"L I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 Llllw 
 
 V.I
 
 WE COSTELIONS 
 
 a lokl. 
 
 BY 
 
 J. SALE LLOYD, 
 
 AUTHOR UF 
 THE SILENT SHADOW," "RUTH EVERINGHAM," "THE HA2ELHURST 
 MYSTERY," "ragamuffins," ETC., ETC., 
 AND EDITOR OF " SHADOWS OF THE VAST." 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8, CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1882. 
 
 [Ai/ rights re served. \
 
 LOXDON : 
 
 strvbn8 & kiciiardson, printers, 5, orkat queen street, 
 Lincoln's inn fields, w.c.
 
 
 TO 
 HER DEAR MOTHER 
 
 (HEn FJllST CKITIC, AND EVER KIND HELPEil) 
 
 Cljcse ^agts 
 
 ARE LOVINGLY DEDICATED 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAPTER 1 1 
 
 II . 47 
 
 IIL . .... 86 
 
 IV. 112 
 
 V. 139 
 
 VI 161 
 
 VII 194
 
 WE COSTELIONS 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 We Costelions are rather an intricate 
 family to write about, nevertheless I will 
 endeavour to tell the story of our lives, 
 as far as it is known to me, and dear Aunt 
 Phillis's work among us. 
 
 We pride ourselves greatly upon our 
 blue blood, and hold up our heads because 
 our family tree carries our name from the 
 present time back to that of the Conqueror. 
 I doubt if we are great favourites ; it seems 
 to run in our natures to be overbearing 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 and intolerant. We are born proud, I 
 verily believe, and I, being the eldest, have 
 had some opportunities of judging. 
 
 The Costelion babies have always kicked 
 and screamed as no other babies I have 
 ever seen, and the small children would go 
 their own way as soon as their tiny feet 
 could toddle. 
 
 At the time of which I write, we were 
 still living in our dear old Devonshire 
 home, some twelve miles from the pictu- 
 resque town of Kingsbridge. 
 
 No trains came into our lovely country 
 to disturb us with their noise and smoke ; 
 the turmoil of railway speed kept far away 
 from our dear Kingsholme. 
 
 No telegrams came near us ; even in 
 these days of electricity, our tiny world 
 was calm and peaceful, when we kept our 
 Costelion tempers governed. 
 
 Kingsholme Abbey was the name of the
 
 WB COSTELIONS. 3 
 
 beloved old place, whicii had been in our 
 family for many generations. 
 
 It stood out upon the high rocks, a land- 
 mark to those at sea, yet we were sheltered 
 from the blasts of the wind by ground far 
 higher, which rose above us covered with 
 verdant brushwood, ferns, and wildflowers, 
 where the w^hite-tailed rabbits ran by 
 thousands, or sunned themselves on the 
 soft grass. 
 
 My father's preserves these were, in 
 which I have spent many an hour, well 
 nigh lost among the tangled ivy with my 
 book, or lookiDg out upon the varied hues 
 of the sea, while the beautiful golden- 
 browm pheasants rose at sight of me wdth 
 their strange, startling cry. 
 
 The soft breezes came to us briny and 
 
 refreshing, straight from the open sea, and 
 
 from the Abbey windows we witnessed many 
 
 a fearful storm, ourselves sheltered and snug. 
 
 b2
 
 4 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Before our home lay smooth, mossy, 
 green lawns and beds of brilliant flowers, 
 while the arbutus bore its wax-like blossom 
 and its bright red fruit, and the myrtles 
 bloomed freely in the open air, and the 
 oranges and citrons hung their golden 
 fruits upon our walls, ripened by the sum- 
 mer sun, and the grass went sloping down 
 to the rugged rocks, among which were 
 some winding steps to the water's edge. 
 
 We had no sands at Kingsholme, but 
 the sea- washed pebbles and shells were 
 treasures to us in our childhood, and the 
 seaweeds, too, we collected and spread out 
 on the pages of books which we had for the 
 purpose ; but what we delighted most in 
 was our boat, which was moored in a little 
 bay, where the bright shingle lay fine and 
 many-coloured. 
 
 We used no machine when we bathed 
 at Kingsholme; we all had our bathing-
 
 W£! GOSTELIONS. 5 
 
 dresses, the same as are used at French 
 watering-places, and we girls went out 
 daily swimming with our brothers in 
 summer time, and fishing with them, too, 
 for the matter of that, and paddling with 
 our pink feet among the white crests of the 
 waves, or upon the slippery, weed-covered 
 rocks. 
 
 Now that these things are past, I like 
 to look back on those days in the dear old 
 home. 
 
 How picturesque it was, with its time- 
 tinted grey walls, patches of golden hchens, 
 and tiny green ferns ! The ceterach and 
 asplenium ruta muraria nestled between 
 the rough old stones ; the polypodium 
 vulgare and asplenium trichomanes, or 
 common maidenhair spleen wort, also took 
 root among its ancient masonry, while the 
 time-honoured ivy half covered its walls, 
 and peeped in at the windows ; and the
 
 6 WU COSTELIONS. 
 
 birds built their nests among the thick- 
 sheltering leaves, and sang to us all the 
 summer through, claiming payment in the 
 cold days of winter, when they found food 
 scarce, in the shape of crumbs. To the 
 left of our home lay a large bay, at the 
 further extent of which was Kingsbridge, 
 with its many spires, heaven-pointed — 
 the white houses showing in bright relief 
 against the dark trees which formed its 
 background, while on either side of the 
 broad bay were the dwellings and estates 
 of our friends and neighbours. 
 
 This was our world. 
 
 Our own household consisted of my 
 father, Sir Charteris Costelion ; his mother, 
 old Lady Costelion ; my brother Charteris 
 (known among us only as Bob, except 
 when our father spoke of him) ; Trevelyan, 
 our second boy, and Florence, our father s 
 darling, and, indeed, the pet of the whole
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 7 
 
 family, who came between my two brothers ; 
 and, lastly, myself, my father s first-born 
 and least-loved child. 
 
 Grandmamma Costelion was a stately 
 old dame, a Devereux by birth, whose 
 French mother had been immured in the 
 Bastile for writing some book, innocent in 
 itself, but held to be dangerous in those 
 days, when freedom of thought was not 
 admissible, and our grandmamma, like her 
 mother, was a highly educated woman, 
 who had been known in the literary world 
 in her day, but that day had long gone 
 by, and we found her learning somewhat 
 troublesome to us in her old age. 
 
 Our father had been born in our dear 
 home, Kingsholme Abbey, and had in- 
 herited it from his father, as well as the 
 baronetcy. He had, however, by no means 
 always lived there, for he had in his youth 
 preferred lamp-posts to trees, town to
 
 •8 WIJ COSTELWNS. 
 
 country. Everyone said Sir Charteris 
 Costelion was a man made for society, and 
 in society he lived. Before the death of 
 his father he had fallen in love with and 
 had wished to marry a young girl, the 
 daughter of a Devonshire neighbour, who 
 was a man of good birth and small mpans, 
 but neither family would hear of the 
 match, although his love was recipro- 
 cated. 
 
 My grandfather had been a man of 
 fashion, and had lived far beyond his in- 
 come ; he could leave his son his name 
 and entailed estate, but simply nothing 
 to keep it up on. 
 
 He told my father that a rich wife only 
 could save his name from ruin, and a rich 
 wife was therefore found for him. 
 
 That was my mother and Bob's. She 
 was, I believe, the daughter of some 
 wealthy London merchant, and greatly
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 9 
 
 the Costelions looked down upon her ; 
 but her money was good, although it 
 had been earned by trade, and they spent 
 it. 
 
 My father is a handsome man now, but 
 I am told that he was eminently handsome 
 in his youth, and people say that my 
 mother loved him with a rare affection ; 
 but love does not come at will, and Sir 
 Charteris never cared for his wdfe. Three 
 years after her marriage she died, here, at 
 Kingsholme Abbey. 
 
 I can scarcely remember her. I was 
 only two years old when I lost her, and 
 yet it seems to me I have a faint memory 
 of a beautiful, anxious face, framed in dark, 
 luxuriant hair, with loving brown eyes, 
 leaning over me — a pale, sad face, if I re- 
 member it rightly. I think, too, I recollect 
 that she kissed me, and that my young 
 cheeks were wet with her tears ; yet I was
 
 10 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 only two years old. Perhaps, after all, 
 these things are merely fancy. 
 
 My father says that I am like my mother, 
 though I am plainer. They all call me 
 plain, and I suppose I am so. 
 
 When I look into my glass I see a 
 dark-skinned, dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark- 
 browed girl, with a wistful look gazing 
 back at me. The face I see is like my 
 mother's (if I really remember her, and 
 have not drawn a mental picture of her), 
 and like her's it is a sad face, wanting 
 something, surely — what is that some- 
 thing ? Is it love ? 
 
 Well, perhaps. 
 
 No one cares much for Miriam Costelion, 
 that I know. Sometimes I am called 
 '' You brown httle girl," or referred to as 
 "a brown patch,'' and to add to my sin of 
 ugliness, I am small, while all the Costehons 
 are tall and well made.
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 11 
 
 When I was very young these remarks 
 made me suffer ; after that they hardened me. 
 
 They all used to say I was not a Coste- 
 lion ; they would not own me. I took 
 after my mother, and, like her, was only an 
 Armatage. 
 
 I think in those days my mother's me- 
 mory was about the only thing really dear 
 to me, and that I reverenced greatly from 
 cliildhood. I have often sat looking out to 
 sea, and fancying her doing so before me. 
 The room in which she died I had taken for 
 my own ; it was only used for lumber, no 
 one cared to sleep there, and so I begged 
 for it. I was wondered at and laughed at ; 
 but as no one else wanted it my request 
 was granted, and my mother's room became 
 mine. 
 
 My father was fond of Bob because he 
 resembled himself. He was a thorough 
 Costelion, although he had the misfortune
 
 12 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 of having Armatage blood in his veins too : 
 but he bore his name and was his heir ; no 
 wonder my father thought a great deal of 
 Bob. 1 was fond of him also, but I think 
 it was because he was my mother s son. 
 
 In those days I fear I had not very right 
 feelings in my heart towards my father, 
 and indeed towards all of my family. I 
 was somewhat antagonistic. I resented 
 their want of love for me ; it made me hard 
 and unnatural. 
 
 As I have said, my mother died — Bob's 
 mother and mine. 
 
 She left my father all her fortune. She 
 loved him, and withheld nothing from him, 
 not even to secure on her own children. 
 
 My father has spent it like a Costelion ; 
 but he had only made a small hole in it 
 during my mother's lifetime, there was 
 therefore no need of another rich wife to 
 prop up the tottering honour of his family.
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 13 
 
 My mother had been sacrificed — that was 
 enough. So my father offered again to his 
 old love, and this time her family did not 
 say him nay, as Kingsholme Abbey had 
 become his, and his first wife's money was 
 suflicient to keep it up. And not more 
 than a year after my mother had been 
 carried out of the dear old home, another 
 mistress was brought to reign there. 
 
 There is even now a full-length portrait 
 of my father's second wife at Kingsholme 
 Abbey. Young as I was, I can well re- 
 member her coming among us. She might 
 have been born a Costelion herself, with her 
 curling, scornful lip, and disdainful blue 
 eyes ; yet she was marvellously handsome. 
 Her hair was like sun-rays, with a warm 
 red tinge in it ; her complexion purest 
 white, with the most delicate bloom. 
 
 My father loved his second wife ; he was 
 strangely tender with her — for him. I have
 
 14 WE COS TE LIONS. 
 
 watched them often strolling arm in arm 
 down those paths among the flowers where 
 my mother s coffin had passed, only a year 
 before, and, child though I was, my heart 
 was bitter against them, for her sake. He 
 had never wandered thus with her among 
 the roses and the myrtle blossoms. 
 
 T did not love my stepmother, I know, 
 nor did my stepmother love me. The first 
 time she saw me she despised me. 
 
 " Surely, Charteris, this ugly, dark little 
 wretch is not your child V she had said, in 
 her scornful voice ; and I had seen my 
 father's brow flush with shame of me. 
 
 I have never forgotten that, and at the 
 time I thought I should never forgive it. 
 
 But my father s joy did not last very 
 long : he and his beautiful wife got tired 
 of the dear old home, and went away to 
 travel. 
 
 It was about two years after their mar-
 
 WE COSTE LIONS. 15 
 
 riage that the news came to us that she 
 was dead. She had fallen a victim to 
 Homan fever at Tivoli. Neither Bob nor I 
 pretended to be very sorry ; we had never 
 loved our stepmother, and I know, wicked 
 as it was, I felt really ^lad I should not see 
 her again. We two children had run very 
 wild in those days when we had been left 
 alone, and we heard with awe that our 
 father was coming back to the Abbey, for 
 we were somewhat afraid of him. 
 
 When he arrived he brought an Italian 
 nurse with him, and a lovely, fair child. It 
 was my sister Florence ; she was a year old, 
 but my father had not thought it necessary 
 to let us know of her birth. 
 
 What an exquisite babe she was, like a 
 tender blush rosebud ; and little as I had 
 loved her mother, I took the child at once 
 into my heart, and from our earhest acquaint- 
 ance my sister Florence has made me her
 
 16 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 slave. It was strange I should care for her 
 when she so strongly resembled my step- 
 mother, and that when I heard my father 
 call us '' beauty and the beast," I still loved 
 my little sister. 
 
 As for my father, he worshipped her as 
 he had worshipped her mother before her. 
 And as she grew she was allowed her own 
 way in everything; even her father, who 
 we all feared, gave way to her. 
 
 Yes ! Florence was a thorough Costehon ! 
 
 As I look back upon her childhood, how 
 many of her proud httle ways come to me ; 
 how well I remember her being presented 
 with her first prayer-book, and what she 
 said upon the occasion. 
 
 It was no easy matter to get to church 
 from Kingsholme Abbey. It meant a 
 twenty-four mile drive ; for my father 
 always went to Kingsbridge when he was 
 at home (which was not very often after
 
 WH CO STE LIONS. 17 
 
 my stepmother died), driving there in a 
 " break '' with four fine stepping horses. 
 
 When he was away no one went from 
 our house ; he would have thought it a 
 most unnecessary proceeding to have out a 
 carriage to send us. It was quite the right 
 thing for the head of the family to show 
 himself every Sunday, but for us it mat- 
 tered little whether we went to church 
 or no. 
 
 My father used to take me with him 
 sometimes, ugly as I was, and Bob too ; 
 but Florence had never been, she was so 
 young. She did not at all like being left 
 behind, and often I stayed too to comfort 
 her. Father had promised that as soon as 
 she was four years old she should go to her 
 first service ; in the interim my little sister 
 was always asking me to tell her what it 
 would be hke, and I did my best to en- 
 lighten her from my own limited store of 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 knowledge. I told her that there was an 
 organ, and that a man played upon it, at 
 which Florence nodded her bright head 
 approvingly. But, alas ! I never reflected 
 that the only organ my sister had ever seen 
 was a hand organ in the streets of Kings- 
 bridge! I spoke to her of the choir, and 
 described how little boys, dressed in white, 
 came out of a room, and walked along, two 
 and two, and sang. At this Florence 
 looked thoughtful. She had seen nothing 
 of that sort ; it was at present a mystery 
 which was to be revealed the first Sunday 
 after her fourth birthday, when she was to 
 be the proud possessor of a prayer-book all 
 to herself. Many and many a talk we had 
 about that book, picturing its anticipated 
 beauties ; and when at length my sister's 
 birthday came, the book which my father 
 gave her was far more beautiful than any / 
 had ever seen, but it did not please Florence.
 
 WB COSTELIOFS. 19 
 
 It was ivory bound, and on its side there 
 was a cross of brass, under which was 
 printed *^ Common Prayer." 
 
 Now Grandmamma Costelion was a mar- 
 tinet upon the subject of education, and 
 even at four years old Florence could read, 
 and read well, and when she saw these 
 words upon her prayer-book she burst into 
 passionate tears. 
 
 *'0h !" she cried, " I won't have a commo^i 
 prayer-book ; I want a hest one I Oh ! it 
 is unkind of you, papa, to buy me a coimnon 
 one ! " 
 
 Ah ! my sister Florence, you wanted 
 even the name of the prayer-book to be 
 changed for you. 
 
 The long talked of Sunday came; the 
 day was fine, and we drove to Kings- 
 bridge. 
 
 Florence looked very lovely with the 
 
 flush of excitement upon her fair young face. 
 
 C2
 
 20 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 My father placed her next him, and I sat 
 on the other side of her. 
 
 What a contrast they looked ; this small 
 creature of four beside that majestic form ; 
 for my father was some six feet one or two 
 inches high, broad and well made, with a 
 proud stern face and a haughty manner. 
 He was very fond of his little daughter, 
 but it would have been beneath his dignity 
 to speak to her, or, indeed, to any one in 
 church, so the tug at his sleeve was dis- 
 regarded. 
 
 The prayer in the vestry was ended, and 
 the choristers sang their response, ''Amen'' 
 In a moment Florence was standing upon 
 the seat, peering over the church with an 
 eager face. '' Did you hear, papa ? they 
 said ' comiug T " 
 
 She was very quiet and interested as 
 they filed in two and two, but when this 
 ceremony was over, she exclaimed, *' Why !
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 21 
 
 theyVe got their night dresses on, I 
 declare ! " 
 
 I knew she ought not to be standing up 
 there on the seat, but I was afraid to tell 
 her not to do it, for Florence always had 
 her own way. 
 
 I could see by my father's face that he 
 was annoyed, but he would not own a 
 Costelion to be in the wrong, even though 
 that Costelion was but a little child. 
 
 So he paid no heed to the small rebel, 
 whose outspoken words made me crimson, 
 and set Bob off laughing, and caused those 
 near us to smile. I knelt down and tried 
 not to look at her ; the organ was playing. 
 The service began, and for a while she was 
 still ; then, in a pause, her shrill voice rang 
 out — 
 
 " Miriam, what a big organ ! where's 
 the man who plays it ? " 
 
 " Oh ! hush, Florrie," then, in a hurried
 
 22 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 whisper, I add, "he's behind that red 
 curtain.'* 
 
 " And where's the monkey ? Is he there, 
 too % " Bob laughs out ; I stuff my hand- 
 kerchief into my mouth, and grow scarlet. 
 My father turns an angry glance on us, 
 and with one strong hand I am whisked to 
 the other side of him into the corner of the 
 pew. It is me with whom he is vexed — 
 not Florence. I sit there not daring to 
 ask for my book ; I am afraid to look up. 
 I know my father is annoyed with me, yet 
 why? What have I done? I resent his 
 anger, and do not listen to a word of the 
 service — instead I think hard thoughts of 
 my father, and his want of love for me ; I 
 shall never forget that scene in church ! 
 
 After that I preferred staying at home 
 and wandering in the garden or climbing 
 the rocks. I loved all nature even in those 
 days, but I then thought nothing of
 
 Wi: COSTELIONS. 23 
 
 nature's God when looking upon the 
 beauties around me. 
 
 The soft down on the butterfly's wing 
 was to me very beautiful and marvellous, 
 but it did not suggest to me the gentle- 
 ness of the Great Maker. 
 
 I used to watch the storms at sea, and 
 the lightning ghding serpent-like along the 
 water, and I thought them grand and 
 glorious, but failed to see in them the 
 power of God. 
 
 Now, each tree and flower, each bird and 
 gauzy-winged summer fly, each wondrous 
 snoT\^ake and crystal dewdrop, speaks to 
 me of its maker. And for all that is better 
 in me since those days, I have to thank 
 Aunt Phillis. 
 
 But I am anticipating. 
 I was piecing together the memories of 
 my childhood, in those days when Aunt 
 Phillis's sweet face had not entered into
 
 24 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 my life. I must take up the thread where 
 I dropped it, and tell of the change which 
 came to us in our old home. 
 
 My father married a third wife. Why, 
 I doubt if he could have told you himself. 
 
 My second stepmother was a lady in her 
 own right, so perhaps that was the reason 
 he married her. She was a silly " feckless " 
 creature, with no thoughts beyond her 
 dress and what was the latest fashion. 
 
 She had no authority over us children, 
 and old Lady Costelion kept her under her 
 thumb. A woman of iron will was our 
 grandmamma, as we sometimes found out 
 to our cost. 
 
 Well ! Trevelyan was the only child of 
 the third Lady Costelion, and was named 
 after her family. 
 
 We were not improved in any way by 
 the arrival of our new stepmother. She 
 soon wearied of the dear old home, and
 
 W^ COSTELIONS. 25 
 
 longed to be among her fashionable friends 
 again; to drive in the *'Eow,"and listen 
 to the unmeaning flatteries of her London 
 acquaintances. Dear old Kingsholme was 
 not in her line at all. 
 
 Poor Lady Lavinia ! I fear we Coste- 
 lions led her a miserable life between us 
 all ; she could not stand up against our 
 wild spirits. 
 
 We never thought of obeying her in any 
 one way. 
 
 We of course saw our neighbours, and 
 called them friends ; we led the society for 
 a long radius round Kingsbridge. We 
 were looked up to, no doubt, but most 
 people were afraid of us and our proud 
 ways and cutting speeches. 
 
 Yes ! looking back, I firmly believe we 
 Costelions were hated, and I am not sure 
 we did not deserve it, for we never 
 thought of any one's pleasure but our
 
 26 WJS COSTELIONS. 
 
 own. We were Costelions, and that was 
 enough. 
 
 I do not care to recall our neighbours of 
 those days (save one family), they were 
 nothing to us, nor we to them. But that 
 one I must speak of 
 
 Some half mile down the bay lived 
 Colonel Armstrong ; he and my father did 
 not get on very well together, so that we 
 were never on intimate terms with the 
 family, who were not Devonshire people, 
 and only came to live there when I was 
 about fifteen years of age. I was accus- 
 tomed to the management of a boat, but I 
 did not often go out alone. Bob was gene- 
 rally ready to accompany me, but to my 
 great sorrow he had at this period been 
 sent off to Eton. 
 
 So one day I got into the little craft, 
 and started for a sail by myself 
 . We Costelions have no fear, and no
 
 WB COSTELIONS. 27 
 
 nervous systems — we were born without, I 
 think. 
 
 I enjoyed the sail out greatly, but the 
 wind became so strong that I found it hard 
 work to manage the boat ; I did my best 
 to get home, but could not fetch the point 
 required ; the wind drove me with fury past 
 the old Abbey house doAvn the bay. 
 
 I turned about, jibing the sail ; the wind 
 caught it, and in another moment I was in 
 the water, for the boat had capsized. I felt 
 the immersion, but after that things were 
 very vague to me. I suppose I must have 
 been struck in the overturning of my little 
 boat. 
 
 The first fact that I became aware of was 
 that a kind face was leaning over me, and 
 the intense gaze of a pair of honest blue 
 eyes was fixed upon me, and somehow I 
 felt secure. 
 
 I know I did not speak, and I do not
 
 28 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 think I had fairly recovered my senses, for 
 I closed my eyes again without a question 
 as to why those strong arms were around 
 me, and I must have relapsed into insensi- 
 bility, for when I again opened them I 
 found myself lying on a sofa wrapped in 
 fur rugs, while my hands and feet were 
 being rubbed diligently. 
 
 " Thank God ! " murmured the owner of 
 the blue eyes, as I looked about me. 
 
 " Come, that's better," said a hearty voice, 
 while a fine soldierly looking man came to 
 my side and smiled upon me. 
 
 " Where am I ? " I asked dreamily. 
 "You are all safe, my dear, and among 
 friends," answered a gentle-faced woman, 
 who held my hands between her own, and 
 chafed them with her soft palm. " You 
 have had a little accident, but it is all 
 right now." 
 
 I looked at the young man with the
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 29 
 
 honest eyes, and saw that he was wet 
 through, and remembered how he had 
 borne me in his arms. 
 
 " Yes, I recollect, I upset the boat ; " and 
 then I turned to him. "Did you save 
 me 1" I asked. 
 
 " I was permitted that privilege," he 
 repHed, with a kindly smile. 
 
 "You risked your Mfe for mine,'' I 
 answered ; "it was very good of you, 
 and yet I am not grateful. I think I 
 am tired of living" (then with energy) — 
 " Oh ! where is the boat, what became of 
 it?" 
 
 " I do not know ; I was thinking only of 
 you." 
 
 " Oh ! how angry papa will be ; why, 
 why did you not save it instead of me ? " 
 I asked passionately. 
 
 He leant over me and answered in a low 
 voice, but the words went straight to my
 
 30 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 heart, and many an after-day I heard their 
 echo. 
 
 " Because, Miss Costelion, it had no life, 
 and no immortal soul!' 
 
 No one had spoken to me before of my 
 soul ; his words came to me with a shock, 
 and for a moment I was sileDced ; but then 
 my Costelion blood arose, and I re^Dlied, 
 " Nevertheless, I wish you had left me and 
 towed the boat on shore." 
 
 " And you think that would have pleased 
 your father ? " (in a sad tone). 
 
 " Why not ? I am ugly ; what does he 
 care for me?" 
 
 '' A great deal, I should say : however, if 
 it will make you happier, I will try and 
 rescue your boat;" and before I could 
 answer him he was gone, and somehow I 
 felt as if the sun had ceased to shine ; but 
 I had not much time for thinking, as the 
 doctor had been sent for and had arrived.
 
 WE COSTE LIONS. 31 
 
 He ordered me to bed at once, and 
 undertook to go to my father himself and 
 explain the accident which had occurred, 
 and also to promise him that Colonel and 
 Mrs. Armstrong would take every care of 
 me. 
 
 I grew hot and cold as I listened, for 
 well I knew that the fact of my being 
 under their roof would incense him greatly; 
 but what could I do ? The doctor threat- 
 ened me with rheumatic fever if I did not 
 obey his orders implicitly ; then there was 
 that sweet motherly face smiling on me, 
 and I remembered the kind look in those 
 honest blue eyes, and I determined to 
 stay. 
 
 Mrs. Armstrong put me to bed herself, 
 and waited on me — no one else entered my 
 room. I became feverishly anxious about 
 my preserver — he had saved me, and I had 
 been ungrateful. I had, even by my words.
 
 32 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 driven him forth to risk his life a second 
 time for me, just on the chance of finding 
 an old boat, at most worth only a few 
 pounds. And why ? simply to save me 
 from the scolding which I well deserved. 
 
 The gentle mother's face wore an anxious 
 look as evening drew on. I longed to ask 
 if her son had returned ; yet somehow I 
 dared not, for I felt that my conduct had 
 been wrong and selfish. At length, when 
 she bade me good night, I could refrain no 
 longer, and I whispered my question. 
 
 "No, my dear, Herbert has not come 
 back. Yes ; we feel anxious, but he is as 
 dear to our Heavenly Father as he is to us, 
 and He will watch over him." 
 
 I was silenced and awed ; I could not 
 answer her ; I had never heard anyone 
 speak thus before. She kissed me upon 
 the forehead and went out quietly, and I 
 was left alone.
 
 WE COSTELIONS, 33 
 
 Sleep would not come to me. 
 
 Ill every sliriek of the wind I heard mj 
 preserver crying for help. 
 
 Many times I sprang out of bed at the 
 risk of making myself ill, and stood at the 
 window looking out into the blackness of 
 the night. 
 
 "Oh! if he would only come back!" I 
 repeated monotonously. *'If he would only 
 come back ! " But he came not. 
 
 The wind howled on, the sea roared, and 
 I strained my ears to listen to every sound. 
 At length the morning dawned, and I 
 crept back to my bed with an aching heart, 
 and, utterly weary, I fell asleep. When 
 I awoke the sun was streaming into my 
 chamber Avindow, and in its glory stood — 
 yes ! it was a woman — it was my kind 
 hostess ; but for the first moment of my 
 awaking, her sweet gentle face seemed to 
 me that of an angel. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 '' Our son has returned, Miss Costelion. 
 He sends you a message to say that your 
 boat is safe. It had drifted up the bay, 
 as he had expected, so he was fortunate 
 enough to find it, and has towed it to shore." 
 
 What could I answer 1 
 
 My mind was wearied with much watch- 
 ing ; my body weakened by the fright and 
 the chill ; my nerves had been strung at 
 full tension, and the relief from anxiety, 
 mingled with the unlocked for kindness, 
 was too much for me. I burst into tears — 
 I, Miriam Costelion ! 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Armstrong, gently, 
 " what is the matter ?" 
 
 "Oh! Mrs. Armstrong, I have been so 
 wrong, so ungrateful, so wicked, and I am 
 miserable," I sobbed. 
 
 " Dear child, if you feel this to be the 
 case, you need not be unhappy. You know 
 where to seek and find forgiveness."
 
 W£J COSTELIONS. 35 
 
 Well, yes ! I suppose I knew as much 
 as that. I had been told so before in 
 church ; but the words found no response 
 in my heart. 
 
 It did not come easy to me to ask for 
 forgiveness. I was a Costelion. 
 
 " Your son has been very good to me/' 
 I said, in a subdued voice. 
 
 A bright look came over the mother's 
 face. 
 
 " Only we who know him well, and his 
 God, know hoio good," she answered. 
 
 Then, after a pause, she handed me a 
 letter, and went away to get me my 
 breakfast. I broke the envelope open and 
 read : 
 
 " Dear Miriam, 
 
 "I am greatly annoyed that your imprudence 
 should have got you into such a disagreeable scrape. 
 It is most vexing to me to have you under the roof of 
 a man whom I do not like, and do not intend to visit. 
 
 d2
 
 36 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 I desire that you should return home as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 ''Affectionately yours, 
 
 " Charteris Costeliox." 
 
 Angry tears sprung to my eyes. This, 
 then, was all that he had to say when his 
 child had been rescued from a watery 
 grave ! No, not a Avord of thanks to my 
 preserver even ! I would not obey him ; I 
 would not go home ; I would remain with 
 my new found friends as long as I liked. 
 And I tore my father's letter into a 
 thousand fragments. 
 
 I did remain on with Colonel and Mrs. 
 Armstrong. Had I stayed long enough, 
 and had they known me better, my visit 
 to them could not have failed to do me 
 good. As it was, I saw that they thought 
 me ill-used, unkindly treated, and to be 
 pitied, and I accepted their sympathy. I 
 had not then learned that to gain love a
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 37 
 
 cliild must be gentle and humble. That 
 lesson I was taught by Aunt Phillis. I 
 saw a great deal of my preserver, Herbert 
 Armstrong. He was very good to me, 
 kind and thoughtful ; but I fear I shocked 
 hun sometimes when I spoke of my father ; 
 yet his evident sorrow seemed to make 
 him more tender over me. 
 
 One day when I had been talking as I 
 know now I ought not to have done, on 
 looking up I saw Herbert Armstrong's 
 blue eyes fixed upon me. 
 
 "Miriam,'' he said (they had all learnt 
 to call me by my Christian name), 
 '' Miriam, are you right to judge your 
 father?" 
 
 I raised my head, meaning to justify 
 myself, but when I looked into his 
 earnest face, I could not; and instead of 
 answering, my eyes fell before his, while 
 deep down in my heart I knew he was
 
 38 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 right ; but I was too proud to acknowledge 
 it, so I turned the subject. 
 
 Ah ! that was a good time I spent with 
 the Armstrongs, but it could not last for 
 ever : my father ascertained from the medi- 
 cal man that I was perfectly well again, 
 and the same day he wrote his thanks to 
 my host and hostess, a handsome present 
 of game accompanying his letter, and within 
 a few hours the " Abbey carriage " was 
 standing at the door awaiting me. 
 
 My father was very angry with me for 
 having disobeyed his orders ; then, I con- 
 sidered, most unjustly so, and I kept up 
 war with him. 
 
 He forbade my going to the Armstrougs' 
 house, thinking they had retained me, 
 knowing his wishes ; but they did not 
 know them, and very sure I am that they 
 would not have asked me to remain had 
 they been aware of them.
 
 WE C0S7ELI0NS. 39 
 
 I used to steal away sometimes and go 
 and sit on a low stool at Mrs. Armstrong's 
 feet ; but I had seldom much to say when 
 there, for I knew I was doing wrong. 
 
 And often Herbert and I met on the 
 rocks by the shore, or among the pine trees 
 and the tangled undergrowth, and walked 
 together side by side. 
 
 I was generally silent then : my heart 
 seemed very full, yet the truth was veiled 
 from me. 
 
 Herbert Armstrong was no great talker 
 either, and sometimes I noticed a far-off 
 saddened look in his face, and wondered at 
 it, but that was all. 
 
 Old Lady Costelion's mantle had de- 
 scended upon me. I was very fond of 
 scribbhng. One day Herbert found me 
 sitting in a cave writing a poem to the 
 ocean. I tried to hide it at first, but 
 when I found he really wished to read
 
 40 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 it I handed it to liim mthout another 
 word. He went through it attentively, 
 and then looked up at me with his rare 
 smile. 
 
 "Miriam, if you will to become an autho- 
 ress, the power of writing is in you." 
 
 I flushed with pleasure at his praise, and 
 never complained that he forgot to return 
 the verses I had composed. But my 
 happiness quickly faded when he told me 
 that he was going out to India at once to 
 join the regiment to which he had been 
 appointed, for he had made up his mind 
 to follow his father s profession. 
 
 That was our good bye. I did not know 
 why I was so sorry at his going, or why 
 our hands lingered in that last clasp, or 
 wherefore, as I watched his retreating fjrm, 
 my vision became dim with tears. 
 
 -I turned slowly, going homewards as a 
 wounded bird seeks its nest, not realisinof
 
 TFi; COSTELIONS, 41 
 
 where my hurt was, but feeling its sharp 
 pain. 
 
 I did not see Herbert Armstrong again. 
 I could not even comfort myself with his 
 parents — they had gone to see their son 
 off, after which they were to travel. 
 
 Just at this time our life was not greatly 
 improved by the death of our step-mother's 
 father. Lord Trevelyan. The estates went, 
 of course, to the eldest son, and the 
 Dowager Lady Trevelyan had to turn out 
 for the new marchioness. 
 
 The Trevelyans were very poor, and the 
 dower settled upon the old lady was not 
 large. My step-mother wished to have her 
 to live at Kingsholme Abbey, and my 
 father consented. He was a generous man, 
 and thought nothing of the expense, and 
 not being much at home himself he hoped 
 his wife would be less lonely if her mother 
 were with her.
 
 42 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 So she came ; and a strange hypoclion- 
 driacal woman was Lady Trevelyan. She 
 seemed to be really in perfect health, but 
 complained of every disease under the sun. 
 
 She had been a beauty in her time ; but 
 her day had long gone by, and she was 
 brown and thin. 
 
 We made a great trouble of having the 
 old lady among us ; but then we hardly 
 knew what trouble was : we still had the 
 lesson to learn, and this is how it came 
 to us. 
 
 One morning the post-bag was brought 
 in as usual and laid on the breakfast table 
 beside my father's plate. He opened it 
 and distributed the letters. 
 
 There was one for Lady Costelion — I 
 mean our grandmamma — and one for Lady 
 Trevelyan, and several for himself 
 
 It was easy to see that some great blow 
 had fallen upon them all three, and it was
 
 WE COSTELIONS, 43 
 
 strange to note how differently each bore 
 it. Grandmamma Costelion sat erect as 
 though turned to stone ; not a word 
 escaped her Hps, and her eyes had a fixed 
 hard look in them. My father sprung to 
 his feet, and gazed wildly about him, but 
 asked sympathy of none. 
 
 Lady Trevelyan's thin brown hands 
 trembled as she held the fatal missive, and 
 she made her moan in a wailing, pitiful 
 voice, " Lavinia, the bank has failed ! We 
 have lost everything ; and oh ! my dear, I 
 shall be a burthen upon you in my old age. 
 Oh ! I am so sorry, Lavinia, my dear — a 
 marchioness and a beggar ! Well, well, I 
 have not long to live ; in my state of 
 health I shall not trouble you long, and 
 beggar though I am, dear Sir Chart eris is 
 rich, and he will not turn me out.'' 
 
 '' No, I will not turn you out " — from 
 my father — '' but I too have lost all ! "
 
 44 WF. COSTELIONS, 
 
 "You. HowV' 
 
 " The bank failure which has ruined you 
 has done the same to me/' answered my 
 fatlier, with dignity. 
 
 "Oh! what will you do, Charteris ? " 
 asked my stepmother, anxiously. 
 
 " I shall work, I suppose, if any one will 
 employ me," said my father, bitterly. " The 
 Costelions' day is past." 
 
 I had not loved my father, but my heart 
 went out to him in his sorrow. I placed 
 my small sunburnt hand upon his well- 
 formed aristocratic white one, and said, 
 " The darkest cloud has sometimes a silver 
 lining, papa ! " I was afraid when I had 
 spoken, but he did not answer me. I 
 looked into his face, it was grave and 
 thougrhtful. I felt for the first time in mv 
 life proud of my father ; he was bearing his 
 trouble like a man. 
 
 Grandmamma Costehon now spoke.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 45 
 
 "I do not wish to be a nuisance to any- 
 one ; I shall go to the Union." 
 
 " You will go there when I do, mother, 
 but not before," said my father, firmly. 
 
 " Well, at any rate we can never be 
 beggars," said Florence, proudly. " We 
 shall always be the Costelions of Kings- 
 holme Abbey, whether you have lost your 
 money or no papa ; our position is un- 
 deniable." 
 
 " We must leave Kingsholme Abbey," 
 said my father, quietly. 
 
 " Leave Kingsholme Abbey ? leave our 
 home ? " cried my sister, aghast. 
 
 And my heart sank as I listened. 
 
 " Yes ! Florence ; how do you suppose 
 I could keep it up ? It is all I have 
 left. I must take some small house and 
 let this." 
 
 I shuddered. 
 
 " Let this ! oh ! papa, when the Coste-
 
 46 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 lions have lived here from generation to 
 generation." 
 
 ''Well, my dear, I don't suppose they 
 will ever live here again." 
 
 " No ! some snobs will take the place 
 who have made their money by candles 
 or blacking/' exclaimed Florence, bitterly. 
 
 '* Whoever will give the highest price 
 must rent it ; that is all we shall have to 
 live on. The boys must come back from 
 Eton ; it is a pity, but it can't be helped," 
 said my father. 
 
 And so the curtain fell upon our old life.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 47 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I DO not tliink there was ever a lovelier 
 home in all England than Kingsholme 
 Abbey. It was hard to realize leaving it 
 when that calamity was but a name to us. 
 
 There were many houses doubtless better 
 and more richly furnished belonging to the 
 merchant and city princes of the day, but 
 none could have been more picturesque than 
 our owm, either inside or out. Even the 
 well-worn carpets had only become softened 
 and subdued in colour by time. The old 
 Chippendale furniture in our breakfast- 
 room would not easily be procured now.
 
 48 WE COSTELIOXS. 
 
 nor the rich dark carved oak of our dining- 
 room, nor the suite of veritable " Queen 
 Ann s " which our dra^ving-room contained. 
 
 The lights and shadows everywhere to 
 be found at the Abbey, coming to us mellow 
 through the diamond vondow panes, would 
 never be ours to enjoy again in one of the 
 lath and plaister villas which must be our 
 place of habitation in future. 
 
 I never dreamed how weak I was with 
 reo'ard to our old home until I knew that 
 I must leave it. I thought that beincr a 
 Costelion I could not fail to be strono*, but 
 I suppose my plebeian Armatage blood 
 demoralized me. Florence complained 
 bitterly, and was very angry with every 
 one for the misfortune which had befallen 
 us, but she did not seem to feel as I did 
 the breaking up of all the dear old associa- 
 tions of our " dulce domum." 
 
 No more should I be able to sit and gaze
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 49 
 
 out upon the troubled sea, no more picture 
 my mother seated m the chair which some- 
 how I had learned had been her favourite ; 
 no more in fancy see her dear face bending 
 over the very books in the library which 
 bore her name, or writinof at the little table 
 which had been hers. All these thoughts 
 of her must be snapped. I did not feel 
 that T could think them away from her 
 presence-haunted rooms. My own bed- 
 chamber, which had been hers, was perhaps 
 the gTeatest loss to me. I loved it so 
 much for her sake. I scarcely remembered 
 my mother, yet all that had been hers was 
 very dear to me. Perhaps I might have 
 been worse even than I was if I had not 
 had this one shrine at which to worship. 
 
 It is bom in us, and is a necessity of 
 our nature to worship something, and my 
 something was my well-nigh unknown 
 
 mother ; but whatever softness there was 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 in me came from tliinking of her. There 
 was not much time for thought, however, 
 when house-hunting began ; it was indeed 
 a dreary time. 
 
 My poor father worked hard at it, trying 
 to find a home for us within his means, but 
 nothing that he saw pleased him. How 
 should they after Kingsholme Abbey ? 
 He shuddered as he told us of the gawdy 
 curtains and carpets, the paper ornaments 
 in the fire-places, the wax flowers, the 
 many coloured chintzes and cretonnes upon 
 which his poor, unused eyes fell ; the chairs 
 upon which he felt it unsafe even to sit 
 down ; the beds, too narrow to lie in, the 
 mattrasses, which appeared to be filled with 
 shavings ; the stuffy rooms which seemed 
 never to be aired, and which invariably 
 smelt of washing or cooking. 
 
 Days and days he spent away from us 
 looking for some place where we could
 
 WE COSTELIONS, 61 
 
 make a home. Daily we searched the 
 
 papers for houses to let. How well they 
 
 all sounded on paper, and what delusions 
 
 they turned out. Our dear home was 
 
 advertized too, and before long We had an 
 
 application for it. Papa was away, so he 
 
 was spared what I felt. No one else would 
 
 do it, so I had to show the strangers all 
 
 over the dear old place. Every cherished 
 
 crevice and haunt their prying eyes seemed 
 
 to peep into. It made me feel sadly 
 
 wicked ; I believe I could have done an 
 
 injury to any one of them as they calmly 
 
 criticized my household gods. 
 
 The objects which were so sacred to me 
 
 were nothing to them, and I hated them. 
 
 Yet I knew that I was unreasonable and 
 
 overstrained. What my father wanted 
 
 was to let the place, and these people 
 
 seemed willing to take it. 
 
 Well, they did take it, furnished just as 
 
 ^ 2 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 it was, and we had only a month to pack 
 up and to find some other roof to cover our 
 heads. 
 
 Ah ! that was a dreary month. It made 
 us all older. 
 
 Every day seemed to add silver lines 
 to my father's brown hair, but nothing 
 lowered his pride ; he was as erect and 
 majestic as ever, for all he was a ruined 
 man. Poor father ! vet I know he suffered. 
 
 He came home at last, and told us it was 
 ail settled. We were to go straight away 
 from the country which we all loved to a 
 London suburb, and we went. 
 
 It was a long and tedious journey, and 
 we were all fairly worn out before we got 
 to the end of it. 
 
 The boys had left Eton. My father 
 could not afford to keep them there ; all 
 that he had to live upon now was three 
 hundred a year, the rent of our dear old
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 53 
 
 home. Nearer London it would have let 
 for double that sum, but only idle .people 
 who are not making money could afford to 
 live in such an out of the world place as 
 Kingsholme. 
 
 Well, we had left, and our new life was 
 begun. The boys were to meet us at Little 
 Newington Station, and accompany us to 
 take possession of our future home. 
 
 I wonder whether my father took that 
 house because of its name ? " Devonshire 
 Terrace " was printed on it in large letters. 
 It was the middle house of five. There 
 seemed to be one merit only in it — it was 
 quite new, and therefore we had no one's 
 dirt to annoy us. 
 
 It had been furnished by its owner to 
 let, and had not yet been inhabited ; for 
 the rest nothing need be said. 
 
 There was no smell, either of washing or 
 cooking, but in their stead that of fresh
 
 54 WJS COSTHLIONS. 
 
 paint, varnish, new carpets, and French 
 poHsh. 
 
 I fear we were not a contented looking 
 party. We had travelled all night, and 
 were not in the mood to be in a good 
 humour, even with a nice house, which 
 No. 3, Devonshire Terrace, certainly was 
 not. 
 
 " Oh ! what a beastly hole," cried Bob. 
 
 " And what a queer smell," added 
 Trevelyan. 
 
 " Papa, how could you take such a 
 place ? " asked Florence, scornfully. 
 
 *' It is very unlike the Abbey," I mur- 
 mured, dreamily. 
 
 "Oh! Lavlnia, my dear," whimpered 
 Lady Trevelyan, "what draughts! what 
 draughts ! the windows don't fit, I shaU 
 die of neuralgia, and the walls are so damp." 
 
 "It is only an overflow from the shoot," 
 answered my father, wearily.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 55 
 
 Every one seemed to forget that the 
 trial to him was far greater than to us. 
 
 Old Lady Costelion held her head very 
 high, as though she were inhaling the un- 
 pleasant smells, feeling the damps, and 
 with every sense condemning the transac- 
 tion, but no word escaped her lips, which 
 were firmly set, and as hard as iron. 
 
 Poor Lady Lavinia flushed painfully as 
 she saw her new home ; and then for the 
 first time I gave my thoughts and atten- 
 tion to her, and noticed that when the 
 flush faded how pale and worn she looked, 
 and how thin she had become. 
 
 Our rooms were soon apportioned to us 
 and very closely we had to be packed in 
 our small abode —there was, indeed, scarcely 
 breathing space, but we had to make the 
 best of it. There seemed to be literally 
 nothing to do at Little Newington but to 
 watch our neighbours. The boys stood with
 
 56 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 their noses flattened against the window 
 panes all day long, looking across the small 
 common " which extended as far as the 
 station, observing the passing trains, and 
 the passengers alighting therefrom, and 
 greatly disturbing me with their remarks ; 
 for Grandmamma Costelion had taken it into 
 her head to instruct me daily, and her mode 
 of teaching had not improved with her 
 advancing years, though her lessons w^ere 
 delivered with dignity, and if I did not 
 profit much from them, she without doubt 
 enjoyed them vastly. 
 
 " I wish, ray dear Miriam, you would take 
 to the study of geometry. '^ 
 
 '' Geometry, grandmamma, what an idea ; 
 I don't even know w^hat it really is." 
 
 '' It is the science of extension, my dear, 
 and is employed to consider lines, surfaces, 
 and solids, as extension is distinguished in 
 length, breadth, and thickness."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 57 
 
 " Oh ! Miriam," cried Bob, '' look at that 
 man's legs coming along here, how I should 
 like to ask him who is tailor is ! " 
 
 "Kino, probably," struck in Florence, 
 " and, by the by, I suppose you will have 
 to emploj him in future, unless there is 
 some one cheaper." 
 
 " I'll back you to make unpleasant re- 
 marks against any one I know. Miss Flo,^' 
 answered Bob, indignantly. 
 
 '* Geometry is not only useful but abso- 
 lutely necessary," continued Lady Costelion, 
 taking no notice whatever of the interrup- 
 tion, " without geometry how could astro- 
 nomers make their observations, regulate 
 the duration of times, seasons, years, and 
 cycles, or measure the distance, motion, and 
 magnitude of heavenly bodies." 
 
 "Grandmamma," cried Bob, "do you want 
 the pattern of a new bonnet- — you'll have 
 to make your own now, I suppose ; by
 
 58 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 George ! this one is a wonder, you had 
 better come and look at it." 
 
 But grandmamma's hobby-horse for the 
 time being was geometry, and she turned a 
 deaf ear to the subject of bonnets. 
 
 I did not want to hear anything about 
 geometry, and I comforted myself with the 
 certainty that my relative's memory was 
 not of the best, and that she would have 
 forgotten all about it by tomorrow — she 
 was wont to tell me to make a note of 
 what she had been saying to me, that she 
 might take up the dropped stitch, and of 
 course I never did anything of the sort. 
 
 " By geometry, geographers show us the 
 magnitude of the earth, architects are 
 helped in their constructions, engineers are 
 assisted in their works ; military men can't 
 even build their ramparts without it, or 
 mark out their grounds for encampments, 
 draw their maps, or plan their forts."
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 59 
 
 Florence was sitting at tlie back window, 
 reading a novel. 
 
 " Miriam/' she remarked, " do you think 
 the people next door take in washing ? 
 What a lot of clothes they have hanging 
 out in the garden ! " 
 
 " I should think, my dear, they wash at 
 home; it is cheaper. I suppose we shall 
 have to do it ourselves, it seems to be the 
 fashion in Devonshire Terrace." 
 
 " Why, Miriam, the man with the legs is 
 the parson, and, by jove! he's coming 
 here ! " 
 
 " Well, now you will have the chance to 
 ask him about his trousers," sneered 
 Florence. 
 
 '*Even in music you need geometry,'' 
 continued Lady Costehon — the entrance 
 of the vicar did not stop her, she merely 
 made him her audience instead of me, 
 which was some relief to me, though it
 
 60 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 seemed to render the poor man somewhat 
 uncomfortable. It had never occurred to 
 him to be entertained by geometry before, 
 most hkely. 
 
 ''So you see, sir, geometry must be most 
 useful/' went on grandmamma, decidedly. 
 
 " Yes, yes, doubtless, doubtless," he 
 answered, with a longing look towards the 
 door. 
 
 " Your church choir can't do without it ; 
 they learn to express sounds by lines, that 
 is, by chords accurately divided— they know 
 that the chord which sounds octave is 
 double of that which it makes octave 
 withal; that the— " 
 
 *' Yes, yes ; geometry is a wonderful 
 science ; a most useful — er — er — I hope 
 you like Little Newington ! " 
 
 "Miriam, my dear, will you call your 
 father? " said Lady Lavinia, coming to the 
 rescue.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 61 
 
 "Thank you, I should much like to 
 make the acquaintance of Sir Charteris 
 CosteHon,'^ replied our new vicar, hurriedly, 
 as though he feared to let grandmamma get 
 in the thin end of her geometrical wedge. 
 
 " Why, bless me ! it's raining hard 1 " I 
 cried, with sudden interest, " and all those 
 dry clothes will be wet through ; evidently 
 the people don t know it ; how cross they 
 wiUbe!" 
 
 " It shows your kindness of heart. Miss 
 Costelion, to think about the little troubles 
 of your neighbours, and what a pleasure 
 it is to be able to help others, when such 
 help is possible ; it is wonderful what we 
 can do sometimes, if we only try," and the 
 vicar smiled benignly on me. 
 
 "Geometry," began grandmamma, but 
 Florence cut her short. 
 
 " In fact, Mr. RadclifFe, you think Miriam 
 should have gone in to tell them their
 
 62 TVE COSTELIONS. 
 
 clothes were dry, and that the rain was 
 coming." 
 
 "WeU— Ithink— " 
 
 But Florence did not want to hear the 
 poor man's thoughts. 
 
 " See ! they have found it out at last ; 
 Oh ! How they are running ! What a 
 scramble they are having, they will tear 
 their things if they don't mind — dear me, 
 really it's quite exciting." 
 
 " Poor women, they will get wet ! " said 
 our pastor, kindly. 
 
 "Rain, rain, go away! come again on 
 washing day!" hummed Trevelyan ; but 
 Sir Charteris here entered the room, and we 
 were silent ; even Lady Costelion ceased 
 her geometry. 
 
 If there was one thing more than another 
 that my father disliked, it was being dis- 
 turbed, and next to that he abhorred 
 visitors, so it was with anything but a
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 63 
 
 smiling face that he made his appearance 
 among us, although he received Mr. 
 RadclifFe, the vicar, with the courtesy 
 which his office demanded, still that very 
 courtesy was grave and distant. 
 
 *^I hope you like your house," began the 
 poor parson, nervously, " we consider Little 
 Newington a very healthy parish; epide- 
 mics are indeed never heard of among us." 
 
 "No, the buildings are scattered; you 
 have plenty of fresh air on these commons, 
 doubtless, but its salubrity is, I should 
 imagine, about the only attraction it has to 
 offer," answered my father, dryly. "As to 
 the house, you see what it is, and need 
 hardly ask if I like it." 
 
 Now Mr. Eadcliffe had been the only son 
 of a widowed mother, and they had lived 
 on unusually small means ; and No 3, 
 Devonshire Terrace, seemed to him quite 
 a mansion.
 
 64 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 For some years he had been a curate in 
 Wales with a miserable stipend, and then 
 had, what appeared to him, the great good 
 fortune to be appointed to the curacy of 
 Newington, a small town some two miles 
 distant from Little Newington ; the former 
 parish having somewhat outgrown itself, it 
 was decided to make the latter into a self- 
 supporting district, and Mr. Eadcliffe, much 
 to his delight, had been appointed the 
 vicar designate, and an iron church had 
 been erected as a temporary measure, 
 but after a few more years of toiling and 
 scraping, a real brick edifice had been built, 
 and Mr. E,adcliife was a full-blown vicar. 
 
 Pie was neither an elegant nor an elo- 
 quent man, but he was earnest and good. 
 His coats were rusty and ill-made, but a, 
 kind heart beat under them ; the poor of 
 his parish loved him ; the middle classes 
 were apt to laugh at him because he was
 
 TF^ COSTELIONS. 65 
 
 awkward, and his trousers were knee'd ; 
 and the upper classes — well, none had 
 arrived at Little Newington previous to 
 the time when my father took up his 
 residence there. 
 
 This is, however, somewhat of a digres- 
 sion, and all we knew of our vicar upon 
 the day of his first visit was, that he was 
 a plain man, rather under the middle 
 height, shy and uneasy as to manner, 
 shabby and badly fitted as to dress, and 
 that his boots were very thick ; but I 
 noticed that he had gentle, patient eyes, 
 and that the expression of his mouth was 
 sweet ; no other beauty certainly could have 
 been found in Mr. Radcliffe. 
 
 But to return to the conversation which 
 my aside has broken. 
 
 The vicar glanced around — to him the 
 rooms seemed airy and large ; the new cre- 
 tonnes, with their bright colours, cheerful, 
 VOL. I. F
 
 G6 WE CO STE LIONS. 
 
 after his own shabby little lodgings in a 
 much smaller house. 
 
 '^ To me it appears a very nice place," he 
 said, still looking about him. 
 
 Bob turned towards me and made a 
 wry face ; grandmamma breathed stertu- 
 ously, Hke a war-horse scenting battle, and 
 Florence burst into a merry peal of 
 laughter. 
 
 " Very sorry for your taste, Mr. Ead- 
 cliffe, if this is a specimen of it." 
 
 " You must excuse me, Miss Costelion,'* 
 he answered, the colour mounting to his 
 pale face, " I don't suppose I have any 
 taste ; but to me the place appears 
 bright and fresh and clean ; and to one 
 who has felt the pinch of poverty him- 
 self, and has been amongst the poorest 
 of the poor, that seems all that is 
 needful." 
 
 " How horrible ! " returned my sister,
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 67 
 
 heedlessly. " How can you go among such 
 people ? " 
 
 '' If for no other reason, because it is my 
 duty," said he, gently ; "but, believe me, we 
 are often rewarded for anything we may 
 have to suffer ; under all the dirt and 
 squalor I have come upon good hearts, and 
 not half so hardened as one might sup- 
 pose/' 
 
 " Why should they be hardened ? People 
 like that can't have many temptations, 
 surely." 
 
 " Can they not ? " he answered, with his 
 quiet smile. " Come among them, and see, 
 Miss Costelion, there is plenty of work to 
 do, even in Little Newington." 
 
 Florence opened her beautiful blue eyes 
 and looked at him in pure wonder. 
 
 " / go among your dirty people ! " she 
 cried at length. '' No, thank you ! I am 
 
 glad to say I am neither a parson nor a 
 
 F 2
 
 68 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 parson's wife, and it can be no duty of 
 mine ; " and I am sorely afraid she mi- 
 micked him. 
 
 '' I do not approve of ladies as district 
 visitors/' said my father ; " they should be 
 shielded from the sight of all degrading 
 scenes. '^ 
 
 " Yet, who can influence like pure- 
 minded women ? " pleaded the vicar. 
 
 "Well! I am not pure-minded, Mr. 
 Eadcliflfe," laughed my sister ; " I'm a veiy 
 worldhng. I like comfort, and I am not 
 at aJl satisfied with the state of life in 
 which I am at present placed — you see I 
 have an inkling of my catechism, although 
 I doubt if I have ever said it right 
 through ; and as to this house, which was, 
 I think, our starting point — I hate it. 
 There ! " 
 
 A saddened look settled upon my father's 
 face, and he rose and left the room.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 69 
 
 *' Florence/' I remonstrated, " how could 
 you be so thoughtless ? surely it would be 
 as well to make the best of things. We 
 have a roof over our heads, at any rate, 
 and that is something. You have vexed 
 our father and hurt his feelings." 
 
 For the moment I had forgotten the 
 presence of the vicar, and I felt called 
 upon to offer some explanation of my 
 words. 
 
 *' Trouble comes to every one sooner or 
 later, I suppose, Mr. Eadcliffe ; to us it 
 has come early, and perhajDS it is easier to 
 bear when one is young and strong. I feel 
 it must be worse for my father than for 
 any of us, coming to him late. If you had 
 seen our beautiful dear old home, however, 
 you would not wonder that Florence is 
 dissatisfied. Sometimes I sit now looking 
 over this bare common, with no land-mark 
 but the geese to break the monotony, and
 
 70 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 thiiik of the dear old Abbey with its grey 
 stone all ivy-clad, its flowering myrtles, 
 and its orange and citron blossoms, its soft 
 green slopes, its tangled undergrowth, and 
 rugged many-hued rocks and golden shingly 
 shore, and I can almost imagine the soft 
 sea breeze is upon my cheeks, the salt upon 
 my lips — so powerful is fancy '? ^' 
 
 "Your home must have been quite a 
 picture," he said, with kindling eyes, "I 
 have seen beautiful places and lovely 
 scenery in Wales." 
 
 " Our home was an idyl ; nothing could 
 surpass it, I am sure ; and it lay in Eng- 
 land's garden, Devonshire. We had the 
 open sea ever before us ; one can thinh look- 
 ing out over its broad expanse — within 
 four walls one's ideas get cramped." 
 
 *' Yet our greatest authors have written 
 their best works in crowded cities, with 
 the din of the traffic as an accompaniment."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 71 
 
 *' I do not think I could," I answered ; 
 *' I always feel as though my fancies were 
 gathered from the sounds and scenes 
 around me; the tinting of a cloud will 
 colour a poem, I feel sure, or the breath of 
 the wind." 
 
 " Miriam always was a star-gazer," said 
 Florence, with a stifled yawn. 
 
 " She has brains, at all events, Miss 
 Flo, and that is more than you can say 
 for yourself," snapped Bob, who did not 
 care to hear me run down, being his own 
 sister. 
 
 " Of what use are brains to women ? " 
 asked my sister. '"' Now, if Miriam had 
 been a man she would doubtless have got 
 on, as it is " — she shrugged her shoulders 
 as a conclusion to her speech. 
 
 *• As it is," I echoed, " I hope to find 
 them of some little use b}- and bye. We 
 have lost our money in this wretched bank
 
 72 WE COSTELIOiYS. 
 
 failure, and I trust to earn enough by my 
 pen to keep myself set any rate." 
 
 ** Girls had better get married," re- 
 marked Trevelyan, with a grin, '' then their 
 husbands have to keep them, don't you 
 see ? " 
 
 *' Boys had better talk about what they 
 understand," answered Florence, hotly. 
 " Grandmamma, I wish you would box his 
 ears, he richly deserves it. I would, only 
 his head is so hard I might hurt myself 
 more than him.'' 
 
 Grandmamma had not been listening to 
 us, she was thinking of other things, and 
 self-absorbed ; but now she looked up. 
 
 " You were talking of these houses, my 
 dear, were you not ? Do I like or admire 
 them ? Of course I do neither. As for 
 the architect who planned them, it is very 
 easy to see that he had never learnt geo- 
 metry."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 73 
 
 " Oh ! grandmamma, I hoped you had 
 forgotten that/' said Florence, crossly. " I 
 have heard you dinning it into Miriam's 
 ears until I really don't know what I have 
 been reading." 
 
 *' It is from this science that architects 
 must derive their just measurements," con- 
 tinued Lady Costehon, sternly. " Now look 
 at this room : a perpendicular is a right line 
 which falls upon, or is raised from, another, 
 making the angles on each side of it equal. 
 Can you find me a perpendicular line here ? 
 I have a correct eye, and I tell you there is 
 not a straight wall in the house." 
 
 '' We're like the leaning tower of Pisa, 
 gran, I suppose," said Bob; ''but it's 
 nearly as good as being back at Eton to 
 hear you lecture." 
 
 "Would you like some Eton salt to 
 make holy water of, Mr. Radcliife 1 " asked 
 Trevelyan, irreverently.
 
 74 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 "I don't think I understand you," 
 answered the vicar, looking at him kindly, 
 ''it is some school joke, I suppose." 
 
 " No ; it is not quite that," said 
 Bob; ''it is asserted that in former 
 days, in papal times, the Pope gave 
 an exclusive grant to Eton College to 
 sell consecrated salt for making holy 
 water ; but very likely it may not be true." 
 
 '' Dear me ! I had no idea that holy 
 water was salt ; but I conclude it must be, 
 or there would have been no ground for 
 the tradition," said the vicar. '' I suppose 
 you like Eton. I have always wished to 
 attend the Montem, but have never been 
 able to do so." 
 
 '•' It is of no use to go unless you have 
 your pocket well lined; everybody has to 
 ' stump up,' you know," Trevelyan blurted 
 out ; '' have you ever heard the verse about 
 it?
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 75 
 
 '' Each passing traveller must halt, 
 ;Must pay the tax, and eat the salt. 
 ' You don't love salt,' you say, and storm ; 
 Look o' these staves, sir, and conform."^ 
 
 '•' We are not quite so bad as that in 
 these clays, though," interrupted Bob ; '^ the 
 Eton Montem is a quieter affair now than it 
 used to be." 
 
 " I should like to have seen it when it 
 was at its prime," cried Trevelyan, excit- 
 edly, '^when the chaplain, after reading 
 prayers, used to kick the clerk down the 
 hill, and all that." 
 
 " That was a strange way to serve him," 
 said Mr. Radchffe, unable to repress a smile. 
 '*' I am very glad I did not live in those 
 days, and was not the clerk ; and I am 
 equally thankful that there are so few 
 clerks left ; they were the most aggravating 
 personages, echoing the clergyman's words 
 a bar behind." 
 
 ''Yes," said Florence, ''the parsons are
 
 76 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 quite tedious enough without the echoes, 
 goodness knows/' 
 
 Our vicars colour rose, but he did not 
 answer her ; instead, he turned to Bob. 
 
 " I take an interest in old customs. I 
 should like to hear a little as to the origi- 
 nation of the Mont em." 
 
 " Would you like to hear about beating 
 the bounds, then?" asked Florrie. "Do 
 you know they humped the poor parson the 
 other day?" 
 
 " Yes," he answered, gravely ; "I read 
 about it, and that they were punished for 
 it." 
 
 '' Well, don't you know," said Bob, 
 "there are so many versions of old stories, 
 that it is almost impossible to say which is 
 the correct one. I suppose we all believe 
 in the one we like best." 
 
 "That is generally the case," remarked 
 my sister, sotto voce.
 
 WE COSTELIONS, 11 
 
 "At any rate there is no doubt that it is a 
 very ancient custom," continued Bob, "and 
 that it derives its name from the mount 
 which was afterwards called ' Salt Hill/ By 
 some the Montem is said to have been insti- 
 tuted by the monks to raise money to enable 
 them to purchase ground for the college. 
 ' Salt Hill/ or the mount, being the first thus 
 purchased. Others date it from the time of 
 Henry the Eighth, and say nothing about 
 the monks. It has doubtless assumed many 
 forms since its first institution, but it has 
 retained a semblance at any rate of the old 
 ceremony. I have read many amusing 
 accounts of the ancient Montems, and the 
 ridiculous orations of the Boy Bishops/^ 
 
 " They could scarcely be more ridiculous 
 than a speech delivered by the high sheriff 
 for the county of Oxford/' laughed Mr. 
 Badcliffe, " of which I have read." 
 
 "Oh, do tell us about it," cried Trevelyan,
 
 78 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 dancing about like a parched pea on a 
 gridiron. 
 
 " I should be happy, but it might bore 
 the ladies," answered the vicar, looking at 
 us interrogatively. 
 
 "Oh, bother them," said my youngest 
 brother, politely. 
 
 " Dont mind us, pray !" added Flo ; *' we 
 may find it amusing." 
 
 " Thank you, I should like to hear it," I 
 answered determmedly, for I was vexed to 
 see my sister so rude. 
 
 Granny had relapsed into the transcen- 
 dental. 
 
 " Well, it is a very short story," said the 
 vicar, and can be told in a few words. 
 When the sheriff arrived at the Mount of 
 ' St. Marie's,' he thus addressed the Oxon- 
 ians, being decorated with the gold chain 
 of office about his neck, and his sword by 
 his side.
 
 WE C0STELI0N8. 79 
 
 " ' I have brought you some fine biscuit, 
 baked in the oven of charity, and carefully 
 conserved for the chickens of the Church, 
 the sparrows of the Spirit, and the sweet 
 swallows of Salvation/ " 
 
 " I rather like that," said Bob, with a 
 grin. 
 
 " I don't see much in it," differed Flo- 
 rence. " Do you, grandmamma V 
 
 " I don't see anything worth looking at 
 in it, if you mean the house,'' replied the 
 old lady, wedded to her thoughts for the 
 time-being. 
 
 " Now, we shall have some more geome- 
 try," said Bob, crossly. " Why could you 
 not have left her alone when I am telling 
 Mr. Eadcliffe about the Montem V 
 
 " Simply because I am tired of it," replied 
 Florence, with another yawn. " A year of 
 Little Newington will send me melancholy 
 mad !"
 
 80 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " I expect we shall have to send for Mr. 
 Eadcliffe to exorcise your blue devils before 
 long," laughed Trevelyan. 
 
 '' What do you think was the origin of 
 giving salf?" asked the vicar. " It is an 
 emblem of learning or wisdom, I believe." 
 
 " One of the old swells has left us his 
 opinion in these words," answered Bob. 
 
 " ' This rite of salt is a pledge or earnest 
 which you give, that you will strenuously 
 apply yourselves to the study of good arts, 
 and as earnestly devote yourselves to the 
 several duties of your vocation.'" 
 
 " So I suppose when the salt-bearers cry 
 ' Salt, salt,' and ask thus for contributions, 
 they pledge themselves on the part of the 
 captain of the Eton scholars to do great 
 things in the way of learning ? " 
 
 " That is the way it points, I think." 
 
 "A point," remarked grandmamma, 
 striking in, ^' is that which has no parts ;
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 81 
 
 that is, has no length, breadth, or thick- 
 ness, but as no operation can be performed 
 without the assistance of visible and corpo- 
 real things, we must therefore represent the 
 mathematical point by the natural one." 
 
 *' Grandmamma was once a clever woman, 
 a regular blue-stocking ; but now she has 
 reached her second childhood, and makes 
 hobby horses of her former learning," whis- 
 pered my sister, rather too candidly. " It 
 is awfully trying, I can tell you, to live 
 with any one whose mind is all angles." 
 
 At the term grandmamma started off 
 again. 
 
 " An angle is the indirect course of two 
 lines to the same point ; or rather, it is the 
 space contained between the indirect course 
 of two lines to the same point, and there 
 are many sorts of angles — a right angle and 
 an acute angle." 
 
 *' Yes, gran, and an obtuse angle," re- 
 VOL. I. O
 
 82 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 plied Trevelyan, laughing ; " and that was 
 what my master used to think I most 
 resembled/' 
 
 ''Quite right, my dear, quite right/' said 
 Lady Costelion, approvingly. 
 
 '' Do you think Sir Charteris is coming 
 back V asked Mr. Eadcliffe, nervously. " I 
 don't like to leave without saying good 
 bye, but I have a service at five. I fear 
 I have already intruded upon your time, 
 and I can only say I have greatly enjoyed 
 my first visit, and I hope it may not be 
 the last. I only trust I have not been in 
 the way." 
 
 '' Oh, no !" replied Florence. " We have 
 nothing on earth to do ; we may as well 
 pass the time listening to you, as in any 
 other manner." 
 
 " You won't come to church ?" he asked, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " No, thanks ; enough is as good as a
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 83 
 
 feast. I liave been hearing you all the 
 
 afternoon." 
 
 " You will understand my sister better 
 
 when you know more of her, Mr. Radcliffe/' 
 
 I said gently. '' We have all run wild in 
 
 our dear old home, and have said whatever 
 
 came uppermost in our minds. It has been 
 
 a pleasant change to see a new face among 
 
 us, and I am sure Florence thinks so too. 
 
 And you must pay papa a visit another 
 
 time ; perhaps we had better not call him 
 
 back to-day as you are in a hurry." 
 
 So he took his leave. 
 
 " What a creature ! " cried my sister. 
 
 '' Miriam, how could you be so civil to him ? 
 
 Why, he told us distinctly that he had 
 
 been reared in a pigsty ! And did you ever 
 
 see such boots ? He must have borrowed 
 
 them of a ploughboy ; and such a coat, and 
 
 the knees of his trousers !" 
 
 " I was civil chiefly because you were so 
 
 g2
 
 84 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 rude, Florence," I answered; ''though as 
 to that, one should be polite to] every one 
 in one's own house ; and, moreover, there 
 is something in Mr. Radcliffe's face I rather 
 like/' 
 
 "Miriam!" cried my sister in disgust, 
 '' what will you tell me next ? All I can 
 say is, I cant hear him /" 
 
 "Whew!" laughed Boh, *' if grand- 
 mamma were only following you she would 
 say you had gone off in a tangent line /" 
 
 "A tangent line," murmured the old 
 
 lady, "is let me see, Miriam, what is 
 
 it ? T ought to remember ; why, that is 
 the first thing I have forgotten to-day ! 
 Ah, my dear, I fear my memory is going." 
 
 " Never mind, granny, I think I know 
 as much geometry as that," said Bob, 
 kindly. "A tangent line is that which 
 touches some figure without passing into 
 it."
 
 WE OOSTELIONS. 85 
 
 " So it is, my dear, so it is ; you are a 
 good lad. Bob. Miriam is a sharp girl, too, 
 but you are more of a Costelion. Cbarteris 
 does not want my money — Bob, my dear, I 
 think I shall leave it to you." 
 
 " Why, gran, you have none ! " shouted 
 Trevelyan, as though she had been deaf. 
 "■ Have you forgotten the bank failure ?" 
 
 She started and looked at him, then said 
 stiffly, " My hearing is good, Trevelyan ; 
 you need not raise your voice ;" and as she 
 tui'ned away there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " How unkind of you to remind her !'' I 
 muttered, reproachfully. ^' Why can t you 
 let her forget?" 
 
 *'Ah/' replied Florence, "it would be 
 worth being in one's dotage to succeed in 
 that !" and throwing down her book impa- 
 tiently she left the room.
 
 86 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Trevelyan stood in his favourite place at 
 the window pane, beating an accompani- 
 ment with his fingers and singing snatches 
 of a song of which he was fond, although 
 he had been asked at least a dozen times 
 to leave off. 
 
 As for myself, I had the power to shut 
 my mind to external sounds upon most 
 occasions when engaged in writing, but 
 upon the present one my head ached, and 
 I could not fix my attention, and my 
 brother's noise worried me.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 87 
 
 " There was a little man, 
 
 And he had a little horse ; 
 And he saddled him and bridled him, 
 
 And then he rode across. 
 Hi ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 Ho ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 Hi ! jingle, ho ! jingle, ha ! " 
 
 '•'Is that song much longer'?" I asked 
 in despair ; "I shall never get on with my 
 writing to-day." 
 
 " Yes, ever so much," he replied, going 
 off again briskly : — 
 
 " And he rode, and he rode. 
 Till he came to the seaside ; 
 
 And there he saw a fisherman. 
 Awaiting for the tide. 
 
 Hi ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 
 Ho ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 
 Hi ! jingle, ho ! jingle, ha ! " 
 
 " What doggrel ! " T exclaimed ; but I 
 might as well have tried to stop a loco- 
 motive. 
 
 " It's a very pretty story," he asserted. 
 " You listen ; it might do for a plot."
 
 88 WE COSTELWNS. 
 
 ''Oh! fisliemian, oh! fishennaii 
 
 Oh ! fisherman, said he, 
 
 Have you got a little crayfish 
 
 That you can sell to me 
 Hi ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 Ho ! jingle, jingle, jingle, 
 Hi ! jingle, ho ! jingle, ha! " 
 
 " Well, spare us the jingles, at any rate," 
 cried Florence, covering her pretty, shell- 
 like ears with her white hands. " There's 
 no story in that, at all events." 
 
 But not even a jingle would Trevelyan 
 omit ; we had them all after every verse. 
 
 " So he gave the man a shilling, 
 And took the little fish ; 
 And he took tlie little thing home. 
 And popped it in a dish." 
 
 ^'Eythm, rythm, Tre," I pleaded. "Do 
 stop ! " 
 
 " It is very pretty, my dear," murmured 
 old Lady Trevelyan. nodding her approval, 
 and keeping time with her head to her 
 grandson's singing. " I wish my poor
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 89 
 
 husband, the dear marquis, were here to 
 Hsten to you ; he was always fond of music. 
 Lavinia, my dear, the boy takes after our 
 family." 
 
 " Thank heaven for that ! " exclaimed 
 Florence, earnestly, '' and that there is only 
 one child by my father's last marriage." 
 
 Our stepmother looked very near crying. 
 "I do not know what fault you have to 
 find with Trevelyan, Florence," she said, 
 in a choked voice. 
 
 ' And his wife came in the kitchen, 
 
 As she was wont to do, 
 And up the little crayfish jumped, 
 
 And near bit off her shoe. 
 Hi ! jingle, jingle, jingle, 
 Ho ! jingle, jmgle, jingle, 
 Hi jingle, ho ! jingle, ha ! " 
 
 " I think you might leave off knocking 
 on the window, Tre," said his mother, 
 timidly ; ^' it really makes me nervous. 
 Bob, can't you get him to stop ? "
 
 90 WE C0STELI0N8. 
 
 " Shut up that row, can't you 1 " cried 
 Bob, looking np from his book. '•' Of all 
 fidgetting, that devils tattoo is the 
 worst/' 
 
 *' There's only one verse more," replied 
 his brother, '' and I shall be sure to go 
 wrong if I don't keep time/' 
 
 " Well, then, don't sing it at all." 
 
 " That would be a pity, when I've gone 
 nearly all through, and grandmamma en- 
 joys it." 
 
 '^It's more than we do," grumbled my 
 sister. 
 
 " Besides which, Miriam wants the plot 
 to make a story of," and on he went again. 
 
 Bob got up to stop him, but I laid my 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 ''It is the last verse," I laughed, *'let 
 him finish it. If you both make a noise 
 it will be worse still ; and it will soon be 
 over."
 
 Wi: COSTELIONS 91 
 
 " He will begin another," he answered ; 
 but he sat down again. 
 
 " I don't think he knows another all 
 
 through,'' I replied, " so there is some hope 
 
 for us/' and Trevelyan was abeady singing 
 
 lustily — 
 
 " She hit him on the head, 
 
 And she hit him on the side, 
 And at last the little crayfish 
 
 Just laid him down and died. 
 Hi ! jingle, jingle, jingle, 
 Ho ! jingle, jingle, jingle. 
 Hi ! jingle, ho ! jingle. 
 Ha ! ! ! " 
 
 He uttered this last word like a war 
 whoop, and frightened his poor grand- 
 mother nearly out of her senses. 
 
 " Oh ! my dear, how you have alarmed 
 me ! Feel how my poor heart is beating. 
 Lavinia, my dear, you must correct the 
 boy ; he might have been the death of me, 
 lie might, indeed. Fetch me a little sal 
 volatile, my dear."
 
 92 WE COSTELIONS: 
 
 "Red lavender is better/' suggested 
 Florence. 
 
 " Brandy is best of all ! Take half a 
 tumbler raw, gran, and you will be as 
 rio^ht as a trivet." 
 
 " Nonsense, Trevelyan ; how can you 
 suggest such a thing ? " I returned, with 
 vexation ; " it is disrespectful, to say the 
 least of it." 
 
 '' Oh, ho ! How long have you taken 
 to preaching, Miss Miriam ? " he replied, 
 making a grimace at me. '' Since you 
 have known and admired parson Radchffe, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " / admire him ! What do you mean? " 
 
 " I heard you tell Flo so, I declare." 
 
 "If you cannot talk sense, I shall not 
 speak to you," I replied, turning to my 
 stepmother. " Shall I fetch the sal volatile 
 for you, Lady Lavinia ? You look tired." 
 
 T had never been able to call her mother.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 93 
 
 That name, in my mind, was sacred, and 
 could belong only to one — my own mother. 
 
 " Thank you, Miriam, if you would. I 
 am not used to needlework, and it bothers 
 me." 
 
 And as she leant her pale face once more 
 over some mending which she raised from 
 the table, it struck me how very pallid that 
 face was, and how weary, and I fetched the 
 sal volatile at once, mixed in a wine-glass, 
 and administered it to Lady Trevelyan ; 
 then I took hold of my stepmothers 
 work. 
 
 '' What are you doing, Miriam, my 
 dear ? " she asked, fretfully. *' I must 
 finish it.'' 
 
 " I am going to finish it for you." 
 
 '' You are 1 Nonsense ; you have your 
 studies and your writing. You have no 
 time." 
 
 " I can make time for that."
 
 94 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 *' If you can make time, you might sell 
 the patent of your invention for a good 
 price, Miriam, and retrieve the fallen for- 
 tunes of the family ! " grinned my young 
 brother. 
 
 ^' I wish to goodness you were back at 
 school," I groaned. 
 
 *^You cannot wish it more than I do," 
 retorted Trevelyan, ^' for it is as dull as 
 ditch-water here. I feel inclined to go out 
 and play marbles with the street boys." 
 
 " I can fancy the governor s face, if he 
 saw you," returned Bob ; " you would have 
 a ride on Dr. Keate's grey mare, it strikes 
 me." 
 
 " I wouldn't mind that, if I could only 
 get back to Eton. What a jolly set of 
 fellows they were ! " 
 
 " You were always fighting when you 
 were there." 
 
 *' Oh 1 that was only to show our affec-
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 95 
 
 tion, Bob, and I shouldn't mind a fight 
 now, to pass the time." 
 
 " No, I dare say not ; but who on earth 
 is this coming in at our gate 1 " 
 
 " It is a demon visitor ; and, good gra- 
 cious ! what a queer old fish ! And here's 
 a young demon coming after her, at a 
 canter, and they have come out of number 
 one." 
 
 "Surely these people are not all going 
 to have the impudence to call on us," said 
 my sister, haughtily. " What will papa 
 say? 
 
 *' Fortunately, he is not at home," I 
 murmured, and in another moment our 
 visitors were announced. 
 
 Our experience of society had never 
 before introduced us to such people as 
 Mrs. and Miss Rider. 
 
 It was quite useless for us to try and be 
 stiff and courteous ; we were all decidedly
 
 96 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 patronised, Mrs. and Miss Rider shaking 
 hands with us all round. 
 
 " Let's begin as we mean to go on, mj 
 dears," said Mrs. Eider, heartily, "and I 
 'ope we shall be as good friends as we are 
 near neighbours. I know all about you 
 already. My 'usband's very Igh hup in 
 the company in which your dear pa is 
 trying to be made chairman. Mr. Rider 
 says he's not a man of business ; but then, 
 as Rider says, his handle counts for some- 
 thing, and the public like that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 " I do not quite follow you," said my 
 stepmother, civilly. 
 
 '' Not foller me ?— you re off the Ime "? " 
 
 " Lady Lavinia does not, I think, know 
 what you mean by my father's handle," I 
 answered, smiling. 
 
 " What an innercent 1 "' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Eider. *' Where have you been brought
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 97 
 
 up, my dear ? Why, his title — his Sir, of 
 course. Why, aint he Sir Chatterbox, or 
 something of the sort ? But, lor bless me, 
 I never had no head for names, and I took 
 you for her ladyship at first ; but this 
 young lady don't call you "ina, only Lady 
 Lavinia, so I s'pose you ain't Lady Cos- 
 telion, as I thought." 
 
 " My stepmother is Lady Lavinia Cos- 
 telion," I said, going to her rescue, for 
 she was looking most uncomfortable. 
 
 "Oh, that's it! But I always thought 
 married ladies took their 'usband's names. 
 If you'll look at my card, you'll see as how 
 they've printed it ' Mrs. 'Enry Eider ' — 
 not ' Mrs. Sarah Rider,' you mark ; and 
 'what is sauce for the goose is sauce for 
 the gander,' I've always 'eard. 'Av'n't 
 you, Em'ly?" 
 
 " Probably you were not a lady in your 
 
 own right," remarked Florence, dryly; and 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Trevelyan went into such convulsions of 
 laughter that he nearly upset us all. 
 
 " That means, being the daughter of a 
 dook, don't it ? I saw the Dook of Cam- 
 bridge once ; a pleasant-looking man he 
 was, too. So your father was a dook, my 
 dear. Now, no one wouldn't never think 
 it who set eyes on you, so quiet as you 
 look. There's a deal more style about my 
 Emly there." 
 
 "Lady Lavinia's father wasn't a duke, 
 Mrs. E/ider ; only a marquis, so perhaps 
 that may account for the want of style of 
 which you complain ; " said my sister mali- 
 ciously. 
 
 " Yery likely, my dear ; but none of us 
 don't think the worse of her for that, you 
 may be sure, and a marquis holds a certain 
 position of his own too ; don't he wear a 
 wreath of strawberry leaves when he goes 
 to court ? — I think I've heard Rider say so.
 
 WB COSTELIONS. 99 
 
 And liow do you like Little Newington? 
 You'll find us all very sociable, quite a 
 'appy little family, as one might say. Nice 
 friendly ?'(3unions of an evening. My Em'ly 
 has a very fine voice, and likes it to be 
 'eard, so we has a good deal of evening 
 company, and I'm sure we shall be 'appy if 
 you'll step in. We don't 'ave suppers, but 
 a glass of sherry wine and a 'am sandwich 
 you will always find, and I know you are 
 musical too, for I often hear singing. 
 Some one was giving a nice cheerful toone 
 just now.'' 
 
 " You are very kind," said Lady 
 Lavinia, ''but we do not go out now we 
 have left Devonshire ; we have had a 
 good deal of trouble, and my mother is 
 delicate." 
 
 "Poor souls ! " exclaimed Mrs. Rider. 
 
 " I heard from my 'usband 'ow you had 
 
 come down in the world, so I says to my 
 
 H 2
 
 100 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Em'ly, let's be just as friendly, my dear, as 
 though nothing ad appened. Them bank 
 failures is orrid things, but 'owever people 
 can be so foolish as to put all their eggs 
 in one basket I cant imagine. I says to 
 Pider, ' Now you be sensible my dear, and 
 place all your eggs in settings, and then 
 pop 'em under some good 'ens, and you'll 
 find as how they're all golden eggs, and 
 will hatch into sovereigns ; ' and I believe 
 he have took my advice ; and bad 'ealth's 
 a trouble too ; and you don't look over 
 strong, nor your ma neither." 
 
 ''I am very poorly," replied Lady 
 Trevelyan with eagerness," "I have not 
 had a day's health since we left Kingsholme 
 Abbey." 
 
 "Was that the name of your place. 
 Miss Costelion?" simpered Em'ly; "how 
 romantic it sounds ! " 
 
 "Yes! that was our dear old home," I
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 101 
 
 replied dreamily ; the brown rocks and the 
 blue sea floating before my mind's eye. 
 
 "You should take 'op tea, my dear; 111 
 send you in some. I always keep a bottle 
 filled ready, and the flannel is clean and 
 fresh, so you needn't be afraid of it. A 
 little drop of spirit warms the inside, and 
 I've no objection to a glass of beer neither, 
 but there ain't no fomentation in 'op tea, 
 and indigestion is a mortal enemy, as I 
 know, and there's many an evening I have 
 to unloose my stays, and yet no one can't 
 accuse me of tight lacing." 
 
 *^0h! ma!" said Miss Eider, "there's 
 gentlemen in the room ; you shouldn't." 
 
 " Gentlemen, nonsense, they wears them 
 themselves, and that you may be sure." 
 
 Now considering the size of Mrs. liider's 
 waist, I don't think any one could accuse 
 her of tight lacing ! 
 
 At length they took their leave.
 
 102 V/E COSTELIONS. 
 
 '' Good gracious ! what must she be like 
 when her stays are unloosed?" said 
 Trevelyan, leaning back helj^lessly in his 
 chair, in uncontrollable fits of laughter. 
 
 " She is a very peculiar person ! " mur- 
 mured Lady Lavinia faintly. 
 
 '^ I hope the hop tea will do me good/' 
 pursued Lady Trevelyan. 
 
 " Why, there's my father at the gate ; 
 I wonder what he thinks of our visitors," 
 laughed Bob ; and then turning to me, 
 '' Miriam did you know that he was trying 
 to get employment ? " 
 
 " I know that he said he should do so 
 when our misfortunes first came upon us," 
 I answered, ''but he has never mentioned 
 the subject to me since, nor do I think he 
 has done so to any one of us." 
 
 Then he came in and took an easy chair. 
 
 "Povert/y makes one acquainted with 
 
 strange scenes and strange jDeople," he said
 
 WF COSTELIONS. 103 
 
 wearily ; '' pray had that person been 
 calling here — it is impossible that we can 
 receive such visitors." 
 
 " I think so too, dear," answered my step- 
 mother meekly ; " Mrs. Rider is the most 
 insufferable person I ever met in my life. 
 She actually called you 'Sir Chatterbox/ 
 and told me her vulgar daughter had more 
 style than I have ! " 
 
 This was too much even for my father's 
 gravity, and he joined in the laugh which 
 became general. 
 
 " But my dear Charteris, she really was 
 very impertinent, and talked about our 
 having come down in the world, and said 
 you were seeking to be the chairman of 
 some company over which her husband has 
 influence." 
 
 " Dear me ! you don't mean to say that 
 woman is the wife ^of Mr. Rider ? then, I 
 am afraid it is a matter of necessity to be
 
 104 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 civil to her. Yes ! I am seeking the em- 
 ployment she named. A Costelion will 
 have to work at last.*' 
 
 *'We shall be quite common people in 
 time," groaned Florence, " appointments in 
 the city, and friendships with the city 
 men's wives." 
 
 " They cannot all be Hke Mrs. Eider,'' 
 said Bob, comfortingly. 
 
 I did not speak, but I timidly slipped 
 my hand into my father's ; he looked at 
 me for half a moment, and for the first 
 time in my life, he kissed me spontaneously. 
 
 *' You have good eyes, Miriam," he said 
 softly," and I think I can understand their 
 language." 
 
 "Do you really mean that we are to 
 return this woman's visit, Charteris?" asked 
 my stepmother helplessly. 
 
 " Yes, it must be done, my dear, I am 
 afraid; ^^Miriam will go with you. I am
 
 WJS COSTELIONS, 105 
 
 surprised to find the man has such a wife ; 
 — he is rather a decent sort of fellow him- 
 self." 
 
 " By George ! here are some more demons ; 
 carriage demons this time," cried Bob. 
 '•I've had as many as I can stand for one 
 day — I am off." 
 
 **It is old Noah and his wives," ex- 
 claimed Trevelyan ; "I shall stay to see 
 the fun;" and our little maid ushered in 
 a tall gaunt old man in a long black over- 
 coat. 
 
 There was a green patch over one eye, 
 and his mouth was much drawn on one side. 
 He wore shoes and white stockings, and 
 on either side of him stood a little old 
 lady holding his arm, dressed in the regular 
 peHsse of former days, made of rich black 
 satin and trimmed with fur, although the 
 chills of autumn had not yet overtaken us. 
 Around their sweet old faces were pure
 
 106 WU COSTELIONS. 
 
 white caps inside their cottage bonnets. 
 One, especially, I remarked, for although 
 certainly over seventy years of age, her 
 coriiplexion was pink and white as that of 
 a girl. 
 
 What a contrast to Mrs. Rider ! 
 
 Although so antiquated and wedded to 
 their own ways, it was easy to see at first 
 sight that Mr. Montague and his sisters 
 were of gentle birth. 
 
 The two old ladies dropped us each a 
 comprehensive curtesy, and then turned 
 to help the gaunt old gentleman to a chair. 
 
 '' My brother's eyesight is not sq good as 
 it was," explained one of the sisters simply, 
 seating herself near him ; " indeed since 
 our family has been so broken up, we have 
 wellnigh giving up visiting ; but we heard 
 of you through some very dear old friends 
 of ours who have been neighbours of yours 
 for many years — Colonel and Mrs. Arm-
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 107 
 
 strong. Tliey wrote most a.ffectionately of 
 one of tlie young ladies — Miriam. Was 
 not that the name, sister '? " 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad to have news of 
 them/' I exclaimed eagerly. '*' They were 
 so very kind to me ; yes ! Miss Montague, 
 their son saved my life. I shall ever think 
 of them with gratitude." 
 
 My cheeks were glowing, and I was 
 feeling quite happy, when all at once my 
 eyes fell upon my father's face. I had 
 evidently annoyed him, and I felt chilled ; 
 my pleasure was gone. 
 
 " Are they all well ? " I asked timidly. 
 '•' Will you tell them they are not for- 
 gotten." I could not for the life of me help 
 sending them that httle message. 
 
 "Yes, Miss Miriam, I will tell them 
 what you say. I shall be writing shortly." 
 
 I longed to ask after my old companion, 
 my preserver, Herbert, but somehow I
 
 108 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 could not. The words stuck in my 
 throat. 
 
 *' Are you neighbours of ours ? '' inquired 
 my father. 
 
 *' No, we live some miles away, but we 
 were anxious to be among the first to 
 welcome you, for the sake of the Ann- 
 strongs.'' 
 
 " We were seven," spluttered the old 
 man, "and now we are only four. My 
 poor elder sister was quite too unwell to 
 accompany us, but sent her apologies by 
 the girls.'' 
 
 Trevelyan was grinning broadly, and 
 Florence's eyes were dancing, yet these old 
 folks were so perfect of their kind tliat one 
 could not make fun of them. 
 
 " Yes, our sister is quite an invalid. We 
 cannot hope to keep her long. The death 
 of the other three of our family affected her 
 acutely ; indeed I may say she has hardly
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 109 
 
 got over it. She has never been the same 
 since then, yet the doctor says she has no 
 actual disease, and she does not suffer." 
 
 ** Decay of nature," said my father 
 quietly. " The human machinery will not 
 last for ever." 
 
 " Oh, dear no, sir," answered one of the 
 girls ; " nothing of the sort. My sister is 
 only eighty-six ! '' 
 
 A smile played about my father s mouth, 
 but he merely bowed poHtely. 
 
 '' Does she ever take hop tea ? " asked 
 Lady Trevelyan eagerly. " That is just 
 how I have been feeling ever since we left 
 the Abbey, and I have been strongly 
 advised to try it." 
 
 " No, I don't think she has ever tried 
 it. "We are all teetotalers," replied Miss 
 Montague (that is the elder one of the two 
 present). 
 
 " Yes, Sir Chart eris, we have none of us
 
 110 WJS COSTELIONS. 
 
 ever tasted the juice of the grape, nor have 
 either of us married. And we were seven/' 
 mumbled the old man. 
 
 " Dear me, seven, and all single," echoed 
 Ladj Trevelyan. 
 
 " Grandmamma Costelion would call that 
 a heptagonical family," said Trevelyan in a 
 whisper to Florence, but of course I heard 
 him, and I am not sure they did not too, 
 for they soon arose to go. 
 
 " The wmd gets cold and the evenings 
 close quickly in now. Brother, I think it 
 is time we turned homewards.'' Then the 
 two old ladies got one on either side of 
 their brother, and after a struggle he was 
 hoisted up from his seat. We all offered 
 our help, but they said they understood his 
 ways best, and would not be assisted. 
 
 **We shall hope to see you all at the 
 Manor House before long," said Mr. 
 Montague.
 
 WB CO ST E LIONS, 111 
 
 Then we all shook hands, the old ladies 
 curtsied, and my father went out with them 
 to the carriage himself, and stood there to 
 see them off, the sinking sun glinting upon 
 his grey hair. 
 
 " Well, papa, what do you think of 
 t.hem ? " asked Florrie. " I was afraid to 
 speak lest I should laugh/' 
 
 " My dear they are quite unique, but 
 they are gentlefolks." 
 
 '' They are sweet old things — that is the 
 two old ladies are,*' I ventured to remark. 
 
 " Seven, and all unmarried ! " repeated 
 Lady Trevelyan. " I wish they had taken 
 hop tea — teetotalers too. Well, to be 
 sure ! " 
 
 " Is anything the matter, Lady Lavinia?" 
 I asked. " You look very pale." 
 
 " No, no, Miriam ; it's nothing new. I 
 am tired, that is all."
 
 112 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Many other visitors arrived . All our neigh- 
 bours in Devonshire Terrace called upon 
 us, but as none of them have much to do 
 with our story, it will hardly be worth 
 while to enumerate them. Suffice it to 
 say none were quite so bad as Mrs. Rider, 
 none so refined in manner as our old-world 
 acquaintances the Montagues. 
 
 In due course the visits had to be 
 returned, but it was settled that my step- 
 mother need not trouble herself in the 
 matter with the two exceptions given. 
 
 At first my sister declared nothing would
 
 Wi: COSTELIONS. 113 
 
 ever induce lier to enter the houses of such 
 a set of vulgarians, but as the dull days 
 dragged slowly by she altered her mind, 
 and when I put on my bonnet she followed 
 my example. 
 
 '' What ! are you going after all, Flo ? '' 
 I asked in surprise. 
 
 " Yes," she answered wearily, ** the 
 people are atrocious, but I may get some 
 amusement out of them." So she went. 
 
 The houses and furniture looked very 
 strange to us after Kingsholme Abbey with 
 our rare carved oak and beautiful old 
 household goods. Everything was new 
 and over-bright in colour ; but one idea 
 struck me very forcibly, that all these 
 middle-class people appeared very happy, 
 and another was that they all talked about 
 their own affairs far more openly than those 
 with whom we had been accustomed to 
 associate, and never for a moment seemed 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 Wi: COSTELIONS. 
 
 to imagine that their long narrations could 
 be otherwise than interesting to their 
 listeners ; they also discussed their neigh- 
 bours with freedom. People, not things, 
 made up the sum and substance of their 
 conversation. In vain I tried other topics, 
 pictures, books, needlework ; even the 
 weather flagged, although in every house it 
 was invariably the opening theme. One * 
 thing I soon plainly saw, namely, that Mr. 
 Radcliffe was a great favourite among his 
 parishioners. 
 
 No one had apparently found out the 
 fact that our position in life being so 
 different to theirs it would have been 
 better taste if they had stayed away, and 
 not sought our acquaintance. Our import- 
 ance was evidently measured by the size of 
 our house, which was undoubtedly smaller 
 than those of many of our new would-be 
 friends. Their chief feeling appeared to be
 
 . WE COSTE LIONS. 115 
 
 sympathy and a sort of pity for us as 
 broken-down gentlefolks. '^ Poor souls, 
 they have seen better days," seemed to be 
 the lano:uao:e of all hearts. 
 
 T tried to take it as it was doubtless 
 meant, but it made my sister furious. 
 
 " Miriam," she said, as we turned home- 
 wards, "I can stand anything but their 
 pity." 
 
 At last my step-mother felt equal to go 
 to Mrs. Eider's. Florence was told she 
 might stay at home ; but she declared she 
 would not miss the scene for the world, 
 and she accompanied us. 
 
 Mrs. E/ider's drawing-room was a better 
 and larger one than our own, and boasted 
 of some handsome furniture of a gorgeous 
 style. The blinds were down and the 
 windows closed, and the atmosphere was 
 somewhat stuffy. A smell of cooking per- 
 vaded the house. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 There were too many mirrors, and it was 
 a mistake to drape their gilded frames with 
 coloured tissue paper, even though it was 
 cut in wondrous traceries and designs ! 
 Doubtless the intention was to keep off the 
 flies ; still the glasses would have looked 
 better without it ; also, I should have pre- 
 ferred to see a well-cleaned grate or a fire 
 laid ready for use, or if the fire-place must 
 be decked, a few ferns and flowers ; but 
 Mrs. Rider evidently thought diflerently, 
 and had a marvellous haystack of white 
 and coloured shavings, with sprinklings of 
 gold and silver, and a very garden of 
 sprays of artificial flowers in wreaths and 
 tufts all over. 
 
 We waited, sitting there in state, for 
 some time, then a violent scuffling began 
 to take place overhead. 
 
 " That's one boot on," said Florence, as a 
 sudden stamp was heard.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 117 
 
 "And tliere is the second." 
 
 " Then she must wear Wellingtons," I 
 replied, laughingly, " or perhaps Mr. Rider 
 is at home." 
 
 ** If he should be, pray be civil to him, 
 my dears ; your papa wishes it." 
 
 The scuffling continued — down tumbled 
 a lot of things — and Mrs. Eider's deep 
 voice seemed to be scolding the culprit who 
 had dropped them. 
 
 A vast rusthng was then heard upon the 
 stairs, and Mrs. ilider entered, resplendent 
 in a violet moiree antique, which was not 
 quite in keeping with the pattern of a 
 crochet antimacassar upon one of her florid 
 cheeks. 
 
 It was evident that we had found Mrs. 
 Ilider napping ! 
 
 '' I hope we have not disturbed you ; 
 perhaps you were lying down," said my 
 step-mother kindly, her eyes straying to
 
 118^ WJS COSTELIONS. 
 
 the tracery impressed upoti the face of her 
 hostess. 
 
 '^Well, yes! my dear, I icas taking just 
 a little si-ester, but I was awake before 
 you arrived, as Eider he came home and 
 disturbed me. He is taking off his London 
 smuts, and then he'll come and make you 
 welcome; and 'ow's the 'op tea doing? I 
 'ope the old lady feels all the better for it, 
 I'm sui'e. I'm always glad to do anythink 
 for anybody." 
 
 *'My mother bade me thank you for 
 sending it," said Lady Lavinia meekly, "and 
 she thinks it strengthens her." 
 
 Here Mr. Eider put in an appearance, 
 and I was surprised to find him a some- 
 what grave, well-informed man ; yet there 
 was an expression of cunning upon his 
 countenance which did not prepossess me 
 in his favour, and before the visit was over 
 I had made up my mind that I preferred
 
 W£ COSTE LIONS. 119 
 
 the wife with all her outspoken vulgarity, 
 for there was an honest ring about her, and 
 it was not necessary to look below the sur- 
 face to see of what metal she was made. 
 
 Just as we were about to leave, " Em'ly " 
 appeared. It was plain from her spot- 
 less condition (she was dressed in white, 
 with blue ribbons) that she had had to 
 robe her mother first, and then herself 
 
 '' Here you are, my dear," cried Mrs. 
 Eider, with conscious pride. "I'm glad 
 you've come, for her ladyship was getting 
 on the fidget to be off; but now you 
 will sit down and sing us something. 
 * Hever of thee ' is a lovely toone : give us 
 that, my dear." 
 
 And Em'ly, without a particle of " mau- 
 vaise Jionte" sat down to the piano, and 
 with a rich but uncultivated voice bolted 
 through the song asked for. It mattered 
 nothing to the Voung lady that her accom-
 
 120 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 paniment was one crash of wrong notes. 
 Sometimes when the chords were worse 
 than usual she would recognise the fact 
 with a ''tut" between the verses or a 
 merry shake of her auburn curls ; but it 
 was evident that Em^lj was more than 
 satisfied with her own performance. 
 
 "There's a voice!" exclaimed Mrs. Eider, 
 in a stage whisper. ''Emly would make 
 her fortune as a professional singer ; but 
 there, her pa wouldn't like it." 
 
 " Yes I your daughter's voice seems very 
 powerful," said Lady Lavinia. 
 
 "To be sure it is, and there's more nor 
 one in the parish likes to hear her sing, 
 you may make certain. There's that nice 
 young man, the \acar. Now it do seem a 
 sin and a shame that he don't marry. He 
 is not very well off, to be sure ; but there 
 are nice gals about w^ho could put some- 
 thing into the pot and some fuel under it
 
 WE CO STE LIONS. 121 
 
 to set it off a boiling/' and her eyes rested 
 on^'Em'ly." 
 
 '' Thank you for your song/' said my 
 stepmother. "And now, Mrs. Rider, we 
 must say good-bye to you all." 
 
 " Not good-bye, my dear, only ' re- 
 vore/ as the mongsoos says. I 'ope we 
 shall be good neighbours." 
 
 To my surprise during the whole visit 
 Florence devoted herself entirely to Mr. 
 Eider, keeping up a perpetual chatter with 
 him, much to that gentleman's apparent 
 delight ; and the next day my father was 
 elected chairman of the company of which 
 Mr. Eider seemed to be the managing man. 
 Perhaps my sister's pleasantries weighed 
 down the scale in his favour. 
 
 On our return home we found Mr. Ead- 
 cliffe in our sitting-room with the two 
 grandmothers, one on either side of him. 
 
 Florence began to laugh. " I hope you
 
 122 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 are spending a pleasant visit/' she remarked 
 sarcastically. 
 
 '' Yes, thank you, I am very happy," he 
 returned, " Lady Costelion has been giv- 
 ing me a few hints on the art of speaking, 
 and no doubt I shall find them very use- 
 ful." 
 
 '^Oh! no doubt." 
 
 "And what have you been doing?" I 
 asked Lady Trevelyan. *'What sort of 
 advice have you given ? " 
 
 "Oh! I was feeling very poorly, my dear, 
 till Mr. E-adcliffe came in ; very poorly, in- 
 deed. I really was quite frightened ; 
 quite alarmed, I assure you. I was so 
 tormented. I was trying to sit in the 
 garden, you know, and those horrible in- 
 sects worried me to that degree that I 
 really got quite vicious. I can't tell you 
 the state I was in. I used the essence ot 
 sandal wood, which Lady Woods told me
 
 WE COSTE LIONS. 123 
 
 was infallible. I called Mary and sent her 
 in for it ; but it was of no use whatever. 
 Really those creatures are dreadful, and 
 coming upon the terrible rheumatism from 
 which I have been suffering, I didn't feel 
 able to stand up against them, as I told Mr. 
 Eadcliife. You know I have so little power, 
 when I put up my hands they fall down 
 again ; and Mr. E-adcHffe took me in. He 
 thought I should be better in the house ; 
 and I told him the doctors had given me 
 quinine and sulphur, and he advised me to 
 use ammonia; and so I did, and I am much 
 better, thank you ; and he has been telling 
 me of a poor woman in his parish in Wales 
 who was crippled with rheumatism, so that 
 her hands and feet had no shape left, and 
 were dreadful to look at ; and yet she was 
 always cheerful and happy, and thanking 
 God for all his mercies to her. But, dear 
 me, I can't see where they were myself;
 
 124 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 but it is a pretty story, and it amused me ; 
 if only I could forget those horrible in- 
 sects." 
 
 There was a smile playing about the 
 vicar s mouth which communicated itself to 
 mine. 
 
 " Dear me, they must have been some- 
 thing very disagreeable," I said, after a 
 pause. 
 
 "Oh, dreadful ! Don't they torment you, 
 my dear? Ah! you are lucky. Horrid 
 creatures ! " 
 
 "Bat what a?^e they?" 
 
 "Oh ! horrid insects which fly about and 
 bite, you know." 
 
 "Wasps?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 "Bees?" 
 
 "Oh, dear, no!" 
 
 "Well, then, they must be gnats !" 
 
 " They were only midges, Miriam !" came
 
 WE COS TE LIONS. 125 
 
 in grandmamma Costelion's voice; and the 
 words were thrown out contemptuousiy. 
 
 *'Only midges!" echoed Lady Trevelyan. 
 " Only midges 1 They are dreadful crea- 
 tures. They nearly took away my senses. 
 Their bites are the most excruciating agony, 
 I became vicious, I assure you. Didn't 
 I, Mr. BadclifFe '? Ammonia is a wonderful 
 remedy, certainly ; but sandal wood cures 
 some people immediately. Perhaps mine 
 has lost its virtue. It has been in my 
 medicine chest for many years. Lavinia, 
 my dear, when was it that dear Lady 
 Woods gave me that essence V 
 
 " I don't know, mamma," she answered 
 with a wan smile, " I think it was before I 
 was born." 
 
 " Dear me, that is many years ago ! why 
 Lavinia, you must be " — 
 
 I placed my hand over her mouth — 
 
 ** Lady Trevelyan, you should never tell
 
 126 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 the age of ladies ; " for I had noticed a 
 flush rising to my stepmother's face, and an 
 .expression of annoyance. 
 
 '' Have you ever tried quinine and sul- 
 phur ? " asked Lady Trevelyan of the vicar. 
 
 '* Not mixed, I think," he replied gently, 
 with a laugh lurking in his eyes. 
 
 "I am taking hop tea now, Mrs. Eider 
 has sent me some ; but the doctors told me 
 to drink beer. It is rather vulgar of course, 
 and one could not do it in society, but I 
 don't think it matters here, does it '? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no, not at all ; I take it my- 
 self" 
 
 Ah ! but don't you find it generally sour ? 
 
 I always keep a bottle of carbonate of 
 soda to add to it, if necessary; it corrects the 
 acidity." 
 
 *'And makes the beer taste of pig, dog, 
 and jackass ! " added Trevelyan, who had 
 just entered the room; ''and I have some
 
 WE COS TU LIONS, 127 
 
 news for your grandmamma, you mustn't 
 di'ink any more water! An Italian phy- 
 sician has found out that there are small 
 leeches in water now, which stick to the 
 inside, and suck your blood until they 
 kill you ; they call the disease anaemia. 
 My dear gran, I hope you have not got 
 it already; you know you have been com- 
 plaining of feeling poorly lately." 
 
 "Trevelyan, this is too bad," I cried, 
 " that is not in England at all, and you 
 know it ; it was in Switzerland — Why try 
 and frighten your grandmamma, you have 
 made her quite uncomfortable already." 
 
 " I don't see, if they are in one place 
 why they shouldn't be in another," he re- 
 plied doggedly ; " and if the Italian chap 
 were to come over here I'll lay odds he 
 would find them here too ; but Englishmen 
 are such fools they go about with their eyes 
 shut ; so if I were you, gran, I'd be on the
 
 128 TF^ COSTELIONS. 
 
 safe side and not take a drop of water. I 
 don't know if washing in it can affect you, 
 I'm sure, but I have strong thoughts of 
 giving it up myself; fancy getting into a 
 bath full of leeches, you know." 
 
 "You have carried your joke far enough, 
 Trevelyan," — I said with vexation, " pray 
 leave off talking." 
 
 " Oh ! I have a lovely railway accident to 
 tell gran about yet." 
 
 " Then you won't do it to-day, I can 
 promise you. Really Mr. Eadcliffe it is a 
 dreadful thing to have two idle brothers at 
 home all the day long, they are simply tor- 
 ments, and worry us out of our senses, to 
 say nothing of the way they are losing 
 their time. I suppose there is no school at 
 hand one could send them to." 
 
 " There is none nearer than Newington, 
 and the class of boys who go there are 
 decidedly mixed — I do not think Sir
 
 WE COSTE LIONS. 129 
 
 Cliarteris would like it for his sons, but — " 
 the colour mounted to his face, and he 
 continued with hesitation — " / could spare 
 them a couple of hours daily if they would 
 come to me and read — as a friend, of course. 
 I don't take pupils. It would cheer me up 
 to have young folks about me, and we 
 should brush up our Latin and Greek to- 
 gether." 
 
 "That is kind of you," I said, grate- 
 fully, " and it would prevent the boys from 
 forgetting all they have learnt ; but are 
 you sure you have leisure for this good 
 office?" 
 
 " It won't be like Eton, but it will be 
 better than nothing, " confessed my young 
 brother. 
 
 " Then you will come to-morrow morning ; 
 I can give you from nine till eleven — we 
 have service at twelve." 
 
 So that was settled, and he went his way. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " He is a very nice young man, my dear," 
 sighed Lady Trevelyan, "and most feeling, 
 I can assure you ; he put the ammonia on 
 for me himself, he did, indeed, and as gently 
 a woman/' 
 
 "He is not young, at any rate," said 
 Florence; "why, he will never see thirty 
 again, and I should think he is thirty-five. 
 I wonder where he keeps his mother ; does 
 she live with him ? " 
 
 " I don't know, papa did not see her when 
 he called — perhaps she is dead." 
 
 '' It is very good natured of him to teach 
 the boys," continued my stepmother. 
 
 '* I suppose he likes it, or he would not 
 do it," remarked my sister — " and now we 
 have only the Noahs to call upon. I ex- 
 pect to find the manor house just hke the 
 ark ; but how are w^e to get there ? mamma 
 can't walk ten miles." 
 
 " No, dear ! I don't think I could manage
 
 WF COSTELIONS. 131 
 
 one; we must ask Sir Charteris about it, 
 perhaps if he called with you girls it would 
 do." 
 
 Florence was standing swinging her 
 bonnet round by its strings. " Couldn't we 
 boiTow a trap ? " she said, at length. '* Old 
 Bider has one ; there is a stable at the side 
 of his house." 
 
 "That is not to be thought of," I an- 
 swered, hastily, " where is your pride, Flo ? 
 we cannot accept favours of these people." 
 
 *'We accept appointments," she replied, 
 with scorn — '' where is the difference ? and 
 our father was always called the proudest 
 man in Devonshire ; poverty and a dull life 
 cmsh even the pride out of one, I think. I 
 intend in future to adopt the Frenchman's 
 system, who said ' Always I gives so moch 
 trouble as I can, and always I 'pays vot 
 little as I can.' Oh dear me, what a weary 
 world it is." And my sister threw lier
 
 132 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 bonnet on the table and sunk into a chair, 
 and I saw that her blue eyes were filled 
 with tears. 
 
 '' Come and get your things oflf, Flo," I 
 whispered, and she let me take her hand 
 and lead her from the room. 
 
 When we reached the one we shared, she 
 flung herself upon the sofa and burst into 
 a passionate fit of weeping, and for awhile I 
 let her alone, for when I took her hand in 
 mine she pushed me away. Poor girl ! She 
 was little more than a child — sixteen, that 
 was all — and a spoilt one too. 
 
 When her sobs had lessened, I knelt 
 by her side. "Dear Flo, what is the 
 matter '? " I asked. " Let me hear your 
 trouble, perhaps the telling may ease it, 
 and I may be able to help you, who knows ?" 
 
 '' No, no; what good can you do. Can you 
 give me back the old life ? that is all I 
 want. It is breaking my spirit to live in
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 133 
 
 this wretched hole. It seems to be nothmg 
 to you, but I cannot bear it." 
 
 '•' Do you suppose it is nothing to mel " 
 I asked, " do I not see the dear old place 
 nightly in my dreams. Does it not come to 
 me, each sweet familiar spot, with over- 
 whelming memories which crowd my brain." 
 
 " I wish they did mine," she sighed, '' I 
 only long for it all." 
 
 " Florence," I continued, " do you remem- 
 ber that my mother Jived, died, and was 
 buried there ; I used not to feel she was 
 altogether lost to me when I could go and 
 rest my face upon the green turf which 
 covered her ; then it seemed so real to me 
 that we should meet again, and I almost 
 fancied I could hear her words, ' Lord ! how 
 long?'" 
 
 My sister sat up and stared at me. "What 
 makes you think of your mother, Miriam ? 
 surely you cannot remember her."
 
 134 IVE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " I do not know, I have but indistinct 
 memories; yet I feel that I really do re- 
 collect her." 
 
 " Fancies, without doubt — I might as 
 well draw mental sketches of mine. Miriam, 
 you are very imaginative.'' 
 
 "Do you not think about your mother 
 then, Flo ? " I asked, wonderingly. 
 
 " What is there to think about 1 her 
 portrait was at the Abbey ; I know what she 
 was like, and a very handsome woman she 
 was; and now I suppose our tenants point 
 her out as one of their ancestresses. As to 
 her grave, I conclude it is somewhere at 
 Rome, but I have never inquired.'' 
 
 ''I should like to know if I were you, 
 sis," I answered, softly, '' but the portrait 
 Avas not left behind. Papa loved your 
 mother, dear, even before he married mine, 
 and he gave orders to have it packed and 
 taken care of in a London storeroom. If
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 135 
 
 we had had space for it he would doubtless 
 have brouo-ht it here/' 
 
 The blue eyes increased in wonder. " T 
 didn't think papa cared for anyone much," 
 slie answered. 
 
 " Oh ! Florence, how can you say so ? he 
 has made a pet of you all your life, and he 
 is fond of Bob, too." 
 
 " Yes ! because he is his heir." 
 
 " Heir ! heir to what V 1 asked, sadly. 
 
 *' Well, his name, and the old place, if to 
 nothing else. I suppose Bob will have to 
 do what his father did before him — marry 
 for money." 
 
 It was all true, and Florence did not 
 mean to be unkind, but her words jarred on 
 me terribly. 
 
 " And as to me, the father cares for me 
 because I am pretty. I am a regular Cos- 
 telion, and he is proud of me — you are not, 
 you see, Miriam ; you must take after your
 
 136 WU COSTELIONS. 
 
 mother; have you no likeness of her? 
 Fancy papa having had three wives ! and I 
 should not be surprised if he has the chance 
 to get a fourth before long ; Lady Lavinia 
 looks awfully ill/' 
 
 " Oh ! Flo, don't say so." 
 
 " Why, Miriam, you can't pretend to care; 
 you at any rate have never liked her, and I 
 am sure papa has no affection for her." 
 
 "I should not like her to die," I answered, 
 rather conscience stricken. *' We have 
 usually got on fairly well, and perhaps 
 when we have not done so it has been my 
 fault, and not hers ; I do not think she has 
 ever been unkind to us, Florence, we ought 
 to like her." 
 
 " Oughts don't count for anything," replied 
 my sister, "and we have never thought 
 much about her ; but I suppose if she dies 
 you will canonize her, and we shall have 
 one saint more."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 137 
 
 " Praj do not make jokes upon such a 
 subject as life and death, dear/' I urged, 
 passing my hand caressingly over her beau- 
 tiful golden hair. 
 
 " Do you know, Miriam," she answered, 
 with energy, '* I think it is much better to 
 die young, unless one is very happy. Fancy 
 if one had to drag out forty, fifty, or even 
 sixty years of existence at No. 3, Devon- 
 shire Terrace, with no one to speak to from 
 year's end to year s end ; I had much rather 
 die and have done with it. I would rather 
 * shuffle off my mortal coil,' and " 
 
 " And what ? " I questioned, looking at 
 her, reproachfully. 
 
 " Well, I don t quite know what after 
 that," she replied, with an uneasy laugh. 
 
 What could I answer her ? I could only 
 wish that my dear old friend, Mrs. Arm- 
 strong, had been near, for she would have 
 known what to say in her sweet motherly
 
 138 WU COSTELIONS, 
 
 way, to show her that such thoughts were 
 wrong. I had a dim sense that our lives 
 were not given us to be one long hoHday 
 and gala, but that we should strive to be 
 useful in our generation ; only I did not 
 quite see my way, and I felt unable to 
 frame my ideas into words. So I was 
 silent.
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 139 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 The summer had passed away. The 
 autumn tints had been lovely, even at 
 Little Newington, where the beauty of the 
 scenery was certainly not a strong feature, 
 and now the trees were bare and leafless. 
 
 November fogs had given place to De- 
 cember frosts, and the world looked white 
 and pure with new fallen snow ; icicles 
 hung from the window panes, and bright 
 fires burned in the grates. 
 
 Florence, my brothers and I, were alone 
 in our sitting room — the former, with her 
 slender well-formed feet on the bright bar
 
 140 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 of the far from liandsome fender, was con- 
 templating her pretty fur-trimmed shoes 
 with satisfaction. 
 
 '' Eehcs of the past/' she sighed ; "I 
 suppose I shall have to wear plain ones in 
 future." 
 
 " I can't see what girls want with all 
 these fal-lals/' remarked Bob, sententiously. 
 " Why need they make themselves into 
 such very expensive luxuries ? We don't 
 want fur round our shoes, and lace and 
 embroidery upon our linen, and all the rest 
 of it. Why, when my luggage wont astray 
 coming from Eton last year, and Miriam 
 lent me a night-shirt, the bristles round 
 the neck of it tickled so I could not sleep, 
 and I had a good mind to cut them off, 
 there and then." 
 
 " I am sure I am glad you did not," I 
 replied, smihng at his idea. 
 
 " Well ! I suppose I shall get used to it
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 141 
 
 in time/' continued my sister ; '^ but I 
 would rather be dead than dowdy any day 
 in the week." 
 
 *' Florence," I cried, ** you are always 
 saying those things ; it is very unkind of 
 you, and wrong, too." 
 
 *^ I am always tliinking them," she an- 
 swered, wearily, " and it is no worse to 
 express one's feelings than to experience 
 them." 
 
 " I am not so certain of that," I replied, 
 "and surely you should try and govern 
 your thoughts ; you are young and full of 
 health and strength ; it is unnatural for 
 you to talk so." 
 
 *' Are you so very happy, then ? " she 
 asked, scornfully. " You would have made 
 a capital parson, you are always ready to 
 preach." 
 
 " Come, that's unjust," said Bob. " Mi- 
 riam is not a blue li^ht at anv rate, and it
 
 143 WE COSTELTOXS. 
 
 does not prove she is happy, because she 
 tries to make the best of things ; it is a 
 pity you don't endeavour to follow her 
 example, Miss Flo." 
 
 Florence took not the slightest notice of 
 his remarks. 
 
 '^Refuseth to hear the voice of the 
 charmer, charm he never so wisely," 
 laughed Trevelyan, whittling at a bit of 
 stick with his penknife. '' Flo, I'm sculp- 
 turing you in wood. Do you recognize the 
 likeness ? " and he held up a horrible little 
 figure head, which he had hacked into 
 some semblance of human shape. It had 
 nose, eyes, and mouth, certainly, but that 
 was all that could be said for it. 
 
 Florence glanced at it coldly, as though 
 it was unseen by her, and went on talking 
 in the dreamy way which she had affected 
 of late. 
 
 " I think," she said, addressing herself
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 143 
 
 to none of us in particular, " I think it is a 
 pity that the days of the martyrs are past, 
 then people had only to differ from the 
 religion of the period, and they could get 
 quickly out of all the weariness of the 
 world; and, I suppose, then they would 
 have made sure of a good time by and bye, 
 and their names would never be forgotten. 
 Generation after generation would hear of 
 one, and if one happened to be very pretty, 
 artists would paint pictures of the sad 
 scenes, and everybody would look on them 
 with interest and pity, and praise the mar- 
 tyred one for being so brave and true. It 
 would be worth dying to be thought so 
 much of; here we are nobodies." 
 
 *' Dear Flo, do not talk such nonsense," 
 I urged, " there are thousands of martyrs 
 Avhose names are perfectly unknown to 
 
 us." 
 
 *' They were not good-looking, then, you
 
 lU WjE costelions. 
 
 may be sure," persisted ray sister ; " what 
 a beautiful picture that is of the Christian 
 Martyr floating down the stream ; it really 
 would be worth while to drown oneself to 
 look like that, and go gliding down with 
 the tide so gracefully. Fancy how the 
 people would come and look, and wonder, 
 admire, and pity one. Would it not be 
 lovely ? " 
 
 *' Oh ! very romantic and lovely too, no 
 doubt," said Bob, brusquely, '''only you 
 wouldn't look quite so pretty, you know, 
 if by chance you got turned wrong side 
 
 upr 
 
 Upon which Trevelyan went into fits of 
 laughter, and my sister was very angry. 
 
 " There's no cleverness in being rude, 
 Charteris, or in being vulgar, either," she 
 said, severely ; and it was only when she 
 was very angry indeed that she called my 
 brother by his real name. ''It is a pity
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 145 
 
 that you cannot speak like a gentleman, 
 and talk sense." 
 
 '' There are some subjects which won't 
 bear talking of at all, Florence," he an- 
 swered, somewhat sternly for him. '' We 
 have had quite enough of this death and 
 suicide business ; and too much. If I hear 
 any more of it I shall tell my father, and 
 on that you may rely. You will go on in 
 this morbid way until it becomes a mono- 
 mania, and the end of it will be that you 
 will make a fool of yourself, and we have 
 pride enough left not to wish you to become 
 a nine days' wonder ; a fine chance for the 
 penny-a-liners indeed, and a nice prospect 
 for you to be shut up in a lunatic asylum 
 for the rest of your life, with none but mad 
 people to associate with." 
 
 " They cannot be more disagreeable than 
 you are I " replied my sister, trying to keep 
 
 back her tears. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " Oh ! if you are goin^ to upset the 
 water bucket, I am off," cried Bob, jumping 
 up. '^ Come, Tre, let us go for a walk, we 
 will take our skates ; we may come upon 
 water somewhere which is fit to bear." 
 
 " Oh ! wait a moment," said Trevelyan, 
 '' I would not lose the present expression 
 of Flo's face for the world. This carving 
 will transmit it to generations yet for to 
 come." 
 
 " Do it another time, old boy," said Bob, 
 maliciously ; '' once seen it is not likely to 
 be forgotten." 
 
 It was a way with my sister that when 
 worsted in an argument, she passed over 
 the fact unnoticed, and went on with other 
 subjects, as though nothing had happened, 
 and I often wondered whether this was 
 because her feelings were not acute, or 
 whether she had great power in hiding 
 them.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 147 
 
 On the present occasion she did not, 
 however, seem inclined to talk, and I was 
 glad to remain silent, for, like Bob, I was 
 somewhat vexed by her persistent non- 
 sense and morbidity ; it jarred upon me, 
 and I was glad that my brother had ex- 
 pressed his feelings on the subject, even 
 though it had annoyed her. While we 
 were sitting in silence, Mr. Radcliffe was 
 announced. He often came to seek my 
 small assistance, although my father ob- 
 jected to parish work ; and there were 
 sundry club books, the accounts of which 
 I kept for him, hoping thus to make up 
 in some small measure for the time he 
 expended on my brothers. 
 
 Florence had been antagonistic to the 
 
 vicar from the very commencement of 
 
 oiu: acquaintance ; it seemed to have been 
 
 dislike at first sight, on her part, and she 
 
 took every oppoi*tunity of saying unpleasant 
 
 L 2
 
 148 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 tilings to him, which rendered him very 
 uncomfortable, and which it was far from 
 agreeable for me to hear said to a visitor, 
 especially as I had a great respect for Mr. 
 Eadcliffe. Upon the present occasion she 
 was particularly quarrelsome and snappish, 
 and more than once broug:ht the colour to 
 his cheeks. 
 
 '* This is a horrible place," she com- 
 plained ; '' it is enough to freeze the life out 
 of one. It was never really cold in our 
 darling old Devonshire ; don't I msh I 
 could be back there ! I never knew what 
 a charming place it was till I lost it." 
 
 " Don't you think. Miss Florence," said 
 Mj*. Eadcliife, gently, '' that, looking back, 
 things always seem brighter and happier 
 than even they really were. There is no 
 life so pleasant but that clouds must dim 
 our sunshine at times ; in after years you 
 may possibly look back at the days you spent
 
 WU COSTE LIONS. 149 
 
 at Little Newington, and think that, after 
 all, they were not entirely unhappy ones. 
 You have your father, and brothers, and 
 sister, around you. The good God has ' set 
 us in families' — that is, most of us. I 
 never had any one but my mother myself, 
 my father having died in my infancy. I 
 found great joy in her love ; but now that 
 she has passed away, I am alone in the 
 world." 
 
 For a moment he paused, rose, v^alked 
 to the window, and stood there, apparently 
 looking out. He was thinking of his 
 mother, and when he came back to us his 
 eyes looked dim and sad. 
 
 '' You see your life is a fuller one than 
 mine, for instance, Miss Florence," he said, 
 in a quiet voice. 
 
 '' I don t agree with you at all," she 
 answered, roughly ; *^you have your work, 
 your daily round of duty, I have simply
 
 150 WU COSTELIONS. 
 
 nothing on earth to do. It is enough to 
 drive one melancholy mad." 
 
 '' Cannot you work too ? " he asked, 
 eagerly. " There are many poor people 
 here who would be thankful for some 
 clothes for their little ones, this cold 
 weather. Those good old Miss Montagues 
 have sent me a roll of flannel, but many of 
 the women have neither time nor sense to 
 make it up. Now, would you mind trying 
 your hand at one or two little garments ? " 
 
 '• I am no needlewoman," replied she, 
 coldly, "and have more than I can do to 
 keep my own clothes tidy. Miriam, no 
 doubt, will manage them all for you, if you 
 ask her ; she boasts that she can mahe 
 time." 
 
 " I fear I already trespass much on your 
 sister's leisure," he returned, the disap- 
 pointed look dying out of his face some- 
 what as he turned to me ; but I am always
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 151 
 
 gratefiil for any help given to my poor. 
 The Miss Montagues have promised some 
 blankets, and they will be very acceptable. 
 I often think at night, when I am snug 
 and warm in bed, how our poorer brethren 
 must suffer, without proper covering over 
 them." 
 
 '' I'll defy them to have colder feet than 
 I have ; even my hot bottle does not warm 
 them,'' said Florence, petulantly. 
 
 " Many of them have not the comfort of 
 hot bottles," returned the vicar, his good 
 temper reviving. Who could long be angry 
 with our spoilt child ? 
 
 " Then why have they not ? " she de- 
 manded. " An old bottle is not a very 
 expensive luxury, and water is plentiful 
 enough." 
 
 " But coals are not," he rephed, '' and 
 hot water cannot be obtained without a 
 good fire. However, it is as bad for j'ou
 
 152 WIJ COSTELIOXS. 
 
 to have cold feet as for them, as you 
 remark, and since your hot application 
 does not succeed, why not go on the 
 other tack? I saw an account given of 
 a cure for cold feet in a medical journal, 
 w4iich advised the dipping them, when 
 chilled, into cold water for a short period, 
 then taking them out and putting them 
 back again, to encourage the circulation; 
 then they were to be rubbed with a 
 rough tow^el till they glowed, after which 
 you might wrap them in flannel and 
 jump into bed." 
 
 " What an absurd theory," said my 
 sister, scornfully. 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, Flo," I struck 
 in. '' When we had a game of snowballs 
 in the garden the other day, how cold our 
 fingers w^ere at first, then they glowed so 
 w^e could hardly bear them. Grandmamma 
 would prove it by Euclid. Things that are
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 153 
 
 equal to the same, are equal to one anotlier, 
 you know/' 
 
 " Well, does it not strike you we might 
 find a more agreeable topic of conversa- 
 tion ? " asked my sister, discontentedly. 
 " Now, have you not a little scandal to tell 
 us ? There might be something interesting, 
 and even amusing, in that. I have always 
 meant to ask you about Mrs. Rider. 
 How came her husband to marry such a 
 Gothr' 
 
 " Of course, she has no education," re- 
 plied our vicar, " but I think her vastly 
 superior in nature to Mr. Eider ; he has 
 the brains, she the heart." 
 
 ''And who on earth was she ? " asked 
 my sister ; " I never saw such a specimen 
 of the species before — never ; they don't 
 grow in Devonshire." 
 
 " Mrs. Pdder was just a common orange 
 girl in the streets of London," said Mr.
 
 154 JVE COSTJELIONS, 
 
 Radcliffe, " that was all. She did not even 
 know her own name beyond that of ' Sally/ 
 nor who her parents had been ; but she 
 was an honest girl, and, in those days, 
 good-looking, and an old merchant took a 
 fancy to her, and married her. No doubt 
 he would have had her well educated, but 
 that he fell into ill health. Sally proved 
 a tender nurse to him, and when he died, 
 about a year after their marriage, he left 
 her a nice little fortune, and Mr. Rider, 
 who was one of the old man's clerks, pro- 
 posed to the widow, and was accepted. 
 Every one knew that he married her for 
 the sake of her money, and that he cared 
 little or nothing for her, but Mrs. Kider 
 did not discover the fact, as he has never 
 ill-used her. He has gone into various 
 speculations since then, and promoted many 
 schemes, and, so far, seems not to have 
 burnt his fingers ; but, I must confess, he
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 155 
 
 is not a man I could trust with any con- 
 fidence. " 
 
 *' What a funny story," remarked my 
 sister ; " one can hardly fancy a romance 
 behind that bulky form." 
 
 "Dear me! there is the church bell," 
 exclaimed the vicar, starting up. "I had 
 no idea I had been here so long ; time 
 passes quickly in pleasant company." 
 
 Then he wished us good-bye. 
 
 When he was gone, we relapsed into the 
 silence in which he had found us. I was busy 
 doing some needlework, and my sister was 
 gazing absently into the fire. After a long 
 pause she raised a pair of mischievous blue 
 eyes to my face — 
 
 " Miriam, I have made up my mind to 
 cultivate him." 
 
 " What do you mean — whom ? " I ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 *' Why, the vicar, of course," she laughed.
 
 156 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 '' It will amuse me, and it will not hurt 
 him." 
 
 '' I am not so certain of that/^ I an- 
 s\^'ered, gravely. " Surely you cannot 
 mean that you have deliberately made up 
 your mind to flirt with the man '? " 
 
 " Yes, that is just the state of the case,'^ 
 she replied, nodding her golden head, know- 
 ingly. "He warmed up wonderfully when 
 he was trying to get me to work for his 
 beloved flock, and I think some fun may be 
 got out of him. I wonder if he has ever 
 been in love, and how he will feel when he 
 recognises the fact that he is spoons on 
 Miss Florence Costelion ! Don't look so 
 shocked, Miriam, dear ; I don't mean any- 
 thing serious, you kcow. I am not the 
 girl to marry a jDoor parson, so you may 
 make your mind easy on that score. Two 
 hundred a year, with the poor of the parish 
 for society, and coal clubs and shoe clubs
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 157 
 
 for my daily topics of conversation, varied 
 by provident societies, would not be in 
 my line at all." 
 
 "Then why not leave the man alone T' 
 I asked. 
 
 *' I must do something," she said, piti- 
 fully, turning her pink palms outward, 
 with a pathetic gesture. 
 
 " My dear little sister," I urged, "surely 
 you can find something better to do than 
 tormenting an inoffensive fellow creature." 
 
 "I dont know that," she remarked, 
 eagerly. " I saw his eyes light up this 
 afternoon : I want to bring out that ex- 
 pression again ; I am curious to see how he 
 will look when he cares for any one. I 
 have never had an offer — I mean him to 
 make me one ; it will be a new sensation, 
 at any rate. Miriam, has any one ever 
 proposed to you ? Come, now, did not 
 Herbert Armstrong?"
 
 158 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 ''Florence!" I gasped, with burning 
 cheeks, "how can you say such things! 
 Herbert and I were boy and girl friends — 
 nothing more.'' 
 
 "Then I don't see what you have to 
 blush about ; and if that was all, how came 
 you to have all those stolen meetings 1 I 
 wonder what papa would have said had he 
 known." 
 
 " You are mistaken," I answered, more 
 quietly. ''I never met Herbert once by 
 appointment ; if we met by accident it was 
 not likely I should shun him, after his 
 saving my life." 
 
 " Oh, of course not." 
 
 '' And if you think to silence me thus, 
 Flo, you are mistaken. I think it will be very, 
 very wrong of you to get up this flirtation. 
 I am sure that Mr. Radcliife is an earnest 
 man. He will not imderstand you ; he will 
 think you serious in your encouragement."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 159 
 
 *' Of course, I mean liim to." 
 
 " In flict, you intend deliberately to take 
 away his faitli in women, and to break his 
 heart ; it is not a very worthy pastime, my 
 dear." 
 
 My sister raised herself up and looked at 
 me keenly, then began to laugh. 
 
 *' If I shall be poaching on your preserves, 
 say so at once, Miriam. I always thought 
 it was young Armstrong, but if it is the 
 parson, confess the fact — there is honour 
 among thieves, you know. Shall I congra- 
 tulate you?" 
 
 , " Florence," I exclaimed, in anger, " do 
 not judge me by your own standard. I 
 work for Mr. Eadcliffe because he needs 
 help, and I Uke him, but that is all. I 
 should be glad to see him happily married 
 to-morrow ; he can be nothing to me beyond 
 a friend." 
 
 " Well, I am glad the coast is clear," she
 
 160 WIJ COSTELIOXS. 
 
 answered, calmly, and picking up a novel 
 that lay at hand, she began to read by the 
 fireliglit.
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. ICl 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 I COULD not sleep that night ; the conver- 
 sations of the day before wove themselves 
 into strange stories, and when I dozed, 
 tired out, I awoke with some vague terror 
 upon me, and a sense of trouble to come. 
 
 Martyrs, suicides, and broken hearts I 
 could account for, but there was an uneasi- 
 ness in my mind beyond these which I 
 could not understand. 
 
 I got up the moment the light began to 
 creep around my curtains lazily, put on my 
 dressing-gown, and commenced brushing 
 out the long tresses of my dusky hair, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 which wellnigh enveloped me, and as I 
 brushed I thought. The vicar's story of 
 Mrs. Rider came back to me. She had the 
 traces of beauty in her fat red face even 
 now ; her features, although grown coarse, 
 were by no means bad. There seemed to 
 be something about the Riders which 
 troubled me. What was it ? Then it came 
 to me ; the vicar's words began to peal in 
 my ears like a chime of bells — not joy-bells 
 truly. ''He is not a man I could trust 
 with any confidence." 
 
 That was the feeling which had come 
 upon me when first we met, the something 
 which I had not liked in his face ; and my 
 father was mixed up with this man ! 
 
 Could I warn him ? No ! I had nothing 
 definite to say ; I could not go and tell him 
 that I had an instinct against Mr. Rider, 
 and that Mr. Radchfi^e did not think him 
 worthy of confidence. Of course he would
 
 Wi: cos TEL IONS. 163 
 
 naturally he annoyed, and think my inter- 
 ference impertinent. 
 
 No ! there was really nothing I could 
 do ; yet to sit by silent, believing danger 
 to be coming, seemed the conduct of a 
 coward. 
 
 Well, perhaps it was but fancy after all, 
 and the natural consequence of a bad night, 
 that I should be low-spirited this morning. 
 I w^ould try and shake it off. Cold as it 
 was, I plunged into my bath, the iciness of 
 which dispelled all fancies, and descended 
 with cheeks aglow just as the servants were 
 stirring. The fire in the dining-room was, 
 liowever, lighted, and greeted me with a 
 fierce spluttering and crackling, and a 
 thousand flying fire-sparks born of the 
 popping wood. 
 
 When the domestic had taken herself out 
 of the way, I sat down to the little writing- 
 table in the window and began at a MS. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 which I was anxious to finish ; it was only 
 a short story, and I meant to launch it 
 when completed. 
 
 I knew it was but a tiny skiff to go out 
 against the strong winds of competition, 
 and there would be stiff and searching edi- 
 torial gales through which it must pass, 
 which might use it roughly perhaps, and 
 which would sear and scorch it, or beat it 
 with angry gustS; and take the wind out of 
 its virgin sails. It was my little dove, 
 setting forth over the world of waters — how 
 would it come back ? 
 
 It was my tiny boat, going out across a 
 troubled ocean, with a sea of difficulties 
 before it — would it find a pilot to help its 
 inexperience ? Was a harbour for it ahead, 
 to the right hand or to the left '? It was 
 done. The words of Herbert Armstrong 
 were ringing in my ears — 
 
 "Miriam, if you will to become an
 
 WE COST/: LIONS. 165 
 
 aiitlioress, the power of writing is in 
 you." 
 
 My little story was now complete ; my 
 days of writing for pleasure alone were 
 over ; for the future I would make litera- 
 ture the aim and object of my daily life — 
 success my goal. Oh, if I could only 
 succeed ! 
 
 But somehow the hands that held the 
 MS. dropped with the written pages into 
 m}^ lap, and my mind went back again over 
 the past ; the days that were gone glided 
 once more before my mental vision, clearly 
 and slowly. Once more I saw a girl sailing 
 alone on a green, washed sea. The breakers 
 came, all white-crested and wind-driven, 
 lashing towards the bay. The girl failed to 
 make her boat face the driving blast when 
 the sheltering headlands were passed, and 
 was obliged to turn back. Her dark hair 
 had blown from its fastenings ; but the
 
 166 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 sailor's hat was safely tied under her chin 
 with ribbons of navy blue, and the dark 
 serge dress seemed none the worse for the 
 mist and the diiving foam. 
 
 Then the boat became unmanageable, 
 running before the wind like a frightened 
 steed. It was glorious sailing ; past all the 
 well-known objects the boat and the girl 
 ■flew. Yes ! there were the grey stone walls 
 of the ivy-clad abbey — but the boat was 
 far from land ; there was the old familiar 
 landing-place — but how were those two 
 small brown hands to manage the sail and 
 steer it in ? Still it must be done. 
 
 Then a rush of many waters — a mighty 
 roar of ocean-weaves, fierce rolling billows 
 passing over a dusky head — long dark hair 
 floating like tempest-tossed seaweed, a 
 frail thread between life and death, nothing 
 more — a wild clutching, a gasp — the salt 
 waves in face and mouth ; then the
 
 WB COSTELIONS. 1G7 
 
 blankness of death, silence, and uncon- 
 sciousness. 
 
 I shuddered as this slide passed across 
 the camera of my brain. Life is dear to the 
 young. Azrael, clad in his sombre, bat-] ike 
 shadows, a thing of fear. 
 
 A bright one replaced it, a dreamy pic- 
 ture, with one figure standing out in full 
 rehef. Strong arms seemed once more to 
 clasp me in a warm, sheltering embrace, a 
 kind, earnest face bent over me, honest 
 blue eyes looked upon me with pity and 
 interest. Only two words were spoken, but 
 they echoed in my ears. 
 
 He had said, '' Thank God !" 
 
 A sense of utter security and rest, all 
 anxiety, all care had passed away, under- 
 taken by one stronger than myself. Oh, 
 why must that beautiful picture vanish ! 
 
 Sitting there with my MS. in my hands, 
 yet with all memory of the present
 
 108 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 merged in the dead past, I drop the pages 
 unheeded fluttering to the ground, and 
 stretch out rny hands to stay the vision ; — 
 my lips move, but no words come to them ; 
 I can only by gestures pray that I may not 
 awake to find myself among the angry 
 waters. 
 
 "It is half-past eight, Miss, w^ill you 
 make the tea V 
 
 I start ! my dream is broken, the kind 
 eyes are gone ; my grey colourless life is 
 before me, and must be lived. I must e'en 
 be as strong as I can, and take care of 
 myself, and do my best for others too. 
 
 " Why, Miss Miriam, you're crying. 
 What is the matter ; can I do anything 
 for you ^" asks the little maid anxiously. 
 
 Crying ! I raise my hand to my face — it 
 is wet with tears. 
 
 " No, Mary, nothing is ^vl'ong, thank 
 you 1 I was only thinking of a scene I
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 169 
 
 witnessed years ago ; I did not know I 
 was crying.'^ 
 
 " It must have been a very sad 
 one, Miss/' returned the girl with 
 sympathy. 
 
 '*' No, no, it was the brightest one I have 
 ever seen." 
 
 The maid stared at me bewildered, but 
 as I smiled at her and dried my tear- 
 stained face, she was satisfied, and went 
 away tliinking Miss Miriam a very strange 
 young lady. Then mechanically I put in 
 the tea, gatlier up my manuscript and 
 proceed to read it carefully over — but my 
 quiet is past ; my brothers come whistling 
 down the stairs— I do not wish them to 
 know that my story is going out on pro- 
 bation, I apprehend disappointment enough 
 without their jeers and laughter — so I sHp 
 my papers into the drawer, and take my 
 place at the head of the table. The two
 
 170 WE COSTELIONS, 
 
 grandmammas and my stepmother break- 
 fast in their own rooms. 
 
 " Down first, for a wonder/' cries Tre, 
 seizing me by both ears from the back, and 
 blowing on the top of my head as a 
 matutinal caress. 
 
 '^ Oh ! Trevelyan, I wish you would learn 
 to be less rough,'' I cry sharply, '* see how 
 you have tumbled my hair — I hate to have 
 it untidy — one might as well have a young 
 bear for a brother." 
 
 "Thank you for nothing, Miss Dignity, 
 that's all the credit a fellow gets for being 
 affectionate — you should just see how some 
 fellows treat their sisters ; don't care for 
 them a straw ; never take a bit of notice of 
 them, I can tell you." 
 
 "Well, I must confess some of your 
 attentions might be dispensed with," I 
 reply laughing. 
 
 Bob kisses me, and sits down.
 
 WA' COSTELIONS. 171 
 
 '•' I hope Flo lias got over her fit of the 
 ])lues T he asks, raising his eyes to mine. 
 "Why, Miriam ! you ve been crymg. What's 
 up f Trevelyan immediately seizes me by 
 the shoulders, and twists me round in my 
 chair, and after an examination of my face 
 he cries, "You've been blubbing, as sure as 
 eggs is eggs." 
 
 I laugh upon the instant. "Well, of all 
 the ridiculous boys that ever breathed," I 
 protest. " / cry — now, am I one of the 
 crying sort ? You are both too clever by 
 half this time." 
 
 " I'll lay my lucky sixpence upon it, and 
 it's the only one I've got/' persists Trevelyan. 
 
 " You know you are quite safe, and that 
 I never bet," I answer scornfully, " you will 
 have to grow a little older before you can 
 see through a brick wall ; now you only 
 knock your head against it, when you come 
 prying, and want to find out what is on the
 
 172 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 other side of it ; so sit down and have your 
 breakfast." 
 
 " What, before the governor arrives 1" he 
 asks, grinning at me. 
 
 "Can't you hear him, coming, stupid'?" 
 I retort, for my father's footsteps were 
 audible on the stairs, but I must confess 
 I had forgotten his absence in my endeavours 
 to throw my young brother off the scent, 
 Vv'ell knowmg his love of tormenting, and 
 how my tears would be brought forward on 
 all occasions if their existence could once 
 be proved against me. I rise to greet my 
 father as he enters the room, and kiss the 
 cheek he presents for my salute, and return 
 to my place. Bob regards me intently, but 
 says no more ; he has the sense to perceive 
 these remarks only harass me ; not so Tre- 
 velyan. 
 
 " Well, Miriam, we will refer the case to 
 a higher court. Will you be the judge, sir,
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 173 
 
 whether Miriam has been crying or no V^ 
 he persists. Sir Charteris looks up from 
 the newspaper, the pages of which he is 
 cutting. 
 
 " Are you unwell ?" he asks, not un- 
 kindly. 
 
 '* There is nothing wrong with me, thank 
 you, papa," I reply simply and pour out 
 the tea. 
 
 Mary carries off three little white damask- 
 clad trays, with the breakfasts of the elder " 
 branches of the community, and then re- 
 appears with a fourth. 
 
 " Miss Florence has overslept herself, 
 please. Miss, and will you send her her 
 breakfast ; she won't be down for this hour 
 or more." 
 
 Sir Charteris has soon finished, and 
 starts across the common to save the train 
 for the great metropolis ; the boys depart 
 for their morning reading with our vicar
 
 174 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 and once more I am alone. From the 
 drawer I take out my MS. I have gone 
 over it again and again, but even as I read 
 it this last time, I find little things that 
 can be improved, left out, or put in. It is 
 like pulling out grey hairs, there are always 
 some to be found when you look again, but 
 I had made up my mind that this was to 
 be the last time of looking over, 
 
 A painter will stand before the picture 
 which has grown dear to him in the paint- 
 ing, and touch it here and there again and 
 yet again, darkening a shadow, intensifying 
 a light, heightening a colour. To others it is 
 finished, but to him never while it is within 
 his reach, and his palettes are near at hand. 
 He must turn it to the wall if he would 
 get on with his other work, or send it away 
 out of the range of his brush, So I lighted 
 a candle, rolled the MS. into a neat little 
 parcel, and stamped the wax with which I
 
 WU COSTELWNS. 175 
 
 closed it, with the seal upon my watch- 
 chain. We had no letter weights at No. 3, 
 Devonshire Terrace, so having directed it 
 to the editor of a well-known magazine, I 
 ran up stairs to my own room to put on 
 my hat and jacket. My sister was coiling 
 the last golden tress of her hair as I entered. 
 
 '' Will you come for a walk this beautiful 
 morning?" I ask, turning to her as I speak, 
 " it is very fine, and the air so crisp — just 
 the day for a good long walk. I am going 
 to the post-ojB&ce first, and then we can 
 take any route you like." 
 
 "No, thanks, Miriam, I have other fish 
 to fry," is all her reply. 
 
 "You really won't come," I say regret- 
 fully. 
 
 "I really wont; I am quite obdurate," 
 she answers. '* 
 
 My things are on and I am ready to 
 start.
 
 176 WE CO ST E LIONS. 
 
 " I am quite sorry," I say, with my 
 fingers on the door handle ; " won't you 
 change your mind, it would do you good ? " 
 
 But my sister only shakes her golden 
 head, and I start alone, the little roll of 
 papers in my hand. 
 
 At the post office I get it weighed. It 
 will go for twopence. What a tiny story 
 it is after all, yet my heart beats as I hear 
 it fall heavily, heavily for such a short tale, 
 into the box, with an important thud. 
 Then I breathe more freely. Whatever 
 comes of it, it is gone ; I cannot get it back 
 now. I wonder, as I walk along, when I 
 shall learn its fate, and what that fate may 
 be. Then I tell myself that I shall be un- 
 fitted for other work if I spend the interim 
 in doubts and fears and wonderings, and 
 determine to try and shut out the remem- 
 brance of the little packet from my mind ; 
 but first I fall to thinking yet again of
 
 WB COSTELIONS. 177 
 
 Herbert Armstrong's words. Is it possible 
 that I really may succeed in time ? 
 
 Thus questioning, I come to cross roads. 
 One leads direct into the town, the other, 
 if followed, to Faresham, where on the 
 outskirts of the village stood the Manor 
 House, which had been in the Montague 
 family for generations ; where the seven 
 had Hved their peaceful lives together, and 
 where three of them had died their peaceful 
 deaths. And now when these four shall 
 have passed away the Montagues will be 
 no more, for there is no heir to come after 
 them ; and as I stood there remembering 
 the fact, I almost thought that it was 
 better so, for no new generation of Monta- 
 gues could ever have been so sweet and 
 innocent of evil as that which was passing 
 so quietly and gently away. The Mont a- 
 gues and steam power could scarcely be 
 
 co-existent. They could never move on 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 with the high pressure of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 Scarcely knowing that I did so I turned 
 towards Faresham. 
 
 I had already returned the first ^call of 
 the kind oki trio, with my father and sister, 
 and Lady Lavinia. We had at the desire 
 of Sir Charteris hired a fly on purpose to 
 do so, and I had walked over with my 
 brother Bob since, and had received a most 
 kindly welcome. 
 
 Perhaps it was the remembrance of that 
 welcome which led me, as it were in- 
 stinctively, towards the Manor House ; 
 perhaps it was the fact that the Montagues 
 were friends of those who had been good to 
 me in my need. Wliatever the cause, I 
 went, walking at a brisk pace, which made 
 those five miles seem short ones, until I 
 found myself before the handsome massive 
 iron gates, with my fingers clasped around
 
 WE COSTE LIONS. 179 
 
 the old-fashioned pendant mediaeval bell, 
 which rang with such a deep tongued 
 clang in the fine old garden, verdant, even 
 in December, with its wealth of evergreen 
 oaks and its rare, well-grown shrubs, which 
 had been planted so many years ago. 
 There the bay tree really flourished, 
 flourished as I had never seen it do before ; 
 and the stately deodaras swept the ground 
 with their branches, while the Lawsonias 
 stood like gigantic sentries upon the soft 
 green lawn. 
 
 The trees at the Manor House were of a 
 very great age. Some had fallen from 
 decay, but the old stumps had been re- 
 tained, and were rendered sightly by being 
 covered with the large leaves of the Irish 
 ivy, which also grew in a rich bed under 
 the spreading branches of the cedars, 
 hiding the bare ground, which is but too 
 
 apt to be found under those majestic trees. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 WE COSTE LIONS. 
 
 The Manor House gardens were old-world, 
 like their owners. No gem-like beds of 
 brilliant flowers were ever there laid out in 
 the gay spring time. Geraniums were 
 grown in the conservatories, so were the 
 calceolaria and lobelia, with the waxen- 
 flowered begonia, side by side with the 
 simple daphne, and the white trumpet- 
 shaped flower of the datura overhead, and 
 ericas of many hues, here, there, and every- 
 where. The walls clad with climbing roses, 
 hoya, and stephanotis ; while the delicate 
 gloxinia peeped out amid the green leaves 
 of the ferns, and the sweet scent of the 
 gardenia was all around. 
 
 In the summer time, when I had first 
 seen the old place, all these were in bloom, 
 and the blue starred agapanthus plants 
 stood among the aloes on the terrace, while 
 the garden was filled with its old-fashioned 
 flowers. Gorgeous peonies and ascension
 
 WJS COSTE LIONS. 181 
 
 lilies stood side by side. Great yellow sun- 
 flowers were there with their faces turned 
 sunwards ; tall hollyhocks, China roses, 
 foxgloves, southernwood, sweetwilliams, 
 pinks, white and coloured, imperials, and 
 the deep blue monkshood ; the dark sca- 
 bious flower, and beds of tender mig- 
 nonette, pale blue and yellow lupins; all 
 these and many more were there, while 
 the scent of sweet briar filled the soft 
 warm air ; but now only the white starlike 
 flowers of the Christmas rose greeted me, 
 and the bright red holly berries, which 
 were plentiful that season ; a bunch of 
 mistletoe looked down from an oak as I 
 passed under it, the wind blew a little 
 gust and rustled it, and it swayed as 
 though it laughed at me, and shook its 
 white berries overhead. What did it 
 mean 1 — that I was all alone, with no one 
 to love me, none who came to kiss, even
 
 182 WU OOSTE LIONS. 
 
 with the mistletoe in the boughs above, 
 and Christmas near at hand. 
 
 Once again two words came back to my 
 recollection— '' Thank God ! " Were they 
 wafted upon the breeze borne from afar on 
 the wings of the wind ? " Thank God ! '' 
 Oh ! had he really cared in those dear days 
 now so long gone by*? Perhaps it had 
 been so then, but that time lay back far 
 away among the shadows, in the days 
 when I was little more than a child. Now 
 I was a woman, twenty years of age, with 
 the realities of life before me — life and 
 work. Day dreams were not for me. 
 
 I was soon ushered into a large, plainly 
 furnished sitting-room, and was receiving 
 the welcome of the quartette. 
 
 "My dear, this is an unexpected 
 pleasure," cried the youngest, cheerfully, 
 with a warm light upon her fresh hued 
 cheek ; ''and all alone ! Whenever I see
 
 W£ COSTE LIONS. 183 
 
 you it reminds me of our friends tlie 
 Armstrongs, the greatest friends we ever 
 liad, my dear." 
 
 " Perhaps you have never heard," the old 
 man mumbled, "how Colonel Armstrong's 
 father saved my fathers life. He did, Miss 
 Miriam, and his children can never forget 
 it. They are both gone on before, his 
 father and mine ; but we love the colonel 
 for his father s sake — for his father's sake." 
 
 ''And for his own, brother. There never 
 w^as a better man than Colonel Armstrong." 
 
 It was Miss Caroline, the youngest, who 
 was speaking. Her voice was eager and 
 her eyes earnest, and her small white hands 
 were clasped and unclasped restlessly, as 
 though she would keep down some over- 
 powering emotion ; and rosy red banners 
 were hung out upon the still fair, smooth 
 old cheeks. 
 
 What did this agitation mean ?
 
 184 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Had Miss Caroline her own story, her 
 own romance, her own sorrow hidden away 
 behind that sweet, patient, placid face ? 
 Only one who loved could speak with that 
 zither-like tremble in the voice. Miss 
 Caroline was old, but surely, surely, her 
 love was yet young. Yes, young and 
 green, and fresh and true, or that light 
 could nob re-kindle in eyes long faded. 
 Dear Miss Caroline ! 
 
 How it happened I never knew, but I 
 had slipped my hand into hers, I had 
 stooped over it and kissed it — we had 
 looked into each other's eyes — perhaps we 
 had read each other's hearts, and from that 
 moment we y,' ere friends. 
 
 Our compact had been a silent one ; the 
 little scene had been so quietly enacted, 
 that none but our two selves knew. 
 
 The sight of those other three was far 
 firm good, they had noticed notliing un-
 
 WU COSTE LIONS. 185 
 
 usual, and yet a compact bad been made 
 between us, wbicb was to bear fruit. 
 
 For once I was absent from tbe lunch- 
 table at home. 
 
 Everything seemed so peaceful, so real, 
 at the Manor House — it gave me mental 
 power only to sit there, and I had not the 
 heart to refuse when they asked me to 
 remain with them and partake of their mid- 
 day meal — everything at the Manor House 
 was solid, handsome, and sufficiently com- 
 fortable. 
 
 The furniture was chiefly of oak, grown 
 dark with aofe — the floors of the same 
 wood, covered in the middle with thick 
 Turkey carpets, and the winter sun shone 
 in at the coloured glass windows, all rose 
 and golden hued, touching the sombre 
 shades within with warmth and light. 
 
 " The best friends must part," I said at 
 length, as the sun sunk low in the heavens,
 
 186 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 looking like a red ball of fire in the clear 
 sky. "Will not the sunset be glorious 
 to-night, Miss Caroline? How I shall 
 enjoy it as I walk homeward." 
 
 '' The frost will continue and strengthen, 
 if we may judge by the appearance of 
 the evening," remarked the second Miss 
 Montague. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; the sunset is very beautiful, 
 speaking to us of a coming day which is all 
 unseen by us," murmured the eldest, faintly, 
 " but it is at sunrise that we grow weary, 
 and ask for rest. I sup230se after the dark- 
 ness of the night and death's shadows, 
 the soul loves to rise with the sunbeams. 
 Angel's ladders ! It must be beautiful 
 to wake to new life with the renewed 
 day. Do you not think so. Miss 
 Miriam ? " 
 
 Her words awed me. I felt somehow 
 that she was " not far from the Kingdom
 
 WE CO ST E LIONS. 187 
 
 of Heaven/' that her awakening in the 
 Paradise of God was not very distant, 
 whether she departed hence with the rising 
 sun or when it should be high in the sky, 
 or even should the day be dark and dreary, 
 and the shadows many through which she 
 must pass. 
 
 Whatever might come, whichever it 
 might be, looking upon the pure steadfast 
 face, I felt that " all must be well " with 
 her, 
 
 " Let me order the carriage to take you 
 home, my dear," said Miss Caroline, "it is 
 lonely for you to walk by yourself." 
 
 " Oh ! no, I Hke it,'' I rephed ; " I shall 
 think of you all the way home." 
 
 '' That will not be a very engaging sub- 
 ject for meditation, I fear," replied Miss 
 Caroline, with a smile ; " and now I shall 
 not let you go until you promise you will 
 come again — soon — very soon, Miriam,
 
 188 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 dear." She held me by both hands and 
 looked up in my face, and I stooped and 
 kissed her. I was not very tall, not so 
 tall nearly as my sister Florence, but I was 
 far taller than Miss Caroline Montague. 
 
 *' Yes ! I will come. I hke to come here 
 so very much." 
 
 I felt all the better for their companion- 
 ship as I walked homewards. When I 
 neared Little Newington, I observed two 
 figures who stood talking together — they 
 parted, and each went a different way. I 
 met one ; it proved to be Mr. Radcliffe. 
 He was in a hurry, he said, going to see a 
 dying man ; so he passed me with a word 
 of greeting only. The other walked on 
 slowly, and I quickly overtook her ; it was 
 my sister. " Why, Flo," I cried, '*' so you 
 went for a walk after all." 
 
 " No ; I have only been to church," she 
 returned coolly
 
 WE COS TE LIONS. 189 
 
 " To church ! you ? and on a week day," 
 I replied, amazed. 
 
 " Is there any great crime in going to 
 church?" she retorted. ''Eeally, Miriam, 
 if I had told you I had committed a murder 
 you could scarcely look more shocked." 
 
 My sister had told me she meant to flirt 
 with the vicar, but I certainly had been 
 unprepared for this move. 
 
 "Florence dear," T said earnestly, "if 
 you went to church because you longed for 
 the peace of God's house, or for the comfort 
 of His words, go, and may He be with you. 
 I can well believe in such feelings ; those 
 dear old Miss Montagues would feel like 
 that I am sure — as for myself I wish I 
 could too ; but I cannot. I go to church 
 on Sunday because everybody goes — if 
 every one stayed at home I should do the 
 same ; there is only one thing ever makes 
 me ivant to be in church. On a Sunday if
 
 190 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 one remains at home, and your home 
 happens to be just near enough to let you 
 hear the sound of the organ, and the voices 
 of many people raised in praise, coming all 
 indistinct and wordless through the stiD 
 air, one's heart feels too full for speech, as 
 though it would burst — tears rush to one's 
 eyes. You fancy you can hear the tune at 
 times ; as the voices rise you really do hear 
 it, and when they fall you fill in the gaps 
 mentally, and wish you were there with 
 them, and feel as though you had been left 
 outside Heaven with the gate closed against 
 
 you." 
 
 " I cannot say I have ever felt Kke that," 
 returns my sister coldly. " But I suppose 
 this is only one of your wonderful prefaces, 
 and we shall come to what you really mean, 
 by and by." 
 
 Thus recalled to myself, I cease to dream 
 and begin again. " I don't suppose I
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 191 
 
 express myself very well, dear, but what I 
 really want to say to you is simply this : if 
 you go to church for the sake of the service 
 go, by all means ; if, on the contrary, you do 
 so as a means to an end, oh ! pray, pray, do 
 not do it." 
 
 '' You are rather vague, Miriam," an- 
 swered my sister, somewhat superciliously, 
 " perhaps you would like to explain your 
 version of a means to an end ; you are fond 
 of talking usually." 
 
 '' Well, in plain language, to try and 
 attract Mr. Eadcliffe ; to gain his good 
 opinion, to enable you to work upon his 
 feelings, and to mould him to your wishes ; 
 to give yourself opportunities of meeting 
 him often and alone. There ! that is plain 
 enough at any rate." 
 
 My sister's voice rang out in merry peals 
 of laughter. 
 
 " Yes, that is plain enough, as you say.
 
 192 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Well, I hope you have finished your sermon 
 as here we are back again at this charming 
 Devonshire Terrace, I cannot call it home." 
 "But, Florence, you have not answered 
 me," I began. 
 
 "My dear, I never heard you ask any 
 question, so how could I answer ? and I 
 am sure I have listened patiently to all you 
 had to say. I suppose you have done, if 
 not we can take another turn." 
 " I have quite done, thank you." 
 " Very well, then, we will go in." 
 Who could understand my sister 1 Not 
 I, most certainly. 
 
 That night, when all were in bed at the 
 Manor House, my new-made friend, Miss 
 Caroline Montague, sat down to write a 
 letter — it was to Mrs. Armstrong. This I 
 learnt in after years ; but it is best told 
 now in its proper place. One of the para- 
 graphs ran thus : —
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 193 
 
 " Your sweet yoiing friend, Miriam Costelion, lias 
 been with us to-day, and I have quite taken her into 
 my heart. What a lovable girl she is, with such fresh, 
 true feelings ; and what a happy man will he be who 
 gains her affections. She does not forget your kind- 
 ness to her, nor Herbert's rescue of her at Kingsholme, 
 and speaks of you all with the deepest gratitude. 
 From what I gather, her father allows her few corre- 
 spondents, if any. Eest assured her silence is from no 
 lack of kindly feeling. I am more than sure that 
 none of you are forgotten." 
 
 This letter went down to Devonshire, 
 and was duly received by Colonel and Mrs. 
 Armstrong, and the next Indian mail 
 carried it to their son. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER Vll. 
 
 The frost continued to strengthen, and 
 daily our boys started with their skates in 
 their hands over the surrounding country, 
 seeking good pieces of water whereon to 
 disport themselves. 
 
 I had managed once again to run over 
 to the Manor House and see my new-found 
 friend, and had received from her an affec- 
 tionate welcome, which had left me with a 
 warmth about my heart such as 1 had not 
 felt since we left our dear old home. It is 
 so pleasant to be loved ! 
 
 My sister w^as going her own way. She
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 195 
 
 was supposed in our little circle to have 
 become a " religieuse/' and Trevelyan was 
 for ever making side thrusts at her, refer- 
 ring innocently to " saints " and " blue 
 lights," "Jumping Jehoshaphats/^ "Holy 
 Moses," and the like, or saying wickec. 
 things ; then pretending to see that his 
 sister was present, and apologising profusely 
 for his w^ords. 
 
 One thing was certain, that Florence 
 now never missed the daily services, fair 
 weather or foul, and many a time our vicar 
 would walk home with her, shielding her 
 from the wind and snow with his large 
 miibrella. He even took her out to teach 
 her to skate — a fact which soon became 
 talked about among our neighbours, and in 
 time reached our father's ears ; but it was 
 with me that he was angry. 
 
 "Miriam," he said severely to me one 
 
 morning when he entered the breakfast- 
 
 O 2
 
 196 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 room. "How is it that you allow your 
 sister to go about alone ? You are older 
 than she is, and should take better care of 
 her. JJo not let me hear of her being seen 
 on the ice again without you — mind that." 
 
 ** I have no skates ; but I can go and 
 look on,, if you wish it, father. Florence 
 has none either, so I suppose she must 
 have borrowed a pair. I would have gone 
 before had she asked me." 
 
 " You should not wait to be asked," he 
 returned, somewhat roughly. " You might 
 be able to go about alone without remark ; 
 but all eyes are upon a pretty girl like 
 your sister, and you should bear the fact in 
 mind." 
 
 "I will endeavour to do so," I replied, 
 quietly, but my heart was hot and sore 
 within me. It had ever been so with Sir 
 Charteris. Florence was alone to be con- 
 sidered.
 
 WE COSTELIOISS, 197 
 
 Presently my sister came down. The 
 look of weariness was not so apparent as it 
 had been on her face, and in its place there 
 was a restless, wakeful expression, and 
 more than once her eyes turned to the 
 grey sky and the slowly-falling snow-flakes 
 which fluttered like large feathers across 
 the window panes. 
 
 " You will not venture out to-day, Flo," 
 I said, when greetings had been exchanged. 
 
 " Why not V^ she asked, sharply ; " the 
 snow is nothing. Of course I shall go." 
 
 " Where is it you are going V said my 
 father, looking up. 
 
 " Oh ! nowhere in particular," she re- 
 plied, flushing over cheek and brow : "that 
 is, I may walk up and see the skaters, 
 perhaps." 
 
 **Ah! in that case, Miriam had better 
 go with you." 
 
 "There is no need for it, indeed, papa.
 
 198 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 I have been alone before, and — and Miriam 
 does not care for that sort of thing." 
 
 " Miriam, you have my orders," he said, 
 decidedly, and went on with his breakfast. 
 There were few words spoken during the 
 remainder of the meal ; the boys had 
 already had theirs, and had gone off to the 
 vicar s, and at length Sir Charteris started 
 for the station. 
 
 As long as he was in the house my sister 
 remained silent, but as soon as the hall- 
 door closed she turned upon me with 
 angry eyes. 
 
 " Who has been putting things into my 
 fathers head?" she gasped. '* Miriam, is 
 it your' 
 
 '* I have held no conversation with our 
 father at all," I answered, quietly; "he 
 has heard that you go out skating alone." 
 
 "But I dont" she interrupted; "Mr. 
 Radcliife goes with me."
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 199 
 
 *' I doubt if he would think that mended 
 matters, Flo. x^nyhow, I have orders to 
 be youi- shadow in futm-e." 
 
 " I never heard such a thing in my life ! '* 
 she cried, angrily. '' It is scandalous, cruel, 
 monstrous, abominable. I might as well 
 have a keeper at once if I am to have you 
 dragging after me always, listening to all I 
 say, and prying into all I do." 
 
 " Surely it is still more unpleasant for 
 me," I answered. 
 
 " Have you orders to go to church with 
 me, too V she inquired, with a sneer. 
 
 " I do not know how far my instructions 
 really went," I replied; ''but I shall not 
 construe them so strictly as that." 
 
 My sister gave a sigh of relief. 
 
 " I suppose I must be thankful for small 
 mercies," she ended, and turned away, to 
 look out of the window. 
 
 '' Please, Miss, there's no more water in
 
 200 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 the cistern, and the pipes is froze, and 
 none won't come in, and what is cook to 
 dor' 
 
 " She must draw some from the well, 
 Mary, and fill the boiler by hand ; there is 
 nothing else to be done, unless you can 
 thaw the pipes." 
 
 "We has tried that, Miss, but none 
 won't come." 
 
 '^Well, then, there is no choice in the 
 matter, Mary ; but tell cook to be very 
 careful and put the water in gradually, 
 as boilers are apt to break in these 
 frosts." 
 
 We had a window at either end of the 
 room, and in a short time I saw that my 
 orders were carried out. Cook and Mary 
 each went running down with an empty 
 bucket, and came back slowly with it 
 filled ; so T dismissed the kitchen boiler 
 from my mind.
 
 WE COSTELIONS, 201 
 
 "If it was not you, it must have been 
 Mrs. Rider/' said Florence, suddenly. 
 ** What beasts people are ! why cannot 
 they mind their own business ? " 
 
 "What has Mrs. Rider donel" I ques- 
 tioned, preparing to leave the room. 
 
 " Why ! she does not like to see Mr. 
 RadclifFe attentive to me, so she makes 
 spiteful remarks. No doubt she told papa. 
 I will owe her one for that." 
 
 " I do not see what object she can have 
 had in making mischief," I reply. 
 
 " Don't you ? Have you forgotten what 
 she said to mamma about his marrying, 
 and how her eyes rested on her precious 
 Em'ly?" 
 
 "No, I have not forgotten; but I did 
 not know you heard the conversation. You 
 were talking nineteen to the dozen with 
 her husband." 
 
 "As if I could only do one thing at a
 
 202 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 time, and such a thing as talking to Mr. 
 Rider." 
 
 "You may be a perfect Julius Caesar, 
 for all I know, Flo ; but now I must 
 go." 
 
 Soon after, the church bell began to ring, 
 and the slam of the front door told me 
 that my sister had gone out. 
 
 When lunch was over she whispered to 
 me, ''If you must go, be ready at two 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Oh ! very well," I repKed, more than 
 half vexed that the afternoon would be 
 lost to me ; and T went up to the room we 
 shared, followed by my sister. 
 
 "Miriam," she said, with heated cheeks. 
 "He does not know you are coming; I 
 dare say he will be surprised." 
 
 " Oh, indeed !" 
 
 " Well, I saw him after church, of course, 
 and you know I promised yesterday to go
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 203 
 
 to the lake this afternoon ; but I could not 
 manage to tell him that my family think 1 
 am not to be trusted, and that I am to 
 have a sentry over me for the rest of my 
 life, so I thought I would let your going 
 seem accidental." 
 
 "As you please ; but I cannot see how it 
 matters what he thinks upon such a sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " I am sure I wish you were not going, 
 Miriam, since you seem determined to 
 make yourself disagreeable." 
 
 " Thank you very much," I replied ; and 
 Florence, having completed her toilet, 
 marches majestically out of the room, down 
 the stairs, along the passages, and opens 
 the front door. 
 
 We have only one looking-glass in our 
 room, and that she has monopolized during 
 our conversation, so I have not been able 
 to finish dressing; and now have to
 
 204 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 scramble on my things and hurry without 
 dignity after her. 
 
 She has already got half way down the 
 terrace by the time I reach the door, and I 
 have to run in order to overtake her ; rather 
 hard upon an elder sister, I think, but I 
 make no remark, and feel that ere this, I 
 ought to have learnt my lesson in humility, 
 and not lose sight of the fact that she is 
 beautiful Florence Costelion, and I only plain 
 Miriam, with the blood of a plebeian mother 
 in my veins ; as I reflect on this I pull my 
 glove together savagely to button it, and 
 tear it up the side. 
 
 ^' That looks nice, certainly," remarks 
 my sister, " people will think you can't 
 afford a new pair of gloves ; you had 
 better go back and get some others. 
 Here comeg the vicar, we will wait for 
 
 you." 
 
 " No, thank you ; people will only think
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 205 
 
 right. This is my best pair, and I cannot 
 afford any more." 
 
 Here we met Mr. Radcliffe, who cer- 
 tainly did look surprised and somewhat 
 disappointed too ; notwithstanding the fact 
 that he smiled, and said, " It was an unex- 
 pected pleasure to see me." Poor man I 
 no doubt he thought he was telling the 
 truth. 
 
 My sister's spirits rose from the time we 
 came upon him waiting for us, or rather for 
 her, by the road side. 
 
 She laughed, talked, and was brilliant ; 
 her blue eyes sparkled, and his, so like a 
 sheep dog's in expression, were fixed upon 
 her as a dog's might be ; wistfully, ten- 
 derly, love beseechingly, and were seldom 
 removed from her face. 
 
 When we reach the lake, he introduces 
 me to an old clergyman, who is very full of 
 the restoration of his church ; a work
 
 206 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 wJbicli is to be begun when spring days 
 come, and I am, so to speak, button-holed 
 for the afternoon. 
 
 It is very little use for me to have come 
 with my sister, for she has flown away to 
 the other side of the lake with our vicar's 
 arm about her, and I have no more control 
 over her than a man upon the sea shore 
 has over a ship sailing away across the 
 ocean. 
 
 I suggest to my old gentleman that I 
 should like to walk round to the other side, 
 but when we get there, like a Will-o'-the- 
 Wisp she has gone somewhere else, and, 
 tired and vexed, I take a seat beside my 
 somewhat portly companion, whose breath 
 is not good when walking, and listen 
 wearily to his description of proposed 
 pulpits and lecterns, reredos and screens, 
 naves, and aisles, and transepts. 
 
 The church is a hundred miles away.
 
 WJS COSTELIONS. 207 
 
 He is oiily a visitor in the neighbourhood. 
 I am totally unlikely ever to see it, and it 
 is to be wonderfully high church, and I 
 don't think my taste lies in that direction. 
 
 *' Your sister is a very good church 
 woman, I hear, and I am glad, extremely 
 glad, for Kadcliife is a really good fellow ! " 
 
 I grow crimson. 
 
 " I do not know much about my sister s 
 principles,'' I reply; " and I am at a loss to 
 imagine what they can have to do with 
 Mr. EadcMe ! '' 
 
 *'I really beg your pardon. I hope I 
 have not been misinformed. I quite 
 thought it was a settled thing.'' 
 
 " Does that mean that you have heard 
 my sister is likely to marry our vicar ? " 
 I question, with increasing vexation ; " be- 
 cause, if so, pray let me tell you there is 
 not a shadow of truth in it. Florence is 
 nothing but a heedless child, and the vicar
 
 208 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 must have more sense than to dream such 
 a thing possible for a moment. He must 
 be blind if he thinks my sister fit for any 
 man's wife, let alone a parson's." 
 
 " Love is blind, my dear young lady," 
 returned my companion, nodding compla- 
 cently at his own remark, of which he was 
 evidently proud, and thought he had said 
 something sharp ; " and no doubt I have 
 made a mistake," he adds. 
 
 "Some one has made a mistake, most 
 certainly," I aver, and then I rise. '^ Will 
 you oblige me by telling my sister it is 
 time to go home." 
 
 He looks doubtfully over the ice (Flo- 
 rence is in the very centre of it), and essays 
 to do my behest, picking his footsteps with 
 much caution, then, finding no serious 
 results, he goes on a little more briskly, 
 and the next moment my messenger is on 
 the broad of his back, with his stubby
 
 WE COSTELWNS. 209 
 
 clerical legs kicking, and his arms working, 
 and he so strongly resembled a black 
 beetle under similar circumstances that I 
 could not move for laughing. The skaters 
 came buzzing about him to assist him up, 
 and among them our vicar, to whom, 
 though shaken, he staunchly delivered my 
 message. 
 
 " Oh ! you can't want to go yet," calls 
 my sister. " It is such glorious fun, it is a 
 shame to lose any of it." 
 
 " I draw my own mother's watch from 
 my pocket, and remark that she won't be 
 in time for church if we do not return at 
 once. 
 
 The argument is unanswerable, and the 
 vicar's face assumes a grave look, and I 
 hear him say, in a low voice, that he is 
 glad I mentioned it, for in his happiness he 
 had forgotten to keep any count of the 
 time. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 WU COSTELIONS. 
 
 On the way home, Florence is again bril- 
 liant and sparkling. When we reach the 
 church she stops. '^ Are you coming inV 
 she asks ; but I decline, and bidding Mr. 
 EadclifFe good bye, I pass on alone ; the 
 afternoon may have been delightful to 
 them, to me it had certainly been terribly 
 slow. 
 
 That was, however, the first and the last 
 day I had to look on at the skating, for 
 the severe weather became more intense 
 than ever, and we had such bitter cold as 
 had not been equalled for many years. A 
 terrific gale overtook us, beating the driv- 
 ing snow through the closed windows and 
 under the outer doors, rendering us cold 
 and wretched. The feeble church bell 
 tinkled on, as modern bells are apt to do, 
 lacking the silvery sound of the metal used 
 in the churches of former times. The un- 
 melodious " ting, ting," came borne on the
 
 WU COSTELIONS. 211 
 
 wintry blast ; but even vaj sister did not 
 attempt to move, and only drew nearer to 
 the crackling log, and the blazing coal. 
 
 My fiitlier, too, was at home — vehi- 
 cular and railway traffic were well nigh at 
 a stand-still — the line of rail was deep in 
 snow, and all wise persons remained 
 quietly in tlieir homes, if they were fortu- 
 nate enough to have any. But what of 
 the starving poor, who have no roof to 
 shelter them ? 
 
 Who can help thinking of them as the 
 wind beats with fierce fury against our 
 windows, rattling them angrily with its 
 powerful gusts, and making the nine inch 
 walls of our Devonshire Terrace house 
 quiver and tremble. The daily papers were 
 filled with sorry descriptions of the suffer- 
 ings of man and beast. The anemometer 
 asserted the fact that the force of the wind 
 
 was not less than sixty miles an hour, and 
 
 p2
 
 212 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 in the hurrying gusts considerably more. 
 Even the snow sweepers did not appear to 
 offer their services. 
 
 The common in front of us was one vast 
 mass of pure whiteness, a smooth surface 
 without the sign of a human footstep upon 
 it. The tradespeople left us to our fate. 
 It was of no consequence to them whether 
 we had provisions or no, and, Hke ourselves, 
 they preferred keeping under shelter. 
 
 The poor postman alone, of all human 
 beings, visited us while the worst lasted, 
 and all this time our unfortunate maids 
 had to draw our water from the well in the 
 garden, and carry it in, or sometimes Bob 
 and Trevelyan would go and do it for them, 
 to save them a wetting. 
 
 We had a small bath room up-stairs ; 
 but now all baths, whether warm or cold, 
 were denied us. The water for them could 
 not be obtained.
 
 Wi: COSTULIONS. 213 
 
 More than once I had been down to the 
 kitchen myself to remind the cook about 
 keeping the boiler filled, and as often had 
 received her assurance that it was all right, 
 and she had drawn no water out — but 
 something went wrong — what, we never 
 knew. All at once, as we were sitting 
 round the fire, a terrible explosion was 
 heard, and the wall of our room was simply 
 torn down, and my poor stepmother blown 
 off her chair. 
 
 When we picked her up she was quite 
 insensible, and without a word Bob turned 
 to the door. 
 
 '' Bob ! where are you going V 1 asked. 
 "For the doctor," was his reply, and in 
 another moment the front gate had closed 
 after him, and he was battling his way 
 against the fiercely blowing hurricane. I 
 gave him a grateful glance as he passed out 
 of the room, and he smiled back at me.
 
 214 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Gently, we carried poor Lady Lavinia to 
 bed, and did what we could for her, but 
 there was a fixed look in her face which 
 alarmed me greatly, and the nervous system 
 of Lady Trevelyan seemed to be more 
 shaken than ever. 
 
 Sir Charteris was tender over his wife, 
 but there was no depth of feeling in his face 
 — he was sorry and pitiful, and that was all. 
 The doctor arrived at last. What an ago 
 it appeared before he came, to us who were 
 waiting, and yet, considering the inclement 
 weather, he had been wonderfully quick. 
 I asked for my brother, who had not re- 
 turned with him, and about whom I felt 
 anxious, and learnt that there was nothing 
 the matter with him but exhaustion, the 
 poor boy's strength being so spent that the 
 doctor, Mr. Lyndhurst, had put him to bed, 
 and administered a sleeping draught to him 
 before starting.
 
 W£ COSTELIONS. 215 
 
 " You are sure there is nothing to be 
 uneasy about/' I ask, looking into his kind 
 face. 
 
 " Quite sure, Miss CosteHon, and I will 
 take every care of him, only, while this 
 severe cold continues, 1 shall not let him 
 return to you ; he does not strike me as 
 being very strong. How old is he ? " 
 
 " Nineteen,'' I reply, looking at him, wist- 
 fully. " You don't think Bob is ill, do you ? " 
 
 " No, he has outgrown his strength, that 
 is all ; in a year or two he will pull round ; " 
 and then he hurries on to the sick room, 
 and I feel guilty in having delayed him so 
 long. I follow him with quiet footsteps — 
 poor old Lady Trevelyan leading the way 
 with painful nervousness. 
 
 Mr. Lyndhurst does all that can be done 
 for the sufferer, and once more I am stand- 
 ing looking into his patient, earnest face in 
 the dining room ; for the drawing room, with
 
 216 WJE COSTFLJONS. 
 
 its brilliant hued cretonnes and chintzes, is 
 a wreck. 
 
 ''Is it life or death ? " I ask, in an awed 
 voice, trying to read his answer in his quiet 
 penetrating eyes. 
 
 "It is both," he answered, slowly — "but 
 can you bear to hear the truth about your^ 
 poor mother 1 " 
 
 " Lady Lavinia is my stepmother," T 
 replied, " I would rather know the worst." 
 
 " Ah ! that makes a difference of course. 
 Well, Miss Costelion, it is utterly impossible 
 her ladyship can recover from the injuries 
 she has sustained, all we can do is to 
 alleviate her sufferings. We may keep her 
 aHve a year or so, not more." 
 
 Tears started to my eyes — I held out my 
 hands as though I could ward off the 
 approach of death — " Poor Lady Lavinia," 
 I murmured, "poor Lady Lavinia." 
 
 ^' I ought not to have told you," he said,
 
 WE C0S7ELI0NS. 217 
 
 regretfully ; and then, as Sir Charteris 
 entered the room, I slipped away. 
 
 I had no time after this for going out 
 with my sister — my days were spent by the 
 bed-side of my stepmother, and I did all 
 that I, in my inexperience, could do ; and 
 indeed I thought but little of my sister and 
 her flirtations ; she and Mr. Eadcliffe must 
 look after themselves, if they were so foohsh 
 as to make themselves, or each other, un- 
 happy, that was their look out. 
 
 Soon after, my father beckoned me into 
 our third little sitting room, which had been 
 given over to him as a study. "Miriam," 
 he said, slowly, " my circumstances have 
 somewhat improved since I have become 
 the chairman of this company — that, added 
 to the opinion of Mr. Lyndhurst, that these 
 houses lie too low to be healthy, has decided 
 me to move ; and I have made an arrange- 
 ment with my landlord to give up this house,
 
 218 WE COSJELIONS. 
 
 and go into another belonging to hitn. Like 
 everything else, there are disadvantages 
 attending this change. We shall be much 
 further from the station than we are here, 
 but a small pony carriage will rectify that 
 difficulty, and w^ith a lad besides our two 
 female servants, we shall manage. I have 
 seen the house ; it is detached, and stands in 
 its own grounds; they are small, but pretty. 
 You and the boys must take to gardening, 
 and we must do the best we can." 
 
 "Is it very expensive, papa ? " 1 inquire, 
 with a dread upon me that we may be 
 tempted in a larger place to spend more 
 than we can afford. 
 
 ''It will cost more to keep up, of 
 course," he replied, evasively, "but the rent 
 is reasonable ; it is now being set in order, 
 and wall be ready in March ; by then, 
 Lyndhurst tells me, your mother will be 
 able to be moved."
 
 WE COST ELI ON S. 219 
 
 " Oh ! papa, if we could only have Sham- 
 rock back, since you mtend to keep a pony," 
 I venture ; " we were all so fond of him.'^ 
 
 " I have thought of that, too," returned 
 my father ; "I mean to write to the farmer 
 to whom I sold him, and ask if he ^vill let 
 me have him back." 
 
 *'0h! papa," I cried, *'it would be like 
 old times to stroke his soft brown nose 
 again ! how I hope you will be able to get 
 him." 
 
 " Do you think your mother is stronger, 
 ]Miriam ? " he asked, after a pause. " You 
 have been very good in nursing her." 
 
 His thin, white hand was lying listlessly 
 upon the table — a slender, aristocratic hand 
 — I stooped and kissed it. 
 
 *' I have done my best, papa, but I fear it 
 is out of my power to do much good," I 
 rephed, gratefully ; any kindness softened 
 me at once.
 
 220 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 '' There, there, that will do ! " he an- 
 swered, drawing his arm quickly away. 
 
 " I have said all I have to say. I do not 
 want to detain you longer, you may be 
 needed upstairs." 
 
 " If I had been a sensitive plant, I could 
 not have shrunk more quickly back from 
 showing my feelings — my heart was beating 
 — I felt ready to cry with disappointment 
 and mortification, but I only rose quickly 
 and left the room. 
 
 * * * 'X- 
 
 Before we quitted Devonshire Terrace, a 
 rather absurd scene took place. Miss Rider 
 determined to bear out her name, and sent 
 into Newington for a horse to carry her. 
 
 My sister Florence, having heard from Mr. 
 Lyndhurst of the pranks of a certain hack 
 in the livery stables there, with malice pre- 
 pense, recommended poor Emly to order 
 that particular animal, known as " Harem,"
 
 WB COSTE LIONS. 221 
 
 being the short for " Harem Scarem," — 
 another horse, with a groom in wondrous 
 top boots, was to follow her, so that things 
 might be done in proper style. Up clat- 
 tered the animals, and my brothers and 
 Florence called me to the window. I did 
 not consider it particularly good manners to 
 watch our neighbours, but it seemed to be 
 the fashion in Devonshire Terrace, and I 
 went, not wishing to be disagreeable. 
 
 '' Now we shall see some fun," exclaimed 
 my sister; "that horse objects to be 
 mounted." 
 
 " Oh ! Florence, how do you know thaf? " 
 
 " Mr. Lyndhurst was telling me some fine 
 
 jokes about him ; he is downright wicked ! " 
 
 " Why, I heard you advising Miss Eider 
 
 to ask for that especial beast." 
 
 " Yes 1 that is where the laugh will come 
 in, my dear Miriam ; I owe her one for 
 talking about me ! "
 
 222 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " But do you know for certain tliat she 
 has done so, dear ?" 
 
 *' Oh! I am certain of it." 
 
 Here Miss Rider emerged from the iron 
 gates of number one, with Mrs. Eider and 
 two maids in attendance. 
 
 " She do look beautiful," said the matron, 
 eyeing her daughter approvingly. 
 
 Emly was dressed in a bright blue habit, 
 and a brighter blue ribbon about her neck, 
 with a bow of the same colour upon her 
 whip handle. On her head was a Gains- 
 borough hat, with an enormous plume of 
 cock's feathers drooping from its ample 
 brim. 
 
 *' It is evident dear Em'ly thinks blue is 
 her colour," remarked my sister, with a 
 sneer. 
 
 " She is vulgar, of course," said Bob, ^' but 
 she is not half bad looking." 
 
 At this moment the girl's foot was in the
 
 WH COSTELIONS. 223 
 
 hand of tlie groom, who was somewhat 
 nervously saying, " wo ho " to the animal, 
 which was standing with ears back, and tail 
 tucked in, looking anything but a picture 
 of amiability ; his horse being in the mean 
 time held by one of the maids, at the very 
 extremity of the bridle, but apparently it 
 had not the faintest idea of moving ; it 
 stood with its head down, and its eyes shut, 
 with bent knees, and an altogether weary 
 look. 
 
 " Poor old beast ! it doesn't want much 
 holding," said Trevelyan, " it will hardly 
 keep up with that vicious looking brute ; 
 Miss Em'ly will have a certain amount of 
 work with him^ I'll warrant." 
 
 " She will have to get on first," replied 
 Florence, with a laugh. 
 
 Two or three fruitless attempts at 
 mounting had already been made, and both 
 Em'ly and the groom seemed to be losing
 
 224 wi: COSTELIOyS. 
 
 their tempers ; no doubt it was galling to 
 them to be doing the thing so badly, when 
 the eyes of the whole terrace were peering 
 out, and she had meant every one to envy 
 her. Poor girl I I could not help feeling 
 rather sorry for her, more especially now 
 that I knew this trap had been delibe- 
 rately set for her by my sister. 
 
 The voices reached us from outside. 
 
 "You don't understand mounting a lady," 
 said Miss Rider, irritably, *'your master 
 ought to have sent some one who does." 
 
 "That's odd, too," retorted the man, 
 rudely, " C072siderin' I've been along of 
 '^ osses ' all my life, man and boy ; and ave 
 mounted real ladies by the score." 
 
 There was an unfortunate stress upon the 
 word real, which made Mrs. Eider furious. 
 
 " Now, no imperence," she cried, '' or back 
 you go, 'orses and all ; and your master 
 shall know the reason why, and that he
 
 ir/; CO^TELIONS. 225 
 
 shall. If you know liow to put the young 
 lady on, why don't you do it "? She'd 
 better have a chair and get up herself/' 
 
 " She's like a sack of salt to lift," 
 growled the man. " If she'll only (jo, I'll 
 put her up fast enough ; on'y 'tciint of no 
 use for she to bounce when IVe been 
 strugglin' with her till all my strength's 
 gone, ril say one, two, three. Miss ; and 
 when I says one, you ain't to jump, nor yet 
 when I says two, but when I says three, 
 bounce as 'igh as you please, and darn me 
 if you don't go up this time." 
 
 Em'ly stood ready, one hand on the 
 pommel, and a somewhat large foot held 
 up. 
 
 "0/?e/" said the man; "there you go 
 now, Miss, you was just a goin' to bounce, 
 blest if you warn't." 
 
 '' I wasn't going to do anything of the 
 sort," protested Miss Rider. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 *' One— two— three ! !!" 
 
 The suddeiiDess with which the man 
 uttered the last monosyllable, like a volun- 
 teer's word of command, was enough to 
 waken the dead, let alone f lighten a restive 
 horse. 
 
 Poor Em'jy rose grandly with a fine 
 spring, but when she had done so she had 
 nothing to sit upon but the air, and she 
 was rather substantial for such a platform. 
 With a scream, she clutched at the groom's 
 head — but alas ! both hat and hair flew into 
 the gutter (for Jerry Jarvy wore a wig), 
 and Miss Rider followed them. 
 
 It was very muddy, the effects of the 
 thaw after a prolonged frost, and it is 
 impossible to say which was the dirtier 
 when picked up, the hat, the wig, or 
 Em'ly ; or who was the most angry, the 
 owner of the wig, or the wearer of the 
 blue habit.
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 2'21 
 
 Certainly, if Miss Rider had talked of 
 my sister, she had had her revenge. Tears 
 came to the poor girl's eyes. Tears of 
 temper, I fear, for the mud was very soft, 
 and she could scarcely have been hurt. 
 
 The two indignant persons stood facing 
 each other. Jarvy, with his red, angry face, 
 and a shining unfledged head, and poor 
 besmeared Em'ly, looking heartily ashamed 
 of her appearance. 
 
 *' That reminds me of a riddle IVe heard," 
 cried Trevelyan, , laughing — " Miriam, why 
 is a bald head like Heaven ? " 
 
 " I cannot imagine any similitude what- 
 ever, Tre ; if Heaven is perfect, a bald 
 head certainly is not, in any sense of the 
 word." 
 
 " You give it up, then '? " 
 
 " Yes ; but perhaps Flo can guess it." 
 
 " Not she ; it wants brains to guess 
 riddles." 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 "You're polite, certainly," retorted Flor- 
 ence, turning upon him angrily. 
 
 "Well, what is the answer?" I ask, 
 trying to avert the coming storm — but 
 Florence and Trevelyan are looking fiercely 
 at one another, evidently intent on a 
 row. 
 
 " Why don't you reply to Miriam, Tre I 
 instead of you and Flo staring at each 
 other like two incensed tom cats," laughed 
 Bob. " And there ! I declare j^ooi' Em'ly 
 is not going to have her ride at all " (for 
 the last angry words had reached us, 
 swelling up above our own httle family 
 disputes). 
 
 " Go back to your master, and tell him 
 the next tune I order horses, to send a 
 respectable person with them." 
 
 ** ThanVee, Miss," replied the man, " he 
 won't send me agin, and that I can promise 
 you," and in another moment he was riding
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 229 
 
 the weary old hack home again to Newing- 
 ton, with " Harem "in high feather by his 
 side. 
 
 And poor, dirty, mud-grimed Miss Rider 
 turned sulkily into the house, with tears of 
 mortification in her eyes, while her mother 
 followed like an angry old hen with all it's 
 feathers ruffled, until she looked twice her 
 ordinary size, and goodness knows that was 
 nothing insignificant. 
 
 The door was quickly closed after them, 
 but that did not prevent the sound of 
 sobbing from being borne through some 
 open window and wafted upon the breeze, 
 nor did we fail to hear Mrs. Eider's scold- 
 ing tones ; and it was evident that now 
 the real object of her displeasure was out 
 of reach, it had become necessary for the 
 choleric woman to find another on which 
 to expend the overcharged state of her 
 system.
 
 230 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 "Poor Em'ly/' said Bob, "I am afraid 
 she is having rather a bad time of it." 
 
 " I am very sorry for her," I replied, 
 regretfully, "for all this need not have 
 happened. My dear Florence, when will 
 you learn wisdom ? believe me, practical 
 jokes are both bad and dangerous things." 
 
 To all of which my sister answered 
 nothing, but continued to look out of the 
 window as though she did not even hear 
 me. 
 
 " She is doing the deaf adder dodge," 
 remarked Trevelyan, with a grimace, "so 
 you may as well save your breath to cool 
 your porridge ; but isn't old mother Rider 
 just going it ? That is what one might 
 call a safety valve, I conclude." 
 
 "Her steam is up, certainly. That woman 
 is a caution, and no mistake," laughed Bob. 
 
 " Mr. Badcliffe thinks her very kind- 
 hearted," I say, deprecatingly, at which
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 231 
 
 remark I am greeted with a duetto of 
 merriment. 
 
 "He should hear her now," Bob suggested, 
 giving my hair a Httle pull ; " there never 
 was such a girl for finding out people's good 
 points." 
 
 " She does not trouble me much in that 
 way," observed Florence, stiffly, stil] gazing 
 out over the fields. 
 
 " Ob ! the deaf adder is not so deaf as it 
 seemed, eh ! " and Trevelyan began one of 
 his war dances around us, until we were 
 fairly dazed. 
 
 " If you could oblige us by behaving like 
 a gentleman it really would be a mercy," 
 cried my sister, indignantly ; " what must 
 people think of yo*:, ?" 
 
 " People ! I don't see them ; there is no 
 one to listen to me, unless you count the 
 geese." 
 
 '"These walls arc not very thick, Tre," I
 
 232 WJ^J COSTELIONS. 
 
 put in ; " our neighbours can certainly hear 
 you." 
 
 " Weh ! and suppose they can, what 
 harm am I doing ?" 
 
 ''No harm, hwt—" 
 
 " There, Miriam, shut up, there's a good 
 girl, you ought to like to see a fellow jolly. 
 Now do let me sing you a song. You 
 havn't heard ' Verbs and Tenses ' yet. It's 
 awfully good, but unfortunately I only 
 know bits of it. I wish I could give it to 
 you all through.'^ 
 
 "i don't, Tre. Have you forgotten your 
 mother 1 there is too much noise for her alto- 
 gether, so do be quiet, there's a good boy." 
 
 " You are a regular wet blanket, Miriam," 
 he complained ; "a fellow may not say his 
 soul is his own, according to you. But 
 come now, I will return good for evil. I 
 know you are dying to hear the answer to 
 the riddle, and I will tell it to you."
 
 WJ<: COSTELWNS. 233 
 
 " That is very kind of you," I laughed, 
 but I had forgotten all about it." 
 
 " That is a big one," returned my young 
 brother, "you do not expect me to believe 
 that. Women and girls are always inqui- 
 sitive.'* 
 
 " Are they ? " You must be a good judge, 
 Tre ; your experience of the sex is quite 
 unlimited." 
 
 " Em'ly's left off now," said Bob. 
 
 " You seem quite fond of Miss Bider," 
 sneered Florence. 
 
 " Well ! at any rate, I don't like to hear 
 her cry," returned my brother ; " a woman's 
 tears always tickle me up." 
 
 "How precocious!" drawled she; "we 
 shall be asked to receive the sweet creature 
 as a member of our family next, I suppose." 
 
 " I do not think you will," he returned, 
 quietly. 
 
 " All this Ijegan with my saying Mrs.
 
 234 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 Eider is kind-hearted," I laughed. "I 
 shall be afraid to assert anything another 
 time if I am to arouse such a wasp's nest." 
 
 " Call us hornets while you are about it/' 
 suggested Tre. "Go on, Miriam, we like 
 to hear you." 
 
 "Very well, tlien, I will proceed with 
 my defence of Mrs. E/ider. I contend she 
 maj be perfectly kind-hearted, and yet 
 have a bad temper." 
 
 "Yes, she may, and again she may not." 
 
 " You may not think the two compatible, 
 but really they are. Passionate people 
 have generally generous natures, and will 
 do anything for you when the fit is over." 
 
 " Quite so ! oh yes ! — cut your throat 
 one moment, and kiss the place to make it 
 well the next. Go it Miriam !" cried 
 Trevelyan. 
 
 "I would rather have to deal with a 
 person like that, than one with a sulky
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 235 
 
 disposition, or even with a tormenting imp 
 like you/' I end, half in fun, half in anger. 
 
 " I have a very good mind not to give 
 you the answer to that riddle now." 
 
 "As you please, Tre." 
 
 "Well, it isn't for your sake, mind, but 
 it is hard that the others should be punished 
 for you." 
 
 "Oh! don't mind me," said Bob, with 
 his honest smile. 
 
 " That is all very well," resumed Trevel- 
 yan, " but Florence wants to know," and 
 he looked for confirmation of his words 
 towards his sister's beautiful profile ; but 
 she took not the faintest notice of him or 
 of his remark. Then the door opened, and 
 a new idea struck him — by now he was 
 really anxious to impart the solution of the 
 riddle. " Oh 1 here comes granny ; yoit 
 like conundrums, now, don't you ? " he cried, 
 turning eagerly to her.
 
 236 WJ^ COSTELIONS. 
 
 *' Conundrums ? of course I am very fond 
 of them ; people often convey a very pretty 
 sentiment in asking a riddle. I remember 
 once a gentleman asking me why ladies, 
 and especially I myself, ought to be very 
 much afraid of lightning, and the answer 
 was that they were so attractive. A very 
 nice compliment, and so delicately con- 
 veyed, was it not, Miriam 1 Ah! gentle- 
 men are not so polite nowadays as they 
 Avere in my youth ! I suppose you never 
 had such a thing said to you, my dear." 
 
 " No, Lady Trevelyan, never ! " I laughed. 
 
 '* I thought not ! ah ! times are terribly 
 changed ; in my young days all the girls 
 were belles, and the men beaux." 
 
 '' Oh ! granny, granny ! I am afraid you 
 were a sad coquette in your youth, and I 
 don't believe, really I don't, that you are 
 much better now ; but never mind, I'll 
 forgive you. And now about this enigma,
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 237 
 
 conundrum, riddle, or whatever it should 
 rightly be called. Would you like to hear 
 it ? Of course you would, so I will go on. 
 ' Why is a bald head like heaven ? ' " 
 
 '' Dear me, Trevelyan, I did not know it 
 was. I have not an idea ; because — - 
 because " — 
 
 " Because it is difficult to know it is there 
 when it is covered with that darkness which 
 may be ' felt,' " tried Bob. 
 
 '' No ! " 
 
 " Because it is in an elevated position,'' 
 I suggest. 
 
 " Wrong again." 
 
 " Because all may get it and few do," 
 proposes Florence, who really had awoke 
 from her reverie. 
 
 " What duffers you all are," cries Tre, 
 impatiently ; " you had better give it up if 
 you can't find sensible answers." 
 
 "I think they are very sensible,"
 
 238 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 contended Florence, "and the chances are 
 ten to one if the proper reply will prove 
 half so good.'' 
 
 "Oh! won't it though ? " 
 
 ''I suppose it is something like a leg of 
 mutton being better than heaven," Bob 
 went on, reflectively. 
 
 " Then you suppose wrong, for it is 
 nothing of the sort." 
 
 " Well ! I shan't guess any more," 
 continued Bob. " What is it ? " 
 
 " Do all the others cave in too ? " asked 
 Tre, with a self satisfied, and very important 
 air. 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! " I laughed, " I quite cave in, 
 as you call it." 
 
 " Do you, gran ? " 
 
 " I am not so good at guessing as I used 
 to be, Tre, and riddles are not the same as 
 they were when I was young." 
 
 " No ! I don't suppose they are ; w^e
 
 Wi: COSTELIONS. 239 
 
 make them by electricity now, you know, 
 grandmother." 
 
 "By electricity! dear me, how very 
 wonderful ; where do they do it ? I should 
 like to see the operation very much." 
 
 " Ah ! no doubt you would, gran, but 
 they won't admit you unless you are a 
 Freemason." 
 
 " A Freemason ! then I won't go ; they 
 shall never make one of me, although I 
 have heard that they did it to some poor 
 lady, because she was listening to their 
 dreadful secrets." 
 
 "Did whaf?" asked Bob, unable to 
 restrain his amusement. " Do you know, 
 Lady Trevelyan, Freemasons are most 
 charitable people, and do much good. I 
 hope to be one some day myself." 
 
 " You're very young. Bob, and don't 
 understand these things," continued Lady 
 Trevelyan, mysteriously ; "but take my
 
 240 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 advice, and have nothing to do with them. 
 Why ! they are a secret society. They 
 might ask you to murder some one you 
 know, and you would Jmve to do it ! " 
 
 At this we one and all burst out laugh- 
 ing, much to the old lady's indignation. 
 
 " You mean Nihilists, not Freemasons, 
 Lady Trevelyan," said Bob, kindly. 
 
 " Come, Tre, let us have this riddle," I 
 suggest, in order to turn the subject. " We 
 all cave in; we give it up.'' 
 
 " Because," began my young brother 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Miriam,'' interrupted 
 Florence. " I have no intention whatever 
 of giving it up. I shall go on guessing. 
 Because it is — " 
 
 " Well ? '' 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know." 
 
 '* You do give it up, then." 
 
 " I tell you I do not. I could guess it 
 easily, but I shall not take the trouble."
 
 WIJ COSTELIONS. 241 
 
 " That is a very fine horse you are 
 riding, Miss Flo ! Take care it does not 
 throw you, as Harem did Miss Rider," 
 suggests Trevelyan. 
 
 " How could she be thrown from a thing 
 she didn't mount, stupid ? " asked Florence, 
 over her shoulder, as she sailed majestically 
 from the room. 
 
 " She has a sweet temper, hasn't she ? " 
 remarked Trevelyan, with a grin, addressing 
 no one in particular, and looking towards 
 the closed door. 
 
 " It is a pity you torment her so, Tre," 
 I begin ; but he will not hear me out. 
 
 " Oh ! say it is me, by all means. Some- 
 how everything is always my fault." 
 
 "But what is the answer, my dear?" 
 demands Lady Trevelyan, unconsciously 
 coming to the rescue. 
 
 " Well I now she's gone," he answered, 
 with a nod of the head towards the door- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 WE GOSTELIONS. 
 
 way, " I don't mind telling you. ' Be- 
 cause it is a bright, shining spot, where 
 there is no dying (dyeing) and no 
 parting.'" 
 
 " Why that is as old as the hills," I cry. 
 " I thought it was something new." 
 
 " Well, it is new, is it not ? / never 
 heard it until quite lately." 
 
 " But you are not every one," remarks 
 Bob, giving him a slap on the shoulder, 
 " and it's my belief that Noah made that 
 riddle in the ark ! " 
 
 " Did he really, my dear ? " asked Lady 
 Trevelyan. "It is a very pretty riddle, 
 and its pedigree is most interesting. I did 
 not know that Noah was a literary man." 
 
 " If that constitutes a literary man, gran, 
 I'm one. I made a conundrum yesterday. 
 Shall I tell it to you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Tre, do spare us," I pleaded. " I 
 have such a lot of work to do, and I shall
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 243 
 
 never get it finished if you will not let me 
 have a little peace." 
 
 "What, have you not finished those 
 window curtains for the new house yet 1 I 
 must say it is a shame that Florence does 
 not help you. How many pairs are 
 there ? " ' 
 
 " Fifteen or sixteen. It is rather a case 
 of the ' weary pund of tow ; ' but no 
 doubt I shall get through them in time ; 
 and there are plenty of other things to be 
 done besides." 
 
 "Poor old girl," whispered my own 
 brother, softly, " I wish I could help you ; 
 but although Sir Robert Sale could use his 
 needle as well as his sword, I am sorry to 
 say I cannot. I can, however, turn the 
 handle of the sewing machine, if that will 
 save you at all." 
 
 " And I will devote myself to my grand- 
 mamma's amusement," said Tre, with a
 
 244 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 demureness which boded ill for her peace 
 of mind. Then he began, in a low voice, 
 " I saj, gran, there's been such a dreadful 
 shipwreck ! All hands lost." 
 
 " Oh! my dear, I can't bear to hear these 
 things ; pray don't tell me about them, 
 they make me creep all down my spine, and 
 I really shall be quite ill. I shall be sure 
 to think of the poor souls whenever the 
 wind blows at night." 
 
 "Well, then, I will tell you about the 
 railway accident instead ; oh ! gran, there 
 has been such a jolly smasher; almost every 
 one was seriously injured. It was a race 
 train crammed with people, which came into 
 collision with the mail, and over a hundred 
 men were killed. One of the guards was 
 blown bang up in the air, and there were 
 arms, and legs, and heads lying all over the 
 place. Lots of poor creatures had their 
 noses broken, and their teeth knocked down
 
 WE COSTELIONS. 245 
 
 their throats ; one man swallowed a whole 
 false set." 
 
 Now, Lady Trevelyan wore a set herself, 
 and this information quite finished her up. 
 
 " Good gracious, my dear boy, how very 
 dreadful ! It killed him, I suppose." 
 
 "On the spot! and all persons wearing 
 false teeth are advised by the Times to 
 leave them off at once. I thought you 
 would like to hear the news, you seem to 
 want a little cheering up. Well, Miriam, 
 what on earth is the matter ? you have 
 been making faces like a chimpanzee for the 
 last five minutes ; want me to leave off 
 talking, do you ? well, why on earth didn't 
 you say so, instead of making yourself so 
 unnecessarily ugly ? Why, I declare, dear 
 Em'ly is coming in, accompanied by her 
 ' Ma.' Fm blessed if there won't be a row 
 at Florence having recommended them to 
 order that horse ; she will have to give her
 
 246 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 reasons in writing. I'll stay and see the 
 fun out. I wish Florence were here ; 
 she's a great gun in the case of a row, she 
 fires her shots mercilessly. Let us call her 
 down." 
 
 " No, no, far better not ; it would be 
 most unpleasant for papa if we were to 
 have any fuss with these Riders, when he 
 is mixed up with the paterfamilias in busi- 
 ness matters." 
 
 ''Miriam is right," said Bob, "we must 
 try and pour oil upon the troubled water." 
 
 "Miriam is a regular Mother Carey's 
 chicken ; she expels it as she goes, and 
 creates a calm for herself; trust her to 
 make peace, she does not appreciate rough 
 weather one little bit," rejoined Tre. " How 
 do you do, Miss Kider, did you have a 
 pleasant ride *? " he ended, turning to poor 
 unfortunate Em'ly, who stood before us 
 with very red eyes.
 
 WJ^J COSTELIONS. 247 
 
 " You know as how she didn't," cried the 
 mother, mdignantly, "for you was all a 
 standmg at that there window and enjoy- 
 mg her discomfiture." 
 
 "Indeed no," I began, "we were very 
 sorry to see that your daughter had so 
 much trouble with that restive animal ; the 
 livery stable keeper ought not to have sent 
 it for a lady to ride." 
 
 " There's others more to blame than him, 
 and that's what we've come about. Your 
 sister Florence, as you calls her, told Em'ly 
 to hask for that 'orse, as it was the best 
 ladies 'ack in the stud, and here's the 
 result of her advice, and I've come to know 
 what it means," cried the good woman, 
 excitedly. 
 
 •' It is very unfortunate that my sister 
 should have given any advice," I answered, 
 gently, " and I greatly hope Miss Emily is 
 not hurt."
 
 248 WE COSTELIONS. 
 
 " Mother Carey's chicken ! " giggles Tre- 
 veljan, aside. 
 
 " Nevertheless, we should like to 'ave it 
 liout with her," blurted out the excited 
 woman. 
 
 " I fear my sister cannot see you, I think 
 she is lying down," I replied, colouring at 
 the untruth, for I did not think anything 
 of the sort ; *' and poor Lady Lavinia is so 
 very unwell to-day that I am afraid I shall 
 have to ask you to excuse me, presently/' 
 
 '* What a polite hint to be off!" says Tre- 
 velyan, in a stage whisper, which makes me 
 redder still. 
 
 '' Pray believe, Mrs. Kider," I continue, 
 quickly, "that my sister never saw the 
 horse in her life, and had your daughter 
 met with any accident, I am certain she 
 would have been as sorry as I should have 
 been, and that would have been very sorry 
 indeed."
 
 U'E COSTELIOXS. 249 
 
 " Well, my dear, you've a nice way of 
 putting things, and I suppose I am bound 
 to believe you, so I shan't say no more 
 about it, though Em'ly's abit is completely 
 spoilt — that bright blue won't stand mud 
 stains, but it looks cheerful, and she 'ad it 
 by my advice. And now, as you want to 
 go and look after your ' Ma,' I suppose we 
 'ad better take ourselves hoif," and Mrs. 
 Itider (like the month of March), although 
 she had come in like a lion, went out like a 
 lamb. And so long as we remained in 
 Devonshire Terrace, poor Em'ly did not 
 make another attempt at equestrian exer- 
 cise. 
 
 EXD OF VOL. I. 
 
 STEVENS AND RICHARDSON, PRINTERS, 5, r;REAT QUEEN STREET, W'.C. 
 
 VOL. 1. S