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 Of ILLINOIS
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 
 
 
 
 
 i. 
 
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 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/ladygraceotherst01wood
 
 LADY GEACE 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 PHrtfTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., XKW-STUEET SQUAIIE 
 
 LONDON
 
 LADY GB AGE 
 
 AND OTHER STOBIES 
 
 BY 
 
 MES HENRY WOOD 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' EAST LVNNE ' * THE CITAXXIXGS ' ETC. 
 
 IN THKEE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I, 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHABD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET 
 
 Pnlilisbcvs in (lil^rbinarii to ^Tirr 'AV.iir<itn tbf (^^ncen 
 
 1887 
 
 AH right K re.'frvJ
 
 t/.l 
 
 S 
 
 I' CONTENTS 
 
 OP 
 
 S THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 > 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Gkeat and Little Whitton ... 1 
 
 II. A Curious Mistake ' 32 
 
 l^' III. The Eael of Avon .... 
 
 " IV. The Last Journey 84 
 
 V. The Lads . . . . . . .121 
 
 >^ VI. In the Cathedral 
 
 ^ VII. With Sir William Chant . . .191 
 
 ^ VIII. After the Dinner-party . . . . 222 
 
 ^■^ IX. Miss Dynevor and the Girls . . . 252 
 
 ^ 

 
 LADY GEAGE. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 GREAT A^"D LITTLE WHITTON. 
 
 A RUSTIC congregation was pouring out of a 
 rustic cliurcli one Sunday afternoon — St. 
 Mary's, in the hamlet of Little Whitton, 
 situated about thirty miles from the metro- 
 polis. Great Whitton, some three miles off, 
 was altogether a different affair, for the 
 parish there was more aristocratic than 
 rustic, and the hving was worth nine 
 hundred a- year : Little Whitton brought its 
 incumbent in only two hundred, all told. 
 The hvings were both in the gift of the Earl 
 of Avon, whose seat was on the other 
 YOL. L B 
 
 / f
 
 2 LADY GRACE 
 
 side of Great Whitton. The incumbent of 
 Great Whitton was an old man, almost past 
 duty ; the incumbent of Little Whitton was 
 an able and attractive man scarcely thirty, 
 the Eeverend Eyle Baumgarten. Therefore, 
 little wonder need be expressed if some of 
 the Great Whitton families ignored their old 
 rector, who had lost his teeth, and could not 
 by any effort be heard, and came to listen to 
 the eloquent Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 A small open carriage, the horses driven 
 by a boy, jockey fashion, waited at the 
 church door. The boy was in a crimson 
 jacket and a velvet cap, the postillion 
 livery of the Avons. The sweeping seat 
 behind was low and convenient, without 
 doors ; therefore, when two ladies emerged 
 from the church they stepped into it unas- 
 sisted. The one looked about fifty years of 
 age, and walked slowly ; the other was a 
 young lady of exceeding fairness, with some-
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 8 
 
 what haughty features and haughty eyes, 
 bhie as the summer sky. The boy touched 
 his horses and drove on. 
 
 'He surpassed himself to-day, Grace,' 
 began the elder lady. 
 
 ' I think he did, mamma.' 
 
 ' But it is a long way to come — for me. 
 I can't venture out in all weathers. If we 
 had him at Great Whitton, now, I could 
 hear him every Sunday.' 
 
 ' Well, mamma, nothing is more easy 
 than to have him there — as I have said more 
 than once,' observed the younger, bending 
 down to adjust something in the carriage, 
 that her sudden heio-htenino; of colour mio;ht 
 pass unnoticed. ' It is impossible that Mk. 
 Chester should last long, and you could get 
 Henry to give him the living.' 
 
 ' Grace, you talk as a child. Good 
 livings are not given away so easily ; neither 
 are men witliout connections inducted to 
 
 b2
 
 4 LADY GRACE 
 
 them. I never heard that young Baum- 
 garten had any connections ; not as much as 
 a father or mother, even ; he does not speak 
 of his family. No; the most sensible plan 
 would be for Mr. Chester to turn off that 
 muff of a curate, and take on Baumgarten in 
 his stead.' 
 
 The young lady threw back her head. 
 ' Eectors don't give up their preferments to 
 subside into curates, mamma.' 
 
 * Unless it is made well worth their 
 while,' returned the elder, in a matter-of- 
 fact tone ; ' and old Chester might make it 
 worth Mr. Baumgarten's.' 
 
 *Mr. Chester ought to retire. For my 
 part, I cannot imagine how these old clergy 
 can persist in remaining in their livings.' 
 
 ' The clergy must grow old as well as 
 other people, my dear.' 
 
 ' I am not speaking of age so much as 
 of failing faculties. Some men older than
 
 GREAT AND LIITLE WHITTOX 5 
 
 Mr. Chester are as capable of fulfilling their 
 duties as ever they were. But Mr. Chester 
 is not.' 
 
 The young lady received no answer to 
 this, and they went along in silence. 
 
 ' Mamma ! ' she exclaimed, when they 
 were about a mile on the road, ' we never 
 called to enquire after Mrs. Dane.' 
 
 ' I did not think of doing so.' 
 
 ' / did. I shall go back again. James ! ' 
 
 The boy, without slackening his speed, 
 half turned on his horse. ' My lady ? * 
 
 ' When you come to the corner, drive 
 down the lane and go back to the cottage.' 
 
 He touched his cap and looked forward 
 again, and Lady Grace sank back in the 
 carriage. 
 
 'You might have consulted me first, 
 Grace,' grumbled the Countess of Avon. 
 * And why do you choose the longer way 
 round by the lane ? '
 
 b LADY GKACE 
 
 ' The lane is shady, mamma, and the 
 afternoon sunny ; to prolong our drive will 
 do you good.' 
 
 Lady Grace laughed as she spoke, and 
 it would have taken one deeper in penetra- 
 tion than the Lady Avon had ever been to 
 divine that all had been done with a precon- 
 certed plan : that when her daughter drove 
 from the church door, she had fully intended 
 to proceed part of the way home, and then 
 go back again. Lady Grace Carmel had 
 rather a strong will, which had been 
 fostered by indulgence, for she was an only 
 daughter. 
 
 We must notice another of the congrega- 
 tion, one who had left the church by a 
 different door. It was a young lady of two 
 or three and twenty ; she had less beauty 
 than Lady Grace, but a far sweeter counte- 
 nance. She crossed the churchyard, and 
 opening one of its gates, found herself in a
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 7 
 
 narrow sheltered walk, running througli a 
 corner of Whitton Wood. It was the 
 nearest way to her home, Whitton Cottage. 
 
 A few paces within it, she stood against 
 a tree, turned and waited ; her lips parted, 
 her cheek flushed, and her hand was laid 
 upon her beating heart. Was she expecting 
 anyone to join her ? Little doubt of it ; and 
 that it was one all too dear to her the signs 
 betrayed. The ear of love is strangely fine, 
 and she, Edith Dane, bent her ears to listen : 
 with the first sound of approaching footsteps 
 she walked hurriedly on. Would she be 
 caught waiting for him ? Iso, no ; rather 
 would she hide herself for ever than betray 
 aught of the deep love that lay in her heart 
 for the Eeverend Eyle Baumgarten. 
 
 It was Mr. Baumgarten who was follow- 
 ing her. He sometimes chose the near way 
 home, too: a tall, graceful man, with pale, 
 classic features, and luminous brown eyes set
 
 8 LADY GRACE 
 
 deeply ; but in his face might be seen some- 
 what of irresolution. He strode on, and over- 
 took Miss Dane. 
 
 ' How fast you are walking, Edith ! ' 
 
 She turned her head with the prettiest 
 air of surprise possible, her cheeks bright 
 with love's rosy flush. ' Oh — is it you, Mr. 
 Baumgarten? I was walking fast to get 
 home to poor mamma.' 
 
 Nevertheless, it did happen that their 
 pace slackened considerably ; in fact, they 
 scarcely advanced at all, but sauntered along 
 side by side, as if to enjoy the beauty of the 
 summer afternoon. ' They have been taking 
 me to task to-day,' suddenly began Mr. 
 Baumgarten. 
 
 ' Who ? The Avons, do you mean ? I 
 saw they were at church.' 
 
 ' Not the Avons. What have they to do 
 with me, Edith ? ' And Edith blushed at 
 his question ; or rather at herself for having
 
 GKEAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 9 
 
 mentioned them. 'Squire Wells and his 
 wife, with half-a-dozen more, carpeted me in 
 the vestry after service this morning.' 
 
 ' What about ? ' 
 
 'About the duties of the parish; secular, 
 not clerical : I take care that the latter shall 
 be efficiently performed. The old women 
 are not coddled, the younger ones' households 
 not sufficiently looked up, and the school, in 
 the point of plain sewing, is running to rack 
 and ruin.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten had been speaking in a 
 half-joking way, his beautiful eyes ahve with 
 merriment. Miss Dane received the news 
 more seriously. ' You did not say anything 
 of this at dinner-time. You did not tell 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' No. Why should I tell her ? It might 
 only worry her, you know. The school 
 sewing is the worst grievance,' he lightly 
 ran on. 'Dame Giles's Betsy took some
 
 10 LADY GRACE 
 
 cloth with her which ought to have gone 
 back a shirt, but which was returned a pair 
 of pillow-cases : the dame boxed Betsy's 
 ears, went to the school and nearly boxed 
 Miss Turner's. It seems to me they could 
 not have a better governess than she is. 
 However, such mistakes, I am told, are often 
 occurring, and the matrons of the parish are 
 up in arms.' 
 
 'But do they expect you to look after 
 the sewing of the school ? ' breathlessly 
 asked Edith. 
 
 ' Not exactly ; but they think I might 
 provide a remedy: someone who would do 
 so.' 
 
 ' How stupid they are ! I'm sure Miss 
 Turner does what she can with such a tribe. 
 Not that I think she is particularly clever ; 
 and were there any lady who would super- 
 intend occasionally it might be better ; 
 mamma can't, but '
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 11 
 
 ' That is just it,' interrupted Mr. Baum- 
 garten, laughing. ' They tell me I ought 
 to help Miss Turner to a supervisor, by 
 taking to myself a wife.' 
 
 He looked at Edith as he spoke, and her 
 face happened to be turned full upon him. 
 The Avords dyed it with a glowing crimson, 
 even to the roots of her soft brown hair. In 
 her confusion she knew not whether to keep 
 it where it was, or to turn it away : her eye- 
 lids had dropped, glowing also ; and Edith 
 Dane could have boxed her own ears as 
 heartily as Dame Giles had boxed the un- 
 happy Miss Betsy's. 
 
 ' It cannot be thought of, you know, 
 Edith.' 
 
 'What cannot?' 
 
 ' My marrying. Marry on two hundred 
 a year, and expose my wife, and perhaps 
 others, to poverty and privation ? No, that 
 I will never do.'
 
 12 LADY GRACE 
 
 * The parsonage must be put in repair if 
 you marry,' stammered Editli, not in the least 
 knowing what she said, but compelling her- 
 self to say something so that she might 
 appear unconcerned. 
 
 'And a great deal of money it would 
 take to do it. I told Squire Wells if he 
 could get my tithes increased to double their 
 present value, then I might venture upon a 
 wife. He laughed, and replied I might look 
 out for a wife who had ten thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' Such wives are not easily found,' mur- 
 mured Edith Dane. 
 
 ' Not by me,' returned Mr. Baumgarten. 
 ' A college chum of mine, never dreaming to 
 aspire to anything better than I possess now, 
 married a rich young widow in the second 
 year of his curacy, and lives on the fat of the 
 land, in pomp and luxury. I would not 
 have done it.' 
 
 ^ Why ? '
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTOX 13 
 
 * Because no love went witli it ; even 
 before his marriage he allowed himself to 
 say as much to me — disparaged her in fact. 
 No ; the school and the other difficulties, 
 which are out of my line, must do as they 
 can, yet awhile.' 
 
 ' Of course, mamma would be the proper 
 person to continue to look after these things 
 for you as she used to do, if she were not 
 incapacitated.' 
 
 'But she is, Edith. And your time is 
 taken up with her, so that you cannot help 
 me.' 
 
 Miss Dane was silent. Had her time not 
 been taken up, she fancied it might not be 
 deemed quite the thing, in her censorious 
 neighbourhood, to be going about in con- 
 junction with Mr. Baumgarten ; although 
 she was the late rector's daughter. 
 
 The Reverend Cyrus Dane had been 
 many years rector of Little Whitton ; at liis
 
 14 LADY GRACE 
 
 death Mr. Baumgarten was appointed. Mrs. 
 Dane was left witli a very slender provision, 
 derived from an annuity. Her husband had 
 been quite unable to save money : the needs 
 of his parish, the education of his two 
 daughters, and the expenses of living had 
 utterly absorbed his stipend, and kept him 
 sadly poor. So poor that the necessary 
 repairs of the rectory from year to year had 
 never been attended to, and when he died it 
 was in a woeful state of dilapidation. The 
 eldest of his daughters, Charlotte, had mar- 
 ried George Brice, a nephew of Brice the 
 surgeon ; he was the junior partner in a 
 shipping house, and lived in London. 
 
 When Mr. Baumgarten arrived to take 
 possession of his new living, he found the 
 rectory perfectly uninhabitable. Mrs. Dane 
 had moved out of it to Whitton Cottage, and 
 it was arranged that he should take up liis 
 residence with her, paying a certain sum for
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 15 
 
 his board. It was a comfortable arrange- 
 ment for the young clergyman, and it was a 
 help to Mrs. Dane. He had not the means 
 to put the rectory into repair, and was told 
 that he must go upon the late rector's widow 
 to do it ; that she was liable, as in fact she 
 was. But Mr. Baumgarten could not and 
 would not do that. She had not the means 
 to restore it any more than he had. So 
 things were left as they were, to drift, and 
 he made himself happy and contented at 
 Whitton Cottage. He had just entered now 
 upon the second year of his residence with 
 them; during which Mrs. Dane had been 
 seized with a slow and lingering illness, 
 which must in time terminate fatally. 
 
 Why did she love him ? Curious fool, he still ; 
 Is human love the growth of human will ? 
 
 A great deal happier for many of us if it 
 were the growth of human will, or under its 
 control. In too many instances it is born of
 
 16 LADY GRACE 
 
 association, of companionship ; and thus had 
 it been at Whitton Cottage. Thrown to- 
 gether in daily intercourse, an attachment 
 had sprung up between the young rector 
 and Edith Dane — a concealed attachment, 
 for he considered his circumstances barred 
 his marriage, and she hid her feelings as a 
 matter of course. He was an ambitious man, 
 a proud man, though perhaps not quite con- 
 scious of it, and to encounter the expenses of 
 a family household upon small means ap- 
 peared to him more to be shunned than any 
 adverse fate on earth. Mr. Baumgarten was 
 of gentle birth, but he had not any private 
 fortune or near relatives ; he had in fact no 
 connections whatever to push him forward in 
 the Church. For all he could see now, he 
 might live and die at this slender living, and 
 he did not like the prospect. 
 
 But we left him walking home from ser- 
 vice with Edith, and they soon reached
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTOX 17 
 
 Whitton Cottage. Mr. Baumgarten went on 
 at once to the little room he used as his 
 study, but Edith, at the sound of wheels, 
 lingered in the garden. The Countess of 
 Avon's carriage drew up, and stopped at the 
 gate. Miss Dane went out to it. Grace 
 spoke first, her eyes running in all directions 
 while she did so, as if they were in search of 
 some object not in view. 
 
 'Edith, we could not go home without 
 driving round to ask after your mamma.' 
 
 ' Thank you. Lady Grace. Mamma is in 
 little pain to-day and her cough is not 
 troublesome. I think her breathing is gene- 
 rally better in hot weather. Will you not 
 come in ? ' 
 
 ' Couldn't think of it, my dear,' spoke up 
 the Countess. ' Our dinner will be ready ; 
 you know I have to take it early. Grace 
 forgot to order James round till we were 
 half-way home.' 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 LADY GRACE 
 
 'Has Mr. Baiimgarten got back from 
 church yet?' carelessly spoke Lady Grace, 
 adjiistiDg the lace of her summer mantle. 
 
 ' He is iu his study, I fancy,' replied 
 Edith, and she turned round to hide the 
 blush called up by the question, just as Mr. 
 Baumgarten approached them. At his ap- 
 pearance the blush in Grace Carmel's face 
 rivalled that in Edith's. 
 
 'You surpassed yourself to-day,' cried 
 Lady Avon, as she shook hands with him. 
 ' I must hear that sermon again. Would you 
 mind lending it to me ? ' 
 
 'Not at all,' he replied, 'if you can 
 only make out my hieroglyphics. My 
 writing is plain to me, but I do not 
 know that it w^ould be so to you. Lady 
 Avon.' 
 
 ' When shall I have it ? Will you bring 
 it up this evening, and take tea with us? 
 But you will find the walk long, perhaps,
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 19 
 
 after your services to-day ; and the weather 
 is hot,' she added. 
 
 'Very long; too far. Could you not 
 return with us now, Mr. Baumgarten ? ' inter- 
 posed her daughter. ' Mamma will be glad 
 of you to say grace at table.' 
 
 Whether it pleased the Countess or not, 
 she had no resource, in good manners, but 
 to second the invitation so unceremoniously 
 given. Mr. Baumgarten may have thought 
 he had no resource but to acquiesce — out of 
 good manners also, perhaps. He stood 
 leaning over the carriage, and spoke, half 
 laughing : 
 
 'Am I to bring my sermon with me? If 
 so, I must go in for it. I have just taken it 
 from my pocket.' 
 
 He came back with his sermon in its 
 black cover. The seat of the carriage was 
 exceedingly large, sweeping round in a half 
 circle. Lady Grace drew nearer to her 
 
 c 2
 
 20 LADY GRACE 
 
 mother, sitting quite back in tlie middle of 
 the seat, and Mr. Baiimgarten took his 
 seat beside her. Edith Dane cast a look 
 after them as the carriage rolled away ; a 
 pained, envious look ; for her, the sunshine 
 of the afternoon had gone out. 
 
 Miss Dane did not like these visits of his 
 to Avon House, and he seemed to be often 
 going there on one plea or another. There, 
 he was surrounded by all the glory and 
 pomp of stately life, and that is apt to tell 
 upon a man's heart ; Grace Carmel, too, was 
 more beautiful than she, and singularly 
 attractive. Not that Edith did, or could, 
 suppose there was any real danger : the 
 difference in their social positions barred 
 that. 
 
 Some cloud, unexplained, and nearly 
 forgotten now, had overshadowed Lady 
 Avon's later hfe. It had occurred, what- 
 ever it was, during the lifetime of her lord.
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 21 
 
 She had chosen ever since to hve at Avon 
 House in retirement. 
 
 An inward complaint, real or fancied, 
 had set in, and the Countess thought her- 
 self unable to move to London. Lady 
 Grace had been presented by her aunt, and 
 passed one season in town : then she had 
 returned to her mother, to share perforce in 
 her retirement, at which she inwardly 
 rebelled. Over and over again did Grace 
 wish her brother would marry and come 
 home ; for the place was his, and it would 
 compel her mother to quit it. But Lord 
 Avon preferred his town house to his 
 country one, and told his mother she was 
 heartily welcome to stay in it. He liked a 
 gay life better than a dull one : as all the 
 world had known when he was young 
 Viscount Standish. 
 
 It is just possible that the ennui of 
 Grace's monotonous life at Avon had led to
 
 22 LADY GRACE 
 
 her falling in love with Mr. Baumgarten. 
 That she had done so, that she loved him, 
 with a strong and irrepressible passion, was 
 certain ; and she did not try to overcome it, 
 but rather fostered it, seeking his society, 
 dwelling upon his image. Had it occurred 
 to her to fear that she might find a 
 dangerous rival in Edith Dane ? No ; for 
 she cherished the notion that Mr. Baum- 
 garten was attached to herself, and Edith 
 was supposed to be engaged to a distant 
 cousin ; a young man who had been reading 
 with her father during the last year of his 
 life. The young fellow had wanted Edith ; 
 he asked her parents for her, he implored 
 her to wait until he should be ordained. 
 Edith had only laughed at him; but the 
 report that they were engaged had in some 
 way got about, and Lady Grace never 
 thought to doubt it. No ; strange though 
 it may seem to those who understand the
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTOX 26 
 
 exacting and jealous nature of love, Lady 
 Grace never had cast a fear to Edith's being 
 her rival. 
 
 This evening was but another of those 
 Mr. Baumgarten sometimes spent at Avon 
 House, feeding the flame of her ill-starred 
 passion. His manner to women was 
 naturally tender, and to Grace, with her 
 fascinations brought unconsciously to bear 
 upon him, dangerously warm. That he 
 never for one moment had outstepped the 
 bounds of friendly intercourse, Grace attri- 
 buted entirely to the self-restraint imposed 
 by his position ; but she did not doubt he 
 loved her in secret. 
 
 While at dinner he told them, jokingly, 
 as he had told Edith, that the parish wanted 
 him to marry. Lady Avon remarked, in 
 answer, that he could not do better ; parsons 
 and doctors should always be married men. 
 
 ' Yes, that's very right, very true,' he
 
 24 LADY GRACE 
 
 returned, in the same jesting tone. ' But 
 suppose they have nothing to marry upon ? ' 
 
 ' But you have something, Mr. Baum- 
 garten.' 
 
 ' Yes, I have two hundred a-year ; and 
 no residence.' 
 
 ' The rectory is rather bad, I beheve.' 
 
 ' Bad ! Well, Lady Avon, you should 
 see it.' 
 
 ' Mr. Dane ought not to have allowed it 
 to get into that state,' she remarked ; and 
 the subject dropped. 
 
 After dinner Mr. Baumgarten stood on 
 the lawn with Grace, watching the glories of 
 the setting sun. Lady Avon, indoors, was 
 beginning to doze ; they knew better than 
 to disturb her ; this after-dinner sleep, 
 which sometimes did not last more than ten 
 minutes, was of great moment to her, the 
 doctor said. And indeed it was so : when 
 she did not get it she invariably had a
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTON 25 
 
 restless night, the overtired brain not suffer- 
 ing her to sleep. She took it in the dining- 
 room ; only moving to the drawing-room 
 when she awoke. Great ceremony was not 
 observed at Avon House. Six or eight 
 servants comprised the indoor household, 
 for the Countess's jointure was extremely 
 limited. The Avon peerage was not a rich 
 one. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten had held out his arm 
 to Lady Grace in courtesy as they began to 
 pace the paths, and she took it. They came 
 to a halt near the entrance gate, both gazing 
 at the beautiful sky, their hands partially 
 shading their eyes from the blaze of sunset, 
 when a little man dressed in black with a 
 white necktie was seen approaching. 
 
 ' Why, here comes Moore ! ' exclaimed 
 Grace. 
 
 He was the clerk at Great Whitton 
 Church. Limping up to the gate, for he
 
 Zb LADY GRACE 
 
 was lame with rheumatism, he stood there 
 and looked at Mr. Baumgarten, as if his 
 business lay with him. But Grace, with- 
 drawing her arm from her companion, was 
 first at the gate. 
 
 * I beg pardon, my lady, I thought it 
 right to come up and inform the Countess 
 of the sad news — and I'm glad I did, seeing 
 you here, sir. Mr. Chester is gone, my 
 lady.' 
 
 ' Gone ! ' exclaimed Grace. ' Gone 
 where ? ' 
 
 ' He is dead, my lady — he is dead, sir. 
 Departed to that bourn whence no traveller 
 returns,' continued the clerk, wishing to be 
 religiously impressive, and believing he was 
 quoting from Scripture. 
 
 ' Surely it cannot be ! ' said ]\Ir. Baum- 
 garten. 
 
 ' Ay, but it is, sir, more's the pity. And 
 frightfully sudden. After getting home from
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WIIITTOX 27 
 
 afternoon service he said he felt uncommonly 
 tired, he couldn't think why, and that he'd 
 not have his tea till later in the evening. 
 He went up to his room and sat down in the 
 easy- chair there and dropped asleep. A 
 sweet, tranquil sleep it was, to all appear- 
 ance, and Mrs. Chester shut the door and 
 left him. But after an hour or two, when 
 she sent up to say he had better wake up for 
 his tea, they found him dead. The poor old 
 lady is quite beside herself with the sudden- 
 ness, and the maids be running about, all 
 sixes and sevens.' 
 
 ' I will go down with you at once, Moore,' 
 said Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 ' But you will come back and tell 
 us — and tell us how Mrs. Chester is ? ' said 
 Lady Grace, as he was passing through the 
 gate. 
 
 'Yes, certainly, if you wish it,' he an- 
 swered, walking away with so fleet a step
 
 Z5 LADY GRACE 
 
 that the clerk with difficulty kept up with 
 hhn. 
 
 ' I fancy it must have been on his mind, 
 sir,' said he ; 'not direct perhaps, but some 
 inkling hke of what was about to happen. 
 This afternoon, when I'd took off his surplice 
 in the vestry — it was him that had read 
 prayers, as usual, Mr. Boyd preaching — I 
 went and put things to rights a bit in the 
 church, and when I got back to the vestry 
 to lock up, I was surprised to see the rector 
 there still, sitting opposite the outer door, 
 which stood open to the churchyard. Mr. 
 Boyd was gone, but he w^as not. "Don't 
 you feel well, sir ? " said I. " Oh yes, I'm 
 well," he answered, "but I'm tired. We 
 must all get to feel tired when the end of 
 our life is at hand, Moore, and mine has 
 been a long one." " Yes, it has, sir, and a 
 happy one too," I said, " thank God." With 
 that he rose up from his chair and lifted his
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTOX 29 
 
 hands towards heaveu, looking up at the 
 blue sky. "Thanks be to my merciful 
 God," he repeated solemnly, in a hushed 
 sort of tone. " For that, and all the other 
 blessings of my past life on earth, thanks be 
 unto Him ! " With that, he took his hat and 
 stick and walked out to the churchyard,' 
 concluded the clerk, ' leaving me a bit dazed 
 as 'twere, for I had never heard him talk 
 like that before ; he was not the sort o' man 
 to do it.' 
 
 Within an hour Mr. Baumgarten was 
 back at Avon House. Lady Grace was still 
 lingering in the garden in the summer twi- 
 light. He told her in a hushed voice all he 
 had to tell ; of the general state of things 
 at the rectory, of poor Mrs. Chester's sad 
 distress. 
 
 'Mamma is expecting you,' said Grace. 
 * I broke the news to her, but she wants to 
 hear more particulars.'
 
 30 LADY GRACE 
 
 They went into the drawing-room by 
 the open doors of the window. Mr. Baum- 
 garten gave the best account he could to 
 Lady Avon, and then drank a cup of tea, 
 standing ; he would not wait to sit down for 
 it. Still asking questions, Grace passed out 
 again with him to the open air, and strolled 
 by his side along the smooth broad path 
 which led to the entrance gate. When they 
 reached it, he held out his hand to bid her 
 good-evening. The opal sky was clear and 
 beautiful ; a large star shone in it. 
 
 ' Great Whitton is in my brother's gift,' 
 she whispered, as her hand rested in his. ' I 
 wish he would give it to you.' 
 
 A flush rose to the young clergyman's 
 face. To exchange Little Whitton for Great 
 Whitton had now and then made one of the 
 flighty dreams of his ambition — but never 
 really cherished. 
 
 ' Do not mock me with pleasant visions.
 
 GREAT AND LITTLE WHITTOX 31 
 
 Lady Grace. I can have no possible interest 
 with Lord Avon.' 
 
 ' You could marry then,' she softly said, 
 in reference to the conversation at dinner, 
 ' and set the parish grumblers at defiance.' 
 
 'Marry? Yes, I should — I hope — do 
 so,' was his reply. His voice was as soft as 
 her own, his speech hesitating ; he was 
 thinking of Edith Dane. 
 
 But how was Lady Grace to divine that ? 
 She, alas ! gave altogether a different inter- 
 pretation to the words ; and her heart beat 
 with a tender throbbing, and her lips parted 
 with love and hope, and she gazed after him 
 until he disappeared in the shadows of the 
 sweet summer night.
 
 32 LADY GRACE 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE. 
 
 The Countess of Avon, persuaded into it by 
 her daughter — badgered into it, her ladyship 
 said — exacted a promise from her son that 
 he would bestow the living of Great Whitton 
 upon the Eeverend Eyle Baumgarten. 
 
 The Earl did not give an immediate 
 consent ; in fact, he demurred to give it at 
 all, and sundry letters passed to and fro 
 between Avon House and Paris — for liis 
 lordship happened just then to have taken 
 a run over to the French capital. Great 
 Whitton was too good a thing to be thrown 
 away upon young Baumgarten, wlio was 
 nobody, he told his mother, and he should
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 33 
 
 like to give it to Elliotsen ; but Lady Avon, 
 for peace' sake at home, urged her petition 
 strongly, and the Earl at length granted it 
 and gave the promise. 
 
 The morning the letter arrived containing 
 the promise, and also the information that 
 his lordship was back at his house in London, 
 Lady Avon was feeling unusually ill, and did 
 not get up. Her head was aching violently, 
 and she bade her maid put the letter aside ; 
 she would open it later. This she did in the 
 afternoon, when she was sitting up in her 
 dressing-room, and she then told Grace of 
 the arrival of the unexpected promise. 
 
 ' Oh, let me see it ! ' exclaimed Grace, in 
 her incautious excitement, holding out her 
 hand for the letter. 
 
 She read it hungrily, with flushing cheeks 
 and trembhng fingers. Lady Avon could 
 but note this. It somewhat puzzled her. 
 
 'Grace,' she said, 'I cannot think why 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 LADY GRACE 
 
 you should be so eager about this. What 
 does it signify to you who gets the hving 
 — whether Mr. Baumgarten or another ? ' 
 
 Grace read to the end and folded up the 
 letter before answering. She was a model 
 of calmness now. 
 
 'It would be very annoying to us, 
 mamma, if some dolt of a man got it — 
 and Henry, as you know, has no discri- 
 mination. Mr. Baumgarten is safe. He 
 is suitable in all respects; thoroughly 
 capable, and a gentleman. Besides, you like 
 him.' 
 
 ' Well, I do,' assented Lady Avon. 
 
 In the evening, when Grace was saunter- 
 ing listlessly in the rocky walk, wondering 
 whether anyone would call that night or not, 
 she saw hira. Him. He was coming along 
 the path from the rectory. The old rector 
 had been buried some days now. 
 
 * I have been sitting with Mrs. Chester,
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 35 
 
 and thought I would just ask, in passing, 
 how Lady Avon is,' he remarked, swinging 
 through the gate, as if he would offer an 
 apology for calling. ' The last time I was 
 here she seemed so very poorly/ 
 
 ' She is not any better, I am sorry to 
 say ; to-day she has not come downstairs 
 at all,' replied Grace, meeting his offered 
 hand. 'What will you give me for 
 some news I can tell you?' she resumed, 
 standing before him in the full glow of her 
 beauty, her hand not yet withdrawn from 
 his. 
 
 He bent his sweet smile down upon her, 
 his deep, dark eyes speaking the admiration 
 that he might not utter. Eyle Baumgarten 
 was no more insensible to the charms of a 
 fascinating and beautiful girl than are other 
 men — despite his love for Edith Dane. She 
 was awaiting an answer. 
 
 ' What may I give ? ' he said. ' Nothing 
 
 d2
 
 36 • LADY GRACE 
 
 that I could give would be of value to 
 you.' 
 
 ' How do you know that, Mr. Bauni- 
 garten.^' 
 
 With a burning blush, for she had spoken 
 unguardedly, Grace laughed merrily, stepped 
 a few steps backward, and drew a letter 
 from her pocket. 
 
 It is one that came to mamma this morn- 
 ing, and it has a secret in it. What will you 
 give me to read you just one little sentence ? ' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten, but that Edith and his 
 calhng were in the way, would have said a 
 shower of kisses : it is possible that he might 
 in spite of both, had he dared. Whether 
 his looks betrayed him cannot be known ; 
 Lady Grace, blushing still, took refuge in 
 the letter. 
 
 Folding it so that only the signature was 
 visible, she held it out to him. He read the 
 name, ' Henry.'
 
 A CUKIOUS MISTAKE 37 
 
 'Is it — from — Lord Avon?' he said, 
 with hesitation. 
 
 'It is from Lord Avon. He does not 
 sign himself in any other way to us. " Your 
 ever affectionate son, Henry," it always runs 
 to mamma : and it is no unmeaning phrase ; 
 he is very fond of her. But now for the 
 secret. Listen.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten, suspecting nothing, 
 listened with a smile. 
 
 ' " I have been dunned with applications 
 since I got home," ' read Grace, aloud, from 
 Lord Avon's letter, ' " some of them from 
 personal friends; but as you and Grace 
 make so great a point of it, mother, I 
 promise you that Mr. Baumgarten shall 
 have Great Whitton." ' In reading, she 
 had left out the words ' and Grace.' She 
 closed the letter, and then stole a glance at 
 his face. 
 
 It had turned pale to seriousness.
 
 38 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' I do not quite understand,' he said. 
 
 ' No ? It means that you are appointed 
 to Great Whitton.' 
 
 ' How can I ever sufficiently thank Lord 
 Avon ? ' he breathed forth. 
 
 ' Now, is not the knowing that worth 
 something? ' kiughed she. 
 • ' Oh, Lady Grace ! It is worth far more 
 than anything I have to give in return. But 
 — it is not a jest, is it ? Can it be really 
 true ? ' 
 
 'A jest! Is that likely .? You will be 
 publicly appointed in a day or two, and 
 will, of course, hear from my brother. I 
 am not acquainted, myself, with the formal 
 routine of these things. Mamma is rejoic- 
 ing ; she would rather have you here than 
 anyone.' 
 
 ' Lady Avon is too kind,' he murmiured, 
 abstractedly. 
 
 ' And what do you think mamma said ?
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 39 
 
 Shall I tell yoLi? "Mr. Baiimgarten can 
 marry now." Those were her words.' 
 
 Grace spoke with sweet sauciness, 
 secure in the fact that he could not divine 
 her feehngs for him — although she believed in 
 his love for her. His answer surprised her. 
 
 'Yes, I can marry now,' he assented, 
 still half lost in his own thoughts. ' I shall 
 do so — soon. I have only waited until 
 some preferment should justify it.' 
 
 ' You are a bold man, Mr. Baumgarten, 
 to make so sure of the lady's consent. Have 
 you asked it ? ' 
 
 ' No ; where was the use, until I could 
 speak to some purpose ? But she has de- 
 tected my wishes, I am sure of that : and 
 there is no coquetry in Edith.' 
 
 ' Edith ! ' almost shrieked Lady Grace. 
 ' I beg your pardon ; I shall not fall.' 
 
 ' What have you done ? You have hurt 
 yourself!'
 
 40 LADY GRACE 
 
 They had been walking close to the 
 miniature rocks, and she had seemed to 
 stumble over a projecting corner. 
 
 'I gave my ankle a twist. The pain 
 was sharp,' she moaned. 
 
 ' Pray lean on me. Lady Grace ; pray 
 let me support you : you are as white as 
 death.' 
 
 He wound his arms gently round her, 
 and laid her pallid face upon his shoulder ; 
 he thought she was going to faint. For one 
 single moment she yielded to the fascination 
 of the beloved resting-place. Oh ! that it 
 could be hers for ever ! She shivered, 
 raised her head, and drew away from 
 him. 
 
 ' Thank you,' she said faintly ; ' the 
 anguish has passed. I must go indoors 
 now.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten held out his arm, but 
 she did not take it, walking alone with rapid
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 41 
 
 steps towards the house. At the entrance 
 of the glass doors she turned to him : 
 
 ' I will wish you good-evening now.' 
 
 He held out his hand, but she did not 
 appear to see it. She ran in, and he turned 
 away to depart, thinking she must be in 
 great pain. 
 
 Lady Grace shut herself in the drawing- 
 room. For a few moments she rushed about 
 as one possessed, in her torrent of anger. 
 As Congreve tells us, ' Hell has no fury 
 as a woman scorned.' 
 
 Then she sat down to her writing-desk, 
 and dashed off a blotted and hasty note to 
 Lord Avon — which w^ould just save the post : 
 
 ' Give the living to anyone you please, 
 Harry, but not to Eyle Baumgarten ; bestow 
 it where you will, but not on him. There 
 are reasons why he would be utterly unfit 
 for it. Explanations when we meet.'
 
 42 LADY GRACE 
 
 During this, Mr. Baumgarten was hasten- 
 ing liome, the great news surging in his 
 brain. Edith was at the gate, not looking 
 for him, of course ; merely enjoying the air 
 of the summer's night. That's what she 
 said she was doing when he came up. He 
 caught her by the waist, and drew her 
 between the trees and the privet-hedge, 
 and began to kiss her. She cried out, and 
 gazed at him in wonder. 
 
 'Edith, do you think I am mad? I 
 beheve I am — mad with joy ; for the time 
 has come that I may ask you to be my wife.' 
 
 ' Your wife ? ' she stammered, for in 
 truth that prospect had seemed farther off 
 than heaven. 
 
 He drew her to him again in the pleni- 
 tude of his emotion. Her heart beat wildly 
 against his, and he laid her face upon his 
 breast, more fondly than he had laid 
 another's, not long before.
 
 A CUKIOUS MISTAKE 43 
 
 ' You know how I have loved you : you 
 must have seen it, though I would not 
 speak ; but I could not marry while my 
 income was so small. It would not have 
 been right, Edith.' 
 
 ' If you think so — no.' 
 But, oh, my dearest, I may speak now. 
 Will you be my wife ? ' 
 
 ' But — what has happened ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Ah, what ! Promotion has come to me, 
 my dear one. I am presented to the living 
 of Great Whitton.' 
 
 ' Of Great Whitton ! Eyle ! ' 
 
 ' It is quite sure. Lord Avon's mother 
 asked him to give it to me, it seems, and he 
 generously complied. Edith, will you reject 
 me, now I have Great Whitton ? ' 
 
 She hid her face ; she felt him lovingly 
 stroking her hair. 'I would not have re- 
 jected you when you had only Little 
 Whitton, Eyle.'
 
 44 LADY GKACE 
 
 ' Yours is not the first fair face which 
 has been there this night, Edith,' he said in a 
 laughing whisper. ' I had Lady Grace's 
 there but an hour ago.' 
 
 A shiver seemed to dart through her 
 heart. Her jealousy of Lady Grace had 
 been almost as powerful as her love for Mr. 
 Baumgarten. 
 
 'Grace said, in a joking kind of way, 
 that her mother had remarked I could 
 marry now I had Great Whitton. So I told 
 Grace that I should do so — one word leads 
 to another, you know, Edith — and that I 
 had only waited for preferment to marry 
 you, my best love. As I was speaking, she 
 managed somehow to twist her ankle. The 
 pain must have been intense, for she turned 
 as white as death, and I had to hold her to 
 me. But I did not pay myself for my 
 trouble, as I am doing now — with kisses.' 
 
 She lifted her face up and looked in
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 45 
 
 his. ' You would only have liked to do so, 
 Eyle.' 
 
 ' I have liked to do so ! ' he repeated, 
 smothering back a glimmer of consciousness. 
 ' Edith, my whole love is yours.' 
 
 A little more love-making, a little more 
 lingering in the soft shade of the evening 
 twihght, and then they went in together and 
 told the great news to Mrs. Dane. 
 
 Some days passed on. Lady Avon 
 rather wondered that she did not hear more 
 from her son, but supposed he had written 
 direct to Mr. Baumgarten. Grace said 
 nothing. The two lovers, over at Whitton 
 Cottage, were busily planning out the future. 
 
 One morning there was a startling an- 
 nouncement in the Times. As Lady Avon's 
 eyes fell upon it she truly thought they 
 must be playing her false, that her sight 
 was failing her.
 
 46 LADY GRACE 
 
 The living of Great Whitton was be- 
 stowed upon the Honourable and Eeverend 
 Wilfred Elliotsen, a personal friend of the 
 Earl of Avon. 
 
 Her ladyship called out for her daughter 
 in commotion ; she sent her maid, Charity, 
 to hasten her. Grace feared her mother 
 was worse, and flew to the room with rapid 
 steps. 
 
 ' What can be the meaning of this, 
 Grace ? ' gasped the Countess. ' Henry has 
 not given the hving to Mr. Baumgarten, 
 after all ; he has given it to young 
 Elliotsen ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed,' said Grace, carelessly. 
 ' Harry can do as he likes, I suppose.' 
 
 ' No, he can't, in such a case as this. At 
 least he ought not. Once his promise was 
 given to me it should have been kept. I 
 cannot understand his going from it. It is 
 not like him.'
 
 A CUKIOUS MISTAKE 47 
 
 ' Well, mamma, I don't see that it 
 matters to us, whichever way it may 
 be.' 
 
 ' But it does matter. I don't w^ant a 
 simpering young fellow like Wilfred Elliotsen 
 down here, and whose wife goes in for rank 
 Puseyism besides. She has only been wait- 
 ing for his appointment to a church, report 
 says, to make him play all kinds of antics in 
 it ; she leads him by the nose.' 
 
 Grace laughed. 
 
 ' It is no laughing matter,' reproved her 
 mother, 'for me or Mr. Baumgarten. I 
 shall be ashamed to look him in the face. 
 And he had begun to lay out plans for his 
 marriage with Miss Dane and their life at 
 Great Whitton ! ' 
 
 ' How do you know that ? ' asked Grace, 
 quickly. 
 
 ' Mrs. Brice told me so when she w^as 
 here yesterday,' replied Lady Avon. ' She
 
 48 LADY GRACE 
 
 knew from the Danes that Eyle Baumgarten 
 was to have Great Whitton and to marry 
 Edith. Why Henry shonld be so change- 
 able I cannot nuac^ine.' 
 
 Lady Avon was evidently very much 
 annoyed, and justly so ; annoyed at the fact, 
 and annoyed because she was unable to 
 understand her son, who was neither capri- 
 cious nor inconsiderate. She wrote a 
 letter of complaint to him that day, and 
 awaited his answer. 
 
 The ill news broke abruptly upon Mr. 
 Baumgarten. The little hard-worked, in- 
 offensive doctor, Mr. Brice, who had a kind 
 heart and never failed to have a kind word 
 for his patients, chanced to see in the Times 
 the same paragraph that Lady Avon saw, 
 and on the same morning. 
 
 ' Bless my heart,' he exclaimed, ' what 
 an unlucky thing ! How could Baumgarten 
 have made such a mistake ? He said Lady
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 49 
 
 Grace told him. Perhaps it was she who 
 mistook the matter ! ' 
 
 Away he hastened to Whitton Cottage, 
 the newspaper in his pocket, and into the 
 clergyman's presence, who sat in his little 
 study writing a sermon. And when he got 
 there, he felt at fault how to open the ball. 
 It seemed so cruel a thing to do. Mr. 
 Baumgarten, who looked gay and uncon- 
 scious, led up to it. 
 
 'Have you heard any particular news 
 this morning ? ' began the surgeon, after a 
 few words had passed. 
 
 ' No,' lightly rephed Mr. Baumgarten ; 
 ' I've not seen anyone to tell me any ; I have 
 been busy since breakfast with my sermon 
 for next Sunday. Nearly the last I shall 
 preach at Little Whitton, I expect.' 
 
 Mr. Brice coughed. ' Have you heard 
 from Lord Avon ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Not yet ; I rather wonder at it. Every 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 LADY GRACE 
 
 morning I look for a letter from him, but it 
 does not come. He may be in France 
 again for all I know myself ; I don't like to 
 call at Avon House until my appointment is 
 confirmed. It would look pushing ; as if I 
 were impatient.' 
 
 ' Well, I — I saw a curious paragraph in 
 the newspaper just now about Great Whitton 
 being given away ; but it was another name 
 that was mentioned, not yours,* said Mr. 
 Brice. ' I thought I'd come here at once to 
 see if you knew anything about it.' 
 
 ' Not anything ; newspapers are always 
 making mistakes,' smiled Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 Mr. Brice took the paper from his 
 pocket. Finding the place, he laid it before 
 the clergyman, who read it. Eead it twice 
 over, and began to feel somewhat less easy. 
 He read it a third time, aloud. 
 
 ' " We are authorised to state that the 
 valuable hving of Great Whitton, Home-
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 51 
 
 shire, has been bestowed by its patron, the 
 Earl of Avon, upon the Honourable and 
 Eeverend Wilfred Elliotsen." ' 
 
 There ensued a pause. The two gentle- 
 men were looking at one another, each 
 questioningiy. 
 
 * It must be a mistake,' said Mr. Baum- 
 garten. 'Lord Avon would not give the 
 living to me, and then give it to someone else.' 
 
 ' The question is — did he' give it to 
 you ? ' returned Mr. Brice. ' Perhaps the 
 mistake lies in your having thought so.' 
 
 ' I saw it in his own handwriting, in his 
 letter to his mother. Lady Grace showed 
 it to me ; at least, a portion of it. He 
 wrote in answer to an appeal Lady Avon 
 had made to him to give me the living. 
 His promise was a positive one. It is this 
 newspaper that makes the mistake, Brice ; 
 it cannot be otherwise.' 
 
 ' Anyway, we will hope so,' briskly 
 
 UBRARV
 
 52 LADY GRACE 
 
 added the surgeon. But he spoke more 
 confidently than he felt, and perhaps Mr. 
 Baumgarten had done the same. 
 
 Lord Avon's reply to his mother's letter 
 of complaint and inquiry came to her by 
 return of post, and ran as follows : 
 
 'My dear Mother, — I cancelled my 
 promise of giving the living to Baumgarten 
 at Grace's request. She wrote to me post 
 haste some days ago, telling me there were 
 reasons why Baumgarten would be utterly 
 unfit to hold Great Whitton, and begging 
 me to bestow it upon anyone rather than 
 ujDon him. That is all I know ; you must 
 ask an explanation of Grace. Of course I 
 assumed she was writing for you. It is 
 settled now, and too late to change back 
 again. Elliotsen will do very well in the 
 living, I daresay. As to his wife wanting to 
 turn and twist him to attempt foolish things
 
 A CUEIOUS MISTAKE 53 
 
 in the church, as you seem to fear, I think 
 it hardly likely. If she does, he must put 
 her down. — Ever your loving Son, 
 
 ' Henry.' 
 
 ' Yes, I did write to Henry, mamma ; I 
 did ask him not to give the living to Mr. 
 Baumgarten,' avowed Grace with passionate 
 emphasis when questioned, her cheeks 
 aflame, for the subject excited and tried her. 
 ' My reason was that I consider him an unfit 
 man to hold it.' 
 
 ' Why, it was at your request that I 
 asked Henry to give it to Mr. Baumgarten ; 
 you gave me no peace until I consented,' 
 retorted Lady Avon. 
 
 ' But, after reflection, I came to the con- 
 clusion that I ought not to have pressed it, 
 that he ought not to have it, and would not 
 do in it ; and the shortest way to mend the 
 matter was by writing to Harry. That's all.'
 
 54 LADY GRACE 
 
 Lady Avon glanced keenly at her 
 daughter. She was mentally asking herself 
 what it all meant — the burning face, the tone 
 sharp as a knife and telling of pain, the ca- 
 pricious conduct in regard to the preferment. 
 But she could not tell : she might have her 
 suspicions, and very ridiculous suspicions 
 too, not at all to be entertained ; but she 
 could not tell. 
 
 'I am sorry that a daughter of mine 
 should have condescended to behave so ; you 
 best know what motive prompted it, Grace. 
 To bestow a living and then snatch it away 
 again in caprice is sheer child's play. It 
 will be a cruel blow to Eyle Baumgarten.' 
 
 A cruel blow it was. Lady Avon turned 
 to her desk after speaking these words to 
 her daughter, and began a note to the 
 young clergyman, feeling very much humbled 
 in mind as she wrote it. Li the most 
 plausible way she could, a lame way at best,
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 55 
 
 she apologised for the mistake which had 
 been made, adding she hardly knew whether 
 it might be attributed to her son, to herself, 
 or to both, and pleaded for Mr. Baum- 
 garten's forgiveness. This note she de- 
 spatched by her footman to Whitton Cottage. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten chanced to be standing 
 in the little hall as the man approached. 
 He received the note from him. 
 
 ' Is there any answer to take back, sir ? 
 My lady did not say.' 
 
 ' I will see,' replied Mr. Baumgarten. 
 ' Sit down, Robert.' 
 
 Shutting himself into his study, he 
 opened the note. For a few happy mo- 
 ments — if moments of suspense ever can be 
 happy — he indulged in a vision that all 
 might still be right ; that the note was to 
 tell him so. It was short, filling only one 
 side of the paper, and he stood while he 
 read it.
 
 56 LADY GRACE 
 
 Before he liad quite come to the end, 
 before he had well gathered in its purport, 
 a shock, singular in its effects, struck Mr. 
 Baumgarten. Whether his breath stopped, 
 or the circulation of his heart stopped, or 
 the coursing of his pulses stopped, he could 
 not have told ; but he sank down in a chair 
 powerless, the letter falling on the table 
 from his nerveless hand. A strange, beat- 
 ing movement stirred him inwardly, his 
 throat was gasping, his eyelids were flutter- 
 ing, a sick faintness had seized upon him. 
 
 But that he struggled against it with 
 desperate resolution, he believed he should 
 have fainted. Once before he had felt 
 something like tliis, when he was an under- 
 graduate at Oxford, and had been row- 
 ing against time to win a match. They 
 said then, those around liim, that he had 
 over-exercised liis strength. But lie had 
 not been exercising his strength now, and he
 
 A CURIOUS MISTAKE 57 
 
 was far worse this time than he had been 
 then. 
 
 He sat perfectly still, his arms supported 
 by the elbows of the chair, and recovered 
 by degrees. After a bit, he took up Lady 
 Avon's note to read it more fully, and then 
 he knew and realised that all to which he 
 had been so ardently looking forward was 
 at an end. 
 
 The servant was seated in the little hall, 
 quietly waiting, when Mr. Baumgarten 
 came out of his study. 
 
 ' Her ladyship's note does not require an 
 answer, Eobert,' he said with apparent 
 coolness. ' How is she to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Middling, sir. She seemed much up- 
 set this morning, Charity told us, by a letter 
 she got from his lordship in London,' added 
 Eobert. ' Good-day, sir.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten nodded in answer. He 
 stood at the door looking out, apparently
 
 58 LADY GRACE 
 
 watching the man away. The sun was 
 shining in Eyle Baumgarten's face, but the 
 sun which had been latterly shining on his 
 heart, illuminating it with colours of the 
 brightest and sweetest phantasy — that sun 
 seemed to have set for ever.
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE EAKL OF AVON. 
 
 The Honourable and Reverend Wilfred 
 EUiotsen took possession of the living of 
 Great Whitton, having been appointed to it 
 by Lord Avon. And the Reverend Ryle 
 Baumgarten remained, as before, at Little 
 Whitton. 
 
 Changes took place. They take place 
 everywhere. The most notable one was the 
 marriage of Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 That he had been grievously disap- 
 pointed and annoyed at the appointment of 
 another to the hving, which he had been 
 led to suppose would be his, was a bitter
 
 60 LABY GRACE 
 
 fact. He set it down to the caprice of great 
 men, and strove to live down the sting. 
 The chief difficulty lay in his contemplated 
 marriage : and he deliberated with himself 
 whether he ought for the present to 
 abandon it or to carry it out. He decided 
 upon the latter course. It is probable that 
 he deemed he could not in honour withdraw 
 now ; and it is more than probable that, 
 once having allowed himself to cherish his 
 hopes and his love, he was not stoic enough 
 to put them from him again. Finally, he re- 
 solved to leave the decision to Edith Dane. 
 
 ' What do you say, Edith ? ' he asked 
 her. ' Shall we throw prudence to the 
 winds, and come together for better, for 
 worse ? ' 
 
 ' Nay, Ryle, it is for you to decide that,^ 
 she answered, a hundred bhishes on her 
 pretty cheeks. 
 
 ' I think not,' he answered. ' For I
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 61 
 
 should decide it all one way ; and it might 
 not, for you, be the best way. Should you 
 be afraid to risk housekeeping on my 
 stipend, Edith ? Two hundred a-year, you 
 know, my love, all told.' 
 
 ' No, I should not,' she whispered. 
 
 ' So be it, then,' he answered. ' And, 
 with your mother's permission, we will have 
 the wedding at once.' 
 
 Mrs. Dane gave the permission readily. 
 As long as she lived, and was with them, 
 her small income would augment theirs. 
 And within a month of Mr. Baumgarten's 
 disappointment he and Edith became man 
 and wife. 
 
 ' You do quite right,' warm-hearted httle 
 Mr. Brice had assured them. ' The cuttings 
 and contrivings necessary to make a small 
 income go as far as a large one render a 
 young couple all the happier. / ought to 
 know : mine was small enough for many
 
 62 LADY GRACE 
 
 a year of my married life ; it's not much 
 else now.' 
 
 The autumn was advancing when Lord 
 Avon came down to pay a visit to his 
 mother. His lordship brought with him 
 full intentions to have it out with her, and 
 with Grace, about that matter in the 
 summer. He began with his mother. She 
 knew no more of it than he did, she pro- 
 tested resentfully, for she was still sore upon 
 the point. All she could say was that he 
 had written to promise her the living for 
 Mr. Baumgarten, and then gave it to Wil- 
 fred Elliotsen. 
 
 Grace was more impervious still. She 
 simply refused to discuss the subject at all, 
 telling her brother to hold his tongue. 
 
 ' I don't see why you should blame me^ 
 mother,' remonstrated the young man. 'It 
 was certainly no fault of mine.'
 
 THE EARL OP AVON 63 
 
 'It was your fault, Henry,' retorted 
 
 Lady Avon. 
 
 'I told you of Grace's peremptory 
 
 letter.' 
 
 'Who but you would heed the wild 
 letter of a girl ? You should have waited 
 for me to confirm it. As I did not do so, 
 you ought to have written to me before 
 acting. I did not myself care for Mr. 
 Baumgarten to have Great Whitton— it was 
 Grace who worried me into asking it of 
 you; but as you promised it to him, it 
 
 should have been his. You cannot picture 
 
 to yourself, Henry, half the annoyance it 
 
 has cost me.' ' 
 
 Lord Avon could picture it very well. 
 
 All this arose from Grace's absurd caprice. 
 
 She had been indulged all her life, and did 
 
 just as she pleased. 
 
 ' And for you to put so silly a young 
 
 fellow as Elliotsen into it ! ' went on Lady
 
 64 LADY GRACE 
 
 Avon, enlarging on her grievances. ' I told 
 you his wife would make him play all kinds 
 of pranks in the church.' 
 
 ' What does he do ? ' asked Lord Avon. 
 
 ' Very ridiculous things indeed. He has 
 put a lot of brass candlesticks on the com- 
 munion-table, and he turns himself about 
 and bows down at different parts of the ser- 
 vice, and she sweeps her head forward in a 
 fashion that sets the whole church staring. 
 We are not used to these innovations, 
 Henry.' 
 
 Lady Avon was correct in saying so. 
 The innovations were innovations in those 
 days ; now they are looked upon almost as 
 matters of history, as if they had come in 
 with Wilham the Conqueror. 
 
 'And the parish is not pleased with 
 them ? ' returned Lord Avon. 
 
 ' Pleased with them ! ' echoed his mother. 
 ' He began by wanting to make every soul
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 65 
 
 in tlie parish, labourers and all, attend daily 
 service in the church from eight o'clock to 
 nine, allowing them ten minutes for break- 
 fast and fifty for prayers ; and she has 
 dressed the Sunday School in scarlet cloaks, 
 with a large white linen cross sewn down the 
 back. One thing is not liked at all : the in- 
 experienced rustics cannot be made to un- 
 derstand which way he wants them to turn 
 at the Creeds ; so he has planted some 
 men behind the free benches every Sunday 
 with long white wands, and the moment 
 the Belief begins, down come the wands, 
 rapping the heads of tlie doubtful ones.^ 
 You have no idea of the commotion it 
 causes.' 
 
 Lord Avon burst into a laugh. ' I'd 
 have run down for a Sunday before this had 
 I known the fun that was going on,' said he. 
 
 ^ An absolute fact ; occurring in a rural church at the 
 time such movements began, many years ago. 
 
 . VOL. I. F
 
 66 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' The girls must take care the bulls don't run 
 at their scarlet cloaks.' 
 
 'Ah, Henry, you young men regard 
 these things only as matters for irreverent 
 joking. Mr. Bauragarten would not have 
 served us so.' 
 
 ' I suppose not. Do you get up to 
 attend the early week-day service, mother ? ' 
 
 'Not I. I can say my prayers more 
 quietly at home. Elliotsen does not force 
 the rich to the early service; only the 
 poor — when he can do so. He tells us 
 he leaves it between ourselves and our con- 
 sciences.' 
 
 ' You'd be geese if you went,' said my 
 lord. ' I'll talk to him.' 
 
 'It will not do any good, Henry. If 
 you'd talk to her perhaps it might ; it is she 
 who has done it all.' And Lord Avon 
 laughed again. He was a man of middle 
 height, spare and angular, with a kindly,
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 67 
 
 honest face, but not a handsome or a clever 
 one. 
 
 Presently he walked out. In one of the 
 pleasant green lanes with which the place 
 abounded he suddenly encountered Brice, 
 the surgeon, who was coming along at a 
 steaming pace. 
 
 ' Walking for a wager ? ' cried he. 
 
 * That's it ; your lordship has just hit it,' 
 replied the surgeon, grasping warmly the 
 ready hand held out to him. ' I and Time 
 often have a match together, and sometimes 
 he wins and sometimes I do.' 
 
 They had always been good friends, 
 these two, from the time when the boy, 
 Henry Carmel — for it was before his father 
 came into the title — would fall into no end 
 of outdoor random scrapes, and the little 
 doctor, as far as he could, shielded him and 
 brought him out of them. The Earl then 
 reigning was a valetudinarian, Henry's 
 
 F 2
 
 68 LADY GRACE 
 
 uncle, and the boy spent three parts of his 
 time with him at Avon House. 
 
 ' When did you come down ? ' asked Mr. 
 Brice. 
 
 ' Only this morning. My mother seems 
 pretty well, I think?' 
 
 'Y — es,' assented the surgeon, with 
 slight hesitation. ' She could be much 
 better, though, if she'd let the world wag its 
 own way, and not trouble herself trying to 
 set it to rights.' 
 
 ' Meaning the new parson and his new 
 ways ? ' laughed Lord Avon, who talked 
 more freely with the surgeon than he would 
 have done with anyone else. ' She has been 
 treating me to a history of the nonsense.' 
 
 ' Well, and it is nonsense ; just that,' 
 said Mr. Brice. ' I ventured to say a few 
 words of remonstrance to Mr. EUiotsen one 
 day. " Oh," answered he, good-naturedly, 
 " but these new ways are all the rage in the
 
 THE EARL OF AVOX 69 
 
 fashionable world now " ; " May be so, sir,'* 
 said I ; " but what suits a fashionable con- 
 gregation does not suit a rustic parish.'* 
 " Not all at once," he readily answered, " but 
 they'll get used to it, Brice, they'll get used 
 to it." Perhaps they may.' 
 
 ' I'm sure my mother never will,' spoke 
 Lord Avon. 'To begin with, she dislikes 
 Elliotsen. At least, she disliked his comincr 
 to Great Whitton.' 
 
 ' She wanted Mr. Baumgarten to have 
 
 it; 
 
 Lord Avon looked surprised. ' Did you 
 know of that, Brice ? ' 
 
 ' Most of us knew of it down here. For 
 several days, more than a week, I think, it 
 was understood that you had actually given 
 him the living.' 
 
 * What — understood publicly ? ' 
 
 * Publicly and privately too. Baum- 
 garten began to make preparations for
 
 70 LADY GRACE 
 
 moving into the rectory ; lie arranged with 
 old Mrs. Chester to take over some of her 
 furniture. It was the certainty he had 
 shown which made it so mortifying for him 
 when the upshot came.' 
 
 To judge by Lord Avon's face just now 
 some of the mortification had travelled to 
 himself. He was looking through the 
 branches of the trees overshadowing the 
 lane, their foliage beautiful with the 
 changing tints of autumn, his far-off gaze 
 bent on the blue sky beyond the hills, as if 
 seeking a solution there of something he 
 could not understand. 
 
 ' I was sorry myself,' said Mr. Brice. 
 'Lady Avon talked to me, and Mrs. Dane 
 talked to me, lamenting your caprice — if I 
 may presume to say it, my lord,' he added 
 with a twinkle. ' It tried Mrs. Dane much.' 
 
 ' It was not caprice, Brice. I did give 
 Mr. Baumgarten the living ; that is, I gave
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 71 
 
 my mother a promise it should be his, which 
 is the same thing ; and I afterwards retracted 
 the promise and gave it to EUiotsen. Of 
 course it looked like caprice, and very 
 shameful caprice ; but — but,' Lord Avon 
 hesitated, ' you will believe me, I dare say, 
 when I tell you I was not to blame/ 
 
 'In my own mind I could not at the 
 time think you were. It was not like you. 
 How was it ? ' 
 
 'It is a thing which I cannot explain, 
 Brice, even to you. A mistake was made in 
 — well, let us say in more quarters than one. 
 It has been put down to my score hitherto, 
 I find, and it can continue to be so. I am 
 very, very sorry if it tried Mrs. Dane.' 
 
 Mr. Brice recounted the past circum- 
 stances in a few words. Lord Avon hstened. 
 
 ' So Baumgarten and Edith married on 
 the strength of possessing Great Whitton ! ' 
 he remarked. ' I wish — I wish '
 
 72 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' No ; they got engaged on the strength 
 of possessing it — and were married all the 
 same when they knew they should not have 
 it,' interrupted the surgeon. ' Their pro- 
 spects are not grand ; the living is small, as 
 I dare say you know, and there's no 
 habitable house.' 
 
 Lord Avon nodded. Little Whitton was 
 not in his gift, and he did not personally 
 know Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 ' Naturally Mrs. Dane feels anxious about 
 their future. When she dies her income 
 dies with her. And two or three months 
 will about bring the end. I have just left 
 her sitting under the pear-tree in the garden ; 
 she is out of doors most fine days. And, 
 upon my word, I must be going on,' con- 
 cluded the doctor. 
 
 They shook hands and parted. Lord 
 Avon strolled onwards with a clouded face. 
 When staying at Avon House, a boy, he used
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 73 
 
 to go over to Mr. Dane to do Latin with him 
 in the daytime; Mrs. Dane was very fond 
 of the boy, and he was fond of her. He 
 would rather, now that he was a man, have 
 brought vexation upon everyone in the two 
 parishes, than upon Mrs. Dane. 
 
 ' If ever Grace gets me into a bother of 
 this kind again she shall pay for it ! ' thought 
 his lordship. 
 
 By-and-by he came in view of Whitton 
 Cottage. Mrs. Dane was still seated under 
 the pear-tree. Seeing Lord Avon, she waved 
 her hand to him, and he opened the gate and 
 entered. 
 
 ' What a stranger you are ! ' w^ere her 
 first words. 
 
 He kept her hand in his as he sat down 
 on the bench beside her. She had a light 
 fleecy kerchief thrown over her white net 
 cap and a w^arm shawl wrapped about her 
 shoulders. Her face, always a delicate one.
 
 74 LADY GRACE 
 
 looked ominously so now ; it was so changed 
 as to give Lord Avon an unpleasant thrill. 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Dane ! I am sure you have 
 been very ill.' 
 
 'I have been, and am,' she answered. 
 ' You see the difference in me, don't you.' 
 
 ' I confess I do,' he acknowledged. 
 ' Cannot Brice do anything better for you ? ' 
 
 'No one can in this world,' she gently 
 said. ' The last days here must come for us 
 all, and they are upon me. Ah, my dear, 
 if we, all of us, can but be prepared for 
 them ! — you see I talk to you with the fami- 
 liarity of old days,' she concluded, a smile 
 upon her wan face. 
 
 ' I hope you will never talk to me in any 
 other way,' he said, with earnest impulse. 
 ' Do you remember how you used to lecture 
 me: "Henry, I will not have you do this" — 
 " Henry, you must do the other ! " Why you 
 know you were as good to me as a mother.'
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 75 
 
 ' I like to sit and think of the days gone 
 by,' she said, ' and I very often think of you. 
 When we old people are no longer able to 
 employ our time at useful work we find 
 occupation in recalling the past ; a great 
 pleasure lies in it.' 
 
 'You are not old, dear Mrs. Dane.' 
 
 ' I am not quite fifty yet, my dear, but I 
 am old in one sense — that I am close upon 
 the end of life. Those who are so may 
 surely be called old, estimating age, you see, 
 by the duration of their time here. And, do 
 you know,' she added, in low, loving tones, 
 'that when we reach this stage we almost 
 long for the final change — for the better, 
 brighter fife which is waiting for us.' 
 
 ' But you must have regrets,' said Lord 
 Avon. 
 
 ' True. All must have them in a degree. 
 We cannot help regretting this world, the 
 only home we have known. It has not been
 
 76 LADY GRACE 
 
 all sunshine ; rather, perhaps, one of storm ; 
 yet we know its best and its worst, and we 
 are entering one w^hich we do not know, and 
 so there must always lie within us a half 
 wish to stay here longer. And then — and 
 then ' 
 
 Mrs. Dane's voice sank to a whisper. 
 She paused. 
 
 ' And then ? ' he softly whispered. 
 
 ' And then God's loving Presence resumes 
 its sway within us w^th all its reassuring 
 comfort, and regrets are lost in a glow of 
 happiness. May it be with you, my dear, 
 when your own turn shall come ! ' 
 
 Lord Avon swallowed down a lump in 
 his throat. Mrs. Dane's hand was still in 
 his ; he pressed it gratefully, and there 
 ensued a silence. 
 
 'It must seem hard to you, though, to 
 leave your children here.' 
 
 ' Yes, especially Edith. I have not seen
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 77 
 
 much of Charlotte since her marriage ; she 
 is coming down now to stay a week or two. 
 Edith is married also.' 
 
 'Yes,' he assented; but the subject was 
 not a pleasant one. Mrs. Dane pursued it. 
 
 'I feel anxious about Edith. I cannot 
 help fearing that she is not strong ; that if 
 the battle of life should prove fierce she will 
 not be able to breast it. She is lying down 
 now. Their income is small, and they have 
 no residence, as we had. Mr. Baumgarten 
 means to take pupils ; but there is a difficulty 
 in that also.' 
 
 ' In what way ? ' 
 
 ' This cottage is not adapted for pupils, 
 it could not accommodate them ; and, besides 
 the risk which the taking a larger house 
 might involve, furniture would be needed — 
 and that also involves cost.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Lord Avon. 'Are there no 
 daily pupils to be had ? '
 
 78 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Not any ; not one that we can think of. 
 People like to send their boys out, now, to 
 public schools or large private ones. Some 
 nights I lie awake reproaching myself for 
 having sanctioned Edith's marriage. When 
 matters were first arranged for it Mr. 
 Baumgarten understood he was to have 
 Great Whitton — perhaps you know that. 
 And then, when it was found to have been 
 a mistake, he still said he would marry, 
 and I did not dissent. Of course it was 
 an awkward and unfortunate thing alto- 
 gether, and But I do not wish to 
 
 enter into it,' broke off Mrs. Dane. ' Edith 
 is very happy, and we must hope for the 
 best ' 
 
 ' Let me say a word to you, dear Mrs. 
 Dane,' he interrupted ; ' I used to bring my 
 secrets to you in the days of yore. Do you 
 remember one in particular ? A boy got 
 into the pond of Great AVhitton, and was
 
 THE EARL OF AVON 79 
 
 nearly drowned, and I had the credit of 
 having pushed him in, and was punished for 
 it by Mr. Dane.' 
 
 ' I remember it well, Henry,' she said, 
 calling him unconsciously by the old famihar 
 name. ' It was Jack Whittaker.' 
 
 'Just so. Everyone fell upon my de- 
 voted head, reproaching me with being a 
 wicked and cruel youngster, safe to come to 
 a bad end. I took their abuse quietly, and 
 I took Mr. Dane's punishment — a fearful 
 task of Greek, which to me was punishment 
 in earnest ; and when the thing was all over 
 and done with, I whispered the truth to you 
 one day in your dressiog-room, as you were 
 sewing up a rent which I had torn in my 
 jacket-sleeve — that it was not I who had 
 thrown Whittaker into the pond. Did you 
 believe me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear, I did believe you ; to me 
 you were ever truthful. You would not
 
 80 LADY GRACE 
 
 tell ine who it was that threw him in, 
 though ; I recollect that.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you now. It was Jack himself.' 
 ' Jack Whittaker threw himself in ? ' 
 Lord Avon nodded. ' He had been at 
 some mischief at Mr. Chester's — stealing the 
 apricots, I believe ; and he w^as getting away 
 when he heard a hue and cry behind him. 
 In his terror, for Whittaker was an arrant 
 coward, he dashed to the side of the pond, 
 meaning to hide himself among the rushes ; 
 missing his footing, he dashed right into it. 
 I was standing by and saw the process. 
 After all, the noise was not in pursuit of 
 him, but of a bidl which had got loose from 
 Farmer Ulthorn's field.' 
 
 ' Why did you take the punishment ? ' 
 
 ' When he floundered out, like a drowned 
 
 rat, I helping him, he begged and implored 
 
 of me not to say that he had jumped in. I 
 
 gave him my word I would not. That's
 
 THE EARL OF AVOX 81 
 
 tow it was. Well, you believed me then, 
 dear Mrs. Dane, and I know you will 
 believe me Iiow. You have l)lamed me in 
 your heart for promising Great Whitton to 
 Mr. Baumgarten, and then annulling it by 
 bestowing it elsewhere, but — the fault did 
 not lie with me.' 
 
 ' No ! With Lady Avon, perhaps.' 
 ' No, no, no ; she wished Mr. Baum- 
 garten to have it. The whole affair was the 
 result of an unfortunate mistake. I com- 
 mitted it, but in unconscious error, which 
 I and my mother alike regret. Suffer this 
 explanation to rest quite between ourselves, 
 please. I should not have made it but that 
 I cannot bear for the dear old friend of my 
 boyhood to think unkindly of me. I saw 
 Jack Whittaker the other day,' continued 
 Lord Avon, his tone changing to a lighter 
 one as he rose to depart. ' We met in 
 Piccadilly.' 
 . VOT.. I. G
 
 82 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' How is Jack getting on ? ' 
 
 ' Very well, I believe. He has his post 
 in the Eed Tape Office and a good income 
 besides from his uncle's property. He told 
 me he had married a charming girl, asked 
 me if I would not go down to see her. 
 They hve on the banks of the Thames, 
 somewhere near Eichmond.' 
 
 ' How long shall you remain here ? ' 
 questioned Mrs. Dane, as she held his hand 
 in parting. 
 
 ' Only a few days. I am going into 
 Warwickshire for some shooting. Give my 
 love to Edith — if that's a proper message to 
 a young lady who is married,' he concluded, 
 laughing. 
 
 As he was walking homewards, a clergy- 
 man, walking quickly, met and passed him. 
 A young man, tall and stately, whose dark, 
 deep-set, beautiful eyes looked somewhat 
 inquiringly at Lord Avon, and the latter
 
 THE EARL OF AVOI^ 83 
 
 knew it must be the Eeverend Eyle Baum- 
 garten. But Mr. Baumgarten did not guess 
 that the unpretending, horaely-faced stranger 
 was the nobleman who had served him that 
 cruel trick.
 
 84 LADY GRACE 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LAST JOURXEY. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten came softly forth from his 
 house in the brightness of the early summer 
 morning, closing the door noiselessly behind 
 him, that he might not disturb his wife 
 above. She was in delicate health, and he 
 had left her asleep. He Avas on his way to 
 a sick parishioner, now lying in danger. 
 
 When Mrs. Baumgarten awoke, not loncj 
 afterwards, she lay thinking of a dream she 
 had just had. So real and vivid did it seem 
 that at first she wondered where she was, 
 and looked round at the familiar objects of 
 the bedchamber in doubt. 
 
 ' Why, it was only a dream ! ' she
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY gg 
 
 exclaimed. ' I am at home, and in my own 
 bed. But Where's Eyle ? ' 
 
 It was unusual for him to be away so 
 early. Then she remembered that he had 
 said last night he must go at seven o'clock 
 to old Miss Knightley's, who was danger- 
 ously ill. 
 
 Presently she got up, and dressed herself 
 with trembling fingers. She was weak, and 
 languid, and hot ; always in a fever now. 
 Looking about for the coolest dress she had, 
 she put it on : a black-and-white muslin. 
 They were in mourning for Mrs. Dane. 
 She had died the previous winter. Summer 
 had come round again, and it was nearly a 
 year now since Edith's marriage. 
 
 When she had quite finished — dressing, 
 and reading, and prayers — she sat down in 
 an easy-chair before the open window, 
 lettinor the' sweet morninor air fan her hectic 
 face. The sun shone in the blue sky ; the
 
 86 LADY GRACE 
 
 scent of new-mown hay came from a near 
 meadow, the hum of bees sounded drowsily 
 in the heat ; butterflies fluttered across the 
 green lawn from flower to flower. 
 
 As the clock struck eight Mr. Baum- 
 garten returned ; he nodded to Edith from 
 the garden, came in, and ran up stairs. It 
 was their breakfast hour. 
 
 ' I hoped to find you asleep still, Edith,' 
 he said. ' I wish you would breakfast in 
 bed!' 
 
 ' Oh, Eyle, I could not ; I am glad to 
 be up — bed tires me, I think. How is Miss 
 Knightley ? ' 
 
 ' Somewhat better. Brice was there 
 before me. They think now she may rally.' 
 
 He was standing before her at the op- 
 posite side of the window, partly leaning 
 from it. 
 
 ' Eyle,' she said, smiling, ' I have had 
 such a lovely dream ! '
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 87 
 
 ' Indeed ! It is not often you dream. 
 What was it?' 
 
 ' No, scarcely ever. When Charlotte 
 and I were children she used to tell her 
 dreams of a morning. I felt quite jealous, 
 because I never had any to tell.' 
 
 ' Well, what was this one ? ' 
 
 ' I thought I had a long, long journey to 
 take, and as I set out from the door here 
 and walked down the path to the gate, I 
 looked round and saw you in the parlour 
 alone. I don't know where I went, or which 
 way; it was all strange to me. It seemed as 
 if I went miles and miles and miles ; more 
 than I can reckon ; more than there are 
 miles in the world. But oh, the way was 
 lovely. The air was so light and balmy that 
 I seemed to float along in an ecstasy. The 
 most enchanting flowers, sweeter and lovelier 
 and more brilliant than we can imagine out 
 of a dream, grew on each side the way. It
 
 88 LADY GRACE 
 
 seemed that I had never known before what 
 happiness was, what enjoyment meant ; and 
 it was all so vivid that when I awoke I 
 thought it was reality.' 
 
 ' A pleasant dream,' remarked Mr. Baum- 
 garten. ' How did it end ? ' 
 
 'It had no ending. I was still ghding 
 along amidst the flowers w^hen I awoke. It 
 took me ever so long to realise that I w^as in 
 my own bed and had not gone on that 
 beautiful journey.' 
 
 ' I hope the journey has made you 
 hungry,' he lightly said. 'Breakfast must be 
 waiting.' 
 
 Edith rose with a sio^h ; siohinor after 
 those charming flowers, she said. Mr. Baum- 
 garten laughed. 
 
 ' Old wives tell us that a morning dream 
 comes true,' she remarked gaily, as they 
 went down stairs ; ' but I am sure this one 
 never will. We do not take those loner
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 89 
 
 journeys in this world, or see flowers so 
 briglit.' 
 
 That dream occurred on Friday morning. 
 It was the last Friday in June. On the 
 Tuesday morning following Edith Baum- 
 garten was lying in extreme peril — the 
 doctors giving little hope of her life. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten was sitting by her bed- 
 side, holding her hand in his ; his tears were 
 kept back, his voice was low with suppressed 
 grief. ' Do not say " we have been happy," 
 my darling ; say '' we are." I cannot part 
 with you ; there is hope yet.' 
 
 ' There is none,' she wailed — ' there is 
 none. Oh, Eyle, my husband, it will be a 
 hard parting ! ' 
 
 She feebly drew his face to hers, and his 
 tears fell upon it. ' Edith, if I lose you, 
 I shall lose all that is of value to me in 
 life.' 
 
 A tap at the door, and then a middle-
 
 90 LADY GRACE 
 
 aged woman, holding a very young infant in 
 her arms, put in her head and looked at 
 Mr. Baumgarten. ' The doctors are coming 
 up, sir.' 
 
 He Hngered an instant after the medical 
 men entered the chamber, but he gathered 
 nothing, and could not ask questions there ; 
 so he left it and went downstairs. There, 
 his face pressed against the window, he stood, 
 thinking how unkind fate was to him. 
 
 On Sunday Edith had seemed better 
 than usual. When she left the church after 
 morning service she glanced up at the old 
 clock, saw that it wanted twenty minutes to 
 one, and that she should just have time to 
 go to Miss Knightley's and ask after her, for 
 they had not heard that morning. 
 
 She did not intend to go in ; but hearing 
 that the old lady was much better and sitting 
 up, Edith, pressed by the servant, went up 
 'just for a minute.' The minute lengthened
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 91 
 
 itself out, and as she left the house again, 
 one o'clock struck. 
 
 ' Dear me ! ' thought Edith, ' I shall keep 
 dinner and Eyle waiting. I must take the 
 near way home.' 
 
 The near way was the field way, and 
 would shorten the distance by about two 
 minutes. Edith came to the stile at the end 
 of the field ; haste made her careless, and in 
 getting over it she fell, rather heavily. It 
 did not hurt her that she knew of: the 
 doctors, when told of it, did not say so. 
 Mr. Baumgarten heard them leave the sick 
 chamber, and turned from the window to 
 receive them. 
 
 'Well.^' he uttered, his tone fraught with 
 pain. 
 
 ' There is no improvement, sir ; there 
 can be none,' said the stranger who had 
 been called in, a very plain-speaking man. 
 ' If she could but have raUied — but she
 
 92 LADY GRACE 
 
 cannot. She will sink, we fear, from ex- 
 haustion.' 
 
 'She may recover yet,' was the sharp 
 interruption, made in anguish ; ' I am sure 
 she may. But a few days ago, w^ell ; and 
 now ' 
 
 ' Mr. Baumgarten,' said Dr. Conway, 
 ' would it be right to deceive you — to give 
 you hope where none exists ? If we did, you 
 would blame us afterwards. The sad truth 
 is that she cannot be saved.' 
 
 Mr. Brice, lingering behind the physician, 
 laid his hand gently upon Mr. Baumgarten's 
 arm, his voice and eyes alike full of pity. 
 
 ' It must be God's wiU, my friend. Try 
 to bear it.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten only answered with a 
 groan. ' Cannot you give me hope, Brice ? ' 
 
 ' Alas,' said the surgeon, ' I have none to 
 
 give. 
 
 And yet, later in the day, she did seem a
 
 THE LAST JOURXEY 93 
 
 little better : it was the rallying of tlie spirit 
 before departure. She knew it was deceitful 
 strength, but it put hope into the heart of 
 Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 ' Eyle, if he should hve, you will always 
 be kind to him ? ' 
 
 'Edith! Kind to him! Oh, my wife, 
 my wife,' he uttered, with a burst of irre- 
 pressible emotion, 'you must not go, and 
 leave him and me.' 
 
 She waited until he was calmer; she 
 was far more collected than he. 
 
 ' You will love him ? ' she reiterated 
 faintly; 'you will always protect him 
 against the world's unkindness ? ' 
 
 ' Ay ; that I swear to you,' he ardently 
 replied. And Edith Baumgarten breathed 
 a sigh of relief, and quietly lay back upon 
 her pillow. 
 
 Her voice, hardly to be heard at all, was 
 growing fainter and fainter. Her husband
 
 94 LADY GEACE 
 
 thought it must be the faintness attendant 
 on death ; but for a short time she seemed 
 to sleep. 
 
 He sat on : his arm beneath her neck, 
 his other hand held one of her hands. All 
 was still ; so still that the ticking of Edith's 
 watch, lying on the dressing-table, was 
 audible. About ten minutes had thus 
 passed when a slight cry from the infant in 
 the next room, followed by the soothing 
 hush of the nurse, fell upon Mr. Baum- 
 garten's ear. 
 
 'Eyle! Eyle ! ' 
 
 ' My dear ? ' he breathed, vexed that her 
 sleep should have been disturbed. 
 
 'I have been in that dream asfain — 
 going on my long, long journey,' she said in 
 disjointed syllables. ' Oh, Eyle, I know it 
 now : it is the journey of death.' 
 
 'My dear wife!' he cried, much dis- 
 tressed.
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 95 
 
 ' The air is — oh, so sweet — and the light 
 at the far end so bright and lovely — and the 
 flowers — look at the flowers ! — they are the 
 flowers of Heaven ! — and — and — oh, look ! 
 look! ' 
 
 The tone, growing inaudible, had taken 
 a glad sound of ecstasy : and, with the last 
 word, the spirit passed away. 
 
 When the inhabitants of Little Whitton 
 rose up on Wednesday morning the church 
 bell was tolHng — proclaiming that poor 
 Edith Baumgarten, daughter of their late 
 pastor and wife of their present, had set out 
 on the long last journey. 
 
 Whether it be death that disturbs a 
 community, or whether it be birth or mar- 
 riage, time goes on all the same. After the 
 funeral of Mrs. Baumgarten the parish 
 flocked to Whitton Cottage to condole wath 
 their rector and to see the baby. He
 
 96 LADY GRACE 
 
 received them with quiet courtesy, but the 
 most sanguine sympathisers could not detect 
 any encouragement for a renewal of the 
 visit. All that could make life pleasant to 
 Mr. Baumgarten w^as as yet buried in the 
 grave of Edith. 
 
 Gradually he began to take notice of the 
 child ; at first he had avoided him. The 
 old servant, Dinah, wdio had lived with tlie 
 Danes for years, took charge of him. Mr. 
 Baumgarten would sometimes have him on. 
 his knee now, and soon loved him with an 
 impassioned fondness. He had nothing else 
 to love. 
 
 Follow^ing close upon Edith's death, a 
 distant relative bequeathed a few hundred 
 pounds to Mr. Baumgarten. The money 
 came to him quite unexpectedly, and he 
 decided to use it in putting the rectory 
 into habitable repair. This was done; 
 and he moved into it with his two ser-
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 97 
 
 vants, Ann and Dinah, both of them elderly 
 women. 
 
 Thus the months glided on to winter : 
 the rector fulfilling all his duties as of yore, 
 but leading a very lonely hfe. He was a 
 sociable man by nature and full of ambi- 
 tion; but for him social ties seemed to be 
 at an end, and his position offered no pro- 
 spect whatever of change or advancement. 
 So far as the present look-out went, he 
 might expect to live and die at Little 
 Whitton. 
 
 One bright frosty day in January, when 
 the icicles shone in the sun and the blue 
 sky was cloudless, the open carriage of Lady 
 Avon drew up at the rectory gate, just as 
 the reader once saw it stop at that of 
 Whitton Cottage ; but it had only one occu- 
 pant now, and that was herself. After the 
 marriage of Mr. Baumgarten, Lady Avon 
 had occasionally attended Little Whitton 
 - VOL. T. H
 
 98 LADY GKACE 
 
 church as heretofore, but Lady Grace never. 
 She had always excuses ready, and her 
 mother — who had never fathomed, or even 
 suspected, tlie true cause of Grace's caprice 
 as to the hving — put faith in them. The 
 Countess dechned to ahght, and Mr. Baum- 
 garten went out to the gate. 
 
 ' Would it be troubling you very much, 
 Mr. Baumgarten, to come to Avon House 
 occasionally and pass an hour with me ? ' be- 
 gan she, as they shook hands. 
 
 ' Certainly not, if you wish it,' he replied. 
 ' If I can render you any service I shall be 
 very happy to come.' 
 
 Lady Avon lowered her voice and bent 
 towards him. ' I am not happy in my 
 mind, Mr. Baumgarten ; not easy. The 
 present world is passing away from me, and 
 I know little of the one I am enterinc^. I 
 don't like the rector of Great Whitton, he 
 does not suit me ; but with vou I feel at
 
 THE LAST JOUENEY 99 
 
 home. I shall be obliged to you to come 
 up once or twice a week and pass a quiet 
 hour with me.' 
 
 'I will do so. But I hope you find 
 nothing more than usual the matter with 
 your health.' 
 
 'Time will prove,' replied Lady Avon. 
 ' How is your little boy ? ' 
 
 ' He gets on famously ; he is a brave 
 little fellow,' returned Mr. Baumgarten, his 
 eyes brightening. ' Would you like to see 
 him ? I will have him broudit out.' 
 
 ' I should like to see him, yes ; but I 
 will come in.' 
 
 He helped her from the low carriage, 
 and gave her his arm up the path, and the 
 most comfortable chair by the parlour fire. 
 The child was brought in by Dinah — a 
 pretty babe in a white frock and black 
 ribbons, the latter w^orn in memory of his 
 mother. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 LADY GRACE 
 
 Lady Avon took him on her knee. 
 'He will resemble you,' she said, scan- 
 ning his face ; ' he has your eyes exactly, 
 deep and dark ' — and she had nearly added 
 'beautiful.' The child put his hand upon 
 her ermine boa. 
 
 ' My pretty boy ! ' she exclaimed fondly. 
 ' What is his name ? ' 
 
 ' Cyras. I know it would have pleased 
 Edith to have him named after her father.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Poor Edith ! ' sighed Lady Avon, 
 as she gave the child back to Dinah and 
 rose. 'Not the least distressing; feature of 
 that loss was its suddenness. I wished I 
 could have come over to say farewell.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten sighed in answer, as he 
 again gave his arm to Lady Avon. ' By the 
 way,' she said, as he was settling her in the 
 carriage, ' I must congratulate you upon get- 
 ting into the rectory. You paid the cost of 
 the repairs yourself, I believe.'
 
 THE LAST JOURXEY 101 
 
 ' Yes. I had some money left me unex- 
 pectedly, and used it for the purpose.' 
 
 ' From your father ? ' 
 
 ' Oh no ; from a very distant relative — 
 Colonel Baumgarten. My father has been 
 dead several years. He was a clergyman : 
 one of the Kentish rectors.' 
 
 ' Well, I am glad you are in it. Good- 
 day.' 
 
 ' Good-day, Lady Avon. Home, James,' 
 he added to the postillion. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten paid his first visit to 
 Avon House on the following day. Lady 
 Grace was alone in the room when he 
 entered, and it happened that she knew 
 nothing of his expected visit. It startled 
 her to emotion. However she may have 
 striven to drive away the remembrance of 
 Eyle Baumgarten, she had not done it ; and 
 her feelings of anger, her constantly indulged 
 feelings of jealousy, had only helped to keep
 
 102 LADY GRACE 
 
 up her passion. Her countenance flushed 
 crimson, and then grew deadly pale. 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten took her hand, almost 
 in compassion ; he thought she must be 
 ill. 'What has been the matter?' he 
 inquired. 
 
 'The matter! Nothing,' and she grew 
 crimson again. 'Is your visit to mamma? 
 Do you wish to see her ? ' 
 
 ' I am here by appointment with Lady 
 Avon.' 
 
 The Countess came into the room, and 
 Grace found that his visits were to be 
 frequent. 
 
 Did she rebel, or did she rejoice? Oh, 
 reader, if you have loved as she did, pas- 
 sionately, powerfully, you need not ask. 
 The very presence of one so beloved is as 
 the morning light ; at his coming, it is as if 
 sunshine burst upon a night of darkness. 
 So had Grace Carmel felt when with Mr.
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 103 
 
 Baumgarten in the time gone by, so did she 
 feel again now, although he had belonged 
 to another. 
 
 From that day they saw a great deal of 
 each other, and in the quiet intercourse of 
 social life — of invalid life, it may be said, for 
 Lady Avon's ill-health was confirmed — grew 
 more intimate than they had ever been. Lady 
 Grace strove to arm herself against him : she 
 called up pride, anger, and many other ad- 
 juncts, false as they were vain, for the heart 
 is ever true to itself, and will be heard. It 
 ended in her struggling no longer : in her 
 giving herself up, once more, to the bhss of 
 loving him unchecked. 
 
 Did he give himself up to the same, by 
 way of reciprocity ? Not of loving her — no, 
 it had not come to it ; but he did yield to the 
 charm of liking her, of finding pleasure in 
 her society, of wishing to be more frequently 
 at Avon House. He had loved his wife, but
 
 104 LADY GRACE 
 
 she was dead and buried : and there are very 
 few men indeed who remain constant in 
 heart to a dead love, especially if she has 
 been his wife. The manners of Grace pos- 
 sessed naturally great fascination : what then 
 must they not have been when in inter- 
 course with one she idolised? She was more 
 quiet than formerly, more confidential, more 
 subdued ; it was a change as if she had 
 gone through sorrow, and precisely what was 
 likely to tell upon the heart of Eyle Baum- 
 garten. But there was no acting now in 
 Lady Grace ; she was not striving to gain 
 him, as she had once done — she simply gave 
 herself up to the sweet dream she was 
 indulging and let results take tlieir chance. 
 Mr. Baumgarten may be forgiven if he also 
 began to feel that existence might yet be 
 made into something pleasant as a dream. 
 Thus the time passed on to May. 
 
 The Honourable and Eeverend Wilfred
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 105 
 
 EUiotsen, claiming a dead earl for a father 
 and a live earl for a brother, was not, of 
 course, a light whose beams could be hid 
 under a bushel, more particularly as the live 
 earl was in the Cabinet. It therefore sur- 
 prised no one that when the excellent old 
 Bishop of Barkaway was gathered to his 
 fathers, and a lucky canon who held one of 
 the best livings in the kingdom was pro- 
 moted to his mitre, Mr. EUiotsen should step 
 into the canon's shoes, rich living and all. 
 This left Great Whitton vacant. As luck, 
 or the opposite, chanced to have it, Lord 
 Avon was on a few days' visit to his mother 
 when Mr. EUiotsen received his appointment. 
 
 ' Don't put such another as EUiotsen into 
 Great Whitton, Henry,' observed the Countess 
 to her son, ' or we shall have the parish in 
 rebellion.' 
 
 ' He has not succeeded in pleasing his 
 flock yet, then ? ' remarked his lordship.
 
 106 LADY GRACE 
 
 'No. They have put up with him 
 because they had to do it ; tliey could not 
 help themselves. On fine days many of 
 them have gone over to Little Whitton. 
 There is no help for these cases, you see, 
 Henry ; sometimes it strikes me as being 
 very like a wrong which the Church ought 
 to rectify. I suppose you think me shame- 
 fully unorthodox for saying so.' 
 
 ' Indeed I don't, mother ; I like people 
 to enjoy their own opinions, and I'm not 
 sure that I don't think with you. If I had 
 any decided views as to what church I went 
 to, or what parson I sat under — which I've 
 not at present,' added the Earl, with a 
 cough — 'I might not be pleased if a man 
 holding adverse and unwelcome notions were 
 thrust upon me. We must cousider the 
 Scotch ways preferable, I take it : they elect 
 their own pastor, I believe.'
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 107 
 
 ' After a trial of his preacliing,' assented 
 Lady Avon. 
 
 ' And our plan is no end of bother to 
 the patron when a good living falls in,' con- 
 tinued the young man. 'Seventeen letters 
 I have had this blessed morning, apphca- 
 tions, direct or indirect, for Great Whitton. 
 I have half a mind to reply through the 
 Times, and make one answer do for the 
 lot.' 
 
 Lady Avon raised herself from her sofa 
 and looked at her son. 'Do you want a 
 candidate, Henry ? ' 
 
 He looked at her. ' Scarcely, mother, 
 with seventeen bold applications, and seventy 
 more behind them, peeping out.' 
 
 ' Henry, if you have no one especially in 
 view, let me name the rector this time. It 
 will perhaps be one of my last requests to 
 you.'
 
 108 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't miicli care, mother. I 
 had heartburning enough over it last tune, 
 every man but the successful one thinking 
 himself ill-used. If your mind's set upon 
 any fellow I'll give it him at once, glad to 
 do it, and send off a stereotyped answer to 
 my correspondents : " Very sorry ; living's 
 given ; wish I had heard of your excellent 
 merits earlier." ' 
 
 ' Then o-ive it to Mr. Baums^arten. He 
 is a deserving man, Henry ; he will restore 
 peace to the parish ; and as a preacher few 
 excel him.' 
 
 Lord Avon laughed a little as he sat 
 down to f\ice tlie sofa, 
 
 ' Whv, mother, Baumo'arten is the verv 
 man I had in my own mind. I thought by 
 your preamble you must have fixed on 
 someone else. I would rather he had it 
 than any other parson in the world. I can 
 tell you that the smart the last contretemps
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 109 
 
 brought me lingers yet. Let it be Baum- 
 garten : we owe him a recompense.' 
 
 And that very day tlie Earl, afraid, pos- 
 sibly, of fresh interference, personally offered 
 Great Whitton to Mr. Baumgarten, and 
 shook hands on its acceptance. 
 
 The news was soon made known. Great 
 Whitton, with its nine hundred a-year and 
 its handsome rectory, was presented to the 
 Eeverend Eyle Baumgarten. The church- 
 wardens threw up their hats, and looked in 
 at the school-house to tell the mistress that 
 the girls might unsew those white symbols 
 from the back tails of their cloaks. That 
 same evening Mr. Baumgarten presented 
 himself at Avon House. Grace Carmel was 
 standing amidst the rose-trees : she liked to 
 linger in the open air at the dusk hour, to 
 watch the stars come out, and to think of 
 him. But that she wore a white dress, he 
 might not have distinguished her in the
 
 110 LADY GRACE 
 
 fading twilight. He left the open path to 
 join her. 
 
 ' It is a late visit, Lady Grace, which I 
 must apologise for ; I was called out to a 
 sick friend as I was starting, and detained 
 an hour,' he said; 'but I could not resist 
 coming to say a word of gratitude to Lord 
 Avon. He did not allow time for it this 
 morning when he called upon me ; went 
 away the moment he told me I was to have 
 the living, as if he wished to avoid my 
 thanks.' 
 
 He felt the hand he had taken in greet- 
 ing tremble within his, and he saw her 
 raise her other hand hastily and lay it on 
 her bosom, as if she would still its beating. 
 She answered him with a smile. 
 
 ' Your visit will not accomplish its object, 
 Mr. Baumgarten, for my brother is gone. 
 He left before dinner upon some matter of 
 urgent business in town. Mamma says
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 111 
 
 she is very glad that you will be nearer 
 to us.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I have to thank you for this, 
 as much as Lord Avon,' he said. 
 
 'ISTo; no, indeed: it was mamma who 
 spoke to Henry, or he to her ; they 
 arranged it between them. I — I ' 
 
 ' What ? ' he whispered. 
 
 ' 1 did not speak to him,' she continued, 
 filling up the pause of hesitation. ' That is 
 all I was going to say.' 
 
 But Mr. Baumgarten could not fail to 
 detect how agitated she was, and as he stood 
 there, looking at her downcast face in the 
 twihght, the remembrance of certain words 
 of his wife's came rushing over him, and he 
 felt a sudden conviction that Lady Grace 
 had loved him — and that she loved him still. 
 He forgot what had been ; he forgot the one 
 who had been once his idol ; and he yielded 
 himself unreservedly to the fascination
 
 112 LADY GRACE 
 
 ■which had of late been steahng over his 
 spirit. 
 
 Her trembUng hands were busy with the 
 rose-trees, though she could scarcely dis- 
 tinguish buds from leaves. Mr. Baumgarten 
 took one hand, and placing it within his own 
 arm, bent down his face until it was on a 
 level with hers. ' Grace,' he whispered, 
 ' have we misunderstood each other ? ' 
 
 She could not speak, but her hps turned 
 white with her emotion. It was the hour 
 of bliss she had so long dreamt of. 
 
 ' Grace,' he continued, in a tone of im- 
 passioned tenderness, ' have we loved each 
 other through the past, and did I mistake 
 my feelings ? Oh, Grace, my best-beloved, 
 forgive me ! Forgive my folly and my 
 blindness ! ' 
 
 With a plaintive cry of satisfied yearn- 
 ing, such as may escape from one who sud- 
 denly finds a long-sought-for resting-place,
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 113 
 
 Grace Carmel turned to his embrace. He 
 held her to him ; he covered her face with 
 his impassioned kisses, as he had once 
 covered Edith Dane's ; he whispered all that 
 man can whisper of poetry and tenderness. 
 She was silent from excess of bliss, but she 
 felt that she could have lain where she was 
 for ever. 
 
 ' You do not speak,' he jealously said ; 
 'you do not tell me that you forgive the 
 past. Grace, say but one word ; say you 
 love me ! ' 
 
 ' Far deeper than another ever did,' she 
 murmured. ' Oh, Eyle ! I will be more to 
 you than she can have been ! ' 
 
 Eecollection, prudence — perhaps for her 
 sake — began to dawn over Mr. Baum- 
 garten ; he smoothed the signs of emotion 
 from his brow, he would have put her 
 away. 
 
 ' Grace, pardon my folly,' he implored. 
 ' VOL. I. I
 
 114 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' I am doing wrong ; I have forgotten myself 
 strangely. Forgive, forgive me ! It is mad- 
 ness to aspire to you. I have no right to 
 seek to drag you down from your rank to 
 my level.' 
 
 But she clung to him still. 'Your own 
 wife, your own dear wife,' she whispered. 
 ' Eyle ! Eyle ! only love me for ever.' 
 
 It is a fact — and the longer we live the 
 more surely it must impress itself upon us — 
 that uninterested spectators see more of what 
 goes on around us than we see ourselves. 
 iN'ever had Lady Avon seen or suspected 
 aught of the case regarding her daughter 
 and Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 The revelation came upon her with a 
 blow. It was Grace who, calling up her 
 courage, imparted it. Lady Avon went into 
 a storm of anger; and then, finding her 
 commands and reproaches produced no im-
 
 THE LAST JOURNEY 115 
 
 pression upon Grace for good, wrote in liaste 
 for Lord Avon. 
 
 An awful thing had happened, and he 
 must come without a moment's delay, 
 was what she curtly wrote; and the 
 word 'awful,' be it understood, was in 
 those days used only in its extreme sense, 
 not, as at present, in ridiculous light- 
 ness. Lord Avon obeyed, swearing a 
 little at the contrariety of mundane affairs. 
 His urgent business in town was that of 
 witnessing the first appearance of a new 
 singer at the opera, and this mandate 
 stopped it. 
 
 'Ah,' remarked Lord Avon, as he sat 
 listening to his mother's tale, ' I can now 
 understand that past capricious trick Grace 
 played. She must even then have been in 
 love with Baumgarten.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Lady Avon, angrily; 'and 
 she must have found out that he was going 
 
 I 2
 
 116 LADY GRACE 
 
 to marry Edith Dane. We cannot allow it 
 to go on, Henry.' 
 
 His lordship twirled his light brown 
 whiskers ; rather a habit of his when in a 
 pnzzle. 
 
 ' I don't see how we can stop it,' he pre- 
 sently said. 
 
 ' But it must be stopped.' 
 
 ' How will you do that, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Yoit must do it. You are the head of 
 the family.' 
 
 Lord Avon laughed lightly. ' Grace has 
 always wound me round her little finger. 
 Why, mother, I have no authority over her 
 whatever ; if I attempted to exercise any 
 she would simply set me at defiance.' 
 
 Lady Avon had no whiskers to twirl, 
 but she pulled at her cap-strings. "Wliat 
 her son said was true. 
 
 ' Grace has had her own way ever since 
 she could toddle, you know, mother ; you
 
 THE LAST JOURXEY 117 
 
 and my father took care of that. I didn't 
 get it half as much. My opinion is, she will 
 take it now. She is her own mistress, and 
 she has her own fortune — what little it is.' 
 
 'She cannot marry without your con- 
 sent ; your father made that proviso in his 
 will, remember.' 
 
 ' Yes she can, mother. Before she was 
 of age she could not do so ; she can now.' ., 
 
 Lady Avon sat in bitter mortification. 
 ' What is to be done ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' The best plan, so far as I can see, will 
 be to put a good face upon it, and let her 
 have him.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Henry ! ' 
 
 ' It is not so bad as it might have been,' 
 went on the Earl. ' Baumgarten is a gentle- 
 manly fellow, and of fairly good descent. 
 You like him much, I believe.' 
 
 ' Good gracious ! ' retorted Lady Avon. 
 ' It is one thing to like a man as a clergy-
 
 118 LADY GRACE 
 
 man, and quite another thing to like him as 
 a husband for one's daughter. How absurd 
 you are, Henry ! ' 
 
 ' Look here, mother mine : if you can 
 point out any feasible way of putting a stop 
 to the affair, I'll try to do it. / don't see 
 any.' 
 
 ' Why, he is a widower ! He has a 
 child ! ' 
 
 ' Grace knows tliat. He is uncommonly 
 good-looking.' 
 
 Lady Avon's face was full of distressed 
 perplexity. ' Last autumn Lord Chrisley 
 came here with proposals of marriage to 
 her, and she refused him. In spite of all 
 I could say, she refused him absolutely.' 
 
 'Had got Baumgarten in her head, I 
 expect,' said the Earl, carelessly. ' Chrisley's 
 a good fellow ; I should like him to have 
 had Grace.' 
 
 ' Can't you talk to her ? '
 
 THE LAST JOUKNEY 119 
 
 'I will talk to lier — if she'll let me,' 
 assented Lord Avon. ' It wiU do no good ; 
 rely upon that, mother. If Grace has made 
 her mind up to have Baumgarten, Baum- 
 garten she'll have. And I do think that the 
 pleasantest plan we can pursue will be to 
 sanction it.' 
 
 ' Do you approve of him for your brother- 
 in-law, pray ? ' 
 
 ' No. Not altogether. My sister and 
 your daughter ought to have made a very 
 difierent match. But you know what 
 Grace is, mother, and circumstances alter 
 cases.' 
 
 It was the plan pursued. It was the 
 only pleasant plan, as Lord Avon had put it, 
 that could be pursued. For Lady Grace 
 held to her own will, and opposition would 
 only have created scandal. And the ears 
 of Great Whitton were regaled with the 
 astounding news that their new and popular
 
 120 LADY GRACE 
 
 rector was on the eve of marriage with that 
 beautiful and haughty girl who had latterly 
 lived amidst them, the daughter of the 
 Countess of Avon.
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE LADS. 
 
 It was a long red-brick house, large and 
 
 handsome, as many of these country rectories 
 
 are; and on the spacious front lawn, one 
 
 glorious morning at the end of June, might 
 
 be seen the Keverend Eyle Baumgarten, his 
 
 wife and children. Lady Grace sat on a 
 
 bench under the shade of the lime-trees ; the 
 
 rector stood by, talking with her. Two 
 
 little boys were running about chasing a 
 
 yellow butterfly. They were dressed alike, 
 
 after the fashion of the day, in brown hol- 
 
 land blouses, white frilled drawers which 
 
 came just below the knee, white socks, 
 
 shoes, and broad-brimmed straw hats.
 
 122 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' You keep still, Charley,' cried the elder 
 one, a bold, beautiful child of five years ; 
 ' you only frighten him, dodging in his way 
 like that.' 
 
 ' Me want to tatch him, Cy'as,' said the 
 little one, who was just turned three, and 
 did not speak plainly ; ' me a'most dot him.' 
 
 'I'm going to catch him for you,' said 
 the other, imperiously. ' You go back to 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' Let him stay where he is ; he can run 
 after the butterfly if he chooses, as well as 
 you. Master Cyras,' interposed a nursemaid 
 who was walking about, carrying a baby in 
 white. 
 
 ' It's nothing to you, Jaquet — you hold 
 your tongue,' retorted Cyras, for between 
 him and Jaquet there was no love lost, 
 especially Jaquet, as the Americans say. 
 
 A clever movement of his hat captured 
 the unfortunate butterfly. ' I've got him,
 
 THE LADS 123 
 
 Charley ! ' shouted Cyras in triumph, and 
 the boys sat down together on the grass. 
 
 They were wonderfully alike, these two 
 little half-brothers, each possessing his father's 
 face in miniature ; the same pale, healthy 
 complexion, the fine, clear-cut features, the 
 dark eyes so deeply set within their long 
 lashes, and the wavy brown hair soft as 
 silk. But in disposition they were quite 
 different. Cyras was bold, self-willed, mas- 
 terful ; Charles gentle, pliant and timid. 
 Cyras was tall and strong, and forward 
 beyond his years; the younger one was 
 yielding, childish and backward. Already 
 Cyras constituted himself his brother's pro- 
 tector, and Charles in his hands was as a 
 tender reed. The affection between them 
 was great, rather unusually so. 
 
 Wlien Lady Grace married she had 
 brought Jaquet with her, one of the house- 
 maids from Avon House, to be upper house-
 
 124 LADY GRACE 
 
 maid at tlie rectory and to wait upon her- 
 self. Dinah also came to it in charge of 
 little Cyras. Just as Lady Grace's first child, 
 Charles, was born, old Dinah was seized 
 with permanent illness, and Jaquet became 
 nurse to both children. Jaquet was good 
 and faithful on the whole, but she had her 
 tempers and her prejudices. She learned to 
 love the infant with ardour, but she learned 
 to dislike Cyras. This arose partly from 
 the fact that she had not herself nursed him 
 from the first, and partly because Cyras, 
 even when very little, would set her at de- 
 fiance in refusing to give in to her whims. 
 
 Some people had prophesied that Lady 
 Grace would repent her imprudent marriage. 
 They proved to be wrong. Grace was in- 
 tensely happy in it. To live quietly at a 
 secluded country rectory upon fourteen Inin- 
 dred a-year was very different from the 
 pomp which she had enjoyed as an earls
 
 THE LADS 125 
 
 daughter, but Grace seemed to have found 
 her vocation in this unpretending Hfe. 
 Grace had brought with her only five hun- 
 dred a-year to augment Mr. Baumgarten's 
 means ; it was all she would enjoy until 
 Lady Avon's death. She made a fairly kind 
 stepmother to the little Cyras, but she had 
 not the same affection for him as for Charles. 
 That goes, as the French say, without telling. 
 Her baby, now in Jaquet's arms, was a fair 
 girl, the little Gertrude. 
 
 ' Well, Grace, what am I to say ? ' asked 
 Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 Lady Grace did not answer at once ; she 
 appeared to be considering. It was some 
 question of a visit they were discussing. 
 
 'Eyle,' she said, raising her beautiful 
 face to look at him, ' I would rather not go. 
 I do not like that man.' 
 
 ' So be it,' he answered ; ' I would rather 
 stay at home myself. But why don't you
 
 126 LADY GRACE 
 
 like liim, Grace? Most people find liim 
 charming.' 
 
 ' I can't tell why. I don't, and that's all 
 I am able to say about it.' 
 
 ' A case of Dr. Fell,' returned the rector 
 with semi-gravity ; and Lady Grace laughed. 
 
 'Yes, that's it, I suppose. My private 
 opinion is that his own wife does not like 
 him.' 
 
 ' I say, Grace, don't talk treason. The 
 birds in the trees up there might carry it to 
 the parish crier.' 
 
 ' I'll tell you one thing I saw, Eyle, the 
 last time we were there: I've never men- 
 tioned it even to you,' she resumed, lowering 
 her voice in deference to the subject or to 
 the birds of tlie air. 'It was the evening 
 before we came away. After I dressed for 
 dinner I went to her room door and knocked, 
 calling out to ask whether she was ready 
 to go down. She opened it herself very
 
 THE LADS 127 
 
 quickly; her face looked confused, and there 
 was a red mark on the left cheek, as if she 
 had just had a blow, and tears were in her 
 eyes. She only drew the door open an inch 
 or two, but I saw ' 
 
 Lady Grace broke off at the sound of 
 wheels and did not finish her story. The 
 large, low, open carriage, which the reader 
 has seen before, driven by its liveried 
 postillion, was stopping at the gate. Mr. 
 Baumgarten hastened to assist Lady Avon 
 from it and give her his arm. 
 
 She walked slowly to the bench where 
 her daughter was sitting. She was just the 
 same invalid as ever, had been so all these 
 years ; but she did not seem to grow much 
 worse. The boys ran up to her. 
 
 ' Me dot a butterfly, grandma,' said the 
 little one, exhibiting his treasure. ' Cy'as 
 dot it for me.' 
 
 ' Grandmamma, it is my birthday,' said
 
 128 LADY GRACE 
 
 Cyras, who had been allowed so to call the 
 Countess. ' Papa gave me a new book with 
 pictures, and mamma gave me a box of 
 sweets. Shall you give me anything ? ' 
 
 'I must consider what I have to give,' 
 said Lady Avon smiling, as she kissed them 
 both. ' Let me see, is it five years old you 
 are to-day, Cyras ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I'm five,' answered the young man. 
 ^ I shall be a great big boy next year ; big 
 enough to go to school, Jaquet says.' 
 
 Jaquet, who had drawn near with the 
 baby, knitted her brows and made all the 
 dumb signs to the boy she dare make, as an 
 injunction to hold his tongue ; her lady was 
 not one to permit gratuitous suggestions. The 
 Countess held out her arms for tlie baby. 
 
 ' The boys are Uke tlieir lather, Grace,' 
 she observed, looking down at the infant ; 
 'but Gertrude is like you.' 
 
 'Yes,' assented Grace, with a Lau^h.
 
 THE LADS 129 
 
 'Well, mamma, that is just as it should be, 
 isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose it is, ray dear. Wliich of 
 you little boys will go for a drive with me ? 
 It must be you, Cyras, I think, as it is your 
 birthday.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, yes ! ' cried the boy eagerly ; 
 ' I will go. Jaquet, fetch my best hat.' 
 
 ' Me too,' added little Charley. 
 
 ' No, I cannot manage both of you,' said 
 Lady Avon. 'You shall go another day, 
 Charley ; perhaps to-morrow.' 
 
 ' My hat, Jaquet ! ' again said Cyras 
 impatiently, for the girl had not stirred. 
 Lady Grace looked at her. 
 
 ' Do you hear ? ' she said, in her haughty 
 way. ' Master Cyras told you to fetch his 
 hat. Bring his little cape as well.' 
 
 Now this was just what Jaquet hated — 
 for Cyras to order her about imperiously, 
 and for her lady to confirm it. 
 
 VOL. 1. K
 
 130 LADY GRACE 
 
 'Eyle,' said Lady Avon to lier son-in- 
 law, when Jaquet liad gone for the things, 
 ' can you not do something or other to put 
 down that Fair ? ' 
 
 She spoke of a pleasure fair which was 
 held every midsummer onWhitton Common, 
 and lasted for a week. 
 
 The rector shook his head in answer. 
 ' Why, no ; how could I, Lady Avon ? ' 
 
 ' You have great influence in the parish. 
 Everyone looks up to you.' 
 
 ' But I have none over the Fair, j^o 
 one has. It possesses " vested interests," you 
 know,' added Mr. Baumgarten, laughing, 
 ' and they are too strong to be interfered 
 with. I try to induce my people to keep 
 away from it ; that is all I can do.' 
 
 'It is a very annoying thing,' said Lady 
 Avon. ' Every year that Midsummer Fair 
 sets itself up amidst us for a whole week, 
 and works no end of ill in demoralising
 
 THE LADS 131 
 
 people. Eobert went off to it last night, and 
 got home, Charity tells me, at one o'clock 
 this morning, not sober. I spoke to him 
 just now, asking him if he did not feel 
 ashamed of himself, and he had the face to 
 tell me he was perfectly sober, but that the 
 merry-go-round, which he unfortunately 
 went into, turned his head giddy.' 
 
 The rector bit his lips. Lady Grace 
 burst into a laugh. ' Mamma,' she said, ' do 
 you remember how I used to like to go to 
 that Fair on the children's day, as it is 
 called, when we first came down here ? 
 They had a theatre on the graund one year, 
 and I made Mademoiselle take me in to see 
 the performance ; and there w^as always an 
 elephant in another show, and oceans of 
 delicious cakes and gingerbread nuts.' 
 
 'I'm going to the Fair to-morrow,' put 
 in Cyras. 
 
 ' Me too,' said Charley. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 LADY GKACE 
 
 ' Certainly not,' austerely spoke Lady 
 Avon. ' Eyle, you surely will not so far 
 countenance the thing as to allow your 
 children to go ! ' 
 
 'Well, I — hardly know,' replied Mr. 
 Baumgarten with hesitation. ' All the chil- 
 dren in the parish will be there to-morrow.' 
 
 'But not yours. It would be a direct 
 encouragement of evil for the children of the 
 rector to be seen there. You and Grace 
 know I never interfere with your manage- 
 ment, but I really must do so in this one 
 matter. The boys must not go to the Fair.' 
 
 ' Don't put yourself out, mother,' said 
 Lady Grace equably ; ' they shall not go, as 
 you make a point of it.' 
 
 ' I want to go, mamma,' cried Cyras 
 sturdily. ' Me and Charley are to go.' 
 
 'Be quiet, Cyras. You hear what 
 grandmamma says. The Fair is a naughty 
 place, not good for little boys.'
 
 THE LADS 133 
 
 'The Fair is not a naughty place,' 
 disputed Cyras, looking his stepmother 
 undauntedly in the face while maintaining 
 his opinion. 'There's swings there, and 
 drums and whistles.' 
 
 ' I will have some drums and whistles 
 bought for you, my dear, and bring them 
 here, and some for Charley,' said Lady 
 Avon. ' And here comes your hat, Cyras ; 
 and we must be going, or we shall have 
 time for only a short drive.' 
 
 Jaquet put on the child's hat and cape. 
 Grace took the baby from her mother, and 
 Mr. Baumgarten escorted Lady Avon to the 
 carriage. 
 
 ' Be a good boy, Cyras ; don't be 
 troublesome to your grandmamma,' enjoined 
 the rector, as he placed the lad beside Lady 
 Avon. 
 
 Cyras could be very good indeed when 
 he pleased, quite an intelhgent little com-
 
 1:34 LADY GRACE 
 
 pan ion, and he always was so when with 
 Lady Avon. Without being in the least 
 harsh in her manner to children, but ever 
 kind and firm, Lady Avon was one of those 
 women who seem to obtain obedience with- 
 out palpably exacting it. The only child 
 she had ever been too indulgent to, and not 
 firm wath, Avas her daughter Grace. Cyras 
 talked to his grandmamma as they w^ent 
 along, sometimes standing up — when Lady 
 Avon held him fast by his blouse — to talk to 
 the postillion about the pretty horses and the 
 harness, and Avhat not. Cyras was always 
 sociable. 
 
 ' Where are w^e croino- o-randmamma ? ' 
 asked he, as they turned into a green lane, 
 which led to a cross country road in the 
 opposite direction to tlie Fair, near which 
 Lady Avon would not have gone had she 
 been bribed to do so. ' It is very pretty this 
 way ; perhaps we shall see some haymakers.'
 
 THE LADS 135 
 
 C3Tas was quite satisfied ; all roads v;ere 
 pretty miicli alike to him. They saw some 
 haymakers, and they saw some gipsies. 
 
 In returning home, when driving across 
 a strip of waste land or common, an open 
 carriage containing an old lady encountered 
 that of Lady Avon. Both carriages stopped 
 abreast, and the ladies entered into conversa- 
 tion. It chanced that they had stopped 
 exactly opposite a gipsy encampment, the 
 sight of which gave Cyras unbounded delight. 
 He had never seen one before ; or, if he had, 
 had forgotten it. 
 
 The fires on the short grass ; the kettles 
 swung above them ; the tent behind ; the 
 children running about, and the dark, sun- 
 burnt women looking up with smiling 
 faces, had a wonderful attraction for Cyras. 
 He wished he might get out and run to 
 them ; but just as he was wishing it the car- 
 riages parted to move on.
 
 136 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Grandmamma, look ! Do look. Isn't 
 it nice ? ' 
 
 Lady Avon turned to Cyras's side of the 
 carriage and saw the settlement ; she had 
 not before observed it. ' Dear me,' said she, 
 ' a gipsy encampment ! I wonder they are 
 not at the Fair. The men are, I suppose ; I 
 see none about.' 
 
 ' What is it, grandmamma ? ' 
 
 'A gipsy camp, my dear. They are 
 people who rove about the country, and 
 sleep in the open air at night, or in cara- 
 vans.' 
 
 ' I wish I could. Do you see the fires, 
 grandmamma ? Couldn't we go to them ? ' 
 
 'Oh, dear, no,' said Lady Avon, very 
 decisively. ' Little boys must never go near 
 such people.' 
 
 The carriage deposited Cyras at the 
 rectory gate as the clocks were striking one. 
 Lady Avon watched him enter, and then
 
 THE LADS 137 
 
 drove on. Charley came running out of 
 doors to meet his brother. 
 
 ' Oh, Charley, I wish you'd been with 
 us ! ' began Cyras. ' We've seen something 
 beautiful.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' asked Charles. ' Jam ? ' 
 
 'It was gipsies. They had fires all 
 blazing on the ground — on the grass, you 
 know ; and there was a big round thing you 
 couldn't see inside of. I think there was a 
 rocking-horse in it,' added Cyras thought- 
 fully. 
 
 ' Take me to see it, Cy'as ! Please take 
 me ! Jaquet ' 
 
 The child's words were cut short by 
 Jaquet herself, who came to hasten them in 
 to their dinner. 
 
 The little boys dined at the luncheon 
 table. That day it happened that a clergy- 
 man from a distance was present at the meal. 
 He and Mr. Baumgarten went into very deep
 
 138 LADY GRACE 
 
 converse about some public church matters 
 which were not giving satisfaction. Lady 
 Grace joined in it ; thus Cyras found no 
 opportunity to tell of his experiences touch- 
 ing the gipsy camp, as he would otherwise 
 have done. The children were trained on 
 the good old-fashioned plan — not to interrupt 
 the conversation of their seniors, or to speak 
 at all if strangers were present, unless spoken 
 to. It would be well if the same training 
 held sway at the present day. 
 
 Luncheon over, Mr. Baumgarten went 
 out at once with his friend. Lady Grace 
 proceeded to the nursery, and the boys 
 ran to their swing at the back of the 
 house. 
 
 About three o'clock Lady Alwyn and 
 her sister drove up. They came from a 
 distance, and generally stayed an hour or two 
 with Lady Grace, witli whom they were 
 intimate, the carriage being put up for the
 
 THE LADS 139 
 
 time. The days of afternoon tea had not 
 then come in ; people would as soon have 
 thought of ofTeriiig broth as tea before dinner ; 
 but wine and cake, the usual refreshment, 
 were rung for by Lady Grace, which tlie 
 man-servant, Moore, took in. 
 
 About four o'clock Jaquet went to see 
 •after the boys. Her mistress had said they 
 had gone to the swing. Jaquet could not 
 see them anywhere, and ran round to the 
 front lawn. They were not there. 
 
 ' Do you know where the children are, 
 Moore?' she inquired, meeting the man in 
 the hall. 
 
 ' Xo, unless they're with my lady in the 
 drawing-room ; they were there when I took 
 in the wine and cake,' answered Moore. 
 He was a son of the clerk at Great Whitton 
 church, and had lived with Mr. Baumgarten 
 and Lady Grace since they first came to the 
 rectory, the only indoor man-servant.
 
 140 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Oh, then they are sure to be there ; 
 trust them for stopping where there's any 
 cake going on,' said Jaquet. And she went 
 back to her nursery and to the baby, then 
 just waking up out of sleep. 
 
 It was five o'clock when the carriage 
 was brought round and the guests went 
 away. Lady Grace ran up to the nursery. 
 A maid was carrying in the tray containing 
 the children's tea and Jaquet's. 
 
 'Where are they?' asked Lady Grace, 
 looking round. 
 
 ' Where's who, my lady ? ' returned the 
 nurse. 
 
 'The children.' 
 
 ' They have not been up here,' said 
 Jaquet. ' I thought they were with your 
 ladyship.' 
 
 ' They must be at the swing,' said Lady 
 Grace. 
 
 But the children were not at the swing ;
 
 THE LADS 141 
 
 they were not in the front garden ; they did 
 not seem to be anywhere. Lady Grace 
 began to feel somewhat uneasy. She went 
 outside the gate and looked down the 
 avenue which led to the high road ; still she 
 did not think they would run off of their own 
 accord ; even Cyras had never done that. 
 
 Moore, Jaquet, and one of the house- 
 maids went about, searching the house and 
 grounds thoroughly ; all in vain. In the 
 midst of the commotion Mr. Baumgarten 
 came home. 
 
 ' Why, what's the matter ? ' he ex- 
 claimed, seeing the assembled searchers at 
 the gate with excited faces. 
 
 ' The children are lost,' said Lady Grace. 
 
 ' Lost ! The children ! Oh, nonsense,' 
 said Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 It appeared that the last seen of them 
 was when Moore took the wine and cake to 
 the drawing-room. Lady Grace was not
 
 142 LADY GRACE 
 
 very clear as to liow soon afterwards they 
 left it ; slie thought immediately ; but she 
 was quite sure they came into it only a 
 minute or two before Moore. They did not 
 have any cake ; did not wait until it was cut. 
 
 ' What time was it ? ' asked Mr. Baura- 
 garten. 
 
 It wanted about a quarter to four, Moore 
 thought, when he took the tray in. 
 
 At this moment a youth, who had been 
 taken on that week to assist the gardener in 
 bedding out some plants, approached from 
 the side of the lawn, touching his ca]3 to the 
 rector, and looking as if he w^anted to 
 speak. 
 
 ' What is it, James ? ' 
 
 ' I beg pardon, sir ; I saw the two little 
 gentlemen go throuo'h the ^ate this after- 
 noon. It was a little afore four o'clock. 
 They ran as fast as they could down the 
 avenue, their little legs did, as if afraid of
 
 THE LADS 143 
 
 being overtook. Master Cyras held the 
 little one by the hand.' 
 
 ' Why did you not stop them ? ' de- 
 manded the rector — which caused James to 
 open wide his eyes. 
 
 ' Me, sir ! I shouldn't make bold to 
 stop 'em, sir, without being telled to.' 
 
 'They have gone off to the Fair,' said 
 Mr. Baumgarten to his wife. ' I suppose 
 this comes of our having promised your 
 mother in their hearing that they should not 
 go to it.' 
 
 ' Then it's Cyras who is in fault,' said 
 she. ' Charles would not have the sense to 
 do such a thing, or the courage either.' 
 
 ' Of course not. He is too young [for 
 that yet awhile.' 
 
 ' Will they come to harm, think you, 
 Eyle.P' 
 
 ' Young monkeys ! ' he cried, half laugh- 
 ing, as he walked away with a quick step in
 
 144 LADY GRACE 
 
 pursuit. ' Harm, no ; don't worry yourself, 
 Grace ; I'll soon catch them up.' 
 
 The Fair was held on Whitton Common, 
 on the other side of the village, and near to 
 Little Whitton. There was also a way to it 
 through fields and shady lanes, and Lady 
 Grace bethought herself to despatch Moore 
 by that route, though it was hardly likely 
 the children had taken it. 
 
 In any kind of suspense time seems to 
 move on leaden wings. When an hour had 
 elapsed and did not bring the truants. Lady 
 Grace grew very uneasy. In her restless- 
 ness she put on her bonnet and went down 
 the avenue to where the high road crossed 
 it, and stood there looking out. All the 
 stragglers passing by were going towards 
 the Fair ; none comiug from it. Kot one. 
 
 ' Of course not ! ' she impatiently cried. 
 ' It is just the time when the workpeople 
 are flocking to it,' and she turned back
 
 THE LADS 145 
 
 home. This little excursion she repeated 
 twice or thrice. 
 
 About half-past six, standing again in 
 the road, slie saw Mr. Baumgarten hastening 
 back. But he was not leading a child in 
 each hand, as she had fondly pictured ; he 
 was alone. 
 
 ' I cannot see or hear anything of them,' 
 he said, in answer to his wife's impulsive 
 question. ' I don't think they can have 
 gone to the Fair.' 
 
 ' But where else would they be likely to 
 go,Eyle?' 
 
 ' Boyd has been sitting in his garden all 
 the afternoon, in full aim of the road ; had 
 his tea brought out to him there,' continued 
 Mr. Baumgarten, alluding to his curate, who 
 had been disabled the past week or two, 
 through an accident to his foot. ' He says 
 he could not have failed to see the little 
 ones had they appeared ; and he has been 
 
 VOL. T. L
 
 14G LADY GRACE 
 
 watching the passers-by to the Fair by way 
 of amusement.' 
 
 * Did you go on to the Fair, Ptyle, and 
 look about in it ? Did you inquire of the 
 people ? ' 
 
 ' Why, of course I did, Grace. I 
 searched all over it, in the booths and out 
 of them. Only a sprinkling of people had 
 collected ; it was too early. I inquired of 
 nearly everyone, I think, describing the 
 boys ; but they had not been seen.' 
 
 Just within the avenue leading to the 
 house there stood a bench, placed there by 
 Mr. Chester, the late rector, for the accom- 
 modation of wayfarers. Mr. Baumgarten, 
 who was hot and tired, sat down on it. 
 
 ' You had better come in and have some 
 dinner, Eyle.' 
 
 ' Not now ; I must be off again.' 
 
 ' But where can you go now ? ' she 
 asked, taking a scat beside him.
 
 THE LADS 147 
 
 ' I doii'L know where ; somewhere or 
 other. I can't rest m this uncertainty.' 
 
 ' Did you see Moore ? I sent him after 
 you, the field way.' 
 
 ' I saw him on the common. He had 
 not come across the youno; ones.' 
 
 Two or three minutes longer they sat. 
 Mr. Baumgarten was utterly fatigued and 
 quite at a loss to decide which way would 
 be the best next to start upon, Grace 
 shivered inwardly, picturing the harm which 
 would come, or had come, to Charley. 
 
 ' Do you think they have been kid- 
 napped, Eyle .^ Both are beautiful boys.' 
 
 ' Ko, no,' said Mr. Baumgarten. 
 
 By degrees they became aware that 
 sundry people were speeding along the 
 highway one after another, not towards the 
 Fair, but in the other direction. 'Where 
 can thev be G;oinor p ' cried Grace. — ' Has 
 anything happened? ' she inquired, running
 
 148 LADY GRACE 
 
 to arrest one of them — a working-man from 
 a cottage hard by. 
 
 ' It's reported there has just been a 
 great landslip in that cutting they were 
 making for the railway, my lady, and some 
 people are buried under it,' answered the 
 man. ' One boy's killed.' 
 
 Lady Grace cried out in terror. ' Oh, 
 Kyle, Eyle, do you hear ? ' she moaned. 
 ' Thafs where the children are gone. The 
 other day. when I had them out with me, 
 I could hardly get them past it. They 
 wanted to go down into the cutting.' 
 
 Mr. Baumgarten turned very pale. 
 ' Hush, my dear,' he said in a low tender 
 tone, ' we must hope for the best. I will — 
 here comes Brice ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, I'm afraid it is a serious acci- 
 dent,' began the doctor, in answer to their 
 emotional faces. ' A fellow has just run 
 over to tell me. What do you say ? —
 
 THE LADS 149 
 
 What? — The children there ! Bless my 
 heart ! ' 
 
 ' Go indoors, my love ; keep yourself as 
 tranquil as you can while I go on with 
 Brice/ whispered Mr. Baumgarten to his 
 agitated wife. 
 
 Indoors ! In that suspense ? No ! Lady 
 Grace could not be tranquil enough for that. 
 She paced about the avenue, and sat down 
 on the bench, and stood in the highway 
 watching the runners speeding to the scene ; 
 all by fits and starts. Twilight was coming 
 on when she saw her husband returning. 
 Mr. Brice was with him. 
 
 The landshp had not been so bad as 
 reported. Landslips and other mishaps 
 rarely are. Two men only were injured, 
 and the boy spoken of; none of them 
 mortally, and Mr. Brice had attended to 
 them. No trace had been found there of 
 the children.
 
 150 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't know wliere to look 
 now,' said Mr. Baumgarten, liis voice be- 
 traying his weariness. ' Grace, I believe I 
 must snatch some refreshment before I go 
 out again.' 
 
 She put her arm within his at once and 
 led him down tlie avenue. ' Are you 
 coming too, Mr. Brice ? ' she said, holding 
 out her hand. ' That's right. I'm sure you 
 must need something.' 
 
 Tea was brought in, and some hastily- 
 cut sandwiches. In ten minutes they were 
 out of doors again. 
 
 ' They are at the Fair, those young 
 rebels, rely upon that,' spoke ]\Ir. Brice, pur- 
 posely making light of the matter. ' You 
 must have missed them, Baumgarten.' 
 
 ' I think so too,' added Lady Grace. 
 'I think you should go there again, 
 Kyle.' 
 
 Just as she was speaking, and they were
 
 THE LADS 151 
 
 walking slowly clown the patli, the gate 
 opened and a group came in. A tall man, 
 with flashing black eyes and a yellow skin, 
 evidently a gipsy, and — the two boys. He 
 was carrying Charley in his arms ; Cyras 
 trotted beside him. 
 
 ' Mamma, mamma ! ' cried Charley. 
 And Grace Baum smarten wondered whether 
 she had ever before given such heartfelt 
 thanks to God. 
 
 Instead of advancing to meet the chil- 
 dren and the man, Mr. Baumgarten suddenly 
 sat down on a garden seat. The same 
 curious sickness, or pain, or oppression — he 
 hardly knew wdiat it was—which had at- 
 tacked him once or twice before, seized him 
 now. Mr. Brice and Lady Grace were 
 asking questions. 
 
 'Yes, master,' said the man, addressing 
 Mr. Brice, ' when we got back to the women 
 and children this evening: these two little
 
 152 LADY GRACE 
 
 gents was there with 'em round the fire ; so 
 I set off again and brought 'em home.' 
 
 ' How could you be so naughty, Cyras, 
 as to run away ? ' cried Lady Grace. 
 
 'I wanted to show Charley the gipsy 
 camp,' replied Cyras. 
 
 ' Were you not afraid, Charley, to go all 
 that way ? ' she continued. 
 
 ' Me not afraid with Cy'as,' said the httle 
 one. 
 
 ' I took care of Charley,' put in Cyras, 
 as if he had been a giant of strength. 
 
 Looking white and ill, Mr. Baumgarten 
 came forward. The paroxysm had j^assed. 
 He spoke a few heartfelt thanks to the man 
 and rewarded him, and took him indoors 
 that something to eat and drink might be 
 given to him. 
 
 'I shall never speak against gipsies 
 again,' impulsively declared Lady Grace 
 Baumgarten.
 
 153 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 IN THE CATHEDKAL. 
 
 The shades of twilight were fast gathering 
 on the aisles of the old cathedral, and the 
 congregation, assembled in the choir for 
 afternoon service, began to wonder whether 
 the chanter would be able to finish without 
 a light. The beautiful colours of the 
 painted east window were growing dim — 
 exceedingly beautiful were [they when the 
 sun illumined them. 
 
 It was a full congregation, unusually 
 numerous for a winter's afternoon, and one 
 that threatened rain. The Bishop of Den- 
 ham occupied his throne ; the Dean, a 
 younger man and very handsome, sat in his
 
 154 LADY GRACE 
 
 stall. By liis side was a boy of ten, or 
 rather more ; lie possessed the Dean's own 
 face in miniature, and there could be no 
 mistaking that they Avere father and son. 
 Underneath the Dean was the pew of his wife, 
 and with her was another boy, somewhat 
 younger, but bearing a great resemblance 
 to the one by the Dean. She was a fair, 
 beautiful woman, with stately manners and a 
 haughty face ; in age she may have been a 
 year above thirty, though she did not look it. 
 Lord Avon, through influential friends, 
 had taken care of his brother-in-law's pre- 
 ferment, and Eyle Baumgarten had been 
 made Dean of Denham, and had taken his 
 doctor's degree. He still retained the living 
 of Great Whitton, as he was able to do, 
 and he and Lady Grace spent part of the 
 year at it. This afternoon he is presiding in 
 his cathedral, and his wife, as already ob- 
 served, sits beneath him. Cyras sits with
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 155 
 
 the Dean, Charles with his mother. Now 
 they are all rising for the anthem. 
 
 The anthem was a short one this after- 
 noon ; it was soon over, and the congregation 
 knelt again. Meanwhile the atmosphere had 
 grown darker. 
 
 The chanter, an elderly man with a 
 round face and bald head, bent his spec- 
 tacles nearer and nearer to his book, and 
 the Dean, quietly pushing back the curtain 
 beside his own stall, leaned down, whispered 
 a word to one of the bedesmen who were 
 congregated on the steps inside the choir 
 entrance. The old man shuffled out, and 
 presently shuffled in again with a flaring 
 tallow candle, which he carried to the 
 chanter's desk. The chanter gave him a 
 nod for the unexpected accommodation, and 
 went on more glibly. He had seen a light 
 taken to the organ loft before the com- 
 mencement of the anthem.
 
 156 LADY GRACE 
 
 The service concluded, the Bishop gave 
 the blessing, and the congregation left the 
 choir, but they did not leave the edifice ; 
 they waited in the body of the cathedral to 
 listen to the music, for the organist was 
 treating them to some of the choicest mor- 
 ceaux amongst his voluntaries. He was an 
 eminent player, and now and then chose to 
 show them that he was so, and would keep 
 them, delighted listeners, full half an hour 
 after the conclusion of afternoon service ; 
 and sometimes he had to do so by order of 
 the Dean. 
 
 The Bishop had little ear for music, but 
 liked stopping in the cathedral, and the 
 social chat it afforded, very well. He slowly 
 paced the flagstones by the side of the 
 Dean's wife, the respectful crowd allowing 
 them a wide berth ; Dr. Baumgarten stood 
 close to the railings of a fine monument, 
 partly listening, partly talking, to the Sub-
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 157 
 
 dean. It was the month of November, the 
 andit season, therefore all the great digni- 
 taries of the cathedral were gathered in 
 Denham. 
 
 ' What's that now, Lady Grace ? ' asked 
 the Bishop. 'It's something like Luther's 
 Hymn ; variations on it, possibly.' 
 
 Lady Grace Baumgarten coughed down 
 a laugh ; but she knew the Bishop's musical 
 deficiencies. 'It is from a symphony of 
 Mozart's : your lordship does not listen.' 
 
 'Mozart, eh? I can distinguish a tune 
 well enough wdien they sing the words to 
 it, and I know our familiar airs, " God save 
 the Queen," and the ^' Bluebells of Scotland,'* 
 and such like, but when it comes to these 
 grand intricate pieces I am all at sea,' 
 spoke the Bishop, in his honest simple- 
 mindedness. ' How are the children, Lady 
 Grace ? ' 
 
 ' Quite well, thank you. The two boys
 
 158 LADY GRACE 
 
 are here. I don't see them just now, but 
 they are somewhere about.' 
 
 Lady Grace could not see them, and for 
 a very good reason — that they were not 
 there. The eldest, an indulged boy and 
 wilful, had scampered out to the cloisters 
 the moment he could steal away from the 
 paternal surplice, drawing his brother with 
 him. 
 
 ' Charley,' quoth he, ' it's come on to pour 
 cats and dogs, and I promised Dynevor to go 
 out with him after colleo;e. You 2^0 in and 
 bring me my top-coat.' 
 
 ' Oh, Cyras, don't send me ! Let me 
 stop and listen to the organ.' 
 
 'You stupid little monkey! Come, be 
 off; or else you know what you'll get.' 
 
 ' But the music Avill be over, Cy,' pleaded 
 Charles, who was little and yielding and timid 
 still, and completely under the dominion of 
 masterful Cyras.
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 159 
 
 ' The music be bothered ! Here, take 
 my Prayer-book in with you. Such non- 
 sense as it is of mamma, to make us bring 
 our Prayer-books to college when there are 
 the large books in the stalls, ready for use ! 
 Look you, Mr. Charles, I'll allow you three 
 minutes to get back here with the coat, and 
 if you exceed it by half a second you'll 
 catch a tannincr.' 
 
 Master Baumsfarten took out his watch — 
 an appendage of which he was excessively 
 proud — as he spoke ; and Charley, knowing 
 there was no appeal against his imperious 
 brother, laid hold of the Prayer-book, 
 and flew off through the covered passages 
 which led into the Deanery from the 
 cloisters. 
 
 Cyras amused himself with hissing and 
 spitting at an unhappy cat, which had by 
 some mischance got into the inclosed cloister 
 graveyard ; and, just before the time was
 
 IGO LADY GRACE 
 
 up, back came the child, all breathless, the 
 ccat over his arm. 
 
 Cyras snatched it from him, thrust an 
 arm into one of its sleeves, and was attempt- 
 ing to thrust the other, when he discovered 
 that it did not belong to him. Charley had 
 by mistake brought his own, and Cyras 
 could not, by any dint of pushing, get into 
 it. His temper rose ; he struck the child a 
 smart tap on the cheek, and then began to 
 buffet him with the unlucky coat. But he 
 took care not to hurt him. It was all show. 
 
 ' You careless little beggar ! What the 
 bother did you bring yours for? Haven't 
 you got eyes ? Haven't you got sense ? 
 Now, if ' 
 
 ' Halloa ! what's up ? What's he been 
 at now, Cy ? ' 
 
 The speaker was Frank Dynevor, Cyras 
 Baumgarten's especial chum when he was at 
 Denham. He was considerably older than
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL IGL 
 
 Cyras, but the latter was a forward boy of 
 his years, and would not acknowledge a 
 companion in one of his own age. 
 
 ' I sent him in for my coat, and he must 
 bring his,' explained Cyras. ' A tanning 
 would do him good.' 
 
 ' Of course it would,' said Frank Dynevor. 
 ' What's he crying for ? ' 
 
 ' For his sins,' said Cyras. 
 
 The tears stood in Charles's eyes : 
 nothing grieved him so much as for Cyras 
 to be angry with him. 
 
 ' He cries for nothing,' went on Cjrras, 
 ' and then they get him into the nursery and 
 give him sugar-candy. Mamma and old 
 Jaquet make a regular molly of him. J^ow, 
 Master Charles, perhaps you'll go and get 
 the right coat. It's his fault that I keep 
 you waiting, Dynevor.' 
 
 ' I am not going,' said Dynevor. ' They 
 began a row at home about my running out 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 LADY GRACE 
 
 in tlie rain, so it's stopped, and I came to 
 tell you. Here, Cy, come down this way.' 
 
 The two boys, Dynevor's arm carelessly 
 cast on the shoulder of Cyras, strolled off to- 
 gether along the cloisters towards the obscure 
 exit which led to the Dark Alley, Cyras 
 having tossed the coat on to Charley's head, 
 nearly throwing him off his legs. Charley 
 disencumbered himself, and espying some of 
 the college boys, with whom he kept up a 
 passing acquaintance when at Denham, he 
 joined them. They were emerging noisily 
 from the schoolroom, after taking off their 
 surplices : music had no charms for them, so 
 they had not remained amidst the listeners 
 in the cathedral. 
 
 Now there was a charity school in Den- 
 ham for the sons of small parents, where 
 plain learning was taught : the three E's, 
 with a smattering of history and other mat- 
 ters. It was a large school, its numbers
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 1G3 
 
 averaging four or five times those of tlie 
 foundation school in the cathedral ; and 
 from time immemorial the gentlemen on the 
 college foundation, called the King's Scholars, 
 and the boys of the charity school had been 
 at daggers drawn. The slight pastimes of 
 hard abuse and stone-throwing were in- 
 dulged in whenever the opposition parties 
 came into contact and circumstances per- 
 mitted, but there occurred sometimes a more 
 serious interlude — that of a general battle. 
 Animosity at the present time ran unusually 
 high, and, in consequence of some offence 
 offered by the haughty college boys in the 
 past week, the opposition boys (favoured 
 possibly by the unusual darkness of the 
 afternoon) had ventured on the unheard-of 
 exploit of collecting in a body round the 
 cloister gate to waylay the King's Scholars 
 on their leaving the cathedral at the close 
 of afternoon service. The latter walked into 
 
 is2
 
 164 LADY GRACE 
 
 the trap and were caught ; but they did not 
 want for 'phick,' and began laying about 
 them right and left. 
 
 The noise penetrated to the other end of 
 the cloisters, to the ears of the two lads 
 parading there, and away they tore, eager 
 to take part in any mischief that might have 
 turned up. The first thing Cyras saw was 
 Ms brother Charles struggling in the hands 
 of some half-dozen of the enemy, and being 
 roughly handled. Of course, having been 
 with the college boys, he was taken for one 
 of them ; and being a meek little fellow, 
 who stood aghast in the melee, instead of 
 helping on the assault — besides looking re- 
 markably aristocratic, a great crime in their 
 eyes — he was singled out as being a particu- 
 larly eligible target. 
 
 All the hot blood of Cyras Baumgarten's 
 body rushed to his face and his temper: if 
 he chose to put upon Charley and ' tan ' him,
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 165 
 
 he was not going to see others do it. He 
 Hung off his jacket and his cap, threw 
 them to Dynevor, and with his sturdy young 
 fists doubled sprang upon the assailants. 
 What a contrast, when you come to think 
 of it ! The stately, impassive Dean, master 
 of his cathedral, and standing in it at the 
 present moment, the cynosure of neighbour- 
 ing eyes ; the elegant Lady Grace with her 
 rank and beauty, both of them particularly 
 alive to the convenances of civihsed life ; and 
 the two young Baumgartens, just beyond ear- 
 shot, taking part in a juvenile fight, as fierce 
 as any Irish row. Ah, good doctors of 
 divinity, fair Lady Graces, your sons may 
 be just as disreputably engaged behind your 
 backs, little as you may suspect it, unworthy 
 of belief as you would deem it. 
 
 What would have been the upshot it is 
 impossible to say — broken noses certainly, 
 if not broken legs— had not the master of
 
 166 LADY GRACE 
 
 the opposition boys come up : a worthy 
 gentleman and martinet, whom the whole 
 lot dreaded more than anything alive. He 
 had scented, or been told of, the expedition, 
 and he had hastened to follow it, and bring 
 down upon those fractious heads the weight 
 of his wrathful authority. The very moment 
 his portly figure was caught sight of off flew 
 the crew in ignominious alarm, the college 
 boys raising a derisive shout after them, and 
 then decamping to their own homes. A 
 good thing for them, and that it was over 
 and done with before their masters came 
 out of the cathedral. 
 
 Dynevor, who was hand-in-glove with 
 some of the senior boys, returned Cyras's 
 jacket and cap to hhn, and went away with 
 his friends ; and the two Baumgartens were 
 left alone. Charles was crying and shaking, 
 Charles's nose was bleeding, and down sat 
 Cyras in a corner of the now deserted clois-
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 167 
 
 ters, and held the child to him, as tenderly 
 as any mother could have done. 
 
 ' Don't cry, Charley dear,' quoth he, 
 kissing him fondly. ' I know that biggest 
 fellow that set upon you, and I'll pay him 
 off as sure as he's a snob. I'd have paid 
 them off now if they had waited, the 
 cowards, and I don't care if they had 
 killed me for it. Where did they hit you, 
 Charley?' 
 
 ' They hit me everywhere, Cyras,' sobbed 
 the child, who, though barely two years 
 younger than his brother, was as a baby 
 compared with him in hardihood and in 
 knowledge of the world — if the remark may 
 be applied to a young gentleman rising 
 eleven. ' Oh, how my nose bleeds ! ' 
 
 Cyras with his own white handkerchief 
 kept wiping the suffering nose, kissing Charley 
 between whiles. 
 
 ' Charley dear,' he began, between the
 
 168 LADY GRACE 
 
 latter's sobs, ' if I hit you sometimes it isn't 
 that I want to hurt you, for I love you very 
 much, better than anything in the world. 
 You mustn't mind my hitting you ; I'm used 
 to hit, and it'll teach you to be a man.' 
 
 'Yes,' breathed Charley, clinging closer 
 to Cyras, whom, in spite of the latter's im- 
 periousness, he dearly loved. ' I know you 
 don't do it to hurt me.' 
 
 ' No, that I don't. I don't hurt you ever 
 —do I, Charley?' 
 
 ' No, never,' sobbed Charley. ' It's only 
 that I'm afraid you are angry with me.' 
 
 'But I'm not,' disclaimed Cyras. 'There's 
 not a soul in the house cares for you as I do, 
 and I'll stand by you always, through thick 
 and thin.' 
 
 ' Mamma cares for me, Cyras.' 
 
 ' After her fashion,' returned Mr. Cyras. 
 ' She makes a girl of you, and pets you up to 
 the skies. But I'll fight for you, Charley;
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 169 
 
 I'll never let a hair of your head be touched 
 when we go together to Eton or Eugby, 
 whichever it's to be.' 
 
 ' I hope I shall get brave hke you, Cy. 
 I think I shall, when I am as big as you : 
 nurse says you were not much better than 
 me when you were as little.' 
 
 ■ ' Oh, I'm blest, though ! ' returned Cyras, 
 not pleased with the remark. ' Who says it? ' 
 
 ' Jaquet.' 
 
 'Jaquet had better say that to me. 
 She's a nice one ! I never was a molly, 
 Charley ; I never had the chance to be ; she 
 knows that, and she must have said it just to 
 humour you. Why now, only see what a 
 girl they make of you : they keep you in 
 these dandy velvet dresses with a white frill. 
 And they don't let you stir out beyond the 
 door, unless there's a woman at your tail to 
 see you don't fall, or don't get lost, or some 
 sucli nonsense ! '
 
 170 LADY GKACE 
 
 Poor unhappy, timid Charley caught up 
 his sobbing breath. 
 
 ' And then, look at mamma — taking you 
 into her pew on Sunday ! Never was such 
 a spectacle seen before in Denham Cathedral, 
 as for a chap of your age to sit in the ladies' 
 seats. I'd rather be one of those snobs than 
 I'd be made a molly of.' 
 
 'Don't call me a molly, Cy,' urged the 
 child. 
 
 ' It's not your fault,' returned Cyras, 
 kissing him still, ' it's theirs. You have a 
 brave heart, Charley, for you won't tell a 
 lie, and you'll be brave yourself when they'll 
 let you. I'll make you so. I'll teacli you, 
 and I'll love you better than all of them put 
 together. Does your nose pain you now, 
 Charley dear ? ' 
 
 ' Not much. I was friglitened.' 
 
 A little while longer they sat there, 
 Cyras soothing the still sobbing child, strok-
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 171 
 
 ing liis hair, wiping liis eyes, whispering 
 endearing names; and then they got up, 
 and he led him affectionately into the 
 Deanery, tlirough the covered passage. 
 
 A couple of pretty objects they looked 
 when they entered the well-lighted residence I 
 Both their faces smeared with blood, with 
 Charley's velvet dress and his 'white frill,' 
 and Cyras's shirt front ; for the latter, in his 
 caresses, had not escaped catching the stains. 
 The Dean and Lady Grace had not entered, 
 for all this had taken place in a very short 
 space of time, and the organist was still 
 playing. Cyras smuggled Charles into the 
 nursery. 
 
 'Oh, my patience!' uttered the nurse, 
 who w^as sitting there with her charge, a 
 lovely little lady between five and six years 
 old, Gertrude Baumgarten, who had been 
 kept at home from college that afternoon 
 with an incipient cold. ' You wicked boys,
 
 172 LADY GRACE 
 
 what have you been up to? This is your 
 work, I know, Master Cyras ! ' 
 
 ' Is it ! — who gave you leave to know ? ' 
 retorted Cyras. He was no more friendly to 
 Jaquet than he used to be, or she to him. 
 
 Gertrude backed in fear against the wall, 
 her eyes, haughty and bkie as were her 
 mother's, wide open with astonislnnent. She 
 did not like the appearance of things, and 
 began to cry. 
 
 'Now don't be such a little stupid, 
 Gerty,' exclaimed Cyras ; ' there's nothing to 
 cry for. Charley's nose bled, and it got on 
 to our clothes.' 
 
 'Yes, it's me that's hurt, Jaquet,' put 
 in Charley, remembering his grievances and 
 giving way again. ' It isn't Cyras.' 
 
 ' Of course it's not,' indignantly returned 
 Jaquet ; ' what liarm does he ever come to ? 
 You have been striking him, that's wliat you 
 have been doings. Master Cvras. Y'ou've
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL l73 
 
 been tliumping liim on the nose to make it 
 bleed.' 
 
 ' It's nothing to you if I have,' retorted 
 Cyras in choler. 'You just say it again, 
 though, and I'll strike you.' He disdained 
 to say it was not so, or to defend himself; 
 he was of by far too indifferent a tempera- 
 ment. 
 
 « Oh, nurse — look ! look ! ' screamed out 
 the httle girl. 
 
 It was supplemented by a sharp scream 
 from Charley ; his nose had begun to bleed 
 again; and at that moment there was an- 
 other interruption. The room door opened, 
 and the Dean and his wife entered; the 
 former still wearing his surphce and hood, 
 and carrying his trencher, for they had been 
 hurriedly disturbed by the noise as they 
 came in from the cathedral. 
 
 The nurse, whose temper was not a re- 
 markably calm one, and who disliked the
 
 174 LADY GRACE 
 
 daring Cyras, was busy getting hot water 
 and a basin. 
 
 ' Look at him, my lady, look at him,' 
 cried she ; ' and it's Master Cyras's doings.' 
 
 'What does all this mean?' demanded 
 the Dean, his eyes wandering from one boy 
 to the other, from their faces to their 
 clothes, his ears taking in the sobbing and 
 the crying. ' What is it, I ask ? ' he sternly 
 continued, for no one had replied. 
 
 The Dean might ask again and again, 
 but he was none the nearer getting an 
 answer. Charley, his head over the basin, 
 was crying, and in too much fear and ex- 
 citement to hear the question. The sight of 
 only a cut finger had always terrified him. 
 Cyras had one of his independent, obstinate 
 fits coming on, and would not open his lips 
 in explanation or self-defence. 
 
 ' Cyras thumped Charley's nose to make 
 it bleed, papa,' said the little girl, un-
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 175 
 
 consciously improving upon Jaquet's asser- 
 tion. 
 
 ' How dared you hit him ? ' exclaimed 
 Lady Grace, turning to Cyras. 
 
 The boy looked at her but did not 
 answer. She took it for bravado. Her 
 passion rose. 'You are growing a perfect 
 little savage ! ' And raising her delicately- 
 gloved hand in the heat of the moment, she 
 struck Master Cyras some tingling blows 
 upon his cheeks. Dr. Baumgarten, deeming 
 possibly that to stand witness of the scene 
 did not contribute to the dignity of the Dean 
 of Denham, just escaped from service in his 
 cathedral, turned away, calling upon Cyras 
 to follow him. 
 
 It was not Cyras, however, who fol- 
 lowed the Dean ; it was Lady Grace. He 
 had gone to his own study, had laid down 
 his cap, and was taking off his sacred vest- 
 ments himself, dispensing with the customary
 
 176 LADY GRACE 
 
 aid of his servant. His wife closed the 
 door. 
 
 ' Eyle, how is this to end ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' What do you mean, Grace ? ' 
 
 ' I mean about Cyras ; but you know 
 very well without my telling you. The boy 
 has been indulged until he is getting the 
 mastery of us all. He positively struck 
 Gertrude the other day.' 
 
 ' As Jaquet chose to interpret it,' said 
 the Dean. ' I inquired into that. Cyras 
 gave the child a tap on the arm. Of course 
 he ought not to have done even that, and I 
 punished him for it.' 
 
 ' You cannot see his failings, Eyle ; you 
 supply him with an unlimited command of 
 money ' 
 
 ' Unlimited ! ' again interrupted the Dean. 
 ' You speak without thought, Grace.' 
 
 'I think too much,' she replied. 'I 
 have abstained hitherto from serious remon-
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 177 
 
 strance, for if ever I have interfered by a 
 word, you have attributed it, I feel sure, to 
 a jealous feeling, because he is not my own 
 child. But I now tell you that something 
 must be done : if that boy is to stop in the 
 house and rule it, I won't. I will not allow 
 him to ill-treat Charles : I will not, I say.' 
 
 ' Hush, Grace, you are excited. Ee- 
 member the day.' 
 
 ' I do not forget it. Your son did, pro- 
 bably, when he struck Charles.' 
 
 ' I cannot think he struck him — in that 
 fierce manner.' 
 
 ' Why, you saw the proofs,' she retorted. 
 ' Don't you mean to inquire into it — and 
 punish him ? ' 
 
 ' I certainly do — if you will only allow 
 me time, Grace. Much has not been lost 
 yet.' 
 
 ' If you have any feeling for your other 
 children, you will take measures by which 
 
 VOL. I. Is
 
 178 LADY GRACE 
 
 this annoyance may be put a stop to ; it is to 
 me most irritating.' 
 
 Lady Grace left the room, and the Dean 
 rang the bell, despatching the servant who 
 answered it for Master Baumgarten. Cyras 
 had not yet gone the length of disobeying 
 his father's mandates, and attended as soon 
 as he had been, what the nurse called, ' put 
 to rights,' meaning his unsightly shirt 
 changed for a clean one. Charley, his nose 
 shiny and swohen, but himself otherwise in 
 order, stole in after him. 
 
 ' N"ow, Cyras,' began the Dean, ' we 
 must have an explanation, and if you deserve 
 punishment you shall not escape it. I did 
 not think my boy was a coward, still less 
 that he would ill-treat his younger brother.' 
 
 The colour flashed into the cheeks of 
 Cyras, and a hght into his eyes. But he 
 would not speak. 
 
 ' Come hither, Charles. Do you see his
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 179 
 
 face, sir ? ' added the Dean, taking the child's 
 hand. ' Are you not ashamed to look at it, 
 and to reflect that you have caused him all 
 
 this grief and pain ' 
 
 ' Papa,' interrupted Charles, ' it was not 
 Cyras who hurt me. It was the snobs.' 
 
 ' It — was — the — what ? ' slowly uttered 
 the Dean, his dignity taken a little aback. 
 
 ' Those chanty boys. Frank Dynevor 
 calls them snobs, so does Cyras. I was with 
 the college boys in the cloisters, and they 
 set upon us ; there were five or six upon me 
 all at once, papa ; they hit me on the nose, 
 and I daresay they w^ould have killed me, 
 only Cyras came running up and fought with 
 them, because I was not strong enough, and 
 got me away. And then he sat down in the 
 cloisters and nursed me as long as I was 
 frightened, and that's how the blood got 
 upon his clothes.' 
 
 The Dean looked from one to the other. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Was it not Cyras who hurt you then ? I 
 scarcely understand.' 
 
 ' Cyras loves me too much to hurt me,' 
 cried Charley, lifting his beautiful, deeply- 
 set brown eyes, just like Cyras's, just like 
 the Dean's, to his father's face. ' He was 
 kissing me all the time in the cloisters ; he 
 was so sorry I was hurt ; and he says he 
 loves me better than anybody else in the 
 world, and he'll pay off that biggest snob tlie 
 first time he sees him. Don't you, Cyras? ' 
 
 The boy turned caressingly to Cyras. 
 Cyras looked red and foolish, not caring to 
 have his private affections betrayed for the 
 public benefit, and he shook off Charley. 
 Dr. Baumgarten drew Cyras to him, and 
 fondly pushed his hair from his forehead. 
 
 ' Tell me about it, my boy.' 
 
 ' Charley was just talking to some of the 
 college boys, papa, and those horrid charity 
 snobs '
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 181 
 
 'Stop a bit. What do you mean by 
 " snobs " ? Very vulgar word, Cyras, and a 
 wrong one for you to use. Of whom do 
 you speak ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, you know that big parish school, 
 papa : well, they are always setting on the 
 college boys, and they came up to the 
 cloisters this evening, and Charley, being 
 with the boys, got in for his share of pum- 
 melling, and I beat the fellows off him. 
 That's all.' 
 
 ' Why did you not say this to your 
 mamma in the nursery ? You made her 
 angry with you for nothing.' 
 
 Cyras shook back his head with a some- 
 what defiant movement. 
 
 ' Mamma's often angry with me for no- 
 thing, as far as that goes. I don't care. 
 As to Jaquet,' he added, drowning a warn- 
 ing gesture of the Dean's, ' she's always 
 telling stories of me.'
 
 182 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Now what do you mean by saying, •' I 
 don't care," Cyras ? It is very wrong to be 
 indifferent, even in speech.' 
 
 ' I mean nothing, papa,' laughed the boy. 
 ' Only I can fight my own battles against 
 Jaquet, and I will She has no business to 
 interfere with me when she hates me so 
 much ; let her concern herself with Charles 
 and Gertrude.' 
 
 The Dean left the boys together, and 
 went in search of his wife. He found her 
 in her chamber. She had taken off her out- 
 door things, and was now in her dinner 
 dress. The attendant quitted the room as 
 he entered it. 
 
 ' Grace,' said he, going up to her, ' there 
 has been a misapprehension, and I have come 
 to set you right. Cliarley got into an affray 
 with some strange boys in the cloisters (the 
 details of which I shall make it my business 
 to inquire into), and Cyras defended him
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 183 
 
 against tliem — going into them no doubt 
 like a young lion, for lie possesses uncommon 
 spirit — too much of it. We have been cast- 
 ing blame on Cyras unnecessarily.' 
 
 Lady Grace lifted her eyes to her hus- 
 band. She knew him to be an honourable 
 man (putting out of the question his divinity 
 and his deanship), and that he would not 
 assert a thing except in perfect good faith. 
 
 ' Do you mean that Cyras did not beat 
 Charles ? ' 
 
 ' He did not. He protected him.' 
 ' Why did not Cyras say so, then ? ' 
 ' His spirit in fault again, I suppose ; too 
 proud to defend himself against an unjust 
 imputation,' replied the Dean. But the 
 Dean was wrong, unhappily ; Cyras was too 
 carelessly indifferent to defend himself. The 
 Dean continued : ' I ordered Cyras before 
 me, and began taking him to task. Charles, 
 who had come in with him, spoke up eagerly,
 
 184 LADY GRACE 
 
 saying Cyras had fought for him, to defend 
 hhn from his assailants, not against him. 
 You should have heard the child, Grace, 
 telling how Cyras sat down and nursed him 
 afterwards in the cloisters, kissing him and 
 wiping the blood from his face, and whisper- 
 ing him how he loved him better than any- 
 thing else in the world. Grace, those two 
 will be affectionate, loving brothers if we do 
 not mar it.' 
 
 Lady Grace felt that she had been unjust 
 in striking Cyras, as well as guilty of an 
 unladylike action, and perhaps she felt more 
 contrition at the moment than the case really 
 warranted. 
 
 ' How mar it ? ' she faltered. 
 
 The Dean put his arm round his wife's 
 waist before replying. ' Grace, you best 
 know what is in your heart — whether or not 
 there is a dislike towards Cyras rankling 
 there. I think there is, and that it makes
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 185 
 
 you unjust to him. If you are not very 
 cautious it may sow dissension between the 
 children.' 
 
 Grace Baumgarten burst into tears, and 
 laid her face caressingly upon her husband's 
 breast : she loved him ahiiost as passionately 
 as she had ever done. 'Ryle,' she whis- 
 pered, ' if there be any such feeling, it is 
 born of my love for you.' 
 
 He smiled to himself. ' I know it, my 
 dearest ; I know that you remember he is 
 not your child ; yet that does not make the 
 feeling less inexcusable.' 
 
 ' Oh, but you are mistaken in using such 
 a word,' she spoke up, rallying herself. 
 ' Dislike ! Eyle, I do not dislike Cyras. I 
 cannot love him as I do Charles — how can 
 I ? — and he is very troublesome and vexes 
 me. Some boys are ten times more weary- 
 ing than others ; they must try the patience 
 of even their own mothers.'
 
 186 LADY GRACE 
 
 Cyras teas troublesome ; one of those 
 boys who are never still — always in some 
 mischief or other. The Dean allowed that. 
 
 ' Grace, listen. I think the boy is made 
 worse than he would be ; he has hardly fair 
 play between you and Jaquet.' 
 
 ' I never allow Jaquet to be unjust to 
 him.' 
 
 'Is she ever anything but unjust to 
 him ? ' returned the Dean. ' Does she not 
 bring to you tales of him continually ? 
 making molehills into mountains, purposely 
 to set you against him ? My dear, I fancy 
 it is so.' 
 
 ' If I thought she did I would discharge 
 her to-day,' spoke Lady Grace, in haughty 
 impulse. 
 
 ' Not to-day ; it is Sunday,' laughed the 
 Dean. 
 
 ' I will watch,' said Lady Grace. ' But, 
 Eyle, you know you do indulge Cyras too
 
 IX THE CATHEDRAL 187 
 
 miicli; you have ever done so. You may 
 not be conscious of it. When a parent 
 inordinately indulges a child, I do not be- 
 lieve he ever is conscious of it. And there 
 are boys and boys, you know. We may 
 indulge Charles as much as we please, it 
 would never hurt him ; but it is bad for a 
 self-willed boy like Cyras.' 
 
 Lady Grace was right. But no more 
 was said, for the steps of the boys were 
 heard on the stairs, and she opened the 
 door. 
 
 ' Come in, Cyras ; I want you,' she said, 
 drawing him gently to her. 'Your papa 
 has been telhng me that it was not you who 
 hit Charles and made his nose bleed.' 
 
 'Of course it was not me — as if I 
 would ! ' said Cyras. 
 
 ' But why did you not tell me so ? ' 
 
 ' It didn't matter,' said the boy. 
 
 ' It did matter. It caused me to punish
 
 183 LADY GRACE 
 
 you, for I thought you deserved it. I am 
 sorry to have done so, Cyras, but the fault 
 was yours. You should have told me the 
 truth.' 
 
 ' Sometimes when you are angry with 
 me, mamma, and I tell you the truth, you 
 don't believe me. You believe Jaquet 
 instead of me. I don't get ftiir play in 
 this house with anybody except papa.' 
 
 The Dean glanced at his wife. This was 
 bearing out his own hints to her. 
 
 ' Jaquet hates me, mamma ; you know 
 she always did hate me.' 
 
 ' I hope not, Cyras. And I do not 
 think she would dare to say to me what was 
 not true.' 
 
 ' Oh, wouldn't she ! ' cried the bold boy. 
 ' Slie does it to get me into a row with you 
 and make you punish me. Didn't she tell 
 you it was me that made Charley's nose 
 bleed just now, and didn't you believe her
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL 189 
 
 and hit me for it? It wasn't me, and 
 nobody had told her it was me ; but she 
 took and said it.' 
 
 Lady Grace, struck with the argument, 
 if not with its eloquence, paused in thought. 
 
 'It's her spite,' said Cyras. 'Charley 
 and Gerty might see it is, only they are 
 little duffers, and can't believe anything bad 
 of Jaquet. She pets them both up, and 
 gives them sugars ticks.' 
 
 ' Well, we will go to tea now, and you 
 shall take it in my room this evening, and 
 I'll pour it out for you,' said Lady Grace 
 briskly, kissing both the lads. 
 
 ' I have made my mind up, Eyle,' said 
 Lady Grace to her husband later. ' Jaquet 
 goes.' 
 
 And, to Jaquet's infinite astonishment, 
 she had her warning the next day. After a 
 few moments given to getting over her dis- 
 comfiture, she told her lady that at the end
 
 190 LADY GRACE 
 
 of the month she had been intending to give 
 warning on her own side, for she was going 
 to ' alter her condition.' 
 
 Which meant that she was about to get 
 married. But when the name of the in- 
 tended bridegroom was disclosed, it pro- 
 voked some laughter from the Dean's house- 
 hold, especially from his eldest son. For 
 the name was — 
 
 'Bones.'
 
 191 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT. 
 
 In tlie handsome drawing-room of their 
 town residence in Berkeley Square sat the 
 Dean of Denham and Lady Grace Baum- 
 garten. It was a fine evening in April ; the 
 dinner-hour was approaching, and they were 
 awaiting a guest : an old friend whom the 
 Dean had met in the street unexpectedly 
 that day and invited. 
 
 Years have elapsed, and the Dean, 
 approaching fifty now, is more portly than 
 he was wont to be ; but Lady Grace carries 
 her age well, and looks not a day older than 
 the period a woman never confesses to 
 having passed — five-and- thirty. But in the
 
 192 LADY GRACE 
 
 Dean's face there is a look of anxious care : 
 what can the flourishing Dean of Denhara 
 have to trouble him f 
 
 A great deal more than the world at 
 large suspected. Gifted with an aristocratic 
 wife, and she with aristocratic tastes and 
 habits, the Dean had fallen long and long 
 ago into a more expensive rate of living than 
 his means permitted. Embarrassment fol- 
 lowed as a necessary consequence ; trifling 
 enough at first, and easily put ofi* — not done 
 away with, but deferred. But the plan does 
 not answer ; it is something like the nails in 
 the horseshoe, which doubled as they went 
 on ; and Dr. Baumgarten had now attained 
 to a height of perplexity in his pecuniary 
 affairs not frequently reached by a dignitary 
 of the Church. 
 
 Half the labour of his later life had been 
 to hide it from Lady Grace, and he had in a 
 great measure succeeded. She could not
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 193 
 
 avoid knowing that they w^ere in debt, but 
 she had no conception to w^hat extent, and 
 debt is rather a fashionable complaint. She 
 also found that the Dean invariably ran short 
 of ready money ; but that is not uncommon 
 either. 
 
 In one sense of the word, the debts 
 which had gathered about them might be 
 put down to the score of Lady Grace. At 
 the death of her mother, Lady Avon, she 
 had come in to all the property that would 
 be hers — two thousand a year. Witli that 
 and the Dean's income they might have 
 lived sufficiently well. But Lady Grace had 
 little idea of the value of money, and was 
 given to thinking that one pound would go 
 as far as four or five. Living in Berkeley 
 Square was her doing, and was quite wToug 
 and ridiculous with their narrowed means. 
 
 It had come about in this way. Two 
 years before the present chapter opens, Lady 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 LADY GRACE 
 
 Grace had come to London on a visit to her 
 brother. Lord Avon had never married, 
 and spent much of his time abroad, keeping 
 his house — a small one — in Piccadilly done 
 up in brown holland and lavender. How- 
 ever, he took possession of it for a season, 
 invited his sister to stay with him, and the 
 Dean, if he could come, A season in town 
 was perfectly dehghtful to Lady Grace. 
 
 ' I shall not be able to do without it now 
 that I have tasted its sweets again,' she said 
 to her brother one day. ' I think I must 
 look out for some furnished house to be had 
 cheaply, Henry, and take it.' 
 
 ' All right,' said his lordship, who had 
 given in to Grace from the time she was a 
 baby. 
 
 Lady Grace found a cliarming house in 
 Berkeley Square. ' Just the thing,' she 
 observed to her brother and to the Dean, 
 who was in town for a week. ' It is only a
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 105 
 
 little house, and may be had on almost one's 
 own terms : may be rented yearly, furnished ; 
 or w^e may purchase the lease and the furni- 
 ture as it stands. Of course, the latter is 
 out of the question, but we might hire it. 
 It belonged to an old lady who is now 
 dead.' 
 
 ' We cannot possibly afford it,' whispered 
 the Dean aside to Lord Avon. ' Pray don't 
 encourage Grace to think of it.' 
 
 ' What's that you are saying, Eyle ? ' 
 cried his wife. ' Xot afford it ! Oh, but 
 we must ; we will afford it. I'll economise 
 in other matters.' 
 
 Lord Avon generously came to the 
 rescue. He purchased the lease, which had 
 twelve years to run, he bought the furniture, 
 and made a present of it to his sister. 
 
 So there was no rent to pay in Berkeley 
 Square, and this was the second year they 
 had been in it.
 
 19G LADY GRACE 
 
 But the money went all too quickly in 
 other ways. What with the household they 
 kept up, the entertainments Lady Grace 
 liked to give, and the expenses of the 
 children, Dr. Baumgarten's income ought to 
 have been doubled. 
 
 Gertrude had her governess — a French 
 lady, who spoke and taught the three 
 languages equally well : French, English, 
 German. Mademoiselle Leon was a most 
 desirable individual, and a finished in- 
 structress ; but these exceptional gover- 
 nesses have to be paid according to their 
 merits. Gertrude's masters were also ex- 
 pensive. 
 
 Charles was at Oxford ; and though not 
 especially extravagant, he did not live as a 
 hermit. Cyras ? What of Cyras ? 
 
 Cyras had given trouble. Was it likely 
 to be otherwise ? It had always been the 
 Dean's intention that Cyras should follow his
 
 AVITU SIR WILLIAM CHANT 197 
 
 own calling, the Church. Cyras knew this, 
 but had not objected, although never intend- 
 ing to fall in with it. Make a parson of him ! 
 Dress him up in a black coat and a white 
 choker ! the youngster was wont to say 
 behind the Dean's back. No ! He'd rather 
 go in for the clownship at Astley's ; rather be 
 a jockey at Newmarket ; rather hew timber 
 in the backwoods of America ; rather perch 
 himself on a three-legged stool at a dark 
 desk in a City office — yes, even that. None 
 of the fellows who went in for those things 
 need have a conscience, but a parson must 
 have one ; so he'd leave the Church to those 
 who liked consciences. 
 
 This treason was reported to the Dean, 
 and he ordered Cyras before him, and ad- 
 ministered a stern rebuke. But he could 
 make no impression upon him. Cyras argued 
 the matter out ; he was not insolent, but he 
 was persistent ; he had not grown less inde-
 
 198 LADY GRACE 
 
 pendently reckless with his advanciDg years 
 — reckless, that is to say, of other people's 
 opinions when they clashed with his own ; 
 though, in spite of the Dean's reproaches to 
 the contrary, the objection to enter the 
 Church proved Cyras not to be so totally 
 devoid of thought as his father assured 
 him he was. Cyrus was eighteen then, 
 and was to have gone to college in the 
 autumn. 
 
 ' It won't be of any use my going to 
 Oxford, papa,' the handsome young fellow 
 urged. ' To send me there would be waste 
 of time and money. I have quite as much 
 learning as I shall ever want. Make Charley 
 into a parson instead of me ; it won't go 
 against his conscience.' 
 
 ' You know, Cyras, that Charles has set 
 his heart upon the Bar.' 
 
 ' And a very good calling too,' rejoined 
 Cyras equably. ' You are in the Church
 
 WITH SlFv WILLIAM CHANT 199 
 
 yourself, papa — one of its sliining lights, you 
 know ; but that's no reason w^hy you should 
 force a son into it.' 
 
 ' What is to become of you, Cyras ? ' 
 
 ' Of me ? — oh, anything. What I wanted 
 was to have a commission bought for me in 
 the army, but ' 
 
 ' I have explained to you that I could 
 not afford it,' interrupted the Dean with some 
 agitation, for it brought before him the 
 vexatious state of his finances. ' Would you 
 wish to remain a burden upon me, Cyras? 
 Do you expect me to keep you for ever ? ' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it, father,' said Cyras 
 heartily. ' I'd rather make money myself, 
 and keep you.' 
 
 The Dean could hardly forbear a smile. 
 
 ' How would you make it ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Oh, go out to the gold diggings and dig 
 it up — something or other of that sort.' 
 
 ' Don't talk recklessly,' reproved the Dean.
 
 200 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' As I could not have a commission 
 bought, I don't much care what I do,' Cyras 
 was beginning ; but Dr. Baumgarten laid his 
 hand upon his arm. 
 
 ' Cyras, I have told you the truth,' he 
 said, with emotion. 'I had not the purchase- 
 money, neither could I have made you the 
 necessary yearly allowance. My boy, you 
 little know how hard up I am, and how 
 claims press upon me daily. Sometimes 
 I think the trouble will be too much for 
 me.' 
 
 'I'm sure / will not add to it,' cried 
 Cyras, in his good-natured, careless way. ' I 
 shall get along first-rate, father, you'll see.' 
 
 ' If you would only enter the Church, 
 Cyras, I could take care of your preferment ; 
 you'd be provided for for life. Don't bring up 
 that nonsense to me again about conscience. 
 I should be deeply grieved to think that a 
 son of mine could have aught of sin upon
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CIIA^'T 201 
 
 his conscience to unfit him for entering upon 
 a sacred calhng.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's not that,' said Cyras hghtly. ' I 
 wouldn't mind taking orders to-morrow, but 
 a parson must lead so straitlaced a life — at 
 least, if he is what a parson ought to be — and 
 I couldn't do that, you know. I couldn't, 
 indeed, father. I should be turning Eoman 
 Catholic, or something of that sort, to get 
 rid of my gown — Methodist parson, perhaps.' 
 
 The Dean sighed. It seemed a hopeless 
 case. 
 
 ' I will talk with you again, Cyras,' he 
 said ; ' but I do fear you are going to be 
 another source of trouble and expense to 
 me.' 
 
 The opportunity for further talk did not 
 come. Cyras disappeared from home ; and 
 the next heard of him was that he was on 
 board ship, sailing for Xew Zealand. His 
 letter to the Dean, despatched by the pilot
 
 202 LADY GRACE 
 
 who had conveyed the ship down Channel, 
 was characteristic of him : 
 
 ' My dear Father, — Here I am, on board 
 the good ship Rising Star, a chpper, A 1, 
 bound for Welhngton. I know you think 
 me careless and indifferent, and all the rest 
 of it, but you may believe me when I say 
 that I V70uld not willingly bring trouble on 
 you for all the world. I know I shall get on 
 over there. They'll give me a place at once 
 in Brice's shipping house. I'm sure of that, 
 if I choose to take it — I've spoken to Brice 
 here, and he says so ; but I may, perhaps, 
 find my way to Melbourne instead, and try 
 my luck at the goldfields. I don't mean to 
 be any more expense at all to you ; I hope I 
 shan't be, and I've shipped as a common 
 sailor before the mast to work my way out, 
 rather than ask you for the passage-money. 
 I daresay you'd not have given it me if I had
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 203 
 
 asked ; you'd have forbidden me to go, and I 
 thought the safest way was to say nothing 
 about it. So I chiselled a young sailor fellow 
 out of hi^ papers — he had broken his leg, 
 and must lie up for a year to come — and I 
 went down to the office, rigged out in a 
 glazed hat and pea-jacket, stood there as 
 bold as any sailor among them, and signed 
 articles for the Rising Star. She is fourteen 
 hundred tons burthen. I'll write again when 
 we reach Wellington ; or, if I don't like the 
 look of things out there, I'll come back in 
 the ship. And with best love to you, dear 
 papa, and to mamma, and Charley, and 
 Gertrude, 
 
 'I am, your affectionate Son, 
 
 ' Cyras.' 
 
 Cyras did not come back in the ship. 
 The Dean transmitted him some money to 
 Wellington, and Cyras sent it back again.
 
 204 LADY GRACE 
 
 He sent with it a loving letter of thanks, 
 telling his father that he was getting enough 
 to keep him, and did not want money. 
 After that they heard from him at intervals, 
 from Australia or from JN'ew Zealand, as the 
 case might be. According to his own 
 account he was always flourishing, and he 
 once sent a lovely gold bracelet to Gertrude 
 and a twenty-pound note to Charley. 
 
 Three years had elapsed since his first 
 departure, and now Cyras was back again 
 — not to remain, he told them ; only to see 
 them and the old country once more. 
 Charles — I think this has been said — w^as 
 keeping his terms at Oxford, and the Dean 
 and his wife were living in Berkeley Square. 
 Cyras seemed to have brought over plenty of 
 money. He had settled down as clerk in a 
 shipping house at Wellington — ^Brice and 
 Jansen — and had six months' leave from 
 it. He was twenty-one now, and but little
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 205 
 
 changed — gay, rattling, reckless in speech as 
 of old ; but exceedingly handsome, exceed- 
 ingly like what the Dean had been before 
 him. Only in one point did he not resemble 
 his fixther, and that was in stature : the Dean 
 was tall and stately, Cyras was very little 
 above middle height, and very slight. 
 
 'And wdiat have you been doing w^ith 
 yourself to-day, Cyras ? ' inquired the Dean 
 of his son, who was singing to himself in an 
 undertone as he stood at the window look- 
 ing out on the square. ' I wanted you this 
 morning, but you were not to be found.' 
 
 ' I went to ]N"orwood to see Aunt Char- 
 lotte,' replied Cyras. ' She took me into the 
 Crystal Palace ; we lunched there.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! How is she ? ' 
 
 ' Flourishing,' said Cyras. ' She fired off 
 no end of questions at me about the Brices 
 of Wellington.' 
 
 'Naturally,' remarked the Dean. 'Her
 
 206 LADY GRACE 
 
 husband and Brice of Wellington are 
 brothers.' 
 
 ' Are the Brices of Wellinsfton nice 
 people, Cyras ? ' asked Lady Grace. 
 
 ' The nicest people going, mamma.' 
 
 ' And well off? ' 
 
 'They just are. Why Brice and Jansen 
 is about the first shipping firm in Welling- 
 ton.' 
 
 The reader may not have forgotten that 
 Charlotte Dane, sister to poor Edith, married 
 a Mr. George Brice, of London, with whom 
 she had become acquainted when he was 
 visiting his uncle, Brice the surgeon, at Great 
 Whitton. It was this Aunt Charlotte Cyras 
 had been to see. She lived in a handsome 
 house at Norwood, for they had become 
 very wealthy. 
 
 And whilst he was speaking Brice the 
 surgeon came in ; for he was the guest 
 expected. After greethig Lady Grace and
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CIIAXT 207 
 
 tlie Dean, lie turned to Cyras, holding him 
 before him by the lappets of his coat, gazing 
 intently into his face. He had not seen 
 Cyras for three years. 
 
 ' What a likeness ! — what a likeness ! 
 It is yourself over again,' he said to the 
 Dean. ' Just what your face was at his 
 age; 
 
 Dr. Baumgarten laughed. ' You did not 
 know me when I was his ag;e, Brice — nor 
 for five or six years after it.' 
 
 'It is a wonderful likeness, is it not, 
 Lady Grace ? ' Avent on the surgeon. 
 
 ' I have always said so,' she answered. 
 
 Gertrude entered ; a beautiful girl, with 
 the fair delicate skin and the proud blue 
 eyes of her mother. She was a pleasant 
 girl, not self-willed as Grace used to be, but 
 sweet and gentle. 
 
 'How is Lord Avon.^' asked the sur- 
 geon.
 
 208 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Quite well,' said Grace ; ' and in 
 London. He was on the Continent all last 
 year, but this year he is at home.' 
 
 ' As good-natured as ever, I expect.' 
 
 ' Just the same,' laughed Lady Grace. 
 
 They sat after dinner in the drawing- 
 room talking together until nine o'clock, 
 when Mr. Brice had to leave them. He 
 was engaged to a gathering at a noted 
 physician's house near Hanover Square : a 
 dozen or so of learned men, chiefly medical 
 men, were about to meet to discuss a dis- 
 covery of the day. 
 
 ' I wish you would accompany me,' said 
 the doctor to his host. ' You could not fail 
 to appreciate what you will hear, and I m 
 sure you will not repent the introduction 
 to Sir William Chant. He has hardly his 
 equal.' 
 
 ' I should like to go very well,' said Dr. 
 Baumgarten.
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 209 
 
 ' Any room for me ? ' spoke Cyras 
 quaintly. 
 
 ' To be sure/ assented Mr. Brice. ' Come 
 along.' 
 
 This visit need not have been recorded 
 but for a matter which grew out of it. They 
 spent a pleasant and profitable hour or two 
 at Sir William Chant's, the Dean especially 
 enjoying the society of Sir William himself, 
 to whom he took a great liking ; and they 
 came aw^ay soon after eleven o'clock. In 
 passing a side street they suddenly fell upon 
 a commotion ; wild shouts arose from the 
 mob, while Hames were pouring out of the 
 windows of one of the houses. Cyras made 
 for the scene at a gallop ; the surgeon ran ; 
 Dr. Baumgarten went after them. There 
 was much pushing in the street, everyone 
 wanting to get where he could best stare at 
 the windows. In the midst of it all an 
 engine, with its firemen, clashed and dashed 
 
 VOL. T. P
 
 210 LADY GRACE 
 
 round the corner, scattering the people right 
 and left. 
 
 Cyras bethought himself that his father 
 and the old doctor might not be quite so 
 able to battle with a mob as he, and he 
 looked about for them. A minute's search 
 and he came upon his father on a doorstep. 
 The Dean had apparently sat down, and was 
 lying back as if he had no life in him. 
 
 • Father ! ' exclaimed Cyras. ' Father ! ' 
 
 Looking closely, Cyras saw that the face 
 was very pale, and that a blue tinge seemed 
 to be drawn in a circlet round the mouth. 
 The Dean gasped once or twice and opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 ' Have you been hurt, father ? Are you 
 ill ? ' 
 
 Dr. Baumgarten rose up, with the help 
 of Cyras. ' No,' said he ; ' no, I have not 
 been hurt. It is a fainting fit that I have 
 now and then — not often.'
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 211 
 
 ' A fainting fit ! ' repeated Cyras, won- 
 dering what a tall, fine, strong man like the 
 Dean could have to do with fainting fits. 
 
 ' It's something of the sort. My breath 
 seems to leave me suddenly ; I have to fight 
 for it ; and then a faintness comes on,' added 
 the Dean, as he walked away upon the arm 
 of Cyras. 
 
 Cyras had picked up odds and ends of 
 notions on his travels. 'I suppose the 
 heart's all right, father ? ' he said. 
 
 ' Oh dear, yes,' replied Dr. Baumgarten. 
 ' What with Denham and Great Whitton and 
 private matters, I think I'm a little over- 
 worked. Sometimes I feel as though I 
 wanted rest ; that's all, Cyras.' 
 
 ' I should take rest,' observed Cyras. 
 
 ' That's easier said than done, my boy.' 
 
 ' Look here, father ; put the Deanery 
 and the other places out to nurse for a few 
 months, and come over with me to New 
 
 p 2
 
 212 LADV GRACE 
 
 Zealand when I go back again. It would set 
 you up for the rest of your life ; you'd come 
 back stronger than any parson in the Den- 
 ham diocese.' 
 
 * Hush,' said the Dean, hastily withdraw- 
 ing his arm from that of Cyras. ' There's 
 Brice.' 
 
 Mr. Brice, having extricated himself 
 from the crowd, was standing at the end of 
 this quiet street looking out for them. 
 
 * It's a bad fire,' he remarked unsuspi- 
 ciously, ' but we can do no good, and are best 
 away from the fray. And now I'll wish you 
 good-night ; for my road lies that way, and 
 yours this.' 
 
 ' You are sure you will not be able to 
 come to us again in Berkeley Square ? ' said 
 the Dean, as their hands met and clasped. 
 
 ' Can't,' said Mr. Brice. ' I'm promised 
 
 to-morrow morning to George and Charlotte 
 
 Norwood, and I go down home in the
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CIIA^'T 213 
 
 evening. It lias been a great thing, my get- 
 ting this httle bit of a hohday. You'll re- 
 member to deliver my messages to my 
 nephew and the rest, Cyras, when you get 
 back to Wellington ? ' 
 
 ' I'll remember them, sir.' 
 
 'Father,' began Cyras, the followicg 
 morning, when, as chance had it, they were 
 alone for a few minutes after breakfast, 
 ' don't you think it might be as w^ell if you 
 saw a doctor ? ' 
 
 It was exactly what the Dean had been 
 thinking. But he did not acknowledge it. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know,' he answered in a 
 careless tone. 
 
 'I should just have told old Brice right 
 out last night,' said Cyras. 
 
 ' One can't very well talk of things in the 
 street,' returned the Dean. 
 
 Dr. Baumgarten went out a httle before
 
 214 LADY GRACE 
 
 one o'clock on his way to Sir William 
 Chant's. He thought it a good time to catch 
 him ; he would probably have about got rid 
 of his morning patients. An idea had struck 
 him that he w^ould rather tell his tale of 
 doubtful sickness to Sir William, a stranger, 
 than to a medical man who knew him better. 
 Such a fancy penetrates to many of us. 
 
 Sir William would be disencjag;ed in a 
 few minutes, the servant said ; he was then 
 with his last patient. Dr. Baumgarten 
 handed the man his card — 'The Dean of 
 Denham ' — but desired that it should not be 
 given in until his master was alone. 
 
 ' I am very glad to see you, Mr. Dean ; 
 very pleased that you should have called 
 upon me,' was Sir William's warm greeting 
 when his stately visitor was ushered in. 
 
 ' What shall you say if I tell you that I 
 have come as a patient ? ' returned the Dean. 
 
 ' I hope not.'
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHAXT 215 
 
 ' Yes, it is so. That is — I have — have — 
 I have experienced a little annoyance once 
 or twice, which perhaps it may be as well 
 to speak of,' rapidly continued the Dean, 
 getting over his momentary hesitation. ' It 
 amounts to nothing, I daresay.' 
 
 ' You do not look as if much were amiss 
 with you, sir,' smiled Sir WiUiam. 'Will 
 you take this chair ? ' 
 
 The chair he touched was the patient's 
 chair, facing the light. Sir Wilham sat op- 
 posite to it in the shade. 
 
 'Before I enter upon the matter. Sir 
 Wilham,' said the Dean as he took the seat, 
 ' I must get you to make me a promise. It 
 is a very simple request, and I am sure that 
 you will deal openly with me. If you find 
 reason to suspect that there is anything radi- 
 cally wrong will you candidly avow it to 
 me ? ' 
 
 ' I wonder what it is ? ' thought Sir
 
 216 LADY GRACE 
 
 William. ' Something^ I am sure. — Do you 
 suspect any particular mischief yourself ? ' he 
 inquired. 
 
 ' Well, I suppose I ought to do so.' 
 
 ' The heart? ' queried Sir William. 
 
 'That, if anything. Possibly it may arise 
 only from my being somewhat overdone with 
 work and other matters. I have been at- 
 tacked at times rather curiously.' 
 
 ' Will you describe the attacks.' 
 
 ' There is not much to describe,' said the 
 Dean. ' A sudden stoppage of the heart, 
 accompanied by a strange inward fluttering, 
 w^hich I feel to my fingers' ends ; and then a 
 faintness, almost, but not quite, amounting 
 to a fainting fit.' 
 
 Sir William Chant put another question 
 or two as to symptoms, and then passed on 
 to another phase. 
 
 'How frequently do you have these 
 attacks P '
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 217 
 
 ' Very seldom indeed. I've only had 
 about half-a-dozen in all. The first time 
 was after boating, when I was an under- 
 graduate at Oxford ; the last time was 
 yesterday evening ; and that covers a good 
 many years, you perceive.' 
 
 ' Yesterday evening ! ' repeated the doc- 
 tor, struck with the remark. 'Not when 
 you were here ? ' 
 
 ' No ; afterwards. In going home we 
 got into a crowd collected at a fire. I ran, 
 and otherwise exerted myself, and the attack 
 came on.' 
 
 ' And sometimes, I expect, it has come 
 on from mental emotion? ' 
 
 * Yes ; more frequently so. What do 
 you make of it. Sir William ? ' 
 
 Sir William Chant smiled, rose, and took 
 some instrument from a drawer in his table. 
 * You must let me test your organs a little 
 before I can give you an answer.'
 
 218 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Beginning with the heart, I suppose ? ' 
 observed the Dean, as he unbuttoned his 
 clerical coat and waistcoat. 
 
 ' Beginning with it and ending \vith it, I 
 fancy,' thought the physician ; but he did 
 not say so. 
 
 The examination, a slight one, was over. 
 The instrument was in its place again, 
 the clerical coat and waistcoat had been 
 refastened, and the gentlemen sat, each in his 
 chair, facing one another as before. 
 
 'Well?' said the Dean, for Sir William 
 did not speak. 
 
 ' Yes, undoubtedly the seat of mischief 
 lies in the heart. It is not quite as sound 
 as it ought to be.' 
 
 ' Am I in danger ? I must heg of you 
 to tell me the truth,' added the Dean, find- 
 ing he was not immediately answered. 
 
 ' My dear Mr. Dean, in one sense of the 
 word you are in danger ; all people must be
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 219 
 
 ill danger whose heart is in the condition of 
 yours ; but the extent of the peril depends 
 very much upon yourself.' 
 
 ' You mean that with tranquillity it may 
 be reduced to a minimum ? ' 
 
 'I do. With perfect tranquillity main- 
 tained of mind and body, your heart may 
 serve you for years and years to come.' 
 
 ' I may not be able to command that.' 
 
 ' But you must do so. My dear sir, you 
 must I do not know which would be the 
 worse for you, worry of mind or undue 
 exertion of body.' 
 
 ' He would be a clever man who is able 
 to ensure himself a life exempt from worry,' 
 remarked the Dean. 
 
 ' I mean emotional worry — worry that 
 runs to agitation,' said Sir William. ' Of 
 small worries we all have enoug;h and to 
 spare ; hfe is full of them. Even these I 
 would have you meet calmly.'
 
 220 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' If I can.' 
 
 ' Some matters will not admit of an " if," 
 Dr. Baumgarten — must not be allowed to do 
 so. Every individual has so much under 
 his control. And — I think I may under- 
 stand that with each attack you have had 
 you were able to trace it to some emotion or 
 other. Is that not so ? ' 
 
 ' It is so.' 
 
 ' Well, then, what more need of argu- 
 ment.^ Keep emotion from you, and you 
 will not have the attacks.' 
 
 'On the other hand — I think I am to 
 understand that should any undue agitation 
 arise, despite every precaution, to induce an 
 attack, it might be fatal ? My life may pass 
 away in it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. But you must not allow it to arise.' 
 
 With a few quiet words of thanks Dr. 
 Baumgarten arose ; he put his fingers into 
 his waistcoat pocket.
 
 WITH SIR WILLIAM CHANT 221 
 
 ' No, no, no ; no fee from you. Dr. 
 Baumgarten,' spoke the physician w^armly. 
 ' You were my honoured guest last night ; 
 let me have the pleasure of regarding our 
 interview to-day as one of friendship. And 
 be sure to come to me whenever you want 
 advice of any kind.' 
 
 ' So be it. Sir William ; and I thank you 
 greatly,' answered the Dean, as their hands 
 met. 
 
 He walked slowly along the street on his 
 return to Berkeley Square, deep in thought, 
 unable to put away an impression which 
 had taken hold of him — that for him the 
 dread fiat had gone forth. It seemed as 
 sure as though he heard the death-bell 
 tolling for him in his coffin.
 
 222 LADY GRACE 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY. 
 
 Once more in the drawing-room at Berkeley 
 Square sat the Dean and Lady Grace. They 
 had entered the room at ahnost the same 
 moment, dressed to receive guests. The 
 Dean gave a dinner-party that evening, and 
 Lady Grace, as she sat at the window, 
 observed the lirst carriage, as she thought, 
 driving up to the door. 
 
 Four or five weeks have elapsed since 
 the Dean's interview with Sir William Chant, 
 and the sweet month of June is close at 
 hand. The Dean has been feeling well of 
 late — that is, he has not had any return of 
 his malady; but he is overwhelmed with
 
 AFTER THE DINXER-PARTY 223 
 
 worry. Lady Grace has been extravagant 
 this season, and her husband knows not how 
 to defer any longer the embarrassments 
 which creditors are pressing upon him. He 
 has been staying at Great Whitton, and has 
 only now been in town a day or two. 
 
 An idea has lately been forcing itself 
 upon him which he does not like to enter- 
 tain ; yet, unwelcome as it is, he begins to 
 fear he shall have to act upon it. It is that 
 he shall disclose his position to his brother- 
 in-law and obtain from him seasonable help. 
 It might take from four to five thousand 
 pounds to extricate him from his dilemma 
 and put him straight again ; probably quite 
 five. Then he would have to make all 
 known to Grace, and persuade her to live 
 in quiet retirement for a time at Great 
 Whitton, and pay back Lord Avon by 
 degrees. But Dr. Baumgarten does not like 
 to ask this loan of Lord Avon ; one or tAvo
 
 224 LADY GRACE 
 
 loans he has had already from him. The 
 good-natured Earl has always been generous 
 to them ; apart from the Berkeley Square 
 house he often slips a ten-pound note into 
 his sister's hand, of which she makes no 
 secret to her husband, and for which she 
 hardly thanks Lord Avon. ' He has no 
 wife,' remarks Lady Grace ; ' why should he 
 not occasionally make me presents ? ' 
 
 It was to be a formal dinner-party this 
 evening ; one given yearly by Dr. Baumgarten 
 to a few nearly superannuated hghts of the 
 Church, who came in their mitred chariots, 
 with their old wives beside them. It was 
 not at all one delighted in by Lady Grace, 
 who called the worthy people ' ancient 
 fogies.' Neither Charles nor Gertrude, if at 
 home, would have been admitted to it. 
 Cyras would have been still more out of his 
 element than they. Cyras, who would soon 
 be on the wing again for a distant land, was
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 225 
 
 paying a farewell visit to Charles at Ox- 
 ford ; Gertrude was spending the day with 
 their friends in Eaton Place — the Maude- 
 Dynevors. 
 
 ' That carriage has passed out of the 
 square ; I fancied it was coming here,' re- 
 marked Lady Grace as she turned from the 
 window. 
 
 The Dean stood with his elbow lean- 
 ing on the mantelpiece, the hand support- 
 ing his head. A strange weight of care 
 sat upon his brow ; so great, so strange, 
 that it did not escape the notice of his 
 wife. 
 
 ' Is anything the matter, Eyle ? You do 
 not look well.' 
 
 ' Well? Oh, yes ; I am quite well.' 
 
 ' You are troubled, then. What is it ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing ; it is nothing, Grace. The 
 day has been very hot, and heat always 
 makes me feel languid, you know.' 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 LADY GRACE 
 
 And the Dean removed liis elbow, 
 smoothed his brow, and called up a smile, 
 just as the first black silk apron, worn by 
 the Bishop of Denham, came sailing in. In 
 point of fact, the Dean had cause to show 
 an uneasy front : a terrible blow had fallen 
 upon him — painfully perplexing tidings that 
 he knew not how to cope with. 
 
 But never had the Dean of Denham been 
 more courteous, more brilliant, more alive 
 to the duties of a host than he was that 
 evening. He sat at the head of his board, 
 after Lady Grace had withdrawn, and the 
 sociable old bishops admired his learning, 
 retorted to his wit, yielded to his fascina- 
 tions, and enjoyed his good wine. It was a 
 remark amongst their lordships the next day 
 that Baumgarten had surpassed himself. 
 The ladies thought the same when he ap- 
 peared with their lords in the drawing-room. 
 Gertrude Baumgarten was in it then, and
 
 AFTEK THE DINJS'ER-PAKTY 227 
 
 was singing to them some of her sweetest 
 songs, but they forgot the songs when they 
 listened to the Dean. 
 
 A servant was crossing the saloon with a 
 coffee-cup ; he halted for a moment near his 
 master, and spoke in a tone imperceptible to 
 other ears. It was Moore, who had lived so 
 long in the family ; a middle-aged man now% 
 and quite a confidential servant. 
 
 ' Mr. Fuller is come again, sir ; and 
 another gentleman with him. I have shown 
 them into the library.' 
 
 Drawing towards the door, unconsciously 
 as it were, with a word to one, a smile for 
 another, the Dean presently passed out of it, 
 unnoticed, for they were engaged with their 
 coffee, and Gertrude was singing again. In 
 the library were two gentlemen, and farther 
 off, sitting on the edge of a handsome chair, 
 as if handsome chairs and himself did not 
 often come into contact with each other, 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 LADY GRACE 
 
 was a shabby-looking man. The man had 
 been there for several hours, and had had 
 substantial refreshments served to him more 
 than once. 
 
 Mr. Fuller was the Dean's lawyer. The 
 gentleman he had now brought with him 
 was the Dean's banker, and the man was a 
 sheriff's officer. The Dean of Denham had 
 been arrested. 
 
 The Dean of Denham had been person- 
 ally arrested ! Such calamities have oc- 
 curred to divines even higher in the Church 
 than he. As he came up to his door that 
 afternoon, and put his foot upon his door- 
 sill to enter it, he was touched upon the 
 shoulder by the man sitting now in that 
 uneasy chair. The exclusive Dean shrank 
 from the contaminating contact, his haughty 
 pride rose, and he spoke severely: 
 
 ' Fellow, what are you doing ? ' 
 
 ' The Eeverend Eyle Baumgarten, Dean
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 229 
 
 of Denliam, I believe. Sir, you are my 
 prisoner.' 
 
 Staggered, shocked, almost bewildered, 
 he, by some process of persuasion or reason- 
 ing, induced the man to enter his house, and 
 wait w^iile he sent for his lawyer. The 
 lawyer came. Arrangement appeared to be 
 hopeless, for the Dean was worse than out 
 of funds, and of revenues to fall back upon 
 he had none. There was a consultation. 
 The Dean said, receive the bishops that 
 night, as had been decided, he must ; and an 
 awful sickness fell upon him at the prospect 
 of going to prison. Mr. Fuller threw out a 
 word of suggestion touching Lord Avon. 
 But Lord Avon, as the Dean knew", had 
 gone to Epsom races ; he might not be 
 home till midnight, if then. Mr. Fuller 
 kneAv the Dean to be a man of honour, 
 whose word w\as not to be questioned, and 
 he passed it, to go quietly to his destination
 
 230 LADY GRACE 
 
 the following morning, provided he could 
 remain at liberty in his house for that night. 
 
 Mr. Fuller gave an undertaking to the 
 capturer, answering for the Dean's good 
 faith, and the man ivas made at home in 
 the library, Moore alone being cognisant of 
 his business. Meanwhile the Dean wrote 
 a note to his banker, of which Mr. Fuller 
 took charge. 
 
 The banker, wishing to be courteous, 
 answered it in person, and sat now at the 
 library table, the Dean on one side of him, 
 the lawyer on the other. But of what use 
 was his coming? He had been privately 
 saying to the lawyer that he and his house 
 were m for it too deeply as it was, and not 
 a shilling more would they advance ; no, 
 not to keep the Dean out of purgatory, let 
 alone out of prison. He intimated some- 
 what of the same now to the Dean, though 
 in more courtly terms.
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 231 
 
 They consulted together in subdued 
 tones, not to be audible to the man at the 
 other end of the room, but to no earthly 
 effect ; it all came round to the same point : 
 the Dean had neither money nor money's 
 worth ; even the very furniture of the house 
 he was in was not his ; it had been settled 
 by Lord Avon on his sister, and the Dean's 
 debts could not touch it. The furniture at 
 the Deanery, the furniture at Great Whitton 
 Eectory was already mortgaged, as it may 
 be said, for money which had been lent 
 upon it ; heavy liabilities were upon him, 
 and he had no means of meetinsr them — he 
 had put off and put off the evil day, only to 
 make it all the worse, now that it had come 
 to this. 
 
 ' I'll try to see Lord Avon in the 
 morning ; he'll be back by that time,' 
 remarked Mr. Fuller. 
 
 ' And only to find that he has gone off
 
 232 LADY GRACE 
 
 to Paris by to-night's train,' said the Dean. 
 ' He talked of going over this week.' 
 
 Nothing coukl be done then ; nothing 
 whatever. The lawyer was unable to help, 
 the banker would not do so, and the con- 
 ference closed. Mr. Fuller promised to be 
 there again in the morning. Dr. Baum- 
 garten, upon thorns in more ways than one, 
 went back to his wondering bishops, the 
 comforting assurance that he must surrender 
 the next morning playing havoc with his 
 brain. 
 
 ' Oh, here's the Dean at last ! Lady 
 Grace feared you must be taken ill/ 
 
 ' Never in better health in my life,' 
 laughed the ^Dean, gaily. ' I was sum- 
 moned to the library on business ; people 
 will come at troublesome times. Your 
 lordship is winning, I see — a knight and a 
 castle already; fair trophies, but Lady
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-TARTY 233 
 
 Grace generally contrives to lose all before 
 her when she attempts chess.' 
 
 The giiests departed at the sober hour of 
 eleven, and Lady Grace immediately pre- 
 pared to go to her dressing-room. The 
 Dean had been making up his mind to tell 
 her while he talked to the bishops. ' A 
 glib tongue covers an aching heart ' — how 
 runs the proverb ? In all the world perhaps 
 there could not have been found that night 
 a more aching heart than Eyle Baumgarten's. 
 The time had come when his wife must 
 know, and the telling would be to him as a 
 very bitter pill. 
 
 'Grace, don't go up just yet. Good- 
 night, Gertrude ; run on, my dear.' 
 
 ' Good-night, dear papa.' 
 
 ' Eyle ! ' uttered Lady Grace as the door 
 closed, ' you are not well. I am sure of it. 
 Something must be wrong. What wei^e you
 
 234 LADY GEACE 
 
 doing when you were out of the room so 
 lono' tc-nicrht ? ' 
 
 The Dean leaned against the wall by the 
 side of the fireplace, all his assumed bravery 
 gone out of him. When the spirits have 
 been forced for hours, the revulsion is some- 
 times terrible. She went up to him in 
 alarm and placed her hands upon him. He 
 took them in his own. 
 
 ' Yes, Grace, something is wrong. It 
 seems,' he added, with a ghastly face, 
 ' as if I should almost die in telling you 
 of it.' 
 
 Her lips turned whiter than his, and her 
 voice sank to a dread whisper. ' Something 
 has happened to Charles ? ' 
 
 ' No, no ; the children are all safe ; it 
 has nothing to do with tliem. It has to do 
 with myself alone, and — with you — in a 
 degree — as part of myself.' 
 
 'Eyle, you are ill,' she faintly said
 
 AFTER THE DINXER-PARTr 235 
 
 ' You have some disorder that you are con- 
 ceahDg from me. Why do you keep me in 
 suspense ? ' 
 
 ' 111 in mind, Grace. Oh, my wife, how 
 shall I tell you that I have been an embar- 
 rassed man for years, and that now the blow 
 has fallen.' 
 
 She shivered inwardly, but would not 
 let it be seen. ' What is the blow ? ' 
 
 ' I am arrested. I must go to prison to- 
 morrow mornincf.' 
 
 So little was Lady Grace familiar with 
 ' arrests ' and ' prisons ' that she could not 
 at once comprehend him ; and when she did 
 so, the popular belief seemed to be in her 
 mind that a Dean, so enshrined in divinity 
 and dignity, could never be made an inmate 
 of a prison. The first emotion passed, they 
 sat down close tos^ether on the sofa, and 
 Grace poured forth question upon question. 
 What had brought it on ? How much did
 
 236 LADY GRACE 
 
 they owe ? Why didn't he tell the lawyers 
 to settle it ? 
 
 PnzzliDg questions, all, for the Dean to 
 answer. It had been comino; on too loncj 
 for him to be able to trace ' what ' had 
 brought it on, except that they had lived at 
 too great an expense. Little by little, step 
 by step, the grain of sand had grown to a 
 desert. How much they owed he could not 
 precisely say ; and, oh ! the mockery of the 
 innocent remark : ' Why didn't he tell the 
 lawyers to settle it ? ' 
 
 ' Eyle ! ' she suddenly exclaimed, ' you 
 had an advance from the bankers a day or 
 two ago. I saw you draw a cheque for two 
 hundred and twenty pounds — don't you re- 
 member ? I came in as you were writing it. 
 Is that all gone ? ' 
 
 ' It was the last cheque they cashed — the 
 last they would cash. The money was not 
 for myself.'
 
 AFTER THE DLNNER-PARTY 237 
 
 ' For whom, then ? ' 
 
 ' That is of no importance. It is gone.' 
 
 ' But you must tell me. You know, 
 Eyle, now that it has come to this pass, you 
 must not keep me in the dark. I must 
 know how much you owe, and how the 
 money has gone, and the right and the 
 wrong of everything. Of course, there's 
 nothing to be done now but to get Henry to 
 help us ; and if he won't, or can't do so, we 
 must raise money upon my property. What 
 did that two hundred and twenty pounds go 
 in?' 
 
 ' Arrests seem to be running in the 
 family just now,' observed the Dean with a 
 bitter smile. 'Cyras — Cyras — well, I had 
 to give that cheque to Cyras to get rid of a 
 little trouble. It was not much, Grace ; as 
 a drop of water to the ocean.' 
 
 Whether as a drop, or a bucket, it 
 seemed to freeze Lady Grace. ' Cyras ! '
 
 238 LADY GRACE 
 
 she ejaculated scornfully. ' What right have 
 you to help him when you cannot afford to 
 do it ? I shall tell Cyras what I think of 
 his despicable conduct.' 
 
 ' Don't do that, Grace. The trouble was 
 not Cyras's. He has not had a shilling 
 from me.' 
 
 ' You have just said he had that cheque.' 
 
 ' Yes — to extricate another.' 
 
 ' Another ? ' echoed Lady Grace, looking 
 at him. ' It was not — oh, Eyle ! it surely 
 was not Charles ? ' 
 
 ' Yes it was,' said the Dean, in a low, sad 
 tone. ' He got into debt, and Cyras took 
 my cheque to Oxford to release him. No 
 one can be more repentant than Charles is ; 
 I do not think it will ever happen again. It 
 was not his fault ; he was drawn into it by 
 others. I had the nicest possible letter from 
 him this morning ; he says it will be a life's 
 lesson to him. I believe it will. There —
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 239 
 
 let us leave Charles's affairs for mine. 
 Grace, this blow will kill me.' 
 
 ' If you went to prison it would be quite 
 enough to kill you ; but that cannot be 
 thought of. As a last resource, money, I 
 say, must be raised on my property.' 
 
 'My dear, I thought you knew better 
 than that. It is yours for your life only, 
 and then it descends to your children. 
 The Lord Chancellor himself could not raise 
 a shilling upon it.' 
 
 Lady Grace started up. ' Is it so ? 
 Then what in the world is to be done ? ' 
 
 He did not say what — he foresaw too 
 well, and his countenance betrayed it. She 
 put her arm round his neck. 
 
 ' No, Eyle, dearest, you never shall ; 
 there shall be no prison for you whilst I live. 
 I will be back in an hour.' 
 
 ' Why, where are you going ? ' he ex- 
 claimed.
 
 240 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' To my brother. A cab will take me 
 there in safety. He must manage this. 
 Now, don't attempt to stop me, Eyle ; what 
 harm could I come to ? If you are afraid it 
 might do so, come with me.' 
 
 ' I wish I could. I am a prisoner.' 
 
 ' A prisoner ! ' she ejaculated. ' Here, 
 in your own house ? ' 
 
 ' I may not quit it, except to exchange it 
 for a prison. But, my dear, listen to reason. 
 You are not likely to find your brother at 
 this hour of the night; perhaps he is not 
 even back from the races. Fuller will see 
 after him in the morning.' 
 
 ' I shall go and find him now,' she 
 persisted. 
 
 She had a bonnet and shawl brought 
 down, and a man-servant was ordered to 
 attend her: not Moore, who could not be 
 spared from home. For once in her life 
 Lady Grace condescended a word of expla-
 
 AFTER THE DINNER- PARTY 241 
 
 nation. ' She had business with Lord Avon, 
 and the Dean felt too unwell to accompany 
 her.' She remembered one important item 
 of information she was ignorant of, and went 
 back to ask it. 
 
 ' Eyle, how much are you arrested for ? * 
 ' The sum that I am arrested for is about 
 four hundred pounds. But now that this 
 crisis has come, I shall not escape without 
 making arrangements to pay all I owe,' 
 added the Dean. 
 
 ' And how much is it in the whole ? ' 
 ' Close upon five thousand pounds.' 
 Grace looked at him ; he was sitting back 
 in the large chair almost, as it seemed to 
 her, gasping for breath. She saw how much 
 the confession had shaken him. Eunning 
 across the room, she kissed him fondly. 
 
 ' Don't distress yourself, my husband. 
 Henry will see that all comes right. I'll 
 make him do so.' 
 
 VOL. T. E
 
 242 LADY GRACE 
 
 The man who had been bidden to attend 
 her stood at the cab-door, holding it open. 
 As Lady Grace took her seat the thought 
 crossed her that she would not take the 
 man — servants find out things so quickly. 
 
 ' Eichard, I think I shall not want you/ 
 she said. ' I will go alone. Tell the man 
 where to drive to — Lord Avon's.' 
 
 So Lady Grace went alone to the Earl's 
 residence in Piccadilly. He was not at home. 
 His valet thought he might be at the club ; 
 he had heard his lordship talking with a 
 friend about dining there when they got 
 back from Epsom. 
 
 Away to the club went I^ady Grace. 
 The hall-porter, who was airing himself on 
 the steps, watched the cab stop, saw a lady 
 lookinoj out of it, and condescended to g;o 
 down to it and see what she wanted. 
 
 Yes, the Earl was there, he and some 
 other noblemen had been dining together.
 
 AFTER THE DINXER-rAETY 243 
 
 Lady Grace sent a message, wliicli the porter 
 took in and delivered. 
 
 A lady in a cab was waiting to see his 
 lordship. She wished him to come to her 
 immediately. 
 
 A titter went round the table, and the 
 Earl exploded a little at the porter. ' What 
 the deuce? A lady to see him? What 
 next ? Who was she ? ' 
 
 The porter could not say anything about 
 her except that she was in a cab. 
 
 'What's her name?' returned the Earl. 
 ' Impudence ! Go and ask.' 
 
 The man went and came back again, 
 interrupting the chaff which was then in full 
 swing round the table. It dropped to silence, 
 awaiting the announcement. 
 
 ' It is Lady Grace Baumgarten, my 
 lord.' 
 
 Lord Avon gave a prolonged stare, and 
 then hurried out. A youngster at the table 
 
 11 2
 
 244 LADY GRACE 
 
 began to take liberties with Lady Grace's 
 name. 
 
 ' Hold your silly tongue, you young fool,' 
 reprimanded an older man. ' Don't you know 
 that the Lady Grace is his sister and the wife 
 of the Dean of Denham ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said the young fellow, feeling 
 that he should like to sink into his shoes. 
 
 ' Why, Grace, what's up now ? ' cried 
 Lord Avon, as he approached the cab. ' Is 
 Berkeley Square on fire ? Or is Baumgarten 
 made Primate of All England ? ' 
 
 'Come inside, Henry, for a minute; I 
 want to speak to you. The Dean's arrested 
 for five thousand pounds.' 
 
 ' Oh, is he ? ' equably returned Lord 
 Avon. ' He has been a clever fellow^ to keep 
 out of it so long. No one but a dean could 
 have done it.' 
 
 ' And you must find the money to release 
 him.'
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 245 
 
 ' Anything else ? ' inquired Lord Avon. 
 
 ' You will find it, Henry ; you must/ 
 
 ' Look here, Grace,' said the Earl, 
 ' thousands are not so plentiful with me ; but 
 if they were, and I went to the spunging- 
 house to-night, and paid the money down, 
 there'd be the same to do over and over 
 again to-morrow.' 
 
 'No, there would not — but there's no 
 time to explain. Went to where, did you 
 say?' 
 
 ' Where's he taken to ? ' 
 
 ' He is at home. They have gone out of 
 their usual way, he said, and allowed him to 
 be at home to-night : a man is there, and 
 will take him away in the morning. Henry, 
 it must not be ; you must come to his 
 aid.' 
 
 ' What I can do will not be of much 
 use, I fear. I know more of Baumgarten's 
 affairs than you do ; in fact I have already
 
 24 G LADY GRACE 
 
 helped him out of one or two pits ; though 
 of course thiugs have been kept from you.' 
 
 'Whilst I have been the culprit^ I expect. 
 It is my extravagance that has brought this 
 about, not his. Only fancy, Henry! We 
 had a lot of the old bishops to dinner to- 
 night, and Eyle sat at the table just as usual, 
 knowing he was virtually a prisoner, whilst 
 the wicked man, his capturer, was waiting 
 for him in the library ! ' 
 
 ' A fine state of things ! ' 
 
 'You must help him out of it. The 
 Dean of Denham can't go to prison ; such a 
 scandal never was heard of. Henry, I won't 
 stir from your side, this night, till you give 
 me the money.' 
 
 ' Where am I to get it from ? ' quietly 
 asked the Earl. ' The birds of the air ? ' 
 
 ' ISTonsense. You possess a cheque-book, 
 I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' I don't carry it about with me. All
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 247 
 
 this comes of marrying a parson. In posi - 
 tion, Bamngarten was beneath you ' 
 
 ' Hold your tongue,' interrupted Lady 
 Grace. ' He is an honour to the family ; 
 and I know, if he has lived beyond his 
 means, it has been for my sake. Will you 
 go home with me now and talk things over 
 with him ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said the Earl ; ' I can't to-night. 
 What with the day's racing, and the dinner 
 after it, I'm tired to death : fit for nothing. 
 I'll be in Berkeley Square the first thing in 
 the morning and see what can be done.' . 
 
 • What time ? By nine o'clock ? Even 
 that may be too late.' 
 
 ' I'll be there by eight.' 
 
 ' You won't fail me, Henry ? ' she said, in 
 an imploring tone. 
 
 ' I will not fail you, Grace. And I'll 
 get Baumgarten out of the mess if I can, for 
 I like him. Good-night ! '
 
 248 LADY GRACE 
 
 Lady Grace returned home. She was 
 entering the drawing-room, when the butler, 
 Moore, came suddenly out of it to meet her, 
 and in a very unbutlerlike way closed the 
 door in her face to prevent her entrance. His 
 usually florid complexion had turned yellow, 
 and he spoke in a flurry, as if not weighing 
 his words. 
 
 ' Oh, my lady — not in there, please.' 
 
 Lady Grace wondered if Moore had 
 been visiting the decanters. ' Open the 
 door,' she calmly said. ' Is the Dean there 
 still?' 
 
 But Moore held the handle firmly. 'I 
 beg your pardon, my lady, you must not go 
 in.' 
 
 She was alarmed now : she saw tlie 
 man's agitation. ' My lady, the Dean is 
 taken ill,' continued Moore, ' that's the 
 truth. I thought your ladyship had best not 
 see him.'
 
 AFTER THE DINXER-PARTY 249 
 
 She waved him aside in her wilful man- 
 ner : he would have had to give way. But 
 at that moment the door was opened from 
 within and Cyras came out. He had just 
 got back from Oxford, and it was his arrival 
 wdiich had brought about the discovery that 
 somethiusf was amiss Avith the Dean. 
 
 ' I am going for a doctor, mamma,' said 
 Cyras, and leaped away. Lady Grace went 
 in, and Moore followed her. 
 
 Leaning back in a low easy-chair, almost 
 at full length, his head resting on the back 
 of it, lay the Dean. His face was white, his 
 mouth was open, but his eyes were closed, 
 as if in a calm sleep. Nevertheless, there 
 was that in his face which struck terror to 
 the heart of his wife. She touched the faith- 
 ful old servant on the arm and cried aloud. 
 
 ' Yes, my lady,' he whispered, believing 
 that she saw as well as he : 'I fear it is 
 death.'
 
 250 LADY GRACE 
 
 Lady Grace knelt down and clasped her 
 hands round her husband. In that moment 
 of distress, what cared she who was present? 
 She called hmi by endearing names, she 
 kissed his face, she besought him to speak to 
 her. But there was no answering response, 
 and conviction told her that there never 
 would be again. 
 
 Never in this world. Cyras came back 
 with a doctor ; curiously enough, it was 
 Sir Wilham Chant. Sir Wilham had 
 been quietly walking home from a wdiist- 
 party at a friend's house when Cyras met 
 him. 
 
 A small mercy this, for Sir William was 
 able to testify to the cause of death, thereby 
 avoiding an inquest. 
 
 The Dean had died from disease of the 
 heart, brought on by the evening's excite- 
 ment. And the world, next day, was busy 
 with the news that the Very Eeverend Eyle
 
 AFTER THE DINNER-PARTY 251 
 
 Baumgarten had been gathered to his 
 fathers, and that the rich Deanery of 
 Denham, richer in those days than in these, 
 was in the clerical market.
 
 252 LADY GRACE 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS. 
 
 It was not an ordinary match ; it was some- 
 thing quite out of the common Avay ; but 
 Mary Dynevor was a girl out of the common 
 way also. Not, however, as regarded 
 beauty : in that respect she could not com- 
 pete with her sister, Grace, or with lier 
 brilliant friend, Gertrude Baumgarten. She 
 was a ladylike girl, with a pale serene face, 
 very much like that of her sister, Cyrilla, 
 whose love had been blighted ; her hair was 
 of a rich brown, her eyes were violet blue ; 
 she was quiet in manner and calm in 
 speech. That was the best that could be 
 said of her, and yet it was certain that some
 
 MISS DYXEVOR AND THE GIRLS 253 
 
 unusual charm did attach itself to Mary 
 D^'iievor. 
 
 In the past year, when abroad with 
 Lady Grace Baumgarten, Mary had made 
 the acquaintance of Everard Wilmot, an 
 attache to one of the Continental embassies, 
 and the son of Sir John Wilmot. Exceed- 
 ingly to her own surprise he had asked her 
 to become his wife. In the impulse of the 
 moment she went, letter in hand — for he 
 had made the offer in writing — to Lady 
 Grace. 
 
 ' What am I to do ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' What a fortunate girl you are ! ' ex- 
 claimed Lady Grace, when she had digested 
 its contents. ' He is the eldest son, you 
 know, and old Sir John's worth twenty 
 thousand a year, if he's worth a shilling. 
 What news for your father ! ' 
 
 'Then you think that — I — should — ac- 
 cept him ? ' repeated Mary Dynevor.
 
 254 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Accept him ! ' retorted Lady Grace ; 
 ' why, what else would you do ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. I don't particularly 
 care for him.' 
 
 ' What a strange girl you are ! You do 
 not like anyone else, I conclude ? ' 
 
 ' Oh dear, no,' returned Maiy ; ' what 
 an idea ! ' But the idea had served to bring 
 up the deepest and most confusing blushes 
 to her face. They looked a little suggestive 
 to Lady Grace Baumgarten. 
 
 'But — before accepting an offer of this 
 kind, I thought it was necessary — or usual 
 
 — to — to ' Mary broke down. 
 
 ^ Lady Grace burst into a merry laugh. 
 ' You thought it was necessary first of all to 
 fall in love. I see. Well, it is sometimes 
 done, Mary ; but it is not absolutely es- 
 sential. My opinion was that something 
 was impending, for Everard has been here 
 much.'
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 255 
 
 ' But I never imagined he came for 
 me.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! ' said Lady Grace, not 
 choosing to say that she herself had never 
 imagined it either. ' For whom, then, did 
 you think he came ? ' 
 
 Another accession of colour, and a 
 slightly evasive tone. ' Not for anyone — of 
 course ; I had no definite thoughts upon the 
 subject.' 
 
 ' One word, Mary. Do you dislike Mr. 
 Wilmot ? ' 
 
 ' I like him very much ; and I esteem 
 him. greatly.' 
 
 ' And yet you come to me, and demurely 
 say, " What am I to do ? " Go away with 
 you, you shy, foolish girl.' 
 
 So Mary accepted Mr. Wilmot. J^ever- 
 theless, she felt half conscious that if she had 
 had the courage to search out the hidden 
 secrets of her heart, it mioht have told
 
 256 LADY GRACE 
 
 her that her love was given to Charles 
 Baumgarten. 
 
 Some few years had elapsed since the 
 sudden death of the Dean of Denham. It 
 was a terrible shock, that, to his wife and 
 children. His affairs were arranged by the 
 help of Lord Avon ; Cyras and Charles both 
 doing also something towards it. A small 
 sum of money, left to the boys by a relative, 
 but of which the Dean had enjoyed the in- 
 terest for his life, tliey had at once sacri- 
 ficed. Cyras had returned to New Zealand. 
 He was still in the same shipping house 
 there, Brice and Jansen's, and held a good 
 position in it now. He had not visited 
 England a second time, but wrote occasion- 
 ally. Sometimes his letters would contain a 
 pretty-looking little cheque for Charles or 
 for Gertrude. 
 
 Charles liad done well at Oxford ; had 
 taken honours and gained his fellowship.
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 257 
 
 He was called to the Bar, and lived at his 
 chambers in Pump Court for economy's 
 sake ; now and then staying for a few days 
 with his mother in Berkeley Square, Lady 
 Grace's residence. Her income was small. 
 She had only two thousand a year of her own, 
 which would go to Charles and Gertrude in 
 equal shares at her death ; but Lord Avon 
 considerably augmented it. He had been a 
 good brother to her. Charles hoped to get 
 on. well in his profession in time, and had 
 taken to go circuit ; this w^ould be his 
 second year of it. 
 
 It was February by the calendar. 
 Judging by the wind, one might have called 
 it March, for dust whirled in the streets 
 and windows rattled. But Miss Dynevor's 
 drawing-room in Eaton Place was cheerful 
 with its fire and wax-lights. Dr. Dynevor 
 was rather in the habit of calling it 'My 
 town house ' when speaking of it, but it was 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 LADY GRACE 
 
 his sister's and not his. His name was 
 really Maude-Dynevor, though he was 
 rarely called by it. Some people dropped 
 the one name and some dropped the other. 
 His wife's family name was Maude, and 
 when he married her he had had to take it 
 in addition to his own. 
 
 When Dr. Baumgarten was made Dean 
 of Denham, Dr. Maude-Dynevor was one of 
 the prebendaries of the same cathedral. The 
 word ' prebend,' or ' prebendary,' was then 
 almost universally used for the higher cathe- 
 dral dignitaries ; ' canon ' rarely. Two or 
 three years later Dr. Dynevor was made 
 prebendary of Oldchurch, and quitted Den- 
 ham. He was at Oldchurch still, its sub- 
 dean. He had a large family of boys and 
 girls, and ruled them with an iron hand. He 
 was a dark, stern, ugly man, who walked 
 with his head thrown back in haughty 
 pomposity and his perky nose turned up to
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 259 
 
 the air. Caroline, his second daughter, had 
 married a man very much older than herself, 
 Colonel Sir Thomas Hume, and was in India ; 
 but the Doctor had four daughters on his 
 hands still. The eldest of them, Cyrilla, 
 rarely came to town. 
 
 Perhaps, though, it may be said that 
 they were on Miss Dynevor's hands rather 
 than on his. She had all the trouble of 
 them. Since Mrs. Maude-Dyne vor's death 
 some years back, his sister had taken much 
 charge of them. Occasionally she was 
 with them at Oldchm-ch, more frequently 
 they were with her in London. The girls 
 were not at all grateful. Ann Esther 
 Dynevor was rather eccentric and wore a 
 flaxen wig, and her nieces took advantage 
 of her peculiarities to tease her. She 
 was a rich woman and very generous to 
 them. 
 
 When Lady Grace Baumgarten returned
 
 260 LADY GRACE 
 
 from her visit to the Continent in the past 
 October, and resigned his daughter Mary 
 into Dr. Dynevor's charge — he had travelled 
 from Oldchurch to Eaton Place to receive 
 her — and laid before him Mr. Wilmot's 
 very handsome proposals, the Sub-dean was 
 intensely gratified, and expressed obligation 
 and satisfaction to Lady Grace. Mary and 
 her sisters, Eegina and Grace, had remained 
 that winter with their aunt. With February 
 changes had come. Sir John Wilmot was 
 dead, Sir Everard was on his road home, 
 and Doctor Dynevor came up from Old- 
 church and was in Eaton Place. Accord- 
 ing to the Sub-dean's computation, Wilmot 
 might be in London now. He was anxious 
 to see his future son-in-law. In his private 
 opinion he set him down as a milksop. 
 Who else, with a title and good rent-roll, 
 would have been attracted by Mary, a quiet, 
 pale girl with nothing in her ? The Canon
 
 MISS DYXEVOR AND THE GIRLS 261 
 
 was not complimentary to his daugliters, 
 either in pubhc or private, and was given to 
 underrate their merits. 
 
 Dinner was over, and all were in the 
 drawing-room except the Sub-dean. He 
 was fond of his port-wine, and did not quit 
 the table with the young and frivolous. On 
 one of the large old-fashioned sofas sat 
 Miss Dynevor in her flaxen wig ; her head 
 had drooped on to the sofa pillow, and she 
 was fast asleep. On another sofa sat the 
 three girls in a half-circle ; and perched on 
 one of its arms was their brother Eichard ; 
 on the other arm sat the young man who 
 had dined with them. 
 
 This was Charles Baumgarten. Nearly 
 six-and-twenty years of age, not very tall, 
 but stately and handsome, he was the very 
 image of what his father had been as a 
 young man ; not resembling his sister Ger- 
 trude, not resembling his mother. Lady
 
 262 LADY GRACE 
 
 Grace; only his dead father. Eichard 
 Dynevor was little and insignificant. 
 
 The Sub-dean's sons were the plague of 
 his life. Not that they were worse than 
 other sons, but there were several of them 
 to get on in hfe, and the Dean was poor ; 
 and to supply their wants was often an in- 
 convenience to him. Eichard was studying 
 for the Bar, but was not yet called to it. 
 He had wanted to go into the Church ; but 
 the Sub-dean had two sons in it, or going 
 into it, and would not put in a third. 
 
 ' Isn't it a shame ! ' suddenly exclaimed 
 Eegina Dynevor in the subdued tone they 
 had adopted for their conversation. 'She 
 says her limbs are getting bad again, and 
 that she can't chaperon us to-morrow 
 night ! ' 
 
 ' Eegina I ' interposed Grace in a tone 
 of sharp reproof, although Eegina w^as the 
 eldest and she was the youngest.
 
 MISS DYXEVOR AND THE GIRLS 268 
 
 'I declare that she said it,' returned 
 Eegina, the whole party having impercep- 
 tibly glanced at the opposite sofa, so that 
 there could be no mistaking who was alluded 
 to. ' We were in her dressing-room, just 
 before dinner. " My limbs are getting bad 
 again : " those were the very words she 
 used.' 
 
 ' Very possibly, but there was no neces- 
 sity for you to repeat them. We are not 
 alone.' 
 
 ' We are,' said Eegina. ' Who's Charley 
 Baumgarten? Nobody.' 
 
 ' Nobody, as you say,' interposed 
 Charles. 
 
 ' Eegina's tongue will be the bane of her 
 life,' cried Grace. ' Of course we are used 
 to Charley, but it would have been all the 
 .same had there been a roomful of strangers 
 present. She says anything that comes 
 uppermost in her mind.'
 
 264 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' Like papa,' carelessly spoke Eegina. 
 
 ' Yes ; but what is proper for papa is 
 unladylike for you,' returned Grace, who 
 liked to set the world to rights. 
 
 ' Go on, Gracie,' laughed Eichard ; ' keep 
 them in order. What else did Aunt Ann 
 say?' 
 
 ' Nothing. I hope it's not true, though, 
 that she is going to be ill. We shall all be 
 kept prisoners, as we were last season.' 
 
 ' I'd rather run away than put up with 
 it,' protested Eegina fiercely. ' It's not 
 rheumatism but temper from which she is 
 suffering.' 
 
 Charles Baumgarten laughed. 
 
 ' It is quite true, Charley ; even you 
 don't know lier yet. I protest that it was 
 half and half last year — a little rheumatism 
 and a great deal of cross-grained fractious- 
 ness. If she does have this attack, mind, I 
 shall have brought it on.'
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 265 
 
 You ! What next, Eegina ? ' 
 
 Little Archdeacon Duck called this 
 
 mornmg- 
 
 ' Archdeacon Duck — who is he ? ' inter- 
 rupted Charles Baumgarten. 
 
 ' It's the girls' name for him ; she means 
 Archdeacon Drake,' explained Ei chard. 
 * Let her go on, Charley.' 
 
 ' Well,' said Eegina, ' you all know how 
 Aunt Ann has been setting her cap at him, 
 thinking, perhaps, he might convert her 
 into Mrs. Duck the second. The little Arch- 
 deacon was beginning with his foohshly 
 complimentary speeches — it's my belief he 
 learns them by heart, and says them to 
 every woman he meets — and brought in 
 something about aunt's " locks, of which 
 the weather, windy or wet, never dis- 
 turbed the beauty." " Or if it does," 
 I put in, " Aunt Ann Esther can send 
 them to the hairdresser to be renewed ;
 
 266 LADY GRACE 
 
 she is more fortunate than we poor young 
 damsels." ' 
 
 • Eegina ! you never said it ! ' 
 
 ' Indeed I did. She looked daggers, and 
 the Archdeacon looked foolish. There's 
 nothing she hates so much either as being 
 called Ann Esther. I was determined to 
 pay her off,' avowed Eegina ; ' she had 
 driven me wild all the morning with her 
 aggravations. And now I expect she in- 
 tends to pay us off by having an attack of 
 rheumatism.' 
 
 ' A blessed thing for you girls if you 
 were married and away,' said Eichard cyni- 
 cally ; ' but you'll never find another Aunt 
 Ann. I don't know where I should be for 
 pocket-money without her. I say, girls, I 
 think Wilmot has landed.' 
 
 ' Then, if so, he'll be here to-night,' said 
 Eegina. 'And Mary is as cool over it as 
 a cucumber ! One would think '
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 267 
 
 The Sub-dean entered. Eegina cut short 
 her speech, and Charles Baumgarten shpped 
 off his perch on the sofa and took his seat 
 decently in a chair. In the presence of Dr. 
 Dynevor his family put on their best beha- 
 viour. He walked up to the fire, and stood 
 with his back to it, his shoe buckles glittering 
 in the wax-lights. A dead silence had fallen 
 in the room ; Miss Dynevor dozed on, and 
 in the midst of it the arrival of a visitor was 
 heard. 
 
 Whether they felt who it might be can- 
 not be told ; the silence of expectation was 
 on all, and their eyes turned to the door as 
 it was thrown open. 
 
 ' Sir Everard Wilmot.' 
 
 Dr. Dynevor and his buckles bustled 
 forward with his right hand stretched out. 
 He had pictured to himself a foolish young 
 man, with an incipient moustache and an 
 eyeglass ; he saw before him a right noble-
 
 268 LADY GRACE ^ 
 
 looking form, with a noble face, a man who 
 had left thirty years behind him. Miss 
 Dynevor tumbled upright in consternation, 
 and pushed up her flaxen curls too high in 
 her flurry. 
 
 A warm greeting to the Sub-dean, a 
 quiet greeting to Mary, holding her hand 
 for a moment only, an introduction to 
 the rest of the party, including Charles 
 Baumgarteu, and then Sir Everard sat 
 down. 
 
 'Look at Mary,' whispered Eichard to 
 his sister Eegina. ' Is she fainting ? ' 
 
 Eegina started up and turned to her. 
 Mary's whole frame was shivering, and her 
 face had turned of a deathlike whiteness. 
 But she was not fainting. 
 
 ' It will be over in a moment,' she mur- 
 mured to Eegina. ' Don't notice me, for the 
 love of Heaven ! Talk to them — do any- 
 thing — stand before me — draw attention
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 269 
 
 from me/ And soon the colour came into 
 her face again. 
 
 ' Catch me turning sick and faint for the 
 dearest lover that ever stepped ! ' thought 
 Eegina, as she began clattering the teacups 
 on the table, sharply inquired how her aunt's 
 legs felt now, and pushed Charles Baum- 
 garten towards the bell-rope, telling him to 
 ring for the urn ; all with the good inten- 
 tion of keeping observation from Mary. 
 
 ' Perhaps you would prefer coffee. Sir 
 Everard?' 
 
 He smiled. ' I should prefer tea. I 
 long to fall into the good old English cus- 
 toms again. A traveller on the sandy desert 
 never longed for the sight of water more than 
 I have these many months longed for home.' 
 
 ' Then why didn't you come to it ? ' 
 sensibly questioned Eegina. 
 
 ' First of all, I could not be spared, and 
 was forced to remain at my post,' replied
 
 270 LADY GRACE 
 
 Sir Everard. ' Secondly, my father was 
 witli me, and he beheved England would 
 not be the proper cHmate for his declining 
 health. We all have to bow to circum- 
 stances, you know, Miss Dynevor/ 
 
 'Very disagreeable circumstances too, 
 sometimes,' returned the young lady. ' But, 
 Sir Everard, I am not Miss Dynevor, and 
 you will incur my aunt's everlasting dis- 
 pleasure if you accord me the honour of the 
 title. She is Miss Dynevor — at present — 
 and I am Miss Eegina.' 
 
 There was a shade of mahce and so 
 much point in Eegina's last sentence that 
 some of them smothered a titter. Sir Eve- 
 rard turned to Miss Dynevor, and entered 
 into conversation with her with marked 
 courtesy. 
 
 ' Dear Aunt Ann is a great sufferer,' 
 cried Eegina. ' She has rheumatism in her 
 legs.'
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 271 
 
 ' A pity but that you had it in your 
 tongue/ returned Miss Dynevor, provoked 
 into a retort ; and Dr. Dynevor wheeled 
 round and stared in anger at his daughter 
 Eegina. 
 
 'So you are getting tired of a Con- 
 tinental life,' he observed to Sir Everard. 
 ' I never was abroad ; don't know what it is 
 like over there.' 
 
 ' We get tired in time of all things but 
 home, sir. I hope never to go abroad again 
 — except for a temporary sojourn.' 
 
 ' Mary came home enraptured with 
 Germany,' exclaimed Grace Dynevor. 'To 
 hear her account of it, we thought she 
 could only have alighted in some terrestrial 
 paradise.' 
 
 Sir Everard glanced at Mary and half 
 smiled. A sudden flush suffused her white 
 face, and she looked terribly embarrassed. 
 
 After tea they dispersed about the two
 
 272 LADY GRACE 
 
 rooms, which opened to each other. One of 
 the girls sat down to the piano, the others 
 gathered round it, leaving the Sub-dean and 
 Sir Everard alone, standing on the hearth- 
 rug. 
 
 ' My daughters delight in having a little 
 fling at their aunt, especially Eegina,' he 
 began confidentially, as if he deemed their 
 behaviour needed an apology. ' Ann keeps 
 them rather strictly, and they rebel against 
 it. Eichard, too, and Charley Baumgarten 
 help to keep up the ball against her, I 
 fancy.' 
 
 ' He is the son of Lady Grace, I pre- 
 sume ? ' 
 
 ' Her son, and her idol.' 
 
 ' He is a fine young man — has a particu- 
 larly nice countenance.' 
 
 ' I don't know that countenances go for 
 much,' remarked the reverend Doctor. 
 ' Charles has something in him, and is steady
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 273 
 
 as old Time. He did well at college, and 
 gained his fellowship.' 
 
 ' Does he follow a profession ? ' inquired 
 Sir Everard. ' Lady Grace used to talk to 
 me about him, but I really have forgotten 
 details.' 
 
 ' I don't know how he would expect to get 
 on in the world without a profession. Dean 
 Baumgarten died worse than poor, as you 
 may have heard. Charles is called to the 
 Bar, and is already getting into some 
 practice.' 
 
 ' There's an elder son, is there not ? ' 
 
 ' Of the Dean's, yes ; not of Lady 
 Grace's. The Dean was married twice. 
 Cyras lives at Wellington, in New Zealand ; 
 he has not been in England for years.' 
 
 ' Cyras ! ' exclaimed Sir Everard with 
 emphasis. ' Is that his name ? And he 
 lives, you say, at WelHngton ? Is he in a 
 shipping-house there — Brice and Jansen's ? ' 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 LADY GRACE 
 
 ' I believe that is the firm,' replied the 
 Sub-dean haughtily, who would have thought 
 it beneath him to know well the name of 
 anyone in trade. 
 
 ' Then I must have made a passing 
 acquaintance with him when I was at 
 Wellington two or three years ago,' re- 
 marked Sir Everard. ' But I thought his 
 name was Brice. I am sure he called Mr. 
 Brice " uncle." ' 
 
 ' Not unlikely ; they are connected in 
 some way. But his name is Cyras Baum- 
 garten.' 
 
 Sir Everard strolled towards the other 
 room. Mary sat on a sofa, apparently lost 
 in thought, and Charles Baumgarten stood 
 underneath the chandelier, with an open 
 book. Sir Everard sat down by Mary. 
 
 ' It has been a long separation, Mary,' 
 he whispered. ' Did you think I was never
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 275 
 
 ' Yes, it has been long,' she faintly said. 
 Her hands were trembling, her heart was 
 beating; she spoke — and looked — as if she 
 were frightened. 
 
 ' But from no fault of mine,' he returned. 
 ' Had you permitted a regular correspond- 
 ence you would have known this.' 
 
 ' My aunt said it was more proper not to 
 correspond — except by an occasional letter 
 at stated seasons. I explained this to you 
 after I returned.' 
 
 A smile passed across Sir Everard's face. 
 ' I am aware — I remember ; and I daresay 
 it has all been very " proper " if not affec- 
 tionate. But the past is over and gone, 
 Mary, and now we need fear no further ' 
 
 He did not say what. A hasty glance 
 had shown him that no one was looking. 
 Charles Baumgarten, buried in his book, 
 stood with his back towards them ; the rest 
 were round the piano, singing. He bent his
 
 276 LADY GRACE 
 
 face down to Mary's and his lips touched her 
 cheek. 
 
 ' Oh, don't ! don't ! ' she shrinkingly 
 uttered. 
 
 ' Nay, my dearest, would you deny it to 
 me? It is a reward long waited for.' 
 
 She gasped for breath as she stood up 
 and cauglit the corner of the mantelpiece. 
 Her face had turned painfully white again. 
 
 The song over, the conversation became 
 general, and presently Sir Everard rose to 
 leave. 
 
 ' Will you tell Lady Grace, with my 
 kind regards, that I anticipate the pleasure 
 of seeing her to-morrow ? ' said Sir Everard 
 to Charles, as he held out his hand. 
 
 Charles did not choose to see the hand, 
 and he replied, coldly and stiffly, ' I do not 
 reside with Lady Grace, and shall not be 
 likely to meet her to-niglit or to-morrow.' 
 
 ' He has his mother's pride,' thought
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 277 
 
 Sir Everard. But Sir Everard was mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Mary slipped out of the room afterwards, 
 and she had not returned to it when Charles 
 said good-night. 
 
 As he passed a small parlour on his way 
 out, usually devoted to the studies and 
 pursuits of the young ladies, Charles's ear 
 caught the sound of something very like a 
 sob. He halted and looked in. There 
 were no candles in the room, but the fire 
 was blazing away, and in its light stood 
 Mary. He went in and shut the door 
 behind him. She smoothed the traces of 
 tears from her face, but could not hide its 
 ghastly look. Charles turned white also, 
 and confronted her upon the old, worn 
 hearthrug. 
 
 'The time for concealment has passed, 
 Mary, as it seems to me,' he began. ' We 
 have gone on, hke two children, making
 
 278 LADY GRACE 
 
 believe to hide things from one another. 
 This is the awaking ! What is to be done ? 
 You cannot enact a he, and marry that 
 man ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, Charles ! what are you saying ? ' 
 she uttered, in a w^ailing tone. 
 
 He stood quite still for a moment, 
 looking at her. ' Do you wish to marry 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' I Avould rather die.' 
 
 ' Yes, for you love me — nay, don't I tell 
 you the time for concealment is over, and 
 this night is the awaking. You love me — 
 and oh, my darling ! how I love you I 
 cannot stay now to tell. Nor need I ; for 
 you have known it without my telling you.' 
 
 ' I am terrified,' she whispered. ' I am 
 nearly terrified to death at the thought of 
 what is before me. Think of the WTono- I 
 have done to him ! ' 
 
 'And I think of my position — my
 
 MISS DYNEVOR AND THE GIRLS 279 
 
 poverty,' returned Charles Baumgarten. ' If 
 I spoke to your father he would turn me out 
 of the house and keep me out of it. We 
 have just gone on living in a fool's paradise, 
 Mary, shutting our eyes to the future, I 
 shutting mine to honour.' 
 
 'Not a word must be breathed to my 
 father,' she Avhispered eagerly. 
 
 'Would you marry Everard Wilmot?' 
 sharply cried Charles Baumgarten. 'But 
 that I forced control upon myself with an 
 iron will, I should have struck him when he 
 kissed you to-night.' 
 
 She cried out with pain. ' You saw it, 
 then.?' 
 
 ' Saw it ! I felt it. Felt it as if it had 
 been a sharp steel piercing my heart. Oh, 
 the curse of poverty ! I seem to be helpless 
 in the matter. Mary, I can only trust in 
 you.' 
 
 ' A dim idea came over me, while I sat
 
 280 LADY GRACE 
 
 with him on the sofa, of speaking to him,' 
 she said, in a tone of abstraction. 'But I 
 don't know how I could do it. He is so 
 good a man, so honourable, so kindly ; one 
 of those men you may trust. I wish he had 
 never taken it in his head to ask me to 
 marry him ! I wish I had followed my 
 own impulse at the time and declined 
 him.' 
 
 ' Why did you not do so ? ' he returned. 
 
 ' I had not the courage, and I — did not 
 care for you so much then as I do now,' she 
 whispered. 
 
 ' We have nearly our whole lives before 
 us, Mary, and they must not be sacrificed to 
 misery,' he urged. 'Mary, you must wait 
 for me ; I know I shall get on.' 
 
 ' Leave me to think it over for to-night,' 
 she answered. ' I must try and see what 
 ouo'ht to be done — and do it.' 
 
 ' That will not do,' he impetuously said.
 
 MISS DYNEYOR AND THE GIRLS 281 
 
 ' If you put it upon " duty " and that sort of 
 thing, you will marry him.' 
 
 ' Charles ! ' It was her turn to reprove 
 now. ' I said I would try and see what I 
 ought to do, meaning my duty, neither more 
 nor less. It is not my duty to marry where 
 I do not love.' 
 
 ' Mary, I beg your pardon. All this has 
 driven me half out of my mind.' 
 
 ' Leave me now,' she repeated. ' Indeed, 
 I tremble lest any of them should come and 
 find you here. Good-night.' 
 
 He put his arm round her to kiss her^ 
 but she started away. ' Charles ! at present, 
 remember, I am engaged to him.' 
 
 It was of no use. 'I must take away 
 the one that he left,' whispered Charles 
 Baumgarten. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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