I 
 
 

 
 L I B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 V.I ^
 
 JANITA'S CROSS 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 JANITA'S CROSS. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 '^ST. OLAVE'S. 
 
 Work and wait." 
 
 m THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSORS TO HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1864. 
 
 The right of Translation is reserceiL
 
 LOXDOX: 
 
 TRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUG WELL, BLEXHELAI HOUSE. 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 V, 
 
 s 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 J ANITA'S CROSS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 f.M^^iISS HEPZIBAH RUTHVEN, 
 
 b^^ the hcJf-maiden sister, or, to speak 
 
 ^ more correctly, the maiden half- 
 
 ^(§^ sister of Jabez Ruthven, formerly 
 
 ^ professor of mathematics in the united colleges of 
 
 Hgt. Mary and St. Salvator, and now proprietor of 
 
 that commodious family residence known as the 
 
 ^ Aspens, was seated at work in her brother's draw- 
 
 >r ing-room, one rainy evening towards the close of 
 
 August. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah was a straightforward person — 
 
 z,^ highly straightforward, and averse to concealment 
 
 of any kind, except as regarded her age, a subject 
 
 on which reticence is always advisable. Had she 
 
 been telling her own story, she would doubtless 
 
 VOL. I. li
 
 2 J Anita's ckoss. 
 
 have indicated the precise nature of the work she 
 was engaged upon. I have no hesitation, there- 
 fore, in informing the reader that she was unpick- 
 ing the bottom hem of a black moreen petticoat, 
 which, Hke its owner, had evidently seen tough 
 service in the world. But though the unpicking 
 of moreen petticoats is, for those who keep no 
 lady's-maid, a somewhat distasteful process, still 
 the woi'k in itself need scarcely have called forth 
 the intensely disgusted expression which appeared 
 upon Miss Ruthven's virgin features, as she jerked 
 the unlucky garment to and fro, sticking her pen- 
 knife viciously through the stitches, and occasion- 
 ally giving it a vigorous shake, such as ill-tempered 
 grandmammas administer to little girls who have 
 been telling stories. 
 
 The case was this. Only the day before, there 
 had been a twelve hours' trip from St. Olave's to 
 the sea-side, of which trip Miss Hepzibah had 
 availed herself. And being, in consequence of her 
 extreme good sense, averse to the usual practices 
 of sea-side excursionists, such as bathing, donkey- 
 riding, fossilising, lounging on the beach, and so 
 forth, she had set off for a brisk walk along the 
 sands to Onyx Reef, a ledge of rock about three
 
 janita's cross. 3 
 
 miles distant from Whitecliffe, Unfortimatel}^ the 
 Professor's sister had forgotten that the tides have 
 certain little peculiarities of their own, relative to 
 ebbing and flowing ; peculiarities which they are 
 unwilling to alter for the convenience of ordinary 
 people. Therefore, when, having rounded Onyx 
 Reef, Miss Hepzibah, supreme in the conscious- 
 ness of a duty well performed, turned to retrace 
 her steps, she found, to her dismay, that the foot- 
 path was being gradually nibbled aw^ay by the 
 advancing waves, and that before long her walk 
 would have to be accomplished through alternate 
 sand-puddles and salt-water lakes. Nay, more, 
 when she arrived within a mile of the tow^n, she 
 was brought to a complete halt by a beautiful little 
 pool, enclosed by slippery rocks, stretching across 
 the path and quite up to the cliff. A miniature 
 ocean it seemed, with tiny breakers playing on the 
 rocks, and shrimps darting hither and thither, and 
 purple starfishes lazily shifting themselves along on 
 their thousand creepers, and sea-weeds, green, 
 crimson, orange, white, spreading out their delicate 
 fronds, utterly unconscious of the distress of the 
 respectable maiden lady who stood over against 
 them, looking now at her neat black petticoat, and 
 
 B 2
 
 4 JANITA S CROSS. 
 
 then at the rocks, whose tops were gradually disap- 
 pearing beneath the inexorable tide. 
 
 Fortunately, help was at hand, in the shape of a 
 gigantic sailor, who was shouldering along to his 
 cottage upon the cliffs. For a trifling considera- 
 tion he offered to land Miss Hepzibah safely on the 
 other side of her difficult}^ The lady hesitated, 
 the waves advanced, other resource there was none ; 
 and so, with gaunt arms clinging round the sailor's 
 neck, and feet helplessly dangling in mid air. 
 Miss Hepzibah Ruthven crossed the flood, a spec- 
 tacle for sea-gulls and fishermen. 
 
 It was the memory of this humiliating adventure 
 which soured our maiden friend's face, as she sat 
 by the fire one rainy evening in August, repairing 
 the damages wrought by sand and sea-water upon 
 her garments. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah Ruthven, aged fifty-five, or 
 thereabouts, and possessor in her own right of a 
 fortune of four hundred a-year, was to say the 
 least of it, that is, not to do violence to the feel- 
 ings of the sisterhood, or — but what various hind- 
 rances we meet in describing the personality of 
 a lady to whom Nature has been the reverse of 
 prodigal in the bestowal of charms ! !Miss Hepzi-
 
 bah, however, has to be introduced, and the sooner 
 it is done the better. 
 
 For centuries past, the Ruthven women had 
 been distinguished for slight, dehcate beauty ; 
 whilst the men of the race bore away the palm 
 from other clans for height of stature and strength 
 of limb. But in the case of Miss Ruthven, 
 Nature, passing over the beauty, dowered her with 
 the physical force which had served her ancestors so 
 well in the rude forays of bye-gone savage times. 
 The Professor's sister stood five feet nine without 
 her shoes. Mercifully, she was not broad in pro- 
 portion, or she would have been altogether too serious 
 an undertaking. She was spare and angular, with 
 high shoulders, and a bony outline. Her mind 
 was made to match her body ; she had a strong 
 will, a strong temper, desperate grasp of resolution, 
 never letting go a notion which she had once taken 
 hold of ; a large heart, capable of containing many 
 friends, though they got but rough accommodation 
 when there ; and a tough stringy sort of nervous 
 system, which, if it did not bring her high enjoy- 
 ment, saved her from much suffering. Harsh, 
 noisy, unsympathetic, intolerant to a degree of any- 
 thing like sentiment, terribly practical in all her
 
 (> janita's cross. 
 
 thoughts, words, and ways, there was yet a blind, 
 blundering unselfish benevolence about her; so 
 that, on the whole, the world was better for her life 
 in it. 
 
 Such, then, was Miss Hepzibah Ruthven, as she 
 sat by the fireside this August evening, mending 
 her petticoat, her merino dress pinned around her 
 waist, revealing an under-skirt of striped winsey, 
 and a slight glimpse of a pair of home-knit grey 
 stockings, losing themselves in stout kid boots laced 
 up the front. It was nearly nine o'clock: the 
 lamp was lighted, the blinds drawn down. A 
 somewhat heterogeneous meal was spread out upon 
 the table — not tea, for part of a cold ham was 
 there, and the remains of a dish of sausages sent 
 out a savoury fragrance into the room ; not supper, 
 for two or tliree hot scones lay upon a damask 
 napkin, side by side with the tea and coffee-pots. 
 
 The fact was. Professor Ruthven had just re- 
 turned from a two months' toui* in Scotland, and 
 his sister, who, whatever else she might leave 
 undone, always took thought for the necessities of 
 the inner man, had set him down to this well-filled 
 table by way of compensation for his enforced 
 fast during a ride of two hundred miles. Having
 
 JANITA S CKOSS. 7 
 
 "made himself comfortable," as Miss Hepzibali 
 expressed it, he was now reclining at ease in a huge 
 arm-chair on the opposite side of the fire. 
 
 A tall, thin, scran ny-looking man Avas Jabez 
 Ruthven. Almost a reproduction of his sister, 
 save that he had a bald head, very full of bimips 
 and hollows, and that his face Avore a hazy, ab- 
 stracted expression, quite different from her brisk 
 wide-awakeness. In the prime of his life, Mr. 
 Ruthven had been chief among the cluster of pro- 
 fessors whose talents conferred such lustre on the 
 University of St. Andrews, Even yet his name 
 carried weight with it in certain literary circles, 
 and his mathematical works, though long ago out 
 of date, were mentioned by younger men with that 
 patronising respect which is accorded to old- 
 fashioned ability. In accordance, however, with 
 the old proverb that a prophet has no honour in his 
 own country, Professor Ruthven was looked upon, 
 in the neighbourhood of Meadowthorpe and St. 
 Olave's, as an undecided, bewildered, eccentric sort 
 of man, good-for-nothing in a practical point of 
 view, and only kept from becoming a complete 
 laughing-stock by the vigilant supervision which 
 Miss Hepzibali exercised over him. Apparently,
 
 8 JANITA'S CROSS. 
 
 he had got through the history of his general ad- 
 ventures, for they had both been sitting in perfect 
 silence nearly half an hour. 
 
 "Zibie." 
 
 This was the familiar abbrevlative by which, in 
 their hours of domestic privacy, the Professor was 
 Avont to address his sister. 
 
 " I'm here," said a voice not silver sweet, behind 
 the rustling moreen. 
 
 " I have made a discovery, Zibie." 
 
 " So have I, and a very disagreeable one, too. 
 Sand enough in the tucks of my best petticoat to 
 scour the floors for a twelvemonth. I did hope the 
 odious stuff had all. landed on the outside, but it 
 hasn't. Just look here — I declare it would provoke 
 a saint !" and Miss Hepzibah went on unripping, 
 every stroke of her pen-knife revealing fresh marine 
 deposits. 
 
 " The sand on Whitecliffe coast is peculiar," 
 said the Professor, in grave, oracular tones, as 
 though speaking to a class of students, " consisting, 
 as the latest microscopic researches have clearly 
 established, of the shells of defunct animals, re- 
 duced to a semi-pulverised condition by the waves, 
 combined with the action of atmospheric influences."
 
 JANITA S CROSS. U 
 
 " Blessings on us, that must be queer sand ! 
 Then my petticoat will be a museum of natural 
 history for the remaining term of its existence, for 
 try as I will, it's clearly a moral impossibility to get 
 it brushed clean," returned Miss Hepzibah. 
 
 The Professor had been rubbing a little of the 
 sand between his finger and thumb as he explained 
 its nature. Now, labouring under the delusion that 
 it was a pinch of snuff, he raised it to his nose, and 
 was about to inhale it, when he was stopped by an 
 exclamation from his sister. 
 
 '' Goodness, brother Jabez ! Avhat are you doing ? 
 I declare you must be going to have softening of 
 the brain ; do put the nasty stuff away into the ash- 
 pan." 
 
 Which he did, in a very abstracted sort of way. 
 
 " And now about the discovery f said his sister. 
 
 " Ah ! the discovery ; w^ell, yes ; yes, of course, 
 the discovery." 
 
 " Quick, brother Jabez ; what was it ? A new 
 fossil, or something in the mathematics V 
 
 ^'No. You remember little Maggie Ruthven, 
 my niece ?" 
 
 " Ah ! poor Maggie ! A pretty rosebud sort of 
 ^ little thing, with a face enough to put a man out
 
 10 
 
 of his senses. Jabez, beauty is a dangerous thing. 
 I'm sure property is a much more practical talent 
 than personal gifts. I'm thankful that Providence 
 never made me a belle, though people did say that 
 I was a remarkably fine woman in my time." 
 
 And Miss Ruthven lifted her eyes to the mirror 
 over the fireplace, but speedily lowered them. 
 There was nothing specially beautiful to be met 
 with in that direction. 
 
 " It is strange," she continued, " how contrary 
 the world does go with some people. To tliink 
 of that little bit of a lassie, how careful we 
 used to be over her, and wouldn't even let the 
 wind blow upon her, if we could help it ; and now, 
 for more than eighteen years, she has been knock- 
 ing up and down the world with that good-for- 
 nothing scamp of a husband, and may do to the 
 end of her life, for I suppose neither of them dare 
 come back to England whilst things are as they are." 
 
 '' No, sister, she isn't knocking about now. She 
 died at sea, more than eighteen years ago. They 
 buried her in the Atlantic — I have the place in my 
 pocket-book," and the Professor pulled it out. 
 " Lat. 25 deg. N., Lon. 40 deg. A quiet part, not 
 much visited by storms."
 
 janita's cross. 11 
 
 " Oh, Jabez !" said Hepzibah, with just one 
 Kttle quick breath. " How sad ! and to think we 
 shoukl never hear of it until now. Ah, well ! if 
 we had only known how soon she was to be taken 
 from us, we mio;ht have been kinder to her I I 
 often wish we had not been quite so bitter wdien 
 she went away with that good-for-nothing Captain 
 Raeburn. She loved him, I dare say ; and that 
 was such a pitiful letter she sent, begging us to 
 forgive them both. Well ! well !" 
 
 Then there was silence for some time. The 
 Professor made a sort of trellis-work of his long, 
 lean fingers, and rested his forehead upon it. 
 Miss Hepzibah leaned back in her chair, her feet 
 on the fender, the petticoat lying unheeded in her 
 lap. Sad, yearning, repentant thoughts were work- 
 ing in both of their hearts ; thoughts which only 
 come when it is too late, when death has stayed 
 for ever the possibility of translating them into 
 deeds. Gentle, tender thoughts, which, looking 
 through any face, make it seem almost beautiful. 
 
 To say that Miss Hepzibah's internal exercises 
 produced this effect, would be affirming a fact be- 
 yond the range of possibility. Yet, little by little, 
 they softened the rugged lines of her countenance,
 
 12 
 
 like the o;low of Autumn afternoon sunshine on a 
 stubble-field. 
 
 " But how came 3'ou to hear about it, Jabez T 
 And then, clearing his throat, and drawing a 
 sheaf of papers out of his pocket-book, the Pro- 
 fessor began the important story.
 
 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ^•^ M^^i^|/T was told in a fashion peculiar to 
 ^^h^Jm^^^ tlie narrator, with many gaps, and 
 f^] breaks, and parentheses ; progress- 
 ^>f-ch ing like a crab, sideways, coming 
 often to a temporary standstill, whilst something 
 quite extraneous was dragged in. Also with many 
 journeys of the professorial finger and thumb in 
 search of imaginary snuff — a fruitless quest, Avliich 
 Miss Hepzibah stopped at last, by removing both 
 herself and the garment out of arm's length. 
 
 Before gi\ang the Professor's story, however, a 
 few particulars relative to his own previous life 
 will be needful. 
 
 When, more than thirty years before, Jabez 
 Ruthven had been elected to the mathematical 
 chair of St. Andrews University, and had set up 
 housekeeping on his own account in a neat resi-
 
 14 J Anita's cross. 
 
 dence in South Street, long ago pulled down to 
 make room for more pretentious mansions, he 
 brought with him a little orphan niece, wdiom he 
 had adopted. Maggie Ruthven was then a grace- 
 ful child of twelve, winning and beautiful, like the 
 rest of her clans women. For six years she lived 
 with him, a beam of sunshine in the quiet old 
 house. He thought she would always stay to 
 cheer his solitary life, to make up, by her sweet 
 girlish ways and playful affectionateness, for that 
 other more beautiful love which Heaven had 
 denied him. But at eighteen, Maggie ran away 
 with a gay, soft-spoken young captain, who had 
 stolen her heart by a few pretty speeches and 
 moonlight rambles. 
 
 In point of worldly position, it was not a bad 
 match for her. Captain Eaeburn took his bride 
 to a beautiful home, a few miles out of St. An- 
 drews, and, for some time, all went merry as a 
 marriage bell. The young couple gave balls and 
 dinners, and quadrille-parties and picnics. They 
 attended all the gaieties which could be got up in 
 such a quiet neighbourhood. Maggie had fine 
 clothes to her heart's content, more new jewels and 
 lace pocket-handkerchiefs in a month than cross
 
 janita's cross. 15 
 
 Aunt Hepzibali would have allowed her for a life- 
 time. She was petted and caressed by her hus- 
 band, courted and flattered by her acquaintances. 
 Her life was all kisses and sunshine. She only 
 longed for one thing more — the forgiveness of 
 Uncle Jabez. And this she never got. For the 
 Professor, like most men who have been disap- 
 pointed in love, was harsh and stern. Once of- 
 fended, it was a hard task to appease him. Letter 
 after letter, in which poor Maggie had poured 
 forth pleadings repentant enough to melt a heart 
 of stone, was returned unopened. Uncle Jabez 
 would never see her face again ; he disowned her 
 completely, cast her out of heart and memory. 
 He could forgive anything but deceit, and little 
 Maggie had deceived him. 
 
 In less than a year after their marriage. Cap- 
 tain Raeburn got into difliculties. He was a 
 careless, unprincipled man, and contrived to mix 
 liimself up, or was supposed to be mixed up, in 
 some fraudulent transactions connected with mo- 
 ney matters. To avoid detection and exposure, he 
 was obhged to fly the country. His wife, wlio 
 lov^ed him better than he deserved, followed liim, 
 accompanied by an old woman, Ilsie Ross, who
 
 16 janita's cross. 
 
 had been her nurse at St. Andrews. But she 
 reached him only to find that love had taken 
 flight with prosperity. She was received with 
 taunts and indifference. A few miserable weeks 
 they spent together ; then he left her. 
 
 She heard no more of him. Broken-hearted, 
 wretched, friendless^ she took passage in the next 
 ship bound for England, intending to support her- 
 self in some quiet little village, where no one 
 would know her. Still accompanied by the faith- 
 ful Scotch nurse, Ilsie, she embarked in iheJanita, 
 On the passage home her child was born, and she 
 died. Just before her death she committed the 
 poor little motherless creature to Ilsie, who pro- 
 mised to rear it as her own. 
 
 But Uncle Jabez and his half-sister. Miss Hep- 
 zibah, heard nothing of this. They knew of Cap- 
 tain Eaeburn's disgrace ; that he had fled to some 
 out-of-the-way place in South America, whither 
 his wife had followed him. But that was all. 
 They expected that he was living abroad still, 
 most likely prospering, as these clever unprincipled 
 men often do, when they get away from law and re- 
 straint. They never spoke of Maggie, the sweet, 
 tender-hearted little girl, whose smile had once
 
 janita's cross. 17 
 
 brightened both their lives. Her name became a 
 quite forgotten sound. The only time that any 
 thought of her crept into the Professor's heart, was 
 when, sometimes on a Sunday evening, he opened 
 his brass-bound desk, and took out the letters she 
 had written to him from school ; those neat round- 
 hand, carefully-composed letters, beginning " My 
 very dear uncle," and always finishing with, 
 " Your most dutiful and affectionate Maggie." 
 
 Very soon after Captain Raeburn went abroad, 
 Mr. Ruthven gave up his mathematical chair, and 
 came, with his sister, to Meadowthorpe. He had 
 a little property of his own. Hepzibah's uncle, an 
 old Lancashire cotton-lord, died, and left her two 
 or three hundred a year; so that, putting their 
 means together, they had enough to purchase the 
 Aspens, and enjoy life in a quiet way. 
 
 So much by way of preface ; now for the Pro- 
 fessor's story. 
 
 They had been living in this quiet way for 
 nineteen years, when Jabez put into execution his 
 long-cherished plan of making a Scottish tour. 
 After poking about for nearly two months in 
 various nooks and corners, as yet un swept by the 
 besom of civilization, he found his way to Inver- 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 janita's cross. 
 
 allan, a romantic little village not far from Edin- 
 burgh, and there spent the last Sunday of his 
 tour. 
 
 In Inverallan kirk his attention was arrested 
 by a young girl, whose bright laughing face 
 brought vividly back to remembrance the almost 
 forgotten Maggie Ruthven of his St. Andrews 
 life. She sat in the minister's pew, and was 
 dressed like the minister's children, but she evi- 
 dently did not belong to them, for they were buxom, 
 chubby-faced, flaxen-locked lassies, and she had 
 the clear dark beauty, the lissomeness of figure, 
 and grace of motion which only descended to the 
 Ruthven women. 
 
 Inquiring of the precentor, after service, he 
 learned that she was an orphan child, domesti- 
 cated for many years past at the Manse. She 
 had been brought to Inverallan, when a baby, by 
 an old woman named Usie Ross. As she grew up, 
 the minister's wife took a fancy to her, which re- 
 sulted in both child and nurse finding a home in 
 the Manse, and now she was just the same as the 
 minister's own children. 
 
 " And folks say," continued the precentor, " that 
 she's goin' to wed Willie Home, the minister's son.
 
 janita's cross. 19 
 
 I dinna ken if it's true, but ^in he gets her, she'll 
 be a real bonnie wifie, for there's no a mair win- 
 some lassie in a' the parish, barrin' the mischief. 
 And oh I — but she's awfu' for the mischief !" 
 
 Ilsie Eoss, The Professor remembered that 
 name, though it had not been spoken in his hear- 
 ing for nearly tv/enty years. He went to the 
 minister's house, and had an interview with her. 
 They recognised each other; then Ilsie told him all 
 about it. He learned that poor Mrs. Eaeburn, 
 forsaken by her worthless husband, had taken her 
 passage home in the Janita ; how the vessel had 
 been becalmed at sea ; how, having dropped a tear 
 on the poor unconscious baby's face, Maggie had 
 died, finding rest at last from all her grief under 
 the deep blue sea, which suffers no mom'ner to 
 weep over any of its graves. 
 
 She told him, too, how the poor wife, cast off 
 and disowned by those who should have ])rotected 
 her, had shut herself up from all love or sympathy. 
 She would pace the deck for hours together, with 
 clenched hands and pale face, speaking to no one, 
 answering no questions. One lady, Mrs. Rivers, 
 a widow, who was coming home witli her young 
 son and daughter, had taken a little interest in the 
 
 c2
 
 20 janita's cross. 
 
 desolate woman, and would have spoken to her 
 kindly ; but even to Mrs. Rivers, Maggie never 
 confided her sad story. The child was bom about 
 a month after they embarked. On the following 
 day Mrs. Raeburn died. Just before she became 
 unconscious, she committed the child to Usie's 
 care, charging her to be a mother to it. Ilsie pro- 
 mised. The baby was baptised by a clerg^Tuan of 
 the Church of England, who happened to be on 
 board. At the suggestion of Mrs. Rivers' son, 
 Gavin, a lad of fourteen, it was named after the 
 vessel, " Janita." On their landing, Ilsie brought 
 her foster-child to Inverallan, where they had both 
 lived ever since. 
 
 Such was the general tenor of the Professor's 
 story, which being, as I said before, told crabwise, 
 with numerous joints, and breaks, and parentheses, 
 occupied nearly two hours in its delivery. 
 
 "Well, Jabez, is that all r 
 
 "Yes, Zibie; I suppose I may say, that is all." 
 
 But anyone might have gathered from the Pro- 
 fessor's manner, which was fidgety and constrained, 
 that he had not quite disburdened his mind — that 
 some thought, as yet unspoken, was cowering 
 in the recesses of his capacious brain. Then
 
 janita's cross. 21 
 
 there was a long pause, during which scarcely a 
 sound was heard, but the click of Miss Hepzibah's 
 pen-knife through the stitches, and the gentle 
 patter of the rain on the heavily-framed window ; 
 and now and then a queer, uncomfortable, ghost- 
 like sound outside, which would have made a ner- 
 vous lady very uncomfortable, until she was told 
 that it proceeded from the palsied leaves of a clump 
 of aspens that grew in the middle of the garden. 
 At last there came a quavering irresolute voice 
 from the depths of the arm-chair ; 
 
 " Zibie, I had been thinking — or rather, per- 
 haps, I ought to say — at any rate, it appeared to 
 me in that light — that if you had no objection — 
 that is " 
 
 The Professor's idea having, like a frightened 
 mouse, tried so many means of escape, and failed 
 in them all, rushed back again to its hiding-place, 
 from whence it did not venture forth for full ten 
 minutes. Miss Hepzibah took no notice ; she was 
 accustomed to these futile attempts at sentences. 
 By and by, Mr. Euthven tried again : 
 
 " Zibie, I have been thinking if we should take 
 this young girl into our house to live with us." 
 
 There ! the mouse was out now, and scampering.
 
 22 janita's cPwOss. 
 
 The Professor seemed startled at his own rashness ; 
 but the thing was said, and could not be unsaid. 
 Miss Hepzibah looked at him steadily ; hard, reso- 
 lute, unconquerable practicality stamped on every 
 line of her face. 
 
 " To live with us, brother Jabez, did you say ? 
 To be always knocking about under one's feet, day 
 in and day out, board and lodging, and every- 
 thing?" 
 
 ^' Well, yes, that was what I meant ; at least, it 
 was something like it." 
 
 " It won't do, Jabez. A young girl is a very 
 serious undertaking. Nearly nineteen, lively, and 
 like her mother, as you say. Why, the gentlemen 
 will be after her, until you won't be able to tell the 
 house from an hotel — first one and then another 
 dropping in to tea, and supper, and wine, and what 
 not. And then if she don't get married, she will 
 just settle down into an old maid, and the place is 
 pestered with them already — women who have no- 
 thing to do but tantle round, and mind everybody's 
 business but their own. No, brother Jabez, put it 
 out of your thoughts — put it out of your thoughts. 
 I tell you it won't answer, and there's an end 
 of it."
 
 janita's cross. 23 
 
 This was said in Miss Hepzibah's most decisive 
 manner, and emphasised by a shake of the black 
 petticoat, which sent a cloud of sand quite into her 
 brother's face. 
 
 The Professor's case seemed hopeless. But a 
 certain poet has said — 
 
 " Tilings are not what they seem." 
 
 And the Professor's case was not what it seemed. 
 There happened to be a little peculiarity in Miss 
 Hepzibah's constitution. The good lady did not 
 know of it herself. There are chambers in most 
 hearts whose keys everyone has but the tenant. 
 Miss Hepzibah was what is called contrary. Im- 
 press upon her the needfulness of doing a thing, 
 and she would immediately find out twenty reasons 
 why it should be put off till to-morrow. Tell her 
 the same thing need not be attended to just at 
 present, and ten to one, before the day was out, 
 matters would be in full train for its accomplish- 
 ment. If the Professor had a particular wish for 
 quiet, he had but to tell his sister that the east 
 wind was blowing, and that she would assuredly 
 catch cold if she ventured out of doors ; and before 
 half an hour had elapsed, Miss Hepzibah, cloaked
 
 24 
 
 and bonneted, would be careering down the \allage, 
 like a merchant vessel vdih all its sails spread. 
 Of this little peculiarity, Jabez now proceeded to 
 avail himself. With a deep sigh he began — 
 
 " Ah ! yes, Zibie, it is as you say, a very serious 
 undertaking to have the charge of a young girl, 
 and I am sure " 
 
 "There, brother Jabez!" said his sister. "I 
 told you so, did I not 1 I knew you would come 
 over to my way of thinking." 
 
 " And," continued the Professor, without heed- 
 ing the interruption, " and at your time of life, too, 
 when the natural vigour and energy of youth are 
 overpast, to have to manage a girl of her age " 
 
 " Time of life, brother Jabez ! time of life !" and 
 Miss Hepzibah gave the petticoat another desperate 
 shake ; " anyone might think I was a scranny old 
 skeleton of ninety-five, by the way you talk. Such 
 rubbish, — time of life, indeed! Why, I could 
 manage a Spanish Armada full of girls, see if I 
 couldn't; yes, and keep them in proper order, 
 too. Vigour and energy gone! — what next, I 
 wonder ?" 
 
 "At that age, too, girls are hasty and self- 
 willed," he went on calmly, dispassionately, as when
 
 janita's cross. 25 
 
 giving lectures on the cube root thirty years ago ; 
 "and you might find yourself unequal to the strife." 
 
 " Unequal to what, Jabez ? Did I understand 
 you rightly ? Unequal to control a girl of nine- 
 teen? Only give me the chance, brother, and 
 you shall soon see if I can't control her. Let her 
 come next week — the day after to-morrow, if you 
 like, and I'll engage to have her as tame as the 
 canary before a month is out." 
 
 " Next week, Zibie ! that is rather early to make 
 arrangements for such an important undertaking. 
 The domestic alterations, too, and at your time 
 of " 
 
 " Not a bit, brother Jabez," said Miss Hepzibah, 
 checking the obnoxious expression before it was 
 fairly out. " I've everything in my mind's eye. 
 She could sleep in the long room looking into the 
 kitchen garden. Abigail could put up the curtains 
 in a couple of hours, and Bessie would wait upon 
 her — the girl is fairly running to seed for want of 
 work. Such nonsense about domestic alterations, 
 as if I hadn't a bit of spirit left in me ! I'll engage 
 to have everything ready by next week, at the very 
 latest." 
 
 " Well, Zibie," and the Professor sighed again,
 
 26 janita's cross. 
 
 " if you are so very anxious for the young girl to 
 come, I won't object." 
 
 Miss Hepzibah was somewhat confounded at this 
 sudden veering of the compass. 
 
 "No— wel], really! I didn't — but there's the 
 clock striking twelve. You'll be having the heart- 
 burn as sure as can be, with sitting up so late, and 
 after such a supper. I'll tell you what we'll do, 
 brother Jabez — we'll go to sleep upon it. I never 
 think anything is properly weighed until it has 
 been gone to sleep upon, and I'll tell you to morrow 
 morning what I have made up my mind to." 
 
 So they said good night to each other, and Zibie 
 did go to sleep upon it. Nay, more, she snored, 
 and that so vigorously, that Abigail, the ill-tempered 
 plain cook, said, that if missis intended to go on 
 like that there, she should give warning, that she 
 should, for it was worse than sleeping next door 
 to a blacksmith's shop, where the bellows was 
 always going.
 
 27 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 SeADO WTHORPE, the very name 
 '^ redolent of haystacks and new- 
 1^^ mown fields, was a sober, well- 
 
 '^^M^ behaved little village, about five 
 miles from St. Olave's. Looking north, you might 
 see the rising ground of Norlands, and beyond that 
 the faint grey line of the distant hills ; but south- 
 ward, for miles and miles, the country was flat 
 and fenny, unvaried by anything more lofty than 
 a windmill or a poplar-tree. So flat, indeed, that 
 the tower of Meadowthorpe church, though but a 
 pitiful stump, having been half battered down by 
 Cromwell's men during their raid upon that part of 
 England, was a landmark for the whole of the 
 surrounding country. 
 
 Meadowthorpe had been re-baptised within the 
 last century or two. In ancient times it was called
 
 28 
 
 Dykewick^ from the numerous dykes which inter- 
 sected the country in all directions. That was the 
 name it bore in Doomsday Book; under that name it 
 had lived through some stirring events, and won for 
 itself honourable mention in historic records. It 
 had been the head-quarters of Cromwell's lieu- 
 tenant-colonel, Whalley, whilst his army was be- 
 sieging St. Olave's. One of the great battles of 
 that civil strife had been fought on the level 
 ground lying to the east of the village. Many a 
 gallant Koyalist and noble Pui'itan soldier slept 
 quietly enough beneath those fertile fields, where 
 now in the sunny July time the hay-makers sang 
 their merry song, and little children buried each 
 other in heaps of red clover. 
 
 After the Restoration, the name of the place 
 was changed. Dykewick was full of memories 
 anything but pleasant to the Royalists. In con- 
 sideration of the rich pasture and meadow lands 
 which surrounded the village, they called it Mea- 
 dowthorpe. And with its name its nature changed. 
 The old Hall, where Cromwell had once gathered 
 his men for prayer, passed into the hands of a 
 cavalier noble, who filled it with revelry and mirth. 
 The gay ladies of Charles II.'s court had many a
 
 janita's cross. 29 
 
 fete and masquerade in its wainscotted rooms, and 
 even the merrie monarch himself, so tradition 
 said, whilst residing at the St. Olave's palace, had 
 often come hither with his lords and ladies, and 
 made the echoes of the old place ring again with 
 their boisterous glee. 
 
 But, at the time of my story, Meadowthorpe 
 had long ago ceased to be the scene of such im- 
 proper freaks. Its historic fame, too, was quite a 
 thing of the past. Like some reckless young 
 spendthrift, w^ho after indulging in all manner of 
 vagaries, settles down at last into sober, somnolent 
 squirearchy, so Meadowthorpe, having sown all its 
 wild oats, had been, for the last hundred and fifty 
 years, as drowsy, common-place a village as even 
 the staunchest advocate of conservatism could 
 wish. The people seemed to be having a perennial 
 afternoon nap. Gentle, innocent, respectable 
 dulness reigned supreme. But I was going to de- 
 scribe Meadowthorpe — not abuse it. 
 
 You entered the village from the St. Olave's 
 road, through a lofty stone arch, flanked, on either 
 side, by a lesser gateway for foot-passengers. 
 Over the centre arch were two lions, holding be- 
 tween them a shield, Avith the arms of the Dukes
 
 30 janita's cross. 
 
 of Dykeland. It was a shaky, moss-grown, tum- 
 ble-down piece of architecture, yet it gave an im- 
 pression of antique respectability, which was well 
 borne out as you passed through it into the avenue 
 of elm trees, the finest in all the country round, 
 which led into the village. At the end of this 
 avenue were the Hall gates. The Hall itself stood 
 about fifty yards back from the road, behind a 
 high laurel hedge. It was a red brick house of 
 Queen Elizabeth's time, with many chimneys and 
 weathercocks and gables; a grim, ill-tempered 
 looking place in cloudy weather, but pleasant 
 enough when the sunshine played over its balu- 
 straded terraces, and tipped with thousands of 
 golden spangles the great evergreens which 
 skirted the trim, old-fashioned flower-beds. Mea- 
 dowthorpe Hall was the residence of the Duke 
 of Dykeland's steward. It had been empty 
 since the last steward's death, six months ago, but 
 there was talk now in the village of a successor, 
 who might be expected before New Year's 
 Day. 
 
 Turning the corner, past the Hall gates, you 
 came to Meadowthorpe itself ; a long, wide, irre- 
 gularly built street, chiefly of thatched houses,
 
 janita's cross. 31 
 
 with all'i'es here and there, leading into nests of 
 cottages, of whose internal arrangements, as regards 
 draining, ventilation, and cleanliness, the less said 
 the better. 
 
 These cottages were the nursery of a large 
 juvenile population, which spent its time chiefly 
 in playing at marbles and making mud-pies in the 
 middle of the street. This, at any rate, was its 
 favourite pastime ; but, towards May and June, the 
 rising generation of Meadowthorpe was swept up 
 into gangs by an overseer, and let out, at so much 
 a score, to weed the neighbouring farms — an occu- 
 pation which the youngsters did not so very much 
 dislike, judging from the merry faces and loud 
 songs with which they returned at night from their 
 work. 
 
 After journeying for a couple of hundred yards 
 or more up this street, you would be struck by a 
 gradual improvement in the character of the 
 houses. Fancy blinds, muslin shades, damask 
 curtains, hinted of advanced respectability. Brass 
 door-plates and lion-headed knockers replaced the 
 rude latches of the lower end. You had gained 
 the region of maiden ladies and retired gentle- 
 folks, varying in means from the Misses Vere
 
 32 janita's cross. 
 
 Aubrey, who supported their five centuries of 
 Norman blood on a pension of a hundred and 
 fifty pounds a year, to Mrs. Sibree Mactui'k, whose 
 husband, a rich Indian merchant, had left her 
 a fortune of almost as many thousands. 
 
 A few steps more, and you stood in front of the 
 church. Dykewick Church was founded by St. 
 Edda, in the time of the Saxons, and had been 
 growing together ever since, so that it was of the 
 conglomerate order of architecture. Once upon a 
 time it might have been beautiful, before Crom- 
 well's men, riding through it on their chargers, tore 
 down the carved capitals, and defaced tlie Gothic 
 w^ork over the west door. Now, only a clustered 
 column here and there, a traceried window, filled 
 in with rich stained glass, an old Saxon arch, with 
 grifiins' heads and dog's-tooth ornament, and one 
 or two monuments of knights templars, remained 
 to tell of the bygone glories of the place. 
 
 Behind the church was a quiet, retired, shady 
 plot of ground, the cathedral close of Meadow- 
 thorpe, where the great families of the place con- 
 gregated. Gentility Square, as the village people 
 called it, was bounded on one side by the Bishop's 
 summer palace, an old straggling ivy-covered man-
 
 janita's cross. 33 
 
 sion, the rectory, and the lawyer's and doctor's 
 houses. At the end stood Gablehouse, the resi- 
 dence of Mr. Narrowby, the Duke's architect, and 
 Meadowthorpe Cottage, where Miss Alwyne lived. 
 Along the other end stretched the churchyard, 
 with its fine old sycamores and elm trees, the pride 
 of the village. Professor Ruthven's house occu- 
 pied the reniaining side ; it was a narrow, uncomfort- 
 able place, with a gable end, and one solitary 
 opaque glass window fronting the Square. From 
 this gable end a high brick wall reached down 
 to Meadowthorpe lane, the pretty sheltered 
 road that led past Miss Alwyne's cottage. And 
 from the cottage it led to some pasture lands, 
 and thence to the haling-bank road, of which 
 more will be said afterwards. For Miss Hepzibah 
 has arranged her false front by this time, and put 
 on her brown morning wrapper, and pinned a stiff 
 linen collar round her bony throat, and is waiting 
 to tell Jabez the result of her meditations on that 
 little proposal of his the night before. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 34 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 ^HE Professor's sister came down 
 to breakfast in a state of brisk 
 activity. She had quite made up 
 her mind. Jabez should go into 
 Scotland as soon as ever he chose, and bring home 
 the child, that he should. So far as her own 
 personal feelings were concerned, Miss Hepzibah 
 could not say that she anticipated much enjoyment 
 from the charge; but, as her brother wished it, 
 she was willing to make a sacrifice, and act the 
 part of a parent to poor Maggie Ruthven's mother- 
 less daughter. Nobody should have it to say 
 against her that she did not do everything that was 
 proper for her brother's side of the family. Be- 
 sides, it would be the making of the girl, that it 
 would. From all the Professor had said, her 
 domestic education must have been shamefully
 
 janita's ckoss. 35 
 
 neglected. She had been brought up in a shift- 
 less, pet bird sort of fashion; just picking and 
 fluttering about, like Bessie's canary yonder, in 
 the kitchen window ; not practical at all, not at all. 
 Most likely she had never been taught to make 
 preserves, or do marmalade, or pickle walnuts, or, 
 indeed, put her fingers to anything useful ; and as 
 for looking after a house, or managing servants, 
 and giving out the tea and sugar, and turning 
 sheets sides into the middle. Miss Hepzibah dare 
 venture to say that the girl knew no more about 
 such things than a month-old baby. Singing 
 Scotch ballads, playing reels on the piano, scram- 
 bling about over the hill-sides, paddling with 
 stockingiess feet up the water-courses, or perhaps 
 sitting on a bit of rock, reading poetry-books, that 
 was about all the girl liad been accustomed to. 
 Ajid, therefore, being a woman of sound practical 
 sense. Miss Hepzibah thought she could not do a 
 more rational thing than guide her brother's niece 
 along the narrow path which leads to female ex- 
 cellence. Then it would be such a triumph to 
 show Jabez that even at her time of life, as he was 
 pleased to call it, she was not past managing a girl 
 of nineteen. 
 
 D 2
 
 36 janita's cross. 
 
 All this, and a great deal more to the same pui- 
 pose, Miss Hepzibah told her brother at breakfast- 
 time, the morning after that diet of snoring which 
 has already been mentioned. So the end of it all 
 was, that the Professor took her at her word. And 
 he did go into Scotland the very next week, and 
 found his way to Inverallan Manse ; and putting 
 his long, lean, scranny hand, into that warm -lined 
 nest, drew out the little bird, all fluttering with 
 fear. But what mattered it that the little bird 
 fluttered and chirped so, and " would fain have 
 nestled back again into its cosy resting-placie ? 
 Was it not a well -built, commodious, convenient 
 cage, to which the lean hand was removing it? 
 And would it not be treated with the most judi- 
 cious kindness in the world? And did not the 
 Professor know all about little bird-nature — in 
 other words, had he not read through volumes and 
 volumes of mental philosophy and psychological 
 researches I And, therefore, did he not know all 
 about the habits and customs of birds ? And was 
 it not much better that the wee lintie should leave 
 those purple moors, where it had skimmed along 
 in the sunshine over heather and blue bells, and 
 come quietly to the Professor's cage, where it
 
 JANITa S CEOSS. 37 
 
 would have a beautiful little water-glass all to 
 itself, and now and then a bit of sugar put in 
 between the wires, and be fed every morning with 
 the best seed that could be bought in St. Olave's, 
 put out for it in stipulated quantities by Miss 
 Hepzibah's own hand I Oh ! foolish little bird, to 
 think that moorland liberty was better than judici- 
 ous restraint ! And yet it did think so. 
 
 But that the little bird thought so, and that 
 good, kind Dr. Home, the manse clergyman, and 
 his gentle wife, and the faithful old nurse, Ilsie, 
 thought so too, was not of the slightest conse- 
 quence. 
 
 Everything was settled by the Professor and his 
 sister, whose claim upon their niece no one could 
 dispute. And just a week from that evening 
 when poor Maggie Ruthven's story had been told, 
 a second heterogeneous meal, half tea, half supper, 
 was set out in the old-fashioned dining-room at 
 the Aspens, and Miss Hepzibah sat in her own 
 proper seat by the fireplace, listening for the 
 sound of carriage wheels up the avenue which led 
 from Meadowthorpe gates to the village. 
 
 The night had set in chill and rainy again. 
 That was a terrible August for the Dykeland
 
 38 janita's cross. 
 
 farmers. For three Sundays in succession, ^ir. 
 Mabury, rector of Meadowthorpe, had read the 
 prayer provided in the Liturgy against a " plague 
 of rain and waters," and still, for some wise pur- 
 pose, doubtless, though no one knew it then, the 
 rain kept falling, falling, falling, until the Meadow- 
 thorpe moat overflowed, and the Hall fields that 
 skirted the marshes were one even sheet of water, 
 and the miller's ducks swam delightedly over half 
 an acre of his best corn land. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah had brewed the tea, poured hot 
 water into her cups, and now, the folds of her 
 black silk dress carefully set, and her best lace 
 cap with brown bows adjusted neatly over her 
 false front, she was sitting in state, engaged upon 
 as near an approach to fancy-work as her prin- 
 ciples would permit. The fancy-work selected for 
 this occasion was an old tie of the Professor's, 
 which she was covering with the best portions of a 
 worn-out satin apron. The Professor was care- 
 less rather about his attire, and his sister thought 
 that so long as he was kept moderately tidy, it was 
 a pity to waste new material upon him. 
 
 The carriage wheels were heard at last. There 
 was a ring at the door, a rattling of boxes, a flutter
 
 39 
 
 of draperies in the narrow entrance. But Miss 
 Hepzibah sat still. It was not etiquette in Meaclow- 
 thorpe for a lady to go to tlie front door to receive 
 her visitors, nor, indeed, to see them at all until 
 they had renovated their toilettes, and repaired 
 the ravages of a railway journey. So she waited 
 impatiently, bustled round the room, rang for tea, 
 changed the positions of the cups and saucers, got 
 up, sat down, got up again, and was just on the 
 point of going upstairs to take a peep through the 
 key-hole of the long bed-room that looked out 
 into j.the kitchen garden, when Professor Ruthven 
 appeared in the doorway, leading the " mitherless 
 bairn," towards whom Miss Hepzibah was to act 
 the part of a parent. 
 
 " Sister, this is our niece, Janita Raeburn." 
 And Miss Hepzibah, looking down from her 
 five feet nine of womanly altitude, was 'ware of a 
 little figure not reaching to her shoulder, clad in 
 a tartan plaid dress of some soft, noiseless material, 
 without ornament of any kind, except a brooch 
 of the same tartan, fastening a tiny lace frill round 
 a throat that was very white and slender. Miss 
 Hepzibah noticed no more than that just then. 
 The tea was on her mind, and the sausages, which
 
 40 janita's ckoss. 
 
 would be spoiled, if Abigail did not take them up 
 immediately. But there is no need for us to be so 
 cursory in our examination of this stranger, this 
 ocean-born girl, this wee lintie that had come from 
 the heathery moorlands, to try how it liked the 
 commodious cage, and the patent water-glass, and 
 the best hemp-seed that could be bought in St. 
 Olave's. 
 
 Janita Raeburn was nearly nineteen ; at least, 
 so said old Ilsie, w^ho proved it by referring to the 
 log-book of the vessel's captain. But few would 
 have taken her for more than sixteen or seventeen. 
 She was slight and graceful in figure ; she had 
 large, beautifully set eyes, having a peculiar droop 
 in their lids, which gave a repose to the upper part 
 of her face, quite at variance Avith the lower 
 features, for the quivering upper lip told of pride 
 and temper, and the finely-chiselled nostril of will 
 strongly developed. Her colour came and went 
 now like little rifts of sunshine in the early morn- 
 ing sky, betokening rain ere noon ; and her Hps 
 were held firmly together, as if to keep back any 
 show of emotion. 
 
 On the whole it was a pleasant face. Not 
 exactly beautiful. Not a face which sensible
 
 ja^^ita's cross. 41 
 
 people would fly into raptures about. ^lost likely 
 no sonnets would ever be written to the eyebrows 
 which formed such a slight straight line beneath 
 the low forehead, nor to the quiet eyes which they 
 shadowed ; for those eyes were neither poetic blue, 
 nor romantic purple, nor Italian black, nor sunny 
 hazel, but only plain, serviceable brown. And the 
 soul was as yet but half-awakened which might 
 one day flash through them the glow of passion, or 
 the warm light of love. And yet it was a sweet 
 face, a face which might sink down into someone's 
 thoughts, and stay there always, a face which you 
 might love to see at your fireside day by day, year 
 by year, all through life, never wearying of it. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah took the young girl's hand into 
 her horn-like palm, and pressed upon her cheek an 
 abrupt jerking sort of kiss. Then, without further 
 ado, she marched her to the table, and poured out 
 for her a cup of tea. 
 
 " I daresay you're tired, child. You must have 
 something to eat, and then go to bed. I always 
 say there's nothing like going to bed after a 
 journey, whatever time of the day you finish it. 
 Now make a tea, there's a good child. Jabez," 
 and Hepzibah turned to the Professor, " she doesn't
 
 42 janita's cross. 
 
 look so mucli like her mother as I expected to find 
 her." 
 
 Just then Janita looked like nothing so much 
 as a frightened child, who would like to crj, but 
 dare not. Mechanically she ate the portion of 
 scone and marmalade which Miss Ruthven laid 
 upon her plate ; she would have enjoyed it as much, 
 had it been shavings and sawdust. 
 
 The meal did not last very long. When it was 
 over, Miss Hepzibah proceeded to the manage- 
 ment of her young charge. 
 
 "Now then, child, your friends will want to 
 know that you have got safe here ; you must ^vrite 
 them a letter directly, or the post will have closed, 
 and then, Jan — Janet, dear me, I have forgotten 
 your name, what is it f ' 
 
 " Janita," said the frightened little voice, " but 
 they always used to call me Nyta, because it was ♦ 
 shorter and prettier." 
 
 "Nitre, sweet nitre; a kind of stuff sold in 
 druggists' shops, good for cold and fever. Bless- 
 ings on us, I never heard of a female child being 
 called sweet nitre before ! But I am not s^oino; to 
 call you Nitre nor Janita either — I can't bear high- 
 flown names ; short and plain is the style that suits
 
 janita's cross. 43 
 
 me, something that you can get through quick- 
 ly. We will call you Jane, that is useful and 
 serviceable. Do you hear, brother? she is to be 
 called Jane." 
 
 "Just as you please, Zibie," said the Pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " Well now, Jane, child, get your letter written, 
 and then go to bed ; you're looking tired. There's 
 pen and ink and paper on the table by the window, 
 and I daresay you've got stamps in your purse. 
 And you had better write your letter at that table, 
 because then you won't want to put anything 
 out of its place. You know I like things kept 
 in their places. Not a very long letter, child, 
 just' to say you have got safe here, that's all." 
 
 Miss Hepzibah w^as so fond of telling people 
 everything they had to do. 
 
 Janita went to the place assigned, got out the 
 needful materials, and wrote one word — " Meadow- 
 thorpe," then the date, August 25th. 
 
 Meadowthorpe. It was the first time she had 
 seen the word written. It had a cold, dreary, un- 
 familiar look, meaningless, uninteresting. Years 
 afterwards, when the name had knitted itself up 
 with her life, she remembered writing it for the
 
 44 janita's cross. 
 
 first time, sitting at Aunt Hepzibah's little writing- 
 table in that dingy, old-fashioned room. 
 
 Yes, dingy and old-fashioned. For whilst 
 Miss Ruthven went up-stairs to see that the bed 
 in the long room had been properly aired, Janita, 
 with a few rapid glances, took in the general effect 
 of things around her. 
 
 The dining-room at the Aspens was painfully 
 neat. Everything was arranged in straight lines ; 
 the chairs set with their backs to the wall, the 
 books at right angles, the chimney ornaments in an 
 even row, as if put into their places with a 
 plumb-line. Even the carpet carried out the gene- 
 ral angularity, being of a checked pattern, red and 
 black squares on a drab ground, dreadfully ugly, 
 but everlasting for wear. And then the walls, 
 lines again, up and down stripes, wearying the eye 
 with their unchangeable monotony. And yet 
 Janita could not help looking at them, counting 
 the stripes from end to end of the room and back 
 again, past the stiff old family pictures and 
 high-backed chairs. She was still doing it, 
 when Miss Hepzibah returned from her survey 
 up-stairs. 
 
 " Now^, Jane, child, if the letter is done, you may
 
 janita's cross. 45 
 
 as well ^o. Blessings on us !" continued the Pro- 
 fessor's sister, as she looked over Janita's shoulder, 
 and found that the letter had got no further than 
 the one word, Meadowthorpe, even that stained, 
 too, with the fall of a great tear-drop. " This will 
 never do. Crying, too ! — dear me, dear me ! There, 
 child, we'll excuse you, it's all the journey ; now, 
 go and kiss your uncle, and wish him good night, 
 and then you must go to bed." 
 
 Without a word, Janita went up to her uncle, 
 and offered a kiss, which he put out his chin to re- 
 ceive. Janita thought it felt something like the 
 bristly side of a clothes-brush, but she did not say 
 so. Then she went to her aunt. 
 
 " No, I don't mind for being kissed, thank you. 
 It isn't much in my way. Kisses are tasteless 
 things to me, but I feel friendly towards you just 
 the same without them, just the same. Good 
 night. You'll find a candle lighted in your room, 
 and be quick now, there's a good child." 
 
 "Well, Jabez," said the worthy lady, half an hour 
 later. 
 
 "Well, sister r 
 
 " Shiftless. That's my opinion."
 
 46 janita's cross. 
 
 " But a fine phrenological developmentj Zibie." 
 
 " Development or no developmentj I shall have 
 my work set to make a woman of her." 
 
 " All, but look at the coronal brain, and the in- 
 tellectual organs, especially the reflectives." 
 
 ^^ Reflectives ! such nonsense ! I should think 
 she never made a pudding in her life ; her fingers 
 are just like bits of wire, always on the flutter. 
 And no conversational powers at all." 
 
 '^ But large conscientiousness. She would fill a 
 situation of trust well." 
 
 " Would she ? I know this much, I wouldn't 
 trust her to sweep a room properly. People who 
 dress in that natty sort of way never know any- 
 thing about house-work. Shiftless, brother Jabez, 
 shiftless and pretty-looking. That tells the whole 
 story." 
 
 And with that Miss Hepzibah extinguished the 
 lamp, as a hint that it was time for her brother to 
 go to bed.
 
 47 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 T was a long, narrow room — prim, 
 precise and proper — into whicli 
 Janita found her way after she 
 had wished her aunt and uncle 
 good night. Spotlessly neat, too, like everything 
 else at the Aspens. It seemed a shame to lay 
 a brush on that snowy toilet-cover, or to dis- 
 turb a single pin from the muslin-work cushion, 
 w^here they were marshalled in regular lines, like 
 an army in marching order. And as for sitting 
 down in that so-called easy-chair by the window, 
 and leaning your head back on its starched and 
 frilled cushion, such a liberty was clearly out of the 
 question. 
 
 If Janita Raeburn had been a sensible person, 
 she would, doubtless, as soon as she closed the 
 door, have knelt by her bedside, and, after expres-
 
 48 janita's cross. 
 
 sing her gratitude for a prosperous journey, would 
 have proceeded to thank Providence for directing 
 her path to such a compact, well-ordered family — 
 a family in which her training would be so judi- 
 ciously managed, where she would be so carefully 
 shielded from the temptations of social life, and 
 conducted, step by step, to the most enviable 
 summits of female excellence. I have no doubt 
 you would have done this, had you been in her 
 position, and, of course, you would have done the 
 right thing. But Janita Raeburn, if the truth 
 must be told, was, at this stage of her life, not at 
 all a sensible person. She was a wild, wilful, 
 somewhat carelessly brought up girl of nineteen ; 
 having spent her time, as Miss Hepzibah wisely 
 inferred, in scrambling up Highland watercourses, 
 and sitting on the banks of Inverallan Loch, read- 
 ing poetry books or fishing. A very child she 
 was in knowledge of the world and its ways, a 
 woman only in that generous affectionateness 
 which would need to be trained and pruned to a 
 terrible extent before life at the Aspens could be- 
 come a very pleasant thing to her. 
 
 And so, instead of kneeling down and saying 
 her prayers, she clasped her arms round the bed-
 
 janita's ckoss. 49 
 
 post, for want of anything more human to dasp 
 them round, and leaning her head against its 
 sharp carved work, began to cry as if her heart 
 would break. Foolish child that she was ! She 
 stood there, sobbing and trembling, until the 
 feeble light warned her that her bit of candle had 
 nearly burned down in its socket ; then, with- 
 out even unpacking her clothes and arranging 
 them, as a well brought up young person would 
 have done, in the great set of drawers which Miss 
 Hepzibah had emptied for her, she undressed and 
 crept into bed, the great tears still stealing out 
 from beneath her eyelids. 
 
 Oh dear ! How faint and distant now the 
 dear old Inverallan life appeared, though it was 
 but yesterday she had bidden it farewell ! But 
 even one day of sorrow parts us so far from our 
 simple joys and pleasures, making them seem like 
 the dim sweetness of a half -forgotten dream. 
 Lying there, with the quilt over her head to keep 
 out the dismal rustling sound of the aspen-trees, 
 Janita thought of her childish days, her merry 
 games in the attic of Inverallan Manse — that 
 great white-washed attic, with its four blue- 
 painted cribs, where she and the ^lanse children, 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 janita's cross. 
 
 Margot, Bell, and Agnes, slept. And how, when 
 old nurse Ilsie had left them, they used to tumble 
 out of bed and play at puss in the corner, until 
 the moon sank behind the mountains, or a chance 
 footstep on the stair sent them bustling away 
 to their cribs again, where they pretended to be 
 fast asleep. And then she thought of later days — 
 of Willie, the foster-brother, who used to write 
 her exercises for her, and help her with those dread- 
 ful rule-of "three sums. Kind Willie ! Was he re- 
 membering her now ? — or, perhaps, reading the 
 little book she had given him for a keepsake, just 
 before they said good-bye to each other ? Then 
 came thoughts of the dismal journey to Meadow- 
 thorpe, the stately tea in that dingy old dining- 
 room, and the Professor's clothes' -brush kiss, and 
 Miss Hepzibah's no kiss at all. After that every- 
 thing seemed to get into a tangle. The great tide 
 of sleep came slowly up, burying thought after 
 thought, grief after grief, until, at last, one great 
 wide sea of forgetfulness covered all, and the 
 tired little heart found rest for awhile. 
 
 When she awoke next morning, the sun shone 
 cheerily in through the white blinds. There was 
 a great chatter amongst the sparrows in the ivy.
 
 janita's cross. 51 
 
 many chirpings and friendly salutations between 
 the robins and blackbirds, who were swinging in 
 the aspen branches. Janita rubbed her eyes ; they 
 were rather stiff with crying so much the night 
 before, and then she took a leisurely survey of the 
 room. 
 
 Things look so different when the sun is shin- 
 ing upon them. Nothing could ever make that 
 prim, cell-like apartment like her ow^n little room 
 in Inverallan Manse ; still it was not so cheerless 
 as she had thought it the night before. The paper^ 
 which, by candlelight, had seemed of such a dull 
 dapple-grey colour, Janita found to be covered 
 with blue flowers on a white ground, as if some 
 one had taken baskets of convolvoluses, and thrown 
 them upon the wall, leaving them to twine about 
 there as they liked. Tht bed was hung with white 
 dimity, striped with little blue flowers like those 
 on the paper. There was a very stiff, old- 
 fashioned mantel-piece, at each end of which stood 
 a white china dog, with a blue ribbon round its 
 neck, and its nose pointing up to the ceiling. In 
 the centre w^as a group, also of w^hite china, repre- 
 senting a shepherd and shepherdess about to 
 kiss each other. Thov looked so very near doing 
 
 K 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of iLUNOb
 
 52 janita's cross. 
 
 it, and yet it never got done, that Janita felt as if 
 she should like to push their heads together, and 
 finish the process for them. But Miss Hepzibah 
 took this group away before next evening, and re- 
 placed it by a figure of an old man with wings 
 and an hour-glass. 
 
 There was a deep recess on each side of the 
 fireplace. In one of these recesses stood the 
 drawers ; over them a framed piece of embroidery, 
 setting forth the Prophet Elijah as an old man 
 in ribbed stockings and a red coat, taking what 
 appeared to be an uncooked beef-steak from a 
 dark-coloured bird, whilst a second was careering 
 forward with a penny loaf in its bill. To match 
 this, on the other side, was a sampler containing 
 the alphabet worked in six different patterns, the 
 corners filled in with trees, houses, gooseberry- 
 bushes, or anything that happened to be conve- 
 nient. It bore date a long time back — a very 
 long time back — when Miss Hepzibah was a little 
 girl in pinafores. Oh, these samplers ! How ill- 
 naturedly they reveal dates and ages ! No wonder 
 they are thrust into back bed-rooms by the very 
 fingers that were pricked so in bringing them to 
 perfection.
 
 janita's cross. 53 
 
 All these tliinors Jaiiita took note of as she lay 
 in bed, rubbing her eyes. After a while she got 
 up, drew the blind, and leaning her elbows on 
 the broad, low window seat, took a survey of ex- 
 ternal nature. 
 
 There was nothing very particular to be seen 
 from that side of the house. Janita's room looked 
 out upon the kitchen-garden, never a deeply in- 
 teresting object, with its rows of beans and cab- 
 bages, its clumps of parsley' and patches of thyme, 
 its square cucumber-frames, its long lines of rasp- 
 berry caiies and beds of overgrown rhubarb. But 
 there is a time of the day when even rhubarb 
 leaves have a beauty peculiar to themselves, when 
 the early morning sunlight, pouring over the red 
 brick garden-wall, creeps under and about their 
 great broad fronds, pencilling them out upon each 
 other in alternate light and shadow, and turning 
 into many-coloured diamonds the tiny dew-drops 
 which slide along from bud to bud of the tall 
 yellow seed-stem. For colour, if that was wanted 
 in the kitchen-garden, there were half a dozen 
 pickling cabbages, with shining, purple-red faces, 
 and one or two orange nasturtiums, which had 
 crept through the hedge to have a cluit with
 
 54 janita's cross. 
 
 their humbler but more useful vegetable relatives. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah was in the garden. She looked 
 something like a pickling cabbage herself, for her 
 face was very red, she having been making dam- 
 son jelly ever since seven o'clock, and it was now 
 half-past eight. She was standing amongst the 
 French beans, with her dress pinned up, and a 
 gingham hood, which was not at all becoming, 
 tied over her black lace cap. But happening to 
 look up she spied Janita at the long-room window, 
 and raising her hands with a gesture of virtuous 
 indignation, she set off down the walk as fast as a 
 pair of wooden pattens would carry her. 
 
 Then Janita was brought to a recollection of 
 the immature nature of her toilet, and she began 
 in good earnest to dress. Luckily, a morning- 
 frock lay at the very top of her box, with the 
 tucker and sash belonging to it wrapped up to- 
 gether. And, by making a pass-over of her usual 
 reading, and tucking up her thick dark hair pro- 
 miscuously into a silken snood, instead of braiding 
 it, as she used to do at the Manse, she managed to 
 be standing on the ugly black and brown checkered 
 carpet just as the nine o'clock bell rang for break- 
 fast.
 
 55 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ^^^TRAWBERRIES preserved whole. 
 I suppose that means strawberries 
 preserved without breaking. Bless- 
 ^^^ ings on us! how can strawberries 
 be preserved without breaking ? But I was never 
 beaten yet with anything in the preserving line, 
 and I never mean to be. I'll step across, as soon 
 as the jelly is done, to the Bishop's housekeeper — 
 if anyone knows about preserving strawberries, she 
 does." 
 
 These were the first words that fell on Janita's 
 ear as she crossed the threshold of the dining-room 
 in her pretty pink frock and cambric tucker, 
 fastened by the tartan brooch, which Willie Home 
 had made her promise to wear always. And Ja- 
 nita had promised, having as yet but a very 
 vague idea of what "always" meant, or what 
 Willie intended it to mean.
 
 56 janita's cross. 
 
 The words were spoken by Miss Hepzibah, who, 
 spectacles on nose, was meditating upon the label of 
 a little pot of jam which the Professor had brought 
 with him out of Scotland. 
 
 " Oh ! that's you, Jane, child, is it ? " she con- 
 tinued, as she caught sight of the young girl's 
 dress, made very conspicuous by the sunlight 
 which shone full upon it, much too conspicuous 
 for Miss Hepzibah, who thought nothing so suit- 
 able for young people's morning wear as dust- 
 coloured gingham. " There was something I wanted 
 to say to you, Jane, and I'm sure your uncle 
 Jabez will excuse my saying it in his presence. I 
 hope you will not make a practice of standing at 
 your windoAV with the blind up, before you are 
 properly dressed. I assure you it gave me quite 
 a turn to see you this morning. I always say pro- 
 priety is the first thing to be considered in the 
 training of young people. When I was a girl it 
 was not considered suitable for females to stand at 
 their windows at all, but things have changed very 
 much since then. And now prayers. That is to 
 be your chair by the writing-table in the window." 
 
 Janita went to the chair by the writing-table in 
 the window.
 
 janita's cross. 57 
 
 " No, Jane, child, not that one. The right-hand 
 side, I mean, and then I can see you as I read. I 
 like to command a view of the family when I am 
 reading." 
 
 Janita went to the other side as directed, wish- 
 ing very much she might either laugh or cry, or 
 do anything by way of vent to the nervous fidgeti- 
 ness which her aunt's perpetual cautions produced. 
 But just then to sit still was her duty, so she 
 sat still. 
 
 The two maid-servants came; one ugly, freckled, 
 and sandy, the other a pretty-looking girl of 
 twenty, with rosy cheeks, and wavy black hair ; 
 quite a picture to look at, if only Janita dare have 
 looked at her instead of Miss Hepzibah, who was 
 sitting now at the head of the breakfast-table, 
 with the Bible and prayer-book spread open before 
 her. 
 
 Miss Ruthven went through the devotional ex- 
 ercises with great rapidity, the Professor sitting 
 meekly in his arm-chair. He once used to conduct 
 family worship himself, but in a manner entirely 
 too slow for his active-minded sister. Accord- 
 ingly, she deposed him from his office, and took 
 the chaplaincy into her own hands. So efficiently
 
 58 
 
 did she get on with it, that, after the reading of the 
 appointed portion, she was down on her knees, 
 through the General Thanksgiving, and just upon 
 the verge of the Benediction, before the tardy old 
 Professor had turned round, shaken out his hand- 
 kerchief upon the floor bj way of a cushion, and 
 composed his rheumatic limbs into a fitting pos- 
 ture of devotion. 
 
 Breakfast was despatched almost as rapidly as 
 the prayers. They were never very long over their 
 meals at the Aspens, unless they had company. 
 At such times Miss Hepzibah felt herself called 
 upon to enter into conversation, and then there 
 was no telling at Avhat remote hour thanks would 
 be returned. 
 
 " You have got your clothes all taken out and 
 arranged, Jane, child, I hope," was almost the only 
 remark she addressed to Janita during breakfast. 
 
 Janita was forced to confess with a blush that 
 the needful process was yet unperformed. Miss 
 Hepzibah gave a triumphant glance towards her 
 brother, which said as plainly as words could speak, 
 " Shiftless— I told you so." 
 
 " Not got your clothes unpacked ! Blessings on 
 us ! Why, when I was a girl, the very first thing
 
 janita's ceoss. 59 
 
 I was taught to do when I came off a journey, was 
 to sort out my things, and put them all in their 
 places, so that I could lay hands upon them in the 
 dark. But it's in the family, that's where it is. I 
 do believe I am the only Ruthven woman who has 
 a proper idea of what belongs to the female cha- 
 racter. I remember what trouble I had with your 
 mother, poor thing, to get her into habits of order. 
 You'll go up-stairs first thing after breakfast, Jane, 
 child, and put everything straight." 
 
 And like a very good child, which she could be 
 when she tried, Janita did so. 
 
 The Professor's sister was in the habit of saying 
 that she had three gifts — one for cooking, one for 
 domestic management, and one for conversation. 
 The second and third other people thought were 
 dubious, the first was real, not a doubt about that. 
 This morning, the first gift was in the ascendant. 
 There was damson jelly to be made ; so as soon as 
 Miss Hepzibah had seen her niece fairly embarked 
 on the necessary arrangement of her wardrobe, she 
 betook herself to the culinary department, and was 
 seen no more for the present. 
 
 Janita got her things sorted over, her dresses 
 hung up, handkerchiefs, collars, and other small
 
 60 JANITA S CROSS. 
 
 effects, ranged in the separate drawers wliicli Miss 
 Hepzibah had designated for their reception. 
 There was nothing more to do. There were no 
 nice books to read, no young people to talk to. 
 There came over her that almost jmbearable feel- 
 ing of weariness and listless indecision which is in- 
 separable from any sudden change in life. She 
 put on her hat, and wandered out into the garden, 
 just to wdle away the time. As she crossed the 
 hall. Miss Hepzibah, with a check apron over her 
 gown, and as many jars as she could carry under 
 each arm, was bearing towards the still-room. 
 
 " Jane, child, where are you going ?" 
 
 Already there was something in Aunt Hepzibah's 
 rasping and untuneful voice, which made Janita 
 quiver every time she heard it. 
 
 " Nowhere in particular, aunt — perhaps into the 
 garden." 
 
 " Oh, into the garden ; very well. But be sure 
 you don't tread on the box — it makes such work ; 
 and don't go on the grass, for there was a deal of 
 rain last night, and I always think footmarks show 
 on the grass after rain. And be careful not to 
 knock the gravel up with yovir shoes." 
 
 " Yes, aunt." Janita got a few steps into the
 
 61 
 
 garden, when a second volley of cautions was fired 
 after her. 
 
 "Jane, child— Jane!" 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 "I forgot to tell you, don't pluck any of the 
 flowers. You may smell them if you like, but 
 don't pluck them. I am particular about collecting 
 the seeds. And if you see a weed on the walks, 
 you may pull it up. I always think it well for 
 young people to have a useful purpose even in 
 their recreation. There, I don't think I have any- 
 thing more to say. I tokl you, didn't I, about not 
 going on the grass, and keeping away from the 
 box-edging?" And away went the check apron, 
 with Miss Hepzibah behind it, into the still-room. 
 
 Janita stamped her feet impatiently. She always 
 did so when she was in a bad temper. But it 
 knocked up the gravel, so she must give over. 
 What else was there that she was not to do ? Not 
 to pluck the flowers, not to go on the grass, not to 
 touch the little prim box-edgings, not to, &c., &c., 
 &c. 
 
 Oh ! to be back again in Scotland ! Oh ! for a 
 run over those breezy Inverallan moorlands, wdth 
 Black Bess, the great Newfoundland dog, at full
 
 62 J^VNITA^S CROSS. 
 
 chase behind her, or for a hand-in-hand ramble 
 with Bell and Agnes through the Linlathan woods, 
 or for a row across the loch, with Willie for steers- 
 man ! Anything but this interminable cannonade 
 of cautions, and admonitions, and wholesome sug- 
 gestions ! 
 
 Janita got into the garden at last. Not much 
 of a garden, though, after all. Yery different from 
 that at the manse, with its great straggling, un- 
 pruned flower-beds, its copses of fern and bracken, 
 its winding walk, reclaimed from the wood that 
 stretched all along the minister's glebe; its sheltered 
 paths leading to home-made seats under trees 
 where not a sound could be heard but the wimp- 
 lino; of the burn, or the cooiniT of cushat doves. 
 The garden at the Aspens was neat and precise, 
 like everything over which Miss Hepzibah had 
 any control. It was enclosed by a high wall, 
 covered, not with clematis, or ivy, or Virginian 
 creeper, or any such useless finery, but with good, 
 common-sense, fruit-bearing trees — currants, plums, 
 apricots, nectarines, whose branches were tortured 
 into straight lines, according to the latest dis- 
 coveries of arboricultural science. There was a 
 clump of trees at the bottom of the garden — one of
 
 JxInita's ceoss. 63 
 
 them a gnarled old apple tree, whose stem Janita 
 found would answer charmingly for a seat, if only 
 Aunt Hepzibah had no objection. And in the 
 middle of the garden w^as another clump, chiefly 
 of as]3ens, whose leaves seemed to have discovered 
 the secret of perpetual motion. Besides these ob- 
 jects of interest, there Avere beds of all shapes that 
 could be made out of straight lines, filled with 
 plants, which bore their botanical names painted on 
 little sticks, and had sheets of white paper spread 
 out under them to catch the seeds if they fell. 
 That was about all. 
 
 Janita soon got tired of this. There was a 
 wooden gate in the wall ; she opened it, and found 
 herself close upon the lane which led past Miss 
 Alwyne's cottage. It was a narrow winding road, 
 overhung by elm- trees, through whose thick 
 branches the sunlight only came in fitful waver- 
 ing streaks. On each side w^^re mossy banks, 
 like those in the Inverallan lanes ; so like them, 
 that Janita felt as if she must go and look ; and 
 once beneath them, she strayed on and on, forget- 
 ting time and distance, as almost anyone would in 
 tliat dear old Meadowthorpe road. For little hare- 
 bells shook their heads amongst the moss, and fox-
 
 64 jaxita's cross. 
 
 gloves held out their purple sceptres over the 
 tangled growth of ivy and bindweed, and ferns 
 almost as delicate as those which grew upon the 
 crags of Linlathan water-course, peeped from the 
 crevices of the old stone w^all at the top of the 
 bank ; and now and then, through a rift in that old 
 stone wall; she got a look out over the country side, 
 past green fields, where idle sheep and patient bul- 
 locks were grazing, past Meadowthorpe marshes, 
 and the Dykeland stray to the old Hall itself, 
 whose red gables rose behind clumps of tall ever- 
 greens, a couple of miles away. 
 
 True, the landscape was not like that which 
 girded her Inverallan home. Instead of purple 
 mountains swelling round the horizon, there was 
 here and there a windmill lazily twisting its long 
 arms, or rows of pollard-willows, whose shining 
 leaves quivered in the sunshine. And for the 
 burn, the bonnie little Inverallan burn, that rattled 
 on with such merry musical glee over its rocks and 
 pebbles, there was nothing but a slow, sleepy, half- 
 stagnant dyke, oozing through beds of river weed 
 and miniature swamps of flags. And yet there 
 was a certain beauty even in Meadowthorpe Dyke. 
 For amongst the flag-leaves grew great irises, upon
 
 janita's cross. 65 
 
 whose golden flowers the dragon-flies rested ; and 
 all along the sedgy banks were beds of forget-me- 
 nots, such forget-me-nots as never could be found 
 out of Dykeland. Janita wanted sadly to pluck a 
 few of them. It would be so nice to send a bunch 
 in a letter to Maggie Home. But dinner-time 
 must surely be drawing on now, and if she w^as too 
 late for that — Oh dear ! 
 
 So she turned, unwillingly enough, and saw, 
 about a hiuidred yards before her, a lady com- 
 ing slowly down the lane; a middle-aged lady 
 she seemed, rather tall, very graceful, plainly 
 dressed. 
 
 Janita had great perception of character. What 
 most people arrive at by careful study of words 
 and looks and ways, she found out by a sort of 
 instinct, which she could neither explain nor com- 
 prehend. Half unconsciously she began to form 
 her own opinion about this stranger, this lady who 
 was coming so leisurely along. Janita thought 
 her face almost the sweetest she had ever seen. 
 Quiet it was, and full of thoughts — ^pleasant 
 thoughts they must have been, from the smile they 
 had printed there ; holy thoughts, too, for some- 
 how that face made Janita think about saying her 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 janita's cross. 
 
 prayers, and reminded her tliat they had been for- 
 gotten in the morning. 
 
 They had nearly met, when the lady paused to 
 gather a great spike of fox-glf ve which grew high 
 up on the bank. Too high, for after several vain 
 attempts to reach it, she walked on, putting her 
 hand to her side as if in pain. Janita ran forward, 
 with a single bound reached and captured the 
 flower, and placed it in the lady's hands. Then, 
 without waiting for word or thanks, she darted 
 away, glad only to have got a momentary look into 
 those clear, quiet eyes. 
 
 And yet she felt, nay, somehow she was quite 
 sure, that she should see the lady again ; that, in 
 some sort of way, they belonged to each other.
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ^X^-^^^yJ.ANE, child ! Jane, Jane ! clear me, 
 ,VTjf3ltT.% I^IL^^ where have you been !" cried Miss 
 Hepzibah, at the very top of her 
 voice, as Janita entered the little 
 wooden gate which led into the Aspens. ^' This 
 will never do ; it w^on't indeed! Why, when I was 
 a girl, I never thought of such a thing as going 
 beyond the garden without asking permission, and 
 here you have been raking down Meadowthorpe 
 lane without a female companion, or anything of 
 the sort, and no gloves, and I have been searching 
 all over the house, wanting to take you about 
 through the store-room, and show you where I keep 
 the jellies ; and nearly two o'clock, too, and you in 
 your morning frock. I daresay you never thought 
 of asking Abigail what time dinner is put upon the 
 table. Dear me, dear me, it will never do ! Why, 
 
 when I was a girl " 
 
 F 2
 
 68 janita's cross. 
 
 But here Miss Hepzibah's breath failed, and 
 whilst she was gathering a fresh store wherewith 
 to inform her niece how things used to be done 
 when she was a girl, Janita took the opportunity 
 of darting up-stairs into her own room to dress for 
 dinner, hoping to propitiate her aunt by extra at- 
 tention to neatness for the rest of the day. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah, however, was not to be propi- 
 tiated so easily. Conduct of that description in a 
 ■young person of nineteen was serious, very serious. 
 It was doubtful whether, out of such material, a 
 woman could ever be made. She preserved a dig- 
 nified silence during dinner. As soon as they had 
 retired into the drawing-room, leaving the Professor 
 to his afternoon nap, she gave Janita a linen wrist- 
 band to stitch, and sat down to the finishing of her 
 brother's tie with an awfully severe expression of 
 countenance. 
 
 Janita felt that somehow she had been very 
 naughty. Coming down-stairs in the morning 
 without saying her prayers was a bad beginning ; 
 she must not do it again. She looked up at her aunt 
 shyly now and then. She wanted to go and kiss 
 her, or to put her arms round that spare brown 
 neck, and say, " Aunt, I'm sorry, I won't do it any
 
 69 
 
 more." That was just what she would have done 
 at Inverallan Manse if Mrs. Home had got vexed 
 about anything. But Miss Hepzibah looked so 
 ver}^ stern, and she held herself so very upright ; 
 and when Janita's timid eyes met hers, such a cold, 
 silence-compellins; glance cut through those gold- 
 rimmed spectacles ; and she had said, too, she did 
 not like to be kissed. No, it was no use trying to 
 set things right again in the pleasant Inverallan 
 fashion. She must be a very good girl for the 
 future — that was all she could do now. 
 
 It was such a relief when the bell rang, and a 
 visitor was announced ; and then another, and then 
 another. For, though the conversation was any- 
 thing but interesting, and though many times 
 Janita had to make use of the wrist-band to hide a 
 yawn, still, even the merest dropping of common- 
 place gossip was better than that awful silence, 
 that terrible feeling of restraint and unconfessed 
 naughtiness, which chilled her in the sole presence 
 of Miss Hepzibah. 
 
 From some cause, it miglit be the sunny after- 
 noon, such a pleasant change from the drizzle of 
 previous days, or the unexpected sound of carriage- 
 wheels at the Aspens last night, which could
 
 70 janita's ceoss. 
 
 betoken nothing less than company arriving, Miss 
 Ruthven held quite a levee, as she sat in her 
 straight-backed chair, covering the Professor's tie. 
 Mrs. Macturk, the rich w-idow, came first — a stout, 
 middle-aged lady in green moire antique, and a 
 Leghorn bonnet with a bird\of paradise outside. 
 She had very sharp black eyes, and a hook nose, 
 reminding Janita of the parrot that hung up in the 
 Manse parlour. When she had gone. Miss Matilda 
 Vere Aubrey came, one of the aristocratic maiden 
 ladies, who, . unlike Mrs. Macturk, had so much 
 Norman blood, and so little English money. And 
 before Miss Matilda Vere Aubrey had finished 
 talking about the weather, Mrs. Narrowby and her 
 daughter were announced. Selina Narrowby was 
 a quiet, fair-complexioned, well-disposed young 
 person, of thirty-three or four — a model, as Miss 
 Hepzibah afterwards informed her niece, of wo- 
 manly excellence. Mrs. Narrowby had a great 
 flow of conversation about parish matters, clothing 
 clubs, and working parties, cases of distress amongst 
 the poor people, whom she mentioned as if they 
 belonged to quite a different creation from herself; 
 not fellow-creatures at all, but only conveniences 
 for the exercise of the charitable virtues.
 
 JAN IT a' S CROSS. 71 
 
 She was very condescending to Miss Raeburn ; 
 hoped, if she was going to make some stay in the 
 parish, she wonld take a tract district, and join in 
 the working party. To which Miss Hepzibah 
 at once replied in behalf of her niece, that she 
 wished Jane to embrace every opportunity of 
 making herself useful, employment was such a very 
 excellent thing for young people, it kept them from 
 idling their time away — a severe glance from the 
 gold-rimmed spectacles to poor Janita — or fixing 
 their thoughts on foolish objects. And then there 
 was a second glance, not at Janita's face, but at 
 the tartan brooch which fastened her collar. 
 
 Janita did not know why that look should make 
 her feel so uncomfortable. She was quite sure 
 she did not care for Willie Home, except as a 
 brother ; she would not have worn the brooch at 
 all, only he had made her promise, and she thought 
 people ought always to do things they had promised. 
 And she did not think about Willie so much, only 
 of course when she said her prayers, his name came 
 in along with the rest. That was all, she was 
 sure that was all. 
 
 Mrs. Narrowby was the last caller. Then came 
 tea. Then it grew dark, so that Janita could not
 
 72 janita's cross. 
 
 see any longer to stitch the wristband ; and for 
 want of something better to do, she played a reel 
 with her fingers on the window seat. 
 
 " Jane, child," said Miss Hepzibah, " that fidgets 
 me. Can you knit ?" ^ 
 
 " Yes, aunt." 
 
 " More than I thought. You will find a stock- 
 ing of your uncle's, then, in the left hand drawer 
 of the sideboard, half finislied. There is quite 
 light enough for you to go on with it. There is 
 nothing like employment for young people." 
 
 Certainly employment is very good, but so is 
 castle-building sometimes, by way of change. 
 However, Janita took the stocking and knitted 
 away at it all the rest of the evening ; and she did 
 it so well, dropping no stitches, narrowing at such 
 regular intervals, leaving no needle rows, looking 
 moreover, so very steady and subdued, that she 
 quite knitted herself back again into Aunt Hepzibah's 
 good graces ; and though that worthy lady did not 
 kiss her when bed-time came, yet she said, " Good 
 night, Jane, child," in a softened tone, which made 
 Janita feel quite like a good girl again, and moved 
 her to unite Miss Kuthven's name along with
 
 janita's ceoss. 73 
 
 Willie Home, and the rest of the manse people, in 
 her simple prayers. 
 
 So ended the first day at the Aspens. But 
 while Janita strayed down Meadowlhorpe lane, 
 and Miss Hepzibah scolded, and the Professor sat 
 up in his study, half choked with theories and pro- 
 positions, another sort of life, quite another sort, 
 was going on at the lower end of the village, 
 and with that life w^e must also concern ourselves.
 
 74 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 I^^^^^HE whole of the village of Meadow-. 
 ^'w^n^TTf^li thorpe, together with the rich and 
 ^^^§^m& productive farm lands stretching 
 &§S^^^_^^^& aw^ay southward for two or three 
 miles, belonged to the Duke of Dykeland, and 
 though but a mere tithe of his vast possessions, 
 yielded him a greater revenue than is enjoyed by 
 many a German prince. " The Duke," as every- 
 one, from Mr. Narrowby, the architect, down to 
 the village chimney-sweep, called him, w^as the 
 autocrat of the place. No Russian czar ever 
 exercised more absolute sway over the ways and 
 doings of his subjects than did the Duke of Dyke- 
 land, or his prime minister, the steward, over the 
 temporal destinies of the Meadowthorpe people* 
 Not a hovel could be built in the place without 
 his permission, not a window^ put out, or a door
 
 janita's cross. 75 
 
 fastened up. The clergyman, lawyer, doctor, 
 architect, were all of his selection, and, except the 
 clergyman, could be dismissed at his pleasure. 
 And if now and then some spirit more daring than 
 the rest, some incipient Cromwell or Hampden, 
 chafing under the habitual restraint, boldly asserted 
 his right to paint his own front door what colour he 
 pleased, to have his parlour window made with a 
 round top, or a square one, just as fancy led, or to 
 surmount his chimney wdth a pot varying in design 
 from that of his next door neighbour, why, the 
 remedy was simple enough. The stew^ard could 
 send him a discharge, he could leave the place, 
 and there was an end of it. 
 
 This state of affairs, though somewhat galling 
 to people of an independent turn of mind, was, 
 taking it altogether, wholesome. The village 
 prospered under it. A farm in Dykeland was 
 worth twice as much as one in any other part of 
 the country. Lately, too, the prevalent rage for 
 improvement had extended to Meadowthorpe. A 
 few very, very old men and women could tell of 
 the time when there was scarcely a tenement in 
 the place more than one story high ; when an open 
 drain ran down the middle of the street ; when
 
 76 janita's cross. 
 
 pigsties were built in front of the cottages, close 
 upon tlie kitchen doors ; when all the water re- 
 quired for drinking, cooking, and washing, had to 
 be laded up in buckets from the half-stagnant, 
 duckweed covered dyke which intersected the vil- 
 lage. Now, all that sort of thing was quite done 
 away. It was the boast of Meadowthorpe that 
 not another place in England had a completer 
 system of watching, lighting, and paving, or — ex- 
 cepting of course those allies and nests of cottages 
 which were just going to be pulled down, and a 
 few old outlying farm-steads that were not worth 
 looking after — a more vigorous treatment of drain- 
 age and ventilation. 
 
 There was but one spot of ground in all the 
 place over which his grace of Dykeland did not 
 assert lordship, and this was a waste scrap known 
 by the name of the mill slip, lying up at the north 
 end of the village. There, of course, Meadow- 
 thorpe asserted its freedom, and practised its 
 wickedness in a quiet sort of way. There the 
 fairs were held. There travelling shows of tall 
 women, and five legged sheep, and obese pigs, and 
 other natural curiosities, pitched their tents, to the 
 great delight of the shoeless village children.
 
 J Anita's cross. 77 
 
 There itinerant photographers took portraits in the 
 highest style of art for sixpence each^ one shilHng 
 coloured. There tumblers performed their antics, 
 and thimble-riggers from St. Olave's races cheated 
 unsuspicious labourers out of spare halfpence; 
 and various other immoral practices were carried 
 on, to the great horror of Gentility Square, who 
 voted the mill slip a perfect nuisance, and wished 
 that an act of Parliament could be got to incorpo- 
 rate it with the rest of the Duke's property. 
 
 But this was not all. If the mill slip harboured 
 a great amount of badness, it was the means of 
 bringing into the village an occasional breeze of 
 fresh air and wholesome doctrine. For the St. 
 Olave's temperance missionary lectured there on 
 a Saturday evening, to the infinite disgust of 
 Giles Harper, host of the " Checkers," whose snug 
 drinking parlom' he had emptied of some of its 
 most valuable supporters. And once a week, on a 
 Sunday afternoon, the primitive methodist minis- 
 ter from the little meeting-house in Norland's 
 Lane, preached rousing, earnest sermons, though 
 not, perhaps, of the most polished description, to 
 those who had the grace to listen. So that on the 
 whole it was an open question whether the incorpo-
 
 78 janita's cross. 
 
 ration of the mill slip would have been a benefit to 
 the village or not. 
 
 Meadowthorpe was very exclusive. It made its 
 own gas, and felled its own timber ; its bricks and 
 tiles were home-made and home-baked ; its water 
 was home-brewed, or rather home -filtered; it did 
 its own carpentering work, and ^ept itself going 
 in a general way without external aid. These 
 operations were carried on in the Duke's yard, a 
 square enclosure, some ten or twelve acres in ex- 
 tent, at the north end of the village, close by the 
 mill slip. So close, indeed, that ^ii\ Andrews, 
 the clerk of the works, could listen to the primitive 
 methodist preacher from St. Olave's, as he sat in 
 his parlour smoking his pipe on a Sunday after- 
 noon. 
 
 From seventy to a hundred men were employed 
 in these works. With few exceptions, they were 
 a fine hardy set of fellows, with that thoughtful, 
 resolute expression of face, which distinguishes 
 mechanics and engineers from tillers of the soil. 
 Indeed, the " Duke's men" held themselves jn'oudly 
 apart from the common herd of day-labourers, 
 who, with ragged blouses, and great hobnailed 
 boots, came tramping into Meadowthorpe from
 
 janita's cross. 79 
 
 their work in the neighbouring farmsteads. The 
 " Duke's men " were the professionals of the work- 
 ing class, the Close families, in fact, of the lower 
 social stratum. 
 
 It was a bright September day, about a week 
 after Janita's arrival at Meadowthorpe. The 
 prayer against a plague of rain and waters had not 
 been offered in vain. For the showers were past 
 and gone ; the red sunsets of early Autumn had 
 already begun to glow upon the western sky after 
 days of unclouded sunshine which brought joy to 
 many a desponding farmer's heart. Harvest was 
 nearly over now. Only a few stooks remained 
 here and there in the fields, and these were being 
 slowly gathered up into the heavily laden wains. 
 The elm trees in Meadowthorpe lane had begun 
 to shed their yellow leaves ; through the thinning 
 branches of the cottage orchards many a ripe 
 apple showed its rosy cheek to the sun, and the 
 gardens were one bright, many-coloured mass of 
 bloom, above which the big yellow sunflowers 
 lifted up their jubilant faces, as if in thanksgiving 
 for the fine weather which had come at last. 
 
 None so pretty as Mrs. Cloudie's. Mrs. Cloudie 
 was the old woman who acted as carrier between
 
 80 janita's ckoss. 
 
 St. Olave's and Meadowthorpe three times a week. 
 She lived at the corner of the Duke's yard, in a 
 little cottage whose whitewashed walls gleamed 
 through a perfect veil of honeysuckle and Virginian 
 creeper. A lovely spot, "so very romantic/' as 
 the St. Olave's school girls said, who came to 
 sketch its queer old chimnies and funny little 
 lattice windows, and thatched gables. But " pre- 
 cious unhandy to live in," as Mrs Cloudie herself 
 said ; " for there's scarcely a room in which a 
 grown-up person can stand upright, and never 
 a place to dry a bit of clothes in when you've 
 washed 'em ; and as for the black clocks " — But 
 Mrs. Cloudie did wax eloquent whenever the 
 black clocks were mentioned, for they traversed 
 her kitchen floor, and ran up and down over the 
 walls, and rolled themselves about in her oatmeal 
 jar, and nibbled up her tobacco, and if the new 
 steward didn't look sharp and come there was no 
 telling but what she might get nibbled up too, 
 some night as she lay asleep in her bed, and then 
 what would become of the carrier business, she 
 should like to know, and she going regular back- 
 wards and forwards three times a week nigh upon 
 thirty year, and knowing exact what everybody
 
 janita's cross. 81 
 
 wanted, and always true to the minute ; they'd get 
 a man carrier, to be sure they would, and then see 
 what a pass things would come to, what with his 
 going to the public-house and getting odd drops 
 on the way, until he forgot about his errands, and 
 where the things wanted leaving, and goodness 
 knows what. 
 
 But to-day Mrs. Cloudie was not turning over 
 any such dismal contingencies, consequent upon the 
 ravages of the black clocks. She had just finished 
 her early dinner, and was leaning over the low fence 
 which separated her garden from the Duke's yard, 
 listening to an animated conversation between two 
 of the workmen. The precise nature of the con- 
 versation has never been ascertained. Most likely 
 it related to the variable, and, as some people think 
 them, unjustifiable grades of social life ; for Destiny 
 Smith, the chief speaker, parish clerk and Duke's 
 man, was somewhat of a free-thinker in his priAate 
 opinions, and inclined strongly to the second pro- 
 position of the French creed. 
 
 Mrs. Cloudie listened for some time with grow- 
 ing impatience. She was a quiet-hearted woman, 
 who did not trouble herself with opinions of any 
 sort. That things were so, she considered a sufti- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 janita's cross. 
 
 cient reason that tliey ought to be so. At last she 
 could bear it no longer, and broke out into open 
 wrath. 
 
 " Mr. Smith," she said, '' it's a disgrace to the 
 parish to hear ye talk like that, and you brought 
 up so partic'lar as you was by your mother, bless 
 her ; and always taught to do what's right, and she 
 so thankful for the smallest favour ; there wasn't a 
 gratefuller woman i' the lordship. But that's 
 always the way wi' you men, more you get and 
 more you want." 
 
 "I don't want no more than I work for, and 
 every man has a right to that, accordin' to mi/ line 
 o' thinkin'. And I'll say it again, same as I said 
 afore. The ways o' Providence is unekal." 
 
 " They ain!t, Mister Smith, and you ought to be 
 •ashamed to say it, with a wife like yours, as wears 
 herself to skin and bone tryin' to make you com- 
 fortable, and settin' you down to your bite and sup 
 as reglar as clock-work; and makin' you broth 
 twice a-week, as there isn't such broth in all the 
 lordship o' Dykeland. It would just serve you 
 right if someone was to give Mr. Mabury a piece 
 of his mind about you. I reckon you wouldn't be 
 Jet to stop parisli clerk much longer at that rate."
 
 janita's cross. 83 
 
 Destiny smiled with an air of easy superiority. 
 He could afford to let Mrs. Cloudie talk ; it amused 
 her, and it did him no harm. Whilst he could 
 roll out the responses so grandly with that noble 
 bass voice of his, and lead the singing so that Mea- 
 dowthorpe church choir was the enry^ of all the 
 surrounding villages, he was not afraid of being 
 turned out of his place. Supposing he were to lose 
 his voice, or have an attack of asthma, — why then 
 he would need to be careful and smooth down the 
 outside of his opinions. But Destiny threw out his 
 broad chest, and cleared his throat; he wasn't 
 going to have asthma, not he. And he was safe 
 enough. 
 
 " The broth's all right," he said, " I wish every- 
 body had as good. But I warn't going to par- 
 tiklerise myself. Now look here. Yonder's the 
 Primitives say it's folks duty to be good, and to 
 live to the glory of God, and all that sort o' thing, 
 and I've nothing to say again' it ; folks had ought 
 to do their best to live decent and keep theirselves 
 off the parish. But it seems to me, if God Almighty 
 intends people to live to his glory, it's a wonder he 
 doesn't make 'em so as it isn't such a strife and a 
 worry to do it. Now it isn't a hard thing for you, 
 
 G 2
 
 84 janita's cross. 
 
 Mrs. Cloudie, to keep yourself clean and decent, 
 and do your religion proper, livin' alone in a nice 
 tidy house, wi' things all spry an' — " 
 
 " Nay, the black clocks !" suggested ^irs. Cloudie, 
 " they're fit to eat a body alive !" 
 
 " I don't care for the black clocks, they needn't 
 keep you from bein' religious, if you've a mind to. 
 And when you get agate with your temptations, 
 and your exercises as you call 'em, you can just 
 reach your bible or go down on your knees, and 
 get yourself straightened again. But look at yon 
 poor Irish folks down at St. Olave's, stewed to- 
 gether like eels in a pot, dirt here and dirt there 
 and dirt every^vhere about 'em, and dried up wi' 
 reek and smoke, and never a sup o' fresh air or a 
 bit o' sunshine, and never a minute as they can sit 
 down and be quiet ; and they're to live to the glory 
 of God, are they, and be burnin' and shinin' lights, 
 same as folks that he's filled top-full o' blessins ? 
 Now there's where I call the ways o' Providence 
 unekal, and you can't beat me out of it, Mrs. 
 Cloudie !" 
 
 Mrs. Cloudie could not, and therefore she wisely 
 held her tongue. 
 
 Destiny's companion, who had been sawing away
 
 janita's cross. 85 
 
 at a, huge block of timber, lifted his head now, and 
 shaking back a quantity of shaggy grey hair, re- 
 vealed the sunburnt features of Larry Stead, a 
 Methodist carpenter from St. Olave's. Trade was 
 slack in the city at present, and Larry had come 
 out to Meadowthorpe to seek work in the Duke's 
 yard, until times should brighten a little. His face 
 had the sharp pinched look of a man who has to 
 live on sixpence a-day and earn it. Still there was 
 a genial brightness about him, the result of that 
 steadfast deep-seated joy, which made Larry one 
 of the favourite speakers at the St. Olave's weekly 
 band meeting. 
 
 ^' Now it's just here," he said ; " G od's work for 
 us isn't to meddle with ought o' that sort. There's 
 a big heap of sin and misery in the world, as nobody 
 knows why it was sent there, and nobody ever 
 will. It isn't our business. We've got our own 
 frontage to mind, and nobody else's. Now God 
 Almighty's set me a work i' this here world. I've 
 got to love my wife an' childer, an' saw wood as 
 jimp and as clean as it can be sawed, and I 
 does 'em both ; nobody has it to say again me as 
 I doesn't do 'em both. And that's what God axes 
 of me to do. And when I've done it, there ain't
 
 86 J Anita's cross. 
 
 much time left to bother wi' things as He hasn't 
 axed me to do." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Larry," said Mr. Smith, tiu^ning round 
 for his jacket, for it was nearly twelve o'clock, 
 "you ranters think you've got such a sight o' 
 wisdom, there's nobody caa. come near you. But 
 I don't believe in nowt but the church, and I don't 
 believe in that much either. I got a great shake 
 a bit since when Mr. Mabury was on about 
 pray in'." 
 
 " Yes, I mind that sermon," said Mrs. Cloudie. 
 " Ax and have, that was his text, wasn't it f 
 
 " Something like it," said Destiny, with a 
 patronising smile. It was scarcely worth while 
 correcting the old lady's little mistake, though his 
 superior biblical knowledge as parish clerk would 
 have enabled him to do it. " He told us what a 
 couple o' folks agreed to ax for, it should be given 
 'em. And thinks I to myself, when I heerd him, 
 it's easy tryin' that anyhow. So my wife and me 
 fixed as we'd ax for some fair weather for the bit o' 
 barley, for it was nigh drownded in the wet. And 
 we did ax, but it wasn't no use, not a bit ; rain 
 kept comin', comin', comin', just as if we'd never 
 said nowt, and the barley got that rotten, while it
 
 janita's cross. 87 
 
 wasn't wortli cutting. And so I said if prayin' 
 didn't do more for folks than that, it wouldn't pay 
 to meddle with it." 
 
 " Ah, but," said Larry, shaking his head, '' that 
 was putting the cart afore the horse. You should 
 ha' prayed to get yer speritle interests advanced, 
 and then put in a prayer for your barley when 
 t'other was settled." 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it ? First come, first served ; 
 but ye see I thought my speritle interests would 
 keep a bit, and the barley would spoil if it didn't 
 get cut right away — eh, Mr. Stead ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Larry, meditatively, 
 " Some Christians can't reconcile it to their con- 
 science to ask for temporal blessings. I can. God's 
 given us bodies, and it stands to reason we ought to 
 behave well to 'em. Our dear minister was won- 
 derfully led out in prayer i' the mill slip last Sun- 
 day afternoon on that very subject." 
 
 " I don't much matter them preachins' o' yours, 
 Larry. I've heard a bit once or twice, but of 
 course I don't make myself public at 'em, 'cause o' 
 bein' clerk ; it's sort o' beneath me to countenance 
 dissent, or ought o' that. It doesn't seem to sit 
 easy, though, his doctrine. Why, he'd have folks
 
 88 jaxita's cross. 
 
 keep their religion going all the week, and that's 
 more than I'll engage to ; it 'ud get wore out over 
 soon. It's as much as I can frame to make it last 
 Sunday over, let alone the week service as I have to 
 say the responses to." 
 
 Larry did not go into tl^e heart of the subject 
 just then, otherwise he might have given Destiny 
 some useful thoughts on that which he practised 
 so thoroughly himself — religion in common 
 life. 
 
 " There's Roy coming," he said ; '' he'll set it 
 straight for us. Here, Roy, my lad, we were 
 talking about church and chapel. You'll strike us 
 a light about 'em, I'll warrant." 
 
 The person thus addressed had just come out 
 from the saw-mill, where he was overlooker. He 
 wore the ordinary workman's suit, but he might 
 have been the Duke's son, or even the Duke him- 
 self, from the grand easy sort of dignity which sat 
 so unconsciously upon him. Nay, his Grace of 
 Dykeland would gladly have given up half the 
 broad Meadowthorpe estate, could he have known 
 for certain that his son and heir, the poor sickly 
 infant, now whining in its coronetted cradle, would 
 ever attain the build and stature of this young me-
 
 janita's cross. 89 
 
 clianic coming across the timber-yard, in his grey 
 blouse and canvas cap. 
 
 He was a tall, straight, well-made youth of one 
 or two and twenty, with light hair, and features of 
 til at clear distinctive type which is more frequently 
 seen in halls and colleges than in the crowded 
 w^orkshop, or the rustic village. Yet it was not the 
 finely-moulded features nor the curling light hair 
 which made Roy so noticeable amongst the rest of 
 his fellows-workmen. It was a certain almost im- 
 perial dignity in his mien and bearing, a way he 
 had of carrying that proud head of his, a brave, 
 lofty sort of independence in his very step. You 
 felt, somehow, that Nature had made a mistake in 
 putting Roy's head under the workman's cap, in- 
 stead of the duke's coronet. He was the sort of 
 man you might fancy to be a changeling, carried 
 by the fairies when a baby from his own 
 place in some nobleman's palace to the humble 
 cottage of a common day-labourer. Or, perhajis 
 a foreign prince, a second Peter the Great, 
 doffing his royal pui'ple to learn, in mechanic's 
 garb, some art that might make his country 
 richer. 
 
 And yet if you had thought this, you would
 
 90 janita's cross. 
 
 have been most completely mistaken. Eoy was 
 born and bred in Meadowthorpe, and so were his 
 fore-elders for many a year, as the parish registei*s 
 proved beyond a doubt. His father was Benja- 
 min Royland, shoemaker and market-gardener; 
 a very poor, honest, hard-working man. He lived 
 in a small cottage down Meadowthorpe lane, a 
 few hundred yards past Miss Alwyne's house, and 
 often had a hard fight to make ends meet, so as 
 to keep himself and a sick wife off the parish. 
 Roy's name was Benjamin too, but to distinguish 
 him from the old man, his comrades had invented 
 this other name of Roy for him. Perhaps, also, 
 because it expressed, in some sort, the kingliness 
 of the young man's ways. And Roy ivas a king, 
 too, in virtue of that moral majesty which, though 
 it wear neither purple nor ermine, God never fails 
 to crown. 
 
 He Avas going straight home, for the bell had 
 struck, but he turned aside at Larry's call. 
 
 " We was balancin' up church and chapel, Roy. 
 Destiny Smith puts in for the old institution, 
 but I'm for a bit of new life. Now what do you 
 say?" 
 
 " Well," answered Roy, taking off his glazed
 
 janita's cross. 91 
 
 cap, and shaking back the hair from his hot fore- 
 head — ^it was hard work there in the saw-mill for 
 four hours running — " I mostly goes to church 
 myself, because T was brought np to it. The 
 prayers is always good alike — never no doubt 
 about them. If the sermon's good too, I'm thank- 
 ful ; if it isn't, I hold my tongue, and don't say 
 nothing. Bnt I tell you what, Mr. Stead, I got a 
 bit of a light upon these here things, last week, up 
 at St. Olave's. You know now that work looses 
 at five of a Saturday, there's a nice bit o' time 
 left to go and have a read at the Institute, and I 
 was agate with a lecter as somebody in London 
 had been giving to the folks there." 
 
 "Ay, Koy," said Mrs. Cloudie ; '*but they'll 
 print ought, will them book-learned 'uns — ^and 
 make you believe it, too." 
 
 "Whisht, Mrs. Cloudie," said Destiny Smith, 
 " you're nobbut a woman, and book-learning isn't 
 in your line." 
 
 Mrs. Cloudie looked rather disappointed at 
 being thus pushed out of the discussion ; but 
 since there was no gainsaying the truth of 
 Mr. Smith's statement, she wisely acqui- 
 esced.
 
 92 
 
 " It was Dr. somebody," continued Roy, " who 
 was giving the lecter, but I forget the name exact. 
 However, that's neither here nor there; but he 
 said how different people — people, you know, as 
 lives in different climates — wanted different sorts 
 o' food to keep 'em along healthy. Now, there's 
 the Hindoos — it's a frightful hot country, is Hin- 
 doostan — folks is hard set to keep themselves from 
 melting right away, and they never eat nothing but 
 boiled rice." 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " exclaimed Mrs. Cloudie, who, 
 if she was " nobbut a woman," and, therefore not 
 conversant with book-learning, knew as much 
 about kitchen-stuff as anyone, "I never heard 
 tell o' such a set o' simpletons ! What ! haven't 
 they the sense to broil a herring to it, or a bit o' 
 fat bacon, or anything to make it more comfortable 
 in a manner ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Clondie, now do hold your tongue. I 
 say, Roy, go on, don't mind her." 
 
 " Well, then, there's the people up in Green- 
 land; that's far away north, you know, where 
 frost and snow never gets clear broken up all the 
 year round, and men has to hap themselves up, 
 face and everything, in furs, or the cold would
 
 janita's cross. 93 
 
 bite 'em to pieces in no time ; and in Greenland 
 they live upon nothing but fat — fat, and oil, and 
 grease. It suits 'em, and they wouldn't say thank 
 you for the best rice as could be bought." 
 
 Mrs. Cloudie held up her hands in silent aston- 
 ishment. She would have preferred getting rid of 
 a little in words, but Destiny Smith was standing 
 there, ready to pounce down upon her, if she ven- 
 tured into the book-learning department. So she 
 was fain to hold her peace. 
 
 " Goodness ! " said Larry. " What goings on 
 there is in the world, to be sure ! It's full need 
 the missioners has to go to them there places. But 
 Roy, I don't see how you can make that fit in to 
 what we was talkin' about — church and chapel." 
 
 ^'Wait a bit, Larry. Well, I was wonderful 
 interested with this. I read it over again, while 
 I had it fairly off. And as I was turning it over 
 in my thoughts, coming home, it seemed to me 
 that it was a sort of thing as might be made to 
 work two ways. People's minds is made different 
 same as their bodies is. And religion, I mean the 
 outside shape of it, has to be cut to suit 'em. Now, 
 some folks has a heap o' life — more'n they knows 
 how to get shut of ; they're all for noise and liveli-
 
 94 janita's cross. 
 
 ness — sharp's the word, and quick's the motion. 
 And that sort of thing goes into their rehgion too ; 
 for it stands to reason, a man must live himself 
 out in everything he does ; and they like a good 
 brisk, noisy band-meeting, where the men shout 
 fit to raise the roof, and the women is mostly cry- 
 ing for joy, and the Amen's drop so thick and 
 loud, while you can't scarce hear anything 
 else." 
 
 " Ay, that's it !" and Larry Stead began to 
 quiver impatiently like a charger that hears the 
 distant call of the battle trumpet. " That's the 
 religion for me. Oh ! bless the Lord ! it does my 
 heart good to hear 'em shouting Hallelujah, all in 
 full sail for glory, and the dear minister leading 
 'em on, like a valiant captain, to the realms o' the 
 blest. Its glorious ! it is. I've shouted along 
 with 'em, while I got that happy, I didn't know 
 whether I was this side o' Paradise gates or t'other. 
 There isn't nothing in quietness to match that^ 
 
 "That's as folks think, Larry. Well, then, 
 there's some others like it mild and easy. Thin 
 food, you know, suits 'em best. They like to do 
 their religion quiet. You'd frighten them into fits 
 almost, if you was to slip in an Amen afore the
 
 J Anita's cross. 95 
 
 proper time. They can no more do vnth. halle- 
 lujahs that aren't printed in the Prayer-book than 
 you can hold yourself still when all the folks is 
 shouting glory." 
 
 "That's my sort of religion," said Destiny 
 Smith. " The Aniens belongs to the clerk to say 
 'em, and folks have no right to take 'em out of his 
 mouth." 
 
 " But we must say, ' Lord, ha' mercy ' some- 
 times, Mr. Smith ; a poor sinner can't help him- 
 self, can he ?" said Larry. 
 
 "Well, then, there's a place in t' Litany for 
 him to say it," answered the parish clerk, trium- 
 phantly ; " and he must keep it back while the 
 time comes for 'em all to put in together." 
 
 " Ah ! well, I'm thankful I aint a joined mem- 
 ber of the Church. When 7111/ feelings gets warm 
 I must out with 'em, time or no time. I go in for 
 chapel, after all ; but I don't go in to find fault wi' 
 you, Mr, Smith, for holding on to the old institu- 
 tion. As Eoy says, some folks wants one thing 
 and some wants summut else." 
 
 " That's right, Larry," said young Roy. " And 
 novv this is what I think : we've no right to find 
 fault with them as doesn't mind the same sort o'
 
 96 janita's cross. 
 
 form we do, no more than we ought to laugh at a 
 Hindoo because he hasn't a rehsh for fat, or a 
 Greenlander 'cause he can't Uve all the while on 
 boiled rice. Men's minds wants different sorts o' 
 food, just as their bodies do ; and they'll go with 
 a sort of instinct to that sort as suits 'em best." 
 
 This view of the case seemed to strike both men 
 as perfectly satisfactory. But Mrs. Cloudie looked 
 up into Roy's face with a sort of meek womanly 
 reverence. 
 
 '^ Ah ! Roy, lad ! ye were always such a one 
 for making other folks come round to your ow^n 
 ways ; there was never one to stand again you." 
 
 "Nay, granny, I don't mean that. I don't 
 w^ant to make folks believe nothing they haven't a 
 mind to. As like as not, mine isn't the right way 
 of looking at it ; but it suits me, and so I keep to 
 it. And, after all, there's a sight o' things in this 
 world that the wisest of us doesn't know ; a deal 
 as wants clearin' up. But there will be clearing 
 up by and by, there will." 
 
 " Clearin up ! and what's that to you ? You're 
 always on about clearin up. I aint goin to clear 
 up for no one. I aint afeard." 
 
 These words were spoken, or rather hissed out.
 
 janita's cross. 97 
 
 by a low-browed, flat-beaded man, Peter Monk by 
 name, who had come up unobserved, and now in 
 passing brushed against Roy's shoulder. 
 
 Roy drew himself away with such a gesture as 
 Paul on Melita's coast mio^ht liave used when he 
 shook off the viper into the flames. There was a 
 silent, half-unacknowledged antagonism between 
 these two men. On Peter Monk's part, it was the 
 cringing antipathy of a low^, depraved nature 
 towards one bold, truthful and honest. With Roy, 
 the feeling was somewhat different. He had once 
 heard Monk use Bessie Ashtou's name lightly, 
 whilst bandying rude jests w^ith his fellow work- 
 men ; and more than once he had seen the two 
 walking side by side along Meadowthorpe lane — 
 the usual evening trysting-place for rustic lovers. 
 Yet Roy had no right to speak about it. For 
 though he loved Bessie wath all his heart, he had 
 never found corn-age to tell lier so, or get her to 
 pledge herself to him. Whether she cared for 
 him at all, he did not knovv\ If she did, he was 
 not yet in a position to marry, and Roy -was too 
 proud to keep a woman w^aiting for him. It might 
 be a wrong sort of pride, but he had it all the 
 same. 
 
 VOL. 1. H
 
 98 
 
 Peter Monk was a stranger in Meaclowthorpe. 
 He had only been in the Duke's yard since spring. 
 No one knew where he came from, or what his 
 previous life had been. He was one of the work- 
 men in the engine-room, chief among them. He 
 was a clever man, not a doubt about that ; able to 
 earn double wages to any of the rest. Report said 
 that he had some money in a bank in London, and 
 that he did not need to work at all, unless he chose. 
 The old woman with whom Monk lodged, at the 
 Dykeland Road end, quite believed it ; but as he 
 preserved a stubborn silence about his ow^n affairs, 
 the real truth could never be ascertained. How- 
 ever, the mere report had the effect of investing 
 him with additional importance in the estimation 
 of the simple village people. 
 
 Instinctively Roy and Larry Stead dropped the 
 subject of conversation when Monk came up. He 
 was a professed scoffer at religion. To name it in 
 liis presence was sure to provoke a quarrel. Larry 
 began to talk about the new steward, who was ex- 
 pected before long at Meadowthorpe Hall. 
 
 ^^ Folks say he's a rare strict 'un, Mr. Smith, 
 and he'll make the men do double work from what 
 they've been accustomed to. There'll be no more
 
 jaxita's cross. 99 
 
 dawdling about after the bell rin^s, in his time, 
 I'll warrant." 
 
 Peter Monk smiled that sneering smile of his. 
 
 " He may try it on if he likes, but he'll find it 
 won't fit me. I'd like to set eyes on the man who 
 could make me do a hand's turn more than I'd a 
 mind to." 
 
 " Ay, Monk, but they say he's such a way with 
 him as no one ever seed afore. He's managed one 
 of the Duke's places in the south country this good 
 bit past, and he had 'em all under his finger like 
 bairns." 
 
 " Or happen like slaves," answered Monk. 
 " That's the way rich people grind down the poor, 
 stamping of them under their feet, beating them 
 to powder. But the masses will rise some day, and 
 we shall see what we shall see. I'll do as I've always 
 done, steward or no steward." 
 
 " But, Mr. Monk," said Larry, " a day's work 
 for a day's wage — that's only fair, ye know." 
 
 " Yes, fair enough for drivelling folks like 
 yourself, who haven't got no independence, and 
 nothing to protect yourselves with ; but I'm not 
 going to slave for a man as has more thousands 
 than he can count. Now look here. There's a 
 
 II 2
 
 100 jaxita's cross. 
 
 piece of work to be done, and I can do it in a day, 
 setting to, right sharp." 
 
 " Well, then, I'd do it," said Lariy. 
 
 "Would you? then I wouldn't. The Duke 
 pays us so much a day, work hard or work easy, 
 and I choose to work" easy, and make it last three 
 days instead of one." 
 
 "Ah! Mr. Monk, I'm afraid you'll be took 
 count with for an unprofitable servant," said Larry, 
 buttoning up his jacket to go home. " That sort 
 o' thing won't stand in the day o' judgment." 
 
 "Day o' judgment!" and Monk shrugged his 
 shoulders. "If folks chooses to be frightened 
 with such nonsense, it's their look out, not mine. 
 I don't believe in nothing as doesn't get me on 
 easy ; and when life's done, I'm done — that's my 
 creed." 
 
 " Well, well, there is a vast o' things as is hard 
 to be understood in this here world. But things 
 as is to be, will be, and things as isn't to be, Avon't 
 be ; that there's my disposition and my religion, 
 and folks may better it as can." 
 
 And with this brief compendium of his theo- 
 logical \T[ews, Destiny Smith put on his coat and 
 went away home, for it was full ten minutes past
 
 janita's cross. 101 
 
 twelve by tlie yard clock. Roy went home, too, 
 whistling as he went that low love call which 
 seldom failed to bring Bessie Ashton's rosy face 
 on a level with the top pane of the thick hammered 
 glass window that looked out from the gable end of 
 the Professor's house into Gentility Square.
 
 102 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 F course Bessie never confessed to 
 ^ herself, or to other people, that 
 ^f^ anything bnt the merest chance 
 iJ^(i^^^ brought her to the gable window 
 at eight, twelve, and six o'clock. She happened 
 to be passing, that was all, and the window blind 
 had got a little bit crooked, so that she thought 
 she had better get up and set it straight ; or there 
 was a noise in the street, and she just looked out 
 to see what it was ; or those tiresome boys had 
 been throwing stones over the wall again — really 
 those boys were past bearing with their imperti- 
 nence, it was a shame the policeman did not take 
 them up ; or — but it was easy for Bessie to show 
 why she should always have something to do at 
 that gable end window when Roy's clear note came 
 carolling up from the lower end of the street.
 
 janita's cross. 103 
 
 Bessie Asliton was housemaid at the Aspens, 
 and a hard place she found it, too. But a servant 
 who had lived twelve months with Miss Ruthven, 
 could get almost any situation after that. People 
 never asked if she was tidy, if she was good- 
 tempered, if she was punctual, if she was honest — 
 she had lived a year at the Aspens, and that was 
 quite enough. For Miss Hepzibah's prowess as a 
 housekeeper and trainer of servants was proverbial. 
 Bessie was a very pretty girl. She had a clear 
 complexion, plenty of glossy dark hair, which 
 waved over a forehead white as any lady's, and 
 which Miss Hepzibah compelled her to tuck up 
 inside a white muslin cap, instead of wearing it in 
 a chenille net, which Bessie would very much have 
 preferred ; and, indeed, when she went once a 
 quarter to take tea and spend the afternoon with 
 her married sister in St. Olave's, she did have it in 
 a net, spite of ^liss Hepzibah. She had a yqyj 
 pretty profile, too, a rounded chin and throat, which 
 a painter might have taken for his model, and rosy 
 lips, which were always curling themselves up into 
 smiles when Bessie was in a good temper. 
 
 Most people thought Bessie Ashton's eyes were 
 dark, to match her hair. But Roy knew better.
 
 104 janita's cross. 
 
 He had looked down into them ac^ain and again 
 iind found that thej were clear, beautiful grey- 
 blue ; only the long black eye-lashes made them 
 look dark, for those eyelashes were so very long 
 and tliick. When she stood in church, looking at 
 her prayer-book, they almost swept down upon her 
 cheek. Roy, in the singing-gallery, had studied 
 them many and many a time when people thought 
 he was giving all his mind to the chanting of the 
 anthem. And if Bessie lifted them sometimes, and 
 gave him a look at the grey-blue eyes underneath, 
 Roy used to feel so happy. 
 
 Bessie Ashton knew that she was very nice look- 
 ing. Unconscious beauty, like beauty unadorned, 
 is for the most part a delusion. There w^as never a 
 young girl yet, housemaid, commoner, or peeress, 
 who did not give herself credit for quite as much 
 beauty as she possessed — often much more. No 
 need to tell Bessie that, when dressed in her best 
 Sunday clothes, and her new straw bonnet, trimmed 
 with Avhite ribbons and a plain net cap inside, with 
 just one little bow of blue ribbon, there was not a 
 prettier girl anywhere amongst the Meadowthorpe 
 servants ; and not many even amougst the young 
 ladies of the village, wdio came to church in their
 
 jaxita's ceoss. 105 
 
 fine tulle bonnets, witli flowers inside and out, and 
 their beautiful pale kid gloves, and their lace shawls, 
 and flounced silk dresses that looked so resplendent 
 when the sunlight shone down upon them through 
 the stained glass windows. She knew it by the 
 glances which i\lrs. Mabury's frowsy kitchen-maid 
 cast at her from the back corner of the Rectory 
 pew ; and the envious sneer of Batkins, the bishop's 
 ladies' maid, or rather the bishop's lady's ladies' 
 maid, who had a complexion like decayed cheese, 
 and greenish eyes with no lashes to them. And if 
 these proofs had not been sufficient, she knew it by 
 the admiring looks which came from the black- 
 smith's pew, where young Alick sat ; and the others 
 quite as admiring, which Peter Monk gave, as he 
 stood in the church porch watching the people 
 come out. But most of all she knew it, when, 
 looking up by chance from her prayer-book, she 
 found Boy's gaze fixed upon her. Then her eyes 
 used to drop directly, and she dare not lift them for 
 ever so long after. 
 
 But Bessie did not care for Roy ; she was sure 
 she did not. He might look at her from his place 
 in the singing-gallery until ^lartinmas if he liked, 
 or bring her roses out of his father's garden, or
 
 106 janita's cross. 
 
 whistle past that gable end window until his throat 
 fairly ached again ; it did not make a bit of differ- 
 ence, that it did not. 
 
 There were a great many people in the village 
 who, as the country phrase goes, ^' looked sweet'' 
 upon Bessie Ashton, but she did not think she cared 
 much for any of them, at least not much to speak 
 of. There was young Alick, the blacksmith ; he 
 had a very good business, and could afford to marry 
 her out of hand there and then if she chose ; but 
 Bessie did not choose. She w^ould about as soon 
 stay housemaid at Miss Hepzibah's as live close to 
 the forge, and hear that great hammer always 
 going, going, going ; to say nothing of the smuts 
 which w^ould never give her a day's rest from wash- 
 ing and dusting. No, Bessie woukl not marry 
 young Alick. Then there was the tall footman at 
 the bishop's palace ; he had walked her home from 
 church several times lately, and been what young 
 ladies would call " very marked " in his attentions. 
 Bessie, however, did not call it being very marked, 
 her phrase was '' partic'lar friendty," which was 
 just as expressive. But the tall footman might be 
 as "partic'lar friendly" as he liked, she wasn't going 
 to marry into service again, not she — she had had
 
 107 
 
 enough of that. Next on the Hst came Peter 
 Monk. True, he was very ugly, and small of sta- 
 ture, but he had plenty of money, and everybody 
 knew that good looks wore out. Mrs. Peter Monk 
 might have a new dress three or four times a year, 
 besides bonnets almost as often as she liked. She 
 would think a little more about that. " Mrs. Peter 
 Monk!" — it did not sound badly, not at all. 
 
 And there was Roy. Somehow Bessie always 
 thought of him when the rest had had their claims 
 dismissed. Roy, who had such a beautiful voice, 
 and whistledlike a blackbird, and walked so straight, 
 and had such a way with him as no one else had, 
 — no, not even the Duke. But Roy was badly off. 
 It took most of his earnings to pay the doctor's bill 
 for poor old Mrs. Royland, who was laid up with 
 liver complaint. He wouldn't be able to marry 
 for a long time, perhaps three or four years, and 
 Bessie scarcely thought she could wait so long 
 as that. And yet — and yet, Roy was very good to 
 her. 
 
 But whilst Bessie was pondering it over in her 
 mind. Miss Hepzibah's shrill voice would come 
 ringing through the house. ^' Bessie ! Bessie I 
 Blessings on us, where is the girl ? Always idling
 
 108 janita's cross. 
 
 about somewliere — dear me, dear me! what icill 
 servants come to f 
 
 And then Bessie felt as if she could marry any- 
 body, even Alick himself, and live anywhere to be 
 out of reach of that perpetual scold. 
 
 Bessie was not a Meadowthorpe girl. She had- 
 no parents, and no regular home when out of 
 service, except with her sister, who was married to 
 a greengrocer in St. Olave's. And she had not 
 many friends in the village, at least not many 
 places where she could go to tea on her holiday 
 afternoons, or drop in for five minutes if she 
 happened to be out on an errand. So that her 
 flirting occupations were carried on in a very 
 casual, precarious sort of way, in the open air, 
 at the church porch, or in Meadowthorpe lane, 
 which was the general rendezvous of all the rustic 
 couples. Miss Hepzibah allowed no followers. 
 That was quite understood. Woe to the unlucky 
 wight whose strength of affection led him into the 
 sacred enclosure of the Aspens' garden, or tempted 
 him to prowl uninvited round its back door, wait- 
 ing for a glimpse of his loved one. Only let Miss 
 Hepzibah catch him, and surely enough both he 
 and the loved one would come to grief.
 
 janita's cross. 109 
 
 But where there's a will there's a way. Bessie 
 did manage, from time to time, to see her friends, 
 and scrape a little romance into the dull routine of 
 domestic life. There were the errands, those 
 grand opportunities for innocent gossip, those 
 chartered facilities for courtship. Specially the 
 vegetable errands, which generally had to be done 
 in an evening, when the work was all out of the 
 way, and a quarter of an hour more or less was 
 not a matter of life and death. Bessie always 
 went for the veo;etables to old Ben Royland's 
 garden, about half a mile down the St. Olave's 
 road, because, as she said, they were sure to be 
 fresh there, and you knew what you were getting. 
 Also, and chiefly, because in the quiet summer 
 evenings, when the Duke's yard was closed, young 
 Eoy might generally be found weeding his father's 
 turnips, or hoeing the potatoes, or tying up the 
 roses which clambered in such rank luxuriance all 
 along the hedge, and quite over into the haling 
 bank road. Perhaps, after all, though of course 
 she wouldn't have confessed such a thing for the 
 world, that was the real reason why Bessie always 
 went there for the vegetables. 
 
 Poor Bessie ! poor Roy ! what would the end of
 
 110 janita's cross. 
 
 the matter be? He loving her very much, but 
 quite too proud to tell her so, because he could not 
 afford to marry for such a long time ; she count- 
 ing him up on her fingers along with the rest of 
 them, Alick, the tall footman, Peter Monk, Eoy. 
 Roy always last. Would they marry and be 
 happy ever afterwards, as the story-books say? 
 Or would she, for the sake of the new bonnets — 
 and Bessie was so fond of a little bit of dress — 
 take up with Peter Monk, the low-browed, black- 
 a-viced man, that nobody knew anything about ? 
 Or would she, the beauty of youth overpassed, its 
 freshness faded, live out a long, weary, lonely 
 life, mourning for the love she had prized too 
 lightly? 
 
 We shall see. However, that was just how 
 things were at Meadowthorpe, the September be- 
 fore the new steward came. And now to go back 
 again to the little Scotch lintie, in its gilded cage 
 at the Aspens.
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 I^^^^^ISS HEPZIBAH worked onsteaclily 
 "^^ at her pet plan, which was, to 
 
 make a woman of Janita Rae- 
 burn. 
 
 And, to tell the truth, the task was harder than 
 she expected. Not that the young girl was stupid 
 or fretful or rebellious. Miss Ruthven could not 
 charge her niece with any of these grievous de- 
 fects. As the Professor said, she had an admirable 
 phrenological development, good abilities, reflec- 
 tive powers quite out of the ordinary class — no 
 difficulty in making her comprehend the proposi- 
 tions in Euclid, or understand why jelly must not 
 be allowed to go beyond the boiling point. 
 Still 
 
 The material was different to what Miss Hepzi- 
 bah expected. You might as well try to make a
 
 112 janita's crioss. 
 
 linsey apron out of a cambric handkerchief, as 
 turn Janita into such a woman as her aunt wished 
 her tGf become. But the Professor's sister was not 
 easily to be baffled, much less would she acknow- 
 ledge herself beaten in any task which she had 
 laid out. And so she persevered. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah had a peculiar theory of manage- 
 ment. She did not exactly adhere to the old 
 proverb, " If you want a thing doing, do it your- 
 self," but she acted upon the principle that if you 
 Avant a thing doing you must fidget until it is 
 done, and in the end do half of it yourself. A 
 principle which, as most people learn by painful 
 experience, does not conduce to home peace. 
 
 Thus half Miss Hepzibah's time was spent in 
 worreting after other people and explaining their 
 work, and seeing that they did it as they were told 
 to do it ; and after all it never got done to her 
 own satisfaction. If the dingy old dining-room 
 had to be cleaned, she sent for Bessie, and told her 
 so, with particular instructions how it was to be 
 done ; to which instructions Bessie listened atten- 
 tively, curtseying at proper intervals. When they 
 were finished she would recommence at the end, 
 and repeat the whole backwards. Then she would
 
 janita's cross. 113 
 
 dip into the middle, and work her way to both ends 
 in succession. After that, when the " instruc- 
 tions" had got into a hopeless tangle, and the 
 acutest intellect would be puzzled to know whether 
 Miss Hepzibah intended the paper to be taken up 
 and shaken, or the carpet rubbed with bread- 
 crumbs, or the curtains polished with furniture 
 paste, and the table renovated with a coat of 
 whitewash, she would say, "Now you are quite 
 sure you understand, Bessie ?" To which poor 
 Bessie dropped another curtsey, and promised to 
 do her best. But hardly had she got back to the 
 kitchen before the dining-room bell would ring 
 again, and Miss Hepzibah would add a few more 
 instructions, finishing up with — 
 
 " Now, Bessie, you are quite sure you under- 
 stand, and you will do it exactly as I have said, 
 and be sure you remember that, &c., &c. There, 
 I don't think I have anything more to say." 
 
 But something always did strike her afterwards, 
 and putting her head in at the kitchen door, she 
 would discharge a final cannonade of instructions, 
 which left matters enveloped in a denser cloud of 
 smoke than ever. 
 
 This was ^liss Ilepzibah's theory and j)ractice 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 J Anita's cross. 
 
 of domestic management. And upon this principle 
 she proceeded to the training of her niece. Instead 
 of gifing her a few broad general rules, and leaving 
 these to work out their own result, she was ^' at her " 
 from morning to night mth doses of good advice 
 and drops of prudent counsel. It was, " Jane, 
 child, you ought to do this ;" " Jane, child, you 
 must not forget to attend to that ;" " Jane, child, 
 when I was a young girl, we were taught to do so," 
 until poor Janita's patience wore out, and she be- 
 came regularly nervous. 
 
 This at least was part of the training. But 
 another bright idea struck Miss Hepzibah. 
 
 There were three young ladies in Gentility 
 Square, of whom one has already been mentioned. 
 Called young, at least, by courtesy, though it was 
 difficult to believe that the IMisses Narrowby had 
 ever shared in the freshness, and mischievousness, 
 and general naughtiness and affectionateness of 
 youth. Mrs. Narrowby was a very methodical 
 woman. She had brought up her daughters by a 
 scheme. She apportioned certain hours to certain 
 employments, and these hours were never to be 
 infringed upon. In process of time, the young- 
 ladies got so wedded to their scheme, or rather they
 
 janita's cross. 115 
 
 got so dependent on the artificial support which it 
 afforded, that when they were no longer school 
 girlsj it was still retained, and their whole life 
 squared by it. They would get up and put aw^ay 
 their fancy work in the middle of a stitch, because 
 the hour for walking exercise liad arrived. They 
 would turn back at the prettiest part of a walk, if 
 the church clock, striking ten, warned them that it 
 was time to settle down to the diet of useful read- 
 ing ; or they would break off half way through a 
 chapter, at the most interesting part of a story, 
 to obey the regulation which enforced an hour's 
 spell of plain sewing, as per scheme. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah thought this was beautiful. She 
 had no higher ambition than that her niece should 
 grow up like the Misses Narrowby, precise, me- 
 thodical, systematic. Accordingly, after due con- 
 sultation with the Professor, a scheme was pre- 
 pared similar to that which had been found so 
 efficacious in the Gable- house system of education. 
 It was copied out in clear, legible round- hand, and 
 hung up in Janita's room, just over the place where 
 the shepherd and the shepherdess had been so long 
 trying to kiss each other. The contents ran some- 
 what after this fashion : — 
 
 I 2
 
 116 janita's cross. 
 
 " Eight to nine, domestic exercises ; nine to ten, 
 breakfast and judicious reading ; ten to eleven, 
 plain sewing; eleven to twelve, practice of the 
 accomplishments ; twelve to one, household avoca- 
 tions ; one to two, recreation and walking exercise ; 
 two to three, dinner and useful conversation ; three 
 to five, j^lain work and judicious reading; five to 
 six, practice of the accomplishments ; six to seven, 
 tea and recreation ; seven to nine, correspondence, 
 plain work, and domestic miscellanies." 
 
 This was Monday's scheme. The remaining 
 days of the week were disposed of in the same way, 
 only ringing changes from one set of occupations 
 to another, which made the whole more difficult to 
 be remembered. 
 
 Janita was to learn the scheme by heart, and 
 then squeeze herself into it, body, soul, and spirit, 
 for the remaining term of her* natural life, or, at 
 least, until such time as Miss Hepzibah should 
 judge the woman-making process complete. 
 
 But a difficulty arose. Judicious reading was 
 prescribed twice a day, and Janita had no judicious 
 reading. Miss Hepzibah looked over the slender 
 stock of literature which her niece had brought 
 from Inverallan. It was frivolous to a degree.
 
 JANITA'S CEOSS. 117 
 
 Two or three volumes of Scotch ballads ; Mrs. 
 Browning's Poems, a parting gift from Maggie 
 Home ; Shakespeare, from Doctor Home himself — 
 shocking that a minister should encourage such 
 tastes in a young person of nineteen ; Schiller's 
 Plays, translated from the German ; a volume of 
 essays by Carlyle ; Novels by Goethe. Novels were 
 altogether too dangerous, so Miss Hepzibah took 
 them into her own custody. Then an eighteen- 
 penny edition of the American poets. That was 
 all. Rubbish, nothing but rubbish, as the vrorthy 
 lady said when she had looked through them. 
 Nothing practical. She would like to know what 
 sort of a woman could be built together out of 
 such material as that. And then Miss Hepzibah 
 thought for the one hundred and fiftieth time, 
 what a blessing it was that she had had fortitude 
 enough to rescue her niece from the mire and clay 
 of Inverallan training, and place her feet upon 
 such a foundation of judicious practical wisdom 
 as would be put under them at the Aspens. 
 
 But the reading. That must be attended to. 
 The Professor's library was chiefly mathematical 
 and psychological, not judicious at all for a young 
 person of nineteen. And Miss Hepzibah's literary
 
 118 J Anita's ckoss. 
 
 possessions were, for the most part, in manuscript, 
 consisting of volumes of recipes, classified under 
 the heads of cookery, medicine, and miscellanies. 
 Useful, very, to a certain extent, but not every- 
 thing that could be wished. So she sent to St. 
 Olave's for a list of works suitable for young 
 people, and, having marked off the titles of those 
 which seemed most suggestive of solid food, or- 
 dered them from her bookseller. 
 
 In due time, a large parcel arrived at the As- 
 pens. It was brought into the dining-room, as 
 Janita, under her aunt's direction, was engaged 
 upon the plain-sewing department of the scheme. 
 
 " Jane, child," said Miss Hepzibah, laying her 
 hand solemnly upon the huge package, and speak- 
 ing with the slow, measured tones of one who 
 is enunciating a weighty moral maxim, "Jane, 
 child, I have great pleasure in presenting you with 
 these books for your hours of judicious reading. 
 They have been selected under my own superin- 
 tendence, and I trust the diligent perusal of them 
 will tend to foster in your mind those tempers and 
 dispositions which are essential to female excel- 
 lence. You will, of course, not meddle with the 
 books until the recreation-hour arrives."
 
 janita's cross. 119 
 
 Janita's eyes sparkled, notwithstanding this 
 ponderous prologue. The parcel looked so like 
 those quarterly relays of literature, which used to 
 be sent from Edinburgh to Inverallan Manse, and 
 which furnished so many evenings of quiet amuse- 
 ment. Oh, for the recreation hour to arrive I 
 Never had plain-work appeared so tedious, or Miss 
 Hepzibah's judicious observations so interminable. 
 At last the clock struck. Janita stuffed her work 
 promiscuously into the basket, but her aunt's eyes 
 were upon her, and she had to take it out again, 
 and fold it up with mathematical correctness. 
 Then she tugged the parcel into her own room, 
 where, unripping the cover, she let the contents 
 tumble out in glorious confusion upon the 
 floor. 
 
 For awhile it was enough to see them. Such 
 pretty binding! — purple, crimson, blue, scarlet, 
 green, with gilt backs, gilt edges, gilt sides — quite 
 a sheen of gilding in the sober little room ! And 
 when Janita half-shut her eyes, and looked at 
 them through her long eye-lashes, the colours all 
 blended together in one beautiful glow, like the 
 stained-glass of a cathedral w^indow. How gay those 
 empty book-shelves should look by and by — unless,
 
 120 
 
 which was most likely, Aunt Hepzibah compelled 
 her to put brown-paper covers upon her new trea- 
 sures. And what store of precious thoughts must 
 be lurking within those gilded portals, ready to 
 open at her bidding and yield her all their 
 wealth. 
 
 But time was passing. Already Janita had 
 idled away half her recreation-hour in admiring 
 the backs of her new books. Now she began 
 to make acquaintance with their contents. The 
 first was bound like Willie Home's copy of 
 Wordsworth, just the same size and thickness, too. 
 Janita opened it, expecting to fall at once upon 
 that sweetest of all sweet songs, "The Pet Lamb," 
 or the pretty verses she had learned so long ago in 
 Inverallan Churchyard, " We are Seven ;" or 
 perhapS; that little bit about Lucy — 
 
 " A violet by a mossy stone, 
 Half hidden from the eye." 
 
 Nothing of the sort. It was not Wordsworth's 
 poems at all, but "A Guide to Female Excellence, 
 with Hints on Dress, Behaviour to the Opposite 
 Sex, Temper, Deportment, and Choice of Friends. 
 Addressed to Young People by a Maiden 
 Lady."
 
 janita's cross. 121 
 
 " Useless/' said Janita to herself. " I know 
 liow to dress so as to look pretty, at least Willie 
 Home always told me so, and he had very good 
 taste. And as for l)ehavionr to the opposite sex, 
 there seems to be no opposite sex here to behave 
 to in any sort of way. I have not shaken hands 
 with a gentleman since I came, except Uncle 
 Jabez. And then about temper; well, I am not 
 good-tempered, I know that, but I don't think 
 reading books will make me any better. It never 
 did yet, at any rate." 
 
 And with that she tumbled the ^laiden-lady's 
 gilt-edged counsels on one side. 
 
 The next volume was bound in pale blue. It 
 had an elegant steel-engraved frontispiece, repre- 
 senting a very, very pretty young lady with long 
 ringlets, sitting on a sofa. Near her stood a gen- 
 tleman, who appeared to be on the point of throw- 
 ing himself at her feet. There were the usual 
 accessories — a vase of flowers, a grand mirror, a 
 great deal of drapery, and an open window, look- 
 ing over a lovely landscape. That must be a 
 story, most likely a love-story too. Janita had a 
 genuine girlish fondness for romance, and so she 
 dipped at once into the end chapter, expecting to
 
 122 janita's cross. 
 
 find the heroine made happy beneath a Honiton- 
 lace veil and bridal- wreath. But great was her 
 disappointment. The end chapter was about pre- 
 siding at a tea-table with propriety; how you ought 
 to pour the tea into the cups, and at what intervals 
 to replenish your pot. Turning back to the title- 
 page, it proved " Hints to Young Ladies on Do- 
 mestic Duties." Janita threw that down too. 
 She was beginning to feel a little bit spite- 
 ful. 
 
 But that pretty volume in crimson, a wee thing 
 no bigger than the palm of her hand, with gilt 
 flowers twining about all over the back of it. 
 Surely that was something interesting. It must 
 be an "Affection's Gift," or a "Friendship's 
 Offering," or a " Chaplet of Flowers," or a " Gar- 
 land of Sweets," or something of that kind ; just 
 the very thing to slip into her pocket when she 
 was going for a walk down by the haling bank 
 road, or beneath the rustling elms of ]\Ieadow- 
 thorpe lane. No; the little book with gilt 
 flowers twining all over the back of it, was a dia- 
 mond edition of " Hannah More's Serious Advice 
 to the Young." And the next was " Whispers," 
 and the next " Counsels," and the next " Hints,"
 
 jaa^ita's cross. 123 
 
 and the next "Admonitions to Young Ladies ;" 
 and after them came the '- Young Lady's Friend," 
 and the " Young Lady's Companion," — Janita 
 thought she knew of a very nice Companion 
 already, up in Liverallan — and the "Young Lady's 
 Monitor," and last of all, at the very bottom 
 of the parcel, a sober, substantial, stout-elderly- 
 female-sort of book, bound in brown, with no gilt 
 at all, which proved to be " The Duties and Ee- 
 sponsibilities of the Female sex. Considered in a 
 Series of Letters to Young People." 
 
 Nothing more after that. Janita had no idea 
 that it was such a very, very serious thing to be a 
 woman ; that young people needed sucli a fearful 
 number of guide posts and tramways to keep them 
 going along in the right direction. There she sat 
 in the midst of this tide of feminine literature, as 
 helpless and almost as distressed as Miss Hepzibah 
 had been when beset by the sand-puddles of the 
 Whitecliffe coast. It was too bad. She could 
 have cried. Nay, one or two little tears did drop 
 right upon the middle of the " Guide to Female 
 Excellence," making such an ugly stain upon its 
 beautiful red cover. More might have .folloA^ed 
 and more, for showers of that kind had been fre-
 
 124 janita's cross. 
 
 quent since Janita came to Meadowtliorpe. But 
 just then Miss Hepzibah's voice was heard ringing 
 up the staircase. 
 
 " JanCj child ! Jane ! Jane ! What is the girl 
 doing? Ten minutes past one, and not set off 
 for the walking exercise. Dear me, dear, this will 
 never do, it won't, indeed ! Jane, child ! Jane !" 
 
 Janita huddled her Helps, and Hints, and 
 Whispers back again into the brown paper parcel, 
 and for once blessed the scheme which gave her a 
 chance of walking down her disappointment.
 
 125 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ;S3-:^^y 'Ay HE first fortnioht of Janita's resi- 
 ^^ ^ dence at the Aspens, during which, 
 ^ t^^ as Miss Hepzibah expressed it, 
 she was ^' tantling about," learn- 
 ing to accommodate herself to the house, and the 
 ways of its inmates, had been dreary enough ; 
 but it was a rosy dream, a perfect holiday-season 
 of rest and quietness compared with the life she 
 led when the scheme came fairly into operation. 
 Morning, noon, and night, her aunt's shrill voice 
 was sounding through the house. " Jane, child I 
 Jane! time for the judicious reading." "Jane, 
 child! the clock has struck, you must come to 
 your plain sewing." '^ Jane, child ! Jane ! dear 
 me, where can the girl have got to ? a quarter past 
 twelve, and the domestic avocations not begun 
 yet !" " Jane, child ! you have been at your
 
 126 janita's cross. 
 
 recreation ten minutes too long; when shall I 
 teach you punctualit}'- ? Oh, dear ! when I was a 
 girl!" &c. 
 
 And Janita, quivering in every nerve, could 
 have shrieked out loud, or burst into a flood of 
 hysteric tears. Indeed, she often had recourse to 
 the tears, but it was always during relaxation time, 
 and then she used to wash her face, and come 
 down to the plain sewing, or the useful reading, 
 just as usual, so that no one knew^ anything about 
 it. 
 
 And yet Aunt Hepzibah was not unkind ; far 
 from it. She had the fullest conviction that in 
 everything she was acting the part of a mother to 
 the young girl whom she had taken under her 
 care. She had her own standard of womanhood, 
 hard, strong, practical; and up to this standard, 
 nothing short of this, she was determined to bring 
 her niece. As yet — and Janita had been more 
 than a month at the Aspens — her efforts had 
 failed. But, like many other energetic people, the 
 more she did not succeed, the more she kept on trying. 
 There was no reason ichy she should not succeed, 
 none, at least, that she could perceive. The same 
 machinery which had brought Mrs. Narrowby's
 
 • janita's cross. 127 
 
 daughters to such a pitch of female excellence, was 
 in full working order at the Aspens. Janita's 
 bookshelves groaned beneath volumes of judicious 
 reading. Every hour of the day had its own 
 appointed task. Twice a week, instead of recrea- 
 tion, her niece went to the village day-school to 
 hear the children say their tables; once a fortnight, 
 instead of walking exercise, she took her tracts round; 
 and every Sunday, under Mr. Mabury's superin- 
 tendence, she taught a class of girls the Church 
 catechism. Could anything be more perfect than 
 a scheme like this ? What could be wanted, ex- 
 cept the motive power to move the machinery to 
 some useful result ? 
 
 Which motive power never came. Miss Hepzi- 
 bah forgot, or rather she could never by any 
 process of reasoning be made to understand, that 
 the only true management is that which touches 
 the heart ; that kind words, tender looks, loving 
 caresses, go further to mould some characters than 
 the most faultless maxims, or tlie profoundest 
 schemes that were ever invented. But, of coui'se, 
 it was no use telling Miss Hepzibah this. Even if 
 the Professor had had tact enough to see that poor 
 Janita was being managed to death — which lie
 
 128 janita's cross. 
 
 had not — he might have talked until doomsday 
 before his sister would have relaxed a single regu- 
 lation, or altered by a hairsbreadth the scheme 
 which had been so carefully elaborated. The per- 
 son had yet to be born who could convince Hepzibah 
 Ruthven that a plan of hers, if it failed at all, 
 failed from any inefficiency of hers in the working 
 of it. 
 
 There was a trifling defect in Miss Ruth\en's 
 mental anatomy. She was destitute of what is 
 generally called the emotional nature, meaning by 
 that term the part of us which loves and sym- 
 pathises. This little oversight on the part of Pro- 
 vidence had not hitherto interfered materially with 
 the good lady's personal convenience. She got 
 through life very comfortably, without love or 
 sympathy, or anything of that sort. Certainly 
 one or two attacks had been made upon her affec- 
 tions a long time ago ; at least they were ostensibly 
 aimed at her affections ; but Miss Hepzibah in- 
 ferred, and very wisely too, that the shaft was 
 intended to reach her funded property. And so 
 the marksman met with a warm reception — a very 
 warm reception ; so warm that its fame spread far 
 and wide, and ever since, our worthy friend had
 
 janita's cross. 129 
 
 been left in undisturbed possession of her charms, 
 both personal and monetary. 
 
 So having never felt the want of love herself, 
 she ignored its claims in others. She had a pro- 
 found contempt for any affection, save that which 
 manifested itself in cooking and linen-mending 
 and housekeeping. She could understand how a 
 woman who loved her husband or her brother very 
 much should take delight in preparing good dinners 
 for him, and setting his buttons on, and making 
 him new sets of shirts periodically, and looking 
 after his general comfort in a brisk practical way. 
 That was plain enough. But how love could show 
 itself in any other way; how the loved one's 
 fireside -place, the very ground upon which he had 
 trodden, should be sacred ; how his absence could 
 make a blank which none other could fill ; how the 
 mere consciousness of his presence should in itself 
 be happiness complete ; that Miss Hepzibah could 
 not understand. And not understanding it, she 
 would not believe it. 
 
 Then, as for Janita wanting companionship, as 
 the Professor had once hinted in a vague, frightened 
 sort of way, that was clearly all stuff and nonsense. 
 What did people want companionship for, she 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 
 
 should like to know, so long as they had plenty to 
 do? Look at herself now, what companionship 
 did she want ? She never went out gossiping in 
 an evening, never wanted to talk about her feel- 
 ings, or " unbosom herself," as the phrase goes, or 
 seek communion with some kindred spirit. And 
 if she, a grown up and fully developed woman, 
 could do without companionship, why, it was only 
 reasonable to suppose tliat a child like Janita, who 
 had no cares to vex her, no housekeeping to worry 
 after, no servants to manage, no anything, in fact, 
 to disturb the quiet of her life, ought to be quite 
 content, and grateful that the lines had fallen to 
 her in such pleasant places. 
 
 Thus Miss Hepzibah said to the Professor in that 
 hard, matter-of-fact voice of hers. But she forgot 
 that if she had the care of a house upon her hands, 
 she had also the pleasing *f eeling of authority, the 
 consciousness of headship and control ; whereas 
 Janita had nothing of this. Hers was the mere 
 task-work of a day labourer, without aim, without 
 responsibility of any kind, without even the poor 
 motive of a day labourer, for Janita's toil brought 
 no wages. Miss Hepzibah did not consider it wise 
 for yourig people to have money at their command.
 
 janita's cross. 131 
 
 It produced thriftlessness and extravagance. And 
 therefore she supplied her niece with what she 
 thought the requisite feminine belongings, from 
 pins to bonnets and dresses ; so that when the 
 little store of Inverallan cash was expended, 
 Janita had not a sixpence to call her own. 
 
 And so the time kept wearing on. Janita 
 worked patiently at the treadmill in which her 
 aunt had placed her ; learned the scheme by heart, 
 and stuck to it as religiously as she could. True, 
 her cheeks began to get very thin ; the dimples 
 had quite gone away, and the rosy flush which 
 used to be there had dwindled down to a little 
 pink spot on either side. And into her dark eyes, 
 too, there had come the weary, spiritless look of 
 those who shed many tears. But those about her 
 did not notice this. 
 
 Except perhaps Bessie Ashton, the housemaid. 
 Bessie was not exactly nervous, but she knew what 
 it was to quiver under the lash of Miss Hepzibah's 
 tongue, and to quail before those hard black eyes 
 that had neither love nor sweetness in them. And 
 she saw what no one else did, that the poor girl's 
 life was getting worn out of her little by little. 
 But of course it was no business of hers to say any- 
 
 k2
 
 132 jaxita's cross. 
 
 thing. Servants were not expected to make 
 remarks about what they saw. Miss Jane, bless 
 her, might have someone in Scotland she was fret- 
 ting after. She knew very well how she should 
 feel if she was taken away to a strange place from 
 — well, away from . 
 
 And just then that low whistle came carolling up 
 from the Duke's-yard end of the village, and 
 Bessie flew to the gable window in time to get a 
 glimpse of Roy's canvas cap and light curls through 
 the thick, hammered glass. No, she was sure she 
 should not like to leave Meadowthorpe ; there were 
 a great many people in Meadowthorpe she liked 
 very much, and perhaps there might be somebody 
 at that Scotch place, she could not remember its 
 name, where Miss Jane — ^bless her! — had come 
 from. 
 
 Bessie did what she could, though. She dusted 
 Janita's room with extra care ; she shook up her 
 bed twice as vigorously as ^liss Hepzibah's. She 
 put a geranium, now and then — no matter where 
 it came from — in the little glass vase which stood 
 upon the dressing-table ; and when she knelt down 
 in her white-washed attic night after night to say 
 her prayers, she added a petition to " bless Miss
 
 JANITA S CROSS. loo 
 
 Jane, and make her happy." Bessie did it all out 
 of good will, pure kindness of heart ; not knowing 
 that perhaps by and by, in her own great sorrow, 
 she, too, might stand in need of a kind word, a 
 loving look. 
 
 Poor Janita ! How she pined after the old In- 
 verallan life, with its wholesome ignorance of 
 schemes and methods. How she longed for a race 
 up the hill-side with swift-footed Agnes, or one of 
 those firelight readings in the study with Willie 
 Home. But she scarcely dare think of Willie since 
 that morning, a week or two ago, when Miss Hep- 
 zibah had put her through such a catechism of 
 questions about him ; his age, his appearance, 
 his character, his prospects ; finishing up with a 
 great many cautions against allowing her affec- 
 tions to become entangled, or fixing them upon 
 unprofitable objects. Oh, if only Uncle Jabez had 
 never taken that trip into Scotland ! — or if fate had 
 never brought him to Inverallan ! — or if he had 
 never seen her at church ! — or if not one of that 
 chain of circumstances had happened which ended 
 in her being plucked away from the dear Clause 
 home, and pinned down where nobody loved her, 
 away from the purple moorlands, and the wimpUng
 
 134 janita's ceoss. 
 
 burnle, and the quiet loch with its fern islands and 
 heathery banks !" 
 
 But it was too late. Here she was, amongst the 
 flats and fens ; not a mountain anywhere, not even 
 a hill ; where the dykes were too lazy to get up a 
 ripple on their own responsibility, and the wind- 
 mills had scarcely energy enough to turn their 
 arms round for an hour together. And yet, dreary 
 as the country was, Janita thought she could have 
 borne with that, if only Aunt Hepzibah would have 
 let her alone a little more, if only she would have 
 given her some work to do, and then left her to 
 do it in her own way. But Miss Hepzibah had no 
 notion of letting people do things in their own way. 
 At the Aspens, there was but one way of doing 
 anything, and that was the way Miss Hepzibah 
 chose to do it. If she gave Janita a shirt-sleeve to 
 make for Uncle Jabez, she was at her a dozen 
 times in an hour with cautions not to put her 
 stitches too near together or too far apart, not to 
 make the gusset too narrow or too wide, not to make 
 the button-holes too large, or the gathers too small. 
 And one would really have thought that the safety 
 of her soul depended upon doing the stitching of 
 the wrist-band according to rule, two threads back-
 
 janita's cross. 135 
 
 ward and two forward, neither more nor less. 
 Then, when the domestic avocations were in opera- 
 tion, and Janita had a pudding to make, Miss 
 Hepzibah was at her elbow throughout the process, 
 helping her to dole out the sugar, stone the raisins, 
 or beat the eggs, confusing her with countless 
 cautions and suggestions, and, after all, half making 
 the pudding herself ; so that for any real help she 
 had afforded her aunt, Janita felt she might as well 
 have been racing up and down the garden. But 
 that was Miss Hepzibah's theory of domestic 
 management, and you might as well try to move 
 St. Olave's cathedral as convince her that it was 
 not the best possible theory. 
 
 The scheme went on triumphantly for about six 
 weeks. Then it received its first check in the 
 shape of an invitation for Janita to join her aunt 
 in the monthly working-party, which was to be held 
 in a few days at Gablehouse. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah rather liked that working-party. It 
 was almost the only social opportunity that she really 
 did enjoy. For going out to tea, in a general way, 
 where you had to put on your best dress and white 
 gloves, and sit for three, four, or five hours with 
 your hands in your lap, was a performance slie did
 
 136 janita's cross. 
 
 not relish at all. But the working-parties were 
 sensible, and she felt that she was doing her duty 
 at them, and so she always went. Perhaps, also, 
 there might be a sort of affinity between her own 
 character and the webs of calico, stout, strong, un- 
 bleached, which were there made into garments for 
 the natives of interior Africa ; or perhaps it was 
 tlie freedom of speech which was allowed, and Miss 
 Hepzibah dearly loved speaking her mind out ; or 
 perhaps it was the green tea which Mrs. Narrowby 
 used to get direct and unadulterated from her mer- 
 chant brother in China. But however that might 
 be. Miss Hepzibah's false front and best black lace 
 cap never failed to take their place in the Gable- 
 house drawing-room at half-past three o'clock on 
 the first Monday in the month. 
 
 She rather demurred about letting Janita go. 
 Young people, after all, were best at home. It 
 might give the child a taste for visiting. It might 
 distract her mind from due attention to the 
 scheme. But Janita did not seem very anxious 
 about it. She did not plead to go. That would 
 have settled the matter at once, and afforded an 
 opportunity for wholesome discipline by leaving 
 her at home. At last, however. Miss Hepzibah
 
 janita's ceoss. 137 
 
 decided in favour of the invitation, and after 
 making her niece read through the deportment 
 chapter of the " Whispers to Young Ladies," and 
 the hints on behaviour to members of the opposite 
 sex, at the end of the ^' Female Guide," and after 
 firing at her a perfect cannonade of good advice, 
 which the young girl listened to demurely enough, 
 they both set off to Mrs. Narrowby's periodical 
 diet of plain- work. 
 
 Which diet of plain-work, or ratlier the events 
 towards which it led, had no small influence on 
 Janita Raeburn's future life.
 
 138 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ^R. NARROWBY was the Duke's 
 architect. His letters were al- 
 ways addressed, Ralph Narrow- 
 )^^ by, Esq. Mrs. Narrowby would 
 have been very much displeased if envelopes bear- 
 ing any other superscription had ever found their 
 way into her husband's private room of business. 
 Mr. Narrowby lived in a peculiar-looking house, 
 of his own devising, at the north end of Gentility 
 Square. Gablehouse was the proper name of the 
 architect's residence, but certain evil-disposed per- 
 sons, who enjoyed having a joke at their neigh- 
 bours' expense, used to call it Gabblehouse, from 
 the amount of gossip — purely innocent gossip, of 
 course — which oozed out, from time to time, in its 
 elegantly-furnished drawing-room. But the peo- 
 ple who called Mr. Narrowby's residence Gabble-
 
 janita's cross. 139 
 
 honsej were ill-mannered people — people of no re- 
 finement or education, and yon are not obliged to 
 believe that the inuendo contained so much as a 
 particle of truth. 
 
 Mrs. Narrowby was a tall, stout woman, of dig- 
 nified and slightly repelling presence. She al- 
 ways had her head drawn far back into her 
 shoulders, like a cat when it is in a bad temper. 
 She also had a peculiar way of walking up the 
 church aisle on a Sunday, a way which, to say 
 the least of it, was quite out of keeping with the 
 sentiments of the General Confession, though no 
 one in ]^ir. IMabury's parish pronounced that con- 
 fession with more clearness and distinctness than 
 the architect's lady. 
 
 For the rest, Mrs, Narrowby was a very lady- 
 like person. Charitable, too ; except to the fail- 
 ings of other people. She gave away coals and 
 flannel-petticoats at Christmas, in return for which 
 she expected the parishioners who received them, 
 to curtsey very low to her all the year round. Ac- 
 cordingly they did curtsey very low to her. No 
 one in the parish was curtsied to more lowlily 
 than Mrs. Narrowby. 
 
 The familv at Gablehouse consisted of a son,
 
 140 janita's cross. 
 
 employed in his father's office, and three daugh- 
 ters, unmarried. But those three Miss Narrowbys 
 must be particularised. They were such very 
 well-conducted young ladies — so overflowing with 
 the proprieties of life — such perfect specimens of 
 the admirable results of home-training. 
 
 Long ago there lived in Yorkshire a lady who 
 was remarkable for the excellence of her cheese- 
 cakes. No one, in all the country round, made 
 such cheese-cakes, for size and flavour and gene- 
 ral excellence. They were always exactly alike, 
 made after the same receipt, baked the same 
 length of time ; only she had a little variety in the 
 shape of the tins. And when her friends came to 
 have tea with her, and the table, in pursuance 
 of the good old Yorkshire custom, was spread with 
 sweets of every kind, she would say, 
 
 " Now, will you take a round cheese-cake, or a 
 square one, or a diamond-shaped one ? " 
 
 Just as if it was of the slightest consequence 
 which they took, since all were the same. 
 
 The Misses Narrowby were something like Mrs. 
 Yorkshire's cheese-cakes, excepting richness of 
 flavour. They were made after the same receipt, 
 mixed with the same ingredients, put together in
 
 janita's ckoss. 141 
 
 the same quantities, cooked for the same lenp^th of 
 time, producing, of course, the same result. The 
 only difference was, a slight variation in external 
 form. Miss Narrowby was square, angular, pre- 
 cise. Miss Julia was round and dumpy. Miss 
 Selina inclined to elegance, and might, therefore, 
 be described as diamond-shaped. In every other 
 respect they matched exactly. They dressed alike, 
 spoke alike, thought alike, had the same preferences, 
 the same aversions. They lived after the same 
 scheme, had the same hopes, desires, and aims, 
 walked along the same beaten track, which was 
 the straight and narrow one, marked out by time- 
 honoured usage, as the best for unmarried daugh- 
 ters at home. Enough for the present concerning 
 the Gablehouse young ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Narrowby considered herself in the fore- 
 front of the parish, as regarded social position. 
 True, there were the Misses Vere Aubrey, whose 
 pedigree was a trifle longer than her own, and 
 embraced a few more titled names in its roll. But 
 tlien the pedigree of the Misses Vere Aubrey was 
 everything to them. They could boast of neither 
 money iior husbands to support their position. 
 They were reduced to the pitiful shift of hanging
 
 142 janita's cross. 
 
 up an old wide-awake in the back passage, to the 
 intent that stray tramps coming — fruitlessly enough 
 — to beg for spare halfpence, might be deluded 
 into the belief that Aubrey Lodge contained some- 
 thing in the shape of a man. Mrs. Narrowby, 
 with a butler, a footman, a gardener, and a thou- 
 sand a year, smiled at the bare idea of the Misses 
 ^^ere Aubrey claiming precedence over lier. Then 
 there w^as Mrs. Macturk, the widow of the I'ich 
 India merchant. Mrs. Macturk had plenty of 
 money, but no one knew who her grandfather w^as, 
 and her ^' h's " were terribly misplaced some- 
 times. The less said about Mrs. Macturk's posi- 
 tion, the better. Miss Ruthven, too, was very 
 well connected, belonged to an old and highly 
 respectable Scottish family, had considerable pri- 
 vate means, and if her personal qualifications had 
 equalled those of purse and pedigree, w^ould have 
 been no mean rival to the claims of Gablehouse. 
 But then INiiss Hepzibah Ruthven was so extremely 
 — what should Mrs. Narrowby call it ? she really 
 did not wish to be severe upon any one in the 
 parish, but Miss Hepzibah w^as so very fantastic 
 and unladylike in her deportment, that although 
 she might be, and undoubtedly was, much respected
 
 janita's cross. 143 
 
 by a certain class, still, she could never aspire to 
 rank herself side by side \^ath the aristocracy of 
 the village. As for Miss Ah^-^nie, she also was an 
 unprotected female, and as such could not trench 
 upon Mrs. Narrowby's position, fenced in as it was 
 by a husband and four children, who, if not pos- 
 sessed of shining gifts, were everything that could 
 be wished for in point of conduct and propriety. 
 And everyone knew that Dr. Maguire had only 
 married his wife for her pretty face; and the 
 lawyer's lady w^as a confirmed invalid, who took 
 no place in society at all. There was only Mrs. 
 Mabury left. But the clergyman in a country 
 parish, like the king in chess, goes for nothing ; he 
 cannot be touched. Therefore, on the whole, ^Irs. 
 Narrowby might consider herself supreme. And 
 she did so. 
 
 The social construction of the Meadowthorpe 
 working-parties was peculiar. Of the fifteen or 
 twenty ladies who assembled month after month 
 in Mrs. Narrowby's drawing-room, not more than 
 half condescended to recognise each other when 
 they met in the village street. Miss Vere Aubrey, 
 whose ancestors came in with the Conqueror, had 
 no objection to sit side by side with Miss Brad-
 
 144 janita's cross. 
 
 shaw, whose father died a year or two ago, and left 
 her a nice little property of one or two hundred a 
 year, amassed in the linen drapery business ; and, 
 if need be, she would pass Miss Bradshaw the cotton 
 reels, or answer a civil question about a pinafore 
 pattern, or permit the linen-draper's daughter to 
 take the length of a little frock, preparatory to the 
 running of tucks. But Miss Vere Aubrey, whose 
 ancestors came in with the Conqueror, had a 
 deeply-rooted and perfectly natural objection to take 
 notice of Miss Bradshaw, whose father amassed 
 a fortune in the linen- drapery business, if they 
 met in the street; and therefore the said Miss 
 Vere Aubrey wisely declined doing so. You will 
 not, I am sure, think of blaming her on that ac- 
 count. Neither, because Mrs. Macturk, relict of 
 the rich Indian merchant of that name, kindly 
 inquired across the room concerning the welfare of 
 Mrs. Brown's little baby, who had begun to cut 
 his teeth — Mrs. Brown was the grocer's wife, — 
 did such a manifestation of kindly feeling at all 
 justify Mrs. Brown in stretching out her drab- 
 coloured cotton glove to grasp Mrs. Macturk's 
 lavender kid, when they passed each other in 
 GentiHty Square. Mrs. Brown had once taken
 
 janita's cross. 145 
 
 that liberty, soon after her husband commenced 
 business on his own account, but Mrs. Macturk 
 was happy to say she had succeeded in convincing 
 the grocer's wife of its impropriety. People of 
 that class, you know, are so very apt to step out of 
 their place. 
 
 Again ; Mrs. Crumpet, the Canon's widow, who, 
 since her husband's preferment to the church 
 above, had lived in that elegant little villa on the 
 St. Olave's road, and who at stated seasons carried 
 her cathedralesque person into Mrs. Narrowby's 
 drawing-room, to assist in stitching an unbleached 
 calico sleeve for some benighted Hottentot or 
 South Sea islander — Mrs. Canon Crumpet, I say, 
 might, if she thought proper, make a remark on the 
 origin and prospects of the African mission to Miss 
 Green, the national schoolmaster's sister, who was 
 stitching a corresponding sleeve for the same gar- 
 ment; or if Mrs. Crumpet, the Canon's widow, 
 misplaced her scissors, and Miss Green, the national 
 schoolmaster's sister, found them for her, Mrs. 
 Crumpet would receive them with the gracefullest 
 of bows — those cathedral people were always so 
 perfectly well bred — but that was no reason why 
 Miss Green, the national schoolmaster's sister, 
 VOL. T. L
 
 146 
 
 should presume to show all her pretty white teeth 
 in a smile of recognition, next time she met Mrs. 
 Crumpet, the Canon's widow, near that elegant 
 villa on the St. Olave's road. And if Miss Green 
 had so far forgotten social morality as to venture 
 upon such a proceeding, the iciest of glances from 
 Mrs. Crumpet's steel grey eyes would soon have 
 brought her to a sense of its enormity. 
 
 So that the social constitution of Mrs. Nar- 
 rowby's working-party was something like the 
 famous Egyptian mummy, which crumbled to 
 pieces as soon as it was brought into the open 
 air. 
 
 You perceive the reasonableness of these little 
 niceties of social etiquette. I am sure you do. 
 At least, I hope you do, because, if not, it is quite 
 out of my power to explain it. I merely tell you 
 that this is the w^ay things were done at Meadow- 
 thorpe, and I take it for granted that your un- 
 bounded faith in modern conventions will embrace 
 it as the right way. 
 
 Of course this state of things invoh'ed many 
 little heartburnings, especially amongst those mem- 
 bers of the working-party who were neither 
 Canons' widov.s, nor relicts of Indian merchants,
 
 JANITA'S CROSS. 147 
 
 nor descendants of Norman barons who came 
 over with the Conqueror. Mrs. Brovrn and Miss 
 Green and Miss Bradshaw could not at all under- 
 stand why, after being addressed by Mr. Mabury^ 
 from the pulpit, in his yearly mission sermon, 
 as " co-partnersj" and " faithful handmaids," and 
 committed by him to Divine protection at the 
 close of the working-party, as " fellow-helpers in 
 the great v»^ork of evangelisation," Mrs, Canon 
 Crumpet should sail past them in the street as if 
 she had never seen them before, looking straight 
 forward with those keen, steel, grey eyes of hers; 
 or why Mrs. Macturk should keep her lavender 
 kids buried in the deepest recesses of her ermine 
 muff, instead of extending them for a friendly 
 shake with the Lisle thread of a ^' co -partner," or 
 '' faithful handmaid;" or why Mrs. Narrowby, 
 meeting her humbler colleagues in Gentility 
 Square, should eye them as if they were Jews, 
 Turks, and infidels, nay, worse, for in that case 
 the female head of the Gablehouse establishment 
 would most likely have offered them a tract. And 
 Miss Green, the national schoolmaster's sister, who 
 came out of Lancashire, where the people have ;i 
 great notion of speaking their own minds, said 
 
 l2
 
 148 janita's cross. 
 
 boldly that, for her part, she thought such exclu- 
 siveness was neither more nor less than ridiculous. 
 And Miss Bradshaw, who had been born and bred 
 in ^leadowthorpe, and therefore was more in bon- 
 bage to its spirit, said that it wasn't her place to 
 sit in judgment, but she did think that if Dorcas 
 had countenanced that sort of thing, she would 
 not have been so popular amongst the humbler 
 class at Joppa. And Mrs. Brown, the grocer's 
 wife, gave it as her opinion that such divisions 
 amongst professing christians were unbecoming 
 and heathenish, and that if Mrs. Narrowby did 
 not move to her next time they met, she had quite 
 made up her mind to have her name taken off the 
 books. " But you know," as Mrs. Narrowby said, 
 and all well-bred professing Christians of the upper 
 class will quite agree with her, '*it was such a 
 nuisance to have to move to all those people in the 
 street." And if you had lived at Meadowthorpe 
 you would have done the same, would you not? 
 
 Miss Hepzibah and Janita went very early to 
 Gablehouse. Miss Hepzibah did so because it 
 gave her the opportunity of choosing her work. 
 She liked something that was not very particular, 
 a stout calico sleeve, or a gingham pinafore, or a
 
 janita's cross. 149 
 
 linsey apron, something that she need not give her 
 whole mind to, but might reserve a little bit for 
 attention to conversation. Havinir selected a 
 suitable article, she whispered a few words to Miss 
 Narrowby, who replied in the same audible 
 whisper — " Oh ! indeed, verj^ strange !" and im- 
 mediately brought Janita a straightforward piece 
 of hemming, tacked down as if for a child of ten 
 years old. From which Janita inferred that her 
 aunt liad been saying something about her de- 
 ficiencies as a sempstress, and she felt like going 
 into a bad temper. 
 
 No one was in the room when they arrived, ex- 
 cept the ladies of the house. By and by Mrs ^Mac- 
 turk came, in her green moire antique, and bird 
 of paradise bonnet. Most of the working-party 
 ladies took off their bonnets, but Mrs. Macturk's 
 was so elegant that it seemed a pity not to keep it 
 before the public as much as possible. Then came 
 Miss Bradshaw and IMiss Green, who had evidently 
 put on their best things for the occasion. Then 
 the Misses Vere Aubrey. They wore holland 
 dresses, with no jewellery or anything of the sort, 
 and said good morning to Mrs. Narrowby when 
 they went away, although tea had been handed
 
 150 ja:nita's ceoss. 
 
 round in the interval. But the Misses Vere 
 Aubrey wished to impress the lower social mind 
 with the fact that they dined at seven. After 
 them Mrs. Brown arrived in her best brocade that 
 she wore to church on Sunday, and Mrs. Mabury, 
 the rector's lady, a serene, imperial-looking woman, 
 once elegant, now fast consolidating into corpu- 
 lence. 
 
 It was not the custom to introduce people. to 
 each other at the working-parties. That would 
 have involved recognition afterwards, which was 
 objectionable. As Mrs. Narrowby said when one 
 of the lower members asked the name of a new 
 comer — "^ We meet as fellow-Christians, not as 
 friends. I make it a rule never to introduce at my 
 working-parties. We consider each other as 
 fellow-Christians, met to advance the cause, no- 
 thing more." 
 
 Whereupon the "fellow-Christian" who had 
 been so put down, felt herself much aggrieved, and 
 thought that the only cause advanced was the 
 cause of exclusiveness. But she did not say so. 
 
 Janita sat quietly enough in her co]*ner by the 
 window-curtain. That very unnecessary, and, as 
 she thought, uncharitable remark of Aunt Hep-
 
 JANITxl's CROSS. 151 
 
 zibah's about her want of proficiency in plain Avork, 
 had pnt her not exactly into a bad humour, but a 
 silent one. She caught one or two flying whispers, 
 of which she was evidently the subject, from ]Mrs. 
 Macturk and the Misses Vere Aubrey, who were 
 sitting not far off. " Professor's niece, did I un- 
 derstand you? Raeburn — oh, yes, thank you." 
 However, no one seemed inclined to take much 
 notice of her, except Miss Narrowby, who came 
 across the room to Miss Raeburn's corner, and 
 asked, in a clear, perfectly audible voice, whether 
 she found the work too difficult — a remark which 
 did not tend to develop poor Janita's good temper 
 to any great extent. 
 
 When the company had assembled, Mrs. Nar- 
 rowby began to read. The reading lasted about 
 an hour. Then the upper house separated into 
 little conversational groups, interrapted now and 
 then by a request from the lower house for the 
 loan of scissors, cotton-reels, or patterns, which 
 were passed in dignified silence, as became "fellow- 
 Christians met to advance the cause." 
 
 " I wonder if we shall have Miss Alwyne this 
 afternoon," remarked Miss Vere Aubrey, in those 
 stately, aristocratic accents of hers.
 
 152 janita's cross. 
 
 Miss Green, the national sclioolmaster's sister, 
 thought not, for one of the village people told her 
 that Miss Alwyne had been the whole of the morn- 
 ing with poor old Mrs. Koyland, who was thought 
 to be near death. And Miss Green, the national 
 schoolmaster's sister, said as much as this to Miss 
 Vere Aubrey, whose ancestors came in with the 
 Conqueror. 
 
 " Oh !" said Miss Vere Aubrey, in a decided, 
 settling sort of voice. And then, recollecting her- 
 self, she added, " Thank you," and turning away 
 in an opposite direction from Miss Green, com- 
 menced a conversation with Mrs. Narrowby. 
 
 But Mrs. Narrowby was engaged with the work- 
 basket, looking out a pinafore-sleeve for Mrs. Mac- 
 turk. 
 
 " Eeally, Mrs. Macturk, I do not see the sleeve 
 anywhere. I must have misplaced it in preparing 
 the work." 
 
 " If you want the fellow-sleeve to the one Mrs. 
 Macturk is doing, I have got it here," said little 
 Mrs. Brown, the grocer's wife, in accents anything 
 but aristocratic. But then you know^ before little 
 Mrs. Brown was married she had been lady's-maid 
 somewhere.
 
 janita's cross. 153 
 
 " I beg pardon," said Mrs. Macturk. 
 
 " Oh, dear no, you can have the sleeve. I have 
 done with it now." 
 
 "Perhaps then, Miss Ruthven, you would be 
 kind enough to pass it this way." 
 
 Miss Hepzibah w^as a sort of spokeswoman be- 
 tween the upper and lower houses, liaving sympa- 
 thies with both, in a manner. So she passed the 
 sleeve " that way," and was politely thanked for it 
 by Mrs. Macturk, wdio, however, did not even 
 vouchsafe a glance towards the grocer's wife. Upon 
 which Mrs. Brown got very red in tlie face, and 
 shortly afterwards whispered something to Miss 
 Bradshaw, of which all that could be heard was — 
 
 "Ridiculous, ain't it?" 
 
 But little difficulties like these will occur some- 
 times between fellow- Christians and faithful hand- 
 maids, especially when the parties do not belong to 
 the same set. 
 
 To Janita, who was a keen observer of character, 
 all this by-play was very amusing. The conscious 
 dignity with which the upper house supported its 
 state ; the half-suppressed wrath of the lower mem- 
 bers who fancied themselves slighted ; the liigli- 
 toned pride with which Miss Vere Aubrey asked
 
 154 J Anita's cross. 
 
 for pins and cotton reels, which had got lost among 
 the commonalty ; the attempted indifference with 
 which the " faithful handmaids " in the plebeian de- 
 partment gave them up ; Miss Hepzibah's media- 
 tions between the two parties — all these things 
 made up a little social drama, which atoned for the 
 absence of more congenial employment. 
 
 At six, tea came in ; with it Mr. Narrowby, his 
 son Longden, and Mr. Mabury. Their arrival was 
 the signal for putting away work. 
 
 To say that the Eeverend Eustace Mabury, M.A., 
 of Magdalen College, Oxford, Eector of Meadow- 
 thorpe, and Yicar-choral of St. Olaves' cathedral, 
 was a man who lived for the spiritual welfare of his 
 people, and found his highest enjoyment in minis- 
 tering to their religious interests, would perhaps be 
 venturing beyond the bounds of truth. But Mea- 
 dowthorpe was in the gift of the Duke of Dyke- 
 land, and His Grace and Eustace Mabury were 
 college friends. Moreover, young Mabury's keen 
 intellect and well-stored mind had more than once 
 supplemented the peer's scantier endowments, and 
 saved my lord from coming to grief in his examina- 
 tions. Therefore — 
 
 At any rate, Mr. Mabury was rector of Meadow-
 
 janita's cross. 155 
 
 thorpe. And, on the whole, a good rector, too, 
 though the people were wont to nod gently now and 
 then under the influence of his ministrations. For 
 he had a snug little fortune, much of which found 
 its way into the cottages in the shape of soup and 
 blankets ; and . his wife, though not gifted in the 
 visiting department, could dress with excellent 
 taste, and could conduct a dinner-party with style, 
 and might, therefore, as Miss Yere Aubrey said, 
 be considered an acquisition to the place, in a social 
 point of view. 
 
 After chatting for a short time with the ladies, 
 passing off a few little pleasantries on the babies' 
 socks and pinafores, Mr. Mabury entered into 
 conversation with his host concerning the new 
 steward, whose arrival was expected in a few 
 weeks. 
 
 ]Meanwhile, Longden Narrowb}^ had found his 
 way to Janita's corner of the room, having been 
 introduced to her by his sister Selina. 
 
 Longden was a refined, elegant, rather culti- 
 vated young man. There was that sort of fascina- 
 tion about him which a graceful mind imparts. 
 As regards his personal appearance, he was what 
 is generally called interesting looking. lie had
 
 156 jaxita's cross. 
 
 the briglit eyes and the hectic flush which so often 
 take their possessors to a premature grave. Also 
 there was that half shy gentleness about his ways 
 which gives such a charm to those in wdiose cha- 
 racters beauty takes the place of strength. He 
 was very different from the rest of his family. In 
 them the practical everyday virtues predominated. 
 Nature had given him almost an excess of that 
 grace and refinement, of wdiicli a little could have 
 been so well spent upon his sisters. He was not 
 strong — either mentally or bodily — not reliable, 
 not profound, not steady and unyielding in his grasp 
 of anything ; but such a charming companion. 
 
 Janita found this out before she had been 
 in his company ten minutes. He was very fond 
 of poetry, and so was she. It was such a treat to 
 be able once more to talk about Longfellow and 
 Bryant and Mrs. Browning, and to remind each 
 other of favourite little bits ; and to find out, as 
 passage after passage was recalled, how their tastes 
 corresponded. And Longden had read Schiller, 
 too, and could say by heart all the finest pieces out 
 of Wallenstein and William Tell. And he had 
 been in Scotland, not to Inverallan certainly, but 
 to many charming Highland nooks which Janita
 
 janita's cross. 157 
 
 knew quite well, and it was so pleasant to talk to 
 him about them all, those glens and ferny water- 
 courses, and heathery moors, and quiet lochs 
 whose banks were all fringed Avith black pine 
 trees, beneath whose shade the gorse and blue 
 bells grew. 
 
 So pleasant, that Janita got quite animated. 
 How could she help it ? How could she keep the 
 old bright flash from comina^ back again to her 
 eyes, and the red to her cheeks, and the quick 
 smile to her lips ? Not at all ; until looking up, 
 she saw Miss Hepzibah's face turned towards her 
 with an awe-stricken expression, and immediately 
 she began to feel as if she had been doing some- 
 thing very naughty. 
 
 But, fortvmately, just at that crisis, tea came to 
 a conclusion. Mr. Mabury returned thanks. The 
 members of the lower house put on their bonnets 
 and went home. The Misses Yere Aubrey, too, 
 after saying good morning very impressively to tlie 
 general company, adjourned to the seven o'clock 
 dinner. The rest remained, being pressed by ^Irs. 
 Narrowby to walk round the garden. It was look- 
 ing very beautiful, the autumn flowers were in 
 such perfection.
 
 158 janita's cross. 
 
 Bj good fortune or good management, cer- 
 tainly not by any contrivance either on her own 
 part or that of Miss Hepzibah, Janita found her- 
 self again in company with Longden Narrowb}' . 
 Most likely it was good management, judging from 
 the conversation which, whilst Longden and 
 Janita, together with diamond-shaped Miss Selina, 
 were sauntering amongst the flower-beds, went 
 forward between Mrs. Narrowby and the ricli 
 Indian widow. 
 
 *^A niece, did I understand you, dear Mrs. 
 Narrowby, of the Professor's f 
 
 " Yes ; own niece, or rather great niece. The 
 young lady's mother was own niece to Mr. 
 Euthven." 
 
 ^' Oh ! perfectly well connected, then." 
 
 " Perfectly ; quite satisfactory in that respect. 
 You know the Ruthvens are a very old Scottlsli 
 family. She was born at sea." 
 
 " No ? how romantic ! And her father ?" 
 
 "Dead, I believe, a short time ago. Wild 
 rather, got through his money, but well con- 
 nected too." 
 
 " Indeed ; I understood the young lady had 
 property."
 
 janita's cross. 159 
 
 " Oh, yes, certainly. Inherits tlie whole of her 
 uncle's property. I have had that on the best 
 authority." 
 
 " The whole ! dear me ! And the Professor 
 must have some hundreds a year." 
 
 " Well, yes/' and Mrs. Narrowby gave her hand 
 a little wave, as if the property were of no conse- 
 quence, of no consequence at all. " A nice income, 
 you know, for the girl by and by." 
 
 "Very nice. Though, as you sa}', a few 
 hundreds is not much," and Mr§. Macturk thought 
 of her magnificent annuity. " Still it is — well, 
 yes, a very desirable thing. But, oh ! Mrs. 
 Narrowby ! do excuse me, your chrysanthemums, 
 how lovely ! I must stop." 
 
 Whether the conversation was ever resumed, is 
 not of moment. Half an hour later, ]\Iiss Hep- 
 zibah and her niece stood at the front door of the 
 Gablehouse, cloaked and bonneted. And Mrs. 
 Narrowb}^ was saying in her sweetest, most impress- 
 ive manner — 
 
 " AVe shall be so exceedingly happy to see Miss 
 Racburn again. You will allow her, I hope, 
 dear Miss Ruthven, to visit my girls now and 
 then."
 
 160 janita's cross. 
 
 And as the Misses Narrowby were such models 
 of female excellence, Miss Ruthven could do 
 nothing but give her consent.
 
 161 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 EXT day there was elderberry 
 syrup to make, which kept !Miss 
 Hepzibah in the still-room most 
 of the morning. And then for 
 Janita there was the judicious reading, and the 
 practice of the accomplishments, and the walking 
 exercise, and the children's multiplication-table to 
 be heard. Then came dinner, then recreation, 
 then two or three callers. So that it was not till 
 late in the afternoon, when the plain-sewing part 
 of the scheme was in action, and Miss Hepzibah. 
 with a half -finished stocking, sat in her accustomed 
 seat by the dining-room fire, that the cloud which 
 had been gathering all day, descended in a gentle 
 rain. 
 
 Not a storm, nothing of that sort. At least, 
 not on Miss Hepzibah's part. The occasion was 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 J Anita's cross. 
 
 too important for storming. If the jelly boiled 
 over, or the preserves stuck to the bottom of the 
 ]}Sin, or the marmalade turned out stringy, the 
 Professor's sister would rave; but when moral 
 delinquencies had to be reproved, when her sense 
 of feminine propriety had been wounded, Miss 
 Hepzibah was calm as the very Alps them- 
 selves. 
 
 Janita expected something. She expected it 
 from the awful way in which her aunt's lips were 
 drawn down, and the set, rigid look wdiich was 
 every moment growing sterner and sterner behind 
 those gold-rimmed spectacles. She knew that in 
 some way, how, she could not exactly say, she had 
 broken the moral law; that is, Miss Hepzibah' s 
 version of it. Away there at the Manse, nobody 
 would have scolded her ; she would have said her 
 prayers at night with a clear conscience. But an 
 Inverallan conscience was of very little use for 
 practical purposes at the Aspens. 
 
 "Jane," and Miss Hepzibah might have been 
 reading the burial service, her voice was so chill, 
 '^ Jane, there is a little matter I wish to mention 
 to you. Scarcely a little matter though, since it 
 involves the ^erv essence of female excellence.
 
 janita's cross. 163 
 
 I had hoped that the valuable selection of works 
 suitable for youno; people, which I put into your 
 hands a short time ago, would have fortified your 
 mind against that frivolity which appears to me 
 to be your besetting sin. I am disappointed to 
 find that the perusal of those works has not pre- 
 vented you from so far forgetting what is due to 
 the female character, as to indulge in the un- 
 seemly conduct of last evening. That conduct 
 was unwomanly ; it was " 
 
 " Aunt, I only talked to young Mr. Narrowby 
 about poetry books, and a little bit about Scotland ; 
 if you mean that, I don't think it was wrong." 
 
 " Jane, when I was your age, I was instructed 
 to be silent in company, and to preserve that 
 modest demeanour which is the supremest orna- 
 ment of the sex." 
 
 Janita's eyes began to flash ; there was an 
 ominous quiver on her lips. Perhaps she, too, had 
 a little of the desperate Raeburn blood in her. 
 But Miss Hepzibah was too much occupied with 
 her speech to notice anything else. 
 
 "Jane, your uncle and I undertook the train- 
 ing of you in order that you might be reclaimed 
 from the pernicious habits which had resulted from 
 
 m2
 
 164 
 
 the unrestrained freedom of your Inverallan life. 
 There womanly propriety appears not to have been 
 considered. You err in supposing that the un- 
 seemly liberty in which you indulged there, will be 
 tolerated in the bosom of a correct family such as 
 that over which I have the honour to preside." 
 
 " Aunt !" 
 
 " You will oblige me by preserving silence. 
 Nothing you may bring forward can justify your 
 behaviour last evening. It shocked me : it violated 
 all my ideas of propriety ; it " 
 
 What else it did remains a secret. For the 
 bound of Janita's patience was reached at last. 
 The flood-gates were opened, and out poured the 
 torrent of impetuous anger. 
 
 " Aunt ! Aunt Hepzibah ! I wish I had never 
 come to Meadowthorpe ! Why did you bring me 
 here ? No one asked you. And I was so happy 
 at Inverallan, and they loved me, and they were 
 kind to me. But you pin me down with your 
 schemes and methods — I hate them, I do ! I wish 
 I was home again ! And I have done nothing 
 wrong. I would do it all over again this very 
 night, if I had the chance, I would. And I — " 
 
 But there is no need to say all the rest. When
 
 janita's cross. 165 
 
 Janita began her little oration, she was stitching 
 away at a linen wristband ; before she had finished 
 it she was out in the middle of the floor, her work 
 on the ground, her eyes flashing, her forehead 
 knotted up with passion, such as no conscience, be 
 it Inverallan or Meadowthorpe, could in any sort 
 justify. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah was confounded. What next? 
 Was ever anything so audacious? And from a 
 child like that ! 
 
 " Blessings on us !" she ejaculated, as the little 
 fury stood there, stamping her feet on the carpet. 
 And because Miss Hepzibah could really think of 
 nothing else just then, she kept saying it over and 
 over again, 
 
 "Blessings on us!" 
 
 In her confusion she dropped a stitch off her 
 stocking-heel. Of course it had to be picked up. 
 And when the good lady lifted her head again, to 
 repeat " Blessings on us !" Janita was gone. 
 
 Nothing so strange as that had happened at the 
 Aspens for a long time, certainly. There had been 
 one or two breezes with Bessie Ash ton, when the 
 poor girl had got worried almost to death with
 
 1 Q6 janita's cross. 
 
 cautions and reprimands ; but never anything to 
 match the little Scotch lassie's tornado of wrath. 
 What was to be done ? 
 
 Miss Hepzibah Ruthven did not believe in pas- 
 sionate feeling of any kind. Nothing annoyed her 
 so much as the manifestation of emotion. She 
 could not bear to see people cry, it fidgeted her 
 beyond endurance ; and as for violent outbursts of 
 anger, she always set them down to a disordered 
 liver, or a very depraved state of the moral sensi- 
 bilities. Thus, Janita's escapade, Avhich was in 
 reality only the natural outbreak of uncontrollable 
 nervousness, appeared to her in the light of a 
 lamentable dereliction from the path of female pro- 
 priety. And, as such, she thought it her duty to 
 take advice upon the subject. 
 
 There was Miss Alwyne. She was well known 
 in the village as a sensible person, a person of in- 
 tellectual abilities. Moreover, repjort said that in 
 her early days she had been a governess. There- 
 fore she might possibly retain some knowledge of 
 the workings of the youthful heart in its most de- 
 praved condition. And so to Meadowthorpe Cot- 
 tage, there and then, Hepzibah Euthven went. 
 
 Miss Alwyne was at work in her parloiu*, a quiet,
 
 janita's cross. 167 
 
 peaceful-looking little room, of which we may 
 have more to say hereafter. She listened patient 
 ly to her visitor's long story, a half -perceptible 
 smile coming and going upon her face all the 
 while. The Professor's sister was quite right. 
 Miss Alwyne did understand " youthful depravity " 
 of this kind. She knew a little of Janita too. 
 She had studied her face at church. She knew 
 what a restless, eager, unsatisfied nature was 
 moulding the young girl's changeful features, and 
 looking through those dark eyes of hers. And 
 she knew, too, how the quick ardent temperament, 
 impatient of control, rebellious under anything but 
 the gentlest touch, would chafe and quiver beneath 
 that unskilful hand which was trying to force it 
 into an unnatural track. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah sketched out her grievances In 
 bold general outline, and then proceeded to 
 details. 
 
 " So frightfully deficient in method, dear Miss 
 Alwyne. It really is very trying. The girl almost 
 drives me out of my senses sometimes. I cannot 
 teach her punctuality. She will take to her duties 
 at wrong times of the day, and be doing plain work 
 when the scheme directs judicious reading, or
 
 168 janita's cross. 
 
 domestic avocations when it ought to be walking 
 exercise. And she says she can't sing or draw ex- 
 cept when the huood/ as she calls it, is upon her. 
 Moods, such nonsense ! I never have moods. I 
 really get quite disheartened, Miss Alwyne. I am 
 trying to make a woman of her, but it seems to be 
 no use. I have provided her with a complete 
 library of works suitable for young people, such a 
 mass of useful information as I am sure would fur- 
 nish any girl's mind for life, and I expect her to 
 write me out a digest of one chapter each day to 
 fix it upon her memory, you know ; but " 
 
 And Miss Hepzibah sighed. So did Miss 
 Alwyne — not for the same reason, though. She 
 was silent for some time, and then began in a low, 
 clear voice, as if following out in her own mind 
 some favourite train of thought : 
 
 ^' I sometimes fancy that we should succeed 
 better in the training of girls if we left them more 
 to themselves, instead of besetting them so with 
 guides, and manuals, and hand-books. We cripple 
 them with overmuch help. We stifle them with 
 letterpress until they haven't room for an idea of 
 their own." 
 
 " Dear me. Miss Alwyne ! Don't you approve
 
 janita's cross. 169 
 
 of guides and manuals ? Why, tlie very books I 
 ordered for Jane, because I thought they would 
 brace her mmd so. The bookseller at St. Olaves' 
 assured me there was such a demand from the 
 ladies' schools for guides and manuals ; so much 
 more sensible, you know, for the youthful mind 
 than poetry and that sort of nonsense. Do you 
 not really think now. Miss Alwyne, that these 
 works are exceedingly suitable for young people ?" 
 
 " No, Miss Hepzibah, I don't." 
 
 " But girls are always brought up by them. The 
 bookseller told me so." 
 
 " Very likely. And look at the results of your 
 present system of teaching. Does England turn 
 out nobler women now than she did three hundred 
 years ago, when all these aids, and helps, and whis- 
 pers, and suggestions were unpublished ? Women, 
 I mean, who fulfil more worthily the great pur- 
 poses of life. Contrast Lady Jane Grey, and 
 Rachel Russell, and many others whose names are 
 not so famous as theirs, with the women of the 
 present day." 
 
 ^' Ah ! but Miss Alwyne, those were brilliant 
 exceptions — gifted individuals. Now I am afraid 
 my niece "
 
 170 janita's cross. 
 
 " I don't think they were so very gifted ; but 
 their natures were freer, stronger, more healthily 
 developed. What they did was done from free 
 will, from the promptings of their own hearts, 
 aided by light from above, and not because this 
 book advised it, or that book recommended it, or 
 the other book said it ought to be done." 
 
 "Well, what you say sounds reasonable; it 
 really does." 
 
 This was a wonderful admission for Miss Hepzi- 
 bah to make. A week ago she would never have 
 dreamed of saying such a thing. But Janita's 
 unaccountable ebullition of temper had so scared 
 her, so shaken her faith in the schematic mode of 
 training, that she was ready in despair to admit 
 almost anything. 
 
 " But surely," she said, " rules are advisable for 
 young people ; judicious, well selected rules, you 
 know." 
 
 " I don't complain of rules, Miss Hepzibah, 
 only we have so many of them. Girls are posi- 
 tively suffocated with rules. They are taught to 
 do everything by rule, from the buying of a 
 bonnet ribbon to the choosing of a husband. In- 
 stead of giving them a few leading principles, and
 
 janita's ckoss. 171 
 
 allowing these to produce their own result, they 
 are fenced up with books of good, well-meant ad- 
 vice, all addressed to the practical part of their 
 nature. They are taught how to preside at a tea- 
 table, how to dress themselves properly, how to 
 behave to gentlemen, how to manage their tempers, 
 how to mend, dust, and cook, how to do every- 
 thing, in fact, that a girl's common sense ought to 
 teach her to find out for herself. And if, after 
 wading through all the books written for their 
 benefit, they have any sort of freshness of mind 
 left, it is a blessing for which they cannot be too 
 thankful." 
 
 Poor Miss Hepzibah! her theories were being 
 washed away one by one, like children's sand 
 castles when the tide comes up. But she would 
 not give up everything to Miss Alwyne. Nay, 
 most likely, before to-morrow^ morning, she would 
 have travelled back again to the old stand-point, 
 and be rooted there as firmly as ever. 
 
 " You would fortify a young person's mind with 
 maxims, though, would you not ? Sound maxims, 
 you know, hke those in the ' Guide to Female 
 Excellence.' That work, jMiss Alw^me, is in the 
 fourteenth edition ; it must be good."
 
 172 
 
 "I would do tills. 1 would try to ^n'aft in tlieir 
 hearts those, ^rcat God-given truths, without 
 which no life can nMtr win n*a] no]>leness. I 
 would try to teach i1j(,*hi that the meanest little 
 duty which loving hands can do, comes as a 
 message from heaven, and hides within it, when 
 rightly done, a blessing most sweet and precious. 
 1 would teach them that there is nothing servile in 
 a woman's life." 
 
 " Exactly so !" cried Miss IIej)/j'hah, trium- 
 phantly, '\jusl my opinion ; and so the scheme 
 devotes a couple of Jiours every day to domestic 
 avocations. I think it is so important for young 
 people to know how to cook. J>ut, poor child I 
 she has no taste for that sort of thing. I'm sure I 
 }}ity li(T." 
 
 '' 1 would," Miss Alwyn continued, as though 
 not hearing this interruption, " teach her that from 
 the litthi things which compose a woman's life, she 
 may ever rise to the lofty thoughts which make 
 that life divine ; and then away with all your 
 Helps, and Suggestions, and Aids, and Counsels, 
 and Whis])ers. She will do witlir^ut them — she 
 will become a true woman, a noble woman ; truer 
 and nobl(?r far than a whole bookseller's shop full
 
 janita's cross. 173 
 
 of works suitable for young people could ever 
 make her." 
 
 " Dear me !" Miss Hepzihah was going to say 
 — "Blessings on us I" but that expression did not 
 seem suitable to Miss Alwyne's presence. " It is 
 a very difficult thing, the building up of a 
 young girl's character. I am sm*e I take the 
 greatest pains with Jane. I'm at her from 
 morning to night, trying to make her do what is 
 proper." 
 
 " Ah ! there it is. You talk of building up 
 character, as if character was a thing that could be 
 built up. As if it was a thing to be done by mere 
 hand labour ; a good architect, plenty of patience 
 and mortar, and the structure is complete. Now 
 I would rather thhik of character as a seed that 
 has in it the germs of life. Give it air, light, 
 wannth ; then let it alone. By and by there will 
 come the tiny stem, then the tender little leaves ; 
 still give it air, light, warmth ; take your screens 
 and props away, let the sun shine on it and the 
 rain feed it, and presently there will come the 
 beautiful flower, the sweet flower, whose fragrance 
 shall brighten all your life." 
 
 Miss Hepzibah did say " Blessing on us !" then.
 
 174 jais^ita's cross. 
 
 She really could not help it. Miss Alwyne had 
 such very peculiar notions ! 
 
 That was about all that passed between them. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah went home. She took off her 
 bonnet and shawl, gave herself a great shake, 
 called for a bowl of water and cleaned all the 
 downstairs windows. She wanted something to 
 drown her defeat, and she drowned it in that use- 
 ful, practical way. Some people Avould have sat 
 down and cried. Miss Hepzibah's plan of clean- 
 ing the windows was much better. It answered 
 very well too, for she felt, as she expressed it, 
 " straight again," when they were cleaned. 
 
 Only, what was to be done with Janita ? 
 
 Nothing, just at present. For wisdom quite 
 beyond her own was guiding the young girl's 
 course now. Light would come by and by. It 
 would surely come.
 
 175 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ^,^^^\J?HE autumn of that year was long 
 remembered by the Meadowthorpe 
 people as one of the saddest they 
 had ever known. After a brief 
 interval of September sunshine, rain set in again — 
 steady, unceasing rain. No golden October days, 
 no rich November sunsets steeping the clouds in 
 orange and crimson, no crisp hoar frosts turning 
 the leafless branches into glistening sprays of silver 
 and jewelling every little blade of grass with count- 
 less diamond sparks. But instead, thick fogs came 
 up from the Meadowthorpe marshes ; grey, dank, 
 unwholesome fogs, laden with fever and ague. 
 And as they poured their pestilential miasma into 
 tlie village, the death-bell began to toll, and graves 
 were dug in the churchyard, and blinds were 
 closely drawn, and tears, weary bitter tears, were
 
 176 janita's ceoss. 
 
 shed as the strong man was smitten down, or the 
 baby face stiffened in its coffin, or the maiden's 
 cheek was kissed by the cold lips of death. 
 
 Janita was the first to sicken. 
 
 After that passionate outbreak, she rushed away 
 into the garden in her thin shoes, without hat or 
 shawl; and, throwing herself down under the old 
 apple tree upon a bed of rotting, rain-sodden 
 leaves, had begun to cry again. There she lay all 
 the time Aunt Hepzibah was at Miss Alwyne's; 
 past the solid reading hour, past the recreation 
 hour, past the practice of the accomplishments. 
 Ah ! it would be a long time before poor Janita 
 would need to practise accomplishments any more, 
 save the accomplishment of patience, Avhich, 
 perhaps, after all, was the one she most needed. 
 
 The twilight began to fall, and the grey damp 
 to creep up from Meadowthorpe dyke, but still 
 Janita lay there under the old apple tree. When 
 it grew quite dark she came into the house again, 
 and, having a bad headache, shut herself up in her 
 own little room. Next morning. Miss Hepzibah's 
 voice was heard as usual screaming up the 
 staircase. 
 
 " Jane, child, Jane ! Dear me, where is the
 
 JANITA S CROSS. 177 
 
 girl ? I wonder if she knows tlie church clock 
 has struck seven half an hour ago. Jane, Jane, 
 time for the domestic avocations ! Never thought 
 of your scheme, I suppose ; that is it. Dear me — 
 dear me !" 
 
 But the scheme had done its work for the pre- 
 sent. Janita's brow was throbbing, her hands 
 burning, alternate fits of heat and shivering passing 
 over her. Something must be the matter. Aunt 
 Hepzibah consulted her receipt book, and decided 
 that it was an incipient " febrile attack." So she 
 made Janita get up and put her feet in hot water, 
 and then, swathing her in flannels, bundled her 
 back again into bed, and dosed her with sweet 
 nitre and water gruel. 
 
 Janita lay there all day. Such a long long day 
 it seemed ! She could not think much about any- 
 thing, her head ached so. And then, as is often 
 the case at the beginning of illness, her memory 
 drifted idly back again to the old times, to the 
 stories Ilsie had told her about her mother and 
 the ship Janita. How, while the vessel lay be- 
 calmed there beneath a tropic sky, the waves 
 lapping at its sides, the summer lightning flashing 
 like a living creature from mast to mast, Mrs. 
 
 VOL. 1. N
 
 178 J Anita's cross. 
 
 Raeburn, speaking no word, asking neither for 
 love nor sympathy, would pace the deck with 
 hands tightly clenched, and face that grew more 
 haggard day by day. And how at last it was all 
 over, and the captain read the prayers, and the 
 sailors stood reverently by, whilst a long narrow 
 coffin slipped quietly into the sea. There would 
 be a death, those sailors said. They knew it, for 
 sharks had tracked the vessel many days, and 
 where the sharks came, death came too. 
 
 And then she remembered what Ilsie had said 
 about Gavin Eivers, the swarthy black- haired boy 
 who used to be so fond of baby Janita on board 
 ship ; who would clamber down from the rigging 
 to take her in his arms, and stroke her pale face 
 with those sunburnt fingers of his. Ilsie said she 
 was quite sure Gavin had the fairy touch, for no 
 sooner did the child find itself in his arms than its 
 fretful wail ceased, and a smile came upon its baby 
 lips. Ah ! if there were any Gavin Rivers now 
 to take hold of her hot hand, and stroke away that 
 pain from her aching forehead ! Where was he, 
 and should she ever see him again ? And would 
 there ever be any one else in the world to be kind 
 to her ? Or was it to be, " Jane, child, Jane !" to
 
 janita's cross. 179 
 
 the end of the chapter; and was her life to go 
 wearing on through schemes and methods, until 
 death came — death which, perhaps, was not far 
 off now? 
 
 So she lay there all day ; Miss Hepzibah's voice 
 kept sounding through the house, sometimes call- 
 ing, sometimes scolding, sometimes cautioning. 
 And when Miss Hepzibah's voice was still, Janita 
 could hear the wind roaring round and round the 
 chimneys, whistling up the elm trees of Meadow- 
 thorpe lane, shaking the heavy window frames, 
 shivering amongst the ivy leaves. Grey twilight 
 gathered in the room ; things began to look dim 
 and ghostlike. She could no longer discern the 
 outline of the little white china dogs that sat on 
 the chimneypiece, with their noses pointing up to 
 the ceiling, nor of the embroidered ravens with 
 their beef-steaks and penny loaves ; and the grand 
 sampler, with all its houses and trees and goose- 
 berry bushes, looked just like a dim coloured 
 stain on the wall, nothing more than that. But 
 the wind kept on shivering among the ivy with a 
 weary restless sound, that made Janita shiver too. 
 
 By and by Miss Hepzibah, who had come up at 
 judicious intervals throughout the day, made her 
 
 X 2
 
 180 janita's ckoss. 
 
 appearance with an evening dose of sweet nitre and 
 water-gruelj and a great quantity of very good 
 advice, an article which she always kept by her. 
 When she heard that steady tramp on the stair, 
 Janita put the sheet over her head, for she wanted 
 her aunt to think she was asleep. But it w^as no 
 use. 
 
 " Now, Jane, child ! I've brought your supper. 
 You see what a very sad thing it is to give way to 
 temper. You've just been and gone and got cold 
 with sitting out on those damp leaves. You really 
 must learn to conduct yourself with more womanly 
 propriety. I dare say this will be wholesome 
 experience for you. And now you must be com- 
 posed" — for the girl's eyes were beginning to 
 glitter with tears — " and you must take this gruel, 
 and then go to sleep as fast as you can." 
 
 To which very excellent counsel Janita listened 
 with drowsy patience, and then drifted away into 
 a disturbed dream, from which she awoke to find 
 the room quite dark, not a glimmer of light any- 
 where except close to the foot of her bed, where 
 all sorts of ugly misshapen faces seemed to be 
 staring at her ; and lean, scranny hands were hold- 
 ing out schemes ; and voices, such harsh discordant
 
 181 
 
 voices, were screaming — " Jane, child ! Jane ! time 
 to get up, time for the morning reading. Jane, 
 child! Jane!" 
 
 "A disordered stomach," said Miss Hepzibah, 
 that same night, as she and the Professor sat in 
 the dining-room. " That tea of Mrs. Narrowby's 
 gave her the headache, no doubt ; they always 
 have such very strong tea at Gablehouse, and then 
 her outbreak of temper finished up the business. 
 It's a dreadful thing, is such a temper as hers." 
 
 "Zibie," said the Professor, very timidly, "do 
 you — do you think she is happy f Do we manage 
 her properly f ' 
 
 " Happy, brother Jabez ! Ill-regulated minds 
 are never happy. And as for the management, 
 trust me. When I get her made a woman, it will 
 be all right." 
 
 But in her heart of hearts. Miss Hepzibah 
 thought that a woman was a very difficult thing to 
 make — a very difficult thing.
 
 182 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ^^^^lOENING came. It brought with 
 ^^im . "^^1^^ it more headache, and more shiver- 
 (^ ing, and more fever. And the 
 remembrance of dreams — oh, such 
 awful dreams ! In which Janita thought she was 
 lying stiff and cold, but not dead, in her coffin on 
 the ship's deck ; and she could hear the sharks 
 tumbling about in the water, and then the plank 
 was tilted up, and she went gliding down, oh, 
 horror ! into their great fishy mouths. But just 
 before the shining teeth closed upon her, she woke 
 with a scream, and found herself in the dark, with 
 only those ghostly faces gibbering at her bed- 
 side, and the wind shivering amongst the aspen 
 branches. 
 
 Dr. Maguire was sent for, the first time he ever 
 had been sent for to that house. He said it was
 
 janita's cross. 183 
 
 fever, a violent attack, too ; brought on by cold, 
 possibly aggravated by excitement of some kind. 
 It was impossible as yet to say how the case would 
 end. Fevers were such awkward, lingering 
 things, especially for those whose constitutions 
 were not very strong. Even if she did get over 
 the worst, it would be a long time before she re- 
 gained strength, and became quite herself again. 
 
 This was said, not in Janita's hearing, but down 
 below, to the Professor and his sister. Poor Uncle 
 Jabez looked very much shocked, and shook his 
 head, and then went back again to his study 
 where he stood on the hearth-rug a full hour, 
 twisting up a mathematical proposition in his 
 fingers, and. wondering whether, after all, he had 
 done the very best possible thing when he went 
 into Scotland and pulled the little lintie out of its 
 warmed-lined nest, to feed it with water from a 
 patent bottle, and hemp seed, the best that could 
 be bought in St. Olave's. 
 
 But Miss Hepzibah did not look shocked. 
 What was the use of looking shocked ? Neither 
 did she stand on the hearth-rug for an hour, 
 twiddling something in her hands. What useful 
 purpose could that answer ? No ; JNIiss Hepzibah
 
 184 janita's ceoss. 
 
 had her work to do, and she set herself to it there 
 and then. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah considered herself an admirable 
 nurse in serious cases. She must say slie had a 
 great objection to half-and-half illnesses, where 
 the patient had energy enough left to be trouble- 
 some, and scarcely knew whether he ailed anything 
 or not, and had sense sufficient to refuse his medi- 
 cines, and know when they ought to be given 
 him ; but a real, proper, well-defined attack, a 
 case where the patient was handed over bodily to 
 her sole management, without ability of resistance 
 or interference, — Miss Hepzibah liked a case of 
 that kind ; she gloried in it. She rose, then, to 
 the full height of her nature, she was supreme! 
 She could manage a case of that kind as well as 
 any woman in the kingdom. 
 
 So as soon as Dr. Maguire had given his deci- 
 sion, she set to work. She had the bed curtains of 
 the long room taken down, and the window drape- 
 ries removed, because they obstructed ventilation ; 
 and the carpets taken up, except a little strip from 
 the door to the bed, because so much woollen in a 
 room was an unwholesome thing for sick people. 
 And the lookinir-slass, with its little knick knacke-
 
 janita's cross. 185 
 
 ries, was cleared away, in order that the dressing- 
 tahle might be used as a stand for phials and medi- 
 cine bottles. And when poor Janita, who had 
 been listlessly w^atching all these operations, asked 
 their meaning, Miss Hepzibah said, as briskly as 
 if she had been ordering the preliminaries of a 
 wedding : 
 
 " Jane, child, you're going to have an illness. 
 Dr. Maguire says so, and therefore you must make 
 up your mind to it. Your uncle and I will do all 
 we can for you, and you must do everything you 
 are told, and take your medicines and things like a 
 sensible person ; and if it pleases Providence to 
 bring you round again, I dare say you'll be all the 
 better, for my grandmother used to say that fevers 
 cleared up the constitution wonderfully." 
 
 And away bustled Miss Hepzibah out of the 
 room, with an armfuU of Janita's walking dresses, 
 that would not be wanted any more at present, and 
 so it was better to have them out of the way. 
 
 But it was of little consequence to poor Janita 
 wdiat they did with her, or with anything belonging 
 to her. Very soon she reached that strange mys- 
 terious border land from which time and all its in- 
 terests look quite dim and unimportant. At first
 
 186 janita's ckoss. 
 
 the days passed in a confused waking dream. She 
 was too weak to think or feel or fear. She was 
 only conscious of a tall figure tramping about the 
 bare floors, and coming to her bedside very often 
 with something to drink ; and speaking to her in a 
 voice which, though Miss Hepzibah thought it a 
 beautiful sick-room whisper, smote upon poor 
 Janita's tired brain like the stroke of a sledge 
 hammer. And sometimes another tall figure, not 
 Miss Hepzibah's, bent over her and touched her 
 forehead with its long fingers ; and once she 
 thought, but only once, with its lips. And Janita 
 had just sense enough left to feel that it was very 
 kind of Uncle Jabez to leave his mathematics and 
 come to see how she v/as. 
 
 When the room was quiet, when the night lamp 
 glimmered faintly over the bare walls, Janita used 
 to fancy she saw a little boy sitting by her bedside; 
 a little boy with black hair and sunburnt face, who 
 stroked her cheek with his tawny fingers, or laid 
 them on her forehead to cool its burning heat. 
 And she would stretch out her hands to touch him, 
 but instead she only touched her cold medicine 
 bottles, or the barley water jug that stood on the 
 little table close to the bed. That was in her quiet
 
 janita's cross. 187 
 
 hours, when the fever had spent itself for a time. 
 Soon it came back again, bringing with it terrible 
 visions ; always of a becalmed vessel, with light- 
 nings quivering round its masts, and a coffin sliding 
 from its bulwarks into the deep sea, where big 
 sharks with glassy eyes and open mouths were 
 waiting to gulp it down before it could have time 
 to sink. ' And though she was lying in the coffin, 
 hard and stiff, yet she was not dead, and she could 
 not die. 
 
 So days passed on. But whether ,they w^ere 
 many or few, Janita could not tell, for she lived 
 through them with a life that does not count by 
 time. And as each day passed, it left behind it no 
 memory, only a dull, vacant blank. 
 
 Once more that fearful ocean dream came 
 sweeping through her brain, making her shriek 
 out for dread of it, bringing Uncle Jabez and all 
 the rest of them to her bedside. After it she 
 slept a long, long sleep. Dr. Maguire said life 
 itself depended on that sleep. When at last she 
 woke, no feverish spectres glared upon her any 
 more. All around and about her there seemed to 
 be folded down a deep deep peace. And two verses 
 of those old Psalms that she had listened to so
 
 188 janita's cross. 
 
 often In Inverallan kirk, were slnglntr themselves 
 
 through 
 
 them : — 
 
 throucrh her thouMits. These were the words of 
 
 " The storm is changed into a, calm 
 At his command and will, 
 So that the waves which raged before, 
 'No^Y quiet are and still. 
 
 " Then are they glad — because at rest. 
 And quiet now they be ; 
 So to the haven he them brings, 
 Which they desire to see." 
 
 After that Janlta's hfe came to her again. Not 
 as It had been before, fierce, wayward, restless ; 
 but full of faith and love. He, whose ways are not 
 as our ways, had taken her for a season from the 
 reach of human teaching, that He might show her 
 His own truth, and lead her faltering steps to the 
 light. How, she knew not, but thoughts that had 
 long lain dormant woke again, as If written In her 
 heart with something that needed to be overflowed 
 by pain and suffering before It would reveal Itself. 
 Words spoken by the good old clergyman, lessons 
 that had been all unheeded when years and years 
 ago Mrs. Home taught her by the Manse fireside, 
 came back to her now, bringing with them all their 
 meaning. And these thoughts and these words
 
 189 
 
 and these lessons filled her new life with beanty and 
 sweetness. 
 
 But Miss Hepzibah knew nothing of all this. 
 Except that Jane was very patient, and took her 
 medicine without grumbling at all, and never teased 
 to have things that were not good for her, and was 
 always so grateful and so content with everything 
 that was done. And when punctually as the clock 
 struck eight, the Professor's sister came up with 
 the family Bible and marched through a chapter or 
 a psalm, Janita listened reverently, instead of fidg- 
 eting and twitching her hands about as she always 
 used to do at worship downstairs. 
 
 " Brother Jabez," said Miss Hepzibah, about ten 
 days after Janita had passed the crisis of her fever. 
 " Brother Jabez, I really do believe I shall make a 
 woman of that girl after all." 
 
 Oh ! Miss Hepzibah, what an admirable thing 
 it is to have faith in one's own powers ! 
 
 But then came the convalescence. And that 
 was very dreary. To lie in bed for hours, look- 
 ing out of that curtainless window, through which 
 nothing could be seen but a succession of bare 
 level fields, with long rows of pollard willows mark- 
 ing the course of the dykes, and here and there a
 
 190 
 
 tall solemn poplar, whose naked branches made 
 a black network on the cloudy sky — ^was surely 
 exercise enough for patience. Or when she was 
 a little better, when it was one of her good days, 
 Bessie would pack her up with cushions in the 
 great dimity-covered chair, and v, heel her to the 
 window, where, too weak to read or work, she 
 would sit and meditate on the kitchen garden, 
 with its rows of bilious-looking cabbages, and con- 
 sumptive raspberry canes, and beds of rhubarb that 
 could no longer coax even a single sunbeam to play 
 at hide and seek amongst their great scrambling 
 leaves ; and beyond all the high red brick walls, 
 stained with damp, and covered with the skeletons 
 of plum-trees, that were waiting for the warm 
 breath of spring to clothe their poor old bones with 
 life again. Oh ! it was very dreary ! 
 
 And no Willie Home to come and read to her 
 out of Shakespeare. And no Maggie to put her 
 arms round her neck and tell her pretty tales. 
 And no Agnes, swift-footed mountain girl, to bring 
 her bunches of heather, sweet dewy purple heather, 
 from the hill-sides. Yes, and she missed the 
 tender words of the good old clergy man and his 
 wife, and the caresses which in the dear Inverallan
 
 janita's cross. 191 
 
 home would have been shed upon her thick as the 
 autumn leaves that were now falling all around. 
 For it may be highly useful and practical, but, 
 oh ! that is a starving life into which love never 
 comes; where the warmest rooms of the heart 
 must ahvays be kept shut and bolted, where never 
 a sweet loving word can be spoken, or a kiss suf- 
 fered to wing its flight from lip to lip. 
 
 Janita scolded herself though, whenever she 
 began to think thoughts like these. Who was it 
 that had learned in every state therewith to be con- 
 tent? And that lesson is left in the world for 
 everyone to learn. She would learn it, too. 
 
 Still, that room was very dreary. And Janita 
 felt quite refreshed one morning when Bessie 
 came in, under pretence of cleaning up the fire, but 
 in reality to bring a bit of scarlet geranium, set 
 round with glossy dark green ivy leaves. 
 
 " Oh ! Bessie, how pretty ! Do let me look." 
 
 " You may have it. Miss Jane, and welcome ; 
 I'm sure it's no good to me." 
 
 "But where did it come from, and so late, 
 too?" 
 
 '* It was the young man Eoy as gived me it," 
 and Bessie tossed her pretty head on one side, so
 
 192 janita's cross. 
 
 that the firelight made all manner of ripples on 
 her wavy black hair. " I've telled him over and 
 over again, I don't care a bit for his rubbish, but 
 he keeps on giving of 'em to me. If they was 
 artificial now, I could put 'em in my Sunday 
 bonnet ; but that wouldn't be no good either, 
 for missis is dead set again artificials for the 
 maids." 
 
 " Roy f said Janita ; ^^ that is the young man 
 with light hair, who sits in the singing-pew." 
 
 ^' Yes, Miss ; Roy has a beautiful head o' hair, 
 and he sings splendid, and he carries hisself just 
 like a prince. But I don't care for him a bit, I 
 don't, and I'd tell him so if he axed me, that I 
 would." 
 
 And Bessie shook the ash-pan vehemently, and 
 brushed the little grate until it shone again ; 
 whilst Janita stroked the bright flowers with her 
 thin fingers, those poor thin fingers that you might 
 almost see through, they had got so worn. 
 
 " I'll tell you what. Miss Jane, though," said 
 Bessie, by-and-by, as innocently and unconsciously 
 as could be, " if the pretty things pleases you, I 
 can get you as many as ever you like with just 
 going down to old Mr, Royland's garden. I get the
 
 193 
 
 vegetables tliere, ^liss, just past the Hall, down by 
 the dyke- side. Mr. Royland has the best flowers 
 in the ^dllage — he always gets the first prize at the 
 Duke's cottage show, does Mr. Royland. Shall I 
 get you a lot to-morrow, Miss Jane ?" 
 
 " Oh ! Bessie, I wish you would !" 
 
 *' Then you shall have them, Miss, I'm sure you 
 shall." 
 
 And Bessie gathered up her dusters, and almost 
 danced out of the room. She would do anything 
 to please Miss Jane, that she would. 
 
 Ah ! Bessie ! Bessie ! that smile on your face 
 is not one of pure benevolence ! You know well 
 enough that a single half hour at that flower garden 
 down by the dyke-side, is worth a whole Sunday 
 afternoon holiday anywhere else. And though 
 you plague the life out of him with those wilful, 
 flirtish ways of yours, yet you care more for Roy, 
 though he has but a guinea a week, and a 
 sick mother to keep out of it, than for all the 
 Peter Monks and thriving young blacksmiths in 
 the world. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ;ESSIE contrived to be sent to the 
 baker's next morning, about the 
 time the Duke's men were going 
 back to their work after break- 
 fast. Peter Monk was crossing the road in front 
 of the gable-end window. lioy was just turning 
 out of Meadowthorpe lane, so far behind them that 
 perhaps no eye but Bessie's would have distinguished 
 those broad shoulders and that kingly step of his. 
 
 She stopped to speak to Monk, or rather he came 
 across the road to speak to her. Peter Monk 
 always took this privilege to himself. He would 
 step up to her in a jaunty, free and easy sort of 
 way as they came out of church on a Sunda}' 
 night, and drawing her hand under his arm, make 
 some complimentary speech about her pretty 
 eyes, or her wavy hair ; or perhaps he would
 
 janita's cross. 195 
 
 admire her new ribbons, or tell lier how well the 
 little bit of crimson inside her best bonnet set off 
 her thick black eyebrows and the pure whiteness of 
 her forehead. But Roy never stopped her unless 
 she spoke to him first; there v%^as such a proud 
 shyness about him, especially as he was not in a 
 position to say anything about marrying yet. And 
 as often as not, the little puss would walk straight 
 past him without so much as a single look from 
 under those dark eyelashes wliich ahnost swept her 
 rosy cheeks. Though after she had done it, Bessie 
 used to feel sorry, and would have given any- 
 thing to be able to run back and say a single 
 word to him. But it was too late. There he was, 
 away down the street, treading like the very Duke 
 liimself, looking so brave and handsome, spite of 
 his grey blouse and blue check shirt sleeves. And 
 then the shadow of a serious thought used to flit 
 across Bessie's mind. What if some one else was 
 to take it into her head that Roy was brave and 
 handsome? Polly Rush for instance, the white- 
 smith's daughter ; or Miss Prudames, as the village 
 people called her, parlour-maid to Mrs. Macturk, 
 who had so much money in the St. Olave's 
 savings bank; or Mary Andrews, orphan niece 
 
 2
 
 196 
 
 to the clerk of the works, who had rather a hard 
 time of it with her uncle, and would be glad 
 enough, if the folks said true, to get a quiet home 
 of her own. Bessie wouldn't go past Roy any 
 more without speaking to him, or at any rate 
 giving him a pleasant look out of her grey eyes. 
 But next time she met him the old foolish flirting 
 propensity came back as strong as ever, and the 
 eyelids were dropped until not a single glance had 
 room to get through their thick fringes, and Roy 
 used to pass on, feeling so sad and disheartened. 
 
 The flirting propensity was uppermost when she 
 met Peter Monk this morning. Perhaps it was 
 quickened by seeing Roy just at the turning down 
 of Meadowthorpe lane. And when Monk came 
 across, with his easy jaunty air, and shook hands 
 with her, and began to walk along by her side, 
 Bessie made no excuse about wanting to get on 
 fast, or having to go across into the grocer's shop, 
 which she would so easily have done if she wished 
 to get away from him ; which she had done over 
 and over again when young Roy by a rare chance 
 had ventured to measure his steps with hers down 
 the length of the street. 
 
 But Bessie rather liked to be seen walking with
 
 197 
 
 Peter Monk. It gave her a little important 
 feeling. He was quite tlie foremost of the Duke's 
 men, at least the ordinary workmen, second only 
 to Mr. Andrews himself; and if anything hap- 
 pened to Mr. Andrews, there was no saying but 
 what Mr. Monk might get to be clerk of the 
 works, and then how the village girls would en^y 
 her ! Besides, he did not wear a checked shirt as 
 the other men did, nor go backwards and for-- 
 wards without his coat as Roy used to do some- 
 times in the hot weather. And on Sundays he 
 had starched wristbands coming down over his kid 
 gloves, and studs that looked quite as fine as any 
 that Mr. Narrowby himself ever wore, and a 
 broad-cloth suit such as Dr. Maguire or even 
 the clergyman need not be asliamed of putting 
 on. 
 
 Then, he was very rich ; everybody said he 
 had money in a bank in London, and it would be 
 a good match for her if she was to marry him, 
 though he had got a cast in his eyes and his 
 black hair grew so straight and lank. Bessie was 
 sure he liked her. True, he had never " come to 
 the point," as Miss Hepzibah would have called 
 it, or "• mentioned his intentions," as the lawyers
 
 198 janita's cross. 
 
 would say, but no one could deny that he had 
 been " partic'larly friendly," quite as much so as 
 Roy, or Alick, or the tall footman at the Bishop's 
 palace. And if Bessie liked, she might be Mrs. 
 Peter Monk. At least she thought so. So she 
 walked by his side all the way up the street as far 
 as the Duke's-yard, a long way past the baker's 
 shop. And when he left her to go to his work, 
 she turned to come back again for her loaf, the 
 real purpose of her errand unaccomplished as 
 yet. 
 
 Roy watched them all down the village. Poor 
 Roy ! it was a sad sight to him to see Monk's lean 
 screwy face turning itself from time to time 
 towards Bessie's bonnet, and his hand holding 
 hers for such a long time before he went into the 
 Duke's-yard. Roy loved her so truly, that if he 
 had thought there was another man in the world 
 who could make her happier than himself, he 
 would have given her up to that man. And 
 perhaps no liuman love ever goes further than 
 that. But he knew Monk for a base-minded 
 fellow, who believed in nothing good, who would 
 never be a blessing but only a curse and grief to 
 the woman whose love he won. It would have
 
 janita's cross. 199 
 
 been a great bitterness to give Bessie. up, even 
 to young Alick, the smith, brave, frank, hon- 
 est, though passionate young Alick, or to the 
 tall footman, who, if he had not a great allow- 
 ance of brains, made up for it by easy good- 
 nature. But for his boimie flower to be 
 clutched in Peter Monk's black hands — oh ! 
 that made Roy feel desperate. He could not bear 
 it. And then he used to brace himself with double 
 energy to his work. Early and late, long before 
 and long after the Duke's bell rang, he would be 
 there, toiling hard for those few pounds that might 
 make him rich enough to win Bessie for his 
 own. 
 
 She came out of the baker's shop just in time to 
 give him a coquettish glance and a word or two in 
 passing. 
 
 '' Roy, I shall be down at your father's garden 
 this noon." . 
 
 " Shall you, Bessie f and Roy's face began to 
 cheer up directly. 
 
 "Yes — our young lady that's ill has took a fancy 
 to have a few flowers, and there's nothing in the 
 Missis's garden, let alone cabbage leaves and rhu- 
 barb stalks as is running to seed. !Miss Jane,
 
 200 
 
 bless her,. Is the only pretty thing alive at our 
 house." 
 
 " Except yom^self, Bessie," Koy could not help 
 saying. 
 
 "" Hold your tongue, Roy. I won't never speak 
 to you no more if you tell me such rubbish." 
 
 " Well, I'll be still, then. But I shall be down 
 at the garden a bit after twelve, and I'll get you 
 the flowers myself." 
 
 '^ You needn't trouble yourself to do nothing 
 of the sort. I reckon your father knows how 
 to pnll flowers as well as you do. And maybe I 
 shall send Abigail, after all. Good morning." 
 
 And away she went down the street, leaving a 
 little bit of sunshine, not quite unclouded, though, 
 in Roy's heart. Yet, in spite of her gay careless- 
 ness, she would have been so disappointed if he 
 had not gone. But of course, Roy knew" nothing 
 about that. 
 
 At twelve she put on her second best bonnet, 
 the one she had just trimmed up with scarlet for 
 autumn, and set off to old Ben Royland's garden. 
 
 Bessie often wished she might wear a hat. Her 
 face would look so pretty under it. A great deal 
 prettier, she was quite sure, than those Miss Nar-
 
 janita's ceoss. 201 
 
 rowbys', who had just got new black mushrooms 
 • with long scarlet plumes in them ; almost as pretty 
 as even Mrs. Mabury's, the rector's lady, whose 
 crimson feather drooped over such splendid braids 
 of jet black hair. Bessie had a great deal more 
 colour than Mrs. Mabury, and she believed she 
 could make her hair look quite as nice if she 
 had time enough in a morning to brush it out and 
 brighten it with pomatum. Only that ugly old 
 Abigail would have the glass first, and she kept it 
 such a long time, fidgeting about over her wisps 
 of tow, that before Bessie had time to give a 
 proper look at her own face, or see if her cap was 
 put on straight, Miss Hepzibah's voice would be 
 screaming up the stairs, 
 
 " Girls ! girls ! do you ever intend to come down 
 and get the fire made, or am I to do it myself? 
 Pretty work, indeed ! A couple of maid-servants 
 in the house, and can't get them down by five 
 o'clock in a morning. Dear me ! Dear me !" 
 
 And then Bessie used to stuff her hair promis- 
 cuously into the thick muslin cap, without oiling 
 or brushing, or anything. Otherwise it might 
 have been quite equal to Mrs. Mabury's. 
 
 But once, not very long ago, indeed, it was that
 
 202 janita's cross. 
 
 same day that Miss Hepzlbah and Janita went to 
 the working-party, Bessie stole silently into the 
 long bedroom, and, pulling off her ugly muslin 
 cap, she tied on the brown straw hat which hung 
 at the back of the door. And she fastened her 
 hair up behind, and let it hang down in curls 
 in front, just long enough to lie upon her 
 shoulders ; and she did look so nice — though there 
 was no one to tell her so. For the deep brim cast 
 a shadow over her eyes, making them seem larger 
 and deeper than ever, and the clear outlines of her 
 face came out so well, and the glossy green leaves 
 that the hat was trimmed with, set off her rosy 
 cheeks ten times better than a bonnet could ever 
 do. Bessie was just going to throw Janita's plaid 
 cloak over her shoulders to complete the effect, 
 when — oh ! how tiresome ! — a step was heard on 
 the stairs, and she had to whisk off her borrowed 
 plumes and put on the frowsy old cap again, which 
 seemed uglier now than before. But never mind. 
 She was not always going to live housemaid at 
 Miss Hepzibah's. Some day she would have a 
 home of her own. And then, when she was the 
 tall footman's wife, or Mrs. Alick Midgeley, or 
 Mrs. Monk, or Mrs.^-well, Mrs. anybody else, she
 
 jaxita's cross. 203 
 
 should do just as she liked, and wear a hat with ivy 
 leaves on the top of it; yes, and a chenille net, too, 
 with gold sprigs, that she would. And as she put 
 the ugly cap on again, she wondered, as many a 
 housemaid has wondered before her, and as many 
 will conthiue to wonder to the end of the present 
 social system, why some are born to scour and 
 dust and be scolded on w^ages of eight pounds a 
 year, whilst others wear scarlet plumes in their 
 black hats, and do nothing but fancy work, and 
 have more money than they know how to spend. 
 
 I dare say you will say Bessie was a very foolish 
 girl, given up entirely to vanity and frivolity ; and 
 that if she had been your housemaid, you would 
 have given her a month's warning, and got rid of 
 her. I don't contradict you. Bessie ivas foolish, 
 undeniably foolish. And very likely you will say, 
 too, that Roy was just as foolish, to allow himself 
 to be bewitched in this way by a pair of rosy 
 cheeks, and a pretty mouth, and grey eyes with 
 long black lashes to them. I don't contradict that 
 statement. It is perfectly true, of course it is. 
 But perhaps some day w^e may get a look down 
 into those grey eyes, and find something else than 
 coquetry shining throyigh them. And, perhaps, in
 
 204 janita's cross. 
 
 years to comej when the rosy colour has parted 
 with some of its brightness, and those round cheeks 
 have lost just a very little of their graceful out- 
 line, Bessie will change into a loving, faithful, 
 true-hearted woman ; a woman that any man might 
 be glad to call his wife. Very likely, though 
 neither you nor I know anything about it yet, Roy, 
 with love's keen second sight, sees this latent truth 
 and faithfulness; and so prizes the shy, flirtish 
 creature, now, for what she may hereafter be to 
 him. This is possible. I do not say that it is 
 probable. After all, she may marry Peter Monk ; 
 and then. 
 
 It was only a quarter past twelve when Bessie, 
 having made herself look as nice as slie could, 
 reached the garden down by the dyke-side. But 
 Roy was there before her. He must have walked 
 very fast, for by the sunlight shining on his glazed 
 cap, she could see him standing at the little gate 
 long before she got past the Hall meadows. When 
 she came nearer to him, she thought he looked ill 
 and anxious, rather. Bessie, taking her wages 
 regularly, and having plenty to eat and drink, pro- 
 vided w^ithout care or payment of her own, did not 
 know that this had been a very hard season for the
 
 janita's cross. 205 
 
 Meadowthorpe poor; that many a day-labourer, 
 with even extra toil, had been unable to keep him- 
 self off the parish ; that the orchard, Ben Roy- 
 land's harvest-field, had entirely failed, and that 
 Roy had to slave early and late to make ends meet 
 at home, to sa}' nothing of putting by a little 
 money in the St. Olave's savings-bank, which he 
 had never failed to do yet since he took regular 
 wages. But the young man kept all these family 
 matters to himself, with a silent sort of dignit}^ 
 
 Still, though there were no apples weighing 
 down the branches with their golden clusters, and 
 not so much as a single pear on the great Jargo - 
 nelle tree, whose crop last year put many a solid 
 five shilling piece into old Ben Royland's pocket, 
 the garden did look very pretty, glistening all over 
 with colour in the midst of that brown Autumn 
 landscape, like a jewel set upon some sad-coloured 
 dress. It was an early November day, warm and 
 mild — much too warm for the time of year, as Dr. 
 Maguire said, and as the fever, which, week after 
 week, stole fresh victims, proved. There was a 
 soft blue haze upon the Meadowthorpe flats, mak- 
 ing them look like one long stretch of ocean, upon 
 whose level track the windmills, dotted here and
 
 206 
 
 there, might be white-sailed vessels. Away down 
 at the bottom of the garden, past that narrow 
 dangerous little bit of the haling-bank road, 
 Meadowthorpe dyke rolled its lazy waters ; rolled 
 them so slowly that the river-weeds carce seemed 
 to move, and the blue forget-me-nots and tall flag- 
 leaves could see their shadows quite unbroken 
 beneath the sleepy tide. 
 
 The garden was all in a glow with rich Autumn 
 colours. Poor Ben had had nothing to take to 
 market this season, so he could afford to spend 
 more time over his flowers. Eows of dahlias, 
 purple, ruby red, and crimson, nodded to each 
 other across the beds ; and yellow sunflowers, each 
 one as big as the church communion plate, lifted 
 their brazen faces to the sky ; and — for as yet no 
 frost had come to nip them — there were masses of 
 tom-thumb geraniums, that almost dazzled you 
 to look at them, with fountain-like clusters of 
 fuchsias, always dropping showers of crimson rain ; 
 and beds of nasturtiums, that trailed their pale 
 green leaves and golden red blossoms away over 
 the hedge, and quite down to the haling-bank, so 
 rich, almost impudent, w^ere they in their overflow 
 of life.
 
 janita's cross. 207 
 
 Roy gathered a bunch of the best flowers he 
 could find for Bessie. He did not say very much. 
 For him it was happiness enough to feel that she 
 was close by him, that he had but to turn ' and 
 meet her bright face, with its glistening eyes look- 
 ing shyly at him. Just as, most likely, they had 
 looked at Peter Monk three hours ago. Ah ! per- 
 haps it was this made Roy look so serious, so very 
 quiet and serious, that Bessie, as she followed him 
 about from plot to plot of the gay flower garden, 
 began to wonder whether anything had happened 
 to " put Roy out of the way." 
 
 But, except in those little home matters which 
 no one need be troubled with, Roy was a frank 
 outspoken young man. He could not bear to have 
 anything on his mind unsaid, even the slightest 
 little grudge not fairly brought out and explained. 
 And so, as he gave Bessie the flowers, just as she 
 was going out of the gate, he kept her hand fast 
 for a while. 
 
 " Bessie," he said, " that was a fine talk you had 
 with Peter Monk this morning." 
 
 Oh ! that was what made him so silent, was it ? 
 She could plague him then, and put him out of the 
 way by flirting with someone else. To Bessie's
 
 208 janita's cross. 
 
 foolisli little heart, this was a great triumph. With 
 a toss of her head, that sent the sunlight rippling 
 all over her black hair, she said, coquettishly 
 enough : 
 
 " And why shouldn't I walk with Peter Monk ? 
 He's as good as anybody else in the lordship, and 
 he ain't half so poor and mean as a many that 
 goes back'ards and for'ards without their coats, as 
 if they couldn't afford to wear em only of nights 
 when work's done." 
 
 E.oy winced rather, at this allusion to his shirt 
 sleeves, and determined that when the hot weather 
 came round again he would put his blouse on 
 regularly, though it might almost melt him away. 
 
 " If he had a real man's heart under his coat, 
 Bessie, I wouldn't say a word again him; but 
 Peter Monk's not the man that'll make you happ}^ 
 May-be he'll coax and stroke you down for a bit 
 with his soft words, and then — ^" 
 
 *^ They weren't soft words," said Bessie, quickly. 
 " He only told me there was going to be a dance 
 at the Checkers next Monday night, if I could 
 slip out unbeknown to the Missis for a bit." 
 
 Such a smile of scorn as passed over Roy's up- 
 lifted face when she told him that ! Such a look
 
 janita's cross. 209 
 
 of mingled tenderness and regret as lie bent down 
 over her again, the simple pretty thing, liis white- 
 winged butterfly that had flown so near the scorch- 
 ing flame. 
 
 " Bessie ! and could you ever frame to speak to 
 a man again who would ask you to do such a 
 mean, underhanded thing as that? But say you 
 don't mean to go. Say it, Bessie." 
 
 "Oh, yes. I'll say it fast enough. She's aw^ful 
 sharp, is Miss Hepzibah. I do believe she's got 
 eyes behind as well as front. I'd like to see any- 
 one slip out unbeknown to her. No, I reckon I 
 can't do it. And I telled Peter Monk I couldn't." 
 
 "But, Bessie, why didn't you tell him that you 
 xcouldntf 
 
 " I don't know as there was any call to tell him 
 that. I've got a muslin dress as I could have 
 starched up and made it look as good as new. It's 
 a good bit since I've had a dance now. Peter 
 Monk says he'd like finely to stand up with me. 
 And I don't see why he shouldn't." 
 
 Roy looked at her as she stood there by the 
 gate post, plucking away the leaves from the 
 flowers he had given her. The sunlight shining 
 through a willow tree close by, sent the shadows 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 
 
 of its branches to and fro upon her face, that face 
 that looked so fresh and bonnie within the close 
 cottage bonnet. He was quite sure she would not 
 do anything wrong. Only if that Monk got a 
 hold over her, he had such a way with him, no 
 one could stand against it. Plenty of money too, 
 as the people said he had. Roy sighed and looked 
 more serious than ever. 
 
 Bessie did not like that sort of thing at all. 
 Some one to make pretty speeches to her, and tell 
 her how nice she looked, just as Mr, Monk had 
 done in the morning, that was what she wanted. 
 And Roy had said nothing of the sort ; he had 
 only lectured her. She wouldn't put up with it. 
 She flounced away from the gate post, her eyes 
 sparkling, her cheek flushed. 
 
 " It isn't no use standing here, Roy. I don't 
 see as you've any right to talk to me like this. I 
 shall dance with Peter Monk if I like, and you 
 may dance with who you like. Good-bye." 
 
 "Good-bye, Bessie. Only tell Miss Raeburn 
 she shall have as many more flowers as she likes." 
 
 "Very well. Abigail can fetch 'em next 
 time." 
 
 Roy did not offer to go home with her ; but he
 
 211 
 
 followed her a long way off, and never lost sight of 
 the pretty girlish figure until it had disappeared 
 behind the red-brick wall of the Aspens. Then 
 he knew that she was safe. And Bessie, as soon 
 as she had got fairly out on the road, felt so vexed 
 with herself that she could have cried. 
 
 Oh, Bessie, Bessie ! how can you plague him 
 so ? I will say myself now that you are foolish — 
 yes, downright foolish. And that faithfulness we 
 spoke of a little while ago, hidden far away down 
 somewhere in your heart? It is so cleverly 
 hidden now, that even poor Roy, trusting as he is, 
 can scarcely believe it there at all. Take care, 
 Bessie. For there is Polly Rush and Miss Pru- 
 dames, and little Mary Andrews, and 
 
 Nay, you need not say anything more to Bessie, 
 she will not hear you. She is crying in good 
 earnest, bitterly enough now ; and it will be all 
 she can do to get her face straightened before she 
 reaches the village street. Poor Bessie ! What 
 will it all come to 1 
 
 Pii
 
 212 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 i^FTER that, there came many a 
 ^ bouquet into Janita's sick room. 
 ^^j Sometimes it was a single cluster 
 [^^ of white roses from the bush that 
 clambered over Ben Royland's cottage wall ; some- 
 times a bit of scarlet geranium, framed round with 
 ivy leaves ; sometimes only two or three sprays of 
 fern, with ribbon grass amongst them ; sometimes 
 a few mountain ashberries, or purple bramble 
 leaves gathered from the hedgeside. But what- 
 ever it might be, there always came with it the 
 same message : 
 
 " Please, Miss Jane, Roy's duty and would you 
 accept of a few flowers f 
 
 Generally Bessie used to bring them with a shy 
 bright smile and a glistening look in her grey 
 eyes, but occasionally she would jerk them on the
 
 janita's cross. 213 
 
 table with a saucy toss of the head and a little 
 burst of petulant waywardness. 
 
 " Can't think what he brings such rubbish for. 
 I'm sure I've telled him over and over again his 
 bits o' grass and bracken aren't worth sayincr 
 thank you for." 
 
 And then Janita knew that the love-story, which, 
 with a woman's keen penetration, she had long ago 
 found out, must have met with some vexatious 
 break. At such times she would contrive that 
 Bessie should have an errand into the village after 
 the Duke's men had left work, or down to old 
 Ben's garden between twelve and one o'clock ; 
 which errand generally set matters straight again, 
 and brought back poor Bessie's good temper. 
 
 Janita was recovering very nicely now. Most 
 days she was able to be up and sit for several hours 
 in the easy chair, reading, or doing some light 
 work. Dr. Maguire said that in another week, if 
 she still kept improving, she might come down into 
 the dining-room. 
 
 Yes, and then the old life would have to be Hved 
 over again, and her weary feet would have to fix 
 themselves once more in that narrow painful 
 groove ; and the scheme that had haunted her hours
 
 214 J Anita's cross. 
 
 of delirium would come into operation, with its 
 solid reading, and its pursuit of the accomplish- 
 ments, and its domestic avocations, and its plain 
 sewing, and its useful conversation, interspersed 
 with a running fire of hints and cautions and judi- 
 cious admonitions from Miss Hepzibah. Oh, it 
 was miserable to think of it ! And strong though 
 she was in that new inner might which God had 
 given her, yet poor Janita almost said to herself, 
 that if such a life was the only one possible for 
 her, it would be better to die. 
 
 But a new scheme, quite different from that which, 
 carefully written in good legible round hand, hung 
 in her bed-room, was being prepared for Janita 
 Raeburn. 
 
 It had been one of her bad days. She had got 
 up late in the morning, and sat for two or three 
 hours by the fire ; then spiritless and worn out with 
 headache, had lain down again in the bare, curtain- 
 less room, whose only bit of brightness was that 
 which hovered round Eoy's nosegay of fern and 
 geranium. Waking at last from a dreary, un- 
 refreshing slumber, some one was bending over 
 her. 
 
 Not Miss Hepzibah. Not the Professor. Not
 
 janita's cross. 215 
 
 Dr. Maguire nor Bessie. It was that sweet, quiet- 
 looking lady, whose face had been in her memory 
 ever since, four months ago, they met in Meadow- 
 thorpe lane. With a cry of delight, Janita sprung 
 up, and put her arms round Miss Alwyne's neck. 
 Oh, what a treat to have some one she could put 
 her arms round, some one who would press upon her 
 poor little thin cheeks such kisses as Miss Alvvyne 
 pressed upon them now ; some one who would let 
 her laugh, or cry, or be silent, just as the mood 
 might be! 
 
 It was the crying mood first. She felt herself 
 drawn close up to her new friend, and her aching 
 head nestled into such a pleasant resting-place. 
 Miss Alwyne did not speak for some time ; the 
 tears were in her own eyes too, as she pressed to 
 her loving heart the lonely motherless girl who 
 clung so closely to her. She rocked her for a long 
 time in her arms, as she would have rocked and 
 quieted a little child. And when the half hys- 
 terical laughing and crying had both passed away, 
 she said very gently — 
 
 " Janita, my dear." 
 
 Oh, that " my dear I" How musical it seemed ! 
 How different from Miss Hepzibah's shrill, rasp-
 
 216 J Anita's cross. 
 
 ing "Jane, child, Jane!" Janita thought she had 
 never heard anything so sweet before, even in In- 
 verallan Manse, as Miss Alwjne's voice. 
 
 " Janita, my dear, I am going to run away with 
 you, and keep you all to myself for a long time. 
 Dr. Maguire says a change will do you good, 
 and your aunt and uncle have given me leave to 
 take you. Now, will you try and get up this very 
 minute, and come down-stairs with me?" 
 
 Janita did not need twice telling to do that. But 
 the getting down -stairs was not such an easy thing. 
 Miss Alwyne had to half lead, half carry her, and 
 even then it was only done with many gasping 
 halts. At last she stood once more in the dingy 
 old dining-room, trembling and almost ready to 
 drop. 
 
 Everything in it looked just the same as when, 
 six weeks ago, she had stood there in the middle of 
 the floor, stamping like a little fury. Janita did 
 not feel much like stamping now, even if she had 
 had anything to stamp about. The chairs were all 
 in the same places, the pens and pencils arranged 
 in straight lines on the writing-table, the chimney 
 ornaments planted as if by a plumb-line. Miss Hep- 
 zibah herself, rigid and compact as ever, knitting
 
 janita's cross. 217 
 
 in the liigli-backed arm-chair by the fire. Perhaps, 
 though, she looked a little bit pleasanter than 
 usual, for Aunt Hepzibah had a vein of kindness 
 in her composition, and she was really glad to see 
 her niece down -stairs again, even if she did 
 not express that satisfaction in the usual way 
 by kisses and congratulations. All that she said 
 was — 
 
 " Jane, child, I am very thankful thatPro\'idence 
 has brought you round again, and I hope now 
 you will try to lead a new life, and act like a 
 woman." 
 
 Janita hoped so too. 
 
 Bessie was standing in the doorway, looking as 
 pleased as possible, and close by her was somebody 
 else, very much like Roy. But it was such an 
 unlikely thing for Koy to be standing in Miss 
 riepzibah's front passage, side by side with Bessie 
 too, that Janita thought she must be mistaken. 
 
 Then Miss Alwyne and Aunt Hepzibah began 
 to wrap lier up in shawls, and Aunt Hepzibah 
 brought her a glass of wine, and Miss Alwyne 
 covered her over, head, face, and all, with a great 
 fur-lined wrap. After that, she was lifted up in 
 some one's arms — not the Professor's certainly.
 
 218 
 
 for they did not feel at all sharp and bony — and 
 carried away, whither she could not tell. Only 
 by cold air blowing upon her, she felt that she had 
 got out of doors again. 
 
 And then, in a few minutes, she could not have 
 gone very far in such a little time, they stopped. 
 She heard a door open, and Miss Alw^yne said — 
 
 " This \^;ay, Roy, please." 
 
 Oh ! so Roy was carrying her, that was it. She 
 felt herself taken over a soft-matted floor, and 
 across a carpet to a sofa, where she was laid down. 
 
 " Don't open your eyes yet," Miss Alwyne said. 
 So Janita kept them fast shut, whilst her wrap- 
 pings were taken off and her dress arranged, and 
 her hair smoothed by such gentle, careful hands. 
 
 " Now, where are you ?" 
 
 And Janita did not know whether to laugh 
 or cry. However, she settled it by doing both 
 at once. 
 
 ''Oh! Miss Alwyne!" 
 
 That was all she could say. And when she had 
 said it, she rubbed the tears out of her eyes, and 
 looked round. 
 
 She had closed those eyes in Miss Hepzibah's 
 old dining-room, with its stripy up and down
 
 219 
 
 paper, and its ugly family portraits, and its mono- 
 tonous drab carpet with bars of black and red, and 
 its fierce scarlet moreen curtains that would stick 
 about in such awkward shapes — she opened them 
 in a dear little cosy nest of a room, just the size 
 of Dr. Home's study at Inverallan, where firelight 
 was chasing the CA^ening shadows from walls 
 covered all over with dainty tracery work of gold, 
 leaves and flowers, and tendrils and arabesque 
 work, all gold. The carpet was like moss for 
 colour and softness, with here and there a little 
 yellow primrose peeping out amongst the green. 
 Green damask curtains were looped back with 
 gold cord on each side a low bay window, from 
 which she could see the cottage lights gleaming 
 far away down the street. A table with books and 
 work and a vase of flowers stood in one comer of 
 the room, not " books suitable for young people," 
 Janita hoped. There was a thick, warm, flossy 
 hearthrug, in the middle of which a French cat 
 was curled up, purring very loud. And some- 
 where, but Janita could not for the life of her tell 
 where, a musical snuff-box was letting fall a 
 cascade of tiny sweet notes. First of all the tune 
 was, " Ye Banks and Braes," but even whilst she
 
 220 janita's cross. 
 
 listened it changed to "Home, sweet Home." 
 
 And Janita felt that, indeed, slie had at last 
 come home. 
 
 Oh ! the rest, and the peace, and the stillness ! 
 She had but to lift her eyes, and there was Miss 
 Alwyne sitting in the chair by the fire, with some 
 light sort of netting work in her hands, and such 
 a pleasant unconscious smile upon her face — that 
 face out of wdiich shone always the stedfast calm 
 of a soul at peace with the w^orld, itself, and God. 
 
 For sometime Janita could not believe it was 
 real. She scarcely dare close her eyes for fear 
 when she opened them the dream should have 
 passed away, and she should find herself sitting 
 in the dingy dining-room again, with the Pro- 
 fessor snoring in his chair, and Mss Hepzibah 
 knitting away wdth such desperate energy, inter- 
 spersing the performance with judicious speeches 
 or prudent maxims, which ahvays began with 
 " Jane, child, when I was a young person," &c. 
 
 At last she got Miss Alwyne to come and sit 
 close by her, so close that they could clasp hands 
 together ; and Janita feeling herself held within 
 those kind arms, knew that it was no dream, but 
 real, sweet rest that had come to her. As if, after
 
 janita's cross. 221 
 
 long travelling over a barren sandy desert, she liad 
 reached at last unawares a stream of living water, 
 into whose cool depths the little flowers looked, 
 and over whose rippling waves the merrj sunshine 
 glanced. And lying there, so quiet, so happy, so 
 nested in once more by true-hearted kindness, 
 what could she say but the two lines again of that 
 dear old Scottish Psalm which had been the birth- 
 day song of her new life — 
 
 " So to the haven He them brings 
 Which they desire to see."
 
 ^'I'l 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 :^1|ISS ALWYNE'S house was on 
 y^ the north side of Gentility Square, 
 
 fm^S) ^^y^^i^i^g that of Mr. Narrowby. 
 ^<SM^ At the back was a pleasant plot 
 of ground, losing itself at last in a winding walk 
 which stretched along Meadowthorpe lane, bounded 
 with hazel bushes and evergreens, through whose 
 thick boughs you could now and again catch a 
 glimpse of the level open country. The front 
 rooms commanded a fine view of the old church- 
 yard, with its beautiful sycamores and groups of 
 white thorn trees, which in May and June 
 dropped a snow-fall of tiny blossoms on the 
 graves beneath. 
 
 Very little sunshine ever came into Miss 
 Alwyne's cottage, except in summer evenings, 
 when a few slant rays stole through the aspens
 
 223 
 
 in Professor Ruthven's garden. But always as 
 you sat in that pretty little parlour, you might 
 look out upon the sunshine ; you might see it lying 
 in broad sweeps upon the plot of green sward 
 which formed the centre of the square, and tip- 
 ping the battlements of the church tower, and 
 making twinkling lights and shadows upon the 
 gnarled trunks of the churchyard trees. And in 
 this respect Miss Alwyne's cottage was something 
 like her own life, which was lived in quiet and 
 shadow, but always had sunshine around it. Per- 
 haps, also, when evening came, there would be 
 sunshine within it, too. 
 
 Miss Alwyne was one of a class which, in the 
 existing state of English social life, is becoming 
 more and more numerous. With that desire for 
 quietness and seclusion which is natural to most 
 women, she had yet been forced out into the world, 
 and compelled to make her own way in it. Formed 
 to be the guardian angel of some good man's home, 
 true wife, true mother, these ties had been denied 
 her ; she stood alone, a self-supporting woman, 
 with none to care for her, none to work for her ; 
 with no position in the world save that wdiich her 
 own talent and perseverance had won ; indebted to
 
 224 janita's cross. 
 
 none for either help or counsel in her daily life. 
 
 It is a painful thing to see a woman placed thus ; 
 not the less painful because it is so common, or 
 because so many sustain themselves in it with 
 calm, uncomplaining fortitude, working out their 
 own way, doing their own duty in the face of much 
 quiet contempt, or of that galling " poor thing " 
 sort of pity, which is worse than contempt. We 
 have sympathy enough at command for the man 
 who comes home night after night to a lonely fire- 
 side, who has no wife, no child to beguile the 
 weariness of his life ; but society has only a veiled 
 decent sort of scorn for women to whom these 
 home ties have been denied, women who have to 
 live their life alone, and sustain themselves apart 
 from the help or counsel of man. Well for such 
 women as these that God sees not as w^e see. 
 
 Miss Alwyne w^as known in Meadowthorpe as a 
 quiet, staid, well-behaved maiden lady, having her 
 own ways of thinking, w^hich did not always coin- 
 cide with those of Gentility Square. She was also 
 spoken of as kind, sympathising, never anxious 
 about her own interests when by self-forgetfulness 
 she could advance those of others. No one knew 
 very much about her pre\ious position. She ap-
 
 janita's cross. 225 
 
 peared to have outlived most of her relations ; at 
 all events, she was seldom or never visited by 
 them. She lived a very quiet life in that cottage of 
 hers. Sometimes, when she had friends from 
 London staying with her, she would give one or 
 two little evening parties, elegant, though very 
 simple ; but for the most part she kept aloof from 
 general society. On account of her health, most 
 people said, for it was well known that she was very 
 delicate ; but most likely the root of the matter 
 was this, that the Gentility Square families and 
 Miss Alwyne had not much in common. 
 
 She had not been in Meadowthorpe long, not 
 more than three or four years. She came to the 
 Adllage from London, where most of her friends 
 resided. Of her past life she scarcely ever spoke. 
 The Misses Yere Aubrey, who found out almost 
 everything about everybody, were never able to 
 find out anything conclusive about Miss Alwyne. 
 They did manage to discover that she belonged to 
 a good family, that her father had been a clergy- 
 man, that she was his only child, that he had died 
 suddenly, leaving a widow almost entirely depen- 
 dent upon lier daughter s exertions ; that in some 
 way or other Miss Alwyne had supported both her- 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 janita's ckoss. 
 
 self and her mother, until a few years ago, when 
 the mother died, and the daughter came to live at 
 Meadowthorpe. That was all. Try as they 
 would, the IMisses Yere Aubrey could find out no 
 more than that. 
 
 She was a pleasant-looking woman, with the 
 steady, thoughtful expression of one who has toiled 
 through much trouble and many cares to sure rest 
 at last. But how that trouble had come, what 
 those cares had been, whether Miss Alwyne had 
 loved and lost, or loved unhappily, or never loved 
 at all ; whether the half mourning that she always 
 wore was for father, or mother, or for a friend 
 nearer and dearer still, could only be conjectured. 
 For she never spoke about these things. . No one 
 had any right to ask them of her. She lived a 
 beautiful and wholesome life ; she was kind to 
 everyone, spoke evil of none. That being the case, 
 she was not bound to tell Meadowthorpe anything 
 about her past life. 
 
 It might have been, most likely it had been, a 
 sad one ; but if so, she never complained. Past 
 or present, it was such as God made it, and so was 
 to be borne patiently. Neither, like trouble un- 
 worthily received, had any grief of IMiss Alwyne's
 
 janita's cross. 227 
 
 embittered her nature. She held fast the calm 
 unwavering faith that out of all sorrow w^e may 
 rise to a nobler life, that never a cherished desire 
 is dropped, a long-sought good given up at God's 
 bidding, but the soul grows holier, the character 
 more sublime. 
 
 There are many such in the world, and God 
 loves them tenderly, with a love beyond that which 
 angels win — these patient, faithful human souls 
 from whom He has shut out so much of happiness 
 here, only that He may give them more hereafter. 
 And as they toil on through the darkness of this 
 mortal life, blind, helpless, never repining, never 
 upbraiding, content only to do and endure, surely 
 even the Almighty Himself must long for the time 
 when He may say to them, ^' It is enough." 
 
 But to return to Janita. That beautiful surprise 
 which Miss Alwyne had prepared for her was the 
 prelude to many days of pure unbroken happiness ; 
 days whose current was so evenly peaceful, that 
 they passed on unnumbered in their flight, until 
 the scant daylight and the lengthening evenings, 
 and an occasional fall of snow, told that winter had 
 at last set in. 
 
 She recovered slowly. Dr. Maguire said the 
 
 «2
 
 228 janita's cross. 
 
 time of the year was against her. If only she had 
 had sense enough to be ill in spring, when, as 
 strength came to her again, she might have gone 
 out into the May sunshine, she would soon have 
 been well. But these damps and fogs and frosts 
 would keep her a prisoner for some weeks yet. 
 
 Idle weeks they were, very idle weeks. At least, 
 so Miss Hepzibah would have said, who thought no 
 time well spent that did not bring about some visi- 
 ble, practical result, and who set down every day 
 as wasted, in which so much solid reading and 
 plain sewing and domestic practice had not been 
 accomplished. But busy days for those who took 
 count of the silent, almost unconscious growth of 
 character which was all the time going on. Miss 
 Alwyne was right. She had given the plant air 
 and sunshine. It was making its own way now, it 
 would expand into beauty and fragrance by and by. 
 Janita was going to be a woman after all, though 
 not exactly a woman of Aunt Hepzibah's type. 
 
 Those weeks passed quietly enough. Miss Al- 
 wyne used to disappear soon after breakfast. Where 
 she went, or how she employed her time, Janita 
 could not tell at first. As the clock struck nine 
 she would draw the young girl's couch to the win-
 
 229 
 
 dow, and put a little table with books and \york 
 and pictures within reach; then, pressing a kiss upon 
 the thin colourless cheek, she slipped away, and 
 was seen no more until one o'clock, when she came 
 into the room dressed for a walk, looking tired 
 sometimes, but always quiet and peaceful. And 
 Janita, when she got tired of reading, would lean 
 back amongst her cushions, and amuse herself by 
 watching the tide of life that ebbed and flowed 
 through the village. 
 
 A very insignificant little tide, but not the less 
 interesting for that. At any rate, it was a brilliant 
 contrast to the prospect from the dining-room win- 
 dow at the Aspens ; where nothing could be seen 
 but a square plot of grass, bounded by tall red 
 brick walls, on whose level tops the neighbouring 
 cats used to pace up and down, staring solemnly at 
 her out of their great green eyes. The bay-win- 
 dow of Miss Alwyne's little parlour was directly 
 opposite the church, and commanded a prospect of 
 the village street, past the genteel houses with 
 muslin curtains and brass knockers, away down to 
 tlie thatched cottages and the old stone bridge that 
 led across the dyke to the St. Olave's road. The 
 gables of the Hall, too, could be clearly seen ; and
 
 230 janita's cross. 
 
 on quiet days, the cawing of the rooks in the long 
 elm tree walk, heard. Now and then Janita used 
 to see a rustic wedding ; the bride walking first, 
 very self-conscious, in a pair of new bonnet strings 
 and white cotton gloves, the bridegroom behind, 
 evidently much at a loss what to do with his elbows, 
 and twisting his head over his shoulder from time 
 to time to see how his coat fitted ; for, of course, 
 he had never had it on before. Sometimes, too, 
 there was a funeral, quiet, composed and orderly, 
 as most Meadowthorpe funerals were. You never 
 saw frantic grief in that churchyard. The level 
 monotony of Dykeland seemed to have given its 
 tone to the sorrow of the place, moulding it dow^n 
 to corresponding quietness. Then at twelve the 
 village children came tumbling out of school wath 
 a great outcry of jubilant mirth, much kicking 
 and jumping and turning head over heels — at least, 
 amongst the depraved portion of them ; the good 
 little girls, who had received instructions to keep 
 their frocks clean, walked steadily home, hand in 
 hand, saying pieces of poetry to each other, as good 
 little girls ought to do, or, perhaps, mentally re- 
 peating the multiplication table. 
 
 And at regular times Roy used to pass on his
 
 janita's ckoss. 231 
 
 way to and from the Duke's yard, always with that 
 clear carolling whistle of his, and a glance at Pro- 
 fessor Ruthven's gable-end window, where there 
 was generally a little bit of white muslin cap to 
 be seen, and a pair of rosy cheeks gleaming through 
 the thick beaten glass which Miss Hepzibah had 
 caused to be put there as a safeguard to domestic 
 morality. Poor Roy ! spite of the whistle he looked 
 careworn and anxious still ; for times showed no 
 disposition to better themselves, and poor old Mrs. 
 Royland's liver complaint was more obstinate than 
 ever, and shoemaking was very slack, and there 
 seemed little prospect of his being able to come to 
 an understanding with Bessie Ash ton. Besides, 
 Bessie would keep on walking with Peter Monk, 
 and flirting with Alick the smith, and shaking 
 hands with the tall footman ; and if now and then 
 she did stop to have a word with Roy, or give him 
 a tenderer glance than usual out of those deep 
 grey eyes, she was sure to put a stone in the other 
 pocket before long, by passing him in the street 
 with as much indifference as if he had been one of 
 the lower house "fellow-Christians" of Mrs. Nar- 
 rowby's working-party. 
 
 In the afternoon, Miss Alwyne used to disappear
 
 232 janita's cross. 
 
 again for a couple of hours ; first, though, wind- 
 ing up the musical-box, which stood in the corner 
 of the room. Then Janita wrapped herself in 
 the great sofa-blanket, and, lulled by the fairy- 
 like cascade of notes, dropped into a pleasant 
 sleep, from which she was roused by a kiss from 
 Miss Alwyne, or the sound of Cicely's voice sing- 
 ing over her work in the kitchen. 
 
 But the evenings were the best of all. Oh, 
 those evenings ! It seemed to Janita as if nothing 
 in her past life could compare with them for rest 
 and quietness. For when the daylight had died 
 out, and lights began to twinkle in the cottage 
 windows, and the evening chimes rang out from 
 the church tower. Miss Alwyne nsed to put her 
 w^ork away, and come to the great easy-chair that 
 . stood by the couch ; and Janita used to take fast 
 hold of her hand, and then they would talk — oh ! 
 such long pleasant talks as those were! Far 
 before any sermons, Janita thought, that she had 
 ever heard in Meadowthorpe church ; at least, she 
 knew this, that they did her very much more good, 
 though other people might not have thought them 
 so suitable, or might have said that Janita was 
 very naughty to prefer those desultory conversa-
 
 janita's cross. 233 
 
 tions to a proper discourse, with three heads and 
 an application, such as Mr. Mabury read every 
 Sunday, out of that velvet-covered sermon case 
 of his. And when the little time-piece in the 
 corner told with its peal of merry bells, that ten 
 o'clock had come, Cicely brought in the great 
 bible for reading and prayer ; after which Janita 
 went away to her bedroom, where firelight was 
 dancing over the pictured walls, keeping her 
 thoughts company, until sleep with its other pic- 
 tures came, and the day was lived over again in 
 dreams.
 
 234 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ^^\5f§0 the time went on at Meadowthoi-pe 
 m Cottage, day after day, week after 
 v^f»^l^5)if^^® week, until Janita was afraid to 
 think how many had passed, or 
 how soon the former Kfe, with its Httle worrying 
 cares and vexations, must be taken up again. 
 
 Miss Hepzibah had frequently said it was high 
 time her niece went back to the Aspens, she was 
 wasting her time sadly, getting into idle, shiftless 
 ways, no doubt ; lying there on the 'sofa from 
 morning to night, playing with her fingers, or 
 reading story-books. That sort of thing must not 
 go on any longer, it must not indeed ! But for 
 once Aunt Hepzibah had to yield. Janita should 
 stay where she was until the new year, at any rate, 
 so Miss Alwyne said; and when Miss Alwyne 
 chose, she could always make people do as she said, 
 even Miss Hepzibah.
 
 janita's cross. 235 
 
 It was one Wednesday evening, about three 
 weeks after Janita came to the cottage. She was 
 lying on the sofa, holding Miss Alwyne's hand fast 
 in hers. It must be that Miss Alwyne's touch had 
 a sort of magnetism in it, it seemed to quiet the 
 young girl so. Just as the touch of the boy, 
 Gavin Rivers, had charmed away her baby wail- 
 ings long ago, when he clambered down from the 
 rigging to hold her in his arms, or stroke the tiny 
 face with his sunburnt fingers. The bay-windowed 
 room was dark, but for red firelight and the many- 
 coloured glow which poured through the stained 
 windows of the church. Mr. Mabury always had 
 evening service on Wednesday at seven o'clock. 
 Standing now under the great sycamores by the 
 west door, or pacing up and down the causeway in 
 front of the bishop's summer palace, you might 
 hear the rich full tones of the organ, mingled with 
 Destiny Smith's resonant bass, and Eoy's clear 
 ringing tenor. And when they were silent, you 
 might catch Mr. Mabury's voice, richer than either, 
 intoning the prayers. For the rector of J^Ieadow- 
 thorpe intoned so beautifully, quite on scientific 
 principles. And people who had any taste or 
 judgment in such matters, said that there was no-
 
 236 janita's cross. 
 
 tiling to be heard in St. Olave's superior to the 
 service in Mr. Mabury's church, especially during 
 Advent. 
 
 An hour ago, Cicely had knocked at the door to 
 know if Miss Alwyne would not have the lamp 
 lighted, and being sent away, had returned to her 
 fellow-servant in the kitchen, saying for the 
 twentieth time since Janita came, 
 
 " Laws ! how seemly that there room does look 
 of an evening. I always says it's just like a book 
 picter, with such lots of pretty things about, and 
 those two sitting so friendly up again each other, 
 dwelling together in unity, like the blessed psalm, 
 and the ointment which flowed down upon Aaron's 
 beard, though I never could think but what it 
 must have greased his robes shameful, and them so 
 viewly, too, as the clergyman says they was. I 
 don't misdoubt, though, but what it was quite 
 proper." 
 
 For Cicely, notwithstanding Miss Alwyne's 
 Sunday evening readings, had somewhat indefinite 
 notions of many parts of Scripture, the lo3rd psalm 
 amongst the number. 
 
 But the lamp was not wanted to-night. ^liss 
 Alwyne and «Janita were having one of their long.
 
 237 
 
 long talks, those talks which always used to make 
 the young girl feel so strong for doing and en- 
 during. They had been speaking of a woman's 
 daily life, how its round of petty duties, so small 
 apparently, and meaningless, may be transfigured 
 into beauty by that spirit of consecration which 
 does them all for God, and reads even in the lowli- 
 est of them His message to the willing heart. And 
 how, when we have gazed through the telescope 
 of faith upon those great star-lit truths which, far 
 off, light up the darkness of this mortal life, we 
 should never forget that microscope of love, which, 
 turned upon the simplest work that reverent hands 
 can do, shows it adorned with a beauty quite 
 divine. 
 
 " I do think," said Janita, " that when I go back 
 to Aunt Hepzibah's, I shall live a new life." 
 
 " God grant you may, my child, for the old one 
 was not the right life at all." 
 
 " No. And yet for many things, this that I am 
 going to, will be just the same. You know I shall 
 have the same duties to do, and the same people to 
 please, and the same little worries to put up with, 
 only I shall look at them so differently. You 
 did not teach me it all yourself, Miss Alwyne. I
 
 238 janita's cross. 
 
 found out a great deal about it in this book," and 
 Janita took from under her cushion one of the po- 
 pular works of fiction of the day. " This is the 
 little bit I mean. Wasn't it funny to find it in a 
 novel?" 
 
 '^ There is often much wisdom in novels," said 
 Miss Alwyne, quietly. 
 
 "" I do believe there is, though Aunt Hepzibah 
 calls them foolish and poisonous to the young mind, 
 and all that sort of thing. But just let me read 
 you this little bit." 
 
 And turning so that the firelight fell upon her 
 book, Janita began : 
 
 " There is nothing great, nothing mean, save as 
 we make it so by our doing of it. All life is given 
 us for one great purpose, the growth of character. 
 It matters little what may be our duties, our plea- 
 sures, our cares, so only we grow by them. We 
 live well, not by doing lofty things, but by doing 
 little things with a lofty spirit." 
 
 Janita did not see the beautiful smile which came 
 up over Miss Alwyne's face as she read this. 
 
 " I do think," she said, " that if I had got no- 
 thing else by coming to stop with you but just 
 those few sentences, it would have been worth all
 
 239 
 
 the fret and miserableness of the old life. I would 
 like to thank wJioever wrote that." 
 
 " You may thank her now, then." 
 
 " Yes, of course, by sending her a letter." 
 
 " No, not so." 
 
 "How then r 
 
 Miss Alwyne stooped down and kissed her. 
 
 " You have thanked me already, Janita, by tak- 
 ing those words of mine for your life text. I 
 wrote the book." 
 
 " Miss Alwyne !" 
 
 And for some time Janita could say no more 
 than that. Miss Alwyne, her dear, quiet, pleasant 
 Miss Alwyne, an authoress? It was so strange. 
 Janita in all her life had never seen a real, live 
 literary lady ; but Willie Home had. He knew 
 two or three in Edinburgh when he was there at 
 College, and he had sometimes told her about them, 
 always shrugging up his shoulders before he began, 
 as a child might do when a tame magpie takes un- 
 pleasant liberties with its ancles. Willie Home's 
 authoresses were extensive, overpowering women, 
 who tried to dress themselves like men, who talked 
 a great deal about politics, and always had ink 
 stains on theh fingers. And, of course, ladies who
 
 240 janita's cross. 
 
 wrote books must all be alike. At least Janita 
 thought so, 
 
 " Oh, Miss Alwyne, what a pity !" she said at 
 last. She meant it was such a pity that Miss Al- 
 wyne was a live authoress. And then, feeling that 
 she had said something which ought not to have 
 been said, she went on. 
 
 " I mean, you know — well, I don't quite know 
 what I mean. Only I always thought that people 
 who wrote books, at least, ladies who wrote them, 
 were " 
 
 She was going to say " old and ugly and queer," 
 but she could not get the words out, none of them 
 would at all apply to the gentle, pleasant woman 
 who sat beside her now, the woman whose very life 
 seemed like some beautiful piece of music, without 
 one discordant tone or imperfect chord. And Miss 
 Alwjme had no ink stains on those white taper fin- 
 gers of hers, and she never talked politics. 
 
 " I thought they were — well, peculiar." 
 
 " Disagreeable, and odd, and self -conceited, you 
 mean, my dear. Well, I believe that is the opinion 
 generally held of women who follow hterature as a 
 profession ; and yet I do not know why it should be 
 so. I don't see why a woman need lose anything
 
 janita's cross. 24:1 
 
 of lier womanhood by writing for the amusement 
 or instruction of other women. I think it is quite 
 as reputable for a lady to get her living by writing, 
 as by teaching music or drawing ; and infinitely 
 more reputable than to get it, as many women do, 
 by marrying men for whom they do not care." 
 
 "Do you get a living by writing. Miss Al- 
 wyne?" 
 
 " Yes. It is a long time now since I had any 
 one to work for me, any one to give me the help 
 which women generally get from husbands or bro- 
 thers or fathers. I have none to depend upon but 
 myself, and I have chosen this way of gaining a 
 livelihood, as the quietest and most womanly." 
 
 " And yet there is a prejudice against women 
 who write." 
 
 " There is, on the part of foolish, unthinking 
 people. Some time ago there was a prejudice 
 against women who got their living by wood- 
 engraving or law-copying, or any other handicraft. 
 That has passed away now. So will the other, by 
 and by." 
 
 " But, Miss Alwyne, you said it was a womanly 
 occupation. Now I always thought it was just the 
 other way." 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 janita's cross. 
 
 " Yes, womanly. For women whose time is at 
 their own disposal, who have no home duties to 
 fill up the long, long hours of every day, no little 
 children to care for and live for — women, too, who 
 must in some way sustain themselves, I think 
 writing is of all employments the quietest. It does 
 not, unless they choose, bring them into contact 
 with other people. There is nothing in it which 
 need jar upon the retirement which every w^oman 
 prizes so dearly. She may be doing a noble work 
 in the world, comforting many a sad heart, wiling 
 away many a weary hour — for, Janita, I think that 
 even the gift of amusing is no small gift — and yet 
 all the time she need never stir from her ow^n 
 fireside, or from the quiet of her native village. 
 
 " As for the womanliness of it," Miss Alwyne 
 continued, seeing that Janita still looked doubtful, 
 " that a woman should write for other women, 
 seems to me such a simple, natural thing, that I 
 cannot help wondering at all the argumentation 
 which has been spent upon the subject. If only 
 the world would let us alone. If only when we 
 are trying to help ourselves in our own quiet, un- 
 assuming way, there was not such a legion of 
 reviewers and lecturers and pamphleteers down
 
 janita's ckoss. 243 
 
 upon us directly, hunting us to death with their 
 good advice, or their sympathy, or their sarcasm, 
 or thqir scorn. Men reproach single women for 
 being a burden upon society, and when the single 
 women strive to lighten that burden by helping 
 themselves, the reproach, instead of being taken 
 away, becomes louder." 
 
 " I don't think I should care for reproach," said 
 Janita, " if I knew I was doing my own work, and 
 doing it as it ought to be done. I wonder if I 
 shall ever find my work in writing. You know 
 you have told me before that there is a work for 
 everyone. And I feel sometimes as if I must do 
 something, as if I could not live on and die, leaving 
 no mark upon the world." 
 
 Miss Alwyne looked at the young face uplifted 
 to her now, so quick with thought-life, so earnest, 
 so full of questioning, so pure from the touch of 
 wearing grief, yet quivering with that sensitiveness, 
 which, when grief came, would feel it so keenly. 
 And as she remembered her own life, the steps very 
 rough and painful by which she had been led into 
 the track where now she walked peacefully along, 
 she prayed that He who gives to all their work, 
 would not so guide Janita ; that He would find 
 
 \\'2
 
 244 janita's cross. 
 
 some smoother path for those young feet. But there 
 was no need to tell Janita all that. She only 
 answered in that grave, sweet voice of hers, and 
 one might be content with much pain to win the 
 peace which made that voice so sweet: — 
 
 " My child, your work lies close at hand. See 
 God's purpose for you in the simplest duties of 
 your daily life. Fulfilling these with reverent 
 care, you are doing His will, surely the highest, 
 noblest thing which can be done. And if that will 
 should one day meet you as a cross, heavy and 
 hard to bear, carry it bravely, carry it patiently. 
 It is but for a little while. And there is no cross 
 so borne, which He who gave it will not, sooner or 
 later, exchange for an eternal crown."
 
 245 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ,UT it does not follow, because a 
 '^ woman has found her work in the 
 world, and is trying to do it 
 steadily, in a quiet, unobtrusive 
 fashion, that the world will let her alone in that 
 work, or leave her to do it in her own way. 
 Least of all had Gentility Square any notion of 
 letting people alone. It was one of the last things 
 they ever did. Indeed they would have thought 
 it very improper, quite a breach of religious duty, 
 to abstain from meddling with everything and 
 everybody that came within the range of their 
 observation. 
 
 Miss Alwyne had resided in Meadowthorpe 
 nearly three years before she was suspected of the 
 enormity of writing for the press. Up to that 
 period she had been believed in and respected as a
 
 246 janita's cross. 
 
 quiet maiden lady, who, being in delicate health, 
 had sunk her property and got a nice little an- 
 nuity for it ; or who, being well connected, had a 
 pension from some of her great friends, which, 
 added to her own earnings — for everyone knew she 
 had once been a governess — brought in enough to 
 keep her genteelly. At any rate there was some- 
 thing about her so self-possessed and almost aris- 
 tocratic, that she was admitted into the best society 
 of the place, went once a year to dine with Mrs. 
 Macturk, took tea as often with the rector's lady, 
 lunched with the bishop at his summer palace now 
 and then, used to visit the steward when there was 
 a steward to be visited, and was generally invited 
 to the Misses Yere Aubrey's annual tea-party at 
 Christmas. Also, she was moved to in the street 
 by everybody who was anybody, the canon's widow 
 amongst the rest. 
 
 Great, then, was the well-bred horror of Gen- 
 tility Square when it found out that the neatest and 
 compactest of its tenements had been harbouring 
 a woman who wrote. The report was first men- 
 tioned at Mrs. Narrowby's working party — of 
 course Miss Alwyne was not there — by Mrs. 
 Maguire, the physician's lady, who had it from
 
 janita's cross. 9A7 
 
 Mrs. Mabury, who had been told it in the strictest 
 confidence by a friend at St. Olave's who had 
 heard it mentioned by a lady whose husband had 
 been told by the librarian of the Athen^um ; and 
 the librarian had had it from the bookseller, and 
 the bookseller had had it from a traveller who was 
 connected with one of the great publishing houses 
 in London. So that the pedigree of the report 
 was unexceptionable, very much more so than Miss 
 Alwyne's conduct. 
 
 Mrs. Maguire came to the working party quite 
 oppressed with the magnitude of the intelligence 
 she had to communicate. For several days pre- 
 viously, in fact, ever since Mrs. Mabury, who was 
 confined to the rectory with influenza, had sent 
 across a little note containing the important infor- 
 mation, Mrs. Maguire had been debating in her 
 own mind how best to break it to the members of 
 the upper house ; whether by a series of gentle 
 hints leading to the final catastrophe, or by a de- 
 cisive avowal of that catastrophe without preface 
 of any kind, or by judicious inuendoes which 
 should gradually prepare the Gablehouse ladies to 
 receive, without too great a shock, the news which 
 it was only proper they should be put in possession
 
 248 janita's cross. 
 
 of. Finally, however, she decided upon the bold 
 avowal, trusting to Providence to keep the house 
 from going into hysterics. Accordingly, when the 
 unbleached calico had been circulated amongst the 
 fellow-Christians, and the reading was about to 
 begin, Mrs. Maguire said in a quiet matter of fact 
 voice, ostensibly addressed to the upper house, but 
 loud enough to be heard by all — 
 
 " Ladies, are you aware that Miss Alwyne writes 
 novels ?" 
 
 And then, having got the subject fairly launched, 
 Mrs. Maguire heaved a sio-h of relief and con- 
 tinned her stitching. 
 
 If, to use an original expression, a thunderbolt 
 had fallen at their feet, the worthy members of the 
 Meadowthorpe working party could not have been 
 more shocked and startled. A few of them had 
 vague general notions about female writers ; 
 women who brushed all the hair back from their 
 foreheads, and were not particular about the entire- 
 ness of their husband's stockings ; women who left 
 the tapes and buttons to fate, whilst they sat in 
 their studies filling sheets of foolscap with moral 
 maxims. Helps, Suggestions, Aids, Whispers, and 
 the like. And when told of that very interesting
 
 janita's cross. 249 
 
 story by Miss A., or that fascinating novel by 
 Mrs. B., or that exquisite tale by Lady C, they 
 had shaken their heads, and whilst glad enough to 
 avail themselves of the amusement afforded by 
 such books, had talked sweetly about feminine se- 
 clusion, and the womanly virtues of retirement and 
 silence. But that one of the species should ac- 
 tually have entered their quiet village, and under 
 the disguise of an inoffensive maiden lady, pene- 
 trated their homes, doubtless with a view to takino; 
 notes for publication — it was enough to overwhelm 
 the community with righteous indignation. It 
 was — it was — but in that first shock of surprise 
 no one could tell exactly what it was. 
 
 The house resolved itself into a committee, and 
 a second working party was appointed for the fol- 
 lowing week, to consider the subject more fully. 
 Then the upper class members gave their opinions. 
 The others could say what they had to say at home; 
 it was not their place to talk at the working party. 
 
 The ^Misses Yere Aubrey were very much 
 shocked. They could not have thought such a 
 thing of the lady who lived at Meadowthorpe cot- 
 tage. And Miss Matilda felt it nothing but due to 
 her sex to withdraw from the acquaintance of a
 
 250 janita's cross. 
 
 person who had so trespassed upon its sanctity. Miss 
 Hepzibah lifted up her hands in astonishment. 
 What would the world come to ! Things were very 
 different when she was a girl. She was sure her 
 mother would never have let her do such a thing, 
 that she would not. And then the Professor's 
 sister thanked Providence that she was not as other 
 women were. 
 
 Mrs. Macturk was more than astonished, she 
 was indignant. It was her opinion that the Duke 
 ought to be told about it. His Grace knew what 
 became the female character as well as any man, 
 and she was convinced he would not permit a 
 woman who wrote novels to remain on his estate. 
 It was obnoxious, quite ; enough to lower the tone 
 of the village. At all events, Miss Alwyne ought 
 not to be allowed to come to the Sacrament again, 
 and if no one else mentioned it to Mr. Mabury, 
 she should feel it upon her conscience to tell him 
 herself. 
 
 The Misses Narrowby, one and all, were filled 
 with mild surprise. It was so very strange. They 
 really did not know what to think. And they 
 asked each other what they ought to think, and 
 they consulted the Guide to Female Excellence as
 
 251 
 
 to what was proper for young ladies to think ; but 
 the Guide, &c., wonderful to say, had not a para- 
 graph on that subject ; and then they asked their 
 mamma what would be best to think, and mamma 
 said she reallv did not know what would be the 
 most judicious way of thinking ; but she was quite 
 sure of one thing — it was a great comfort to her 
 that he7' young people did not commit themselves 
 in that way. And then the blisses Narrowby felt 
 very good, quite overflowing with propriety. And 
 they told their mamma that they hoped they should 
 never so far forget themselves and what was due to 
 their sex, as to give her any anxiety of that sort. 
 
 All this was said and thought^ whilst poor Miss 
 Alwyne, innocently unconscious, was living as 
 heretofore a quiet, and, as she believed, perfectly 
 harmless life ; going to see the village people now 
 and then, wiling away the evening hours with books 
 and needlework, tending her ferns and flowers, 
 or, if she had anything to write about, writing it — 
 doing her duty so far as she knew it, in that station 
 of life in which it liad pleased the Almighty to 
 place her. But by and by, driblets of the current 
 gossip began to find their way into Meadowthorpe
 
 252 janita's cross. 
 
 cottage, and its tenant began to be addressed after 
 tlie following fashion — 
 
 " You know, Miss Alwyne, I am a person that 
 always speaks my mind " (it was Mrs. Macturk), 
 " and as soon as Mrs. Maguire mentioned it to me, 
 I determined I would come across to you at once, 
 and really hear it from your own lips. Now, will 
 you tell me, — as a friend, you know, — is it true 
 that you publish f 
 
 Or it was Miss Yere Aubrey, with her stately 
 Norman step, and her icy Norman smile, who way- 
 laid Miss Alwyne in Meadowthorpe lane, and had 
 heard that she spent such a great deal of time in 
 that elegant little conservatory room of hers, and 
 pray was the new book to come out veiy soon, and 
 would Miss Alwyne be so kind as to say what it 
 was to be called. 
 
 And then, before Miss Yere Aubrey was well 
 disposed of, Mrs. Mabury came sailing across the 
 road. 
 
 '^ You are quite sure you will not be offended, 
 dear Miss Alwyne, but is it really true that there 
 is a work of yours in the St. Olave's library ? Do 
 you know, I was so astonished when I heard it, 
 and I said I was quite sure you would never think
 
 janita's cross. 253 
 
 of doing such a thing ; only you see reports get 
 about so, and I thought it woukl be so very much 
 better to mention it to you at once, because I was 
 perfectly sure " 
 
 With a great deal more to the same effect. And 
 scarcely had poor Miss Alwyne got safely home, when 
 another of the Gentility Square people dropped in, 
 and after the weather had been discussed, and 
 last Sunday's sermon set to rights, and the plague 
 of servants talked over, up came the ubiquitous 
 subject. f 
 
 " I am quite sure. Miss Alwyne, you will believe 
 me when I say that there isn't a person in the parish 
 who has a greater objection to gossip than myself, 
 and I am sure I always set my face against 
 anything of the kind, and have done so from the 
 beginning ; and as for spreading a false report, 
 it is one of the last things I should ever think of 
 doing. And so, as soon as ever it was mentioned 
 to me, I said I would ask you myself, because 
 then I could deny it from your own lips. Now, 
 Miss Alwyne, is it true — you must not be offended 
 with me, you know, because I am sure I ask 
 the question out of the purest kindness — but
 
 254 janita's cross. 
 
 is it true that you are in the habit of writing for 
 the press ?" 
 
 And Mrs. Maguire's uplifted eyebrows, and the 
 general solemnity of her aspect, abundantly de- 
 clared what a very pernicious " habit " she consi- 
 dered it to be. 
 
 To all of which inquiries Miss Alwyne replied, 
 not without a certain dignity of voice and manner, 
 that she did write for the press, and that she had 
 done so for many years, and should do so whilst 
 health and talent were spared to her ; moreover, 
 that, so far from being ashamed of the employ- 
 ment, she considered it one of the most suitable to 
 which a woman, from whom God had withholden 
 the true w^oman's life of home duty, could devote 
 herself. And having said this, there was a steadfast 
 look in Miss Alwyne's face, which said plainly 
 enough — 
 
 "There ; you have your answer ; now be silent." 
 
 And the gossips were silent accordingly. For 
 that way of Miss Alwyne's was very conclusive. 
 Gentility Square dare no more have offended the 
 Duke himself than vexed the lady of Meadow- 
 thorpe cottage after that quiet settling look of 
 hers.
 
 255 
 
 So that blew over. For a few Sundays she was 
 very much looked at in church, and the people 
 peeped at her from behind the window curtains as 
 she went down the street. And little Mrs. Brown, 
 the grocer's wife, made one or two private visits to 
 the washerwoman, to know whether Miss Alwyne's 
 things were made as nicely and particularly as other 
 people's, and whether it was really true that her 
 stockings were mended so beautifully you could 
 not see where the hole had been. Which ques- 
 tions being answered in the affirmative, little Mrs. 
 Brown said there was no telling but what women 
 who wrote, might get to heaven as easily as those 
 who did not. But as far as Miss Alwyne herself 
 was concerned, no one mentioned the subject to 
 her any more. 
 
 Remonstrances came from other quarters, though, 
 which she could not so easily dismiss. Yulgar 
 curiosity, whether manifested by the little Mrs. 
 Browns or Miss Vere Aubreys of society, might be 
 piit down by a quiet look ; but conscientious 
 scruples were not to be dealt with in that way. 
 And amongst Miss Alwyne's friends were some 
 good, well-meaning people, who thought that by 
 the evil practice of novel-writing she was perilling
 
 256 janita's cross. 
 
 her own eternal interests, as well as leading un- 
 wary souls to destruction along the flowery paths 
 of fictitious literature. 
 
 These remonstrances, however, did not come 
 from Mr. Mabury. Mrs. Macturk certainly had 
 carried out her threat of speaking to him on the 
 subject of Miss Alwyne's departure from the path 
 of rectitude ; but the rector of Meadowthorpe, like 
 Gallio, cared for none of these things. He listened 
 politely to what the rich widow had to say, sent 
 for Miss Alwyne's last book from the St. Olave's 
 library, read it through and pronounced it a 
 capital story, only rather overburdened with re- 
 flections. He could not say that he should like 
 Mrs. Mabury to write books, but if other ladies 
 chose to do so, they were welcome. He should 
 not consider it binding upon his pastoral conscience 
 to interfere with them. So that Mrs. Macturk 
 might as well have been quiet. 
 
 Good old Dr. Hewlet, of St. Olave's, who had 
 known Miss Alwyne ever since her residence in 
 Meadowthorpe, thought more seriously on the sub- 
 ject. After prayerful consideration, he resolved 
 upon an interview with the talented but mis- 
 guided lady, who was, as he feared, ruining both
 
 janita's cross. 257 
 
 herself and others by the exercise of perverted 
 gifts. 
 
 Accordingly, he drove over to Meadowthorpe 
 one pleasant summer evening, about a month after 
 Mrs. Mabury had sent that little note across to 
 the physician's lady. He found Miss Alwyne sit- 
 ting alone in her parlour, arranging some flowers 
 to send to a poor woman who had been bedridden 
 for many weeks. She did not look at all like a 
 child of the evil one, a destroyer of souls ; quite 
 the contrary. Dr. Hewlet thought he had seldom 
 seen a sweeter face than that which was lifted to 
 his as he went into the quiet little room. But 
 then, as the good canon said to himself, even the 
 arch enemy sometimes assumes the guise of an angel 
 of light. 
 
 After a fatherly greeting — for Dr. Hewlet loved 
 Miss Alwyne very much — and after a few general 
 observations on the weather and the state of the 
 parish, he ventured into the subject which had 
 brought him to Meadowthorpe. 
 
 "My dear friend," he began, " do not fancy me 
 actuated by a spirit of curiosity, still less of cen- 
 soriousness. No one is more anxious than myself 
 to speak the truth in love. But tell me, is it really 
 
 VOL. T. S
 
 258 jaxita's cross. 
 
 true that you ai'e in the habit of writing works of 
 fiction ?" 
 
 " Quite true, Dr. Hewlet." 
 
 But this time there was nothing in Miss Alwyne's 
 voice which seemed to imply, ^^ You have got youi' 
 answer, now be silent." She said the words so 
 quietly and gently, that Dr. Hewlet felt en- 
 com-aged to proceed. 
 
 ^' Ah I I had hoped it was only a false report, 
 one of the idle tales which idle people love to 
 spread. But now will you let me ask you how 
 you can reconcile it with yom' profession as a 
 Christian woman to spend so large an amount of 
 time in the production of works of fiction f 
 
 '' I am not sm'prised at yom' asking me that 
 question. I know good earnest people have a 
 great prejudice against these books ; Avhy so, they 
 would perhaps find it difficult to say. When 
 circumstances led me to choose work of some kind, 
 I asked myself whether I could with a clear con- 
 science devote my life, so long as God gave it me, 
 to the writinoj of stories, agamst which so much 
 has been said. That question cost me many doubts 
 once. It costs me none now." 
 
 " Ah! but, Miss Alwyne,'' and Dr. Hewlet shook
 
 janita's cross. 259 
 
 his head; it orrieved him to find his friend en- 
 trench herself so firmly in the position she had 
 taken up, " may not that be because you are given 
 over to blindness and hardness of heart? The 
 voice of all professing Christians is against you." 
 
 " That would not influence me in the least^ Dr. 
 Hewlet. When a question is once decided between 
 God and our own consciences, professing Chris- 
 tians have nothing at all to do with it. To our 
 own Master we stand or fall, not to the judgment 
 of professing Christians. I have this power, and 
 I must use it." 
 
 " Oh, yes, by all means. I do not deny that 
 writing is a very useful gift. Be assured I have 
 no sympathy with the foolish prejudice often ex- 
 pressed against authoresses ; that prejudice is ig- 
 norant in the extreme. But could you not turn 
 your talents into a more useful channel ? A chan- 
 nel quite as productive too, in a pecuniary point of 
 view ? Now those sweet little books that obtain 
 such an extensive sale, those Morning and Evening 
 Portions, my bookseller tells me that Portions are 
 eagerly sought after by the religious public ; and 
 then you know there are the ^Dewdrops' and 
 ^ Crumbs of Comfort.' Anything in that form 
 
 s 2
 
 260 
 
 commands popularity at once. Could you not 
 bring out something of that kind ? Would it not 
 be a more useful application of your talents ?" 
 
 " Dr. Hewlet," and Miss Alwyne's face was 
 full of quiet, steady decision as she spoke; perhaps, 
 also, there was the faintest little touch of humour 
 in her voice, " I believe that in writing as I do 
 write, I am as much fulfilling God's purpose for 
 me, as if I were publishing ' Crumbs of Comfort ' 
 at so much a packet, or drenching the religious 
 public with sixpenny ' Dewdrops,' such as you see 
 put out on the counters of evangelical booksellers. 
 Some people have a gift for writing ^ Dewdrops,' 
 some have not. We are not all called to the same 
 work. If we do faithfully what the Great Task- 
 master gives us to do, that is all He asks of us." 
 
 "Certainly it is. Duty, that should be the 
 watchword of every life. And I admire the cour- 
 age and perseverance, which, if I'eport be true, you 
 have shown in overcoming obstacles, and finding 
 for yourself place and work in the world. But, 
 my dear Miss Alwyne, novels, I could almost call 
 them those devil's books — novels, my dear Miss 
 Alwyne." 
 
 Miss Alw\nie smiled, though the sjood Doctor
 
 J Anita's cross. 261 
 
 did not intend her to do anything of the sort. 
 
 " Will you tell me now," she said, ^' the names 
 of a few books which you consider as fair samples 
 of Satanic literature ? At present, my memory 
 does not furnish me with any." 
 
 '' Oh, yes. I can give you the names of num- 
 bers of novels. There is ^The Romance of the 
 Forest,' very popular, very popular, indeed ; and 
 the ' Farmer of Something,' I forget the exact 
 name, and ' The Brigand of Venice,' and ' The 
 Gallant Highwayman,' and ^ Jack Sheppard.' All 
 highly popular works of fiction. I read a para- 
 graph only yesterday, to the effect that a recently 
 convicted murderer traced his first steps in the 
 career of crime to the intense craving for excite- 
 ment which was roused in him by the reading 
 of ' Jack Sheppard !' " 
 
 ^'And so, because 'Jack Sheppard,' a book I 
 have never heard of until now, happens to be 
 called a novel, you rank all other works of the 
 same name in the same class. That is not fair, 
 Doctor Hewlet. Now I don't suppose you will 
 contradict me when I say that some of the best 
 thinking of the present day is found in the pages 
 of magazines and journals. According to your
 
 262 
 
 theory, you ought to deny such books a place on your 
 table, because certain other publications, reeking 
 with filth and infidelity, but still bearing the names 
 of journals and magazines, circulate iii the back 
 slums of our great cities. The names are the 
 same, why not the contents also ?" 
 
 The Doctor paused for a little while, not being 
 prepared with a reply. 
 
 " But, my dear Miss Alwyne, though your argu- 
 ment appears to carry weight with it, still, if such 
 books are not absolutely vicious — and be assured I 
 would not for one moment insinuate that you 
 wTite anything which fails of having the purest 
 moral tendency — still the very sound of the word 
 novel implies something vain and frivolous, and it 
 grieves me that you should spend your time in 
 adding to the already too long list of such works." 
 
 " Did you ever read one of my novels ?" 
 
 " Oh, Miss Alwyne, excuse me," and Dr. Hew- 
 let put out his hand with a very deprecatory ges- 
 ture. " I — T am no novel reader. I should con- 
 sider that quite at variance with my profession. I 
 — in fact I make it a point of conscience never to 
 open a work of that kind. It is against my prin- 
 ciples, it is indeed."
 
 janita's cross. 263 
 
 " Then let me say that I think you are condemn- 
 ing me without evidence. I coukl never spend a 
 day of my Ufe in writing as I do, if I did not 
 think that novels may do as much good to those 
 who read them, as avowedly serious books do 
 to avowedly serious people. People who meet re- 
 ligious thought in no other form, meet it some- 
 times in novels." 
 
 " Well, in a limited sense that may be true ; 
 but you will certainly admit that there is nothing 
 saving in novels." 
 
 "I believe that all true, earnest, God-given 
 thought has in it something saving, though not 
 perhaps in the sense you mean. And I believe, 
 too, that many men and women are as truly con- 
 secrated to their work of writing, as ministers of 
 the church are to their work of preaching ; yes, 
 and far more so than the surpliced fop who has 
 only taken orders for the sake of a respectable 
 social position, or because his relatives have a living 
 in their gift " 
 
 " Yes, tha is too true," and Dr. Hewlet glanced 
 at an elaborate white neck-tie which was just 
 passing the little bay w^indow. " Many are put 
 into the priest's office for a morsel of bread. But
 
 264 janita's cross. 
 
 that does not alter the truth of my argument. 
 Preaching is attended with beneficial results, 
 though not, I grant, to the extent we might ex- 
 pect, owing perhaps to the unfaithfulness of the 
 Church ; but wdio ever heard of good being done 
 by novel reading ? If you can give me a single 
 instance of strength or comfort afforded by books 
 of this kind, I will take back what I have 
 said. I will own that you are doing a true 
 work." 
 
 " You force me to speak of myself, Dr. Hewlet, 
 and so if I do it, you must bear with me. People 
 who are utter strangers to me, people whose faces 
 I have never seen, and most likely never shall see, 
 tell me of comfort which has come to them through 
 words of mine. They speak of grief lightened 
 and suffering borne more patiently through strength 
 which they have thus unconsciously gained. If I 
 had no other need to work, I would work for this, 
 to reach out a helping hand to w^omen who are 
 toiling over a path whose ruggedness I have known 
 and felt. Whilst I can do this, I will go on, let 
 professing Christians say what they will against 
 me. And so long as one voice is lifted up to thank 
 me, and so long as I can cheer a single heart, I will
 
 janita's cross. 265 
 
 not believe that my work is other than God-given. 
 Will you f 
 
 Dr. Hewlet could not say. He sat there in the 
 little bay window, looking across to the churchyard 
 sycamores, upon whose mossed trunks evening sun- 
 light was casting the shadows of their leaves. 
 Miss Alwyne sat at the table arranging her 
 flowers, a look of deep quiet-hearted content upon 
 her face, the look of one who believes in her life as 
 the gift of heaven, and uses it as such. She was 
 the first to speak after that long silence. 
 
 " You have come to me. Dr. Hewlet, in all kind- 
 ness, to warn me from what you think a dangerous 
 path. But nothing will ever shake my faith in 
 this, that I am doing my own work, and doing it 
 as God would have it done. I do not profess to 
 write for men ; that is no woman's work. But 
 there is much in a w^oman's life which only a 
 woman can know and understand. You may 
 preach to them out of your cathedral pulpits of 
 patience and resignation, and you may teach them 
 schemes of doctrine and duty which you have 
 learned from theological books ; but there are needs 
 wliich you can never reach, and sufferings for 
 which no college lore of yours can ever find com-
 
 266 janita's ckoss. 
 
 fort ; and Gocl has given to woman the power to 
 reach these, and it is your praise she should win, 
 and not your censure, when she tries to do it 
 humbly and faithfully." 
 
 Dr. Hewlet rose from his seat in the window. 
 He came up to her now and took both her hands 
 in his. 
 
 ^' Miss Alwyne, pardon me. I have misunder- 
 stood you. I thought that your calling was at 
 variance with my own. I believe now that we are 
 walking side by side in the same path, serving the 
 same master, some day to win the same reward." 
 
 She felt that long ago. But she was not the less 
 glad to hear him say it. After that, the bond be- 
 tween them became closer. Dr. HeAvlet went 
 away. He had intended in his prayers that even- 
 ing to offer a petition for the beloved sister, whose 
 feet were stumbling upon the dark mountains ; 
 that the thought of her heart might be forgiven 
 her, and that God would pluck her as a brand 
 from the burning. But he changed his mind, and 
 instead, thanked the great Father of all for that 
 faithful band of workers to whom, though now 
 unknown and unacknowledged. He would one day 
 say, " Well done."
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 r^UT Janita's evenings were not all 
 W^. spent in quiet talks with Miss 
 
 ^JM ^pJ Mf /x Alwyne, or in storing up great 
 Sv^'CS^S?'] thoughts for the after toil and 
 weariness of life, if these should ever come to her. 
 Other interests of quite a different nature were 
 pushing themselves into existence at Meadow- 
 thorpe cottage during that three months' visit. 
 
 After a suitable interval, when Dr. Maguire had 
 given it as his opinion that there could be no pos- 
 sible danger of infection, Mrs. Narrowby honoured 
 Meadowthorpe cottage with a visit. The call was 
 ostensibly paid to Miss Alwyne, and related to the 
 case of a poor man in the parish who wanted re- 
 lieving with a blanket ticket ; but other ends quite 
 apart from parish business, or blanket tickets, were 
 to be answered bv it.
 
 268 janita's ceoss. 
 
 It could not with any sort of truth be affirmed 
 concerning the mistress of Gablehouse, that, Hke 
 Una, her presence made sunshine in the shady 
 place. Indeed, she rather seemed to reverse the 
 process, bringing shadow where before there had 
 been sunshine. A fact Janita could not help not- 
 ing as Mrs. Narrowby's ample black silk dress 
 rustled into the bay-windowed room that frosty 
 evening in December, breaking in upon such a 
 pleasant conversation, which she and Miss Alwyne 
 were having all to themselves. 
 
 The visitor was very polite and ceremonious. 
 As occupying the van of respectability in Meadow- 
 thorpe parish, Mrs. Narrowby was never anything 
 else but polite and ceremonious ; she considered it 
 due to her position. Just before going away she 
 suggested that her girls should come and sit with 
 Janita in an evening now and then. 
 
 " Just to enliven you a little, my dear. You 
 know it is very depressing to be so much alone, 
 especially for young people ; and I am sure the girls 
 would be so very happy to do anything in their 
 power for you. Indeed they were only saying the 
 other day they should so like to know a little more 
 of Miss Raeburn."
 
 janita's cross. 269 
 
 To which Miss Raeburn was obliged to say that 
 it was very kind of Mrs. Narrowby, and she should 
 be exceedingly happy to cultivate the acquaintance 
 of Miss Narrowbys; though she could not help 
 thinking that Miss Alwyne's conversation was quite 
 as enlivening as anything she should be likely to 
 hear from the feminine portion of the Gablehouse 
 establishment. But Janita was a little bit spite- 
 ful in that opinion. She had never quite forgiven 
 the eldest Miss Narrowby for coming all the way 
 across the drawing-room to ask, in a perfectly audi- 
 ble voice, if she found the piece of tacked hemming 
 too difficult. 
 
 Miss Selina came in next evening. Came not 
 alone, for the Guide, &c., said it was improper for 
 young females to go out after dark unattended, 
 and therefore Selina brought her brother, by way 
 of guard, as she explained to Miss Alwyne. 
 
 The young architect did not come unwillingly. 
 He had a bright remembrance of that working 
 party evening, and evidently enjoyed another op- 
 portunity of getting half an hour's uninterrupted 
 conversation with one who could understand and 
 appreciate him, and listen intelligently too, as 
 Janita did. Certainly there was much that was
 
 270 J Anita's cross. 
 
 very engaging about Longden Narrowby. He 
 had no conceit, no self-assertion. This, though it 
 might prevent him from pushing his way in the 
 world, rendered him very agreeable as a companion. 
 And then he had not been thrown very much into 
 the society of other young men, so that if he lacked 
 manliness he lacked also the brusquerie and over- 
 weening confidence which very much rubbing and 
 scrubbing in the world are apt to produce. He lived 
 a quiet, secluded sort of life, studying his profession, 
 which, in itself had a refining influence, and spend- 
 ing most of his leisure time in sketching or 
 reading poetry — sometimes writing it. Longden 
 seemed to have got by mistake into the Narrowby 
 family, like those blue convolvoluses, which strag- 
 gling over the hedge into Miss Hepzibah's kitchen 
 garden, twined their graceful tendrils amongst the 
 cabbages and cauliflowers which were the rightful 
 occupants of the ground ; for there was a fanciful 
 romance about him, a graceful ideality which con- 
 trasted strangely enough with the matter of fact 
 sobriety of his sisters, or the hard, dry practicality 
 of his father and mother. 
 
 Janita liked to talk to him, to listen to his voice, 
 which was low and sweet, just the voice to trill out
 
 janita's cross. 271 
 
 love ballads ; and to lean back amongst her cushions 
 and get a look now and then at his face, which 
 seemed made to match the room, it was so 
 still and refreshing in its beauty, like that picture 
 of the boy Milton, which hung in her bedroom at 
 Inverallan Manse. 
 
 And then she began to wonder whether the In- 
 verallan life, with its moorland rambles, and its 
 boating afternoons on the loch, and its evening 
 readings in the bright, trim little study, was indeed 
 better or more enjoyable than this new life that was 
 beginning to tide up round about her. For when 
 the evening was over, and Selina Narrowby had 
 said good night, and Longden had held her 
 hand lingeringly in his, white as any lady's, and 
 smiled that beautiful smile of his, Janita felt as if 
 she had been listening for a long time to some very 
 sweet music. She felt quieted and soothed, not 
 grandly content as when Miss Ahvyne had been 
 talking to her, but only quieted. There was this 
 difference between Miss Alwyne and Longden Nar- 
 rowby. Her thoughts were like Beethoven's 
 chorales, whose harmony wakes in you strange 
 longings which you cannot understand or fathom, 
 you only feel that the music has overflowed you
 
 272 janita's cross. 
 
 and borne you up to a higher life. Longden's 
 were like some sweet song which you comprehend at 
 once, which leaves nothing unsaid, which wakes no 
 new thoughts, but only chimes in pleasantly with 
 those you possess already. 
 
 After the ice was once broken, young Narrowby 
 used often to call at the Cottage in an evening, 
 when office work was over. It was very easy to 
 make excuses for such visits. Selina had sent 
 back a borrowed book ; he had just finished a pen- 
 cil sketch, and would like to have Miss Raeburn's 
 opinion about it ; there was such a lovely poem in 
 the Magazine for January, he could not resist com- 
 ing in to read it aloud to them ; or Mr. Narrowby 
 had been makinsj some new desic^ns for cot- 
 tage gardens in the village, and he thought perhaps 
 Miss Alwyne would like to look over them ; or 
 there was some little message which his sisters were 
 too busy to bring, and he offered to come in with 
 it. So that before long, young Mr. Narrowby 
 spent at least two or three evenings a week in that 
 pretty little bay-windowed room, with Miss Alwyne 
 and Janita, sometimes with Janita only. And as 
 it was dark when he came, the gossips of Gentility 
 Square never knew anything about his visits, not
 
 janita's cross. 273 
 
 even the Misses Yere Aubrey, who had hawk~Hke 
 keenness of vision in detecting any approach to 
 " marked attentions." Besides, the Cottage door 
 was never locked until bed-time, so that with the 
 delightful free-and-easy familiarity of country life, 
 Longden could lift the latch and ensconce himself 
 in the easy chair without giving Ann or Cicely the 
 trouble of letting him in ; which was so very 
 convenient. 
 
 At first the young man thought he went be- 
 cause it was so pleasant to have a little sensible 
 conversation instead of being bored to death with 
 the eternal parish talk of his sisters, who seemed to 
 have no interests apart from the working party or 
 the clothing society. By and by it was enough to 
 sit within sight of Janita's bright face, even though 
 there was no conversation at all. Then — but what 
 need to go through it all ? — how those great brown 
 eyes, now sparkling with merriment, now laden with 
 thought, stole far away down into his heart and 
 followed him home, and glanced between him and 
 the pale unchanging faces of his three sisters, and 
 looked out upon him from the folios of architec- 
 tural drawings and estimates of the Duke's build- 
 ings ; and how Janita's sweet voice kept always 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 J Anita's ckoss. 
 
 sounding in his ears — that voice which, whether it 
 talked sense or nonsense, was the dearest he had 
 ever heard, the only one he ever cared to hear. 
 Oh, it is an old story, and people can all tell it for 
 themselves, how such things as these come about, 
 and how susceptible young men, men who have as- 
 pirations, and whose sisters cannot sympathise with 
 them, do lose their hearts, getting thereby into all 
 manner of trouble. As it was in the beginning, 
 is now, and ever will be, so long as there are Janita 
 Raeburns and Longden Narrowbys in the world. 
 
 But Longden's lost heart, for it really was lost 
 after about a fortnight's visiting at the Cottage, did 
 not seem likely at present to cost him any very 
 serious trouble. His own family did not make any 
 objection to his dropping in so frequently next 
 door. Indeed they rather encoui'aged it than 
 otherwise. Mrs. Narrowby had talked it all over 
 with her husband one evening when the girls were 
 out, long before Janita had ever been invited to 
 the working party ; and they had settled it in their 
 own minds that Longden could not do better for 
 himself than pay attention in that quarter. Other- 
 wise Janita would never have been included in 
 Miss Hepzibah's monthly note of invitation. Or-
 
 janita's cross. 275 
 
 phans were convenient, as Mrs. Narrowby said, 
 looked at in a matrimonial point of view, because 
 there were no wife's relations dangling about and 
 meddling in matters which did not belong to them. 
 And this particular orphan was sure of having 
 a snug little property, because neither the Pro- 
 fessor nor Miss Hepzibah were marrying people. 
 So that on the whole the lad could not do a better 
 thing for himself. 
 
 Thus Mrs. Narrowby. As for Longden, to do 
 him justice, he really did love Janita for herself, 
 without any ulterior views towards money matters 
 and mothers-in-law. She was the only woman he 
 had ever wished to have for his wife, the only one 
 he had ever loved, except indeed about half a dozen 
 enchanting syrens who had floated past him at the 
 St. Olave's balls, dazzling him with their white 
 shoulders and spai^kling smiles ; l^etraying him also 
 into sundry sonnets, all of which, however, were 
 burnt and forgotten long ago, leaving his affections 
 quite tenantless, until this Janita came stealing 
 into them. This little Inverallan girl, who had 
 such pretty ways, so different to the rest of the 
 Meadowthorpe young ladies. 
 
 True, he had not said anytliing yet. lie had 
 
 t2
 
 276 
 
 not pledged himself, nor come to tlie point. But he 
 quite meant to do so before long ; for Longden 
 Narrowby, like all other honourable young men, 
 thought it was a very naughty thing to possess him- 
 self of a lady's affections without giving her a re- 
 ceipt for the same in the shape of a formal offer. 
 But for the present, the sweet romance of uncer- 
 tainty was so delightful. It was like looking out 
 upon some wide landscape in summer time, while 
 yet the early morning mist is folding it round, 
 while purple cloud and purple mountain meet 
 and mingle, while there are no hard, sharp 
 lines to be seen, no prosaic high roads, no 
 matter-of-fact hedges or productive turnip fields ; 
 but all is sunlit, hazy deliciousness. If he " said 
 anything " to Miss Raeburn, the next thing would 
 be, where should they take a house, and how many 
 servants should they keep ? And that for a young 
 man of Longden's ideal tastes was so very common- 
 place. He really could not take that into con- 
 sideration at present. Just fancy him, now, as 
 he said to himself about a month after Janita 
 came to the Cottage, scouring the streets of St. 
 Olave's in search of furniture, or hovering about 
 the carpet shops, and haggling with brokers over
 
 janita's ckoss. 277 
 
 the price of a bronze fender for the back parlour — 
 no, it was enth'ely too matter of fact. Let hhn 
 look at the silver mist and the purple cloud a 
 little lonorer, then it would be time enough to 
 descend to the turnip-field and hedge-rows. 
 
 Longden said as much as this to his mother, for 
 he was a dutiful lad, and always consulted liis 
 parents about anything important. ^Irs. Narrowby 
 thought her son's opinion quite correct, though she 
 looked at the matter from a different point of view. 
 It was very much better that Longden should not 
 commit himself by "saying anything" just yet. 
 The young lady was not engaged to any one in 
 Scotland, so Miss Hepzibah had told Mrs. Narrow- 
 by for a fact ; and Mrs. Narrowby was quite sure 
 she was not engaged to anyone in Meadowthorpe, 
 for the very sufficient reason that there was nobody 
 except her own son to be engaged to. Besides, 
 they were both of them young, and Longden Avas 
 not yet in receipt of a very large salary from the 
 Duke ; and as Miss Raeburn's property would not 
 come to her until Professor Ruthven's death, and 
 lie was a tough, stringy old man, who might last 
 for years, there was no immediate prospect of their 
 being able to settle. And lono' eno;a«;ements were
 
 278 janita's cross. 
 
 so very undesirable, especially in a village where 
 everybody knew all about everything that was 
 going on. It was better, therefore, to wait, much 
 better. 
 
 That was what Mrs. Narrowby said to Longden, 
 as the young man stood playing with his fingers 
 in the dining-room one January evening, after a 
 lengthy visit next door, a visit during which he had 
 been reading poetry to Janita, and translating the 
 love passages in " Wallenstein," and looking ten- 
 derly into those deep brown eyes of hers, and in 
 various other ways making himself agreeable. 
 And then she counselled prudence, and said what 
 a foolish thing it was for young men to entangle 
 themselves before they had a speedy prospect of 
 settling; and though she should have every satisfac- 
 tion in receiving Miss Raeburn as a daughter-in- 
 law, still it would be better to wait a little while, 
 say three or four months, before he pledged him- 
 self to anything decisive. 
 
 But there was another reason for delay, which 
 Mrs. Narrowby did not mention to her son, as he 
 stood there in the dining-room, playing with his 
 fingers, after that lengthy visit next door ; a reason 
 which the judicious mamma had been turning over
 
 279 
 
 in her own mind ever since those workmen from 
 London took the measurement of the south front 
 of the Hall, preparatory to breaking out a conserva- 
 tory in the great drawing-room. 
 
 It only wanted a few weeks noAv to the time 
 when the new steward was to arrive — March, at 
 the very latest, so Mr. Andrews, the clerk of the 
 works, said, and he was the most likely man to 
 know. Nobody could tell who he was, or even 
 his name — the Duke was so provokingly close 
 about business affairs — but this much Mrs. 
 Narrowby found out, that he had already been 
 steward on some of the Duke of Dykeland's 
 southern estates, and, therefore, must be a man 
 of position, most likely, too, a middle-aged man. 
 All the previous stewards had been men well 
 advanced in years. And he might, nay, most 
 likely he would, have grown-up daughters. 
 That was the contingency upon which Mrs. 
 Narrowby had fixed her hopes, hopes which put 
 her into quite a quiver of pleasurable excitement 
 whenever she suffered herself to dwell upon them. 
 If there should be daughters, and if her son 
 should be fortunate enough to win one of them, 
 then
 
 280 janita's cross. 
 
 It would be so very satisfactory for Longden to 
 marry into the Hall family ; sucli a good connec- 
 tion, besides making the young man's fortune in a 
 pecuniary point of view. True, the young lady 
 might not have so much unencumbered fortune as 
 Janita Raeburn, but then the patronage was so 
 important. For it was well known that the 
 steward, if he was a clever man, had all the places 
 on the estate at his disposal, and could influence 
 the Duke considerably, too, in fixing salaries and 
 emoluments. And in that case it would be so 
 very much better for Longden not to have com- 
 mitted himself to Miss Raeburn. As the affair 
 was now, he could slip quietly out of it without 
 any remark, without exposing himself to even a 
 suspicion of dishonourableness. 
 
 Oh ! Mrs. Narrowby, how strange that your 
 penetration did not reach to the other side of the 
 subject. Supposing this myth of a steward, whose 
 name no one has heard, but whom everyone 
 believes in as a middle-aged man, of good property 
 and connections, should have sons only, iiistead of 
 daughters, in that probable family of his, and that 
 one of them should take a fancy to the bright 
 little Inverallan girl. More unlikely things have
 
 janita's cross. 281 
 
 happened, and will happen again to the end of 
 time. For she is a winning creature, apart from 
 that funded property of the Professor's, which 
 would buy Longden such a nice practice some- 
 where, besides paying rent and butcher's bills; 
 and though not absolutely beautiful, she has a way 
 about her that steals unawares into people's hearts. 
 As it has stolen into your son's heart, filling that 
 heart with hopes and imaginings, which, though as 
 yet they do not embrace possible domestic ar- 
 rangements, are sufficient to make life very beauti- 
 ful. 
 
 But Mrs. Narrowby's penetration did not reach 
 to the other side of the subject. Somehow she 
 felt, how or why she could not tell, but she did feel 
 that the new steward's family would consist of 
 daughters. And that was the position of affairs 
 when the time drew near for Janita to return to 
 Aunt Hepzibah.
 
 282 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Cli^^l^^^'^ANITA had not yet asked herself 
 cTti? iJl-^ if ijfffe, how much of the pleasure of that 
 ^^lMjI^NI three months' visit to Miss Al- 
 l^'^-^lM^-^^ wyne had been owing to young 
 Mr. Narro why's frequent calls, and the long, long 
 talks they used to have together in the cozy little 
 bay-windowed parlour. She was not in the habit 
 of pulling her feelings up by the roots to see why 
 they grew. That she was happy, happy in her 
 own free innocent girlish way — that was all she 
 knew, and all she cared to know. Whi/ she was 
 happy, and what sort of happiness it was, and how 
 long it was likely to last, and whether it was real 
 happiness, or only a sort of pleasurable feeling con- 
 sequent upon kindness and returning health — these 
 questions Janita wisely let alone. It would be 
 better for half the people in the world if they 
 would do the same.
 
 janita's cross. 283 
 
 Longden Narrowby was a very agreeable com- 
 panion, the pleasantest she had ever known, not 
 excepting even Willie Home ; for Willie, though 
 frank and honest and good-natured, lacked that 
 elegance of taste which Longden possessed in a 
 remarkable degree. Still she was conscious of a 
 want. This new friendship satisfied that part of 
 her nature which sought after the beautiful and 
 the graceful, the rest was left unfed. Longden 
 Narrowby had no power over her. As she used 
 to say to Miss Alwyne sometimes, and perhaps 
 she could not have expressed her thought in better 
 words — there wasn't plenty of him. She rarely 
 found herself asking his opinion about anything. 
 But he was constantly consulting her. Not merely 
 appealing to her taste — almost any man may appeal 
 to almost any woman on that subject, and find 
 himself the better for it — but he rested on her 
 judgment, and he formed his own opinions by it. 
 And Janita could not help seeing this. And no 
 woman ever gives her whole heart, with all its 
 reverence and trust, to a man who confesses him- 
 self moulded by her ways of thinking. She is in 
 the right not to do that. 
 
 But as I said before, Janita had not begun to
 
 284 janita's cross. 
 
 question herself on this subject. And if she had, 
 the result would not seriously have affected her 
 peace of mind. She liked well enough to talk to 
 Longden Narrowby, to look over his sketch-book, 
 to suggest improvements, which he often asked her 
 to do, in his plans for cottage gardens, to discuss 
 their favourite poets, and to listen to his graceful 
 thoughts. But she felt no great blank when he 
 was gone. The hours never wearied slowly on 
 because he was not there to speed their flight. 
 Her heart never beat faster when his gentle, 
 womanlike knock was heard, neither when he left 
 her did the sunshine seem to have died off from 
 every place where he was not. If some one had 
 come in and told her that Longden was going to 
 be married to one of the Meadowthorpe young 
 ladies, she would — well, perhaps she would have 
 felt just a little bit cast down, and she might have 
 sat in thoughtful silence for half an hour after the 
 gossip had done, and she might have had one 
 twinge of sadness to think that the pleasant read- 
 ings were over now, and the long evening talks. 
 But no more than that. She would have been all 
 right again next morning, just as bright, and as 
 cheerful, and as glad-hearted as ever.
 
 janita's cross. 285 
 
 Our hearts are all like locked chambers. Some- 
 one else holds the key, and until that key is given 
 up, we know not what we possess ; we can. neither 
 suffer nor enjoy to the full measure of our being. 
 Janita's heart was locked. Whether Longden 
 Narrowby held the key, whether it was his to re- 
 veal to her all that she might do and all that she 
 might become, no one could tell. 
 
 So that pleasant visit wore to a close. Dr. 
 Maguire pronounced his patient quite restored, 
 indeed better than before the attack. " For you 
 know," as he said to Miss Hepzibah, " these fevers 
 often carry away a great deal of mischief that is 
 lurking in the system, leaving it altogether clearer 
 and more vigorous." 
 
 To which Miss Hepzibah replied : 
 
 " Oh ! yes ; my grandmother always used to say 
 a fever was a wonderful thing for clearing up the 
 complexion. I had one when I was young." 
 
 Though, as the doctor thought, it had not 
 cleared Miss Hepzibah's complexion. 
 
 And, indeed, it seemed as if Janita's recovery 
 had been moral as well as physical, so much of the 
 old waywardness and wilfulness had been swept 
 away. She felt as if life would be such a
 
 286 
 
 different thing now ; as if even Aunt Hepzibah's 
 worreting, and that incessant, wearisome "Jane, 
 child, Jane ! " could never break the deep new 
 peace which had grown up within her during that 
 time of rest. 
 
 And now the last day had come. Longden 
 Narrowby had been spending the whole of the 
 previous evening at Meadowthorpe cottage, deter- 
 mined to enjoy his paradise as long as possible, 
 before its gates were partially closed upon him. 
 For he knew well enough that Miss Hepzibah 
 would have no young gentlemen loitering in her 
 dining-room with excuses about sketch-books, or 
 translations of poetry, or designs for cottage gar- 
 dens, or any such nonsense. A polite call once a 
 month, in presence of Miss Hepzibah, and then 
 only in case he came furnished with a proper, 
 straightforward message, was all that he could 
 expect when Janita was once more safely lodged 
 at the Aspens. 
 
 At least that would be all until he had come to 
 the point, and " said something." And though the 
 young man sighed for the entree to that dining- 
 room, for the privilege of hanging up his hat as 
 often as convenient on the ugly old bronze stand
 
 janita's cross. 287 
 
 in the front passage, still things remained stationary, 
 still Mrs. Narrowby kept counselling prudence, ad- 
 vising him to wait until he saw his way clear, until 
 there was a more immediate prospect of beginning 
 house-keeping. And at the mention of that 
 matter-of-fact broom and duster subject of house- 
 keeping, involving as it did so much buying of 
 fenders, and fitting of ash-pans, Longden's courage 
 failed ; he felt that he really could not make up his 
 mind to that just yet. So he dreamed on about 
 his lady-love's bright eyes, and listened in fancy to 
 her rich sweet voice, and pressed the little hand 
 whenever he had a chance, the " something" never 
 being said. Which was just as Mrs. Narrowby in- 
 tended it should be. 
 
 It was a fine clear morning towards the begin- 
 ning of March when Janita returned to the Aspens. 
 As she passed through the churchyard for the sake 
 of prolonging her walk, she noted how from every 
 sycamore and chestnut, little white buds were 
 creeping out, and how the snowdrops and prim- 
 roses, those prophecies of coming Spring, had 
 written their sweet story on every grassy mound. 
 So it seemed to her that now from the graves of her 
 conquered faults there should bloom the sweet
 
 288 J Anita's cross. 
 
 flowers of a new life, the lieralds of sunshine and 
 beauty in the soul. 
 
 With that thou2;ht quickening her, she opened 
 the little wooden gate that led into Professor Ruth- 
 ven's garden. And yet strive against it as she 
 might, she could not quite keep back a certain feeling 
 of sadness, a sudden closing up as of plants at the 
 approach of frost, when she got into the house, and 
 heard once more the old familiar sounds ; the fidget- 
 ing screech of the dining-room door w^hich had been 
 screeching just so for six months because no one 
 thought of putting a little oil upon the hinge ; Abi- 
 gail's heavy footfall as she trampled about the 
 kitchen, rattling the tins and candlesticks ; the 
 quick ting ting of the fussy old clock on the landing, 
 that was always in such a hurry to get its striking 
 done. Miss Hepzibah herself was coming along 
 the passage in her cooking apron and baking sleeves, 
 en route for the still-room, the shrine where most of 
 her devotions were paid. When she met Janita, 
 she came to a sudden halt, and eyed the young girl 
 from head to foot. 
 
 " Well, Jane, child, so you've got home at last. 
 And looking as fresh as a buttercup, I do declare ! 
 Blessings on us ! your skin is clearer than when you
 
 janita's cross. 289 
 
 first came to live with us ! You're just in time to 
 help me with the open tarts, but you may as 
 well run upstairs first and tell your uncle you've 
 got back ; he was asking something about it this 
 morning." 
 
 And Aunt Hepzibah bustled off, leaving Janita 
 with such a chilled feeling at her heart. That sharp 
 business-like " Jane, child," was such a contrast to 
 the gentle " my dear," which had become like a 
 household sound during the last three months. 
 She felt as if she must cry. But no, what was the 
 use of giving way so soon ? She thought of the 
 snowdrops andprimroses in the churchyard, and bore 
 up a little longer. 
 
 The Professor's study was on the first floor, com- 
 manding a fine prospect of the cabbage and rhubarb 
 beds. Indeed that kitchen-garden was so con- 
 trived as to intrude upon most of the windows ; but 
 Miss Hepzibah liked to have it in sight ; it was 
 practical, she said, and did some good in the world. 
 The Professor himself, in a grey frieze coat, very 
 ragged at the wristbands, and not much better at 
 the elbows, was seated bolt upright in his chair 
 before a table strewn with diagrams and calcula- 
 tions for a work on Motive Forces, upon which 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 
 
 he had been engaged for the last twelve years. 
 
 Janita coughed when she came into the room, 
 but that was no use. Then she went and sth-red 
 the fire ; but that was no use either. Then she 
 walked round in front of him, and said — 
 
 " Please, Uncle Jabez, I've come back." 
 
 The professorial eyes were fixed with a clear, 
 steady gaze on the opposite corner of the room, 
 where a couple of skulls were grinning through a 
 torn black curtain. But the skulls evidently had 
 nothing to do with the Professor's thoughts, 
 which by and by began to ooze slowly into 
 speech. 
 
 " To find the effect of the force A B in the 
 oblique direction A 0," here the long bony arm 
 began to describe an angle in the air — " from B 
 draw a perpendicular to A C ; then A B is equiva- 
 lent to A D -1- D B." 
 
 " Please, Uncle Jabez, I've come back." 
 
 "Equivalent to A D-|-D B, of which D B ha5 
 no effect in the direction A C." 
 
 " Neither have I," thought Janita. And then 
 she laid her two hands upon his shoulders, and 
 looking straight into his eyes, said, not without a 
 little tinge of merriment in her voice —
 
 291 
 
 ^' Please, Uncle Jabez, I've come back," 
 
 Which piece of information, repeated now for 
 the third time, produced the desired effect. At 
 least it did produce an effect of some kind, though 
 not perhaps the one desired. For Janita would 
 have liked those long, lean fingers to clasp her just 
 for a little while, and to have felt the touch of those 
 colourless lips upon her ovvn whilst the Professor 
 gave her some sort of welcome, not warm exactly, 
 but at any rate tangible. He did not do that, how- 
 ever. He only looked at her for some seconds very 
 vaguely and abstractedly, as if she were a new sort 
 of motive force that had to be described, and then 
 said, in his hazy, disconnected fashion — 
 
 " Oh, well ; yes, that is, you have come back. 
 I, I hope you are better. But — yes, that is it. I 
 have it now, but A B is exactly in that direction; 
 therefore " 
 
 Poor Janita did not stay to find out what there- 
 fore led to. With the quick tears already dropping 
 from her eyelashes, she hurried away into her own 
 room, there to commemorate her arrival at the As- 
 pens with a hearty good cry. 
 
 And that was all the welcome she got. Yet 
 neither Aunt Hepzibah nor Uncle Jabez meant to 
 
 u 2
 
 292 janita's ckoss. 
 
 be unkind, not In the least. They were really glad 
 to see her back again, though the gladness shuffled 
 itself out in a very untangible manner. 
 
 She must take the welcome for granted ; many 
 things in this world have to be taken in that way. 
 Only the fiery heart of nineteen is slow to take for 
 granted any welcome that does not gush forth in 
 the beaming look, and the warm caress, and the 
 tender word of love. 
 
 And so the day got over. Next morning there came 
 a very long letter from Agnes Home, Janita's fa- 
 vourite companion. Agnes was such a wild, merry, 
 hoydenish mountain maiden, so full of fun and 
 nor;sense, always ready for adventures of any kind, 
 ■for a ramble across the moorland, or a climb up In- 
 verallan crags, or a nutting expedition into the 
 copse, from which she returned with her frock out 
 of the gathers and her arms as full of scratches as 
 Mrs. Home's old-fashioned china plates. And what 
 laughs they used to have up in that great attic, 
 cracking jokes together, and telling stories whilst 
 Bell and Maggie, who represented the common- 
 sense of the family, sat downstairs in the parlour, 
 darning table-cloths. Janita used to laugh at Belle 
 and Maggie, and say they would be sure to be old
 
 janita's cross. 293 
 
 maids, because they were so particular about keep- 
 ing their frocks clean, and mending the holes 
 in their gloves. They were not going to be 
 old maids, though. Agnes had written to say 
 that both her sisters were engaged to be married : 
 Bell to the clergyman at TuUamanoch, a village 
 about two miles away, Maggie to a well-to-do 
 widower, with five children, and a first-rate medical 
 practice. And then she went on to tell Janita 
 that Willie was going to preach his first sermon at 
 Tullamanoch next Sunday, and she did wish so 
 that Janita could go with them to hear him, for he 
 looked so nice in his gown and bands. He had put 
 them on one night when Mr. and Mrs. Home were 
 out, and then got upon a chair and practised say- 
 ing the benediction, with his arms stretched out so 
 that the sleeves fell in such beautiful folds. The 
 only thing she was afraid of was, that he should 
 tumble as he was going up the pulpit stairs, because 
 his gown was so long in front ; and she had re- 
 commended him to put one of Ilsie's great check 
 aprons on, and practice walking up and down 
 stairs in it, because if he did tumble, she was quite 
 sure she should burst out laughing, it would be so 
 funny. After he had preached his first sermon he
 
 294 janita's cross. 
 
 was going to London to be helper to a Scotch 
 mmister there for a few months, and then Agnes 
 hoped he would get a country parish not far away 
 from Inverallan, and marry — she knew whom. 
 
 And when Agnes had told all this in her merry, 
 off-hand way, she began to say how they were 
 countingthe months untilJanita should return to the 
 Manse. For when the Professor fetched her away, 
 it was settled that she should pay them a visit at 
 the end of a twelvemonth, and if she did not feel 
 quite happy at Meadowthorpe, she was to stay with 
 them, and not go back into England any more. 
 She had been at the Aspens six months already, 
 only six more, and then — Oh, Agnes said she 
 could throw down her pen, and dance about the 
 room for joy, at the thought of seeing dear Nyta 
 once more ! And she would stay with them, would 
 she not, not as a foster-sister any more, but a real 
 sister, bearing Willie's name, calling his mother 
 hers ? 
 
 Six months ago how the thought of going back 
 to Inverallan would have made Janita's heart thrill 
 with joy. It was pleasant to think of it now, 
 pleasant to fancy herself rambling up the mountain 
 sides \\ith fleet-footed Agnes, sitting hand in hand
 
 janita's cross. 295 
 
 with Willie Home, by the study fire, as they used 
 to do last year at this time, while he read to her 
 out of ^'Marmion," or "The Lady of the Lake." 
 Yes, the dear old Inverallan life would always be 
 very beautiful, and she would always love Agnes 
 
 and Bell and Maggie and Willie. But 
 
 And then Aunt Hepzibah called her to beat eggs 
 for some sponge biscuits.
 
 296 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIIl. 
 
 ^' ^^-^ilj^^y^} t IT now that gi-eat event was draw- 
 5Q( ing near, which for many weeks 
 /O, past had gathered to itself all the 
 i$jM(S''^^J, gossip of the place, and threatened 
 to make a greater commotion in the stagnant 
 waters of Meadowthorpe society, than even the 
 discovery, nine months ago, of Miss Alwyne's 
 writing for the press. 
 
 The new steward was to come in March. Mrs. 
 Narrowby had been quite unsuccessful hitherto in 
 her attempts to gain any definite knowledge of 
 himself or his circumstances. Whether he was 
 married or single, young, middle-aged, or elderly, 
 plain or handsome, well-to-do or limited in his 
 means; whether centuries of aristocratic blood 
 coursed through his veins, or whether he belonged 
 to the modern order of self -built men, men who
 
 297 
 
 push their owii way to place and fortune — on all 
 these weighty points Gentility Square was entirely 
 in the dark. 
 
 The Hall was undergoing great changes. The 
 three box-tree peacocks in front of the principal 
 entrance, which had been allowed to push out 
 leaves at discretion for more than two years, had 
 their tails trimmed, and their top-knots reduced to 
 proper proportions. The huge overgrown laurels, 
 that kept away all the sunshine from the lower 
 windows, were shorn of half their branches ; the 
 duckweed was cleared out of the fountain pond ; 
 the three little boys who held up the stone urn 
 had their chubby faces washed, and the accumu- 
 lated slime scoured away from their dimpled 
 elbows, where it had hung in green festoons. And 
 the weed-encumbered walks were cleared, and 
 barrow-loads of rank luxuriant wall-flowers and 
 sweet Williams, and tiger-lilies uprooted from the 
 crowded flower-beds ; and where a tangled wilder- 
 ness of lavender and southern-wood had scented 
 all the air, fashionable shrubs were planted at 
 regular intervals, and long lines of the newest 
 standard rose-trees replaced the thickets of sweet- 
 briar that used to be so delicious after rain. And
 
 298 janita's cross. 
 
 the end of all was, that when the '^ floriculturist," as 
 he called himself, from town, had been at work a 
 month, the Hall garden looked like a country gen- 
 tleman who has had his hair cut and dressed by 
 a Eegent Street hand, transmogrified beyond re- 
 cognition. 
 
 Within, alterations quite as important were 
 being carried forward. Workmen were tearing 
 down the old-fashioned papers, to put up new 
 hangings of the latest, most elegant designs ; and 
 re-varnishing the great oak staircase, and touching 
 up into fresh beauty the grand old ceiling, beneath 
 whose fruit and flower-clustered compartments 
 gallant Koyalists and their lady-loves had had 
 many a festive banquet. By and by trucks of 
 furniture began to arrive. One or two adventu- 
 rous ladies, Mrs. Maguire and the Misses Vera 
 Aubrey amongst the number, who were determined 
 not to be kept in the dark any longer, took their 
 morning walks down the St. Olave's road, and 
 with umbrellas or parasols made little peep holes 
 in the thick laurel hedge, through which they 
 could get a glimpse of what was going on inside. 
 But they only brought back word that they had 
 seen a piano and a harp taken in, from which they
 
 janita's cross. 299 
 
 inferred that there were young ladies in the family. 
 And Mrs. Maguire deposed to having witnessed 
 the unwrapping of a couch, which she affirmed to 
 be covered with yellow brocatelle ; but Miss Yere 
 Aubrey said it was not a couch at all, only a bath, 
 painted like oak ; and as Mrs. Maguire was known 
 to be short-sighted, most likely it ivas a bath. 
 Both ladies, however, agreed that there were blue 
 silk curtains in the south room, the room where 
 the conservatory had been broken out ; and some 
 beautiful carved oak furniture, which, as Liiss 
 Matilda said, placed the respectability of the family 
 beyond a doubt, was standing just inside the front 
 door. A sideboard, she thought it was, and one or 
 two antique chairs. Miss Matilda Yere Aubrey 
 always had confidence in the pedigree of a 
 family which had black oak fm'niture in its posses- 
 sion. 
 
 So far, so good. But no one could find out any- 
 thing more. For all the rest. Gentility Square 
 must wait until the Hall people, by making a 
 public appearance at church, proclaimed their 
 readiness to receive callers, and subject them- 
 selves to the usual scrutiny bestowed upon new 
 comers.
 
 300 
 
 So the time wore on ; past the first Sunday in 
 March, past the second Sunday in March, past 
 equinoctial day, when the wardens gave over heat- 
 ing the church — come rain, hail, blow or snow, 
 the ecclesiastical cellars never gave up their coal 
 after the twenty-first of March. Kext day, Thurs- 
 day, a travelling carriage dashed up to the great 
 entrance of the Hall, followed by two or three 
 cabs. Next day, Friday, claret-liveried footmen 
 were seen strolling about in the back premises ; 
 next day, Saturday, the lilac gowns and white caps 
 of sundry housemaids passed and re-passed the 
 low, black-framed windows of the kitchen depart- 
 ment ; and Mrs, Narrowby saw the sunshine flash 
 on what seemed to be golden ringlets behind the 
 blue silk curtains of the south room. Kext day, 
 Sunday, the whole family appeared at church for 
 public inspection. 
 
 Meadowthorpe church was a standing protest 
 against the old-fashioned and now quite exploded 
 theory, that all men are born free and equal. At 
 least, if born free and equal, Meadowthorpe did its 
 utmost to upset the arrangement by building 
 proper barriers between class and class. 
 
 The abbey church of St. Edda had been repaired
 
 301 
 
 and beautified in the reign of Queen Anne, as an 
 old black letter tablet near the communion rail 
 affirmed. Since that time it had remained un- 
 touched in the matter of decoration, save an ele- 
 gant pulpit cushion, the gift of ]\Ir. Mabury, senior, 
 on the occasion of his son's presentation to the 
 living, whose gold fringe and embroidered mono- 
 gram contrasted somewhat whimsically with the 
 general worm-eaten mustiness of the rest of the 
 church furniture. The pews were very high — so 
 high that, when seated in them, only tall ladies 
 could see over the tops — just the thing for people 
 who liked a quiet nap during service-time; but 
 terribly dolesome to little boys and girls, who had 
 to sit through three heads and an application with 
 no other prospect than the green baize lining, and 
 no other occupation than counting the brass-headed 
 nails which fastened it to the crumbling oak 
 moulding. 
 
 It was only the Gentility Square people, though, 
 who sat in green baize pews, with brass nails and 
 bolts to the doors. The common people, such as 
 little Mrs. Brown, and Miss Green, and the tailor, 
 and the shoemaker, and the constable, and the smith, 
 and all that class, heard the word in very narrow
 
 302 
 
 green-painted cells, nearer to the lower end of the 
 church. Light green paint it was, with a great 
 aptitude for coming off ; and the plebeian little 
 boys and girls who were audacious enough to put 
 lead pencils in their pockets, found abundant 
 amusement in drawing dogs and horses on the 
 lower panels whilst the heads of the family were 
 asleep. Or, failing lead pencils, finger-nails would 
 answer the purpose equally well, with only a slight 
 additional outlay of labour. The very lowest peo- 
 ple of all, the day labourers and almshouse men 
 and paupers, sat on free seats down the middle of 
 the aisle, where there were no facilities either for 
 sleep or recreation, nothing but steady, patient at- 
 tention to the three heads and the application. 
 
 The walls were covered with mural tablets of 
 all descriptions, from the plain wooden panel, 
 whereupon it was stated that underneath lay the 
 remains of Dame Eunice Dykewick, who died at 
 the age of ninety-six, beautiful and very good, 
 onward through intermediate grades of slate and 
 freestone, to the beautiful white marble monument 
 in memory of the first Mrs. Maguire, where two 
 weeping female figures were holding some drapery 
 over an, urn, and pointing to an inscription above.
 
 janita's cross. 303 
 
 The inscription was in Latin, so the present Mrs. 
 Maguire did not know what it meant. And then 
 there were several hatchments, which gave the 
 place a sombre look, and one or two fine old stained 
 glass windows, representing the legends of the 
 saints; and a musty gallery on one side the chancel, 
 where the Smiday-school children sat, and another 
 opposite, equally musty^ where the Gentility Square 
 servants were accommodated, and a third, musty 
 also, at the west-end of the church, where the 
 musical part of the service was performed, under 
 the superintendence of Destiny Smith, parish 
 clerk. 
 
 But in vain Destiny, with his attendant band of 
 sopranos, altos, tenors, and basses, rolled forth the 
 introductory anthem on the morning of that thirc? 
 Sunday in March. No attention was paid. Not 
 a head was turned in the direction of the singing- 
 gallery, except, perhaps, Bessie Ashton's, as sho 
 gave a shy glance at Roy, who was sitting up in 
 his usual place close by the organ. 
 
 For, just as the choir had got their books ar- 
 ranged, and Mr. Newbold, the organist, was draw- 
 ing out the stops in readiness for the prelude, the 
 south door was thrown open with a floiu'ish, and
 
 304 janita's cross. 
 
 the parish beadle, white wand in hand, came up 
 the aisle, followed by the new-comers, whom he 
 was conducting to their place in the Hall pew. 
 
 First in order came a lady, who might be fifty- 
 five or sixty, tall, pale, rather thin, very grave and 
 quiet-looking. She walked up the long aisle, past 
 all the gaping day-labourers and paupers, with a 
 steady, dignified step, looking neither to the right 
 hand nor to the left, never acknowledging by word 
 or motion their endeavours to squeeze themselves 
 up so that she might have room to pass ; and when 
 she got into the Hall pew, she placed herself with 
 her back to all the people and began to read her 
 prayer-book. Just as the nuns did, Mrs. Mabury 
 thought, in the little Catholic chapel at St. 
 Olave's. And, indeed, the lady looked not unlike 
 a nun in her trailing black garments and long 
 crape veil and black jet cross which hung by a 
 chain at her waist. Surely His Grace had not 
 appointed a Eomanist family to the Hall. 
 
 Next came a young lady, not in mourning, ex- 
 quisitely graceful, with that lithe, swaying sort of 
 way which reminds you of mermaids or sea-ser- 
 pents. And when, as she floated up the narrow 
 aisle, the flounce of her dress caught upon one of
 
 janita's cross. 305 
 
 the free-seat knobs, and old Betty Bowers set it 
 straight for her, the lady smiled at Betty, and 
 said "thank you" with the very sweetest smile that 
 had ever been seen in that musty old church. 
 And as the congregation was standing up for the 
 introductory anthem, every one saw that smile. 
 And every one said that the lady who smiled it 
 would be popular in the parish. 
 
 Then followed a gentleman, who might be any 
 age, from five and thirty to five and fifty. 
 
 That was all. When the gentleman had taken 
 his seat, the beadle shut the door with a 
 flourish and walked into the vestry. A small 
 family, unless some had staid at home. A very 
 small family. 
 
 Then the service began. But Mr. Mabury 
 night as well have conducted it in Syi'iac or 
 Chaldee, for any impression it made on the 
 memories of the people ; save, perhaps, those of 
 the Sunday-school children, who were expected to 
 repeat the text and heads of the discourse to their 
 teachers in the afternoon. 
 
 Before the preliminary exhortation was nearly 
 finished. Miss Vere Aubrey had satisfied herself 
 that the elder lady's bonnet was Parisian, and the 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 janita's cross. 
 
 young lady's cambric pocket-handkerchief positive 
 Valenciennes. And as for the gentleman, just as 
 the congregation was kneeling do^NTi to say the 
 general confession, she touched her sister's arm and 
 whispered — 
 
 " Peculiar looking, but evidently a person of 
 family." 
 
 And Mrs. Narrowby had come to the con- 
 clusion that the young lady was the daughter of 
 the gentleman with gi'ey hair — the young lady 
 had her veil down, — and Mrs. Narrowby thought 
 how providential it was that their boy had not 
 said anything to Miss Raeburn; poor thing, she 
 would be disappointed no doubt, he certainly had 
 been a little too attentive in that direction, but 
 she would get over it in time. And if not, well 
 it was no consequence. 
 
 Janita did manage to keep her thoughts from 
 wandering during the intoning of prayers; but 
 when the Rev. Eustace Mabury mounted the 
 pulpit and read out for his text an entire psalm, 
 and announced that in the first place he should 
 give them a slight sketch of its history and com- 
 position, and then call upon them to notice this 
 peculiarity, and then direct their attention to that
 
 307 
 
 peculiarity in the structure of the sentences, and 
 thirdly, show them something else, and then in- 
 troduce the second part of his subject by ex- 
 plaining briefly under four heads some more pe- 
 culiarities, and then requesting their consideration 
 whilst he proceeded to, &c., she gave up the 
 attempt in despair and let her remaining medi- 
 tations go out after the strangers. 
 
 The Professor's pew adjoined that occupied by 
 the Hall family, but it was a step higher, being 
 built on the raised part of the church which led 
 to the altar. So that by doubling up the cushion 
 under her, — which the naughty girl did, — Janita 
 could see the heads, and a little bit of the 
 shoulders, of the new steward and his female 
 relatives, if relatives they were. 
 
 The younger lady had a black lace veil tied 
 closely over her face. Janita could see, however, 
 that her features were very regular and beautiful. 
 She had dark eyes with very arched brows. 
 Janita noticed them particularly, for she had 
 never seen eyes so dark in connection with a face 
 so fair and hair of such pale golden tint as that 
 which strayed from under the lady's bonnet and 
 lay in long curls upon her blue cloak. She had a 
 
 x2
 
 308 
 
 very sweet voice too ; though low, it could be 
 clearly heard as she murmured the responses. 
 And her every motion as she bowed at the Gloria 
 Patri, or turned towards the altar when the 
 Creeds were said, was full of indescribable ele- 
 gance. Why then did not Janita, who was 
 such a lover of beauty, feel her heart warm at 
 once towards the lovely stranger? Janita could 
 not tell. She only knew this^ that her heart 
 did not warm towards her. And when, as she 
 leaned over the pew to pass a hymn book, and the 
 lady's gloved hand touched hers for a moment, 
 whilst she smiled again that sweet, fascinating 
 smile which had already won the hearts of all the 
 free-seat people, Janita was conscious of a sort of 
 repulsion, almost like that which she felt whenever 
 she met Peter Monk. 
 
 It was a relief to turn to the face of the elder 
 lady. That was very calm and still. She was 
 leaning back in the corner of the pew, her eyes 
 fixed on the Dykeland hatchment with the 
 steady gaze of one who looks but sees nothing. 
 She appeared perfectly passive and composed. 
 Evidently she was one of those women in whom 
 self-possession has become a habit ; a woman
 
 janita's cross. 309 
 
 it would be impossible to rouse to anger or 
 enthusiasm, or passionate feeling of any kind. 
 You might tell that by the straight upper lip and 
 listless droop of the large eyelid ; you might tell 
 it, too, by the tones of her voice, which were cold, 
 calm, monotonous as the slow dropping of water 
 into a stagnant pool. 
 
 Janita loved to fancy stories about faces which 
 she saw for the first time. And she wove such a 
 long romance concerning this one, and the pos- 
 sible pain or sorrow of the life that could so have 
 quenched out of it all feeling and emotion, that 
 Mr. Mabury had nearly got to the last of his 
 four heads before she turned her attention to 
 the remaining occupant of the pew, a strong 
 featured, rather grey-haired man ; age, imcer- 
 tain. 
 
 Janita was at a loss to decide his precise re- 
 lationship to the two ladies. He might be the 
 husband of the quiet, passive woman who sat opposite 
 to him, for his hair was about as grey as hers. Or 
 he might be her son, because but for his grey hair, 
 he would pass for thirty-five, and she could not be 
 far from sixty. Only, if men get their characters 
 from their mothers, a passionless nature like hers
 
 310 
 
 could never have blossomed out into the quick 
 fiery earnestness of which his countenance was the 
 index. And then that golden-haired lady, was she 
 his sister, or his wife, or only a visitor at the 
 Hall ? And yet she could scarcely be a visitor, 
 for she seemed almost too much at ease with her 
 companions, looking up into their faces often with 
 a smile, half of amusement, half of playful con- 
 tempt, as an unusually sonorous snore came from 
 the painted pews, or an unlucky little urchin, over- 
 powered by slumber, tumbled ojff his bench up in 
 the Sunday-school gallery. A smile, which was 
 not nearly so beautiful as that she had given to 
 Betty Bowers at the commencement of service; 
 but, of course, as the congregation generally 
 could not see it, it was of no moment. And she 
 could scarcely be a visitor either, because, though 
 the gentleman was scrupulously polite in his de- 
 meanour, still he offered none of those little un- 
 necessary attentions which so elegant and graceful 
 a stranger, if she had been a stranger, would justly 
 have expected; nor did his deep-set eyes gleam 
 with a tenderer light when her own sought them. 
 ISTo, she must belong to the family in some way. 
 At last Janita determined that she was the
 
 janita's cross. 311 
 
 daughter of the elderly lady, and that the gentle- 
 man was her husband. He \yas a dark-looking 
 man, rather tall, not very. The lower point of the 
 Dykeland hatchment, which, as he stood under it 
 during the chanting of the psalms, kept scraping 
 against his head, was exactly five feet eleven from 
 the pavement. He was broad, strongly built, not 
 at all handsome. Indeed Miss Vere Aubrey had 
 been quite correct when she whispered to her sister, 
 " peculiar looking." Only very resolute and 
 straightforward and decided ; as anyone might 
 tell by the unembarrassed way in which he faced 
 the congregation, and the firm, steady grip with 
 which he held his great prayer-book. When the 
 sermon was about half-way through, he leaned 
 back and closed his eyes. 
 
 Surely the new steward was not going to sleep in 
 church! For the credit of his position, and for 
 the sake of example, especially to the Sunday 
 scholars, who from their musty gallery were gap- 
 ing down upon the Hall pew, Janita hoped he 
 would not commit himself to such an extent. And 
 indeed, anyone might have thought he was asleep, 
 except that now and then he hfted his hand to 
 put away the hair from his forehead. Perhaps
 
 312 J Anita's cross. 
 
 he had only shut his eyes that he might listen more 
 attentively ; many good church people, as well as 
 dissenters, receive pulpit ministrations with their 
 eyes shut. However, the nap, real or apparent, 
 gave Janita an opportunity of stud}dng his face 
 without fear of observation. 
 
 She thought that if these people really did be- 
 long to the sarne family, nature had tried how far 
 by temperament and disposition they could be 
 separated. The elder lady was indifferentism 
 personified ; her countenance told its own story 
 after the first glance, and had no more to reveal. 
 The younger lady had a certain wily, seductive 
 beauty, a syren face which might or might not 
 belong to a syren soul. He — husband, brother, 
 son, or whatever relation he might bear to the 
 others — was cast in an entirely different mould. 
 At first his face gave Janita the impression of 
 strength chiefly; force, courage, resolution. The 
 lines of it indicated great energy, a sort of stub- 
 born, obstinate perseverance. He was a man 
 whom it would be unwise to trifle with, and very 
 dangerous to offend ; a man who would rejoice in 
 having something to overcome, who would live out 
 his true life in the midst of action and difficulty.
 
 janita's cross. 313 
 
 That was what she thought at first. By and by- 
 she discovered a certain gentleness shining through 
 the strength ; a sort of under beauty, as when be- 
 rieath the great strong arms of forest oaks you find 
 little violets and priinroses, which look fairer and 
 bloom more safely for the shadow which overwraps 
 them. 
 
 Janita was still looking at that face, when the 
 owner of it, opening his eyes, fixed them full upon 
 her. She was very vexed. She would have given 
 anything not to have been looking at him just then. 
 And she began to listen very attentively to Mr. 
 Mabury, who had got into his application at last. 
 But she felt rather than saw that those eyes were 
 upon her still, and it was a great relief when 
 the rector said ^' finally, brethren," and the clerk 
 gave out that the people were to sing to the praise 
 and ^lory of God, the three first verses of the 
 Morning hymn. 
 
 After that the beadle came with his white wand, 
 and opened the Hall pew. It was the custom in 
 Meadowthorpe church for the steward's family to 
 go out first, then the green baize worshippers, then 
 tlie painted ones, then the free seats, and last of 
 all, the Sunday scholars. The tall lady in black 
 
 VOL. I. X*
 
 314 janita's cross. 
 
 walked down the aisle calmly, rigidly, coldly as 
 before ; looking neither to the right hand nor to 
 the left. The golden-haired stranger followed her 
 with swaying, undulating grace, like a water lily 
 rocked on the bosom of some quiet lake. Last of 
 all the new steward, scanning those upturned vil- 
 lage faces, like one accustomed to study human 
 nature and master it. 
 
 The autocrat and his subjects had met for the first 
 time. Experience only could tell whether, as 
 manager of the broad estates of Meadowthorpe and 
 Dykeland, Gavin Elvers was the right man in the 
 right place. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.