I 
 
 I E) R.ARY 
 OF THE 
 U N IVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 SZ3 
 
 PEARSE 
 BOOKS ELLER 
 ROCHDALE
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 CAROLINE FOTHERGILL. 
 
 Fair, kind and trne." 
 
 Shakespkare. 
 
 7^' THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RICHARD BENTLE7 AND SON 
 
 iJiiblisijrrs in iBxliimx^ to !^rr fHajrstg tfje €lunn. 
 
 1883. 
 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 "RIMIKD BY WILLIAM CLOWKS AND .S(;N>^, LLMITKD, L<l\DO\ ANU BECCLES.
 
 V.J 
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " This beggar-maid shall be my queen." 
 
 ^ Squire Terry had quarrelled with his son : 
 
 it was impossible to doubt it. Dent, the 
 
 ^ footman, had been crossing the hall when 
 
 .* Mr. Eustace had left the house, and the 
 
 '^ old servant had seen, from the expression 
 
 ^ of his young master's face, that he had for 
 , >^ once made up his mind, and would be 
 
 ^ every whit as determined as his father. 
 «^ A few minutes later Dent had been sum- 
 
 <;^ moned to Mr. Terry in the library, and had 
 
 ■> VOL. I. 1
 
 2 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 any doubt on tlie subject been lingering 
 in his mind, it must have been dispelled by 
 what he saw and heard. Mr. Terry was 
 seated in his own particular chair, his 
 elbows resting on the arms, his hands 
 tightly clasped, a look of invincible deter- 
 mination on his handsome, obstinate face. 
 He had given a few orders respecting Mr. 
 Eustace. His things were to be packed 
 that they might be despatched at a moment's 
 notice to any address the young gentleman 
 might send; his name was never to be 
 mentioned in his father's presence. 
 
 Dent left his master with a heart heavy 
 and sorrowful. It had come to this, then. 
 The young master, whom he had led by 
 the hand and made much of when he was 
 a child, had been driven from his home 
 because he would not marry the woman 
 whom his father had chosen for his wife.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 3 
 
 ^^ Dear, dear," murmured tlie old man, 
 shaking his head as he made his way from 
 the library to his OAvn quarters, " it is a pity; 
 yet he never could abear Miss Agatha, 
 and for two years he has been nigh crazed 
 about this Margaret Shuttleworth. It will 
 be an ill day when the Squire of Ash Fell 
 comes to marry a mill hand, and yet I 
 doubt she'll make a fonder wife than Miss 
 Agatha." 
 
 The relations of these four people to 
 one another may be quickly traced. Mr., 
 or Squire Terry, as in the neighbourhood 
 of his estate he was more generally 
 called, was lord of the manor of Ash Fell. 
 For centuries the family had ruled over the 
 broad lands appertaining to it, and had 
 dwelt in the stately mansion which formed 
 the chief feature of the place. The house 
 had been altered, repaired, and restored till
 
 4 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 little remained of the original fabric, and 
 the present dwelling-place of the Terrys 
 was a handsome structure of no particular- 
 period or style of architecture. It stood 
 on a raised terrace, and was immediately 
 surrounded by gardens, tastefully and 
 quaintly laid out ; while beyond the gardens^ 
 away on all sides spread the park, remark- 
 able on account both of its size and 
 beauty. 
 
 Robert Terry, the present lord of the 
 manor, had only one child, his son Eustace. 
 He had been married twice ; Eustace was 
 the son of his first wife. The second Mrs, 
 Terry had borne him no children ; she was 
 a widow with one daughter, who had 
 married and gone out to India with her 
 husband. So much for the dwellers of the 
 Hall. 
 
 The girl of whom Dent had spoken as
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 5 
 
 *'Miss Agatha" was Mr. Terry's ward, 
 Agatha Flintoft, a young lady some four 
 years younger than Eustace, and who had 
 grown up with him from a child. An 
 heiress and an only child, Mr. Terry had 
 looked upon her as in every way a fitting 
 match for his son. He had not given much 
 consideration to the question whether the 
 young people loved one another or not. 
 If he thought at all of their respective 
 characters, it was to reflect that Agatha's 
 energy and decision of character would 
 weigh well in the balance against his son's 
 dreamy, unpractical ways. 
 
 Last, but by no means least, factor in 
 this problem was Margaret Shuttleworth. 
 Neither heiress nor gently born, the only 
 resemblance her circumstances bore to 
 those of Miss Flintoft lay in the fact that 
 she, too, was an only child. Her father
 
 6 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 (her mother had been dead many years) 
 was a weaver ; one of the many men who 
 some ten years before had come from the 
 surrounding villages to work in the cotton 
 factory, which was then a complete inno- 
 vation in that part of the country, and is 
 still the only one for miles around. Margaret 
 was a child when her father first settled at 
 Ash Fell, and she had always been his 
 companion in his rambles on the moors and 
 hills, in which he employed the greater 
 part of the time which was not spent in the 
 mill. In this way she had met Eustace, 
 who was also addicted to ramblings amongst 
 the hills. The boy and girl might almost 
 be said to have grown up together, and as 
 they grew older the brotherly and sisterly 
 feeling which had always existed between 
 them gradually changed its character, with 
 the result which has been seen. Eustace,
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 7 
 
 who during the twenty-four years of his 
 life had obeyed his father implicitly, when 
 at last commanded to take the most im- 
 portant step in his life and get him a 
 wife, lefused the well-born damsel his 
 father had chosen for him, and announced 
 in decided terms his intention of marry- 
 ing the other companion of his youth, 
 Margaret, daughter of Ben Shuttleworth, 
 the weaver. The result has already been 
 described. 
 
 Eustace knew, when the door of his 
 father's house closed behind him, that he 
 had left his home for ever. He knew that, 
 if he persisted in marrying the woman he 
 loved, his father would never relent, but 
 would carry out his sentence of banishment 
 for life to the letter ; but he did not flinch. 
 In proportion to his habitual want of 
 stability and weakness of purpose was his
 
 8 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 present fixed determination to have his 
 own way in this matter. He had counted 
 the cost, and was prepared to accept the 
 consequences of his defiance to their full 
 extent. When he left his father's house, 
 therefore, he went straight to the cottage 
 where Margaret lived. He told her all that 
 had passed between his father and himself, 
 overruled her scruples as to how far she 
 was justified in being the occasion of a 
 quarrel between father and son, and finally 
 won her consent to the publishing of the 
 banns for the first time on the following- 
 Sunday. 
 
 A month later the Squire received a 
 communication from his son, containing a 
 formal notice of his marriage with Margaret 
 Shuttle worth. 
 
 Mr. Terry read the notice composedly. 
 He was alone breakfasting when he received
 
 rUT TO THE PROOF. 9 
 
 it. After breakfast lie sent for his lawyer, 
 and a week later Eustace had no more 
 legal claim ujDon his father than the most 
 complete stranger.
 
 10 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 *' Men do not think of sons and daiigliters when 
 tliey fall in love." 
 
 Ten" years had passed since Mr. Terry 
 disowned his son, and Eustace lay upon 
 his death-bed. Two years before his wife 
 had died, and Eustace, too weak and broken 
 to survive the loss long, had wandered 
 from one place to another, taking with him 
 his little girl, named Margaret after her 
 mother, and finally returning to the place 
 where he had buried his wife, had settled 
 himself there to die. 
 
 He was lying in bed, looking very feeble ; 
 the most casual observer would have seen
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. H 
 
 that his last moments had come. The 
 doctor who had attended Mrs. Terry 
 through her last illness was seated by 
 the bedside, receiving the dying man's last 
 instructions. Eustace held a letter in his 
 hand, about which he was apparently 
 speaking. 
 
 " You will post this, please, as soon as 
 possible after I am gone. You will be 
 doing me a great kindness. It is to my 
 father. Ten years ago, when I married, we 
 quarrelled, and we have held no communi- 
 cation since." He paused a moment for 
 breath, and went on, " My little Margaret 
 will very soon have no other living relative, 
 and I have written to tell him I am dying, 
 and to ask him to receive her. I do not 
 think he can refuse, though I feel keenly the 
 humiliation of having to make the request ; 
 but it is the only thing that can be dono
 
 12 PUT T<:) THE PEOOF. 
 
 for her. All my things will, of course, 
 belong to her ; I have no money to leave 
 her. The woman of this house has kindly 
 consented to let the child remain here until 
 she hears from her grandfather. I think 
 that is all.'' 
 
 '• Pardon me, Mr. Terry,*' said the doctor 
 <juickly; *• did I understand you to say that 
 mj little friend Margaret is to remain here 
 alone ? *' 
 
 "Yes; I am afraid she will he very 
 miserable, but it is the only place there is." 
 
 " You must let me take her home with 
 me : she will be better among my little ones. 
 Xay, I will take no refusal ; it is a settled 
 thing." 
 
 "You are very good," said Eustace, 
 feebly ; - I cannot thank you sufficiently for 
 all your kindness." He was interrupted 
 by a violent fit of cou.^'hino-, which
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 13 
 
 exhausted him ; when he had rested a few 
 moments, he went on — 
 
 -' Now, will you call Margaret ? I must 
 see her.*' 
 
 In answer to the doctor's summons a 
 little girl entered the room. She was tall 
 for her eight years, and her golden hair 
 shone in the sunlight. 
 
 " Does papa want me ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Yes," said Dr. Turner ; and S'oino: from 
 the room, he left father and daug^hter 
 together. 
 
 Eustace talked to the child for a long- 
 time. She knew her father was dying, and 
 her face wore an expression of sad gravity 
 mingled with awe. At the end of an hour 
 she was told to call Dr. Turner, and a few 
 minutes later Margaret was an orphan^ 
 alone in the world. 
 
 Dr. Turner took her home with him, and
 
 14 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 she stayed with his family until a letter 
 came from her grandfather, stating his 
 willingness to take her into his house, and 
 requesting that she might be sent to Ash 
 Fell on the following day. 
 
 Margaret, then, was sent to Ash Fell to 
 her father's old home, to live with the 
 grandfather with whom she already felt a 
 certain degree of familiarity, having often 
 heard his name from Eustace, and in the 
 latter days many details concerning his 
 character and the place where he lived. 
 
 I have said that Mr. Terry expressed 
 his willingness to take charge of Margaret ; 
 the w^ord was misapplied. He did it most 
 unwillingly. He had got his son's letter, 
 and for a day or two afterwards had felt 
 no hesitation as to how he should act. He 
 had certainly no intention of adopting his 
 srranddaughter, the child of " that woman "
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 15 
 
 whom Eustace had married in spite of his 
 commands. How did he know that the 
 child's parents were really dead, and that 
 it was not all a plot against him ? Second 
 thoughts, however, convinced him that his 
 son must be dead ; and after fighting 
 against the conviction, he began to realize 
 that the child possessed neither parents 
 nor any living relative besides himself 
 (Ben had died two or three years before). 
 It seemed that he would have to maintain 
 her, in any case. How should he dispose 
 of her ? His pride shrank from the idea 
 of sending her to school, and letting the 
 heiress of the house of Terry distinguish 
 herself by manners and customs pertaining 
 to a mill hand : the child, he thought, was 
 sure to resemble her mother. He came at 
 last to the conclusion that there was 
 nothing for it but to have her at the Hall,
 
 16 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 and lie reluctantly wrote to Dr. Turner to 
 that effect. 
 
 It was a beautiful June evening when 
 Margaret was set down on the platform of 
 the little station at Ash Fell. Dr. Turner 
 had told her that some one would meet her 
 at her journey's end, and she looked 
 inquiringly round as she stood by her box, 
 when the train had moved out of the 
 station. She saw no one, however, and so 
 allowed her attentions to become absorbed 
 in the contemplation of a pony-carriage 
 standing just outside the station. She was 
 wondering whether her grandfather Avould 
 keep such pretty ponies, when she heard a 
 voice far above her saying — 
 
 " Dear me ! is this the child who is to 
 come to Mr. Terry's ? " 
 
 Margaret looked up, and, child though 
 she was, she shrank from the tall woman
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 17 
 
 who stood looking down upon her through 
 her gold-rimmed eye-glasses. 
 
 It was Agatha Flintoft who had spoken, 
 or rather Agatha Entwistle, for a year or 
 two after Eustace had left home, she had 
 bestowed herself and her fifteen thousand a 
 year upon the Church, as represented by 
 the bachelor vicar of Ash Fell. She was 
 now the vicar's wife, and, as such, ruled her 
 husband and the parish with a high hand. 
 It was strange that she should be the first to 
 address Eustace's child ; perhaps it was not 
 so strange that Margaret should shrink from 
 the tall woman with sharp features and 
 harsh voice, who stood before her. Neverthe- 
 less, she answered with grave directness — 
 
 '' Yes, I am Margaret Terry. Has any 
 one come to meet me, please ? " 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle glanced around the 
 station, saying — 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 ^' It would seem not." 
 
 Then turning to the railway company in 
 general, she inquired whether any one had 
 come from the Hall to meet Miss Terry. 
 
 She was assured with promptitude that 
 no one had been, so she turned to Margaret 
 with a shrug of the shoulders. 
 
 " It seems no one has come, child. I 
 am driving past the Hall, and will take 
 you with me ; but your box must be sent 
 for. I cannot have it in the phaeton." 
 
 And in spite of this generous offer, 
 Margaret still shrank from her. 
 
 They reached the Hall in about a quarter 
 of an hour. Mrs. Entwistle did not 
 alight, but handed Margaret over to the 
 care of the housekeeper, with a brief ex- 
 planation of how she had met the child. 
 
 Margaret was led through passages which 
 appeared to her numerous and of great
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 19 
 
 length, to the housekeeper's room, where 
 she was bidden to rest and partake of the 
 tea provided for her. When she had 
 finished, the housekeeper took her into the 
 little bedroom which had been provided 
 for her, and subjected her to a tidying 
 process. The short, waving, golden hair 
 was brushed afresh, the j}ale little face 
 bore the application of soap and water, and 
 then she was pronounced to be ready. 
 
 Margaret had been very silent all this 
 time; now, however, she looked up into 
 Mrs. Fenton's face, and said — 
 
 " Where is Mr. Terry ? Papa said I 
 was coming to live with him." 
 
 " You are going to see him now, my 
 honey," said the kind woman ; and taking 
 the child by the hand, she led her away 
 to the library. '' I have brought Miss 
 Margaret, sir, as you sent word," said Mrs.
 
 20 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Fenton when she and her iwotegee stood 
 within the room. 
 
 Mrs. Fenton was not a person of tact, or 
 she would have chosen some other way of 
 introducing the child to her grandfather. 
 The name " Margaret " only served to recall 
 the woman who was the cause of the child's 
 being there at all. 
 
 Mr. Terry evidently felt it so, for his 
 eyebrows met in an ominous frown as he 
 lowered his newspaper to greet his visitor. 
 The frown deepened as he looked the child 
 over from head to foot, and asked — 
 . " When did she come ? " 
 
 " It seems there was some mistake about 
 the train, sir, and no one went to the 
 station; but Mrs. Entwistle happened to 
 be at the station, and she brought missy 
 up. 
 
 She had seen that her master disliked
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 21 
 
 her previous mode of liaming the child, 
 nnd, old and privileged servant though she 
 was, she did not venture to repeat the 
 offence. 
 
 Mr. Terry nodded. 
 
 " You may go, Mrs. Fenton," he said. 
 ^' Leave the child here ; I will ring when 
 I have done with her." 
 
 Mrs. Fenton went away, and tlie squire 
 and his grandchild were left alone. 
 
 For a few moments the old man sat in 
 silence. After a pause, he beckoned to the 
 child, saying — 
 
 '^ Come nearer to me — quite close." 
 
 Margaret came and stood on the hearth- 
 rug, at the side of her companion. 
 
 " Not there, child ; in front, where I can 
 .see you," he said harshly ; and, taking her 
 by the arm, he placed her immediately in 
 front of him.
 
 22 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 Then, still keeping his hold on her arm, he 
 leaned forward and narrowly scanned every 
 feature of the face before him. Margaret 
 bore the scrutiny in silence, looking with 
 her candid, childish eyes straight into the 
 old man's face. Unconsciously he tightened 
 his hold on her arm, until she made an in- 
 voluntary movement to free herself, saying — 
 
 '' Please, let me go. You hurt me when 
 you hold me so tight." 
 
 The sound of her voice seemed to break 
 the spell. Mr. Terry let go her arm, and 
 with a short laugh threw himself back in 
 his chair, while his eyebrows lowered more 
 darkly than before. 
 
 What he saw before him only increased 
 the anger he already felt against his 
 granddaughter. Had Margaret resembled 
 her father, the squire might have tolerated 
 though he could never have loved her.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 23 
 
 But in face and form she was her mother's 
 daughter. The childish voice even sounded 
 like an echo of Margaret Shuttleworth's 
 clear, full tones. Nor did the likeness cease 
 there. Her very name was that of the 
 beautiful weaver who had lured Eustace 
 from the paths of filial duty and obedience. 
 There was but little chance that a personal 
 interview with her would soften Mr. 
 Terry's heart towards his granddaughter. 
 
 The old man threw himself back in his 
 chair and remained silent, gazing out of 
 the window. He was considering what he 
 should do with Margaret, now that he was 
 unavoidably burdened with her. He would 
 never endure her in his presence, and he 
 had decided not to send her to school ; 
 neither could she live in the housekeeper s 
 room. It seemed that she must be educated 
 at home. He could not, however, endure
 
 '24: PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 the thought of having a governess in his 
 house — governesses invariably made mis- 
 chief wherever they went. He would 
 engage a tutor, some young man, small 
 matter whom, provided he could read and 
 write, and would keep the child out of his 
 way. He would advertise in the Times, 
 that would give him least trouble. 
 
 So far he had got in his meditations, 
 when he was startled by the sound of a 
 clear small voice, which said — 
 
 " I am so tired of standing ; may I go 
 now, please ? " 
 
 He turned round with a start. Though 
 he had been thinking of the child, he had 
 utterly forgotten her presence. Now he 
 felt a kind of shock at the sight of 
 her. 
 
 " I thought you were gone,"' he said. 
 '' Ring the bell."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 25 
 
 Margaret obeyed, and directly afterwards 
 Mrs. Fen ton appeared. 
 
 " You may take the cliild away," said 
 lier master. '' I have a few directions to 
 give about her. I wish that her name may 
 never be mentioned to me. I want to 
 have no more to do wdth her than I am 
 obliged. Keep her out of my sight, and 
 tell the servants she is to be called ' Miss 
 Terry.'" 
 
 " Yes, sir," answered Mrs. Fenton. 
 
 " I shall engage a tutor for her," he 
 went on. " She will live with him up- 
 stairs. Those rooms ^Ir. Eustace had in 
 the east gallery may be put in order. Let 
 the child remain there till her tutor 
 comes." 
 
 " Yes, sir," again said Mrs. Fenton. 
 
 " That is all," he concluded ; and Mrs. 
 Fenton withdrew, taking Margaret with
 
 26 PUT TO THE PEOOr. 
 
 her, and feeling it very hard that the sins 
 of the father should be so visited upon the 
 child. 
 
 The following day the rooms in the east 
 gallery, consisting of a sitting and two 
 bedrooms, were swept and garnished, and 
 Margaret was installed in them in solitary 
 dignity. 
 
 That same day Mr. Terry advertised in 
 the Times for a tutor for his errand- 
 daughter.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " A fine youug man, 
 . . . Althougli the sun of youth 
 Has shone too straight upon his brain, I know, 
 And fevered him with dreams of doing good." 
 
 In one of the suburbs of London, in a 
 handsomely furnished room, sat a lady^ 
 engaged in plain sewing. Near her sat 
 two little girls, aged respectively six and 
 seven years. One, apparently the eldest, 
 was hemming a pocket-handkerchief, and, 
 to judge from the puckered, sorrowful little 
 face and the long piece of work which 
 bore signs of frequent unpicking, the 
 pocket-handkerchief was a source of trouble 
 to her.
 
 28 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 The younger girl was ostensibly doing a 
 tiny addition sum, but the slate, which 
 was held well hidden from the eyes of her 
 mother, was covered with drawings of 
 birds, beasts, and men. The elder child 
 kept steadily at her work, though now and 
 then she heaved a little sigh of sorrow; 
 the younger was continually looking out 
 of the window into the sunny garden, 
 though she never committed such a breach 
 ■of discipline without first stealing an 
 interrogative look at her mother. 
 
 Mrs. Welford was, however, too much 
 occupied with her own thoughts to give 
 her customary meed of attention to her 
 little girls, and so Elsa's frivolity and 
 Madge's sulkiness escaped remark for 
 once. 
 
 Mrs. Welford's thoughts were very dis- 
 mal and unhappy, and, if she had uttered
 
 PUT TO THE PPtOOF. 29' 
 
 them aloud, would probably have run 
 something like this : 
 
 " What new craze has that boy got into 
 his head now ? It seems no use arguing 
 him out of one folly, for he is sure to run 
 straight into another. For the last three 
 months he has been raving about the 
 education of girls, abusing what he calls 
 the ' criminal methods ' now in vogue, and 
 imploring me to hand over Madge and 
 Elsa to him." Here she looked up, and 
 seeing that Elsa's attention had wandered to 
 the garden, sternly requested her to draw 
 down the blind. " But I think I know 
 better than that. It is all his father's work. 
 He indulged Philip frightfully, and let him 
 read what books he chose : this is the result." 
 
 She paused for a moment to examine 
 Madge's sewing, and then went on thinking. 
 
 " Instead of turning his mind to some
 
 30 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 useful profession — for though he is under 
 no necessity to work for his living, a man 
 should always have some settled occupation 
 — he has taken it into his head that he has 
 a vocation for bringing about what he calls 
 "the higher education of women," and 
 Margaret encourages him in it. He has 
 begun to talk about getting a post as tutor, 
 or setting up classes for girls. Heaven 
 knows where it will all end ! He will 
 break my heart. The education that was 
 high enough for me is high enough for my 
 daughters, I imagine. He has been so 
 strange and reserved all this week, he can 
 only be meditating some fresh plan. Surely 
 that was his ring. Madge, go and open 
 the door for your brother." 
 
 Madge obeyed, and soon returned, 
 followed by a young man, who came toward 
 Mrs. Welford, saying —
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 31 
 
 " Good morniDg, mother ! It was so fine 
 this morning, I could not wait for the 
 family breakfast, but set off for a walk into 
 the country. I was miles away by eight 
 o'clock." 
 
 Mrs. Welford glanced at the clock, which 
 at that moment struck twelve. 
 
 " Have you been walking until now ? " 
 she asked, with a tinge of sarcasm in her 
 voice. 
 
 " No ; I have been with Aunt Margaret 
 for some time. I had some news for her, 
 and I want to talk it over with you now." 
 
 " Always your aunt before your mother, 
 Philip. You are greatly wanting in respect." 
 "It is not that, mother," said the young 
 man, his face clouding. " I was coming 
 home, and met the postman close to Aunt 
 Margaret's, and I naturally went in to her 
 first."
 
 32 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 " I want no excuses," she said, displeased 
 and jealous. Her only son, wlio would 
 have loved her if she would have let him, 
 had always chosen her sister as his con- 
 fidante in preference to herself. Mrs. 
 Welford had not the confidence of her 
 children, and she knew it. 
 
 " And what is this letter you were going 
 to tell me ahout ? " she asked at length. 
 
 Philip looked at his little sisters. 
 
 " Let the children go," he said, " and 
 then we can talk quietly." 
 
 Madge and Elsa received permission to 
 put away their work, and in five minutes 
 Philip and his mother were alone. Philip 
 was just drawing the letter of which he 
 had spoken from his pocket, when his 
 mother rose in her calm, deliberate way, 
 saying— 
 
 "You must wait a moment, Philip; I
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 33 
 
 have something to tell cook. I shall not 
 be long." 
 
 Philip, ever attentive, crossed the room 
 and opened the door for her ; then returned 
 to the fireplace, and, leaning against the 
 mantelpiece, began to whistle. 
 
 He was a fine, tall young fellow who had 
 attained his majority some months pre- 
 viously. His figure was slight ; though he 
 had broad shoulders, he did not look as if 
 he would ever be a stout man. His face 
 was thin and dark and eager, and the 
 extreme mobility of his features suggested 
 what he in fact possessed, a quick and fiery 
 temper. His forehead was that of a thinker ; 
 his grey eyes, so dark as to be almost black, 
 were singularly quick and penetrating. 
 The mouth and chin were good. 
 
 Philip, as he leaned against the chimney- 
 piece and looked out of the window, of 
 
 YOL. I. 3
 
 84 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 which he had drawn up the blind on first 
 entering the room, unfolded the letter he 
 had taken from his pocket, and began to 
 read it, and as he read his face hardened. 
 He knew that his mother would be violently 
 opposed to the step he meant to take, and 
 he felt he should require all his own most 
 convincing logic, and his aunt's most 
 soothing words, to overcome her objections. 
 But he had no fear as to the result. 
 Latterly, he had had many trials of strength 
 with his mother, and the victory had 
 always remained with himself. 
 
 At this point Mrs. Welford re-entered 
 the room. She did not speak until she 
 was seated in her own particular chair, 
 and had taken up her sewing, then she 
 said — 
 
 " Now, Philip, I am at liberty to hear 
 what you have to say."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 35 
 
 " Yes. ' There was a pause of some 
 minutes' duration, then he went on. " You 
 know that I have heen talking for some 
 time about education. I believe I have 
 found out where the fault of the present 
 system lies. I think I can point out why 
 it is that our women are so frivolous, so 
 little to be trusted in serious matters." 
 
 " Considering to whom you are speaking, 
 I regard your words as strangely wanting 
 in respect," said Mrs. Welford, frigidly. 
 
 Philip's eyebrows contracted. He never 
 talked long with his mother without losing 
 nis temper. 
 
 " You know I am not alluding to you in 
 any way, mother. I mean the generality 
 of girls one sees nowadays. Take the 
 average schoolgirl, for instance, and tell 
 me how fer the training she receives at an 
 average boarding-school "
 
 36 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Mrs. Welford waved her hand. 
 
 " Spare me all that, Philip," Kshe said. 
 '' You have expressed your views on that 
 topic very often at great length ; my 
 memory stands in no need of refresh- 
 ment." 
 
 " I have spoken, too, of getting a post as 
 tutor, or work of a similar kind." (Mrs. 
 Welford smiled derisively, and yet her 
 heart hegan to beat more quickly ; she had 
 a vague idea that her son's words might 
 be tending to deeds at last.) " A few 
 days ago I saw an advertisement in the 
 Times ; a tutor was wanted for a little 
 girl of eight. I answered the advertise- 
 ment ; my application was successful ; the 
 post is mine." 
 
 Philip paused. Mrs. Welford sat silent ; 
 but, as Philip said no more, she felt con- 
 strained to speak. She therefore asked—
 
 . . PUT TO THE PEOOF. 37 
 
 " Am I to ■anderstand that you have 
 accepted a situation as tutor ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She did not speak for some little time. 
 She had never really believed that Philip 
 would carry out the project which she 
 knew had long been half formed in his 
 mind. In thinking over the matter to 
 herself, she had always been filled with 
 righteous indignation against her son ; but 
 when it came to the point, when she found 
 another preferred before herself as her 
 son's confidante, her indignation was 
 changed to disappointment, and for the 
 moment she could not speak. When she 
 did her voice was not quite steady, and she 
 spoke in a lower tone than usual. 
 
 " I do not know whether to be surprised 
 at what you tell me, Philip. You have 
 talked about this kind of thing very often
 
 38 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 of late, but I was hardly prepared to find 
 you so indifferent about acting in opposi- 
 tion to my wishes. I have no legal right 
 to prevent you from taking this step, but I 
 thought that would have inspired you with 
 greater respect for the moral obligation 
 you owe me. The position of the man of 
 a family determines that of his sisters or 
 other relations, and the future of your 
 sisters has to be thought of as well as that 
 of this unknown child, to whom you are so 
 willing to dedicate your time. I had 
 always looked forward to your filling a 
 very different position in life from that of 
 a tutor, and if you persist in this plan it 
 will be a great disappointment to me." 
 
 While she had been speaking, Philip 
 had abandoned his position in front of the 
 hearth, and begun to pace up and down 
 the room. His mother's words were not
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 39 
 
 without effect ; that is, though he was re- 
 solved not to give up his plan, he began to 
 see that it was not a matter concerning only 
 himself. A feeling came over him that to 
 a certain extent his mother had a right to 
 feel disappointed ; and just at the moment 
 when he was going to offend all her 
 prejudices, he realized how dear she was 
 to him, and how it hurt him to set aside 
 her wishes. 
 
 " Mother," he said suddenly, pausing- 
 near her and impulsively laying one hand 
 on her arm, " I am sorry if you are dis- 
 appointed. I do not want to vex you ; but 
 you would not have me lead an idle life. 
 You condemn all young men who waste 
 their time in that way." 
 
 " No one hates idleness more than I do ; 
 but teaching is not the only profession 
 open to a young man. Why will you not
 
 40 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 study for the Churcli or medicine ? In 
 either of those professions you might earn 
 distinction, which you never will do as a 
 tutor." 
 
 Unfortunately, Mrs. Welford had not 
 been able to keep entirely out of her voice 
 the contempt she felt for the profession her 
 son wished to adopt, and the slight con- 
 veyed in her tone roused Philip's anger. 
 His colour was deeper than usual as he 
 replied — 
 
 " Public distinction one may never earn, 
 but the distinction that lies in training a 
 child to a high ideal in life, may be won 
 by any teacher." 
 
 " I do not see," said his mother, a half 
 smile parting her lips, " how you are to 
 inspire any one with a high ideal when 
 you disobey your mother's wishes." 
 
 " Ah, mother ! you see after all it lies
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 41 
 
 with you to make or mar my career. How 
 could I succeed without your approval, and 
 you will not let me fail when I might 
 succeed ? " 
 
 Philip, as he spoke, bent and knelt on 
 one knee by his mother, and looked up 
 into her face with his fine dark eyes. He 
 was, and always would be, her favourite 
 •child. From his childhood she had always 
 given w^ay to him, and though this last 
 freak of his was more distasteful to her 
 than any other one had been, she felt that 
 she could not withstand him. She laid 
 her hand upon his hair, and her hard 
 mouth relaxed into a smile, as she replied — 
 
 " The old story, Philip ; you take unfair 
 advantage of me. It is a pity you will 
 not go into the Church. You would get 
 whatever you chose from your congrega- 
 tion."
 
 42 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 Long experience had taught Philip to 
 know the precise point in a discussion at 
 which his mother Yielded to him, and now 
 his only answer was — 
 
 "Thank you, mother. If it is not in 
 every way a most desirable post, I promise 
 you I will not stay." 
 
 The fight was fought, and Philip was 
 victor. It had always been so. His mother 
 made a valiant resistance at first, but 
 always yielded in the end. Philip told 
 her where he was going, and they spent 
 half an hour talking over it, and parted 
 the best of friends. 
 
 Philip journeyed to Ash Fell the day 
 but one following his discussion with his 
 mother. He was full of hope, and though 
 he understood the importance of what he 
 was doing, he Avas not afraid of failure ; 
 whence, perhaps, arose his success.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 43- 
 
 It was not a month since Mrs. Entwistie 
 had driven Margaret up to the Hall, when a 
 dogcart stood at the station, waiting for the 
 train by which Philip was travelling. It 
 was not many minutes late, and the 
 numerous clocks about the place were 
 striking six as the dogcart drew up in 
 front of the Hall. 
 
 Philip asked for Mr. Terry, and was 
 shown into the library, where the squire 
 sat writing. For a moment the old man 
 seemed at a loss to account for the presence 
 of his visitor, but he recollected himself,. 
 and apologized for his forgetfulness. He 
 asked Philip to join him at dinner. 
 
 " I want you to understand the position 
 you will occupy here." He paused a 
 moment, and then, reflecting that sooner 
 or later Philip must hear of Margaret's 
 parentage, he went on to give in a few
 
 44 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 words tlae reason for his presence in his 
 house. " You and I shall not meet often," 
 he concluded, " but when we do, I do not 
 wish your pupil's name to be mentioned to 
 me. I desire to hear nothing about her. 
 She must be educated, and with that view 
 I have engaged a tutor for her." 
 
 Dinner was finished almost in silence. 
 Mr. Terry, being accustomed to live alone, 
 seemed to have forgotten his companion's 
 presence. At last they rose from table. 
 
 " Why did you select me for this post ? " 
 asked Philip, as they parted. 
 
 " Your application reached me the first." 
 He had rung as he spoke, and to the 
 servant who answered the bell he said, 
 " Show Mr. Welford to his rooms." 
 
 Philip followed the man till he came to 
 a door, at which he knocked. 
 
 "Come in," said a childish voice; and
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 45 
 
 the man, pushing open the door, an- 
 nounced — 
 
 " Mr. Welford, miss." 
 
 Philip, as he entered, saw a child's figure 
 rise from the window-seat, and a little girl 
 came forward and held out her hand shyly, 
 saying — 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Welford ? " 
 
 Philip, with Mr. Terry's harsh words 
 still in his ears, felt a rush of pity at the 
 sight of the child sitting alone in her 
 black frock in this large gloomy room, 
 for it looked gloomy just then. He 
 bent down and kissed the child's forehead, 
 asking — 
 
 " Are you my little pupil ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Margaret. " Mrs. Fenton 
 told me you were coming." 
 
 " Who is Mrs. Fenton ? " 
 
 ^' The housekeeper."
 
 46 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Philip had now seated himself in the 
 window, and, drawing the child to him, he 
 began to talk to her. They talked until it 
 was time for Margaret to go to bed, and 
 Philip was left alone. 
 
 He sat still in the window-seat, looking 
 out into the soft summer gloaming and 
 thinking of his new circumstances. Mr. 
 Terry's behaviour seemed to him in the 
 last degree heartless. Margaret he thought 
 the most charming child he had ever seen, 
 and her old-fashioned name, having no dis- 
 agreeable associations for him, struck him 
 as very pretty. He was glad that he 
 should have his little pupil all to himself, 
 though he could not like the reason which 
 had been given for the arrangement. From 
 the window where he sat, he could see 
 through the trees the chimney of the 
 obnoxious cotton-mill; and Margaret, in
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 47 
 
 child-like innocence had told him, " That 
 chimney belongs to the mill where mamma 
 worked before she married papa. She was 
 called Margaret, too."
 
 48 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Golden-haired, 
 Grey-eyed, and simple. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 A very maid, yet fearing not for aught." 
 
 It was a still afternoon in July. The sun 
 shone hotly down on the country round 
 Ash Fell, ripening the corn and turning 
 the apples from green to red or russet 
 brown. Ash Fell Hall slept in the sun- 
 shine ; nearly all the blinds were drawn ; 
 no one was moving in the gardens or about 
 the stables. 
 
 Along the road which wound past the 
 Hall in one direction on to the moor, in 
 the other through the village of Ash Fell
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 49 
 
 to the neighbouring town some four or 
 five miles distant, a man and a girl were 
 riding. They rode very slowly : it was 
 too hot to make rapidity of movement 
 desirable, even had it been necessary. Xo 
 one but Philip Welford could own that 
 dark, thin face, with eager, restless eyes 
 and mobile mouth. He is ten years older 
 than when we saw him last; the en- 
 thusiastic youth has merged into the 
 earnest, thoughtful man, but the expression 
 of his face is not much altered. 
 
 The girl at his side, then, must be 
 Margaret, whom we last saw as a child of 
 eight, shyly welcoming her tutor. It is 
 more difficult to recognize her, for the 
 pretty child has developed into a stately 
 maiden of eighteen, who certainly has but 
 little of the appearance of an ordinary 
 schoolgirl. If the object of Philip's system 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 of education was to produce a young lady 
 who should bear little outward signs of the 
 general type of girlhood, he has admirably 
 succeeded. Margaret looks a year or two 
 older than she really is, but this is probably 
 as much owing to her tall, splendidly de- 
 veloped figure, and the dignified, graceful 
 carriage of her head, as to the thoughtful 
 expression of her face. Her hair is like 
 her mother's, yellow as gold ; her eyes, 
 
 *' Too expressive to be blue, 
 Too lovely to be grey," 
 
 look steadfastly out from under her level 
 dark eyebrows ; her complexion, slightly 
 flushed with exercise, is no whit less 
 delicate than when she was a child ; her 
 mouth is no rosebud, but the lips are red 
 as coral, and though their general expres- 
 sion is rather grave than gay, she is laugh- 
 ing at present.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 51 
 
 " I wish we did not always meet Mrs. 
 Entwistle when we go out," Philip was 
 saying ; '' the mere sight of her puts me 
 into an evil frame of mind for the rest of 
 the day." 
 
 And Margaret laughed as she answered. 
 ■" You should not look at her, Mr. Welford. 
 It is foolish to expose one's self to tempta- 
 tion without necessity." 
 
 " My dear child," he said, " you are 
 speaking at random. Have you considered 
 what the cost of such a step would be ? 
 Mrs. Entwistle would think I wished to 
 insult her, and her husband would call and 
 demand satisfaction. You don't like her 
 any better than I do." 
 
 "I never have liked her. We might 
 take turns at avoiding her. I thought she 
 looked at us more superciliously than usual 
 to-day."
 
 52 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 They rode on in silence. They were 
 returning from town, where Margaret had 
 been shopping. As Mr. Terry never 
 allowed her to have any money in her own 
 possession, she was always accompanied by 
 Philip, who paid for the things she bought, 
 and afterwards sent in his bills to the 
 squire. It was a simple way of doing- 
 business, and one which gave Mr. Terry 
 no trouble, it being perfectly understood 
 that Margaret's expenditure was strictly 
 limited ; but it was very unsatisfactory to 
 the girl herself. 
 
 Mr. Terry would have had his grand- 
 daughter brought up in complete ignorance 
 of money matters, had he been able, but 
 here Philip circumvented him. In one of 
 his rare interviews with Mr. Terry, he had 
 been told that in all probability Margaret 
 would inherit her grandfather's property
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 53 
 
 at his death. Eustace had been an onlv 
 <j;hild, and though Mr. Terry could leave the 
 property as he would, Margaret was his only 
 living relative except his step-daughter, 
 Mrs. Latimer, with whom he had never 
 been able to agree. It was, therefore, 
 liighly improbable that the old man would 
 make a will in her favour. 
 
 When Philip knew this, he had, in direct 
 ■disobedience to Mr. Terry's wishes, taken 
 upon himself to instruct Margaret as to the 
 duties and responsibilities of her future 
 position, as mistress of a large estate, with 
 fifteen thousand a year at her own disposal. 
 It did not harmonize with his scheme of 
 education that the girl should be brought 
 up without ever having held so much as 
 ten shillings in her own possession, and 
 suddenly find herself one of the richest 
 women in the county. His instructions
 
 64 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 had not been in vain. Margaret, having 
 grown up in the knowledge that one day 
 most of the country lying for some miles 
 around Ash Fell would be her own, often 
 pictured herself in her grandfather's posi- 
 tion, and laid plans for what she would do 
 in the future. 
 
 She was thinking of this now, as she rode 
 along and saw the dirty children as they 
 played in the village street or greeted her- 
 self and her companion with shrill cheers 
 as they passed by. She was wondering 
 whether the children would be so fond of 
 playing in the dirt, and the men of 
 lounging about, when she had instituted 
 a public gymnasium ; and whether the 
 women, who stood gossiping at the cottage 
 doors, would be so hopelessly dirty and 
 untidy when the village was provided with 
 baths free of charge.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 55 
 
 As she thus mused, she heard a horse 
 coming along in the direction opposite to 
 that in which she and her tutor were 
 going. She looked up. The rider was an 
 old man, on a chestnut horse, closely 
 followed by a large retriever. As he passed 
 he raised his hat in silence ; she, in return, 
 bowed without smiling; Philip raised his 
 hat, and then he was gone, and the road 
 before them was empty once more. 
 
 " There w^as Mr. Terry going for an 
 afternoon ride," she remarked. ^' I wonder," 
 she went on, after a pause, " what Mr. 
 Terry does all day ? His life must be very 
 lonelv." 
 
 " He is used to it," said Philip ; " and 
 there is the farm to look after, and the 
 estate, and no end of things to see to ; and 
 when all these joys pall, there is always 
 Mrs. Entwistle."
 
 56 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 " True," said Margaret, half smiling, 
 '' there is always Mrs. Entwistle." 
 
 And with that they rode in at the gates, 
 Philip helped her from her horse, and they 
 went indoors. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Terry rode on, thinking. 
 It was not once in three months that he 
 happened to meet Margaret ; whenever he 
 did see her, the sight disturbed him. She 
 was so very like her mother. To-day he 
 could almost have believed it was Margaret 
 Shuttleworth he had seen riding along the 
 village street. The squire had only lately 
 returned from London, where he had been 
 spending some weeks, and he seemed to see 
 Margaret with new eyes. He recognized 
 that she was no longer a child, but a young 
 woman, and — he had to swallow the pill, 
 bitter though it was — a very beautiful 
 woman. He did not know how old she was ;
 
 PUT TO THE PllOOF. bl 
 
 he had kept no count of her years, but he 
 thought she must be sixteen or seventeen. 
 
 He rode on until he reached the Vicarage. 
 He had not meant to call, but Mrs. Ent- 
 wistle, who saw him, called to him, and he 
 had to obey. Perhaps the only soft place 
 in the old man s heart was that occupied 
 by Agatha Eutwistle. He had known her 
 since she was a cliild, and had loved her as 
 though she had been his daughter — much 
 more than his step-daughter, now Mrs. 
 Latimer, with whom he had never been 
 able to get on, and every one knew it. 
 When Mrs. Entwistle called to him, there- 
 fore, he turned his horse in at the gate, 
 and reined up in front of the window out 
 of which the lady was leaning. 
 
 '' Good afternoon, Agatha," he said, 
 raising his hat. 
 
 " Good afternoon. I am having five
 
 58 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 o'clock tea, and am quite alone ; the vicar 
 cannot come. Won't yon relieve my soli- 
 tude?" 
 
 " I can't refuse," said the old man 
 gallantly ; " a lady's society is a treat I do 
 not often enjoy." 
 
 " You should have Margaret down in the 
 evening to make tea for you. It is quite 
 time she left the schooh^oom, and saw a 
 little society." 
 
 The squire looked so little pleased at this 
 suggestion that Mrs. Entwistle went on 
 quickly — 
 
 " Now, don't look cross. I called you in 
 because I want to talk to you about the 
 girl ; so come into the house and have your 
 tea in comfort." 
 
 She began to pour it out as she spoke ; 
 and the squire, seeing nothing for it but 
 to obey, threw his horse's bridle over the
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 59 
 
 top of a little wicket-gate leading into 
 another part of the garden, and entered 
 the house. 
 
 " I met Margaret this afternoon," began 
 his hostess, almost as soon as he had seated 
 himself. 
 
 " So did I." 
 
 " She was riding with her tutor. AYhat 
 is his name ? Welford," she went on^ 
 superciliously. 
 
 '' Ay," remarked the squire. The subject 
 did not seem to possess any particular 
 interest for him. 
 
 " How old is Margaret ? " pursued the 
 lady. 
 
 " I don't know ; sixteen or seventeen, I 
 dare say." 
 
 " She is eighteen," said Mrs. Entwistle, 
 concisely ; " and at eighteen a girl is old 
 enough to leave the schoolroom. Margaret
 
 '60 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 can have done little else than learn lessons 
 for the last ten years, and even if she is not 
 very bright, she ought by this time to 
 know quite as much as her mother's 
 daughter needs to know." 
 
 ^' How do you know she is not very 
 bright ? " asked the squire, who always 
 seized upon unexpected points in a discus- 
 sion. 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle slirugged her shoulders 
 and raised her eyebrows. 
 
 " I know nothing about her mental 
 powers, of course," she drawled ; " but she 
 is so like her mother physically, that I 
 cannot but think she resembles her 
 mentally, and we all know how deficient 
 the lower orders are in brain power." 
 
 Mr. Terry smiled sarcastically. 
 
 ^'At any rate, her mother possessed 
 sufficient brain jDOwer to successfully plan
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 61 
 
 out a scheme for getting her child into my 
 house," he growled. 
 
 '' I have only just got back from Scot- 
 land, as you know, and it is some months 
 since I saw Margaret. I thought her 
 greatly changed to-day ; she has a much 
 more ' grown-up ' appearance than I re- 
 member having noticed before. She will 
 be a very handsome woman." 
 
 " She is her mother over again," said the 
 squire, sharply. 
 
 " So far as I remember, her mother was 
 a very handsome woman," said Mrs. Ent- 
 wistle, coolly. " Margaret's is a kind of 
 beauty that attracts many men, though I 
 confess she is too big for my taste ; stilly 
 when she is introduced, she will no doubt 
 make a great sensation." 
 
 The squire was silent, though he looked 
 displeased. He did not love Margaret, and
 
 62 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 her beauty was no source of pride and 
 delight to him. If she had only had the 
 delicate, fragile loveliness of the Terrys, 
 instead of the strong, noble beauty of a 
 daughter of the people, her fate might have 
 been different. 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle looked rather impatiently 
 at Mr. Terry as he sat in silence. So far 
 she had not been successful, the squire had 
 taken her words according to their outward 
 meaning, and did not seem to consider that 
 they might have any hidden significance. 
 Presently she spoke again. 
 
 " About how old is Mr. Welford ? " 
 
 Mr. Terry stared a little. 
 
 " Upon my word, my dear," he said, " I 
 have no idea ; I should think from his ap- 
 pearance, he may be one or two and thirty. 
 I remember when he first came he told me 
 his age, but I do not know how long ago 
 that is."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 63 
 
 '^ Two and thirty," murmured Agatha, 
 meditatively, " and Margaret is eighteen ; a 
 susceptible age when one has seen nothing 
 of the world." 
 
 Mr. Terry looked up quickly. 
 
 " My dear Agatha," he said, and his tone 
 would have been contemptuous if he had 
 been speaking to any one else, " are you 
 going to suggest an attachment between 
 my granddaughter and her tutor ? Re- 
 member he is in my service; the fellow 
 can't be so presumptuous as that ! " 
 
 Agatha raised her eyebrows again. 
 
 ^'You see, considering who her mother 
 was, it would not be so wonderful, after 
 all." 
 
 " Still, she is Miss Terry." 
 
 " And will some day be very rich. 
 Excuse my mentioning it, but we must 
 always look at things in all their lights.
 
 64 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Some day Margaret will have fifteen tliou- 
 sand a year. Mr. Welford must be very 
 short-sighted if he has lost sight of that." 
 
 Mr. Terry set down his teacup and 
 clasped his hands. 
 
 " This must be seen to/' he said, " and 
 at once. I confess, such a possibility never 
 suggested itself to me ; it requires a 
 woman's eye to ferret out these things." 
 
 Whether he spoke sarcastically or not 
 Agatha did not inquire ; she only said — 
 
 " I am afraid I have made you uneasy, 
 but these things happen so often. One 
 can never be sufficiently on one's guard." 
 
 " You did quite right. I shall speak to 
 Welford to-night." 
 
 " Do nothing rash," she said. " I don't 
 want you to act on the impulse of the 
 moment, and then to feel that you might 
 have done better in leaving things alone."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 65 
 
 ''No, no; I shall not be acting in a 
 hurry. He has been here quite long- 
 enough ; he shall go in three months. I 
 shall speak to him to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle, having set things going 
 according to her wishes, abandoned the 
 subject of Margaret's future, and she and her 
 old friend sat talking about matters of local 
 interest until he rose to go, and rode away, 
 after thanking Agatha for having put him 
 on his guard against Philip Welford. 
 
 Philip and Margaret spent their evening 
 in their usual manner. Philip never 
 allowed his pupil to study at night; she 
 devoted her evenings to books of a lighter 
 character, or to needlework. 
 
 This evening Philip had been reading 
 aloud. They were finishing " Felix Holt," 
 and during the reading of the last few 
 pages Margaret had dropped her work in her 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 lap and sat listening breathlessly. When 
 Mr. Welford closed the book, she looked 
 up with the light of enthusiasm shining 
 in her face. 
 
 ^'That is good," she said. "I do not 
 know when I have enjoyed a book so 
 much. How one grows to love Esther. 
 She would have been miserable if she had 
 married Harold." 
 
 " How do you make that out ? " said 
 Philip. 
 
 " Their natures were so dissimilar, and 
 she would have found it out before 
 long." 
 
 " But at the beginning of the book their 
 characters have always struck me as being 
 strangely alike. If she had not married 
 Felix, her character would not have de- 
 veloped. As Harold's wife she would have 
 made no progress, she would never have
 
 PUT TO TEE PROOF. 67 
 
 l^nown what was in herself, and would 
 have been quite happy." 
 
 Margaret shook her head. " The change 
 had come when she met Harold, or she 
 would not have given up her claim to him, 
 and she did not know then that Felix 
 would ever ask her to marry him." 
 
 "True," said Philip, and the discussion 
 dropped. Margaret took up her work again, 
 and Philip turned over the leaves of the 
 book, reading to himself a passage here 
 and there. 
 
 Margaret fell into a dream. She felt very 
 happy and contented ; she had grown to 
 love her life. Philip was her friend more 
 than her tutor. Looking back over the 
 years they had spent together, she found 
 only pleasure, and again pleasure in the 
 retrospect. The presence and influence of 
 Philip were in every act of her life, almost
 
 68 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 as far back as slie could remember. How 
 pleasant lie bad made tbose years ! Her 
 heart glowed with tbe warmth of friend- 
 ship as she thought of him. She could 
 not think of her life without him ; it would 
 be very dreary. Looking up suddenly, she- 
 said — 
 
 " It will be ten years to-morrow since 
 you came here, Mr. Welford." 
 
 "Indeed," said Philip, smiling, though 
 he did not raise his eyes from his book. 
 " Has the time seemed long or short ? " 
 
 She laughed. " How can I answer such 
 a question ? It has been ten years of 
 iny life. I don't know whether life goes 
 quickly or slowly. I want to be certain 
 about one thing," she went on, after a 
 l^ause. 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " Don't you remember telling me, when
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 69 
 
 you liad taught me all you know about 
 wood-carving " 
 
 '' Ah ! " said Philip, interrupting. " You 
 are not quite certain whether I spoke the 
 truth when I said I had taught you till 
 you could carve better than myself. I 
 suppose it makes one quite dizzy to realize 
 that one knows more of any subject than 
 one's teacher." 
 
 He spoke in a tone of kindly mockery ; 
 and Margaret laughed as she answered — 
 
 ^^ It is you who remind me of it, not I 
 you. I was not going to say that at all. 
 I know you are too sensitive on that point. 
 What you said was that every girl ought 
 to be taught some occupation by which she 
 might support herself, if need were. I am 
 not sure that I could support myself by 
 wood-carviug. You admire my things, 
 but you are my teacher. I should like to
 
 70 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 know what an impartial judge thinks of 
 them, and whether they would be bought 
 if I offered them for sale. How can I find 
 out?" 
 
 Philip laid down his book. 
 
 " I don't know," he said, " what I have 
 done that you should lose all faith in my 
 judgment. Bring the things here, and let 
 ns look at them." 
 
 She left the room, and presently returned, 
 carrying in her strong, white hands a large 
 box, which she set upon the table, and 
 together they emptied it of its contents. 
 The table was presently strewn with 
 carvings. There were many things — photo- 
 graph frames, book-slides, and numbers of 
 other articles, both large and small. Philip 
 examined them carefully. They were 
 exquisitely carved. Some of the designs 
 were his, some her own, but in every case
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 71 
 
 they were carefully and minutely executed ; 
 a competent judge would have said there 
 was not only talent, but genius displayed 
 in the work. 
 
 " You are very sceptical," said Philip^ 
 smiling. " However, to convince you, I 
 will send some of your things to the dealer 
 in London who used to dispose of my 
 carvings. I shall not say anything to bias 
 his judgment ; I shall tell him to keep the 
 things, and send me what he thinks they 
 are worth. I can depend upon his honesty." 
 
 When Philip sat alone reading, after 
 Margaret had gone to bed, a servant came 
 to him with a message from Mr. Terry, who 
 requested his presence in the library. 
 
 Philip involuntarily glanced at the time- 
 piece. It was eleven o'clock ; rather an 
 unseasonable hour, he thought, for an inter- 
 view. He told the man, however, that he
 
 72 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 would come, and, having finished the 
 chapter he was reading, closed the book 
 and went downstairs. 
 
 Mr. Terry was writing when Philip 
 entered the library, but he laid down 
 his pen and conrteously enough requested 
 the young man to be seated. Then he 
 plunged straight into the business of the 
 hour. 
 
 " I believe," he began, " that my grand- 
 daughter is now eighteen years of age." 
 Philip assented, and he w^ent on — 
 " It is time she left the schoolroom. 
 Girls are usually supposed to have finished 
 their education " (Philip's eyebrows con- 
 tracted ; the expression was particularly 
 disagreeable to him) " at a somewhat 
 earlier age, but " — he hardly liked to own 
 that he had thought Margaret to be a year 
 or two younger than she really was ;
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 73 
 
 fortunately, Mrs. Entwistle's suggestion 
 occurred to him, and he went boldly on — 
 ^' but in my granddaughter's case, I was 
 willing to prolong her school life that she 
 might have a better chance of making up 
 for any natural want of intelligence." 
 
 Philip s surprise could not be restrained. 
 
 " Do I understand you to speak of want 
 of intelligence ? Margaret is highly gifted 
 in every way." 
 
 "Do you always call her Margaret?" 
 asked the old man, with a sudden flash of 
 suspicion. 
 
 " Of course," hardly knowing whether to 
 laugh or be angry. 
 
 " My granddaughter is usually called 
 Miss Terry." 
 
 Philip sat in puzzled silence. He did 
 not in the least understand the squire's 
 manner. In all his former interviews,
 
 74 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 which did not number more than two or 
 three, Philip had always called his pupil 
 by her christian name, and it had never 
 excited any remark. It would have passed 
 unnoticed now but for Mrs. Entwistle's- 
 
 warning. 
 
 " However, to return to my point " (" It 
 is a relief," thought Philip, " to find he has 
 a point "), "I was talking to Mrs. Ent- 
 wistle to-day." (Philip looked up quickly^ 
 and almost said, " Ah ! ") " She agrees 
 with me that it is time Miss Terry should 
 be introduced into society. I believe that 
 when you first came here we agreed that, 
 in the event of either of us wishing to end 
 the engagement, a notice of three months 
 was to be given on either side." 
 
 " Yes," said Philip, rather absently. He 
 was thinking of Margaret. 
 
 " Then, you will consider it as settled^
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 75 
 
 that after three months I shall no longer 
 require your services." 
 
 Mr. Terry then went on to make various 
 polite speeches as to the friendly relations 
 that had always existed between himself 
 and Mr. Welford, the confidence he had 
 reposed in him, etc. To all these things 
 the tutor made only vague and unsatisfac- 
 tory rej^lies, and somewhat abruptly wish- 
 ing his employer, " Good night," left the 
 room. 
 
 Philip went upstairs to his sitting-room, 
 and there threw himself into a chair and 
 sat thinking. 
 
 It had come to this at last. Of course he 
 had known that sometime Margaret would 
 be grown-up, and he would have to go. 
 Nevertheless, when the time did come, he 
 was foolish enough to feel that it was 
 rather hard. It was Mrs. Entwistle who
 
 76 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 had suggested tliis, and it was just like 
 her. Had nothing to the contrary been 
 suggested to him, the squire would have 
 allowed Margaret's present mode of life to 
 continue until his death, with no thought 
 that any change might be advisable. 
 " Mrs. Entwistle had agreed with him ! " 
 It was much more likely that he had agreed 
 with Mrs. Entwistle. Poor little Margaret ! 
 She would hardly have a pleasant life, 
 spent as it would be in the society of a 
 man who detested her, with the alternative 
 of that of Mrs. Entwistle. He hated to 
 think of it, but it was characteristic of 
 Philip that he did not think of a marriage 
 for Margaret as a solution of the difficulty. 
 He supposed he must tell her. The sooner 
 she knew the better, but she should have 
 the next day free from care. It is so much 
 easier to bear one's grief at night, when
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 77 
 
 one may creep away, bury one's aching 
 head in the pillow, and hide in a dark 
 corner from the eyes of the curions, than in 
 the morning, when there is a long glaring 
 day of work and thought before one. 
 To-morrow, too, was a festival ; she should 
 enjoy that, the last, in peace. And with 
 these thouo;hts runnino: in his mind, he 
 w^ent to bed.
 
 78 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound, 
 And nmrmur, summer streams ; 
 There is no need of other sound 
 To soothe my lady's dreams." 
 
 Philip had said on the preceding night 
 that the next day was a festival, which 
 Margaret should celebrate before hearing 
 that they were to be separated. 
 
 It was a very harmless festival, and con- 
 sisted of the celebration of the anniversary 
 of Philip's coming to Ash Fell. They had 
 observed nine of these anniversaries, this 
 was to be the tenth and last. The custom 
 had grown up very naturally. When 
 Phihp had been at Ash Fell a year, Margaret
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 79 
 
 had asked for a holiday, and had proposed 
 that they should spend it among the hills. 
 The same thing had happened on the two 
 following years, by which time it had 
 become a rooted article of their faith, and 
 was never departed from. 
 
 Philip was in the sitting-room first that 
 morning. It was a lovely morning, and he 
 stood by the window, thinking how Margaret 
 would enjoy herself. 
 
 At that moment he heard a light step 
 behind him, and, turning, saw Margaret. 
 He bade her " Good morning," and laugh- 
 ingly reprimanded her for being late. To 
 which she made answer — 
 
 " Do not imagine you were here first. I 
 have been ready for some time, but I went 
 into the garden to get these flowers. Are 
 they not lovely ? " and she held her basket, 
 piled to the top with roses, for him to see.
 
 80 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 " Very beautiful," lie said. " Are you 
 going to put them in water before break- 
 fast ? " 
 
 " Yes," glancing at tbe table. " Morris 
 lias not brought the coffee yet; " and collect- 
 ing her pots and glasses round her, she 
 began to fill them with roses. 
 
 Philip, as he leaned against the window 
 and looked at her, thought she was more 
 beautiful than any of the flowers she had 
 gathered. She looked very bright and 
 happy that morning. She had on a soft 
 white dress, and had fastened one dark red 
 rose, with its glossy green leaves, at her 
 throat. She pursued her work deftly and 
 swiftly, and had almost finished when 
 Morris, the schoolroom maid, brought in 
 breakfast. 
 
 " "Wait one moment, Morris," said the 
 girl, " and you can take away these stalks
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 81 
 
 and leaves with you." Another moment 
 and she set the glass in the middle of the 
 table, saying to Philip, "Fresh flowers, 
 you observe, in honour of the occasion." 
 
 They left the house soon after breakfast. 
 They were going to spend the day at a 
 place some miles away, famed for its 
 beautiful scenery, and they carried specimen 
 boxes, for they were going to botanize. 
 
 Quarter of an hour in the train brought 
 them to Crag Towers. Here they left the 
 train, and after walking for some time 
 along the rough, uneven street of the little 
 town, they turned off into a road which led 
 through some woods to " The Enchanted 
 Yalley." ^^ 
 
 The Enchanted Valley was approached 
 by a narrow road, one side of which rose 
 up in tall cliffs, clothed with trees, while 
 the other sloped down steeply and then 
 
 VOL. I. ' 6
 
 82 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 rose again, thus forming a narrow deep 
 ravine, at the bottom of which flowed a 
 swift mountain torrent. The valley itself 
 was shut in by hills on all sides — hills of no 
 great height, and which were in winter no 
 doubt bleak enough, but in the summer 
 and early autumn they glowed with the rich 
 hues of gorse and heather. Two streams 
 flowed through the valley, and joined their 
 waters under an old stone bridge, grey 
 with age, and overgrown with moss and 
 creeping plants and ferns. 
 
 This valley was a favourite place with 
 Margaret. She loved to come and sit by the 
 stream, listening to the unceasing swirl and 
 murmur of its tumbling waters. Whatever 
 trouble she might bring to the Enchanted 
 Valley, she never failed to find peace 
 within its limits. 
 
 When Philip and Margaret reached this
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 83 
 
 spot, Philip threw himself unto the soft, 
 thick grass, and Margaret sat down on a 
 little heathy mound by the side of the water, 
 and gave herself up to meditation. Some 
 words from " Wuthering Heights " were 
 running in her head : " In winter nothing 
 more dreary, in summer nothing more 
 divine," and she felt there was no place in 
 the world so beautiful as her native York- 
 shire. She was so lost in thought that she 
 forgot Philip, until the rustling of the 
 leaves of a book roused her, and looking 
 up, she said — 
 
 " What book have you got there, Mr. 
 Welford ? " 
 
 " Emily Bronte's poems. Shall I read 
 you one ? " 
 
 " Do. Her poems were chiefly written 
 in places like this, and ought to be read 
 out-of-doors."
 
 84 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Philip turned over the leaves. He did 
 not seem to find what he was in search of. 
 Presently he said — 
 
 " Here are three verses from one of the 
 poems, which, as you say, might have been 
 written here. How do you like them ? 
 
 *' ' The linnet in the rocky dells, 
 The moor-lark in the air, 
 The bee among the heather bells 
 That hide my lady fair ; 
 
 *' ' The wild deer browse above her breast^ 
 The wild birds raise their brood ; 
 And they, her smiles of love caressed, 
 Have left her solitude. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 " ' Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound, 
 And murmur, summer streams ; 
 There is no need of other sound 
 To soothe my lady's dreams.' " 
 
 When he had finished there was silence. 
 Margaret sat looking away over the 
 *' summer streams " on to the hills ; her
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 85 
 
 face was almost solemn with her intensity 
 of feehng. 
 
 " Oh," she said at last, " that is more 
 beautiful than words can express ! What 
 one must feel to be able to write that ! Do 
 jou feel as I do, that when you read such a 
 poem in a place like this you long to cry ? " 
 
 " Certainly it stirs the very innermost 
 depths of one's nature." 
 
 Margaret rose, and stood looking into 
 the water. She had thrown away the rose 
 that had nestled at her throat, and now 
 wore a bunch of early heather ; her hat 
 lay on the ground beside her, and the 
 sunlight played upon her golden hair. 
 She was repeating the last verse Philip 
 had read. The words seemed to have taken 
 a strange hold of her ; she felt she should 
 never forget them. 
 
 At last they turned to go. They climbed
 
 86 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 the hills which shut in the Enchanted 
 Yalley, and crossed the wide stretch of 
 open moorland which separated them from 
 the road by which they had come. It 
 was not a long walk to Crag Towers, but 
 it was a most beautiful one. They reached 
 home about eight o'clock, Philip feeling 
 he had a hard task before him ; Margaret 
 with the dreamy happiness still lingering 
 about her. As she and her companion 
 reached their sitting-room, she said — 
 
 '' I have never enjoyed any of our 
 festivals like this one. I shall never forget 
 to-day!" 
 
 Later on in the evening, she sat over her 
 wood-carving. She was engaged on a 
 work of some size — a hanging bookshelf 
 for presentation to her tutor on his birth- 
 day. She loved her work ; it was an ever- 
 new delight to her to watch the design
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 87 
 
 take shape and^ grow beneath her fingers. 
 PhiHj^ was writing to his Aunt Margaret, 
 telHng her that in three months he should 
 have finished his work, and would be back 
 in London. 
 
 When he had finished his letter, he looked 
 at Margaret. He was half tempted not to 
 tell her that night, she looked so happy ; 
 but he steeled himself to his task, and, 
 leaning back in his chair, spoke aloud. 
 
 " I want to speak to you, Margaret." 
 
 She looked up. 
 
 " Yes ; well, I can listen when I am 
 carving." 
 
 " But what I am going to tell you is 
 rather startling ; you might make a mis- 
 take. I had rather you left off working." 
 
 She put down her tools, and, turning 
 her chair, sat facing him. 
 
 " Last night," he began, " after you
 
 88 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 were gone to bed, I had an interview with 
 Mr. Terry." 
 
 "What had you to tell him?" she in- 
 quired, rather curiously. 
 
 " Nothing. He sent for me." 
 
 " Really ? " almost incredulously. " What 
 did he want ? " 
 
 " He told me he had been talking to 
 Mrs. Entwistle." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Margaret, uttering the same 
 exclamation that had so nearly passed 
 Philip's lips the night before. 
 
 " And they have agreed that, as you 
 have attained the ripe age of eighteen 
 years, it is time you left the schoolroom 
 and began to go into society. They think 
 you have finished your education," sar- 
 castically. 
 
 She began to see his meaning, and her 
 face went a shade paler.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 89 
 
 " And — and what shall you do ? " she 
 asked hesitatingly, as though unwilling to 
 have her own fear realized. 
 
 ''Mr. Terry told me that, after three 
 months, I shall no longer be required here." 
 
 " Are you going in three months ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands in 
 silence, while she gently rocked herself to 
 and fro. It was a habit she had when in 
 any kind of tribulation. 
 
 At first Philip did not speak; but this 
 lasted so long, that at last he went up to 
 her, and taking her hands from her face, 
 he said, half laughing, half expostulating — 
 
 " My dear child, what is the matter ? " 
 
 She raised her eyes to his ; the tears 
 were standing in them. 
 
 " Is it true ? " she said. " What shall 
 I do when you are gone ? "
 
 90 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 "You did not surely imagine we were 
 going to live in tliis way all our lives ? " 
 
 He spoke jestingly. He would not show 
 his own sorrow, since it would only add 
 to hers. But there was no answering 
 smile upon her face, as she replied — 
 
 " No ; I don't know what I thought, but 
 I thought you would not go yet. You 
 might have stayed until I was twenty-one." 
 
 She did not cry, but her face was very 
 sad. 
 
 " You see, Mrs. Entwistle has decreed 
 otherwise." 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Entwistle ! " she said, ener- 
 getically ; " it is just like her to do this. 
 What does it matter to her if I have a 
 tutor till I am an old woman, if Mr. Terry 
 does not object ? I am not her daughter." 
 
 "If you had been her daughter, you 
 would never have had a tutor at all " said
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 9l 
 
 Philip, laughing. " We must make the 
 best of it ; we have three months in whicli 
 to say ' good-bye.' " 
 
 " And after the months are gone," she 
 said, " how shall I live witb Mr. Terry, 
 who hates me, and with Mrs. Entwistle ? 
 I always said she was our enemy." 
 
 She paused suddenly, and hid her face 
 in her hands, crying bitterly. 
 
 " Margaret ! " cried Philip, " you must 
 not do that. I cannot bear to see you cry. 
 I hate the thought of going, but you will 
 make it much worse for both of us if you 
 cry like that." 
 
 "I cannot help it. What shall I do 
 when you are gone, when there is no one 
 to talk to, no one to tell me anything ? 
 Only Mr. Terry, who always looks as if 
 lie would like me to fall dead at his feet." 
 
 " My dear girl ! " remonstrated Philip.
 
 92 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 " He does indeed. He would be glad if 
 I died. And I have to live with him 
 instead of you. It is like — nay, there is 
 nothing to compare it to ; it is too 
 horrible ! " 
 
 Philip laughed at her again, and talked 
 to her until she had ceased crying, and 
 had even smiled faintly at some of the 
 things he said. But she remained very 
 sad, and soon went to her room, where she 
 cried herself to sleep, for the first time 
 since the death of her father. 
 
 Philip sat still, thinking. It was a hard 
 wrench for him to part from Margaret. 
 " She will soon get over it," he thought. 
 
 He then turned to his desk to finish the 
 article he was writing for one of the 
 current reviews, but his thoughts con- 
 tinually strayed off to Margaret, and to 
 ■speculations as to her future; while his
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 93 
 
 eyes, instead of keeping to the paper before 
 him, were for ever roaming round the 
 room where he had lived for ten years, 
 taking in its most trivial detail of furniture 
 or arrangement, and noting everything. 
 Finally he found it impossible to fix his 
 thoughts on the consideration of the 
 Eastern Question, so he left his desk, and 
 as the clock was striking midnight, he 
 decided to go to bed. 
 
 As he passed Margaret's table, where she 
 sat when at her wood-carving, he stooped 
 to pick up something lying on the floor. 
 It was the spray of heather she had worn 
 that day, and he picked it up with a 
 smile, and put it in his pocket-book, 
 saying — 
 
 " I will keep this as a reminder of 
 my little sister Margaret, and of our last 
 festival."
 
 94 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 From which remark we may conclude 
 that Mrs. Entwistle's hints that Philip 
 was seeking Margaret's fortune were quite 
 imfounded.
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 95 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Oh, hard that we 
 Were once so full of all felicity ! " 
 
 A WEEK had passed since Philip had 
 broken to Margaret the tidings of his 
 approaching departure, and she had had 
 ample time to reconcile herself to the idea. 
 That, however, she could not do. It 
 seemed as though she had not been able to 
 realize it at first, and every day, by 
 shortening the time that remained to them, 
 intensified her sorrow. 
 
 It was evening again, and again Margaret 
 was at her table, busy with her carving. 
 Philip was out ; he had said he was going
 
 96 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 to the post-office, and so she was alone. 
 She was working diligently, but presently 
 she laid down her tools, and, leaning back 
 in her chair, looked round the room with a 
 loving, lingering gaze. What a dear old 
 room it was ! For ten years it had been 
 her home, for she had never left Ash Fell 
 since she first came there, except on one or 
 two occasions, and Philip was intimately 
 connected with both. Twice he had taken 
 her away during her holidays. One 
 summer they had spent a month at the 
 Lakes — that was six years ago ; and again, 
 two summers ago, they had travelled to 
 the south of England, and made a walking 
 tour through Cornwall and Devon. With 
 the exception of these two months, this 
 room had been her home since she had 
 been eight years old. 
 
 It was a very pretty room, large and
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 97 
 
 rather low. The two low, broad-seated 
 windows looked to the south-east, so that 
 the room was ever bright with sun. The 
 furniture had been collected from other 
 parts of the house : scarcely two chairs 
 were alike. On either side of the fireplace 
 stood bookshelves of the kind called 
 "dwarf," filled with books belonging to 
 herself and Philip. On the top of each 
 stood various pots and ornaments, also 
 owned by both tenants of the room. 
 Margaret, as she turned her serious eyes 
 upon the shelves, thought how dreary they 
 would look when only her books were in 
 them, and when Philip's share of the pots 
 was gone too. There was also, on one 
 side of the room, a quaint old oak cabinet, 
 black with age, and brilliant with the 
 polish which Margaret never failed to make 
 part of her day's work to bestow upon it. 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 The table at which she was sitting stood 
 in one of the windows, so that she might 
 have the full benefit of the light for her 
 work. 
 
 Her gaze, after travelling round the 
 room, returned to the window, and she 
 looked out over the trees till her eyes 
 caught the tall chimney of the mill, where 
 she had once told Philip " mamma worked 
 before she married papa." 
 
 Margaret was well acquainted with her 
 mother's history. She knew her exact 
 social position, and the light in which Mr. 
 Terry had regarded his son's marriage. 
 She had a miniature of her mother, and 
 knew how closely she resembled her. She 
 knew, too, that to that fact was to be 
 attributed a great deal of the aversion her 
 grandfather felt for her. She knew it all 
 very well ; and during the last two or
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 99 
 
 three years, since she had been able to 
 think for herself, the subject of her father's 
 marriage had occupied a large place in her 
 thoughts. She had looked at it in all the 
 lights which had suggested themselves to 
 her, and she had talked it over with 
 Philip ; but she had never been able to see 
 that her father had done wrong. 
 
 She knew that she owed her banishment 
 from her grandfather's presence to the 
 fact that he was ashamed of her, and the 
 thought made her heart swell with anger. 
 
 She was thinking of this now, as she 
 sat alone, watching the tall trees sway to 
 and fro in the evening breeze, and her 
 thoughts were bitter enough. They ran 
 somewhat like this : 
 
 " He has never given me a chance of 
 showing what I am, or whether I have my 
 father's character or my mother's ; though,
 
 100 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 indeed, he did not know what her character 
 was. Mrs. Entwistle says he has heen 
 so good to me that I can never repay 
 his kindness. I do not see it. I was an 
 orphan, without a penny, and he was my 
 only relative. How conld he do otherwise 
 than take me into his house ? And, having 
 done that, how could he do less for me 
 than he has done ? He has fed and lodged 
 me, so he does the least of his servants ; and 
 to not one of them does he pay his wages 
 with so grudging a spirit as he gives me 
 a small allowance for my dress. Even that 
 I might not keep myself: he has treated 
 me as though I were an idiot or a thief" 
 
 She paused a moment in her growing 
 excitement ; then she went on. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to be grateful for the 
 good education I have had, but not to 
 him. Mr. Wei ford has given me all that,
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 101 
 
 and I am more grateful to him than I can 
 express. He has been here ten years, and 
 •during those years he has spoken to Mr. 
 Terry four times, twice my name was not 
 mentioned. He cannot, and he does not, 
 know what or how I have been taught ; 
 for anything he knows I have been taught 
 no more than to read and write, perhaps 
 not even that. If Mr. Welford had been 
 an ignorant, rude, rough man, it would 
 have been the same ; he would have been 
 here, and I might have lived my life as I 
 could. It was a mere chance that Mr. 
 Welford was what he is ; it made no 
 difference to Mr. Terry whether I was 
 happy or not ; he did not know and he did 
 not care. Anything was good enough for 
 the weaver's daughter. All he cared for 
 was that he should never be annoyed hy 
 the sight of me."
 
 102 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Perhaps the only thing Margaret had 
 inherited from her father was a tendency 
 to deep fits of depression, when every thing- 
 grew black around her, and there seemed 
 no outlet from the gloomy labyrinth of her 
 thoughts. Such fits came upon her with- 
 out any warning, often without any greater 
 apparent reason than a hopelessly wet 
 day, or the sight (always an unwelcome 
 one) of Mr. Terry. Sometimes they only 
 lasted for a few hours, sometimes she could 
 not free herself from them for days. She 
 had tried many ways of lightening the 
 depression. She would read until her 
 brain was exhausted, or she would practice 
 or take up her wood-carving, until her 
 hands refused any longer to work. Such 
 thoughts as those just set down only 
 visited her on these occasions, and then she 
 could not free herself from their influence.
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 103 
 
 Then she leaned forward, and, resting 
 her chin on her hand, brooded over the 
 thought of what her loneliness would be 
 when her tutor should be gone. She was 
 so lost in thought that she did not hear 
 him enter the room, and she started when 
 she heard his voice saying — 
 
 " What gloomy thoughts can authorize 
 such a gloomy face as that ? " 
 
 She turned round quickly. 
 
 "What were you thinking of?" he in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I was thinking how desolate this 
 room will look when all your things are 
 gone." 
 
 " Chut ! you must not think of that. 
 Besides, yours will go at the same time," 
 he said. " Eemember, you will live down- 
 stairs and be mistress of this house." 
 
 " True," she said, and a cloud passed
 
 104 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 over her face. The anticipation was 
 evidently unpleasant. 
 
 " Will this dispel the gloom ? " asked 
 Philip, after he had looked at her gravely 
 for a few moments ; and he laid before her 
 an open letter and five golden sovereigns. 
 
 " What is this ? " asked Margaret, in 
 surprise. 
 
 '' Read the letter, and you will see." 
 
 She took up the letter and read it 
 through ; then she laid it down, and drew 
 a deep breath, while she touched the 
 sovereigns with tlie tips of her fingers. 
 
 " They are mine ? T have earned them?" 
 she eagerly asked. 
 
 Philip laughed. " How do you like the 
 letter ? " 
 
 "It is delightful. I shall always keep 
 it.' 
 
 It was a letter from the dealer in London.
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 105 
 
 He had kept Margaret's carvings, and had 
 forwarded an order for five pounds in pay- 
 ment. He said that he had found a ready 
 market for the things, and that he should 
 iilways be glad to do business with Mr. 
 Welford's friend. 
 
 " Xow," said Philip, " should the need 
 for it ever come, you may support yourself 
 in two ways. You may begin life either 
 as a milliner and dressmaker, or as a 
 carpenter." 
 
 " I have not sold any of my hats and 
 <lresses yet," said the girl, laughing. A 
 moment was sufficient to wrap her in com- 
 plete gloom ; a moment was sufficient to 
 bring back the sunshine to her. 
 
 " Now," said Philip again, " put all 
 that away, and let us have some reading. 
 You must not try your eyes by carving by 
 lamplight."
 
 106 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 She rose and put away her tools, remark- 
 ing— 
 
 " I wonder what Mr. Terry would say if 
 he knew that I have just earned five 
 pounds." 
 
 " I am afraid," said Philip, cheerfully, 
 " that he would be very much shocked." 
 
 " Any honest emplojanent seems to- 
 shock him." 
 
 " When you begin to live with him, 
 Margaret, I think you should try to call 
 him by his proper name. He is your 
 grandfather." 
 
 '•' Oh no," she said, quickly. *' I shall 
 never be able to call him anything but Mr. 
 Terry ; it would not sound natural." 
 
 " It is your turn to read," said Philip. 
 
 After that, the time seemed to go very 
 quickly. Margaret felt the weeks flying
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 107 
 
 past sometimes with a sense almost of terror. 
 Her grandfather had decided that she had 
 now power and experience enough to enable 
 her to tread her path through the world 
 alone ; or rather, if he had thought about 
 the matter at all, his thoughts would 
 probably have taken that direction. She 
 knew herself very inexperienced, but she 
 could only acquiesce in the arrangement ; 
 she was powerless to change anything. 
 
 August, September, and October were 
 gone, and " in the gloom of the cloudy 
 November " Philip left Ash Fell. Margaret 
 went with him to the station, and though 
 her face was very pale, she shed no tears 
 as she received his farewell kiss, and 
 watched the train steam out of the little 
 station. 
 
 She walked home slowly. She fell 
 terribly sad, and she knew she would have
 
 108 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 to bear lier sadness alone. When she 
 reached her sitting-room, she dropped into 
 a chair and looked yearningly round. The 
 room looked so empty and desolate, she 
 could not bear the sight, and went away to 
 take off her walking things. She had to 
 pass Philip's room. The door stood wide 
 open ; two housemaids were dismantling 
 the room. Margaret had borne the parting 
 bravely, but the trivial sight of the dis- 
 ordered furniture seemed to bring straight 
 home the loss she had sustained. Going 
 hastily forward to her own room, she 
 pushed to the door behind her, and, falling 
 on her knees by the bedside, sobbed as if 
 her heart would break. 
 
 When she returned to the sitting-room, 
 she sat down by her work-table and, leaning 
 her head in her hands, gave herself up to 
 the contemplation of her own situation.
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 109 
 
 What was going to happen to her now ? 
 Was she to continue to inhabit this room 
 alone, or was she going to live with her 
 grandfather? Her heart beat wifch a little 
 excitement and nervousness. She did not 
 know what she was to do. Perhaps Mr. 
 Terry had forgotten her existence ; ought 
 she to remind him of her presence in the 
 house. She felt that her position was an 
 awkward one, and she hardly knew how to 
 act. She did not want to live with her 
 grandfather, but at the same time she felt 
 it would be very dreary to live in perfect 
 solitude. At last she came to the con- 
 clusion that she would do nothing. What 
 indeed could she do ? She would wait and 
 see what Mr. Terry did. It was surely for 
 him to decide and to make the first move. 
 
 Her early dinner was served at the usual 
 hour. It was the first meal she had eaten
 
 110 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 alone for a long time, and the experience 
 was so unpleasant that she curtailed it as 
 much as possible. Morris, who had occupied 
 the post of schoolroom maid ever since 
 Margaret had come to Ash Fell, observed 
 the girl's pale cheeks and sad face, and 
 thought to cheer her by remarking that 
 " Miss Terry would find it lonesome at first 
 without Mr. Welford, but life was made up 
 of such troubles, and it did not do to think 
 of them too much." 
 
 Margaret could not help smiling, and 
 Morris went away convinced that she had 
 considerably lightened the young lady's 
 heaviness. 
 
 About four o'clock, as Margaret sat by 
 the fire reading, Morris appeared with a 
 message from her master, to the effect that 
 he wished to see Miss Terry in the drawing- 
 room at half-past seven that evening.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. Ill 
 
 Margaret received the message with com- 
 posure. She knew the squire dined at six ; 
 when he had dined, then, and slept his 
 evening nap, she was to appear for inspec- 
 tion. 
 
 " Perhaps," she thought, " he will find 
 he dislikes me so much that he will send 
 me up here again." 
 
 Shortly before half-past seven she went 
 to her room, and exchanged the short, dark 
 morning dress she wore for a long one of 
 cream-coloured cashmere. She wore no 
 jewelry, because she possessed none, not 
 even a locket ; only a plain gold brooch 
 which had belonged to her mother. Thus 
 dressed, she looked what she was, a very 
 beautiful and a very proud English girl. 
 
 Mr. Terry was alone when Margaret 
 entered the drawing-room. He was sitting 
 in front of the fire, but turned at the sound
 
 112 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 of the opening door, and then rose, uncertain 
 how to greet the girl. He had arranged a 
 greeting in his mind, but it was intended 
 for a girl who should enter the room 
 awkwardly, and be shy and nervous, and 
 very possibl}^ badly dressed. It struck 
 even him as inapplicable to this dignified, 
 self-possessed young lady, who was dressed 
 with the simple quiet taste of a gentle- 
 woman, and who walked forward as though 
 entering her own drawing-room. Being* 
 thrown off the track he had prescribed for 
 himself, he was for a moment embarrassed, 
 and said nothing. Margaret, to whom this 
 silence was rather disagreeable, broke it by 
 saying courteously — 
 
 " Good evening." 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Terry," replied the 
 old man, recovering himself. Then he 
 wheeled forward a low chair for her, and
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 113 
 
 she seated herself serenely in front of the 
 fire. 
 
 The squire remained standing, and he 
 looked at Margaret coldly. She did not seem 
 to notice it ; she was looking at a picture 
 which hung over the mantelpiece. It was 
 an original Landseer, and being passion- 
 ately fond of animals, she thought it very 
 beautiful. Her attention was called from 
 it by hearing her grandfather speak. 
 
 " I sent for you to-night to speak about 
 your future life." 
 
 " Yes," she said quietly, turning her face 
 to his. 
 
 " You have finished your education ; you 
 are a young woman. I believe you are 
 seventeen." 
 
 " I am eighteen," she said, looking 
 straight at him. 
 
 For a moment Mr. Terrv was silent. 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Margaret's words brought back to his mind, 
 as doubtless they did to her own, a scene 
 which had taken place some four years 
 before. Some old friends of Mr. Terry's 
 had called. They had heard of his adoption 
 of what they called " poor Eustace's child," 
 and asked to see her. Mr. Terry would fain 
 have said she was out, but at that moment 
 she crossed the lawn in front of the 
 window, and he had to ring the bell and 
 request her presence. She came in, a tall, 
 beautiful girl of fourteen, with " fearless 
 eyes and grey," which looked frankly in 
 the faces of the assembled party. The 
 squire saw her, and, with a nod in the 
 direction where she stood, said — 
 
 " There is my granddaughter, Mrs. Main- 
 waring." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the lady, turning to the 
 girl, " she is not like poor Eustace. What 
 is her name ? "
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 115 
 
 There was the slightest possible pause, 
 and then the squire said boldly — 
 "Edith." 
 
 Margaret's face had flushed hotly. Her 
 grandfather had forgotten her name. 
 
 She looked straight at him, and said 
 decisively — 
 
 " My name is Margaret, not Edith." 
 She was very soon sent away, but she 
 had never either forgotten or forgiven the 
 ^circumstance, and the recollection of it was 
 probably in the minds of both when she 
 said to her grandfather — 
 " I am eighteen." 
 
 " Eighteen, then," lie said, after a mo- 
 ment's silence. " Mrs. Entwistle thinks 
 you are old enough to be introduced into 
 society. You will live with me now, and 
 sit at my table. Mrs. Fenton will give up 
 her keys to you ; you will be mistress here,"
 
 116 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 " Am I to keep tlie housekeepings 
 money ? " she asked. 
 
 It was a simple enough question, yet it 
 seemed to excite the squire strangely. His 
 eyebrows lowered, and his face darkened. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked, looking 
 down upon the girl, who had taken a hand- 
 screen from the mantelpiece and now held 
 it carelessly between her face and the blaze. 
 
 " Only," she answered, " that all the 
 money you let me spend before, you did 
 not allow me to keep myself. I thought 
 perhaps you could not trust me yet." 
 
 " Understand once for all," he said, almost 
 savagely, " that I want to have no more to 
 do with you than I am obliged. I am at 
 present obliged to occupy the same rooms 
 with you, but it will only be until you are 
 married, and the sooner that happens the 
 better for you."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 117 
 
 She looked up into his face ; she was not 
 in the least frightened of this fierce old 
 man. 
 
 " Thank you for telling me all this ; it is 
 much better to know how we are to go on." 
 
 Later in the evening Mrs. Entwistle and 
 her nephew, the curate, dropped in. Mrs. 
 Entwistle smiled upon the girl, and then 
 withdrew into the background with the 
 squire, leaving Margaret to the care of her 
 nephew. 
 
 The Eev. Adolphe Entwistle was a young 
 man of medium height, and slender propor- 
 tions. Margaret knew him by sight, but 
 had never spoken to him. He had a fair 
 •complexion, and the highly arched eyebrows 
 which always give an expression of distress 
 and timidity to a face. He was six or 
 seven and twenty years of age, and had not 
 been at Ash Fell more than twelve months,
 
 118 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Before his ordination he had been a master 
 at a large grammar school, and had then 
 worn a moustache. On taking orders he 
 had abolished it. Margaret did not know 
 that; but she wondered, with a kind of 
 indifferent wonder, what infatuation had 
 led him to expose the pitiful weakness of 
 his mouth and chin. 
 
 The Eev. Adolphe, however, began to- 
 talk to her, and she was forced to listen. 
 
 *'I suppose now, Miss Terry, you will 
 take a prominent part in our parish matters. 
 We are sorely in need of a helping hand, 
 and will give you a warm welcome." 
 
 " I do not think parish matters interest 
 me," she said, indifferently. 
 
 "I cannot imagine a young lady not 
 taking an interest in her parish." 
 
 " I know very little about such things." 
 
 " You will, at any rate, relieve my aunt
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 119 
 
 of the burden of the choir duty. She is 
 both organist and choir-mistress at present." 
 
 " I am afraid I can hardly be of use to 
 Mrs. Entwistle. I cannot sing, and I never 
 learnt to play the organ." 
 
 "My aunt can soon teach you," he said, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "You are very good, to make such liberal 
 promises for her ; but I could not allow 
 myself to impose another burden on Mrs. 
 Entwistle, when she has already so many." 
 
 She smiled as she spoke with a kind of 
 cold malice, and the curate bit his lip. He 
 was not accustomed to have his own words 
 turned against him. 
 
 In this way the evening wore on. The 
 Rev. Adolphe hardly left Margaret's side, but 
 kept up an unceasing stream of small talk, 
 which wearied her, unused as she was to 
 that style of conversation. She grew very
 
 120 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 tired of her companion, and heartily wished 
 that he would leave her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Entwistle was " taking 
 stock " of Margaret. She eyed her over 
 from the crown of her golden head to the 
 tip of the slender, satin-slippered foot, rest- 
 ing so lightly on the quaint, old-fashioned 
 footstool ; and as she looked she felt half- 
 jealous and half-pleased, for she had her 
 project, though as yet she had confided it 
 to no one. 
 
 She got a few words with the girl before 
 they parted. 
 
 " I hear you are going to depose Mrs. 
 Fenton," she said, with ponderous playful- 
 ness. '' Of course you will be all at sea at 
 first, but you must always come to me in 
 your difficulties. I have not forgotten my 
 first attempts at housekeeping." 
 
 " Thank 3^ou," said Margaret ; " but I
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 121 
 
 think I shall manage. I used to spend two 
 days a week with Mrs. Fenton, learning 
 housekeeping." 
 
 ^^ndeed! Was that Mr. Welford's 
 wish or your own ? " 
 
 " Mr. Welford's. I did not care about 
 it. 
 
 Soon after they were gone, Margaret 
 went upstairs. She sat thinking for a long 
 time before undressing. How wearisome 
 the curate had been ! She hoped she should 
 not see him often. Then she thought of 
 what her grandfather had said, and her 
 lips closed firmly together. If he counted 
 on her speedy marriage with any one who 
 asked for her, as an easy mode of getting 
 rid of her, he would find he did not know 
 with whom he had to deal.
 
 122 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 " The story of her life from day to day." 
 
 Margaret's life was a very regular and a 
 very quiet one. She saw very little of 
 Mr. Terry : they seldom met except at 
 meals, and then but little conversation 
 passed between them. Neither, to her 
 great relief, did she see so much of Mrs. 
 Entwistle as she had expected to do. The 
 only person she did see often was the 
 Rev. Adolphe, and she seldom passed a 
 day without meeting him. Either he 
 called with a message from his aunt, or 
 she went into the garden, and found him 
 walking there with Mr. Terry. If she
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 128 
 
 rode or drove, she was certain to meet him ; 
 and, as he always behaved in such a way 
 that to pass by without speaking would 
 have involved absolute discourtesy on her 
 part, she spoke to him nearly every day 
 too. 
 
 She had regarded him at first with in-^ 
 difference ; but her indifference could not 
 last long. She began actively to dislike 
 him, and when she mentioned him in her 
 letters to Philip, it was under the name 
 of " my pet aversion." She wondered 
 sometimes if he knew how she disliked 
 him, for she did not trouble to conceal her 
 feelings. In her house she treated him 
 of necessity with courtesy, but out of doors 
 her manners were uniformly cold and 
 distant. 
 
 At the same time, her new life was not 
 an unhappy one. Though she was lonely^
 
 124 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Philip's letters served to enliven her. She 
 received them regularly, and they were 
 ever a new delight to her. However de- 
 lightful was the expectation she formed 
 of each one, the reality was sure to surpass 
 the anticipation. He told her a great deal 
 of his life, and, among other things, that 
 he no longer lived in his mother's house. 
 Another letter contained the news of the 
 death of his Aunt Margaret. She, in her 
 turn, sent him a detailed account of how 
 she spent her time. They had been too 
 long together, and knew each other too 
 well, for such details ever to become weari- 
 some or devoid of interest. 
 
 She was free to spend her days as she 
 choose ; her grandfather was too indifferent 
 to her to care how she employed her time. 
 Her favourite books remained to her, as 
 also her wood-carving, and other exercises.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 125 
 
 She had ordered that the old sitting-room 
 should remain as she and Philip had left 
 it, and she spent much time there over 
 her carving. She also spent hours in the 
 large bare room, with the great swing* 
 windows, which were always open. The 
 room was at the top of the house, and 
 Philip had had it fitted up as a gymnasium 
 for her. 
 
 The introduction into society which had 
 been so much insisted upon on her emanci- 
 pation from the schoolroom, had never 
 taken place. It was now the middle of 
 January, and as yet she had seen little 
 more society than when she had lived with 
 Philip. About this time, however, her 
 grandfather told her he was going to have 
 some friends to dinner. 
 
 " How many people will there be ? " she 
 asked.
 
 126 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 " Six, and with ourselves and Entwistle 
 and his wife and nephew we shall be a 
 dozen. Larger parties are a mistake." 
 
 " Who are the people ? " 
 
 " All men, friends of mine." 
 
 Margaret was silent ; then she said — 
 
 " Why is Mrs. Entwistle coming, if it 
 is to be a man's party ? I have to be here, 
 but I do not see " 
 
 The squire interrupted her sharply. 
 
 " I ask whom I please to dine at my 
 own table. Mrs. Entwistle is like my own 
 daughter, as she would have been if your 
 father had not been the greatest fool that 
 
 ever lived, and your mother " He 
 
 paused, arrested by the look in her face; 
 then he went on hastily, "I also wish 
 there should be a lady present to show you 
 how to behave. I do not choose that you 
 should disgrace yourself before my friends."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 127 
 
 "I think I know how to behave," she 
 said, coldly. " I was brought up by a 
 gentleman, whatever my future associates 
 may be." 
 
 On the evening of the dinner-party Mrs. 
 Entwistle came early. It was her privilege 
 to behave as though Ash Fell Hall were 
 her home, and she fully availed herself of 
 it. This evening she was so early that 
 Margaret had only just come down to the 
 drawing-room, and was warming her hands 
 at the fire. She was dressed almost as 
 simply as on the evening when she first 
 sat in the drawing-room. Her dress was 
 white. She wore deep red chrysanthemums 
 in her hair and at her throat ; they were 
 her only ornaments. 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle scanned her narrowly. 
 She herself was gorgeously attired; she 
 was fond of rich silks and brilliant
 
 128 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 colours. Having completed her survey^ 
 sbe said — 
 
 " I have always forgotten to ask who 
 your dressmaker is, Margaret ; she suits 
 you perfectly." 
 
 " I make my dresses myself." 
 
 " You are very clever. They would do 
 credit to a professional. Imagine " — turn- 
 ing to the squire, who just then came in— - 
 " Margaret makes her own dresses ! Who 
 taught you ? " 
 
 '' Mr. Welford engaged a dressmaker 
 who came here. She taught me millinery 
 and dressmaking." 
 
 " This Mr. Welford seems to have been 
 a vara avis,'' said Agatha, with a laugh 
 that was half a sneer. " One does not 
 generally expect to find tutors who teach 
 dressmaking. But see, Margaret has no 
 jewelry. It is absurd to see a girl in her
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 129 
 
 position without a scrap of jewelry. That 
 little brooch is too plain for a dinner-party. 
 Where did you get it ? It is old-fashioned, 
 but there is something quaint and un- 
 common about it." 
 
 Margaret involuntarily put her hand to 
 her throat. 
 
 " I always wear it," she said. " It be- 
 longed to my mother." 
 
 Describing the scene a few days later in 
 a letter to Philip, she said — 
 
 " Mr. Terry looked as if he would have 
 liked to tear the brooch from my dress, 
 and crush it under his foot." 
 
 As a matter of course, he did nothing of 
 the kind, but said contemptuously — 
 
 " You are right, Agatha." 
 
 Before Margaret had time to reply, the 
 first guest was announced, and the conver- 
 sation could be carried on no further. 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 The dinner passed off well, though the 
 squire saw with vexation that it was Mar- 
 garet who rose first, and Mrs. Entwistle 
 who followed her example. 
 
 The circumstance made him ask himself 
 whether an inflexible will was not one of 
 the qualities Margaret had inherited from 
 her mother. 
 
 " I must get her married before long," 
 he thought. "If she is going to oppose 
 me, I shall never stand it." 
 
 Alone with Margaret in the drawing- 
 room, Mrs. Entwistle asked the girl 
 what she thought of her nephew, the Rev. 
 Adolphe. 
 
 " I never think about him at all," said 
 Margaret, indifferently. 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " We only think of people and things 
 that strike us as being in some way in-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 131 
 
 teresting. Mr. Entwistle does not interest 
 me in any way." 
 
 " He is a very good young man," re- 
 marked his aunt, almost to herself. 
 
 " In what way ? " asked Margaret, with 
 polite indifference. 
 
 " How can you ask ? When did you ever 
 hear of Adolphe doing anything wicked ? " 
 
 Margaret smiled. '' Goodness, I think, 
 consists less in passive abstaining from evil 
 than in being actively useful and good." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Entwistle, rather 
 sharply, " Adolphe is ' actively useful and 
 good,' as you call it, too. He is most 
 active in the parish, and a most zealous 
 worker for the Church." 
 
 Again Margaret smiled, though this time 
 she said nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle did not seem to like the 
 girl's silence. She fidgeted in her chair,
 
 132 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 turned over the leaves of a photograph 
 album, then closed the book and pushed it 
 from her ; finally, she said — 
 
 " You don't make such a friend of 
 Adolphe as I had hoped you would." 
 
 " Why should I make a friend of him ? "^ 
 " Why ? You must sometimes want a 
 friend and adviser." 
 
 " Mr. Welford is my friend and adviser." 
 "But he is not here. Do you never 
 want instant advice, advice which only a 
 clergyman can give ? " 
 
 The colour came into Margaret's face. 
 She was innocent beyond the ordinary run 
 of girls, but she was certainly not stupid. 
 The constant presence of Mr. Entwistle, 
 and the continual mention of his name, and 
 laudation of himself when he was not pre- 
 sent, which she had hitherto regarded as 
 infatuation on the part of the young man's
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 133 
 
 relatives, suddenly appeared to her in a 
 new light, and she said rather haughtily — 
 
 " This is a strange subject of conversa- 
 tion to choose, but I am not so dependent 
 upon other people as you seem to imagine. 
 Mr. Welford taught me to think and judge 
 for myself." 
 
 She felt angry, and she was not a woman 
 who used blunted weapons to fence with. 
 
 Soon after this the men came in, and 
 Margaret was immediately pounced upon 
 by her " pet aversion." This evening she 
 felt utterly unable to endure his society, 
 and was very glad when another man came 
 up and joined them. 
 
 The new-comer had taken her into 
 dinner, and they had had much conversa- 
 tion together. They had been talking 
 about a book on manners and customs in 
 Japan, which had just come out, and which
 
 134 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Margaret had been reading with great in- 
 terest. Mr. Barton continued to speak on 
 the same subject ; he knew the author of 
 the book, and was giving Margaret some 
 interesting details respecting his private 
 life. They took but little notice of the 
 Rev. Adolphe, and he grew more and more 
 sulky as he noticed how completely Mar- 
 garet's attention was withdrawn from him. 
 At last he rose abruptly, saying — 
 
 " T cannot understand what interest you 
 find in such subjects. Miss Terry. Had it 
 been anything connected with the parish 
 here, or even with some missionary society 
 in India, or one of those countries, I could 
 better have comprehended your enthusiasm ; 
 as it is, I fail to account for your interest 
 in a semi-barbarous people such as the 
 Japanese." 
 
 " Semi-barbarous ! " echoed Margaret, in
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 135 
 
 some doubt as to whether she had heard 
 correctly. " If that is your idea, I need not 
 ask if you have read this book." 
 
 " Certainly not ; such books possess but 
 slight interest for me. I confess I have 
 enough to interest me at home ; I know very 
 little about the Japanese, and care less." 
 
 Margaret looked at him for a moment, 
 and then turned to her companion, who had 
 been watching the scene with an amused 
 smile, and said, while her lips curled con- 
 temptuously — 
 
 " He knows nothing. Don't you wonder 
 how any one dare be so ignorant ? " 
 
 Every word dropped clearly from her 
 lips, and though the curate had moved 
 away to some little distance, it was plainly 
 to be seen, from the expression on the 
 reverend gentleman's face, that he had 
 heard her speech.
 
 136 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Mr. Barton laughed, half with amuse- 
 ment, half with contempt, as he replied — 
 
 " Oh, you must not be too hard on him. 
 Young men of the present day seem to have 
 lost the taste or the power of reading and 
 acquiring knowledge." 
 
 The following day, when the Rev. 
 Adolphe called at the Vicarage, he was in 
 a very bad temper. His aunt received him 
 alone. She had witnessed the scene in the 
 drawing-room on the previous evening, and 
 was displeased with her nephew. 
 
 " I am angry with you," she said, as 
 sharply as she ever spoke to him. " If you 
 obey my instructions so poorly, I shall 
 refuse to help you at all. What possessed 
 you to behave as you did to Margaret last 
 night?" 
 
 The Eev. Adolphe played with his hat, 
 and looked supremely sulky.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 137 
 
 *' I don't know what you mean," lie said. 
 
 *' Then, you are very dense. Why do 
 you always behave as though she were 
 better than yourself? A girl of her 
 character likes a man who shows that he is 
 going to be her master. Until you take a 
 more high-handed tone you will never 
 make any progress. You talk too much 
 about the parish and local matters ; that is 
 another mistake." 
 
 " What else can I talk about ? " he asked, 
 half impatiently. 
 
 " What indeed ! " she might have said, 
 but she went on. " She is one of those 
 girls who fancy they like literary men, and 
 who go in for ' mind.' To gain her good- 
 will, you must talk about books and politics 
 and public questions." 
 
 But here the curate rebelled. 
 
 " Nay," he said, " I cannot do that."
 
 138 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 She laughed and shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Then, my dear boy, you must make up 
 your mind to see her and her future fifteen 
 thousand a year bestowed on some one 
 else." 
 
 The young man was silent for some time ; 
 then he went on — 
 
 " I have her grandfather's consent to win 
 her ; surely she will not disobey him ? " 
 
 " You think not ? You are grievously 
 mistaken. Margaret is one of those women 
 who will yield nine points of the law with- 
 out a word, perhaps for the sake of peace, 
 or because she holds them of but little 
 consequence ; but she will cling to the 
 tenth with all her strength. If her grand- 
 father tells her to give up rowing or not 
 to ride out without a groom, she will obey 
 him ; but if he tries to marry her to a man 
 she does not like, she will look him straight
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 139 
 
 in the face with her great calm eyes, and 
 refuse point blank to obey him." 
 
 " Do you know," he said, with a half 
 laugh, " that you are not describing a 
 particularly agreeable wife ? How if, 
 when we are married, she should be willing 
 to do everything else, but should refuse 
 to give up corresponding with that Wel- 
 ford?" 
 
 " How do you know she corresponds- 
 with him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle looked thoughtful ; then 
 she said — 
 
 " Come, Adolphe, you must not despair 
 because you find a little difficulty at first. 
 Few men in your position have so good a 
 chance of marrying such a fortune as Mar- 
 garet will have sometime. Gro now, I am 
 busy, but remember what I have said, and 
 try to act upon it. A woman understands
 
 140 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 another woman far better than a man does, 
 believe me." 
 
 The curate went away, hardly knowing 
 whether he should feel elated or depressed. 
 
 A week or two after the dinner-party, 
 Mr. Terry had given Margaret a parcel, 
 saying she would find some ornaments in it 
 which he desired she would wear whenever 
 they had any guests. Mrs. Entwistle, he 
 said, had chosen them, so they will sure to 
 be right. 
 
 Margaret took the parcel, merely saying, 
 " Thank you." She put it aside and went 
 on with her work, only taking it up again 
 when she went to bed. 
 
 Alone in her room^ she opened the 
 parcel, and found it to contain several cases. 
 These she opened, and spread the contents 
 upon the dressing-table. 
 
 " They are for ' Miss Terry,' not for me/'
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 141 
 
 she thought as she looked at the ornaments. 
 " I have a certain appearance to keep np as 
 his granddaughter, otherwise he would 
 give me nothing. He will never let me 
 have the Terry emeralds. All of the best,'" 
 she continued, turning over the things 
 with a sneer which suited her beautiful 
 face but ill. 
 
 She put the ornaments on. There were 
 earrings, which she tossed contemptuously 
 aside however, two bracelets, a brooch, and 
 necklace. When she had hung them on, 
 she looked at herself in a mirror. " I look 
 like a third-rate actress," she murmured, 
 half aloud. Then she took them off, think- 
 ing, " They must have cost a great deal 
 of money, but they were for Miss Terry^ 
 not for me."
 
 142 PUT TO THE PEOOP. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Go to ! I hate this humble-minded pride, 
 
 Self-willed submission to your own pert fancies ; 
 This fog-bed, mushroom spawn, of brain-sick wits, 
 Who make their oddities their test for grace. 
 I . . . 
 Do otherwise conceive of love. Farewell." 
 
 Meanwhile, the Rev. Adolphe's wooing 
 made but little progress. Margaret was no 
 more hostile to him than she had ever 
 been. She had exhausted him, and her 
 feelings remained unchanged. He bored 
 her as much as before, but she had lately 
 begun to treat him with less ceremony, 
 and left him alone when she could endure 
 his society no longer. She knew why he
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 143 
 
 haunted her so persistently, but she trusted 
 that if she preserved her present frigid 
 attitude, and never gave him any oppor- 
 tunity of speaking on the subject, he could 
 not but see that his suit was unwelcome, 
 and would retire like a gentleman. She 
 sadly deceived herself. The more she en- 
 trenched herself behind a haughty reserve, 
 the more persuasive and fascinating became 
 Mr. Entwistle's manner. He had per- 
 suaded himself that he was in love with 
 Margaret, and as it was impossible his 
 affections should be bestowed upon an un- 
 responsive object, it naturally followed that 
 she must love him. Still, he had not the 
 courage to put his fortune to the test, and 
 he delayed so long that Mrs. Entwistle was 
 in a fever of excitement and apprehension. 
 Margaret's relations with her grandfather 
 were unchanged. She was coldly polite,
 
 144 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 and fulfilled perfectly her duties as mistress 
 of the house ; he was silent, morose, and 
 contemptuous. He seldom spoke to her, 
 and never betrayed any interest or concern 
 in anything she did or said. She was 
 therefore surprised when, one afternoon as 
 she sat in the library writing to Philip, 
 the squire, coming in, looked at her sus- 
 piciously. He inquired if she had seen 
 some book he appeared to be seeking, and 
 on her replying in the negative and turn- 
 ing again to her letter, he asked abruptly — 
 
 " To whom are you writing ? " 
 
 "To Mr. Welford," she answered, her 
 surprise visible on her face. 
 
 " Are you in the habit of writing to 
 him?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " You will cease writing to him at once. 
 
 " Why am I to give it up ? "
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 145 
 
 Her voice was cold. It irritated him, 
 and he went on — 
 
 " I should have thought that even you 
 would have known that a girl does not 
 correspond with one man when she is going 
 to marry another." 
 
 Margaret's heart gave a great leap, but 
 she went on quietly — 
 
 "Even if I were engaged, I should not 
 see any reason for breaking oif my corre- 
 spondence with Mr. Welford ; but I am not 
 going to be married — nothing is further 
 from my intention." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but your intentions will 
 not be consulted. I have arranged a 
 marriage for you perfectly suitable in every 
 way, and all you have to do is to acquiesce 
 m it. 
 
 " Which I never shall do," she answered, 
 promptly. Then, more quietly, she went 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 on, " And who is the man who submits to 
 have his wooing done for him ? " 
 
 " Adolphe Entwistle." 
 
 " And you call that a suitable match for 
 me ? " scornfully. 
 
 She had risen, and was standing before 
 him, looking straight into his face with 
 " her great calm eyes," as Mrs. Entwistle 
 had foretold. The squire was not above 
 middle height ; Margaret was a tall woman, 
 and she stood with her face on a level with 
 his. She was perfectly cool, and that fact 
 only served to lash him into a greater rage 
 than before. 
 
 " If I had spoken the truth," he said, 
 brutally, " I should have said he was much 
 too good for you. His father was a gentle- 
 man against whom nothing has ever been 
 said, and his mother is a lady of title ; while 
 your "
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 147 
 
 He paused, choked with anger. She 
 went on with simple dignity — 
 
 "My father was a gentleman too, and 
 my mother was a pure and high-minded 
 woman. The highest lady in the land can 
 be no more than that." 
 
 " He is your superior in every way," he 
 went on, excitedly. 
 
 She smiled without speaking, half in 
 derision, half in contempt, and the squire 
 repeated wrath fully — 
 
 " You shall marry him." 
 
 " You seem to have settled all this in 
 your mind," she said. " May I ask if you 
 have spoken of it to Mr. Entwistle ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Then you had better tell him at once, 
 that the sooner he rids his mind of such 
 folly the better ; he cannot have the 
 slightest hope of success."
 
 148 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he askedy 
 staggered by her perfect self-possession 
 and determination. 
 
 " That I will not marry Mr. Entwistle, 
 or any other man." 
 
 " You will do as you are told." 
 
 " On so important a question as marriage 
 I shall consult my own inclinations. I 
 shall marry at no one's bidding, and for 
 no one's pleasure but my own. And now 
 let us consider the matter as settled." 
 
 " It is nothing less than settled," he 
 cried inconsistently ; and he would doubt- 
 less have proceeded to excite himself 
 further had not a footman appeared upon 
 the scene, with a message which obliged 
 Mr. Terry to hurry away. 
 
 The old footman had been at the door 
 for some time before he had been seen, and 
 Margaret's last speech had reached his ears.
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 149 
 
 He had, unnoticed, eyed her with approval, 
 and as he went away he thought — 
 
 " She's a rare spirit of her own ; ay, 
 and she'll want it all in this world too. 
 She'll meet him on his own ground, and 
 fight as hard as he will, and I doubt it'll 
 go hard but she'll beat him too." 
 
 Left alone, Margaret resumed her seat at 
 the writing-table, and, leaning her chin on 
 her hands, looked out of the window, across 
 the garden, gay with spring flowers, to 
 where the moor shut in the prospect. 
 Even now she was calm, except when she 
 thought of the look on the squire's face 
 when he had spoken of her mother, and 
 then her grey eyes flashed with anger. 
 But she had said that she would not marry 
 Adolphe Entwistle, and with her the matter 
 was ended. She was one of those women 
 who, having once made up their minds to
 
 150 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 act as they deem right, can dismiss the 
 disputed point from their thoughts, for 
 they know that no consideration will make 
 them swerve from their decision. Now, 
 therefore, as she sat looking gravely from 
 the window, she was not thinking of how 
 to defend her position, or trying to find 
 new arguments behind which to entrench 
 herself, but of the end of the sentence she 
 had half written when the squire burst in 
 upon her solitude. When she had found 
 it she took up her pen again, and returned 
 to her letter with a mind untroubled by 
 gloomy forebodings . 
 
 Several days passed, during which Mar- 
 garet heard nothing of Mr. Entwistle. He 
 did not come to the house, and when his 
 presence was withdrawn he ceased to 
 occupy any place in her thoughts. Mr. 
 Terry did not address her ; she was abso-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 151 
 
 lately alone. She enjoyed her solitude. 
 She spent her mornings in walking and 
 riding, and many hours at her work-table. 
 She had written to Philip on the subject, 
 and received a prompt reply to her letter. 
 He told her that he did not suppose she 
 was in any danger of yielding, but if such 
 a thought should have occurred to her, he 
 prayed her not to let her resolution falter. 
 It would be madness and intellectual 
 suicide for her to marry such a man. 
 
 This letter, though it had cheered Mar- 
 garet, made her smile. The idea of yielding 
 was so far from her that Philip's warning, 
 even though she knew he did not suspect 
 her of unsteadiness of purpose, caused 
 her a little amusement. 
 
 Sometimes she asked herself why she 
 stayed at Ash Fell, when she knew she 
 could support herself whenever she chose
 
 152 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 to leave her grandfather's house. But she 
 shrank from taking such a step. She 
 knew she was her grandfather's heiress, 
 and, though she neither loved money nor 
 cared for the position she would occupy as 
 mistress of Ash Fell Hall, she still wished 
 to have that position. Her heart swelled 
 with anger and her cheeks grew hot with 
 shame often, as she rode through the 
 village and saw the state in which many of 
 the people lived. Mr. Terry was a hard 
 man, and cared little how his tenants were 
 lodged, so long as they paid their rents 
 and had anything like a roof over their 
 heads. 
 
 Only once had Margaret been moved to 
 address her grandfather on any other 
 subject than those she was obliged to dis- 
 cuss. She had appealed to him on behalf 
 of a man, who had been caught in some
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 153 
 
 misdemeanour, and, having been sentenced 
 to prison, was in great anxiety about 
 leaving his wife and children. She had 
 begged Mr. Terry to show mercy, but in 
 vain. She had been told roughly to mind 
 her own business, and not to meddle with 
 things she did not understand. She had 
 obeyed him, and the subject had never 
 again been mentioned. 
 
 Some ten days had gone by since she 
 had been forbidden to write to Philip, 
 when Margaret was suddenly reminded of 
 the existence of the Eev. Adolphe Entwistle 
 by his reappearance at the Hall. He came 
 upon her one afternoon as she sat reading 
 under the huge copper beech on the lawn. 
 She was feeling very content. Her book 
 interested her, and the afternoon was so 
 beautiful it seemed happiness enough 
 merely to exist. A cloud passed over her
 
 154 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 face as the curate came up, but she returned 
 his greeting with the same quiet courtesy 
 she had ever shown him. 
 
 He drew up one of the wicker garden-- 
 chairs to her side, and, seating himself, 
 began to talk to her. The conversation 
 might almost have been called a monologue, 
 it was so completely on one side, her answers 
 to his questions being of the briefest 
 description. She half guessed on what 
 errand he had come, for his manner was 
 nervous and hesitating, though it occasion- 
 ally grew warmer, as if he would advance 
 to a greater degree of familiarity. She,, 
 however, never wavered from her attitude 
 of calm, even politeness, which he must 
 have felt to be unfavourable to him. 
 Presently there came a pause, which 
 lasted so long that Margaret began to steal 
 glances at her open book, and had even
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 155 
 
 read througli a paragraph, when Mr. 
 Entwistle suddenly spoke again. This time 
 it was to ask her to be his wife. 
 
 Margaret heard him in silence — an 
 ominous silence, surely, for she continued 
 to lean back in her chair and to watch the 
 two dogs playing on the lawn close by, 
 neither did her face show any confusion. 
 When he had finished she did not speak 
 immediately, and the curate could hear his 
 heart beat as he waited for her answer. 
 
 "From what you have said, Mr. 
 Entwistle, it seems that you have spoken 
 to Mr. Terry on this subject." 
 
 " Certainly. I did not feel at liberty to 
 address myself to you until he had given 
 me his consent, and, I may add, his best 
 wishes for my success." 
 
 " When was the subject last mentioned 
 between you ? " she asked, a little curiously.
 
 156 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 " Yesterday evening." 
 
 "Did he lead you to suppose then 
 that I should give you a favourable 
 answer ? " 
 
 " Certainly," in some surprise ; and she 
 did him the justice to detect the ring of 
 truth in his voice. " Why should he have 
 changed his mind ? " he went on. 
 
 "He deceived you," she said quietly. 
 " Ten days ago he told me of your intention, 
 and I asked him to tell you to rid your 
 mind of such folly at once." 
 
 The curate flushed hotly with mortifica- 
 tion. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he asked. 
 
 "We cannot marry," she said, gravely. 
 " We have nothing in common ; we have 
 never been friends. From what you have 
 said this afternoon, I imagine that my ideas 
 of love and marriage are very different
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 157 
 
 from yours. It would be impossible for us 
 to marry." 
 
 The curate was silent. Sucli a refusal 
 seemed decided enough ; he could not put 
 down such words as she had just used 
 entirely to maiden coyness, which would 
 yield on gentle pressure. And yet the 
 thought that he had failed was intolerable 
 to him. He thought of the squire, who 
 expected him to rid him of an uncongenial 
 burden ; of Mrs. Entwistle, whose eyes were 
 fixed upon the future, bright with a golden 
 harvest for her nephew, and he felt he 
 dare not face these two and tell them he 
 had failed. 
 
 " Are you not answering rather hastily?" 
 he pleaded. "Are you so rich in friends 
 that you can afford to throw my love 
 lightly away ? " 
 
 She flushed as he spoke. She had not
 
 158 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 intended that he should know her candid 
 opinion of him, but since he would not 
 take his answer, let the consequences be 
 upon his own head. 
 
 " Your love ? " she said slowly, and a 
 little contemptuously. " Do you love me, 
 or the money I may one day have, Mr. 
 Entwistle ? I said just now that our ideas 
 of love and marriage were different. I had 
 not intended to speak more plainly, but 
 you force me to do so. If I ever marry, 
 I hope my husband will be willing to take 
 me for my own sake, not for that of my 
 fortune. Good afternoon." 
 
 She turned to her book without trying to 
 hide her purpose now, and Mr. Entwistle 
 took the hint and departed, sore at heart ; 
 while she remained cool and composed in 
 her place, and resumed her reading almost 
 before he had reached the gravel path 
 which bounded the lawn.
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 159 
 
 So quiet and unemotional had been the 
 scene between them, that, though two 
 gardeners were at work not a hundred 
 yards from the copper beech, they had not 
 the slightest idea of what was taking place 
 so near them. 
 
 Margaret felt certain that her grandfather 
 would open the vials of his wrath upon her 
 that evening ; but though he looked rather 
 more unamiable than usual, he did not 
 mention Mr. Entwistle's name. She was 
 surprised, but said nothing. She had 
 requested that the subject should not be 
 mentioned again, and after that could not 
 herself introduce it. 
 
 The next day passed in silence, and the 
 next. The days went on until a week had 
 gone by, and still the squire made no sign. 
 His silence rather worried Margaret. She 
 knew him too well to suppose that he would
 
 160 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 let the matter drop without making anj 
 allusion to it, and she wished impatiently 
 that, if he were going to speak, he would 
 do so at once. 
 
 She had not much longer to wait. A 
 day or two later, the squire came to dinner 
 with a face even darker than usual. She 
 boded no good from the fact, and when he 
 followed her to the drawing-room some half- 
 hour after she had left him alone, and, seat- 
 ing himself in his armchair, glared fiercely 
 at her, she knew her hour was come. She 
 was working, delicately embroidering a 
 cambric handkerchief, when his voice 
 sounded through the room. 
 
 " Put down that work, and listen to me."^ 
 
 She did as she was desired, and he went 
 on — 
 
 " What is this I hear from young 
 Entwistle ? "
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 161 
 
 " Yes," she answered. 
 
 " Don't trifle with me, I won't stand it. 
 Did he make you an offer of marriage last 
 week?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And you declined it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I declined it." 
 
 " For what reason ? " 
 
 " I had no wish to marry him." 
 
 " In spite of what I said to you some 
 time ago ? " 
 
 " I told you then I would not marry him ; 
 you cannot have forgotten." 
 
 '' I have not forgotten, but I lay very 
 little weight upon your reasoning and your 
 words. I have said you shall marry 
 Adolphe Entwistle, and you shall." 
 
 " I will not marry him," she said, firmly. 
 
 " Do you refuse to obey me ? " 
 
 '' In this case, yes. I will obey you in 
 
 YOL. I. 11
 
 162 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 anything else. I do not know tliat I have 
 ever wished to displease you before, but in 
 this case I claim the right to act according 
 to my own judgment." 
 
 " You claim ! you claim ! " he cried, 
 furious with rage, and maddened by her 
 calm opposition. " I should like to know 
 what right you have to claim anything ! 
 A penniless beggar brat that I picked out 
 of the gutter, and took into my own house. 
 I should like to know what such as you can 
 lay claim to ! I hate your hypocrisy. So 
 long as it will serve your turn you will 
 obey me, and think to cast off your obedience 
 when it clashes with your inclinations. 
 You think you can lay claim to anything, 
 do you, when every penny you spend, 
 every morsel you eat, everything you wear, 
 has been given you by me. You are 
 dependent on me for the very air you
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 163 
 
 breathe, and if I were to cast you off you 
 would fall back to the beggary from wbicb 
 I took you." 
 
 "No," sbe said, suddenly raising her 
 head, for his torrent of words had over- 
 whelmed and stunned her. " I am not 
 dependent on you ; I am independent. 
 Do you think Mr. Welford never guessed 
 that such a day as this would come, or 
 that he left me without preparation for 
 it ? He taught me how to earn my living. 
 If I left your house to-night I could 
 work." 
 
 " Work ! " he cried, with an accent of 
 the deepest scorn. " I should like to see 
 you work. You have as much inclination 
 to work as your mother, who fooled my 
 poor lad into marrying her, and thought 
 to be mistress of this house ; but " 
 
 " Stop ! " she cried, her voice ringing
 
 164 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 throngli tlie room. "This discussion does 
 not touch my mother ; be good enough to 
 leave her name out. If you say one more 
 insulting word of her I will leave your 
 house to-morrow." 
 
 His face took an expression of fiendish 
 malignity. He looked at her furiously. 
 Had she shown the least sign of fear, he 
 would probably have struck her ; but she 
 had never been taught to think that a 
 graceful timidity is becoming in a woman, 
 and she stood firm and unblenching before 
 him. He did not dare to strike her, but 
 looked at her for a moment with all his 
 hatred of her visible in his face; then 
 suddenly his face changed, his arm 
 dropped nerveless to his side, and he fell 
 insensible to the ground. 
 
 The girl's first feeling was of sheer 
 terror, but she did not lose her self-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 165 
 
 possession. Her grandfather had hardly 
 fallen before she was kneeling at his side, 
 after having rung the bell. 
 
 In her agitation she had rung the bell 
 violently, and the old footman answered 
 the summons without delay. He could not 
 repress a cry of horror at the sight before 
 him, and Margaret said quickly — 
 
 " Mr. Terry has had a fit. You must 
 send one of the grooms directly for Dr. 
 Hunter, and then come back and help me 
 to lift him on to the couch." 
 
 In a few minutes the old man had done 
 her bidding, and was with her again. 
 Together they lifted the squire on to the 
 couch, and Margaret applied all kinds of 
 restoratives, but in vain ; the heavy eyelids 
 were not lifted, nor did the tightly shut 
 lips unclose. The girl began to think the 
 doctor would never come, and it seemed an
 
 166 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 eternity, though in reality it was but half 
 an hour, before she heard the grating of 
 his carriage- wheels on the gravel outside. 
 
 She rose from her kneeling position as 
 he entered the room, and held out her 
 hand. 
 
 "I am so glad you are here, Dro. 
 Hunter." 
 
 *'My dear Miss Terry, this is very 
 shocking. When did it happen ? " 
 
 " About half an hour ago," she answered, 
 looking mechanically at the clock. 
 
 Mr. Terry's man was present, and by 
 Dr. Hunter's directions Mr. Terry was 
 carried upstairs and put to bed. 
 
 Margaret was left alone in the drawing- 
 room, standing, with fast-beating heart, 
 looking from one of the windows. She 
 had not been there long when Mrs. 
 Entwistle was announced.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 167 
 
 " My dear Margaret," said the lady, 
 hurrying to the girl's side, " how terrible 
 this is ! When did it happen ? " 
 
 " How did you hear of it ? " 
 
 " I met the groom as he was coming 
 back from Dr. Hunter's, and, of course, 
 came here at once. Where is your grand- 
 father now ? " 
 
 " In his room. Dr. Hunter is with him. 
 I expect he will come down before long to 
 tell me what he thinks of him." 
 
 " Were you alone with him when it 
 happened ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Really, Margaret," wiping her eyes, 
 " how coldly you speak ! One would 
 imagine that you did not care whether 
 your grandfather lived or died." 
 
 Margaret made no answer, she felt as if 
 in a dream. At that moment Dr. Hunter
 
 168 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 came in. He seemed surprised to see Mrs. 
 Entwistle, and, after returning her greeting 
 and answering one or two of her questions 
 about Mr. Terry, he addressed himself 
 exclusively to Margaret. 
 
 "Your grandfather is conscious now, 
 though I cannot say how long he will 
 remain so. It was an apoplectic fit; the 
 second shock may follow in a few days, 
 or not for weeks, or even months. He is 
 quiet, and does not seem to wish to see 
 anybody." This was intended for Mrs. 
 Entwistle. 
 
 " I understand," said Margaret. '• I will 
 not go to him at present; I think my 
 presence would disturb him." 
 
 "Just as you think best, Miss Terry; 
 but if you do not go yourself, I must 
 request that he sees no one else." 
 
 He then gave her a few directions, and
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 169 
 
 took his leave, saying he would look in 
 again the last thing at night. Soon 
 afterwards Mrs. Entwistle went home. 
 
 Of course all question of Margaret's 
 leaving Ash Fell was set at rest. She 
 could not have gone now. Her days were 
 fully occupied. She had to see many 
 people, some complete strangers to her, 
 who came to inquire after Mr. Terry, and 
 she spent a great deal of time in her 
 grandfather's sick-room. He hated her 
 presence, but was too feeble to protest 
 against it ; he had, too, a dim feeling that 
 Jier touch was firmer and more gentle than 
 that of any of his servants. Often, when 
 she went to her room at night, she was too 
 tired to do anything more than undress 
 as quickly as she could and throw herself 
 on her bed. 
 
 Her grandfather had suffered a second
 
 170 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 shock a few days after the first, but Dr, 
 Hunter said months would probably elapse 
 before the third and fatal one would follow. 
 Sometimes the old man lay in bed perfectly 
 still for days without speaking ; occasionally 
 he dozed or lay with his eyes shut; but 
 more frequently they were wide open and 
 followed Margaret unceasingly as she moved 
 about the room, or fixed upon her as she 
 sat by his bedside. At other times he 
 seemed stronger, and could bear to sit 
 up in bed and hear the papers read to him. 
 He seldom spoke to any one, though he 
 often muttered to himself in a low, in- 
 distinct voice. One day, as the doctor was 
 bending over his patient, he saw that the 
 old man's eyes were fixed upon Margaret, 
 who stood at the window, and he heard the 
 slow muttered words — 
 
 " Independent is she ? We will see how
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 171 
 
 far that will go ; I will give her every 
 chance of keeping up her independence." 
 
 So the summer rolled away and passed 
 into autumn ; dull November, with weepings 
 skies, clad in grey pall of mist and fog, 
 held sway over the land, and in November 
 Mr. Terry died. 
 
 The end was very quiet. He had been 
 sinking gradually for some time, and 
 Margaret was not surprised when Dr. 
 Hunter told her one day, that if she thought 
 there were any people in the village whom 
 Mr. Terry would like to see round his death- 
 bed, they should be summoned before night. 
 She sent to the vicar and his wife, and 
 then, though with some reluctance, for the 
 Rev. Adolphe. These people, with Mrs. 
 Fenton and one or two other old and 
 faithful servants, stood round Mr. Terry as 
 he lay dying.
 
 172 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 During the last few days of his illness 
 his manner had perceptibly altered. 
 Restless and uneasy, his eyes wandered 
 round the room and rested continually on 
 the iigure of his granddaughter. He was 
 powerless to speak, and no one guessed 
 what he wanted. From the feeble signs 
 he made, from the troubled sighs which 
 broke from his lips, no one understood that 
 he had repented of his hardness to Margaret, 
 and would fain have been reconciled with 
 her before he died ; Margaret, least of all, 
 expected such a change. So he died with 
 Agatha's hand in his, and with her lips 
 pressed to his forehead.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 173 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *' All my life 
 Is open to you. I go hence 
 To London, to the gathering place of souls, 
 To live mine straight out." 
 
 It was four days since Mr. Terry's death, 
 and the funeral had just taken place. A 
 few of the mourners were gathered in the 
 library at the Hall, waiting for the will to 
 be read. The party consisted of the vicar 
 and his wife, the Rev. Adolphe Entwistle^ 
 Margaret, and Mr. Banks, the lawyer. 
 
 Margaret was pale, though perfectly com- 
 posed ; the vicar looked sedately interested ; 
 Mrs. Entwistle and the curate nervously
 
 174 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 excited ; Mr. Banks was naturally in- 
 different. 
 
 The will was read. Silence had pre- 
 vailed during the reading of the document; 
 silence still prevailed when its contents 
 had been made known. The will, which 
 had been drawn up during the first days 
 of Mr. Terry's illness, was so different from 
 what they had expected. Mrs. Entwistle 
 and her nephew had speculated no little on 
 the results of Mr. Terry's death, but their 
 speculations had never equalled the reality. 
 
 Mr. Terry had left half his fortune, with 
 Ash Fell Hall and its furniture, to his 
 stepdaughter, Mrs. Latimer, a woman whom 
 he had always disliked, as everybody knew. 
 The other half was distributed in legacies ; 
 ten thousand to the Rev. Adolphe, some 
 very handsome sums to old servants, and 
 the rest to different people. To Agatha
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF 175 
 
 Entwistle he left the Terry emeralds, than 
 which there were none finer in England. 
 Margaret's name was not mentioned. 
 
 Mr. Banks's broke the silence, and his 
 professional voice warmed as he said — 
 
 " This is an unjust will, Miss Terry. 
 Had my influence with your grandfather 
 been greater, it would have been different." 
 
 Mr. Banks had seen Margaret more than 
 once during his late visits to her grand- 
 father, and each time she had found in- 
 creasing grace in his eyes. 
 
 " It does not signify," she said, absently. 
 
 He looked away imxDatiently, and Mrs. 
 Entwistle and the curate began to ex- 
 change congratulations. Mr. Banks turned 
 to the lady, and said — 
 
 " This is the first time the emeralds have 
 left the family. I confess, I should hesitate 
 to accept them."
 
 176 PUT TO THE PKOOF, 
 
 " I am not superstitious," she answered, 
 laughing. " At any rate, I am willing to 
 risk it. Come, Geoffrey and Adolphe, it is 
 high time we went." 
 
 Margaret turned to Mr. Banks. 
 
 " You will let me give you some lunch 
 before you go," she said. " That is," sud- 
 denly becoming alive to the present, "if 
 I may offer hospitality in a house that is 
 no longer my home." 
 
 Mr. Banks accepted her offer, adding, " I 
 should like a little conversation with you 
 before I go." 
 
 " Ah, Margaret," said Mrs. Entwistle, 
 suddenly recalled to a sense of the girl's 
 presence, " what will you do, you poor 
 child ? " 
 
 She could not restrain a smile at Mrs. 
 Entwistle's manner. 
 
 " You know," went on the lady, ipsLtron-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 177 
 
 izingly, " that I shall be glad to see you 
 at my house." 
 
 " Thank you ; but I will remain here for 
 the present. I dare say Mrs. Latimer 
 would not refuse me if I could ask her 
 permission." 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle went away, and Margaret 
 and Mr. Banks were left alone. 
 
 "How long will it be before luncli is 
 ready ? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 Margaret glanced at the clock, the hands 
 of which pointed to half-past twelye. 
 
 " Half an hour," she answered. 
 
 " Then, I will speak to you now. I shall 
 not haye time this afternoon." 
 
 He was standing with his back to the 
 fire, and Margaret was in one of the large 
 deep armchairs which graced either side 
 of the fireplace. 
 
 " That will," he said, after a pause ; " it 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 leaves you totally unprovided for. What 
 are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I shall go to London. I have a friend 
 there." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but is he in a position to 
 help you ? I mean, can he do more than 
 just point out a course to be taken, and 
 then leave you to go on alone ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; he was my tutor. He will 
 help me, and show me what is best for me 
 to do." 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 " And until I hear from him," she went 
 on, "I should like to remain here, if I 
 may ? " raising her eyes to his. 
 
 " Of course. All that is left in my 
 hands. I hope you will make this place 
 your home as long as will be convenient 
 to you. I do not suppose Mrs. Latimer 
 has any intention of leaving India. I dare
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 179 
 
 say slie would be very glad if you would 
 remain liere altogether. If you like, I will 
 write and lay the case before her." 
 
 " You are very kind, but please don't do 
 anything of the kind. I should not like 
 to live here in that way. It is nothing 
 to me to leave this place. Indeed, if my 
 grandfather had not died, I must have left 
 this house when he recovered." 
 
 He nodded his head again ; he was a 
 man of few words. There was a long 
 pause. Margaret began to think he did 
 not mean to speak again, when he said 
 suddenly — 
 
 " Your name was not mentioned in the 
 
 will, Miss Terry. I do not know if you 
 
 Can I be of any present use to you ? " 
 
 Margaret flushed, for his kindness touched 
 her. 
 
 " I cannot sufSciently thank you for your
 
 180 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 kindness, Mr. Banks ; but I have sufficient 
 money for my present wants, and I hope 
 to find work soon." 
 
 Here lunch was announced, and Mr. 
 Banks, offering his arm to Margaret with 
 old-fashioned chivalry, handed her into the 
 dining-room. 
 
 Soon after lunch he went away, and 
 Margaret was left alone in the silent house. 
 She sat before the fire, thinking. She was 
 going to write to Philip that evening, and 
 she wanted to think before beginning her 
 letter. For the first time since her grand- 
 father's death she had leisure to think, and 
 as she sat in the gathering dusk, for the 
 afternoon had closed in early with a grey 
 fog and driving, beating rain, she realized 
 that that chapter of her life which dealt 
 with Ash Fell would soon be closed. 
 
 She went over in her mind the time from
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 181 
 
 the moment when Dr. Hunter had said 
 ''He is gone," to the present hour. Most 
 of all, she thought of the will, and then 
 her face flushed. It would be useless to 
 pretend that the will had not roused both 
 her anger and her disappointment. She 
 was angry because she knew the estate was 
 hers by right, and Margaret had a great 
 respect for right. She was disappointed 
 because all her dreams of benefiting the 
 tenants were at an end ; she could never 
 hope to carry out the smallest of her plans 
 for their good. 
 
 But she had left what was better than 
 anything she could have inherited from her 
 grandfather. He might take away wealth, 
 station, and power, but he could never 
 rob her of her independence. Though her 
 name had not been mentioned in the will, 
 though she might carry away nothing that
 
 182 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 did not strictly belong to herself, she felt 
 very rich ; and as she sat alone she pictured 
 her future life in London in glowing- 
 colours. 
 
 The following morning Mrs. Entwistle 
 came in. She seated herself opposite- 
 Margaret, and began her business at once. 
 
 " Now, my dear, we must see what can 
 be done for you. Of course you will have 
 to work now, and, after all, you have no 
 right to complain ; you have had nineteen 
 years of holiday." 
 
 " I do not complain," said Margaret ; " on 
 the contrary, I shall be very glad to work. 
 It is what I have always wished to do." 
 
 " That is very fortunate," replied her 
 visitor, blandly. " And what do you think 
 of doing ? I suppose you will try to get 
 a situation as governess, or something of 
 that kind. I have no doubt we shall meet
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 183 
 
 with something by-and-by. I must inquire 
 among my friends." 
 
 " Thank you," answered the girl ; " but 
 I will not put you to so much trouble. I 
 am not going to be a governess. I am 
 going to London. I shall live there." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the other, stiffly. " How 
 do you propose to do that ? " 
 
 " I have written to Mr. Welford ; he will 
 tell me what to do." 
 
 " That was a very strange step to take 
 without consulting those who have your 
 welfare at heart. And you cannot go to 
 Mr. Welford." 
 
 ''I shall go to his mother, I expect," said 
 the girl, not trying to hide her amusement. 
 "I have quite made up my mind," 
 seeing that Mrs. Entwistle was going to 
 speak again. 
 
 " You are acting in a very bold, inde-
 
 184 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 pendent manner, which I cannot approve 
 of at all," said the elder lady. 
 
 '' I am independent ; that is the great 
 advantage." 
 
 Mrs. Entwistle did not stay much 
 longer. Her parting words were — 
 
 '' You know, Margaret, if you had played 
 your cards well you might have been left 
 with a handsome fortune." 
 
 To which Margaret made no reply. 
 
 The following morning Margaret heard 
 from Philip. He was most anxious for her 
 to come to London, and offered her a home 
 with his mother as long as she chose to 
 avail herself of it. 
 
 The letter put Margaret into the highest 
 spirits. She decided to leave Ash Fell on 
 the following day. The greater part of 
 the time that remained to her she spent in 
 packing up her things, and at night she
 
 PUT TO THE FKOOF. 18o 
 
 went to say good-bye to the place that had 
 been her home. 
 
 The stately rooms on the ground floor 
 raised no emotion in her, unless it was of 
 joy that she was leaving them for ever ; 
 but when she had mounted the stairs and 
 reached the rooms where she and Philip 
 had lived, she felt her heart swell and her 
 €yes fill. She set down the lamp she 
 carried, and looked round the old sitting- 
 room. A thousand memories came over 
 her, blinding her eyes with tears. Though 
 twenty-four hours later she would again 
 have met her only friend, be speaking to 
 him or hearing his voice, she felt that the 
 old days were gone, that nothing could 
 bring them back. 
 
 ''Nothing," she thought, "is ever the 
 same twice over." Though it was only a 
 year since Philip had himself said good-
 
 186 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 bye to her in that same room, though they 
 were going to meet again so soon, she 
 dropped into a chair, leaned her head upon 
 the old work-table, and cried bitterly. 
 
 The next morning she left Ash Fell, and 
 from the railway carriage window waved a 
 farewell to the village of which the last 
 object she saw was " the little grey church 
 on the windy hill," where her grandfather 
 lay buried. 
 
 On the evening of that same day, three 
 women were seated in the drawing-room 
 of a house in one of the suburbs of London. 
 
 Mrs. Welford and her two daughters 
 were awaiting the arrival of Margaret Terry. 
 Mrs. Welford was but little altered since 
 we saw her last, eleven years ago. Elsa 
 and Madge were grown up, but, in spite of 
 their taller stature, were little changed in 
 character. Elsa was still gay and light of 
 
 \
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 187 
 
 heart, as a butterfly sporting in the sun ; 
 Madge's face still wore its old troubled ^ 
 careworn look. 
 
 The ladies were sitting in silence. Mrs. 
 Welford and Madge were working ; Elsa, 
 who was the youngest and indulged, sat in 
 the most comfortable chair in the room, 
 deep in a three volume novel. Mrs. Wel- 
 ford herself broke the silence. 
 
 " What time did Philip say Miss Terry's 
 train got in ? " 
 
 " Quarter-past eight," said Madge, who 
 always fulfilled the minor duties of life, 
 such as answering superfluous questionSy 
 and the like. 
 
 Mrs. Welford looked at the clock, which 
 struck half-past eight as she looked. 
 
 " We may expect them in a quarter of 
 an hour, then, if the train is punctual," she 
 said, speaking in slow, measured tones.
 
 188 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 '' What fun ! " cried Elsa, looking up 
 from her book. " I am so glad she is 
 <;oming. I am djing with curiosity to see 
 lier. I asked Philip the other day if she is 
 pretty, and he smiled in that absent way 
 he has, and said he had really never con- 
 sidered the point. She had always been 
 Margaret to him. 1 long to see what she is 
 like." 
 
 " There is a cab stopping at the door," 
 said Madge, without raising her eyes from 
 her work. Elsa was the only one of the 
 party who showed any inclination to go 
 out and meet the guest ; neither did she get 
 any further than the door, for her mother 
 €alled her back, sharply bidding her not 
 expose herself to the night air. 
 
 They heard Philip open the door with 
 his latch-key, and his voice speaking to 
 «ome one, who answered in sweet, full
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 189 
 
 tones. Then he came in, and, turning ronncl^ 
 they saw he was leading forward a tall 
 girl, dressed in black, with a pale, beautiful 
 face and golden hair, which her long 
 journey had ruffled somewhat. 
 
 " Mother," said Philip, who looked very 
 happy, " here is Margaret.'' 
 
 The girl advanced, and Mrs. Welford 
 rose and, extending her hand, said — 
 
 " How do you do. Miss Terry ? I hope 
 vou are not very cold after vour lonic 
 journey ? " 
 
 Somewhat chilled b}' ]Mrs. AYelford's 
 frigid manner, Margaret turned involun- 
 tarily to the girls, to whom Philip in- 
 troduced her. The}^ acknowledged the 
 introduction characteristically. Madge 
 hurriedly shook hands, and, murmuring 
 a few indistinct words, dropped her eyes 
 again on to her work. Elsa kissed the
 
 190 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 new-comer's cheek, and poured forth a 
 volley of welcoming words. 
 
 They were standing in front of the fire ; 
 one hand Margaret held to the blaze, the 
 other Philip was holding in his and gently 
 chafing it. 
 
 " Miss Terry must be starving," said 
 Elsa. " Supper is just ready. Miss Terry, 
 will you go to your room now, or wait 
 until afterwards. 
 
 ** I will go now," taking her gloves from 
 the mantelpiece where she had laid them. 
 
 " I will show you the way," said Elsa ; 
 and the two girls left the room together. 
 
 A few minutes later they were seated at 
 supper, and a brisk conversation was going 
 on. Philip and Margaret had so much to 
 talk about, and Elsa joined in so persist- 
 ently, that the silence of the other two was 
 not noticed.
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 191 
 
 Margaret went to bed early, and Philip 
 left for his rooms a few minutes later, 
 saying he would call in the course of the 
 following morning. 
 
 " Well ! " said Elsa, when the party was 
 reduced to its primitive number of three, 
 " what do you think of her ? I think she is 
 most beautiful. I could look at her for hours." 
 
 " She is good-looking,'' said Mrs. Wel- 
 ford, dispassionately ; " but her manner is 
 more free and independent than I care to 
 see in so young a girl." 
 
 " What do you think, Madge ? " turning 
 to her sister. 
 
 "1? Oh, I don't know. I hardly looked 
 at her. I like her ; I can understand what 
 Philip meant by saying she had always 
 been Margaret. She looks as though, how- 
 ever other people might change, she would 
 always be herself."
 
 192 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 Elsa laughed. " You see," she said. 
 " she wears no crape. That is one of 
 PhiHp's ideas. You know, he would do 
 away with mourning if he could. I expect 
 we shall find he has filled her head with 
 all his wild ideas."
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 193 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Get leave to work 
 In this world : 'tis the best you get at all." 
 
 The following morning, as Margaret sat 
 with the girls and Mrs. Welford after 
 breakfast, some one was heard running up 
 the door-steps. 
 
 " That is Mr. Welford," said Margaret, 
 quickly ; and Elsa looked up and laughed. 
 
 " Do you know his step ? " she asked ; 
 " none of us do." 
 
 Philip entered the room. He greeted his 
 mother and sisters with a kiss, and shook 
 hands with Margaret, telling her she looked 
 
 VOL. I 13
 
 194 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 a hundred times better than the night 
 before. 
 
 " I hardly knew you as you stood on the 
 platform," he concluded. 
 
 " I knew you directly. I had thought 
 of very little but meeting you all through 
 the journey." 
 
 " There is a compliment, Phil," said 
 Elsa, in delight. 
 
 " Margaret and I are above compli- 
 ments," said Philip, smiling as he drew his 
 chair close up to that on which the girl 
 was sitting. "How did you leave every 
 one at Ash Fell — Mrs. Entwistle, for 
 instance?" 
 
 " Mrs. Entwistle ! " cried Margaret, 
 laughing. "She left me, and in a very 
 angry frame of mind. She had come with 
 the intention of offering me a refuge in her 
 house, until together we had found me a
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 195 
 
 situation as governess. Was she not 
 kind?" 
 
 Philip laughed. 
 
 "Just like Mrs. Entwistle," he said. 
 '-'' What did you say to her ? " 
 
 She told him. When she had finished, 
 he said — 
 
 " Now, put on your things, and come out 
 with me, if you are rested, and we will 
 talk business." 
 
 She did his bidding, and they went out 
 together. He took her to the National 
 Gallery, which they had almost to them- 
 selves, and there they began to talk. 
 
 " Tell me first, Margaret," he said, 
 " whether you have any money." 
 
 " I have a great deal," she answered. 
 ^' Forty pounds." 
 
 " That is not much," he said, smiling. 
 
 " But enough to go on with. I shall
 
 196 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 get work soon, and shall be able to keep 
 myself. How delightful that will be ! " 
 
 " You cannot guess, I am sure, how I 
 got my money," she said, after a pause. 
 
 " Did you sell your old dresses ? " he 
 asked. "I have heard of girls raising 
 funds in that way." 
 
 " I should certainly not have got forty 
 pounds for mine. I sold ' Miss Terry's 
 jewelry,' " she said, laughing. " I felt 
 such a weight off my mind when I had 
 got rid of it." 
 
 "• I hope ' Miss Terry's jewelry ' did not 
 include your watch and chain ? " he said, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Of course not ; nor your diamond ring 
 either," she said, alluding to presents from 
 Philip on successive birthdays. 
 
 Then they began to talk seriously. It 
 was settled that Margaret should have
 
 • PUT TO THE PEOOF. 197 
 
 lodgings and take pupils, until lier name 
 Avas sufficiently well known for her to be 
 able to stand alone. After that, Philip 
 took her to his old friend, the dealer. He 
 had found a ready market for the things 
 Philip had sent him a year before, and 
 Margaret undertook to keep him constantly 
 supplied. 
 
 " How fortunate I am ! " she said, as they 
 turned their steps homewards ; " and it is 
 all owing to you. If I had been alone, I 
 should have had such difficulties to en- 
 counter ; now they are all smoothed away." 
 
 " There is no difficulty in helping people 
 who are willing to be helped," said Philip, 
 sagely. 
 
 They reached home just in time for 
 dinner, and as Margaret seated herself at 
 table, Philip, looking at her, was struck 
 anew by her great beauty. She was
 
 198 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 roused and excited with the consciousness 
 that she was free, that she was going to 
 begin a new life, and that the future lay- 
 bright and hopeful before her. She was 
 feeling, as well, the elation that always 
 attends one's first visit to a large town ; 
 the incessant life in the streets, the gay 
 shops, the lighted lamps, all impressed her, 
 and made her feel as though she had been 
 taken into a new world. 
 
 Philip did not intend Margaret to leave 
 his mother's house until she had a prospect 
 of being able to support herself in lodgings. 
 A month passed before the girl left Clap- 
 ham, and during that month she saw and 
 learned a great deal. Philip came every- 
 day, spending his time with his family, or 
 taking Margaret, and sometimes his sisters, 
 out. They went to Kensington, to ther 
 British Museum, to the National Gallery,
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 199 
 
 and to concerts innumerable. On such 
 occasions they were generally alone, Elsa 
 seldom accompanying them on what she 
 called their " intellectual expeditions." 
 
 Margaret got on pretty well with her 
 hostess and her daughters. She felt sorry 
 for Madge, and Elsa amused her. She 
 had seen and known very few girls in her 
 quiet life, and she was sometimes rather 
 surprised to find the difference which 
 existed between herself and the girls she 
 now met. Elsa and Madge, on their side, 
 considered Margaret rather in the light of 
 a curiosity, and were never tired of asking- 
 questions concerning the life Margaret and 
 Philip had led together. 
 
 " Tell me," Elsa said one day, " what 
 you used to do when Philip was your tutor. 
 Were you happy ? " 
 
 " Oh yes," said Margaret, readily. " He
 
 200 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 was so kind, it would have been impossible 
 not to be happy." 
 
 '' I suppose you did a great many lessons, 
 you seem to know everything." 
 
 " We did not do lessons like they do in 
 schools. When I learned botany, we used 
 to go for a picnic among the hills, and 
 botanize there. Most of the things I know 
 were learned when we were either riding 
 or walking ; we had no regular lesson 
 hours, or books, or routine, or anything; 
 we did just what we liked at the moment. 
 I shall never forget a lesson in geology 
 that Mr. Welford gave me one afternoon 
 when we were sitting on the moors." 
 
 Margaret sat looking dreamily into the 
 fire. Those happy bygone days seemed to 
 come back to her as vividly as if she had 
 been living in them. 
 
 When Margaret had been at Clapham a
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 201 
 
 month, she induced Philip to let her go 
 into lodgings. She was not very happy 
 in her present home. The girl was no 
 favourite with Mrs. "Welford, and she knew 
 it. The elder lady did not like what she 
 called Margaret's " freedom and independ- 
 ence," and she showed her dislike by an 
 unbending rigidity of demeanour. Mrs. 
 Welford forgot how different was the life 
 Margaret had led from that led by most 
 girls, and she was constantly advising, 
 reprimanding, and directing in a way that 
 chafed the girl's quick, impulsive temper, 
 and made her vexed and impatient, though 
 she tried not to show her feelings. She 
 was fond of the girls, and gave them a 
 general invitation to visit her whenever 
 they choose. 
 
 Margaret's friendship for Philip only 
 grew warmer : she was very grateful to
 
 202 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 him for his kindness during the time she 
 had been his mother's guest. He had 
 soon seen how matters stood, and all his 
 efforts had been directed to softening his 
 mother's prejudices, and helping Margaret 
 to make light of them. 
 
 Before Margaret left Clapham she had 
 advanced so far as to call her tutor by 
 his Christian name. Elsa had brought 
 the change about, and was delighted with 
 the result of her labours ; and though 
 Margaret had been a little shy at first, 
 when the change was effected it seemed in 
 some way to draw Philip nearer to her.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 *' Ah ! let us make no claim 
 On life's incognizable sea, 
 To too exact a steering of our way ; 
 Let lis not fret, and fear to miss our aim, 
 If some fair eoast has lured us to make stay, 
 Or some friend hailed us to keep company." 
 
 For some time after Margaret began her 
 new life, no change occurred to disturb the 
 even tenor of her way. Her pupils came, 
 and she gave them their lessons ; she worked 
 diligently in the workroom that opened 
 out of her pretty sitting-room. Some of 
 her lessons she gave at the homes of her 
 pupils, and in this way made some new 
 acquaintances, though Philip remained her
 
 204 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 only friend. Hers was not a nature that 
 made friends quickly. She was long in 
 holding out the right hand of fellowship, 
 but her hand, once held out, was never 
 withdrawn. 
 
 She had been living alone for five 
 months. It was now May, and every- 
 where out of London the country was 
 looking almost at its best; even in the 
 metropolis there was a sneaking feeling of 
 springtide in the atmosphere. 
 
 This May afternoon was exceptionally 
 fine, and the sun shone brightly in at one of 
 Margaret's windows, which was wide open 
 to admit as much of the sweet spring air 
 as possible. She herself was standing by 
 the table, working busily. The floor was 
 covered with little chips and shavings, and 
 the room was strewn with' tools of all sorts 
 and sizes suitable for her work. She was
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 205 
 
 standing with her back to the light, and 
 the sun just caught the gleam of her 
 golden hair as she bent over her tools. 
 She had left off her black dresses, and the^ 
 one which now clothed her tall figure was 
 of a soft gray colour, which suited her 
 well. 
 
 As she worked, a quick step ran up the 
 stairs, and some one gave a sharp rap on 
 the door. 
 
 " Philip's knock," she thought ; and she 
 said quickly — 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 Her face wore a smile as the young man 
 entered, and she held out her hand. 
 
 " How do you do, Philip ? It is a long 
 time since you have been here." 
 
 " I have been intending to come for 
 days," he answered, throwing himself into 
 the broad window-seat, " but I have
 
 ^06 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 -always been prevented from coming all the 
 way." 
 
 " You are here now, so the rest does not 
 matter," she said, contentedly, leaving her 
 work for a moment. 
 
 " Do you know," said Philip, after a 
 little pause, ^^it struck me as I came in 
 just now that you looked rather desolate. 
 I hope the girls do not neglect you." 
 
 " On the contrary, they come very often 
 — quite as often as Mrs. Welford will 
 let them, I am' sure. It is the kinder of 
 them, as sometimes when they get here I 
 am too busy to talk to them." 
 
 " How do you think Madge is looking ? " 
 asked Philip, suddenly. 
 
 " I do not think she looks happy," she 
 said, slowly though decidedly. 
 
 " No," said her brother ; '' she is too 
 much under my mother's rule to be that.
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 207 
 
 No one can associate happiness witli my 
 mother." 
 
 Margaret was silent, and presently Philip 
 said — 
 
 " I came to ask yoii to go out with me. 
 Are you too busy ? " 
 
 " Much," she answered, regretfully. 
 ^' How I should have liked to go ! but I 
 must send this home to-night. It is for 
 a birthday present to-morrow." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " This is a glove-box ; the handkerchief- 
 case is on that table." 
 
 " It is very beautiful," said Philip, taking 
 it up and examining it. "I think you 
 have improved." 
 
 " I know I have ; I am very much 
 pleased with this." 
 
 " And you can't leave it to come out 
 with me ? "
 
 208 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 " Impossible. I have some news for 
 yon." 
 
 " What may it be ? " 
 
 " You remember Mr. Bannister, who 
 hves some miles from Ash Fell ? Mr. 
 Terry knew him ; he came to a dinner- 
 party once. He and his wife are building 
 a church ; they are spending a great deal 
 of money upon it. It is one of those 
 ritualistic places, the pulpit, the stalls, and 
 chancel screen, are to be in carved oak, and 
 they want " 
 
 "You to do it," interrupted Philip, 
 impulsively. " My dear girl, how delight- 
 ful for you ! " 
 
 "Is it not charming ? They want me 
 to go at once, but will wait my convenience. 
 Such a nice letter from Mrs. Bannister ! 
 Read it;" and she handed him an open 
 sheet of paper. " You see/' she went on,
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 209 
 
 " they want me to stay in the house all the 
 time. I remember Mrs. Entwistle said they 
 had a delightful house, and generally lots 
 of people staying there." 
 
 " I am very glad," said Philip, warmly. 
 " When shall you go ? " 
 
 " I cannot go until next month. I have 
 work which will keep me here until then ; 
 but in June I shall go. I am very glad I 
 shall spend the summer in the country, 
 after all." 
 
 " I suppose you have no idea how long 
 you will be away ? " 
 
 "No, of course. I cannot even guess 
 until I have seen the church." 
 
 She was working again as she spoke, 
 her deft fingers handling her tools with 
 perfect ease and skill. 
 
 Philip sat and watched her for some 
 little time, then he said — 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 " I have nothing particular to do this 
 evening. If you will let me, I will stay 
 here, and we will try to bring one of our 
 old evenings back again." 
 
 She assented eagerly, and they sat talk- 
 ing until Margaret had finished her work, 
 packed it up, and sent it off; then Philip 
 made her get one of their favourite books, 
 and they read together until the light 
 failed them. 
 
 Philip stayed till late, and when he was 
 gone, Margaret sat by the low table which 
 held her reading lamp, and began to think 
 of the work in store for her. 
 
 She was very ambitious, and very desirous 
 that her work should always aim at a high 
 ideal. A great deal of the carving she saw 
 in shops, and in the few houses where she 
 visited, often made her feel how easy it 
 was for untrained, unskilled workers to
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 211 
 
 debase an art. With the enthusiasm 
 natural to her youth and temperament, she 
 had been determined that her work should 
 be such as to raise the character and tone 
 of her art ; she would do nothing that 
 was not perfect in its way. 
 
 A month later, she said " Good-bye " 
 to Philip and went north to Fencehurst, 
 the united village of which Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bannister were the presiding geniuses. 
 
 It was a long journey, but, during the 
 latter part at least, a very beautiful one. 
 As the train rushed swiftly through the 
 hilly, picturesque country, Margaret's heart 
 began to beat fast with the pleasure and 
 excitement of visiting her native Yorkshire. 
 The hills were not yet clad in purple, but 
 they were green with bracken and yellow 
 with gorse. The rushing, tumbling streams, 
 which threw themselves headlong down
 
 212 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 the narrow gorges studded with hardy- 
 birch and mountain ash, were fresh and 
 sparkling as when Margaret had wandered 
 by them the summer before. 
 
 A phaeton had been sent to the station 
 to meet her, and the two miles to Fence- 
 hurst were soon covered. Margaret was met 
 in the hall by Mrs. Bannister, who gave 
 her a warm welcome, and accompanied her 
 to her room, saying that dinner would be 
 ready in half an hour. 
 
 When Margaret, a few minutes before 
 seven o'clock, entered the drawing-room, she 
 found it full of people. A large party was 
 staying at Fencehurst, for Mr. and Mrs. 
 Bannister, in spite of their ritualistic pro- 
 clivities, were fond of the good things of 
 this life, and seldom spent much time alone. 
 
 Margaret, as she had told Philip, had seen 
 Mr. Bannister at Ash Fell, where he had
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 213 
 
 sat at her grandfather's table, and paid a 
 great deal of attention to his young hostess. 
 She found also Mr. Barton at Fencehurst ; 
 indeed, he took her in to dinner, and did 
 not let pass the opportunity of asking after 
 the Rev. Adolphe. 
 
 In the drawing-room, Mrs. Bannister 
 seated herself by Margaret, and talked to 
 her about the new church. She was very 
 enthusiastic, and said she had numbers of 
 plans, which she would submit to Miss 
 Terry in the morning. 
 
 " Of course," she said, " you will not be 
 able to tell all at once how long it will 
 take you to do the carving, but Mr. 
 Bannister and I hope you will make Fence- 
 hurst your home, so long as you are 
 here." 
 
 "You are very kind,'" said Margaret; and 
 Mrs. Bannister went away, wondering what
 
 214 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 had induced Mr. Terry to treat his grand- 
 daughter as he had done. 
 
 The following day Mr. Bannister took 
 Margaret to the church. It lay ahout a 
 quarter of a mile from the lodge gates, and 
 was a beautiful building of pure white 
 stone, with a tall, tapering spire. Mr. 
 Bannister unlocked the door, and they 
 went in. Inside, the church was exquisite. 
 All the windows were of the finest painted 
 glass ; the chancel steps and floor were of 
 pure white marble, while the altar literally 
 blazed with colour ; the woodwork was all 
 of shining black oak. Mr. Bannister called 
 largely upon her for admiration, but to 
 Margaret's unaccustomed eyes it looked 
 more like a fairy palace than a church, 
 and she frankly said so. 
 
 Then they began to talk about the 
 carving, and after Mr. Bannister had
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 215 
 
 listened to Margaret for some time he 
 said — 
 
 " You have a genius for these things, 
 Miss Terry. Our church will be known 
 far and wide, and your work will go down 
 to posterity." 
 
 She flushed, half with pleasure at the 
 thought which flattered her ambition, half 
 with another feeling which she could hardly 
 analyze. 
 
 " I will begin my preparations this after- 
 noon," she said, as they turned to leave 
 the building. 
 
 " I don't think you will be allowed to 
 do that," he answered, laughing. " I 
 believe my wife has organized a drive or 
 something for this afternoon, and I know 
 she intends you to make one of the party." 
 
 So in the afternoon, instead of beginning 
 her work, Margaret cast in her lot with the
 
 216 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 rest of the visitors at Fencehurst, and spent 
 the golden summer afternoon among the 
 hills. 
 
 Margaret soon found that, even allowing 
 for several hours' hard work every day, it 
 would take her three months to do what 
 she had to do at the church. She told 
 Mrs. Bannister, adding — 
 
 " And, as I cannot think of trespassing 
 upon your hospitality for so long, I must 
 look about for lodgings." 
 
 But Mrs. Bannister and her husband, 
 whom she called in to her support, were 
 resolute in opposing any such arrangement. 
 They were determined she should stay 
 with them until her work was done. 
 
 So Margaret stayed, nothing loth, and 
 felt happier day by day.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 *' Taller he showed than any by a head, 
 Great-limbed, broad-shouldered, mightier far than 
 
 all. 
 But soft of speech." 
 
 Makgaret had been at Fencehurst a fort- 
 night. Some of the people who had been 
 there at her arrival still lingered at that 
 pleasant house ; others had gone, and fresh 
 faces came in their place. They were all 
 pleasant people who stayed at Fencehurst : 
 it was noted for the delightful parties that 
 gathered within its ivied walls. 
 
 It was a sultry evening in July, and 
 Margaret sat in her rooms, resting from her
 
 218 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 work for a few minutes before beginning 
 to dress for dinner, and she was arranging 
 the flowers, lieavy tea-roses, wbicli she was 
 going to wear that evening. 
 
 Mr. Barton, who had taken her in to 
 dinner with unfailing regularity for the 
 last fortnight, had left that morning, and 
 she was idly wondering who would be her 
 cavalier that evening. She had heard that 
 some one else was expected that afternoon ; 
 had even heard his name, but had forgotten 
 what it was. Perhaps he would take 
 her in. 
 
 When she went downstairs she found 
 the drawing-room almost empty; few 
 women took so short a time to " adorn " 
 themselves as Margaret, and the majority 
 were still upstairs. She went forward to 
 one of the windows, an immense bay, in 
 which a semicircular seat was placed, and,
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 219 
 
 sitting down, leaned back and tnrned over 
 the leaves of a book some one had left on 
 the seat. Among the men scattered about 
 the room a distinct though subdued murmur 
 of conversation was going on, and Margaret 
 caught some of the words. 
 
 " Has Saxenholme come yet ? Has any- 
 one seen Saxenholme ? " were the inquiries 
 being buzzed about the room, and as she 
 heard them she remembered that Saxen- 
 holme was the name of the man who was 
 to arrive that afternoon. 
 
 Insensibly the room filled. It was nearly 
 half-past seven, and some people out of the 
 neighbourhood were dining with them that 
 night. Margaret from her corner watched 
 the guests come in and settle down into 
 little groups for conversation. 
 
 Before the fireplace several men were 
 standing, talking to a tall man, who, af^
 
 220 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 his face was strange to her, Margaret con- 
 cluded was the new guest. He was a man 
 immensely tall and proportionately broad. 
 His hair was only a shade darker than her 
 own. So far as she could see, his eyes 
 were black, and his complexion was singu- 
 larly tanned, as though he had been much 
 exposed to suns hotter than we are accus- 
 tomed to in England. His eyes were 
 singularly quick and piercing ; indeed, his 
 face had such an attraction for Miss Terry 
 that she found it difficult to withdraw her 
 eyes from it. At the same time, she had 
 an odd feeling that though the man seemed 
 completely engrossed in his conversation 
 with his companions, yet he was all the 
 time watching her as she was watching 
 him. 
 
 " He seems a great favourite," she 
 thought ; " and in spite of his keen eyes
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 221 
 
 and quick voice, lie looks kind, and as 
 though he would never do an unmanly 
 deed." 
 
 Presently she saw Mrs. Bannister go up 
 to the group on the hearth, exchange a 
 few words with one of the men, speak to 
 the stranger, and finally lead him away 
 captive in the direction of the window 
 where she was sitting. 
 
 The lady seemed to be talking earnestly ; 
 the stranger was listening with an amused, 
 half-bantering expression on his face. 
 When they reached Margaret's side, Mrs. 
 Bannister said — 
 
 ''Miss Terry, I want to introduce my 
 friend, Mr. Oswald Saxenholme. Mr. 
 Saxenholme, Miss Terry." 
 
 Saxenholme bowed; but Margaret, im- 
 pelled by some instinct for which she could 
 not quite account, held out her hand.
 
 222 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 which Oswald took in his and held for 
 half a second. 
 
 Mrs. Bannister lingered near them for 
 a moment, and then moved away. Oswald 
 dropped into the seat by Margaret's side, 
 saying— 
 
 " What a delightful woman Mrs. Ban- 
 nister is ! " 
 
 " Is she not ? " cried Margaret, turning 
 (Quickly to him, to find his eyes fixed upon 
 her. " I never met a woman I liked half 
 so well." 
 
 " Have you known her long ? " 
 
 " Only during the last fortnight, but 
 that is quite long enough to find out how 
 good she is." 
 
 " Yes," he answered ; " she is very good. 
 I have known her ever since we were both 
 children, and we have always been friends. 
 I do not recollect a single quarrel."
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 223 
 
 At that moment dinner was announced. 
 
 " I am to have the pleasure of taking 
 you down to dinner," he said, rising and 
 offering his arm to Margaret ; and she 
 looked up with a start, for she had for- 
 gotten where she was. 
 
 " Are you staying here long ? " asked 
 Oswald, when dinner was half over. 
 
 " Until I have done my work," she 
 answered. 
 
 '' Your work ? " he repeated ; and then 
 went on hastily, " But, pardon me, I have 
 no business to ask you anything like that. 
 That was a most impertinent question." 
 
 " Not at all. I am working for Mr. and 
 Mrs. Bannister. I am carving the wood- 
 work in the church." 
 
 " Indeed ? Are you, too, helping to build 
 up the Church of the future ? " 
 
 " Is that the Church of the future ? " she
 
 224 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 
 
 asked ; and Oswald's answer led them into 
 a long discussion, whither we will not 
 follow them. 
 
 When thej were sitting in the drawing- 
 room after dinner, Margaret crossed over to 
 Mrs. Bannister, who was alone, and asked — 
 
 " Who is that Mr. Saxenholme who took 
 me in to dinner ? " 
 
 " Who is Oswald ? " said Mrs. Bannister. 
 " He is Oswald. To people who know 
 him that expresses everything." 
 
 " Doubtless. But I don't know him, so 
 that to say ' he is Oswald ' means nothing 
 to me." 
 
 " Where shall I begin ? " said her 
 hostess. " Did you ever hear of * Saxen- 
 holme Brothers ' ? " 
 
 Margaret shook her head. 
 
 "They were bankers — they have been 
 bankers ever since banks began to exist.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 225 
 
 The bank and the name have come down 
 io posterity, though the Brothers have not. 
 At present it is ' Saxenholme and Sons/ 
 and they have the largest private bank in 
 London." 
 
 "And is this Mr. Oswald Saxenholme 
 one of the sons ? " 
 
 " Yes ; the youngest. There are two of 
 them. Mr. Saxenholme and his eldest son 
 are in the business. Oswald, lazy fellow, 
 does nothing." 
 
 " How intolerable ! " exclaimed Margaret. 
 
 Mrs. Bannister laughed. 
 
 " Every one has not your horror of 
 idleness. But I am wronging Oswald in 
 your eyes. When I say he does nothing, 
 I mean nothing in the business. They are 
 immensely wealthy people. Oswald has 
 all his mother's money, and he spends all 
 his time on his pet hobby." 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 " I am glad lie has some occupation, 
 if it is only a hobby. What does he 
 do?" 
 
 " How sarcastically you speak ! Oswald 
 is a geographer. I have known him since 
 he was a child, and his one passion is 
 geography. Even when I first knew him 
 his greatest happiness lay in reading 
 travels and geography. Later on, he 
 thirsted to be an explorer, or to join a 
 party of explorers. I believe he either 
 has offered, or is going to offer, himself 
 as commander of that party that is leaving 
 England at the end of the summer, for the 
 exploration of the interior of Africa." 
 
 " What modesty ! Will nothing less 
 than the command suit him ? " 
 
 " Oh, he is very ambitious ; as ambitious 
 as you are." 
 
 Margaret coloured a little, but she laughed
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 227 
 
 too, and Mrs. Bannister left her to speak 
 to some one else. 
 
 Margaret sat thinking. Suddenly a voice 
 at her side said — 
 
 " Mrs. Bannister has been telling me 
 about your carving in the church. May 
 I not see it ? " 
 
 The plain, straightforward question struck 
 Margaret favourably, after all the compli- 
 ments and amateur criticism she had 
 been hearing of late, and she answered 
 readily — 
 
 " I shall be very glad to show you all 
 I have done, whenever you like to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! " with an accent of dis- 
 appointment. " I really doubt whether I 
 can wait till to-morrow ; it would be 
 throwing away a night's rest. I had 
 hoped you would show it me to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " she said, in some surprise.
 
 228 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 
 
 *' I do not think we could see it ; it will 
 be dark in the church now." 
 
 *' Do come," he said, persuasively. And 
 then, changing his tone, he went on 
 quickly, "- Come, Miss Terry ; I see a lady 
 approaching whom 1 know of old. She 
 is going to force us to join a fearful and 
 wonderful round game, which no one 
 knows but herself, and which it is im- 
 possible to learn ; I believe she invented 
 it herself. Come ! " 
 
 He started up as he spoke, and went 
 hastily in the direction of an open French 
 window. Almost without knowing what 
 she did, Margaret followed him, and a 
 moment later they stood together on the 
 terrace. 
 
 " That was well done," said Oswald, 
 laughing. " I often wonder why Miss 
 Langton comes here. She is the only dis-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 229 
 
 agreeable person one ever meets at Fence- 
 hurst." 
 
 "When they entered the church, Margaret 
 pointed out her work, and Oswald peered 
 round in the dusk, and was forced at last 
 to say, with a laugh — 
 
 " You were quite right. Miss Terry ; I 
 cannot see it at all. I must come again 
 in daylight." 
 
 They did not stay long in the church, 
 hut once out of doors again they lingered. 
 It was such a perfect June night, so warm 
 and so still, and the flowers sent out such 
 a soft, haunting perfume, it seemed a shame 
 to go indoors, even to sit in a drawing- 
 room lighted with the softest of candles 
 and lamps. Oswald and Margaret paced 
 the terrace almost in silence, though there 
 was no question raised of going indoors, or 
 of joining any of the laughing, chattering
 
 230 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 groups scattered about the garden. Gradu- 
 ally the people went indoors, and Margaret 
 and Oswald had been for some time alone 
 when the former suddenly said — 
 
 " I had no idea every one had gone in. 
 It must be getting quite late. Let us go 
 in, too ; the air is getting chill." 
 
 And with that they passed through the 
 still open window and returned to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 It was late when they separated for the 
 night, and yet Margaret felt no inclination 
 to sleep. The candles on her dressing- 
 table burned with a soft shimmering light, 
 and the blind was down. She drew it 
 up, and, throwing the window wide open, 
 leaned far out into the still night. Her 
 heart was beating fast, and her pulses 
 throbbed. Her whole being was roused 
 and excited ; she had never in her life felt
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 231 
 
 as she did this night. Her thoughts 
 naturally turned to Oswald Saxenholme. 
 He had spent nearly the whole evening at 
 her side, and the echo of his last words 
 seemed still sounding in her ears. She 
 thought he was the handsomest man she 
 had ever seen. Among all the men who 
 had frequented her grandfather's house, she 
 remembered none with so goodly a presence 
 as his ; none who bore his head so proudly 
 aloft, or who looked so far removed from 
 all meanness or littleness of soul. She had 
 never heard a voice that rang so true and 
 brave in her ears ; never seen eyes that 
 looked into hers with such an open, fear- 
 less gaze. 
 
 So she sat by the window dreaming, and 
 the short June night was almost over when 
 she shut the window and turned to un- 
 dress.
 
 232 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 '' "So she moved 
 
 Amid them all, a thing beloved 
 Of earth and heaven ; could she be 
 Made for his sole felicity ? " 
 
 The following morning, as Margaret was at 
 work in the churcli, she heard the door 
 open and some one come up the aisle. 
 Looking up, she saw that it was Mr. Saxen- 
 holme. 
 
 " Good morning ! " he said, holding out 
 his hand. "It is half-past eleven, and the 
 first time we have met to-day." 
 
 " You were not down when I had break-
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 233^ 
 
 fast," slie said, when she had returned his 
 greeting. 
 
 " You must have been very early. I 
 kept expecting you to come into the dining- 
 room, but you never came. At last I 
 thought it possible you might be here, sa 
 I came to see." 
 
 " I generally breakfast alone," she said. 
 
 " That must be very lonely," he said,. 
 with perfect gravity. 
 
 They talked for a long time. Margaret 
 told her visitor of the amusing criticism 
 sometimes passed upon her work by the 
 guests at Fencehurst. From that they 
 passed to other subjects, and almost before 
 Margaret knew what she was saying, she 
 had put Oswald into possession of the chief 
 details of her past and present life. When 
 she had finished speaking, she was seized 
 with astonishment that she could have
 
 234 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 talked so openly to such a complete stranger 
 as was Oswald Saxenholme. 
 
 When Oswald spoke again, it was on 
 quite a different subject, and he presently 
 abandoned his lazy attitude, and began to 
 wander up and down the church, ap- 
 parently examining it. 
 
 After this, they spent a great deal of 
 time together. They talked, argued, and 
 disputed, and were sometimes on the verge 
 of quarrelling. Margaret had by this time 
 learned a great deal of Oswald's history 
 and occupations. From answers given to 
 her own questions, and also from informa- 
 tion volunteered by himself, she learned 
 that here he had no abiding city, that he 
 spent most of his time in travelling, and 
 that he made his father's house in London 
 his head-quarters. He told her, too, a 
 great deal about the expedition just being
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 235 
 
 organized for the exploration of the interior 
 of Africa. He said he had almost made up 
 his mind to join it. 
 
 " I am not bound so that I could not 
 draw back if anything happened to pre- 
 vent my going," he said one day ; " but I 
 expect I shall go. I have nothing to keep 
 me in England, and it would be a splen- 
 did opportunity for distinguishing one's 
 self." 
 
 " When do they leave England ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " In the autumn sometime. I am not 
 quite sure when." 
 
 " How long are they going to be 
 absent ? " 
 
 ^- Of course, they cannot tell ; but I 
 believe they have fixed three years as the 
 furthest limit of time." 
 
 She did not speak, but went on working
 
 236 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 with a steady hand, though her heart was 
 heavy with the thought, " He is eager to 
 go. There is nothing to keep him in 
 England. He would be away three years, 
 which I suppose I should spend in growing 
 older and duller and more stupid. Why 
 did he ever come near me ? " 
 
 Looking up, she said, speaking coldly 
 from the very intensity of her feeling — 
 
 " You are standing in my light, Mr. 
 Saxenholme. Do you mind standing on 
 one side ? " 
 
 He gave her a quick look as he did her 
 bidding, and she went on — 
 
 " I suppose even the most inveterately 
 idle people must have something to occupy 
 themselves with." 
 
 " Do you consider me inveterately idle^. 
 Miss Terry?" 
 
 " You have always described yourself as
 
 PUT TO THE PEOOF. 237 
 
 being without any employment, and I 
 never see you do anything here." 
 
 " You do not like lazy people, I think ? " 
 
 " I despise them," she said, quickly, her 
 mouth growing scornful. 
 
 His handsome face flushed a little, though 
 he laughed as he said — 
 
 " I believe you are right. Mrs. Bannister 
 is always imploring me to work in some 
 way. She threatens me with the most 
 terrible penalties if I do not reform. What 
 do you think she told me the other day ? " 
 
 " I cannot imagine." 
 
 " And your voice say you do not care to 
 know, that I have bored you long enough ; 
 but I am rude and selfish, and I shall go 
 on boring you. I want to know if you 
 agree with her, because I value your judg- 
 ment very highly." 
 
 " You are very kind."
 
 238 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 He laughed unrestrainedly, and there 
 was a pause, which he broke by asking — 
 
 " You do not ask what Mrs. Bannister 
 said." 
 
 " I do not care to hear." 
 
 " But I am going to tell you. She said 
 ' that though I thought myself very fascinat- 
 ing ' — you see, I do not hesitate to repeat 
 her most malicious slanders — ' I should 
 find no woman worthy of the name who 
 would consent to be the wife of such a lazy, 
 shiftless fellow as I am.' " 
 
 He was looking straight at Margaret, as 
 she stood with her eyes fixed on her work. 
 She did not speak, and he waited until a 
 light of amusement came into his eyes ; but 
 he was quite grave as he asked — 
 
 " You do not say if you think she was 
 right." 
 
 " I have no opinion on the matter."
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 239 
 
 Still she did not meet liis eyes. He 
 shifted his position, and went on — 
 
 " This is most lamentable ! I assure you, 
 Mrs. Bannister's words cut me up a great 
 deal, and I wanted to hear if you agreed 
 with her. I might doubt her justice, but 
 not hers and yours. I should like to know 
 what you think ? " 
 
 " It would take too long to tell." 
 
 " I hardly know what to make of that 
 answer ; let me ask you gomething else. I 
 begin to wonder if it is too late for me to 
 reform. I am seven and twenty ; tell me 
 whether you think there is any chance for 
 me, if I begin at once." 
 
 Her heart was beating so that she could 
 hardly speak. She could not tell what he 
 meant, whether he was in earnest or only 
 amusing himself at her expense ; but she 
 could not resist the influence of his gaze
 
 240 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 and liis persuasive voice, and she answered 
 slowly — 
 
 " That is for yourself to decide, I think." 
 
 The words had hardly left her mouth, 
 and he was going to reply, when the 
 church door opened, and two or three of 
 the Fencehurst party entered, talking. 
 
 Margaret hailed their appearance with 
 mingled emotions of relief and disappoint- 
 ment, which showed themselves in the 
 flush that spread over her fair face. Oswald 
 looked hored, but he raised himself into an 
 upright position, and greeted the new- 
 comers with his wonted cheerfulness. 
 
 A few days after this, Oswald announced 
 his intention of going to London for a few 
 days. He felt restless and dissatisfied. 
 He could not tell whether Margaret cared 
 for him or not, and he could not make up 
 his mind to ask her.
 
 PUT TO THE PROOF. 241 
 
 He did not know whether to come back 
 to Fencehurst or not. Was it worth his 
 while comini>; bade ? He conld not tell. 
 At last he hit npon an expedient for finding 
 ont. When Margaret and he stood alone in 
 the garden, he said suddenly — 
 
 " I am going away to-morrow, Miss 
 Terry." 
 
 His eyes were fixed npon her face as he 
 spoke. He was watching for the slightest 
 change in expression or manner, and 
 only a man watching as he did could 
 liave detected the very slight increase 
 of colour in her fi^ce, and the almost im- 
 perceptible tremor in her voice, as she 
 answered — 
 
 " So soon, Mr. Saxenholme ? Is it not 
 rather sudden ? " 
 
 She did not look at him as she spoke, 
 and Oswald tbought in triumph that if 
 
 VOL. I. IG
 
 242 PUT TO THE PROOF. 
 
 must be because she was afraid of betraying 
 more than she wished to show. 
 
 *' It is rather sudden. The fact is, I 
 ought to have gone long ago, but I could 
 not tear myself away ; and now I avail 
 myself of a very peremptory business call 
 to do what is only my duty, though I am 
 unreasonable enough to regard it as a hard- 
 ship." 
 
 He smiled as he spoke. She smiled too, 
 though she said — 
 
 " Are you coming back ? Shall we not 
 see you again ? " 
 
 He paused before he answered. Should 
 he say, " I will come back on one condi- 
 tion — that you promise to be ]ny wife ; " 
 but instead, he said — 
 
 '^ I may come back ; I am not sure." 
 
 The next day he went ; but at the end 
 of a fortnight he returned, and until he
 
 PUT TO THE PKOOF. 243 
 
 came back, Margaret did not know how com- 
 pletely she had missed him. He seemed to 
 have grown into and become a part of her 
 life, and the consciousness that it was so 
 disturbed her and caused her some anxiety. 
 
 " I am very foolish," she thought, " to 
 attach myself to what I cannot keep, and 
 to throw myself so much into the lives of 
 people I shall probably never see again. I 
 will not do it. I will try to forget 
 Oswald Saxenholme and the three months 
 I have spent here, though they have been' 
 very happy ones." 
 
 But the process of forgetting advanced 
 but slowly, as Oswald was always Avith her, 
 always talking to her ; and meanwhile 
 the days and weeks passed away, and her 
 work grew ever nearer completion. 
 
 END OF VOL. I.
 
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 LONDON AND BECCLES. 
 
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