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PIETRO MICHELLI, Secretary mtm rH. ^2/ >\ I ■^T» . *T * y s^ NORTON & SON, Stiitti, #> 5, CONDUIT STREET, REGENT STREET, W I iiS Ladies' Costumes, Ulsters, &c. i=-9 Estimates for repairs, on town or country examinations, fur- nished free. rt O ^ -juoA-Bj no 9s^i[0jn(i jo aoii^do 9i[:^ ilim paqqof oS'bui'bo Kuy )-H o O Hi M O c C/2 BY SPECIAL ^vSgeiJ^sl.^^ APPOINTMENT. ]30Go. ^^- ROTHERHAM, Veterinary Surgeon and Canine Pathologist by Special Appointment to H.i\I. the Queen and Royal Family, may be consulted from 2.0 until 5.30 daily (Saturdays and Sundays ex- cepted ; upon those days by appointment). Fee, 2s. 6d., or, by letter, 3s. 6d. The ROYAL CANINE SURGERY, 55, SOUTH MOLTON STREET, BOND STREET, W. The Hospital, most healthily situated near Harrow-on- the-Hill, has well appointed and spacious Kennels for large dogs, and every home comfort for pet dogs. The exercising ground covers fifty acres of grass land. J. ANDREWS, BUiLDER AND DECORATOR, 10- MOUNT STREET, BERKELEY SQUARE, W. 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A detailed price-list of Wines, Spirits, and Liqueurs on application mwAi [mmmAwmmm^mmmAm^vMVi^MmM TIME - SAYING PUBLICATIONS. t4 n u i a •e-^ u Account Books Bills Paid Books Cellar Books Daily Consumption Books Dairy Account Books Engagement Books Game Books Horse Registers Household Account Books ,, Inventory Books Washing Books Larder Books Linen Books Menu Books Poultry Account Books Stable Expenses Books Visiting Books >> •> Wages Books (Servant's) Wine Bin Books from s. d. I 3 6 I 6 9 6 4 6 10 6 8 6 I 6 2 6 2 6 4 6 6 6 12 15 o I 5 6 6 2 I I 6 4 2 2 4 5 3 5 3 J. DAY & SON, PUBLISHERS & BOOKSELLERS, 16, MOUNT STREET, W. W. FAULKNER, LADIES' & GENTLEMEN'S HUNTING, SHOOTING, & WALKING BOOT MAKER, 52, SOUTH MOLTON ST., BOND ST., W. Manufacturer of the Celebrated Edinburgh Boot Varnish BlacJcincj, and Waterproof Leather Dressing. MILITARY BOOTS. Boots and Shoes to match Costumes. Russia Leather Boots. Waterproof Patent Hunting Boots. Improved Flexura Boots. Mountain Boots. Skating Boots. Brown Hide Boots for Polo or the Colonies. Racing Boots. La^wn Tennis Shoes. Slippers to any style. LADIES' RIDING ASD HUNTING BOOTS OF EVERY DESCRIPTION. Ikr. Shape of the Feet taken and Lasts Modelled on the most aj^provcd anatomical 2)r in ciples, and kept exclusively for each customer. W. Faulkner begs most respectfully to call the attention of Ladies and Gentle- men to the BOOT '.UREE Branch. Boot Trees assist to keep the boots in proper shape, preventing them from wrinkling and shrinking after they have been worn in the wet; they can be cleaned better, and do not require so much blacking, therebv preventing the deleterious effect produced by its frequent application. Lasts & Boot Trees of every description Manufactured on the Premises, at Most Reasonable Prices for Cash. Ladies residing in the Country can have Boots or Boot Trees sent their exact size by forwarding an Old Boot by Post. QHARBONNEL & WALKER, 19.. 173, NEW BOND STREET, W., ICES for BALLS, DINNER and GARDEN PARTIES, IN NOVEL FRENCH STYLES, PACKED TO TRAVEL 30 MILES. CHOCOLATE & COF FE E IN PERFE CT CONDITION. DESSERTS AND FRENCH NOVELTIES IN CONSTANT VARIETY. W. p. LILLIORAPP & Co, BY SPECIAL ^)I^M^/^|"a:|W^^ APPOINTMENT TO H.R.H. THE M''y'%^^^0^^^^P PRINCE OF WALES. SEAL SKIN JACKET, inx Cloak, fct. & Coat ^anwfadwrm, AND GENERAL FURRJfERS, 27, DAVIES STREET, BERKELEY SQUARE. SKINS DRESSED AND MOUNTED. FVBS EXCBAMGED AJfD TAKEM CARE OF. HEAVENS, HUNTING. RACING, AND STEEPLECHASE Satrbkr imtr Jarness li^alur, 28, SOUTH MOLTON ST., OXFORD ST. RACING CAP AND JACKET MAKER. EXPORT SADDLER. CLUB-HOUSE SPERM CANDLES WITH SELF-FITTING ENDS are made in sizes, 4, 6, 8, or 12 to lb., packed in 12 lb. wood cases, or in 3 lb. boxes, PRICE 9d. PER LB. MARCHANT & SON, Wax Chandlers and Oil Merchants, 59, BERNERS STREET, LONDON, W, And at 160, NORTH STREET, BRiaHTOU. Paul's Fish Culture, i^ 177, Euston Rd, N.W. 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Being a record of the Lineage, &.c., of about 4,500 Families, with a description of their Arms, Crests, &c. Thoroughly Revised throughout. This edition of the Landed Gentry has been compiled from communications made by the chiefs and heads of Families from their private papers, traditions and genealogies. The great aim has been to arrive at accuracy, and in order to attain this end, every available source of infoimation has been exhausted, and a correspondence carried on which has secured many thousands of communications from those most competent to improve and correct the work. Apocryphal statements, which had crept into former editions, have been expunged, erroneous particulars and incorrect descents discovered and omitted, and some memoirs excluded as being no longer associated with the possession of landed property. Two Vols., Super Royal Svo. Cloth gilt, price £^ 3s. Burke's Peerage, Baronetage, Knightage, &c. FOR 1887, 07te Vol., Super Royal Svo. Cloth gilt, price £1 i8s. 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Cheapest house in Europe. Trade only. Works, 75, Southgate-road, London, N. JOHN DAY & SON, Agents, 16, MOUNT STREET, GROSVENOR SQUARE, W. DE LA RUE'S DIARIES FOR 1887 SOLD BY J. DAY & SON, 16, Mount Street, W. PETTITT'S & BLACKWOOD'S DIARIES FOR 1887. SOLD BY J. DAY & SON, 16, Mount Street, W. HENNIG BROS., New and Second-hand BILLIARD ^^^^^^^ BAGATELLE and Jj^J^^^ TABLES, In all Sizes and at all Prices. CLOTHS, CHALKS, CUES, TIPS, And all other Billiard Eequisites. WHOLESALE, RETAIL, ^^ FOR EXPORTATION, OLD BALLS ADJUSTED OR EXCHANGED, AND TABLES RE-GUSHIONED and RE-COVERED, Adjusted, Removed, Bought, Sold, or Warehoused, And every kind of Billiard Work executed with dispatch & at moderate charges. Price Lists, Cloth and Gushion Rubber Samiiles, Post Free. When writing for Samples of the latter, please state for what kind of Tahle they are wanted. HX HENNIG BROS., Q> BILLIARD TABLE MAKERS. ® ^ H, HIGH ST., LONDON, W.C. (Opposite St. Giles's Church.) ESTABLISHED 1862. Mr. JOHN D. WOOD, Agent for WEST-END HOUSES, COUNTRY HOUSES, SUMMER and RIVERSIDE HOUSES, SHOOTINGS and FISHINGS, HUNTING BOXES, YACHTING HOUSES. Offices— 19, MOUNT ST., LONDON, W. 'The Cambrics of Robinson & Cleaver have a world-wide fa,m.e.—"Q'/een. Children's 1/2 § Hemstitched : Ladies' - 2/U 'Z Ladies' - 2/lU Gents' - 8/6 ^ Gents' - 4/11 GAKIBRIC POCKET HANDKERCHIEFS IRISH DAMASK s TABLE " LINEN. Fish Napkins, 2/11 per doz. Dinner Napkins, 5/6 per dozen. Table Cloths, 2 yds. square, 2/11 ; 2.1 yds. by 3 yds. 5/11 each. Kitchen Table Cloths, 11^ d. each. Strong Hucka- back Towels, 4/6 per doz. Monograms, Crests, Coats of Arms, Initials, &c.. Woven and Embroidered. Samples and Illustrated price lists post free to any part of the World. ROBINSON & CLEAVER, by Special Appointments to H.M. the Queen and H.I. k E.H. the Crown Princess of Germany, BEIiFAST. TO H: O XJ S E "VsTI "VE s. 22 Pages (Illustrated) post free. See Pages 6 to lo for HOW TO MAKE BLANC MANGE, Baked Custard, Farola Cream. Faroia Cake, Granola Porridge, Granola Puddings, iVlilk Porridge, Clniidren's or Family Pudding. Baked Pudding, Steamed Pudding, French Pudding, Italian Polenta, Semolina Soup, Pastry, Scones and Sweet Cakes, and Semolina Cake, with economy and taste.together with the opinions of the i>r/V/iV; Medical Journal, Lancet, Sic, &c. Post Free from Messrs. J. &.T. Marshall, Glasgow, and 15, New Broad Street, London. N.B. — Everyone is much pleased with this little work. Send your address (naming this publication) by post card or letter, and it will be sent you free of charge. Send your Name and Address, and mention Day's Advertiser, and receive, per i return, post free, sample and particulars of SMITH'S-COLC HESTER I^li'VES -l-Oi^G- c ^a^ !«■ x> "^ir, THE BEST DIGESTIVE. No household should be without this valuable and Palatable Stimilant, so highly spoken of by the great Duke of Wellington. A small piece taken after a meal is an effectual Preventative against Indigestion, heaviness or burning on the Chest, and fulness after meals ; or^ taken at bed-time, by its warnith-giving and Stomachic properties, Pro.motes Sleep. A small piece dissolved in the mouth when exposed to damp and cold Warms the Chest, and prevents those injuries which arise from Chills. It is invaluable to Si'OHTSMEN, and is recommended by the Duchess of Beaufort, the Marquis of Waterford, &c., &c., &c. Price i/i^-, 2/9, and 4/6 ; of all Chemists. Be careful to buy only S!\hth\s-Cqlchestek Live-Long Candy, prepared by SHENSTONE (Late Smith and Shenstone), CHEMIST, COLCHi:STER, as, in consequence of its popularity, and the commonness of the name (Smith), imitations are rife. Per Post, 1/4, 3/-, and 5/- ; or, sample, free . PRECAUTIONS H IRoveU BY LADY MARGARET MAJENDIE, AUTHOR OF FASCINATION,' ' SISTERS-IN-LAW,' ' THE TURN OF THE TIDE,' ETC. ly THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, publishers in (£)vl)in;it-ij to ^)ef Jtitjcstu \\u dQuan. 1887. \_All Rights Reserved.] CO i :^ PRECAUTIO:^S CHAPTER I. OU are quite sure that no telegram has come for me X ' Quite sure, my kxdy.' The servant left the room, and Lady ^ Bellino'ham returned to her writins^-table. ^•K It was a very hot day in the height of ^ -summer, but with lowered awnings and ^* naif- closed shutters the pleasant drawing- j room at Castleford was cool and fresh. \ Lady Bellingham tried to write a note, ^ but her hand, usually so firm and steady, VOL. I. 1 PRECA UTIONS. was not under her complete control. It was only a note of invitation to dinner that she wished to write, but the bold, rather masculine handwriting straggled quite across the page, and with an exclamation of im- patience she tore the paper in two and began again. She was a tall handsome woman of large proportions. Though past middle-age her thick hair was untouched by gray, her com- plexion was fine and delicate. People who are not overburdened with sympathy do not age so quickly as those who waste their feelings on others' joys and woes. Lady Bellingham was absorbed in one sole object, the fulfilment of one overmastering am- bition, and her own strong self-confidence had preserved her from the wear and tear of anxieties and misgivings to which most human natures are subject. She looked young and so strong that one PRECAUTIONS. hclioldino; ]ier for the first time looked ag;ain and attain, unable to determine whether the expression on the handsome face was only strong or was also cruel. At all events, it was most uncompromising. She seldom smiled, except when something occurred to show that she was in the right, and then the smile had a touch of triumph in it, which roused an involuntary spirit of oppo- sition in the beholder. This was a moment of weakness with Lady Bellingham. Not for the whole world would she have allowed her son Eustace or her daughters to perceive that her hand was less steady than usual, or that she had given way to the weakness of ringing the bell to ask whether the telegram she ex- pected had arrived, although she knew that if it had come it would have been brought to her at once. ^ham came in. 1—2 Alice Bellingham came in. PRECAUTIONS. ' Mamma, shall you come to the Kectory :' ' AVhy — what for^?'| ' Have you forgotten the school-feast ? Uncle Charles has just sent down a note to ask me to go at once. Gwendoline is very well to-day, and means to be out of doors herself. Shall you come, mamma ?' ' I will come in the afternoon, just to please your uncle. But Gerty — what arrangements have you made for her ?' ' Eustace will meet her at the station witJi the Shetlands. She is sure to come by the two- thirty.' ' Will she want to go to the school- feast '?' ' Can you doubt it, mother ? especially as it ends in a cricket-match.' ' Very w^ell. Eustace can bring her here to luncheon, and on to the Rectory after- wards. It is most inconvenient, but L suppose I must go.' PRECAUTIONS. ' ' I am sorry, mamma.' 'These sort of thmo;s are a orreat inflic- tioii.' ' But they are necessary evils/ said Alice, laughing. ' I must go now, and replun ge into the sea of sugar-plums in which I have been working all the morning.' * Why can't the elder schoolgirls do it ?' ' Why, because they would eat more than we should, though Georgie and Mr. Mulroy have eaten a good many.' 'Those horrors V ' Yes, those sticky horrors ! though neither of them go so far as Gerty, who always eats the black-jacks, the worst form of peppermint extant.' ' I hardly think that you ought to inflic t these things on a stranger like Mr. Mulroy.' ' Oh, it is a new life to him ; he has never seen anything but wholesale school-feasts, PRECAUTIONS. inflicted on his village by contract. I do not suppose that he ever helped in one in his life, and he thinks it the best possible fun/ ' Is he going to phiy in the cricket- match V ' No, he draws the line there ; he says he cannot play cricket, and I should think it was true. Eustace plays, of course.' ' Eustace looks ill,' said Lady Bellingham suddenly. A quick shade passed over Alice's sunny face, quenching all its brightness, and she sighed. ' Gerty will cheer him up, mamma,' she said. ' Gerty always brings a rush of fresh air into our jaded lives.' ' Jaded ! what nonsense 1' ' Good-bye, mamma. I will order luncheon for her, and send Eustace in good time with Kelpie and Pixie to the station. I hope PRECAUTIONS. they won't run away, as they did the last time that Gerty drove them.' Alice rejoined her sister in the room that always went by the name of the schoolroom at Castleford, though schoolroom life was a thing of the past. The table had been pushed aside, a sheet was spread on the floor, and on the sheet sat Georgie Bellingham in a huge cook's apron, making little pink and yellow packets of almonds, raisins and figs. The visitor also sat on the floor, though he did not accomplish this feat with perfect ease ; it requires habit to sit comfort- ably on the floor. He was a small man, neatly but rather stifily made, with sandy hair and large blue eyes which he screwed up in a short-sighted way, and assisted with a large gold eyeglass of aggressive size. ' Oh, this is not agreeable !' exclaimed Alice. ^ I don't mind bonbons, but I object PRECAUTIONS. to manipulating figs altogether ! Is it necessary T ' Is anything necessary in this world V answered Georgie. ' Everything must or must not be done ; either we must do it or somebody else must — tw^o alternatives are presented for our acceptance. I don't think our determination either way would turn the world whirling the other way on its axis.' ' A propos^ did you see Jock running after his tail in the dining-room this morning V said Alice. ' He ran after it to the right till he was giddy, and then whirled round to the left to ungiddy himself.' ' That solemn Dandy Dinmont I I can- not imagine his lowering himself to such frivolity.' ' Oh, Jock is a humbug ! He wishes to be thought sanctimonious, but he can't always keep it up.' PRECAUTIONS. * I never saw such a houseful of dogs,' said Mr. Mulroy. ' How many are there V ' Let me see. Mamma has a pug, and Alice has a fox-terrier, and I have another, and Eustace has two or three of different sorts, and Gerty sent one down here that could not be persuaded to live in London.' ' 1 beg your pardon, but Gerty is ' 'My eldest sister, Mrs. Austen. You will make her acquaintance to-day. She is coming down for a few days from London.' ' Now, Alice !' exclaimed Georgie. ' Are you going to make yourself useful or not T ' No, dear. I am going off to the Rectory now to see that Gwendoline does not overtire herself. You know my cousin Gwendoline, don't you, Mr. Mulroy V 'Miss St. Aubyn? Yes; I had the pleasure of meeting her last time I was here. I hope she is better.' 10 PRECAUTIONS. ' She is as well as she ever can be, but always on the sofa,' answered Alice rather sadly. ' She is a wonderful woman — so brave, so patient. When shall 3^ou come, Georgie 1' * I shall come immediately after luncheon. J shall make use of the T-cart on its way to the station, and carry all my bags and parcels and mamma's enormous trays full of good little j^rize-books wdth me.' ' May I hope that you will let me accom- pany you, Miss Bellingham ?' said Mr. Mulroy eagerly. * Yes, if you do not mind having trays and sugar-plums piled all over you.' ' Not in the least. I like it/ ' Then you won't wait to see Gerty ?' ' No ; don't you know Gerty well enough to know that she will barely swallow a mouthful of chicken before she is off to the Vicarage ? Besides, she will be just PRECAUTIONS. ii as curious as wc are to see the new- comers/ * Ah ! the new-comers ! I forgot. Of course we shall make their acquaintance. Uncle Charles is devoted to them.' Alice went on her way. It was a wonderfully brilliant afternoon — the sort of day made for a school- feast — hot and sunny, the trees almost bowed down by the full luxuriance of their mid- summer foliage. The park was one sheet of glowing gold from the carpet of butter- cups that covered it. The Eectory was a large red-brick house about a mile from Castleford. It stood in an old-fashioned garden renowned for the abundance of its flowers and fruit. The garden was not walled in on the side of Castleford Park, but was only bounded by a ha-ha, and over this ha-ha a temporary bridge had been made, so that all who 12 PRECAUTIONS. shared in the fun of school-feast and cricket - match in the park might cross over it at any moment into the garden to speak to the Rector's invalid daughter, who lay on a sofa under a light crimson-striped awning, from whence she could see everything and give her directions. ' As usual, a queen lying there in Eastern magnificence to receive the homage of her subjects!' exclaimed Alice, kneeling down to kiss her cousin's sweet face. * My dearest Gwendoline, what a shawl !' ' Yes ; is it not beautiful ? Would you believe it, it was given to me by the Begum's daughter, our new neighbour.' ' But it is sj^lendid, it is regal!' ' How could one refuse % She kept on asking me, almost with tears in her eyes, only to be so very very kind as not to mind accepting it.' ' And what did the Begum say ?' PRECA UTIONS. ' She said it was a tolerably good one, but one must take precautions in dealiug with such things ; they were not always as good as they looked, and even Indian w^orkmen dabbled in Brummagem materials and dyes nowadays. I want you to be kind to the little Clifford girl. I believe that there is a good deal in her.' ' Do you really ?' said Alice incredulously. ' To me it seems the prettiest little inanity.' * Ah, you don't know how the sweet shy brightness comes suddenly into her expres- sion, like a ripple on a commonplace little pond, and now and then through the primn ness comes a flash of real originality.' ' One lives and learns. I am open to conviction. Here comes Uncle Charles.' ' Is it true that Gerty is coming V ex- claimed Mr. St. Aubyn, coming up with both hands out. ' Hurrah ! that is good news. Of course she will come here at once '?' 1 4 PRECA UTIONS. ' There is such a thing; as luncheon.' ' Well, at all events, immediately after. And your mother ?' ' Coming in time for the prize- giving. Now, Uncle Charles, I came to be useful. Have you anything for me to do at once ?' ' I think we are pretty well advanced. Kitty Brown Clifford is decorating the tables with flowers. I never saw anything so charming as her flower-decorations ; the flowers seem to group themselves under her touch.' ' AVhat a blessing !' exclaimed Alice ; ' for if there is any occupation in the world I dislike, it is arranging flowers.' ' A really bad trait in your character, my dear,' said Gwendoline, laughing, * so that we had better hush it up. Does Gerty stay long V ' Only a few days this time ; she does not like to disturb little Muriel's lessons, and PRECA UTIONS. 1 5 she cannot stay very long away from her.' ' How Gerty and Tom do idolize that child !' ' I don't wonder at it, it is such a darling ! the most lively clever little person, and as pretty as a fairy.' ' How old is she now X ' Ten, I think.' ' Is Tom xinsten here also V ' No, the gallant Colonel can't get away. I must say that it is not often that his duties are so onerous as to prevent his doing what he likes.' * By-t he-bye, Alice, this Mr. Mulroy, who is always following in Georgie's wake, who and what is he ? Whence does he come and whither does he go V 'He is himself — passing rich, though not, I grant it, passing fair. "What is he % Rentier. Whence comes he ? From moon- PRECAUTIONS. iiig in Italy, philosophizing in Germany, <]ancing in Paris, and woefully standing in the doorways of ballrooms in London. Whither oroes he ? Ah ! who knows where we shall all end !' ' Georgie likes him V ' My dear, he or she who can fathom : tree under which she could lie and see the cricket-match — all the other members of the party disposing themselves on the grass round her. The play was much better than might have, been exjoectcd, and the Rectors PRECA UTIONS. stentoiiaa voice rang over the field at intervals : ' Well bowled r 'Well cauglit !' ' Well done, Joe Green ! Well cauglit indeed !' The cries were exceedingly inspiriting ; all thought they understood, and clapped vehemently, until, in a moment of en- thusiastic applause, Gerty made the obser- vation that they were clapping the enemy, which made everyone laugh. Eustace came up presently, swinging his bat and looking very handsome and an- imated. He began to speak to his cousin Gwendoline. ' Who is the queer little individual just arrived on the ground V he said. ' Four foot nothing, with the most aggressively country make-up and gigantic double-soled boots on her small feet you ever saw.' * Oh yes T exclaimed Gwendoline in an agony, for Kitty was close beside her. * I — PRECA UTIONS. 33 I — don't know who it is. Eustace, I want to introduce you to Miss Brown-ClifFord.' He Lowed hastily, a sudden flush coming into his fiice. What made Gwendoline look so disturbed ? Horrible thought ! Did the individual in question belong to the young lady before him ? ' Here she is !' he exclaimed in a kind of involuntary way that made Alice hastily hide her face. Eound the trees, walking with short steps and swinging arms, came the funny old lady in question. ' Aunt Matty/ said Kitty Brown -Clifl'ord quietly. * I — I — beg your pardon,' Eustace began ; but Mrs. Austen came to the rescue. ' Oh, well hit ! well hit !' she cried at the very top of her voice. ' Eun ! run, George ! run ! Oh, go on ! don't stop ! Run, George !' And George ran for dear life, while the VOL. I. 3 34 PRECAUTIONS. fielder, a heavy young ploughboy, lost his footing and rolled helplessly over the ball. ' Eun ! run !' shouted the Eector. George grew perfectly purple, and. when the fielder had righted himself at last, found that he had made a good score and was the hero of the day. ' "Well done, George Smith 1' said Gerty. ' I must shake that boy by the hand — he is worth his weight in pure gold. Eu, do you go in next ?' ' No. I shall send in Partridge • and now, if you please, Mrs. Gerty, do not encourage the enemy every time.' ' Oh, I don't care in the least who wins. Do you, Miss Clifford ?' ' I don't feel as if I quite understood it,' said Kitty timidly. Meanwhile Gwendoline had made room for the new-comer beside her. ' Gerty,' she said in her sweet voice — PRE CA UTIONS. 3 5 ' Alice, let me make you acquainted with Miss Brown-ClifFord — Kitty's aunt,' she iidded, just touching the girl's little slender hand on the back of her sofa. They all shook hands. ' Do you like cricket, Miss Clifford ?' ' I delight in it, and understand it thoroughly,' said the little lady cheerfully. * My education in that respect was not neglected like my niece's.' She had great loose gray curls which floated on the wind and danced on her pink cheeks, and she had sharp little hlack eyes and pointed teeth, and a short turned-up nose. ' Oh, well played !' shouted the Rector. ' Well played, Finch !' Then came a very dull time ; a dull bowler was on, a slow bat, and the ladies began to get tired of it, when a movement came, and some one discovered that Partridge was out. 3—2 36 PEECA UTIONS. ' And now, I suppose that you go in, Bellingham,' said Mr. Mulroy, looking at Lira with undisguised admiration. * I suppose so,' said Eustace, lazily risin^o;. 'Now we shall have some fun,' said Gerty. * Yes. Johnstone is a famous bowler.' * Who is he V said Miss Clifford. * He is the doctor's assistant, and a capital cricketer ; we sliall have some fun now.' Eustace did not quite like to go. The feeling; that what he had said must have seemed rude to the o;entle oirl who was sitting Ijy his cousin was very disagreeable to him, and yet he did not know how^ to apologize ; he was obliged to leave it. They all looked after him with the deepest interest. Gerty began to quote all the wonderfid things he had done, the scores he had made in fjimous matches ; Kitty sat upright, expecting great things ; PRE CA UTIONS. 3 7 Oerty was clancing about on the grass like an eager child, and Alice's pretty face was flushed and very anxious. Something liapjaened. Then Eustace strolled back across the field. * But what is it ? What has happened ?' exclaimed Mr. Mulroy, straining his short- sighted eyes. * Out/ answered Gerty briefly. Nobody seemed to mind except Kitty, who felt it keenly, and who looked at the discomfited hero as a pitying woman reo^ards a wounded knig-ht. She could not lielp feeling furious with the Kector, who exclaimed as he came up, * Hard luck on Castleford, Eu,' and then broke ofi" with a shout of ' Oh, well hit, Jack !' as a very small but fat boy began to hurl himself backwards and forwards over the ground. Meanwhile Lady Bellingham sat in a low chair, watching the play with eyes 38 PRECAUTIONS. Avhicli saw nothing. The look of con- centrated anxiety on her handsome dark face made it seem almost forbidding, and her hands were clasped tightly to conceal a nervous movement that would not be con- trolled, especially when, putting evident constraint upon herself, she turned round from time to time to address one of her neighbours. * A telegram for you, my lady.' It was the butler from the Rectory, who had come out to the cricket-ground carrying the ominous yellow envelope. All are involuntarily interested in the arrival of a telegram, even now when they have no more significance, in nine cases out of ten, than ordinary letters. Mr. St. Aubyn's glance was full of anxiety, for Lady Bellingham did not re- ceive it with her ordinary equanimity. She grew very white, and the colour rushed PRECAUTIONS. 39 back suddenly into her face, and her hands trembled as she opened it. There was a pause, it seemed an interminable one ; then Alice touched her mother, and said in a low voice : ' Mamma, will you come in ?' Her mother raised herself, shook off the gentle hand, and cleared her throat, while she put the telegram into her pocket. ' That lad plays very well,' she said, as shouts again rose on the air of * Well hit, Jack — well hit !' and a burst of applause at some feat. The Kector turned his own attention and that of the others entirely on to the game, which had now become most inter- esting. He was trying to think of that and nothing else, when he started suddenly, for he heard a quick movement, and felt his sister catch his hand, saying, in a low hoarse tone : 40 PRE CA UTIONS. * Charles — Charles, take me into the house r She kept up appearances even then ; for though her lips were quivering, she forced a sort of smile and nodded to the girls, saying something not very distinct about not hurrying themselves, for she was not yet going home. ' What is it % Louisa, I entreat you tell me !' exclaimed Mr. St. Aubyn in great anxiety, as he led her indoors ; but she could not speak then, and he could only place her in a chair in the dining-room and hurry away to procure a glass of water. One or two deep gasps, and then the difficulty of speech was mastered. It was a strangely despairing face that she raised to her brother ; all the lines deepened, the eyes strained, a gray look suddenly quenching its youth and its comeliness. PRE CA UTIONS, 4 1 ' It is all over, Charles — fraud, swindle — no tiling left.' * The mines V ' Of course ; what else would affect me like this 1 This telegram is from Callo- way. He has been to the very root of the matter ; he is at San Jose now — and this is the result.' * Is it worse than you feared V said Mr. St. Aubyn, in a low awe-struck voice. Lady Bellingham rose to her feet and began to pace the room with almost frantic gestures. * Worse — a thousand times worse ! I never even dreamt of such failure. And what is to be done now ? — how am I to tell Eustace V ' It wdll not be such a shock to him/ said her brother sadly. ' He has, as you know, never had a moment's faith in that specula- tion.' 42 PRECAUTIONS. ' Yes ; he was curiously obstinate in his disbelief in it !' said Lady Bellingham irritably. ' And yet I heard that he had consented to your last proceedings, which you must confess were unfortunate,' said Mr. St- Aubyn, who was very fond of his nephew, and could not bear hearing him disparaged. Lady Bellingham was still pacing the room ; her face was quite haggard. ' Charles, Charles !' she exclaimed, ' this is ruin ! The estate can never get over it. Calloway holds out no hope whatever.' There was a shout outside from the cricket-field, a burst of hurrahs, and the clapping of hands. The sound came in at the open window, striking on the Eector's ear with a strong sense of painful incon- gruity. He saw his sister's face, her teeth were clenched, her hands twisting in the intolerable irritability of money anxieties. PRECAUTIONS. 43 ^We must see whether nothino; can be t> clone,' he said weakly. There was nothing else to say. This was not the moment in which to blame the cold ambition, the obstinate blind persistency which had ruined the family. She turned round upon him sharply : ' Do !' she exclaimed. ^ What do you expect ? Is Eustace to leave the Guards and break stones upon the road ? What do you expect him to do ?' ' To behave like a man !' said Mr. St. Aubyn, with spirit. * And what is more, I will answer for his doing so. I hear his voice outside. Let me go and tell him.' Lady Bellingham caught hold of his hand, while a sudden look almost of fear blanched her face. ' Do you think he will blame me ?' she said. * Don't you know your own son better 44 PRECAUTIONS. than that V answered her brother. ' The gentlest, most generous ' * I know — I know I' she said very im- patiently. ' It is those very qualities that are so against his future. But now — now is the question. You know it was against his strongly expressed opinion that I per- suaded him. He may blame me ; but I did it for the best. It would have been but a moderate fortune ; it might have been doubled, quadrupled ' 'Or lost!' said Mr. St. Aubyn. 'You 23la\ed too high, Louisa; and you staked the poor boy's happiness as well as his fortune.' Lady Bellingham did not seem to heed ; she was making rapid pencil calculations on the back of an envelope. ' ' I shall go and tell Eustace,' said Mr. St. Aubyn. He w^as out of sympathy with his sister, PRECAUTIONS. 45 and could hardly even find room for com- passion in his heart for her. Whatever her son might do, he blamed her severely — blamed the recklessly ambitions spirit \Yhich had never rested until it had per- suaded her husband to embark all in a speculation which had ended so disastrously for all. Yet who on earth could be more to be pitied ! She whose hopes had been boundless, and self-confidence intact, now found all crumbling beneath her, and the dowmfall involving the ruin of others as well as herself. Lady Bellingham's feelings were well- nioli intolerable. She had such a long-inp; to hold the reins of Providence in her own hands, to guide all about her into the paths of success that she had marked out for them ; and she could only realize one goal before her — unable to grasp or tolerate the possibility that there should be other 46 PRECAUTIONS. aims in life than the one paramount to herself. Both her husband and now her son had had infinite patience with her. Her husband, a weak amiable man, had fully believed in her abilities, and submitted to her dictation. When his opinion was at variance with hers, and his judgment hesitated, he took refuge in the belief that she w^ould surmount all obstacles ; it was the ascendency of strong purpose over the love of a quiet life, and he invariably yielded with a shrug of the shoulders. Eustace had let his mother have her ow^n way ; perceiving at once, when he succeeded his father, that the whole of his fortune was at stake, he allowed her to throw the last die without actual opposition. To throw, and, as it proved, to lose. As she paced up and down, or sat beating her foot on the floor, Lady Bellingham felt PRE CA UTIONS. 4 7 risino; within her the intolerant bitterness against him, against everyone about her, that is one of the severe penalties of undisciplined misfortune. Mr. St. Aubyn called his nephew off the cricket-field. Eustace did not even ask w^hat had happened ; he was not unprepared. ' My poor mother!' he said. ' I suppose Calloway's account is unvarnished ; he is not generally sparing in his home-truths.' ' She is to be pitied,' said his uncle briefly. ' Be kind to her, Eu.' There w^as no need to remind him of that ; not one thought of self, of his own ruin, had yet superseded in his mind the feeling of deep compassion for his mother. He w^ent past his uncle straight to the room w^here she w\ns waiting for him. Mr. St. Aubyn hesitated, then followed ; he knew his sister better than her ow n son 48 PRE CA UTIONS. did. He had more idea of what would pass between them. Lady Bellingham was standing by the window when they came in, looking out still with that fixed unseeing look. ' Mother/ said Eustace, going up to her and putting his arm gently round her — 'Mother, I am very sorry.' He started as she turned round and showed the hao^g;ard lines in her face. * Don't make yourself miserable about it,' he said. ' It was all for the best.' ' Yes, Louisa, we are all convinced of that/ said Mr. St. Aubvn, little imag;ininQ; the bitter mortification to her pride that this form of consolation brought. She, who had intended to be the benefactress of the family, the maker of its fortunes, to be consoled by the comfort given to a child, that she had done her best, and would not be held responsible for the harm that had ensued. PRE CA UTIONS. 49 ' If there were a possibility of raising a few more thousands,' she said feverishly, ' even now ' ' No, no, mother !' exclaimed Eustace hastily. ' There is nothing for it but to leave it alone. We have played a bold game and lost. Well, it is God's will.' * But it should not have been !' she exclaimed ; * I am convinced that there has been foul play somewhere. It is insupport- able to see you prepared to sit down patiently under such losses, and not make any effort to see what can be done.' ' May I see Calloway's telegram V He took it up without waiting for per- mission, read it through, and replacing it upon the table, said : * I consider it conclusive. There is nothing for it but to make up our minds to the loss.' ' If I had given up so easily, where should we all have been 1' cried Lady Bellingham. VOL. I. so PRECAUTIONS. And her brother, greatly disgusted with the raaiiner in which she was treating the son she had injured so deeply, even yet forbore from retort. ' I do not see that we do much good by discussing it, mother,' said Eustace at hist. ' One cannot get over the fact that it is a heav}^ blow/ How heavy a blow he had not yet allowed himself to realize. Then came a knock at the door, and Gerty's voice spoke with some hesitation : ' Eustace, I am sorry to interrupt, Imt the game cannot get on without you ; but of course, if you cannot come ' ' There is nothing to keep me !' he did so, the long French window opened, and PRECAUTIONS. 117 two ladies came in — Miss Matilda and her niece, both with their hands full of flowers. Miss Matty, shaking her long gray curls, immediately rang for tea, and the Eector sat down again. ' Do you never have tea out of doors on these lovely evenings ?' he said suddenly. Kitty answered him. She had drawn a cane-chair up to the table, and seated her- self. Her black silk gown was old-fashioned ; Iier hair was neatly parted and smoothed behind pretty little ears ; her gentle face was calm and collected. She looked up at him with soft blue eyes, and lips a little compressed. Yet Mr. St. Aubyn, with his eyes half shut, could fancy her a little more animated, more rosy, with her pretty head frizzy with little fluffy curls like other 2;irls, and a ruff round her slender throat instead of that uncompromising linen collar. Yes, there were capabilities ; there was 1 1 8 PRECA UTIONS. nothing to prevent her from being very pretty indeed. Before these thoughts had even time to shape themselves in his mind, her sedate little voice was answering his question. * No ; we do not have tea out of doors. Mamma catches cold easily, and of course she always has to take precautions.' To their surprise he leapt up ; Kitty's * precautions ' were too much for him. * So sorry, so very sorry ! I had quite forgotten an engagement. Must run away at once ; not a moment to lose !' He was impulsive, and, like a whirlwind, was gone before the three ladies, who were accustomed to deliberation of movement, could rise from their seats. ' I like rapid action,' said Miss Matty, sitting down again and stirring her tea. ' I am glad we came here, Elizabeth.' * So am I, Matty, and — sit upright, my PRECA UT/ONS. 1 19 love, and never interrupt when anyone is speaking — I have come to the conclusion that I will allow Katharine to visit the Miss Bellino;hams.' ' And a very good thing too/ said Miss Matty decidedly. '. ' Katharine, go to the window, love, and look out for five minutes ; I want to speak to your aunt' Kitty tranquilly obeyed. She carried her tea with her, and sat on a chair looking out and sipping it. She did not want to over- hear the loud-whispered conversation, but she could not help it. *My dear,' said Mrs. Brown -Clifford, stoop- ing forward, ' there is not the slightest reason against it ; Sir Eustace is as good as eDo;ao;ed.' ' I am sorry to hear it/ said Miss Matilda shortly. ' And the other man, whom we always see I20 PRECAUTIONS. Avith them in church, is in love with the wrong Miss Bellingham.' ' Ah !' ' So Sir Eustace is booked.' ' Elizabeth, what an expression !' ' Never mind the expression, so long as it conveys the meaning.' * You need not be afraid, mamma,' said Kitty, suddenly coming forward. ' It is very kind of you to let me go and see the Bellinghams, and I shall like it very much. But you need not be afraid; Sir Eustace would no more think of me than he would of Aunt Matty.' ' I don't think he would,' said Miss Matilda, nodding her gray curls. ' Of course not,' went on Kitty, her voice trembling a little ; ' a poor little insignifi- cant, foolish, half-educated girl like me. Only look at the girls to wdiom he is accustomed !' * My dear, you are just as good as any of PRECAUTIONS. I2T them,' said Miss Matty ; but Kitty shook her head : ' I might have been, if I had not ' She stopped herself. Her aunt knew what she meant, and pitied her ; she often wa^ sorry for her. She might have been so different if this painful self-consciousness had not been awakened, and carefully fostered by her mother's system. ' Poor little girl ! try to be simple,' said her aunt. ' It is too late,' answered Kitty. ' Give me some more tea, my love,' said Mrs. Brown -Clifford. ' Much weaker and with more sugar. Surely there are tears in your eyes I Don't ! it will make your nose red.' CHAPTER VIII. ' ^1^^^ IFTEEN thousand a year, Louisa ! kA(oi'n for misfortunes !' she exckimed pettishly. ' Come, come ! you have had a fairly comfortable life, taking it on a general average,' said her brother lightly. 'Pecuniary bothers, eh X ' Oh dear ! how sick of it all I am !' she exclaimed. ' Bills, bills, bills ! everlasting bills. How on earth am I to pay them V ' But I thought you had an enormous jointure ; I remember at the time thinking it very disproportionate to the income arising from the estate.' ■ ' * It was settled before the mortgages 238 PRECAUTIONS. were raised — but that is neither here nor there. Georgie's hills are perfectly awful. I cannot think what possesses her.' ' Well, I imagine that you will not have her at home much longer.' ' I don't know. Mr. Mulroy is gone away. She is an odd girl — there is no telling what she may do. She thinks love the greatest nonsense ; hut she will not accept him unless she can thoroughly respect his character. I don't understand her altogether. I am so dull, too. I wish Eustace would come back.' ' It is much better for him to be with his regiment ; what good would he do here ?' * At least, I should have some one to talk to.' ' I am quite willing to be your victim. I am sure poor Eu has cares enough without other people's.* ' Poor Eu ! I have no patience with him. PRECAUTIONS. 239 When he might have fifteen thousand a year for the asking !' Mr. St. Aubyn made an impatient gesture. Most deeply did he now repent having con- fided that piece of information to his sister ; she had seized upon it, and made it into onii of her incessant tribulations. * I think it would be much wiser to let Eustace paddle his own eanoe,' he said sharply. 'iVs for you, Louisa, I don't wonder at your being uncomfortable. You all look bored to death ; even Alice who used to be a perfect sunbeam — Gwendoline says she frets so over Marion and Eustace.' ' Alice is very tiresome. I am convinced that but for her support Eustace would have been easier to manage ; he would have found himself altogether without help or sympathy.' ' Meanwhile, why don't you all rouse ■yourselves, and go abroad for the winter-?' 2 4c PRE CA UTIONS. * The very thing ; only I am afraid of the expense/ 'Make it an economy, not an ex23ense.' ' How is that to be done ?' * I will tell you. It would be perfect folly to go to an hotel at Florence or Rome, or any such l)ig place ; you cannot possibly afford it/ * You are so horribly unfeeling !' exclaimed Lady Bellingham. ' Nonsense, my dear ! What I recom- mend is this — go to Santa Chiara/ ^Horri])lcholer ' Exquisite little paradise on earth, with a theatre, the most divine cathedral, a vsmall gallery, beautiful country, and big Italian palaces to be hired for an old song.' * That is a consideration. Where have you heard about it ?' *' An old friend of mine, Marie de Seizons, married an Italian. Do you remember her X PRECA UTIONS. 241 * Remember her ? Of course I do ; what a pretty girl she was I It was a case of hope- less attachment, was it not % How lucky for you that her mother was so prudent !' * Lucky ! was it lucky ? Who knows ?' ' Are you still sentimental about her ?' ' Nonsense, Louisa ! I wish you would not talk like that. Sometimes, upon my word, I wonder whether you ever had a heart 1' * I have just as good a heart as other people,' said Lady Bellingham ; ' only the difference between a sensible person and a fool is that one has more reason than heart, and the other more heart than reason. Go on. "What about Marie de Seizons ? I remember hear in 2; of her marriage.' * She married a Marchese Palma di St. Isidoro, and they lived at Santa Chiara.' ' Always V ' Yes, always. Now he is dead, and she VOL. I. 16 242 PRECAUTIONS. has written to me to say that she wishes to let the piano nohile of the Palazzo St. Isidoro ; and she begs me to tell any English 1 may know who may want to winter in Italy/ ' Do you know the place V ' Yes ; I have been there, many years ago. The husband was a charming old man. The house would suit you, and the rent is simply ridiculous.' * I am sure it ought to be, to induce one to coop one's self up in a small Italian town like that.' ' She sent me a description of the apart- ments. There are ten rooms. I remember two of them ; the walls are hung with that lovely gray-green silk one never sees out of Italy.' * I wonder whether the girls would like it !' ' It would have many advantages, not the PRECAUTIONS. 243 least of them being the economy. Alice, at all events, would make friends with Madame di St. Isidoro ; she would enjoy that.' ' But will she remain there ?' ' Yes, on the upper floor ; they often do that in Italy. I cannot see any inconveni- ence.' * No, not with her. Well, I will talk it over with the girls. It certainly would be a 2:reat advanta2:e to Q:et out of Eng;land ; only there is Kitty Brown-Cliff'ord.' ' Well, what about her V ' Don't you see V Lady Bellingham's tone was quite piteous. ' See what V he said, without mercy. ' I want Eustace to marry her !' she said, stamping her foot. ' And if we all go away, there will not be a chance of it ; she will see dozens of people before we come back.' ' Eustace certainly will not fall in love with her here,' said Mr. St. Aubyn. ' Louisa, 16—2 244 PRECAUTIONS. how blind you are ! Don't you see that total change is the only chance ? Why, last time I saw Eustace I asked him if he was coming home, and he answered, " No ; I loathe the place." ' ' Eustace said that ! Oh, how dreadfully he has changed !' ' I thought that would astonish you. You take my advice. Go quietly abroad to Santa Chiara, and I will advise Mrs. Brown- Clifford to go too — tell her that she wants change of air, and all the rest of it.' ' And you think that Eustace ' ' Eustace must be let alone. Let him go his own way. Oh, do leave him alone, poor fellow !' ' But, oh, Charles, that fifteen thousand a year !' * It is all [my fault. What a fool I have been !* groaned the Eector. ' If only I had not attempted to interfere !' PRECAUTIONS. 245 * You really think ' ' I really think that among you you will drive Eustace either into a lunatic asylum or flight to the Far West and a peaceful menage with a squaw,' said Mr. St. Aubyn. Lady Bellingham closed her bureau with all its letters and bills. ' Let us proceed to business,' she said. * First of all, I must consult the girls ; and then we will enter into negotiations with Marie. Dear me, it will be odd to see Marie again ! she must be quite old ; she was some years older than you, Charles.' ' Yes ; five years.' ' Another subject for thanksgiving. She must be sixty-five now ; it makes a great diflference when the age is on the wronsc side. Has she any children ?' ' She has one son, a priest, and a most remarkable man ; he lives with her, I believe.' 246 PRECA UTIONS. Lady Belliiigham went into the drawing- room, followed by her brother. The little party assembled there looked very comfortable ; they had gathered round one of those early unexpected fires, which have quite an extraordinary charm on an au- tumn evening. Alice sat in a deep crimson chair, her pretty brown hair catching gleams from the firelight. At her feet, in the furry depths of a thick white rug, sat Kitty Brown-Cliftbrd, daintily clad in nut-brown velvet, and with shining brown sealskin on her velvet toque and round her slender throat ; the warmth had brought a pink flush to her cheek — she looked very pretty. Georgie had both her feet curled up under her, and she was half buried in cushions on the sofa. * What a study of indolence !' exclaimed Mr. St. Aubyn, as they all looked up. ' The Three Graces in repose, you lazy little PRE CA UTIONS. 2 4 7 things — and a fire ! What abominable luxury ! ]\Iake room for me ! My dear Kitty, why got up to dazzle us thus ? What have you been doing '?' * 1 have been to a party/ answered Kitty, rising to draw forward a footstool for Lady Bellingham. ' A. party ! — where '?' * At Cranston Hall ; they had recitations. Mamma dropped me here, and went home. She is going to send the carriage back for me.' * Who W'as there '?' said Lady Bellingham. ' Everybody ; for the son has just come home,' said Mr. St. Aubyn maliciously. A faint groan came from her lips. ' Are you not well V exclaimed Kitty anxiously. ' Yes, yes, my dear ; quite well — go on. Tell me about your party.' ' It was very dull ; everybody sat in rows, and I knew nobody well. I did so wish 248 PRECAUTIONS. that you would all have come I I sat all the time between Mr. St. Leger and the son, and was horribly shy.' ' Another man to add to your acquaint- ance !' said Georgie. How many do you know now ?' * Four,' said Kitty gravely. ' A great advance, four in one year ; you will know numbers in time.' * There are three times as many women in the world as men,' said Alice. * I should have thought the proportion was greater,' said Kitty, ' What sort of man is Captain St. Leger ?' asked Lady Bellingham. ' He is charming,' answered Kitty rather eagerly. ' Good-looking — tall V * Not exactly; he is about middle height.' * Beauty does not depend upon height,' said Georgie, ' rather upon width ; is he slight ?' PRECAUTIONS. 249 ' No, not exactly,' hesitated Kitty ; ' he is rather — that is, very fat.' ' I thought so,' said Lady Bellingham, in a tone of much satisfaction. ' Now, children, we must talk business. What do you think of going to Italy after all ?' ' I should like it very much,' said Alice. * It depends upon the locality,' said Georgie. ' Your uncle Charles suggests Santa Chiara.' ' I think you would all like it,' said Mr. St. Aubyn. ' There is plenty to do there in the way of both music and pictures, and you have the chance of a most charming house.' ' Would it not be very dull ?' said Georgie. * Dull ! oh, Georgie !' cried Kitty, with a long-drawn breath. ' Dull 1 Italy !' ' I don't know that it would be worse than staying at home,' said Georgie. 'Per- haps rather better. I suppose Florence or Rome are out of the question ?' 250 PRECAUTIONS. * You have done your best to make them so/ said Lady Bellingham severely. ' Of course they are out of the question.' ' I should like Santa Chiara,' said Alice, after a pause. ' I should like it very much indeed.' ' It would be too good to be true,' said Kitty, with a quick little sigh. * We have designs on your mother also,' said Mr. St. Aubyn kindly. ' Do you think she could be persuaded to take you out there ?' * You never will succeed,' said Kitty, shaking her head ; ' mamma is not easily persuaded.' ' Wait till I try.' ' I will not set my heart on it,' said Kitty, rising and fastening her veil. ' Mr. St. Aubyn, may I take you home ? I think it is still raining fast.' 'Do, dear,' he answered. 'Well, Louisa, PRECA UTIONS. 251 is it all settled ? 1 should not like to set to work to induce Mrs. Brown -Clifford to pack up and start for Santa Ohiara, and then find that you had given up the plan.' * Is it decided '?' said Lady Bellingham, with unusual hesitation. ' Yes, mamma,' said Alice, ' as far as I am concerned.' ^ Yes,' said Georgie ; ' as well there as anywhere else.' • Then you will write to Madame di St. Isidoro, and say that we will take the apart- ments from the 1st of November '?' ' Very well ; good-bye, Louisa ; good-bye. Now, Kitty, evi route ! I tremble before my task of persuasion.' ' Kitty's is the tremble of distrust,' cried Georgie. ' And mine of certain victory and exul- tation,' said Mr. St. Aubyn, as they left the room together. CHAPTER XVII. NE morning, about nine o'clock, Lord Austen was crossing Charles Street when he sud- denly met Marion. His astonishment was extreme ; he could not fail to recognise her, in spite of a thick gauze veil which covered her face and was wound once or twice round her throat. ' I don't know that it is more extraordi- nary for me to be here than you,' said she, shaking hands with him. ' What are you doing abroad at this time in the morning V ' 1 have been breakfastins; with a friend PRECAUTIONS. 253 who is going off to Scotland by the 10.20/ he answered. ' We had business to discuss. I can account for myself; I hope you can do so as easily.' *' I have so little time to myself,' said Marion, with a quick little sigh. ' There are calls on me from morning; to night : but papa is never down before ten, so I go out at eight o'clock every morning.' * What for, my dear ? If you rode in the Park I could understand it better.' ' I go to St. Cuthbert's Orphanage. You see, there is so little I can do. I might visit in some hospital or workhouse, or anything of that sort ; but then the only hours I could spare would be useless to them. But now I have found something to do, for I consulted Sister Harriet, and she was quite glad to make use of me.' ' Why, what do you do ?' ' That is it ; there is so little I can do. I 254 PRECAUTIONS. have no money, for, you know, living as we do absorbs all our income.' * But does not exceed it, I hope ?' he said anxiously. ' No, Austen. I draw a hard and fast line there,' she answered, w^ith a grave smile. ' It is C[uite enough — ;just enough, and no more — so we do very well.' ' Well, to return to St. Cuthbert's, what do you do there ?' * You will think it very funny sort of philanthropy,' she said. ' I do nothing but write letters and receipts for donations, and all that sort of thing ; and besides, I write heaps of necessary circulars.' 'My dear May,' he exclaimed warmly, ' if people would do what they can, as you do, instead of plunging into heaps of good works they can't do, much more work would be got out of them.' ' You are not on the committee of half the PRECAUTIONS. 255 good works in London for nothing/ she said, smiling. ' There was fervour in your tone.' * Amateur work is very difficult to manage,' he answered. ' Dear May, I am so glad that you have found something to interest you. Are you a good scribe ?' ' Yes, very ; writing has always come easily to me. If there is any more work of that kind that I can do at home I shall be very glad.' * I think, if you really wish it, I could overwhelm you with such work,' he said. ' It is such a comfort to be of some use/ said Marion, nervously pressing her fingers together. * I do not know anyone who leads a more self-sacrificing or useful ' He stopped himself. ' Oh, you have always spoilt me,* said May gratefully. ' Then you will not forget that I shall be a most willing scribe '?' 2 5 6 PRE CA UTICNS. ' No, I will not forget. Meanwhile you like Sister Harriet ?' ' Like her ? I think she is wonderful. I never met such a woman in my life, so clever, so charming, such an admirable organizer !' ' Hers has been a sad life/ said Lord Austen thoughtfully. ' You know it V * Very little.' ' She had everything that life could give : husband, children, home, all swept away !' ^ Ah, how terrible !' * Well, thousands of people have had cause to be thankful that God filled up the time that He had thus rendered vacant.' He did not often speak like this, very seldom showing the inner depths. May looked up at him with tears in her beautiful eyes. ' That is a great lesson to learn,' she said softly. PRECA UTIONS. 2 5 7 * It is a lesson you are learning, May.' * Beside such troubles as those, mine seem so small,' she said. *I don't know/ he answered. *Lack of sunshine is sometimes as hard to bear as actual storm.' ' But I have sunshine,' she said gently. * Your kindness is a warm gleam of it.' He stooped towards her, the colour coming into his face. ' May,' he said, * you know I want always to help you as much as I can ; if you want to ask about anyone or anything, do not scruple to do so.' ' Thank you, Austen. Can you — do you mind telling me about Eustace V ' He is at Windsor ; he went back there after Scotland. He is — better.' * Had he been ill?' ' No, not ill ; but you know, you would hardly have wished him not to be unhappy.' ^ I don't know,' said Marion wistfully. VOL. I. 17 258 PRECAUTIONS. ' I think T would rather hear that he is happy again.* ' One must have patience/ said Lord Austen. ' Patience will sometimes cure.' * Does it not always ?' said Marion, with a pathetic smile. ' His mother said so.' ' Perhaps. I can't tell. Lady Bellingham is a wise woman in her own line.' * I think it is only a matter of time/ said May resolutely. ' Here we are at the door. Will you come in V He looked at his watch. ' No. I am afraid I must not ; I have an appointment at ten. ' It is not ten yet V Her question was so startled that Lord Austen was disturbed. * My dear/ he said gently. ' Would it be so very dreadful if you were ten minutes late?' ' It would make papa uncomfortable for all the rest of the day/ she answered hastily. PRECAUTIONS. 259 Her cousin checked the words which rose to his lips, and rang the bell for her. She ran up the steps quickly, only turning round to nod and smile as she vanished through the door. The life that Marion Austen lived was one of extraordinary self-sacrifice. She never had one hour of the pleasures of young life ; she was deprived of all society of her own age, and for no reasonable necessity. Her father was gradually sinking into the invalid habits of a man who indulged his own selfish whims habitually ; his daughter was undergoing the taming down and moulding into his ways that had so com- pletely subdued her mother, and reduced her to the patient drudge that she had become. Lord Austen saw this coming, and an almost frantic longing to remedy it seized on him ; it was terrible to him. Never had 17—2 26o PRECAUTIONS. it so struck him as on that morning, when he had seen the startled, almost scared look came over Marion's face, when she fancied herself a few minutes late for breakfast. A bold idea came into his head, a sudden determination that he would speak openly to Ealph Austen about it ; he would try and probe that shallow nature to the depth, and endeavour to discover some kind of affection, some latent spark of natural feeling in his selfish heart. With this determiuation he returned to Manchester Square about five o'clock that afternoon. At that hour Mr. Austen was generally to be found in his most comfort- able humour, enjoying his tea and resting after the fatigues of the day ; and at that hour May was generally singing to him. As Lord Austen came up the stairs he heard her voice, and he paused outside the door not to disturb the exquisite melody. PRECAUTIONS. * 261 She was singing Stradella's ' Pieta Signore,' a song of great compass and power, but easy to her from the unusual perfection of her magnificent voice. The music thrilled through the rooms, even passers-by in the street outside involuntarily stopped to listen. He sighed as the last words died away, and Mr. Austen's voice broke on the echo still lingerino; in the air. * My dear May, what a dismal thing to sing at a time when one wants cheering up ! But I must say it is not a bad field for showing off the voice. Those low notes of yours are very fine ; you should sing oftener in a low key.' * What shall I sing now, papa f * Oh, something more lively, if you please.' Marion was turning over her music when her cousin came in. 262 . PRECA UTIONS. 'I am come back like the bad shilling/ he said, smiling as he greeted her. 'My dear Austen, I am delighted to see you !' exclaimed her father. ' I want cheering. May has given me low spirits by singing that song of Stradella's with such force that one would imagine that she was feeling it to the depths of her heart.' ' So I was,' said Marion, colouring. * What a glorious thing it is !' said Lord Austen. 'Now, Queen May, will you allow me to treat you like a small child, and say to you, " Eun away " ? I want a few minutes' quiet talk with your father.' ' Eeally, I am not aware ' began Mr. Austen, but his cousin cut him short. * I will not detain you long, Ealph,* he said. ' Marion would have time to go and see some of her friends and come back.' ' She must not leave the house !' cried her father hastily. ' I can't have that. I shall PRECAUTIONS. 263 want her — talking always knocks me up — I shall want her to bring me all sorts of things.' *I will not go out, papa,' said Marion gently. 'I shall be in the dining-room if you want me. 1 will take the opportunity of having a good practice at my solfeggi.' ' Be sure you shut all the doors then,' her father called after her, as she left the room. Then he turned peevishly to his visitor. ' What is it ?' he said. * I hope you have no ill news to give me.' * No, no !' answered Lord Austen, drawing forward a chair, and seating himself. ' I only want to talk to you about May.' ' Well, what about her ?' very sharply. ' She is not looking at all well.' ' There you are quite mistaken ; she was never better in her life. She does not care how much she runs about.' * Nevertheless, I am right and you are 264 PRECAUTIONS. wrong ; she does not look either well or happy/ ' Oh, if she has been grumbling ' * Grumbling I' exclaimed Lord Austen, trying hard to keep his |)atience. ' I should have thought you knew your own daughter better/ ' I flattered myself that I did,' said old Ealph. 'But you are assuring me that I am mistaken.' ' Don't provoke me, Kalph,' said Lord Austen earnestly. * I want to speak seriously about it. If you will only meet me half-way.' ' I have met you at the starting-point, my good fellow. Marion is quite well ; and as to not looking happy, who does look happy in this uncomfortable world ? Do yoii look happy ? Do I ? Do half the people you meet V ' You and I are getting on in life ; you, PRECAUTIONS, 265 at least, have had your day. We are speak- ing of a young, singularly beautiful, and charming girl in the very bloom of youth, and who has not yet recovered from a great sorrow/ ' Well r ' She ought not to look like that. It is your duty as her father so to order her life that she has her due share of pleasure and happiness, like others of her age — some- thing to change the current of sad thoughts.' ' I am afraid the gallant Guardsman is gone beyond recall,' said Ealph, with a slight sneer. Lord Austen bit his lips. ' If you insist upon misunderstanding me like this,' he said, ' you will drive me into using very plain language indeed.' ' Do not scruple to do so, my good friend ; I dare say I shall survive it. I am not strong, and excitement is very bad for me ; 266 PRECAUTIONS. but I dare say you would not be sorry if you even killed me.' * You talk like an hysterical woman/ said Lord Austen quietly. ' It is not killing you, but I warn you that you are killing Marion.' Mr. Austen leant back in his chair. ' Go on, if you please,' he said, in a re- signed voice. ' May's whole life is devoted to your service. Heaven forbid that I should wish to dejDrive you of all reasonable attention ! but why can't you let your servants run up and down stairs every ten minutes to fetch things instead of her ; why can't you let me or anyone else sometimes come and stay with you, and give her change ?' ' The temptation is certainly great,' mur- mured Ealph. ' Why can't you let May sometimes go to my sister-in-law, or to other friends ? A little happiness, a little variety, is an abso- PRECAUTIONS. 267 lute necessity for her just now, and she has none ; she has not an amusement in the world, and she is blamed and scolded for every duty she fulfils/ * You have touched a sore point there,' said Mr. Austen. * May is not handy ; she forgets little things ; she is often distraite, and she overwhelms me with apologies when I should prefer an improvement in substantial ways.' * Did you ever see a woman whose spirit was broken ?' *They are never comfortable until it is,' said Kalph Austen. ' You acknowledge the conditions of her life V ' Why should I deny them ? The only thing in which we differ is that I am afraid, very greatly afraid, that you are going to prescribe some impossible remedy.' ' You acknowledge an evil, and yet seek no cure V 268 PRECAUTIONS, ' My friend, I think I am five years older than you are ; perhaps the next five years of your life will serve to convince you that though man may often endure a malady, he lacks courage to face the remedy. Any- thing for a quiet life.' Lord Austen bit his lip hard. * Ealph/ he said suddenly, ' do listen to me ! You used to listen to me once.* * Necessity had no master,' murmured Mr. Austen. * You try my patience greatly,' went on his cousin. * I will venture to say that you have no right thus to shadow and darken Marion's young life. Her life is one of unceasing self-sacrifice, untiring self-denial, but she will kill herself to gratify your selfish monopoly of her whole existence.' ' What are you aiming at ?' said Mr. Austen, leaning back in his chair, and slowly clasping his long white hands. * Is PRECAUTIONS. 269 this very courteous and moderate com- mencement a prelude to an application for my daughter's hand V * You have no heart/ said Lord Austen hotly. ' Do you imagine that because I have failed in obtaining the highest wish of my life — May's hand — that because of that I can think less of her welfare ?' ' Pardon me, I do not say " think less." But please forgive me, Austen ; surely such a failure diminishes your right of inter- ference.' Lord Austen leapt to his feet. ' I do not think that I expected to be treated quite like this, Kalph/ he said. ' Ah, you recollect past favours, and ex- pected due subservience, eh ?' ' I am a gentleman, Ealph,' Lord Austen answered, speaking calmly with the greatest difficulty. ' Do not tempt me to forget that you are one also.' 270 PRECAUTIONS, ' Kindly touch the bell if you really must go. It is on the right side of the fireplace, Austen. That is it — thank you. Good- bye ; so sorry for this little difference of opinion between us.' But Lord Austen was gone. CHAPTEK XVIII. OED AUSTEN heard Marion's voice again as he reached the hall ; she was in the dining- room, and she was singing scales most assiduously. He paused for one moment, then suddenly resolved for once to act upon impulse, and went in. May looked up from her music with rather a troubled ex- pression on her face. ' I am afraid my voice is losing some of its flexibility,' she said. ' I see no sign of it,' he answered, in so absent a manner that she suddenly per- 2 7 2 PRE CA UTIONS. ceived that something was the matter ; and her manner became anxious. * What is it, Austen ?' she said quickly. ' Has anything happened ? you look so dis- turbed/ * Something has disturbed me,' he said. * More than I can say.' * Do tell me !' she said. ' Let me help you, if I can.' ' Ah, May ! if you would !* Something in his tone startled her. She drew back and flushed. He was standing before her ; his strong face was very pale. He looked older than usual — gray, almost haggard. Old Ealph, with his refined beauty, was a much hand- somer man. May had within her much of the extreme love of beauty that belongs to the sunny South. The beauty of goodness and strength and love did not yet transcend all other in PRECAUTIONS. 273 her mind. Intuitively he knew it ; he knew that her love was not for him. But he was prepared to sacrifice that (and how great a sacrifice it was only he himself knew) for the sake of securing the right to protect her, to make her life more happy. The man was wholly unselfish. * Dear May,' he said, forcing himself to speak with such gentleness that his voice sounded almost cold. ' I want very much to talk to you a little about yourself.' ' Sit down, Austen/ she said, smiling rather nervously. ' Tell me what you meaa. I don't think that I am a very agreeable topic of conversation.' ' You look ill,' he said tenderly, ' and very often overtired.' She could not help sighing. ' I am always tired,' she said. ' You sec, I cannot help it ; but life is very uphill work just now.' A^OL. I. 18 2 7 4 ^-RE CA UTIONS. ' Are these duties too much for you V 'Oh no; the duties are nothing. They are my very best pleasure.' ' May,' he said quickly, ' it breaks my heart to see your young life weighted in this way. I can only suggest one remedy. Per- haps that remedy may be worse to you than the evil it professes to cure.' She clasped her hands. * What are you going to say, Austen V she said nervously. * Only this, May dearest. I don't know how to say it ; but if you would consent to l)e my wife. Dear, you are so lonely ; you have no protection ; you have too many calls on you ; you cannot always bear it. I express myself so badly. What I want to say is this : that if you will only entrust yourself to me, I will take care of you.' Those last simple words touched her deeply, and with a sense of strong tempta- PRECAUTIONS. 275 tion ; there was something so precious and restful in this idea of protection and care. Her eyes filled with tears. ' Is it for my sake only that you ask me this ?' she said earnestly. Lord Austen paused. 'May,' he said, 'that is a question that is difficult to answer. I think you know well that I have never loved any woman in the world as I love you ; that you are to me the one love of my life. But, dear, I assure you from the very bottom of my heart that I do not wish to plead this love ; I do not wish: it to bias you. I would never have spoken of it if— if — if your lines had fallen in pleasant places ; but it is different now. What I offer you is a poor substitute for what, I fear, you have lost for ever ; but, my clear, my dear ! comfort, rest, and pro- tection are not to be lightly thrown away. If I could not make you happy by my love 18—2 276 PRECAUTIONS. (and, with God's help, perhaps in time that also may come), I could at least give you rest/ She put out both her hands and held his. ' Austen,' she said, *I wish — oh, how I wish I could accept it !' ^ You cannot, May ?' ' No, I cannot. I could not do you so great an injury. I have no heart to give ; and you know, in spite of all the good kind things you have said, that if we were to be married you would be very miserable, for you would give all your great noble love for nothing, and I should feel that I had nothing to give you except gratitude ; and you deserve so much more. You deserve real wife-love ; and when it comes to you, it will make you very happy.* He shook his head. ' In time, May,' he said wistfully. ' You are young ; you do not know what time does.' May looked at him, and pressed her PRECA UTIOiYS. 2 7 7 hands tightly together. * Austen,' she said, ' while one is young, one dreads the cure of time. To think that wounds can be cured is the worst pang they give.' ' That is no comfort, then. Yet you spoke of certainty of cure for Eustace.' She turned away her head. He fancied he had been unkind. ' Oh, May, was I cruel V ' No, no — not cruel ; only sometimes I think even you do not, or will not, under- stand.' * Poor May ! I have added to your troubles ; and I would so fain help you to bear them. So it must not be V * No, no — not now !' she cried ; again the piteous feeling coming over her that she was rejecting all help, all comfort. ' Do not deceive me, May,' he said very gTavel}^ ' You say, " Not now !" Do you mean that some day, perhaps ' 2 78 PRECA UTIONS. She suddenly hid her face on his shoulder. 'Austen/ she said, 'listen to me. I cannot now — indeed I cannot. I love him so ; we were engaged so long. I still long so to see him — for the sound of his voice, for his footstep on the stair. Oh, my darling — my darling I' She burst into a passion of tears. Lord Austen stood quietly while she leant against him, softly stroking her hair. His heart was very full. After all, this was what he wanted — to help and comfort her ; and it was well that he should know the task he undertook, and what it would cost him, to the full. He had once seen her give way like this before ; had once fathomed the full depths of her sorrow and her love, and his great heart filled with tenderness all the more intense for the bitter pain. ' Poor child — poor May !' he said. PRECAUTIONS. 279 * You understand '?' she exclaimed pas- sionately — ' you see that what you ask is impossible now ! But, oh, forgive me if I am too selfish ! — if it is too cruel ! If some day ' ' Tell me, May — tell me all that is in your mind,' he said earnestly. ' If life should become more than I can bear I — I am very miserable some- times.' ' Then, darling, you would let me take care of you ? — may it be so, my May V ' I cannot say so.' ' Darling, it will be my right to take care of you ; and I can never fail you. I am very helpless now ; even half an hour ago your father told me that I had no right to interfere. ' ' Papa ! Oh, I must go to him !' ' One moment more. I want a promise from you.' 28o PRECAUTIONS. ' Oh no — no !' She sprang back. ,' ' Do not l)e afraid,' he said mournfully. ' The promise is only this. You will always come to me — you will always rely on me — lean on me — trust me, as if I were your brother.' ' Oh, how^ I wish you were indeed my brother !' ' You will promise, May ? At any time, w^herever I may be, whatever you may want, without reserve "?' ' I will — I do promise. At least, I can give you all the faith and trust that is in my heart, and it is very full of them,' she said pathetically. He stooped down and kissed her brow softly, tenderly, with a great sadness in his face. She went to the glass, ami quickly, with trembling fingers, arranged her hair, touched the soft rufiles at her throat, and removed a lingering trace of tears. PRE CA UTIONS. 2 8 1 ' Papa ^vill see nothing now,' she said. ' Good-bye, Austen — dear Austen !' and then she went away. When Marion knelt in her room that night, she felt as if her heart were breaking. The suffering she endured was even worse than the actual parting with her betrothed. Then, in the exaltation of her own self- sacrifice, she had not realized that that self-sacrifice would entail daily, hourly, ceaseless pain, the languor of reaction, the bitter distaste of ordinary life — all the various subtle forms of pain which make up the whole sum of human suffering. Now, added to all this was her own doubt whether she could endure to the end, a strong dis- gust with herself for doubting her own fidelity to her lost love — a fidelity less to love than to pain. For long hours she lay awake, tossing from side to side, longing in vain for the sweet forgetfulness of sleep. CHAPTER XIX. ORD AUSTEN came into his sister-in-law's drawing-room in Eaton Square, and sat down beside her. She was engaged in putting into water a quantity of hothouse flowers that had just come up from Castleford ; but she put aside her vases, and looked up anxiously into his face. ' What is the matter, Austen V she said. * You look so tired. Do you want Tom ? He is not at home. Muriel, ring for tea.' Little Muriel emerged from the corner in which she was sitting with a large horse in PRECAUTIONS. 283 her arms, and climbed slowly on to her uncle's knee. She was a dainty, fairy-like child, with curly golden hair and very large eyes. She was so completely her mother's companion that people forgot her presence ; and as she could be a very silent little mouse, she often heard things that were not meant for such young ears. ' I have been having it out with Kalph Austen, Gerty.' * Oh 1 I thouQ^ht it would come to that, sooner or later. How very kind of you I Do you think it will do any good V ' On the contrary, I think one's interfer- ence is more likely to do harm than good.' ' The odious old curmudgeon !' 'What is a curmudgeon. Uncle Austen^' said Muriel gravely. ' A venerable old person, darling,' said Gerty hastily. 284 PRECAUTIONS. Lord Austen was not attending, only stroking the child's soft hair. * I put it as forcibly as I could, Gerty/ he went on. 'I represented to him that May did not look well. I went so far as to say that he was killing her ; but I made no impression upon him whatever.' ' Did you say what it was that was killing her r * I said all I could — the want of sunshine in her life, the perpetual contradiction she met with. How could one put it more plainly ? If you could hear him scold and talk at her as he does so constantly, you would understand what I feel.' * I do understand only too well, dear Austen/ said Gerty, laying her hand on his arm. She felt it painfully, always with the underlying feeling that it was partly the fault of her own want of foresight. ' And what did he say ?' PRECAUTIONS. 285 * I can hardly tell you what he said. I was too indignant really to take it in. He told me in so many words that I had for- feited all right of interference." ' He said that V ' Yes, and I dare say he is right. Well, Gerty, you are the only person who can help her at all now. You won't give her up, however difficult and disagreeable it may be — will you, dear X ' I ? never. There is nothing in the worid that I would not do for her or for you.' ' For me ? You should say for your brother, Gerty.' She shook her head. ' That is quite and entirely at an end,' she gaid. ' You think so ?' he said wistfully. 1 should be so thankful to see her happy again. While the engagement lasted she 286 PRECAUTIONS. was so happy. Nothing that old Kalph could have exacted would have been a burden then.' ' That is quite over/ said Gerty again. ' Jt is of no use even dreaming of it.' ' Ah, well r He rose to his feet. * May I have Muriel to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock ?' he said. ' Certainly. It is lesson-time, and it is most irregular ; but if you want her I must arrange it. Where do you wish to take her ?' ' To see my own particular beast at the Zoolog;ical.' * Have you a beast there of your own, Uncle Austen — of your very own X ' Yes, a nice little funny beast, that was sent to me, when it was a baby, by an old friend of mine. It is called a wombat. I believe it turns head over heels very PRECAUTIONS. 287 neatly. I want to see whether it is happy- there.' ' Oh, how 1 wish I had one, too !' ' Perhaps you will some day, if you grow old, and wise, and tall, like me.' He went away. Gerty was occupied with her own thoughts, and did not perceive how pre- occupied her little daughter was. Muriel played solemnly with her doll, and seemed to be making very serious speeches to it, until it was bedtime. Then when she came for her good -night kiss, she ventured upon a few questions to satisfy the working of her mind. ' Mamma,' she said, ' I suppose May is not good f ' Not good, child ! I only wish I were one quarter as good.' ' Then why does the venerable old man scold and talk at her? Papa never PRECAUTIONS. scolds you. What should you do if he did r ' I don't know/ said Gerty, laughing. ' I know what you would do,' said Muriel, with ever-increasing gravity. * You would say, '' Tom, you shouldn't," and Tom would desist. I say " Leave off," but Miss Lingard says "Desist," and it means the same thing.' ' So papa would desist V ' Of course. Somebody ought to tell the curmudgeon to let May alone.' ' Your uncle has been telling him so, and he won't pay any attention,' said Gerty indignantly. ' That is unpardonable,' said Muriel. After which grand word she relapsed into silence, and w^ent upstairs to bed. But her little mind did not rest ; there she lay awake thinking over May's hard- ships half the night. She loved her cousin dearly, and the conclusion to which the PRECAUTIONS. 289 cliild came was that no clianec of making her happy should be lost, and that she would try what she herself could do. The next morning at eleven she started with her uncle for the Zoological Gardens, the prettiest little picture of a child in her blue veh^et pelisse and chincluUa fur. He was very fond of her, and was never happier than when her tiny fingers were in his. The wombat was duly visited, and little Muriel made one of her little old-fashioned set speeches to the keeper, which made him and all the by-standers laugh. 'It is an exile from its native clime,' she said. * So be good to it, and do not laugh at it when it turns head over heels, for it can't like to be laughed at. Good-bye.' They drove to Manchester Square when they left the Gardens. Lord Austen had a note he wanted to leave there. VOL. I. 19 2 go PRECA UriONS. *I want to get out and see May/ said Muriel. ' Please let me, Uncle Austen/ ' I dare say she would like to see you for a moment/ he answered, thinking that Marion would enjoy seeing the tiny fairy of whom she was so fond. * You may take up the note if you like. I will wait here downstairs, and walk up and down until you come back.' ' I won't be long, Uncle Austen,' she answered, as she went in. It was just the opportunity she wanted ; but her little heart beat fast, and her blue eyes grew wider and wider with terror as she followed the footman upstairs. She was conducted into the drawing-room, and found herself alone with Mr. Austen. Poor little soul, she was terrified ; but her terror had on her the odd effect it some- times has on children and animals alike — it made her bolder. She, the petted darling of PRECA UTIONS. 291 her home, the centre of the most tender care and consideration, found herself, absolutely without protection, alone with this cousin who looked at her as no one ever had looked at her before, with unfriendly eyes. ' What do you want, child V he said im- patiently. ' Do you want Marion ? if so, you had better look for her upstairs.' * I should like to speak to you, Cousin Ralph,' said Muriel, advancing with both her little hands tightly squeezed together. ' I am busy, child, and can't attend to you.' ' I won't keep you more than a moment, Cousin Ralph ;' and she came close to him, and put her tiny hand on his arm. ' Make haste and say what you w^ant.' ' I want to ask you to be kind to May.' ^What? Poor little Muriel jumped off her feet with fright, but she persevered. ' May 19—2 2 9 2 PRE CA UTIONS. is very unhappy ; I want you to be kind to her. May is not naughty. Mamma says she wishes she were as good as May ; and please — please don't be cross to her.' The little voice began to get tremulous. Kalph Austen had taken hold of her tiny shoulders, and his hands w^ere untender and hard ; they hurt her, the little dainty fairy child. ' Who dared send you here to lecture me ?' ' Nobody dared. T did it myself. I — I — want you to be kind to May.' ' Hold your tongue,' he shouted, ' you impertinent little minx!' ' I am not a minx, and you should not call me so,' said Muriel, struggling under the grasp which was getting more and more painful. ' If I were your papa, I would whip you.' ' I should not care, if you w^ould only be good to May. Let me go !' PRECAUTIONS. 293 The child's voice was almost a cry now. Ealph Austen had cruel instincts in him ; he liked to feel that he was hurting; the o little helpless child, he was so angry with her. '■ Did your mamma tell you to say this ?' * No, no ! it was out of my head. Please, oh, please let me go ! You do not w^ant to hurt me ; you wouldn't, I know. Cousin Ealph, because you are a curmudgeon.' ' AVhat V he shouted again. ' Mamma said so,' w^ent on Muriel, getting more and more frightened. ' She said you were a venerable old person, so, you see, I thought it would be all right. Oh, May ! May !' Mr. Austen let her go as the door opened, and the child flew into Marion's arms bursting into a passion of sobs. * Odious brat !' he said peevishly. * Send 2 94 PRE CA UTIONS, her away at once, and tell her that if she ever comes here again I will punish her.' May carried away the child most anxiously, questioning her as to what had happened ; but the loyal little thing would not confess one word — only she struggled with all her might to stop crying, and to hide all traces of tears before she rejoined her uncle out- side. She was not quite successful, for long after the tears had ceased to flow, single, quite irrepressible, sobs came surging up from the overcharged little heart, and made him wonder what had happened to upset her so. CHAPTER XX. ^?TO§HE people were pouring out of the great doors of the Opera-house at Santa Chiara, where a much- advertised concert had just taken place. Their feeling's were in a state of enthusiasm bordering on frenzy. ' A Pag;anini ! a Pao;anini at the least T exclaimed a stout Italian. ' Paganini !' retorted his friend. ' Paga- nini himself had not that tenderness of feeling, that marvellous touch !' •' At least, Paganini had a better fiddle/ said Eustace Bellingham, drawing a great 296 PRECAUTIONS. fur cloak round the shoulders of his mother, for the winter was approaching and be- oinnino" to make itself felt even m the South. ' Yes/ she answered, ' the violin was very bad ; such a f)ity 1 Oh, what a draught ! I hope your sisters have wrapped them- selves up well. Make haste, Eustace, and call the carriag:e.' He made his w^ay through the crowd, which was so much occupied talking, ges- ticulating, criticising, and raving, that it was not an easy task. Lady Bellingham looked after him with some impatience ; his two sisters were occupied with their own affairs. Alice had quivering lips and eyes full of tears, for the music of the violinist had gone into her very soul, and, as her mother and Gcorgina often said mockingly, ' she had an emotional temperament. PRECAUTIONS, 297 Georgie was agreeably cccupied in flirting with Mr. Mulroy. That gentleman had no sooner heard of their determination to winter at Santa Chiara, than he started off" at once, travelling night and day ; took a studio there to give himself a valid excuse for his presence, and established himself in the most comfortable hotel. The carriage arrived ; Eustace returned and placed them in it. ' Are you not coming ?' ' I shall walk home, thanks.' Lady Bellingham drew up the window. Alice leant back, wishing that she also could have walked home, for the music was ring- ing in her ears, and conjuring up sorrowful fancies that were after all rather feelings than thoughts, but which made the close carriage unusually oppressive. Mr. Mulrov linked his arm in that of 298 PRECA UTIONS. Sir Eustace ; he would not be shaken off. Eustace released himself to light a cigar, but before he could escape was seized upon again. * Awfully good, wasn't if?' said Mr. Mulroy eagerly. 'I never heard anything better in my life. Beats all the great men into fits.' ^ I don't think the report was exaggerated/ said his comj)anion ungraciously. 'And that is marvel enough. See ! there he IS. Involuntarily they made a step forward. Out of a side-door of the Opera-house came the great musician^ walking quietly with a quick, silent tread, as he came out throwing the end of his long Italian cloak across his chest. He paused for a moment under the lamp-post to look at his watch. That moment was enough : some of the groups of men standing about the doors of the PRECA UTIONS. 299 theatre caught sight of his face, and raised a shout : * Ursel ! Ursel evviva ! Bravo ! bravo !' Others took it up ; a merry, noisy band of the orchestra musicians poured out of their own private door, and suddenly joined in the acclamations. Eustace watched the scene wdth some amusement ; he saw^ the crowd gather round the violinist, who cast a look of despair to the four quarters of heaven as if for release. The look fell on him, and it made him smile. There was all the despair of a quiet man drao^o-ed into a most unwelcome situa- tion ; he evidently expostulated wildly, but expostulated in vain. The Englishman, when he caught his eye, gave him a little friendly nod of encourage- ment. Ursel's face changed quite suddenly ; a deprecating smile came over it. He ceased all resistance, gave a shrug of the shoulders, 300 PRECAUTIONS. resigned himself to his fate, aDcl was borne aloft on the shonlders of a shoutino; halloino; mob. ' Unfortunate man,' said Mr. Mulroy. ' He don't seem to relish popularity.' ' Penalty of greatness,' said Sir Eustace shortly. ' How I wonder what a fellow like that makes in a night !' went on Air. Mulroy. * Of course, I don't mean in a hole like this, but elsewhere. A goodish lot, I should imagine ; and wdien he goes to England, I should fancy that his fortune would be made.' '■ Fortunes are relative,' said Eustace moodily. ' Poverty to one would seem in- exhaustible wealth to another.' ' Beastly thing, poverty !' said Mulroy. ' I don't think you know much about it,' said Eustace quickly. ' Oh, ah, well ! no one has as much as he PRECAUTIONS. could do with. I have felt myself pinclied awfully. One must feel a much richer fellow when you have so many hundred pounds a night in your finger-tips. Queer- looking fellow, is he not ? Looks as if life were an awful bore, don't he X ' Life disagrees with a good many. I dare say with him, as with others.' ' You are hipped, old chap ! What is it \ Anything I can do f ' Nothing ; you are very kind.' The tone was icy, and good little Joseph Mulroy felt repulsed. Certainly his degree of acquaintance hardly justified the term of ' old chap ' that he had just used ; but in his own thouo;hts and reflections he had o;one so far in a ripening affection for all the family that he forgot where reality stopped and imagination stepped in. ' I beg your pardon,' he said in a small voice, feeling a little sore, a little neOTcvcd 302 PRECAUTIONS. that the curb had checked him so sharply. 'No, no !' exclaimed Eustace quickly. ' All right ; I am hipped. Nothing — don't think of it. I am a bear !' Mulroy hooked himself a little closer on his tall companion's arm. ' What can I do ?' he said eagerly. ' Long walk ? billiards ? Anything I can do % Believe me, you will confer a favour on me. Solitude, eh f ' Well, yes,' said Eustace, smiling in spite of himself. ' I suspect there is nothing for it but solitude ; so good-bye ; thanks.' Mulroy stood on the pavement, looking crestfallen. Eustace saw it. He was feel- ing fierce and impatient ; his troubles pressed heavily upon him ; the wild wailing notes of that violin had awakened them — hydra-headed, relentless. What did they concern that sleek, slim little man standing PRECAUTIONS. 303 there with his sandy whiskers and his kind, twinkling eyes, the gold knob of his cane in his mouth, and his eye-glass dangling on its chain with a look of deprecation and uncertainty ? His cares were nothing to him, yet the touch of human sympathy was such that he felt oppressed ; even in his impatience and irritability he could not leave it unsatisfied. * Good-bye — old fellow,' he said. Mulroy gave quite a little start of joy, and looked after him wistfully as he strode away down the street, passing in and out of the lights and shadows. There was some- thing of the feminine element in honest little Joe's heart ; he felt that those words made him love Eustace, and he never fore^ot them. Eustace Bellingham walked on, his pace growing faster and faster. The broad, over- hanging roofs threw black shadows across 304 PRE CA UTIONS. the streets ; a great white moon came out suddenly, and flooded the world with light. He came to the gates of the town, and passed out into the country. Noisy groups of men met him, in whom he recognised those who had conducted the great musician home ; and a vague curiosity came into his mind to know where he lived. He was now mounting a long steep hill, on either side of the road a stra2:2;ling street of poor low houses. An impulse made him stop one of the passers-by and ask him to tell him w^hcre Ursel lived ; as he did so, he wondered at himself for wishing to know. What did it signify to him ? The man answered readily enough. Ursel liv^ed higher up on the road, in apartments ; the house on the left — the one w^itli the paiiited loggia, he explained with volu- bility. Eustace thanked him, and went on. Tl:c PRE CA UTIONS. 305 man looked after him wonderingly. What could an Englishman want with Ursel at that time of the night ? The long hill reached its height, and began a rapid descent. The houses and high walls ended abruptly at the summit, and the full stretch of open country lay before him. A great plain, mountains inter- lacing each other ; long narrow shadows sleeping in the light ; a great convent rising dark and solitary on a hill in the fore- ground ; the soft wind blowing over miles of olive-trees, causing them to turn all their shimmering silver to the light of the moon. On the left hand stood a little villa, con- spicuous for its brightly painted loggia. Eustace had forgotten all the objects of his wanderings ; he was absorbed in the wonderful scene that lay before him, when suddenly on the air fell one little cadence of music — a slow, soft movement some half a VOL. I. 20 3o6 PRECAUTIONS. dozen bars in length, and ending in a deli- cate rippling run which fled rapidly over the tiny staircase of sound, up, up, till it lost itself in the highest possibility of human vibration. Silence followed, and all was hushed for the night. CHAPTER XXI. H !' exclaimed Georgina Belling- liam, with an exclamation more like a groan than a sigh. ' Le jeu vaut-il la chandelle T ' There is no reason that you should do anything that you do not like,' said Alice anxiously. ' Somebody must do something/ answered her sister sharply. ' One can't drift on for ever, and I suppose it will end in that ; though I cannot see why I should be the only one to be victimized/ ' Oh, Georgie !' cried Alice, with tears 20—2 3o8 PRECAUTIONS. rushing to her eyes ; ' if you feel that, I beg and entreat you not to go on like this ! I do respect and like Mr. Mulroy so much, and it makes me miserable to think that you may be playing with him.' * Who said that I was playing with him V said Georgina. ' You are so downright that you never can understand anything; and it is such nonsense !' ' But you can't really admire his singing, and those dreadful paintings ! How could you tell him to bring them here ? What on earth shall we say V * Leave that to me. He thinks them all right ; so it is not our business to undeceive him.' * Only, why should he make copies of all the most celebrated pictures ? If he would be satisfied with attempts that no one would recognise, it would be all very well ; but to copy the Eaphaels and Titians ! How blind PRE CA UTIONS. 309 people are to the extent of their own powers !' * You will have to be more careful in your criticisms w^hen the time comes, my dear,' said Georgie. * If it ever comes,' Alice answered, putting her arm round her sister's neck. ' Tell me, darling — do tell me — do you mean to accept him? Indeed, indeed, if you do, I will never say another word about his peculi- arities ; I will see nothing but good in him. Only one must know.' * How can I tell you ?' exclaimed Georgie, drawing herself away almost roughly. * I do not know myself.' ' As far as he is concerned ' began Alice ; but Georgina interrupted her. ' As far as he is concerned, my dear, it is only a matter of when I shall choose to clinch the matter. That is not the ques- tion.' 3 1 o PRECA UTIONS. ' Wealth is not everything,' said Alice slowly. She stood before her sister, watching her with wistful brown eyes. She had pushed back the soft hair which curled on her square-cut brow, and the whole attitude of her slender figure and clasped hands be- trayed nervous anxiety. ' Money is not everything,' she repeated. ' I am not so sure,' answered Georgie. ' I suppose the world knows best, and the world's opinion is that money is a great deal.' * Georgie darling,' cried Alice eagerly, * it is not true ; there are things to which money is nothing I Even the world thinks so — love, honour, success, content.' ' Everything has its price,' answered Georgie ; ' even that last homely article called content. My price for that same article would be a very high one.' PRECAUTIONS. 'You think you would be happy with Mr. Muh'oy/ said Alice dejectedly. * Happy ! If I were a Frenchwoman I should exclaim, ''That idea is du dernier hoiirgeois!' I shall be successful; I shall have more of the means of happiness than is attainable without a certain amount of pounds, shillings, and pence; and I am horribly, horribly tired of being poor,' she added, stretching out her arms with a weary movement. * So am I, Georgie, especially since all the horses went up to Tattersall's ; but all the same, there are worse evils than poverty.' 'Well, a woman might marry a worse man than Joseph Mulroy. Joseph — what a name T ' Then you will do it 1' ' You will know when you are told/ answered Georgie, running away. Alice sighed deeply ; then she sat down 312 PRECAUTIONS. before the sketch she was making, and began to draw listlessly. The Bellinghams were living in apart- ments in the Palazzo St. Isidoro, and they had every reason to be sntisfied wdth their choice. The rooms were very large and lofty, opening into each other. They w^ere beautifully decorated, hung with silk, and with richly painted ceilings and handsome heavy cornices. There was an absence of English comfort ; but Lady Bellingham, having filled one small room with comfort- able armchairs and sofas, was content to leave the rest of the rooms as they were, furnished with marble consoles, big un- wieldy chairs, gilt and covered with the same fine silk damask that hung on the walls. They had all the charm of an un- touched Italian palace, and Alice in especial delighted in them. Lady Bellingham came into the room PRECAUTIONS. 313 where Alice was drawing, and with a long sigh seated herself by her daughter. ' Mr. Mulroy has just come,' she said. ' He has gone into the end room, to show Georgie his pictures. I am sure I don't know how it will all end.' ' I suppose it will end in their marrying,' said Alice, a little bitterly. ' You think she will accept him T ^Yes.' ' And Eustace ?' * Mother, mother, do let Eustace alone !' exclaimed Alice, the tears rushing to her eyes. * If you only knew how unhappy he is !' * Does he talk of it to you "?' * Only sometimes — how can he help it ? I am the only one who loves May, and who understands him.' * You encourage him in his madness, when you know that it can do no good.' 3 1 4 PRE CA UTIONS. ' If you will only leave him alone, mother ; he knows it as well as you do. But he must have time.' ' Time ! — it has gone on for years ! Alice, I have heard from your uncle Charles this morning ; the Brown-ClifFords will be here to-day.' ' To-day !— all of them ?' A feeling almost of dislike came over Alice — dislike even to x^oor Kitty, for coming there, if she was to be made the instrument for tormenting her brother. ' Only the mother and Kitty. The aunt stays behind to take care of the house and the cats, and everything else, I am thankful to say.' ' That is one less, at all events,' said Alice. ' Kitty will enjoy herself, I am sure.' * We must do something to make her enjoy it, and to keep us altogether,' said PRE CA UTIONS, 3 1 5 Lady Bellingham ; ' a few expeditions, or something of that sort.' *We shall see plenty of them, mamma, don't be afraid,' said Alice. ' You speak as if you did not like her, Alice,' said her mother ; ' whereas, really I think I do not know any girl I would sooner have for a daughter. She is one of the simplest, most unaffected girls I know ; and would be very pretty if she were only tolerably dressed.' 'I like her very much,' said Alice wearily. * But don't you agree with me that she is suited to Eustace in every way V ' Don't ask me, mamma,' said Alice. * What can I say ? after May !' * I wish none of you had ever seen May.' * I am afraid poor May must wish that too.' * She will marry Lord Austen. I know she will ; there is not a doubt of it ; it is 3i6 PRECAUTIONS, the most obvious thing — only I wish it could be at once/ Alice sighed ; it was no use arguing ; it did no good whatever. Lady Bellingham's handsome face looked drawn and haggard. * Look here, Alice/ she said, holding out some letters ; ' here is proof positive that something must be done. Some real mariages de convenance turn out exceed- ingly happy ones. I don't want Eustace to be unhappy, but if a little self-sacrifice will save the old place ' 'Ah!' It was a sigh, almost a sob. That the beloved old home should have to go, to sink into the hands of mortgagees, should pass away from those whose ancestors had reigned there so long, was a thought of ex- treme suffering. ' Poor old Eustace !' sighed Alice. ' Poor PRECAUTIONS, 317 fellow I Mamma, he will never forget ; he will break his heart !' ' Hearts are not so easily broken,' said her mother impatiently ; ' and I cannot help feeling, Alice, how little sympathy I meet with from you : my fears are not idle/ * But, mamma, please forgive me. I do not want to be unsympathetic, but even if the w^orst should come to the worst, even if Eustace has to part with Castleford, it would be nothing compared to w^hat it w^ould be to be tied for life to a woman he did not care for. Eustace is a man ; he can face misfortune as other men have faced it over and over again.' Lady Bellingham shook her head im- patiently. ' You either cannot or will not see the common-sense view, Alice. You propose that Eustace should sit down patiently under the loss of fortune, Castleford, and 3i8 PRECAUTIONS. Marion ; whereas my idea is that he could make himself perfectly happy in his own home with a charming young wife w^hom he must soon learn to care for.' * Well, the question has scarcely risen yet/ said Alice mournfully. Lady Bellingham went away restlessly. She was a very ambitious woman ; ambition warped her nature, blunted her feelings, and absorbed her mind. Wealth and its acces- sories, since she had lost them, had assumed altogether abnormal proportions in her mind. Meanwhile Mr. Mulroy was bending over Georgina's chair, showing her his elaborate pictures, new and bright and shining with strong varnishes. His heart was throbbing violently, and he hardly knew how to look up or speak to this girl, who in her youth and beauty he thought so infinitely above him. PRECA UTIONS. 3 1 9 * Are you fond of travelling ?' she asked ; and tlie question seemed to open to him the opportunity of talking about himself and his own concerns, for which he was yearning. ' Yes ; I have travelled a great deal,' he answered eagerly. ' I think it has been my best — almost my only education.' *In painting, you mean f said Georgie, touching one of the copies. 'In everything. I have had fewer ad- vantages than other men. It puts me behindhand.' ' I do not see what you mean by advant- ages.' ' Oh, lots of things. I was brought up at home ; never went to school or college ; no profession ; awfully hard luck !' ' I wonder why V said Georgina. ' I had the misfortune of losing my father as an infant. My mother, infatuated, would not part with me. Pity, w^as it not % She 320 PRECAUTIONS. was a very good woman, but prejudiced, you see. I never left home ; never had a chance.' ' Is she alive 1' said Georgie hastily, a sudden spasm of terror crossing her mind at the prospect of such a mother-in-law. * No ; she is dead, poor soul ! She died when I was three-and-twenty — too old to turn my hand to anything new, or I would have gone to Oxford even then ; but by that time I had become too awfully shy.' * Are you shy X said Georgie, raising her eyes to his face. ' I should not have thought it.' * Not really ? You are awfully good to say so. Yes ; I am shy, and I don't know how to get on with strangers, you know. Horrid, isn't it? I am always saying or doing the wrong thing. There is your brother, now. I like him and admire him PRECA UTIONS. 321 beyond measure, but all the liking is on my side. How could he ever make friends with such a ' ' Stop, stop I' cried Georgina, smiling. ' I don't like to hear you abuse yourself. After all, you have some advantages w^iich Eustace would give much to possess.' ' I, Miss Bellingham % You are joking.' ' You underrate your own qualifications/ she went on, an irrepressible bitterness just showing; throug;h the lio-htlv uttered words. ' You are rich ; you are young ; you have the power of ease and good in your hands ; you are free, untrammelled, able to follow your own wishes ; you possess all the elements of happiness.' 'Without the power of enjoyment, eh V ' That must be your own fault, then.' ' Yes, yes,' he said dejectedly : ^ of course you are right — you always are right — it is my own fault.' VOL. I. 20* 3 2 2 PRE CA UTIONS. 'And not irremediable.' said Georgina quietly. ' Eh : what ? If I might only dare T Georgie rose to her feet. ' You are very ambitious,' she said, pointing to a copy of the ' Belle Jardiniere ' in the Louvre. lie did not see the finger, and only heard the words. ' So that is your answer,' he said. * T knew it must be so ; how could I imagine anything otherwise ?' ' iVnswer ! answer to what V exclaimed' Georgie, turning her large eyes on him in- quiringly. ; 'Forgive my presumption ; I will say no more.' ' Mr. Mulroy,' said Georgina, sitting down again, and looking at her uneasy suitor with a great effort to suppress the contempt she felt rising up within her, ' do not mis- take me. I alluded to your cojdIcs of Eaphael's PRE CA UTIONS. 3 2 3 chefs-cVccuvve when I called you ambitious ; in all other respects I consider you, I may say, far too diffident.' 'Not really r ' Yes, really,' she answered brightly ; *and now tliat you have analyzed your character to your own satisfaction, go on and tell me, not where you have been in the course of your travels, but w^here you intend to go next.' ' I am no longer my own master,' he answered. ' Indeed !' said Georgie. ' Pray when did you resign your freedom V ' At the first moment that I caught sight of you,' he answered. Georgie did not know what to answer. She looked down, and began to replace the drawings. Her silence gave him the op- portunity he wanted. *]\Iiss Bellingham,' he began, 'if you 20—2 324 PRECAUTIONS. would not think it presumption — if I might only venture to ask ' * Yes '?' said Georgie.- She could hardly suppress a little nervous stamp on the floor. ' If you would be my wife I' ' Would it make you happy X she said slowly. ' It would make me the happiest man on earth!' he cried. 'But no, I see that it cannot be. I have presumed too much.' ' Why are you so diffident "?' said Georgie, smiling. ' I shall have to teach you your own value.' ' Your consent w^ould teach me that.' ' Then you have it — but listen,' she said suddenly, with some vibration that had pathos in it coming into her voice : ' I will marry you ; but you must not expect too much of me. You seem, according to your own account, to have a very small knowledge of the world ; if that is the case, I should PRECAUTIONS. like to warn you not to make an ideal of me. I am not a bit better than other people ; you must take me as you find me.' ' My Georgie ! my beloved ! to me you will always be the very first — the very best 1' The words were all that she could wish. Georgie had chosen her lot ; but as she resigned her hand into his, and permitted him to kiss her cold cheek, a sharp shiver w^ent through her of repulsion to her fate. He was ugly, unattractive, his modesty con- temptible to her ; the quiet confession of his inferiority, instead of touching, exasperated her ; she could hardly endure his loving words, and escaped to her own room, almost terrified by her own conflicting feelings. EXD OF VOL. I. 1 V I.