put forgetting all her coldness, thinking only of out. Hexham's look of annoyance when she had her-" what is it-what do you fear?" and as come in upon them a minute before was the last lie spoke he kept her back for one instant by drop in her cup, and she now went on, in her the two trembling hands, grasping them firmly jerky way:in his own..... "Emilia is all very well; but really I do pity No other word was spoken, but from that poor Bevis if this is the future in store for himmoment they felt that they belonged to each an anxious wife taking fright at every shadow. other. Mrs. St. Julian only encourages her in her want "I don't know what I fear," she said. "Oh, of self-control. It is absurd." come, come!" Lord UlleskelF, who had been examining the -,^~~ 4letter with some anxiety, folded it up. He was shocked and overcome. He confessed to me -X afterward that he thought there was no necessity for sparing the feelings of a young lady so LADY JANE had walked angrily out through well able as Lady Jane to bear anxiety and to the studio door into the garden. Her temper blame the over-sensitiveness of others. The had not been improved by a disagreeable scold- letter was short, and about money affairs. In a ing letter fiom Lady Mountmore which had postscript to the letter, Bevis said: "Da Costa just been put into her hand. It contained the and Dubois want me to join a shooting expedilong-looked-for scrap fiom Bevis, which his fa- tion; but I shall not be able to get away." This ther had forwarded. Lady Jane was venting was some slight comfort, though to Lord Ullesa certain inward indignation in a brisk walk up kelf it only seemed a confirmation of his worst and down the front of the house, when Lord fears. Ulleskelf came toward her. "It is not a shadow," he said, gravely. "If "Are you. coming this afternoon to explore you like to look at this "-and he took a folded the castle with us?" she asked. "I believe we newspaper out of his pocket-" you will see are all going-that is, most of us. Aileen and why we have been so anxious for poor Emmy. Mona have gone off with my maid in the Some one sent me a French paper, in which a coach." paragraph had been copied from the Rio paper, He shook his head. "No," he said. "And containing an account of an accident to some I think if it were not for the children's sake you young Englishman there. I have now, with none of you would much care to go. But I some difficulty, obtained the original paper itself, suppose it is better to live on as usual and make with fuller particulars. You will see that this no change to express the hidden anxieties which translation is added. I need not ask you to must trouble us all at times." spare Mrs. Bevis a little longer, while the news " Well, I must say I think it is very ridicu- is uncertain. The accident happened on the 2d, lous," said Lady Jane, who was thoroughly out four days before the steamer left. This letter of temper. " These young wives seem to think is dated the 30th August, and must have been that they and their husbands are of so much written before the accident happened." consequence, that every convulsion of life'and He turned away as he spoke, and left her nature must combine to injure them and keep standing there, poor woman, in the blaze of them apart." sunshine. Lady Jane never forgot that minute. Lord Ulleskelf had spoken forgetting that The sea washed in the distance, a flight of birds Lady Jane was quite ignorant of their present flew overhead, the sun poured down. She stampcause for alarm. He was half indignant at ed upon the crumbling gravel, and then, with an what he thought utter want of feeling, half con- odd choked sort of cry-hearing some of them vinced by Lady Jane's logic. He had first coming-fairly ran into the house and up stairs known St. Julian at Rome, years before, and and along the passage into the mistress's room, had been his friend all his life. He admired of which the door happened to be open. his genius, loved the girls, and was devoted to This was the cry which brought Hester and 128 FROM AN ISLAND. Hexham out into the yard. I was in the draw- minds. I think for the most part our lives are ing-room, when Lord Ulleskelf came in hurried- more wonderful, sadder, and brighter, more ly, looking very much disturbed. beautiful and picturesque, than we have eyes to "Mrs. Campbell, for Heaven's sake go to see or ears to understand, except at certain moLady Jane!" he cried. "Do not let her alarm ments when a crisis comes to stir slow hearts, Emilia. I have been most indiscreet-much to brighten dim eyes to sight, and dull ears to to blame. Pray go." the sounds that vibrate all about. So it is with I put down my work and hurried up stairs as happy people, and lookers-on at tie history of he told me. As Iwent I could hear poorLady others: for those who are in pain a merciful Jane's sobs. I had reached the end of the shadow falls at first, hiding, and covering, and gallery when I saw a door open, and a figure tempering the cruel pangs of fear and passionrunning toward the mistress's room. Then I ate regret. knew I was too late, for it was Emmy, who from. her mother's bedroom had also heard the cry. " Mamma, something is wrong," said Emilia, " hold Bevvy for me!" And before her mother could prevent her, she had put the child in her EMMY read the paper quite quietly, in a sort arms and run along the passage to see what of dream: this old crumpled paper, lying on the was the matter. table, in which she saw her husband's name printHow shall I tell the cruel pang which was ed. Her first thought was, why had they kept waiting for her, running up unconscious to meet it from her? Here was news, and they had not the stab! Lady Jane was sitting crying on Mrs. given it. Bevis Beverley! She even stopped St. Julian's little sofa. When she saw Emmy for an instant to think what a pretty, strange she lost all presence of mind: she cried out, name it was; stopped willfully, with that sort "Don't, don't come, Emmy!-not you-not of instinct we all have when we will not realize you!" Then jumping up she seized the news- to ourselves that something of ill to those we paper and ran out of the room; but the trans- love is at hand. Then she began to read, and lation Lord Ulleskelf had written out fell on the at first she did not quite understand. A shootfloor as she left, and poor frightened Emilia, fear- ing-party had gone up the Parana River; the ing every thing, took it up eagerly. boat was supposed to have overturned. The I did not see this-at least I only remem- names, as well as they could gather, were as bered it afterward, for poor Lady Jane, meet- follows:-Don Manuel da Costa, Mr. P. Dubois, ing me at the door, seized hold of my arm, say- Mr. Bevis Beverley of the English Embassy, Mr. ing, "Go back, go back! Oh, take me to St. Stanmore, and Senor Antonio de Caita-of Julian!" The poor thing was quite distraught whom not one had been saved. Emilia read it for some minutes. I took her to her room and once quietly, only her heart suddenly began to tried to quiet her, and then I went, as she asked beat, and the room to swim round and round; me, to look for my cousin. I ran down by the but even in the bewildering circles she clutched back way and the little staircase to the studio. the paper and forced herself to read the dizzy It was empty, except that the little model and words again. At first she did not feel very her mother were getting ready to go. The gen- much, and even for an instant her mind glanced tleman was gone, the child said: he had told off to something else-to her mother waiting her to come back next day. She was putting down below with little Bevis in her lap —then a off her little quaint cloak, with her mother's great dark cloud began to descend quietly and help, in a corner of the big room. I hurried settle upon the poor little woman, blotting out back to the house. On the stairs I found Hes- sunlight and landscape and color. Emilia lost ter, with her companion, and my mistress at the mental consciousness as the darkness closed in head of the stairs. Hester and Hexham both upon her, not bodily consciousness. She had a turned to me, and my mistress eagerly asked dim feeling as if some one had drawn a curtain whether I had found St. Julian. I do not know across the window, so she told me afterward. how it was-certainly at the time I could not She was sitting in her mother's room, this she have described what was happening before my knew; but a terrible, terrible trouble was all eyes; but aftenvard, thinking things over, I about her, all around, every where, echoing in seemed to see a phantasmagoria of the events the darkness, and cold at her heart. Bevis, of the day passing before my eyes. I seemed she wanted Bevis or her mother: they could to see the look of motherly sympathy and hene- sena it away; and with a great effort she cried diction with which, in all her pain for Emilia, out, " Mamma! mamma!" And at that inMrs. St. Julian turned to her Hester. I don't stant somebody who had been talking to her, know if the two young folks had spoken to her. but whom she had not heeded, seemed to say, They were standing side by side, as people who " Here she is," and in a minute more her tnothhad a right to one another's help; and after- er's tender arms were round her, and Emilia, ward, when I was alone, Hester's face came comingto herself again, looked up into that tenbefore me, sad, troubled, and yet illumined by der, familiar face. the radiance of a new-found light. " My darling," said the mother, "you must I suppose excitement is a mood which stamps hope, and trust, and be brave. Nothing is conevents clearly marked and well defined upon our firmed; we must pray and love one another; FROM AN ISLAND. 129 and have faith in a heavenly mercy. If it had somebody else, Mrs. Campbell. I don't know been certain, do you think I should have kept it what I ought to do. What do you think? from you all this time?" Shall I take this in? Will it be of any com"How long?" said the parched lips; and fort?" Emilia turned in a dazed way from Mrs. St. "It will be of no comfort, I fear. It was Julian to Lady Jane, who had come back, and written before-before that happened. But I who was standing by with an odd, startled face, fear it is of no use trying to keep any thing looking as pale almost as Emmy herself. from her now," I said, and then together we "Oh, Emmy, dear, dear Emmy, don't believe went back to the door of the mistress's little it: we have had a letter since. I shall never room. Mrs. St. Julian put out her hand for forgive myself as long as I live-never! I left the letter, and signed to us to go. Only as we it out; that hateful paper. Oh dear! Oh dear! walked away along the passage I heard a great Oh dear!" sobbed poor Lady Jane, once more burst of sobbing, and I guessed that it wasoccacompletely overcome, as she sank into a chair sioned by the sight of poor Bevis's well-known and hid her face in her hands. handwriting..Poor Lady Jane began to cry Little Emilia made a great effort. She got too, and then jerked her tears impatiently up from her seat with a piteous look; she went away, beginning to look like herself again. up to her sister-in-law and put her hand on her "It's too absurd," she said. "All about shoulder. "Don't cry, Jane," she said, trem- nothing. Dear old Bevis! I am sure he will bling very much. " Mamma says there is hope; come back all safe. I have no patience with and Bevis said I was to try and make the best such silly frights. I am frightened too now; of things. I had rather know," said poor Emi- but there is no more danger than there was lia, turning sick and pale again. "May I see yesterday." your letter?" I could not help thinking there was some Lady Jane was almost overawed by the gen- sense in Lady Jane's cheerful view of things: tie sweetness of these two women. after all it was the barest uncertainty and hint "How can you think of me just now? Oh of evil, when all around, on every side, dangers Emilia! I —I don't deserve it!" And she got of every sort were about each one of those whom up and a second time rushed out of the room. we loved, from which no loving cares or prayers Emmy's wonderful gentleness and self-con- could shield them: a foot slips, a stone falls, trol touched me more than I can express. She and a heart breaks or a life is ended, and what did not say much more, but went back to her then...? A horrible vision of my own child mother, and knelt down and buried her face in -close, close to the edge of the dreadful cliffher knees in a childish attitude, kneeling there came before me. I was nervous and infected, still and motionless, while all the bright light too, with sad terrors and presentiments which came trembling and shining upon the two bent the sight of the poor sweet young wife's misery heads, and the sound of birds and of bleating had suggested. sheep and shouting children came in at the In her odd, decided way, she said she must open windows. I thought they were best alone, come out too. She could not bear the house, and left them, shutting the door. The house she could not bear to see the others. was silent and empty of the life which belonged Lady Jane walked beside me with firm, even to it, only it seemed to me crowded to suffoca- footsteps, occasionally telling me one thing and tion by this great trouble and anxiety. This another of her favorite brother. Her flow of uncertainty was horrible. How would the time talk was interrupted: the real true heart within pass until the next mail came due? I was her seemed stirred by an unaffected sympathy thankful from my heart to think that half the for the trouble of the people with whom she was time had passed. Only I felt now at this mo- living. Her face seemed kindled, the hard look ment that I must breathe, get out upon the had gone out of it; for the first time I could downs, shake off the overpowering sense of sor- imagine a likeness between her and her brother, row. I could not but feel when those so dear and I began to feel a certain trust and reliance and so near to me were in so much pain; but in this strange wayward woman. After a little on my way, as I passed Lady Jane's door; some she was quite silent. We had a dreary little compunction made me pause for a moment, and walk, pacing on together along the lane: how knock and go in. Poor Lady Jane! She was long the way seemed, how dull the hedges lookstanding at the toilet-table. She had opened ed, how dreary the road! It seemed as if our her dressing-case to get out the letter which walk had lasted for hours, but we had been out she had hidden away there only a few minutes only a very little time. When we came in before, and in so doing she seemed to have there was a three-cornered note addressed to caught sight of her own face in the glass, fright- Lady Jane lying on the hall table. "A gentleened A'nd strange, and unlike any thing she had man brought it," said the parlor-maid; and I left ever seen before. And so she stood looking in Lady Jane to her correspondence, while I ran up a curious stupid way at the tears slowly cours- to see how my two dear women were going on. ing down her cheeks. She started as I came The day lagged on slowly: Emmy had got in, and turned round. her little Bevis with her, and was lying down " I-I am not used to this sort of thing," i in her own room while he played about. Mrs. said she. "I have been feeling as if I was St. Julian came and went, doing too much for I 130 FROM AN ISLAND. her own strength, but I could not prevent her. his color-pots, turn over his canvases-one of She put me in mind of some bird hovering them came down with a great sound upon the about her nest, as I met her again and again floor. It was the picture of the two women at standing wistful and tender by her daughter's the foot of the beacon waiting together in susdoor, listening, and thinking what she could do pense. Little Bevis went to bed as usual, and more to ease her pain. we dined as usual, but I shall never forget that In course of the afternoon St. Julian, who evening, how endless and interminable it seemhad been out when all this happened-having ed. After dinner St. Julian, who had been up suddenly dismissed his model, and gone off for to see Emmy in her room, paced up and down one of the long solitary tramps to which he was the drawing-room, quite unnerved for once. sometimes accustomed-came home to find the " My poor child," he kept repeating; "my poor house in sad confusion. I think his presence child!" was better medicine for Emmy than her moth- The wind had risen: we could hear the low er's tender, wistful sympathy. roar of the sea moaning against the shingle; the "I don't wonder at your being very uncom- rain suddenly began to pour in the darkness outfortable," he said; but I myself think there is a side, and the fire burnt low, for the great drops strong probability that your fears are unfound- came down the chimney. Hexham did his best ed. Bevis says most distinctly that he has re- to cheer us. Hle was charming in his kindness fused to join the expedition. His name has and thoughtfulness. His manner to Hester was been talked of: that is enough to give rise to a so tender, so gentle, at once humble and protectreport that he is one of the party.. I ing, that I could only wonder that she held out would give you more sympathy if I did not as she did against its charm. She scarcely anthink that it won't be wanted, my dear." He swered him, scarcely looked at him. She sat pulled her little hand through his arm as he growing paler and paler. Was it that it seemspoke, and patted it gently. He looked so ten- ed to her wrong, when her sister was in such der, so encouraging, so well able to take care of sorrow and anxiety, to think of her own happithe poor little thing, she clung to him closer ness or concerns? It was something of this, for and closer. cnce in the course of the evening I heard her "Oh, my dearest papa," she said, "I will say to him:try, indeed I will!" And she hid her face, and "I can not talk to you yet. Will you wait?" tried to choke down her sobs. "A lifetime," said Hexham, in a low moved I had prepared a bountiful tea for them, to voice. which St. Julian came; but neither Mrs. St. Hexham went away to smoke with St. Julian. Julian nor Emilia appeared. Lady Jane came I crossed the room and sat down by Hester, and down, somewhat subdued, but trying to keep up put my arms round her. The poor child leaned a desultory conversation, as if nothing had hap- her head upon my shoulder. Lady Jane was pened, which vexed me at the moment. Even with Emilia, who had sent for her. Long after little Bevis soon found out that something was they had all gone up sad and wearily to their wrong, and his little voice seemed hushed in the rooms, I sat by the fire watching the embers burn big wooden room. out one by one, listening to the sudden gusts of And then the next day dawned, and another wind against the window-pane, to the dull rush long day lagged on. St. Julian would allow no of the sea breaking with loud cries and sobs. change to be made in the ways of the house. All the events of the day were passing before He was right, for any change would but have me, over and over again: first one troubled face, impressed us all more strongly with the cer- then another; voice after voice echoing in my tainty of misfortune. On Thursday we should ears. Was there any hope any where in Hester's hear our fate. It was but one day more to eyes? I thought; and they seemed looking up wait, and one long, dark, interminable night. out of the fire into my own, as I sat there drowsiHexham did not mean to leave us: on the con- ly and sadly. trarv, when St. Julian made some proposal of It was about two o'clock, I think, when I startthe sort, he said, in true heart-tones, "Let me ed: for I heard a sound of footsteps coming. A stay; do not send me away. Oh! St. Julian, tall white-robed woman, carrying a lamp, came don't I belong to you? I don't think I need into the room, and advanced and sat down beside tell you now that the one great interest of my me. It was poor Lady Jane. All her cheerfullife is here among you all." The words touched ness was gone, and I saw now what injustice I St. Julian very much, and there could be no had done her, and how she must have struggled doubt of their loyalty. ~ "Let him stay, papa," to maintain it; she looked old and haggard sudsaid Hester gently. In his emotion the youngman denly. spoke out quite openly before us all. It was a "I could not rest," she said. "I came down, time which constrained us all to be simple, from -I thought you might be here. I couldn't stay the very strength of our sympathy for the dear, in my room listening to that dreadful wind." and gentle, and stricken young wife above. Poor thing, I felt for her. I made up the fire Little Bevis came down before dinner, and once more, and we two kept a dreary watch for played about as usual. I was touched to see the an hour and more, till the wind went down and tenderness which they all showed to him. His the sea calmed, and Lady Jane began to nod in grandfather let him run into his studio, upset her arm-chair. FROM AS ISLAND. 131 XII. St. Julian had already started off to London that morning in search of it. Once I saw the I AWOKE on the Thursday morning more telegraph-boy from Tarmouth coming along the hopeful than I had gone to bed. I don't know lane. I ran down eagerly, but Lady Jane was why, for there was no more reason to hope either beforehand, and had pocketed the dispatch which more or less than there had been the night be- the servant had brought her. "It is nothing," fore. On Thursday or on Friday the French she said, "and only concerns me." A certain mail would come with news: that was our one conscious look seemed to indicate Sigourney. thought. We still tried to go on as usual, as if But I asked no questions. I went on in my nothing was the matter. The bells rang, the usual plodding way, putting by candles and soap, servants came and went with stolid faces. It is serving out sugar. Sometimes now when I stand horrible to say, but already at the end of these in the store-closet I remember the odd double few interminable hours it seemed as if we were feeling with which I stood there that Thursday getting used to this new state of things. Emiiia afternoon, with my heart full of sympathy, and still kept up stairs. Lady Jane paced about thenwould come a sudden hardness of long use in her restless way; from one room to an- to me, looking back at the storms of life through other, from one person to another, she went. which I had passed. A hard, cruel feeling of Sometimes she would burst out into indignation the inevitable laws of fate came over me. against Lady Mountmore, who had driven poor What great matter was it: one more life struck Bevis to go. She had influenced his father,Lady down, one more innocent happiness blasted, one Jane declared, and prevented him from advanc- more parting; were we not all of us used to it? ing a certain sum which he had distinctly prom- was any one spared ever?.... One by one ised to Bevis before his marriage. "A promise we are sent forth into the storm, alone to strugis a promise," said Lady Jane. "The poor boy gle through its fierce battlings till we find anwas too proud to ask for his rights. IIe only other shelter, another home, where we may rest went, I do believe, to escape that horrid Ephra- for a little while, until the hour comes when im. We behaved like brutes, every one of us. once more we are driven out. It was an evil I am just as bad as the rest," said the poor lady. frame of mind, and a thankless one, for one It was as she said. One day in June, when who had found fiiends, a shelter, and help when the Minister had sent to Mr. F., of the Foreign most in need of them. As I was still standing Office, to ask who was next on the list of Queen's among my stores that afternoon, Aileen came messengers, it was found that the gentleman first to the door, looking a little scared. "Queenin order had been taken ill only the day before; ie," she said, "Emilia is not in her room. the second after him was making up his book for Lady Jane, too, has been out for ever so long. the Derby next year. Her maid tells me that she had a telegraphic Poor Bevis-who was sitting disconsolately message from that Captain Sigourney. Is it wondering how it would be possible to him to not odious of her now, at such a time? Oh, take up that bill of Ephraim's, which was daily she can't have-can't have-~" appearing more terrible and impossible to meet'Eloped?" I said, smiling. "No, Aileen, -had heard St. Gervois and De Barty, the two I do not think there is much fear." other men in his room, discussing the matter, As time went on, however, and neither of and announcing in very decided language their them reappeared, I became a little uneasy. intention of remaining in London for the rest of Lady Jane's maid when questioned knew noththe season, instead of starting off at a moment's ing of her mistress's intentions. Bevis was notice with dispatches to some unknown Presi- alone with his nurse, contentedly stocking a dent in some unknown part of South America. shop in his nursery out of her workbox. But Bevis said nothing, but got up and left the it was not for Lady Jane that I was anxiousroom. A few minutes after he came back look- she could take care of herself; it was Emilia ingverypale. "'You fellows," he said, "Ishall I was looking for. I put on my bonnet, and want you to do a few things for me. I start for set off to try and find her. Hester and HexRio to-morrow." ham said they would go towards Ulles Hall, " Mr. St. Gervois told me all aboett it," poor and see if she was there. Lady Jane said, with a grunt, as she told me the I walked up the down, looking on every side. story. I thought each clump of furze was Emilia; This sudden determination took the Mount- but at last, high up by the beacon, I saw a dark mores and Mr. Ephraim by surprise, and, as I figure against the sky. have said, it was on this occasion that Lady Jane Yes, it was Emilia up there, with beaten garspoke up on her brother's behalf, and that Emi- ments and with wind-blown hair. She had unlia, after his departure, was formally recognized consciously crouched down to escape the fierce by his family. If he-when he comes back," blast. She was looking out seaward, at the cried Lady Jane in a fume,'"my father, in com- dull tossing horizon. It seemed to me such an mon decency, must increase his allowance." A image of desolation that it went to my heart to sudden light came into her face as she spoke. see her so. I called her by her name, and ran The thought of any thing to do or say for Bevis up and put my hand upon her shoulder. was a gleam of comfort to the poor sister. "My, dear," I said, "we have been looking All that day was a feverish looking for news. for you every where." 132 FROM AN ISLAND. Emilia gave a little start. She had not must retrace so many of our weary steps, stum. heard me call. bling back all the way, in one of those biting "I could not rest at home," she said. "I gusts of wind, I burst out crying from fatigue, don't know what brought me here. I think I and sympathy, and excitement. It seemed all ran almost all the way." so dreary and so hopeless. Emilia roused herShe spoke with a trembling desperateness self, seeing me give way. Poor child, her sweet that frightened me. Two nights of sleepless- natural instincts did not desert her, even in her ness and these long maddening hours were own bewildered pain. She took hope suddenly, enough to daze the poor child. If she were to trying to find strength to help me. break down? But gentle things like Emilia "Oh Queenie!" she said. "Think if we bend and rise again, find, to-morrow, that all is well, and that all "Come home now, dear Emilia," I said; this anxiety has been for nothing. But it could "it is growing dark. Your mother will be not be for nothing, could it?" she said. frightened about you." It is only another name for something greater "Ah! people are often fiightened wvhen and holier than anxiety, I thought; but I could there is nothing to fear," said Emilia, a little not speak, for I was choking, and I had not yet strangely. regained command of my own voice. Our walk I could see that she was in a fever. Her was nearly over; we got out on to the lane, cheeks were burning, while I was shivering: and so approached our home. At the turn of for the cold winds came eddying fiom the val- the road I saw a figure standing looking for us ley, and sweeping round and round us, making -a little figure, with hair flying on the gale, the beacon creak as they passed. The wind was who, as we appeared, stumbling and weary, so chill, the sky so gray, and the green murky sprang forward to meet us; then suddenly sea so dull at our feet, that I longed to get stopped, turned, and fled, with fluttering skirts her away. It seemed to me much later than it and arms outstretched, like a spirit of the wind. really was. The solitude oppressed me. There I could not understand it, nor why my little was no life any where-no boats about. Per- Mona (for it was she) should have run away. haps they were lost in the mist that was writh- Even this moment's sight of her, in the twilight, ing along from the land, and spreading out to did me good and cheered me. How well I resea. I can not say why it was so great a relief member it all The dark rustling hedges, a to me at last to see one little dark speck com- pale streak of yellow light in the west shining ing across the straits where the mist was not beyond the hedge, and beyond the stem of the drifting. The sight of life-for boats are life hawthorn-tree. It gleamed sadly and weirdly to people looking out with lonely eyes-this in the sky, among clouds of darkness and valittle dark gray speck upon the waters, seemed porous shadows; the earth reflected the light to me to make the blast less dreary, and the faintly at our feet, more brightly in the garden, lonely heights less lonesome, which was higher than the road. Emilia put We began our walk in silence. Emilia's out her hand, and pulled herself wearily up the long blue cloak flapped in the wind, but I steps which led to the garden. It was very pulled it close about her. She let me do as I dark, but in the light fiom the stormy gleam liked. She didn't speak. Once I said to her, she saw something which made her cry out. I "Emilia, do you know, when I. came up just pulled Emilia back, with some exclamation, now, I thought you looked like the picture your being still confused and not knowing what dark father painted. Do you remember it?" figure it was standing before me in the gloam"I-I forget," said poor Emilia, turning ing; but Emilia burst away from me with a her face away suddenly. All her strength cry, with a low passionate sob. She flew from seemed to have left her; her limbs seemed me straight into two arms that caught her. scarcely able to drag along; her poor little feet My heart was beating, my eyes were full of slipped and stumbled on the turf and against tears, so that I could scarcely see what had the white chalk-stones. I put my arm round happened. her waist and helped her along as best I could, But I heard a low "Bevis! Oh Bevis!" as we crept down the side of the hill. For a moment I stood looking at the two stand" I think I can not walk because my heart is ing clinging together. The cold wind still so heavy," said Emilia once in her childish came in shrill gusts, the gray clouds still driftway, and her head dropped on my shoulder. I ed, the sun-streak was dying: but peace, light, hardly can tell what I feared for her, or what I love unspeakable were theirs, and the radiance hoped. Sleeplessness and anxiety were ene- from their grateful hearts seemed to overflow mies too mighty for this helpless little frame to into ours. encounter.' - I was confused and frightened, and I took a wrong turning. It brought us to the end of a XIII. field where a gate had once stood, which was "WHERE is Lady Jane?" interrupted Iexnow done away with. We could not force ham, coming home in the twilight, from a fruitthrough the hedges and the palings: there was less search with Hester, to hear the great news. nothing to do but to turn back. It seems It was so great, so co plet, so unexpected, that childish to record, but when I found that we we none of us quite realized it yet. We were FROM AN ISLAND. 133 strangely silent; we looked at each other: some "Oh, hang the captain!" said Bevis; "I sat still; the younger ones went vaguely rush- don't know what lie can want. Tell him any ing about the house, from one end to the other. thing you like, so long as he does not come after Aileen and Mona were like a pair of mad kit- me." tens, dancing and springing from side to side. "There is the gentleman," said the porter, It was pretty to see Hester rush in, tiemulous, pointing to a languid figure that was crossing tender, almost frightened by the very depth of the street. her sympathy. The mistress was holding Emi- Bevis looked doubtfully at the stranger. He lia's hand, and turning from her to Bevis. hastily turned away, called a passing Hansom, "Oh Bevis, if you knew what three days we and, driving round by the hotel where he had have spent!" said Hester, flinging her arms left his luggage, reached the station only in time round him. to catch the quick train to Helmington. He "Don't let us talk about it any more," said thought of telegraphing, but it was scarcely he, kissing her blooming cheek, and then he necessary when he was to see them all so soon. bent over the soft mother's hand that trembled He had posted a note to his father; he also out to meet his own. wrote a line to St. Julian, which he left at the It was not at first that we any of us heard "Athenaeum " as he passed.. very clearly what had happened, for Emilia As Bevis settled himself comfortably in the turned so pale at first when her husband began corner of his carriage, he was much annoyed speaking of that fatal expedition in the boat up when the door opened just as the train was the Parank River, that Bevis abruptly changed starting, and a tall, languid person whom he the subject, and began describing the road from recognized as Captain Sigourney was jerked in. London to Tarmouth, instead of dwelling on What did he want? Was he following him on his escape from the accident, or the wonders of purpose? Was it a mere accident, or was this that dream-world from whence he had come- an emissary of that Ephraim's, already on his an unknown land to us all of mighty streams track? It seemed scarcely possible, and yet... and waving verdure; of great flowers, and con- Bevis opened his Times wide, knitted his handstellations, and mysterious splashings and stir- some brows, and glanced at his companion susrings along the waters. Emmy-her nerves piciously. He had come already to the old anxwere still unstrung-turned pale, and Bevis ieties, but the thought of seeing his little Emisuddenly began to describe his journey from lia was so delightful to him that it prevented him Waterloo to Tarmouth, and his companion from from troubling himself very seriously about any London. possible chances or mischances that might be One of the first questions Bevis had asked across their path..... The young fellow was for news of his sister. Not knowing where dropped his Times gradually, forgetting bills any body was to be found, he had gone straight overdue, money troubles, debtors to forgive, and to the Foreign Office on his arrival, for he was debts to be forgiven. IHe sat looking out at the anxious to start again by the midday train for rapid landscape, village spires, farms, and broad Broadshire. It was so early that none of his pleasant fields, dreaming of happy meetings, of friendswerecome; only theporterwelcomed him, Emilia's glad looks of recognition, the.boys, of and told him that there had been many inquir- Aileen, and his favorite Hester hopping about ies after him-a gentleman only that morning, in an excitement of welcome gladness. "Will who had left his card for Mr. St. Gervois, with you let me look at your Times?" said a voicea request for news to be immediately forwarded this was from Captain Sigourney, in his opposite to him at his lodgings. Bevis glanced at the corner. "I had to send off a telegraph at the name on the card-Captain Sigourney: it was last moment, and had no time to get a paper," unknown to him, and, to tell the truth, the poor explained that gentleman. Bevis stared, and fellow did not care tomeet strangers of any sort gave him the paper without speaking; but the until he had seen or heard from his own people, undaunted captain, who loved a listener, went and received some answer to that last appeal to on to state that he was anxious about the arrival his father. "The gentleman was to come of the South American mail. "I believe the again," said the porter; " he seemed very par- French steamer comes in about this time?" he ticular." Mr. St. Julian, too, had been there said, in an inquiring tone of voice. "Ah the evening before: he had come up from said Bevis, growing more and more reserved. Broadshire on purpose to make inquiries. Be- Poor Sigourney's odd insinuating manner was vis impatiently looked at his watch: he had not certainly against him. "I shall probably have time to find St. Julian out-lhe had only time to telegraph again on the way," continued Sigto catch the train. He wanted to get to his lit- ourfiey, unabashed, as they neared Winchester. tie Emmy-to put her heart at rest, since all One thing struck Bevis oddly, which was this: this anxiety had been going on about him. " I when the guard at Winchester came to look at shall be back again on Saturday," he wrote on their tickets, his companion's was a return tickhis card, and desired the porter specially to et; and the poor young fellow, having got a give it to St. Gervois, and to refer all references suspicious idea in his head, began to ask himself to him, and to no one else. what possible object a man could have in travel"And if the captain should come?" asked ing all this way down and back again in one day, the porter. and whether it would not be as well, under the 134 FROM AN ISLAND. circumstances, to change carriages, and get out in a fume. "What business has Captain Sigof his way. "Here, let me out," he cried to the ourney with my safety?" And it was only by guard; and, to his great relief, Sigourney made degrees that he could be appeased at all. no opposition to this move on his part. "A fellow gets suspicious," said honest Be- "This fire won't burn!" cried Mona. vis. "It was too bad. But I can't under- There is a little pine-wood growing not far stand the fellow now. He seemed dodging me from the Lodges, where Aileen and Mona someabout. He had a return-ticket, too, and I only times boil a kettle and light a fire of dry sticks, got away from him by a chance. I don't mind twigs, and fir-cones. The pine-wood runs up so much, now that I have seen you, little woman. the side of a steep hill that leads to the down. Ephraim may have a dozen writs out against In the hollow below lie bright pools glistening me, for all I know. I thought there was some- among wet mosses and fallen leaves and pinething uncomfortable about the man the moment twigs; but the abrupt sides of the little wood are I saw him; and I asked the porter at the For- dry and sandy, and laced and overrun by a neteign Office not to tell him any thing about me." work of slender roots that go spreading in every As Bevis went on with the account of his morn- direction. In between the clefts and jagged fising, my mistress and I had looked at one an- sures of the ground the sea shines, blue and other and dimly begun to connect one thing and gleaming, while the white ships, like birds, seem another in our minds. "I suppose I was mis- to slide in between the branches. The teataken," Bevis ended, shrugging his shoulders; party was in honor of Bevis's return, the little " since here I am. But if not to-day, he will maidens said. They had transported cups and have me to-morrow. I only put off the evil cloths, pats of butter and brown loaves, all of day by running away. Well, I've brought back which good things were set on a narrow ledge; Jane's hundred pounds, and I have seen my while a little higher the flames were sparkling, little woman again, and the boy, and all of you, and a kettle hanging in the pretty thread of blue and now I don't care what happens." faint smoke. Mona, on her knees, was piling "Hush," said Mrs. St. Julian; " my husband sticks and cones upon the fire; Aileen was must help you. Your father has written to him. busy spreading her table; and little Bevis was You should have come to us." trotting about, picking up various little shreds "I believe I acted like a fool," said Beverley, and stones that took his fancy, and bringing penitently. " Perhaps, after all, I fancied things them to poke into the bright little flame that was worse than they were. I couldn't bear to come crackling and sparkling and growing every mosponging on St. Julian, and I was indignant at ment more bright. something which my stepmother said, and-is Bevis and Emilia were the hero and heroine Jane here, do you say?" of the entertainment. Hexham was fine, Aileen We were all getting seriously uneasy. Lady said, and would not take an interest, and so he Jane's maid brought in the telegram she had was left with Hester pasting photographs in the found in her room, which seemed to throw some dining-room, while the rest of us came off this vague light upon her movements. bright autumnal afternoon to camp in the copse. The sun still poured unwearied over the country, CAPTAIN SIGOURNEY, Waterloo Station, to LADY and the long delightful summer seemed ending JANE BEVERLEY, Tarmouthl, Broadshire. in light and brilliancy. It was during this picI implore you to meet me at Tarmouth. I nic tea-drinking that I heard more than I had come by the four-o'clock boat. I have news of hitherto done of Mr. Beverley's adventures. your brother. " This kettle won't boil!" said Mona. (Signed) SIGOURNEY. And while Bevis was good-naturedly poking and stirring the flames, Emilia began in a low, "Sigourney!" cried Bevis. frightened voice: "Oh, Queenie, even now I There was a dead silence, and nobody knew can hardly believe it. He has been telling me exactly what to say next. All our anxiety and all about it. He finished his work sooner than speculation were allayed before dinner by the he had expected. I think the poor General was return of the pony-carriage with a hasty note shot with whom he was negotiating: at all events from Lady Jane herself:-~ he found that there was nothing more for him to DEAREST MRS. ST. JULAN,-Kind Captain do and that he might as well take his passage by the very next ship. And then to pass the time, Sigourney has been to London inquiring for us. e ve t sh. Ad the to pa t He has heard confidentially, from a person at he off wh hoe ther men f a the Foreign Office, that my brother has been shooting, and then they met a'i i^ ^ Ti I drove of angry cattle swimming across the heard of by this mail. He thought it best to ove any cattle sw ing the.^' T " stream, and they could not get out of the way come to me straight, and I have decided to go i t, d te, off to London immediately. I shall probably in time, and two were drowned," faltered Emi fnd my father at home in Bruton Street. lia; " but when dear Bevis came to himself, he find my father at home in Bruton Street. I will write to-morrow. Fond love to dearest had floated a long way down the stream. He Emilia. Your aff etionate, a xio s had been unconscious, but bravely clinging to an Erailia. Your affectionate, anxious JAN Your aoar all the time.... and then he scrambled JANE B3EVER.LEY. on shore and wandered on till he got to a wood"Bult what does it all mean?I" cried Bevis, en house, belonging to two young men,who took FROM AN ISLAND. 135 him in-but he had had a blow on the head, this letter ever since I received your last, from and he was very ill for three days, and the steam- which, by-the-by, one page was missing. Fareer was gone when he got back to Rio-and well, O friend of my bachelorhood. Seriously, that was how it was." I long to see you, and to hear all about it. I As she ceased she caught hold of little Bevis, must also beg to congratulate the future Mrs. who was trotting past her, and suddenly clutch- Hexham upon having secured the affections of ed him to her heart. How happy she was! a one of the best and truest-hearted of men. I little frightened still, even in her great joy, but have no doubt she fully deserves her good forwith smiles and lights in her radiant face-her tune. very hair seemed shining as she sat under the Ever, my dear fellow, affectionately yours, pine-trees,soinetimes looking up at her husband, -. or with proud,eyes following Bevy's little dumpling figure as he busily came and went. "Here is Hexham, after all," cried Bevis MRS. WILLIAM ST. JULIAN, Kensington Square, from the heights, looking down as he spoke, and to Mns. ST. JULIAN, Tarmouth. Hexham's head appeared from behind a bank M IEAREST MRS. ST. JULIAN,-I send this of moss and twigs. by William, who can not rest until he has seen " Why, what a capital gypsy photograph you you all and told you how heartfelt are our symwould all make!" cried the enthusiastic Hex- pathies and congratulations. How little we ham as he came up. "I have brouht you thog ht, as we drove off on Monday morning, some letters. Hester is coming directly with a that was at hand It seems verytnfeelWilliam St. Julian, who has justn arrived." ig s I look back now. I shall feel quite nerv"I really don't think we can give you a11 ous until William comes back, but he has promcups, " said Aileen, busily pouring from her boil- ised to take a return ticket to reassure me. I ing kettle into her teapot. "You know I didn't am uite surprised by the news you send me expect yon." this morning of Hester's engagement. I always Bevis took all the letters and began to read had my own ideas, though I did not speak of them out:- them (we quiet people often see a good deal more than people imagine), and I quite expectLOrD MOUNTMOROE to the HoN. BEVIS BEVER- ed that Lady Jane would have been the lady. LEYF. However, it is much better as it is, and Mr. HexFridayBo-Th n ham is, I have no doubt, all you could wish for MY DEARn BoY,-The news of your safe re- Dg ryea knso turn fiom Rio has relieved us all from a most dear Hester Do give my best and kidest conanxious state of mind. You have had a provi- gratulations to dear Emilia. How delighted she dential escape, upon which we most warmly and must have been to get the good news of her husheartily congratulate you. With regard to the band's safety! I hope it was not too much for subject of your letter, I am willing to accede to her —excitement is very apt to knock one up. your request, and to allow you once more the The children send a hundred loves and kisses, yrBelieve me same sum that you have always had hitherto.eie I will also assist you to take up the bill, if you Yo affectiona daughter, will give me your solemn promise never to haveMARGARET T. JULIAN. any thing more to do with the Jews. Jane has pleaded your cause so well that I can not refuse P.S.-I have had a visit from a very delighther. My lady desires her love. ful Captain Sigourney. He called upon me to Your affectionate father, M. ask for news of you all. It seems he escorted Jane is writing, so I send no message from Lady Jane to town, and that in consequence of her. She arrived, poor girl, on Thursday, in a information he had received at the Foreign Ofmost distressed state of mind. I hope we shall e he was able to be of great service to her, al see you here with your wife before long. though the information afterwards turned out incorrect. A person there had assured him that 1'.~ ~ ~~Mr. Beverley had been in town some time, and UNKNOWN FRIEND, Ch. Coll., Cambridge, to had returnedto SouthAmericafor good. What GEO. HEXHAM, ESQ., The Island, Tarmouth. strange reports get about! One should be very MY DEAR GEORGE,-I have been expecting careful never to believe any body. FIVE OLD FRIENDS, DEDICATED TO FIVE YOUNG PRINCESSES. a. 1W. l... Oa. ~. Ml. A..D THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD. A KIND enchantress one day put into my Fairy stories are every where and every day. hand a mystic volume prettily lettered and We are all princes and princesses in disguise, bound in green, saying, "I am so fond of this or ogres or wicked dwarfs. All these histories book! It has all the dear old fairy tales in it; are the histories of human nature, which does one never tires of them. Do take it." not seem to change very much in a thousand I carried the little book away with me, and years or so, and we don't get tired of the fairies spent a very pleasant quiet evening at home by because they are so true to it." the fire, with H. at the opposite corner, and oth- After this little speech of H.'s, we spent an er old friends, whom I felt I had somewhat neg- unprofitable half-hour reviewing our acquaintlected of late. Jack and the Beanstalk, Puss ance, and classing them under their real charin Boots, the gallant and quixotic Giant-killer, acters and qualities. We had dined with Lord the dearest Cinderella, whom we every one of Carabas only the day before and met Puss in us must have loved, I should think, ever since Boots-Beauty and the Beast were also there; we first knew her in her little brown pin- we uncharitably counted up, I am ashamed to afore: I wondered, as I shut them all up for say, no less than six Bluebeards. Jack and the the night between their green boards, what it Beanstalk we had met just starting on his climb. was that made these stories so fresh and so vivid. A Red Riding Hood; a girl with toads dropping Why did not they fall to pieces, vanish, ex- from her mouth: we knew three or four of each. plode, disappear, like so many of their contem- Cinderellas-alas! who does not know more poraries and descendants? And yet far from than one dear, poor, pretty Cinderella! and as being forgotten and passing away, it would for sleeping Princesses in the Woods, how seem as if each generation in turn as it came many one can reckon up! Young, old, ugly, into the world looks to be delighted*still by the pretty, awakening, sleeping still. brilliant pageant, and never tires nor wearies of "Do you remember Cecilia Lulworth," said it. And on their side the princes and princess- H., "and Dorlicote? Poor Cecilia!" Some es never seem to grow any older; the castles lives are couleur de rose, people say; others seem and the lovely gardens flourish without need to be, if not couleur de rose all through, yet full of repair or whitewash, or plumbers or glaziers. of bright beautiful tints, blues, pinks, little bits The princesses' gowns, too —sun, moon, and of harmonious cheerfulness. Other lives, not star color-do not wear out, or pass out of so brilliant, and seeming more or less gray at fashion, or require altering. Even the seven- times, are very sweet and gentle in tone,with faint leagued boots do not appear to be the worse for gleams of gold or lilac to brighten them. And wear. Numbers of realistic stories for children then again others dre black and hopeless fiom have passed away. Little Henry and his Bear- the beginning. Besides all these,there are some er, and Poor Harry and Lucy, have very nearly which have always appeared to me as if they given up their little artless ghosts and prattle, were of a dark, dull hue; a dingy, heavy brown, and ceased making their own beds for the in- which no happiness, or interest, or bright color struction of less excellently brought up little could ever enliven. Blues turn sickly, roses boys and girls, and notwithstanding a very in- seem faded, and yellow lilacs look red and ugly teresting article in the Saturday Review, it must upon these heavy backgrounds. "Poor Cebe owned that Harry Sandford and Tommy cilia," as H. called her, -hers had always Merton are not familiar playfellows in our nur- seemed to me one of these latter existences, unseries and school-rooms, and have passed some- utterably dull, commonplace, respectable, stintwhat out of date. But not so all these cente- ed, ugly, and useless. narians, Prince Riquet, Carabas, Little Red Lulworth Hall, with the great dark park Riding Hood, Bluebeard, and others. They bounded by limestone walls, with iron gates seem as if they would never grow old. They here and there, looked like a blot upon the play with the children, they amuse the elders, bright and lovely landscape. The place from a there seems no end to their fund of spirits and distance, compared with the surrounding counperennial youth. try, was a blur and a blemish, as it were, sad, H., to whom I made this remark, said from silent, solitary. the opposite chimney-corner: "No wonder; Travellers passing by sometimes asked if the the stories are only histories of real living per- place was uninhabited, and were told, "No, sons turned into fairy princes and princesses. shure,-the fam'ly lives thear all the yeaurr 140 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. round." Some charitable souls might wonder in closets, thrust into bed at all sorts of hours, what life could be like behind those dull gates. flattened out on backboards, set on high stools One day a young fellow riding by saw rather a to play the piano for days together, made to hem sweet woman's face gazing for an instant frills five or six weeks long, and to learn imthrough the bars, and he went on his way with mense pieces of poetry, so that they had to stop a momentary thrill of pity. Need I say that it at home all the afternoon. And though Mrs. was poor Cecilia, who looked out vacantly to see Lulworth had grown up stupid, suspicious, narwho was passing along the high-road. She row-minded, soured, and overbearing, and had was surrounded by hideous moreen, oil-cloth, married for an establishment, and Miss Bowley, punctuality, narrow-mindedness, horse-hair, and her governess's daughter, had turned out nervmahogany. Loud bells rang at intervals, reg- ous, undecided, melancholy, and anxious, and ular, monotonous. Surly but devoted attend- had never married at all, yet they determined ants waited upon her. She was rarely alone; to bring up Cecilia as they themselves had been her mother did not think it right that a girl brought up, and sincerely thought they could in Cecilia's position should " race" about the not do better. grounds unattended; as for going outside the When Mrs. Lulworth married, she said to walls, it was not to be thought of. When Ce- Maria: " You must come and live with me, cilia went out, with her gloves on, and her ga- and help to educate my children some day, Maloches, her mother's companion, Miss Bowley, ria. For the present I shall not have a home walked beside her up and down the dark laurel of my own; we are going to reside with my huswalk at the back of the house-up and down, band's aunt, Mrs. Dormer. She is a very down and up, up and down. "I think I am wealthy person, far advanced in years. She is getting tired, Maria," Miss Lulworth would say greatly annoyed with Mr. and Mrs. John Lulat last. " If so, we had better return to the worth's vagaries, and she has asked me and my hall," Maria would reply, "although it is before husband to take their places at Dorlicote Hall." our time." And then they would walk home At the end of ten years Mrs. Lulworth wrote in silence, between the iron railings and laurel- again: " We are now permanently established bushes. in our aunt's house. I hear you are in want of As Cecilia walked erectly by Miss Bowley's a situation; pray come and superintend the edside, the rooks went whirling over their heads, ucation of my only child Cecilia (she is named the slugs crept sleepily along the path under after her godmother, Mrs. Dormer). She is the shadow of the grass and the weeds;'they now nearly three years old, and I feel that she heard no sounds except the cawing of the birds, begins to require some discipline." and the distant monotonous hacking noise of This letter had been written at that same desk the gardener and his boy digging in the kitchen- twenty-two years before Cecilia began her pracgarden. tising this autumn evening. She was twentyCecilia, peeping into the long drab drawing- five years old now, but like a child in experiroom on her return, might perhaps see her ence, in ignorance, in placidity; a fortunate mother, erect and dignfied, at her open desk, stolidity and slowness of temperament had composing, writing, crossing, re-writing, an end- saved her fiom being crushed and nipped in the less letter to an indifferent cousin in Ireland, bud, as it were. She was not bored, because she with a single candle and a small piece of blot- had never known any other life. It seemed to ting paper, and a pen-wiper made of ravellings, her only natural that all days should be alike, all spread out before her. rung in and out by the jangling breakfast, lunch, "You have come home early, Cecil," says dinner, and prayer bells. Mr. Dormer-a litthe lady, without looking up. "You had bet- tle chip of a man-read prayers suitable for ter make the most of your time, and practise till every day in the week; the servants filed in, the dressing-bell rings. Maria will kindly maids first, then the men. Once Cecilia saw take up your things." one of the maids blush and look down smiling And then in the chill twilight Cecilia sits as she marched out after the others. Miss down to the jangling instrument with the worn Lulworth wondered a little, and thought she silk flutings. A falded rack it is upon which her would ask Susan why she looked so strangely; fingers have been distended ever since she can but Susan married the groom soon after, and remember. A great many people think there went away, and Cecilia never had an opportuis nothing in the world so good for children as nity of speaking to her. scoldings, whippings, dark cupboards, and dry Night after night Mr. Dormer replaced his bread and water, upon which they expect them spectacles with a click, and pulled up his shirtto grow up into tall, fat, cheerful, amiable men collar when the service was ended. Night and women; and a great many people think after night old Mrs. Dormer coughed a little that for grown-up young people the silence, the moaning cough. If she spoke, it was generalchillness, the monotony, and sadness of their ly to make some little bitter remark. Every own fading twilight days is all that is required. night she shook hands with her nephew and Mrs. Lulworth and Maria Bowley her compan- niece, kissed Cecilia's blooming cheek, and pation, Cecilia's late governess, were quite of this ted out of the room. She was a little woman opinion. They themselves, when they were lit- with starling eyes. She had never got over tie girls, had been slapped, snubbed, locked up her husband's death. She did not always know THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD. 141 when she moaned. She dressed in black, and white even teeth and her clear gray eyes vanity lived alone in her turret, where she had various and frivolity too? Cecilia was rather too stout old-fashioned occupations, tatting, camphor- for her age; she had not much expression in boxes to sort, a real old spinning-wheel and dis- her face. And no wonder. There was not taff among other things, at which Cecilia, when much to be expressive about in her poor little she was a child, had pricked her fingers trying stinted life. She could not go into raptures to make it whir as her aunt did. Spinning- over the mahogany sideboard, the camphene wheels have quite gone out, but I know of one lamp in the drawing-room, the four-post beds or two old ladies who still use them. Mrs. Dor- in-doors, the laurel-bushes without, the Moorner would go nowhere, and would see no one. ish temple with yellow glass windows, or the So at least her niece, the master-spirit, declared, wigwam summer-house, which were the alterand the old lady got to believe it at last. I nate boundaries of her daily walks. don't know how much the fear of the obnox- Cecilia was not allowed a fire to dress herself ious John and his wife and children may have by; a grim maid, however, attended, and I suphad to do with this arrangement. pose she was surrounded, as people say, by every When her great-aunt was gone it was Ceci- comfort. There was a horse-hair sofa, with a lia's turn to gather her work together at a warn- creaking writing-table before it, a metal inking sign from her mother, and walk away stand, a pair of plated candlesticks: every through the long chilly passages to her slumbers thing was large, solid, brown, as I have said, in the great green four-post bed. And so time grim, and in its place. The rooms at Lulworth passed. Cecilia grew up. She had neither Hall did not take the impress of their inmate, friends nor lovers. She was not happy nor un- the inmate was moulded by the room. There happy. She could read, but she never cared to were in Cecilia's no young-lady-like trifles lying open a book. She was quite contented; for here and there; upon the chest of drawers there she thought Lulworth Hall the finest place, and stood a mahogany work-box, square, with a key, its inmates the most important people, in the and a faded needle-book and darning-cotton inworld. She worked a great deal, embroider- side-a little dusty chenille, I believe, was to be ing interminable quilts and braided.toilet-cov- seen round the clock on the chimney-piece, and ers and fish-napkins. She never thought of a black and white check dressing-gown and an any thing but the uttermost commonplaces and ugly little pair of slippers were set out before platitudes. She considered that being respect- the toilet-table. On the bed, Cecilia's dinner able and decorous, and a little pompous and costume was lying-a sickly green dress, trimoverbearing, was the duty of every well-brought- med with black-and a white flower for her hair. up lady and gentleman. To-night she banged On the toilet-table an old-fashioned jasper seraway very placidly at Rhodes's air, for the pent-necklace and a set of amethysts were distwentieth time breaking down in the same pas- played for her to choose from, also mittens and sage and making the sftme mistake, until the a couple of hair-bracelets. The girl was quite dressing-bell rang, and Cecilia, feeling she had content, and she would go down gravely to dindone her duty, then extinguished her candle, ner, smoothing out her hideous toggery. and went up stairs across the great chill hall, Mrs. Dormer never came down before dinner. up the bare oil-cloth gallery, to her room. All day long she staid up in her room, dozing Most young womeu have some pleasure, and trying remedies, and occasionally looking whatever their troubles nay be, in dressing, and over old journals and letters until it was tiieC pretty trinkets, and beads and ribbons and neck- to come down stairs. She liked to see Cecilia's laces. An unconscious love of art and intuition pretty face at one side of the table, while her leads some of them, even plain ones, to adorn nephew carved, and Mrs. Lulworth recounted themselves. The colors and ribbon-ends bright- any of the stirring events of the day. Mrs. Doren bright faces, enliven dull ones, deck what mer was used to the life-she was sixty when is already lovable, or, at all events, make the they came to her, she was long past eighty most of what materials there are. Even a May- now-the last twenty years had been like a long pole, crowned and flowered and tastily ribbon- sleep, with the dream of what happened when ed, is a pleasing object. And, indeed, the art she was alive and in the world continually passof decoration seems to me a charming natural ing before her. instinct, and one which is not nearly enough en- When the Lulworths first came to her she conraged, and a gift which every woman should had been in a low and nervous state, only stiputry to acquire. Some girls, like birds, know lated for quiet and peace, and that no one was how to weave, out of ends of rags, of threads to come to her house of mourning. The John and morsels and straws, a beautiful whole, a Lulworths, a cheery couple, broke down at the work of real genius for their habitation. Friv- end of a month or two, and preferred giving up olities, say some; waste of time, say others- all chance of their aunt's great inheritance to expense, vanity. The strong-minded dowagers living in such utter silence and seclusion. Upon shake their heads at it all-Mrs. Lulworth Charles, the younger brother and his wife, the among them; only why had Nature painted habit had grown, until now any thing else would Cecilia's cheeks of brightest pink, instead of have been toil and misery to them. Except bilious orange, like poor Maria Bowley's? why the old rector from the village, the doctor now was her hair all crisp and curly? and were her and then, no other human creature ever crossed 142 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. the threshold. "For Cecilia's sake," Miss all about happiness, and love in a cot, and two Bowley once ventured to hint-" would it not be little curly-headed boys-Jack, you know, and desirable to see a little more society....?" yourself. I should rather like to see Jack "Cecilia with her expectations has the whole again." world before her, Maria!" said Mrs. Lulworth, "What, my dear aunt, after his unparalleled severely; and indeed to this foolish woman it audacity? I declare the thought of his impuseemed as if money would add more to her dent letter makes my blood boil," exclaimed daughter's happiness than the delights, the won- Mrs. Lulworth. ders, the interests, tile glamours of youth. "Does it?" said the old lady. "Cecilia, Charles Lulworth, shriveled, selfish, dull, worn my dear, you must know that your uncle has out, did not trouble his head about Cecilia's discovered that the entail was not cut off from happiness, and let his wife do as she liked with a certain property which my father left me, and the girl. which I brought to my husband. He has thereThis especial night when Cecilia came down fore written me a very business-like letter, in in her ugly green dress, it seemed to her as if which he wishes for no alteration at present, something unusual had been going on. The but begs that, in the event of my making my old lady's eyes looked bright and glittering, her will, I should'remember this, and not complifather seemed more animated than usual, her cate matters by leaving it to yourself, as had mother looked mysterious and put out. It might been my intention. I see nothing to offend in have been fancy, but Cecilia thought they all the request. Your mother thinks differently." stopped talking as she came into the room; but Cecilia was so amazed at being told any thing then dinner was announced, and her father of- that she only stared again, and, opening a wide fered Mrs. Dormer his arm immediately, and mouth, popped into it such a great piece of they went into the dining-room. orange that she could not speak for some minIt must have been fancy. Every thing was utes. as usual. "They have put up a few hurdles "Cecilia has certainly attained years of disin Dalron's field, I see," said Mrs. Lulworth. cretion," said her great-aunt; "she does not "Charles, you ought to give orders for repair- compromise herself by giving any opinion on ing the lock of the harness-room." matters she does not understand." Then the "Have they seen to the pump-handle?" said old lady got up and slowly led the way back to Mr. Lulworth. the drawing-room again, across the great empty "I think not." And there was a dead si- hall. lence. Notwithstanding her outward imperturbabil"Potatoes," said Cecilia to the footman. ity, Cecilia was a little stirred and interested "Mamma, we saw ever so many slugs in the by this history, and by the short conversation laurel walk, Maria and I-didn't we, Maria? which had preceded it, and after an hour's silence I think there are a great many slugs in our she ceased working, and looked up from the emplace." broidered shaving-cloth she was making. Her Old Mrs. Dormer looked up while Cecilia was mother was sitting upright in her chair as usual, speaking, and suddenly interrupted her in the netting with vigorous action. Her large foot middle of her sentence. "How old are you, outstretched, her stiff bony hands working and child?" she said; "are you seventeen or eight- jerking monotonously. Her father was dozing een?" in his arm-chair; old Mrs. Dormer, too, was "Eighteen! Aunt Cecilia. I am five-and- nodding in her corner. The monotonous Maria twenty," said Cecilia, staring, was stitching in the lamplight. Gray and black "Good gracious! is it possible?" said her shadows loomed all round her. The far end father, surprised. of the room was quite dark; the great curtains "Cecil is a woman now," said her mother. swept from their ancient cornices. Cecilia, for " Five-and-twenty," said the old lady, quite the first time in all her life, wondered whether crossly. "I had no idea time went so fast. she should live all her life in this spot-ever go She ought to have been married long ago; that away? It seemed impossible, unnatural, that is, if she means to marry at all." she should ever do so. Silent, dull as it was, "Pray, my dear aunt, do not put such she was used to it, and did not know what wlas ideas-" Mrs. Lulworth began. amiss...... Was any thing amiss? Mrs. "I don't intend to marry," said Cecilia, peel- Charles Lulworth certainly seemed to think so. ing an orange, and quite unmoved, and she She made the tea in frowns and silence, and slowly curled the rind of her orange in the air. closed the lid of the teapot with a clink which "I think people are very stupid to marry. Look re-echoed through the room. at poor Jane Simmonds-her husband beats Young Frank Lulworth, the lawyer of the her; Jones saw her." family — John Lulworth's eldest son-it was "So you don't intend to marry?" said the who had found it all out. His father wrote that old lady, with an odd inflection in her voice. with Mrs. Dormer's permission he proposed " Young ladies were not so wisely brought up coming down in a day or two to show her the in my early days," and she gave a great sigh. papers, and to explain to her personally how the "I was reading an old letter this morning from matter stood. "My son and I," said John my brother John, your loor father, Charles- Lulworth, " both feel that this wbuld be far more THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD. 143 agreeable to our feelings, and perhaps to yours, the nut-trees, of the bushes and thickets. Soft than having recourse to the usual professional blue. mists and purple tints rest upon the distant intervention, for we have no desire to press our hills; scarlet berries glow among the brown claims for the present, and we only wish that in leaves of the hedges; lovely mists fall and vanthe ultimate disposalof your property you should ish suddenly, revealing bright and sweet aube aware how the matter really stands. We tumnal sights; blackberries, stacks of corn, have always been led to suppose that.the estate brown leaves, crisping upon the turf, great pears actually in question has been long destined by hanging sweetening in the sun over the cottage you for your grand-niece, Cecilia Lulworth. I lintels, cows grazing and whisking their tails, hear from our old friend Dr. Hicks, that she is blue smoke curling from the tall farm chimneys: remarkably pretty and very amiable. Perhaps all is peaceful, prosperous, golden. You can such vague possibilities are best unmentioned, see the sea on clear days from certain knolls but it has occurred to me that in the event of a and hillocks... mutual understanding springing up between the Out of all these pleasant sights younig Lulyoung folks-my son and your grand-niece- worth came into this dreary splendor. He the connection might be agreeable to us all, and heard no sounds of life —e'saw no one. His lead to a renewal of that family intercourse coachman had opened the iron gate. " They which has been, to my great regret, suspended doan't keep no one to moind the gate," said the for some time past." driver; "only tradesmen cooms to th''ouse." Old Mrs. Dormer, in her shaky Italian hand- Even the gardener and his boy were out of the writing, answered her nephew's letter by return way; and when they got sight of the house at of post: — last, many of the blinds were down and shutters shut, and only two chimneys were smoking. "MY DEAR NEPIIEW,-I must acknowledge There was some one living in the place, howthe receipt of your epistle of the 13th instant, ever, for a watch-dog who was lying asleep in By all means invite your son to pay us his pro- his kennel woke up and gave a heart-rending posed visit. We can then talk over business howl when Frank got out and rang at the bell. matters at our leisure, and young Francis can He had to wait an immense time before any be introduced to his relatives. Although a body answered, although a little page in butlong time has elapsed since we last met, believe tons came and stared at him in blank amazeme, my dear nephew, not unmindful of bygone ment from one of the basement windows, and associations, and yours very truly always, never moved. Through the same window Frank "C. DOPRMER." could see into the kitchen, and he was amused when a sleepy fat cook came up behind the litThe letter was in the postman's bag when old tle page and languidly boxed his ears, and orMrs. Dormer informed Mrs. Charles of what she dered him off the premises. had done. The butler, who at last answered the door, seemed utterly taken aback-nobody had callFrank Lulworth thought that in all his life ed for months past, and here was a perfect he had never seen any thing so dismal, so si- stranger taking out his card, and asking for lent, so neglected, as Dorlicote Park, when he Mrs. Dormer as if it was the most natural drove up a few days after, through the iron thing in the world. The under-butler was gates and along the black laurel wilderness half asleep in his pantry, and had not heard the which led to the house. The laurel branches, door-bell. The page-the very same whose ears all unpruned, untrained, were twisting savage- had been boxed-came wondering to the door, ly in and out, wreathing and interlacing one and went to ascertain whether Mrs. Dormer another, clutching tender shootings, wrestling would see the gentleman or not. with the young oak-trees and the limes. He "What a vault, what a catacomb, what an passed by black and sombre avenues leading to ugly old place!" thought Frank, as he waited. mouldy-temples, to crumbling summer-houses; He heard steps far, far away: then came a long he saw what had once been a flower-garden now silence, and then a heavy tread slowly approachall run to seed-wild, straggling, forlorn; a ing, and the old butler beckoned to him to folbroken-down bench, a heap of hurdles lying on low-through a cobweb-color room, through a the ground, a field-mouse darting across the brown room, through a gray room, into a great road, a desolate autumn sun shining upon all dim drab drawing-room, where the old lady was this mouldering ornament and confusion. It sitting alone. She had come down her back seemed more forlorn and melancholy by con- stairs to receive him; it was years since she trast, somehow, coming as he did out of the had left her room before dinner. loveliest country and natural sweetness into the Even old ladies look kindly upon a tall: welldark and tangled wilderness within these lime- built, good-looking, good-humored young man. stone walls of Dorlicote. Frank's nose was a little too long, his mouth a The parish of Dorlicote-cum -Rockington little too straight; but he was a handsome looks prettier in the autumn than at any other young fellow with a charming manner. Only time. A hundred crisp tints, jeweled rays- as he came up he was somewhat shy and undegrays, browns, purples, glinting golds, and sil- cided-he did not know exactly how to address vers, rustle and sparkle upon the branches of the old lady. This was his great-aunt. He 144 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. knew nothing whatever about her, but she was ry," said the young man, quite confused and very rich; she had invited him to come, and puzzled. "I ought to have known better. I she had a kind face, he thought: should he- fiightened you. I am your cousin, you know, ought he to embrace her-perhaps he ought, and really —pray, pray excuse my stupidity," and he made the slightest possible movement in he said, looking anxiously into the fair placid this direction. Mrs. Dormer, divining his ob- face along which the tears were coursing in two ject, pushed him weakly away. "How do streams, like a child's. you do? No embraces, thank you. I don't "Such a thing never happened in all my life care for kissing at my age. Sit down-there, before," said Cecilia. "I know it is wrong to in that chair opposite-and now tell me about cry, but really-really-" your father, and all the family, and about this "Leave off crying directly, miss," said her ridiculous discovery of yours. I don't believe aunt, testily, "and let us have no more of this a word of it." nonsense." The old lady dreaded the mother's The interview between them was long and arrival every instant. Frank, half laughing, satisfactory, on the whole. The unconscious Ce- but quite unhappy at the poor girl's distress, cilia and Miss Bowley returned that afternoon had taken up his hat to go that minute, not from their usual airing, and, as it happened, knowing what else to do. Cecilia said, " Oh, Maria! I left my mittens " Ah! you're going," says old Mrs. Dormer; in the drawing-room last night. I will go and "no wonder. Cecilia, you have driven your fetch them." And little thinking of what was cousin away by your rudeness." awaiting her, she flung open the door and march- "I am not rude," sobbed Cecilia. " I can't ed in through the anteroom-mushroom hat and help crying." brown veil, galoches and dowdy gown, as usual. "The girl is a greater idiot than I took her "What is this?" thought young Lulworth; for," cried the old lady. " She has been kept "why, who would have supposed it was such a here locked up, until she has not a single idea pretty girl;" for suddenly the figure stopped left in her silly noddle. No man of sense could short, and a lovely fresh face looked up in utter endure her for five minutes. You wish to leave amazement out of the hideous disguise. the place, I see, and no wonder?" " There, don't stare, child," said the old lady. " I really think," said FIank, " that under the "This is Francis Lulworth, a very intelligent circumstances it is the best thing I can do. young man, who has got hold of your fortune Miss Lulworth, I am sure, would wish me to and ruined all your chances, my dear. He go." wanted to embrace me just now. Francis, you "Certainly," said Cecilia. "Go away, pray may as well salute your cousin instead: she is go away. Oh, how silly I am!" much more of an age for such compliments," Here was a catastrophe! said Mrs. Dormer, wpving her hand. The poor old fairy was all puzzled and beThe impassive Cecilia, perfectly bewildered wildered: her arts were powerless in this emerand not in the least understanding, only turn- gency. The princess had awakened, but in ed her great sleepy astonished eyes upon her tears. Although he had said he was going, the cousin, and stood perfectly still, as if she was prince still stood by, distressed and concerned, one of those beautiful wax-dolls one sees stuck feeling horribly guilty, and yet scarcely able to up to be stared at. And, indeed, a stronger- help laughing; and at that instant, to bring minded person than Cecilia might have been matters to a climax, Mrs. Lulworth's gaunt figtaken aback, who had come into the drawing- ure appeared at the drawing-room door. room to fetch her mittens, to be met in such an " I wash my hands of the whole concern," astounding fashion. If she had been surprised said Mrs. Dormer, limping off to her corner in a before, utter consternation can scarcely convey great hurry and flutter. "Your daughter is her state of mind when young Lulworth step- only a few degrees removed from an idiot, ped forward and obeyed her aunt's behest. ma'am." Frank, half laughing, half kindly, seeing that Poor Cecilia! her aunt's reproaches only Cecilia stood quite still and stared at him, sup- scared her more and more; and for the first posed it was expected, and did as he was told. time in her life she was bewildered, discomThe poor girl gave one gasp of horror, and posed, forgetful of hours. It was the hour of blushed for the first time, I believe, in the course calisthenics; but Miss Lulworth forgot every of her whole existence. Bowley, fixed and open- thing that might have been expected from a mouthed from the inner room, suddenly fled young lady of her admirable bringing tip. with a scream, which lecalled Cecilia to a sense " Oh mamma, I didn't mean to be rude," reof outraged propriety; for, blushing and blink- peated Cecilia, crying still, and the sweet, wet, ing more deeply, she at last gave three little vacant face, looked imploringly and despairingly sobs, and then, oh horror! burst into tears! up into Frank's. "I'm so sorry, please forgive "Highty-tighty; what a much ado about me," she said. nothing!" said the old lady, losing her temper Ie looked so kind, so amused, so gentle and and feeling not a little guilty, and much alarm- handsome, that Cecilia actually felt less afraid ed as to what her niece Mrs. Lulworth might of him at this moment than she did of her mothsay were she to come on the scene. er, who, with tight lips and sharp eyes, was sur" I beg your pardon. I am so very, very sor- veying the two. CINDERELLA. 145 " Go and take off your galoches and your the telling if they had not been married soon afwalking-dress, Cecilia," said Mrs. Lulworth, ter, and lived happily all the rest of their lives. exactly in her usual voice, " and do not come * * * e * * down without your apron." It is not in fairy tales only that things fall In a few minutes, when Cecilia returned, -out as one could wish, and indeed, as H. and I blushing and more lovely than ever, in her great agreed the other night that fairies, although inapron and dark stuff dress, it was to find her visible, have not entirely vanished out of the cousin comfortably installed in a big easy-chair, land. and actually talking above his breath to Miss It is certainly like a fairy transformation to'owley. He sprang up and came to meet the see Cecilia nowadays in her own home with her girl, and held out his hand, " In token that you children and husband about her. Bright, merforgive me," he said. ry, full of sympathy and interest, she seems to "I thought it was I who had been rude and grow prettier every minute. unkind," Cecilia falteringly said. "Hfow good When Frank fell in love with her and proof you not to be vexed!" posed, old Mrs. Dormer insisted upon instantly "Cecilia," said Mrs. Lulworth and Miss giving up the Dorlicote Farm for the young Bowley both at once, in different tones of warn- people to live in. Mr. and Mrs. Frank Luling; but the princess was awake now, and her worth are obliged to live in London, but they simplicity and beauty touched the young prince, go there every summer with their children; and who never, I think, really intended to go, even for some years after her marriage, Cecilia's godwhen he took up his hat. Fairy tales are never mother, who tool the opportunity of the wedvery long, and this one ought to come to an ding to break through many of her recluse habend. its, used to come and see her every day in a Certainly the story would not have been worth magnificent yellow chariot. CINDERELLA. IT is, happily, not only in fairy tales that one pair of heads, while others were left bald, things sometimes fall out as one could wish, shorn, unheeded, disheveled, forgotten, dishonthat anxieties are allayed, mistakes explained ored. And yet the world would be almost too away, friends reconciled; that people inherit sad to bear, if one did not sometimes see haplarge fortunes, or are found out in their nefari- piness somewhere. One would scarcely believe ous schemes; that long-lostchildren are discov- in its possible existence, if there was nobody ered disguised in soot, that vessels come safely young, fortunate, prosperous, delighted; nobody sailing into port after the storm; and that young to think of with satisfaction, and to envy a litfolks who have been faithful to one another are tie. The sight of great happiness and prospermarried off at last. Some of these young ity is like listening to harmonious music, or lookcouples are not only happily married, but they ing at beautiful pictures, at certain times of one's also begin life in pleasant palaces tastefully dec- life. It seems to suggest possibilities, it sets sad orated, and with all the latest improvements; folks longing; but while they are wishing, still, with convenient cupboards, bath-rooms, back maybe, a little reproachfully, they realize the staircases, speaking-tubes, lifts from one story to existence of what perhaps they had doubted beanother, hot and cold water laid on; while out- fore. Fate has been hard to them, but there is side lie well-kept parks, and gardens, and flow- compensation even in this life, they tell themer-beds; and from the muslin-veiled windows selves. Which of us knows when his turn may they can see the sheep browsing, the long shad- come? Happiness is a fact: it does lie within owy grass, deer starting across the sunny glades, some people's grasp. To this or that young swans floating on the rivers, and sailing through fairy couple, age, trial, and trouble may be in the lilies and tall lithe reeds. There are fruit- store; but now at least the present is golden; gardens, too, where great purple plums are sun- the innocent delights and triumphs of youth and ning on the walls, and cucumbers lying asleep nature are theirs. among their cool dark leaves. There are glass- I could not help moralizing a little in this houses where heavy dropping bunches of grapes way, when we were staying with young Lulworth are hanging, so that one need only open one's and his wife the other day, coming direct fronm mouth for them to fall into it all ready cooked the struggling dull atmosphere of home to the and sweetened. Sometimes, in addition to golden placidity of Lulworth farm. They drove all these good things; the young couple pos- us over to Cliffe Court-another oasis, so it sess all the gracious gifts of youth, beauty, gay seemed to me, in the arid plains of life. Cliffe and amiable dispositions. Some one said, the Court is a charming, cheerful Italian-looking other day, that it seemed as if Fate scarcely house, standing on a hill in the midst of a fiery knew what she was doing, when she lavished furnace of geraniums and flower-beds. "It bewith such profusion every gift and delight upon longs to young Sir Charles Richardson. He is K 146 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. six-and-twenty, and the handsomest man in the ly delightful to be the possessor of such beauticounty, " said Frank. ful hills, mist, sunshine and shadow, violet tones, "Oh no, Frank; you are joking, surely," said song of birds, and shimmer of foliage; but Cecilia; and then she stared, and then blushed Frank, I believe, looked at his future prospects in her odd way. She still stared sometimes from a material point of view. "You see it when she was shy, as she used to do before she ain't the poetic part of it which pays," he said. married. But he appreciated it nevertheless, for Cecilia So much of her former habits Cecilia had also came out of the woods that morning, all decked retained, that as the clock struck eight every out with great convolvulus leaves, changed to morning a great punctual breakfast-bell used to gold, which Frank had gathered as we went ring in the outer hall. The dining-room case- along and given to her. This year all the leaves ment was wide open upon the beds of roses, the were turning to such beautiful colors that peotea was made, Cecilia in her crisp white morn- pie remarked upon it, and said they never reing dress, and with all her wavy bronze hair membered such a glowing autumn; even the curling about her face, was waiting to pour it year when Frank came to Dorlicote was not to out, the eggs were boiled, the bacon was friz- compare to it. Browns and russet, and bright zling hot upon the plate to a moment; there amber and gold flecks, berries, red leaves, a lovewas no law allowed, not a minute's grace for ly blaze and glitter in the woods along the lanes any body, no matter how lazy. They had been and beyond the fields and copses. All the hills married a little more than two years, and were were melting with lovely color in the clear quite established in their country home. I wish warm autumn air, and the little nut-wood paths I could perform some incantation like those of seemed like Aladdin's wonderful gardens, where my friends the fairies, and conjure up the old precious stones hung to the trees; there was a farm bodily with a magic wave of my pen, or by twinkle and crisp shimmer, yellow leaves and drawing a triangle with a circle through it upon golden light, yellow light and golden leaves, red the paper, as the enchanters do. The hawthorn, convolvulus-berries, holly-berries bemost remarkable things about the ginning to glow, and heaped-up clustering purfarm were its curious and beautiful pie blackberries. The sloe-berries, or snowy old chimneys-indeed the whole county of Sus- blackthorn fruit, with their soft gloom of color, sex is celebrated for them, and the meanest lit- were over, and this was the last feast of the year. tie cottages have noble-looking stacks all orna- On the trees the apples hung red and bright, the mented, carved, and weather-beaten. There pears seemed ready to drop from their branches were gables, also, and stony mullioned windows, and walls, the wheat was stacked, the skyJooked and ancient steps with rusty rings hanging to violet behind the yellow ricks. A blackbird was them, affixed there to fasten the bridles of horses singing like a ripple of water, somebody said. that would have run away several hundred years It is hard to refrain fiom writing of all these ago, if this precaution had not been taken. And lovely things, though it almost is an impertithen there were storehouses and ricks and barns, nence to attempt to set them down on paper in all piled with the abundance of the harvest. The long lists, like one of Messrs. Rippon and Burfarm-yard was alive with young fowls and cocks ton's circulars. As we were walking along the and hens; and guinea-hens, those gentle little high-road on our way back to the farm, we passdowagers, went about glistening in silver and ed a long pale melancholy-looking man riding a gray, and Cecilia's geese came clamoring to bighorse, with alittle sweet-faced creature about meet her. I can see it all as I think about it. sixteen who was cantering beside him. The old walls are all carved and ornamented, He took off his hat, the little girl kissed her sometimes by art and work of man's hand, some- hand as they passed, nodding a gay triumphant times by time and lovely little natural mosses. nod, and then we watched them down the hill, House-leeks grow in clumps upon the thatch, a and disappearing at the end of the lane. pretty girl is peeping through a lattice window, "I am quite glad to see Ella Ashford out a door is open, while a rush, of sweet morning riding with her father again," said Lulworth, scent comes through the shining oaken passage holding the garden gate open for us to pass in. fiom the herb-garden and orchard behind. Cows "Mrs. Ashford called here a day or two ago with their soft brown eyes and cautious tread are with her daughter," said Cecilia. "They're passing on their way to a field across the road. going to stay at the Ravenhill, she told me. I A white horse waiting by his stable door shakes thought Colonel Ashford was gone too. I suphis head and whinnies. pose he is come back." Frank and Cecilia took us for a walk after "Of course he is," said Frank, "since we breakfast the first morning we came. We were have just seen him with Ella, and of course his taken to the stables first and the cow-houses, and wife is away for the same reason." then we passed out through a gate into a field, "The child has grown very thin," said H. and crossing the field we got into a copse which "She has a difficult temper," said Ceciliaskirted it, and so by many a lovely little wind- who, once she got an idea into her soft, silly ing path into the woods. Young Lulworth took head, did not easily get rid of it again. " She our delight and admiration as a personal com- is a great anxiety to poor Mrs. Ashford. She pliment. It was all Lulworth property as far is very different, she tells me, to Julia and Lisette as we could see. I thought it must be strange- Garnier, her own daughters." CINDERELLA. 147 "I knew them when they were children," said a surly man, in a red waistcoat and an oilskin H. " We used to see a great deal of Mrs. Ash- hat, to drive us to the Rue de Lille. All the ford when she was first a widow, and I went to way there, Mrs. Garnier was strange, silent, her second wedding." nervous, excited. Her eyes were like two shining craters, I thought, when we arrived, and as We were at Paris one year-ten years before we climbed up the interminable flights of stairs. the time I am writing of-and Mrs. Garnier I guessed which was the old friend in a minute: lived over us, in a tiny little apartment. She a tall, well-looking, sick-looking man with a was very poor, and very grandly dressed, and gray mustache, standing by himself in a corshe used to come rustling in to see us. Rust- ner. ling is hardly the word, she was much too grace- I spent a curious evening, distracted between ful and womanly a person to rustle; her long Madame de Girouette's small-talk, to which I silk gowns used to ripple, and wave, and flow was supposed to be listening, and Mrs. Garnier's away as she came and went; and her beautiful murmured conversation with her old friend in eyes used to fill with tears as she drank her tea the corner, to which I was vainly endeavoring and confided her troubles to us. H. never liked not to attend. her; but I must confess to a very kindly feeling "My dear, imagine a bouillon surmounted for the poor, gentle, beautiful, forlorn young with little tiny flutings all round the bottom, creature, so passionately lamenting the loss she and then three ruches, alternating with three lithad sustained in Major-General Garnier. He tie volants, with great choux at regular intervals; had left her very badly off, although she was over this a tunic, caught up at the side by a well connected, and Lady Jane Peppercorne, jardiniere, a ceinture a la Bebc." her cousin, had offered her and her two little "When you left us I was a child, weak, foolgirls a home at Ravenhill, she used to tell us in ish, easily frightened and influenced. It nearly her eplore manner. I do not know why she broke my heart. Look me in the face if you never availed herself of the offer. She said once can, and tell me you do not believe me," I heard that she would not be doing justice to her pre- Mrs. Garnier murmuring in a low thrilling whiscious little ones, to whom she devoted herself with per. She did not mean me to hear it, but she the assistance of an experienced attendant. My was too absorbed in what she was saying to think impression is, that the little ones used to scrub of all the people round about her. one another's little ugly faces, and plait one' Ah, Lydia, what does it matter now?" the another's little light Chinese-looking tails, while friend answered in a sad voice which touched the experienced attendant laced and dressed me somehow. "We have both been wrecked and adorned, and scented and powdered their in our ventures, and life has not much left for mamma. She really was a beautiful young either of us now." woman, and would have looked quite charming "It is cut en biais," Madame de Girouette if she had left herself alone for a single instant, went on; "the pieces which are taken out at but she was always posing. She had dark bright one end are let in at the other: the effect is eyes; she had a lovely little arched mouth; and quite charming, and the economy is immense." hands so white, so soft, so covered with rings, "For you, you married the person you loved," that one felt that it was indeed a privilege when Lydia Garnier was answering; " for me, out of she said, " Oh, how do you do?" and extended the wreck I have at least my children, and a retwo or three gentle confiding fingers. At first membrance and a friend-is it so? Ah, Henshe went nowhere except to church, and to walk ry, have I not at least a friend?" in the retired paths of the Park de Mongeau, "Every body wants one," said Madame de although she took in Galignani and used to read Girouette, concluding her conversation, "and the lists of arrivals. But by degrees she began they can not be made fast enough to supply the to-chiefly to please me, she said-go out a lit- demand. I am promised mine to wear to-mortie, to make a few acquaintances. One day I row at the opening of the salon, but I am afraid was walking with her down the Champs Elysees, that you have no chance. How the poor thing when she suddenly started and looked up at a is over-worked-her magazine is crowded-I tall, melancholy -looking gentleman who was believe she will leave it all in charge of her prepassing, and who stared at her very hard; and miere demoiselle, and retire to her campagne soon after that it was that she began telling me as soon as the season is over." she had determined to make an effort for her "And you will come and see me, will you children's sake, and to go a little more into so- not?" said the widow, as we went away, looking ciety. She wanted mhe to take her to Madame up at her friend. I do not know to this day if de Girouette's, where she heard I was going one she was acting. I believe, to do her justice, evening, and where she believed she should meet that she was only acting what she really felt, as an old friend of hers, whom she particularly many of us do at times. wished to see again. Would I helpher? Would I took Mrs. Garnier home, as I agreed. I I be so very good? -Of course I was ready. to did not ask any questions. I met Colonel Ashdo any thing I could. She came punctual to ford on the stairs next day, and I was not surher time, all gray moire and black lace; a remise prised when, about a week after, Mrs. Garnier was sent for, and we set off, jogging along the flitted into the drawing-room' early one morncrowded streets, with our two lamps lighted, and ing, and, sinking down at my feet in a careless 148 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. attitude, seized my hanid, and said that she had and as she seesawed in time, still singing and come for counsel, for advice... moving in rhythm, any one seeing her could not She had had an offer from a person whom fail to have been struck by the weird-like little she respected, Colonel Ashford, whom I might accomplishment. Some girls have a passion for haveremarked that night atMadamedeGirou- dancing-boys have a hundred other ways and ette's; would I-would I give her my candid means of giving vent to their activity and exeropinion; for her children's sake, did I not think cising their youthful limbs, and putting out their it would be well to think seriously?.... eager young strength; but girls have no such'And for your own, too, my dear," said I. chances; they are condemned to walk through "Colonel Ashford is in Parliament, he is very life, for the most part, quietly, soberly, putting a well off. I believe you will be making an ex- curb on the life and vitality which is in them. cellent marriage. Accept him, by all means." They long to throw it out, they would like to have " Dear friend, since this is your real heartfelt wings to fly like a bird, and so they dance someopinion, I value your judgment too highly not times with all their hearts and might and energy. to act by its dictates. Once, years ago, there People rarely talk of the poetry of dancing, but was thought of this between me and Henry. I there is something in it of the real inspiration of will nowv confide to you, my heart has never fail- art. The music plays, the heart beats time, ed from its early devotion. A cruel fate sepa- the movements flow as naturally as the branchrated us. I married. He married. We are es of a tree go waving in the wind..... brought together as by a miracle, but our three One day a naughty boy, who had run away, children will never know the loss of their parents' for a lark, from his tutor and his school-room love,' etc. etc. Glance, hand, pressure, etc.- at Cliffe, hard by, and who was hiding in a tears, etc., Then a long, soft, irritating kiss. I ditch, happened to see Ella alone in a field. felt for the first time in my life inclined to box She was looking up at the sky and down at her ears. the pretty scarlet and white pimpernels, and The little Garniers certainly gained by the listening to the birds; suddenly she felt so bargain, and the Colonel sat down to write home strong and so light, and as if she must jump to his little daughter, and tell her the news. about a little, she was so happy; and so she did, shaking her pretty golden mane, waving Poor little Ella, I wonder what sort of anx- her poppies high overhead, and singing higher ieties Mrs. Ashford had caused to her before and higher, like one of the larks that were floatshe had been Ella's father's wife a year. Miss ing in mid air. The naughty boy was much Ashford made the best of it. She was a cheery, frightened, and firmly believed that he had seen happy little creature, looking at every thing from a fairy. the sunny side, adoring her father, running wild "She was all in white," he said afterwards, out of doors, but with an odd turnfor housekeep- in an aggrieved tone of voice. " She'd no hat, ing, and order and method at home. Indeed, or any thing; she bounded six'foot into the air. for the last two years, ever since she was twelve You never saw any thing like it." years old, shehadkept herfather's house. Lan- Master Richardson's guilty conscience had guid, gentle, easily impressed, Colonel Ashford something to do with his alarm. When his was quite curiously influenced by this little friends made a few facetious inquiries he andaughter. She could make him come and go, swered quite sulkily: "Black pudden? she and like and dislike. I think it was Ella who offered me no pudden or any thing else. I only sent him into Parliament; she could not bear wish you had been there, that's all, then you'd Sir Rainham Richardson, their next neighbor, believe a fellow when he says a thing, instead to be an M.P., and an oracle, while her father of always chaffing." was only a retired colonel. Her ways and her Ella gave up her dancing after the new wife sayings were a strange and pretty mixture of came to Ash Place. It was all. so different; childishness and precociousness. She would be she was not allowed any more to run out into ordering dinner, seeing that the fires were alight the fields alone. She supposed it was very nice in the study and dining-room, writing notes to having two young companions like Lisette and save her father trouble (Colonel Ashford hated Julia, and at first, in her kindly way, the child trouble) in her cramped, crooked, girlish hand; did the honors of her own home, showed them the next minute she was perhaps flying, agile- the way which led to her rabbits, her most sefooted, round and round the old hall, skipping cret bird's-nest, the old ivy-grown smugglers' up and down the oak stairs, laughing out like a hole in the hollow. Lisette and Julia went child as she played with her puppy, and dangled trotting about in their frill trowsers and Chinese a littleballofstring underhisblacknose. Puff, tails of hair, examining every thing, making with a youthful bark, would seize the ball and their calculations, saying nothing, taking it all go scuttling down the corridors with his prize, in (poor little Ella was rather puzzled, and while Ella pursued him with her quick flying could not make them out). Memitime her new feet. She could sing charmingly, with a clear mother was gracefully wandering over the house true piping voice, like g bird's, and she used to on her husband's arm, and standing in attitudes, dance to her own singing in the prettiest way admiring the view fiom the windows, and asking imaginable. Her dancing was really remark- gentle little indifferent questions, to all of which able: she had the most beautiful feet and hands. Colonel Ashford replied unsuspectingly enough. CINDERELLA. 149 "And so you give the child an allowance? never got back, poor child. Ah me! treasures Is she not very young for one? And is this dearer to her than the pretty coral necklace and Ella's room? how prettily it is furnished!" the gold clasp bracelet-liberty, confidence"She did it all herself," said her father, smil- the tender atmosphere of admiring love in ing. "Look at her rocking-horse, and her dolls' which she had always lived, the first place in house, and her tidy little arrangements." her father's heart. That should never be hers The housekeeping books were in a little pile again, some one had determined. on the table; a very suspicious-looking doll The only excuse for Mrs. Ashford is that she was lying on the bed, so were a pile of towels, was very much in love with her husband, and half marked, but neatly folded; there was a so selfishly attached to him that she grudged bird singing in a cage, a squirrel, a little aged the very care and devotion which little Ella dog-Puff's grandmother-asleep on a cushion, had spent upon her father all these years past. some sea-anemones in a glass, gaping with Every fresh proof of thought and depth of feeltheir horrid mouths, strings of birds' eggs were ing in such a childish little creature hurt and suspended, and whips were hanging up on the vexed the other woman. Ella must be taught walls. There was a great bunch of flowers in her place, this lady determined, not in so many the window, and a long daisy-chain fastened words. Alas! if we could always set our evil up in festoons round the glass; and then on thoughts and schemes to words, it would perthe toilet-table there were one or two valuable haps be well with us, and better far than drifttrinkets set out in their little cases ing, unconscious, and unwarned, into nameless "Dear me," said Mrs. Ashford, " is it not a evil, unowned to one's self, scarcely recognized. pity to leave such temptation in the way of the And so the years went by. Julia and Liservants? Little careless thing-had I notbet- sette grew up into two great tall fashionable ter keep them for her, Henry? they are very bouncing young ladies; they pierced their ears, beautiful." And Mrs. Ashford softly collected turned up their pigtails, and dressed very eleElla's treasures in her long white hands. gantly. Lisette used to wear a coral necklace, "Ella has some very valuable things," Colo- Julia was partial to a clear carbuncle brooch her nel Ashford said. "Shle keeps them locked up mother gave her. Little Ella, too, grew up like in a strong box, I believe; yes, there it is in the a little green plant springing up through the corner." mild spring rains and the summer sunshine, " It had much better come into my closet," taller and prettier and sadder every year. And Mrs. Ashford said. "Oh, how heavy! Come yet perhaps it was as well after all that early in here, strong-arm, and help me." Colonel Ash- life she had to learn to be content with a very ford obediently took up the box as he was bid. little share of its bounties; she might have been "' And I think I may as well finish marking spoiled and over-indulged if things had gone on the dusters," said Mrs. Ashford, looking around as they began, if nothing had ever thwarted the room as she collected them all inher apron. her, and if all her life she had had her own "The books, of course, are now my duty. I way. She was a bright smiling little thing for think Ella will not be sorry to be relieved of all her worries, with a sweet little face; indeed her cares. Do you know, dear, I think I am her beauty was so remarkable, and her manner glad, for her sake, that you married me, as well so simple and charming, that Julia and Lisette, as for my own. I think she has had too much who were a year or two her elders, used to comput upon her, is a little too decided, too pronon- plain to their mother nobody ever noticed them cee, for one so young. One would not wish when Ella was by. Lady Jane Peppercorne, to see her grow up before the time. Let them their own cousin, was always noticing her, and remain young and careless while they can, actually gave her a potato off her own plate the Henry." other day. So when Ella came back to mark the dusters'I fear she is a very forward, designing girl. that she had been hemming, because Mrs. Mil- I shall not think of taking her out in London ton was in a hurry for them and the housemaid this year," Mrs. Ashford said, with some asperihad hurt her eye, they were gone, and so were ty; "nor shall I allow her to appear at our her neat little books that she had taken such croquet-party next week. She is far too young pride in, and had been winding up before she to be brought out." gave them to Mrs. Ashford to keep in future; So Ella was desired to remain in her own so was her pretty coral necklace that she wore room on this occasion. She nearly cried, poor of an evening; and her pearls with the dia- little thing, but what-could she do? her father mend clasp; and her beautiful clear carbuncle was away, and when he came back Mrs. Ashbrooch that she was so fond of, and her little ford would be sure to explain every thing to gold clasp bracelet. Although Eliza and Susan him. Mrs. Ashford had explained life to him had lived with them all her life long; they had in so strangely ingenious a manner that he had never taken'her things, poor Ella thought, a lit- got to see it in a very topsy-turvy fashion. tle bitterly. " Quite unsuitable at your age, Some things she had explained away altogethdearest," Mrs. Ashford murmured, kissing her er, some she had distorted and twisted, poor litfondly. tie Ella had been explained and explained, unAnd Ella never got them back any more. til there was scarcely any thing of her left at Many and many other things there were she all. Poor child, she sometimes used to think 150 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. she had not a single fiiend in the world, but she rain, and although this is London and not the would chide herself for such fancies: it must be country any more, Onslow Square looks bright fancy. Her father loved her as much as ever, but and clean. Lady Jane has had the house smartly he was engrossed by business, and it was not to done up; clean chintz, striped blinds, a balcony be expected he should show what he felt before full of mignonnette. She has kept two little Julia and Lisette, who might be hurt. And then rooms for herself and her maid, but all the rest Ella would put all her drawers in order, or sew of the house is at the Ashfords' disposal. Every a seam, or go out and pull up a bedful of weeds, body is satisfied, and Ella is enchanted with her to chase such morbid fancies out of her mind. little room up stairs. Mrs. Ashford is making Lady Jane Peppercorne, of whom mention lists of visits and dinner-parties and milliners' has been already made, had two houses, one in addresses; Lisette is looking out of the window Onslow Square, another at Hampstead. She at some carriages which are passing; the chilwas very rich, she had never married, and was dren and nurses are sitting under the trees in consequently far more sentimental than ladies the square; Julia is looking at herself in the of her standing usually are. She was a flighty glass and practising her court courtesies; and old lady, and lived sometimes at one house, Ella is in the back room arranging a great heap sometimes at the other, sometimes at hotels of books in a bookcase. "I should so like to here and there, as the fancy seized her. She go to the Palace, mamma," she says, looking was very kind as well as flighty, and was con- up with a smudgy face, for the books were all stantly doing generous things, and trying to dirty and covered with dust. "Do you think help any one who seemed to be in trouble or there will be room for me?" who appeared to wish for any thing she had it Ella had no proper pride, as it is called, and in her power to grant. always used to take it for granted she was wanted, So when Mrs. Ashford said. " Oh, Lady and that some accident prevented her from Jane, pity me! My husband says he can not going with the others. "I am sorry there is afford to take me to town this year. I should no room for you, Ella," said Mrs. Ashford, in so like to go, for the dear girls' sake, of course-" her deep voice; "I have asked Mr. Richardson Lady Jane gave a little grunt, and said, " I will to come with us, and if he fails, I promised to lend you my house in Onslow Square, if you like call for the Countess Bricabrac. Pray, if you -that is, if you keep my room ready for me in do not care for walking in the square this aftercase I want to come up at any time. But I noon, see that my maid puts my things properly dare say you won't care for such an unfashiona- away in the cupboards, as well as Julia's and ble quarter of the world." Lisette's, and help her to fold the dresses, be" Oh Lady Jane, how exceedingly kind, how cause it is impossible for one person to manage very delightful and unexpected!" cried Mrs. these long trains unassisted." Ashford, who had been hoping for it all the "Very well," said Ella, cheerfully. "I hope time, and who hastened to communicate the you will have a pleasant day. How nice it must news to Lisette and Julia. be to be going!" "I shall want a regular outfit, mamma," "I wish you would learn not to wish for said Julia, who was fond of dress. "Perhaps every thing and any thing that you happen to we shall meet young Mr. Richardson in town." hear about, Ella," said Mrs. Ashford. "And "I shall be snapped up directly by some by the way, if you find any visitors coming, go one, I expect," said Lisette, who was very vain, away, for I can not allow you to be seen in this and thought herself irresistible. dirty state." "Am I to come too?" asked Ella, timidly, "There's a ring," said Ella, gathering some from the other end of the room, looking up of the books together. "Good-bye." from her sewing. Young Mr. Richardson, who was announced "I do not know," replied her stepmother, immediately after, passed a pretty maid-servant, curtly, and Ella sighed a little wistfully, and carrying a great pile of folios, upon the stairs. went on stitching. She looked so little fitted for the task that he "At what age shall you let me come out?" involuntarily stopped and said, "Can I assist she presently asked, shyly. you?" The little maid smiled and shook her "When you are fit to be trusted in the world, head, without speaking. "What a charming and have cured your unruly temper," said Mrs. little creature!" thought Mr. Richardson. He Ashford. Ella's eyes filled with tears, and she came to say that he and his friend, Jack Prettyblushed up; but her father came into the room, man, were going to ride down together, and and she smiled through her tears, and thought would join the ladies at the Palace. to herself that since her temper was so bad, she "We are to pick Colonel Ashford up at his had better begin to rule it that very instant... club," Mrs. Ashford said, "and Madame de When Mrs. Ashford began to explain to her hus- Bricabrac. I shall count upon you, then." And band, however, how much better it would be for the young ladies waved him graciots au revoirs Ella to remain in the country, the child's wistful from the balcony. glance met his, and for once he insisted that she " Oh! don't you like white waistcoats, Julia?" should not be left behind. said Lisette, as she watched him down the street. They are gone. Ella went up to help with It is a bright May morning after a night of the dresses, but presently the maid said in her CINDERELLA. 151 rude way that she must go down to dinner, and "Now then, Miss Ella, you can come and she could not have any body messing the things help me fold them dresses. I'm in a hurry." about while she was away. Carter hated having Carter was much discomposed when, instead a "spy" set over her, as she called Miss Ash- of her victim, Lady Jane appeared, irate, digniford. The poor little spy went back to the fied. drawing-room. She was too melancholy and "Go up stairs directly, and do not forget out of spirits to dress herself and go out. Her yourself again," said the old lady. face was still smudgy, and she had cried a little " Oh, I think I ought to go and fold up the over Lisette's pink tarlatan. Her heart sank dresses," said Ella, hesitating, flushing, blushdown, down, down. She did so long for a little ing, and looking more than grateful. "How fun and delight, and laughter and happiness. very kind, very kind of you to think of me! I'm She knew her father would say, "Where is afraid'they wouldn't-I'm afraidI've no bonnet. Ella?" and her mother would answer, "Oh, I Oh, thankyou,, I-but-" really can not account for Ella's fancies. She "Nonsense, child," said Lady Jane; "my was sulky this morning again. I can not man- maid shall help that woman. Here," ringing age her strange tempers." the bell violently (to the footman), "what have The poor child chanced to see her shabby face you done with the hamper I brought up? let and frock and tear-stained cheeks in one of the me see it unpacked here immediately. Can't tall glasses over the gilt tables. It was very trust those people, my dear-always see to every silly, but the woe-begone little face touched her thing myself." so; she was so sorry for it that all of a sudden All sorts of delicious things, scents, colors, she burst out sob, sob, sob, crying. "Oh, how spring-flowers and vegetables, came out of the nice it must be to be loved and cherished, and hamper in delightful confusion. It was a hamvery happy!" she thought. "Oh, I could be per full of treasures-sweet, bright, delicioussogood if they would only love me! " She could tasted-asparagus, daffodillies, bluebells, salads, not bear to think more directly of her father's cauliflowers, hothouse flowers, cowslips from the change of feeling. She sat down on the floor, fields, azalias. Ella's natty little fingers arranged as she had a way of doing, all in a little heap, them all about the room in plates and in vases staring at the empty grate. The fire had burnt so perfectly and so quickly that old Lady Jane out, and no one had thought of re-lighting it. cried out in admiration:For a few minutes her tears overflowed, and she "Why, you would be a first-rate girl, if you cried and cried in two rivulets down her black didn't cry. Here, you John, get some bowls little face. She thought how forlorn she was, and trays for the vegetables, green peas, strawwhat a dull life she led, how alone she lived- berries; and oh, here's a cucumber and a nice such a rush of regret and misery overpowered little early pumpkin. I had it forced, my dear. her, that she hid her face in her hands, uncon- Your stepmother tells me she is passionately scious of any thing else but her own sadness..... fond of pumpkins. Here, John, take all this She did not hear the bell ring, nor a carriage down to the cook; tell her to put it in a cool stop, nor Lady Jane's footsteps. That lady came larder, and order the carriage and horses round across the room and stood looking at her. directly. Now then," to Ella, briskly, "go "Why, my dear little creature, what is the and put your things on, and come along with matter?" said Lady Jane at last. "Crying? me. I'll make matters straight. I always do. don't you know it is very naughty to cry, no There, go directly. I can't have the horses matter how bad things are? Are they all kept. Raton, my coachman, is terrible if he is gone-are you all alone?" kept waiting-frightens me to death by his Ella jumped up quite startled, blushed, wiped driving when he is put out." her tears in a smudge. "I thought nobody Ella did not hesitate a moment longer; she would see me cry," she said, " for they are all rushed up stairs: her little feet flew as they gone to the Crystal Palace." used to do formerly. She came down in a "And did they leave you behind quite by minute, panting, rapturous, with shining hair yourself?" the old lady asked. and a bright face, in her very best Sunday "They were so sorry they had no room for frock, cloak, and hat. Shabby enough they me," said good-natured little Ella. She could were, but she was too happy, too excited, to not bear to hear people blamed. "They had think about the deficiencies in her toilet. promised Madame de Bricabrac." "Dear me, this never will do, I see," said "Is that all?" said Lady Jane, in her kind the old lady, looking at her disapprovingly; imperious way. "' Why, I have driven in from but she smiled so kindly, as she. spoke, that Hampstead on purpose to go there too. There's Ella was not a bit frightened. a great flower-show to-day, and you know I am "Indeed, I have no other," she said. a first-rate gardener. I've brought up a great "John," cried the old lady, "where is any hamper of things. Put on your bonnet, wash maid? Desire her to come and speak to me your face, and come along directly. I've plenty directly. Now then, sir!" of room. Who is that talking in that rude All her servants knew her ways much too way?" for at that instant Carter called out with well not to fly at her commands. A maid apa sniff from the drawing-room door, without peared as if by magic. looking in:-' Now, Batter, be quick; get that blue and 1J2 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. silver bournous of mine from the box up stairs, did ladies were passing in. Two gentlemen in -it will look very nice; and a pair of gray kid white waistcoats were dismounting from their gloves, Batter; and let me see, my dear, you horses just as Ella and Lady Jane were arrivwouldn't look well in a brocade. No, that gray ing. They rushed up to the carriage door, and satin skirt, Batter; her own white bodice will helped them to the ground. do, and we can buy a bonnet as we go along. "And pray, sir, who are you?" said Lady Now, quick; am I to be kept waiting all day?" Jane, as soon as she was safely deposited on her Ella in a moment found herself transformed two little flat feet with the funny old-fashioned somehow into the most magnificent lady she shoes. had seen for many a day. It was like a dream, The young man colored up and bowed. she could hardly believe it; she saw herself "You don't remember me, Lady Jane," he move majestically, sweeping. in silken robes said. "Charles Richardson. I have had the across the very same pier-glass where a few honor of meeting you at Ash Place, and at minutes before she had looked at the wretched Cliffe, my uncle's house. This is my friend little melancholy creature crying with a dirty Mr. Prettyman." face, and watched the sad tears flowing.... "This is Mr. Richardson, my dear Ella, and "Now then-now then," cried Lady Jane, that is Mr. Prettyman. Tell them to come who was always saying " Now then," and urg- back in a couple of hours" (to the page), "and ing people on- "where's my page - are the desire Raton to see that the horses have a feed. outriders there? They are all workhouse boys, Now then -yes - give her your arm, and you my dear; they come to me as thin and starved are going to take me?-very well," to the other as church-mice, and then I fatten them up and white waistcoat; and so they went into the get'em situations. I always go with outriders. Palace. One's obliged to keep up a certain dignity in What are young princes like nowadays? these Chartist days-universal reform-suffrage Do they wear diamond aigrettes, swords at -vote by ballot. I've no patience with Mr. their sides, top-boots, and little short cloaks Gladstone, and it all rests with us to keep our- over one shoulder? The only approach to roselves well aloof. Get in, get in! Drive to mance that I can see, is the flower in their butSydenham, if you please." ton-hole, and the nice.little mustaches and curly Lady Jane's manners entirely changed when beards in which they delight. But all the same she spoke to Raton. And it is a fact that besides, the flower in the button, there is also, I coachmen from their tall boxes rule with a think, a possible flower of sentiment still growvery high hand, and most ladies tremble before ing in the soft hearts of princes in these days, them. Raton looked very alarming in his wig, as in the old days long, long ago, with his shoe-buckles and great red face. Charles Richardson was a short ugly little What a fairy tale it was! There was little man, very gentlemanlike, and well dressed. Ella sitting in this lovely chariot, galloping He was the next heir to a baronetcy; he had down the Brompton Road, with all the little a pale face and a snub nose, and such a fine boys cheering and hurrahing; and the little estate in prospect-Cliffe Court its name wasoutriders clattering on ahead, and the old lady that I do not wonder at Miss Lisette's admirasitting bolt upright as pleased as Punch. She tion for him. As for Ella, she thought how really had been going to Sydenham; but I kind he had been on the stairs that morning; think, if she had not, she would have set off she thought what a bright genial smile he had. instantly, if she thought she would make any How charming he looked, she said to herself; body happy by so doing. They stopped at a no, never, never had she dreamt of any one so shop in the Brompton Road —the wondering nice. She was quite-more than satisfied; no sliopwoman came out. prince in romance would have seemed to her "A white bonnet, if you please," said Lady what this one was, there actually walking beside Jane. "That will do very well. Here, child, her. As for Richardson himself, it was a case put it on, and mind you don't crease the of love at first sight. He had seen many thoustrings." And then away and away they went sand young ladies in the last few years, but not once more through the town, the squares, over one of them to compare with this sweet-faced, the bridges. They saw the ships and steamers ingenuous, tender, bright little creature. He coming. down the silver Thames, but the car- offered her his arm, and led her along. riage never stopped: the outriders paid the Ella observed that he said a few words to his toll and clattered on ahead. They rolled along friend; she little guessed their purport. " You pleasant country lanes and fields, villas and go first," he whispered, "and, if you see the' country-houses, roadside inns, and pedestrians Ashfords, get out of the way. I should have to and crawling carts and carriages. At the end walk with those girls, and my heart is here of three quarters of an hour, during which it transfixed forever.".... "Where have I seemed to Ella as if the whole gay cortege had seen you before?" he went on, talking to Ella, been flying through the air, they suddenly stop- as they roamed through the beautiful courts ped at last at the great gates of a Crystal Pal- and gardens, among fountains and flowers, and ace blazing in the sun, and standing on a hill. rare objects of art. "Forgive me for asking A crowd was looking on. All, sorts of grand you, but I must have met you somewhere long people were driving up in their carriages; splen- ago, and have never forgotten you. I am CINDERELLA. 153 haunted by your face." Ella was too much morrow?" Mr. iichardson was saying to his ashamed to tell him where and how it was they unknown princess. "How shall I ever meet had met that very morning. She remembered you again? Will you not tell me your name? him perfectly, but she thought he would rush But-" away and leave her, if she told him that the "I wonder what o'clock it is, and where your untidy little scrub upon the stairs had been her- mother can be, Ella," said Lady Jane; "it's self. And she was so happy; music playing, very odd we have not met." flowers blooming, the great wonderful fairy Pal- * * * * * * ace flashing overhead; the kind, clever, delight- "I can't imagine where they can have hid ful young man to escort her; the gay company, themselves," said Julia; very crossly, from the the glitter, the perfume, the statues, the inter- gallery overhead. esting figures of Indians, the dear, dear, kind "I'm so tired, and I'm ready to -drop," said Lady Jane to look to for sympathy and for Miss Lisette. good-humored little nods of encouragement. "Oh, let us sit," groaned Madame de BricaShe had never been so happy; she had never brac. "I can walk no more; what does it matter known what a wonder the Palace might be. if we do not find your friends?" Her heart was so full. It was all so lovely, so "If we take our places at the door,' said inconceivably beautiful and delightful, that she Lisette, " we shall be sure to catch them as they was nearly tipsy with delight; her head turned pass." for an instant, and she clung to young Rich- * * * * * ardson's protecting arm. "Perhaps I may be able to go to the ball," "Are you faint? are you ill?" he said anx- said the princess, doubtfully. "I-I don't iously. know." Lady Jane made believe not to be "Oh no!" said Ella, "it's only that every listening. The voices in the gallery passed on. thing is so beautiful; it is almost more than I Lady Jane, having finished her ice, pulled out can bear. I-I am not often so happy; oh, it her little watch, and gave a scream of terror. is so charming! I do not think any thing could "Heavens! my time is up," she said. "Raton be so delightful in all the world." She look- will frighten me out of my wits, driving home. ed herself so charming and unconscious as she Come, child, come-come-come. Make haste spoke, looking up with her beautiful face out -thank these gentlemen for their escort," and of her white bonnet, that the young fellow felt she went skurrying along, a funny little active as if he must propose to her, then and there, off- figure, followed by the breathless young people. hand on the very spot; and at the instant he They got to the door at last, where Raton was looked up passionately-oh, horror!-he caught waiting, looking very ferocious. " Oh, goodsight of the Ashfords, mother, daughters, Ma- bye," said Ella. "Thank you so much," as dame de Bricabrac, all in a row, coming right Richardson helped her into the chariot. down upon them. "And you will not forget me?" he said, in "'Prettyman, this way, to the right," cried a low voice. "I shall not need any name to relittle Richardson, desperately; and Prettyman, member you by." who was a good-natured fellow, said: "This "My name is Ella," she answered, blushing, way, please, Lady Jane; there's some people we and driving off; and then Ella flung her arms want to avoid over there." round Lady Jane, and began to cry again, and * * * *e * said: "Oh, I have been so happy! so happy! "I'm sure it was," Lisette said. " I knew How good, good of you to make me so happy! the color of his waistcoat. Who could he have Oh, thank you, dear Lady Jane!" been walking with, I wonder?" The others came back an hour after them, "Some lady of rank, evidently," said Julia. looking extremely cross, and were much sur"I think they went up into the gallery in search prised to find Lady Jane in the drawing-room. of us." "I am not going back till Wednesday," said "Let us gointothegallery, dears," said Mrs. the old lady. "I've several things to do in Ashford, and away they trudged. town..... Well, have you had a pleasant ~ * * * * * day?" The young men and their companions had "Not at all," said Mrs. Ashford, plaintively. gone into the Tropics, and meanwhile were sit- " The colonel deserted us; we didn't find our ting under a spreading palm-tree, eating pink young men till just as we were coming away. ices; while the music played and played more We are all very tired, and want some supperdelightfully, and all the air was full of flowers some of your delicious fruit, Lady Jane." and waltzes, of delight, of sentiment. To young " Oh dear, how tired I am!" said Julia. Richardson the whole Palace was Ella in every "Poor Richardson was in very bad spirits," thing, in every sound and flower and fountain; said Lisette. to Ella young Richardson seemed an enormous "What a place it is for losing one another!" giant, and his kind little twinkling eyes were said old Lady Jane. "I took Ella there this shining all round her. afternoon, and though I looked about I couldn't Poor dear! she was so little used to being see you any where." happy, her happiness almost overpowered her. "Ella!" cried the other girls, astonished; "Are you going to the ball at Guildhall to- I"was she there?".... But they were too 1.54 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. much afraid of Lady Jane to object more open- very well. I shouldn't be at all surprised if he ly. was to propose to-night. I don't know whether That evening, after the others-left the room, I shall have him. I'm always afraid of being as Ella was pouring out the tea, she summoned thrown away," said Lisette looking over her up courage to ask whether she might go the shoulder at her train. ball at Guildhall, with the others, next evening. Ella longed to send a message, a greeting of'"Pray, pray, please take me," she implored. some sort; to Lisette's adorer. Oh, how she Mrs. Ashford looked up amazed at her audac- envied her! what would she not have given to ity. be going too?.... Poor little Ella! refused, scorned, snubbed, "What! are not you dressing, child?" said wounded, pained, and disappointed. She finish- Lady Jane, coming into the room. "Are they ed pouring out the tea in silence, while a few again obliged to call for Madame de Bricabrac? bitter scalding tears dropped from her eyes into I had looked up a pair of shoe-buckles for you the teacups. Colonel Ashford drank some of in case you went; but keep them all the same, them, and asked for more sugar to put into his they only want a little rubbing up." cup. "Oh, thank you; how pretty they are; how "There, never mind," he said, kindly. He kind you are to me!" said Ella, sadly. "Ifelt vexed with his wife, and sorry for the child; I-am not going." And she gulped down a but he was, as usual, too weak to interfere. great sob. "You know you are too young to go into the It was just dreadful not to go; the poor child world, Ella. When your sisters are married, had had a great draught of delight the day bethen your turn will come." fore, and she was aching and sickening for more, Alas! would it ever come? The day's de- and longing with a passion of longing which is light had given her a longing for more; and only known to very young people-she looked now she felt the beautiful glittering vision was quite worn and pale, though she was struggling only a vision, and over already: the cloud- with her tears. capped towers, the gorgeous palace; and the "Rub up your shoe-buckles, that will discharming prince himself-was he a vision too? tract you," said the old lady, kindly. " They Ah! it was too sad to think of. Presently Li- are worth a great deal of money, though they sette and Julia came back: they had been up are only paste; and if you peep in my room you stairs to see about their dresses. will find a little pair of slippers to wear them "I shall wear my bird-of-paradise, and my with. I hope they will fit. I could hardly get yellow tarlatane," said Lisette; "gold and pur- any small enough for you." They were the pie is such a lovely contrast." loveliest little white satin slippers, with satin "Gobert has sent me a lovely thing," said heels, all embroidered with glass beads; but, Julia; "tri-color flounces all the way up-she small as they were, they were a little loose, has so much taste." only Ella took care not to say so, as she tried Good old Lady Jane asked her maid next them on. morning if any dress was being got ready for We all know what is coming, though little Miss Ella. Hearing that she was not going, Ella had no idea of it. The ball was at Guildand that no preparations were being made, she hall, one of the grandest and gayest that ever dispatched Batter on a secret mission, and or- was given in the city of London. It was in dered her carriage at nine o'clock that evening. honor of the beautiful young Princess, who had She went out herself soon after breakfast in a just landed on our shores. Princes, ambassahired brougham, dispensing with the outriders dors, nobles, stars, orders and garters, and decfor once. Ella was hard at work all day for orations, were to be present; all the grandest, her sisters; her little fingers quilled, fluted, gayest, richest, happiest people in the country, frilled, pleated, pinned, tacked the trimmings on all the most beautiful ladies and jewels and their dresses more dexterously than any dress- flowers, were to be there to do homage to the maker or maid-servant could do. She looked so peerless young bride. The Ashfords had no pretty, so kind, and so tired, so wistful, as she sooner started, than Lady Jane, who had been came to help them to dress, that Lisette was very mysterious all day, and never told any one quite touched, and said: "Well, Ella, I that she had been to the city to procure two shouldn't wonder if, after I am snapped up, you enormous golden tickets which were up in her were to get hold of a husband some day. I dare bedroom, now came, smiling very benevolently, say some people might think you nice-looking." into the drawing-room. Little Ella was stand"Oh, do you think so really, Lisette?" said ing out in the balcony with her pale face, and all Ella, quite pleased; and then faltering, "Do her hair tumbling down her back. She had you think.... Shall you see Mr. Richard- been too busy to put it up, and now she was only son?" thinking of the ball, and picturing the dear lit"Of course I shall, " said Lisette. " He was tie ugly disappointed face of Prince Richardson, talking great nonsense yesterday after we found when he should look about every where for her him; saying that he had met with perfection in vain-while she was standing hopelessly gazat last-very devoted altogether; scarcely spoke ing after the receding carriage. to me at all; but that is the greatest proof of "Well, my dear, have you rubbed up the devotion, you know. I know what he meant shoe-buckles? That is right," said the old lady. CINDERELLA. 1 "Now come quick into my room and see some ness, disappointment, Ella's alarm, all melted of my conjuring." away for the time; pulses beat, and the dancers Conjuring! It was the most beautiful white see-sawed to the measure. net dress, frothed and frothed up to the waist, All that evening young Richardson danced and looped up with long grasses. The conjur- with Ella and with no one else: they scarcely ing was her own dear old pearl necklace with knew how the time went. It was a fairy world: the diamond clasp, and a diamond star for her they were flying and swimming in melody-the hair. It was a bunch of grasses and delicate fairy hours went by to music, in light, in dewhite azalias for a head-dress, and over all the lightful companionship. Ella did not care for froth a great veil of flowing white net. The Mrs. Ashford's darkening looks, for any thing child opened her violet eyes, gasped, screamed, that might happen: she was so happy in the and began dancing about the room like a mad moment, she almost forgot to look for Lady thing, jumping, bounding, clapping her hands, Jane's syilpathetic glance. all so softly and gayly, and yet so lightly, in "You must meet me in the ladies' cloaksuch an ecstasy of delight, that Lady Jane felt room punctually at half past eleven," her pashe was more than rewarded. troness had whispered to her. " I can not * * * * * * keep Raton, with his bad cough, out after twelve "Ah! there she is at last!" cried Mr. Rich- o'clock. Mind you are punctual, for I have ardson, who was turning carefully round and promised not to keep him waiting." round with the energetic Lisette. "Yes, yes, dear Lady Jane," said Ella, and " What do you mean?" said Lisette. away she danced again to the music. And time Can you fancy her amazement when she look- went on, and Julia had no partners; and Coloed round and saw Ella appearing in her snow nel Ashford came up to his wife, saying-" I'm and sunlight dress, looking so beautiful that so glad you arranged for Ella too," he said. every body turned to wonder at her, and to ad- " How nice she is looking! What is the matmire? As for Ella, she saw no one, nothing; ter with Julia; why don't she dance?" Turnshe was looking up and down, and right and ty, tunity, tumty, went the instruments. And left, for the kind little pale plain face which she meanwhile Mr. Richardson was saying, " Your wanted. dancing puts me in mind of a fairy I once saw " Excuse me one minute, Miss Lisette," said in a field at Cliffe long ago. Nobody would Mr. Richardson, leaving poor Lisette planted ever believe me, but I did see one." in the middle of the room, and rushing forward. "A fairy-what was she like?" asked Ella. "' Are you engaged," Ella heard a breathless " She was very like you," said Mr. Richardvoice saying in her ear, " for the next three, son, laughing. " I do believe it was you, and six, twenty dances? I am so delighted you that was the time when I saw you before." have come! I thought you were never coming." "No, it was not," said Ella, blushing, and Julia had no partner at all, and was stand- feeling she ought to confess. I will tell you," ing close by the entrance with her mother. she said, "if you will promise to dance one more They were both astounded at the apparition. dance with me, after you know.-Only one." Mrs. Ashford came forward to make sure that " Then you, too, remember," he cried, eagerher eyes were not deceiving her. Could it be? ly. " One more dance?-twenty-forever and yes-no-yes, it was Ella! She flicked her fan ever. Ah, you must know, you must guess, the indignantly into an alderman's eye, and looked feeling in my heart... " so fierce that the child began to tremble. "Listen first," said Ella, trembling very "Please forgive me, mamma," said Ella, much and waltzing on very slowly. "It was piteously. only the other day-" The clock struck three "Forgive you! never," said Mrs. Ashford, quarters. indignant. "What does all this mean, pray?" "Ella, I am going," said Lady Jane, tapshe continued. "Lady Jane, I really must-" ping her on the shoulder. " Come along, my and then she stopped, partly because she was so dear — angry she could scarcely speak, and partly be- " One word!" cried Richardson, eagerly. cause she could not afford to quarrel with Lady "You can stay with your mother if you Jane until the season was over. like," the old lady went on, preoccupied-she " You really m1ust forgive me, dear Lydia," was thinking of her coachman's ire —" but I said Lady Jane. "She wanted to come so advi'se you to come with me." much, I could not resist bringing her." " Oh, pray, pray stay!" said young RichardWeber's inspiriting Last Waltz was being son; " where is your mother? Let me go and played; the people and music went waving to ask her?" and fro like the waves of the sea, sudden sharp "You had better go yourself, Ella," said old notes of exceeding sweetness sounded, and at Lady Jane. "Will you give me your arm to the sound the figures all swayed in harmony. the door, Mr. Richardson?" The feet kept unseen measure to the music; Ella went up to Mrs. Ashford-she was bold the harmonious rhythm thrilled and controlled with happiness to-night-and made her request. them all. The music was like an enchantment,' Stay with me? certainly not, it is quite out which kept them moving and swaying in circles of the question. You do me great honor," and in delightful subjection. Lassitude, sad- said the lady, laughing sarcastically. "Lady 156 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. Jane brought you, Lady Jane must take you ness. At that instant it seemed to her like a back," said the, stepmother. "Follow your fairy chariot coming to her rescue, when a cabchaperone, if you please, I have no room for man, who was slowly passing, stopped and said, you in my brougham. Go directly, miss!" "Cab, mum?" said Mrs. Ashford, so savagely that the poor "Yes! Oh yes! To Onslow Square," cried child was quite frightened, and set off running Ella, jumping in and shutting the door in deafter the other two. She would have caught light and relief. She drove off just as the bethem up, but at that instant Lisette-who had wildered little Richardson, who had followed at last secured a partner-came waltzing up in her, reached the spot. He came up in time such a violent, angry way, that she bumped only to see the cab drive off, and to pick up right up against the little flying maiden and something which was lying shining on the pavenearly'knocked her down. Ella gave a low cry ment. It was one of the diamond buckles of pain, they had trodden on her foot roughly which had fallen from her shoe as she jumped -they had wounded her; her little satin slip- in. This little diamond buckle might perhaps per had come off. Poor Ella stooped and tried have led to her identification if young Richardto pull at the slipper, but other couples came son had not taken the precaution of ascertaining surging up, and she was alone, and frightened, fiom old Lady Jane Ella's name and address. and obliged to shuffle a little way out of the Ile sent a servant next morning with a little crowd before she could get-it on. The poor parceland a note to inquire whether one of the little frightened thing thought she never should ladies had lost what was inclosed, and whether get through the crowd. She made the best of Colonel Ashford would see him at one o'clock on her way to the cloak-room: it seemed to her as business. if she had been hours getting there. At last "Dear me, what a pretty little buckle!" she reached it, only to see, to her dismay, as she said Lisette, trying it on her large flat foot. went in at one door, the other two going out of " It looks very nice, don't it, Julia? I think I another a long way off! She called, but they guess —-don't you?-what he is coming for. I did not hear her, and at the same moment St. shall say No.'" Paul's great clock began slowly to strike twelve. " It's too small for you. It would do better "My cloak, my cloak, any thing, please," she for me," said Julia, contemplating her own cried in great agitation and anxiety; and a stu- long slipper, embellished with the diamonds. pid, bewildered maid hastily threw a shabby "It is not ours. We must send it back, I supold shawl over her shoulders-it belonged to pose." some assistant in the place. Little Ella, more "A shoe-buckle?" said Ella, coming in and more frightened, pulled it up as she hurried from the kitchen, where she had been superinalong the blocked passages and corridors'all tending preserves in her little brown frock. lined with red and thronged with people. They "Let me see it. Oh, how glad I am! it is all stared at her in surprise as she flew along. mine. Look here!" and she pulled the fellow Presently her net tunic caught in the door-way out of her pocket. " Lady Jane gave them to and tore into a long ragged shred which trailed me." after her. In her agitation her comb fell out of And so the prince arrived before luncheon, her hair-she looked all scared and frightened and was closeted with Colonel Ashford, who -nobody would have recognized the beautiful gladly gave his consent to what he wanted. triumphal princess of half an hour before. She And when Mrs. Ashford began to explain things heard the link -men calling, " Peppercorne's to him, as was her way, he did not listen to a carriage stops the way!" and she hurried faster single word she said. He was so absorbed and faster down the endless passages and steps, wondering when Ella was coming into the room. and at last, just as she got to the door-way- He thought once he heard a little rustle on the oh, horror! she saw the carriage and outriders stairs outside, and he jumped up and rushed to going gleaming off in the moonlight while ev- the door. It was Ella, sure enough, in her ery thing else looked black, dark, and terrible. shabby little gown. Then he knew where and "Stop, stop, please stop!" cried little Ella, when he had seen her before. rushing out into the street through the amazed " Ella, why did you run away from me last footmen and link-men. "Stop! stop!" she night?" he said. "You see I have followed cried, flying past Richardson himself, who could you, after all." hardly believe his eyes. Raton only whipped They were so good, so happy, so devoted to his horses, and Ella saw them disappearing into one another, that even Lisette and Julia relentgloom in the distance in a sort of agony of de- ed. Dear little couple; good luck go with spair. She was excited beyond measure, and them, happiness, content, and plenty. There exaggerated all her feelings. What was to be was something quite touching in their youth, done? Go back?-that was impossible; walk tenderness, and simplicity; and as they drove home?-she did not know her way. Was it off in their carriage for the honeymoon, Lady fancy?-was not somebody following her? She Jane flung the very identical satin slipper after felt quite desperate in the moonlight and dark- them which Ella should have lost at the ball. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. ^~~I. l~is the back-door bell, ma'am," said the girl, who had been sitting up over her new Sunday FAIRY times, gifts, music, and dances, are gown, but who was too frightened to see who said to be over, or, as it has been said, they come was ringing. to us so disguised and made familiar by habit I may as well explain that our little house is that they do not seem to us strange. I. and I, in a street, but that our back windows have the on either side of the hearth, these long past win- advantage of overlooking the grounds of the ter evenings could sit without fear of fiery dwarfs villa belonging to our good neighbor and friend skipping out of the ashes, of black puddings Mr. Griffiths in Castle Gardens, and that a door coming down the chimney to molest us. The opens out of our little back garden into his big clock ticked, the wiidow-pane rattled. It was one, of which we are allowed to keep the key. only the wind. Thehearth-brushremainedmo- This door had been a postern-gate once upon a tionless on its hook. Pussy dozingon the hearth, time, for a bit of the old wall of the park is still with her claws quietly opening to the warmth standing, against which our succeeding bricks of the blaze, purred on, and never once startled have been piled. It was afortunate chance for us out of our usual placidity by addressing us us when our old ivy-tree died and we found the in human tones. The children sleeping peace- quaint little door-way behind it. Old Mr. Griffully up stairs were not suddenly whisked away fiths was alive then, and when I told him of my and changelings deposited in their cribs. If discovery, he good-naturedly cleared the way on H. or I opened our mouths pearls and diamonds his side, and so the oak turned once more upon did not drop out of them, but neither did frogs its rusty hinges to let the children pass through, and tadpoles fall from between our lips. The and the nurse-maid, instead of pages and secret looking-glass tranquilly reflecting the comforta- emissaries and men-at-arms; and about three ble little sitting-room, and the stiff ends of H.'s times a year young Mr. Griffiths stoops under cap-ribbons, spared us visions of wreathing the arch on his way to call upon us. I say clouds parting to reveal distant scenes of hor- young Mr. Griffiths, but I suppose he is over ror and treachery. Poor H.! I am not sure thirty now, for it is more than ten years since but that she would have gladly looked in a mir- his father died. ror in which she could have sometimes seen the When I opened the door, in a burst of wind images of those she loved; but our chimney- and wet, I found that it was Guy Griffiths who glass, with its gilt moulding and bright polish- stood outside bare-headed in the rain, ringing ed surface, reflects only such homely scenes as the bell that winter night. "Are you up?" he two old women at work by the fire, some little said. "For Heaven's sake come to my mother, Indian children at play upon the rug, the door she's fainted; her maid is away; the doctor opening and Susan bringing in the tea-things. doesn't come. I thought you might know what As for wishing-cloths and little boiling-pots, to do." And then he led the way through the and such like, we have discovered that instead dark garden, hurrying along before me. of rubbing lamps, or spreading magic table-cloths Poor lady, when I saw her I knew that it was upon the floor, we have but to ring an invisible no fainting-fit, but a paralytic stroke, from which bell (which is even less trouble), and a smiling she might perhaps recover in time; I could not genius in a white cap and apron brings in any tell. For the present there was little to be thing we happen to fancy. When the clock done: the maids were young and frightened; strikes twelve, II. puts up her work and lights poor Guy wanted some word of sympathy and her candle; she has not yet been transformed encouragement. So far I was able to be of use. into a beautiful princess all twinkling with jew- We got her to bed and took off her finery-she els, neither does a scullion ever stand before me had been out at a dinner-party, and had been in rags; she does not murmur farewell forever stricken on her return home-Guy had discovand melt through the key-hole, but "Good- ered her speechless in the library. The poor night," as she closes the door. One night at fellow, frightened and overcome, waited about, twelve o'clock, just after she had left me, there trying to be of help, but he was so nervous that was indeed a loud orthodox ring at the bell, he tumbled over us all, and knocked over the which started us both a little; H. came run- chairs and bottles in his anxiety, and was of ning down again without her cap, Susan ap- worse than no use. His kind old shaggy face peared in great alarm from the kitchen. "It looked pale, and his brown eyes ringed with 158 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. anxiousness. I was touched by the young fel- course she is out of the question-only I thought low's concern, for Mrs. Griffiths had not been a perhaps some day I should have liked to have a tender mother to him. How she had snapped wife and children and a home of my own. Why, and laughed at him, and frightened him, with the counting-house is not so dreary as this place her quick sarcastic tongue and hard, unmother- sometimes seems to me." And then, though it like ways! I wondered if she thought of this was indeed no time for love-confidences, I could as she lay there cold, rigid, watching us with not help asking him who it was that was out of glassy, senseless eyes. the question. The payments and debts and returns of af- Guy Griffiths shrugged his great round shoulfection are at all times hard to reckon. Some ders impatiently, and gave something between a people pay a whole treasury of love in return groan and sigh and smile (dark and sulky as he for a stone, others deal out their affection at looked at times, a smile brightened up his grim interest, others again take every thing, to the face very pleasantly). uttermost farthing, and cast it into the ditch "She don't even know my name," he said. and go their way and leave their benefactor pen- "I saw her one night at the play, and then in a niless and a beggar. Guy himself, hard-headed lane in the country a little time after, I found as he was, and keen over his ledgers in Moor- out who she was. She's a daughter of old Barly gate Street, could not have calculated such sums the stockbroker. Belinda they call her-Miss as these. All that she had had to give, all the Belinda. It's rather a silly name, isn't it?" best part of her shallow store, poor Julia Grif- (This, of course, I politely denied.) " I'm sure fiths had paid to her husband, who did not love I don't know what there is about her," he went her: to her second son, whose whole life was a on in a gentle voice; "all the fellows down sorrow to his parents. When he died she could there were head over ears in love with her. I never forgive poor Guy for living still, for be- asked-in fact I went down to Farmborough in ing his father's friend and right hand, and sole hopes of meeting her again. I never saw such successor. She had been a real mother to Hugh, a sweet young creature-never. I never spoke who was gone; to Guy, who was alive still and to her in my life." "But you know her father?" patiently waiting to do her bidding, she had I asked. "OldBarly?-Yes," said Guy. "His shown herself only a stepdame; and yet I am wife was my father's cousin, and he and I are sure no life-devoted parent could have been more each other's trustees for some money which was anxiously watched and tended by her son. Per- divided between me and Mrs. Barly. My parhaps-how shall I say what I mean?-if he had ents never kept up with them much, but I was loved her more and been more entirely one with named trustee in my father's place when he died. her now, his dismay would have been less, his I didn't like to refuse. I had never seen Belinda power greater to bear her pain, to look on at then. Do you like sweet sleepy eyes that wake her struggling agony of impotence. Even pain up now and then? Was that my mother calldoes not come between the love of people who ing?" For a minute hehad forgotten the dreary really love. present. It all came rushing back again. The The doctor came and went, leaving some com- bed creaked, the patient had moved a little on fort behind him. Guy sat up all that night, her pillow, and there was a gleam of some inburning logs on the fire in the dressing-room, telligence in her pinched face. The clock struck out of the bedroom in which Mrs. Griffiths was four in quick tinkling tones; the rain seemed lying. Every now and then I went in to him, to have ceased, and the clouds to be parting; and found him sitting over the hearth shaking the rooms turned suddenly chill, though the fires his great shaggy head, as he had a way of doing, were burning. and biting his fingers, and muttering, "Poor When I went home, about five o'clock, all the soul, poor mother." Sometimes he would come stars had come out and were shooting brilliantly in creaking on tiptoe; but his presence seemed overhead. The garden seemed full of a sudden to agitate the poor woman, and I was obliged freshness and of secret life stirring in the darkto motion him back again. Once when I went ness; the sick woman's light was burning faintin and sat down for a few minutes in an arm- ly, and in my own window the little bright lamp chair beside him, he suddenly began to tell me was flickering which H.'s kind fingers had trimthat there had been trouble between them that med and put there ready for me when I should morning. "It made it very hard to bear," he return. When we reached the little gate, Guy said. I asked him what the trouble had been. opened it and let me pass under some dripping "I told her I thought I should like to marry," green creeper which had been blown loose from Guy confessed with a rueful face.. (Even then the wall. He took my old hand in both his big I could hardly help smiling.) " Selfish beast ones, and began to say something that ended in that I am. I upset her, poor soul. I behaved a sort of inarticulate sound as he turned away like a brute." His distress was so great that it and trudged back to his post again. I thought was almost impossible to console him, and it of the many meetings and partings at this little was in vain to assure him that the attack had postern gate, and last words and protestations. been produced by physical causes. "Do you Some may have been more sentimental perhaps want to marry any one in particular?" I asked than this one, but Guy's grunt of gratitude was at last, to divert his thoughts, if I could, fiom more affecting to me than many a long string the present. "No," said he; "at least-of of words. I felt very sorry for him, poor old BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 159 fellow, as I barred the door and climbed up stairs linda could bear it no longer, and would jump to my room. He sat up watching till the morn- up and run away to her bedroom to escape it ing. But I was tired, and soon went to sleep. all. She had a handsome bedroom, draped in green damask, becarpeted, four-posted, with an enormous mahogany wardrobe of which poor Belle was dreadfully afraid, for the doors would II. fly open of their own accord in the dead of SOME people do very well for a time. Chances night, revealing dark abysses and depths unare propitious, the way lies straight before them known, with black ghosts hovering suspended up a gentle inclined plane, with a pleasant pros- or motionless and biding their time. There pect on either side. They go rolling straight were other horrors; shrouds waving in the on, they don't exactly know how, and take it blackness, feet stirring, and low creakings of for granted that it is their own prudence and garroters, which she did not dare to dwell upon good driving and deserts which have brought as she hastily locked the doors and pushed the them prosperously so far upon their journey. writing-table against them. And then one day they come to a turnpike, It must therefore be confessed, that to Beand Destiny pops out of its little box and de- linda the days had been long and oppressive mands a toll, or Prudence trips, or Good Sense sometimes in this handsomely appointed Tyshies at a scarecrow put up by the wayside- burnean palace. Anna, the eldest sister, was or nobody knows why, but the whole machine queen-regnant; she had both ability and inbreaks down on the road and can't be set go- clination to take the lead. She was short, ing again. And then other vehicles go past broad, and dignified, and some years older than it, hand-trucks, perambulators, cabs, omnibus- either of her sisters. Her father respected her es, and great prosperous barouches, and the business-like mind, admired her ambition, repeople who were sitting in the broken-down gretted sometimes secretly that she had never equipage get out and walk away on foot. been able to make up her mind to accept any On that celebrated and melancholy Black of the eligible young junior partners, the docMonday of which we have all heard, poor John tor, the curate, who had severally proposed to Barly and his three daughters came down the her. But then of course, as Anna often said, carpeted steps of their comfortable sociable for they could not possibly have got on without her the last time, and disappeared at the wicket of at home. She had been in no hurry to leave a little suburban cottage-disappeared out of the comfortable kingdom where she reigned in the prosperous, pompous, highly respectable cir- undisputed authority, ratifying the decisions of cle in which they had gyrated, dragged about the ministry down stairs, appealed to by the by two fat bay horses, in the greatest decorum butler, respectfully dreaded by both the houseand respectability; dining out, receiving their maids. Who was there to go against her? friends, returning their civilities. Miss Barlys Mr. Barly was in town all day and left every had left large cards with their names engraved thing to her; Fanny, the second sister, was her upon them, in return for other large cards upon faithful ally. Fanny was sprightly, twentywhich were inscribed equally respectable names, one, with black eyes, and a curl that was much and the addresses of other equally commodious admired. She was fond of fashion, flirting, and family mansions. A mansion-so the house- finery, inquisitive, talkative, feeble-minded, and agents tell us-is a house like another with the entirely devoted to Anna. As for Belle, she addition of a back staircase. The Barlys and had only come back from school the other day. all their fiiends had back staircases to their Anna could not quite understand her at times. houses and to their daily life as well. They Fanny was of age and content to do as she was only wished to contemplate the broad, swept, bid; here was Belle at eighteen asserting hercarpeted drawing-room flights. Indeed to Anna self very strangely. Anna and Fanny seemed and Fanny Barly this making the'best of things, to pair off somehow, and Belle always had to card-leaving and visiting, seemed a business of hold her own without any assistance, unless, vital importance. The youngest of the girls, indeed, her father was present. He had a great who had been christened by the pretty silly tenderness and affection for his youngest child, name of Belinda, had only lately come home and the happiest hour of the day to Belinda from school, and did not value these splendors was when she heard him come home and call and proprieties so highly as her sisters did. for her in his cheerful quavering voice. By She had no great love for the life they led. degrees it seemed to her, as she listened, that Sometimes, looking over the balusters of their the cheerfulness seemed to be dying away out great house in Capulet Square, she had yawned of his voice, and only the quaver remained; out loud from very weariness, and then she but that may have been fancy, and because she would hear the sound echoing all the way up had taken a childish dislike to the echoes in the to the skylight, and reverberating down from house. baluster to baluster. If she went into the At dinner-time, Anna used t6 ask her father drawing-room, instead of the yawning echoes how things were going in the City, and whether the shrill voices of Anna and of Fanny were shirtings had risen any higher, and at what previbrating monotonously as they complimented mium the Tre Rosas shares were held in the Lady Ogden upon her new barouche, until Be- market. These were some shares in a Cornish 160 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. mine company of which Mr. Barly was a direct- his ruin could not have been more complete alnd or. Anna thought so highly of the whole con- ingenious. When his affairs came to be lookcern that she had been anxious to invest a por- ed into, and his liabilities had been met, it was tion of her own and her sister Fanny's money found that an immense fortune had been mudin it. They had some small inheritance from died away, and that scarcely any thing would their mother, of part of which they had the con- be left but a small furnished cottage, which had trol when they came of age; the rest was in- been given for her life to an old aunt just devested in the Funds in Mr. Griffith's name, and ceased, and which reverted to Fanny her godcould not be touched. Poor Belle, being a mi- child, and the small sum which still remained nor, had to be content with sixty pounds a year in the Three per Cents, of which mention has for her pin-money, which was all she could get been made, and which could not be touched unfor her two thousand pounds. til Belle the youngest of three daughters, should When Anna talked business, Mr. Barly used come of age. to be quite dazzled by her practical clear-head- After two or three miserable days of confuedness, her calm foresight, and powers of rapid sion-during which the machine which had been calculation. Fanny used to prick up her ears set going with so much trouble still revolved and ask, shaking her curl playfully, how much once or twice with the force of its own impetus, girls must have to be heiresses, and did Anna the butler answering the bell, the footman think they should ever be heiresses? Anna bringing up the coals, the cook sending up the, would smile and nod her head, in a calm and dinner as usual-suddenly every thing collapsed, chastened sort of way, at this childish impa- and the great mass of furniture, servants, hutience. "You should be very thankful, Fran- man creatures, animals, carriages, business and ces, for all you have to look to, and for your pleasure engagements, seemed overthrown toexcellent prospects. Emily Ogden, with all gether in a great struggling mass, panting and her fine airs, would not be sorry to be in your bewildered, and trying to get free from the conplace." At which Fanny blushed up bright fusion of particles that no longer belonged to red, and Belinda jumped impatiently upon her one another. chair,'blinking her white eyelids impatiently First, the cook packed up her things and over her clear gray eyes, as she had a way of some nice damask table-cloths and napkins, doing. "I can't bear talking about money," a pair of sheets, and Miss Barly's umbrella, she said; "any thing is better.." Then which happened to be hanging in the hall; then she too stopped short and blushed. the three ladies drove off with their father to "Papa," interruptedFanny, playfully, "when the cottage, where it was decided they should will you escort us to the pantomime again? go to be out of the way of any unpleasantness. The Ogdens are all going next Tuesday, and He had no heart to begin again, and was deteryou have been most naughty and not taken us mined to give up the battle. Belle sat with her any where for such a long time." father on the back seat of the carriage, looking Mr. Barly, who rarely refused any thing any up into his haggard face a little wistfully, and body asked him, pushed his chair away from trying to be as miserable as the others. She the table and answered with strange impatience could not help it-a cottage in the country, ruin, for him, " My dear, I have had no time lately roses, novelty, clean chintzes instead of damask, for plays and amusements of any sort. After a little room with mignonnette, cocks crowing, working from morning to night for you all, I am had a wicked morbid attraction for her which tired, and want a little peace of an evening. I she could not overcome. She had longed for have neither spirits nor-" such a life when she had gone down to stay "Dear papa," said Belinda, eagerly, "come with the Ogdens at Farmborough last month, up into the drawing-room and sit in the easy- and had seen several haystacks and lovely little chair, and let me play you to sleep." As she thatched cottages, where she had felt she would spoke Belinda smiled a delightful fresh, sweet, have liked to spend the rest of her days; one in tender smile, like sunshine falling on a fair particular had taken her fancy, with dear little landscape. No wonder the little stock-broker latticed windows and a pigeon-cote and two rosy was fond of his youngest daughter. Frances little babies, with a kitten toddling out from the was pouting, Anna frowned slightly as she lock- ivy porch; but a great rough-looking man had ed up the wine, and turned over in her mind come up in a slouched wide-awake and frightwhether she might not write to the Ogdens and ened Emily Ogden so much that she had pullask them to let Frances join their party; as for ed Belinda away in a hurry....; but here a Belinda, playing Mozart to her father in the dim sob from Fanny brought Belle back to her place drawing-room up stairs, she was struck by the in the barouche. worn and harassed look in his face as he slept, Anna felt she must bear up, and nerved hersnoring gently in accompaniment to her music. It self to the effort. Upon her the blow fell more was the last time Belle ever played upon the old heavily than upon any of the others. Indignant, piano. Three or four days after, the crash came. injured, angry with her father, furious with the The great Tre Rosas Mining Company (Limit- managers, the directors, the shareholders, the ed) had failed, and the old established house of secretary, the unfortunate company, with the Barly and Co. unexpectedly stopped payment. Bankruptcy Court, the Ogdens, the laws of fate, If poor Mr. Barly had done it on purpose, the world in general, with Fanny for sobbing, BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 161 and with Belle for looking placid, she sat blank- wall. A little drawing-room, with a great horsely staring out of the window as they drove past hair sofa, a huge round table in the middle of the houses where they had visited, and where the room, and more glass drop candlesticks, also she had been entertained an honored guest; a small work-table of glass over faded worsted and now-she put the hateful thought away — embroidery. Fourlittlebedrooms, mousy, musty, bankrupt, disgraced! Her bonnet was crushed snuffy, with four posts as terrific as any they had in, she did not say a word, but her face looked left behind, and a small black dungeon for a quite fierce and old, and frightened Fanny into maid-servant. This was the little paradise fresh lamentations. These hysterics had been which Belle had been picturing to herself all first brought on by the sight of Emily Ogden along the road, and at which she looked round driving by in the new barouche. This was quite half sighing, half dismayed. Their bundles, too much for her poor friend's fortitude.'Em- baskets, blankets, were handed in, and a cart ily will drop us, I know she will," sobbed Fan- full of boxes had arrived. Fanny's parrot was ny. "' Oh Anna, will they ever come and ask shrieking at the top of its voice on the narrow us to their Thursday luncheon - parties any landing. more?" "What fun!" cried Belinda, sturdily, in"My children," said Mr. Barly, with a plac- stantly setting to work to get things into some id groan, pulling up the window, "we are dis- order, while Fanny lay exhausted upon the graced; we can only hide our heads away from horse-hair sofa; and Anna, in her haughtiest the world. Do not expect that any one will ever tones, desired the coachman to drive home, and come near us again." At which announcement stood watching the receding carriage until it had Fanny went off into new tears and bewailings. dwindled away into the distance-coachman, As for the kind, bewildered, weak-headed, soft- hammer-cloth, bay horses, respectability, and hearted little man, he had been so utterly worn all. When she re-entered the house, the parout, harassed, worried, and wearied of late, that rot was screeching still, and Martha, the underit was almost a relief to him to think that this housemaid-now transformed into a sort of exwas indeed the case. He sat holding Belle's tract of butler, footman, ladies' maid, and cook, hand in his, stroking and patting it, and wonder- was frying some sausages, of which the vulgar ing that people so near London did not keep the smell pervaded the place. roads in better repair. "We must be getting near our new abode," said he at last almost cheer- fully. "You speak as if you were glad of our shame, I. papa," said Anna, suddenly, turning round upon BELLE exclaimed, but it required all her him. courage and natural brightness of spirit to go on " Oh, hush!" cried Belle, indignantly. For- looking at the bright side of things, praising the tunately the coachman stopped at this moment cottage, working in the garden, giving secret on a spot a very long way off from Capulet assistance to the two bewildered maids who Square; and leaning from his box, asked if it waited on the reduced little family, cheering was that there little box across the common. her father, smiling, and putting the best face " Oh, what a sweet little place!" cried Be- on things, as her sisters used to do at homne. linda. But Ler heart rather sank as she told If it had been all fiont stairs in Capulet Square, this dreadful story. it was all back staircase at the cottage. Rural Myrtle Cottage was a melancholy little tum- roses, calm sunsets, long shadows across the ble-down place, looking over Dumbleton Com- common, are all very well; but when puffs of mon, which they had been crossing all this time, smoke come out of the chimney and fill the It was covered with stucco, cracked and stain- little place; when if the window is opened a ed and mouldy. There was a stained - glass rush of wind and dust-worse almost than the window, which was broken. The verandah smoke-comes eddying into the room, and cawanted painting. From outside it was evident reers round the four narrow walls; when poor that the white muslin curtains were not so fresh little Fanny coughs and shudders, and wraps as they might have been. There was a little her shawl more closely round her with a groan; garden in front, planted with durable materials. when the smell of the kitchen frying-pan perEven out of doors, in the gardens in the sub- fumes the house, and a mouse scampers out of urbs, the box-edges, the laurel-bushes, and the the cupboard, and black beetles lie struggling fusty old jessamines are apt to look shabby in in the milk-jugs, and the pump runs dry, and time if they are never renewed. A certain spiders crawl out of the tea-caddy, and so forth amount of time and money might, perhaps, have -then, indeed, Belle deserves some credit for made Myrtle Cottage into a pleasant little hab- being cheerful under difficulties. She could itation; but (judging from appearances) its last not pretend to very high spirits, but she was inhabitants seemed to have been in some want brisk and willing, and ready to smile at her of both these commodities. Its helpless new father's little occasional puns and feeble atoccupants were not likely to have much of ei- tempts at jocularity. Anna, who had been so ther to spare. A little dining-room, with glass admirable as a general, broke down under the drop candlesticks and a rickety table, and a print fatigue of the actual labor in the trenches which of a church and a Dissenting minister on the belonged to their new life. A' great many peoL 162 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. pie can order others about very brilliantly and to work also, but in a different fashion. She satisfactorily, who fail when they have to do the unfortunately found that her father had returnwork themselves. ed, and was sitting in the little sitting-room Some of the neighbors called upon them, but down below by himself, with a limp paper of the the Ogdens never appeared. Poor little Fanny day before open upon his knees. He was not used to take her lace-work and sit stitching and reading. He seemed out of spirits, and was looping her thread at the window which over- gazing in a melancholy way at the smouldering looked the common, with its broad roads cross- fire, and rubbing his bald head in a perplexed ing and recrossing the plain; carriages came and troubled manner. Seeing this, the silly rolling by, people came walking, children ran woman, by way of cheering and comforting the past the windows of the little cottage, but the poor old man, began to exclaim at Belinda's beOgdens never. Once Fanny thought shd rec- havior, to irritate him, and overwhelm him with ognized the barouche-Lady Ogden and Emily allusions and reproaches. sitting in front, Matthew Ogden on the back "Scrubbing and slaving with her own hands," seat; surely, yes, surely it was he. But the said Anna. "Forgetting herself; bringing us carriage rolled off in a cloud of dust, and dis- down lower indeed than we are already sunk. appeared behind the wall of the neighboring Papa, she will not listen to me. You should park; and Frances finished the loop, and pass- tell her that you forbid her to put us all to shame ed her needle in and out of the muslin, feeling by her behavior." as if it was through her poor little heart that she When Belle, panting, weary, triumphant, and was piercing and sticking; she pulled out a with a blackened nose and rosy cheek, opened long thread, and it seemed to her as if the sun- the door of the room presently and called her set stained it red like blood. father exultingly, she did not notice, as she ran In the mean while Bell's voice had been up stairs before him, how wearily he followed singing away overhead, and Fanny, going up her. A flood of light came fiom the dreary litstairs presently, found her, with one of the tie room overhead. It had been transformed maids, clearing out one of the upper rooms. into a bower of white dimity, bright windows, The window was open, the furniture was piled clean muslin blinds. The fusty old carpet was up in the middle. Belle, with her sleeves gone, and a clean crumb-cloth had been put tucked up and her dress carefully pinned out down, with a comfortable rug before the fireof the dust, was standing on a chair, hammer in place. A nosegay of jessamine stood on the hand, and fixing up some dimity curtains against chimney, and at each corner of the four-post the window. Table-cloths, brooms, pails, and bed the absurd young decorator had stuck a brushes were lying about, and every thing smart bow, made out of some of her own blue looked in perfect confusion. As Fanny stood ribbons, in place of the terrible plumes and taslooking and exclaiming, Anna also came to the sels which had waved there in dust and darkdoor from her own room, where she had been ness before. One of the two arm-chairs which taking a melancholy nap. blocked up the wall of the dining-room had been " What a mess you are making here!" cried also covered out of some of Belinda's stores, and the elder sister, very angrily. "How can you stood comfortably near the open window. The take up Martha's time, Belinda? And oh! sun was setting over the great common outside, how can you forget yourself to this degree? behind the mill and the distant fringe of elmYou seem to exult in your father's disgrace." trees. Martha, standing all illuminated by the Belinda flushed up. sunshine, with her mop in her hand, was grin"Really, Anna, I do not know what you ning from earto ear, and Belle turned andrushmean," said she, turning round, vexed for a ed into. her father's arms. But Mr. Barly was minute, and clasping a long curtain in both quite overcome. "My child," he said, " why arms. " I could not bear to see my father's do you trouble yourself so much for me? Your room looking so shabby and neglected; there sister* has told me all. I don't deserve it. I is no disgrace in attending to his comfort. can not bear that you should be brought to this. See, we have taken down those dusty curtains, My Belle working and slaving with your own and we are going to put up some others," said hands through my fault-through my fault." the girl, springing down from the chair and ex- The old man sat down on the side of the bed by hibiting her treasures. which he had been standing, and laid his face "And pray where is the money to come in his hands, in a perfect agony of remorse and from," said Anna, "to pay for these wonderful regret. Belinda was dismayed by the result of changes?" her labors. In vain she tried to cheer him and "They cost no money," said Belinda, laugh- comfort him. The sweeter she seemed in his ing. "I made them myself, with my own two eyes, the more miserable the poor father grew at hands. Don't you remember my old white dress the condition to which he had brought her. that you never liked, Anna? Look how I have For many days after he went about in a sort pricked my finger. Now, go down," said the of despair, thinking what he could do to retrieve girl, in her pretty imperative way, "and don't his ruined fortunes; and if Belinda still rose come up again till I call you." betimes to see to his comfort and the better orGo down at Belle's bidding..... dering of the confused little household, she took Anna went off fuming, and immediately set care not to let it be known. Anna came down BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 163 at nine, Fanny at ten. Anna would then spend over their brilliant prospects. " I should like several hours regretting her former dignities, to see the Ogdens again," said poor little Fanreading the newspaper and the fashionable in- ny. " Perhaps we shall if we go back to Caputelligence, while the dismal strains of Fanny's let Square." "Certainly, certainly," said Anna. piano (there was a jangling piano in the little " I have heard that this Mr. Griffiths is a most drawing-room) streamed across the common. uncouth and uncivilized person to deal with," To a stormy spring, with wind flying and dust continued Miss Barly, with her finger on her dashing against the window-panes, and gray chin. "Papa, wouldn't it be better for me to clouds swiftly bearing across the wide open go to Mr. Griffiths instead of you?" This, country, had succeeded a warm and brilliant however, Mr. Barly would not consent to. summer, with sunshine flooding and spreading Anna could hardly contain her vexation and over the country. Anna and Fanny were able spite when he came back next day dispirited, to get out a little now, but they were soon tired, crestfallen, and utterly wretched and disappointand would sit down under a tree and remark to ed. Mr. Griffiths would have nothing to say to one another how greatly they missed their ac- it. customed drives. Belinda, who had sometimes "What's the good of a trustee," said he to at first disappeared now and then to cry mys- Mr. Barly, "if he were to let you invest your teriously a little bit by herself over her troubles, money in such a speculative chance as that? now discovered that at eighteen, with good Take my advice, and sell out your shares no'v, health and plenty to do, happiness is possible, if you can, for any thing you can get." even without a carriage. "A surly, disagreeable fellow," said poor old One day Mr. Barly, who still went into the Mr. Barly. "I heartily wish he had nothing city fiom habit, came home with some news to do with our affairs." which had greatly excited him. Wheal Tre Anna fairly stamped with rage. "What inRosas, of which he still held a great many solence, when it is our own! Papa, you have shares which he had never been able to dispose no spirit to allow such interference." of, had been giving some signs of life. A fiesh Mr. Barly looked at her gravely, and said he call was to be made; some capitalist, with more should not allow it. Anna did not know what money than he evidently knew what to do with, he meant. had been buying up a great deal of the stock. Belinda was not easy about her father all The works were to be resumed. Mr. Barly this time. He came and went in an odd excithad always been satisfied that the concern was ed sort of way, stopping short sometimes as he a good one. He would give every thing he was walking across the room, and standing abhad, he told Anna that evening, to be able to sorbedin thought! One day he went intothe city raise enough money now to buy up more of the unexpectedly about the middle of the day, and shares. IHis fortune was made if he could do came back looking quite odd, pale, with curious so; his children replaced in their proper posi- eyes; something was wrong, she could not tell tion, and his name restored. Anna was in a what. In the mean time Wheal Tre Rosas state of greater flutter, if possible, than her fa- seemed, spite of Mr. Griffiths's prophecies, to be ther himself. Belle sighed; she could not help steadily rising in the world. More business feeling doubtful, but she did not like to say had been done, the shares were a trifle higher. much on the subject. A meeting of directors was convened, and actu" Papa, this Wheal has proved a very treach- ally a small dividend was declared at midsumerous wheel of fortune to us," she hazarded, mer. It really seemed as if there was some blushing and bending over her sewing; "we chance after all that Anna should be reinstated are very, very happy as we are." in the barouche, in Capulet Square, and her "Happy?" said Anna, with a sneer. place in society. She and Fanny were half "Really, Belinda, you are too romantic," wild with delight. "When we leave-" was said Fanny with a titter; while Mr. Barly the beginning of every sentence they uttered. cried out, in an excited way, "that she should Fanny wrote the good news to her friend Miss be happier yet, and all her goodness and duti- Ogden, and, under these circumstances, to Fanfulness should be rewarded in time." A sort ny's unfeigned delight, Emily Ogden thought of presentiment of evil came over Belinda, and herself justified in driving over to the village her eyes filled up with tears; but she stitched one fine afternoon and affably partaking of a them away and said no more. cracked cupful of five o'clock tea. It was Unfortunately the only money Mr. Barly slightly smoked, and the milk was turned. could think of to lay his hands upon was that Belinda had gone out for a walk and was not sum in the Three per Cents upon which they there to see to it at all; I am afraid she did were now living; and even if he chose he could not quite forgive Emily the part she had played, not touch any of it until Belinda came of age; and could not make up her mind to meet her. unless, indeed, young Mr. Griffiths would give One morning Anna was much excited by the him permission to do so. arrival of a letter directed to Mr. Barly in great " Go to him, papa," cried Anna, enthusiast- round handwriting, and with a huge seal, all ically. " Go to him; entreat, insist upon it, if over bears and griffins. Her father was forever necessary." expecting news of his beloved Tre Rosas, and All that evening Anna and Frances talked he broke the seal with some curiosity. But this 164 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. was only an invitation to dine and sleep at Cas- IV. tie Gardens from Mr. Griffiths, who said he had an offer to make Mr. Barly, and concluded by THE clouds which had been gathering all the saying that he hoped Mr. Barly forgave him for afternoon broke shortly before Mr. Barly reachthe ungracious part he had been obliged to play ed his entertainer's house. He had tried to get the other day, and that, in like circumstances, there through Kensington Gardens, but could he would do the same by him. not make out the way, and went wandering "I sha'n't go," said Mr. Barly, a little dog- round and round in some perplexity under the gedly, putting the letter down. great trees with their creaking branches. The " Not go, papa? Why, you may be able to storm did not last long and the clouds dispersed talk him over if you get him quietly to yourself. at sunset. When Mr. Barly rang at the gate Certainly you must go, papa," said Anna. of the villa in Castle Gardens at last that even"Oh, I'm sure he means to relent-how nice!" ing, he was weary, wet through, and far less said Fanny. Even Belinda thought it was a triumphant than he had been when he left home pity he should not accept the invitation, and in the morning. The butler who let him in Mr. Barly gave way as usual. He asked them gave the bag which he had been carrying to the if they had any commands for him in town. footman, and showed him the way up stairs irm"Oh, thank you, papa," said Frances. "If mediately to the comfortable room which had you are going shopping, 1 wish you would bring been made ready for him. Upholsterers had me back a blue alapaca, and a white grenadine, done the work on the whole better than Belie and a pink sou-poult, and a-" with all her loving labor. The chairs were soft"My dear Fanny, that will be quite suffi- er than her print-covered horse-hair cushions. cient for the short time you remain here," inter- The wax-lights were burning, although it was rupted Anna, who went on to give her father broad daylight. Mr. Barly went to the bayseveral commissions of her own-some writing- window. The garden outside was a sight to paper stamped with Barly Lodge and their see; smooth lawns, arches, roses in profusion crest in one corner; a jacket with buttons for and abundance, hanging and climbing and clusthe knife-boy they had lately engaged upon the tering every where, a distant gleam of a fountstrength of their coming good fortune; a new ain, of a golden sky, a chirruping and rustling umbrella, a house-agent's list of mansions in the in the bushes and. trellises after the storm. The neighborhood of Capulet Square, the Journal sunset which was lighting up the fern on the des Modes, and the New Court Guide. "Let rain-sprinkled common was twinkling through me see, there was something else," said Anna, the rose-petals here, bringing out odors and thoughtfully, aromas and whiffs of delicious scent. Mr. Bar" Bella," said Mr. Barly, " how comes it you ly thought of Belle, and how he should like to ask for nothing? What can I bring you, my see her flitting about in the garden and picking child?" roses to her heart's content. As he stood there Belle looked up with one of her bright mel- he thought, too, with a pang, of his wife whom ancholy smiles and replied, " If you should see he had lost, and sighed in a sort of despair at any roses, papa, I think I should like a bunch the troubles which had fallen upon him of late; of roses. We have none in the garden." what would he not give to undo the work of the "Roses!" cried Fanny, laughing. "I didn't last few months, he thought-nay, of the last know you cared for any thing but what was use- few days? He had once come to this very ful, Bella." house with his wife in their early days of mar" I quite expected you would ask for a sauce- riage. He remembered it now, although he had pan, or a mustard-pot," said Anna, with a sneer. not thought of it before. Belle sighed again, and then the three went Sometimes it happens to us all that things and stood at the garden-gate to see their father which happened ever so long ago seem to make off. It made a pretty little group for the geese a start out of their proper places in the course on the common to contemplate-the two young of time, and come after us, until they catch us sisters at the wicket, the elder under the shade up, as it were, and surround us, so that one can of the veranda, Belle upright, smiling, waving hear the voices, and see the faces and colors, her slim hand; she was above the middle height, and feel the old sensations and thrills as keenshe had fair hair and dark eye-brows and gray ly as at the time they occurred-all so curiouseyes, over which she had a peculiar way of ly and strangely vivid that one can scarcely conblinking her smooth white eyelids; and all ceive it possible that years and years perhaps about, the birds, the soft winds, the great green have passed since it all happened, and that the common with its gorgeousffurze-blossoms blazing present shock proceeds from an ancient and alagainst the low bank of clouds in the horizon. most forgotten impulse. And so as Mr. Barly Close at hand a white pony was tranquilly crop- looked and remembered and thought of the past, ping the grass, and two little village children a sudden remorse and shame came over him. were standing outside the railings, gazing up He seemed to see his wife standing in the garopen-mouthed at the pretty ladies who lived at den, holding the roses up over her head, looking the cottage. like Belle; like, yet unlike. Why it should ______ -- ~ have been so, at the thought of his wife among the flowers, I can not tell; but as he remem BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 165 bered her he began to think of what he had done abloom; a great snow cluster was growing over -that he was there in the house of the man the door-way, a pretty tea-rose was hanging its he had defrauded-he began to ask himself how head over the scraper; against the outer railing could lie face him? how could he sit down be- which separated the house from the road, roseside him at table, and break his bread? The trees had been planted. The beautiful pink poor old fellow fell back with a groan in one of fragrant heads were pushing through the iron the comfortable arm-chairs. Should he con- railings, and a delicious little rose-wind came fess? Oh no-no, that would be the most ter- blowing in the poor old fellow's face. He berible of all. gan to think again-no wonder-of Belle and What he had done is simply told. When her fancy for roses, and mechanically, without Guy Griffiths refused to let Mr. Barly lay hands much reflecting upon what he was about, he on any of the money which he had in trust for stopped and inhaled the ravishing sweet smell his daughters, the foolish and angry old man of the great dewy flowers, and then put out his had sold out a portion of the sun belonging to hand and gathered a spray from which three Mr. Griffiths which still remained in his own roses were hanging....; as he gathered it, a name. It had not seemed like dishonesty at sharp thorn ran into his finger, and a heavy the time, but now he would have gladly-oh, grasp was laid upon his arm.... how gladly! awakened to find it all a dream. "So it is you, is it, who sneak in and steal He dressed mechanically, turning over every my roses?" said an angry voice. "Now that possible chance in his own mind. Let Wheal I know who it is, I shall give you in charge." Tre Rosas go on and prosper, the first money Mr. Barly looked round greatly startled. He should go to repay his loan, and no one would met the fierce glare of two dark brown eyes be the wiser. He went down into the libra- under shaggy brows, that were frowning very ry again when he was ready. It was empty fiercely. A broad, thick-set, round-shouldered still, and, to his relief, the master of the house young man of forbidding aspect had laid hold had not yet come back. He waited a very long of him. The young man let go his grasp when tinie, looking at the clock, at the reviews on he saw the mistake he had made, but did not the table, at the picture of Mrs. Griffiths, whom cease fiowning. he could remember in her youth, upon the wall. " Oh! it is you, Mr. Barly," he said. The butler came in again to say that his mas- "I was just going," said the stockbroker, ter had not yet returned. Some message had meekly. "I am glad you have returned in come by a boy, which was not very intelligible, time for me to see you, Mr. Griffiths. I am he had been detained in the city. Mrs. Grif- sorry I took your rose. My youngest daughter fiths was not well enough to leave her room, but is fond of them, and I thought I might, out of she hoped Mr. Barly would order dinner-any all this garden-full, you would not-she had thing he required-and that her son would asked-" shortly return. There was something so stern and unforgivIt was very late. There was nothing else to ing in Mr. Griffiths's face that the merchant be done. Mr. Barly found a fire lighted in the stumbled in his words, and stopped short, surgreat dining-room, dinner laid, one plate and prised, in the midst of his explanations. one knife and fork, at the end of the long table. "The roses were not yours, not if there were The dinner was excellent, so was the wine. ten gardens full. I won't have my roses broken The butler uncorked a bottle of champagne, the off," said Griffiths; "they should be cut with a cook sent up chickens and all sorts of good knife. Come back with me; I want to have a things. Mr. Barlyalmost felt as if he, by some little talk with you, Mr. Barly." strange metempsychosis, had been converted into Somehow the old fellow's heart began to beat, the owner of this handsome dwelling and all and he felt himself turn rather sick. that belonged to it. At twelve o'clock Mr. "I was detained last night by some trouble Griffiths had not yet returned, and his guest, in my office. One of my clerks, in whom I after a somewhat perplexed and solitary meal, thought I could have trusted, absconded yesterretired to rest. day afternoon. I have been all the way to Mr. Barly breakfasted by himself again next Liverpool in pursuit of him. What do you morning. Mr. Griffiths had not returned all think should be done with him?" And Mr. night. In his secret heart Mr. Griffiths's guest Griffiths, from under his thick eyebrows, gave was almost relieved by the absence of his enter- a quick glance at his present victim, and seemed tainer: it seemed like a respite. Perhaps, after to expect some sort of answer. all, everything would go well, and the confession "You prosperous men can not realize what which he had contemplated with such terror the it is to be greatly tempted," said Mr. Barly, night before need never be made. For the pres- with a faint smile. ent it was clearly no use to wait any longer at "' Do you know that Wheal Tre Rosas has the house. Mr. Barly asked for a cab to take come to grief a second time?" said young Mr. him to the station, left his compliments and re- Griffiths, abruptly, holding out the morning's grets, and a small sum of money behind him, Times, as they walked along. "'I am not a and then, as the cab delayed, strolled out into prosperous man; I had a great many shares in the front garden to wait for it. that unlucky concern." Even in the front court the roses were all Poor Barly stopped short.and turned quite 166 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. pale, and began to shake, so that he had to put it?" Guy haa reached the great end window, his hand out and lean against the wall. and stamped with vexation and a mixture of Failed! Was he doomed to misfortune? anger and sorrow. For all his fierceness and Then there was never any chance for him- gruffness, he was sorry for the poor feeble old never. No hope! No hope of paying back man whose fate he held in his hand. There the debt which weighed upon his conscience, was the garden outside, and its treasure and He could not realize it. Failed! The rose glory of roses; there was the rose-spray, lying had fallen to the ground; the poor unlucky on the ground, that old Barly had taken. It man stood still, staring blankly in the other's was lying broken and shining upon the gravel grim, unrelenting face. -one rose out of the hundreds that were burst" I am ruined," he said. ing and blooming, and fainting and falling on "You are ruined! Is that the worst you their spreading stems. It was like the wrong have to tell me?" said Mr. Griffiths, still look- old Barly had done his kinsman-one little ing piercingly at him. Then the other felt that wrong, Guy thought, one little handful out of he knew all. all his abundance. He looked back, and by "I have been very unfortunate-and very chance caught sight of their two figures reflectmuch to blame," said Mr. Barly, still trembling; ed in the glass at the other end of the room-" terribly to blamec-Mr. Griffiths. I can only his own image, the strong, round-backed, broadthrow myself upon your clemency." shouldered young man, with gleaming white "My clemency! my mercy! I am no phi- teeth and black bristling hair; the feeble and lanthropist," said Guy, savagely. "I am a uncertain culprit, with his broken wandering man of business, and you have defrauded me!" looks, waiting his sentence. It was not Guy "Sir," said the stockbroker, finding some who delivered it. It came-no very terrible odd comfort in braving the worst, "you refused one after all, prompted by some unaccountable to let me take what was my own; I have sold secret voice and impulse. Have we not all of out some of your money to invest in this fatal us sometimes suddenly felt ashamed in our lives concern. Heaven knows it was not for myself, in the face of misfortune and sorrow? Are we but for the sake of-of-others; and I thought Pharisees, standing in the market-place, with to repay you ere long. You can repay yourself our phylacteries displayed to the world? we now. You need not reproach me any more. ask ourselves, in dismay-does this man go You can send me to prison if you like. I-I- home justified rather than we? Guy was not don't much care what happens. My Belle, my the less worthy of his Belinda, poor fellow, bepoor Belle-my poor girls!" cause a thought of her crossed his mind, and beAll this time Guy said never a word. He cause he blushed up, and a gentle look came motioned Mr. Barly to follow him into the li- into his eyes, and a shame into his heart-a brary. Mr. Barly obeyed, and stood meekly shame of his strength and prosperousness, of waiting for the coming onslaught. He stood in his probity and high honor. When had he the full glare of the morning sun, which was been tempted? What was it but a chance that pouring through the unblinded window. His he had been born what he was? And yet old poor old head was bent, and his scanty hair Barly, in all his troubles, had a treasure in his stood on end in the sunshine. possession for which Guy felt he would give all His eyes, avoiding the glare, went vacantly his good fortune and good repute, his roses-red, traveling along the scroll-work on the fender, white, and golden-his best heart's devotion, and so to the coal-scuttle and to the skirting on which he secretly felt to be worth all the rest. the wall, and back again. Dishonored-yes. Now was the time, the young man thought, to Bankrupt-yes. Three-score years had brought make that proposition which he had in his him to this-to shame, to trouble. It was a mind. hard world for unlucky people, but Mr. Barly "Look here," said Guy, hanging his great was too much broken, too weary and indiffer- shaggy head, and speaking quickly and thickly, ent, to feel very bitterly even against the world. as if he was the culprit instead of the. accuser. Meanwhile Guy was going on with his reflec- "You imply it was for your daughter's sake tions, and, like those among us who are still that you cheated me. I can not consent to act young and strong, he could put more life and as you would have me do and take your daughenergy into his condemnation and judgment of ter's money to pay myself back. But if one of actions done, than the unlucky perpetrators had them-bMiss Belinda, since she likes rosesto give to the very deeds themselves. Some chooses to come here and work the debt off, she folks do wrong as well as right, with- scarcely can do so. My mother is in bad health and more than half a mind to it. wants a companion; she will engage her at-let "How could you do such a thing?" cried the me see, a hundred guineas a year, and in this young man, indignantly, beginning to rush. up way, by degrees, the debt will be cleared off." and down the room in his hasty, clumsy way,' "In twenty years," said Mr. Barly, bewilknocking against tables and chairs as he went dered, relieved, astonished. along. "How could you do it?" he repeated. "Yes, in twenty years," said Guy, as if that "I learned it yesterday by chance. What can was the most natural thing in the world. "Go I say to you that your own conscience should home and consult her, and come back and give not have told you already? How could you do me the answer." BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 167 And as he spoke, the butler came in to say "I am sure she would be an immense comthat the hansom was at the door. fort to you," I said. "You would never regret Poor old Barly bent his worn meek head and your kindness." went out. He was shaken and utterly puzzled. The sick woman sighed and turned away imIf Guy had told him to climb up the chimney, patiently, and the result was the invitation to he would have obeyed. He could only do as dinner, which turned out so disastrously. he was bid. As it was, lie clambered with difficulty into the hansom, told the man to go to the station for Dumbleton, and he was driving off gladly when. some one called after the cab. V. The old man peered out anxiously. Had Grif- WHIEN Mr. Barly came down to breakfast the fiths changed his mind? Was his heart hard- morning after his return, he found another of ened like Pharaoh's at the eleventh hour? those great square official-looking letters upon It was certainly Guy who came hastily after the table. There was a check in it for ~100. the cab, looking more awkward and sulky than "You will have to meet heavy expenses," the ever. "Hoy! Stop! You have forgotten the young man wrote. " I am not sorry to have roses for your daughter," said he, thrusting in an opportunity of proving to you that it was a greatbunch of sweet foam and freshness. As not the money which you have taken from me the cab drove along, people passing by looked I grudged, but the manner in which you took up and envied the man who was carrying such it. The only reparation you can make me is loveliness through the black and dreary London by keeping the inclosed for your present necesstreets. Could they have seen the face looking out sity." behind the roses they might have ceased to envy. In truth the family prospects were not very Belle was on the watch for her father at the brilliant. Myrtle Cottage was resplendent with garden gate, and exclaimed with delight, as she clean windows and well-scrubbed door-steps, but saw him toiling up the hill from the station with the furniture wanted repairing, the larder refillhis huge bunch of flowers. She came running ing. Belle could not darn up the broken flap to meet him with fluttering skirts and out- of the dining-room table, nor conjure legs of stretched hands, and sweet smiles gladdening mutton out of bare bones, though she got up her face. "Oh, papa, how lovely! Have you ever so early; sweeping would not mend the had a pleasant time?" IIer father hardly re- hole in the carpet, nor could she dust the milsponded. "Take the roses, Belle," he said. "I dew stains off the walls, the cracks out of the have paid for, them dearly enough." He went looking-glass. into the house wearily, and sat down in the Anna was morose, helpless, and jealous of shabby arm-chair. And then he turned and the younger girl's influence over her father. called Belinda to him wistfully, and put his Fanny was delicate; one gleam of happiness, tremblingarm roundabout her. Poor oldBarly however, streaked her horizon: Emily Ogden was no mightyJephthah; but his feeble old head had written to invite her to spend a few days bent with some such pathetic longing and re- there. When Mr. Barly and his daughter had morse over his Belle as he drew her to him, and talked over Mr. Griffiths's proposition, Belle's told her, in a few simple broken words, all the own good sense told her that it would be folly story of what had befallen him in those few to throw away this good chance. Let Mrs. Grifhours since he went away. He could not part fiths be ever so trying and difficult to deal with, from her. "I can't, I can't," he said, as the girl and her son a thousand times sterner and ruder put her tender arms round his neck;..... than he had already shown himself, she was Guy came to see me a few days after his in- determined to bear it all. Belinda knew her terview with old Mr. Barly, and told me that own powers, and felt as if she could endure any his mother had surprised him by her willing thing, and that she should never forget the genacquiescence in the scheme. I could have ex- erosity and forbearance he had shown her poor plained matters to him a little, but I thought father. Anna was delighted that her sister it best to say nothing. Mrs. Griffiths had over- should go; she threw off the shawl in which she heard, and understood a word or two of what had muffled herself up ever since their reverses, he had said to me that night, when she was brightened'up wonderfully, talked mysteriously taken ill. Was it some sudden remorse for the of Fanny's prospects as she helped both the girls past? Was it a new-born mother's tenderness to pack, made believe to shed a few tears as Bestirring in her cold heart, which made her ques- linda set off with her father, and bustled back tion and cross-question me the next time that I into the house with renewed importance. Bewas alone with her? There had often been a linda looked back and waved her hand, but talk of some companion or better sort of attend- Anna's back was already turned upon her, and ant. After the news came of poor old Barly's she was giving directions to the page. failure, it was Mrs. Griffiths herself who first Poor Belinda! For all her courage and cheervaguely alluded again to this scheme. fulness her heart sank a little as they reached "I might engage one of those girls-the- the great bronze gates in Castle Gardens. the-Belinda, I think you called her?" She would have been more unhappy still if she I was touched and took her cold hand and had not had to keep up her father's spirits. It kissed it. was almost dinner-time, and Mrs. Griffiths's 168 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. maid came down with a message. Her mistress "Good-night, Mr. Barly;. good-night, Miss was tired, and just going to bed, and would see Belle," said he. Something in his voice caused her in the morning; Mr. Griffiths was dining in Belle to relent a little. town; Miss Williamson would call upon Miss "Good-night, Mr. Griffiths," said the girl, Barly that evening. standing up, a slight graceful figure, simple and Dinner had been laid as usual in the great nymph-like,amidst allthispomp of circumstance. dining-room, with its marble columns and dra- As Griffiths shuffled out of the room he saw her peries, and Dutch pictures of game and of birds still; all night he saw her in his dreams. That and flowers. Three servants were in waiting, a bright winsome young creature, dressed in white great silver chandelier lighted the dismal meal, soft folds, with all the gorgeous gildings and drahuge dish-covers were upheaved,decanters of wine peries, and the lights burning, and the pictures were handed round, all the entreesand delicacies and gold cups glimmering round about her. They came over again. Belle tried to eat to keep were his, and as many more of them as he chose: her father in company. She even made little the inanimate, costly, sickening pomps and posjokes, and whispered to him that they evidently sessions; but a pure spirit like that,to be a bright meant to fatten her up. The poor old fellow living companion for him? Ah, no! that was cheered up by degrees; the good claret warmed not to be-not for him, not for such as him. his feeble pulse, the good fare comforted and Guy, for the first time in his life, as he went up strengthened him. "I wish Martha would make stairs that evening, stopped and looked at himus ice-puddings," said Belle, helping him to a self attentively in the great glass on the stairglittering mass of pale-colored cream, with nut- case. He saw a great loutish, round-backed meg and vanilla, and all sorts of delicious spices. fellow, with a shaggy head and brown glittering He had just finished the last mouthful when the eyes, and little strong white teeth like a dog's; butler started and rushed out of the room, a door he gave an uncouth sudden caper of rage and banged, a bell rang violently, a loud scraping regret at his own appearance. "To think that was heard in the hall, and an echoing voice happiness and life itself and love eternal depend said: "Are they come? Are they in the upon tailors and hair-oil,",groaned poor Guy, dining-room?" And the crimson curtain was as he went into his room to write letters. lifted up, and the master of the house entered Mrs. Griffiths did not see Belle that evening; the room carrying a bag and a great-coat over she was always nervously averse to seeing his arm. As he passed the sideboard the but- strangers, but she had sent for me to speak to ton of the coat caught in the fringe of a cloth her, and as I was leaving she had asked me to which was spread upon it, and in a minute the go down and speak to Miss Barly before I went. cloth and all the glasses and plates which had Belinda was already in her room, but I ventured been left there came to the ground with a wild to knock at the door. She came to meet me crash, which would have made Belle laugh, if with a bright puzzled face and all her pretty she had not been too nervous even to smile. hair falling loose about her face. She had not Guy merely told the servants to pick it all up, a notion who I was, but begged me to come in. and put down the things he was carrying and When I had explained things alittle, she pulled walked straight across the room to the two out a chair for me to sit down. frightened people at the far end of the table. "This house seems to me so mysterious and Poor fellow! After shaking hands with old Bar- unlike any thing else I have ever known," said ly and giving Belle an abrupt little nod, all he she, "that I'm very grateful to any one who could find to say was: will tell me what I'm to do here-please sit "I hope you came of your own fiee-will, down-a little while." Miss Barly?" and as lie spoke he gave a shy I told her that she would have to write notes, scowl and eyed her all over. to add up bills, to read to Mrs. Griffiths, and to "Yes," Belle answered, blinking her soft eyes come to me whenever she wanted any help or to see him more clearly. comfort. "You were quite right to come," said "Then I'm very much obliged to you,"said I. "They are excellent people. Guy is the Guy. kindest, best fellow in the whole world, and I This was such an astonishingly civil answer have long heard of you, Miss Barly, and I'm that Belinda's courage rose. sure such a good daughter as you have been will Poor Belinda's heart failed her again, how- be rewarded some day." ever, when Griffiths, still in an agony of shyness, Belle looked puzzled, grateful, a little proud, then turned to her father, and in his roughest and very charming. She told me afterwards voice said: that it had been a great comfort to her father " You leave early in the morning, but I hope to hear of my little visit to her, and that she had we shall keep your daughter for a very long time." succeeded in getting him away without any very Poor fellow! he meant no harm, and only. painful scene. intended this by way of conversation. Belle in Poor Belle! I wonder how many tears she her secret heart said to herself that he was a shed that day after her father was gone? While cruel'brute; and poor Guy, having made this she was waiting to he admitted to Mrs. Griffiths impression, broken a dozen wine-glasses, and she amused herself by wandering about the gone through untold struggles of shyness, now house, dropping a little tear here and there as wished them both good-night. she went along, and trying to think that it BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 169 amused her to see so many yards of damask and Icottage, her poor old father Wearily returning stair-carpeting, all exactly alike, so many acres alone. She nearly broke down at the thought, of chintz of the same pattern. but some one knocked at the door at that in"Mr. Griffiths desired me to say that this stant, and she forced herself to be calm as one tower room was to be made ready for you to sit of the servants came in with a telegram. Bein, ma'am," said the respectful butler, meeting linda tore open her telegram in some alarm and her and opening a door. "It has not been trembling terror of bad news from home; and used before." And he gave her the key, to then smiled a sweetloving smile of relief. The which a label was affixed, with "Miss BARLY'S telegram came from Guy. It was dated from RooI " written upon it, in the housekeeper's his office. "Your father desires me to send scrawling handwriting. word that he is safe home. He sends his love. Belle gave a little shriek of admiration. It I have been to D. on business, and traveled was a square room, with four windows, over- down with him." looking the gardens, the distant park, and the Belinda could not help saying to herself that broad cheerful road which ran past the house. Mr. Griffiths was very kind to have thought of An ivy screen had been trained over one of the her. His kindness gave her courage to meet his windows, roses were clustering in garlands round mother. the deep sill casements. There was an Indian It was not very much that Belle had to do for carpet, and pretty silk curtains, and comfortable Mrs. Griffiths; but whatever it was she accomchintz chairs and sofas, upon which beautiful plished well and thoroughly, as was her way. birds were flying and lilies wreathing. There Whatever the girl put her hand to, she put her was an old-fashioned-looking piano, too, and a whole heart to at the same time. Her energy, great bookcase filled with books and music. sweetness, and good spirits cheered the sick *They certainly treat me in the most magnifi- woman and did her infinite good. Mrs. Grifcent way," thought Belle, sinking down upon fiths took a great fancy to her, andliked to have the sofa in the window which overlooked the her about her. Belle lunched with her the first rose-garden, and inhaling a delicious breath of day. She had better dine down below, Mrs. fragrant air. "They can't mean to be very un- Griffiths said; and when dinner-time came the kind." Belle, who was a little curious, it must girl dressed herself, smoothed her yellow curls, be confessed, looked at every thing, made secret and went shyly down the great staircase into the notes in her mind, read the titles of the books, dining-room. It must be confessed that she examined the china, discovered a balcony to her glanced a little curiously at the table, wonderturret. There was a little writing-table, too, ing whether she was to dine alone or in compawith paper and pens and inks of various colors, ny. This problem was soon solved; a side-door which especially pleased her. A glass cup of burst open, and Guy made his appearance, lookcut roses had been placed upon it, and two dear ing shy and ashamed of it as he came up and little green books, in one of which some one had shook hands with her. left a paper-cutter. "Miss Belinda," said he, "will you allow The first was a book of fairy tales, from which me to dine with you?" I hope the good fairy editress will forgive me for "You must do as you like," said Belinda, stealing a sentence or two. quickly, starting back. The other little green book was called the "Not at all," said Mr. Griffiths. "It is enGolden Treasury; and when Belle took it up, it tirely as you shall decide. If you don't like my opened where the paper-cutter had been left, at company, you need only say so. I shall not be the seventh page, and some one had scored the offended. Well, shall we dine together?" sonnet there. Belle read it, and somehow, as "Oh, certainly," laughed Belinda, confused she read, the tears in her eyes started afresh. in her turn. Being your slave, what should I do but tend S the t sat down to dine together For Upon the hours and times of your desire? the first time in his life Guy thought the great itbegan.'To -" had ben s d u r- room light enough and bright and comfortable. it began. " To-"had been scrawled underThe gold and silver plate didn't seem to crush neath; and then the letter following the "To" 7erased. Bl 1bn 1 he e. 1i him, nor the draperies to suffocate, nor the great erased. Belle blinked her eyes over it, but could There, wa 1Bemake nothin out. little farther on she found columns ready to fall upon him. TherewasBemale nothing out. A little farther on she found.. v.. linda picking her grapes and playing with the another scoring-w sugar-plums. He could hardly believe it possiOh, my love's like a red, red ro ble. His poor old heart gave great wistful That's newly sprung in June! Oh, my love's like the melody thumps (if such a thing is possible) at the sound That's sweetly played in tune! Iof her voice. She had lost much of her shyand this was signed with a G. ness, and they were talking of any thing that "'Love! That is not for me; but I wish I came into their heads. She had been telling had a slave," thought poor Belle, hanging her him about Myrtle Cottage, and the spiders there, head over the book as it lay open in her lap, and looking up, laughing, she was surprised to "and that he was clever enough to tell me what see him staring at her very sadly and kindly. my father is doing at this minute." She could He turned away abruptly, and began to help imagine it for herself, alas! without any magic hinself to all sorts of things out of the silver interference. She could see the drearv little dishes. 170 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. "It's very good of you," Guy said, looking ped short. He came up to her. He looked away, " to come and brighten this dismal house, very pale, and said suddenly, in a quick, husky and to stay with a poor suffering woman and a voice, "Belle, will you marry me?" Poor Begreat uncouth fellow like myself." linda opened her gray eyes full in his face. She "But you are both so very kind," said Be- could hardly believe she had heard aright. She linda, simply. "I shall never forget-" was startled, taken aback, but she followed her "Kind!" cried Guy, very roughly. "I be- impulse of the moment and answered gravely, haved like a brute to you and your father yes-' No, Guy." terday. I am not used to ladies' society. I am He wasn't angry or surprised. He had stupid and shy and awkward." known it all along, poor fellow, and expected "If you were very stupid," said Belle, smil- nothing else. He only sighed, looked at her ing, "you would not have said that, Mr. Grit- once again, and then went away out of the fiths. Stupid people always think themselves room. charming." Poor Belle! she stood there where he had When Guy said good-night immediately af- left her-the lights burnt, the great table glitter dinner as usual, he sighed, and looked at her tered, the curtains waved. It was like a strange again with such kind and melancholy eyes that dream. She clasped her hands together, and Belle felt an odd affection and compassion for then suddenly ran and fled away up to her own him. "I never should have thought it possible room-frightened, utterly puzzled, bewildered, to like him so much," thought the girl, as she not knowing what to do or to whom to speak. slowly went along the passage to Mrs. Griffiths's It was a coInfort to be summoned as usual to door. read to Mrs. Griffiths. She longed to pour out It was an odd life this young creature led in her story to the poor lady, but she dreaded agithe great silent stifling house, with uncouth Guy tating her. She read as she was bid. Once for her playfellow, the.sick woman's complaints she stopped short, but her mistress impatiently and fancies for her duty in life.. The silence of motioned her to go on. She obeyed, stumbling it all, its very comfort and splendidness, oppress- and tumbling over the words before her, until ed Belinda more at times than a simpler and there came a knock at the door, and, contrary more busy life. But the garden was an endless to his custom, Guy entered the room. He pleasure and refreshment, and she used to stroll looked very pale, poor fellow, and sad and subabout, skim over the terraces and walks, smell dued. "I wanted to see you, Miss Belinda," the roses, feed the birds and the gold-fishes. he said aloud, "and to tell you that I hope Sometimes I have stood at my window watch- this will make no difference, and that you will ing the active figure flitting by in and out un- remain with us as if nothing had happened. der the trellis, fifteen times round the pond, You warned me, mamma, but I could not help thirty-two times along the terrace walk. Belle myself. It's my own fult. Good-night. That was obliged to set herself tasks, or she would is all I had to say." have got tired sometimes of wandering about Belle turned wistfully to Mrs. Griffiths. The by herself. All this time she never thought of thin hand was impatiently twisting the coverlet. Guy except as a curious sort of companion; " Of course-who would have any thing to say any thought of sentiment had never once oc- to him?-Foolish fellow I" she muttered in her curred to her. indistinct way. "Go on, Miss Barly." " Oh, buttell me first, ought I remain here?' Belle asked imploringly. I "Certainly, unless you are unhappy with VI. us," the sick woman answered, peevishly. Mrs. ONE day that Belle had been in the garden Griffiths never made any other allusion to what longer than usual, she remembered a note for had happened. I think the truth was that she Mrs. Griffiths that she had forgotten to write, did not care very much for any thing outside and springing up the steps into the hall, on the the doors of her sick-room. Perhaps she way, with some roses in her apron, she sudden- thought her son had been over hasty, and that ly almost ran up against Guy, who had come in time Belinda might change her mind. To home earlier than usual. The girl stood blush- people lying on their last sick-beds, the terrors, ing and looking more charming than ever. The anxieties, longings of life seem very curious and young fellow stood quite still too, looking with strange. They seem to forget that they were such expressive and admiring glances that Be- once anxious, hopeful, eager themselves, as linda blushed deeper still, and made haste to es- they lie gazing at the awful veil which will cape to her room. Presently the gong sound- so soon be withdrawn from before their fading ed, and there was no help for it, and she had to eyes. go down again., Guy was in the dining-room A sort of constraint came between Guy and as polite and as shy as usual, and Belinda grad- Belinda at first, but it wore away by degrees. ually forgot the passing impression. The but- He often alluded to his proposal, but in so hopeler put the dessert on the table and left them, less and gentle a way that she could not be anand when she had finished her fruit, Belinda got gry; still she was disquieted and unhappy. up to say good-bye. As she was leaving therorm She felt that it was a false and awkward poshe heard Guy's footsteps following. She stop- sition. She could not bear to see him looking BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 171 ill and sad, as he did at times, with great black that he could be judged by no ordinary rule. rings under his dark eyes. It was worse still His utter despair and bewilderment would have when she saw him brightened up with happi- been laughable almost, if they had not been so ness at some chance word she let fall now and genuine. He paced about the garden with then-speaking inadvertently of his house as hasty uncertain footsteps, muttering to himself "home," or of the roses next year. He must as he went along, and angrily cutting at the not mistake her. She could not bear to pain rose-hedges. Of course she must go, since she him by hard words, and yet sometimes she felt wished it; of course she must-of course, of it was her duty to speak them. One day she course. What would the house be like when met him in the street, on her way back to the she was gone?" For an instant a vision of a house. The roll of the passing carriage-wheels great dull vault without warmth, or light, or gave Guy confidence, and, walking by her side, color, or possible comfort any where, rose before he began to say, "Now I never know what de- him. He tried to imagine what his life would lightful surprise may not be waiting for me at be if she never came back into it; but as he every street corner. Ah, Miss Belle, my whole stood still trying to seize the picture, it seemed life might be one long dream of wonder and to him that it was a thing not to be imagined or happiness, if...." "Don't speak like this thought of. Wherever he looked he saw her, ever again, or I shall have to go away," said everywhereand in every thing. He had imagBelle, interrupting, and crossing the road, in her ined himself unhappy; now he discovered that agitation, under the very noses of two omnibus for the last few weeks, since little Belinda had horses. "I wish I could like you enough to come, he had basked in the summer she had marry you. I shall always love you enough to brought, and found new life in the sunshine of be your friend; please don't talk of any thing herpresence. Of an eveninghehadcome home else." Belle said this in a bright brisl implor- eagerly from his daily toil looking to find her. ing decided tone, and hoped to have put an end When he left early in the morning he would to the matter. That day she came to me and look up with kind eyes at her windows as he told her little story. There were almost as drove away. Once, early one morning, he had many reasons for her staying as for her leav- passed her near the lodge-gate, standing in the ing, the poor child thought. I could not advise shadow of the great aspen-tree, and making her to go, for the assistance that she was able to way for the horses to go by. Belle was holding send home was very valuable. (Guy laughed, back the clean stiff folds of her pink muslin and utterly refused to accept a sixpence of her dress; she looked up with that peculiar blink salary.) Mrs. Griffiths evidently wanted her; of her gray eyes, smiled, and nodded her bright Guy, poor fellow, would have given all he had head, and shrunk away from the horses. Evto keep ler, as Nye all knew too well. cry morning Guy used to look under the tree Circumstance orders events sometimes, and after that to see if she were there by chance, people themselves, with all their powers and even if he had parted from her but a minute beknowledge of good and of evil, are but passive fore. Good stupid old fellow! he used to instruments in the hands of fate. News came smile to himself at his own foolishness. One that Mr. Barly was ill; and little Belinda, of his fancies about her was that Belinda was a with an anxious face, and a note in her trem- bird that would fly away some day, and perch bling hand, came into Mrs. Griffiths's room one up in the branches of one of the great trees, day to say she must go to him directly. "Your far, far beyond his reach. And now was this father is ill," wrote Anna. " Les convenances fancy coming true? was she going-leaving him demand your immediate return to him." Guy -flying away where he could not follow her? happened to be present, and when Belle left the He gave an inarticulate sound of mingled anger room he followed her out into the passage. and sorrow and tenderness, which relieved his "You are going?" he said. heart, but which puzzled Belle herself, who was " I don't know what Anna means by'les coming down the garden-walk to meet him. convenances,' but papa is ill, and wants me," "I was looking for you, Mr. Griffiths," said said Belinda, almost crying. Belle. "Your mother wants to speak to you. "And I want you," said Guy; "but that I, too, wanted to ask you something," the girl don't matter, of course. Go-go, since you went on, blushing. " She is kind enough to wish it." wish me to come back...... But-" After all, perhaps it was well she was going, Belle stopped short, blushed up, and began thought Belle, as she went to pack up her box- pulling at the leaves sprouting on either side es. Poor Guy's sad face haunted her. She of the narrow alley. When she looked up afseemed to carry it away in her box with her ter a minute, with one of her quick short-sightother possessions. ed glances, she found that Guy's two little It would be difficult to describe what he felt, brown eyes were fixed upon her steadily. poor fellow, when he came upon the luggage "-Don't be afraid that I shall trouble you," standing ready corded in the hall, and he found he said, reddening. If you knew-if you that Belle-had taken him at his word. IHe was had the smallest conception what your presence so silent a man, so self-contained, so diffident of is to me, you would come back. I think you his own strength to win her love in time, so un- would." used to the ways of the world and of women, Miss Bnarly didn't answer, but blushed up 172 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. again and walked on in silence, hanging her "Oh, that will never be. Yes; I'll come," bead to conceal the two bright tears which had said Belle, earnestly. "I'll go home for a come into her eyes. She was so sorry, so very week and come back; indeed I will." sorry. But what could she do? Guy had "Only let me know," said Mr. Griffiths, walked on to the end of the rose-garden, and "and my mother will send the carriage for Belle had followed. Now, instead of turning you. Shall we say a week?" he added, anxtowards the house, he had come out into the ions to drive a hard bargain. bright-looking kitchen-garden, with its red "Yes," said Belinda, smiling; "I'll write brick walls hung with their various draperies and tell you the day." of lichen and mosses, and garlands of clamber- Nothing would induce Griffiths to order the ing fruit. Four little paths led up to the turf carriage until after dinner, and it was quite carpet which had been laid down in the centre late at night when Belle got home. of the garden: here a fountain plashed with a tranquil fall of waters upon'water: all sorts of sweet kitchen herbs, mint and thyme and parsley, were growing along the straight-cut beds. V Birds were pecking at the nets along the walls; PooR little Myrtle Cottage looked very small one little sparrow that had been drinking at and shabby as she drove up in the darkness to the fountain flew away as they approached. the door. A brilliant illumination streamed The few bright-colored straggling flowers from all the windows. Martha rubbed her elcaught the sunlight and reflected it in sparks bows at the sight of the gorgeous equipage. like the water. Fanny came to the door surprised, laughing, The master of this pleasant place put out his giggling, mysterious. Every thing looked much great clumsy hand, and took hold of Belle's as usual, except that a large and pompous-looksoft reluctant fingers. " Ah, Belle," he said, ing gentleman was sitting on the drawing-room "is there no hope for me? Will there never sofa, and beside him'Anna, with a huge ring on be any chance?" her fourth finger, attempting to blush as Belle "I wish with all my heart there was a came into the room. Belle saw that she was chance," said poor Belle, pulling away her not wanted, and ran up stairs to her father, who hand impatiently. " Why do you wound and was better, and sitting in the arm-chair by his pain me by speaking again and again of what bedside. The poor old man nearly cried with is far best forgotten? Dear Mr. Griffiths, I delight and surprise, held out both his shaking will marry you to-morrow, if you desire it," hands to her, and clung tenderly to the bright said the girl, with a sudden impulse, turning young daughter. Belle sat beside him, holding pale and remembering all that she owed to his his hand, asking him a hundred questions, kissforbearance and gentleness; " but please, please ing his wrinkled face and cheeks, and telling don't ask it." She looked so frightened and him all that had happened. Mr. Barly, too, desperate that poor Guy felt that this was worse had news to give. The fat gentleman down than any thing, and sadly shook his head. stairs, he told Belle, was no other than Anna's "Don't be afraid," he said. "I don't want old admirer, the doctor, of whom mention has to marry you against your will, or keep you been made. He had re-proposed the day behere. Yes, you shall go home, and I will stop fore, and was now sitting on the sofa on probahere alone, and cut my throat if I find I can not tion. Fanny's prospects, too, seemed satisfactobear the place without you. I am only joking. ry. " She assures me," said Mr. Barly, "'that I dare say I shall do very well," said Griffiths young Ogden is on the point of coming forward. with a sigh; and he turned away and began An old man like me, my dear, is naturally anxstamping off in his clumsy way. Then he sud- ious to see his children settled in life and comdenly stopped and looked back. Belle was fortably provided for. I don't know who would standing in the sunshine with her face hidden be good enough for my Belinda. Not that in her hands. She was so puzzled, and sorry, awkward lout of a Griffiths. No, no; we must and hopeless, and mournful. The only thing look out for better than that." she could do was to cry, poor child!-and by "Oh, papa, if you knew how good and how some instinct Griffiths guessed that she was kind he is!" said Belle, with asudden revulsion crying; he knew it-his heart melted with of feeling; but she broke off abruptly, andspoke pity. The poor fellow came back trembling. of something else. "My dearest," he said, "don't cry. What a The other maid, who had already gone to brute I am to make you cry! Tell me anything bed the night before when Belle arrived at the in the whole world I can do to make you happy." cottage, gave a loud shriek when she went into "If I could only do any thing for you," said the room next morning and found some one Belle, "that would make me happier." asleep in the bed. Belle awoke, laughed and ex"Then come back, my dear," said Guy, plained, and asked her to bring up her things. " and don't fly away yet forever, as you threat- "Bring'em hup?" said the girl. "What! ened just now. Come back and cheer up my all-them'ampers that's come by the cart? No, mother, and make tea and a little sunshine for miss, that's more than me and Martha have the me, until-until some confounded fellow comes strength for. I should crick my back if I were and carries you off," said poor Griffiths. to attempt for to do such a thing." BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. 173 "Hampers-what hampers?" Belle asked; the decision of so much experience, or Anna's but when she went down she found the little hints and innuendoes, or, more insurmountable passage piled with cases, flowers and game, and than all the rest, a sudden shyness and conpreserves, and some fine old port for Mr. Barly, sciousness which had come over the poor little and some roses for Belle. As Belinda came maiden, who turned crimson with shame and down stairs, in her fresh morning-dress, Anna, annoyance. who had been poking about and examining the Belinda had decided as she was told-had various packages, looked up with offended dig- done as her conscience bade her-and yet there nity. was but little satisfaction in this duty accom"I think, considering that I am mistress plished. For about half an hour she went about here," said she, "these hampers should have feeling like a heroine, and then, without any been directed to me, instead of to you, Belinda. reason or occasion, it seemed to her that the Mr. Griffiths strangely forgets. Indeed, I fear mask had come off her face, that she had disthat you too are wanting in any great sense of covered herself to be a traitress, that she had ladylike propriety." betrayed and abandoned her kindest friends; "Prunes, prism" propriety," said Belle, gay- she called herself a selfish, ungrateful wretch, ly. "Never mind, dear Anna; he's sent the she wondered what Guy would think of her; things for all of us. Mr. Griffiths certainly she was out of temper, out of spirits, out of panever meant me to drink two dozen bottles of tience with herself, and the click of the blind port wine in a week." swinging in the draught was unendurable. The " You are evading the question," said Anna. complacent expression of Anna's handsome face "I have been wishing to talk to you for some put her teeth on edge. When Fanny tumbled time past-come into the dining-room, if you over the footstool with a playful shriek, to every please." body's surprise Belinda burst out crying. It seems almost impossible to believe, and yet Those few days were endless, slow, dull, unI can not help fearing that out of sheer spite and bearable-every second brought its pang of rcenvy Anna Barly had even then determined gret and discomfort and remorse. It seemed that, if she could prevent it, Belinda should to Belinda that her ears listened, her mouth never go back to the Castle Gardens again, but talked, her eyes looked at the four walls of the remain in the cottage. The sight of the pretty cottage, at the furze on the common, at the things which had been given her there, all the faces of her sisters, with a sort of mechanical efevidences which told of the esteem and love in fort. As if she were acting her daily life, not which she was held, maddened the foolish wom- living it naturally and without effort. Only an. I can give no other reason for the way in when she was with her father did she feel unwhich she opposed Belinda's return to Mrs. constrained; but even then there was an unexGriffiths. " Her duty is at home," said Anna. pressed reproach in her heart like a dull pain " I myself shall be greatly engaged with Thom- that she could not quiet. And so the long days as "-so she had already learnt to call Dr. Rob- lagged. Although Dr. Robinson enlivened them inson.' Fanny also is preoccupied; Belinda with his presence, and the Ogdens drove up to must remain." carry Fanny off to the happy regions of Capulet When Belle demurred, and said that for the Square (E. for Elysium Anna, I think, would next few weeks she would like to return as she have docketed the district), to Belinda those had promised, and stay until Mrs. Griffiths was days seemed slow, and dark, and dim, and alsuited with another companion, Anna's indig- most hopeless at times. nation rose and overpowered her dignity. Was On the day on which Belinda was to have reit her sister who was so oblivious of the laws of turned, there came a letter to me telling her story society, propriety, modesty? Anna feared that plainly enough: "I must not come back, my Belinda had not reflected upon the strange ap- dearest Miss Williamson," she wrote. "I am pearance her conduct must have to others, to going to write to Mrs. Griffiths and dear kind the Ogdens, to them all. What was the secret Mr. Guy to-morrow to tell them so. Anna attraction which took her back? Anna said does not think it is right. Papa clings to me she had rather not inquire, and went on with her and wants me, now that both my sisters are gooration. "Unmaidenly-not to be thought ing to leave him. How often I shall think of of-the advice of those whose experience might you all- of all your goodness to me, of the be trusted "-does one not know the rigmarole beautiful roses, and my dear little room! Do by heart? When even the father, who had you think Mr. Guy would let me take one or been previously talked to, sided with his eldest two books as a remembrance Hume's History daughter; when Thomas, who was also called of England, Porteous's Sermons and JEssays on into the family conclave, nodded his head in an Reform? I should like to have something to reominous manner, poor little Belinda, frighten- mind me of you all, and to look at sometimes, ed, shaken, undecided, almost promised that since they say I am not to see you all again. she would do as they desired; and as she prom- Good-bye, and thank you and Mrs. II. a thouised, the thought of poor Guy's grief and wistful sand thousand times.-Your ever, ever affechaggard face came before her, and her poor little tionate BELINDA. P.S.-Might I also ask for heart ached and sank at the thought. But not that little green volume of the Golden Treasury even Belinda, with all her courage, could resist which is up in the tower-room?" 174 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. This was what Guy had feared all along. fll and busy as usual, but she felt unhappy, unOnce she was gone, he knew by instinct she grateful. "Oh, what a foolish girl I am!" she would never come back. I hardly know how said. All the lights were burning in the little it fared with the poor fellow all this time. He town, the west was glowing and reflected in the kept out of our way, and would try to escape river, the boats trembled and shot through the me, but once by chance I met him, and I was shiny waters, and the people were out upon the shocked by the change which had come over him. banks, as they crossed the bridge again on their I had my own opinion, as we all have at times. way from Dumbleton. Belle was happier, cerH. and I had talked it over-for old women are tainly, but crying from agitation. good for something, after all, and can sometimes "Have I made him miserable, poor fellow? play a sentimental part in life as well as young Oh, I think I shall blame myself al mmy life," ones. It seemed to us impossible that Belinda saidshe,covering her facewith her hands. "Oh, should not relent to so much goodness and un- H.! H.! what shall I do?" selfishness, and come back again some day nev- II. dryly replied that she must be guided by cirer to go any more. We knew enough of Anna cumstances, and when they reached Castle GarBarly to guess the part she' had played, nor did dens kissed her and set her down at the great we despair of seeing Belinda among us once gate, while she herself went home in the carriage. more. But some one must help her, she could It was all twilight by this time among the roses. not reach us unassisted; and so I told Mrs. Grif- Belinda met the gate-keeper, who touched his fiths, who had remarked upon her son's distress hat and told her his master was in the garden; and altered looks, and so instead of going into the house she flitted " If you will lend us the carriage," I said, away towards the garden, crossed the lawns, and " either H. or I will go over to bumbleton to- went in and out among the bowers and trellises morrow, and I doubt not that we shall bring looking for him-frightened by her own temeriher." H. went. She told me about it afterwards. ty at first, gaining courage by degrees. It was Anna was fortunately absent. Mr. Barly was so still, so sweet, so dark; the stars were coming down stairs, and H. was able to talk to him a out in the evening sky, a meteor went flashing little bit before Belinda came down. The poor from east to west, a bat flew across her path; all old man always thought as he was told to think, the scent hung heavy in the air. Twice Belinda and since his illness he was more uncertain and called out timidly, "Mr. Griffiths, Mr. Grifbroken than ever. He was dismayed when H. fiths!" but no one answered. Then she rememtold him in her decided way that he was prob- bered her dream in sudden terror, and hurried ably sacrificing two people's happiness for life into the kitchen-garden to the fountain where by his ill-timed interference. When at last Be- they had parted. linda came down, she looked almost as ill as What had happened? Some one was lying Griffiths himself. She rushed into H.'s arms on the grass. Was this her dream? was it Guy? with a scream of delight, and eagerly asked a was he dead? had she killed him? Belinda hundred questions. "How were they all- ran up to him, seized his hand, and called him what were they all doing?" Guy-dear Guy; and Guy, who had fallen asleep H. was very decided. Every body was very ill from very weariness and sadness of heart, opened and wanted Belinda back. "Your father says his eyes to hear himself called by the voice he he can spare you very well," said she. "Why loved best in the world; while the sweetest eyes, not come back with me this afternoon, if only full of tender tears, were gazing anxiously into for a time? It is your duty," H. continued, in his ugly face. Ugly? Fairy tales have told her dry way. "You should not leave them in us this at least, that ugliness and dullness do not this uncertainty." "Go, my child-pray go," exist for those who truly love. Had she ever urged Mr. Barly. And at last Belinda consent- thought him rough, uncouth, unlovable? Ah! ed shyly, nothing loath. she had been blind in those days; she knew betH. began to question her when she had got ter now. As they walked back through the twiher safe in the carriage. Belinda said she had light garden that night, Guy said, humbly: "I not been well. She could not sleep, she said. sha'n't do you any credit, Belinda; I can only She hadhad bad dreams. She blushed, and con- love you. " fessed that she had dreamt of Guy lying dead in " Only!" said Belinda. the kitchen-garden. She had gone about the She didn't finish her sentence; but he underhouse trying, indeed she had tried, to be cheer- stood very well what she meant. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. I. tains. Remy (that was the wolf's Christian name) could see the little balls bobbing, and THERE is something sad in most pretty stories, guessed that she was there; He played on loudin most lovely strains, in the tenderest affections er than ever, dragging his bow with long sobbing and friendships; but tragedy is a different thing chords across his fiddle-strings, and as he played, from the indefinable feeling which lifts us be- a fairy palace arose at his bidding, more beautiful yond to-day into that dear and happy region where than the real old palace across the Place that we our dearest loves, and plays, and dreams, are to had come to see. The fairy palace arose story be found even in childish times. Poor little Red upon story, lovely to look upon, enchanted; a Riding Hood, with bright eyes glancing from her palace of art, with galleries, and terraces, and scarlet caplet, has been mourned by generations belvederes, and orange-flowers scenting the air, of children; but though they pity her, and la- and fragrant. blossoms falling in snow-showers, ment her sad fate, she is no familiar playmate and fountains of life murmuring and turning and companion. That terrible wolf with the fiery marble into gold as they flowed. Red Riding eyes, glaring through the brushwood, haunts Hood frombehindhercottoncurtains, and Remy, them from the very beginning of the story; it is her cousin, outside in the court-yard, were the too sad, too horrible, and they hastily turn the only two inhabitants of this wonderful building. leaves and fly to other and better-loved compan- They were alone in it together, far away in that ions, with whose troubles they sympathize, for world of which I have been speaking, at a long, they are but passing woes, and they know that long distance from the every-day all round about brighter times are in store. For the poor little them, though the cook of the hotel was standing maiden at the well, for dear Cinderella, for Roe- at his kitchen door, and the stable-boy was grinbrother and little sister, wandering through the ning at Remy's elbow, and H. and I, who had glades of the forest, and Snowwhite and her arrived only that evening, were sitting resting on sylvan court of kindly woodland dwarfs-all the bench in front of the hotel, among the authese belong to the sweet and gentle region tumnal profusion of nasturtiums and marigolds where beautiful calm suns shine after the storm, with which the court-yard was planted. H. amid fair landscapes, and gardens, and palaces. and I had come to see the palace, and to walk Even we elders sympathize with the children in about in the stately old gardens, and to breathe this feeling, although we are more or less hard- a little quiet and silence after the noise of the ened. by. time, and have ourselves, wandering in machines thundering all day in the Great Exthe midway of life, met with wolves roving hibition of the Champ de Mars, the din of the through the forest-wolves from whose cruel cannons firing, of the carriages and multitudes claws, alas! no father's or mother's love can pro- rolling along the streets. tect us, and against whose wiles all warnings ex- The Maynards, Red Riding Hood's parents, cept those of our own experience are vain. And were not passers-by like ourselves, they were these wolves devour little boys as well as little comfortably installed at the hotel for a month girls and pats of butter. at a time, and came over once a year to see Mrs. This is no place to write of some stories, so sad Maynard's mother, an old lady who had lived at and so hopeless that they can scarcely be spoken; Fontainebleau as long as her two daughters could although good old Perrault, in his simple way, to remember. This old lady's name was Madame some poor Red Riding Hoods straying fiom the Capuchon; but her first husband had been an path utters a word of warning rhyme at the end Englishman, like Mr. Maynard, her son-in-law, of the old French edition: some stories are too who was also her nephew by this first marriage. sad, others too trifling. The sketch which I have Both Madame Capuchon's daughters were marin my mind is no terrible tragedy, but a silly lit- ried-Marthe, the eldest, to Henry Maynard, tle tale, so foolish and trivial'that if it were not an English country gentleman; Fdlicie, the that it comes in its place with the others, I should youngest, to the Baron de la Louviere, who rescarcely attempt to repeat it. I met all the per- sided at Poictiers, and who was sous-prefet there. sonages by chance at Fontainebleau only the It is now forty years since Madame Capuchon othei day. first went to live at Fontainebleau, in the old The wolf was playing the fiddle under Little house at the corner of the Rue de la Lampe. Red Riding Hood's window. Little Red Riding It has long been doomed to destruction, with its Hood was peeping from behind her cotton cur- picturesque high roof, its narrow windows and 176 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. balconies, and sunny old brick passages and stair- rule of three worked out, consultations and talk cases, with the round ivy ceil-de-bceuf windows. between Simonneand her mistress, and long disStaircases were piled up of brick in the time of cussions with Henry Maynard himself, who was the Louises, broad and wide, and easy to climb, staying with a friend at Fontainebleau at the and not of polished wood, like the slippery flights time, this favor was accorded to the baron. of to-day. However, the old house is in the The young baroness went off nothing loath: way of a row of shops and a projected cafd and she was bored at home, she did not like the habnewspaper office, so are the ivy-grown garden- it of severity and silence into which her mother walls, the acacia trees, the sun-dial, and the old had fallen. She was a slim, active, decided stone seat. It is a pity that newer buildings person, of calm affections, but passionately fond can not sometimes be selected for destruction; of her own way, as indeed was Madame Caputhey might be rebuilt and redestroyed again and chon herself, for all her regrets for that past in again, and people who care for such things might which it must be confessed she had always done be left in peace a little longer to hold the dear exactly as she liked, and completely ruled her old homes and traditions of their youth. two husbands. For all Madame Capuchon's Madame Capuchon, however, is a kind and blacks and drabs and seclusion, and shut shutdespotic old lady; she has great influence and ters, and confessors, and shakes of the head, she authority in the town, and during her life the had greatly cheered up by this time: she had old house is safe. It is now, as I have said, discovered in her health a delightful source of forty years since she first came to live there- interest and amusement; Felicie's marriage was a young widow for the second time, with two lit- as good as a play, as the saying goes; and tie daughters and a faithful old maid to be her then came a catastrophe, still more exciting only companions in her flight from the world than Felicie's brilliant prospects, which occupied where she hadknown great troubles and changes. all the spare moments of the two years which sucMadame Capuchon and her children inhabited ceeded the youngest girl's departure from home. two upper stories of the old house. The rez de Madame Capuchon's nephew, Henry Maychaussee was partly a porter's lodge, partly a nard, was, as I have said, staying at Fontainewarehouse, and partly a little apartment which bleau, with a friend, who was unfortunately a the proprietor reserved for his use. He died very good-looking young man of very good famtwice during Madame Capuchon's tenancy; once ily, who had come to Fontainebleau to be out of he ventured to propose to her-but this was the harm's way, and to read French for some diploformer owner of the place, not the present pro- matic appointment. Maynard used to talk to prietor, an old bachelor who preferred his Paris him about his devotion for his pretty cousin cafe and his boulevard to the stately silence and Marthe with the soft trill in her voice and the basking life of Fontainebleau. sweet quick eyes. Young Lord John, alas! was This life suited Madame Capuchon, who, from easily converted to this creed-hle also took a sorrow at first and then from habit, continu d desperate fancy to the pretty young lady; and the same silent cloistered existence for years- Madame Capuchon, whose repeated losses had years which went by and separated her quietly not destroyed a certain ambition which had albut completely from her old habits and friends ways been in her nature, greatly encouraged the and connections and long-past troubles, while young man. And so one day poor Maynard the little girls grew up and the mother's beauty was told that he must resign himself to his hard changed, faded quietly away in the twilight life fate. He had never hoped much, for he knew she was leading. well enough that his cousin, as he called her, did The proprietor who had ventured to propose to not care for him; Marthe had always discourthe widow, and who had been refused with so aged him, although her mother would have scoutmuch grace and decision that his admiration re- ed the notion that one of her daughters should mained unaltered, was no more; but shortly resist any decree she might lay down, or venture before his death he had a second time accosted to think for herself on such matters. her with negotiations of marriage: not for him- When Lord John proposed in the English self this time, but for a nephew of his, the Baron fashion to Marthe one evening in the deep ernde la Louviere, who had seen the young ladies brasure of the drawing-room window, Madame by chance, heard much good of them from his Capuchon was enchanted, although disapproving uncle and their attached attendant Simonne, and of the irregularity of the proceeding. She anlearnt that their dot was ample and their con- nounced her intention of settling upon her nections respectable. Marthe, the eldest daugh- eldest daughter a sum so large and so much out ter, was the least good-looking of the two, but to of the proportion to the dot which she had acmost people's mind far more charming than corded to Madame de la Louviere, that the barFdelicie, the second. M. de la Louviere had at on hearing of it by-chance through Monsieur Mifirst a slight preference for Marthe, but learn- cotton, the family solicitor, was furious, and an ing through his uncle that an alliance was con- angry correspondence then commenced between templated between her and an English con- him and his mother-in-law which lasted many nection of her mother's, he announced himself years, and in which Madame Capuchon found equally anxious to obtain the hand of Felicie, another fresh interest to attach her to life, and the younger sister. After some hesitation, an unfailing vent for much of her spare energy much addition of figures, subtraction, division, and excitement. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 177 Henry Maynard went back to his father's John was a villain and unworthy of a regret, house at Littleton on Thames, to console him- Henry said. Would she not consent to accept self as best he could among the punts and wa- an honest man instead of a, false one? ter-lilies. Lord John went back to England to "No, no, no, a hundred times no," cried pass his examination, and to gain his family's Marthe to herself, with something of her mothconsent, without which he said he could not er's spirit, and she nervously wrote her answer marry; and Marthe waited in the old house and slid out by herself and posted it. She ne — with Simonne and her mother, and that was er dared tell Madame Capuchon what she had the end of her story. done. Lord John didn't pass his examination, but As time went on, one or two other "offers" interest was made for him, and he was given were made to her but Marthe was so reluctant another chance, and he got the diplomatic ap- that, as they were not very good ones, Madame pointment all the same, and he went to Russia Capuchon let them go by; and then Marlhe and was heard of no more at Fontainebleau. had a long illness, and then more time passed Madame Capuchon was naturally surprised at by. his silence; while Marthe wondered and wea- "What have we been about?" said Madame ried, but spoke no word of the pain which con- Capuchon to her confidante one day as her sumed her. Her mother sat down and wrote daughter left the room. "Here she is an old to the duke, presented her compliments, begged maid, and it is all her own obstinacy." to remind him of his son's engagement, and re- At thirty-three Marthe was still unmarried: quested information of the young man's where- a gracious, faded woman, who had caught the abouts and intentions. In the course of a week trick of being sad; although she had no real she received a few polite lines from the duchess, trouble, and had almost forgotten Lord John. regretting that she could give Madame Capu- But she had caught the trick of being sad, as I chon no information as to Lord John's where- say, of flitting aimlessly across the room, of reabouts or intentions, informing her that she membering and remembering instead of living had made some mistake as to his engagement, for to-day. and begging to decline any further correspond- Madame Capuchon was quite cheerful by ence on the subject, on paper so thick that Si- this time; besides her health, her angry corremonne had to pay double postage for the epis- spondence, her confessor, her game of dominos, tie, and it would scarcely burn when Madame and her talks with Simonne, she had many litCapuchon flung it into the fire. The widow tie interests to fill up spare gaps and distract stamped her little foot, flashed her eyes, bit her her when M. de la Louviere's demands were lips, darted off her compliments to the duchess too much for her temper. There was her coma second time, and begged to inform her that fortable hot and well-served little dinner to look her son was a coward and a false gentleman, forward to, her paper to read of a night, her and that it was the Capuchon family that now chocolate in bed every morning, on a nice little begged to decline any further communication tray with a pat of fiesh butter and her nice litwith people who held their word so cheaply. tle new roll fiom the English baker's. MaNaturally enough, no answer came to this, al- dame was friande, and Simonne's delight was to though Madame Capuchon expected one, and cater for her. But none of these distractions fumed and flashed and scolded for weeks after, quite sufficed to give an interest to poor Marduring which poor Marthe still wondered and the's sad life. She was too old for the fun and knew nothing. excitement of youth, and too young for the lit-'cDon't let us tell her any thing about it," tle comforts, the resignations, and satisfactions Simonne had said when the first letter came. of age. Simonne; the good old fat woman, "Let her forget'tout doucement;'" and Ma- used to think of her as a little girl, and try to dame Capucllon agreed. devise new treats for her as she had done when And so Marthe waited and forgot tout douce- Fdlicie and Marthe were children. Marthe ment, as Simonne proposed, for fifteen years, would kiss her old nurse gratefully, and think, and the swans came sailing past her when she with a regretful sigh, how it was that she could took her daily walk, and the leaves fell and no longer be made happy by a bunch of flowgrew again, and every night the shadow of the ers, a hot buttered cake, a new trimming to her old lamp swinging in the street outside cast its apron; she would give the little cake away to quaint lines and glimmer across her dark leaf- the porter's grandchildren, put the flowers into shaded room, and the trees rustled when the water and leave them, fold up the apron, and, wind blew, and her dreams were quieter and to Simonne, most terrible sign of all, forget it less vivid. in the drawer. It was not natural, something Once Henry Maynard wrote, soon after Lord must be wrong, thought the old woman. John's desertion, renewing his proposals, to The old woman thought and thought, and Marthe herself, and not to his aunt; but the poked about, and one day with her spectacles letter came too soon. And, indeed, it was by on her nose, deciphered a letter which was lyHenry Maynard's letter that Marthe first real- ing on Madame Capuchon's table; it was signized for certain what had happened. ed Henry Maynard, and announced the writer's But it came too soon. She could not yet arrival at Paris. Next day, when Simonne was bear to hear her faithless lover blamed. Lord frizzling her mistress's white curls (they had M 178 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. come out of their seclusion for some years past), When Marthe demurred: " Go, my child, go she suddenly asked what had become of Mon- in peace, only go, go, go! Simonne is quite able sieur Maynard, madame's English nephew, who to take care of me: do you think I want the used to come so often before Mademoiselle Fe- sacrifice of your life? For what should I keep licie was married. i you? Can you curl me, can you play at dom"What is that to you?" said the old lady. inos? You are much more necessary to your "He is at Paris. Iheardfrom him yesterday." cousin than Vou are to me. He will be here' And why don't you ask him to come down directly-what a figure you have made of yourand see you?" said Simonne, frizzling away at self! Simonne, come here, give a coup de the crisp silver locks. "It would cheer up peigne to mademoiselle. There I hear the bell, mademoiselle to have some one to talk. to. Henry will be waiting." We don't want any one; we have had our day, "He does not mind waiting, mamma," said you and I; but mademoiselle, I confess I don't Marthe, smiling sadly. " He has waited fifteen like to see her going on as she does." years already." "Nor I!" said the old lady sharply. "She "So much the worse for you both," cried the is no credit to me. One would almost think old lady, angrily. "If I had only had my that she reproaches me for her existence, after health, if my spirits had not been completely all the sacrifices I have made." crushed in those days, I never would have given Simonne went on frizzling without stopping in to such ridiculous ideas." to inquire what these sacrifices might be. "I Ridiculous ideas! This was all the epitaph will order a fricandeau for to-morrow," she that was uttered by any one of them over the said; "' madame had better invite Monsieur grave where poor Marthe had buried with much to spend the day." pain and many tears the trouble of her early "Simonne, you are an old fool," said her life. She herself had no other text for the mistress. " I have already written to my neph- wasted love of her youth. How angry she had ew to invite him to my house." been with her cousin Henry when he warned Maynard came and partook of the fricandeau, her once, how she had hated him when he askand went for a little walk with Marthe, and he ed her to marry him before, tacitly forcing upon had a long talk with his aunt and old Simonne her the fact of his fiiend's infidelity, and now it in the evening, and went away quite late-past was to Maynard, after all, that she wasgoing to ten o'clock it was. Mavnard did not go back be married! After all that had passed, all the to Paris that night, but slept at the hotel, and varying fates, and loves, and hopes, and expecearly next morning there came a note address- tations of her life. A sudden alarm came over ed to Marthe, in which the writer stated that I the poor woman-was she to leave it, this still he was still of the same mind in which he had life, and the old house, and the tranquil shade been fifteen years before, and if she was of a and silence-and for what? Ah, she could not different way of thinking, would she consent to go, she could not-she would stay where she accept him as her husband? was. Ah! why would they not leave her And so it came about that long after the first alone? best hopes of her youth were over, Marthe con- Marthe went up to her room and cried, and sented to leave her own silent home for her hus- bathed her eyes and cried again, and dabbed band's, a melancholy middle-aged bride, sad and more water to dry her tears; then she came frightened at the thought of the tempestuous quietly down the old brick stairs. She passed world into which she was being cast adrift, and along the tiled gallery, her slim figure reflecting less able, at thirty-three than at twenty, to hold'in the dim old looking-glass in the alcove at the her own against the kindly domineering old end, with the cupids engraved upon its mouldy mother, who was much taken with the idea of surface. She hesitated a moment, and then this marriage, and vowed that Marthe should took courage and opened the dining-room door. go, and that nb daughter of hers should die an There was nobody there. It was all empty, old maid if she could help it. She had been dim-pannelled, orderly, and its narrow tall winmarried twice herself; once at least, if possible, dows reflecting the green without, and the gables she was determined that both her daughters and chimney-stacks piling underthe blue. He should follow her example. Felicie's choice was in the drawing-room then; she had hoped was not all that Madame Capuchon could have to find him here. Marthe sighed and then wished as far as liberality and amiability of walked on across the polished floor, and so into character were concerned; but Felicie herself the drawing-room. It was dimmer, more chill was happy, and indeed-so Madame Capuchon than the room in which their meals were served. had much reason to suspect-abetted her hus- Some one was standing waiting for her in one band in his grasping and extortionate demands. of the windows. Marthe remembered at that "And now Marthe's turn had come," said Ma- instant that it was Lod John's window, but dame Capuchon complacently, sitting up among she had little time for such reminiscences. A her pillows, sipping her chocolate; "she was burly figure turned at her entrance, and Henthe eldest, she should have married first; she ry Maynard came to meet her, with one big had been a good and devoted daughter, she hand out, and his broad good-natured face beamwould make an excellent wife," cried the val- ing. iant old lady. "Well, Minnie," said Henry Maynard, call LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 179 ing her by his old name for her, "you see I'm come with me, dear Marthe. You shall make here again already." me as happy as yon like, and yourself into the "Yes," she answered, standing before him, bargain. I don't think you will be sorry for it, and then they were both silent: these two mid- and indeed you don't seem to have been doing dle-aged people waiting for the other to speak. much good here, all by yourself. Well, is it to "How is your mother?" Maynard asked. be yes or no?" And once more Maynard held "I thought her very little changed, but you are out the broad brown hand. not looking over well. However, time touches And Marthe said, "Yes," quite cheerfully, us all." and put her hand into his. Marthe drew herself up, with her eyes gleam- Marthe got to knowvler future husband beting in her pale face, and then there was another ter in these five minutes than in all the thirty silence. At last Marthe faltered out, gaining years which had gone before. courage as she went on:- The Maynards are an old Catholic family, "I have been agitated, and a little disturbed. so there were no difficulties on the score of reMy mother is quite well, Cousin Henry," she ligion. The little chapel in the big church was said, and as she spoke her sad looks encounter- lighted up, the confessor performed the service. ed Maynard's good-natured twinkling glance. Madame Capuchon did not go, but Simonne She blushed suddenly like a girl of fifteen. was there, in robes of splendor, and so were the "You seem amused," she said, with some an- De la Louvieres. The baron and his mothernoyance. in-law had agreed to a temporary truce on this "Yes, dear," spoke Maynard, in his kind, auspicious occasion. After the ceremony the manly tones. " I am amused that you and I, new-married pair went back to a refection which at our time.of life, should be shilly-shallying the English baker and Simonne had concocted and sentimentalizing, like a couple of chits who between them. The baron and baroness had have all their life before them, and don't care brought their little son Remy, to whom they whether they know or not what is coming next. were devoted, and he presented Marthe with a I want to know very much-for I have little wedding present-a large porcelain vase, upon time to lose-what do you and your mother which was a painting of his mather's performance think of my letter this morning?" -in both his parents' name. Madame CapuThis was coming to the point very abruptly, chon brought out a lovely pearl and emerald Mademoiselle Capuchon thought. necklace, which Felicie had coveted for years " I am so taken by surprise," Marthe falter- past. ed, retreating a step or two, and nervously twist- "I must get it done up," the old lady said; ing her apron round about her fingers. "She "you won't want it imniediately, Marthe; you wishes it. I-I hardly know. I have had so shall have it the first time you come to see me. little time to...." Do not delay too long," added Madame Capu"My dear Marthe," said Maynard, impatient- chon, with a confidential shake of her head, to ly, "I am not a romantic young man. I can her son-in-law Maynard, as Marthe went away make no professions and speeches. You must to change her dress. "You see my health is take me as I am, ifI suit you. I won't say that miserable. I am a perfect martyr. My doctor after you sent me away I have never thought tells me my case is serious; not in so many of any body but you during these past fifteen words, but he assures me that he can not find years. But we might have been very happy to- out what ails me; and when doctors say that gether all this long time, and yesterday when I we all know what it means." saw how hipped you were looking, I determined Henry Maynard attempted to reassure Mato try and bring you away with me from this dame Capuchon, and to induce her to take a dismal place into the fresh air of Littleton, that more hopeful view of her state; but she grew is, if you liked to come with me of your own quite angry, and snapped him up so short with free will, and not only because my aunt desires her immediate prospect of dissolution, that he it." And Henry Maynard drew a long breath, desisted in his well-meant endeavors, and the and put his hands in his pockets. old lady continued more complacently:This honest little speech was like a revelation " Do not be uneasy; if any thing happens to to Marthe. She had come down feeling like a me, Simonne will write directly to your address. victim, meaning graciously, perhaps, in the end, Do not forget to leave it with her. And now to reward Maynard's constancy, taking it for go and fetch your wife, and let me have the granted that all this time he had never ceased pleasure of seeing her in her travelling-dress." being in love. She found that it was from old It was a kind old lady, but there was a want friendship and kindness alone that he had come in her love-so it seemed to her son-in-law as to her again, not from sentiment, and yet this he obeyed her behest. kindness and protection touched her more than Marthe had never quite known what real love any protestations of romantic affection. was, he thought. Sentiment, yes, and too much "But-but —should you really like it?" she of it, but not that best home-love-familiar, tenstammered, forgetting all her dreams, and com- der, unchanging. Her mother had not got it ing to life as it were, at that instant. in her to give. Felicie de la Louviere was a " Like it," he said with a smile. "You don't hard and clear-headed woman; all her affection know how fond I mean to be of you, if you will was for Remy, her little boy. Maynard dis 1SO FIVE OLD FRIENDS. liked her and the baron too, but they were all the ways more pretty and more willful. Mrs. apparently very good fiiends. Maynard used to devise pretty fanciful dresses Marthe came back to the salle to say good- for her Patty, and to tie bright ribbons in the bye, looking like herself again, Maynard thought, child's crisp brown locks, and watch over her as his bride, in her rippling trailing gray silks, and pray for her from morning to night. Squire entered the room, with Simonne's big bouquet Maynard, who was a sensible man, used to be of roses in her hand, and a pretty pink glow in afraid lest so much affection should be bad for her cheeks. his little girl; he tried to be stern now and then, She was duly embraced by Felicie and her and certainly succeeded in frightening Patty on husband, and then she knelt down to ask for her such occasions. The truth was he loved his mother's blessing. "Bless you! bless you!" wife tenderly, and thought that Patty made a cried Madame Capuchon, affectionately push- slave of her mother at times. It was a happy ing her away. "There, you will disarrange bondage for them both. Marthe dreamt no yourself; take care, take care." Simonne sprang more dreams now, and only entered that serene to the rescue, and Marthe found herself all at country of her youth by proxy, as it were, and once embraced, stuck with pins, shaken out, to make plans for her Patty. The child grew tucked in, flattened, folded, embraced again; up as the years went by, but if Marthe made the handkerchief with which she had ventured plans for her they were very distant ones, and to wipe her tears was torn out of her hand, fold- to the mother as impossible still as when Patty ed, smoothed, and replaced. "Voila!" said had been a little baby tumbling in her cradle. Simonne, with two last loud kisses, "bon voy- Even then Marthe had settled that Patty was age; good luck go with you." And Maynard not to wait for years as she had waited. What following after, somewhat to his confusion, re- hero there was in the big world worthy of her ceived a couple of like salutations. darling, Mrs. Maynard did not know. The Simonne's benediction followed Mrs. Maynard mother's heart sickened the first time she ever to England, where she went and took posses- thought seriously of a vague possibility of which sion of her new home. The neighbors called; the very notion filled her with alarm. She had the drawing-room chintzes were renewed; Mar- a presentiment the first time that she ever saw the Capuchon existed no longer; no one would him. have recognized the listless ghost flitting here She was sitting alone in her bed-room, drowsiand there, and gazing from the windows of the ly stitching in the sun-light of the pleasant bowold house in the Rue de la Lampe, in the busy window, listening to the sound of the clippers and practical mistress of Henry Maynard's home. at work upon the ivy-hedge close by, and to She had gained in composure and spirits and the distant chime from the clock-tower of the happiness since she came to England. Her town across the river. Just below her window house was admirably administered; she wore spread the lawn where her husband's beloved handsome shining silk dresses and old lace; and flower-beds were flushing-scarlet and twinkshe rustled and commanded as efficiently as if ling violet, white and brilliant amber. In the she had been married for years. Simonne threw field beyond the sloping lawn some children up her hands with delight at the transformation, were pulling at the sweet wild summer garlands the first time she saw Marthe after her marriage. hanging in the hedges, and the Alderneys were "But you are a hundred times better-looking crunching through the long damp grasses. Two than Madame la Baronne," said the old woman. pretty creatures had straggled down hill to the' This is how I like to see you." water-side, and were looking at their own brown eyes reflected in a chance clear pool in the margin of the river. For the carpet of green and meadow verdure was falling over and lapping II. and draggling in the water in a fringe of glisMORE years went by, and Simonne's benedic- tening leaves and insects and weeds. There tion did not lose its virtue. were white creamy meadow-sweets, great beds The chief new blessing and happiness of all of purple flowers, bronzed water-docks arching those blessings and happinesses which Simonne and crisping their stately heads, weeds upspringhad wished to Marthe Maynard was a blessing ing, golden slimy water-lilies floating upon their called Marthe Maynard, too; a little girl adored shining leaves. A water rat was starting out by her mother. Marthe is considered a pretty of his hole, a dragon-flyfloating along the bank. name in French, and:Maynard loved it for his All this was at the foot of the sloping mead wife's sake, and, as time went on, for her daugh- down by the bridge. It crossed the river to the ter's as well. He called her Patty, however, to little town of spires and red brick gables which distinguish the two. Far more than the happi- had been built about two centuries ago, and all ness some people find in the early spring, in the round about spread hills and lawns and sumvoices of birds, the delight of the morning hours, mer cornfields. Marthe Maynard had seen the the presence of this little thing brought to her cornfields ripen year after year: she loved the mother, this bright, honest, black and brown place for its own sake and for the sake of those and white and coral maiden, with her sweet and who were very dear to her then; but to-day, as willful ways and gay shrill warble. Every year she looked, she suddenly realized, poor soul, the gay voice became more clear and decided, that a time might come when the heart and the LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 181 sweetest life of this little home-Eden might go berries with liberal hand, unlike any thing he from it. And as she looked through her win- was used to at home. Mr. Maynard came in, dow something like a chill came over her: she hot, grizzled, and tired, and sank into a galdropped her work into her lap, and sat watch- den-chair; his wife's face brightened as he noding two figures climbing up the field side by ded to her; the distant river was flashing and side; coming through the buttercups, disap- dazzling. Remy, with his long nose and bright pearing behind the hedge, reappearing at the eyes, sat watching the little home scene, and bottom of the lawn, and then one figure darted envying them somewhat the harmony and plenty. forward, while the other lingered a little among There was love in his home, it is true, andcfood the flower-beds; and Mrs. Maynard got up res- too, but niggardly dealt out and only produced olurely, with a pain and odd apprehension in on occasions. If this was English life, Remy her heart, and went down to meet her daughter. thought it was very pleasant, and as he thought The steeples of the little town which strike the so, he saw the bright and splendid little figure hours, half-hours, and the very minutes as they of his cousin Patty advancing radiant across the pass, were striking four quarters, and then five lawn. For once Mrs. Maynard was almost anagain, as Mrs. Maynard came out upon her gry with herdaughter for looking so lovely; her lawn, and at each stroke the-poor mother's heart shrill sweet voice clamored for attention; her sank, and she turned a little sick at the possi- bright head went bobbing over the cake and the bility which had first occurred to her just now strawberries; her bright cheeks were glowing; in her own room. It seemed to thrust itself her eyes seemed to dance, shine, speak, go to again upon her as she stood waiting for the two sleep, and wake again with a flash. Mrs. Mayyoung people-her own Patty and the strange nard had tied a bright ribbon in her daughter's young nian coming through the flower-beds. hair that morning. She wore a white dress There was a certain likeness to herself, odd, like her mother, but all fancifully and prettily touching, bewildering, in the utter stranger, cut. As he looked at her, the young man which said more plainly than any words, I be- thought at first-unworthy simile-of coffee and long to you and yours; I am no stranger though cream and strawberries, in a dazzle of sunlight; strange to you. Patty had no need to explain, then he thought of a gypsy, and then of a all breathless and excited and blushing, "Mam- nymph, shining, transfigured: a wood-nymnph ma, do you know who this is? This is Remy escaped from her tree in the forest, for a time de la Louviere. Papa and I found him at the consorting with mortals, and eating and joining hotel;" for the poor mother had already guessed in their sports, before she fled back to the ivythat this was her sister's son. grown trunk, which was her home, perhaps. She could not help it. I-Ier greeting was so Remy had not lived all these yearsin the stiff, her grasp so timid and fluttering, her narrow home-school in which he had been bred words so guarded, that M. Remy, who was used without learning something of the lesson which to be cordially welcomed and made much of, was taught there: taught in the whole manner was surprised and disappointed, though he said and being of the household, of its incomings and nothing to show it. His manner froze, his outgoings, of its interests and selfish preoccupamustaches seemed to curl more stiffly. He had tions. We are all sensible, coming from outexpected to like his aunt from her letters and side into strange homes, of the different spirit from what he had seen of her daughter, and here or lares penates pervading each household. As she was just the same as any body else, after surely as every tree in the forest has its sylph, all! so every house in the city must own its domestic Remy introduced himself all the same. He deity-different in aspect and character, but had come to make acquaintance with his Eng- ruling with irresistible decision-orderly and lish relations, he told Mrs. Maynard. His decorous, disorderly; patient, impatient; some mother "sent her love, and would they be kind stint and mean in contrivances and economies, to him?" and Marthe, for all her presentiments, others profuse and neglectful; others, again, could not but relent towards the handsome poor, plain of necessity, but kindly and liberal. young fellow; she did not, however, ask him Some spirits keep the doors of their homes wide to stay, but this precaution was needless, for her open, others ajar, others under lock and key, husband had done so already. "We heard bolted, barred, with a little cautious peep-hole him asking for us at the inn," explained Patty. to reconnoitre from. As a rule, the very wide" Mamma, was not it fortunate? Papa was open door often invites you to an indifferent entalking about the old brown mare, and I was tertainment going on within; and people who just walking with Don in the court-yard, and are particular generally prefer those houses then I heard my cousin saying,' Where is Sun- where the door is left, let us say, on the latch. nymede?' and I said, Oh, howv delightful!'" The household god that Remy had been "Hush, darling," said her mother. " Go brought up to worship was a mean, self-seekand tell them to bring us some tea on the lawn." ing, cautious, and economical spirit. Madame There was a shady corner not too far from de la Louviere's object and ambition in life had the geraniums, where the table was set, and been to bring her servants down to the wellRemy liked his aunt a little better, as she attend- known straw a day; to persuade her husband ed to his wants, making a gentle clatter among (no difficult matter) to grasp at every chance the white cups, and serving out cream straw- and shadow of advantage along his path; to 182 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. educate her son to believe in the creed which "My son, my poor child!" said the baronshe professed. Remy must make a good mar- ess, excitedly, "be calm, and come and help riage; must keep up with desirable acquaint- me to unravel this plot." ances: must not neglect his well-to-do uncle, "What is the matter?" Remy asked, in a the LaLouvieres in Burgundy; must occasion- a cheerful voice. He, however, shrugged his ally visit his grandmother, Madame Capuchon, shoulders rather dolefully when he heard the whose savings ought tobe something considera- news, for to tell the truth he was in debt, and ble by this time. Madame de la Louviere had.no had been counting upon his grandmother's legidea how considerable these savings were until acy to help him out. "Hadn't we better make one day about a week before Remy made his ap- sure of her intentions before we remonstrate?" pearance at Littleton, when the family lawyer, he suggested, and the baron was accordingly Monsieur Micotton, had come over to see her sent for and desired to copy out another of on business. This grasping clear-headed worn- those long letters of his wife's devising, which an exercised a strange authority and fascination he signed with a flourish at the end. over the stupid little attorney-he did her busi- Madame Capuchon, appealed to, refused to ness cheaper than for any other client; he told give any information as to the final disposition her all sorts of secrets he had no right to com- of her property. She should leave it to any municate-and now he let out to her that her body she liked. She thought, considering her mother had been making her will, and had left state of health, that the baron might have waitevery thing that she had laid by in trust for lit- ed in patience until she was gone, to satisfy his tie Marthe Maynard, her eldest daughter's only curiosity. She sent her love to her grandson, child. but was much displeased with both his parents. Madame de la Louviiere's face pinched and This was a terrible climax. Madahne de la wrinkled up into a sort of struggling knot of Louvierelay awake all one night. Next mornhorror, severity, and indignation. ing she sent for Remy and unfolded her plans "My good Monsieur Micotton, what news to him. you give me! What a culpable partiality! "You must go over to England and marry What an injustice; what a horror! Ah, that your cousin," she said, decisively; "that is the little intriguing English girl! Did you not re- only thing to be done." monstrate with, implore my unfortunate moth- When Micotton came next day for further er? But it must not be allowed. We must orders, Madame de la Louviere told him that interfere." Remy was already gone. "Madame," said Micotton, respectfully, "your mother is, as you well know, a person All his life long Remy remembered this of singular decision and promptness of charac- evening upon the river, sweeter, more balmn ter. She explained to me that when your sis- and wonderful than almost, any evening he had ter married, her husband (who apparently is ever spent in his life before. He had come with rich) refused to accept more than a portion of a set purpose, this wolf in sheep's clothing, to the dot which came by right to madame youi' perform his part in a bargain, without thought sister. M. de la Louviere unfortunately at that of any thing but his own advantage. The idea moment requested some advance, which appar- of any objection being made never occurred to ently vexed madame your mother, and —" him. He was used to be made much of, as I "Ah, I understand. Itwas a plot; it was a have said; he could please where he chose. conspiracy. I see it all," hissed the angry lady. This project accorded so entirely with his " Ah, Monsieur Micotton, what a life of anxiety French ideas, and seemed so natural and simis that of a mother, devoted as I have been, pie an arrangement, that he never thought of wounded cruelly to the heart; at every hour doubting its success. For the first time now a insulted, trampled on!" possibility occurred to him of something higher, Madame de la Louviere was getting quite wiser, holier, than money-getting and grasping, wild in her retrospect; and M. Micotton, fear- in his schemes for the future and for his maring a nervous attack, hastily gathered his papers ried life. He scarcely owned it to himself, but together, stuffed them into his shabby bag, and now that he had seen his cousin, he unconmaking a great many little parting bows, that sciously realized that if he had not already were intended to soothe and calm down his an- come with the set purpose of marrying her, he gry client, retreated towards the door. As he should undoubtedly have lost his heart to this left he ran up against a tall, broad-shouldered, winsome and brilliant little creature. All that good-looking young man, with a long nose, evening, as they slid through the water, paddling quick dark eyes, and a close- cropped dark between the twilight fields, pushing through the beard, thick and soft and bright. Rdmy had a beds of water-lilies, sometimes spurting swiftly look of his mother, who was a tall, straight, through the rustling reeds, with the gorgeous well-built woman; but his forehead was broad- banks on either side, and the sunset beyond er, his face softer, and his smile was charming. the hills, and the figures strolling tranquilly It was like the smile of his unknown aunt, far along the meadows. De la Louviere only felt away in England, the enemy who had, accord- himself drifting and drifting into a new and ing to his mother's account, defrauded and rob- wonderful world. This time-wise young fellow bed him of his rights. felt as if he was being washed white and happy LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 183 and peaceful in the lovely purple river. Every ed a little interested, but asked no questions, thing was at once twilit, moonlit, and sunlit. and went on talking and laughing with his The water flowed deep and clear. Patty, with cousin; and after dinner, when Mrs. Maynard a bulrush wand, sat at the stern, bending for- took her letter away to read in the study, the ward and talking happily; the people on the two young people went and sat upon the little shore heard her sweet chatter. terrace in fiont of the house. Once Patty uttered a cry of alarm. "Don! The letter was from Madame Capuchon, and Where was Don?" He had been very content- Mrs. Maynard, having read it, put it into her edly following them, trotting along the bank; husband's hands with a little exclamation of but now in the twilight they could not make bewildered dismay. him out. Patty called and her father hallooed, "What is the matter, my dear?" said Mayand Remy pulled out a little silver whistle he nard, looking up from his paper, which had come happened to have in his pocket and whistled by the same afternoon post. shrilly. Old Don, who had been a little ahead, " Only read this," she said; " you will know hearing all this hullabaloo, quietly plashed from best what to do. Oh Henry, he must go; he the banks into the water, and came swimming should never have come." up to the side of the boat, with his honest old nose My heroine's mother was never very remarkain the air, and his ears floating on the little ble for spirit: her nearest approach to it was ripples. Having satisfied them of his safety, this first obstinate adherence to any thing which and tried to wag his tail in the water, he swam Henry might decree. Like other weak people back to shore again, and the boat sped on its she knew that if she once changed her mind she way home through the twilight. was lost, and accordingly she clung to it in the "What a nice little whistle!" said Patty. smallest decisions of life with an imploring per-'"Do take it," said Remy. "It is what I sistence: poor Marthe, her decision was a straw call my dogs at home with. Please take it. in a great sea of unknown possibilities. MaIt will give me pleasure to think that any thing dame Capuchon was a strong-minded woman, of mine is used by you." and not afraid to change her mind. "Oh thank you," said Patty, as she put out "I have heard fiom Felicie," the old lady her soft warm hand through the cool twilight, wrote; " but she says nothing of a certain fine and took it from him. Maynard was looking scheme which I hasten to acquaint you with. out for the lock and paying no attention. Rdmy I learned it by chance the other day when Mifelt as glad as if some great good-fortune had cotton was with me consulting on the subject happened to him. of my will, which it seems has given great ofThe light was burning in the drawing-room fense to the De la Lonuvires. Considering the when they got back. Mrs. Maynard had or- precarious state of my health, they might surely dered some coffee to be ready for them, and have taken patience; but I am now determined was waiting with a somewhat anxious face for that they shall not benefit by one farthing that their return. I possess. Micotton, at my desire, confessed "Oh, mamma, it has been so heavenly!" said that Remy has gone over to England for the Patty, once more sinking into her own corner express purpose of making advances to Marthe, by the window. your daughter, in hopes of eventually benefiting And then the moon came brightly hanging through me. He is a young man of indifferent in the sky, and a nightingale began to sing. character, andhe inherits, no doubt, the covetous Remy had never been so happy in his life be- and grasping spirit of his father." Mr. Mayfore. He had forgotten all about his specula- nard read no farther; he flushed up and began tion, and was only thinking that his English to hiss out certain harmless oaths between his cousin was more charming than all his grand- teeth. "Does that confounded young puppy mother's money-bags piled in a heap. For that think my Patty is to be disposed of like a bunnight he forgot his part of wolf altogether.. dle of hay? Does he come here scheming afIn the morning Patty took her cousin to the ter that poor old woman's money? Be hanged green-house, to the stable to see her pony; she to the fellow! he must be told to go about his did the honors of Sunnymede with so much business, Marthe, or the child may be taking a gayety and frankness that her mother had not fancy to him. Confound the impertinentjackathe heart to put conscious thoughts into the napes!" child's head, and let her go her own way. The "But who is to tell him?" poor Marthe. faltwo came back late to the early dinner; Mr. tered, with one more dismal presentiment. Maaynard frowned, he disliked unpunctuality. "You, to be sure," said Maynard, clapping Rdmy was too happy to see darkness anywhere, on his felt hat and marching right away off the or frowns in any body's face; but then his eyes premises. were dazzled. It was too good to last, he In the mean time Remy and his cousin had thought, and in truth a storm was rising even been very busy making Don jump backward then. and forward over the low parapet. They had During dinner the post came in. Mrs. May- a little disjointed conversation between thejumpnard glanced at her correspondence, and then ing. at her husband, as she put it into her pocket. "What is your home like?" Patty asked "It is from my mother," she said. Remy look- once. 184 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. "I wish it was more like yours," said Remy, her presentiments, reading the letter, overhearwith some expression; " it would make me very ing her conversation with her husband all in one happy to think that, some day, it might become instant-so it seemed to poor Marthe. "Andmore so." why not, pray?" The girl seemed almost to understand his "We can not argue the question," his aunt meaning, for she blushed and laughed, and said, with some dignity. "You must not attossed her gloves up in the air and caught tempt to see my daughter any more." them again.-" I love my home dearly," said "You mean to say that you are turning me, she. your sister's son, out of your house," the indigAt that moment the garden door opened, and nant Remy said. "I own to all that you acMr. Maynard appeared, but instead of coming cuse me of. I hoped to marry your daughter. towards them, he no sooner saw the two young I still hope it; and I shall do so still," cried the folks than he began walking straight away in young man. the direction of the outer gate, never turning Reimy's real genuine admiration for Patty his head or paying any attention to his daugh- stood him in little stead; he was angry and ter's call. lost his temper in his great disappointment and "Papa, papa!" cried Patty, springing up; surprise. He behaved badly and foolishly. but her father walked on, never heeding, and "I had not meant to turn you out of my yet she was sure he must have heard. What house," said his aunt, gravely.; "but for the could it mean? She looked at Remy, Who was present I think you had certainly better go. I quite unconscious, twirling his mustache, and can not expose my daughter to any agitation." stirring up Don with the toe of his boot; from "You have said more than enough," said Remy she looked round to the library window, PReny. "I am going this instant." And as which was open wide, and where her mother he spoke he went striding out of the room. was standing. And so Remy came back no more to sit with "Do you want me?" Patty cried, running up. Patty under the ash-tree; but her mother, with "Ask your cousin to come and speak to me," her grave face, stood before her, and began tellsaid Mrs. Maynard, very gravely -" here, in ing her this impossible, unbelievable fact-that papa's room." he was young, that he had been to blame. Patty was certain that something was wrong. "He unkind! he to blame! Oh mamma!" She gave Remy her mother's message with a the girl said, in a voice of reproach. wistful glance, to see whether he did not suspect " Ie has been unkind and scheming, and he any trouble. The young man started up obedi- was rude to me, darling. I am sorry, but it is a ently, and Patty waited outside in the sun, listen- fact." And Marthe, as she spoke, glanced a ing to the voices droning away within, watching little anxiously at Patty, who had changed color, the sparkle of the distant river, lazily following and then at De la Louvielre himself, who was the flight of a big bumble-bee-wondering when marching up, fierce still and pale, with bristling their talk would be over and Remy would come hair-his nose looking hooked and his lips partout to her again. From where she sat Patty ing in a sort of scornful way. He was carrying could see the reflection of the two talkers in the his cloak on his arm. big sloping looking-glass over the library table. "I have come to wish you good-bye, and to Her mother was standing very dignified and state- thank you for your English hospitality. maly, the young man had drawn himself straight up dame," said he, with a grand sweeping bow. -so straight, so grim and fierce-looking, that "My cousin, have you not got a word for me?" Patty, as she looked, was surer and more sure But Mrs. Maynard's eyes were upon her, and that all was not right; and she saw her mother Patty, with a sudden shy stiffness for which she give him a letter, and he seemed to push it away. hated herself then and for many and many a day And then it was not Remy but Mrs. Maynard and night after, said good-bye, looking down who came out, looking very pale, and who said, with a sinking heart, and Remy marched away "Patty, darling, I have been very much pained, with rage and scorn in his. "They are, all Your cousin has behaved so strangely and un- alike; not one bit better than myself. That little kindly to you and me and to your father, that girl has neither kindness, nor feeling, nor fidelity we can never forget or forgive it. Your father in her. The money: they want to keep it for says so." themselves-that is the meaning of all these Mrs. Maynard had tried to perform her task fine speeches. I should like to get hold of her as gently as she could. She told Remy that all the same, little stony-hearted flirt, just to English people had different views on many sub- spite them; yes, and throw her over at the last jects from the French; that she had learned his moment, money and all-impertinent, ill-bred intentions from her mother, and thought it best folks." And it happened that just at this minto tell him plainly at once that she and Mr. ute Mr. Maynard was coming back thoughtfully Maynard could never consent to any such ar- the way he had gone, and the two men stopped rangement; and under the circumstances-that face to face, one red, the other pale. Mrs. May-that-that- nard, seeing the meeting, came hastily up. " You can never consent," repeated the young "You will be glad to hear that I am going," man, stepping forward and looking through her said Remy, defiantly looking at his uncle as he and round about her, seeing all her doubts, all had done at his aunt. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 185 "I am very glad to hear it," said Mr. May- patched and mended, and strained in half a doznard. "I have no words to express the in- en places, are easily affected by the passing jars dignation which fills me at the thought of your of the moment: they suffer and lose their appemaking a speculation of ny daughter's affec- tite, and get aches directly which take away much tions, and the sooner you are gone the better." sense of the mental inquietude which brought "Hush, dear," said Mrs. Maynard, laying her the disturbance about. Young healthy creatures hand on her husband's arm, and looking at Pat- like Patty can eat a good dinner and feel a keen ty, who had followed her at a little distance. pang and hide it, and chatter on scarcely conShe had had her own say, and was beginning scious of their own heroism. to think poor edmy hardly dealt with. But as the days went by Mrs. Maynard sus"' Let him say what he likes, madame, I don't pected that all was not well with the child; care," De la Louviere said. "I am certainly there seemed to be a little effort and strain in going. You have failed, both of you, in kind- the life which had seemed so easy and smooth ness and hospitality; as for my cousin-" but, before. More than once Mrs. Maynard noticed looking at Patty, he saw that her eyes were full her daughter's eyes fixed upon her curiously and of tears, and he stopped short. "I am all that wistfully. One day the mother asked her why you think," Rdmy went on. "I am in debt, I she looked at her so. Patty blushed, but did have lost money at gambling, I am a good-for- not answer. The truth was, it was the likeness nothing fellow. You might have made some- to her cousin which she was studying. These thing of me, all of you, but you are a sordid blushes and silence made Marthe Maynard a litnation and don't understand the feelings of a tie uneasy. French gentleman." But more days passed and the mother's anxWith this bravado Remy finally stalked off. ious heart was relieved, Patty had brightened " I think, perhaps, we were a little hasty," up again, and looked like herself, coming and gosaid the injudicious Marthe, while Patty sudden- ing in her Undine-like way, bringing home long ly burst out crying and ran away. wreaths of ivy, birds'-eggs, sylvan treasures. She Poor little Patty came down to tea that even- was out in all weathers. Her locjks only curled ing looking very pale, with pouting red lips, the crisper for the falling rain, and her cheeks prettier than ever, her mother thought, as she only brightened when the damp rose up from silently gave the child her cupful of tea and cut the river. The time came for their annual visit her bread-and-butter, and put liberal helpings to Madame de Capuchon. Patty, out in her of jam and fruit before her, dainties that were woods and meadows, wondered and wondered served in the old cut-glass dishes that had spark- what might come of it; but Poictiers is a long led on Maynard's grandmother's tea-table before. way from Fontainebleau, "fortunately," " alas!" The old Queen Anne teapot, too, was an heir- thought the mother-in her room, packing Patloom, and the urn and the pretty straight spoons, ty's treasures-and the daughter out in the open and the hideous old china tea-set with the red field in the same breath. They were so used and yellow flowers. There were other heir- to. one another, these two, that some sort of maglooms in the family, and even Patty's bright netic current passed between them at times, and eyes had been her great-grandmother's a centu- certainly Marthe never thought of Redmy de la ry ago, as any body might see who looked at the Louviere that Patty did not think of him too. picture on the wall. Mr. Maynard was silent; he had been angry with his wife for her gentle remonstrance, furious with the young man for the high hand in which he had carried matters, III. displeased with Patty for crying, and with him- OLD Madame de Capuchon was delighted self for not having foreseen the turn things with her granddaughter, and the improvement were taking: and he now sat sulkily stirring his she found in her since the year before. She tea-sulky but relenting-and not indisposed for made more of her than she had ever done of peace. After all, he had had his own way, and Marthe her daughter. All manner of relics were that is a wonderful calming process. Remy produced out of the old lady's ancient stores to was gone; nothing left of him but a silver whis- adorn Miss Patty's crisp locks and little round tie that Patty had put away in her work-table white throat and wrists; small medallions were drawer. He was gone; the echo of his last hung round her neck, brooches and laces pinned angry words were dinning in Maynard's ears, on, ribbons tied and muslins measured, while while a psalm of relief was sounding in the Simonne tried her hand once again at cakemother's heart. Patty sulked like her father, making. Patty, in return, brought a great rush and ate her bread and jam without speaking a of youth, and liberty, and sunshine into the old word. There was no great harm done,' Mrs. closed house, where she was spoiled, worshipped, Maynard thought, as she kept her daughter sup- petted, to her heart's content. Her mother's plied. She herself had been so disturbed and tender speechless love seemed dimmed and put overcome by the stormy events of the day that out by this chorus of compliments and admniiashe could not eat. She made the mistake that tion. "Take care of your complexion; whatmany elders have made before her: they mis- ever you do, take care of your complexion," her take physical for mental disturbance; poor well- grandmother was always saying. Madame Capuhacked bodies that have been jolted, shaken, chon actually sent for the first modiste in the 186 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. town, explained what she wanted, and ordered is to be sixteen, and transported into a dazzling a scarlet " capeline,"-such as ladies wear by the ringing world of sounds, and sights, and tastes, seaside-a pretty fiilled, quilted, laced, and and revelations. The good father took his braided scarlet hood, close round the cheeks daughter to dine off delicious little dishes with and tied up to the chin, to protect her grand- sauces, with white tread and butter to eat bedaughter's youthful bloom from the scorching tween the courses; he hired little carriages, in rays of the sun. She need not have been so which they sped through the blazing streets, and anxious. Patty's roses were of a damask that were set down at the doors of museums and does not fade in the sun's rays. palaces, and the gates of cool gardens where Squire Maynard, who was a sensible man, fountains murmured and music played; he did not approve of all this to-do, and thought had some friends in Paris-a good-natured old it was all very bad for Miss Patty, "whose lit- couple, who volunteered to take charge of his tie head was quite full enough of nonsense al- girl; but for that whole, happy, unspeakable ready," he said. One day Patty came home week he rarely left her. One night he took with the celebrated pearls round her neck that her to the play-a grand fairy piece-where a Madame de la Louviere had tried so hard to fustian peasant maiden was turned into a satin get. Madame Capuchon forgot that she had princess in a flash of music and electric light. already given them to her eldest daughter, but Patty took her father's arm, and came away Mrs. Maynard herself was the last to have re- with the crowd, with the vision of those waving membered this, and it was her husband who said halos of bliss opening and shining with golden to her, with a shrug of the shoulders:- rain and silver-garbed nymphs, and shrieks of "It is all very well, but they are yours, my music and admiration, all singing and turning dear, and your mother has no more right to before her. The satin princess was already rethem than Patty has." transformed, but that was no affair of Patty's. Patty pouted, flashed, tossed her little head, Some one in the crowd, better used to plays and flung her arms round her mother's neck, all in fairy pieces, coming along behind the father and an instant. She was a tender-hearted little daughter, thought that by far the prettiest sight person, heedless, impulsive, both for the best he had seen that night was this lovely eager and the worst, as her poor mother knew to her little face before him, and that those two dark cost. The squire thought his wife spoiled her eyes-now flashing, now silent-were the most daughter, and occasionally tried a course of ju- beautiful illuminations he had witnessed for dicious severity, and, as I have already said, he many a day. The bright eyes never discovered had only succeeded in frightening the child who it was behind her. Need I say that it was more than he had any idea of. Remy? who, after looking for them for a couple "Take them, dear mamma," said Patty, pull- of days in all the most likely places, took a ticking off her necklace. " I didn't know any thing et for Fontainebleau on the third evening after about them. Grandmamma tied them on." he had seen them. What fascination was it. "Darling," said her mother, "you are my that attracted him? He was hurt and angry jewel. I don't want these pearls: and if they with her, he loved and he longed to see her. are mine I give them to you." And then again vague thoughts of revenge crossTwo pearl drops were in Mrs. Maynard's ed his mind; he would see her and win her afeyes as she spoke. She was thinking of her fections, and then turn away and leave her, and long lonely days, and of the treasures which pay back the affront which had been put upon were now hers. Looking at this bright face in him. M. Remy, curling his mustaches in the its scarlet hood-this gay, youthful presence railway-carriage, and meditating this admirable standing before them all undimmed, in the scheme, was no very pleasant object to contemsplendor of its confidence and brightness —it plate. seemed to Mrs. Maynard as if now, in her old "That gentleman in the corner looks ready age, now that she had even forgotten her long- to eat us all up," whispered a little bride to her ings for them, all the good things were granted husband. to her, the want of which had made her early Meanwhile Patty had been going on her way life so sad. It was like a miracle, tlat at fifty very placidly all these three days, running hithall this should come to her. Her meek glad er and thither, driving in the forest, dining with eyes sought her husband's. He was frowning, her grandmother, coming home at night under and eying his little girl uneasily. the stars. The little red hood was well known "I don't like that red bonnet of yours," said in the place. Sometimes escorted by Betty, an he. "It is too conspicuous. You can't walk English maid who had come over with the fainabout Paris in that." ily; oftener Mr. Maynard himself walked with "Paris!" shrieked Patty. "Am I going to his daughter. Fontainebleau was not LittleParis, papa?" ton, and he did not like her going about alone, "You must take great care of your father, although Patty used to pout and rebel at these Patty," said her mother. "I shall stay here precautions. Mrs. Maynard herself rarely walkwith my mother until you come back." ed; she used to drive over to her mother's of I am not going to describe Patty's delights an afternoon, and her husband and daughter and surprise. Every body has seen through her would follow her later; and Simonne, radiant, eyes, at one time or another, and knows what it would then superintend the preparation of fri LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 187 candeaus and galettes, such as she loved to set dren;-the carps may have dived for safety into before them, and cream-tarts and chicken and the cool depths of the basins, while these awful vol au vent. There was no end to her resources. ghosts of want and madness clamored round the And yet, to hear Madame Capuchon, one would doors of the palace-ghosts that have not passthink that she led the life of an invalid ascetic ed away forever, alas! with the powders and starving on a desert island. " These railways patches, and the stately well-bred follies of the carry away every thing," the old lady would say; court of Dives. After these times a new order "they leave one nothing. When I say that I of things was established, and the carps may have dined, it is for the sake of saying so. You have seen a new race of spirits in the quaint know I am not particular, but they leave us garb and odd affectation of a bygone age, of nothing, absolutely nothing, to eat." On this senates and consuls and a dead Roman people; especial occasion the old lady was in a state of and then an Emperor, broken-hearted, signed pathetic indignation over M. Bougu, her butter- away an empire, and a WTaterloo was fought; man, who had been taken up for false practices. and to-day began to dawn, and the sun shone Simonne joined in-" I went in for the tray," for a while upon the kingly dignity of Orleans; she said. "Oh, I saw at once, by the expres- and then upon a second empire, with flags and sion of madame's face, that there was something many eagles and bees to decorate the whole, wrong. It was lard that he had mixed with his and trumpets blowing, and looms at work, and butter. As it is, I do not know where to go to a temple raised to the new goddess of industry. find her any thing fit to eat. They keep cows What did it all matter to the old gray carp? at the hotel," she added, turning to Marthe as They had been fed by kings and by emperors; she set down a great dish full of cream-cakes and now they were snatching as eagerly at the upon the table. "Perhaps they would supply crumbs which Patty Maynard was dropping one us, if you asked them." by one into the water, and which floated pleasMrs. Maynard undertook the negotiation; antly into their great open maws. The little and next day she called Patty to her into the bits of bread tasted much alike,' from wherever little drawing-room, and gave the child' a piece they came. If Patty had been used to put such of honeycomb and a little pat in a vine-leaf, vague speculations into words, she might have to take to Madame Capuchon, as a sample. wondered sometimes whether we human carps, "Give her my love, and tell her she can have snatching at the crumbs which fall upon the waas much more as she likes; and call Betty to ters of life, are not also greedy and unconscious go with you," said Mrs. Maynard. "Betty, of the wonders and changes that may be going Betty, Betty, Betty, come directly," cried Patty, on close at hand in another element to which outside the door, dancing off delighted with her we do not belong, but at which we guess now commission. Betty came directly; but there and then. are two roads to Madame Capuchon's, one by A crumb fell to little Patty herself, just then the street and one by the park. Patty certain- gazing down deep into the water. The sun bely waited for three minutes at the park gate, but gan to shine hot and yet more hot, and the child Betty was trudging down the town, and gaping put up her big white umbrella, for her hood did into all the shops as she went along, while her not shade her eyes. A. great magnificent stream young mistress, who had soon lost patience, was of light illumined the grand old place, and the hurrying along the avenues, delighted to be free waving tree-tops, and the still, currentless lake. -hurrying and then stopping, as the fancy took The fish floated on basking, the birds in the trees her. The sun shone, the golden water quiver- seemed suddenly silenced by the intense beautied, the swans came sailing by. It was all Patty ful radiance, the old palace courts gleamed could do not to sing right out and dance to her bravely, the shadows shrank and blackened; hot, own singing. By degrees her spirits quieted sweet, and silent the light streamed upon the down a little... great green arches and courts and colonnades of * * * * * * the palace of garden without, upon the arches Patty. was standing leaning over the stone and courts and colonnades of the palace of marparapet at the end of the terrace, and looking ble within, with its quaint eaves and mullions, deep down into the water which laps against it its lilies of France and D's and H's still inA shoal of carp was passing through the clear twined, though D and II had been parted for cool depths. Solemn patriarchs, bald, dim with three centuries and more. It was so sweet and age, bleared and faded and overgrown with so serene that Patty began to think of her cousstrange mosses and lichens, terrible with their in. She could not have told you why fine days chill life of centuries, solemnly sliding, followed put her in mind of him. and of that happy hour by their court through the clear cool waters in the boat. She pulled the little silver whistle where they had floated for ages past. Uncon- out of her pocket, and to-day she could not help scions, living, indifferent while the generations it; instead of pushing the thoughtofRemy away, were succeeding one another, and angry mul- as she had done valiantly of late, the silly child titudes surging and yelling while kingdoms turned the whistle inher hands roundand round changed hands; while the gay court ladies, scat- again. It gleamed in the sun like a whistle of tering crumbs with their dainty fingers, were fire; and then slowly she put it to her lips. hooted by the hags and furies of the Revolution, Should she frighten the carp? Patty wondershrieking for blood, and for bread for their chil- ed; and as she blew a very sweet long note upon 188 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. the shrill gleaming toy, it echoed oddly in the! them," said the girl. "I would love you a stillness, and across the water. The carp did great deal, if I might," she added, with another not seem to hear it; but Patty stopped short, sigh. "I do love you, only I try not to, and I frightened, ashamed, with burning blushes, for, think-I am sure I shall get over it in time, if I looking up at the sound of a footstep striking can only be brave." across the stone terrace, she saw her cousin This was such an astounding confession that coming towards her. De la Louviere hardly knew how to take it; To people who are in love each meeting is a touched and amused and amazed, he stoodthere, new miracle. This was an odd chance certain- looking at the honest little sweet face. Patty's ly, a quaint freak of fortune. The child thought confession was a very honest one. The girl it was some incantation that she had uncon- knew that it was not to be; she was loyal to her sciously performed; she sprang back, her dark father, and. above all, to that tender wistful eyes flashed, the silver whistle fell to the ground mother. Filial devotion seemed, like the bright and went rolling and rolling and bobbing across eyes and silver teapot, to be an inheritance in the stones to the young man's feet. her family. She did not deceive herself; she IIe picked it up and came forward with an knew that she loved her cousin with something amused and lover-like smile, holding it out in more than cousinly affection, but she also behis hand. " I have only just heard you were lieved that it was a fancy which could be conhere," he said; "I came to see my grandmoth- quered. And she set her teeth and looked quite er last night, from Paris. My dear cousin, fierce at Remy; and then she melted again, what a delightful chance! Are not you a little and said in her childish way: "You never bit glad to see me?" said the young man, ro- told me you would come if I blew upon the mantically. It was a shame to play off his airs whistle." and graces upon such a simple downright soul Do her harm-wound her-punish her paas Marthe Maynard. Some one should have rentsby stabbing her tender little heart! Remy boxed his ears as he stood there, smiling, hand- said to himself that he had rather cut off his some, irresistible, trying to make a sentimental mustaches. scene out of a chance meeting. Poor little Pat- There was something loyal, honest, and tenty, with all her courage and simpleness, was no der in the little thing, that touched him inexmatch for him at first; she looked up at his face pressibly. He suddenly began to tell himself wistfully and then turned away, for one burning that he agreed with his uncle, that to try to blush succeeded to another, and then she took marry Patty for money's sake had been a shame courage again. "Of course I am glad to see and a sin. IHe had been a fool and a madman, you, Cousin Remy," said she, brightly, and she and blind and deaf. Rnmy de la Louviere was held out her little brown hand and put it frank- only half a wolf, after all-a sheep in wolf's ly into his. "It is the greatest pleasure and clothing. He had worn the skin so long that delight to me, above all now, when I had given he had begun to think it was his very own, and up all hopes forever; but it's no use," said Pat- he was perfectly amazed and surprised to find ty, with a sigh, " for I know I mustn't talk to such a soft, tender place beneath it. you, they wouldn't like it. I must never whis- It was with quite a different look and tone tie again upon the little whistle, for fear you from the romantic, impassioned, corsair manshould appear," she said, with a sigh. ner in which he had begun, that lie said very This was no cold-hearted maiden. Remy for- gently: "Dear Patty, don't try too hard not got his vague schemes of revenge and desertion to like me. I can not help hoping that all will the moment he heard the sound of her dear lit- be well. You will hope, too, will you not?" tie voice.:They wouldn't like it," said Remy, "Yes, indeed, I will," said Patty; "and reddening, "and I have been longing and wea- now, Remy, you must go: I have talked to you rying to see you again, Patty. What do you long enough. See, this is the back gate and suppose I have come here for?-Patty, Patty, the way to the Rue de la Lampe." For they confess that you were thinking of me when you had been walking on all this time and following whistled," and as he said this, the wolf's whole the course of the avenue. One or two people heart melted. "Do you know how often I have passing by looked kindly at the handsome young thought of you since I was cruelly driven away couple strolling in the sunshine; a man in a from your house?" blouse, wheeling a hand-truck, looked over his Two great, ashamed, vexed, sorrowful tears shoulder a second time as he turned down the started into Marthe's eyes as she turned away turning to the Rue de la Lampe. Patty did her head and pulled away her hand. not see him, she was absorbed in one great reso"Oh Rdmy, indeed, indeed there must have lution. She must go now, and say good-bye to been some reason, some mistake: dear papa, if her cousin.. you knew how he loves me and mamma, and, oh, " Come a little way farther with me," said how miserable it made me." Rdmy, "just a little way under the trees. "I dare say there was some mistake, since Patty, I have a confession to make to you. you say so," said the wily wolf.'i Patty, only You will hate me, perhaps, and yet I can not say you love me a little, and I will forgive every help telling you." thing and any thing." "Oh, indeed I must not come now," Patty "I mustn't let any one talk about forgiving said. "Good-bye, good-bye." LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 189 "You won't listen to me, then?" said the cross avenue leading back to the carriageyoung man, so sadly that she had not the cour- road. age to leave him, and she turned at last, and "I shall come to Madame Capuchon's, too, walked a few steps. since you are going," said Remy, making a "Will you let me carry your basket?" said grand resolution. "I think perhaps she will her cousin. "Who are you taking this to?" help us. She is bound to, since she did all the "It is for my grandmother," said the girl, mischief;" and then he went on a few steps, resisting. " Remy, have you really any thing holding back the trees that grew in Patty's way. to say?" A little field-mouse peeped at them and ran They had come to the end of the park, where away, a lightning sheet of light flashed through its gates lead into the forest; one road led to the green and changing leaves, little blue flowthe Rue de la Lampe, the other into the great ers were twinkling on the mosses under the waving world of trees. It was a lovely sum- trees, dried blossoms were falling, and cones mer's afternoon. There was a host in the air, and dead leaves and aromatic twigs and shoots. delighting and basking in the golden comfort; "Is this the way?" said Patty, suddenly butterflies, midges, flights of birds from the for- stopping short, and looking about her. " Remy, est were passing. It was pleasant to exist in look at those arrows cut in the trees; they are such a place and hour, to walk by Remy on the not pointing to the road we have come. Oh soft springing turf, and to listen to the sound of Remy, do not lose the way," cried Patty, in a his voice under the shade of the overarching sudden fright. boughs. "Don't be afraid," Remy answered, laugh" Patty, do you know I did want to marry ing, and hurrying on before her; and then he you for your money?" Remy said at last. "I stopped short, and began to pull at his mustache, love you truly; but I have not loved you al- looking first in one direction and then in anothways as I ought to have done-as I do now. er. "Do you think they would be anxious if You scorn me, you can not forgive me?" he add- you were a little late?" he said. ed, as the girl stopped short. "You will never " Anxious," cried Patty. " Mamma would trust me again." die; she could not bear it. Oh Remy, Rnmy, "Oh, Remy, how could you.... Oh, what shall I do?" She flushed up, and almost yes, indeed, indeed I do forgive you. I do trust began to cry. " Oh, find the way, please. Do you," she added quickly, saying any thing to you see any more arrows? Here is one; come, comfort and cheer him when he looked so un- come." happy. Every moment took them farther and Patty turned, and began to retrace her steps, farther on. The little person with the pretty hurrying along in a fever of terror and remorse. red hood and bright eyes and the little basket The wood- pigeons cooed overhead, the long had almost forgotten her commission, her con- lines of distant trees were mingling and twisting science, her grandmother, and all the other du- in a sort of dance, as she flew along. ties of life. Remy, too, had forgotten every " Wait for me, Patty," cried Remy. "Here thing but the bright sweet little face, the red is some one to ask." And as he spoke he pointhood, and the little hand holding the basket, ed to an old woman coming along one of the when they came to a dark, inclosed halting- narrow cross pathways, carrying a tray of sweetplace at the end of the avenue, from whence a meats and a great jar of lemonade. few rocky steps led out upon a sudden hillside, "Fontainebleau, my little gentleman?" said which looked out into the open world. It was the old woman. "You are turning your back a lovely surprising sight, a burst of open coun- upon it. The arrows point away from Fontainetry, a great purple amphitheatre of rocks shin- bleau and not toward the town. Do you know ing and hills spreading to meet the skies, clefts the big cross near the gate? Well, it is just at and sudden gleams, and a wide distant horizon the end of that long avenue. Wait, wait, my "of waving forest fringing the valley. Clouds little gentleman. Won't you buy a sweet sugarwere drifting and tints changing, the heather stick for the pretty little lady in the red hood? springing between the rocks at their feet, and Believe me, she is fond of sugar-sticks. It is the thousands of tree-tops swaying like a ripple not the first time that she has bought some of on a sea. mine." Something in the great wide fieshness of the But Remy knew that Patty was in no mood place brought Patty to herself again. for barley-sugar, arid he went off to cheer up his "How lovely it is!" she said.'"Oh, Remy, cousin with the good news. The old woman why did you let me come? Oh, I oughtn't to hobbled off, grumbling. have come." It was getting later by this time. The shadRemy tried to comfort her. "We have not ows were changing, and a western light was bebeen very long," he said. "WVe will take the ginning to glow upon the many stems and quivshort cut through the trees, and you shall tell eringbranches of the great waving forest. Evyour mother all about it. There's no more ery thing glowed in unwearied change and reason why we shouldn't walk together now beauty, but they had admired enough. A bird than when we were at Littleton." was singing high above over their heads, they As he was speaking he was leading the way walked on quickly in silence for half an hour, a through the brushwood, and they got into a long, interminable half-hour, and at the end of 190 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. the avenue-as the old woman had told them — "Betty? I don't know where she is," said they found a wide stony ascending road, with Simonne. "She is a craze-pated girl, and you the dark murmuring fringe of the woods on ei- should not allow her to take charge of Patty." ther side, and a great cross at the summit of the Mrs. Maynard smiled. She knew Simonne's ascent. Here Patty sank down for a minute, ways of old. All cooks, housekeepers, ladies' almost falling upon the step, and feeling safe. maids, etc., under fifty, were crazy-pated girls This gate was close to the Rue de la Lampe. with Simmone, whose sympathies certainly did " Now go," she said to her cousin. " Go on not rest among her own class. Mrs. Maynard's first, and I will follow, dear Remy. I don't smile, however, changed away when she looked want to be seen with you any more. People at Simonne a second time. know me and my red hood." "I am sure something is the matter," MarDe la Louviere could only hope that Patty the cried, starting up. "Where's Patty?" had not already been recognized. The poor mother, suddenly conjecturing evil, had All the same he utterly refused to leave her turned quite pale, and all the soft contentment until they reached the gates of the forest; then and calm were gone in one instant. She seized he took the short way to the Rue de la Lampe, Simonne's arm with an imploring nervous clutch, and Patty followed slowly. She had had a as if praying that it might be nothing dreadful. shock, she wanted to be calm before she saw "Don't be uneasy, madame," said Simonne. her grandmother. Her heart was beating still, "Girls are girls, and that Betty is too scattershe was tired and sorry. Patty's conscience brained to be trusted another time: she missed was not easy-she felt she had done wrong, and Patty and came alone to our house. Oh, I sent yet-and yet-with the world of love in her her off quickly enough to meet mademoiselle. heart it seemed as if nothing could be wrong But you see, madame," Simonne was hurrying and nobody angry or anxious. on nervously over her words, "our Patty is so young, she thinks of no harm, she runs here and Mrs. Maynard herself had felt something of there just as fancy takes her; but a young girl the sort that afternoon after the little girl had must not be talked of, and-and it does not do left her. The mother watched her across the for her to be seen alone in company with any courtyard, and then sat down as usual to her body but her mother or father. There's no work. Her eyes filled up with grateful tears as harm done, but-" she bent over her sewing; they often did when "What are you talking of —why do you Henry spoke a kind word or Patty looked spe- fiighten me for nothing, Simonne?" said Mrs. cially happy. Yes, it was a miracle that at fifty Maynard, recovering crossly with a faint gasp all this should come to her, thought Marthe of relief, and thinking all was well. She had Maynard-brilliant beauty and courage and expected a broken limb at. least in her sudden happiness, and the delight of youth and of early alarm. hopes unrepressed. It was like a miracle that "There, Marthe," said Simonne, taking her all this had come to her in a dearer and happi- hand, " you must not be angry with me. It er form than if it had been given to herself. was the concierge de chez nous, who made a reMarthe wondered whether all her share had been mark which displeased me, and I thought I had reserved for her darling in some mysterious fash- best come straight to you." ion, and so she went on stitching her thoughts "'My Patty! my Patty! What have you been to her canvas, as people do: peaceful, tranquil, doing, Simonne? How dare you talk of my happy thoughts they were, as she sat waiting for child to common people!" said the anxious her husband's return. An hour or two went mother. by, people came and went in the court-yard be- "I was anxious, madame," said poor Silow, the little diligence rattled off to the rail- monne, humbly. "I looked for her up the street way; at last, thinking she heard Henry's voice, and along the great avenue, and our concierge Marthe leaned out of the window and saw him met me and said:'Don't trouble yourself. If speaking to an old woman with a basket of met your young lady going towards the forest in sweetmeats, and then she heard the sitting-room company with a young man.' She is a naughty door open, and she looked round to see who it child, and I was vexed, madame, that is all," was coming in. It was Simonne, who came said Simonne. bustling in with a troubled look, like ripples in But Mrs. Maynard hardly heard her to the a placid smooth pool. The good old creature end-she put up her two hands with a little cry had put on a shawl and gloves, and a clean cap of anxious horror. "And is she not back? with huge fiills, and stood silent, umbrella in What have you been doing? why did you not hand, and staring at the calm-looking lady at come before? My Patty! myPatty! what abher work-table. surd mistake is this? Oh, where is my hus"What is it?" said Marthe, looking up. band? Papa, papa!" cried poor Mrs. Maynard, " Simonne, is my mother unwell?" distracted, running out upon the landing. Mr. "Madame is quite well; do not be uneasy," Maynard was coming up stairs at that instant, said Simonne, with a quick, uncertain glance in followed by the blowsy and breathless Betty. Mrs. Maynard's face. Mr. Maynard had evidently heard the whole "Have you brought me back Patty?" said story: he looked black and white, as people do Mrs. Maynard. "Has Betty come with you?" who are terribly disturbed and annoyed. Had LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. 191 they been at home in England, Patty's disap- Howhoalselyyouspeak!"saidPatty; "I'm pearance would have seemed nothing to them; afraid your cold is very bad, grandlnamma." there were half a dozen young cousins and The old lady grunted and shook her head. neighbors to whose care she might have been;' My health is miserable at all times," she said. trusted, but here where they knew no one, it "What is that you have got in your basket? was inexplicable, and no wonder they were dis- butter, is it not, by the smell?" quieted and shocked. Mr. Maynard tried to re- "What a good nose you have, grandmanl-. assure his wife, and vented his anxiety in wrath ma!" said Patty, laughing faintly, and opening upon the luckless Betty. her basket. "I have brought you a little pat Marthe sickened as she listened to Betty's of butter, and some honeycomb, with mamma's sobs and excuses. "I can't help it," said the love," said Patty. "They will supply you from stupid girl, with a scared face. "Miss Patty the hotel, if you like, at the same price you pay didn't wait for me. The old woman says she now." saw a red hood in the forest, going along with "Thank you, child," said Madame Capuchon. a young man-master heard her..." "Come a little closer, and let me look at you. "The concierge says he thinks it is missis's Why, what is the matter? You are all sorts of nephew!" colors-blue, green, red. What have you been "Alh!" screamed poor Mrs. Maynard; "I doing, miss? See if you can find my spectasee it all." cles on that table." "Hold your tongue, you fool! How dare "What do you want them for, grandmamyou all come to me with such lies?" shouted ma?" Patty asked, fumbling about among all Maynard to the maid. He was now thoroughly the various little odds and ends. frightened. After all, it might be a plot; who "The better to see you, my dear, and any could tell what villainy that young man might body else who may call upon me," said the be capable of-carrying her off, marrying her; grandmamma, in her odd broken English. Patall for the sake of her money. And, full of this ty was nervous still and confused, longing to ask new alarm, he rushed down ingo the court again. whether Remy had made his appearance, and The old woman was gone, but a carriage was not daring to speak his name first. "Come standing there waiting to be engaged. down here,' said her grandmother, deliberately' "We may as well go and fetch Patty at your putting on her spectacles. " What is this I hear motlier's," Maynard called out to his wife, with from your cousin, mademoiselle? Do you know some appearance of calmness. "I dare say that no well-bred young woman gives her heart she is there by this time." Mrs. Maynard ran without permission,; and so I told him, and sent down stairs'and got in, Simonne bundled in too, him about his business," said the old lady, lookand sat with her back to the horses. But that ing fixedly through her glasses. " Ah, little ten minutes' drive was so horrible that not one girls like you are fortunate to have grannies to of them ever spoke of it again, sever them from importunate admirers, and to keep such histories from their parents' ear." They need not have been so miserable, poor "What do you mean, grandmamma? I don't people, if they had only known Patty had safely want to hide any thing," cried Patty, clasping reached her grandmother's door by that time. her hands piteously, and bursting into tears. When the concierge, who was sitting on his bar- " Only I do care for him dearly, dearly, dearly, row at the door, let her in and looked at her grandmamma," and turning passionately, in her with an odd expression in his face, "Simonne confusion she knocked over a little odd-shaped was in a great anxiety about you, mademoi- box that was upon the table, and it opened and selle," said he; she is not yet come in. Your something fell out. grandmamma is up stairs, as usual. Have you "Be careful, child! What have you done?" had a pleasant walk?" said the old lady, sharply. "Here, give the Patty made no answer; she ran up stairs things to me." quickly. "I must not stay long," she said to "It's-it's something made of ivory, grandherself. "I wonder if Remv is there." The mamma," said stupid Patty, looking up bewilderfront door was open, and she went in, and then ed. "What is it for?" along the passage, and with a beating heart she "Take care; take care. Those are my teeth, stopped and knocked at her grandmother's door. child. I can not eat comfortably without them, " " Come in, child," the old lady called out from said the old lady, pettishly. "Here, give them the inside; and as Patty nervously fumbled at to me," and as Patty put out her hand the old the handle, the voice inside added, "Lift up the woman seized it in her own withered old fingers, latch, and the hasp will fall. Come in," and and, holding the child by a firm grip, said again, Patty went in as she was told. "And so you love him?" It was getting to be a little dark in-doors by "What is the use-who cares?" answered this time, and the room seemed to Patty full of poor Patty, desperately, "when you all want to an odd dazzle of light-perhaps because the glass send him away from me." door of the dressing-closet, in which many of "We know better," Madame Capuchon was Madame Capuchon's stores were kept, was open. beginning, or going to begin, when there was a "Come here, child," said her grandmother, sudden crack at the door of the glass cupboard. hoarsely, " and let me look at you." It seemed to Patty as if her grandmother, clhang 192 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. ing her mind, cried out passionately, "No, they hard mother's part when she ever forgot it; shall not send me away." In a moment, a fig- and was not Patty her own child? and could ure coming, Patty knew not from whence, had she condemn her to a like trial? The old sprung upon her, and caught the little thing in lady's hands and frills were trembling more two strong arms, and held her close to a heart and more by this time; she was not used to bethat was beating wildly. "You are my wife- ing thwarted; the squire also was accustomed you shall not escape me," cried Remy, who had to have his own way. been silent all this while, but who could keep "My Felicie, my poor child, I can not suffer silence no longer, while Patty, blushing deeper her to be spoken of in this way," cried Madame and more deeply, then pale, then trembling, an- Capuchon, who at another time would have gry, and frowning all at once, tried in vain to been the first to complain. escape. "Patty is only sixteen," hazarded Mrs. MayMadame de Capuchon, against all historical nard. facts, began to scream and ring her bell, and at "I was sixteen when I married," said Mathat instant, as it happened, came voices in the dame Capuchon. passage, a confusion outside, the door of the "Patty shall wait till she is sixty-six before room burst open, and Mrs. Maynard, rushing in, I give her to a penniless adventurer," cried the burst into a flood of tears, tore Patty away from squire, in great wrath. Remy, and clasped her to her heart. " Very well," said the old lady, spitefully. "I tell you she is here, monsieur," Simonne "Now I will tell you what I have told him. was saying to Maynard himself, who was follow- As I tell you, he came to see me just now, and ing his wife. As soon as he saw her there, is at this moment, I believe, devouring the rewith Patty in her arms, "Now, Marthe," he said, mains of the pie Simonne prepared for your "you will at last believe what a goose you are luncheon. I have told him that he shall be my at times;" and he began to laugh in a superior heir whether you give him Patty or not. I am sort of fashion, and then he choked oddly and not joking, Henry, I mean it. I like the young sat down with his face hidden in his hands. He man exceedingly. He is an extremely wellhad not even seen Remy as yet, who thought it bred young fellow, and will do us all credit, and best to leave them all to themselves for a while, a girl does not want money like a man." and went away through the glass cupboard to Maynard shrugged his shoulders and looked the dining-room again. at his wife. "But what is it all about?" asked Madame "But, child, do you really care for him?" Capuchon from her bed. Patty's mother said reproachfully. " What " My child, I thought your cousin had robbed can you know of him?" and she took both the us of you," her mother sobbed. little hands in hers. It was all over now, and Patty, also in peni- Little Patty hung her head for a minute. tent tears, was confessing what had detained "Oh mamma, he has told me every thing; he her. They could not be angry at such a time, told me he did think of the money at first, but they could only clasp her in their loving arms. only before he knew me. Dear papa, if you All the little miniatures were looking on from talked to him you would believe him, indeed their hooks on the wall, the old grandmother was you would-indeed, indeed you would." Patshaking her frills in excitement, and nodding and ty's imploring wistful glance touched the squire, blinking encouragement from her alcove. and, as she said, Maynard could not help be"Look here, Henry," said she to her son-in- lieving in Remy when he came to talk things over law; "I have seen the young man, and I think quietly with him, and without losing his temper. he is a very fine young fellow. In fact, he is He found him in the dining-room, with a now waiting in the dining-room, for I sent him bottle of wine and the empty pie-dish before away when I heard la petite coming. I want- him; the young man had finished off every ed to talk to her alone. Felicie has written to thing but the bones and the cork and the botme on the subject of their union; he wishes it, tle. "I had no breakfast, sir," said Rdmy, I wish it, Patty wishes it; oh, I can read little starting up, half laughing, half ashamed. "My girls' faces: he has been called to the bar; my grandmother told me to look in the cupboard, property will remain undivided; why do you op- but, hearing your daughter's voice, I could not pose their marriage? I can not conceive what help going back just now." objection you can ever have had to it." " Such a good appetite should imply a good "What objection!" said the squire, astound- conscience," Maynard thought; and at last he ed. " Why, you yourself warned me. Felicie relented, and eventually grew to be very fond writes as usual with an eye to her own interest of his son-in-law. -a grasping, covetous-" Patty and Remy were married on her seven" Hush, hush, dear; since Remy has brought teenth birthday. I first saw them in the courtPatty safe back we have no reason to be angry," yard of the hotel, but afterwards at Sunnymede, interceded Mrs. Maynard, gently pushing her where they spent last summer. husband towards the door. Madame Cupuchon is not yet satisfied with The remembrance of her own youth had the butter. It is a very difficult thing to get come back to her here in the place where she anywhere good. Simonne is as devoted as ever, had suffered so long. Ah! she had acted d and tries hard to satisfy her mistress. JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. CHAPTER I. giant at play, it is true, and feeding his morbid appetite with purses, chains and watches, and ON MONSTEIRS, ETC. iron park-railings; but who shall say that he MOST of us have read at one time or another may not perhaps grow impatient as time goes in our lives the article entitled Gigantes, which on, and pry for other food. is to be found in a certain well-known diction- And meanwhile people are lying dying in ary. It tells of that terrible warfare in which hospitals, victims of one or more of the cruel gods and giants, fighting in fury, hurled burn- monsters, whose ill deeds we all have witnessing woods and rocks through the air, piled ed. In St. Bartholomew's wards, for instance, mountains upon mountains, brought seas from are recorded twenty-three cases of victims dytheir boundaries, thundering, to overwhelm their ing from what doctors call delirium tremens. adversaries;-it tells how the gods fled in their Which Jack is there among us strong enough terror into Egypt, and hid themselves in the to overcome this giant with his cruel, fierce shapes of animals, until Hercules, the giant- fangs, and force him to abandon his prey? killer of those strange times, sprang up to res- Here is the history of two men suffocated in a cue and deliver the world from the dire storm vat at Bristol by the deadly gas from spent and confusion into which it had fallen. Her- hops. One of them, Ambrose, is hurrying to cules laid about him with his club. Others the other one's help, and gives up his life for since then, our Jack among the rest, have his companion. It seems hard that such men fought with gallant courage and devotion, and should be sent unarmed into the clutch of such given their might and their strength and their pitiable monsters as this; and one grudges these lives to the battle. That battle which has no two lives, and the tears of the widows and chilend, alas! and which rages from sunrise to sun- dren. I might go on for many pages fitting the down —although hero after hero comes forward, parable to the commonest facts of life. The full of hope, of courage, of divine fire and in- great parochial Blunderbore still holds his own; dignation. some of his castles have been seized, but others Who shall gainsay us, if nowadays some of are impregnable;-their doors are kept closed, us may perhaps be tempted to think that the their secrets are undiscovered. tides of victory flow, not with the heroes, but Other giants, of the race of Cormoran, that with the giants; that the gods of our own land "dwell in gloomy caverns, and wade over to are hiding in strange disguises; that the heroes the main-land to steal cattle," are at this inbattling against such unequal odds are weary stant beginning to creep from their foul dens, and sad at heart; while the giants, unconquer- by sewers and stagnant waters, spreading death ed still, go roaming about the country, oppress- and dismay along their path. In the autumn ing the poor, devouring the children, laying their raids are widest and most deadly. Last homes bare and desolate? spring I heard two women telling one another Here is The Times of to-day,* full of a of a giant of the tribe of Cormoran camping strange medley and record of the things which down at Dorking in Surrey. A giant with a are in the world together-Jacks and giants, poisoned breath and hungry jaws, attacking not and champion-belts and testimonials; kings only cattle, but the harmless country people all and queens, knights and castles and ladies, about: children, and men, and women, whom screams of horror, and shouts of laughter, and he seized with his deadly gripe, and choked and of encouragement or anger. Feelings and prej- devoured. Giant Blunderbore, it must be conudices and events-all vibrating, urging, retard- fessed, has had many a hard blow dealt him of ing, influencing one another. late from one Jack and another. There is one And we read that some emperors are feasting gallant giant-killer at Fulham hard by, waging in company at their splendid revels, while an- war with many monsters, the great blind giant other is torn from his throne and carried away Ignorance among the rest. Some valiant womby a furious and angry foe, by a giant of the en, too, there are, who have armed themselves race which has filled the world with such terror and gone forth with weak hands and tender in its time. Of late a young giant of that very strong hearts to do their best. I have seen tribe has marched through our own streets; a some lately who are living in the very midst of ~ ~~ (., 187.the dreary labyrinth where one of the great *' May, 186T. Minotaurs of the city is lurking. They stand N 194 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. at the dark mouth of the poisonous caverns, To-night other lights have been blazing. warning and entreating those who, in their The west has been shining along the hills with blindness and infatuation, are rushing thither, a gorgeous autumnal fire. From our terrace we to beware. I took a house and came," said have watched the lights and the mists as they one of them simply to my friend Mrs. K-, succeed one another, streaming mysteriously bewhen she asked her how it happened that she fore yonder great high altar. It has been blazwas established there in the black heart of the ing as if for a solemn ceremonial and burnt saccity. All round her feet a little ragged tribe rifice. As we watch it, other people look on in was squatting on the floor, and chirping, and the fields, on the hills, and from the windows spelling and learning a lesson which, pray of the town. Evening incense rises from the I-eaven, will last tlem their lives; and across valley, and mounts up through the stillness. the road, with pretty little crumpled mob-caps The waters catch the light and repeat it; the all awry on their brown heads, other children illumination falls upon us, too, as we look and were sewing and at work under the quiet rule see how high the heavens are in comparison with of their good teachers. The great business of the earth; and suddenly, as we are waiting still, the city was going on outside. The swarming and looking and admiring, it is over-the glory docks were piled with bales, and crowded with has changed into peaceful twilight. workmen; the main thoroughfares streaming And so we come away, closing shutters and and teeming with a struggling life; the side doors and curtains, and settling down to our streets silent, deserted, and strangely still. A common occupations and thoughts again; but bleak north-east wind was blowing down some outside another high service is beginning, and of these gray streets. I have a vision before me the lights of the great northern altar are burnnow of one of them: a black deserted alley or ing faintly in their turn. passage, hung with some of those rags that seem to be like the banners of this reign of sorrow andl sin. The wind swooped upover the stones, the rags waved and fell, and a colorless figure, CHAPTER II. passing up the middle of the dirty gutter pulled at its grimy shawl and crouched as it slid along. ORMO We may well say, we Londoners, See how far IN the same way that fancy worlds and dreams the east is from the west. I myself, coming do not seem meant for the dreary stone streets home at night to the crowded cheerful station, and smoky highways of life, neither do they beand travelling back to the light of love, of long to summer and holiday time, when reality warmth, of comfort, find myself dimly wonder- is so vivid, so sweet, and so near. It is but a ing whether those are not indeed our sins out waste to dream of fairies dancing in rings, or yonder set away from us, in that dreary East of peeping from the woods, when the singing and London district: our sins alive and standing shining is in all the air, and the living sunshiny along the roadside in rags, and crying out to us children are running on the lawn, and pulling as we pass. at the flowers with their determined little fingers; and when there are butterflies and cuckIIere in our country cottage the long summer oos and flowing streams, and the sounds of is coming to an end, in falling leaves and set- flocks and the vibrations of summer everyting suns, and gold and russet, where green where. Little Anne comes trotting up with shoots were twinkling a little time ago. The a rose-head tight-crushed in her hand; little banks of the river have shifted their colors, and Margery has got a fern-leaf stuck into her hat; the water, too, has changed. The song of the Puck, Peas-blossom, Cobweb, Moth, Mustardbirds is over; but there are great flights in the seed, themselves, are all invisible in this great air, rapid, mysterious. For weeks past we have day-shine. The gracious fancy kingdom vanbeen living in a gracious glamour and dazzle of ishes at cock-crow, we know. It is not among light and warmth; and now, as we see it go, realitics so wonderful andbeautiful that we can II. and I make plans, not unwillingly, for a scarce realize them that we must look for it. winter to be passed between the comfortable Its greatest triumphs are where no other light walls of our winter home. The children, hear- shines to brighten-by weary sick-beds: when ing our talk, begin to prattle of the treasures distance and loneliness oppress.. Who can not they will find in the nursery at London, as they remember days and hours when a foolish concall it. Dolly's head, which was unfortunately ceit has come now and again, like a "flower forgotten when we came away, and the pan- growing on the edge of a precipice," to distract niers off the wooden donkey's back, and little the dizzy thoughts from the dark depths below? neighbor Joan, who will come to tea again, in Certainly it was through no fancy world that the doll's tea-things. Yesterday, when I came poor John Trevithic's path led him wandering home from the railway-station across the bridge, in life, but amid realities so stern and so pitiful little Anne, who had never in her short life seen at times that even his courage failed him now the lamps of the distant town alight, came tod- and then. He was no celebrated hero, though dling up chattering about " de pooty tandles," I have ventured to christen him after the great and pulling my dress to make me turn and see type of our childhood; he wasAn honest outthem too. i spoken young fellow, with a stubborn temper JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 195 and a tender heart, impressionable to outer about to present to our friend and pastor, the things, although from within it was not often Reverend John Trevithic, M.A., and for which that any thing seemed to affect his even moods my friend Miss Moineaux and myself are fully and cheerful temper. He was a bright-faced, prepared to receive subscriptions. You are perbroad-set young fellow, about six-and-twenty, haps not aware that we lose him on Tuesday with thick light hair and eagleish eyes, and lips week?" and white teeth like a girl. His hands were like "No, indeed," said I, and I am afraid my himself, broad and strong, with wide competent cap-strings began to rustle'as they have a way fingers that could fight and hold fast, if need of doing when I am annoyed. be; and yet they were so clever and gentle "I'm sure I'm afraid you must think it a withal that children felt safe in his grasp and great liberty of us to call," burst in little Miss did not think of crying, and people in trouble Moineaux, flurriedly, in short disconnected senwould clutch at them when he put them out. tences. "I trust you will pardon us. They Perhaps Jack did not always understand the ex- say it is quite certain he is going. We have tent of the griefs for which his cheerful sym- had a suspicion-perhaps..." Poor Miss pathy was better medicine, after all, than any Moineaux stopped short, and turned very red, mere morbid investigation into their depths for Triquett's eye was upon her. She contincould have proved to most of us. ued falteringly, "Miss Triquett kindly suggestThe first time I ever heard of the Rev. John ed collecting a teapot and strainer, if possibleTrevithic was at Sandsea one morning, when it depends, of course, upon friends and admirers. my maid brought in two cards, upon which were You know how one longs to show one's gratiinscribed the respective names of Miss Moineaux tude; and I'm sure in our hopeless state of apaand Miss Triquett. I had taken asmall furnish- thy.... we had so neglected the commonest ed house at the seaside (for H. was ailing in those precautions-" days and had been ordered salt air by the doc- Here Miss Triquett interposed. "The autors); we knew nobody and nothing of the peo- thorities were greatly to blame. Mr. Trevithic ple of the place, so that I was at first a little did his part, no more; but it is peculiarly as a bewildered by the visit; but I gathered from a pastor and teacher that we shall miss him. It few indescribable indications that the small flut- is a pity that you have not been aware of his tering lady who came in sideways was Miss ministry." (A roll of the eyes.) A little rusMoineaux, and the bony, curly, scanty person- tie and chirrup from Miss Moineaux. age with the big hook-nose who accompanied " If the ladies had only heard him last Sunher, Miss Triquett. They both sat down very day afternoon-no, I mean the morning before." politely, as people do who are utter strangers to "The evening appeal was still more impresyou and about to ask you for money. Miss sive," said Miss Triquett. "I am looking forMoineaux fixed a little pair of clear meek im- ward anxiously to his farewell next Sunday." ploring eyes upon me. Miss Triquett took in It was really too bad. Were these two strange the apartment with a quick uncomfortable swoop women who had come to take forcible possession or ball-like glance. Then she closed her eyes of our morning-room about to discuss at any for an instant as she cleared her throat. length the various merits of Mr. Trevithic's last She need not have been at any great pains in sermon but two, but three, next but one, taking her investigations; the story told itself. Two up my time, my room, asking for my money? middle-aged women, with their desks and work- I was fairly out of temper when, to my horror, baskets open before them, and The Times and H., in her flute voice from the sofa, where she some Indian letters just come in, on the table, had been lying under her soft silk quilt, said, the lodging-house mats, screens, Windsor chairs, " Mary, will you give these ladies a sovereign and druggets, a fire burning for H.'s benefit, an for me towards the teapot? Mr. Trevithic was open window for mine, the pleasant morning at school with my Frank, and this is not, I think, wash and rush of the sea against the terrace the first sovereign he has had fiom me." upon which the windows opened, and the voices Miss Triquett's eyes roved over to the sofa. of H.'s grandchildren playing outside. I can It must have seemed almost sacrilege to her to see all the cheerful glitter now as I write. I speak of Mr. Trevithic as a school-boy, or even loved the little place that strikes me so quaint- to have known him in jackets. " It is as a ly and kindly as I think of it. The sun shone tribute to the pastor that these subscriptions are all the time we were there; day by day I saw collected," said she, with some dignity,v not on health and strength coming into my H.'s pale any lower-" face. The house was comfortable, the walks But it was too late, for little Miss Moineaux were pleasant, good news came to us of those had already sprung forward with a grateful we loved. In short, I was happy there, and one I" Oh, thank you!" and clasped H.'s thin hand. can not always give a reason for being happy. And so at last we got rid of the poor little In the mean time, Miss Triquett had made her women. They flattered off with their prize, observations with her wandering ball eyes. their thin silk dresses catching the wind as they " We called," she said in a melancholy, cleri- skimmed along the sands, their little faded mants cal voice, "thinking that you ladies might pos- and veils and curls and petticoats flapping feesibly be glad to avail yourselves of an opportuni- bly after them, their poor little well-worn feet ty for subscribing to a testimonial which we are patting off in search of fresh tribute to Trevithic. 196 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. "I declare they were both in love with him, The curate followed: a straight and active ridiculous old gooses," said I. "How couldyou young fellow, with a bright face-a face that give them that sovereign?" looked right and left as he came along. He "He was a delightful boy," said H. (She didn't seem embarrassed by the notice he excitmelts to all school-boysstill, though her own are ed. The four little girls from Coote Court (so grown men and out in the world.) "I used to somebody called them) rushed forward to meet be very angry with him; he and Frank were al- him, saying, "Good-bye, dear Mr. Trevithic, ways getting into scrapes together," said H., with good-bye." Mrs. Myles herself, sliding off to a smiling sigh, for Major Frank was on his way her pony carriage, carrying her satin train all home from India, and the poor mother could over her arms, stopped to smile, and to put out trust herself to speak of him in her happiness. a slender hand, letting the satin stuff fall into "I hope it is the right man," H. went on, laugh- the dust. Young Lord and Lady Wargrave ing. "You must go and hear the farewell ora- were hurrying away with their various guests, tion, Mary, and tell me how many of these lit- but they turned and came back to say a friendtie ladies are carried out of church." ly word to this popular young curate; and ColoThey behaved like heroines. They never nel Hambledon, Lord Wargrave's brother, gave faltered or fainted, they gave no outward sign him a friendly nod, and said, " I shall look in (except, indeed, a stifled sob here and there). one day before you go." I happened to know I think the prospect of the teapot buoyed them the names of all these people, because I had sat up; for after the service two or three of them in Mrs. Myles's pew at church, and I had seen assembled in the churchyard, and eagerly dis- the Wargraves in London. cussed some measure of extreme emphasis. The subscribers to the teapot were invited to They were joined by the gentleman who had visit it at Mr. Philip's, in Cockspur Street, to held the plate at the door, and then their voices whom the design had been intrusted. It was a died away into whispers, as the rector and Mr. very handsome teapot, as ugly as other teapots Trevithic himself came out of the little side-door, of the florid order, and the chief peculiarity was where Miss Bellingham, the rector's daughter, that a snake grasped by a clenched hand formed hadl been standing waiting. The rector was a the handle, and a figure with bandages on its smug old gentleman in a nice Sunday tie. He head was sitting on the melon on the lid. This gave his arm to his daughter, and trotted along, was intended to represent an invalid recovering saying, "How do? how do?" to the various from illness. Upon one side was the following personages he passed. inscription:TO THE REV. JOHN TREVITHIC, M.A., FROM HIS PARISHIONERS, AT SANDSEA, IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF HIS EXERTIONS DURING THE CHOLERA SEASON OF 18-, AND HI SUCCESSFUL AND ENTERPRISING EFFORTS FOR THE IMPROVED DRAINAGE OF HIGH STREET AND THE NEIGHBORING ALLEYS, ESPECIALLY THOSE KNOWN AS "ST. MICHAEL'S BUILDINGS.' Upon the otherTO THE REV. JOHN TREVITHIC, M.A. Both these inscriptions were composed by rious undertaking itwas likely to be, were anxMajor Coote, of Coote Court, a J. P. for the ious to compromise matters, and they might have county. Several other magistrates had sub- succeeded in doing so if it had not been for the scribed, and the presentation-paper was signed young man's determination. Old Mr. Bellingby most of the ladies of the town. I recognized ham, who had survived some seventy cholera the bold autograph of Louisa Triquett, and the seasons, was not likely to be very active in the lady-like quill of Sarah Moineaux, among the matter. Every body was away, as it happened, rest. H. figured as "Anon." down at the hot- at that time, except Major Coote, who was eatom. sily talked over by any body; and Jobsen, the Jack had honestly earned his teapot, the mayor, had got hold of him, and Trevithic pride of his mother's old heart. He had worked had to fight the battle alone. One person sympahard during that unfortunate outbreak of chol- thized with him from the beginning, and talked era, and when the summer came round again, to her father, and insisted, very persistently, the young man had written quires, ridden miles, that he should see the necessity of the measure. talked himself hoarse, about this neglected sew- This was Anne Bellingham, who, with her soft er in St. Michael's Buildings. The Town pink eyes fixed on Trevithic's face, listened to Council, finding that the whole of High Street every word he said with interest-an interest would have to be taken up, and what a very se- which quite touched and gratified the young JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 197 man, breathless and weary of persuading fish- from one side and another, but there were but mongers, of trying to influence the sleek obsti- few of the people, except Miss Bellingham, nate butcher, and the careworn baker with his with whom he felt any very real sympathy, beten dusty children, and the stolid oil-and-color yond that of gratitude and good-fellowship. man, who happened to be the mayor that year. Colonel Hambledon was his friend, but he was It seemed, indeed, a hopeless case to induce almost constantly away, and the Wargraves, too, these worthy people to increase the rates, to dig only came down from time to time. Jack up the High Street under their very windows, would have liked to see more of Mrs. Myles, to poison themselves and their families, and the pretty widow, but she was the only person drive away custom just as the season was be- in the place who seemed to avoid him. Cologinning. John confessed humbly that he had nel Coote was a silly good-natured old man; been wrong, that he should have pressed the Miss Triquett and Miss Moineaux were scarcematter more urgently.upon them in the spring, ly companions. Talking to these ladies, who but he had been ill and away, if they remem- agreed with every word he said, was somebered, and others had promised to see to it. It thing like looking at his own face reflected in a would be all over in a week, before their regu- spoon. lar customers arrived. Poor Trevithic used to long to fly when they Jack's eloquence succeeded in the end. How began to quote his own sermons to him; but it came about I can scarcely tell-he himself his practice was better than his preaching, and, scarcely knew. He had raised the funds, writ- too kind-hearted to wound their feelings by any ten to Lord Wargrave, and brought Colonel expression of impatience, he would wait paHambledon himself down from town; between tiently while Miss Moineaux nervously tried to them they arranged with the contractors, and it remember what it was that had made such an was all settled almost, without any body's leave impression upon her the last time she heard or authority. One morning, Trevithic, hearing him; or Miss Triquett expressed her views on the a distant rumbling of wheels, jumped up from management of the poor-kitchen, and read out his breakfast and ran to the window. A file portions of her correspondence, such as:of carts and workmen were passing the end of the street; men with pickaxes and shovels; "MY DEAREST MARIA,-I have delayed ancarts laden with strange-looking pipes and iron swering your very kind letter until the return of bars. Mr. Moffat, the indignant butcher, found the warmer weather. Deeply as I sympathize a pit of ten feet deep at his shop-door that even- with your well-meant efforts for the welfare of ing; and Smutt, the baker, in a fury, had to your poorer neighbors, I am sorry that I can not send his wife and children to her mother, to be subscribe to the fund you are raising for the out of the way of the mess. In a week, how- benefit of your curate." ever, the whole thing was done, the pit was covered over, the foul stream they dreaded was bur- "My aunt is blunt, very blunt," said Miss ied down deep in the earth, and then in a little Triquett, explaining away any little awkwardwhile the tide of opinion began to turn. When ness; " but she is very good, Mr. Trevithic, and all the coast was in a terror and confusion, you have sometimes said that we must not exwhen cholera had broken out in one place and pect too much from our relations; I try to rein another, and the lodging-houses were empty, member that." the shop-keepers loud in complaints-at Sand- It was impossible to be seriously angry. Jack sea, thanks to these "well-timed exertions," as looked at her oddly, as she stood there by the people call draining, not a single case was re- pump in the market-place where she had caught ported, and though the season was not a good him. How familiar the whole scene was to him; one for ordinary times, compared to other neigh- the village street, the gable of the rectory on the boring places, Sandsea was triumphant. Smutt hill up above, Miss Triquett's immovable glare; was apologetic, Moffat was radiant, and so was -a stern vision of her used to rise before him Anne Bellingham in her quiet way. As for long after, and make him almost laugh, looking Miss Triquett, that devoted adherent, she near- back from a different place and world, with ly jumped for joy, hearing that the mayor of strange eyes that had seen so many things that the adjoining watering-place was ill of the pre- did not exist for him in those dear tiresome old vailing epidemic and not expected to live. days. And then the winter went by, and this time On this occasion Jack and Miss Triquett were of excitement passed over and the spring-time on their way to the soup-kitchen, where the discame, and John began to look about and ask trict meeting was held once a month. Seeing questions about other men's doings and ways of Colonel Hambledon across the street, Trevithic life. It did not come upon him all in one day escaped for a minute to speak to him, while that he wanted a change, but little by little he Triquett went on. The ladies came dropping realized that something was amiss. He him- in one by one. It was a low room with a bowself could hardly tell what it was when Colo- window on the street, and through an open door nel Hambledon asked him one day. For one came a smell of roast-mutton from the kitchen, thing, I think his own popularity oppressed him. where a fire was burning; and a glimpse of a He was too good-humored and good-natured poultry-yard beyond the kitchen itself. There not to respond to the advances which met him were little mottoes hung up all about in antique 198 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. spelling, such as "Caste thy bridde upon ye hand fight with Miss Simmonds. Mrs. Vickers watteres," the fancy and design of Mrs. Vickers, was laughing, Miss Moineaux was trembling; the present manager. She was very languid, out of the window poured such a clamorous mob and High Church, and opposed to Miss Triquett of words and swell of voices that John and the and her friend Miss Hutchetts, who had reigned Colonel stopped to listen instead of going in. there before Mrs. Vickers's accession. This A dog and a puppy, attracted by the noise, stood' housekeeping was a serious business. It was a wagging their tails in the sun. labor of love, and of jealousy too: each district "i Hutchetts-Christian dooty-dirty children lady took the appointment in turn, while the -statistics-gammon," that was Miss Simothers looked on and ratified her measures. monds's voice, there was no mistaking. "LaThere was a sort of house of commons composed dies, I beg," from Mrs. Vickers; and here the of Miss Simmonds, who enjoyed a certain con- alarm-bell began to ring ten minutes before the sideration because she was so very fat; good children's dinner, and the sun shone, and the old Mrs. Fox, with her white hair; and Mrs. heads bobbed at the window, and all of a sudChampion, a sort of lord chancellor in petticoats; den there was a lull. and when every body made objections the house- Trevithic, who like a coward had stopped outkeeper sometimes resigned. Mrs. Vickers had side while the battle was raging, ran up the low held firm for some months, and here she is sort- flight of steps to see what had been going on, ing out little tickets, writing little bills into a now that the danger was over, the guns silent, book, and comparing notes with the paper lists and the field, perhaps, strewed with the dead which the ladies have brought in. and the dying. No harm was done, he found, "Two-and-sixpence a week for her lodging, when he walked into the room; only Miss Trithree children, two deformed; owes fifteen shil- quett was hurt, her feelings had been wounded lings, deserted wife, can get no relief from the in the engagement, and she was murmuring that parent," Miss Moineaux reads out from her her friend Miss Hutchetts's character as a genslip. tlewoman had been attacked, but no one was "That is a hopeless case," says Mrs. Cham- listening to her. Mrs. Vickers was talking to a pion; "let her go into the work-house." smiling and pleasant-looking lady, who was "They have been there for months," says standing in the middle of the room. I don't Miss Moineaux, perhaps. know by what natural art Mary Myles had quieted "It is no use trying to help such people," all the turmoil which had been raging a minute says Miss Triquett, decidedly. before, but her pretty winsome ways had an in" Here is a pretty doctrine," cried Miss Sim- terest and fascination for them all; for old Miss monds: " the worse off folks are, the less help Triquett herself, who had not very much that they may expect." was pleasant or pretty to look at, and who by "When people are hopelessly lazy, dirty, and degrees seemed to be won over, too, to forget diseased," said Miss Triuett, with some aspe- Miss Hutchetts, in her interest in what this pretty, "the money is only wasted which might be ty widow was saying-it was only something invaluable to the deserving. As long as I am about a school-treat in her garden. She stopintrusted with funds from this charity, I shall ped short and blushed as Trevithic came in. take care they are well bestowed." "Oh, here is Mr. Trevithic," she said; "I will "I-I have promised Gummers some assist- wait till he has finished his business." ance," faltered Miss Moineaux. Jack would rather not have entered into it Miss Simmlonds. "And she ought to have it, in her presence, but he began as usual, and my dear." plodded on methodically, and entered into the Miss T. "I think you forget that is for Mr. mysteries of soup - meat, and flannelling, and Trevithic to decide." rheumatics, and the various ills and remedies Miss S. "I think you are forgetting your duty of life, but he could not help feeling a certain as a Christian woman." scorn for himself, and embarrassment and conMliss T. "I choose to overlook this insult. tempt for the shame he was feeling; and as he I will appeal to Mr. Trevithic." caught Mary Myles's bright still eyes curiously Miss S. "Pray do not take the trouble to for- fixed upon him, Jack wondered whether anygive me, Miss Triquett, or to appeal to any one. where else in the world, away from these curiNever since Miss Hutchetts went away-" ous glances, he might not find work to do more Miss T. " Miss Hutchetts is my friend, and I congenial and worthy of the name. It was not will not allow her name to be-" Mrs. Myles's presence which affected him so Exit Miss Moineaux in alarm to call for as- greatly, but it seemed like the last grain in the sistance. Miss Hutchetts, as they all know by balance against this chirruping tea-drinking life experience, is the string of the shower-bath, the he had been leading so long. It was an imposwar-cry of the Amazons. sibility any longer. He was tired of it. There The battle was raging furiously when Miss was not one of these old women who was not Moineaux came back and flung herself devoted- doing her part more completely than he was, ly into the melee. Miss Triquett was charging with more heart and good spirit than himself. right and left, shells were flying, artillery rattling. Some one had spoken to him of a work-house It was a wonder the windows were not broken. chaplaincy going begging at Hammersley, a Mrs. Champion was engaged with a hand-to- great inland town on the borders of Wales. JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 199 Jack was like a clock which begins to strike as Jack had almost made up his mind, and indeed soon as the hands point to the hour. That he felt like a traitor as he came into the drawvery night he determined to go over and see ing-room, and he could not help seeing how the place; and he wrote to a friend of his at Anne brightened up as she beckoned him Hammersley to get him permission, and to tell across the room and made him sit down beside the authorities of the intention with which he her. A great full harvest-moon was shining in came. at the window, a late autumnal bird was sing~_,<>~ —- ing its melancholy song, a little wind blew in and rustled round the room, and Anne, in her CHAPTER III. muslins and laces, looked like a beautiful pale pensive dream-lady by his side. Perhaps he might not see her again, be thought, rather senWHEN John Trevithic, with his radiant, timentally, and that henceforth their ways would cheerful face, marched for the first time through lie asunder. But how kind she had been to him! the wards of St. Magdalene's, the old creatures How pretty she was! What graceful womanpropped up on their pillows to see him pass, ly ways she had! How sorry he should be to both the master and mistress went with him, part from her! Ie came away and said goodduly impressed with his possible importance, bye quite sadly, looking in her face with a sort and pointed out one person and another; and of apology, as if to beg her pardon for what lie as the mighty trio advanced, the poor souls was going to do. He had a feeling that she cringed, and sighed, and greeted them with would be sorry that he should leave her-a litstrange nods, and gasps, and contortions. John tle sorry, although she was far removed fiom trudged along, saying little, but glancing right him. The birds sang to him all the way home and left with his bright eyes. IHe was very along the lane, and Jack slept very sound, and much struck, and somewhat overcome by the awoke in the morning quite determined in his sight of so much that was sad, and in orderly mind to go. As his landlady brought in his rows, and a blue cotton uniform. Was this to breakfast-tray he said to himself that there was be his charge? all these hundreds of weary nothing more to keep him at Sandsea, and then years, all these aching limbs and desolate waifs he sat down and wrote to Mr. Bellingham that from stranded homes, this afflicted multitude of instant, and sent up the note by Mrs. Bazley's past sufferings? He said nothing, but walked boy. along with his hands in his pockets, looking in A little later in the day, Tre-ithic went over vain to see some face brighten at the master's to the rectory himself. IIe wanted to get the approach. The faces worked, twitched, woke matter quite settled, for be could not help feelup eagerly, but not one caught the light which is ing sorry as he came along, and wondering reflected from the heart. What endless wards, whether lie had been right, after all. I-ie asked what a labyrinth of woes inclosed in the white- for the rector, and the man showed him into the washed walls! A few poor prints of royal per- study, and in a minute more the door opened, sonages, and of hop-gathering, and Christmas, but it was Miss Bellingham, not her father, out of the London News, were hanging on them. who came in. Whitewash and blue cotton, and weary faces in She looked very strange and pale, and put the women's wards; whitewash and brown fus- out two trembling hands, in one of which she tian, and sullen, stupid looks in the men's: this was holding John's letter. was all Trevithic carried away in his brain that " Oh, Mr. Trevithic, what is this? what does first day; -misery and whitewash, and a this mean?" she said. dull choking atmosphere, from which he was What indeed? he need never have written ashamed almost to escape out into the street, the words, for in another minute suddenly Miss into the square, into the open fields outside the Bellingham burst into tears. town, across which his way led back to the sta- They were very ill-timed tears as far as her tion. own happiness was concerned, as well as that of Man proposes, and if ever a man honestly poor John Trevitlic, who stood by full of cornproposed and determined to do his duty, it was passion, of secret terror at his own weakness, of John Trevithic, stretched out in his railway cor- which for the first time he began to suspect the ner, young and stout of heart and of limb, eager extent. He was touched and greatly affected. for change and for work. I-He was not very par- He walked away to the fireplace and came back ticular; troubles did not oppose him morbidly. and stood before her, an honest, single-hearted He had not been bred up in so refined a school young fellow, with an immense compassion for that poverty and suffering frightened him; but weak things, such as women and children, and the sight of all this hopelessness, age, failure, a great confidence in himself; and as he stood all neatly stowed away, and whitewashed over there he flushed in a struggle of compassion, atin those stony wards, haunted him all the way traction, revulsion, pity, afnd cruel disappointhome. They haunted him all the way up to nment. Those tears coming just then relieved the rectory, where he was to dine that evening, Anne Bellingham's heavy heart as they flowed and between the intervals of talk, which were in a passionate stream, and at the same time pretty frequent after Miss Bellingham had left they quenched many a youthful fire, destroyed the room and the two gentlemen to their claret. in their track many a dream of battle and vic 200 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. tory, of persevering struggle and courageous ef- utterly melted and overcome, and he stooped forts for the rights of the wronged upon earth. over, and took the poor little soul into his arms. They changed the course of Trevithic's life at "I see," he said, "that we two must never be the time, though in the end, perhaps, who shall parted again, and if I go, you must come with say that it was greatly altered by the complain- me...." ings and foolish fondness of this pobr soul whom It was done. It was over. When Jack he was now trying to quiet and comfort? I, dashed back to his lodging, it was in a state of for my part, don't believe that people are so excitement so great that he had hardly time to much affected by circumstance in the long run ask himself whether it was for the best or the as some people would have it. We think it a worst. The tears of the trembling appealing great matter that we turned to the right or the little quivering figure had so unnerved him, so left; but both paths go over the hill. Jack, as touched and affected him, that he had hardly his friends called him, had determined to leave known what he said or what he did not say, his a certain little beaten track of which he was pity and innate tenderness of heart had carried getting weary, and he had come up to say good- him away; it was more like a mother than a bye to a friend of his, and to tell her that he was lover that he took this poor little fluttering bird going, and this was the result. into his keeping, and vowed and prayed to keep it She went on crying-she could not help her- safe. But every thing was vague and new and self now. She was a fragile-looking little thing, unlifelike as yet. The future seemed floating a year or so younger than Jack, her spiritual with shadows and vibrations, and waving and curate and future husband, whom she had now settling into the present. He had left home a known for two years. free man, with a career before him, without ties "You see there is nothing particular for me to check him or to hold him back (except, indeed, to do here," he stammered, blushing. "A the poor old mother in her little house at Bargreat strong fellow like myself ought to be put- fleet, but that clasp was so slight, so gentle, so ting his shoulder to the wheel." unselfish, that it could scarcely be counted one "I-I had so hoped that you had been hap- now). And now " Chained and bound by the py here with us," said Miss Bellingham. ties of our sins," something kept dinning in his " Of course I have been happy-happier than bewildered brain. I have ever been in my life," said Jack, with Mrs. Bazley opened the door with her usual some feeling; " and I shall never forget your grin of welcome, and asked him if he had lunchkindness; but the fact is, I have been too happy. ed, or if she should bring up the tray. Trevithic This is a little haven where some worn-out old shook his head, and brushed past her up the veteran might recruit and grow young again in stairs, leaping three or four at a time, and he your kind keeping. It's no place for a raw re- dashed into his own room and banged the door, cruit like myself." and went and leaned against the wall, with his " Oh, think-oh, think of it again," faltered hand to his head, in a dizzy, sickened, miserable Anne. " Please change your mind. We would bewilderment, at which he himself was shocked try and make it less-less worldly-more like and frightened. What had he done, what what you wish." would this lead to? He paced up and down "No, dear lady," said Trevithic, half smiling, his room until he could bear it no longer, and half sighing. "You are goodness and kindness then he went back to the rectory. Anne had itself, but I must be consistent, I'm afraid. No- been watching for him, and came out to meet body wants me here; I may be of use else- him, and slid her jealous hand in his arm. where, and.... Oh Miss Bellingham, don't- "Come away," she whispered. "Thereare don't-pray don't-" some people in the house. Mary Myles is there "You know-you know you are wanted here, " talking to papa. I have not told him yet. I cried Miss Bellingham; and the momentous can't believe it enough to tell any one." tears began to flow again down her cheeks all un- John could hardly believe it either, or that checked, though she put up her fingers to hide this was the Miss Bellingham he had known them. She was standing by a table, a slim hitherto. She seemed so dear, so changed, this creature, in a white dress. " Oh, forgive me!" indolent county beauty, this calm young misshe sobbed, and she put out one tear-washed tress of the house, now bright, quick, excited, hand to him, and then she pushed him away moved to laughter: a hundred sweet tints and with her weak violence, and went and flung her- colors seemed awakened and brought to light self down into her father's big chair, and leaned which he had never noticed or suspected before. against the old red cushion in an agony of grief " I have a reason, " Anne went on. "I want and shame and despair. Her little dog began you to speak of this to no one but me and papa. barking furiously at John, and her bird began I will tell you very soon, perhaps to-morrow. to sing, and all the afternoon sun was stream- Here, come and sit under the lilac-tree, and then ing and blinding into the room. they can not see us from the drawing-room." "Oh, don't, don't despise me!" moaned the Anne's reason was this, that the rector of a poor thing, putting up her weary hand to her living in her father's gift was dying, but she was head. The action was so helpless, the voice so not sure that Jack would be content to wait for pathetic, that Trevithic resisted no longer, a dead man's shoes, and she gave him no hint " Despise you, my poor darling," said John, of a scheme she had made. JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 201 The news of John's departure spread very about so easily. Nothing was much changed; quickly, but that of his engagement was only the port-wine twinkled in the same decanters, suspected; and no allusion to his approaching the old rector dozed off in his chair after dinmarriage was made when the teapot was pre- ner, the sunset streamed into the dining-room sented to him in state. from the same gap in the trees which skirted I have ventured to christen my hero Jack, af- the churchyard. Anne, in the drawing-room in ter a celebrated champion of that name; but her muslins and lilac ribbons, sewed her worsted we all know how the giant-killer himself felt work in the corner by the window, or strummed asleep in the forest soon after he received the her variations on the piano-forte. Tumty tinkle badge of honor and distinction to which he was tumty-no-tinkle tumty turnty, as she correctso fairly entitled. Did poor John Trevithic, ed herself at the same place in the same song. now the possessor of the teapot of honor, fall " Do you know the songs without words?" she asleep thus early on his travels and forget all used to say to him when he first came. Know his hopes and his schemes? At first, in the them! At the endof six weeks poor Jack could natural excitement of his engagement, he put have told you every note of the half-dozen songs off one plan and another, and wrote to delay his which Anne had twittered out so often, only she application for the chaplaincy of the work-house. put neither song nor words to the notes, nor He had made a great sacrifice for Anne; for he time, nor any thing but pedals and fingers. One was not in love with her, as he knew from the of these she was specially fond of playing. It very beginning; but he soon fell into the habit begins with a few tramping chords, and climbs of caring for her and petting her, and, little by on to a solemn blast that might be sounded in a little, her devotion and blind partiality seemed cathedral or at the triumphant funeral of a warto draw him nearer and nearer to the new ways rior dying in victory. Anne had taken it into he had accepted. The engagement gave great her head to play this with expression, and to satisfaction., Hambledon shook him warmly by drag out the crisp chords-some of them she the hand, and said something about a better vo- thought sounded prettier in a higher octavecation than Bumbledom and work-houses. Jack and then she would look up with an archly afbit his lips. It was a sore point with him, and fectionate smile as she finished. Jack used to he could not bear to think of it. respond with a kind little nod of the head at How Anne had begged and prayed and insist- first, but he could not admire his wife's playing, ed, and put up her gentle hands in entreaty, and he wished she would mind her music and when he had proposed to take her to live at not be thinking of herself and nodding at him Hammersley. all the time. Had he promised to stuff up his "It would kill me," she said. " Oh John, ears with cotton-wool and to act fibs at the althere is something much better, much more use- tar? He didn't know; he rather thought he ful for you coming in a very little while. I had-he-psha! Where was that number of wanted people to hear of our marriage and of the North British Review? and the young man our new home together. Poor old Mr. Jorken went off into his study to look for it and to esis dead. Papa is going to give us his Lincoln- cape from himself. shire living; it is his very own. Are you too Poor Jack! He dimly felt now and then proud to take any thing from me, to whom you that all his life he should have to listen to tunes have given your life?" And her wistful en- such as these, and be expected to beat time to treaties were not without their effect, as she them. Like others before and since, he began clung to him with her strange jealous eagerness. to feel that what one expects and what is expectThe determined young fellow gave in again and ed of one are among the many impossible conagain. He had fallen into one of those moods ditions of life. You don't get it and you don't of weakness and irresolution of which one has give it, and you never will as long as you live, heard even among the fiercest and boldest of except, indeed, when Heaven's sacred fire of heroes. It was so great a sacrifice to him to love comes to inspire and teach you to do ungive up his dreams that it never occurred to him consciously and gladly what is clearer and nearfor a moment that he was deserting his flag. It er and more grateful than the result of hours of was a strange transformation which had come straining effort and self-denial. over this young fellow, of which the least part But these hours were a long way off as yet, was being married. and Jack was still asking himself how much I don't know whether the old ladies were dis- longer it would all last, and how could it be appointed or not that he did not actually go that he was here settled for life and a married away as soon as was expected. The announce- man, and that that pale little woman with the ment of his marriage, however, made up for straight smooth light hair was his wife, and that every thing else, and they all attended the cere- fat old gentleman fast asleep, who had been his mony. Mr. and Mrs. Trevithic went away for rector a few weeks ago, was his father-in-law their honey-moon, and to see old Mrs. Trevith- now, while all the world went on as usual, and ic at Barfleet, and then they came back to the nothing had changed except the relations of rectory until the house in Lincolnshire should these three people to each other? be ready to receive them. Poor Jack! He had got a treasure of a wife, For some time after his marriage Jack could I suppose. Anne Bellingham had ruled at the hardly believe that so great an event had come rectory for twenty-four years with a calm, des 202 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. potic sway that old Mr. Bellingham never at- ble frame of mind, it was scarcely the real tempted to dispute. Gentle, obstinate, ladylike, Anne Bellingham he had known, or maybe, pergraceful, with a clear complexion, and one of haps, it was the real woman stirred out of her those thin transparent noses which some people Philistinism by the great tender hand of nature admire, she glided about in her full flitting skirts, and the wonderful inspiration of love. Now, feeling herself the prop and elegant comforter day by day her old ways began to grow upon of her father's declining years. She used to her. Jack had not been married three weeks put rosebuds into his study; and though old Iefore a sort of terror began quietly to overMr. Bellingham didn't care for flowers, and dis- whelm him, a terror of his wife's genteel infalliked any thing upon his table, he never thought libility. As for Anne, she had got what she of removing the slender glass fabric his daugh- wanted; she had cried for the moon, and it was ter's white fingers had so carefully ornamented. hers; and she, too, began almost immediately She took care that clean muslin covers, with to feel that now she had got it she did not know neat little bows at each corner, should duly suc- what to do with it exactly. She wanted it to ceed one another over the back of the big study- turn the other way, and it wouldn't go-always chair. It is true the muslin scratched Mr. to rise at the same hour, and it seemed to Bellinghan's bald head, and he once ventured change day by day on purpose to vex her. to remove the objectionable pinafore with his And then she cried again, poor woman; but careful, clumsy old fingers; but next day he her tears were of little avail. I suppose Jack found it was firmly and neatly stretched down was very much to blame, and certainly at this in its place again, and it was beyond his skill time his popularity declined a little; and people to unpick the threads. Anne also took care shrugged their shoulders and said he was a that her father's dressing-things should be put lucky young fellow to get a pretty girl and a out for dinner; and if the poor old gentleman good living and fifteen thousand pounds in one delayed or tried to evade the ceremony, the morning, and that he had feathered his nest startled man who cleaned the plate and waited well. And so he had, poor fellow, only too upon the family was instructed to tell his mas- well, for to be sunk in a moral feather-bed is ter that the dressing-bellhad rung:. housemaids not the most enviable of fates to an activecame in to tidy the room; windows were open- minded man of six or seven and twenty. ed to renew the air: the poor rector could only The second morning after their return, Anne retire and do as he was bid. How Anne had had dragged him out to her favorite lilac-tree managed all her life to get her own way in every bench upon the height in the garden, from thing is more than I can explain. It was avery whence you can see all the freshness of the calm, persistent, commonplace way, but every morning brightening from bay to bay, green onegave in toit. And soithappenedthatas soon close at hand, salt wave and more green down as Jack was her husband, Anne expected that below, busy life on land, and a flitting, drifting, he was to change altogether; see with her pink, white-sailed life upon the water. As Trevithic watery eyes; care for the things she cared for; looked at it all with a momentary admiration, and be content henceforth with her tnild aspira- his wife said:tions after county society in this world,,and a "Isn't it much nicer to be up here with me, good position in the next. Anne imagined, in John, than down in those horrid lodgings in the some vague manner, that these were both good town?" things to be worked out together by punctuality And John laughed, and said, "Yes, the air on Sundays, family prayer, a certain amount of was very delicious." attention. to the neighbors (varying, of course, "You needn't have worked so hard at that with the position of the persons in question), draining if you had been living up here," Anne and due regard for the decencies of life. To went on, quite unconsciously. "I do believe one see her rustling into church in her long silk might live forever in this place and never get dress and French bonnet, with her smooth bands any harm from those miserable dens. I hear of hair, the slender hands neatly gloved, and there is small-pox in Mark's Alley. Promise the prayer-book, hymn-book, pocket-handker- me, dear, that you will not go near them." chief, and smelling-bottle, all her little phylac- "I am afraid I must go if they' want me," teries in their places, was an example to the said John. neighborhood-to the vulgar Christians strag- "No, dearest," Anne said, gently. "You gling in from the lodging-houses and the town, have to think of me first now. It would be and displaying their flyaway hats or highly po- wrong of you to go. Papa and I have never matumed heads of hair; to the little charity had the small-pox." children, gaping at her over the wooden gal- Trevithic didn't answer. As his wife spoke, lery; to St. Mary Magdalene up in the window, something else spoke too. The little boats glitwith her tangled locks; to Mrs. Coote herself, tered and scudded on; the whole sight was as who always came in late, with her four little sweet and prosperous as it had been a minute girls tumbling over her dress and shuffling after before; but he was not looking at it any more; her; not to mention Trevithic himself, up in his a strange new feeling had seized hold of him, a reading-desk, leaning back in his chair. For devil of sudden growth, and Trevithic was so the last six months, in the excitement of his little used to self-contemplation and inner expresence, in the disturbance of her usual equa- perience, that it shocked him and frightened JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 203 him to find himself standing there calmly talking chirp of the charity-school children. The three to his wife-without any quarrel, angry in his rows of grinning little faces were peering at him heart; without any separation, parted from her. from the organ-loft. There was the empty bench "Anne and I could not be farther apart at at the top, where the mistress sat throned in state; this instant," thought John, "if I were at the the marble rolled down in the middle of the secother side of that sea, and she standing here all ond lesson, with all the children looking preteralone." naturally innocent and as if they did not hear the " What is the matter?" said poor Anne, af- noise; the old patches of color were darting upon fectionately brushing a little thread off his coat. the pulpit cushion from St. Mary Magdalene's " Can't you understand?" said he, drawing red scarf in the east window. These are all away. small things, but they have taken possession of "Understand?" Anne repeated. "I know rmy hero, who is preaching away, hardly knowthat you are naughty, and want to do what you ing what he says, but conscious of Anne's wistmust not think of." ful gaze from the rectory pew, and of the curious "I thought that when I married you, you eyes of all the old women in the, firje seats, who cared for the things that I care about," cried dearly love a timely word, and, who have made poor John, exasperated by her playfulness, "and up their minds to be stirred up that Sunday. It that you understood that a man must do his busi- is not a bad sermon, but it is of things neither ness in life, and that marriage does not absolve the preacher nor his congregation care very him from every other duty. I thought you cared much to hear. -you said you did-for the poor people in trouble down there." Then, melting, "Don't make it difficult for me to go to them, dear." "No, dear John. I could not possibly allow CHAPTER IV. it," said his wife, decidedly. "You are not a doctor; it is not your business to nurse small- JACI GOES TO SLEEP IN THE WOOD. pox patients. Papa never thinks of going where FEATHERSTON VICARAGE was a quaint, dreathere is infection." ry, silent old baked block of bricks and stucco, "My dear Anne," said John, fairly out of standing on one of those low Lincolnshire hiltemper, " nobody ever thought your father had locks-I do not know the name for them. They done his duty by the place, and you must allow are not hills, but mounds; they have no shape or your husband to go his own way, and not inter- individuality, but they roll in on every side; they fere any more." inclose the horizon; they stop the currents of "It is very, very wrong of you, John, to say fresh air; they give no feature to the foreground. such things," said Anne, flushing, and speaking There was no reason why the vicarage should very slowly and gently. "You forget yourself have been built upon this one, more than upon and me too, I think, when you speak so coarsely. any other of the monotonous waves of the dry You should begin your reforms at home, and ocean of land which spreads and spreads about learn to control your temper before you go and Featherston, unchanging in its monotonous line. preach to people with dreadful illnesses. They To look fiom the upper windows of the vicarage can not possibly want you, or be in a fit state to is like looking out at sea, with nothing but the be visited." horizon to watch-a dull sand-and-dust horizon, If Anne had only lost her temper, flared up at with monotonous waves and lines that do not even him, talked nonsense, he could have borne it bet- change or blend like the waves of the sea. ter; but there she stood, quiet, composed, in- Anne was delighted with the place when she finitely his superior in her perfect self-posses- first came. Of course it was not to compare sion. Jack left her, all ashamed of himself, in with Sandsea for pleasantness and freshness, but a fume and a fury, as he strode down into the the society was infinitely better. Not all the town. lodging-houses at Sandsea could supply such an The small-pox turned out to be a false alarm, eligible circle of acquaintances as that which spread by some ingenious parishioners who wish- came driving up day after day to the vicarage ed for relief and who greatly disliked the visits door. The carriages, after depositing their ownof the excellent district ladies, and the matter ers, would go champing up the road to the little was compromised. But that afternoon Miss tavernof "The Five Horseshoes, "attheentrance Triquett, meeting John in the street, gave a pen- of the village, in search of hay and beer for the etrating and searching glance into his face. I-e horses and men. Anne in one afternoon enterlooked out of spirits. Miss Triquett noticed it tained two honorables, a countess, and two Lady directly, and her heart, which had been some- Louisas. The countess was Lady Kidderminwhat hardened against him, melted at once. ster and one of the Lady Louisas was her daugliJack and his wife made it up. Anne relented, ter. The other was a nice old maid, a cousin of and something of her better self brought her to Mrs. Myles, and she told Mrs. Trevithic somemeet him half-way. Once more the strange ac- thing more of poor Mary Myle's married life than customed feeling came to him, on Sundays es- Anne had ever known before. pecially. Old Billy I-Hunsden came cloppeting' "It is very distressing," said Anne, with a into church just as usual. There was the clerk, ladylike volubility, as she walked across the lawn with his toothless old warble joining in with the with her guest to the carriage, " when married 204 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. people do notget oncomfortablytogether. De- dispirited, and he could scarcely listen to his pend upon it, there are generally faults on both wife's chirrups with very great sympathy or ensides. I dare say it is very uncharitable of me, couragement. but I generally think the woman is to blame when "Lady Kidderminster wishes us to set up a things go wrong," said Anne, with a little con- carriage and a pair of horses!" poor Trevithic scions smirk. "Of course, we must be content cried out aghast. "Why, my dear Anne, you to give up some things when we marry. Sand- must be-must be.... What do you imagine sea was far pleasanter than this as a residence; our income to be?" but where my husband's interests were con- "I know very well what it is," Anne said, cerned, Lady Louisa, I did not hesitate. I hope with a nod; "better than you do, sir. With to get this into some order in time, as soon as I care and economy a very great deal is to be done. can persuade Mr. Trevithic...." Leave every thing to me, and don't trouble your "You are quite right, quite right," said Lady foolish old head." Louisa, looking round approvingly at the grass- "But, my dear, you must listen for one mingrown walks and straggling hedges. "Although ute," Trevithic said. " One thousand a year is Mary is my own cousin, I always felt that she not limitless. There are calls and drains upon did not understand poor Tom. Of course, he our incomings-" had his little fidgety ways like the rest of us." " That is exactly what I wanted to speak to (Mary had never described her husband's lit- you about, John," said his wife, gravely. "For tle fidgety ways to any body at much length, and one thing, I have been thinking that your mothif brandy and blows and oaths were among them, er has a very comfortable income of her own," these trifles were forgotten now that Tom was Anne said, " and I am sure she would gladly..." respectably interred in the family vault and be- "I have no doubt she would," Trevithic inyond reproaches.) terrupted, looking full in his wife's face; "and Lady Louisa went away favorably impressed that is the reason that I desire the subject may by young Mrs. Trevithic's good sense and high- never be alluded to again, either to her or to mindedness. Anne, too, was very muchpleased me." He looked so decided and stern, and his with her afternoon. She went and took a corn- gray eagle eyes opened wide in a way his wife placent turn in her garden after the old lady's knew that meant no denial. Vexed as she was, departure. She hardly knew where the little she could not help a momentary womanly feelpaths led to as yet, nor the look of the fruit-walls ing of admiration for the undaunted and decidand of the twigs against the sky, as people do ed rule of the governor of this small kingdom in who have well paced their garden-walks in rain, which she was vicegerent; she felt a certain wind, and sunshine, in spirits and disquiet, at pride in her husband, not in what was best in his odd times and sad times and happy ones. It temper and heart, but in the outward signs that was all new to Mrs. Trevithic, and she glanced any one might read. His good looks, his manly about as she went, planning a rose-tree here, a bearing, his determination before which she had creeper there, a clearance among the laurels. to give way again and again, impressed her odd" I must let in a peep of the church through ly; she followed him with her eyes as he walks that elm-clump, and plant some fuchsias along ed away into the house, and went on with her that bank," she thought. (Anne was fond of calculations as she still paced the gravel path, defuchsias.) "And John must give me ahen-house. termining to come back secretly to the charge, as The cook can tend to that. The place looks was her way, from another direction, perhaps failmelancholy and neglected without any animals ing and again only to ponder upon a fresh attack. about; we must certainly buy a pig. What a And meanwhile Anne was tolerably happy very delightful person Lady Kidderminster is; trimming her rose-trees, and arranging and reshe asked me what sort of carriage we meant to arranging the furniture, visiting at the bighouses, to keep-I should think with economy we might and corresponding with her friends, and playing manage a pair. I shall get John to leave every on the piano, and with her baby, in time, when thing of that sort to me. I shall give him so itcame tolive with them in the vicarage. Trevmuch for his pocket-money and charities, and do ithic was tolerably miserable, fuming and conthe very best I can with the rest." And Anne suming his days in a restless, impatient search sincerely meant it when she made this determi- for the treasures which did not exist in the arid nation, andwalked alongbetterpleasedthan ever, fields and lanes round about the vicarage. He feeling that with her hand to pilot it along the certainly discovered a few well-to-do farmers ridtortuous way their ship could not run aground, ing about their inclosures on their rough horses, but would come straight and swift into the haven and responding with surly nods to his goodof country society, for which they were making, humored advances;: a few old women selling drawn by a couple of prancing horses, and a lollipops in their tidy front kitchens; with shinriding-horse possibly for John. And seeing her ing pots and pans, and starch caps, the very pichusband coming through the gate and crossing tures of respectability; little tidy children trotthe sloping lawn, Anne hurried to meet him ting to school along the lanes, hand in hand, with glowing pink cheeks and tips to her eyelids with all the strings on their pinafores, and hardand nose, eager to tell him her schemes and ad- working mothers scrubbing their parlors, or ventures. hanging out their linen to dry. The cottages Trevithic himself had come home tired and were few and far between, for the farmers farm JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 205 ed immense territories; the laborers were out in but a small one to provide for three people-so the fields at sunrise, and toiled all da, and stag- long as a leg of mutton costs seven shillings, and gered home worn out and stupefied at night; there are but twenty shillings in the pound and the little pinafores released from school at mid- 365 days in the year. day would trot along the furrows with their fa- It was a hot, sultry afternoon, the dust was thers' and brothers' dinners tied up in bundles, lying thick upon the lanes, on the country roads, and drop little frightened courtesies along the that went creeping away white in the glare to hedges when they met the vicar on his rounds. this and that distant sleepy hollow. The leaves Dreary, dusty rounds they were-illimitable cir- in the hedges were hanging upon their stalks; cles. The country folks did not want his ser- the convolvuluses and blackberries drooped their mons, they were too stupid to understand whathe heads beneath the clouds that rose from the said, they were too aimless anddispirited. Jack wreaths and piles of dust along the way. Four the Giant-Killer's sleep lasted exactly three years o'clock was striking from the steeple, and echoin Trevithic's case, during which the time did ing through the hot still air; nobody was to be not pass, it only ceased to be. Once old Mr. seen, except one distant figure crossing a stubBellingham paid them a visit, and once Mrs. Trev- ble-field; the vicarage windows were close-shutithic, senior, arrived with her cap-boxes, and tered, but the gate was on the latch, and the then every thing again went on as usual until big dog had just sauntered lazily through. Anne Dulcie came to live with her father and mother heard the clock strike from her darkened bedin the old sun-baked, wasp-haunted place. room, where she was lying upon the sofa restDulcie was a little portable almanac to mark ing. Dulcie, playing in her nursery, counted the time for both of them, and the seasons and the strokes. "Tebben, two, one; nonner one," the hour of the day, some thing in this fashion:- that was how she counted. John heard the Six months and Iulcie began to crawl across clock strike as he was crossing the dismal stubthe druggeted floor of her father's study; nine ble-field; every thing else was silent. Two months to crow and hold out her arms; a year butterflies went flitting before him in the desomust have gone by, for Dulcie was making sweet late glare. It was all so still, so dreary, and inarticulate chatterings and warblings, which feverish, that he tried to escape into a shadier changed into words by degrees-wonderfulwords field, and to force his way through a gap in the of love and content and recognition, after her parched hedge, regardless of farmer Burr's fences tiny lifelong silence. Dulcie's clock marked the and restrictions. time of day something in this fashion:- On the other side of the hedge there was a Dulcie's breakfast o'clock. smaller field, a hollow with long grasses and nutDulcie's walk in the garden o'clock. hedges and a little shade, and a ditch over which Dulcie's dinner o'clock. Trevithic sprang with some remnant of youthful Dulcie's bedtime o'clock, etc. spirit. He sprang, breaking through the briers All the tenderness of Jack's heart was Dul- and countless twigs and limp-wreathed leaves, cie's. Her little fat fingers would come tapping making a foot-standing for himself among the and scratching at his study door long before she lank grasses and dull autumn flowers on the could walk. She was not in the least afraid of other side, and as he sprang he caught a sight him, as her mother was sometimes. She did of something lying in the ditch, something with not care for his sad moods, nor sympathize with half-open lips and dim glazed eyes turned uphis ambitions, nor understand the pangs and ward under the crossing diamond network of pains he suffered, the regrets and wounded van- the shadow and light of the briers. ities and aspirations. Was time passing, was What was this that was quite still, quite inhe wasting his youth and strength, in that forlorn animate, lying in the sultry glow of the autumn stagnantLincolnshire fen? What was it to her? day? Jack turned a little sick, and leaped back Little Dulcie thought that, when he crossed his down among the dead leaves, and stooped over legs and danced her on his foot, her papa was a wan helpless figure lying there motionless and fulfilling all the highest duties of life; and when ghastly, with its head sunk back in the dust and she let him kiss her soft cheek, it did not occur tangled weeds. It was only a worn and misto her that every wish of his heart was not grat- erable-looking old man, whose meek, starved, ified. Hard-hearted, unsympathetic, trustful, weary face was upturned to the sky, whose wan and appealing little comforter and companion! lips were drawn apart, and whose thin hands Whatever it might be to Anne, not even Lady were clutching at the weeds. Jack gently tried Kidderminster's society soothed and comforted to loosen the clutch, and the poor fingers gave Jack as Dulcie's did. This small Egyptian was way in an instant and fell helplessly among the a hard task-mistress, for she gave him bricks to grasses, frightening a field-mouse 1-ack into its make without any straw, and kept him aprison. hole. But this helpless, loose fall first gave er in a land of bondage; but for her he would Trevithic some idea of life in the hopeless fighave thrown up the work that was so insufficient ure, for all its wan rigid lines. He put his hand for him, and crossed the Red Sea, and chanced under the rags which covered the breast. There the fortunes of life; but with Dulcie and her was no pulse at first, but presently the heart mother hanging to the skirts of his long black just fluttered, and a little color came into the clerical coat, how could he go! Ought he to pale face, and there was a long sigh, and then go? ~400 a year is a large sum to get together, the glazed eyes closed. 20G FIVE OLD FRIENDS. John set to work to rub the cold hands and a minute he was out again. "Here, put this the stiff body. It was all he could do, for peo- in " (to the powdered footman), and John thrust pie don't walk about with bottles of brandy and a blanket off the bed, an old three-legged chair, a blankets in their pockets; but he rubbed and wash-jug full of water, and one or two more misrubbed, and some of the magnetism of his own cellaneous objects into the man's arms. " Now vigorous existence seemed to enter into the poor back again," he said, "as quick as you can." soul at his knees, and another faint flush of life And he jumped in with his brandy; and the came into the face, and the eyes opened this great barouche groaned, and at his command time naturally and bright, and the figure point- actually sped off once more along the road. ed faintly to its lips. Jack understood, and he "Make haste," said Trevithic; "the man is nodded; gave a tug to the man's shoulders, and dying for want of a dram." propped him up a little higher against the bank. The sun blazed hot in their faces. The footThen he tied his handkerchief round the poor man sat puzzled and disgusted on his perch, old bald head to protect it from the sun, and clasping the blanket and the water-jug. Lady sprang up the side of the ditch. He had re- Kidderminster was not sure that she was not ofmembered a turnpike upon the highway, two or fended by all the orders Mr. Trevithic was givthree hundred yards beyond the boundary of ing her servants; Mrs. Miles held the three-legthe next field. ged chair up on the seat opposite with her slenLady Kidderminster, who happened to be der wrist, and looked kind and sympathetic; driving along that afternoon on her way to the John hardly spoke-he was thinking what would Potlington flower-show, and who was leaning be best to do next. back comfortably under the hood of her great " I am so sorry," he said, "but I am afraid yellow barouche, was surprised to see from un- you must wait for us, Lady Kidderminster. I'll der the fringe of her parasol the figure of a man bring him up as soon as I can, and we will drop suddenly bursting through a hedge on the road- him at the first cottage. You see nobody else side, and waving a hatand shouting, red, heated, may pass for hours." disordered, frantically signing to the coachman "We shall be very late for our fl-" Lady to stop. Kidderminster began, faintly, and then stopped' It's a Fenian!" screamed her ladyship. ashamed at the look in Trevithic's honest face "I think-yes, it's Mr. Trevithic," said her which she saw reflected in Mrs. Myles's eyes. companion. "Oh my dear Lady Kidderminster," cried The coachman, too, had recognized Jack, and Mrs. Myles, bending forward from her nest of began to draw up; but the young man, whohad white mnislins.''We must wait." now reached the side of the carriage, signed to " Of course we will wait," said Lady Kidderhim to go on. minster, hastily, as the coachman stopped at "Will you give me a lift?" he said, gasping the gap through which Jack had first made his and springing on to the step. "How d'ye do, appearance. Trevithic was out in an instant. Lady Kidderminster? I heard your wheels and "Bring those things quick," said Jack to the made an effort," and Jack turned rather pale. magnificent powder-and-plush man; and he set "There is a poor fellow dying in a ditch. I off running himself as hard as he could go, with want some brandy for him and some help; stop his brandy-flask in one hand and the water-jug at the turnpike," he shouted to the coachman, in the other. and then he turned with very good grace to La- For an instant the man hesitated and looked dy Kidderminster, aghast and not over pleased. at his mistress, but Lady Kidderminster had "Pray forgive me," he said. "It was such a now caught something of Mr. Trevithic's energy: chance catching you. I never thought I should she imperiously pointed to the three-legged have done it. I was two fields off: Why, how chair, and Tomlins, who was good-natured in d'ye do, Mrs. Miles?" And still holding on to the main, seeing Jack's figure rapidly disapthe yellow barouche by one hand, he put out pearing in the distance, began to run too, with the other to his old acquaintance, Mary Miles, his silken legs plunging wildly, for pumps and with the still kind eyes, who was sitting in state stubble are not the most comfortable of combiby the countess. nations. When Tomlins reached the ditch at " You will take me back, and the brandy, I last, Jack was pouring old Glossop's treacle-like know?" said Trevithic. brandy down the poor gasping tramp's throat, "Is it any body one knows?" said the count- dashing water into his face and gradually bringess. ing him to life again; the sun was streaming "Only some tramp," said Jack; "but it's a upon the two, the insects buzzing, and the church mercy I met you." And before they reached clock striking the half-hour. the turnpike, he had jumped down, and was ex- There are combinations in life more extraorplaining his wants to the bewildered old chip dinary than pumps and ploughed fields. When of a woman who collected the tolls. Trevithic and Tomlins staggered up to the car" Your husband not here? a pity," said John. riage carrying the poor old ragged, half-lifeless "Give me his brandy-bottle; it will be of some creature on the chair between them, the two begood for once." And he disappeared into the satined and be-feathered ladies made way and lodge, saying, "Would you please have the helped them to put poor helpless old Davy Hophorses' heads turned, Lady Kidderminster?" In kins with all his rags into the soft-cushioned JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 207 corner, and drove off with him in triumph to the shake of the head; " they ain't worth the mendlittle public at the entrance of Featherston, in'." Then an illness, and then thework-house, where they left him. and that was all his history. "You have saved that man's life," said Jack, "I ain't sorry I come out of the'ouse; the as he said good-bye to the two ladies. They ditch was the best place of the two," said Davy. left him standing glad and excited, in the mid- " You picked me out of the ditch; you'd have dle of the road, with bright eyes and more ani- left me in the'ouse, sir, all along with the ruck. mation an'd interest in his face than there had I don't blame ye," Davy said; "I see'd ye there been for many a day. for the first time when I was wuss off than I ever "My dear Jack, what is this I hear?" said hope to be in this life again; ye looked me full Anne, when he got home. "Iave you been in the face, and talked on with them two after to the flower-show with Lady Kidderminster? ye-devil take them, and he will." Who was that in the carriage with her? What "I don't remember you," said John. "Where a state you are in!" was it?" Jack told her his story, but Mrs. Trevithic "HammersleyWorkus," said Davy. "Don't scarcely listened. "Oh!" said she, "I thought you remember Hammersley Union? I was in you had beeri doing something pleasant. Mrs. the bed under the winder, and I says to my Myles was very kind. It seems to me rather a pardner (there were two on us), says I —'That fuss about nothing, but, of course, you know chap looks as if he might do us a turn.''Not best." he,' says my pardner.' They are werry charitaLittle Dulcie saw her father looking vexed; ble, and come and stare at us; that's all,' says she climbed up his leg and got on his knee, and he, and he was right you see, sir. He'd been put her round soft cheek against his. "Sall I in five years come Christmas, and knew more luboo?" said she. about it than I did then." " And you have left now?" said Trevithic, with a strange expression of pity in his face. "So I'ave, sir, I'm bound to say," said Davy, CHAPTER V. finishing off his porter, "and I'd rather die in the ditch any day than go back to that dBLUNDERBORE AND IIS TWO IIEADS. place." WHIrEN Jack went to see his protege next day, " It looked clean and comfortable enough," he found the old man sitting up in the bar warm- said Trevithic. ing his toes, and finishing off a basin of gruel " Clean, comfirable!" said Davy. "Do you and a tumbler of porter with which the land- think I minds a little dirt, sir? Did you look lady had supplied him. Mrs. Penfold was a fro- under the quilts? Why, the vermin was a runzen sort of woman, difficult to deal with, but ning all over the place like flies, so it were. It kind-hearted when the thaw once set in, and come dropping from the ceiling; and my pardthough at first she had all but refused to receive ner he were paralytic, and he used to get me to poor old Davy into her house, having relented wipe the bugs off his face with a piece of paper. and opened her door to him, she had warmed and Shall I tell ye what it was like?" And old Davy, comforted him, and brought him to life in tri- in his ire, began a history so horrible, so sickumph, and now looked upon him with a certain ening, that Trevithic flushed up as he listenedself-contained pride and satisfaction as a favora- an honest flush and fire of shame and indignable specimen of her art. tion. "He's right eno'," said Mrs. Penfold, with a "I tell you fairly I don't believe half you jerk of the head. "Ye can go in and see him say," said Jack, at last. "It is too horrible in the bar." And Jack went in. and unnatural." The bar was a comfortable little oaken refuge "True there," said Davy, comforted by his and haven for Miles and Hodge, where they porter and his gruel. " It ain't no great matter stretched their stiff legs safe from the scoldings to me if you believes'arf or not, sir. I'm out of their wives and the shrill cries of their chil- of that hole, and I ain't agoin' back. Maybe dren. The shadows of the sunny-latticed win- your good lady has an umbrella wants seeing dow struck upon the wooden floor, the fire burnt to; shall I call round and ask this afternoon, most part of the year on the stone hearth, where sir?" the dry branches and logs were crackling cheer- Jack nodded and said he might come if he fully, with a huge black kettle hissing upon the liked, and went home, thinking over the history bars. Some one had christened it "Tom," and he had heard. It was one of all the histories from its crooked old spout at any hour of the daily told in the sunshine, of deeds done in day a hot and sparkling stream went flowing darkness. It was one grain of seed falling into into the smoking grog-glasses, and intoPenfold's the ground and taking root. Jack felt a dull punch-pots and Mrs. Penfold'stea-cups and soup- feeling of shame and sadness; an uncomfortapans. ble pricking as of a conscience which has been Davy's story was a common one enough-a benumbed; a sudden pain of remorse, as he travelling umbrella-mender-hard times-fine walked along the dusty lane which led to the weather, umbrellas to mend, and "parasols ain't vicarage. He found his wife in the drawingno good; so cheap they are," he said, with a room, writing little scented notes to some of her 208 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. new friends, and accepting proffered dinners and his place, and to get off for a holiday," said Mr. teas and county hospitalities. Little Dulcie was Austin. "He is a poor sort of creature, and I lying on her back on a rug, and crooning and don't think he has got on very well with the chattering; the shutters were closed; there was guardians." a whiff of roses and scented water. Coming in "I wonder," said Trevithic, "whether I from the baking lanes, it was a pleasant contrast, could take the thing for a time? We might a pretty home picture, all painted in cool whites exchange, you know; I am tired of play, Heavand grays and shadows, and yet it had by de- en knows. There is little enough to do at grees grown intolerable to him. Jack looked Featherston, and he might easily look after my round, and up and down, and then with a sud- flock while I take the work here off his hands." den impulse he went up and took his wife's hand, "I know you always had a hankering after and looked her full in the face. "Anne," he those unsavory flesh-pots," Austin said with a said, "could you give up something for me- laugh. "I should think Skipper would jump something, every thing, except what is yours as at your offer, and from all I hear there is plenty a right? Dear, it is all so nice, but I am very to be done here, if it is work you are in want unhappy here. May I give upthis pretty home, of. Poor little Skipper did his best at one and will you come and live with me where we time; I believe he tried to collect a fund for can be of-more use than we are here?" He some of the poor creatures who couldn't be looked so kind and so imploring that for an in- taken in, but what is one small fish like him stant Anne almost gave way and agreed to any among so many guardians?" said Mr. Austin, thing. There was a bright constraining power indulging in one of those clerical jokes to which in Jack's blue eye which had to deal with mag- Mr. Trollope has alluded in his delightful Chronnetism, I believe, and which his wife was one icles. of the few people to resist. She recovered her- Jack wrote off to his bishop and to his wife self almost immediately. by that day's post. Two different answers "How ridiculous you are, John!" she said, reached him; his wife's came next day, his pettishly. " Of course I will do any thing in bishop's three days later. reason; but it seems to me very wrong and un- Poor Anne was frantic, as well she might be. natural and ungrateful of you," said Mrs. Trev- "Come to Hammersley for two months in the ithic, encouraging herself as she went on, "not heat of the summer; bring little Dulcie; break to be happy when you have so much to be up her home!-Never. Throw over Lady Kidthankful for; and though, of course, I should derminster's Saturdays; admit a stranger to be the last to allude to it, yet I do think when the vicarage!-Never! Was her husband out I have persuaded papa to appoint you to this of his senses?" She was deeply, deeply hurt. excellent living, considering how young you He must come back immediately, or more scare and how much you owe to him, it is not rious consequences than he imagined might graceful, to say the least, on your part...." ensue. John turned away and caught up little Dul- Trevithic's eyes filled up with tears as he cie, and began tossing her in the air. "Well," crumpled the note up in his hand and flung it said he, " we won't discuss this now. I have across the room. It was for this he had sacrimade up my mind to take a week's holiday," ficed the hope of his youth, of his life-for this. he added, with a sort of laugh. "I am going It was too late now to regret, to think of what to stay with Frank Austin till Saturday. Will another fate might have been. Marriage had you tell them to pack up my things?" done him this cruel service: It had taught him "But, my dear, we are engaged to the what happiness might be, what some love might Kidd...." be, but it had withheld the sweetness of the "You must write and make my excuses," fruit of the tree. If it had indeed disclosed the Jack said, wearily. I must go, I have some knowledge of good, it was through the very bitbusiness at Hammersley." And he left the terness of the fruit that came to his share, that room. this unhappy Adam, outside the gates of the garden, realized what its ripe sweetness might Chances turn out so strangely at times that have been. some people-women especially, who live quiet- Old Mr. Bellingham did not mend matters ly at home and speculate upon small matters- by writing a trembling and long-winded remonlook on from afar and wonder among them- strance. Lady Kidderminster, to whom Anne selves as they mark the extraordinary chain- had complained, pronounced Trevithic mad; work of minute stitches by which the mighty she had had some idea of the kind, she said, machinery of the world works on. Men who that day when he behaved in that extraordinary are busy and about, here and there in life, are manner in the lane. more apt to take things as they find them, and "It's a benevolent mania," said Lord Axdo not stop to speculate how this or that comes minster, her eldest son. to be. It struck Jack oddly when he heard Mrs. Myles shook her head, and began, " He from his friend Frank Austin that the chaplain is not mad, most noble lady..." Mrs. Trevwho had been elected instead of him at the ithic, who was present, flushed up with resentwork-house was ill and obliged to go away for a ment at Mrs. Myles venturing to interpose in time. "He is trying to find some one to take Jack's behalf. She did not look over-pleased JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 209 when Mrs. Myles added that she should meet began to whisper that " nurse " sometimes inMr. Trevithic probably when she went from dulged in a drop too much; that she had been thence to stay at Hammersley with her cousin, very unmanageable the night before, had boxed Mrs. Garnier. poor Tilly's ears-poor simpleton. They all Jack, who was in a strange determined loved Tilly, and didn't like to see her hurt. mood, meanwhile wrote back to his wife to See, there was the bruise on her cheek; and say that he felt that it was all very hard upon Tilly, a woman of thirty, but a child in her her; that he asked it from her goodness to him ways, came shyly up in a pinafore, with a doll and her wifely love; that he would make her in one arm and a finger in her mouth. All the very happy if she would only consent to come, old hags, sitting on their beds, smiled at her as and if not she must go to her father's for a few she went along. This poor witless Tilly was weeks until he had got this work done. "In- the pet of the ward, and they did not like to deed it is no sudden freak, dear," he wrote. "I have her beaten. Trevithic was affected, he had it in my mind before" (John hesitated here brought Tilly some sugar-plums in his pocket, for a minute and took his pen off the paper)- and the old toothless crones brightened up and "that eventful day when I walked up to the thanked him, nodding their white nightcaps enrectory, and saw you and learnt to know you." couragingly from every bed. So he finished his sentence. But his heart sank At the end of two days John sickened; the as he posted the letter. Ah me! he had dream- sights, the smells, the depression of spirits proed a different dream. duced by this vast suffering mass of his unlucky brothers and sisters, was too much for him, and If his correspondence with his wife did not for a couple of days he took to his bed. The prosper as it should have done, poor Trevithic matron came to see him twice; she took an inwas greatly cheered by the bishop's letter, which terest in this cheerful new element, sparkling not only gave consent to this present scheme, still with full reflection of the world outside. but offered him, if he wished for more active She glanced admiringly at his neatly appointed duty, the incumbency of St. Bigot's in the North, dressing-table, the silver top to his shaving-gear, which would shortly be vacant in Hammersley, and the ivory brushes. and which, although less valuable than his pres- John was feverish and thirsty, and was drainent living, as far as the income was concerned, ing a bottle of murky-looking water, when Mrs. was much more so as regards the souls to be Bulcox came into the room on the Second day. saved, which were included in the bargain. What is that you are drinking there, sir?" New brooms sweep clean, says the good old said she. "My goodness, it's the water from adage. After he took up his residence at St. the tap-we never touch it! I'll send you some Magdalene's, Jack's broomstick did not begin of ours; the tap-water comes through the cessto sweep for seven whole days. He did not go pool and is as nasty as nasty can be." back to Featherston; Anne had left for Sand- "Is it what they habitually drink here?" sea; and Mr. Skipper was in possession of the Trevithic asked, languidly. rectory, and Trevithic was left in that of 500 "They're used to it," said Mrs. Bulcox; paupers in various stages of misery and decrepi- nothing hurts them." tude, and of a two-headed creature called Bul- Jack turned away with an impatient movecox, otherwise termed the master and the ma- ment, and Mrs. Bulcox went off indignant at tron of the place. Jack waited; he felt that if his want of courtesy. The fact was, that Jack he began too soon he might ruin every thing, already knew more of the Bulcox's doings than get into trouble, stir up the dust which had they had any conception of, poor wretches, as been lying so thickly, and make matters worse they lay snoring the comfortable sleep of callousthan before; he waited, watched, looked about ness on their snug pillows. "I don't'alf like him, asked endless questions, to not one of that chap," Mr. Bulcox had remarked to his which the poor folks dared give a truthful an- wife, and Mrs. Bulcox had heartily echoed the swer. " Nurse was werry kind, that she was, misgiving. "I go to see him when he is ill," and most kinsiderate, up any time o' night and said she, "and he cuts me off as sharp as any day," gasped poor wretches, whose last pinch thing. What business has he comin' prying of tea had just been violently appropriated by and spying about the place?" "nurse" with the fierce eyebrows sitting over What, indeed! The place oppressed poor the fire, and who would lie for hours in an Jack, tossing on his bed; it seemed to close in agony of pain before they dared awaken her upon him, the atmosphere appeared to be full fiom her weary sleep. For nurse, whatever of horrible moans and suggestions. In his norher hard rapacious heart might be, was only mal condition Jack would have gone to sleep made of the same aching bones and feeble flesh like a top, done his best, troubled his head no as the rest of them. "Every body was kind more on the subject of troubles he could not reand good, and the mistress came round reg'lar lieve; but just now he was out of health, out of and ast them what they wanted. The tea was spirits-although his darling desire was hisnot so nice, perhaps, as it meight be, but they and more susceptible to nervous influences and was not wishin' to complain." So they moaned suggestions than he had ever been in his life beon for the first three days. On the fourth, one fore. This night especially he was haunted and or two cleverer and more truthful than the rest overpowered by the closeness and stillness of his 0 210 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. room. It looked out through bars into a nar- a moan reached him from the sleepers above. row street, and a nervous feeling of imprison- Jack did not improve his night's rest by his midment and helplessness came over him so strong- night wandering. ly that, to shake it off, he jumped up at last and Trevithic got well, however, next day, dresspartly dressed himself, and began to pace up and ed himself, and went down into the little office down the room. The popular history of Jack which had been assigned to him. His bedroom the Giant-Killer gives a ghastly account of the was over the gateway of the work-house and abode of Blunderbore; it describes "an im- looked into the street. From his office he had mense room where lay the limbs of the people only a sight of the, men's court, the wooden lately seized and devoured," and Blunderbore, bench, the stone steps, the grating. Inside was "with a horrid grin," telling Jack " that men's a stove and green drugget, a little library of hearts eaten with pepper and vinegar were his books covered with greasy brown paper for the nicest food. The giant then locked Jack up," use of those who could read. There was not says the history, "and went to fetch a friend." much to comfort or cheer him, and as he sat Poor Trevithic felt something in Jack's posi- there he began to think a little disconsolately tion when the gates were closed for the night, of his pleasant home, with its clean comfortable and he found himself shut in with his miserable appointments, the flowers round the window, companions. He could from his room hear the the fresh chintzes, and, above all, the dear little bolts and the bars and the grinding of the lock, round face upturned to meet him at every comand immediately a longing would seize him to ing home. get out. It would not do to think of such things, and To-night, after pacing up and down, he at Jack put them away, but he wished that Anne last took up his hat and a light in his hand, and had consented to come to him. It seemed hard opened his door and walked down stairs to as- to be there alone-him a father and a husband, sure himself of his liberty and get rid of this op- with belongings of his own. Trevithic, who pressive feeling of confinement. He passed the was still weak and out of sorts, found himself master's door and heard his snores, and then he making a little languid castle in the air, of came to the lower door opening into the inner crooked places made straight, of whited sepulcolrt. The keys were in it-it was only lock- chres made clean, of Dulcie, grown tall and ed on the inside. As Jack came out into the sensible, coming tapping at his door to cheer court-yard lf1 gave a great breath of relief: the him when he was sad, and encourage him when stars were shining thickly overhead, very still, he was weary. very bright; the place seemed less God-forgot- Had the fever come back, and could it be ten than when he was up there in his bedroom; that he was wandering? It seemed to him the fresh nirht-air blew in his face and extin- that all the heads of the old men he could see guished his light. He did not care, he put it through the grating were turning, and that an down in a corner by the door, and went on into apparition was passing by-an apparition, grathe middle of the yard and looked all round cious, smiling, looking in through the bars of about him. Here and there from some of the his window, and coming gently knocking at his windows a faint light was burning and painting door; and then it opened, and a low voice said the bars in gigantic shadows upon the walls; -" It's me, Mr. Trevithic-Mrs. Myles: may I and at the end of the court, from what seemed come in?" and a cool, gray phantom stepped like a grating to a cellar, some dim rays were into the dark little room. streaming upward. Trevithic was surprised to Jack gladly welcomed his visitor, and brought see a light in such a place, and he walked up to out his shabby old leather chair for her; but see, and then he turned quickly away, and if Mrs. Myles would not sit down, she had only like Uncle Toby he swore a great oath at the come for a minute. horrible sight he saw, it was but an expression "How ill you are looking!' Mary said, comof honest pity and most Christian charity. passionately. "I came to ask you to come The grating was a double grating, and looked back and dine with us; I am only here for a into two cellars which were used as casual wards day or two with my cousin Fanny Garnier. when the regular ward was fll. The sightTrev- She visits this place, and brought me, and I ithic saw is not one that I can describe here. thought of asking for you; and do come, Mr. People have read of such things as they are and Trevithic. These —these persons showed me were only a little while ago when the Pall Mall the way to your study." And she looked back Gazette first published that terrible account at the grinning old heads that were peeping in which set people talking and asking whether at the door. Mary Myles looked like. the lady such things should be and could be still. in Comnus-so sweet, and pure, and fair, with Old Davy had told him a great many sad and the grotesque faces peering and whispering all horrible things, but they were not so sad or so about her. They vanished when Trevithic horrible as the truth, as Jack now saw it. Truth, turned, and stood behind the door watching naked, alas! covered with dirt and vermin, shud- and chattering like apes, for the pretty lady to dering with cold, moaning with disease, and come out again.'"I can not tell you how glad heaped and tossed in miserable uneasy sleep at we are that you have come here, Mr. Treviththe bottom of her foul well. Every now and ic?" said Mrs. Myles. "Poor Fanny has half then a voice broke the darkness, or a cough or broken her heart over the place, and Mr. Skip JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 211 per was so hopeless that it was no use urging and stamped it, and addressed it. He had not him to appeal. You will do more good in a wasted his time during their absence, and he week than he has done in a year. I must not had visited a part of the work-house unknown wait now," Mrs. Myles added. "You will to him before, having bribed one pauper and come, won't you?-at seven; we have so much frightened another into showing him the way. to say to you. Here is the address." Mr. Bulcox coming under the window heard As soon as Jack had promised to come, she Jack calling to him. affably. "Would you be left him, disappearing with her strange little so kind as to post this packet for me?" cried court hobbling after her to the very gate of the Jack. The post-box was next door to the dreary place. work-house. "Thank you," he said, as Mr. Jack was destined to have more than one Bulcox picked up the thick letter which came visitor that afternoon. As he still sat writing falling to the ground at his feet. It was adbusily at his desk in the little office, a tap came dressed to Colonel the Hon. Charles Hambleat the door. It was a different apparition this don, Lowndes Square, London. "Keeps very time, for an old woman's head peeped in, and'igh company," said Bulcox to his wife, and he an old nutcracker-looking body, in her charity- felt quite pleased to post a letter addressed to girl's livery, staggered feebly into his office and so distinguished a personage. stood grinning slyly at him. "She came to ".Thank you," said Jack again, looking very borrow a book," she said. "She couldn't read, savagely pleased and amused; "it was of imnot she, but, law bless him, that was no mat- portance." Rle did not add that it was a letter ter." Then she hesitated. "He had been to the editor of the.Jupiter, who was a friend speaking to Mike Rogers that morning. You of his friend's. Trevithic liked the notion of wouldn't go and get us into trouble," said the having got Bulcox to fix the noose round his old crone, with awistful, doubtful, scanning in- own neck. He felt ashamed of the part he terrogation of the eyes; "but I am his good was playing, but he did not hurry himself for lady, and'ave been these thirty years, and it do that. It was necessary to know all, in order to seem hard upon the gals, and if you could speak sweep clean once he began. Poor Kate Hill, the word, sir, and get them out....." " still in durance, received a mysterious and en"Out?" said Jack. couraging message, and one or two comforts "From the black kitchen-so they name it," were smuggled in to her by her jailer. On said the old crone, mysteriously: "the cellar the Wednesday morning his letter would apunder the master's stairs. Kate Hill has been pear in the Jupiter-nothing more could be in and out a week come yesterday. I knowed done until then. Next day was Tuesday: he her grandmother, poor soul. She shouldn't would go over to Sandsea and talk Anne into have spoke tighty to the missis; but she is reason, and get back in time for the Board; and young and don't know no better, and my good in the mean time Jack dressed himself and went man and me was thinking if maybe you could to dine with the widows. say a word, sir-as if from yourself. Maybe you heard her as you went up stairs, sir; for we know our cries is.'eard." So this was it. The moang in the air were CHAPTER VI. not fancy, the complainings had been the real THE FARC2E CUT A THREAD OF MRS. TREVcomplaints of some one in suffering and pain. ITHICU I KNITTING. "Here is the book," said Jack, suddenly; "and I'm afraid you can have no more snuff, MRs. MYLEs's cousin, Mrs. Garnier, lived in ma'am." And with a start poor old Betty a quaint, comfortable-looking low house on the Rogers nearly stumbled over the matron, who Chester high-road, with one or two bow-winwas standing at his door. dows and gables standing out for no apparent "Well, what is it you're wanting now?" said reason, and a gallery up stairs, with four or five Mrs. Bulcox.'"You mustn't allow them to windows, which led to the drawing-room. come troubling you, Mr. Trevithic." The two widows were very fond of one an"I am not here for long, Mrs. Bulcox," said other and often together; there was a simiiariJack, shrugging his shoulders. "While I stay ty in tastes and age and circumstance. The I may as well do all I can for these poor crea- chief difference in their fate had been this-that tures." Fanny Garnier had loved her husband, although A gleam of satisfaction came into Mrs. Bul- she could not agree with him-for loving and cox's face at the notion of his approaching de- gareeing do not go together always-and Mary parture. He had been writing all the morning, Myles's married life had been at best a. struggle covering sheets and sheets of paper. He had for indifference and forgiveness: she was not a been doing no harm, and she felt she could go very easily moulded woman; she could do no out for an hour with her Bulcox, with an easy more than forgive, and repent her own ill-doing mind. in marrying as she did. As Mr. and Mrs. Bulcox came home togeth- The trace of their two lives was set upon the er, Jack, who was looking from his bedroom cousins. A certain coldness and self-reliance, window, saw them walking up the street. He a power of living for to-day and forgetting, was had put up his sheets of paper in an envelope, the chief gift that had come to Mary Myles out 212 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. of the past experience of her life. Fanny Gar- brighten at his success and to cheer his failing nier was softer, more impressionable, more easily efforts. This was what it never, never would touched and assimilated by the people with be, and Trevithic put thethought away. It was whom she came in contact: she was less crisp dangerous ground for the poor heart-weary feland bright than Mary, and older, though she low, longing for peace and home, comfort and was the same age. She had loved more and love; whereas Anne, to whom he was bound sorrowed more, and people remember their sor- to look for these good things, was at Sandsea, rows in after years when their angers are fulfilling every duty of civilized life, and not forgotten and have left only a blank in their greatly troubled for her husband, but miserable minds, on her own account, hard and vexed and deepGeorge Garnier, Fanny Garnier's husband, ly offended. had belonged to that sect of people who have an odd fancy in their world for making themselves Mrs. Trevithic was tripping along the south and other folks as miserable as they possibly cliff on the afternoon of the next day, when the can-for worrying and wearying and torturing, sound of footsteps behind her made her stop and for doubting and trembling, for believing far look round. As she saw that it was her husmore eagerly in justice (or retribution, which is band coming towards her, her pale face turned their idea of justice) than in mercy. Terror a shade more pale. has a strange morbid attraction for these folks; " Oh, how d'ye do?" Anne said. "I did not mistrust, for all they say, seems to be the mo- expect you. Have you comefor long?" And tive power of their lives: they gladly offer pain she scarcely waited for him to come up to her, and tears and penitence as a ghastly propitia- but began to walk on immediately. tion. They are of all religions and creeds; Poor John; what a coming home! He arthey are found with black skins and woolly rived with his various interests, his reforms, his heads, building up their altars and offering their forthcoming letter in the Jupiter; there was the human sacrifices in the unknown African des- offer of the bishop's in his pocket-the momenterts; they are chipping and chopping them- ary gladness and elation of return-and this selves before their emerald-nosed idols who sit was all he had come back to! squatting in unclean temples; they are living in "' Have you come on business?" Mrs. Trevthe streets and houses all round about us, in ithic asked. George Garnier's pleasant old cottage outside "I wanted to see you and Dulcie," John anthe great Hammersley city, or at number five, swered; " that was my business. Time seems and six, and seven in our street, as the case very long without you both. All this long time may be; in the convent at Bayswater, in the I have only had Mrs. Myles to befriend me. I manses and presbyteries. You or I may belong wish-I wish you would try to like the place, too, to the fraternity, so did many a better man, as Anne. Those two ladies seem very happy the children say-St. Simon Stylites, Athan- there." asius, John Calvin, Milton, Ignatius Loyola, "Mrs. Myles, I have no doubt," said Anne, Savonarola, not to speak of Saints A, B, C, D, bitterly. " No," she cried, "you need not talk and E. so to me. I know too much, too much, too Mary poured Jack out a big cup of strong tea, much," she said, with something like real pathos and brought it across the lamp-lit room to him in her voice. with her own white hands. Mrs. Garnier shiv- "My dearest Anne, what do you mean?" ered as she heard his story. The tea smoked, Trevithic said kindly, hurrying after her, for the lamps burnt among the flower-stands, the she was walking very fast. wood-fire blazed cheerfully, for Mrs. Myles was "It is too late. I can not forgive you. I am a chilly and weak-minded person, and lit her not one of those people who can forget easily fire all the year round, more or less. Trevithic, and forgive. Do you think I do not know that comfortably sunk back in a big arm-chair, felt a your love is not mine-never was-never will grateful sense of ease and rest and consolation. be mine? Do you think gossip never reaches The atmosphere of the little house was so con- me here, far away, though I try to live in peace genial and fragrant, the two women were such and away from it all? And you dare mention )sympathizing listeners; Mary Myles's bright Mary Myles's name to me, you dare-you dare!" eyes lighted with such kindly interest; while cried Anne, in her quick, fierce manner. Mrs. Garnier, silent, available, sat with her "OfcourseIdare," saidTrevithic. "Enough knitting under the shade of the lamp. The of this, Anne," and he looked as hard as Anne poor fellow was not insensible to these soothing herself for a minute; then he melted. " Dear influences. As he talked on, it seemed to him Anne, if something has failed in our home hiththat for the first time in his life he had realized erto, let us forgive one another and make a new what companionship and sympathy mightmean. start in life. Listen," and he pulled out the Something invisible, harmonious, delicate, seem- bishop's letter, with the offer of St. Bigot's, and ed to drive away from him all thought of sin or read it to her. "I need not tell you how much misery and turmoil when in company with these I wish for this." two kind women. This was what a home might His wife did not answer. At first he thought havebeen —a warm, flower-scented, lamp-twink- she was relenting. She went a little way down ling haven with sweet still eyes to respond and the side of the cliff and waited for him, and then JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 213 suddenly turned upon him. The wash of the It seemed like a revelation of a horrible secret sea seemed to flow in time with her words. to which he had been blind all along. It was "You are cruel-yes, cruel!" said Anne, like acurse falling upon his home-undreamt trembling very much, and moved for once out of for a time, and suddenly realized. A great of her calm. "You think I can bear any thing, swift hatred flamed up in his heart against the I call not bear your insults any longer! I must calm and passive creature who had wrought itgo-leave you. Yes, listen to me, I will go, I who was there before him waiting for his assent tell you. My father will keep me here, me and to her excellent arrangements; a hatred, indeed, little Dulcie, and you can have your own way, of which she was unworthy and unconscious; John, and go where you like. You love your for Anne was a woman of'slow perception. It own way better than any thing else in the world, took a long time for her to realize the effect of and it will make up to you for the home which, her words, or to understand what was passing in as you say, has been a failure on the' whole." other people's minds. She was not more anAnd Mrs. Trevithic tried to choke down a gulp noyed now with Trevithic than she had been of bitter angry tears. for a long time past. She had no conception As she spoke John remembered a time not so of the furies of scorn and hatred which were batvery long ago, when Anne had first sobbed out tling and tearing at the poor fellow's kind heart; she loved him, and when the tears which she she had not herself begun to respond even to should have gulped away had been allowed to her own emotions; and so she stood quite quietoverflow into those bitter waters of strife-alas! ly, expecting, like some stupid bird by the water's neither of them could have imagined possible edge, waiting for the wave to overwhelm her. until now. " Do you not agree with me?" she said at last. They had been walking side by side along the Trevithic was roused by his wife's question, and beach, the parson trudging angrily a little ahead, answered it. " Yes; just as you wish," he said, with his long black coat flapping and swinging in an odd, cracked voice, with a melancholy jar against his legs; Anne skimming along skill- in it. "Just as you like, Anne." And withfully after him, with her quick slender footsteps; out looking at her again, he began once more to but as she went along she blamed him in her tramp along the shingle, crushing the pebbles heart for every roughness and inequality of the under his feet as he went; The little stones shore, and once when she struck her foot against started and rolled away under his impatient a stone her ire rose sore against him. Little tread. Anne from habit followed him, without Dulcie from the rectory garden spied them out much thinking where she was going, or what aim afar off, and pointed and capered to attract their she had in so doing; but she could not keep up attention; but the father and mother were too with his strong progress-the distance widened much absorbed in their own troubles to heed her, and widened between them. John walked fareven if they could have descried her small per- ther away, while Mrs. Trevithic, following after, son among the grasses and trees. trying in vain to hasten her lagging steps, grew " You mean to say," said Jack, stopping short sad and frightened all at once as she saw him suddenly, and turning round and speaking with disappearing in the distance. And then it was a faint discordant jar in his voice, "that you her turn to realize what she had done. Seeing want to leave me, Anne?" her husband go, this poor woman began to un"Yes," said Anne, quite calm and composed, derstand at last that her foolish longing was with two glowing cheeks that alone showed that granted. a fire of some sort was smouldering within. Her feet failed, her heart sank, her courage "Yes, John, I mean it. I have not been hap- died away all suddenly. Like a flame blown py, I have not succeeded in making you happy. out, all the fire of her vexation and impatience I think we should both be better people apart was gone, and only a dreary nothing remained. than together. I never, never felt so —so And more hard to bear even than the troubles, ashamed of myself in all my life as since I have the pains, the aches, the longings of life, are its been married to you. I will stay here with blanks and its wants. Outer darkness, with the papa. You have given up your living; you can tormenting fires and the companion devils, is not now go and fulfill those duties which are more to the outer darkness that has overwhelmed most you than wife or children or home." Anne- hearts with terror and apprehension. No words, who was herself again by this time-calmly roll- no response, silence, abandonment-to us weak, ed up her parasol as she spoke, and stood wait- loving, longing human creatures,that is the worst ing for an answer. I think she expected a ten- fate of all. der burst of remonstrance from her husband, a Anne became very tired,struggling after Trevpathetic appeal, an abandonment possibly of the ithic. Little by little she began to realize that mad schemewhich filled her with such unspeaka- she had sent him away and he was going. A ble indignation. She had not counted onhis gull flapped across her path, and frightened her. silence. John stopped short a second time, and She could see him still; he had not yet turned stood staringat the sea. He was cut to the heart; up the steps firom the cliff to the rectory garden, cruelly stunned and shocked'and wounded by the but he was gone as certainly as if she could no pain, so that he had almost forgotten his wife's longer see him. And then she began to learn presence, or what he should say, or any thing in a void of incredulous amaze, poor sluggish but the actual suffering that he was enduring. soul, that life was hard, very hard, and terribly 214 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. remorseless; that when you strike, the blow falls; pit door-wet bandages, etc., etc. Here Miss that what you wish is not always what you want; Simmonds, whose eyes had been fixed upon the that it is easy to call people to you once per- window all this time, suddenly exclaimed:haps, and to send them away once, but that "How fond your husband is of that dear when they come they stay, and when they go child Dulcie, Mrs. Trevithic! There she is they are gone and all is over. Why was he so with her papa in the garden." headstrong, so ungrateful, so unreasonable? "Dear me!" said Triquett, stretching her Was she not right to blame him? and had he long neck and lighting up with excitement. not owned himself to be in the wrong? Ah, " Mr. Trevithic must be going away; you nevpoor wife, poor wife! Something choking and er told us. He is carrying a carpet-bag." blinding seemed to smite the unhappy woman As she spoke, Anne, who had been sitting in her turn. She reached the steps at last that with her back to the window, started up, and lead up the cliff to the rectory garden where lit- her knitting fell off her lap. She was irresolute tie Dulcie had been playing when her mother for an instant. He could not be going-going left her. Anne longed to find her there-to like that, without a word. No, she would not clutch her in her poor aching arms, and cover follow him. her sweetlittlerosy face with kisses. "Dulcie," "Oh dear me!" said Miss Simmonds, who she called," Dulcie, Dulcie!"her voice echoing had been trying to hook up the little rolling so sadly that it struck herself, but Dulcie's cheery ball of worsted with the end of her parasol, little scream of gladness did not answer, and "just see what I have done." And she held Anne-who took this silence as a bad omen- the parasol up spindle-fashion with the long enfelt her heart sink lower. In a vague way she tangled thread twisted round it. thought that if she could have met Dulcie all "I think I can undo it," said Miss Moiwould have been well. neaux. She was calling still, when some one answer- "I beg your pardon, I —I want to speak ed; figures came to the hall-door, half a dozen to my husband," said Mrs. Trevithic, all of a officious hands were outstretched, and friendly sudden starting up and running to the door. greetings met her. There was Miss'Triquett "IHe is going," said Miss Triquett to the who was calling with Miss Moineaux, and Miss others, looking once more out through the big Simmonds who had driven up inherbasket-car- pleasant window, as Anne left the room. riage, and old Mr. Bellingham trying in a help- "Dear Miss Moineaux, into what a mess you less way to entertain his visitresses, and to make have got that knitting; here are some scissors himself agreeable to them all. The old gen- -let me cut the thread.' tleman, much relieved at the sight of his daugh- "Poor thing! she is too late," said Miss ter, called her to him with a cheerful, "Ah, my Moineaux, letting the two ends of the thread dear, here you are. I shall now leave these la- fall to the ground. dies in better hands than mine. I am sorry to say I have a sermon to write." And Mr. Bellingham immediately and benevolently trotted away. CHAPTER VII. With the curious courage of women, and long habitude, Mrs. Trevithic took off her hat and IN BLASTLE smoothed her straight hair, and sat down, and WVHEN Jack first made the acquaintance of mechanically began to make conversation for the Board on the Wednesday after he first came the three old ladies who established themselves to the work-house, the seven or eight gentlemen comfortably in the pleasant bowv-windowed sitting round the green table greeted him quite drawing-room, and prepared for a good chat. as one of themselves as he came into the room. Miss Simmonds took the sofa as her right (as I This was a dull September morning; the mist have said before, size has a certain precedence seemed to have oozed in through the high winof its own). Miss Triquett, as usual, rapidly dow and continually opening door. When Jack glanced round the apartment, took in the im- passed through the outer or entrance room, portation of work-boxes, baskets, toy-boxes, etc., he saw a heap of wistful faces and rags already which Anne's arrival had scattered about, the waiting for admittance, some women and some trimming on Mrs. Trevithic's dress, the worn children, a man with an arm in a sling, one or lines under her eyes. Mrs. Trevithic took her two work-house habitues —there was no mistaking knitting from one of the baskets, and rang the the hard coarse faces. Two old paupers were bell and desired the man to find Miss Dulcie keeping watch at the door, and officially flung and send her; and meanwhile the stream of it open for him to pass in. The guardians had conversation flowed on uninterruptedly. Mr. greeted him very affably on the previous occaTrevithic was well. Only come for a day! sion-a man of the world, a prosperous but ecAnd the little girl? Thanks-yes. Little centric vicar, was not to be treated like an evDulcie's cold had been severe-linseed poultices, ery-day curate and chaplain. "Ah, how d'ye squills, ipecacuanha wine;-thanks, yes. Mrs. do, Mr. Trevithic?"' said the half-pay Captain, Trevithic was already aware of their valuable the chairman. The gas-fitter cleared his throat medicinal properties. Mr. Pelligrew, the pres. and made a sort of an attempt at a bow. The ent curate, had sprained his thumb in the pul- wholesale grocer rubbed his two hands together JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 215 -Pitchley his name was, I think-for some "Against me, sir?" said Bulcox, indignantreason or other, he exercised great influence ly. over the rest. But on this second Wednesday "Against me and Mr. Bulcox?" said the morning the Jupiter had come out with an as- woman, with a bewildered, injured, saint-like tounding letter-about themselves, their work- sort of swoop. house, their master, their private paupers. It "Yes," Jack answered, curtly. was a day they never forgot, and the natural in- "Have you seen the letter in the Jvpiter'" dignation of the Board overflowed. said the chairman, gravely, to Mr. Bulcox. Perhaps Jack would have done better had he "Mr. Bulcox was good enough to post the first represented matters to them, but he knew letter himself," Jack interposed briskly. "It that at least two of the guardians were impli- was to state, what I honestly believe to be the cated. He was afraid of being silenced and of fact, that I consider that you, Mr. Bulcox, are having the affair hushed up. ie cared not for totally unfit for your present situation as masthe vials of their wrath being emptied upon him, ter. I am aware that you have good friends so long as they cleansed the horrible place in among these gentlemen, and that, as far as they their outpour. He walked in quite brisk and can tell, your conduct has always been a model placid to meet the storm. The guardians had of deference and exemplariness. Now," said not all seen the Jupiter as they came dropping Jack, " with the Board's permission. I will lodge in. Oker, the gas-man, was late, and so was my complaints against you in form." And here Pitchley as it happened, and when thev arrived Trevithic pulled out his little book, and read Jack was already standing in his pillory and out as follows:facing the indignant chairman. ". That the management and economy of "My fiiend Colonel Hambledon wrote the this work-house are altogether disgraceful. letter from notes which I gave him," said Jack. "2. That you have been guilty of cruelty to "I considered publicity best;-under the cir- two or three of the inmates. cumstances, I could not be courteous," he said, "3. That you have embezzled or misapplied "if I hoped to get through this disagreeable certain sums of money allowed to you for the business at all effectually. I could not have se- relief of the sick paupers under your care." lected any one of you gentlemen as confidants, But here the chairman, guardians, master in common fairness to the others. I wish the and mistress, would hear no more; all interinquiry to be complete and searching. I was rupted Trevithic at once. obliged to brave the consequences." "Really, sir, you must substantiate such "Upon my word I think you have acted charges as these. Leave the room" (to the right," said one of the guardians, a doctor, a messengers at the door). bluff old fellow who liked fiank speaking. But "I can not listen to such imputations," from an indignant murmur expressed the dissent of the master. the other members of the Board. "What have we done to you that you should "I have been here a fortnight," said Jack. say such cruel, false things?" from the mistress. " I had not intended speaking so soon of what " Oh sir" (to the chairman), "turn him away; I now wish to bring before your notice, but the say you don't believe him." circumstances seem to me so urgent and so un- "If you will come with me now," Jack condoubted that I can see no necessity for defer- tinned, addressing the guardians, "I think I ring my complaint any longer." can prove some of my statements. Do you " Dear me, sir," said the gas-fitter, coming know that the little children here are crying with in, "I'ope there's nothink wrong?" hunger? Do you know that the wine allowed " Every thing, more or less," said Trevithic, for the use of the sick had been regularly apquietly. "In the first place, I wish to bring propriated by these two wretches?" cried Trevbefore you several cases of great neglect on the ithic, in an honest fury. "Do you know that part of Mr. and Mrs. Bulcox." people here are lying in their beds in misery, at. Here the chairman colored up. "I think, this instant, who have not been moved or Mr. Trevithic, we had better have the master touched for weeks and weeks; that the nurses present if you have any complaint to lodge follow the example of those who are put over against him." them, and drink, and ill-use their patients; " By all means," said Trevithic, impassively; that the food is stinted, the tea is undrinkable, and he turned over his notes while one of the the meat is bad and scarcely to be touched; that trembling old messengers went off for the mas- the very water flows from a foul cesspool; that ter. at this instant, in a cellar in the house, there The master arrived and the matron too. are three girls shut up, without beds or any "How d'ye do, Bulcox?" said the chairman. conceivable comfort-one has been there four Mrs. Bulcox dropped a respectful sort of cour- days and nights, another has been shut up twice tesy, and Trevithic immediately began without in one week in darkness and unspeakable misgiving time for the others to speak. He turned ery? Shall I tell you the crime of this culprit? upon the master. She spoke saucily to the matron, and this is her " I have a complaint to lodge against you and punishment. Will you come with me now, and Mrs. Bulcox, and at the chairman's suggestion see whether or not I have been speaking the I waited for you to be present." truth?" 216 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. There was not one word he could not sub- ginning of this story, another woman, who stantiate. He had not been idle all this time, should have been Trevithic's wife, as far as one he had been collecting his proofs-ghastly proofs can judge speaking of such matters, a person they were. who could have sympathized with his ambitions The sight of the three girls brought blinded and understood the direction of his impulses, a and staggering out of the cellar had more effect woman with enough enthusiasm and vigor in than all the statements and assertions which her nature to carry her bravely through the Mr. Trevithic had been at such great pains to tangles and difficulties which only choked and get together. The Bulcoxes were doomed; of scratched and tired out poor Anne-this person, this there could be no doubt. They felt it them- who was not very far off at the time, and no selves as they. plodded across the yard with the other than Mary Myles, said to some one who little mob of excited and curious guardians. was with her-and she gave a pretty sad smile Oker, the gas-fitter, took their part, indeed, so and quick shake of the head as she spoke:did the grocer. The old doctor nearly fell upon "No, it is no use. I have nothing but the culprits then and there. The rest of the friendliness, a horrible, universal feeling of guardians seemed to be divided in their indig- friendliness, left for any of my fellow-creatures. nation against Jack for telling, against Bulcox I will confess honestly " (and here she lost her for being found out, against the paupers for be- color a little) "I did wrong once. I married ing ill-used, for being paupers; again'st the re- my husband for a home-most people know how porter for publishing such atrocious libels. It I was punished, and what a miserable home it was no bed of roses that Trevithic had made for was. I don't mind telling you, Colonel Hamhimself. bledon, for you well understand how it is that I A special meeting was convened for the end must make the best of my life in this arid and of the week. lonely waste to which my own fault has brought 0. me." Mrs. Myles's voice faltered as she spoke, CHAPTER VIII. and she hung her head to hide the tears which had come into her eyes. And Colonel Iamblcdon took this as an answer to a question he had As years go by, and we see more of life and almost asked her, and went away. of our fellow-creatures, the by-play of existence " If ever you should change your mind," he is curiously unfolded to us, and we may, if we said, "you would find me the same a dozen choose, watch its threads twisting and untwist- years hence." And Mary only sighed and ing, flying apart and coming together. People shook her head. rise from their sick-beds, come driving up in But all this was years ago-three years nearcarriages, come walking along the street into ly by the Dulcie almanac-and if Mary Myles each other's lives. As A. trips along by the sometimes thought she had done foolishly when garden-wall, Z. at the other end of the world, she sent Charles Hambledon away, there was perhaps, is thinking that he is tired of this soli- no one to whom she could own it-not even tary bushman's life; he-was meant for some- to her cousin Fanny, who had no thoughts of thing better than sheep-shearing and driving marrying or giving in marriage, or wishes for convicts, and he says to himself that he will happiness beyond the ordering her garden-beds throw it all up and go back to England, and and the welfare of her poor people. see if there is not bread enough left in the old Fanny one day asked her cousin what had countryto support one more of hersons. Here, become of her old friend the Colonel. Mary perhaps A. stoops to pick a rose, and places it in blushed up brightly, and said she did not know; her girdle, and wonders whether that is C. on she believed he was in Haimmersley. Fanny, the rough pony riding along the road from mar- who was cutting out little flannel vests for her ket. As for Z., A. has never even conceived school-children, was immediately lost in the inthe possibility of his existence. But by this tricacies of a gore, and did not notice the blush time Z. at the other end of the world has made or the bright amused glance in the quiet gray up his mind, being a man of quick and deter- eyes that were watching her at her benevolent mined action, and poor C.'s last chance is over, toil. Snip, snip, sni-i-i-i-i-i-ip went the scissors and pretty A., with the rose in her girdle, will with that triumphant screeching sound which all never be his. Or it may be that Z., after due good housewives love to hear. Mary was leanreflection, likes the looks of his tallows, X. and ing back in her chair, perfectly lazy and unocY. come to the station, which had hitherto only cupied, with her little white hands crossed upon been visited by certain very wild-looking letters her knees, and her pretty head resting against of the alphabet, with feathers in their heads, the chair. She would not have been sorry to and faces streaked with white paint, and A. have talked a little more upon a subject that gives her rose to C., who puts it in his button- was not uninteresting to her, and she tried to hole with awkward country gallantry, quite un- make Fanny speak. conscious of the chance they have both run that "What do you think of him? Have you morning, and that their fate has been settled for heard that he has come?" she asked a little shyly. them at the other end of the world. " Oh, I don't know. No, I have not seen When my poor A. bursts into tears at the be- any of them for a long time," said Fanny, ab JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 217 sently. "Mary, are you not ashamed of being locked up so securely in strong boxes and wrapso lazy? Come and hold these strips." pers, that it is beyond the power of the possessMary did as she was bid, and held out gray ors to reach it. Their youth and simplicity is flannel strips at arms' length, and watching the as much a part of them still as their placid snidscissors flashing, the pins twinkling, and the neat die age; but it is hidden away under the years little heaps rising all about on the floor and the which are heaped upon the past, and its glory is chairs and the tables. Then Mrs. Myles tried not shining as of old upon their brows. Mrs. again. " Mr. Trevithic tells me that Colonel Myles and the Colonel each were acting a part, Hambledon is coming down to help him with and perfectly at ease as they discussed all manthis work-house business. You will have to ask ner of things that had been since they met, and them both to dinner, Fanny." might be before they met again. Fanny, havFanny did not answer for a minute. She ing folded away the last of her flannels, came up hesitated, looked Mary full in the face, and then placid and smiling too; and after half an hour said very thoughtfully: "Don't you think un- the two gentlemen went away. Fanny forgot bleached calico will be best to line the jackets to ask them to dinner, and wondered why her with? It will keep the children warm, poor cousin was so cross all the rest of the afternoon. little things." The children's little backs might No, Mary would not go out. No, she had no be warmed by this heap of snips and linings; headache, thank you. As soon as she had got but Mary suddenly felt as if all the wraps and rid of Fanny and her questionings, Mary Myles flannels and- calicos were piled upon her head, ran up to her room and pulled out some old, and choking and oppressing her, while all the old papers and diaries, and read the old tearwhile her heart was cold and shivering, poor stained records till new tears fell to wash:away thing! There are no flannel jackets that I the old ones. Ah, yes, she had done rightly know of to warm sad hearts such as hers. when she sent Hambledon away. Three years Fanny Garnier was folding up the last of hei ago-it had seemed to her then that a lifetime jackets; Mary, after getting through more work of expiation would not be too long to repent of in half an hour than Fanny the methodical could the wrong she had done when she marriedmanage in two, had returned to her big arm- loveless, thriftful, longing (and that, poor soul, chair, and was leaning back in the old listless had been her one excuse), for the possible love attitude, dreaming dreams of her own, as her that had never come to her. Life is so long, eyes wandered to the window and followed the the time is so slow that passes wearily: she had line of the trees showing against the sky-when been married three years, she had worn sackcloth the door opened, and a stupid country man- three years, and now-now if it were not too late, servant suddenly introduced Jack, and the Colo- how gladly, how gratefully, she would grasp a nel of Mrs. Myles's visionary recollections in hope of some life more complete than the sad one actual person, walling into the very midst of shehad led ever since she could rememberalmost. the snippings and parings which were scattered Would it not be a sign that shehadbeen forgiven about on the floor. Fanny was in no wise dis- if the happiness she had so longed for came to her concerted. She rather gloried in her occupa- at last? Mary wondered that her troubles had tion. I can not say so much for Mary, who nerv- left no deeper lines upon her face; wondered ously hated any show of affectation of philan- that she looked so young still, so fair and smilthropy, and who now jumped up hastily, with an ing, while her heart felt so old; and smiled sadexclamation, an outstretched hand, and a blush. ly at her own face in the glass. "There seems to be something going on, " the And then, as people do to whom a faint dawn Colonel said, standing over a heap of straggling of rising hope shows the darkness in which they "backs" and "arms." have been living, Mrs. Myles began to think of Do come up stairs out of this labyrinth of some of her duties that she had neglected of late, good intentions," cried Mary, hastily. "Fan- and of others still in darkness for whom no dawn ny, please put down your scissors, and let us go was nigh: and all the while, still feeling as peoup." ple feel whose hearts are full, she was longing I'll follow," said Fanny, placidly, and Mary for some one to speak to, some one wiser than had to lead the way alone to the long low bow- herself to whom she could say, What is an exwindowed drawing-room which Trevithic knew piation? can it, does it exist? is it the same as so well. She had regained her composure and repentance? are we called upon to crush our spirits by the time they reached the landing at hearts, to put away our natural emotions? Fanthe top of the low flight of oak steps; and, in- ny would say yes, and would scorn her for her deed, both Hambledon and Mrs. Myles were far weakness, and cry out with horror at a second too much used to the world and its ways to be- marriage. "And so would I have done," poor tray to each other the smallest indication of the Mary thought, "if-if poor Tom had only been real state of their minds. Three years had pass- fond of me." And then the thought of Treved since they parted. If Mary's courage had ithic came to her as a person to speak to, a failed then, it was the Colonel's now that was helper and adviser. He would speak the truth; wanting; and so it happens with people late in he would not be afraid, Mary thought; and the life-the fatal gift of experience is theirs. They secret remembrance that he was Hambledon's mistrust, they hesitate, they bargain to the ut- friend did not make her feel less confidence in termost farthing; the jewel is there, but it is his decisions. 218 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. Mrs. Myles had been away some little time Trevithic should go to her husband; and I will from her house at Sandsea, and from the self- tell her so. If I were Mr. Trevithic's wife, imposed duties which were waiting undone un- should I leave him to toil alone? No, I should til her return. Before Fanny came home that not. Should I permit him to seek sympathy evening, she sat down and wrote to her old and consolation with another, more fascinating, friend, Miss Triquett, begging her to be so good perhaps? No, certainly not. And deeplygrateas to go to Mrs. Gummers, and one or two more ful should I have felt to her who warned me on whose names, ages, troubles, and families were my fatal career; and surely my young friend down upon her list, and distribute a small sum Anne will be grateful to her old friend whose of money inclosed. "I am not afraid of troub- finger arrests her on the very edge of the dark ling you, dear Miss Triquett," wrote Mary Myles, precipice." Miss Triquett's reflections had risen in her big, picturesque hand-writing. "I know to eloquence by the time she reached the rectory your kind heart, and that you never grudge time door. A vision of Anne clinging to her in tears, nor fatigue when you can help any one out of imploring her advice, of John shaking her warmthe smallest trouble or the greatest. I have ly by the hand and murmuring that to Miss Tribeen seeing a good deal lately of Mr. Trevithic, quett they owed the renewed happiness of their who is of your way of thinking, and who has home, beguiled the'way. "Whereis Mrs. Trevbeen giving himself an infinity of pains about ithic?" she asked the butler, in her deepest some abuses in the work-house here. IIe is, I voice. "Leave us," said Miss Triquett to the do believe, one of the few people who could have bewildered menial, as he opened the drawingcome to the help of the poor creatures. He has room door and she marched into the room; so much courage and temper, such a bright and and then encountering Mrs. Trevithic, she sudgenerous way of sympathizing and entering into denly clasped her in her well-meaning old arms. other people's troubles, and I do not despair of "I have that to say to you," said Miss Trihis accomplishing this good work. My cousin quett, in answer to Anne's amazed exclamation, and I feel very much with and for him. He " which I fear will give you pain; but were I looked ill and worn one day when I called upon in your place, I should wish to hear the truth." him; but I am glad to think that coming to us The good old soul was in earnest; her voice has been some little change and comfort to him. trembled, and her little black curls shook with He is quite alone, and we want him to look upon agitation. this place as his home while he is here. Your "Pray do not hesitate to mention any thing," old acquaintance, Colonel Hambledon, has come said Mrs. Trevithic, surprised but calm, and sitdown about this business. It ismost horrifying. ting down and preparing to listen attentively. Can you imagine the poor sick people left with "I am sure any thing you would like to have tipsy nurses, and, more dreadful still, girls lock- attended to-" ed up in cellars by the cruel matron for days at Miss Triquett, at the invocation, pulled out a time? but this fact has only just been made the letter from her pocket. "Remember, only public. remember this," she said, "this comes from a "Goodness and enthusiasm like Mr. Trev- young and attractive woman." And.then in a ithic's seem all the more beautiful when one clear and ringing voice she read out poor Mary's hears such terrible histories of wickedness and letter, with occasional unspeakable and peneneglect: one needs an example like his in this trating looks at Anne's calm features. life to raise one from the unprofitable and mis- Poor little letter! It had been written in the erable concerns of every day, and to teach one sincerity and innocence of Mary's heart. Any to believe in nobler efforts than one's own self- one more deeply read in such things might have ish and aimless wanderings could ever lead to wondered why Colonel Hambledon's name should unassisted. have been brought into it; but as it was, it caused "Pray remember me very kindly to Miss one poor jealous heart to beat with a force, a seMoineaux and to Mrs. Trevithic, and believe cret throb of sudden jealousy, that nearly choked me, dear Miss Triquett, very sincerely yours, Anne for an instant as she listened, and a faint "MARY MYLES." pink tinge came rising up and coloring her face. "Remember, she is very attractive," Miss; Is Mrs. Trevithic again suffering from neu- Triquett re-echoed, folding up the page. "Ah! ralgia? Why is not she able to be with her hus- be warned, my dear young fiiend! Go to him; band?" throw yourself into his arms; say,'Dearest, " Why, indeed?" said Miss Moineaux, hear- darling husband, your little wife is by your side ing this last sentence read out by Miss Triquett. once more; I will be your comforter!' Do not This excellent spinster gave no answer. She hesitate." Poor old Triquett, completely carread this letter twice through. deliberately; ried away by the excitement: of the moment, then she tied her bonnet securely on, and trot- had started from her seat, and with extended ted off to Gummers and Co. Then, having dis- arms had clasped an imaginary figure in the air. pensed the bounties and accepted the thanks of It was ludicrous, it was pathetic, to see this poor the poor creatures, she determined to run the old silly meddlesome creature quivering, as her chance of finding Mrs. Trevithic at home. "It heart beat and bled for the fate of others. She is my painful dooty," said Triquett to herself, had no tear or emotions of her own. It was shaking her head-" my painful dooty. Anne absurd-was it not?-that she should care so JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 219 deeply for things which could not affect her in cutlets, and that the cook had forgotten the the least degree. There was Anne, with her necessary tea-spoonful of sugar in the soup. usual self-possession, calmly subduing her irri- For the first time since he could remember, tation. She did not smile; she did not frown; Anne failed to sympathize with his natural she did not seem to notice this momentary vexation, and seemed scarcely as annoyed as ebullition. To me it seems that, of the two, usual at the neglect which had been shown. my sympathy is with Miss Triquett. Let us be Mr. Bellingham was vexed with her for her inabsurd. by all means, if that is the price which difference: he always left the' scolding to her; must be paid for something which is well worth he liked every thing to go smooth and comfortaits price. ble, and he did not like to be called upon perMiss Triquett's eyes were full of tears. "I sonally to lose his temper. "For what we have am impetuous, Mrs. Trevithic," she said. "My received "-and the butler retires with the aunt has often found fault with me for it. Pray ciumbs and the cloths, and the little old gentleexcuse me if I have interfered unwarrantably." man-who has had a fire lighted, for the evenings " Interference between married people rarely are getting chilly-draws comfortably in to his does any good, Miss Triquett," said Anne, stand- chimney-corner; while Anne, getting up fiom ing up with an icy platitude, and unmistakably her place at the head of the table, says abruptly showingthat she considered the visit at an end. that she must go up stairs and see what Dulcie " Good-bye," said poor Miss Triquett, wist- is about. A restless mood had come over her; fully. "Remember me most kindly to your something unlike any thing she had ever felt bepapa." fore. Little Triquett's eloquence, which had "Certainly," said Mrs. Trevithic. " I am not even seemed to disturb Anne at the time, afraid you will have a disagreeable walk back had had full time to sink into this somewhat in the rain, Miss Triquett. Good-evening. torpid apprehension, and excite Mrs. Trevithic's Pyray give my compliments to Miss Moineaux." indignation. It was not the less fierce because The old maid trudged off alone into the mud it had smouldered so long. and the rain, with a mortified sense of having "Insolent creature!" Anne said to herself, behaved absurdly, disappointed and tired, and working herself up into a passion; "how dare vaguely ashamed and crestfallen. The sound she interfere? Insolent, ridiculous creature! of the dinner-bell ringing at the rectory as she'Remember that that woman is attractive'trudged down the hill in the dark and dirt did How dare she speak so to me? Oh, they are all not add to her cheerfulness. in league-in league against me!" cried poor Anne, with flushed red cheeks and trembling Anne, with a moan, wringing her hands with hands, as Triquett left the room, sank down all the twinkle of stones upon her slim white into her chair for a moment, and then, sudden- fingers. "John does not love me, he never ly starting up, busied herself exactly as usual loved me! HIe will not do as I wish, though with her daily task of putting the drawing-room he promised and swore at the altar he would. in order before she went up to dress. Miss Tri- And she - she is spreading her wicked toils quett's seat she pushed right awiay out of sight. round him, and keeping him there, while I am She collected her father's writing-materials and here alone-all alone; and he leaves me exnewspapers, and put them straight. She then posed to the insolence of those horrible old re-read her husband's last few lines. There was maids. Papa eats his dinner and only thinks nothing to be gleaned from them. She replen- of the flavor of the dishes, and Dulcie chatters ished the flower-stands, and suddenly remem- to her doll and don't care, and no onecomes bering that it was Mis. Myles who had given when I ring," sobbed Mrs. Trevithic, in a burst them to her, she seized one tall glass fabric and of tears, violently tugging at the bell-rope. all but flung it angrily on the ground. But re- " Oh, it is a shame, a shame!" fleeting that if it were broken it would spoil the Only as she wiped away the tears a gleam of pair, she put it back again into its corner, and determination came into Mrs. Trevithic's blue contented herself with stuffing in all the ugliest eyes, and the flush on her pale cheeks deepened. scraps of twigs, dead leaves and flowers from She had taken a resolution. This is-what she the refuse of her basket. would do-this was her resolution: she would The rector and his daughter dined at five; it go and confront him there on the spot and rewas a whim of the old man's. Anne clutched mind him of his duty-he who was preaching to Dulcie in her arms before she went down after others. It was her right; and then-and then dressing. The child had never seen her mamma she would leave him forever, and never return so excited, and never remembered being kissed to Sandsea to be scoffed at and jeered at by like that before by her. "D'oo lub me vely those horrible women, said Anne vaguely to hermush to-day, mamma?" said Dulcie, pathetic- self as the door opened and the maid appeared. ally. "Isittoz Ihavemynewfock?" I "Bring me a Bradshaw, Judson," said Mrs. Old Mr. Bellingham came in at the sound Trevithic, very much in her usual tone of voice, of the second bell, smiling as usual, and rubbing and with a great effort recovering her equanimity. hiscomfortable little fat hands together; he did The storm had passed over, stirring the waters not remark that any thing was amiss with his of this overgrown pool, breaking away the weeds daughter, though he observed that there was which were growing so thickly on the stagnant not enough cayenne in the gravy, of the veal.surface, and rippling the slow shallows under 220 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. neath. It seems a contradiction to write of an old lady, a sister of Mr. Bellingham's, who this dull and unimpressionable woman now and was away, as Anne knew, but whose housekeepthen waking and experiencing some vague emo- er would admit them. tion and realization of experiences which had And then the journey began once more across been slowly gathering, and apparently unno- dark cuts, winding thoroughfares, interminable ticed, for a long time before: but who does not in their lights and darknesses, across dark places count more than one contradiction among their that may have been squares. The darkness experiences? It was not Anne's fault that she changed and lengthened the endless road: they could not understand, feel quickly and keenly, had left Oxford Street, with its blazing shops; respond to the calls which stronger and more they had crossed the Park's blackness; the roll generous natures might make upon her; her of the wheels was like the tune of some dismal tears fell dull and slow long after the cause, un- night-march. The maid sat with Dulcie asleep like the quick bright drops that would spring to in her arms, but presently Dulcie woke up with Mary Miles's clear eyes-Mary whom the other a shrill piteous outcry. "I'se so ti'ed," she woman hated with a natural, stupid, persistent sobbed in the darkness, the coldness, the dull trip hatred that nothing ever could change. of the rain, the monotonous sound of the horse's Judson, the maid, who was not deeply read feet striking on the mud. "I wan' my tea; in human nature and who respected her mis- I'se so ti'ed, wan' my little bed "-this. was her tress immensely as a model of decision, pre- piteous litany. cision, deliberate determination, was intensely Anne was very gentle and decided with her, amazed to hear that she was to pack up that only once she burst out, "Oh, don't, don't, I night, and that Mrs. Trevithic would go to Lon- can not bear it, Dulcie." don that evening by the nine-o'clock train. "Send for a fly directly, Judson, and dress - - Miss Dulcie." "Dress Miss Dulcie?" Judson asked bewil- CHAPTER IX. dered. HASTY PUDDING AND BLOWS FROM A CLUB. "Yes, Miss Dulcie will come too," said Anne, HASTY DD ANDBLOW OM in a way that left no remonstrance. OUR lives often seem to answer strangely to She did not own it to herself; but by a strange our wishes. Is there some hidden power by and wayward turn of human nature, this woman which our spirits work upon the substance of -who was going to reproach her husband, to which our fate is built? Jack wished to fight. leave him forever, to cast herself adrift from Assault him now, dire spirit of ill-will, of deshim-took Dulcie with her: Dulcie, a secret pondency, and that most cruel spirit of all, calldefense, a bond and a strong link between them, ed calumny. This tribe of giants are like the that she knew no storm or tempest would ever bottle-monsters of the Arabian Nights, intangibreak. ble, fierce, sly, remorseless, springing up suddenMr. Bellingham was too much astounded to ly, mighty shadows coming in the night and make a single objection. He thought his daugh- striking their deadly blows. They raise their ter had taken leave of her senses when she came clubs (and these clubs are not trees torn fiom in and said good-bye. the forest, but are made from the forms of huPoor thing, she, too, felt at moments as if man beings massed together), and the clubs fall her senses were deserting her; the storm raging upon the victim and he is crushed. in her heart was a fierce one. Gusts of passion There was a brandy-and-water weekly meetand jealousy were straining and beating and ing at Hammersley called "Ours," every Thurstearing; "sails ripped, seams opening wide, day evening, to which many of the tradespeople and compass lost." Poor Anne, whose emo- were in the habit of resortiag and there discusstions were all the more ungovernable when they ing the politics of the place. Mr. Bulcox had occasionally broke from the habitual restraint in long been a member, so was Pitchley the grocer, which she held them, sat in her corner of the and Oker himself did not disdain to join the carriage, torturing herself, and picturing to her- party; and as John was not there to contradict self Trevithic enslaved, enchanted. If she could them, you may be sure these people told their have seen the poor fellow adding up long lists own story. How it spread I can not tell, but of figures in his dreary little office, by the light it is easy to imagine: one rumor after another of a smoking lamp, I think her jealousy might to the hurt and disadvantage of poor Trevithic have been appeased. began to get about. Reformers are necessarily All the way to town Anne sat silent in her unpopular among a certain class. The blind corner; but if she deserved punishment, poor and the maimed and the halt worshipped the thing, she inflicted it then upon herself, and with ground Trevithic stood upon at first. "He was an art and an unrelenting determination for a man as would see to their rights," they said; which no other executioner would have found "and if he had his way, would let them have the courage. their snuff and a drop of something comfortable. They reached the station at last, with its lights He had his cranks. These open windows gave and transient life and bustle. A porter called'em the rheumatics, and this sloppin' and washin' a cab. Dulcie, and the maid, and Mrs. Trevith- was all along of it, and for all the talk there ic got in. They were to sleep at the house of were some things but what they wouldn't deny JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 221 was more snug in Bulcox's time than now; but among us, is the rector alluded to in a recent he were a good creature for all that, Mr. Trev- letter to the Jupiter from a medical man, who ithic, and meant well he did," etc., etc. Only deserted his parish at the first alarm of cholera." when the snuff and the comfortable drop did not " Can this be true?" said Austin, gravely. come as they expected, and the horrors of the " Mrs. Hodge certainly died of the cholera," past dynasty began to be a little forgotten-at Jack answered, " and Penfold was taken ill and the end of a month or so of whitewashing and recovered. Those are the only two cases in my cleansing and reforming, the old folks began to parish." grumble again much as usual. Trevithic could "I am afraid that Skipper did not behave not take away their years and aches and pains very well; in fact, I had to write to him to go and wearinesses, and make the workhouse into back." abower of roses, and the old people into lovely A little later in the day, as the two young young lasses and gallant lads again. men were walking along the street, they met He had done his best, but he could not work Mr. Oker puffing along the pavement. He miracles. stopped as usual to rub his hands when he saw It happened that a Lincolnshire doctor writ- Trevithic. ing from Downham to the Jupiter not long af-' As your attention been called, sir," he said, ter, eloquently describing the symptoms, the "to a paragraft in the Hanvil, that your friends treatment, the means of prevention for this new should contradict, if possible, sir? It's mos' sort of cholera, spoke of the devotion of some distressin' when such things gets into the papers. and the curious indifference of others. " Will They say at the club that some of the guardians it be believed," he said, "that in some places is about to ask for an account of the sick-fund the clergyman has been known to abandon his money, sir, which, I believe, Mr. Skipper put flock at the first threat of danger- a threat which into your'ands, sir. For the present this parin one especial case at F. not far from here was agraft should be contradicted, if possible, sir." not fulfilled, although the writer can testify from Oker was an odious creature, insolent and his own experience to the truth of the above civil; and as he spoke he gave a sly, spiteful statement?" glance into Jack's face. Trevithic was perfectAs far as poor Jack's interests were concerned ly unmoved, and burst out laughing. "My it would have been better for him if the cholera good Mr. Oker," he said, "you will be sorry to had broken out at Featherston; it would have hear that there is no foundation whatever in the brought him back to his own home. But Pen- paragraph. It is some silly tittle-tattling tale, fold recovered, Mrs. Hodge-the only other pa- which does not affect me in the least. If any tient-died, Hodge married again immediately, one is to blame, it is Mr. Skipper, the work-house and that was the end of it. " Ours " took in chaplain, who was at Featherston in my place. the Jupiter; somebody remembered that Down- You can tell your friends at the club that they ham andFeatherston were both in the sameneigh- have hit the wrong man. Good-day." And borhood; some one else applied the story, and the young fellow marched on his way with Mr. Bulcox and the gas-fitter between them concocted Austin, leaving Oker to recover as best he could. a paragraph for the Anvil, the great Hammersley "I'm afraid they will give you trouble yet," organ; and so ill-will and rumor did their work, Austin said, "King Stork though you are." while Jack went his rounds in the wards of St. When Jack appeared before the board on the Magdalene's, looking sadder than the first day next Wednesday, after the vote had been passed he had come, although the place was cleaner,. for dismissing the Bulcoxes, it seemed to him the food warmer and better, the sick people bet- that one-half of the room greeted his entrance ter tended than ever before; for the guardians with a scowl of ill-will and disgust, the other had been persuaded to let in certain deaconesses half with alarm and suspicion. No wonder. of the town-good women, who nursed for love It was Jack's belief that some of the guardians and did not steal the tea. But in the mean were seriously implicated in the charges which time this odd cabal which had set in had risen had been brought against Bulcox; others were and grown, and from every side Jack began to certainly so far concerned that the Jupiter had meet with cold looks and rebuffs. He had ill accused them of unaccountable neglect; and used his wife, deserted her, they said; abandon- nobody likes to be shown up in a leader even ed his parish from fear of infection. He had for merely neglecting his duties. forged, he had been expelled from his living. All this while the work-house had been in a There was nothing that poor Jack was not ac- commotion; the master and mistress were only cused of by one person or another. One day temporarily fulfilling their duties until a new when his friend Austin came in with the last couple should have been appointed. The Board, number of the Anvil, and showed him a very chiefly at the instance of Oker the gas-fitter, spiteful paragraph about himself, Jack only and Pitchley the retail grocer, did not press the shrugged his shoulders. "We understand that charges brought against Mr. Bulcox; but they the gentleman whose extraordinary revelations contented themselves with dismissing him and respecting the management of our work-house his wife. It was not over pleasant for Trevithic have been met by some with more credence to meet them about the place, as he could not than might have been expected, considering the help doing occasionally; but there was no help short time which had passed since he first came for it, and he bore the disagreeables of the place 222 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. as best he could, until Mr. and Mrs. Evans, the ter, who must again have levied a profit. The newly appointed master and matron, made their gas-fittter, too, turned out to be the contractor appearance. The Board was very civil, but it from a branch establishment, and to have also was any thing but cordial to Trevithic. Jack, helped himself. This giant of peculation ceramong other things, suspected that Pitchley him- tainly fell dead upon the floor when he laid self supplied the bad tea and groceries which had open his accounts before the Board, for Hambeen so much complained of, and had exchanged mersley Work-house is now one of the best manvarious bottles of port from the infirmary for aged in the whole kingdom. others of a better quality, which were served at the master's own table. So the paupers told him. Meanwhile the opposition had not been idle. CHAPTER X. It was Bulcox himself, I think, who had discovered that Jack, in administering the very limit- J HELPS TO DISENC NT THE BEAUTIFUL ed funds at his disposal, had greatly neglected LADY. the precaution of tickets. One or two ill-con- FANNY GARNIER bustled home one afternoon, ditioned people, whom Trevithic had refused to brimming over, good soul, with rheumatisms, assist, had applied to the late master, and assur- chicken-poxes, and other horrors that were not ed him that Trevithic was not properly dispens- horrors to her, or interjections, or lamentations; ingthe money at his command. One tipsy old but new reasons for exertions which were alwoman in particular was very indignant; and, most beyond her strength at times-as now, judging by her own experience, did not hesitate when she said wearily, " that she must go back to accuse the chaplain of keeping what was not to her ward; some one was waiting for things his own. - that she had promised." She was tired, and This credible witness in rags and battered Mary, half ashamed, could not help offering to wires stood before the chairman when Jack came go in her cousin's place. It seemed foolish to in. It seems impossible that any body should refrain from what she would have done yesterhave seriously listened to a complaint so absurd day in all simplicity, because there was a chance and unlikely. But it must be remembered that that Hambledon was there to-day, or Trevithic, many of the people present were already ill-dis- who was Hambledon's friend, if not quite Hamposed, that some of them were weak, and others bledon himself, who talked to him and knew his stupid, and they would not have been sorry to mind, and could repeat his talk. get out of their scrape by discovering Jack to be When Mary reached the infirm-ward, where of their own flesh and blood. she was taking her jellies, and bird's-eye and Trevithic heard them without a word, me- liquorice, her heart gave a little flutter, for she chanically buttoning up his coat, as he had a saw that two figures were standing by one of trick of doing, and then in a sudden indignation the beds. One was Jack, who turned round to he tore it open, and from his breast-pocket drew greet her as she came up with her basket on her the small book in which he had made all his arm. The other was Hambledon, who looked notes. "Here," said he, "are my accounts. at her and then turned away. As for all the They were made hastily at the time, but they old. women in their starched nightcaps, it was a are accurate, and you will see that I have paid moment of all-absorbing excitement to themevery farthing away that was handed over to me sitting bolt upright on their beds, and bowing by Mr. Skipper, and about twice the amount.affably, as was the fashion in the infirm-ward. besides, out of my own pocket. You can send It was quite worth while to be civil to the genfor the people to whom I have paid the money, try, let alone manners; you never knew but if you like." The little book went travelling what they might have a quarter of a pound of about from one hand to another, while the re- tea or a screw of snuff in their pockets. " Law morseless Trevithic continued, "I now in my bless you, it was not such as them as denies turn demand that the ledgers of these gentle- themselves anythink they may fancy." Such men "-blazing round upon the retail grocer and was the Hammersley creed. Oker the gas-fitter~-"be produced here im- As she came up, Mary made an effort, and mediately upon the spot, without any previous in her most self-possessed and woman-of-theinspection, and that I, too, may have the satis- worldest manner put out her hand again and faction of clearing up my doubts as to their con- laughed, and exclaimed at this meeting. Her duct." "That is fair enough," said one or two shyness, and tle very effort she made to conceal of the people present. "It's quite impossible, it, gave her an artificial manner that chilled and unheard of," said some of the others; but the repelled poor Hambledon as no shyness or hesmajority of the guardians present were honest itation would have done. "She's no heart," men, who were roused at last, and the ledgers said the poor Colonel to himself. " She don't were actually sent for. remember. She would only laugh at me." I have no time here to explain the long course He forgot that Mary was not a child, not even a of fiaud which these books disclosed. The very young woman; that this armor of expedigrocer was found to have been supplying the ency had grown up naturally with years and with house at an enormous percentage, with quanti- the strain of a solitary life. It is a sort of deties differing in his book and in that of the mas- fense to which the poor little hedgehogs of JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 223 women, such as Mary Myles, resort sometimes. bledon's friend? was he not a link between two It meant very little, but it frightened the Colo- people, very near, and yet very far apart? Had nel away. Mrs. Myles heard him go as she Mary Myles's kindness been quite disinterested? bent over poor old Mrs. Crosspoint, and her he asked himself, a little bitterly, before he heart gave a little ache, which was not entirely spoke;-spoke a few words which made Charles of sympathy for the poor old thing's troubles. Hambledon flush up and begin to tug at his musHowever, Mary had a little talk with Trev- tache, and which decided Mary Myles's fate as ithic in the dark as she crossed the courts and much as Anne Bellingham's tears had decided passages, and he walked beside her, which did Jack's three years ago. her good, though she said nothing that any one " Why don't you try again?" Trevithic said. who did not know would have construed into "I think there might be a chance for you." more than it seemed to mean. The Colonel did not answer, but went on pullShe told him a little about her past life. She ing at his mustache. Trevithic was silent, too, did not tell him that Colonel Hambledon had and sighed. "I never saw any one like her," once asked her to come into his life; but Trev- he said at last. " I think she carries a blessing ithic knew all that she wanted to say as he lis- wherever she goes. I, who am an old married tened to the voice speaking in the dark-the man, may say so much, mayn't I? I have seen sweet low voice with the music in it-a revela- some men go on their knees for gratitude for tion came to him there in the archway of that what others are scarcely willing to put out their narrow work-house stone passage. hands to take." A revelation came to him, and that instant, Poor Jack! The cap of knowledge was heavy as was his way, he acted upon. it. "I think on his brow as he spoke. He did not look to some people-" he began, and then he stopped. see the effect of his words. What would he not "I think you should secure a friend," he said have said to serve her? He walked away to quickly, in an odd voice. "You should marry," the desk where he kept his notes and accountand he faltered, as he made way for two poor books, and took pen and paper, and began to women who limped past on their way to their write. corners in the great pigeon-holes case of human "It is a lucky thing for me that you are a suffering. That little shake in his voice fright- married man," the Colonel said, with an uneasy ened Trevithic. What was it to him? How laugh. "It's one's fate. They won't like the did Mary Myles's fate concern him? He let connection at home. She don't care about it her out at the great gate. He did not offer to one way or another, for all you say; and yet I walk back with her. The great iron bars closed find myself here again and again. I have a with a clang, as she went away out into the dim great mind to go this very evening." world that was surging round about these prison "I am writing to her now," Trevithic answerwalls. He would go back to Anne, Trevithic ed, rather incoherently, after aminute. "The said to himself; even while the last grateful ladies have promised to come with me to-morrow words were uttering in his ears, and the sweet to see the rectory-house at St. Bigot's. I shall quick eyes still lighting up for him the dullness call for them about twelve o'clock; and it will of the stony place. Mary Myles went back take us a quarter of an hour to walk there." alone; and all that night Jack lay awake think- It was a bright autumn morning, glittering ing, turning some things in his mind and avoid- and brilliant. Jack stood waiting for Mrs. Myles ing others, wondering what he should say to and her cousin in the little wood at the foot of Hambledon, what he should leave unsaid; for the garden slope, just behind the lodge. A bird some nameless power had taught him to under- with outstretched wings, fluttered from the ivystand now, as he never had understood before, bed at his feet, and went and perched upon the what was passing in other minds and hearts. branch of a tree. All the noises of life came to A power too mighty for my poor Jack to en- him fiom the town, glistening between the gleam counter or hope to overcome in fight, a giant of the trees: the fall of the hammer from the from whom the bravest can only turn away-so wood-yard where the men were at work, and the gentle is he, so beautiful, so humble in his ir- call of the church-bell to prayer, and the distant resistible might, that though many might con- crow bf the farm-yard upon the fhr-offhill, and quer him if they would, they will not, and that the whistle of the engine, starting and speeding is the battle. through the quiet country valley to the junction And I think this giant must have been that in the town, where the great world's gangways nameless one we read of in the story, whom Jack met and diverged. did not care to fight, but he locked him up and All this daily life was going on, and John Trevbarred him in the castle, and bolted gates and ithic struck with his stick at a dead branch of kept him safe behind them: the giant who in a tree. Why was work, so simple and straightreturn for this strange treatment gave Jack the forward a business to some honest folks, so sword of sharpness and the cap of knowledge. tangled and troubled and unsatisfactory to othThe sword pricked fiercely enough, the cap of ers? In daily life hard labor is simple enough. knowledge weighed, ah, too heavily, but Jack, Old Peascud, down below in the kitchen-garden, as we know, did not shrink from pain. turns over mother earth, throbbing with life and The imprisoned giant touched some kindly all its mysteries, with what he calls a "purty chord in Jack's kind heart. Was he not Ham- shovel," and pats it down, and complacently 224 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. thinks it is his own doing that the ivy-slips cut her ribbons belongs to her as completely as the off the branch which he has stuck into the pointed ends of old Peascud's Sunday shirtground are growing and striking out fresh roots. collars and the broad stiff tapes of his best waistPeascud is only a sort of shovel himself, des- coat do to him, or as John Trevithic's fancies tined to keep this one small acre out of the square as he stands in the fir-wood. Another minute acres which cover the surface of the earth in and she is there beside him, holding out her tolerable order, and he does it with a certain hand and smiling with her sweet still eyes, and amount of spurring and pushing, and when his the bird flutters away from its branch. " Fanday's work is over hangs up comfortably on a ny can not come," she said. "We must go nail and rests with an easy mind; but Jack, who without her, Mr. Trevithic." feels himself a shovel too, has no laws to guide A something-I can not tell you what-told him. Some of the grain he has sown has come Jack as she spoke that this was the last walk up above the ground, it is true, but it is unsat- they would ever take together. It: was one of isfactory, after all; he does not know whether or those feelings we all know and all believe in not his slips are taking root-one or two of them at the bottom of our hearts. This something, he has pulled up, like the children do, to see coming I know not from whence, going I know whether they are growing. not where, suddenly began to speak in the silent As Jack stands moralizing, crow cocks, ring and empty chambers of poor Trevithic's heart, bells, strike hammers. It was a fitting chorus, echoing mournfully, but with a warning in its distant and cheerful, and suggestive to the sweet echoes that he had never understood before. and brilliant life of the lady for whom he waits. This something seemed to say, No, No, No. It Not silence, but the pleasant echoes of life should was like a bell tolling as they walked along the accompany her steps, the cheerful strains of sum- road. Jack led the way, and they turned off mer, and the bright colors of spring. Trevithic the high-road across a waste, through sudden saw every thing brightened and lighted up by streets springing up around them, across a bridge her presence, and thought that it was so in fact, over a branch of the railway, into a broad black poor fellow. Sometimes in a foul ward, when thoroughfare, which opened into the quiet street the dull sights and sounds oppressed him almost leading into Bolton Fields. The fields had long beyond bearing, with a sudden breath of relief since turned to stones and iron-railings inclosand happiness the image of this charming and ing a church-yard, in the midst of which a church beautiful woman would pass before him, sweet had been built. The houses all round the square and pure, and lovely and unsoiled amidst lovely were quaint red brick dwellings, with here and things, far aivay from these ghastly precincts. there a carved lintel to a doorway, and old stone What had such as she to do with such as these? steps whitened and scrubbed by three or four Heaven forbid that so fair a bird, with its ten- generations of patient house-maids. The trees der song and glancing white plumage, should were bare behind the iron-railing; there was come to be choked and soiled and caged in the silence, though the streets beyond Bolton Fields foul dungeons to which he felt called. John were busy like London streets. Trevithic stopTrevithic, like many others, exaggerated, I think, ped at the door of one of the largest of these to himself the beauty and the ugliness of the dwellings. It had straight windows like the things he looked upon as they appeared to oth- others, and broken stone steps upon which the ers; not that things are not ten thousand times sun was shining, and tall iron railings casting more beautiful, and more hideous too perhaps, slant shadows on the pavement. It looked than we have eyes to see or hearts to realize, quaint and narrow, with its high rooms and but they are not so as far as the eyes with which blackened bricks, but it stood in sunshine. A others see them are concerned. To this sweet child was peeping from one of the many-paned and beautiful and graceful woman the world was windows, and some birds were fluttering under not so fair a place as to this careworn man with the deep eaves of the roof. his haggard eyes and sad knowledge of life. He Jack led the way into the dark-panelled enthought Mrs. Myles so far above him and be- trance, and opened doors and windows, and ran yond him in all things, that he imagined that up stairs. Mrs. Myles flitted here and there, the pains of others must pain her and strike suggested, approved of the quaint old house, her soft heart more cruelly even than himself, with the sunny landings for Dulcie to play on, that the loveliness of life was more necessary and the convenient cupboards for her elders, to her a thousand times than it could be to and quaint recesses, and the pleasant hints of him. an old world, more prosy and deliberate and Meanwhile all the little dried pine-twigs were less prosaic than to-day. There was a pretty rustling and rippling, for she was coming down little niche on the stairs, where Jack fancied the little steep path, holding up her muslin skirts Dulcie perching, and a window looking into the as she came, and stepping with her rapid slender garden down below; there was a little wooden footsteps, stooping and then looking up to smile. dining-room, and a study with faded wire bookMrs. Myles was always well dressed-there was cases let into the walls. It was all in good ora certain completeness and perfection of dainty der, for Trevithic had had it cleaned and scrubsmoothness and freshness about all her ways bed. The house was more cheerful than the which belonged to her dress and her life, and garden at the back, where stone and weeds her very loves and dislikes. The soft flutter of seemed to be flourishing unmolested. JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 225 " It is almost time to go," Mrs. Myles said come and live here-in this very house perhaps at last, seeing Trevithic looking at his watch. -if she will consent to it." "Not yet-you have not half seen the gar- "Anne is a happy woman to have any one den," answered Trevithic, hastily. " Come this to want her," said Mrs. Myles, coming back to way." And Mary followed, wrapping her vel- her own thoughts with a sigh; "people love vet cloak more closely round her slender shoul- me, but nobody wants me." ders. "Here is a friend of yours, I think," said They were standing in the little deserted gar- Jack, very quickly, in an odd sort of voice; for den of the house, for the garden was all damp, as he spoke he saw Hambledon coming in from as gardens are which are rarely visited. The the passage-door. Mrs. Myles saw him too, back of the house, less cheerful than the front, and guessed in an instant why Trevithic had was close-shuttered, except for the windows detained her. Now in her turn she tried to Trevithic had opened. Some dreary aloe-trees hold him back. were sprouting their melancholy spikes, a clump "Do you believe in expiations, Mr. Trevof fir-trees and laurel-bushes was shuddering in ithic?" said Mary, still strangely excited and one corner; a long grass-grown lawn, with rank beginning to tremble. weeds and shabby flower-beds, reached from the':I believe in a grateful heart, and in love black windows to the stony paths, in which, in and humility, and in happiness when it comes some unaccountable manner, as is usual in de- across our way," said Jack, with kind sad eyes, serted places, the sand and gravel had grown in- looking admiringly at the sweet and appealing to stones and lumps of earth and clay. Jack was face. strangely silent and distracted, and paced round Mary was transformed. She had laid aside and round the place in an unmeaning way. all her gentle pride and self-contained sadness: " This is very dreary," said Mrs. Myles, pull- she looked as she must have looked long ago, ing her cloak still closer round her. "I like when she was a girl, humble, imploring, conthe house, but no one could be happy walking fused; and though her looks seemed to pray in this garden." him to remain, Trevithic turned away abruptly, Trevithic smiled a little sadly.'I don't and he went to meet Hambledon, who was comknow," he said. " I don't think happiness de- ing shyly along the weedy path, a tall and prospends upon locality." perous-looking figure in the sunshine and desoPoor fellow, his outward circumstances were lation. " You are late," Trevithic said, with a so prosperous, his inner life so sad and unto- kind, odd smile; I had given you up." And ward. No wonder that he undervalued exter- then he left them and went into the house. nal matters, and counted all lost that was not As Jack waited, talking to the housekeeper from within, meanwhile, he had no great courage to ask Mary Myles blushed, as she had a way of himself many questions; to look behind; to blushing when she was moved, and her voice realize very plainly what had happened; to failed into a low measured music of its own. picture to himself what might have been had "I envy you," she said. " You do not care, fate willed it otherwise. He prayed an honest like me, for small things, and are above the in- prayer. I" Heaven bless them," he said in his fluences of comfort and discomfort, of mere per- heart, as he turned his steps away and left them sonal gratifications. It has been the curse of together. He waited now patiently, walking in my life that I have never risen above any thing, and out of the bare rooms, where people had but have fallen shamefully before such easy once lived and waited too, who were gone with temptations that I am ashamed even to recall their anxious hearts, and their hopes, and their them. I wonder what it is like," she said, hopeless loves, and their defeats, to live in other with her bright, half-laughing, half-admiring houses and mansions which are built elsewhere. smile, " to he, as you are, above small distrac- Was it all defeat for him?-not all. Had he tions, and able to fight real and great battles- not unconsciously wronged poor Anne, and and win them, too?" she added, kindly and given her just cause for resentment; and was heartily. any thing too late while hope and life remainA very faint mist came before Trevithic's ed? If he could not give to his wife a heart's eyes as Mary spoke, unconsciously encouraging best love and devotion- if she herself had forhim, unknowingly cheering him with words bidden this-he could give her friendship, and and appreciation-how precious she did not in time the gentle ties of long use and common know, nor did he dare to tell himself. interest and Dulcie's dear little arms might "I am afraid what you describe is a sensa- draw them closer together-so Jack thought in tion very few people know," said Trevithic. this softened mood. "We are all, I suspect, trying to make the best John had waited a long time, pacing up and of our defeats; triumphant, if we are not utter- down the empty rooms with the faded wire ly routed." bookcases for furniture, and the melancholy "And have you been routed at Feathers- pegs and hooks and wooden slabs which people ton?" Mrs. Myles asked. leave behind them in the houses they abandon: "Completely," said Trevithic. "Anne will nearly an hour had passed and the two there retreat with flying colors, but I am ignobly de- out in the garden were talking still by the laufeated, and only too thankful to run away and rel-bushes. What was he waiting for? he askP 22G FIVE OLD FRIENDS. ed himself presently. Iad they not forgotten little baby frolics. Sad-faced little paupers in his very existence? There was work to be striped blue dresses would sometimes stand stardone-he had better go. What had he waited ing at Trevithic-with dark eyes gleaming in for so long? What indeed, poor fellow! Ile such world-weighed little faces, that his kind had been longing for a word; one sign. lie heart ached for them. His favorite dream for only wanted to be remembered: with that them wasa children's holiday. It would almost strange selfish longing which pities the poor seem that they had guessed his good intentions familiar self, he longed for some word of kind- towards them to-day: a little stream was setting ness and sign of recognition from the two who in in the direction of his office, a small group had forgotten that any where besides in all the stood watching not far off. It made waybefore world there were hearts that loved or longed or him and disappeared, and then, as he came near, forgot. John trudged away patiently as soon as he saw that the door was open. A little baby he had suddenly made clear to himself that pauper was sitting on the flags and staring in, it was time to go. IIe knew the road well two otherlittle children had crept up to the very enough by this time, and cut off side turnings threshold, a third had slipped its fingers into the and came into the town-black and faded-even hinge and was peeping through the chink, and in this brilliant sunshine that was calling the then at the sound of his tired footsteps falling people out of their houses, opening wide win- wearily on the pavement,therecaine alittle cry of dows, drying the rags of clothes, brightening Daddy, daddy!" The sweet little voice he the weary faces. The children clustered round loved best in the whole world seemed to fill the the lamp-posts, chattering and playing. One room, and Dulcie, his own little Dulcie, came to or two people said good-morning to him as he the door in the sunlight, and clasped him round passed, who would have stared sulkily in a fog; the knees. the horses in the road seemed to prick their Trevithic, with these little arms to hold him ears, and the fly from the station, instead of safe, felt as if his complaints had been almost crawling wearily along, actually passed him at impious. In one minute, indeed, he had forgota trot. Jack turned to look after it: a foolish ten them altogether, and life still had something likeness had struck him. It was but for an in- for him to love and to cling to: The nurse exstant, and he forgot it as he reached the heavy plained matters a little to the bewildered chapdoor of the work-house. lain. Nothing had happened that she knew of. The porter was out, and the old pauper who Mrs. Trevithic was gone to look for him. She let Jack in began some story to which he scarce- had driven to Mrs. Myles's straight in the fly ly listened. He was full of the thought of those from the railway. She had left Miss Dulcie and two there in the garden-happy! ah, how happy her there to wait. She had left no message. in each other's companionship; while he, desert- Mrs. Trevithic had seemed put out like, said cd, lonely, discontented, might scarcely own to the nurse, and had made up her mind all of a himself, without sin, that his home was a deso- sudden. They had slept in London at missis's late one; that his wife was no wife, as he felt it; aunt's. Trevithic was utterly bewildered. that life had no such prospects of love, solace, In the mean time it was clear that something and sympathy for him, as for some of the most must be done for Dulcie, who was getting hunforlorn of the creatures under his care. It was gry, now that her first little rapture was over (for an ill frame of mind coming so quickly after a raptures are hungry work). After some little good one-good work done, and peace-making, demur, Trevithic told the girl to put on Miss and a good fight won; but the very giant he Dulcie's cloak again. had conquered with pain and struggle had given While John is talking to Dulcie in his little him the cap of knowledge, and it pressed and office, Anne had driven up to Mrs. Garnier's ached upon his brow, and set its mark there. door, and been directed from hence to the rectory Trevithic put up his hand to his forehead weari- in Bolton Fields. It was thus she first crossed ly, as he walked along the dull paved courts and the threshold of her husband's house. "I want passed through one barred iron door after an- to speak to the lady and gentleman," she said other. Most of the old folks were sunning them- to the woman who let her in. And the houseselves upon the benches, and the women were keeper pointed to the garden and told her she standing gossiping in the galleries of the house. would find them there. Anne, the stupid comThere are stone galleries at Hammersley, from monplace woman, was shivering with passion which the clothes are hung. So he came in, and emotion as she passed through the empty opening one last iron gate to his office on the rooms; a few letters were lying on the chimney ground-floor, at the further extremity of the great that John had torn open; the window-shutter building. It was not very far from the children's was flapping, the wood creaked under her fierce wards, and on these fine mornings the little crea- angry footsteps. There, at the end of the path, tures, with their quaint mobcaps, and straight under a little holly-tree, stood Mary Myles, and bonnets, came scrambling down the flight of suddenly Anne, hurrying along in her passion, steps into the yards. The very young ones clutched her arm with an angry fevered hand, would play about a little bo-peep behind an iron and with a fierce flushed face confronted her. grating, or clinging to the skirts of the limp fig- "Where is my husband?" hissed Anne. "You ures that were wearily lagging aboit the place. did not think that I should come.... -I ow But the children did not very long keep up their dare you take him from me?" JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 227 Colonel Hambledon, who had only gone away happened, though he guessed well enough, and for a step or two, came back, hearing a voice, when Hambledon told him afterwards that Mrs. with Mary's glove, which she had left on the Trevithic had burst in upon them in the garbroken seat where they had been sitting. den, it was no news to poor John. "What is this?" said he. They had finished their dinner on the ground" Where is he?" cried the foolish stupid wom- floor room of the quiet old inn. Little Dulcie an, bursting into tears. "I knew I should find was perched at the window watching the people him here with her. Where is my husband?" as they crossed and recrossed the wire-blind. "' He has been gone some time, poor fellow," A distant church-clock struck some quarters, said the Colonel, with a look of repugnance and the sound came down the street, and Trevithic dislike that Anne saw and never forgot. "Mrs. smiled, saying, "'I think you will be too late for Trevithic, why do you think such bad thoughts?" your train, Anne, to-day." Anne's heart gave While Mary Myles, indignant in her turn, a throb as he spoke. She always thought peocried, " Oh, for shame, for shame, Anne Trevith- pie in earnest, and she looked up wistfully and ic! You are cold-hearted yourself, and do you tried to speak; but the words somehow stuck in dare to be jealous of others? You, who have her throat. Meanwhile Trevithic looked at the best and kindest husband any woman ever his watch, and jumped up in a sudden fluster. had in all the world." Mary, as she spoke It was later than he imagined. He had his clung with both hands to Hambledon's arm, afternoon service at the work-house to attend to. trembling, too, and almost crying. The Colo- It was Friday, and he must go. He had not a nel, in his happiness, could hardly understand moment to lose, so he told his wife in a word that any one else should be unhappy on such a as he seized his hat, and set off as hard as he day. While he was comforting Mary, and en- could. He had not even a moment to respond treating her not to mind what that woman had to little Dulcie's signals of affection, and waves said, Anne, overpowered with shame, conscience- and capers behind the wire-blind." smitten, fled away down the path and through Anne, who had been in a curious maze all the house-" deadly pale, like a ghost," said the this time, sitting in her place at the table and housekeeper afterwards-and drove straight to watching him, and scarcely realizing the relief the work-house, where she had left her child. of his presence as he busied himself in the old As she came to the great door, it opened with a way for her comfort and Dulcie's, carving the dull sound, even before the driver had pulled at chicken and waiting on them both, understood the big bell. all at once how great the comfort of his presAnne, who had got out of the carriage, stood ence had been. In her dull, sleepy way she in a bewildered sort of dream, stupidly staring had been basking in sunshine for the last two at a little procession that was coming under the hours, after the storm of the day before. She archway-a couple of paupers, the nursemaid, had untied her bonnet, and thrown it down and, last of all, her husband, carrying little upon a chair, and forgotten to smooth her sleek Dulcie in his arms, who were all advancing to- hair; her collar and ribbons were awry; her wards her. very face had lost its usual placidity-it was "Oh John! I have been looking for you altered and disturbed, and yet Jack thought he everywhere," she said, with a little cry, as with had never liked her looks so well, though he a revulsion of feeling she ran up to him, with had never seen her so ruffled and self-forgetful outstretched hands. " Where have you been? in all the course of his married life. Mrs. Myles did not know, and I came back for For the moment Mrs. Trevithic was strangely Dulcie. We shall miss the train. Oh, where happy in this odd re-union. She had almost am I to go?" forgotten at the instant the morning's jealousy Mrs. Trevithic, nervous, fluttered, bewildered, and mad expedition - Colonel Hambledon's for perhaps the second time in her life, seemed look of scorn and Mary Myles's words-in this scarcely to know what she was saying -she new unknown happiness. It seemed to her held up her cheek to be kissed; she looked that she had never in her life before realized about quite scared, and shrunk away again. what the comfort might be of some one to " It's no use, you will be too angry to forgive love, to hold, to live, for. She watched the me," she said; "but about these trains...." quick clever hands dispensing the food for "What do you mean by the trains, Anne?" which, to tell the truth, she had no very great her husband said. "Dulcie wants something appetite, though she took all that her husband to eat. Get into the carriage again." gave her. Had some scales fallen from her It is difficult to believe-Trevithic himself pale wondering eyes? As he left the room she could not understand it-Anne obeyed without asked herself, in her stupid way, what he had a word. He asked no questions when she burst meant. Was this one little glimpse of home out with an incoherent, " Oh John, they were the last that she would ever know? was it all so strange and unkind!" and then began to cry over, all over? Anne tied her bonnet on and cry and tremble from head to foot. again, and telling the maid to take care of litIt was not till they got to the hotel that Mrs. tie Dulcie, went out into the street again and Trevithic regained her usual composure, and walked off in the direction of the chapel. She ordered some rooms and lunch off the carte for had a vague wish to be there. She did not the whole party. Trevithic never askedwhat had know that they would admit her; but no diffi 228 FIVE OLD FRIENDS. culties were made, and she passed for the sec- sorry if we pained you." Anne flushed and ond time under the big arch. Some one point- flushed and didn't speak, but put out her hand ed out the way, and she pushed open a green- -not without an effort. "Are you going back baize door and went in; and so Anne knelt in directly, or are you going to stay with your husthe bare little temple where the paupers' prayers band?" said the colonel, shaking her heartily were offered up —humble prayers and white- by the hand. wash, that answer their purpose as well perhaps Poor Anne looked up, scared, and shrank as Gothic, and iron castings, and flamboyant back once more-she could not bear to tell windows, as the beautiful clear notes of the them that she did not know. She turned away choristers answering each other and bursting all hurt and frightened, looking about for some into triumphal utterance. The paupers were means of escape, and then at that moment she praying for their daily bread, hard, and dry, saw that John was coming up to them across and butterless; for forgiveness for trespasses the yard from the office where he had gone to grosser and blacker perhaps than ours; for de- leave his surplice. liverance from evil of which Annie and others "Oh John," she said, still bewildered, and perhaps have never realized; and ending with going to meet him, and with a piteous face, words of praise and adoration which we all use " here are Colonel Hambledon and Mary." in truth, but which mean far, far more when "We have come to ask for your congratulauttered from that darkness upon which the di- tions," the Colonel said, laughing and looking vine light beams most splendidly. Anne for very happy;' and to tell you that your matchthe first time in her life was kneeling a pauper making has been successful." in spirit, ashamed and touched, and repentant. Mary Myles did not speak, but put out her There was no sermon, and Mrs. Trevithic got hand to Trevithic. up from her knees and came away with her fel- Mrs. Trevithic meanwhile stood waiting her low-petitioners and waited in the court-yard for sentence. How new the old accustomed situaJohn. The afternoon sun of this long eventful tions seem as they occur again and again in the day was shining on the stones and casting the course of our lives. Waters of sorrow overshadows of the bars and bolts, and brightening whelm in their depths, as do the clear streams sad faces of the old men and women, and the of tranquil happiness, both rising from distant happy faces of two people who had also attend- sources, and flowing on either side of our paths. ed the service, and who now advanced arm in As I have said, the sight of these two, in their arm to where Anne was standing. She started confidence and sympathy, filled poor Anne's back as she first saw them: they had been be- heart with a longing that she had never known hind her in the chapel, and she had not known before. Mary Myles, I think, guessed what was that they were there. passing in the other's mind-women feel one The sight of the two had brought back with another's passing emotions-but the good Coloit all the old feeling of hatred, and shame, and nel was utterly unconscious. mistrust; all the good that was in her seemed "We have been asking your wife if she reto shrink and shrivel away for an instant at mains with you, or if she is going back directtheir approach, and at the same time came a ly," said he. "I thought perhaps you would pang of envious longing. They seemed so both come to dine with us before we go." happy together; so one, as, with a glance at There was a mist before Anne's eyes, an unone another, they both came forward. Was speakable peace in her heart, as Jack drew her she all alone when others were happy? had hand through his arm, and said, in his kind she not of her own doing put her husband voice, "Of course she stays; I am not going to away from her, and only come to him to re- let my belongings go away again, now that I proach and leave him again? For a woman have got them here." of such obstinacy and limited perception as As they were walking back to the inn togethMrs. Trevithic to have settled that a thing was or, Anne told her husband of her morning's to be, was reason enough for it to happen; work, and John sighed as he listened. only a longing, passionate longing, came, that "We have both something to forgive," he it might be otherwise than she had settled; said once more, looking at her with his kind that she might be allowed to stay-and a rush speaking eyes. of the better feelings that had overcome her of Anne winced and looked away, and then her late kept her there waiting to speak to these two heart turned again, and she spoke and said, with who had scorned her. It was they who made real sensibility:the first advance. "I have nothing to forgive, John. I thought "I want to ask you to forgive me," said you were in the wrong, but it was I from the beMary, blushing, "any thing I may have said. ginning." Your husband has done us both such service, that I can't help asking you for his sake to for- After a little time Trevithic and Anne and get my hastiness." Dulcie went to live together.in the old house in "You see we were taken aback," said the Bolton Fields. The woman was humbled, and Colonel, not unkindly. " Shake hands, please, did her best to make her husband's home hapMrs. Trevithic, in token that you forgive us, py, and John too remembered the past, and and wish us joy. I assure you we are heartily loved his wife, with all her faults, and did not JACK THE GIANT-KILLER. 229 ask too much of her, and kept clear, as best he who have tried to saw away the bridge have could, of possible struggles and difficulties. His fallen into the moat with their enemy,.and othlife was hard, but blows and fatigue he did not ers are making but a weak defense, and in their grudge, so long as he could help to deliver the hearts would be glad to admit him into the palland. Foul caverns were cleansed, ignorant ace of the King. monsters were routed, dark things were made Mrs. Trevithic rarely goes into the garden at light. He was not content in his parish to drive the back of her house. The other day, being away evil; he tried hisbest and stroveto change vexed with her husband about some trifling it, and make it into good. These tangible drag- matter, she followed him out to remonstrate. ons and giants were hard to fight, but once at- He was standing with Dulcie by the prickly holtacked they generally succumbed in the end, and ly-tree that she remembered so well, and, seeing lost perhaps one head or a claw in each succes- her coming, he put out his hand with a smile. sive encounter, and then other champions rose The words of reproach died away on Anne's up, and by degrees the monster began to fall and lips, and two bright spots came into her cheeks, dwindle away. But poor Trevithic's work is not as with a very rare display of feeling she sudover. Another giant is coming to meet him denly stooped and kissed the hand that held through the darkness. He is no hideous mon- hers. ster of evil like the rest: his face is pitiless, but his eyes are clear and calm. His still voice says As I finish the story of Jack Trevithic, which, " Hold," and then it swells by degrees, and deaf- from the play in which it began, has turned to ens all other sound. I am a spirit of truth, earnest, H. looks up from her knitting, and says men call me evil because I come out of the dark- that it is very unsatisfactory, and that she is ness," the giant cries; " but see, my works are getting tired of calling every thing by different good as well as bad! See what bigotry, what names; and she thinks she would like to go narrow prejudice, what cruelty and wickedness back to the realities of life again. In my dreamand intolerance I have attacked and put to world they have been forgotten, for the fire is rout!" In the story-book it is Jack who is the nearly out and the gray mist is spreading along conqueror; he saws through the bridge by which the streets. It is too dark to write any morethe giant approaches, and the giant falls into the an organ is playing a dismal tune, a carriage is moat and is drowned. But, as far as I can see, rolling over the stones; so I ring the bell for the the Jacks of this day would rather make a way lamp and the coals, and Susan comes in to shut for him than shut him out; some of the heroes the shutters. THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. TO 1. 1. C. THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. CHAPTER I. rose, put down her work, and went to open the door; and then a voice, which made Elizabeth If singing breath, or e g cd smile and look handsomer than ever, asked if If singing breath, or echoing chord, To every hidden pang were given, Mrs. and Miss Gilmour were at home? What endless melodies were poured Elizabeth stood listening, with her fair head As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven! little bent, hile the maid said, "o, sre," TaIs is the story of a foolish woman, who, and then Miss Gilmour flushed up quite angrily through her own folly, learned wisdom at last; in the inner room, and would have run out. whose troubles-they were not very great, they She hesitated only for a minute, and then it was might have made the happiness of some less toolate; the door was shut, and Clementine sat eager spirit-were more than she knew how to down again to her work. bear. The lesson of life was a hard lesson to " Clementine, how dare you say I was not at her. She would not learn, she revolted against home?" cried Elizabeth, suddenly standing bethe wholesome doctrine. And while she was fore her. crying out that she would not learn, and turning "Madame desired me to let no one in in her away and railing and complaining against her absence," said Clementine, primly. "I only fate, days, hours, fate, went on their course. obeyed my orders. There is the gentleman's And they passed unmoved; and it was she who card." gave way, she who was altered, she who was "Sir John Dampier " was on the card, and touched and torn by her own complaints and then, in pencil, " I hope you will be at home in regrets. Chester Street next week. Can I be your avantElizabeth had great soft eyes and pretty yel- courier in any way? I cross to-night." low hair, and a sweet flitting smile, which came Elizabeth smiled again, shrugged her shoulout like sunlight over her face, and lit up. yours ders, and said to herself: "Next week; I can and mine, and any other it might chance to afford to wait better than he can, perhaps. fall upon. She used to smile at herself in the Poor man! After all, il y en a bien d'autres;" glass, as many a girl has done before her; she and she went to the window, and, by leaning used to dance about the room, and think: out, she just caught a glimpse of the Madeleine, "Come life, come life, mine is going to be a and of Sir John Dampier walking away; and happy one. Here I am awaiting, and I was then presently she saw her mother on the oppomade handsome to be admired, and to be loved, site side of the street, passing the stall of the old and to be hated by a few, and worshipped by a apple-woman, turning in under the archway few, and envied by all. I am handsomer than of the house. Latitia a thousand times. I am glad I have no Elizabeth's mother was like her daughter, money as she has, and that I shall be loved for only she had black eyes and black hair, and myself, for my beaux yeux. One person turns where her daughter was wayward and yielding, pale when they look at him. Tra la la, tra la the elder woman was wayward and determined. la!" and she danced along the room singing.* They did not care much for one another, these There was no carpet, only a smooth polished two. They had not lived together all their floor. Three tall windows looked out into a lives, or learned to love one another, as a matbusy Paris street paved with stones, over which ter of course; they were too much alike, too carriages and cabs and hand-trucks were jolting. much of an age: Elizabeth was eighteen, and There was a clock, and artificial flowers in chi- her mother thirty-six. If Elizabeth looked na vases on the chimney, a red velvet sofa, a sort twenty, the mother looked thirty, and she was of etagere with ornaments, and a great double- as vain, as foolish, as fond of admiration as her door wide open, through which you could see a daughter. Mrs. Gilmour did not own it to herdining-room, also bare, polished, with a round self, but she had been used to it all her life-to table and an oil-cloth cover, and a white china be first, to be much made of; and here was a stove, and some waxwork fruiton the sideboard, little girl who had sprung up somehow, and and a maid in a white cap at work in the win- learned of herself to be charming-more charmdow. ing than she had ever been in her best days; Presently there came a ring at thebell. Eliza- and now that they had slid away, those best beth stopped short in her dance, and the maid days, the elder woman had a dull, unconscious 234 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. discontent in her heart. People whom she bad And this is the secret of my story; but for this known, and who had admired her but a year or it would never have been written. He hated, two ago, seemed to neglect her now and to pass and she did not hate, poor woman! It would her by, in order to pay a certain homage to her have been better, a thousand times, for herself daughter's youth and brilliance: John Dampier, and for her daughter, had she done so. All among others, whom she had known as a boy, me! what cruel perversion was it, that the best when she was a young woman. Good mothers, of all good gifts should have turned to trouble, tender-hearted women, brighten again and grow to jealousy, and wicked rancor; that this sacred young over their children's happiness and sue- power of faithful devotion, by which she might cess. Caroline Gilmour Suddenly became old, have saved herself and ennobled a mean and somehow, when she first witnessed her daugh- earthly spirit, should have turned to a curse, inter's triumphs, and she felt that the wrinkles stead of a blessing! were growing under her wistful eyes, and that There was a placid, pretty niece of Lady the color was fading from her cheeks, and she Dampier, called Latitia who had been long gasped a little sigh and thought: "Ah! how I destined for Sir John. Laetitia and Elizabeth suffer! What is it? what can have come to had been at school together for a good many me?" As time passed on, the widow's brows dreary years, and were very old friends. Elizagrew darker, her lips set ominously. One day beth all her life used to triumph over her friend, she suddenly declared that she was weary of and to bewilder her with her careless, gleeful London and London ways, and that she should ways, and yet win her over to her own side, for go abroad; and Elizabeth, who liked every thing she was irresistible, and she knew it. Perhaps that was change, that was more life and more it was because she knew it so well that she was experience-she had not taken into account that so confident and so charming. Laetitia, although there was any other than the experience of she was sincerely fond of her cousin, used to pleasure in store for her —Elizabeth clapped her wonder that her aunt could be against such a hands and cried: "Yes, yes, mamma; I am wife for her son. quite tired of London and all this excitement. "She is a sort of princess," the girl used to Let us go to Paris for the winter, and lead a say; "and John ought to have a beautiful wife quiet life." for the credit of the family." " Paris is just the place to go to for quiet," "Your fifty thousand pounds would go a said Mrs. Gilmour, who was smoothing her great deal further to promote the credit of the shining locks in the glass, and looking intently family, my dear," said old Miss Dampier, who into her own dark gloomful eyes. was a fat, plain-spoken, kindly old lady. "I " The Dampiers are going to Paris," Eliza. like the girl, though my sister-in-law does not; beth went on; "Lady Dampier and Sir John, and I hope that some day she will find a very and old Miss Dampier and Lsetitia. He was good husband. I confess that I had rather it saying how he wished you would go. We could were not John." have such fun! Do go, dear, pretty mamma!" And so one day John was informed by his As Elizabeth spoke, Mrs. Gilmour's dark eyes mother, who was getting alarmed, that she was brightened, and suddenly her hard face melted; going home, and that she could not think of and, still looking at herself in the glass, she crossing without him. And Dampier, who was said: "We will go if you wish it, Elly. I careful, as men are mostly, and wanted to think thought you had had enough of balls." about his decision, and who was anxious to do But the end of the Paris winter came, and the very best for himself in every respect-as is even then Elly had not had enough; not enough the way with just and good and respectable admiration, not enough happiness, not enough gentlemen-was not at all loath to obey her new dresses, not enough of herself, not enough summons. time to suffice her eager, longing desires, not Here was Lectitia, who was very fond of him enough delights to fill up the swift-flying days. -there was no doubt of that-with a house in I can not tell you-she could not have told you the country and money at her bankers'; there herself-what she wanted, what perfection of was a wayward, charming, beautiful girl, who happiness, what wonderful thing. She danced, didn't care for him very much, who had little she wore beautifil dresses, she flirted, she.chat- or no money, but whom he certainly cared for. tered nonsense and sentiment, she listened to He talked it all over dispassionately with his music; her pretty little head was in a whirl. aunt-so dispassionately that the old woman got John Dampier followed her from place to place; angry. and so, indeed, did one or two others. Though "You are a model young man, John. It she was in love with them all, I believe she quite affects me, and makes me forget my years would have married this Dampier if he had ask- to see the admirable way in which you young ed her, but he never did. He saw that she did people conduct yourselves. You have got such not really care for him; opportunity did not be- well-regulated hearts, it's quite a marvel. You friend him. His mother was against it; and are quite right; Tishy has got ~50,000, which then, her mother was there, looking at him with will all go into your pocket, and respectable conher dark, reproachful eyes-those eyes which nections, who will come to your wedding, and had once fascinated and then repelled him, and Elly Gilmoir has not a penny except what her that he mistrusted so and almost hated now. mother will leave her-a mother with a bad THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 235 temper, and who is sure to marry again; and Vaux as pleasantly almost as she had greeted though the girl is the prettiest young creature him. I ever set eyes on, and though you cared for "I am afraid I can not stay now," said Sir her as you never cared for any other woman be- John to Elizabeth. "I have several things to fore, men don't marry wives for such absurd do. Do you know that we are going away imreasons as that. You are quite right to have mediately?" nothing to do with her; and I respect you for Mrs. Gilnour's black eyes seemed to flash your noble self-denial." And the old lady be- into his face as he spoke. He felt them, though gan to knit away at a great long red comforter lie was looking at Elizabeth, and he could not she had always on hand for her other nephew help turning away with an impatient movement the clergyman. of dislike. "But, my dear aunt Jean, what is it you "Going away! oh, how sorry I am," said want me to do?" cried John. Elly. "But, mamma, I forgot-you said we "Drop one, knit two together," said the old were going home, too, in a few days; so I don't lady, cliquetting her needles. mind so much. You will come and say goodShe really wanted John to marry his cousin, bye, won't you?" Elizabeth went on, while M. but she was a spinster still and sentimental; de Vaux, who had been waiting to be spoken and she could not help being sorry for pretty to, turned away rather provoked, and made some Elizabeth; and now she was afraid that she had remark to Mrs. Gilmour. And then Elizabeth said too much, for her nephew frowned, put his seeing her opportunity, and looking up, frank, hands in his pockets, and walked out of the fair, and smiling, said quickly: "To-morrow at room. three, mind-and give my love to Laetitia," she He walked down stairs, and out of the door went on. much more deliberately, "and my best into the Rue Royale, the street where they were love to Miss Dampier! and oh, dear! why does lodging; then he strolled across the Place de la one ever have to say good-bye to one's friends? Concorde, and in at the gates of the Tuileries, Are you sure you are all really going?" where the soldiers were pacing, and so along " Alas!" said Dampier, looking down at the the broad path, to where he heard a sound of kind young face with strange emotion and tenmusic, and saw a glitter of people. Tum te turn, derness, and holding out his hand. He had not bom, born, bom, went the military music; twit- meant it as good-bye yet, but so Elly and her tering busy little birds were chirping up in the mother understood it. branches; buds were bursting; colors glim- "Good-bye, Sir John; we shall meet again mering; tinted sunshine flooding the garden, in London," said Mrs. Gilmnour. and music, and the people; old gentlemen were "Good-bye," said Elly, wistfully raising her reading the newspapers on the benches; children sweet eyes. were playing at hide-and-seek behind the stat- As he walked away, he carried with him a les; nurses gossiping, and nodding their white bright picture of the woman he loved looking caps, and dandling their white babies; and at him kindly, happy, surrounded with sunshine there on chairs, listening to the music, the and budding green leaves, smiling and holding mammas were sitting in grand bonnets and par- out her hand; and so he saw her in his dreams asols, working, and gossiping too, and. ladies sometimes; and so she would appear to him and gentlemen went walking up and down be- now and then in the course of his life; so he fore them. All the windows of the Tuileries sometimes sees her now, in spring-time, generalwere ablaze with the sun; the terraces were be- ly when the trees are coming out, and some litginning to gleam with crocuses and spring tle chirp of a sparrow or some little glistening flowers. green bud conjures up all these old bygone days As John Dampier was walking along, scarce- again. ly noting all this, he heard his name softly called, and turning round he saw two ladies sitting Mrs. Gilmore did not sleep very sound all that under a budding horse-chestnut tree. One of night. While Elizabeth lay dreaming in her them he thought looked like a fiesh spring flower dark room, her slotler, with wild-falling black herself smiling pleasantly, all dressed in crisp hair, and wrapped in a long red dressing-gown, light gray, with a white bonnet, and a quantity was wandering restlessly up and down, or flingof bright yellow crocus hair. She held out a ing herself on the bed or the sofa, and trying at little gray hand and said:- her bedside desperately to sleep, or falling on "Won't you come and talk to us? Mamma her knees with clasped outstretched hands. and I are tired of listening to music. We want Was she asking for her own happiness at the to hear somebody talk." expense of poor Elly's? I don't like to think And then mamma, who was Mrs. Gilmour, so-it seems so cruel, so wicked, so unnatural. held out a straw-colored hand, and said, "Do But remember, here was a passionate selfish you think sensible people have nothing better to woman, who for long years had had one dream, do than to listen to your chatter, Elly? Here one idea; who knew that she loved this man is your particular friend, M. de Vaux, coming twenty times-twenty years-more than did to us. You can talk to him." Elizabeth, who was but a little child when this Elizabeth looked up quickly at her mother, mad fancy began. then glanced at Dampier, then greeted M. de "She does not care for him a bit," the poor 236 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. wretch said to herself over and over again. sired Clementine on no account to let any body " He likes her, and he would marry her if-if I in until her return. chose to give him the chance. She will be as "Miss Elizabeth is so little to be trusted," so happy with any body else. I could not bear she explained quite unnecessarily to the maid, this-it would kill me. I never suffered such " that I can not allow her to receive visits when horrible torture in all my life. He hates me. I am from home." It is hopeless; and I-I do not know whether And Clementine, who was a stiff, ill-humored I hate him or I love him most. How dare she woman, pinched her lips and said, "Bien, tell him to come to-morrow, when she knew I madame." would be out. She shall not see him. We will And so when Elizabeth's best chance for hapneither of us see him again; never-oh! never. piness came to.the door, Clementine closed it But I shall suffer, and she will forget. Oh! again with great alacrity, and shut out the good if I could forget!" And then she would fall fortune, and sent it away. I am sure that if down on her knees again; and because she Dampier had come in that day and seen Elly prayed, she blinded herself to her own wrong- once more, he could not have helped speaking doings, and thought that Heaven was on her to her and making her and making himself'hapside. py in so doing. I am sure that Elly, with all And so the night went on. John Dampier her vanities and faults, would have made him was haunted with strange dreams, and saw a good wife, and brightened his dismal old Caroline Gilmour more than once coming and house; but I am not sure that happiness is the going in a red gown and talking to him, though best portion after all, and that there is not somehe could not understand what she was saying; thing better to be found in life than mere sometimes she was in his house at Guilford; worldly prosperity. sometimes in Paris; sometimes sitting with Dampier walked away, almost relieved, and Elly up in a chestnut-tree, and chattering like yet disappointed too. "Well, they will be a monkey; sometimes gliding down intermin- back in town in ten days," he thought, " and able rooms and opening door after door. He we will see then. But why the deuce did the disliked her worse than ever when he woke in girl tell me three o'clock, and then not be at the morning. Is this strange? It would have home to see me?" And as ill-luck would have seemed to me stranger had it not been so. We it, at this moment up came Mrs. Gilmour. "I are not blocks of wax and putty with glass eyes, have just been to see you, to say good-bye," like the people at Madame Tussaud's; we have said Dampier. "I was very sorry to miss you souls, and we feel and we guess at more than and your daughter." we see round about us, and we influence one "I have been attending a meeting at the another for good or for evil from the moment house of my friend the Pasteur Tourneur," said we come into the world. Let us be humbly Mrs. Gilmour; "but Elizabeth was at home thankful if the day comes for us to leave it be- -would not she see you?" She blushed fore we have done any great harm to those who up very red as she spoke, and so did John live their lives alongside with ours. And so the Dampier; her face glowed with shame, and his next morning Caroline asked her daughter if with vexation. she would come with her to M. le Pasteur Tour- " No; she would not see me," cried he. neur's at two. "I am sure you would be the " Good-bye, Mrs. Gilmour." better for listening to a good man's exhorta- "Good-bye," she said, and looked up with tion," said Mrs. Gilmour. her black eyes; but he was staring vacantly "' don't want to go, mamma. I hate ex- beyond her, busy with his own reflections, and hortations," said Elizabeth, pettishly; "and then she felt it was good-bye forever. you know how ill it made me last Tuesday. He turned down a wide street, and she crossed How can you like it-such dreary, sleepy talk? mechanically and came along the other side of It gave me the most dreadful headache." the road, as I have said; past the stall of the "Poor child!" said Mrs. Gilmour, "perhaps old apple-woman; advancing demurely, turning the day may come when you will find out that in under the archway of the house. a headache is not the most terrible calamity. She had no time for remorse. "He does not But you understand that-if you do not choose to care for me," was all she could think; "he come with me, you must stay at home. I will scorns me-he has behaved as no gentleman not have you going about by yourself, or with would behave." (Poor John!-in justice to any chance friends-it is not respectable." him I must say that this was quite an assump-Elly shrugged her shoulders, but resigned tion on her part.) And at the same time John herself with wonderful good grace. Mrs. Gil- Dampier, at the other end of the street, was mour prepared herself for her expedition: she walking away in a huff, and saying to himself put on a black silk gown, a plain bonnet, a black that " Elly is a little heartless flirt; she cares cloak. I can not exactly tell you what change for no one hut herself. I willhave no more to came over her. Itwas not the lady of the Tuile- do with her. Laetitia would not have served ries the day before; it was not the woman in me so." the red dressing-gown. It was a respectable, Elly met her mother at the door. " Mamquiet personage enough, who went off primly ma, how could you be so horrid and disagreeawith her prayer-book in her hand, and who de- ble?-why did you tell Clementine to let no THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 237 one in?" She shook.back her curly locks, and "Elizabeth! dinner is ready," says her stamped her little foot, as she spoke, in her mother, from outside, with unusual gentleness. childish anger. "I don't want any dinner," says Elly; and "Yon should not give people appointments then feels very sorry and very hungry the minwhen I am out of the way," said Mrs. Gilmour, ute she has spoken. The door was locked, but primly. "Why did you not come with me? she had forgotten the window, and Mrs. GilDear M. Tourneur's exposition was quite beau-9 mour, in a minute, came along the balcony, tiful." with her silk dress rustling against the iron "I hate Monsieur Tourneur!" cried Eliza- bars. beth; " and I should not do such things if you "You silly girl! come and eat," said her were kind, mamma, and liked me to amuse my- mother, still strangely kind and forbearing. self and to be happy; but you sit there, prim " The Vicomte de Vaux is coming to tea, and and frowning, and thinking every thing wrong Monsieur Tourneur and Anthony; you must that is harmless; and you spoil all my pleas- come and have your dinner, and then let Clemure; and it is a shame-and a shame-and entine dress you; you will catch cold if you sit you will make me hate you too;" and she ran here any longer;" and she took the girl's hand into her own room, banged the door, and lock- gently and led her away. ed it. For the first time in her life, Elizabeth alI suppose it was by way of compensation to most felt as if she really loved her mother; Elly that Mrs. Gilmour sat down and wrote a and, touched by her kindness, and with a sudlittle note, asking Monsieur de Vaux to tea that den impulse, and melting, and blushing, and all evening to meet M. le Pasteur Tourneur and his ashamed of herself, she said, almost before she son. knew what she had spoken: "Mamma, I am Elizabeth sat sulking in her room all the very silly, and I've behaved very badly, but I afternoon, the door shut; the hum of a busy did so want to see him again." city came in at her open window; then Mrs. Gilmour just dropped the girl's hand. the glass panes blazed with light, and she re- " Nonsense, Elizabeth; your head is full of silmembered how the windows of the Tuileries ly school-girl notions. I wish I had had you had shone at that time the day before, and she brought up at home instead of at Mrs. Straightthought how kind and how handsome Dampier board's." looked, as he came walking along, and how he "I wish you had, mamma," said Elly, speakwas worth ten Messieurs de Vaux and twenty ing coldly and quietly; "'Letitia and I were foolish boys like Anthony Tourneur. The both very miserable there." And then she sat dusky shadows came creeping around the room, down at the round table to break bread with dimming a pretty picture. her mother, hurt, wounded, and angry. Her It was a commonplace little tableau de genre face looked hard and stern, like Mrs. Gilenough-that of a girl sitting at awindow, with mour's; her bread choked her; she drank a clasped hands, dreaming dreams more or less glass of water, and it tasted bitter, somehow. silly, with the light falling on her hair, and on Was Caroline more happy? did she eat with the folds of her dress, and on the blazing petals better appetite? She ate more, she looked of the flowers on the balcony outside, and then much as usual, she talked a good deal. Clemoverhead a quivering green summer sky. But entine was secretly thinking what a good-forit is a little picture that nature is never tired of nothing, ill-tempered girl mademoiselle was; reproducing; and, besides nature, every year, in what a good woman, what a good mother, was the Royal Academy, I see half a dozen such madame. Clementine revenged some of marepresentations. dame's wrongs upon Elizabeth, by pulling her In a quiet, unconscious sort of way, Elly hair after dinner, as she was plaiting and pinmade up her mind, this summer afternoon- ning it up. Elly lost her temper, and violentmade up her mind, knowing not that perhaps it ly pushed Clementine away, and gave her was too late, that the future she was accepting, warning to leave. half glad, half reluctant, was, mqybe, already Clementine, furious, and knowing that some hers no more, to take or to leave. Only a lit- of the company had already arrived, rushed into tle stream, apparently easy to cross, lay, as yet, the drawing-room with her wrongs. " Madebetween her and the figure Ishe seemed to see moiselle m'a poussde, madame; mademoiselle advancing towards her. She did not know that m'a dit des injures; mademoiselle m'a congeevery day this little stream would widen and diee-" But in the middle of her harangue, widen, until in time it would be a great ocean the door flew open, and Elizabeth, looking like lying between them. Ah! take care, my poor an empress, bright cheeks flushed, eyes sparkElizabeth, that you don't tumble into the wa- ling, hair crisply curling, and all dressed in ters, and go sinking down, down, down, while shining pink silk, stood before them. the waves close over your curly yellow locks. "Will you come to dinner, mademoiselle?" said Clementine, rapping at the door with the I finger of fate which had shut out Sir John D)ampier only a few hours ago. " Go away!" cries Elizabeth. 238 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. CHAPTER II. "Oh indeed," said Miss Dampier, staring at her, and she passed out with a sort of sniff, and But for his funeral train which the bridegroom sees in the then she walked home quietly through the darf'distance,' D ^ ^ then she walked home quietly through the dark Would he so joyfully, think you, fall in with the marriage back-streets, only, as she went along, she said to procession e But for that fitial discharge, would he dare to enlist in herself eve now and then, se hardly knew that service? why, " Poor Elly-poor child!" But for that certain release, ever sign to that perilous Meanwhile, M. Tourneur was taking Elizabeth gently to task. Elizabeth was pouting her I DON'T think they had ever seen any body red lips and sulking, and looking at him defilike her before, those two MM. Tourneurs, who antly from under her drooped eyelids; and all had just arrived; they both rose, a little man the time Anthony Tourneur sat admiring her, and a tall one, father and son; and besides with his eyes wide open, and his great mouth these gentlemen, there was an old lady in a open too. He was a big young man, with impoke-bonnet sitting there too, who opened her mense hands and feet, without any manners to shrewd eyes and held out her hand. Clemen- speak of, and with thick hair growing violently tine was crushed, eclipsed, forgotten. Eliza- upon end. There was a certain distinction beth advanced, tall, slim, stately, with wide- about his father which he had not inherited. spread petticoats; but she began to blush very Young Frenchmen of this class are often singumuch when she saw Miss Dampier. For a larly rough and unpolished in their early youth; few minutes there was a little confusion of they tone down with time, however, as they see greeting, and voices, and chairs moved about, more of men and of women. Anthony had nevand then:- er known much of either till now; for his young "I came to say good-bye to you," said the companions at the Protestant college were rough old lady, "in case we should not meet again, cubs like himself; and as for women his mothI am going to Scotland in a month or two-per- er was dead (she had been an Englishwoman, haps I may be gone by the time you get back and died when he was ten years old), and old to town." Fran9oise, the cuisiniere, at home, was almost the "Oh no. no! I hope not," said Elizabeth. only woman he knew. His father was more She was very much excited, the tears almost used to the world and its ways: he fancied he came into her eyes. scorned them all, and yet the pomps and vani" We shall most likely follow you in a week ties and the pride of life had a horrible attracor ten days," said Mrs. Gilmour, with a sort of tion for this quiet pasteur. He was humble laugh; "there is no necessity for any senti- and ambitious: he was tender-hearted, and mental leave-taking." hard-headed, and narrow-minded. Though "Does that woman mean what she says?" stern to himself, he was weak to others, and yet thought the old lady, looking at her; and then feebly resolute when he met with opposition. tinning to Elizabeth again, she continued: He was not a great man; his qualities neutral"There is no knowing what may happen to ized one another, but he had a great reputation. any one of us, my dear. There is no harm in The Oratoire was crowded on the days when he saying good-bye, is there? Have you any mes- was expected to preach, his classes were throngsage for Lmtitia or Catherine?" ed, his pamphlets went through three or four "Give Lmtitia my very best love," said Elly, editions. Popularity delighted him. His mangrateful for the old lady's kindness; " and-and ner had a great charm, his voice was sweet, his I was very, very sorry that I could not see Sir words well chosen; his head was a fine melanJohn when he came to-day so good-naturedly." choly head, his dark eyes flashed when he was "He must come and see you in London," excited. Women especially admired and resaid Miss Dampier, very kindly still. (She spected Stephen Tourneur. was thinking. "She does care for him, poor Mrs. Gilmour was like another person when child.") she was in his presence. Look at her to-night, "Oh yes! in London," repeated Mrs. Gil- with her smooth black hair, and her gray silk mour; so that Elly looked quite pleased, and gown, and her white hands busied pouring out Miss Dampier again said to herself: "She is his tea. See how she is appealing to him, defdecidedly not coming to London. What can erentially listening to his talk. I can not write she mean? Can there be any thing with that his talk down here. Certain allusions can have Frenchman, De Vaux? Impossible!" And no place in a little story like this one, and yet then she got up, and said aloud: "Well, good- they were allusions so frequently in his thoughts bye. I have all my old gowns to pack up, and and in his month that it was almost unconmy knitting, Elly. Write to me, child, some- sciously that he used them. IHe and his brethtimes!" ren like him have learned to look at this life " Oh yes, yes!" cried Elizabeth, flinging her fiom a loftier point of view than Elly Gilmour arms round the old lady's neck, kissing her, and and worldlings like her, who feel that to-day whispering, "Good-bye, dear, dear Miss Dam- they are in the world and of it, not of their own pier. will, indeed-though they are glad that they are At the door of the apartment Clementine was here-but waiting a further dispensation. Tourwaiting, hoping for a possible five-franc piece. neur, and those like him, look at this life only " Bon soir, madame," said she. in comparison with the next, as though they had THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 239 already passed beyond, and had but little con- muttering, "Poor child!" to the click of her cern with the things of to-day. They speak needles; and John Dampier was haunted by chiefly of sacred subjects; they have put aside the woman in red, and by a certain look in Elly's our common talk, and thought, and career. eyes, which he had seen yesterday when he found They have put them away, and yet they are her under the tree. men and women, after all. And Stephen Tour- Meanwhile, at the other side of Paris, the neur, among the rest, was a soft-hearted man. other little company was assembled round the To-night, as indeed often before, he was full of fire: and Mrs. Gilmour, with her two hands sympathy for the poor mother who had so often folded tightly together, was looking at M. Tourspoken of her grief and care for her daughter, neur with her great soft eyes, and saying: of her loneliness. He understood her need; " The woman was never yet born who could her want of an adviser, of a friend whom she stand alone, who did not look for some earthly could reverence and defer to. How meekly she counsellor and friend to point out the road to listened to his words, with what kindling inter- better things-to help her along the narrow est she heard him speak of what was in his heart thorny way. Wounded, and bruised, and weary, always, with what gentleness she attended to his it is hard, hard for us to follow our lonely wants. How womanly she was, how much more path." She spoke with a pathetic passion, so pleasant than any of the English, Scotch, Irish that Elizabeth could not think what had come old maids who were in the habit of coming to to her. Mrs. Gilmour was generally quite caconsult him in their various needs and troubles! pable of standing, and going, and coming, withHe had never known her so tender, so gentle, as out any assistance whatever. In her father's to-night. Even Elly, sulking and beating the time, Elly could remember that there was not tattoo with her satin shoes, thought that her the slightest need for his interference in any of mother's manner was very strange. How could their arrangements. But the mother was eviany one of the people sitting round that little tea- dently in earnest to-night, and the daughter table guess at the passion of hopelessness, of rage, quite bewildered. Later in the evening, after of despair, of envy, that was gnawing at the eld- Monsieur de Vaux was gone, Mrs. Gilmour er woman's heart? at the mad, desperate deter- got up from her chair and flung open the winmination she was making? And yet every now dow of the balcony. All the stars of heaven and then she said odd, imploring things-she shone splendidly over the city. A great, silent, seemed to be crying wildly for sympathy-she wonderful night had gathered round about them spoke of other people's troubles with a startling unawares; a great calm had come after the earnestness. noise and business of the careful day. CaroDe Vaux, who arrived about nine o'clock, and line Gilmour stepped out with a gasping sigh, asked for a so2pzon de the, and put in six lumps and stood looking upward; they could see her of sugar, and so managed to swallow the mixt- gray figure dimly against the darkness. Monure, went away at ten, without one idea of the sieur Tourneur remained sitting by the fire, with tragedy with which he had been spending his his eyes cast down and his hands folded. evening-a tragical farce, a comedy-I know Presently he too rose and walked slowly across not what to call it. the room, and stepped out upon the balcony; Elly was full of her own fancies; Monsieur and Elizabeth and Anthony remained behind, Tourneur was making up his mind; Anthony's staring vacantly at one another. Elizabeth whole head was rustling with pink silk, or diz- was yawning and wondering when they would zy with those downcast, bright, bewildering blue go. eyes of Elly's, and he sat stupidly counting the " You are sleepy, miss," said young Tourlittle bows on her skirt, or watching the glitter neur, in his French-English. of the rings on her finger, and wishing that she Elly yawned in a very unmistakable lanwould not look so cross when he spoke to her. guage, and showed all her even white teeth. She had brightened up considerably while De "I always get sleepy when I have been cross, Vaux was there; but now, in truth, her mind Mr. Anthony. I have been cross ever since was travelling away, and she was picturing to three o'clock to-day, and now it is long past ten, herself the Dampiers at their tea-table-Tishy, and time for us all to go to bed: don't you think pale and listless, over her feeble cups; Lady so?" Dampier, with her fair hair and her hook nose,' I am waiting for my father," said the young lying on the sofa; and John in the arm-chair man. " IHe watches late at night, but we are by the fire, cutting dry jokes at his aunt. Elly's all sent off at ten." spirits had travelled away like a ghost, and it "'We!' —you and old Frannoise?" was only her body that was left sitting in the " I and the young Christians who live in our little gaudy drawing-room; and though she did house, and study with my father and read unnot know it, there was another ghost flitting der his direction. There are five, all from the alongside wvith hers. Strangely enough the south, who are, like me, preparing to be minpeople of whom she was thinking were assembled isters of the gospel." together very much as she imagined them to be. Another great wide yawn from Elly. Did they guess at the two pale phantoms that Do you think your father will stop much were hovering about them? Somehow or oth- longer? if so, I shall go to bed.,Oh dear me!" er, Miss Dampier, over her knitting, was still and with a sigh she let her head fall back upon 240 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. the soft-cushioned chair, and then, somehow, sure. "Is it that I aim to marry him?" she her eyes shut very softly, and her hands fell thought; "they can not be plotting that." loosely, and a little quiet dream came, some- " What is it, M. Anthony?" said she, very thing of a garden and peace, and green trees, fierce. " Is it-they do not think that I would and Miss Dampier knitting in the sunshine, ever-ever dream or think of marrying you?" Click, click, click, she heard the needles, but She was quite pale now, and her eyes were glowit was only the clock ticking on the mantel- ing. piece. Anthony was almost afraid to breathe, Anthony shook his head again. "I know for fear he should wake her. It seemed to him that," said he; "it is not you or me." very strange to be sitting by this smouldering "What do you dare to imply?" she cried, fire, with the stars burning outside, while more and more fiercely. " You can't meanthrough the open window the voices of the two you would never endure, never suffer thatpeople talking on the balcony came to him in a that-" The words failed on herlips. low murmuring sound. And there opposite him "I should like to have you for a sister, Miss Elly asleep, breathing so softly and looking so Elizabeth," said he, looking down; "it is so wonderfully pretty in her slumbers. Do you triste at home." not know the peculiar, peaceful feeling which Elly half started from her chair, put up her comes to any one sitting alone by a sleeping white hands, scarce knowing what she did, and person? I can not tell which of the two was then suddenly cried out, "Mother! mother!" for a few minutes the most tranquil and hap- in a loud, shrill, thrilling voice, which brought py. Mrs. Gilmour back into the room. And MonElly was still dreaming her quiet, peaceful sieur Tourneulr came too. Not one of them dreams, still sitting with Miss Dampier in her spoke for a minute. Elizabeth's horror-stricken garden, under a chestnut-tree, with Dampier face frightened the pasteur, who felt as if he coming towards them, when suddenly some was in a dream, who had let himself drift along voice whispered "Elizabeth " in her ear, and with the feeling of the moment, who did not she awoke with a start of chill surprise. It was know even now if he had done right or wrong, not Anthony who had called her, it was only if he had been carried away by mere earthly imfancy; but as she woke he said: pulse and regard for his own happiness, or if he "Ah! I was just going to wake you." had been led and directed to a worthy helpWhat had come to him? He seemed to have meet, to a Christian companion, to one who had awakened too-to have come to himself sud- the means and the power to help him in his ladenly. One word which had reached him-he bors. Ah, surely, surely he had done well, he had very big sharp ears-one word distinctly thought for himself, and for those who dependuttered amid the confused murmur on the bal- ed on him. It was not without a certain digcony, brought another word of old Fran9oise's nity at last, and nobleness of manner, that he to his mind. And then in a minute-he could took Mrs. Gilmour's hand, and said: not tell how it was-it was all clear to him. "You called your mother just now, ElizaAlready he was beginning to learn the ways of beth: here she is. Dear woman, she has conthe world. Elly saw him blush up, saw his sented to be my best earthly fiiend and companeyes light with intelligence, and his ears grow ion, to share my hard labors; to share a life very red; and then he sat up straight in his poor and arduous, and full of care, and despised chair, and looked at her in a quick, uncertain perhaps by the world; but rich in eternal hope, sort of way. blessed by prayer, and consecrated by a Chris"You would not allow it," said he, sudden- tian's faith." He was a little man, but he ly, staring at her fixedly with his great flashing seemed to grow tall as he spoke. His eyes eyes. "I never thought of such a thing till this kindled, his face lightened with enthusiasm. minute. Who ever would?" Elizabeth could not help seeing this, even while "Thought of what? What are you talking she stood shivering with indignation and sick about?" said Elly, startled. at heart. As for Anthony, he got up, and "Ah! that is it." And then he turned his came to his father and took both his hands, and head impatiently: " How stupid you must have then suddenly flung his arms around his neck. been. What can have put such a thing into Elizabeth found words at last: his head and hers. Ah! it is so strange, I don't "You can suffer this?" she said to Anthony. know what to think or to say;" and he sank " You have no feelings, then, of decency, of fitback in his chair. But, somehow or other, the ness, of memory for the dead. You, mamma, idea which had occurred to him was not nearly can degrade yourself by a second marriage? so disagreeable as he would have expected it to Oh! for shame, for shame!" and she burst into be. The notion of some other companionship passionate tears, and flung herself down on a besides that of the five young men fiom the chair. Monsieur Tourneur was not used to be south, instead of shocking him, filled him with thwarted, to be reproved; he got very pale, he a vague, delightful excitement. "Ah! then she pushed Anthony gently aside, and went up to would comeand live with us in that pink dress," her. "Elizabeth," said he, "is this the conhe thought. And meanwhile Elizabeth turned duct of a devoted daughter; are these the very pale, and. she too began dimly to see what I words of good-will and of peace, with which he was thinking of, only she could not be quite' your mother should be greeted by her children? THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 241 I had hoped that you would look upon me as a You could hardly have believed it was the trifriend. If you could see my heart, you would umphant young beauty of an hour ago. But it know how ready I am; how gladly I would love had always been so with this impetuous, sensiyou as my own child," and he held out his hand. tive Elizabeth; she suffered, as she enjoyed, Elly Gilmour dashed it away. more keenly than any body else I ever knew; Go," she said; "you have made me wretch- she put her whole heart into her life without any ed; I hate your life, and your ways, and your reserve, and then, when failure and disappointsermons, and we shall all be miserable, every ment came, she had no more heart left to enone of us; I know well enough it is for her dure with. money you marry her. Oh, go away out of my I am sure it was with a humble spirit that sight." Tourneur had felt doubts. Elizabeth's Tourneur that night, before he left, implored a taunts and opposition reassured him and strength- benediction on himself and on those who were ened him in his purpose. This is only human about to belong to him. He went away at nature, as well as pasteur nature in particular. eleven o'clock with Anthony, walking home If every thing had gone smoothly, very likely through the dark, long streets to his house, he would have found out a snare of the Devil which was near one of the gates of the city. in it, and broken it off, not caring what grief And Caroline sat till the candles went out, till and suffering he caused to himself in so doing. the fire had smouldered away, till the chill Now that the girl's words brought a flush into night-breezes swept round the room, and then his pale face and made him to wince with pain, went stupefied to bed, saying to herself: " Now he felt justified, nay, impelled to go on-to be he will learn that others do not despise me, and firm. And now he stood up like a gentleman, I-I will lead a good life." and spoke:" And if I want your mother's money, is it hers, is it mine, was it given to me or to her to spend for our own use? Was it not lent, will CHAPTER III. not an account be demanded hereafter? UnLe temps emporte sur son aile happy child! where have you found already Et le printemps et l'hirondelle, such sordid thoughts, such unworthy suspicions? Et Ia vie et les jours perdus; Where,. ^your. Chr.* ia. c * " Tout s'en va comme la fumee, Where is your Christian charity?" L'esp6rance et la renommee, " I never made any pretense of having any," Et moi qui vous ai taut aimee, E It toi qui ne t'en souviens plus I cried Elizabeth, stamping her foot and tossing her fair mane. "You talk and talk about it A Low, one-storied house standing opposite and about the will of Heaven, and suit your- a hospital, built on a hilly street, with a great selves, and break my heart, and look up quite white porte-cochere closed and barred, and then scandalized, and forgive me for my wickedness. a garden wall: nine or ten windows only a foot But I had rather be as wicked as I am than as from the ground, all blinded and shuttered in a good as you." row; a brass plate on the door, with Stephen "Allons, taisez-vous, Mademoiselle Eliza- Tourneur engraved thereon, and grass and chickbeth!" said Anthony, who had taken his part; weed growing between the stones and against "4 or my father will not marry your mother, and the white walls of the house. Passing under then you will be in the wrong, and have made the archway, you come into a grass-grown courtevery body unhappy. It is very, very sad and yard; through an iron grating you see a little melancholy in our house; be kind and come desolate garden with wallflowers and stocks and and make us happy. If I am not angry, why tall yellow weeds all flowering together, and should you mind? but see here, I will not give fruit-trees running wild against the wall. On my consent unless you do, and I know my fa- one side there are some empty stables, with ther will do nothing against my wishes and chickens pecketting in the sun. The house is yours." built in two long lowwings; it has a dreary moatPoor Elizabeth looked up, and then she saw ed-grange sort of look; and see, standingat one that her mother was crying too; Caroline had of the upper windows, is not that Elizabeth lookhad a hard day's work. No wonder she was ing out? An old woman in a blue gown and a fairly harassed and worn out. Elizabeth her- white coif is pumping water at the pump, some self began to be as bewildered, as puzzled as the miserable canaries are piping shrilly out of rest. She put her hand wearily to her head. green cages, the old woman clacks away with She did not feel angry any more; but very tired her sabots echoing over the stones, the canaries and sad. "How can I say I think it right cease their piping, and then nobody else comes. when I think it wrong? It is not me you There are two or three tall poplar-trees growwant to marry, M. Tourneur; mamma is old ing along the wall, which shiver plaintively; ai enough to decide. What need you care for few clouds drift by, and a very distant faint what a silly gil like me says and thinks? sound of military music comes borne on the Good-night, mamma; I am tired and must go to wind. bed. Good-night, Monsieur Tourneur. Good- "Ah, how dull it is to be here! Ah! howl night, M. Anthony. Oh dear!" sighed Eliza- hate it, how I hate them all!" Elizabeth is saybeth, as she went out of the room with hei head ing to herself: "There is some music, all the hanging, and with pale cheeks and dim eyes. Champs Elysees are crowded with people, the Q 242 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. soldiers are marching along with glistening legs and arms. (The fifth was detained at home bayonets and flags flying. Not one of them with a bad swelled face.) All the others were thinks that in a dismal house not very far away now coming back to dinner, after attending a there is any body so unhappy as I am. This class at the Pasteur Boulot's. They clattered day year-it breaks my heart to think of it-I past the door of Elly's room-a bare little chamwas nineteen; to-day I am twenty, and I feel a ber, with one white curtain she had nailed up hundred. Oh, what a sin and shame it is to herself, and a straight bed and a chair. A clock condemn me to this hateful life! Oh, what struck five. A melancholy bell presently soundwicked people these good people are! Oh, ed through the house, and a strong smell of how dull! Oh, how stupid! Oh, how prosy! cabbage came in at the open window. Elly Oh, how I wish I was dead, and they were dead, looked in the glass; her rough hair was all and it was all over!" standing on end curling, her hands were streaked How many weary yawns, I wonder, had pool with chalk and brick from the window, her Elizabeth yawned since that first night when washed-out blue cotton gown was creased and M. Tourneur came to tea? With what distaste tumbled. What did it matter? she shook her she set herself to live her new life I can not at- head, as she had a way of doing, and went down tempt to tell you. It bored her, and wearied stairs as she was. On the way she met two unand displeased her, and she made no secret of tidy-looking little girls, and then clatter, clatter, her displeasure, you may be certain. But what along the uncarpeted passage, came the great annoyed her most of all, what seemed to her so big-nailed boots of the pupils; and then at the inconceivable that she could never understand dining-room door there was Clementine in a yelor credit it, was the extraordinary change which low gown-much smarter and trimmer than had come over her mother. Mme. Tourneur Elizabeth's blue cotton-carrying a great long was like Mrs. Gilmour in many things, but so loaf of sour bread. different in others that Elly could hardly believe Madame Tourneur was already at her post, her to be the same woman. The secret of it all standing at the head of the table, ladling out was a love of power and admiration, purchased the cabbage-soup with the pieces of bread floatno matter at what sacrifice, which had always ing in every plate. M. Tourneur was eating been the hidden motive of Caroline's life. Now his dinner quickly; he had to examine a class she found that by dressing in black, by looking for confirmation at six, and there was a prayerstiff, by attending endless charitable meetings, meeting at seven. The other prim lady sat opprayer-meetings, religious meetings, by influ- posite to him with her portion before her. There encing M. Tourneur, who was himself a man was a small table-cloth, streaked with blue, and in authority, she could eat of the food her soul not over clean; hunches of bread by every plate, longed for. "There was a man once who did and iron knives and forks. Each person said not care for me, he despised me," she used to grace to himself as he came and took his place. think sometimes; " he liked that silly child of Only Elizabeth flung herself down in a chair, mine better; he shall hear of me one day." looked at the soup, made a face, and sent it away Lady Dampier was a very strong partisan of untasted. the French Protestant Church. Mme. Tour- "Elizabeth, ma fille, vous ne mangez pas," neur used to hope that she would come to Paris said M. Tourneur, kindly. again and carry home with her the fame of her "I can't swallow it!" said Elizabeth. virtues, and her influence, and her conversion; "When there are so many poor people starvand in the mean while the weary round of poor ing in the streets, you do not, I suppose, expect Elly's daily existence went on. To-day, for two us to sympathize with such pampered fancies?" lonesome hours, she stood leaning at that win- said the prim lady. dow with the refrain of the distant music echo- Although the sisters-in-law were apparently ing in her ears long after it had died away. It very good friends, there was a sort of race of was like the remembrance of the past pleasures virtue always being run between them, and just of her short life. Such a longing for sympathy, now Elly's shortcomings were a thorn in her for congenial spirits, for the pleasures she loved mother's side, so skillfully were they wielded by so dearly, came over her, that the great hot tears Mrs. Jacob. Lou-Lou and Tou-Tou, otherwise welled into her eyes, and the bitterest tears are Louise and Therese, her daughters, were such those which do not fall. The gate-bell rang at good, stupid, obedient, uninteresting little girls, last, and Clementine walked across the yard to that there was really not a word to say against unbolt, to unbar, and to let in Monsieur Tour- them in retort; and all that Elly's mother could neur, with books under his arm, and a big stick. do, was to be even more severe, more uncomThen the bell rang again, and Madame Tour- promising than Madame Jacob herself. And neur followed, dressed in prim scant clothes, now she said:accompanied by another person even primmer "Nonsense, Elizabeth; you must really eat and scantier than herself; this was a widowed your dinner. Clementine, bring back Miss Elizastep-sister of M. Tourneur's, who, unluckily, had beth's plate." no home of her own, so the good man received M. Tourneur looked up-he thought the soup her and her children into his. Lastly, Eliza- very good himself, but he could not bear to see beth, from her window, saw Anthony arrive with any body distressed. " Go and fetch the boufour of the young Protestants, all swinging their illie quickly, Clementine. Why should Eliza THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 243 beth take what she does not like? Rose," said a little barrier which had been thrown, one sumhe to his sister, "do you remember how our mer's day, between her and John Dampier? poor mother used to make us breakfast off-por- Caroline had long ceased to feel remorse-she ridge, I think she called it-and what a bad taste used to say to herself that it would be much it had, and how we used to cry?" better for Elizabeth to marry Anthony, she "We never ungratefully objected to good would make any body else miserable with her soup," said Rose. "I make a point of never wayward temper. Anthony was so obtuse that giving in to Lou-Lou and Tou-Tou when they Elizabeth's fancies would not try him in the have their fancies. I care more for the welfare least. Mrs. Gilmour chose to term obtuseness of their souls than for pampering their bodies." a certain chivalrous devotion which the young "And I only care for my body," Elly cried. man felt for her daughter. She thought him "Mamma, I like porridge, will you have some dull and slow, and so he was; but at the same for me?" time there were gleams of shrewdness which "Ah! hush! hush! Elizabeth. You do not came quite unexpectedly, you knew not whence; think what you say, my poor child," said Tour- there was a certain reticence and good sense of neur. "What is mere eating and drinking, which people had no idea. Anthony knew much what is food, what is raiment, but dust and rot- more about her and about his father than they tenness? You only care for your body!-for knew about him. Every day he was learning that mass of corruption. Ah, do not say such to read the world. Elly had taught him a great things, even in jest. Remember that for every deal, and he in return was her friend always. idle word-" Elly went out into the court-yard after dinner, "And is there to be no account for spiteful and Anthony followed her-one little cousin had words?" interrupted Elizabeth, looking at Mrs. hold of each of his hands. If the little girls Jacob. had not been little French Protestant girls, Monsieur Tourneur put down the glass of Elizabeth would have been very fond of them, wine he was raising to his lips, and with sad, for she loved children; but when they ran up to reproachful glandes, looked at the unruly step- her, she motioned them away impatiently, and daughter. Madame Jacob, shaking with indig- Anthony told them to go and run round the garnation, cast her eyes up and opened her mouth, den. Elizabeth was sitting on a tub which had and Elizabeth began to pout her red lips. One been overturned, and resting her pretty dishevminute and the storm would have burst, when elled head wearily against the wall. Anthony Anthony upset a jug of water at his elbow, and looked at her for a minute. the stream trickled down and down the table- " Why do you never wear nice dresses now," cloth. These troubled waters restored peace for said he at last, " but this ugly old one always?" the moment. Poor Tourneur was able to finish "Is it not all vanity and corruption?" said his meal, in a puddle truly, but also in silence. Elizabeth, with a sneer; "how can you ask such Mrs. Jacob, who had received a large portion a question? Every thing that is pretty is vanof the water in her lap, retired to change her ity. Your aunt and my mother only like ugly dress, the young Christians sniggered over their things. They would like to put out my eyes beplates, and Anthony went on eating his dinner. cause they don't squint; to cut off my hair beI don't offer any excuse for Elizabeth. She cause it is pretty." was worried, and vexed, and tried beyond her " Your hair! It is not at all pretty like that," powers of endurance, and she grew more way- said Anthony; " it is all rough, like mine." ward, more provoking every day. It is very Elizabeth laughed and blushed very sweetly. easy to be good-natured, good-tempered, thank- I What is the use, who cares?" ful and happy, when you are in the country you "There are a good many people coming tolove, among your own people, living your own night," said Anthony. "It is our turn to receive life. But if you' are suddenly transplanted, theprayer-meeting. Whyshouldyounotsmooth made to live some one else's life, expected to your curls and change your dress?" see with another man's eyes, to forget your own " And do you remember what happened once, identity almost, all that happens is, that you do when I did dress, and make myself look nice?" not do as you were expected. Sometimes it is said Elizabeth, flashing up, and then beginning a sheer impossibility. What is that rare proverb to laugh. about the shoe? Cinderella slipped it on in an Anthony looked grave and puzzled; for Elizainstant; but you know her poor sisters cut off beth had caused quite a scandal in the communitheir toes and heels, and could not screw their ty on that occasion. No wonder the old ladies in feet in, though they tried ever so. Well, they their old dowdy bonnets, the young ones in their did their best; but Elly did not try at all, and ill-made woollen dresses, the preacher preaching that is why she was to blame. She was a spoiled against the vanities of the world, had all been child, both by good and ill fortune. Sometimes, shocked and outraged, when after the sermon when she sat sulking, her mother used to look had begun, the door opened, and Elizabeth apwondering at her with her black eyes, without peared in the celebrated pink silk dress, with saying a word. Did it ever occur to her that flowers in her hair, white lace falling from her this was her work? that Elizabeth might have shoulders, a bouquet, a gold fan, and glittering been happy now, honored, prosperous, well loved, bracelets. Mme. Jacob's head nearly shook off but for a little lie which had been told-but for with horror. The word was with the Pasteur 244 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. Boulot, who did not conceal his opinion, and across the stones. Say what he would, the blue whose strictures introduced into the sermon gown, the wall, the yellow hair, made up apretty were enough to make a less hardened sinner little piece of coloring. With all her faults, Anquake in her shoes. Many of the great leaders thony loved Elly better than any other human of the Protestantworld in Paris had been present being, and would have given his life to make on that occasion. Some would not speak to her, her happy. some did speak very plainly. Elizabeth took it " I can not bear to see you so unhappy," said all as a sort of triumph, bent her head, smiled, he, in French, speaking very simply, in his usual fanned herself, and when ordered out of the room voice. "Elizabeth, why don't you do as your at last by her mother, left it with a splendid cour- mother has done, and marry a French pasteur, tesy to the Rev. M. Boulot, and thanked him for who has loved you ever since the day he first his beautiful apd improving discourse. And saw you? You should do as you liked, and leave then, when she was up stairs in her own room this house, where you are so miserable, and get again, where she had been decking herself for away from Aunt Rose, who is so ill-natured. I the last hour-the tallow candle was still splut- would not propose such a scheme if I saw a chance tering on the table-her clothes all lying about for something better; but any thing would be an the room-she locked the door, tore off her or- improvement on the life you are leading here. naments, her shining dress, and flung herself It is wicked and profitless, and you are killdown on the floor, crying and sobbing as if her ing yourself and wasting your best days. You heart wouldbreak. "Oh, Iwant to go! Iwant to are not taking up your cross with joy and with go! Oh, take me away!" she prayed and sobbed. courage, dear Elizabeth. Perhaps by starting "Oh, what harm is there in a pink gown more afresh-" His voice failed him, but his eyes than a black one! Oh, why does not John Dam- spoke and finished the sentence. pier come and fetch me? Oh, what dolts, what This was Anthony's scheme. Elly opened idiots, those people are! What a heart-broken her round eyes, and looked at him all amazed girl I am! Poor Elly, poor Elly, poor, poor and wondering. A year ago it would have girl!" said she, pitying herself, and stroking her been very different, and so she thought as she tear-stained cheeks. And so she went on, until scanned him. A year ago she would have she had nearly worn herself out, poor child. She scorned the poor fellow, laughed at him, tossed really was almost heart-broken. This unconge- her head, and turned away. But was this the nial atmosphere seemed to freeze and chill her Elly of a year ago? This unhappy, brokenbest impulses. I can not help being sorry for her, spirited girl, with dimmed beauty, dulled spirits, and sympathizing with her against that rigid in all her ways so softened, saddened, silenced. community down below, and yet, after all, there It was almost another person than the Elizabeth was scarcely one of the people whom she so scorn- Gilmour of former times, who spoke, and said, ed who was not a better Christian than poor Eliza- still looking at him steadfastly: "Thank you, beth, more self-denying, more scrupulous, more Anthony; I will think about it, and tell you patient in effort, more diligent-not one of them to-morrow what-what I think." that did not lead a more useful life than hers. It Anthony blushed, and faltered a few unintelwas in vain that her mother had offered her class- ligible words, and turned away abruptly, as he es in the schools, humble neighbors to visit, sick saw Madame Jacob coming towards them. As people to tend. "Leave me alone," the girl for Elly, she stood quite still, and perfectly cool, would say. "You know how I hate all that and rather bewildered, only somewhat surprised cant!" Mine. Tourneur herself spent her whole at herself. " Can this be me?" she was thinkdays doing good, patronizing the poor, lecturing ing. "Can that kind fellow be the boy I used the wicked, dosing the sick, superintending to laugh at so often? Shall I take him at his countless charitable communities. Her name word? Why not-?" was on all the committees, her decisions were But Madame Jacob's long nose came and deferred to, her wishes consulted. She did not put an end to her wonderings. This lady did once regret the step she had taken; she was a not at all approve of gossiping; she stepped up clever, ambitious, active-minded woman; she with an inquiring sniff, turned round to look found herself busy, virtuous, and respected; what after Anthony, and then said, rather viciously: more could she desire? Her daughter's unhappi- Our Christian brothers and sisters will assemness did not give her any very great concern. ble shortly for their pious Wednesday meetings. "It would go off in time," she said. But days It is not by exchanging idle words with my went by, and Elly was only more hopeless, more nephew that you will best prepare your mind heart-broken; black lines came under the blue for the exercises of this evening. Retire into eyes; from being a stout hearty girl, she grew your own room, and see if it is possible to comthin and languid. Seeing her day by day, they pose yourself to a fitter frame of mind. Tounone of them noticed that she was looking ill, Tou, Lou-Lou, my children, what are you except Anthony, who often imagined a change about?" would do her good; only how was this to be "I am gathering pretty flowers, mamma," managed? He could only think of one way. shouted Lou-Lou. He was thinking of it, as he followed her out in- "I am picking up stones for my little basto the court-yard to-day. The sun was low in ket," said Tou-Tou, coming to the railing. the west, the long shadows of the trees flickered I will allow four minutes," said their moth THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 245 er, looking at her watch. "Then you will'spoken to, is very curious. Now and then, come to me, both of you, in my room, and ap- however, they relax a little, and allow a little ply yourselves to something more profitable whispering with young companions. There was than filling your little baskets. Elizabeth, do a low murmur and a slight bustle as four pasyou mean to obey me?" teurs of unequal heights walked in and placed Very much to Madame Jacob's surprise, themselves in the reserved seats. M. Stephen Elizabeth walked quietly before her into the Tourneur followed and took his place. With house without saying one word. The truth what kind steadfast glances he greeted his auwas, she was preoccupied with other things, dience! Even Elizabeth could not resist the and forgot to be rebellious. She was not even charm of his manner, and she admired and rerebellious in her heart when she was up stairs spected him, much as she disliked the exercise sitting by the bedside, and puzzling her brains of the evening. over Anthony's scheme. It seemed a relief cer- His face lit up with Christian fervor, his eyes tainly to turn from the horrible monotony of shone and gleamed with kindness, his voice, her daily life, and to think of his kindness, when he began to speak, thrilled with earnestHe was very rough, very uncouth, very young; ness and sincerity. There was at times a wonbut he was shrewd, and kind, and faithful, more derful power about the frail little man, the powtolerant than his father -perhaps because he er which is won in many a desperate secret felt less keenly;-not sensitive, like him, but struggle, the power which comes fiom a whole more patient, dull over things which are learnt life of deep feeling and honest endeavor. No by books, but quick at learning other not less wonder that Stephen Tourneur, who had so useful things which belong to the experience of often wrestled with the angel and overcome his daily life. When Elly came down into the own passionate spirit, should have influence over refectoire where they were all assembled, her others' less strong, less impetuous than.his own. mother was surprised to see that she had dressed Elly could not but admire him and love him, herself, not in the objectionable pink silk, but in many of his followers worshipped him with the a soft gray stuff gown, all her yellow hair was most affecting devotion; Anthony, his son, loved smooth and shining, and a little locket hung Ihim too, and would have died for him in a quiet round her neck tied with a blue ribbon. The way, but he did not blindly believe in his falittle bit of color seemed reflected somehow in ther. her eyes. They looked blue to-night, as they But listen! What a host of eloquent words, used to look once when she was happy. Ma- of tender thoughts, come alive from his lips todame Tourneur was quite delighted, and came night! What reverent faith, what charity, what up and kissed her, and said, " Elly, this is how fervor! The people's eyes were fixed upon his I like to see you." kind, eloquent face, and their hearts all beat in Madame Jacob tossed her head, and gave a sympathy with his own. rough pull at the ends of the ribbon. "This One or two of the Englishwomen began to was quite unnecessary," said she. cry. One French lady.was swaying herself''Ah!" cried Elly,' you have hurt me!" backward and forward in rapt attention; the "Is not that the locket Miss Dampier gave two clergymen sat wondering in their white you?" said Madame Tourneur. "You had neckcloths. What would they give to preach best put such things away in your drawer an- such sermons! And the voice went on utterother time. But it is time for you to take your ing, entreating, encouraging, rising and sinkplace." ing, ringing with passionate cadence. It ceased ~~ — ~~. — at last, and the only sounds in the room were a few sighs, and the suppressed sobs of one or two CHAPTER IV. women. Elizabeth sighed, among others, and Unhappier are they to whom a higher instinct has been sat very still with her hands clasped in her lap. given, who struggle to be persons, not machines; to wh1om For the first time in her life she was wondering the universe is not a warehouse, or at best a fancy bazar, whether she had not perhaps been in the wrong but a mystic temple and a hall of doom. ir, n rnr, hitherto, and Tourneur, and Madame Jacob, A NUMBER of straw chairs were ranged along and all the rest in the right-and whether hapthe room, with a row of seats behind, for the piness was not the last thing to search for, and pasteurs who were to address the meeting. those things of which he had spoken the first The people began to arrive very punctually: and best and only necessities. Alas! what One or two grand-looking French ladies in strange chance was it that at that moment she cashmeres, a good many limp ones, a stray man raised her head and looked up with her great or two, two English clergymen in white neck- blue eyes, and saw a strange familiar face under cloths, and five or six Englishwomen in old one of the dowdy English bonnets-a face, thin, bonnets. A little whispering and chattering pinched, with a hooked nose, and sandy hairwent on among the young French girls, who that sent a little thrill to her heart, and made arrived guarded by their mothers. The way her cry out to herself eagerly, as a rush of old in which French mothers look after their daugh- memories and hopes came over her, that happiters, tie their bonnet-strings, pin their collars, ness was sent into the world for a gracious purcarry their books and shawls, etc., and sit beside pose, and that love meant goodness and happithem, and always answer for them if they are ness too sometimes. And, yes-no-yes-that 246 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. was Lady Dampier! and was John in Paris, Madame Tourneur gave a bland assenting perhaps? and Miss Dampier? and were the smile, and turned to speak to several people who dear, dear old days come back?.... were standing near. " Monsieur de Marveille, After a few minutes the congregation began are you going? Thanks, I will be at the comto sing a hymn, the English ladies joining in mittee on Thursday without fail. Monsieur audibly with their queer accents. The melody Boulot, you must remain a few minutes; I want swayed on, horribly out of tune and out of time, to consult you about that case in which la Cornin a wild sort of minor key. Tou-Tou and Lou- tesse de Glaris takes so deep an interest. Lady Lou sang, one on each side of their mother, ex- Macduff has also written to me to ask my husceedingly loud and shrill, and one of the clergy- band's interest for her. Ah, Lady Sophia! how men attempted a second, after which the discord- glad I am you have returned! is Lady Matilda ance reached its climax. Elly had laughed better?" on one or two occasions, and indeed I do not "Well, I'll wish you good-bye, Madame wonder. To-day she scarcely heard the sound Tourneur,".said Lady Dampier, rather impressof the voices. Her heart was beating with hope, ed, and not much caring to stand by quite undelight, wonder; her head was in a whirl, her noticed while all these greetings were going on. whole frame trembling with excitement, that in- " You will let Elly come to-morrow?" creased every instant. Would M. Boulot's ser- "Certainly," said Mme. Tourneur. "You mon never come to an end? Monsieur Bon. will understand how it is that I do not call. temps's exposition, Monsieur de Marveille's re- My days are much occupied. I have little time ports, go on forever and ever? for mere visits of pleasure and ceremony. MonBut at last it was over; a little rustling, a sieur Bontemps, one word-" little pause, and all the voices beginning to mur- "Elly, which is the way out?" said Lady mur, and the chairs scraping; people rising, Dampier, abruptly, less and less pleased, but a little group forming round each favorite pas- more and more impressed. teur, hands outstretched, thanks uttered, people "I will show you," said Elly, who had been coming and going. With one bound Elly found standing by all this time, and she led the way herself standing by Lady Dampier, holding both bare-headed into the court, over which the stars her hands, almost crying with delight. The were shining tranquilly. The trees looked dark apathetic English lady was quite puzzled by the and rustled mysteriously along the wall, but all girl's exaggerated expressions. She cared very heaven was alight. Elly looked up for an inlittle for Elly Gilmour herself; she liked her stant, and then turned to her companion and very well, but she could not understand her ex- asked her, with a voice that faltered a little, if traordinary warmth of greeting. However, she they were all together in Paris? was carried away by her feelings to the extent "No; Miss Dampier is in Scotland still," of saying: "You must come and see us to- said my lady. morrow. We are only passing through Paris It was not Miss Dampier's name of which on our way to Schlangenbad for Laetitia; she Elizabeth Gilmour was longing to hear, she did has been sadly out of health and spirits lately, not dare ask any more; but it seemed as if a poor dear! We are at the Hotel du Louvre. great weight had suddenly fallen upon her You must come and lunch with us. Ah! here heart, as she thought that perhaps, after all, he is your mother. How d'ye do, dear Madame was not come; she should not hear of him, see Tourneur? What a privilege it has been! What him-who knows?-perhaps, never again. a treat Mossu Tourneur has given us to-night. Elly tried to unbar the great front door to let I have been quite delighted, I assure you," said out her friend; but she could not do it, and called her ladyship, bent on being gracious. to old Fran;oise, who was passing across to the Mme. Tourneur made the most courteous of kitchen, to come and help her. And suddenly salutations. " I am glad you came, since it was the bolt, which had stuck in some manner, gave so," said she. way, the gate opened wide, and as it opened " I want you to let Elly come and see me," Elly saw that there was somebody standing just continued Lady Dampier; " she must come to outside under the lamp-post. The foolish child lunch; I should be so glad if you would accom- did not guess who it was,but said "Good-night," pany her. I would offer to take her to the play, with a sigh, and held out her soft hand to Lady but I suppose you do not approve of such things Dampier. And then, all of a sudden the great any more." load went away, and in its place came a sort' My life is so taken up with other more seri- of undreamed-of peace, happiness, and gratious duties," said Mme. Tourneur, with a faint tude. All the stars seemed suddenly to blaze superior smile, "that I have little time for mere more brightly; all the summer's night to shine worldly amusements. I can not say that I de- more wonderfully; all trouble, all anxiousness, sire them for my daughter." to melt away; and John Dampier turned round "Oh, of course," said Lady Dampier. "I and said: "Is that you, Elizabeth?" myself-but it is only en passant, as we are all "And you?" cried Elly, springing forward, going on to Schlangenbad in two days. It is with both her hands outstretched. "Ah, I did really quite delightful to find you settled here so not think who was outside the door." nicely. What a privilege it must be to be so "How did you come here, John?" said my constantly in Mossu Tourneur's society!" lady, very much flustered. THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 247 "I came to fetch you," said her son. "I "You there, Elizabeth! Comein,my child, wanted a walk, and Letty told me where you you will be cold." And he drew her into the were gone." Lady Dampier did not pay hall, where the Pasteurs Boulot and De Marmuch attention to his explanations; she was veille were pulling on their cloaks and bidding watching Elly with a dissatisfied face; and every body good-night. glancing round too, the young man saw that Elly The whole night Elizabeth lay starting and was standing quite still under the archway, with waking-so happy that she could not bear to go her hands folded, and with a look of dazzled de- to sleep, to cease to exist for one instant. Oftlight in her blue eyes that there was no mis- en it had been the other way, and she had been taking. thankful to lay her weary head on her pillow, and "You don't forget your old friends, Elly?" close her aching eyes, and forget her troubles. said lie. But all this night she lay wondering what the "I! never, never," cried Elizabeth. coming day was to bring forth. She had better "And I, too, do not forget," said he, very have gone to sleep. The coming day brought kindly, and held out his hand once more, and forth nothing at all, except, indeed, a little note took hers, and did not let it go. "I will come from Letitia, written on a half-sheet of paper, and see you, and bring Lntitia, " he added, as his which was put into her hand about eleven o'clock, mother looked up rather severely. "Good-night, just as she was sitting down to the dejeuner a la dear Elly? I am glad you are unchanged." fourchette. People, however slow they may be naturally,' lI6tel du Phin, Place Vendome. are generally quick in discovering admiration, Wednesday evening. or affection, or respectful devotion to themselves. " MY DEAR ELIZABETH, —I am so disappointLady Dampier only suspected, her son was quite ed to think that I shall not perhaps see you, after sure of poor Elly's feelings, as he said good-night all. Some friends of ours have just arrived, who under the archway. Indeed he knew a great are going on to Schlangenbad to-morrow, and deal more about them than did Elizabeth her- Aunt Catherine thinks it will be better to set self. All she knew was that the great load was off a little sooner than we had intended, so as gone; and she danced across the stones of the to travel with them. I wish you might be able yard, clapping her hands in her old happy way. to, come and breakfast with us about nine toThe windows of the salle were lighted up. She morrow; but I am afraid this is asking almost could see the people within coming and going, too much, though I should greatly enjoy seeing but she did not notice Anthony, who was stand- you again. Good-bye. If we do not meet now, ing in one of them. He, for his part, was I trust that on our return in a couple of months watching the little dim figure dancing and flit- we may be more fortunate, and see much of each ting about in the starlight. Had he, then, any other. We start at ten, and shall reach Strasthing to do with her happiness? Was he in- bourg about eight. Ever, dear Elizabeth, affecdeed so blessed? His heart was overflowing tionately yours, LETITIIA MALCOLM." with humble gratitude, with kindness, with wonder. He was happy at the moment, and was "What has happened?" said Madame Tourright to be grateful. She was happy, too-as neur, quite frightened, for she saw the girl's thoroughly happy now, and carried away by her face change and her eyes suddenly filling with pleasure, as she had been crushed and broken by tears. her troubles. "Ah! to think that the day has "Nothing has happened," said Elizabeth. come at last, after watching all this long, long, "I was only disappointed to think I should not cruel time! I always knew it would come. see them again." And she put out her hand Every body gets what they wish for sooner or and gave her mother the note. later. I don't think any body was ever so mis- "But why care so much for people who do erable as I have been all this year, but at last- not care for you?" said her mother. "Lady at last-" No one saw the bright, happy look Dampier is one of the coldest women I ever that came into her face, for she was standing in knew; and as for Lseitia, if she loved you in the dark outside the door of the house. She the least, would she write you such a note as wanted to dream, she did not want to talk to this?" any body; she wanted to tell herself over and "Mamma! it is a very kind note," said over again how happy she was; how she had Elizabeth. "I know she loves me." seen him again; how he had looked; how kind- "Do you think she cried over it, as you did?" ly he had spoken to her. Ah! yes, he had cared said her mother. "'So disappointed'-' more for her all the time; and now he had come to fortunate on our return through Paris?' fetch her away. She did not think much of "Do not let usjudge our neighbors so hastily, poor Anthony; if she did, it was to say to her- my wife," said M. Tourneur. "Let Elizabeth self that somehow it would all come right, and love her friend. What can she do better?" every body would be as well contented as she Caroline looked up with an odd expression, was. The door of the house opened while she shrugged her shoulders, and did not answer. still stood looking up at the stars. This time it Until breakfast was over, Elly kept up pretty was not John Dampier, but the Pasteur Tour- Well; but when M. Tourneur rose and went neur, who came from behind it. He put out his away into his writing-room, when Anthony and hand and took hold of hers. the young men filed off by an opposite door, and 248 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. Mme. Tourneur disappeared to look to her house- nothing, went away very sad at heart. He had hold duties-then, when the room was quiet been so happy and confident the night before, again, and only Madame Jacob remained sew- and now he began to fear that what he longed ing in a window, and Lou-Lou and Tou-Tou for was never to be his. Poor boy, he buried whispering over their lessons, suddenly the ca- his trouble in his own heart, and did not say nary burst out into a shrill piping jubilant song, one word of it to father, or mother, or young and the sunshine poured in, and Elly's heart companions. began to sink. And then suddenly the horrible Five or six weeks went by, and Elly heard no reality seemed realized to her...... more of the Dampiers. Every day she looked They were gone-those who had come, as she more ill, more haggard; her temper did not thought, to rescue her. Could it be true-could mend, her spirits did not improve. In June the it be really true? She had stood lonely on the five young men went home to their families. arid shore waving her signals of distress, and M. and Madame Tourneur went down to Fonthey who should have seen them never heeded, tainebleau for a week. Anthony set off for the but went sailing away to happier lands, disap- South of France to visit an uncle. He was to be pearing in the horizon, and leaving her to her ordained in the autumn, and was anxious to pay fate. That fate which-it was more than she this visit before his time should be quite taken could bear. It seemed more terrible than ever up by his duties. Clementine asked for a holito her to-day.... Ah! silly girl, was her day, and went off to her friends in Pasjsy; and life as hard as the lives of thousands struggling Elly remained at home. It was her own fault: along with her in the world, tossed and broken Monsieur. Tourneur had begged her to come against the rocks, while she, at least, was safely with them; her mother had scolded and remonlanded on the beach? She had no heart to strated, all in vain. The wayward girl declared think of others. She sat sickening with disap- that she wanted no change, no company, that pointment, and once more her eyes filled up with she was best where she was. Only for a week? stinging tears. she would stay, and there was an end of it. I "Lou-Lou, Tou-Tou, come up to your les- think the secret was, that she could not bear to sons," said Mrs. Jacob.' I do not wish you quit Paris, and waited and waited, hoping to see such a wicked example of discontent." against hope. The little girls went off on tiptoe; and when "I am afraid you will quarrel with Madame these people were gone, Elizabeth was left quite Jacob," said her mother, as she was setting alone. off. "I dare say I am very wicked," she was say- "I shall not speak to her," said Elly; and ing to herself. " I was made wicked. But for two days she was as good as her word. But this is more than I can bear-to live all day on the third day this salutary silence was browith the people I hate, and then when I do love ken. Madame Jacob; coming in with her bonwith my whole heart, to be treated with such net on, informed Elizabeth that she was going cruel indifference-such coldness.' He ought to out for the afternoon. know, he must know, that he has broken my " I confess it is not without great apprehenheart. Why does he look so kindly, and then sions lest you should get into mischief," says forget so heartlessly?...." the lady. She hid her face in her hands, and bent her "And pray," says Elly, "am I more likely head over the wooden table. She did not care to get into mischief than you are? I am gowho knew her to be unhappy-what pain her ing out." unhappiness might give. The person who was "You will do nothing of the sort," says Malikely to be most wounded by her poignant grief dame Jacob. came into the room at the end of half an hour, "I will do exactly as I choose," says Elizaand found her sitting still in the same attitude, beth. with her head hanging, and her tears dribbling In a few minutes a battle royal was raging; on the deal table. This was enough answer for Tou-Ton and Lou-Lou look on, all eyes and poor Anthony. ears; old Fran9oise comes up from the kitchen, " Elizabeth," he faltered, " I see you can not and puts her head in at the door. make up your mind." Madame Jacob was desiring her, on no ac" Ah! no, no, Anthony, not yet," said Eliza- count, to let Elizabeth out that afternoon, when beth;'" but you are the only person in the Lou-Lou said, "There, that was the street-door world who cares for me; and indeed, indeed, I shutting;" and Tou-Tou said, "' She is gone." am grateful." And so it was. And then the poor little head sank down The willful Elizabeth had brushed past old again, overwhelmed with its load of grief. Fran9oise, rushed up to her own room, pulled " Tell me, Elizabeth, is there any thing in the out a shawl, tied on her bonnet, defiantly, run world I can do to make you more happy?" said down stairs and across the yard, and, in a minAnthony. "'My prayers, my best wishes, are ute, was walking rapidly away without once yours. Is there nothing else?" looking behind her. Down the hill, past the "Only not to notice me," said Elly; only hospital-they were carrying a wounded man to leave me alone." in at the door as she passed, and she just And so Anthony, seeing that he could do caught a glimpse of his pale face, and turned THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 219 shrinking away. Then she got into the Fau- passed, turned round, said, "Why, Elly! I bourg St. Honore, with its shops and its cab- was going to see you." stands, and busy people coming and going; and In an instant Elly's blue eyes were all then she turned up the Rue d'Angouleme. In alight, and her ready hand outstretched to the Champs Elysees the afternoon sun was John Dampier-for it was he. streaming; there was a crowd, and, as it happened, soldiers were marching along to the sound of martial music. She saw an empty bench, and sat down for a minute to regain CHAPTER V. breath and equanimity. The music put her in mind of the day when she had listened at her In looking backward, they may find that several things window-of the, day when her heart was so which were not the cliarm have more reality to this gropywind toowl-of t he daa y w hen er heart was s ing memory than the charm itself which embalmed them. heavy and then so light-of the day when Anthony had told her his scheme, when John HE had time to think, as he greeted her, how Dampier had waited at the door: the day, the worn she looked, how shabbily she was dressed. only one-she was not likely to forget it when And yet what a charming, talking, brightening she had been so happy, just for a little. And face it was. When Elly smiled, her bonnet now-? The bitter remembrance came rush- and dress became quite new and becoming, ing over her; and she jumped up, and walked somehow. In two minutes he thought her faster and faster, trying to escape from it. handsomer than ever. They walked on, side She got into the Tuileries, and on into the by side, up the hilly street. She, trying to Rue de Rivoli, but she thought that people hide her agitation, asked him about Leetitia, looked at her strangely, and she turned home- about his mother, and dear Miss Dami>ier. wards at last. It was lonely, wandering about "I think she does care for me still," said this busy city by herself. As she passed by Elly; "but you have all left off." the columns of St. Philip's Church, somebody "My dear child," said he, "how can you came out, and the curtain swung back, and think any thing so foolish?" Elly, looking up, saw a dim, quiet interior, full "I have nothing else to do," said Elly, plaintof silent rays of light falling from the yellow ively; "all day long I think about those happy windows and checkering the.marble. She stop- times which are gone. I thought you had forped, and went in with a sudden impulse. One gotten me when you did not come." old woman was kneeling on the threshold, and Dampier laugled a little uneasily. I' Iliave Elly felt as if she, too, wanted to fall upon her had to take them to their watering-place," said knees. What tranquil gloom, and silence, and lhe; "I could not help it. But tell me about repose! Her own church was only open at yourself. Are you not comfortable?" he askcertain hours. Did it always happen that pro- ed. cisely at eleven o'clock on Sunday mornings she "I am rather unhappy," said Elizabeth. "I was in the exact frame of mind in which she am not good, like they are, and oh! I get so most longed for spiritual communion and con- tired;" and then she went on and told him solation? To be tightly wedged in between what miserable days she spent, and how she two other devotees, plied with chaufferettes by hated them, and she longed for a little pleasure the pew-opener, forced to follow the extempore and ease and happiness. supplications of the preacher-did all this suf- He was very much touched, and very, very flee to her wants? Here was silence, coolness, sorry. "You don't look well," he said. "You a faint, half-forgotten smell of incense, there should have some amusement-some change. were long, empty rows of chairs, one or two I would take you anywhere you liked. Why people kneeling at the little altars, five or six not come now for a drive? See, here is a litlittle pious candles burning in compliment to tie open carriage passing. Surely, with an old the various saints and deities to whom they friend like me, there can be no harm." And were dedicated. The rays of the little candles he signed to the driver to stop. glimmered in the darkness, and the foot-falls Elizabeth was quite frightened at the idea, fell quietly along the aisle. I, for my part, do and said, "Oh no, no! indeed." Whereas, not blame this poor foolish heart, if it offered Dampier only said: "Oh yes! indeed, you up an humble supplication here in the shrine must. Why, I knew you when you were a of the stranger. Poor Elly was not very elo- baby-and your father and your grandmother quent; she only prayed to be made a good girl -and I am a respectable middle-aged man, and to be happy. But, after all, eloquence and and it will do you good, and it will soon be a long words do not mean any more. great deal too dark for any of your pasteurs to She walked home, looking up at the sunset recognize you and report. We have been out lines which were streaking the sky freshly and riding together before now-why not come for delicately; she-thought she saw Madame Jacob's a little drive in the Bois? Why not?" red nose up in a little pink cloud, and began to So said Elly to herself, doubtfully; and she speculate how she would be received. And she got in, still hesitating, and in a minute they were had nearly reached her own door, and was toil- rolling away swiftly out at the gates of Paris, out ing wearily up the last hilly piece of road, when towards the sunset-so it seemed to Elizabeth — she heard some quick steps behind; somebody and she forgot all her fears. The heavens glow 250 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. ed overhead; her heart beat with intensest en- "By looking well and happy again. I shall joyment. Presently, the twilight came falling be so glad to have cured you!" with a green glow, with stars, with evening per- "And it is so pleasant to meet with such a fumes, with lights twinkling from the carriages kind doctor," said Elly, looking up and smiling. reflected on the lakes as they rolled past. "Good-bye, Elly," repeated Sir John, quite And so at last she was happy, sometimes si- affected by her gentle looks. lent from delight, sometimes talking in her sim- Old Franzoise opened the door. Elly turnpie, foolish way, and telling him all about her- ed a little pale. self, her regrets, her troubles-about Anthony. "Ah, ha! vous voila," says the old woman; She could not help it-indeed, she could not. "mechante fille, you are going to get a pretty Dampier, for his part, cried out at the notion of scolding. Where have you been?" her marrying Anthony, made fun of him, laugh- "Ah, Fran9oise!" said Elly, "I have been ed at him, pitied him. The poor fellow, now so happy. I met Sir John Dampier: he is an that she compared him to John Dampier, did in- old, old friend. He took me for a drive in the deed seem dull, and strangely uncouth, and corn- Bois. Is Madame Jacob very, very angry?" monplace. "Well, you are in luck," says the old wom"Marry that cub!" said Sir John; "you an, who could never resist Elizabeth's pretty mustn't do it, my dear. You would be like the pleading ways; "she came home an hour ago princess in the fairy tale, who went off with the and fetched the children, and went out to dine bear. It's downright wicked to think of such a in town, and I told her you were in your room." thing. Elizabeth, promise me you won't. Does "Ah, you dear kind old woman!" said Elly, he ever climb up and down a pole? is he fond of flinging her arms round her neck, and giving buns? is he tame? If your father were alive, her a kiss. would he suffer such a thing? Promise me, "There, there!" said the unblushing FranElly, that you will never become Mrs. Bruin." qoise; " I will put your convert in the salle." "Yes; I promise," said Elly, with a sigh. "Ah! I am very glad. I am so hungry, "But he is so kind. Nobody is as-" And Fran"oise," said Elly, pulling off her bonnet, then she stopped, and thought: "Yes; here was and shaking her loose hair as she followed the some one who was a great deal kinder." Talk- old woman across the court-yard. ing to Dampier was so easy, so pleasant, that So Elizabeth sat down to dine off dry bread she scarcely recognized her own words and sen- and cold mutton. But though she said she was tences; it was like music in. tune after music hungry, she was too happy to eat much. The out of tune; it was like running on smooth rails tallow candle flickered on the table. She after rolling along a stony road: it was like thought of the candles in St. Philip's Church; breathing fresh air after a heated stifling atmos- then she went over every word, every minute phere. Somehow, he met herhalf-way; heneed which she had spent since she was kneeling not explain, recapitulate, stumble for words, as there. Old Fran9oise came in with a little she was forced to do with those practical, im- cake she had made her, and found Elizabeth sitpractical people at home. lIe understood what ting, smiling, with her elbows on the table. she wanted to say before she had half finished "Allons, allons!" thought the old cook. "Here, her sentence; he laughed at her fine little jokes; eat, mamzelle," said she; " faut plus sortir sans he encouraged, he cheered, he delighted her. permission-hein?" If she had cared for him before, it was now a "Thank you, Frangoise. How nice! how mad adoration which she felt for this man. kind of you!" said Elizabeth, in her bad French He suited her;. she felt now that he was part of -she never would learn to talk properly; and her life-the better, nobler, wiser part; and if then she ate her cake by the light of the candle, he was the other half of her life, surely, some- and this little dim tallow wick seemed to cast how, she must be as necessary to him as he was light and brilliance over the whole world, over to her. Why had he come to see her else? her whole life, which seemed to her as if it would Why had he cared for her, and brought her go on for ever and ever. Now and then, a torhere? Why was his voice so gentle, his man- turing doubt, a misgiving, came over her, but ner so kind and sympathetic? He had cared these she put quickly aside. for her once, she knew he had; and he cared Madame Jacob was pouring out the coffee for her still, she knew he did. If the whole when Elly came down to breakfast next mornworld were to deceive her and fail her, she would ing, conscious and ashamed, and almost disposed still trust him. And her instinct was not wrong: to confess. "I am surprised," said Madame he was sincerely and heartily her friend. The Jacob, "that you have the impudence to sit down carriage put them down a few doors from M. at table with me;" and she said it in such an Tourneur's house, and then Elly went boldly up acid tone that all Elly's sweetness and ashamedto the door and rang at the bell. ness and penitence turned to bitterness.' I shall come at four o'clock to-morrow, and "I'find it very disagreeable," says Elly; "but take you for a drive," said John; "you look I try and resign myself." like another woman already." "I shall write to my brother about you," con"It is no use asking Madame Jacob," said tinned Madame Jacob. Elly; "she would lock me up into my room. "Indeed!" says Elizabeth. "Here is a letI will comesomehow. How shall I thank you?" ter which he has written to me. What fun if it THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 251 should be about you!" It was like Tourneur's to always. For you are my brother in a sort handwriting, but it did not come from him. of way. I am your affectionate, grateful Elly opened it carelessly enough, but Tou-Tou ELLY." and Lou-Lou exchanged looks of intelligence. "P.S.-Your father and my mother are away Their mother had examined the little missive, at Fontainebleau. Madame Jacob is here, and and made her comments upon it:- more disagreeable than any thing you can im"Avignon, Rue dela Clochette, agine." Chez le Pasteur Ch. Tourneur. 5 "MY DEAR ELLY,-I think of you so much And so it was settled; and Elly never once and so constantly that I can not help wishing asked herself if she had been foolish or wise; to make you think of me, if only for one min- but, after thinking compassionately about Anute, while you read these few words. I have thony for a minute or two, she began to think been telling my uncle about you; it is he who about Dampier, and said to herself that she had asks me why I do not write. But there are followed his advice, and he must know best; and some things which are not to be spoken or to Dampier himself, comfortably breakfasting in be written-it is only by one's life that one can the coffee-room of the hotel, was thinking of her, try to tell them; and you, alas! do not care to and, as he thought, put away all unpleasant hear the story of my life. I wonder will the doubts or suggestions. "Poor little thing! day ever come when you will listen to it? dear little thing!" he was saying to himself. "I have been most kindly received by all my "II will not leave her to the tender mercies of old friends down in these parts. Yesterday I those fanatics. She will die-I see it in her attended the service in the Temple, and heard eyes-if she stays there! My mother or Aunt a most soul-stirring and eloquent oration from Jean must come to her help; we must not dethe mouth of M. le Pasteur David. I receive sert her. Poor, poor little Elly, with her wistcheering accounts on every side. A new tem- ful face! Why did not she make me marry her pie has been opened at Beziers, thanks to the a year ago? I was very near it." munificence of one of our core'ligionnaiies. The He was faithful next day to his appointment, temple was solemnly opened on the Monday of and Elly arrived breathless. "Madame Jacob the Pentecost. The discourse of dedication was had locked her up in her room," she said, only pronounced by M. le Pasteur Borrel, of Nismes. she got out of the window and clambered down Seven pasteurs en robe attended the ceremony. by the vine, and here she was. " But it is the They tell me that the interdiction which had last time," she added. "Ah! let us make weighed for some years upon the temple at haste; is not that Fran9oise?" He helped her Fouqueure (Charente) has been taken off, and in, and in a ihinute they were driving along the that the faithful were able to reopen their tem- Faubourg. Elly let down the veil. John saw pie on the first.Sunday in June. Need I say that her hand was trembling, and ask.ed if she what vivid actions of grace were uttered on this was afraid? happy occasion? A Protestant school has also "I am afraid, because T know I am doing been established at Montauban,,which seems to wrong," said Elly; "only I think I should be well attended. I am now going to visit two have died for want of fresh air in that hateful of my uncle's confrires, MM. Bertoul and Jo- prison, if I had not come." seph Aubre. Of M. Bertoul I have heard much "'You used to like your little apartment near good. the Madeleine better," said Dampier; "that "Why do I tell you all this? Do you care was not a prison." for what I care? Could you ever bring yourself "I grow sick with regret when I think of to lead the life which I propose to lead? Time those days," Elly said. "Do you know that only will show, dear Elizabeth. It will also day you spoke to us in the Tuileries was the show to you the faithfulness and depth of my last happy day of my life, except-" affection. A. T." "Except?" said Dampier. "Except yesterday," said Elly. "It is so Elly put the letter down with a sigh, andt y El. t is so went on drinking her coffee and eating her bread. delitful to do somethin wrong again. Madame Jacob hemmed and tried to ask her a "I "Why should you think this is doing wrong?" Madame Jacob hemmed and tried to ask her a. a.' question or two on the subject, but Elly would said Dampier. "You know me, and can trust not an swer. y me-can't you, Elly?" not answer. Elly sometimes wondered at An- me- o Elly soeimes wond I. I "Have I shown much mistrust?" said Elly, thony's fancy for her, knowing how little suited, laughing; and then she added more seriously, she was to the way of life she was leading; she I hae bn iting to Anthe ony more seriou was surprised that his rigid notions should al- I have been writing to nthony this morning low him to entertain such an idea for an instant. - hae done as you told me. So you see But the truth was that Anthony was head over whe I trust you or not." "You have refused him?" said Dampier. ears in love with her, and thought her perfec-?" said,+~a tebtomo i ^^^^ ^'.i "Yes; are you satisfied?" said Elly, looking tion at the bottom of his heart,.' v tion at the bottom of his heart.. with her bright blue-eyed glance. Poor Anthony! This is what he got in re-. Poturor Anthony his li at he ot re- "He was unworthy of you," cried Dampier, turn for his letter:secretly rather dismayed to find his advice so "MY DEAR ANTHONY,-It can not be-nev- quickly acted upon. What had.he done? er-never. But I do care for you, and I mean would not that marriage, after all, have been 252 THE STORY OF ELIZABETI. the very best thing for Elly perhaps? He was said Dampier, laughing. "You will be quite glad and sorry, but I think he would rather have sure of not meeting any of the pasteurs there. been more sorry and less glad, and have heard Could not you open one of those barred winthat Elly had found a solution to all her troubles. dows and jump out? I would come with a ladHe thought it necessary to be sentimental,; it der of ropes, if you will let me." was the least he could do, after what she had " I should not want a ladder of ropes," said done for him. Elly; "the windows are quite close to the "Why wouldn't you let me in when I came ground. What fun it would be! but it is quite, to see you one day long ago, just before I left quite impossible, of course." Paris?" he asked, suddenly. "Do you know Dampier said no more. He told the driver to what I wanted to say to you?" turn back, and to stop at the Louvre; and he Elly blushed up under her veil. "Mamma made her get out, and took her up stairs into had desired Clementine to let no one in. Did the great golden hall with the tall windows, you not know I would have seen you if I through which you can see the Seine as it rushcould?" es under the bridges, and the light as it falls on "I knew nothing of the sort," said Dampier, the ancient stately quays and houses, on the carather sadly. "I wish-I wish-I had known thedral, on the towers of Paris. It was like it." He forgot that, after all, that was not the enchantment to Elly; all about the atmosphere real reason of his going away without speaking. was golden, was bewitched. She was eagerly He chose to imagine that this was the reason drinking her cup of happiness to the dregs, she -that he would have married Elly but for this. was in a sort of glamour. She hardly could -Ie forgot his own careful scruples and hesita- believe that this was herself. tions;- his doubts and indecision; and now to- They went and sat down on the great round day he forgot every thing, except that he was sofa in the first room, opposite the " Marriage very sorry for Elly, and glad to give her a little of Cana," with " St. Michael killing the Dragpleasure. He did not trouble himself as to on " on one side, and the green pale wicked what people would say of her-of a girl who woman staring at them from behind: the pale was going about with a man who was neither woman with the unfathomable face. Elly kept her brother nor her husband. Nobody would turning round every now and then, fascinated know her. The only people to fear were the by her cold eyes. Dampier was a connoisseur, people at home, who should never hear any thing and fond of pictures, and he told Elizabeth all about it. He would give her and give himself a about those which he liked best; told her about little happiness, if he could; and he said to the painters-about their histories. She was himself that he was doing a good action in so very ignorant, and scarcely knew the commondoing; he would write to his aunt about her, est stories. How she listened, how she treashe would be her friend and her doctor, and if ured up his words, how she remembered, in afhe could bring a little color in those wasted ter days, every tone as he spoke, every look in cheeks and happiness into those sad eyes, it his kind eyes! He talked when he should have would be wicked and cruel not to do so. been silent, looked kind when he should have And so, like a quack doctor, as he was, he ad- turned his eyes away. What cruel kindness! ministered his drug, which soothed and dulled what fatal friendship! He imagined she liked her pain for the moment, only to increase and him; he knew it, indeed: but he fancied that hasten the progress of the cruel malady which she liked him and loved him in the same quiet was destroying her. They drove along past the way in which he loved her-hopelessly, regretMadeleine, along the broad glittering Boule- fully, resignedly. As he walked by her side vards, with their crowds, their wares, people along those wonderful galleries, now and then thronging the pavements, horses and carriages it occurred to him that, perhaps, after all, it travelling alongside with them; the world, the was scarcely wise; but he put the thought flesh, and the devil jostling and pressing past. quickly away, as I have said already, and blind" There is a theatre," cried Elly, as they came ed himself, and said, surely it was right. They to a sudden stop. "I wonder, shall I ever go were standing before a kneeling abbess in white again? What fun it used to be!" flannel, painted by good old Philip of Cham"Will you come to-night?" asked Dampier, pagne, and laughing at her droll looks and her smiling. "I will take care of you." long nose, when Sir John, happening to turn Elly, who had found her good spirits again, round, saw his old acquaintance De Vaux conlaughed and clasped her hands. " ow I should ing directly towards them, with his eye-glasses like it! Oh! how I wish it was possible! but stuck over his nose, and his nose in the air. it would be quite, quite impossible." He came up quite close, stared at the abbess, "Have you come to think such vanities and walked on without apparently seeing or wrong?" sid Dampier. recognizing them. Elly had not turned her " Not wrong. Where is the harm? Only head, but Dampier drew a long breath when he unattainable. Imagine Madame Jacob; think was gone. Elly wondered to see him looking of the dragons, who would tear me to pieces if so grave when she turned around with a smile they found me out-of Anthony-of my stepfa- and made some little joke. "I think we ought ther." to go, Ellv," said he. " Come, this place will "You need not show them the play-bill," soon be shut." THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 253 They drove home through the busy street, year, it was said, and who lived in a little Chionce more, through the golden sunset. They nese pagoda by the railway. Now and then this stopped at the corner by the hospital, and Elly old lady used to write and invite Tou-Tou and said " Good-bye," and jumped out. As Elly Lou-Lou and their mother to come to see her, was reluctantly turning to go away, Dampier and you may be sure her invitations were never felt that he must see her once more: that he disregarded. couldn't part from her now. "Elly," he said, Mme. Jacob did look at Elizabeth rather "I shall be here at six o'clock on Friday. doubtfully when she found on Wednesday mornThis is Tuesday, isn't it? and we must go to ing the usual ill-spelt, ill-written little letter. the play just once together. Won't you come? But, after all, Tou-Tou's prospects were not to Do, please, come." be endangered for the sake of looking after a "Shall I come? I will think about it all young woman like Elizabeth, were she ten times to-morrow," said Elly, "and make up my more wayward and ill-behaved, and so the little mind." And then Dampier watched the slim girls were desired to make up their paquets. little figure disappear under the doorway. It was a great event in MIme. Jacob's eyes; the Fortune was befriending Elly to-day. Old house echoed with her directions; Fran9oise Frangoise had left the great door open, and now went out to request assistance, and came back she slipped in and ran up to her own room, with a friend, who helped her down with the box. where she found the key in the lock. She The little girls stood at the door to stop the omcame down quite demurely to dinner when nibus, which was to take them to the station. Lou-Lou came to summon her to the frugal re- They were off at last. The house-door closed past. upon them with a satisfactory bang, and Elly All dinner-time she thought about her breathed fieely and ran through the deserted scheme, and hesitated and determined, and. rooms, clapping and waving her hands, anddanchesitated and wished wistfully, and then sud- ing hersteps, and feeling at last that she was free. denly said to herself that she would be happy And so the morning hours went by. Old Franher own way, come what might. "We will poise was not sorry either to see everybody go. eat, drink, and be merry," said Elly to herself, She was sitting in the kitchen in the afternoon, with a little wry face at the cabbage, "for to- peeling onions and potatoes, when Elly came morrow we die." wandering in in her restless way, with her blue And so the silly girl almost enjoyed the no- eyes shining and her curly hair pushed back. tion of running wild in this reckless way. Her What a tranquil little kitchen it was, with a whole life, which had been so dull and weari- glimpse of the court-yard outside, and the cocks some before, glittered with strange happiness and the hens, and the poplar-trees waving in the and bewildering hope. She moved about the sunshine, and the old woman sitting in her white house like a person in a dream. She was very cap busy at her homely work. Elly did not think silent, but that of late had been her habit. Ma- how tranquil it was, but said to herself, as she dame Jacob looked surprised sometimes at her looked at Fran9oise, how old she was, and what a gentleness, but thought it was all right, and strange fate hers, that she should be there quietdid not trouble herself about much else besides ly peeling onions at the end of her life. What Tou-Totu's and Lou-Lou's hymns and lessons. a horrible fate, thought Elizabeth, to be sitting She had no suspicion. She thought that Eliza- by one's grave, as it were, paring vegetables beth's first escapade had been a mere girlish and cooking broth to the last day of one's existfreak; of the second she knew nothing; of the ence. Poor Fran9oise! And then she said out third not one dim imagination entered her loud, "Fran9oise, tell me, are cooks like lahead. She noticed that Elly did not eat, but dies? do they get to hate their lives sometimes? she looked well and came dancing into the Are you not tired to death of cooking pot-auroom, and she (Mme. Jacob) supposed it was feu?" all right. Was it all right? The whole sum- "I am thankful to have pot-au-feu to cook," mer nights Elly used to lie awake with wide- said Fran9oise. " Mademoiselle, I should like open eyes, or spring from her bed and stand for to see you eplucher vegetables sometimes, as I do, long hours leaning from her window, staring at instead of running about all day. It would be the stars and telling them all her story. The much better for you." life she was leading was one of morbid excite- "Ecoutez, Fran9oise," said Elly, imploringment and feverish dreams. ly; " when I am old like you I will sit still by the fire; now that I am young I want to run ~<~~0~ ~ about. I am the only young person in this house. They are all old here, and like dead CHAPTER VI. people, for they only think of heaven." What are we sent on earth for? Say to toil, "That is because they are on the road," said Nor seek to leave the tending of the vines, Fran9oise. "Ah! they are good folks-they For all the heat of day till it declines, are." And death's mild curfew shall from work assoil. I s i i i i "I see no merit in being good," Elizabeth MADAME JACOB had a friend at Asnieres, an said, crossly, sitting down on the table, and dabold maiden lady, Tou-Tou's godmother, who bling her fingers in a bowl of water which stood was well-to-do in the world, with her ~200 a there; "they are good because they like it. It 254 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. amuses them, it is their way of thinking-they of vine-leaves, but got tired, and flung it away. like to be better than their neighbors." Old Fran9oise, from her kitchen window, watch"Fi done, Elizabeth!" said Fran9oise. "You ed her standing at the grating and pulling at the do not amuse them; but they are good to you. vine; but the old woman's spectacles were someIs it Anthony's way of thinking when he bears what dim, and she did not see Elly's two bright with all your caprices? When my master feverish eyes and her burning cheeks from the comes home quite worn out and exhausted, and kitchen window. As the evening drew near, trudges off again without so much as waiting for Elly's cheeks became pale and her courage nearhis soup, if he hears he is wanted by some poor ly failed her, but she had been three days at person or other, does he go because it pleases home. Monsieur and Madame Tourneur were him, or because he is serving the Lord in this expected the next morning; she had not seen world, as he hopes to serve him in the next?" Dampier for a long, long time-so it seemed to Elly was a little ashamed, and said, looking her. Yes, she would go; she did not care. down: "Have you always lived here with him, Wrong? Right? It was neither wrong nor Franwoise?" right-it was simply impossible to keep away. "Not I," said Fran9oise; "ten years, that is She could not think of one reason in the world all. But that is long enough to tella good man why she should stop. She felt a thousand in from a bad one. Good people live for others, her heart urging, ordering, compelling her to and don't care about themselves. I hope when go. She went up to her own room after dinI have known you ten years, that you too willbe ner, and began to dress, to plait, and to smooth a good woman, mademoiselle." her pretty curly hair. She put on a white dress,' Like Madame Jacob?" said Elly. a black lace shawl, and then she found that she Fran9oiseshruggedhershouldersratherdoubt- had no gloves. Some of her ancient belongings fully, and Elly sat quite still watching her. she kept in a drawer, but they were not replaced Was it not strange to be sitting there in this as they wore out. And Elly possessed diaquiet every-day kitchen, with a great unknown mond rings and bracelets in abundance; but world throbbing in her heart. "Howlittle Fran neither gloves nor money to buy them. What 9oise guesses 1" thought Elly. "Fran9oise, who did it matter? She did not think about it is only thinking of her marmite and her pota- twice; she put on her shabby bonnet and ran toes." Elly did not know it, but Fran9oise had down stairs. She wasjust goingout, when she a very shrewd suspicion of what was going on remembered that Fran9oise would wonder what in the poor little passionate heart. "The girl had become of her, and so she went to the kitchis not suited here," thought the old woman. en door, opened it a little way, and said, "Good" If she has found some one, so much the bet- night, Fran9oise. Don't disturb me to-night, I ter; Clementine has told me something about want to get up early to-morrow." it. If madame were to drive him off again, that Franvoise, who had invited a friend to spend would be a pity. But I saw them quite plainly the evening, said, "Bon soir, mamzelle!" rather that day I went to Martin, the chemist's, driving crossly-she did not like her kitchen invaded at away in that little carriole, and I saw him that all times and hours-and then Elly was free to night when he was waiting for his mother." go. So old Franqoise peels potatoes, and Elly sits She did not get out by the window-there was wondering and saying over to herself, "Good no need for that, but she unfastened it, and unpeople live for others." Who had she ever lived barred the shutter on the inside, so that, though for but herself? Ah! there was one person every thinglooked much as usual on the outside, whom she would live and die for now. Ah' she had only to push and it would fly open. at last she would be good. "And about the As she got to the door her heart began to play?" thought Elly; " shall I go-shallI send beat, and she stopped for an instant to think. him word that I will not? There is no harm Inside, here, where she was standing, was dullin aplay; why should I not please him and accept ness, weariness, security, death; outside, wonhis kindness? it is not the first time that we have derful happiness, dangerous happiness, and life been there together. I know that plays are not -so it seemed to her. Inside were cocks and wrong, whatever these stupid people say. Ah! hens, and sermons, weary exhortations, oldFransurely if happiness is sent to me, it would be 9oise peeling her onions. Outside, John Damvicked to turn away, instead of being always- pier waiting, the life she was created for, fresh always grateful all my life." And so,though she air, congenial spirits, light and brightness-and told herself that it could not be wrong to go, she heaven there as well as here, thought Elly, claspforgot to tell herself that it was wrong to go with ing her hands; heaven spreading across the him; her scruples died away one by one; once house-tops as well as over this narrow courtor twice she thought of being brave and staying yard. "W4at shall I do? Oh, shall I be foraway, and sending a message by old Fran9oise, given? Oh! it will be forgiven me, surely, surebut she only thought of it. ly!" the girl sighed, and, with trembling hands, All day long, on Friday, she wandered about she undid the latch and went out into the dusky the empty house, coming and going, like a girl street. The little carriole, as Fran;oise called bewitched. She went into the garden; she it, was waiting, a short way down, at the corner picked flowers and pulled them to pieces, trying of the hospital; and Dampier came to meet her, to spell out her fate; she tried to make a wreath looking very tall and straight through the twi THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 255 light. She wondered at his grave, anxiousface; come a child again, she was not like a woman but, in truth, he too was exceedingly nervous, any more. though he would not let her know it; he was "Have you not a veil?" said Dampier, as beginning to be afraid for her, and had resolved they stopped before the theatre. There was a that he would not take her out again; it might, great light, a crowd of people passing and reafter all, be unpleasant for them both; he had passing; other carriages driving up. seen De Vaux, and found out, to his annoy- "No," said Elly. "What does it matter? ance, that he had recognized them in the Lou- Who will know me?" vre the day before, and had passed them by on "Well, make haste. Here, take my arm," purpose. There was no knowing what trouble said Sir John, hurriedly; and he hastily sprang he might not get poor Elly into. And besides, down and helped her out. his aunt Jean was on her way to Paris. She "Look at the new moon," said Elly, looking had been keeping house for Will Dampier, she up smiling. wrote, and she was coming. Will was on his "Never mind the new moon. Come, Elly" way to Switzerland, and she should cross with said Dampier. And so they passed on into the him. theatre. That very day John had received a letter from Dampier was dreading recognition. He had her, in answer to the one he had written about a feeling that they would be sure to come against Elly. He had written it three days ago; but some one. Elly feared no one. When the play he was not the same man he had been three began she sat entranced, thrilling with interest, days ago. He was puzzled, and restless, and carried away. Faust was the piece which they thoroughly wretched-that was the truth; and he were representing; and as each scene was played was not used to be unhappy, and he did not like before her, as one change after another came it. Elly's face haunted him day and night; he over the piece, she was lost more and more in thought of her continually; he tried, in vain, to wonder. If she looked up for an instant it was forget her, to put her out of his mind. Well, to see John Dampier's familiar face opposite; on the whole, he was glad that his aunt was and then outside the box, with its little curtain, coming, and very glad that his mother and Lae- great glittering theatre-lights, crystals reflecting titia were still away, and unconscious of what the glitter, gilding, and silken drapery; everyhe was thinking about. where hundreds of people, silent, anl breathless "So you did not lose courage?" he said, as too, with interest, with excitement. The music they were driving off. "How did you escape plays, the scene shifts and changes, melting into Madame Jacob?" fresh combinations. Here is Faust. Listen to "I have been all alone," said Elly, "these him as he laments his wasted life. Of what use two days. How I found courage to come I can is wisdom? What does he care for knowledge? not tell you. I don't quite believe that it is I A lonely man without one heart to love, one creamyself who am here. It seems impossible. I ture to cherish him. Has he not willfully wasted don't feel like myself-I have not for some days the best years of his life? he cries, in a passion past. All I know is, that I am certain those hor- of rage and indignation-wasted them in the rible long days have come to an end." John pursuit of arid science, of fruitless learning? Dampier was frightened-he hardly knew why Will these tend him in his old age, soothe his -when he heard her say this. last hours, be to him wife, and children, and "I hope so, most sincerely," said he. "But, household, and holy home ties? Will these after all, Elly, we men and women are rarely stand by his bedside, and close his weary, aching contented; and there are plenty of days, more eyes, and follow him to his grave in the church-,or less tiresome, in store for me and for you, I yard? hope. We must pluck up our courage and go Faust's sad complaint went straight to the through with them. You are such a sensitive, heart of his hearers. The church-bell was ringweak-minded little girl that you will go on ing up the street. Fathers, mothers, and chilbreaking your heart a dozen times a day to the dren were wending their way obedient to its call. end of your life." And the poor desolate old man burst into pasDampier looked very grave as he spoke, but sionate and hopeless lamentation. it was too dark for her to see him. He was It was all so real to Elly that she almost beangry and provoked with himself, and an insane gan to cry herself. She was so carried away by impulse came over him to knock his head vio- the play, bythis history of Faust and of Margaret, lently against the sides of the cab. Insane, do that it was in vain Dampier begged her to be I say? It would have been the very best thing careful, to sit back in the shade of the curtain, he could have done. But they drove on all the and not to lean forward too eagerly. She would same: Elly in rapture. She was not a bit draw back for a minute or two, and then by deafraid now. Her spirits were so high and so grees advance her pretty breathless head, turndaring that they would carry her through any ing to him every now and then. It was like a thing; and when she was with Dampier she was dream to her. Like a face in a dream, too, did content to be happy, and not to trouble herself she presently recognize the face of De Vaux, her with vague apprehensions. And she was happy former admirer, opposite, in one of the boxes. now: her eyes danced with delight, her heart But Margaret was coming into the chapel with beat with expectation, she seemed to have be- her young companions, and Elly was too much 256 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. interested to think of what he would think of a silence, and Elly leaned her head against the her. Just at that moment it was Margaret who side of the box; she was trembling so that she seemed to her to be the important person in the could not sit up. And Dampier, looking white world. and gray in the face somehow, said, in an odd, De Vaux was of a different opinion: he looked harsh voice:towards them once or twice, and at the end of "Elly, you must not mind what I was obliged the second act Dampier saw him get up and to sayjust now. You see, my dear child, that it leave his seat. Sir John was provoked and an- doesn't do. I ought never to have brought you, noyed beyond measure. He did not want him, and I could think of no better way to get out of De Vaux, least of all people in the world. Every my scrape than to tell him that lie." moment he felt as he had never felt before- "It was-it was a lie?" repeated Elly, slowhow wrong it was to have brought Elly, whom ly raising herself upright. he was so fond of, into such a situation. For a "What could I do?" Sir John continued,very moment he was undecided, and then he rose, nervously and exceedingly agitated. "Elly, my biting his lips, and opened the door of the box, dear little girl, I could not let him think you hoping to intercept him; but there was his Me- were out upon an unauthorized escapade. We phistopheles, as ill-luck would have it, standing all know how it is, but he does not. You must, at the door ready to come in. you do forgive me-only say you do." "I thought I could not be mistaken," De "And it is not true?" said Elly, once more, Vaux began, with a smirk, bowing, and looking in a bewildered piteous way. significantly from one to the other. "Did you "I-I belong to Latitia. It was settled besee me in the gallery of the Louvre the other fore we came abroad," faltered Dampier; and day?" he just looked at her once, and then he turned Elly blushed up very red, and Dampier mut- away. And the light was gone out of her face; tered an oath as he caught sight of the other all the sparkle, the glitter, the amazement of man's face. He was smiling very disagreeably. happiness-just as this shining theatre, now John glanced a second time, hesitated, and then full of life, of light, of excitement, would be in said, suddenly and abruptly: "No, you are not a few hours black, ghastly, and void. John mistaken. This is Miss Gilmour, my fialnce, Dampier did not dare to look at her again-he M. de Vaux. I dare say you are surprised that hesitated, he was picking and choosing the I should have brought her to the play. It is the words which should be least cruel, least insultcustom in our country." He did not dare look ing; and while he was still choking and fumat Elly as he spoke. Had he known what else bling, he heard a noise outside, a whispering, as to say he would have said it. the door flew open. Elly looked up and gave De Vaux was quite satisfied, and instantly a little low plaintive cry, and two darkling, assumed a serious and important manner. The frowning men in black coats came into the box. English miss was to him the most extraordinary They were the Pasteurs Boulot and Tourbeing in creation, and he would believe any neur. thing you liked to tell him of her. He-was pre- Who cares to witness, who cares to read, who pared to sit down in the vacant chair by Eliza- cares to describe, scenes such as these? Rebeth, and make himself agreeable to her. proach, condemnation, righteous wrath and inThe English miss was scarcely aware of his dignation, and then one crushed, bewildered, alexistence. Faust, Margaret, had been the whole most desperate little heart. world to her a minute ago. Where was she She was hurried out into the night air. She now?.... where were they?.... Was she had time to say good-bye, not one other word. the actress? and were they the spectators look- He had not stretched out a hand to save her. ing on?.... Was that the Truth which he The play was going on, all the people were sithad spoken? Did he mean it? Was there ting in their places, one or two looked up as such wonderful, wonderful happiness in store she passed by the open doors. Then they came for a poor little wretch like herself? Ah! out into the street; the stars were all gone, the could it be —could it be true? Her whole night was black with clouds, and a heavy rain soul shone in her trembling eyes, as she looked was pouring down upon the earth. The drops up for one instant, and upturned her flashing, fell wet upon her bare, uncovered head. "Go speaking, beaming face. Dampicr was very under shelter," said the PasteurBoulot; but she pale, and was looking vacantly at the stage. paid no heed, and in a minute a cab came up, Margaret was weeping, for her troubles had the two men clasped each other's hands in the begun. Mephistopheles was laughing, and De peculiar silent way to which they were used. Vaux chatting on in an agreeable manner with Boulot walked away. And Elly found herself his hat between his knees. After some time, alone, inside the damp vehicle, driving over the he discovered that they were not paying atten- stones. Her stepfather had got upon the box: tion to one single word he was saying; upon he was in a fury of indignation, so that he could which he rose in an emnpressd manner, wished not trust himself to be with her. them good-bye politely, and went away very well His indignation was not what she most feared. pleased with his own good-breeding. And Another torturing doubt filled her whole heart. then, when he was gone, when the door was Her agony of hopelessness was almost unendurashut, when they were alone together, there was ble: she was chilled through and through, but THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 257 she did not heed it-and faint, and sick, and that she had forgotten herself so far, forgotten wearied, but too unhappy to care. Unhappy is his teaching, his wishes, his firm convictions, hardly the word-bewilderment, a sort of crush- sinned so outrageously Ah, it was too much; ed dull misery, would better describe her state. it was impossible, it was unpardonable. He She felt little remorse: she had done wrong, fired up, and in an agitated voice said it could but not very wrong, she thought. She sat mo- not be; that he knew her to be incapable of such tionless in the corner of the jolting cab, with horrible conduct, and then, seizing his hat, he the rain beating in at the open window, as they rushed down stairs and called a carriage which travelled through the black night and the splash- happened to be passing by. ing streets. "-Where are you going?" asked Boulot, who By what unlucky chance had M. Boulot been had followed him, somewhat alarmed. returning home along the Boulevards about "I am going home, to see that she is there. half-past seven, at the very moment when Elly,- Safe in her room, and sheltered under her pajumping from the carriage, stopped to look up rents' roof, I humbly pray. Far away from the at the little new moon? He, poor man, could snares and dangers and temptations of the hardly believe his eyes. He did not believe world." them, and went home wondering, and puzzling, Alas! poor Elly was not at home, peacefuland asking himself if that audacious girl could ly resting or reading by the lamplight. Franbe so utterly lost as to set her foot in that hor-;oise, to be sure, told them she was in bed, and rible den of iniquity. Ah! it was impossible; Tourneur went hopefully to her door and knockit was some one strangely like her. She could ed: not be so lost, so perverted. But the chances "Elly," he cried, "mon enfant! etes-vous were still against Elly; for when he reached the la, ma fille? Repondez, Elizabeth!" and he modest little apartment where he lived, his maid- shook the door in his agitation. servant told him that M. Tourneur had been Old Fran9oise was standing by, holding the there some time, and was waiting to see him. candle, Boulot was leaning against the wall. And there in the study, reading by the light of But there came no answer. The silence struck the green lamp, sat Tourneur, with his low- chill. Tourneur's face was very pale, his lips crowned hat lying on the table. He had come were drawn, and his eyes gleamed as he raised up on some business connected with an ap- his head. He went away for a minute and came pointment he wanted to obtain for Antho- back with a little tool; it did' not take long to ny. His wife was to follow him next day, he force back the lock-the door flew open, and said, and then he and Boulot fell to talking there was the empty room all in disorder! In over their affairs and Anthony's prospects and silence truly, but emptiness is not peace always, chances. silence is not tranquillity; a horrible dread and "Poor Anthony, he has been sorely tried and terror came over poor Tourneur; Fran9oise's proved of late," said his father. "Elizabeth hand, holding the light, began to tremble guiltwill never make him happy." ily. Boulot was dreadfully shocked: "Never-never!" cried Boulot. "Elizabeth! "My poor friend! my poor fiiend!" he be-she!-the last person in the world a pastor gan. ought to think of as a wife!" Tourneur put his hand to his head: "If she were more like her mother," said "-Howhas this come to pass-am Itoblame?" Tourneur. said he. "Oh! unhappy girl, what has she " Ah! that would be different," said Boulot; done?-how has she brought this disgrace upon "but the girl causes me deep anxiety, my us?" and he fell on his knees by the bedside, friend. Iers is, I fear, an unconverted spirit. and buried his head in the clothes-kneeling HIer heart is of this world; she requires much there praying for Elly where she had so often earnest teaching. Did you take her to Fon- knelt and poured out all her sad heart.... tainebleau with you?" Elly, at that minute-sitting in the little box, "She would not come," said Tourneur; "she wondering, delighted, thrilling with interest, is at home with my sister, Madame Jacob; or with pleasure —did not guess what a strange rather by herself, for my sister went away aday scene was taking place in her own room at or two ago." home; she did not once think of what trouble. "Tourneur, you do not do wisely to leave what grief, she was causing to others, and to that girl alone; she is not to be trusted," said herself, poor child, most of all. Only a few the other, suddenly remembering all his former minutes more-all the music would cease abdoubts. And so, when Tourneur asked what he ruptly for her; all the lights go out; all the meant, he told him what he had seen. The sweetness turn to gall and to bitterness. Nearmere suspicion was a blow for our simple-mind- er and nearer comes the sad hour, the cruel ed pasteur. He loved Elly; with all her way- awakening; dream on still for a few happy minwardness, there was a look in her eyes which utes, poor Elly!-nearer and nearer come these nobody could resist. In his heart of hearts he two angry silent men, in their black, sombre liked her better for a daughter-in-law than any clothes-nearer and nearer the cruel spoken one of the decorous young women who were in word which will chill, crush, and destroy. the habit of coming to be catechised by him. Elizabeth's dreams lasted a little longer, and But to think that she hnd deceived him, to think then she awoke at last. R 258 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. CHAPTER VII.; more can I say? Come again in an hour, and CHAPTER VII. J I will tell you what I think." Not a flower, not a flower sweet, So Miss Dampier was as good as her word, On my black coffin let there be strewn; and set off on her pilgrimage, and drove along Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse where my bones shall be thrown. the lighted streets, and then past the cab-stand A thousand, thousand sighs to save, and the hospital to the house with the shuttered SLay me, oh! where i windows. Her own heart was very sad as she Sad true lover never find my grave, To veep there. got out of the carriage and rang at the bell. But looking up by chance, she just saw a gleam IT was on the evening of the Monday after of light which came from one of the upper that Miss Dampier arrived in Paris, with her windows and played upon the wall. She took bonnet-box, her knitting, her carpet-bag. She this as a good omen, and said to herself that drove to Meurice's, and hired a room, and then all would be well. Do you believe in omens? she asked the servants there who knew him The light came from a room where Elly was lywhether Sir John Dampier was still staying in ing asleep, and dreaming gently-calm, satisfied, the house. They said he had left the place happy for once, heedless of the troubles and some time before, but that he had called twice turmoils and anxieties of the waking people all that day to ask if she had arrived. And then round about her. She looked very pale, her Miss Dampier, who always liked to make her- hands were loosely clasped, the light was in the self comfortable and at home, went up to her window, flickering; and meanwhile, beneath room, had the window opened, light brought, the window, in the street, Miss Dampier stood and ordered some tea. She was sitting at the waiting under the stars. She did not know table in her cap, in her comfortable black gown, that Elly saw her in her dim dreams, and somewith her knitting, her writing-desk, her books, how fancied that she was near. all set out about the room. She was pouring The door opened at last. How black the out tea for herself, and looking as much at home court-yard looked behind it! "I What do you as if she had lived there for months, when the want?" said Clementine, in a hiss. "Who is door opened, and her nephew walked in. She it?" was delighted to see him.' I want to know how Miss Gilmour is," said " My dear Jack, how good of you to come!" Miss Dampier, quite humbly, " and to see Monsaid the old lady, looking up at him, and hold- sieur or Madame Tourneur." ing out her hand. "But you don't look well. "Vousetes Madame Dampierre," said ClemYou have been sitting up late and racketing. entine. "Madame est occupee. Elle ne reWill you have some tea to refresh you? I will oit pas." treat you to any thing you like." "When will she be disengaged?" said the " Ah, don't make jokes," said Dampier. "I old lady. am very unhappy. Look here, I have got into "Ma foi!" said Clementine, shrugging her the most horrible scrape; and not myself only." shoulders, "that I can not tell you. Slie has And the room shook, and the tea-table rattled, desired me to say that she does not wish to see as he went pacing up and down the room with any body." And the door was shut with a heavy footsteps. "I want to behave like a gen- bang. Elly woke up, startled from her sleep; tleman, and I wake up one morning to find my- and old Fran9oise happening to come into the self a scoundrel. Do you see?" room, carried the candle away. " Tell me.about it, my dear," said Miss Dam- Miss Dampier went home very sad and pier, quietly. alarmed, she scarcely knew why. She wrote a And then poor John burst out and told all tender little letter to Elly next day. It was:his story, confounding himself, and stamping, flinging himself about into one chair after an- DE AR CHILD,-You must let me come and other. "I meant no harm," he said. "I see you. We are very unhappy, John and I, to wanted to give her a little pleasure, and this is think that his imprudence has caused you such the end. I think I have broken her heart, and trouble. He does not know how to beg you to those pasteurs have murdered her by this time. forgive him-you and M. Tourneur and your They Won't let me see her; Tourneur almost mother. He should have known better; he has ordered me out of the house. Aunt Jean, do been unpardonably thoughtless, but he is nearly say something; do have an opinion." broken-hearted about it. He has been engaged "I wish your cousin was here," said Miss to Lxtitia for three or four months, and you Dampier; " he is the parson of the family, and know how long she has loved him. Dearest bound to give us all good advice; let me write Elly, you must let me come and see you, and to him, Jack. I have a certain reliance on perhaps one day you may be trusted to the care Will's good sense." of an old woman, and you will come home with "I won't have Will interfering with my af- me for a time, and brighten my lonely little fairs," cried the other testily. "And you-you house. Your affectionate old friend,,will not help me, I see?" "JEAN DAMPIER." "I will go and see Elizabeth," said Miss Dampier, "to-night, if you like. I am very, But to this there came no answer. Miss very sorry for her, and for you too, John. What Dampier went again and could not get in. She THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 259 wrote to Madame Tourneur, who sent back the that she should be so made to suffer. " A poor letter unopened. John Dampierwalked about, little thing like me," said Elly, "lonely and pale and haggard and remorseful. fiiendless and heart-broken." The pang was so One evening he and his aunt were dining in sharp that it seemed to her like physical pain, the public room of the hotel, and talking over and she moaned, and winced, and shivered this affair, when the waiter came and told them under it-was it she herself or another person that a gentleman wanted to speakto Miss Dam- that was here in the darkness? She was cold, pier, and the old lady got up and went out of too, and yet burning with thirst; she groped the room. She came back in an instant, look- her way to the jug, and poured out a little water, ing very agitated. "John!" she said-"Oh and drank with eager gulps. Then she began John!" and then began to cry. She could not to take off her damp clothes; but it tired her, speak for a minute, while he, quite frightened and she forgot to go on; she dropped her cloak for his part, hastily went to the door. A tall upon the floor and flung herself upon the bed, young man was standing there, wrapped in a with a passionate outcry. Her mouth was dry loose coat, who looked into his face and said:- and parched, her throat was burning, her hands "Are you Sir John Dampier? My sister were burning too. In the darkness she seemed Elizabeth would like to see you again. I have to see his face and Laetitia's glaring at her, and come for you." she turned sick and giddy at the sight; pres-' Your sister Elizabeth!" said Dampier, look- ently, not theirs only, but a hundred othersing surprised. Tourneur's, Boulot's, Faust's, and MephistophThe other man's face changed as he spoke eles's —-crowding upon her and glaring fuagain. "I amAnthony Tourneur; I have come riously. She fell into a short, uneasy sleep to fetch you, because it is her wish, and she is once, and woke up with a moan as the hospital dying, we fear." clock struck three. The moon was shining The two men stood looking at one another into her room, ineffably gray, chill, and silent, for one horrible moment, then Dampier slowly and as she woke, a horror, a terror, came over turned his face round to the wall. In that one her-her heart scarcely beat; she seemed to be instant all that cruel weight which had almost sinking and dying away. She thought with a crushed poor Elly to death came and fell upon thrill that her last hour was come; the terror his broad shoulders, better able, in truth, to bear seemed to bear down upon her, nearer and it, than she had ever been. closer and irresistible-and then she must have He looked up at last. "Have I done this?" fallen back senseless upon her bed. And so said he to Tourneur, in a sort of hoarse whisper. when Frangoise came with a message in the "I meant for the best." morning, which was intended to frighten the "I don't know what you have done," said rebellious spirit into submission, she found it the other, very sadly. "Life and death are gone, safe, far away from reproach, from angry not in your hands or mine. Let us pray that chiding, and the poor little body lying lifeless, our mistakes may be forgiven us. Are you burnt with fierce fever, and racked with dull ready now?" pain. All that day Elly was scarcely sensible, Elly's visions had come to an end. The lying in a sort of stupor. Fran9oise, with tenhour seemed to be very near when she should der hands, undressed her and laid her within awake from the dream of life. Dim figures of the sheets; Tourneur came and stood by the her mother, her stepfather, of old Fran9oise, poor child's bedside. He had brought a doctor, came and stood by her bedside. But how far who was bending over her. off they appeared! how distant their voices'" It is a sort of nervous fever," said the docsounded! Old Frangoise came into her room tor, "and I fear that there is some inward inthe morning after Elly had been brought home, flammation as well; she is very ill. This must with some message from Tourneur, desiring her have been impending for some time past." to come down stairs and speak to him: he had Tourneur stood with clasped hands and a been lying awake all night, thinking what he heavy heart, watching the changes as they should say to her, praying for her, imploring passed over the poor little face. Who was to grace, so that he should be allowed to touch the blame in this? He had not spoken one word rebellious spirit, to point out all its errors, to to her the night before. Was it grief? was it bring it to the light. And meanwhile, Elly, repentance? Ah me! Elly was dumb now, the rebellious spirit, sat by her bedside in a sort and could not answer. All his wrath was of bewildered misery. She scarcely told herself turned against Dampier; for Elly he only felt why she was so unhappy. She wondered a lit- the tenderest concern. But he was too unhappy tle that therewas agony so great to be endured; just now to think of his anger. He went for she had never conceived its existence before. Madame Tourneur, who came back and set to Was he gone forever-was it Letitia whom he work to nurse her daughter; but she was frightcared for? " You know that I belong to Lmti- ened and agitated, and seemed scarcely to know tia," he had said. How couldit be? all heaven what she was about. On the morning of the and earth would cry out against it. Lsetitia- second day, contrary to the doctor's expectaLetitia, who cared so little, who was so pale, tions, Elly recovered her consciousness; on the and so cold, and so indifferent? How could he third day she was better. And when Tourneur speak such cruel words? Oh shame, shame! came into the room, she said to him with one of 260 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. her old pretty, sad smiles: "You are very an- her for some little time, she stopped him and gry with me, are you not? You think I ought said: " You can not know how near these things not to have gone to the play with John Dam- seem, and how much more great and awful and pier?" real they are, when you are lying here like me, " Ah, my child," said Tourneur, with a long- than when you are standing by another person's drawn, shivering sigh, "I am too anxious to be sick-bed. Nobody can speak of them to me as angry." they themselves speak to me." She said it so "Did he promise to marry you, Elly?" said simply, with so little intention of offense, that Madame Tourneur, who was sitting by her bed- Boulot stopped in the midst of his little sermon, side. She was looking so eagerly for an answer and said farewell quite kindly and gently. And that she did not see her husband's look of re- then, not long after he was gone, Anthony came proach. back with the Dampiers. " How could he?" said Elly, simply. "He They walked up the wooden stairs with hearts is going to marry Lvetitia." that ached sorely enough. Miss Dampier was "Tell me, my child," said Tourneur, gently calm and composed again; she had stood by taking her hand, " how often did you go with many a death-bed-she was expecting to go herhim?" self before very long-but John was quite un"Three times," Elly answered, faintly. nerved. Little Elly, whom he had pitied and "Once to the Bois, and once to the Louvre, looked down upon and patronized, was she to and then that last time," and she gasped for be to him from this minute a terror, a lifelong breath. Tourneur did not answer, but bent regret and remorse?-he could hardly summon down gently and kissed her forehead. courage to walk into the room when the door It was on that very day that Dampier called. was opened and Anthony silently motioned him Elly seemed somehow to know that he was in to pass through it. the house. She got excited, and began to wan- And yet there was nothing very dreadful. der, and to call him by his name. Tourneur A pale, sweet face lying on the little white bed; heard her, and turned pale, and set his teeth as the gentle eyes, whose look he knew so well, lie went down to speak to Sir John. In the turned expectantly towards him; a cup with evening the girl was better, and Anthony ar- some flowers; a little water in a glass by the rived from the south. And I think it was on bedside; an open window; the sun setting bethe fifth day that Elly told Anthony that she hind the poplar-trees. wanted to see Dampier once again. Old Franvoise was sitting in the window, sew"You can guess how it has been," she said, ing; the birds were twittering outside. John " and I love him still, but not as I did. An- Dampier thought it strange that death should thony, is it not strange? Perhaps one is self- come in this familiar guise-tranquilly, with ish when one is dying. But I want to see him the sunset, the rustling leaves of the trees, the -just once again. Every thing is so changed. scent of the geraniums in the court below, the I can not understand why I have been so un- cackle of the hens, the stitching of a needlehappy all this time. Anthony, I have wasted he almost envied Elly, lying resting at the end all my life; I have made nobody happy-not of her journey: Elly, no longer the silly little even you." girl he had laughed at, chided, and played with "You have made me love you, and that has -she was wise now, in his eyes. been my happiness," said Anthony. "I have She could not talk much, but what she said been very unhappy too; but I thank Heaven for was in her own voice and in her old manner having known you, Elly." -"You kind people, to come and see me," Elly thought that she had but a little time she said, and beckoned to them to approach left. What was there in the solemn nearness nearer. of death that had changed her so greatly? She Miss Dampier gave her nephew a warning had no terror: she was ready to lie down and touch; she saw how agitated he was, and was go to sleep like a tired child in its mother's afraid that he would disturb Elizabeth. But arms. Worldly! we call some folks worldly, what would he not have done for her? He and truly they have lived for to-day and cared controlled himself, and spoke quietly, in a low for to-day; but for them, as for us, the great voice: to-morrow comes, and then they cease to be "I am very grateful to you, dear Elly, for worldly-is it not so? Who shall say that sending for me. I was longing to hear about such and such a life is wasted, is purposeless? you. I want to ask you to forgive me for the ill that such and such minds are narrow, are mean, I have done you. I want to tell you just once are earthly? The day comes, dawning freshly that I meant no harm, only it was such a pleasand stilly, like any other day in all the year, ure to myself that I persuaded myself it was when the secret of their life is ended, and the right. I know you will forgive me. All my great sanctification of Death is theirs. life I will bless you." And his head fell as he Boulot came to see Tourneur, over whom he spoke. had great influence, and insisted upon being "What have I to forgive?" faltered Elly. shown to Elizabeth's bedside. She put out her "It seems so long ago!-Faust and Margaret, hand and said, "How d'ye do, Monsieur Bou- and those pleasant drives. Am I to forgive you lot?" very sweetly, but when he had talked to because I loved you? That was a sort of mad THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 261 ness; but it is gone. I love you still, dear that is the chief thing; and if M. Tourneur will John, but differently. I am not mad now, but let me, I should like to send for my old friend, in my senses. If I get well, how changed it Dr. Bertin." will be! if I die-" And her persistency overcame Tourneur's beIf she died? Dampier, hating himself all wildered objections; her quiet good sense and the while, thought, with a chill pang, that here determination carried the day. Doctor Bertin would be a horrible solution to all his perplexi- came, and the first doctor went off in a huff, and ties. Perhaps Elly guessed something of what Elly lay tossing on her bed. What a weary was passing in his mind, for she gave him her rack it was to her, that little white bed! There hand once more, and faltered:- she lay scorched and burning-consumed by a "My love to Latitia," and, as she spoke, she fierce fire. There she lay through the long days raised her eyes, with the old familiar look in and the nights, as they followed one by one, waitthem. ing to know the end. Not one of them dared think It was more than he could bear; he stooped what that end might be. Doctor Bertin himand kissed her frail, burning fingers, and then, self could not tell how this queer illness might with scorched, quivering lips, turned aside and turn; such fevers were sometimes caused by went softly out of the room. Anthony and Ma- mental disquietude, he said. Of infection there dame Tourneur were standing outside, and as was no fear; he came day after day, and stood Dampier passed she looked at him piteously, pitifully by the bedside. He had seen her once and her lips trembled too, but she did not speak. before in her brilliance and health; he had nevIt seemed to him somehow-only he was think- er cared for her as he did now that she was lying of other things-as if Elly's good and bad ing prostrate and helpless in their hands. angels were waiting there. He himself passed Madame Jacob had carried off her children on with a hanging head; what could he say to at the first alarm of fever; the house was kept justify himself?-his sorrow was too real to be darkened and cool and quiet; and patient Miss measured out into words, his penitence greater Dampier sat waiting in the big chair for good almost than the offense had been. Even Tour- or for ill fortune. Sometimes of an evening neur, whom he met in the court-yard, almost she would creep down stairs and meet hernephforgave him as he glanced at the stricken face ew in the street outside and bring him news. that was passing out of his house into the And besides John, there was poor Anthony street. wandering about the house, wretched, anxious, After he was gone, Elly began to wander. and yet resigned. Often, as a boy, he had fearFrangoise, who had never taken such a bad view ed death; the stern tenets to which he belongof Elly's condition as the others, and who strong- ed made him subject to its terrors, but now it ly disapproved of all this leave-taking, told Miss seemed to him so simple a thing to die, that he Dampier that if they wanted to kill her outright, wondered at his own past fears. Elly thought they need only let in all Paris to stare at her, as it a simple thing to die, but of this fever she was they had been doing for the last two days; and weary-of this cruel pain and thirst and misery; Miss Dampier, meekly taking the hint, rose in she would moan a little, utter a few complainher turn to go. But Elly, from her bed, knew ing words, and wander off into delirium again. that she was about to leave her, and cried out She had been worse than usual one evening, piteously, and stretched out her hands, and. the fever higher. It was a bad account that clutched at her gown. Miss Dampier had to give the doctor when he "Faut rester," whispered Francoise. came, to the anxious people waiting for news. "I mean to stay," said Miss Dampier, after All night long Elly's kind nurse sat patiently in a moment's deliberation, sitting down at the the big arm-chair, knitting, as was her way, or bedside and untying her bonnet. sometimes letting the needles fall into her lap, Under her bonnet she wore a little prim cap, and sitting still with clasped hands and a wistwith loops of gray ribbon; out of her pocket ful heart. The clocks of the city struck the she pulled her knitting and a pair of mittens. dark hours as they passed-were these Elly's She folded up her mantlet and put it away; last upon earth? Jean Dampier sadly wondersle signed to Fran9oise to leave her in charge. ed. The stars set behind the poplar-trees, a When Tourneur came in he found her installed, night - breeze came shivering now and then and as much at home as if she were there by through the open window. The night did not rights. Elly wished it, she told him, and she appear so very long: it seemed hastening by, would stay were ten pasteurs opposed to it. dark and silent, relentless to the wearied nurse; Tourneur reluctantly consented at last, much for presently, before she knew it almost, it seemagainst his will. It seemed to him that her ed as if the dawn had begun; and somehow, as motherought to be Elly's best nurse, but Madame she was watching still, she fell asleep for a little. Tourneur eagerly implored him to let Miss While she slept the shadows began to tremble Dampier remain; she seemed strangely scared and fade, and fly hither and thither in the deathand helpless, and changed and odd. "Oh, if like silence of the early morning, and when she you will only make her well!" said she to the woke it was with a start and a chill terror, old Scotchwoman. coming she knew not whence. She saw that "How can I make her well?" Miss Dam- the room was gray, and black no longer. Her pier answered. "I:will try and keep her quiet, heart began to beat, and with a terrified glance 262 THlE STORY OF ELIZABETH. she looked round at the bed where Elly was CHAPTER VIII. lying. lying.l Move eastward, happy earth, and leave She looked once, and then again, and then Yon orange sunset, waning slow suddenly her trembling hands were clasped in From fringes of the faded eve. humblest thanksgiving, and the gray head bent o happy planet, eastward go, Till over thy dark shoulder glow lower and lower. Thy silver sister-world, and rise There was nothing to fear any more. Elly To glass herself in dewy eyes, ~.4.," ^.^ 1.0 That watch me from the glen below. was sleeping quietly on her pillow, the fiery spots had faded out of her cheeks, her skin look- AND so she had left all behind, Elizabeth ed fresh and moist, the fever had left her. thought. Paris, the old house, mother, stepfaDeath had not yet laid his cold hand on the ther, and pasteur, the court-yard, the familiar poor little prey, he had not come while the nurse wearisome life, the dull days breaking one by was sleeping-he had not called her as yet. I one, John Dampier, her hopeless hopes, and her speak in this way from long habit and foolish- foolish fancies-she had left them all on the ness. For, in truth, had he come, would it have other side of the sea for a time, and come away been so sad, would it have been so hard a fate- with kind Miss Dampier. would it have been Death with his skeleton's Here, in England, whither her good friend head, and his theatrical grave-clothes, and his had brought her to get well, the air is damp scythe, and his hour-glass? Would it have with sea-breezes; the atmosphere is not keen been this, or simply the great law of Nature and exciting as it is abroad; the sky is more working peacefully in its course-only the seed often gray than blue; it rarely dazzles and falling into the ground, only the decree of that bewilders you with its brilliance; there is husame merciful Power which sent us into the midity and vegetation, a certain placidity and world?-us men and women, who are glad to denseness and moisture of which some people exist, and grateful for our own creation, into a complain. To Elizabeth-nervous, eager, exworld where we love to tarry for a while? citable-this quiet green country, these autumn Jean Dampier, sitting there in the dawning, mists were new life. Day by day she gained thought something of all this, and yet how could strength, and flesh, and tone, and health, and she help acknowledging the mercy which spared good spirits. her and hers the pang of having fatally injured But it was only by slow degrees that this good this poor little Elly, whom she had learned to change was effected; weaknesses, faintnesses, relove with all her tender old heart? It seemed lapses-who does not know the wearisome course a deliverance, a blessing a hundred times beyond of a long convalescence? their deserts. To-night, though slie is by way of being a She had been prepared for the worst, and yet strong woman again, she feels as if she was a she had shrunk with terror from the chastise- very, very old one, somehow, as she sits at the ment. Now, in this first moment of relief-now window of a great hotel looking out at the sunthat, after all, Elly was, perhaps, given back to set. It seems to her as if it was never to rise them, to youth, to life-she felt as if she could again. There it goes sinking, glorying over have borne the blow better than she had ever the sea, blazing yellow in the west. The place dared to hope. The sun rose, the birds chirped grows dark; in the next room through the open freshly among the branches, the chill morning door her white bed gleams chilly; she shudders spread over the city. Sleepers began to stir, as she looks at it, and thinks of the death-bed and to awake to their daily cares, to their busy from which she has scarce risen. There are life. Elizabeth's life, too, began anew from this hours, especially when people are still weak and hour. exhausted by sickness, when life seems unbearSome one said to me just now that we can able, when death appears terrible, and when best make others happy by the mere fact of our the spirit is so weary that it seems as if no sleep own existence; as she got well day by day, Elly could be deep enough to give it rest. "When found that it was so. How had she deserved so I am dead," thought Elizabeth; " ah me! my much of those about her? she often wondered body will be at rest, but I myself, shall I have to herself. A hinderance, a trouble, a vexation forgotten-do I want to forget....?" to them was all she had ever been; and yet as Meanwhile Miss Dampier, wrapped in her one by one they came to greet her, she felt that gray cloak, is taking a brisk solitary little walk they were glad. Anthony's eyes were full of upon the wooden pier which Elly sees reflected tears; Tourneur closed his for an instant, as he black against the sea. Aunt Jean is serenely uttered a silent thanksgiving-she herself did happy about her charge; delighted to have carnot know how to thank them all. ried her off against all opposition; determined And here, perhaps, my story ought to end, that somehow or other she shall never go back; but in truth it is not finished, though I should that she shall be made happy one day. cease to write it down, and it goes on and on as It is late in the autumn. Tourists are flockthe years go by. ing home; a little procession of battered ladies and gentlemen carrying all sorts of bundles and bags and parcels disembarks every day; and then another procession of ladies and gentlemen goes to see them land. Any moment you may THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 263 chance to encounter some wan sea-sick friend very sweetly). " You are always running away staggering along with the rest of the sufferers, with one idea after another, you silly old womwho are more or less other people's friends. an. Young ladies' hearts are made of indiaThe waves wash up and down, painted yellow rubber, and Lady Dampier says this one is an by the sunset. There is no wind, but it has artful-designing-horrible-abominable-" been blowing hard for a day or two, and the sea Aunt Jean (sadly).-" Elly nearly died, that is not yet calm. How pleasant it is, Miss Dam- is all. You are like all men, Will-" pier thinks; chill, fresh, wholesome. This good The Nephew (inter-tupting).-" Don't! Conair is the very thing for Elly. Along the cliffs sider, I'm just out of the hands of the steward. the old lady can see the people walking against Let me have something to eat before we enter the sky like little specks. There are plenty of into any sentimental discussion. Here (to a fishing-boats out and about. There is the west porter), bring my portmanteau to the hotel.still blazing yellow, and then a long gray bank Nonsense (to a flyman), what should I do with of clouds; and with a hiss and a shrill clamor your carriage?" here comes the tossing, dark-shadowed steamer Will Dampier was a member of the Alpine across the black and golden water. All the Club, and went year by year to scramble his passengers are crowding on deck and feebly holiday away up and down mountain-sides. gathering their belongings together; here the He was a clergyman, comfortably installed in a Fr2ederic William comes close alongside, and family living. He was something like his cousas every body else rushes along the pier to in- in in appearance, but, to my mind, better lookspect the new-comers, good old Jean trots off ing, biowner, broader, with bright blue eyes and too, to see what is what. In a few minutes the a charming smile. He looked like a gentlepassengers appear, slowly rising through a trap man. He wore a clerical waistcoat. He had like the ghost in the Corsican Brothers. been very much complimented upon his good First, a lilac gentleman, then a mouldy green sense; and he liked giving advice, and took gentleman (evidently a foreigner), then an or- pains about it, as he was anxious not to lose ange lady. his reputation. Now and then, however, he did Then a ghostly blue gentleman, then a dead- foolish things, but he did them sensibly, which ly white lady, then a pale lemon-colored gentle- is a very different thing from doing sensible man with a red nose. things foolishly. It seems to me that is just Then a stout lady, black in the face, then a the difference between men and women. faltering lady's-maid, with a bandbox. Will was Miss Dampier's ideal of what a Then a gentleman with an umbrella, nephew should be. They walked back to the Jean Dampier is in luck to-night, as, indeed, hotel together, chattering away very comfortshe deserves to be: a more kindly, tender-heart- ably. He went into the coffee-room and ordered, unselfish old woman does not exist-if that ed his dinner, and then he came back to his is a reason for being lucky-however, she has aunt, who was walking on the lawn outside. been my good friend for many a long year, and Meanwhile the sun went on setting, the winit is not to-day that I am going to begin to pay dows lighted up one by one. It was that comher compliments. fortable hour when people sit down in little I was saying she is in luck, and she finds a friendly groups and break bread, and take their nephew among the passengers-it is the gentle- ease, the business of the day being over. Will man with the umbrella; and there they are, Dampier and his aunt took one or two turns greeting one another in the most affectionate along the gravel path facing the sea; he had manner. twenty minutes to wait, and he thought they The Nephew. —" Let me get my portmanteau, might be well employed in giving good counand then I will come and talk to you as much sel. as you like." "It seems to me a very wild scheme of yours, The Aunt. -" Never mind your portman- carrying off this unruly young woman," he beteau, the porter will look after it. Where have gan; "she will have to go home sooner or later. you been, Will? Where do you come from? What good will you have done?" I am at the'Flag Hotel,' close by." "I don't know, I'm sure," says Miss DamThe Nephew. -" So I hear." pier, meekly; "a holiday is good for us at all The Aunt. -" Who told you that?" times. Haven't you enjoyed yours, Will?" The Nephew. -"A sour-faced woman at "I should rather think I had. You never Paris. I asked for you at Meurice's, and they saw any thing so pretty as Berne the other sent me to this Madame Tourneur. She told morning as I was coming away. I came home me all about you. What business is it of yours by the Rhine, you know. I saw Aunt Dampier to go about nursing mad girls?" and Tishy for an hour or two." Aunt Jean. -"Elly is not mad. You have "And did you see John at Paris?" heard me talk of her a hundred times. I do "No; he was down at V —, staying with believe I saved her life, Will; it was my busi- the M —s. And now tell me about the young ness, if any body's, to care for her. Her heart lady with the heart. Is she up stairs tearing was nearly broken." her hair? Aunt Dampier was furious." The Nephew. -"John nearly broke her heart, "So she had heard of it?" said Miss Damdid lie? I don't believe a word of it " (smiling pier, thoughtfully. And then she added rather 264 THE STORY OF ELIZABET.I. sharply, "You can tell her that the young lady gentlemen come creaking in; select limp newsis quite getting over her fancy. In fact, John papers and take their places. A young man doesn't deserve that she should remember him. who is going to town by the 10.30 train lies Now, listen, Will, I am going to tell you a down on the sofa and falls asleep and snores story." And then, in her quiet, pleasant, old- gently. A soothing silence. Mr. Dampier's fashioned way, she told him her version of all blunt pen travels along the thin paper..... that had been happening. "What a dear old woman Aunt Jenny is! Will listened and laughed, and said, "You How well she tells a story! Lady Dampier will think me a brute, but I agree with Aunt was telling me the same story the other day. Dampier. Your young woman has behaved as I was very much bored. I thought each one badly as possible; she has made a dead set at person more selfish and disagreeable than the poor John, who is so vain that any woman can other. Now Aunt Jenny takes up the tale. get him into her clutches." The personages all brighten under her friendly " What do you mean?" cries the aunt, quite old spectacles, and become good, gentle-hearted, angry. romantic, and heroic all at once-as she is her" If she had really cared for him, would she self. I was a good deal struck by her report of have forgotten all about him already? I warn poor John's sentimental imbroglio. I drank you, Aunt Jenny; I don't approve of your hero- tea with the imbroglio this evening, and I can't inc." help rather liking her. She has a sweet pretty " I must go and look after my heroine," says face, and her voice, when she talks, pipes and Miss Dampier, dryly. "I dare say your dinner thrills like a musical snuff-box. Aunt Jenny is ready." wants her for a niece, that is certain, and says But Will Dampier, whose curiosity at all that a man ought to marry the wife he likes events was excited, followed his aunt up stairs best. You are sure to agree to that; I wonand along the passage, and went in after her as der what Miles says? But she's torn with svmshe opened a door; went into a dim chill room, pathy, poor old dear, and first cries over one with two wide-set windows, through which the girl, and then over the other. She says John last yellow streaks of the sunset were fading, came to her one day at Paris in a great state of and the fresh evening blast blew in with a gust mind, declared he was quite determined to finas they entered. It was dark, and nothing could jish with all his uncertainty, and that he had be seen distinctly, only something white seemed made up his mind to break with Lwtitia, and crouching in a chair, and as the door opened to marry Elizabeth, if she was still in her old they heard a low sobbing sigh, which seemed to way of thinking. Aunt Jean got frightened, come out of the gloom; and then it was all very refused to interfere, carried off the young lady, silent. and has not spoken to her on the subject. John, " Elly, my dear child," said Miss Dampier, who is really behaving very foolishly, is still at "what is the matter?" Paris, and has not followed them, as I know my There was no answer. aunt hoped he would have done. I can't help " Why don't you speak?" said the kind old being very sorry for him. Lady Dampier has lady, groping about, and running up against heard of his goings-on. A Frenchman told chairs and tables, some people, who told some people, who-you "Because I can't speak without crying," know how things get about. Some day when I gasps Elly, beginning to cry. "And it's so don't wish it, you will hear all about me, and ungrateful-" write me a thundering letter all the way from "You are tired, dear," says Aunt Jean, "and Lucknow. There is no doubt about the matter. cold"-taking her hand; and then turning It would be a thousand pities if John were to round and seeing that her nephew had come in break off with Lstitia, to speak nothing of the with her, she said: " Ring the bell Will, and cruelty and the insult to the poor child. go to your dinner. If you will tell themn down " And so Rosey and Posey are coming home. stairs to send up some tea directly I shall be Iam right sorry for their poor papa and mamma. obliged to you." William Dampier did as he I hope you have sometimes talked to my nieces was bid, and walked away considerably mollified about their respectable Uncle Will. They are towards poor Elly. "One is so apt to find sure to belooked after and happy with Aunt Jenfault with people," he was thinking. " And ny, but how you will be breaking your hearts afthere she was crying up stairs all the time, poor ter them! A priest ought perhaps to talk to wretch." you of one consolation very certain and eficaHe could never bear to see a woman cry. cious. But I have always found my dear Prue His parishioners-the women, I mean-had a better Christian than myself, and I have no found this out, and used to shed a great many need to preach to her." tears when he came to see them. He had Will Dampier wrote a close straight little found them out-he knew that they had found handwriting; only one side of his paper was him out, and yet as sure as the apron-corner full, but he did not care to write any more that went up, the half-crown came out of the pocket. night: he put up his letter in his case, and 9.30.-Reading Room, Flag Hotel, Boats- walked out into the garden. town.-Mr. William Dampier writing at a side- It was a great starlight night. The sea gloomtable to a married sister in India. Three old ed vast and black on the horizon. A few oth THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 265 er people were walking in the garden, and they ing with it still, sometimes, and setting it to talked in hushed yet distinct voices. Many of rights. It was lying on the breakfast-table the windows were open and alight. Will look- next morning when Will Dampier came in to ed up at the window of the room where he had see his aunt. Miss Dampier, who liked order, been to see his aunt. That was alight and open begged Elly to take it off, and Dhampier politely, too, and some one was sitting with clasped hands to save her the trouble, set it down somewhere looking at the sky. Dampier lit a cigar, and else, and then came to the table and asked for he, too, walked along gazing at the stars, and some tea. The fishes had had no luck that thinking of Prue's kind face as he went along. morning, he told them; he had been out in a Other constellations clustered above her head, boat since seven o'clock, and brought back a he thought; between them lay miles of land basketful. The sea air made them hungry, no and sea, great countries, oceans rushing, plains doubt, for they came by dozens-little feeble arid and unknown; vast jungles, deserted cities, whiting-and nibbled at their bait. "I wish crumbling in a broiling sun; it gave him a lit- you would come," he said to his aunt; " the tle vertigo to try and realize what hundreds of boat bobs up and down in the sunshine, and miles of distance stretched between their two the breeze is delightfully fresh, and the people beating hearts. Distance so great, and yet so come down on the beach and stare at you little; for he could love his sister, and think of through telescopes." As he talked to his aunt her, and see her, and talk to her, as if she was he glanced at Elly, who was pouring out his in the next room. What was that distance tea; he said to himself that she was certainly which could be measured by miles, compared to an uncommonly pretty girl; and then he began the immeasurable gulf that separates each one to speculate about an odd soft look in her of us from the nearest and dearest whose hands eyes. " When I see people with that expreswe may hold in our own? sion," he wrote to his sister, "I always ask myWill walked on, his mind full of dim thoughts, self what it means? I have seen it in the such as come to most people on starlight nights; glass, sometimes, when I have been shaving. when constellations are blazing, and the living Miss Gilmour was not looking at me, but at soul gazes with awe-stricken wonder at the great the muffins and teacups. She was nicely living universe, in the midst of which it waits dressed in blue calico; she was smiling; her and trembles and adores. "The world all hair trim and shiny. I could hardly believe it about has faded away," he thought; " and lies was my wailing banshee of the previous night." dark and dim and instinct. People are lying (What follows is to the purpose, so I may as like dead people stretched out, unconscious on well transcribe a little more of Will's letter.) their beds, heedless, unknowing. Here and "When she had poured out my tea, she took there in the houses, a few dead people are lying up her hat and said she should go down to the like the sleepers. Are they as unconscious as station and get The Times for my aunt. 1 the living?" He goes to the end of the garden, should have offered my services, but Aunt Jean and stands looking upward, until he can not made me a sign to stay. What for, do you think longer of things so far above him. It think? To show me a letter she had received seems to him that his brain is like the string of in, the morning from that absurd John, who an instrument, which will break under the pas- can not make up his mind.' I do not,' he sionate vibration of harmonies so far beyond says,'want you to talk poor Elly into a grande his powers to render. He goes back into the passion. But if her feelings are unchanged, I house. Every thing suddenly grows strangely will marry lier to-morrow, if she chooses; and real and familiar, and yet it seemed, but a mo- I dare say Tishy will not break her heart. ment ago, as if to-day and its cares had passed Perhaps you will think me a fool for my away forever, pains; but I shall not be alone in the world. What was poor little Elly herself when she cried for the moon?' This is all rodomonCHAPTER IX. atade; John is not.acting fairly by Latitia, to whom he is bound by every possible promise. To humbler functions, awful Power, "My aunt said just now that it would be I call thee: I myself commend cnt th y guidance fr om tie hour. hard for Tishy if lie married her, liking ElizaOh, let my weakness have an end. beth best: and there is truth in that. But he Give unto me, made lowly wise, mustn't like her best; Miss Gilmour will et The spirit of self-sacrifice-. -, Gi The confidence of reason give, over her fancy for him, and he must get over And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live. his for her. If he had only behaved like a Ode to Duty. man and married her right off two years ago, ELLY had a little Indian box that her father and never hankered after the flesh-pots of had once given to her. It served her for a Egypt, or'if lie had only left her alone to settle work-box and a treasure-casket. She kept her down with her French pasteurscissors in it and her ruby ring; some lavender, "' If-if,' cried my aunt, impatiently, when a gold thimble, and her father's picture. And I said as much (you know her way)-' he has then in a lower tray were some cottons and done wrong and been sorry for it, Will, which tapes, one or two letters, a pencil, and a broken of us can do more? I doubt whether you silver chain. She had a childish habit of play- I would have behaved a bit better in his place.'" 266 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. This portion of Mr. Will's letter was written sense touched Elizabeth and brought tears into at his aunt's writing-book immediately after her eyes. They came faster and faster, and their little talk. Elly came in rosy from her then suddenly remembering that she was not walk, and Will went on diligently, looking up alone, and ashamed that Dampier should see every now and then with the sense of bien-etre her cry again, she jumped up With a shining, which a bachelor experiences when he suddenly blushing tear - dimmed tender face, and ran finds himself domesticated and at home with away out of the room. Aunt Jean looked at kind women. Will doubtfully, then hesitated, and gave him Miss Dampier was sitting in the window. the little shabby letter that had brought these She had got The Times in her hand, and was bright tears into the girl's eyes. Dear old soul! trying to read. Every now and then she looked she made a sort of confessor of her nephew. up at her nephew, with his curly head bent over The confessor saw a few foolish words which his writing, at Elly leaning lazily back in her Lsetitia must have written days ago, never chair, sewing idly at a little shred of work. thinking that her poor little words were to be Her hair was clipped, the color had faded out scanned by stranger eyes-written perhaps unof her cheeks, her eyes gleamed. Pretty as consciously on a stray sheet of paper. There she was, still she was changed-how changed was "John. Dear John! Dear, dearest! I from the Elizabeth of eighteen months ago am so hap.... John and Latitia. John my whom Miss Dampier could remember! The jo. Goose and gander." And then, by some old lady went on with her paper, trying to read. odd chance, she must have folded the blotted She turned to the French correspondent, and sheet together and forgotten what she had saw something about the Chamber, the Em- written and sent it off to Elly Gilmour, with peror, about Italy; about M. X-, the rich a little careless note about Schlangenbad, and banker, having resolved to terminate his exist- "more fortunate next time," on the other ence, when fortunately his servant enters the side. room at the precise moment when he was pre- "Poor little Letty!" thought Dampier, and paring to precipitate himself.... "The serv- he doubled the paper up and put it back into ant to precipitate.... the window.... the... the lavender box as the door opened, and Miss poor Tishy! At my age I did think I should Gilmour came back into the room. She had have done with sentimental troubles. Heigh- dried her eyes, she had fastened on her gray ho! heigh-ho!" sighs Miss Dampier. shawl. She picked up her hat, which was lyElly wanted some thread, and rose with a ing on the floor, and began pulling on two very soft rustle, and got her box, and came back to formidable looking gauntlets over her slim her easv-chair. Out of the window they could white hands. "I am going for a little walk," see all the pleasant idle business of the little she said to Miss Dampier. "Will you"-lhesiseaport going' on, the people strolling in the tating and blushing-"direct that little note of garden, or sitting in all sorts of queer corners, Lmtitia's to Sir John? I am going along the the boats, the mariners (I do believe they are cliff towards the pretty little bay." hired to stand about in blue shirts, and shake Will was quite melted and touched. Was their battered old noses as they prose for hours this the scheming young woman against whom together). The waiter came and took away the he had been warned? the woman who had enbreakfast, William went on with his letter, and tangled his cousin with her wiles? Miss Dampier, with John's little note in her "Aunt Jenny," he says, with a sudden pocket, was, as I say, reading the most extra- glance, " are you going to tell her why John ordinary things in The Times all about her own Dampier does not go to Laetitia?" private concerns. Nobody spoke for some ten "Why does he not go?" Elly repeats, losing minutes, when suddenly came a little gasp, a her color a little. little sigh fiom Elly's low chair, and the girl " He says that if you would like him to stay, said, "Aunt Jean! look here," almost crying, he thinks he ought not to go," says Jean Damand held out something in her thin hand. pier, hesitating, and tearing corners off The "What is it, my dear?" said Miss Dampier, Ti mes newspaper. looking up hastily, and pulling off her specta- Will Dampier turned his broad back and cles: they were dim somehow, and wanted looked out of the window. There was a mowiping. ment's silence. They could hear the tinkling "Poor dear, dearest Tishy," cried Elly, in of bells, the whistling of the sea, the voices of her odd impetuous way. "Why does he not the men calling to each other in the port: the go to her? Aunt Jean, look here, I found it sunshine streamed in: Elly was standing in it, in my box-only look here;" and she put a and seemed gilt with a golden background. little note into Miss Dampier's hand. She ought to have held a palm in her hand, Will looked up curiously from his writing. poor little martyr! Elly had forgotten all about him. Miss Dam- It seemed a long time, it was only a minute, pier took the letter, and when she had read and then she spoke; a sweet honest blush what was written, and- then turned over the came deepening into Elizabeth's pale cheeks: page, she took off her glasses again with a click, "I don't want to marry him because I care for and said, "What nonsense!" him," she said, in a thrilling, pathetic voice. And so it was nonsense, and yet the non- "Why should Lxtitia, who is so fond of him, THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 267 suffer because I behaved so badly?" The tears the hills. You might come, too, if you liked once more came welling up into her eyes. it." And when the carriage drove up to the "I shall think I ought to have died instead door there he was, waiting to hand her in. of getting well," she said. "Aunt Jean, send He had always, until he saw her, imagined him the little note; make him go, dear Aunt Elly a little flirting person, quite different from Jean." the tall young lady in the broad hat, with the Miss Dampier gave Elly a kiss; she did not long cloak falling from her shoulders, who was know what to say; she could not influence her prepared to accompany them. She had gone one way or another, away a little, and his aunt sent him to fetch She wrote to John that morning, takinggood her. She was standing against the railing, care to look at the back of her paper first. looking out at the sea with her sad eyes. There was the lawn, there was the sea, there "Flag Hotel, Boatstown, was Elly. A pretty young lady always makes November 15th. f a pretty picture; but out-of-doors in the sun"MY DEAR JACK,-I had great doubts shine she looks a prettier young lady than anyabout communicating your letter to Elizabeth. where else, thought Mr. Will, as Elizabeth It seemed to me that the path you had deter- walked across the grass. He was not alone in mined upon was one full of thorns and difficul- his opinion; more than one person looked up as ties, for her, for you, and for my niece Letitia. she passed. He began to think that, far from But although Elly is of far too affectionate a doing a foolish thing, his aunt had shown her nature ever to give up caring for any of her usual good sense in taking such good care of friends, let me assure you that her feelings are this sad, charming, beautiful young woman. now only those of friendly regard and deep in- It was no use trying to think ill of her. With terest in your welfare. When I mentioned to such a face as hers, she has a right to fall in her the contents of your letter (I think it best love with any body she pleases,- he thought; to speak plainly), she said, with her eyes full of and so, as they were walking towards the cartears, that she did not want to marry you-that riage, Will Dampier, thinking that this was a she felt you were bound to return to Ltetitia. good opportunity for a little confidential comShe had been much affected by discovering the munication, said, somewhat in his professional inclosed little note from your cousin. I must manner: "You seem out of spirits, Miss Gilsay that the part which concerns you interested mour. I hope that you do not regret your deme much, more so than her letter to her old cision of this morning." friend. But she was evidently preoccupied at "Yes, I do regret it," said poor Elly, and the time, and Elly, far from feeling neglected, two great tears came dribbling down her actually began to cry, she was so touched by cheeks. " Do you think that when a girl gives this somewhat singular discovery. Girls' tears up what she likes best in the world she is not are easily dried. If it lies in my power, she sorry? I am horribly sorry." shall yet be made happy. Will was very much puzzled how to answer " There is nothing now, as you see, that need this unexpected confidence. He said, looking prevent your fulfilling your engagements. You rather foolish: are all very good children, on the whole, and I "One is so apt to ask unnecessary questions. trust that your troubles are but fleeting clouds But, take my word for it, you have done quite that will soon pass away. That you and Lveti- right, and some day you will be more glad than tia may enjoy all prosperity is the sincere hope you are now." and desire of your affectionate old aunt, I must confess that my heroine here got ex" J. M. DAMPIER." ceedingly cross. "Ah, that is what people say who do not Miss Dampier, having determined that she know of what they are talking. What business had written a perfectly impartial letter, put it of yours is my poor, unlucky, bruised and broup in an envelope, rang the bell, and desired a ken fancy?" she said. "Ah! Why were you waiter to post it. ever told? What am I? What is it to you?" Number twenty-three's bell rang at the same All the way she sat silent and dull, staring moment; so did number fifteen; immediately out at the landscape as they went along; sufafter a quantity of people poured in by the fering, in truth, poor child, more than either of eleven o'clock train; the waiter flung the letter her companions could tell: saying good-bye to down on his pantry table, and rushed off to at- the dearest hope of her youth, tearing herself tend to half a dozen things at once, of which away from the familiar and the well-loved posting the note was not one. dreams. Dreams, do I say? They had been About three o'clock that afternoon Miss the Realities to her, poor child! for many a Dampier in her close bonnet was standing in day. And the realities had seemed to be the the passage talking to a tall young man with a dreams. black waistcoat and wide-awake. They drove along a straight road, and came "What are you going to do?" he said. at last to some delightful fresh downs, with the " Couldn't we go for a drive somewhere?" sea sparkling in the distance, and a sort of au-'"I have ordered a carriage at three," said tumnal glow on the hills all about. The breeze Miss Dampier, smiling. "We are going up on came in fresh gusts, the carriage jogged on, still 268 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. uphill, and Will Dampier walked alongside, well which she had once fancied part of life itself. pleased with the entertainment, and making Did she ever regret the decision she had made? endless jokes at his aunt. She rather liked Did she ever see occasion to think differently being laughed at; but Elly never looked up from this? If, in after times she may have felt once, or heeded what they said. They were a little sad, a little lonely now and then-if she going towards a brown church, that was stand- may have thought with a moment's regret of ing on the top of a hill. It must have been those days that were now already past and over built by the Danes a thousand years ago. There forever- still she knew she had done rightly it stood, looking out at the sea, brown, grim, when she determined to bury the past, with all solitary, with its grave-yard on the hill-side. kindness, with reverent hands. Somehow, in Trees were clustering down in a valley below; some strange and mysterious manner, the bitbut here, up above, it was all bleak, bare, and terness of her silly troubles had left her-left solitary, only tinted and painted by the brown her a better girl than she had been ever before. and purple sunshine. She was more good, more happy, more old, more They stopped the carriage a little way off, and wise, now, and, in truth, there was kindness in got out and passed through a gate, and walked store for her, there were suns yet to shine, friendup the hill-top. Elly went first, Will followed, ly words to be spoken, troubles yet to be enand Miss Dampier came slowly after. As Elly dured, other than those sentimental griefs which reached the top of the hill she turned round, had racked her youth so fiercely. and stood against the landscape, like a pie- While they were all on the hill-top the steamture with a background, and looked back and er came into the port earlier than on the day said:- when Will Dampier arrived. One of the pas"Do you hear?" sengers walked up to the hotel and desired a The organ inside the church was playing a waiter to show him to Miss'Dampier's room. chant, and presently some voices began chant- It was empty, of course; chairs pushed about, ing to the playing of the organ. Elly went windows open, work and books on the table. across the grave-yard, and leaned against the The paper was lying on the floor-the passenporch, listening. Five minutes went by; her ger noticed that a corner had been torn off; a anger was melting away. It was exquisitely little box was open on the table, a ruby ring clear, peaceful, and tranquil here, up on this hill glittering in the tray. "How careless!" lie where the dead people were lying among the thought; and then went and flung himself into grass and daisies. All the bitterness went away a great arm-chair. out of her heart, somehow, in the golden glow. So! she had been here a minute ago. There She said to herself that she felt now, suddenly, was a glove lying on a chair; there were writfor the first time, as if she could bury her fancy ing-materials on a side-table-a blotting-book and leave it behind her in this quiet place. As open, pens with the ink scarcely dry; and in the chant went on, her whole heart uttered in this room, in this place, he was going to decide harmony with it, though her lips were silent. his fate-rightly or wrongly he could not tell. She did not say to herself, what a small thing it Latitia is a cold-blooded little creature, he kept was that had troubled her: what vast combina- saying to himself; this girl with all her faults, tions were here to make her happy.; hills, vales, with all her impulses, has a heart to break or to light, with its wondrous refractions, harmony, mend. My mother will learn too late that I color; the great ocean, the great world, rolling can not submit to such dictation. By Jove! on amid the greater worlds beyond! what a letter it is! He pulled it out of his But she felt it somehow. The voices ceased, pocket, read it once more, and crumpled it up and all was very silent. and threw it into the fireplace. It was certain" Oh, give thanks," the Psalm began again; ly not a very wise composition-long, vicious, and Elly felt that she could indeed give thanks wiry tails and flourishes. "John, words can for mercies that were more than she had ever not," etc., etc. "What Lady Tomsey," etc., deserved. When she was at home with her etc. "How horror-struck Major Potterton," mother she thought-just now the thought of etc., etc.; and finally concluded with a comreturning there scarce gave her a pang-she mand that he should instantly return to Schlanshould remember to-day, all the good hopes, genbad; or, failing this, an announcement that good prayers, and aspirations which had come she should immediately join him, wherever he to her in this peaceful grave-yard up among the might be! hills. She had been selfish, discontented, and So Sir John, in a rage, packed up and came ungrateful all her life, angry and chafed but an off to Boatstown-his mother can follow him or hour ago, and here was peace, hers for the mo- not, as she chooses; and here is walking up ment; here was tranquil happiness. The mad, and down the room, while Elly, driving over rash delight she had felt when she had been the hills, is saying farewell, farewell, good-bye to with John Dampier was nothing compared to her old love forever. this great natural peace and calm. A sort of Could he have really cared for any body? veil seemed lifted from her eyes, and she felt By some strange contradiction, now that the for the first time that she could be happy, though die is cast, now that, after all these long doubts what she had wished for most was never to be and mistrusts, he has made up his mind, somehers-that there was other happiness than that how new doubts arise. He wonders whether THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 2(;9 he and Elly will be happy together? He pie- Will met a friend of his, who was going over tures stormy scenes; he intuitively shrinks from in it, and he walked down with him to see him the idea of her unconventionalities, her eager- off. He went on board with him, shook hands, ness, her enthusiasm. Ile is a man who likes and turned to come away. At that minute a quiet life, who would appreciate a sober, hap- some one happened to look round, and Will, py home-a gentle, equable companion, to greet to his immense surprise, recognized his cousin. him quietly, to care for his tastes and his ways, That was John; those were his whiskers; there to sympathize, to befriend him. Whereas now was no doubt about it. it is he who will have to study his companion He sprang forward and called him by name. all the rest of his life; if he thwart her she will " John," he said, " you here?" fall ill of sorrow; if he satisfy her she will ask " Well!" said John, smiling a little, " why more and more; if he neglect her-being busy, not me, as well as you? Are you coming or weary, or what not-she will die of grief; across?". if he want sympathy and common sense she will "Are you going across?'? said Will, doubtonly adore him. Poor Elly! it is hard upon fully. her that he should make such a bugbear of her Yes," the other answered; "I came over poor little love. His courage is oozing out at on business; don't say any thing of my having his finger-ends. He is in a rage with her, and been here. Pray remember this. I have a with himself, and with his mother, and with his particular reason." aunt. He and every body else are in a league "I shall say nothing," said Will. "I am to behave as badly as possible. He will try and glad you are going, John," he added, stupidly. do his duty, he thinks, for all that, for my hero " I think I know your reason-a very nice, is an honest-hearted man, though a weak one. pretty reason too." It is not Lady Dampier's letter that shall influ- "So those women have been telling you all ence him one way or another; if Elly is break- about my private affairs?" said Sir John, speaking her heart to have him, and if Letty doesn't ing quick, and looking very black. care one way or the other, as is likely enough, "Your mother told me first," Will said. "I well then he will marry Elizabeth, he cries, with saw her the other day. For all sakes, I am a stout desperation, and he dashes up and down glad you are giving up all thoughts of Elly Gilthe room in a fury. mour." And just at this minute the waiter comes in, " Are you?" said John, dryly. They waited and says Miss Dampier has gone out for a drive, for a minute in awkward silence, but as they and will not be back for some time. Mr. Dam- were shaking hands and saying "Good-bye," pier is staying in the house, but he has gone out suddenly John melted and said: "Look here, with her, and who shall le say? And Sir John, Will, I should like to see her once more. looking up, gives his name and says he will wait. Could you manage this for me? I don't want Upon which the waiter suddenly remembers her to know, you know; but could you bring the letter he left in his pantry, and, feeling rath- her to the end of the pier? I am going back er guilty, proposes to fetch it. And by this to Letty, as you see, so I don't think she need time Elly, and Will, and Miss Dampier have got object." into the carriage again and are driving home- Will nodded, and went up the ladder and ward. turned towards the house without a word, There was a certain humility about Elly, walking quickly and hurrying along. The with all her ill-humors and varieties, which band in the garden burst out into a pretty melseemed to sweeten her whole nature. Will ancholy dance tune. The sun went down peg Dampier, who was rather angry with her for by peg into the sea; the steamer still whistled her peevishness, could not help forgiving her, and puffed as it got up its steam. when, as he helped her out of the carriage in Elly was sitting alone. She had lighted a canthe court-yard, she said:- die, and was writing home. Her hat was lying "I don't quite know how to say it-b-ut I on a chair beside her. The music had set her was very rude just now. I was very unhappy, dreaming; her thoughts were far away, in the and I hope you will forgive me," and she looked dismal old home again, with Frano oisc, and up. The light from the hills was still in her Anthony, and the rest of them. She was beface. ginning to live the new life she had been pic" It was I who was rude," says Will, good- turing to herself; trying to imagine herself naturedly holding out his hand; and of course good and contented in the hateful old home; he forgave her. it seemed almost endurable just at this minute, The band was playing, the garden was full when suddenly the door burst open, and Will of people; but Aunt Jenny was cold, and glad Dampier came in with his hat on. to get home. The ladies went up stairs: Will " I want you to come out a little way with remained down below, strolling up and down in me," he said. "I want you to come and see the garden with the rest of the people; but at the boat off. There's no time to lose." five o'clock the indefatigable bell began to ring "Thank you," said Elly," but I'm busy." once more; the afternoon boat was getting up "It won't take you five minutes," he said. its steam, and making its preparations to cross She laughed. "I'm lazy and rather tired." over to the other side. Will could not give up. He persisted: he 270 TEIE STORY OF ELIZABETH. knew he had a knack of persuading his old CHAPTER X. women at home; he tried it on Miss Gilmour. "I see you have not forgiven me," he Said;.. Poor forsaken Flos! "yu won't trust yourself with me. Not all her brightness, sportfulness, and bloom, "you won't trust yourself with me." ller sweetness and her wildness, and her wit, " Yes, indeed," said Elly; "I am only lazy." Could save her from desertion. No; their loves Were off the poise. Love competent The time was going. He looked at his Makes better bargains than love affluent. watch; there were but five minutes-but five minutes for John to take leave of his love of BEFORE he went to bed that night, Dampier many a year; but five minutes and it would be wrote the end of his letter to Prue. He detoo late. He grew impatient. scribed, rather amusingly, the snubbing which " Pray, come, " he said. "I shall look upon Elly had given him, the dry way in which Sir it as a sign that you have forgiven me. Will John had received his advances, the glances of you do me this favor-will you come? I as- disfavor with which Aunt Jean listened to his sure you I shall not be ungrateful." advice. "So this is all the gratitude one gets Elly thought it odd, and still hesitated; but for interfering in the most sensible manner. it seemed unkind to refuse. She got up, fetched If you are as ungrateful, Prue, for this immense her hat and cloak, and in a minute he was hur- long letter, I shall, indeed, have labored in vain. rying her along across the lawn, along the side It is one o'clock. Bong! there it went from the of the dock, out to the pier's end. tower. Good-night, dear; your beloved brothThey were only just in time. "You are er is going to bed. Love to Myles. Kiss the very mysterious," said Elly. "Why do you children all round for their and your affectionate care so much to see the boat go out? How W. D." chilly it is! Are you not glad to be here on Will Dampier was not in the least like his letthis side of the water? Ah! how soon it will ter. I know two or three men who are manly be time for me to go back!" enough, who write gentle, gossiping letters like Will did not answer, he was so busy watch- women. He was a big, commonplace young ing the people moving about on board. Puff! man, straight-minded and tender-hearted, with puff! Cannot youimaginethegreat boatpass- immense energy, and great good spirits. He ing close at their feet, going out in the night believed in himself; indeed, he tried so heartily into the open sea; the streaks of light in the and conscientiously to do what was right, that west; Elly, with flushed, rosy-red cheeks, like he could not help knowing more or less that he the sunset, standing under the light-house, and was a good fellow. And then he had a happy talking in her gentle voice, and looking out, knack of seeing one side of a question, and havsaying it would be fine to-morrow? ing once determined that so and so was the Can't you fancy poor Sir John leaning against thing to be done, he could do so and so without a pile of baggage, smoking a cigar, and looking one doubt or compunction. He belonged to the up wistfully? As he slid past he actually school of athletic Christianity. I heard some caught the tone of her voice. Like a drown- one once say that there are some of that sect ing man who can see in one instant years of his who would almost make out cock-fighting to be past life flashing before him, Sir John saw Elly a religious ceremony. William Dampier did -a woman with lines of care in her face- not go so far as this; but he heartily believed there, standing in the light of the lamp, with that nothing was wrong that was done with a the red streams of sunset beyond, and the night Christian and manly spirit. He rode across closing in all round about; and then he saw her country, he smoked pipes, he went out shooting, as he had seen her once-a happy, unconscious he played billiards and cricket, he rowed up and girl, brightening, smiling at his coming: and as down the river in his boat, and he was charming the picture travelled on, a sad girl, meeting him with all the grumbling old men and women in in the street by chance-a desperate, almost his parish, he preached capital sermons-short, broken-hearted woman, looking up gravely into brisk, well considered. He enjoyed life and all his face in the theatre. Puff! puff!-it was all its good things with a grateful temper, and made over, she was still smiling before his eyes. One most people happy about him. last glimpse of the two, and they had disappear- One day, Elly began to think what a different ed. He slipped away right out of her exist- creed Will Dampier's was from her stepfather's, ence, and she did not even guess that he had only she did not put her thoughts into words. been near. She stood unwitting for an instant, It was not her way. watching the boat as it tossed out to sea, and Tourneur, with a great heart, set on the greatthen said, " Now we will go home." A sudden est truth, feeling the constant presence of those gloom and depression seemed to have come mightier dispensations, cared but little for the over her. She walked along quite silently, and affairs of to-day: they seemed to him subordidid not seem to heed the presence of her corn- nate, immaterial; they lost all importance from panion. comparison to that awful reality that this man had so vividly realized to himself. To Dampier, it was through the simple language of his daily life that he could best express what good was in him. He saw wisdom and mercy, he saw order and progression, he saw infinite variety and THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 271 wonder in all natural things, in all life, at all and Elly glances up bright, blushing, happy.... places and hours. By looking at this world, he Suppose Lady Dampier is furious, and dear could best understand and adore the next. Tishy makes peace? I should like to see ElizaAnd yet Tourneur's was the loftier spirit; to beth mistress of the dear old house. I think my him had come a certain knowledge and under- mother was like her. I don't approve of cousstanding, of which Dampier had scarce a concep- ins' marriages..... How charming she would tion. Dampier, who felt less keenly, could well look coming along the old oak gallery!" Look be more liberal, more forbearing. One of these at the old maid inthe window building castles in two told Elly that we were put into the world the air through her spectacles. But it is a rito live in it, and to be thankful for our creation; diculous sight; sheis only a fat, foolish old womto do our duty, and to' labor until the night an. All her fancies are but follies flying away should come when no man can work. The oth- with caps andjingling bells-they vanish through er said, sadly, you are born only to overcome the the windows as the door opens and the young flesh, to crush it under foot, to turn away from all people come in. that you like most, innocent or not. What do "Here is a letter for you the porter gave me I care? Are you an immortal spirit, or are you in the hall," said Will, as carelessly as he could; a clod of earth? Will you suffer that this all- Jean saw Elly's eyes busy glancing at the writwondrous, all-precious gift should be clogged, ing. and stifled, and choked, and destroyed, maybe, "M DEA AUNT JEAN,-Many thanks for by despicable daily concerns? Tourneur him- your note, and the inclosure. My mother and self set an example of what he preached by his titia are with me, and we shall all go back devoted, humble, holy, self-denying life. And to Friar's Bush on Thursday. Elly's decision yet Elly turned with a sense of infinite relief to the wisest under the circumstances, and we the other creed: she could understand it, sym- had better abide by it. Give her my love. Lspathize with it, try to do good, though to be good titia know nothing, as my mother has had the was beyond her frail powers. Already she was grace to be silent. Yours affectionately, learning to be thankful, to be cheerful, to be un- " J. C. D. selfish, to be keenly penitent for her many short-'. S.-You will be good to her, won't you?" comings. As the time drew near when an answer to her Miss Dampier read the note imperturbably, note might be expected, Miss Dampier grew anx- but while she read there seemed to run through ious and fidgety, dropped her stitches, looked out her' a cold thrill of disappointment, which was for the post, and wondered why no letter came. so unendurable that after a minute she got up Elly was only a little silent, a little thoughtful. and left the room. She used to go out by herself and take long When she came back, Elly said with a sigh, walks. One day Will, returning from one of "Where is he?" his own peregrinations, came upon her sitting "At Paris," said Miss Dampier. "They on the edge of a cliff staring at the distant coast have saved him all trouble and come to him. of France. It lay blue, pale, like a dream-coun- He sends you his love, Elly, which is very handtry, and-glimmered in the horizon. Who would some of him, considering how much it is worth." believe that there was reality, busy life in all "It has been worth a great deal to me," said earnest, going on beyond those calm, heavenly- Elly, in her sweet voice. "It is all over; but looking hills! Another time his aunt sent him I am grateful still and always shall be. I was out to look for her, and he found her at the end very rash; he was very kind. Let me be grateof the pier, leaning against the chain, and still ful, dear Aunt Jean, to those who are good to gazing towards France. me." And she kissed the old woman's shrivIn his rough friendly manner he said, "I wish elled hand. you would look another way sometimes, Miss Miss Gilmour cheered up wonderfully from Gilmour, up or down, or in the glass even. You that time. I am sure that if she had been anmake me feel very guilty, for to tell.the truth I gry with him, if she had thought herself hardly -I advised John-" used, if she had had more of what people call "I thought so," Elly cried, interrupting him. self-respect,less of that sweet humility of nature, "And you were quite right. I advised him too," it would not have been so. she said, with a smile. "Don't you think he As the short, happy, delightful six weeks has taken your advice?" which she was to spend with Miss Dampier Will looked down uncomfortably. "I think came to an end, she began to use all her phiso," he said, in a low tone. losophy and good resolves to reconcile herself to And, meanwhile, Miss Dampier was sitting in going home. Will Dampier was gone. He the window and the sunshine, knitting castles had only been able to stay a week. They missin the air. ed him. But still they managed to be very " Suppose he does not take this as an answer? comfortable together. Tea-talk, long walks, Suppose Lmtitia has found somebody else, sup- long hours on the sands, novels and story-books, pose the door opens and he comes in, and the idleness and contentment-why couldn't it go sun shines into the room, and then he seizes on forever? Elly said. Aunt Jean laughed Elly's hand, and says,' Though you give me up, and said they might as well be a couple of I will not give up the hope of calling you mine,' jelly-fish at once. And so the time went by, 272 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. but one day, just before she went away, Mr. looking out at the sea. "I can not tell, or Will appeared again unexpectedly. make schemes for the future." Elly was sitting in the sun on the beach, "Pray forgive me," said WVill, "for asking throwing idle stones into the sea. She had put such a question, but have you any idea of mardown her novel on the shingle beside her. It rying M. Anthony eventually?" was Deerbrook, I think-an old favorite of Jean " He is a dear old fellow," said Elly, flushing Dampier's. Every body knows what twelve up. "I am not going to answer any such o'clock is like on a fine day at the seaside. It questions. I am not half good enough for himn, means little children, nurses in clean cotton -that is my answer." gowns, groups of young ladies scattered here "But suppose-?" and there; it means.a great cheerfulness and "Pray don't suppose. I am not going to tranquillity, a delightful glitter, and life, and marry any body, or to think much about such light: happy folks plashing in the water, bath- things ever again. Do you imagine that I am ing-dresses drying in the sun, all sorts of aches, not the wiser for all my experience?" pains, troubles, vanishing like mist in its friend- "Are you wise now?" said Will, still in his ly beams. Ellv was thinking: "Yes, how odd manner. pleasant and nice it is, and how good, how "Look at that pretty little fishing-smack," dear, Aunt Jean is! Only six months, and Elly interrupted. she says I am to come to her in her cottage "Show it," he went on, never heeding, "by again." (Splash a stone goes into the water.) curing yourself of your fancy for my cousin "Only six months! I will try and spend them John; by curing yourself, and becoming some better than I ever spent six months before. day a really useful personage and member of Eugh! If it was not for Mme. Jacob.... society." I really do love my stepfather, and could live Elly stared at him, as well she might. happily enough with him." (Splash.) Sud- "Come back to England some day," he condenly an idea came to Elly-the Pasteur Bou- tinned, still looking away, " to your home, to lot was the idea. " Why should not he marry your best vocation in life, to be happy, and useMme. Jacob? He admires her immensely. ful, and well loved," he said, with a sweet inAh! what fun that would be!" (Splash, flection in his voice; " that is no very hard splash, a couple of stones.) And then, tramp, fate." tramp, on the shingle behind her, and a cheery "What are you talking about?" said Elly. man's voice says, " Here you are!" "How can I cure myself? How can I ever Elly stares up in some surprise, and looks forget what is past? I am not going to be pleased, and attempts to get up, but Will Dam- discontented, or to be particularly happy at pier-le was the man-sits down beside her, home. I am going to try-to try and do my opens his umbrella, and looks very odd. "I best." only came down for the day," he said, after a "Well, then, do your best to get cured of little preliminary talk. "I have been with this hopeless nonsense," said Mr. William DamAunt Jean: she tells me yon are going home pier, " and turn your thoughts to real good to-morrow." sense, to the real business of life, and to making Yes," says Elly, with a sigh; "but I'm to yourself and others happy, instead of wasting come back again and see her in a little time." and maudling away the next few best years of "I'm glad of that," says the clergyman. your life, regretting and hankering after what "What sort of a place do you live in at Paris?" is past and unattainable. For some strong " It is rather a dull place," says Elly. "I'm minds, who can defy the world and stand alone very fond of my stepfather; besides him, there without the need of sympathy and sustainment, is Anthony, and five young pupils, there is an it is a fine thing to be faithful to a chimera," old French cook, and a cross maid, and my he said, with a pathetic ring in his voice. mother, and a horri-a sister of Monsieur Tour- " But I assure you infidelity is better still someneur's, and Tou-Ton and Lou-Lou, and me." times, more human, more natural, particularly " Why that is quite a little colony," said for a confiding and uncertain person like yourDampier. "And what will you do there when self." Was he thinking of to-day as he spoke? you get back?" Was lhe only thinking of Elly, and preaching " I must see," said the girl, smiling. " Till only to her? now I have done nothing at all; but that is "You mean I had better marry him?" said stupid work. I shall teach Tou-Tou and Lou- Elly, while hereyes filled up with tears, and she Lou a little, and mind the house if my mother knocked one stone against another. "And yet will let me, and learn to cook from Franoise. I Aunt Jean says,'No!'-that I need not think have a notion that it may be useful some day of it. It seems to me as if I-I had rather jump or other." into the sea at once," said the girl, dashing the "Do, by all means." said Will; it is acap- stones away, "though I love him dearly, dear ital idea. But as years go on, what do you old fellow!" mean to do? Tou-Tou and Lou-Lou will grow "I did not exactly mean M. Anthony," said up, and you will have mastered the art of French Will, looking round for the first time and smicookery-" ling at her tears and his own talk. "'How can you ask such things?" Elly said, Elizabeth was puzzled still. For, in truth, THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 273 her sad experience had taught her to put but CHAPTER XI. little faith in kindness and implications of kindlitte fh in k s ad i s of Of all the gifts of Heaven to us below, that felicity is the ness-to attach little meaning to the good-na- sum and te chief. I tremble as I hold it, lest I should lose ture and admiration a beautiful young woman it, and be left alone in the blank world without it. Again, as certain to meet with on every side. It oI feel humiliated to think that I possess it; as hastening was certain to meet with on every side. It home to a warm fireside, and a plentiful table, I feel had not occurred to her that Will, who had ashamed sometimes before the poor outcast beggar shiverdone so little, seen her so few times, could be ing in e street. in love with her; when John, for whom she ELLY expected, she did not know why, that would have died, who said and looked so much, there would be some great difference when she had only been playing with her, and pitying her got back to the old house at Paris. Her heart as if she had been a child; and she said, still sank as Clementine, looking just as usual, openwith tears, but not caring much:- ed the great door, and stepped forward to help " I shall never give a different answer. I with the box. She went into the court-yard. believe you are right, but I have not the courage Those cocks and hens were pecketing between to try. I think I could try and be good if I stay the stones, the poplar-trees shivering, Fran9oise as I am; but to be bound and chained to An- in her blue gown came out of the kitchen; it thony all the rest of my life-once I thought it was like one of the dreams which used to haunt possible; but now — You who advise it do not her pillow. This sameness and monotony was know what it is." terrible. Already in one minute it seemed to "But I never advised it," Will said; "you her that she had never been away. Her mother won't understand me. Dear Elizabeth, why and father were out. Mme. Jacob came down won't you see that it is of myself that I am speak- stairs with the children to greet her and see her. ing?" Ah! they had got new frocks, and were grown Elly felt for a moment as if the sea had rush- -that was some relief. Tou-Tou and Lou-Lou ed up suddenly, and caught her away on its bil- were not more delighted with their little check lows, and then the next moment she found that black-and-white alpacas than Elly was. she was only sitting crying in the sun, on the Anthony was away-she was glad. After sands. the first shock the girl took heart and courage, " Look. here: every day I live, I get worse and set herself to practise the good resolutions and worse," she sobbed. "I flirt with one per- she had made when she was away. It was not son after another-I don't deserve that you so hard as she had fancied to be a little less illshould ever speak to me again-I can't try and tempered and discontented, because you see she talk about myself-I. do like you, and-and yet had really behaved so very badly before. But I know that the only person I care for really is it was not so easy to lead the cheerful devoted the one who does not care for me; and if I mar- life she had pictured to herself. Her mother ried you to-morrow, and I saw John coming was very kind, very indifferent, very unhappy, along the street, I should rush away to meet Elizabeth feared. She was ill too, and out of him. I don't want to marry him, and I don't health, but she bore great suffering with wonknow what I want. But, indeed, I have tried derful patience and constancy. Tourneur lookto be good. You are stronger than me, don't ed haggard and worn. Had he begun to disbe hard upon me." cover that he could not understand his wife? that "My dear little girl," said Will, loyally and he had not married the woman he fancied he kindly, "don't be unhappy, you have not flirted knew so well, but some quite different person? with me. I couldn't be hard upon you if I Ill-temper, discontent, he could have endured tried: you are a faithful little soul. Shall I and dealt with, but a terrible mistrust and doubt tell you about myself? Once not so very long had come into his heart, he did not know how ago I liked Tishy almost as well as you like or when, and had nearly broken it. John. There, now, you see that you have done A gloom seemed hanging over this sad house; no great harm, and only helped to cheer me up a sort of hopeless dreariness. Do you rememagain, and I am sure that you and I will be just ber how cheerful and contented Caroline had as good friends as ever. As for John," he add- been at first? By degrees she began to get a ed, in quite a different tone, " the sooner you little tired now and then-a little weary. All forget all about him the better." these things grew just a little insipid and disWill took her hand, which was lying limp on tasteful. Do you know that torture to which the shingle, said " Good-bye," took up his um- some poor slaves have been subjected? I bebrella, and walked away. lieve it is only a drop of water falling at reguAnd so, by some strange arrangement, Elly lar intervals upon their heads. At first they put away from her a second time the love of a scarcely heed it, and talk and laugh; then they good and honorable man, and turned back impo- become silent; and still the drop falls and drips. tently to the memory-it was no more-of a dead And then they moan and beg for mercy, and and buried passion. Was this madness or wis- still it falls; and then scream out with horror, dom? Was this the decree of fate or of folly? and cry out for death, for this is more than they Sie sat all in a maze, staring at the sea and can bear-but still it goes on falling. I have read the wavelets, and in half an hour rushed into this somewhere, and it seems to me that this apthe sitting-room, flung her arms round Miss plies to Caroline Tourneur, and to the terrible Dampier's neck, and told her all that happened. life which had begun for her. S 274 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. Her health failed, and she daily lost strength were glad when she came in. She was very and interest in the things by which she was sur- popular with them all; perhaps the reason was, rounded; then they became wearisome. Her that she did not do these things from a sense of tired frame was not equal to the constant exer- duty, and did not look upon the poor and the tions she had imposed upon herself; from being sick as so many of us do, as a selfish means for wearisome, they grew hateful to her; and, one self-advancement; she went to them because it by one, she gave them up. Then the terrible was more convenient for her to go than for any sameness of a life in which her heart was no body else-she only thought of their needs, longer set, seemed to crush her down day by grumbled at the trouble she was taking, and it day; a life never lived from high and honorable never occurred to her that this unconsciousness motives, but for mean and despicable ends; a was as good as a good conscience. life lofty and noble to those who, with great My dear little Elizabeth! I am glad that at hearts and good courage, knew how to look be- last she is behaving pretty well. Tourneur yond it, and not to care for the things of the strokes her head sometimes, and holds out his world, but dull and terrible beyond expression kind hand to her when she comes into his room. to a woman whose whole soul was set amidst His eyes follow her fondly as if he were her fathe thorns and thistles, and who had only rush- ther. One day she told him about William ed by chance into this narrow path blindfold Dampier. He sighed as he heard the story. with passion and despair. It was all ordained for the best, he said to himNow she has torn the bandage off her eyes; self. But he would have been glad to know now she is struggling to get out of it, and beat- her happy, and he patted her cheek and went ing against the thorns, and wearily trying to into his study. trace back her steps. Elly used to cry out in Miss Dampier's letters were Elly's best treasher childish way. Caroline, who is a woman, ures: how eagerly she took them from Clemenis silent, and utters not one word of complaint; tine's hands! how she tore them open and read only her cheeks fall away and her eyes glare them once, twice, thrice! No novels interest out of great black rings. people so much as their own-a story in which Elly came home blooming and well, and was you have ever so little a part to enact thrills, and shocked and frightened at first to see the change excites, and amuses to the very last. You which had come over her mother. She did not don't skip the reflections; the descriptions do ask the reason of it, but, as we all do sometimes, not weary. I can fancy Elly sitting in a heap accepted without much speculation the course on the floor, and spelling out Miss Dampier's; of events. Things come about so simply and Tou-Tou and Lou-Lou looking on with respectnaturally that people are often in the midst of ful wonder. strangest histories without having once thought But suddenly the letters seemed to her to so, or wondered that it should be. Very soon change. They became short and reserved; all the gloomy house, though she did not know they were not interesting any more. Looked it, seemed brightened and cheered by her coming for so anxiously, they only brought disappointhome. Even Mme. Jacob relented a little when ment when they came, and no word of the peoshe heard Ton-Ton and Lou-Lou's shouts of ple about whom she longed to hear, no mention laughter one day coming through the open win- of their doings. Even Lady Dampier's name dow. The three girls were at work in the gar- would have been welcome. But there was nothden. I do not know that they were doing much ing. It was in vain she read and re-read so good except to themselves. It was a keen, clear, eagerly, longing and thirsting for news. brilliant winter morning, and the sun out of Things were best as they were, she told herdoors put out the smouldering fires within, self a hundred times; and so, though poor Elly The little girls were laughing and working sighed and wearied, and though her heart sank, with all their hearts. Elly was laughing too, she did not speak to any one of her trouble: it and tearing up dried old plants, and heaping was a wholesome one, she told herself, one that broken flower-pots together. Almost happy, al- must be surmounted and overcome by patience. most contented, almost good.... And there Sometimes her work seemed almost greater than is many a worse state of mind than this. She her strength, and then she would go up stairs was sighing as she laughed, for she was think- and cry a little bit and pity herself, and sop up ing of herself, pacing round and round the neg- all her tears, and then run round and round the lected garden once not so long ago; then she garden once or twice, and come back, with bright thought of the church on the hill-top, then of eyes and glowing cheeks, to chatter with FranWill Dampier, and then of John, and then she poise, to look after her mother and Stephen Tourcame upon a long wriggling worm, and she neur, to scold the pupils and make jokes at them, jumped away and forgot to be sentimental. to romp with the little girls. Besides working in the garden, she set to teach- One day she found her letter waiting on the ing the children in her mother's school. What hall-table, and tore it open with a trembling this girl turned her hand to, she always did well hope...... AuntJean described the weather, and thoroughly. She even went to visit some the pig-sty, made valuable remarks on the news of the sick people, and though she never took contained in the daily papers, signed herself kindly to these exercises, the children liked to ever her affectionate old friend. And that say their lessons to her, and the sick people was all. Was not that enough? Elly asked THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 275 herself, with such a sigh. She was reading it ever. For a time they had travelled the same over in the door-way of the salle-k-manger, road-ahll she was thankful even for so much; bonneted and cloaked, with all the remains of and she unconsciously pressed the wasted hand the midday meal congealing and disordered on she was holding; and then her heart thrilled the table. with tender, unselfish gladness as the feeble "Es-tu prete, Elizabeth?" said Ton-Ton, fingers tried to clasp hers, and the faltering coming in with a little basket-there were no whisper tried to bless. stones in it this time. "Tiens, voila ce que She came home sad and tired from her sick ma tante envoie a cette pauvre Madame Jonnes." woman's bedside, thinking of the last kind gleam Madame Jonnes was only Mrs. Jones, only of the eyes as she left the room. She went an old woman dying in a melancholy room straight up stairs and took off her shabby dress, hard by-in a melancholy room in a deserted and found another, and poured out water and street, where there were few houses, but long bathed her face. Her heart was beating, her walls, where the mould was feeding, and yellow hands trembling. She was remembering and placards were pasted and defaced and flapping regretting; she was despairing and longing, in shreds, and where Elly, picking her little steps and yet resigned, as she had learned to be of over the stones, saw blades of grass growing be- late. She leaned against the wall for a minute tween them. There was a chlantier-a great before she went down; she was dressed in the wood-yard-on one side; now and then a dark blue dress, with her favorite little locket hangdoor-way leading into a black and filthy court, ing round her neck. She put her hand tiredly out of which a gutter would come with evil to her head; and so she stood, as she used to smells, flowing murkily into the street; in the stand when she was a child, in a sort of dream, distance, two figures passing; a'child in a night- and almost out of the world. And as she was cap, thumping a doll upon a curbstone; a dog waiting a knock came at the door. It was snuffing at a heap; at the end of the street the Clementine who knocked, and who said, in the placarded backs of tall houses built upon a rising sing-song way in which Frenchwomen speakground; a man in a blouse wheeling a truck, "Mademoiselle, voils pour vous." and singing out dismally; and meanwhile, good It was too dark to see any thing except that it old Mrs. Jones was dying close at hand, under was another familiar-looking letter. Elly made this black and crumbling door-way, in a room up her mind not to be disappointed any more, opening with cracked glass-doors upon the yard. and went down stairs leisurely to the study, She was lying alone upon her bed; the nurse where she knew she should find Tourneur's they had sent to herwas gossiping with the por- lamp alight. And she crossed the hall and ter in his lodge. Kindly and dimly her eyes turned the handle of the door, and opened it and opened and smiled somehow at the girl, out of went in. the faded bed, out of a mystery of pain, of grief, The lamp with its green shade on the table and solitude. lit up one part of the room, but in the duskiIt was a mystery indeed, which Elizabeth, ness, standing by the stove and talking eagerly, standing beside it, could not understand, though were two people whom she could not distinshe herself had lain so lately and so resignedly guish very plainly. One of them was Tourneur, upon a couch of sickness. Age, abandonment, who looked round and came to meet her, and seventy years of life — how many of grief and took her hand; and the other.... trouble? As she looked at the dying, indifferent Suddenly her heart began to. beat so that her face, she saw that they were almost ended. And breath was taken away. What was this? Who in the midst of her pity and shrinking compas- was this? —What chance had she come upon? sion Elly thought to herself that she would Such mad hopes as hers were they ever fulfillchange all with the sick woman, at that mi- ed? Was this moment, so sudden, so unlooked ute, to have endured, to have surmounted so for, the one for which she had despaired and much. longed, for which she had waited and lived She sat with her till the dim twilight came through an eternity of grief? Was it John through the dirty and patched panes of the win- Dampier into whose hand Touineur put hers? dows. Even as she waited there her thoughts Was she still asleep and dreaming one of those went wandering, and she was trying to picture delighting but terrible dreams from which, ah to herself faces and scenes that she could not me! she must awake? In this dream she heard see. She knew that the shadows were creeping the pasteur saying, " I a bien des choses a vous round about those whom she loved, as quietly as dire, Elizabeth," and then he seemed to go away they were rising here in this sordid room. It and to leave them. was their evening as it was hers; and then she In this iream, bewildered and trembling, with said to herself that they who made up so large a desperate effort, she pulled her hand away, a part of her life must, perforce, think of her and. said: "What does it mean? Where is sometimes: she was part of their lives, even Tishy? Whydoyou come, John? Why don't though they should utterly neglect and forget you leave me in peace?" and abandon her; even though they should And then it was a dream no longer, but a never meet again from this day; though she truth and a reality, when John began to speak should never hear their names so much as men- in his familiar way, and she heard his voice, and tioned; though their paths should separate for- saw him before her, and-yes, it was he; and 276 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. he said: " Tishy and I have had a quarrel, Elly. ocated; and not you only, every body seems to We are nothing to one another any more, and have been thinking of themselves, and never so I have come to you-to-to-tell you that I once for me. Even William, who professes to have behaved like a fool all this time." And care for me still, only spoke by chance, and rehe turned very red as he spoke, and then he was vealed the whole history. When he talked to silent, and then he took both her hands and you about Boatstown, some former suspicions of spoke again: "Tellme, dear," he said, looking mine were confirmed, and by the most fortuup into her sweet eyes-" Elly, tell me, would nate chance two people have been saved from a you-won't you-be content with a fool for a whole lifetime of regret. husband?" And Elizabeth Gilmour only an- "I will not trust myself to think of the way swered, "Oh John, John!" and burst into a in which I should have been bartered had I only great flood of happy tears: tears which fell rain- discovered the truth when it was too late. If I ing peace and calm after this long drought and speak plainly, it is in justice to myself, and from misery; tears which seemed to speak to him, no unkindness to you; for though I bid you and made him sad, and yet happier than he had farewell, I can still sincerely sign myself, yours ever dreamt of or imagined; tears which quiet- affectionately, LAETTIIA." ed her, soothed her, and healed all her troubles. Elly read the letter, and gave it back to him, Before John went away that night, Elly read and sighed, then smiled, then sighed again, and Miss Dampier's letter, which explained his ex- then went on with Miss Dampier's epistle. planations. The old lady wrote in a state of For some time past, Jean Dampier wrote, she incoherent excitement. It was some speech of had noticed a growing suspicion and estrangeWill's which had brought the whole thing about. ment between the engaged couple. John was " What did he say?" Elly asked, looking up brusque and morose at times, Tishy cross and from the letter with her shining eyes. defiant. He used to come over on his brown Sir John said: "He asked me if I did not mare and stop at the cottage gate, and ask remember that church on the hill, at Boatstown? about Elly, and then interrupt her before she We were all out in the garden, by the old statue could answer and change the talk. He used to of the nymph. Tishy suddenly stopped, and give her messages to send and then retract them. turned upon me, and cried out, When was I last He was always philosophizing and discoursing at Boatstown?. And then I was obliged to con- about first affections. Lmtitia, too, used to come fess, and we had a disagreeable scene enough, and ask about Elly. and she appealed to William-gave me my Miss Dampier hoped that John himself would cong6, and I was not sorry, Elly." put an end to this false situation. She did not "But had you never told her about-?" know how to write about either of them to "It was fiom sheer honesty that I was silent," Elly. Her perplexities had seemed unending. said Sir John; "a man who sincerely wishes "But I also never heard that you came to to keep his word doesn't say,'Madam, I like Boatstown," Elly said. some one else, but I will marry you ifyou insist "And yet I saw you there," said John, upon it;' only the worst of it is, that we were " standing at the end of the pier." And then both uncomfortable, and I now find she suspect- he went on to tell her a great deal more, and to ed me the whole time. She sent me a note in confess all that he had thought while he was the evening. Look here." waiting for her. The note said:- Elly passed her hand across her eyes with the old familiar action. "I have been thinking about what I said just "And you came to Boatstown, and you went now in the garden. I am more than ever de- away when you read Tishy's writing, and you cided that it is best we two should part. But I had the heart to be angry with me?" she said. do not choose to say good-bye to you in an an- "I was worried, and out of temper," said gry spirit, and so this is to tell you that I for- John. "I felt I was doing wrong when I ran give you all the injustice of your conduct to me. away from Tishy. I blamed you because I was Every body seems to have been in a league to in a rage with myself. I can't bear to think of deceive me, and I have not found out one true it. But I was punished, Elly. Were you ever friend among you all. How could you for one jealous?" She laughed and nodded her head. moment imagine that I should wish to marry a "I dare say not," he went on; "when I sailed man who preferred another woman? You may away and saw you standing so confidentially have been influenced and worked upon: but for with Will Dampier, I won't try and tell you all that I should never be able to place confi- what I suffered. I could bear to give you updence in you again, and I feel it is best and hap- but to see you another man's wife-Elly, I know piest for us both that all should be at an end be- you never were jealous, or you would understand tween us. what I felt at that moment." "You will not wonder that, though I try to When their tete-a-tete was over they went into forgive you, I can not help feeling indignant the next room. All the family congratulated at the way in which I have been used. I them, Madame Tourneur among the rest; she could never understand exactly what was going I was ill and tired that evening, and lying on the on in your mind. You were silent, you equiv- yellow Utrecht velvet sofa. But it was awk THIE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 277 ward for them and uncomfortable, and John along the lanes, and through the little village went home early to his inn. As Elly went up street, and when I reached the cottage I saw to bed that night, Fran9oise brought her one Elly, of whom I had heard so much, standing other piece of news-Madame Jonnes was dead. at the gate. She was a very beautiful young They had sent to acquaint the police.'But woman, tall and straight, with the most charmElly was so happy, that, though she tried, she ing blue eyes, a sweet frank voice, and a takcould not be less happy because of this. All ing manner, and an expression on her face that the night she lay awake, giving thanks and I can not describe. She had a blue ribbon in praise, and saying over to herself, a hundred her hair, which was curling in a crop. She times, " At last-at last!" held her hat full of flowers: behind her the latAt last! after all this long rigmarole. At tices of the cottage were gleaming in the sun; last! after all these despairing adjectives and the creepers were climbing and flowering about adverbs. At last! after all these thousands of the porch. hours of grief and despair. Did not that one All about rose a spring incense of light, of minute almost repay her for them all? She color, of perfume. The country folks were at went on telling herself, as I have said, that this work in the fields and on the hills. The light was a dream-from which she need never awake. shone beyond the church spire, beyond the cotAnd I, who am writing her story, wonder if it tages and glowing trees. Inside the cottage, is so-wonder if even to such dreams as these through the lattice, I could see Aunt Jean nodthere may not be a waking one day, when all ding over her knitting. the visions that surround us shall vanish and She threw down her needles to welcome me. disappear forever into eternal silence and obliv- Of course I was going to stay to tea-and I said ion. Dear faces-voices whose tones speak to that was my intention in coming. As the sun us even more familiarly than the tender words set, the clouds began to gather, coming quickly which they utter! It woulct, in truth, seem al- we knew not from whence: but we were safe most too hard to bear, if we did not guess-if and dry, sitting by the lattice and gossiping, we were not told-how the love which makes and meanwhile Miss Dampier went on with her such things so dear to us endures in the eterni- work. ty out of which they have passed. Elly had been spending the day with her, she Happiness like Elly's is so vague and so great told me. SirJohn was to come for her, and presthat it is impossible to try to describe it. To a ently he arrived, dripping wet, through the April nature like hers, full of tenderness, faithful and shower which was now pouring over the fields. eager, it came like a sea, ebbing and flow- The door of the porch opens into the little ing with waves, and with the sun shining and dining-room, where the tea was laid: a woodsparkling on the water, and lighting the fath- fire was crackling in the tall cottage chimney. oms below. I do not mean to say that my Elizabeth was smiling by the hearth, toasting poor little heroine was such a tremendous crea- cakes with one hand and holding a book in the ture that she could compass the depths and wide other, when the young man walked in. extent of a sea in her heart. Love is not a He came into the room where we were sitting thing which belongs to any one of us individual- and shook hands with us both, and then he laughly; it is everywhere, here and all round about, ed and said he must go and dry himself by the and sometimes people's hearts are opened, and fire, and he went back. they guess at it, and realize that it is theirs. So Jean Dampier and I sat mumbling conDampier came early next morning, looking fidences in the inner room, and John and Elly kind and happy and bright, to fetch her for a were chattering to one another by the burning walk; Elly was all blue ribbons and blue eyes; wood logs. her feet seemed dancing against her will, she The door was open which led, with a step, could hardly walk quietly along. Old Fran- into the dining-room, where the wood-fire was poise looked after them as they walked off to- burning. Darkness was setting in. The rain wards the Bois de Boulogne; Ton-Ton and was over, the clouds swiftly breaking and coursLou-Lou peeped from their bed-room window. ing away, and such a bright, mild-eyed little The sunwas shining, the sky had mounted star peeped in through the lattice at us two old Elly's favorite colors, maids in the window. It was a shame to hear, but how could we help it? Out of the fire-lit ~~~~+ —--- (room the voices came to us, and when we ceased chattering for an instant, we heard them so CHAPTER XII. plainly: Oh blessed rest, oh royal night! "I saw Will to-day," said a voice.' He Wherefore seemeth the time so long was talking about Latitia. I think there will Till I see yon stars in their fullest light, be some news of them before long. Should you And list to their loudest song? be gld be glad?" WHEN I first saw Lady Dampier, she had "Ah! so glad. I don't want to be the only only been married a day or two. I had been happy woman in the world." staying at Guildford, and I drove over one day "My dearest Elly!" said the kind voice. to see my old friend Jean Dampier. I came'And you will never regret —and are you across the hills and by Coombe Bottom and happy?" 278 THE STORY OF ELIZABETH. "Can you ask?" said Elly. " Come into beth Gilmour, whose troubles, as I have said, the porch, and I will tell you." And then were not very great; who is a better woman, I there was a gust of fresh rain-scented air, and a fancy, than if her life had been the happy life soft rustle, and the closing click of a door. And she prophesied to herself. Deeper tones and then we saw them pass the window, and Jean understandings must have come to her out of clasped my hand very tightly, and flung her the profoundness of her griefs, such as they arms round my neck, and gave me a delighted were. For when other troubles came, as they kiss. come to all as years go by, she had learned to "You dear, silly woman," said I, " how glad endure and to care for others, and to be valiant I am they are so happy together!" and to be brave. And I do not like her the "I hope she won't catch cold," said Jean. less because I have spoken the truth about her, looking at the damp walks. " Could not you and written to her as the woman she is. take out a shawl?" "Let her catch cold!" said I; "and in the I went to Paris a little time ago. I saw the mean time give me some tea, if you please. old grass-grown court; I saw Franoise and Remember, I have got to drive home in the Anthony, and Tou-Tou and Lou-Lou, who had dark." grown up two pretty and modest and smiling So we went into the next room. Jean rang young girls. The old lady at Asnires had done for the candles. The old silver candlesticks what was expected, and died and left her fortune were brought in by Kitty on a tray. to Tou- Tou, her goddaughter. (The little " Don't shut the curtains," said Miss Dam- Chinese pagoda is still to let.) Poor Madame pier; " and come here, Mary, and sit by the Jacob did not, however, enjoy this good luck, fire." for she died suddenly one day, some months beWhile Elizabeth and John Dampier were fore it came to them. But you may be sure wandering up and down in the dark damp gar- that the little girlS had still a father in Tourden, Jenny and I were comfortably installed neur, and Caroline too was very kind to them by the fire, drinking hot, sweet tea, and eating in her uncertain way. Shle loved them because toasted cakes, and preserves, and cream. I say they were so unlike herself-so gentle, and dull, we, but that is out of modesty, for she had no and guileless. Anthony asked me a great many appetite, whereas I was very hungry. questions about Elizabeth and her home, and "Heigh-ho!" said Jean, looking at the fire. told me that he meant to marry Lou-Lou event"It's a good thing to be young, Mary. Tell ually. He is thin and pale, with a fine head me honestly: what would you give-" like his father, and a quiet manner. He works " To be walking in the garden with young very hard, he earns very little-he is one of the Dampier," said I (and I burst out laughing), best men I ever knew in my life. As I talked " without a cloak, or an umbrella, orindia-rub- to him, I could not but compare him to Will bers? My dear Jenny, where are your five Dampier and to John, who are also good men. wits?" But then they are prosperous-and well-to-do, "Where indeed?" said Jean, with another with well-stored granaries, with vineyards and sigh. "Yet I can remember when you used fig-trees, with children growing up round them. to cry instead of laughing over such things, I was wondering if Elizabeth, who chose her Mary." husband because she loved him, and for no betHler sadness had made me sad. Whilst the ter reason, might not have been as wise if she young folks were whispering outside, it seemed could have appreciated the gifts better than hapas if we two old women were sitting by the fire piness, than well - stored granaries, than vineand croaking the elegy of all youth, and love, yards, than fig-trees, which Anthony held in his and happiness. "The night is coming for you hand to offer? Who shall say? Self-denial and me, Jenny," I said. "Dear me, how quick- and holy living are better than ease and prosly!" - perity? But for that reason some people will"The night is at hand," echoed she, softly, fully turn away from the mercies of Heaven, and: she passed her fingers across her eyes, and and call the angels devils, and its gracious bounthen sighed, and got up slowly and went to the ties temptation. - door which opened into the porch. And then Anthony has answered this questioni to him-' I heard her call me. " Come here " she said, self, as we all must do. His father looks old "Mary!" And then I, too, rose stiffly from and worn. I fear there is trouble still under my chair, and went to her. The clouds had his roof-trouble, whatever it may be, which is cleared away. From the little porch, where borne with Christian and courageous resignation the sweet-brier was climbing, we could see all by the master of the house: he seems, somehow, the myriad worlds of heaven, alight and blaz- in these later years to have risen beyond it. A ing, and circling in their infinite tracks. An noble reliance and peace are his; holy thoughts awful, silent harmony, power and peace, and keep him company. The affection between him light and life eternal - a shining benediction and his son is very touching. seemed to be there hanging above our heads. Madame Tourneur looks haggard and weary: "This is the night," she whispered, and took and one day, when I happened to tell her I was my hand in hers. going away, she gasped out suddenly-"l Ah! And so this is the end of the story of Eliza- wlat would I not give-" and then was silent THIIE STORY OF ELIZABETH. 279 and turned aside. But she remains with her gether in the sun; at the shadows falling acrcss husband, which is more that I should have given the stones of the yard. I could fancy Elizabeth her credit for. a prisoner within those walls, beating like a bird And so, when the appointed hour came, I against the bars of the cage, and revolting and drove off, and all the personages of my story struggling to be free. came out to bid me farewell. I looked back The old house is done away with and exists for the last time at the court-yard with the hens no longer. It was pulled down by order of the pecketting round about the kitchen door; at the Government, and a grand new boulevard runs garden with the weeds and flowers tangling to- right across the place where it stood. TO ESTHER. TO. be Ib. ab A a. %..bte. anhb. C. A REMEMBRANCE. March, 1869. TO ESTHER. 1859-'60. "'Tis Rome-work, made to match." THE first time that I ever knew you was at of a frank spirit, uncertain, blind, wayward, tenRome, one winter's evening. I had walked der, under this.somewhat stern exterior; and so, through the silent streets-I see them now-dark I repeat, I liked you, and, making a bow, I said with black shadows, lighted by the blazing stars I was afraid I was before my time. overhead and by the lamps dimly flickering be- "I'm afraid it is my father who is after his," fore the shrines at street corners. After cross- you said. ".'Mr. Halbert is coming, and he, too, ing the Spanish-place I remember turning into is often late;" and so we went on talking for a narrow alley and coming presently to a great about ten minutes. black archway, which led to a glimmering court. Yours is a kindly manner, a sad-toned voice; A figure of the Virgin stood with outstretched I know not if your life has been a happy one; arms above the door of your house, and the light you are well disposed towards every' soul you burning at her feet dimly played upon the stone' come across; you love to be loved, and try with worn and stained, of which the walls were built. a sweet artless art to win and charm over each Through the archway came a glimpse of the man or woman that you meet.'I saw that you night sky above the court-yard, shining wonder- liked me, that you felt at your ease with me, fully with splendid stars; and I also caught the that you held me not quite your equal, and might plashing sound of a fountain flowing in the perhaps laugh at, as well as with me. But I darkness. I groped my way up the broad stone did not care. My aim in life, heaven knows, staircase, only lighted by the friendly star-shine, has not been to domineer, to lay down the law, stumbling and knocking my shins against those and triumph over others, least of all over those ancient steps, up which two centuries of men I like. and women had clambered; and at last, ringing The Colonel arrived presently, with his white at a curtained door, I found myself in a hall, hair trimly brushed and' his white neckeloth and presently ushered through a dining-room, neatly tied. He greetedme with great friendwhere the cloth was laid; and announced at the liness and cordiality. You have got his charm drawing-room door as Smith. of manner; but with'you, my dear, it is not It was a long room with many windows, and manner only, for there is loyalty and heartiness cabinets and tables along the walls, with a tall shining in your face, and sincerity ringing in carved mantel-piece, at which you were stand- every tone of your voice. As for the Colonel, ing, and a Pompeian lamp burning on a table your father, if I mistake iot, he is a little shrivnear you. Would you care to hear what man- elled-up old gentleman, with a machine inside ner of woman I saw; what impression I got to keep him going,and outside a well-cut coatand from you as we met for the first time together? a well-bred air and a certain knowledge of the In after days, light, mood, circumstance, may world, to get on.through life with. However, modify this first image more or less, but the this is not the way to speak to a young lady about germ of life is in it-the identical presence- herfather.; and besides it is you, and not he, in and I fancy it is rarely improved by keeping, whom I.take the interest which prompts these by painting up, with love, or dislike, or long maudlin pages. use, or weariness, as the case may be. Be this Mr. Halbert and little Latham, the artist, were as it may, I think I knew you as well after the the only other guests. You did not look round first five minutes' acquaintance as I do now. I when Halbert was announced, but - went oni saw an ugly woman, whose looks I liked some- speaking to Latham, with a strange flush in how; thick brows, sallow face, a tall and your face;. until Halbert had, with great emstraight-made figure, honest eyes that had' no pressement, made his way through the chairs and particular merit besides, dark hair, and a pleas- tables, and had greeted; rather than been greetant, cordial smile. And somehow, as I looked edby, you. at you and heard you talk, I seemed to be aware So thinks I to myself, concerning certain vague 284 TO ESTHER. notions I had already begun to entertain, I am having settled that you belonged to that crackrather late in the field, and the city is taken and brained community, it was not difficult to guess has already hoisted the conqueror's colors. Per- at what was going on in your mind. haps those red flags might have been mine had I, too, as I have said, had been favored with I come a little sooner; who knows? "'De tout a card for Lady Parker's rout; and as you were laurier un poison est l'essence," says the French- so'absent and ill-inclined to talk, and the Coloman; and my brows may be as well unwreathed. nel was anxious to go off and play whist at his "I came up stairs with the dinner," Mr. Hal- club, I thought I might as well follow in Halbert was saying. "It reassured me as to my bert's traces, and gratify any little curiosity I punctuality. I rather pique myself on my might feel as to his behavior and way of going punctuality, Colonel." on in your absence. I found that Latham was "And I'm afraid I have been accusing you also going to her ladyship's. As we went down of being always late," you said, as if it were a stairs together Latham said, "It was too bad confession. of Halbert to break up the party and go off at "Have you thought so, Miss Olliver?" cried that absurd hour. I didn't say I was going, Halbert..e...... -. —.... - - -because'I thought his rudeness might strike "Dinner, sir," said Baker, opening the door. ther." All dinner-time Halbert, who has very high "But surely," said I, " Mr. Halbert seems at spirits, talked and laughed without ceasing. home there, and may come and go as he likes?" You, too, laughed, listened, looked very happy, Latham shrugged his shoulders. "I like the and got up with a smile at last, leaving us to girl; I hope she is not taken in by him. He drink our wine. The Colonel presently pro- has been very thick all the winter in other quarposed cigars.. ters. Lady Parker's niece, Lady Fanny Fare"In that case I shall go and talk to your ham, was going to marry him, they said; but daughter in the drawing-room," Halbert said. I know very little of him. He is much too "I'm promised to Lady Parker's to-night; it great a swell to be on intimate terms with a would never do to go there smelling all over of disreputable little painter like myself. What a smoke. I must be off in half-an-hour," he add- night it is!" As he spoke we came out into the ed, looking at his watch. street again, our shadows falling on the stones; I, too, had been asked to the tea-party, and I the Virgin overhead still watching, the lamp was rather surprised that Halbert should be in burning faithfully, the solemn night waning on. such a desperate hurry to get there. Talking Lady Parker had lodgings in the Corso. I felt to Miss Olliver in the next room I could very almost ashamed of- stepping.from the great enwell understand; but leaving her to rush off to tertainment without into the close racketing litLady Parker's immediately, did not accord with tie tea-party that was clattering on within. We the little theories I had been laying down. came in, in the middle of a jangling tune, the Could I have been mistaken? In this case it company spinning round and round. Halbert, seemed to me this would be the very woman to twirling like a Dervish, was almost the first persuit me-(you see I am speaking without any son I saw; he was flushed, and looked exceedreserve, and simply describing the abrupt little ingly handsome, and his tall shoulders overevents as they occurred)-and I thought, who topped most of the other heads. As I watched knows that there may not be a chance for me him I thought with great complacency that if yet?' But, by the time my cigar had crumbled any woman cared for me, it would not be for into smoke and ashes, it struck me that my lit- my looks. No! no! what are mere good tie castle had also wreathed away and vanished. looks compared to those mental qualities which, Going into the drawing-room, where the lamps etc., etc. Presently, not feeling quite easy in were swinging in the dimness, and the night my mind about these said mental qualities, I without streaming in through the uncurtained again observed that it was still better to be windows, we found you in your white dress, liked for one's self than for one's mental qualisitting alone at one of them. Mr. Halbert was ties; by which time I turned my attention once gone, you said; he went out by the other door. more to Mr. Halbert. The youth was devoting And then you were silent again, staring out at himself most assiduously to a very beautiful, the stars with dreamy eyes. The Colonel rang oldish young lady, in a green gauzy dress; and for tea, and chirped away very pleasantly to I now, with a mixture of satisfaction and vexaLatham by the fire. I looked: at you now and tion, recognized the very same looks and tones then, and could not help surprising your thoughts which had misled me at dinner. somehow, and knowing that I had not been mis- I left him still at it and walked home, wontaken after all. There you sat, making simple dering at the great law of natural equality which schemes of future happiness; you could not, seems to levelall mankind to one standard, notwould not, look beyond the present. You were withstanding all those artificial ones which we very calm, happy, full of peaceful reliance, ourselves have raised. Here was a successful Your world was alight with shining stars, great youth, with good looks and good wits and posibig shining meteors, all flaring up as they usual- tion and fortune; and here was I, certainly no ly do before going out with a splutter at the end wonder, insignificant, and plain and poor, and of the entertainment. People who are in love of commonplace intelligence, and as well satisI have always found very much alike; and now, fied with my own possessions, such as they were, TO ESTHER. 285 as he, Halbert, could be with the treasures a'I am the only culprit," you said, grimly. prodigal fortune had showered upon him. Here "Lady Fanny and Mr. Halbert came with us was I, judging him, and taking his measure as to-day. Look, there they are at the end of accurately as he could take mine, were it worth that alley." his whilto do so. Here was I, walking home And as you spoke, you raised one hand and under the stars, while he was flirting and whis- pointed, and I made up my mind. It was a pering with Lady Fanny, and both our nights very' long alley. The figures in the distance sped on. Constellations sinking slowly, the were advancing very slowly. When they reach day approaching through the awful realms of that little temple, thought I, I will tell her what space, hours waning, life going by for us both I think. alike: both of us men waiting together amidst This was by no means so sudden a determinathese awful surroundings. tion as it may appear to you, reading over these pages. It seems a singular reason to give; but You and I met often after this first meeting — I really think it was your hopeless fancy for in churches where tapers were lighting and that rosy youth which touched me and interestheavy censers swinging-on the Pincio, in the ed me so. I know I used to carry home sad narrow, deep-colored streets: it was not al- words, Spoken not to me, and glances that ways chance only which brought me so con- thrilled me with love, pity, and sympathy. stantly into your presence. You yourself were What I said was, as you know, very simple the chance, at least, and I the blind follower of and to the purpose. I knew quite well your fortune. fancy was elsewhere; mine was with you, All around about Rome there are ancient perhaps as hopelessly placed. I didn't exactly gardens lying basking in the sun. Gardens see what good this confession was to do either and villas built long since by dead cardinals of us, only there I was, ready to spend my life and popes; terraces, with glinting shadows, at your service. with honeysuckle clambering in desolate luxu- When I had spoken there was a silent moriance; roses flowering and fading and falling ment, and then you glowed up-your eyes meltin showers on the pathways; and terraces and ed, your mouth quivered. " Oh, what can I marble steps yellow with age. Lonely fount- say? Oh, I am so lonely. Oh, I have not one ain splash in their basins, statues of fauns and friend in the world; and now, suddenly, a helpslender nymphs stand out against the solemn ing hand is held out, and I can't -I can't push horizon of blue hills and crimson-streaked sky; it away. Oh, don't despise. Oh, forgive me." of cypress-trees and cedars, with the sunset Despise! scorn!... Poor child! I only showing through their stems. At home I lead liked you the more for your plaintive appeal; a very busy, anxious life: the beauty and peace though I wondered at it. of these Italian villas fill me with inexpressible "Take your time," I said; "I can wait, satisfaction and gratitude towards those mould- and I shall not fly away.'Call me when you ering pontiffs, whose magnificent liberality has want me; send me away when I weary you. secured such placid resting-places for genera- Here is your father; shall I speak to him"? tions of weary men. Taking a long walk out But no. Remember there is no single link beof Rome one day in the early spring, I came to tween us, except what you yourself hold in your the gates of one of these gardens. I remember own hands." seeing a carriage waiting in the shade of some Here your father and Halbert and Lady Falncedar-trees; hard by horses with drooping ny came up. "Well, Esther, are you rested?" ieads, and servants smoking as they waited. says the Colonel cheerfully. "Why, how do This was no uncommon sight; the English are you do?" (to me). "What have you been forever on their rounds; but somehow, on this talking about so busily?" occasion, I thought I recognized one of the You did not answer, but fixed your eyes on men, and instead of passing by, as had been your father's face. I said something; I forget my intention, I turned in at the half-opened what. Halbert, looking interested, turned from gate, which the angels with the flaming swords one to the other. Lady Fanny, who held a had left unguarded and unlocked for once, and, fragrant heap of roses, shook a few petals to the after a few minutes' walk, I came upon the Eve ground, where they lay scattered after we had I looked for. all walked away. You were sitting on some time-worn steps; If you remember, I did not go near you for a you wore a green silk dress, and your brown day or two after this. But I wrote, you a lethair, with the red tints in it, was all ablaze with ter, in which I repeated that you were entirely the light. You looked very unhappy, I thought: fiee to use me as you liked: marry me-make got up with an effort, and smiled a pitiful smile. a fiiend of me-I was in your hands. One "Are you come here for a little quiet?" I day, at last, I called; and I shall never forget asked. "I am not going to disturb you." the sweetness and friendly gratefulness with "I came here for pleasure, not quiet," you which you received me. A solitary man, said, "with papa and some friends. I was dying of lonely thirst, you meet me smiling tired, so they walked on and left me.". with a cup of sparkling water: a weary watch"That is the way with one's fiiends,"said 1. er through the night-suddenly I see the dawn " Who are the culprits, Miss Olliver?- streaking the bright horizon. Those were very 286 TO ESTHER. pleasant times. I remember now, oneafternoon performance, and a cracked old tenor part, too. in earlv spring, open windows, sounds coming in In that case I shall cry off, and give up my enfrom the city, the drone of the pifferari buzzing gagements." And then, nodding good-bye, he drowsily in the sultry streets. You sat at your left me. window in some light-colored dress, laughing I remember the evening of that day, a sudnow and then, and talking your tender little den wind had risen, driving the clouds across talk. The Colonel, from behind The Times, the city; the soft, wild'gust came with a wail joined in now and again: the pleasant half- and a splashing of rain dashing against my unhours slid by. We were still basking there, curtained window. The city lights were flaring when Halbert was announced, and came in, and extinguished. The- woman of the house looking very tall and handsome. The bagpipes had piled up a wood fire on the stone hearth, droned on, the flies sailed in and out on the and the logs were smouldering in a bed of sunshine: you still sat tranquilly at the open white ashes. I had not gone out as usual, but casement; but somehow the golden atmosphere I had staid at home reading a book which had of the' hour:was gone. Your smiles were gone; been sent out to me'from England.' It was the your' words were: silenced; and that happy lit- Idylls of the King, I remember, which had latetie hour was overforever. ly come out. About nine o'clock some one When I got up to come away Halbert rose came ringing at'the door, and old Octavia too: he came down staiis'with me, and sudden- brought me a note in' a writing I recognized. ly looking me full in the face said, "When is it " The Signorina's cook had left it on his way to be?". home," said Octavia. "He lodges close by." " You know much more about it than I do," Poor little note! it was wet with rain-drops. I answered. I have it now. "You don't mean to say that you are not' Via della Croce, Friday. very much smitten with our hostess?" said "DEAR MR. SMITH" (I read),-" I have just he.' seen my father'and heard some news which has "Certainly I am," said I; "I should be surprised and bewildered me. He is engaged ready enough to marry her, if that is what you to be married to Lady Fanny Fareham. Will mean. I dare say I shan't get her. She is to you come and see me to-morrow? Good-night, me the most sympathetic woman I have ever dear kind fiiend. ESTHER." known. You are too young, Mr. Halbert, to understand and feel her -worth. Dbn't be of- That was all. Poor little Esther! fended," I added, seeing him flush up. "You I met Halbert in the Babuino the very next young fellows can't be expected to see with the day. He came straight up to me, saying, same eyes as we old ones. You will think as I " Going to the Ollivers', eh? Will you take a do in another ten years." message for me, and tell the Colonel I mean to "How do you mean?" he asked. look in there this evening? That old fox the "Isn't it the way with all of us?" said I; Colonel-you -have heard that he is actually go"we begin by liking universally; as we go on ing to marry Lady Fanny. She told me so we pick and choose, and weary of things which herself, yesterday." had only the charm of nbvelty to recommend "I think her choice is a prudent one," I anthem; only as our life narrows we cling more swered. "I suppose Colonel Olliver is three and more to the good things which remain, and times as rich as yourself? You must expect a feel their value ten times more keenly. And woman of thirty to be prudent. -- I'not fond surely a sweet; honest-hearted young woman of that virtue invery young people, but it.is not like Esther Olliver is a'good thing." unbecoming with years." "She is very nice,"- Halbert said. "She Halbert flushed up. "I suppose from that has such-good manners. ~ I have had more ex- you mean she was very near marrying me? perience than you give me credit for, and I am I'm not sorry she has taken up with the Colovery much of your way of thinking. They say nel, after all. You see, my mother was always that old courtly Colonel is dreadfully harsh to writing, and my sisters at'home; and they used her-wants to marry her off his hands. I as- to tell me...and I myself thought she-you sure you you have avery good chance." know what.I mean. But, of course, they have "I mistrust that old Colonel," said I, dicta- been reassured on that point." torially; "as I trust his daughter. Somehow'Do you mean to say;,"I asked, in a great she andI -chime in tune together;" and, as I panic, "that you would marry any woman who spoke; I began to understand why you once said happened to fall in love with you?" wofully, that you had not one friend in the -"I don't know what I might have done a world; and my thoughts wandered away to the year ago," said he, laughing; "but just no, you garden where I had found you waiting on the see I have had a warning, and, besides, it is my steps of the terrace. turn to make the advances." "What do you say to the serenade Lady- I was immensely relieved at this, for I didn't Fanny and I -ave been performing lately?" know what I was not gding to say. Halbert was saying meanwhile, very confiden- Here, as we turned a street-corner, we came tially. "Sometimes I can not help fancying upon a black-robed monk, standing, veiled and that the Colonel wants to take a part in the motionless,:with askullinonebonyhand. This TO ESTHER. 287 cheerful object changed the current of our talk;. to greet me somewhat strangely. You seemed and we parted presently at a fountain. Wom- trying to speak, but the words died away on your en with black twists of hair were standing round lips-to keep silence, at least, but the faltering about, waiting in careless attitudes, while the accents broke forth. limpid water flowed.:: "What is it, my dear?" said I at last, with a When I reached your door, I found the car- queer sinking of the heart, and I held out my riage waiting, and you and your father under hand. the archway. " Come with us, "said he, and I You caught it softly between both yours. gladly accepted. And so we drove out at one "Oh!" you said, with sparkling eyes, "I am of the gates of the city, out into the Campagna, a mean, wretched girl-oh! don't think too ill over which melting waves of color were rolling. of me. He, Mr. Halbert, came to see me last Here and there' we passed ancient ruins crum- night, and-and be says... Oh! I don't debling in the sun; the roadsides streamed with serve it. Oh! forgive me, for I am so happy;" color and fragrance from violets and wild hya- and you burst into tears. "You have' been so cinths and sweet-smelling flowers. After some good to me," you whispered on. "I hardly time we came suddenly.to some green hills, and know how good. He says he only thought of leaving the carriage climbed up the slopes. me when you spoke of me to him, when-when Then we found:ourselves looking down into a he saw you did not dislike me. I am behaving green glowing valley, with an intense heaven shamefully-yes, shamefully, but it is because I above,'all melting into light. You, with a little know you are too kind not to forgive-not to transient gasp of happiness, fell down kneeling forgive.:What can I do? You know.howh it in the grass. -I shall always see the picture I has always been. You don't know what it would had before me then-the light figure against be to marry one person, caring for another. Ah'! the bright green, the black hat, andlong falling you don't know what it would be to have it feather; the eager face looking out at the world. otherwise than as it is" (this clasping your May it be forever green and pleasant to you as hands). "But you don't ask it. Ah! forgive it was then,'oh eager face! me, and say you don't ask it." Then standing As we were parting in the twilight, I at last straight and looking down with a certain sweet remembered to give Halbert's message. It dignity, yout went on-" Heaven /has'sent:me did not greatly affect your father; but how was a great and unexpected happiness, but' there it?.Was it because I knew you so well that I is, indeed, a bitter, bitter cup to drink' as ~instinctively guessed you were'moved: by it? well. Though I throw you over, though I be-:When I shook hands with you and said good- have so selfishly, don't think that I am utterly night, your hand trembled in mine.: conscienceless, that I do not suffer a cruel pang "Won't you look in too?" said the Colonel. indeed.:-When I think how you must look at But I shook my head.' "Not to-night-no, me, when I remember what return I am making thank you." And so we parted., for all your forbearance and'generosity, when I My lodgings were in the Gregoriana; the think of myself, I am ashamed'and humiliated; windows looked out over gardens and cupolas; when I think:of him-".IHeie you suddenly from one of them I could see the Pincio.: From broke off, and turned away your face. that window, next morning, as I sat drinking my Ah me! turned away your face forever from coffee, I suddenly saw you, walking slowly along me. The morning mists faded away; the midby the'parapet,' with your dog running by'your day sun streamed over hills and towers and valside. -You went to one of, those outlying ter- ley. The bell of the Trinita hard by began to races which flank the road, and, leaning over toll., the stone-work, looked out at the great pano- I said, "Good-bye, and Heaven keep you, my rania lying at your feet: —Rome with her pur- dear. I would not have had you do otherwise." pie mantle'of mist, regally spreading, hertowers, And so I went back to my lodging. her' domes, and great St. Peter's rising over the house-tops, her seven hills changing and deepening with noblest color, her golden crown of sunlight streaming and melting with the mist. Somehow I, too, saw all this presently when I (After segen years.) reached the place where you were still stand- LI leaned a little and overlooked my prize, ing.' By the low railing round the:fountain-source And now I have almost come to the end of Close to the statue, where a step descends." my story-that is, of those fewv days of my life Bosost, August 20. of which you, Esther, were the story. You stood "Do you remember the story I wrote you in there waiting, and I hastened towards you, and 1860, when I came back from Rome? To comfite'(I fancied you were my Fate) went on its plain was a consolation, when it was to you I course quite unmoved by my hopes' or your complained. I'was lonely enough and disapfears. I thought that you looked almost hand- pointed, and yet I have been more unhappy some for once.' You certainly seemed more since. Then I thought that at least you were happy. Your face flushed and faded, your eyes happy, but later they said it was not so, and brightened and darkened. As you turned and bitterness and regret overpowered me for a time. saw me, a radiant quiver, a piteous smile came But this was after I hadwritten to you. 288 TO ESTHER. "I scarcely remember what I said now, it is of the divine radiance. is ours still, and to those so long ago, but I know every word had a mean- who love us best it is given to see it. That the ing since you were to see it, and the Esther I sweetness and goodness and brightness we had wrote to, the Esther whose image was forever fancied are no fancies, but truth. True though before me, seemed mine sometimes though we clouds and darkness come between us, and the were forever parted. I have often thought mortal parts can not always apprehend the dithat the Esther I loved loved me though the vine. other one married Halbert. Perhaps you were " ove is blind; indifference sees more clearonly her semblance, and. she was waiting for ly, people say, and I wonder if this can be true; me elsewhere in a different form. But the fa- for my part I think it is the other way. I have miliar face with the sallow cheeks and dark sometimes asked about you from one and from brows, and all the sudden light in it, comes be- another, and people have spoken of you as if you fore me as I write even now. I have seen it a were to me only what they are, what I am to thousand thousand times since we parted by the them, or they to you. I seem to be writing ridTrinita; do you remember when the bell was dies and ringing the changes upon the words ringing for matins? Only as years have gone which you will not see. Whether you sec them by the lines have faded a little, the eyes look or not, what does it matter? you would not undeep and tender, but they have lost their color; derstand their meaning, their sorrowful fidelity, though I know how the lights and the smiles nor do I wish that you should. still come and still go, I can not see them so ",For, as I have said, years have passed, other plainly. The woman herself I can conjure thoughts and ties and interests have come to across the years and the distance, but the.-face me; I am sometimes even vexed and wearied does not start clear-set before me as in tlose.days by my own unchanging nature, and I am tired when I only lived to follow your footsteps, to of the very things from which I can not tear myloiter among the shadows in your way, and in self away. I don't think I care for you now, the sunshine through which you seemed to move; though I still love the woman who jilted me to drink up the sweet tones of your voice, to years ago upon the Pincio. It might be that, watch you when you sat at your window, when seeing you again, all the old tender emotion of you lingered in the silent Italian gardens, or feeling would revive towards you. It might be moved with a gentle footfall along echoing gal- that you would wound me a second time by dcleries, with dim golden pictures, and harmonies stroying my dreams, my ideal remembrance. of glowing color all about you. Very sad, very sweet, very womanly and trust" What sea-miles and land-miles, what flying ful my remembrance is. I should imagine you years and lagging hours, what sorrows and joys must have hardened-improved as people call it lie between us-and joys separate more surely -since then, and been moulded into some difthan sorrows do. People scale prison-walls, they ferent person. Six years spent with Halbert wade through rivers, they climb over arid mount- must have altered you, I think, and marred the ains, to rejoin those whom they love, but the sweet imperfections of your nature. At any great barriers of happiness and content, who has rate you are as far removed from me as if poor surmounted them? Halbert were alive still to torment you.' I say this, and yet success has been mine "This morning at Luchon-my courier brought since I saw you. Many good things have come me a letter which interested me oddly enough, to me for which I did not greatly care, but though and brought back all the old fancies and associthe spring tides and bright summers and the bit- ations. It came from my cousin's wife, Lady ter winter winds and autumnal mists were fated Mary. There were but a few lines, but- your to pqrt us year after year, yet it also seemed des- name was written thrice in it; and like an old tined that I should love you faithfully through half-remembered tune, all the way riding along all-that even forgetfulness should not prevent the rough road I have been haunted by a refrain it, that disappointment should not embitter, that -- Meet Esther again, shall it be, can it be?' indifference should not chill. What I have -fitting to a sort of rhythm, which is sing-songborne from you I could not have endured from ing in my head at this instant. any other. Once, long before I knew you, a " For want of a companion to speak to, I have woman spoke to me hastily, and I left her, and written this nonsense at length. I can not talk could not forgive her for years, and sometimes to my courier except to swear at the roads. They I ask myself is my ill-luck a judgment upon narrowed and roughened as we got into Spain, me? after we had crossed a bridge with a black river "I, who was so impatient once and hard of rushing beneath it. High up in the mountains heart, make no merit of my long affection for the villages, perched like eagles' nests;, tihe you, Esther: it was simply fate, and I could not streams were dashing over the rocks in the clefts resist it. Changing, unchanging, faithful, un- below. This is not a golden and sun-painted faithful, who can account for his experiences? land like the country we have been used to. Does mistrust bring about of itself that which it Italy seems like summer as I think of it, and this imagines? is every thing there that we fancy we is like autumn to me. The colors have sombre, see in people? Often I think that fallen as we tint; there are strange browns and yellows, are, and weary and soiled by the wayside dust faded' greens with deep blue shades in them. and mud, and the many cares of life, some gleam Stones roll from the pathway and fall crashing TO ESTHER. 289 into the ravines below. No roads lead to the tapers were flaring at the altar, where three unvillages where the people live for a lifetime, till- prepossessing-looking priests were officiating. ing their land, weaving their clothes, tending By degrees Smith found that he was standing their cattle; many of them never coming down in a beautiful old Templar church, with arches, into the valley all their lives long, sufficing to with red silk hangings, and a chequered marble themselves and ignoring the world at their feet. floor, and a dark carved gallery from which some So my guides have told me, at least, and it was heads were peeping. The women were sitting their business to know...." and squatting on the floor with their shoes neat* * * * * * * ly ranged at their sides, and-their babies danAll this had been written on the rail of a bal- dling in their arms. The men were behind, nearcony to the jangling of a church-bell and the er the door; and in the front row of all, grinsympathetic droning of a guitar with one note. ning, showing their teeth, and plucking at his It was played by a doleful-looking soldier in legs as he went by, Smith discovered the little tight regimentals, sitting upright on a chair on company of persecuting boys and girls, pretendthe landing-place, and never moving a muscle, ing to bury their faces in their hands when he while the flies buzzed about his head. A mo- looked at them, and peeping -at him through tionless companion sat near, listening tothe mel- their wiry little fingers with shining malicious ody. Presently, in the midst of his writing, eyes. Geoffry Smith, who had scarcely heeded the gui- The service came to an-end; the storm passtar or the bell, suddenly heard a great chatter- ed away. Smith left the church with the chiling and commotion in the street below, and look- dren swarming at his heels, and found his guide ing over the rail, he saw a crowd of little gipsy waiting with the horses ready harnessed.: They children swarming in front of the house. They had no time to lose, the man said-the bill was were trying to climb up into the balcony, getting paid. Smith sprang into the saddle, flung a on one another's backs, clapping their hands, handful of halfpence to the Moorish little banscreaming and beckoning to him:-" Mossoo! dits, and rode off as hard as he could go along Mossoo!-tit sou-allons done!" with an en- the rough bridle-path. couraging gesture. "Tit sou-'lons donc- It was very late before he got back. IIe dined vite, Alossoo!" and the brown faces grinned be- by himself about ten o'clock, with a tired, shirtneath their little Moorish-looking turbans-yel- sleeved waiter.to attend upon him, and then he low green, scarlet handkerchiefs; and all the went and sat under the trees on the Cours, listbrown bare legs went-capering..The narrow ening to the music and trying to make up his street was crowded with people hurrying to the mind. Should he go to Bigorre'? Yes-; no; call of the church-bell. ~ Women-came out of the unpeu; beaucoup; pas du tout. He-changed his low doorways of their houses, adjusting their plans over and-over again. About midnight, mantillas. Rosina tripped by with the duenna. when the music and the lights were still alive, the Don Basilio strode past with flapping sirts, pan- people still drinking their coffee and lemonade in tomime-like cocked hat, cotton ujnbrella and the soft starlit night, and chatting and humming all. Smith looked at them all from over his allround about, Smith determined at last that he balcony, like from a box at the opera. At the would stay for a day or two longer, and then go other end of the Place-Plaza de la Constitu- to Tarbes and on to Marseilles and to Italy. cion-its name was-the French Consul, leaning Having made out this scheme, he called a voiover his eagle, was sleepily smoking a cigar and turier with a whip and jack-boots who happened watching the church-goers pass by. Strum- to be passing, and asked him if he was engaged tumty, strum-tumty -tumty-strum, went the and what was his fare to St. Bertrand. Smith guitar, and presently-still like a scene at the had a fancy to see the old place, which lies on play-the light darkened, the people looked up the road to Tarbes. It also lies on the road to at the sky, and there came an artificial clap-of Bigorre, but Smith thought that he did not rethunder from the hill-top over the town, with a member this. The guide was a Bigorre man and sudden storm of hail.and lightning. Rosina anxious to get there. He was willing enough set off scampering with her duenna. So did- to go to St. Bertrand.'After that he should like the priests; the young men with their bright toget home, he said. His horses wanted a rest. red caps lounging at the corner of the street; Smith came to a compromise with him at last. the old man with his donkey; and the little The tired horses were to take him to St.Bergrinning beggar-children. trand, and then they were to make further arSmith thought he, too, should like to see the rangements. inside of the church, which seemed to be looked Two roads cross-the- country which divides upon as a safe refuge: everybody was rushing Luchon from Bigorre. One runs direct in noble in the same:direction. He had not-very far to undulations over hill-tops and mountain ranges. go: up a short street, and along the Plaza, and It goes bursting over the great Col d'Aspin, from then, after crossing a little wooden drawbridge, whence you may seethe world; like a sea, tossSmith found- himself at the church door. He ing and heaving at your feet, and trembling with stooped and went in through a low Moorish- the -light upon a thousand hills; and then the looking arch, and descended a short flight of highway plunges down into deep valleys, where black marble steps which led down into the aisle. the air is scented with pine-wood. It seemed quite dark nt first, except that the The other road winds by the plain and follows T 290 TO ESTHER. the course of a flowing river, past villages sun- city. There were two tables, both laid and decked and vine-wreathed, but silent and desert- spread in readiness, in the solemn old dininged in their whiteness. A sad-faced woman looks room, with its white painted panels and carved from her cottage-door; a dark-headed'boy comes chimney. Smith was amused to see a Murray skimming over the stones with his naked feet, lying on the white cloth nearest the window. and holds up his hand for alms; a traveller, rest- Even here, in this forgotten end of the world, ing on a heap by the dusty roadside, nods his the wandering tribes of Britain had hoisted the head in token of weary fellowship. At last, national standard and hastened to secure the as you still follow the road in the valley, with bestplace at the feast. There were three plates, the low range on either side, you suddenly reach three forks, three knives. Smith, dimly pura great hill with the towers of a strong city ris- suing his morning fancy, and bewitched by the ing from its summit. It dominates the land- unreality and silence of all about him, thought waves, which seem flowing down from the mount- that this was the place in which he should like ains, and the great flat marshes which stretch to meet Esther again-if he was ever to meet away to the sea.. her. Here, in this white, blinding silence, she Smith chose the plain to return by, wishing, might come like an apparition out of his dreams as I have said, to see St. Bertrand: he had cross- -come up the steep mediasval street, pist the ed the mountain before, in the course of his trav- fountain, with her long dress-how well he reels. He went rolling along through the fresh membered it-rippling over the stones, her slim morning air, with his head full of old sights and straight figure standing in relief against the thoughts-very far away, hankerings and fancies blazing sky.. "Cutlets-yes; and a chickwhich he had imagined safely buried in the en; and a bottle of St. Julien...." This Campagna or mouldering with the relics of his was to the waiting-woman, who asked him what old Italian sight-seeing times. Along the banks he would like. of the river, crossing and recrossing many times Geoffry walked out into the garden to wait from one side to another, through plains and until his cutlets should be ready, and he found sunny villages, they had come at last to St. Ber- an unkept wilderness, tangled and sweet with trand, the city on the hill. The driver, a surly autumnal roses, and a carved stone terrace or fellow, hissed and cursed as the horses went loggia, facing a great beautiful landscape. As stumbling up the steep ascent, straining and he leaned against the marble parapet, Smith, slipping in the blazing sun over bleached white who still thought he was only admiring the stones. There were four bony horses, orna- view, imagined Esther walking up the street, mented with bells and loaded with heavy liar- coming nearer and nearer, approaching along ness. Smith reclined at his ease among the the tangled walk through the rose-trees, and fusty cushions of the carriage; his courier clung standing beside him at last on the terrace. It nervously to the narrow railing on the box; was a fancy, nothing more; it was not even a Pierre, the driver, cracked his long whip, mut- presentimet; all the beautiful world below tered horrible oaths between his teeth, gulped, shimmered and melted into greater and greater choked, shrieked, with hideousjerks and sounds. loveliness; an insect went flying and buzzing They slowly climb the hill of St. Bertrand. over the parapet and out into the clear atmoEvery thing seems to grow whiter and brighter sphere; a rose fell to pieces, and as the leaves as they mount. They reach the town at last: tumbled to the ground one or two floated on to there is an utter silence and look of abandon- the yellow time-worn ledge against which Smith ment; flowers are hanging over the walls and was leaning. No, he would not go to Bigorre; gables and postern-gates. They pass fountains he said to himself he would turn his horses' of marble, stone casements, and turrets and bal- heads, or travel beyond Bigorre, to some one conies, all white, blazing, deserted, with gerani- of the other mountains-to Luz or St. Sauveur, urnms hanging and flowering. They pass under or farther still, to Eaux Bonnes, in the heart an archway with carvings and emblazonments of the Pyrenees. He pulled out his letter and throwing deep shadows, by strange gables and read it again; this was all it said, in Lady corners and turrets, up a fantastic street. It Mary's cramped little hand:;was like a goblin city, so dreary, silent, deserted, with such strange conceits and ornaments at " B. de Bigorre. every corner. " DEAR GEOFFRY-Some one has seen you The hotel was empty, too; one demure, sour somewhere in the Pyrenees; will you not take visage came to the door to receive them. Yes, Bigorre on your way, and come and spend a there was food prepared; the horses could be few days with us? It would cheer my husband put up in the stables. A human voice seemed up to see you; his cough is troublesome still, to break the enchantment, for I think until then though he is greatly better than when we left Smith had almost expected to find a sleeping the rectory. There are one or two nice people princess upon a bed, a king, a queen, a court, in the place; I am sure you would spend a few all dreaming and dozing inside this ancient pal- pleasant days. We have the three Vulliameys, ace: for the inn had been a palace, at some time Mr. and Mrs. Penton, and Olga Halbert; that or other perhaps inhabited by the ancient Bish- poor Mrs. Halbert, too, is with them; her chilops of St. Bertrand, or by some of the nobles dren make great friends with ours. Mrs. Halwhose escutcheons still hang on the gates of the bert tells us she knows you. She is very much TO ESTHER. 291 altered and shaken by her husband's death, It was a very charming' apparition, Smith though one can not but feel that it must be more thought, though it was not the one he had a shock than a sorrow to her, poor woman. The hoped for-there was nothing gracious about Pentons and Mrs. Ilalbert are at the hotel. this well-grown young lady. This was no EsShe says they find it comfortable. I know you ther-this was not a woman who would change like being independent best, otherwise we have her mind a dozen times a day, who would be a nice little room for you, and should much weak and foolish and trustful always. Geoffiy prefer having you with us while you stay. The was half repelled, half attracted by the keen dechildren are flourishing, and I expect my sister termined face, the firm-moulded lines. He Lucy to join us in a few days. Do try and might not have thought twice about her at come, and give us all a great deal of pleasure. another timfe; but in this golden solitude and "Affectionately yours, MARY S3MITH. Garden of Eden it almost seemed as if a com"P. S.-I shall send this to St. James's panion was wanted. He had been contented Place on the chance that it may be forwarded enough until now with a shadowy friend of his back again to you with your other letters." own exorcising. The lady in black, after looking at the view for a second, turned round and Smith read the letter and tore it up absently, walked away again as deliberately as she had and threw it on the ground. He would not go come, and he presently followed her example to Bigorre; he was past the age of sentiment; for want of something better to do. The hills he would never marry; he did not want to see were still melting, roses were flushing and Esther again and destroy his remembrance of scenting the air, insects floating as before; but her, or make a fool of himself perhaps, and be Smith, whose train of thought had been disbound to a woman hardened by misfortune, by turbed, turned his back upon all their lovelilong contact with worldly minds, by devotion ness and strolled into the house to ask if his to an unworthy object. "How could she pre- breakfast was ready. fer Halbert to me?" Smith thought, with an Prim-face, who was busy at a great carved amused self-consciousness. Esther was a clever cupboard, seemed amazed at the question. woman: she had thought for herself: she need- "You have not seen the cathedral yet: traveled a certain intellectual calibre of companion- lers always go over the cathedral before the deyeuship. Halbert cultivated his whiskers; his best ner. We have had to catch and kill the fowl," aspirations were after Lady X and Y and Z and in an aggrieved tone. "Encore vingt minutestheir tea-parties; and then Smith wandered n'est-ce pas, Auguste!" shrieks the woman sudaway from poor Halbert, who was gone now, to denly, without budging from her place. the lovely sight before him. "Vingt minutes," repeats a deep voice from It was not so much the view as the beautiful somewhere or other behind the great cupboard, fires which were lighting it up. If color were and there was no more to be said on the sublike music-if one could write it down, and ject. possess for good, the gleams of sudden sweet- Smith spentthe twenty minutes during which ness, the modulation, the great bursting sym- his chicken was grilling and his potatoes frizphonies of light thrilling from a million notes zling, in a great lofty cathedral. It stands on at once into one great triumphal harmony: if the very summit of the hill, high above the town the passion of loveliness-I know no better and the surrounding plains: wide flights lead word —which seems all about us at times, could to the great entrance, the walls and roof are be written down, one would need words that bare, but of beautiful and generous proporshould change and deepen and sweeten with tions: lofty arches vault high overhead. The the reader's mood, and-shift forever into com- sunshine, which seems weird and goblin in the binations lovely and yet more lovely. city, falls here with a more solemn light: slant Smith was looking still with a heart full of gleams flit across the marble pavement as the gratitude and admiration, when he heard a step great door swings on its hinges, and footfalls upon the gravel walk. He turned round to see echo in the distance. Smith seemed to recogwho was coming. Was this an enchanted city nize the place somehow-it looked familiar: he had come to? A tall slim figure of a wom- the rough beautiful arches, the vastness, the an in black robes was advancing along the grav- desertion; no priests, no one praying, no glimel walk and coming to the overhanging terrace mer of shrines and candles; only space, silence, where he was standing. Alas! it was no en- light from the large window, only a solemn figchantment. The genii had not brought his ure of an abbot lying upon his marble bed with princess on their wings. It was no one he had a date of three hundred years ago. ever seen before-no sallow face with the sweet Smith remembered dreaming of such a place bright look in it; it was only a handsome-look- in his old home years and years before, when ing young woman, one of the thousands there he was a boy, and had never even heard Esther's are in the world, with peach-red cheeks and name. The abbot on his marble bed seemed bright keen eyes, who glanced at him suspic- familiar, the placid face, the patient hands, the iously. Two great black feathers were hanging dog crouching at his feet. A great gleam of from her hat;- her long silk gown rippled in sun from a window overhead streaked and the sunshine, and her black silk cloak was fast- lighted the marble. Smith sat down on the ened round her neck by a silver clasp. step of the tomb and looked up at the great 292 TO ESTHER. window. A white pigeon with a beautiful ped against his legs as he walked with his head breast shining in the sun was sitting upon the wearily bent. He only shrugged his shoulders mullion. It sat for a time, and then it flew at the many questions which were put to him. away with a sudden rush across the violet-blue Such as, Why didn't they put in stained-glass sky. Smith did not move, but waited in a windows? wasn't it very cold in winter? was tranquil, gentle frame of mind, like that of a he sure he didn't remember Lady Kidderminperson who is dreaming beautiful dreams, nor ster? Leading the way, he opened a side-door, had waited very long when he seemed to be through which Smith saw a beautiful old cloisconscious of people approaching, voices and ter, with a range of violet hills gleaming through footsteps coming nearer and nearer, until at the arches. It was unexpected, and gave him last they were somewhere close at hand, and he a sudden thrill of pleasure. overheard the following uninteresting conversa- "What a delightful place you have here," tion between two voices: he said to the guide. "I think I should like "'Why don't they do it up with chintz if they to stay altogether." are so poor? chintz costs next to nothing. I "Not many people care to pass by this way am sure that lily of the valley and ribbon pat- now," said the cure. "It is out of the road; tern in my dressing-room seems as if it never they do not like to bring their horses up the would wear out. I was saying to Hudson only steep ascent. Yes, it is a pretty point de vue. the other day,' Really, Hudson, I think while I coIne here of an evening sometimes." we are away you must get some new covers for "Extremely so," said Mira.' Olga, do you my dressing-room.'' know I am so tired? I am convinced that I want Here a second voice interrupted with- bracing. Iwish we had gone to Brighton instead. "Charles, do you remember any allusion to of coming to this hot place.-Charles, do you St. Bertrand in Jamieson's Lives of the Saints? think the'ddjefner' is ready? I am quite I read the book very carefully, but I can not exhausted," she went on, in the same breath. feel quite certain." "Would ces dames care to see the vestTo which the first voice rejoined-"Why, ments?" the curate asked, a little wistfully, Olga, I do wonder you don't remember. I think seeing them prepare to go. Charles has a very bad memory indeed. And Oh-a-merci, we are rather pressed for time," so have I; but you read so much." Charles was beginning, when Smith saw that Charles now spoke. " Here, Mira, look at the man looked disappointed, and said he should this a-hm-a-interesting monument. —To the like to see them. Olga, as they called her, right,,Mira, to the right. You are walking shook out her draperies, and told Charles they away from it." might as wellgo through with the farce, and Mira "'Dear me, Charles! what a droll creature. meekly towered after her husband and sister. Hie puts me in mind of uncle John." These are odious people, poor Smith thought. " I can not help thinking," Charles said im- The ladies are handsome enough, but they are pressively, "that this is the place Lady Kid- like About's description of his two heroines: derminster was describing at Axminster Hduse.'.' L'une etait une statue, l'autre une poupee." I amalmost convinced of it." This statue seemed always complacently contemThen Smith heard Charles saying rapidly and plating its own pedestal. In the sacristie there speaking his words all in a string as it were- were only one or two relics and vestments to be "Lady-Kidderminster-a-ete-beaucoup -frap- seen, and a large book open upon a desk. pee-par-une-Cathedrale-dans-les-Pyrenees. Est- "People sometimes," said the curd, humbly ce-qu'elle-a-passe-par-ici?.... I am sure-I- shuffling and looking shyly up, " inscribe their a-beg yourpardon.-I had not perceived-" and names in this book, wit] some slight donation a stout consequential-looking gentleman, who towards the repairs of the church." was in the middle of his sentence, stumbled "I thought as much," said Olga, while over Smith's umbrella, while Smith, half Charles pompously produced his purse and beamused, half provoked, rose from his seat and gan fumbling about. Smith was touched by seemed to the speaker to emerge suddenly, red the wistful looks of the guide. This church beard and all, from the tomb. Mira gave a was his child, his companion, and it was starve little scream, Olga looked amused. ing for want of food. He wrote his name — "I trust I have not seriously injured-a-hm! " Mr. Geoffry Smith "-and put down a couple any thing," said the gentleman; " we were ex- of napoleons on the book, where the last entry amining this-a-relic, and had not observed-" was three months old, of two francs which some Smith made a little bow, and another to the one had contributed. Theothers opened their beautiful apparition on the terrace, whom he eyes as they saw what had happened. The recognized. Next to her stood. another very cure's gratitude and delight amply repaid Geofhandsome youngish lady, stout, fair, and grand- fry, who had more napoleons to spend than he ly dressed, who graciously acknowledged his could well get through. The pompous gentlegreeting, while Olga slightly tossed her head, man now advanced, and in a large, aristocratic as was her way when she thought herself par- hand inscribed —"Mr. and Mrs. Penton, of ticularly irresistible. Behind them the cure Penton " "Miss Halbert." And at the same was waiting-a sad, heavy-featured -man, in time Mr. Penton glanced at the name over his thick country shoes, whose shabby gown flap. own, and suddenly gleamed into life, in that TO ESTHER. 293 way which is peculiar to people who unexpect- good sense. Old Colonel Olliver sneered, as edly recognize a desirable acquaintance. was his way, and told his daughter to go home "Mr. Smith! I have often heard your in a cab. He could not advise her remaining name. You-a-knew my poor brother-in- with him, and, in short, it was impossible. law, Frank Halbert, I believe.-Mrs. Penton- "You married Frank with your eyes open," Miss Halbert.-A most curious and fortunate he said. "You knew well enough what you chance-hmn-a!-falling in with one another in were about when you threw over that poor fellow this out-of-the-way portion of the globe. Per- Smith, as if he had been an old shoe; and now haps we may be travelling in the same direc- you must make the best of what you have. I am tion? we are on our way to Bigorre, where we not going to have a scandal in the family, and a rejoin our sister-in-law, Mrs. Frank Halbert." datighter without a husband constantly about the Geoffry felt as if it was the finger of Fate in- house. I'll talk to Halbert and see if matters terfering. He followed them mechanically out can't be mended; but you will be disgraced if into the street. you leave him, and you are in a very good posi"How hot the sun strikes upon one's head. tion as you are. Injured wife, patient endurance Do you dislike it?-I do," said Mrs. Penton, -that sort of thing-nothing could be better." graciously, as they walked back to the hotel to- Esther, with steady eyes and quivering lips, gether.... slowly turned away as her father spoke. Lady People say that as they live on, they find an- Fanny, her stepmother, was the kindest of the swers in life to the problems and secrets which two, and talked to her about her children's welhave haunted and vexed their youth. Is it so? fare, and said she would drive her back in her It seems as if some questions were never to be brougham.'Poor Esther dazed, sick at heart; answered, some doubts never to be solved. she thought that if it were not for her Jack and Right and wrong seem to change and blend as, her Prissa she would go away and never come life goes on, as do the alternate hours of light back again. Ah! what a life it was; what a and darkness. Perhaps some folks know right weary delusion, even for the happiest-even for from wrong always and at all times. But there those who obtained their heart's desire! She are others weak and inconsistent, who seem to had a great burst of crying, and then she was live only to regret. They ask themselves with better, and said meekly, Yes, she would go dismay, looking back at the past-Was that me home, and devote herself to her little ones, and myself? Could that have been me? That per- try to bear with Frank. And she made a vow son going about with the hard and angry heart; that she would complain no more, since thiswas that person utteringcrueland unforgivingwords; all that came to her when shQ told her troubles that person thinking thoughts that my soulab- to those who might have been alittlesorry. Eshors? Poor Esther! Often and often of late ther kept her vow. Was it her good angel that her own ghost had come to haunt her, as it had prompted her to make it? Halbert fell, out haunted Smith-sometimes in a girlish guise, hunting, and was brought home senseless only tender, impetuous, unworn and unsoiled by the a few days after, and Esther nursed him tenwayside wear, the thorns and the dust of life. derly and faithfully: when le moaned, she forAt other times-so she could remember herself gave and forgot every pain he had ever inflicted at one time of her life-foolish, infatuated, mad, upon her, every cruel word or doubt or suspiand blind-oh, how blind! Her dream had not cion. He never rallied; and the doctors looklasted very long; she awoke from it soon.'It ed graver and graver, until'at last Frank Halwas not much of a story. She was a woman bert died, holding his wife's hand in his. now. She was a girl when she first knew her The few first weeks of their married life, husband, and another who she once thought these last sad days of pain and sufferings, would have been her husband. She had but seemed to her all that she had left to her; all to choose between them. That'was all her the terrible time between she blotted out and story; and she took in her hand and then put forgot as best she could, for she would clutch away the leaden casket with the treasure inside, her children suddenly in her arms when sickenwhile she kept the glittering silver' and gold for ing memories overpowered her, and so forget her portion. and forgive at once. For some time Esther Sne te be tt s s k; was shocked, shaken, nervous, starting at every,' Some there be that shadows kiss;'..~ Sdme have but a shadow's bliss." word and every sound, but by degrees she gained strength and new courage. When she came to Poor Esther! her shadows soon fled, parted, Bigorre she was looking better than she had done deepened into night; and long sad years suc- for years; anid no wonder: her life was peaceful ceeded one another: trouble and pain and hard- now, and silent; cruel sneers and utterances'had ness of heart, and bitter, bitter pangs of regret; passed out of it. The indignities, all the miseries remorse of passionate effort after right, after of her past years were over for ever;; only their peace, and cruel failures and humiliations. No best blessings, Jack- and Prissa, remained to one ever knew the life that Esther Halbert led her; and'she prayed with all her tender mother's for the six years after she married. Once in heart that they might grow up different from an agony of grief and humiliation she escaped to either of their parents, good and strong and wise her stepmother with her little girl.'' Lady Fan- and upright- unlike her, unlike their father. ny pitied her, gave her some luncheon, talked The Pentons, who were good-natured people 294 TO ESTHER. in their way, had asked her to come; and Es- went with their flaming tapers in mystic prother, who was too lazy to say no, had agreed, cessions. Was it something in the man's voice, and was grateful to them for persuading her to some pathetic cadence which recalled other accompany them. She liked. the place. The tones to which Esther had listened once in her bells sounding at all the hours with their sudden life, and that oflate years she had scarcely dared musical cadence, the cheery stir, the cavalcades to remember? Was it chance, was it fate, was arriving from the mountains, the harnesses it some strange presentiment of his approach, jingling, the country-folks passing and repass- which made Esther begin to think of Rome, and ing, the convents tinkling, Carmes close at of Geoffry, and of the days when she first knew hand, Carmelites a little farther down the street him, and of the time before she married? As -the streams, the pretty shady walks among she thought of old days she seemed to see Smith's the hills, the pastoral valley where the goats kind blue eyes looking at her, and to hear his -and the cattle were browsing —it was all bright voice sounding through the music. How often and sunshine and charming. Little Prissa in she had longed to see him-how well she reher big sun-bonnet, and Jack helping to push membered him-the true heart, the good friend the perambulator, went up every morning to the of her youth. Salut, along a road with shady trees growing on Esther's heart stirred with remembrances of either side, which led to some baths in the things far far away from the convent and its mountain. One day the children came home prayers and fastings and penances. Penance in much excitement, to say they had seen a horse and fastings and vigils-such things should be in a chequed cotton dressing-gown, and with her portion, she thought, by rights; and it was two pair of trowsers on. But their greatest de- with a pang of shame, of remorse, of bitter relight of all was the Spaniard of Bigorre with gret, and of fresh remorse for the pang itself, his pack. Esther soon grew very tired of see- that she rose from her knees-the service over, ing him parading about in a dress something be- the music silent, and wax-lights extinguishedtween a brigand and a circus-rider; but Prissa and came out into the night with her friend. and Jack never wearied, and the dream of their As they were walking up the street Lady Mary outgoing and incoming was to meet him. Pris- said quietly and unconsciously enough, though sa's other dream of perfect happiness was drink- Esther started guiltily, and asked herself if she ing tea on the terrace at the Chalet with little had been speaking her thoughts aloudGeoffry and Lucy and Lena Smith, where they all "Mrs. Halbert, did you ever meet my husworshipped the Spaniard together, and told one band's cousin, Jeff Smith? I hear he is in the another stories about the funny horse and the little Pyrenees; * am writing to him to come and pig that tried.to eat out of Lena's hand. Their stay with us, he is such a good fellow." one trouble was that Mademoiselle Bouchon Esther, if she had learnt nothing else since made them tell their adventures in French. At the old Roman days, had learnt at least to conall events, they could laugh in English, and she trol herself and to speak quietly and indiffernever found it out. Lady Mary would come out ently, though her eyes suddenly filled with tears smiling while the tea was going on, and nod her and there came a strange choking in her throat. kind cap-ribbons at them all. She was a port- Her companions noticed nothing as Mrs. Hally and good-humored person, who did foolish bert said, "Yes, she had known him at Rome, things sometimes, and was fond of interfering but that she had not seen him for years." and trying to make people happy her own way. "Ah, then, you must renew your acquaintShe had taken a fancy to Esther, and one day ance," Lady Mary said; adding, abruptly, -ingenious Lady Mary-she said to herself, "Do you know, I hear a Carmelite is going to "I am sure this would do for poor Geoffry: he make her profession nett week?-we must go. ought to marry. This is the very thing. Dear These things are horrible, and yet they fascime, I ish he would come here for a day or nate me somehow." two," and she went backinto her room and actu- "What a touching voice that was," said Esally wrote to him to come. ther. "It affected me quite curiously." To The two ladies went to the service of the which Lady Mary replied, Carmes that evening. It was the fashion to go " I remember that man last year; he has not and listen for the voice of one of the monks. had time to emaciate himself to a mummy. He There was a bustle of company rustling in; sat next me at the table-d'hbte, and we all resmart people were coming up through the dark- marked him for being so handsome and pleasant, ening streets; old French ladies protected by and for the quantities of champagne he drank. their little maids, arriving with their " Heures" There was a little quiet dark man, his companin their hands; lights gleamed in the windows ion. They used to go out riding together, and here and there, and in the chapel of the convent sit listening to the music at the Thermes. a blaze of wax and wick, and artificial flowers, There was a ball there one night, and I rememand triumphant music. It was a lovely voice, her seeing the young fellow dancing with a beauthrilling beyond the others, pathetic, with beau- tiful Russian princess." tiful tones of subdued passionate expression. "Well?" said Esther, listening and not lisThe Carme who sang to them was a handsome tening. young man, very pale, with a black crisp beard: "Well, one day he didn't come to dinner, his head overlooked the others as they came and and the little dark man sat next me alone. I TO ESTHER. 295 asked after my neighbor; heard he had left the little son scampering beside her, hiding his head place, but Marguerite-you know the handsome from the burning rays among the long folds of chambermaid -told me, under breath, that her black widow's dress. Jean had been desired to take the handsome At Bigorre, in the Pyrenees, there is one litgentleman's portmanteau down on a truck to tle spot where the sun's rays seem to burn with the convent of the Carmes; a monk had re- intenser heat-a yellow blaze of light amid black ceived it at the garden-door, and that was all and sudden shade. It is a little Place leading she knew. I am sure I recognized my friend to the Thermes. In it a black marble fountain to-night. He looked as if he knew me when he flows, with a clear limpid stream, and a Roman came round with the purse." inscription still renders grace for benefits re"Poor thing," said Mrs. Halbert, sighing. ceived to the nymph of the healing waters. Esther came home to the hotel, flushed, with Arched gates with marble corner-stones,windows shining eyes, looking like she used to look ten closed and shuttered, form three sides of the lityears ago. She found Mrs. Penton asleep in the tie square; on the fourth there is a garden besitting-room, resting her portly person upon the hind an iron railing, where tall hollyhocks nod sofa. Olga was nodding solemnly over a dubi- their heads, catalpas flower and scent the air, ous French novel. Mr. Penton was taking a and great beds of marguerites and sad autumnap behind his Galignani-the lamp was low. nal flowers lead to the flight of black marble It all looked inexpressibly dull and common- steps in front of the house. place after the glimpses of other lives which she Esther, hurrying along, did not stop to look had had that night. She seemed lifted above or to notice. She was too busy shielding and herself somehow by the strains of solemn music, helping little blinded Jack to skurry across the by memories of tenderest love and hopeless sepa- burning desert, as he called it. They reached ration, by dreams of what might have been, what the shady street at last. Jack emerged from his had been before now, of the devotion-which had mother's skirts, and Esther stopped, hesitated, triumphed over all the natural longings and and looked back across the place from which aspirations of life. Could it be that these they had just come. The Sunwas blindingand.placid sleepy people were of the same race and burning, great dazzling patches were in her make as herself and others of whom she had eyes, and yet- It was absurd; but she could heard:? Esther crept away to the room where not help thinking that she had seen some one as her children were sleeping in their little cots she crossed: a figure that she now seemed to rewith faithful old Spicer stitching by the light of memnber seeing coming down the black marble a candle. As the mother knelt down by the steps of the house in the garden-a figure under girl's little bed, a great burst of silent tears an umbrella, which put her in mind of some one seemed to relieve her heart, and she cried and she had known. It was absurd: it was a fancried, she scarcely dared tell herself why. cy, an imagination; it came to her from the Have you ever seen a picture painted in black foolish thoughts she had indulged in of late. and in gold? Black-robed saints, St. Dominic And yet she looked to make sure that such was and others, on a golden glory, are the only in- the case; and, turning her head, she perceived stances I can call to mind, except an Italian in the distance a man dressed in white, as peopainter's fancy of a golden-haired woman in her pie dress in the Pyrenees, walking under a big yellow damask robe, wvith a mysterious black umbrella down,.e opposite street, which leads background behind her. She had a look of my to the Baths. Esther smiled at her own fancies. heroine, though Esther Halbert is an ugly wom- An umbrella! why should not an umbrella an, and the picture is the likeness of one of those awaken associations-? beautiful fair-haired,Venetians whose beauty "Come along,:mamma," said Jack, who had (while people are still saying that beauty fades seen nothing but the folds of his mother's dress, away and perishes) is ours after all the centuries, and who was not haunted by associations as yet. and has been the munificent gift of Titian and " Come along, mamma; don't stop and think." his compeers, who first discerned it, to the un- Esther took Jack's little outstretched paw into known generations that were yet to be born and her long slim fingers, but as she walked along to admire. As one looks at the tender face, it the, shady side of the street-past the Moorish seems alive, even now, and one wonders if there shop-fronts arched with black marble, with old is light anywhere for the yellow lady. Can she women gossiping in the interiors, and while Jack see into that gloom of paint more clearly than stared at the passers-by, at a monk plodding by into the long gallery where the people are paping with sandalled feet, at a bath-woman balancing and the painters are working at their easels?- an enormous machine on her head, or longed as or i' she as blind as the rest of us? poes she he gazed at the beautiful peaches and knitted gaze unconscious of all that surrounds her? wool-work piled on the shop-ledges, Esther went Does she fancy herself only minute particles of dreaming back to ten years before, wishing, as oil and yellow ochre and coloring matter, never grown-up people wish, not for the good things guessing that she is a whole, beautiful with senti- spread before them, but for those of years long ment, alive with feeling and harmony? gone by-for the fruit long since eaten, or rotI dare say she is blind like the rest of us, as ten, or planted in the ground. Esther was that Friday in July when she came " Mammy, there's the Spaniard. OiO! look hurrying through the midday sunshine, with her at his legs," said Jack, "' they are all over rib 296 TO ESTHER. bons." And Esther, to please him, smiled and known you at Rome, before he came into his glanced at a bandy-legged mountebank dispos- property." ing of bargains to two credulous Britons. "Did he say that?" said Esther, flushing a "Why, there's.uncle Penton come back," little. Jack cried in great excitement; "he is buy- "Or before -you married, I really don't reing muffetees. Mammy, come and see what member," said Olga. "We had a great deal he has got," cried Jack, trying to tug away his of conversation, and persuaded him to come hand. back to Bigorre." " Not now, dear," said Esther. The slim "It's so hot at twelve o'clock," Mrs. Penton fingers closed upon Jack's little hand with too was going on; "and parasols are quite insuffifirm a grasp for him to escape, and he trudges cient. Are you fond of extreme heat, Esther? on perforce.. Charles says that Lady Kidderminster, summer They had almost reached the hotel where they and winter, always carries a fan in her pocket. lived by this time. The great clock-tower round They are very convenient when they double up, which it is built serves as a landmark and bea- and take less-" con.;The place was all alive-jangling and "What sort of looking person is Mr. Smith?" jingling; voices were calling to one another, Esther asked, with a little effort. people passing and repassing along the wooden " Distinguished-looking, certainly: a long galleiies, horses clamping in the courtyard. A red beard, not very tall, but broadly built, and a riding-party had just arrived; yellow, pink, red- very pleasant gentlemanlike manner. You shall capped serving-women were hurrying about, see him at the table-d'h6te to-day; he promised showing guests to their chambers or escorting to join us. In fact," said Olga, "he proposed them across the road to the dependencies of the it himself." house...... "I heard him," said Mrs. Penton, placidly. As Esther and her little boy were walking "Olga, I think you have made another conquest. along.the wooden, gallery which led to- her I remember," etc. rooms, they met Hudson, Mrs. Penton's maid, Poor Esther could not wait any longer to who. told them with a sniff that her mistress hear Mrs. Penton's reminiscences, or Olga's selfwasin the diawing-room. congratulations; she went away' quickly with ~"WBas Mrs.:Penton tired after her journey Jack to her own room, and got her little Prissa last night?". Esther asked.."I was sorry into her lap, and made her put her two soft not to Be:at' home to receive her, but I did not arms round her neck and love her.:" Mamma, expect.you till to-day." whyare you crying?" said Jack; " we are both ".No. wonder she's exhausted," said Hudson; quite well, and we have been very good indeed, "not a cup of tea have we'ad since we left on lately. Madame Bouchon says I am heretty Tuesday-week..- They wanted me to take some narry. I shan't marry her, though. I shall of thetr,siroppy things. I shan't be sorry to marry Lena when I am a man." see Heaton Place again." Esther dressed for dinner in her black gauze Hudson was evidently much put out, and Es- gown, and followed the others to her usual place ther-hurriedto the sitting-room, where she found at the long crowded table. Her hands were Mrs. Penton lying down as usual, and Olga, in cold, and she clasled them together, reminding a state of excitement, alterig. the feathers in herself by a gentle pressure that she must be her hat. quiet and composed, and give no sign that she'".How. d'ye do, dear?" said Mrs. Penton. remembered the past. She no longer wore her "We are come back again.". widow's cap, only a little piece of lace in her "We havehadda'most interesting excursion," hair, in which good old Spicer took a piride as said Olga, coming up to kiss her sister-in-law. she pinned up the thick braids. Esther's gray "I wish you had cared to leave the children, eyes were looking up and dowri a little frightEsther. You might have visited the Lac d'Oo, ened and anxiously: but there was no one she and that most remarkable ruin, St.Bertrand de had.ever seen' before, arid she sat down with a Comminges. In Jamieson's Lives of-" sigh of relief; only in' another minute, some"Wemet such a nice person," interrupted!ow, there was a little stir, and Olga saidMrs. Penton.."He came to Bigorre with us "Esther, would you make room?" and popped in another carriage, but by the same road. He down beside her; and then Mrs. Halbert saw knows you, Esther; and he and Olga made great that her sister-in-law was signing to some one to friends. They got on capitally over the cathe- come into the seat next beyond her.. dral, and he kindly fetched the Murray for us. Esther had been nervous and excited, but she We had left it on the table in the salle-a-mangeqer, was suddenly quite herself.again. Arrd as and were really afraid we:lad lost it." And Smith took his place, he bent forward, and their Mrs. Pehton rambled on for a.whole half hour, eyes met, and then he put out his hand. "Is unconscious that no one was listening to her. it my old Esther?" he thought, with a thrill of Esther had turned quickly to Olga, and ask- secret delight; while Esther, as She gave him ed who this was who knew her. her slim fingers, said to herself-" Is this my "Oh, I dare say you don't remember the old friend?" —and she looked wistfully to see name," said.:Ola,.rather consciously. "'Smith whether she could read his kind, loyal heart, -Mr. Smith of Garstein. He told me. he had stamped in his face as of yore. They were both TO ESTHER. 297 quite young people again for five minutes; Olga glowing as the three passed along: low bright attributed the laughter and high spirits of her streaks lay beyond the western plains, and a still neighbor to the charms of her'own conversation. evening breeze came blowing and gently stirring Esther said not one word, did not eat, did not the flat green leaves. Jacky and Prissa were drink, but was in a sort of dream. chattering to one another. Esther could not After.dinner they all got up, and went and speak very much; her heart was too full. Was stood in one of the wooden galleries, watching she glad-was she sad? What had she expectthe lilac and gold as it rippled over the mount- ed? Was this the meeting she had looked for ains, the Bedat, the Pie du Midi. so long? " He might have spoken one word And so this was all,; and the long-looked-for of kindness, he might have said something more meeting was over. Esther thought it was so than that mere How do you do? Of course he simple,:so natural, she could hardly believe that was indifferent-hw could it be otherwise? but this waswhat she hadhoped for and dreaded so -he might have shammed a little interest," poor long. There was Smith, scarcely; changed-a Esther thought; "only a. ery little would have little altered in:manner perhaps, with a beard satisfied me." which improved him, but that was all. All the It was quite dark.when she reached Lady little tricks of voice and of manner, so familiar Mary's, after seeing her children to bed. Olga, once, were there; it was himself. She was and Mr. Penton, and Smith were there already, glad, and yet it was not all gladness. Why did and Lady Lucy was singing, when Esther came he not come up to his old friend? Why did he into the great, bare, dark room. The young not notice or speak to her? Why did he seem lady was singing a little French song in the so indifferent? Why. did he talk somuch to dimness, with a pathetic, pleasant tune-" Si the others, so little to her? Mrs. Halbert was tu savais," its name was.: She gave it with confused, disappointed, and grieved. And yet -charming expression, and when she had finit was no wonder. She thought that of all peo- ished, they were all silent for a moment or pie she had least right to expect much-from him. two, until Lady Mary began to bustle about She was leaning over the side of the gallery, and to pour out the tea. Olga stood next to her in her white dress, with'Take this.to Mrs. Halbert, Gepffry,". she the light of the sunset in her raven black hair, said," and tell her about my scheme for toand Smith was leaning against one of the wood- morrow, and persuade her to come." en pillars and talking to Olga. He glanced Smith brought the tea as he was bid. from the raven black hair to the gentle bent "We all want to go over to Grippe, if you head beyond. But he went on talking to Olga. will come too," he said. Esther:felt a little lonely, a little deserted.: She; He looked down kindly at her.as he spoke, was used to the feeling, but she sighed, and and the ppor foolish woman flushed up with turned away with a suppressed yet impatient pleasure as she agreed to join them. She was movement from the beautifj lilac glow.. A sorry afterwards when she, and Olga, and Mr. noisy, welcome comfort wasti store for her. Penton walked home together through the dark With a burst.of childish noise and laughter,'streets.'' - Prissa and.Jacky came rushing up the gallery, " I wonder whether Mr. Smith means to join and jumped upon her with their little eager arms all our excursions," said Miss Halbert. "I wide open. just mentioned my wish to see Grippe, and he " Come for a.walk, a little,'little short walk, jumped at it directly.". please mammy, "said Jack.' And Esther kissed Esther felt a chill somehow as Mr. Penton him,. and said yes, if he would fetch her hat and answered- her gloves and her shawl.' -".Certainly, I-.a-remarked it, Olga; you-aAs she was going, Smith came up hesitating, are not-perhaps aware that you have attracand said, not looking her full in the face- tions-to a-no common'degree. Mr. Smith "I had a -message -from' my cousin, to beg'has certainly-a-discovered them."' you to look in there this evening. Miss Hal- Poor Esther! it seemed hard to meet her bert has kindly promised to come."' And'Es- old friend at last, only to see how little he'rether, looking up with a reproachful glance (so membered her; and yet she thought, "All is he thought), answered very quietly she would as it should be; and with my Jacky and my try to come after her walk. He.watched her as Prissa to love, I am not to be pitied." Only, she walked away down the long gallery with her there. was a strange new ache in her heart next children clinging to her side; with all the sun- morning, when they::all' assembled after'the set lights and shadows falling upon them as early'breakfast;'she could not feel cheery and they'went. "What a pretty picture it makes," unconscious like Lady Mary, or eonscious and he said to Miss Halbert.: flattered like:Olga. The children in their clean "I'm. so glad you thinkEsther nice-looking,"' cotton frocks were in raptures, and so far Essaid Olga. "It is not every, body who does. ther was happy... Shall we takena stroll towards the music, Mr. The road to.Grippe is alonga beautiful mossy Smith?..." valley, with:a dashing stream foaming over the Esther had no heart for the music and corn- pebbles, and with little farms and homesteads pany,;and wandered away into a country road. dotting the sm6oth green slopes. Olga and All the fields of broadIndian-corn leaves were Smith were on'horseback;.Penton was also `298 TO: ESTHIER. bumping majestically along upon: a huge bay -be that odious affected woman stuck up in an mare; Esther and Lady Mary, and the Smith attitude in the middle of the room who was the children and her own, were packed away into a object of his dreams? big carriage with Mdlle. Bouchon, and little An odd jumble of past, present, and future Geoffiky Smith on the box. The children were was running through Geoffry's mind, as he lookin a state of friskiness which seriously alarmed ed out of the hole in the wall, and speculated the two mammas. They seemed to have at upon what was going to happen to him here in least a dozen little legs apiece. Their screams this green pasture-land by the side of the cool of laughter reached the equestrians, who were waters. Were they waters of comfort-was hapkeeping.up a somewhat solemn conversation piness his own at last? somewhat sadly he upon the beauties of nature, and the cultivation thought to himself that it was not now what it of Indian corn: Geoffry wondered what all the would have been ten years ago. He could look -fun might be, and Olga remarked that the chil- at the happiest future with calmness. It did dren.were very noisy, and that Esther certainly not dazzle and transport him as it would have spoilt little Jack. done in former times-he was older, more in"Lady Kidderminster strongly advises his different: he had seen so many things cease being sent to a preparatory school," said Pen- and finish, so many fancies change, he had ton, with a jog -between each word; while awakened from so many vivid dreams, that now Smith looked up at the blue sky, then down perhaps he was still dreaming; life had only beinto the green valley, and forgot all about his come a light sleep, as it were, from which he ofttwo companions, trying to catch the tones of en started and seemed to awaken. Even Esther the woman he had loved..... what did it all mean? did he love her The chalet was a little rough unfinished place less now that he had seen her, and found her -at the-foot of the Pie, where people come to unchanged, sweeter, if possible-and he could drink milk out of clean wooden bowls: the ex- not help thinking it-not indifferent? Would cursionists got down, and the horses were put the charm vanish with the difficulties, as the up. The whole party crowded round the wood beauty of a landscape ends where the flat and -fire, and peeped at the rough workmen and prosperous plains begin? He did not think so shepherds who were playing cards in the next -he thought so-he loved her-he mistrusted compartment-room it could not be called, for her; he talked to Olga, and yet he could not the walls were only made of bars of wood at a keep his eyes from following Esther as she came certain distance from each other. The chil- and went. All she said, all she did, seemed to dren's delight at seeing all over the house at him like some sort of music which modulates once was unbounded. Jacky slipped his hand and changes from one harmonious thing to anbetween the wooden bars, and insisted on shak- other. A solemn serenity, a sentiment of wording hands with a great rough road-maker in a less emotion was hers, and withal, the tender sheepskin, who smiled kindly at the little fel- waywardness a d gentle womanliness which low's advances.. had always seenWd to be part of her. She was Lady Mary was very much disappointed and not handsome now, any more than she had ever perplexed to see. the small result of her kindly been-the plain lines-the heavy hair-the deepschemes. It was unbelievable that Geoffry set eyes were the same-the same as those eyes should prefer that great, uninteresting, self- Smith could remember in Roman gardens, in conscious Miss Halbert, to her gentle and ten- palaces with long echoing galleries, looking at der little widow; and yet it was only too evi- him through imploring tears on the Pincian Hill. dent. What could be the reason of it? She They had haunted him for seven years since he looked from one to the other. Esther was sit- first caught the trick of watching to see them ting by the fire on a low wooden stool. She brighten. Now, they brightened when the two seemed a little sad, a little drooping. The little dark-headed children came running to her children were laughing about her as usual; knee. Raphael could find no subject that and she was holding a big wooden bbwl full of pleased him better. Smith was no Raphael, milk, from which they sipped when they felt but he, too, thought that among all the beautiinclined. The firelight just caught the golden ful pictures of daily life there is no combination tints in her brown thick hair; her hat was on so simple, so touching as that of children who the floor at her feet; little Prissa-like her, are clinging about their mother. And these and not like her-was peeping over her shoul- pictures are to be seen everywhere and in every der. It was a pretty picture: the flame, the clime and place; no galleries are needed, no rough and quaint simplicity of the place, seemed price need be paid; the background is of endless to give it a sort of idyllic grace. As for Smith, variety, the sun shines, and the mother's face he was standing.at the paneless window looking brightens, and all over the world, perhaps, the out at the view; all the light was streaming children come running into her arms. White through his red beard. It was a straight and arms or dusky, bangled or braceleted, or scarred well-set figure, Lady Mary thought; he looked with labor, they open, and the little ones, well able to take care of himself, and of her clasped within loving walls, feel they are safe. poor gentle Esther too. He was abstracted-.:Quite oblivious of some observation of Miss evidently thinking of something besides the Halbert's, Smith suddenly.left his window and green valleys and, pastures-could it, could: it':walked across to the fire, and warmed his hands, TO ESTHER. 299 and said some little words- to Esther, who was Esther, with Jacky and Prissa clinging close to still sitting on her low seat. She was hurt and her, and sticking long reeds and water-leaves annoyed by his strange constraint and distance into her hair. The riverkin rushed away, of manner. She answered coldly, and got up twisting and twirling and disappearing into by a sudden impulse, and walked away to where green. The leaves and water-plants swayed Lady Mary was standing cutting bread-and-but- with the ripples, the children wriggled on their ter for the children. "Decidedly," thought narrow perch, while Esther, with a book in her the elder lady, " things are going wrong. I hand, and a great green umbrella, looked bright, will ask Geoffry to-night what he thinks of my and kind, and happy. widow." " I am a fool for my pains," Geoffry "Cousin Jeff, cousin Jeff!" cried little Jack, thought, standing by the fire, "and she is only in imitation of the little Smiths, "come into the a hard-hearted flirt after all." steamer, there's lots of room.' He was sulky and out of temper all the way "How d'ye do?" said his mother, still laughback. In vain did Olga ransack her brain, and ing. produce all her choicest platitudes for his enter-' How d'ye do, Mrs. Undine?" said Smith, tainment. In vain Penton recalled his genteel- brightening and coming to the water's edge. est reminiscences. Smith answered civilly, it is As Smith walked back to his breakfast, he true, but briefly and constrainedly. He was a thought to himself-" If she would but give me fool to have come, to have fancied that such de- one little sign that she liked me, I think-I think votion as his could be appreciated or understood I could not help speaking." by a woman who had shown herself once already And Lady Mary, who had her little talk out faithless, fickle, unworthy. Smith forgot, in with her cousin after breakfast, discovered, to his odd humility and mistrust of himself, that her great surprise, that what she had thought of he too had held back, made no advance, kept as a vague possibility some day, very far off, was aloof, and waited to be summoned. not impossible, and might be near at hand afGeoffry had the good habit of rising early, ter all. She did not say much to Smith, and and setting out for long walks across the hills he did not guess how much she knew of all before the great heat came to scorch up all ac- that was passing in his mind. "He will go tivity. The water seemed to sparkle more away, he will never come forward unless Esther brightly than later in the day. The flowers meets him half-way," the elder lady thought to glistened with fresh dew. Opal morning lights, herself, as he left the room; and she longed to with refractions of loveliest color, painted the speak to Esther, but she could not summon courhills and brooks, the water-plants, the fields age, though opportunity was not wanting. where the women were working already, and They were all standing in the balcony of the the slippery mountain-sides where the pine-trees chalet that very afternoon, watching the people grew, and the flocks and goats with their tink- go by: but first one child went away, then anling bells were grazing. It was a charming other, and at last Lady Mary and Esther were medley of pastoral sights and scent and fresh left alone. "Look at that team of oxen dragair: shadows trembling and quivering, birds ging the great trunks of the trees," said Lady fluttering among the green, clear-cut ridges of Mary; "how picturesque the peasant people the hills, the water bubbling among reeds and are in their mountain dress!" creeping plants and hanging ferns, among which "The men look so well in their berets," Esbeautiful dragon-flies were darting. Smith had ther said; " that is a fine-looking young feluuw been up to the top of the Bedat, and was coming who is leading the cart. There is Mr. Smith down into civilized life again, when he stopped crossing the street-he would look very well in for an instant to look at the bubbling brook a beret, with his long red beard." which was rushing along its self-made ravine, "Certainly he would," said Lady Mary; and some four or five feet below the winding path; then she suddenly added, "Esther, would you a field lay beyond it, and farther still, skirting do me a favor? You have been talking of gothe side of a hill, the pretty lime-tree walk ing to the fair at Tarbes to-morrow. I shall which leads to the baths in the mountain. be obliged to stay at home with my husband Smith, who had been thinking matters over as and Lucy. Would you bring Geoffry a beret, he stumbled down the steep pathway, and set- and give it to him, and make him wear it? I tling that it was too late-she did not care for know you will if I ask you." him-he had ceased caring for her-best go, and "A red, or a blue one?" said Esther, smiling. leave things as they were-suddenly came upon a "The nicest you can get," said Lady Mary. group which touched and interested him, and "Thank you very much indeed." made him wonder whether, after all, prudence and Lady Kidderminster, who must have employgood sense were always the wisest and the most ed her time well while she was in the Pyrenees, prudent of things. In the middle of the stream, "had been very much struck by Tarbes," Mr. some thousand years ago, a great rock had Penton declared. "It is pleasantly situated," rolled down from the heights above, and sufk Murray says, "on the clear Adour, in the midst into the bed of the stream, with the water rush- of a fertile plain in full view of the' Pyrenees. ing and bubbling all round it, and the water- Public walks contribute to the public health and lilies floating among the ripples.... Perched recreation. The market-people, in their varion the rock, like the naiad of the stream, was ous costumes, are worth seeing." 300 TO ESTHER. Geoffry Smith' received a short note from selfish and remorseful so long-she was glad alMrs.'Penton two mornings after the Grippe ex- most to suffer now, in her self-anger and vexapedition. It ran as follows:- tion. In future she thought she would try to be brave and more simple; she would love her "'DEAR MR. SMITH Mr. Penton is plan- darlings and live for them only; and perhaps ning an excursion to Tarbes to-day. We start some day it might be in her power to do someat two, so that we may not miss our lunch, as it thing for him-to do him some service-and is not safe to trust to chance for it, and we should when they were very old people she might tell be much pleased for you to join us after, but in him one day how truly she had been his friend case of rain we should give it up. Unfortunate- all her life. ly, there appears no chance of any thing so re- The sun was blazing and burning up every freshing. Sincerely yours, thing.. The train stopped at a bridge, and they " MIRA PENTON." all got down from their carriages, and set off walking towards the market. Squeak, chatter, To which Smith, who was rather bewildered, jingle of bells, screaming of babies, pigs and briefly answered that he should be delighted to pigs and pigs; pretty gray oxen, with carts join them at the station at two. The station yoked to their horns, priests, a crowd assembled was all alive with country-folks, in their quaint round an old woman with a sort of tripod, upon pretty dresses, berets, red caps and blue-brown which you placed your foot for her to blacken hoods, and snooded gay-colored kerchiefs, and and smarten your shoes; mantillas, green and red cloaks like ladies' opera-cloaks. The faces red umbrellas, rows of patient-looking women, underneath all these bright trappings were sad with sad eyes, holding their wares in their enough, with brown wistful eyes, and pinched hands-scraggy fowls, small-little pears, a cabworn cheeks. Ruskin has written of mountain bage, perhaps brought from over the mountain, gloom and mountain glory, and in truth the a few potatoes in a shabby basket;-the scardwellers among the hills seem:to us, who live city and barrenness struck Smith very sadly. upon the plain, sad and somewhat oppressed. Esther was quite affected; she was emptying Smith looked here-and there for his party, her purse and putting little pieces right and and discovered, rather to his dismay, only Olga, left into the small thin hands of the children. her sister and her brother-in-law, sitting on a They passed one stall where a more prosperousbench together. Then Esther had not come, af- looking couple-commer9ants from Toulouseter all? He felt inclined to escape and go back were disposing of piles of blue and red Pyreneto the town, but Olga caught sight of him, and an caps. Esther stopped and called Jack to graciously beckoned. her, and tried a small red beret on his dark "Mrs. Halbert is not coming, I am afraid," curly head, and kissed her little son as she did said Smith, shaking hands.' so. She had not seen Smith, who was close "Esther, do you mean?" asked Mrs. Penton. behind her with Olga, and who smiled as he "She was here a minute ago. Jacky took her watched her performance. Miss Halbert, soon to look at a pig.-Was it a pig or a goat, Olga? after leaving the railway-carriage, had comI didn't notice." plained of fatigue, and taken poor Geoffry firmMrs. Penton's native remarks gave Smith a lybut gently by the arm, with a grasp that it little trouble sometimes, and he could not al- was impossible to elude. Esther scarcely noways suppress a faint amusement. Fortunately ticed them: she walked on with her children Esther came up at this moment, and he could as usual, and her motherly heart was melting smile'without giving offense. over the little wan babies, whose own mothers Esther at one time had not meant to come, found it so hard a struggle to support them. but she could not resist the children's entreat- They were lying in' the vegetable-baskets on ies, or trust them to the Pentons alone. She the ground, or slung on to their mothers' backs, was weary and dispirited; she'had passed a and staring with their dark round eyes. Some wakeful, feverish night. How or when or of the' most flourishing among them had little where it began, she did not know, but she was smart caps, with artificial flowers, tied under conscious now that in her heart of hearts she their chins. After buying Jack's beret, Mrs.:had looked to meet Geoffry again some day, Halbert seemed to hesitate, and then making and hoped and believed that he would be un- up her mind she asked for another somewhat changed.' But she now saw that it was'not larger, which she paid for, and she turned to so-he liked her only ashe liked other people, Smith with one of her old bright looks and gave with that kindly heart of his-no thought of it him, sayingwhat had been, occurred to him. He might be "I think you would look very well in a beret, a friend, a pleasant:acquaintance, but the friend Mr. Smith-don't you like a blue one best?" of-old, never, never again. How foolish she Smith wore his beret all day; but Olga the had been, how unwomanly, how forward. Even inevitable held him; and would not let him go. at seven-and-twenty Esther could blush like h Esther thought it alittle hard, only she was degirl to think how she had thought of Geoffry. termined not to think about it. They wanderShe whose heart should be her'children's only; ed for' hours'through the bare burning streets. she who had rejected his affection when it might There seemed to be no shade: the brooks havebeen hers; she who had been faithless and sparkled, bright blazing flowers grew in gar TO ESTHER. 301 dens, the houses were close: shuttered, scarcely Jack capering at his side, and swinging by his any one was to be seen; little bright-plumaged new friend's hand- birds came and drank at the streams, and flew "I have taken the tickets," he said. "Thank away, stirring the dust. The children got tired goodness, we have done with Tarbes. What a and cross and weary; the elders' spirits sank. horrible hole it is." Some one, standing at a doorway, told them of "I am surprised," Penton remarked, "that a park, which sounded shady and refreshing, Lady Kidderminster should have had such a and where they thought they youild wait for high opinion of this-a-position. She partictheir train. The road lay along a white lane ularly mentioned an amphitheatre of which I with awhite wall on either side, and dusty pop- can gain no information." lars planted at regular intervals. Esther tried Oh, dear! we shall never get in:in time for to cheer the children, and to tell them stories the table-d'hote;" faintly gasped Mrs. Penton, as well as she could in the clouds of dust. Mrs. sinking into a seat,." and the dinner will be Penton clung to her husband, Olga hung heavi- over." ly upon Geoffry's aching arm.. They The benches were full, and they were all reached the gates of the park at last. It was obliged to disperse here and there as they could an utter desolation inclosed behind iron rail- find places. Esther perched herself upon a ings-so it seemed, at least, to the poor moth- packing-case once more, with little Prissa half er: ragged shrubs, burning sun, weeds and rank asleep on her knee. What a dreary day she grass growing along the neglected gravel walks. had spent-she gaye a sigh of relief to think it There was a great white museum or observa- was over. tory in the middle to which all these gravel "Have you room here for Jack?" said Geofpaths converged; and there was-yes, at last! fry, coming up. "He won't own he is tired." there was a gloomy-looking clump of laurel and "Come, my son," said Esther, putting her fir-trees, where she thought she might perhaps arm round the boy, and pulling him up beside find some shade for Jack and for Prissa. As her. "You have been very good to Jack, Mr. she reached the place, it was all she could do Smith," she said, with an upward look of her not to burst out crying, she was so tired, so clear eyes. troubled, and every minute the dull aching ast Smith looked at her. her heart seemed to grow worse and worse. "It seems very strange," he said, with a sud. Poor Esther! The others came up and asked den emotion," to meet you again like this. I her if she would not like to see the view from sometimes wonder whether we are indeed you the observatory; but she shook her head, and and me, or quite different people. said she was tired, and should stay where she "Ithought," said Esther, "you had forgotten - was with Prissa, and they all went away and that we had ever been friends, Mr. Smith." left her.. One French lady went by in her slip- "I thought you had forgotten it," said Smith, pers, with a faded Indian scarf and an old Leg- very crossly. There was a jar in his voicehorn hat, discoursing as she went to some neg- there was a mist before her eyes. She was tired, lected-looking children — vexed, overdone. Poor Esther suddenly burst ".Savez-vous, ma fille, quevous faites des into tears. grimaces; ce n'est pas joli, mon enfant, il faut "My dear, my dear, don't cry," said Smith. vbus surveiller, mon Helene. Les grimaces ne "What can I say to beg your pardon? you should se font pas dans la bonne societe.... Le pare have known me better-you.." est vaste," she continued, changing the subject; "I can not understand about that amphitheaher voice dwindled away into the arid, burning tre," said Mr. Penton, coming up. "Murray, distance, and the desolation seemed greater you see, does not allude to it." than ever... It seemed to Esther as if hours "Why don't you go and ask the man at the and hours had passed since the others had left ticket-office?" said Smith authoritatively, and her.... Prissa was languidly, listening to Penton, rather bewildered, obeyed. the story poor Esther was still trying to tell. "I was a little afraid of you," said Smith, "'Why don't you make it more funny, maim- when I first saw you. I tried to keep away, but ma? You say the same things over and over. I could not help myself and came. I should I don't like this story at all," said Prissa. have gone to the end of the world if you had been "I have some good news for you," said there. I have never changed-never forgotten. Smith, cheerfully, appearing from behind the I love you as I have always loved you. Dear laurels.,: "Mrs. Halbert, we have only just time: Esther, say something to me; put me out of this to catch the train. Come, Jack, I'm going to horrible suspense-" be your horse; get upon my: back," and Geof- " What a fearful crowd; how it does crush fry set off running with the delighted Jack, just one," said Mrs. Penton, suddenly appearing. as Olga appeared in search of him. "Can you tell me where Charles.has hidden Esther and Prissa set off running too, and the himself? He put my eau-de-Cologne in his pockPentons followed as best they could. et, and really in this crowd..." The little station was again all alive and Esther could not answer. She was.bending crowded by peasants and countrywomen, Span- over Prissa, and trying to hide her tears. Smith ish bandits with their packs, three English tour- politely pointed out the ticket-office to Mrs. ists in knickerbockers. Smith met them with Penton, and then, with great gravity, turned his 302 TO ESTHER. back upon the lady, and took Esther's hand, and did not realize all that she understood latersaid with his kind voice, " Dear'Esther, once you only she fet. it somehow; she drifted into a used not be afraid of telling me what you peateful calm; she seemed suddenly and unthought. Won't you speak to me now? Indeed' awares to be gliding through still waters after I am the same as I was then." the tempest, and a thankful song of praise went "And I am not the same?" said Esther, up from her heart. smiling, with her sweet face still wet with tears; When she awoke in the morning she knew and with a tender Esther-like impulse she took that he was near at hand; she heard his kind her children's two little hands and put theminto voice, and the children's prattle down in the Geoffry's broad palm. courtyard below. Later in the day he would Geoffry understood her, though he did not come up to see her, and they talked over old know all she meant. The Pentons joined them days, and the new days seemed to shine with a again, and the train came up, and the others sudden gleam now that he had come into them; wearily sank into their places, but Mrs. Halbert's the dull hours went more swiftly, the sky seemfatigue was gone. All the way back neither ed brighter; evening came full of sweet tones, Smith nor Esther spoke one word to each other. mysterious lights, and peace and perfume; peoThe sun was setting; all the land was stream- pie passing by seemed strolling, too, in a golden ing with light; the stars were beginning to shine beatitude. They too, Esther fancied, surely behind the hills when they got back to Bigorre. must feel the sweetness and depth of the twi" Shall you be too tired to come for-a walk light. The morning came with a bright flash, after dinner?" said Smith, as he left Esther at the not dawning with a great weight of pain and door of the inn; and in the evening he came for listlessness as before. In the hot blaze of the her; and, though Olga looked puzzled and not mid-day sun Geoffry would enter the shaded ov'er-pleased, Esther put on her hat, and said, room where the women were sitting at work by " I am ready, Mr. Smith." And they went the window. out together without any explanation. To Esther it was very real-to Geoffry it was They went up the pretty lime-tree walk which still like a memory of old times, to be sitting leads to the baths of the Salut. People were with Esther at an open window, with the shadsitting in the dark on the benches talking in ows of the orange-trees lying on the floor where low evening whispers. Priests were taking their the shade of the awning did not reach. Jack recreation, and pacing up and down in groups. liked playing with the shadows, putting his litFrom the valley below came an occasional tinkle tie leg out into the sunshine, and pulling it back, of goats' bells, a fresh smell of wild thyme, a to try and cheat the light and carry some away; quizzing of crickets. The wain was moving but Prissa (her grown-up name was to be Prisover the hillside, the lights twinkled from the cilla) liked best sitting quietly on her mother's houses in the town; and Smith and Esther knee, and, as it were, staring at the stories she talked and talked, counting over the fears, the told her with great round eyes. The story broke doubts, and the perplexities of the last few days. off abruptly when Smith came in, and another Now, for the first time, Esther felt a comfort tale began. It seemed like a dream to Geoffry and security which had never been hers before, to find himself sitting there, with Esther, at an -not even in the first early days of her mar- open window, with the sounds and the sunshine riage; not since the time when she bade Smith without, sounds of horses at the water, of the farewell on the Pincio. It seemed to her now water rushing, of voices calling to each other, as if all care for the future, all bewilderment of sudden bursts of bells from the steeples of and uncertainty, were over. It was all real to Bagneres de Bigorre. It was as if all the years her-vivid, overwhelming. Here was the faith- were not, and he was his old self again. Can ful friend once more ready to do battle for her you fancy what it was to him after his long waitwith the'difficulties of life: ready to shield, and ing, long resignation, long hopelessness, to find to serve, and encourage to decide-to tell her himself with his heart's desire there before him what was right; and poor Esther had long felt and within his grasp? Can you wonder that that to her decision was like a great pain and for a little while he almost doubted his own hapimpossibility. But here was Smith to advise, piness, and lived on in the past instead of the and it seemed to her as if troubles and difficul- present? Death, indifference, distance, other ties became like strong places now that he was men and women, years, forgetfulness, chance, there. His manner of looking at life was un- and human frailty, had all come between them like that of the people among whom she had and divided them, and now, all these things surbeen living: he seemed to see things from a mounted, like a miracle these two seemed to be different level, and yet she felt as if he only brought together again, only divided by a resaw clearly, and that every thing he said was membrance. right and true. Some people, as I have said, Some things are so familiar, so natural, that seem by intuition to see only truth and right; while they last they seem almost eternal, and as others must needs work out their faith by fail- if they had been and would be forever. They ing and sorrow. They realize truth by the pain suit us, and harmonize and form part of ourselves of what is false, honor through dishonor, right and of our nature, and so far in truth they are by wrongs repented of with bitter pangs. And eternal if we ourselves are eternal, with our wonEsther had long felt that this was her fate. She dering and hopes and faithful love. OUT OF THE WORLD. OUT OF LTE. WORLD...Why should we faint and fear to live alone, Since all alone so Heaven has willed we die?. Not e'en the tenderest heart and next our own Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh." but a great deal too hot to be a wholesome I. one." ONE afternoon Dr. Rich rode'up as usual'You are right; I am a prisoner," said Horato.;the door of Dumbleton House; he passed tia, in her velvet gown; "but I assure you I in. through-the iron gates,- came up the seep work very hard." The doctor looked doubtful. along':which the lilac-trees were'beginning to "Shall I tell you' what I do?" she went on. scattr;eirtheir leaves, and then he: dismounted at "This is not the first time you speak in this the stone —steps: under the portico (it was a red way." -.; brick house with a Grecian portico), rang the "It is an old observation of mine," Doctor bell, and asked if Miss Berners was at home. Rich said, "and' I can not help repeating, that.He was showni into the drawing-room —a womeninyourclass oflifehavenot enoughto do.' pleasant, long, ground-floor room, full of comn " That is because you do not know: take my fortable chairs and sofas, with windows through life, for instance; I never have a moment to which'you:saw the garden,:the autumn flowers myself. I have to keep up, correspond, make allI aglow, the sun setting behind the trees. appointments, dine, drive, drink tea, with three One or two tall pictures of Dumbletons who or four hundred people all as busyand overhad once lived in the long drawing-roum, and tired as I am. I go out to dinner, to a party, walked in the garden, hung upon the- walls, to a ball almost every night in the season. All There'was a pleasant perfume of' hot-house the morning I shop and write letters; all the flowers and burning wood. The room was hot, afternoon I drive about here and there, and drink be-chintzed, be-perfumed; Horatia, dressed in five-o'clock tea. I am never alone; I must for a black velvet gown, was sitting by the fire. ever be talking, doing, attending, coming, going. She got up to welcome the doctor.:He Is not this work for ten women, instead of one thought that this black-velvet lady, with the poor, unhappy, tired-out creature like myself?" glowing window behind her, was like a picture cried she, strangely excited. he had seen somewhere; or had he read about Dr. Rich was a soft-hearted man, especially it?':- or had he dreamt it? Somehow, he knew so when he thought'of Horatia, and he said she was going to say, "We are going away; kindly, "That does, indeed, seem a dreadful'good-bye!? And Horatia gave him her hand, life to me.'Can't I help you?' Can't I preand said: scribe some more rational scheme of existence?":"Oh, Doctor Rich! —I am so sorry-my aunt "No, no; nobody, nothing can save me," tells me we are going away:!" said Miss Berners. "I am utterly jaded, bat-: "'Well," he said, wondering a little at this tered, wearied out.. I owe every thing to my odd realization, "I am sorry to lose my patient. aunt. I must go her ways and lead her life: Though, in' truth, I had meant to tell -you to- there is no help for' me." d'ay that you yourself ean best cure yourself. "But you might, perhaps," said the doctor, All you want is regular exercise and living, and hesitating-" perhaps-" occupation. And this is physic I can not tell "No!" cried Horatia, with some emotion, the chemist to put up in a bottle and send you." " shall never marry! if that is whatyou mean. - What makes you think I want occupa- Ten or fifteen years ago it might, have been; tion?" said Horatia, a: little angry, and not but now-now I am ashamed to look people in over-pleased, the face whEn she tries... What dreadful "'Don't; most!women,?" said the doctor, things I am saying!-but, all the same, I must smiling. Don't Ifindyou all'like piisoneis go on, and on, and on. There is no rest for. locked up between fourwalls, with all sorts of me exceptwhere the weary go in time. Where wretched make-shift'employments, to pass away -where-" She finished her sentence by bursttime.? Why, this room is a very pretty prison, ing out crying.'U 806 OUT OF THE WORLD. Dr. Rich thought there was some excuse for She pictured to herself his ivy-grown house. her. He went up to one of the windows, and, She had once driven past it with her cousin, pushing aside the flower-stand, opened it wide, Mrs. Dumbleton. She tried to imagine the and looked out into the garden. Then he walk- daily round of life, the quiet little haven, the sied up and down the room once or twice, and lence after all these years of noise and racket, then he came back to the fire. It was a tall the stillness after all this coming and going — old chimney-piece, round which the Dumble- one good friend instead of a hundred more or tons (the masters of the house) had assembled less indifferent. A man with every worldly adfbr two centuries and more. A lady let into vantage would not have tempted her so greatly the wall, with a pearl necklace and powdered jut at thatmoment. Sfe' thought to herself hair, seemed to look him full in the face, and that she wished she had the courage to say nod her head once or twice. "yes." Horatia had sunk down on a low sort of couch, When she found courage at last to speak at and was wiping her tears away. The fresh all, she said-not the "no" she imagined she gust of air which had blown in through the open was going to say-but, " I can't-I can't give window cheered and revived her more than any you any answer now. I will send-I will write. consoling remarks or talking. When she had I will talk to them. Please go, before they wiped her tears, she looked up, and he saw all come in." the lines that care had written under those dark So Dr. Rich made her a little grave bow, and eyes, and he was suddenly filled with immense walked away. His plebeian breeding stood him sympathy, pity, liking. For a moment he was in good service. He was quite composed and silent, and then he made a great resolve, and quiet, and at his ease, and'here she was tremhe said, in a low voice, bling, and agitated, and scarcely able to control "I think I could help you, if you would let herself. When he was gone she went upstairs, me. Instead of being a straw in a whirlpool, slowly crossing the hall, and passing along the how would you like to come and stagnate in a gallery which led to her room. There was nopond? How would you like to be a country body else coming or going, there were only doctor's wife?" gathering, shadows and shut: oaken doors, and Horatiablushed up, started with amazement, more Dumbletons hanging from the walls, and and then leant back among her cushions to hide windows set with carved panels, looking out over her agitation, while Dr. Rich went on to say, the country and the tree-tops, and the sunset. with extra deliberation, that social differences She stopped and looked out. She saw the had never impressed him greatly-that he could high-road gleaming white between the dark not see why a fine lady should not take a turn woods on either side; she saw a horseman ridat every-day life;," for it is at best only a very ing away; past the gate, and the haycock, and commonplace, every-day life that I have to offer the little row of cottages; past the break in the you," he said.smiling. trees, and then the road turned,, and she could He was apt to be a little didactic; but he had see him no longer. She looked out for some soon finished his speech, and he wiaited for Ho- ten minutes, without much heeding all that was ratia to begin hers. going on. Great purple clouds heaving out of "I am so surprised," she said., trying to speak the horizon, blending and breaking; winds rissteadily, "I-I don't-you don't- know me, ing-; leaves fluttering in the evening breeze; Dr. Rich." bi'ds wheeling in the air, and rooks cawing from The doctor answered, still at his ease, that their nests; the great Day removing in glory, he had wished to marry for some time past, that and speeding in solemn state to other countries; he did not expect his sister, who had been his the Night arriving, with her pompous, shining housekeeper, to remain with him always, that train-all these great changes of dynasties and he had never fancied any body in the neighbor- states of living did not affect her; only as she hood, and it seemed to him that this arrange- watched the sun disappear behind the trees, ment might make them both morehappy than Horatia found, to her great surprise, that she they had either of them been hitherto. He had almost made up her mind —that what had spoke so quietly and deliberately (it was his seemed at first so impossible, and so little to be way when he was excited) that Horatia never thought of; that what had appeared to her only guessed that this was an ardent, loving heart, a day ago unattainable, and: far beyond her full of chivalrous impulse, of passionate feel- reach, was hers now, if she had but the resoluing; a treasure which he was offering her- tion to open her hand and to take it-to accept that this homely country doctor was as much that tranquil existence, that calm happiness, her superior in every tender, feminine quality which she had told herself a thousand thousand as in manly strength, and power, and vigor. times was never to be hers. Suddenly the poor She was looking at him intently:with flush- battered barque had drifted into a calm little ed cheeks. She saw a middle-sized, thick-set haven: the ocean was roaring still; the winds man, with a kind face, with what seemed to her and the waves beating and tossing all about; trustworthy and keen eyes, instead of sleepy but here, shleltered, protected, safely anchored, ones like her own, with a very sweet voice, she might stay if she-would. And yes, she whose tones she seemed to hear after he had would stay.. If she had scarcely-the courage to ceased speaking. remain, she had still less to, face the ocean OUT OF THE WORLD. 307 again. She -would stay, come what might. I knowyour own mind?" said Dumbleton, smilPerhaps Horatia exaggerated to herself the past ing. storms-and troubles of her life, but it is certain "Tell me," said Horatia suddenly, "would (and. so she kept saying to herself) that at two- you think a woman foolish who-suppose you and-thirty she was old enough to be her own were a woman over thirty, Henry?"mistress. She was not ungrateful to her aunt " I shouldn't own to it," says Mr. Dumblefor years of. kindness,. but she could surely best ton. judge for herself. And so, telling herself that "'Henry, listen to me," said Horatia. " Supshe was not ungrateful,/ she began to wonder pose the case of some one whose life is passing how she could send a note to the doctor; how on, who has no settled home, who has not known she could best break the dreadful news to Lady for years and years the blessing and privilege of Whiston, who was her aunt, to Mrs. Dumbleton, being much considered, or much loved. Don't who was her cousin, and Lady Whiston's daugh- think me heartless-aunt Car has been kindness ter. It is: a way that people have: they tell itself -I shall always, always be grateful; themselves that they are not ungrateful, and but-,' they go and do the very thing which does not "All the gratitude in the world would not prove their gratitude. induce me to live with her, if that is what you mean," said Dumbleton. ~.. "Oh, Henry!" said Horatia, coming and II. standing in front of him: "should you think very badly of me if, if-can any thing bea nmesalliTHE ladies came in very late, and went to ance for a;woman in my position?" The tears their rooms at once to make ready.for dinner. came into her eyes as she spoke, and DumbleHoratia, who had dressed with nervous haste, ton saw that her hands were trembling. I and who was too much excited to be still, went think it was for this foolish reason, as much as wvandering up and.,down the drawing-room in for any she could give him, that he determined her white dinner-dress, trying to find words and to help hler through the ordeal if he could. courage to.tell them of what had occurred... "Who is it?" he asked, a little alarmed as to;The housemaids came in to put the room to what the answer might be. rights,, to straighten tcushions and chairs, to The answer came, fnd Horatia,:blushing, and sweep the hearth, and make up the fire. The looking twenty again, said-" Dr. Rich." Dumbletons-.were chilly people, and fires burned " So that is what he came for?" says Henry, on their hearth almost allthe year round.. The opening his eyes. housemaids departed, leaving a. cheerful blaze "Don't you like him?" implored Horatia. behind them, comfortable furniture in orderly "I think Rich is a capital good fellow," array, lights with green shades, evening papers said Dumbleton, hesitating.'I don't think folded on the table. The place might have he is doing a very wise.thing. You will have looked tranquil and homelike enough but for to.turn over a new leaf, Ratia, and tuck up the restless Horatia pacing backward and for- your sleeves, and all that sort of thing; but I ward. She hardly. noticed Mr. Dumbleton, suppose you are prepared?" the master of the house, who came in quietly "You do like him?" said Horatia.' Oh, and sank down in a big chair, and watched her Henry, I think you are very, very kind! I did as she flitted to and fro. This constant coming not expect to find one single person to listen to and going worried him. He was a good-look- me so patiently." And Horatia was, in truth, ing, kindly, shrewd, reserved young man. He a little surprised that Henrvy did not insist more was usually silent, but he would answer if he upon -the inequality of the match. To her, was spoken. to. Sometimes he spoke of his brought up as she had been, in the semi-fashown accord.. ionable world, the difference seemed greater To-night he spoke, and said, "What is the than it really was. She' seemed to be performmatter, Horatia? What are you going into ing some heroic feat; she had a sort of feeling training for?" and Horatia stopped suddenly, that she was a princess stepping down from her and turned round, and looked at him for.a min- throne; that her resolution did her extraordiute.without speaking. An hour ago her mind nary credit; that the favor she was conferring had been made up, and now again she was hes s immense; that Dr. Rich's gratitude must itating, shrinking, and thinking that she had be at least equal to her condescension.... almost rather change her mind than tell it, it And now I must confess that the doctor only seemed so terrible a task; But here was an spoke a truth when he had said that social difopening. Henry Dumbleton was good-natured, ferences did not greatly impress him. For Hoperhaps he might help her; at all events, he ratia herself he had the tenderest regard and. would give hergood advice. She stopped short admiration; for her position as the niece of a in her walk, stood straight and still in her white baroness, and the cousin of one or two Honoradress, with a drooping head. "'You can help bles, he did not greatly care; he might have me," she said, at last looking up.;'" I am try- thought.more of it if he. had been more in the ing to decide for. myself for once, and I do not wgld. As it was, the subject scarcely occurred know how to do it." to him. He was at that moment close at home, " You surprise me -andso you actually don't riding along a dark lane, hedged with black-look 308 0:UT! OF THE WORLD. ing trees;, -with the stars coming'out overhead in ance-::any more-.',ILdon't i know what ihe will a sky swept by drifting clouds. The wind was not chairge: He:is not-anM.:D.i though he'calls rising and shakigg-the' branches,'but. the docto' himself a doctor.'i Now., Mr.;Bonsey,i:amarried was absorbed as he rode along,aed as he thought man with a large family, never asked more than with tenderest affection of the gracious and beau- 3s.: 6d. a visit. - Those sort of people must be -tifil woman whom he had -enshrined in the tem- kept down.". pie of his honest heart. It was for herself that' Horatia was blushing,ierand pinker and pinker, he loVed, her, anrid not for her surroundings. He Henry Dumbleton was more and more amused,'would "have married her ou out'f a hovel, if she and so the desultory conversation:went on, all at had happened to be born there;'whereas she, I cross purposes. There. seemed tobe somefatalifear, took him more for what he hatd to give her ty in the way in which doctors kept popping up than for'what he was.' She wanted to; marry with every course, and from unde1 every dishhim, not: because he was upright and tender cover. Dr. Rich-'and' Mr,.Caton'his partner, and wise; not because'she could hope to make went round with the; entries:; withl the roast him happy and be a'good wife to him-but be- Mr. Bonsey:was served over -again, and:all the cause she told herself he could make her happy. London physicians..: And -then, with' the desSho was by way of giving up every thing for sert, arrived a series of horrible illnesses which him, but in truth,,if she ghve'any thing up, it had attacked various ladies of high rank, sympwas for her own sake, and because she was tired toms following each other in alarming succesof it... sion. HIoratia heard nothing. She was sitting Lady Whiston and her daughter caine down in a sort of dream, only she listened when they as the dinner wasannounced.' Mr.Dumbleton spoke of Dr.' Rich. Was it indeed. fated? offered' his arm to his mother-in-law, the other Was this new distant country awaiting her? two followed-across the hall.''The dinner-table Was she an alien already doomed to go away dazzled them for-a moment with its lights and and leave them all, and live the unknown life shining silver and: flowers, but- their eyes soon he had offered her? It: seemed unreal and became accustomed, and they sat dtwn and shadowy, like the nightall round about. When took their places.: Lady Whiston was a shriv- -the ladies got up from the table, Horatia folelled and rather flighty old lady; Mrs. Dumble- lowed. But Dutrbleton got up, too, contrary ton, a kind little fat wolan, who' chirped and to his usual custom, anr said, "I will tellmy chattered and responded to her mother's con- lady," in an undertone: as she passed him. stant flow of talk. Mr. Durmbleton, as usual,'So Horatia, with a beating heart, staid in the carved, and did not mix much in the conversa- hall, and went and gazed out through the glass tion. Horatia could'hardly rouse herself to at- door at the;black landscape, at the murky, tend' to what was going on.':Why are people wind-blown sky. It had been raining, but the always expected to rouse themselves and:'to clouds were breaking; the crescent moon rose talk of'the things they-are not thinking about? palely and faintly from behind the black trees, "lI am quite worn out," Lady Whiston was the veils of vapor wreathed' and curled in the saying. "' Henry, you know' howv far from sky, the wind blew in soft sudden gusts over the strong I am. I drove'to town this morning. I country, ahdlacross the grass and the fields. was'hopping for two hours. I lunched at'the A lamp was burning, hanging from the pillars De Beauvilles'. There I met Jane Beverley, in the hall. It looked like a sort of temple, who insisted upon taking me all:over the South and Horatia in her white robes might have Kensington Museum, and from there to Maro- passed for a priestess, looking out at the heavchetti's'studio. We then went back to Chapel ens and trying to read her fate-her fate, which Street, and. paid a number of visits. We got to other people after all were settling and arrangLady Ferrars's about hialfpast five, and had only ing at their fancy: for Lady Whiston, discomtime to drink a cup of tea. I found the car- posed, astonished, indignant, on the drawingriage -with Augusta'in it waiting at the door. room sofa, was condemning her to live her presHenry, you ought to get Lady:Jane to come eent life to the very end of her days. Mr. Dumdown and staywith you'r There is no onelike bleton,in the arm-chair, was mildly but firmly her."' -: marrying her to the doctor. Mrs. Dumbleton Mr.:Dumbleton smiled tather grimly,'and was -sympathizing'with her mother and husband Mrs. Dumbletn' hastily changed the conversa- alternately, and Horatia herself who had most tion,-and said — at stake, waitingi outside, was watching the " Well, dear Ratia, what have you been about clouds and the moon. At last Mr. Dumbleton all day? ":::- got up with a yaw, and sauntered out of the Horatia looked at her plate,'Mr Dumbleton room. He came out into the hall with' the looked at HOratia.;: i: lamp and the flowers and the white-robed lady' Did Dr. Rich call again?" said: Lady Whis- staring out at the sky. She'started as he ton. called hber. " Yes," Horatia said.'" I am going to, send down to the station,'"he'' Those people' are really unconsacinable,"'said. "The maa'can take a note if you like to cried: the old -1ady.' ",Hofatia, I,hope youn put poor Rich out of-suspense. There is a pen,made him understand that weare going away, and ink in my room." He lit a cigar as he and all that, and shall not e'quire his:s ttend- spoke, and weht out and stood on the wet steps OUT: OF THE WORLD. 309 under.the portico. And Horatia, doing as he confident, talkative, and funny.: Even George told her, went into the study. It was.all light- owned sometimes. it was a pity that Caton had edi up;ifor Dumbleton often sat there of an even, so noisy a scorn for social observance. ing.;:- She sat: down at his table, and slowly.took: If Berta had declar.ed that. she fancied him, up as pen iand then-hid:her face in her hands: very likely her. brother might have regretted for a moment, and then wrote,. hardly seeing the her fancy,and thoughtshe was throwing herself words as;she formed them:-.: away; as she seemed to: care little for himshook. her head, laughed, blushed, would have.-"'Yot must help me to bear my aunt's dis- nothing to say when she saw him-George, out pleasure.. I have determined to come to you.- of some strange contradiction, had all the more I.know. Ican rely upon you., HORATIA." sympathy. for Caton because his sister showed so little;, asked him to the house, praised him:She! folded up the piece of paper and sealed continually, and told Berta at last that she was it,:an&dcame:outagain, carrying it in her hand. fine and foolish not to be able to appreciate a Dumbleton, who was still waiting outside talk-. kind and honorable man when he came in her ing to one of his grooms, took it without asking way... any questions. He merely nodded "Thank "I may be foolish, George; you know I am you," and gave it to the man, saying, i"Youcan not fine-I hate fine ladies," said Berta, with leave this at the doctor's on your way, and call whom it was a sore subject. and see if there is any answer coming back." They had just done breakfast on the morning:And;then Horatia knew that the die was cast, of this eventful day, the doctor lhad come out and with her own hand she had signed and seal- for.a stroll with The Times and his cigar, Berta ed her fate. walked beside him -with a. basketful. of roses. ~-.- ~ — o The.garden was on a slope-a long, narrow, and somewhat neglected strip, with grass, with rose^^~II. bbeds, with elm-trees, with all London and its IT is very puzzling to define the extraordi- domes and spires for a background. There nary.differenice, so small and-yet so great, which lay the city in the valley stretching farther and exists between a number of people living in the farther away beyond the morning mist. Long same place,-talkingthe same tongue,. feelingthe lines of railway viaducts and arches, lonely same emotions. There are, let us say, first, the church towers, domiciles. nestling amidst trees, great p.eople,.a number of whom make up what chinking workshops, fields, roads, and gardens, is called the great world. Then, people of the children's voices shouting, cattle lowing, sheep, world; then, people out of the.world; and, last-:and the sound of cocks and hens-all this life ly, the people- le peuple, properly speaking. lay between the doctor's quiet garden and the Dr. Rich and.his sister Roberta, and Mr. Caton, great misty city. A great silent city it seemed his partner,; were people out of the world, who to be as it glistened in the gentle morning rays'; had been very happy notwithstanding. Horatia for its roar could scarcely reach the two standwas a small person of the world, who had been ing on their distant hill-top. Every now and very unhappy int, and yet who had learned then.came the shrill whistle of a train dashing unconsciously certain ways and habits there across the landscape and gone in a moment, which.made her unlikeRoberta Rich,b and supe- only a little smoke remained curling, drifting; rior to her as.far as mere outward manner was. breaking, shining with sunlight, vanishing-away. concerned. As for the doctor, he was forty All the late summer roses were smelling. sweet years old and more.- He had been a surgeon and were heavy with drops of dew, all the birds on;board ship, he had.been to India and back, in the trees were chirping and fluttering, and he had knocked about for; fifteen years, he had Berta, in her pink cotton dress, fresh, slim, and been at death's door once or twice (the last.time and smiling, looked up into her brother's face was when he inearly. died of small-pox, before and saidRoberta came to live' with him-some one, to; "You know I am not fine-I hate fine lawhom she was not as grateful as she might dies." have been, had nursed him through it all). If D)r. George winced, and puffed his cigar. years and experience; if rubbing up against peo- "They have never done you any harm. pie'of every degree, from savages without any Why should you hate people you know nothing clothes at: all, to lords and ladies in silken gear; about?" said her brother. if a good heart, if good wit, and good education, Roberta looked up a little surprised, a little do not make. a gentleman after two-score years' hurt; she'could not understand how it was posit is hard to say what will. Poor Mr. Caton sible that George should speak in such a tone. had not enjoyed all these advantages-only the "They have never done me any real harm," good heart was his. That very morning the she said, in a voice not quite herown. " They doctor and his sister had had.a little discussion have made me feel very uncomfortable." out in'the garden'about the young surgeon's "Nonsense, my dear Berta,".said George, merits. Roberta liked him and she didn't like hastily turning away; "that was your fault, him; she almost loved him when he was sad, not theirs. I can't talk to you now; order a silent, subdued; she almost hated him if, find- good dinner, at all events, for poor Caton is ing her perchance more kind, he became gay, coming, and don't starve him and snub him too." 310 OUT OF THE WORLD. And he walked across the lawn, at the glass er'and thither upon its face for forty years and door, and Berta heard:the hall-door shut with a more, Dr. Rich rode up that afternoon as usual bang as he rode off to his-fate. to the door of Dumbleton House, came up the Roberta was a born housewife, a domestic sweep along which the lilacs were beginning to woman-she was gentle and deliberate-she was scatter their leaves, and asked if Miss: Berners placid and happy-she was contented with small was at home?... interests. A calm summer's evening, a. kind When the tramp of a horse's hoofs came, some word from George, a novel sometimes, a friend two hours later, thudding along the quiet glimto talk to, an occasional jaunt to London-these mering lane which led back to the doctor's own were her chiefest pleasures. Her troubles lay in house, the doctor's sister, who had grown very her store-room, her kitchen, in the meshes of weary of a long tete-a-ttet, ran out to the door to hei needlework, in the cottages of the poor peo- meet her brother, and Mr. Caton followed more pie round about, and now and then, it must be leisurely. As George dismounted, agitated, confessed, in occasional and frightful ordeals wearied, excited, the kindly welcome seemed gone through at her brother's desire, when she inexpressibly soothing land pleasant. called at Dumbleton House, and such like For home opened its wide door to him, he ogres' castles, once in six months. Berta's thought, and seemed to say, "Come in; here you thoughts were all of objects, of things almost al- have a right to enter, a right to be loved; whatways the most pleasant and the most simple. ever befalls you without, come in; forget your She had no mental experience in particular: anxiety, your suspense, put away your. fears for crises of morbid dissatisfaction were undreamt to-night. Welcome, welcome!" Homesaid all of by her; hankerings after what she could not this as Berta kissed him, and Caton his partner get, aspirations after other duties than the sim- criedple one which fell to her share, passionate self- "I say, George Rich, you ask me to dinner reproach and abasement, fervent resolutions, at six, and it is near eight before you come in." presentlyvto be forgotten-all these things were "I-I couldn't come; I was detained," said unknown, unrealized, unimagined by the girl as Dr. Rich; " order dinner, Berta." she came and went about her little busy domain, And.in a few minutes they also were sitting while Horatia. was fuming, fussing, railing at down to dinner, at a table with roses, with canherself and her cruel fate elsewhere. dies, and over-roasted mutton;: with Betty in Berta was not clever. She had not half Miss desultory attendance: it was a silent repast, Berners's powers; she performed her simple du- chill, belated, and yet pleasant and friendly ties simply, and without an effort. Horatia did enough. not always do her duty, but sometimes she went After the sun had set, as I have said, the through prodigies of self-reproach, control, de- purple clouds turned to gray, and to black, and nial, culture, inspection, condemnation, or.what- the wreathing mist began to fall down in occaever it might happen to be.' sional showers pattering against -the window. Roberta's life was a tranquil progress from one Berta could not go out into the garden for her day to another. Her steps paced across the evening stroll; ard she had to return into the grass-plot, tarried at every rose-tree in turn, led darkling little sitting-room after dinner, while her along the walks to her favorite seat in the the gentlemen sat over their wine. arbor, into the house again, moving from one She got out one of her long seams to sew, and room to another, arranging, straightening, or- as she stitched she faintly wondered what was to dering. be the end of these silent tete-a-tetes and long And so at six o'clock Berta had put out some seams. She heard the'voices rising and mumof her roses upon the dinner-table, dressed her- bling in the dining-room; she could distinguish self in her muslin dress, looked into the kitchen George's soft tones from Caton's harsh treble; to see that all was satisfactory. At five minutes she asked herself whether it was possible that past six Mr. Caton arrived, and found Berta she could one day like the harsh voice as well as sitting in the window at work. she loved the other; she broke her thread, and As the time went by they both began to think stitched-no, never,hIever; nobody could be to that George would never come back. Caton her what her brother was-whom else did she did not like to say what was in his mind when want? she would live for him always. she told him that the doctor was at Dumbleton And- now while Berta is still rewing at her House, she was so perfectly unconscious.' What seam some one passes the window through the was:the use of setting her against the inevitable rain; there is a ring at; the bell, a brief collofate? Her brother could:best tell her if any quy, and Betty comes in with a letter which thing was to. be told. she puts upon the table. Berta, busy speculaOnly that morning, with the strange knowl- ting, wondering to'find herself so silly-she aledge of another.person's feelings. which we all ways counted silliness and sentiment togetherpossess, Caton had known more than Berta, or with'an effort turns her well-regulated little Dr.-:Rich, or Horatia; but meanwhile the day mind from a dim involuntary mystic dream, and had sped on its course, causes had produced ef- wakes up to every day. fects, one destiny had evolved out of.another, It was time: to make the tea, to fold up her the world rolled into the appointed space in the work.. Should she be able to find her way in firmamen'tiand, after ceaselessly travelling hith- the dark to the cupboard upon the landing? OUT OF THE WORLD. 311 Poor little Roberta, sh(lid not guess what was ble. The rain had ceased.by this time, and, as at hand, andin what manner she would find her the clouds broke, a faint pale moonlight catne way there. For she looked up with a smile creeping coldly along the passage. when the door opened, and George'and Caton. came in. Caton glanced at the table and the letter ly- IV. ing there, and then walked across and sat down WHILE Berta was crying in the cupboard, beside Berta, and began to tell her that he and Horatia was sitting with her cousin, Mrs. Dumher brother had been having a discussibn; and bleton, and saying, "Augusta, you must stand meanwhile George took up the letter, a candle, by me and help me. I assure you' I shall be and walked away out of the room. happy. You know I have always wished for a About five minutes passed, and then.Berta quiet country life, and hoped to marry a clergyheard his voice falling-" Roberta!" She ran man." out to him. "But you have not always wished to marry He was standing in the study, with the letter a country doctor," said Mrs. Dumbleton. still. in his hand; he looked bright, round-eyed,' He will do quite as well," said Horatia, strange,' unlike himself. "Berta," he said, eagerly.. I shall occupy myself with the poor "something has made me very happy," and he people; with the schools. I shall escape from the put out his hand. hateful monotonous round of dismal ga ety." She looked up,:with.her sweet anxious face "But. this will be still more dull in a little wondering, as'she took it. "Some one has while," said Mrs. Dumbleton. pronised to be your sister, whom you must love "No," said Miss Berners, decisively; "beformy sake,' he went on, smiling. He did not cause it is a natural and wholesome. existence: see. that Berta was trembling and quaking, as the other is unnatural, and'morbid, and exhaustshe gasped, " Who is it, George?" ing. Augusta, you must hep me, and persuade "'You know her, dear. You hawv seen her aunt Car to forgive me. or it is too late to at Mrs. DumbletOn's," the doctor went on. prevent it any more, and-and-Henry sent off "You must love her, and help me to make her a note when the grotm went to the station." happy." "Is it all settled?"'cried Mrs. Dumbleton, Berta's grasp loosened, and her heart sank very much relieved. She was always delighted with dismay. She had seen a beautiful fash- whenpeopledecided thingswithouther. "Then, ionable lady at Mrs. Dumbleton's, who Jiad of course, mamma must forgive you;" and the made her feel all elbows when she talked to good-natured little woman went off, and knockher; a fine lady-did not she hate fine ladies? ed at Lady Whiston's door, and there was a -a terrible alarming London beauty. What great long long conference, and at last Horatia had he done-what foolish thing had he done? was summoned. And when she:came out she She was clinging to her brother again, with her' was pale and exhausted, but triumphant. She arms round his neck. and Mrs. Dumbleton had talked over the old " Oh, how I hope you will be happy! oh, how lady between them. "Of course, you are goI hope she will make you happy! Why didn't ing to do exactly as you like," says Lady Whisyou tell me? Why have you never said a ton, "but I suppose you know you have forword?" feited your place in society. I shall come and " I only made up my mi anad spoke to her see you now aad then,'when I am not too busy. this afternoon," said her brother, pulling her My consent is all nonsense. I must say I had gently away. "I have only had her answer hoped diffefrently." this moment."'''But you will forgive her in time, mamma?" Berta looked at him once again, with her fond pleaded Augusta. doubting eyes. She felt somehow as if it was "I can not discharge Mr. Bonsey, if'that is the last time, and as if Horatia's husband would what'she wants. Horatia! what could you not be the same man as' her brother George. want when you made this ridiculous arrangeAnd then she' went gently out of the room, still ment?" carrying her work, for she felt that tears were "Good-night,dearest, kindest aunt Car," said coming into her eyes, and she did not wanthim Horatia, suddenly clasping the little old woman to see them. She turned and went up stairs, in herarms. "I can't tell you what I wanted, and then, walking along the familiar dark pas- but I must keep to my decision. Good-night, sage, she felt for the key, and opened the great Augusta." cupboard door, and put down her work upon the What had she desired? Happiness, rest, shelf with the lavender. Only as she did so, quiet, a tranquil home, sympathy: and'now all suddenly a great sorrowful pang came over her, this was hers at last. She caught a glimpse of and, with a choking sob, she laid her head upon her glowing cheeks in the glass. She could the shelf, feeling all alone in the dark, with her hardly believe that bright and brilliant face was bitter bitter grief. She had not thought, as her own-her own old face, whose wan glances she:'sat below sewing her seam, in what a sad had met her:for so many years.... fashion it was fated she should put it away. After this night, Roberta could never smell One day, not long after the day Ilave beet lavender without thinking of darkness. and trou- describing, Mrs. Dumbleton's little cariage was 312 OUTl lFtTHE V~WORID.. travelling along the road which leads.fro itDum-.n and ho*'pre.tty sh- eo d a,eit!- ^Mrs. Duimbleton -to.: Wandswbrth; Augustfa - as- iving bleton.wa$ quitten thsrstKie.:-.. -. e the ponies, an.d' Ho ratia. was:goilngin stateait.o'.i These a re -very e nice:roo tms, Horatia,-all visit her new dominions. They roll on across except the furniturew; w.itht a~:fey alterationstheythe country roads, and lanes, and commons; might be made quite pretty." through the western sunslhine, through the warm.But -she. Wvas: so ts.ed to: her':own trim lawns seet. September air, with a great'dazzling t ult and hothouses that she could find no praise for overhead, a shining world all round about;them. the garden e However, there i-was all Fulham Horatia leans back too.languid, too happy,: too beyond.for her to. expatiate;on. "The view is excited to talk. -She lazily watches the crisp too lovely,". said Augusta;. itwvould bhe too, too shadows. that advance alongside -:the nodding beautiful, if you cold onlyy helplooking at the heads of-the ponies, the trees, and houses in the railways and'the houses,....-. l should advise distance,. the children and wayfarers who look: you to;build a high;wall, R.tia.' up.to.see.theum pass.. i. It is: like.;a fairy-tale, " It will do very well when the garden is put, Horatia, thinks-a' princess driving'along. the in order," said Horatia, drawingi a.deep breath. road. And whatwill, be thee end of.the- story? - "It is a pity the gardenis so neglected," AuThey come to a: cross-road at:last, and then Au-. gusta went on, looking itp.and down, and round gusta: turns the ponies' heads, and; they trot -up- abput.- Cabbages and. roses were growing in a line full of flickering shadow -and sunshine, friendly confusion, honeysuckle, straggled up the' They stop:. suddenly at an ir n gate in front of a old brick.walls.-, parsley, m;int, saffron, herbs of Queen Anne brick.house;,with all the windows every sort, grew along:the beds,.Joe, the odd; opeh,' and growring ivy-wreaths.i A'nd Io:ratia, man,: kept it in a certain trim;..aad the doctor with- — a-start, says.to- herself, " So this. is.myI sometimes'ordered. in.a: barrowful of flowers. home?'.while Augusta points and says,.' Here It was. not much:, of' a. place.. Three straight: we are:; doesn't it l.ok.nice?:." walks led up' to the low ivy wall- at the end,:.Behind the iron-ate.is a littlegarden, full of where a.litl.e arborhad been put up, and where red and blue,:margarites and geraniumns';:then:the ivy, and spiders'-webs, and:honeysuckle, and three. worn steps lead to thbodoor with; the old- various -pretty.creeping plants,; tangled, and fashioned cornice, overwhich-a rose-tree is nail- sprouted, and hung luxuriantly, as you see themn ed.: When Betty. opened the door, they could at the end:of a' lng' summer..The entertainsee: into the passages, and'into the' garden be- ment' is.nearly over, -and they, lavisihly fling out yond, green. and sunlight there.as herei in the all,heir.ltreasures, their gaarlands, -their sweet — lane.' ~ -.~;..... ness.:' -........ Dr. Rich.was.notat home;: Miss Richwas in Under this- pleasant,, triumphal, autumnal the:garden: Betty proposed'to go and te!ll her.; arch,-Berta, in a broad; hat and blue ribbons,, but. Horatia quickly; said, "No, we will go to. was sitting with a novel,';, and looking:up as sheh her." ".i-..'...;' ":' I heard steps, she saw a tall woman coming toSo the ladies got.down;., As' Horatia crossed wards her with a long silk trailing gown which h.e threshold,she suddenly thought, with a thrill, swept the:mint and parsley borders; and then how this was her neW life, her ftture into which she guessed in a moment that this.was the future she was-stepping.,; lIt had- all lain concealed,beT mistress of the little domain. What a beautihind the door..but.a moment ago, and now it was ful lady! the heroine of the novel she had just revealed to her.. It had.begun fpm..that min- been' reading was'not to:be conp ared to her. ute..when Betty:admitted the Steangers. The What dark eyes! what.briglt glowingh cheeks! Jadies swept through the little hall iii theit silk What-a charming smile.!:... gowns, glanced with interest a.t the.doctor's;hats Roberta, who had only seen her once before, hanging upon their hooks, peeped int.o'the little and:who had thought.her.tvery:alarming, and sitting-rooms on either side::'the drawing-room said to herself that she hated fine.ladies, was with the horsehair sofa and mahogany'chairs$ v anquished utterly for a momen-t.i;No wonder: the cottage:piano,. the worsted:.works -of art, the George was in love with this gracious creature, three choristers hanging up on the wall, the fun- who was ready to give-up all her. state for him. ny old china cups and bowls'on the. himney, She jumped up to meet her.:. the check tablecloth, some flowers in a vulgar -".I.have come to see my new home," said little vase on the table, a folding-door half-open Horatia, holding, out her hand in a royal sort into an inner room.... of:way. "Is that another drawing-room?" Horatia And Berta, blushing, took it- timidly, and asked.:'' said-' It ain't used much,' says Betty. "It'ave'George told Ine..HowI hope you will been Miss Rich's play-room.. She does the lining both be happy. Isn't it a dear old house?" there now,: and keeps-the preserves and gro- The' old.cistern at. the: back, the familiar ceries.".::'..' chimney-stacks, the.;odd windows, the'waterHoratia peeped in. There was no carpet; spout with- the' bird's' nest, the worn steps where there was a wooden press, there was a glass door she had played when- she was a child, the mouldy leading into the garden. It was not much of a little arbor, had all dear old charms for:Roberta, place; bu she'thought how she would' have which naturally enough Horatia could: not apchintz curtins, tripod tables, gilt gimcracks'; prel-ate. OU.iJ O^ TH"En.WORLDs. 31s3 -.I.a afraid-it:is.m.ore for:the sake-ofyour tia to Berta;'without'a, nottior of thiwounds she broQthri.tha. n for the merits&.of the house: that I' anri.goodnatreId. little, Mrs,: D; mbletlonl,: who ma,in to; co. e and: live. here,"' said l loratia, wouldi not willfully -have paine&dany living crea, smiling. " I want you;:to. show me;' over -theh turIe, were inflicting.;- but worpen of.thirty and: house, and to give us some tea:. W.e came on upwards have a knack of snubbing andruffling pur.poe., wyh'enwe thought he would.d be' out. v I very young; girls, and Berta was very young for thi1yky9u.know. Mrs., Dumbleton:.".:-'-.: twenty.summers. - She eslipped away...to.the ",'.We.ipeeped into -your sto:reroom as::we kchen to order thie tea, and to recover her came olalong,"; said,Mrs.-8.Dumbletoin bhaking temper...;.;: -.. hands,'and w.,e. want to see:. some more.;i I.:Please, Betty, put it out inithe dining-room; seie yo;u;do Inot.care. mu.ch for your garden.";.- D-r. Rich would particularly wish it. if he. were at "I lam.so glad to have foundyou," continued hqme," Berta:said.::.;- -..!: Horati;,,;'but: we meant to come, anyhow.".':'ell, this is the fust.timeI ever heard of Roberta was? rather'bewildered, by all'this tea before.dinner!". says Betty, with a bang of coQnresation, but: most of allbythe.demand for the tray. l pon; the table;: afidBerta fled at-the tea.,i.Betty w.as apt to be iillt.pered.if any: soundandcame backto.find herguests.up stairs thing was expected: that did not.comie naturally on the bed-room landing, opening doors, and. inthe.cours.e of every,- tenty.-four'-hours. She talking and laughing —still.began to feel;as: if her!fuiture.sis.erin-law was "That is my brother's room-that is the spare a finelady.ag Iin. Her heart: sank within;her. room," Berta said. What.had George:done.?: What foolish thing -: T:,his: one wouldmake aniceboudoir," chirphad,he done?,However, she put the. doubt ed-Mrs..Dumibleton, thoughtlessly;looking into aay, and said, smiling, that she would be de- a fpleasant chamber full.of western sun-rays, lighlteJd to shovw thenmevery thing.. ~There.wasa with;a window full of flowems.;;:..,: not mich to sefe.. She:p.ointed out St. Paul's,.:';That is my room,":. sa'id.: Berta,'shortly, and-,ithe Abbey, and. the:Tower, and the; new blushing up;'it' has always..been mine ever railway bridgeeclose' athand; and then tripped. since I came to live with. George." back into.he house before them, opened doors,;"'How pretty you have made it," said Horashowed them the surgery, the study,'the drAw. tia,:who saw that;;she-was: vexed.. "Shall we ingbroom ove.r iagain, the.dining-'room (there go. down again?'.. -:;. w:re some.old carved chairs-in the dining-room Berta made way for: them. to. pass, and they. the-?Jadies.were pleased:. to: approve- of)' she sallied down into the:drawing-room again.'. pointed o:ut the convenient cupboards,< but she But no teaswas to be:seen; so, at Berta's refelta, little awkward andi sad' as she led them quest, they went across the:passage once more here and there;;.she could, not help.feeling that into the:dining-room, and sure enough there it their praises and dispraises were alike distaste- was.; Betty -had not. vouchsafed a cl16th, but fol to.:her..... had put out three cups on the:red table-cover,.::;;" Whsat an old-fashioned paper!':.said Mrs. three very small old-fashioned willow-patterned. Dumbleton.;'FHoratia, you:ought to.have:white. plates, knives and forks, a: dish of thick bread and _igoldy andimatting'on the floor;iwithPersian and scraped butter, a plate of hard biscuits, a. rugs. Yes; and we. must do; up this -room." teapot, and aglass milk-jug.. Threechairs were:' What' a funny, dismal little room," skid set,: at.which-theytook their:places; and while: Horatia, stepping in, and indeed almost entirely Berta was busy.pouring-.out the. tea,i Betty arfiilingit.witih rher voluminous skirts.;.'; rived with a huge black kitchen ikettle'to fill up They -:had turned poor Roberta's store-room' the.pot. -;. into a: boudojlr; they. had built at bow-wiidow, "' Shall-you want any more bread and butter they had sacrificed all the.dear iold chairs and: cut, Miss- Roberta?" she said; and' poor Berta tables,. arid now this was George'is-, study- that could, not help. seeing that -Mrs. Dumbleton and they were invading., It was very hard, to bear.. Horatia glanced ateach other somewhatamused. Berta only came.in ongreat occasions —when she They did:;n6t hear Berta's sigh as she sent Betty wanted:money, when she said. good-bye, and away. Berta sighed indeed, but then she forced when:she dusted his books.i It seemed almost herself to smile; and when George Rich rode up,. sacred to.her, and Betty the; clumsy was never a minute or two later, he came.in to find a dream allowed to dust:or to touch George's possessions. of old days realized at last-a little happy famiThere was a little inner closet with a window, ly group in the -old house, a beautiful woman where her brother used to let her sit when she looking up with bright gladness' to greet him; was a child, as a great great treat, while he was Berta, evidently happy too, already adopted as at work. In.the looking-glass'over the chim- a sister. He had not thought as he came slowney, she had, in former years, standing on tip- ly along the lane that it was t6 this that he was toe,.looked at herself with a sort of guilty feel- coming. He was touched to be able at last to ing of profanation; and now, instead ofRloberta's welcome Horatia under his roof; and as he demure, respectful peeping face, it reflected two glanced at her beautiful face, as he realized the flounced ladies.poking about, staring at:the charm of her.refinement, her soft breeding, he shabby old furniture, turning over the books, asked himself more than once if that was indeed talking and laughing.. - his wife? His welcome was charming, his ten" What a bachelor's house it is!" said Hora- der kindness melted and delighted Horatia, who 314 OUT,OF. THE WORLD. had not experienced overmuch in her life. She is of yours. Men or women are none the worse was. grateful, gentle, and happy, and cordial, in any station of life for a good-education, and When. they drove off, the doctor was standing forhavingsome idea of what is happening out at the gate,.as happy and as certain of coming of one particular narrow sphere." happiness as she was herself. "Look at your sister," began Mr. Caton. I wonder would it have been, different if Dr. " My sister will be all the better for learning Rich could have known that evening what was a little more of the world," said Dr. Rich; " she to come as days went by? Itwas yet time.'If is too -fond of housekeeping." But he knew he could have been told the story of the next very.well what Mr. Caton thought of Roberta. two years, would he have hesitated-have held Six weeks went by-very happily for George back? I think not. He was a man so brave andHoratia, very slowly for poor Berta, who all and so incautious that I imagine he would nqt the while fought a heroic little battle which have.heeded the warning. I am sure he could nobody suspected: she was fighting with herh ave borne to know the end of it all-and could self, poor child! and got all the blows. have.heard of trouble to come, with that same Andrew Caton, indeed, may have guessed that courage with which he endured it when it fell she wasot happy; and one day he came up to upon him. condole with her, but he had put on such a very.-~ ~- I.long sympathetic face for the occasion that Berta burst out laughing, and would not say a word V. on the subject. Much less would she underHoRATiAhaddeterminedtomarryherhusband stand when lie tried to speak of what was much against all warnings: except Mr. and Mrs. Dum- nearer his heart. The little maiden-gently parbleton there, wasno one in favor of the match. ried and avoided all sentiment. At the very But she would not listen to any objections. bottom of her heart I think.she liked him, and Her, aunt's laments, angry retractions, exclama- meant some day to make him happy; but at tions of horror, shakes of the head, nods, groans, twenty life is long, the horizon stretches away sighs, grand and agitated relations who drove far, far into the distance. There is plenty of up from town to put a stop to the match, and time to. love, to live, to hate, to come, to go. to crush the presumptuous doctor under their Older people are more impatient, and hurry horses' hoofs, if need be-nothing could prevent things on. Young folks don't mind, waiting; her from doing as she liked. at least, so it has seemed to me. Roberta did " I.am beginning to see that this is not at all not mind much, only sometimes, when a sort & good match for you," the doctor said one day. of jealous loneliness came wearily weighing upon "Horatia, do you understand that you will have her. She could not help feeling that she was to be really a woman of the working classes? changed somehow, that life was not the placid You will have to do as Berta does~ —for instance, progress she had always imagined; wishes, tersew and stitch, and make a pudding on occa- rors, fancies, were crowding round her more and sions, and I don't know what else." more thickly every day.. She began to see what "I am older than Berta, and have been was going on all about her, to understand what brought up differently," said Horatia, smiling' was passing in other people's. minds, as she had "I assure you. it' is a popular fallacy to. thinli never done in her life before. that households do not go on very well with a As'the day approached which was settled for little judicious supervision. The mistress is not George's marriage, Berta become more sad. necessarily always in and out of the kitchen.- Her wistful eyes constantly crossed his, shetook Where are you going to?"-she went on, glad to following him about; she would come out to to change the subject, which was one she hated. meet him on his return, and.:creep gently into "I am goingto:see a ery sick man, who lives his room when he was smoking, or at work. three miles off.. Caton is attending him, and The night before his marriage she whispered a he has sent for me." little sobbing blessing in his ear. "I do not much fancy.that Mr. Caton," said "My dearest Berta," he said, "let us. pray Horatia. "I wish you would beg your friends that we may all be. happy-don't cry, you silly not to congratulate me without knowing me." child-you do not think that any. one or any "Caton is a very good young fellow-he is a thing can ever change my love for you." rough diamond," said the doctor. "He saved George was not demonstrative; he had never my life once when I.had the small-pox, so you said so much before, and Berta slept sounder must forgive him for that and other reasons, than she had slept for weeks. Horatia." And he nodded, and went away more in.love than ever. Dr. Rich and Miss Berners were married at When Mr. Caton, whom he met presently, Putney Church early one wintry morning. Mr. began talking over the marriage, with as many and Mrs. Dumbleton went to the wedding, and misgivings as the grandest of Horatia's great Roberta, in a pretty. white bonnet. There was aunts, George Rich stopped him almost angrily. scarcely any one else. After it was all over, "What do you mean about keeping in one's Roberta walked home, packed up herothings, and own.class of life? I suppose a gentleman is went back by the train. to the country village the equal of any lady; and if she does. not ob-'where her stepfather was vicar, and'where:her ject to marry me, I can not see what concern it mother, who was not George's mother, but his OUTO F? 1O THtE WORLD. 315 late:'father's wife, was busy from morning -to Mr. Caton shrugged his br.oadshoulders. "I night with little boys and girls at home and hardly ever go there now. Mrs. Rich gives herabroad; with soup-kitchens, training-schools; self no end of airs, but I can not drop him altowith a very tiresome, fidgety second husband, gether; he looks ill enough, poor fellow, and I who could do nothinghimself, but was very par- think he begins already to repent of his bargain. " ticular about every body else's doings. He loved " These unsuitable.marriages rarely answer," his own children, but was not over fond of his said Mrs. Baron, with a sigh. stepdaughter; and' I think that is why Mrs. "That is just what he was so angry with me Baron was glad that Berta, her dearest and fa- for saying," said the young man. " I like a vorite child, should be almost constantly away. woman who is not above her station, who'minds But, all the same, it was a delight to have her lier house, and takes care of her husband, and at home, and Roberta came to the garden-gate that is what Mrs. R. doesn't do. Why, it was to.be clasped in Kind motherly arms, while all as.different in Miss Berta's time... Now, the the stepbrothers and sisters streamed out in a house is alltopsy-turvy. She's got alady's maid, little procession to welcome her. It was Christ- they tell me, but the dinner is disgraceful. I mas holiday time-the boys were at home. Ri- assure you, I am not particular-you know I'm carda (Mrs. Baron had a fancy for inventing not, Miss Berta-but I couldn't eat what was on names) was grown up quite a young, woman; my plate. I give you my honor I couldn't." Tina had broken her front tooth;. Stephana was Berta hoped that this might be a prejudiced naughty, but: she should come:down from her report, but she could not help feeling sad and room after tea; Will, and Nick, and Harry, anxious as the time came near for her to go were hovering about, long-legged, kindly, and back to them again. glad. It seemed impossible to Berta that she Alas! the prejudiced report happened to be was only an hour or two away-from the struggle the true one. of love' and jealousy, of tenderness and anxiety, If Horatia had married younger it might.have she had been going through for the last few been different, but it is almost impossible sudweeks -only two hours distant from the last denly, in middle life, to become a new woman tears she had dropped, as with Betty's assistance altogether; and from being lazy, nervous, lanshe packed up her boxes and came away; only guid, and unhandy, suddenly to grow brisk, oran hour away from George's last kind words derly, thoughtful, and hard-working. and thoughtful care. And so she settled down Berta paid them one very short visit, during quietly in this other home. which all went smoothly, and yet she went home.She cut ut to frocks for the children, set to for another six months, very doubtful as to how work at the choir, and for three whole days she things might' turn. ~Her brother was not repentand her sisters were busy dressing up the old ing, as Mr. Caton had told them, but it seemed church with ivy, and holly, and red berries. to her that Horatia might begin to get tired of Months went by. She heard from George; this new life, as she had wearied of the old one. she had one or two letters from Horatia, in the When George and Horatiaemarried, they both beautiful handwriting. They. were back long pictured to themselves the lives they were going ago, and settled doivn quite comfortably, Darby to lead; and the two pictures were not in the and Joan-wise. They hoped'she would come least like one another, or like the reality even. soon, and stay as long as ever she liked one day. George's picture was of Horatia, a happy woman, George added, "Caton says he would like to a good wife, beautiful, sympathetic, interested in come down and pay you a visit. I dare say his schemes, contented with her destiny, cheeryou may see him before long." Poor Mrs. ful, and devoted. He sawvher busy in a thouBaron was very much excited, but also rather sand ways, working among the poor with more alarmed by this piece of intelligence. She did energy than Roberta had ever shown, understandnot know how her husband might take this at- ing his plans far better, better able to advise, tention of the young doctbr's. I think, as a helping him, encouraging him in all good, the rule, women are more hospitable than men, and best friend, the most faithful companion. more glad to see'their friends at more hours of "These instincts tre unfailing," he said to himthe.day, but I must confess that it was not only self; "I know her as well as I know myself; by hospitality which made her so anxious on this what strange, happy intuition is one led to these occasion to play hostess. Mr. Caton'was ten discoveries?" years younger than George, was very well to do, Horatia's picture was also of herself. Eleand certainly was not coming all this way to see gantly but simply dressed, gracefully entertainher and the ungracious vicar only. She was ing her relations, leading a sort of Petit Trianon right. When Mr. Caton arrived, he asked for existence. Giving delicious but inexpensive Berta eagerly, and Berta appeared. But so un- little dinners, with croquet on the lawn, perwilling, so little glad to see him, so silent, so haps; afterwards returning among her old comanxious to get out of his way, that he deter- panions; gracious, unpresuming, independent, mined to go back again without saying any thing much made of; she was, especially, at first, of what he had meant.to say, and had come all well satisfied with herself and with what she this long way to tell her. had done, and with her husband. He might be." H)iv is George getting on?" Mrs. Baron a little rough and abrupt, but that she should be asked, by way of making some sort of talk. able to change. He was kind and clever and 316' GTOUT.'OFP'THE WORLD., full of:'ensiddratidon: - and,::wth!;her:..cnnec- come.i tit will look: ery odd; I don't like it at tions,^ i would indeen d be strange if; he;did not all." get'on;and- become-whoinows?.-a' -aprosper-. ";'.Then- why; don't.:you. stay^. says the. docdus nma- in time. Then, of cotrse;: her would tor in his kind voice, smiling as she-frowns.. have'to nmakie- snme radical changein his way::- " Aunt C.arjwill.bei hurt as itis," says Hora of-'.i'fe..:~ I do -not.know'vwhlen it:;-begin- -btit by tia, -looking. round..."I suppose I had better degrees she began.to think the, calmhavei was go-back aand tell- her; -Itis.most unpleasant."' perhaps' a little too calm after all-if it was -to. George glanced a quick,; doubtful look as she cont'rinue only broken by the vagaries of Betty walked away unconsious, slim,,tal,: graceful, and;the:cook. ~'. iHoratia had now:and' then lost with her: violet dress trailing.over the grass and alRlpatience with th-emy, as well as with:other the. daisies. She stoopsehet head: at. the win-' peuiliarities of her husband's.house. She de-: dow,-and passes in under, the,.clusteingroses. tessted' a"raoket, but. she: wais notacculstomed'to After all,- why should not shl:eliie to go?., George: th1isUti err: sclusion, or, what- was even'worse, asksihimself, and though be. mighbt have. answer-: this strange:com pany:'iyoung ladiestwho.called ed the question, perhaps he took care not to.do hti de'a, andi who were surprised'at ev.ry:thing-; so. How many such ques tions are there which ho-mely'matrons, with:-funny husbands.; and are best unasked: and unanswered. Truth, inthat. intolerable young man,: Mr. -Caton, who. deed, is greater than: silence,.and. if, we could was;Worst of alli Fortunately she had still her always tell what was true, it would be well to Own relations to go to. speak always.,But silence,is often better than A id'd:meanwhile' George went on prosing to the: half-truths we utter silence to ourselves himself-nearly a year since he married.!;:LOng and of ourselves, as well as to others..-: happy evenings, Ho0ftia"'playing-':on'the piano.- Horatia came home:about. one o'clock in.the while he sat and smoked (as he was doing'now) morning, and found her husband:still up, siton the';lawn.: The whole -house brightened by ting in-the little study, aid Mr. Caton with him. her corning —a stir of life, ipleasant talkiwhere: The window was open,.a candle was flaring on there had only been silence before, or poor Rio- the table, and she thought there- was a strange berta's,gentle - commonplaces., Dear Berta!: aromatic smell in the room. -But it was hard: It would be as happy a change:for her as for him- to find Mr. Caton always there, even at that self. He could hardly believe that all.this hour of the night. She vasi not. safe and she treasu:e-: of happiness. wvas'his, that. he'. had a;looked her displeasure.;.'' wife in the drawing-room, and that- wife;Hora- He got up with such a gtave face as he made tia; ahnd'he'put down his' cigar,.and W-ent.and:'hir:a little stiff bow; that she was still more in6lokedlin at.;the window:tb assure himself that- dignant. -George too:was..grave, though he it - was not all a: fancy, brought about by the smiled and put out his hand.. smoke, the faint perfume of? roses, tie- sweet be- Horatiawrapped her:white cloak round:her, wildering air of a summer's day. - And in a and turned her back upon Caton.. minute he came back, ~and began to puff tobacco, " What have you been concocting, George.? not castles in the air any more. For Horatia why do you sit with the window.open? I wish was there certainly, -but so was'Lady W-histon; you had been with me.. Lord Holloway is perso was Mrs. -Dumbleton.'Voices,'flounces, big fectiy charming,'and?". carriage at the garden-gate. It; was no fancy;. "Well, good-night, " said Caton suddenly. andas he did not want to face them all,; he went' "Good-evening, Mrs. Rich," and. he'walked back to his seat:in' the arbor. off. As the door shut Horatia began indig-'"George!"' Horatia calls, opening the win- nantly, "That man is insup-" but her husdow and looking out.. band stopped. her:languidly, and said. he was: George looks round anid shakes his head.' not up to fighting his riend's battles that night,:H-oratia, surprised, comes out across the grass. He was tired. " Is this the way he speaks to' W-on'tWyou' come and see aunt:Car?". me?" Horatia thought.':i:L mabusyi says the doctor.' The next day the doctor:went up to town and''They want us to dine there,'" says Horatia, came back to dinner very silent and. much out putting her hand on his shoulder. "'They ex- of spirits. And Mr. Caton, as usual, looked in pect Lord Holloway.' - in the evening, and they were closeted together "We dined there yesterday —there is that for sometime..Horatia had taken a nervous breakfast next week; make some excuse." dislike to the poor young man - his presence was:"But: in' your profession it is of great, conse- almost unendurable to her. Rich looked hurt quence that you should imp.rove your acquaint- and vexed when she said so one day. ance," says. Horatia, blushing up. " They "Why have yoA taken this aversion to my were just saying so: Lord Holloway has dread- old companion?" he asked. ful attacks of the gout."'. "Because he is familiar and interfering," "That is what I shall have if I dine there cries Horatia. any more. You can go, you know. You can "What do you say to Lady Whiston, then?" make up to Lord Holloway all the better if I am says the doctor, provoked. not there."::... Horatia was still more provoked, and the lit"'How can you say such disagreeable things? tie discussion ended in her going off alone, as Of course I must go without you, if you.will not usual, to the Dumbleton f6te.. :Oti' O/F ttE WORLD. 8m17'Btshetloeled so'bright and'so hahdome'iin life:6seem.'strihe,and. unfamiliar'to thbm. -her.twh-tie dress, as she wished-hinm gobdd-be, There is iasort of suspicious defianie; I cdn':ri ot.that!G'Oeorgb:seretly relented; -anrd thobught( he describe — asort.o-f'ieannesof familiarity; of -siould iike t4' se'' Ihei dmired:,'tnd-ddterthined low jocularity." if he cotld, to6;o3me; fr hei.;after all. -: Butl how could you ever -marry him?i-? cried.Charles: Whiston, mlich'liconcerned. " This is VI'"''"..-terrible. -'You'must:come away; you mitst ~ ~~VI'.come to us, we are always-""'' -; -;'iHbTIa tWasiot sorryto goby heself.'She' Some one whohl-ad-be&n'sitting. under'the:fltmire itther bease wheh-n her'hn'asd'wasn6ot window started up at that momenfit, and got up there. Oldfribnds;ame ip to greeth.' TTo and walked away.' "' ol'd:-adid6rs'aslkd er t'o dancei:.' Mr'.' Dumblie- -"I am not spea-king of' my husband,;"said to:ga h'i-' his arm, and itook hei into t-e Horatia, blushing, and starting, aind':alittle conservatory for an ine'- Ha re they ali Wr,'ashamed o'f herself..' ":I's? thirtng ofialtking mutch'of h'eir,^Wlcoming'hri -'oratia:f -.friend's-persons' thd' come ito the ihouse fould niotlhelpco'itrai'tiii'all' thuiswith her huv't- whom I can not e' rid': of,' lThliiei:is'his stepbandih's: gia:velbO6ks -aid unconerned ianner,.' mother,: for' instance -who icme a ":slhoi t:ime'-' d'How -doe's the houaekeeping goi on?"'sid ago, and inteifered in the most:unw-ai'irantable Mr. Dumbleton. m'' -'.' anner.': There is aa certa'in dreadfulDr. CaD''it' ni't:tIalk:abOut:it," cried Horitii':"-,Ev-: ton whom George is'forever asking.. Can you try.thling is;.-s different. My genius does iot fncy that ftian daring toeall me Mrs. Gallilie' in that'directi'on;,.and.et- woiild you: be- pots'?-dodn't laugh -such vilgar insults are no lieve it?: lmy doctor' grumblbes at times.'What laUghging matter. apretty effect'!''.''' -:''' " Por -Hoiratia, "said her companion, sen ti-T'-The.y were in- a'long conservarvator full of mentally.'" I assure yoit I'do not feel inclined:tiees:and; sHiiubs anid flowers and Chinesenlan- to laugh." tftns. Tl he sound'6odistant-music,'the perftfiie' The musicians began to play:, a new measure, oft the- plant s, the: soft" gtimmer'f he lights, aid the dancers set off with fresh spirit. The filled the: whole'place, and,'the sthrs catne pdeople'outside were'still.pacing.aid talking in twinkling:throug' the glass domes. Horatia low voices,'the:'trees we're hu'tg withI brilliant was enchanted'instead of bing.bored as in old jewels of fire, i'beth tirte thebranches, times.':It wIas an.Arabiian -Night's Entertain- the white'dreses''gleamed mysteriously through.mirit.' Onie ofherlcousins, Whd ha'd'been'an the darkness, the light steps loitered,' the low 1ld admirerbof hers; came up d': sarcelyrc- voices sank. -Horattia sto6d immovable, with ogniized her, she looked so'wonderfully'1haid; her hea4'against her ha:nd:'hicompanion was sbm.e and happy;'he -asked her to' dance, and sitting on the low stone iarapet, a-nd leaning laHbraitia: consent'id, anid went.ff laughinig and Iily over thc side of the' balcony,, When-suddenly radiant, but He'nry-Dubleton lodo'ked after her. he'started up, and' stood listening. a littl'e do'ubtfuil as tdhe entire'success ofhis "Did youl hear that?'" -he said. -And once inateh-inaking. more distinctly soutnding through the still night Horatia, meanwhile, twirled and twisted, the came a plaintive cry out'f-the- wood.' musiianis played one of those' harming waltzes " Oh!' go and' see," -::id aHortia; "'what th't seem to'be'singing:and sighing' with; one can it be'?'.' breath..' Tlhe mlusic sufged ahd' sank ag'in- it Ina moent all the silent enchantment of was like the sea flowing upon h shore; breathl the hour seemed broken and dispelled. That lessj excited, Horatia'danced on in cadence'to forlorn' cry had'shaken- and''dispersed the the tune, and thought this moment oiufht to dreams, the illusions, the harmonies of the last forever;' she an;d her partner wentito one summer's night.' It was'like a pebble- falling of the windows to refiesh themselves,'and stood into still waters.'But it was only for a moout upon a low balcony,'close to the.grotind, ment: by degrees'the silence,.the music, the and begian to' talk'of old'days, as'people -do starliiht:; reassured'the srtled'people; they xwhen they:- suddenly'- grow- confidential: with forgot'once more that painriiSted; in the world, time'aind' place, an'd then' they talked'down to that trouble'could:appr6ach them. Horatia later days,.anid the cuisin, whose naire' was had alnost forgotten her alarm when her cousCharles -Whiston,'eptoached her f6r having in rejoined-her.' left them as 0she;had done:' Did she never re- "It was nothing,"' he said. *" Some one gret it? Had she quite given ip old friends fainted —a woman: was frightened and screamfor new?"'' --'''~ ed.'Dr. Rich'was'the're, and another doctor." "No,' no no!" crieid Horatia; " unequal'" My'husband! " said Horatia,;surprised. mnarriages are foolish tlings, Charles.';It is not "Some one told'me he had goine home with until you find. yourself lonely and inis'under- the patienti'" said Charles'Whiston. " Shall st'od''in the' midst:of people'who'-have'been we have another'waltz?"' Tum —tum-te-tum, brought up to see things'en-des'sous, instead' of: te-tun'-the music plays, and off tiey go. eikdlesus, -that you' begin to' diseo4ver how real' When Horatia got home she found; a little a.nd'how inbsurmountable'certain differences.are. note.- hurriedly scrawled.:" Don't expect me Things with whici' I. have beeti familiar all-my i to-night,'I am detained.-Your',-. GR.." 31X8 OUT4 0O THE WORLD. He came home next day, looking pale and she had not Berta's: rare gift of home-making, exhausted, as if he had been up all night. her.sweet repose of manner,.her unselfish devo"Who was il1?" Horatia asked. "Who tionto. those for whom? she cared. Horatia fainted?" r- arely forgot herself. Bertaiwas like Ier brothe" I can- not tell you;who it was"; said the er, and almost lived in the people she loved.: doctor.' Caton attended. him, I have been And so Horatia's beautiful black eyes did not very busy, and I am not well myself, Horatia. see all the many things that were amiss; her I shall go and lie down.". soft white hands did not work for her husband's?'. You went up to the hall last night, then?" comfort; days wentl by; little estrangements persisted Horatia.. went by; the geese cackled on the common; George did not answer, but looked at her sick people died, or got..well;: well people fell once in an odd sort of way, and then went out sick; George Rich went his; rounds, and sighed of the room....sometimes as he looked at his beautiful wife. HoraBia. never knew exactly what had hap- It had not answered, somehow. pened that night. It seemed to her somehow Every day little stories are told:. sometimes that