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 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
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 STRETTON OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 ' There is a Power above which shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them as we may."— Shakspeaee. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1860. 
 
 Tli6 right of Translation is reserved,
 
 Billing, Printer, 103. Hatton Garden, London/and Guildford, Surrey.
 
 
 STEETTON OF EINGWOOD CHACK 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 On a bright summer morning, Edward and 
 Clara Stretton, accompanied by a pretty little 
 girl, were strolling through the small village 
 of Ringwood, enquiring their way to the 
 church. It stood quite within the park, 
 one corner of which was Uterally cut oflp by 
 the church-path. 
 
 The shadows of the trees flickered plea- 
 santly on the low roof, as they approached 
 the building ; and the birds darted in and 
 out of the ivy, with which it was nearly 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 STRETTON 
 
 covered. The season and the scene might 
 well have tempted them to loiter ; but the 
 brother and sister pressed forward, scarcely 
 glancing around them, as if in no loitering 
 mood. 
 
 Entering the open door, they looked eagerly 
 and curiously around. The church was very 
 small and very old ; open benches filled up 
 the whole sitting space, except one snugly- 
 enclosed room under the north wall — the 
 Stretton pew. The large window immedi- 
 ately above it was darkened with the outside 
 ivy, and curiously speckled with shields and 
 lozenges of coloured glass, each commemo- 
 rating some marriage in the family. 
 
 In the dusky corner behind the pew, was 
 a large altar-tomb. 
 
 — '' In memory of Margery, the beloved wife 
 of Arthur Stretton, of Ringwood Chase, Esq., 
 died 
 
 " Also of Lady Harriet, second wife of the 
 above, and daughter of "
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 3 
 
 " This will not help us, Edward/' said his 
 sister ; " we must look at the older nionu- 
 inents." 
 
 They walked slowly round the interior of 
 the church, examining the tablets with which 
 the walls were encrusted; noting down in- 
 scriptions, copying lists of sons and daugh- 
 ters, &c. The tablets sometimes gave, not 
 merely the names, but a condensed history of 
 those interred below the pavement. 
 
 " What a large family that Richard Stretton 
 had!" exclaimed Edward, stopping in the 
 midst of an inscription which he was copying. 
 " Twin sons, to begin with ! — Ancestors 
 enough for a dozen stray branches !" 
 
 '' And our own shield over the tablet 1" 
 said Clara ; " quarterings all exact; — no, not 
 quite ; — but depend on it, we branched off 
 here." 
 
 They went on talking in suppressed tones, 
 in which a sense of frolic and adventure con- 
 tended with reverence for the place, and for 
 
 B 2
 
 4 STRETTON 
 
 those who slept beneath ; till a slight noise 
 startled them, and looking round, they saw 
 workmen in the farthest corner of the church. 
 
 '* Why, it is the Stretton pew !" said Ed- 
 ward, moving quickly towards the spot. 
 
 '' Yes, sir," said the workman whom he 
 questioned, — " poor Mr. Arthur, sir, is to be 
 brought home to-night. — Drowned, sir, boat- 
 ing at Eton," the man added, as Edward 
 looked the questions he was too startled to ask. 
 " Do you know the family, sir ? — You look so 
 pale. — Why, you are like them too ! — Perhaps 
 a relation ?" 
 
 '' No, no !" said Edward hurriedly ; then, 
 half ashamed of the shock he had felt, — 
 — " Why, Clara, Mabel is shivering all over ! 
 Come out into the sun, you silly child !" and 
 he dragged her through the porch. 
 
 Grave and silent, they again passed through 
 the village ; in which, as they now observed, 
 an unnatural stillness reigned. They had 
 been before too intent on their object, to ob-
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 5 
 
 serve the subdued demeanour and saddened 
 countenances of all whom they met ; or the 
 almost entire suspension of ordinary work. 
 Able-bodied labourers stood in groups at 
 the corners, talking eagerly in under-tones ; 
 women lounged at their doors, catching a 
 word from every passer-by ; even the children 
 seemed afraid to play, and held on timidly to 
 their mothers' aprons. 
 
 Ringwood village was not at all like a 
 primitive, picturesque village " in a book ;" 
 still less did it resemble the model settlement 
 of some wealthy and benevolent proprietor in 
 the present day. It was scattered, straggling, 
 and decent, with few points of peculiar in- 
 terest. It possessed, assuredly, most of the 
 characteristics of a village proper. It had its 
 two or three public-houses, tolerably orderly ; 
 but where men did undeniably smoke and 
 drink ; every now and then get tipsy, and, 
 consequently, " fall out, and chide and fight." 
 It had its lock-up ; certainly not kept in very
 
 6 STRETTON 
 
 available repair ; its pair of stocks — suffi- 
 ciently moss-grown and dilapidated to induce 
 a hope that they were seldom in actual use, 
 and were suffered to remain rather as a 
 warning than for their more obvious purpose. 
 It had its large pond, for ducks and geese to 
 paddle in during summer, and for men and 
 boys to skate on, and get themselves quite, or 
 nearly, drowned in, every winter. It had its 
 snug, thick-walled almshouses (built by some 
 Stretton immemorial), nestling under the 
 shadow of the churchyard elms ; its long, low- 
 browed vicarage, running along the village street, 
 and only separated from it by a green fencing, 
 which almost touched the parlour windows ; 
 and yet as inaccessible to vulgar curiosity or 
 intrusion as its kindly, but reserved occupant. 
 There were the mossy oak palings of the 
 Chace, running for miles along the country- 
 road, upon which, at long intervals, its three 
 lodges kept watch and w^ard ; there was the 
 grey old house itself, just discernible through
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHA.CE. 7 
 
 one fortunate opening in the trees, standing 
 long and low upon its elevated platform, 
 begirt with its amphitheatre of woods. 
 
 The village had evidently been, at no dis- 
 tant period, very poor — miserably neglected. 
 All needful repairs had now been carried out, 
 with an obvious and scrupulous regard to the 
 comfort and well-being of the inhabitants, 
 but without the slightest trace of dilettante 
 taste for the picturesque. All that was not 
 too far fallen into decay had been substan- 
 tially and thoroughly renovated, with entire 
 disregard of congruity ; all that was only fit for 
 a sketch-book had been mercilessly pulled 
 down, and replaced by new, common-place 
 erections, in which use and durability alone 
 had been considered. 
 
 Time, the great artist, would soon blend 
 and soften all into one harmonious picture ; 
 meanwhile, human nature was unconsciously 
 doing its part. Of course, the men, like most 
 Englishmen who work twelve hours a day for
 
 8 STRETTON 
 
 a living, contrived to find an hour or two 
 more, for filling some little side plot of ground 
 with potatoes, stuffing the tiny front strip of 
 garden with stocks, wall-flowers, and mari- 
 golds, planting a slip of rose or honeysuckle by 
 the door ; the women, like most English- 
 women who have a houseful of children, or 
 a tribe of tiny brothers and sisters, to occupy 
 their hands, managed to tend and water 
 sundry geraniums and myrtles, in bright red 
 pots, on the window-sill, and to patronize a 
 blackbird or thrush, in wicker cage festooned 
 with groundsel; the children, like most vil- 
 lage children of those primitive days, whose 
 serious avocations were confined to attending 
 the dame-school, and running errands for their 
 mothers, had motley and grotesque pets of 
 their own : kittens and puppies, a lame duck, 
 or waddling orphan pig. Of course, also, 
 these children were for the most part chubby 
 and rosy, and boasted curly hair of all shades, 
 from sun-bleached white, through every modi-
 
 9 
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 
 
 fication of brown, golden, red, and auburn. 
 Of course, among these Englishwomen, the 
 great majority had fresh, wholesome com- 
 plexions, and clear, honest, straightforward- 
 looking eyes ; their very comeUness rendered 
 more picturesque by the equally characteristic 
 national tendency, even in the younger and 
 prettier, to postpone feminine coquetries to 
 the practical business of the hour; and to 
 bustle about, regardless for the moment whether 
 the movements were graceful, or the dress 
 deranged by exertion ; resuming the con- 
 sciousness of good looks, and all thereunto be- 
 longing, the moment the pressure of actual 
 urgent business subsided into a few moments' 
 breathing space. 
 
 But all these enlivening aspects of the vil- 
 lage were now nearly overshadowed by the 
 cloud of gloom and awe that hung over the 
 place. The brother and sister felt as if they 
 could scarcely venture to speculate upon sub- 
 jects of personal mterest, in the presence of
 
 10 STRETTON 
 
 that general sorrow. They were really re- 
 lieved, when they again approached the little 
 village inn, where Mr. Stretton, with his son 
 and daughter, had taken up their quarters for 
 the few hours they proposed to pass at Ring- 
 wood. 
 
 A " little village inn" it might now correctly 
 be styled. A small, square-fronted house, of 
 warm-coloured brick, softened by time into a 
 mellow tint, which harmonized well with the 
 broad green leaves and twisted brown stem 
 of the great vine by which it was more than 
 half covered. A rambling garden behind oc- 
 cupied the open space, once a large courtyard, 
 around which the stables and outbuildings 
 had formerly straggled. All such pretentious 
 appurtenances had long since been pulled 
 down, the materials sold for rubbish, and the 
 plot of ground well stocked with cabbages 
 and fruit trees, to supply the table of the 
 family themselves, and the very few guests, 
 above the rank of villagers, who now ho-
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 11 
 
 noured the " Stretton Arms" with their pre- 
 sence. 
 
 For the days were gone by when the pa- 
 tronage of "The Chace" was of itself a fortune ; 
 when the rambling old mansion constantly 
 overflowed with guests, whose servants not 
 unfrequently had to be quartered in the vil- 
 lage ; nay, when even the latest comers of the 
 visitors themselves did not disdain the hospi- 
 table inn, which seemed but a detached ap- 
 pendage to the " great house," Those were the 
 days of hurried orders for post-horses, when 
 "quality" from all the country round were 
 coming and going perpetually — of jovial hunt- 
 ing-dinners and convivial suppers, got up for 
 the occasional enjoyment of a merriment too 
 boisterous even for the free-and-easy ways of 
 the old Stretton dynasty. Then four smoking 
 horses were no unusual sight at that door ; 
 hoops rustled up the creaking staircase. Now 
 an excitement was created in the humble little 
 hostelry even by Mr. Stretton's carriage, re-
 
 12 STRETTON 
 
 markable only for its extreme plainness — by 
 the quiet travelling dress of his daughter — by 
 the unpretending order for " luncheon." And 
 the brother and sister, as they re-entered, were 
 followed by curious and deferential glances, 
 which they were too much pre-occupied to 
 observe. 
 
 In the inn parlour Edward and Clara found 
 their father, still occupied, as they had left him, 
 with a newspaper. He had, however, during 
 their absence, learnt from the landlord the 
 recent event ; and was, when they returned, 
 intently perusing its details in the county 
 paper, which had just been brought him. 
 Edward and Clara had impatiently started on 
 their exploring expedition within five minutes 
 after the carriage had driven up to the inn, so 
 they had heard nothing of what had occurred, 
 until they learnt it from the workpeople in the 
 church. 
 
 Mr. Stretton was called by many a rich 
 merchant. Any one, however, who chanced to
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 13 
 
 use the expression in his presence was in- 
 evitably cut short with a testy " Tradesman !" 
 — which was in his case the Hterally correct 
 appellation. He was justly satisfied with his 
 own position ; and never troubled himself to 
 inquire why the coat of arms, which he had 
 inherited from his father (but never used), was 
 nearly identical with that of his namesakes, 
 the Strettons of Ringwood Chace. 
 
 But Clara and Edward had dreamed dreams 
 on the subject from childhood. No feeling of 
 discontent, however — scarcely any of ambition 
 — mingled in the vague romance with which 
 they yearned towards the beautiful old Chace. 
 They longed for it rather as for an old family 
 home. 
 
 A visit to it had long been their favourite 
 vision ; and this summer, having achieved 
 their annual feat of persuading their father 
 into a few weeks* excursion, they had little 
 additional difficulty in inducing him, on the 
 way, to stop for a few hours at Ringwood.
 
 14 STRETTON 
 
 They might catch, perhaps, a distant glimpse 
 of the old house, which bore their own shield 
 blazoned over its rugged porch. They would 
 at least visit the church, where slept those 
 whom they persisted in believing to be their 
 ancestors. 
 
 A certain shy pride, however, on the part 
 of the whole family, made them shrink from 
 the very appearance of claiming kindred where 
 it could not be proved, and was not likely to 
 be welcome. On this visit to Ringwood vil- 
 lage, they had, therefore, taken all possible 
 precautions to prevent their name from being 
 known. They had even, on the plea of secur- 
 ing accommodation, sent forward the carriage 
 and servants direct to the place where they 
 proposed to sleep ; and bespoken from the 
 landlord of the " Stretton Arms" a carriage to 
 take them on thither themselves, when they 
 should have accomplished their day's object. 
 But all thoughts of further exploring were 
 now wholly checked. Edward and Clara, their
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 15 
 
 mirth of the morning entirely subdued, related 
 to their father, in suppressed tones, the shock 
 which had interrupted their examination of 
 the church ; and heard from him the more 
 minute particulars with which he had mean- 
 time become acquainted. 
 
 "And who is the next heir?'* said Mr. 
 Stretton at length. 
 
 The notion had not occurred to them ; and 
 they were wholly ignorant of the recent history 
 of the " Ringwood Strettons." 
 
 "Edward might be, perhaps, if we only 
 knew who was our great-grandfather," said 
 Clara at last. 
 
 "You are happier as you are," said Mr. 
 Stretton. 
 
 " Oh ! we are happy enough," said Clara ; 
 " still it is ridiculous not to know who was 
 one's great-grandfather." 
 
 Edward laughed. " Well, I only hope the 
 old place will go to some one who knows how 
 to value it. One wouldn't grudge him Ring-
 
 16 STRETTON 
 
 Avood, if he does honour to the name of 
 Stretton." 
 
 " Think, father," said Clara, " our own very 
 arras over the door ! But it is too bad to have 
 such, and not use them ! Bo, papa, let us 
 have them on the new carriage !" 
 
 " 1 will have nothing of the sort !" said Mr. 
 Stretton, angrily. "They are not fit," he 
 added, more mildly, " for a man in business." 
 
 Clara coloured crimson, and pressed her 
 lil.s tight. Then, by a forcible efi'ort, she 
 changed the subject. 
 
 "Had we not better leave directlv after 
 
 ■/ 
 
 luncheon ? It would not be pleasant to re- 
 main in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Oh, no ! not on any account !" exclaimed 
 Edward, earnestly. " I may ring, may I not, 
 father, and give orders about our starting as 
 early as possible ?" 
 
 Mr. Stretton quietly assented, and the ne- 
 cessary orders were accordingly given. 
 
 The landlord was, of course, still full of the
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 17 
 
 mournfal topic of the day. When he next 
 entered the room, he addressed himself to 
 Edward, to whom he had before had no op- 
 portunity of speaking. 
 
 " A sad day for Ringwood, sir," he began. 
 " Such a fine, high-spirited young gentleman, 
 too ! And now there's no knowing whom the 
 old place may go to." 
 
 " Is Mrs. Stretton the last of her family ?" 
 said Mr. Stretton. 
 
 " Why, sir, there was a sister, who married 
 away to some nobody like. We don't knovv^ 
 much about her ; the two young ladies left the 
 place, you know, sir, when the old Squire died ; 
 and before Mrs. Stretton comed back, the other 
 had been married no end of time. But you 
 see, sir, there's nobody now to take to the 
 place, but her or her children, if so be she has 
 any." 
 
 " The property seems well cared for," said 
 Mr. Stretton. "Mrs. Stretton must have a 
 good steward." 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 STRETTON 
 
 *' Sees to all herself, sir ; steward, and 
 keepers, and every bit of a gardener, sir, must 
 obey a bend of her little finger. But a good 
 mistress, sir, and a real lady, only a bit short 
 and quick ; knows her own mind, and speaks 
 it clear out, and sticks to it. Sees to the 
 tenants, too, every one of them, and the poor 
 especial. But I'm afeard she'll care for nothing 
 now that Master Arthur is gone. It was 
 easy to see how she boasted herself in him, 
 that all was to be his." And he bustled out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Poor thing !" said Clara, looking up with 
 a deep-drawn sigh, and an unusual softness in 
 her face. 
 
 And she sat for some minutes, quiet and 
 thoughtful, before she roused herself to pre- 
 pare for starting. Her sympathies were quick 
 and warm as her temper ; and, indeed, her 
 little fits of irritation seldom lasted long. But 
 she did not like to be debarred of her rights ; 
 and a right she considered this untraced
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 19 
 
 Riiigwood descent, which her father, with an 
 equally characteristic pride of his own, per- 
 sisted in ignoring or undervaluing. 
 
 They were obhged to hurry off, that they 
 might reach the next stage by bed-time. 
 
 While they were driving out of the village, 
 Mrs. Stretton was sitting motionless and rigid, 
 all consciousness centred in the perception of 
 one sound, the muffled tolling of the bells. 
 Weeks elapsed before she awoke sufficiently 
 from her stupor to ask herself the question, 
 Avhich had occurred immediately to others — 
 Who now was to inherit Uingwood? 
 
 Kingwood Chace had been the pride of the 
 Strettons ever since the Strettons were a 
 family ; need more be said of that ancient 
 tenure? It was not entailed; the notion of 
 alienation had never occurred as a possibility. 
 Safely it was handed down, to these latter days 
 as we call them ; but not literally to our days. 
 A Mr. Stretton of the last century, left a 
 widower, married, as his second wife, a por-
 
 20 
 
 STRETTON 
 
 tionless, extravagant woman of rank ; married, 
 in point of fact, far helow, not, as common 
 parlance ran, ahove himself. She lived long 
 enough to ruin him, but died young and child- 
 less. He survived her but a few months ; 
 leaving, of all his promising family, only two 
 daughters, the presumed co-heiresses of Ring- 
 wood. 
 
 They had known from childhood that the 
 estate was embarrassed ; had seen reckless ex- 
 travagance at home, while their brothers were 
 sent, one by one, to pine and die at foreign 
 stations, because foreign appointments were 
 the only provision their father could make for 
 them. 
 
 With Jane, the elder of the two sur- 
 viving daughters, Ringwood became a passion. 
 If she could not save her brothers, the old 
 home of the Strettons she at least would save. 
 At Mr. Stretton's death, his will directed that 
 Ringwood should be at once sold, to pay his 
 debts.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 21 
 
 The two girls had each, from their mother, 
 enough to keep them from absolute dependence; 
 and some distant relations, in the same county, 
 at once offered them a home. 
 
 The younger soon married ; not discreditably, 
 but quite out of their own "set;" and thence- 
 forth " the county" knew her no more. The 
 intercourse between the sisters became con- 
 strained, and gradually dropped. 
 
 Jane remained some years unmarried. • She 
 was too handsome and too proud for any one 
 but a member of some " good county family" 
 to pretend to ; and too poor to suit the views 
 of many in that class. 
 
 At length Colonel Ashgrove gravely and 
 quietly proposed, and was answered as gravely 
 and quietly. 
 
 " Do you admire the days of chivalry, 
 Colonel Ashgrove? because I suspect that, 
 much as we talk of their generosity and dis- 
 interestedness, some of their practices would 
 be thought mean and ungenerous, if avowcdl//
 
 STRETTON" 
 
 repeated in the present day ; yet I mean to do 
 
 so now." 
 
 He looked enquiringly. 
 
 " You know that in those days a fair lady 
 often set a distinct price upon her hand ; the 
 knight who fulfilled her desire, won her as 
 his reward. Now, I can only love one who 
 makes me happy ; so he who would win my 
 love, must fulfil the wish in which my hap- 
 piness is bound up." 
 
 " What is it, Jane ?" he asked, earnestly. 
 (They had played together as children before 
 his Indian service, so the Christian name came 
 naturally.) 
 
 " He must become Stretton of Ringwood 
 Chace, as the husband of Jane Stretton was 
 always expected to become." 
 
 " I accept the condition," said Colonel 
 Ashgrove, as quietly as before. '* My brother 
 James and his boys save me all responsibility 
 as to our own place ; and it is, as you know, 
 to India and bachelor uncles that I am indebted
 
 OE BINGWOOD CHACE. 23 
 
 for the fortune, which I would gladly employ 
 to reclaim the dear old Chace. But then, 
 Jane, I shall claim full and frank fulfilment 
 on your part. You have promised, remember, 
 to love me, if I restore you to your home." 
 
 The unaccustomed tears came into Jane's 
 falcon eyes. " You shall not repent it," was 
 all she said. 
 
 She kept her word. The coveted estate 
 was not at once to be obtained ; many diffi- 
 culties and hindrances intervened. But she 
 married Colonel Ashgrove at once ; only stipu- 
 latiKg that, until the purchase could be 
 effected, they should reside abroad. She 
 could have no English home, she said, but 
 Ringwood. 
 
 It was her home before very long ; and the 
 heir of Ringwood Chace was born, as she had 
 so ardently desired, in the home of his an- 
 cestors. 
 
 Yet when, some few years later, Colonel 
 Stretton's health began to fail, not all her
 
 24 STRETTON 
 
 cares for her promising boy could interfere 
 with the wife's devoted attention to her hus- 
 band ; and after his death, it was very long 
 ere she could find consolation in the thought 
 that Ringwood Chace was her own, to hold 
 and to enjoy ; and that she had a hopeful son 
 to whom to bequeath it.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 
 
 25 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In a few days the Strettons' excursion was 
 to terminate. Besides Mr. Stretton's chronic 
 impatience to be again in his counting-house, 
 two rough school-boys were coming home for 
 the vacation; and Mabel, whose holidays had 
 begun earUer than theirs, was shortly to 
 return to school. In both departments, Clara 
 was indispensable. 
 
 Since her mother's death, she had been the 
 manager and mainspring of the household. 
 Edward, only a year younger than herself, 
 had been her comrade on equal terms ; but
 
 26 STRETTON 
 
 " the boys," when not at school, were still a 
 constant plague and diversion to her ; and 
 in Mabel she had voluntarily taken on herself 
 an additional charge. 
 
 About five years before, Mr. Stretton and 
 his family, in a tour through Wales, had 
 become interested in the artist, Mr. Arleigh, 
 in his delicate wife and two pretty children. 
 Repeating the tour two years later, they 
 learnt that his wife's death had been quickly 
 followed by his own ; and that the children 
 were under the care of grand parents, 
 respectable people, but too poor to educate 
 them properly. Clara, then a school-girl 
 herself, after much inward screwing up of 
 her courage, petitioned her father that she 
 might take Mabel back with her ; and was 
 much relieved by the — " If you like, my 
 dear," — which she received in answer. Thus 
 Clara and Mabel were for a short time school- 
 fellows ; and when Clara left, Mabel continued 
 at the same school ; spending most of her
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 27 
 
 holidays with the Strettons. Among them 
 she was much on the footing of a favourite 
 little sister ; a good deal spoiled, and not a 
 httle teased. She was now about thirteen 
 years old ; but much younger in appearance. 
 
 The Strettons resided within driving 
 distance of the Metropolis — (as yet, railways 
 were not) — but beyond all taint of its smoke. 
 The house had no name ; Mr. Stretton rather 
 piqued himself on every one's knowing where 
 he lived. 
 
 It was a happy return home, that glowing 
 summer afternoon. Turning off the main 
 road, the carriage skirted the wide, breezy 
 common, tufted with furze, sprinkled with 
 trees ; and begirt by luxuriant shrubberies, 
 opening every here and there, to show the 
 cheerful-looking country residences, among 
 their conservatories and velvet lawns. 
 
 Edward drew a long breath. " How 
 pleasant it is to return home !" 
 
 '' Yes !" said Clara ; "and the garden will
 
 28 STRETTON 
 
 be just in its glory. I hope they have not 
 let it run wild in our absence !" 
 
 "Are you glad, little one?" said Mr. 
 Stretton kindly, drawing Mabel towards him. 
 
 " It is hard on Mabel," said Edward ; 
 " she has to go back to school. Never mind, 
 Mabel ; the time will soon pass for you to 
 leave." 
 
 Mabel slowly lifted her large, dark- grey 
 eyes, opened wider than usual, with a puzzled, 
 questioning look. " Shall I live here then ?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Of course !" said Edward, hastily. " You 
 know" — something in the child's face made 
 him stop, and alter his sentence. " It 
 wouldn't seeiB like home to either of us 
 without her, would it, Clara?" 
 
 *' She is a spoiled child," said Clara, good- 
 naturedly, patting the little hand which was 
 half-timidly slid into hers ; " I don't know 
 what we should do without her." 
 
 The carriage now stopped at a wide swing-
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 
 
 29 
 
 gate, which the footman sprang down to 
 open. The handsome old red-brick house, 
 with stone copings, and gHttering brass 
 knocker, looked cheerily forth from the semi- 
 circle of sweeping trees and glossy evergreens, 
 within which the broad gravel road girdled 
 the small velvet lawn. The coach-yard gates 
 were thrown open ; a small side gate, also 
 open, showed behind the house another lawn, 
 such as are to be found only in old gardens ; 
 its broad sunshine dappled here and there 
 with masses of shade, from spreading cedar 
 or feathering beech ; while beyond, the cattle 
 were seen grouped round great elm-trunks, in 
 the wide paddock. 
 
 A servant out of livery came forward as 
 the carriage drove up ; and several dogs, 
 rushing forth from house and yard, sprang 
 upon the arriving party, whom they almost 
 overwhelmed with their boisterous caresses. 
 Mabel, especially, was nearly knocked down 
 by a tall mastiff, who put both his fore paws 
 on her shoulders.
 
 30 STRETTON 
 
 Edward stood for a minute, half-absent, 
 looking around him ; patting at the same 
 time the head of a favourite spaniel, which 
 was pressing against his knee with an eager 
 whine of welcome. Clara sprang up the 
 stone steps, waiting at the top for her father, 
 who ascended them more slowly. And then 
 the whole party entered the large, square, 
 old-fashioned hall, paved with alternate dia- 
 monds of black and white stone ; a bed-room 
 gallery running round above, a low, wide 
 staircase at the farther end, and beyond, a 
 glass door opening to the garden. 
 
 Just within the hall- door stood the comely 
 Devonshire nurse, who had nursed all Mr. 
 Stretton's children, and still looked in her 
 prime. To part with her, would have been 
 like parting with one of themselves ; to seek 
 another situation, would have seemed to her 
 equally against nature. In a household of 
 more pretension, her present position would 
 have been dignified with the style and title of
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 31 
 
 "housekeeper;" but with the Strettons she 
 was still only "nurse." Her actual functions 
 consisted chiefly in nursing any one who 
 happened to be ill in the house ; attending 
 zealously to " the Master's" and " the young 
 Master's" personal comforts ; and going 
 through a perpetual course of making and 
 repairing for " the young gentlemen ;" whose 
 rendings and out-growings would alone have 
 furnished sufficient employment for any less 
 energetic person. 
 
 Nurse curtsied with extreme deference to 
 the family, as they entered ; but Edward and 
 Clara went up quickly and shook hands with 
 her, enquiring, half playfully, half earnestly, con- 
 cerning all that had transpired in their absence. 
 Mabel ran up and kissed her, then slipped up- 
 stairs. Mr. Stretton, with a good-natured 
 "Quite well. Nurse? All right at home?" 
 passed on into the dining room ; where he 
 was soon seated in his easy chair, with his 
 favourite dog at his feet, and reading the
 
 32 STRETTON 
 
 morning paper as quietly as if he had never 
 stirred from home. 
 
 " I shall come up in five minutes to dress, " 
 said Clara to the maid, who was superintend- 
 ing the unpacking of the carriage ; " I must 
 just look at the garden first ;" and speeding 
 through the glass door, she was out of sight 
 in a moment. 
 
 Edward, meanwhile, had rather slowly fol- 
 lowed his father into the dining-room ; a 
 large and lofty apartment, running along the 
 front of the house. The windows were all 
 open ; massive evergreens without, and Vene- 
 tian blinds within, threw a cool, refreshing 
 shadow over the crimson-toned furniture. 
 Edward walked to the wide end-window, 
 opened the blinds, and stood looking out at 
 the extensive prospect. The room was a 
 great favourite with the family, on account of 
 this view, the only one which the house com- 
 manded, and which was cheerily reflected in 
 the lofty mirror over the sideboard. From
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 38 
 
 the other rooms, nothing could be seen but 
 the grounds behind, or gUmpses, through the 
 trees, of the common in front. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Edward ?" said 
 his father, at last. 
 
 " Only how charming this place is ! I wish 
 it were our own." 
 
 " Why, what puts that into your head all 
 at once ? The lease can be renewed, no doubt, 
 as long as it suits any of us to live here ; but 
 by and bye you may be richer than I am, 
 or poorer, for aught we can say ; either way, 
 the place mightn't do for you ; and what would 
 be the good of being encumbered with it ? — or 
 you may marry some one who doesn't care for 
 the place, and would not like to be tied to it." 
 
 " I don't think I should easily care for any 
 one who would not care for it !" said Edward. 
 " The only thing I envy in old family estates, 
 is the permanent possession, the settled feel- 
 ing of home. But where can Mabel have 
 hidden herself?" he added, suddenly interrupt- 
 
 VOL. i» D
 
 34 STRETTOX 
 
 ing himself. " She has not been Hke the same 
 child since that morning at Ringwood." And 
 he went out into the hall, and called her; 
 *' Mabel ! where are you ?" 
 
 Mabel came running down stairs. 
 "Don't you want to see how your garden 
 has fared without you ?" And presently they 
 were out together, planning and consulting as 
 usual. 
 
 Edward always seemed so much nearer her 
 own age than Clara ; yet he was nearly twenty, 
 and Clara only just twenty-one. 
 
 " I must just see how Phoebe is going on," 
 said Edward, as they came to a gate leading 
 to the stable yard. " You can look at your 
 garden meanwhile." 
 
 " May I not come and see her too ?" 
 " Oh ! if you like." And he had soon 
 lifted her upon his beautiful bay mare, where 
 she sat with her hands twisted in the mane of 
 the gentle creature, which curved its neck 
 towards her for a caress.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 35 
 
 "It is late, " said Edward, at length, look- 
 ing at his watch ; " run on, Mab, you will 
 only just have time." He lifted her off as 
 he spoke ; and while he stayed to give some 
 orders, she folio w^ed the winding path which 
 led to her own little garden. 
 
 Presently, however, she came slowly and 
 sadly back, holding in her hand the snapped- 
 ofF stem of a young larch. 
 
 " Oh ! Edward ! my tree ! my beautiful 
 tree, which you gave me on my birthday !" 
 
 He took the spray from her hand, and fol- 
 lowed her hurried steps to the scene of the 
 disaster. Tiny hoof-prints, and a general 
 nibbled appearance, left no doubt as to the 
 cause of this misfortune, and of the desolate 
 aspect of the little garden, usually so trim and 
 
 " That naughty Bess (a pet kid) has been 
 trespassing again, Mabel. It is hard that she 
 should just have chosen your garden. But 
 never mind, dear; we will soon have all this
 
 36 STRETTON 
 
 mischief put to rights. Come along, and we 
 will talk to Gibson about it ; and I'll send 
 some better fencing down to-morrow." 
 
 He drew her good-naturedly away ; and 
 long before going in, she had quite forgotten 
 her troubles. 
 
 Clara, having completed her hasty survey, 
 hurried in, to dress for dinner ; and came down 
 bright and buoyant, her close travelling dress 
 exchanged for her favourite summer attire of 
 soft white muslin, which contrasted so well 
 with her almost oriental eyes and hair. From 
 a most lovely mother, Clara inherited, besides 
 the dark hair and eyes, something of the soft- 
 ness of outline ; while her spirited, half-saucy 
 expression, and the decision, almost impatience, 
 of her every look and gesture, were such a 
 contrast to her mother's yielding gentleness, 
 as often to make the personal likeness scarcely 
 perceptible. 
 
 Edward, on the other hand, had the marked 
 Strctton features, which people difiPered as to
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 37 
 
 considering handsome ; and the fair Stretton 
 complexion : a source of no small shame and 
 annoyance to him in his boyhood, and a 
 favourite mark for his companions' teasing, 
 until dyed by his out-door habits to a tint 
 several degrees darker than the bright brown 
 hair with which nature had meant it to con- 
 trast the other way. 
 
 Clara knew very well that she was not, as 
 her mother had been, what is technically 
 styled " a beauty ;" on the other hand, she 
 was perfectly aware of her good looks ; was 
 very glad of them ; and thought very little 
 about them. 
 
 She was clever too — could do, as the 
 phrase is, anything she hked. T/iat, too, was 
 an established fact ; of that, also, she was 
 quite conscious, and very glad ; perhaps even 
 more glad to be clever than to be pretty. 
 But there was nothing to dwell upon in such 
 a state of things ; no one disputed it. 
 Where was the use of asserting what nobody
 
 38 STRETTON 
 
 questioned? — She would have a good 
 fortune, no doubt ; nothing remarkable, 
 but such as a roan in her father's posi- 
 tion would naturally give a beloved and 
 only daughter. This had always been, in 
 her mind, and in the minds of all about 
 her, a matter of course; it was comfort- 
 able, but not exciting ; and in no way dis- 
 tinguished her from many young friends by 
 whom she w^as surrounded. Her social posi- 
 tion — ah ! — that rather more deeply interested 
 her feelings ! The idea of being, after all, 
 only a tradesman's daughter, now and then 
 galled her a little ; more, perhaps, than her 
 pride itself would permit her to own. But 
 the evil was only in idea ; the drawbacks, the 
 mortifications, which her fancy now and then 
 pictured, never came near her in her actual 
 life; and her real position was one of too 
 much ease, independence, consideration, and 
 happiness, to make repining possible, even to 
 a disposition only half as affectionate and
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 39 
 
 genial as hers. Still, this was the sensitive 
 point. The one earthly good which she held 
 not in unquestioned possession, seemed to her, 
 like all uncertain or unattainable blessings, 
 of more engrossing interest than all the 
 rest. 
 
 Clara had been in some respects peculiarly 
 circumstanced. The responsible and con- 
 spicuous place which she had held, since her 
 mother's death, as only daughter, and eldest 
 of the family, had given her an odd feehng 
 in intercourse with her young companions, 
 and caused her quite involuntarily to assume 
 with those of her own age the manners of 
 eldership, which she had acquired in her 
 home circle. She could hardly feel herself 
 an irresponsible girl like the rest. She 
 seemed, too, to have fewer thoughts to spare 
 for mere personal admiration. "She treats 
 one as if one were only her brother," had 
 been a murmur more than once raised against 
 her, and with some show of justice. For this
 
 40 STRETTON 
 
 '* treating like a brother" had iu Clara's case 
 no sentimental background, but was simply 
 the habitual, frank, good-natured, elder-sisterly 
 manner of superior wisdom, and ready help- 
 fidness, more tantalizing and discouraging 
 than any hauteur or any coquetry could pos- 
 sibly have been. 
 
 On a table in the drawing-room were 
 various notes, which had arrived for Clara 
 during her absence from home. These she 
 began to examine, while waiting for dinner. 
 
 " How tiresome it is, when people leave 
 their best parties till the holidays begin !" she 
 exclaimed, as she handed to her brother two 
 notes of invitation. *' The boys are so vexed 
 if I go out and leave them !" 
 
 " They ought to be going to bed about the 
 time that you would be going out," said her 
 father. 
 
 "Yes ! I know they ought ; but one hasn't 
 the heart to send the poor fellows to bed early 
 in holiday-time."
 
 OF MNGWOOD CHACE. 4L 
 
 " You didn't mind going out last holi- 
 days," said Edward. 
 
 " Don't you remember — it was Christmas, 
 and there were only juvenile parties, or half- 
 juvenile, at least ; to which they could go with 
 us — New Year's Eve, and Twelfth-Night, and 
 so on. Now, we couldn't take them to these 
 balls ; just fancy the sensation two wild 
 schoolboys would excite !" 
 
 "You don't really mean to give up those 
 two parties, of all others !" said her brother, 
 in astonishment. " They have capital balls at 
 both those houses." 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; there is no need to 
 refuse them ; but I doubt w^hether I shall 
 have the heart to go, when I see John and 
 Fred looking so dull and disconcerted." 
 
 Edward might well look surprised; for 
 Clara was the very queen of the dance. 
 Who her partners were, she cared little; it 
 was a proper, regular thing, that certain part- 
 ners should ask her to dance; and no one
 
 42 STRETTON 
 
 had much objection, she was so striking- 
 looking, and danced so well. Still, she re- 
 garded all as merely paying the due tribute 
 to her position ; and beyond this, it was only 
 the exercise itself which she dehghted in. 
 
 " You would make an excellent step- 
 mother, Clara ; you might scold the children 
 a little now and then, but you would spoil 
 them enough to satisfy the most exacting 
 kindred." 
 
 " How can you talk such nonsense, Ed- 
 ward !" she exclaimed, looking considerably 
 more annoyed than the cause seemed to war- 
 rant — " when you know it is what I dislike 
 the very thought of. I don't think am/' 
 thing w^ould induce me to become a step- 
 mother." 
 
 ** My dear Clara, no one wishes you to be 
 one ; but take care ; people always do what 
 they declare they will not." Then, catching 
 sight of his sister's flushed face, he added, in 
 an altered tone, *' But you know I was only
 
 OE RINGWOOD CHACE. 43 
 
 talking in jest ; I did not mean to vex you." 
 And the announcement that dinner was ready 
 broke off the conversation. 
 
 After dinner, Clara beguiled her father into 
 a short stroll, to look at his promising hay- 
 fields and thriving cattle. But Mr. Stretton 
 was rather disposed to take things quietly, 
 after his three weeks' travelHng. The whole 
 party, indeed, when the first excitement was 
 over, felt somewhat hstless, and lounged 
 away the evening in the pleasant, cool draw- 
 ing-room. The French windows were open 
 to the lawn ; and w^hen the lamp was brought 
 in, it was placed on a table in a shady corner, 
 that it might not spoil the effect of the 
 moon, rising above the great elm-trees, and 
 throwing on the turf minutely charac- 
 teristic shadows of the various trees and 
 shrubs. 
 
 Clara sat down on a stool at her father's 
 feet, leaning back against his knee. 
 
 " I really am tired ! But what a pleasant
 
 44 STKETTON 
 
 excursion we have had ! — and how charming 
 it is to be at home again !" 
 
 '' Yes," said Edward, looking up from his 
 book. (He had thrown himself into an easy- 
 chair, in a very listless attitude.) " Only it 
 is vexatious not to have seen the Chace after 
 all." 
 
 " Well, so it is," said Clara ; " but I 
 thought you cared less about that than I 
 did." 
 
 " I believe I care more about it now, than 
 at the time. One could only think at first of 
 the shock, and of poor Mrs. Stretton. But 
 so often as we have planned going there ! 
 and something always happening to prevent 
 it ; and then, when we were on the spot, to 
 have the whole thing cut short ! After all, 
 we know very little more about the place than 
 we have known all along, from those old 
 county books. It is like the stories about 
 enchanted islands !" 
 
 " Don't you like to have something to look
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 45 
 
 forward to; something you are not quite 
 certain about?" asked Mabel, looking up 
 suddenly. She had been reading in a corner, 
 and they had hardly noticed her. 
 
 '' Well, I believe I do," said Edward, after 
 a moment's pause. He looked rather struck 
 and startled. 
 
 " And I," said Clara, '' care only for what 
 is real and certain. That is the difference. — 
 But come, Mab, dear, you ought to be going 
 to bed." 
 
 And Mabel at once, though rather linger- 
 ingly, obeyed her. Very few ever thought of 
 questioning Clara's will. 
 
 Next day, things had fallen much into their 
 usual train. Edward drove his father up to 
 business (with some inward enjoyment of the 
 sensation which the high-stepping mare, his 
 recent purchase, excited on the road) ; father 
 and son both returning to a six o'clock dinner. 
 Clara, in their absence, flitted from dairy to 
 store-room, from flower-beds and conservatory
 
 46 STRETTON 
 
 to forcing-houses and kitchen garden ; with 
 quiet intervals in her own snug morning-room 
 up. stairs. She made the most of her short- 
 lived peace and leisure ; in two days " the 
 boys" were expected ; and for managing 
 them^ there was no hope but in Clara. 
 
 Not that they by any means uniformly 
 obeyed her; but she had the best chance 
 with them ; her sudden, uncompromising 
 commands often surprised \\:iQ\x\ into obedience. 
 
 Their father was to them rather a play- 
 fellow than a ruler. The plodding man of 
 business was still half a boy at heart ; a 
 quiet under-current of fun and mischief gave 
 a peculiar charm to all the enterprises and 
 frolics devised by him for their diversion. 
 His sharp, short anger, indeed, when he xoas 
 angry, made them, for some time after, take 
 good care not to incur it again. But his 
 nature shrank from anger, as from all dis- 
 turbance and excitement. When the boys 
 became unruly, he usually turned them over
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 47 
 
 to Clara ; he had them so little with him, he 
 said, he only wanted to enjoy them. At 
 school, they avowedly lived under a rule of 
 terror. Against the master personally, they 
 bore no positive grudge ; indeed, w^hen he was 
 once alarmingly ill, John had been heard 
 doubtfully suggesting to a schoolfellow : — 
 " Would it not be a pity now, after all, if the 
 old fellow were to pop off?" But they 
 regarded him simply as a natural enemy, 
 against whom a peculiar code obtained ; whom 
 they owed it to themselves to disobey, elude, 
 or beguile — in all ways not incompatible with 
 a fair chance of escaping punishment, and not 
 involving an actual lie — - that impossibility 
 to all English gentlemen, of whatever age or 
 station.
 
 48 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 It was no use '' making believe" at peace 
 and quietness, with the holidays " looming in 
 the distance." The coming event would throw 
 (not its shadow) before ; that would hardly 
 be a fitting expression for the odd, unac- 
 knowledged anticipation of coming pleasure 
 which pervaded the household. " The boys" 
 were certainly great plagues; the "young 
 gentlemen" were " terrible unruly ;" yet no 
 one, in the house or out of it, but was secretly 
 glad at the prospect of their return. 
 
 Clara gave up her own occupations in
 
 OF RIXaWOOD CHACE. 49 
 
 despair ; scarce an hour passed, without some 
 member or other of the establishment applying 
 to her for instructions on the subject of the 
 ''young gentlemen!" The rooms must be 
 prepared ; the ponies exercised and looked to. 
 Only Martin, the prim upper housemaid, — a 
 very Tartar of tidiness — begged deferentially 
 that a fresh set of covers might be given out, 
 to protect the drawing-room furniture. '' The 
 young gentlemen," she said, " did racket 
 everything to pieces in such a fashion !" 
 
 Nurse was in full force. Scarcely had she 
 relieved her mind, by rendering to Clara a 
 strict account of her stewardship during the 
 family's absence from home — an account 
 which no consideration would induce the old 
 woman to omit, and which was therefore 
 put up with out of regard to her feehngs — 
 than she threw herself, with renewed zest, 
 into her true vocation ; rising early and 
 lying down late ; there was so much to be done 
 " against the young gentlemen came home.'* 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 STRETTON 
 
 There was indeed plenty to be done; 
 before their arrival, during their stay ; that 
 long-looked-for period, so brief when it did 
 come, was sure well-nigh to absorb the 
 energies of all ; until the moment of mingled 
 regret and relief, when the coach should again 
 whirl away the unruly visitors, to give the 
 luckless schoolmaster once more the pleas m^e 
 of their company. 
 
 John and Fred returned, ruddy and sun- 
 burnt ; grown at all points, to a degree by 
 no means favourable to elegance, either in 
 costume or bearing ; and altogether in a state 
 which made Nurse groan as she exclaimed : 
 
 " Well ! how them school-keeping folk do 
 ueglect young gentlemen's best cloth clothes 
 is more than I can understand !" 
 
 While Clara, the first morning at breakfast, 
 felt it necessary to interrupt the programme 
 of amusements and expeditions, which the 
 boys were arranging with their father, to 
 say—
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 51 
 
 " First of all, papa, would you be so good 
 as to take them up to the tailor's ? I really am 
 ashamed for any one to see them while they 
 are such figures." 
 
 There was a suppressed groan — sister 
 Clara always was so tiresome ! — but they 
 submitted with a tolerable grace, and with the 
 meekness of newly-arrived guests. 
 
 The first week was really bearable, even 
 pleasant ; but all knew that the delusive calm 
 would not last ! All were too well accustomed 
 to see them pass gradually through the 
 various phases of demeanour — well-behaved 
 at first, almost to shyness, amid their glee ; 
 then waxing by degrees wild and uproarious, 
 till the house could scarcely hold them. 
 
 Mabel, by nature overflowing with spirits, 
 had usually been well able to hold her own 
 with the two boys ; and had indeed often 
 been excited by their presence to a degree of 
 wildness scarcely inferior to theirs. 
 
 Since the Ringwood adventure, however, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 STRETTON 
 
 a change seemed to have come over her ; 
 she did not shake off the shock ; instead of 
 a play-fellow, she became a victim. 
 
 " What is come to you, Mab ? you are grown 
 as bad as Arthur." 
 
 Arthur was Mabel's darling little brother ; a 
 grave, shy child, of ten years, brought up by 
 his aged grandparents, with no playfellows, 
 and but scanty teaching. He inherited his 
 father's genius ; and his nature seemed to find 
 in draioing its only outlet. Clara was con- 
 stantly inviting the lonely child, especially in 
 Mabel's holidays ; but if it was also " the boys' " 
 holiday-time, she generally contrived to send 
 them off on some interminable pony-expe- 
 dition, that Arthur might escape their teasing, 
 and have his own Queen Mab to himself in 
 peace. 
 
 Seeing that Mabel continued pale and 
 absent, Clara made the usual arrangements 
 for a visit from Arthur ; thinking that a long 
 day with him would rouse and cheer her.
 
 OF RINGWOOD GRACE. 53 
 
 And a merry morning the two passed together ; 
 Arthur was always merry and childUke when 
 with Mabel 
 
 The boys were not to be back till evening ; 
 and Clara had planned to send Arthur home 
 before their return, to save him from the 
 chance of their rather rough practical jesting. 
 
 During the holidays the children always 
 dined with the family, unless there was " com- 
 pany," which rarely occurred ; — Clara had 
 begged off from dinner-parties, since her 
 mother's death had placed her at the head of 
 the house and table. 
 
 This day, as usual, Mabel and Arthur were 
 with Clara in the drawing-room, waiting for 
 Mr. Stretton and Edward to return to dinner. 
 Edward, however, arrived first. 
 
 " Uncle is driving down with the Governor, 
 Clara," he said, '' so I asked a neighbour 
 to give me a lift. Poor Mabel !" he added, 
 laughing, as he caught her disconcerted look, 
 " I am sorry for you ; but don't tell him, as
 
 54 STRETTON 
 
 you did once, you know, that you wish he 
 w^ouldn't come here so often." 
 
 Mabel looked overpowered with shame, but 
 nowise penitent. Just then the gig drove 
 up, and in two or three minutes Mr. Stretton 
 and Mr. Hurburne entered. 
 
 Mr. Hurburne, the only brother of Mr. 
 Stretton's late wife, had been, from the time 
 of that marriage, his partner in business. To 
 his talent and enterprise it was generally sup- 
 posed that the family were indebted, in great 
 measure, for their present position ; though 
 the marriage had been considered at the time 
 a rare piece of good fortune for his charming, 
 portionless sister; and the introduction into 
 Mr. Stretton's old established house of business, 
 no less a lift for the clever, uncouth, half- 
 educated country lad himself. In the sister, 
 a peculiar innate grace of mind and manner 
 had supplied the deficiencies of scanty training. 
 The hard-headed man had educated himself 
 while making his fortune. He had some of
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 55 
 
 his sister's refinement, in taste if not in feeling ; 
 and spent his thousands, if with more zest 
 and conscious enjoyment than those who are 
 born to wealth, yet with quite as little thought 
 of display ; thus wholly escaping the vulgarity 
 of the parvenu. Wealth he valued solely for 
 the power it gave, and the enjoyments, chiefly 
 intellectual, which it could procure. Being 
 unmarried, he was of course practically a 
 richer man than Mr. Stretton, and lived as 
 such. His large, burly figure, and broad, 
 florid face, were redeemed from coarseness by 
 their character of massive power, and by 
 the deep-set, piercing black eyes. Something, 
 perhaps, of the unconscious insolence of 
 abounding wealth and health combined with a 
 certain callousness of nature to render his 
 manner occasionally harsh, and his remarks 
 grating ; but it was only the fastidious who 
 complained of this ; while all agreed that his 
 sterling excellencies well merited indulgence 
 for any such minor faults.
 
 56 STRETTON 
 
 " Well, Clara," said her uncle, as he shook 
 hands with her, *'how do you like your 
 brother's fine new purchase ? I advise you to 
 persuade your father not to trust himself with 
 her ; she stumbled two or three times on our 
 w^ay home. Young bones are soon mended ; 
 but an accident at your father's age would be 
 no laughing matter." 
 
 " Uncle, how can you frighten Clara so ?" 
 exclaimed Edward, angrily ; '' she will be 
 miserable now every time we are five minutes 
 later than usual. And I can't understand about 
 the mare stumbling ; she never did so with me." 
 
 '' No, Edward," said his father, " so I told 
 your uncle." 
 
 " Oh ! ke was driving?" — Edward broke off 
 abruptly. 
 
 "Don't be frightened, my girl," said Mr. 
 Stretton, '* there is no danger." 
 
 " Oh no ! I toont be frightened," said 
 Clara, with a little toss back of the head, as if 
 rather indignantly shaking off the alarm which
 
 OF EINGWOOD CHACE. 57 
 
 she felt that her uncle had wantonly excited. 
 She had turned rather pale, but her colour 
 came back brighter than usual as she spoke. 
 
 " Come, Mabel," she said, as the gentlemen 
 left the room to prepare for dinner, " I hope 
 that I have had your share this time ; so you 
 may escape having anything disagreeable said 
 to you." 
 
 In a short time the whole party were seated 
 at the dinner- table. 
 
 It really seemed as if Clara had indeed 
 served as lightning-conductor for the rest ; the 
 dinner passed off in most pleasant conversation. 
 Mr. Hurburne was full of the different exhi- 
 bitions, of pictures especially, then open for 
 the season. He was a liberal and judicious 
 patron of art, in w^hich his fine taste entitled 
 him to rank as connoisseur. 
 
 To Mabel and Arthur such subjects had 
 been household words from infancy ; they lis- 
 tened to every word with eager eyes and rapt 
 attention.
 
 58 STRETTON 
 
 Dessert was placed on the table, and the 
 servants left the room. 
 
 " By the bye," said Mr. Harburne sud- 
 denly, *^ some of us have been getting up a 
 society for the benefit of artists' children, left 
 unprovided for. As I am treasurer, I might, 
 perhaps, get Arthur a nomination for the next 
 vacancy. Only there may be a difficulty, as 
 poor Mr. Arleigh did not at all distinguish 
 himself in his profession." 
 
 '' We thought his pictures beautiful,'' in- 
 terrupted Edward ; " and so does Dr. Harland, 
 who is as good a judge as anyone." 
 
 *' Mab, dear," said Clara, " won't you and 
 Arthur like a run together in the garden, be- 
 fore he goes home ?" 
 
 " At any rate," pursued Mr. Hurburne, as 
 the children were eagerly rising to make their 
 escape, " we may find some institution where 
 Mabel might be received, and respectably edu- 
 cated to maintain herself. Of course she would 
 be glad to be no longer a burden on you."
 
 OF BINGWOOD CHACE. 59 
 
 " Uncle," exclaimed Clara, suddenly rising, 
 " it is so hot, I must go out on the lawn with 
 the children. Excuse me !" she threw up the 
 large end-window, pushed them out before 
 her, and sprang down after them. 
 
 " You naughty little thing, to be looking 
 so ! I should like to shake you !" she ex- 
 claimed, half stifling Mabel with kisses, as 
 soon as they were out of sight and hearing. 
 " You shall be punished, by never dining with 
 us when my uncle comes." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Clara !" said Mabel. 
 
 " Now, Arthur, it is time for you to be off; 
 we must walk to meet the coach; and be 
 sure and tell grandpapa that we think your 
 last drawings wonderfully improved ; and that, 
 if you work very hard, you may paint some 
 day almost as well as your dear papa. Mind, 
 I don't say quite as well ; there are not many 
 who can do that." 
 
 " I know," said the boy, opening his large 
 eyes ; *' but / will."
 
 60 STRETTON 
 
 " There/s a good boy ! Come, Mabel, we 
 must get our bonnets ; it is later than I 
 thought." 
 
 "Mayn't I bring yours, dear?" asked 
 Mabel. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, Mab. Come, which 
 will be ready first ?"
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The little party were soon equipped, and 
 walked quickly along the golden common, 
 glowing in the slanting afternoon sun ; then 
 turning out upon the main road, they went on 
 in cheerful chat till they met the coach. After 
 Clara had given many charges as to Arthur's 
 destination and safety, they watched him out 
 of sight, then turned to walk home. 
 
 In a few minutes, they met Edward has- 
 tening to meet them. " You are just in time 
 to walk back with us, Edward," said his 
 sister ; " you know I must be home to make
 
 62 STRETTON 
 
 tea; and besides, the boys will be return- 
 ing." 
 
 "Well, walk slowly, at any rate," said 
 Edward, " one wants to breathe a little. I 
 made my escape as soon as I could, and left 
 uncle and father together. It's surprising 
 how they always get on. Pity me. Mab," — 
 turning to the little girl, — " all day long at his 
 mercy. There I sit, all cosy at ray desk ; the 
 Governor opposite at his ; and there ke sits, 
 in the next room, just a wooden partition be- 
 tween us, with a door in it, which he can 
 come through any minute. Luckily, he 
 doesn't often come ; he is too busy in his 
 own den, with great books and heaps of papers. 
 But I couldn't bear it, Clara, except for dear 
 mamma's sake. She was so fond of him, and 
 proud of him ; and father thinks all he does 
 must be right. To be sure, uncle never 
 ventures to say such things to /lim ! Mab !" 
 turning suddenly round to her, " you didn't 
 mind him, did you? I told him, after you
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 63 
 
 were gone, that you were just the same as a 
 relation; a cousin, you know. We don't 
 seem ever to have had any, unless that poor 
 fellow who is dead was one ; you remember, 
 at Ringwood, Mabel ?" 
 
 Mabel turned pale, and shivered, as she 
 had done at the time. 
 
 " Clara," she said, after a moment's silence, 
 " my mamma's name was Stretton before she 
 married papa. I saw it in one of her books : 
 ' Margaret Stretton.' " 
 
 " You little darling !" exclaimed Clara, 
 catching hold of her, " you must be a relation, 
 and that is what makes us so fond of you." 
 
 " I don't think— I'm afraid not," said 
 Mabel, hesitating. " Papa didn't like to come 
 and paint your papa ; and mamma said, ' I 
 assure you there is no relationship.' " 
 
 " But why did you never tell us ?" 
 
 ** I didn't like ; and papa told me not ; 
 and mamma too." And Mabel, puzzled and 
 excited, and feeling as if she had done wrong,
 
 64 STRETTON 
 
 stopped short, colouring deeper and deeper, 
 and trying hard not to cry. 
 
 *' Never mind/' said Edward, "if you won't 
 be a cousin, you are to be my wife, you 
 know, so it doesn't signify." 
 
 " You know, Edward, I wont'' 
 
 They had just reached the house, and 
 Mabel ran in. Edward pretended to chase 
 her ; then turned to have a few words with 
 his sister in the hall. But just at that 
 moment was heard the rapid trot of ponies 
 on the gravel sweep ; and presently " the 
 boys " rushed in, flushed and excited. 
 
 '* Oh, Clara, we have had such a famous 
 day !" and both were beginning an eager 
 account, contradicting each other impatiently 
 at nearly every statement. 
 
 " Hush, both of you ! — uncle is here." 
 '' Oh, is he ?" exclaimed Fred, " that's jolly ! 
 Now we'll go and ask him to take us to the 
 theatre." 
 
 " You know, Clara," said John, " you
 
 OF EINGWOOD CHACE. 65 
 
 to take us, and you never 
 have." 
 
 " Yes, John ; I did promise, and vexed 
 enough I am about it ; but papa can't bear 
 going out after he has been all day at bu- 
 siness, and I am afraid to take you vrithout 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, well, never mind," said Fred, " we'll 
 go and ask uncle, and I know he'll take us, 
 he always does. Come along, John." And 
 he dragged John with him into the dining- 
 room, where Mr. liurburne and Mr. Stretton 
 still sat talking, awaiting Clara's summons to 
 tea. 
 
 " But it won't be such fun," said John, 
 " if father doesn't go." 
 
 " How fond those boys are of uncle !" said 
 Clara, " not the least bit afraid of him ! I re- 
 member, I used to like him, at their age." 
 
 "/never did," said Edward, with un- 
 wonted sturdiness. " But, Clara," he con- 
 tinued, following his sister into the drawing- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 06 STRETTON 
 
 room, " how strange this is about Mabel ! 
 And do you remember what they told us at 
 Pungwood about Mrs. Stretton's sister? I do 
 hope they will not claim her." 
 
 "What do you mean?" said Clara. "I 
 only wish such good fortune may be in store 
 for the poor child." 
 
 " Yes ; but she is very happy here. Yet, of 
 course, we must enquire about it, and not let 
 her lose her rights. She has no one but us 
 to look after her interests." 
 
 " And poor little Arthur !" said Clara. " I 
 should be so glad for his sake.* It makes my 
 heart ache to send that timid little fellow all 
 alone through London by the coach ; yet papa 
 won't let me send him home in the carriage ; 
 and very right too. He says I must not unfit 
 him for the way in which he will have to go 
 through the world. But he wants a kind, happy 
 home, and quite a different sort of teaching ; 
 he is so clever, but so peculiar and over- 
 thoughtful. We might manage for Mabel,
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 67 
 
 but I don't know what would become of 
 him." 
 
 " We must enquire about it at once," said 
 Edward. 
 
 " I will talk to papa about it to-morrow," 
 said Clara. " (Please, Edward, ring the bell 
 for tea.) Certainly no time should be lost." 
 
 " We shall lose Mabel," said Edward. 
 
 '* Ah yes, that is true ; yet I should be 
 glad, dear little helpless thing ! I can't bear 
 the thought of her having to battle with 
 the world ; it would not be half as bad for 
 mey 
 
 Here the urn was brought in. 
 
 "Ask Barlow to come for my walking- 
 things, and in five minutes tell the gentlemen 
 that tea is ready. — You know, Edward, that I, 
 who have been waited on all my life, have 
 hardly patience to let Barlow dress me ; only 
 I must keep her in practice, or she would 
 be awkward with visitors. Now Mabel sits 
 down, in a sort of absent way, and holds her
 
 68 STRETTON 
 
 head for those long, auburn curls of hers to 
 be brushed — and stands, in a kind of dream, 
 to have her things put on. I can't bear to 
 interfere ; and the servants are so fond of her, 
 they all wait on her ; and, of course, I wish 
 them to think her one of ourselves. I thought 
 school would put all right; but as soon as 
 she comes home here again, she falls into the 
 same ways. And we can't hope that papa 
 will adopt her ; so I should like to see the 
 little darling settled at Ringwood Chace, where 
 these ways would be matters of course. I 
 used to wonder how they came. I suppose 
 her mamma accustomed her to them. That 
 was very natural, if it was what she had always 
 been used to herself." 
 
 Edward had listened to his sister's argu- 
 ments with much attention, but with a look 
 that by no means expressed acquiescence, 
 lie paused, however, as if hardly knowing how 
 to reply ; and before he could do so, Barlow 
 came for the bonnet and cloak. Then Mabel
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. G9 
 
 crept ill shyly, to say good night ; — she was so 
 sleepy and tired, might she go to bed ? 
 
 And as soon as she was gone, Mr. S tret ton 
 and Mr. Hurburne, with the boys, came in to 
 tea. The latter were in high delight — their 
 uncle had promised to take them to the 
 theatre the very next week. 
 
 After tea they sat in tranced attention, while 
 Mr. Hurburne related and commented upon 
 the details of a fearful murder, for which the 
 trial was then going on, and with which the 
 public were almost wholly engrossed. He 
 recapitulated the particulars with graphic 
 vividness, and, where the subject admitted, 
 with a certain grim humour. Fred's eyes 
 grew wider, and his cheek paler every minute, 
 yet he resisted all his sister's injunctions to go 
 to bed. John, indeed, first stretched himself 
 on the carpet, at his father's feet, then rested 
 his head on Mr. Stretton's knee, and gradually 
 fell fast asleep. But Clara was heartily glad 
 when at last her uncle, looking at his watch,
 
 70 STRETTON 
 
 exclaimed that he must be off, or he should 
 miss the coach. He never, by any chance, 
 slept at Mr. Stretton's. 
 
 When she went up to bed, Clara peeped, 
 as usual, into the little, white-curtained room 
 within her own. To her surprise, Mabel, 
 usually the soundest of sleepers, was sitting 
 up in her little French bed, looking rather 
 flushed and eager. 
 
 " Clara," she began almost immediately, " I 
 wish I belonged to some one." 
 
 "You belong to us, dear child, till some 
 one better gets hold of you." 
 
 " But if I only had a right to you ! But 
 perhaps !" she exclaimed eagerly — '* papa said 
 you were no relations, I know ; but you always 
 think you are relations of Mrs. Stretton, at 
 Ringwood, don't you ?" 
 
 " We may be related to her some way or 
 other, as you may be to us, without any of us 
 ever knowing the rights of it. But what has 
 that to do with the matter ?"
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 7l 
 
 " Because," said Mabel, " I belong to them — 
 at least to that one whom they were burying. 
 I knew it quite well — it was as if they had 
 been burying my own brother." And she 
 shuddered, as she had done before. 
 
 " But," said Clara, evasively, " if you belong 
 to them, you will have to leave us; for they 
 will never recognize us as relations." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed Mabel, with a deep sigh. 
 "And yet," she went on, "poor grandpapa 
 and grandmamma can't keep me, I know" — 
 here the child's face became crimson — " or I 
 sometimes think I would go to them. Oh ! 
 Clara, do you remember the torrent, by our 
 pretty Welsh home? You know the whole 
 cottage used to be full of the sound. And I 
 have it now always in my ears." 
 
 " My dear child," said Clara, in her decided 
 way, "you will be ill. You were frightened 
 at Ringwood ; and now my uncle has teased 
 you with his nonsense, just as he does all of 
 us. Now go to sleep, there's a good girl.
 
 72 STRETTON 
 
 You know this is your home, and we all like 
 to have you." 
 
 And Mabel, having held up her face to be 
 kissed, turned round and went to sleep ; and 
 woke in the morning, her own merry, child- 
 like self.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 73 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Next morning, Clara, as usual, accompanied 
 her father in his stroll through the grounds, 
 before he set off to business. Not only lawn, 
 flower-garden, and shrubbery were visited and 
 commented on ; — the cow-shed, the stack-yard, 
 even the piggery — every department of the 
 miniature farm, was passed in review and dis- 
 cussed with deep interest by father and 
 daughter. 
 
 This was Clara's time for confidential talk 
 with her father; for pleading the cause of 
 some offending dependent ; for confessing and
 
 74 STRETTON 
 
 softening some escapade of the boys ; for win- 
 ning Mr. Stretton's consent to some rather start- 
 Hng piece of expense, or, far more difficult, to 
 some Uttle bit of what he deemed unwarranted 
 display. Mr. Stretton, indulgent as he was 
 to his children, was yet, in a certain way, a 
 good deal feared by them ; he was a true 
 Stretton, though the gentlest of the race ; his 
 will was neither to be changed nor questioned. 
 So it was with some hesitation and misgiving 
 that Clara at length began upon the subject 
 now uppermost in her thoughts. She had 
 not summoned up her courage till they were 
 taking the last lingering turn under the great 
 elm trees, before going in to breakfast. 
 
 *' Papa, do you remember Mabel's mo- 
 ther?" 
 
 " What made you think of that, my dear? 
 — Oh yes, I remember her, of course, very 
 well, though you know we did not see much 
 of her. She seemed a soft, pleasing woman 
 — had been pretty too, no doubt."
 
 OF EINGWOOD CHACE. 75 
 
 "But, papa, Mabel says her mamma's 
 maiden name was Stretton." 
 
 " You don't say so ! That is curious. 
 How came she never to tell us before ?'* 
 
 " She says her papa did not wish it men- 
 tioned." 
 
 "What could be the reason of that, I 
 wonder? But he was a little eccentric, as 
 artists often are, and rather over-proud and 
 particular. A nice, gentlemanly fellow, 
 though, and painted better than half that are 
 made twice the fuss about. So his wife's 
 name was Stretton ? No dearth of Strettons 
 now-a-days ! One hears of them on every side- 
 You are in a fair way, my dear, to have your 
 wish for cousins gratified at last." 
 
 " But, papa, Mabel thinks that they belong 
 to the Ringwood Strettons." 
 
 *' Ringwood Strettons ! — Nonsense !" in a 
 tone of extreme impatience. " My dear 
 Clara, you really must not be putting your 
 own fanciful notions into the child's head. She
 
 76 STRETTOX 
 
 has already heard you and Ed ward, I suppose, 
 talking about being related to the Ringvvood 
 Strettons, till she begins to think the same of 
 herself. I am quite tired of this folly about 
 the Ringwood Strettons !" 
 
 " Now, don't be cross, there's a dear papa ; 
 we have not put any notions into her head ; 
 but she thinks — you know she is an odd 
 child, yet there may be something in it. You 
 remember the inn-keeper telling us about 
 Mrs. Stretton's sister?" 
 
 " Oh, I do not trouble myself about such 
 things ; I remember his telling us some long 
 story or other." 
 
 " About Mrs. Stretton's sister, who married, 
 do you not remember ? — and whose children 
 would now be heirs to the estate ? You know, 
 the man said she had married quite aicaj/, as 
 he called it, and they did not know whether 
 she were alive or dead." 
 
 " Well, my dear, if it should turn out so, 
 it would be very fortunate for them, poor little
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 77 
 
 things. I only wish it were so, with all my 
 heart." 
 
 "But, papa, don't you think we should 
 make some enquiries — should let it be known 
 where these children are ? You know Mrs. 
 Stretton may not be aware of their existence, 
 or know where to find them." 
 
 Her earnestness began to make an impres- 
 sion on her father, who seemed at last dis- 
 posed to look at the matter in the light she 
 wished. 
 
 " We must enquire about it, my dear ; but 
 don't unsettle the child. Suppose you write 
 to old Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh ; they are the 
 most likely persons to know. But is it not 
 breakfast-time ? You must not worry yourself 
 too much about your protegee,'' concluded 
 Mr. Stretton, taking his daughter's hand, and 
 playing with it afiectionately as they moved 
 quickly towards the house. 
 
 Clara wisely let the matter drop ; but when 
 breakfast was over, and the little party had
 
 7S STRETTON 
 
 dispersed to their various doings, she settled 
 herself snugly in her own unapproachable 
 morning-room, and wrote a brief, clear state- 
 ment of facts and conjectures, for Mr. Arleigh's 
 benefit ; requesting that, as so much might be 
 at stake for the children, he would inform her 
 father at once of all the particulars bearing on 
 the subject. Then she shook off her abstrac- 
 tion, brushed back the raven hair which had 
 fallen over her face in her intense absorption 
 over her letter, and went quietly down into the 
 kitchen, according to her invariable morning 
 custom, to give orders for the day. 
 
 All household instincts were strong in 
 Clara; the love of children, the love of do- 
 mestic management — indeed of management 
 generally — of keeping things and people in 
 order, and putting to rights whatever was 
 wrong. The practical, in all departments, was 
 her gift ; the real, the present, was her ele- 
 ment. The day, with its business and its 
 pleasures, sufficed for her active nature. She
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 79 
 
 did not require, as Mabel had truly said that 
 Edward did, something to look forward to, 
 something not quite certain. Thus she could 
 never be said thoroughly to understand her 
 brother ; in whom this visionary element, cu- 
 riously in contrast with his matter-of-fact daily 
 life, gave to his whole actual existence a pe- 
 culiar, vague colouring of associations and 
 anticipations. He devoted himself with steady 
 perseverance to the prosaic details of his 
 father's business ; it was his birthright, handed 
 down through several generations ; he was the 
 son, the grandson, the great-grandson of 
 tradesmen ; he was proud of his order. 
 Something of the same nature was his fanciful 
 liking for his sister's little protegee. People 
 generally saw in Mabel a winning little girl, 
 rather pretty, rather clever, rather odd. He 
 only saw in the child what he had settled 
 in his own mind that the woman would 
 become. 
 
 " Mabel," said Clara to her that afternoon,
 
 80 STRETTON 
 
 " would you not like to come with me to-day ? 
 I have a whole round of calls to make ; I 
 should like to have you to keep me com- 
 pany." 
 
 Her heart clung regretfully to the favourite 
 little companion, whom she felt inwardly 
 assured she should not long be permitted to 
 retain. 
 
 *' Oh, thank you, Clara, dear ! I should like 
 it so much ; only you will let me stay in the 
 carriage when you go into the houses ?" 
 
 " Why, that would be a pity, Mab ; some 
 of the people are so kind and pleasant. At 
 one place there are some girls just your own 
 age." 
 
 " But they will not know or care anything 
 about me ; — I would rather stay in the car- 
 riage." 
 
 " You proudest of little mortals !" ex- 
 claimed Clara, laughing, yet half provoked. 
 " Well, then, you must take a book to amuse 
 you. Only be sure to be ready in time."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 81 
 
 Clara was very punctual, Mabel decidedly 
 the reverse. 
 
 The child gave a somewhat wistful glance 
 from under her deep eye-lashes, as if to see 
 whether her friend were displeased with her. 
 
 Clara caught the look, just as she was turn- 
 ing quickly away. 
 
 " It's all right, dear," she replied to the 
 mute interrogation ; goodnaturedly patting 
 Mabel on the cheek as she spoke. '' Now 
 run off, and put on your things, there is only 
 just time." 
 
 It was always a great indulgence to Mabel, 
 when Clara invited her to be her companion 
 in these long, pleasant drives. For this w^as 
 so far a country-neighbourhood, that the or- 
 dinary routine of mornin(j calls involved 
 drives of considerable length. Mabel en- 
 joyed the broad, smooth road, bordered with 
 pleasant meadows or plantations ; the bright 
 glimpses of distant hills and woods ; the in- 
 terminable succession of goodly residjnces, 
 
 VOL. I, G
 
 82 STRETTON 
 
 — " the pleasant homes of England," — with 
 their sheltering shrubberies, sunny lawns, and 
 abounding gardens ; such abodes as are pro- 
 bably to be met with only in England ; and 
 even there, only around the metropolis, and 
 some few large commercial towns, which they 
 encircle like so many carcanets of jewels. — 
 Abodes for the most part of self-made men ; 
 and differing wholly from the isolated dignity 
 of the country seat ; differing, also, in the 
 absence of that indefinable character which is 
 given by hereditary possession. For loved 
 and cherished as these suburban homes may 
 be, the gathering points of family joys, in- 
 terests, and associations, it is rarely that they 
 descend even to a second generation ; the 
 father's fortune, however large, being divided 
 after his death, with at least something like 
 equality, and the old, happy home broken up, 
 because no one member of the family can 
 occupy the father's place. A wise and equi- 
 table arrangement, probably ; an inevitable
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 83 
 
 one at least ; yet one which has filled many 
 hearts with sadness. 
 
 No sad thoughts, however, disturbed Mabel's 
 enjoyment, as she leaned forward to drink in 
 the balmy summer breeze, which seemed every 
 minute to catch some fresh perfume from the 
 blooming land over which it passed ; as she 
 speculated, with a child's play of fancy, upon 
 the occupants of every attractive residence ; 
 their characters, feelings, and pursuits. She 
 scarcely required to have recourse to her book 
 for amusement, even when Clara's visits were 
 more than usually prolonged. 
 
 *' I am sorry you did not come in with me 
 this time/' said Clara, as she re-entered the 
 arriage, after even Mabel had begun to 
 wonder at the length of her stay ; " there were 
 some nice pictures and engravings, which you 
 would have enjoyed seeing. I must take you 
 there another day, when you are braver. I 
 dared not have you in this time, for — they are 
 good, kind people, but they do make a fuss 
 
 G 2
 
 84 STRETTON 
 
 about everything ! There would have been so 
 much surprise and dismay at your having re- 
 mained in the carriage at all ; such elaborate 
 apologies and attentions, if you had come in 
 at last, that you would have been perfectly out 
 of countenance. But now, Mab dear," she 
 added, with a sudden change of manner, " we 
 must begin to think about other matters. You 
 know you are to go back to school in less than 
 a week. I am very sorry to part with you, 
 dear, but it must be ; so we must be preparing 
 in earnest. The horses will be tired to-mor- 
 row, after this long drive ; but the next day 
 I must take you with me to London, to fit 
 you out properly." 
 
 Mabel was still too young — young in feelings 
 as well as in years — to make a day's shopping 
 of this nature the agreeable excitement that 
 it would have been to one a little older. To 
 personal vanity she had not yet awakened ; and 
 considered all the pains which Clara bestowed 
 upon her (iMabel's) attire, and connected mat-
 
 OF RINGWOOB CHACE. 85 
 
 ters, as very kind, but very tiresome ; some- 
 thing that must be gratefully endured, but 
 still only endured. Nor was her imagination, 
 as yet, ripe and strong enough to make the 
 mere day in London, apart from all personal 
 interests, the strange, exciting, intoxicating 
 pleasure which is experienced when the mind 
 can somewhat grasp the mystery of that 
 mighty riddle. 
 
 But Mabel had now quite recovered her 
 spirits — all was bright, all was welcome ; such 
 was her happy, free-hearted nature. Even the 
 return to school, (whither Clara always con- 
 veyed her herself, punctually on the appointed 
 day), could only momentarily depress her 
 buoyant temperament. John and Fred de- 
 clared that it was a great shame for her to be 
 sent off just as she was beginning to be good 
 for something again !
 
 86 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Clara,'* said Edward one morning to his 
 sister, as they stood lounging together at the 
 garden-door, enjoying the few smishiny minutes 
 before his starting for business, " I have been 
 talking to father about those parties, and he 
 positively will not hear of your giving them 
 up on the boys' account. He declares, that 
 rather than you should do so, he will take 
 John and Fred to the theatre himself one of 
 the evenings, and somewhere else — anything 
 we can devise — on the other." 
 
 " Oh ! what a dear, good father !" exclaimed
 
 OF EINaWOOD CHACE. 87 
 
 Clara, in undisguised satisfaction. " I really 
 should so much like to go !" 
 
 " And you see the boys will be the gainers. 
 It is a rare treat for them to go somewhere 
 alone with the Governor." 
 
 " And they have talked of scarcely anything 
 else since my uncle took them ; and they like 
 going with papa so much better. Their time 
 is getting short now, poor fellows, and they 
 will really have something to talk and think 
 about when they go back." 
 
 Edward very well liked escorting his sister ; 
 he was proud of her. Besides, there is no 
 need to have recourse to fraternal affection, to 
 account for a very decided willingness, on his 
 own part, to make one among the guests on 
 the present occasion. This was, in that limited 
 neighbourhood, t/ie ball par excellence of the 
 season ; the largest rooms, the most tasteful 
 decorations, the finest band, the prettiest girls • 
 many very far prettier than Clara herself; but 
 that she really thought, in all sincerity, a de-
 
 88 STRETTON 
 
 cided addition to the charm of the scene. It 
 certainly in no degree weighed upon her 
 spirits; and Edward, his mind pre-occupied 
 with visions of his own, really enjoyed the 
 gaiety with nearly as free a heart as hers. It 
 was a charming evening, a delightful ball, an 
 enchanting cowp-d' mil. So they said, and so 
 they thought ; and, in good truth, neither 
 brother nor sister thought or felt much more 
 on the subject. 
 
 It was a pleasant drive home, in the 
 soft summer dawning ; the low-hanging 
 moon fading slowly into the blue, and 
 the stars growing pale in the rosy eastern 
 glow. 
 
 The conversation, animated at first, had 
 considerably flagged, and Clara was becoming 
 rather sleepy, when the sudden turn into their 
 own gates aroused her. 
 
 " My father and the young gentlemen are 
 returned, of course ?" enquired Edward of the 
 servant.
 
 OE RINGWOOD CHACE. 89 
 
 " Oh yes, sir ; at home and in bed for 
 hours." 
 
 The brother and sister passed for a moment 
 into the dining-room, neither of them feehng 
 much inchned to retire to rest. They stood 
 lingeringly at the large end window, gazing 
 out at the fair distant landscape, bhishing 
 through its veil of morning mist. As Edward 
 turned to leave the room, he perceived a letter, 
 which they had not before noticed, on the 
 sideboard. 
 
 " A letter for you, Clara," he said carelessly, 
 just glancing at it as he passed. " What an 
 odd handwriting !" he exclaimed, as he caught 
 a clearer view of the characters, " surely I have 
 seen it somewhere before !" And he involun- 
 tarily took up the letter. " Oh ! now T know ! 
 it is Dr. Harland ! those doctors do write the 
 strangest — But what can he have to write 
 about, I wonder?" 
 
 And quite absorbed in examining the super- 
 scription, the singularity of which had thus
 
 90 STRETTOy 
 
 caught his attention, he continued to hold the 
 letter, in an absent sort of way, turning it 
 about in his fingers, instead of passing it on 
 to his sister ; till, receiving no answer to his 
 remarks, he looked up, and saw her standing 
 close beside hira, with a flush of displeasure 
 on her cheek. 
 
 " Really, Edward !" she began, with an of- 
 fended air. 
 
 ''- My dear Clara, I beg your pardon !" said 
 Edward, earnestly, waking up to a sense of the 
 breach of good manners he had been guilty of. 
 " I quite forgot — I was only thinking about the 
 handwriting." And seeing her still holding 
 the letter which he had given her, very much 
 as if she would not open it in his presence, he 
 turned away quickly, to leave the room. 
 
 " It is not of the least consequence, Edward, 
 thank you," she answered, with considerable 
 stiffness. " This letter is only to ask me a 
 very simple question, which I shall have no 
 difficulty in answering."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 91 
 
 She had not yet opened the letter, so there 
 seemed something Hke clairvoyance in her 
 unhesitating statement of its contents. Nor 
 did she open it, even when left alone; but 
 went quietly to her room ; submitted patiently 
 to the usual process of disrobing ; and did not 
 break the seal till finally shut in by herself 
 for the night. 
 
 At breakfast, next morning, loud was the 
 clamour, marvellous and conflicting were the 
 accounts of the last night's wonders. Clara 
 presided at the urn, with even more than 
 her customary quiet regularity, and listened, 
 though with occasional looks of absence, to 
 the disjointed and not very intelligible ac- 
 counts poured forth on either side. 
 
 " Oh ! sister Clara ! it was as good as being 
 in a real battle ! the smoke, and the fire, and 
 the groans of the wounded !" — 
 
 " Nonsense, John ! that was all easy enough 
 — anybody could do that ; but the thunder 
 and lightning and the — "
 
 92 STRETTON 
 
 "Sister Clara, do you hear, or do you 
 not?'' demanded John abruptly, in that im- 
 perious tone which nature seems to have 
 assigned, as a distinctive gift, to the more 
 worthy gender. 
 
 " My dear John 1" — (Clara's patience was 
 fast oozing out at the ends of her fingers) — 
 " do you think no one has anything to do but 
 to listen to you and Fred quarrelling about 
 such absurdities ?'* 
 
 " Well," said Master Fred, pertly, " if sister 
 Clara comes home so cross after one of her 
 grand balls, the longer she is before she goes 
 to another the better, / say." 
 
 " Fred, be silent this instant !" interposed 
 the father's voice, in its sternest tones. 
 "Never let me hear you speak in that way 
 again to your sister !" 
 
 Fred, thoroughly startled, shrank into him- 
 self, and vanished totally from the conversa- 
 tion from that moment. 
 
 After breakfast, Clara, scarcely waiting to
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 93 
 
 bid her father good morning before his de- 
 parture, shut herself into her morning room, 
 as was her wont when something required 
 her undivided attention. Hastily, bending 
 low over the paper, she wrote one very short 
 note ; her cheeks burning, her eyes heavy and 
 anxious. Then she dashed off, with flowing 
 pen, several Hght, gossiping epistles to friends 
 at a distance — rang the bell, and desired all 
 to be posted immediately. 
 
 " Well, it was a capital ball !" remarked 
 Edward that evening, as the little party were 
 preparing to depart for bed. " But you look 
 tired, Clara ; and no wonder ! you danced so 
 much, and we were home so late. However, 
 I only hope the next may be as good.'* 
 
 '* Oh ! I shall not go to any more at pre- 
 sent," replied Clara, peevishly. 
 
 "My dear, why not?" asked her father, in 
 very reasonable surprise. 
 
 " Oh ! I am getting tired of such things ; 
 I am too old now to care about parties."
 
 94 STRETTON 
 
 Edward and his father looked at each other, 
 and then at her, in utter perplexity. She was 
 trying to light her bed-candle, in a sort of 
 nervous, impatient hurry, which utterly de- 
 feated its object. Edward took it from her 
 hand and lighted it. 
 
 " Well, you will deprive the boys of their 
 pleasure, if you do not go this next time at 
 least," was his remark, as he handed her back 
 the candle. "You know that they were to 
 be taken out for the evening expressly on your 
 account." 
 
 " Oh ! well, it is very tiresome ! Thank 
 you — good night. Good night, father dear !" 
 and trying to smile as usual, she finally left 
 the room. 
 
 Clara's brief reply had been already received 
 l^y Dr. Harland, as he sat that evening in his 
 large, forlorn London dining-room — so punc- 
 tiliously appointed, yet so dreary, in the 
 absence of all tokens of feminine taste or 
 employment. His two little girls, whom he
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 95 
 
 had sent for from the nursery " to keep him 
 company," were quietly playing together in a 
 corner of the room. 
 
 He read the note which was brought him, 
 hurriedly at first, then slowly and deliberately, 
 seeming to weigh every word, to scrutinize 
 even the form of the letters. His countenance, 
 at first anxious and disappointed, assumed 
 gradually a relieved, almost a humorous ex- 
 pression. After a last, lingering examination, 
 he folded up the letter, slowly, and as if un- 
 willing ; placed it carefully in the drawer of a 
 large desk which stood open on the table ; 
 closed the desk, locked it, and then turned 
 towards the little girls, murmuring in under 
 tones : — 
 
 "Never fear, my children— I will give you 
 a mother yet 1 But I must take you with me, 
 to plead your own cause. So true a woman's 
 heart will yet find room for you !"
 
 96 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Having once written and despatched her 
 letter, Clara appeared to dismiss the subject 
 wholly from her mind. The next day she was 
 again her own spirited, energetic, good-natured 
 self — absorbed, as usual, in the affairs of the 
 day, and devoted as ever to her special voca- 
 tion, keeping the boys quiet. Trying to keep 
 them quiet, would be a more accurate expres- 
 sion. In that arduous enterprise even Clara 
 often utterly failed of success ; and where 
 Clara failed, what mortal so foolhardy as 
 even to make the attempt ?
 
 OF RINGWGOD CHACE. 97 
 
 But she was nevertheless heartily sorry, 
 when her two plagues, with rather an osten- 
 tatious parade of hilarity, had said the final 
 good-bye — and she had caught the last glimpse 
 of their defiantly waved caps, and extemporized 
 flags of handkerchiefs on sticks, as the coach 
 slowly mounted the dusty hill, then dipped 
 below the brow — and the house was quiet 
 again ! 
 
 In the dreamy lull which followed, her busy 
 mind soon reverted to other objects ; and she 
 looked anxiously, day by day, for an answer 
 from Mr. Arleigh. But Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh, 
 like most aged and infirm persons, put off, 
 with a sort of hesitating timidity, the task of 
 writing on a complicated business matter. 
 Edward seemed rather graver and less sociable 
 than usual ; and so much absorbed in business, 
 that Clara tried in vain to interest him in her 
 speculations and anticipations. 
 
 "I must go and speak to them myself," 
 she exclaimed, one morning at breakfast, 
 
 VOL. T. H
 
 98 STRETTON 
 
 when the post-time had again brought disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 " Do so, my dear," said her father. " It is 
 time we knew something." 
 
 " May I go to-morrow ?" 
 
 " I want you to come to London to-morrow. 
 Will not the next day do ?" 
 
 So it was fixed. But, as generally happens 
 when a long and important expedition is to be 
 made, something w^as amiss with the horses ; 
 and a further delay was thus caused. The 
 mischief, whatever it was, went lingering on, 
 in a hopeless, irritating way ; till Clara said 
 that she must go by some other conveyance. 
 
 "Then Edward must go with you," said 
 Mr. Stretton. 
 
 *' Will you go to-morrow, Edward ?" 
 
 Edward was absolutely required in the 
 counting-house the following day. Clara 
 looked irritated, imagining it to be only an 
 excuse ; but he did not notice her. 
 
 '* I really do not see how I could be spared,"
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 99 
 
 he said, looking appealingly at his father ; 
 " the next day I could go ; and yet I do not 
 like putting the thing off longer. It is really 
 wrong in us to delay, when so much is at 
 stake for them." 
 
 He was beginning to feel as if he were 
 selfish in the matter. It had always seemed 
 in his mind a settled thing that Mabel should 
 remain with them, sharing all, as one of them- 
 selves; and then, — the *' little wife" scheme had 
 been a boy's joke, chiefly, at first, for the 
 pleasure of teasing her ; but he was older now ; 
 and it was not agreeable to have all cut short 
 at once. And, at any rate, the house would 
 be so dull without her ; — and she was so happy 
 as she was. But it had suddenly flashed upon 
 him, that he had no right, on the possible 
 chance of making her happy hereafter, to de- 
 prive her of the independent position to which 
 she was probably entitled. 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mr. Stretton kindly, 
 " we will manage without you to-morrow. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 STRETTON 
 
 quite agree with you, that no time should be 
 lost/' 
 
 That afternoon, Mr. Stretton, Edward, and 
 Clara were together in the drawing-room ; 
 Mr. Stretton, according to his custom, dili- 
 gently studying the newspaper, which he had 
 only hurriedly glanced through at breakfast. 
 Every now and then he read aloud anything 
 that seemed interesting. 
 
 " What is this ?" he suddenly exclaimed. 
 *' Are you there, tny girl ? This will interest 
 
 you." 
 
 And he read aloud, while Clara, jumping 
 up, looked over his shoulder. 
 — " Margaret Arleigh, born Stretton, or her 
 representatives, on applying, &c. &c., — may 
 hear of something to their advantage." — 
 
 *' Now," said Edward, " she will be spirited 
 away to Ringwood, and we shall know very 
 little more of her." 
 
 " Papa," said Clara, '' you see how neces- 
 sary it is to see Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh at once.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 101 
 
 I am so glad that Edward can go with me to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " 1 had better go with you myself, my 
 dear," said Mr. Stretton ; " this is indeed an 
 important affair." 
 
 And after breakfast next morning, Mr. 
 Stretton and Clara started together for the 
 dull suburban district where the old people 
 resided. The journey was tedious not so 
 much from its length, as because their des- 
 tination lay on the northern side of London, 
 while their own residence was to the south of 
 the metropolis. 
 
 At last, after skirting what seemed an inter- 
 minable range of mean, straggling neighbour- 
 hoods, they reached the little row {terrace by 
 courtesy) of pale, shghtly discoloured brick ; 
 the small houses, — with one window to each 
 story, and steep stone steps leading from the 
 dusty road to each green door and black 
 knocker, — all perfectly alike, save for a few be^- 
 dusted geraniums here and there at. a window;
 
 102 STRETTON 
 
 otherwise distinguishable only by the numbers ; 
 running up to twenty. 
 
 The door at which the visitors knocked 
 was opened by a tidy, diminutive maiden, in 
 clean white apron, and a certain Hngering 
 reminiscence of the charity-school about her 
 whole person and demeanour. 
 
 " Please walk in, Sir, — Miss ; — Missus will 
 be up directly." The said Missus being at 
 the moment busily engaged in the lower 
 regions, superintending the preparation of the 
 early dinner. 
 
 The front door opened into a narrow pas- 
 sage, with a door on one side, a neat, very 
 narrow staircase at the opposite end, and 
 something like a suggestion of kitchen stairs 
 in the far distance. 
 
 "Please step in here, Miss,'' pursued the 
 little maid, opening the side-door just men- 
 tioned ; and displaying, with some official 
 pride, the best parlour ; with its bright-hued 
 Kidderminster carpet, nearly obscured by a
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 103 
 
 brown hoUand cloth, laid down to protect it — 
 not from sun — the room had a north aspect ; 
 not from crumbs ; no repast was ever taken in 
 that sacred apartment ; — from what the carpet 
 was to be protected, careful housewives best 
 know. Visitors were by no means so frequent 
 as to require much precaution on the score of 
 boots and shoes ; and it is probable that, had 
 any person attempted to enter the house with- 
 out due attention to scraper and door-mat, the 
 little maid would unhesitatingly have recalled 
 the offender to a sense of those sacred rites of 
 the threshold. 
 
 Clara glanced round the room ; — at the glazy, 
 light-coloured paper, spotless and cold, slightly 
 relieved by a work of early art in floss-silk, 
 representing Rebecca at the well ; — by some 
 of " poor Robert's" juvenile performances, gor- 
 geously framed ; and by sundry portraits of 
 rather grim-looking divines. She had often 
 been there before, and was familiar with the 
 horse-hair sofa ; with the shining sideboard,
 
 1 4 STRETTOX 
 
 ornamented by a stuffed parrot ; — by two up- 
 right cases of knives and forks ; — by a few sad- 
 coloured volumes, of somewhat severe evan- 
 gelical divinity ; and by what seemed two 
 immense volumes, brown, with gilt toohng, 
 and a gold-lettered " Hist. Eng.," — on red 
 labels at the back ; — known to the initiated to 
 conceal a chess and draught board under this 
 literary seeming. 
 
 Clara half shivered, as her quick glance 
 took in all these familiar objects. 
 
 *' Oh ! cannot we go into the other room ? 
 Where is Master Arthur ?" 
 
 And without waiting for a reply, she turned 
 hastily from the scene of chilly splendour, 
 and led the way to a second door, retreating 
 from view at the dusky end of the passage ; 
 and discoverable only by one familiar with the 
 place. 
 
 The snug Kttle back parlour now disclosed, 
 showed at least some comfortable indications 
 of human habitation ; though its only occu-
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 105 
 
 pant at the moment was Arthur, seated at the 
 table, on which he leant his elbows, while his 
 forehead rested on his hands, as he pored over 
 the grotesque illustrations of an old family 
 Bible ; — his great resource in hours of vacancy 
 and ennui. Clara was at first almost sur- 
 prised not to see him drawing, as usual ; but 
 when the boy, at her entrance, lifted his large 
 dark eyes from the book before him, she saw 
 that they looked heavy, almost sleepy ; too 
 listless and inanimate for even his favourite 
 pursuit. A light came into them, however, 
 as he saw who the visitors were ; he sUd off 
 his chair, and creeping timidly up to them, 
 glided one little hand into Clara's, in a depre- 
 cating, appealing manner ; w^hile Mr. Stretton 
 patted the dark head good-humouredly, as he 
 asked him, but in no inquisitorial tone, if he 
 were " a good boy." 
 
 Arthur seemed quite aware that no confes- 
 sions were expected in answer ; he only looked 
 up confidingly at the kindly interrogator,
 
 106 STRETTON 
 
 while a gleam of something like boyish 
 roguishncss came into his face. 
 
 "So grandmamma is busy?" said Clara. 
 " We are sorry to interrupt her." 
 
 " Oh ! she is always busy ; cooking, or dust- 
 ing, or ironing ! She has a great deal to do — 
 poor grandmamma !" sighed the boy, with 
 something of weary pity in the simphcity of 
 his tone. 
 
 "And grandpapa?" 
 
 " Oh, grandpapa is having his walk ; — he 
 will be home soon, he cannot walk far. He 
 wanted me to go with him ; but it is all so 
 ugly here, it tires me !" and again the weari- 
 ness came into the black eyes. 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Arleigh entered : a 
 neat, somewhat shrunken old lady, with pale, 
 light-blue, anxious eyes, and small faded fea- 
 tures — on her brow the contraction of perpe- 
 tual worry — of a mind narrowed by constant 
 petty cares. It was no fault of hers, poor 
 woman, among such cares she had lived all her
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 107 
 
 days ; and only a far stronger or more buoy- 
 ant temperament could have resisted the 
 cramping influence. 
 
 She was kind-hearted, too, and never visited 
 upon the orphan child the additional troubles 
 which the charge of him entailed upon her ; 
 but she had not been cheerful before, still less 
 could she be cheerful now ; and the child's 
 sensitive temperament seemed to shrivel up 
 under her care-worn glances and plaintive, 
 harassed voice. 
 
 She came in, flushed and breathless, in a 
 perfect agony that Mr. and Miss Stretton had 
 been shown into the back parlour. 
 
 An uneasy consciousness of the unanswered 
 letter, which the announcement of the visitors' 
 name had at once recalled to her mind, added 
 an additional shade of flurry to her habitual 
 manner ; though she nervously avoided any 
 allusion to the subject. 
 
 " Such a charge as I gave Nancy, Miss
 
 1 08 STRETTON 
 
 Stretton, not to show any one in here ! But 
 servants are all alike, now-a days !" 
 
 " Indeed you must not blame Nancy ; it was 
 all my doing," said Clara ; " I like this little 
 room, it is so snug ; so I came in here of 
 myself." 
 
 " Ah, you are very kind, Miss Stretton ; 
 but it is not a place fit for such as you, — and 
 to-day ! AVhy, she has left it all in a litter !" 
 And she began a nervous attempt at ** setting 
 things to rights." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Arleigh, pray don't worry 
 yourself, or I shall have to run away again 
 directly ; and I have hardly seen Arthur yet." 
 
 " Ah, Tm afraid you don't find him looking 
 very well. Miss Stretton ; I do my best for 
 him ; but this is a dull place for a child ; and 
 he mopes, just as poor Robert used to do. 
 Just now his grandpapa wanted to take him 
 out for a w^alk, but he wouldn't go." 
 
 " Don't you want to hear about Mabel ?" 
 said Mr. Stretton, turning to the little fellow.
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 109 
 
 But just at this pathetic crisis in the old 
 lady's, talk the grandfather came in. He be- 
 longed evidently to a higher grade of birth 
 and breeding than his good old helpmate ; but 
 he was now getting infirm, and almost un- 
 bearably cross. Arthur's refusal to accompany 
 him in his walk still rankled in his mind ; 
 and his discontent was brought to a climax at 
 the sight of visitors, whose presence might 
 probably occasion a delay of dinner. In Ms 
 mind, too, the unanswered letter was upper- 
 most, as it had been in that of his wife, until 
 she had been reassured by Clara's frank greet- 
 ing ; and not knowing what had already 
 passed, he, too, sedulously abstained from 
 committing himself or his wife by the most 
 remote allusion to the matter ; striving to ap- 
 pear unembarrassed and unconscious ; which 
 effort, as usual, only resulted in peculiar stiff- 
 ness and constraint. 
 
 Mr. Stretton, however, had the happy gift 
 of really not seeing or understanding those
 
 110 STRETTON 
 
 little cross gales of unpleasant feeling which 
 upon some temperaments act with a numbing, 
 paralyzing power, however little disposition 
 there may be to take notice of them. Such a 
 state of things really never occurred to his 
 mind ; if people had anything to displease 
 them, they probably would be displeased, as 
 he himself might be in similar cases, and 
 pretty seriously, too; but where there was 
 no apparent cause of annoyance, he never 
 imagined or recognized its existence. 
 
 So, with his usual cheerful courtesy, he went 
 on talking of Arthur, of Mabel, of the news of 
 the day, till the atmosphere seemed Ughtened 
 of a heavy load. It had been agreed between 
 himself and his daughter, that the old couple 
 should not be startled at first by an abrupt 
 announcement of the real object of the visit. 
 Clara was quite in the habit of driving over 
 to look after Arthur, about whom she half 
 felt herself responsible, on the strength of his 
 belonging to Mabel ; so neither Mr. nor Mrs.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. Ill 
 
 Arleigh apprehended anything extraordinary 
 from the visit. 
 
 Leaving her father to clear the way with 
 the old people, she turned again to Arthur, 
 and began to talk to hira, by way of drawing 
 his attention from the conversation between 
 the elders ; yet, while mechanically exerting 
 herself to interest the child, her own thoughts 
 wandered, and she fell into a reverie, ponder- 
 ing upon the past and the future. Here, in 
 this contracted sphere, in this prosaic atmo- 
 sphere, poor Robert Arleigh had dreamed his 
 dreams of rock and river, of beautiful forms, 
 glowing canvas, breathing marble — of conge- 
 nial intercourse, of unfading renown. He 
 had lived to see his hopes almost realized — to 
 feel his powers acknowledged and appreciated 
 — to win and wed the fair and well-born 
 Margaret Stretton — and only to end his days 
 an obscure, disappointed, well-nigh broken- 
 spirited man. Was such a lot reserved for 
 Arthur, in all respects so like his father ? or
 
 112 STRETTON 
 
 was a brighter dawn even now breaking upon 
 the child's destinies ? Was he to be, here- 
 after, not the struggling artist, but the envied 
 heir of Ringwood ? And — far more im- 
 portant question — was there indeed in that 
 delicate artist-organization a current of the 
 vigorous Stretton blood — to brace the over- 
 refined temperament, and carry the fastidious, 
 shrinking genius " straight on," like the 
 Stretton Flying Arrow, to its goal ?
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE, 113 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 With her mind full of these thoughts, 
 Clara went on telling Arthur of Mabel, of the 
 boys, of all the little family incidents which 
 she thought might rouse and amuse him. 
 
 " Well, Arthur," she said at last, " and have 
 you no fresh drawings to show me ? nothing to 
 tell me about what you have been reading?" 
 
 " Oh !" the boy broke out, " you know 
 Mabel gave me Shakespeare's Plays for a 
 birthday present ;" — (the child had, indeed, 
 unknown to all, saved up her pocket-money for 
 the purpose). — " I was so fond of it, and was 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 STRETTON 
 
 trying to think how the people looked, and to 
 make some beautiful drawings of them ; but 
 grandpapa and grandmaiimia do not like me 
 to read it ; and they have taken it away, and 
 locked it up ; and the Arabian Nights too, 
 which you gave me, you know !" 
 
 But Clara's attention had wandered. Mr. 
 Stretton was at last entering on the important 
 topic ; it was impossible to avoid listening to 
 what was being said. 
 
 "I think," — Mr. Stretton was beginning — 
 " you received a note, a few weeks since, from 
 my daughter ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir — yes, certainly, we did so ; 
 
 and we ought to I fear Miss Stretton 
 
 must have thought us' very neglectful ; 
 but-'' 
 
 " Pray don't apologize, sir ! It was rather 
 a liberty on our part ; but my daughter 
 thought it for the interests of the children ; 
 however, we have now brought something to 
 show you, which you may perhaps not have
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 115 
 
 seen, and which will explain my meaning 
 better." 
 
 He produced the newspaper as he spoke, 
 and quietly unfolding it, pointed out the ad- 
 vertisement to old Mr, Arleigh. The old 
 man took out his spectacles, rubbed them 
 bright, adjusted them carefully, and applied 
 himself, in evident trepidation, to make out 
 some alarming revelation. 
 
 " Don't alarm yourself, my good sir ; it is 
 nothing but what you will rejoice at," said Mr. 
 Stretton, kindly. " No, not there ; see, here 
 it is." 
 
 The old lady had now come to the assist- 
 ance of her husband, and was poring over his 
 shoulder at the closely-printed page; which 
 seemed to both a misty sea of indistinct small 
 type, with the staring large letters of the 
 headings and principal words glimmering 
 ghastly forth, like breakers ahead. 
 
 Clara sprang up, and crossed the room to 
 the little group. 
 
 I 2
 
 1 1 6 STRETTON 
 
 " Let me read it for you ;" and she gently 
 drew the large rustling sheet out of Mr. Ar- 
 leigh's hands. 
 
 With feminine quickness, she had instantly 
 perceived the difficulty. To her father's mas- 
 culine directness, giving the old people the 
 newspaper to read the paragraph for them- 
 selves, had appeared the most convenient 
 mode of possessing them fully and speedily 
 with the matter in hand. It was more re- 
 spectful, too, as his courteous instincts would 
 have suggested ; he would not himself have 
 liked to receive an important piece of family 
 intelHgence second-hand. 
 
 Clara found the place in a moment, and 
 pointed with her finger as she read — 
 
 " Margaret Arleigh, born Stretton" — 
 
 "What do they mean? What do they 
 want with her, my dear young lady ? — She is 
 dead and gone, poor thing." 
 
 " There can be no harm said of her, wife, 
 living or dead," interposed the old man.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 117 
 
 — " Except, indeed, that she was scarce stirring 
 enough for a poor man's wife." 
 
 " But it was only fit that iny Robert should 
 marry a lady," said the mother. " And she 
 gave herself no airs ; 1 will say that for her. 
 But I beg your pardon, Miss Stretton. That 
 was her name too, poor thing." 
 
 " Are you talking of my mother ? — What 
 has anybody to say of her ? IN'obody ever was 
 so good, or ever will be !" 
 
 The voice startled them all. Arthur, quite 
 forgotten by the engrossed little party, even 
 by Clara, had been taking in every word ; 
 seeming to listen, less with his ears than with 
 the dilated dark eyes, which contrasted so 
 painfully with his colourless cheeks. 
 
 " Hush, Arthur, dear ! No one tJdnks of 
 saying harm of your dear mamma. It is nothing 
 but good. She has a sister living — a great 
 lady — who is enquiring about her and 
 her children; and wants to take care of 
 them."
 
 118 STRETTON 
 
 And Clara finished her reading of the 
 paragraph in the newspaper. 
 
 " And dear mamma is dead — dead ! — and 
 cannot know it ! It is no use taking care of 
 her now." 
 
 The words broke forth in a piteous, de- 
 spairing wail. Clara ran back to the boy, who 
 had buried his face in his hands, not weeping, 
 but in sullen, gloomy quietness. 
 
 " Arthur ! your aunt has had a terrible 
 trouble of her own ! Will you not forgive 
 her?—" 
 
 The boy looked up, awed and wondering. 
 
 " Arthur, she had one son — only one — all 
 she thought of in this world ; and he is dead." 
 
 A strong shudder passed over the boy's 
 whole frame but he did not speak ; only 
 the dark, eager eyes continued to question 
 further. 
 
 " Arthur, perhaps she may have forgotten — 
 almost forgotten — that she had any one else 
 belonging to her. You know that she could
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 119 
 
 care for no one so much as for her own only 
 son. She had lost her husband before ; only 
 think of that, Arthur !" 
 
 '' And now ?" 
 
 '* Now, unless you and Mabel will love 
 her, she has no one left to care for." 
 
 " I will love her very much," said the boy, 
 resolutely. 
 
 " That's my own good little Arthur," said 
 Clara, kissing him. " And now, Arthur, w^e 
 want to talk to grandpapa and grandmamma, 
 about what we are to do ; how we are to tell 
 your aunt about you, you know. Run into 
 the garden, there is a good boy, and see if 
 you can find me some flowers to take home 
 with me, while we settle all about it. And 
 stay, here is a new book, which Edward has 
 sent for you." 
 
 Clara could not find it in her heart to send 
 the child away without some kindly pretext ; 
 and she had certainly been hard pressed for 
 one when she had recourse to the almost pal-
 
 120 STRETTON. 
 
 pable absurdity of asking for flowers from the 
 little brick-walled square of meagre turf and 
 dingy gravel, dignified, in the parlance of 
 Bellevue Terrace, with the name of garden. 
 Arthur seemed to think so too ; for though 
 he offered no word in opposition, he hung 
 back with a wistful, puzzled look, reluctant 
 to depart upon his bootless errand, and hardly 
 knowing what to make of her motive. The 
 book, however, was a bright idea. She had 
 meant to reserve it, as she generally did re- 
 serve some parting present, to cheer the little 
 fellow when she was obliged to go away and 
 leave him ; but she felt that this was a more 
 critical emergency, and put forth all her forces 
 to meet it. 
 
 The little ruse succeeded at once ; the boy's 
 eyes brightened, and scarcely daring to cast a 
 look behind, he escaped with his precious 
 volume from the room, in evident dread lest 
 it should be seized upon and confiscated by 
 the way.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 121 
 
 But Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh had at that 
 moment more exciting thoughts to occupy 
 their attention ; and the censure of the press, 
 as sometimes happens in great political crises, 
 was suffered to lie dormant. Their curiosity 
 — rather, their real solicitude for their orphan 
 grand-children — made them eager for further 
 explanations with regard to the mysterious 
 paragraph, and the immediate purport of Mr. 
 and Miss Stretton's visit. 
 
 With her natural tact (at least where chil- 
 dren were concerned), Clara had carefully 
 avoided dropping, in Arthur's presence, the 
 slightest hint as to the question of inheritance, 
 which all the grown-up members of the coun- 
 cil felt to be involved in Mrs. Stretton's en- 
 quiries for her sister's children. She knew 
 intuitively that such a suggestion would 
 at once, however faintly understood, close the 
 child's heart against the relative, who, he 
 already dimly felt, had neglected his lost 
 mother. Only as a bereaved parent, not as
 
 122 STRETTON 
 
 the probable dispenser of worldly prosperity, 
 could the true child's heart be won to love, 
 even to acknowledge her. To the elders, 
 however, it was necessary to put the matter 
 in its cold, hard, work-a-day-world aspect. 
 She looked towards her father, who took the 
 hint. 
 
 "You see, my dear madam," he began, 
 addressing himself to Mrs. Arleigh, " that as 
 Mrs. Stretton has recently lost her only son, 
 she is doubtless inquiring after these children, 
 as the next surviving of kin, with the view of 
 placing them in their proper position, as the 
 future representatives of the family." 
 
 Good Mrs. Arleigh did not look much en- 
 lightened. 
 
 "That is," pursued Mr. Stretton, "that 
 these children — or Arthur at least — will now 
 probably stand nearest in the succession to 
 the Ringwood estate." 
 
 Mrs. Arleigh opened her eyes wide ; and 
 the old gentleman hitched his chair nearer,
 
 OP RINGWOOD CHACE. 123 
 
 and leant forward, putting up his hand to his 
 ear, not to lose a word. 
 
 "That is," Mr. Stretton continued, "you 
 are, of course, in a position to prove them the 
 children of Margaret — is not that the name ?" 
 — and he referred for a moment to the news- 
 paper — "yes, Margaret Stretton, Mrs. Stret- 
 ton's sister. You can, of course, produce the 
 usual evidence, to establish the fact of your 
 son's marriage ?" 
 
 " Yes, of course — I believe so — to whom 
 did you say, sir ?" asked the old man, hesi- 
 tating. 
 
 " Why — to Margaret Stretton — to be sure ! 
 that is right, is it not? Surely there has 
 been no mistake ? It was Margaret Stretton, 
 was it not, whom your son married ?" 
 
 " Why, yes, certainly — that was the name." 
 
 " Mrs. Stretton's sister, of course. That is 
 all right, is it not ?" 
 
 Mr. Stretton was growing a little impatient. 
 
 " We never troubled ourselves about whose
 
 124 STRETTON 
 
 sister she was. She was staying w^ith some 
 friends in London, where my son used to visit ; 
 real high gentry, somewhere at the West End. 
 Poor Robert was made enough of then among 
 the great folks !" concluded the old lady, with 
 her customary plaintive intonation. 
 
 " And it was at their house that Mr. Ar- 
 leigh—Mr. Robert Arleigh — met Miss Mar- 
 garet Stretton ?" said Clara, coming to the 
 rescue, as she perceived that there was little 
 chance of the conversation, in its present style, 
 resulting in any satisfactory explanation be- 
 tween the parties. 
 
 *' Yes, indeed, ma'am ; and the wedding was 
 from their house too. They made no little of 
 her, poor thing, and no wonder ; for a sweet 
 young creature she was ; and not a bit of pride 
 about her ; — worshipped her husband, as one 
 may say, and thought none hke him ; for all 
 her sister — Miss Stretton that was then — 
 might look down on the match. A proud 
 young lady she was, as we heard tell ; for we
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 125 
 
 never saw her. My poor boy had a high 
 spirit of his own, and was above paying court 
 to one who looked down on him. And she 
 thought none good enough to be her own 
 husband, they say ; though I suppose she did 
 get married after all, as she had a son, you 
 tell us, ma'am. But it is the first I ever heard 
 of it." 
 
 Clara saw that they were on the right track. 
 Her quick penetration had helped her to a 
 guess at the cause of the old couple's per- 
 plexity and reluctance. — It came out by de- 
 grees. 
 
 Their son had always kept it secret that his 
 wife had been a Miss Stretton of Ringwood ; 
 he was too proud to claim kindred with a 
 familv who looked down on him and his. 
 He had never even sent them word when poor 
 Margaret died ; it was away in Wales, so they 
 might never have heard of it ! — 
 
 " But now," said Mr. Stretton, *' these 
 children seem to be the only heirs to the pro-
 
 126 STRETTON 
 
 perty. It would not be right to keep them 
 out of their inheritance. Of course you can 
 give all necessary proofs that they really are 
 what they claim to be ?" And he proceeded 
 to question the old people more in detail. 
 
 There was no difficulty in the case. They 
 knew perfectly well the church in which their 
 son had been married, and the children bap- 
 tized ; and there were plenty of old neighbours 
 who had known the children, on and off, to 
 that day. 
 
 It was evident there was nothing to prevent 
 Mr. Stretton from putting himself in immediate 
 communication with the solicitors to whom 
 reference had been given in the advertisement. 
 He, as well as Clara, left the old people with 
 many kind and re-assuring auguries and 
 promises. 
 
 Clara had brought with her a large basket 
 of choice fruit and vegetables ; so the little 
 household was on the whole rather cheered, 
 though greatly startled, by the visit.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 127 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 In the evening, the whole matter was talked 
 over with Edward, who had roused himself, 
 w4th some effort, from his half-reluctant apathy, 
 and now threw himself into the affair with the 
 determined energy which he always displayed 
 in what really interested him. In such cases, his 
 impetuosity even exceeded Clara's, though far 
 less easily excited. 
 
 The next day, father and son called together 
 at the lawyer's chambers, and put matters 
 in train. There was nothing intricate in the 
 story of Mabel's and Arthur's parentage.
 
 128 STRETTON 
 
 Margaret Stretton, while staying with some 
 friends in London, had become acquainted 
 with Mr. Arleigh, whose early promise made 
 him sought in the first circles. Poor Margaret's 
 previous life had been spent amid the w^earing, 
 grinding cares which attend narrow means, 
 when combined with considerable social pre- 
 tensions. To her, young Arleigh's true artist- 
 temperament, knowing and thinking so little 
 of such things, was refreshing as running 
 water in summer drought. He was easily 
 won by her undisguised sympathy and appre- 
 ciation ; and they were married from the house 
 of the friends with whom Margaret was 
 staying. She had no one whose opinion she 
 was bound to consult ; her sister, her only 
 relation, beheld the marriage coldly and dis- 
 approvingly, but with no fear for Margaret's 
 personal comfort. It was unanimously pro- 
 nounced that Mr. Arleigh must rise high in 
 his profession. 
 
 Why these auguries were never realized;
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 129 
 
 whether from mere want of good fortune, or 
 from a deficiency in those subordinate qualities 
 which alone can insure for genius worldly suc- 
 cess, who can decide ? Of his genius itself, 
 those who knew him never doubted ; why was 
 he so little known ? In that genius his devoted 
 wife gloried and revelled, even when poverty 
 pressed hardest on her and her children. 
 
 For a time, the sisters exchanged letters 
 occasionally. When Mrs. Stretton became 
 mistress of their old home, she sent an even 
 affectionate invitation to Margaret, to visit her 
 there, with her husband and children. This 
 invitation, however, was coldly and proudly 
 declined by Mr. Arleigh, who had never shaken 
 off the impression that his Margaret's marriage 
 with /mn was considered a degradation. From 
 that time, the correspondence languished. 
 Margaret still wrote now and then ; an- 
 nouncing generally the birth or death of a child 
 (Mabel and Arthur were the last survivors of 
 a numerous family). Then Mrs. Stretton 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 STRETTON 
 
 became absorbed in care for her husband's 
 health, and scarcely answered ; when in her 
 turn she began to wonder at not hearing, a 
 report reached her, that Mr. Arleigh had gone 
 abroad ; to study, doubtless. Soon came 
 Colonel Stretton's death ; and her engrossing 
 devotion to her boy for a time absorbed all 
 other interests in her mind. She took for 
 granted that the Arleighs were still wandering 
 on the continent ; revelling in Rome, Florence, 
 or Dresden; and losing, in the intoxication 
 of artistic enjoyment, almost the very remem- 
 brance of home ties. Far indeed was she 
 from guessing how the disappointed man had 
 shut himself up with his poverty in a remote 
 Welsh cottage ; earning a bare subsistence for 
 himself and family by the views which he 
 occasionally sold, or the portraits which he 
 now and then received a commission to paint, 
 but abandoning, with the infatuation of de- 
 spair, all hopes of rising in his profession. He 
 especially avoided claiming kindred with his
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 131 
 
 wife's relations, by giving them intimation of 
 her death ; and when his own end approached, 
 he enjoined on his parents, that no appeal 
 should be made to Mrs. Stretton on behalf of 
 his children. 
 
 It was this strong feeling on his part which 
 had made him shrink from the attentions of 
 Mr. Stretton and his family, till positively 
 assured by his wife that they had no connec- 
 tion with her own. When Mabel was one 
 day invited to visit them, he had said, half 
 playfully— 
 
 " Now don't take any fancies into your little 
 head, because their name is the same as dear 
 mamma's used to be ; they are no cousins of 
 yours, so don't fancy it yourself, or make 
 them fancy it." 
 
 And Mrs. Arleigh had afterwards added 
 the injunction — 
 
 " Don't say anything about my old name, 
 dear ; papa does not like it talked of." 
 
 These were the prohibitions which had 
 
 i; 2
 
 132 STRETTON 
 
 dwelt in Mabel's memory, and had made her 
 so long silent on the subject. 
 
 When Mr. Stretton's family, in their second 
 Welsh tour, again sought the artist's cottage, 
 they found only old Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh in 
 charge of the house and children. The old 
 people had been summoned to their son's 
 death-bed, and had remained, with a sort of 
 helpless fidelity, watching over what he had 
 left behind. Clara's eager entreaty on behalf 
 of Mabel, and Mr. Stretton's offer to purchase 
 the pictures, the only property of any value 
 in the cottage, enabled the old people to re- 
 turn to their humble home near London, and 
 to take charge of Arthur with tolerable com- 
 fort. It had been no small joy to Mabel that 
 her father's pictures, instead of being dis- 
 persed among strangers, should be removed 
 to where she would herself be able to see 
 them. She had been old enough to watch 
 and delight in the progress of his pencil, and 
 knew by heart all the sketches and paintings
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 133 
 
 with which the small, scantily-furnished cot- 
 taore was crowded : views of mountains and 
 waterfalls, scenes from almost every well- 
 known poet, fanciful suggestions of the artist's 
 own imagination, — in every stage of forward- 
 ness, from slight pencil outlines to highly- 
 finished cabinet paintings in oil. The latter, 
 however, were few in number, and the market- 
 able value of the whole collection would pro- 
 bably have been but small, as Mr. Arleigh 
 was so little known, and his powers, though 
 above the average, lay rather in conception 
 than execution. Mr. Stretton, notwithstand- 
 ing, or rather in consequence of, his natural 
 good taste, rarely purchased pictures ; taking 
 little pleasure in any but the very best, which 
 were wholly out of his reach. In the present 
 case, therefore, he was actuated merely by pity 
 for the bereaved family, and by the pleasure 
 of gratifying Edward and Clara, both of 
 whom resembled their mother in their love 
 and appreciation of works of art. In
 
 34 STRETTOy 
 
 Clara, especially, it was a strongly-marked 
 taste. 
 
 Mrs. Stretton's heart probably smote her 
 when she heard the death, in something like 
 penmy, of the sister whom she had so long 
 almost forgotten ; when she found that to 
 strangers that sister and her children had 
 been indebted for every alleviation of their 
 lot. But she went into the matter with her 
 usual business-hke calmness and acuteness, 
 with no expression whatever of personal feel- 
 ing ; merely intimating, when the parentage of 
 the children w^as established to her satisfaction, 
 her desire to take them wholly under her own 
 charge, pledging herself to pro\'ide for them 
 entirely. The question of inheritance was left 
 open ; Ring wood being unreservedly at ^Irs. 
 Stretton's own disposal. The lawyers, how- 
 ever, hinted that her present view was to 
 place Arthur precisely in the same position 
 which her own son would have occupied. 
 The name being the same, appeared to weigh
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 135 
 
 much with her in the matter. Both sisters 
 had, very naturally, given their father's name 
 to their sons. 
 
 Some time was of course occupied in cor- 
 respondence; but Mrs. Stretton was urgent 
 that, as soon as the necessary preliminaries 
 had been gone through, both children should 
 be at once sent to Ringwood, which was 
 henceforth to be entirely their home. 
 
 " Perhaps you won't like parting with 
 them," said Clara to Mr. and Mrs. Arleigh ; 
 " we would promise still to take care of Mabel, 
 if you like that better; and perhaps Mrs. 
 Stretton would do something for Arthur, 
 without taking him from you." 
 
 The old people hesitated. 
 
 "Well, ma'am," said the grandmother, 
 *' we're getting old now to have a child about 
 us ; and the boy looks puny, and might be 
 better cared for at Ringwood." 
 
 " And you're main good to Mabel," said 
 the old man ; " but ye'd tire of her by-and-
 
 136 STRETTON 
 
 bye, maybe. They'd better go at ouce to 
 them whose business it is to take care of 
 thera, while they are in the mind." 
 
 So Mabel was summoned from school, and 
 all preparations put forward for her de- 
 parture ; Mrs. Stretton having intimated 
 that, as soon as the necessary arrangements 
 could be made, she would send her house- 
 keeper to take charge of the children to 
 Ringwood. 
 
 When Mabel was first informed of the 
 change in her prospects, she showed no sur- 
 prise ; but murmuring, with her peculiar nod 
 of the head, " Yes, I know," put her arms 
 round Clara, and held her so tight and long, 
 that it seemed as if she could never let 
 her go. 
 
 ** Clara," she said at last, looking search- 
 ingly into her face, '' won't you think me very 
 ungrateful if I am glad?'' 
 
 " Not a bit, Mab ; I am glad myself." 
 
 "I know," pursued Mabel, half thinking
 
 OP RINGWOOD CHACE. 137 
 
 aloud, " that I shall see very little of any of 
 you for some time/' 
 
 " Yes," said Clara, stoutly, " it can't be." 
 
 " But I shall be grown up very soon ; the 
 time will pass quickly." 
 
 *' Mabel," said Clara, "you know very well 
 that we won't go there, and that your aunt 
 will not trust you with us. Don't try, it 
 will do no good. You will be quite happy 
 meanwhile, and by-and-bye all will come 
 straight." 
 
 " Yes," said Mabel, " and then you are 
 relations, that is quite certain; and if I can 
 make out the rights of it, while I am there, I 
 can send for you to come." 
 
 '^ Do so, little witch." 
 
 And while all these new interests were 
 pending in Mr. Stretton's household, Dr. 
 Harland, one summer's evening, brought back 
 his children from their pleasant country drive
 
 138 STRETTON 
 
 and game of romps in Mr. Stretton's pretty 
 garden, to their stately, forlorn-looking Lon- 
 don home. His aspect was certainly not that 
 of a disappointed man ; and yet he had so far 
 no tangible success to boast of. 
 
 Clara had made up her mind, from a mere 
 girl, that a step-mother she never would be- 
 come ; that she hated the idea of the suspi- 
 cions and animadversions to which such a 
 position might expose her ; and that, in fact, 
 she had been plagued enough already with 
 the charge, so early thrown upon her, of her 
 own tiresome little brothers (the delight of her 
 heart, and main interest of her life ; as all 
 who knew Clara Stretton, knew full well). — 
 That, having been thus tormented, she would 
 take good care not to involve herself volunta- 
 rily in duties equally burdensome, and far 
 more obnoxious to criticism and interference. 
 All this she had resolved, and plainly avowed, 
 from the time when she had been old enough 
 to have an opmion on the subject. And
 
 OE HINGWOOD CHACE. 139 
 
 having thus thought and spoken, thus irrevo- 
 cably committed herself, — was Clara Stretton 
 one to retract her opinion, or weakly to allow 
 herself to be beguiled out of her deliberate 
 judgment? She might pity and long to foster 
 the motherless little children — she might feel, as 
 she would have scorned to avow to herself, 
 that a look or a word from the father could 
 shake even her resolute will — the more reason 
 for keeping firm, and not making herself ridi- 
 culous. 
 
 Dr. Harland was a man of shrewd, subtle 
 insight ; accustomed to read with kindly but 
 penetrating eye the many self-delusions with 
 which his profession constantly required him 
 to cope. Clara's brief note of refusal had not 
 dismayed him ; and now, without having re- 
 ceived one word of direct encouragement, he 
 returned home a happy and hopeful man. 
 He had had tact enough to allow her to believe 
 herself unyielding ; had spared her all neces- 
 sity of committing herself ; in fact, had quietly
 
 140 STRETTON 
 
 assumed her decision as irrevocable with re- 
 gard to himself; and had merely appealed to 
 her kindly feelings in behalf of his little 
 orphans. To see children sickly, dull, or neg- 
 lected, was just what Clara could not bear ; — 
 and she, perhaps for this very reason, shrank 
 from involving herself in responsibilities which 
 her own heart told her would be with her no 
 mere formal obligations. 
 
 But she entered with great zeal, and in en- 
 tire simplicity, into all the plans for their 
 health and pleasure, on which the father, with 
 admirable diplomacy, sedulously consulted her. 
 Two of her strongest instincts w^ere thereby 
 called into play. She delighted in children, 
 and she delighted to have some one or some- 
 thing to take care of, to manage for. Then, 
 the house was not like itself without children ; 
 it seemed but half furnished, — and the two 
 boys were rapidly growing out of childhood, 
 and would probably be less and less at home ; 
 and Mabel and Arthur would be soon out of
 
 or RINGWOOD CHACE. 141 
 
 reach : carried quite away, beyond sight or 
 knowledge. Her father would be quite dull — 
 he was so fond of children, and had been so 
 long accustomed to have them about him. 
 For herself, of course, she was heartily tired 
 of the trouble ; — but for his sake — just to keep 
 him amused and cheerful — it would really be 
 a comfort to have Dr. Harland's little girls 
 now and then to stay there. She should be 
 in no way responsible, and could send them 
 home whenever her patience was exhausted. 
 So, " just to please papa," she might put up 
 with them now and then !
 
 ] 42 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Little as the family desired it, some par- 
 ticulars of their kindness to Mabel had neces- 
 sarily oozed out in the course of the elaborate 
 business correspondence. One day, after all 
 had been arranged with regard to the chil- 
 dren, Mr. Stretton received an envelope, deeply 
 edged with black, and sealed with a tiny crest. 
 The enclosed note, in a clear, elegant hand, 
 ran as follows : — 
 
 " Mrs. Stretton, of Ringwood Chace, begs 
 to express her deep obligations for the gene- 
 rous kindness shown to her young relative ;
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 143 
 
 her recent loss must plead her excuse for not 
 calling to tender her acknowledgments in 
 person. Nor dare she risk giving ofiPence by 
 offering remuneration for the money value of 
 the services rendered to Mabel. Would her 
 niece's friends, however, honour Mrs. Stretton 
 by visiting the Chace ? She leaves time and 
 mode to their own convenience, only request- 
 ing to be favoured with a previous intima- 
 tion." 
 
 " You will like that, my girl, " said Mr. 
 Stretton ; " you wanted to see the old place." 
 
 " Oh no, papa !" said Clara, vehemently ; 
 " go there in that way ! It is the last thing I 
 could endure." 
 
 " Very well, just as you please, my dear ; 
 only I thought you would enjoy it." 
 
 '' You couldn't go, Edward, could you ?" 
 
 " I should think not," was Edward's only 
 reply. 
 
 " How oddly she gets out of the difficulty 
 about our being namesakes !" remarked Clara,
 
 144 STRETTON 
 
 soon afterwards, when her father had left the 
 room. 
 
 " Yes, I noticed that," said Edward. *' You 
 see she never uses our name at all, that 
 she may not own to its being the same as 
 hers." 
 
 So a note was written to Mrs. Stretton, 
 courteous and guarded as her own ; the two 
 " Strettons,'' however, being therein studiously 
 brought into juxtaposition. 
 
 And Clara, who piqued herself upon keep- 
 ing up her own spirits, and those of every- 
 body else, hurried forward the preparations for 
 Mabel's departure. It was difficult, however, 
 to put her heart into the business. Indeed, a 
 dulness seemed to have fallen upon the house, 
 at the prospect of losing Mabel, for, at least, 
 an indefinite period. 
 
 " Just after you have had all the trouble 
 wdth her, ma'am," said Nurse ; " I think those 
 who have never troubled themselves about her 
 before, have no business to take her away now,
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACB. 145 
 
 just when she was beginning to be a little 
 orderly and pleasant-like." 
 
 Meanwhile, a rather doleful process had to 
 be gone through, on poor little Mabel's part, 
 among the many doleful preparations which 
 must ever precede departure. Old Mr. and 
 Mrs. Arleigh, with excellent right, stipulated 
 that their granddaughter should spend with 
 them some short period — a week, or there- 
 abouts — before she should be finally consigned 
 to Mrs. Stretton's charge. Now, Mabel really 
 loved the old people, who had never failed in 
 their devoted and self-sacrificing kindness to 
 the orphan children, thrown as so heavy a 
 weight upon their struggling old age. Even 
 since they had been relieved from the main 
 responsibility with regard to Mabel, they had 
 still strained their slender means, that they 
 might retain the feeling of their son's child 
 not being wholly dependent on strangers — 
 not wholly taken out of their hands. All this 
 Mabel had keenly, even painfully, appreciated. 
 
 vol.. I. L
 
 146 STRETTON 
 
 She clung, too, to her father's parents with 
 the peculiar feeling that they were her only 
 relations — the only two persons in the wide 
 world on whom she and her little brother had 
 tlie claim of blood. Whether she at anytime 
 very much liked staying with them, was an- 
 other question. Yet she probably would have 
 done so, but for the firm persuasion, on their 
 part, that she must miss and pine for the in- 
 dulgences of her adopted home — that she 
 must dislike their homely way of living. Now, 
 in point of fact, the buoyant, high-spirited 
 little girl required only ordinary kindness to 
 make her happy anywhere ; the small discom- 
 forts, the subdued, sombre tone of her grand- 
 father's home, would have had far less power 
 to depress her animated spirits, than they 
 exercised upon the delicate, morbidly-sensitive 
 boy, whose entire Hfe was passed in that 
 murky atmosphere. But the old people were 
 used to Artliur, and wholly obtuse in their 
 perceptions as far as he was concerned. So,
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 147 
 
 instead of sparing 1dm any of the small 
 grating annoyances of narrow means, they 
 allowed him, without compunction, to take his 
 chance ; while, with an equal want of judg- 
 ment, they were perpetually drawing Mabel's 
 attention to whatever was amiss; and over- 
 whelming her with shame and confusion by 
 something very like apologies for what her 
 pre-occupied imagination might have floated 
 her over, unconscious of externals, in the 
 brightness of her own dreams. 
 
 Thus, despite the pleasure of being with 
 Arthur, she had always dreaded one of these 
 visits ; and now, it was not only dull, but sad. 
 Theoretically, she was the favourite grand- 
 child ; she had been to the old people only a 
 holiday recreation, not a daily and hourly 
 burden. So Mrs. Arleigh, when the notion 
 was once clearly brought home to her mind 
 that this was in all probability the little girl's 
 last visit ; that she was henceforth to reside 
 far away, at that awful and inaccessible Ring- 
 
 L 2
 
 148 STRETTOl^' 
 
 wood, under the control of that haughty, 
 disdainful Mrs. Stretton who had scorned her 
 poor Robert, began really to fancy that the 
 chief happiness of her dreary life was about to 
 be taken from her; forgetting how very little she 
 had seen, or cared to see, of Mabel, when she 
 had her within reach. Gladly would she now 
 have retracted, and prevailed on her husband 
 to retract, the consent so readily given ; but 
 it was too late. Mr. Arleigh was immovable ; 
 and it was quite certain that Mrs. Stretton 
 would be equally so. Even Clara, having 
 had her spontaneous ofiPer declined, felt no 
 inclination to interfere further with what had 
 been already arranged ; or to stand between 
 the children and the brighter fatiire which 
 seemed opening upon them» So poor Mrs. 
 Arleigh moved with a more weary step than 
 ever through her ceaseless household employ- 
 ments ; the tears, which she hardly ever paused 
 to wipe away, bathing her small pale face ; 
 mournful ejaculations about " poor Robert,"
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 149 
 
 or '' that it should come to this," interrupt- 
 ing, at frequent intervals, her orders and 
 reproofs to Nancy, and her querulous replies 
 to Mabel's attempts at intercourse. 
 
 " Indeed, dear grandmamma, I shall always 
 love you ; I shall think of you very often ; 
 and I dare say my aunt vrill let us come and 
 see you," Mabel every now and then repeated, 
 in a vain endeavour to stay the ever-flowing 
 tears. She was used to the strong-hearted 
 Strettons, who would have smiled, and pro- 
 bably jested, though their hearts had been 
 breaking ; and her grandmother's ceaseless 
 outpouring of woe filled her with terrified sym- 
 pathy, probably disproportioned to the actual 
 suff'ering on Mrs. Arleigh's part. 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, poor child ! you will 
 soon be taught to look down upon your old 
 grandfather and grandmother ; and we shall 
 never see or hear anything more of you. 
 Trust Mrs. Stretton for that ! She looked 
 down upon my poor boy ; so what must she
 
 150 STRETTON 
 
 think of his old father and mother ? Ah ! to 
 think it shoidd come to this with poor Ro- 
 bert's children !" 
 
 " Grandmamma is always going on in that 
 way !" interrupted Arthur, as Mabel was re- 
 newing her attempts at consolation. 
 
 He had a boy's impatience of feminine 
 laments ; and he was a little hardened, by 
 constant use, to his grandmother's desponding 
 temperament ; so that he was^ better able than 
 Mabel to estimate her plaintive speeches at 
 their real amount of significance. Yet he 
 looked rather blank, when Clara, punctual to 
 the day appointed, hurried Mabel away ; 
 cutting short, with kindly firmness, the pro- 
 tracted leave-taking ; and left him to bear the 
 brunt of the next few weeks unsupported by 
 his sister's presence. There was no help for 
 it ; the old people very reasonably insisted on 
 retaining him to the last ; while Mabel, could 
 she even have been longer spared, would have 
 been utterly overwhelmed, depressed beyond
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHASE 151 
 
 even her rallying power, if left longer in an 
 atmosphere so different from that which she 
 habitually breathed. Clara was sorry for Ar- 
 thur ; but was obliged to leave him to his fate. 
 Her decided character never permitted her to 
 vacillate between incompatible claims. So, 
 with a cheery " Good-bye, Arthur ! I shall 
 send for you in good time, you know; so 
 grandmamma must make much of you," she 
 carried off the lingering Mabel ; and in obedi- 
 ence to her quick: sign, the carriage drove 
 rapidly from the door. There was at least 
 one consolation for him — grandmamma and 
 grandpapa would not be nearly so sorry to 
 part with him as with Mabel.
 
 152 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "Mabel," said Clara, one morning, "what 
 DQUst we do about your father's pictures ? 
 You know, though papa took them, because 
 your grandpapa had no room for them, we 
 have always considered them really yours, and 
 have only kept them in trust for you. Would 
 you not like to take some of them with you ? 
 — the small drawings, at any rate ?" 
 
 The two were busily packing in Clara's 
 morning-room, where some especial favourites 
 among the pictures had been collected. 
 
 '' You must keep them for me still, Clara
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 153 
 
 dear — at least for the present. I could not 
 take his drawings with me to Uingwood, you 
 know, where no one would care for them ;" 
 and she coloured painfully, with something of 
 pride and jealous affection in her look. 
 
 " Thank you, dear ; we will be very careful 
 of them. I am really glad you don't want 
 them yet ; we should not know how to part 
 with them — yoz^r portrait especially," she 
 added, laughing, glancing at a picture over 
 the chimney-piece. 
 
 It was certainly no portrait of Mabel, 
 though some slight resemblance to her might, 
 perhaps, be fancied, rather than traced in it. 
 The style was that of Sir Godfrey Kneller ; 
 and the original, which Mr. Arleigh had met 
 with in some old farm-house, and copied on 
 account of some imagined resemblance to his 
 wife, was probably the work of that master. 
 The costume was that of his period — a transi- 
 tion between the loose, fantastic drapery of 
 the second Charles's reign and the stiff prim-
 
 1 54 STRETTON 
 
 ness of a later time. The hair was loosely 
 looped up, not unmercifully strained ; the 
 pale green silk, close-clinging rather than 
 tight-fitting, without sharply-defined edges or 
 distinct divisions, resembled rather the calyx 
 of a flow^er than the handiwork of a seamstress ; 
 and suited well the fair young girl, sweet- 
 looking and graceful, rather than beautiful, 
 whom the portrait represented. 
 
 " What nonsense to call it my portrait, 
 Clara ! You know it is not a bit like me." 
 
 "Not much, certainly. There is a little 
 look of you, which is no w^onder, as it re- 
 sembled your mamma; and Edward always 
 says you will grow up just like it. But you 
 know very well you w^ill never be half so 
 pretty." 
 
 *' Of course not," said Mabel, in an absent 
 way, as she stood looking at the picture. 
 "Oh, Clara!" she continued, "if you only 
 knew how pretty mamma was — before you 
 ever saw her — when papa thought her so like
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 155 
 
 this picture. You must take great care of it, 
 and send it to me whenever I want it." 
 
 " That we will, dear. Meantime it will put 
 us in mind of you." 
 
 "Ah!" said Mabel, "but if you look at 
 that picture, and begin to fancy me like it, 
 when you see me again, you will be — " 
 
 " I must manage to like you, as I do now, 
 without knowing whether you are pretty or 
 not," said Clara. " And now, Mab, we have 
 no time to lose.'' 
 
 Whether Mabel was pretty, was indeed an 
 open question. She was continually called so, 
 from a certain brightness and changefulness 
 of tint in hair, eyes, and complexion ; but all 
 this depended so entirely on the chance of the 
 moment, that those who had applied the epi- 
 thet to her one day, often found themselves 
 puzzled, if called upon to justify it the next. 
 
 Respecting her eyes, indeed, public opinion 
 was tolerably unanimous ; though strangers 
 were now and then puzzled as to their colour,
 
 156 STRETTON 
 
 while those who knew her well freely confessed 
 that they were " only grey ;" but nearly all 
 agreed in calling them beautiful : ivonderful, 
 was the usual expression ; their beauty being 
 of that indefinable character which gives the 
 idea of some distinct conscious existence, or 
 of an actual looking forth of the spirit within. 
 But with this exception, the child, though in- 
 teresting, would not generally have been con- 
 sidered striking ; her shy, reserved ways pre- 
 vented chance observers from even perceiving 
 the varied play of expression, which was her 
 principal charm. Only Edward, catching at 
 her slight occasional likeness to the portrait, 
 persisted in regarding that as a fore-sha- 
 dowing of her future self; — an ideal of love- 
 liness and grace, far surpassing, in his 
 imagination, all that he had yet met with in 
 actual life. 
 
 But, as Clara said, there was no time to 
 lose ; and she and Mabel continued busy for 
 several hours ; they hardly knew how long ;
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 157 
 
 till they were startled by Edward's voice 
 beneath the windows. 
 
 *' Mab ! Mab ! come down quickly ! I want 
 you." 
 
 She was off like a bird, down the broad 
 staircase, and in the garden in a minute. 
 
 Edward was holding in his hand a beautiful 
 little pine-tree, of a rare species, just then in- 
 troduced into this country. 
 
 " You know I promised you a tree, in the 
 place of that which Bess destroyed. You are 
 going away now ; but I have brought you one 
 notwithstanding ; and I want you to plant it," 
 — he went on, hurrying her along the garden 
 path as he spoke, — " as a token that you will 
 come back to us when you can." 
 
 They had now reached her little garden ; 
 where a hole had been already dug, and all 
 preparations made. It only remained for 
 Mabel to lift the tree into its place, and fix it 
 firmly there. Taking it from Edward, she 
 knelt down, and be2:an filling in the earth
 
 158 
 
 STRETTON 
 
 around the roots, while he steadied the spirj 
 
 top in an upright position. 
 
 " In token," said Mabel, pressing the earth 
 
 firmly down with her ungloved hands, " that 
 
 when I come back I shall find you in this 
 
 same place." 
 
 ''Where else should you find us?" said 
 
 Edward, laughing ; " because you are spirited 
 
 away yourself, yon expect the same thing to 
 happen to other people." 
 
 " You might take a fancy to go somewhere 
 else," said Mabel, " but no other place would 
 ever seem so right for you ; at any rate, I do 
 not think I should like any so well." 
 
 " I should not easily like one better," said 
 Edward, glancing almost proudly around. It 
 was, indeed, a fair, home-like scene ; the large 
 afternoon shadows of the trees flung broad 
 and cool upon the undulations of lawn and 
 meadow ; at a little distance, the flower-beds, 
 in their autumnal blaze of the most gorgeous 
 hues ; the glittering dome of the conservatory,
 
 or RINGWOOD CHACE. 159 
 
 just catching the eye, over thickets of arbutus, 
 bay, and laurel ; the long lines of tastefully- 
 curtained windows giving back the level sun- 
 light. 
 
 " I was born here,'' Edward went on ; 
 " Clara was not ; I suppose that sometimes 
 makes a difference. And our mother died 
 here ; and we have all been so happy here to- 
 gether," he concluded, somewhat incoherently. 
 
 Mabel had risen, and was standing in con- 
 templation of her finished work ; trying every 
 now and then to rub the dirt off her hands, 
 which were neither whiter nor more taper than 
 is usual at her age. 
 
 ** Well, Mab, what are you thinking of? 
 I promise you that if you do not find us here, 
 it shall be no fault of mine." 
 
 '' I was thinking of something so curious, 
 which I was reading the other day, about 
 planting trees ; about estates being claimed in 
 that way. I mean, when the heir came into 
 possession, he always planted a tree as a sign
 
 160 STRETTON 
 
 that the land was his ; and if the true heir had 
 been kept out of his rights, as soon as he 
 knew about it, the first thing he did was to 
 go and plant a tree on the land, as a sign that 
 he claimed it. And you know, Edward, per- 
 haps yours is an older branch of the Stret- 
 tons ; I daresay it is ; so do try and find out 
 about it ; and if you do, you must come to 
 Ringwood and plant a tree there ; and we 
 should be so glad ! Just think, to have you 
 and Clara for cousins, and living at the 
 Chace !" 
 
 " So that is what your little head is running 
 upon !" said Edward, taking up one of her 
 long curls, and twining it round and round 
 his fingers. " All very fine for you. Miss 
 Mabel ! but what would Arthui' say to it, I 
 wonder? — for, of course, Ringwood is to be 
 his." 
 
 " Oh, Edward ! Arthur would be so glad ! 
 you know he would ! And besides, that will 
 be only when my aunt dies ; and she will live
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 161 
 
 a great while longer, I hope ; she is not at all 
 old. So it will niake no difference in that 
 way ; — but to have you for cousins" — 
 
 " We may be coimns, without being the 
 elder branch, you know. And I wish we 
 were, Mab ; or else we shall see little enough 
 of you, depend upon it. But what an incon- 
 sistent little woman you are ; first making me 
 promise to live here, and then wishing that we 
 might come and live at the Chace ! — but never 
 mind, dear," seeing her look puzzled ; — " if we 
 were proved to be the elder branch fifty times 
 over, I should never come to plant my tree on 
 the land. You know I have my own inherit- 
 ance, and must stand by it." 
 
 Mabel looked inquiringly. 
 
 *' My grandfather told me that he trusted 
 the business to me ; that it was the family 
 estate for us Strettons, and that we must not 
 give it up for any other ; — that Ms father, who 
 began life as a poor boy, left it as an indepen- 
 dent inheritance to his children, and to their 
 
 vor. I. M
 
 162 STRETTON 
 
 children after them, if we were not enticed 
 from it." 
 
 Mabel stood thoughtfully intent. 
 
 " I would not give it up, Mab ; and I 
 couldn't be Stretton of Ringwood Chace at 
 the same time. I was at a school once, where 
 the boys were all sons of officers, baronets, 
 country gentlemen, and that class. Of course 
 I was asked at once, as boys always do ask 
 each other, about my home and my father. 
 I was proud enough of both, and bragged 
 of them stupidly enough, I daresay — and then 
 the fellows turned round and cut me for being 
 a tradesman's son. Disagreeable enough, 
 Mab, I can tell you, though it sounds absurd 
 stuff now ! No joke at all at the time ! I 
 was fool enough to be vexed at first, — didn't 
 like it one bit. However, one can't be made 
 ashamed of one's own father, you know ; so no 
 harm was done. I was only there one half; 
 I should have been fighting half my time, and 
 learning nothing ; so it would have been no
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 163 
 
 good ; they taught me one lesson, however. — 
 But we need not trouble ourselves ; I am never 
 likely to have the choice in this matter, Mabel.'* 
 He had been walking backwards and forwards 
 on the turf; but now, turning suddenly round, 
 came and stood beside her. " Mabel ! you 
 have planted your tree on our ground ; promise 
 me — " he stopped short. *'It would be a 
 shame ! such a mere child !" he muttered to 
 himself. " Mab !" he exclaimed, '* there is 
 the first bell ringing ! Run in as fast as you 
 can, or you won't be ready for dinner ; and 
 Clara will scold," he added, laughing. 
 
 ''Please, sir," said Mabel, next morning, at 
 breakfast, to Mr. Stretton, '' won't you take 
 me with you to London, some day before I 
 go? — if you do not mind letting me, Edward. 
 I do so want to see the old place again, before 
 Heave." 
 
 " To be sure, my dear ; you can go to-day, 
 if you please, while it is fine. You will be in 
 time to catch the coach, Edward, will you not ?" 
 
 ai 2
 
 1 64 STRETTON 
 
 — looking at his watch. " You had better put 
 on your bonnet, my dear, if you have done 
 breakfast." 
 
 It had been one of the festivals of Mabel's 
 childhood, when Edward occasionally gave up 
 to her his place beside his father in the gig, 
 and she was permitted to accompany Mr. 
 Stretton up to London. Latterly, however, 
 she had seemed too old for scrambling up and 
 down ladders, and through trap doors, which 
 had formerly been her dehght, when allowed, 
 under Edward's guidance, to explore the great 
 rambling warehouses ; and Clara, not being 
 quite certain how far her sense of dignity had 
 kept pace with her years, had wisely kept her 
 out of temptation. Now, however, Mabel's 
 ple'a was irresistible ; and she enjoyed the expe- 
 dition with all the glee of childhood. It was 
 so exhilarating to find herself once more seated 
 by Mr. Stretton, who chatted cheerfully on 
 every passing object, or exchanged greetings 
 with the many acquaintances, bound, like him-
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 165 
 
 self, to the Great City, whom he overtook on 
 the way. It was so pleasant, nestUng close to 
 her kmd and cordial companion, to be borne 
 swiftly, without an effort, through the fresh 
 morning air; to see the old river, with its 
 forests of masts ; — the wide array of towers 
 and steeples, emerging from the smoke-cloud 
 to confront them, as they crossed the bridge. 
 She enjoyed the bustling, noisy labyrinth of 
 broad and narrow thoroughfares, through 
 which they drove to the warehouse door ; the 
 deference with which the old servants of the 
 firm came out to assist " the young lady" down; 
 even the peculiar smell of straw and brown 
 paper w^hich met her as she entered; — still 
 more, when Mr. Stretton, seated on his high 
 leather stool, in the dusky counting-house, was 
 absorbed in the letters and newspaper of the 
 day, did she enjoy the scramble (in a modified 
 form) with which Edward managed to indulge 
 her; so scrupulously, however, as would have 
 satisfied Clara herself.
 
 166 STRETTON 
 
 She was desperately tired at the end ; so 
 tired as scarcely to utter a word during the 
 drive home. Her first impulse, on arrival, 
 was, however, to dart through the hall, and 
 out upon the breezy lawn, where the trees 
 were lazily opening and shutting their great 
 masses of foliage ; revealing, with every pulsa- 
 tion, a whole world of green arbours and 
 labyrinths among the recesses of the boughs. 
 She drew a deep breath, murmuring to herself, 
 " How pleasant it is to be out in the country 
 again !" 
 
 After dinner, being missed, she was dis- 
 covered fast asleep on a sofa ; there she re- 
 mained all the evening, and could with diffi- 
 culty be roused when it was time to go to 
 bed.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 This was Mabel's last holiday ; — her depar- 
 ture was nearer at hand than she dreamed of. 
 For Clara, a vowed enemy to the pathetic in 
 every form, managed to keep all particulars a 
 profound secret till the time had absolutely 
 arrived. Even then, she skilfully availed 
 herself of the bustle of preparation, of which 
 she made the very most, to occupy every spare 
 moment ; and hurried Mabel off at last, unex- 
 pectedly, in a sort of surprise, which left little 
 time for leave taking, and none at all for 
 thanks.
 
 168 STRETTON 
 
 There was, indeed, plenty of necessary 
 bustle. Arthur came to Mr. Stretton's a few- 
 days before, to be ready to start with his sis- 
 ter. Clara and her father undertook to accom- 
 pany them up to town in the morning, to meet 
 the coach ; and Mrs. Stretton's housekeeper, 
 who had come up to London the previous day, 
 was to sleep at the coach inn, and take charge 
 of the two children back with her to Ring- 
 wood. And Clara was right glad to be a little 
 behindhand (no common case where she was 
 concerned), that she might the more quickly 
 loosen Mabel's clinging clasp of her neck, 
 and the sooner lose sight of her wistful face 
 as the coach dashed off. 
 
 The first part of the journey was dull and 
 almost silent. Mabel, despite her ** gladness," 
 had cried so much the night before, that this 
 morning she could scarcely open her eyes ; 
 certainly she could scarcely see with them. 
 So she leant back in a corner of the coach,
 
 OF KTNGWOOD CHACE. 169 
 
 and soon fell into a heavy, half- conscious doze. 
 Arthur, indeed, was not particularly sad ; his 
 grandparents, though kind in the main, were 
 too infirm and petulant to win much of a 
 child's affection ; and they had been too un- 
 feignedly glad to have him otherwise provided 
 for, to make the parting, on his side at least, a 
 very sorrowful one. But his shyness of the 
 strange housekeeper predominated over all 
 other feelings 3 and with one hand in Mabel's, 
 as a sort of protection, he sat looking out of 
 the window next him ; at first, only to avoid 
 meeting the housekeeper's eye ; but soon in 
 absorbed delight at the objects passing before 
 him in quick variety. 
 
 The housekeeper, a hard-featured, light- 
 complexioned woman of forty, neatly and 
 primly dressed in deep mourning, had every 
 wish either to show kindness to them as two 
 children, or respectful attention as " the young 
 lady and gentleman ;" but she had not been
 
 170 STRETTON 
 
 long enough with Mrs. Stretton to feel any 
 peculiar interest in the family ; and was, be- 
 sides, tired, sleepy, and half-cross, from her 
 previous day's journey, and noisy night at the 
 inn. So, after a few civil inquiries and offers 
 of accommodation, she, like Mabel, soon fell 
 asleep ; till both were suddenly roused by an 
 enthusiastic exclamation from Arthur, as a 
 wide reach of glassy river came in view, all 
 a-blaze with orange-tinted beech-trees, which 
 crowded close down on its margin, and were 
 reflected far below in its depths, like a sun- 
 set. 
 
 Mabel quickly sat forward, rubbing her 
 eyes. The fresh autumn breeze had imper- 
 ceptibly bathed away the stiffness and heat 
 from her eyelids, and the beauty of the scene 
 burst on her like a vision. It was a true En- 
 ghsh day ; brilliant and gUttering, yet with a 
 faint haze just hanging on the skirts of the 
 transparent sky, and a certain dreamy softness
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. J 71 
 
 mingled in the half-frosty air. Mabel was 
 instantly in her own wild spirits ; bewildering 
 Arthur by calling his attention to one beauti- 
 ful effect or quaint object after another, while 
 he was painfully considering how each one 
 could best be represented ; — bewildering the 
 housekeeper by rapid questions about Ring- 
 wood ; — " were there deer ? were there wild 
 rabbits, squirrels, &c. &c. &c. ? — was there 
 plenty of flowers? — plenty of rough walks ? " 
 Her native instinct of delicacy prevented her 
 questioning the servant as to her mistress, or 
 the family concerns, ways, and doings ; and 
 the good woman was too phlegmatic to drop 
 by the way many suggestive hints. (From any 
 reference to the recent bereavement, both par- 
 ties seemed by tacit understanding to shrink.) 
 So the housekeeper met Mabel's torrent of 
 questions with a blank wall of the baldest, 
 barest statements ; very often with — " I really 
 can't say, Miss ; I never thought to notice ;"
 
 1 72 STRETTON 
 
 till Mabel gradually relapsed into silence, but 
 not into sleep. Her cheek glowed, her eyes 
 and parted lips smiled, as she sat looking before 
 her into the gathering twilight, evidently hear- 
 ing and seeing nothing external. 
 
 The regular coach-stoppage for dinner had 
 occurred in the midst of Mabel's lively mood ; 
 so, while looking quiet and grave, as she 
 always did in the presence of strangers, she 
 had been the whole time whispering to Arthur 
 comical suggestions, till his child-Uke look and 
 manner returned, as they never failed to do 
 under the influence of her merriment ; and for 
 some time after they were again seated in the 
 coach, and after Mabel had subsided into her 
 waking sleep, he was chattering boyishly to the 
 housekeeper, of his doings, hopes, and plans ; 
 and winning from her good graces the character 
 of "such a nice young gentleman," under 
 which she that evening described him in the 
 servants' hall at the Chace.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 173 
 
 Ringwood was now not far distant. At 
 the nearest market-town, the carriage was 
 waiting for them. There was a short, dark 
 drive ; then a sudden swing through the lodge- 
 gates, which were open in readiness ; the little 
 lodge windows sparkling with a cheerful hght. 
 Then never-ending trees ; great firs especially, 
 which threw swaying shadows across the road, 
 as the moon began to struggle through the 
 clouds. Then a startling stop before the 
 carved stone porch ; and a broad glow 
 streaming out through the open door. 
 
 The air felt chill and foggy as they alighted. 
 The next moment they were in the warm, snug 
 hall ; long and low, rather narrow in propor- 
 tion to its length ; lighted by an odd-looking 
 chandelier, of bright brass, hanging from a 
 ceiUng wrought in panels and heraldic devices. 
 " Ts Mrs. Stretton in her own room?" 
 asked the housekeeper of the old-fashioned 
 serving-man who had opened the door.
 
 174 STRETTON 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," was his reply, as he led 
 them down a matted passage running at right 
 angles from the farther end of the hall. 
 Opening a door, he announced — " The young 
 lady and gentleman, please, ma'am." 
 
 It was a large room, very plainly furnished ; 
 the walls lined with shelves and drawers. A 
 small bronze lamp hung from the ceiling ; 
 under it was a large table, covered with papers; 
 at which, in the full light, Mrs. Stretton was 
 sitting, seemingly engrossed in business. The 
 rest of the room was in a kind of twilight ; a 
 fire burnt dull at the farther end. 
 
 Mrs. Stretton rose as they entered, and met 
 them at the door. She shook hands with the 
 children, scarcely looking at them ; and put 
 a few brief questions to the housekeeper, 
 ascertaining that the journey had been safe 
 and comfortable. 
 
 She was still a handsome woman ; tall, fair, 
 and stately, with high aquiline features. The
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 175 
 
 hazel eyes, since her boy's death, occasionally 
 looked dim, with secret tears, perhaps, or 
 sleepless nights ; or the overstrained labour 
 with which she kept her sorrow at bay. But 
 her profusion of crisp light hair, scarcely tinged 
 with grey, could hardly be restrained under 
 her close mourning cap. 
 
 '* You must be tired now, my dears ; so 
 I won't keep you. Jones," — to the house- 
 keeper, — " show Miss Mabel and — her 
 brother, — up to their rooms. Supper is ready 
 for them, as soon as they have refreshed 
 themselves." 
 
 She sat down to her papers. Mrs. Jones 
 led Mabel and Arthur back into the hall, and 
 upstairs into a kind of gallery, not very wide, 
 and interrupted by steps up and down, and 
 occasional sharp turnings. 
 
 " This is your room, Miss ; and here is 
 Master Arthur's, you see, nearly opposite." 
 
 Mabel just glanced into the spacious
 
 176 STRETTON 
 
 chamber, with its blazing fire, which had been 
 pointed out as her own ; and then crossed 
 over, to install Arthur in his domicile. Arthur's 
 room was, as the housekeeper had expressed 
 it, " nearly opposite" his sister's ; but was 
 just round one of those odd little twists in the 
 gallery, of which there were so many. Mabel 
 liked the look of it at once : a thorough boy's 
 room ; — the little white bed wedged close to 
 the end wall, leaving large free space between 
 it and the window ; an old table, that could not 
 be spoilt, standing clear in the middle ; hang- 
 ing shelves for books ; plenty of cupboard 
 room for a boy's innumerable valuables. A 
 fire had been hghted in the little corner grate 
 of this room also, in honour of the long 
 journey, then no small event. 
 
 A respectable elderly woman came forward. 
 
 " Missus thought the young gentleman 
 hadn't been used to do for bimseif, perhaps," 
 explained the housekeeper ; " so she said that
 
 OF RIN'GWOOD CHACB. 177 
 
 Martha, the housemaid, who does for her what 
 she wants, had better see to him." 
 
 '* But, Arthur, darling, I can help you," 
 exclaimed Mabel ; and she lingered in the 
 room, unpacking and assisting at intervals, 
 till Arthur, who seemed growing quite at 
 home, begged her to go and take ofiF her 
 bonnet, to be ready for supper; he was so 
 hungry. 
 
 So Mabel, making a threatening gesture 
 at him, went to her own room. Two lighted 
 candles, in curious old china candlesticks, 
 stood on the dressing-table ; and stationed 
 beside it, to Mabel's great surprise, stood an 
 attendant awaiting her : an Italian maid, who 
 had accompanied Mrs. Stretton to England 
 when she became mistress of Ringwood 
 Chace, and whom Mrs. Stretton had now 
 especially appropriated to her niece's service. 
 She herself required little or no attendance ; 
 but Mabel must have around her all that 
 befitted the sister of the heir of Ringwood. 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 178 STRETTON 
 
 Papal aggression had not then been heard 
 of; and most good Catholics, in humble life 
 at least, were allowed by their priests peace- 
 fully to save their own souls by fasts and 
 festivals, and enjoy their earthly life to the 
 utmost, en attendant, without troubling them- 
 selves about the spiritual concerns of other 
 people. But the language ? Mabel had been 
 learning Italian at school, and could construe 
 Tasso; but that was a very different thing 
 from expressing all her little personal wants 
 in the foreign idiom. However, between 
 French, which Mabel knew well, and her at- 
 tendant a little, and the great power possessed 
 by both, of reading countenances and speaking 
 with the eyes, they got on pretty well \ and 
 Mabel was soon sufficiently at ease to look 
 round the room. 
 
 The toilet-table, a quaint japan affair, all 
 drawers and tiny closets, with oval swing 
 glass to match, stood a little in front of the 
 broad sweeping window-curtains. These, like
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 179 
 
 the carpet, were of a bright pecuUar blue ; all, 
 however, a good deal faded. Facing the win- 
 dow stood a bedstead of polished walnut, with 
 heavy circular canopy, whence hung blue silk 
 curtains, like those before the window. The 
 wardrobe was in marqueterie, of many-coloured 
 flowers. On the high wooden mantel-shelf, 
 painted white, stood superb old china jars, 
 corresponding with the candlesticks on the 
 table. 
 
 As soon as the two children were ready, 
 the housemaid showed them down to the 
 dining-room, where supper was prepared. 
 The room seemed long, rather narrow, and 
 low-pitched ; it was imperfectly lighted, and 
 looked dim and undefined. At the supper- 
 table Mrs. Stretton presided, with good- 
 natured attention ; she also tried to draw the 
 children into conversation about their journey. 
 Arthur was soon eagerly expatiating on the 
 wonders of the day ; Mrs. Stretton evidently 
 interested, almost in spite of herself. But the
 
 180 STRETTON 
 
 whirl of a long, exciting day was in Mabel's 
 ears and brain ; she scarcely knew what was 
 said to her, or what she answered ; and was 
 only too thankful when she found herself at 
 last in silence and darkness; — to think over 
 everything, she said to herself. However, 
 after two minutes, she thought not at all ; 
 every impression was absorbed in sleep.
 
 or RINGWOOD CHACE. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 She woke to find her room a blaze of light. 
 She had been roused by the undrawing of her 
 window-curtains ; all the tiny panes of the 
 half-hexagon oriel window were sparkling like 
 diamonds ; the deep bay, a small room of itself, 
 was flooded with brightness. A low window- 
 seat, with cushions of blue silk like the cur- 
 tains, ran round the recess ; India matting 
 was on the floor. No wonder cushions and 
 matting, curtains and carpet, all were faded, 
 when every ray of sun, from dawn till noon,
 
 182 STRETTON 
 
 poured in at the window thus ; and even the 
 sunset glow stole in sideways. 
 
 Mabel sprang up in high spirits, and ran 
 bare-footed into the recess. Oh, that window ! 
 — The park, on this side of the house, sloped 
 suddenly down into a deep valley, quite dark 
 with the crowded shade ; and beyond, in the 
 open sunshine, lay the broad expanse of un- 
 dulating hills, flecked with cloud-shadows, 
 islanded here and there with groups of trees, 
 or scarped abruptly with white cliffs. And 
 in the extreme distance, on the far horizon, 
 lay a faint vapoury something, which no de- 
 scription could distinguish from a cloud, but 
 which Mabel knew, with inexplicable certainty, 
 was the sea. 
 
 She dressed quickly, — not too quickly, how- 
 ever ; for when, leading Arthur by the hand, 
 she entered the dining-room, the door of which 
 old Thomas threw open for her, Mrs. Stretton 
 was already there, with the great silver urn 
 hissing and steaming before her.
 
 or RINGWOOD CHACE. 1S3 
 
 Notwithstanding its want of proportion, and 
 formal old-fashioned furniture, the dining- 
 room looked cheerful by dayUght. Mabel 
 liked the dark, shining wainscot, all glowing 
 with pictures ; the slippery, oaken floor ; still 
 better, the kaleidoscope-pattern flower-garden, 
 of tiny bright-coloured beds wedged close 
 ^ together, which lay like a gorgeous carpet 
 below the broad Elizabethan windows ; and 
 better still, circling all around, the shaggy, 
 ferny Chace. 
 
 At one end, or rather, in one corner of the 
 room, was another window, odd and irregular, 
 opening with two or three steps to a broad 
 turfed terrace ; below which lay a bowhng- 
 green, overlooked, at the farther end, by a high 
 walk arched over with fruit-trees, and by 
 fantastic pavilions at the corners. 
 
 Mabel could scarcely eat her breakfast, or 
 keep her attention to Mrs. Stretton's occa- 
 sional remarks and inquiries. 
 
 " I shall be busy for a little while, Mabel,"
 
 184 STRETTON 
 
 said Mrs. Stretton, as she rose ; " perhaps 
 you and your brother would like to run out, 
 and take a look at the place. I wish you to 
 feel it a home ; but don't stray off till you 
 know your way. I sliall want you presently 
 in my dressing-room, to look over your clothes. 
 I will send for you when I am ready." 
 
 Eagerly the brother and sister started up 
 and hurried into the hall, where they stood 
 looking round them, rather bewildered for a 
 moment ; there were so many doors, and one 
 or two small passages, besides the long matted 
 one, along which they had been conducted 
 the previous evening. They had just disco- 
 vered the massive, deeply-carved entrance- 
 door, when old Thomas, emerging suddenly 
 from one of the little passages, hastened to 
 open it, with a reverential bow, and a look 
 in which scrutinizing curiosity mingled with 
 deep respect, as he scanned, in the broad day- 
 light, the two little representatives of " the 
 family."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 185 
 
 '' Old Thomas " was the only man-servant in 
 that large, rambling house. Out of doors, 
 gamekeepers, gardeners, and labourers of all 
 sorts were indispensable ; the place was so 
 large, that Mrs. Stretton's far-sighted economy 
 could not but aim principally at its being 
 thoroughly well kept up. But in-doors, old 
 Thomas was fully equal to the wants of the 
 family, in their present limited numbers, and 
 recluse way of life. He was a serving-man 
 of the old school ; amenable, with unquestioning 
 loyalty, to all of the blood of Stretton ; to 
 his fellow-servants, intractable and despotic ; 
 a very thorn in the flesh, from his almost 
 aggressive fidehty, and dogged, petulant per- 
 sistence in old ways and old observances. 
 
 The two children stepped out quickly 
 through the heavy porch ; the door closed 
 behind them ; the fresh north-west wind blew 
 in their faces, as they stood in the shadow of 
 the old house, on the broad gravel platform 
 before its entrance front ; the long, irregular
 
 186 STRETTON 
 
 pile, grey and fretted, stretching on either 
 hand. Rains and winds had worn away all 
 sharpness and distinctness from the once ela- 
 borate carving of the stone, but could not 
 lessen the impression of massive strength and 
 warm home-shelter. Three many-angled 
 turrets, jutting out at irregular intervals, threw 
 their distinctly cut outlines beyond the shadow 
 of the house, far out into the bright sunshine. 
 
 Mabel and Arthur stood some moments, 
 side by side, in perfect silence. The sudden 
 burst of boundless forest scenery, the heaving, 
 palpitating sea of trees rushing and murmuring 
 below their feet, and melting away, all round 
 the horizon, in faint, hazy, distance, — almost 
 took away their breath. 
 
 It was only gradually that they began really 
 to look and examine ; to trace delightedly the 
 road by which they had arrived, emerging 
 frem the deep shade of the woods, coming 
 straight up between the two long files of 
 beech-trees, straight up the centre of the
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 187 
 
 formal oblong grass-plot, to the very platform 
 on which they stood ; — to distinguish Ring- 
 wood village and church, just visible, through 
 an opening cut for the purpose ; — to gaze with 
 fascinated wonder on the strange old oaks, scat- 
 tered far apart between the beech-tree avenue 
 and the circling shades ; oaks which had been 
 past their prime before the house was built ; 
 and now stood, hoar and gigantic, the dis- 
 crowned monarchs of the place, their knotted 
 arms flung wildly up towards the sky, in de- 
 fiance or appeal. 
 
 " Come, Arthur," said Mabel, rousing her- 
 self at length with something like a sigh. 
 
 Slowly and thoughtfully they now strolled 
 along the front, peering into the innumerable 
 windows, some low and broad, some lofty, 
 projecting, and angular. Along this front lay 
 the old state-rooms, now seldom used ; the 
 ball-room, with inlaid floor and fanciful 
 musicians' gallery ; the saloon, as it was still 
 called, — its many -shaped mirrors framed in
 
 188 STRETTON 
 
 stucco garlands ; its low ceiling, heavy with 
 emblems and ciphers, commemorating a visit 
 from the Maiden Queen. 
 
 Suddenly, as they turned the extreme angle 
 of the building to the left, the full south 
 sun burst joyously upon them, half dazzling 
 in contrast to the shadow from which they 
 emerged. They were on the green terrace, 
 which they had looked down upon from the 
 dining-room ; the Bowling- Green Terrace, the 
 Western Terrace, as it was variously called. 
 
 " Now, Arthur ! a race !" exclaimed Mabel, 
 suddenly starting off as she spoke. 
 
 She was at the end of the terrace first ; no 
 wonder; besides being older and taller, she 
 had taken him at a disadvantage. She stood 
 one moment to wait for him, laughing and 
 looking back, the sun gleaming sideways on 
 her face and hair ; but sprang forward again, 
 as she perceived, on turning round, the flower- 
 garden which had so taken her fancy, under 
 the south windows.
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 189 
 
 " Oh, Arthur ! here are these beautiful 
 flowers ! how bright they are here in the sun, 
 though it is autumn now. And those are the 
 hills I see from my window ! And see, there 
 is an orchard down below the bowling-green. 
 What a large, old orchard ! how far it runs 
 down the hill ; there seems no end to it. Let 
 us go and lose ourselves among the trees." 
 
 " You know," — said Arthur, hesitating, 
 ** aunt told us not — " 
 
 " Yes," said Mabel, doubtfully, '' but would 
 not that be the more fun ?" She looked down 
 for a minute, questioning, in his face. " Well, 
 I suppose we had better not. I will only go 
 down among the flowers." 
 
 And she was soon among the mazes of the 
 flower-beds ; but was quickly recalled. 
 
 " Mab ! Mab ! come here !" 
 
 Arthur had reached the extreme east end, 
 where the turf, sprinkled with pines and 
 cedars, came up close to the large, green-cur- 
 tained window of the Ubrary : the favourite
 
 190 STRETTON 
 
 family sitting-room, while there was a family, 
 on summer mornings and winter evenings. 
 
 " What a pretty room !" exclaimed Mabel ; 
 " look at all the books !" 
 
 " Yes, but, Mab, look here !" and he pointed 
 to a large, solitary cedar, its broad horizontal 
 masses of foliage fully illuminated above, and 
 black in shadow below. "Mabel, I could 
 draw that I On the other side it was too 
 much" And he began turning out his pockets ; 
 producing, among sundry boy's treasures, in 
 the way of knives and string, two or three 
 clumsy, half-blunted stumps of pencil. " If 
 I had but a bit of paper ! Mabel, have you 
 any?" he went on, desperately turning his 
 pockets inside out, without finding what he 
 wanted. 
 
 *' No, indeed — not a bit ; but I will fetch 
 you some in a minute ;" and she was turning 
 to go in. 
 
 " Oh ! stay — that light may be gone ! Here 
 is an old letter of yours, which you sent me
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 191 
 
 from school. I can do what I want on the 
 back, and then copy it when I go in." 
 
 Just at this moment Martha, the house- 
 maid, came out from the eastern shrubbery, 
 and approached Mabel. 
 
 " Please, Miss, your aunt is ready for you, 
 if you will be so good as to come to her in her 
 dressing-room." 
 
 " Very well, Martha, if you will show me 
 the way." And she followed Martha through 
 the little side-entrance, through one of the 
 odd little passages, into the large hall, and 
 then up the stairs. 
 
 " Your aunt told me to unpack your things, 
 Miss, and take them to her to look at. She 
 thought 1 should understand best about that, 
 perhaps. Afterwards, you know, ma'am, 
 Bianca will have charge of them," said the 
 formal old servant, as they proceeded. " Your 
 books, ma'am, and all your own little things, I 
 have put out in your room till you please to 
 see where you would like to have them."
 
 192 STRETTON 
 
 About half-way up the main staircase, a 
 smaller flight, which Mabel, in her hurried 
 passage to and from her own room, had not 
 observed, branched off on the right hand; 
 and, ascending it under Martha's guidance, 
 she found herself in a small square vestibule, 
 looking hke a museum of Indian china, cabi- 
 nets, and oriental treasures of every descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 "That is Mrs. Stretton's bedroom," said 
 Martha, pointing to a door which faced them 
 as they entered ; " and this," turning towards 
 one on the right, " is her dressing-room." 
 
 *' And where does that lead to ?" said Mabel, 
 pointing to a third door, on the left. 
 
 " Oh ! hush ! hush ! Miss," interposed 
 Martha, belovi^ her breath. ''That is poor 
 Mr. Arthur's room." 
 
 Then, turning quickly towards the dressing- 
 room, she knocked at the door, and ushered 
 Mabel in.
 
 OP RINGWOOD CHACE. 193 
 
 CHAPTER XTV. 
 
 Mabkl almost started, as she caught the first 
 sight of the room. It was so peculiar — so 
 different from what she had imagined. 
 
 She found herself in one of the projecting 
 turrets which she had seen from the front. 
 Four sides of the octagon room had windows, 
 deeply cut in the wall ; the four opposite had 
 mirrors to correspond ; mirrors and windows 
 alike framed, almost muffled, in the embossed 
 draperies of pale, sea-green silk, which seemed 
 but a faint reflection of the verdure without. 
 A sraafl fringed carpet, of fine but faded 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 1 94 STRETTON 
 
 tapestry-work, lay on the centre of the floor ; 
 upon it stood the old-fashioned, draperied 
 toilet, laden with Httle trays and boxes, in 
 ebony and silver, and supporting the small, 
 but pecuHarly brilliant mirror, with frame and 
 sconces in filigree frost-work of silver. The 
 little toilet-stool, the carpet, even the floor, 
 bore the familiar Stretton crest: — the Plying 
 Arrow, with its motto, " Straight on," which 
 Edward and Clara so much loved. 
 
 This room had been the tiring-chamber of 
 the matrons of Ringwood as far back as tra- 
 dition served. On that stool Dame Margery, 
 Mrs. Stretton's mother, had sat as a bride ; 
 — and daily, during the brief remainder of her 
 life, for the due combing and powdering of 
 those golden locks, which Tinje was never to 
 transmute to silver. Only her successor. Lady 
 Harriet, had objected, not unreasonably, to 
 the cold of the windy chamber. A gorgeous 
 apartment, all satin and gilding, had been 
 decorated for her use in another part of the
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 195 
 
 house. Her freak was a fortunate one, or 
 Mrs. Stretton would have felt that her mother's 
 bower had been desecrated. She herself never 
 dressed there. Indeed its costly apparatus 
 would have seemed a satire upon the business- 
 like despatch of her toilet. But she loved the 
 room, and maintained inviolate as much of its 
 antique splendour as could in any way be 
 made compatible with modern uses. Yet one 
 or two of her innovations, however necessary, 
 looked almost barbarous. One mirror had 
 been curtailed of its proportions, and formed 
 only the chimney-glass to a small modern 
 fire-place; and a heavy bureau, with lid let 
 down to serve as a writing-table, half blocked 
 up one of the windows. A plain square table 
 and large couch were drawn near to the fire- 
 place ; and on these Mabel's little wardrobe 
 was laid out for inspection. Mrs. Stretton 
 was seated, waiting for her niece's presence, 
 before she began a closer examination. 
 
 Clara had always provided for Mabel as for 
 
 o 2
 
 196 STRETTON 
 
 a younger sister ; and Mrs. Stretton looked 
 somewhat struck, as one article after another 
 was unfolded before her. 
 
 " My dear !" she said rather hesitatingly, 
 when the servant had left the room ; *' you 
 do not think they would like to be paid for 
 these things, do you ?" 
 
 *' Aunt !" — exclaimed Mabel, in horror. 
 
 " Ah ! well, I suppose it wouldn't do,'* 
 said Mrs. Stretton ; " but it is very un- 
 pleasant." 
 
 " Aunt," resumed Mabel, after a few 
 minutes, — " I should like to write to Clara ; 
 to-day, if you please." 
 
 " Of course, my dear. They have been very 
 kind and generous to you, and I should wish 
 you to be properly grateful. You know that 
 I wrote to ask them here, but they declined." 
 
 '' Of course," said Mabel. 
 
 " So you see, ray dear, they have the good 
 sense to understand that any close intercourse 
 between you and them is not now desirable.
 
 ' OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 197 
 
 No doubt they will occasionally favour you 
 with a letter, and then I should always wish 
 you to answer it at once." 
 
 Mabel went abruptly out of the room, 
 leaving Mrs. Stretton in the midst of silk and 
 rnuslin frocks ; and shut herself up in her 
 own sunny bed-room, to write to Clara. 
 There she found her pretty little desk, placed 
 by the careful Martha on a small writing-table, 
 in a corner somewhat shaded from the over- 
 brightness which now flooded the centre of 
 the room. The desk had been sent to her at 
 school by Mr. Stretton two birthdays before ; 
 and fitted up by Clara with every imaginable 
 and unimaginable appliance for writing ; the 
 gift had done more for Mabel's penmanship, 
 not before very promising, than fifty lessons. 
 Seating herself at once, she was soon absorbed 
 in her letter. It was very long, and rather 
 more warmly expressed than was usual with 
 Mabel's undemonstrative nature; giving mi- 
 nute particulars of her journey and arrival, 
 and a full description of the place, as far as
 
 198 STRETTON 
 
 she had yet seen it ; her aunt was scarcely 
 mentioned, and that only incidentally. She 
 had written herself into all her usual animation, 
 and was just folding her letter, with sparkling 
 eyes and glowing cheeks, when Bianca 
 entered in great excitement, explaining, with 
 many gesticulations, that there was only just 
 time to dress for dinner. (Early country 
 hours still reigned in full force in Mrs. 
 Stretton's primitive household.) 
 
 Mabel found time, however, to seal her 
 letter, with a candle which she sent Bianca to 
 fetch ; and holding it in her hand, she ran 
 down stairs, just as the bell was ringing. In 
 the hall she met her aunt, coming along the 
 matted passage from her business-room. 
 
 " If you please, aunt, may this letter go 
 to the post ?" said Mabel, handing it to her. 
 
 " Thomas, put Miss Mabel's letter into the 
 post-bag; ray letters are not ready yet." 
 She gave him the letter, and a key, as she 
 spoke.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 199 
 
 Old Thomas, who had been waiting in th( 
 hall for his mistress, unlocked the bag, which 
 lay on the oak table ; put in the letter, bring- 
 ing back the key ; and then followed into the 
 dining-room, where was served the plain 
 family dinner, of home produce ; at which he 
 attended with much respect, if in somewhat 
 antiquated style. Arthur, who had to be 
 fetched in at the last moment, looked rather 
 absent, but very happy ; Mrs. Stretton also 
 seemed pre-occupied, as people often are at early 
 dinners, with half the day's business still 
 weighing on their minds. She was probably 
 thinking of her unfinished letters, to be com- 
 pleted in the afternoon. As soon as dinner 
 w^as over, she was called away to some one 
 waiting to speak to her. 
 
 " Arthur !" said Mabel, taking both her 
 brother's hands, as soon as her aunt had left 
 the room ; — " Arthur ! are you glad to be 
 here? Dear mamma lived here, you know, 
 when she was our age. Aunt Stretton is not
 
 200 STRETTON 
 
 like her; but v\e belong here ; and there are 
 two of us. Arthur, are you glad ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Mabel, so glad ! But are you ?" 
 
 Before Mabel could answer, there was a 
 knock at the door ; and their travelling com- 
 panion, Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper, entered, 
 curtseying. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss; hope you and 
 the young gentleman are well after your 
 journey. Mrs. Stretton sent me, ma'am, to 
 ask if you and Master Arthur would hke to 
 see the house." 
 
 At the death of Mrs. Stretton 's father, 
 Ring wood had been sold as it stood ; only the 
 family portraits, and a few articles of especial 
 family interest, being reserved. When Mrs. 
 Stretton at length regained possession of the 
 old place, she had been considerably relieved 
 to find things not greatly altered ; she had, 
 however, devoted herself heart and soul to 
 restoring all, as nearly as possible, to its 
 original state. In this, '* old Thomas,** as he
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 201 
 
 was called at a later period, was her zealous 
 coadjutor. 
 
 He had been born at the Chace, where his 
 father was butler in " the old squire's time/' 
 The son was just beginning to plume himself 
 in his new-fledged honours as under-footman, 
 when " the Squire " died, and the break-up of 
 the family took place. 
 
 Mrs. Stretton, on returning to the old 
 estate, had enquired carefully for any servants 
 of her father, who might be still lingering in 
 the neighbourhood. But all were either dead 
 or dispersed, except the old butler's son, 
 whom she at once took into her service. 
 
 Embued by his father from infancy with 
 exalted ideas of the dignity of " the family," 
 Thomas was even more scandahzed than his 
 mistress at the late occupants, for having pre- 
 sumed to alter anything ; and threw all his 
 energies into the work of restoration, in which 
 bis co-operation proved invaluable. He really 
 knew more exactly than she did how every-
 
 202 STRETTON 
 
 thing had stood, having had more to do with 
 the interior details of the estabhshment. 
 Thanks to their united efforts, the family resi- 
 dence, at the time when Mabel and Arthur 
 became its inmates, really presented very much 
 the same aspect, within and without, as it had 
 done when Mrs. Stretton was herself a child. 
 Ringwood Chace, like most old houses of 
 the same date, boasted its due share ol 
 quaintly -carved paneUngs and fantastic stucco 
 mouldings ; of lofty mantelpieces, enriched, 
 even to the ceiling, with flowers, figures, and 
 blazonry, in dark oak or parti-coloured marbles ; 
 its tiles of blue delft, illustrative of Scripture 
 history. It had also, no doubt, its appro- 
 priate traditions and well- attested legends. 
 But Mrs. Jones, as a comparatively new- 
 comer, lacked all interest and genius for such 
 matters. When her natural uncommunica- 
 tiveness at length thawed, under the perse- 
 vering inquiries of her young companions, 
 her only topic was, " Poor Master Arthur ■,"
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 203 
 
 — his beauty and promise, his fun and frohc, his 
 untimely end and doleful burial. With his 
 pranks, with his end, every nook and corner 
 of the old house was in her mind associated ; 
 it was the one episode of the family history 
 which her own eyes had witnessed, her own 
 heart had shared ; it had seized on an imagi- 
 nation to whicli tales of past splendour or 
 sorrow were dead and unmeaning. When 
 once started on this theme, she could scarcely 
 be diverted to any other, even by those who 
 would gladly have escaped from a subject so 
 painful. But to the quick sympathy and 
 eager curiosity of the two children it had a 
 peculiar attraction ; and incited by their 
 looks rather than by their words, she went 
 into every particular, pointed out every asso- 
 ciation ; dwelling, with the minute recapitula- 
 tion in which persons of that class delight, on 
 the most painful details, the most harrowing 
 descriptions. 
 
 At length a summons from her mis-
 
 204 
 
 STRETTON 
 
 tress put at end to her functions as cice- 
 rone; hastily she re-conducted Mabel and 
 Arthur into the gallery, where their own 
 rooms were situated, and there left them, 
 standing hand in hand, silent and thoughtful ; 
 for the moment thoroughly saddened by the 
 images which her talk had conjured up. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur 1 and we never might have 
 come here at all, if our poor cousin had not 
 died ! And our aunt can never love us, you 
 know, as she loved him !" said Mabel, as they 
 returned to their own nook of the gallery. 
 
 Arthur did not hear ; he had turned off 
 into his own room, the door of which they 
 just then reached. In a minute he darted 
 
 out agam. 
 
 '' Oh, Mabel ! come and look ! One would 
 think my aunt knew how I love the sun- 
 set !" 
 
 She followed him back into the room, 
 which was, indeed, steeped in the crimson 
 glow. The long fantastic shadows of the
 
 OF RING WOOD CHACE. 205 
 
 bowling-green pavilions lay aslant across the 
 turf below the w^indow. 
 
 " Oh, Mabel !" he exclaimed again, '' I am 
 so happy here !" 
 
 And Mabel went down to tea, far more in 
 charity with her aunt than she had felt at 
 dinner-time. Nor did she even consider her- 
 self aggrieved, though she was considerably 
 startled, when Mrs. Stretton said, as she bade 
 her good-night — 
 
 '* Your governess will be here to-morrow, 
 Mabel. She has been staying here already ; 
 but I thought she had better visit some friends 
 for a day or two, that you might feel yourself 
 at home first."
 
 206 STRETTOX 
 
 CHx\PTER XV. 
 
 No long period, truly, had Mrs. Stretton 
 allowed her niece for domestication ! How- 
 ever, the arrival next day of the governess 
 was rather a relief than otherwise. It was 
 evident at once that she was no formidable 
 person ; and as she spoke Enghsh tolerably, 
 her being a German only gave a spice of 
 novelty to the affair. As if to neutralize any 
 possible Romanizing influence from the Italian 
 maid, Mrs. Stretton had selected as her 
 niece's governess a staunch German Pro- 
 testant, an enthusiastic worshipper of Gustavus
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 207 
 
 Adolphus ; du reste, very musical, very good- 
 natured, perfectly inoffensive and insignifi- 
 cant. Mrs. Stretton wanted no second ruling 
 spirit in her dominions. 
 
 Mabel seldom had any difficulty about 
 lessons ; and a new language rather 
 made her more comfortable — it kept her 
 quiet. 
 
 With regard to poor little Arthur, matters 
 were not quite so easily arranged. Mrs. 
 Stretton's plans for him all melted into dis- 
 tance, when she found how utterly the poor 
 child's education had been neglected. She 
 held long conferences on the subject with the 
 vicar, hoping that he would offer to work the 
 boy up for a public school. But the vicar, 
 who probably had no inclination for such very 
 rudimentary teaching as was required, recom- 
 mended, what was really the best plan on all 
 accounts, that he should be sent daily to a 
 preparatory school in the neighbourhood, 
 where he would have, what he needed fully
 
 208 STEETTON 
 
 as much as instruction, the society of boys of 
 his own age. 
 
 Arthur received the announcement of his 
 fate without a murmur ; but it was hardly to 
 be expected that he should like it ; for, besides 
 being painfully shy, he was as much beyond 
 his age in taste and feeling, as he w^as behind 
 it in regular school knowledge. 
 
 Mabel, even after her first shyness had 
 subsided, felt in no way drawn towards her 
 aunt. Arthur, on the contrary, had attached 
 himself to her at once ; took all sorts of child- 
 ish and boyish liberties with her ; followed 
 her about the house and garden, and even 
 made good an unquestioned right of entrance 
 into her dressing-room and study at all hours. 
 At first she would hardly look at him ; even 
 avoided speaking to him, and especially using 
 his name. Then, by a sudden change of 
 feeling, he became her idol. 
 
 She at once read in his face his shrinking 
 from the thought of school.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 209 
 
 " Arthur ! Arthur !" — (it was ahnost the 
 first time she had called him by his name,) — 
 '' do not look at me in that way ! If you do 
 not like going to school, say so, and you shall 
 not go ; you shall not do anything you do not 
 like V 
 
 "I think, aunt," said Arthur, in his quiet 
 way, '' I shall always hke to do what pleases 
 you.'' 
 
 Mrs. Stretton got up, went round to him, 
 and kissed his forehead. '' Will you go to 
 school?" was all she said. 
 
 " Yes !" was his only answer. 
 
 So he went daily, and became daily livelier, 
 stronger, more boyish ; though his progress in 
 his severer studies was certainly not what it 
 might have been, had he been withdrawn en- 
 tirely from Mabel's influence ; which was exer- 
 cised in a way by no means favourable to 
 steady application. She was herself accus- 
 tomed to learn her lessons in a mysterious 
 nondescript manner, at odds and ends of time ; 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 2 1 STRETTON 
 
 very often at the last moment ; declaring, in- 
 deed, that she could not fix her attention till 
 it came to the last chance. Such plans were 
 very naturally reprobated by all her instructors 
 as unorthodox ; as immoral, in fact. But in 
 her individual case, it was not easy to proceed 
 to extreme measures for their suppression. 
 Though her lessons might not be invariably 
 well-learnt, they were so, on the average, 
 rather oftener than those of others ; so she 
 escaped pretty well, though regarded on the 
 whole as a suspected character. With respect 
 to Arthur, she probably thought, if indeed 
 she thought at all on the subject, that he was 
 to manage as she did herself; so she kept the 
 unlucky boy, evening after evening, in a state 
 of entire dissipation, — talking, laughing, and 
 playing ; or making little sketches for her, of 
 odd passing fancies, which, as she said, she 
 wanted to draw for herself, but could not ; — 
 while he ought to have been hard at work, 
 preparing his lessons for the morrow. j\Iany
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 211 
 
 a merry evening did the two children thus 
 spend together, at one end of the long, ill- 
 lighted dining-room, while Fraulein C. was 
 dozing over her endless knitting at the other 
 end, and Mrs. Stretton was far away in her 
 business-room at the opposite extremity of the 
 l^use. 
 
 Now and then, indeed, Mabel was absorbed 
 in a book ; entranced, spell-bound, beyond all 
 power of hearing, far less of answering, any- 
 thing addressed to her from without. On 
 such occasions, Arthur seldom failed to show, 
 by his proficiency the next day, how he might 
 have distinguished himself, had a fair chance 
 been allowed him. 
 
 One palliating consideration might perhaps 
 be urged in excuse for Mabel's conduct : her 
 life in the day-time was certainly of the quiet- 
 est. Not that she disliked this, however ; 
 there was a peculiar charm for her in the singu- 
 lar stillness of the Chace, where nothing seemed 
 ever to happen, and very little was said. It
 
 212 STRETTON 
 
 was like living in a dream. Then she had her 
 shaggy pony and unwieldy Newfoundland 
 puppy. It had soon been discovered that she 
 could ride well and fearlessly ; having first 
 learnt among the slippery Welsh hills, where 
 the rough little animal had to be caught and 
 saddled before he could be mounted ; and 
 having afterwards been accustomed to share 
 " the boys'" equestrian exercise. So she was 
 allowed to range at her will, out of lesson- 
 hours, within the wide-sweeping, ferny Chace, 
 of which she was never tired ; sometimes with 
 a basket, Welsh fashion, on her pommel, to 
 bring home the gigantic cones which strewed 
 the ground in her favourite fir-plantations. 
 As little did she tire of rambling about 
 the old house ; contriving incidents, in her 
 own mind, for every odd-shaped room and 
 intricate passage ; and learning, as far as 
 any one could tell her, the history of the 
 old portraits scattered through every part. 
 They were to her, indeed, rather persons
 
 OF UINGWOOD CHACE. 213 
 
 ihhn pictures ; — a silent company peopling the 
 rooms. 
 
 Even had her aunt won more upon her 
 affections, Mrs. Stretton was always immersed 
 in business ; shut up in her private roDin, 
 where somebody seemed always to have some- 
 thing to say to her ; or driving herself, in her 
 low pony-chair, in all directions over the 
 estate. Now and then, when it did not 
 happen to be Mabel's lesson-time, her aunt 
 invited her to accompany her. Mabel enjoyed 
 the exercise, as a variety from her pony- 
 riding ; — the greater extent thus given to her 
 excursions ; — the views, caught here and there 
 through the autumnal mists ; — the sight of 
 busy farm-yards and snug homesteads. It 
 was, however, only the least favourable speci- 
 mens of these abodes which she had the 
 opportunity of closely inspecting. Mrs. 
 Stretton's drives were drives of business, not 
 of amusement ; and were directed chiefly where 
 there was something amiss ; wherever the
 
 214 STRETTON 
 
 people were ill or idle, the houses dirty or 
 dilapidated. 
 
 At dinner-time, in Arthur's absence, the 
 chief variety for Mabel was the acquisition of 
 sundry new German phrases, which Fraulein 
 C, faithful to her vocation, seized every op- 
 portunity to instil. This Mabel rather en- 
 joyed, being herself also very zealous about 
 the new language. It may be questioned, 
 however, whether she would not now have 
 listened with less impatience than formerly to 
 the political discussions which she had been 
 used to think so tiresome, when Mr. Stretton 
 and Edward came home to dinner, full-charged 
 with news or surmises of important move- 
 ments then pending ; or when some chance 
 gentleman -visitor gave such a direction to the 
 conversation. No visitor ever appeared to 
 dine at the Chace, except, occasionally, Dr. 
 Hinchley, the vicar : a quiet, gentlemanly old 
 man, a childless widower ; reputed, with truth, 
 to be a profound scholar ; the rumour of which
 
 or RINGWOOD CHACE. 215 
 
 scholarship caused Mabel to look at him with 
 intense awe and curiosity, and to drink in 
 anxiously every word that fell from his mouth. 
 As none of his erudition, however, by any 
 chance oozed out in ordinary conversation, it 
 was only through her ocular perceptions that 
 she^ stood any chance of benefit. She ac- 
 quired, and retained through life, a distinct 
 notion what a great scholar was like ; which 
 was convenient in her case, as she seldom 
 felt easy unless she could form to herself a 
 vivid picture of whatever she read or heard 
 about. 
 
 Dr. Hinchley was very good to the poor of 
 the neighbourhood, in his way, as Mrs. Stret- 
 ton was in hers ; but neither of them was at 
 all fond of talking about it ; and both had the 
 same brief, clear way of despatching business. 
 So any parish matters were soon settled be- 
 tween them ; and Mrs. Stretton was as in- 
 competent as Mabel to discuss with him the 
 mysteries of the Greek choruses, — the one
 
 216 STRETTON 
 
 subject on which he was said infallibly to 
 warm ; so his visits at the Chace were usually 
 very quiet affairs. With respect to Mabel, it 
 remained doubtful whether her existence was 
 ever distinctly recognized by him. He was a 
 very tall man, and had a way of looking 
 straight before him into vacancy; and never 
 having had children of his own, had never 
 learnt to lower his eyes to take cognizance 
 of those so much below the level of his own 
 lofty stature. 
 
 One other professional visitor, the apo- 
 thecary, occasionally looked in, chiefly in the 
 afternoon, to report to Mrs. Stretton respect- 
 ing patients whom he might be attending at 
 her desire, or any others whom he considered 
 in need of the extra comforts and nourish- 
 ment which she was always ready to send on 
 his recommendation. He was the very oppo- 
 site of the vicar, in most respects ; middle- 
 aged and middle-sized ; with hair inclining to 
 red, a shining complexion, and a strong ten-
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 217 
 
 dency to obsequiousness, only just kept in 
 check by Mrs. Stretton's short, decided manner. 
 There was also a latent tendency to facetious- 
 ness, which never appeared in her presence ; 
 but which showed itself when he was once 
 by some chance left alone with Mabel, with 
 whom he felt more at ease. His attempts 
 at joking, however, though poor enough, were 
 perfectly harmless and unobjectionable, in 
 matter and meaning. It must have been 
 either pride or fastidiousness on her part 
 which took the alarm, and made her there- 
 after anxiously avoid being left in the room 
 with him. 
 
 The few country ''neighbours" who might 
 have claimed to visit with Ringwood, lived 
 for the most part at some considerable dis- 
 tance. Colonel Stretton's long illness, and 
 afterwards his death, had furnished his widow 
 with a plea for seclusion, of which she had 
 perhaps found it convenient to avail herself. 
 
 Mabel, whose perceptions of pecuniary
 
 218 STRETTON 
 
 matters had been painfully quickened by the 
 privations of her early years, and the strug- 
 gles which she had witnessed even when too 
 young to share, soon understood plainly that 
 Mrs. Stretton was far from rich, as that word 
 would have been applied, for instance, by 
 "the Strettons;" in whose abounding home 
 there was no ostentation of wealth, simply 
 because its possession was a matter of course. 
 At Ringwood, the family coach stood in the 
 coach-house, unused, except on special occa- 
 sions. Scarcely an article of modern luxury 
 was to be seen in the house ; not a con- 
 servatory or forcing -house, a newly-introduced 
 shrub or flower, in the grounds. Mrs. Stret- 
 ton's own dress was too plain, almost homely, 
 to be becoming ; except, again, on special occa- 
 sions. But she was Mrs. Stretton, of Ring- 
 wood Chace ; and that was enough for herself 
 and all others. 
 
 Mabel could not but feel that it was not 
 love, but pride, which surrounded her, as a
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 219 
 
 daughter of the house, with all which her 
 aunt considered suitable to that position ; and 
 though she felt happy and at ease, and per- 
 fectly satisfied that she " helongecT' there, she 
 often reproached herself sorely for not being 
 properly grateful. 
 
 One wintry morning, as Mabel, having seen 
 Arthur start for school, was strolling rather 
 listlessly on the bowling-green, she suddenly 
 met her aunt, returning from her usual daily 
 inspection of the kitchen-garden, which lay 
 in the sheltered hollow below the orchard. 
 She seemed struck by something unusual in 
 Mabel's look and manner. 
 
 " This is not fair to you, child," she said 
 abruptly. " If you like, you shall drive with 
 me this morning. Tell Fraulein you will not 
 be at home for lessons to-day." 
 
 Mabel felt that a kindness was intended ; 
 and she exerted herself to take an interest in 
 the affairs of the different tenants whom they 
 visited in their drive, and to enter into the
 
 :220 STRETTON 
 
 merits of the various agricultural improve- 
 ments which Mrs. Stretton had to inspect. 
 
 At last, after a long, dull time in one of the 
 cottages which wanted repair, Mrs. Stretton 
 called a boy to her, and told him to take the 
 pony home. 
 
 " I shall walk round by Calder House," she 
 said. " I want you to make acquaintance with 
 Catherine Calder," she added to Mabel, as 
 they walked on together.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Calder House was scarce a quarter of a 
 mile from Riiigwood village ; and the village 
 communicated with the Chace house by a 
 short cut across the park. The families were 
 thus neighbours, and had been hereditary 
 friends ; but, owing to the unsocial habits of 
 the two present households, and to their be- 
 longing to different parishes, the intimacy had 
 languished of late. 
 
 General Calder, an old fellow-campaigner 
 of Colonel Stretton's, had spent his best years 
 in tropical service. His daughter well reraem-
 
 222 STRETTON 
 
 bered his returning, seemingly in full health 
 and strength, only to die in his native home. 
 He had left it in boyhood, an unportioncd 
 younger son. The death of an elder brother, 
 however, had early made the family estate his 
 own. But he had already learnt to love his 
 profession and the land of his adoption, and 
 he did not revisit England till Catherine's 
 beautiful young mother fell a victim to the 
 climate of India. Then a longing seized on 
 him for the fair-haired little girl, far av^^ay 
 across the sea, in her English boarding-school. 
 He shuddered at the thought of recaUing her, 
 to fade, probably, as her mother had done. 
 He had a son, too, a half-brother of Cathe- 
 rine's, ten years older, who was now pursuing 
 his college studies in England ; and, as he had 
 no vocation for a soldier's life, there was little 
 hope of his joining his father in India. So 
 General Calder resigned his commission, re- 
 crossed the ocean, and estabUshed himself at 
 Calder House ; his little girl being recalled
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 223 
 
 from school, " to take care" of him ; and Frank 
 spending his vacations with them in the long- 
 desolate house, now suddenly converted into a 
 home. Those days were the sunshiny epoch 
 to which Catherine still continually looked 
 back : her father's almost idolatrous devotion 
 to herself; and the wild frolics of the young 
 collegian, who strove, with little success, to 
 moderate his exuberant spirits, out of respect 
 to his father's recent loss ; — a loss in which he 
 had no personal share, and of which Catherine, 
 notwithstanding her deep mourning, could 
 have no practical perception ; — all this appeared 
 in remembrance a vivid dream, wholly uncon- 
 nected with her real life, before or after. Then 
 her own childish excitement, as the period ap- 
 proached for Frank's attaining his majority ; — 
 the abrupt stop put to all preparations by the 
 General's sudden illness; — the period of sus- 
 pense and dismay, in the midst of which the 
 longed for day passed unnoticed, and at the 
 termination of which the young heir found
 
 224 STRETTOK 
 
 himself in mournful possession, with this little 
 helpless sister bequeathed by their father to 
 his sole guardianship. 
 
 The shock, the sudden weight of responsi- 
 bihties, seemed to have broken, once and for 
 ever, the buoyant spirits of the young Oxonian. 
 Three years had passed ; but Catherine's merry 
 playmate-brother returned no more. Frank 
 had become suddenly a grave, anxious man ; 
 superintending, with scrupulous attention, the 
 management of the long-neglected estate, but 
 spending much of his time shut up in London 
 chambers, working hard at the study of the 
 law, which he declared his intention of follow- 
 ing as a profession. Why, was a mystery to 
 neighbours and dependents all the country 
 round. Something of miserliness must have 
 seized the young heir, on the sudden accession 
 of wealth. The estates were the most valuable 
 in the county; and not only unincumbered, 
 but farther enriched by General Calder's 
 Indian fortune. Yet Frank, formerly joyous
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 225 
 
 and extravagant, seemed to grudge himself 
 the smallest indulgence ; hved simply and 
 sparingly as any portionless gentleman ; and 
 appeared absorbed in preparation for a labo- 
 rious profession, as if he had had his bread to 
 earn. His parsimony, however, was confined 
 to himself. All that appertained to the family 
 position was scrupulously kept up ; and where 
 Catherine was concerned, expense never entered 
 into the question. Yet the poor girl led a 
 desolate sort of life under the elderly relative 
 whom her brother had engaged to take charge 
 of her, and to superintend the lessons she 
 received from her many masters. Frank was 
 himself little at home ; and, when there, gene- 
 rally absorbed in business or study. Cathe- 
 rine's society evidently gave him little plea- 
 sure. Indeed he rather avoided than sought 
 her presence. But he was devotedly kind to 
 her. His solicitude, indeed, to fulfil all her 
 wishes was almost painful to its object, and 
 wholly checked the girlish impulse to express 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 STRETTON 
 
 every desire as it arose. It was only when 
 she attempted to thank him that Frank be- 
 came harsh. " Child, what have I done but 
 my duty ?" had been his impatient rejoinder, 
 till Catherine shut up her thanks in her own 
 heart, and her tears with them. 
 
 Calder House itself was not a cheerful 
 residence. It was old, without being ancient ; 
 and thus especially required the look of a happy 
 and prosperous habitation to enliven it. But 
 though both house and grounds were well 
 kept up, all sign of hving interest and enjoy- 
 ment seemed wanting. Large as was the 
 estate, there was no park ; nothing more than 
 grounds of moderate extent attached to the 
 house, which stood within a high wall, not 
 many yards back from the village road. 
 As Mabel and her aunt passed through the 
 heavy wooden gates, they found themselves 
 within a few steps of the broad, well-gravelled 
 sweep surrounding the well-mown circular 
 grass-plot ; the gravel coming up close to the
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 227 
 
 windows, and filling the half-square formed 
 by the house, itself unscreened by shrubs or 
 creepers ; the stone of which it was built as- 
 suming, in the damp November weather, a 
 peculiarly dingy, discoloured appearance. 
 The oldest part, long and low, was sur- 
 mounted^ by a high-pitched, slated roof, with 
 dormer windows. At the very top swung a 
 huge bell, in its quaint little belfry. Two 
 rows of uniform sash windows ran along the 
 whole front ; unbroken, save by the central 
 entrance door, which was unreheved by steps 
 or portico. The wing, at right angles with the 
 main building, was at once handsomer and 
 more irregular than the old part, to which it 
 had been gradually added ; having been at 
 first a mere shapeless excrescence, and after- 
 wards drawn out, as it were, telescope-wise, 
 to considerable length. A range of stabling, 
 fitter in extent for a palace than for a country 
 gentleman's residence, straggled out in a line 
 with the older portion of the house.
 
 228 STRETTON 
 
 The door was opened by a stately powdered 
 butler, courteous and obsequious, who con- 
 ducted the visitors along a corridor, and up a 
 wide, shallow staircase, to the drawing-room. 
 
 As the room door was opened, the sound of 
 music sprang forth to meet them ; but the 
 large, rather forlorn-looking apartment was 
 untenanted. 
 
 '' Miss Calder is in her little room," said 
 the servant ; then, having placed chairs for the 
 visitors, he knocked at an inner door, opposite 
 that by which they had entered, and an- 
 nounced their names to some one within. 
 The music suddenly ceased, and Catherine 
 instantly entered the drawing-room. 
 
 She was much taller than Mabel, though 
 but a few months older; very slightand 
 unformed, but indescribably graceful, almost 
 stately, in attitude and movement ; her features 
 too, though not strictly beautiful, w^ere far 
 more regular than Mabel's. 
 
 '* Catherine," said Mrs. Stretton, '' I have
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. :229 
 
 brought my niece Mabel to see you. I hope 
 you will be good friends." 
 
 Catherine slowly turned her head, and 
 looked at Mabel timidly from under her long 
 curled lashes ; then went up to her shyly, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 Mrs. Elliott now came in, and began a gene- 
 ral conversation, comprising the usual chat of 
 a country morning call. 
 
 Mrs. Elliott was a person exactly adapted 
 for her post ; one of a by no means scanty 
 class, which seems especially provided for such 
 emergencies. She had had from her youth 
 upwards a very fair portion of good looks, 
 without beauty ; — a large share of excellent 
 sense, without talent ; — a kind heart and ami- 
 able disposition, without warmth of affection 
 or sensitiveness of feeling; — perfect good-breed- 
 ing without a particle of grace or elegance. 
 She had been a good wife, and was now a 
 contented widow ; all the more contented that 
 her residence amid the comforts of Calder
 
 230 STRETTON 
 
 House eked out her limited income, and her 
 position there gave her an importance which 
 she could not otherwise have laid claim to. 
 She never could have been, under any circum- 
 stances, conspicuous or interesting of herself; 
 she was admirable as the agent and represen- 
 tative of others. 
 
 A visit from Mrs. Stretton was by no means 
 a frequent occurrence ; and Mrs. Elliott was 
 not the only person of good standing in the 
 neighbourhood by whom it would have been 
 esteemed no small favour. So she devoted 
 herself zealously to do the honours to her un- 
 expected guest, and to entertain her with con- 
 versation upon all the current topics of the 
 neighbourhood : the weather, the crops, the 
 last county ball, the approaching election, the 
 recent assizes ; — Mrs. Stretton's new school- 
 house in the village, and the new church 
 which somebody was building in an adjoining 
 parish ; — to say nothing of births and deaths, 
 of weddings past and prospective.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 231 
 
 Catherine, who had looked much reUeved 
 at her entrance, remained sitting by Mabel, 
 quite silent, unless when one of the elder 
 ladies expressly addressed her. Mabel, on 
 her part, was too shy to speak ; the talk of 
 Mrs. Stretton and Mrs. Elliott referred entirely 
 to persotis and things of which she had no 
 knowledge. But she found plenty to amuse 
 her eyes ; in the heavy garlands and masks of 
 the ceiling; in the little classical medallions 
 and brocaded silk cushioning of the chairs 
 and sofas ; in the groups of musical instru- 
 ments painted on the walls, pendent by blue 
 ribbon among wreaths of roses ; all originally 
 well executed, but now rather dim and indis- 
 tinct ; — in the extensive prospect of level 
 country, through which a broad river wound 
 its way slowly to the sea. It was diffi- 
 cult to believe herself so short a distance 
 from the Chace. That river she had indeed 
 seen from some of the upper windows, but 
 it seemed thence so distant and subordi-
 
 232 STRETTON 
 
 nate an object, that she now scarcely recog- 
 nized itj 
 
 The two girls, as they sat there, silent, side 
 by side, presented a striking contrast : Cathe- 
 rine's transparent paleness, and quiet, sub- 
 dued manner, making her appear older than 
 she really was ; while Mabel, with her glow- 
 ing colour, rounded contour, and expression 
 of abounding health and animation, looked, 
 what she really was, a very child. 
 
 When Mrs. Stretton at last rose to leave, 
 Catherine took hold of Mabel's hand. 
 
 " May she not stay ?" she asked. 
 
 "Of course, my dear, if you both hke. 
 Perhaps you will walk home with her this 
 evening. You would like to stay, would you 
 not, Mabel?" 
 
 '* Yes," was Mabel's only answer. 
 
 Mrs. Elliott followed Mrs. Stretton down 
 stairs ; then, having seen her to the door, 
 she again looked into the drawing-room for a 
 moment.
 
 OF RINaWOOD CHACE. 233 
 
 " I will leave you, ray dear Catherine, to 
 entertain Miss Arleigh." And she passed on 
 to the pretty little sitting-room upstairs, which 
 was appropriated to her and Catherine's ex- 
 clusive use. 
 
 " Would you like to see my little roona ?" 
 said Catherine, as soon as Mrs. Elliott was 
 gone. And without waiting for an answer, 
 she opened the inner door. 
 
 Two negatives make an affirmative. The 
 two shy girls, the moment they were left alone 
 together, became entirely at ease in each 
 other's society. 
 
 The " little room" into which Catherine 
 now ushered her new companion, was indeed 
 no more than a deep bay window, partitioned 
 off from one end of the drawing-room in 
 earlier and more primitive days, for the pur- 
 poses of a china-closet. It was now nearly 
 filled by its one piece of furniture : a splendid 
 grand piano, then a modern novelty ; Frank's 
 gift to his sister.
 
 234 STRETTON 
 
 The window was darkened by shrubs and 
 trees, and looked down merely on the turf 
 which they shaded. The walls were covered 
 with a papering of dark green ivy, interspersed 
 with clusters of honeysuckle. Old prints, of 
 shepherdesses in broad hats, and shepherds 
 playing double pipes, seemed to have been col- 
 lected in this little nook, after the fashion had 
 become too obsolete for the better part of the 
 house. The small white marble chimney- 
 piece, representing Cupids turned hop-pickers, 
 had evidently been erected when there was 
 some intention of the room being used as a 
 boudoir, or whatever was the equivalent in 
 those days. Over it hung, not inappro- 
 priately, a really pretty coloured print of boy 
 and girl gleaners ; all steadying their golden 
 burdens on their lieads with the one hand, 
 and carrying their blue-ribboned hats in the 
 other. 
 
 This was Catherine's privileged retreat ; 
 the only one of the household admitted
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 235 
 
 to share her soHtude being a tiny Blenheim 
 spaniel, which usually lay on her knees while 
 she was playing, as at most other times. 
 
 From the various masters whom her bro- 
 ther engaged to attend her, she in general 
 learned well, but languidly, whatever they 
 chose to teach her. In music alone she 
 showed any special pleasure ; and in this her 
 powers rather perplexed than delighted her 
 instructors. Reading even difficult composi- 
 tions at sight, she was satisfied with the en- 
 joyment of thus rapidly taking in the com- 
 poser's ideas ; and never cared to undergo the 
 labour of acquiring a finished and telling ex- 
 ecution, or even of learning perfectly any but 
 the most exquisite bits ; and when left to 
 herself, seldom played from written music at 
 all ; extemporizing for hours, without efibrt, 
 during the long mornings which she spent 
 alone in this secluded corner of the house. 
 Frank would not have her whims interfered 
 with ; and as her routine lessons were always
 
 236 STRETTON 
 
 regularly prepared, she was allowed to spend 
 the rest of her time as she liked. 
 
 Mabel glanced round instantly at the prints, 
 then stood lingeringly by the piano, her hand 
 resting on the top. 
 
 " Will you not play to me ?" she asked. 
 
 Catherine coloured a little, and looked at 
 her sideways, with an expression which said, 
 " I do not know you well enough yet." 
 
 " Not to-day ; some time or other, perhaps. 
 Come down and look at the garden." 
 
 She led the way, through the drawing- 
 room, into the square vestibule ; then down 
 the broad staircase to the entrance corridor. 
 As they were passing out, Mabel looked 
 rather inquiringly at another staircase, very 
 dark and twisted, at the farther end of the 
 corridor. 
 
 " That leads up to Frank's rooms," said 
 Catherine, replying to her look — " his bed- 
 room and study. They are in the old part of 
 the house, you see ; and there are rooms for
 
 or RINGWOOP CHACE. 237 
 
 visitors, too, just as they used to be ; but we 
 never have any visitors now," she added, with 
 a half sigh. *' Our rooms are all in the wing ; 
 but there is a door leading from our landing 
 to Frank's rooms, and to the others, too, if 
 they were wanted. But they are all shut up ; 
 only Mrs. Elliott is very particular about having 
 them kept in order." 
 
 " Who is Frank ?" inquired Mabel. Both 
 Mrs. Stretton and Mrs. Elliott had spoken 
 only of " Mr. Calder." 
 
 " He is my brother ; he is a great deal older 
 than I. He takes care of me. He is very 
 kind. But now come into the garden." 
 
 But just as she was about to approach the 
 hall door, which the powdered butler, emerg- 
 ing in a magical manner from some sacred 
 retirement, was preparing, with awful polite- 
 ness, to throw open for the young ladies, Mrs. 
 Elliott's voice was heard on the stairs just 
 behind them. 
 
 " My dear Catherine ! what are you think-
 
 238 STRETTON 
 
 ing of? You will catch your death of cold ! 
 What would your brother say if he thought 
 I suffered you to go out with nothing on, this 
 bitter cold weather ?" 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I quite forgot/' said 
 Catherine, penitently. "I wanted to show 
 Mabel the garden." 
 
 " Hannah shall bring your things in a mo- 
 ment. Miss Arleigh, I am sure, will excuse — 
 — Pray walk in here, and sit down a moment," 
 she added, addressing herself to Mabel, and 
 opening, as she spoke, the door of the dining- 
 room ; a large, gloomy, wainscoted apartment, 
 with a few (very bad) family portraits on the 
 walls. Mrs. Elliott then hurried off, to give 
 directions to Hannah. 
 
 Catherine looked rather ashamed and an- 
 noyed. 
 
 " Frank is so kind — he is always so afraid 
 about me ; though I do not think there is any 
 need—" 
 
 " I am sure," said Mabel, " it is too cold to
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 239 
 
 go out without being well wrapped up ; it is 
 a very good thing Mrs. Elliott thought of it. 
 Look at me !" and she shook out merrily her 
 little cloak of coarse grey cloth. " We have 
 been driving in the pony-chaise ; and it was 
 so cold, even with this !" 
 
 Hannah here came in, laden wath dainty 
 wrappings ; very different from little Mabel's 
 matter-of-fact equipment. Carefully, as one 
 accustomed to the office, she folded round her 
 young mistress the velvet mantle ; encircled 
 her slender throat with the delicate swans- 
 down, which scarcely exceeded its whiteness ; 
 even insisted on Catherine's sitting down, and 
 submitting to have fur boots drawn on the 
 daintily-shod feet. 
 
 The business was at last accompKshed ; and 
 Catherine, in evident relief, with a confiding — 
 " Come, Mabel !" again led the way to the 
 garden ; which they were this time permitted 
 to enter without interruption.
 
 240 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The grounds, like the house, were well 
 kept up, but dreary looking. Behind the 
 house was a kind of wilderness of yew and 
 laurel. A belt of firs, forming a grove, masked 
 the high wall which separated the grounds 
 from the village road. All else was level lawn, 
 tufted here and there with shrubs; and mea- 
 dows sloping, with a scarcely perceptible de- 
 scent, to a small brook, a tributary of the 
 larger river which shimmered in the distance. 
 
 "But where do you have your flowers?" 
 asked Mabel, looking round. It was winter;
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 241 
 
 but she was trying to imagine how the place 
 would look in spring. 
 
 " There is a great border, under the south 
 wall of the kitchen-garden. Roberts always 
 gathers all the flowers we want from there." 
 
 " All you want ?" said Mabel, puzzled. 
 
 " I meai^, he fills the great bowl on the 
 hall-table, and the vases in the drawing-room ; 
 and we always have some in our sitting-room 
 upstairs (you have not seen that). And did 
 you notice that beautiful little vase on my 
 chimney-piece ? It is some rare china ; Prank 
 gave it me on my birth-day, two years ago. 
 Roberts always brings me violets for it in 
 spring, and rosebuds in summer.'* 
 
 " But why don't you have some pretty beds 
 here on the lawn, where you could gather 
 them any minute ? and some flowers looking 
 in at the windows, so that you could put out 
 your hand and pick? Let me just draw you 
 the shape of some beds you might have on 
 the grass." 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 STRETTON 
 
 Mabel picked up a loose twig, and began 
 earnestly tracing indented lines on the turf, 
 sticking in little sprays here and there, to mark 
 the points. But she did not succeed very 
 well ; she had seen Clara indicate her notions 
 in some such way to the gardeners, but had 
 not tried it herself, and found more difficulty 
 than she expected. She was half kneeling, 
 working painfully at her plan, when Frank 
 came up, returning from one of his rounds of 
 inspection. 
 
 " My brother," said Catherine. 
 
 Mabel sprang up, looking rather ashamed. 
 Her long curls had fallen forward over her 
 face, and she could scarcely clear them from 
 before her eyes. 
 
 Frank at first half raised his hat, and then, 
 as he saw the childish appearance of the visitor, 
 held out his hand to shake hers. 
 
 He was tall, as Catherine bade fair to be ; 
 and, in the mere features, he strikingly re- 
 sembled his sister. But he was rather dark,
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 243 
 
 while Catherine was very fair ; and, instead 
 of her vague, dreamy expression, he had a 
 pecuUarly resokite, somewhat business-Hke 
 look. " He looks more busy than Edward," 
 thought Mabel, " though Edward has always 
 so much to do." 
 
 ''This isi Mabel, Frank," said his sister. 
 
 He looked enquiringly. 
 
 " Erora the Chace," said Catherine. 
 
 " Oh ! I understand !" and, involuntarily, 
 as it were, he took the little hand again in his. 
 " You seem very busy ?" 
 
 " I wanted Catherine to have some flower- 
 beds here. She says she has no flowers ex- 
 cept in the kitchen-garden.'* 
 
 " Catherine, if you wished for flower-beds, 
 why did you not tell Roberts to make you 
 some ?" 
 
 " I never thought of it," said Catherine. 
 
 " Well, I will give orders about them to- 
 morrow. And now, good-bye. I am going 
 to — (the nearest town), and shall not be
 
 244 STRETTON 
 
 back to-night. I hope your visitor will stay 
 as long as she can." 
 
 He kissed his sister on the cheek, raised his 
 hat this time in good earnest to Mabel, and 
 was outside the gates in a moment. 
 
 *' Come, now," said Catherine, " let us walk 
 round. I will show you the old flower-border, 
 and then we must go down to the brook." 
 
 They walked along the fir-grove, and came 
 to a heavy wooden door in an old, high, red- 
 brick wall. Catherine opened it, and led 
 Mabel into the large, orderly kitchen-garden. 
 It looked dull, as any place would have looked 
 on that wintry day ; but was doubtless the 
 most cheerful part of the grounds, wh^ the 
 peach and apricot trees put forth their bloom, 
 and the old fig-trees their leaves — when the 
 banks round the brick tank were white with 
 strawberry blossoms, or the broad border under 
 the south wall was a-blaze with roses and 
 wall-flowers, stocks, pinks, and carnations, 
 white lilies and Turk's caps, columbine, scarlet
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 245 
 
 lychnis, and all such gay, decided old-fashioned 
 flowers. 
 
 A lame, old man hobbled up to them at 
 once, touched his cap, and said, with a fami- 
 liarity which was not disrespect — 
 
 " Glad to see you with a young companion, 
 Miss; 'twill make it less lonesome for you,Hke." 
 
 "Thank you, Roberts," said Catherine, 
 almost shyly, and drew Mabel on. 
 
 Before they had left the enclosed garden, 
 however, he was again beside them. 
 
 " Do you like riddles. Miss ?" he said to 
 Mabel. 
 
 His address was abrupt, but he looked 
 searchingly into her face, to see if she were 
 likely to take offence. 
 
 " Yes," said Mabel 
 
 " Can you tell me what moral lesson that 
 'ere weathercock teaches ?" and he pointed to 
 one which glittered at some distance, where 
 the spire of Ringwood church rose above a 
 clump of yews.
 
 246 STflETTON 
 
 *' Something about ' vain ;' — one may be 
 sure of that," said Mabel, laughing ; " all 
 moral lessons have that word in them." 
 
 " It is vain to aspire /" muttered the old 
 man, rather solemnly, as if to himself. 
 
 " Ah !" exclaimed Mabel, '' that is not bad 
 — the riddle I mean. The moral is very dis- 
 agreeable, but then most morals are ; don't you 
 think so, Catherine ?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss !" the old man went on, per- 
 tinaciously following them, " you should have 
 seen this place in its old days, when the rooms 
 w^ere full of company, and the stable-yard all 
 alive with grooms and helpers ! Such whistling, 
 and singing, and clattering of hoofs on the 
 pavement in the morning, when they was a 
 rubbing down their horses ! Those ivas times ! 
 when the Squire had his hunting-stud, and 
 old Madam, his mother — Miss's grand- 
 mamma — (here he indicated Catherine) — used 
 to drive to Ringwood in her great coach, with 
 four black horses ; coachman, in his curled
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 247 
 
 wig, on the box, and two powdered footmen 
 on the footboard, with gold-headed canes. 
 And a grand nosegay out of the garden 
 gathered for coachman, whenever they was 
 going to the houses of quahty round. I 
 should like to see you drive out so, Miss ;" 
 (to Catherine). '' You'd well become it ; and 
 master is richer than any of his folks have 
 ever been in my time." 
 
 "It would be very dull," said Catheriae, 
 languidly. Mabel had been hstening open- 
 eyed to this description of past grandeur ; 
 but directly Catherine's image was associated 
 with the old-world pomp, she laughed outright* 
 
 " A ride on horseback is better ; is it not, 
 Catherine ?" 
 
 '* I have never ridden," said Catherine. 
 
 " Never ridden !" exclaimed Mabel, looking 
 half-incredulous. " Oh ! do ask your brother 
 to buy you a horse directly, and then we can 
 ride together every day." 
 
 Catherine hesitated.
 
 248 STRETTON 
 
 '' Should you not like it ?" asked Mabel, 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Oh ! yes !" — Catherine spoke with deep- 
 drawn breath, as if just catching a glimpse of 
 some dehght too great for hope. 
 
 " Yes, I am sure you would," said Mabel. 
 *' I used to ride the boys' pony every hoU- 
 days ; and now and then I have ridden 
 Clara's horse. Oh ! that was like floating on 
 a wave of the sea, and feeling it bound under 
 you ! But it is best to have a pony now, and 
 be able to ride about without anybody to take 
 care of one. You'll ask your brother directly, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 Catherine again hesitated. 
 
 '* Are you afraid of him ?" asked Mabel. 
 " He looks good-natured." 
 
 " Oh no ! not afraid," said Catherine. 
 " Only I don't like-—" 
 
 '' What a pity !" said Mabel. " Clara and 
 Edward used to be angry with me, if I didn't 
 ask for anything I wished."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 249 
 
 " And did they always give it to you ?" 
 said Catherine. 
 
 " Oh no ! not always/' said Mabel. " But 
 Clara used to say,— 'You silly little thing, 
 how can we tell what you wash unless you ask? 
 If it's anything we can't give you, why, you 
 can but do without it, as the boys are so often 
 obliged to/ " 
 
 "But I want to know who this Edw^ard 
 and Clara are," said Catherine, gently. 
 
 " Oh ! do you not know ? I thought my 
 aunt must have told you. They took me 
 w^hen I was a little forlorn thing, w^hen poor 
 papa and mamma died ; when we had no one 
 to take care of us, but grandpapa and grand- 
 mamma ; and t/iey were not rich, and quite 
 old, and did not know what to do with us. 
 Oh ! it was very kind ! I love them all so 
 much !'* And the clear voice choked, and the 
 large grey eyes were brimming with unshed 
 tears. 
 
 " And you were very happy with them ?''
 
 250 STRETTON 
 
 asked Catherine, with a look and manner of 
 intense interest. 
 
 " Oh, so happy ! It was so pleasant there ; 
 Mr. Stretton, and Clara, and Edward, and 
 the boys ! If I could only have had Arthur 
 there !" 
 
 " Is that your brother ?" asked Catherine. 
 
 " Yes ! he is a little boy, and it was so dull 
 for hira with poor grandpapa and grandmam- 
 ma ; and I used to be always wishing for 
 him ! But I have him here, which is much 
 better ; and we belong here, you know ;" and 
 the child drew back her head with the air of 
 a princess. "So it is quite right for us to 
 come; but it was always so merry there!" 
 And she half sighed. 
 
 " Will you come very often, and be with 
 me ?" said Catherine, timidly. " I am almost 
 always alone ; it is very dull ; should you 
 mind coming?" she asked, in a pleading 
 tone. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! that will be so nice !
 
 OF EIKGWOOD CHACE. 251 
 
 Perhaps — " But here old Roberts again 
 overtook them. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Catherine, what has you been a 
 doing ? It's a new thing to see you busy in 
 the garden." 
 
 " Mabel — Miss Arleigh — was showing me 
 how to make some beds for flowers on the 
 lawn." 
 
 "Doesn't know much about it her own 
 self," muttered the old man, quite loud 
 enough to be intelligible. " Howsomdever, 
 Miss Catherine, I am glad to see you taking 
 to something, instead of moping about, and 
 caring nothing about nothing ; so I'll see what 
 I can do, and talk to the master, and get him 
 to trim up the old place ; not but he's parti- 
 c'ler enough in his way ; but things wants a 
 fresh start. Only this blessed morning I was 
 at him, to let me order in a fresh lot of cur- 
 rant bushes ; here be these great old woody 
 fellows, a dwindlin' an' a witherin', going the 
 way of all flesh, like the rest of us."
 
 252 STRETTON 
 
 " My brother often tells me," said Cathe- 
 rine, " that you are to have anything you want 
 for the garden/' 
 
 " Oh, in coorse ; he'll not stint nor spare, 
 that everybody knows well enough, where the 
 honour of the family is consarned ; but what 
 does a gentleman like he, and hoo\i4arned, 
 too, know about a garden ? — And a young 
 lady like you. Miss Catherine, to take no 
 pleasure in the old place !" 
 
 Mabel laughed, and Catherine gently drew 
 her away. 
 
 " Roberts is fault-finder general," she said, 
 in an under-tone ; *' but he is privileged ; he 
 may say what he pleases." 
 
 Catherine walked home with Mabel that 
 evening, across the park ; and from that time, 
 most of their leisure was spent together.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 For some weeks nothing more was said 
 about Catherine's riding ; but the rapid run of 
 Mabel's pony was now a frequent sound on 
 the gravelled sweep before Calder House. She 
 generally came over directly after breakfast, 
 before morning lessons, just to exchange greet- 
 ings with Catherine ; the latter often walking 
 over to the Chace later in the day, to spend 
 the afternoon with her friend. 
 
 One morning, as Mabel C^rae up, on her 
 pony, she found Frank and Catherine stand- 
 ing together at the door; he was just going
 
 254 STRETTON 
 
 out. When he saw Mabel, he came forward 
 to help her off her pony, as he had several 
 times done, when he had happened to be in 
 the way. Mabel, who was accustomed to 
 spring off without assistance, had always ac- 
 cepted his help, with a quiet " Thank you, 
 Sir," and passed on into the house, to seek 
 Catherine. This time, however, having disen- 
 gaged herself from the pommel, she faced 
 round on the saddle, and sat still a minute, 
 then said, looking full at him — 
 
 " I should so like Catherine to ride with 
 me !" 
 
 " Would 7/ou like it ?" asked Frank, turning 
 round to his sister. 
 
 Catherine's eyes looked very unusually eager, 
 but she only said, " If you please." 
 
 " Shall I look out a horse for you ? Would 
 you like to take riding-lessons?" He spoke 
 with almost the deferential earnestness of a 
 steward taking his orders. 
 
 " Oil please," broke in Mabel, " may not she
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 2oo 
 
 have a pony first, just to begin with, and ride 
 with me about the park ? and then, if she 
 should fall off, on the soft turf, it won't 
 matter." 
 
 Frank's gravity suddenly relaxed ; he fairly 
 laughed. 
 
 " A very good suggestion, Miss Arleigh," 
 he said. "We will see about the pony 
 directly." 
 
 " Oh, thank you !" exclaimed Mabel, incau- 
 tiously. " Catherine has been wishing for it 
 so much !" 
 
 " Have you ?" he asked quickly, turning 
 round again to Catherine, " Then why did you 
 not ask me ?" He looked from Catherine to 
 Mabel ; both the girls were confused. Some- 
 thing in their expression seemed to strike him. 
 " You were not afraid ?'' he asked, almost 
 sternly, of Catherine. 
 
 " Oh no !" said Mabel, eagerly, '' she told me 
 she was not." 
 
 " Catherine !" said her brother, in a sup-
 
 256 STRETTON 
 
 pressed tone, '' will you never believe that I 
 can have no wish in this world but to give 
 you pleasure ? I will see about the pony 
 at once," he added, quickly resuming his 
 usual raanner, — bowed to ^label, and left 
 them. 
 
 Catherine stood motionless, her head droop- 
 ing like a flower of which the stalk has been 
 suddenly broken. 
 
 '* I am very sorry," said Mabel, penitently. 
 " It is all my fault," said Catherine. " Now, 
 Mab, dear, let us have some music." And 
 she led the way to her " own room." 
 
 Mabel had forgotten all about her '' morn- 
 ing lessons;" but Eraulein C.'s rule was so 
 indulgent, that even had she remembered, she 
 would have had little hesitation in remaining, 
 when she had the unanswerable reason to 
 give that she had stayed " to hear Catherine 
 play." 
 
 She combined an extreme deHght in music 
 with an entire absence of special musical talent;
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 257 
 
 and thus had about as little power of giving 
 herself pleasure in that way as was possible 
 for one who had been always well taught, was 
 not generally stupid, and delighted in the 
 playing of others. To listen to Catherine's 
 improvisations,! was one of her greatest plea- 
 sures ; but it was one which she seldom en* 
 joyed. Catherine was unaccustomed to play 
 much before any one except her masters, 
 with whom she felt her lessons mere routine 
 work. Actual bashfulness was as impossible 
 as conceit, in connection with a power which 
 seemed almost as natural to her as speaking. 
 But her extempore music was so entirely the 
 out-pouring of her inner self, that she felt it 
 almost impossible to give herself up to it 
 when Mabel's eager eyes were fixed upon her, 
 drinking in every tone, anticipating, as it were, 
 every note ; and she was only gradually be- 
 coming accustomed to her presence beside the 
 piano. This morning, however, she played 
 longer, and with more passionate abandon- 
 VOL. I. s
 
 2bS STRETTON 
 
 ment, than usual ; yet even this could not 
 wholly dispel the troubled look from Mabel's 
 face ; or chase from her mind a vague feeling 
 of having done amiss. 
 
 In less than a week, however, there ap- 
 peared at Calder House, — no pony, but such 
 a beautiful little grey palfrey : a delicate Arab, 
 whose pace was a rocking amble, the most 
 luxurious exercise in the world ; and there 
 were such long consultations with Mrs, Elliott 
 on Catherine's equipment ; and Catherine 
 looked so graceful and pleased amid her 
 timidity, when fairly mounted ; and Frank so 
 triumphantly happy, as he walked by her side, 
 that Mabel no longer repented her audacious 
 interference. 
 
 Catherine's first ride was, indeed, an event 
 for the whole household. The old gardener 
 hobbled up to look on, and the fat elderly cook 
 emerged from her back door for a side view. 
 The butler lounged on the front threshold 
 with an air of easy affability, and calm con-
 
 OP RINGWOOD CHACE. 259 
 
 sciousness of being in his place ; while, just 
 within, vibrated the pink ribbons of spruce 
 housemaids, with whom he occasionally con- 
 descended to exchange a remark. Mrs. Elliott 
 stood at a window of the dining-room, com- 
 manding the lawn and paddock ; admiring the 
 becoming effect of the plumed cap on Cathe- 
 rine's graceful head, and grieving to think how 
 the sky-blue habit would be stained and torn 
 in the wild scrambhng rides which Mabel was 
 planning for her friend. To do Mrs. Elliott 
 justice, all due representations had been made 
 to Erank by herself, and even by Catherine, 
 at her suggestion, on the unsuitableness of 
 the riding-equipment which he had insisted 
 on providing for his sister. But his only re- 
 ply had been, " What does that matter ? 
 When this habit is spoiled, she can have an- 
 other. I choose her to have what is fit for her." 
 " Well, to be sure ! did you ever see any- 
 thing so charming as Miss Catherine looks, 
 now?" exclaimed one of the pink-ribboned 
 
 s 2
 
 260 STRETTON 
 
 housemaids, as Catherine, gaining courage, 
 passed near them at a somewhat quicker pace, 
 and with an unusual glow in her cheeks. 
 
 *' Miss Calder always looks well, " replied 
 the butler, with dignified reserve. He 
 waited every day behind her seat at table, 
 and was not to be dazzled by her beauty as 
 by anything new or unfamiliar. And besides, 
 all whom he condescended to serve loere supe- 
 rior people ; and he was incapable of indis- 
 creet remarks on the subject. 
 
 " And, indeed, if Miss Catherine were mis- 
 tress of the place, in her own right, her bro- 
 ther could not be fonder nor prouder over her, 
 nor keep her grander than he does !" was the 
 comment of the elderly cook. 
 
 " And yet he may come nigh to breaking 
 her heart some day, pretty creature, with these 
 strange ways of his. I'm glad she has got a 
 young thing like herself to speak to now and 
 then, anyhow," said the old gardener, who hud 
 hobbled up to join the spectators.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 261 
 
 A new question, however, now arose. 
 Mabel's leading notion of enjoyment was that 
 they should ride by themselves, unattended 
 and unescorted. Indeed, as the two establish- 
 ments at present stood, there seemed no one 
 to ride with them in either capacity. Neither 
 old Thomas, nor the stately Calder House 
 butler, would have felt sufficiently secure of 
 his own position on horseback, to prove very 
 efficient as an escort. A country lad, rough 
 and uncouth, took care of the ponies which 
 constituted the Ringwood stud. He under- 
 stood the ponies, and the ponies understood 
 him ; and on one point especially, the two 
 contracting parties had come to a tacit, but 
 friendly, understanding. They allowed him 
 to do anything with them but ride them. 
 They would even submit, with many an im- 
 patient toss of mane and tail, to be caught by 
 him ; but let him try to mount one of them, 
 and each had its own especial device for in- 
 fallibly unseating him. There was thus little
 
 262 STRETTON 
 
 chance for poor Charlie of such progress in 
 horsemanship as could qualify him to act as 
 squire of " damozelles." 
 
 Frank had never, since his father's death, 
 kept a horse for his own use ; and the notion 
 of himself accompanying the two girls in their 
 rides did not seem to occur to him as a possi- 
 bility. Indeed, he w^as little at home ; and 
 when there, w^as usually fully engaged. 
 During Catherine's two or three expe- 
 rimental rides, first on the law^n, then about 
 the fields, he kept close beside her, watching, 
 directing, and encouraging. Then he became 
 anxious to procure for her a riding-master 
 from the nearest town; — that she should 
 practise thoroughly under his guidance, before 
 attempting to ride with Mabel only. But 
 the notion of the riding-master Mabel hated, 
 and Catherine shrank from ; and Frank at 
 length yielded ; with a sort of mistrust, how- 
 ever, half-serious, half-amused. Mrs. Stretton 
 stipulated only, as she had done from the first
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 2G3 
 
 with Mabel, that they should confine them- 
 selves to the immediate precincts of the Chace, 
 and the small portion of the village which lay 
 between their two homes. 
 
 There was little temptation to transgress. 
 The breezy i^plands, forest-roads, and intricate 
 bridle-paths of the Chace, were enough to 
 satisfy all their present longings. And it was 
 wonderful how little in the shape of difficulty 
 or disaster they encountered. Mabel had pre- 
 viously attained to a tolerably absolute sway 
 over her own shaggy Puck ; and only enjoyed 
 his occasional restive outbreaks, or wily ma- 
 noeuvres to obtain the upper hand. Catherine 
 was timid, and would probably always remain 
 so ; she had not begun riding early enough to 
 overcome her natural tendencies. But she 
 soon learned to love and confide in her pretty 
 Zorah, that gentlest of milk-white palfreys. 
 The docile creature quickly acknowledged her 
 as mistress ; knew her voice, her hand, even 
 the slightest intimation of her will ; followed
 
 264 STRETTON 
 
 her wistfully to paddock-gate or stable-door ; 
 for Catherine began to pay domiciliary visits 
 even to the stables, in her anxiety for her 
 favourite's comfort. Zorah seemed her very 
 own; almost the first thing, except her piano, 
 with regard to which she had experienced the 
 pleasures of possession. 
 
 The exhilarating exercise, and still more, 
 new interest and unaccustomed companion- 
 ship, told gradually upon one who had been 
 drooping and colourless, from very want of 
 sunshine. A tinge stole almost imperceptibly 
 into her cheeks ; something of decision and 
 elasticity into her manner. When on horse- 
 back, her listlessness and languor sometimes 
 vanished entirely. She made Mabel often tell 
 her of the wild Welsh hills, among which she 
 had first begun in her early childhood to ride ; 
 but oftener, of her merry frolics with " the 
 boys ;" of Edward, and Clara, and kind Mr. 
 Stretton. She enquired minutely into their 
 ways, their household sayings and doings.
 
 OF EINGWOOD CHACE. 2f)5 
 
 The subject seemed to her one of inexhaustible 
 interest. She laughed and talked as at no 
 other times ; appearing literally to bask in the 
 warm glow of that joyous family life. It was 
 what she had never known, except for that 
 brief period after her father's return ; a period 
 only long enough to leave an unconscious want 
 and craving behind. 
 
 " How unhappy you must be to be sepa- 
 rated from them all !" she one day exclaimed. 
 The girls were sitting on the dry, warm turf, 
 below a great tree, to which they had tied 
 their ponies ; and in the idleness of that 
 spring noontide, Catherine had beguiled Mabel 
 into the favourite topic. 
 
 Mabel looked rather startled, and half 
 ashamed. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to be," she said, after 
 a minute's pause. 
 
 " Ouglit?'' said Catherine, rather puzzled. 
 
 *' Why, of course I am always thinking of 
 them ; I was so happy with them, and long so
 
 266 STRETTON 
 
 much to have them with me. And yet, — I 
 am so happy here ; and I have Arthur ; and I 
 shall have them all, some day, I hope. And 
 it is so difficult to be unhappy." 
 
 '' Difficult F" said Catherine, lifting up her 
 long sweeping lashes in wonder. 
 
 " Well, most things are so pleasant ; one 
 may be sorr^ about something ; but it is dif- 
 ficult to be really unhappy, — unless there is 
 anything quite terrible," she added, after a 
 moment's thought. " Oh, then it is dread- 
 ful ! Don't talk to me of it ; it frightens 
 me ;" and she put her hands for one minute 
 over her face, as if to shut out some fearful 
 image. 
 
 Catherine looked dismayed. And, indeed, 
 while the undercurrent of mournfulness in 
 her nature was the very opposite of Mabel's 
 overflowing joyousness, she could perhaps 
 hardly feel, certainly not imagine, the pas- 
 sionate vehemence of grief, of w^hich, under 
 extraordinary circumstances, the latter's nature
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 267 
 
 was capable. In that one minute, all past and 
 all possible sorrows crowded suddenly, with 
 the vividness of reality, on Mabel's imagina- 
 tion ; but in one minute she had sprung up. 
 
 ''Don't frighten me!" she said again. 
 " Come, shall we have a race ? You can sit 
 quite safely now." And presently, her long 
 curls streaming behind, her eyes lighted up 
 with eagerness, she was urging her nimble 
 Shetlander, in competition with the fleet-footed 
 Arab, up the breezy slope at the foot of which 
 they had been sitting.
 
 268 STRETTON 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 This new companionship in riding, with 
 the little incidents and adventures to which it 
 gave rise, formed the chief external interest 
 of Mabel's hfe for some months. All else 
 went on with little variety. Regular daily 
 lesson-hours were required from her, though 
 not over-rigidly enforced ; the rest of her 
 time was left pretty much at her own dis- 
 posal. She was becoming quite at home at 
 the Chace, and exceedingly happy in her own 
 way. Her aunt was kind, though not so- 
 ciable; Fraulein C. and Mabel were very
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 269 
 
 good friends, but there seemed no particular 
 congeniality between them ; so that, beyond 
 lesson hours and an occasional somewhat 
 formal walk, they were little together. Even 
 Fraulein C.'s music seemed to Mabel far less 
 charming than Catherine's, perhaps through a 
 half perverse feeling that from the governess 
 she was expected to learn music. 
 
 For books she had the insatiable appetite 
 of her age; and there was no scarcity of books 
 at Ringwood Chace ; old books, that is to 
 say ; for in that department, as in all others, 
 recent additions had been on a scale wholly 
 disproportioned to the profusion of by-gone 
 days. A certain tincture and patronage of 
 literature had been one of the stately old 
 traditions of the house ; and the Hbrary, which 
 had been fortunately reclaimed almost intact, 
 contained many choice presentation copies, 
 from authors whose names have long since 
 eclipsed those of the patrons to whom they 
 reverently and gratefully offered these first-
 
 270 STRETTON 
 
 fruits of their genius. Some of the Strettons 
 had been themselves hard and successful stu- 
 dents ; the true Strettons did in earnest what- 
 ever they undertook. Mrs. Stretton's own 
 life had been one struggle with stern practical 
 realities ; but to Mabel, as to so many, books 
 were a more real and exciting world than that 
 around her. Some few compartments of the 
 library were locked ; — it was no new precau- 
 tion adopted on her account ; the old Squire, 
 careless in all else, had never forgotten that 
 his girls were motherless. On this restriction 
 Mabel never commented ; perhaps, with in- 
 stinctive tact, she understood and accommo- 
 dated herself to the limitation. At any rate, 
 her range through the other book-shelves was 
 wide enough, and was rarely interfered with ; 
 so she gathered unchecked, like a bee, what- 
 ever was most to her taste. Poetry, of course, 
 and romance, first of all, and to any extent ; 
 only she really did not often like what was not 
 tolerably good of its kind. Then history and
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 271 
 
 travels, so far as she could make pictures of 
 them m her mind ; upon this her interest 
 in books seemed chiefly to hinge. It appeared 
 as if in her dwelt the artist faculty, as far as 
 conception went, wholly dissevered from the 
 power of execution ; as if those wondrous eyes 
 of hers were always seeing what the hand had 
 no skill to reproduce ; as if to her, no less 
 than to her father and brother, the impres- 
 sions of the world without, and the acquisi- 
 tions of the brain within, spontaneously re- 
 solved themselves mio pictures. 
 
 Arthur, too, enjoyed his " Shakespeare's 
 Plays," and his " Arabian Nights," unmo- 
 lested ; but his aunt was beginning to look 
 more closely after his school doings ; and even 
 to himself the subject had assumed a more 
 serious importance ; for the edict had gone 
 forth from her whose will was law ; — he must 
 work hard, to be on a level with others of his 
 age, when he should be sent, as he must soon 
 be, to a regular ^' boys' school."
 
 272 STRETTON 
 
 *' Do you think, Arthur," his aunt had 
 once said, *' that I can have my boy at the 
 bottom of the school ? Work hard, and be 
 at the head, wherever you go, for the honour 
 of Ringwood.'* 
 
 And the boy worked, under the stimuUis 
 of these words and that look. No hope of 
 prizes, no dread of punishment, could thus 
 have stimulated that dreamy artist nature. 
 
 Few and far between came letters from 
 Clara; always affectionate and always brief; for 
 letter-writing was Clara's aversion. Only one 
 thoroughly initiated like Mabel could have 
 realized vividly, as she did, the whole moving, 
 stirring, yet uneventful family life, from such 
 disjointed fragments of passing gossip as 
 Clara's letters afforded. 
 
 Of the home of her early childhood Mabel 
 scarcely ever spoke. Memories of dimly-un- 
 derstood sorrows and anxieties blended ever 
 with the voice of that rushing stream, with 
 the shadows of those purple mountains. The
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 273 
 
 light of childhood had been half shut out, as 
 those giant mountain walls curtailed the fair 
 summer horizon ; the glee of her happy nature 
 had been solitary, overshadowed, broken, as 
 the course of the torrent down its rocky glen. 
 One morning, however, when the air was 
 filled with soft spring rain, pattering dreamily 
 upon the fresh leaves with a hushing sound, 
 something seemed to impel her into the sub- 
 ject ; and the curtained recess of her own 
 favourite window, with the vague distance of 
 its mist- veiled landscape, harmonized well with 
 the unwonted tone of thought, as she told 
 Catherine of the gentle mother who had 
 smiled on through all. 
 
 " She always told us," she went on, " that 
 she was not clever; I suppose she was not, 
 as my aunt is ; but she had learnt everything 
 that could be taught, and used to try to re- 
 collect her old lessons, that she might teach 
 us, that we might not be quite different from 
 what she and her brothers and sisters had 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 2 74 STRETTON 
 
 been. But she had very little time, and could 
 not do half what she wished. And at night, 
 when she came to bed and thought me asleep 
 (I slept in a little bed in her room), and papa 
 w^as sitting up, hard at work, I used to hear 
 her praying, ' Only good, — only make thera 
 good, and I am content.' And often she 
 would fall asleep between, she was so tired. 
 Oh, Catherine ! when my head is so full of 
 all sorts of things at night, I can hardly say 
 my prayers, I think of poor mamma."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Midsummer holidays arrived. Fraulein 
 C. was away visiting her friends in Germany ; 
 Arthur was enjoying himself in thorough idle- 
 ness at home, before going to a large school 
 at some distance. He had made fair general 
 progress, and was on the whole rather more 
 steady and diligent than most boys of his age ; 
 but his heart was in his drawing, to which he 
 reverted at every unoccupied moment, as if 
 relapsing from a constrained into a natural 
 attitude. Mrs. Stretton looked on awhile 
 dubiously, half disapprovingly ; but by degrees 
 
 T 2
 
 276 STRETTON 
 
 the drawing, like all Arthur's doings, became 
 right and delightful in her eyes. 
 
 It was intensely hot weather ; too hot for 
 riding, except in the evening, when Arthur, 
 who had also his rough pony, generally ac- 
 companied the two girls, as he was accustomed 
 to do on half-holidays. Mabel usually ma- 
 naged to secure a breezy walk before break- 
 fast ; unless too strongly fascinated by some 
 book to the cushioned seat of her oriel win- 
 dow ; where she could still breathe in the sea- 
 freshness, or watch at intervals the gradual 
 wakening up of the landscape from its misty 
 trance. But when breakfast was over, after 
 one hasty visit to her flowers, before the noon- 
 tide sun should make it impossible, she often 
 sauntered, holiday-time though it was, into 
 the deserted school-room ; partly from habit, 
 partly because many of her belongings were 
 naturally kept there ; partly, also, because it 
 was really one of the coolest rooms in the 
 house. And thither, without a word, Arthur
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 277 
 
 generally followed her ; thither he transported 
 imperceptibly most of his ''litter^' as the 
 servants called the shabby portfolios, loose 
 scraps of paper, pencil-ends, and fragmentary 
 cakes of paint, by which " the young master" 
 was to be tracked throughout the house. 
 His fancy for settling himself quietly in the 
 school-room was a great relief to all the house- 
 hold ; certainly not least to Mrs. Stretton. 
 She had vainly tried to persuade him into 
 orderly habits, by the offer of any one of the 
 numerous unappropriated rooms for his sole 
 use. But Arthur did not like such dignified 
 isolation ; and roamed from floor to floor, 
 never subsiding till he had found Mabel, his 
 aunt, Catherine, or even Mrs, Jones, to talk to 
 him while drawing. 
 
 Most twisted of the many twisted httle 
 passages dehoucliing from the hall w^as that 
 which led therefrom to the " school-room ;" 
 as, in good, old-fashioned phrase, the room 
 appropriated to Mabel's daily lessons was
 
 278 STRETTON 
 
 styled. A highly suitable, iinexceptionably 
 dull apartment it was : the ground-floor of 
 one of the turrets which projected from the 
 northern front ; the one nearest to the western 
 angle, and farthest from that in which Mrs. 
 Stretton's dressing-room was situated ; remote, 
 indeed, from all the principal thoroughfares and 
 frequented rooms of the house ; the " uninha- 
 bited island," Arthur often called it. The win- 
 dows were small and high; two out of the 
 four had been built up ; and the room was 
 yet farther darkened by tapestry, representing, 
 in exaggerated effects of light and shade, the 
 most tragical incidents of Old Testament his- 
 tory, from the murder of Abel and the slaying 
 of Sisera downwards ; the actors in all these 
 varied scenes being represented of almost 
 colossal proportions, while their complexions 
 had assumed an unnatural paleness, and their 
 drapery a grim sombreness, from the lapse of 
 years. Dismal as the room was, however, 
 Arthur had taken a singular fancy to it ; and
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 279 
 
 frequently declared, that when Mabel had done 
 with lessons, he would have it for his painting- 
 room ; though Mabel, with a half comic, half 
 serious, assumption of connoisseurship, assured 
 him that it would never do, on account of the 
 cross lights ; and would be a great deal too 
 dark, if one of the two remaining windows 
 were blocked up. Mabel yet retained some 
 notions, picked up from her father, whose 
 constant companion and perpetual interruption 
 she had been. Arthur, however, had not yet 
 arrived at the perception of such niceties ; no 
 light seemed amiss for his enthusiastic, boyish 
 drawdng, which went on vigorously in all. 
 
 One morning Catherine, as frequently hap- 
 pened, had joined the party ; having walked 
 over early, before the greatest heat of the day 
 came on. She was especially fond of Arthur, 
 humouring his boyish fancies, and treating 
 him as an equal, far more than Mabel, who 
 took on herself somewhat of the airs of an 
 elder sister towards him.
 
 280 -STRETTON 
 
 Catherine had settled herself on a low seat 
 in one corner ; holding in her hand a book, 
 in which she was at intervals rather listlessly 
 reading. Her little dog was, as usual, on her 
 lap; the attitude one of slumber; the little 
 head pressed down on her knee; the large, 
 silken ears sweeping down on each side of the 
 tiny, speckled nose; but the bright, wistful 
 eyes keeping an unrelaxing watch on all that 
 went on in the room. 
 
 Mabel was leaning over Arthur at the table ; 
 making him, as she called it, draw to her dic- 
 tation: — "Draw this;" now, ''Draw that;" 
 — suggesting, in rapid succession, historical 
 or domestic scenes, allegorical subjects, &c. 
 He had the faculty of giving, by a few rapid 
 strokes, an unmistakable notion of whatever 
 he wished to represent, however inaccurate 
 might be the drawing by which it was con- 
 veyed. 
 
 "How tiresome it is to have no genius!" 
 exclaimed Mabel suddenly, with a deep sigh.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 281 
 
 Arthur and Catherine both looked up, 
 quite startled. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" Arthur enquired. 
 
 "Why, you know, I cannot draw as you 
 do, or play as Catherine does, anything that 
 comes into your heads, without any trouble." 
 
 Arthur looked puzzled. 
 
 " You can learn lessons without any trou- 
 ble," he said at length ; " I am sure they are 
 trouble enough to me'^ 
 
 " Oh, that is only learning something of 
 other people's ; not doing anything oneself. 
 And it is tiresome, because I really have 
 things in my head." 
 
 " Of course you have," said Catherine, 
 laughing. " I am sure you always put things 
 into mine, that never would have come there 
 without you. I feel quite different when you 
 have been with me." 
 
 " If I could only paint them, or do any- 
 thing with them !" said Mabel. " Oh, Arthur ! 
 one night I dreamed of something so bright,
 
 282 STEETTON 
 
 floating just above me ; too buoyant to be 
 kept down on the earth. And the light flash- 
 ing from every point, making the shape all 
 indistinct. And then it seemed to make a 
 great effort to keep in the light, and stood 
 close by me, and took hold of my hand ; yet 
 the light kept flashing out every now and 
 then, and the whole shape enlarging again, 
 and growing buoyant, as if it could hardly 
 be kept down. And it said something to 
 me."— 
 
 " What ?" asked Arthur, under his breath. 
 
 " I don't know now," said Mabel. " Now 
 and then I think I remember, but not often." 
 
 There was an unusual silence. " You are 
 well named, Mab," said Catherine, at length ; 
 " you are a very queen of dreams." 
 
 " No, indeed, Catherine, I very seldom 
 dream at all ; at least not anything worth 
 remembering." 
 
 " Well," said Arthur, no '' one could easily 
 paint anything like that, all moving and
 
 OF KINGWOOD CHACE. 283 
 
 changing. — To be sure/' he went on after a 
 moment's thought, — " they do paint the sea 
 and sky. But this is something different 
 still. I don't suppose it's any use for you to 
 try to paint youi* thouglds, Mab ; I see you 
 couldn't." 
 
 " But that is no reason," said Catherine, 
 " why you should not learn to draw like other 
 people. You know I learn to copy pic- 
 tures, and to take views ; and it is very plea- 
 sant." 
 
 " Yes, to be sure," said Arthur ; " and you 
 (to his sister) might as well learn of Fraulein 
 C, who does draw very well, in [that copying 
 sort of way." 
 
 '' So I will," said Mabel; "that will be better 
 than nothing. I will ask her as soon as she 
 comes back ; and I know she would be glad ; 
 for she wanted to teach me before, only I 
 would not let her. — And then," she added, 
 with the glee of a new idea, — " I may copy 
 some of the old portraits !"
 
 284 STRETTON 
 
 A bold scheme, not very likely to be real- 
 ized to much purpose ; but those old por- 
 traits had an indescribable fascination for 
 Mabel. 
 
 "Don't you ever try to take likenesses, 
 Arthur?" said Catherine. 
 
 " Oh, to be sure," said Arthur, " only peo- 
 ple are so tiresome, they won't sit still. 
 When I first went to school, I got likenesses 
 of some of the boys without their knowing ; 
 but the fellows soon found out what I was at ; 
 and took to making nonsense faces, whenever 
 I looked at one of them ; or coming behind 
 and capsizing me, if they saw me busy at 
 anything." 
 
 " Well, you have Mabel at home with you ; 
 why don't you try her ? I should so like to 
 have her portrait." 
 
 " Oh, Mabel is worse than any of them ; 
 and she never looks the same two minutes 
 together. She is like that dream of hers, 
 only not so beautiful," said Arthur, with a
 
 OF BINGWOOD CHACE. 285 
 
 saucy nod at his sister. " And either she 
 keeps moving, or she gets into a sort of 
 dream ; and that is not the right thing, you 
 know." And Arthur, as he concluded the 
 summary of his grievances, looked up at Ca- 
 therine with an injured air. 
 
 " I will sit for you, if that will be any use," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh, will you really, Catherine ? I did 
 not like to ask you ; it is very kind. Let me 
 try." And he changed his position so as to 
 look at her ; and began preparing paper and 
 pencils. 
 
 " Oh, do, Arthur !" said Mabel ; '' Cathe- 
 rine is made for a picture, and she always sits 
 so still, just like a picture. You will have 
 very little trouble." 
 
 Arthur looked fixedly at Catherine for a 
 minute, swaying the pencil which he held in 
 his hand over the white surface of the paper. 
 Suddenly he threw down the pencil. 
 
 "You won't mind, Catherine, if I make
 
 286 STRETTON 
 
 your dress different ? — something out of my 
 own head, I mean ?" 
 
 " Oh, not at all," said Catherine, laughing ; 
 " dress me as you like." 
 
 " Thank you." 
 
 And he began to draw. 
 
 '* Don't look, Mabel !" covering the paper 
 with his hand, as she came to look over him ; 
 '* you must not see it till it is finished." 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour he paused 
 for a moment. " Are you not tired, Cathe- 
 rine ?" he enquired. 
 
 " Not the least. I will sit as long as you 
 please." 
 
 *' How good-natured you are, Catherine ! 
 I suppose you have good practice, giving up 
 your own way to your brother." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Catherine, earnestly. 
 " He gives me my own way in everything. 
 He never by any chance contradicts me." 
 
 *'0h, well," said Arthur, carelessly, "I 
 thought he seemed a bit of a tyrant."
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 287 
 
 " Arthur, for shame !" said Mabel, colouring 
 scarlet. 
 
 " Why, he is not her own brother, you 
 know ; and he always seems out of patience 
 when she comes near him." 
 
 Catherine had turned away ; she was crying. 
 
 " I am sure I am very sorry," said Arthur, 
 looking frightened ; " I didn't think you and 
 he cared much for each other." 
 
 Catherine turned round, quite recovered. 
 
 "Arthur," she said quietly, " you are quite 
 mistaken. Frank is very, very kind to me ; 
 and if he cannot love me, there is the more 
 merit, you know, in his kindness. He is never 
 angry with me unless I try to thank him for 
 anything." 
 
 Arthur, looking very penitent, went on 
 drawing in perfect silence. For a considerable 
 time not another word was spoken. 
 
 " And another very odd dream I remember," 
 said Mabel abruptly. She had been for some 
 minutes in one of her absent fits.
 
 288 STRETTON 
 
 Both Arthur and Catherine looked up at 
 her in some surprise. 
 
 " Yes ! I remember it quite well, now !" 
 she went on, her deep grey eyes looking for- 
 ward into vacancy, as was their wont when 
 she was speaking earnestly of something not 
 present to the bodily sense. " It was at the 
 besieging of a city — a storming-party — a 
 forlorn hope, do they not call it? — and 
 dear papa was the general, and led th^m on. 
 It was very odd," and she almost laughed, 
 " for I never could fancy him a soldier really, 
 or fighting in any way ; it did not seem like 
 him. But in the dream I felt no surprise ; it 
 all appeared quite natural. And the party 
 were beaten back several times, and he tried 
 to rally them, and cheer them on, and called 
 on them to follow him. But at last it would 
 not do ; they were all falling back in confusion, 
 and he could not make them hear or under- 
 stand. And he stood for one minute, looking 
 quite pale, and put his hand to his forehead.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 289 
 
 Oh ! I have seen him look so !" and she put 
 her own hands before her eyes. '' Then sud- 
 denly he turned his head, and saw you, 
 Arthur, quite a little boy, close beside him ; 
 and a light came j.nto his eyes, and he snatched 
 you up, and held you high above his head, 
 and shouted — ' Follow him ! To victory ! to 
 victory ! follow him !* And the soldiers shouted, 
 and rushed after him in a great crowd. I 
 could only see the" wild confusion of men 
 struggUng forward, and the child lifted high 
 above all ; and others, from the city, trying to 
 beat them back, and the flashing of their swords 
 and spears like lightning ; and then I heard 
 such a tremendous shout, and I knew that the 
 city was taken." 
 
 Arthur had been listening with dilated eyes 
 and parted lips, seeming to drink in every 
 word. But when Mabel ceased, he only said, 
 very quietly — 
 
 " Thank you, Mab ; I think I understand 
 that better than your other dream." 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 STEETTOl^ 
 
 And bending down again over his paper, he 
 applied himself with absorbing diligence to his 
 task. Mabel took up a book, while Catherine 
 sat patiently, only now and then fondling her 
 little dog ; nothing but the abstracted look in 
 her blue eyes indicating that her thoughts had 
 wandered from the present scene. 
 
 At length, Arthur threw down his pencils, 
 declaring that he was quite tired, and that 
 he was sure Catherine must be so too. He 
 still persisted in not letting either of the girls 
 look at his drawing, putting it hastily away, 
 and saying that they must not see it till it was 
 finished.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Let me walk home with you this evening, 
 Catherine," said Mabel. '*It is so lovely, 
 after the hot day." 
 
 It luas lovely. But probably some of the 
 languor of the preceding day still hung about 
 the girls ; for they hardly exchanged a word 
 by the way. 
 
 Just as they were entering Calder House 
 gates, they met a labouring man, who had 
 been employed in some alterations about the 
 place, and who applied to Catherine for direc- 
 tions as to his next day's work ; receiving the
 
 '292 STEETTON 
 
 usual answer : " You must ask my brother, 
 when he comes home." 
 
 ** Why do you not give your own orders, 
 Catherine? You know your brother always 
 wishes you to do so." 
 
 Catherine hesitated. 
 
 " I am sure, if I were you, I should so enjoy 
 having everything after my own fancy." 
 
 " You never give any orders at the Chace, 
 do you ?" 
 
 " Oh ! it is quite different for 7ne. My 
 aunt orders all herself. And then, you know 
 — the Chace is so beautiful already ! You 
 don't mind my saying so, Catherine? But 
 this has to be 7?iade beautiful ; which is plea- 
 santer still, sometimes." 
 
 Catherine stood still, looking thoughtful. 
 
 " There is one thing I should hke to do 
 after my own fancy," she said at length. 
 
 " Oh ! tell me," said Mabel, her face light- 
 ing up.
 
 OF HINGWOOD CHACE. 293 
 
 " Put the old conservatory to rights." 
 
 " Oh ! that will be charming !" exclaimed 
 Mabel. "Let us go and look at it di- 
 rectly." 
 
 " I thought it ^o beautiful," Catherine went 
 on, " when I first came here from school. But 
 the great orange-trees are all dead, and nearly 
 all the flowers. There has been no one to 
 care for them." 
 
 She led the way, as she spoke, along a 
 winding path, leading through a neglected 
 shrubbery to the brook. On its brink, in the 
 midst of what had once been a small flower- 
 garden, stood the half-ruined edifice. The 
 level afternoon sunbeams gleamed pleasantly 
 on its front, as the two girls stood side by 
 side, within that pretty little sweep of the 
 glassy stream, by which the pet flower-nook 
 was separated from the rest of the grounds. 
 The rustic bridge was dilapidated, if not posi- 
 tively unsafe ; in fact, the little corner had
 
 294 STRETTON 
 
 been absolutely forgotten ; and the approach 
 so masked by overgrown shrubs and trees, 
 that Mabel had never even noticed it. In 
 fact, the grounds at Calder House had a for- 
 lorn, neglected look, which always made her 
 melancholy; and neither she nor Catherine 
 often walked there. 
 
 But this strange old building fascinated her 
 at once. 
 
 The stucco was crumbling from its pilas- 
 ters ; much of the glass was broken ; the 
 quaint, rococo decorations had a damp and 
 mildewed look. Within, the stages were 
 nearly unoccupied ; the few plants, that had 
 survived neglect and exposure, were over- 
 grown, bare, and woody. A few hardy creep- 
 ers, however, had flourished in this state of 
 anarchy, and now mantled much of the in- 
 terior with a closely-woven tapestry, ex- 
 quisitely beautiful in itself, but almost de- 
 priving the luckless geraniums and myrtles
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 295 
 
 of their last consolation, the cheering sun- 
 shine. 
 
 "How pretty it might be!" said Mabel, 
 passing on into a little saloon, which termi- 
 nated the conservatory at one end. The win- 
 dows of this small apartment opened imme- 
 diately upon the stream, which ran close under 
 that extremity of the building. In the centre 
 of the room, some mossy stone dolphins and 
 gigantic natural shells showed that a fountain 
 had once scattered its sparkling coolness over 
 the floor ; a fanciful lamp hung above ; and the 
 coved ceiling, now nearly covered by the in- 
 truding creepers which had stolen in from the 
 conservatory, had once been gaily painted. 
 A low divan, with tattered chintz covering, 
 ran round the walls. 
 
 "It will be charming to have all this in 
 order again !" said Mabel. *' But how will 
 you manage ?" 
 
 " You know that I have always a great deal
 
 296 STRETTON 
 
 of money," said Catherine, looking down shyly, 
 as if rather ashamed of the fact. 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Mabel. 
 
 " Frank loill make me have it ; and I have 
 really no use for it ; I give it to Mrs. Elliott 
 to keep for me, and go to her when the poor 
 people ask me for anything." 
 
 " But I meant, would it not be nice to have 
 all done before your brother sees it, so as to 
 surprise him, and let him see you can do some- 
 thing quite by yourself? But then, he is 
 never away long enough." 
 
 " He told me," said Catherine, " that when 
 his hoiiday-time came — the long vacation, as 
 they call it," — she added, smiling — " he must 
 go from home for some time — on business, 
 though. It is always business ; I don't be- 
 lieve he ever goes anywhere now for pleasure 
 to himself, poor fellow ! And he used to be 
 so merry !" 
 
 Mabel looked quite sad.
 
 OF UINGWOOD CnACE. 207 
 
 " What can be the reason ? — when he has 
 plenty of money, and you with him at home, 
 and Mrs. Elliott to take care of you when he 
 wants to go anywhere ?" 
 
 And for a minute or two she stood lost in 
 thought. 
 
 "Well, never mind, Catherine," she said, 
 rousing herself ; " I am sure this will please 
 him more than anything else could do. Don't 
 you see that the only thing he really cares 
 for is that you should be happy, and not 
 seem afraid to do what you like ?" 
 
 Catherine coloured deeply ; then suddenly 
 laid her hand on Mabel's, and kept it there 
 for a minute, with a slight, but lingering 
 pressure, as if hesitating whether or not to 
 say something which was in her mind ; and 
 Mabel, looking up questioningly, was almost 
 startled as she caught the full gaze of the 
 usually downcast eyes. They were not look- 
 ing at her, however, but forward into vacancy,
 
 298 STRETTON 
 
 and appeared larger and of a darker blue 
 than usual. 
 
 "I suppose you do not remember your 
 mamma at all, Catherine?" said Mabel, after 
 a pause, in a somewhat hesitating manner. 
 
 " Oh, no ! I wish I did. I was such a little 
 thing when I was sent over." 
 
 '* I wonder if you are like her ?" 
 
 '' I do not know^ in the least. There has 
 been no one to tell me about her. Frank 
 never saw her ; she was not his mother, you 
 know." 
 
 Catherine never mentioned her father ; it 
 was contrary to her nature ever to speak of 
 anything respecting which she felt strongly. 
 The general, through a similarity of tem- 
 perament, had never spoken to her of her 
 mother. 
 
 " And you had no one in England ?" en- 
 quired Mabel, softly. 
 
 " I just remember my grandmamma ; she
 
 OP RINGWOOD CHACE. 299 
 
 was alive when I first came over, and living 
 here with my uncle." 
 
 ''Were you very fond of her ?" 
 
 " I hardly know. She was very kind to 
 me ; and every now and then I felt as if I 
 were going to love her very much; then 
 something came up, which made me too much 
 afraid." 
 
 " How strange !" said Mabel. 
 
 "Not strange with her; she was such a 
 grand old lady ; everybody was afraid of her. 
 She always spoke as if she were doing the 
 person an honour; and every one she spoke 
 to seemed to think the same." 
 
 *' I remember old Roberts telling us about 
 her," said Mabel. 
 
 " Yes ; and all those grand ways seemed 
 only just fit for her. She was so tall and 
 stately, with such deep dark eyes, always 
 bright; and her skin so fair; and her hair 
 milk-white. I thought of her the other day,
 
 300 STUETTON 
 
 when we were reading in that old poem about 
 milk-white locks. She wore it always turned 
 up over a cushion ; but she had left off 
 powder ; it would have been of no use. She 
 must have been so beautiful when she was 
 young ; they say she was, when grandpapa 
 married her, in India." 
 
 " Was your grandpapa in India too ?" asked 
 Mabel. 
 
 ** Yes, just a short time; but his father 
 died young, so he came over to live at his 
 own place. He did not live long ; so grand- 
 mamma managed everything. My uncle had 
 bad health, and did not like any trouble, even 
 when he was a man ; and he died too, long 
 before he was old, not very long after his 
 mother. They none of them live to be old, I 
 think," added Catherine, with a sudden shade 
 of sadness in her face. 
 
 '' But your grandmamma, was she born in 
 India?" said Mabel, hastily, to change the 
 subject.
 
 OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 301 
 
 " Yes, I believe so ; and only was in Eng- 
 land a short time, for her education ; then 
 went back, and married grandpapa, while 
 she was quite young. She was an orphan, I 
 think ; the daughter of some brother-officer, 
 I believe. She was very clever, and very 
 proud ; and made the place quite different, 
 they say, from what it was before. She had 
 this conservatory built for her ; and I be- 
 lieve," said Catherine, laughing, " that every- 
 thing which has ever been grand about the 
 place is her doing. No one else ever seems 
 to have cared about such things here." 
 " You like them, don't you, Catherine ?" 
 Catherine coloured, and looked down, half- 
 smiling. 
 
 *' I do," said Mabel ; *' and I am always so 
 glad that the Chace is such a beautiful old 
 place. Though, to be sure, one would love 
 one's home, whatever it might be. Well, 
 good-bye, Catherine ; I must not stay any 
 later ;" and kissing her, she hurried off.
 
 302 STRETTON OF RINGWOOD CHACE. 
 
 Catherine had been unusually communica- 
 tive. Constantly as the girls had been toge- 
 ther for the last six months, and intimately as 
 she was acquainted with the general history of 
 Mabel's previous life, it was almost the first 
 time that she had entered into particulars 
 respecting her own. 
 
 END OF VOL. I, 
 
 Billing, Printer, 103, Hatton Garden, London, and Guildford, Surrey.