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 HESTER'S SACRIFICE 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 HESTER'S SACRIFICE 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OP 
 
 ST. OLAVE'S," "JANITA'S CROSS, 
 
 &c. &c. 
 
 ' Life counts not hours by joys or pangs, 
 But just by duties done." 
 
 m THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GEEAT MARLBOROUan STREET. 
 
 1866. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserved
 
 LONDON 
 
 PmNTKO BY JLVCDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE, 
 
 BLENHEBl STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 ?^3 
 
 (LO 
 
 lit 
 3robing llrnuntbrana.
 
 o-^ 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 << QTAY, my dear. Here is something I 
 want to read to you out of this news- 
 paper before you go." 
 
 And Mrs. Brayton put on her gold-rimmed 
 spectacles, took them off, rubbed them with 
 a snowy cambric handkerchief, put them on 
 again, and then, very slowly and carefully, 
 those dim old eyes of hers travelled up and 
 down the half-dozen closely printed columns 
 wherein were chronicled the sayings, doings, 
 
 i^ and intentions of St. Angusbury, one of the 
 r4 smallest and dullest of small and dull Eng- 
 lish provincial towns. Apparently the search 
 Q^ was unsuccessful. 
 ^ VOL. I. B 
 
 4 •
 
 2 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 " Dear me, now ! This is very strange," 
 and the spectacles were once more taken 
 off, re-rubbed and re-adjusted. " I'm sure 
 Nils told me it was in the right-hand 
 corner, down at the bottom, after the births, 
 marriages, and deaths ; but I can't see any- 
 thing of the sort. And he told me, too, 
 that I was to be sure and show^ it to you, 
 for you are so much interested in the 
 School of Art, and your papa does not take 
 in the Chronicle.''^ 
 
 ^^Will you give me the paper, and let me 
 try if I can find it ?" said the young lady, 
 Avho had been addressed as "my dear." 
 
 She was a shy, quiet girl, of three or 
 four-and-twenty. Pleasant to look upon, if 
 only for the reason that there was nothing 
 remarkably striking about her. She was not 
 plain, far from it, but no one would have
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 3 
 
 called her beautiful, because just now her 
 face lacked that fine glow of expression 
 without which the most faultless features are 
 like a stained glass window, through which 
 no sunlight comes ; cold, lustreless, and un- 
 meaning. Still, as you looked at her, you 
 felt that when the sunshine did come, if 
 ever it came at all, there would be glow 
 and glory enough. Most likely she had been 
 taking an early cup of tea with the elder 
 lady, and was now preparing to go home, 
 for she had already gathered lier long grey 
 cloak round her, and was carelessly playing 
 with the feather of her hat before she put 
 it on. 
 
 '^ Shall I take the paper?" she asked, 
 " and tr}^ if I can find what you are look- 
 ing for? You must tell me first, though, 
 what it is." 
 
 B 2
 
 4 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 ^^No, thank you, my dear. I never like 
 to be beaten with anything. And I feel so 
 perfectly certain Nils told me it was in this 
 corner. Ah! and here it is, too," added 
 the old lady, triumphantly — "only at the top 
 of the page instead of the bottom. I do 
 believe, after all, my memory must be fail- 
 ing me, though I don't like to own it. I 
 felt so sure it was the bottom of the page. 
 However, one can't be always young. Now, 
 my dear." 
 
 And, still keeping her finger carefully 
 placed on the errant paragraph, lest it should 
 once more make its escape, and be drowned 
 in the chronicled small beer of Angusbury, 
 Mrs. Brayton gave the paper to Hester 
 Tredegar, and resumed her knitting with 
 a greatly relieved expression of counte- 
 nance.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 5 
 
 The information which had required so 
 much search was neither startKng nor mo- 
 mentous. It read thus — 
 
 " We understand that Basil Brooke, Esq., 
 late of Kensington, has been appointed to the 
 mastership of the Angusbury School of Art, 
 vacant by the resignation of Mr. Willows. 
 We are also authorised to state that the 
 Committee intend to continue the select class 
 for ladies, and we confidently expect that 
 under the able superintendence of the new 
 master, whose testimonials are of the highest 
 order, this department of the school will 
 regain that high standard of excellence 
 which recent painful circumstances have im- 
 peded." 
 
 The *^ recent painful circumstances" re- 
 ferred to some indiscreet escapades of the 
 present master ; which escapades, combined
 
 6 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 with incapability and want of punctuality, 
 had caused him to receive a formal dismissal 
 from the Committee. 
 
 Hester read the paragraph aloud, then 
 glanced over it in silence, repeating the 
 name again and again, as we do sometimes 
 find ourselves repeating strange names ; not 
 because they have the faintest significance 
 for us, but only because of a pleasant music 
 in the sound. 
 
 And there was a pleasant music in this. 
 
 " Basil Brooke." It had a sound of woods, 
 and streams, and wild flowers in spring- 
 time. At least, Hester thought so. But then 
 Hester was a fanciful girl, fond of build- 
 ing castles in the air, castles wdiich always 
 came dowm with a crash before the top-stone 
 was put on. 
 
 "That is all, my dear," said Mrs. Bray-
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 7 
 
 ton, when the brief statement had been 
 read ; " but Nils told me I was to be sure 
 and let you see it, because you would be in- 
 terested in it." 
 
 "Thank you. Mr. Brayton was very kind, 
 and I am much obliged to him for think- 
 ing of me. I am glad this class is to be 
 continued." 
 
 "Yes. I was sure you would. Nils says 
 you must have a great talent for drawing. 
 He was at the School of Art the other 
 day, inquiring the qualifications of a youth 
 they are going to take into the draughting 
 department of the office, and the master 
 showed him a piece you are doing now, 
 a group of leaves and grasses from Nature. 
 He, I mean the master, said it was the 
 best thing that had ever been done in the 
 school."
 
 8 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 '' You mustn't be offended, my dear," 
 continued Mrs. Brayton, seeing that the girl's 
 face flushed painfully at this broadside com- 
 pliment ; " I wouldn't on any account have 
 said it to you in the presence of another 
 person, but I really could not help telling 
 you what the master says about your work. 
 And though, as a master, he is not all 
 that could be w^ished for, yet he is artistic, 
 and knows when a piece of work is well 
 done. And don't begin to fasten your cloak, 
 my dear, for I shall not let you go home 
 yet. It is already too late for you to be 
 out alone on the Milcote Koad, and if you 
 will just wait a little longer. Nils will be 
 back from the office, and he shall walk 
 with you — that is, if your papa will not 
 be uncomfortable on account of your ab- 
 sence.
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 9 
 
 " Oh ! no ; papa won't miss me." 
 The words were spoken rather sadly, with 
 a slight sigh, not intended to call forth 
 remark or sympathy, but only the un- 
 conscious expression of a deep-seated feel- 
 ing. Anyone accustomed to study cha- 
 racter would have discerned a whole world 
 of weariness and unrest in those four little 
 words, "Papa won't miss me." 
 
 Mrs. Brayton was not accustomed to study 
 character ; but she was accustomed to do 
 something infinitely more useful — namely, 
 to make everyone about her as comfortable 
 as circumstances would permit. And so, quietly 
 taking Hester's hat and cloak, she placed 
 her in an easy chair by the window, and 
 said in that cheery, genial way which 
 made Mrs. Brayton such a favourite with all 
 her friends,
 
 10 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 "Now, my dear, I shall keep you there 
 for another hour at least. You don't know 
 how I dislike being left alone through these 
 long spring evenings, when Nils is obliged 
 to stay so late at the office. They are 
 very busy just now, in consequence of some 
 alterations that are being made in the 
 Milsmany barracks. All these things have 
 to go through his hands. Often it is past 
 eight when I get him home. Not that he 
 is a very great talker even when he is 
 here — he will sit for an hour together 
 sometimes, so grave and still. He has been 
 wonderfully changed since he came home from 
 the West Indies, ten years ago — wonderfully 
 changed. I cannot understand it, though I 
 am very thankful." 
 
 And then, as elderly people sometimes do, 
 Mrs. Bray ton seemed to lose the thread of
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 11 
 
 her ideas. At any rate, the outward mani- 
 festation of them ceased. A musing expres- 
 sion came into her face, her lingers still 
 moved steadily over the knitting work, but 
 her eyes had the dim look of one who sees 
 only the far-off past. 
 
 It w^as some moments before she began 
 again from the old starting-point. 
 
 "Yes, w^onderfully changed. That one 
 year abroad steadied him down, and made 
 him like a middle-aged man, so very dif- 
 ferent from the harum-scarum youth he 
 used to be before he went out. Not that 
 he was worse," and Mrs. Brayton drew 
 herself up with a touch of motherly pride — 
 "not that he was worse than most other 
 young men of his age even then ; only 
 passionate and wilful — never anything more 
 than passionate and wilful. And perhaps.
 
 12 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 being an only child and fatherless, I in- 
 dulged him more than was quite proper. 
 But there is not a better son anywhere 
 now, nor more dutiful than my Nils. 
 Thank God for it ! No, not a better son 
 anywhere than Nils Brayton!" 
 
 Hester made no reply. The praises of 
 Nils Brayton might or might not have any 
 special sweetness for her. She had been 
 reading over and over again that paragraph 
 about the School of Art, until she could 
 say it by heart; and now she began to 
 fold the paper, and twist it round her 
 fin'gers in that listless, half-absent w^ay 
 which seemed habitual to her. 
 
 "It is a pleasant name," she said at 
 last. 
 
 "What name, my dear?" 
 
 "Basil Brooke."
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 13 
 
 '^ You don't know him, do you f 
 
 And Mrs. Brayton looked rather sharply at 
 her. 
 
 "Oh, no! I never heard the name be- 
 fore. Only it sounds pleasantly." 
 
 "Yes; and I sincerely hope the new 
 master will match his name. If he does, it 
 will be a good thing for the school. Miss 
 Lapiter will board him, I suppose. Mr. 
 Willows resided with her until he took to 
 being out late at night, and smoking in his 
 bed-room, and that sort of thing ; and then, 
 of course, she was obliged to give him no- 
 tice, and, I believe, she has not met with 
 another lodger yet. I hope somebody will 
 mention it to him. Miss Lapiter makes her 
 lodgers so comfortable. If there is one per- 
 son in the world who deserves to have her 
 rooms always occupied, it is Miss Lapiter."
 
 14 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 ^'And, then, if lie is not a married man," 
 continued Mrs. Brayton, " and I don't sup- 
 pose he is, she will be such a mother to 
 him, and lay herself out to attend to his 
 buttons, and personal comforts. Buttons are 
 serious things. I believe many a young man 
 has fallen into loose habits from nothing 
 but want of attention to these little things 
 on the part of his female relatives. 1 will 
 step down myself to Rose Cottage, and ask 
 Miss Lapiter if she has made inquiries 
 about him. There is not much time to be 
 lost. Nils told me he was to come in May, 
 and April is nearly half through already." 
 
 "May, June, July," said Hester to her- 
 self, quitting the subject of Mr. Brooke 
 and his buttons. Indeed, that anyone with 
 such a fragrant, wildwood name should 
 stand in need of buttons and personal com-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 15 
 
 forts, seemed a sort of contradiction. 
 "May, June, July. Only three months, 
 and I shall be a great deal happier than 
 I am now." 
 
 "How so?" asked Mrs. Brayton. 
 
 "Because my little sister May is coming 
 home in July, to stay always." 
 
 "Always! That means, 1 suppose, until 
 she marries, which may follow more closely 
 upon her coming home than you anti- 
 cipate. May; yes, I remember her when 
 she was here two years ago, before she 
 went to school in France — a merry, mis- 
 chievous, hoydenish little thing, full of tricks 
 and nonsense. No one would have thought, 
 to look at her, that she was fifteen. But 
 that must all have passed away. She will 
 be quite a finished young lady now. And 
 so May is coming home?"
 
 16 Hestey-'s Sacrifice. 
 
 "Yes. But May will never be what 
 you call a ' finished lady.' There w^as 
 something about her that would never be 
 pinched and stiffened. She is such a dear, 
 good, loving little thing. I shall be glad 
 when she comes home." 
 
 All the sadness had gone out of Hester's 
 voice now. Instead, there w^as a rich ring 
 of love and tenderness in it. And if you 
 could have seen her face then, in the half 
 dark of that April evening, you would have 
 called it almost beautiful ; for the colour 
 deepened on her cheeks, and her dark grey 
 eyes lighted up, and the smile upon her 
 lips was very bright and soft as she spoke 
 of this " little May " — this sister upon whom 
 her warm heart, shut out from other friend- 
 ships, spent its rich treasure of love, and 
 found such joy in the spending.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 17 
 
 " Yes," Hester said. " When May comes 
 home I shall have some one to love and be 
 good to." 
 
 " And have you not your papa to love and 
 be good to now, my dear?" 
 
 "Of course I have," and the sadness 
 came back again ; " I can keep house for 
 him, and see that he has his meals properly, 
 and all that sort of thing ; but he never 
 lets me feel that I can do more for him 
 than a steady servant could do, and you 
 know we would like to do a little more 
 than that for those we love. Papa does 
 not care to have people talking to him, or 
 making a fuss over him, * fidgetting,' as he 
 calls it. But, Mrs. Brayton " 
 
 " Well !" 
 
 " I think I had better go home. That pile 
 of cloud keeps getting thicker and thicker, 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 and the wind blows as if there would be rain." 
 
 "I shall let you do nothing of the sort. 
 Nils will be here directly, and if he is 
 with you, you will be quite safe." 
 
 "I know that." 
 
 And then, as if lingering over what for 
 years had been to herself such a blessed 
 truth, Mrs. Brayton said it again. 
 
 "If Nils goes with you, you will be quite 
 safe." 
 
 After that, there was a long pause. Hester 
 leaned her face against the window, and 
 looked out into the twilight, a contented 
 smile upon her face. 
 
 Certainly there was nothing in the ex- 
 ternal prospect to make such a smile pe- 
 culiarly appropriate. The moon had slipped 
 away behind a bank of clouds, whose rugged 
 edges betokened rain and storm. Already
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 19 
 
 the wind was sighing dismally enough through 
 the trees, and when the wind was silent, 
 you might hear, like a perpetual murmur, 
 tlie gurgle of the river Lelland, which 
 flowed past the garden. And so thick and 
 murky was the air, that the abbey towers of 
 Angusbury, though scarce a mile distant, 
 showed like nothing but a dim stain upon 
 the horizon. If Mrs. Brayton spent much of 
 her time looking out of the window on such 
 evenings as this, she might well complain of 
 loneliness. 
 
 Yet that quiet contented smile kept deepen- 
 ing on Hester's face. Was she thinking of 
 a hand that should clasp hers by-and-by — of 
 the long walk home, which, even through 
 wind and rain, should be so pleasant, because 
 not alone? Was the silent indifference with 
 which she had listened to Mrs. Brayton s 
 
 c2
 
 20 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 praises of ^'my son Nils" only an innocent 
 deception, a veil, which, like the cloud on 
 some fair mountain's brow, covers while yet 
 it reveals its height? Or was the smile all 
 for sister-love? Was she thinking of the 
 time, so near now, when '^little May" should 
 come home? May, the bright spring blos- 
 som, who should take from her overladen 
 heart all the love it longed to give I" 
 
 While they two sat so quietly there, the 
 door was opened, and a tall, erect gentleman 
 came in. 
 
 Very erect, indeed almost disagreeably 
 so, except that a dark blue surtout, buttoned 
 up to the chin, and a short moustache — an 
 adornment less common then than now — in- 
 dicated that the gentleman belonged to the 
 War Department of Her Majesty's Service. 
 And as militarv men are allowed an un-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 21 
 
 limited amount of erectness, we may make 
 Nils Brayton welcome to his — mere espe- 
 cially as it was blended with a grave, quiet 
 dignity which kept it from stiffening into 
 pride or haughtiness. 
 
 Mrs. Brayton was leaning back in her 
 chair. You might have thought she was 
 asleep, but for the gentle motion of her 
 hands, which kept clasping and unclasping, 
 as they always did when she fell into a 
 reverie. This time the reverie was so deep, 
 that she did not hear the door opened, nor 
 was she aware of her son's presence until 
 he stooped down and playfully passed a 
 bunch of ivy leaves over her face. 
 
 " Oh ! Nils, you mischievous boy ! How 
 you did startle me !" 
 
 Not much boyishness in that strong, sol- 
 dier-like face, over which the storms of at
 
 22 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 least thirty winters must have beaten — to 
 say nothing of other storms which leave 
 deeper traces than these. But if Nils 
 Brayton should live to three score and ten, 
 he would still be " my boy " to the fond 
 heart whose love was all his own. 
 
 "You did give me such a start! And 
 what is tliat in your hand? A bunch of 
 mint for the lamb to-morrow?" 
 
 "No, mother; something mxuch more pre- 
 cious than that. Some ivy leaves for Hester 
 Tredegar. I heard her say the other day 
 that she wanted some for the group she is 
 copying at the School of Art; and I want 
 you to get these sent to her. Be sure 
 that she has them to-morrow, or their beauty 
 will be gone." 
 
 " You need not wait until to-morrow, 
 Nils," said Mrs. Brayton.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 23 
 
 And there was that slight, ahiiost im- 
 perceptible tinge of bitterness in her voice, 
 which a mother feels when the love that 
 has been hers for a whole long life is pass- 
 ing to someone else. 
 
 " Miss Tredegar is here ; you can give 
 them to her yourself." 
 
 Nils Brayton drew himself up, looking 
 vexed and annoyed. Sitting so silently there 
 in the shadow of the curtains, Hester had 
 escaped his notice. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Tredegar. You 
 must excuse me for using your name so 
 unceremoniously. I only do so when I am 
 alone with my mother." 
 
 Hester caaie forward. If she felt either 
 annoyance or confusion, her quiet voice and 
 manner hid both. 
 
 *^ It was very kind of }'ou to get me
 
 24 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 these leaves. 1 have wished for some very 
 much, but I did not know where to look 
 for them." 
 
 And then she took them from him, and, 
 kneeling on the hearthrug, began to ar- 
 range them in a group to which lier dark 
 dress formed a good background. 
 
 Nils Brayton stirred the fire into a merry 
 blaze, partly, perhaps, that Hester might see 
 better what she was doing, partly that, 
 standing by her, behind his mother's chair, 
 he might watch her as she knelt there, 
 bending over her leaves with a face that 
 was bright enough now, though you might 
 not call it, even yet, beautiful. 
 
 But he had passed that time when a 
 man's first thought is for beauty of form 
 and colour. He had had enough of that 
 in his time, perhaps too much. What he
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 25 
 
 wanted now was that other loveliness which 
 the soul chisels for itself, and which cannot 
 pass away, but lives on, while the pure 
 thoughts which have wrought it remain. 
 And that other loveliness he had found in 
 Hester's face — found it long ago. 
 
 "But where did you get these leaves?" 
 said Hester, when for a long time she had 
 amused herself by twining them into dif- 
 ferent designs. 
 
 And that Hester was an artist you might 
 tell by the graceful forms which they took 
 under her deft fingers. 
 
 " Where did they come from ? I never 
 saw any of this peculiar five-pointed shape 
 about here." 
 
 " I got them from the Monk's Crag this 
 
 mornincf." 
 
 "The Monk's Crag! Oh! Mr. Brayton,
 
 26 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 that is more than three miles away. And 
 you took all that trouble just for me? You 
 are very good !" 
 
 "I did not think it any trouble. You 
 know I enjoy walking." 
 
 And then Mr. Brayton stopped. He 
 could not think of anything more, having 
 an inaptitude for extempore compliments, or, 
 indeed, compliments of any sort. Neither 
 did he tell her, as he might have done, 
 that the three hours he had spent in walk- 
 ing to the Monk's Crag, and gathering those 
 leaves, must be put back in hard work 
 that very night. Mr. Brayton was a man 
 who seldom said more than was absolutely 
 needful, sometimes scarcel)^ that. 
 
 The abbey clock struck nine, a very faiiit, 
 feeble sound, cleaving its way through all 
 the mirk and mist.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 27 
 
 "There, I must go home now," said 
 Hester, fastening her cloak for the third and 
 last time. 
 
 "I kept Miss Tredegar here, Nils, until 
 it was too late for her to go home alone, 
 and then I said, if she would stay until 
 you came from the office, you would go 
 with her." 
 
 Mrs. Brayton said this M'ithout searching 
 in her son's face for the willingness which 
 she knew well enough would be found 
 there. 
 
 He dived into his pocket for a bundle of 
 blue, official-looking papers, the over-work re- 
 sultant upon his morning's walk, and laid 
 them carefully within a brass-bound desk 
 that stood in one corner of the room. 
 
 "I am quite at your service, Miss Tre- 
 degar."
 
 28 Heste7'^s Sacrifice. 
 
 And with that brief intimation they both 
 took their way throup^h the rainy twihght to 
 Milcote. 
 
 When they were gone, Mrs. Brayton got 
 to her knitting again, but it made little 
 progress. Over the sweet, motherly goodness 
 of her face there came by and by a half- 
 sad expression, which, with an earnest look 
 she cast upon a solitary ivy-leaf that had 
 fallen upon the hearth-rug, said, as plainl}^ 
 as any words could speak, 
 
 ^'It must be so. Yes, it must be 
 so." 
 
 Then that half-sad expression cleared away, 
 to make room for one of quiet content, 
 even pleasure. And she whispered to her- 
 self, as she set to work again upon tlie 
 knitting, 
 
 " It is well. I am quite content,"
 
 29 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 HT. ANGUSBURY-CUM-MONKLANDS, 
 
 as it was entered in the old chronicles 
 and parish registers ; or St. Angusbury, as 
 the High Church clergyman used to put at 
 the head of his letters ; or Hangerby or 
 Angley, or Anly, as it was variously christ- 
 ened by the country people in their un- 
 couth provincial dialect ; or simple Angus - 
 bury, as most of the respectable people 
 called it — this place, then, with as many 
 names as a Spanish Infanta, overflowed with 
 maiden ladies, widows, elderly dowagers, and 
 unmarried women of all grades.
 
 30 Hesters Sacrifice. 
 
 Literall}^ overflowed; for after appropriat- 
 ing all the suitable houses within the 
 strictly parochial limits of the town — the 
 grey old tenements round the Abbey Close, 
 the tall, rigid family mansions of the High 
 Street, the grim apartments of St. Angus 
 College — long ago deserted by its scholastic 
 occupants, and now let out in suites of 
 rooms — they poured into the outskirts, and 
 swarmed like bees in the multitudinous 
 Parades, Terraces, Crescents, and Squares, 
 whose tight, trim little fronts and shining 
 gardens made Angusbury look like those 
 miniature towns which children build out 
 of toy boxes. 
 
 Some people used to say it was not 
 " overflowed," but " infested " with this class 
 of the population. These, however, were 
 sour, ill-natured people, chiefly tax-gatherers.
 
 Hester s Sac7ijice. 31 
 
 and Commissioners' rates collectors. And 
 they said it, because these widows, aunts, 
 and elderly females, who, in a general way, 
 had very small incomes, would hurry on 
 their bonnets and slip out of the back 
 door when the aforesaid collector, with ink- 
 horn and blue paper, was seen coming up 
 the street — thereby putting off the evil day 
 for themselves, but causing him a vast 
 amount of needless trouble, which resulted, 
 as needless trouble is apt to result, in ill- 
 temper and ill words. 
 
 But, though any well-bred person would 
 hesitate before applying the ugly word 
 "infest" to the occupiers of those neat 
 little tenements which came within the 
 provisions of the income tax or the water 
 rate, still it cannot be denied that a con- 
 siderable amount of gossip was done in
 
 32 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Angusbury, and much evil-speaking, and 
 scandal, and censoriousness perpetrated 
 by the worthy ladies who were wont to 
 take their knitting and go out to tea with 
 a view to whist or conversation. Possibly, 
 too, many a deep and deadly feud, many 
 a grudge which never got satisfactorily 
 smoothed or settled, many a little drop of 
 poison which, falling in the cup of domes- 
 tic love, turned it into gall and bitterness, 
 might be traced to its source in those 
 snug four-handed tea-parties, concerning 
 which the members thereof said, when they 
 came home, " Delightful ! very delightful ! 
 never spent such a delightful evening in 
 my life !" Was it not at one of these 
 "delightful evenings" that a remark was 
 dropped concerning the frequent visits of 
 IMr. A. to Miss B., the pretty daughter of
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 33 
 
 the Angusbury surgeon ; and did not Mrs. C. 
 take the first opportunity of calling upon 
 Miss B., and telling her that her engage- 
 ment to Mr. A. was positively settled, and 
 in everybody's mouth? Whereupon Miss B., 
 who was a shy, sensitive girl, and rather at- 
 tached to Mr. A., behaved so coldly to him 
 next time he came, that the poor man, 
 who was also sensitive, felt himself aggrieved, 
 and visited the house no more. And so two 
 people, who might have been very happy, 
 were made very unhappy. Again, if the 
 fiery-tempered Mrs. D., who cut the acquaint- 
 ance of her dear friend Mrs. E., on ac- 
 count of some rude and insulting remarks 
 which Mrs. E. had made relative to the 
 number of servants which she kept, had 
 taken the trouble to sift the matter far 
 enough, would she not have found that it 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 Hestei-'s Sacrifice, 
 
 arose from the mischievous Mrs. C. wilfully 
 misunderstanding a remark which was made 
 by Mrs. F. at her whist party, and after- 
 wards putting it about that Mrs. D. was 
 increasing her establishment to such an ex- 
 tent as would shortly bring her husband 
 into the Gazette ? Divers other little disa- 
 greeablenesses, too, might doubtless have been 
 traced to a similar source ; so that, • on the 
 whole, Angusbury was not always thank- 
 ful for its redundant female popula- 
 tion. 
 
 But then there were statements to be 
 made on the other side. If Angusbury femi- 
 nine did sometimes indulge itself in tliis 
 way — and since women cannot, like men, 
 amuse themselves by finding fault with the 
 Government, it seems hard that they may 
 not supply the deficiency by finding fault
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 35 
 
 with each other — it did much good in other 
 ways. People were never known to die of 
 starvation in Angusbury, as they have been 
 known to die in other places which pride 
 themselves on freedom from scandal, and idle 
 women. No poor little poverty-stricken cripple 
 there lacked sweets and dainties, supplied by 
 some "unappropriated" hand, or flowers 
 whose bright colours and spring-like per- 
 fume might bring some sunshine into its 
 lonely life. 
 
 The destitute widows never complained that 
 they were neglected in the daily ministra- 
 tion. No poor dying man slipped into his 
 grave without some voice to speak a gentle 
 word to him, or guide him to the great, 
 sweet rest which lies for those who will seek 
 it, beyond this life's toil and weariness. Per- 
 haps, after all, Angusbury might have found 
 
 D 2
 
 36 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 itself in a worse position had the census re- 
 turns been different. 
 
 But if the place was perennially over- 
 flowed with maiden ladies, it was also, at 
 certain seasons of the day, deluged with a 
 mysterious, inexplicable current of little, 
 middle-sized, and big boys ; little boys, with 
 very white collars and very shiny shoes ; 
 middle-sized boys, whose yearnings were for 
 hot pies and penny cheesecakes ; big boys, 
 who had a weakness for fancy ties, and 
 stand-up collars, and anything which gave 
 them the appearance of men. This periodi- 
 cal tide of male juvenility, so incapable of 
 being accounted for by natural causes, used 
 greatly to perplex the stranger in Angus- 
 bury, until he learned that the place was 
 almost as rich in grammar schools as in 
 maiden ladies, and that, in fact, the annual
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 37 
 
 importation of widows, maiden aunts, and 
 godmothers was owing to the facilities which 
 the town afforded to those who had large 
 famihes, whether of nephews or sons, and 
 small means for the education thereof. 
 
 But whither these boys went, as they 
 reached the stage of dress-coats, and deve- 
 loped into youths, was a mystery which no 
 stranger ever did unravel. For certainly 
 never was a man of them seen in the 
 streets of Angusbury. It was a stream of 
 boys which flowed down those streets — boys, 
 boys ; never anything but boys. Whether 
 some fairy had gifted them — most needless- 
 ly — with immortal youth; whether they 
 vanished into thin air, or w^ere lured away 
 by evil sprites, or got absorbed into distant 
 offices and warehouses, or were seized upon 
 by Government and sprinkled over the
 
 38 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Civil Service Department, or went to swell 
 the Army and Navy lists, one thing is cer- 
 tain — as they reached man's estate, they 
 invariably disappeared from Angusbury. 
 
 But, alas ! the maiden aunts and widowed 
 mothers who had brought them, did not 
 likewise disappear. No; they lingered be- 
 hind, finding the place convenient for rent 
 and respectability. So that, whereas the 
 stream of boys was ever flowing, the resi- 
 duum of maiden relatives was ever deepen- 
 ing. Like some great river, whose deposit 
 increases in proportion to the rapidity of 
 its current, that mighty tide of boys was 
 gradually choking up its own channel. And 
 unless by some gigantic scheme of social 
 engineering this deposit of elderly gentle- 
 women could be removed, there was danger 
 that the navigation of the place would
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 39 
 
 be obstructed, and in the end destroyed. 
 Ana^usbury was a pleasant town in its 
 way, which was a very quiet way. It had 
 a fine old abbey, with two lofty towers, 
 and a rano^e of grey cloisters — now con- 
 verted into dwelling-houses for maiden ladies 
 — and a green, sunshiny Close, sprinkled 
 with elm trees, and intersected with gravel 
 w^alks, along which respectable children — 
 none others — attended by nursemaids, were 
 allowed to take their walks abroad. And 
 there was a market-place with a stone cross 
 in the middle, and a business street, full of 
 shops where the country people bought their 
 finery — red, yellow, blue, and all the colours 
 of the rainbow ; and a second street, very 
 genteel and respectable, where Augusbury, 
 select, purchased its moire antiques and 
 Paris millinery. Also, there was a mild,
 
 40 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 slumbrous river, the Lellancl, which never made 
 much noise in the world, and indeed seemed 
 to exist only for the convenience of anglers, 
 as mild and slumbrous as itself, who would 
 sit through long summer days upon its 
 reedy banks, never catching even the 
 stupidest fish, but only getting a nibble 
 now and then, to keep them from going to 
 sleep altogether. Moreover Angusbury had 
 a Mayor, a Corporation, a Board of Health, 
 and a School of Art, which last was falling 
 into decay, by reason of the incompetency 
 of the master — an easy-going sort of man, 
 who allowed the pupils to draw caricatures 
 of him on the backs of their paper, while 
 he sat in his private room smoking, just 
 opening the door now and then, and giving 
 a mild glance around, to the intent they 
 might not lapse into flagrant disorder. But
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 41 
 
 the Committee was going to alter all that. 
 The master had received his dismissal ; the 
 school was to be remodelled, turned inside 
 out and upside down, and made the ad- 
 miration of the surrounding district, for 
 order, method, and regularity. To this end 
 a new master had been engaged, of whom 
 more anon. 
 
 These were the prominent features of 
 Angusbury. There was nothing else remark- 
 able about the place. It lived its little life with 
 all due respectability. It paid its taxes and 
 water-rates — though sometimes, in consequence 
 of small dividends, or a fall in the funds, they 
 were not forthcoming the first time of asking. 
 It attended a place of worship regularly on 
 Sundays. Its very genteel people went to the 
 abbey, where there was an intoned service, 
 and a great array of hooded dignitaries;
 
 42 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 the rest went to a district church, where 
 a good evano^elical clergyman preached ; or to 
 the primitive methodist chapel, whose pulpit 
 was supplied once a month by a minister 
 from Millsmany, and at other times by 
 ^Mocal brethren" resident in Angusbury. 
 It learned its catechism, and to a certain 
 extent practised what it learned. At any 
 rate, it kept its hands from picking and 
 stealing, for the magisti'ate had scarcely any- 
 thing to do, and the police were men of 
 abundant leisure, which they spent in mild, 
 undisturbed flirtation at the tops of area 
 steps. It did not always keep its tongue 
 from lying and evil-speaking, but then no 
 towns do that, especially those in which, 
 according to census returns, the population 
 consists chiefly of — but there is no need to 
 bring that subject forward again. On the
 
 Hester s Sacrijice. 43 
 
 whole, An^usbury was a very respectable 
 place — a place of which none of its inhabi- 
 tants need be ashamed. 
 
 Something like a moderately talented, 
 rm/ moderately talented young lady, who 
 has been sent to boarding-school from her 
 earliest years, and carefully trained and 
 taught to behave herself quietly, after the 
 manner of the sixpenny good-breeding books — 
 not to talk loud, not to laugh loud, not to walk 
 fast in the streets, not to look into the 
 shop windows, not to flirt with individuals 
 of the opposite sex, not to say anything 
 remarkable, or do anything out of the or- 
 dinary beaten track of commonplace pro- 
 priety ; but just to sit still and hold herself 
 up, and speak when she is spoken to, and, 
 in short, live as if the eye of an invisible 
 school-mistress were ever glowering down
 
 44 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 upon her, and keeping watch with Argus- 
 like vigilance over her manners and cus- 
 toms. 
 
 That is a tolerably correct portrait of a 
 certain second-rate provincial town entered 
 in the parish register and county chronicles 
 as the "ancient borough of St. Angusbury- 
 cum-Monklands."
 
 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A ND all this time Nils Bray ton and 
 
 Hester Tredegar have been plodding 
 
 through the April gloom over that most dreary 
 
 road which lay between Lellandsbridge and 
 
 the old house at Milcote. 
 
 Dreary enough at any time — at least, 
 that part of it before you come to Milcote 
 Lane, with its monotonous hedgerows and 
 level fields, only diversified at intervals of 
 twenty or thirty yards by a gaunt, spectre- 
 like tree, stretching its great black arms 
 upon the sky ; or a charred and trodden- 
 down patch upon the stunted grass, left by
 
 46 Hester^s Sacrifice. 
 
 some gipsies when they struck their tents 
 and moved their encampment farther away 
 from the town. But surely never so dreary 
 as on this April night, when neither moon 
 nor stars were out ; and the east wind 
 came moaning across the Angusbury flats 
 like a very spirit of dismal discontent, 
 which the half-fledged trees, as their branches 
 chafed and fretted together, seemed to an- 
 swer in a murmur as dismal and discon- 
 tented. 
 
 Yet the way did not seem long to either 
 of them, for it was beguiled by those 
 pleasant thoughts which make even the 
 dreariest road seem bright as with summer 
 sunshine ; thoughts to which that moonless, 
 starless night could give none of its gloom, 
 and that wailing east wind none of its dis- 
 cpntent.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 47 
 
 Once only before had Hester been on 
 that Milcote road alone at night, and that 
 was a long time ago, when May was at 
 home — May who had been away in France 
 more than two years now. It was one day 
 towards the close of January, yet not much 
 bleaker and darker than this. Nils Bray- 
 ton had been sent for up to London on 
 some business connected with the War De- 
 partment — he was often summoned away at 
 a moment's notice — and Hester had gone over 
 to Lellandsbank, to sit with Mrs. Brayton, 
 who was suffering with an illness which re- 
 quired careful nursing. Hester waited upon 
 her whilst Martha Bennet, the old house- 
 keeper, lay down to rest a little while ; 
 and then she had had to walk home alone 
 in the moonlight. She remembered that walk 
 very well ; how the creaking of the bare
 
 48 Hesters SacHJice, 
 
 branches overhead had made her shudder 
 and hurry forward ; how every harmless 
 stump had seemed like some prowlmg thief 
 or vagabond who might spring upon her, 
 demanding her money or her life : how the 
 silver moonlight, shining upon a heap of 
 broken stones, transformed it into a com- 
 pany of gipsies, to avoid whom she had 
 turned down a by-road, which led her at 
 least a mile out of her way. 
 
 Poor Hester! But now all was very dif- 
 ferent. With Nils Brayton walking by her 
 side, she felt so safe. Not all the vaga- 
 bonds and gipsies in the kingdom could 
 harm her whilst she could hear the regular 
 tramp of that firm footstep close at hand. 
 This sense of being protected and cared for 
 was very pleasant to Hester. It was a feel- 
 ing that she rarely knew in that cold,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 49 
 
 quiet home life of hers. Mr. Tredegar, self- 
 containedj reserved, and unsociable, never let 
 her know, by tender caress or thoughtful 
 word, that her welfare was dear to him, 
 that her happiness lay very near his heart. 
 Certainly he was a very upright, honourable 
 man; thank God, she had no need to blush 
 for him or for his actions ; but he lived 
 his own life, apart from love or sympathy, 
 and it never seemed to enter his thoughts 
 that she could need either. And then, for 
 that little May, whose " coming home to 
 stay always" was such a bright spot in 
 the otherwise unsunned future of the year, 
 Hester's love for May was that of a mother 
 rather than a sister. Giving much, nay, 
 giving all, she never asked for return. To 
 care for others, and not to be greatly cared 
 for by them, this seemed to be her life 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 duty. Not so now. For a little while she 
 had fallen into her own place. There came 
 into her heart, not for the first time, the 
 thought how pleasant it must be to have 
 someone always stronger, steadier, and wiser 
 than herself — someone who would lead her 
 through the whole long journey of life, as 
 Mr. Brayton was leading her now along 
 that dark, comfortless road, quite safely. 
 
 It was a silent walk ; !Mr. Brayton did 
 not seem disposed to talk much. It was 
 enough to know that Hester was by his side, 
 that he need but move his hand to touch hers, 
 so near it was, so close to his own, just 
 where he hoped it might always be; that 
 he need but turn to look down into her 
 face — that quiet, unpassionate face, change- 
 ful, but not restless, and lighted up now 
 as from some pleasant thought within. Just
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 51 
 
 the face that a man, somewhat disappointed 
 with what the world had ah'eady given him, 
 might like to have at his own fireside day 
 by day, year by year, all through life. 
 And, perhaps, as they walked along. 
 Nils Brayton, who in general had not 
 much leisure for castle-building, let his 
 thoughts drift on to the time when he 
 should be rich enough to take that hand 
 in his own, and keep it there — rich enough 
 to transplant his favourite flower from the 
 shadow which folded it so closely now, to 
 a warm, genial spot, where the sun should 
 shine on it by day, and the dew refresh 
 it by night, and no storms beat upon it 
 any more. A year or two, not more than 
 that, and the time would come. 
 
 So they walked on in silence, and he 
 never told her the thought that lay so 
 
 e2
 
 52 Hesters Sacrifice. 
 
 near his heart. He never told her that 
 she was the woman he had chosen out of 
 all the world to be his own. Perhaps if 
 he had, life would have been a very dif- 
 ferent thing for both of them. Wanting 
 only that steady, quiet love which he could 
 have given her, knowing but little of 
 her own heart, how deeply it might be 
 stirred, how entirely it could suffer or 
 enjoy, she would have given him all he 
 asked, and, as the dear old-fashioned story- 
 books say, they would have been "very 
 happy ever afterwards." 
 
 But the affairs of these two people 
 were not to be settled after the manner 
 of the dear old-fashioned story-books. 
 In quite another manner, not nearly so 
 smooth and pleasant, their life course 
 was to run. The great Father who says
 
 Heater s Sacrifice, 53 
 
 to some, "Eest, and be thankful," said to 
 them, '^ Suffer, and be strong." 
 
 They came to the gate, overhung by two great 
 spreading sycamore trees, which led into Milcote 
 garden. Hester knew w^ell enough that the 
 most unkind thing that she could do for her 
 father would be to call liim down from 
 his study for half an hour's friendly chat 
 with a visitor. And Nils Brayton, knowing 
 Mr. Tredegar for a silent, unapproachable 
 sort of man, did not offer to go further 
 than the gate. He shook hands with her 
 there, said in his usual matter-of-fact 
 way— 
 
 "If you should ever want any more 
 leaves for your drawing, you must let me 
 know. I shall always be glad to get them 
 for you." 
 
 And then he went home again and set-
 
 54 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 tied down to a three hours' spell of writing; 
 the price he had to pay for those ivy 
 sprays which Hester was even now placing 
 so carefully in a glass of water, that their 
 freshness might be unspoiled when next 
 morning she took them to the School of 
 Art. 
 
 Mi's. Bray ton, who was still sitting by the fire 
 with her knitting work, often lifted her eyes 
 for a long, loving, motherly look at her son as 
 he sat at his desk writing patiently on 
 until after the stroke of midnight. You 
 may do the same if you like, for Nils 
 Brayton is a man that will bear looking 
 'at. 
 
 He may be thirty, or he may be more 
 than that. Fifty years leave upon some 
 men's faces lines not so marked as his wears 
 now. It is the face of a man who has
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 55 
 
 had to fight much, not with outward trouble 
 and disappointment, though he has had his 
 share of these too, but with enemies within — 
 with strong passions and a mighty will, to 
 conquer which makes any man's life a sore 
 conflict. Nils Brayton has not lived easily, 
 to wTar at thirty a face like that which 
 his mother looks upon now with such per- 
 fect content— such unquestioning, trustful love. 
 He may have sinned deeply — men of his sort 
 often do; but if so, he has repented bitterly, 
 for there is a grave humility in his bearing, 
 not the habitual slouch of outworn penitence, 
 but the sad, yet lofty dignity of a man 
 who knows that there are sins for which 
 no repentance can atone, and whose memory 
 no after life, be it ever so pure and per- 
 fect, can wash out.
 
 56 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 It may be that this long past tempest has 
 cleared the air. This stormy wind, how- 
 ever and whenever it arose, may have been 
 but as a messenger fulfilling His word, who 
 will have all men's lives to be honest and 
 true. Be that as it may, no one in Angus- 
 bury can speak a word against Nils Bray- 
 ton now. He walks its streets, erect, with 
 steady, straightforward glance, which seems, 
 in its quiet fearlessness, to dare accusation 
 or reproach. The whole town knows him 
 for an honest man — a true gentleman. His 
 mother — and surely she has the best right 
 to speak — says very proudly, 
 
 " There is not a better son in the world, 
 nor more dutiful, than my Nils." 
 
 And she thanks God for it, as well she 
 may. 
 
 People who know much about such things.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 57 
 
 tell us that the ashes and lava which gush 
 from a burning volcano, though they may 
 scorch for awhile, do yet afterwards greatly 
 enrich the fields over which they poured so 
 angrily. And when years have gone by, 
 the grass will spring more greenly, and the 
 trees put forth braver blossoms, because of 
 the fiery rain which long ago fed the soil at 
 their roots. But maybe some unthinking 
 peasant girl, who knew not of any volcano, 
 stood too near when its angry breath came 
 forth ; and it scorched the young life out 
 of her, and blackened the cheeks that were 
 so blooming, and left her dead. What is it 
 to her that by-and-by the grass will be 
 greener and the flowers more bright? 
 What to her that the trees will put forth 
 stronger boughs, and wear a rosier veil of 
 blossom? She will look upon them no
 
 58 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 more. Her little day is done. The lava 
 stream has killed her. Will she live again, 
 as the flowers do?
 
 59 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 rpRUE to their lady-love, the clouds all 
 followed the moon, as she dipped be- 
 hind the rugged outline of the Monk's 
 Crag ; and the April sun rose next morn- 
 ing upon a stainless sky. It made the 
 birds sing out right merrily amongst the 
 opening leaves; it made old Margaret, the 
 Miicote housekeeper — a genuine, true-hearted 
 Methodist — tune up with unwonted vigour, 
 and sing — 
 
 *' Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
 Thy daily stage of duty run," 
 
 as she fried the ham for her master's
 
 60 Hesters Sacrifice, 
 
 breakfast ; it even stirred up Sally, the 
 housemaid, who had no voice for sinking, 
 and caused her to whistle, not un melo- 
 diously, as she polished the casement window 
 of the parlour — that low latticed casement 
 through which she looked out upon such a 
 wealth of primroses, and violets, and all 
 manner of sweet Spring flowers. 
 
 You do not know Milcote yet, so you 
 had better step out of doors, and, leaning 
 your arms over that gate at which Nils 
 Brayton and Hester parted last night, take 
 a leisurely survey of the place in this 
 sunny April morning. 
 
 It was a pleasant, rambling, old-fashioned 
 country-house, standing far back in a gar- 
 den equally old-fashioned, and rambling^ 
 and pleasant. A garden w^hich brought 
 forth cabbage-roses, and Canterbury bells,
 
 Hester's Sacrifice, 61 
 
 and sweet- Williams, and clove-pinks, and 
 marigolds, and huge bunches of white and 
 purple lilac — a garden where there were no 
 Italian flower-beds, no fancy baskets, no antique 
 vases stuck over with scarlet geraniums — 
 no anything, in fact, but the rich green- 
 ness and luxuriance, and mingled shade 
 and sunshine, which, of old established 
 right and custom, belong to a country 
 garden. 
 
 As for the house, the outside of it 
 matched the garden, being grown over with 
 a sweet tracery work of Virginian creeper, 
 woodbine, and jasmine, through which small 
 latticed windows peered out into the green- 
 ness and beauty beyond. Going into that 
 house, you would naturally have expected 
 to find everything very cozy and com- 
 fortable ; plenty of easy chairs, plenty
 
 62 Hester^ s Sacrifice* 
 
 of soft cushions, plenty of primitive old 
 dimity-covered sofas, with such "accommodating 
 sides and backs ! — plenty of everything to 
 make life easy and enjoyable. If so, you 
 would have been completely mistaken. Not 
 that Milcote lacked comfort — nothing of the 
 sort. But it was a stern military sort of 
 comfort, not at all dependent on easy chairs 
 and soft cushions, rather, indeed, discarding 
 them as effeminate and useless. 
 
 Mr. Tredegar was a half -pay officer, who 
 had lived most of his life abroad under 
 rigid army discipline. Its rigour and self- 
 denial had somehow worked themselves into 
 the fabric of his daily domestic habits ; and 
 he would no more have thought of loung- 
 ing back in his chair, or disposing his tall 
 stately form on a sofa unless compelled 
 thereto by illness, than a very Pusey-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 63 
 
 itish young lady would indulge herself with 
 cold chicken on Lent Fridays, or a 
 private breakfast before matins. No, Mil- 
 cote was sparsely, almost scantily, fur- 
 nished ; and what little elegance it 
 did possess, was chiefly owing to Hester's 
 tasteful fingers. Hester, who filled the broad 
 low window-seat with flowers, and hung her 
 favourite pictures here and there upon the 
 walls, and dotted little bits of bright-coloured 
 fancy work about the rooms, which relieved 
 the monotony of the general effect, like 
 a scarlet cloak upon a grey, misty land- 
 scape. 
 
 But Sally, as she marched about with 
 her broom and duster, would have whistled 
 just as melodiously whether the furniture 
 had been ormolu or American deal, whether 
 the morning had been April or November.
 
 64 Hester's Sacrifice, 
 
 Sally's sturdy, broad-built frame, and uni- 
 formly red face, and round, unmeditative 
 eyes, proclaimed her one of the happy many 
 upon whom atmospheric causes produce but 
 little effect; who can meet with equal com- 
 posure the fogs of autumn and the sun- 
 shine of spring. Her happiness, too, the 
 wellspring whence gurgled that robust trill, 
 was quite independent this morning of ex- 
 ternal influences. 
 
 Sally was engaged to be married to 
 Thomas Bilson, the young man who served 
 Milcote with its daily supply of milk. And 
 vthis evening, Wednesday, being Margaret's 
 class-night, Thomas was allowed to come 
 and spend an hour or two with his lady- 
 love by the vacant kitchen hearth, "snug 
 and comfortable, just for all the world like 
 real quality," as Thomas expressed it; or.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 65 4 
 
 perhaps, if Thomas had been competent to 
 make a comparison, a great deal snugger 
 and more comfortable than '^ real quality," 
 who, if they have the warm fire, and the 
 vacant hearth, and the uninterrupted leisure, 
 do sometimes lack that faithful, unquestion- 
 ing love, which made young Bilson's heart 
 beat so cheerily, as he clinked his milk-pails 
 down Milcote lane that sunny April morn- 
 ing. 
 
 This, and not any bloom of violets and 
 primroses, seen through lattice windows, 
 caused Sally to whistle so melodiously amongst 
 her brooms and dusters; this it was which 
 spread over her honest red face a smile of 
 such ample, leisurely content. Sally had 
 been engaged, or, as she termed it, had 
 *' fastened herself," a year come Martinmas, 
 and Thomas thought they might as well 
 VOL, I. F
 
 66 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 make matters up, and get to housekeeping 
 in June or July, which was the time when 
 his present employer contemplated retiring 
 from the milk business. He had already 
 taken a cottage at half-a-crown a week, rent 
 to commence from the first week in June, 
 and he had got a few little things looked 
 up in the way of furniture, which were 
 packed up now in a corner of the best 
 room at home. A couple of cane-bottomed 
 chairs, with carved backs, second-hand; a 
 pair of tall brass candlesticks, which he had 
 picked up cheap in Angusbury market ; 
 some Italian banditti and shepherdesses in 
 coloured pot, for chimney ornaments, and a 
 tea-tray, with a peacock as large as life, 
 and much handsomer than life, painted in 
 the middle. 
 
 Not much towards housekeeping, certainly,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 67 
 
 but enough to make Tom's face brighten 
 considerably, as he leaned his back against 
 the best room door, and surveyed his trea- 
 sures neatly packed up in the corner. And 
 sometimes, when he had an hour to spare 
 after work, he would move the tea-tray into 
 different positions, to see where the peacock 
 showed to most advantage, and he would 
 place the shepherdesses and Italian banditti 
 in a row on the chimney-piece, and then 
 he would draw out the cane-bottomed chairs 
 in front of the fireplace, and seating himself 
 on one, would make-believe that Sally's 
 stout, robust figure occupied the other ; just 
 as really would be the case when they were 
 married, and settled in the milk business next 
 June. 
 
 Thomas, like his bride-elect, did not pos- 
 sess a naturally brilliant creative faculty, 
 
 f2
 
 68 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 and therefore, when indulging in contempla- 
 tions of future happiness, he found it ne- 
 cessary to aid his imagination by something 
 that could be actually taken hold of and 
 realised. The empty chair, and the pot 
 shepherdesses, and the Italian banditti, were 
 a species of object lesson, an outward and 
 visible sign of an invisible idea, which, 
 without such visible sign, could not have 
 been made patent to his mind. Had Thomas 
 been a poetic young man, he would doubt- 
 less have shut his eyes and beheld the 
 whole thing complete, without object lesson 
 or external symbol; just as an artist sees 
 his picture before he begins to paint it, or 
 the dramatist his scenes and characters be- 
 fore a word of the play has been written. 
 Lacking the creative faculty, however, it 
 was well to have recourse to external sym-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 69 
 
 bols; and Thomas might perhaps make a 
 steadier husband by reason of that very 
 obtuseness of mental perception which com- 
 pelled him to use them. 
 
 Sally, for her part, was not at all un- 
 willing to speed the happy day, and become 
 Mrs. Bilson, junior. Sally was not romantic. 
 She had never read a novel in her life, 
 and never meant to do so. She knew no- 
 thing about lovers' quarrels and sweet recon- 
 ciliations. She was not a person who had 
 any foolish notions about being " long sought 
 and hardly won." For her own part, what- 
 ever silly, foolish young women might say 
 about it, she could not see any common 
 sense in playing with a follower as a cat 
 plays with a mouse, pretending not to know 
 whether she wanted to have him or not, 
 letting him run away and then running
 
 70 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 after him again, perhaps in the end letting 
 him run away altogether, an unexpected 
 and not at all pleasant termination of the 
 game, though one which served the player 
 quite right. Sally was thankful to say she 
 had not behaved in any such ridiculous 
 off-and-on, fast-and-loose way, wdien Thomas, 
 bless him ! as decent and respectable a young 
 man as any you could find in all the 
 country round, to say nothing of a trifle 
 in the bank, and the best of characters 
 from his master, came to her that Monday 
 night, a year ago come next Martinmas, 
 just as she was putting the "starch things" 
 in to steep in the back-kitchen, and told 
 her that he had been thinking this long 
 time past that they might as well put 
 their little earnings together, and set up on 
 their own account in the milk business.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 71 
 
 Sally had heard the ^lilcote clergyman say 
 at church, " He that gctteth a wife getteth 
 a good thing;" and it was her own private 
 opinion that a woman who got a sober, 
 steady, respectable husband, got something 
 quite as good, if not a little better. And 
 so, instead of blushing, and simpering, and 
 looking foolish, as some servants she knew 
 would have done, she just w^ent on soaping 
 Mr. Tredegar's collars, and dropping them 
 one by one into the tub, and when the 
 last w^as safely under water, she said, 
 
 " Yes, Tom, I don't know but what I'm 
 agreeable, if you are." 
 
 And she had kept to it ever since, and 
 meant to keep to it always. For she was 
 quite sure she shouldn't meet with anyone 
 handier than Thomas, bless him ! — such a 
 good lad to his mother, and regular at
 
 72 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 church, and a pledged 'totaller, and every- 
 thing else that was proper. And so as soon 
 as Miss Hester was comfortably suited 
 with a fresh girl, Sally meant to go home 
 and get herself a few new clothes made, 
 preparatory to taking Thomas for better for 
 worse. So that Sally's future was bright 
 enough, and she had good need to whistle 
 merrily as she did over the sweeping and 
 dusting of the Milcote parlour that sunshiny 
 April morning. 
 
 Hester came downstairs and took her place 
 at the breakfast-table. Mr, Tredegar was 
 already there with his London paper. He 
 always got through his newspaper during 
 breakfast, and then the remainder of the 
 day was at liberty for study or reading, 
 which, according to his ideas, seemed to 
 comprise the whole duty of man.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 73 
 
 Mr. Tredegar was not naturally an un- 
 pleasant man. On the contrary, he was 
 well-read and very intelligent, and had seen 
 much of the world in his earlier days. 
 Until ten years ago, when his wife died, 
 he had lived abroad with his regiment; but 
 when he became a widower, having fulfilled 
 his term of service, he returned to England, 
 and ever since had lived a retired, studious 
 life. 
 
 Five years out of the ten had been 
 spent at Angusbury. They brought no in- 
 troductions with them, and consequently none 
 of the upper-class people left cards. It 
 was not until many months after his ar- 
 rival, when the place had perfectly assured 
 itself of his respectability, that a few stray 
 callers found their way to the old-fashioned 
 house at Milcote ; and then he had become
 
 74 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 so wedded to what was at first unintentional 
 retirement, that he did not care to re-enter 
 society, or take upon himself its duties and 
 obligations. He liked that quiet, undisturbed 
 life, it suited both his tastes and his means. 
 He was too old now to care for gaiety ; 
 and the Angusbury people were not, in a 
 general way, remarkable for intellect or in- 
 formation. It was pleasanter to sit over 
 his maps and plans, than to listen to their 
 babbling small talk. Besides, there was a 
 quiet little vmdercurrent of selfishness in his 
 nature, mingled with a lack of perception 
 \yhich made liim fail to discover that the 
 life which they led at Milcote, though suit- 
 able enough for a middle-aged man, who 
 had already got out of the world most of 
 the good that it could give, was far from 
 being wholesome for his young daughter.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 75 
 
 whose life yet lay before her. It never 
 occurred to him that she could not breathe 
 as freely as he did in that dull, unchanging 
 atmosphere. 
 
 But Hester was not given to complaining. 
 She made the most of the scant breathing 
 room which was given her. Childhood passed, 
 school-days gone, she settled down into the 
 peaceful routine of almost solitary home 
 life, having no heroic notions of sacrifice 
 or self-denial connected therewith ; not even 
 knowing why she sometimes felt so weary 
 and listless. She did her little best where 
 God had placed her ; and if sometimes, 
 when she heard other girls — as she some- 
 times did hear them at the School of Art — 
 talk of their pleasure-parties, balls, gipsyings, 
 and the like, the question asked itself, 
 "Why are none of these for me?" she
 
 76 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 remembered that life might have been sadder, 
 and was content. 
 
 Then she was painfully shy and retiring. 
 She had not the happy art of making 
 friends. She felt awkward and embarrassed 
 when one or two of the more sociably dis- 
 posed girls at the school had come up 
 to her and spoken kindly to her, and asked 
 her to join them in their walks. She would 
 like to have gone. She felt it was so kind 
 of them to ask her, but she could find no 
 words to tell them so. Instead of meeting 
 their advances with the smiling welcome which, 
 indeed, was in her heart, she faltered and 
 hesitated, and then they said one to another, 
 
 " Poor girl ! She is certainly very clever, 
 but then she is so shy. It is no use try- 
 ing to get on with her ; we must just let 
 her alone."
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 77 
 
 And after that they did let her 
 alone. 
 
 So that Hester had lived in Angusbury 
 five years, ever since she was eighteen, with- 
 out making any friends, except Mrs. Bray- 
 ton and Miss Lapiter. We have seen a 
 little of Mrs. Brayton already. She was 
 one of the very few who called upon the 
 Milcote people when they came to Angus- 
 bury; and the friendship begun through 
 courtesy had been continued through genuine 
 respect on both sides. 
 
 Mrs. Brayton's influence over Hester, so 
 far as she exerted any, was wholesome. 
 She was pure-minded and dignified, kind 
 and courteous in all her ways ; a true 
 gentlewoman of the old stamp, with more- 
 over a certain decision of character about her, 
 which, descending to her son Nils, had
 
 78 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 strengthened into downright decision and 
 firmness. 
 
 Hester's other friend presented a complete 
 contrast to the high-bred mistress of Lel- 
 landsbank. Miss Lapiter, of Rose Cottage, 
 was one of the merriest, funniest, most 
 talkative and loveable of maiden ladies ; a 
 perennial spring of mirth and good temper; 
 a notable example of single blessedness; a 
 standing proof of the happiness which may 
 be attained in the much-maligned state of 
 spinsterhood. For if there ever was a wo- 
 man who lived in the sunshine, who ab- 
 sorbed it into her very face, from which 
 it seemed to ray out in perpetual smiles, 
 that woman was Esther Lapiter, daughter 
 of Isaac Lapiter, M.D., and sister of the 
 late Rev. Josiah Lapiter, Rector of St. 
 Angusbury-cum-Monkland.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 79 
 
 Miss Lapiter was an indefatigable Mis- 
 sionary collector. She gathered up more 
 than all the other ladies of the committee 
 put together. Not out of pure zeal for the 
 cause — ^tliough she did love it to a certain 
 extent, and often denied herself some use- 
 less adornment in the way of dress, or went 
 without a favourite table luxury that she 
 might have wherewithal to minister to the 
 necessities of those who were less favoured 
 than herself — but the secret of Miss La- 
 piter's devotion to Missionary collecting was, 
 that it gave her an opportunity of seeking 
 out and being kind to strangers and recent 
 comers, who seemed to be neglected by the 
 Angusbury people. That little red collecting 
 book, with the rector's autograph warrant on 
 the back of it, was a sufficient excuse for 
 visits which might otherwise have np-
 
 80 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 peared needless or intrusive. More than 
 once had it opened the way to plea- 
 sant and lasting friendships. Many a 
 solitary old maid, plodding on through 
 a sort of slow death-in-life in some of the 
 lower strata of the Angusbury " deposit of 
 gentlewomen," blessed that little red collecting 
 book, on the strength of which Miss Lapiter 
 had paid her first visit to their secluded 
 habitations, convincing them that they had 
 not quite outlived a place in the memories 
 of their fellow-creatures. Many a widow 
 lady of small means and few friends, who had 
 Come to Angusbury with no introductions, and 
 was therefore treated with polite neglect by 
 the leading representatives of respectability, 
 looked back upon Miss Lapiter's collecting 
 book as the beginning of brighter times 
 and improved social opportunities, the har-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 81 
 
 binger of cosy afternoon calls and delightful 
 little evenings at Rose Cottage ; evenings 
 which seemed to bring a warm, fresh burst 
 of sunshine into their hitherto monotonous 
 lives. 
 
 And it was that same red collecting book 
 — a veritable home missionary amongst the 
 abodes of social need — which gave the kind- 
 hearted maiden lady an excuse for trotting 
 down to Milcote one summer afternoon, not 
 long after the Tredegars had taken up their 
 abode there. She had had the family on 
 her mind for sometime. From divers little 
 external signs, her quick perception had 
 gathered that the life lived in that quiet 
 home was not of the sunniest or the. brightest. 
 She had noticed Hester walking out alone, 
 looking listless and dispirited, as well she 
 might, for the walks in the immediate neigh- 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 bourhood of Angusbury were anything but 
 exhilarating, unless taken in connection with 
 a lively conversational companion. She had 
 watched her sometimes coming out of the 
 School of Art, still alone — always alone — whilst 
 the other girls clustered together in twos 
 and threes, arranging pleasure-parties and 
 excursions together, and her heart had been 
 sad for the poor motherless girl, in whom 
 none seemed to take any interest. She 
 longed to put a little sunshine into her 
 quiet life, to brighten up that listless face 
 with some of the joyful content which 
 ^overflowed her own. And with that bene- 
 volent purpose in her heart, and with the 
 red collecting book, and a peace offering of 
 summer flowers in her hands, she paid the 
 first voluntary visit that ever had been paid 
 by Angusbury to the Milcote people.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 83 
 
 The peace offering and the collecting 
 book were not in vain. Both Miss Lapiter's 
 arrows hit the mark. " The cause " gained 
 an annual guinea, and Hester Tredegar one 
 of the kindest, best, most faithful of friends. 
 If Hester had only known how much that 
 visit would involve, — how strangely that little 
 thread, put in, as it were, by the merest 
 accidentj would mingle itself with the 
 warp and woof of her whole life. But 
 she did not know. She took the little golden 
 thread, and was thankful for it. 
 
 Miss Lapiter had a kind word and a 
 pleasant smile for every one who came 
 within the reach of either. She believed it 
 was her mission to make people happy, in a 
 quiet, unostentatious way; and surely no 
 mission was ever performed with such hearty 
 good will, or with such successful results. 
 
 g2
 
 84 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 That benevolence of hers overflowed in a 
 perennial stream of loving deeds and little 
 words of kindness. When the women in 
 her tract district got into trouble, if their 
 husbands took wrong courses, or their 
 daughters turned out giddy, or their sons de- 
 veloped a taste for the public-house, the}' 
 used to come to Miss Lapiter for advice. 
 And though she never dealt in lengthy 
 exhortations, or treated them to a cold 
 shower-bath of lofty moral precepts, when 
 the poor things wanted a little womanly 
 sympathy, yet she had always at command 
 a fund of thorough good sense and practi- 
 cal wisdom, which met the case, and sent 
 the women home with, as they expressed it, 
 "a load off their minds." 
 
 Miss Lapiter was well known to the 
 juvenile population of Angusbury. The
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 85 
 
 widest current of her good-will flowed to- 
 wards the little people. She could never see 
 a child fall in the street without running 
 to pick it up, and dropping a sugar-plum or 
 a lozenge into its fat, dirty little palm, and 
 dismissing it with a hearty "Now go home, 
 darling, and tell mother all about it," which 
 the disobedient young reprobate never did, 
 but, instead, revealed the matter to its 
 brood of acquaintance, so that, in progress 
 of time, when Miss Lapiter's benevolent 
 tendencies became generally known, the boys 
 and girls used to be on the watch, and as 
 soon as a certain Dunstable bonnet and 
 green parasol were caught sight of in the 
 distance, first one and then another design- 
 ing urchin would run out, tumble into the 
 road, and set up a dismal wail, which, so 
 surely as Miss Lapiter heard it, was
 
 86 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 quieted by some sweet morsel from that in- 
 exhaustible pocket of hers. And if the dear 
 old lady was sometimes imposed upon, as 
 her friends now and then hinted to her, 
 was it not better to be cheated out of even 
 entire pennyworths of mint lozenges, than 
 to let one case of genuine distress pass un- 
 relieved ? 
 
 Generous, merciful Miss Lapiter ! If all 
 maiden ladies, yes, and all married ladies, 
 too, had as tender a heart, and as kind a 
 tongue, as the mistress of Rose Cottage, 
 society would need less reformation than it 
 cries out for now. 
 
 These two, then, an elderly maiden lady, 
 and a very elderly widow lady, formed 
 Hester's "circle" of acquaintance. For Nils 
 Brayton, who came to Milcote only at very 
 rare intervals, and in whose presence she
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 87 
 
 always felt a certain quiet restraint, could 
 scarcely be said to make a third upon the 
 list. A very small circle, though Hester 
 did her best to be contented with it. In- 
 deed, had she been ever so discontented, 
 that would not have bettered the state of 
 the case, for Mr. Tredegar neither sought 
 nor wished for new friends, and the time 
 had long gone by when people could be ex- 
 pected to call upon them as recent comers ; 
 and we have already seen with what suc- 
 cess Hester's more sociably inclined fellow- 
 students at the School of Art had tried to 
 make their way through that veil of pain- 
 ful reserve, which was so untrue an index 
 to the faithful loving heart within. 
 
 But these things would not be always 
 so. Only until July — and already the prim- 
 roses and violets had begun to bloom in
 
 88 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Milcote garden — only until July; then May 
 was coming home — the little pet sister May, 
 who would make everything so different, 
 who would fill that home, so quiet and 
 gloomy hitherto, with joy and sunshine, 
 with laughter and music. For where- 
 ever May came, there came w^ith her, as 
 surely as roses with the summer time, a 
 never-failing store of gladness. 
 
 And so, when Hester's heart was sad, 
 and the days went drearily on, neither 
 spring nor freshness in them, and life 
 seemed little worth, its pleasures so scant, 
 its duties so mean and poor, she would look 
 onward to the merry midsummer time, not 
 far off now, and still each half murmuring 
 thought with these sweet words — 
 
 "When May comes home."
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T)REAKFAST over, Mr. Trede.crar retired 
 to his study, and, after attending to 
 such household arrangements as the tiny 
 Milcote establishment required at her hands, 
 Hester gathered up those precious ivy leaves, 
 and went to the School of Art; for this 
 was drawing day, one of her few bright 
 opportunities. 
 
 The Angusbury School of Art was a quaint 
 old building in the Close, formerly part of 
 the abbey, under whose shadow it stood. 
 Indeed, it was so near to the abbey, that, 
 as you stood within its grey portals, you
 
 90 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 could hear the jackdaws cawing in the 
 belfry tower, or listen to the clear voices of 
 the choristers, intoning morning and evening 
 prayers. For Angusbury — at least the 
 genteel part of it — was very High Church, 
 and did not, in a general way, approve of 
 private domestic altars. It liked better to 
 perform its daily devotions in public, with 
 the legitimate accompaniment of stoles and 
 surplices and college hoods. 
 
 The external aspect of the building was 
 uninviting enough. For five centuries those 
 old walls had battled with storm and 
 damp; and now they bore traces of the 
 fight in many a patch and scar. Here 
 was a buttress of red brick, there a frag- 
 ment of stone facing; now a fine specimen 
 of dog's tooth moulding round an old arch- 
 way; then a bare piece of lath and plaster
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 91 
 
 work; next a Gothic window, fair as any 
 the abbey could boast ; and near it a rude 
 mass of masonry, thrust in to hold up some 
 failing corner or faulty beam. Within, how- 
 ever, all was graceful and classic. Stepping 
 out of the grim shadowy Close, with its 
 cloisters and tithe barns and mouldy monk- 
 ish remains, you found yourself transported 
 to a new world, or, rather, to the old fabled 
 worlds of Greece and Rome. 
 
 It was a long room, with a recessed com- 
 partment at each end. In one of these 
 compartments were ranged casts from the 
 ancient sculptures. There stood Apollo, with 
 outstretched hand and lofty front ; next 
 him a laughing Faun ; then bearded Hercules ; 
 then a Jupiter, stern and terrible as his 
 own thunderbolts; and, side by side with 
 him, Minerva peered with grave, still pa-
 
 92 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 tience into the face of a very slow youth, 
 who, for more than two thousand years, 
 had been trying to extract a thorn from 
 his foot, but without success. Then came 
 Ceres with her chaplet of grain ; then poor 
 Niobe, mourning for her lost ones; and 
 next to her, Juno, stately and imperial, 
 looking so scornfully down on the clusters of 
 modern young ladies, who, with the largest 
 of crinolines and smallest of fancy hats, used 
 to chat and gossip over their easels almost 
 within arm's length of her marble dignity. 
 The centre of the room was devoted to 
 the younger pupils, and furnished with out- 
 lines, elementary subjects, and geometrical 
 studies. Passing these, you came to a second 
 recessed compartment, separated from the 
 younger pupils' desk by a crimson curtain. 
 Here were grouped fragments from old
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 93 
 
 Greek capitals, scrolls, clusters of fruit and 
 flowers, medallions, shields, and casts of 
 friezes from the Parthenon. 
 
 It was to this end that Hester came 
 with her ivy leaves ; for here the " na- 
 turals," as Mr. Bilson called the girls who 
 copied leaves and flowers, used to study. 
 Mr. Bilson, Sally's future father-in-law, was 
 already there, getting out the boards, sharp- 
 ening chalks, arranging easels, and attend- 
 ing to other little matters, before the busi- 
 ness of the class commenced. 
 
 Mr. Bilson was a small man — small both 
 in body and mind — sixty, or thereabouts, 
 but active and nimble as a squirrel. He 
 had a large share of self-esteem, which 
 was more comfortable for himself than for 
 other people ; and having been for the last 
 ten years employed by the committee to
 
 94 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 sharpen clialksj and wait upon the pupils, 
 he considered himself a competent judge in 
 matters of art. He was, as he expressed 
 it, "considerable partial" to Miss Tredegar, 
 not only because she was one of the most 
 advanced pupils in the school, but because, 
 with a benevolence and consideration which 
 are not always exercised by mistresses 
 of households, she had facilitated the ac- 
 quaintance of his son Thomas with the 
 Milcote maiden, and so secured to himself 
 the possession of an active, willing daugh- 
 ter-in-law. He was just arranging Hester's 
 easel, when she came in with the ivy 
 leaves. 
 
 " Oh, Miss," — and Mr. Bilson put up his 
 hand to an imaginary lock of grey hair gn 
 the top of his forehead, by way of salute — 
 "you've brought them there for the grope.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 95 
 
 I was just sayin' to myself, as I settled 
 the palette and brushes, as how that grope 
 of yours wanted a few ivy leaves or some- 
 thing to stick in somewheres. You see, 
 Miss, havin' been so long in the concern, 
 I kind o' knows a good deal about these 
 sort o' things. I lay you'll like me to fetch 
 a glass of water for 'em, Miss. They're 
 uncommon pretty." 
 
 "Thank you, Bilson, if you don't mind 
 the trouble, I should be obliged to you. 
 Shall you have time before the class 
 begins?" 
 
 "Yes — yes, Miss;" and Mr. Bilson tossed 
 his head rather independently. "You see, 
 it's here. Miss. Having been so long in the 
 concern, the committee aren't particular with 
 me about time. 1 goes out, and I comes 
 in, and they don't take no notice. It's a
 
 96 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 good bit past beginning now, I reckon," 
 and Mr. Bilson climbed a form from which 
 he could command a view of the abbey 
 clock, "and nobody's handed up but a few 
 childer. I've set 'em to work yonder," con- 
 tinued Mr. Bilson, nodding towards the 
 centre of the room, where about half a 
 dozen girls, of ten or twelve years of age, 
 were labouring away at elementar}' outlines. 
 " The young ladies has come badly of late, 
 very, exceptin' yourself, which follers art 
 for the love of it, and that makes a dif- 
 ference. But they'll start fresh when the 
 new master comes. Law ! this 'ere school 
 won't be like the same place when the new 
 master comes. You don't happen to have 
 seen him, do you, Miss?" 
 
 "No Bilson, I have not. I did not know 
 he was in Angusbury now." And Hester
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 97 
 
 began to arrange the leaves, rather wishing 
 that Bilson would go away and leave her in 
 peace. But Mr. Bilson, leaning against a 
 Corinthian capital, and sharpening a chalk 
 pencil, appeared to have no intention of the 
 sort. It was a harmless weakness of his, 
 this love of a little gossip with the stu- 
 dents ; and having, as he expressed it, " been 
 so long in the concern," and being in some 
 sort a useful adjunct to it, they used to in- 
 dulge him now and then. 
 
 ''I don't know as he has come. Miss, for 
 good, but I've heard tell of a fresh gentleman 
 being seen at church last Sunday, and I don't 
 make no doubt but it's himself, just comed 
 through to give an eye to the place afore 
 he settles in it. They say he's going to 
 give special heed to this here class, and 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 make it such as there isn't no other class 
 to ekal it." 
 
 Hester went on arranging her leaves in 
 silence, and Mr. Bilson lowered his voice, for 
 another of the young ladies had just taken 
 her place at that end of the room. 
 
 " Now, Miss, that there young ladj-," con- 
 tinued Mr. Bilson, jerking his elbow in the 
 direction of the new comer, " that there young 
 lady don't show herself here more than once 
 a fortnight; no, nor hasn't done this six 
 months past. It's a month now since I gived 
 her out a fresh chalk, and says she to me 
 when I gived her it, ^Mr. Bilson,' says she, ^I'm 
 afraid you think I am a very idle girl.' Girl 
 indeed!" and Mr. Bilson looked facetious, ^'she'll 
 none see the bright side o' nine and thirty 
 again. Why, Miss, she used to come to my 
 shop, when I were in the fancy chalk line
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 99 
 
 twelve years ago, afore I took to this concern, 
 and she wasn't to call young then. It's queer, 
 it is, the way the Angusbury ladies tries to 
 make themselves seem younger than what 
 they are. But it's nature, I suppose — that's 
 what it is. I never makes no secret of telling 
 that I'm going in sixty — no, nor never did. 
 But, Miss, that was a beautiful business I 
 used to do w^hen I w^as in the fancy chalk 
 line, twelve year back. The young ladies 
 all used to come to me; I had somethino- 
 pretty to say to 'em, bless 'em ! They're funny 
 things, is young ladies. There's nothing catches 
 'em like a compliment, put in neat. You 
 see I was sharp at a compliment — that was 
 where it was. It was pounds and pounds 
 into my pocket, was being sharp at a com- 
 pliment." 
 
 " Not as I would do it to you. Miss," said 
 
 H 2
 
 100 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Mr. Bilson with respectful sagacity, "because 
 you aren't one of them sort that can be took 
 with such things ; but most young ladies as 
 I ever see, is. And when one of 'em came 
 and wanted a pink chalk, I used to say, " It's 
 to match your cheeks, Miss; no, I haven't none 
 pretty enough ;' and, bless you, she used to 
 look as pleased, you can't think how pleased 
 she used to look. And then maybe another 
 would come for a pearl white, and I used to 
 get out the drawer that had 'em in, and 
 tell her she mustn't put her hands over 
 near, or the chalks would lose colour be- 
 ^side 'em. And didn't she smile and say, 
 ^Oh! Mr. Bilson, you're such a funny man!' 
 And she'd have given me eighteenpence, 
 Miss, for that chalk, sooner than she'd 
 have paid twopence for it to a man that 
 couldn't put in a compliment along with it,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 101 
 
 tidy and neat. Oh ! but it was a beautiful 
 business that I did in fancy chalks, twelve 
 years back !" 
 
 Whilst Httle Mr. Bilson was holding forth 
 on his previous achievements, Hester had 
 been makinc^ a study of the leaves on a 
 sheet of blank paper. She found now that 
 she wanted a different spray to balance the 
 other side. Bilson rolled up a bit of paper, 
 as he had seen the master do sometimes, 
 and carefully considered the picture through 
 it. Mr. Bilson was very fond of doing 
 anything that made him look profes- 
 sional. 
 
 "Now, Miss, I should say" — he had a 
 great habit of commencing his remarks by 
 "I should say," always jerking his elbow 
 in the direction of the object he v/as con- 
 templating — " Now, Miss, I should say as a
 
 102 Hester s Sactijice. 
 
 bit of fern-leaf would be just the thing for 
 that there side, to make 'em match; a bit 
 of oak fern, that nice little lady-like sort, 
 if you could happen of it, or even the best 
 kind o' bracken." 
 
 Hester had been thinking the same her- 
 self, but she was too kind to take the merit 
 of originality from the little man. 
 
 "A very good thought, Mr. Bilson. Yes, 
 a spray of fern would balance this side 
 nicely." 
 
 "It would. Miss. I always had an eye 
 for form, and that sort of thing. The 
 ^master that's going — and he's a sensible man, 
 Miss, after all, is the master that's going — 
 he used to say that there never was a man 
 knowed better than me what was proper. 
 I often used to give him an idea, I did. 
 Yes, Miss, you must have a bit o' fern for
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 103 
 
 that there side, and I'll tell you where you 
 may get it." 
 
 "From Mr. Bates the nurseryman, I sup- 
 pose you mean ? I generally get my flower 
 studies there." 
 
 "Bless you, no, Miss, nothing of the sort. 
 Where's the use of givin' half-a-crown for 
 a leaf, when you may get it for nothing, 
 and a beautiful walk into the bargain, by 
 going to the Monk's Cragf 
 
 "The Monk's Crag? Oh! but that is 
 such a long way off." 
 
 "Well, yes, it is. Miss, as you say, a 
 long way off, and that's the worst of it. 
 Now, if I'd been in the fancy chalk line, 
 same as I was afore I took to this here 
 concern, I'd have nipped off myself, ay, tliat 
 I would, and welcome. Miss, and fetched 
 you a bit in no time. But you see, there's
 
 104 Heste7's Sacrifice. 
 
 never a ha'porth of time for a fellow to 
 get to himself now, what with the young 
 ladies' class, and the young gentlemen's 
 class, in the day time, and the boys and 
 men as comes to be taught cheap of nights, 
 one hasn't a chance to do anybody a 
 kindness. I daresay, though, you could 
 walk it in an hour. Miss, from Milcote, 
 if you gived yourself to it to step out 
 well." 
 
 '' Yes, perhaps I could ; but I have never 
 seen any fern of that kind at the Monk's 
 Crag, Bilson." 
 
 "It's there all the same, Miss, whether 
 you've seed it or not. I don't suppose no- 
 body's found it out, only me. But, you see, 
 of summer evenings, when the class isn't 
 agate, I takes a walk down to the Monk's 
 Crag, and the keeper bein' a personal friend,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 105 
 
 lets me in gratuous for nothing, and I looks 
 round for an hour or two, and havin', as 
 you may say, an eye for the invisible 
 beauties of nature, I sees a good many 
 things as isn't suspected of common people. 
 And I've seed this fern, too, as will be the 
 very thing you want. I don't mind telling 
 you, Miss, where it grows, but I don't want 
 it made public, for, bein' a particular sort, 
 it would soon be made away with, and I 
 should be sorry to lose the sight of it, and 
 it looks so pretty, flickering up its bonnie 
 leaves betwixt and the blue sky. But you 
 know the first gatekeeper's lodge, Miss, this side 
 the toll?" 
 
 '* Yes." 
 
 "Well, you must go in that way, and 
 keep straight along, while you come to an 
 elm tree with a crow's nest, just one, in
 
 106 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 the top of it ; and there's a road through 
 the bracken that will bring you out at the 
 big Monk's Crag. You know the big Monk's 
 Crag?" 
 
 '' Yes — by the hermit's cell." 
 Mr. Bilson looked facetious again. 
 " Ay ; the same. All the young ladies 
 about here knows the hermit's cell, though 
 I don't think as there's much prayin' done 
 in it now. It's a nice place for lovers 
 though, all the same. Well, you mustn't 
 stop there — and I don't suppose you'll w^ant 
 to, being alone, as you most likely will — 
 but you must turn off to the left, and 
 keep by a little bit of a brook with for- 
 get-me-nots and flag leaves, and that'll lead 
 you to the little Monk's Crag; and you 
 must climb that — an awkwardish piece of 
 work, too. Dear me, but I do wish I'd
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 107 
 
 been in the fancy chalk line still, and I'd 
 have gone with you ; and the fern grows 
 right at the very top — betwixt and the blue 
 sky." 
 
 "Thank you, Bilson. I will go this after- 
 noon, if the weather keeps fine." 
 
 "It'll do that, Miss, sure enough. There's 
 never no rain about when them little skir- 
 ring white clouds is out — them, as you see, 
 Miss, over the abbey towers, as if some- 
 body had swept 'em up with a besom. 
 And be sure you take plenty of paper, 
 to lap it up in — soft paper, as will 
 soak up water well, and hold it a good 
 bit; for there's nothing loses their freshness 
 so soon as them genteel little ferns. And 
 now. Miss, I'll go and fetch you that glass 
 of water."
 
 108 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TJESTER worked on steadily until the 
 abbey clock gave the signal for leav- 
 ing class. For more than half an hour 
 though, before that time, the girls at the 
 elementary desk had been yawning and 
 playing with their pencils, undisturbed either 
 by the master or Bilson ; and the young 
 ladies who were studying in the neighbour- 
 hood of Apollo and Juno had given them- 
 selves up to uncontrollable gossip, unmind- 
 ful of the calm proud faces that looked 
 down upon them. 
 
 She selected a few of the ivy leaves to
 
 Hester a Sacrifice, 109 
 
 take home and mix with some moss for the 
 vases in the parlour, the rest she left for 
 Bilson to clear away. The time had not 
 yet come when anything gathered by Nils 
 Brayton's hand was too precious for other 
 cherishing than her own. Then she hurried 
 home, got luncheon, packed up a few 
 biscuits in her little satchel, and, mindful 
 of Bilson's injunction that the ferns should 
 be " lapped " in plenty of damp paper, 
 went to her papa's study for a supply. 
 
 Mr. Tredegar was sitting at the table 
 before a pile of maps and diagrams. 
 
 "Papa, I am going to the Monk's 
 Crag to get some ferns for my crayon 
 drawing." 
 
 "All right, dear," said the head of 
 the Milcote establishment, without lifting his 
 eyes from the compasses with which he was
 
 110 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 describing some lines for the projection of a 
 map. 
 
 "And have you any paper that you can 
 spare me? — old soft paper that will keep 
 damp for a long time. Bilson told me 
 I must have some to wrap the ferns 
 in." 
 
 A hand w^as lifted from the compasses, 
 and extended in the direction of a heap of 
 old newspapers, which lay in a corner of 
 the room. Hester w^ent, and drawing out 
 one from the bottom of the heap, stuffed 
 it into her satchel without looking to see 
 what it was. 
 
 "I shall be away three or four hours, 
 papa. You won't want me for any- 
 thing?" 
 
 "All right, my dear. I hope you will 
 enjoy it and come back safe."
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. Ill 
 
 Hester could not help one little sigh as she 
 shut the door after her. No — her papa never 
 missed her. If she had said " I am going 
 away for a week, a month, a year," that 
 grave face would have been turned towards 
 her just as quietly, and the low deliberate 
 voice would have said, 
 
 " All right, my dear. I hope you will 
 enjoy it and come safe back." 
 
 But she could not be sad any more when 
 she got out into the open country, and 
 felt the April wind blowing through her 
 hair, and heard the song of the larks as 
 they rose from the green corn-fields and carolled 
 away far overhead in the cloudless sky — 
 cloudless, at least, except for those "skirring" 
 white films which Bilson said were the sure 
 promise of sunshine. Still less could she 
 be other than happy, when, having passed
 
 112 Hesters Sacrifice. 
 
 the gatekeeper's cottage, she turned into 
 the wood, blue over now with wild hya- 
 cinths, whose faint, sweet perfume drifted 
 up to her with every breath of wind, and 
 stooped to gather the little wood anemones which 
 scattered their white petals, like a snow fall, 
 at her feet, and plucked the great prim- 
 roses which bloomed out so broad and brave 
 among the purple violets. 
 
 Monk's Crag was the name given to a 
 small estate of fifty or sixty acres, which had 
 formerly belonged to one of the old Angus- 
 bury families. But the late owner, hav- 
 ' ing reduced his patrimony by racing and gam- 
 bling, sold it to a rich country squire, who 
 converted it into a sort of pleasure-ground, 
 to which people were admitted on the pay- 
 ment of a small sum to the gatekeeper. A 
 legend was attached to it, as to most of
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 113 
 
 the old places in the neighbourhood of 
 Angusbury. St. Angus, Prior of the 
 abbey, weary of the toil and weight of con- 
 ventual life, came hither, and, retiring to 
 a rude cell hewn out from the rock, passed 
 the remainder of his life in prayer and 
 solitary meditation. The cell was there still, 
 with a little altar and cross at one end ; 
 but no prayers were said in it now, and 
 no pilgrim turned aside, as in days of 
 yore, to cross his brow with the holy 
 water which bubbled up from the well of 
 St. Angus. 
 
 Monk's Crag was a great place for pic- 
 nics and pleasure-parties. There were green 
 dells through the heart of the wood, shady, 
 quiet, bosky dells, closed in with clasping 
 boughs, soft with primroses and violets, per- 
 fumed in spring-time with many a tuft of 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 wild blue hyacinth, whose drooping bells 
 never betrayed the lover's vows which had 
 been whispered over them. There was a 
 sheet of water, where, among little islets of 
 fern and hazel, wild fowl sported, and on 
 whose margin the white lilies grew so rank 
 and close that a child might reach them. 
 There were grottoes canopied with moss 
 and lichen, rock paths tangled with tall 
 bracken, over which you might climb to 
 the edge of the crags, and then look out 
 over the whole fair country round — past 
 Angusbury Abbey towers, past the sleepy 
 Lelland, away to the distant blue hills of 
 Avonshire. And in spring time the place 
 was white with May blossom, and in 
 summer the wild roses made a glow in 
 every shady place, and in autumn the sun- 
 light came filtering down through mountain
 
 Hester s Saci'ijice, 115 
 
 ash and beech trees, stained brown and 
 gold and crimson with the falHng leaves. 
 Truly the Monk's Crag was a pleasant 
 place in autumn, summer, or the sweet 
 spring time, as many a staid, happy Angus- 
 bury matron said, wdio remembered still how 
 sweet one voice had sounded long ago be- 
 neath the shelter of its w^hispering trees. 
 
 Hester kept on, according to Mr. Bilson's 
 directions, past the solitary crow's nest and 
 the great Monk's Crag, by the little brook and 
 winding w^oodland path, which led, after ten 
 minutes following of it, to the steep and rug- 
 ged rock, where grew the coveted fern. Mr. 
 Bilson was right ; there its delicate little leaves 
 fluttered "betwixt and the blue sky," trem- 
 bling with every breath of wind that sw^ept 
 down from the wooded heights beyond. 
 
 Mr. Bilson need not have been so afraid 
 
 I 2
 
 116 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 of the public finding out and pillaging his 
 treasure, for surely none but a rabid botanist 
 or venturous schoolboy, intent on danger 
 and mischief, would have climbed such a 
 steep, briery ascent as Hester found herself 
 compelled to struggle over before the prize 
 could be gained. And even when she reached 
 the flat table-land on the top of the crag, 
 the fern was still beyond arm's reach, shak- 
 ing its tiny fronds, as though in saucy defi- 
 ance, on a perpendicular bit of rock, from 
 which, as she very much feared, no skill of 
 hers could bring them down. 
 
 V She stood for a few minutes, looking vexed 
 and disappointed. Then she tried to plant 
 her feet on some of the rough points which 
 projected from the crag. That was no use. 
 Then she heaped together a few of the 
 loose stones into a little hillock; but stand-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 117 
 
 ing on the top of that, and stretching her 
 utmost, the beautiful green leaves still 
 waved provokingly just half a dozen inches 
 above her reacli. She was trying to contrive 
 some fresh expedient, by which they might 
 be readied, when a hand came gently over 
 her shoulder, and before she had time to 
 wonder whose it was, the coveted fern was 
 detached from the rock and given to her. 
 
 Turning round, she found herself, not face 
 to face with Nils Brayton, who was the 
 first person she thought of, as likely to help 
 her in her difficulty, but face to face with 
 what the Angusbury lawyer's clerk would 
 have called " a well-dressed party of prepos- 
 sessing appearance" — in plain English, a quiet, 
 gentlemanly man, who raised his cap slightly 
 in reply to her glance of confused inquiry. 
 
 " I ought to apologise for startling you so,"
 
 118 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 he said, " but I have been here most of the 
 day sketching, and I watched you climbing 
 this crag. I thought perhaps, if you were a 
 stranger in the place, you might not know 
 how dangerous this path is, and so I came 
 to help you." 
 
 "You are very good," said Hester, the 
 old painful shyness coming back upon her, 
 and flushing all her face with a rosy 
 colour, wdiich this stranger, judging from 
 the smile with which he looked upon it, 
 thought pretty rather than otherwise; "but 
 I am not a stranger. I have very often 
 Keen here, though I never climbed this crag 
 before. I was anxious to get this fern, for 
 they say it grows nowhere but here." 
 
 " Indeed ; then you are a botanist," and 
 the gentleman glanced down to the satchel 
 which Hester still carried on her arm.
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 119 
 
 "No, I am not. I don't understand any- 
 thing about botany. I wanted it for a flower- 
 piece that I am doing just now." 
 
 "Better still," said the gentleman. "It is 
 much more sensible to copy these pretty things 
 than to classify them. I am glad you are 
 not a botanist. But you must take care of 
 this, it will soon fade." 
 
 " Yes ; I know that. 1 must wrap it in 
 some damp paper. I have plenty ready. 
 It was very kind of you to get it for me." 
 
 And then Hester began carefully to re- 
 trace her steps doAvn the rude descent ; no 
 easy matter either — not so easy as the up- 
 ward path had been. Besides, with this 
 stranger criticising her movements, as she 
 felt he was, she did not like to jump and 
 spring over the rocks, in the fashion which 
 would have been most convenient.
 
 120 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 "Let me help you," he said. "It is 
 not safe for you to go down alone." 
 
 With an easy self-possession which 
 seemed to belong to everything he said or 
 did, he took her little satchel and the fern, 
 and then holding her hand, guided her 
 down the rough and, in some places, dan- 
 gerous rocks, until they reached smooth 
 ground again. This was done without any 
 unpleasant assumption of politeness, without 
 any speechifying or compliment. She was 
 weak ; he was strong. She needed help ; 
 he could give it. That was all. 
 
 ,His very quietness began to put Hester 
 at her ease. He seemed so perfectly master 
 of his position ; he could so exactly do and 
 say the right thing in the right place. By 
 the time they had reached the smooth level 
 glade which led out from the ^Monk's Crag
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 121 
 
 to the margin of the lake, her shyness, at 
 least so much of it as was painful, had 
 gone away, and she felt glad rather than 
 otherwise for this unexpected incident in her 
 expedition. He was so courteous and chi- 
 valrous ; even Hester's ideas, rather exalted 
 as they were, of a thoroughly pleasant per- 
 son, were beginning to be realized, as he 
 gradually drew her out into conversation 
 touching the beauty of the surrounding scen- 
 ery ; and she found herself telling him, with 
 quite a new strange animation, about the 
 places where the prettiest views could be 
 got, and the high path at the other end 
 of the wood from which might be seen 
 not only the lake and the Monk's Crag, 
 but Angusbury Abbey towers, and the distant 
 Avonshire hills. 
 
 "This is where I have been sketching,"
 
 122 Hesters Sacrifice, 
 
 he said, pointing to a little green knoll 
 twenty yards away, where a camp stool and 
 portfolio lay upon the grass. " And as you 
 are fond of landscape scenery, perhaps 
 you would like to see some of ray pic- 
 tures r 
 
 And then, leading the way, he made a 
 comfortable seat for her W\\\\ his plaid, and 
 opening his porfolio, showed her sketch after 
 sketch. Not the poor unmeaning work of 
 one who does it for pastime or a liveli- 
 hood ; these were real pictures, in which, 
 with rough, apparently unlaboured strokes, 
 he had got the true idea of what he want- 
 ed to describe. He soon discovered that 
 Hester was no mean judge of art. Half 
 shyly, but with fine perception, she began 
 to speak to him of his work, unconsciously 
 revealing in all she said the richness
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 123 
 
 and grace of her own mind. Indeed this 
 very unconsciousness made the beauty which 
 it revealed more beautifuL 
 
 " I hke this landscape drawing," she said, 
 after a while, " though I don't do much 
 of it myself. At the School of Art we 
 generally study from the antique, except a 
 few pupils who are learning flower-paint- 
 ing." 
 
 " Then have you a School of Art in Angus- 
 bury!" 
 
 "Yes, a very good one. I don't mean, 
 you know, that the pupils are so very clever, 
 but we have such good copies to study from ; 
 and if we have the will to learn, I think 
 there is plenty of opportunity to learn." 
 
 ^' And so you study flower-paintings there." 
 
 "No, I do crayons now. I am making a 
 design for a flower-stand. I like designing
 
 124 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 so much better than copying. I want this 
 fern leaf just to give shade to a scroll on one 
 side. I must go home with it now, or it will 
 begin to fade." 
 
 And then she took out the newspaper 
 which she had brought to wrap it in. 
 That paper carried her thoughts back to 
 the study, where her papa sat in the midst 
 of his maps and diagrams. What a different 
 picture, that gloomy study, with its air of 
 comfortless absorption, from this sunny green 
 knoll, where she sat now, with the beechen 
 boughs bending over her head, the water-fowl 
 summing over the silver lake, the wind 
 swaying the tall brackens on the Monk's 
 Crag near by. Perhaps if Hester had gone 
 on summing up the items of this pleasant 
 picture, she would have included this stran- 
 ger friend, for already he seemed in some
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 125 
 
 sort a friend; he was so kind and quiet, 
 and her thoughts, springing to meet his, 
 met with such a ready response. She al- 
 most felt as if she had known him long. 
 
 She tore off part of the paper, and was 
 going to dip it in the water which rippled 
 to their feet, but he took it out of her 
 hands and did it himself ; and then he 
 wrapped it round the fern, very carefully, 
 so as not to spoil one fresh green frond. 
 He did it so well, that Hester could not 
 help saying, 
 
 "I think you must have done that very 
 often before." 
 
 "Well; yes, I have. And perhaps I shall 
 often do it again. And now good-bye," he 
 said, as Hester turned to go away, "we 
 shall be friends, I think, if we ever meet 
 again."
 
 126 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 Hester thought so too. 
 
 And then she went down the winding 
 path, he watching the shght fairy figure, 
 until a turn in the glade hid it from his 
 sight. 
 
 If Hester had searched deeply into that 
 dim vague sadness with which she passed 
 the little gate, and came out into the high 
 road, she would have found at its root 
 the thought that perhaps she never should 
 see this stranger again, that the little gleam 
 of sunlight which, coming so suddenly, had 
 opened to her almost a new world of hap- 
 piness, would close up, and never brighten 
 more. 
 
 After she had gone he gathered up his 
 materials, and went on w^ith the sketch he 
 had just been finishing when he saw Hes- 
 ter climb the rock. He wanted a figure for the
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 127 
 
 foreground. It was hers, which, with a 
 few light rapid strokes, sprang forth beneath 
 his hand. Hers, with its light swaying grace 
 and girhsh yet womanly richness of outline. 
 
 "She is a pretty little creature, and so 
 intelligent too," he said to himself, as he put 
 in the last touch. "It was pleasant to meet 
 in this way. I will know more of her."
 
 l^i 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 rpHE time must have passed quickly whilst 
 Hester and the strange gentleman were 
 chatting under that beech tree. For though, 
 when he opened his portfolio, the sun was 
 just low enough to cast long slanting sha- 
 dows across the glades of hyacinth and 
 .primrose, yet before they parted, the sha- 
 dows were quite gone, and there lay over 
 all the landscape the soft, even tint of 
 coming twilight — twilight that would so 
 quickly deepen into gloom. 
 
 Hester knew very well if she went home 
 by the path through the meadows, night
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 129 
 
 would have set in before she could 
 reach Milcote, and so she took the high 
 road, which, though not so pretty, was 
 more direct, and safer, because more fre- 
 quented. It led her into Ang^usbury, and 
 through the Abbey Close into Lellandsbank, 
 and then into the lane which passed Mr. 
 Tredegar's house. 
 
 Walking very quickly, she might reach 
 home before dark ; and to be out in the 
 dark alone was a thing which, of all others, 
 Hester dreaded. Somehow her imagination 
 conjured up strange things then ; she used . 
 to fancy she heard footsteps behind her; she 
 used to remember all the disagreeable stories 
 she had heard when she was a child, of 
 lonely roads, and robbers, and spectres. 
 She would do almost anything rather than 
 walk down Milcote Lane alone at night. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 An^usbury was a quiet place, and this 
 did not happen to be market-day, so she 
 only passed a stray traveller now and then, 
 or a group of little children coming home 
 from their work of hoeing turnips on some 
 of the neighbouring farms. Yet night was 
 gathering fast when she reached the town, 
 and though she felt tired and rather faint 
 — surely that pleasant conversation had made 
 her forget all about the biscuits in her 
 satchel — she hurried on. It was half an 
 hour's walk, if not more, from Angusbury 
 to Milcote ; half an hour's walk, even if 
 she could hurry all the way, much more if 
 she slackened her pace, as she would be 
 obliged to slacken it before long through 
 weariness. At last she got into the narrow 
 road, from which, far off, she could see 
 the tall elm-tree whose boughs shadowed
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 131 
 
 her own room window. She should still be 
 home before the stars were out. 
 
 As she came to a turn in the road — 
 that same turn where she fancied she had 
 seen the gipsies as she came from Lellands- 
 bank a year ago — a woman met her, poorly 
 dressed, and carrying a large bundle. She 
 could scarcely see her face, for that was a 
 gloomy part of the road, and the woman 
 held her head down. Only Hester saw 
 that she was very pale, and walked slowly, 
 as if footsore and weary. The woman 
 stopped her. 
 
 '^Can you tell me, Miss, if I am in the 
 right road for St. Angusbury?" 
 
 It was seldom a woman of that mean, 
 poverty-stricken appearance gave the place 
 so much of its proper name. Almost , all 
 the common people called it An by. Hester, 
 
 K 2
 
 132 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 however, was too much in a hurry to criti- 
 cise very closely her mode of speaking. 
 All she thought about now was getting 
 home before dark. 
 
 " Yes, you are quite right. You must go 
 straight on a little farther, then take the 
 first turn to the right, and that will bring 
 you into the town." 
 
 "Thank you. Miss. And could you tell 
 me if the station is very far away when I 
 get there?" 
 
 " No, not very far ; any one will tell 
 you the way to it." 
 
 And then Hester would have hurried on,- 
 but something in the woman's weary, dejected 
 aspect touched her, and she said gently, 
 
 " You look tired. Have you come far ?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss. I've walked from Alton, 
 and that's good fifteen miles ; a heavy
 
 Hester\s Sacrifice. 133 
 
 way, Miss, for a hungry woman to walk ; 
 and I'm going to Millsmany by the train 
 to-night, if only I can get there in time. 
 But I'm very tired." 
 
 And a sigh, more than a sigh, a groan, 
 came from the woman's pale lips. 
 
 Hester remembered that there was a 
 cheap train to Millsmany at eight o'clock, 
 the last that night. By taking the most 
 direct road, the woman might be in time 
 to catch it. But how was she to find that 
 most direct road? The night was falling 
 fast. Hester dare not turn and go back 
 with her. She gave her the best directions 
 she could, but even they were rather con» 
 fusing, for Angusbury was a strange twist- 
 ing place, full of crooks and turns, and to 
 reach the station the woman must thread 
 her way through many of them. However,
 
 134 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 it could not be helped. Hester told her 
 as well as she was able, the woman thanked 
 her, and they parted. 
 
 But Hester felt ill at ease. The woe- 
 worn aspect of the woman still seemed to 
 follow her, the heavy sigh with which she 
 had faltered out— '^ I'm very tired." The 
 night was dark, and she was foolishly 
 afraid of being alone in the dark ; but it 
 would be harder still for that poor woman 
 to be left behind, alone in a strange place, 
 weary and hungry. Besides, that day had 
 been a very bright one to Hester; could 
 she not put one little gleam of brightness 
 into this sad life for all that had been given 
 her? 
 
 She hesitated no longer, but turned back. 
 Just as she reached the woman again, one 
 of her Sunday-school children came up.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 135 
 
 and a bright thought flashed into Hester's 
 mind. 
 
 " Here, Jessie, you know the nearest way 
 to the station?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss," and the little girl dropped 
 a curtsey. 
 
 "Then will you show this person the 
 way, the very nearest way, you know, for 
 she wants to catch the train to Millsmany, 
 and if you don't go quickly, she will be 
 too late. You are sure you know the 
 nearest way?" 
 
 " Yes, Miss Hester ; down Angusgate and 
 across the Close, and through Spence's yard, 
 and then down the back end of Cross 
 Gate," answered the child, running over the 
 names with a readiness which showed her 
 well enough acquainted with the ins and 
 outs of the place.
 
 136 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 That was enough. Hester remembered 
 the biscuits in her satchel; wrapping them 
 hastily up in the piece of newspaper w^hich 
 was left, she gave them to the woman. 
 They might for just a little time slacken 
 the grip of hunger. 
 
 "Now, Jessie, go as quickly as ever you 
 can." 
 
 " Yes, Miss, that I will ; I'll bring her 
 there in no time." 
 
 And the little thing, proudly important 
 of the trust reposed in her, trotted away 
 with a light, elastic step, strangely contrast- 
 ing with the slow, weary tread of her com-, 
 panion. 
 
 "I thank you ; you are very good," 
 said the woman as she followed her little 
 guide. 
 
 Hester noticed that as she said these
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 137 
 
 ■words she did not drop a curtsy, but in- 
 clined her head with a graceful motion 
 which would have done no discredit to a 
 born lady. Who could she be? — how came 
 she there, so poorly clad, so hunger-bitten, 
 too f ' 
 
 But Hester had no time to watch them 
 as they went down the narrow road. The 
 night was dark, and she, too, was far from 
 home, and there was no one stronger than 
 herself to make her feel as she had felt 
 only the night before, even through the 
 gloom of that lonely road, quite safe. 
 
 Yes, there was, though. That heavy foot- 
 step, falling with such firm, measured tramp 
 upon the silent path, belonged only to Nils 
 Brayton. Hester could have told that foot- 
 step among a thousand. She was safe now 
 — quite safe.
 
 138 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 Mr. Brayton was coming home from work, 
 and he had turned aside to post some letters. 
 He had just passed the woman, so closely 
 indeed that the fringes of her thin, worn 
 shawl got entangled in his walking stick ; 
 but he had stooped down to set it free 
 without even a single glance at her face, 
 for just then he had caught sight of Helen 
 disappearing behind the bend of the road, 
 and for once in his life he felt thankful to 
 the colonel, whose unpunctuality had kept 
 him two hours later than usual that even- 
 ing. 
 
 With just the words, " It is late for you 
 to be out alone, I will see you safely 
 home," he joined her, and they walked on 
 together to Milcote ; whilst the woman and 
 Jessie took their way to the station, whither 
 we will follow them by and by.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 139 
 
 That was a pleasant evening for at least 
 three people in Angusbury. 
 
 For Hester, as she sat up in her own 
 little room, arranging those fern leaves to 
 which belonged already so precious a store 
 of memories ; going over again in thought 
 each w^ord and tone of that pleasant 
 conversation, recalling the stranger's look, 
 his smile, and frank, winning ways, the 
 graceful courtliness which made her feel 
 that she, too, shy and reserved though 
 she was, unpractised in social arts and ele- 
 gancies, could give satisfaction and even 
 pleasure. For something in the strangers 
 manner told her that she pleased him, and 
 something in her own heart told her joy- 
 fully enough that he had far more than 
 pleased her. 
 
 For Nils Brayton, too, as he wrote steadily
 
 140 Hester'' s Sacrifice. 
 
 on past stroke after stroke of the clock, only 
 pausing from time to time to brighten his 
 slow toil by thought of the gentle voice which 
 had bidden him good night at Milcote gate. 
 That voice and its memory was the music 
 now which cheered many a march of self- 
 denying duty. 
 
 And for some one else, too, whose ideas 
 of self-denial and duty were by no means 
 so rigorous as Nils Brayton's. For the 
 stranger of Monk's Crag, who, as he put 
 on his leopard-skin slippers, and stretched 
 himself on a sofa in one of the most luxu- 
 rious rooms of one of the most luxurious- 
 hotels of Angusbury, let his thoughts drift 
 away to the bright, pretty young girl, who 
 had so strangely come across his path that 
 day. He loved all pleasant and beautiful 
 things, and for many a long month he had
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 141 
 
 seen nothing more pleasant and beautiful 
 than that ^iTs face. 
 
 And what of the poor lonely woman, for 
 whom no one cared, whose memory was 
 held either for love or fancy in no heart 
 of man?
 
 142 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 T)ERHAPS it was well for Hester's peace 
 of mind that the thickly-gathering gloom 
 of night hid the tired, hunger-nipped face 
 which daylight would have revealed. That 
 sense of peace and safety which always 
 shrined her round in Nils Brayton's 
 presence, would not have been so un- 
 broken : she would not have dreamed so- 
 quietly at night of the green knoll, and 
 the silvery lake, and the golden sunlight 
 over beds of primroses and violets, and the 
 pleasant voice of the stranger at her side, 
 could she have seen those hollow cheeks
 
 Hester s Sac7'ifice. 143 
 
 and great shadowy black eyes, from which 
 even Jessie started, half frightened, when the 
 light of the station lamps flared dow^n upon 
 them. 
 
 Strange contrast between those two ! The 
 little child so rosy and happy, pleased to 
 do a kind action for anyone, more pleased 
 still to do it for " dear Miss Hester ;" and 
 this w^oman, so sad and trouble-stained, so 
 weary and heavy-laden. Ah! what unknown 
 weight of grief — perhaps of wrong and sin 
 — lay between this night and the long-past 
 time when her years were as those of the 
 child at her side? 
 
 " There it is — that's the station," said Jessie, 
 when, faithful to her trust, she had brought 
 the woman by the nearest way. 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, little 
 girl."
 
 144 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 But this time the voice was fainter. She 
 breathed hard and fast. Hunger and haste 
 together had been almost too much for her. 
 She felt in her pocket for a few stray 
 coppers which she knew would be spared 
 from her fare, and offered them to the 
 child. But Jessie folded her fat little 
 palms together, not without a certain uncon- 
 scious dignity, 
 
 "No, thank you, ma'am, I don't want 
 nothing from you ; and I hope you'll get 
 safe to wherever you're going," 
 
 And then she ran away home to the 
 little cottage, where mother was singing- 
 baby to sleep. 
 
 The woman went into the station. A 
 train was just starting. The last box had 
 been heaved into the van, the last ticket 
 looked at, the final "all right" sounded,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 145 
 
 the guard had blown his whistle and edged 
 into his snug quarters at the end of the 
 long line of carriages. 
 
 "Where forf said a stray porter. 
 
 " Millsmany, third-class." 
 
 "Too late! Yen's it," and the man 
 pointed with his thumb to the already-moving 
 train. 
 
 The woman rushed forward with what little 
 strength she had left. 
 
 "Oh! stop, please! I want to go." 
 
 The engine-driver looked back, so did the 
 guard out of his little window. One shabby 
 woman with a bundle in her hand, third- 
 class — no, scarcely worth stopping the train 
 for her, and on it went. 
 
 She watched it with dumb, almost sul- 
 len disappointment, as it slowly glided 
 away, until its red lights were lost in the 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14B Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 gloom. Lost in the gloom; and so was 
 
 she. 
 
 A porter, who was wheeling away some 
 luggage, saw her standing there, and came 
 up to her. 
 
 '^Left behind, mum, I suppose? Sorry 
 for you, 'cause it's the last cheap train to- 
 night. The express'll start in twenty minutes 
 — first and second only; but you don't look 
 like going express. There's a cheap train 
 at half-past five in the morning, as I 
 reckon 'ud be best for you to go by; and 
 I daresay my missis wouldn't object taking 
 you in cheap for a night. I've known her 
 do it afore for folks as was left." 
 
 The woman glanced at him out of those 
 hunger -sharpened eyes, but made no reply, 
 and he went away. It was no new thing 
 for people, especially women, to be left be-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 147 
 
 hind with their bundles, and boxes^ and 
 baggage. 
 
 "They're shiftless things, is women," he 
 said good-naturedly, as he lifted the barrow 
 and set off to the other end of the plat- 
 form. " Can't think what there's so many 
 on 'em for." 
 
 And all this time Hester was walking 
 home wdth Nils Brayton, along the dim, 
 quiet Milcote road, under the stars which 
 began to twinkle out through the gathering 
 night. But Hester did not care for the 
 night. She was safe now. She hoped that 
 the woman was safe too. She would ask 
 Jessie next Sunday. 
 
 It was Hester's stopping to question and 
 debate with herself, before she turned back, 
 that had produced the mischief. Had she 
 obeyed her first impulse, and gone with 
 
 l2
 
 148 Hesters Sacrifice. 
 
 the woman to the station, and taken the 
 ticket for her as she once thought of doing, 
 the poor creature would have got o£P. A 
 minute or two, not more than that, would 
 have saved the train. And what then? 
 
 What then? It seemed a little thing 
 that a ^'tramping woman" should be left 
 behind for a few hours, yet little causes 
 cast their shadows far for good or ill over 
 many a wide future. Hester's destiny might 
 have been strangely different had she obeyed 
 that momentary impulse. 
 
 Might have been, — might have been. Lit- 
 tle sentence, in whose infinite depths 
 lie buried the hopes and joys of many a 
 human life. Oh ! how sadly sometimes we 
 ponder those words. How bitterly we think 
 of brightness gone, of sunshine quenched 
 out of the heart for ever, which one little
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 149 
 
 word of ours, one little act done or left 
 undone, might have held there still. Too 
 slowly we learn the great truth, that, for 
 those whom God takes into his own care, 
 all events do come of set purpose and fore- 
 thought. These things are to be so, not 
 for us to question why. On the deep 
 based rock of His unchangeable purpose 
 our feeble wills break so helplessly, so use- 
 lessly; their mightiest force and passion but 
 as idle spray which falls back into the 
 ocean and is lost. Enough that Hester did 
 not go ; enough that that little impulse 
 died ere it became an action. 
 
 The woman stood on the platform for a 
 short time, watching the train until it was 
 out of sight. Then she went into the 
 second-class waiting-room. 
 
 It was full of respectable people, who did
 
 150 Hester^ s Sacnfice, 
 
 not seem disposed to make way for a third- 
 class passenger, a shabbily-dressed woman 
 with a bundle. She was too proud to ask 
 for that which they were too ill-bred to 
 offer — room to warm herself at the bright 
 fire, so she went out again to the platform, 
 and sat on one of the benches just under 
 a great board, upon which were set forth 
 in scarlet letters the merits of some one's 
 "Sommier elastique portatif." 
 
 She had leisure now to think of her 
 hunger, and the biscuits which that kind, 
 unknown Samaritan had given her to stay 
 it. They were soon eaten, she had had 
 nothing since morning, and then she took 
 a draught of water from the drinking foun- 
 tain close by. It seemed to refresh her, 
 for she began to smooth her hair and re- 
 arrange her disordered dress, and, dipping
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 151 
 
 her handkerchief In the fountain basin, she 
 laved her hot forehead and cheeks. Truly, 
 as she had said, it was a weary way from 
 Alton, the poor, white face told that plainly 
 enough. 
 
 Another train at half-past five in the 
 morning, and now it was just eight. Well, 
 a night's lodging would cost no more in 
 Angusbury than in Millsmany, perhaps not 
 so much. Wherever she went, she must 
 pay her own way and win her own bread. 
 To-morrow morning, then, she would wend 
 her way to the great town, and ask of it 
 a garret to hunger in, and work to keep 
 the life from quite dying out, as she almost 
 prayed it might die out sometimes. 
 
 After awhile she began to walk up and 
 down the platform, idly twisting in her 
 fingers the piece of newspaper in which
 
 152 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Hester had wrapped up the biscuits for her. 
 It was a half page of the Standard^ a paper 
 which, ever since he came to England, Mr. 
 Tredegar had taken in regularly. As she 
 read it a spasm passed over her face. She 
 staggered, and had to lean against one of 
 the pillars for support. But it was only 
 for a little while. By a resolute effort 
 she steadied herself, and then, with proud 
 and haughty bearing, strangely different from 
 that with which she had left it half an hour 
 ago, she returned to the waiting-room. 
 
 It was empty now, a bright fire blazing 
 in the grate, three crystal-shaded jets of gas 
 burning away for the sole benefit of leather- 
 backed benches and painted walls, and a 
 painfully ugly oil-cloth of an Egyptian pat- 
 tern, yellow splashes on a brown ground. 
 But had that dingy oil-cloth been the richest
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 153 
 
 of velvet pile, and those leather-backed 
 benches the most luxurious of tabouret 
 lounges, the woman would have given little 
 heed to them. She spread the paper out 
 upon the table, laid her thin, bony finger on 
 a short sentence, not more than three lines, 
 in one corner, and read it again and again, 
 and yet again. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " she whispered to her- 
 self, between her closed teeth, " the train 
 did well to go without me. It did very 
 well." 
 
 Sad as it w^as an hour ago, one would 
 rather have seen her face with the weary 
 pain it wore when Hester first saw it on 
 Milcote Road, than with the almost fiendish 
 smile of exultant triumph which alternately 
 flushed and paled it now. Not passion, not 
 anger, but cool, determinate malice — that
 
 154 Hester^ s Sacf^ifice. 
 
 was what spoke through the dark eyes, as 
 they rained their fiery glances on the un- 
 conscious bit of paper. 
 
 She was not long in deciding what to 
 do. Carefully folding her newspaper, and 
 gathering up her bundle, she went out 
 again and sought the porter who had offered 
 her a night's lodging. He was leaning over 
 an open window, gossiping with the man 
 who kept the "luggage room." 
 
 ''You told me just now that perhaps 
 your wife could take me in for the night. 
 I don't think that I shall go by this early 
 train. Could I lodge with you for a day* 
 or two?" 
 
 The porter seemed somewhat awed by 
 the air of careless superiority which the 
 woman had so unexpectedly assumed, and 
 which, spite of her lowly garb and that
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 155 
 
 plebeian bundle, sat naturally enough upon 
 her. He touched his cap as politely as 
 though she had been a "first class," that 
 flimsy worn shawl an ermine wrap, that 
 shapeless bundle the costliest of morocco 
 travelling cases. 
 
 "Well, mum, we haven't been used to 
 take in nobody, but my missis is as well- 
 disposed a woman, though I say it myself, 
 as any you'll find in all Anby, and I 
 don't misdoubt but what she'd make you 
 comfortable in a small way. I reckon you 
 wouldn't want a vast o' waitin' of." 
 
 "No, not much." 
 
 "'Cause you see, wi' the children, there's 
 six on 'em, she hasn't a deal o' time. 
 And now I come to think on, I mind her 
 sayin' a bit past as she wouldn't mind 
 puttin' herself about to addle summut extry
 
 156 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 now that times is bad, and butcher meat 
 past getting for dearness. Ninepence a 
 pound, mum, butcher meat here in Anby, 
 and bread not to call much cheaper, to say 
 nowt o' shoes for the childer, and a bag o' 
 coal once a week. Pay here isn't much, 
 and a man wi' a big family is hard putten 
 to, to make ends meet comfortable." 
 
 The woman listened with ill-concealed im- 
 patience to her somewhat wordy companion, 
 and as soon as he paused in the detail of 
 his domestic experiences, she brought him 
 back to the subject in hand. 
 
 "Yes, yes. I daresay it is hard work. 
 People in England generally do find it 
 hard work to get a living. If you will 
 tell me your name and where you live, I 
 will go to your wife at once ;" and then, 
 seeing that he looked somewhat suspiciously
 
 Hester's Sacrifice, 157 
 
 at her seedy wardrobe, she added, "I have 
 money enough to pay you for as long as 
 I am Hkely to stay. You need not be 
 afraid of losing anything by me." 
 
 "All right, mum, don't mention it. My 
 name's Martin Smith, and I live number 
 four Spence's Yard, back Angusgate. You 
 must go down High Street, mum, and take 
 the first turning but one to your right, and 
 that'll bring you into back Angusgate, and 
 Spence's Yard is right afore you, writ up 
 on a board over a passage. Anybody about 
 ull tell you where Martin Smith, railway 
 porter, lives. It's nobbut a little place, 
 mum, but it's clean and decent, for there 
 isn't a tidier body in Anby, though I say 
 it myself, than my wife ; and if you tell 
 her that it was me sent you, I'll warrant 
 she'll make you comfortable enough. There's
 
 158 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 a little room upstairs to the front, as t' 
 eldest girl goes out to nuss, sleeps in of 
 a night, and with packin' t' other childer a 
 bit closer, she'll mak' room for you, and 
 you can settle money betwixt yourselves." 
 
 "Thank you." 
 
 She turned away, and he watched her 
 out of the station. No weariness now, no 
 listless languor in her step ; rather the de- 
 terminate energy of one who knows her 
 work and will do it, through all hindrance 
 and all danger. 
 
 "Mebby the missis'll think I've been ower 
 rash," said he, as he rubbed his head and' 
 pulled his glazed cap more firmly down 
 over his rough brown hair ; " but she looks 
 sort o' decent, and it'll be a little towards 
 keepin' the children dry shod, bless 'em. 
 Folks is like to live."
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 159 
 
 And with this most undeniable proposi- 
 tion, he went back to his work. 
 
 An hour later the woman was sitting on 
 a patchwork quilted bed in a clean little 
 room, whose one small window looked out 
 over a square court-yard, where twenty or 
 thirty boys and ^irls were shouting lustily 
 as they played at hop-Scotch on the flagged 
 pavement. And now and then there would 
 be a roar of laughter as a big lad over- 
 balanced himself and measured his length 
 upon the chalk marks, or a shriek of terror 
 as some virago of a matron ran into their 
 midst, and seizing on her luckless petticoated 
 urchin, gave him a ringing box on the ear 
 and dragged him home to bed. 
 
 But the woman heeded them not. She 
 was still pondering over her scrap of paper, 
 and as she read it the cold, malicious
 
 160 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 smile grew deeper on her face. We will 
 leave her there. She has her work to do, 
 and she will do it. There is no tenderness 
 now in those black eyes of hers, woman^s 
 pity seems burnt out of them ; cost what 
 it may, ruin whom it will, that work of 
 hers shall be done.
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A ND so time passed on, bearing with it 
 St. Angusbury's little tide of joys and 
 hopes and fears, until the lengthening days, 
 and the warm sunlight, and the sweet breath 
 of hawthorn stealing down every lane and 
 dingle, proclaimed that May had come. 
 
 Nils Brayton saw but little of Hester 
 after that evening when he overtook her so 
 unexpectedly on the lonely Milcote road. 
 Much as he would have enjoyed a quiet 
 hour sometimes in that room where she 
 and her father spent so many silent even- 
 ings, he knew Mr. Tredegar's habits well 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 enough to be sure that the presence of a 
 visitor would be Httle else than an annoy- 
 ance. And he had not enough confidence 
 in his own powers of pleasing to be sure 
 that her face would brighten to meet 
 him, or that any kindness of his could 
 help to pass her time more pleasantl}' 
 along. 
 
 There was little about Nils Bray ton to 
 make him the fascinating companion of an 
 hour or an evening. He could not string 
 together sweet compliments for ladies, he 
 could not gossip to an indefinite extent 
 about current town affairs, reported engag- 
 ments, flirtations, marriages, and the like, 
 for his stock of information on these sub- 
 jects was painfully limited. And, indeed, 
 on other topics of more general interest, 
 such as new books, magazines, literature and
 
 Hester s Sacrifice^ 163 
 
 poetry, he was scarcely more at home. To 
 speak the plain truth, Nils Brayton was 
 not a very pleasant companion for anyone 
 who did not thoroughly know him. He cer- 
 tainly did lack much which a man who would 
 shine in society ought to possess. With 
 very hard toil and travail he had hewn a 
 character naturally rugged into something 
 like shape and symmetry, but no labour of 
 his, try as he might, could ever carve out 
 of that stubborn granite rock such delicate 
 broidery work of leaf and foliage as the 
 sculptor can so easily bid to spring forth 
 from the more yielding limestone. He was 
 very plain, almost severe in his simplicity; 
 but, as the stonemasons say of their rough 
 work, such as he was he would last. Time 
 would wear nothing away from that granite 
 surface of his but its roughness. The rude 
 
 M 2
 
 164 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 winds of strife and toil, the damps of care 
 and trouble, which, gnawing at the fair 
 carved work of some men's characters, so 
 soon spoils all its beauty, would leave him 
 quite untouched. 
 
 Even now, as the slow years passed over 
 him, he felt that they were but taking from 
 him what he could well afford to lose ; that 
 they did but smooth the angles of his nature, 
 making him more gentle, more charitable, 
 readier to think well of others, easier to be 
 entreated, willing to forgive, as indeed they 
 should ever be who also need forgiveness. 
 Put he was not sure that Hester felt this too: 
 He doubted yet if she knew him for what 
 he really was, a man earnestly striving to live 
 a noble, pure, and upright life. And so, 
 though day by day the thought of her was 
 sinking deeper into his heart, he spoke no word.
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 165 
 
 He waited until time, which generally gives 
 to all sooner or later their due, should give him 
 his, — the right to win and wear this one crown- 
 ing jewel of his life. 
 
 She should be so safe with him. He would 
 be so true, so faithful. The old w^asted 
 years which had dealt so harshly with him, 
 wherein he had battled so painfully, often 
 conquered, yet rising again to conquer at 
 last, should be forgotten, or remembered 
 only as in quiet summer- evenings we look 
 back upon the heat and glare of noonday. 
 Life even for him should be full of beauty, 
 full of peace, and he knew he could make it 
 so for her. So he waited. 
 
 Waited on through weeks and weeks, whilst 
 Hester still lived her own quiet little life, 
 not knowing wlio took so much thought for 
 her. That life was slowly brightening, but
 
 166 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 through no word of his. What brightened "; 
 it so, she never asked. It might be just the 
 early summer sunshine, which came to her 
 as it came to the half opened flowers, and 
 kissed them into full rounded beauty. It 
 might be the thought of her sister's coming 
 home, so near now, when she should have 
 someone to care for, and watch over, and spend 
 her love upon. It might be the patient doing 
 of such little duty as God gave her to do, 
 the lowly reverent obedience, never failing to 
 bring peace at last, which was changing Hes- 
 ter's face, and fixing a constant smile there 
 in place of the half sad, half listless weariness 
 it once wore. 
 
 Or when the smile was brightest, was she 
 thinking of that afternoon at the Monk's 
 Crag, that clear, cloudless April afternoon, 
 when the sun made such golden stains upon
 
 Hester 8 Sacrifice. 167 
 
 the glass, such long trails of shine and shadow 
 upon the blue hyacinth beds ; when the birds 
 sang so merrily, and the wind, sporting down 
 through the narrow glades of the wood, tossed 
 the tiny leaflets of that little fern — she had 
 it safely pressed now — which grew " betwixt 
 and the blue sky," on that crag amongst the 
 mountain ash trees?" 
 
 But if Hester was happy, she knew not 
 why, — happy with that fresh unconscious 
 happiness which asks no questions, and wisely 
 looks not beyond the present, Sally, whistling 
 blithely as heretofore over the daily dusting 
 and sweeping, would have been at no loss to 
 account for her ample, rubicund complacency. 
 Things were going on with Sally " altogether 
 beautiful," as she expressed it. No vexing haze 
 of uncertainty about her prospects. On the 
 contrary, they stood out in sunny outline, brave
 
 168 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 and clear ; clear as a three-roomed cottage, 
 at half-a-crown a week, already taken, and a 
 steady, honest young fellow, of five and twenty, 
 with good prospects and a blameless character, 
 and a thriving business in the milk line, 
 could make them. 
 
 Sally had given warning three weeks ago. 
 Next Sunday she was to be " asked in 
 church" for the first time, though without 
 the remotest possibility that any just cause 
 or impediment would interpose to prevent 
 her from taking "Thomas, bless him," for 
 better for w^orse, and keeping his house, 
 and doing her best to make him comfort- 
 able, and attending to the milk pans, and 
 perhaps going round with them herself now 
 and then when Tom was away at an odd 
 day's farming w^ork in the country. There 
 was only one thin 2 that cast the faintest
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 169 
 
 approach to a cloud on Sally's young bud- 
 ding happiness, and that was Miss Hester's 
 difficulty in meeting with a suitable succes- 
 sor in the sweeping and dusting depart- 
 ment. That certainly did trouble her a 
 little sometimes. For Miss Hester had been 
 so kind, and helped them along so nicely 
 in their courtship, and made things so 
 smooth and pleasant for them, and taken 
 such a friendly interest in the half-crown 
 cottage, and gone all the way to Lellands- 
 bridge one fine May morning to see the 
 spotted brown cow which "Thomas, bless 
 him," had bought to begin business with. 
 And she had advised Sally how to lay 
 out her wages to the best account with a 
 view to housekeeping, and told her how 
 much she ought to give a yard for hucka- 
 back towelling, and liow much for un-
 
 170 Hester s Sacrifce. 
 
 bleached sheets and tablecloths, and had 
 promised her the wedding-dress, which was 
 to be brown print — good colour for wash- 
 ing — with a white star upon it, just like 
 the star upon the new cow's forehead, 
 and a frilled cape to match. No, Sally 
 couldn't think without a pang of Miss 
 Hester's being "put about," as she would 
 be put about if a decent servant did not 
 hand up in the course of a week or two. 
 And if the clergyman had not taken the 
 banns, and the cottage rent had not been 
 going, and " Thomas, bless him," hadn't been 
 so dreadfully impatient, she didn't know' 
 but she should have given him back word 
 and let him wait a week or two longer. 
 But something would hand out. Yes, some- 
 thing would be sure to hand out, it always 
 did.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 171 
 
 So Sally used to say as she sat in the 
 trim, tidy Milcote kitchen, stitching away 
 at the above mentioned huckaback towelling, 
 and measuring off length after length of 
 chess-board patterned cloth for that little 
 square deal table at which she and Thomas 
 Bilson were to sit face to face for ten, 
 twenty, thirty, forty, or perhaps fifty years. 
 And Margaret would reply, not without a cer- 
 tain wholesome asperity, for she did not like 
 to hear Sally talk as if there wasn't another 
 servant in all Angusbury to match her- 
 self : 
 
 "Thee needn't trouble, honey. There's 
 as good fish in the sea as ever came out 
 of it. I don't misdoubt but what Mil- 
 cote'll go on same as ever for comfortable- 
 ness when you and young Bilson have 
 eaten the gilt off the gingerbread, and
 
 172 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 begun to think it isn't so sweet as it used 
 to be." 
 
 For Margaret had never married, and 
 never meant to do so.
 
 173 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 flRHAT was a proud day for Mr. Bilson 
 when the gentleman introduced by 
 newspaper to the Angusbury public as 
 "Basil Brooke, Esq., late of Kensington," 
 formally took his place as director of the 
 young ladies' class at the School of Art. 
 So long as a month ago — indeed, as soon 
 as he had received official announcement of 
 the precise day of inauguration — Mr. Bilson 
 had given his wife orders to reserve his 
 last new collar, and to get up his best of 
 possible fronts without respect to expense in 
 the matter of soap and starch. And when.
 
 174 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 after havincy arrayed himself in his Sunday 
 suit, and fastened his spotted silk cravat 
 with an artistic sixpenny pin in the shape 
 of a clenched fist, and turned himself round 
 several times before the small looking-glass 
 that hung at the back of the kitchen door, 
 Mr. Bilson sallied forth to the post of duty, 
 it was his own private opinion that never 
 since the palmy days of the fancy chalk 
 business, when he won the united heart of 
 Angusbury feminine by his pretty compli- 
 ments, had he presented such a resplendent 
 appearance to the gaze of an admiring 
 public. 
 
 The class did not assemble until two, 
 but at least half an hour before that time 
 he was in his place, shifting easels, adjust- 
 ing chairs, arranging drawing-boards and 
 copies for the younger pupils, or " chalk
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 175 
 
 squares and elementaries," as he used to 
 call them, alluding to their respective lines 
 of study, who occupied a long desk down 
 the centre of the room. Mr. Bilson never 
 spoke of junior, advanced, or middle-class 
 pupils. To his precise and classified mind 
 the school arranged itself into "chalk squares 
 and elementaries," "outlines and perpendicu- 
 lars," " antiques" and " naturals." 
 
 Mr. Brooke came about a quarter of an 
 hour before class time. Bilson received him 
 with a low bow, which had that very 
 morning been practised for at least twenty 
 minutes before the looking-glass at the back 
 of the kitchen door. Mr. Brooke returned 
 it with an easy, appropriating sort of grace, 
 and then planted himself once and for ever 
 in Bilson's good opinion by remarking, as 
 he glanced down the room.
 
 176 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 '^You have the management here, I sup- 
 pose. You keep the place in beautiful 
 order." 
 
 And certainly the room did look its best, 
 with the May sunlight streaming in through 
 crimson draperies upon groups of antique 
 sculpture, friezes, capitals, and medallions, 
 which were ranged from end to end on a 
 background of sombre neutral tint. And to 
 do him justice, Bilson took a pride in his 
 work. It was to him what her scrupulously 
 sanded floor and shining kitchen utensils 
 are to the country housewife. And so, as 
 he looked round on his spotless Apollos', 
 and lustrous Venuses, and shining Junes, 
 Pans, and Niobes, who every morning re- 
 ceived the carefullest of feather-brush treat- 
 ment, Mr. Bilson's face brightened with the 
 honest pride of a man who knows he
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 111 
 
 deserves the praise that is given him. And 
 as he touched his front lock of grey hair, 
 in delighted acknowledgment of the master's 
 compliment, he said to himself; 
 
 "Sensible man, this. Shouldn't wonder 
 if he don't mean to be equal for sensibleness 
 to the one that's gone." 
 
 But Mr. Brooke would have said just 
 the same if the casts and copies had been 
 thrown about in one chaos of artistic dis- 
 order, and if those gloved fingers of his 
 could have written each Grecian divinity's 
 name in the successive strata of dust which 
 careless hands had suffered to accumulate 
 upon its forehead. Part of Mr. Brooke's 
 philosophy was to make people pleased with 
 themselves. It followed then, as a matter 
 of course, that they were pleased with 
 him. 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 He was a fine, rather noble-looking man, this 
 Basil Brooke, with slightly grey hair, which, 
 however, did not give him the appearance 
 of age, for the face which it shadowed 
 had not a single deep or painful line about 
 it. Judging him from his face, he certainly 
 could not be more than five and thirty, 
 most likely not so much as that. What 
 would impress anyone in looking at him was 
 the fine mobility of his features. Even now, 
 in talking to this common man, his face 
 was continually changing its expression. The 
 lips, full and rich as those of a child, never 
 kept the same curve for a moment to- 
 gether. Even the smile that came and 
 went upon them had a thousand different 
 meanings, of w^hich, perhaps, a delicate, 
 graceful satire was the one that lingered 
 longest there. There was not much power
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 179 
 
 in the face, but great sweetness, great fas- 
 cination. This was a man who would rule, 
 not so much by resolute firmness of will, 
 as by perfect tact in adapting himself 
 to individual character. You could tell by 
 looking at him that he had a woman's per- 
 ception and a man's reason, and these two 
 qualities would give him almost unbounded 
 influence over other people, while yet he 
 seemed to exert none at all. 
 
 And his way of standing there was so 
 easy, so unstudied — leaning upon the open 
 door, swaying to and fro with its motion, 
 steadying himself now and then with a 
 little ebony cane, whose flexile stem seemed 
 as if it could take as many shapes as 
 its master, and looking amusedly down 
 from a pair of deep blue eyes upon the 
 dapper Mr. Bilson, who, all nods and jerks 
 
 N 2
 
 180 Hesieirs Sacrifice, 
 
 and smiles, was fidgeting about amongst the 
 drawings. 
 
 Mr. Bilson was impressed. He thought 
 he had never seen such a gentlemanly per- 
 son in his life — never. And to have such 
 an eye, too, for cleanliness and order ! It 
 was not one artist in a thousand that had an 
 eye for cleanliness and order. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, waving his arm in 
 the direction of the statues. "I takes a 
 pride in these here. You see, sir, having 
 been so long connected with the concern, 
 and having a hand in the keeping of it 
 up in a manner, I know more about art 
 than a good many people does what hasn't 
 been brought up amongst it, and these 
 things is a means of enjoyment, as you 
 may say, just same as if I had moulded 
 'em out myself. The master that's gone.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 181 
 
 and he was a sensible man, sir, was the 
 master that's gone, though I don't doubt 
 but you'll beat him far enough, if you'll 
 excuse me mentioning it, sir." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 And another fresh smile rippled up over 
 the dark, handsome face. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Well, the master that's gone used 
 to say to me, ' Mr. Bilson,' he used to say, ^ I 
 never met with a man before that had your 
 taste in art,' and he was right, sir, he was. 
 Why, sir, that Apollo, it's glorious, a-standing 
 there with its arm stretched out ; the books says 
 it's glorious, and everybody does, and so do I. 
 And them there Cupids and laughing fauns 
 is majestic, and so is them friezes ; there's no- 
 thing in nature, though it's very pretty in its 
 way, to come up to them there friezes. But, 
 sir, I'll take you round a bit afore the young
 
 182 Hesten's Sacrifice. 
 
 ladies comes, and give you an 'int or tsvo 
 about managing of 'em. They're things that 
 takes a deal of managing, is young ladies ; but 
 you see, having been so many years in the 
 school, I knows all about the proprieties of 
 it." 
 
 " Certainly. I'll go wherever you like to 
 take me, and you must tell me how the class 
 has been conducted. I have no doubt it has 
 been quite as much indebted to you as to the 
 late master. But shall we have time before 
 the young ladies come ? " 
 
 Mr. Bilson put his hand to his waistcoat 
 pocket. "Oh! dear, I declare, I've gone 
 and forgot my watch again," and then he 
 jumped on the bench under the great window, 
 from which the abbey clock could be seen. 
 Mr. Bilson had always "unfortunately for- 
 gotten his watch," when anyone asked the
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 183 
 
 time, and some of the more ill-natured 
 pupils had been heard to insinuate that the 
 article in question was a myth altogether, 
 having no existence except in Mr. Bilson's 
 imagination. 
 
 "Ten minutes to two, sir. And they're 
 dreadful unpunctual, is most of the young 
 ladies. We're looking to you, sir, is me and 
 the committee, to stir 'em up to what's proper. 
 Now them there, sir," and Mr. Bilson pointed 
 to one side of the long centre table, " is young 
 girls from ten years old and up'ards, chalk 
 squares and elementaries ; and the outlines 
 and perpendiculars sits opposite. Outlines 
 and perpendiculars only pays half-price, and 
 so you won't need to give no special attention 
 to 'em. And the antiques stands at them 
 there easels, down at the bottom end of the 
 room, promiscus with the Apollos and Junos.
 
 184 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Most of the young ladies is antiques at pre- 
 sent, sir." 
 
 Mr. Brooke's eyes ran over with merriment, 
 but his face and voice were quite grave as 
 he repHed — 
 
 " Indeed, I am very sorry for that. But 
 I had found out, before I came to the school, 
 that most of the Angusbury young ladies 
 are antiques T 
 
 "Have you, sir?" said Mr. Bilson, inno- 
 cently. "Maybe the committee has been 
 showing you through the books; we always 
 puts down in the books, whether the 
 young ladies is antiques, or what they are. 
 We've got over-many of 'em at the present. 
 Antiques is all good in their way, but to my 
 taste nat'ral objects is better." 
 
 " And to mine too," said Mr. Brooke gravely. 
 " There is nothing like youth and beauty."
 
 Hester* s Sacrifice, 185 
 
 "And now, sir," continued Bilson, leading 
 the way to the other end. "The young 
 ladies as paints flowers and natur' sits here. 
 We haven't many as copies natur' now, though, 
 sir." 
 
 "I suppose not. Most people prefer arti- 
 fice." 
 
 Mr. Bilson did not quite understand that 
 last word. However, as he was a man who 
 never displayed his ignorance, he made no 
 remark, but passed on to the easel before 
 which the county member's daughter sat, 
 when she honoured the class with her pre- 
 sence. 
 
 "Now, sir, this here's Miss Jellat's piece," 
 and lifting the tissue paper screen from a 
 drawing-board, he brought to view a huge 
 collection of scarcely recognisable plums 
 and peaches of most vivid hue. "This
 
 186 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 is Miss Jellat's piece, and a reg'lar fright it 
 is, and I don't doubt, if you're a sensible 
 person, in art, you'll say the same. But law ! 
 sir," and Mr. Bilson lowered his voice, "you 
 mustn't let on ought o' that sort to the young 
 lady. Her father's the county member, and 
 he lets her come to give a distinction to the 
 concern. If anything happened as the county 
 member got offended, I wouldn't give six- 
 pence for either your situation or mine. 
 You might as well shut up this here school 
 altogether, as tell Miss Jellat her piece wasn't 
 perfection. And so, sir, you know what to 
 do for her^ 
 
 " Thank you. I shall not forget." 
 "No, sir; I'm sure you won't. It's every- 
 thing in a place like this, is knowing what 
 to say to the young ladies. But now, sir, 
 this here piece is different. 1 should say, sir.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 187 
 
 as this here piece goes past natur' itself, for 
 being a perfect work of art." And Bilson 
 led the new master to the only other easel at 
 that end of the room. 
 
 It was Hester's. Her drawing was arranged 
 upon it, and, on a little table close by, the 
 leaves and flowers she was copying. Bilson 
 bent over it with genuine loving admiration, 
 and brushed away an audacious fly that was 
 leisurely taking an airing on one of the scrolls. 
 
 "Now, sir, our master that's gone used 
 to say that this here picture w^ould be a shade 
 oover, and I don't doubt, if he meant some- 
 thing pretty, but what he was right. It's a 
 piece that does credit to the school, is this here. 
 Me, and the master that's gone, both says so. 
 You may praise that, sir, as much as you've 
 a mind to, and you'll none say a word over- 
 much."
 
 188 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 A light smile passed across Mr. Brooke's face, 
 as he scanned the work over which Hester 
 had spent so many patient hours. He knew 
 those graceful leaves again, whose tiny fronds 
 she had copied with such artistic skill that 
 you might almost fancy a breath would cause 
 them to quiver and tremble; those leaves, 
 which scarce a month ago he had gathered 
 from that tall crag, three miles away, and 
 laid in her hand. No need to tell him whose 
 patient fingers had wrought there. 
 
 Bilson saw the smile, and thought it indi- 
 cated admiration for the grouping of the 
 piece. 
 
 "Yes, sir. I knew you'd admire that. 
 Them there ferns and ivy-leaves is the per- 
 fection of nat'ral beauty. It was me, sir, 
 as telled her she ought to have 'em there. 
 The master that's gone, and he was a sensible
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 189 
 
 man was the master that's gone, though I 
 don't doubt you'll beat him for sensibleness, 
 used to say as he didn't know a man to go 
 past me for knowing what was proper in 
 art." 
 
 *^It's Miss Tredegar's piece, sir/' continued 
 he, seeing that Mr. Brooke was looking about 
 for a name somewhere. " She lives with her 
 father at Milcote, a matter of a mile and a 
 half away from here, but she's the reg'larest 
 of any of the pupils that comes, always to 
 the minute, and works right on to the very 
 last. She's particular wishful to get this 
 done afore the prize giving, and that comes 
 on about the back end of July, or thereabouts, 
 according to convenience. You'll have heard 
 of the prize giving, sir; the Bishop of St. 
 Olaves is coming down to give 'em, and 
 there'll be a deal of speechifying, and votes
 
 190 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 of thanks, and that sort of thing. You'll be 
 expected to come forward yourself, sir, with 
 something pretty about the ladies; but I'm 
 thinking, sir, by the look of you, that sort o' 
 thing won't be much of a trouble to you." 
 
 "Not in the slightest," returned the new 
 master, with a smile quite different from that 
 with which he had been scanning Hester's 
 work. 
 
 And then he bent over it again. That 
 picture, and the memories it brought, must 
 both have been very pleasant to him. 
 
 "These ferns are rare," he said at last. 
 "Were they copied from nature? Are thet 
 to be found in this neighbourhood ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I pointed 'em out to Miss 
 Tredegar myself. I know where most pretty 
 things is to be found hereabouts. She 
 fetched 'em from the Monk's Crag; maybe
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 191 
 
 you don't know the place, being a stranger, 
 but it's about three mile away. I don't 
 know that they're to call very much out 
 of the common way particular, if only folks 
 knew where to look for 'em ; but she 
 seemed to set no end of store by them, 
 did Miss Tredegar." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes, she did. You know, sir, she oft 
 brings bits o' leaves and flowers since she's 
 been agate over this piece, and when she's 
 finished copying of them, I mostly sweeps 
 'em away, or, maybe, takes 'em home to 
 Mrs. Bilson- — she's fond of seeing a bit o' 
 green about the house, is Mrs. Bilson. 
 And I was going to do same with them 
 there ferns, but Miss Tredegar, she jumped 
 up as quick, she did, and, ' Oh Mr. Bilson,' 
 she said, ^please not to disturb those leaves;
 
 192 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 I want to take them home with me.' ^All 
 right, Miss/ says I; for, you see, sir, I 
 never interferes with the young ladies, but 
 I telled her I didn't know they was out of 
 the common way rare, or I wouldn't have 
 offered to meddle with 'em; and, ^Oh, no, 
 Mr. Bilson,' she says, * I don't think they 
 are very rare,' and she sort of coloured up, 
 while I thought I'd never seen her look so 
 pretty — ^I don't think they are very rare, 
 but I want to keep them ;' and my word, 
 sir, if you'd seen how careful she wrapped 
 them up, so as they shouldn't spoil ! But 
 maybe she's collectin' of 'em — it's a great 
 fashion with the young ladies about here, is 
 collectin' ferns." 
 
 Mr. Brooke had his own opinion about 
 that, but he said nothing. Only, as he still 
 continued to scan Hester's drawing, he
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 193 
 
 thought Mr. Bilsoii was a most amusing 
 and pleasant companion ; quite a character, 
 in his way. 
 
 Yes, quite a character — so very amusing ! 
 
 VOL. T.
 
 194 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^^ "pUT I must be going now," said the 
 little man, who had jumped on the 
 bench half a dozen times during the pre- 
 vious conversation to ascertain the time. 
 " Yon's the abbey clock just on the stroke 
 of two, and some of the chalk squares and 
 elementaries has come. They'll be wanting 
 me to set 'em a-going, and so will the 
 perpendiculars. The master that's gone used 
 mostly to leave the chalk squares to me. 
 He said, having been so long in the con- 
 cern, I could do for 'em almost as well as 
 himself."
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 195 
 
 And Mr. Bilson bustled away in the 
 direction of the long desk, followed by the 
 new^ master. 
 
 Whilst they had been talking together, 
 the room had filled. About a dozen young 
 girls had come in and taken their places 
 in the centre department. Some of the 
 " antiques," too, were standing before their 
 easels at the lower end of the room. An- 
 tiques they were, truly, though attired in 
 the most advanced style of Angusbury morn- 
 ing costume ; for they had the hacked, faded 
 look which women get after being dragged 
 through the balls and assemblies of ten or 
 twelve successive seasons ; added to this, too, 
 the disappointment of having spent so many 
 years on the social treadmill without any 
 tangible result in the shape of an "estab- 
 lishment." 
 
 o2
 
 196 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Mr. Brooke sauntered down to act the 
 preceptor amongst them, and it was wdiilst 
 he was going from easel to easel, giving 
 here and there a helping touch, now round- 
 ing the arm of a Venus, now putting a 
 dimple into the chin of a crayon Cupid, or 
 straightening the nose of a misrepresented 
 Juno, that Hester Tredegar came in and 
 took her place amongst the scrolls and 
 capitals. 
 
 She had heard that the new master was 
 to make his formal appearance this daj^, 
 but she felt no special interest in the 
 event. It was but little that the late mas- 
 ter had done for his pupils in the way of 
 instruction. Indeed, all who went to the 
 School of Art were expected to depend 
 upon themselves, and to help themselves. 
 They had the best models supplied to them,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 197 
 
 the best materials to work with, the best 
 positions and lights to work by, and perhaps 
 once during the class-time the master used 
 to walk round and examine their perform- 
 ances; sometimes taking the pencil himself 
 for a minute or two, sometimes just giving 
 a hint and passing on; sometimes — and that 
 w^as generall}^ the case when he came to 
 Hester's easel — uttering a brief " very good," 
 and nothing more. Most likely the new 
 master would pursue the same course, only 
 asserting more authority, to keep the pupils 
 to their work. 
 
 There was no one else at that end of 
 the room, Miss Jellat not having conde- 
 scended to honour the class with her pre- 
 sence ; and so, to avoid the interruption 
 caused by two of the " chalk squares," who 
 were babbling in an undertone about the
 
 198 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 respective merits of their performances, Hes- 
 ter removed her easel to a distance, and 
 was soon so engrossed in her work as to 
 forget everything else. 
 
 Although she did not know it, she made a 
 pretty picture as she stood there in the 
 track of the sunlight, which, coming through 
 the muUioned windows, caught upon her 
 light hair and seemed to turn it into 
 threads of gold. And the crimson drapery 
 which divided that recess from the rest of 
 the school, formed a good background to 
 her fair pale face and slight figure. Doubt- 
 less Mr. Brooke thought so too, for hi^ 
 eye often wandered thither as he went from 
 desk to desk and easel to easel. That ap- 
 parently careless glance of liis missed no- 
 thing, though it appeared to notice so little. 
 He observed the quiet absorption of her
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 199 
 
 manner, her complete, self-forgetting interest 
 in her work; with what careless unconscious 
 gi'ace she would step back now and then 
 to note the effect of some fresh arrange- 
 ment in the leaves and flowers she was 
 grouping with such artistic skill. Not a 
 look, not a movement, escaped him. She 
 worked for the true love of her art ; it 
 would be a pleasure to teach her — perhaps 
 more than that. 
 
 Bv-and-bye he went up to Hester's end 
 of the room. Unnoticed, he stood close by 
 her, apparently watching the progress of her 
 work, but, in reality, studying her ; the 
 changeful expression of her face, whose pro- 
 file he could see as she turned from time 
 to time to glance at the group of leaves 
 which Bilson had placed in a glass of water 
 on the table by her side.
 
 200 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Yes, this Hester Tredegar was certainly a 
 pleasant study, far before the antiques, with 
 their practised airs and graces, their pitiful 
 attempts at juvenility, their painful efforts 
 to hold fast departing youth. And far be- 
 fore the outlines and perpendiculars, too, 
 who, having lost the pretty unconsciousness 
 of childhood, without yet attaining the 
 charm of girlhood, he was willing to leave 
 to the guidance of Mr. Bilson. He was 
 glad her easel was placed at that end of 
 the room, away from the other pupils. It 
 should stay there always. 
 
 "You are shading that leaf a little too' 
 strongly. Give me your pencil, if you 
 please." 
 
 And then Hester turned. 
 
 It was well she had moved into the 
 quiet crimson curtained recess. It was well
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 201 
 
 that Miss Jellat, the county member's 
 daughter, who ought to have been paint- 
 ing plums and peaches, was out riding 
 after the hounds ; otherwise, those keen 
 black eyes would not have failed to notice the 
 undisguised pleasure wdiich sparkled in Hes- 
 ter's, and the rich flush, certainly not at- 
 tributable to sunlight coming through crim- 
 son drapery now, which overspread her face 
 as she encountered the recognising smile of 
 the new master. 
 
 Although she was naturally very shy and 
 quiet, yet she had not been trained in that 
 school which teaches its pupils to hide all 
 outward and visible sign of emotion under 
 the mantle of "lady-like self-possession." 
 And so, without staying to consider whether 
 it was correct or not to do so, she spoke 
 out the thought of her heart at once.
 
 202 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 " Oh ! I am so glad ! I was wondering 
 whether I should ever see you again." 
 
 '^Were you?" and with genuine pleasure 
 Basil Brooke took the hand that was so 
 frankly held out to him. "I knew the 
 treat that was in store for me as soon as 
 I came in this afternoon and saw this 
 drawing of yours. I am glad too. We 
 shall be friends now, shall we not?" 
 
 Hester's face was sufficient answer with- 
 out any words. And, indeed, when the 
 first thrill of glad surprise was past, it 
 seemed quite natural that things should be 
 as they were. A thought long brooded' 
 over, a hope long cherished, becomes at 
 last so real, that, when fulfilled, there is 
 no strangeness about it ; it takes its place 
 at once in actual life as it had done be- 
 fore in the beautiful life of thought.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 203 
 
 Hester had felt so sure that, somehow, 
 somewhere, they should meet again, though 
 how or where she could not tell. And 
 when, without another word, he took the 
 pencil from her hand, and motioning her 
 to stand aside, began to work at her 
 drawing himself, they fell as naturally into 
 their places of master and pupil, as though 
 the relation were quite an old familiar one. 
 
 "You draw very well. Miss Tredegar. 
 Have you been long in the school?" 
 " Only since w^e came to Angusbury." 
 "Then you have not lived here always?" 
 " Oh ! no. Papa has been in the service 
 abroad. We came to Angusbury about five 
 years ago, but I did not know of the 
 school until after we had been settled here 
 more than a year, and then I began to 
 attend it. I am very fond of drawing."
 
 204 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 " So I see, or you could not have made 
 such progress. I should like to look at some 
 of your other drawings ; do you take them 
 home f 
 
 "No, not at first. All that we do in 
 the class are kept in the master's room 
 until the end of the session — after the ex- 
 amination and prizes — and then they are 
 returned to us." 
 
 "Ah! Then some day I hope you will 
 let me see those that have been returned 
 to you. I shall know better how to direct 
 your studies when you have shown me what 
 you have done." 
 
 That was all. Basil Brooke was too 
 much of a gentleman to expose any of the 
 pupils to remark by loitering needlessly at 
 their easels. 
 
 After working on for a few minutes and
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 205 
 
 giving her some instructions about the ar- 
 rangement of her subject, he put the pencil 
 back into her hands and resumed his pere- 
 grinations amongst the outlines and per- 
 pendiculars. Only when class was over, and 
 Hester was leaving the room, he said, with 
 a bright, pleasant smile — 
 
 "Remember, you are to show me those 
 drawings of yours soon." 
 
 So then he would come to Milcote. And 
 surely her papa would learn to care for 
 him — he was so genial and friendly, and so 
 clever too. Not like the Angusbury people, 
 who could talk of nothino; but shares, and 
 the price of stock, and commonplace town 
 gossip. And so that dream castle of hers 
 was not to be a dream castle any longer, 
 but real and true. The actual was not only 
 to reach, but overpass the ideal.
 
 206 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 That was a happy walk home for Hester. 
 No need for summer sunshine to brighten 
 it. She had enough and to spare in her 
 own heart. Full as it was though, more 
 would have been added had she known that, 
 long after the School of Art was cleared, 
 and Bilson, all triumphant self-complacency, 
 had gone home to tell his wife about the 
 sensibleness of the new master, Basil Brooke 
 had lingered behind in the little room where 
 the pupils' drawings were kept, looking out 
 those which bore the name of Hester Tre- 
 degar, and pondering over them with a 
 pleased, quiet smile. 
 
 "What would it all come to?
 
 207 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 f\^ lier way home, Hester met Miss Lapi- 
 ter scudding away down the High 
 Street like a barque before the wind, the 
 May breeze dancing through her neat Kttle 
 front of flaxen curls — Miss Lapiter never 
 denied that it was a front — and playing 
 the funniest pranks with a brown bow, 
 which looked as if it had come from the 
 clouds, and alighted by accident on the ex- 
 tremest tip of her straw bonnet, having ap- 
 parently no connection with any other part 
 thereof. Her face brightened up when she 
 saw Hester, if indeed that face could be
 
 208 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 said to brighteiij which at all times wore 
 an aspect of the cheeriest geniality. And 
 Hester, too, was in the mood to give her a 
 merry greeting. 
 
 "Good morning. Miss Lapiter. I knew 
 you ever so far away by that distinguishing 
 brown bow of yours. Was it an invention 
 of your own to put it just there ?" 
 
 "No, Miss Hester, I never think of such 
 a thing as leaning to my own understanding 
 in the way of millinery. And as you 
 suggest, it certainly is a funny place for a 
 bow, according to all my preconceived 
 notions of where bows ought to be put.' 
 But it's as near as can be like what I see 
 in the bonnet shops. You know, Miss Hester, 
 having a limited income, I don't generally 
 put my millinery out to do, but as I go 
 down the streets 1 just give an eye round
 
 Hestei's Sacrifice. 209 
 
 to see what other people wear, and then I 
 copy it as nearly as circumstances will 
 permit. I'm not quite sure whether Tve 
 hit upon the correct latitude and longitude of 
 this bow. I was rather in a hurry when I 
 took the bearings of the pattern, and I 
 came to the shop window again next day 
 to see if it ought not to be shifted a trifle 
 nearer to the equator — that's the ribbon 
 across the middle of the bonnet, you know, 
 my dear; but, unfortunately, the article had 
 been nipped up by some one who had the 
 same taste as myself, and though I've looked 
 out for it every Sunday at church since, I 
 have never been able to set eyes upon it. 
 Unfortunate, now, isn't it ?" 
 
 ^^It is," replied Hester, "especially if you 
 are exercised in your mind about the lati- 
 tude and longitude." 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 "Well, I am, my dear, and more so 
 since I saw your papa taking particular 
 notice of it last time I came to Milcote. 
 But do you know, Miss Hester, it struck 
 me, when I put this bow on, that it did 
 look remarkably like a sparrow sitting alone 
 upon a house-top. And — would you believe 
 it? — the very first time I came downstairs 
 in the bonnet, my tortoiseshell cat made a 
 dead set at it, just like a pointer when it 
 catches sight of a partridge, thereby con- 
 vincing me of the folly of those people 
 who say that cats go by scent, and not by 
 ^ight; for, of course, my brown bow could 
 smell of nothing but the dye, and I am 
 not aware that that could suggest sparrows, 
 except by very remote connection. But, dear 
 me. Miss Hester, how I am running on, 
 and never telling you that you are the
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 211 
 
 very identical person of all others that I 
 wanted to meet. In fact, I said, when the 
 subject at first suggested itself to my mind, 
 that it was providential — nothing but pro- 
 vidential ; for where could she find herself 
 settled in a better home, with Christian 
 privileges, and the most proper of examples 
 in the person of Margaret, who, I'm sure, 
 is a living pattern of the beauty of religion, 
 though objecting to the Established Church, 
 which I can^t help regretting. But that is 
 as it is, and we can't make it different, 
 can we ?" 
 
 Hester had had experience of Miss Lapiter's 
 manner of introducing any new subject. It 
 generally came on enveloped in a cloud of 
 mist, which, slowly clearing off, left a sur- 
 face of clear, distinct common sense. And 
 so, though at present in utter darkness as 
 
 p 2
 
 212 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 to the possible termination of this harangue, 
 she waited patiently, being convinced that 
 good would come of it at last. 
 
 ^'Providential, my dear Miss Hester, nothing 
 but providential, as, indeed, I always say every- 
 thing is that comes to pass in this world, 
 though sometimes Providence seems such a 
 hopeless tangle that there's no seeing to the 
 end of it. Because if you get one born of 
 respectable parents, ten to one but the poor 
 thing has been afflicted with the rudiments 
 of a polite education, which, as I take it, 
 is a great affliction to that class of people, 
 and knows more about the use of the globes' 
 than the management of a frying-pan ; and 
 if she comes from the lower stratum of 
 society, why the bad breeding keeps cropping 
 up like a primary formation through surface 
 deposits; and if she's anythhig like decent,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 213 
 
 and unites good behaviour to capability, she 
 gets snapped up by a follower, and as sure 
 as sure, some evening, when you are sitting 
 quietly in the parlour meditating on your 
 mercies, in she comes and curtsies, 
 and fumbles about at her apron-strings, 
 and says that, as soon as you can 
 find it convenient to suit yourself, c^c, &c. 
 You may always know^ what's coming when 
 a girl begins to fumble at her apron-strings. 
 It's discouraging, my dear Miss Hester, it 
 really is." 
 
 And Miss Lapiter paused to take breath. 
 Then Hester began to divine that her kind 
 little maiden friend had met with some one 
 likely to supply the place of Sally, whose 
 wedding was to take place in a month. 
 That servant business had lain like a dead 
 weight on Hester's mind, ever since the
 
 214 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 evening, six months ago now, when Sally 
 came and knocked at the door, and, without 
 any preparatory fumbling of apron-strings, or 
 dropping of curtsies, had said, in just her 
 plain, matter-of-fact way, as though an- 
 nouncing that the flour had run out, or 
 that the supply of candles was getting 
 short, 
 
 "Please, Miss, Tom Bilson and me is 
 going to be wed as soon as he can meet 
 with a cow likely for the business ; and I 
 thought I'd best let you know, so as you 
 might have time to look round and suit 
 yourself." 
 
 And then Sally had gone back to Mar- 
 garet, and with a brief — "I've got the 
 missus told," had resumed the hemming of 
 some kitchen towels. Ever since that evening, 
 then, Hester had been somewhat exercised in
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 215 
 
 her mind about domestic matters. Sally had 
 lived with them a loii^ time, and had got 
 thoroughly used to their ways, and in her 
 own plain, straightforward fashion had served 
 them very faithfully. It was scarcely likely 
 that any one would quite fill her place, be 
 quite so honest and trusty. And so it was 
 with real thankfulness that Hester said, 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Lapiter, you have heard of 
 a servant for us? That is kind of you." 
 
 " Exactly so. Miss Hester — not the kind- 
 ness, you know, but the servant — and that 
 is just what I was on the point of coming 
 to if you hadn't stopped me. In fact, ever 
 since you told me of Sally's matrimonial 
 prospects — and I'm sure I hope they will 
 turn out successfully, aud the milk business 
 too — I have had you laid very much upon 
 my mind, being, as I may say, so young
 
 216 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 and inexperienced, and not so much push 
 as some girls have, which is greatly to your 
 credit, my dear, for push isn't a thing 
 that I admire in a young lady, under any 
 circumstances." 
 
 And then Miss Lapiter drifted away into 
 an essay on push, through which it would 
 be tedious to follow her, seeing that it 
 lasted until Angusbury streets were left far 
 behind, and wafts of perfume from its haw- 
 thorn hedges betrayed the nearness of Mil- 
 cote Lane. However, in time she came 
 back again to the servant business. 
 
 ^ " Let me see, where was I % Oh ! about ' 
 your being laid upon my mind, as indeed 
 you were, my dear, so much so as to disturb 
 my rest at night. And I said to my maid 
 Joan — you know Joan has been with me 
 more than twenty years, and I tell her
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 217 
 
 everything, just like one of the family, 
 ^Joan,' I said, ^Miss Tredegar is going to 
 experience the troubles of life now, I'm 
 afraid.' You see, my dear, servants are not 
 what they used to be when I was a girl 
 and kept my dear brother's house ; with 
 their parasols and their crinoline, and their 
 Natural Philosophy, and their little three- 
 penny worth of all sorts that is put into 
 them at these cheap schools, so that it's 
 almost more than a young girl like you 
 can do to manage them. And one won't 
 cook, and another won't wash, and this 
 won't wait at table, and that won't clean 
 the master's boots, and this young lady 
 must have her evenings to study French." 
 " Oh ! Miss Lapiter, surely not." 
 " Fact, my dear. I heard of a house- 
 maid the other day that stipulated for her
 
 218 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 evenings to study French ; and another 
 young lady must go out three times a week 
 to a singing-class, and another must have 
 bottled porter for supper, because she's liable 
 to hysterics, — that really, my dear, I felt for 
 you when I knew what you were going to 
 have to contend with, and I felt drawn 
 out in thankfulness, I did indeed, when 
 this young person was brought under my 
 notice." 
 
 "Then who is she. Miss Lapiter, and 
 where does she live?" 
 
 "Not an Angusbury girl, my dear, and 
 so much the better, because she won't filf 
 the kitchen with young men under the 
 pretence of cousins or anything of that sort, 
 seeing she doesn't know a creature in the 
 place. I came upon her quite by accident, 
 as 1 may say. One of my young ladies
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 219 
 
 that I used to be governess to, wanted 
 some plain sewing done in a hurry, so she 
 asked me if I would look out for some- 
 body who would do it nicely and tidily. 
 And as I was going round with my tracts in 
 one of the back streets, I happened to see a 
 neat little bill in a window, ' Plain sewing 
 taken in here.' Not that it was anything 
 uncommon ; you may see that notice in almost 
 every other window as you go down Angus- 
 bury back streets, but this struck me be- 
 cause it looked new and clean, as if who- 
 ever put it there had only just set up in that 
 line of business. So I went in and found 
 it belonged to a poor girl wdio had lately 
 come to the place, and was trying to get 
 a living in that way. A poor way, too," con- 
 tinued the benevolent maiden lady, with a touch 
 of sadness in her voice. " It's a starving thing.
 
 220 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 a very starving thing, is plain sewing in a 
 place like Angusbury, which, on account of" 
 having so many unoccupied ladies in it, is over- 
 run with working-parties. Perhaps you 
 haven't seen much of it, but if you had a 
 tract district as I have, in one of the back 
 streets, and saw the poor pinched faces, and 
 sunken eyes, and lean shrivelled fingers that 
 I have seen, and heard the pitiful pleadings 
 for sixpenny worth of stitching just to keep 
 body and soul together, you w^ouldn't soon 
 forget it. No, that you wouldn't. 
 
 " Well, I made inquiries about the young 
 woman, and they said she was decent and' 
 quiet, and wxll-behaved, and that sort of 
 thing, though, of course, they couldn't speak 
 positively as to anything further, she being 
 quite a stranger in the place. And then she 
 told me the name of the people in London
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 221 
 
 that she worked for before she came to 
 Angusbury ; and being very much interested 
 in her, I wrote up for her character there, 
 and it came down quite satisfactory, indeed, 
 everything I could wish, and she had only 
 left her situation on account of sewing- 
 machines, which made them not want so 
 many hands ; which, you know, was sufficient 
 reason, machines being sad things, almost as 
 bad as sewing meetings, for taking the work 
 out of poor women's hands. 
 
 "And so, as I was saying — dear me, if I 
 can't see the cluster roses in your papa's 
 garden I Well, I suppose I must walk all 
 the way home with you, or I shan't get my 
 tale finished, — as I was telling you, I got 
 her this work, and that seemed to make 
 me more interested in her, having to go 
 several times to explain to her about it. It
 
 222 Hester s SacHfice. 
 
 was only a matter of five or six shillings, 
 after all, and that soon goes when a woman 
 has everything to find for herself out of it. 
 The person she lodged with told me that 
 very often she hadn't so much as a scrap 
 of anything after breakfast, until late in the 
 evening; and I'm sure I could believe it, for 
 her cheeks are as hollow as the inside of a 
 mussel-shell — it's painful to look at them, it 
 really is ! And so I said to her about a 
 week ago, 'Now, Jane Fawcet,' — that is her 
 name, my dear — 'Jane Fawcet, this kind of 
 thing won't do any longer. We must look 
 out for something else for you, or we sh all- 
 have you dying of starvation, and that's 
 what nobody ever died of in Angusbury since 
 I knew it. What should you say to going 
 out into respectable service?'" 
 
 " The best thing she could do, I should
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 223 
 
 think," remarked Hester ; ^* only she would 
 want a very easy place, and a very kind 
 mistress." 
 
 '^ Of course, and I shall come to that b}- 
 and-bye, if you don't interrupt me. Well, 
 she didn't seem to take it up very much 
 at first, but I believe, poor thing, hunger had 
 worn her down to that degree of weakness 
 that she hadn't energy enough to take any- 
 thing up. So I told her she was to go 
 to sleep upon it, and think it over, and I 
 would come again next day. You know, 
 when you get hold of a person of that sort, 
 it's no use being offended with them because 
 they don't come in to everything you sug- 
 gest. Some people would almost starve be- 
 fore they would give up their liberty, and 
 I was afraid she might be a woman of that 
 sort, by the look of her.
 
 224 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 "Well, I did come again — here we are 
 at Milcote ; — no, my dear, I won't come in, 
 I'll tell you the rest here at the gate — and 
 in the meantime I had thought of you, and 
 what a nice person she would be for you, 
 and how you would be kind to her, and 
 that sort of thing. So I said to her, ' Now, 
 Jane Fawcet, listen to me. I've a place for 
 you in my mind, where you'll be cared for 
 like a human being, and not as if you were 
 an intelligent mop, which is the light in which 
 some people view their servants. It's a young 
 lady and her father that live in a very quiet 
 way, and have a Christian woman for a house- 
 keeper, and a boy to clean knives and 
 shoes; and if ever there w^as a providential 
 door opened in this world, it's opened in 
 that family, and it's opened for you.' 
 
 "Now don't interrupt me," Miss Lapiter
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 225 
 
 continued, for Hester was going to make 
 a remark; "I shall never get to the end 
 if you talk too. Well, she still seemed to 
 hang back and said something about not 
 being strong, which, indeed, wasn't to be 
 w^ondered at, for fourpence a day and lodg- 
 ing to find out of it, to say nothing of 
 clothes, is rather reducing to the system. 
 And so, to encourage her, I said, ^It's the 
 quietest of places, Jane Fawcet, for Miss 
 Tredegar doesn't keep any company, unless 
 it is that I go in now and then, and per- 
 haps Mrs. Brayton from Lellandsbank may 
 take a cup of tea there once a month or 
 so; and I told her, too, that for anything 
 I knew, Mr. Nils might take a knife and 
 fork with your papa occasionally, though I 
 really cannot charge my memory that I 
 have ever heard you mention his doing 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 such a thing. Still, you know, it was 
 better to say what might happen. 
 
 "And I was glad I did tell her about 
 its being such a quiet family, for it seemed 
 to settle her directly. Not that she ran 
 over with thankfulness, as some people 
 would have done to be taken out of star- 
 vation, and ha've their feet set upon a rock, 
 and a good home and plenty of plain food, 
 which is a much more satisfying portion 
 than plain sewing ; but she lifted herself 
 up and said in a stiff, dead sort of voice 
 — poor thing, it was nothing but starva- 
 tion that had given her such a voice 
 —'Miss Lapiter, I'll go. And I'll serve 
 them the very best I can, and nobody 
 shall ever say it against me that I'm not 
 willing to learn, if only the lady will be 
 patient and teach me at first.'
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 227 
 
 "It was the quiet family, you see, Miss 
 Hester, that settled her to come. And 
 then she asked me if I didn't think she'd 
 better come at once and inquire after the 
 place, but I told her no, to be sure not. 
 I must see you first, and have it properly 
 talked over with you, whether you would 
 like to venture upon her, because it wouldn't 
 do to make an engagement of that kind 
 without proper consideration. She looked 
 sadly anxious after that, and came down 
 first thing next morning to know if I had 
 seen you about it; but really. Miss Hester, 
 what with this new boarder of mine — for 
 you know the master of the School of Art 
 is come to reside with me, and I've had 
 the house papered from top to bottom, and 
 several pieces of new furniture, because of 
 his belonging to such a good family, late 
 
 q2
 
 228 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 father a clergyman — that really I've been 
 almost rmi off my feet, and I haven't had 
 time to attend to anything." 
 
 "Yes, Mrs. Brayton was telling me Mr. 
 Brooke would most likely reside with you." 
 
 And though Hester said it so quietly, 
 there was a bright flush upon her face, 
 which Miss Lapiter did not observe, being 
 just then engaged in looking at the Milcote 
 cluster roses, which were, indeed, very beau- 
 tiful, clambering quite round the lattice 
 window, and up to the casement of Mr. 
 Tredegar's study over the front door. 
 
 "Oh! Mrs. Brayton told you, did she? 
 Well, I believe it was through ]\Irs. Bray- 
 ton that he came at all, or, rather, Mr. 
 Nils, who knew some of the committee, 
 and they recommended him to Kose Cot- 
 tage. And a very pleasant man too, al-
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 229 
 
 most the pleasantest man I have ever known ; 
 but I haven't time to enter into the sub- 
 ject now, or I could talk to you all the 
 way back again to Angusbury about him, 
 so very pleasant and friendly. And now, 
 Miss Hester, I'll tell you what we'll do. I'll 
 go down this very evening to Jane Fawcet, 
 and tell her to come to Milcote to-morrow 
 morning, and then, in the afternoon, you 
 shall come and have a cup of tea with me, 
 and we will talk it into shape. Won't 
 that be the very thing, now ?" 
 
 ''I am sure. Miss Lapiter, you are very 
 kind; but it is just like you. You are al- 
 ways doing good to everybody." 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear, don't talk about 
 doing good. You see it has pleased Divine 
 Providence not to bless me with any 
 special interests of my own, and so I take
 
 230 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 up those of other people, and try to do 
 my fellow-creatures a kind turn now and 
 then as I scratch along through life. So 
 now good morning, and I hope everything 
 will turn out nicely. You know it's 
 such a relief to get anyone that can be 
 trusted." 
 
 And away trotted little Miss Lapiter 
 down the Milcote road, the sparrow bow 
 flapping its wings lustily on the summit 
 of her Dunstable bonnet. 
 
 But as Hester stood at the gate watch- 
 ing that tight little figure as it disappeared 
 behind the sycamores, she was not thinking 
 of Miss Lapiter's goodness, nor of the re- 
 lief it would be to get a servant she covild 
 trust — if indeed this Jane Fawcet should 
 turn out to be so verv trustworthv. She
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 231 
 
 was only thinking how pleasant it would 
 
 be to spend to-morrow evening at Rose 
 Cottage.
 
 232 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 '' "pLEASE, Miss Hester, one wants 
 you." 
 
 And Sally ushered into the Milcote par- 
 lour, where her young mistress sat at work, 
 a very plainly dressed person, eyeing her 
 meanwhile with that curious questioning 
 glance which a departing servant cannot 
 help casting on one who may possibly have' 
 come to inquire after the place. 
 
 Sally was not what is commonly called 
 a "deep girl." She did not, as some others 
 would have done under similar circum- 
 stances, loiter about the room under pre-
 
 Hester^s Sacrifice. 233 
 
 tence of dusting the furniture, or steal 
 quietly to the door — which had been pur- 
 posely left open — to catch stray scraps of 
 conversation. But she did stay just long 
 enough to hear the young woman say with 
 a low curtsy, 
 
 "Miss Lapiter sent me, ma'am, about the 
 place." 
 
 Then Sally tramped back into the kitchen 
 saying to herself — 
 
 "She'll none match me, won't that one, 
 anyhow. No sort o' push in her; walks 
 as if she was made o' lead bullets; like to 
 see her put a bit o' strength into a broom 
 handle. Never set eyes on such a shiftless 
 body in all r)iy born days — never !" 
 
 And with that, Sally straightened her 
 broad back and looked at the red rough 
 hands which had done so many a hard
 
 234 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 day's work — ay, and would do so many 
 more, she hoped, before they were folded 
 up for their final rest. Sally rather liked to 
 feel that this new applicant was not every- 
 thing that could be desired — that she should 
 be missed when she took leave of the Mil- 
 cote establishment. A very natural feeling, 
 only improper when carried to too great an 
 extent. 
 
 The young woman was Jane Fawcet, 
 Miss Lapiter's protegee, a pale-faced, humble- 
 looking woman, cleanly, but very poorly 
 clad, and bearing in her thin, pinched fea- 
 tures, ample testimony to the starving life- 
 she had led whilst she had been at An- 
 gusbury. 
 
 She was very different from the generality 
 of modern domestic servants. She asked few 
 questions, she made few inquiries, she seemed
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 235 
 
 to take it quite as a favour that she had 
 been allowed to come after the situation at 
 all. She was rather a peculiar-looking woman. 
 There ought to have been plenty of resolution 
 about her, judging from her firm compressed 
 lip and square chin ; plenty of observation 
 too, for the glances which, when Hester's 
 attention was for a moment diverted, she cast 
 upon her, were sharp and piercing, even to 
 unpleasantness. But there was nothing to 
 match these indications of character in her 
 humble, almost abject bearing, in the down- 
 cast look and subdued voice with which 
 she replied to Hester's questions respecting 
 her previous mode of life. 
 
 She had come from London, she said, where 
 she had been working for one of the large 
 mantle warehouses. But having introduced 
 sewing-machines, they were obliged to turn
 
 236 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 off many of their hands, herself amongst 
 the number, and she had come to An^usbury 
 to seek work, in which search, however, she 
 had hitherto met with scant success, and it 
 was in consequence of Miss Lapiter's recom- 
 mendation that she had determined to turn 
 her attention to domestic service. 
 
 All this the young woman said in a low, 
 unbroken, weary sort of voice, seldom rais- 
 ing her eyes to look at Hester. She did 
 not seem remarkably promising. Neither 
 good temper nor quickness could be inferred 
 from her face and manner. But then, as 
 Miss Lapiter remarked, hunger and poverty 
 were sharp masters. These valuable qualifi- 
 cations might still be latent beneath that 
 unprepossessing exterior, and when she got 
 into a comfortable home, and found herself 
 well cared for and well fed, she might, to
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 237 
 
 use Margaret's favourite expression, "pick 
 herself up," aud make a good servant after 
 all. 
 
 She was very modest in her require- 
 ments; made no pretensions to superiority, 
 professed great aptitude in nothing but will- 
 ingness to learn, in which thing she had 
 faithfully promised no one should ever have 
 cause to find fault with her. She asked 
 for no perquisites, no privileges ; was not 
 particular as to wages, as long as she had 
 enough to clothe herself decently. All that 
 she sought was a comfortable home — all 
 that she offered in return was a pair of 
 willing hands, with a willing head to guide 
 them. 
 
 Hester thought that was enough. She 
 asked her a few simple questions, such as 
 her limited experience in servant-hiring sug-
 
 238 Hester^s Sacrifice. 
 
 gestedj and then she sent Margaret in to 
 complete arrangements. 
 
 "I think she'll do, Miss," said the thrifty 
 housekeeper, returning to Hester after a 
 few minutes' conversation with the girl. 
 "I'm not afraid of anything but her temper; 
 and maybe a comfortable place, such as 
 we'll make for her at Milcote, '11 mend 
 that. It's a bad thing is hunger for a 
 body's temper, and she looks to me as if 
 she'd had a pretty good nip o' that. I've 
 known what it is to be hungered. Miss, 
 myself, when I was a little 'un, before I 
 took to get my own living; and it makes 
 one feel bad, it does. I don't doubt. Miss 
 Hester, but what you'll do right to let her 
 come and make a trial. Maybe it's a lead- 
 ing o' Providence to bring her among them 
 as knows religion and will try to do her
 
 Heste7's Sacrifice. 239 
 
 a bit o' good to her precious soul, for I'm 
 thinking, Miss, by the look of her, that 
 her feet hasn't been set in the ways of 
 peace and pleasantness. And I'll do the 
 best that lies in my possibles to make a 
 good servant of her, and help her forward 
 in her speritial interests." 
 
 "And," continued the Milcote housekeeper, 
 whose "speritial" sense was tempered by a 
 wholesome admixture of the wisdom of this 
 world, " maybe you would give her a word 
 about getting up betimes of a morning; 
 that's the only thing I could wish the 
 present Sally bettered in; and about the 
 answering the door, Miss Hester, which it 
 isn't my duty to do, though Sally puts it 
 on to me because of her aprons being so 
 dirty, as I tell her she ought to be ashamed* 
 of them. I think that's all. Miss, as strikes
 
 240 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 me at the present, and I hope she'll be pro- 
 perly thankful to be took into a comfortable 
 fam'ly, as will look both to body and soul, 
 and keep 'em along in the right track." 
 
 "More, that, than even you can accomplish, 
 Margaret." 
 
 So Jane Fawcet was engaged, and told 
 she might come on the evening of the day 
 that Sally left, which would be in about a 
 fortnight. And in the meantime Hester 
 gave her some sewing, which would help to 
 pay for her board and lodging. 
 
 The girl dropped a low curtsy, and went 
 away. Sally eyed her as she walked very- 
 slowly down the sunshiny garden path, 
 stopping, when she reached the gate, to 
 take a leisurely survey of the place. 
 
 "She'll do no good here, she won't. But 
 it isn't no concern of mine to keep folks
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 241 
 
 out of a comfortable situation. Margaret 
 says there's as good fish in the sea as ever 
 came out of it. I say there isn't." 
 
 And now there was only that pleasant 
 evening at Rose Cottage to be looked for- 
 ward to. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 242 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 TF ever peace and quietness — no, not 
 quietness exactly, but comfort — if ever 
 peace and comfort took up their abode in 
 any human habitation, they had assuredly 
 fixed it in Miss Lapiter's cottage, which 
 was situated near one of the trim little 
 terraces inhabited by the trim little maiden 
 ladies who abounded in the outskirts of 
 Angusbury. 
 
 There was something in the very look of 
 the house, with its dark green trellised 
 porch, and garniture of vine and ivy, and 
 snow-white blinds, and cramp-w^ood baskets
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 243 
 
 of mignonette creeping almost half-way up 
 the windows, which marked it as belonging 
 to a comfortable person — a person who 
 enjoyed life to the full herself, and had 
 the happy art of making others enjoy it 
 too, if not to the full, at least to a very 
 satisfactory extent. There was no vexatious 
 regularity about Rose Cottage; no tread-on- 
 me-if-you-dare defiance scowling forth from 
 the shallow stone steps — scrupulously clean, 
 though — wdiich led up to the front door ; 
 no old maidish precision about the tiny 
 flower-beds, which in summer-time were just 
 one tangled, many-coloured wilderness of 
 flowering annuals, sending out their sweet- 
 ness, like Miss Lapiter's own good-nature, 
 far and wide, for anyone who chose to take 
 it and be thankful. 
 
 But when you got in — ah ! but when 
 
 r2
 
 244 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 you got in, the only wonder was that you 
 could ever prevail upon yourself to get out 
 aojain. For such an air of cosy delightful- 
 ness seemed to meet you as soon as ever 
 your feet pressed the India matting in that 
 tiniest of entrance halls ; and the chintz- 
 covered easy-chairs in the parlour had such 
 a way of not letting you get up; and the 
 sleek tortoise-shell cat, which had been trained 
 to receive all its mistress's friends into the 
 bosom of its affection, purred forth such a 
 mild welcome from the midst of the fleecy 
 hearthrug ; and if your visit chanced to be 
 rather late in the afternoon — which, if you 
 possessed the smallest amount of self-indul- 
 gence, would assuredly be the case — such a 
 pleasant odour of short-cakes used to steal 
 in from the culinary department; and little 
 Miss Lapiter herself, all geniality and good-
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 245 
 
 nature, would take hold of both your hands 
 so kindly, and insist upon your having a 
 cup of tea with her — Joan would have it 
 ready in a minute, that she would ! Ah ! 
 there was no resisting that cheery voice — 
 the easy-chair liad you safely enough for all 
 the rest of the evening. 
 
 When Hester came down to Rose Cottage, 
 the owner thereof, arrayed in an ample 
 gingham apron, which completely covered 
 her diminutive person, and the neatest of 
 neat print hoods, was planting out delicate 
 spring annuals in the front garden. She 
 had a bright smile and a kind word for 
 her visitor, but the ceremony of shaking 
 hands was precluded by a huge pair of 
 wash-leather gloves, crusted over now with 
 a deposit of sand and rich peat mould. 
 
 " Come into the garden, my dear, and sit
 
 246 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 on that flower-pot which is turned upside 
 down in the corner. I won't ask you to 
 take your things off just yet, because I've 
 a whole handful of these fancy balsams to 
 pot, and I couldn't conveniently go upstairs 
 with you. Well, and has Jane Fawcet been? 
 And what have you done?" 
 
 "Yes, she has been, and I said what I 
 thought was proper to be said, and Mar- 
 garet thinks she will be a very likely 
 person." 
 
 "And Margaret thinks quite right, too. 
 There couldn't be a more likely person, as 
 I said as soon as ever your situation* 
 entered my mind. And so, when is she to 
 come?" 
 
 "The evening that Sally goes, which will 
 be in about a fortnight. I think she is 
 rather a queer-looking girl, though, so limp
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 247 
 
 and spiritless — such a contrast to Sally!" 
 "Hunger, my dear, nothing but hunger," 
 replied Miss Lapiter, mixing up a luxurious 
 little puddle of sand and peat mould, into 
 which she introduced a balsam plant, saying, 
 as she patted the mould round its slender 
 stem, '^ There, little Miss Peach-bloom, I 
 hope that arrangement meets your views of 
 the case. Hunger, my dear, that's just what 
 it is. If you had boarded and lodged your- 
 self for five weeks on fourpence a-day, I 
 fancy you would look rather queer too. 
 You'll see all that sort of thing will shell 
 off from her when once she gets comfortably 
 settled, and she will be as fresh as a newly 
 peeled onion." 
 
 " But not so productive of tears, I hope," 
 suggested Hester. 
 
 "To be sure not. I never thought of that.
 
 248 Hester s SaGrifice. 
 
 No, Jane Favvcet will never make any one 
 cry. She is one of those nice quiet plod- 
 ding people, that you never know you have 
 tliem in the house, they do everything so 
 silently. And as for steadiness — " 
 
 *^Yes, Margaret said she was sure we 
 might trust her for steadiness." 
 
 "Steadiness, my dear! she's as steady as 
 the Bank of England. I had the best of 
 characters from the woman she lodges with 
 — never rambles out at night, never has 
 people come to see her, never stops to speak 
 to any one in the street. And then, you 
 know, your place will be the very thing, 
 so quiet, such a small family, only two 
 people." 
 
 "No, Miss Lapiter, there will be three of 
 us when little May comes home, and she 
 is coming in six weeks."
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 249 
 
 " Dearie me to-day ! So she is. I never 
 gave May a thought, the little golden-haired 
 mischief ! And so she's coming home in six 
 weeks, to take her place as a permanent 
 member of the family. What a bundle of 
 tricks she was two years ago, to be sure ! 
 as full of tricks as an egg is full of meat, 
 ^largaret used to say, but so affectionate — 
 oh! so very affectionate! just as warm and 
 bright as a beam of sunshine. She seemed 
 to make such a difference in the house 
 when she was at home two years ago. I 
 declare you wouldn't have known it for the 
 same place, with that little creature laughing 
 or singing, or else flashing about here and 
 there and everywhere, just like a living 
 beam of sunshine. I never saw any- 
 one like May for bringing sunshine wher- 
 ever she came."
 
 250 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 "Not that I mean," continued the good- 
 natured little maiden lady, fearing she 
 might have grieved Hester, who looked 
 rather thoughtful at the mention of this 
 difference which her sister produced in the 
 happiness of Milcote — "not that I mean for 
 one moment — no, nor if any one was to 
 give me all the world for it, I wouldn't 
 mention such a thought as that you don't 
 do everything that lies in your power to 
 make home comfortable, and lay yourself 
 out for your dear papa's happiness, and all 
 that sort of thing. For I'm sure I've said 
 over and over again, that if there ever w^as 
 a girl anywhere that did her duty, and 
 was willing to deny herself for the sake of 
 others, that girl is Hester Tredegar ; but 
 you see, my dear, and this is w^hat I 
 meant to say, there is a sort of shy-
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 251 
 
 ness and reserve about you that there isn't 
 about your sister. Now, are you sure you 
 understand ?" 
 
 Hester was sure enou£i;h of that. It was 
 a matter that did not require much under- 
 standincT. 
 
 " The love is there, my dear, all the 
 same, and perhaps a little more of it too ; 
 but you keep it corked up, and May 
 doesfi't. And if you won't be offended with 
 me for telling you, love is a thing that 
 doesn't improve with being corked up. It 
 isn't like port wine or ginger-pop, nothing 
 unless you do keep it well fastened. Love 
 isn't at all a thing of that kind ; on 
 the contrary, it's good for nothing unless 
 you bring it out and use it. You know, my 
 dear, when people can't see it they are 
 npt to think it isn't true. May lets
 
 252 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 all hers come out. Now, I don't sup- 
 pose if you tried ever so, you could go up 
 to your papa as she used to do, and put your 
 arms round his neck and kiss him, and 
 then sit by him and take his hand and 
 stroke it in that pretty way of hers. In- 
 deed it wouldn't seem to suit if you did 
 try, because it isn't natural to you, and it 
 is natural to her. That's just what it 
 is." 
 
 Hester sighed. Yes, that was true enough. 
 Her love was a spring shut up, a fountain 
 sealed. She felt sometimes as if she would 
 have given anything to be able, as May 
 did, to reveal all that was in her heart 
 for that silent father of theirs. It would 
 have been better for him, better for her 
 too. But she could not do it. 
 
 " Shj^ness, my dear," continued Miss
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 253 
 
 Lapiter, " just shyness, nothing in the 
 world but shyness. And though I'm thank- 
 ful to say I don't know much about it 
 myself J I daresay it's ten times more pain- 
 ful to the person that has it than it is to 
 other people, and most likely you have 
 found that out before now. But it can't 
 be helped, and I always say that when 
 things can't be helped we must just let 
 them alone. You know we are as nature 
 made us, every one of us." 
 
 " I am not sure of that," said Hester ; 
 " I think nature only makes a little bit of 
 us, and we have to grow the rest ; and 
 if we don't grow right, it's our own 
 fault." 
 
 "Well, I don't know. I never had much 
 turn for moral philosophy, and when you 
 get into free-will and responsibility, and
 
 254 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 that sort of thirin^, you have your feet upon 
 awkward ground — very awkward ground. Just 
 try to do your little best where God has put you, 
 and then you may let moral philosophy alone. 
 You will get on very well without it. Here we 
 are, you see, then, as Nature made us, every one 
 of us. Though really, my dear, wdien I look at 
 some people, I can't help thinking that 
 Nature began to make them late on Satur- 
 day afternoon, when it was nearly time to 
 give over work, and so she put them away 
 before they were finished, and forgot to do 
 anything more to them on Monday morn- 
 
 ing." 
 
 "Then if Nature forgot to finish them, 
 you have no right to find fault w^ith them 
 for their defects." 
 
 "Exactly so, my dear, though every one 
 would not be amiable enough to excuse
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 255 
 
 them in that way. But you see that leads 
 you into the moral philosophy again, which, 
 as I said before, is a troublesome place to 
 get into, and so I always keep away from 
 it ; and how your little sister May managed 
 to lead us into it at all, I'm sure I can't 
 think, unless it was by the mode called 
 circumlocutory. Yes, I recollect the begin- 
 ning of it now ; we were saying how- 
 different you two sisters are, and that 
 led us to talk about shyness, and natural 
 defects of character, and then on to re- 
 sponsibility. Pretty roundabout indeed ! But, 
 my dear, what I was going to say is this : 
 You mustn't expect your sister May to be 
 what she was two years ago ; and, indeed, 
 it wouldn't be at all proper if she was." 
 
 "I shall be very sorry if she is not, 
 though."
 
 256 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 "And I shall be very sorry if she is. 
 Laughing, and singing, and dancing about 
 like a sunbeam, may be all very well in a child 
 of fourteen or fifteen ; but life has its pro- 
 prieties, my dear — life has its proprieties, 
 and at the age of seventeen I always say 
 a young person ought to become conscious 
 of them. I shall be very disappointed if 
 the lady who has had the charge of May's 
 education has not striven to impress them 
 upon her." 
 
 And Miss Lapiter drew up her little 
 person and looked quite dignified. She had 
 been a governess many years ago, and 
 when she got into the education department, 
 somewhat of the old stiffness used still to 
 assert itself. But the idea of her pet sister 
 coming under the control of the proprieties 
 made Hester laugh heartily.
 
 He.Hters Sacrifice. 257 
 
 " No, no, Miss Lapiter ; all the govern- 
 esses in the world could never make my 
 sister May a proper young lady. Mrs. 
 Bray ton tells me she will be altered, but 
 I don't believe it a bit. There was some- 
 thing about her that never could be pinched 
 and squeezed up into the regular school-girl 
 shape. You could no more make a fine 
 lady of May than you could turn a blue- 
 bell into a monkey-plant." 
 
 "Which you certainly couldn't do," re- 
 plied Miss Lapiter, shaking the sand from 
 her wash-leather gloves before she tucked 
 them up ; " and so I suppose we must 
 just come back to what we said before — 
 that she is as Nature made her, and, there- 
 fore, the best thing we can do is to let 
 her alone. Because, you know, whilst you 
 continue together — though that certainly may 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 not be very long — you will balance each 
 other nicely; for May will supply your 
 deficiency of demonstrativeness — and you 
 will excuse me, my dear, for saying that 
 you have a little deficiency of that sort 
 sometimes — and you will be a mother to 
 her as regards responsibility and the pro- 
 prieties of life, which I don't suppose she 
 has much notion of." 
 
 And Miss Lapiter actually sighed, but 
 perhaps it might only be the long stooping 
 over those balsam plants that had made 
 her back ache, for she was the last person 
 in the world to make a trouble of any- 
 thing. 
 
 "It will be all right," she said; "and I 
 sincerely hope your sister, whether altered or 
 not, will be a great comfort to you when she 
 comes home. And I don't suppose, either,
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 259 
 
 that she will make much difference in the 
 work of the house, so that I need not feel 
 uncomfortable about not having mentioned 
 it to Jane Fawcet. And now, as I've 
 finished planting out my balsams, you shall 
 take your bonnet off, and we wdll have a 
 snug little chat in the front parlour. I've 
 got a whole portmanteau full of things to 
 talk to you about," 
 
 And w^ith that Miss Lapiter called Joan 
 to clear away the gardening tools, and the 
 two ladies went into the house. 
 
 s2
 
 260 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 "ITISS LAPITER led the way through 
 the tiny entrance-hall, certainly built be- 
 fore crinoline came into fashion, up the minia- 
 ture staircase, and into a white curtained, 
 mignonette scented chamber; chatting all 
 the time in that merry, musical voice which 
 never wearied those who listened to it, any 
 more than the trickle of a mountain rill, 
 or the dainty notes of a young canary, 
 could have wearied them — it was so per- 
 fectly innocent and wholesome. Miss Lapi- 
 ter's stream of talk, unceasing though it 
 might be, was never tinged by one dark
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 261 
 
 drop of bitterness or malice. Years after, 
 when her quiet life had spent itself, those 
 who knew her best might have written on 
 her gravestone these words, so seldom true 
 of even the kindest-hearted women, 
 
 " We never heard her speak evil of anyone." 
 
 When they came into the parlour, she 
 settled Hester in a great easy-chair by the 
 open window, and then, disinterring a brown 
 worsted stocking, almost as big as herself, 
 from a work-basket under the sofa^ she 
 composed herself to the leisurely enjoyment 
 of what above all other things she most 
 dearly loved — a quiet chat with a friend. 
 
 "You have been doing something to 
 this room," said Hester after a while, "but 
 I cannot make out what it is. There is a 
 difference somehow."
 
 2(32 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 " A difference ! Yes, I should think there 
 ought to be a difference somehow. If a 
 lovely silver grey fleur-de-lis paper, after 
 those libellous old-fashioned bunches of roses, 
 isn't a difference, I should like to know what 
 is. And a new chintz cover on the easy- 
 chair, too, and a couple of dear little 
 pincushion-footstools, and a fancy stand for 
 my ferns — why, my dear, I fully expected 
 you would go into ecstacies the moment 
 you entered the room ; and to think of 
 you only finding out that there was a dif- 
 ference somehow ! Surely, Miss Hester, your 
 intellects are affected, or else you are in 
 love — that is what it is!" 
 
 "No, Miss Lapiter," and Hester blushed 
 in spite of herself, " that isn't at all what 
 it is ; but if you look at the piece of 
 forehead just over my eyes, you will see
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 263 
 
 tliat my perceptive faculties are not large, 
 and so, as the phrenologists say, I am not in- 
 tensely awake to surrounding objects. I 
 don't believe if my life depended upon it, 
 I could give you, just at this moment, a 
 correct description of the pattern on our 
 tea-pot at home, though I must have sat 
 before it hundreds of times." 
 
 Miss Lapiter jumped up and frisked 
 away to the mirror over the chimneypiece 
 to examine her own forehead. 
 
 " Full over the eyes — very full. Yes, 
 that accounts for it. I never had much 
 faith in phrenology before, but 1 shall be- 
 gin to think seriously about it now. Well, 
 Miss Hester, that tea-pot of yours is a 
 couvolvolus pattern, with one flower and 
 two buds on one side, and two flowers and 
 one bud on the other side. And a tendril
 
 2(34 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 twisting just half way round the spout, 
 under which it terminates to make room 
 for a shield with the initials P. T. And 
 I could tell you, too, the exact pattern of 
 the cups and saucers, what we call the 
 Greek key, and how many twists the key 
 makes — one on the very little plates of all, 
 two on the saucers, three on the large 
 plates, and four on the dishes. Now, then, 
 who will say I am not intensely awake 
 to surrounding objects. Phrenology for 
 ever!" 
 
 And Miss Lapiter frisked back again to 
 the brown stocking. 
 
 '^ But I was going to tell you about the 
 papering, my dear, only you began about 
 phrenology, and disturbed the arrangement 
 of my thoughts. Such a month as this has 
 been, to be sure. Talk of a poet's May, I
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 265 
 
 think mine has been a charwoman's May ; 
 what with painting, and papering, and white- 
 washing, and scouring, and the people not 
 being agreeable to accommodate each other, 
 I do believe there's a deadly natural enmity 
 between whitewashers and chimney sweeps ; 
 they delight to spoil each other's work, and 
 when the whitewashers can come, the sweeps 
 won't — and when the sweeps will, the white- 
 washers can't. And then the paperers run 
 against the painters, and the painters upset 
 the paperers ; and, as likely as not, wlien 
 all is finally done, and you feel as if you 
 could return public thanks at church for 
 it, the gas begins to jump, and a great 
 dirty-booted man has to come into the house 
 and up the stairs, and under the carpets, 
 and amongst the wainscotting, for I never 
 knew anything like gas for creeping about
 
 266 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 along the wainscotting and making a com- 
 motion when it wants attending to. It's 
 been a Spring much to be remembered, my 
 dear, has this. I'm sure if it hadn't been 
 for looking into my garden now and then, 
 or seeing the ladies at church with their 
 new bonnets, I should have forgotten that 
 there were such things as primroses and 
 violets — I should indeed !" 
 
 "Intensely awake to surrounding objects," 
 continued Miss Lapiter, knitting away 
 vigorously. "Yes, an unmarried woman 
 needs to be intensely awake to surrounding 
 objects if she doesn't want the house to 
 tumble about her ears when the Spring 
 cleaning is going on. The workmen take 
 such advantage when they know you haven't 
 a gentleman to fall back upon. Do you 
 think, if I'd had a gentleman to fall back
 
 Hester's Sacrifice. 267 
 
 upon, that deceitful gas-man would have 
 had the impudence to tell me that, because 
 the gas jumped in the front parlour, I must 
 have the skirting-boards up right away to the 
 pipe in the kitchen ? — Not he. He knew I was 
 an unprotected female, and so he made a 
 day's work of it. But I'm determined not to 
 have anything of that sort next spring. 1 
 shall hire somebody into the house to march 
 about with a hat and walking-stick, and 
 scold, as if he was the master. I shall 
 get my cleaning done then in half the 
 time." 
 
 ^'Yes, arid not have to be so intensely 
 awake to surrounding objects," answered 
 Hester. ^'But you don't always have such 
 an upstir in May." 
 
 "And I hadn't need. But, you see, my 
 dear, this was how it was. When I found
 
 268 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 the new master was coming to reside with 
 me, I felt it on my mind to rise to the 
 occasion, especially as his late dear father 
 was a clergyman, and I have such a respect 
 for the Church. I often say that if anything 
 could tempt me to marry, it would be a 
 parsonage with four or five hundred a-year 
 attached. And such a pleasant gentleman, 
 oh! Miss Hester, such a pleasant gentleman 
 as Mr. Brooke is ! I was sure, from the 
 very first moment when he sat down in 
 that chair where you are sitting now, and 
 placed his feet so as not to touch that 
 bunch of white roses on the carpet, tha't 
 the finger of Providence had directed him 
 to my habitation. Why, Miss Hester, ninety- 
 nine men out of a hundred would have 
 plumped their feet down anywhere, careless 
 whether it was white roses or brown drugget,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 269 
 
 since they were only paying so much a 
 week for the use of it ; but that goes 
 through everything with Mr. Brooke, so 
 careful and particular in little things, and 
 as true a gentleman as ever came into a 
 house. And as soon as ever I noticed that 
 circumstance about the white roses, I took 
 him into my affections as a mother, and 
 determined he should never want for pud- 
 dings, or nice hot suppers, or anything in 
 the way of domestic enjoyments, whilst I 
 had strength to get them ready for him — 
 no, nor he shant't either." 
 
 And Miss Lapiter clinched that statement 
 by a vigorous nod, which set all the little 
 flaxen curls in motion, greatly to the delight 
 of the tortoise-shell cat, who thought they 
 were dancing so merrily for her sole and 
 special amusement.
 
 270 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 " Yes, and so disposed to be friendly, 
 too," she continued, seeing that as yet 
 Hester showed no signs of weariness — 
 "quite disposed to be friendly. And when 
 I told him that I was going to have a 
 young lady. Miss Tredegar, one of his 
 pupils, to see me this evening, and would 
 he take tea with us here instead of 
 having it sent up to the drawing-room, he 
 brightened up at once, and said it would 
 give him the greatest of pleasure. He 
 recollected your name quite well, and said 
 you were one of the most advanced pupils 
 in the school. Stay ! — isn't that his foot- 
 step on the gravel walk ? Yes, I'm sure 
 it is, so gentle and light; you might think 
 it was a woman's for gentleness and light- 
 ness. I've learned to know his step just as 
 if he were my own son, I have."
 
 Hester'' s Sacrifice, 271 
 
 Hester drew back within the shadow of 
 the curtains. Yes, it was a very light step. 
 Just so h'ghtly he had come up behind her 
 that day at the Monk's Crag, just so hghtly 
 that other day at the School of Art, she 
 knowing nothing about it until he was close 
 upon her. Just so lightly too, with just so 
 noiseless, gentle a step, was he coming into 
 her open, empty heart. Some day, turning, 
 she would find him there, there to go no 
 more out. 
 
 How pleasant it was to sit in the shadow 
 of the curtains and think that he was so 
 near, that by and by he would come into 
 the room where she was, and stay there for 
 the whole long evening ! How different that 
 evening would be from the solitary Milcote 
 evenings, when hour after hour passed with- 
 out a sound but the distant hum of Mar-
 
 272 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 garet's voice singing hymns in the kitchen, 
 or the clink of Tom Bilson's milk-pails down 
 the side path, followed by long whisperings 
 between him and red-faced Sally, who was 
 always near the side-door w^aiting for him. 
 So different. 
 
 Yet Hester did not start with painful con- 
 sciousness this time. Just as quietly as she 
 would have taken some great grief, she took 
 this great joy. It w^as her way to be silent 
 about anything that stirred her deeply. No- 
 thing would ever rouse her into that ner- 
 vous restlessness which sudden joy or sorrow 
 works in some natures. Perhaps it was her 
 fault, certainly afterwards it was her mis- 
 fortune, that others knew so little of her 
 inner life, that when the lamps were burn- 
 ing in the chambers of her heart, she 
 drew the curtains closely down, so closely
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 273 
 
 that none passing by felt the brightness 
 and was lured by it to enter there and 
 rest. So there was only a slight flush upon 
 her face when Mr. Brooke came in, and 
 Miss Lapiter, who was in an exalted mood 
 this evening, after formally introducing them 
 to each other, took Helen's hand and put 
 it into that of the new master. 
 
 "You're not just to bow, I haven't pa- 
 tience with people just bowing and nothing 
 more. You must shake hands, for I mean 
 you to be very good friends." 
 
 "Miss Tredegar and I have already settled 
 that between ourselves," said Mr. Brooke 
 with his never-failing, easy courtliness. "You 
 remember your promise ?" 
 
 "Yes, and I will keep it." 
 
 "So will L" 
 
 Then they all three settled down, and the 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 conversation began to sparkle away merrily 
 enough, as it always did in Eose Cottage 
 parlour. Never any vexatious silences there, 
 never any awful pauses, during which the 
 guests looked alternately at the fire and 
 each other, hoping against hope that some- 
 body would think of something to say, 
 even though it were the shallowest common- 
 place. 
 
 For the first time now, Hester got a 
 satisfactory look into Mr. Brooke's face. 
 Certainly, as Miss Lapiter said, he was a 
 very pleasant man — a man that would be 
 prized anywhere, but most of all in a place 
 like Angusbury, where pleasant men were 
 like the tea-leaves in a boarding-house urn, 
 few and very far between. Judging by 
 his personal appearance, life had been a 
 successful thing for him. He liad not
 
 Hesters Sacrifice, 275 
 
 found it a vale of tears, or a desert path, 
 or a howling wilderness, nothing of the 
 sort. And he never would find it such 
 either, for there was a fine elasticity in his 
 nature which would adapt itself to surround- 
 ing circumstances instead of being galled 
 by them. Possibly, too, there w^as a corres- 
 ponding elasticity in his moral system, by 
 whose help he might tide over those little 
 conscientious uncomfortablenesses which mar 
 the peace of careful souls. 
 
 But we have no right to judge Basil 
 Brooke by possibilities. His life had been 
 mercifully — or unmercifully — sheltered from 
 all need of toil and strife. He had never 
 had to brave the w^orld's frown, or to bear 
 about with him through long painful years 
 the deep sting of remorse for some inad- 
 vertent act. The tide of time had floated 
 
 T 2
 
 276 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 him gently down, and anchored him at last 
 in this quiet little haven of Angusbury 
 town, where, with an easy situation, a com- 
 fortable salary, and a more than average 
 amount of talent, it was entirely his own 
 fault if he did not make a pleasant thing 
 of life. 
 
 But no such speculations as these passed 
 through Hester's mind as she sat by the 
 open window in Miss Lapiter's parloui', 
 sometimes bending over her work, sometimes 
 playing with the cluster roses, whose long 
 sprays blew quite into the room ; but 
 oftener stealing a quiet glance at Basil 
 Brooke, who sat chatting there on the sofa 
 so easily and pleasantly. All subjects seemed 
 ahke welcome to him. He could with equal 
 facility discuss Miss Lapiter's flowers, the 
 new method she was trying with carnation
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 211 
 
 cuttings, the best way of planting out deli- 
 cate spring annuals, or cultivating choice 
 ferns. Which last topic led him to speak 
 of the Monk's Crag, and a certain pleasant 
 day he had spent there, not long ago, 
 taking sketches of some of the prettiest 
 views. And from the Monk's Crag, with 
 its wood, and water, and winding moss- 
 grown path, the transition was natural 
 enough to foreign scenery and the delight- 
 ful little tour he had had the summer 
 before with his sister and some other friends, 
 among the peaks and glaciers and chalets 
 of Switzerland. All seemed to follow so 
 easily, so naturally. It was pleasant to 
 listen to him. There was the mark of 
 cultured taste and perfect refinement in 
 everything he said. His was a mind that 
 gathered up only beauty, leaving all the
 
 278 Hesters Saciifice. 
 
 rest. AdcI even his occasional satire on the 
 ways and weaknesses of the people who had 
 been their fellow-travellers on that little 
 tour, was so delicate, so playful, so free 
 from anything offensive. Even had he 
 turned it upon themselves. Miss Lapiter and 
 Hester could scarcely have been wounded 
 by it, so merrily did it sparkle, like little 
 steel blades in the sunshine. 
 
 Yes, it was thoroughly delightful to listen to 
 him, and equally so to be listened to by him. 
 For he had that fine tact, so rarely met 
 with, which makes people at ease with 
 themselves by making them believe that 
 what they say is novel and interesting. 
 And that is an art which very few can 
 resist. For even the dullest likes to feel 
 that he can say something good; likes to 
 note the respectful attention, the courteous
 
 Hesters Sacrifice, 279 
 
 smile with which a man of this fine culti- 
 vated tact will meet his poor stumbling 
 attempts at conversation. 
 
 Hester could not help contrasting Mr. 
 Brooke with Nils Brayton, the only other 
 Angusbury gentleman with whom she had 
 come into anything like close contact. Nils 
 Bray ton, so quiet, so almost awkward in 
 society, with no pleasant store of anecdote, 
 no vein of playful satire; only that grave, 
 immutable common-sense and steady upright- 
 ness which made everyone feel quite safe 
 with him. And Hester began to think that 
 feeling quite safe was not the pleasantest 
 feeling in life. 
 
 Looking up from this mental contrast, 
 she found Mr. Brooke's eyes fixed upon her 
 earnestly, so earnestly that she turned hers 
 very quickly away.
 
 280 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Miss Tredegar, but 
 your face, as I see the profile of it against 
 those green leaves, is so like that of Ceres 
 in the School of Art. If 1 believed in the 
 transmigration of souls, I should say that 
 Phidias had met you when you were a 
 Greek girl, wandering through the corn- 
 fields, and had graven you in his marble 
 for ever. And that reminds me of what I 
 was doing yesterday afternoon. Will you 
 forgive me when I tell you ?" 
 
 " Tell me, and then I will promise." 
 
 " I got the key of the private class 
 room and looked over all your drawings. 
 ^I daresay it was not quite right; but I 
 would willingly re-commit the sin, if I could 
 secure such a pleasure again as I enjoyed 
 then." 
 
 "I don't think you did any wrong," said
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 281 
 
 Hester; and the colour on her cheeks might 
 only have been because the cluster roses 
 were so near them. "The old master used 
 often to turn out those drawers. You know 
 they are considered the property of the school 
 until after the prizes are given." 
 
 "Then I shall very often go and look 
 them over again. One pleased me par- 
 ticularly, a bunch of wild flowers lying on 
 a broad leaf, and just one little spray of 
 forget-me-not, which seemed as if it had 
 fallen away from the rest, and lay poised 
 on the edge of the leaf, ready to fall. Did 
 you arrange that yourself f 
 
 " Yes. 1 only finished it two or three 
 weeks ago. I worked at it alternately with 
 my crayon piece. I dreamed about it, and 
 saw it just as I painted it." 
 
 "So did I dream about it, too. But I
 
 282 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 dreamed that some one came and picked 
 up the little forget-me-not, and carried it 
 away." 
 
 ^' Dear me ! How very funny," said Miss 
 Lapiter, who, busy in counting the stitches 
 of her stocking heel, had not meddled with 
 the conversation for a minute or two. 
 "Dreams certainly are the oddest things. I 
 could tell you some that I have had, only 
 I don't much like them as a subject of 
 conversation, they always give me the me- 
 grims. Don't dreams give you the megrims, 
 Mr. Brooke?" 
 
 "Mine last night did not," replied Mr. 
 Brooke, with a glance at Hester, who was 
 working away with most needless industry 
 at a piece of silk netting for a purse. She 
 missed the glance, not being just then 
 intensely awake to surrounding objects.
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 283 
 
 So did Miss Lapiter, though from quite 
 an opposite cause, she being too intensely 
 awake to the tea-things, which Joan had 
 just brought in, to have any attention left 
 for surrounding objects. And then they all 
 gathered round the table to what she used 
 to call a "chat and muffin entertain- 
 ment."
 
 284 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TllTHICH chat and muffin entertainment 
 lasted until the sunlight began to 
 come in very slantingly through the laurel 
 bushes at the bottom of the garden, making 
 even the tiny balsam plants cast long sha- 
 dows on the grass — shadows which lengthened 
 and lengthened as the sky grew crimson 
 with the flush of departing day. 
 
 After the muffins came conversation, and 
 then music, and then more conversation, 
 until twilight crept in upon them, and the 
 red bloom of the roses could no longer be 
 distinguished from their clustering leaves,
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 285 
 
 and the many -coloured flower-beds were just 
 one sombre mass of shadow, and the migno- 
 nette in the cramp-wood basket under the 
 window could only be known for mignonette 
 by the delicious wafts of scent which it 
 kept sending into the room. Quiet twilight, 
 when everyone talks more freely, and fancy 
 and feeling have more room, and tender 
 thoughts that daylight bids away, come 
 nestling down so gently in the willing 
 heart, stealing out sometimes into words 
 which, when prosaic, matter-of-fact morning 
 comes again, we almost wish unsaid. Only 
 they cannot be unsaid. 
 
 Ah ! what a pleasant time that was, all 
 three of them sitting there in the half 
 dark, sometimes talking, sometimes mingling 
 their speech with long spells of silence, 
 that seemed sweeter than any words! Miss
 
 286 ' Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 Lapiter was far too wise to break in upon 
 it by the lighting of the gas, although her 
 fingers were positively tingling for want of 
 something to do, and she dare not set to 
 work upon the brown stocking, lest the 
 stitches should drop, for she was just casting 
 off the heel, and that casting off the heel 
 was rather a critical performance, unless 
 there was abundance of light to do it 
 
 by. 
 
 So she sat still — not that sitting still was 
 an occupation after her own heart, or that 
 she greatly enjoyed the conversation, which 
 turned chiefly upon poetry, and music, and 
 landscape scenery, and Alpine glaciers; nor 
 yet those long, frequently-recurring silences, 
 in which nothing was to be heard but the 
 flutter of leaves outside, or the lazy purr- 
 ing of the tortoise-shell cat on the hearthrug.
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 287 
 
 Could she have followed the bent of her 
 own mind, she would much rather have 
 swept away the fine nrts and the spells of 
 silence, and begun to talk about Angusbury 
 affairs, its incipient flirtations, engagements, 
 and marriages ; or of pale-faced, hollow- 
 eyed Jane Fawcet, who was even now 
 stitching away for food and shelter in that 
 dingy little attic in one of Angusbury back 
 streets ; or of her own home life, with 
 its innocent current of cares, and duties, 
 and pleasures, planting out of balsam slips, 
 tending of delicate spring annuals, cultivat- 
 ing of choice ferns. Much rather any or 
 all of these than the poetry and music, 
 and fine-art conversation, of which stray 
 sentences caught her ear now and then. 
 Only — and then she looked across the room 
 to Basil Brooke and "my dear Hester,"
 
 288 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 whose faces she could no longer see for 
 the deepening gloom. She could but hear 
 their voices, low, murmuring, dreamy. No, 
 she would not for all the brown stockings 
 in the world have spoiled that twilight talk 
 of theirs. 
 
 Excellent Miss Lapiter, one of the most 
 excellent of the earth. But she was only 
 a woman after all, and far down in the 
 deepest recesses of that benevolent little 
 heart of hers there lurked a woman's love 
 for matchmaking. Nothing gave her more 
 pleasure than to behold the happiness of 
 those she loved, unless, indeed, it was to 
 be the means of increasing that happiness. 
 She believed — rightly enough, too — that wo- 
 men, and especially such women as Hester 
 Tredegar, are never so happy as when 
 sheltered in the sweet coverture of home
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 289 
 
 life, sitting by their own firesides, loving 
 and beloved, or, as she used to express it, 
 '' advantageously settled." 
 
 Not that by the phrase "advantageously 
 settled" Miss Lapiter meant to impl}^ any- 
 thing mercenary. Nothing of the sort. She 
 was no believer in the popular fallacy of 
 marrying for a home, still less marrying 
 for a position. If there was one person 
 more than another whom in her heart of 
 hearts Miss Lapiter despised, it was the 
 woman who bartered freedom and self- 
 respect for the sake of having a living 
 earned for her, fine clothes given to her, 
 and a roof kept over her head, by a man 
 to whom she had brought neither love nor 
 reverence in exchange for them. If ever 
 the good-tempered little mistress of Rose 
 Cottage waxed wroth, it was when she 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 heard of such marriages as these; and, 
 alas ! she heard of them only too often, 
 as anyone may who mixes much in social 
 life. But when the love and the reverence 
 were there, the unquestioning faith, the 
 perfect trust — ah ! then little Miss Lapiter 
 v;ould career away into such a long, long 
 disquisition on the usefulness and honourable - 
 ness and superiority of married life over all 
 other life, that any one might think she 
 had been in the full, perfect, and complete 
 enjoyment of the same ever since she at- 
 tained to years of discretion. 
 
 It was better then — infinitely better, for 
 women to be advantageously settled, when- 
 ever that settlement could be contrived for 
 them by honourable and legitimate means. 
 And ever since that Monday evening, three 
 weeks ago, when the new master of the
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 291 
 
 School of Art had taken up his abode at 
 Rose Cottage, falling so contentedly into 
 its quiet ways, behaving himself in such a 
 gentle, courtly way towards all its inmates, 
 conscientiously abstaining from setting foot 
 upon the white roses of the parlour carpet, 
 coming home punctually every night as the 
 abbey clock struck the hour of nine, and 
 in various other ways commending himself 
 to her admiration and respect, Miss Lapiter 
 had made up her mind that he was the 
 very man for " dear Hester ;" and she had 
 also made up her mind to facilitate matters 
 for both of them to the very farthest ex- 
 tent within her reach. 
 
 That was the reason — oh ! guileful Miss 
 Lapiter to place it to Jane Fawcet's ac- 
 count — that was the reason she had asked 
 Hester to Rose Cottage on the only even- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 Hesters Sacrifice, 
 
 ing in the week when there was no young 
 men's class at the School of Art. That 
 was the reason she had sat so patiently for 
 a whole long hour in the twilight, whilst 
 they chatted together about fine arts and 
 poetry, forgetful alike of time and gloom. 
 That was the reason, too, why, when that 
 gloom had deepened into night, and Hester 
 rose to go away. Miss Lapiter wisely re- 
 frained from offering Joan's services as an 
 escort to Milcote. For did she not know 
 well enough who was far too much of a 
 gentleman to let any lady walk alone over 
 two miles of unfrequented country road? 
 And did she not know, too, that an hour's 
 leisurely stroll through the dusky June 
 night would do more towards that settle- 
 ment which she was so anxious to bring 
 about, than whole weeks of ^' chat and
 
 Hester s Sacrifice, 293 
 
 muffin entertainments?" Miss Lapiter was a 
 person of undeniable discernment and fore- 
 sight. 
 
 But apart from a certain natural good- 
 ness of heart, which made him always will- 
 ing to do a kind action for anyone, when 
 the doing of it did not involve serious self- 
 denial, Mr. Brooke was really glad of that 
 two miles' walk with Hester Tredegar. 
 There was something about her which had 
 already fascinated him. Chance words of 
 hers now and then had given him a glimpse 
 into the rare beauty and sweetness of the soul 
 which lived and felt beneath that veil of 
 shy quietness. He would like to know more 
 of her. He would like to make her trust 
 him, to make her feel at home with him. 
 He was a great lover of beauty, beauty of 
 form, beauty of mind. Hester gave him
 
 294 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 both. As an artist, she pleased him ; as a 
 man of keen refinement and cuhivated taste, 
 she contented him. All that was best, 
 purest in himself, found its response in 
 her. 
 
 Besides, Basil Brooke loved admiration. 
 It was to him wdiat warmth and sunshine 
 are to the tropic plant. Hester gave him 
 that too. The willing silence with which 
 she listened when he spoke, the way in 
 which she would mould her thoughts to 
 his, or take back her own opinions when 
 they clashed wath his, was an unconscious 
 homage which pleased him more than he 
 cared to tell. And pleased him all the 
 more that it was so unconscious. She did it 
 because she could not help it. 
 
 So it was not politeness only which made 
 Mr. Brooke so willing; to take that long
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 295 
 
 walk to Milcote. It was a pleasant w^alk 
 for both of them. He could be a very 
 choice companion when he tried, and this 
 evening he did try. His almost womanly 
 perception taught him how to adapt him- 
 self to varying shades of character. He 
 seemed to find out, as if by intuition, wdiat 
 people liked to talk about; then he would 
 shape his course accordingly, and no matter 
 how slight or frail the subject, that ready 
 tact of his never failed to invest it with 
 a charm. His mind was like one of those 
 ingenious toys, which, by a clever ari'ange- 
 ment of mirrors, converts even the most 
 shapeless, unpromising strokes into a graceful 
 and artistic design. And just as the day 
 before he had adapted himself with easy 
 good-nature to Mr. Bilson's harmless pecu- 
 liarities, so now lie bent to that finer, more
 
 296 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 subtle nature with which he had to deal. 
 He made Hester feel, shy and reserved 
 though she was, that it was a pleasure to 
 him to listen to her; that she could give 
 something to him out of her little store 
 of life and experience, something that he 
 might enjoy and prize. And Hester was 
 woman enough to feel that pleasure very 
 keenly. 
 
 It was a pleasure Nils Brayton never 
 gave her. She never felt, perhaps she had 
 never really wished to feel, that she could 
 do anything for him. It was strange the 
 difference in talking to him and talkino^ to 
 Mr. Brooke. With Nils Brayton she seemed 
 hushed and quieted. He was far above her, 
 quite out of her little track. She could 
 only take from him, never giv^e to him. 
 His presence was always a great rest, but
 
 Hesters Sacrifice* 297 
 
 she wanted something more than rest now. 
 It was a question hard to answer, whether 
 rest, quietness, safety, would ever satisfy her 
 again. 
 
 So on they went through the warm, 
 dusky twihght, along the narrow Angusbury 
 streets, where scarce a footstep save their 
 own broke the silence, past that broad un- 
 protected bit of high-road, where, not very 
 long ago — but it seemed a long time now, 
 so many things had happened since — Hester 
 met the poor woman with her bundle. She 
 never turned that corner now without think- 
 ing of the bent form, and the weary, hope- 
 less groan, which had made her feel so sad. 
 Where was the woman now? Had the 
 great town of Millsmany given her a shelter 
 in some of its garrets or cellars ? — had it 
 given her a place to work, and food to keep
 
 298 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 life's light still flickering within those hollo-w, 
 heavy eyes? 
 
 Hester had asked Jessie whether they were 
 in time for the train, and Jessie had said 
 'S'Os;" it was there just ready to go away 
 as they got into the station. So she had 
 not turned back on a fruitless errand after 
 all. 
 
 There was only one thing that troubled 
 her through all the long pleasant walk, and 
 that was what they should do when she 
 reached Milcote. It would look so unkind 
 not to ask Mr. Brooke to come in, after 
 taking the trouble to walk so far with her.; 
 and yet she knew that it would be an un- 
 mitigated bore to her papa to leave his books 
 and be introduced to a stranger. Besides, 
 what impression would Mi\ Brooke have of 
 him, and of their home life, and of that
 
 Hesters Sacrifice. 299 
 
 dim, sparely furnished parlour, so different, 
 even in spite of all that she could do, to 
 Miss Lapiter's cosy little nest, where all was 
 modest luxury and comfort? There had 
 come into Hester's mind that loving, long- 
 ing anxiety that all about her now should be 
 comely and inviting. Once she had not 
 cared so much about it. 
 
 But she need not have troubled herself. 
 Some kind little fairy had arranged it all 
 without any care of hers. Mr. Tredegar 
 was walking up and down the garden when 
 they came to the gate. In an idle mood, 
 too, for his spectacles were pushed up over 
 his high, narrow forehead, as he always 
 used to push them up when he had finished 
 studying. And, hearing Hester's step and 
 voice, he came to the gate to meet 
 her.
 
 300 Hester^ s Sacrifice, 
 
 " Papa, this is Mr. Brooke, our new master 
 at the School of Art. He has been kind 
 enough to walk home with me from Miss 
 Lapiter's." 
 
 The habitual "All riojht, my dear!" was 
 just upon Mr. Tredegar's lips, but he 
 checked himself in time, and gave a courte- 
 ous greeting to the strange gentleman who 
 had been kind to his daughter. Perhaps, 
 though Hester knew it not, no one could 
 win her father's heart more easily than by 
 kindness to herself. For he did love her 
 very much, though he was too proud to show 
 it. • 
 
 When Mr. Brooke was disposed to be 
 friendly, few people could resist that win- 
 ning manner of his. Mr. Tredegar found 
 that he could not. And, perhaps, the dusky 
 starlight made it more easy for him to talk
 
 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 301 
 
 freely with a stranger. However that might 
 be, Hester was astonished to hear them 
 conversing together as her father had never 
 yet conversed with any one in Angusbury. 
 Still more astonished was she, when Mr. 
 Tredegar said, and said it, too, as if he 
 meant what he said, 
 
 "Will you come in and rest for a little 
 while before you return ?" 
 
 But Mr. Brooke declined. It was enough 
 to have the invitation ; another time he 
 would avail himself of it. 
 
 "Not to-night, thank you. My little land- 
 lady will be anxious about me. But Miss 
 Tredegar has promised to show me some 
 of her drawings from the School of Art. 
 May I come another night and see 
 themf 
 
 " Certainly ; come whenever you like, Mr.
 
 302 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 Brooke. We cannot: offer many attractions 
 to strangers, but you are welcome to such 
 as we have." 
 
 Mr, Brooke bowed low. Someday he 
 would remind the stately master of Milcote 
 of that promise. 
 
 " Good night, little forget-me-not," he said, 
 in a low tone to Hester, who stood slightly 
 apai't, scarcely know^ing whether to be more 
 surprised or pleased with her father's unwonted 
 sociality. "It will be pleasant for us to 
 know each other better." 
 
 And, with those words, he raised his hat 
 to them both and went away.
 
 oUo 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 rpHEN followed the long June days, when, 
 at sundown, the blackbirds piped so 
 loudly in the tall sycamore trees, while 
 from the hedges beneath, which had cast 
 off their veil of hawthorn bloom for a gar- 
 niture of wild red rose and eglantine, the 
 robins answered with saucy melodious whistle. 
 Beautiful June days, when the sunlight 
 flooded Milcote garden, and cre])t so idly 
 from gable to gable of the low, red brick 
 house, and played at hide-and-seek among 
 the vine leaves by Mr. Tredegar's study
 
 304 Hester^ s Sacrifice. 
 
 window, and opened blossom after blossom 
 on the jasmine tree that clambered over 
 the porch, breathing into each a sweet secret 
 which, at evening time, it told forth again 
 in wafts of perfume. 
 
 And it was on the pleasantest of these 
 June evenings that Jane Fawcet, with one 
 very small trunk, containing all her worldly- 
 goods, came to take up her abode at Mil- 
 cote; came stealing along with such slow, 
 noiseless footstep down the side path lead- 
 ing to the open kitchen door, that Mar- 
 garet, who was sitting at the table reading, 
 heard no sound, nor did she know that the 
 new maid had come, until after standing 
 there for more than ten minutes taking 
 careful note of everything that was to be 
 seen, Jane Fawcet dropped a humble curtsy, 
 and said,
 
 Hestei'^s Sacrifice. 305 
 
 "If you please, Miss Tredegar said I 
 was to come to-night." 
 
 To which Margaret answered briskly and 
 cheerfully, 
 
 " Goodness, honey ! I was agate with the 
 Psalms and didn't hear you. You beat the 
 former Sally for stillness, anyhow. Come 
 your ways in and sit you down. And I 
 hope it ull be a good thing for Milcote 
 and yourself as ever ye came nigh hand 
 the place." 
 
 Jane said nothing to that, only curtsied 
 again, and began to fold up her shawl — 
 that worn old shawl, whose fringes had 
 caught Nils Brayton's walking-stick at the 
 turn of Angusbury road two months 
 before. 
 
 Quietly as she entered upon her place, 
 so quietly did she go about her duties in 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 Hester s Sacrifice, 
 
 it. A wonderful contrast in every respect 
 to Sally, who had no gift for silence, and 
 always liked everybody to know what she 
 was about. Indeed, Sally never thought she 
 was doing her work properly unless she 
 made a brisk noise over it, or set up a 
 vigorous whistle by way of accompaniment. 
 After Jane had been in the place a week 
 or two, Margaret said that Milcote kitchen 
 did not know itself again for quietness; 
 one might as well, she said, have had a 
 ghost walking about and putting things in 
 their places. And, indeed, the girl did not 
 look unlike a ghost with that close, white- 
 frilled cap tied under her chin, and that 
 pale, shrunken face, and those heavy, half- 
 shut eyes, which never seemed to see any- 
 thing higher than the brick floor. Margaret 
 did not like people who always held their
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 307 
 
 heads down, who never looked you straight 
 in the face when they were speaking to 
 you. She thought it was a bad sign — a 
 harbinger of deceit or double-dealing. Jane 
 Fawcet had not cast her eyes down in that 
 way when she came to see after the place, 
 or Margaret would almost have advised Miss 
 Hester not to have anything to do with 
 her 
 
 But the girl did her work well, there 
 was no denying that ; and she had no silly 
 notions about dress and followers, nor did 
 she go flaunting about on Sunday after- 
 noons with half a dozen flounces and a 
 fringed parasol, like the Angusbury servants. 
 And she asked no questions either, and did 
 not seem disposed to pry into the family 
 concerns ; so, perhaps, that downcast look 
 was only shyness ; she would get over it 
 
 X 2
 
 308 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 when she became more accustomed to her 
 place — at least, the housekeeper hoped 
 so. 
 
 And certainly, for modest, quiet behaviour, 
 she was the best girl that had ever come 
 into Milcote kitchen since Margaret had had 
 anything to do with it ; the meekest, too, 
 in spite of that queer look about her eyes, 
 which they once thought indicated temper. 
 For, as Margaret said, you might order her 
 about where you pleased, or tell her to do 
 this, that, and the other thing, and scold 
 her to the very furthest possible extent to 
 which it is allowable for a professing Chris- 
 tian to scold — whatever that extent may be 
 — and Jane never " back-answered again," 
 or gave you so much as a cross look. 
 She only turned a little whiter, and her 
 lips twitched a little — never anything more
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 309 
 
 than that; whereas Sally, under the same 
 treatment, would have stormed for a whole 
 day, and tlien turned sulky durino; the 
 remainder of the week. 
 
 And then, as Margaret contmued, givino; 
 her opmion of the new maid to Miss 
 Hester, her willingness to learn was some- 
 thing wonderful, considering she had never 
 been in service before, and didn't seem so 
 much as to know the names of many of 
 the things which were in daily use in 
 ^lilcote kitchen. She was a very child for 
 teachableness and humility, only that chil- 
 dren forget what you have taught them the 
 very next moment, and Jane Fawcet never 
 had to be told the same thing twice. If 
 only she would learn to look people straight 
 in the face, and if she would eat heartily 
 enoogli to bring a little flesh into those
 
 310 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 lean cheeks, and a little spring into that 
 listless, drooping figure, she would soon be 
 as good a servant as anyone need wish to 
 possess ; indeed, far in advance of the 
 former Sally. 
 
 The former Sally was married now, and 
 settled in the milk business as Mrs. Bilson, 
 junior. It v/as one pleasant June morning, 
 just a week after Jane Fawcet came to 
 Milcote, that Sally, after using an extra 
 quantity of pomatum to her hair, and put- 
 ting on the brown spotted print, with cape 
 to match, and a pair of clean white thread 
 gloves, took her fathers arm, and, followed 
 by the bridegroom and his sister, also in 
 pomatumed hair, and clean white thread 
 gloves, walked across the fields to Milcote 
 Church, where she and Thomas, "bless 
 him !" appropriated each other for better for
 
 Hestei's Sacrifice, 311 
 
 worse, according to the rites of the Church. 
 After which appropriation, they both re- 
 paired to the newly-furnished cottage, and 
 settled down forthwith, without any inter- 
 vention of marriage jaunt or honeymoon, to 
 sober wedded comfortableness, young Mr. 
 Bilson carrying out the milk at night 
 just as if nothing particular had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 But though the cottage took a deal of 
 minding, and the "business," especially when, 
 as was sometimes the case, Thomas went 
 out to a day's farm work in the country, 
 was one person's work, what with milking, 
 and then going round amongst the customers, 
 Sally found time to run down to Milcote 
 now and then, just to see how they got 
 on with the fresh girl. It gave her a sort 
 of important feeling to sit as a visitor in
 
 312 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 that kitchen where once she had toiled so 
 industriously through many a long day ; to 
 be addressed as " Mrs. Bilson " by the 
 honest old housekeeper, who never used to 
 call her anything but " my lass," or " Sally, 
 honey," according to the state of her temper. 
 Somehow Sally never seemed to have so 
 exalted a sense of her married position as 
 when seated in the Milcote kitchen, listen- 
 ing to the old familiar sounds, looking 
 round upon the old familiar sights, watch- 
 ing the old household operations, which 
 were performed in the same routine as 
 when Thomas used to come courting her, 
 and they sat by that kitchen fire on Mar- 
 garet's " class nights," talking about the cottage 
 and the " business." 
 
 To tell the truth, Sally, though she was 
 a most excellently disposed person, would
 
 Hester' s Sacrifice. 313 
 
 not have been very much grieved had the 
 work stuck fast now and then under the 
 management of her successor. It was a 
 little bit provoking to find that things went 
 on just the same as usual ; that, as Mar- 
 garet had said some weeks before, there 
 were as good fish in the sea as ever came 
 out of it; that, with the exception of much 
 of the previous noise and bustle, life at 
 Milcote drifted on as heretofore. And more 
 provoking still to note Margaret's undis- 
 guised satisfaction with her new help, the 
 quiet content with which she would watch 
 Jane Fawcet's slow, noiseless movements, and 
 then turn to Sally with a look which said 
 plainly enough, 
 
 " I told you so !" 
 
 Nevertheless Sally believed it would come 
 to an end, sometime. " New brooms sweep
 
 314 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 clean !" was a proverb quite as true as that 
 other one which Margaret was so fond of 
 quoting. And as she tied on her bonnet, 
 and set off home again, to attend to the 
 milking of the cow, she would say to her- 
 self, 
 
 "I don't know what put it there, nor 
 how I came to think it, but it lies strong 
 upon my mind, it does, as how Jane 
 Fawcet won't do no good in that there 
 place." 
 
 Sagacious Sally !
 
 315 
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 "nOR Hester those June days passed so 
 sweetly, that she forgot to note the 
 swiftness of their flight, nor how near the day 
 w^as drawing — once so impatiently looked for- 
 ward to — when little May should come home 
 and stay always. 
 
 Sometimes, waking up from that happy 
 dream in which all life seemed to be 
 spent now, she w^ould chide herself for 
 what seemed like forgetfulness, or want of 
 love. Then she would try to think of 
 something that could be done for May's 
 comfort. She would go into that pleasant
 
 316 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 little casemented chamber which had been 
 newly curtained and painted for the pet 
 sister, and she would contrive some fresh 
 adornment for it. She would add here a 
 picture, there a vase for flowers, re-arrange 
 the furniture, loop the white muslin dra- 
 peries in more graceful folds, move the tiny 
 writing-table, so that May, sitting at it, 
 might see the Milcote Lane sycamores with 
 the church tower peeping through them. 
 May might have been a little bird, she 
 was so fond of trees and sunshine. And 
 then she would try to picture to herself 
 the long sweet hours they would spend in* 
 the garden together, reading, or castle-build- 
 ing, or more likely talking over those 
 two dreary years which they had passed 
 away from each other. And how every- 
 thing should give way to May; how her
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. 317 
 
 will should be everyone's pleasure; how they 
 would all try to make life such a bright, 
 happy thing for that young sister con- 
 cerning whom the dying mother had said 
 years ago, 
 
 " Hester, take care of httle May, and 
 be very kind to her. She will have no 
 one but you." 
 
 It had been Hester's joy to keep that 
 trust hitherto. Patiently and lovingly she 
 had borne all toil and self-denial which it 
 involved. And as she had kept it, so would 
 she keep it to the end. 
 
 Still, chide herself as she might, the 
 thought of May's coming home was not the 
 brightest thought now. She was just be- 
 ginning to feel, as she had never felt be- 
 fore, how fair and how beautiful a thing 
 it is to live. All the vears that had f^one
 
 318 Hester's Sacrifice. 
 
 by seemed as a long, quiet twilight, through 
 
 which she had passed at last into sunny 
 
 noontide. And as the days drifted so 
 
 peacefully on, each one bringing with it 
 
 some pleasant dream fulfilled, some sweet 
 
 hope translated into sweeter memory, she 
 
 could but say, in the gladness of her 
 
 heart, 
 
 " My God, I thank Thee, who hast made 
 This world so bright/' 
 
 Yet Hester told no one of any of these 
 things. She had no very dear friends with 
 whom to exchange sentimental confidences, 
 and gossip over those young hopes which,- 
 like wild flowers dragged from the shade, 
 lose all their beauty when drawn out of 
 the holy silence in which they move and 
 have their being. Her happiness was like 
 some quiet little stream whose course is
 
 Hester'' s Sacrifice. 319 
 
 known only by the greenness of the grass 
 through which it flows, and the fragrance 
 of the flowers which spring upon its banks. 
 In those old days, when her life was empty 
 and unsatisfied, she bore the emptiness with- 
 out complaining; now that joy had come, 
 she kept it silently too. Enough that from 
 her own gladness she made others glad, 
 without telling them whence that gladness 
 came. 
 
 And all this time Nils Brayton was work- 
 ing steadily on, contented if now and then 
 he caught a glimpse of Hester's face as 
 she passed that gloomy office window on 
 her way to and from the School of Art, 
 or could listen to her voice for a moment 
 or two as they met by chance in the quiet 
 Angusbury streets. He, too, had his work 
 to do, and he would do it. By a pure
 
 320 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 and noble life he would blot out the 
 memory of far-off wrong. By honest, kindly 
 deeds he would make that right hand of 
 his all white, and worthy to reach forth one 
 day and clasp hers. Whilst that hope shone 
 before him, he had strength for all toil, and 
 patience for all waiting. 
 
 Jane Fawcet, too, plodded silently on 
 through the dull round of household drudgery, 
 learning very readily, and practising very 
 carefully, such duties as belonged to her 
 place. She never murmured over anything, 
 never kindled into anger or discontent when 
 Mr. Tredegar's stern, haughty voice com-' 
 manded some menial service from her. 
 When little Miss ' Lapiter's step was heard 
 upon the gravel walk, or when Basil Brooke 
 came — as he often did come now^ — for an 
 hour's chat with Hester's father, Jane would
 
 Hester s Sacrifice. • 321 
 
 open the door for them, curtsying low, and 
 stepping humbly back as they entered, that 
 their more exalted social presence might not 
 be soiled by any touch of those humble 
 garments of hers. And when she had 
 ushered them into the parlour, carefully not- 
 ing through her half-closed eyes Hester's 
 flushed face and glad, bright smile, she 
 would go back into the kitchen, and sit 
 there over her sewing work, with never a 
 word, until Margaret said to herself, 
 
 "Beats ever3^thing for quietness. Never 
 seed such a quiet girl in all ??i?/ life." 
 
 But at night, when the work was done, 
 when there was no more need for guile or 
 self-restraint, Jane Fawcet used to go up 
 into her own room, and bolt the door, and 
 take out of that deal box a scrap of news- 
 paper, almost worn away now with frequent 
 
 A^OL. I. Y
 
 322 Hester s Sacrifice. 
 
 folding and unfolding. And as she read 
 those two or three lines, down in one 
 corner, relating to " Naval and Military in- 
 telligence," the mask which she had worn 
 so carefully all day would fall off, reveal- 
 ing the true face of cold cruel malice be- 
 neath. And she used to say, with a low 
 laugh, 
 
 "Patience, patience. Waiting is long, but 
 revenge is sweet. It was well the train went 
 away without me — it was very well!" 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.