•r. ;r,: 
 
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 fi Life flWpy
 
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 a I E) R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 V.2
 
 A 
 
 LIFE 
 
 AWRY 
 
 II.
 
 " What need to strive with a life awry? 
 
 E. Browning. 
 
 " Possess thyself, and be content. 
 Life's best is bound not by the utterance 
 Of any word, nor may in sound be spent, 
 To win back echoes out of hollow chance. 
 What thou hast felt is thine. If much, rejoice." 
 
 Owen Meredith.
 
 A 
 
 LIFE 
 
 AWRY 
 
 A Novel 
 
 By 
 PERCIVAL PICKERING 
 
 In Three Volumes 
 Volume II 
 
 LONDON 
 BLISS, SANDS & FOSTER 
 
 CRAVEN STREET, STRAND 
 1893
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/lifeawrynovel02pick
 
 ^^3 
 
 Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small, 
 That stood along the floor and by the wall ; 
 And some loquacious Vessels were ; and some 
 Listen'd perhaps, but never talk'd at all. 
 
 After a momentary silence spake 
 Some Vessel of a more ungainly make ; 
 * They sneer at me for leaning all awry : 
 What did the Hand then of the Potter shake ? ' " 
 
 Omar Khayyam. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 A LIFE AWRY 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Judy was arranging flowers in her gay sitting- 
 room. Although the weeks had gone by, and 
 Slimmer was passing swiftly, it had as yet 
 diminished little of its pristine glory, and a big 
 fragrant pile of gorgeous carnations and roses 
 lay in confusion at Judy's feet, while she trans- 
 ferred them slowly into great glass bowls in 
 which the clear water sparkled. At intervals 
 she walked to the doorway to study the result 
 of her labours, with her head on one side. The 
 room presented an unusual appearance ; some 
 of the furniture had been taken away, and the
 
 4 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 rest moved closer to the walls, so that the centre 
 of the room was bare. 
 
 A low whistle was heard at the window, and 
 Aline, pushing it open, stepped inside. 
 
 "How does this do ? " asked Judy, from her 
 post of observation in the doorway. 
 
 Aline glanced round. 
 
 " Charmingly ! " she answered. " I have 
 been seeing to the hall and library ; they both 
 look very pretty." 
 
 She sauntered across the room and stood 
 with her back to the fireplace, looking about 
 her. Taking off her broad hat, she held it by 
 a long ribbon bow, and swung it backwards 
 and forwards. 
 
 " Let me see, how many did we calculate we 
 should be this evening ? " asked Judy, seating 
 herself, with a slight air of weariness, upon the 
 sofa. 
 
 " About fifteen couples, didn't we say ? 
 Thirty dancers, without counting the old 
 fogies. The Daltons muster five, without papa 
 and mamma ; there will be four from Cran-
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 5 
 
 thorpe, Miss Brook from the Yicarage — that 
 makes ten ; the three Pups from II worth, 
 thirteen ; the Billingtons, Harhurys, Elkin- 
 tons, and Browns — about eight-and-twenty ; 
 Captain Lilcot, Mrs. Heathcote, and myself. 
 It will be thirty, as nearly as we can 
 reckon." 
 
 ^' Do I count with the old fogies ? " asked 
 Judy. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Aline, hurriedly. " I 
 was counting the dancers." She paused, to 
 move two of the rosebuds in her hat which 
 were displaced, and then continued with a 
 laugh, " How odd it seems to think of a dance 
 at Lilcot ! Such a thing has scarcely taken 
 place within the memory of man. I believe 
 Uncle Edward is not quite happy about this 
 little freak — is he, Judy ? Doesn't he think it 
 rather a lapse from the dignity of Lilcot ? " 
 
 " I don't think he much cares as long as you 
 enjoy yourselves," answered Judy, tucking up 
 her feet and lying down. 
 
 " I wish he would have done the thing pro-
 
 6 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 perlj, and have given a ball to celebrate Captain 
 Lilcot's return," said Aline, pouting. " But this 
 is better than the stupid big dinner he thought 
 of; and things got up in a hurry are always 
 fun." 
 
 She put her hat on again, and ruffled her 
 hair into a fluffy fringe upon her forehead. 
 Then she pulled her loose bodice down and 
 drew it into neat folds under her belt. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Judy. 
 
 " Oh, just down the park." 
 
 " To the lake ? " asked Judy. 
 
 Aline flushed. 
 
 " Why specially to the lake ? " she inquired 
 with dignity. 
 
 " Merely Hugh is fishing there," said Judy ; 
 " and lately you have developed such an interest 
 in fishing, you can't keep away from the 
 water ! " 
 
 Without vouchsafing any answer. Aline 
 moved to the window and stepped out on to 
 the terrace ; then she paused, looked back 
 hesitatingly, and finally returned.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 7 
 
 "Judy," she said amiably, "I wish you 
 would tell me something." 
 
 Judy turned her head upon the cushion and 
 looked round. Aline was studying the tip of 
 her own little shoe, which peeped from under 
 her pink skirts. She had an air of embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 "Well? "said Judy. 
 
 " I wish you would tell me," said Aline, 
 " does Captain Lilcot know why I came to live 
 here ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " You won't say anything about it ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Thank you, Judy." 
 
 She waited, as though expecting some further 
 remark from the huddled-up little figure on 
 the sofa. Judy was looking her over with an 
 absent gaze. From head to foot, with soft pink 
 cambric dress and bright little flowers in her 
 hat. Aline suggested the pinkness and freshness 
 of a rosebud. The exquisite face under the 
 white hat was like some delicate China-rose,
 
 8 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the curling velvet lips were like damask 
 petals. 
 
 She stood irresolute a moment, then stepped 
 quietly away out on to the terrace. 
 
 When she was gone, Judy remained motion- 
 less upon the sofa. Her eyes were shut, and 
 she looked as though she were asleep. After 
 a time, she lifted up her hand to brush away a 
 small bright drop which had stolen from under 
 her tightly-closed lids. Then she turned over 
 restlessly, and flung her arm across her 
 face. 
 
 Hugh was busy putting on a new pair of 
 white kid gloves. The gas-lamps on either 
 side of the fireplace in the hall shed a brilliant 
 light upon him, and, glancing at his own 
 reflection in the cases of stufi*ed birds opposite, 
 he was aware that he presented a very com- 
 mendable appearance. The straight stifi" shirt- 
 front was very becoming, the set of his coat 
 was faultless. He felt a satisfactory specimen 
 for his uncle to present to the few representa-
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 9 
 
 tives of the county who were bidden to inspect 
 him this evening. 
 
 Sir Edward was seated in an armchair near, 
 hurriedly devouring the evening papers. Now 
 and then he looked at Hugh over the top of 
 his glasses with a complacent smile. From 
 across the passage, near by, came a murmur 
 of voices interrupted by occasional bursts of 
 merriment. Dick, who had returned to Cran- 
 thorpe a few days previously, had brought his 
 two sisters and his younger brother over to 
 dinner at Lilcot. 
 
 Judy came hastening into the hall with that 
 curious limp which was noticeable in her walk 
 whenever she moved fast. She wore black, 
 with one yellow rose in her hair and a cor- 
 responding bunch on her bodice. Like Hugh, 
 she was at the present time occupied in 
 struggling into a pair of new gloves. But 
 they were long and black, and as she buttoned 
 them over her thin arms they slipped into 
 loose creases. She walked up to Sir Edward, 
 and, seating herself on the arm of his chair
 
 10 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 pulled the paper gently out of his hands, 
 and, lifting his glasses off his nose, folded 
 them up. 
 
 " There is a carriage coming up the drive, 
 dad ; I heard it out of the open window. In 
 two minutes I must march you off into the 
 drawing-room to ' receive ' properly ! " 
 
 " This is the way I am victimized to amuse 
 you young things ! " said Sir Edward, smiling 
 benignly. 
 
 " As I always tell you, it is very good for you, 
 dad," said Judy, putting her arm round his 
 neck " It will be great fun to-night — won't 
 it, Hugh ? " — appealing to the latter with that 
 oddly childish manner which she assumed at 
 times. 
 
 Hugh acquiesced impatiently. He had 
 discovered the first button was coming off one 
 glove, and it gaped in a distressing manner 
 with only the second button fastened. 
 
 " So you think you are going to have fun, 
 do you ? " repeated Sir Edward, with undis- 
 guised delight. " Well ! it is a good thing to
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 11 
 
 be giddy when you are young ; you can't work 
 yourself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm 
 when you're my age ! " 
 
 " There's the carriage ! " exclaimed Judy, 
 springing off his knee as a sound of wheels was 
 heard on the gravel outside. " Come along, 
 dad ! " and, as she seized Sir Edward's hand, 
 he made a pretence of using her assistance to 
 help him out of his chair. 
 
 In the drawing-room they found the rest of 
 the party sitting in expectation. Maud in 
 a flowing silk of sage green, with magnificent 
 diamonds in her dark hair; her two younger 
 sisters, shorter and plainer editions of herself, in 
 blue tulle dresses which had already done good 
 service at the county balls; Dick, unusually 
 brisk and frivolous, discussing a village cricket- 
 match with hiis brother — another dark-haired, 
 brown-eyed youth ; and Aline near the window, 
 in floating rosy gauze, a rich daring variation 
 upon the delicate rosebud she had resembled 
 in the morning. 
 
 " Some one has arrived ! " announced Judy in
 
 12 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 a stage-wliisper. " Good people, put on your 
 company manners ! " 
 
 A hush fell on the conversation, and the two 
 Miss Thorntons developed an inclination to 
 giggle, which was quickly suppressed by their 
 elder sister. Everybody sat in silent expec- 
 tation. The next moment Mrs. Dalton was 
 announced and bustled in, followed by her two 
 daughters, her second son, and two of his 
 college friends. Hugh's impression of her was 
 that she was a fat fussy woman in a noisy 
 black silk. She ran round the room greeting 
 everybody effusively, embraced Aline two or 
 three times, and, while a mutual exchange of 
 *How-d'ye do's' were going on all round, 
 began firing a volley of remarks at Sir Edward. 
 ^ What a charming idea this was — an impromptu 
 dance ! So very^ very frisky of dear Sir Edward ! 
 The girls had been so delighted when they 
 heard of it ! If he could only have seen them ! 
 It was so sad Fred — her husband — could not 
 come ; he had got a tiresome touch of bronchitis 
 from riding in the wet the other day. Men
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 13 
 
 were so imprudent ! She hoped it might be 
 a lesson to him — losing this pleasant evening. 
 And how she hoped dear Sir Edward's gout 
 was better ? ' 
 
 Sir Edward listened, amiable, condescending, 
 bored. Hugh walked up to the eldest Miss 
 Dalton — a pale girl in an all-white dress, 
 white pearls round her neck, white jasmine in 
 her hair — and tried to converse. After a few 
 moments he strolled with her into the back 
 room to feel the polished floor. There they 
 could see the Wilsons, just arrived, who, 
 ignoring the footman's suggestion of a cloak- 
 room, were steadily removing their wraps in 
 the hall. They had walked up, and had come 
 prepared for a possible change of weather on 
 their departure, being both provided with 
 mackintoshes, galoshes, and thick white com- 
 forters calculated to keep out any degree of 
 cold or damp. Miss Bridge, their niece, a 
 tall angular maiden of severe aspect, emerged 
 from her brown cloth cloak and stroked her 
 smooth hair flatter against her head ; then all
 
 14 A LIFE AWRY 
 
 tliree made their way to the drawing-room and 
 were duly announced. 
 
 Close upon their arrival followed the Har- 
 burys. Mrs. Harbury, pompous, hook-nosed, 
 and bearing upon her capacious bosom the 
 noted Harbury emeralds ; her husband, a meek 
 inoffensive little man, who went through life 
 executing capers over his wife's train, and 
 quoting her observations with an air of pro- 
 found admiration; and Agatha Harbury, well 
 dressed, good-looking, and overwhelmed with 
 a sense of her own importance. Mrs. Harbury 
 announced the welcome fact that her son and 
 a friend were driving over in the brougham, 
 and would arrive shortly ; and, while she was 
 explaining to Sir Edward exactly who the 
 friend in question was — how his grandmother 
 had been a school-friend of her mother's, who 
 his father had married, and how much a year 
 he would come in for by-and-by on the death 
 of an uncle, together with many other interest- 
 ing facts — another ring came at the bell, and 
 shortly after the three Ilworth Pups were
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 15 
 
 shown in, shy, unfledged, and painfully anxious 
 to appear men of the world wholly at their 
 ease. 
 
 One of them shuffled nervously across the 
 room to where Aline stood talking to Frank 
 Dalton, and began begging for a dance, which 
 she vainly tried to evade. Judy pounced upon 
 another, a sandy-haired freckled youth much 
 afflicted with the length of his arms and legs, 
 and piloted him to where Miss Bridge was 
 serenely waiting for some man to be allotted 
 to her. Then there arose a suggestion that 
 enough people were now present to begin 
 dancing. Hugh was sent to stir up the 
 musicians, and soon after an inspiriting polka 
 sounded from the next room. Young men and 
 maidens paired themselves off in hot haste — some 
 satisfied, some secretly wroth with the partner 
 who had fallen to their share — and hurried away 
 to caper as vigorously as though it were mid- 
 winter instead of the dog-days. Aline, her 
 eyes sparkling, her face flushed with a brilliant 
 colour^ danced gaily with Frank Dalton ;
 
 16 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Miss Bridge tried to amble in spritely fashion 
 with her red-haired youth, who kept continually 
 getting out of step and asking leave to start 
 afresh ; Hugh towed about the stiff Miss 
 Harbury — a fact which her mother noted with 
 extreme satisfaction ; one of the blue-tulle Miss 
 Thorntons began tearing round with her 
 brother, the other promptly took possession of 
 the un-annexed Pup. Contentment was visible 
 on the glowing faces of the dancers, despite the 
 fact that they were, for the most part, being 
 subjected to knocks, bruises, and a general 
 course of treatment which, under any other 
 circumstances, they might have resented as 
 insufferable. 
 
 Some fresh arrivals appeared in the other 
 drawing-room, and Mrs. Harbury, having 
 generously renounced her claim on Sir 
 Edward's attention, found herself standing 
 near Mrs. Dalton, whose friendship she some- 
 what affected, pronouncing her to be 'a. sen- 
 sible woman — not quite creme de la creme, but 
 very fairly connected on her mother's side.'
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 17 
 
 *'Nice little dance I think it is going to be," 
 she observed, affably extending a limp hand for 
 Mrs. Dalton's benefit. "We really hesitated 
 very much about coming. Dear Agatha has 
 had so many balls in town she all hut objects to 
 the mention of dancino^ ! And then I do dislike 
 a long drive ! When one has become used to 
 getting to a ball by going the length of a 
 street or two merely, it spoils one for driving 
 miles to every little country hop. Only we felt 
 it would be too unkind to disappoint dear Sir 
 Edward." 
 
 Mrs. Dalton, who did not possess a house 
 in town, and was fully aware that Mrs. Har- 
 bury would not have driven a mile out of her 
 way to oblige anybody had it not first suited 
 her own convenience to do so, felt an ungodly 
 desire to point out this fact ; but, as the laws 
 of civilized society forbade her doing this to 
 one whose position in the county was so well 
 assured, she quelled the naughty inclination, 
 and instead replied amiably — 
 
 " It does seem a lot of trouble for nothing, 
 
 VOL. II. c
 
 18 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 as my girls observed. To drive eight miles on 
 a dark night, and eight miles back, is most 
 laudable energy on the part of any one, I 
 consider. Though I must say I was agreeably 
 surprised to find a few more people here than 
 I was led to expect there would be. But, don't 
 you agree with me, dear Mrs. Harbury " — she 
 lowered her voice, and glanced round to make 
 sure none of her host's family were within 
 earshot — " don't you agree with me that this is 
 an odd proceeding on the part of Sir Edward ? 
 Rather a mistake, don't you think ? It brings 
 that unfortunate daughter of his into such 
 unnecessary prominence." 
 
 Mrs. Harbury nodded her head with the air 
 of an oracle. 
 
 " Very^ I should say, Mrs. Dalton. Some 
 sensible woman really might have represented 
 it to him. It is not like a tenants' dance, or 
 even a big ball which he might give to main- 
 tain his proper position in the county; but 
 such an unnecessary little affair. I do not 
 really see what good is to be gained by it.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 19 
 
 And, considering that poor girl cannot dance, 
 and is not suited for the position of hostess, it 
 does seem, as you say, bringing her deformity 
 prominently into notice. When I see her 
 moving about, it makes me feel quite " 
 
 " Hush-sh-sh ! " whispered Mrs. Dalton, for 
 Judy was passing, making her way across the 
 room to Miss Bridge, whose red-haired youth 
 had just left her in the doorway. 
 
 Had Miss Bridge a partner for the next 
 dance? she inquired. Miss Bridge, with a 
 bland smile, replied in the negative. " I don't 
 know many men here this evening," she added, 
 with an obviously happy conviction she was 
 stating the sole cause which deterred numbers 
 from being at her feet. Judy proceeded to 
 pounce on a young Mr. Elkinton, who, having 
 but just entered the ball-room, fell an easy 
 victim. He led Miss Bridge away to join in 
 the fray with a fairly resigned expression ; and, 
 having ascertained that no other girl was 
 forlornly hoping for a partner, Judy now 
 stepped inside the ball-room, and stood with
 
 20 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 her back against the wall to watch the 
 dancers. 
 
 A waltz was being played at that moment — 
 a waltz taken from the air of some old hunting- 
 song, with a quaint ringing refraim. The 
 dancers flew swiftly by to its swinging rhythm. 
 Many of them had been sitting for an hour or 
 more before their arrival, and one polka was 
 not sufficient to work off their exuberant 
 energy. They passed like the shifting bits of 
 colour in a kaleidoscope, appearing, slipping 
 away, coming into sight again in the space of 
 a few moments. The scene was gay, for the 
 room was brilliantly lighted, and not too full to 
 spoil the effect of the dancing. Judy tried the 
 old expedient of stopping her ears and watching 
 the dancers without being able to hear the 
 music ; then smiled to discover how ridiculous 
 they looked, spinning round and round with 
 inexplicable perseverance. The girls appeared 
 to be clinging to the men in alarm ; the faces 
 of the latter seemed to be filled with stern 
 solemnity as they steered quickly from the
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 21 
 
 couples who charged recklessly towards them. 
 She took her fingers away, and again the music 
 rang loudly in her ears. No sooner could she 
 hear the tune to which the couples before her 
 were moving — could hear their laughter and 
 snatches of their remarks as they passed, than 
 their behaviour seemed suddenly less eccentric, 
 and open to a more cheerful interpretation. 
 
 Again and again the refrain rang through 
 the room, crashing out from the piano with an 
 irresistible force and swing. Judy found her- 
 self humming it. She beat time with her feet. 
 How differently one couple danced from 
 another ! How few seemed to feel the music ! 
 Many of them moved so awkwardly and heavily 
 it was aggravating to watch them. Why did 
 they not glide along with that smooth swing- 
 ing motion which must surely be more easy ? 
 Maud moved with a certain languid grace 
 which was charming, and her partner was a 
 fairly good dancer. They seemed the only pair 
 at which it was an actual pleasure to look. 
 Aline also danced well, but at this moment
 
 22 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 she had a bad partner and was not to be seen 
 to advantage. Hugh, another good performer, 
 was suffering from the same misfortune. He 
 was waltzing with the all-white Miss Dalton, 
 who, if less stiff than Miss Harbury, had a 
 still more limited conception of the poetry of 
 motion. She bobbed about joyously like a 
 cork in rough water, a style of dancing comic- 
 ally at variance with her washed-out, die-away 
 appearance. Hugh, after vainly trying to 
 accommodate his step to hers, made up his 
 mind to go his own way after his own fashion, 
 and draw her, gently bobbing, after him. But 
 no circumstances could make him appear a bad 
 dancer ; he moved swiftly round the room 
 with a firm elastic step, steering well, and keep- 
 ing in perfect time to the music. 
 
 Judy, noting his progress in and out amongst 
 the moving crowd, felt irritated with Miss 
 Dalton. Why could not she dance better ? It 
 must be a simple matter with any one who 
 danced like Hugh. She gave a little laugh 
 at the reflection that probably she could have
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 23 
 
 acquitted herself far more creditably than that 
 bobbing white figure. If only all these people 
 were not looking she would try with Hugh — 
 just once. Supported by his strong arms, 
 moving to the measure of that ringing refrain, 
 it must be almost impossible not to glide with 
 him in perfect harmony. 
 
 She closed her eyes and tried to fancy how it 
 would feel going smoothly, dreamily in and out 
 of the dancers she had been watching. Her 
 feet moved to the music ; she could feel Hugh's 
 strong arms about her. . . . The waltz went 
 faster ; she was whirling round and round. . . . 
 Why had the room grown so hot ? She opened 
 her eyes with an expression of pain. The 
 dancers looked blurred masses of colour moving 
 unsteadily hither and thither. One colour was 
 melting dizzily into another. The heat had 
 made her giddy. She staggered through the 
 doorway, and the fresh breeze from an open 
 window blew softly into her face. She walked 
 slowly across the room and seated herself upon 
 a sofa with her back to the ball-room.
 
 24 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Near her was seated Miss Brown, the spinster 
 of means, deeply engaged in conversation with 
 Mr. Wilson, who sat opposite. The words, 
 ' Parochial tea,' * Mother's meeting,' ' Provi- 
 dent fund,' ' Clothing club/ assailed Judy's 
 ears at intervals, mingling with the hunting 
 refrain. Sir Edward had insisted on inviting 
 Miss Brown, because he said it would amuse 
 her vastly to ' see a bit of dancing.' But her 
 mind was evidently proof against such frivolities. 
 Now the music died away into a soft echo, 
 robbed of all fire and noise. Mr. Wilson's voice 
 gained in proportion. 
 
 " What I really endeavoured to convey in 
 that sermon," he was saying, " was the whole- 
 some lesson of unquestioning obedience. It is 
 that terrible spirit of questioniug which is the 
 great evil of the age. It pervades all classes. 
 Faith is considered stupidity. People argue 
 now that common sense is the only true 
 inspiration ; and common sense enables them 
 to discover all the old landmarks are mis- 
 leading."
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 25 
 
 " Ah ! " — Miss Brown shook her grey curls 
 with severity — ''like the wicked people who 
 try to make out Adam and Eve were 
 monkeys ! " 
 
 The remark was intended to be sympathetic 
 and profoundly appreciative. Judging by Mr. 
 Wilson's face, it somewhat failed in its design. 
 Now Miss Brown discovered Judy's proximity, 
 and turned her attention in a new direc- 
 tion. Mr. Wilson speedily made good his 
 escape. 
 
 The music had stopped. Judy talked fast 
 and laughed a trifle loudly. Miss Brown had 
 begun to retail some of the remarkable sayings 
 and doings of her grand-nephew — a spoilt, 
 objectionable child much worshipped by his 
 relations. Sir Edward appeared at the door 
 of the library, and, in dumb-show, offered a 
 glass of claret-cup brought from the refresh- 
 ments there. By way of telegraphing a refusal 
 Judy made a face at him, and Miss Brown, 
 catching sight of this, and not understanding 
 the cause, paused at the most thrilling point
 
 26 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 of her anecdote to inquire if Miss Lilcot felt 
 ill ? Her mind being [set at rest on this point, 
 she continued — 
 
 " Well, nothing his mother could do would 
 pacify him. He must have my new cap with 
 those purple ribbons to float in his bath. He 
 wanted to put it upside-down, you know, and 
 set the tin duck inside it. There he sat on the 
 floor refusing to be dressed, and screaming till 
 she thought he would make himself ill. It 
 was no use getting him one of my old caps ; 
 he saw there were no ' wibbons ' directly, 
 and refused to look at it. At last in de- 
 spair we sent for the cook, who is devoted to 
 him " 
 
 Over the monotonous voice beside her there 
 came to Judy the sound of the dance-music. 
 Another waltz was beginning. 
 
 The anecdote still went on — '' Drew this old 
 purple ribbon of hers through a paper boat like 
 a sail, to see if the young gentleman would be 
 satisfied and allow the nurse to dress him. But 
 the worst of a clever child is you can't take
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 27 
 
 tliem in or quiet them as you can a stupid 
 one 
 
 What was the air of this waltz? It had a 
 plaintive, dreamy melody. At times a voice 
 seemed to come wailing through the music with 
 intolerable sadness. 
 
 " How well your cousin dances ! " Judy heard 
 Miss Brown saying. 
 
 " Terribly — yes ! " she replied, with a laugh ; 
 and then discovered she had not given the 
 answer which was expected. When had the 
 anecdote of the grand-nephew finished — and 
 how ? 
 
 She did not attempt to correct her remark, 
 but turned her eyes helplessly towards the ball- 
 room. The couples were twirling round as 
 before, save that the majority were differently 
 paired. Also they seemed to be moving more 
 slowly now ; it was not such a quick waltz. 
 Hugh and Aline Graham were dancing together. 
 They moved charmingly in unison ; their steps 
 suited to perfection. They passed down the 
 room, gliding in and out of the other couples,
 
 28 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 avoiding collisions, swaying lightly to the 
 music with every movement. Aline's head 
 was slightly thrown back ; her face was paler, 
 and seemed touched with a sadness caught from 
 the plaintive air of the waltz. Her dress 
 floated about her in a rosy cloud. One soft 
 arm rested on Hugh's shoulder. Somewhere 
 in her hair a bright pin caught the light and 
 flashed. 
 
 The dizziness Judy had experienced before 
 still clung to her. Amongst the confused 
 kaleidoscopic colours, a patch of pink stood out 
 with startling vividness. Whichever way she 
 looked, it sprang into sight. She could see it 
 — sometimes clearly, sometimes blurred and in- 
 distinct, now glowing brilliant and dark, now 
 paling to a shadowy hue which she failed at 
 first to recognize. Still, as it reappeared with 
 haunting persistency, it floated hazily away, 
 and melted from sight amongst other quivering 
 specks of colour. She passed her hand over 
 her eyes and tried to clear her vision. At the 
 same moment a voice sounded at her elbow.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 29 
 
 "Judy," slie heard, ''can't I get you some 
 coffee or anything ? " 
 
 She looked up with an odd sense of relief. 
 Before her was standing Dick Thornton, with 
 his sensible honest face and shrewd eyes. She 
 rose and put her hand in his arm. 
 
 " I will come with you to get some," she 
 said. " This room is so hot," 
 
 They passed into the hall, where the air was 
 cooler. Supper was ready, though not generally 
 announced, and they made their way to the 
 dining-room. 
 
 "Dick," said Judy, seating herself at the 
 table, "get me some soup, there's a good 
 creature ! " 
 
 Dick, having communicated his needs to a 
 waiter, soon set a cup of steaming fluid before 
 her; and then, taking possession of the neigh- 
 bouring chair, helped himself to mayonnaise, 
 and fell to with that solemnity and steadfast- 
 ness of purpose which men develop at the 
 sight of food. 
 
 Judy, sipping her soup, retailed the scrap of
 
 30 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 conversation she had overheard between Mr. 
 Wilson and Miss Brown. Dick paused for an 
 instant in the midst of his supper. 
 
 " Miss Brown's ideas on evolution remind 
 me of the celebrated nigger story," he said. 
 " * When God made de furst man/ explained 
 the nigger preacher, ' He set him up against 
 de wall to dry.' * Who made de wall ? ' cried 
 out one of his congregation, thirsting for 
 knowledge. ' Turn dat der nigger out,' said 
 the preacher ; ' such questions as dat 'stroy all 
 de teology in de world ! ' " 
 
 By now a little stream of people were begin- 
 ning to arrive from the drawing-room. First a 
 few elderly ladies peeped in hesitatingly, then 
 one or two of the dancers. As their eyes fell 
 upon Judy^ they advanced more boldly, satisfied 
 they could not be accused of vulgar haste when 
 their host's daughter was already eating. Judy 
 watched them with keen restless eyes. After a 
 prolonged silence, she turned to her companion. 
 
 " I always fancied it was customary for men 
 to talk to their partners," she said.
 
 A LIFE AWRY 31 
 
 " I believe it is." 
 
 " Anyway, not to ignore their presence." 
 
 " Quite correct." 
 
 " Then speak to me." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Begin." 
 
 Dick opened his month to receive a large bit 
 of chicken. 
 
 " Well, tell me how you are enjoying yourself 
 this evening," he said. 
 
 Judy played with her bread for a moment 
 before she answered. 
 
 " Fairly well, on the whole. It is my first 
 ball, and, being such, a novel experience." 
 
 " What do you think of it all ? " 
 
 *' That means that I am to talk while you 
 eat ! Well, perhaps what strikes me as most 
 odd is that a party of sane grown-up people 
 should collect together to pull each other round 
 and round a stifling room all through the quiet 
 hours of the night." 
 
 Dick laughed. 
 
 " Looking on at it, I suppose to be forced to
 
 32 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 turn round and round perpetually, when one 
 might be peacefully asleep, must appear more 
 like a cunningly-devised method of torture than 
 any possible form of amusement." 
 
 ^'Exactly. If I were a Hottentot, and un- 
 acquainted with civilized customs, I should 
 never imagine people in a ball-room were there 
 of their own free will, for their own entertain- 
 ment." 
 
 Dick looked at her with undisguised amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " But," he said, *' as it is, believing they are 
 happy, I suppose you share that happiness ? " 
 
 " By no means ! " exclaimed Judy. " People 
 can sympathize with sorrow ; I doubt if they 
 ever really sympathize with happiness. When 
 my friends are in a state of bliss and I am not, 
 I merely feel I wish to goodness they would 
 keep out of my way ! " 
 
 Dick changed his plate for a clean one, and 
 drew a high dish of red trembling jelly towards 
 him. There was a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 " You have the greatest aptitude for making
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 33 
 
 yourself out a fiend of any one I know ! " he 
 remarked. 
 
 " I believe, if we analyze our natures care- 
 fully," said Judy, taking no notice of this 
 interruption, " we should find that we only 
 really enjoy the happiness of others when our 
 own spirits are in a mood to be exhilarated by 
 our surroundings — which reduces us to the 
 position of still enjoying our own light-hearted- 
 ness, not our neighbour's." 
 
 " There is a flaw in your argument," pro- 
 nounced Dick. " Our own hearts could not 
 grow lighter unless they were first sufficiently 
 unselfish to be influenced by the sight of a 
 happiness which was not their own. You 
 must allow for a latent spark of unselfishness 
 there." 
 
 " Consider " — Judy smiled a little triumph- 
 antly^ — " if you were enduring tortures of pain 
 so that nothing could make your own heart 
 merry, should you feel any satisfaction in the 
 happiness of a party of merry-makers dancing 
 and laughing before you ? " 
 
 VOL. II. D
 
 34 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " I should feel some satisfaction that they did 
 not share my suffering." 
 
 " You would try to persuade yourself it was 
 so — in the abstract. But, in point of fact, your 
 nature would, all unconsciously, cry out against 
 the existence of their happiness in contrast with 
 your misery ; while, were they wretched, you 
 would find in that very wretchedness something 
 soothing to your own spirit — you would bear 
 your own pain more stoically, knowing you 
 were no worse off than the rest." 
 
 Dick quaffed off a glass of sparkling cham- 
 pagne and rose from his seat. 
 
 " I believe you are right ! " he said. " I ac- 
 knowledge I could love my worst enemy if only 
 he were miserable enough, and hate my best 
 friend if he were obnoxiously happy when I 
 was the reverse ! The untrained selfishness 
 of human nature asserts itself over all our fine 
 transcendental nineteenth - century theories. 
 But " — he bowed with mock civility — " I am 
 engaged for this dance, and must forego the 
 pleasure of your society."
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 35 
 
 " And tlie rest of your supper, which is far 
 more necessary to your happiness," responded 
 Judy, also rising. 
 
 '' No, strange to say," answered Dick, as 
 they made their way to the door, *' I should 
 place the pleasure of a talk with you quite on 
 the level of a good supper. The fact is, you 
 are not merely another sample of everybody 
 else ! " 
 
 Several people were making their way in by 
 the drawing-room now, so, thinking it would 
 be quicker, they returned as they had come, 
 along the passage which led through the hall. 
 As they drew near the ball-room, Dick espied 
 his partner waiting forlornly in the doorway. 
 
 " There stands my Fate ! " he exclaimed, 
 " preparing a string of cutting remarks to 
 salute me with on my arrival. Shall you be 
 all right here, Judy ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. But, Dick " — she caught his arm 
 as he was hurrying off — " I wanted to ask you, 
 if you have a dance later on, do give it to 
 Miss Bridge."
 
 36 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " What special spite have you against me ? " 
 he asked. 
 
 '' Nonsense ! " whispered back Judy. " Do 
 dance with her. She is so plain, and looks so 
 out of it all." 
 
 Dick groaned. 
 
 '* What a recommendation 1 All right ; I'll 
 trot her round when I can."
 
 " Mere leaves that fall on yonder wall ! 
 Mere rain dropping down out of yonder tree ! 
 What matter ? If Nature has something to say, 
 Let her take her own time, let her choose her own way, 
 So long as at last she will say it to me. 
 
 '• Ah ! but leaves will fall as now on the wall. 
 And rain, as now, drop from out of the tree, 
 Many, many a day, while the chance, I know. 
 Is lost ! I have missed what, a moment ago, 
 The leaves and the rain had confided to me." 
 
 Owen Meredith.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 39 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Judy lingered behind whilst the colloquy be- 
 tween Dick and his partner took place. She 
 saw Dick, plausible and apologetic, accounting 
 for his late arrival, the girl listening, frigidly 
 polite and incredulous. Then they moved 
 away to dance, and she stole slowly on a few 
 paces, when a murmur of voices on her right 
 arrested her attention, and again she paused. 
 
 At the end of the hall which she was passing 
 was an alcove, where, on ordinary occasions^ 
 stood a large oak chest. At the present time 
 the chest had been removed, and the recess it 
 had occupied was filled with a profusion of 
 palms and tall lilies. On the further side of 
 this alcove, half screened by plants and slender
 
 40 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 nodding flowers, were two people, seated on 
 a low settee. 
 
 Standing in the shadow, Judy could study 
 them unobserved. The picture before her was 
 worthy her passing attention. 
 
 The girl upon the settee was leaning lan- 
 guidly back amongst the soft cushions. One 
 white arm rested upon the blue cushion beside 
 her, the other lay on the dark rose of her ball- 
 dress. Against the dull red dado of the wall 
 behind, her face showed like a pale cameo. 
 The light from the lamps over the fireplace, 
 shining through her hair, changed it into a 
 misty nimbus about her face. 
 
 The man seated at her side held a large pink 
 fan like a silken poppy, which he moved slowly 
 to and fro, making the lilies close at hand nod 
 their heads fast and helplessly. His clear-cut 
 features were visible in the gaslight towards 
 which they were turned. He seemed meting 
 out carefully the air which he dispensed from 
 the moving fan, and watching how the faint 
 breeze now ruffled the waves of the girl's fair
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 41 
 
 hair, now stirred the soft tulle which lay upon 
 her white neck. 
 
 The girl's form was half buried in the pale 
 draperies of the settee and the soft big cush- 
 ions. Her dress lay crushed about her like 
 a crumpled rose-leaf. Against its dark folds 
 her neck and arms looked unnaturally white. 
 The rise and fall of her bosom was marked by 
 the flash of a minute diamond star. She lay 
 very still, speaking but rarely. Sometimes she 
 glanced up at the face which was bending over 
 her. Then she seemed absorbed in the study 
 of her own white arm, lying indented in the 
 cushion beside her ; she moved it to look 
 where the blue veins showed beneath the 
 delicate skin, or gazed absently at the bend 
 of the round full wrist and the small shapely 
 hand, with its pink fingers embedded in the 
 silk of the cushion. 
 
 The man watched each movement intently. 
 He seemed devouring every detail of the slight 
 form — the curve of the slender waist, the 
 whiteness of the full round throat, the flower-
 
 42 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 like beauty of the face above it, the witcbery of 
 the great dark eyes. Now be was speaking 
 slowly, earnestly. He was pale, and tbere was 
 a bungry, drawn look upon bis face. The air 
 was beavy with the scent of the lilies. With 
 each movement of the fan they sent forth a 
 fresh wave of odour to wander faintly across 
 the ball to the small dark figure watching 
 unseen in the shadow. 
 
 Hugh Lilcot, seated upon that lounge, and 
 apparently lost in the spell of a dream or a 
 pastime which was occupying his whole being, 
 suddenly stirred and glanced uneasily into the 
 darkness which shrouded the small space of 
 passage visible to him from where be sat, as 
 though disturbed by some influence from the 
 keen eyes watching him. Judy slipped noise- 
 lessly away near the wall, and re-entered the 
 ball-room. 
 
 The greater number of dancers she had 
 watched before bad gone away into the supper- 
 room ; but a few couples were left, twirling 
 round energetically, and, in the drawing-room
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 43 
 
 beyond, three chaperons were stoically super- 
 intending the evolutions of their daughters and 
 discussing the shortcomings of their neigh- 
 bours. Sir Edward was nowhere to be seen. 
 He had evidently led away some hungry dame, 
 to regale her with a judicious mixture of viands 
 and politics. Judy stood irresolute. Three 
 courses were open to her. To remain in the 
 ball-room, standing alone against the wall ; to 
 wander into the supper-room by herself, and 
 find each person deep in conversation with a 
 partner or some particular friend ; or to enter 
 the drawing-room, and spoil the happy unre- 
 strained flow of gossip in which the chaperons 
 were indulging. As she hesitated, the sickly 
 perfume of the lilies seemed to have followed 
 her from the hall ; the atmosphere she breathed 
 was still heavy with their scent. Then a 
 draught of fresh night air passed coolly over 
 her. Mechanically she crept to the window, 
 and, unobserved, stepped quietly outside on to 
 the terrace. 
 
 After the brilliant light in the ball-room at
 
 44 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 first she could distinguish nothing. She felt 
 as though oppressed with sudden and complete 
 blindness. A great blackness enveloped her, 
 through which crept a murmuring wind, 
 stirring amongst her hair and breathing coldly 
 on her bare neck and arms. G-radually the 
 outline of the familiar terrace, flower-beds and 
 trees, grew distinct from the general blackness ; 
 the sky separated itself from the darker expanse 
 of earth, revealing an horizon of paler aspect, 
 against which black trees rocked ponderously 
 to and fro. The night inclined to be stormy ; 
 no stars were visible ; the grey sky was over- 
 cast with clouds, the air was soft with the 
 moisture of coming rain. 
 
 Judy groped her way cautiously onwards, 
 running her hand along the stonework of the 
 house until her eyes grew accustomed to the 
 darkness^ and her surroundings lay duskily 
 defined in shades of black and drab. Then she 
 forsook the guidance of the house and crept 
 slowly down the lawn, avoiding the raised 
 patches of blackness which indicated the
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 45 
 
 locality of flower-beds, and descending the 
 steps which led from one terrace to another 
 with extreme caution. 
 
 The wind blew in her face with a damp 
 clinging breath, and as it chilled her, the 
 languor and fatigue produced by the hot rooms 
 passed away ; new life seemed infused into 
 her veins ; she trod more quickly and boldly. 
 In the universal gloom there was an over- 
 whelming mystery — terrifying, exhilarating. 
 The murmuring darkness brought with it a 
 strong relief, a wide expansion of spirit. She 
 felt as though flying from a cramping con- 
 ventional life which had stifled her, away into 
 the glorious solitude of this wild night — the 
 freedom of this wailing, erratic wind. 
 
 She reached the great trees at the foot of the 
 lawn and paced along under the black swinging 
 boughs. Here the wind came and went in 
 fitful gusts, disturbing the dead leaves which 
 lay scattered sparsely on the ground, and 
 whirling them boisterously up into her face. 
 Its increased roughness was invigorating ; body
 
 46 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 and soul felt buoyed up and strengthened. 
 Still she hurried further, awed and entranced. 
 What a curious influence Nature could exercise 
 when one's spirit was wholly passive to her 
 sway ! She changed one into something less 
 mundane than one's usual self — an infinitesimal 
 part of some grand Whole; yet one's being 
 seemed to expand rather than contract in 
 having its personality thus submerged. Oh, 
 to become some essence of the night, which 
 might whirl away with that wild fresh wind, 
 and mingle with the darkness and the storm ! 
 
 She paused at length, and, crouching down 
 upon the root of a tree, glanced about her. An 
 undefinable feeling of isolation stole upon her. 
 Was it not as though some unseen Power had 
 all this while been propelling her along, some 
 force exterior to herself against which rebellion 
 would have been useless ? Looking back, she 
 discovered herself to be nearer to the house 
 than she should have supposed, but the loneli- 
 ness here was intense. The black trees over- 
 head swayed with awe-inspiring solemnity ;
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 47 
 
 the voice of the wind was, at times, indescrib- 
 ably mournful. She leant her head against 
 the rough trunk of the tree and looked up at 
 the space of heavy sky, the rocking boughs, the 
 world of dull quivering leaves. With the 
 overpowering fascination of Nature now came 
 a mingling of dread, an expectation of some 
 shapeless evil. 
 
 She shivered, and, for the first time, realized 
 how cold her limbs had grown. Feeling about 
 for her soft black sash, she wrapped it round 
 her neck and the top of her arms. Then again 
 she glanced back at the house. The light from 
 the windows streamed out across the lawn, 
 cutting the darkness sharply in sunder. She 
 could hear the strains of the dance-music, at 
 times, through the louder rush of the wind. 
 Shadows of the people dancing and laughing 
 within crossed and recrossed the light. She 
 resolutely turned away and endeavoured to 
 give herself up once more to the curious 
 fascination she had found so enthralling. But 
 the power to do so seemed suddenly to have
 
 48 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 gone from her. The mere physical sense of 
 cold which had asserted itself, had hopelessly 
 banished all the emotions and fancies which 
 had charmed her. From a wild free spirit of 
 the night she had descended into a common- 
 place, pitiful specimen of humanity, a prey to 
 a keen growing fear. 
 
 Then, in a moment, a great horror possessed 
 her. 
 
 The darkness became an oppressive pall of 
 solid matter which choked her. She breathed 
 with difficulty. Her heart thumped noisily 
 against her ribs like the tramp of invisible 
 feet approaching over the grass. It seemed 
 to her that the bushes near at hand, bowing 
 and whispering, were shaping themselves into 
 demoniacal forms and nodding heads. She 
 sprang to her feet and looked about her, 
 feebly struggling to reassert her common sense 
 against this unreasoning hysteria. The wind 
 swooped past with a jeering cry, and she tried 
 to laugh in defiance. But the sound of her 
 own voice was unnatural. The laugh did not
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 49 
 
 seem to have emanated from her own throat, 
 but to have come vaguely out of the darkness, 
 and to have in it a horrible element of the 
 unearthly. 
 
 Now she tried to move away from the tree to 
 which she had been clinging, and a conviction 
 came over her that she was powerless to leave 
 it. The Fate which had enticed her out into 
 this grim solitude had rendered her incapable 
 of quitting it. A cold drop descended upon 
 her face, accompanied by a pattering on the 
 leaves overhead. Rain was beginning to fall. 
 She looked back at the house with a fierce 
 misery. Within a stone's throw were people, 
 dancing and making merry in the light and 
 warmth, while she was out here alone in the 
 cold and rain. Aid was so near, and she was 
 so incapable of summoning it. She stretched 
 out her arms to the light, then flung them 
 convulsively round the trunk of the tree. Was 
 there any ghastly meaning to this trick which 
 her fancy had played her? Had she been 
 impelled away from the warmth and shelter of 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 50 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the house, from the protecting presence of her 
 fellow-creatures, to die out here alone in the 
 night and blackness ? Had the Supernatural 
 acquired some power over her ? Was it Death 
 whose muffled tramp she heard advancing 
 towards her with each heart-beat ? ... Or was 
 she dead already ? . . . Her half-jesting con- 
 versation with Hugh in the churchyard came 
 back to her with new and terrible meaning. 
 She crouched upon the ground and gave herself 
 up to the throes of a living nightmare. 
 
 Was this how the dead feel — coffined into 
 helplessness and silence — into outer darkness? 
 And yonder were the living, the happy living, 
 who rejoiced in warmth and light and fellow- 
 ship, while she lay forgotten out here in the 
 darkness and cold. The rain was dripping on 
 her grave now ; she could hear it, drip, drip, 
 till it touched her ice-cold body. The darkness 
 was pressing upon her ; it must be heavy mould 
 which they had shovelled on her coffin ; she 
 was voiceless, but even could she cry aloud, 
 no sound could ever penetrate those weighty
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 51 
 
 layers of earth. The rustling noises which she 
 heard about her must be disembodied spirits 
 revelling in the darkness and jeering at her 
 coffined soul. Some day her body would be 
 crumbled and dispersed, then she would per- 
 force join that ghostly crew. A cold substance 
 touched her hand ; it must be a worm crawling 
 between her fingers. She could not move to 
 cast it aside; it must go on its way. Then, 
 on the breeze, suddenly came the scent of 
 lilies — sickly — overpowering, like the haunting 
 perfume she had smelt in the drawing-room, 
 the desire to escape from which had first 
 driven her forth into the night. Yes ! 
 lilies had been planted over her grave — 
 strong deadly lilies — and she could not thrust 
 them away, nor cry out to petition their 
 removal ; she must lie quiet there while they 
 bloomed triumphantly above her, while their 
 perfume hovered ceaselessly about her, while 
 their roots crept ever nearer and nearer to 
 her defenceless, naked body ! 
 
 In her horror, cold drops, which were not 
 
 LIHRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI
 
 52 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 rain, stood upon her forehead. With a gasping 
 cry, she raised herself up and staggered to her 
 feet. A desperate resolve was upon her to 
 conquer and escape from this growing fantasy. 
 She gathered all her strength together and fled 
 away towards the house. 
 
 Every fibre of her body quivered as she ran. 
 A belief that she was being pursued frenzied 
 her. She was fated never to reach the house 
 alive ; it receded before her approach. In the 
 whispering boughs and wailing wind were a 
 million mocking voices ; the wet leaves whirled 
 in her face were clammy ghost-fingers clutching 
 at her. She passed from under the black forked 
 trees, and scampered up the first terrace while 
 the rain pelted upon her. . . . Now the second 
 terrace was gained . . . now the third. . . . 
 But she would never reach the last ! Her 
 limbs were palsied with fear. She stumbled 
 up the remaining steps and rushed along to 
 the drawing-room window. 
 
 Here she paused, panting for breath, and 
 looked fearfully back.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 53 
 
 Her heart throbbed sharply, her hair was 
 dishevelled with the wind, the rain lay wet 
 upon her face and arms. She must recover her 
 breath and collect her scattered wits before 
 venturing to enter the ball-room. The spot 
 where she stood was dry, for a projecting ledge 
 above sheltered it from the rain, and though 
 the wind swept along the path in front of her, 
 the house protected her from its cold breath. 
 She shrank back against the wall, and waited, 
 still palpitating. 
 
 In the bright light which surrounded her, 
 and the near presence of her fellow-creatures, 
 was a sense of protection and warmth. She 
 could look back at the darkness with a gradual 
 surprise at the absurdity of her unhealthy 
 fears. To bring home to her mind the reality 
 of things mundane, she gazed into the ball- 
 room for a few minutes and watched the dancers, 
 hot and energetic, twirling round as before. 
 The open drawing-room window was behind 
 her, and she could hear the voices of Mrs. 
 Dalton and Mrs. Harbury conversing in its
 
 54 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 recess. The familiar tones reassured her. She 
 began smoothing her disordered hair, now 
 glancing into the ball-room, now turning a 
 cautious eje on the darkness, that no unseen 
 terror might still surprise her from its midst. 
 
 The voices from the drawing-room sounded 
 in a monotonous undertone. 
 
 "That was the reason I brought Frank 
 instead of George to-night," said Mrs. Dalton. 
 
 " You were wise. , . ." 
 
 " Well, we all know the old story of young 
 men in the country with nothing to do " 
 
 The breeze came past in a wet gust, rattling 
 the gravel on to the stone terrace. 
 
 " Designing young person. . . . Entirely out 
 of the question. <. . . One does not approve 
 when it comes too near home. . . . Clear to 
 all save those concerned what course events 
 are taking to-night." 
 
 Swish — patter — rattle. Judy's skirts out- 
 spread in a gust of air, then twined closely 
 about her. 
 
 Now the wind sank.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 55 
 
 ^* / say, Sir Edward has no one but himself 
 to thank for whatever occurs. How he can 
 shut his eyes to the folly of having that girl 
 here at all ! Under any circumstances it is a 
 great mistake not to keep events of that kind 
 entirely in the background, but she is essentially 
 not a person to pass unnoticed." 
 
 " If Sir Edward has little enough common 
 sense, from what I hear, some one else is gifted 
 with a fair amount. Do you know the girl is 
 going to be removed to some of her so-called 
 relations at Edinburgh, very shortly, before 
 much mischief can be done ? Some one has 
 her wits about her, you see ! " 
 
 "No, really" — Mrs. Dalton's voice sank a 
 semi-tone lower from excitement — " you don't 
 mean to say " 
 
 Judy shook her sash from her shoulders and 
 stroked it down the side of her dress. She 
 looked back at the night. 
 
 " I am satisfied of the presence of things 
 mundane ! " she announced gravely ; and she 
 re-entered the ball-room.
 
 ' I thought by token of thy matchless form 
 To curb thy will, and make thee mine indeed 
 From head to foot. There is no other creed 
 For men and maids in safety or in storm 
 Than this of love. Kepentance may be warm, 
 But love is best, though broken like a reed." 
 
 Eric McKay.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 59 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 The morning after the dance Maud Heathcote 
 was to leave Lilcot to join her husband for a 
 ten days' shooting-party in Scotland, from 
 whence she intended returning to her home in 
 London before paying visits in the south. 
 
 The carriage was already at the door when 
 she came hurrying into Judy's room to bid 
 her good-bye. The shutters were closed over 
 each of the three long windows, and she had 
 to grope her way through darkness to the side 
 of the big bed. 
 
 " Open the shutter a bit, Maud," said a voice 
 from beneath an eiderdown coverlet; and, as 
 she proceeded to follow this suggestion, the 
 light of a sunny morning streamed into the 
 room, and shone across the tumbled bed, where
 
 60 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 lay a small white-robed figure with its arms 
 extended outside the sheets. 
 
 " I thought you would have come sooner," 
 said Judy, in an injured voice. '' I wasn't 
 
 " Dear, I am so sorry ! " said Maud, busy 
 arranging her cuffs in the sleeves of her tweed 
 travelling dress. " I meant to have come long 
 ago for a talk, but I overslept myself, and had 
 only just time to scramble into some clothes 
 and swallow some breakfast. However, you 
 must write often and tell me all the news. I 
 wish you could be persuaded to come and pay 
 me a visit in London." 
 
 Judy shook her head emphatically. 
 
 ** What would you do with me in London ? 
 I should wish myself at the antipodes when 
 strangers arrived and wondered where you 
 had picked me up." 
 
 " Will you come in September, before people 
 come back to town ? " inquired Maud, reflecting 
 that one of her visits could be postponed. " We 
 could amuse ourselves very well."
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 61 
 
 " No, I am best here," answered Judy, rather 
 ungraciously ; *' only come and see us again 
 as soon as you can." She propped herself 
 up amongst her large pillows, and put her 
 arm round Maud's neck. " I wish you were 
 not going ! " she said, with sudden wistful- 
 ness. 
 
 Was there something of appeal in the re- 
 mark ? Maud looked at her questioningly. 
 
 ''' Would you like me to put off going for 
 a day, dear ? " she asked. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Judy, half angrily, un- 
 clasping her arms and sinking back amongst 
 the pillows. " I'm always sorry when you 
 leave. What good would it do to postpone it 
 a day ? " 
 
 But Maud still looked at her doubtfully. 
 
 " Judy," she said at length, " my compli- 
 ments are apt to be outspoken. I always 
 admire you greatly ; but there are times when 
 your pluck is simply — simply hateful ! " 
 
 She bent down to give her a farewell kiss ; 
 and, a moment later, hurried away, haunted
 
 62 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 by the recollection of a white wistful face, 
 and big weary eyes. 
 
 Judy, left alone, moved restlessly in the big 
 bed. She had forgotten to ask that the shutter 
 might be closed again, and the sun shone 
 brightly upon her. Her head was throbbing, 
 and the light hurt her. Every power of thought 
 and feeling was swallowed up in an all-con- 
 suming weariness. Her limbs grew alternately 
 hot and cold with the feverishness of fatigue. 
 Her back ached as though it were being hacked 
 with blunt knives; a deadly sense of nausea 
 was produced by the pain. 
 
 Near her bed stood a long glass. She could 
 see herself lying there, a white-clad, white-faced 
 figure, the outline of her form in the bedclothes 
 small and insignificant as that of a child. A 
 vague surprise came to her that such a small 
 frame should be capable of such acute suffering. 
 She tossed off the coverlet and blankets, and 
 viewed the reflection of her white-robed body 
 with sudden commiseration and wonder. How 
 could such a world of pain be comprised in
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 63 
 
 SO pitiful an amount of human flesh? Poor 
 little body ! looking so quiet and painless 
 in the glass, yet with all its sensitive nerves 
 tingling with anguish, its brain exhausted and 
 numb, all its complex organism engaged in a 
 grim tussle with an enemy it could never subdue 
 or escape. 
 
 She held her head and tried to reflect. Surely 
 it must be possible, by strength of will and 
 brain-power, to subdue pain and argue it into 
 nothingness? Why should Matter conquer 
 Spirit ? Why was sufiering to dull one's 
 faculties, to annihilate one's identity ? It 
 must be only weak fools who thus succumb ! 
 With sudden determination she raised her- 
 self up in bed, and catching up her dressing- 
 gown, which hung over a chair within 
 reach, began slowly putting it on with a 
 forced smile. 
 
 It was not difficult, after all, to subdue pain. 
 Resolution alone was needed ; nerves must 
 submit to the dictates of a strong will. She 
 could feel nothing, she told herself — nothing.
 
 64 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 But the self-deceit could not last. In a few 
 moments the smile waned ; she clasped the 
 folds of the flannel more listlessly about her; 
 then, sinking back, she buried her face in the 
 pillows with a sob of hopelessness — a prey 
 to that cringing terror of physical suffering 
 which highly-strung nervous natures alone 
 can experience. Why struggle, only to know 
 one's self more contemptibly defeated ? 
 
 After a time a tap came at the door. She 
 heard it with a certain relief. Some one had 
 come who would close the shutter and keep out 
 that terrible glare of sunlight which was making 
 her eyes ache and her head throb insufferably. 
 She looked up and saw Aline enter — Aline, 
 cool and white in a spotless serge, a bunch of 
 pink carnations in the soft lace at her neck, her 
 face smiling, her eyes bright. 
 
 " How are you to-day, Judy ? " she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " All right," answered a muffled voice from 
 beneath the eiderdown coverlet. 
 
 " Mrs. Heathcote told me you were awake
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 65 
 
 when she went away, so I thought I had better 
 peep in." 
 
 " If you fasten that shutter I think I might 
 go to sleep again." 
 
 It was scarcely a pressing invitation to stay. 
 
 " Lazy thing ! " said Aline, smilingly making 
 her way to the window. " What a success it 
 was last night ! Don't you think so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " People stayed so late, and seemed to enjoy 
 themselves so thoroughly, I thought." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " One thing annoyed me " — Aline stood play- 
 ing with the bar of the shutter — " Mrs. Dalton 
 is so absurd ! Just imagine ! she did every 
 mortal thing she could think of last night to 
 prevent George coming ! Frank Dalton told 
 me so. Merely because he trotted about after 
 me when I was staying there." 
 
 " Oh ! " 
 
 "He was very devoted, and all that sort 
 of thing, you know, and I suppose it vexed 
 her dreadfully. However, I paid her out, for 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 Q6 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Frank trotted at my heels the whole evening ; 
 and Frank, though not so sacred as an elder son 
 from a matrimonial point of view, is, neverthe- 
 less, the apple of his mother's eye. I should 
 have waltzed more with him, only Hugh is such 
 a perfect dancer." 
 
 The eiderdown stirred, and another mono- 
 syllable came from beneath it, this time with 
 more emphasis — 
 
 "Hugh?'' 
 
 "Why not 'Hugh'?" asked Aline, with 
 affected carelessness. *' The case is very simple. 
 He told me that, as we were cousins, and as 
 I called Sir Edward 'uncle,' it was absurd to 
 continue calling him ' Captain Lilcot,' and the 
 sooner I substituted ' Hugh ' the better. I 
 could offer no reasonable excuse for refusing, 
 could I ? " 
 
 '* I was not asking for any explanation," said 
 Judy. " It is scarcely an important matter 
 to me, or to any one else, what you call him." 
 
 Aline looked into the garden below, and 
 played an imaginary waltz on the window-
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 67 
 
 pane. She resembled a flower again to-day. The 
 white simplicity of her dress seemed sugges- 
 tive of some pale exotic blossom. Slowly the 
 eiderdown was moved aside, and Judy's head 
 rose a few inches from the pillow. She viewed 
 Aline critically. That white dainty figure 
 recalled curiously to her mind one of the lilies 
 which had so tormented her disordered fancy 
 the evening before. They were just so slender, 
 of just such delicate purity. Aline's hair was 
 the yellow powdery heart ; her white draperies, 
 the smooth clear petals. And the fanciful 
 resemblance was further increased by the know- 
 ledge that something, too, of the fragrance of 
 a flower had stolen with her into the closed 
 room — a faint perfume assailed Judy's senses, 
 reconjuring, with unpleasant vividness, the 
 nightmare of her nocturnal wanderings. The 
 scent of the freshly-gathered carnations which 
 Aline wore, came to her as a sickly odour 
 which irritated her nerves and increased the 
 nausea from which she was suffering. A wave 
 of heat swept over her body as the blood
 
 68 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 rushed back to her heart, heralding an attack 
 of faintness. 
 
 " Nellie," she said with an effort, " I shall 
 not get to sleep if I once begin to talk. I 
 think you had better leave me now." 
 
 Aline shook her head at such brazen avowal 
 of laziness. 
 
 " Yery well ; but it is past eleven now," she 
 answered ; " though you may not think it, you 
 have had your full night's rest. If I were you, 
 I would get up to enjoy to-day, and have my 
 sleep out to-morrow, which probably won't be 
 half so fine." 
 
 She closed the shutter after considerable 
 fumbling, and made her way to the door. 
 
 Once outside the room, she ran lightly along 
 the passage. She had done her duty, and it 
 was an untold relief to escape from a close 
 darkened room and the sight of a white joyless 
 little face, which seemed, in its oppressive weari- 
 ness, to contain some element of reproach. That 
 Judy was knocked up after last night's little 
 entertainment was evident, and that she. Aline,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 69 
 
 had been the moving instrument in persuading 
 Hugh to bring about that entertainment, was 
 a thought which gave her a momentary pang 
 of uneasiness, and which she hurriedly dis- 
 missed. Was not Judy always ready to fancy 
 herself unable to do anything the least out of 
 the ordinary? And was it not sad that she 
 should not rouse herself sometimes and struggle 
 against this increasing inability to stand any exer- 
 tion, which surely was more than half imaginary ? 
 Kunning down the broad staircase, Aline was 
 greeted by a whiff of sweet-scented air blowing 
 in at the open hall door. She took a large 
 shady hat off a peg in the wall and hurried out 
 of the house. A burning wave of sunshine 
 blazed upon her. Pausing to breathe its deli- 
 cious warmth, she let it kiss her cheeks, her 
 hands, her neck, and fill her body with the 
 glow of its life-giving power. The air which 
 came to her, blowing over the flower-beds, was 
 a compound of the sweet scents of summer — 
 an essence of newly-mown grass and flowers 
 and pinewoods, warm with sunshine.
 
 70 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Strolling towards tlie flowers, she began 
 gathering some of the roses twined up the 
 handle of the basket-beds ; delicate creamy buds 
 just showing the yellow-shaded curve of their 
 petals, vivid damask blossoms with gorgeous 
 velvet leaves, pink blossoms with pale shell- 
 like centres. Some she placed at her waist, 
 some with the carnations amongst the soft lace 
 which fell from around her throat, and the rest 
 she twisted in her hat, drawing the stalks 
 through the holes of the plaited straw till they 
 were secure, and piling the flowers together 
 in careless confusion. Now she began wander- 
 ing from bed to bed, gathering any flower 
 which took her fancy — drooping red-and-white 
 fuchsias, sky-blue lobelias, mignonette, purple- 
 and-gold pansies, yellow bag-shaped calceo- 
 larias. First she shook out the dew which still 
 lay concealed in the shady recesses of their 
 petals, and the tiny beetles who had made their 
 home there ; then she added them carefully to 
 the wreath in her hat, or to the posies at her 
 throat and waist. Here and there she disturbed
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 71 
 
 a heavy plodding bee, too deep in his morning's 
 work to discover that the blossom whose sweet- 
 ness he was culling had journeyed mysteriously 
 up into the air ; or a flippant butterfly, greedily 
 sucking its morning's repast, and who fluttered 
 away like some portion of the flower detached 
 sharply from its stem. 
 
 After a time she found it impossible to add 
 to the flowers she had already gathered without 
 destroying their lightness and grace, or crush- 
 ing their delicate petals too closely together ; 
 so, with a last look at her hat with its quaint 
 garland, she placed it on her head, and ruffled 
 her hair over her forehead in the way which 
 she knew instinctively made her soft pink-and- 
 white face look its prettiest. A sudden desire 
 to view the result of her labours made her 
 hesitate whether she should not run back to the 
 house and take a stealthy peep at her reflection 
 in the Venetian mirror over the dining-room 
 fireplace ; but on second thoughts she con- 
 cluded it was too hot for any unnecessary 
 exertion, and contented herself with a lengthy
 
 72 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 glance in one of the side windows of the house. 
 The dim vision of her white form decked and 
 garlanded with the many-coloured blossoms, 
 was charming ; her face, with its setting of 
 shining hair, was like a fairer blossom in an 
 aureole of sunlight. 
 
 She turned away at length, and, leaving the 
 flower-beds, wandered aimlessly from the house. 
 It was a day which she felt gave her a keen 
 appreciation for this strange gift of existence, 
 which has been bestowed upon us so blindly, 
 so fatefully, yet is withal so goodly and 
 pleasant. There was a strength of colour and 
 light in the world. Every hue, every sense 
 to which Nature gave expression, was vivid 
 with identity. The gorgeousness of the 
 flowers, the perfumed air, the sharpness of the 
 light and shade, all teemed with a force which 
 made itself appreciable. To-day, Nature was 
 actively and definitely agreeable ; her un- 
 savoury side was emphatically concealed. 
 
 Aline passed over the smooth turf, the 
 dappled light and shade trembling upon her
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 73 
 
 white figure. She felt a gladness at heart for 
 her own beauty. She was in harmony with 
 this bright sunny world, with this exquisite 
 fairness of Nature. To the brilliancy of the 
 sunshine, the lightness of the air, the pleasant 
 stir and murmur of insect-life, she found added 
 a new and more subtle spell. For all Nature 
 seemed vying with her in the expression of 
 beauty, joying with her in the gladness of 
 being, absorbing with her the fulness of life. 
 
 She paused soon beneath the very tree where 
 Judy had crouched the night before in paralyzed 
 terror. Now the rugged old oak looked tender 
 and smiling in the sunlight. She gazed up 
 into its branches thoughtfully : a blackbird was 
 singing there with clear thrilling notes. Then 
 suddenly, with a change of purpose, she turned 
 and began retracing her steps. 
 
 It had occurred to her that a visit to the 
 gooseberry bushes would be agreeable. That 
 the kitchen-garden being at some distance, and 
 that, to arrive there, would necessitate her 
 crossing the greater part of the pleasure-
 
 74 
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 ground, and so enable her to ascertain whether 
 any other inmate of the house was abroad 
 enjoying the freshness of the morning — was 
 a consideration she would not acknowledge to 
 herself had influenced her movements. Like- 
 wise Hugh, meditatively smoking his cigar on 
 the other side of the house, would not have 
 admitted that his need for an early smoke had 
 arisen out of a secret hope that, pacing to 
 and fro in the sunny garden, he might sooner 
 or later encounter Miss Graham. Thus, when 
 they mutually espied each other advancing 
 from opposite sides of the lawn, the possibility 
 of such a contingency did not seem to have 
 occurred to either of them, and they both 
 exhibited every symptom of surprise at such 
 an unforeseen event. Aline started, and seemed 
 burdened with a desire to effect her escape 
 while there was yet time. Hugh, looking 
 unaccountably confused, took his cigar out of 
 his mouth, and stared at it fixedly while he 
 knocked off the ashes, as though this were an 
 operation which required his whole attention
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 75 
 
 and prevented his consciousness of any other 
 matter. On second thoughts, however, they 
 both resigned themselves with singularly good 
 grace to the inevitable, and strolled towards 
 each other; Aline with an amiable smile, 
 Hugh tugging his tawny moustache com- 
 placently. 
 
 As Hugh drew near and extended his hand 
 in commonplace friendly greeting, a delight 
 at which he was himself startled made itself 
 sensible, and found unconscious expression in 
 his face. But Aline seemed unaware of any 
 warmth with which his welcome was suffused. 
 She evinced a shy and artless pleasure at seeing 
 him, and casually announced the destination 
 for which she was bound. Hugh immediately 
 discovered himself to be suffering from a thirst 
 which he had a curious conviction gooseberries 
 would quench more efSciently than a brandy- 
 and-soda, and requested permission to accom- 
 pany her. The permission was given hesi- 
 tatingly, and they forthwith crossed tlie lawn 
 together, each under the happy delusion that
 
 76 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the other had not seen through the transparent 
 little manoeuvres employed to conceal still more 
 transparent feelings. 
 
 A crimson rose fell from Aline's waist. Hugh 
 picked it up and pressed it lightly to his lips. 
 
 " Of what is a rose emblematic ? " he exclaimed 
 pointedly. " See — this is a gift from you 
 which I treasure ! " And he placed it in an 
 inner pocket of his coat. 
 
 Aline stretched out her hand with a pretty 
 pretence of anger. 
 
 " Grive me back the flower ! " she demanded 
 authoritatively. " It was no gift of mine. You 
 cannot keep it ! " 
 
 " Then it was the gift of Fate," announced 
 Hugh, triumphantly, " and I look upon it as a 
 good omen. Nothing shall induce me to part 
 with it ! " and he held his hand over the pocket 
 where the rose was placed, as though to guard 
 it from any possibility of attack. 
 
 " Grive it back to me ! " insisted Aline, with 
 a gesture of impatience. 
 
 "What, fling my luck back in Fortune's
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 77 
 
 face ? Is it likely ? " asked Hugh, watching 
 her, fascinated and amused. Her pouting lips 
 looked as full and red as the flower she had lost. 
 
 " I am angry with you ! " reiterated Aline, 
 genuinely vexed. A brilliant colour dyed her 
 cheeks, and her eyes looked dangerously bright. 
 
 Hugh felt an inane desire to seize the little 
 hand she was still extending so temptingly 
 towards him — to let it lie, soft and tiny, in his 
 great strong grasp, and feel its helpless wrathful 
 struggles to get free. 
 
 Perhaps Aline read something of this danger 
 in his eyes, for she suddenly lowered her hand 
 and assumed an air of indifference. 
 
 " Keep the stupid bud, if you think it worth 
 arguing over such a trifle," she remarked coldly ; 
 and began rearranging the flowers in her dress, 
 that the gap made by the missing rose might 
 be covered over. 
 
 Hugh felt instantly restored to his senses. 
 What a mercy, he reflected, that he had not 
 given way to a silly impulse and been betrayed 
 into the action of a cad ! In nothing, he con-
 
 78 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 sidered, was the line between the man who was 
 a gentleman and the man who was not, so 
 clearly defined as in flirtation. The ambiguous 
 flirting of soft tones, tender glances, and 
 chivalrous devotion was admissible, but to offer 
 the faintest impertinence to a girl who had in 
 no way afforded any excuse for it, was un- 
 pardonable. He pulled himself together and 
 determined to be on his guard against any 
 recurrence of such folly. 
 
 Aline, in the mean time, glanced nervously 
 up at the house, then moved on. Had they 
 been disturbing Judy ? They had paused 
 directly under her windows, one of which was 
 open, though the shutter beyond was closed. 
 In the stillness it was possible their voices 
 might penetrate to her room. 
 
 They left the wide black shadow of the house 
 and passed between the great rhododendron 
 bushes. Hugh drew his hat low upon his 
 forehead to shade his eyes from the sun, and, 
 flinging away the short end of his cigar, gave 
 a sigh of lazy content. To the best of his
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 79 
 
 knowledge, the idea paramount in his mind 
 at that moment was a keen appreciation of 
 country life. Human judgment is fickle as a 
 weathercock, and veers in accordance with the 
 atmosphere in which it may be placed : the 
 very mode of existence which he had a few 
 days before adjudged so dull and monotonous, 
 now seemed to him charming in its very peace- 
 fulness. What could be more satisfying than 
 the repose of this quiet old garden? What 
 more ideal than the freedom from restraiot 
 and conventionalities possible in country life ? 
 Though he did not trouble himself to seek the 
 keynote to his present content, he dimly recog- 
 nized that a certain spice of flirtation gave 
 point to what might otherwise have been enjoy- 
 ment of a rather colourless order. When were 
 not man and maid alive to the curious pleasure 
 of each other's society ? And the brightness 
 and gladness of Nature was conducive to a 
 little playful sentiment. Basking lazily in this 
 hot sunshine gave rise to a real need for some 
 poetry of one's own creation, while, in response
 
 80 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 to this necessity for a passing romance, had 
 come a girl, sufficiently pretty to satisfy the 
 most fastidious taste, and who, to a certain 
 charming artlessness of manner, evidently 
 united a convenient knowledge of the world, 
 which removed all scruples concerning the 
 danger of a little love-making, or fear of her 
 viewing it in a more serious light than was 
 intended. 
 
 It happens that the actors in each little 
 romance invariably fail to grasp the fact that 
 their individual feelings may not be mutual. 
 To one of the twain who may be flirting it will 
 seem impossible that the other may all the 
 while be indulging in the weak folly of love ; 
 while to one in the misery of a passion which 
 is genuine it will seem incredible that the 
 tender glances, the soft tones, the devotion of 
 the other, may be merely part of what will 
 then appear a system of heartless deception. 
 Hugh would have, at any time, considered a 
 girl with whom he flirted blamable had he 
 discovered she did not share precisely the
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 81 
 
 feelings with which he regarded her, to pre- 
 cisely the same degree. If she developed more 
 affection for him than he was desirous she 
 should do, he would have felt that her conduct 
 actually jarred upon his sense of refinement; 
 while if she failed to respond to any affection 
 he had in sincerity offered, he would have 
 probably considered her behaviour still more 
 reprehensible, and that he had been treated 
 with heartless cruelty. It was, perhaps, with 
 an equal absence of logic that, in the present 
 instance, he assured himself he had discovered 
 Aline Graham to be supremely sensible, and 
 able to enter into the spirit of a flirtation with 
 as much zest, and as little seriousness, as him- 
 self, so that what was play on both sides must 
 needs be harmless. It was pleasant to feel they 
 were both amusing themselves ; that, though 
 she was evidently as epris with his society 
 as he was with hers, she was in this merely 
 filling the part assigned to her in the romance 
 at which they both were playing, and that — 
 since she could not misinterpret his character 
 
 VOL. II. O
 
 82 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 in the play — neither could she develop one iota 
 more feeling than it was convenient she should 
 have, and no awkwardness would ever be likely 
 to accrue from her charming blushes, her 
 bewildering eyes, or her shy coquettish glances, 
 which sent the hot blood tingling pleasantly 
 through his veins. 
 
 They turned into the kitchen-garden, and 
 the red gravel upon the neat paths crunched 
 beneath the light tramp of their feet. The 
 sun poured down here in the full strength of 
 noontide heat, untempered by any pretence of 
 shade, while the brick walls, baked through 
 with its rays, reflected an additional warmth. 
 Hugh looked thoughtfully at the peaches 
 ripening in the twofold heat. 
 
 " Aren't those better than gooseberries ? " 
 he suggested. 
 
 " Gooseberries first and a peach afterwards, 
 I propose," said Aline, making her way to the 
 bushes. " If you eat your peach first you can't 
 appreciate your gooseberries. This way you 
 can enjoy both."
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 83 
 
 Hugh laughed, and strode forwards to 
 assist in raising the edge of the net. 
 
 " I suppose, as usual, the best bushes are 
 those most difficult to get at ? " he observed. 
 
 " Yes," she answered, taking off her hat and 
 creeping along under the net ; " and, what is 
 worse, gooseberries are growing scarce now, 
 and one has to hunt further ! But luckily 
 these are rather tall bushes, which makes it 
 easier. Still, it is very back-achy work ! " 
 
 Hugh crept after her up the narrow prickly 
 avenue. Soon she paused, and, gathering her 
 white skirts carefully round her, crouched down 
 in front of a bush. 
 
 " Here are some beauties ! " she announced. 
 " I think you can trust me to know where to 
 find the best that are still to be had ! " 
 
 Thrusting her small hand cautiously amongst 
 the thorny branches, she began gathering the 
 ripe fruit and conveying it eagerly to her 
 mouth. Hugh hastened to join her, and for 
 the next few minutes they both continued to 
 pluck and eat in profound silence.
 
 84 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Soon, however, Hugh became restless. He 
 fidgeted first on to one leg, then on to another ; 
 finally he rose up with the net drawn tightly 
 over his back. 
 
 " This is very pleasant," he announced, 
 "but it is not unalloyed bliss. I shall get 
 cramp shortly. What a pity we can t sit 
 down and do the thing comfortably ! " 
 
 " Impossible ! " said Aline, with an expressive 
 glance at her white dress. 
 
 " Yes, but I see a bit of matting yonder," 
 he replied. " It looks clean. I will go and 
 fetch it." 
 
 He crept cautiously away through the 
 bushes, the branches first hooking themselves 
 into his coat, and then rebounding with a jerk 
 as he passed on. Soon he made his way back, 
 carrying a square piece of matting about a 
 yard wide. 
 
 " This will do famously," he said, spreading 
 it on the earth. " Now sit down, and see if you 
 are not more comfortable." 
 
 Aline, with her hands full of fruit, rose up,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 85 
 
 and, stepping over the matting, seated herself 
 upon it as he suggested, and nodded to him 
 a smiling approval. 
 
 " A great improvement," she pronounced. 
 " Just try it ; there is plenty of room for you." 
 
 She motioned with her hand for him to sit 
 beside her, and Hugh, who had been speculating 
 whether she would consider the matting large 
 enough for two, lost no time in profiting by 
 her invitation. 
 
 " Now you can eat all round you," he 
 observed, as he let himself slowly down on to 
 it and stretched out his legs. " When you 
 have cleared all the bushes within reach let 
 me know, and we will move on ! " 
 
 " How business-like ! " exclaimed Aline. 
 " Speak for yourself! You will do more 
 towards clearing the bushes than I shall." 
 
 " Possibly ! " he acknowledged. " I am so 
 comfortable I am perfectly contented to remain 
 here till luncheon-time, and if I remain seated 
 in front of a gooseberry bush I must needs eat!" 
 
 ** In fact, one is thankful for even the
 
 86 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 shade of a twig to-day," remarked Aliue ; ** but 
 the position feels original ! " 
 
 They both laughed. They were completely 
 hidden where they sat. The kitchen-garden 
 was empty, but even had any one passed along 
 the paths they could not have espied so much 
 as the top of Hugh's hat or the gleam of 
 Aline's white dress. Sitting thus on the 
 ground, the shade was sufficient to screen them 
 from the glare of the sun. They attacked the 
 gooseberry bush in turns. The matting was 
 so small that neither of them could move 
 without brushing against the other. 
 
 Hugh, in spite of Aline's prediction to the 
 contrary, seemed to eat but slowly. At stated 
 intervals he plucked a gooseberry and devoured 
 it with solemnity, but often he drew his hand 
 back from the bushes absently, without seeming 
 to notice he had gathered nothing. His gaze 
 turned invariably to Aline, who sat with her 
 skirts tucked tightly about her, composedly 
 choosing the ripest fruit and rapidly squeezing 
 it between her red lips. She placed a little
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 87 
 
 hoard in her lap, from whicli she selected first 
 the large green berries, then the smaller and 
 sweeter ones of a dull maroon, nibbling the thin 
 skins daintily, and, after the first cautious bite, 
 tossing them aside with a little wry face if they 
 were sour. Soon he observed that the thorns 
 had inflicted some red angry scratches across 
 her hand, and he began watching for the 
 moment when she was about to thrust it back 
 amongst the branches, that he might hold them 
 apart for her to reach the fruit more easily. 
 
 Some of the lobelias in her hat had grown 
 loose, and nodded lightly with each movement 
 of her head. He remarked how gracefully the 
 garland rested on the broad brim. Though 
 arranged in thick careless clusters, the flowers 
 had been put together with exquisite taste — 
 lightly and delicately — and the result was 
 quaint and pretty In the extreme. He won- 
 dered if it had been a mere childish freak on 
 her part, decking herself thus with the sweetest 
 and most perfect blossoms she could find, or 
 whether the idea was due to the promptings of
 
 88 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 a coquetry which recognized in the bright fra- 
 grant flowers a means of enhancing her already 
 too dangerous beauty. A little of both, perhaps. 
 The girl was a charming mixture of the child 
 and the woman, an exquisite piece of complex 
 human machinery. Not a prize production of 
 womanhood like Maud Heathcote, endowed with 
 more than womanhood's fair share of both 
 muscles and brains ; not — thank Heaven for 
 it ! — not a pitiable edition like poor Judy, an 
 unpleasant illustration of Nature's failures ; but 
 a sweet, bewildering, all-human little being, 
 faulty and lovable; with all the ordinary in- 
 consistencies and follies of her sex, with all 
 its warm, clinging nature and need of protect- 
 ing love, and with more than its ordinary 
 charm and witchery; a creature to enchain a 
 man's senses and hold him captive in pleasing 
 torture, to inspire in him at once a sense of 
 worship and a maddening desire for possession 
 and mastery ; a creature who seemed to hold 
 a dual power in the glance of her soft eyes; 
 who could rouse in him both an ideal reverence
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 89 
 
 for her pure womanliood and a more human 
 enjoyment of her beauty, but who — so he might 
 have summed up the manner in which he 
 regarded her — once conquered by a woman's 
 strength of affection, would be charmingly 
 amenable to his superior will, and who was 
 all the while his inferior, a frail, brainless, 
 pliable organism, specially designed by a 
 considerate Providence for his entire satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Aline Graham gained in charm as the re- 
 action from much that had lately been out 
 of harmony with his nature. He was aware 
 that the society in which he found himself 
 was hopelessly unsuited to him. Maud Heath- 
 cote, for one, had always inspired him with 
 an element of irritation. At the time of his 
 departure for India, when she had been a 
 girl of five-and-twenty, in all the first excite- 
 ment and romance of her engagement to a 
 man to whom she was deeply attached, she 
 had struck him as a type of woman who was 
 essentially a mistake in Nature's economy ; a
 
 90 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 woman with pronounced opinions and strongly- 
 developed characteristics ; an enthusiast, and 
 painfully Jin de siecle. After the lapse of so 
 many years, she produced the same impression 
 on his mind. She had lost much of her old 
 excitability and vivacity ; she was no longer 
 enthusiastic and positive as formerly; she no 
 longer aired her opinions on all occasions, and 
 treated those who differed from her with 
 amiable contempt. But she was still at heart 
 the Maud of old days — original, sarcastic, 
 strong-minded ; in short, one whom, it seemed 
 to him, men might find a good friend, or whom 
 they might pursue because she treated them 
 with such supreme indifference, but who could 
 scarcely be their ideal either of an agreeable 
 conversationalist, or, on the other hand, of an 
 amenable helpmate. 
 
 As to Judy, apart from all other failings, 
 she seemed to him in many ways an echo of 
 Maud — an esprit fort, at times aggressively 
 original, with pronounced views on most sub- 
 jects, and a love of self-assertion which found
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 91 
 
 vent in constant attempts to be contradictory 
 and argumentative. Like Maud, she was want- 
 ing in that mobility of character and absence 
 of positiveness which he considered an essential 
 to true womanliness. They both jarred upon 
 his sense of fitness, and occasionally oppressed 
 him with an unaccountable awkwardness, till — 
 he acknowledged to himself — from being in an 
 uncongenial atmosphere, he felt a fool, and as 
 though he were intellectually out of depth. 
 
 It was a relief, therefore, after their society, 
 to find himself with a simple, womanly, under- 
 standable creature like the girl beside him, 
 to whom he could talk without the sense of 
 oppression with which Maud's presence afi'ected 
 him, and at whom he could look without the 
 painful shock which Judy's appearance never 
 failed to produce. He felt once more in his 
 element, and restored to his natural ease and 
 self-confidence. Aline was not troubled with 
 any aggressive originality, she did not dabble 
 in metaphysics and flaunt them inconsiderately 
 in the faces of those who did not appreciate
 
 92 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 them, she was not burdened with too mucli 
 intellectuality ; but she filled woman's first 
 duty of looking charming on all occasions, 
 and was in most points a representative of 
 the type of woman whose society men would 
 always seek where choice was possible. 
 
 How perfect her face looked under that 
 flower-covered hat! She possessed a happy 
 consciousness of her own beauty. The glances 
 which she bent upon him from time to time 
 were accompanied by an evidently mischievous 
 enjoyment of the effect they produced. How 
 fascinating it would be to make those malicious 
 eyes droop beneath a gaze which they were 
 unable to meet; to see the long dark lashes 
 quiver and fall slowly on to the soft cheek 
 with a shame but dimly comprehended ; to make 
 the sweet mocking face grow suddenly confused, 
 and see it burn with a warmth of feeling to 
 which it was yet a stranger ! Hugh's heart 
 beat faster. It would be interesting to subdue 
 this flippant, tantalizing creature ; to make her 
 experience the all-conquering force which love
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 93 
 
 can exercise on woman's nature. The man 
 who first robbed her of her sweet wayward- 
 ness would see her wake from a dream-life of 
 childish vanity into a woman bewildered and 
 shamefaced at the world on whose threshold 
 
 she had so ignorantly been pausing 
 
 His train of thought was interrupted by the 
 light touch of Aline's hand brushing accidentally 
 against his own. Looking down, he perceived 
 she was trying to reach some fruit in the midst 
 of the bush, having taken advantage of an 
 opening which he had made for her by holding 
 one of the branches aside. The touch of her 
 hand lingered upon his own ; he could feel it 
 as it had lain a moment against his, smooth 
 and tiny, pulsing with warm life. He would 
 hold the branch lower, so that she could not 
 draw it back without touching him once more. 
 He saw that her sleeve had slipped back from 
 her wrist ; thus he would feel — first the bare 
 smooth arm, then the little soft hand doubled 
 up over its prize of fruit. 
 
 He waited with a delicious expectancy. Now
 
 94 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 he could feel a movement in the form beside 
 his own — Aline's shoulder had touched his. 
 Already she was drawing her hand back 
 through the prickly branches ; it was coming 
 slowly, slowly nearer, moving thus leisurely, 
 he reflected, because he had taken a base 
 opportunity of entrapping it in an opening 
 too small to allow its safe passage through the 
 thorns. 
 
 A feeling of compunction made him glance 
 quickly at the face so near his own. Was 
 some suspicion of his culpable little manoeuvres 
 legible there? Did the red lips quiver 
 nervously, the breath come more swiftly from 
 between them ? He could feel it passing softly 
 over his face when he leant closer. Then the 
 lace ruffle of a sleeve brushed against his hand ; 
 he glanced down once more. How tiny and 
 soft looked the little hand beside his firm brown 
 one ! Again it touched his wrist lightly, and 
 a curious electric influence passed into him. 
 His veins grew on fire. Holding his breath, 
 he watched the hand which lay defencelessly
 
 A LIFE AWRY, 95 
 
 within his reach, till, as it emerged from the 
 bushes, with an impulse whose suddenness 
 baffled all control, he imprisoned it in a half- 
 fierce grasp, scattering its little treasure-trove 
 of fruit right and left on the ground. Then, 
 as he felt the girl start and tremble in his hold, 
 he passed his arm masterfully about her, and 
 drew her helplessly down, pressing her head 
 tightly to his breast. 
 
 For one moment he held her there — one 
 moment, when there seemed an intense, an 
 appalling silence about them ; when he could 
 hear her heart throb, and feel her breast pant- 
 ing against his own. She was like some delicate 
 flower he could crush in his strong rough hold. 
 Then he imprinted one reckless kiss on the soft 
 sun-warmed cheek now crimsoned with shame, 
 and paused, breathlessly triumphant at her 
 entire helplessness. 
 
 Only for a moment, and then the madness 
 passed — the savage instinct which in the space 
 of a few seconds had erased the long trainings 
 of civilization in the man, obliterating with one
 
 96 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 bold sweep of Nature the nice distinctions, the 
 fine perceptions of honour, the self-imposed 
 restraint. Hugh sprang up, confounded at 
 what he had done — sprang up to see the girl 
 staring at him with blanched face and wide 
 frightened eyes, and to realize with rapid dis- 
 tinctness that he had been fashioning for him- 
 self a net other than the frail one which lay 
 tangibly encircling his shoulders. 
 
 So Love tricks his puppets. He makes them 
 dance gaily to his piping ; fills them with mirth 
 at the capers of their fellow-puppets ; draws 
 them on, blind and deluded, to work his will. 
 And to what end ? Philosophy would tell us 
 that thus, unwittingly. Nature's mysterious 
 demand for perpetuation of the species must 
 be complied with, that this earth may be 
 replenished with creatures, who, for a brief 
 space, walk its surface, experience — strive — 
 fill Love's imperative behest, and sink back 
 into the earth from which they sprung. But 
 the wherefore of Nature's demand — who shall 
 say?
 
 For women (I am a woman now like yon) 
 There is no good of life but love — bnt love ! ^ 
 What else looks good, is some shade flung from love ; 
 Love gilds it, gives it worth. . . . 
 Never you cheat yourself one instant ! " 
 
 K. Browning. 
 
 VOL. n.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 99 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Dinner was over. In the library at Lilcot 
 Sir Edward had settled down to the papers ; 
 Judy was established in a big armchair with 
 a book ; and Aline, seated near the red-shaded 
 lamp, was alternately sipping her coffee and 
 exercising her ingenuity on a piece of fancy- 
 work which she was outlining in elaborate 
 designs of her own invention. The light fell 
 softly upon her bent head, with its silky hair 
 which seemed to vie in both shade and texture 
 with the fabric of her tea-gown, while, as she 
 plied her needle — drawing it with its trail of 
 pink silk swiftly to and from the canvas on 
 her lap — her arms, moving in and out of her 
 flowing sleeves, contrasted in creamy fairness 
 with the bright maize silk.
 
 100 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 At last she finished her coffee, and, setting 
 the cup down noiselessly in its saucer, began 
 folding up her work. Next, she placed the 
 neat roll of canvas, with its attendant bundle 
 of gaudy silks, upon the table, and, rising, 
 crept quietly away to the open drawing-room 
 door, passed through it, and closed it after her. 
 
 As she disappeared Judy looked up, drew 
 herself to the edge of her chair, shut her book, 
 and leant forward with an odd look of ex- 
 pectancy and intentness upon her face. 
 
 In the drawing-room two shaded candelabra 
 on the mantelpiece gave a subdued light, and 
 formed unsubstantial counterparts in the glass 
 in front of which they stood. Aline moved 
 slowly to the piano at the further end of the 
 room, and, seating herself before it, ran her 
 fingers lightly and it might be a trifle nervously 
 over the keys. Then she began to softly play 
 a waltz, and, after a while, she sang to her 
 playing, cooing to herself in a low voice, which 
 at times floated out clear and sweet, then died 
 away into a dreamy whisper. But, through
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 101 
 
 the sound of the music, she was keenly alive 
 to the tramp of feet which paced the terrace 
 outside ; soon she was aware of some irregu- 
 larity introduced into the tread, and, after a 
 while, she recognized that the sound had ceased. 
 Then she knew, without the evidence of actual 
 vision, that a figure stood in the open window, 
 and, believing itself concealed by the darkness, 
 watched her motionlessly. 
 
 Again she sang, and now a faint note of 
 triumph found its way into her voice — a ring 
 of tremulous irrepressible gladness. By a whim 
 of imagination she had changed places with 
 that silent watcher, and could picture the scene 
 presented to his gaze. Was it not delicate in 
 outline and colour — the dim room, the silk-clad 
 figure, the pensive face, and over all the sense 
 of music floating plaintively, dreamily ? Was 
 not the soft maize robe of Grecian-like sim- 
 plicity ? Did not the fillet of gold round the 
 fair head show darkly against the paler gold 
 of the hair ? What of the round whiteness of 
 her arms as they moved against her silken
 
 102 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 sleeves, the tiny pink-lined fingers flitting 
 over the keys, the throbbing curve of the full 
 young throat as its song ebbed and flowed, the 
 delicate loveliness of the face which surmounted 
 it in its setting of misty hair ? Did she not 
 feel that the gladness of her heart intensified 
 her beauty — that her eyes had a more tender 
 light, her cheeks were sufi'used with a softer 
 glow ? There came to her a new-born joy for 
 her fair young beauty, something grander, 
 wider than she had known hitherto; a joy 
 such as she had never dreamed for a great 
 and good gift, and for all that gift could bring. 
 And, as she still sang on, into her voice there 
 crept a strange prayerfulness. The waltz grew 
 slower, and framed itself into a swelling word- 
 less psalm ; her head drooped, and bowed itself 
 unconsciously with a reverence of mute thanks- 
 giving. 
 
 And to Hugh, watching outside in the 
 night, the scene presented an even more 
 entrancing aspect than she had pictured, and 
 was one of all-absorbing interest.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 103 
 
 Since the humiliating episode amongst the 
 gooseberry bushes, he had spent his time 
 reviewing his conduct on that occasion, and 
 endeavouring to decide upon the position he 
 must assume in future towards Miss Grraham. 
 He was aware that, in the little episode itself 
 and in his subsequent incoherent apologies, he 
 had overstepped the boundary-line between 
 mere flirtation and actual love-making, and 
 had compromised himself to an extent he had 
 never foreseen or intended. Still, he reflected, 
 it was weak to tamely allow one's self to be 
 the victim of circumstances. Other men com- 
 promised themselves seriously, and, by a little 
 dexterous management, afterwards steered clear 
 of precipitating themselves into matrimony. 
 The situation was one which required careful 
 consideration. 
 
 As to his conduct, he had but one opinion. 
 He did not attempt to palliate it. That he— 
 a man of the world who prided himself on his 
 self-possession and faultless savoir-faire, should 
 have been unable to indulge in a passing
 
 104 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 flirtation without losing his head and insulting 
 a charming girl in a manner which was 
 wholly inexcusable, was a humiliating reflection. 
 Hugh's was not a nature which could rise to 
 the pure-minded reverence for Woman which 
 feels that until she, of her own free will, 
 descends from the elevation to which she is 
 entitled out of the mire, each too-human look 
 or thought directed towards her is a species 
 of profanation — this attitude was above his 
 comprehension ; but the whole vanity of the 
 man was piqued at having fallen short of his 
 own standard of excellence — of having laid 
 himself open to the offensive charge of being 
 without those visible tokens of civilization 
 which constitute that product of moral evolution, 
 a gentleman. This fact was gall and wormwood 
 to him. A thousand times he called himself a 
 cad, a fool ; and now only, viewing that picture 
 of the girl as she sat playing in the dim room, 
 did he find an excuse for his behaviour. 
 
 He had never been alone with Aline Graham 
 since the moment when they had parted in
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 105 
 
 a condition of mutual embarrassment after their 
 hurried walk back from the kitchen-garden to 
 the house. They had met at meals, when they 
 had contrived to sustain a civil though some- 
 what strained conversation ; but, on all other 
 occasions, they had fought shy of each other's 
 society, and, while mutually desiring it, were 
 mutually afraid of appearing to do so. 
 
 He was fully aware, however, that his attitude 
 towards her must shortly assume some definite 
 standpoint. That the girl's feeling for him had 
 progressed beyond mere Platonic likiug, she 
 had sufficiently betrayed in her confusion ; it 
 remained only to decide whether he should 
 retire as gracefully as circumstances would 
 permit from the mess in which he found himself, 
 or whether he should, not unwillingly, accept 
 the situation and consider himself tied to this 
 sweet pink-and- white bit of humanity he had 
 so impulsively appropriated. On the one hand, 
 he had a natural dislike to taking a step of 
 lifelong import ; on the other hand, he had a 
 strong sense of honour — where he recognized it
 
 106 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 — and as his wishes, all unacknowledged by him- 
 self, now coincided with the course which honour 
 seemed to dictate, he pleased himself with the 
 reflection that, in following that course, he would 
 be acting in a highly meritorious manner. 
 
 His decision trembling thus in the balance, 
 he watched the girl whose fate lay in his 
 hands ; and, as the subtle influence of the 
 music stole upon him, he felt caution and cool- 
 headed calculation evaporating. Why fret 
 one's self with so much questioning? Why 
 try to exercise the prudence of age rather than 
 the privilege of youth ? He would enjoy the 
 present hour and leave the next to be what it 
 would. After all, there was no genius like the 
 genius of recklessness. He would be guarded 
 only not to commit himself further, but he would 
 taste to the full the critical romance of the 
 situation, and the morrow might take care of 
 the things of itself. 
 
 He entered the room and saw a great tender- 
 ness creep into the girl's face, saw the wave of 
 deep colour which overspread her cheeks and
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 107 
 
 stole down to her fair white neck, saw her 
 fingers tremble on the keys and heard them lag 
 with a sudden tell-tale powerlessness. 
 
 Did Love langh as he pulled the puppet- 
 strings ? 
 
 In the next room Judy sat leaning forwards. 
 She had heard the strains of the waltz mingle 
 with the steady tramp of footsteps outside the 
 house. The steps seemed to be beating time 
 to the measure of the music. On the writing- 
 table, near at hand, the clock ticked angrily, 
 racing the footsteps. Next, the tramp on the 
 terrace varied, and into the music simultaneously 
 crept something of a change ; it was less regular 
 and smooth. Soon the footsteps outside ceased, 
 and the music developed a new phase, sounding 
 loud and decisive at one moment, at the next 
 weak and unsteady. Finally it was silent, and 
 there was a great stillness, while the clock 
 ticked on triumphantly. Then, after a while, 
 there was again the tread of feet outside, but 
 in increased number. They passed once, and 
 did not return.
 
 108 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Judy got up from her chair. Sir Edward 
 was nodding over his papers. She stole across 
 to the drawing-room door and opened it softly. 
 The room was empty. She entered and looked 
 about her. The candles on the mantelpiece 
 were guttering with the draught from the open 
 window, a few pieces of music lay untidily upon 
 the floor, the piano was open. She crossed to 
 the corner, picked up the music and placed it 
 upon its stand, closed the piano, blew out one 
 or two of the candles which flickered, and then 
 walked to the window. She stepped outside on 
 to the terrace and peered about her. No one 
 was in sight. She walked away from the house, 
 and, descending the terrace steps, made her way 
 to a seat near the top of the lawn, upon which 
 she proceeded to perch herself, and sat there 
 swinging her legs backwards and forwards like 
 a child upon a chair which is too high for it. 
 
 There was no moon visible, though the stars 
 shone brightly. In the distance, the rush of 
 the weir made a soothing murmur. A faint 
 breeze wandered, sighing, past the house. She
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 109 
 
 moved into the corner of the seat, and sat very 
 still, leaning her head back and looking absently 
 up at the sky. 
 
 Soon she started into an upright position and 
 glanced hurriedly round. There was a sound 
 of footsteps on the gravel paths near the house. 
 She kept her eyes fixed in the direction from 
 whence it came, till two figures emerged into 
 sight, looking like black shadows through the 
 darkness. They walked slowly along by the 
 terrace, and the light from the windows fell 
 upon them, revealing the dark outline of a man's 
 figure and the fluttering movement of a girl's 
 light dress. An indistinct murmur of voices 
 reached the spot where Judy sat, but no words 
 were distinguishable. 
 
 The two figures vanished into the darkness, 
 but soon returned, and continued to pace up 
 and down, the rosy light from the library and 
 the paler light from the drawing-room alter- 
 nately falling upon them, till they again grew 
 vague and ghost-like in the night. Judy 
 clasped her knees with her hands, and swaying
 
 110 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 slowly backwards and forwards, watclied them 
 intently. After a time she began to keep up a 
 running comment to herself in an undertone. 
 
 " They have been sitting up in the shrubbery 
 on that wooden seat enclosed by four great 
 laurels. It is very sheltered up there. One 
 hears the burn trickle past on its way down to 
 the fountain, dropping over the stones which 
 form tiny cascades. They would see a patch 
 of clear sky up above the bushes, and the stars 
 peering like eyes between the leaves. They 
 left it very soon ? Aline must have grown 
 cold ; her silk is thin . . . yet the night is 
 warm. . . . They are walking up and down the 
 terrace because she is wearing bronze shoes, and 
 the gravel hurts her. After a time they will 
 go back to the shrubbery and sit there again." 
 
 She moved her feet up on to the seat so that 
 her knees were nearly as high as her head ; 
 then, planting one elbow against them, she 
 rested her chin upon her hand. She still 
 watched the pair above, and there was a smile 
 upon her face.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. Ill 
 
 " This is play ! " slie informed herself with 
 emphasis. '* Yes, play ! An amusement I too 
 should have indulged in if Nature had not 
 fashioned me on an original pattern. As it is, 
 I shall never take part in this game of ^ mental 
 fencing,' this battledore and shuttlecock with 
 hearts and the future of lives. Therefore here 
 is a chance opportunity for studying it and 
 observing how it is played. To enter into its 
 true spirit one must imagine it is real. The 
 players themselves do this, I believe. Odd that 
 the future of lives should be decided by such 
 pretty trifling ! That my own unsatisfactory 
 existence came from just such pretty romancing 
 and play ! What a prosaic reality to have 
 sprung from a bit of unsubstantial poetry ! 
 
 " From an artistic point of view, it is quite a 
 pity, in this case, that it should be merely play ; 
 they would make such a good-looking couple. 
 Aline is charmingly pretty. I suppose, walking 
 close beside her, he can see her features even 
 in the semi-darkness? She always looks so 
 pale and ethereal in the dusk. From here,
 
 112 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 her yellow silk is white. As the red light falls 
 Tipon her, she looks wrapped in fire from head 
 to foot. Even her hair must be rosy if I could 
 see, and her face must be tinted a soft pink — 
 all but her eyes, and they will be even 
 darker and deeper than by daylight. 
 
 '* Hugh, too, is good-looking in his way. He 
 looks particularly well beside her. I have 
 noticed that several times. 
 
 " Moreover, there are other points in which 
 they are admirably suited. 
 
 " Nellie must have been designed by Nature 
 for an advertisement-sample of Woman. She 
 takes life so placidly. She never criticizes. She 
 will care quite sufficiently for the man whom 
 she sees will make a good husband, and never 
 enough to ruffle her smiling equanimity. She 
 would never feel that terrible isolation of a 
 great love — that affection which can serve as 
 a sharp beacon-light to show how wide a gulf 
 exists eternally between heart and heart. I 
 fancy she must be man's Ideal of Woman ; a 
 gentle creature who takes life as she finds it,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. IIS 
 
 who never questions what may lie beyond the 
 area of her own tiny nose ; a creature unsuited 
 to fend for herself — who, in return for the 
 affection meted out to her, will love submis- 
 sively, uncritically, contented to fill the role of 
 Divinity, Plaything, or Slave according to her 
 owner's good pleasure. Oh, the man who 
 marries her may consider himself a lucky 
 fellow ! " 
 
 Judy laughed softly to herself, but the laugh 
 had in it something strained, and she caught 
 her breath, ending it abruptly. After a few 
 minutes she continued her soliloquy. 
 
 " Yes, he would make her a most suitable 
 husband. • His disposition is much her own ; 
 very matter-of-fact, conventional, unintellectual, 
 with an enviably comfortable opinion of himself. 
 I find myself wondering what I saw in Hugh as 
 a boy. I used to look up to him with such awe. 
 He was my hero, my ideal. A few years makes 
 a marvellous difference in one's judgment ! I 
 doubt if he has altered much ; but now I see 
 him a commonplace, narrow-minded, obstinate 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 114 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 being, without even the faintest dash of clever- 
 ness in his composition. A being who would 
 bore me very speedily — yes, bore me " 
 
 She moved a little restlessly on the seat. 
 
 " Now they are standing still, looking away 
 at the shadowy view. I am glad they cannot 
 see me down here. They would think I was 
 spying — though I have as much right to enjoy 
 a fine evening as they have ! I seem able to 
 see more clearly now ; I have grown accustomed 
 to the dark. The light from the house falls 
 upon her sideways, and I can distinguish her 
 features. She looks like a spirit in her flutter- 
 ing white drapery ; and her face is pale, clear 
 and soft. I cannot see her eyes, but she is 
 turning them towards him — they will be very 
 full and bright ; then she will droop the dark 
 lashes slowly on to her cheeks with that pretty 
 trick she has. Hugh must admire her. She 
 would make him a charming wife — but for one 
 thing — and surely that is not an insuperable 
 objection ? Anyway, I will imagine it does not 
 exist. Well — she would always look sweet and
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 115 
 
 pretty, always be well dressed. She would 
 know how to spend money and enjoy having 
 it to spend, which is in itself a charm. He 
 loves society, and so does she. She would make 
 a good hostess, bright and agreeable. The 
 village people would like her — how she would 
 do the popular among them ! She would have 
 pretty children with fair hair and pink cheeks 
 like herself. Hugh would be very proud of 
 her. She would make a good mistress of Lilcot 
 — of my home I " 
 
 A slight tremor came into Judy's voice. She 
 folded her arms and went on steadily — 
 
 " Hugh's great merit is his good nature. 
 Under those circumstances he would be very 
 kind to me, very. I can see even now how he 
 tries to overcome his dislike to me. He would 
 try just as praiseworthily to do his duty to- 
 wards me, and enact the kind guardian and 
 brother conscientiously. He does his utmost 
 to develop some brotherly affection for me. 
 He — yes, he " 
 
 Suddenly her voice broke. Dropping heavily
 
 116 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 back upon the seat, she clutched the twisted 
 wood and clung to it with a grasp which left 
 her hands bloodless. 
 
 "0 Grod," she moaned, "have pity! God 
 have pity — have pity ! " 
 
 Her voice rose in a despairing cry all the 
 more terrible because it was suppressed, and 
 because all its anguish was concentrated into 
 a mere whisper. Her whole frame shook with 
 sobs, though her eyes were dry and bright. 
 She leant her face upon her cold arms, and 
 tossed to and fro beneath the storm of grief 
 which possessed her. 
 
 And, only a few yards distant, stood a girl 
 with the soft love-light in her eyes and the joy 
 of a first love in her heart ; a girl triumphant 
 in the power of her young beauty, rejoicing in 
 health and strength, viewing life through a 
 glamour of romance which each moment pre- 
 sented a more radiant prospect to her vision. 
 Nature is fond of contrasts. 
 
 The same wind which kissed Aline's fair face 
 and light waving hair, passed on to whisper
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 117 
 
 drearily above the little dark figure alone with 
 its sorrow on the seat below. Judy writhed 
 in her misery, and buried her teefch in the soft 
 flesh of her arm, that in the sense of physical 
 pain she might find relief from the sting and 
 torment of a more cruel evil. Her whole being 
 was convulsed with the desperate effort to 
 recover her self-control. She quivered beneath 
 the stress of her noiseless sobs. 
 
 Then Fate was merciful to her. The pair 
 standing so unconsciously within earshot of 
 any incautious cry she might utter, moved 
 away. Perhaps they returned to the seat in 
 the shrubbery, as she had anticipated ; but she 
 realized that they had left the terrace, and the 
 painful restraint of their presence was removed. 
 She moaned aloud with a luxury of relief. 
 Twisting her arms tightly through the wood- 
 work of the seat, she clung to it and pressed 
 her cheek against it, sobbing like a tired child. 
 
 After a time the paroxysm subsided ; she 
 rose up, quiet and exhausted, and crept back 
 to the house. Entering by the open window,
 
 118 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 she made her way to the dining-room, and 
 poured some water out of a jug into one of the 
 finger-glasses on the sideboard ; then, soaking 
 her handkerchief in the cold water, she bathed 
 her eyes, her lips, her forehead, and stood a 
 moment enjoying the soothing freshness pro- 
 duced by the moisture. Next, she applied 
 both hands to her white cheeks, and rubbed 
 them roughly and vigorously till they burnt 
 beneath her touch, and a semblance of healthy 
 colour appeared upon them. This accomplished, 
 she went back to the library, and entered it 
 with a smile upon her face, and no visible trace 
 of that mad storm of grief which had passed 
 over her.
 
 " Never happy any more ! 
 Ay, turn the saying o'er and o'er, 
 It says but what it said before, 
 And heart and life are just as sore. 
 
 Never happy any more ! 
 Put the light out, shut the door, 
 Sweep the wet leaves from the floor. 
 Even thus Fate's hand has swept her floor, 
 Even thus Love's hand has shut the door 
 Through which his warm feet passed of yore. 
 Shall it be opened any more ? 
 No, no, no mure." 
 
 D. G. ROSSETTI.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 121 
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 As slie crossed the room, Sir Edward looked 
 up with an air of mild surprise. 
 
 " So there you are, little girl," he observed. 
 " I was really beginning to wonder what could 
 have become of everybody. I must have 
 napped for a few moments over my papers, 
 and when I opened my eyes you had all fled." 
 
 " I have been outside to enjoy the fine 
 evening," said Judy. " Hugh was smoking, 
 and Aline was in the next room playing." 
 
 " Oh, so every one was diversely employed ! 
 And now you have come back to look after 
 your old dad. Where are the other two ? Are 
 they out-of-doors ? " 
 
 " I believe so."
 
 122 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " They seem to get on pretty well, don't you 
 think?" remarked Sir Edward, turning over 
 the Times, 
 
 Judy looked up quickly. But Sir Edward's 
 face was the embodiment of unsuspicious satis- 
 faction. She lifted up a paper-knife from the 
 writing-table and twirled it restlessly between 
 her fingers. 
 
 " They get on capitally," she answered. 
 
 " I am very glad of that," said Sir Edward, 
 in a tone of extreme content. " It is a great 
 thing, though not of such vital importance as 
 if Aline were continuing to make this her 
 home. Still, Hugh will have many oppor- 
 tunities of being kind to the poor girl when 
 the old place belongs to him. I like to feel, 
 when that day comes, he will be a good brother 
 to her as well as to you." 
 
 Judy came round and stood in front of her 
 father. For a moment she hesitated ; then she 
 spoke, and her voice was clear and steady, 
 though the hand which held the paper-knife 
 was trembling slightly.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 123 
 
 "Dad," she said smilingly, "you will be 
 amused at what I am going to say, but — can 
 you imagine it ? — I have changed my mind 
 entirely, and come to the conclusion it is a pity 
 Nellie should leave us ! I might probably dis- 
 cover when too late I had made a great mistake, 
 and, as she and Hugh get on so well, it seems 
 unkind to nip their acquaintance in the bud ; 
 scarcely fair towards Aline, I think, when, as 
 you say, his kindness might be a great object 
 to her in the future." 
 
 Sir Edward laid down the paper and regarded 
 Judy with a smile of excessive amusement. 
 
 " Well, of all the changeable little women I 
 ever came across, you are the most unaccount- 
 able ! " he said. " A few days ago you could 
 find no arguments strong enough to convince 
 me it would be a great mistake for Aline to 
 remain here ; now you are just as anxious to 
 persuade me it would be a pity for her to leave 
 us. What am I to think ? " 
 
 " Ah — but, you see," continued Judy, " cir- 
 cumstances alter cases. I did not know then
 
 124 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 that she and Hugh would be friends — that 
 we should all get on so well together. I had 
 not considered what you suggest about the 
 future." 
 
 Sir Edward shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 " I am afraid your present view of the matter 
 comes too late. You know it is all settled now ; 
 she wrote to her aunt and arranged everything. 
 She would not change her plans without any 
 fresh reason for doing so. I am very willing 
 she should stay with us, but I don't see how it 
 could be managed, because " 
 
 ''Dad," said Judy, stepping nearer to him 
 and resting one hand on his shoulder, '' I have 
 had my own way all my life, and it is no use 
 your beginning to rebel now ! " 
 
 Sir Edward laughed with fresh amusement 
 at her perversity. 
 
 " What an obstinate little body it is ? " he 
 observed, with an air of remonstrance. " How 
 am I to prevent the girl going if she wishes to 
 do so ? " 
 
 '' But," persisted Judy, " she had a great
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 125 
 
 notion that she should be in the way when 
 Hugh came — that he might not like her being 
 here. Now that she sees this is not the case, I 
 believe, if you asked her, you would find she 
 does not wish to go." 
 
 Judy turned the paper-knife round and 
 round in her nervous fingers. The unnatural 
 colour which had been upon her cheeks was 
 rapidly fading. She was growing very white. 
 
 " It is really," said Sir Edward, after a pause, 
 " a matter for the girl herself to decide. I can 
 but ask her again what she wishes, and see 
 what she says." 
 
 " Yes," said Judy, " we will see what she 
 says." 
 
 " You are not going to bed, my dear ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am tired — very tired. Good night, 
 daddy." 
 
 She put her arms round his neck, and kissed 
 him softly on his cheek and among the locks 
 of his white hair ; then, turning away, she 
 walked from the room with that peculiar limp 
 which denoted haste.
 
 126 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! '' said Sir Edward. *' How- 
 did she get tired ? " 
 
 Upstairs, in Judy's room, the moonlight lay 
 across the floor. When she first entered she 
 wondered what it might be, for, only a few 
 moments previously, the night had been dark. 
 Walking to the window, she sat down and 
 looked out at the changed scene. The moon 
 had escaped from the darkness which before 
 enveloped it, and was floating through the 
 heavens, a clear ball of light against a back- 
 ground of dusky sky. The park was bathed in 
 a ghostly radiance ; the trees still were black 
 against the paler heavens, but their boughs 
 were fringed with light, and the ground seemed 
 to be covered with a chilly mantle of silver 
 frost. 
 
 Surely that pale light must feel cold and 
 soft ? Judy laid her head upon the window- 
 sill and closed her eyes. 
 
 Far away in the village, some band was 
 playing a dance-tune. The sound came faintly,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 127 
 
 mellowed by distance, and carried fitfully by 
 the sighing breeze. In the fine warm night 
 the village youths and maidens must be dancing 
 upon the green, doubtless all unwearied by the 
 hard work of the day which was past, all un- 
 mindful of the heavy turf over which, heavily 
 shod, they could yet turn and whirl with 
 inexhaustible energy. 
 
 Moving thus to the music with strong supple 
 limbs — with the spell of some simple romance 
 in their hearts mingling with the joy of their 
 own vigorous youth — were they conscious of 
 the wide stretch of starlight over their heads ; 
 of the mystery and stir of the dreamy night ; 
 of the soft rush and whisper of the breeze in 
 the dark boughs ; of the glimmer of moonlight 
 on the pool hard by, twinkling ceaselessly 
 through the trees? Did stolen glances and 
 halting speeches gain a strange magic in this 
 pale cold light ? When tired of the restless 
 energy of the music, did the dancers wander 
 away into the stillness, with the starlight and 
 that same calm moon rousing in their souls the
 
 128 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 elixir of hot-blooded youth and love? And 
 were there sad hearts, too, there amongst the 
 glad ones — souls to whom the moon and the 
 stars spoke only of lifelong pain ; of heart- 
 throbs which must be stilled by the languid 
 touch of cold joyless years ; of feet which lagged 
 with the strain of a mirth they did not feel, and 
 eyes bright only with the torment of unshed 
 tears ? Maybe these were to be found there also. 
 Judy raised her head and gazed through the 
 darkness, as though, beyond the silent park, 
 she could see a vision of the rustic dance. As 
 this moon and these stars seemed whispering 
 the old, old tale of love to-night, so had they 
 whispered it to generations which were now 
 dust, and so would they whisper it to genera- 
 tions which were yet to come. The forgotten 
 sleepers beneath those quiet green mounds in 
 the churchyard had, ere their blood slackened 
 and their hearts waxed still, all listened to this 
 tale ; had all felt the pulse beat quick and 
 the blood flow warm under its spell in these 
 still summer nights ; had all known the swift
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 129 
 
 intoxicating joy, the sharp torment, or the 
 slow numbing pain of a lifelong despair which 
 it had brought them. Ay, each little mound 
 of human dust had once so quickened and 
 gladdened at sight of one other little mound 
 which had chanced to live in the sunshine 
 while itself so lived, and now lay mingling 
 with the earth while itself so mingled. And 
 each little mound had, by chance or by design, 
 so worked the weal or woe of some other 
 little mound now lying still and silent as 
 itself. 
 
 So it had ever been since this world first 
 bore human life, and so it would be on into 
 the countless ages yet unknown. And just so 
 brief would ever be that joy or that anguish ! 
 To-day this little human dust lived and laughed ; 
 to-morrow it lay quiet and cold. To-night it 
 wandered joying in the warm breath of summer, 
 in the darkness, in the stars, in the eyes which 
 spoke to its soul of Love the Eternal which 
 could never wane nor chill ; to-morrow the 
 sweet breath of night might murmur about it, 
 
 VOL, II. K
 
 130 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 all the stars of heaven shine above it, the eyes 
 it loved might weep hot tears over it or smile 
 as brightly for another, and it would neither 
 know nor care. Just so brief was it all — so 
 brief ! 
 
 Judy laid her head back in the pale soft 
 light. 
 
 How long it was, she could not have told, 
 before her door opened gently, and, near her 
 in the moonlight, was standing a slender figure, 
 on whom the cold rays seemed to fall with 
 steely brightness. Centring upon the white 
 form, they gave to its beauty something un- 
 earthly, intangible ; but failed to pale the hue 
 of the warm living cheek, or the lustre of the 
 glad bright eyes. 
 
 " Judy," said Aline's voice, " why are you 
 sitting here in the dark ? I wondered if you 
 had gone to bed. I wanted to tell you some- 
 thing to-night." 
 
 Judy rose up from her chair, and stood, her 
 small figure outlined blackly against the pale 
 line of sky.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 131 
 
 " Yes ? " she said, in a tone of apathetic 
 inquiry. 
 
 '' Judy," said Aline, " I have something very 
 exciting to tell you. I came to tell you — I 
 am engaged to be married ! " 
 
 There was a great stillness in the room. 
 The white figure and the dark figure were 
 both silent. A cloud floated over the moon, 
 plunging them into darkness. 
 
 " Are you surprised, Judy ? or did you 
 guess it ? Do you know who I mean ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Judy, slowly ; " I know." 
 
 " I am afraid you must be tired to-night," 
 said Aline, a shade of disappointment mingling 
 with the happy excitement of her voice. " If 
 so, I won't stay to bother you — I can tell you all 
 about it in the morning ; but we settled it this 
 evening ; and look ! " — she tendered for inspec- 
 tion her little hand, with a heavy gold signet- 
 ring upon the fourth finger — " it is too dark 
 for you to see, but Hugh says this has never 
 been off his finger since he was a small boy, 
 so I expect you know it. It is a great deal too
 
 132 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 big for me, but I am to wear it till he can 
 get me a proper engagement-ring." 
 
 Judy turned towards the window. 
 
 " Does Hugh know everything ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Aline, hurriedly. " How 
 could I say anything ? And why should I ? 
 He has not given me his love conditionally ! " 
 She gave a short laugh. 
 
 "You will put yourself in a very false 
 position," said Judy, stolidly, still looking out 
 of the window. "/ shall say nothing, and 
 father is not at all likely to mention it; but 
 Hugh is sure to hear, sooner or later." 
 
 " Judy ! " exclaimed Aline, nearly crying, 
 * * it would make no difference if he did ; and it 
 is horridly unkind of you to rake up disagree- 
 able matters to-night of all nights ! I was so 
 happy when I came here to tell you, and now 
 you have spoilt it all and made me wretched. 
 How can you know what I feel ? " she added 
 petulantly. "You can't know or understand 
 what love means, and how we care for each 
 other. You go out of your way to fling in my
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 133 
 
 face wliat I might more justly be pitied for. 
 I might as well taunt you with " 
 
 She paused abruptly. 
 
 *^ With my deformity ? Yes ! " supplemented 
 Judy, quietly ; yet she shrank back as though 
 she had been struck. The words seemed to 
 vibrate harshly and repeat themselves from the 
 walls of the room. 
 
 " Of course I shall tell Hugh some day/' 
 Aline continued quickly. " It would be so 
 different when we are married. Why can't 
 you leave me to manage my own affairs ? " 
 
 " Certainly ! " Judy drew herself up to the 
 extent of her diminutive height. " Besides, 
 even / can understand you are wise not to run 
 any risk of losing Lilcot and all your marriage 
 with Hugh entails." 
 
 Again there was an oppressive silence in 
 the room. Outside, the trees whispered in the 
 night ; far away, in the village, the band played 
 with insistence — ^quickly, gladly. Then the 
 moon rode from behind a cloud, and, creeping 
 into the quiet room, fell upon the black figure
 
 134 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 as it stepped hastily forwards and flung its 
 arms round the neck of the white one. 
 
 " Oh, I am a cad, Nel — a cad ! " cried Judy. 
 " I wish you luck with my whole heart. And 
 for the rest — you may forgive me, Nellie — 
 forgive me ! " 
 
 An hour later, when the house was very 
 silent, with all its lights out, its doors safely 
 bolted against unwelcome intruders, and its 
 inhabitants presumably at rest, the setting 
 moon still shed a pale light over the park ; 
 and at the one unshuttered window on the 
 white front of the house a little figure still 
 sat watching — very reflective, very motionless. 
 The white rays, stealing into the silent room 
 behind it, emphasized all on which they rested 
 with cold brightness, and, touching a minute 
 circle of gold which lay upon the floor, made 
 it glitter palely, tinting it the hue of a less 
 precious metal. 
 
 Was there something ominous in the fact 
 that Aline Graham, in the excitement of her
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 135 
 
 newly-found happiness, should have let the 
 temporary engagement-ring drop from off her 
 finger ? 
 
 And was there something ominous in the 
 action of the little dark figure, who, on espying 
 the small circle, picked it up hurriedly, placed 
 it upon her own thin finger, kissed it hungrily, 
 and, pressing it to her cheeks — her lips — her 
 breast — burst into a crazy storm of tears ?
 
 "That hair, not unlike yours — as bright, but with a 
 warmer golden tinge ! 
 Those eyes, a somewhat deeper light, that dreamed 
 
 beneath a longer fringe ! 
 And still that strange grave smile she had stays in 
 my soul and keeps it sad." 
 
 Owen Meredith.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 139 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 Sir Edward took the announcement of Hugh's 
 engagement with but slight surprise. He 
 always accepted with unruffled condescension 
 all arrangements made for him by Providence 
 without his special sanction. 
 
 " I could have wished you might have found 
 some girl amongst the neighbouring county- 
 families — and trouble might come of this. Still, 
 the girl is a very sweet little girl, and it is a 
 great comfort to me to think she should have 
 some natural protector," was his somewhat 
 enigmatic comment. 
 
 Hugh concluded that the reference to some 
 trouble connected with the engagement referred 
 to the fact that Aline's relations, being poor,
 
 140 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 miglit consider her marriage an excellent op- 
 portunity for palming themselves off upon her. 
 He remembered having heard that his aunt, 
 Lady Lilcot, had been afflicted with an ever- 
 increasing train of impecunious Scotch cousins, 
 of whom Sir Edward had a righteous horror. 
 Possibly some of these had been G-rahams. He 
 decided to question Aline on the subject of her 
 relatives at some convenient opportunity. It 
 was well to be prepared for the worst I 
 
 The engagement was not to be publicly 
 announced for the present. Only a few inti- 
 mate friends were to be initiated into the news 
 which later — Judy remarked — would fall like a 
 bombshell amongst the hopes of many buoyant- 
 hearted mothers. It was a question at present 
 whether Hugh would or would not be able to 
 avoid returning to India as before arranged ; 
 and, until this matter was decided, the date of 
 the marriage was so extremely indefinite, that 
 it was as well to delay universal speculation on 
 this subject. 
 
 Among the friends who were to be told,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 141 
 
 under pledge of secrecy, Aline stipulated the 
 Daltons must be the first. 
 
 " You see," she explained, " Alice is a great 
 friend of mine, so afterwards, when she heard 
 about it, she would think me so disagreeable 
 not to have told her. Besides " — Aline's face 
 grew mischievous — " it will be kind to set Mrs. 
 Dalton's mind at rest ; she is always so nervous 
 about her sweet Frank ! " 
 
 Hugh laughed — a miniature laugh of com- 
 placency and gratified vanity. 
 
 " Frank is so much to be pitied, I feel quite 
 generously disposed towards him," he observed, 
 stroking his moustache. " Yes, let us have the 
 dog-cart and drive over there to tea." 
 
 They were standing by the window in the 
 dining-room. Judy, having arrived late upon 
 the scene, was still eating her breakfast. Now 
 she looked up for a moment. 
 
 " It will rain," she observed laconically. 
 
 " It certainly looks doubtful," admitted Aline; 
 " but if it holds up we may as well go ; and do 
 please be sure to come too, Judy, because, until
 
 142 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 our engagement is announced, Hugh and I bad 
 better not be seen driving about the country- 
 alone. As neither you nor I would like the 
 back seat of the dog-cart for a nine miles' drive, 
 had we not better have the pony-carriage to 
 take us up to the station and go by train ? " 
 
 " Go in the phaeton," suggested Judy. " I 
 don't mind taking a back seat then ! " 
 
 " Well, if you really don't mind that, it 
 would do charmingly," said Aline, with a shy 
 glance at Hugh to see if he approved of this 
 plan. 
 
 " Would it not be a better arrangement for 
 Judy and the groom to go in the front, and 
 for ourselves to occupy the back seat ? " he 
 whispered in her ear. 
 
 For answer, she held up her finger with 
 reproving archness. 
 
 " It is really very good of you to do Goose- 
 berry so willingly, Judy," she said aloud. 
 '^ It must be quite the first time you have been 
 pressed into the service ! I am afraid you will 
 find it a dull office ! "
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 143 
 
 " On tlie contrary," said Judy, cheerfully, " I 
 cannot imagine anything more amusing ! " 
 
 Aline bit her lip, and Hugh hastened to 
 change the subject. 
 
 " You have heard no more of your ring, have 
 you, Aline ? '' he inquired. 
 
 Aline shook her head. 
 
 " Nothing whatever. It was so odd the way 
 I lost it. As I told you, directly I got back to 
 my room that evening I noticed it was gone, 
 and I walked all down the passage again hunt- 
 ing for it. I was afraid of going back to Judy's 
 room then, because she had gone to bed ; but 
 the next morning I asked her to look for it, 
 and she said it was nowhere on the floor 
 there." 
 
 " Wei], it is of no importance," said Hugh, 
 contriving to imprison the ringless hand — Judy 
 being intent on her breakfast. " In a few days 
 I shall run up to town and choose something 
 prettier than that clumsy old signet-ring, which 
 I merely put on your finger because " — he 
 lowered his voice — " because I could not bear to
 
 144 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 leave this little hand another night without 
 some badge of — of " 
 
 *' Servitude ? " suggested Judy, briskly. 
 
 Aline, with a wrathful glance in the direction 
 of the breakfast-table, withdrew her hand, and 
 announcing that she heard the butler in the 
 next room, disappeared into the drawing-room 
 to order the carriage. 
 
 Hugh, awaiting her return, remained looking 
 out of the window with that species of vacant 
 smile upon his face in which persons engaged 
 in pleasant rumination so often indulge, to the 
 irritation of their less agreeably occupied 
 fellows. Truth to tell, he was at this moment 
 supremely satisfied with the world in general 
 and himself in particular. He had behaved — 
 so he told himself — in a more honourable and 
 praiseworthy manner than most men would have 
 done under similar circumstances to those in 
 which he had found himself, and virtue had 
 brought more than its proverbially meagre 
 reward. The step which, but for the necessity 
 for immediate action, he might never have
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 145 
 
 taken, which, at all events, he wonld have post- 
 poned — dallying with Fate and always fearful 
 of bringing his deliberation to a close — that 
 step he had been led to adopt with a haste 
 which left him aghast, only to discover he 
 had, after all, been startled into doing what 
 was indispensable to his happiness. 
 
 He was heartily relieved that the decision 
 had — in a way — been thrust upon him, and that 
 he might comfortably dwell upon the pros of 
 matrimony rather than the cons. It saved a 
 lot of trouble to realize he was unquestionably 
 in the mesh beyond escape, and so might give 
 himself up, without one sigh of regret, to the 
 satisfaction of his present bliss. Certainly, he 
 assured himself, he was very much in love ; the 
 girl was charming; she bewitched him with 
 her bright eyes and her lovely face; and then, 
 she was so very much in love with him, which 
 was a soothing circumstance. 
 
 How pleasant home-life would be with such 
 a delightful little companion ! How well she 
 would look at the head of his table! How 
 
 YOL. II. L
 
 146 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 cliarmingly she would do the honours of the 
 house ! He would invite some of his brother- 
 officers down to shoot — it would be quite safe — 
 she had not eyes for anybody but him. How 
 she would help him to improve the old home ! 
 Even in Sir Edward's lifetime they might do a 
 great deal towards renovating it. They could 
 plan so many improvements together, and " 
 
 There was a slight movement beside him. 
 He looked down, expecting to see the bright 
 refreshing face of the girl who was occupying 
 his thoughts, and beheld instead Judy, who, 
 having come noiselessly across from the break- 
 fast-table, was now standing near him by the 
 window. 
 
 The sight of her at that moment came with 
 a distressingly unpleasant shock. In the airy 
 habitation he had been fashioning, he had 
 provided no niche in which this poor little 
 incubus could be conveniently deposited. The 
 remembrance of her existence was out of 
 keeping with his present train of thought ; she 
 was altogether so incongruous in the world
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 147 
 
 where lie had heen wandering — a world of roses 
 and love and eternal sunshine, where came 
 nothing unsightly nor inharmonious. 
 
 And yet, though happiness has its own 
 peculiar phase of selfishness, it none the less 
 fills the heart with a kindliness all its own. 
 Out of the abundance of his own content, Hugh 
 felt more than ever ready to be generous to 
 this unfortunate little creature. He remembered 
 with a passing sense of annoyance that she had 
 on one or two occasions spoken disparagingly of 
 Aline ; but then she was so generally unaccount- 
 able and peculiar, it was absurd to pay much 
 attention to her erratic remarks ; she seemed to 
 get on fairly well with Aline, and it must 
 certainly be pleasanter to her that the future 
 mistress of her old home would be a girl who 
 was like her own sister, and not a stranger with 
 whom she would have no past in common. 
 
 " Judy," he began cautiously, " I don't 
 believe you have ever congratulated me on 
 my engagement." 
 
 Judy looked up quickly.
 
 148 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " Eeally ? " she said. " Well, I am always a 
 little confused as to whether an engagement is 
 a subject for congratulation or condolence ; but, 
 if you prefer to be congratulated — by all means 
 I congratulate you ! " 
 
 " I should have thought you would have felt 
 little doubt of my good fortune in the present 
 case," remarked Hugh, a slight vexation finding 
 vent in his voice. 
 
 "I would sooner congratulate you than 
 Aline," said Judy, reflectively. 
 
 " Why so ? " 
 
 " Because engagements are all very well, but 
 they are so apt to end in matrimony ; and, you 
 see " — Judy screwed up her face into the cari- 
 cature of a smile — " from a feminine point of 
 view, man is so like fire — * a good servant, but 
 a bad master.' " 
 
 Hugh told himself that Judy's would-be 
 facetiousness was even more far-fetched and 
 ill-timed than usual. He was determined not 
 to smile, and, after a moment's silence, con- 
 tinued seriously —
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 149 
 
 "However, Judy, you must be pleased at 
 the turn events have taken from a personal 
 point of view? Is it not pleasant to you to 
 feel that, as I certainly consider myself in the 
 position of your brother, you can look upon 
 Aline as a genuine sister in the future ? " 
 
 Judy was toying with the velvet curtain 
 near which she stood. She lifted up the thick 
 rich folds and placed them in different positions 
 — now high, now low, now tight, now loose. 
 She was apparently too absorbed in her occupa- 
 tion to attend to his question. Hugh, after a 
 pause, still anxious to improve the opportunity, 
 continued with tactless good-nature — 
 
 " You know you must always look upon 
 my home as yours, Judy. We should certainly 
 like you always to live with us. We should 
 feel " 
 
 The curtain swung heavily back from Judy's 
 nerveless fingers. She turned slowly to him 
 with a look which startled him in her angry 
 eyes. 
 
 " Your kind offer," she said frigidly, *' is a
 
 150 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 trifle premature. At present you are a visitor 
 in my home ! " 
 
 Then, turning her back upon him, she 
 walked from the room, and left him to give 
 vent to his feelings in a whistle of surprise and 
 dismay. 
 
 Judy's prognostic of the weather came true. 
 About eleven o'clock rain began to fall heavily, 
 and continued with steady plodding vigour, 
 accompanied by sounds of distant thunder, 
 until four in the afternoon, when the sky 
 cleared and the sun shone forth upon a moist 
 fragrant world. It was then too late to start 
 for the Daltons', and Hugh suggested to Aline 
 that they might as well employ the time till 
 dinner in going for a row on the lake, Judy 
 having decided to take a short walk with her 
 father. 
 
 Accordingly, having waited for the ground 
 to partially dry, they set forth. The air was 
 cold and fresh after the rain, with more of 
 autumn than summer in its breath. The
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 151 
 
 puddles lay like miniature lakes, reflecting the 
 watery blue of the sky. At intervals the trees 
 tossed their boughs and rid themselves of a 
 spatter of drops, which they had apparently kept 
 in reserve to facetiously shed upon any chance 
 passer-by. 
 
 Aline, wrapping her fur-edged cloak closely 
 about her, trod briskly over the heavy road. 
 She wore the little scarlet cap, which had, as 
 usual, slipped to one side of her head, and the 
 soft tendrils of her hair waved and clung about 
 the vivid hue which increased their fairness. 
 On arriving at the bridge, she announced her 
 intention of waiting there while Hugh went 
 over the wet grass to the boat-house and rowed 
 back to fetch her. He therefore hastened away, 
 and in the course of a few moments, reappearing 
 in the boat, assisted her into it, and arranged 
 the cushions that she might sit facing him. 
 
 Then he began rowing energetically towards 
 the north end of the lake, his gaze still bent 
 upon the charming face opposite to him, with 
 its arch, demure expression and its little white
 
 152 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 neck, which peeped so prettily from the cosy- 
 ruffle of brown fur, till — finding that two soft 
 cheeks, of which one is about to take a lifelong 
 lease, are tantalizing to view at a distance, and 
 that love, unlike faith, demands substantial 
 criterion of its good things — he suggested it 
 would be pleasanter to let the boat drift, and, 
 laying down his oars, came near to Aline. 
 Then, seating himself in the bottom of the 
 boat at her feet, he rested his head on the 
 cushion beside her, and resigned himself to 
 the realization of her near presence and the 
 delight of her caressing touch, while the boat 
 drifted lazily on, sometimes propelled steadily 
 forwards for a few yards by the imperceptible 
 current which flowed towards the weir, then 
 lagging all but motionless in mid-stream, or 
 veering sideways towards the bank. 
 
 The lake was swollen, and the ripples upon 
 its surface danced the boat up and down, and 
 flecked the usually smooth water w^ith crested 
 ridges of mock billows. Nature, generally, 
 had the appearance of being a trifle demoralized
 
 A LIFE AWRY, 163 
 
 — an air of restless expectancy, as though, her 
 serenity once disturbed, she could not regain 
 her former calm, but dreaded some repetition 
 of what had aroused her. Over the entire 
 country there brooded an atmosphere of change 
 and unrest, which had introduced into its placid 
 beauty some new element of stir and mystery. 
 The trees upon the bank kept quivering noise- 
 lessly, and sending a shower of pattering drops 
 into the water like some brief renewal of the 
 storm. The Scotch cattle, with their shaggy 
 coats all damp and bright from the rain, had 
 collected near the water, and, neither browsing 
 nor drinking, stood in little groups, staring 
 vacantly before them with an anxious expres- 
 sion in their melancholy eyes. The air was 
 now humid and close, now stirred with a chill 
 restless breeze. About the horizon cluug a 
 bank of sullen clouds. 
 
 1. The boat drifted hither and thither on the 
 water, and the conversation of the lovers 
 drifted as rudderlessly from one topic to 
 another, with the one underlying current of
 
 154 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 love making lieadway througliout. The same 
 senseless little speeches, the like infantine terms 
 of endearment, all the quaint babble which 
 Love teaches his puppets, were re-uttered as 
 they have been spoken by scores of men and 
 women caught in this same — what may we 
 call it? — reason-annulling mesh of passion. 
 The glances, the smiles, the caresses — all 
 Love's dumb eloquence, was re-enacted, as it 
 is eternally enacted wherever life and its 
 strange complement of sex has sprung into 
 being. But this same tender interpretation 
 of Love, fraught with so much poetry, so much 
 wealth of meaning to those who employ it, is 
 apt to prove curiously pointless to the saner 
 portion of the world — the portion who as yet 
 await initiation at his hands, or who are en- 
 deavouring to forget his too vivid teachings. 
 
 " Hughie," said Aline, suddenly (among his 
 other eccentricities. Love has a liking for the 
 production of inanities out of the most sonorous 
 names), " I wish you would tell me — have you 
 ever loved any one before you met me ? "
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 155 
 
 Many women have asked men tlils question, 
 and many men have found it embarrassing. 
 
 Hugh, as usual under the circumstances, 
 temporized. 
 
 " There are many kinds of love, dearest," he 
 said, " that I could not explain to you. I have 
 felt love in different forms, but never — that I 
 can assure you — in its true beauty and power 
 till now." 
 
 " Judy says," and Aline smiled, " that one 
 may be a man's last love, but to be his first — he 
 must love one in his cradle ! " 
 
 Hugh looked up at her face. 
 
 " Judy aspires to profound knowledge of the 
 world," he murmured. " It was only yesterday 
 she informed me that, in each new love, man 
 sees his ' last,' but death only decides when 
 his vision shall be correct." 
 
 Aline stroked his hair with a lingering touch. 
 
 " Tell me," she said softly — " did you ever 
 think you had met your ' last ' before you knew 
 me?" 
 
 Again Hugh hesitated. Various episodes,
 
 156 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 buried and forgotten, now stirred unpleasantly 
 in their graves and threatened to come forth. 
 With feelings of repulsion he viewed the array 
 of dead faces, and one only did he invite the 
 girl beside him to inspect, partly from expe- 
 diency, partly because the grave wherein the 
 dead love lay was reputable, and could boast a 
 fair white tombstone with name and date writ 
 legibly and boldly for the world to read. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I was engaged to a girl out 
 in India for a short time — barely three weeks. 
 She was pretty, and I fancied myself very much 
 in love with her at the time, but she plaj^ed me 
 a trick which cured my infatuation effectually." 
 
 " Tell me about it," said Aline, deeply in- 
 terested. 
 
 " I will tell you the ins and outs of the case 
 another time," he said. '* This evening I am 
 too contented to care to rake up disagreeable 
 reminiscences, but the mere facts were as 
 follows. The girl in question was the penniless 
 daughter of a retired major, who, on her father's 
 death, came out to live with her sister — the wife
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 157 
 
 of one of the fellows in my regiment. The 
 fact of my being poor, although the reputed 
 heir to a large property, gave rise to erroneous 
 rumours of my future estate being deeply mort- 
 gaged, of heavy family debts, etc., and there 
 was a pretty general impression — though at the 
 time I was not aware of it — that in my case 
 a rich wife was indispensable. The girl in 
 question, consequently, seeing she had attracted 
 my attention, and, I suppose, considering that, 
 even though poor, I was more eligible than any 
 one else she had a chance of entrapping, passed 
 herself off as an heiress, and persuaded her 
 sister to back her up in this manoeuvre. 
 Naturally I was not on the look-out for money, 
 and, even had I been, should have proposed 
 to no girl solely with a view to profiting by 
 her income ; but when I found out the fraud 
 being practised on me, I broke off the engage- 
 ment in disgust, and the girl's relations 
 promptly gave out that I had proposed to her 
 believing she had money, and, on finding out 
 my mistake, had jilted her ! It was very dis-
 
 158 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 agreeable for me, but those of mj friends who 
 knew my circumstances in England, and that, 
 as far as my future was concerned, money 
 would be no object to me, while for the present 
 my uncle had at any time agreed to give me 
 sufficient income if I wished to marry, under- 
 stood the fabrication." 
 
 For a few moments Aline made no comment 
 upon his story; when she spoke there was 
 something of solicitude in her voice. 
 
 " But she may not have deceived you from 
 entirely mercenary motives — supposing that she 
 cared for you so that at any price she could 
 not bear to lose you ? " 
 
 " That is most unlikely," said Hugh. " You 
 judge others, dear, by the light of your own 
 generous heart. But love, which for any 
 price can drag itself in the dirt, must be 
 worthless." 
 
 He felt rather proud of the sentiment ex- 
 pressed in this last remark, and repeated it to 
 himself with private satisfaction. 
 
 Aline tightened her clasp of his hand.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 159 
 
 "But — "she said, "ifyou had married her — ?" 
 
 "I should not be here so contentedly with 
 yon, I imagine ! My darling " — for she had 
 grown quite pale — " why trouble yourself about 
 what is over and done with — what was never 
 very real to me ? It is all buried now, dearest, 
 as dead as though it had never lived its brief 
 life, and what has taken its place is real and 
 true and beautiful as the dead love never was. 
 I am sorry I told you if it hurts you so to hear 
 it, but you obliged me to do so." 
 
 " Yes, yes," agreed Aline ; " it is best there 
 should be no secrets between us." 
 
 Hugh smiled again with the air of one who 
 is soothing a frightened child. 
 
 " And so, sweet one, we will talk of the happy 
 present and the happier future, and forget all 
 the past before our lives became blended." 
 
 But Aline, like Nature, seemed to have had 
 her serenity ruffled and to have some difficulty 
 in recovering it. As Hugh continued to talk 
 at random on any subject which occurred to 
 him under the belief that he was distracting her
 
 160 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 attention, slie still looked preoccupied and per- 
 turbed, till at last, bialf fretfully, she suggested 
 they should go home. 
 
 " See how dark it is getting," she said ; " it 
 must be late, and there is a damp mist rising till 
 I am quite cold. Row me back to the bridge, 
 Hugh, and then put up the boat as quickly as 
 you can and we will walk home." 
 
 In fact, the evening had closed in unusually 
 early owing to the heavy clouds which were re- 
 assembling over the face of the sky. Daylight 
 seemed to be waning a full hour before the 
 ordinary time ; and although, near the water, 
 the breeze which wandered over the lake had 
 left the air clear and soft, above the damp grass, 
 and especially in the sheltered hollows in the 
 park, hung a white mist, rapidly spreading, and 
 growing each moment more distinct. 
 
 Hugh somewhat reluctantly rose and re- 
 sumed the oars. The boat had reached the 
 utmost limit of the lake, being almost within 
 dangerous proximity to the weir, and a con- 
 siderable space of water lay between it and the
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 161 
 
 bridge from whicli it had originally drifted. 
 As he rowed rapidly back through the gather- 
 ing twilight, the breeze seemed to drop, and the 
 mist came creeping stealthily to the very edge 
 of the water, where it hovered and rose like a 
 great white wall on either bank. Soon the 
 bridge appeared in ghostly outline through the 
 veil of fog, and Hugh, turning the boat land- 
 wards, moored it temporarily to the bank, and 
 sprang ashore that he might help Aline to 
 alight. 
 
 " I must just row back to the boat-house, 
 dear," he said. " I won't be a minute. Will 
 you wait for me as before on the bridge ? " 
 
 " Yes — but be as quick as you can ! " pleaded 
 Aline with a shiver. " I am so cold, and it is 
 getting so damp and horrid ; I am sure it is 
 going to rain again." 
 
 Without waiting to discuss this debatable 
 question, Hugh sprang back into the boat and 
 rowed away with all possible speed. The boat- 
 house lay the other side of the promontory 
 which jutted out far across the lake, and this 
 
 VOL. n. M
 
 162 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 was unfortunate, as it considerably lengthened 
 the distance he had to go, which would have 
 otherwise been but a few yards. He had 
 just rounded the extreme point of the green 
 slope, when a few ominous drops of rain fell, 
 and, reflecting it was preferable to risk the boat 
 being rained upon during one night than that 
 Aline should be caught in the approaching 
 storm, he hurriedly decided to row no further, 
 but to content himself with mooring the boat 
 quickly to the bank and leaving it in partial 
 shelter under a thick tree. 
 
 Leaning over towards the land, he seized a 
 chain which was lying on the grass, and drew 
 himself to the bank ; then springing ashore, he 
 busied himself in endeavouring to fasten the 
 rusty padlock through the staple of the boat. But 
 this was no easy matter. The clasp of the pad- 
 lock was so stiff he could not wrench it open, 
 and as he stood fumbling with it, it broke away 
 from the iron ring to which it was attached in a 
 peculiarly irritating manner, and the chain fell 
 down into the water. Hugh fished it out im-
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 163 
 
 patiently, and having succeeded in fastening 
 the padlock to its ring, he once more attacked 
 the obdurate clasp. 
 
 As he stood struggling to wrench it asunder, 
 in a fever of annoyance at having to keep 
 Aline waiting so much longer than he expected, 
 he became alive to an impression that something 
 had brushed lightly against him. It was as 
 though the wind had blown some flimsy 
 woman's attire about him with soft clinging 
 touch. He could have fancied himself back in 
 the boat with Aline beside him, and her cloak 
 lifted by the breeze wrapping itself lightly about 
 him. 
 
 He glanced round and saw, to his surprise, 
 that behind him in the mist stood Aline herself, 
 a look of distress — almost of fear, it seemed to 
 him — in her pale face, and her eyes fixed on 
 him with a peculiar expression, which seemed 
 to make their brightness almost glassy. 
 
 " Aline ! " he exclaimed remorsefully, " why 
 have you come across this wet grass ? Were 
 you nervous left alone in the fog ? Confound
 
 164 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 this thing ! " and he turned again to the wet 
 chain. " I have been fumbling at it for the 
 last ten minutes, it seems to me, with no result 
 whatever ! And, as the boat is a new one, I 
 am afraid of leaving it to drift down the weir. 
 However, wait a moment, and I'll settle it as 
 best I can." 
 
 He stooped down again, and drawing the 
 boat closer to the bank, flung the chain round 
 one of the seats and proceeded to tie it in a 
 clumsy knot. 
 
 " If this will keep fastened, it will prevent 
 the boat drifting," he said ; " and I will turn 
 the cushions over in case it is a wet night. I 
 am dreadfully sorry to have kept you waiting, 
 but it was really not my fault." 
 
 Aline made no reply. He pushed the boat 
 away to test whether it was securely fastened, 
 and at the same moment there came to his ears 
 the sound of a dull thud in the water near at 
 hand, while through the dusk he perceived long 
 circles rippling across the lake and stealthily 
 chasing each other out of sight.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 165 
 
 " That was a good-sized fish," he observed 
 carelessly, as he rose to his feet. " What sort 
 of fellow should you guess him to be ? " and he 
 turned, expecting some comment from Aline, 
 whose piscatorial interests he had reason to 
 believe were strongly developed. 
 
 To his further surprise he now found she was 
 no longer by his side. He peered through the 
 mist and called her name softly, but there was 
 no response, and, as far as it was possible to 
 penetrate the combined forces of fog and twi- 
 light, he could perceive no trace of any human 
 figure near at hand. 
 
 Somewhat startled, he made his way slowly 
 along by the water, each moment expecting to 
 hear a voice welcome him, and see a figure 
 emerge from the clinging dampness to meet 
 him. But as neither sight nor sound gave 
 token of the girl who had a moment before been 
 at his side, he became perplexed. Could she 
 have been so unreasonably put out with him for 
 having kept her waiting, that she had started 
 for home without warning him of her intention ?
 
 166 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 It was so unlike Aline to exhibit such petty- 
 temper, that he dismissed the idea as absurd. 
 Increasing his speed, he strode away from the 
 promontory, and, as he again approached the 
 bridge, to his rehef he descried the faint indica- 
 tion of a figure leaning over the parapet. 
 
 Almost simultaneously Aline's voice came 
 pleasantly to his ears. 
 
 " So here you are ! " she cried. " I thought 
 you were never coming ! " 
 
 " It was partly your fault, dear, that I was so 
 long," said Hugh, advancing quickly to take 
 the two little hands she extended to him as 
 she ran down to meet him. " I delayed, look- 
 ing about for you near the boat-house. I 
 did not think you had come back to the 
 bridge." 
 
 " Come back to the bridge ? " repeated Aline, 
 looking at him in unfeigned astonishment. 
 " What do you mean ? I told you where 
 you would find me, and I have never left 
 here." 
 
 Hugh laughed.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 167 
 
 " You clever little humbug ! " he said. " I am 
 sorry to disappoint you, but I am afraid you 
 can't trick me into believing that ! " 
 
 " Hugh, what do you mean ? " reiterated 
 Aline, now looking up at him with such 
 astonishment depicted on her face, that he 
 could scarcely believe it to be otherwise than 
 genuine. 
 
 "Simply this," he answered more gravely. 
 " You were standino: close to me when I was 
 at the boat-house. I spoke to you, explaining 
 what had delayed me, and asking you to wait 
 for me. When I had succeeded in fastening 
 the boat to the bank I looked for you, and you 
 were nowhere to be seen." 
 
 Allne's eyes seemed to be expanding with a 
 sudden horror. 
 
 " Did you hear me speak to you ? " she 
 inquired, catching hold of his arm, as though 
 afraid he might leave her. 
 
 " No, I did not," admitted Hugh. " I spoke 
 to you three times, and you gave me no 
 answer. As you were close beside me, and
 
 168 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 must have heard what I said, I thought you 
 more than usually uncivil ! " 
 
 But Aline held him v^ith a look of growing 
 terror on her face which he could no longer 
 imagine was assumed. 
 
 " Oh, you have seen Aline Davies' ghost ! " 
 she whispered, coming closer to him till he 
 could feel her shivering. " Oh, take me away 
 from here, Hugh ! I am so frightened ! It is 
 all so horrible — horrible ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush, my darling ! " said Hugh, 
 putting his arm about her and trying to soothe 
 her. " I never saw Aline Davies, and don't 
 know what her ghost should be like. But what 
 I saw just now was you, sweet ! Your eyes, 
 your hair, your own dear face ; only I thought 
 you looked scared — as you are looking now. 
 What can be the explanation of it ? Did you 
 never leave the road and come to look for 
 
 " Oh, don't ! " cried Aline, hiding her face 
 against his arm as though to stop any further 
 description. " Other people have seen her. I
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 169 
 
 know so well what it is. Oh, take me away ! 
 Be quick and take me away before she comes 
 back ! " 
 
 ''This is folly, dear," said Hugh, gently, 
 leading her away over the bridge. " Listen ! 
 My imagination must have tricked me in this. 
 Can't you understand that, as I have you in 
 my eyes, in my heart, in my brain, nothing is 
 more likely than that your image should take 
 shape through my imagination? Or see," he 
 continued, growing convinced by the force of 
 his own eloquence, " another explanation of it ! 
 The girl I saw seemed to me to resemble you ; 
 but it was a resemblance such as one may see 
 of a beloved face in dreams. Though this did 
 not strike me at the time, I realize it now. I 
 seemed to see her pale, whereas you are usually 
 rosy ; she had hungry, unpleasant eyes, unlike 
 your merry ones ; and — the fog may have 
 wrapped her about — but, as far as I can recall 
 what I saw in that momentary glance, her 
 dress looked light and flimsy ; not a warm soft 
 brown like the one you are wearing. It must
 
 170 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 have been some village girl, and wlien I 
 looked round and saw her through the fog — 
 knowing that I had kept you waiting an un- 
 reasonable time, and with you very much on 
 my mind — what more natural than that I should 
 fancy I saw you arrived to scold me ? " 
 
 But, in spite of his arguments, Aline con- 
 tinued strangely unnerved and hysterical. 
 
 " Don't let us talk about it ! " she pleaded, 
 and he could feel her still trembling in his 
 arms. " You will only make it so much worse. 
 Let us be quick and get back to the lights and 
 warmth ! " 
 
 And she hurried along with an unreasoning 
 fear still depicted upon her face, and her hand 
 nervously clasping his.
 
 " This beautiful external nature, these still waters, 
 these majestic hills, I have not been worthy of them. 
 Where was the peace of mind, where the greatness and 
 tranquillity . . . which all nature symbolizes? Not in 
 me ! not in me ! or only for an instant. On my best 
 hours such little thoughts, such little cares, intruded. I 
 have flowed weak as water. Any straw could turn me. 
 A jest, a look, a laugh, has thrown trouble into my soul ; 
 a pain, a lassitude, a sick and morbid feeling, has changed 
 the current of a whole philosophy. 
 
 " We would be gazing, upward and around, at some 
 divine spectacle— gazing with calm and dilated souls — 
 and lo ! there is ever some thorn in the sandal we must 
 first stoop to extract." — Thorndale.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 173 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 " Judy," said Aline, " I want to order a new 
 evening-dress. What colour do you advise ? I 
 have been thinking and thinking this afternoon, 
 but I cannot decide what would be best. You 
 see," she added, with a little blush, " I want 
 something which is specially becoming ! When 
 there is somebody who cares much about one, 
 it is quite strange how anxious it makes one to 
 look one's best." 
 
 " Quite strange ! " acquiesced Judy, with an 
 all but imperceptible smile. " I may say the 
 change in your case is really remarkable ! But " 
 — she leant her head back against the heap of 
 newly-mown grass in which she was sitting, 
 and stared up at the sky — "at present there
 
 174 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 are no colours in the world for me but a 
 glorious unfathomable blue or a dazzling vapoury 
 white — unless I include the green of the foliage 
 where I see it trembling against the sky." She 
 turned lazily round. " Yet no ! there is a 
 grey over there, a pallid blending of the vivid 
 blue and white, and yonder is a cloud tinged 
 with pink. "Wait till sunset-time, then there 
 will be endless suggestions in the sky." 
 
 " But, my dear Judy," said Aline, from the 
 neighbouring heap of grass, "blue never did 
 suit me ; and I have several whites — all of them 
 a trifle messy now — but I don't want to get 
 another. Grey is a great deal too old for me ; 
 and as for green — think what the green of the 
 foliage would be for a dress ! Hideous ! Do 
 be practical. Whatever colours one sees in 
 the sky and in Nature generally, one cannot 
 cut off a bit to send to a shop as a pattern." 
 
 " No more can you cut a pattern off my 
 imagination," said Judy, still gazing at the 
 depth of dazzling atmosphere overhead. " I 
 am a bad person to consult on practical sugges-
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 175 
 
 tions for dress. When I try to picture clothes 
 
 I should really like, I find I have transformed 
 
 my common everyday acquaintances into 
 
 mediaeval princes and princesses, and clothed 
 
 them in gorgeous garments not at all suitable 
 
 to this tight-fitting tailor-made age ! " She sat 
 
 up and brushed some of the grass off her dress. 
 
 " Oh, the portion of our surroundings which 
 
 we ourselves fashion is so frightful, Nel! I 
 
 should like to live in a world where everything 
 
 had been made pictorial ; where there was a 
 
 suggestion of poetry in the houses we built, in 
 
 the clothes we wore ; where everyday existence 
 
 might lend itself to the production of the like 
 
 exquisite pictures Nature is always presenting 
 
 to us. Surely even ugliness, so-called, properly 
 
 dealt with, would exist as such no more, but 
 
 would assume its true position in the general 
 
 order of things as the grotesquely picturesque — 
 
 merely a something giving variety and force 
 
 to an otherwise monotonously smiling picture, 
 
 just as Nature's wildness and gruesomeness 
 
 gives contrast and tone to her phases of quiet
 
 176 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 loveliness, while both are magnificent in their 
 way. Oh, I should like to reconstruct the 
 world we have made on a new pattern, and 
 try if, by banishing the ugliness from our 
 external surroundings, we did not banish some 
 of the ugliness from our own hearts at the 
 same time ! " 
 
 " Eeally, Judy, you are hopeless when you 
 ramble on like this ! " said Aline, stirring im- 
 patiently amongst her heap of sweet-scented 
 grass. " Let us come back to my dress. Now, 
 what do you advise ? " 
 
 *' I can't bring my thoughts to bear on any- 
 thing half so serious at present," said Judy. 
 " Nature has whirled me up into a misty 
 dreamland of clouds and fancies, and you must 
 leave me there for a little space. My brain 
 is intoxicated with golden lights and purple 
 shadows, with tremulous air and drifting clouds. 
 When I am removed from the magic of this 
 afternoon, I shall grow sane, and give you my 
 ■undivided attention." 
 
 The mowing-machine at the further end of
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 177 
 
 the lawn paused, and the patient fat donkey 
 rested momentarily from his labour of cutting 
 and drawing behind him fodder which, could 
 his thoughts have soared to such heights, 
 must have appeared to him food fragrant and 
 sweet enough for the gods. The little pile of 
 chopped grass was emptied on the lawn, form- 
 ing another sweet mound, and the pleasant 
 hum of the machine was once more resumed. 
 
 " How," continued Judy, meditatively, " the 
 little private bit of nature in us vibrates weakly 
 with Nature as a whole ! How our emotions, 
 our thoughts, our desires, change with the 
 moods of Nature ! Now, this is a day which 
 has the effect of making me feel very good. 
 I feel so poetical, so pure ; my organism is 
 filled with a most restful saintliness ; beauti- 
 ful fancies come drifting like clouds across 
 my brain. And, at other times, I have been 
 positively aghast at the depths of latent 
 wickedness in me ! " 
 
 " Judy ! " exclaimed Aline, with startled re- 
 monstrance. 
 
 VOL. II. V
 
 178 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 " Oh, don't be alarmed," said Judy ; " the 
 depths are latent, I assure you ! Nothing has 
 come to stir them up. But Aline, look at the 
 sky. Do you see the atmosphere palpitating 
 and quivering against its own wealth of blue ? 
 Can't you picture the soul as some delicate 
 essence trembling between heaven and earth, 
 sensitive to a million varied influences which 
 waft it hither and thither and transpose the 
 nature of its being ? Poor frail essence ! " she 
 said softly ; *' how is one to shield it from 
 disturbance, and avoid the atmospheric changes 
 to which it is subject ? " 
 
 She paused ; then, after a moment's silence, 
 spoke more quickly — 
 
 "Tell me — an atmospheric change may be 
 supposed to have taken place in your soul 
 lately — tell me your experiences under the 
 circumstances." 
 
 Aline gave a little bored sigh. 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " she inquired. 
 " Do you mean getting engaged, when you talk 
 of ' atmospheric changes and disturbances ' ? "
 
 A LIFE AWRY, 1Y9 
 
 " Not precisely," said Judy ; " not precisely 
 * getting engaged.' I meant love. It is a 
 subject I know so little about, and which 
 interests me. You can, perhaps, explain to me 
 something of what it means." 
 
 Aline looked round as though suspicious of 
 an intention on Judy's part to make game 
 of her. But the face she beheld upon the 
 adjacent grass-heap was serious and interested. 
 Looking at it, she found herself momentarily 
 speculating what place it would occupy in 
 the world of ' pictorial beauty ' Judy herself 
 craved. "Would it rank amongst the grotesquely 
 picturesque ? Really, when one came to think 
 of it, would one not have imagined that a nature 
 with Judy's strong appreciation of the beautiful 
 must feel all the more keenly being denied 
 personal beauty ? And yet was not Judy 
 marvellously self-satisfied ? Aline, in her turn, 
 smiled slightly as she inquired — 
 
 " What is it you want me to tell you ? " 
 
 " Well, tell me how this afternoon affects 
 you. You feel happy, I believe. You have
 
 180 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 been watching the distant view with a dreamy- 
 expression on your face, not at all usual to it. 
 Now and then a smile has hovered about your 
 lips. Until you interrupted my reflections with 
 the question about your dress, I fancied your 
 spirit was amongst the gorse on the moors, 
 with a figure in grey tweed familiar to both 
 of us. What have you been feeling while 
 we both lay here ? " 
 
 ''How odd you are! " said Aline, sprinkling 
 a handful of grass upon her lap, and watching 
 it dropping through her fingers, while the 
 puzzled expression lingered upon her face. ** I 
 don't think the afternoon affects me specially. 
 It is very bright and pleasant, and I suppose I 
 feel fairly happy ; but, on the other hand, it is 
 uneventful, and "• — this in a tone of annoyance 
 — "I wish Hugh had not gone out shoot- 
 ing ! " 
 
 "Do you feel that you can't be happy away 
 from him now ? " asked Judy, turning sideways 
 that she might see the pretty perplexed face 
 which was lazily watching her own.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 181 
 
 The soft colour again rushed over AHne's 
 clear skin. 
 
 *' Perhaps ! " she said, turning her head away 
 shyly. " And as to what I feel — well, I am 
 happy — yes, very ! Life seems to have grown 
 into something very good and precious. It is 
 a wonderful feeling that there is some one who 
 thinks me the truest, most beautiful, most 
 perfect creature in the world. It makes me 
 so want to be it ! '^ 
 
 There was silence for a few moments. A 
 spruce black crow alighted upon the lawn, 
 and viewing the two human figures who were 
 so unusually still and silent, hopped cautiously 
 nearer, watching them with bright inquisitive 
 eyes. 
 
 " And yet," continued Judy, after a time, " I 
 have studied love in books and in my little 
 world yonder," and she nodded towards the 
 village on the distant hill, " and though I have 
 found what I admired in books, love, as I have 
 seen it in real life, disappointed me. In men 
 it was mere passion, in girls mere sentiment ;
 
 182 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the maturer love of married life was a species 
 of mechanical affection, a plodding conscientious 
 habit of do-my-duty-by-you. Love in its purest 
 and most ideal form was bred of pain " — her 
 eyes seemed looking far into the distance — 
 ** and then out of the material and unlovely 
 was evolved what was divine and exquisite ; it 
 reminded me of a flower, which, growing to- 
 wards Heaven and taking its colour from the 
 skies, made one marvel how from the dingy 
 soil which gave it birth so fair and stainless a 
 thing could have crept." 
 
 Aline was silent, watching the crow, who, 
 having decided that human beings who could, 
 after all, talk like the rest of their kind were 
 no more to be trusted, was now hopping away 
 across the lawn like a creature on springs. 
 
 " I don't quite follow you," she said at last. 
 " If you are talking of blighted affections, they 
 always make people sour. " I don't know any- 
 thing which makes one feel so good in one's 
 inmost self as happiness. To me any sort of 
 Borrow seems to crush all the good in me."
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 183 
 
 " So I have thought," said Judy ; " and yet — 
 did I not tell you this afternoon has made me 
 unusually saintly ? — it seems to me that I was 
 considering a matter-of-fact, sheep-and-cow-sort 
 of happiness — very precious, no doubt, in its 
 way, but containing only some dull spark of the 
 ideal. I suppose it is a mere truism to say that 
 a storm which can crush us, does press us down 
 into what is earthly and so begrime us, but that 
 the same storm bravely weathered buoys up all 
 that is fine in us. The grandest love I came 
 across in real life was also the saddest. Aline 
 Davies was a splendid creature." 
 
 Aline sat up upon her heap of grass and 
 brushed the fair hair out of her eyes. There 
 was something of protest not only in the action 
 itself, but in the accompanying glance which 
 she directed towards Judy. The latter, how- 
 ever, was studying the clouds, and did not 
 see it. 
 
 " She was a woman who, had she but loved a 
 good man, would have loved him with a rare 
 affection, at once passionate and ideal. But — it
 
 184 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 is an erratic rule of Fate — such women rarely 
 love good men." 
 
 " I wish jou would drop the subject of that 
 girl, once for all ! " exclaimed Aline, her lips 
 white with suppressed annoyance. " The sub- 
 ject is scarcely likely to be agreeable to me ; and, 
 as for the girl herself, I think she was shame- 
 less and horrible. Possibly you would maintain 
 she was really extremely nice-minded ! " 
 
 " It is a point on which I am no judge," said 
 Judy, quietly. " But " — and her voice waxed 
 slightly indignant — " why, with your petty 
 one-sided judgment, pronounce her blamable for 
 being human ? She was wronged and unfor- 
 tunate, and when she awoke suddenly to the 
 discrepancy between the animal and the ideal, 
 she sacrificed her young beautiful life to save 
 her purity of soul. The action may be open to 
 criticism, but the motive is above it." 
 
 Aline took up her book and resolutely glued 
 her eyes to its pages. In as far as attitude can 
 convey an idea, the expression of her back 
 announced that she was obstinately determined
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 185 
 
 to end a conversation which was not at all to 
 her liking. 
 
 Judy, leaving her own book unopened, looked 
 once more up at the sky. The blue overhead 
 was brilliant in intensity. As she gazed, its 
 depth seemed to grow more immeasurable. 
 Clouds floated across its surface like white-sailed 
 ships on a waveless ocean. Against the clear 
 distance, the sunlit vapour wreathed itself into 
 curious shapes and quaint semblances of things 
 earthly. 
 
 What a fantastic, ever-changing world lay 
 pictured in that blue dome ! Near the horizon 
 was a bank of clouds like frowning mountains 
 with snow-capped summits ; in their midst was 
 a shadowy blue castle with pointed battlements 
 and a streak of light like a river of clear grey 
 flowing past it. Now one of the battlements 
 had lengthened, and become an armed warrior, 
 holding a banner and surveying the blue-and- 
 white landscape, which must have assuredly 
 presented many alarming objects to his gaze. 
 Another moment, and his banner had floated
 
 186 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 away from its staff, and his own uncouth figure, 
 rapidly enlarging, out-topped the mountains, 
 while the castle melted from beneath him. 
 Then, as he grew wider and more disjointed, 
 he assumed the guise of an enormous poodle, 
 who stood barking at a flock of sheep — repre- 
 sented by a group of white clouds which came 
 hurrying past. Again, the poodle had dis- 
 appeared — its head and legs floating off with 
 charming independence from its body and tail 
 • — and the fleecy vapours had become the wings 
 of little seraphs peeping down with pardonable 
 curiosity at this queer old earth, while, in the 
 distance, a bank of lowering clouds seemed sug- 
 gestive of evil spirits lying in wait to pounce 
 upon the little truants from the courts of Paradise. 
 Judy found a wonderful fascination in the 
 fantastic imagery of the sky, with its mixture 
 of the grotesque and the sublime, its caricatures 
 of earth and its suggestions of heaven. She 
 could frame endless pictures for herself out of 
 the clouds ; they led her on through a maze of 
 drifting thoughts, till, dreamy and entranced,
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 187 
 
 she felt uplifted from her surroundings and 
 forgot a world of facts in a world of fancies. 
 
 Was life itself something vague and incom- 
 prehensible as that clear space of blue out- 
 stretched overhead ? Were the emotions which 
 could stir its depths and blot out its brightness, 
 transient and unreal as those vapoury clouds 
 flying so lightly through the deep ether ? 
 Would they take other shape as swiftly, and 
 pass away into shadowy Space, leaving no trace 
 of their brief passage through the eternal 
 changeless blue ? Who could tell ? 
 
 She gazed hungrily at the cloud-world as 
 though to grasp its evanescence — its spirit of 
 restlessness which held for her a promise of rest. 
 Then she turned her eyes from the dazzling ex- 
 panse of sky to the darker earth beneath. 
 Here, again, after the bright shifting vapour, 
 did not this still world image forth the change- 
 less calm of eternity, above which human 
 dreams and desires drift — light and fleeting as 
 the vapoury clouds ? 
 
 There were moorland lights and shadows on
 
 188 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the hills to-daj. They came stealing down 
 over the face of the country — the shade falling 
 softly over trees, and lake, and the red-and- 
 white houses of the village, then vanishing before 
 the dancing sunlight which chased it swiftly 
 and bathed the country in a golden gleam. 
 
 The clearness of autumn was in the air. 
 Here and there the trees showed branches of 
 pale gold and brown. A copper beech amongst 
 the greener foliage of the elms was a dull 
 burnished red. Summer was dying — but 
 bravely, brightly ; dying with dancing lights, 
 and whispered memories of the days which 
 were past, rather than forebodings of the chill 
 grey days to come. 
 
 As the sunlight lay upon the distance, the 
 bare brown of the moorland showed with its 
 spaces of pink heather ; then the shadow swept 
 over it, bathing it a dusky purple ; now, the 
 village looked distinct — its windows gleaming 
 in the sunlight, its orchards outlined with red 
 walls, even the passion-flowers and scarlet 
 creepers upon the houses showing in patches
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 1S9 
 
 of brilliant colour — next, plunged into a dusky 
 shade, in whicli houses, trees, and colours were 
 blended together in shadowy vagueness ; nearer 
 still, up the road through the park moved a 
 gaily-painted cart, its red and blue at one 
 moment gaudy in the sunlight, and, clearly 
 visible, a woman in a pink dress sitting upon 
 the shafts, and turning at intervals to speak to 
 a man who walked beside her, in slouched hat 
 and weather-stained garments ; then the shadow 
 swept past, making them distant and indistinct, 
 dulling the gay colours of the cart and the 
 bright pink of the woman's dress. 
 
 There are days when even the idea of pain 
 seems clothed with a mystic glamour. As the 
 unsubstantial cloud-world seemed to uplift Judy 
 above the actuality of life and its surroundings, 
 so the mellow beauty of this lower world was 
 soothing and restful. Her face bore an un- 
 wonted look of contentment as she lay with her 
 cheek upon the grass, silently watching the 
 lights and shadows while they swept softly 
 over the land.
 
 190 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 After a while, Aline looked up from her 
 book, and, glancing round, continued the 
 previous conversation abruptly, as though she 
 had been still pursuing it in her mind during 
 her silence. 
 
 " Love is very odd," she said sentimentally ; 
 "the way one goes through life meeting 
 numbers of people who affect one no more than 
 a passing breath of wind, till suddenly, out of 
 the crowd, steps some one, the tone of whose 
 voice, the touch of whose hand, has a different 
 meaning to all the rest, so that life can never 
 be the same again ! It is so wonderful ! " 
 
 Judy turned to look once more up at the 
 clouds. 
 
 "And supposing," she said — "supposing 
 that something more strange happened — that 
 you met this being you describe, and felt him 
 all you say, an isolated specimen ; but he, on 
 his part, recognized in you only one of the 
 crowd ! What then ? " 
 
 Aline studied the neatly cropped grass 
 before her with a thoughtful expression.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 191 
 
 " I don't know," she said. " But if Hugh 
 had not loved me first, I can't imagine I should 
 have loved him. There seems something — well 
 — immodest in a girl's taking the initiative in 
 love." 
 
 The passing sunshine was bright. Judj 
 bent her hat lower over her eyes. 
 
 " Ah, well," she remarked lightly, " it seems 
 to me as if love should be most beautiful when 
 it gives without taking, and serves knowing 
 it will never be served." 
 
 Then she laughed, and her tone grew still 
 more mocking. 
 
 **It seems to me, too, according to modern 
 notions, that the first thing a really nice- 
 minded girl should do, on developing any 
 symptoms of this complaint, is to walk off in 
 one direction and send the man she loves 
 flying in another. If the man loves her, pre- 
 sumably he picks himself up and comes after 
 her ; if not, she must go on her way, and 
 never so much as turn her head in his direc- 
 tion. But why, Nel ? it is so quaint ! Why
 
 192 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 is there a generally received theory that it is 
 a disgrace to a woman to love a man until 
 he has politely intimated to her his wish that 
 she may do so ? I suppose it is a lingering 
 remnant of barbarism, when Man chose and 
 Woman had no voice in the matter ; now, 
 the right of refusal has been accorded to 
 Woman, but an equal right of choice is still 
 viewed with horror. If her heart should 
 transgress this social law, she must summon 
 all the dissimulation of which her nature is 
 capable to aid her in concealing it. And yet, 
 again — why f If love is something to be 
 ashamed of, it is equally blamable under all 
 circumstances. If not, why is a girl, whose 
 love is usually so far more pure and less 
 material than man's love, forced to regard it 
 in the light of a disgrace? Why also is not 
 an unhappy love to receive the same amount 
 of sympathy from the world at large as other 
 forms of bereavement ? Tell me, Nellie ; I 
 am so ignorant ! " 
 
 " My dear Judy " — Aline sat up and closed
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 193 
 
 her book with a little air of superiority and im- 
 portance — " I understand why most thoroughly, 
 but I scarcely know how to explain it to you. 
 Woman's natural instinct of modesty is to hide 
 her love ; and the world in general, recogniz- 
 ing this, holds her blaraable if she departs from 
 it. When her love is reciprocated " 
 
 " Stop ! " exclaimed Judy. " Eemember what 
 you term * natural instincts ' are merely in- 
 herited remnants of former social customs. 
 Now go on." 
 
 But Aline rose up and shook the grass from 
 her dress. 
 
 " You put one's ideas to flight ! " she said 
 in an aggrieved tone, stretching her arms above 
 her head and giving a suppressed yawn. 
 
 Just then from out of the house came two 
 footmen, one bearing a tea-table, the other 
 carrying the shining silver kettle and its stand. 
 They placed the table in a sheltered spot near 
 the house, and, having covered it with a snowy 
 cloth, proceeded to journey backwards and 
 forwards till they had spread upon it a tempt- 
 
 VOL. II. o
 
 194 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 ing array of food — tea-cakes, bread-and-butter, 
 two glass dishes of jam, and, wbat immediately 
 brought a contingent of wasps upon the scene, 
 a plateful of ripe ruddy peaches. 
 
 Aline stood silently watching them. Her 
 hands were clasped behind her fair head, her 
 hat was lying on the grass at her feet. She 
 looked very childlike, with the bored aggrieved 
 expression about her little soft mouth. As the 
 footmen retired, she picked up her hat, and, 
 with another yawn, began strolling towards 
 the house. Then suddenly her step quickened, 
 her face became transfused with a marvellous 
 
 " Hugh ! " she exclaimed triumphantly, and 
 the next moment was being enfolded in a pair 
 of strong arms and devoured by a pair of eager 
 loving eyes ; for Hugh had quietly emerged 
 from the drawing-room, having, for some 
 reason best know to himself, returned from 
 shooting fully a couple of hours before the rest 
 of the party. 
 
 Judy lay very still upon the grass.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 195 
 
 Aline's face was fliislied with a radiant 
 happiness. As Hugh sat down on a wicker 
 chair near the tea-table, she perched herself 
 upon the arm, and rested her hand tenderly 
 upon his shoulder. They remained thus talk- 
 ing, engrossed in each other's presence, un- 
 mindful of any fact save that a happy world 
 contained them both, and that they asked no 
 more of Fate than the satisfaction of each 
 other's society. 
 
 After a time, the purple shadow again swept 
 over the land, and, creeping up from the park, 
 shrouded the lawn, the terraces, the beech trees 
 in its dusky shade. But the sunlight still 
 rested upon the house, and fell in its mellow 
 brightness upon the two figures, who seemed 
 thus emblematically enwrapped in some glad- 
 ness denied to the surrounding world. 
 
 At length Judy rose up with a grim little 
 smile upon her face. 
 
 ** Sentiment and Passion ! " she said ; ** and 
 meanwhile the kettle is boiling over on to the 
 grass !
 
 " Trouble is to love what night is to a star." 
 
 Mallock.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 199 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Hugh had more than once complained that 
 country life was a prolonged five-o'clock tea. 
 Certainly tea at Lilcot was apt to prove a 
 lengthy meal, and that evening, as the small 
 group lingered over the fascinations of the 
 wicker table, the shadows lengthened and the 
 sunlight waned. The sky grew clear with the 
 clearness of sunset, and conversation, which till 
 then had been brisk and unflagging, seemed 
 gradually to hush beneath the spell of the 
 evening hour. From time to time the eyes of 
 the lovers met with a glance or a smile which 
 said what words might have marred, while, in 
 the silence which had fallen, there came from 
 the park the ceaseless murmur of the water
 
 200 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 where it fell over the weir, and the faint chime 
 of the bell ringing for evensong in the far-away- 
 misty tower of the church. Near at hand, the 
 kettle continued to hiss forth a feeble ebullition 
 of its past wrath, and the wasps buzzed ex- 
 citedly round the remains of the fruit and rich 
 crimson jam. 
 
 At length Aline rose and, stepping on to the 
 grass, stood where the fresh clear breeze stealing 
 round the house could reach her. She lifted off 
 her hat and again let the air wander with crisp 
 breath through the waving tangles of her hair. 
 
 " Hugh," she said, ^' it is growing cold now ,* 
 let us have a stroll down the park." 
 
 Hugh rose up obediently. 
 
 " You said I was to remind you that you 
 were to get some flowers to wear this evening. 
 Shall we go to the hothouses first and choose 
 them ? " 
 
 Then he turned to Judy with a very success- 
 ful attempt at cordiality. 
 
 '' Won't you come too ? " he added. 
 
 Judy promptly shook her head.
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 201 
 
 " I shall wait and see if father comes back late 
 for some tea — he might do so," she answered. 
 
 "Which reminds me," exclaimed Hugh, 
 " that Dick sent a special message to beg you 
 would keep some tea for him, in case he had 
 time to come back here to fetch his horse which 
 he left this morning. He said he should come 
 if he could, and ride home ; but, of course, if it 
 was late when he left the moors, he would be 
 obliged to go straight back by train. I was 
 quite forgetting to tell you." 
 
 After they had strolled away, Judy remained 
 for some time sitting quietly in the chair, with 
 her hands folded in her lap. At length she 
 rose up, and, lifting the hissing kettle off its 
 stand, extinguished the small blue flame which 
 had been the cause of its disquietude, and crept 
 back to the little heap of grass where she had 
 been sitting before tea. A clump of bushes 
 sheltered it from the breeze ; it was warm there, 
 even without the sunshine which had passed 
 away. 
 
 She laid herself down, and once more leant
 
 202 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 her head back against the soft mound. The 
 donkey had been taken away to enjoy the 
 reward of labour in a field where he might crop 
 and dispose of the grass by a method more in 
 keeping with his views. The pleasant hum of 
 the machine had ceased, and the clanging of 
 the distant bell had also died away into silence. 
 The universal hush was broken only by an 
 occasional chirping amongst the trees overhead, 
 or the startled cry of a bird as it flew swiftly 
 across the lawn, seeking refuge from some un- 
 known terror. 
 
 Again Judy gazed at the distance with a 
 dreamy light in her eyes. The sunshine still 
 lay upon the hills, and the spire of the church 
 was gold with its lingering touch, while the 
 building itself looked shadowy and unreal as 
 the cloud-castle which had long since drifted 
 away. 
 
 Within those misty walls — so like a grey 
 vapour which some faint breath of wind 
 might disperse — human beings were now on 
 their knees before their Creator, pouring out
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 203 
 
 their heart-sorrows and seeking a Divine — or 
 was it an imaginary ? — relief. What sharp 
 griefs had those worn-out old village crones 
 and those hard-featured ploughmen to dispel 
 from their souls ? Ah, the space from earth to 
 heaven is so small to the untutored mind, that 
 no sigh is too insignificant, no whisper too faint, 
 to reach the ears of the Almighty Listener. 
 Now Judy closed her eyes. A longing stole 
 upon her to be within those quiet walls — with 
 the high dim arches, the mystic light pierced 
 by one long shaft of sunshine, the jewelled hues 
 from the window staining the pale altar, the 
 sense of a hallowed calm, of shelter from the 
 world and its weariness. 
 
 The still evening about her was, in itself, 
 lovely ; the sky was slowly becoming dyed 
 with the first faint tints of sunset ; there was 
 a soothing rustle of wind among the leaves 
 overhead ; but into the beauty had crept a 
 sense of haunting pain, as some grief of the 
 waking world may echo through the mazes 
 of a pleasant dream.
 
 204 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 Does love attain its rare ideal only in the 
 clean heart of a woman, bred there of some 
 scorching passion and purified by a fierce 
 sorrow — an offspring of folly reared by pain ? 
 In this world is the Highest possible only 
 through sharpest suffering ? 
 
 Gradually the thoughts tormenting her brain 
 craved some distinct expression. Drawing a 
 pencil from her pocket, she opened the book 
 which had been lying near her upon the grass, 
 and began writing inside the cover. 
 
 As her pencil moved rapidly over the paper, 
 daylight faded about her, and when at length 
 she paused, it was with difficulty she could 
 trace the words she had written in the deepening 
 twilight. 
 
 "LOVE'S JEWEL. 
 
 " Love flew to and fro over the earth, but 
 his rose-hued wings drooped languidly, and 
 his blue eyes were sorrowful. 
 
 " * I come from Paradise,' he said — * Paradise 
 whose courts are paved with jewels so bright
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 205 
 
 they might blind all save angels, yet not in 
 Heaven itself can I find the perfect Jewel of 
 Love ; ' and he sighed as he flew on his way. 
 
 *' Then a little lark fluttered past him. ' 
 Love ! ' she carolled, as she rose high into the 
 blue sky, ' with the heart's first throb, into it 
 you drop a bright sharp stone. That is the 
 divine Love-germ; in the soft heart it shines 
 and hurts, and some day you hope to return 
 and find it fashioned into a gleaming priceless 
 gem. Alas, that only woe and anguish can so 
 change it ! This I know, for the clouds have 
 told me, and they see all that passes on earth.' 
 
 " And the lark sped on her upward flight, 
 but her song sounded less joyous, and in her 
 voice was a new note of pain. It is ever thus 
 with those who have looked on Love. 
 
 " The young God smiled thoughtfully to 
 himself ; he went on his way more quickly. 
 
 " Then a voice called to him from the fields 
 beneath, and, looking down, he beheld a 
 beautiful beggar maiden. A dark kerchief 
 covered her shining hair, and a coarse robe
 
 206 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 hid her white limbs ; but he knew that he had 
 seen her in Paradise. 
 
 " * Who are you ? ' Love cried, as he flew 
 downwards ; and the beggar raised her pale 
 face, and looked at him with deep earnest eyes, 
 till he felt awed beneath her glance. 
 
 " * I am Faith,' she answered ; * and though 
 here on earth men deem me poor and foolish, 
 in Paradise I am the wisest of all God's angels. 
 I know what you seek, and in this world alone 
 can you find it.' 
 
 " Then the Love- God gazed at her in wonder. 
 * Maiden,' he said, * it is useless seeking this 
 Jewel on earth. I have looked for it far and 
 wide in the hearts of mortals, but nowhere can 
 I see it. I looked into the hearts of lovers in 
 the first flush of passion, as they wandered 
 murmuring words of madness in the pale moon- 
 light, but the Love-stone within them burnt 
 with a fierce unsteady gleam, and I soon flew 
 away. I looked into the hearts of the bride- 
 groom and bride as they stood at the altar, 
 breathing, in the hush and calm of the holy
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 207 
 
 building, a lifelong vow, but, though the 
 Love-stone shone clear and bright in their 
 hearts, it was as yet brittle as glass, and un- 
 tried by Time and Sorrow. Then I looked 
 into the heart of a wife who loved her husband 
 well. The Jewel within her glowed with a 
 warm true light, but care had sullied its 
 brightness, and petty trouble dimmed the 
 fulness of its beauty. Nowhere could I find 
 the pure divine light of the perfect Love-jewel, 
 and now I have sought amongst the gems of 
 Paradise in vain/ 
 
 "Then Faith smiled. * The little bird was 
 wise, Love ! ' she said. * Come with me, 
 and I will show you what you seek.' 
 
 " She rose into the air, and, taking his hand, 
 they flew away together. On over the earth 
 they passed, and the toil-worn mortals looked 
 up at them and smiled. Around them, as they 
 went, hovered Eternal Sunshine, but ever before 
 them was a pale mist, and behind them dark- 
 ness blacker than night. 
 
 " They flew over a noisy city, and on beyond
 
 208 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 the city they came to a quiet hillside. There 
 Faith paused. On the hillside was a group 
 of fair girls gathering flowers. They danced 
 and sang as they wreathed long bright garlands, 
 and the sound of their laughter floated softly 
 upwards to the ears of Love. Swiftly he fitted 
 a sharp-barbed arrow in his bow, but Faith 
 stayed his hand. 
 
 " * Let them laugh a little longer, cruel 
 God,' she said, ^and look at what I brought 
 you hither to see.' 
 
 " Then Love glanced about him, and saw 
 that to the right on the hill lay a graveyard. 
 A high wall parted it from the sunny slope 
 where the girls were dancing, but one maiden 
 had wandered away, had crossed the wall, and 
 now stood alone in that Garden of the Dead. 
 Yet the sound of her laughter was gayer than 
 that of the rest, and her song rose clear and 
 sweet above theirs. 
 
 " And her companions called to her — ' What 
 are you doing away beyond that high wall ? 
 We cannot see you, but how merry you are ! '
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 209 
 
 " And the girl made answer — * Here grow 
 flowers more beautiful than any you have 
 found. I am gathering them in handfuls, and 
 I am so happy I must needs sing ! ' 
 
 "But Love saw that in the shadow of the 
 wall she was only digging a wide black grave. 
 
 " Then Faith said, ' Tell me what the maiden 
 is doing.' 
 
 " Love answered, ' I see her burying Youth, 
 Joy, and Hope — nay ! all the beauty and fair- 
 ness of Life; but she sings and laughs that 
 her companions may never know.' 
 
 "And great burning tears fell from the 
 girl's eyes; but the faster she wept the more 
 merrily she sang. 
 
 " And Faith said, * Look again.' 
 
 ** So Love flew over the wall down into the 
 graveyard. The air there was damp and chill, 
 and he shivered, for the sunlight, which ever 
 hovered around him, now grew pale and cold. 
 
 " He looked into the heart of the girl, and 
 he saw that it throbbed slowly and wearily ; 
 it was no longer warm and rosy like the heart 
 
 VOL. II. p
 
 210 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 of a youDg maiden ; and when he looked closer 
 he found it was dead and grey, save in one 
 place, where was a great red wound. From 
 the wound slowly welled out the life-blood, 
 drop by drop; and when Love saw that, he 
 laughed aloud. Though he is so fair, he is 
 very cruel. 
 
 " ' See ! ' he cried, ' how straight and true I 
 shoot ! That red wound is where my poisoned 
 arrow once flew ; the hurt can never heal, the 
 heart is numb and broken.' 
 
 "And, as he spoke, the girl's song ceased, 
 her tired hands dropped to her side ; she fell 
 forward and lay there, silent and dead, at his 
 feet. 
 
 "Then Faith stooped down, and drew the 
 poor bruised heart out of the still breast. 
 
 " ' Take it ! ' she called to Love ; and Love 
 uttered a great cry, for lo ! there in the gaping 
 red wound lay a gem which shone and flashed 
 with a beauty such as he had never dreamed. 
 It was the perfect Love- Jewel. 
 
 " ' See ! ' said Faith, ^ Perfectness grows out
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 211 
 
 of Imperfection, and divinest beauty has its 
 root in folly/ 
 
 "And the eyes of Faith and Love met as 
 they stood beside the dead girl. 
 
 Ak ii£. ^ ^ Ale. 
 
 Tj^ ^ ^ ^ 7r 
 
 " Afar over the hills the evening shadows 
 crept, a hush had sunk on all around ; the 
 girls were gone homeward singing; they had 
 forgotten their companion when they no longer 
 heard her merry voice, and they had wandered 
 away bearing their drooping flower-burdens 
 through the grey twilight. 
 
 "By-and-by men came, and buried the girl 
 in the grave she had dug with her own hands. 
 
 "But Love flew away with the shining 
 Jewel, and he met the lark dropping down- 
 wards to her nest. 
 
 " ' See,' he cried joyfully, ' I have found it ! 
 In all the Courts of Paradise I looked for it 
 in vain. The Love-gem, in its purest beauty, 
 shines only in the broken heart of a woman.' " 
 
 Slowly Judy closed the book and laid it in
 
 212 A LIFE AWRY. 
 
 her lap. As she looked up, it seemed to her 
 that a great wave of darkness had swept over 
 the country, while the sky had absorbed all the 
 brightness departed from the earth. 
 
 Then a heavy step sounded on the gravel, 
 and a strong cheerful voice broke upon her 
 ears. 
 
 " Judy ! alone in the gloaming ! What are 
 you meditating upon now ? " 
 
 Judy sprang np. 
 
 " Dick ! " she exclaimed, '^ so you have 
 come ! " Then she stooped to pick up the 
 book which had dropped on to the grass. " I 
 was meditating, Dick," she said lightly, " that, 
 when I was a child, I had quite decided there 
 must be some material mistake in the Book of 
 Genesis." She moved away to the table, and 
 re-lit the flame beneath the kettle, while she 
 looked back at him and laughed. " I believed 
 that this world had been planned by the devil 
 in a fit of malicious mischief; that afterwards. 
 Providence, with supreme kindliness, grieving 
 over what was no fault of His own, had taken
 
 A LIFE AWRY. 213 
 
 the trouble to evolve something divine out 
 of the devil's handicraft; but, fundamentally, 
 the world was not the work of a good Grod, 
 but bore too strong evidence of having had 
 a horned-and-hoofed originator. Dick" — and 
 there was a sudden pathos in her voice — "it 
 was a satisfactory theology, as far as it went ; 
 it explained so much ! " 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BBCCLBS.
 
 L'fe awry . a novel /