Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University University of Illinois Library O-1096 1! tv^ GOIJI^TLEI^OY. VOL. I. X NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS AT AXL THE LIBRARIES VICTIMS. By Theo Gift, author of 'Pretty Miss Bellew,' ' Visited on the Children," ' Lil Lorimer,' &c. 3 vols. PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A LADY, in 1814 — 1815—1810. By Uajjilton Aide, author of 'Rita,' &c 3 vols. TILL MY WEDDING-DAY. 2 volP. By a French Lady. THE GREEN HILLS BY THE SEA : A Mj^x Story. By H 1(^11 CoLEJiAN D.vvruso:*. S vols. THE BROKEN SEAL. By Dora Russell, author of • Footprints In the Snow,' &c 3 vols. HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET // COUKTLEROY ^^^^<^:^ /^^ BY ANNE BEALE AUTHOR OF FAY ARLINGTON," " THE PENNANT FAMILY,' "SQUIRE LISLE'S BEQUEST," " Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice." Wordsworth. IN THREE VOLUMES, VOL. L LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13. GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1887. Ail rights reserved. y^5 3 5^^^ \J. 1 OOUR,TLER,OY. ^ CHAPTER I. CONCEENINa ADOPTING A OHLLD. ' I SHOULD like to adopt a child, my dear,' said Mrs. Prettyman to her husband, as they sat over the fire one frosty winter^s evening, ' A child ! What has put that into your head, Lou ?' returned Mr. Prettyman, aroused from a dose. ' Well, in the first place, you know we _ haven't any of our own, and we're both very fond of children ; in the second, that _ stirring evangelist I heard the other day 5 VOL. I. B 2 COURTLEROY. said lie wished all the ladies who went about with lap-dogs would adopt citj arabs instead of pugs ; in the third, as you know, we have no heir to speak of, only cousin Joseph, who don't want our money ; in the fourth, a child would be an interest, and give me occupation, for now we're rich I seem to have nothing to do ; in the fifth ' ' Four heads are enough for any sermon, Lou. What if we give up this grand house in our square and return to the lodging at Canonbury, where you used to cook the chop while I steamed the po- tatoes? I have never since tasted such chops and potatoes. Now-a-days meat is tough, and potatoes ain't mealy. To be sure, they're always mashed, and chops a re turned into "cotelettes a la something." '' Work is its own reward," as somebody said, and our reward was appetites larger than our dinners. Suppose we begin life again ?' CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 3 ^ Perhaps we should, Joe, if we adopted a child.' Mrs. Pretty man said this reflectively. She had been meditating on her subject ever since she had heard the evangelist whose words she quoted, and fancied she Lad thoroughly digested it. She was — or supposed herself — a great thinker as well as a great talker, and she had come to the conclusion that a child in the house was an absolute necessity. ' I see but one objection to your plan, Lou,' said Mr. Prettyman, who was some- what of a wag, and as great a talker as his wife. ' Suppose he was to turn out a thief, or a murderer, for, you know, we mightn't be sure of his parents, and there's a great talk now-a-days of heredity, of crime, as they call it ; or, if it was a she, perhaps she would elope with the footman, as her mother would probably have been — well, not the best of women, a drunkard, or worse, if worse could be- ' b2 4 COURTLEROY. ' How you do run off, Joe. Of course we must have a he, and we should be care- ful to inquire particularly into bis parentage. He must be " the orphan of respectable parents/' as the polling-papers and candi- date-cards always say.' ' Then you wouldn't like a gutter-child, after all, Lou ?' * Well, not exactly ; for, since you sub- scribe to so many orphanages, I should think we had a claim on them, and I dare- say they would enter into our views on the subject, and let us pick and choose, and make inquiries as to the boy's antece- dents . . .' * I daresay they would ; but where did you pick up that grand word, Lou ? Some- body asked me the other day about my antecedents, and I said I had none, if thereby he meant my past. I shut my friend up by telling him I had always made up my accounts day by day, both secular and religious, and I reckoned CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. the present moment all I knew about.' * That's quite my opinion, Joe ; and, if we adopt a child, the sooner we do it the better. I suppose I picked up the word from Millj Heath, who is always talking about hers.' ' Poor soul ! I shouldn't think she had any to boast of.' * She doesn't mean her ancestors, Joe ; only what she has gone through all her life up to the present moment. And now she is as anxious as possible about Mrs. Le Roy, who she thinks is really dying. I looked across the square this morning, and saw the doctor's carriage as well as her son's at the door/ ' She has been dying ever since we have been in the square. But here's Sampson at last, and our coteleites and pommes de terre are cooked for us without our superinten- dence.' ' Hush, my dear. The servants needn't know.' 6 COURTLEROY. Mrs. Prettyman whispered this last sen- tence as she took her husband's arm, and they went into a comfortable dining-room, where a substantial dinner awaited them. But it was not, as the worthy Joe implied, either French or Russian, but essentially Enoflish. * Plain roast and boiled' was still his motto, albeit he was not an old man, and had dined at many an aldermanic banquet. He and his wife looked, as they sat side by side at the large, round dining-table, as well-to-do and happy a pair of model London citizens as the greatest capital of the world could produce. They always sat side by side, except on state occasions, and always kept up a perpetual flow of talk. Sampson was in their confidence in most matters — the chops and potatoes might have been an exception — and his master appealed to him occasionally to decide on some disputed point in which arbitration seemed desirable. His mistress CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 7 was not always pleased with these meas- ureSj and was wont to say, as soon as the butler's back was turned, ^ I declare, Joe, I will never speak again all dinner-time. One can't say a word without your dragging Sampson into the conversation. It really isn't genteel.' She said something of the kind on the present occasion, for while Sampson was removing the remains of some excellent fried soles — fried whole and not filleted, be it understood, filets being one of Mr. Prettyman's many prejudices — her lord and master said abruptly to his man, ' Sampson, what do you think of an adopted child?' ' I often wish some one would adopt one or two of mine, sir,' replied Sampson, whose wife and family lived in the neigh- bourhood. ' There, my dear, an opportunity at once !' said Mr. Prettyman, nodding to his wife, who looked as many daggers as her 8 COURTLEROY. smootb, serene face could improvise. *Wbat should you think of our adopt- ing a child, Sampson V * They make a deal of dirt, sir/ was the cautious reply. ' Ask what they think about it down- stairs, Sampson,' said his master, glancing mischievously at his wife. ' I pray you will do no such thing, Sampson,' cried she, offended, and there the conversation ended for the present, to be resumed on occasion. That occasion, qui fait le larroji, soon came ; for Mrs. Prettyman was in earnest, and, when she had ' made up her mind, she had made up her mind,' she was wont to say, though a more amiable and yield- ing woman, when let alone, could nowhere be found. And Mr. Prettyman was wise enough to let her alone in a general way, making only this proviso, that she would let him alone also. This unusual wisdom caused the current of their lives to flow CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 9 smoothly ; for half our miseries are caused by small interferences on indifferent mat- ters. Two-thirds of the woes of childhood spring from injudicious meddling in things non-essential, and the major part of do- mestic brawls, as Mr. Prettyman main- tained, from ^ not letting one another alone.' Accordingly when, after dinner, his wife returned to the subject of adopting a child, he told her she might do it if she liked, but he would not promise to adopt ^ the little he or she ' also, unless he took a fancy to it. ^ That would be awkward, for I should like to bring him up as our own child,' said she, thoughtfully. ^ A false position, Lou. You can't make an Ishmael into an Isaac. But suppose we make a tour of some of the orphanages. I have often wanted to look into them, and you may see a child to suit you. I sus- pect you don't mean it to be " first come first served.'" 10 COURTLEROY. *By no means, Joe. I must select. He must be handsome, and rosy, and have curly hair and round limbs, and I should like him full of fun, and with a laugh that I could hear from the nursery — dear me, how funny it sounds I' * It certainly does !' interjected Joe. ' But he must have no spiteful tricks, such as pinching and kicking, and must be absolutely without a friend in the world,' she continued. * The Foundling Hospital is evidently your place, Lou. Suppose we go there to church to-morrow. You can then look well at the children, and may chance to fix your affections on the one who never had a father or mother.' ^ How shocking! What do you mean, Mr. Prettyman?' ' Why, you and I are discontented be- cause we have no children, and others get rid of theirs without compunction. Even people who ought to know better CONCEKNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 11 sometimes sond their unfortunate offspring adrift, excusing themselves by pre-pay- ment, or some false balance. It is not your East-ender alone who will have to answer for the sins of this generation, but your so-called nohle man or woman as well.' Mrs. Prettyman's countenance fell, if so plump a cheek and dimpled a chin could be said to fall. The expression needs re- vision. However, her kindly blue eyes suddenly clouded, and the lids drooped over them. She was engaged in knitting — she was, indeed, always knitting when not occupied in household affairs, paying or receiving visits, or helping to superin- tend a large ragged-school at the back of the aristocratic square. Socks, comforters, caps, cuffs, petticoats of every colour and dimension were framed by her deft fingers, and speedily transported to members of the ragged-school aforesaid, in which not only she, but Mr. Prettyman taught. The 12 COURTLEROY. latter had often wondered why she had not already adopted half the urchins who fre- quented the ' yard'; but they were certainly not gifted with the graces and virtues just enumerated. The Prettymans, as they were familiarly called, lived in a large, handsome, well- furnished corner house, and at this mo- ment were located in a snug room known as the librarv. Bookshelves had, however, •/ 7 7 gradually given place to pictures, for Mr. Prettyman was not much of a reader, but was an amateur artist and picture-fancier. The house was, indeed, full of valuable paintings, ancient and modern. Of course, there were books, good and bad, but not a superfluity. Mr. Prettyman was a mer- chant, much esteemed for his probity, who had risen from clerkdom to his present position by his own honest labour. His wife had neither family, fortune, nor over- much education to boast of, but he had married her because she was very pretty, CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 1^ and he fell in love with her. Although they had lately celebrated their silver wed- ding, she was very pretty still, and had not walked far into the shady side of forty. Her husband was turned fifty. Her fair hair had no grey streaks in it, and she wore it in curls by his wish, who had first seen her so adorned. She had once essayed to ar- range it differently, but in this he would not ' let her alone,' which was foolish on his part, since half a w^oman's happiness consists in varying and distorting her locks according to current fashion. He also set himself against caps, although he had a weakness for the mob as seen in the paint- ings of Reynolds and Gainsborough. They both liked bright colours and handsome ornaments, and Mr. Prettyman made his Lou presents of dresses innumerable of silk, satin, or other fashionable material, the hues of which were ever of the rain- bow or the forget-me-not. An aesthete would not have admired 14 COURTLEROY. Mrs. Prettymau as she sat in blue silk and lace ruffles and collar, but her husband did, which was more to the purpose. In- deed, her plump, if somewhat short, figure, her fine complexion, and beaming blue eyes were admirable enough for anyone who did not prefer art to nature. Mr. Prettyman was reckoned a very good-look- ing man, but descriptions of ordinary men are usually insipid, and he was indiiferent to the judgment on his person of all save his wife. ' "We must be up in good time to-morrow, Lou, if we are to walk to the " Foundling,'" said Mr. Prettyman. He had an old-fashioned prejudice con- cerning his horses, and would not use them on Sunday. He was, in short, a Sabba- tarian, as it is the fashion to call those who respect the Lord's-Day, and was even antiquated enough to declare that good example was worth all the lectures in the world. Accordingly, since he would not COTSrCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 15 step into his own carriage of a Sunday, neither would he put foot in cab, omnibus, nor train, announcing that, if he did not employ his own servants and horses, he saw no reason for using other people's. His wife might have tried slightly to modify this resolution, had she not kept to that golden rule of letting him alone. As everything was managed like clock- work in the square, they had no difficulty in reaching Guildford Street in time for the service in the chapel connected with the Foundling Hospital. Mrs. Prettyman had never before attended it, and she knew not which to admire the most, the five hundred children, the fine organ, or the choir, composed principally of the foundlings themselves. But when she be- thought herself of selecting one for adop- tion, she was overwhelmed by numbers. "When the service was over, her husband took her to the great dining-room to see the children at dinner, and left her a while 16 COURTLEROY. to wonder and admire while he went after his hobby, Ihe pictures presented to this great institution by Reynolds, Gainsborough, and Wilson. He soon rejoined her, and asked her if she had made her choice. *How can I, amongst so many?' she said, perplexed. ' They are all such dears, that I could never select. "We must talk it over, and come again.' They talked it over on their way home, and the upshot of the conversation was that Mrs. Prettyman decided that she must adopt a boy who was quite an orphan and of respectable parentage. She was so much in earnest, that Mr. Prettyman grew interested, and began to think it might be as well to humour her. All that evening they were occupied in studying the * Hand- book of the Charities of London,' and Mrs. Prettyman, who only knew about them second-hand, was so much oppressed by their multitude that she actually began to cry. CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 17 *Whj, there are at least a hundred homes and orphanages for children,' she exclaimed, despondently. ' What a number thej must hold !' 'Tens of thousands, Lou,' returned her spouse, compassionately. * If charity con- tinues to be the fashion, I say we must turn London into one huge orphanage. What a field you would then have for your choice !' ' I should indeed !' she sighed. * I will visit some of them next week ; and, when I have found exactly the child I want, I will take you to see him, and we will have him here directly.' He smiled and assented, promising to accompany her to such as were within reach of his oflSce in the City, if he had time. They had arrived at this point, when a visitor was announced. It was the Miss Heath of whose ' antecedents ' Mr. Pretty- man had spoken so slightingly. She v/as VOL. I. c 18 COURTLEROY. a tall, thin, pale woman, with marked features, and iron-grey eyes and hair. She was well enveloped in furs, and entered with a shiver and an apology. * Excuse my interrupting you at this hour, Mr. Pretty man, but I just ran across to speak to Louisa. I have not been out all day ; and, as Mrs. Le Eoy has fallen asleep, I ventured to leave her for a breath of fresh air.' ' Oh ! my dear Milly, you are the very person,' cried Mrs. Prettyman, jumping up, kissing Miss Heath, and seating her in her own easy-chair. ' "We are going to adopt a child, and I want your advice. You have seen so much of life, and know the ways of the world so well, and know everybody's secrets ' ^But never divulges them. An excel- lent but exceptional thing in woman,' interrupted Mr. Prettyman. In truth, Miss Heath looked as if she might be a machine made on purpose to CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 19 keep secrets. (Will some one take out a patent for such ?) Her mouth was firm, her eyes unfathomable, her brow lined with thought. She was about Mrs. Pretty- man's age, but might have been fifteen years her senior. They had been school- fellows and friends all their lives ; and Mr. Prettyman never ceased to wonder how such opposites could have come and kept together. * Knit by the law of kindness,' he supposed, since his pitiful, warm-hearted wife was always trying to benefit her old friend, who had been less fortunate in life than herself. 'Adopt a child, Louisa? I daresay it might be nice,' said Miss Heath, who took in everything and gave out nothing. ' But in what way could I advise you ?' *Well — as to the sort of child, you know. You have had so much to do with children.' 'True; but what does Mr. Prettyman say?* c2 20 COURTLEROY. ^ He does not object. He is sure lo like it; 'I will think it over, Louisa ^ but you and Mr. Prettyman know year own affairs best.' While Miss Heath uttered this common- place, her mind was evidently concentrated on the question; for her brow was knit, and her eyes were lookiog, so to say, inward. Mr. Prettyman smiled, and in- quired for Mrs. Le Eoy, whose companion Miss Heath was. She had previously been her daughter's governess, and was too valuable and reticent a person to be parted with when Miss Le Roy married. * She is much as usual,' replied Miss Heath to Mr. Prettymaa's question. ^ As you know, she is always an invalid.' ' Her son must be as rich as Croesus to keep up so many separate establishments. His own in Kensington, hia place in the country, and his mother's in our square,' said Mr. Prettyman. CONCERNING ADOPTING A CHILD. 21 'I do not kDOw what bis means are,' said Miss Heath. 'I mustn't stay any longer, Louisa, lest Mrs. Le Roy should awake and miss me/ she added, rising. ' We are anxious about Colonel Marmont, who was in the last battle ; and Emily writes from the Cape that she is not well.' Colonel Marmont was Mrs. Le Roy's son-in-law. * How is the little girl with the pretty name ?' asked Mrs. Pretty man. * Mimica seems well. Her mother calls her Mimi,' was the reply, and Miss Heath withdrew. Sampson met her in the hall, and, while opening the door, inquired for Mrs. Le Eoy and the family. He had once been in her service. Miss Heath replied curtly and cautiously, and Sampson muttered to himself that ' if all women were as cautious as Miss Heath, there would not be half the mischief there is in the world/ 22 CHAPTER II. A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. MoEE than a fortnight elapsed before the question of adopting a child was again seriously discussed by Mr. and Mrs. Pretty- man. The latter had, from time to time, consulted Miss Heath duriug her flying visits, but without eliciting any decided opinion from that lady. * A great respon- sibility. An amusement, perhaps. By all means ascertain his antecedents/ and similar sentences, dropped from her oracu- lar mouth, but Mrs. Prettyman felt that she could not act upon them. At last she said to her husband, one evening when she believed Sampson to be out of earshot, A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 2S ^ I have several children in my mind's eye, Joe ; in fact, I have scores. I wish you would choose.' ' What a big eye your mind must have, Lou ! If I could look through it, perhaps I might choose; but I can't. There's safety in numbers. Where do they all come from ?' returned the considerate spouse. ^ I will tell you as soon as I have con- sulted my diary. I dotted down some of those that took my fancy. But, between ourselves, I am getting quite tired of the search, and have spent a fortune in donations.' * Just give me a few of your impressions, Lou. Where have you been ?' ' Half over London and the suburbs, and even out of town. It is awful to think of the myriads of children thrown upon charity. Why don't the parents provide for them ? 'There's the rub, Lou. 'Tis the way 24 COURTLEROY. of the world for young people to marry without sufficient means, and leave tbeir infants for other people to support. You, being one of the philanthropists, are anxious to help on this improvidence. Contrary to Scripture, you know, which says, " The parents should lay up for the children." ' ' Why, Joe, you have no idea how kindly I was received at places where you sub- scribe, particularly at the clergy and the doctors, and the soldiers' and sailors' Homes.' ^ They are public property, Lou, because they take care of our souls, bodies, and native land. But where did you fix your affections ?' * I liked the cheerful places best, where 'they were dressed in bright costumes. I ran away from the sisterhoods because I can't bear all those black gowns, and veils, and strips of white across the fore- head, and big crosses. I hope I wasn't wrong, Joe, but they frightened me ; and A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 25 SO did the rooms, like convents, with arch- ed windows and small panes, and gloomy passages. I can't understand why good people should dress themselves up and live like that. Not but that the children looked happy enough. However, I am tired to death, and so I should think were the saints and royal family, for many of the orphanages are named after them. I often wonder how the dear Queen and the princesses can bear to see their names stuck about like placards, as if to advertise the contents of London.' 'But what of the adopted child, Lou, and the evangelist, and our heir, &c., &c. ?' ' I have about twenty children under consideration, from as many different Homes. You see, I insisted on their having no friends to interfere with me, and on their yet being respectable. Dear me ! who can that be ringing the hall-bell with such a peal at this time of night? Nobody ever comes round so late ex- 2& COURTLEROY. cept Milly, and she rings like a mouse.' It was, truly, a vigorous peal that aroused the slumbrous household of the Prettymans'. It awakened so much curi- osity in the mistress of the mansion that she scarcely gave Sampson time to answer it before she rang a corresponding peal on the library-bell. There was a scuffle in the hall, as if all the servants had come to see what was the matter, and a simultane- ous cry from Sampson of * Master ! master ! please to come here !' as that worthy burst open the sitting-room door. Mr. Prettyman hastened into tbe hall, followed by his wife. Sampson was look- ing out of the door, and two or tbree of the maids were there, woudering what it was all about. 'What's the matter, Sampson?' asked Mr. Prettyman. * There ! There, sir ! A woman thrust it in and ran away before I could say Jack Bobinson. I'll go after her and the police,' A WAIF IN THE SQUAEE. 27 replied the butler, pointing first to a cor- ner of the hall, and then taking to his heels and running up the square. Mr. and Mrs. Prettyman and the maids all turned their heads in the direction of that pointed finger, expecting to see, if not a burglar, at least his tools, or possibly a box of dynamite ready to blow them all up. The women shrank back, while Mr Prettyman proceeded to investigate. ' Oh ! my dear, for goodness sake take care. There may be some explosive sub- stance,' cried the wife, laying hold of his coat-tails. It was some little time before he dis- covered the cause of the commotion. In the furthest corner of the hall he saw, be- hind a chair, what appeared to be a bundle. Moving the chair, he perceived the sole of a small foot protruded from its folds. He was not a nervous man ; but what if the ' it ' Sampson had mentioned were a dead child ? He shrank back a little, but, sum- 28 COURTLEROY. moniDg bis courage, he laid bold of tbe bundle. The Toot — two feet, in fact — began to kick vigorously. *An explosive to all intents and pur- poses, Lou,' he cried to Mrs. Pretty man, now surrounded by the maids. With some difficulty be dragged the bundle from its corner, but the contents struggled so violently that it slipped from bis grasp, and in a minute he was con- fronted by a bare-footed urchin, clad in a suit of clothes which were too big for him, and into which he must have rolled him- self, bundle-wise, when he attained the corner of the ball. Two little fists were doubled at him in pugilistic fashion, two bright eyes looked boldly into bis, but neither word nor cry escaped from this juvenile prize-fighter. Mr. Prettyman laughed, and the women, encouraged, came forward. Mrs. Prettyman exclaim- ed, the maids shrieked, and tbe child used his fists defiantly at them all. A WAIF IN THE SQUAEE. 29^ At this juncture Sampson returned with a pohceman. The attention of the young pugilist was diverted to them, and he put himself in an attitude of self-defence. ^ We can't find the woman, sir,' said Sampson. *But without doubt we shall. Come here, you young scamp,' echoed the police- man, seizing the child, who kicked and cuffed, but to no purpose. ^ Don't hurt him. I am sure Provi- dence has sent him,' said Mrs. Prettyman. ' We won't hurt the little chap, ma'am. He can come to the police-station to- night, and to-morrow he can go to the union, while we make inquiries. We'll institute a search for the woman instanter. Here's a card round his neck.' Mr. Prettyman examined the card, while the policeman held the boy. He laughed heartily as he read from the card, or rather parchment label, ' To Joseph Prettyman, Esq., Portman Square, London,' and from 80 CODRTLEROY. the reverse side, ' George Hope. Irish. Aged four years/ * This is an answer to your various in- quiries, Lou,' he said. * I am afraid they have got wind where you least expected, /and somebody has acted with more promp- titude than we have.' The policeman began to question the child, but not a word would he speak. He could no longer use his fists, for his ad- versary had hold of one arm, neither would he use his tongue. ' Perhaps he is deaf and dumb,' whis- pered Mrs. Prettyman; 'let me try. Now, Georgie, if you will be a good little boy, you shall have some praties, and — ' she continued, going towards him and affect- ing an Irish accent. * Herrins !' he shouted, as he liberated himself from the policeman, and confronted his new ally. She took his hand, pushed off his Tam- A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 31 o'-shanter cap, and looked him over. Then she said, meditatively, ' Curly hair — rosy cheeks — beaming eyes — rounded limbs — plenty of spirit — sure to be an orphan. What do you think, Joe?' ' ' Questionable antecedents^'' replied Mr. Prettyman, emphasizing the last word, * But, since he is directed to me, we can't turn him adrift to-night. Make all in- quiries, Jones, and let me know the result,' he added to the policeman. , 'All right, sir. We'll be after the woman, and you must identify her/ re- turned the policeman, looking at Sampson. ' I never saw her, but the child is sure to know her. Better send him off, sir,' said Sampson. ' To-morrow, perhaps, but not to-night. We must put the bundle away into some cupboard or other, since it is addressed to me. Good-night, Jones.' 32 COURTLEROY. The policeman departed, and the little bare feet began to dance energetically. Sampson looked on with becoming grav- ity, the cook with displeasure, and the other women put their aprons before their mouths to stop an explosion of laughter. * Send him something to eat in the lib- rary, cook,' said Mrs. Prettyman. ^ Herrins !' shouted Master George Hope. It was impossible to help laughing, and the aprons fell when Mr. Prettyman led off the cacchination. The child stood amongst them with inimitable coolness, looking from one to the other as if he commanded the whole situation, and had been trained for the occasion. Suddenly he caught the general infection, and began to laugh so merrily that even the imper- turbable Sampson was moved to join. The juvenile treble rang through the hall till Mrs. Prettyman could restrain herself no longer; she ran towards him, caught him in her arms, and exclaimed, A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 33 *0b, you darling! Let us adopt him. There is nothing to be desired.' 'Except the respectability,' added Mr. Pretty man. ^ But • take him into the library.' The child, however, objected to be car- ried, and struggled so violently that Mrs. Prettyman was obliged to put him down ; and he was no sooner on terra firma than the fists were at work again. ' He wants the shillelagh,' said Mr. Prettyman, taking him by the arm, and impelling him into the library. ' Shillelagh !' repeated he, digging one little fist into Mr. Prettyman's chest. * What fools some folks are !' ejaculated the cook, as they disappeared. ' This comes of all the fuss about adopting a child. Some East-ender has heard of it, and one of them Irish-cockneys has got rid of her child in this way. I, for one, won't stay, if they keep him.' ' Any how, you'd better get him some- VOL. I. D 34 COURTLEROY. thing to eat. You can send Mary Ann up with it,' said Sampson. ' Tm not a-going to wait upon a beggar like that/ returned Mary Ann, the parlour- maid — for the Prettymans eschewed foot- men. ' ril take it. I never see such a dear in my life/ put in Ada, the housemaid, or Acd'd, as she was called by her fellow- servants, in broad London vernacular. The women disappeared, leaving Samp- son to his solitary meditations. ' Just as well one as another/ he thought. * They don't know what to do with their money. He's a fine little chap, and I hope Jones won't trace the woman. I wouldn't swear to her, if he does ; and the child . . . .' ' Sampson, come here/ echoed from the library. ' See if you can get that urchin from under the sofa.' Sampson was a portly man, as a butler should be, and always had a difficulty in stooping. He did his best, however, and A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 35 saw two bright eyes peering at him from beneath the sofa indicated, and a pair of chubby hands, with their palms on the floor. He was about to lay hold on the troublesome owner of the same, when he received a pinch in the calf of his leg, which he felt acutely, since he wore no padding, as more fashionable domestics are said to do. * The young scamp !' he exclaimed, rub- bing the aggrieved member, while his master and mistress laughed, as lookers- on will. It was evident that they were not used to children, or they would not have thus encouraged the delinquent ; but they had themselves been chasing him from corner to corner before he took refuge under the sofa. The scene was exciting. The child was evidently ac- customed to go on all-fours, and the three pairs of legs of his elders could not com- pete with his staff. His eyes were as watchful and his face as resolute as those d2 36 COURTLEROY. of a dog at bay ; but he neither spoke nor cried. Not all Mrs. Prettyman's blandish- ments, her husband's amused promises of reward for better behaviour, or Sampson's threats could dislodge him from his place of retreat. Four of his five senses had been assailed in vain ; it remained for ^^da to attack the fifth. She came in with a small tray, and took the citadel with the sense of smell. ' Herrins ?' cried the hitherto impregna- ble fortress. * One of my bloaters,' echoed Sampson, resignedly. * Ye^,' subjoined Ada. ^ I beg your par- don, ma'am, for bringing it here ; but it seemed the only thing he cared for. Now, Georgie, come and have your dinner.* Ada was trim and pretty, and had a pleasant voice. She and the ' herrins ' prevailed. The bundle crept from beneath the sofa, glancing furtively from one to the other of his entertainers, yet keeping A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 37 an eye on his place of refuge, and finally stood before the tray, and beside Ada. * Take off the covers,' said Mrs. Pretty- man, seating herwelf behind the child. * You may go now, Sampson. Pray don't speak, Joe, or we shall frighten him again.' Joe was quite as interested as his vvife, and watched the proceedings with an amused eagerness. No sooner had Ada removed the covers from two small dishes, which contained, the one a bloater, the other the remains of the mashed potatoes from the dinner- table, than the child fell to. Ada was for removing the bones, but he managed the work without her aid by means of his fingers and a knife. The silver fork he did not understand. * If the bones should choke him !' whis- pered Mrs. Prettyman. But they did not. He left the ' vertae- bral column' intact, and demolished all the rest of the fish. He carefully examined the potatoes before he began upon them, 38 COURTLEROY. Ada suggesting that the skins had been pared off, and finally emptied the dish. Ada had secreted a piece of jam tart, which she now produced ; but this, after due inspection, he would not eat. He had, apparently, a cautious soul that would undertake nothing he could not under- stand. Jam tart was incomprehensible to him, but potatoes and herrings were not. * The bumps of caution and combative- ness well developed,' said Mr. Prettyman. * Tank God for my dood supper !' said the child, to the general surprise and de- light. Then he made a sidelong move towards the sofa, as if about to return to that harbour. But Ada took his hand, and asked him coaxingly to come with her, whispering aside to her mistress that she would take care of him. ' Where T asked the child, with a strong Irish burr, looking inquiringly at Ada, as A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 39 if he meant, literally, to discover her intentions through her eyes. * To bed,' she replied ; and he was so well satisfied, either with her looks, or words, or with both combined, that he nodded an assent, glancing suspiciously at Mr. Prettyman the while. 'All right/ nodded that gentleman in return. ^ But I hope your feet are clean.' ' Biddy washed 'em,' replied the urchin, taken by surprise, and protruding, first one, then the other, to the admiring gaze of the trio assembled, and showing that they were as white as need be. Ada drew him from the room with some difficulty, he positively declining to ap- proach Mrs. Prettyman, or wish her good- night. When he was gone, a discussion arose concerning him. Mr. Prettyman's natural jocularity was laid aside for seri- ous consultation, and his wife's simplicity for common-sense. He usually found his 40 COURTLEROY. pleasure in innocent jests on her credulity, and she hers in wondering whether he were in jest or earnest ; but now, as there was something tangible to consider, they both tried to meet it. He said, decidedly, that every inquiry must be made concerning the child, and he restored to his friends, if he had any, and if they could be found. It was evident that some one to whom he belonged had heard of her inquiries at the various orphanages, and had thrust the boy into the house in the hope that he would meet with a good home. ' And why not ?' she asked, timidly. * He is a lovely child.' ' Inheriting all the instincts of his race. A born fighter — a veritable son of Erin,' he replied. The discussion waxed hot, and had not Mrs. Prettyman been incapable of quar- relling, this ' let-one-another-alone ' couple Avould undoubtedly have quarrelled over the innocent George Hope. The fact was A WAIF IN THE SQUARE. 41 that Mrc Prettyman had humoured his wife in her fancy for adopting a child, be- cause he felt sure that it would die out in the difficulty of choice ; which it probably would but for this unforseen complication. The timepiece struck ten while they were yet talking fast, and coming to no agreement. This was the hour for family prayers, and Sampson appeared with the last stroke, took the Bible and Prayer- book from their seat on their own particu- lar shelf, and put them in their accustomed place. A goodly show of maids and a boy came in, but Ada was not amongst them. It must be confessed that Mr. Prettyman's temper was ruffled when he began the chapter, but it calmed as he proceeded ; for was it not about ' The little ones,' and *The millstone,' and ' Their angels'? More- over, in the prayers, there occurred a spe- cial intercession for the orphan. When they all rose from their knees, and while Mr. Prettyman was saying good- 44 CHAPTER III. A BOEN SOLDIEE Important business letters and still more public important political news in the Times occupied Mr. Prettjman so engross- ingly the following morning that he ap- peared to forget the intruder altogether. Mrs. Prettyman did not remind him of him, knowing that ' time and the hour * operated wonders with her husband. Still he was so unusually silent that she al- most feared she had offended him by the unexpected result of her quixotic inquiries. Soon after he had left home for the City, Jones, the policeman, arrived, with a woman whom he had arrested on suspicion. A BORN SOLDIER. 45 Sampson told Mrs. Prettyman that the policeman wished to confront the woman with the boy before proceeding further. Mrs. Prettyman was in a terrible fuss, as may be imagined. She ordered Ada to bring down the child, which she did with much difficulty. The policeman and his charge stood inside the hall door, and they opposite. No sign of recognition passed between the woman and the child. 'Do you know her?' whispered Ada, and Master George shook his head. She had made some slight inroad into his confidence. Not so Jones ; for when he stepped cautiously forward towards. him, he bolted through the nearest open door. ' May I be struck dead, my lady, if ever I see that child before/ said the woman. Tma poor hard-workin' strivin soul, as have lost half-a-day's work all along of being took up by this gentleman. And heVe lost half-a-day's work, and the public 46 COURTLEROY. have to pay all the same, for meddlin wi' what don't concern him. That's what the p'lice is for. I wish they'd mind their own business, I dooes, and so do a-many others.' Mrs. Prettyman thought she was a dis- reputable-looking female, with blear eyes that winked at her queerly ; still she had sympathy with all who were wrongfully suspected, and having asked the policeman if he were satisfied, and received a some- what dissatisfied assurance that he was, she slipped five shillings into the woman's hand. ' The Lord bless yer, my lady. I'll be happy to be took up on suspicion every day this year, if I can oblige yer, Mr. Bobby, and sure, if I can help to find the friends o' the child, I'm at your sarvice. I'll keep an eye on the square, my lady, and on this house partiklar . . .' * Oh ! pray don't trouble,' began per- plexed Mrs. Prettyman ; but the policeman A BORN SOLDIER. 47 cut the obliging offers short by taking off the woman. ' They won't lock her up, Sampson ?' she added. ' Certainly not, ma'am. She's as inner- cent as I am. Lucky that master isn't in.' It may be as well to say here that the indefatigable Jones brought two other women during the course of the day, still ^ on suspicion or approval,' but both were evidently ' as innercent as Sampson ;' and, when Mrs. Prettyman made up her ac- counts, she was puzzled to know whether the fifteen shillings she had disbursed out of sympathy could be justly inserted as ^ charity ' or not. But she entreated the policeman to take up no more of such very expensive suspects. When female No. 1 had departed, Mrs. Prettyman and Ada had a hunt for George. They feared he had escaped, for they could find him neither upstairs nor down. At last, like Achilles, he was again taken by the heel. He had curled himself up 48 COUETLEROY. far back beneath the big library sofa, and the discreet Sampson, remembering the episode of the previous evening, descended to all fours to look for him. The little pink heel betrayed him, and thereby he was ignominiously dragged forth by the butler, struggling manfully, but still reso- lutely quiet. ' A queer fish,' ejaculated Sampson, holding him with difficulty as he rose from his quadrupedal to his bipedal state. ' Herrins !' once more said the child ; then added, in a whisper, ' Let me go, Pat.' There was a ring at the hall bell, and Sampson was in what is vulgarly called a fix; but Mrs. Prettyman appeared, and released him. She put her arm round the boy's waist, and held him tight. At first he struggled to free himself, but was arrested by a kiss. Whether this was an unusual sensation or not did not tran- spire ; but suddenly the little double fist A BOEN SOLDIER. 49 unrolled, and tiny fingers stroked the lady's cheek. Further demonstrations were checked by the entrance of Miss Heath. * Ha, Louisa ! The adopted ?' she said, inquiringly. ' The foundling, rather, Milly. Now, Georgie, you are not going off,' returned Mrs. Pretty man. But off he would have been, had not Miss Heath seized him and held him at arm's length. He kicked and cuffed in vain. She had experience of naughty children, and knew how to manage them — or so she thought. She looked well at him, and he returned her gaze ; not impu- dently or defiantly, but with a sort of grave consideration, as much as to say, he had met his match. * Stand still,' she said. *Be good, and you shall be rewarded ; be naughty, and you shall be punished.' Milly Heath never wasted words : VOL. I. E 50 COURTLEROY. neither, as far as had yet transpired, did George Hope ; but he understood hers. He turned a face full of pathos towards Mrs. Prettyman, and uttered the little word, ' Lou !' by which he must have heard Mr. Prettyman address her the pre- vious evening. She opened her arms, and he rushed into them. The rounded cheek and curly head nestled on her shoulder ; the loving arms enfolded him ; the kind lips kissed his forehead. And what of Milly Heath? A slow tear rolled down her cheek, proving that sympathy may be silent. So may grief and gratitude ; for Mrs. Prettyman's neck was wet with the tears of the child, who had shed none before. And these were not apparent when she rose hastily and led him, obe- dient now, out of the room. Miss Heath wiped off that slow tear, and sat immovable till Mrs. Prettyman returned. Her hands were tightly clasped, an intimation on her part of inward feeling. A BORN SOLDIER. 51 * Colonel Marmont was killed in the last battle with the Caffirs,' she said. ' Mr. Le Roy is with his mother, and I ran over to tell you. We have not yet heard from Emily.' Mrs. Prettyman made amends for her friend's frigidity. She understood her, and poured forth a stream of sympathy with her, the Le Eoys, the widow and orphan, which soothed a soul whose self- restraint was almost a mania, and a source of anxiety to the few who cared for her. Then she gave the history of the child who had just left the room, and asked the advice of Miss Heath. * What does Mr. Prettyman say ?' asked that discreet woman. * That he must go to the workhouse if we cannot find his friends. But he shall never, never go there. Why, Milly, he is just what I wanted, and you made him good directly. How clever you are !' 'If you want to keep him, let Mr. e2 LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 52 COURTLEROY. Prettyman alone. Agree with him, and he will come round/ * We always have agreed till last night, and then he was quite cross, though he encouraged me at first; and, now Provi- dence has sent me just what I wanted, he has taken quite a turn the other way.' * He will come back if you have patience/ said Milly, hurrying off, relieved in spirit by this slight interchange of sympathy. Mrs. Prettyman went in search of her protege. She found him in the servants' hall, quiet as a lamb. Tom, the page-boy, had given him an old box of soldiers, which he had arranged in military fashion on the floor. He was wholly abstracted from the scene around him, his attention being as keenly fixed on his mimic artillery, as would be that of a general on his troops. He did not even notice Tom and two of the maids, who were looking on with much amusement and interest. Neither did Mrs. Prettyman's arrival disturb him. He must A BORN SOLDIER. 53 have been amoogst soldiers, for he man- oeuvred his red-coats as if he understood what he was about, putting them through their facings, and giving the word of com- mand with strange precision. * I wanted his measure for a suit of clothes, and some shoes and stockings, but perhaps we had better not disturb him,' whispered Mrs. Pretty man, to the still implacable Mary Ann. ' What he's got on is good enough for the like of him, ma'am ; I hope you won't be taking up with such a beggar's brat. No good ever comes from that sort of thing,' replied the outraged house- maid. ' He's wonderful 'cute, ma'am,' remarked the cook. ' He says " Fire !" as if he was the Dook o' Cambridge.' And he certainly had stentorian lungs to judge from his commands to his soldiery. Mrs. Prettyman longed to embrace him, but resisted, fearing to arouse the sleeping 54 COURTLEROY. lion, so she went in search of Ada for a consultation. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Prettyman went out. She walked round the square in order to look at Mrs. Le Roy's house, which was on the side opposite hers. She had the satisfaction of seeing that the blinds were down, albeit Colonel Marmont must then have filled a soldier's grave, and that several carriages were at the door. *Mr. Le Roy's — the doctor's — Sir John Marmont's, I think — the rest for inquiries/ she mused. ' Milly will have enough to do. The old lady's as proud as Lucifer, and as to her son, nobody knows what he is. Some say he was crossed in love, and that's what makes him so queer.' As she walked quietly past the house, a tall, pale, distinguished-looking man came out, and got into one of the carriages. It was Mr. Le Roy. He looked about forty. ' Why doesn't ho stay and comfort his poor mother ?' muttered Mrs. Prettyman, A BORN SOLDIER. 55 who, like the rest of the world, had a taste for ~ managing her neighbours' affairs. However, she soon forgot theirs in her own. She walked quietly down Orchard Street into Oxford Street, and, after a long inquisition of different shop- windows, paused long before a wax figure of a boy in fashionable costume. She went in, and asked for a similar suit for ^ a fine child of four.' She would fain have purchased a uniform for her minia- ture general officer, but it had not yet become the fashion to dress children up as soldiers, though juvenile sailors were as common as the way on which they walked. *This suit is altogether loose, madam, and will fit any young gentleman,' said the polite shopman, displaying a suitable costume, which Mrs. Prettyman purchased, and ordered to be sent home. Returned to her own house, she bade Ada attire Master George in it as soon as it arrived. 54 COURTLEROY. lion, so she went in searcli of Ada for a consultation. Shortly afterwards Mrs. Prettyman went out. She walked round the square in order to look at Mrs. Le Roy's house, which was on the side opposite hers. She had the satisfaction of seeing that the blinds were down, albeit Colonel Marmont must then have filled a soldier's grave, and that several carriages were at the door. 'Mr. Le Roy's — the doctor's — Sir John Marmont's, I think — the rest for inquiries,' she mused. ' Milly will have enough to do. The old lady's as proud as Lucifer, and as to her son, nobody knows what ho is. Some say he was crossed in love, and that's what makes him so queer.' As she walked quietly past the house, a tall, pale, distinguished-looking man came out, and got into one of the carriages. It was Mr. Le Roy. He looked about forty. * Why doesn't ho stay and comfort his poor mother ?' muttered Mrs. Prettyman, A BORN SOLDIER. 55 who, like the rest of the world, had a taste for - managing her neighbours' affairs. However, she soon forgot theirs in her own. She walked quietly down Orchard Street into Oxford Street, and, after a long inquisition of different shop- windows, paused long before a wax figure of a boy in fashionable costume. She went in, and asked for a similar suit for ^ a fine child of four.' She would fain have purchased a uniform for her minia- ture general officer, but it had not yet become the fashion to dress children up as soldiers, though juvenile sailors were as common as the way on which they walked. *This suit is altogether loose, madam, and will fit any young gentleman,' said the polite shopman, displaying a suitable costume, which Mrs. Prettyman purchased, and ordered to be sent home. Eeturned to her own house, she bade Ada attire Master George in it as soon as it arrived. 56 COURTLEROY. But he bad grown fractious again, and was in hiding under the bed in Ada's room. It was decided to let him remain there for the present; and Mrs. Pretty- man went off again, to a toy-shop, where she purchased a sword. The house was quite at sixes and sevens, owing to this youthful interloper. Mr. Prettyman came home early, and his wife trembled, as she answered his inquiries about the child. But she gave him the history of the day, and was re- assured when he laughed his genial laugh over her adventures. She did not venture to mention the new suit. ' There is nothing for it but to send him to the workhouse, or board him out, or put him into a home for forsaken children,' he said. ' Would you like to see him first, Joe ?' she asked. He assented, and she ran upstairs. Ada had caught him, and was vainly trying to A BORN SOLDIER. 57 dress him in the new suit. He was simply restive, and would not have it on. Mrs. Prettyman had the sword in her. hand, and, with a cunning which she afterwards declared was * inspired/ drew it out of the scabbard, and said, ^ Georgie shall have this, as soon as he is dressed.' The sword was a magic wand. With eyes fixed upon it, and chubby hands out- stretched towards it, he submitted to be sumptuously attired. Shoes and stock- ings, however, he would not, kicking lustily while Ada tried to put them on. ' We will do without them for the pres- ent,' said Mrs. Prettyman. 'Come with me, Georgie, and you shall have the sword. Irish children go without shoes and stockings.' She led him downstairs, holding his left hand so tightly that he could not escape ; and, when they reached the library-door, she put the sword into his right hand. 58 COURTLEROY. No sooner did he see Mr. Prettyman, than he set himself in an attitude of defence. * Ouj* prize-fighter turned into a swords- man !' exclaimed that gentleman, surveying the child with involuntary admiration. He certainly was a fine specimen of Hibernian beauty, if Irish he really was. He had the dark violet eyes and fair skin of the race, and his well-developed frame might have been that of a juvenile Her- cules. In struggling to brush his hair, Ada had massed up the curls on the top of his head, and the process of washing had flushed his cheeks. The bare legs and feet showed sturdily beneath the new knickerbockers, and altogether he was a magnificent specimen of childhood. ' Let me see your sword/ said Mr. Prettyman. The boy looked gravely for a minute into the kind face, then marched up to him as if at the word of command, and laid the sword at his feet. A BORN SOLDIER. 59 ' It was a Divine impulse/ Mrs. Pretty- man would say, in after-years. ' I, too, was praying.' ' Strange !' ejaculated her husband, lay- ing his hand on the child's head. * Who and what can he be ? We cannot send him away, Lou.' *I was sure you would say so,' cried Lou, suddenly putting her arm round the neck of her spouse and giving him a hearty kiss. George burst out into a peal of childish mirth, which made the worthy couple almost ashamed of themselves. But Mr. Pretty man drew him towards him, and placed him, unresisting, on his knee. From that moment George Hope's fate was sealed. 60 CHAPTER IV. AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. A SQUARE is an epitome of a city, as a school is of the world. Grief and joy, life and death, alternate in the smaller as in the larger area. A wedding on one side, a funeral on the other, mirth here, depression there. We pass quickly from winter to summer, and glancing at the Le Eoys' mansion, as Mrs. Prettyman and her maids were doiog from the upstairs windows, see a funeral procession extending from the door through two-thirds of the square. An open hearse containing a cofiBn enveloped in wreaths and crosses • mourning-coaches and private AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME, 61 carriages, and all the paraphernalia of woe. The long-time invalid, Mrs. Le Eoy, has gone to her rest at last, and her mortal part is about to be taken to Highgate Cemetery, where she has willed it should be till aroused by * the last trump.' She is said to have been a good and charitable lady, and had much sorrow during her sojourn here below. Her end, even, was apparently hastened by the death, first of her son-in-law, Colonel Marmont, who was killed in battle, and subsequently of her daughter, Mrs. Marmont, who only sur- vived him a few months, and who died in South Africa, having been too weak at the time of her husband's death to bear the voyage home. Her only son is the chief mourner, and he enters the first coach alone. He is pale, but is calm and erect, and looks as if either callous or resigned to this great sorrow. Friends, acquaintances, medical men, domestics, fill the remaining car- 62 COURTLEROY. riages, and follow the flower-laden and cheerful catafalque through the square. But no woman accompanies the departed to her final resting-place. As the proces- sion moves slowly on, however, female heads may be seen through apertures in curtain or blind, proving, if proof be wanted, that womanly curiosity survives the tomb. Miss Heath's is not one of them. She sits in her room alone, pondering sadly over her past, and more sadly still over her future. One or two slow tears creep down her cheeks as she looks back through the vista of bygone years, and forward into the unsearchable. Her hands are tightly clasped, and lie listlessly in her lap ; her eyes are partially closed, and there, in the black dress, she would seem almost as inanimate as the friend she has lost and will never see again in this world. No exclamations move her closed lips, none of those self-apostrophisings, so AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 63 telling to the inquisitive, open the shut- tered windows of her mind ; she is secret almost to herself. Yet her apartment is pretty and cheer- ful. Partly sitting-room, partly bed-room, it is adorned with the art collections of a life. The walls are covered with all de- scribable and indescribable pictures, photo- graphs, brackets, china, screens ; while the tables are equally laden with mementoes of childhood, girlhood, womanhood. Dress- ing-case and boxes of Indian and Japanese workmanship lie on her dressing-table, and embroidered cushions and ottomans abound. These are her treasures ; but they do not serve to console her to-day. If only one of the many donors of the con- tents of her museum were near, she might feel less utterly sad and lonely. Not that she would herself invite such companion- ship. It comes, nevertheless. The door sud- denly opens, and Mrs. Prettyman appears. «4 C - ^ ^ T ' AN UXCEETAIN WELCO^ilE. 65 she is sure to have provided for you,' said Mrs. Prettyman. * She could not, for everything goes to Mr. Le Roy. Besides, I want no provision so loDg as I can work. But — I grieve for her — for she was — very — kind to me.' Something almost resembling a sob broke the sad monotony of Milly Heath's voice and attitude. Mrs. Prettyman took her hand, saying, * You know. Milly dear, that we are your friends, and you shall come and stay with us as long as you like. Perhaps you could master our young tyrant.' A shade of interest passed over Miss Heath's countenance, as she said, ' What of him ?' ' Oh ! he is a dear ; but so unmanageable that we scarcely know what to do with him. He is not naughty, you understand, but so masterful. Although he has been now six months with us, nothiug can induce him to keep on his shoes and VOL. I. F 66 COURTLEROY. stockings, or to learn his letters, or to sit quietly at table, or to call us mother and father, as we wish. Ifc is always " Joe " and " Lou." ' Miss Heath actually smiled, and said, ' How very amusing. What else ?' * He runs after Ada all over the house, annoys the cook and Mary Ann, and won't do what I tell him. Mr. Prettyman says I spoil him, but no sooner does he show bis pretty face, and look up at Joe, than he spoils him too The house isn't the same, I assure you, for he's here, there, and everywhere ; and so are his soldiers. He seems very fond of Joe, and hugs him like a young bear.' ' What of his antecedents ?' asked Miss Heath, interested. ' He talks of Biddy, and Pat, and the "rigment," and the great sea that Biddy and he and the ship were upon just before he saw us ; but when we ask him if he AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 67 will go back to them, he shakes his head, looks at us with his beautiful eyes, and runs into the first hiding-place that offers. He was a long time before he got used to Sampson, and scrambled under the sofa when he appeared ; but he is now accus- tomed to him, and rules him like the rest of us. After all, there's nothing like a child in a house, Milly.' ' I have had enough of them, and they are sure to die,' sighed Miss Heath. ' Dear Milly, do tell me something about Colonel and Mrs. Marmont and the little girl.' ' There is not much to tell, Lou. He was killed in battle, as you know. She must have died of grief at the shock ; and we have heard nothing of the child, as yet. Mrs. Le Eoy's end was undoubtedly has- tened by the news of her daughter's death.' * It is very sad for you, dear Milly, and, f2 68 COURTLEROY. I suppose, for Mr. Le Roy ?' suggested Mrs. Pretty man, interrogatively. * Yes — sad for me, of course, and doubtless for him. But I have not seen him; *Not seen him !' ' No. He was not here when his mother died, and he has only been once since — until to-day. Perhaps you had better go now, Louisa, as he may wish to see me when he returns.' * Let us arrange something first, Milly. Wo are going off to the moors almost immediately, that Joe may have some shoot- ing. That is why we are so late in town. Don't you think Georgie will be quite at home on the moors, with his little bare feet ? You must come to us there. You want a real change. I suppose Mr. Le Eoy will like you to remain here until he breaks up the establishment, after which, you must have a holiday; and I am sure AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 69 Mr. Pretty man will be very glad to see you, and Georgie will not run away from you, when he knows you better. He is shy at first, but he really is such a dear.' ' I must wait God's time, and take what offers,' returned Miss Heatb, despondently. ' Yet I thank you sincerely, Louisa.' This response damped the warmth of kind, voluble Mrs. Pretty man, who sud- denly felt that she had been talking solely of worldly matters in the presence of that myserious Death still hovering over the house. She had come to cheer her friend, and had forgotten that the departed lady had been her benefactress, and that, what- ever her exactiug demands on the patience of her dependent, the fact that they were now separated was a solemn reality. Again she took Miss Heath's hand, and said, affectionately, 'Forgive me, Milly, if I have not sym- 70 COURTLEROY. patliised as I ought. But you used to call me thoughtless, and carried away, aud I daresay I am. Still I feel for you from my heart, and for poor Mrs. Le Roy, and her son too; though, I must say, they were odd in many ways, and I never knew them personally — which makes all the dif- ference. But death is always awful ; and I only hope your poor friend was prepared. I pray to be ready when my time comes, though I suppose it is impossible to realize it all till it does actually arrive.' ' She said it was only '^ crossing the bridge,"' replied Miss Heath, with another stifled sob. ' But I think you had better go now, Louisa. Perhaps Mr. Le Roy may wish to see me when he returns. If you go out very quietly, no one will see you.' Mrs. Prettyman rose, kissed her friend, repeated her invitation, and finally left her, muttering, as she went down the carpeted stairs, AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 71 ^ Poor dear ! Always the same. Un- communicative and reserved to a fault. Keeping her own and everybody's secrets. This is a larger house than ours, and better appointed. But they have always been grand people, and would look on us as parvenus. No difference now, however, between poor Mrs. Le Eoy and our Georgie, except, to be sure, that he is young and alive, and she ' Her soliloquy was cut short just as she had her fingers on the bolt of the hall door, by the housemaid, who had been on the watch for her. She and her female compeers had been sitting in the dining- room, awaiting the return of their male fellow-helpers, and discussing what was likely to happen. Amongst other things they had remarked freely on the fact that 'Mrs. Prettyman, who had never crossed the threshold before, should venture to do so now.' While the door was being opened, a cab 72 COURTLEROY. drove up, and Mrs. Prettyman retreated, for a gentleman within beckoned the house- maid to him. She overheard the conversa- tion that followed. The girl detailed the melancholy circumstances of the house- hold, which the veiled windows must have previously indicated, and the gentleman replied, ' This is indeed sad. I am Captain Percy, who wrote to your late mistress the account of Mrs. Marmont's death, and subsequently to your master. Mrs. Percy and I were coming to England from South Africa, and have brought Colonel and Mrs. Marmont's daughter with us. Were we not expected ?' ' Wot that I know of, sir,' answered the servant. ' But we telegraphed. Did the message not reach Mr. Le E,oy ?' * I do not know, sir.' * Perhaps you will kindly show us into some private room, until Mr. Le Roy AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 73 returns. "We have no time to lose, still I must see him. The cabman will stow away the luggage, if you will tell him where to put it. I assure you Mr. Le Roy must be aware of our arrival about this time.' The bewildered housemaid had not a word to say, for while she stood by the cab, irresolute, Captain Percy acted on his own words, and Mrs. Prettyman saw a lady, and a little girl in deep mourning, enter the hall. She did not stay to watch further proceedings, but instantly hastened upstairs to Miss Heath's room, unperceived, she thought, by the new arrivals. She found her friend as she had left her, only with a prayer-book in her hand, open at the burial service. * Milly, you must go downstairs at once,' she began, breathlessly. ' A Captain and Mrs. Percy have brought Colonel and Mrs. Marmont's little girl from South Africa, and they are in the hall at this moment. Captain Percy says he wrote and telegraph- 74 COURTLEROY. ed, and thinks they were expected. Did you know of it?' * I read his letter announcing poor Emily's death, since which I have heard nothing,' replied Miss Heath, clasping her hands and trembling with nervous agita- tion. Mrs. Prettyman hurried her downstairs before she had time for consideration, and they met the cabman in the hall with a large box on his shoulder. 'What am I to do, Miss?' asked the maid, relieved by the appearance of Miss Heath, who was still the last person to whom she would naturally have appealed in an emergency. ' They are in the draw- ing-room, and I told the man to put the luggage in the passage, where Mr. Le Eoy is sure not to see it. You must tell him, if you please. Miss. I was obliged to let them in.' ' Screw up your courage, Milly. Think ol the poor orphan. Hush ! Look ! Here AN UNCERTAIN WELCO!^IE. 75 is a mourning coach/ said Mrs. Prettyman, while that melancholy vehicle drew up at the door. She flew upstairs, and ensconced herself in Miss Heath's room, palpitating with terror of the formidable Mr. Le Roy. But there was no escape for Milly. She stood planted in the centre of the hall, while one solitary mourner descended from the coach, and faced her. She perceived that he would have passed her by unnoticed, but she made a slight movement, and said, with dignity, * May I speak to you, Mr. Le Roy ?' * Certainly. I hope you are well, Miss Heath.' He held out a black-gloved hand, which she barely touched, and led the way into the dining-room, pausing at the door with studied politeness to allow her to pass in first. His face was stern, and wore an expression of disgust which Miss Heath knew well. 76 COURTLEROY. ' Will you not be seated ?' he said. 'No, thank you, I will stand. I shall not detain you. Captain and Mrs. Percy have brought Emily's little girl from Africa. They are in the drawing-room.' A slight elevation of the high, white forehead, and a strange twitching of the firm mouth and nostrils were the only symptoms of surprise evinced by Mr. Le Eoy at this intelligence. * You must see them ; I cannot,' he said. * They have written, and telegraphed, and believe themselves expected,' she re- joined. ' They are waiting for you. They were Emily's friends.' Her voice quivered slightly. * Friends !' he repeated, with another elevation of the brow. ' They cannot expect to see me at such a time. The house is at their service. Send up luncheon — anything you like.' ' And the child?' suggested Miss Heath. * You know I hate children,' he replied. AN UNCERTAIN WELCOME. 77 There was a quick, firm step in the hall, followed by an opened door and a riog at the bell. In another moment a footman in black came in, and said that Captain Percy wished to see Mr. Le Eoy at once, as he had an engagement elsewhere in half-an-hour. ' Say I will come immediately,' returned Mr. Le Roy, while Miss Heath escaped to her room. He went to the drawing-room, and apologized to Captain Percy for keeping him waiting. * I am grieved to intrude at such a moment, and sympathize heartily with you,' said Captain Percy. ' But my wife's mother is expecting us to luncheon. "We only arrived last evening, and slept at the hoteh We leave town immediately. I telegraphed at once.' *I never read telegrams or post-cards, but my man does, and I wonder he did not tell me,' said Mr. Le Eoy. 78 COURTLEROY. ' This is your niece/ put in Mrs. Percy. * I fear you did not expect her so soon.' 'Scarcely. How do you do? — hem — I forget her name.' * Mimica/ said a low, soft voice, as Mrs. Percy impelled the child towards him. She was certainly like her uncle, but tall, slim, and delicate-looking. Their gloved hands touched, and she retreated to Mrs. Percy's side. ' I will see you again soon, dear, if your uncle will allow me,' said Mrs. Percy. * Whenever you like,' replied Mr. Le Eoy. As the lady stooped to say some confi- dential words to Mimica, the child clasped her arms round her neck, and whispered, ^ Take me back to the Cape. . My uncle does not want me here.' ' He is sad — he has just lost his mother,' said Mrs. Percy. * Like me,' returned Mimica, glancing at her uncle, who was hearing from Captain AN UNCERTAIN WELCOilE. 79 Percy the account of his only sister's dyin^^ request. This had been that Mimica should be taken to her mother, Mrs. Le Eoy. The letter announcing that Captain and Mrs. Percy would bring her immediately had not been opened, for it had reached Lon- don the day of Mrs. Le Roy's death, and had been given with other papers to her son, who had set it aside, and either ignored or forgotten it. He now made polite apologies, hoped he should have the pleasure of seeing Captain and Mrs. Percy at Kensington, would do himself the hon- our of calHng on them as soon as possible. — in short, said all that a gentleman should, but did not mention his niece. There was no time for further conversa- tion, only for a hasty farewell to Mimica ; and Captain and Mrs. Percy left the house. 80 CHAPTER V. AN EVENTFUL DAY Mr. Le Roy and his, niece were together for a few minutes. They contemplated one another in silence. Tears filled the eyes of the little girl, but she wiped them away. In person she was not unlike her uncle. Both were pale, and had deep grey eyes, but the somewhat marked features of his unsearchable countenance were soft- ened in hers. She looked sadly delicate, and, had she remained much louger in Africa, would probably not have survived to be a burden to one not given to be burdened. ' I daresay you are tired,' he said, and AN EVENTFUL DAY. 81 bis voice sounded harsh, in spite of an effort to command it. * Yes, and my head aches. I have had fever,' she replied, languidly. He rang the bell and left the room hastily. He had a dread of infection. He waited in the hall till the bell was answered. ' Tell Mrs. Le Eoy's maid to take Miss Marmotit to Miss Heath, and to ask Miss Heath to be good enough to see that she is properly attended to. Let Dr. Bouverio be summoned, if necessary. Make my apologies to Miss Heath for giving her this trouble, but I must return to Ken- sington immediately. Will you order my carriage ?' Having said this, Mr. Le Koy went into the dining-room. Miss Heath and Mrs. Pretty man were still in the former's room, awaiting the departure of the cab, in order that the latter lady might leave without encoun- tering Mr. Le Eoy. Miss Heath was as VOL. 1. G 82 COUllTLEROY. much excited by the course of events as her nature would allow her to be, and was even guilty of looking out of the window to watch for some indication of movement. She was thus occupied when the door opened, and Miss Marmont was announced. She was accompanied by a respectable upper servant, who gave Mr. Le Roy's message verbatim, and then left the room. Miss Heath advanced to meet Mimica, and Mrs. Prettyman rose. The little girl looked from one to the other, and then hastened to Mrs. Prettyman, sa3dng, ' Are you Miss Heath ? are you mamma's old governess ?' and therewith offered her hand and held up her face as if for a kiss. Kind Mrs. Prettyman took the hand, and kissed the pale cheek, then led her to Miss Heath, explaining her mistake. Poor Miss Heath, who was ever fated to be second in every- one's affections, though first when aid was required, put her arms round the child quietly, almost negatively, and felt herself AN EVENTFUL DAY. 83 embraced in return. Mrs. Prettyman, hearing wheels, glanced out of the win- dow, and saw Mr. Le Roy's carriage drive up, and that gentleman enter it. ' Now I had better go,' she said. ' Bring her over to see Georgie. He will make her laugh. It is evident that you cannot leave for the present, Milly. When your affairs are settled, you must come to the moors.' * I should like to go to the moors. Papa used to tell me of them. But they are cold,' said Mimica, shivering. ' The poor child is cold, though it is a warm day,' said Mrs. Prettyman. ' You had better give her something hot.' ' It is the fever — I take quinine,' replied Mimica. She was evidently more self-possessed than Miss Heath, though she suddenly began to sob when Mrs. Prettyman went away. There was more of spontaneous tenderness in her than in Miss Heath, and g2 84 COURTLEROY. the child felfc it. Sfcill Miss Heath suc- ceeded in soothing her, takini^ off her travelling things, arranging her masses of dark hair, and finally conducting her to a pretty morning-room on the first-floor, which had been her grandmother's sitting- room. Here refreshments were brought, and the young stranger gradually became communicative as Miss Heath's manner insensibly relaxed towards this child of a friend whom she had loved. It soon be- came evident that Mimica had been ac- customed to be waited upon, though, at the same time, she had been her mother's nurse. An allusion to that mother brought the tears to her eyes, and she said, sobbing, * Mamma told me that I should be with grandmamma, when she was gone to Heaven, and now she is with mamma, I suppose. Are you sure they are in Heaven, Miss Heath ?' This question, put with much solemnity and a searching glance of two earnest AN EVENTFUL DAY. 85 grey eyes, took Miss Heath aback, who could only reply that she hoped so. ' The converted negroes are always sure that they will go to Heaven when they die,' pursued Mimica. ' Why are not you ?' Miss Heath had known many children, but she had never before been so ques- tioned by one whom she saw for the first time. ' The subject is too grave for you at present,' she returned, evasively. ' That is what they all say,' concluded Mimica, drumming slightly on the table. ' You must not do that, dear, when your uncle is present ; he is most particular/ ventured Miss Heath. ' I don't like him. He did not even kiss me,' was the reply. * Perhaps 1 had better take my quinine.' There was such a strange mixture of the woman and the child in this little girl that Miss Heath failed to understand her. She discovered soon, however, that she had 86 COUBTLEROY. been in the habit of readinoj relio:ious works to her mother, and that her mind was full of crude notions too advanced for her years. She was, besides, hiorhlv nerv- ous and sensitive. Her travellinof-bao: and the smallest of her many boxes were brought to Miss Heath's room, while the next apartment was rapidly preparing for her use. The quinine was found, and taken with- out a murmur. ' Poor mamma was always taking it/ she said. A more responsive mind than Miss Heath's might have drawn much from the child, who questioned her incessantly, and seemed disappointed at her curt replies. But there was no apparent sympathy between them. 'I think I had better lie down now. Will you cover me up?' put an end to the conversation, and Milly Heath gladly allowed her to recline on her own particu- AN EVENTFUL DAY. 87 lar sofa, and routed out a couvre-pied in which to envelope her. She asked for a book, and, when Miss Heath found a story-book on some remote shelf, she declined it, saying she preferred something more serious. She was finally satisfied with a religious periodical, and fell asleep over it. ' What will Mr. Le Roy do with her ? Send her to school, doubtless, which will, perhaps, be best for so precocious a girl,' murmured Miss Heath, as she contem- plated her slumbering charge. She had no further trouble herself, for, when Mimica awoke from her siesta, it was tea-time, and, when that meal was over, she was attracted to the window, and sat watching the carriages and people in the square. She inquired where the lady lived whom she had seen when first she came, and, when the corner house was pointed out to her, she kept her eyes upon" it. 88 COURTLEROY ' When may I see Georgie ?' she asked. ' Perhaps your uncle may not wish you to see him at all,' was the reply. ' How old is he ?' 'Between four and five.' * Too young for me/ she added, thought- fully. ' Precocious in every way,' mused Miss Heath. The day drew to a close more rapidly than usual for Miss Heath, who was sen- sible of the relief of the change from the monotony of the sick-room to the semi-life of her new charge. Still it was always sickness or death for her. ' Perhaps I had better go to bed now,' said Mimica, looking at a small watch which she drew from its pocket. 'The doctors said I needed much rest, and it is past nine.' 'Were you ill when — when your mother was ill ?' asked Miss Heath, and it was the AN EVENTFUL DAY. 89 first direct question she bad put concern- ing that mother. *I made believe not to be ill, but the doctor used to tell me, when we were away from mamma, that I must take care of myself for her sake, and so I did ; and now I must keep well because there is no one who would like to nurse me.' * Would you mind telling me something of your poor mamma?' Mimica took a seat at the table near which Miss Heath was sitting, and went circumstantially through the events of her father's death in battle, and her mother's subsequent long illness. It was strange to see so young a child so collected, and gifted with a memory for the minutest trifles. She told how her mother had swooned when the news of her husband's death was brought her, and how she alone had been the means of bringing her back to life — how she had read nothing but 90 COURTLEROY. good books from that time to lier death, and how that her chief relaxation had been listening to hymns sung by Mimica herself. Then, suddenly inter- rupting herself, the child-woman again said that she ought to go to bed. Miss Heath accompanied her to her room, and asked if she ' had been accus- tomed to a maid. She replied in the affir- mative, but with an imperative gesture begged Miss Heath to assist her, as she disliked strangers. She could do little or nothing for herself, and Miss Heath made a mental note that she would need a strict bringing-up, for she was sure she had been spoilt, in spite of her apparent unselfish- ness, since that little pronoun ' I ' was largely interspersed in her various narra- tives. 'I should not mind if grandmamma were alive,' she said ; ' but my uncle does not want me. What do you think he will do with me ?' AN EVENTFUL DAY. 91 * Impossible for me to saj/ curtly replied Miss Heath. ' Perhaps you will go now and come back again,' said Mimica, who was standing irresolute opposite the cheval-glass, attired in a flowery dressing-gown half-covered by her long hair. Miss Heath obeyed, again making men- tal notes. When she returned, Mimica was singing Keble's evening hymn. She had a sweet voice, and the tones touched Miss Heath. ' I used always to sing it to mamma the last thing,' she said, when she concluded, fixing her eyes on her new friend. Unfortunately there was so little answer- ing light in Miss Heath's that she looked disappointed, and said good-night almost coldly. But Milly kissed her, tucked her in, and sat by her side until she fell asleep. The last post brought Miss Heath an astonishing and perplexing letter from Mr. 92 COHRTLEROY. Le Roy. He bad never -written to her before, and it was some time before she mastered the contents, clear as they cer- tainly were. She sat with it on her lap for nearly a quarter-of-an-hour before she could rouse herself to action or even motion. It ran as follows : ' Dear Miss Heath, ' Will you be so good as to undertake the charge and education of my niece, Miss Marmont ? You can state your own terms. I intend her to be brought up at Courtleroy. If you accede to my request, will you kindly make preparations to leave town at once, as I am about to break up the establishment in the square. I will write to the bailiff and housekeeper at Courtleroy, and order them to be ready to receive you. I will defray any expense you may incur in transporting your per- sonal effects. Miss Marmont's are, I un- derstand, ready, and need not be dis- AX EVENTFUL DAY. 93 arranged. You will, perhaps, try to start this week, either Friday or Saturday, as may be most convenient to you. The servants will assist you, and be at your orders entirely. I will inform them of my intentions. IE you and the housekeeper at Courtleroy will together manage the monetary department, the bills shall be paid through the bailiff. I have written *' Miss Marmont," because I cannot ascer- tain the young lady's Christian name. It sounded preposterous. She might be more becomingly dressed. ' Believe me, ' Yours truly, * Reginald Le Roy.' At last Miss Heath was roused. When she had mastered the letter, she sat down to answer it, and this was what she wrote. She knew Mr. Le Roy well — had known him, in fact, nearly all his life, and she never wasted words upon him. '94 COURTLEllOY. ' Dear Mr. Le Roy, 'I shall be happy to accept your offer. The sum your mother paid me will still satisfy me. We can leave town on Friday by the express. Miss Mar- mont's Christian name is Mimica, I understand it is Greek, and means, I fancy, " my friend." I will attend to her dress. 'Believe me, ' Yours truly, * MiLLiCENT Heath.' It would have been difficult to ascertain whether Miss Heath were pleased or not with the proposal made by Mr. Le Roy ; indeed, she probably did not know herself. She might have liked a change, but here she was in the same family still. She had been with them since her present patron was, to her as to others, Reggy, a trouble- some and somewhat disagreeable boy ; and she was to return to Courtleroy, where iVN EVENTFUL DAY. 95 she had first seen him, now that he had become an unapproachable, and, to her, disagreeable man. It was strange ; but Miss Heath was not an analyst : she was simply a chest into which the various drugs of which life is composed were secretly placed ; and they might have been labelled * poison/ so resolutely did she abstain from reproducing them. To be an enigma to oneself is a riddle hard to read. However, she was stirred to immediate action. She no longer sat with her hands on her lap, thinking of Mrs. Le Eoy, and wondering what would be the next move in her apparently uneventful, yet really eventful life, but she began to gather together her ' personal effects,' as Mr. Le Eoy had called her treasures. She was occupied in packing them into their re- spective cases until a neighbouring clock struck one, when she went to bed. She had forgotten the prime mover in this change — Mimica — in the healthy move- 96 COUKTLEROY. ment itself ; but she remembered ber before sbe fell asleep, and with a helpless * Ah me !' got out of bed, resumed her dressing- gown, and went into her room. She found the child awake, and startled her by the light she carried. * Oh, Miss Heath, is that you ? I am so glad,' said Mimica. * I cannot get to sleep. I have repeated many hymns, and gone almost through the Sermon on the Mount, and said a thousand backwards, and done all poor mamma used to tell me ; but I have heard that dreadful clock strike all the quarters, and have counted ten, eleven, twelve, and one. I wish I were back at the Cape. London and this big house frighten me.' * "We are going to Courtleroy. You will sleep well there, it is so quiet,' replied Miss Heath, gazing at the excited face oF the child, and the shower of tangled hair that fell about the bed. Mimica started up. AN EVENTFUL DAY. 97 ' Courtleroy ! Where mamma was born. That will be delightful. When shall we go?' Miss Heath told her, briefly, what had occurred and was to happen. Mimica's imagination was stirred, and she put innu- merable questions, answered also, briefly. * If you would come into this bed, I should sleep now, for T am so glad,' she said, when Miss Heath prepared to leave her. Miss Heath was about to reply that she must conquer her fears and fancies, but a something in Mimica's face reminded her of her mother, and, with an unusual impulse, she put aside her dressing-gown, extinguished the candle, and lay down by her side. Soon two thin little arms were thrown round her, and a chilly form nestled close to hers. * Kiss me good-night, dear, and I will say my last little prayer, and go to sleep,' breathed Mimica, and the tired, over- VOL. I. H 98 COURTLEROY. burdened woman clasped the little girl in her arms, kissed her fervently, and soon they fell asleep. 99 CHAPTER VI. A MIMIC BATTLE. Where death had so lately reigned, all was excitemeDt. The late Mrs. Le Roy's house- hold was aroused from slumber at the news that her son was about to break up her establishment, and that the first move was going to be made by Miss Heath and her granddaughter. As to Mimica, she was excited out of her real or imaginary fever, for it seemed that Courtleroy had been the dream of her young life, and to return there had been her mother's para- mount desire. She assisted Miss Heath in her packing, or impeded her according to circumstances, and forgot her griefs in h2 100 COURTLEROY. anticipations, and counted the quarters as they sounded from the * dreadful clock ' aforesaid, as * One less before we leave on Friday/ There were only "Wednesday and Thursday to be got through. It was no easy matter to dispose of Miss Heath's various ' effects/ but she was methodical, and they were packed up, in less time than might have been supposed, on the Wednesdav. * How shall we oret throuorli to-morrow ?* asked Mimica, when the day was done, and they were enjoying a well-earned tea. ' I suppose my uncle will come and wish us good-bye ?' As she spoke, the eight-o'clock post brought Miss Heath another missive from Mr. Le Rov. When she had read it her- self, she said to Mimica, * Here is an answer to your questions. I will read you what your uncle says, as it concerns you. " Dear Miss Heath, — I should be much obliged if you would dis- A ^tDIIC BATTLE. 101 pose of my mother's wardrobe. Take wbat you like yourself, give Mimica what she would wish, and distribute the rest among the female servants or in charity. "Will you also see that her jewellery and such ornaments as she valued, or her grand- daughter might value, are packed and sent with your boxes to Courtleroy? The packages can follow you. Of course, you will stay till Saturday, if you cannot get this done in time for Friday. Yours truly."' * I never saw grandmamma. I would not wear her clothes — take them and give them to the maids,' cried Mimica. ' Let us begin to pack again. Are all these pretty ornaments to go to Courtleroy?' she added, glancing round the well-appointed boudoir. ' I suppose so,' sighed Miss Heath. • They are mostly presents from friends — many from your mother.' 'Then we will take all— all. I have 102 COURTLEROY. finisbed my tea ; do let us set to work at once/ Although Miss Heath was less rapid than Mimica, she lost no time. In the course of her melancholy life, she had several times had to distribute the per- sonal property of relatives and friends, so, calling the late Mrs. Le Eoy's maid, and informing her of what was expected of them, they at once set to work. Mimica forgot quinine, bed-time, and fever in the excitement of watching or aiding, and fre- quently gave her opinion as to what was ' only fit to be given to the poor,' or what she considered might be useful to Miss Heath. Now, as Mrs. Le Eoy had con- scientiously dressed as an old lady, and Miss Heath, if not exactly as a young one, at any rate, in the becoming costume of middle age, her remarks were not flatter- ing to the latter. The maid understood things better, and merely said that such A MIMIC BATTLE. 103 and such clothes might be altered to suit the late companion. She did not employ that expression, though she had often de- clared that she preferred her own position to Miss Heath's. Poor Milly put even a stronger restraint than usual on herself as she saw her old friend's wardrobe turned out and assorted in different heaps. It was not large, for sickness and sorrow had made Mrs. Le Roy indifferent to dress, and it had gra- dually dwindled down to comparatively small proportions for a lady of her position. ^ I should send all the rest to the poor,' said Mimica, reflectively, when the body- linen was inspected. * This would do for the negroes. Mamma was on the com- mittee of the negro aid society, and she was always glad when linen clothes came from England. People would send woollen things, and they were obliged to be sold.' *I will consult Mrs. Prettyman. She 104 COURTLEROY. knows all the charities.' replied Miss Heath, as a cupboard full of cast-off garments was disclosed. ' My mistress always intended to send them away, but she was never equal to the task,' put in the maid ; ' and now it seems a great hurry — quite indecent,' she added, under her breath ; but Miss Heath heard and agreed, so did Mimica. ' Is not my uncle a very queer man r' she asked, but neither of her hearers replied. Miss Heath set aside a small portion of the wardrobe, either for herself or Mimica, and a large proportion for charity, and then told the maid that she and her fellow- servants had better share the remainder. She did not wait to listen to the maid's arguments as to the probability of their quarrelling over it, but went, accompanied by Mimica, to inspect books and ornaments elsewhere, knowing full well that squabbles must follow. A MIMIC BATTLE. 105 *Will my uncle be angry if you do not do as he likes ?' asked Mimica. ' He will make no inquiries.' 'But supposing you were not quite honest ?' ^ I should bear the burden. He would not care.' * How funny ! What can you do with all these things ?' * Send them to Courtleroy, as he and his mother wished. Mrs. Le Roy intended everything for your mother.' 'Mamma would have sold them and given them to the blacks — so would I. You know, we ought to convert them. I left everything I could behind me with the committee, but Mrs. Percy would make me bring lots of things.' ' Quite right. We will finish to-morrow,' said Miss Heath. The morrow was Thursday, and men- servants and carpenters were at work all day packing, under the superintendence of 106 COURTLEROY. Miss Heath and Mimica; the latter the more decided of the two. But all was not finished, and not even the partial and petu- lant requests of the young lady — the heiress, as they called her — could prevail on the London artisans to remain after six o'clock. * We shall not get off till Saturday/ said Miss Heath. ^ The negroes would have finished it all/ exclaimed Mimica. ^ They are much more obedient.' * Now I shall be able to take leave of Mrs. Prettyman/ rejoined Miss Heath. Accordingly, when the house was quite dismantled of books and ornaments, and the offices filled with packages of various dimensions, when, in short, on Friday afternoon, Miss Heath believed she had fulfilled the wishes of the Le E-oys, mere et Jils, and completed her onerous duties, she prepared to seek her haven of refuge in the opposite corner of the square. A MIMIC BATTLE. 107 *I will take you with me, Mimica, as you are not likely to see any of them again, and your uncle could not object,' she said. Mrs. Prettyman was at home, and re- ceived them with open arms. She had not heard of them since she left them together the previous Tuesday. Miss Heath re lated briefly what had taken place. * Then you are provided for, dear Milly,' cried Mrs. Prettyman, again kissing Miss Heath, impulsively. *1 told you God would surely point your way. You will have to educate this dear child, and what an interest you will be to one another ! The same family and everything, Milly; the same old place where you spent so many years ; I daresay the very same ser- vants and poor people, the ' ' Excuse my interrupting you, Louisa ; but what am I to do with poor Mrs. Le Eoy's cast-off clothes?' broke in Miss 108 COURTLEROY. Heath, and, ' May I see Georgie ?' asked Mimica. ' Send them over to me, and I will soon find wearers,' returned Mrs. Prettyman, ringing the bell. 'Tell Ada to bring Georgie down,' she said to Sampson, when he answered the summons. In a few minutes Ada appeared with the redoubtable George Hope. She had regu- larly undertaken the office of nursemaid, or, more properly, nursery-governess, since she was to teach the young hero of the hour the rudiments. ' Go in like a gentleman — or, a soldier,' whispered Ada at the door — words over- heard by Mimica. 'We got him to wear shoes and stock- ings at last by buying him red ones in the winter, and now he is getting accustomed to them,' said Mrs. Prettyman. 'We manage him by force of arms, my hus- band says, for we say, '' like a soldier," and he obeys/ A MIMIC BATTLE. 109 Master George stood at the door con- sidering the trio, and was meditating an escape, when Mimica ran towards him, caught him, and dragged him into the room. ' You are a little soldier, and I am a soldier's daughter. I know about parade, and drill, and everything,' she said. ^ Now, attention !' In a moment the child stood erect, his arms glued to his side, his chubby hands on his knickerbockers. He wore his sword fastened to his belt, resisting all efforts at its removal, except when he went out with Mrs. Pretty man. He fixed his eyes on Mimica — large, solemn, blue eyes they were — and she drilled him as she had so often heard her father drill his troop. At the words, ' Right-about — face — March !' he turned, and marched round the room. Mrs. Prettyman and Miss Heath laughed. Not so Mimica — she only said, ' Halt,' as he returned to her, and in another moment 110 COUBTLEEOY. he was on her lap, overpowered by kisses. Then she laughed merrily, and he let his musical treble ring through the room ; and the serious cherub turned into a mirthful, dimpled one. The elders looked on, the one amused, the other thoughtful ; but the latter. Miss Heath, as if she had had enough of it, interrupted their contemplation with the words, ' You will write to me, Louisa ?' and she and Mrs. Prettyman were soon engaged in conversation. Meanwhile, Mimica was absorbed with Georgie. He had called her ' Captain,* which had greatly delighted her ; and when she told him her name was Mimica, he had shouted * Mimi * quite loud, which had been her mother's pet name for her. * What a pity she should be going away,' said Mrs. Prettyman, interrupting herself in a string of kindly rules that she was threading for Milly's benefit. * She would soon be as fond of Georo:ie as we are. A ^nmC BATTLE. Ill I hope we sha'n't be foolish about him.' * You cannot well be too kind to him ; but don't spoil him,' returned Miss Heath. ' Joe says that would be impossible, he has such a fine temper; and he obeys us now. when we are not cross with him. Isn't he a dear. Milly r' He certainly was a 'dear/ if hv that comprehensive word was meant beauty of form and feature, for George Hope was a lovely child. But it was the clear, un- flinching truthfulness and innocence of his eyes that impressed every beholder. His pugilistic tendencies had nearly departed, though Sampson roused them occasionally, not without malice prepense. A sort of military alphabet-book had been procured for him, which gave an impulse to his intellectual capacity ; and Ada declared, ' That he could learn everything, he was so quick.' He had become, 'Monarch of all he surveyed,' for it was impossible to refuse him anything; he had conquered 112 COURTLEROY. even the cook. He had no aristocratic tendencies, but trotted about at will from drawing-room to butler's pantry, from dining-room to kitchen. Before Miss Heath and Mimica left, Mr. Prettyman came iu. *Joe!' exclaimed Georgie, at sound of the latch-key, jumped off Mimica's lap, ran to the hall, and finally returned on Mr. Prettyman's shoulder. That gentleman put him down on perceiving visitors, and shook hands with Miss Heath. *Mimi — Mimi!' shouted the child, and dragged him towards a corner where Mimica had taken refuge at sight of a stranger. Miss Heath introduced her, and Mrs. Prettyman detailed volubly the circum- stances connected with the anticipated flight to Courtleroy. 'Would you like to go with Georgie, and see his army, my dear?' asked Mr. Prettyman, to whom all young people A MIMIC BATTLE. 113 seemed about the same age. ' Georgie, take her up to the nursery, and show her your army.' And certainly an army Mimica found, for every imaginary warlike auxiliary had been lavished on the boy. They were soon en- grossed in military manoeuvres, and differ- ence of age was forgotten in similarity of tastes. They went away hand in hand, and the trio they left canvassed the future of this orphan pair. Mr. Prettyman told Miss Heath his intentions concerning George Hope, which he was already matur- ing ; and she grew almost communicative over Mimica. ' He shall not change his name/ he said, * because his friends may claim him some day, and I hate mysteries/ * We think he must be the child of an earl at least ; changed at nurse, or stolen by gipsies, or forsaken by some unnatural mother,' put in Mrs. Prettyman. ^ I want him to be taught to call us father and mo- VOL. I. I 114 COURTLEROY. ther, for he cannot always say *' Joe " and *' Lou "; but you object, my dear,' to ber husband. ' Straightforward dealing is best, both in trade and sentiment,' rejoined that good man. ' I hate complications. His name is not Prettyman ; he is not our own child . . ; ^ But I love him already just as if he was,' again interrupted the wife. * My dear Lou, he may turn out a mon- ster, and you may change : all women are weather-cocks, moved at the will o' the wind; except, perhaps, Miss Heath,' said the husband, bowing to that lady. ' I — I — ^you do not know what I am,' she stammered in return, a vivid flush over- spreading her face, and making the marked features handsome. ' Fortune, circum- stances, connections, make or mar us.' 'Under divine guidance,' rejoined Mr. Prettyman. 'But to return to Georgie. He must be a soldier. I shall give him A MIMIC BATTLE. 115 the best of educations, send him to a military-school — Aldershot, I suppose — adopt him as a son in all but name, and teach him his duty to God and his neigh- bour. What can I do more ?' ' Nothing,' replied Miss Heath, averting her eyes. ^ And what do you think Mr. Le Roy will do with his charge?' he inquired. ' Nothing,' she again answered. ' She will probably do something for her- self — marry, or be his heiress,' said Mrs. Pretty man. ' She will be a handsome girl when she fills out and gets some colour in her cheeks. You will both be the better for the country, Milly. So nice to return to your old haunts. It will be like begin- ning life again.' Miss Heath sighed, and rose to depart. There was a sudden drumming at the door, and in bounced Georgie. * Tome and see the battle ' he cried, i2 116 COURTLEROY. seizinor Mr. Prettyman's liand, and tugging him upstairs. The ladies followed, and they found Mimica seated on the floor, surrounded by cavalry, infantry, artillery, volunteers, cannon, ambulances, and all the mimic paraphernalia of war. She had. arranged it, and excited Georgie cried 'Fire* as soon as he drew near. ' Puff' went some invisible engine, and Georgie shrieked with delight. The spectators laughed and clap- ped their hands, and so ended the after- noon of the first acquaintance of George Hope and Mimica Marmont. 117 CHAPTER VII. OOURTLEROY. An old pony, an antiquated pony-carriage, and an elderly coacTiman stood at a small wayside station awaiting the train. An empty cart and horse were nigh at hand, and the station-master walked to and fro from wee platform to coachman and carter, to enjoy the pleasure of a gossip. Porters or other officials there were none, for it was a rare event when the train stopped at this rural station, passengers being few and far between. It had been, indeed, set up for a neighbouring landed proprietor, who was then abroad. When the train was heard in the dis- 118 COURTLEROY. tance, the triad of gossips were almost as brisk as if tbey were daily expectiug arrivals ; and station-master and coachman hurried to the platform, leavinor vehicles and steeds in care of the carter. Wreaths of curling smoke were seen surmounting the woods through which the line had been cut, long before the engine appeared, and, when it finally stopped, the lonely spot was, for the moment, alive. Out stepped Miss Heath and Mimica, out jumped the guard, and, in a minute, the platform was half covered with luggage. Miss Heath counted the packages, Mimica superin- tended the parcels, and very soon the little station was quiet as ever. ' How do you do, Grant ? This is Miss Marmont,' said Miss Heath to the coach- man, holding out her hand. * Bless my heart ! Can it be Miss Emily's daughter ?' returned Grant, as Mimica also shook hands. * Many changes since you were here last, ma'am,' he added COURTLEROY. 119 to Miss Heath. ' There was no time to get a fly, so I brought the pony-carriage.' * Poor old Shock ! I am glad he is alive,' said Miss Heath. ^ Is that Shock ? Mamma's own old pony ?' exclaimed Mimica, running off the platform, casting her arms round Shock's neck, and kissing his forehead. The pony whinnied, and held out his mouth, as if expecting something ; at which Mimica took a bun from her travel- ling-bag, and fed him. She had already made a friend. The luggage was carried to the cart, the wraps to the carriage. Miss Heath seated herself in front by the coachman, Mimica in the small back-seat: and the cortege drove off. The coachman explained to Miss Heath that he was afraid she would not find all she could wish at Court- leroy, for his master's notice had been so short that the housekeeper had not had time for preparations. Then he inquired 120 COUKTLEROY. about Mrs. Le Roy's illness and death, with the respectful interest of an old and valued servant, and Miss Heath was, perhaps, more communicative to him than she usually was to most people. Meanwhile, Mimica found enouo^h to in- terest her in a four-miles drive through shady country roads and lanes, past a pic- turesque village and many way-side cot- tages, and by occasional brooklets that sounded like music to her after the drought of South Africa. ' They are almost as respectful as the negroes,' she thought, as the country-folk touched their hats and curtseyed as they passed ; and she imitated Miss Heath, in bowing in return, feeling almost royal as she made her best salute. Democracy and equality had not made their inroads, as yet, into that neighbour- hood, which was essentially conservative; and the peasantry were still not above making the old-fashioned reverence to their betters. The evening was deliciously cool. COURTLEROY. 121 and the sud, which was setting somewhere behind the woods, glinted through the over-shadowing hedges and trees upon Shock's shaggy mane and Mimica's dark hair. 'Is that Courtleroy spire — and is that the parsonage amongst the trees — and is this the village?' asked she, breathlessly, touching Miss Heath's shoulder, who an- swered in the afl&rmative. They had reached the scene where she was to live henceforth, she supposed ; and she rejoiced that it was so pretty. All the inhabitants, young and old, were at the doors of the half-dozen cottages that were known as Courtleroy village ; all were bowing and curtseying, just as if it was a carriage and four instead of old Shock and the pony-carriage, and all were iutent on catching sight of Miss Emily's daughter. ' There's no one at the lodge just now, miss,' said Grant, in a whisper, as they 122 COURTLEROY. drove througli an open gate and past a neglected-lookiDg lodge, about which jessa- mine and roses hung in masses, unpruned and broken loose from the walls. ' How pretty ! Is that where mamma's nurse used to live ?' said Mimica. ' Yes, miss,' replied Grant, ' but she died a year or two back, and no one has been put in her place/ Mimica's attention was soon turned to the oaks and elms that embellished the drive, which wound through rich and varied pasture-land, also dotted with groups of fine trees. The fields were undulating, if not exactly hilly, and the scenery was pleasantly domestic, if in no wise grand. It was essentially an English place, and when, after a drive of about half a mile, Courtleroy appeared, it looked as English as its surroundings — a country house, and nothing more. No Italian towers, or Grecian colonnades, or Baby- lonian terraces, or Elizabethan gables, or COUETLEEOY. 123 Queen Anne's windows, but a fair-fronted, two-storeyed, porticoed house of large proportions, surrounded by gardens and backed by shrubberies and trees. Mimica thought it charming, as they passed through a second iron gate, and saw a respectable-looking woman standing where Shock stopped of his own accord. ' How do you do, Mrs. Stone ?' said Miss Heath, just in the same tone and manner she had used to Grant. But Mrs. Stone was all fuss and flutter and apologies, declaring that she could get nothing ready at such short notice ; hoped the ladies would not take cold, for she had aired the beds ; trusted they would excuse everything that was wrong, and finally led them into a room vv^here tea awaited them. Mimica shivered involuntarily, and Miss Heath perceived it, who suspected — knew, indeed — that the room had not been ten- anted for years. It smelt damp and mouldy ; the paper was peeling off the 124 COURTLEROY. walls, the books were mildewed, the carpet moth-eateu. * This is better than the large rooms,' said Mrs. Stone, aside. ' They must be done up before jou can use them.' ' May we have tea removed to the hall ?\ asked Miss Heath. 'Certainly, ma'am,' replied the house- keeper, not pleased with so sudden a disarrangement. Mimica felt as if she had left sunshine without and found darkness within. Thev went upstairs, and it was not much better. The house was thoroughly neglected and out of repair, and the furniture was old and waxing shabby. They were evidently interlopers, and nobody knew what to do with them ; Miss Heath was well aware of this fact, but Mimica only felt it dimly. Two of the principal bed-rooms had been hastily prepared. They were side by side, opened into one another, and looked out upon the park-land and trees in front of COURTLEROY. 125 the house. The view was bright and de- hghtful, the apartments were dull and heavy. * I wish I was back at the Cape,' shivered Mimica. 'We will improve it all to-morrow/ responded Miss Heath, making an unusual effort at cheerfulness. ' To-morrow is Sunday !' moaned the girl. ' Then we will go to church and see the neighbours.' ' Neighbours ! There is no gentleman's house except this anywhere, and this is only fit for the Caffirs.' 'My dear Mimica! what would your poor mamma say ? This was her home. But come down to tea.' * In a minute, Miss Heath. I must be alone — quite alone — like the queen when she first became queen.' Mimica spoke resolutely, and went into her own room, shutting the intermediate 126 COURTLEROY. door. She kneeled down, and burst into a passion of tears. This had been her method of self-control when with her mo- ther during her long illness, and she had certainly discovered the most eifectual. Still it was sometimes almost beyond her strength, for she was born with a wild, passionate nature, had been much indulged, and was over-excited by constant religious reading and teaching. She wanted per- petual sympathy, and had been hitherto over-sympathized with, considered almost oracular, and half-worshipped by her sur- roundings — now she had certainly fallen on different ground. *I won't give way!' she cried, when she rose from her knees, wiped her eyes, and went downstairs. Miss Heath was awaiting her in the hall, or, more properly, saloon, for it was a large room, furnished with fire-place, settees, arm-chairs, screens, and other COURTLEEOY. 127 comforts, and, being essentially cheerful, had always been much used. The front Tvas almost entirely of glass, through which the sun always seemed to be look- ing when not veiled in clouds or mists, and he, with beneficent purpose, kept it dry and warm — one must confess, occa- sionally, somewhat too hot. On this particular occasion he was casting side glances through the large panes of glass, for he was soon to remove entirely from this scene of his daily labours. Boiling tea, cold chicken, hot eggs, straw^berries and cream, and attentive Mrs. Stone tended to reconcile Mimica to her meal, which, in spite of an inward resolve to depreciate, she partook of with fine appetite. So did Miss Heath. ' The gardener says the strawberry-plants are quite worn out, and want renewing,' apologized Mrs. Stone, as ]\[imica heaped the delicious fruit on hei^ plate. 128 COURTLEROr, * We will get fresh ones/ said the child^ with her queer little air of command, which made Mrs. Stone smile. * This is where your mother used to play battledore and shuttlecock when it was wetjMimica,' said Miss Heath. ' You remember, Mrs. Stone ?' * I should think I did, ma am. Miss Marmont is not so much like her as she is like Mr. Le Roy.' * I am sure I am not like my uncle,' re- turned Mimica, offended. * He was reckoned a very handsome gentleman, Miss, and I daresay he is still ; but he has never been here since . . .' A cough and warning glance not un- perceived by Mimica, informed the house- keeper that this was a forbidden theme. ' I wish Georgie were here, that I might give him strawberries and cream. I mean to write to him on Monday,* said Mimica. * Write to Georgie ! He cannot tell his COURTLEROY. 129 letters,' exclaimed Miss Heath, with the shadow of a smile. ' Mrs. Prettyman will read my letter to him. I think I may do him good/ said Mimica, with an air of assumption that rather became her. The remainder of that day and the night following passed peaceably enough. So did the breakfast in the hall on Sunday morning. Preparations for church were hurried, owing to the unpacking of boxes ; but Miss Heath insisted on a suitable cos- tume both for Mimica and herself. ' First impressions,' she said. ' We ought not to think of impressions when we are going to church,' rejoined Mimica, who had an idea that it was high- minded to abjure dress. However, Miss Heath had her way, and both were dressed in scrupulously-appro- priate mourning, as were the few domes- tics, when they appeared at Courtleroy church. Such had been the rapid succes- VOL. I. K 130 COURTLEROY. sion of events, that they had almost for- gotten that this was the ' first appearance ' in church since Mrs. Le Roy's death. It was an ordinary country church, and had been repaired and re-seated since Miss Heath last saw it. The old-fashioned, square pews were replaced by low sittings, and, beyond the fact that the Courtleroy pews were still in the chancel, behind the choir, rich and poor were, at least, on an equality in the matter of church accommo- dation. Mimica, who had been taught to analyze her feelings and conduct, was scandalized at herself that first Courtleroy Sunday. In spite of her best efforts at attention, she looked about her. Opposite her sat a magnificently-dressed lady, with the car- riage of an empress — if, after all, empresses do always carry themselves, as it is fabu- lously reported they do — a good-humoured looking gentleman, a young man, and a little boy. In the body of the church she COURTLEROY. 131 noted a lady in a long pew with, what seemed to her, a dozen plainly-dressed girls and boys of all ages. She supposed it was a school. There were, besides, many smartly-attired people, the school-children, the poor, the servants ; but the grand lady opposite, and the long pew with the young people, attracted her most. She liked the quiet church with its marble tablets, its one painted east window, its open doors through which penetrated the songs of birds, and, above all, its pastor. He, she thought, was a man whom she could love, and she hoped he was as good as he seemed from his manner, and, above all, his plain, earnest sermon. She was a reflective child, and she certainly had much matter for reflection ia Courtleroy and its sur- roundings. When the service was over, much to Mimica's disappointment. Miss Heath re- mained in her seat until the congregation had dispersed. This, she afterwards found, k2 132 COURTLEROY. was out of respect to tbe deceased Mrs, Le Roj. When they left it an open carriage was driving off, and Mi mica's 'empress* waved her baud to Miss Heath, who returned the salute. ' Who is that?' asked Mimica. 'Lady Helena Carew,' replied Miss Heath. ' And the others who are with her ?' 'Sir Joshua Carew, and, I suppose, her sons — but I have not seen the eldest for six or seven years, and the youngest never/ 'Did they know mamma? She never named them.' * Yes; Further conversation was interrupted by the approach of tbe clergyman. He came forward and introduced himself as Mr. Leste, offering his hand in a kindly, clerical way. He was onlycurate-in-charge, the incumbent being abroad for his health. Miss Heath had known the former, but had never before seen Mr. Leste. COURTLEROY. 133 ' We are all glad to see tenants at Gourt- leroy,' he said. ' Vacant great houses are sad eye-sores in a parish, and we have hitherto had two. Neither Courtleroy nor Summerlands has been regularly inhabited during the five years I have been curate. I hope you will make what use you like of the vicarage, and my wife and children. We are a round dozen altogether, and Miss Marmont will find two or three of us com- panionable, if not all.' Mimica looked at Mr. Leste amazed. He appeared to her quite a young man, and yet must be father of * the school ' she had observed in church. He smiled at her kindly, and so winning was the smile, so pleasant the voice, that she would fain have accompanied him at once to the vicarage, the roof of which she saw among the trees near the church. * I am not quite my own mistress,' said Miss Heath. ' I understand. Still I hope we may lU '— ' - " --: : . VETJ zi: *le r-. - - _ ■ "" _ —- _-- _ " " _ " . zz'- ' : .:__." _ ^i_^»-» uei^^ : if-:-: 17 - . "— ~ - ' ~ -~ ^ — * ^1-^ lU Ib&S Mr l/r: ■jizz-aiiig.j^ v: ., J'-.-i Q 3-_ . £. 136 CHAPTER VIIL THE curate's family. * Why does not my uncle live at Courtleroy ?' asked Mimica of the housekeeper. This was a question which she had frequently put to Miss Heath without elicitiog the desired information. She was still invalided, and Mrs. Stone was waiting upon her. The aguish Afri- can fever had hold of her, and no one knew when it would let her go. The country doctor was in attendance, but he did not understand the intermittent malady, neither did Miss Heath. She and the housekeeper were untiring in their care of her, and rarely left her alone. Indeed, THE curate's family. 137 she tired more of them than they did of her. Partly from curiosity, partly from the excitement of fever, she was, however, never tired of asking questions, which were more readily answered by Mrs. Stone than by Miss Heath. She naturally desired to know why the place to which she was banished was deserted by its master ; and on this occasion she repeated her inquiry until it was answered. * Mr. Le Eoy has never been here since Lady Margaret jilted him,' said that worthy woman. ' Who was Lady Margaret ?' asked Mimica. * Lady Helena Carew's younger sister, a sweet young lady, and your dear mamma's friend. Miss Heath was her governess before she came here. I always says she was forced into the engagement by Lady Helena, with whom she lived ; for Mr. Le Roy wasn't the sort of gentleman she was likely to care for. Anyhow, she ran away 138 COURTLEBOY. from home ; and to this day nobody knows what became of her, leastways the public don't.' * How very sad for my uncle ! I am sorry for him now. This makes the house more melancholy than ever. Why did not grandmamma live here ?' ' She had her jointure-house in town^ and liked to be independent. She and 'Mr. Le Eoy never agreed very well. He had such odd, new-fangled notions.' ' I like that. I don't care for people who are common-place.' * Then, my dear, you will like the curate's family. Poor things ! they call themselves the '• Help-myselE Society." They can t afford to keep a governess or a servant, and do everything for themselves.' * How fanny ! But will Lady Helena come and see me?' * Bless vour dear heart, no. The fami- lies have never been friends since it all THE curate's family. 139 happened. But jou must keep quiet and not excite yourself.' * I will be as good and quiet as a lamb, if you will only tell me about it/ returned !M.imica, wlio had started up in her excite- ment. *I shall dream and think of no- thing else till I know for certain. My head is all in a whirl.' ^Lie down, and I will tell you. There is no reason that you should not know. Mr. Le Eoy was desperately in love with Lady Margaret, and proposed for her, they say, many times. He was rich and she was poor, so she accepted him at last. There's a many do that. I hope you never will." ' Never !' cried Mimica, excited again. * There, now ! keep you quiet. The poor young lady had to live with her brother- in-law, and that's never agreeable. Any- ways, she and your uncle were engaged. Never was such a commotion at Courtle- 140 COURTLEROY. roy before or since. The house was to be clone up from top to bottom, and the rooms which look so shabby now were beautiful. It is more neo^lect than years which have spoiled them, for the master allows no money for repairs or firing, only just enouofli to pay our wages, and, if extras were wanted, I had to write to your grandmamma. She insisted on keep- ing the old servants, such as me, and the gardener, and Mr. Grant : but Mr. Searle, the bailiff, transacts all the business. Of course the estate must be cared for. The marriage day was fixed, and the whole county was in expectation. They were to be married from Monkton, Sir Joshua Carew's, and then to go abroad for a bit, while the alterations here were completed. Some of the rooms and the garden were never finished, as you will see when you get about. There were to be fine goings on here and at Monkton, and you should have seen how pretty the church looked. THE curate's family. 141 all decorated with flowers, and arches from the gate all the way to Monkton.' 'Were they to have been married at Courtleroy ?' asked Mimica. * Of course. Monkton is about two miles the other side of the village. A fine old place, and Sir Joshua is one of the old-fashioned sort of squires. But, to make a long story short, our party went to church, and waited, and waited — but there ^vas no bride. I shall never forget it to my dying day. The church was crowded, and we were all looking to the door in expectation, when Sir Joshua Carew came in and went straight to the altar where Mr. Le Roy was standing, very angry, to judge from his nostrils, and beckoned him out.' *Why to judge from his nostrils?' asked Mimica. ' They always worked when he w^as in a passion, just as yours do, Miss Mar- mont. The two gentlemen drove off to 142 COURTLEROY. Monkton, and left us all in consternation. Fortunately your grandmamma was too ill to come from London, so our party was only gentlemen. They and the rector consulted till long after twelve, and then we left the church. Outside it was said that Lady Margaret was dead, and some hours passed before the news spread that no one knew if she was dead or alive, but she was nowhere to be found. And from that hour to this, as far as I know, she has never been heard of, and, from that hour to this, I have never seen Mr. Le Eoy.' ' What became of him ?' asked excited Mimica. ' No one knew at the time, but after- wards he wrote to his valet to pack up his clothes and come to him somewhere abroad. I believe he wrote to your grandmamma, but all I can say for certain is, that I have lived on here with Mary, who was then kitchen-maid, as I was cook, ever since, at THE curate's family. 143 Mrs. Le Eoy's particular request. I felfc that I was getting old, and, being used to the place, I did not care to leave it. My rooms is very comfortable — Mr. Searle sees to that — but he says the rest of the place may go to rack and ruin for anything Mr. Le Roy cares. But Miss Heath knows a deal more than I do, if she chose to tell. She was at Monkton at the time, and Lady Margaret was very fond of her. Then she went as companion to Mrs. Le Eoy. But she is close, she is.' 'What did the people say about it?' asked bewildered Mimica. ' Some said she had drowned herself, and the ponds were dragged ; some said she had run off with another gentleman, but nobody knew who, and there was no station at Summerlands in those days from which she could be traced ; many people thought she might have disguised herself and got away with the foreign hop-pickers, who were about at the time . . .' 144 COURTLEROY. ' Who are tliey ?' asked Mimica. ' A ragamuffin lot who come to help in the hop-yards. Mr. Leste is trying hard to improve them.' * I will help him when I get well. I want to work amongst the very poor,' said Mimica. * Plenty to do here, Miss Marmont ; for w^e have nobody now, except the curate, his wife, and children. They work hard enough both at home and abroad ; but they have nothing to give. Summerlands is empty again, and everybody misses the family.' * Where is Summerlands ? Who lives there, Mrs. Stone ?' * Lord and Lady Manville, it is true, lived there, but 'tis the way of the world, I'm told, not to be able to live where God has placed you ; they go to Algiers or some outlandish place, in search of health. His lordship has three big houses, and can't live in either of 'em. No wonder THE cueate's family. 145 some of the poor people are turning radical, and wanting his land for them- selves. Searle and I often talks it over, and agrees that we, who have lived in the same place ever since we were born, and can't get change of climate, are just as well as those who wanders all over the world.' * I think this is a bad house for fever,' shivered Mimica, * but when 1 am better 1 shall tell the poor people here how enlight- ened they are compared with the negroes. And 1 will write to my uncle, and advise him to come back, for he has three houses like Lord Manville, only he lives in one of them.' * He won't take any notice, Miss Mar- mont. I've wrote to him two or three times, but he haven't answered.' *I am his niece, Mrs. Stone; and he must reply to me.' Mrs. Stone laughed. She had heard from Searle, the bailiff, how that Mr. L© VOL. I. L 146 COURTLEROY. Roy had written to him instead of to Miss Heath, in answer to that lady's account of Mimica's illness, and had ordered him to see that a doctor was sent for. Also he had commanded that, since it was evident- ly a case of fever, she should be isolated for some time, for fear of spreading the infection. Thus it came to pass that, when Mimica recovered, she was kept a prisoner in Courtleroy. This gave her an opportunity to explore the house and its surroundings, and to make acquaintance with the few people who worked within its boundary. Bailiff, gardener, coachman, and labourers became as much her slaves as had been the blacks, and she alternately preached to them or ordered them about, much to their wonder and amusement. Miss Heath set her to work at regular lessons, but they wearied her. Habit had sent Miss Heath to her mother's old school-room, which was tolerably dry and cheerful, and here sen- THE cueate's FAI^IILY. 147 tentious and somewhat heavy instruction prevailed. The old grand piano was tuned, the pictures were re-hung, and the books re-arranged. In this Mimica took part, and was especially interested in her mo- ther's books and sketches. Eeading, writ- ing, and drawing were passions with her, and conscientious Miss Heath sought to restrict her in these avocations. In vain. Neither could she prevent her writing letters to her uncle, which, as Mrs. Stone had predicted, were never answered. Those to George Hope had a happier fate, since Mrs. Prettyman returned wonderful mes- sages and hieroglyphics, that took much time to decipher, and served to amuse Mimica. But quarantine must have an end, and at last Miss Heath yielded to the repeated invitations of Mr. and Mrs. Leste, and took Mimica to call at the vicarage. This was an old-fashioned, comfortable, home- like house, encircled by a garden and l2 148 COURTLEROY. shrubbery, and protected at the back and sides by trees. ' How cheerful !' was her exclamation, as they passed through a wooden gate between hedges of laurustinus, walked round the circular carriage drive, and stood in front of a trellised porch and innumerable windows, upon all of which the sun was shining. The sound of children's voices echoed from behind, and all, from the clematis on the porch, the ivy on the gable end, the reddening virginian creeper on the fa9ade, the fuchsia in the border, and the chrysanthemums everywhere, repeated Mimica's words, * How cheerful !' A bright girl about her own age an- swered Miss Heath's modest ring. She shook hands with them, and showed them into a pleasant room on the right, where Mimica was pleased to see, seated in state, Lady Helena Carew. With her were her THE curate's FAIkllLY. 149 €ldest son, Mr. and Mrs. Leste, and their eldest daughter. *You are Miss Marmont — I am Leila/ whispered the juvenile parlour-maid, as Miss Heath was welcomed by Mrs. Leste. * Call me Mimica, if you are one of the Lestes,' replied Mimica, doubtfully ; for in South Africa the young ladies never an- swered doors. * My dear Milly, I am glad to see you iigain,' were the words she heard, as she stood a moment at Leila's side. Lady Helena kissed Miss Heath, and the face of each lady was troubled. They had not met since that inauspicious month when Mr. Le Eoy was jilted. ^ This is, I suppose, Miss Marmont/ said Lady Helena, recovering a certain majestic manner for which she was celebrated, and looking at the girl, who shrank back, re- pelled at something in the countenance. * And this is our son Montague, whom you 150 COURTLEROY. have not seen since he was a boy ; now he thinks himself a man,' continued Lady Helena, while Mr. Carew shook hands with Miss Heath. ' I am so glad to see you, dear. I hope you are quite well again/ said Mrs. Leste to Mimica meanwhile, and voice and man- ner attracted even more than Lady Helena's had repelled. ^ I think you are about Leila's age. This is Barbara, the eldest girl ; you shall see them all in time.' Mimica shook hands all round, and, when the party had settled down, made, as she usually did, her observations upon them. Her first impressions were favour- able to all, except Lady Helena. Her son looked handsome and pleasant ; Mr. and Mrs. Leste were delightful, and their daughters she thought she should like. Barbara's handsome, expressive face pleased her most, and, when Mrs. Leste suggested that perhaps Miss Marmont would like to go and see the children, she gladly follow- THE curate's family. 151 ed her and Leila upstairs to a room that served for school-room, work-room, nursery and all. It was, like the rest of the house, essentially cheerful, and lonely Mimica was dazed at the scattered books, work, and toys, which surrounded what seemed to her a dozen children of various ages. 'This is Miss Marmont — Mimica Mar- mont,' shouted Leila, whose involuntary restraint was gone. 'Now come and be introduced. We have all been wanting to see you for ever so long, Mimica.' ' Do behave yourself, Leila. We are all like wild animals let loose when anything new happens,' said Barbara. Mimica, on the contrary, thought them wonderfully well behaved, as they all gathered round her, shook hands with her, and even kissed her. * You are not to interfere with me. I saw her first, and she is my property,' said Leila, authoritatively. * This is my eldest sister, Bold Barbra: you can imagine 152 COURTLEROY. lier character from her title; she is just sixteen. His Reverence — that is papa — called her ''Bold" because . . .' 'Don't be so silly, Leila,' interrupted Barbara, colouring. ' Because,' resumed Leila, ' she taught our brother Horace, aged fifteen, and got Dick, aged eleven, into the clergy school. She is afraid of nothing. This is Laura, next to Horace, aged fourteen, and she is so clever that she teaches us all. Here is Totty, and Helena, who has the honour of having a lady in her own rank as god- mother, and Octavius, so called because he is the eighth of our olive branches. I am Leila, and shall be thirteen at Christ- mas, when I invite you to my birthday feast.' There was a tap at the door, and a * May I come in ?' followed by Mr. Carew. Mimica's swarm forsook her, and buzzed round him. All but Barbara, who was too old, and who remained at Mimica's side. * We have been introducing ourselves,' THE curate's family. 153 said Leila. ' I have had all the work, as usual. Parlourmaids always say the names, don't they, Monty, when there is no foot- man ?' ' Of course they do. Now introduce me, Leila. The proprieties downstairs omitted to do so, I suppose, on account of the es- capade of our respected uncle and aunt, which we certainly couldn't help.' ' Miss Marmont — Mr. Montague Carew. Is that right ? He will soon be twenty, Mimica, and he and Master Herbert are our only playfellows.' Mr. Carew broke through his ring of girls, and shook hands with Mimica, who suddenly felt herself converted from wo- man to child. Then, drawing a roll of music-paper from his pocket, he gave it to her companion, with the words, ' I have copied the carols, Barbra, six times over. My ardour has been wonder- ful. I wouldn't have done it for anyone but you.' 154 COURTLEROY. ]\Iimica at ouce wove a little romance, as she saw the young man spread out six sheets of neatly copied manuscript music, and the young woman smile and blush as she received it. Are not such romances woven and rudely broken every day, just like Mimica's? ' Lady Helena is going !' were the words that shattered hers, spoken by Mrs. Leste from the doorway. * Come down, Barbra,' whispered Monty ; and Mimica remarked that everybody call- ed her ' Barbra ' sharp, as if the three syllables were too long in these fast days ; albeit, it was still tolerably slow at Court- ier oy. The three elders disappeared, and Mimica was again surrounded. She was soon made acquainted with the history of the Leste family, since each child had something to tell. They also heard hers, which was in- finitely more stirring than theirs. Laura, a pale, delicate-looking girl, possessed her- THE CURATE S FAMILY. 255 self of her hand ; Totty and Helena seated themselves at her feet^ while Octavius climbed into her lap. *I must go and help W.h the tea. You will be sure to stay/ saio Leila, suddenly abstracting Mimica's hat. ' We shall have it at five.' And, to Mimica's extrme happiness she did stay, Mrs. Leste havig- prevailed upon Miss Heath to remain, 'imica had never before sat at such a tetable, never en- countered so joyous a faily. They were a round dozen, includingsrself and Miss Heath ; for the two yoi;est were there each seated between two ei\ sisters who attended to them. Mr. and's. Leste sat at the top and bottom oie table he energetically cutting bre^she pourins* out the tea. Mrs. Leste was knowr the outside world as ' a sweet person, home as the most perfect of mothers, was in every respect a lady, as her hud was a gen- ^^^ CG)URTLEROY. tleman ; and tlie most arrant gossip could find nothing to say against them, save that they had married as soon as he was ordained, on a curacy of a hundred a year. Now they had a bouse, and nearly a couple of hundred. Bl^rybody said, 'How do they live ?' and Irs. Grundy would add, * 'Tis the way olthe world for curates to marry on noiing, and have larger families than thebishop,' which it cer- tainly is. Mimica made a itter tea than she ever remembered to te made before, and, reflecting over h day afterwards, sup- posed that it y the force of example, and that the bAhing to do was to marry a clergyman, anave ten children. 157 CHAPTER IX. CORRESPONDENCE * Here is a letter from Milly Heath !' ex- claimed Mrs. Prettyman. * She says there is a nice place to let not far from Courtle- roy, called Summerlands, and that you can have all the shooting and fishing. Lord and Lady Manville, the owners, spend part of every year abroad, and are not coming home at all this year ; so you can rent it for as many months as you like.' ' Then we should see Mimi !' exclaimed a voice clear as the eyes of the speaker. 'And Master George would have his way, as usual/ responded Mr. Prettyman ; 158 COURTLEROY. and there was a laugh as telling and clear as the eyes and voice. We left George Hope a child of five or thereabouts ; we find him a lad verging on twelve. He is receiving the best of educa- tions at a first-class school, preparatory to one of the public schools, and is at home for the holidays. He is the son of the house in all but name. His face is as handsome, his manner as frank, his mind as resolute in boyhood as it was in com- parative infancy. His tastes are still mili- tary, and, although he does not either double up his fists or wear a sword, he has resolved to be a soldier; and what he resolves is law. Mr. Prettyman says still, that it would be impossible to spoil him, and both he and his wife do their utmost to prove his words. The trio are at break- fast, and they are in the habit of discus- sing all sorts of topics at that meal. * You may as well go to Courtleroy — I mean Summerlands — as abroad, or to the COREESPONDENCE. 159 moors, Joe,' pursued Mrs. Prettyman. * I should have Milly Heath and those nice people, the Lestes, for neighbours, and you could shoot and fish, and wear yourself out ' 'As well as his boots, madre,' inter- rupted George ; for there was a perpetual joke about Mr. Prettyman's apparel when in the country. It may be well to state here that, soon after his adoption, George had taken a fancy to a certain Italian organ-grinder and his wife, not only because of their music, but their dress, and a certain mili- tary monkey that accompanied them. Once or twice a week, at least, they had appeared beneath his nursery window, and each time he had carried them out a penny, and a cake for the monkey. They had been in the habit of returning profuse thanks to the 'padre and madre^ who never tired of watching the scene from the win- dow ; and, insensibly, those soft-sounding 160 COURTLEROY. words had taken the place of the Joe and Lou which had been his first familiar appellatives of his benefactors. * It is not exactly father and mother/ pleaded Mrs. Prettyman, when her matter- of-fact husband declared that everything connected with the boy should be above- board, ^ and Mr. and Mrs., and sir and maara, are so uncommonly stiff.' ' That is true, Lou. Perhaps we may jump over our diflSculty in this way,' lauprhed Mr. Prettyman ; and many other people laughed subsequently at what they considered the affectation of the worthy citizens of London town and their Irish adopted son. ' And what does Miss Marmont say in her letter, George ?' asked Mrs. Prettyman. * You may read it, madre. It is full of good advice. She says I had better let Carew and all the rest of the bullies alone — but what does she know about it ?' George's eyes flashed as he handed a CORRESPONDENCE. 161 letter to Mrs. Prettjman, and her husband inquired what it all meant. ' A lot of fellows have taken to twit me because they have found out my history/ said George. ' I long to fight them all, and I know I could lick every one of them ; but I promised you never to fight anyone but the enemies of my country. If I am Irish, I suppose I shall have to fight the English.' A merry laugh accompanied this sally. * *You know what I meant, you young rascal/ replied Mr. Prettyman. ' But do you tell Miss Marmont everything ?' ' Almost. You see, she is my sister in the same way as you are my foster-parents. She has adopted me ever since she saw me first, and she knows me, not only because I write to her, but from all my photographs.' * How many have you had taken ?' ' One a year, is it not, madre ?' said George, with a mirthful glance at Mrs. Prettyman. VOL. I. M 162 COURTLEROY. ' I think so, dear. He changes so that I like to have him taken frequently, Joe, and I am sure you don't mind. Miss Marmont doesn't appear to know of Milly's wish that we should take Summerlands ; but then Milly is so close.' ' Yes. Mimi says she lives a life apart. She is not even allowed to go often to the vicarage. But, now she is grown up, she means to assert herself,' said George. ' She seems to tell you everything also/ remarked Mr! Prettyman, amused. ' She says she wishes to do me good,' replied George, with a merry twinkle in the bright eyes. ' If the boys knew, how they would laugh and tease me ! You will take Summerlands, padre ? But then I should be near Carew — at least, Mimica thinks I should. She wishes me to see her uncle, Mr. Le Roy.' Mr. Prettyman made inquiries, which resulted in some curious revelations con- cerning Mimica's correspondence with CORRESPONDENCE. 163 George. She had confided to him, as her only friend in London, that she wished to know something of her uncle, from whom she had never heard, and who yet ap- peared to have absolute power over her. She had written to him frequently with no result, and she thought if George could only see him, and tell her something about him, it might be a satisfaction to her. * Le Eoy's niece should have money in- dependently of him,' said Mr. Prettyman. * Colonel Marmont must have left some- thing, even if his wife did not. I fancy Le' E/Oy is a selfish, one-idea d man, who passes his time in ways peculiar to himself. But I have never come across him since he left the square. We will puzzle him out to- gether, George, and a deep problem he will be.' ' He sold everything when he gave up the house,' put in Mrs. Prettyman. ' But I got my share. Milly sent all Mrs. Le Hoy's old clothes to me, and I distri- m2 164 COURTLEKOY. buted thera. At any rate, the neighbour- ing poor were the better for her death, if no one else was.' * Did Tou give any to the ragged-school, madre ?' asked George. • They had their share ; but it is so long ago that I almost forget. Before you heard the fife and drum band, and ran away after it.' The trio laughed, for this incident was not without results, and was often discuss- ed in the back slums of the square : for that neighbourhood, like most of our fashionable localities, had its dens well within reach. It was doubtless to one of these that the woman escaped who brought George Hope to his present benefactors. The ragged-church and scliool near the square had inaugurated the military band to which Mrs. Prettyman alluded, and which had attracted George's attention some years before, when tootinoj and drum- ming passed the house. He had escaped COERESPONDENCE. 165 after the juvenile redcoats, and was re- captured with difficulty. But his memory was retentive, and Mrs. Pretty man had no rest until, on a certain festive occasion, she took him to the place where the band mustered and practised. As time went on, he accompanied her occasionally to the rago^ed-school at which she tauorht, and so it came about gradually that he also be- came a teacher. He needed no better in- centive to learn such lessons as were distasteful to him than the promise of a sight of the fife and drum band, or of books or sweets to be distributed amongst the poor children. Mrs. Pretty man would wonder whether his love for the redcoats and his natural inclination for the ragged pro- ceeded from early associations, and her hus- band would assure her that this was doubt- less the case, and that they could not do better for his welfare, temporal and spirit- ual, than foster it. Accordingly he was allowed to frequent ' rehearsals ' of the 166 COURTLEROY. musical performances of the fifers and drummers, and to become quite an habitue of the yard. Neither Sampson nor Ada altogether approved of it, though they, like their employers, were slaves of Master George. * He always gets his own way, do what one wdll,' they would say ; but not unkind- ly, for everybody loved the child. As to his pensioners, they were legion, and all his money, toys, and various presents were lavished on the children so much poorer than himself. As he grew to boyhood he would reflect that, probably, such as they were he would have been, but for a merci- ful Providence ; and it would seem that his mind's eye saw every privation of the poor as if by instinct. He remembered little of his early life, though he was con- stantly striving to recall it. A wild coun- try, soldiers, and the woman Biddy were the only prominent features of it, and these naturally faded as he grew older. CORRESPONDENCE. 16T At school the boys who bullied him occa- sionally, or twitted him with his uncertain birth, yet respected him, for he was bold and brave. Many of them loved him, the weak especially, whom he ever supported. One of these chanced to be the son of the Captain — now Major — and Mrs. Percy who brought Mimica to England. He was a shy, delicate boy, and George protected him. A son of Sir Joshua Carew happen- ed to be at their school, who took delight in tormenting Percy. In defending the one, George offended the other, and Bully Carew, as he was called, revenged himself by insulting George concerning his birth. Mimica, in her superior wisdom, was wont to give George good advice, and was especially interested in Carew and Persy, of whom she knew something ; and thus the correspondence between her and George assumed a personal character. Consequent on all this, a friendship had sprung up between the Prettymans and 16S COrRTLEEOT. Percys. The latter had been to India and back since thev brought Mimica to the square, and, during the Indian period, had left their only boy at school. He had spent most of his holidays with George, and thus the acquaintance between the families had begun. Major and Mrs. Percy were still much interested in Mimica, but onlv heard of her second-hand, throuorh Mrs. Prettvman and Georgre. Thev had exchanged formal visits with Mr. Le Boy, who seemed to know little or nothincr of his niece, and his manners repelled inquiry. ' I will ask Major Percy to take me to see Mr. Le Eoy, and then I can tell Mimi all about him,' exclaimed George, suddenly, after an interval of silence, during which he had been self-absorbed. * Happy thought ! I fancied the brown studv was to evolve somethinor oriorinal/ laughed Mr. Pretty man. ' They are coming to luncheon to-day with Bobby,' said Mrs. Prettvman. ' Dear COERESPO>T)EXCE. 169 Mrs. Percy is always asking about Mimica. If only you would take Summerlands, Joe, she and the Major and Bobby could come and pay us a visit. Isn't it a pretty name ? So sunshiny/ ' Like you, dear madre,' put in George, his arm round the good lady's neck. ' Soft sodder, Georgie !' cried the husband. * I wish they hadn't settled at Sydenham,' mused Mrs. Prettyman. ^ It is a long way to come, and they aren't rich. "We can drive them back, though. You will be home to luncheon, Joe ? 'I wiUtry.' ' The kiss of peace,' said George, as the trio rose from the breakfast-table, and his arm was transferred from benefactress to benefactor. This • kiss of peace ' had been an insti- tution as long as the boy could remember, and passed from husband and wife to him quite naturally. 170 COURTLEROY. The Percys duly came to luncheoD, and Mr. Prettyman returned homo to meet them. They were cheerful, pleasant people, and talk flowed easily. * I never come to the square without thinking of Mimica Marmont,' said Mrs. Percy. ' That was a strange home-coming for her.' 'And I behind the door all the time/ returned Mrs. Prettyman. ' I shall never forget the poor child.' *Nor 1 her uncle. He is the most in- comprehensible man I ever knew,' remarked Major Percy. ' He thinks it a duty to invite me to dinner, when I am in town, and makes a point of accepting our mild invitation to luncheon. I wonder he does ; for our moderate meal is a sop to Cerberus compared with his elaborate ceremonial. And as to his house !' * Will you take me to see him, Major Percy?' broke in George. ' I want to tell Mimica all about him, and to find out why CORRESPONDENCE. 171 he will not write to her, or give her any money, or let her come and see him.' ' You will have to be cautious in your inquiries, for my lord will not brook curi- osity/ laughed the major. * Still, if you wish it, I can bring you together. May he come and spend next Monday with Bobby, Mrs. Pretty man — for on that day we rather expect to see Mr. Le Roy, who has intimated his intention of honouring us, on his way to the Crystal Palace. He goes to all the oratorios there, is very musical, and affects the ancient music. His own music-room is a curiosity in itself. May George come, Mrs. Pretty man ? Will you bring him, and see the lion for your- self?' It was finally arranged thafc Mrs. Pretty- man and George should spend the day with the Percys, and so take the chance of meeting Mr. Le Eoy. 'He will not thank you for the intro- duction,' said Mr. Prettyman. ' He looks ] 72 COUllTLEROY. down upon us merchants, who have made our own fortunes, as parvenus ; and on one or two occasions, when chance brought us together, gave me to understand that we were quite of different races. But that is only the way of the world, unless one forces oneself into it by Babylonish feasts and all sorts of heathenish entertainments.' * You are a philosopher, Mr. Prettyman. It is not everyone who knows how to spend his money, when he has made it, a.nd to entertain hospitably without show,' said the major. * Padre entertains strangers such as me, as the Bible says,' exclaimed George, who was in the habit of joining in all the conversations. * I suppose you mean to add that I have thereby entertained " an angel unawares," you young rogue,' returned Mr. Prettyman. * I think you have, sir,' meekly put in Bobby ; * for he always helps us when we are in trouble.' CORKESPONDENCE. 173 ' I should like to be one,' said George, looking affectionately at his friend ; * but padre is only joking/ Mrs. Prettyman began to talk of the subject uppermost in her mind, which was, at the moment, Summerlands. It would bo so delightful to take the place for the autumn, and see Milly and Mimica. Then it might enable Major and Mrs. Percy to see them also, as they must come to Sum- merlands ; in short, there never had been, or could be, so charming a place. As was her wont, she painted the unseen with such bright hues that her guests imagined she knew the place well, and were much amused when their host assured them that she had never seen it. George was quite as imagina- tive as herself on the subject, and, before the party separated, they laughingly de- clared that Summerlands must be an El Dorado, and that it would be simply wast- ing an opportunity not to go in search of it. 174 CHAPTER X. THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. Me. Le Roy kept his appointment, and accordingly Mrs. Pretty man and George Hope Lad their desire. They met at luncheon at Major Percy's. Mr. Le Roy was too courteous to show surprise, but his formal bow and distant manner dis- played some of the pride with which Mr. Prettyman accredited him, when he was introduced to that gentleman's wife. It was, perhaps, scarcely pride, but a dislike to make new acquaintances — a dislike of his kind, in fact. A general desire to shun people is often set down to pride. THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 175 But Mr. Le Roy was an enigma to the world about him, if not to himself. Major Percy's abode was a small, snug, detached villa, and his dining-room was also small, but pleasant. Generally luncheon there was a gay, sociable meal, and Mrs. Prettyman and George especially enjoyed sharing it ; but Mr. Le Roy made it formal. It must be confessed that the scrutiny he underwent from his new acquaintances was enough to render him stiff, if he was conscious of it. George, particularly, scarce- ly took his eyes off him, being resolved to gratify Mimica's curiosity about her uncle. He was, even at that early age, a shrewd observer, but Mr. Le Roy baffled him. He had a handsome, pale, marked face, but it was characterised by a strange irritability and moroseness of expression, rarely re- lieved by a smile. His bearing was haughty, and at times speech seemed an effort to him. He was well known as a virtuoso, a man of taste, if not of feeling, an amateur 176 COURTLEROY. of tbe arts, if not a patron, a thing of humanity utterly self-absorbed. Mrs. Percy had found one vulnerable part in him, and that was his sister. It was for her sake he maintained a sort of intimacy with the Percys, although he chose to ignore her child. He had disliked Colonel Marmont, and would never speak of him or his affairs — indeed, he rarely conversed on any sub- jects save such as were artistic, and in no wise personal. Nothing could exceed the formality of that luncheon. Even Mrs. Prettyman, generally so innocently loquacious, had not a word to say ; and such talk as there was was carried on between the two gen- tlemen. ' George, you are eating no luncheon,' said Mrs. Percy, abruptly. ' What is the matter?' ' I — I — am not hungry,* ho replied. ' He has been feeding on my counten- ance. Pray what have you discovered T THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 177 said Mr. Le Roy, suddenly turning his grey eyes full upon George, who sat opposite him. * Nothing,' replied the boy, returning the gaze frankly, and producing the ghost of a smile on the Le Eoy mouth. * Then may I ask what you wished to discover ?' ^ I wanted to tell Mimica all about you, sir. I did not mean to be rude.' * Mimica ! What do you know of her ?* * We write to one another ; she is my adopted sister.' ' Indeed ! And what is your name ?' ' George Hope.' Here Mr. Le Eoy suddenly turned to- wards Mrs. Percy, away, it would seem, from those large, clear, truthful, inquisitive eyes that were so honestly fixed on his, and asked if she were going to the palace, adding that he had a spare ticket at her disposal. She was, however, engaged with Mrs. Pretty man, and declined it with VOL. I. N 178 COURTLEROY. many polite acknowledgments ; so did the major. ' Are you fond of music, George Hope ?' asked Mr. Le Roy, again returning the now furtive gaze of the boy. * I love military music best, sir, and next to that sacred,' replied George. 'Then the "Israel in Egypt" should please you. Will you come with me ?' re- turned Mr. Le Eoy. ' May I, madre ?' asked George, glanc- ing from him to Mrs. Prettyman, sunshiny radiance in his blue eyes. ' Certainly, if you can be back in time to get home for dinner. I am sure we are much obliged to Mr. Le Roy. George has been ionorino: to hear an oratorio ever since . . . well, ever since he was old enouorh to know what it meant.' ' And what does it mean ?' asked Le Roy. ' A religious drama set to music,' re- plied George, reflectively. ' Is it right to THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 179 set the Bible to music ?' he added, as if the idea struck him for the first time. ' Now, George, no metaphysics or theo- logy to-day,' laughed Major Percy, and Mr. Le Eoy attempted no reply to the oft-disputed question. Moreover, ifc was time to proceed to the festival ; for, although luncheon had been early on Mr. Le Roy's account, the mo- ments sped. He promised to bring George back, and the pair departed in his car- riage, in waiting for him at the door of the modest villa. George thought he might have been a duke at least, to judge from his powdered footmen and other appointments. It was soon apparent why Mr. Le Roy invited George to accompany him, for he began at once to question him concerning his acquaintance with Mimica. George told him everything, even to that first interview when she made him march round n2 180 COURTLEROY. the room, and finally helped hira to fight his mimic battle. ' And you have never seen her since ?^ asked Mr. Le Roy. ' No, sir ; but I know her quite well, because she has written to me so regu- larly. If padre will only take Summer- lands, I shall see her.' ' Whom do you mean by padre ?' The answer to this question was cut short by the arrival at the Crystal Palace, They were late, much to Mr. Le Roy's annoyance, whose frowning face betrayed the temper that lay beneath the polished exterior. George treasured it up for Mimica, as well as several muttered sen- tences to the effect that he had been a fool to accept Percy's invitation — he, who hated luncheon-parties and dull festivities. He had reserved seats in front of the orchestra ; so, once in their places, they had only to listen to the magnificent ora- torio they had come to hear. The ' Israel THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 181 in Egypt' certainly was to George's taste, and there was no more excited and breath- less auditor than he in that vast concourse of some eighty thousand people. Indeed, he grew giddy as he looked at the great orchestra, with its band of nearly five hundred instruments, and its chorus of hard upon three thousand singers. Truly sights and sounds to be remembered so long as memory lasts. Often had he fol- lowed on the map the wanderings of the children of Israel ; often had he imagined their condition in Egypt, the plagues sent by God on that country, and, above all, the power of His servant Moses, but never had he before realised what the hailstones, and the darkness, and the other plagues meant. The choruses electrified him, the solos stirred his young soul to its depths ; and such was his enthusiasm that he attracted the attention of those immediately sur- rounding him. But, fortunately, not of -V tSi^krl? *!X* BS tti'- I^3t I do iri:.; 184 COURTLEROY. planations durino; the interval between the parts/ he said, averting his face till the flush disappeared from that of the boy. ' She would like to know why you do not answer her letters,' was the frank reply. ' 1 should have thought Miss Heath would have told her that I hate both re- ceiving and answering letters, and would have recommended her not to write to me.' * She says Miss Heath is so reserved that she never tells her anything,' said George, confidentially. ' Milly Heath ! yes ; she is a wise woman ; she knows all and tells nothing,' returned Le E/Oy, the dark frown on his brow. ' I suppose Miss Marmont is fond of scrib- bling, since she writes so voluminously.' * Scribbling !' echoed George. ^ Her letters are beautiful. She gives such good advice, and describes the parish, and the vicar, and the Lestes, and the hop-pickers, and THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 185 the books she reads, and the neighbours, and . . .' ' What neighbours ?' interrupted Le Roy. * There are none but the inmates of the vicarage.' ^ Sir Joshua and Lady Helena Carew, and Mr. Carew. She need not describe Bully, because I know him better than she does.' ' And has Miss Heath allowed this ac- quaintanceship ?' There was that in the voice which enunciated this last question that fright- ened George. He saw the pale face of the questioner grow livid, and the tell-tale nostrils work, and the mouth set itself as if in a vice. He knew that in his desire to interest the uncle in his niece, he must have said more than he ought. He made an awkward attempt to explain that he believed Mimica and the Carews only met at the vicarage ; but there was no change in the iron countenance. 186 COURTLEROY. ' Are you in the habit of giving my niece good advice in return for hers ?' at last whispered or hissed the stately man. • If so, advise her to keep at Courtleroy. But I will see to that ; you are too young for a father confessor.' ' She is tired of Courtleroy,' replied George, boldly. ' She is grown up, and wants to come to London to see you. She means to be of use in the world, and would take care of you, sir, and be a Sister, or go to her father's friends, or ' ' Enough ! You are a bold advocate for your age, and not, like Miss Heath, reti- cent. You must study diplomacy before you take another brief. Stay where you are till I return. I see some friends yonder.' With these words, Mr. Le Roy rose, and left George to his meditations. He watched the tall, stately figure make its way to a group of men standing not far off, and then began to wonder at what could have THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 187 annoyed him. He was not, certainly, born a diplomatist, but, from what was known of him, a combative infant, developing into a lad, far too open-hearted and open- mouthed for the world that is. He and his adopted parents were of one mind, and he had not yet learnt secretiveness. ' I don't like him, and I wish I hadn't come/ was the uppermost thought in his mind, when the orchestra began to fill again, and Mr. Le Roy returned. He soon forgot him, Mimica, and the troubles of life, in Handel ; not so Mr. Le Loy, who watched him narrowly, and whose face wore the same set, contracted expres- sion. It relaxed a little, however, at the delight and enthusiasm of the boy ; and when the exultant duet, ' The Lord is a man of war/ resounded through the place, he almost smiled, as George rose in his excitement, and gazed on the singers. ' " A man of war/' that is what I mean to be,' he said, turning suddenly on 188 COURTLEROY. Mr. Le Roy, when the applause began. * Then you have no pity for Pharaoh and his host T returned Le Roy, cynically. * I never thought of that, sir/ he replied, as the chorus, * The depths have covered them, they sank into the bottom as a stone,' proceeded. The magnificent oratorio, with its grand caste of the finest singers and musicians in the world, was performed toits finale without flaw or blemish. George's vivid imagina- tion followed the Israelitish host; and still he wished to be a leader such as Moses, entrusted with the work of the Lord. His thoughts were visible on his intelligent face, and Mr. Le Roy sighed as he watched him. What would he not have given to be a boy again, and such a boy as George Hope! *Is it Moses or Handel?' ho asked, as the final chords of the last chorus sounded. ^ '' The servant of the Lord ; for He shall reign for ever and ever,'" returned the THE HANDEL FESTIVAL. 189 lad, again impulsively putting his hand on that of his companion, and using the words he had just heard. They made their way through the crowds as best they could to the carriage that awaited them. During the short drive, George thanked Mr. Le Eoy, with the words, 'I never enjoyed anything in my life, sir— except, perhaps, the fife and drum band.' * Truth at last !' exclaimed that gentle- man. * If you go to Summerlands, perhaps you will write to me ?' * But you hate letters, sir.' ' From girls and women — not from boys.' ' What shall I write about ?' * All you see — things — and people. My niece, Miss Heath, Courtleroy, the — the neighbours.' ' Perhaps it would not be right. Padre says I am too communicative. But I will write, if he will let me. May I give a 190 COURTLEROY. message for you to Mimica? Will you send her your love ?* * Love ! I have none to give. I never send my love.' The carriage drew up at Major Percy's gate, George got out, and Mr. Le Roy proceeded on his lonely way. 191 CHAPTER XI. SUMMERLANDS. Mastee Geoege had his way, as usual, and Mr. Prettyman took Summerlands for the autumn months, "with power to continue to rent it during the winter. They took it with its carriages, horses, servants, and all appertaining thereto which it pleased Lord and Lady Manville to leave behind them when they went abroad. Still the rent required was not exorbitant ; for the owners were so thankful to get it well off their hands for a time that there was no difficulty in coming to terms with their solicitors. The reception of the new tenants of o^ couKri-i Summerlands at ibe li::': : .'-^vsT-statkm :- :". 7 -^ ^ fifz: frozi :": : .. -£e:.:L and il:_ frzie six f . Thej were zie: by riTen bj a well- ~ere re'as belpingr in the school, or visiting the poor people ; but she had it in her soul to become an author, a Sister of Mercy, a medical woman, a female missionarj — any- thing, in short, which could emancipate her from the thraldom of dependence. This was the more galling, because she had no pocket-money. Miss Heath would have given her all her regularly-paid salary, but she was far too proud to accept it ; and, as vSearle paid all the bills, she had, literally, no money of her own. She intended to battle it out with him, since she began to understand that her uncle could not even have read any of the letters she wrote to him. Soon after her arrival at Courtleroy, she had prevailed on Miss Heath to appro- priate to their joint use the wing of the house in which the school-room was ; so that the principal rooms — the entrance-hall excepted — were still untenanted. Tbey lived, slept, and otherwise spent their time 2M corEr:izz:r in - ^ T : _ L ^ ^een her i-:.::-v. f S_f :-;-: s^if ^i: :rt of :,-: :: : f_ _ t : _ ' :z :::ag a i-^ - ling-rooms, the renaainder of _ 7 L : 7 - ; ~ Ad to them. Mimica had - T _ : .- 7 1 7 during the first n : _ : 5 : : L 7 ind Lad found m :- :: z reLeriL 7 7 : and curiosity, be:. : ; ::i:t -^1: : 1 ^_f . . 7~ : ; : ; ^::med tc '-zJ 5.:.. ; :. ':3gs, and ^'.'^r Lrrself up 2':: : : .:' ::7 ^:;.: .; '7, -'_:.i£S :: the ^.\' . . ::_./". :: ~_:_ more in trie right \j< ckev Leste is a handsome, nice boy, but 1 : : :o be compared with George,' re- s : ii: ^ r:n'^^ ?.fter she had got over that li- : - : ^ =0/ ' I do not wonder that t:ir 1 ': 'le Handel Festival. Lz.:. :..: / -_.-_:: ._:.:> "him.' 'TLi: - i~ -7:; .-:.:£::7 about us/ SU30CEELAVDS. 205 returned Miss Heath. ' We must be care- ful lest George should tell either too much or too little/ ' I am quite indinerent, Miss Heath, I shall ask him to give a full account of all he sees — our seclusion and penury ; for it is penury not to be allowed a sou to spend as one likes, and to be obliged to send the bill for a shilling picture-frame and penny reel of cotton equally to that horrid Searle. I wish I was Leila, going out as a Lady- Help, or even Laura, tormenting her own brain and Horace's over Greek and Latin, and sums. She is afraid she cannot ma- triculate, as she calls it, and is goiug in for the Post Office, or a situation as governess. S f ^ ised the Oxford exam- ination, thanks to Mr. Les:e. What an ignoramus I should have been, butior you, dear Miss Heath.' This Httle compliment called a flush of pleasure into MiUy's thin cheeks. Mimica^ in pondering over her own lot, too often 206 COURTLEROY. forgot bow intimately it was shared by Miss Heath ; and how little reward she had for her indefatigable labours in teaching her all she knew herself. And this was infinitely more than the outer world im- agined, for she was a thoroughly well- educated gentlewoman, and conscientious teacher. Mimica noticed the unusual flush, and, as she rose to ring the bell, laid her hand on Miss Heath's shoulder, and touched her forehead with her lips. ' If 1 am miserable, what must you be, who have had so many years of it?' she sighed. ' Neither of us is miserable, dear. We have all we actually want. Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content. I have known some well-born and educated who ' Here Miss Heath paused. 'Yes, dear. Tell me about it. One of your old pupils?' put in Mimica, excitedly; for Miss Heath often began a story and SUMMERLANDS. 207 stopped short just when the girl was panting to know the conclusion. ' I cannot, I must not/ she replied. ' I wish I knew George's history. That would be romantic,' said Mimica. 'Better unknown probably,' replied Miss Heath. Further conversation was interrupted by a ring at the hall-bell. 'An event!' cried Mimica, starting up, and running downstairs. * How wild she is !' sighed Miss Heath, following slowly. She found Mimica in the hall, shaking hands with a young man. It was Horace Leste, the vicar's eldest son, who apologised for calling so late. ' I am off to-morrow morning for my ship, and I could not go without wishing you good-bye,' he said, with all a sailor's easy zeal. ' And you won't see Georgie,' returned Mimica. 208 COURTLEROY. ' What do I care for Georgle ? It is you I want to see, Mimica — you, and Miss Heath. *' When shall we three meet again ?" * * But this is sudden, Mr. Horace,' said Miss Heath, seeing that Mimica's face changed, and the tell-tale nostrils quivered. * I got the telegram this morning, and this is my first leisure moment. We are ordered to the African coast, and I hope I shan't die of yellow fever before I meet you again. Give me something to do for you, Mimica/ * If you go to the Cape, will you try to find out my old friends the Beverleys, and tell them about me. He is an ostrich- farmer.' Horace laughed, and said he would do his best. * I suppose you will not slip a line into my sister's letter sometimes, Mimica ; just for auld lang sync ?' he added. ' She had better not, Mr. Horace,' said Miss Heath, decidedly. SUMMEELANDS 209 * But I can send you messages, Horace ; and I sball be sure to read all your letters. So we shall know about one another/ said Mimica, sadly, for she felt as an old friend towards the Lestes, parents and children. ^ I hate everything second-hand ; but I know We shall not forget one another. Good-bye, Miss Heath ; good-bye, Mimica.' A sailor's grasp of the small hand, and he was gone. VOL. I. 210 CHAPTER XII. INTEODUCTIONS. ^ We will have a whole holiday. You shall go your ways for once, and I will go mine/ said Mimica to Miss Heath, when George appeared at Courtleroy early the following morning. * Madre hopes you will go and see her, while Mimi and I make personal acquaint- ance/ added George, with a frank look into Miss Heath's illegible face. For once, Miss Heath returned the glance, and, meeting George's eyes, seemed irre- sistibly fascinated into a prolonged in- vestigation of them. Most people who saw them were thus fascinated. But a INTEODUCTIONS. 211 trouble stole over her face, and she quickly looked away. Mimica perceived this, and asked if she had discovered a likeness. ' Yes — no — perhaps — the brother I lost when a child,' stammered Miss Heath. George at once took her hand with that grace which sympathy imparts to the young for the sorrows of their elders. * Will you let Mimi and me be your sister and brother?' he asked, simply. ' We have only each other.' All the years that Mimica had known Miss Heath, she had never said to her such caressing words as those, and she looked at George astonished. * He takes in the sorrows of the world,' she thought, while Miss Heath bent over him and kissed his forehead. ^I will go to Summerlands and you can do as you will, Mimica,' she said, hastily, and left the room. Alone for once ! Unobserved by those cold eyes ! this was happiness to Mimica, p2 212 COURTLEROY. And to be with George, untrammelled by observation, and freed from a presence which irritated her, she knew not why, was unspeakable bliss. 'Let us make the most of it,' she ex- claimed. * Where shall we go first?' ' I should like to see the house, if I may ; then the grounds and all the people,' replied George. Mimica laughed as she said the house was poor compared with Summerlands, and the people few — still she wished to show him everything, on the chance of his arousing some interest in her uncle ; for she knew that, if he wrote to him, his natural, truthful and often remarkable words mio:ht awaken dormant feeling. Accordingly she led him first through the wing she and Miss Heath tenant- ed, telling him how she had found everywhere traces of her mother. She showed him one particular cupboard in which she had even found her dolls and INTRODUCTIONS. 213 playthiDgs, treasured there still with fiHal affection. She occupied her mother's bed- room, and Miss Heath the apartment that had been appropriated to her when that mother's governess ; in short, the girl was wholly surrounded with memories of the past. ^It was melancholy at first,' she said, ' poking out all these dead relics ; but it is tolerably cheerful now. This corridor was left to the last when my uncle was preparing for his bride, and was to have been re-furnished during their wedding- tour, but fortunately for us it was not begun when the marriage was so strangely interrupted. The housekeeper was very fond of dear mamma, and kept it tidy, while the rest of the house was neglected : so that even her nursery remains. Here it is. I come and sit here sometimes, and used to call it my drawing-room. I fancy my uncle must have had a sort of tender- ness for this wing, which makes me try to 214 COURTLEROY. think better of bim. Poor grandmamma, too, must have left it untouched. I often think how bright and cheerful it must have been when poor mamma was a child with nurses, and playthings, and all she wished for, round about her.' ' Dear Mimi,' said George, pressing Mimica's hand between both his, and sur- veying the faded carpet and chintz, and the old-fashioned child-pictures that cov- ered the walls, with sympathetic eyes. * We can scarcely screw money enough out of Searle to keep these rooms proper- ly warmed,' said Mimica, indignantly. ' It seems incredible that one disappointment should make a man neglect his property like this. I should be too proud.' ^ It seems like fighting against God,' said George. ' You are too wise for your years, Georgie. Come along,' cried Mimica, hurrying down the passage which led from their wing into the principal landing. INTRODUCTIONS. 215 She marshalled him through chambers innumerable, all of which were cold, damp, and cheerless. The furniture of each was handsome, but faded. * I have been reading about old china lately/ she said, holding up a large jug, * and here is a set that would yield a fabu- lous price. The house is full of it. If I had not a conscience, I should try to sell it for pocket-money.' They went downstairs, and through the principal rooms. They were only in worse condition than when Mimica first saw them. The dining-room looked especially dreary, but Mimica pointed out likenesses of her mother and uncle which interested George. He said Mr. Le Eoy's portrait was excellent, and again remarked on its likeness to Mimica. * Never say that again, if you love me, George,' she said. But there was no gainsaying it. In the cheerful hall at last, where 216 COURTLEROY. Mimica and Miss Heath received the few visitors who came to see them. The Lestes usually mounted to the school- room, but they were so much occupied that they had never much time to spare. Then out into the shrubberies and gardens. ' This was mamma's garden, and I keep it in order/ said Mimica, pausing before a bright spot full of autumn flowers, and surrounded by shrubs and trees. ' It is the only bit of real flower-garden we have. I shall miss Horace Leste again ; for, when he is at home, he brings me cuttings, and helps me to dig and delve. Sir Joshua Carew got him his naval appointment.' A shade passed over the young face. ' You like him best ?' asked George, perceiving it. * Next to you, I think. Bat I love all the Lestes. Come and see them.' They were away from the garden in a moment, through a high shrubbery of INTRODUCTIONS. 217 laurustinus and arbutus, into a clump of firs, then out upon the drive. Mimica walked as if she had not a moment to lose, saying they had so much to do and see that they should not go through it if they did not make haste. The lodge was now the prettiest house on the property, for the gardener had removed to it from his dwelling, fast falling to decay, and kept it in order. Mimica nodded to his wife as she passed through the gates, and they were soon at the vicarage. It was no longer Leila who came to the door, but Helena, who had taken her place as parlour-maid. Her arms were round Mimica's neck in a moment, and it was some time before she realised that her other visitor was the re- doubtable George Hope. She was about his age, and felt quite flustered at the in- troduction. She was the beauty of the family, and had bright black eyes and long 218 COUKTLEROY. black hair, whicli George thought resem- bled a picture of a gipsy that he had seen iu the Academy. ^Mimica has brought George Hope to see us,' was, however, soon shouted through the house, and all its then inmates were shortly assembled to see the hero of whom they had heard so much. George was overwhelmed ; he was not shy, but when he suddenly found himself face to face with so many strangers, who still were not strangers, for he knew them all from Mimica's descriptions, he felt somewhat disturbed. Mrs. Leste's loving, motherly welcome soon reassured him, and he became, as usual, equal to the occasion. ' You have come to console us for Horace's loss,' she said, looking from Mimica to George, with tearful eyes. ' I am so glad he saw you, dear Mimica.' * Yes — we shall miss him sadly/ replied the girl, with a quiver of the tell-tale nostril. INTRODUCTIONS. 219 * Are you the little boy that was found in — in — a big hall ?' lisped the youngest Leste, named Baby when Mimica first saw her, and now rejoicing in her Christian name of Bertha. * Yes, I was shoved into Mr. Prettj- man's hall . . .' began George, with the customary resolve and heightened colour. But Bold Barbra came down upon the inquirer with a ' For shame, Bertha ; you are old enough to know better/ aad caused the abashed child to withdraw in confusion. *I don't mind/ said George, following the little girl, who was some three or four years younger than himself, and laying his hand protectingly on her shoulder. They were in the vicarage dining-room, or, more properly, common sitting-room ; the school-room was still upstairs. The house wore the same cheerful aspect as when Mimica was first welcomed by its numerous inmates ] but they were changed. Mrs. Leste looked older and more care- 220 COURTLEROY. woru, though sweet and gentle as ever ; Barbara had grown from the girl into the woman, and was, perhaps, handsomer than in her girlhood ; Laura had studied and taught until she was beginning to show lines between her eyebrows, which near- sight probably helped to form ; and the youngers were growing up quickly into the places their elders had filled, it seemed to the parents, but the other day. Prefer- ment was slow to come, but always hoped for, and meanwhile Mr. Leste went happily on his way, a blessing to his parish, and himself blest in a cheerful, healthy family, who were striving, one by one, to aid their parents as best they might. But for their example and companionship, Mimica would have been morbid and desolate indeed. Still her first friend, George, was best beloved. But she saw little of the elder boys. Horace, as we have seen, was a sailor, and owed his appointment in the navy to Sir Joshua Carew ; Dick, the second, was INTRODUCTIONS. 221 clever, and bad won a scholarship which, with other means, supported him at Ox- ford ; while Octavius was fortunate enough to have succeeded Horace at the Charter House ; again thanks to the indefatigable Barbara, aided by their kind-hearted neigh- bour. Sir Joshua Carew. All who were at home were introduced to George, whose first impressions were highly favourable ; and he could no more help judging by impressions and the countenances of the people he saw, than he could help his gifts of clear-sighted perception, and natural truthfulness. He was soon engaged in initiating the younger branches into some of the military arts ever in his mind, and had speedily settled what to do with certain models of forts and toy-machines which were unnecessary to him. Moreover, he had promised to show them how to dig a trench and throw up earthworks, and perform other warlike feats astounding to them. Martin, the 222 COURTLEROY. youngest boy, had also soldierly proclivities, and felt that he had, at last, found a hero. * Is Leila happy, Barbra?' Mi mica in- quired, when she saw that George was thus occupied. ' She would make herself happy any- where, and she has twenty pounds a year : the first money any of us girls have earn- ed,' replied Barbara. * But it would have been better had she gone amongst strangers. Lady Helena is kind but exacting ; and it is hard to eat humble-pie amongst those whom you have known all your life.' ' I am sure the lieutenant will be kind to her,' suggested Mimica. ' He is at home now, on leave.' *Yes, of course,' replied Barbara, a flush rising through her clear cheeks up to the broad, sensible brow. Mimica always wondered why Barbara would never speak openly of Mr. Carew to her. On other subjects she was wont to talk freely, though Mimica seemed to INTRODUCTIONS. 223 lier still but a cotemporary of her younger sisters, and scarcely a personal friend. Barbara was older than her years, and in common sense and capabilities of work and organization, might have been her mother's senior. As it was, she was her father's right hand in the parish and the house, and his Bold Barbra was truly like himself, a blessing wherever she appeared. ' I wish I could be spared to go forth as a money-maker,' she said to Mimica. * But father and mother won't let me.' ' What could they do without you ?' was the rejoinder. Much was said during the brief visit concerning an interchange of courtesies between the vicarage and Summerlands ; and, after due consultations with Mimica, it was settled that Mr. and Mrs. Leste, and, perhaps, Barbara, should call the following day. ' We have so much to do ; we have not 224 COURTLEROY. a moment to lose,' said Mimica, at which all her friends laughed, and declared they had never seen her so excited before. ' It is all George/ she added, laughing herself. ' J feel quite maternal, only he is really older than I am/ When they left the vicarage, Mimica took George to see the poor people. She hurried him from house to house, through the picturesque village, and it was soon apparent that she was a favourite, in spite of her slender purse. George was much admired, and looked upon as the son of the rich tenants of Summerlands. He forced all the money he had in his pockets into Mimica's hand, to give to a sick boy, and thus made her his almoner. Id the village they met Mr. Leste, and subsequently Mr. Carew and his brother, Bully Carew, as George called him. Mr. Leste welcomed George heartily to Courtleroy, but not so the junior Carew. He scowled ominously when he saw his INTRODUCTIONS. 225 school-fellow, and doubtless tbouglit of various passages-at-arms, in which George had always been victorious. But victors can afford to be generous, and George said, magnanimously, ' It seems odd to meet here, Carew ; but I daresay you know that my foster-parents have taken Summerlands, and I daresay I shall see you during the holidays/ 'No; we don't know anything about Summerlands, now that Lord and Lady Manville are not there/ returned the other, haughtily. Meanwhile, Mr. Carew was talking to Mimica and Mr. Leste. He, like his father, Sir Joshua, was a general favourite, while his younger brother, who resembled Lady Helena, was equally disliked. His man- ners towards Mimica were restrained, she thought; and she knew that her uncle's late prohibition of all intercourse between them made her feel uncomfortable. More than this, it caused her to hurry away VOL. I. Q 226 COUKTLEBOT. instead of linsjering. as usual, to speak to one whom she liked but seldom met. * Miss Marmont is quite changed of late,' said Mr. Carew to Mr. Leste, when Mimica disappeared. 'She is a stran ore girl.' He spoke with some irritation ; then added, hastilv, ' Who is that handsome bov she has with her ? I never saw such a face.' *It is George Hope — the Foundling!' cried his brother Herbert. "He is the greatest bully in our school.' • I hear he is brave as a lion, and chival- rous as all Christians should be,' said Mr. Leste. looking hard at the real bully, who slunk behind his brother. Mr. Carew was on his way to the vicar- age, whither the trio proceeded together. He had entered the army soon after our introduction to him, but when at home, was as intimate as ever with the Lestes, and more attentive to Barbara than Lady Helena liked. 227 CHAPTER XIIL SEAPwLE THE BAILIFF. Me. Seakle, the bailiff, or, as he wished to be called, steward of Courtleroy, was an important personage in that locality. He was what is termed a rising man. He had, in fact, risen from the house in the park formerly occupied by men filling his situa- tion to one outside the village of some pretension and magnitude. He was ori- ginally lawyer's clerk in the firm of Messrs. Unit and Co., solicitors employed by Mr. Le Roy, and having, on more occa- sions than one, made himself useful to that gentleman, was offered the post of bailiff on the Courtleroy property. The q2 228 COURTLEROY. emolument being superior to what be received as clerk, be accepted tbe offer. Tbis was some little time before Mr. Le Roy's engagement to tbe Lady Margaret, Lady Helena Carew's sister, and wben Mr. Le Roy overlooked bis own property. As related in a previous cbapter, wben Mr. Le Roy was so cruelly treated by Lady ^Margaret on tbe very day fixed for tbe wedding, be turned bis back on Court- leroy, and bad never been near it since. Hence it was tbat all bis business, private and public, was transacted tbrougb Searle, in wbom be bad perfect confidence — or, to speak more accurately, tbrougb Searle and bis former employers, Messrs. Unit and Co., solicitors, resident at tbe count}' town of Prestbury, distant from Courtle- roy about ten miles. Searle was a far-off relative of tbe Units, and Mr. Lo Roy trusted tbem all implicitly. Large as was tbe estate, botb landed and funded, tbey bad to manage, tbey were known to com- SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 229 plain occasionally of the demands made upon it, both in town and country ; but, so long as Mr. Le Roy received the money he required, he made no inquiries. Mr. Searle had built his own house on a piece of land belonging to Courtleroy, for which he paid ground-rent. It was not generally known how he had prevailed on Mr. Le Eoy to grant it to him for an indefinite term of years, but it was patent to rich and poor that it belonged to him, and that he had named it Court House. It will be easily understood that, being a sort of middleman between landlord and tenant, master and servant, he was not popular ; an angel would scarcely have been popular under similar circumstances. Nevertheless, he commanded an immense amount of outward respect; and, to see Mr. Searle and his family on Sundays and all village festivities, you w^ould have thought him squire, his wife squiress, and daughters squireenes. 230 COURTLEROY. It was to Court House that Mimica led George when they left the village. Al- though it was outside the actual park, it was still in the confines of the estate^ which joined Sir Joshua Carew's property further on. The house was built in the modern Elizabethan style, of red brick and stuccoed decorations, and looked out of place in the parish of Courtleroy, where farm-houses and cottages were of the old-fashioned plaister and wood-work, so picturesque and homelike to sketcher or inhabitant Mt is like a villa near London,' said George, as he and Mimica stopped before a green gate leading into a flower-garden laid out in modern fashion. * It is fifty times as comfortable as Courtleroy/ returned Mimica, irritably. They walked up a broad, gravelled path, and Mimica knocked at the door, declaring that she felt more afraid of that knocker than she would have been had it belonged SEAKLE THE BAILIFF. 231 to a palace. The door was answered by a serving-maid with smart ribbons in her cap, and, Mr. Searle happening to be within, they were shown into what was called the drawing-room by his wife and daughters. Here was a piano, books, a table covered with innumerable photo- graphic albums, and poked into a corner according to modern device ; other tables laden with ornaments; chairs, easy and uneasy, hidden by antimacassars of every variety of shade and pattern ; walls cov- ered with pictures that would not have charmed Mr. Prettyman, and whole sets of china suspended or on brackets — in short, most of the appliances of the modern show-room. *The Miss Searles have been at a boarding-school. They are much more accomplished than the Lestes,' said Mimica. ' I have met them at penny-readings, but Miss Heath won't let me go to the vicar- age when they are there to tea, so we 232 COURTLEROY. are not acquainted, I am thankful to say.' * Perhaps you would like them if you knew them/ rejoined George, looking about him. When Mr. Searle came in, Mimica rose and bowed stiffly with a ' Good-morning, Mr. Searle.' He bowed also, and stood before her. George thought it funny that she should bid him be seated in his own house, and won- dered what could have changed his friend so suddenly from a natural girl into a proud woman. He was, however, not so much surprised when he examined Mr. Searle, and heard the conversation between him and Mimica. He took him in at a glance, as far as the outward man went, but could not read his nature either from eyes or expression. He was a fine, portly-looking man, with a large head and broad, short face. He had a slightly turned-up nose and immense ears, but his mouth and eyes were expressive, albeit he never looked anyone in the face. His voice and manner SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 233 were singularly supercilious, but his bear- ing was that of a gentleman, and his lan- guage free from provincialisms or bad grammar. He had been, indeed, tolerably well-educated, and, but for lack of means, would have been a lawyer. * I came to inquire if you have heard from my uncle, Mr. Searle,' began Mimica. * I am particularly anxious to get the address of some member of my father's family.' ^ Mr. Le Roy does not know their address, Miss Marmont.' * Then I shall advertise. And about that bill, Mr. Searle. Mrs. Stone says she cannot possibly use less coal or provisions than she does ; indeed, the house is tum- bling to pieces, and for myself, I will never ask for a penny again, if I go in rags.' Searle's low forehead was contracted almost into the nose, but his manner did not change. 'I will speak to Mrs. Stone on her 234 COUKTLEROY. business, Miss Marmont, and to Mr. Le Eoy on yours. Everything passes through his hands, and I am only his agent.' 'Miss Heath has not yet received her salary, and the gardener and coachman have made complaints about their wages lately. I promised to speak to you, Mr. Searle, since my uncle takes no notice of my letters/ *Mr. Le Roy has required more money than usual of. late, madam, and this has delayed home payments. Besides, the times are hard, and the tenants are almost all in arrears. I have a difficult task to keep up two establishments without dis- pleasing their master.' Searle laid a slight stress on the word master which annoyed Mimica. ' What do you mean by establishments, Mr. Searle i Courtleroy can scarcely be called one. But would you mind telling my uncle that, now I am grown up, I mean to inquire at the War-office about the SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 235 pension I am told I ought to receive up to a certain age, as the orphan of an officer killed in battle.' Mimica's voice trembled, and Searle's grew sharp. ' Would you allow me to make the appli- cation for you, Miss Marmont ?' he asked, as if off his guard. ^ I should be much obliged to you, Mr. Searle, since you would do it better than I should. But I have no money to pay, if any is required.' 'None would be needed, Miss Mar- mont.' George felt a strange wish that Mimica had chosen to write herself. *A11 the tenants and the poor people ask me to write to my uncle,' she continu- ed. * But you know that would be useless. They say they cannot pay such high rent, and that repairs are needed everywhere. It is not that they complain of you, but of the absenteeism of my uncle. I wish he 23 G COURTLEROY. would come down and speak to them himself.' *I wish he would, Miss Marmout. It is hard upon me who have to bear the blame as well as to do the work and raise the money. Is this young gentleman trust- worthy ?' Searle said the concluding sentence aside, while George, seated at a distance, was looking out of the window, feeling conscious that he was an interloper. ' Perfectly. He is my particular friend,' replied Mimica. * There is padre !' exclaimed George. * May I run out and stop him ?' Searle, glad to put an end to the inter- view, rose and let George out of the front door, who ran quickly to the gate by which Mr. Prettyman was passing, and arrested him. They remained there while Mimica concluded her complaints. She found that she could not pour them out as readily when alone with Searle as when George SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 237 was present. Still, she would not lose her opportunity, or let her courage flag. She had a strong will, and had been so cowed by circumstances that strength and weak- ness were continually opposing each other. Miss Heath would never speak to Searle. Had her salary ceased altogether, she would not have applied to him for it; and, as to Mrs. Stone, she had, as she expressed it, ' browbeat him till she was tired, and got only insolence for her pains.' 'Not that Searle was ever really insolent, only overbearing to those in his power. To Mimica he was ever perfectly behaved, and she had no fault to find with him, person- ally, only on her uncle's account. Whether he attended to her petitions to that relative or not, she could never discover, though she occasionally fancied that matters were seen to of which she had spoken to him. She had long ceased to write to Mr. Le Roy, so no concessions could be made through her letters. 238 COURTLEROY. Certainly her penetrating glance should have sufficed to influence any man, to say nothing of her occasionally scornful, and always distant manner. She fixed her deep grey eyes upon Searle's broad face all the time she was speaking to him ; an inqui- sition he felt but never reciprocated. She wound up something in the following strain : *You see, Mr. Searle, although I am much obliged to my uncle for what he has done for • me, I wish to be independent. You may tell him so, and that I mean to support myself. I can no longer endure the life I have been leading.' ' I will write exactly what you say, Miss Marmont.' Searle had been standing near the door since he returned to the room, and as she rose he held it open for her, and then fol- lowed her to the entrance gate, with a view to opening that also. Here were Mr. Prettyman and George. The two men SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 239 lifted their hats, and Mr. Prettyman ad- dressed the bailiff. ' You have a nice place here — the first habitable box I have seen. Summerlands looks neglected, and as to Courtleroy, it must be a warren, overrun with rabbits and rats. 1 suppose Mr. Le Roy won't have me up as a poacher if I make a mis- take and shoot a bird on his property. Lord Manville's keeper says the estates join. Although I am a cockney, I am a fair shot. He tells me that Mr. Le Roy sells his game.' * Yes, sir, but I am sure he would not mind your bagging a partridge or so/ re- plied Searle, with a smile. Mr. Prettyman was on an exploring expedition. When unoccupied, he was never happy without George, and had fol- lowed in his wake, making many acquaint- ances on the way. He said that Miss Heath had consented to stay at Summer- lands to dinner, and that Mimica was ex- tnf: - i t:i. Miss ii- : — iz _7 I _I lam SEASLS THE BAILHT. 24:1 seTeral heads at; the school-room window, Barbara's amongst them. She kissed her band. Her companion glanced up also^ and Barbara disappeared. Fe :' -led again. He was a gallant o£ic t :^i to have all the jonng ladies a: _ 'Which of us friglzteTied 3:1 3^ ::a awav ^ asVed Mimic 3. . Eu: :Lr lieutenai: -:i},'..i 1: rep-j. He t : i^rl, L:- : : , jl bj Mimica's side as far £.5 :-r :t L: ige, Mr. Leste nving Mr. Fr^tjman, and George L .: Z : r : : walking side by side. I ^ irw/ b^^n Geoige, *let us firi 15 Iil^ is such a happy place in: I want to be friends with all the world.' ' Tiien —hj do you take Perq^'s part ^^y.iiz me? asked Herbert Garew. *! 1 r 22, and I daresay you'd do it again.^ ' I am sure I should, because he is weak and you are strong. He is coming to Summerlands soon.' TOL.1. It 242 COURTLEKOY. ' Summerlands ! What business have any of you there ? Mr. Prettyman isn't a gentleman.' ^ You had better not say that again.' The eyes flashed, the fists doubled, and Georgie was the Irish arab once more. But he governed himself, turned from the boy contemptuously, went to Mr. Pretty- man's side, and took his arm. Doing so, he looked back at Mimica. ^ She is red instead of pale. What has Carew's brother been saying to her?' he thought. What indeed ? Mimica did not under- stand, although her face flushed ; but she made out so far as to perceive that he was anxious to reconcile the houses of Le Roy and Carew. He did not see why they should be at variance, since his parents had not participated in the rupture at the proposed wedding. * Surely your uncle and my aunt, the SEAELE THE BAILIFF. 243 one dead and the other as good as dead, need not come between you and me, Miss Marmont,' he said. * "We have not seen much of one another, but I think our respective reputations are patent to each of us. Yours, at least is first-rate.' * I am glad to hear it, but it does not yet reach that of Barbara Leste,' replied Mimica, either innocently or designedly, she knew not which herself. Their eyes met, and his fell, while the colour seen by George flushed her pale cheek. They reached the lodge. Mr. Prettyman turned to ask Herbert to come and see George, adding that he hoped, also, to make Mr. Carew's acquaintance; who replied that he should do himself the pleasure of calling at Summerlands. Mr. Prettyman's hospitable nature always ex- panded in the country, and what with the fine air of that autumnal day, the cheery presence of Mr. Leste, and the conscious- r2 244 COURTLEROY. ness of a big, half-inhabited house, he lonored to invite the whole neio:hbourhood, both rich and poor. 'I am so glad you asked that bully, padre/ said George, when they had passed through the lodge gates, and left their companions on the other side. ^ I am longing to fight him.' ^TThy, my born pugilist?' 'Because he said you were not a gen- tleman.' ' But his opinion does not hinder my being one, or make me a scoundrel. You don't think him a gentleman.' Mimica interrupted this discourse by referring to her late interview with Searle, and George, with his customary truthful- ness, said he was sorry to have been there. She inquired why. 'Because you were not my Mimi, but a grand young lady. You were as erect as Miss Heath, and so like Mr. Le Roy. You are quite different now, so let us go SEARLE THE BAILITF. 245 and see the coachman and the pony.' *You are turning the tables, Master George. It is you who are mentor, not Miss Marmonfc,' said Mr. Prettyman. ^I hope he will say exactly what he thinks,' rejoined Mimica, with stately air. It was now the lad's turn to grow red ; but the little cloud soon passed off, and Mimica hurried them over the grass-grown, acorn-strewn drive towards the back en- trance of Courtleroy. A bell rang out, and she laughed. ' That is mv clock,' she said. ' It rinses at seven to summon the workmen and arouse the establishment ; at eight for the servants' breakfast -, at nine for family prayers, and the Le Eoj meal ; twelve for the workmen's dinner ; at two luncheon ; five, servants' something; half-past six, dressing ; seven, dinner. You look sur- prised, but this goes on just as if there were a housefull of people, and Mrs. Stone declares solemnly it is in memory of grand- 24.6 COURTLEROY. mamma. She was very nervous, and when she lived here alone she used to have a pistol fired off from one of the windows every night at nine o'clock to frighten off the robbers.' Mr. Prettyman's hearty laugh resound- ed as they entered the deserted stable- yard, and saw old Grant grooming the old pony. ' He is always rubbing him down,' said Mimica, as the pony trotted up to her for the bread or apple she invariably carried in her pocket for him. It was pretty to see the mutual caresses that followed, and to hear her say, ' I could not have lived but for poor old Shock and Grant/ and to watch the old coachman hobble towards her. * I be very rheumatic, sir,' he apologised to Mr. Prettyman. *But Miss Marmont always cheers us up. She is the very double of her mamma, who had Shock i SEARLE THE BAILIFF. 247 when he was but a colt. I've been coach- man here going for forty year/ * And he can drive just as well as ever ; only I drive him now,' cried Mimica. ' Put on his harness, and I will drive you all to Summerlands.' No sooner said than done. In a short space Mr. Prettyman was seated in front of the antiquated pony-carriage, the coach- man and George behind, and Mimica, reins in hand, and minus a whip, was en route for the great house. 248 CHAPTER XIV. HEB PENSION. All the neighbours called at Summerlands in due course of time, Sir Joshua and Lady Helena Carew and their sons inclusive. Lady Helena's present object in life being to bring her eldest son and ^limica to- gether, she set aside her dislike to tenants at will, parvenus, and people of doubtful antecedents, in order to effect this purpose on what she imagined neutral ground. That Mimica would be Mr. Le Roy's heiress nobody doubted, and had he not a magnificent property adjoining the Carew estates, and otherwise most advan- tageous to an aspirant for monetary. HER PEXSIOX. 249 county, and political fame, such as she hoped her son was ? ' Providence favours me/ she thouocht to herself when, on entering the Summerlands dra^ving-room, she found Miss Heath and Mimica there. Sir Joshua and Mr. Carew were with her, therefore all was as it should be. Sir Joshua was the most genial of men ; very fussy, very argumentative, somewhat stout and short of breath, very rubicund and jocose, reckoned a hon vivant, and exceedingly popular. He and Mr. Pretty- man were drawn together, though he was a staunch Conservative, and Mr. Pretty- man a Liberal ; not so their wives. Lady Helena was much too grand and aristo- cratic for Mrs. Prettyman, while that lady was far too simple and loquacious for her ladyship. However, they could not clash- much at a morning call, particularly as Miss Heath was present to help her friend in case of emergency. 250 COURTLEROY. Mrs. Prettjman had previously said to her, * My dear Milly, what is one to say when a real lady of title addresses one ? Sup- pose Lady Helena should call — I am sure I hope she won't — am I to say '' your lady- ship '' every time I speak to her ? If so, I shall be sure to forget. I have been in company with ladies of title, but never come in contact with them, as I must if she should come to Summerlands.' * Oh ! speak to her as you would to me, Louisa, and don't say " your ladyship " at all, then you will be natural,' Miss Heath bad replied, with more openness than usual. Still she looked with some anxiety on the greeting, as Mrs. Prettyman, meeting the dignified Lady Helena, made a sort of hesitating curtsey. The contrast was per- fect between the comely, plump, fair, uncapped, ringleted, and gaily-dressed merchant's wife, and the tall, thin, stately, HER PENSION. 251 dark-clothed daughter of an Irish earl, and wife of an English baronet. But Lady Helena was indifferent so long as she saw her son making himself unusually agreeable to Mimica. She was, however, annoyed, as was often the case, with Sir Joshua ; for he interrupted the teie-d-teie of the young people. ' Glad to see you within the walls of a private house, Miss Marmont,' he said, fussing up to Mimica. ' Met you often at church, and hope you haven't been too much flattered by my gaze ; but you're so like your uncle. How is your uncle ? Never been into the country since that — Oh ! I forgot : her ladyship is looking at me. " Oh ! no, we never mention her." But how is your uncle?' ' I believe he is very well. Georgie saw him not long before he left London,' re- plied Mimica, looking inquisitively at the questioner. He was a new study to her, who bad seen so few people. 252 COURTLEROY. * And who is Georgie ?' he asked. ' I should like to see auybodj who has seen Le Roy withia the last dozen years/ * I have, sir/ here put in George, who was listening and watching. ' I went to the Handel Festival with him.' Sir Joshua looked at Georofe rather contemptuously for so kindly a man ; but, meeting his honest eyes, said he had heard of him from his son Herbert, who was, he believed, his schoolfellow. He had, indeed, heard a very disadvantageous report of him. Lady Helena also cast a side glance at him, not unperceived by Mrs. Pretty- man, who was shrewd enough to imagine that her ladyship would take the maternal side. * K protege of yours, I understand ?' said Lady Helena. * An adopted son : the dearest, and clever- est, and most tractable boy in the world,' cried Mrs. Pretty man, enthusiastically. 'Indeed !' interjected Lady Helena. HER PENSION. 253 ' Sir Joshua looks well,' volunteered Miss Heath, conscious of the dangerous ground near at hand. ' He is always well, Millj. Just what he was years ago. Your Mimica is singu- larly handsome, with that clear profile, pale face, and dark hair. The Le Eoy eyes and nostrils. Is she amiable ? He was not, but her mother was.' Miss Heath was too wise to speak to Mimica s amiability; indeed, she could not make up her mind on that head, so she replied that she was clever, but lacked the advantages of masters. *"What a blessing,' interrupted Sir Joshua, who had a way of interrupting everybody, and mixing in all that was going on. ' No masters ! No pianos, vio- lins, violoncellos, flutes, sackbuts, psal- teries, dulcimers, and no kinds of music ! No vocal screaming to bring the house about your ears ! Miss Marmont, let us shake hands.' 254 COURTLEROY. To Mimica's amusement he held out his hand and shook hers heartily. She fell in love with him then and there. So did George, who was standing close by. ' Will you shake hands with me too, sir, and tell Herbert we are all friends?' he said. * To be sure I will, my boy/ returned Sir Joshua, looking at the frank, beautiful face upturned to his. 'Are you taking leave. Sir Joshua?' asked Lady Helena, half-rising. * Only making believe, my lady,' he an- swered ; and Mrs. Prettyman began to think that, in spite of Milly Heath, it luas proper to say my lady,' and ' your lady- ship.' Meanwhile Mr. Carew kept near Mimica. He entertained her with descriptions of life, military and fashionable, and made himself vastly agreeable. He was good- looking, had charming manners, and was as yet the only young man of position — so HER PENSION. 255 to call it — Mimica liad met. They had seen one another at church whenever he was in the country, had been occasionally thrown together at the vicarage, and had even walked tos^ether for a few min- utes, during some chance encounter. Mi- mica was singularly unconscious, straight- forward, and natural in manner, and, strange to say, not shy. Her intercourse with the Lestes had cured her of some of her natural imperiousness, and she was learning gradually that she could not rule the world. Still, her manner was sometimes authoritative and occasionally brusque. ' She could not have learnt it from me,' poor Miss Heath would mutter, when Mimica volunteered an opinion which she considered too decided for her age. * Can you never pay us a visit ? I often see you driving past Monkton ?' said Mr. Carew. 'Never, until I have emancipated my- 256 COURTLEROY. self,' replied Mimica. ' But then, I must go elsewhere. How is Leila ? What has she to do ? How does she get on ?' * Too independent, I fear,' half whisper- ed Mr. Carew, glancing at his mother. ^ I am very sorry for her.' *It is excellent to earn one's own living. I envy her,' returned Mimica. ^ Laura has just made up her mind to become a schoolmistress, because she hears female clerkships are so hard to get. There are hundreds of candidates at all the examin- ations, and Mr. Leste says he would rather she were in the board school than in London. ' Board school !' echoed Mr. Carew, in a horrified voice. * What next ? A clergy- man of good family, clever, with a well- connected wife and superior children, to make his daughters schoolmistresses, and lady-helps, and ' ' But they can't starve, Mr. Carew. I wish I were a bishop or an archbishop^ HER PENSION. 257 and Mr. Leste should have the best livino- in England. What is the use of a bishop, if the very best clergyman in the diocese is left with a curacy and less than two hundred a year, house included ? I say it is a shame/ *What is a shame, Miss Marmont?' asked Sir Joshua, who overheard Mimica's hot words, and spoke so loud himself that everybody else was startled by the question. Mimica coloured, and Mr. Carew answer- ed for her with a good-natured laugh. *We were discussing church dignities, and disestablishment, and patronage in all the professions, and other problems.' * But what was the shame ?' persisted Sir Joshua. * That Mr. Leste has not a good living,' Mimica took courage to say. ^ The way of the world/ put in Mr. Prettyman, on whose lips this, his favour- ite, aphorism always hovered. When Lady Helena rose to go, many VOL. I. s 258 COURTLEROY. civilities passed on all sides, and thus the acquaintance was beorun. Mr. Carew sio^nified his intention of walking home, so Sir Joshua and Lady Helena departed without him. Miss Heath and Mimica also moved to go when their carriage drove off, which gave Mr. Carew an oppor- tunity of accompanying them. George was of the party, and Mr and Mrs. Pret- tyman stood on the broad steps to see them off. It was a cheery autumn day, and the extensive view from the house of park, woodland, lake, and distant rising ground covered with fir-trees was extreme- ly beautiful. The lake faced the house at no great distance, and gleamed like silver beneath the afternoon sun. A pair of swans sailed on its glowing breast, and other waterfowl made it their peaceful abiding-place. Shrubs and trees diversi- fied its margin, and a boat was moored be- neath one of the latter. ' May we have a row, Mr. Prettyman ?' HER PENSION. 259 suddenly exclaimed youDg Carew. * Shall we all go iu for it ? I will be oarsman.' * I can row, too. Oh, padre, let us go/ cried George. In spite of Miss Heath's feeble remon- strances, they were shortly at the water's edge. Mrs. Prettyman was the only one of the party who positively declined to get into the boat ; the rest consented. Mr. Carew helped Mimica, and watchful, and may-be jealous, George saw her pale face flush crimson beneath the sheltering hat. He noticed, also, that her manner grew shy and distant, and that a little time elapsed before it resumed its natural frank- ness. He sat beside her, his aid not being needed as oarsman, and said, softly, ' You are hurt, Mimi. Who has offend- ed you?' ^ No one ; not you at least, Georgie,' she replied. But the delicious motion of the boat, the plash of the oars, the beauty of the day c 9 260 COURTLEKOr. and scene soon effaced any annoyance she might be feeling, and she joyed in that her first venture on the lake. She and George had many a vow subsequently, and she soon learnt to handle an oar as \Yell as he. The party remained some time on the lake. Mr. Prettyman was in his happiest mood, Mr. Carew as agreeable as possible, and Mimica full of girlish delight. Miss Heath alone was uncomfortable. She sat in silent watchfulness, wondering what Mr. Le Roy would think of this intimacy with the heir of all the Carews. So did George. In his youthful devotion to Mi- mica, he felt aggrieved that anyone should share her attention, and he could but feel that he was set aside for the moment. The waning afternoon warned them, at last, that even the innocent enjoyment of moving over a placid lake was in the power of the sun ; and they disembarked, and separated. George returned with his HER PENSION. 261 padre to the house, with a regretful look in his clear eyes, while Mr. Carew ac- companied the ladies to the end of the park. *Is that antiquated, half-animated statue always with you?' he said to Mimica, while Miss Heath was for the moment at a little distance. ' Not always,' she replied. ' I am occa- sionally alone. When I work in my garden, Miss Heath — if you mean Miss Heath — is seldom with me, because she takes cold.' ' Of course I mean your duenna. How glad you must be when she takes cold !' As Miss Heath came up almost before he had finished the sentence, Mimica could neither resent his words nor confess that she was occasionally glad when a catarrh to which her friend was subject kept her a prisoner for a day or so. They reached the lodge, where their routes lay in differ- ent directions, and separated. Again the tell-tale blush observed by George rushed 262 COURTLEROY. to Mimica*s cbeeks when she shook bands with Mr. Carew. She hastily withdrew hers, and turned awav. When she and Miss Heath reached Courtleroj, they found Searle awaitinf^ them. As he said he came on particular business, they asked him up to the school- room, and Mimica begged him to be seated. She insensibly took the initiative with Searle, because Miss Heath would scarcely speak to him; indeed, that lady was only too glad to let Mimica he foremost on all occasions. ^ 1 have done as you requested me, Miss Marmont,' he began, looking apparently at a sketch on the wall behind Mimica. ^ I have rfiade inquiries about the pension.' She started, and eagerly asked the result. * I have succeeded in obtaining fifty pounds a year for you, until you are sup- posed to have finished your education at twenty- one. There are some difficulties. HER PENSION. 263 and I am afraid if Mr. Le Roy beard of them he would be annoyed at my having applied. He is peculiar, as you know, Miss Heath; * Fifty pounds a year !' exclaimed Mimica, as soon as she could realize the position. ' It is a fortune. I am most grateful to you, Mr. Searle.' She rose as she spoke, and felt inclined to throw her arms about him, but refrained. ' I am sure I am truly glad to have been of service,' he continued, gazing now on his knees. 'But it may be injurious to me, and I should be much obliged if you would not mention the transaction to any- one for the present ; at any rate, until I have sounded Mr. Le E-oy, and told him how the matter actually stands.' * If I were to write to him about it, he would not read my letters, so you need have no fear,' said Mimica, who was beside herself at the prospect of possessing money of her own at last. 264 COURTLEROY. * It might be wise to abstain from men tioning it to — to — other friends, for fear of its getting to Mr. Le Eoy's ears until I have made the matter clear to him/ con- tinued the bailiff. * So many inquiries were made, which I was able to answer, but which would have made him furious, that I must be cautious/ 'But the money is mine, Mr. Searle ?' ' Just so, as sure as your father was a colonel in the army, and you are his daughter. I have brought you the first half-year's pension. May I understand, before I give it to you, that the affair is private — for the present — for the present ?* *Until you wish it made public,' replied excited, over-joyed Mimica. Searle took from his pocket-book two ten and one five-pound Bank of England notes, and laid them on the table before the girl. She had not seen so much money since her childhood abroad, and she almost HEE PENSION. 265 kissed the hand that passed the notes on the table. ' You will also be silent, madam, for the present — just for the present/ he added, turning towards Miss Heath, but not look- ing her in the face. ^ To be sure, you always are silent and prudent. You never made mischief anywhere.' Their eyes met for an instant, and both pairs fell, but Miss Heath, in an undertone, said something to the effect that she should not mention the subject. He drew a receipt from the pocket-book which he asked Mimica to sign and Miss Heath to witness. Both read it first, and it was simply an acknowledgment that the half- year's pension was duly received. It looked to them like a government docu- ment. ' I may depend on silence and secrecy, ladies — for the present,' he repeated, as he walked towards the door. 266 COURTLEROY. ' Yes, oil ! yes. I am for ever obliged to you. Forgive me if I was rude the other day/ responded Mimica, followiug him, and half-extending her hand. ^Not at all, Miss Marmont,' was the ambiguous response ; but the hand was not taken, and apparentl}^ not noticed. 'Hurrah! hurrah!' shouted Mimica, when they heard his footsteps far down the passage. ^ Money of my very own to give to the poor, to make presents with, to pay small bills, to buy colours and drawing-paper, to travel by train — Oh ! let us go to Prestbury to-morrow with ?ny money, and not yourSj Miss Heath — to have in my purse, and I must get a new one ; to pay all my debts to you, you dear, patient, prudent Milly. Forgive me, the Christian name slipped out . . .' * Mimica !' ejaculated Milly, w^hile the insane girl caught her in her arms, dragged her from her chair, and began to dance with her round the room. HER PENSION. 267 ' I suppose I must not tell even George,' she said, when she paused, breathless, and released her partner. ' Not for the present,' gasped Miss Heath, sinking into a chair, and indulging in the unusual outlet of a laugh. 268 CHAPTER XV. mimica's first proposal. Mimica's garden was one of her most substantial pleasures. In it she forgot her grievances, and would linger the day through amid her flowers, digging and delving, pruning and potting, if Miss Heath would let her. The old gardener was her staunch ally, and [msLUj were their joint manoeuvres to supply lack of funds by cunning and cheap inventions. But, when Mimica entered her cherished retire- ment the morning after her accession of fortune, her schemes for improving it were vast and multiplied. Never had bank-notes produced a greater revulsion MIMICA's FIKST PROPOSiVL. 26^ than those left by Searle, the bailiff, in the school-room of Courtleroj. Miss Heath listened with mute surprise to the plans laid out for its disposition ; and when old Gandy heard of how they were to purchase some desirable plants, and to mend the old glass over a certain forcing-bed, he opened his small eyes with astonishment, and exclaimed, ' Who's to pay, miss ?' for everybody knew the empti- ness of their young lady's purse. Mimica longed to reply, ^ Gandy, I have a pension,' but respect for Searle, whom she had never respected before, restrained her. Such is the power of money. Its accession, however, did not make her forget Horace Leste, whose handiwork was visible everywhere, not only among those old-fashioned beds and borders, but in the rustic seats beneath and amidst the grove of trees that surrounded them. Had he not hammered together the falling back and arms of her mother's favourite seat, 270 COURTLEROY. and had he not created new ones out of all sorts of grotesque branches ? Had he not spent more money than he could spare in the rearing of her plants, and after- wards helped to arrange them ? And how poor the Lestes all were ! and how, for their sakes as well as her own, she longed to be rich I And now, how rich she was ! Twenty-five pounds ! She and Gandy had been at work to- gether some time, when he remembered that the vegetables had not been taken to the house, and he went oS to the kitchen garden. She remained, cutting off dead roses, and tying up weakly shoots, until she was suddenly startled by a rustling in the woods, as of a footstep. There were already some fallen leaves beneath the aged oaks, and she and George had rustled them when they were exploring. * It is probably George,' she thought, pausing, scissors in hand, and glancing mimica's first proposal. 271 through the wicket that led from her bright parterre into the grove. It was not George, but Mr. Carew. *I have been watching for that old fellow's departure,' were the words which greeted Mimica as that agreeable young officer pushed through the gate and stood at her side. She was somewhat taken aback, but, not beins: either self-conscious or senti- mental, she received him naturally, though aware that his visit was contrary to rule. ' How did you manage to get into that wood? Have you lost your way?' she asked, quite unaffectedly. *Yes, and I have come to you to help me to find it,' he replied. 'It is straight enough. Yonder path leads into the drive,' she said. ' How is Leila?' ' What an interest you take in Leila ! I wish you took as much in me.' 272 COURTLEROY. ' That would be impossible. I know her intimately, and I — well, we can scarcely be said to be intimate, Mr. Carew.' * But we ought to be, Miss Marmont ; we should be, were it not for that old feud ; and you cannot be influenced by what happened to our relatives years ago.* *I am dependent on one of them, so I must be influenced. He would even be displeased at our meeting on his property. It is certainly very absurd.' Mimica laughed merrily, as the idea presented itself to her mind of a by-gone rupture making her almost afraid to speak to a neighbour in that pretty, shady spot, because its owner objected. ' What if you and I were to try to mend the breach between our families ?' he asked, with a meaning glance, which, however, she did not understand. ^I am sure I wish we could,' she replied, simply. ^ It would be very pleasant. Do you remember your aunt ?' MIMICA S FIRST PROPOSAL. 273 This question disconcerted him. He had been on what he considered the right tack before ; for he had come for a settled purpose. He had taken a fancy to Mimica. Whether it was love or not he had not cared to inquire; and, urged on by his mother, had begun to think she would be a prize worth the winning. He was an attractive man — musical, good-looking, and possessing such allurements as women de- light in ; and he was not vain, which is contrary to the usual idiosyncrasy of simi- lar characters. Neither was he remark- ably intellectual, though not deficient in a certain cleverness and readiness, which often stand in good stead for intellect. Mimica was far his superior in intelligence, and this attracted him, as well as her un- common expression of face and singularly unconscious manner. He was five-and- twenty, she between seventeen and eigh- teen : what could be more auspicious, when the respective properties of Courtleroy and VOL. I. T :274 COUBTLEKOY. Monklands were considered, than a union between them ? After a slight pause, he replied to her sudden question. 'Yes. I remember mv aunt. She was verv lovelv. I was to have been at the wedding, and shall never forget the con- fusion when she disappeared. But I must not lose time and this opportunity by talk- ing of her. Cannot you and I induce your uncle to forget the past, by — you must understand me, Mimica — by a marriage — which nothing shall interrupt ?' She did understand him at last. He had taken her hand, and was orazinor into her liquid, lustrous eyes. Her pale face flushed; the eyes flashed; the hand was withdrawn, and she stood before him with pulses beating and breath quivering, as she poured forth a stream of what she believed righteous wrath. ' How dare you say such words to me ? How dare you waylay me to insult me? :MnucA's nEST propos.ajl. 27o Am I not Barbara Leste's friend, and have you not loved one another long before you knew me ? Is she not worth a hundred of me, though they are all obliged to stoop ... no, not to stoop, but to rise to their poor circumstances? Is it be- cause Leila is your mother's dependent, and the others are seeking situations, that your manner has changed of late towards Bold Barbra? And she has been — no; I will not own that she has been heart- broken, because you do not deserve it: but she has been very unhappy. Is it usual for men to change their loves like a ofarment ? If so, I would rather know nothing of them, and live secluded in this old place for ever.' 'But, Miss Marmont, you are mistaken/ put in Mr. Carew, with some hesitation of manner. His face was crimson, and his eyes no longer gazed into hers. *Xo, I cannot be mistaken. Leila and 276 COURTLEROY. I have known it always, and thought how happy you and Barbra would be together. And now you ask me — their friend, their sister — to come between you — you two, who have sung together, talked, read, walked, taught, visited the poor together — never been apart, except when Lady Helena chanced to be present, who is am- bitious and proud. Yours is the one romance I have watched all my life, the only one ; and you ask me— me ! to try to blot it out. Cannot you see the stain that would be left behind? The indelible shadow that nothing could erase? But perhaps you are amusing yourself with my inexperience. Only tell me you are, and go back to Bold Barbra. I will never, never let her know of this forget- fulness of her.' Mimica's manner changed from anger to entreaty. The colour faded from her pale cheeks, and tears welled in her eyes. It was the first shock to the affections that had mimica's first proposal. 277 come home to her, and her mind was highly strung for the lovely chords that vibrate to youthful touches of love and constancy. ^ You are really mistaken, Miss Mar- mont. There is nothing between Barbara and me,' said Mr. Carew, with averted face and injured manner. ' Nothing ! Then what is something ? Is it nothing to have tried to make her love you ? nothing to have been welcomed by a whole family as one of themselves ? nothing to have raised their hopes for the future of this, their first, best, sweetest, loveliest daughter ? Oh ! Mr. Carew, don't say so, but return to her, even though you do not deserve her.' Mimica pointed towards the spire of the church, visible between distant trees, near which nestled the vicarage. The path to the drive led in that direction. She did not understand him to whom she spoke so bitterly any better than he understood himself ; for her words had roused certain 278 COURTLEROY. feelings of love, shame, and anger in his breast, equally unpropitious to his present suit and past affections. Anger prevailed. * If you knew more of the world, Miss Marmont,' he said, 'you would understand that a boy and girl friendship between neighbours does not mean an engagement for life. Perhaps, when you have more experience, we shall have an opportunity of renewing this subject.' * Never ! I will not speak to you again until you have made your peace with Bar- bra. Boy and girl ! She is nearly three- and-twenty, and you are older. You have always loved one another for twenty years ; and now you dare to pretend to care for me ! Is it you or Lady Helena who does me this honour ? Good-morning, Mr. Carew.' 'Good-morning, Miss Marmont.' He turned, and was on the verge of the v70od-path, when she hastened after him. 'For pity's sake, for love's,* she cried^ mimica's first proposal. 279 staying his steps, and fixing lier lustrous eyes upon him, ' go back to Barbra. She will die if you forsake her ; and then what would your sufferings be ? I am but a girl, but I know her constant nature, and that she would never alter as you have done. Oh ! there is no one in the world like Barbra.' A change came over his face. The Lady- Helena pride forsook it, and the Sir Joshua kindliness overspread it — for so Mimica afterwards phrased it. He held out his hand. * ' You are right, and a true friend, Miss Marmont,' he said. ' There is no one in the world like Barbra. But, I fear, she is not for me.' So saying, and grasping her hand, he hurried through the wood. Turning back, she saw George disappearing on the oppo- site side of the garden. She called to him. George, if anyone, could calm her excitement. 280 COURTTxEROY. 'What is it, Mimica ?' be asked, seeing her flushed face, tearful eyes, and agitated manner. * I heard your voices, and thought — you would not want me.' ^ I always want you, Georgie,' she re- plied, sitting down on the rustic seat, and beginning to cry. *What is it, my Mimi ?' he said, the beautiful eyes full of loving anxiety. * It is not myself, but Bold Barbra,' she sobbed. ' She will surely die.' 'No one but God knows who will die or live. " Our times are in His hand." I read that verse this morning,' he replied. 'You do not know — you cannot tell what Barbra is?' ' But God knows. If she is good, He will care for her.' These simple words stayed Mimica's agitation. She took George's hands and recounted what had passed. She always told him everything. His face grew in- expressibly bright as she proceeded, and, mimica's fikst proposal. 281 when slie concluded, be said, looking at her, 'You are still my Mimi. I feared he might take you from me. Yesterday, on the water, you liked him best.' She smiled a perplexed smile, for yes- terday she had liked him, to-day she despised him. 'Are we responsible for our likes and dislikes?' she asked, while George stroked her hand. He had come to fetch her to go with him to a neighbouring hop-yard, and they went first together to the house. Miss Heath, nothing loth, consented, promising to pay Mrs. Prettyman a visit meanwhile. George picked up a heavy basket that he had deposited at Courtleroy on his way to the garden, and Mimica helped him to carry it. The contents were edibles. * Padre has gone with Mr. Leste to hear him speak to the hop-pickers, and madre has got the cook to make these cakes/ he 282 COURTLEROY. said, * by telling her what we do in Lon- don slums. They are anxious to give them a tea when the picking is done. "What a picturesque scene it is !' Mimica had sketched it until she forgot whether it was picturesque or not ; still, when they reached the hop-garden, with its trailing wreaths of varied green, and saw the many-costumed hop-pickers, she realised what George meant. The Court- leroy servants' dinner-bell warned that it was one o'clock just as they entered, and almost simultaneously Mr. Leste and Mr. Prettymau appeared also. Although this West-country hop-yard was not, like those of Kent, replenished from the very poor of the London streets, still it contained many Irish adventurers and other wayfarers, in addition to the native population, who had come in the hope of a day's wage. George's memories revived at sight of a Connemara cloak here and there, and he started more than mimica's first proposal. 283 once at the sound of a brogue familiar to him in babyhood. Mimica watched him anxiously as they threaded the green alleys, and finally anchored beside their friends in a sort of central plot, where lay poles, baskets, and many juvenile * hoppers.' It was the dinner-hour, and most of the natives went home ; while such of the visitors as had any dinner gathered about this spot to consume it. The latter were chiefly vagabonds, and to these Mr. Leste addressed himself. By * vagabonds ' we do not mean that they were worse than their more settled companions, only they were mostly homeless wanderers. For many years Mr. Leste had been in the habit of meeting these poor people, and giving them a few words of kindly wel- come, religious instruction, and invitation to church, or to a service which he held in a large barn, lent by a parishioner. This he did on the present occasion, and told his motley congregation that he would 284 COURTLEROY. hold a service that eveDing in the barn, and that he should hope to see them at church the following Sunday. His man- ner was serious, yet genial, and the * Thank 'ee, sir,' which followed his kind words went to George's heart, who was wondering whether he might not have a friend or even a parent amongst the ragged throng. A baby lying under a small tent particularly attracted him, as did the hungry cur, watching it and the eaters with grave earnestness, and seeming to be taking in Mr. Leste's words. These were concluded by the reading of a few verses from Holy Writ, and a short prayer, to which all responded by a hearty 'Amen.' ' Now, Georgie, open your basket,' said Mr. Prettyman, when the address was concluded. He and Mimica were soon engaged in distributing the cakes, and promised bread to all who came to the barn that night. Mr. Leste smiled, and did not say, as some MIMICA S FIRST PROPOSAL. 285 do, that this temporal allurement inter- fered with the spiritual, but rather listened approvingly to Mr. Prettyman's, ' This is how we manage in our ragged church.' The blessings showered on Mimica and George were many and unaffected, and the mind of the former was much exercised as to how she could best share a portion of her enormous wealth with these poor people; while the latter Tvas every now and again consulting with his padre as to the tea in the barn. The next ringing of the Courtleroy bell was a warning that the dinner-hour was over, and that the daily labour was to be recommenced. Mimica and George were standing in the centre of the open space, watching the people, who gradually made a little crowd around them, while Mr. Prettyman and the clergyman went to greet those returning to the field, when a dispute arose between a couple of Irish. Neither Georo^e nor Mimica saw the dis- 286 COURTLEROY. putanfcs, but the concluding words reached them distinctly. *I tell ye, as seure as I'm alive, it's Georgie Hope/ 287 CHAPTER XVI. IN FARMER BEZLEY's BARN. In Farmer Bezley's crowded barn that night there was no one so excited as George. He and Mr. Prettjman came to the service with a view to discovering who had spoken those strange words. In vain had they wandered through the hop-garden after they were so distinctly enunciated ; they failed to find the speaker. They did not wish to make them public, still they desired to know who and what was the man or woman who spoke them, whence he came, and what he knew of George Hope's parentage. As to Mr. Prettyman, he was in agony 288 COURTLEROY. lest they should lead to some discovery that might take quixotic George back to his original friends ; and, as regarded George himself, he knew not what he wished, beyond the desire to help and know his parents, if he had any. His eyes wandered restlessly through Mr. Leste's congregation, and he could neither listen to him nor to Barbara, who sat at a small harmonium, leading the hymns. The service was short and impressive. A few extempore prayers, interspersed with cheerful psalms and hymns, an ex- tempore address, and it was over. The congregation, consisting of many villagers as well as the hop-pickers, responded heartily, and joined in the singing, led by Barbara's clear and really beautiful voice. George could not help thinking of Mr. Carew in connection with her, and wondering that he could transfer his affec- tions from such a charming girl to ano- ther, even though that other was his IN FARMER BEZLEY S BARN. 289 Mimica ; but the boy had yet much to learn ! Mr. Prettyman had bought up all the bread in the village, and the juvenile Lestes were to distribute it with Georsfe — for Mr. Leste liked to afford his children the high privilege of giving when in his power — who was, however, thinking more of the faces of the recipients than of the dole ; and, as the Irish contingent passed out, he was striving to reawaken the memory of long ago, while Mr. Prettyman, meanwhile, was bidding them to a great hop-pickers' tea in the same barn, which he hoped to have shortly. He had never been so much in his element before during any of his holidays, as he was in this his visit to Summerlands, and his consequent introduction to Mr. Leste. If George watched the Irish narrowly, they also watched him. He was perplexed. Could they all be acquainted with his name and history? Could all the half- VOL. I. U 290 COURTLEROY. clad, wild-lookioor crew beloDor to him? Did the ' God bless yer honours,' the ' May the Lord recompinse ye's,' and the other hearty recommendations to heavenly re- turns come from his own kith and kin ? He rustled the still green leaves of his memory in vain, in the hope of recognisinor a face, until a sheepish-looking fellow was passing him by with a glance from the corner of his eyes. Instinctively he cried out, ' Patrick ! Stop, Patrick.' The man was arrested. Their eyes met. * An' sure, it's Patrick !' said the former, holding out both hands. George seized them, and, forgetting all else in his excitement, cried aloud, ' Padre. Here he is — Patrick. Padre, come here.' Mr. Prettyman hastened towards him throuofh the decreasing thronor and found him still hand in hand with the rough IN FARMER BEZLEY's BARN. 291 Irishman. All eyes were upon them, and Mr. Prettyman could only whisper to the man to stop behind, and to George not to attract further attention. The bewildered boy let go the hands ; the man shrank back : the one stood as in a dream while the barn emptied, the other looked terri- fied, as if he had committed an offence. At last everyone had departed, save those three and Mr. Leste. ' Better let me speak, Georgie,' whis- pered Mr. Prettyman, who was almost as much excited as the boy. * Come forward, my man,' he added, addressing Patrick, • and tell us what you know of this young gentleman.' ' An shure, I think, from his eyes, he's nobody else than our Georgie. But I'm not wishin' to interfare with his good prospects,' replied Patrick. 'What do you mean by "our Georgie?"' * George Hope, and bless his sweet face, u2 292 COURTLEKOY- and jours too, my lord, who gives us the bread, wid a promise o' the tae ; an' his riverence's too, for the sarmou.' 'Is your name really Patrick?' inter- rupted the perplexed George. ' An' sure it is ; but how would ye know it, afther siven or eight year?' How, indeed? George could not an- swer that question. He could only rapidly pour out others, taking the initiative him- self, and ignoring the presence of his elders, who could only stand aside and listen. Patrick recounted how that he had known George from his infancy, ever since he was a year old ; and told, with much circumlocution, how that one Biddy Ma- lone had nursed him from that age until he was five or six, and then carried him off nobody knew where. 'Was she his mother?' interrupted Mr. Prettyman. ' His fosther-mother. Nobody ever heard IX FARMER BEZLEy's BARX. 293 of his mother in our parts. He come to Portpatrick wid his father, who was there wid his regiment ; and he put Georgie — I ask yer pardon — Masther George, out to nurse wid Biddy Malone an' her mother.' ' My father ! What became of my father ? What was his name ?' ' His name was George Hope, jist like yer own, sir. He went to furreign parts wid his regiment, and never come back. He was jist made corporaL I seen him when he come to Biddy's cabin, to say good-bye ; and I'll never forget it to my dyin' day.' ' How old was I then ?' 'Somethin short o' three. He doated on ye ; and no wonder, seein' what a Beauty you was. He give Biddy money, and pro- mised to send regglar.' ' Was he Irish ?' ' To the backbone, and as fine a man as ever ye see wid your eyes. They durty 294 COURTLEKOY. savages niver see the loikes, 1*11 be bound. "^ ' What savages ?' 'The Caffirs. I'd a-been at 'em too, but I'd jist had my discharge. I lived at Bragh, where Biddy lived, a mile out o' the town ; but there was nothin' but sojer- ing going on from mornin' to night.' ' And you taught me, Patrick ?' 'By my sowl, I did: and you were the wonder o' the rigmint.' There could be no doubt that this man. Patrick Malone, was what he represented himself to be : but further questioning elicited little more of George's history. His father had probably been killed in Africa, and had thus left him to the care of Biddy Malone, who must have brought him to London, and left him with Mr. Prettyman. But how could she have heard of that gentleman, and of his wife's wish to adopt a child? She had not re- turned to her native place ; so Patrick had nothino: to tell on this head, and IN FARRIER BEZLEy's BARN. 295 George was obliged to content himself with the knowledge that his father had been a soldier, and must have been of good repute, or he would not have been raised to the rank of corporal. It evolved that he was not a native of Brag:h, but had merely come there with his regi- ment. Mr. Prettyman inquired how Biddy man- a2:ed to maintain the child, and Patrick replied that nobody knew ; but that she received letters and remittances occasion- ally, though not from abroad. Mr. Prettyman gave Patrick some money, and bade him say nothing of his recogni- tion of the boy, which he readily promised, declaring: that he would on no account ruin the young gentleman's prospects. ' If my father should ever come back and inquire for me, you will tell him where I am?' said George. * He'll niver come back, small blame to him ; for he's dead and buried in the diserfc 296 COURTLEROY. long ago, or, may be, eaten up by tbe cannibals ; tbe Lord save bis sowl.' Tbese suggestions as to bis fatber's latter end were not pleasant to George, and Mr. Prettyman, seeing tbat be turned pale, burried bim off, promising tbat be sbould see Patrick on tbe morrow. As Courtleroy lay midway between tbe barn and Summerlands, be proposed calling tbere, in order to distract tbe boy, and orders were accordingly given to tbe coacbman, wbo bad come witb one of tbe numerous carriages tofetcb tbem. Already tbe Summerlands establisbment were sur- prised at tbe irregularities of tbeir tem- porary master, wbo, wben ^ out for a boliday,' ignored conventionalities, and disturbed tbe dull routine of an abode made duller by absenteeism. * We'll bave a first-rate spread,' said Mr. Prettyman to Mr. Leste, as tbey sbook bands. 'You prepare tbe discourse, your wife tbe ornamentation, and I'll see about IN FARMER BEZLEy's BARN. 297 the food. Best say nothiDg of the Irish- nian„' ' Depend on me. All my parish, in- cludiDg the hoppers, say you are the nicest gentleman that ever came into it,' laughed Mr. Leste. * But you mustn't spoil us, or what shall we do without you when you leave us ?' ' Sufficient for the day, etc.,' replied Mr. Pretty man, as they drove off. Mrs. Pretty man was awaiting them. She, Miss Heath, and Mimica were in the hall. There was a cheerful fire, and the lamp burnt brightly, and the room looked singularly habitable — for Courtleroy. The evenings were growing chilly, and Mr. Prettyman rubbed his hands energetically over the fire. 'Something has happened!' exclaimed Mimica, grasping George's hand, and looking into his downcast face. 'My father!' returned the boy, and burst into tears. 298 COURTLEROY This was such an unusual event that even Miss Heath was affected by it. While the others gathered round their darling, offering comfort and asking ex- planation, she stood supporting herself on an old carved screen, looking on with clasped hands and evident participation in the general excitement. But George had recovered himself before Mr. Pretty- man had briefly recounted the event of the evening. . ' Thank God he is dead, and you are our child still,' ejaculated Mrs. Pretty- man, innocently, and with no malicious intent. • Louisa !' exclaimed Miss Heath, as if awestruck by so un-Christian a sentiment, and making a move from the screen to the group in the centre of the hall. ^Madre did not mean to be unkind, Miss Heath/ said George, turning his eyes, now more lustrous than ever with the tears, full upon her. IN FAKMER BEZLEy's BARN. 299 'I know — but — I feel so sorry for you,' replied Miss Heath, with a sob in her voice which brought syropathetic George to her side as she sat down on the nearest settee. ' Nobody knows how tender-hearted Milly is. She never could bear to see anyone cry, and I really believe she is quite fond of Georgie,' said Mrs. Pretty- man, aside, to Mimica. ' She used to bear my grief with great equanimity,' laughed Mimica. ' But there is something about Georgie that makes everyone sympathise with him.' This was probably because he sympa- thised with everybody. Accordingly, they all calmed down together, and began to discuss what had taken place. Mimica and George sat hand in hand, she strength- ening bim by saying she was glad that each of their fathers was a soldier, and died on the same alien soil ; he suggesting that perhaps his was not dead. 300 COURTLEROY. ' Oh, Georgie, you needn't say that, since one father is enough for anyone,' put in Mrs. Prettyman, aggrieved. Miss Heath suggested, reprovingly, that he would naturally like to know his real from his adopted father ; upon which George started up and went to Mr. Pretty- man, who was standing with his back to the fire. ' Padre, I should not love you less if I could find him. May I go to Bragh some day and make inquiries ? The post-master might know where the letters sent to Biddy came from, and that might lead to the discovery of my mother.' ' Time enough for that, Georgie. We'll see about it,' replied Mr. Prettyman, as tears started to the eyes of his wife. ' I think we'd better go. I'm sure I wish we had never seen Patrick,' sniffed that lady, rising. ' It will all come right, and I daresay George's father was a prince in disguise,' IN FARMER BEZLEY's BARN. 301 laughed Mimica, as her friends took their leave. But she was very thoughtful when they had finally departed, and tried in vain to interest Miss Heath in her imaginations concerning George's history. Miss Heath was more reticent than ever. They had passed an unusually exciting day, for they had been by rail to Prestbury, to expend a portion of Mimica's income on some really necessary purchases. In spite of her visionary ideas, Mimica had calmed down at Milly's representations, and had greatly reduced her list. Still, drawing materials and presents, to say nothing of a new evening dress, had somewhat lessened lier Bank of England notes. ' George's history is very strange,' said Mimica, as they lingered over the fire. 'We can now guess at his father. I wonder who his mother could have been?' ' It is useless to wonder. The best thing 302 COURTLEROY. that could happen to him would be never to hear of them again.' •Oh! ^liss Heath, how do you know that?' ' I n^uess it from the circumstances.' * Perhaps his father may have been ' ' Nonsense, Mimica ! Of what use speculating ? He is now the son of rich people — virtually the son.' * Yes, but subject to all sorts of asper- sions. The Carews alone — at least, the youngest — have spread the story of his birth, and all the villagers are talking of it. I would rather be the real son of a respectable common soldier and a camp washerwoman than the adopted one of a prince ; and so would he. My dependence is bad, but his /^dependence is worse, in spite of his devoted friends.' 303 CHAPTER XVII. MISUNDERSTANDINGS. Oeorge understood for the first time in his life what it was not to be able to sleep. His young mind was excited bj visions of that soldier-father of whom Patrick had spoken, and by strivings to recall a past "which had nearly faded from his memory. He rose with the dawn, and was down- stairs as soon as Sampson, who asked him if he was after some new fortification, or if he was about to blow up Summerlands. ' I must find Patrick,' was all he replied, as he hurried off to the hop-yard, distant over a mile. The pickers were assembling, and he 304 COURTLEROY. stationed himself at the gate to watcb. Patrick appeared, and seemed as glad to see George as be was to meet bim. He took the Irishman's hand, and led bim, un- resisting, to a part of the garden that had been cleared, where they seated themselves upon a heap of poles denuded of their graceful garments, and laid-bj for service in another autumn. The sun shone out from his curtain of mist, and began to drink up the morning dew which lay around them, while the neighbouring trees awoke from their night sleep, and tried to smarten up their dresses of yellow, red, and brown. The voices of the hop- pers and the chirpings of the birds made the day-dawn cheerful ; and the curling smoke from the distant chimneys of the farm seemed to warm the damp atmo- sphere. Patrick feared his young master, as lie called George, might be cold ; but George was indifferent to atmospheric dangers, he MISUNDERSTANDINGS. 305 onl}^ wanted to hear more of his father and mother. Patrick had not so much to tell as to ask, and George soon found that Biddy was as prominent in the man's mind as his father was in his. Patrick could only enlarge upon what he had related the previous day. He told how that his father, Corporal Hope, was 'quite the gintleman,' and came to see his boy when- ever he was able ; and how that he gave all his money to Biddy Malone for nurs- ing him. Biddy had known him, or his family before, but she could never be brought to speak of them. He, Patrick, believed he knew as much of her mind as anyone under the sun; but never a word of Corporal Hope, or his friends, would she speak to him. Indeed, he of- fended her by his questions concerning them, and, when she suddenly disappeared from Port Patrick, he was sure it was to avoid his inquiries. * Ye see, Masther Hope, I loved her as VOL. I. X 306 COURTLEROY. my sowl,' he said, with tears in his eyes, which affected sympathetic George, and produced similar emotion. ^We was to have been married, when your father was ready to resave you, which Biddy always said was to be next month ; and then, when he went to Africa, 'twas to be as soon as yer friends was prepared — and they was always preparing, and never ready, like the corporal. So Biddy put me off, and off, till I should a-murthered ye, I belave, but for your eyes.' ' Like the young princes in the Tower,' put in breathless George. ' As like as two peas !' returned Patrick, who had never heard of them. ' But, me darlint, I was jealous of ye, and that's the holy truth. We quarrelled over ye many's the time ; but that last evening was the worst. *' You'll be sorry for this, Path- rick," says she. " Deed a bit," says I. "Marry me out and out, and I'll take the boy wid ye." " An' murther him," says MISUNDEKSTANDINGS. 307 she. " That's the opinion ye have of me," says I ; and I turns, and goes off, whist- ling like a mermaid. An' I niver see her again from that day to this.' 'And this was on my account?' cried George, laying his small hand on the rough knuckles of Patrick. 'An' by my sowl it was, Masther George.' ' But that would not have made her bring me to London, and leave me at Mr. Prettyman's !' ' To London ! Was it to that big place she tuk ye, and not here wid the hop- pickers ? ril be afther her. I've a friud in London, who'll help me find her. If she's alive, as shure as I'm Pathrick Malone, 111 have her.' ' And then you will bring her to me, and I shall know about my father and mother.' ' An' shure I will. But where will I find yer honour ?' ' Call me George, and not "your honour.' x2 o08 COUKTLEROT. I will give YOU my address, Patrick, and mj padre and madre will help us to dis- coyer my real father and mother. I: is Tery perplexing, is it not ?' ' An* sliure i: is. George, my boy. Murther ye I Who but that spalpeen of a Biddy 'ud a towld me that ? But Vm afther her to-morrow/ •Yoa must stay for the treat, Patrick. When we are both in London, we will find Biddy. I am almost sure she will be in our slums.' • Slums, is it ! Do thev call the strand houses up in London slums ?' •Xo; but the poor districts at the back of them.' " Poor disthricts ! I thought them was only in ould Lreland, and London was as rich as the Lord-lieutenant.' George took an antiquated memoran- dum-book from his pocket, and took out a leaf. The book was filled with strange hieroglyphics in the shape of military insriTDEBSTAirDrsrGS. 309 eketches, mathematical computaticmfi, and various problems explicable only to him- self, but showing the bent of his mind. He wrote Mr. Prettyman's address dearlj, and gave it to Patrick, who exclaimed at the ^ foine writing,' and asked if he had also written the contents of the memorandum-book. In another moment George was explaining certain strategic plans, and forgot all else in his military ideas ; forgot even his breakfast, thongii the Courtleroy bell was audible. Patrick also, once a soldier, forgot that he -^tp^ hungry, although he had a p:e:e : : bread in his tattered coat. They were both recalled to the world as it is by the approach of Farmer Bez ej, Patrick uttered a 'Here's the mas what will I dor' But George reassured him by rising to meet the farmer, who had been watching: them from a distance. He had heard the village gossip concern- ing them, and was not less inquisitive than 310 COURTLEROY. his neighbours : moreover, work was press- ino;', and labourers few. * I am afraid I must disturb you, young gentleman,' he began. 'Your breakfast and my hops are waiting.' ' He is an old friend, sir. He knew my father, and, if he is not at work, it is my fault,' said George. ' An' shure, sor, I'll do the work of two this blessed day,' broke in Patrick, hurry- ing off to his companions. 'And if you please, Mr. Bezley, I will pay him for the time he has lost,' added innocent George. Mr. Bezley smiled, and said it was not so much the money as the labour, and asked George to look in his pocket and assure himself that his purse was safe; for, he added, ' Those vagabonds aren't to be trusted ; and, for my part, I like 'em best at a distance. You'd better take off your clothes and shake 'em when you get home, Master Hope.' MISUNDERSTANDINGS. 311 ' rm not afraid,' returned George, in- dignantly for him. ' I love the poor, and I go to see them when they are crowded into houses, and not under the blue sky, like this.' ' Bless your sweet eyes, my lad, and may you always help the poor, both in town and country,' exclaimed the good farmer, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. * We have settled the day after to-morrow for the treat, when the hops will be saved, please God. Mr. Prettyman is quite willing.' * Thank you ; good-bye. I will tell padre,' replied George, hesitating, as he held out his hand. *I did not mean to be rude j only, you know, the poorer people are, the more we should feel for them.' Farmer Bezley stood a moment to look after him, thinking that he had taught him a good lesson ; then turned to superintend the hop-pickers. He was always good to 312 COURTLEROY the • vagabonds,' in spite of his fear of their proximity ; and, not only did he let them fix their tents in the stubble-fields, but gave them up his empty barns and lofts during their temporary service. He was not slow to perceive that Patrick was working with a will, and the little con- versation with George encouraged him to be soft rather than hard to the somewhat wild-looking people that were gathering in his treasure. He was somewhat of a sceptic in the matter of what is called ' indiscriminate charity,' though his bark was worse than his bite. He and Mr. Leste had many a dispute, when he said, * Charity's the fashion now-a-days, and I'm not for the fashions ;' still he could never refuse that good clergyman anything he asked. Farm and vicarage were very busy on the day of the treat. No sooner had the hop-pickers cleared out of the big barn in the morning than it was well swept, and ^nSmTDERSTAXDINGS. 313 the usual preparations went on. Mimica and George joined the young Lestes in the TTork, and would Lave been quite happy, but for one little circumstance. They were conscious of a restraint in the manners of Barbara. Mimica personally and painfully so, and George by sympathy with her. Mr. Prettyman, with his customary bonhomie^ had invited all the neighbours ; and they were both instinctively fearing Mr. Carew's presence, and the complications that might arise therefrom. But how Barbara could have heard of his proposal, if she had heard, was a mystery. It was cleared as the day went on. It happened that Barbara and Mimica were left alone in the barn, while the other young people had gone to the school- house, to assist in bringing down the forms from thence for the benefit of the party. All the school children were help- ing, and the work went merrily on. Bar- bara and Mimica were engaged in arrang- 314 COUETLEROY. ing the long tables, when they suddenly and unexpectedly found themselves thus together. Both were silent, and Mimica was framing an indignant protest in her mind, and wondering how she could speak it without compromising Mr. Carew with Barbara, when Leila came in. She was always in a hurry, for Lady Helena was exacting, even while professing much lati- tude. Mimica felt that her greeting was also cold, and her hurried explanation of her presence was unusually constrained. * I am to tell Mr. Prettyman that Lady Helena is not well, and cannot have the pleasure of taking tea with his hop-pickers/ she began, sarcastically. ' I shall proba- bly be wanted to attend upon her lady- ship. Sir Joshua may look in, if he has time between shooting and dinner ; and Monty — I beg his pardon, Mr. Carew — is in too bad a temper to make up his mind to anything. Herbert is on his way, and I don't envy anybody who has anything to inSUNDERSTAXDDs GS. 315 do with him. Ho^ are you, Barbra ? You don't look a bit better.' Barbara turned coldly round, and assur- ed her sister that she was well. Her looks belied her words. ' What is it all ?' suddenly broke in Mimica. ' You used to tell me every- thing, and now you are both like stones. I cannot bear your unkindness, and — and — T will not.' ' Unkindness ! Secrecy !' cried Leila. *Wbo is unkind, I wonder? Have you not taken Monty Carew away from Bar- bra, and are you not both breaking her heart?' 'Leila, for pity's sake . . . .' put in Barbara, dropping a cup she was holding from her trembling fingers, and trying to lay her hand on Leila's lips. * I will speak, Barbra : Mimica shall hear it all. I never thought she would have been so deceitful. Lady Helena says Mr. Carew is all but engaged to her, and 316 COURTLEROY. Tvbat I told you the other day is quite true.' Barbara turned a stony face upon Mimica, while Leila put her arm round her waist. The trio were standing in the centre of the barn, in the midst of the manifold confusion of the preparations for the feast. ' Then Lady Helena told a falsehood !' cried Mimica, quivering with indignation. The faces of both sisters flushed, and they made a little movement towards her, but she withdrew. ' You ought to know, Leila,' she con- tinued, passionately, ' that I would rather break my own heart than Barbra's. Not that it is breakable. If I were as much in love as Juliet, or Hero, or any imaginary love-sick shepherdess, I would scorn to let my heart betray it. I have never read a love-tale, real or fictitious, that I did not long to tell the heroine what an idiot she was ; and now you accuse me of being in MISUNDERSTANDINGS. 3 1 7 love with Mr. Carew ! Monty Carew ! I should just as much fall in love with — with Georgie. What right has Lady Helena to use my name in connection with her son's ? I know next to nothinof of either of them, and should probably offend my uncle past redemption if I knew more.* ' Do you mean to call Barbra an idiot ?^ asked Leila, indignantly. ' I always thought you loved her.' ' So I do. You must both know that I think Barbra the dearest and best girl in the world, far before you or me, Leila, and ten thousand times too good for ^Mr. Carew. But I hear the noblest women love the meanest men.' ' Hush, Mimica !' began Barbara, fixing her eyes on the agitated girl. 'You have no right to say I love him, neither to call him mean. I have known him longer than you, and declare him honourable, generous, and a true friend. If — if— he 3U _ -— — -- - — _, k . - _ ' . . • - - " - ^" - — r -Z. .z _ - r £ 1 _ - - :: - - - zz ■ : - - - - - — "-- - - - r ' .;- - _ _ - -zr . _ _ .._ - _ ^ ^ - : - - - - - - ?T T - ^ . " ~««f^ 4 - - " '-£ Ht T 'Br:. ,¥. _ - - -- 11 ILi: — > . . ' -_ _ _ 1 " . -'. feim to marrj Borbca^ and he does — I am sme oi it,* ened ^liinmfa^ eoBfidentfy . BarijoraTs 1^ quiwiaed and lier face fluafaed. She Idd outlier land to 'I tl- - - -tier gooi work, cr :1t - 'zt, he readj^ she 7 ^iwd, and jam. —I a t-ez:. in a m twain. Dei 320 COURTLEROY. children are cotaing back — I hear papa's voice. Ah ! what shall I do ?' She broke away from them, and went to the far end of the barn. * Nothing shall induce rae to stay with Lady Helena ; she is a snake in the grass, and Monty is a coward,' exclaimed Leila. ' Mr. Danvers has promised to come and address the hop-pickers. He has just had the living,' said Mimica. It was now Leila's turn to flush, for Mr. Danvers was very fond of her. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. LONDON ; PKiNIED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENiUlIil J^OU^E.