.7.1,' '.^^^i^^-^<-^ ^^^^m te. ' ■ K^' L. "' ' Bi Wm-':\- Tl-^?- ^^ MX * .^*' m mm m W'^i- fi^J'% J'or Oh L I B R.AR.Y OF THE UN IVERSITY Of ILLINOIS 823 EdSlh V. I NEXT OF KIN WANTED. NEXT OF KIN WANTED. 31 ^lovci. M. BETHAM-EDWARDS, AUTHOi; OK 'KITTY,' ' T>r. JAOB, HALF-WAY,' 1^T^ IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, ^ublblur^ in ©vMnarii ta ^er ^Tvtje^ts the (Qwcen. 1887. [All Bights Beserved.] CONTENTS OF VOL. I. I- \ ^ ^ N ^ CHAPTER I. FIRST IN THE FIELD - - II. THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS III. EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS IV. ON THE QUI VIVE - - - V. IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN VL BONGO - - - - - VIL THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS - VIII. OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS IX. STARTING FOR LODORE X. WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS ON THEIR WAY TO LODORE XI. COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE XII, ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS 1 17 34 48 62 74 92 104 115 129 140 153 <1 CONTENTS. til AFTER ~ P.MiK XIII. HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS EKKAXD- 171 XIV. MACHINATIONS - - - - 185 XV. THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA - - 200 XVI. MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD 215 XVII. MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO - 228 XVIIL THE END OF THE GALA - - - 242 XIX. BETWEEN TWO FIRES - - - 257 XX. ICEBERG AFTER VOLCANO - - - 272 XXL THE WOLVES IN SHEEP'S CLOTHING - 285 NEXT OF Km-WANTED. CHAPTER I. FIKST IN THE FIELD. * SWEET hour, and a sweet place! Yet to the two timid travellers who had just alighted at the little station, the situation seemed full of peril. All was silent but for the quiet murmur of that northern sea. The long summer day had closed at last, and the far-off Cumberland hills they had lately gazed on for the first time were now wrapped in shadow. ISTo train left the place till morning. No sign of a village or human habitation could be descried through VOL. I. 1 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. the gloaming. There they waited, these anxious seekers after something to their advantage ; and there it seemed as if they might wait for ever ! No one took the slightest notice of them. The bookin<2r-office and waitino^-rooms were already locked up, the lamps put out ; one official had taken his departure, and the rest seemed about to follow his ex- ample. ' Oh, Prue, Prue !' began tlie elder and more timid of the pair. ' Something to our advantage, indeed ! The place seems a wilder- ness, and the inhabitants to have hearts of stone, thus abandoning two helpless women at such an hour. What would my Edwin have said had he but lived to see !' That allusion to the lost love of her youth indicated the only bit of egotism about this sweet little spinster of well-nigh sixty years. Her Edwin had been dead and buried for thirty and odd. To Sabina Eicketts the memory of the young hnvyer's clerk, the lover of her girlhood, was fresh and sweet as to-day's rose. She seldom, however, alluded FIRST IN THE FIELD. to liim, except in such moments as this ; the recollection was too sacred to be evoked upon ordinary occasions, and she felt shy of in- truding her personality upon others. Prudence Perfect, her companion, was younger by fifteen years, and far sprightlier, both in manner and appearance. She was now looking about her with much alacrity and excitement. No memory of a lost Edwin, no buried love, rendered her insensible to the romance of the hour, or the possibility gf romance in the future. In spite of some natural trepidation, she was relishing this position. It was the first adventure of her life, and it might be the beginning of many more. For the first time, too, she was breathing the air of a foreign land — absolutely foreign to her seemed this North country — Kamschatka or Timbuctoo could hardly have impressed her imagination more. The whifi" of sea-air, the j)urple outline of the sea, the hanging- woods shutting in the valley — all these were new and bewildering as the first scenes that 1—2 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. greeted the eyes of Christiana and Mercy when on their way to the Celestial country. * Those beautiful mountains, if we could only climb them this very moment !' she cried, with girlish rapture ; then catching sight of a porter, she ran after him, and appealed breathlessly for help : ' How far is it to Briar- dale ? and is there no kind of conveyance V she cried. * None whatsomdever, miss — not if you waited till Martinmas,' replied the man. ' Folks always tramp it on foot, and 'tis only a sood two mile or so.' ' But the night is very dark, and the place seems quite deserted. Could you not ac- company us V asked Prue, Sabina sighing and trembling at her elbow. ' Not now, miss — not if you paid me a guinea a minute ; I'm on night-duty at t'other station,' said the man ; adding, by way of en- couragement, * Lawk a mussy, who's to harm you ? You have only to go as straight as the crow flies ; and, leastways, you'll get to the town before mornino^.' FIRST IN THE FIELD. The idea of such a walk in utter darkness amid these solitudes grew more and more portentous. ' Lawk, miss/ pursued the man, ' you are sure to meet the postman on the way, and mayhap a drunken drover or two a-comin' from market, and a few tramps or gipsies. The road is not lonely a bit,' he added, grow- ing more and more cheerful as he piled up horrors. ' If you don't look sharp, by the time you get to the inn it will be shut up, so make haste ; and, once shut up, it don't open^ — not for nobody.' ' Trust in God, and let us set out boldly/ said Sabina, in a low, desperate voice. ' It must be done : and when a thing must be done, I think of my Edwin lying in his cold grave, and that braces me up for the worst.' Prue also summoned courage. After all, were they not about to obtain something to their advantage ? Great fortune is not at- tained without painful hazards. Yes, come what might, they would set out bravely. NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. To less faint-hearted pedestrians, the walk offered nothing short of enchantment. Not that much of the surrounding country could be descried. It was twilight rather than night itself. Only a star or two glimmered faintly, dark purple the distant hills, darker still the wooded sides of the valley, narrower and narrower grew the band of amber light in the west — yet, as the practised musician discerns subtler melody in the quiet fugue than in the brilliant opera, so here the true lover of beauty would find infinite gradations of light and shadow, dim harmonies of form, and hues even more beautiful than the o;lowino' effects of day. Over the place, too, brooded an air of perfect peace. It seemed as if the very genius of tranquillity reigned here. This veiled indefinite loveliness and sweet caressing repose inspired even the two frightened travellers into momentary rapture. In a little while they forgot their apprehen- sions. ' If we arrive safely, what a sight will greet our eyes in the morning !' cried Sabina, FIRST IN THE FIELD. as they now stepped out valiantly. ' I have always contented myself with imagining mountains and wild places ; but of course we can never quite imagine anything, so my Edwin always said. Ah ! were he only here to enjoy this adventure with us !' Just then Prue gave her companion a violent lunge, and both walked on panting with fear. It was only a rustling in the hedo-e that had disturbed them — some rabbit o scuttling to its burrow, or perhaps a harmless toad hastening to its runlet ; but to tne minds of the pair, the noise presaged some fearful encounter. They walked on for a quarter of an hour in silent trepidation ; then, hearing nothing more, felt somewhat reassured. ' We ought not to feel in the least alarmed,' Prue said, in a tone of self-reproach. ' Were we Christians, as we call ourselves ; had we a particle of true faith, we should walk on un- concernedly if fiery-mouthed dragons beset our path, confident of Divine protection. Oh !' NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. The ejaculation of alarm was followed by a terrified whisper. * I hear footsteps. I am sure it is a man. Hold tight ; but do not seem afraid !' The steps came nearer and nearer. True enough, it was a man ; the loud quick tramp indicated that. What would happen to them ? Each carried a watch, of no great value cer- tainly, except to themselves ; and each a few pounds, although so elaborately secreted about their persons that not a pickpocket in the kingdom had surely wit enough to find it out. If not robbed or murdered, might not far worse misfortunes happen to them ? There they were, two defenceless beings at the mercy of some Hercules of the other sex, evidently on the prowl with malicious intent. A terrible moment of suspense, and all was over. ' Good-night, my dears !' cried the man cheerily. It was, indeed, the village postman, and he mistook the two fig-ures for those of his neighbours, the tall schoolmistress and her diminutive mother. FIRST IN THE FIELD. The pair, murmuring secret little thanks- givings, hastened on. 'He seemed a kind man,' Sabina said, in a tone of great relief. ' Oh dear, I wish he would not walk so fast ! He will be out of reach of hearing in no time, and unable to come to the rescue if any ruffian should attack us. But, Prue, just think for a moment, what happy beings men must be, never to feel afraid in dark country roads ! I well re- member a saying of my Edwin's, as he set off unconcernedly one foggy night to cross Clap- ham Common. And he said — I remember his exact words — " Bina," he said — he always called me Bina, and nobody else ever did ; I would not permit it — " Bina, a well-regulated mind " ' But the narrative came to an aghast pause. Prue caught Sabina's arm, and they listened for a moment tremblingly. From the dis- tance reached them dreadful noises, stertorous guffaws, roystering snatches of song, loud riotous talk. There could be no mistake. It was evidently a party of half- drunken drovers — lo NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. worse still, tramps — returning from the fair. Not giving themselves time for reflection, the two companions in peril now made wildly for the hedge. They must get beneath its shadow, and, holding their breath, endeavour to escape observation. Between the wayside and the hedge lay a deep ditch, with sloping l)anks, and a showery summer had kept it full of water. The first plunge forward placed the luckless pair ankle-deep in mud ; the second, found them up to their knees in water ; the third, to their distorted imagination, threatened nothing short of a watery grave. For the ditch being particularly deep at this spot, the rain had formed a kind of reservoir ; the more wildly they plunged, the deeper they became immersed, and now it did indeed appear as if that much-dreamed-of something to their ad- vantage would end in dire calamity. Death by drowning was surely imminent I Fear of one kind banished terror of another. The obstrep- erous drovers, of whom just before they had stood in dread, were now hailed as deliverers. FIRST IN THE FIELD. ii They cried aloud for help, and their piteous appeal could be heard from far and wide. The talk and laughter ceased, and to the rescue, as fast as their legs could carry them, came the roysterers — true enough a pair of drovers, and somewhat jovial after a hea.rt}^ bout, but honest husbands and fathers both, and not in the least disposed to harm a mouse, much less to lay nefarious hands on a woman. Fortunately they were provided with a lantern, and by its friendly aid at once realized the situation. ^ ' Lawks- a-daisy, mother !' cried the first, as he brought the trembling Sabina to land. * As blind as moles ye must be, surely, to miss the road! Maybe — no harm intended — you've been to a funeral and come home a bit groggy, like your betters. Leastways, here you are, safe and sound, on terry-firmy, but as dripping as an 'opping toad. Have you got out t'other female, Jem V * All right, Joe,' retorted his companion, a worthy fellow, but a bit of a wag. ' And a light 'un in hand she is. I'd carry her to NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Lancaster with pleasure, I would. ~So here you are, miss. You'll have to step more than a mile to walk yourself dry again. That's all the comfort I can give ye.' ' Thank you both, dear men !' said Sabina, fumbling in her pocket. * We are strangers here, and very timid ; so timid that when we heard you coming we tried to hide in the hedo-e. For we could not in the least tell o who it was. It might have been thieves or murderers.' * " Might have been " is a peck-measure with- out a bottom,' quoth the waggish deliverer. * I mig-ht have been Pontius Pilate or Lord o Nelson, but am Jem Hepburn instead. The job isn't worth paying for. Howsomdever, as you're so pressing, Pll take sixpence rather than disoblige a lady.' * Dear men, we thank you so much, so very much !' Sabina said, as she slipped sixpence into the hand of each, the thriftier Prue nudging her reproachfully. Then the men wished them ' Good-night,' and went on, laugh- ins over the adventure. FIRST IN THE FIELD. 13 ' I think one sixpence between them would have sufficed/ Prue said, when both had recovered self-possession, and were once more stepping out bravely. ' Oh, Prue, to count the cost of manly deeds ! Had not the rest of my money been sewed up in my stays I should have given double, I am sure I should.' ' I do hope our next adventure will be more pleasant,' Prue said, always hopeful, yet with ardour somewhat damped. * It seems ages already since we left home ; and what a comfort to sleep in a bed once more !' * If we ever do !' Sabina said. Their nocturnal wanderings seemed to have lasted for weeks ; and, on principle, she always pre- pared for the worst. * You see, we can't be half-way yet, and so many more mischances may happen before we arrive ; then if that inn should be shut up — the inn that never opens, you know 1' ' Do let us be brisk !' cried Prue ; so they stepped out with greater determination and alacrity than ever. ^ 14 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. It was now twilight no longer ; but night — silvery, starry, delicious. Sweet smells of wild rose reached them from the hedgerows ; the floor of heaven was studded with dazzling lights ; whilst the glow-worms, lesser stars of earth, illumined the dusky way ; and deeper, in tenser, the Sabbath-like calm brooding over the quiet land. The mood of the travellers varied from ecstatic enjoyment and looking forward, to terrible suspense and gloomy foreboding. Thus no sooner were they well out of one predica- ment than they became frolicsome as kittens, although perhaps on the verge of another far more terrible. ' Think of waking up in an hotel ! I have never eaten a meal in an inn in my life,' Sabina said, with the naive anticipation of a child. * I believe that men are so superior to women in many ways because they go to inns.' ' And if we really find that there is some- thing to our advantage I' laughed Prue. * How new to us to feel rich ! Those two FIRST IN THE FIELD. 15 sixpences you gave away just now ! How nice to be able to give aw^ay, not only six- pences but half-crowns, without feeling low- spirited about it — not exactly low-spirited, perhaps, but a little taken aback at having permitted ourselves such an imprudence/ Sabina caught her companion's gay some mood. ' We have already got something to our advantage, I am sure — this seeing the w^orld, I mean. It is not pleasant to tumble into a ditch full of water, certainly ; but even that experience has given us new insight into human character. Then to reflect that we are hundreds of miles from home, and among people who have never so much as heard of our very existence. The thought of it makes my heart leap. Don't let us dwell too much on the money, or whatever else may be coming to us, but let us enjoy the present moment to the utmost.' Thus they chatted on for a quiet half-hour, nothing more occurring to mar their com- posure ; and soon — yes, there could be no NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. mistake about it — they were approaching the viHage. One or two houses of the Letter sort were passed, their white walls gleaming amid dark shrubberies ; then a cottage or two ; finally, a brisk walk of a few minutes brought them to the village street — if street it could be called — a single line of straggling houses and cottages. Only a feeble light glimmered here and there in some u23per storey. Not a soul seemed astir. Profound silence reis^ned throughout the place. They now came to the inn, the big house described to them. Here, too, all was obscure, silent, deserted. They pulled the bell, they jDlied the knocker ; no friendly step sounded in the corridor, no welcome light moved over- head. Their worst fears then were realized — they were shut out for the night. CHAPTER 11. THE EEVEEEND ME. BACCHUS. ^"^^HE sense of being among human habitations saved them from de- spair. Prue, always alert to take an initiative, and imbued with the conviction that invisible protectors, heaven-sent minis- trants, followed them each step by the way, put on a cheerful countenance. She would knock up every soul in the village, she said, rather than spend the night afield. Sabina, also inexpressibly cheered by the sight of bricks and mortar, gate-posts and cabbage-gardens, acquiesced, with inspiriting allusions to the lost Edwin. iVrm-in-arm they walked on defiantly, and were soon rewarded VOL. I. 2 1 8 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. for tlicir intrepidity. A few liumlrecl yards brought them close under a cheerfully lighted dormer, overhanging a little paled-in flower- garden. Their loud imj^loring knocks brought nobody to the door, but the window was thrown up and a man's head peered out. * Please/ began Prue, in those well-trained accents that immediately, and even to ears not over-sensitive, indicated one gently born and bred. ' Oh, please, can you tell us what to do ? We are strangers, and have just walked from the station. There was no conveyance, and the inn is shut up and won't open. We can't make it.' ' Wait a bit ; I will dress myself and come down,' replied a voice from above, the voice of a man good to women who scream, and babies. The window was closed, and the two, chuckling with relief, watched the tall, lank shadow of their final deliverer, as he moved backwards and forwards. He was evidently making a hasty toilette. In a very few minutes the light vanished THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 19 and the curate appeared, for it was clerical patronage they had found here ; he had donned his pantalon, thrust his stockingiess feet into slippers, thrown on a shabby woollen dressing-gown, and there he was. Not exactly the kind of man to flee to in extraordinary dilemma, looked the Curate of Briardale. There was an air of pathetic absence of mind and dreamy helplessness about him, much as if he had not the remotest conception of what would happen to him the very next moment. But he was a man, he was a clergyman, he. was kind. To Sabina Eicketts and Prudence Perfect he appeared little short of an angel. For very relief and pleasure the pair sat in the parlour to which he had conducted them, smiling speechlessly at him and at each other. ' So the inn is shut up V he began, smiling. ^ There is nothing remarkable in that fact, I assure you. We arc early folks in these parts, and nobody ever takes us by surprise at this hour of the nio;ht.' Then he glanced at the intruders, evidently 2—2 20 NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. wondering what tlieir business at Briardale could be.' ^ We have business in the neighbourhood, and intend taking rooms here for a week or two/ Prue said exphxnatorily. ' But what we are to do for the moment, we are at a loss to conceive.' She looked helpless, but in nowise dis- pirited, as she said this ; all terrors had now vanished from the situation. Had Prue found herself with half a dozen companions in mis- fortune, suddenly cast adrift, from sunken ship in mid-ocean, hardly a rag to cover them, only a handful of haricot-beans and a pint or two of fresh water among all, the presence of a clergyman would have more than sustained her courage. It might have made a Grace Darling, a Jeanne d'Arc of her. Her faith in the cassock was really beautiful. ' I will tell you what you can do,' replied the clergyman, with great good-nature. ' It so happens that my spare room was got read}' this very day for a college friend who had promised to sleep here on liis way to Carlisle. THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 21 Pray accept a bed under my roof for tlie night. You need have no fear as to the dryness of the sheets. I aired them myself. You see,' he added, smiling ruefully, ' since my poor wife'^: death I am obliged to attend to these things.' ' You are too, too kind !' cried Sabina and Prue in a breath. ' I dare say you would both do as much for me,' was the reply. ' But let me explain who I am. I am the curate here ; my name is Bacchus — an odd name for a clergyman any- how, is it not ? and especially for me. Little enough of the Bacchanalian about me, I am sure! But we can't help what names we come into the world with : I wish we could. Well, it is settled then : you sleep here. And now do pray have some supper — bread and cheese and a glass of ale. I am sorry I have nothing better to offer you.' He brought forth the promised cheer, and the travellers moved to the table, flushed with pleasure. They were, indeed, half famished. The bread was passing stale, the cheese a NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. trifle hard, the beer somewhat Hat; but the pair had never degiistated a meal with more relish. The sense, too, of being housed for the night raised their spirits. They supped with all possible despatch, reining in their gaiety and loquaciousness. They had roused the poor curate from his bed, and were them- selves sitting in damp clothes. The sooner the delightful repast ended the better. ' I think you will find everything you want in your room ; I arranged it myself,' said their host, as he conducted them to an upper chamber. ^ My youngest boy is restless with his teething ; but although he disturbs me a good deal, you will not hear him here.' * And we disturbed your sleep !' cried Prue, in a tone of keen self-reproach. * jSTo, indeed ; I was wide awake,' replied the Eev. Mr. Bacchus. 'But these broken nights make me feel terribly sleepy in the daytime. I wish the tables could be turned sometimes, and preachers allowed to nap in the pulpit, instead of their congrej^ations THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 23 napping in the pews. What difference could it make V Then he bade them good-night, the friends saying nothing, because they had no words at command adequate to the occasion. They were too thankful — too full of emotion for speech just now. And next morning, when refreshed by sleep they awoke in this new sweet world, what emotions were theirs ! How rapturously they drew up the blinds, and gazed on a landscape now seen for the first time ! • Tented travellers watchiug an Eastern sun gild the columns of Baalbec, classic enthusiasts catching that first adorable glimpse of Athens from the harbour, could not have felt a more grateful sense of novelty and fascination. Nothing here at all resembled the familiar scenes from which they had come. This wide sunny bay, now a beauteous sheet of silvery water, later on to be a velvety waste of fine brown sand ; those far-off mountains of pale gold and delicate purple ; the rich hanging woods framing in the picture NEXT OF KIX— WANTED. ■ — how wonderful, how fair to their untravelled eyes ! The impressions and experiences of the ni2:ht before, the alternatino; fears and re- joicings, the final welcome — all now filled their minds with delight. And then the Curate's appearance ! They had never beheld a crentleman without his stockino;s before. The whole thing w^as so romantic ! They w^ere almost ready to go downstairs, when they heard the thumping of a child's fists on the door, and in came an odd, con- fidential, precocious bantling of six. ' Papa heard you moving about, so sent me to say breakfast is just ready,' he said. ' Papa washed me, and I put on my clothes my own self ;' and, prattling on in the same strain, he led them downstairs. ^ Which of you ladies will pour out the coffee V asked the Curate cheerfully, emerging from the kitchen coff'ce-pot in hand. Sabina glanced at Prue. Prue was the younger, the more ornamental of the two. Prue was not yet past sentiment and coquetry ; THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 25 clearly she ought to have the gratification of presiding at the Curate's table. So, with a charming blush and shy smile — upon such occafsions Prue felt as youthful as a girl of seventeen — she accepted the invitation. ' Oh dear 1' cried their host, when the business of breakfast was fairly begun ; ' I have clean forgotten prayers. Well, we must have an extra portion to-morrow. Georgie, Jane can't leave the baby, so run and fetch the mustard.' The Kev. Mr. Bacchus looked all the better " for being fully dressed. The black clerical garments set off his fair hair and complexion to the best advantage. His ap- pearance wanted tone, emphasis, relief ; and these blacks and whites gave it. In a light dun-coloured suit it would have been almost a puzzle to say which was the clothing and which the man. Now, there could be no mistake about it. In honour of his visitors, too, he had, how- ever, made his toilet much more elaborately than usual — had trimmed his beard, put on 26 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. some new clothes. In fact, thus done justice to, the Eev. Mr. Bacchus looked no meanly endowed son of Adam. There seemed no point, no purpose about him ; that was the drawback. Sabina and Prue were astonished at their own ease and gaiety ; but, as Prue confessed afterwards, pleasant as it was to be thus hos- pitably entertained, another feeling j^re- dominated — there would be no dreadful hotel-bill in the morning. Had that inhos- jjitable, uncompliant inn opened its doors, who knows what the expense might have been ! They made, however, immediate in- quiries as to lodgings. * I will go with you and see what there is to be had in the village, after breakfast. But pray do not be in such a hurry about it. Georgie will show you the garden whilst I see to my washing. It is the washerwoman's day, and I must get the clothes ready the first thing.' ' And the funeral, papa V put in Georgie. ' Oh dear me !' said the Curate ; * I had clean THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 27 forgotten that there was a funeral. Georgie always has to remind me of these things. And, dear me, there is a christening, too. How inconveniently funerals and christenings always happen ! Well, really, there is no help for it. You ladies must positively share my beans and bacon at one o'clock, and then I promise you faithfully to see about lodgings.' The pair made feeble remonstrance, but their hospitable entertainer w^ould have his way. It was settled, then, they stayed to dinner, and forthwith he bustled off to see 16 his washing. No sooner was he out of the house than Sabina and Prue set to work to make them- selves useful. A huge stack of unmended clothes, just home from the wash, lay on the parlour-table. They brought out their hus- wives, and plied needle and thread w^ith right goodwill. ' I wonder how we shall both feel this day week/ began Sabina — 'whether we shall have come into a fortune, or be going home fools for our pains V 28 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. * There must be something for us, when you think of it,' answered Prue. * You see, we are the very persons wanted, and people are not ferreted out from remote quarters of the globe for nothing.' * After all,' said Sabina, * we may inherit a million, or lose the little we have got. It is not worth thinking about. The world we move in is a mere cocoa-nut tumbling about in space, and w^e mortals are of no more account than ants.' ' It seems to matter,' put in Prue. * But it really doesn't, you know,' Sabina went on. ' On such occasions as these I think of Sir Isaac Newton and the apple, or of Christopher Columbus and the egg ; and then I say, it is all one whether we are happy or miserable.' * But,' said Prue, feeling her way gingerly through the metaphysical labyrinth, * seeming is so like being, that we can't help behaving as if it did matter. And,' she went on with alacrity, as a new light dawned upon her mind, * although, of course, we ought not to THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 29 covet wealth for its own sake, yet, as it seems such a blessing in many ways, it is exactly the same thing as if it were. True, when we think of Sir Isaac Newton and the apple — the wonderful ways of nature, 1 mean — we ought to feel perfectly indifferent to worldly fortune. But downright poverty and affliction, if not of any real consequence, appear so ; we always want to relieve them when they come in our way/ Sabina sighed. ' Put it as you please. If nothing come» of this journey, I shall set it down as an interposition of Providence. Wealth would most likely have been the ruin of us.' ' But without being in the least bit wealthy,' Prue added, sticking to the point, ' we may be put in a position to help others. Suppose, now — suppose this something to our ad- vantage only turns out to be a thousand jDounds apiece — I put it at the lowest possible figure — what a deal of good in a small way we could do I' ' I am not sure that doing good, as you call so NEXT OF KIN—]VANrEI). it, is not another delusion/ Sabina said. * Of course, if tins fortune really comes to us, we should not spend it on ourselves. How to find out who is more deserving ? At least, we are not drunkards, thieves, or im- j)ostors.' ' We need not run into either extreme,' Prue said cheerfully. The more she talked of the dreamed-of wealth, the more surely she felt it hers. * We would not deny ourselves a few little comforts, neither would we squander our money on undeserving objects. And then, you see, there may be five, ten, twenty times as much as we have said.' * Ah r sighed Sabina ; ' why was not this something to our advantage heard of thirty years ago ? Why did not my Edwin live to rejoice in his Bina's good fortune V Prue had ever a cheery word. ' After all,' she said, ' you are happier than if you had never known your Edwin — than if 3'ou had never loved and been loved in return, 1 mean. There is no comparing the two situations.' THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 31 Sabina made sentimental reply, and they chatted over their sewing till mid-day. Then the mended clothes were neatly folded and put back in the basket, and the friends strolled into the garden. * Dear me !' said the Curate, coming to meet them. ' I beg you a thousand apologies ; I have to absent myself again immediately after dinner, so that you must really accept a bed for to-night also. You must, really. Then to-morrow morning I promise you faithfully to see about lodgings.' Sabina looked at Prue ; Prue looked at Sabina. ' It was too, too kind,' both said ; and again the thought occurred to the thrifty mind of Prue, ' What a saving of expense T ' I shall be very glad if you will stay,' pursued their host. ' If Georgie tumbles into the pond, or baby has another fit, Jane wall at least have some one to go to. And I have a considerable journey to make. I cannot be home before dusk. The fact is, a notorious burglar has just been caught red-handed, and NEXT OF KIS— WANTED. popped into Harborough Gaol ; and, in the absence of the chaphiin, I am to go and try and touch his heart. How I am to touch his heart I cannot imagine ; but go I must. The poor fellow, they say, is sure to be hanged.' ' Of course, we will stay if you wish it ; we are only too happy,' Prue said, thinking how pleasant it would be to get their boxes from the station, and ])e able to wear her best gown. * The trap that drives me to the station can bring back your luggage,' said the Curate, as if anticipating her thoughts. ' You will like, I dare say, to unpack your things.' The friends thanked him, and gratefully resigned themselves to the inevitable. True, they were delaying the fateful revela- tion ; they would not learn for another day or two the tidings so anxiously, so tremblingly looked for. But, on the other hand, they felt almost fearful of possessing the truth. It might be but the bursting of a child's soap- bubble after all. THE REVEREND MR. BACCHUS. 33 ' And then to feel so safe, so sheltered here/ cried Sabina, 'after exposure to dangers of all kinds, and perils of the deep ! Well, not perils of the deep, exactly ; yet, if water is deep enough to drown you, one might just as well be in the Atlantic Ocean as in a ditch at home — it is the same thing in the end.' 'And, of course, when men are quite alone in the world, they are more interesting to women,' Prue replied. ' It must be so. This kind Mr. Bacchus — I wonder what we can do for him in turn !' They found that they need not wonder long. What with amusing the baby, binding up Georgie's thumb, helping Jane to gather currants, and repairing another basket of clothes, the time passed profitably and all too quickly. It was one of the happiest days they could remember, both said. VOL. I. CHAPTER III. EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. INDING between limestone crags, pastures dazzlingly bright dotted \3^2j(^^^^ with herds, park-like slopes and rich woods, a sweet little limpid lake lying deep down in the green, the road climbs upwards from Briardale in the direction of Hoped ale Fell. The fell is seen far off, a grand silvery peak, lightly tinted here and there wdth green. The sparse habitations passed on the way are all built of the grey limestone of the district, and wonderfully does it harmonize with the landscape. One great charm of the scenery is tlie luxuriance of the hedo-es. Where the EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 35 division is not made of neatly-piled blocks of stone, we find hedges of the old-fashioned sort, a tangle of honeysuckle, wild rose, and clematis, with abundance of hazel-trees, now showing the young nuts. Ivy clothes the limestone walls, and every bit of waste ground is bluish-green with the berries of the juniper- tree. It is as if a blue cloud had dropped down. Wild flowers abound, but the amateur must go farther afield for rarities or un- common ferns. Having climbed for three- quarters of an hour, the traveller catches a last glimpse of the sea — here a mere silvery streak above the purple fells — before dipping into the valley that leads to Hopedale. Then are passed neat cottages with charming fiower-gardens, beautiful meadows tenanted by happy kine, and the straggling village is reached, with its fine old church and grand bit of ivy-covered masonry — the keep of the Manor. This is, however, not seen from the village ; a large winding' meadow leads to the back of the farmhouse built on to the ruins, and it is necessary to get round to the other 3—2 36 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. side to realize the former size and solidity of the structure. Only the keep, with a fragment or two of wall and Gothic window, remain. As far as practicable, modern oc- cupiers have turned the ruin to advantage. The tower is roofed in, and used for storage of farming implements. The homestead, out- buildings, and ruin make a huge walled-in congeries of building's, not without a certain picturesqueness ; whilst the scenery around is charming — sloping pastures of brightest, velvety green ; white cottages nestling amid orchards and gardens ; and, beyond all, the grey fells tapestried with green, and dim West- moreland hills. The wdiite smoke of the far-off railway threading such scenes on week-days breaks the solitude of Briardale. Here, at Hopedale, are fewer signs of life — scattered groups of hay-makers at work ; a ploughman turning the soil ; a farmer getting in the rich crop of purple comfrey — for the most part, only the quiet cows and sheep enjoying their rich pastures to the utmost. A variety of birds EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 37 are seen here in abundance, on heath and seashore ; whilst young rabbits scuttle about the hillsides, as if they, too, were playthings, and not prey of human kind. ' When are they going to make their appear- ance, I wonder — the dear creatures in search of something to their advantage V said Mrs. de Eobert, the owner of Hopedale Manor, to her friend, the beautiful and spirited Eugenia Ivory. ' Though, to be sure,' she added, in those quick, satirical, cynical tones of hers, ' when I have got rid of all I have to give them, and you and I are ready to sally forth, as you call it, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventure, what adventures can possibly happen to us — at any rate to an old woman like myself?' Miss Ivory answered with perfect gravity. She was one of the few people who can say the most astounding things and tell the most wonderful stories with an unmoved counten- ance. Age has nothing whatever to do with 38 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. romance. At seventy, Ninon de I'Enclos turned the head of every man who beheld licr, and Madame de Maintenon bewitched the King; of France when she was old enouoh to be a great-grandmother.' ' Well, suppose we do get as far as Kome, now, if everything turns out well and we really do start on our travels. What could possibly happen to us in Eome V Miss Ivory opened wide her handsome eyes. ' Dozens of extraordinary things. For in- stance, when we get there we shall take an apartment for the winter, as other people do, of course, and our introductions will bring us a little society. One Italian count, of suital)le age, wants to marry you ; another, his nephew, wants to marry me. But when matters come to a point the notaries have muddled the names, and, do what we will, you are married to the young man and I to the old. Such imbroglios are of daily occurrence.' ' Well, I don't suppose we shall ever get to Rome,' Mrs. de Eobcrt said, with her dry little EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 39 laugh. ' But we may perhaps get to Cha- mouni. Now, as if anything could possibly happen to us at Chamouni!' Miss Ivory looked more incredulous than ever. ' The very land of hazard and exploit ! The first thing we are sure to hear on arriving is that some unwary traveller is just lost in the glaciers. Every soul in the place sets out in the search. You join one party, I another (by way of variety, we must not always keep together) ; but your party is snowed up in the chalet at the top of Mont Blanc for a week — - mine starts off for Constantinople next day. When we meet again, we shall both have travelled half over Europe.' ' Oh dear, how nice it would be ! but it will never be, I am sure of that. Well, we may perhaps get so far as Paris. That is certainly not too much of an undertaking in these days. Now, what on earth in the way of adventure could happen to us in Paris V ' As if Paris were not, after all, the only place for adventure in the proper sense of the 40 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. word/ continued Miss Ivory, grave as before. ' What, indeed, may not happen to us or to anyone else in Paris ! We are sauntering, for instance, in the quieter alleys of the Ijois de Boulogne. The ball of a pistol whizzes just over our bonnets ' ' Oh dear !' cried Mrs. de Kobert. ' We hear a heavy thud,' serenely pursued Miss Ivory, ' and come suddenly upon two duellists, now embracing and the best of friends. The wounded man beo-s us to shield his antagonist of the minute before ; the other implores us to do wdiat we can for the victim, but to leave him to his fate. As the hurt is but slight, we take back both in our carriage, and find that we have made the acquaintance of — whom do you think ? — the first tenor of the Grand Opera and the star of the Theatre Franyais.' ' After all, perhaps adventures as you invent them are the most amusing. At my age, one doesn't want shocks and commotion.' ' And you are not like poor me. You are not a novice in romance, a spinster ; you have EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 41 already tasted the sweets of love !' said Eugenia, with an air of mock sentiment. Mrs. de Eobert smiled an odd smile. ' Humph ! the sweets of love, as you call them ! Shall I tell you, Ivey, the only love- like speech my poor dear Afiie ever made me in his life ? It was on our honeymoon. He said, " Do you know how it came about that I fell desperately over head and ears with you V " I have not the remotest idea," said I. "Well," said he, "it was when the horse shie(i that day I drove you to the station. Out you jumped — I never saw anything nimbler in my life — showing the neatest ankle imaoinable. I vowed I would marry you if you would have me." Now, Ivey, you are a sensible girl. You have your wits about you. Can you imagine a man being such a fool as to marry a woman for no better reason than that V ' It was amiable — it was appreciative.' ' Ah ! he was amiable enough — my darling Affie ! One must die to be a darling ; I never thought him one whilst he lived. " Affie !" I would call from my bedroom door — " Affie, 42 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. love, come and lace up my stays !" and, no matter what he was about, he always came running like a hare. Yes; one must die to be a darling, Jenny ; and that you wdll find out.' ' Fortunately, it is not a compliment we can enjoy when paid to ourselves,' Eugenia answered. * It is a compliment no one shall pay me,' laughed Mrs. de Robert. 'That is w4iy I want to dispose of the de Robert property, and be free to make ducks and drakes of my own. But, Eugenio, if nobody comes to claim this Something to their advantage, what then T Mrs. de Robert had an odd habit of calling people by any other name than the right one. The nearest approach to correctness in Miss Ivory's case was * Eugenio,' only made use of when weighty matters impended. * Never fear,' answered the oracle. * Wait a week, and the place will swarm with them. The Social Science Congress, the Church Con- vocation, the Salvation Army, and other EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 43 dreadful invasions of the last year or two will be nothing to them/ ' You make my hair stand on end T ejaculated Mrs. de Eobert. ' What shall we do with them all? I begin to feel that I have done an imprudent, a wild thing.' 'Anything is better than twirling your thumbs and doing nothing,' rejoined Eugenia. Then she sighed. ' I feel it, Eoberta — cosy as we are at Hopedale, we are gradually deterio- rating ; another year or two of this existenca would ■ make us dull as oysters. We w^ant contact with other minds ; fresh experiences of human nature — the good, the bad, and the indifferent.' ' You are rioht there. Poor dear Mr. o Bacchus, for instance. A worthier man never twaddle-dum-dee'd in the pulpit ; yet how tired we are of him ! And the Vicar ? What is there to say against the Vicar, except that he does not entertain us — just that, and nothino; more. If I thoug;hfc he would ever succeed in entertaining you, no inducement would make me leave this dead-alive place.' 44 NEXT OF KIN — WANTED. * Lovers should never belong to the same parish/ was the reply. ' They should sigh for each other from afar, like the palm and the fir-tree in the legend ; not be near neighbours, like cabbages in the same garden. It is naughty of me to say so ; but when in tete-a-tete with the Vicar, I feel that we are both as uninteresting as cabbages.' ' He does not, I am sure. Never had any man a better opinion of himself, or of you. There he is at the garden-gate, with a letter in his hand — from some claimant, of course. You may be sure of one thing, Ivey — we shall have a hun- dred famished rats after our morsel of cheese.' * Let them come,' said Eugenia blandly. ''Twill be hard if we don't find one with esprit out of the number.' The Vicar of Hopedale presented a striking contrast to his neighbour, the Curate of Briardale. Everything about the Honourable Keverend Algar Meridian was correctness itself — name, appearance, deportment. Most people, indeed, would have thought Miss Ivory extremely fastidious to compare him for EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 45 a moment to a cabbage. Good-looking, well- read, affable — how could slie or any other woman possibly find fault with him ! He was a clergyman, it is true, and his conversation had to be toned down accordingly, quitting such subjects as Mr. Kuskin's latest utterance, or Mr. Browning's laot poem, for old women's flannel petticoats, the parochial lying-in-bag, and the cropping of little girls' curls at the Sunday-school. It was his misfortune, not his fault, if he felt obliged to quote Scripture now and then, whether occasion served or no. Being a clergyman, it was hardly his fault either that duty exacted short drawing-room sermons to the more mundane of his lady parishioners. Miss Ivory, for one, had to l)e reproved for her persistent, her wilful indif- ference on the subject of school-children's curls, the parochial funeral bonnets, blankets, and so forth. ' Good-day, Mr. Meridian,' was Mrs. de Eobert's blunt greeting. ' I hope, for once, you are going to enliven us. Are they begin- ning to come '? and who are they V 46 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. * !N^ot commoijplace mortals like ourselves, surely V smiled Eugenia, as she rose and held out a fair hand to the Vicar. ' Do not tell us we are to be thus cruelly disenchanted.' ' Miss Ivory seems to expect that heroes of romance are as plentiful in real life as black- berries/ Mr. Meridian said, smiling away the edQ:e of his sarcasm. ' Nothino; short of a Monte Christo, or at least an Edward Eochester, will satisfy her. Well, I am sorry to say apple-dumplings and not ambrosia must be your fare to-day.' Miss Ivory had ever a sarcasm to tling at him in return. ' It is at least something to know which is which. You grant me that V 'Do tell us all about it,' put in ]\Irs. de Eobert, eying the letter. The A^icar, still looking at Miss Ivory, retorted teasingly : ' Whom should you expect but a batch of poor curates with a dozen children apiece, or half a dozen widows from Bath with a phalanx of marriageable daughters V EXPECTING THE CLAIMANTS. 47 ' Well, at any rate, they are not Hopedale folks. There will be the charm of freshness, of a certain kind of novelty/ replied Eugenia coldly. * Come, Mr. Meridian, out with your news I who is first in the field V asked Mrs. de Eobert, beginning to lose patience. Mr. Meridian thereupon, putting on an ex- pression as grave as if he were about to preach a Lenten sermon, besan : CHAPTER IV. ox THE QUI VIVE. ' ^^^^^^'^E text of this letter I need hardly give entire,' said the Eev. Mr. Meridian, with a slightly pompous air ; ' the writers, Miss Sabina Ricketts and Miss Prudence Perfect ' ' Heaven bless us and save us !' cried Mrs. de Robert, ready to burst forth wdth fury. ' Are we to have all the gossiping old maids from the four quarters of the globe ? They must go home, pack and baggage. I'll not give them a penny.' * They seem to be very estimable ladies,' ])ursued the Vicar, in a tone of mild rcproval ; ' there can be no doubt of that. Deserving objects ' ON THE QUI VIVE. 49 ' Deserving objects are not what I am on the look-out for,' Mrs. de Eobert cried, grow- ing more and more ireful. ' What I want is my late husband's next of kin, his heirs direct; their circumstances and deserts have nothing to do with me.' ' These poor ladies seem to be the very persons wanted,' pursued the Vicar. * Their papers are in order — that is to say, their relationship to the late lamented Mr. de Eobert is clearly made out.' * They are spinsters. Their names are not his. I must have a married man with sons to inherit the family heirlooms — or nobody,* blurted out Mrs. de Eobert, in high dudgeon. ' Unfortunately we cannot fabricate these husbands and fathers to order/ smiled Euge- nia serenely ; ' and, after all, next of kin is next of kin. Petticoats and chimney-pot hats have nothing w^hatever to do with the matter.' ' But names have. The property must go to a de Eobert, and to one else,' retorted Mrs. de Eobert. * I am sure there must be a VOL. I. 4 50 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. genteel young man of tlie true stock some- where.' ' But what if we cannot lay hands upon him V Eugenia said, softening down matters as best she could. * We must content our- selves with Miss Sabina Kicketts and Miss Prudence Perfect. And who knows ? There are spinsters even more interesting than your genteel young men.' Thus saying, she glanced at the Vicar. 'And far more malicious,' w^as his tart reply. * However, my dear Mrs. de Eobert, as the poor ladies are here, what am I to say to them ? what am I to do with them V ' Don't come to me for advice,' Mrs. de Robert answered w^aspishly. ' They are not next of kin in the sense I intended. What good can family heirlooms do a pair of single women with one foot in the grave V ' Nay, their respective ages hardly warrant such an assertion as that,' said Mr. Meridian ; * let me read the dates to you from their cer- tificates of baptism.' ' Throw their certificates of baptism in ON THE QUI VIVE. 51 the fire, for aught I care. Selina Beckett and Patience Purfle are nothing to me, I say,' Mrs. de Kobert replied. ' The best thing they can do is to go back from whence they came.' Both Mr. Meridian and Miss Ivory were accustomed to these bursts of temper, which might well have disconcerted a stranger. Eugenia now put in, as gravely as if Mrs. de Robert were herself in the sweetest of humours : ' I don't think, Roberta dear, that you could * well let the ladies go without first paying them some attention — say, inviting them to tea.' ' As you please. You and Mr. Meridian can settle the matter between you ; only don't expect me to entertain.' Miss Ivory smiled encouragingly upon the Vicar. ' You will come to my aid, will you not V ' Do I not ever turn my left cheek to the smiter V was the reply. ' Beautifully. But about this important business of the tea, I had better let you know later. I will call at the Vicarage then, when 4—2 UNIVERSITY OF liUNOIS LIBRARY 52 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Mrs. de Robert and I have talked the matter over.' * It requires no talking over. The sooner the better,' said Mrs. de Robert. * Unkind Mrs. de Robert ! you will not, then, let me devise an errand to the Vicarage, in order to disturb the Vicar over his sermons — the only crosses of his bachelor existence !' * If they were !' ejaculated Mr. Meridian ; ' but I must be going. Good-day, ladies. I remain inert till further orders.' Mrs. de Robert was about to make provo- cative retort, but before she could fairly begin, her visitor was gone. Truth to tell, delight- fully odious as the Vicar found Miss Ivory at all times, he did not relish the elder lady's ill-temper. The more the beautiful Eugenia satirized him the more adorable he found her ; but Mrs. de Robert's tantrums upset his nerves and deranged his digestion. Human beings, to be properly understood, like the planetary bodies, must be taken at the proper angle. He had never discovered how to take Mrs. de Robert at the proper angle. ON THE QUI VIVE. 53 * Just like the Vicar ! He can always find his way here when he has anything disagree- able to say. But, Eugenio, I tell you for once and for all, these tiresome, gossiping, cheese- paring old maids shall have nothing. You know what my darling Affie's wishes were — ah ! one must die to be a darling, as I am always saying ; I seldom thought him one whilst he lived. I say, you know what his wishes were.' ' Wishes won't make the world spin back- wards ; "and, though nothing would seem easier, seeing how stupid they are, you can't manu- facture human beings to order/ Eugenia said. ' I shall wait, then. It was agreed between us that at some time or other I should hand over the family plate, the jewels, the Murilly, and all the rest of it, to my husband's next of kin, and since my poor dear uncle died — there, again ! — when did I ever dream of calling him dear in his lifetime ? — I have quite enough of my own.' * Moreover, we want to quit Hopedale and 54 NEXT OF KIN^WANTED. sally forth, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventure.' ' Anything you like. Have it all your own way, Jenny,' Mrs. de Kobert replied, having now quite recovered her temper. ' So long as I get rid of the cumbersome old silver (which, being at the bankers', might as well lie at the bottom of the river Jordan) and the family jewels (of no more good to me either than a child's coral), I don't care. You see, but for Affie's feeling about these things I should have called myself plain Sarah Eoberts long a2:o. But he stuck to the de and the Jleur de Us and the family motto, as Father Abraham to the cave of Machpelah. He will never rest in his grave if they go to the wrong person.' ' We will take good care of that. It would be hard indeed if he could not rest there,' Miss Ivory said soothingly. They chatted a little longer over these matters. Then, as soon as the afternoon sun slanted over the apple-trees and the garden was fresh and cool, Mrs. de Eobert put on her ON THE QUI VIVE. 55 sun-bonnet and betook herself to her favourite task of gathering gooseberries and peas. Mean- time, Miss Ivory dressed herself and set out for the village. The young lady's appearance created more interest and curiosity than the occasion would seem to warrant. She was worth looking at, certainly, whether rustically attired in broad - brimmed straw-hat and light muslin gown as to-day, or clad in one of those dark ricli dresses she wore on wintry Sundays — pelisses of softest velvet, tippets of rarest fur. But the good villagers saw her pretty often all the year round. Why, then, in Heaven's name, should buxom Mrs. Cheeseman, the grocer's wife, quit her sugar- weighing to watch Miss Ivory well out of sight ? Why should Miss Pry, the postmistress, generally as automatic in her movements as a sewing-machine, become suddenly agile as an eel at the first glimpse of Eugenia's parasol ? And Mr. Boning, the butcher— most prosaic of mortals, whose mental vision seldom soared beyond a sirloin — how came it about that he became all at once 56 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. absorbed in Miss Ivory's movements, and quite indifferent to the leg of mutton he had just unhooked for a customer ? The behav- iour of what is called society exhibited the same inquisitiveness. Mrs. Leach, the doctor's wife, who contrived to see all that went on i'rom her draAving-room window, watched the passer-by as if she were a phenomenon. The young ladies at the Lodge, daughters of the retired brewer, Mr. Tubby, at sight of their charming neighbour, lost all interest in the croquet game. Mr. Hammer, the rich old auc- tioneer, now retired and received, as the phrase goes, dropped his newspaper and spectacles, and called to his wife in the adjoining room : * Here comes Miss Ivory — Miss Ivory, my dear I' Like poor lo in the Greek story, the beautiful Eugenia was pursued by a hundred eyes. Not that they seemed in the least to disconcert her. On she tripped towards the Vicarage, bowing to this acquaintance, smiling to that, and roguishly affecting a look of mys- tery and importance. ON THE QUI VIVE. 57 Truth to tell, the subject uppermost in people's minds just now was this business of Mrs. de Robert's expected next of kin. It w^as the first time anything had really hap- pened in the village ; that is to say, anything out of the common way. There was no con- ceivable reason why Hopedale folks should want anything to happen. In this enviable village matters invariably took their natural course. No one did what his fathers had not done before him. Youths and maidens paired off in proper prosaic fashion ; elderly folks made their wills and died in their beds. No one was ever known to run away with his neighbour's wife, much less to poison his own. Yet so insatiable is human curiosity, so blind the general desire to plunge into the unknown, that these misguided inhabitants of Hopedale became all at once dissatisfied. No sooner was Mrs. de Robert's scheme published abroad, than every soul in the place developed a morbid craving for excitement. Daily routine was suddenly found insupport- able. Everybody found everybody else as 58 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. dull as ditchwater. Ordinary affairs ceased to possess the faintest interest. Mrs. de Eobert's next of kin, and the something they were to hear of to their own advantage, had fairly turned people's heads. The merest bagatelle connected with this subject awakened intensest curiosity. The last relevant incident was speculated upon for hours. Morning, noon and night the village was on the alert. Events of some kind or other must soon come to 'pass ; and what events ! Maidens conjured up a welcome invasion of the other sex : bearded hosts from remote corners of the globe ; gallant Hussars from the Nilgherry Hills ; sunburnt ranchmen from Texas ; Australasia, too, would surely send its love-making contingent ; indeed, except from Jupiter and the moon, whence might not an heir of the de Roberts be expected ? With older, prosier folks, speculation took a material turn. Upholsterer, carpenter, and mason were all reckoning up what jobs the new owners of Hopedale would give them ; for of course the place would be thoroughly ON THE QUI VIVE. 59 repaired and put in order by its new occupant. The gardener, in advance of the rest, ordered a supply of exotics and ornamental shrubs from the nearest town. The creation of a flower-garden, in the modern sense of the word, would be one of the first things thought of. Miss Cotton, the village milliner and dress- maker, laid in a good supply of flowers and ribbons, thread, buttons, and tape. There would be plenty of picnics, pleasure-parties, weddings, ere the season was over. She be- lieved all this as if she had read of it in the pages of the prophet Jeremiah. The big people, as well as the little, appro- priated to themselves their full share of benefits. Sir Percy Fitzallan, the largest landowner hereabouts, had already in imagination added the de Eobert estate to his own. It was exactly what he wanted to make his property neat and complete as a bandbox. Confound that irascible old woman ! Why could she not 6o NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. sell it to him quietly, and hand over the pro- ceeds to these heirs, if any turned up ? Well, he should get it now ; that was quite certain. Who, in his sober senses, would not thank- fully exchange a ramshackle old house and a few hundred acres of poor land for a handsome sum down ? Mr. Gabell, architect, land-surveyor, and building speculator, was also already the new proprietor of Hopedale Manor — in so far, at least, as imagination was concerned. The neighbourhood was fast improving. Briar- dale promised to develop into a favourite summer resort. The Lake country lay within easy reach. Lastly, Mrs. de Kobert's house was only a quarter of a mile from the parish church ; and no one could say a word against the Vicar's doctrine — no taint there ! The outlay of a few hundred pounds would turn the place into the very thing for a retired Manchester man ; ' and it shall not slip through my fingers, if my name is Augustus Gabell,' said the enterprising architect to himself. ON THE QUI VIVE. 6 1 One and another, the good people at Hopedale were in the mental condition of spectators gathered round a gaming-table. The croupier was at his post — the stakes were laid ; the issues of the game no mortal could foretell. CHAPTER y. IN THE CURATE S GAIJDEX. H dear !' cried the Rev. Mr. Bacchus ; ' there is Miss Ivory and the Yicar I I had better leave you, I think ; their business is sure to be Avith you, not me.' Three days had elapsed since that tre- mendous adventure of the ditch, for tremen- dous it seemed to the two inexperienced travellers, Sabina Ricketts and Prudence Per- fect. They were still under the Curate's roof, and still likely to be. ' Really,' their host had said, on the second morning after their arrival, ' really now, why on earth should you not stay on here ? The IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 63 friend I spoke of is not coming after all, and I have let lodgings before. Well, not let lodg- ings exactly, but in my poor wife's time we always had some one with us who paid for everything — the same thing in the end.' The two ladies blushed and stammered very much, finally screwed up courage to allude to payment. The Rev. Mr. Bacchus cut them short, and made their minds easy upon that score, and everything was comfortably settled. It was the greatest possible relief to him, he said ; for with only Jane in the house he always came home expecting, like the A^icar of Wakefield, to find the place burnt to the ground. The sight of the Curate's hat and great-coat hanging up in the hall, Sabina said, reminded her of old days, of the lost Edwin. She could not understand how it was, but she always felt quite safe with a hat and great-coat hanging up in the hall. As to Prue, she already looked and felt younger by years. She exuberated in the delicious, the rejuvenating sense of romance. 64 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Not an hour under tlie Curate's roof, not an incident but Avas significant, touched with the spell of novelty and suggestion. The chats over the frugal table ; the taking part in the management of his house ; the strolls with their host and the children — all these experiences were bewildering and de- lightful. ' Oh dear !' then cried the Curate, in a voice of positive alarm ; ' there is Miss Ivory and the Vicar.' It w^as now evening, and peace brooded over the small domain. The baby was in its first sound sleep. Georgie, who put himself to bed whenever he chose, on this occasion had chosen to do it betiaie?. The rose-em- bowered cottage and straggling garden were bathed in the warm, amber light of parting day. There seemed no reason why such perfect tranquillity should be disturbed by these visitors. The place, alike within and without, w^as ju^^t then orderly. There was nothing for the Curate to be ashamed of about his own IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 65 appearance. He no longer had on his hands those domestic duties that entailed personal untidiness — the making of baby's puddings, or cooking the family dinner, and so forth. The errand of the two ladies, his inmates, and the fact of their sojourn under his roof, had been duly announced at the Manor and the Vicarage. Why, then, should Mr. Bacchus shrink from Miss Ivory with looks so deprecatory, so apologetic, as much as to say that he was very sorry, he felt everything about him was wrong and unsatisfactory; in fact, just the opposite of what things ought to be ; but he could not help it — he could not, really ? The Vicar gave Miss Ivory his hand as she alighted from the basket-carriage, and fastened the pony to the gate ; then the pair advanced towards their host with the smiling affability of intruders sure of a welcome. Eugenia's expression indicated something more. There was real cordiality, nay, feeling, in the look with which she no\Y met the two timid, hesi- tating strangers. VOL. I. 5 66 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. . ^ Dear me I' cried the Curate; 'what am I thinking about, not to introduce you ? I never kno\y what I am thinking about, I am sure. Mrs. de Robert's relations — Miss Ivor}', the A^icar of Ilopedale.' ' Ever reproaching yourself for imaginary shortcomings,' Eugenia said. ' Indeed, there was no need of introductions ; but Mr. Bacchus will die of a tender conscience some day, I always tell him.' ' Imaginary shortcomings, indeed !' replied the Curate, standing first on one foot, then on the other, with the look of the guiltiest mortal alive. Xow he was red, then pale; one moment apparently on the verge of despair, the next relieved from some dire suspense. ' I had better leave you all, I had indeed,' lie be2:an aij^ain. * On no account,' smiled Eugenia. ' Whilst the Yicar confabulates with our new friends, you must show me your roses.' Air. Meridian turned from the pair with the assurance of a suitor who has no rival. So legible the thought, ' If I cannot satisfy Miss IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 67 Ivory's aspirations, who can ?* he might almost have uttered it aloud. Evidently not caring how long the Curate might detain Eugenia among his roses, only perhaps annoyed that she should suffer herself to be so detained, he now gave his mind to the fulfilment of his errand. ' Miss Ivory will have a little conversation with you later,' he began, sitting down on the rustic bench beside the pair; 'but not on matters of business. These my respected friend Mrs. de Robert leaves entirely in my. hands. ^ ' Of course — certainly — we are much obliged to you,' Sabina and Prue said nervously. Was it possible that they were to learn their fate then and there ? Meantime Eugenia and the Curate had reached the standard-roses at the other end of the garden. 'I don't know how it is/ said Mr. Bacchus; *my roses never turn out as well as other people's, yet I give myself no end of trouble about them.' 5—2 68 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED, *What fault can you possibly find Avith this ?' asked Miss Ivory, bending over a magnificent Gloire de Dijon. ' Of course if you find it perfection, I have nothing more to say; I am delighted,' an- swered Mr. Bacchus, bringing out his pocket- knife to clip it for her. ' That is not the point,' pursued Eugenia. ' My opinion has nothing to do with the real merits of the rose. Where are the blemishes you allude to ?' He had offered her tlie rose, and she now held it up scrutinizingly. ' I don't know that it has any blemishes,' he replied. ' I hope not, I am sure, since you are good enough to accept it.' Eugenia still held up his gift, smiling re- proachfully. ' You have jDcrceptions, at least I suppose so,' she said. ' You know if anything is beautiful or hideous, or if it appears beautiful or hideous ?' 'Oh yes! I wont disown perceptions; I wish I could. How much happier people IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 69 would be if they had no perceptions — I often think that!' rejoined the Curate. ' And I think exactly the contrary. It seems to me that the more perceptions we have, and the stronger they are, the happier we must be as a natural consequence.* ' Yes, you always think exactly the opposite of what I think,' was the rueful reply. ' I do wish for once, just for once now, that we two could think alike. It would be such a pleasure to me.' ' We think alike about thousands of thing s^' Eugenia said. ' You believe, for instance, that two and two make four, and that the world turns upside down once a year ; so do I. But if we talked from morning to night on such subjects, should we be any the wiser ?' ' Why should people always want to be getting wiser ?' asked Mr. Bacchus. ' I never could conceive why myself.' ' Why should people always want to be getting stupider ?' rejoined Eugenia. ' If the only object of conversation were to find out 70 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. how many people think alike, the world would soon be peopled with brainless idiots.' * Oh dear !' cried the Curate, ' that would be too terrible. I should not like to have the place swarming with brainless idiots. I often feel like one myself.' ' Then,' smiled Eugenia sweetly, ' you see how advisable it is for the best of friends to lead a cat-and-dog life of it — conversationally, I mean. By this means they sharpen each other's wits, and worry each other into a proper state of widea wakefulness.' ' Pray worry me, then, as much as you please. I always feel that I want to l;e waked up.' ' You are certainly wide-awake when you graft your roses, however sleepy you are when you gather them,' was the reply. ' Your show is the finest I have seen this year.' ' How kind of you to encourage me ! That is just what I want, a little friendly encourage- ment.' ' You may then give me as many roses as you please, if you call acceptance encourage- 7iV THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 71 ment,' Miss Ivory said, with a distractingly benevolent smile ; and clip, clip, away went the Curate's pocket-knife, devastating right and left. ' Stop, I entreat you !' cried Eugenia, aghast. ' Must you have mathematical precision upon every occasion ? Should I say, " One white, one red, one yellow rose," as if I were selecting French flowers in a milliner's shop, at six- pence apiece ? I take these,' she added, accepting half a dozen — ' three for Mrs. de Robert and three for myself — and pray leave the rest where they are. You are much too generous.' ' Am I really ? Am I too much of any- thing ? I only wish I could think so. I always feel exactly the reverse, as if I were too little, desperately little, next to nothing of anything. I often wonder how people feel who have a really first-rate opinion of them- selves. It must be so agreeable, like coming into a fortune.' ' It ought to be an easy thing to learn. We have plenty of examples,' Miss Ivory rejoined. 72 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. quietly satirical ; then she glanced mischie- vously towards the group on the rustic bench. All this time furtive feminine glances from the rustic bench had followed the Curate and his guest. Whilst the Vicar paid no attention whatever to the persiflage among the roses, and Sabina waited in an agony of suspense for his revela- tions, Prue's thoughts were in two places at once. Her interest in the disclosures to come w^as as keen as Sabina's ; she listened with rapidly beating heart for the next word Mr. Meridian should utter, but at the same time she was mindful of all o-olna- on at the other end of the garden. The Curate's proffered rose; the beautiful Miss Ivory's acceptance; her sparkling banter; his hesitation, more elo- quent than ready speech; the cordiality ex- isting between the pair — nothing was missed by that eager listener and looker-on. Under other circumstances Prue would have checked these feelings, so far mastered herself as to allow no betrayal of emotion; but could she, could any mortal be expected to IN THE CURATE'S GARDEN. 73 look calm and indifferent at such a moment ? On the lips of the Yicar hung fate and destiny, the acme of fortune or humiliating disen- chantment. Quite excusably, therefore, she might falter, change colour, tremble, and even show starting tears. The real cause of her agitation none could guess. Sabina, too, Prue saw, with great satisfaction, was no calmer than herself The little woman showed the strangest inclination to laugh and cry at the same time. As she afterwards told. Prue in confidence, waiting for the Vicar's disclosures was like waiting for poor dear Edwin's offer over again. She had never forgotten how she felt when he was on the verge of speaking out. It was as if the earth had yawned at her feet ; and it was as if the earth yawned at the feet of both now. CHAPTER VI. BONGO. MUST first explain/ began the Yicar, ' tliat Mrs. de Robert will not allow any claimants — unless, indeed, their number should prove legion — to be put to expense in this matter. At least, in your own case, the cost of this journey will be defrayed, whether it is made to good purpose or in vain.' * How kind, how considerate T cried Sabina and Prue in a breath. So greatly were their minds relieved by this piece of intelligence, that they felt as if they had come into a small fortune already. Both laughed aloud, but feeling ready to cry BONGO. the next moment. Those last words the Vicar had used — those ill-omened words ' in vain '-^seemed to scatter their hopes to the winds ; and just then Prue saw Eugenia fastening the Curate's rose to her dress. ' You must kindly bear in mind that Mrs. de Eobert is entirely a free agent in the disposal of her late husband's property,' con- tinued Mr. Meridian. ' It was legally willed to her without any conditions whatever, and she is bound by Mr. de Eoberfc's wishes only to cast about for an heir. Then there is the question of suitability ;' and as he said this, Mr. Meridian looked significantly and pene- tratingly at his hearers. Sabina and Prue were once more on the verge of tears. Yes, both felt already con- vinced that they had drawn blanks in a lottery. It w-as about as likely that they should be found suitable as that they should discover perpetual motion, or invent a flying- machine. Prue glanced at the animated figures of Miss Ivory and her adoring cavalier with a sinking of the heart. Eoses, adora- -](> NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. tion, the more poetic aspect of life, such things were not for her. Sabina thought of Edwin lying in his cold grave, and resigned herself. The Yicar went on : ' The heir must be suitable, and the decision of such suitability rests with Mrs. de Robert herself. In the natural order of things, an heir-direct may be of either sex ; but in this case, not only a continuer of the race is wanted, but one in w^hose person the race will in all likelihood be continued. Mrs. de Robert hopes, in fact, to find a male descendant of the f^imily.' ' Of course ; w^e quite understand — how stupid of us not to think of it !' ejaculated the pair, trying, in some degree, to veil their discomfiture. They had told themselves over and over again to expect such a disillusion ; it w^as none the less hard to bear when it came. ' At the same time,' said Mr. Meridian, a kind-hearted man enough in his own way — to be kind-hearted in other people's way is quite another matter — ' you have taken a proper BONGO. 77 course in coming to Hopedale. Mrs. de Robert is the last person in the world to overlook that fact ; and if she is reluctantly compelled to waive your claims to the property in toto, she will not, I am sure, permit you to go back empty-handed. ' That last piece of information was balm of Gilead, indeed. Sabina looked delighted beyond measure. Prue's eyes brightened ; then she glanced towards the standard-roses, feeling that after all, although it did not matter in the least — although, as Sabina said, nothing really mattered — a fifty-pound, a twenty-pound — aye, even a ten-pound note would be an immense comfort. ' Mrs. de Eobert will act honourably — that is what I meant to say,' added the Vicar. ' She will not let you be losers by undertaking this journey. Into particulars of the nature and value of the property I am not now at liberty to enter. All these facts will be com- municated later wdien other claimants have come forward.' He seemed to have done speaking, when an 78 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. odd smile rose to his lips. He was thinking of the contrast presented by his own state- ment of the case, and the way in which Mrs. de Kobert had just put it. What would these two timid ladies think could they hear her tirades ? ' There is yet one point T am bound to hint at,' he said, rising. ' My respected friend is somewhat whimsical and peculiar. You must not allow yourselves to be disconcerted, much less affronted, by anything she may say. Mrs. de Eobert is disappointed at having so far failed in her object, at the non-appearance of the wished-for heir. She will not, perhaps, receive you as cordially as a kinswoman should; but pray take no notice of her singularities, which really mean nothing — I mean, nothing to object to seriously.' Mr. Meridian paused, feeling, as well he might, that he had performed his task in the best possible manner. How poor Mr. Bacchus would have blundered and stumbled and cas- tio;ated himself over it ! How he would have omitted particulars, and blundered out indis- BONGO. 79 cretions ! It was satisfactory to the Yicar to feel that what he did was ever well done. No wonder that he enjoyed an undisturbed digestion and unbroken calm of mind. Eugenia now came up with her hands full of roses, the Curate following. ' I am sure I have detained Miss Ivory too long/ he said, apologetically. ' I don't know how it is, I always do detain people too long.' ' Some people, I presume,' replied Mr. Me- ridian ; he was always suavity itself, almost patronizing indeed, to this poor, over-con; scienced, hesitating Mr. Bacchus. The wonder was, often laughed the Vicar, that Mr. Bacchus had ever possessed decision enough to come into the world at all. * On the contrary, however,' he added plea- santly, ' I have only just finished what I had to say.' ' Only just,' said Sabina and Prue, both rising to greet Miss Ivory. * And I must only begin what I have to say, leaving the rest till to-morrow — no, to- morrow is Sunday ; till the day after to- 8o NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. morrow, then,' said Eugenia. * Mrs. dc Eobert hopes you will come on Monday and take tea with us in the garden. I am sure Mr. Bacchus will be delighted to drive you.' How could she be sure, thought Prue, unless — unless ! And yet was it at all likely that this handsome girl could favour the suit of a poor Curate — a widower, moreover, with two children ? No, Eugenia only spoke with the happy unconcern of youth, good looks, and prosper- ous circumstances. She mio-ht be somethin^: to Mr. Bacchus, but Mr. Bacchus could never be anything to her. ' How kind ! We shall both be delighted !' Sabina replied, looking at Prue, wondering why she did not answer for herself. * Then, as it is growing late, we had better take leave of our friends,' Eugenia said to the Vicar. Hands were shaken, friendly little speeches exchanged ; Mr. Bacchus held her roses whilst Mr. Meridian helped her into the pony- carriage, then they set off. To drive across country in a gig with a BONGO. 8 1 handsome woman was the great Johnson's ideal of w^orldly enjoyment. Very likely the Kev. Mr. Meridian w^ould have held the same opinion if only Lewti would be kind, as Coleridge's poem runs. ' For Lewti never will be kind ' was an idea wholly un- acceptable. With the wilfulness, too, of human nature, he wanted in the beautiful piquant Eugenia the very qualities he acknowledged insipid elsewhere — feminine acquiescence ; that deference due from the intellectually weak to the intellectually strong ; that smiling sub- missiveness and blushing appeal of which he had enough and to spare whenever he went into society. The Vicar of Hopedale came of good stock ; he was handsome, agreeable, of easy circumstances, and quite sure, sooner or later, to be preferred. More than one girl tried her best to please him, but none pleased except Miss Ivory, and she would never try. 'Do let me drive you,' she said, as soon as they were fairly on the w^ay. To refuse this request would have been hardly courteous, as the pony- carriage be- VOL. I. 6 82 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. longed to himself. He handed her the reins, and leaned back, looking at her with a dis- commending, almost supercilious smile. * It always amuses me immensely,' he said, ' this assumption of superiority on the part of your sex. In the matter of driving, for in- stance. Why, in the name of good sense, must you ever want to make the man sitting beside you look like a poor incapable V Eugenia did not reply immediately. She always relished the taste of handling the Vicar's reins. The pony had spirit, and went well. The road was uphill and downhill, but broad and smooth. She got the animal into an expeditious humour, and away they rattled as if their very lives depended on reaching Hopedale in a given space of time. Then she turned to make answer : * If you want an uncharitable speech, go to a clergyman for it, I say. Cannot a w^omau indulge in a little harmless amusement with- out a mean motive V 'Don't turn me over into that ditch,' said the Vicar. BONGO. Eugenia, it must be confessed, liked to go perilously near angles in driving ; to round a corner in a manner that made her companion tremble ; to all but graze the wheels of passing vehicles. ' I think it would do everybody all the good in the world to be turned into a ditch now and then !' she replied, thinking at the same time that she should not choose to be thrown into a ditch with the Vicar. Mr. Meridian sat half wishing that the pony would for once deceive its daring con- ductress in her reckoning. Always supposing that only a bruise or two, and a few break- ages in the harness, came of it, he would have quite enjoyed a misadventure just then — Miss Ivory so richly deserved it. The pro- voking part of the business was that no woman ever more graced a gig than Eugenia. As she sat bolt upright minding her reins, any passer-by must have turned to take a second look at that charming; iicrure. There was much more than mere grace and feminine bewitchingness here. The fair, animated face, 6—2 84 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. shaded by the straw-hat ; the figure slender yet strong — these were attractive enough in themselves, but far more so for what they in- dicated : an alert understanding, a generous initiative, nobleness in little things, a high, daring spirit. Mr. Meridian chose not to fit the proffered cap. ' Poor Bacchus, for instance !' he said. * His ideas want shaking up, like the frag- ments of glass in a kaleidoscope.' ' I am sure I cannot conceive why you should always pity Mr. Bacchus,' Miss Ivory said, driving with mor6 apparent recklessness than ever. She knew perfectly well what she was about, but delighted in giving Mr. Meridian a succession of little frights. ' He possesses those very virtues you exhort us to on Sundays — humility, modesty, and so forth.' *Mind that gate, for heaven's sake!' inter- posed the Vicar. This time, indeed, a collision seemed inevit- able. The wheels all but grazed the gate-post. They were safe, however, and he breathed freely. BONGO. 85 ' We can't admonish wool-gathering wits in the pulpit,' was his reply. ' I was thinking of our poor friend's mental shortcomings, absence of mind, inappropriateness of speech — in fact, you know well enough what was in my thoughts.' Eugenia would not have the Curate depre- ciated just then. She knew that Mr. Meridian really meant well towards Mr. Bacchus. He had often done him a good turn ; but although free from jealousy, he could never bear to hear him praised by Miss Ivory. ' I like everything about Mr. Bacchus — even his name,' she retorted viciously. ' Well,' rejoined the Vicar, growing vicious in turn, ' he is not at all likely to be a Bishop ; that is one comfort. Bishop Bacchus ! would you like the sound of that V ' Yes/ replied Eugenia, quite gravely. * It would be a precedent. I like precedents. Bishop Bacchus preaching in London would remind one of St. Paul at Athens. Heathen- dom and Christendom met together.' They had now left the glint of silvery sea 86 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. and parting' hills far behind. On either side stretched cool, dewy pastures and larch-woods, their arrowy tops clearly outlined against the pure, pale sky. Night was fast coming on ; with every moment the hour grew more tran- quil and beautiful, more romantic also. The Vicar began to grow impatient. Was this long, delicious drive to be occupied with un- profitable quarrels 1 — alas ! not in any sense lovers' quarrels. Self-confident although he was, he wanted to feel surer of his ground ; to make, in fact, a beginning of what he felt was destined to be an end. ' Bacchus, then,' he replied amiably, ' shall become a Bishop to please you. That we will consider settled. But to change the subject. You do not mean to say that as soon as Mrs. de Eobert has got this business off her hands, you both intend to forsake us altogether ?' They had reached a bit of newly-mended road, and Miss Ivory was compelled to let the pony go at a snail's pace. She answered in those matter-of-fact tones with wdiich she was wont to utter the most startling statements. BONGO. 87 * We are indeed. We have made up our minds to undertake a voyage of exploration in Central Africa.' ' You are making fun of me !' the Vicar re- plied, almost morosely. ' Why should I make fun of you V Eugenia said, looking him full in the face. * I do assure you this is our intention, provided I can keep Mrs. de Eobert up to it. We have talked over the matter of our travels for months past. Neither of us have ever been out of England as yet. We want to see some- thing, wonderful, and what can we see wonder- ful nearer home ? Switzerland, Norway, Italy — every schoolgirl knows these . places by heart nowadays. When Mrs. de Eobert and my- self set forth, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventure, w^e mean to do- it in right good earnest.' * And Quixotic I much fear your adventures will be,' Mr. Meridian said, unable to conceal his vexation. Not appearing to see her companion's dis- comfiture, she continued : 88 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' There is one spot on the surface of the globe I would imperil my life to see, from motives of sheer curiosity ; and I have almost succeeded in working Mrs. de Eobert up to an equal pitch of enthusiasm. Did you ever hear of a place called Bongo V ' No more than the man in the moon,' was the ruffled reply. Truth to cell, Mr. Meridian wished Bongo at the bottom of the sea. They were pro- vokingly near the village. The evening star shone. Could any hour be more propitious for speaking out ? But Bongo — Bongo I Eugenia would harp on the hateful theme, hardly letting him put in a word. ' I read an account of Bong;o in a book of travels some time ago, and it has haunted me ever since,' the young lady went on. ' Fancy a lovely park-like wilderness ' * You shall tell me all about Bongo another time,' Mr. Meridian managed to edge in. ' I want just now to talk ' ' Do listen,' Eugenia said, warming to her subject. ' Fancy beautiful rivers, with wonder- BONGO. 89 ful birds ! the osprey, the SDake-necked cor- morant ' ' All very interesting, no doubt/ Mr. Meridian interrupted snappishly. ' Only it happens that ' ' And then the vegetation !' Eugenia added, not appearing to hear him. * Lofty sycamore, fig, and acacia trees ; and, sporting about the glades, the giraffe and the antelope.' ^ A marvellous place, indeed ; but one moment now ' The first white cottage of Hopedale gleamed amid the dusky shadows, scents of lilies and roses betokened villa gardens, and still Eugenia would talk of nothing but Bongo. * And the flowers ! The ground is carpeted with them in a day. Fruit, too — we should almost live upon fruit at Bongo ' ' It all sounds delightful in the extreme,' the Yicar got in. ' I shall like to read the account you refer to, if you will kindly lend it to me. Do, however, just ' ' I can't think of anything but Bongo at this moment,' Miss Ivory answered. ' You 90 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. see, claimants are sure to turn up plentiful as blackberries. Mrs. de Kobert's affairs will be settled in no time, and I must get her to start whilst she is in the humour. And Bongo ' The Vicar's patience was fairly exhausted. They were now in the middle of the village, and the Manor House lay only a quarter of a mile off. That detestable, that — but for his calling — damnable Bongo had spoiled his drive. He heartily wished that African dis- covery had been reserved for another epoch. Mungo Park, Bruce, Livingstone, Stanley, Cameron — why could they not keep their adventures to themselves ? ' And Bongo,' resumed Eugenia, with great animation, ' should be visited in winter-time — in February, at the very latest. Now, if I can only prevail upon Mrs. de Eobert to embark in this enterprise, we must start in October.' Mr. Meridian laughed derisively. ' Is it at all likely ? At Mrs. de Eobert's age ! Such a journey ! Two ladies starting BONGO. 91 alone for Central Africa ! The very idea is preposterous !' ' All new ideas seem preposterous/ Eugenia answered, as she quickly and neatly turned the sharp corner leading to the Manor House gate — ^ to some minds, I mean.' Then they bade each other good- evening, Eugenia's last words being : ' You shall be sure to have that account of Bongo the first thing on Monday morning.' CHAPTER YII. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. HEN followed Sunday; and what a day of peace it might have been, but for Mrs. de Eobert's ' next of kin ' and the ' something they were to hear to their advantage ' ! Not at all likely that these hungerers and thirsters after fortune, no matter to what creed or quarter of the globe they l)elonged, should exercise Sabbatarian reserve; keeping back their claims and pedigrees till the Monday. Could Mrs. de Robert exj^ect, of this summoning of spirits from the vasty deep, anything else but the cloud no bigger than a man's hand that should develop into an army? Should not any of us, if we adver- THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 93 tised for heirs direct, look for the very heavens to be darkened with them, as with a plague of locusts ? What could have induced her to take initiative so daring ? Why could she not have enjoyed her husband's property whilst she lived, and let his next of kin squabble over it as they list, after her death ? Many were her reasons for a line of conduct so opposed to humdrum common-sense and tea-table philosophy. In the first place, Mrs. de Kobert wished to please her ' Eugenio,' and ' Eugenio ' was. bent upon seeking romance and adventure. Romance in the ordinary acceptance of the word she did not want. There are some women, place them no matter where you will, who straightway find as many admirers as they can count on their fingers ; and the beautiful Miss Ivory belonged to this category. And there are some women, the more homage of a certain kind they get, the less they care about it; and Miss Ivory belonged to this category also. She did not in the least want any man or any number of 94 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. men to sentimentalize about her. She was ready enough to tease them for their pains, but her mind was full of other things. She yearned after romance and adventure of wholly different kind. This sociable, comfortable, careless life at Hopedale was well enough in its way. No possible fault could be found either with the place or the people, but she wanted to be able to compare places and people, to compare life and the world with the descrip- tions given of them in books ; in fine, to fashion her own existence, outline it, colour it, touch it up to please herself Xow, up till the present time such choice had not been possible. The setting forth, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventure is not easy upon modest means. When, at last, Miss Ivory became sole mistress of her own fortune, and Mrs. de Robert inherited so much money as to make her quite independent of her late husband's property, then the two could put their heads together and scheme. The first thing to be done, Eugenia declared, THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 95 was to find the wished -for heir ; and the family heirlooms satisfactorily disposed of, they should be free to go where they liked, and stay as long as they pleased. Mrs. de Robert had no sentimental scruples about quitting Hopedale. She did not wish to end her days in this North- country village, just because Mr. de Robert had tempted her thither twenty years ago. Tempted her from Bath, ease and spinsterhood — sometimes secretly looked back upon with regret ! Eugenia, orphan daughter of Mrs. de Robert's oldest friend, was still more un- travelled. She had not yet been as far south as Bath. N'o wonder, therefore, that Bongo had such attractions for her. Yes, it was settled ; they would go to Bongo, and there spend delightfully Eastern days after the manner of Lady Hester Stanhope and Lady Duff Gordon. Nothing: short of Bona^o would satisfy Eugenia, and nothing short of satisfying Eugenia would content Mrs. de Robert. That Sunday I The household would never 96 NEXT OF KIN—\VAXTED. forget it ! — one memorable episode out. of many in the wonderful history of Mrs. de Ivobert's next of kin, and the something they were to hear to their advantage. It was ii perfect summer morning, and, as usual, Eugenia strolled in the garden before church. Hopedale Manor, although a childless, was not a catless, dogless household. At Eugenia's heels followed a couple of pet dogs, who regretfully recognised the fact that it was Sunday, and that therefore they must not follow their mistress beyond the garden gate. The sagacious animals could sniff a Prayer- book as well as any born Methodist. A very Ethiop of a cat sunned itself on the wall. Tame pigeons peopled the place. Hens cackled in the farmyard close by. Eugenia looked hither and thither in search of an ap- propriate flower. Her dress Avas of that pale amber colour so becoming to her dark hair and pearly complexion. She chose a flower- head of deep violet petunia, and was adjusting- it to her buttonhole when Mrs. de Robert's voice was heard at the side door. THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 97 ' Jenny, Jenny!' she cried, with much ani- mation ; ' do come indoors. Another !' Eugenia obeyed the summons alertly. She knew well enough what that word ' another * meant. The plot thickened. A new claimant was in the field. Bongo seemed already leagues nearer. Mrs. de Robert, like Eugenia, was dressed for church. The Yicar never told her anything, she said, she had not heard a dozen times before. But church-going, if it taught nothing else, at least taught resignation. Yes, folks ought to go to church in order to learn how to be bored with a good grace ! So she growled and grumbled, but as regularly as Sunday morning came round, put on black silk gown and velvet mantle, and went to church all the same. She now held up an open letter. ' The Yicar has just sent this. I don't suppose he will bring any more letters him- self,' she said with a grim laugh, thinking how badly she had received him the day before. ' But read it, do, Jenny ! I can make neither head nor tail of it myself.' VOL. I. 7 98 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Mrs. de Kobert had wisely interposed Mr. Meridian as a moral buffer between herself and these terrible next of kin. In order to avoid possible unpleasantness, all applications Avere to be made in the first instance to the Vicar. No one could communicate with Mrs. de Robert except through his mediation, and all letters came under cover to the Vicarage. The ladies re-entered the house. Eugenia closed the door of the breakfast-parlour, laid down her flower-scissors, and began to read : ' " Gibraltar, July 13, 1875. * " Madam and dear Cousin " ' * Some flattering flibbergib that !' broke in Mrs. de Robert. ' However, go on. AVe can't expect next of kin to be angels and arch- angels. We are all like so many dogs hanging on to a bone when it comes to a legacy. But let me have the rest.' With great relish, evidently wishing not one, but twenty such letters, would come every day, Eugenia continued : ' " Under cover to your respected Vicar — " ' THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 99 ' The specious, double-faced, smooth-tongued hypocrite ! Not a penny he shall get, Eugenio, mark my word ! How does he know whether the Vicar is respected or not ? and, respected or not, what can it matter to him ? Go on, my dear.' ' " According to the instructions conveyed in your esteemed advertisement " ' ' The blarneying backslider ! I'll warrant you he is that,' Mrs. de Kobert jerked out, growing more and more wrathful. She wanted these worthy people to come» forward ; but the faster they came, the less she liked it. * " I now write to say that I have got my pedigree in order, and start overland by next mail " ' ' Lord help us!' Mrs. de Kobert ejaculated. ' I'll tell you what, Jenny, we will go to Bath, and leave Mr. Meridian to battle with it. The place will soon swarm with them : they will be at loggerheads one with another. It will be worse than battle, murder and 7—2 loo NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. sudden death. No, could I have foreseen all this, I would not have advertised for a thousand pounds/ Eugenia continued to read with the same alertness. The letter interested her greatly : ^ '' For the home of my ancestors " ' ' Ancestors ! fiddle-de-dee ! What business has he to have any ancestors, I wonder !' Mrs. de Robert cried irefully. ' He could not grow on a tree like a chest- nut,' remonstrated Eugenia mildly, and went on with her letter : ' " It will give me the utmost possible grati- fication to make your acquaintance " ' ' The only gratification he shall get out of me. I can tell him that, beforehand !' Mrs. de Robert cried, with one of her meaning looks. ' " And whilst, at the same time, I do not conceal from you the fact that any substantial benefits accruing from my visit will be joyfully welcomed, you may rest assured THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. loi that they will be put to truly Christian J) > uses ' I dare say ! Converting the JeAvs, clothing the Zulus, teaching poor innocent Fijians to besot themselves with gin ! He is a mis- sionary or something of the kind, I'll warrant you. Not a silver groat shall he have, if my name is Sarah Roberts.' ' " Meanwhile, commending you to Hea- ven " ' ' Hocus-pocus !' was the vindictive retort. , ' As my poor mother used to say, true religion consists in minding your own business. He shall go back quicker than he came, and with a flea in his ear too, mark my word ! Well, "finish the letter, and then I will put it into the kitchen fire.' * " I remain, madam and dear cousin, yours devotedly, John Fitz Henry de Robert " ' ' Fitz Gimcrack ! Why can't people go about the world without such a mouthful of names ? Come, Ivey ! burn the letter, and let's be off to church.' 102 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Miss Ivory was examining the signature with great attention. '"John Fitz lienry de Robert, S.J." Senior, Junior — no ; he would not be both at the same time. I am fairly puzzled, Roberta. The name is followed by two initials which look like S.J. Now what can the letters S.J. stand for r' ' S. for Slyboots and J. for Jackass ! That is how I learned in my cross row, and it is near enough now, depend on it.' ' No,' Eugenia replied, with eyes still bent on the superscription. ^ These letters must liave a meaning. S. stands for so many things, Sergeant - Major, Surgeon - Dentist — heaps of words ; but what J. can stand for immediately after S., I am at a loss to con- ceive. Let me think. Let me conjecture.' ' AYell, you can think in church. Mr. ^leridian won't prevent you, I am sure,' Mrs. de Robert said. ' Into the fire with it, and let's be off.' ijut Eugenia would not rest satisfied till she had solved the problem. She gazed upon THE MYSTERIOUS LETTERS. 103 those mysterious symbols as intently as people look into their hats on entering church. *I have it at last !' she cried, with great animation. ' What else should S.J. mean but the Society of Jesus ? Yes, there is not a particle of doubt. The new claimant is a Jesuit r CHAPTEK yill. OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. ^HEN he shall not enter these doors. His shadow shall not darken my garden !' Mrs. de Robert ex- claimed, alike patience and fortitude fairly spent. ' You draw the line where you please, Eugenio ; Mr. Meridian, ditto. I draw mine at thumbscrews and the Inquisition.' Thereupon she sat down and flung off bonnet and Sunday mantle. The bonnet went to one end of the room, the mantle to the other. Her Prayer-book, with silver clasp, touched the ceiling and fell down again. Her parasol flew out of the windoAv, overturning a vase of flowers and shattering it into a dozen OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. 105 pieces. She always flung things about when in a passion. Perhaps, after all, the habit has virtue in it. Better set plates and dishes clattering than friends and neighbours by their ears. * Now you know as well as I do, Ivey,' she continued, ' that whatever I am, I can't be called a narrow-minded person. I don't in- terfere wdth my neighbours. They may w^or- ship Gog and Magog, the Pope of Eome ; be Jews, Mahometans, Buddhists, atheists, for all I care ! But when you come to thumbscrew^s and auto da fes, I feel ready to do as many poor creatures have been done by. I don't say I would burn every Jesuit alive, but no doubt many of them deserve it.' ' My dear Roberta !' Miss Ivory said, in a voice of shocked reproach. ' I mean w^hat I say,' Mrs. de Eobert cried. ' Much you have profited by reading history, Ivey, if you don't feel the same. Poor dear Galileo — Joan of Arc ! Did you ever hear of em. prayr ' Times have changed. The waiter of this [o6 NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. letter may be as mild as Mr. Bacchus himself,' Eugenia interposed. ' The greater hypocrite he, then. You will never turn a hawk into a sparrow. He shall not cross my threshold. If I have to barricade the place as they do the streets of Paris during a revolution, I'll keep him out. I tell you what, Ivey,' Mrs. de Robert added, in a voice of positive insinuation — ' we two will start off to Bath, and leave Mr. Meridian to get rid of the wretch as best he can.' ' I must say, I should like to see a real live Jesuit,' Eugenia replied naively ; ' one has not such an opportunity every day.' ' God be praised, no !' the elder lady said, once more working herself up into a fury ; 'nor of being cajoled by him either. You are mole-blind, Jenny. You don't see one inch before you. What does this conniver of evil, this leaguer with the Father of Lies, this aider and abetter of wickedness incarnate want ? Poor dear Affie's money to go into the Pope's coffers, of course. My head should sooner ' OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. 107 Mrs. de Robert's fingers were once more tingling with the desire to smash something, but nothing smashable stood handy. Her execration of Jesuits must be expressed by deeds, not words. On the carved oak buffet stood some pieces of beautiful old plate — the old de Robert plate — teapot, salver, snuffers and tray, that were kept in the house for use. Mrs. de Robert first seized the teapot by the spout and threw it to the farther end of the room; the salver followed, spinning alono^ the ground ; last rattled the snuffers and tray. ' These are the things he wants — this Father Fitz Flibbertygib ! Mce they look in their churches, the Papists think. And nice they may look, for all me. I tell you what, Jenny, my good girl : rather than a single ounce of the family plate goes to the Pope, I will have it melted down to line my own coffin with.' Eugenia looked at the fine old bits of George III. silver, ruefully. They were bat- tered before, and Mrs. de Robert's treatment was the very worst thing in the world for io8 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. them. There they lay, shining resplendent on the crimson carpet. ' AVhy shouldn't I ? My bones are as good as many of their relics, I'll answer for it ! No, Eugenio/ this was said cajolingly; 'let us start away to Bath, and leave Mr. Meridian to deal with the Jesuit. The Vicar is a bit of a Jesuit himself. The pair will get on together like Jonathan and David.' Eugenia sat still looking at the plate. * I don't think we should find Bath so enter- taining as Hopedale just now,' she said. ' Be- sides, what harm could a Jesuit — could a whole college of Jesuits — do you ? One and all, they would be just as polite as Mr. Meridian.' ' A fig for such politeness!' quoth Mrs. de Robert ; ' give me instead crusty folks, but honest, I say. Well, if you won't go to Bath with me, I suppose here I must stay, willy- nilly.' ' I will start for Bath with you to-morrow morning, if you like,' Miss Ivory said pleasantly ; ' but tlie most disagreeable of these OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. 109 claimants, as I say, can do us no harm, and all may entertain us not a little.' * Those two old ladies now, Selina Beckett and Patience Purfle ' — so Mrs. de Robert in- sisted on miscalling them — ' as well expect blood from a stone as entertainment from them! Take my word for it.' ' They may get entertainment from 11 s; it amounts to the same thing,' Eugenia replied. ' And just think what a delightfully exciting position is ours ! Robinson Crusoe's suspense at sight of the footprint was nothing to it. He could in a measure tell who would turn up, but we cannot in the very least. All is pleasing uncertainty.' ' One thing is quite certain, we are too late for church,' Mrs. de Robert said complacently. * Well, it is the Vicar's own fault. He should have kept the letter till after service.' Eugenia took off her bonnet and scarf with a look of relief Yes, it was pleasant for once to stay away from morning service. The weather was hot; the Vicar spared neither himself nor his congregation in the matter of no NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. sermon. No matter the time of the year, tliey must listen to the allotted portion ; and with a good grace. Unwary drowsers were severely castigated from the pulpit. ^ I wish you would do one thing, Jenny,' added Mrs. de Eobert ; she had now quite recovered self-possession. ' Just write a line to Selina Beckett and Patience Purfle. Tell 'em not to come till they are wanted. Let the whole lot hugger-mugger together — old maids, Jesuits, saints, sinners, Jews, and Gentiles.' Seeing that Eugenia hesitated, she went on : 'It cannot matter a straw to them — these old ladies, I mean.' *Nay, they are not old; Miss Perfect at least ' ' Old or young, what matters it a straw ? Poor as mice they certainly are; they shall not lose a farthing by this business, anyhow. The longer T keep them at the Curate's the better they'll like it, no doubt. Say I am waiting for the plaguy priest. Say what you like, only do not let us be troubled with them till the last moment.' OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. in Thus enjoined, Eugenia sat down and penned an ingratiating little note of excuse to Sabina. Then closing the shutters in order to keep out the too beneficent sun, she sat down in a low chair, indulging in reverie. Mrs. de Robert had retired to her room ; she always read the morning service and a sermon of Jeremy Taylor's there when kept from church. The young lady was therefore alone. What was she thinking about ? What would any girl of high spirit think about under the same circumstances ? She saw herself on the threshold of a new existence, already at the parting of the ways. This arrival of Sabina Eicketts and Prudence Per- fect, and the letter from the priest, interested her chiefly as indications of what was to come. Other claimants were sure to follow. The de Robert property would finally be awarded. The departure from Hopedale seemed at hancl, and departure from Hopedale meant so many fascinating things. It meant freedom, in the first place. Eugenia was the very last person 112 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. in the world to yield to pressure of any kind. She knew that if an unwelcome suit were proffered to her a dozen times, she should have decision of mind enough to say ' Xo/ Any woman acting differently must be so weak-minded as not to deserve the manage- ment of her own affairs. Yet when she thought over the matter quietly, Miss Ivory felt that an indefinite stay at Hopedale meant involuntary compliance with the wishes of others. That was how she put it to herself. A great poet has said, ^ Mighty is that goddess Avhose name is Propinquity ;' and Eugenia quailed before the goddess of Propinquity. The Vicar and the Curate were not attractive to her. Of the two, she preferred Mr. Bacchus. But while she stayed at Hopedale she was compelled to see a great deal of both; and she felt that if she stayed on for ever, she should be led into one fatality or the other. Circumstances would force her to marry Mr. Bacchus in order to escape the solicita- OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS. tions of the Yicar, oi' to marry the Vicar in order to escape the solicitations of Mr. Bacchus. Would not Bongo — aye, the world's end — be a happier ultimatum ? Other issues hung upon the appearance of a proper claimant. The seductions of freedom were not all negative. Escape from Hopedale meant much more than escape from clerical love-making. It meant glimpses into the world beyond ; new experiences alike for the mind and the eye ; a wider mental outlook ; a more liberal, an airier social sphere. They might go to Bango or — Bath, to Bongo or — Jerusalem. At any rate, they should leave Hopedale and Hopedale folk behind them. The going anywhere would be an initiative, a precedent. Miss Ivory, like many a woman endowed with wit and character, revolted at the thought of leading a life exactly like thousands of others. ' Why should I not choose my own life as well as my own dresses V she said to herself. ' I must be the best judge of what hts.' YOL. I. 8 114 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Thus she dreamed away three morning hours stolen from a sermon. Who shall sa}' they were less profitably spent ? If there is one theme worth dwelling on with seriousness and in solitude, surely it is life — a problem to some, a penny merriment to others, to the most part of us, alas ! a mere plodding along dusty ways or jostling amid the crowd in the market-place. CHAPTER IX. STAETING FOE LODORE. HAVE a note, two notes, from Miss Ivory,' said the Curate on Monday morning. ' Mrs. de Ro- bert hopes you will not go to Hopedale this afternoon. Dear me, how awkwardly I put it ! I always do put things so awkwardly I She does not say that, of course. What she does say is, would you kindly stay away for the present ? — a very different thing.' Sabina and Prue smiled, not seeing any very great difference. They began to think this un- known kinswoman of theirs must be a very odd person indeed ; perhaps the less they saw of each other the better. Life was so acrree- 8- -2 ii6 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. able, too, under the Curate's roof, that they were delighted to stay on indefinitely, espe- cially as the visit, long or short, was to cost them nothing. ' Mrs. de Robert w^ants to be left alone — what on earth am I saying ! — Mrs. de Robert suggests that to fill up the time agreeably you should make a little expedition.' Sabina and Prue were ready to giggle like a pair of schoolgirls at the thought of an ex- pedition ; but then came misgivings on the score of cost. Mr. Bacchus anticipated their thought. ' You are not to jDut your hands in your own pocket ; Mrs. de Robert won't hear of that. But would you really like me to convoy you to Lodore, now ? She proposes that I should convoy you to Lodore.' Not a spot in the wide world these unso- phisticated travellers more longed to see ! Their cheeks glowed with pleasure. Sabina said shyly as a seventeen-year-old maiden : ' Had my Edwin lived ' — already she had STARTING FOR LODORE. 117 communicated her love-story of thirty years ago to the Curate — ' how strangely things turn out ! — had my Edwin lived, we should have visited Lodore on our honeymoon.' ' Eeally, indeed ! The only drawback is this,' Mr. Bacchus put in : ' I can convoy you there, but could not convoy you back again. Would you be able to get on without me, do you think V The bare notion of not being able to get on without the Curate would have made more critical listeners smile. To these gentle wome*n, however, their host seemed a tower of strength. AVas he not a man, and a clergyman ? ' We will try,' Prue said, with an ingra- tiating smile. As it was delightful to be convoyed by the Curate, it was even more delightful to be thus set down as dependent on him. ^ We should, of course, like your company all the time, but we will manage as well as we can without it,' she added. * Mrs. de Robert wants you to be away a week, at least. I mean, Mrs. de Eobert hopes ii8 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. you will make a journey of several clays/ Mr. Bacchus blundered on. ' Now, if poor Mr. Bates, the farmer, had only died last Thursday w^eek, instead of last Thursday, I could have managed the thing nicely. As it is, I must get back by Wednesday morning for the funeral, unless I can find a substitute.' Prue, mother-like, wanted to know what, meantime, would become of the children. ' Oh ! I will get in Nurse Jones for a couple of days. She is quite blind, stone-deaf, and set fast with rheumatism, but is a wonderful protection in a house. My mind is quite easy about everything when she is once at the helm.' ' What a comfort to have such a person handy !' said Prue. ' The greatest possible blessing to me, I assure you/ returned Mr. Bacchus. ' She knows exactly what is going on by instinct. She does without eyes, ears, and legs in a manner that is enough to make us ashamed of having them. Not ashamed, exactly ; no, I did not mean that — ashamed of making no STARTING FOR LODORE. 119 better use of them, I intended to say. So it is all settled, then. We are to set out the first thing to-morrow morning for Lodore. Whether we shall ever get there is quite another question.' ' Is the journey so very difficult, then V asked Prue, athirst for adventure, already sniffing it in the air. ' No, I cannot say that. It is easy enough to get to Lodore. But you know the old proverb about the cup and the lip ! Nothing, you see, is really certain in this life — except that we must pay the tax-gatherer.' Mr. Bacchus, smiling grimly, added : ' Such un- expected things happen I Just think of the man who was to have been hanged yesterday for murdering his sweetheart ! Nothing ever seemed more certain than that I Why, the very rope was round his neck when the hang- man fell down dead himself. As there was no one else up to the business, he got off, and is now alive and well, like you and me.' ' Poor darling I penitent and grateful, I hope,' Sabina sighed. NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. 'And in another paper/ the Curate went oil, 'yesterday's, 1 think— Georgie, fetch me yesterday's paper ; the one baby half munched to pieces— there is an account k propos from the Far West. Two young men started across country in order to attend their uncle's funeral. As the distance was considerable, and as this uncle had left them a good sum of money, they purchased a spick-and-span dogcart, and fine horse for the journey. When they got there, to their surprise, they found the old gentleman hale and hearty, having been only taken for dead in a fit. The ungrateful nephews brought an action against him for the expense of the trap and their mourning suits. I hope they'll lose it, I am sure. "l just mention these things to show that when we start for Lodore, we are no more certain of getting to our journey's end than people who start for the North Pole.' 'It is pleasant to start, anyhow,' Prue said. ' Yes, I quite agree with you there. No- thing like a start to enliven the spirits, no STARTING FOR LODORE. matter what kind of start it may be. I am always ready enough for a start myself.' * Should we not write to thank dear kind Mrs. de Eobert V asked Sabina. The Curate made a queer grimace at hear- ing his old friend spoken of in these endearing terms. ' She hates letters ; but I will write for you to Miss Ivory,' he replied, with an alertness that disconcerted poor Prue. ' Yes, I will write to Miss Ivory, and say that we start for Lodore the first thing to-morrow morning. I dare say we shall do no such thing. If we do, the train will miss the Windermere boat, and the Windermere boat will miss the Keswick coach, and we shan't get to Lodore any more than to Timbuctoo. However, start we must.' That starting for Lodore with the Rev. Mr. Bacchus, Sabina and Prue would never forget the delightfulness of it. There was the pack- ing up to begin with ; and not only the pack- ing up for themselves, but for their fellow- traveller — that fellow-traveller a man. To NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. the artless minds of Sabina and Prue, a man seemed nothing less than mystery incarnate ; the very clothes he wore had in their eyes something preternatural, and, in the case of a clergyman, almost sacred. With careful, even loving fingers they mended the socks, ironed the shirts, and put buttons on the waistcoat destined for the Curate's valise. It was the first time in their lives that such pleasing duty had fallen to their share, and they did it with right goodwill. Nothing was left out of which the traveller could pos- sibly stand in need. Mother-like, sister-like, wife-like, the pair next directed their attention to the house and the children. Georgie must be indulged with the prettiest picture-book the village shop aff*orded. Baby was to have the excitement of a sixpenny drum. And Nurse Jones and Jane were not forgotten ; little pleasures were arranged for them during their absence. Finally, they retired to their own rose-embowered chamber, and made ready for the morrow. ' I am quite sure of one thing,' Prue said, as STARTING FOR LODORE. 123 she sat on the bed arranging her frills. * Travelling may not make us wise — we can't all be wise ; it was never intended we should be — but it does make us compressible. How many of the miseries of life arise from people not being compressible ! Everybody wants more than he has got of everything. They won't be accommodating, like carpet- bao's.' ' Yes,' replied Sabina, ' I have often re- proached myself for not being more of a carpet-bag. In our own small way, we both want more than we have got, otherwise we should not be here — in quest of something to our advantage, I mean.' ' And of course,' philosophized Pruc, ' we don't want half what we already possess, if we could only be brought to believe it. What a small amount of luggage is to last us for a week ! yet we could jog on with no more to the end of our days, were we really put to such shifts, and think ourselves rich, too.' ' And those are really rich who think them- 124 Nl-XT OF KIN— WANTED. selves so/ Sabina rejoined, as she rammed down another fixt bundle into her already bursting carpet-bag. 'Poverty, leaving out extreme cases, exists after all only in imagin- ation. A man who has hardly a rag to cover him, or a morsel of bread to put into his mouth, is certainly poor, but nobody else that I can see. We want so little, so very little, when it comes to bare necessaries.' Sabina loved to lead Prue into a metaphy- sical labyrinth, and Prue equally loved the task of finding her way out. *A roof to shelter us, a bed to lie on, clothes to wear, and food to eat — any rational being ought to be satisfied with these,' Sabina went on. ' And it is the same with every- thing ; Lodore, for instance. Just because we both wish for nothino; so much as to see Lodore, if we do see it, we shall be as con- tented as if we had travelled round the world. We only want to wish for what we have, and we have exactly what we wish.' *That seems to me like putting the cart before the horse,' Prue answered. ' And w^e STARTING FOR LODORE. 125 can't always wish for w^hat we have. If I had been unfortunate enough to be born with a humpback, I could not wish that.' ' Yes, you would,' Sabina replied. ' That is to say, if you were a rational being, you would think the matter over, and find out that you could not have been born otherwise — I mean, consistently with the purpose of your destiny and the ulterior ends of creation.' ' If we never do get to Lodore. Now, I could not wish that either,' Prue said. ' Nothing could make me, I am sure.' ' You would wish it,' Sabina answered. ' You could not feel differently. You would ponder the matter over, and come to the con- clusion that after all you had already seen so much more than many people, it could not reasonably be expected that you should see anything so w^onderful as Lodore. So you would end by wishing not to have seen Lodore.' ' I will begin by wishing to see it, anyhow,' Prue said cheerfully. Sabina's conclusions were apt to damp her 126 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. spirits. She feared if she listened much longer she should really end in not wishing to see Lodore. * I little thought/ she added, ' when a child at school I read that poem, I should ever see the waters ' " Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping . . . Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling, Thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping." I wonder if they do so now ! That is the reason why I think anyone may wish to travel a little. We can't help wanting to see if things are like the descrij)tion we read of in books — larger or smaller, better or w^orse. Lodore, now, when we get there, if the waters don't come ''thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping," what a disap- pointment it will be ! I shall feel ready to cry.' ' We can't always expect descriptions in books to tally with the things themselves,' Sabina replied. * As my poor dear Edwin said once — it was when Cousin Mary tried to 'STARTING FOR LODORE. 127 persuade me to send for a bonnet she had seen at the market-town, because, as she said, it would exactly suit my complexion — " Bina," he said, '' we know how things appear to our own eyes, from a ship on fire to a bootjack ; but how they appear to the eyes of others is ever a dark mystery." So, of course, I did not send for the bonnet. I always followed his advice in everything. It is just the same with Lodore. The waters may have recoiled and turmoiled and boiled when Southey saw them, or he fancied they did, or they might haVe thumped and plumped and bumped and jumped in former days, but have left off doing so now. So I say we ought not to expect things to turn out like other people's descriptions, but just the reverse. I do, I am sure, in the case of Lodore.' ' It will be Lodore, anyhow,' Prue put in, ' whether the waters roar like thunder or are as quiet as mice. That is one comfort. AVe shall have seen Lodore all the same.' ' And if we don't get to Lodore at all, we shall get very near it. There is a great deal I2S NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. in that also/ Sabina rejoined. ' Nobody ever gets to the North Pole, but a good many explorers get very near it; and I dare say if they reached the Pole itself they would be none the wiser. So it is with Lodore.' CHAPTER X. WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS ON THEIR WAY TO LODORE. ONDERFUL to relate, they did get to Lodore. A score of misad- ventures, of course, happened to them on the road. At the last moment the Curate was summoned to baptize a baby, and the departure had to be delayed till mid- day. From this small hitch in their arrangements arose many another. The mid-day train to Lakeside just missed the boat that caught the Keswick coach, consequently there was no such thing as getting to Lodore or near it that day. Then, as ill-luck would have it, no sooner had they decided to take the boat that VOL. I. 9 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. did not catch the coach, instead of waiting for the boat that did, down came the rain as it can only come down in these districts. Clouds black as pitch broke over their heads. The lightning, the thunder, the agi- tation of the lake, might have intimidated such travellers as Sabina and Prue under other circumstances. The presence of the Rev. Mr. Bacchus reassured them as a talis - manic charm. Huddled together under the awning, with other mackintoshed tourists, they made light of the storm. ' Of course/ said the Curate, ^ nobody ever expects to cross AVindermere on a fine day! and what does not happen to more than one traveller out of a thousand, how could we expect it to happen to us ? I should not feel that it w^as Windermere had it been fine ; and when w^e get used to things, we like them, whether pleasant or no. I enjoy all this/ he added, as he glanced at the little crowd of dripping fellow-travellers. ' It is not sitting at home, twirling one's thumbs, anyhow.' WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS. 131 And of course if Mr. Bacchus enjoyed it all, so did Prue. When he went on deck to watch the lightning play on the lake, she summoned courage to go also. The flashes were very vivid ; the peals of thunder truly awful ; the rain a positive waterspout. Yet she stayed, and the more deafening the thunder, the faster it rained, the fiercer it blew, the more exhila- rated grew her companion. ' I dare say we shall find every hotel full when we get to the other end of the lake,' he said ; ' not a bed to be had anywhere, either for love or money, I feel sure. That always happens to me when I leave home to enjoy myself. But, you see, it would not be travel at all if we got exactly what we get at home. I delight in this sort of thing myself,' he added, as he shook a quart or two of rain-water from the sleeve of his mackintosh. ' It is so good for the spirits.' Under other circumstances, Sabina and Prue would have been inclined to shed tears of mortification at the thought of crossing Win- dermere in such weather. As it was, they 9—2 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. both caught the Curate's playful mood. He was so kind, so courteous, that Prue forgot the disturbing image of the beautiful Miss Ivory. Sabina also felt girlishly frolicsome. ' And of course, if we can't see Windermere in all its beauty, we must imagine it,' Prue said. ' Not everybody is lucky enough to see it in the rain.' ' Ah ! the rain ! I never could understand myself why people rail at the rain/ the Curate said, his wits seeming to sharpen with every flash of lightning, his spirits to rise with every blinding gust. ' Nothing like an umbrella to make people agreeable in conversation. In- stead of staring at this, that, and the other, repeating what everybody has said a thousand times before, they say something worth listen- ing to, in order, I suppose, to make up for the drenching.' 'You are right there, sir!' said a stander- by, a tall, grey-haired, dreamy, affectionate- looking man. ' The umbrella is, to the ordi- nary mortal, as the tub to Diogenes, the Agora to Socrates, the Areopagus to St. Paul. WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS. If the umbrella does not bring out the divine spark in a man, depend on it, that man is the dullest born of mortal clods. How many romances, philosophies, cunning inventions, reforms, are due to the umbrella !' 'I would go even further, and say, how many religions, or rather religious phases, are due to the umbrella!' put in a short, square- built, bright-eyed man, evidently his travelling companion. ' When the sun shines, and the butterflies dance about, who thinks of saving, his own soul or that of his neighbour ? Rain sobers, rain incites to introspection. The umbrella represents the spiritual side of humanity.' ' It is as good as a sermon, anyhow/ laughed the Curate, still in the highest spirits ; ' and a Poor Richard into the bar- irain ! I never walk five miles under an umbrella without thinking of the rainy day in matters of pounds, shillings, and pence. I suppose some folks lay by for the rainy day, as it is called. To myself, it has always been as chimerical as trying to stop rain altogether.' 134 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. The little party of listeners laug'hecl. Then the first stranger spoke. His benevolent face turned to Sabina and True with the look of interest that some intelligent, kindly men feel in every daughter of Eve, old or young, lieauteous or ugly. ' It is time to hear what the ladies have to say on the subject.' Sabina looked at Prue. Prue looked at Sabina. So, being the more experienced of the two in matters of the heart, Sabina took up the challenge. ' An umbrella — dear me ! you ask me to say something about an umbrella/ she said, with a charming little blush. ' Dear me, gentle- men, really now, you forget one must be young — a woman, I mean — to give an opinion on such a subject. I always associate an umbrella with first love. Lord Byron, and dreams of bliss never to be realized.' ' Bravo !' cried the pair of strangers. ' Now the other lady must positively enunciate an opinion.' Prue smiled and hesitated. For a moment WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS. 135 she, however, the shyest of shy womankind, was turned into an epigrammatist by the magic of the umbrella. Somewhat primly she answered : ' An umbrella always reminds me of true friendship, expanding in time of storm, and lying squat wheii not needed. ' An apt and charming ' simile, that,' re- joined the elder stranger. ' I hope, as we have all become so friendly under our umbrellas, we may meet again. 'T would be pleasant to meet again at Lodore.' ' It seems rather odd that we should want to see more water for years to come,' the Curate said, shaking another bucketful from his mackintosh. ' However, there is no ac- counting for tastes ; and the more people get of anything, the more they want — there is no doubt of that.' It certainly seemed so in this instance. As the weather worsened, the little steamer became fuller and fuller. At every landing- place it took up little groups of mackintoshed, umbrella'd, behooded travellers. With smil- 136 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ing faces they came : fastidious maidens, stalwart undergraduates, burly City men, com- fortable matrons, grave English parsons, and American tourists. The rain, with its magic wand, seemed to have conjured them forth as the Pied Piper of Hamelin conjured forth the rats. Good-natured or in ffrumblino; humour, still they came ; and but for the contingents set down, the contingents taken up would have over-freighted the vessel. Some, like the Curate and his companions, were evidently continuing their journey ; the greater number were merely making little excursions on the lake, taking one steamer out, another back again, in the rain. Why should they do it ? Why should they not ? They were out on a holiday. Indoor life of an hotel meant the quintessence of boredom. Better to get drenched to the skin and have the pleasure of talking about it afterwards, than remain indoors, dry as tinder, with nothing to talk about at all ! ' Oh yes ! I hope, I am sure, we shall all meet aii^ain at Lodore!' Sabina said in the WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS. 137 blushing, sentimental way some women never outgrow, when addressing the other sex. To her artless mind this adventure presented the very romance of travel. The heavens frowned, the rain poured down, the glorious landscape was completely blotted out from view ; yet she should never forget the journey across Winder- mere. The Curate, Prue, and the younger of the two strangers were now pacing the deck. ' Wet or fine, when on board ship there is nothing like pacing the deck,' said the Curate. ' We are not on board ship exactly ; but there is water enough to drown us all, and here we are on a boat, so it amounts to the same thing. Who can keep up his spirits if he sits stock-still for hours at a time ? This I call exhilarating.' So backwards and forwards they paced with other travellers in search of exhilaration. They hustled and jostled each other with their dripping umbrellas ; the rain spurted and squirted ; now one umbrella was blown inside out, now another was blown outside in; the 1 38 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. water ran in little rivers alonof the deck, and fell in pailfuls from the awning — nothing could damp the general ardour. An inhabitant of some drier planet suddenly transported to the scene must have supposed rain to constitute the acme of felicity to dwellers on this globe. ' All very well for young folk, that sort of thing/ said Sabina's cavalier ; ' those whom rheumatism has made wise will prefer a dry skin. Well, if the rain never comes to an end, fortunately Windermere does. Maybe, like myself, you are a stranger hereabouts.' ' Quite a stranger,' said Sabina. ' I am an Eastern counties woman.' ' Making a little pleasure-trip with your friends, eh ? We — that is to say, myself and my nephew, the Doctor yonder — come from the States, and our errand is partly business and partly pleasure.' Sabina testified the keenest interest in her fellow-traveller's affairs. To be thus taken into confidence by acquaintances of an hour seemed the very poetry of travel. WHAT BEFELL THE CLAIMANTS. 139 * Bound on business or pleasure, who would pass this way without stopping to see Lodore, and hear the waters * " Flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling." Niagara itself couldn't do more. As I was saying, then, the Doctor yonder — I mean my nephew and myself — have come ' Just then the signal was given of another stoppage. Sabina's interlocutor was pounced upon by his travelling companion. * Bowness — we sleep here to-night, but look out for us at Lodore,' said the elder man ; whilst the younger, with equal friendliness, waved his hand from the landing-place and shouted : ' Lodore !' CHAPTER XL COACHma IT MERRILY TO LODORE. f¥l rg^RUE enough, two clays after the little party was coaching it merrily to Lodore. The Curate had been unable to resist the temptation of keeping holiday somewhat longer. * Fortunately,' he said, ' as poor Bates's funeral is to take place at Morecaster, and no one else wants to be buried, baptized, or married, I can stay ; if anyone did, I dare say Georgie could do it all as well as myself. ])Ut nobody does, so here I am. When once I get away from home — I don't know how it is — I never want to get back again. I suppose I ought ; but I never do. I always COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE. 141 look upon people who are ready to do exactly what they ought to do as a superior order of beings.' It certainly seemed matter for little wonder- ment that poor Mr. Bacchus, when once out on a holiday, should never want to go home. Was not coaching it merrily to Lodore a thousand times more agreeable to an educated man than the business of getting linen ready for the washerwoman, nursing a fractious baby, shelling peas for dinner, or helping the maid -of- all -work to tidy up after the swedp ? Cheerfully and uncomplainingly as the Curate performed these duties, he could but feel glad to exchange them for a little distraction when it came in his way ; and distraction that came gratuitously as the dews of heaven, therein lay the gist of the matter. ' I am sure you can understand my feelings,' he said to his two companions. * Why I really enjoy myself so much is because I have never to put my hand in my own pockets ; if I had to do so, it would be of no use — there is never any money in them ; but the feeling 14^ NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. of relief is the same. A meal, now, at an hotel, every morsel would almost choke me if I had to pay for it myself — always supposing I could, you know/ The two ladies understood his feelings quite well. Their enjoyment of every moment was intense as his own, and partly due to the same causes. Delightful as it was to behold Lodore, still more delightful was the fact of beholding it for nothing. The weather, too, was now glorious ; and however inspiriting a trip may be in the rain, it certainly loses nothing of its charm by the sunshine. There they were then, the three friends and their two acquaintances, merrily coaching it to Lodore. Sabina found herself beside the elder stranger ; behind sat Prue and the Doctor ; whilst Mr. Bacchus occupied a seat by the coachman. Truth to tell, he was- dying to handle the reins. All were in airy spirits, and no w^onder. It is not everybody's privilege to see how ' the waters come down at Lodore.' None surely COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE. 143 had ever journeyed thither under circum- stances so romantic as did Sabina and Prue. Thus at least they thought when fairly on their way to Lodore. The horses trotted briskly ; the peep of blue lake between waxen- green foliage was fairy-like ; the reflection of fleecy-white cloud and azure sky, perfect — yet tongues wagged as if there was nothing in sight but a brick wall. So imperative, indeed, is the necessity of speech to mortals, that could they behold the siege of Jerusalem, the storming of the Bastille, or any other moving event in the world's history re-enacted before their very eyes, they would doubtless chatter like magpies all the time. And the men chatted away as fast as the women ; no greater •fallacy than to suppose redundancy of speech a weakness of the sex ! The Eev. Mr. Bacchus had set out with the firm determination of driving a four-in-hand not only to Lodore, but to Butt erm ere. Cer- tainly, as he had put it to the ladies, the open break that does duty for a coach in the Lake country nowadays is hardly to be called a four- 144 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. in-hand ; yet so long as you are in some sort of vehicle drawn by four animals of some kind, it amounts to precisely the same thing. Why so many nice distinctions 1 Twice two makes four, anyhow ; and a trap that carries as many people as a coach is as good as a coach any day. ' Your horses are as quiet as lambs, I see,' he began insinuatingly ; ' a child could drive them.' * She's a Tartar,' replied the driver, in- dicating the left-hand horse nearest him. The Curate delighted in nothing; so much as driving a Tartar. * I suppose you let a fare take the reins for a bit now and then V asked Mr. Bacchus. ' Not with a tetchy one like Betsy,' said the man, thinking to himself that if the parson reckoned on the pleasure of showing off Betsy, he was much mistaken. ' I can drive a four-in-hand as easily as I can preach a sermon. Just let me show you,' said the Curate. The driver eyed his companion slyly. COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE. 145 ' I don't say you can't, sir ; but you see, if anything were to happen — and that Betsy, now, there's no relying whatsomdever on her/ But the more difficult of attainment seemed the escapade, the more eager became the Curate to indulge in it. He could hardly have been more frantic to take Betsy in hand had his very existence depended on it. His fellow-travellers were to alight at Lodore ; but he determined that if the man would leb him drive he would go on to Buttermere, at least' as far as Betsy would let him. His ambition stopped there. ' Where might Betsy come from V asked Mr. Bacchus, affecting sudden interest in her native place and genealogy. ' Bless you, sir !' said the man ; * these sort of beasts, sir, we take at a pinch without a character — ^just come from nowhere. T'other, now, on the right hand, Charley, I can tell you anything you want to know about him.' The Curate delightedly led the way to a topical discourse ; it was exactly what he VOL. I. 10 146 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. wanted. So he talked of Charley's home; and as there are many places with names very much resembling one another in the North, it was some time before they came to an under- standing about it. Mr. Bacchus appeared to have grown quite indifferent to the charms of driving by this time, but was stealthily watching his chance. They were going lazily uphill. The driver showed increasing interest in the Curate's pocket-map. Yes, that was the name ; would the gentleman hold the reins while he looked at it ? The thing w^as done ; obstacles that a few minutes before had seemed insurmountable had vanished, there was the Curate driving- a four-in-hand uphill and downhill to Lodore ! He sat bolt upright, flourished his whip, manipulated the reins — the happiest man under heaven at that moment. Away they went like the wind, for he had touched up Betsy, and the lively animal, like many others of her sex, only seemed to want her head. What harm is there in that ? Should we not all end our days in a mad- COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE. 147 house, unless we were allowed to have our head occasionally ? As to the driver, he kept his eye on his horses and his fare, and said nothing. He was the father of a family. The bread of his wife and children depended on his steadiness ; but he loved a joke as well as anybody, and could not for the life of him help indulging iu it now. The spectacle of the parson driving- was worth any money. As he said afterwards, Mr. Bacchus looked the meekest-looking man^ imaginable. Judging from appearances, one could hardly have supposed him capable of driving a poor feeble-spirited donkey, much less a team of coach-horses headed by a Tartar. But just as occasion makes the thief, so will opportunity make the exploit. The Curate had made up his mind on one point — - he was not going to stop at Lodore ; and so, in a very short space of time, had Betsy. Thc3 pair understood each other perfectly. In the meantime, a very interesting conver- sation w^as taking place between Sabina and her fellow-traveller. 10—2 148 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' As I was saying to you on board the steamer,' began the stranger, * my nephew, the Doctor, and myself are visiting these parts, j)artly on business and partly on plea- sure. And bound on business or pleasure, who would pass this way without seeing Lodore ? But when we leave Keswick the day after to-morrow, we shall have other things to think of. Curiously enough,' he added, * our family originally came from these parts.' ' How deeply interesting !' Sabina said. * You must feel as if every place ought to be familiar, although, of course, it cannot be so. It seems the same thing as ourselves — our ancestors, I mean ; but, in reality, it is quite different.' * I never set foot on English soil till I landed at Liverpool a few days ago,' he con- tinued ; ' and I don't suppose I ever should, but for an odd circumstance that has lately happened. We Americans have been so long severed from the parent stock that, as a rule, we know no more of one another than the Eibston pippin knows of its progenitor, the COACHING IT MERRILY TO LODORE. 149 crab-tree. Pray don't take this comparison amiss 1 However, my nepliew and myself liave been sent for by our relations — that is the proper way to put it. Pleasant, that — to be sent for across the Atlantic by one's relations ! It so seldom happens !' Sabina smiled acquiescingly. Yes ; that sentiment both she and Prue could echo from the very bottom of their hearts. Nothing could be pleasanter than the summons to Briardale in their own case. ' Pleasant, too, the expectations thereby called forth/ resumed the stranger. * We no more know why we are wanted than the man in the moon. How can we help conjuring up all kinds of possibilities ! The fact is — the fact is ' Just then the behaviour of Betsy, under the Curate's conduct, and the sudden alarm thereby created, stopped the conversation. Mr. Bacchus had not the slightest intention of letting the mare run away, nor had she any such intention to begin with. Having once got her head, she only wanted to go a I50 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. little farther and a little faster than usual. Why that automatic halt nt precisely the same spot clay after day ? And that was all Mr. Bacchus desired — just a pretence at running away ; an agreeable flutter among the passengers ; a little harmless screaming among the ladies ; then a sudden pull-up amid a general buzz of relief. So instead of slackening speed, or paying any attention to the importunities of the driver, he whipped up his team, Betsy taking the lead ; the three soberer horses w^ould fain have behaved after everyday fashion. On they went, in spite of themselves, at a flying pace. Lodore was now in sight ; but the nearer they got, the faster they galloped. The ostlers hanging about the hotel by the wayside sprang forward to seize the bridle ; away tugged the animals, no more heeding them than so many gate-posts. Out rushed master and mistress, guests, head-waiters and under-waiters, to see what was the matter. Those in authority uttered futile orders at the top of their voices, the ladies scream erl, the COACHING ir MERRILY TO LODORE. 151 3^oungsters hallooed and waved their caps, the dogs barked, whilst on the top of the coach, reigned a greater commotion still. Some of the passengers were disconcerted at one thing, some at another ; the more timid thought that the horses were running away, and that their very lives were in jeopardy ; several being bound to London that evening were alarmed at the notion of being carried, heaven knew whither, to the forfeiture of their return - tickets and the general upsetting of their plans ; others were of opinion that the Lodore Coach, so-called, was altogether an imposture, and that they should be cheated into paying double fare for not being set down at the proper place. All were startled, outraged, indignant. Those of the ladies able to reach the driver with their parasols belaboured him soundly, crying : * Lodore ! Set us down at Lodore ! Lodore - — do you hear V The men drummed their walking-sticks on the coach's sides, echoing in stentorian tones : NEXT OF KIX— WANTED. * Lodore ! I say, we get clown at Lodore !' What, indeed, with the rattling of wheels, the clamour of voices, the disturbance alike among passengers and bystanders, the barking of the sympathetic dogs, the celebrated falls themselves, when the water was at its fullest, could hardly have made more noise. But just as the general uproar had reached its acme, and it seemed as if the Curate and his four-in-hand were hurrying away as fast as they could to perdition, and everybody expected to see everybody else in some dire strait, Mr. Bacchus adroitly manoeuvred the reins ; he gently checked Betsy's ardour, slackened the speed of the rest, and, without more ado, brought his heavily laden vehicle to a standstill. ' That comes of letting a parson get hold of the reins,' said a looker-on, as solemnly as if half a dozen passengers had got a broken limb. ^^ ^^^^^m ^^ ^^ ^M ^(T-^ ^ft ^^ CHAPTER XII. ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. HERE they were, then, in sight. of Lodore at last ; and true enough, a circumstance hardly less satisfac- tory, the famous waters behaved just as the poet had taught them to expect — ' Eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, Twining and twisting. . . Smiting and fighting, A sight to delight in,' And there gazed the four strangers who had journeyed so far to see. They were all in a transport of admiration. As the Trans- atlantic traveller observed, Niagara itself could not really do more. 154 NEXT OF I< IX— WANTED. It must be admitterj that a rainy season had greatl}^ embellished Lodore. The fancy cannot conceive a more bewildering, and yet refreshing spectacle, music of more imposing kind. A waterfall that should be noiseless were surely shorn of half its majesty, perhaps, indeed, of its grandest feature : the awful volume of sound so rhythmic, so improvised ! AVhat an ecstasy for a blind man to be placed within ear- shot of this thunderous trumpet-voiced Lodore ! The unseen part of it he could conjure up. The jet-black rock piled pyramidally, as it appears, half-way towards heaven ; the masses of w^ater, silvery bright ; the rainbow that comes and goes, dropping jewelled liglit ; the dazzling green foliage round about — all this, had his eye once beheld earth's beauteous face, he could behold witli the inner eye blindness cannot take away. The Curate, having seen Lodore many times before, had taken the coach to the next stage. He always went as far as he could, he said. He never contented himself with seeinLC one thini:!: if lie could see two, or Avith ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 155 two if he could see three, when out on hi& travels ; only fools did that, he said. Sabina and Prue were therefore left with their new acquaintance. In happy uncon- cern, not in the least aware of the revelation in store for them, the pair prattled away to their genial cavaliers. The much-travelled are as the possessers of an ample library. Those wdio have seen but one or two choice spots or marvellous scenes in the course of their exist- ence are as the owners of half a dozen books only ; each on^, hoAvever, they know by heart. Thus it was with these simple, nature-loving* women. They were, in reality, as much en- riched as if they had journeyed round the world. So much more w^orth having is one deep and rememberable impression than a thousand of a fleeting kind. The two men threw themselves on the turf in front of the waterfall ; Sabina and Prue sat on a mossy stone near them, the latter holding Southey's Poems in her hand. She wanted to read ' How the Water Comes Down at Lodore,' in the spot where they really did 156 NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. coine down, just to see if the poet had exag- gerated, she said. But no ; after gazing and listeninof, and o-azin^i^ and listenino: asfain, she must sav he had not exasrgerated a bit. If ever waters came down ' Thumping and plumping and bumping and jumpin or they were the waters of Lodore. ' I wonder Avhat the Avaters tell us^ nephew,' said the elder stranger, smiling significantly at his companion. ' Do they thunder forth salutes of victory, salvos of triumph ; or is the deafening chorus a mere mockery of our hopes and expectations — mischievous water- sprites, ko holds, elves, and brownies, bidding us pocket our ill-luck and begone ?' Sabina, recalling the speaker's interrupted confidence on the coach, now gently nipped Prue's arm. Something told her all was not right. True, wholly unsuspicious of what was coming, turned a ready ear. The Doctor was amusing himself with pe]> bles, aimed now at this eddying, seething mass of waters, now at that. Thus inter- ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 157 rogated, he smiled curiously as he made reply : ' No, sir ; I am not going to be balked of Fortune's favours this time, if you are. The heartless jade has flirted with us both cruelly enough until now. It is high time for her to change her tune ; and, as I listen to these waters, " Fortune, Fortune," is the burden of their song.* ' A very pleasant burden, too,' Prue replied , all unconscious of the speaker's meaning. She imputed Sabina's sudden pensiveness to recol- lections of the lost Edwin. * Have it all your own way,' continued the first speaker. ' Money, were we to get millions, won't make me twenty years younger, nor you twenty times wiser. But if we come into a fortune* we will thank heaven that we are thus enabled to better our neighbours : and if we don't, we must leave the task to others. How would you feel now,' he added, looking from Sabina to Prue — ' how would you two ladies feel if you were in this position — poor as church mice to-day^ 158 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. expecting to find ourselves walking mone}'- bags to-morrow ?' Prue was in such an ecstasy with Lodore that she was no nearer tlie disac^reeable trutli than before. Xothing could be farther from her mind than rivalries and competitors just then. The unaccustomed scene, the novel circumstances in which she found herself, intoxicated like wine. As she listened to the rushing waters, 'Fortune, Fortune,' also seemed the burden of their song in her own ears. Sabina certainly felt a little nervous. She had set out for Lodore in a girlish flutter of expectation and enjoyment, and now wise words of the lost Edwin were coming into her mind. ' Bina,' he had once said, as she told Prue afterwards — ' Bina, never expect two turkeys at Christmas. If somebody sends you one, make the most of that.' How could she €xpect a second turkey noAV ? Lodore was one ; she must make the most of that, not believing in the other — the something to their advantaii'e. ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 159 As Prue did not reply to the stranger's query, Sabina answered for her. ' How should we feel ?' she said, tittering and hesitating. ' Strangely enough — the oddest thing in the world it is, to be sure — that is just how we do feel. That is the very position we are in ourselves.' The strangers smiled and looked politely, even amiably interested, that was all. They also were far from suspecting the true state of affairs. ' As I remember my poor dear Edwin say- ing — the gentleman I was to have married, I mean — we had lost a cow, and the very next day, a haystack caught fire. '' Bina," he said, "events never happen singly, mark that." Who could have supposed — who could have dreamed that when we came to Lodore in quest of something to our advantage, we should meet with you two gentlemen on the very same errand!' Prue saw it all now. Sabina' s forced p'aietv did not undeceive her. These ingratiating, agreeable strangers were claimants also — i6o NEXT OF KIN -WANTED. rivals, and dangerous rivals, in the field. The elder might be sixty; his companion was yet in his prime, and in all probability the father of blooming children — the very person, indeed, wanted. Her heart sank within her at the thought, and she saw that it was with no little difficulty Sabina maintained self-com- posure ; she was sniffing at her smelling- bottle, pretending to brush away a fly from her eye, flushing and fidgeting. As for poor Prue, she bent her head low over Southev's volume, and dropped a tear of mortification on the open page. The pair of strangers seemed, for their part, little disconcerted by the revelation. Why should they, indeed ? Were not their chances of success far greater ? ' Phew !' cried the elder, with extreme friendliness and good -nature. ' So you are bound to Hopedale, too? Well, the more the merrier ; and we are at least in good com- pany.' Neither did the Doctor appear one whit cast down at the sudden turn given to afl'airs. ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. i6i * Heic^h-ho !' he cried ; ' so, uncle, we shall have to share the cake with the ladies ? So much the better, I say. Who would sit in a corner, like little Jack Horner, eating his Christmas pie ? You must know,' he said, turning explanatorily to the friends, ' my uncle and myself don't care a jack straw for money in itself. We don't want to be rich in order to butter our bread an inch thick, eat strawberries that cost half-a-crown apiece, and doze by the fire whilst half-naked wretches sweep away the snow.' ' We want money for the sake of making others better and happier,' put in the uncle. Prue, so suddenly plunged from ecstatic contemplation into melancholy, could not easily recover her spirits. Attention, however, was immediately arrested by the w^ords of the last speaker. AYhen she heard of people being made better and happier, she smiled pensive approval, looking at the same time somewhat puzzled. The stranger had a benevolent but altogether unclerical appearance. It never occurred to her that anybody but a clergyman VOL. I. 11 i62 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. deliberately set himself the task of makini»* people better and happier. Her notions of g'oodness and happiness were those preached from every pulpit in the kingdom o' Sundays. But travel was already teaching her many things ; amongst others, that there was more 'twixt heaven and earth than she dreamed of in her philosophy. The younger man took up the theme. ' Why use such miserably hackneyed words? Better and happier, forsooth ! Shall we set a rickety world on its legs by trying the nos- trums that have failed for six thousand years? No, ladies ; quacks and mountebanks we may seem to most, moon- struck maniacs to many, brands fit for the burning, heretics incarnate to some. But so has it fared with all inno- vators from the beginning ; the first man to build a church, the first to pull one doAvn, both have passed for blasphemers in the eyes of the self-righteous.' Prue tried her best not to look shocked. Sabina listened with extreme interest. ^ Always keep your mind open to new ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 163 ideas.' Edwin had once said. It was on the occasion of purchasing a new kind of button, with double hanks ; if one snapped, the other kept the button on. Yes, Edwin could reap wisdom from the most trivial circum- stance ! What he would have developed into, had he lived, was beyond her imagination to conceive. Being of a less devotional and theo- logic turn, too, than Prue, she could more easily enter into the spirit of lay doctrines, and better relish the discourse that had uo savour of the pulpit about it. Prue could not honestly believe in anything that was not con- nected with the Church ; that is to say, her own Church. The Church was to her as tlie vast seashore to the crab walking back- wards. ^ Let us first explain who we are,' re- sumed the older man. ' My name, then, is Derrober, a corruption of the original family name of De Robert. My nephew, yonder, is Dr. Franklin Derrober ; and we both — that is to say, our ancestors half a dozen generations back — migrated from these parts to the States. 11—2 164 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. But the gist of the matter is this. We were just the people in Avant of a fortune, and just the people wanted for a fortune. That is a singular fact in itself, and it does not stand alone. Why we want a fortune ! There is the rub !' The Doctor smiled. ' Reformers are always as full of themselves as an egg is full of meat. You see, ladies, much as we enjoy your society and this scene, that old gentleman yonder, my respected uncle, can do nothing but talk of our plans. Ay, and once you trot him out, he would go on at a brisk canter till Doomsday.' ' Themselves, ourselves,' broke in Mr. Derrober indignantly. ' What are ourselves but a portion of humanity ; and what is humanity but a mass of hoping, erring, for the most part, misguided mortals ? The reproach is not theirs who speak ; it is theirs who keep silent.' Sabina and Prue began to feel really in- terested. xVfter all, if the coveted fortune fell into the hands of these good men, mission- ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 165 aries, evangelists, at any rate philanthropists, as they were, what right had they to com plain ? ' Hark ye, ladies !' added Mr. Derrober ; * before I go a step farther, let me put a ques- tion to you. Did you ever read a book called '' Brook Farm " ?' Xo, they certainly had read no such book. Many a story about a farm was familiar to them ; none they knew called by that special name. ' Then,' replied the other, ' permit me to say you have read nothing. " Brook Farm " — well, well — " Brook Farm " is another name for a Phalanstery ; maybe you have never heard of a Phalanstery either.' Xo, that word was quite new to them, both said. ' N^ow, nephew, just tell the ladies what a Phalanstery is. You turn off descriptions so much quicker than I do.' Thus appealed to, Dr. Derrober threw a final pebble into a vortex of creamy waters, and replied : l66 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' A Phalanstery ? well, a Phalanstery is exactly what the world and society are not. Put an ordinary woman into a Phalanstery, and she is straightway transformed into a nineteenth - century muse, adoring and adored ' ' Oh dear !' cried Sabina. ' What a nice place a Phalanstery must be !' Prue also smiled apprbvingly. * Put an ordinary man into a Phalanstery, and in a short space of time he will become a decent copy of Plato or Franklin. In fact, the difference between life inside our Phalan- stery and outside, is just the difference between the rose and the thorn, the pearl and its encumbering oyster, the sweet wine and the bitter aloes.' ' Only think of what your sex would obtain in our model society,' said Mr. Derrober. ' A goodly fellowship of kindred souls, work of sublime, elevating kind, recreation befitting creatures endoAved with souls ; and of love, neither stint nor spare.' Sabina and Prue slightly blushed, beginning ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 167 to wonder if the conversation of these cour- teous, well-bred gentlemen did not now verge on impropriety. The speaker looked about as light-minded as a bishop on ordination- day. His com- panion seemed no whit more disposed to make unseemly jests. Yet this discourse was pass- ing strange. The like of it they had never heard before. * Could any rational being hesitate were such a choice placed before him ?' continueol Mr. Derrober. ' On the one hand, an io^no- minious elbowing in the crowd for bare bread — a miserably circumscribed existence at best — everything on the most niggardly, pinch- beck scale ; for habitation, mere breathing- space ; for -flow^er-garden, a square yard full of smoke-begrimed flowers ; for society, the gossiping people of a country town.' ' And morning and night,' put in the Doctor, ' the same ignoble query. Have we, ye beneficent gods who preside over pounds, shillings, and pence — have w^e now spent a groat too much ?' i68 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Sabina and True laughed with a little bitterness. The allegory came home. Yes, they understood it all — the pinchbeck, the cheese-parings, the groat too much. Such a life was theirs, and such a life was that of thousands. ' On the other hand,' resumed Mr. Derrober — ' in our Phalanstery, I mean, circumstances worthy of beings born to walk upright and stare heaven-sent Destiny in the flice; a pala- tial home, with beauty and nobleness to meet the eye at every turn; fine music; grand works of art ; parks and parterres such as now only millionnaires enjoy ; elevating con- versation ; and, to crown all, duties that shall fit us for a life so rare, so nearly approaching perfection.' ' It sounds very pleasant, if one could only manage to get into it— into the Phalanstery, I mean,' Sabina said innocently. ' There must be always far too many applications.' ' And what about expense ?' asked Prue, always alive to the economic aspect of the question. ' How could people with small, very ECSTASIES AND MISGIVINGS. 169 small incomes, expect to be received into such an establishment ?' 'Ah!' laughed the satirical Doctor; 'there you have hit the right nail on the head. Why as yet does our Phalanstery exist only in imagination ? Because there is no true spirit of brotherhood amongst us. When society is properly constituted, there will no longer be any very rich or very poor, but one golden spoon to feed the million-mouthed humanity ; one purple cloak to cover the nakedness of all.' ' And in hopes of getting an ingot towards tlie golden spoon, a square inch of purple cloth, Ave are on our way to Hopedale,' added Derrober the elder. ' Whether we shall get it is another question. So now, ladies, you realize the situation, as far as nephew and self are concerned.^ Then Sabina and Prue told them their simple story. They spoke of their country life ; the eking out existence in a tiny home ; the hopes called forth by Mrs. de Eobert's advertisement in the newspapers, and so on. They became the best of comrades, and it was I70 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. iinally decided that the return to Briardale ishould be made together. * And just to think!' said Sabina to Prue, when they were alone ; ' twenty, thirty-five years ago, had my Edwin lived, our honey- moon would have been spent at Lodore ; and those waters have gone on *^ dinning and spinning, and dropping and hopping " ever since !' CHAPTEE XIII. HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. F the Kev. Mr. Bacchus had felt -a proud and happy man when con- ducting the Lodore coach, he felt positive self-inflation when accompanying his new claimants home. He had all along coveted a share in that strange business entrusted to the Vicar of Hopedale, Mrs. de Eobert's ' next of kin,' and the something they were to hear of to their advantage. The pleasing responsibilities thereby in- curred, the frequent intercourse thus brought about with the beautiful Miss Ivory, excited in the Curate's breast a feeling of mild envy. In spite of many excellent qualities of head 172 NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. and heart, Mrs. de Eobert was not attractive to the other sex ; for the sake of Eugenia, her eccentricities and acerbities were endured by her two Mthful henchmen. In fact, a visit to Hopedale was the gulping down of a pill embedded in jam ; the submitting, schoolboy- like, to have a tooth drawn for the bribe of a shillinor. o Mrs. de Eobert meant no harm, and never did any harm to anybody ; but she stormed and scolded and vituperated till she frightened folks half out of their wits. Mr. Bacchus had l)een enchanted to have the two ladies under his roof; that was something, a decided step in the right direction. The arrival of the Derrobers and their installation at Briardale was much more to the purpose. Brimful of importance, Mr. Bacchus set out for Hopedale. There was one charm in the Curate's character. No matter what happened, nothing could damp his ardour. Addicted as he was to self-depreciation, perhaps in small matters the most conscience-stricken man alive, if he felt enthusiasm about anything he HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. 173 went on feeling it, let others say or do what they would to discourage him. The Vicar received the Curate with the ut- most affability, as well he might. Everything about Mr. Meridian was in apple-pie order. His women-servants would have gained prizes, supposing prizes were awarded to model cooks, house and parlour maids. Appearance, age, dress, all was correctness itself. As to the house, not a fly, much less a spider, would find lodgment there, so thoroughly was it broomed and besomed from attic to cellar. Time was kept at the Vicarage accurately as at Greenwich Observatory. No dish was ever known to have been brought to table under false pretences. ' You would never guess what happened to us at Lodore,' burst forth the Curate. ' Only think of falling in with a host of Mrs. de Eobert's next of kin ! And Hopedale, above all places in the world, to be overrun with Socialists, Free-lovers and Mormons ! It makes me feel out of date to think of it.' Mr. Meridian smiled a little contemptuously. 174 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. He thought that in more senses than one the Curate was out of date. Inwardly uneasy, but without any betrayal of self-composure, he replied : ' If I understand you right, you have fallen in with a somewhat numerous party of these good people. Not all preachers of Socialist doctrine, I presume V ' Numbers — did I speak of numbers V asked the Curate, looking aghast. * I hope not. I never make use of numbers unless I can help it. They are such stumbling-blocks ; such snares, even to the wary.' ' You certainly conveyed the impression of a numerous company,' Mr. Meridian said. ' If you intend to enlighten Mrs. de Eobert on the subject, it were just as well to be exact. She will feel sufficiently alarmed at the prospect of one such claimant as you describe, to say nothing of a score.' ' No ; did I speak of a score ? I surely did not speak of a score V asked the Curate ; * although figures always strike me as purely relative. In a case like the present, for HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. 175 Id stance — that of people got together in search of something to their advantage, I mean — one is a very large, a most alarming addition, in the eyes of the rest ; whilst two is an enormous addition, and three ' * The chain of reasoning is somewhat attenuated, but I understand your meaning,' the Vicar replied. ' I take it for granted, then, that Hopedale being overrun with Socialists is a mere figure of speech, and perhaps one holder of these doctrines has appeared in the field V . ' Oh dear no ; no such thing,' replied the Curate. 'What is one — by comparison with two, I mean ? The difference is simply tre- mendous — a gulf without a bottom !' * Then I presume you speak of two V ' Just that. You have hit the mark to a nicety,' the Curate made reply, feeling that he had triumphantly emerged from a meta- physical labyrinth. 'We fell in with two, then — two gentlemen — alw^ays supposing them to be gentlemen — from the States, who are Socialists, or Mormons, or something of the kind. It does not really matter what men 176 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. are when they are anything — anything out of the ordinary way, I mean.' ' And their present abode V ' Well, they abide nowhere. That is to say, they slept last night at Briardale, but intend to roam about the country till they hear from you — till they are wanted.' ' Pray keep them up to that intention,' the Vicar replied, greatly relieved. ' They certainly are not wanted just now. And, my dear Bacchus, have you a spare half-hour ? If so, do oblige me by calling on Mrs. de Eobert. I am overwhelmed wdth business at this mo- ment.' ' I shall be delighted to oblige you,' the Curate said, evidently obliging himself still more by accepting the task. ' Mrs. de Robert always snaps my head off, yet, as I find it on my shoulder when required, I don't mind in the least — why should I V Mr. Meridian understood well enough why the other did not mind, and already had half regretted having charged him with such an errand. Yet, could anything be more absurd HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. 177 than to regard the Curate in the light of a rival ? No ; much better stay at home, and let him for once bear the brunt of Mrs. de Robert's thunder and lightning. He had ex- perienced enough of her temper to last for some time to come. Still, he no sooner saw Mr. Bacchus setting off so jauntily for the Manor, than he straightway wished he had gone himself. Why embroil another unne- cessarily in this business — above all, the Curate ? Do what he would, the Curate could, not state a case clearly, were it the mere boiling of an egg. Thus the Yicar put the matter to himself. However, he was off, and there was no more stopping him now than stopping a schoolboy on a half- holiday. Fast as his long legs could carry him, swinging his cane gaily as he went, Mr. Bacchus was out of sight before the Vicar could formulate his regret. Eugenia met her visitor at the garden- gate with a beaming face. She had not a particle of coquetry in her composition ; but she could VOL. I. 12 178 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. not help being kind to Mr. Bacchus. He was often so much more agreeable to her than the Yicar, which was not perhaps saying much, yet was certainly saying something. * I hope you have met with adventures on your journey V were her first words. * More than I can count on my fingers,' was the eager reply ; the Curate exulting in the thought of the revelation to come. ' How delightful !' cried the young lady ; * and so encouraging ! You must know that it is all settled, then : in two months' time, come what may, Mrs. de Eobert and myself set forth, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of the marvellous.' * Oh dear !' cried the Curate, his gaiety. gone in a moment ; ' I hope not.' * You hope not V cried Eugenia. ' If you have the slightest regard for us both, not to speak of friendship, you must hope what we hope ; otherwise you put yourself on the precise footing of an enemy.' ' Always driving me into a corner !' said Mr. Bacchus. ' Well, it is better to be driven HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. 179 into a corner than driven nowhere — by you, I mean.' Eugenia could not resist a smile at the Curate's perversity. *Why this perpetual harping upon two words— "you" and ''me'V she said. "*You" and " me " ! I wish they were banished from the Dictionary. But now, tell me your ad- ventures in proper order, and the rest of my news you shall have afterwards.' ' There you have me again !' said the poor Curate. * I never can tell things except as they come into my head ; and, generally speaking, what ought to come last comes first, and what ought to come first is left out altogether. However, one adventure I must tell you. All the neighbourhood is talking about it. You will see my name in the papers. I quite expect a reproof from the Bishop.' * What rash exploit are you the hero of V laughingly asked Miss Ivory. * My curiosity is greatly excited.' * The Bishop can't do less, you see; and I couldn't do less. We must all act when the 12—2 i8o NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. fit is on us, regardless of consequences. I am sure the fit is on one seldom enough. Well, I undertook to drive the Lodore coach, and overturned it — not overturned it exactly, but everybody thought I had done so, which amounts to the same thing. Out came the entire population — I mean all the people in the hotel — frantic with terror. The hallooing of the men, the screams of the women — you can't conceive the noise they made. Lodore, roaring behind, was the buzzing of a fly to it. On we went, like Jehu, like Phaeton — the fellow who overturned the sun, you know — like John Gilpin ; and there was no stopping us — so there seemed, at least, but I had the horses well in hand all the time. And then, when we had gone like the wind for miles — I won't swear it was miles, but when we seemed to have gone miles — that is what I mean — the bystanders thought all our necks were broken, and the passengers had frightened themselves into thinking the same thing — then in a trice — you never saw a neater job in your life — lo and behold, there we were !' HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. i8i ' And where was the " were " V asked Eugenia, highly amused. ' Why, at Lodore, of course ! That was the joke of it ! The horses hadn't run away ; the coach had never been overturned at all ; everybody had a whole skin as before.' 'Then you won't get a reproof from the Bishop — that is one comfort,' Eugenia said, slightly disappointed. * And now for adventure number two.' * Number two — let me see, which is number two 1 I have so much to tell you, I don't know where to begin. Well, we were all drowned the next morning in Derwent Water. You have surely heard of that V ' You must all have as many lives as a cat !' smiled Miss Ivory. * Necks broken one day, drowned the next, and on the third I suppose you tumbled headlong into a chasm on Helvellyn, where you are now hopelessly immured T * Ah ! Helvellyn. If I once begin to tell you what adventures befell us on Helvellyn, I shall not leave off till midnight,' replied Mr. i82 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. Bacchus. ' Helvellyn is the place for ad- ventures ! We began there by being robbed and murdered — well, not murdered exactly, and fortunately not robbed, as we took the precaution of leaving our money behind us ; but some highwaymen, armed from head to foot, waylaid us in a lonely spot ; and had I not shown fight, we should have come off badly.' 'Highwaymen on Helvellyn T exclaimed Eugenia. * Well, what are tramps with club -sticks but highwaymen armed from head to foot ? The same thing in other words. I brandished my stick, and the ladies gave them sixpence apiece ; and so we continued our journey.' ' Ah !' sighed Eugenia, ' how I long for the next two months to pass, as I listen to you — for my own turn to come ! But it is as I say : Mrs. de Kobert and myself do really set forth on the first of October, like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, in search of adventure.' Again the Curate looked the most crest- fallen man under the sun. HOW MR. BACCHUS FULFILS HIS ERRAND. 183 ' I know the sort of adventure you are sure to meet with,' he said, in a melancholy, almost morose voice. Eugenia feio;ned not to understand the in- sinuation. ' It is not yet quite settled where we go/ she said, in the same buoyant, anticipatory voice ; * but we go somewhere.' 'And do vou never intend to return to Hopedale V asked the Curate, still looking desperately low-spirited. ' Since one cannot get even to Lodore with- out being killed three or four times over, it does not seem very probable that we shall ever get back safe and sound from the other end of the world,' was the young lady's reply. ' No, you cannot be really serious. The other end of the world ! There is plenty to see without going half that distance,' rejoined the disconsolate Mr. Bacchus. * By the way,' said Eugenia, anxious to give a new turn to the conversation, ' you showed me your roses the other day. Now come and see mine.^ 1 84 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. For half an hour the pair lingered among the roses — Eugenia the fairest there. Small matter for wonder that the Curate was loth to go. Not that she uttered a syllable the most hopeful adorer could construe into en- couragement. She tripped him up in his metaphors ; laughed him out of his sentimen- talities — in fact, administered as wholesome a tonic as ever lover quaflfed from the hands of his mistress. But he enjoyed the privilege of looking at her, listening to her all the while ; intoxi- cation of her presence made him unmindful of the fleeting moments. On a sudden, the sight of a glow-worm recalled the lateness of the hour. He said adieu hastily, and hurried off. Nor did he remember, till inside his own door, that he had never fulfilled his errand after all. Miss Ivory and her roses had entirely put the Socialists, Mormons, and Free- lovers out of his head. What on earth would Mr. Meridian think of him now ? CHAPTER XIY. MACHINATIONS. jOITY-TOITY toity-tum !' cried Mrs. de Robert, a day or two afterwards. ' Here is a letter of invitation from the Vicar. He is mighty amiable all of a sudden ! Well, I'm not going, if you are, Ivey. Much I'm wanted, I know.' Miss Ivory took the proffered note and read it aloud : * " Hoped ALE Vicarage, '''July 20, 1875. ' " Dear Mrs. de Robert, ' " Will you and Miss Ivory give me the pleasure of your company to an al-fresco tea [86 NEXT OF KIN-WANTED. this day week ? A party of friends touring in these parts will be with me, also a few neighbours. As the Vicarage gardens are somewhat small, I propose to do vicarious liospitality in the grounds of Marsden Park, placed at my disposition during Sir Charles's absence. The hour of meeting, four o'clock ; the place, the terrace overlooking the park. ' " Trusting that you will both confer the favour of your company upon me, I remain, with kind regards to Miss Ivory and your- self, ' '• Yours very truly, ' " Algak MeKIDIxIN." ' The very opportunity we want for wearing our new summer gowns !' exclaimed Eugenia approvingly. * Is that a good reason for being put out of one's way, and bored into the bargain?' asked Mrs. de Robert. ' It is better than no reason, an3diow,' was the reply. ' Do go to please me, Roberta ; besides, we are really bound to accept this MACHINATIONS. 187 invitation. Mr. Meridian evidently wishes to fete us before we take our final departure from Hopedale.' Mrs. de Robert smiled significantly. ' Yes, I see through it all. The Yicar is over head and ears in love with you, Jenny. He will leave no stone unturned in order to gain his point.' Eugenia smiled significantly also. The note suggested other motives to her own mind; without letting the elder lady suspect her thoughts, she returned to the immediate question at issue. ' You will let me accept the invitation for both of us, anyhow ?' ' Oh, accept by all means ! Xever refuse an invitation, were it from his Satanic Majesty himself Whether I go is wholly another matter.* 'Always supposing that you do go, you will wear your new plum-coloured silk .^' asked Eugenia. 'What does it matter what I wear? An old woman like me may go the veriest scare- i88 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. crow in the world, and none are a jot the wiser.' * We don't dress becomingly for the sake of making people wiser/ replied Eugenia, ' nor better, that I know of Yet a well-dressed woman always seems to me a walking- sermon.' ' There is somethiDg in that, Ivey. How many women have gone to perdition, body and soul, through wearing draggle-tail petticoats !' ' Then we will both dress as beautifully for Mr. Meridian's party as if our very salvation depended on it,' said Miss Ivory; and she sat down to write the most cordial note imagin- able to the Vicar. Nothing more was said at the time ; when, however, Eugenia met the Vicar in her walks, lie saw that she had unravelled his little plot. They stood smiling at each other without a word. ' So,' she said at last, ' you invite us to a garden-party under false pretences? Mrs. de Eobert is to be surreptitiously presented to her next of kin ?' MA CHINA TIONS. 1 89 ' Why are you so deep ? Can you never be satisfied with seeing no farther than your neighbours?' said Mr. Meridian. 'However, as you have exercised your ingenuity at my expense, you have saved me the trouble of , explanations. Could I act otherwise? Here are these good people coming as fast as swallows in May, and Mrs. de Robert won't so much as see them. It places me in an awkward, a ludicrous position.' ' Do tell me who have come, and all about them,' Eugenia said, keenly inquisitive. The Vicar laughed sarcastically. ^ I sent Bacchus two days ago to enlighten you both on the subject, and, as usual, he forgot his errand. Sir Isaac Newton himself could not have done me a better turn ; Mrs. de Robert now knows nothing of the party of friends touring in the Lake district, of whom I wrote.' ' Are they old or young, dull or amusing V asked Eugenia. ' Let me see ; I think we have a little of everything. There is — but you had better wait igo NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. and judge for yourself,' replied the Vicar pro- vokingly. ' Only do get Mrs. de Kobert to come. She may find that these much-dreaded claimants are as harmless as possible — sheep in wolves' clothing, jackasses dressed up in lions' skins/ He eyed his companion narrowly, and added : ' Are you quite sure of one thing ? Will Mrs. de Robert part with her property after all ? What if she chancres her mind ? A tragic finale to a sorry farce, that !' ' No,' answered Eugenia, with great de- cision. ' She will be as good as her word, never fear. She is carrying out her late husband's wishes ; in her eyes, a sacred trust.' ' I sincerely hope that you will prove a true prophet. I confess, at times, I feel mis- givings. The affair, moreover, should not be allowed to drag on indefinitely. A date should be fixed for the transfer of the pro- perty, by a distribution, sortition, or other- wise.' MA CHINA TIONS. 191 ' I have proposed a plan, and Mrs. de Kobert makes no objection/ replied Miss Ivory. 'A selection of candidates shall be made. Two or three of those possessing the best claims shall be retained, the others dis- missed ; then the property shall be equitably divided and drawn lots for. It would be as exciting as the casket scene in the " Merchant ofYenice.'" 'If Portia's portrait occupied the casket,' observed the Vicar drily. ^ But what if all put forth equal claims, and the names of the applicants are Legion ?' ' In that case I shall try to persuade Mrs. de Kobert to give everybody something/ Eugenia said. ' Anything is better than nothing.' ' Even " a gross of green spectacles in shagreen cases ;" at least, so said the immortal Dr. Primrose. Twenty thousand pounds care- fully expended will go a good way, certainly, in the purchase of green spectacles.' The conversation thus amicably terminated was not renewed till the eventful day of the 192 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. party. Mr. Meridian had his own reasons for not calling at the Manor House in the interval. He wished to avoid Mrs. de Robert's close fire of interrogation ; he was also busy in making preparations. AVhen the Vicar under- took an affair he prided himself upon doing it well, and he certainly merited such self- ap- proval. No pains were now spared to make his entertainment as brilliant as possible. He knew that Miss Ivory would be magnificent upon the occasion, and he determined to be maornificent also. Thus, althouo^h a mansion and superb pleasure-grounds were placed at his disposal, he must aggrandize and embellish to the utmost. Marquees of latest design were ordered from Lancaster, Italian con- fectioners engaged for the proper management of ices and creams, musicians to entice to im- provised dance, with exotics and fruit in regal abundance. The garden-party was quite as much of a compliment to Miss Ivory as a fraud practised upon Mrs. de Eobert. There was more than one affair Mr. Meridian did not wish to drag MACHINATIONS. 193 on indefinitely. If, as seemed possible and even probable, the two ladies would quit Hopedale in the autumn, he must do the best he could for himself before their departure ; in other words, he must secure an opportunity of pressing his suit. The garden-party might help to further his wishes. Meantime the Derrobers, uncle and nephew, were let into the secret, and were keeping themselves in the background. They visited, one after another, the sweet little watering- places studded about Morecambe Bay. These miniature oases of verdure and centres of life between the silent fells and placid inland sea had a strange fascination for the Trans- atlantic travellers. Such sleepy townlets as Grange and Arnside seemed toylike to them, accustomed as they were to bigness and bustle everywhere. Pleasant, too, the feel- ing of isolation from the crowd of travelling folk. These little dales, nestled at the feet of the widely-parted Cumberland and Westmoreland hills, seemed to have been left out of the VOL. I. 13 194 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. tourist's itinerary and map altogether. The sea-board villages were frequented by a handful of local holiday-makers only ; whilst inland the solitude was almost unbroken, alike on breezy height and park-like pastures. The sight of such glorious pastures might lead the uninitiated to take England for a pastoral country, a land in which shepherds and milkmaids are not mythical personages. The eagle soaring overhead — a sight to be thankful for — reminds us that the war of ex- termination waged against Nature's fiercest and grandest children has not been entirely successful. Pleasant to turn from the doomed eagle, flashing through the blue heavens like a meteor, to the homelier birds encouraged to live. So numerous are they, so fearless in the .presence of man, that indeed they may be thus described. Hearken to the pewit's human-like cry ; watch the husbandman turning up the fallow, and you will perceive the bird keeping close to him, as if from feelings of protection and good-fellowship. MACHINATIONS. 195 What pleased the travellers no less was the general look of cultivation, even finish, in waste places. Not a lonely crag without its green tapestry; no sound of axe, much less of steam felling-machine, in the woods ; no half- constructed shanty amid fields ploughed but yesterday; no signs either of growth or demo- lition — Eden-like repose brooding over all. Whilst these two claimants thus obligingly hid themselves from view, equally inconspi- cuous were any others who might have con^e forward. 'No rumour of them was permitted to reach Mrs. de Robert's, ears ; and fortunately the Vicar's garden-party and the extraordi- narily handsome preparations he was making for it, diverted the general attention. The neighbours gossiped now, not of the next of kin, and the something they were to hear of to their advantage, but of Mr. Meri- dian's Italian iceman and his subordinates ; Mr. Meridian's orchestra ; Mr. Meridian's marquees. It was the Yi car's this, that, and the other, from morning till night. As to Sabina and Prue, his graciously- 13—2 196 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. worded invitation had fairly turned their heads. No such sumptuous entertainment liad as yet fallen to their share. The affair seemed so important that even the Curate's advice was asked upon certain points. ^ You see,' Prue said, with a girlish blush of hesitating appeal, ' after all you have told us about Mrs. de Kobert, we naturally feel a little nervous. If we are fine, she will think we don't want her money ; and if we are dowdies, she may turn from us with re- pulsion.' * And it is still more difficult to know how to behave under such circumstances,' Sabina said. ' If we are humble, we shall be set down as toadies ; and if we hold up our heads, may be abused as upstarts. I wish from the bottom of my heart the awful day were well over.' * Don't say that,' put in Prue. ' People should always be grand when they can. Let us be grand for once.' Mr. Bacchus now felt called upon to deliver an opinion. MACHINATIONS. 197 ' Dress!' be said. ' Dear me, I am the last person in the world to be consulted as an authority upon dress. If I am never made a bishop, it will be because I neglect my personal appearance. It is always the best-dressed men who get to be canons, deans, and so forth. And women, too. The women who get on in the world are those who think of nothing, morning, noon, and night, but how they look. I am sure of that, little else as I know of the matter.' The listeners smiled. They could not go into details, but might, nevertheless, learn much from their oracle. ' I suppose,' put in Prue, the coquette of the two, ' upon these occasions ladies wear bright colours.' ' That's it,' said Mr. Bacchus ; ' white dresses, pink sashes, straw-hats with daisies : the sort of thing to get wet through in ; one always gets wet through upon these occasions, and, you see, the mise-en-scene demands it. AYe must always consult our mise-en-scene ; it is just the poor wretches like myself who 198 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. don't that never advance a step forwarder in life.' ' Then we must not wear our black silk dresses/ said Prue to Sabina, in an under- tone. ' And as to behaviour,' the Curate went on, ' my notion of behaviour is to do and say- exactly what comes into one's head. It doesn't suit everybody, but it is the only way to treat Mrs. de Robert. She sees through people in a moment. Never was such a woman for that.' ' She seems rather a formidable person,' said poor Prue. * I wish we could enjoy the party without having to undergo the introduction at all,' added Sabina. * After all,' Mr. Bacchus put in consolingly, ' the worst harm she can do you is to give you none of her money. She can't have your teeth drawn, shut you up in a mad-house, or cause you any bodily injury.' ' And, as my Edwin was always saying,' Sabina put in, ^ those who expect the sweet MACHINATIONS. 199 without the sour in this life are blinking idiots. If you have enjoyed a country walk, ten chances to one you will encounter an infuriated bull on your way home. If some- body gives you ^Ye pounds one day, some- body else is sure to borrow it of you the next. It is a law of nature.' ' There is something in that,' said the Curate. ' If Mrs. de Eobert makes you feel uncomfortable, she may compensate by giving you something ; and if she is sweet as honey, yet doesn't give you anything, you will at least have enjoyed the party and the ices. It is years since I tasted an ice myself. I would do anything compatible with orthodoxy for an ice I What with conversation so agreeable as this, preparations for the gala day, and the usual routine of household business, the in- terval passed all too quickly under the Curate's roof CHAPTER XY THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. HE day dawned auspiciously. There was a look of certitude about the sky and light clouds. Far away the fells stood out sharp and clear, a sign of fine weather in this region. The birds, too, heralded the morning vociferously, as if they too felt sure of fine weather. ' Yes,' were Prue's first words, as she drew up the blind ; ' you may wear your lemon- coloured silk, and I my embroidered muslin. And our new feathers, too ; we need be under no uneasiness about them. Whatever else may happen to-day, it won't rain.' ' I don't see what should happen, except THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 201 that Mrs. de Robert turns the cold shoulder upon us,' Sabina replied. ' J3ut if we obtain nothino' to our advantage, we shall not have undertaken this journey for nothing. Think of the experience of life it has given us, the new ideas we shall take back ! I feel a wholly diiferent creature already.' Alas ! poor Prue echoed the sentiment rather wistfully. She also felt a wholly different creature, and in more senses than one. As she laid out the finery she was. to wear upon this occasion, the muslin dress, the lace shawl, the Tuscan bonnet with its gay feather, she w^ondered if anyone would notice her appearance ; meaning, by anyone, the Curate. For the first time in her life she had formed an intimate friendship with a man ; the mascu- line element in her domestic life and society being hitherto represented by stocking-mend- ing for brothers and devout attention to pulpit utterances, with little enough of romance to be got out of either. This sojourn under the Curate's roof was 202 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. like a chapter out of a novel. The Rev. Mr. Bacchus was not exactly a hero, an ideal ; but he was joyous, kind-hearted, openness itself, the sort of man any woman must like. So, at least, thought Prudence Perfect — a partial judge, perhaps ; and then came a vision of Miss Ivory, the beautiful, fascinating Miss Ivory. Yes, hard as it would be to quit Briardale, the sooner it was quitted the better for her own peace of mind. If she were to stay much longer, she should feel rooted to the place. Mr. Bacchus came doAvn to breakfast in the highest spirits. ' I don't know how it is,' he said, ' but pleasure suits me so much better than work. Yesterday, now, why on earth should I feel ready to hang myself yesterday ? Simply because I had churchings, baptisms, burials, everything you can think of, from morning till night. Whilst to-day, just because I have nothing on earth to do but play lawn-tennis and drink iced claret, I feel bursting with THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 203 happiness. I confess human nature is a per- fect riddle to me.' Sabina and Prue laughed. ' I am afraid we are all alike in this respect,' replied Prue. 'We would rather follow our own inclinations than anything else.' ' And why that should be wrong, I can't conceive,' said Mr. Bacchus. ' No, I may honestly say it to you two ladies, no theo- logian who ever lived, from St. Augustine down to Dr. Pusey, has ever satisfied me, or anything like satisfied me, on this especial point. I wish everybody would speak out with regard to their own feelings, and then we might get to the truth of the matter.' * Here and there are people to be found who would rather not follow their own inclination,' put in the metaphysical Sabina. ' Joan of Arc must have really preferred not to be burnt, only she preferred in a greater degree to do what she knew would lead to being burnt. I suppose when human beings are nearly perfect, they can turn and twist about their inclinations just as they like.' 204 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' So the Romanists pretend,' put in the Curate. ' But here is another metaphysical problem for you. If tliey can only arrive at this condition by force — that is to say, by driving their own wills as I drive my pony — wherein consists their perfection ? Well, ladies, I must be off to clean the basket- chaise, or it will never be dry in time to start.' The cleaning of the basket-carriage was not the only task on the Curate's hands that morning. What with grooming Jack, mend- ing and polishing the harness, and his own boots, the twelve-o'clock dinner came all too soon. ' We will start in good time,' he said, as ho sat down to help the beans and bacon in high good-humour. ' Always get your money's Avorth, I say. We don't pay our friends for their entertainment, it is true ; but we pay for it in some way or another. I am sure I could have married half a score of couples in the time it took me to clean that pony- chaise.' THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 205 By dint of great exertions the little party contrived to get off at an early hour after all. At the last moment, indeed, it seemed as if they should be prevented from going alto- gether. Georgie tumbled off the garden wall and narrowly escaped deadly injury. Baby turned black in the face and showed symptoms of a fit. The Curate's coat did not come home from the tailor's. Sabina's lemon- coloured silk and Prue's embroidered muslin were not sent back, as promised, from the village dressmaker's. All was consternation, dreadful surmise, and anxiety. However, by dint of resolution and energetic action these obstacles were overcome one at a time, and in jaunty humour the three set forth. The Curate flourished his whip; Sabina and Prue leaned back, rosy with pleasure; and as they dashed past many a handsomer equipage, they envied nobody. Break and brougham, landau and victoria, all were bound to the Vicar's entertainment ; but so was the Curate's shabby basket-carriage. Marsden Tower, the seat of Mr. Meridian's 2o6 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. neighbour, Sir Charles IMarsden, would have seemed fairy-land to Sabina and Prue at any time. Not that the mansion had anything extraordinary about it. Ijelonging neither to legend nor history, its very name was a mis- nomer, reminding us of those fortified manor- houses so necessary during Border warfare. The ruined tower close to the modern man- sion was a mere shell, haunt of owl and raven; whilst Marsden Tower itself was all compactness, solidity, and comfort. The fascination of the place in the eyes of most people consisted in the vast wooded park, given up to fallow-deer. A more en- chanting scene could hardly be imagined. Golden glades and dusky shadow of veteran oaks, with graceful herds sporting unterrified by man. It was a scene out of that poem for summer-time, the ' Faerie Queene.' The preparations for the Yicar's celebration and the celebration itself had driven the pretty creatures a little farther from the house, but there they were in sight of the gala folk. The Curate and his guests had decided to THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 207 be early, so it seemed had everyone else. When they reached the park-gates in sight of the terrace, they found a gay and bewildering company already assembled. The fact is, many had come from such distances, that only by arriving early could they rest their horses sufficiently to return by nightfall. Mr. Me- ridian was the very person to disentangle himself adroitly from the complications of the day. The very genius of finesse must have pre- sided at his birth, and had he not been born to wear the bishop's apron, he might have shone in diplomacy. N^o sooner did he now catch sight of the Curate at his gates than he hastened to get the difficult business over. Giving his arm to Sabina, and motioning Mr. Bacchus to follow with Prue, he led them straight into the awful presence of Mrs. de Robert. It was a terrible moment for both, not in the least made less terrible by the brilliant crowds, the buzz of voices, the general air of gaiety and expectation, the enjoyment that they knew was to follow. 2o8 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' Let me present two ladies to you who have impatiently waited for the pleasure,' Mr. Meridian said, as he formally introduced Sabina and Prue to the much-dreaded kins- woman. ' They will tell you how much they are enjoying their sojourn at Briardale.* Then he turned to welcome fresh arrivals. Mrs. de Robert eyed the pair with almost a viperish look. AVhat harm was there in them ? Of what other pattern would she have had them made ? Yet she glanced from one lo the other as if Sabina's lemon- coloured silk and poor Prue's embroidered muslin be- tokened a demi-monde, a class of woman- kind offensive alike to morality and j^ohte society. ' Humph! there is no accounting for taste!' Mrs. de Robert jerked out. Whether the remark applied to their ap- pearance or to Briardale, the two friends could not imagine. It was, anyhow, a humiliating one, and it destroyed their last remnant of self-composure. Sabina tried to say something, but her tongue cleaved to the THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 209 roof of her mouth. Prue could only smile in a meaningless way, feeling all the while ready to cry. ' You may like Briardale, or you may not,' jerked out Mrs. de Robert. * Nobody can say it is my fault — nobody can possibly blame me.' ^ Oh dear no/ Sabina managed to get out. ^ Of course not,' murmured Prue, in a husky voice. They both looked extremely wretched. Mrs. de Robert laid their depression to the door oT Mr. Meridian's hints concerning the property. They were in despair, all but ready to hang themselves because they had come so far to no purpose, she thought. ' It is always so in this world,' she stormed on ; ' if we rescue a fly from drowning, it is sure to be gobbled up by a spider the next moment. The more people try to benefit others, the more harm they do.' She felt bound to make some sort of apology for having vainly aroused expectations, and determined to do it now or never. VOL. I. 14 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' I wish folks could take all they have got with them when they quit this world. AYhat envy, hatred, and malice would thereby be avoided !' she went on. ' There is my hus- band, now, poor darling — one must die to be a darling, as I am always saying ! If he had spent all he had on a diamond ring, and been buried with it on his finger, how much better for himself and everybody con- cerned ! Well, 'tis no use crying over spilt milk ; and the thing is not my doing, abuse me as folks may.' ' I am sure no one will abuse you,' Prue said tremblingly. ' How can you be sure, I should like to know? I shall be heaped with abuse, I tell you! Only think, now! That ever such a thing should have happened to me, a staunch Protestant, if ever there was one, ready to burn every image-worshipper and Papist I come across — to think, I say, of a claimant coming forward to my husband's property, a confessed, brazen-faced Jesuit !' ' A Jesuit !' cried the horrified Prae. THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 211 ' A Jesuit !' echoed Sabina, astonished, but quite free from Prue's theological aver- sions. ' A Jesuit, as true as my name is Sarah Roberts — for, you know, that is my name, turn and twist it about as you please. My poor husband stuck to the family motto and the Jleur de Us, and all the rest of it, as Don Quixote stuck to his barber's basin ; but, Lord love you ! there hasn't been a de Robert since the battle of Bosworth Field, when the Earl lost his head and title for fighting with Richard III. — two villains together, I'll war- rant ! However, that's neither here nor there. My poor husband's craze about his pedigree has got me into this quandary, is what I meant to say. And a rapscallion, ragamuffin lot it will bring about me, I see plain enough.' ' I hope not,' poor Prue said, feeling half afraid that both Sabina and herself were in- cluded in this category. ' Hope that curs won't prowl round the scavenger's cart, and that wasps won't find 14—2 212 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. out the rotten apple !' Mrs. de Eobert replied, in the same sharp peppery tones. ' Well,' she resumed, more good-naturedly, ' there are none of them here, thank God ! though why I have come myself, and why you have come, 1 can't conceive. As if a parcel of old women w^ere wanted at such a party as this !' That w^as the most mortifying speech of all. Prue, always youthful-looking for her age, had fondly imagined herself rejuvenated almost past recognition by the white embroidered muslin and Tuscan bonnet with peach -colour feathers. Sabina, too, could not conceal her vexation. She was free from her companion's amiable little vanities. She did not care a straw^ wdiether she looked youthful or aged. Mrs. de Robert's suggestion damped her ardour all the same. Fortunately, at this juncture Miss Ivory came up, beaming with kindliness and anima- tion. AVho so well able to dispense smiles and encouraging speeches? Youth, beamy. THE BEGINNING OF THE GALA. 213 spirit, goodness, seemed the domain over which she ruled with such easy sway. Why need she think of herself when there were so many others to think of her ? She had but to shine like a star, embellish like a flower, and her task was done. ' Do come and have some tea, the most Avonderful tea in the world !' she said, giving her arm to Sabina, whilst Mr. Bacchus fol- lowed with Prae. The Vicar was already at Mrs. de Robert's side, making fresh intro- ductions. ' Then, as it is still too warm for lawn-tennis, we will, if you like, stroll through the picture-gallery and china-room.' ' Delightful indeed !' replied Sabina and Prae in a breath. They felt almost as mucli relieved as some unhappy mariner just freed from the clutches of an octopus. Every step that removed them from Mrs. de Robert helped to restore their spirits. Then the tea — ' It must have cost ten shil- lings a pound at least,' said Sabina ; and the piles of strawberries, each as big as codlings ; the massive plate ; the crystal ; the exotics — 2 14 NEXT OF KIN - WA NTED. what an experience to remember and talk of afterwards ! Mrs. de Robert's final innuendo was soon forgotten, too; everybody else was so sociable and so cordial that the pair felt it impossible to believe they were not wanted. Eugenia introduced them to friends and neighbours. Mr. Meridian, in spite of the numerous claims upon his attention, did not overlook them ; Mr. Bacchus was all gaiety and attention. The Derrobers^uncle and nephew — found them out. Nothing, indeed, was now wanting to their satisfaction and enjoyment. CHAPTER XVI. MRS. DE ROBERT m THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. RS. DE ROBERT was also recover- ing herself. She was even be- giDning to be amused. The belief that she had seen the last of her next of kin, at any rate for that day, had exercised the happiest effect on her spirits. After all, the people here might be dull. They might pretend to find pleasure in each other's society, feeling bored all the time. Mr. Meridian might as well have thrown his money into the sea. Nevertheless, the whole thing amused her mightily. She liked to hear the Vicar's guests talk, to watch how they behaved, to see how 2i6 NEXT OFjKIX—JVylXTED. they dressed ; and it was pleasant to move about in that spacious park and watch the pretty deer disporting themselves. In fact, when her host came up with an elderly, agreeable, and spiritual-minded-look- ing man, and introduced him as Mr. Derrober, a friend on'a^tour with his nephew in these parts, Mrs. de Kobert was positively ingra- tiating. She had got over the trouble of dressing for this party, and she had got over the annoyance of introduction to Selina Beckett and Patience Purfle, as she persisted in call- ing them. There was no longer any reason for feeling bearish. * You say you are soon about to set forth on your travels, Mrs. de Eobert,' said the Vicar, also in high good-humour. ' Here is a gentle- man who may tempt you to visit the orange- groves of Florida or the Mammoth Caves of Kentucky. My guest is from the other side of the Atlantic' * Oh ! you come from America, do you V asked Mrs. de Eobert, blunt but affable. ' I have a mighty liking for your country, sir ; MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 217 leastways, I should have, if ever I set eyes on it. What I admire in Americans is their good sense about family pedigrees, coats of arms, and such tomfoolery. Just look about you now.' Here she dropped her voice. ' There is a Lord and Lady Somebody and a Sir What's-his-name or two here ; you will know them by the bowings and scrapings they get. Then a Duke is expected to put in an appearance : the very deer will take fright at that. No, America for me ; no flatter^ ing, no toadying — every mother's son on his own footing.' The elder Derrober smiled. * I fear, madam, your compliments must be taken with some reservation. Is the worship of Mammon greatly to be preferred to that of race and ancestry ? Keep your almighty dollars, I say, and give me instead the bones of my forefathers.' ' Much good would the bones of your fore- fathers do you r retorted Mrs. de Eobert. 'Money is a good thing enough — if only folks knew how to spend it !' 2i8 NEXT OF KIN^WANTED. * Ah, there's the rub 1' replied the other. * Even for the wise, what a task to get, much less keep, rich ! Did you ever hear of one able to do it ? Our millionnaires expend thou- sands of dollars on a picture or pleasure - garden. How much more expensive, how ruinous is an idea !' * Oh !' cried Mrs. de Kobert, ' it must be pleasant to have ideas, whether they ruin us or not. To be like Shakespeare, Milton, and Sir Isaac Newton, I mean. But it's my notion they are as much out of date as the Crusades.' ' Never believe that, madam,' was the reply. * The world wants ideas now more than when Gutenberg invented printing ; aye, and will get them, too. As we look around, what meets our eyes but a spectacle of crime, misery, and wretchedness — destined, think you, to last for ever V * I hope not, I am sure,' Mrs. de Eobert replied. ' How ideas are to mend matters, I don't see.' ' Ah 1 we want time to talk that out,* said MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 219 Derrober, his face lighting up with a charming expression. ' The scene, the hour, the occa- sion are hardly appropriate for a dissertation on suffering humanity. I owe you an apology for introducing it at all. What a picture before us at this moment I Yon mottled deer, sporting amid the glades ; the little lake, crystal clear, on the forest's edge — park, I suppose I should call it — the reflections of blue sky and snow-white cloud ; the rich foliage beyond.' * Yes ; 'tis a sweet pretty spot. Seldom enough does one get a chance of seeing it,' was the answer. * Our aristocrats are a mighty exclusive set. One might suppose places wore into holes by being looked at, so much pains do they take to shut them up.' ' Which proves a sad want of ideas on their part,' began the other. Just then the Vicar came up, and, appa- rently without design, introduced the nephew, as he had before introduced the uncle. ' You can find your way about here as well as myself,' he said to Mrs. de Robert in- 220 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. gratiatingly. ' Do let my visitors inspect the picture-gallery and china-cupboard with you, whilst it is too hot for the gardens !' ' I know as much about pictures as most folks,' Mrs. de Robert said, abrupt but com- pliant. ' That is to say, I can manage to find out which is the top, which is the bottom, and whether 'tis a sea or land piece. However, we will make our wise criticisms tog;ether.' ' Mrs. de Robert does indeed know some- thing about old china ; and few country houses possess a choicer collection than this,' added the Vicar ; then he left the trio together. ' Humph !' cried Mrs. de Robert ; ^ I under stand old china to my cost, true enough, as the Vicar knows right well. Did you notice his teasing look ? I'll tell you about my cups and saucers presently. Let us look at these whilst we have the chance.' The china -cupboard was, in reality, an elegant little boudoir, with a carol window, rose-garlanded settees covered with old blue damask, a blue French carpet, and light oak MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 221 cabinets displaying the china to best ad- vantage. It was a gem, a bijou, the strangers said, quite enchanted. Other visitors passed in and out ; Mrs. de Eobert and her com- panions lingered. ' Now, nephew,' began the elder Derrober, * you and I know as much about old china as Cherokee Indians. Let us get all the in- formation out of this lady we can.* ^ And if she tells us the history and value of every piece, we shall be about as wise as we were before,' said the other, glancing round with great curiosity. * But make us see why a bit of painted earthenware no bigger than an egg, and as easily broken, is worth a bundle of bank-notes — why, when set up under a glass case, people go into raptures about it. Ah, then, madam, you have taught us something !' ' Be content to learn your ABC to-day, hoping to be able to read some time or other,' replied the elder. ^ I am thankful to know a teacup when I see it. If Mrs. de Eobert will inform me whether it is worth six cents or NEXT OF KIN- WANTED. sixty dollars, was made last century or in this, comes from Holland or Japan, I am the wiser. We can't know and admire every- thing.' ' If people never pretended to admire this, that, and the other, they would save them- selves no end of trouble,' Mrs. de Eobert replied, delighted at such outspokenness. ' Well, you need not admire yonder bowl, but just look at it. In Queen Anne's time, this sort of china was all the fashion. I have a very similar one myself.' ' It would look w^ell on our side -table — eh, nephew?' put in the elder, with much ap- preciation. ' You must know we are going to build a big house, my nephew and I, and put in all the beautiful things we can lay hands on.' ' Oh ! collecting, are you ? I suppose these gimcracks are scarce in your country ? I only wish I could give you some of mine,' she went on, good-naturedly. * I have a cup- boardful that belonged to my late husband, and I am to give it to the first relation that turns up.' MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 223 Uncle and nephew dared not exchange glances. The opportunity to speak out was irresistible ; but they were under a promise of reticence. ' Then I wish I were one of your relations/ quietly said the elder Derrober. ' I wish you were, I am sure,' was the answer. ' I shall go farther and fare worse, I dare say. An out - at - elbow, tatterde- malion, poverty-stricken set, I am sure, they will turn out to be, these relations, when they turn up.' ' Well, you would not certainly bestow your china upon those who had too much already V Dr. Derrober asked, quietly satiric. ' What does Mahomet say ? — " Accursed is he who gives to the rich." ' * And a fool is he who gives to the poor, because people would not be poor if they had ever had wit enough to get anything, or keep what they got,' Mrs. de Kobert said. •' No ; I have no faith in poor people myself I don't mean the folks living in back-slums and workhouses ; 1 mean the happy-go-lucky sort, 224 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. of a better class, who make ducks and drakes of any money they can Lay hands on.' Ao^ain the s transfers winced. The Doctor added : ' Then if you neither bestow on the wise nor the foolish, your china will go a-begging.' At that juncture, fortunately for the two men, Miss Ivory and Mr. Bacchus entered the room. They had found Sabina and Prue shady seats in the garden, and were now beat- ing up recruits for the lawn -tennis tourney and croquet match. ' Oh, dear me !' said the Curate, enchanted beyond measure with everything. ' Mrs. de Eobert and our old travelling-companions from Lodore ! How pleasant to meet one's friends ! How delightful it would be to have such a party to go to every day !' ' A hint for Mrs. de Robert,' said Eugenia. Then she wanted to know if the Curate's old friends would not join in the proposed games, or, at least, look on. Old china seemed to lose all interest in the younger Derrober's eye on a sudden. He took up his hat to MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 225 follow his beautiful conductress, evidently fascinated by the gracious apparition. Miss Ivory needed no gala dress to heighten her beauty. Beholders, indeed, who gazed on the fair picture for the first time, seldom noticed what she wore. They only felt that the whole was perfect. Eugenia certainly dressed with great care, and was not in the least likely to pay less attention to her toilette than usual on such an occasion as this. Let cynics and censors rail as they may — real amiability, and a sens^ of what is due from one human being to an- other, make women take pains to look their best. Uncouth and squalid indeed were the spectacle of society given up to universal dowdyism — the feminine element unadorned or unadorning. 'Who is that beautiful girl?' asked the elder Derrober, almost breathless with admira- tion. ' I am sure I never know if she is pretty or ugly,' Mrs. de Eobert said, heartily pleased to have her Eugenio admired all the same. ' You VOL. I. 15 226 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. men are all alike. You seem to think women were only made to look at. Well, licr name is Ivory, since you ask it ; she is an orphan, and lives with me.' He seemed to ponder. He was wondering, indeed, whether the pair were related, whether Miss Ivory were the rich woman's heiress, and she still remained ' in maiden meditation, fancy free,' wdiether — but thought is swift, and conjecture arrowy in its speed. Ere the tall, graceful figure, so appropriately and richly dressed in white lace and crimson roses, was fairly out of sight, a w^hole romance had been built up in Mr. Derrober's brain. For talk not to us of the romance of youth. 'Tis ever outrivalled by the romance of age. ' We're not related,' said Mrs. de Robert, as if reading his first thought. ' Her parents were sworn friends of mine, and she is an orphan. That is why we live together. iVn odd taste, you will say, for a girl like that to live with a crusty old woman like me ! But Jenny does as she likes ; and if that won't satisfy people, nothing will. She is as happy MRS. DE ROBERT IN THE CHINA-CUPBOARD. 227 as the day is long, I can tell you. Well, shall we go downstairs and w^atch the games, or look at the pictures V Mr. Derrober seemed to think watching the games more seductive just now. At any rate, he hesitated between the rival attractions. Mrs. de Kobert said : ' Suppose we just glance at the pictures, and then go downstairs. Alw^ays see what you can when it costs you nothing, I say. Ah ! pictures I've got and to spare, and they are for my poor husband's relations, too. I know nothing* about ]3ictures except that they cover the walls and make a house look genteel. And I dare say you are not much of a judge either V Just then the Vicar, with a small but brilliant company, joined them in the corridor. Mrs. de Kobert had not the remotest notion that he was seeking her, much less in the interest of more unknown next of kin. For- tunately for her enjoyment and peace of mind, Mr. Meridian acted his part perfectly. Never had his tact served him to better purpose. 15—2 CHAPTER XYII. MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. R. MERIDIAN possessed the happy gift of perfect self-reliance. He felt at home alike with lords spiritual and temporal, and with ladies, no matter of what rank. ISTo woman, indeed, had ever put him out of countenance but Miss Ivory. In her presence he did occasionally feel at a loss. When, therefore, he now came up with an Earl's daughter on his arm, and a Duke on the other side, he looked by no means as if just put into new clothes, not a single part of which fitted. Smiling, easy, finished, he per- formed his duties of host in the best possible MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. 229 manner, never omitting, never exceeding — above all, never losing presence of mind in little things. If society itself is made up of trifles, all the more necessary is it to under- stand the management of trifles. No one cared less for titles than Mrs. de Eobert. She was perfectly sincere when she called the de appended to her name, the flew de Us and ftimily motto, tomfoolery. The de and the fleur de lis and the rest of it, in the case of others, seemed, if not tomfoolery, at least next door to it. Yet she was gratified when Mr. Meridian introduced her to Lady Flora Fairacres, and to the owner of all the hills and dales for miles round. She was gratifled because, as she expressed it after- wards to Eugenia, it showed that the Vicar did not look down upon a plain-spoken, homely old woman like herself She was gratified, too, at the opportunity of hearing the great folks talk about pictures. Whatever else they might or might not know, great folks who live in big houses do understand pictures. She felt half sorry that her Eugenio was not 230 NEXT OF KIN— Vr ANTED. there to profit by tbe lesson ; only Ivey was so clever, she seemed to arrive at everything by intuition. ' Mrs. de Eobert will see here a Murillo as fine as her own, for she is the happy possessor of one,' said Mr. Meridian pleasantly, as he marshalled his guests into the picture- gallery. That mention of the IMurillo in Mrs. de Robert's possession seemed to have an extra- ordinary interest for one of the little party. This was a clergyman : a Church dignitary one would have taken him for at first, so quietly imposing his air, so great the respect paid to him by all. He was an elderly man of distinguished appearance, from which a certain portliness did not detract ; as he glanced hither and thither, shrewd, ingratiat- ing, even benignant, it was easy to see that, for some reason or other, he felt the liveliest curiosity, not only about Mrs. de Eobert, but her companion, Mr. Derrober. ^ Humph !' cried Mrs. de Eobert, in high good-humour. ' A Murillo that is mine and MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. 231 not mine. A housefal of Murillos, always supposing I wanted them, would not do me much good under those conditions.' The clergyman's penetrating look and keen, although discreetly veiled, interest in Mrs. de Robert and her Murillo was not overlooked by his host. Having already presented Lady Flora and her father, Mr. Meridian now added, in the most natural manner : ' His lordship's guest — the Rev. Dr. Robert- son.' There was nothing calculated to arouse Mrs. de Robert's suspicion here. Robertson is a name met with frequently. At social gatherings in country places, strangers and new-comers are generally presented to the rest of the company, made up of friends and neighbours. The more frequently Mrs. de Robert was introduced the better she liked it, and the more civil she found the Vicar. So the little party passed into the picture-gallery in the best possible humour ; Mr. Derrober keeping close to Mr. Meridian and the grand folks, NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. feeling sure be should now hear something worth listening to about pictures. It is inconceivable that Murillo should have painted half the sweet, bright pictures bearing his name. Provided the imitation delights as much as the original, what matter ? Be this as it may, the Murillo here and the Murillo belonging to Mrs. de Robert hap- pened to be very much alike, so said the Vicar, as all stood lost in admiration before the precious canvas. ' Yes ; the painter without doubt had the same models before him for both Virgin and Child. The details, also, are almost identical. On the whole, lovely as is this grouj), I prefer your own,' he said, turning to Mrs. de Robert. ^ Happy the unknown possessor into whose hands it is destined to fall!' Odd as it may seem, Mrs. de Robert keenly relished such by-allusions to her next of kin and the something they would hear of to their advantage. She liked, indeed, everything connected with this stramre business but the bestowal of the MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. 233 gifts when it came to a matter of fact. She wanted to be rid of the property, she had spared no pains to find proper claimants ; but no sooner were they in the field and the division seemed imminent, than she hated liaving anything to give, and, above all, hated those w^ho had come in search of it. To-day, however, so she fondly believed, she could enjoy a talk about her Murillo and its probable destiny. ' 'Tis a sweet picture, certainly,' she said, ^ and as like this as cherry to cherry. Who- ever gets it will get more than their deserts, that's quite certain.' ' Come, Mr. Meridian,' laughed the Duke. * You and I have both irreproachable char- acters. Let us look into our pedigrees. Who can tell with what result ?' ' Alas !' said the Yicar, shaking his head. ' I have already thumbed mine in the quest till it is now wholly illegible. If I can hear of anything to my advantage I shall have to be taken on trust, or go to Ulster King at Arms for a new pedigree.' 234 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. * You are hardly likely to hear of a Murillo/ put in the stranger dril}-. He had been care- fully examining the picture, eye-glass in hand. * I have studied this painter in his native country ; I think I know his hand, and it is here. What a dream of beauty ! !N'ot only the very place, the atmosphere even, our very selves seem transformed, beatified, as we gaze. But ' — here he turned round sharply to Mrs. de Kobert — ' the proper place for your canvas, if indeed a Muriilo it be, is a church!' ' Find me a church built by one of my husband's name, then, and to a church it shall go, as true as my name is Sarah Roberts,' Avas the blunt reply. ' I'm not a very good Churclnvoman, as Mr. Meridian knows ; but I don't object to churches on principle.' ' Take care, take care,' the Vicar said laughingly. ' What if such a church were found ? You arc bound to keep your word.' * I am not uneasy,' Mrs. de Eobert an- SAvered, jauntily confident as before. ' I've MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. 235 lookexl into the pedigree myself. My bus- band's people are not bad, as folks go. I could never discover that one of the name bad been banged for nmrder. Tbat is something. But they seem to have been a sad lazy set. Not one, I am sure, ever scraped up enough money to build a coachhouse, much less a church.' ' Then it behoves some descendant to do it on their . behalf. Your Murillo is certainly doomed/ was the Yicar's playful rejoinder. He then passed on v/ith his companion"? making a hasty survey of the room. With- out any apparent design, the stranger fell back with Mrs. de Robert. The day was warm and glowing. The bustle and gaiety outside soon wearied elderly folks. They dropped into a sofa in front of the Murillo, glad thus to snatch an interval of rest and cool- ness. The best part of an entertainment, Mrs. de Robert always said, was a talk on a sofa, always provided that your talker had some other qualification than a tongue in his head. 236 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' You are a great traveller, it seems, sir,' she began. * I am a missionary,' was the reply, the speaker's naturally sweet voice and scholarly turn of phrase makhig everything he had to say pleasant to listen to. Perhaps his manner was a little studied, his elocution a trifle elaborate. So few of us take pains to clothe our everyday thoughts becomingly, we must not carp at those who err on the side of niceness. ' My calling has led me into regions named and mapped but yesterday. I have encoun- tered the fierce sun of Central Africa, and the even more terrible frost of Greenland. The missionary, as you know, plants his foot wherever man can subsist. Climate, soil, the conditions of primitive society, are all one to him. With his Bible he faces the wilderness, as the mariner with his compass braves the deep.' ' I hope it all does good, this missionary- ing among cannibals and heathens,' said Mrs. de Robert. MRS. DE ROBERT AND HER MURILLO. 237 The stranger smiled — a meaning, benignant smile. Then he pointed to the picture hang- ing on the opposite wall. ' Our means are often lamentably inade- quate to our ends. We were speaking of this beautiful Murillo just now. Let me tell you what miracles I have seen worked by a pic- ture. You will then understand my remark about your own.' Mrs. de Kobert listened delightedly ; she liked listening, except when in the church pew. It was then as much as ever she could do to keep silent and awake. She would sniff at her smelling-bottle one moment, pop a pej^permint into her mouth the next, surreptitiously munch a gingerbread- nut, take out her pincushion and re-adjust her shawl ; in fine, have recourse to a dozen expedients in order to keep her eyes open. A lay sermon on a sofa was a wholly different matter. The talker is bound to be agreeable under such circumstances, whilst a preacher in the pulpit is bound by no conditions whatever. ' Many years ago, then,' began the speaker, 238 NEXT OF KIN— WANTED. ' I was despatched on a mission to an island in the South Pacific. I myself gave a name to it, which I will point out to you on the map, if I can find one hereabout. A sweet place it was, one vast fruit and flower garden, with groves of orange and palm affording delicious shelter, and green hills softly sloping to the sea. No blot marred its outward beauty. But the human element — the men and women peopling this earthly paradise — how can I give you any notion of the dark- ness and pollution there ? These poor people could not be called fiercely, vindictiveh^ wicked. By no means ! They were rather blind and perverse, and for a good reason. Xo voice had spoken to them of good, of Christ. ' Well, we missionaries began by putting a stop to cannibalism and other dire j)ractices. We built a little church, opened a Sunday- school, got the islanders together and talked to them as to children of right and wrong, of