LI B R.AFLY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS
 
 i'.^
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN, 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 GILBERT AND KIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 
 ST. John's square.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN 
 
 BT 
 
 M. C. BISHOP. 
 
 Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend, 
 Seeking a higher object. Love was eiven, 
 
 Encouraged, sanction 'd, chiefly for that end ; 
 For this the passion to excess was driven,— 
 
 That self might be annull'd: her bondage prove 
 
 The fetters of a dream, opposed to Love."— 
 
 WOEDSWOBTH. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EontJon : 
 SAMPSON LOW, MAKSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, 
 
 CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1878. 
 \_AU rights reserved.'}
 
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " So ! This is to do me good ! " muttered 
 Monsieur Alplionse Clieneviere. " Moun- 
 tain air ! mountain cliaos ! Rest indeed ! 
 The house will be carried over the preci- 
 pice in one of these gusts. Dirty cabin, 
 where there is nothing fit to eat." 
 
 He looked around and shivered. The 
 public room of the Montanvert inn is not a 
 cheerful place of a stormy autumn after- 
 noon. The Alpine wares set out on the 
 tables at exorbitant prices seem exorbitant 
 rubbish, and the two other occupants of 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 M/
 
 2 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 the " salon," Monsieur dieneviere's wife 
 and child, did not brighten the scene. 
 
 Yet Mademoiselle Cheneviere was very 
 handsome, but on her massive beauty there 
 was a cloud of discontent. 
 
 She stood looking towards the drifting 
 scud, now and then startled by glimpses of 
 the black spines of rock among which the 
 clouds were torn into shreds, some lurid 
 and brown in the after-glow, some lividly 
 reflecting the snow and ice below them. 
 The wind buffeted the house and struck 
 the little window where she was till the 
 rattle of it was hushed under the con- 
 tinuous stress. The rage of the storm 
 relieved her throbbing pulse and roused 
 her energy that had been cowed by the 
 wear and tear of the day, by a querulous 
 father and by a mother who lived a life quite 
 apart from her family, whether she were 
 present with them or not. 
 
 " There was a bit of Beethoven in the 
 air just now," she said. " But it is chaos
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 6 
 
 as you say. Luckily we got up from the 
 glacier in time." 
 
 " Lucky ! " said lier father. " Like my 
 particular sort of luck then. It is of the 
 last importance that I should receive to- 
 day's post, and the devils are our only 
 postmen up here. Duval was to have been 
 at Chamouni to-day. If there is a rift in 
 the clouds I will go down at any risk." 
 
 " I too have had enough of this," Ma- 
 dame Cheneviere's voice was monotonously 
 low, as if she repeated a lesson ; she did not 
 look up from the fire. " Alphonsine, you 
 are too fond of managing, you pretend to 
 love your father, and you bring him here, 
 where there is not even a chemist's shop if 
 one were ill." 
 
 Mademoiselle Cheneviere put her hand 
 on her father's shoulder with a certain 
 generosity of tenderness that was too sure 
 of itself to heed taunts. 
 
 " Whatever you and he do, grand seig- 
 neur and grande dame as you affect to 
 B 2
 
 4 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 be," Madame Cheneviere continued, '' I 
 start for Geneva to-morrow by daylight." 
 
 Her husband smiled rather foolishly in 
 his daughter's face. 
 
 " The mother is in one of her sulks," 
 he murmured. " Her eyes are not plea- 
 sant. I wish Duval would turn up," he 
 said after a pause. " You are a little fool 
 not to like Duval better, my girl. Is it not 
 so wife ? " 
 
 She did not reply, her grey wooden 
 face seemed to chill the leaping fire- 
 light on it, but a look of cunning and 
 craving showed on it for all her well-kept 
 mask, and her hands closed on each other 
 in her lap till there were nail and ring 
 marks on them. 
 
 A gust of wind roared up the passage 
 from the outer door, and burst the window 
 open, and blew the weakly candles out. 
 
 " Your friend Duval is come," she said 
 very quietly. 
 
 Alphonsine moved back to her old post.
 
 ELIZABETH RDEN. 6 
 
 and shut the window, and drummed tunes 
 on its little panes, against which hail and 
 sleet were rattling like small shot. Her 
 sullen beauty darkened, she stood strong 
 of will in her healthy youth, and let the 
 lightning flashes thrill her nerves and 
 forced her fancy to dwell on them rather 
 than on the new comer. 
 
 Yet he was the most intimate friend of 
 the family. 
 
 " Wolf's weather ! " he exclaimed cheer- 
 ily. '' Faith, it was I — Duval — who had 
 to encourage my guide. We had to hold 
 by the rocks at the corners. Wet through? 
 I believe you ! Snowed ! Iced through ! 
 And to think I was too hot yesterday at 
 Geneva ! Ah, my good friends, for which 
 of your diseases is this the cure ? " 
 
 M. Duval was a model of complaisant 
 health himself. A man clearly made for 
 swimming in all waters and ready for all 
 weathers. He was tall, square, and good- 
 looking, his dress was in good and English
 
 6 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 taste, his hands were a trifle white, his 
 feet a trifle small, but he would have 
 passed muster as a gentleman anywhere 
 as far as appearance went. 
 
 " Well," said M. Cheneviere, " have you 
 brought letters ? You are straight from 
 Vienna. "What news ? " 
 
 '' Bad news. All is over there." 
 '^What! Krebsgone?" 
 " On the contrary, he is come. He is at 
 Geneva, to see if you can help him. You 
 must wind up at Vienna and devote your- 
 self to remake your Geneva business." 
 
 "Too late." The ruined man's voice 
 broke. His daughter came over and stood 
 by him, and there was no little defiance in 
 her glance at M. Duval. 
 
 He had begun his career as her father's 
 clerk, then the manager of his house at 
 Nice ; for, like other prosperous Genevese, 
 M. Cheneviere spread his nets in several 
 cities, and now his ci-devant servant was a 
 brilliant adventurer in the European world,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 7 
 
 dealing in various international products, 
 a founder of societies, a man of many lan- 
 guages, and many acquaintances. He had 
 accumulated a fair capital of popularity, 
 and credit, and he had become favourably 
 known to one or two princely personages 
 who dabble in scientific philanthropy. 
 
 Yet for all his social expansion he could 
 not conveniently have done without the 
 Chenevieres. They had been rich, and 
 though ranking only as firsb-class shop- 
 keepers, the family was to him a bird in the 
 bush. Its bones had been plucked nearly 
 bare, but still it was better than all the 
 eagles of the empyrean. 
 
 '' Yes, I have brought up your letters, not 
 finding you below. Storm ! It is a storm 
 worth fighting. I rather like storms, but I 
 don't love rheumatism; so, my good friends, 
 I will reserve all further news till I have 
 secured a room, and, I hope, a fire to dry 
 my clothes, — I am soaked." 
 
 M. Cheneviere was frowning over his
 
 b ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 letters, lie did not observe tliat his wife had 
 already left the " salon." 
 
 She was standing in the doorway of the 
 kitchen, by which M. Duval must pass to 
 find the landlord. 
 
 She beckoned him in. 
 
 " They are all out in the dependance. 
 Come in, there is a fire here." 
 
 "You are right, chere madame, a splendid 
 fire." He shut the door behind him. 
 
 " Kow, no scene, I beg ! Yes, I knew 
 you would want to see me. Am I not 
 always amiable? I am here, — I grieve to 
 say, the bearer of bad news." 
 
 "Not bad for me too! Not that, 
 Henry ! " 
 
 " Hush ! here is a memorandum. I 
 obeyed your orders till Saturday last, at a 
 loss of a hundred and fifty four thousand 
 two hundred francs." 
 
 Her face was well schooled. She did 
 not flinch. 
 
 " After Saturday ? "
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 9 
 
 " I followed my own judgment and sold 
 for a fall." 
 
 "And the net result?" 
 
 " After all our trouble a thousand-franc 
 note in your favour. Here it is." 
 
 " But I have lost all my capital — I owe 
 you that hundred thousand francs ! " 
 
 " That may wait, madame. Meantime 
 you may want some pocket-money ; Chene- 
 viere is ruined ; keep the thousand francs. 
 So, — that is well. You are calm and brave. 
 Eemember, you must keep so. Eemember ! " 
 He looked straight into her eyes, and she 
 controlled the passion rising in them. 
 '' Ah," he went on, " I see by the pupils of 
 your eyes you are at your old tricks. Not 
 more than a spoonful a day, I hope." 
 
 She pressed her hands together. 
 
 " It was kind of you to come up. We 
 will return to-morrow. The thousand 
 francs might retrieve all." 
 
 " You are in a bad vein of luck, madame. 
 Don't vex yourself about the hundred
 
 10 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 thousand francs. That may be Mademoi- 
 selle Alphonsine's dower." Again a grey 
 shade fell on Madame Cheneviere's face. 
 
 " You have bad luck there, mv friend. 
 She hates you." 
 
 " What an undutiful daughter ! She 
 rejects family traditions ; for you love me, 
 madame ; and her father, he loves me." 
 
 "I might hate you, if T dared." 
 
 "Ah, bah ! impossible ; I am your best, let 
 us say your only friend, — is it not so ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; but her head is full of 
 schemes. She wearies me with questions 
 about my mother. She is proud and am- 
 bitious and pig-headed as a demon. If it 
 is really all over for us in Vienna, that 
 English annuity becomes our chief support. 
 She wants to question it ; she will get it 
 stopped, little fool ! " 
 
 " Ah, who knows ? she has instincts, in- 
 spirations, and divine beauty. She ought 
 to be a queen in society." 
 
 '' You are a fool, Duval."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 11 
 
 " Quietly, chere madame, quietly. You 
 will do well to trust me. Otherwise you 
 are truly in a bad plight. Pardon, if I 
 again observe that I am wet through." 
 
 '' Henry, you will always be true to 
 me." 
 
 «« Word of honour, yes ! We are good 
 comrades." 
 
 He opened the kitchen door ceremo- 
 niously, and when she had gone, he stood a 
 moment by the fire. The light fell on 
 features sterner and more tired in repose 
 than when he was in company. 
 
 " It is gaining on her, poor wretch, and an 
 hereditary flaw in Mademoiselle Alphonsine, 
 yet she is handsome enough and clever 
 enough to excuse her part of the family 
 history. When the time comes she will 
 drop into my mouth like a ripe peach, 
 always supposing I open it ; and if, if they 
 could turn that annuity into capital, it 
 would be always something. Cheneviere is 
 booked."
 
 12 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 He stood thinking these thoughts. A 
 great rush of wind and jostling eager voices 
 filled the narrow passage. 
 
 '' Travellers on the Mer de Glace in 
 danger. A sick man. A lady. Lights and 
 a chaise a port eur to be got ready. And there 
 are only three men here to go. The path 
 down the moraine effaced since morning. 
 Good pay, bad weather, English milors to 
 be saved ; bad business if they are lost for 
 every one at Chamouni." 
 
 Duval pulled himself together ; his spirits 
 rose, for he liked action. 
 
 " I'll make a fourth " he cried out. " I, 
 Duval, bad on mountains ! Bah, I've hunted 
 chamois with King Max by the Konig- 
 see ! " 
 
 All was eager bustle. 
 
 Duval went into the salon. M. Chene- 
 viere sat staring at the fire. His daughter 
 held his hand. 
 
 ''An English party are in trouble on 
 the glacier. You have wits, mademoiselle.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 13 
 
 Will you see that there are fires and hot 
 water and wine ready when we return? 
 They are on one side your compatriots, you 
 know." 
 
 " Let us alone," said M. Cheneviere 
 sullenly. " Where is my wife ? " 
 
 "Probably in bed. We may be hours 
 out. Have you no word of encourage- 
 ment for your poor knight errant, made- 
 moiselle ? " 
 
 Alphonsine looked at him, but she did 
 not reply. 
 
 And truly it had not been a pleasant day 
 on the upper part of the Mer de Glace where 
 the meeting ice -streams that tear and grind 
 the flanks of the Mont Blanc chain make a 
 grim wilderness so strange in its ruined 
 rocks and frozen water that without sun- 
 shine and clear sky the nerves are tried in 
 it as in no other scenery. 
 
 All day the clouds had hung in tatters 
 about the Geant and the Grandes Jorasses, 
 and mixed with the noises of the glacier
 
 14 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 flow came long sighs and shrieks of wind, 
 that passed to leave sudden calms and 
 silences, until again a rush of stones down 
 some gully or the roar of hidden cataracts 
 far below made a noise of battle. 
 
 As fast as might be, a little group of 
 persons were making for the inn of the 
 Montanvert, still four miles off. One 
 was an English squire just turned sixty, 
 and with him was his wife, evidently not 
 half his age. A Chamouni guide and a 
 porter were in charge of them. They had 
 meant to reach the " Jardin," but the 
 Englishman had shown signs of exhaus- 
 tion, the day had changed, and two miles 
 short of the goal the party had turned 
 back. Mrs. Eden walked well and steadily 
 as she followed the guide, next her came 
 her husband, and the porter was last. The 
 guide was shrewd and experienced. He 
 had urged return, observing that Mr. Eden 
 had more than once shown signs of giddi- 
 ness. When only at a height of seven
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 15 
 
 thousand feet above sea level, tlie thin 
 air had severely tried the elderly squire's 
 circulation; for, as it happened, he was 
 more of a student and recluse than most 
 of his class. He had so often stayed to 
 rest, that five o'clock had come on them 
 when they were yet a good ninety minutes 
 from the inn. The September days were 
 shortening, and there was an intricate land- 
 ing from the glacier that had better be 
 done before it was dark. 
 
 An exclamation from the porter made 
 Benoni, the guide, and Mrs. Eden turn 
 hastily. 
 
 " I am afraid," her husband said, in a 
 husky voice, and he leant heavily on the 
 porter, "you must go on, and send back 
 for me." 
 
 He staggered as he spoke. Benoni ran 
 to him, and placing him on a ridge of 
 shingle, felt his pulse. The guide was 
 grave as he looked back at the scud 
 sweeping on them from the Col du Geant.
 
 16 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 There was no help for it, the porter must 
 go to the Montanvert for help, while the 
 others waited for it with what good courage 
 they might. 
 
 Benoni looked eagerly after the figure 
 dwarfed soon to doll size that almost 
 raced across the levels of the ice, taking 
 the lesser crevasses in his stride. 
 
 " How long shall we have to wait ? " 
 asked Mrs. Eden. 
 
 Benoni, who had been carefully ponder- 
 ing the situation, turned, and looked 
 steadily at her before he made up his mind 
 whether to tell her exactly the difficulties 
 of it. If she were cowardly and hysterical 
 there might be double work, and perhaps 
 unsuccessful work for him. As a Cha- 
 mouni guide he had large experience of 
 men and women of all races and ranks, 
 and he was glad just then that his charge 
 was English. 
 
 " An hour to the Fonts," he said 
 reflectively. *' In three hours we shall
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 17 
 
 have help, always supposing Monsieur 
 remains unable to move before then." 
 
 While they spoke, Benoni had pulled off 
 Mr. Eden's vret boots and stockings, and 
 vigorously chafed his feet. 
 
 " Monsieur is the father of Mademoi- 
 selle ? " he asked, having watched the care- 
 ful tenderness with which she supported 
 the sick man's head, but which was want- 
 ing in some subtlety of wifely authority 
 and partnership. 
 
 Before she replied, Benoni knew by her 
 face that he had made a mistake. With a 
 muttered "pardon "he looked again towards 
 the nearly hidden Col du Geant. 
 
 Half an hour went slowly by. Mr. 
 Eden recovered partially, and could stand 
 up ; Benoni got him on his back, and carried 
 him for nearly half a mile ; but then, 
 fearing to break down himself, the brave 
 guide was forced to set him down once 
 more. 
 
 Mrs. Eden began to understand the 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 position, but she liad rare courage and 
 endurance, a grain of fatalism worked with 
 a grain of passive contempt to steady her 
 nerves. Contempt is an uglj word, yet 
 how else can be expressed a certain in- 
 difference, that in her was not feigned, but 
 real, for the accidents and terrors of life. 
 
 Her husband's Hps were of a bad colour, 
 and he might not bear the strain on his 
 heart and lungs until, as Benoni bid her 
 hope, a chair and porters could come for 
 him. Mr. Eden was old enough to be her 
 father, indeed older by three years than her 
 own father; and gratitude, tenderness, and 
 respect had made up the love she had 
 hitherto felt for him ; but, as she knelt on 
 the glacier, and supported the drowsy head 
 of the elderly squire, she cherished the 
 pale, scholarly face, and the short, thin, 
 grey hair, as she had never before done. 
 His languid hands had pathos for her she 
 had not hitherto felt. Her face, sometimes 
 a little hard in a reserved beauty that
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 19 
 
 smiled or frowned to and for itself, grew 
 sweet for all the anxiety. Tlie danger 
 ripened in her good qualities that had been 
 more or less undeveloped. 
 
 "Madame must not let herself be 
 drowsy," said Benoni, shaking her roughly 
 by the wrist after ten minutes' silence. 
 '* Help will be here in half an hour. 
 Good courage, chere darned 
 
 He had need to speak. Courage wears 
 out physical strength, which gives way at 
 a certain point, whatever our will. Through 
 the clear paleness of Mrs. Eden's face a 
 livid tinge was spreading, and her heavy 
 eyelids were drooping irrepressibly. But 
 she roused herself at the guide's voice, and, 
 with an instinct of self-preservation, she 
 summoned her strength to bear the storm 
 of snow and ice-dust that broke on them 
 in grey darkness and with shrieking dis- 
 sonances. 
 
 When the gust had passed, Benoni stood 
 up on the ice-crest that partly sheltered 
 c 2
 
 20 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 them, and jodelled liis shrillest. For, how- 
 ever well the Montanvert men knew the 
 track across the glacier, the storm might 
 in ten minutes alter it, and a shout of an- 
 swering help might or might not be five 
 minutes soon enough, or too late to rouse 
 vitality in Mrs. Eden. For her husband, 
 Benoni looked on him as mere doctor's 
 prey. 
 
 There was no reply to the guide's snouts, 
 except from the clamorous forces of the 
 air, and he assumed a forced cheerfulness 
 that was worse than gravity. He began 
 to be aware of possible death, and if for 
 his charge, it might be for him too. The 
 thought of saving himself alone did not 
 cross his mind. He crossed himself and 
 looked at the English folk. 
 
 '' Poor souls," he muttered ; and then 
 fell to jodelling with an energy that had 
 more faith than fear in it. 
 
 " Chut ! there is a reply ! " 
 
 But a reply inaudible to lowland ears.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 21 
 
 Besides, a human voice in the hurly-burly 
 was as strange as it might have sounded 
 on the second " day " of creation. 
 
 It is curious how in the worst weather 
 cloud curtains lift, and the air of appari- 
 tions is given to wanderers caught in their 
 folds. So in a gleam between hurrying 
 rack, and not fifty yards away, four men 
 came towards them. They were dirty and 
 weather-beaten, for they had come over 
 the Col du Geant, and there had been no 
 slight tourmente up there. 
 
 " Good ! one of them is the Englishman 
 of the Dru," exclaimed Benoni. 
 
 The new-comers were very welcome. 
 The " Englishman of the Dru," just then 
 known as having made a valorous effort 
 to scale the Aiguille du Dru, was apparently 
 as little surprised at finding an English 
 family in the clouds as if he had met them 
 in their domestic Sussex. But he had 
 sense and the gift of command. In a 
 quarter of an hour Mr. Eden was slung
 
 22 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 after a fashion between the Chamouni men, 
 and L' Anglais du Dru and his friend 
 helped Mrs. Eden across the rough places 
 and supported her when a squall broke 
 on them. 
 
 Though not of any massive build, the Deus 
 ex Col du Geant was specially muscular, and 
 being of alert wits his muscles were better 
 applied and did moret han most men's. 
 It was fortunate, for as night fell the worn- 
 out Englishwoman could only by deter- 
 mined will walk when the road was toler- 
 ably leyel. Over the black ice and up the 
 sharp rise from the glacier, she had to be 
 almost lifted; and after passing the Col 
 du Geant a man needs energy of heart, not 
 less than of thews, to carry nine stone 
 across pitfalls. The Englishmen took it 
 in turns, for there were points impossible 
 for three abreast. Mr. Dene and Sir 
 Ernest Harley set their burden down and 
 drew long breaths when they reached the 
 mountain side. The wind swirled down
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 23 
 
 the flanks of the Aiguille de Cliarmoz, 
 and hissed and screamed along the ledge 
 of rocks called Les Fonts, which was easy 
 enough to pass in ordinary weather, but a 
 buffet from the storm might have been 
 more than a woman could stand against 
 that night. Mrs. Eden, however, care- 
 fully guided by her new friends, stepped 
 bravely across, and soon after the lights of 
 the little inn were, to their great content, 
 visible. 
 
 M. Duval and the chaise a porteur had 
 not started twenty minutes before they 
 met the travellers. In truth, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Eden's fate might have been sad enough 
 but for the Englishmen's rescue. The 
 good oflfices of the party from the inn were 
 civilly acknowledged, but M. Duval found 
 that every one at the Montanvert was ob- 
 sequiously ready to obey Mr. Dene's orders. 
 Late as it was, he sent to Chamouni for a 
 doctor, and for Mr. Eden's servant. 
 
 " But every room is occupied," said the
 
 24 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 landlord, scratching his head with real con- 
 cern. " See, there is a gentleman and one 
 of the ladies in the salon." 
 
 Mr. Eden was carried in, and propped 
 up near the fire. In the confusion his 
 wife was very indifferent as to who helped, 
 so long as he was well cared for. But she 
 instinctively listened for Mr. Dene's voice, 
 and followed his directions. 
 
 Mademoiselle Cheneviere would have 
 offered help, but she was checked by the 
 presence of M. Duval ; she stood quietly by 
 her father. 
 
 " Come away," he said sourly. " Never 
 waste kindness on English people. Let 
 us secure our rooms anyhow." He got up 
 and left the room, but his daughter lingered. 
 English people attracted her. She had 
 seen Mr. Dene, and knew him as a connois- 
 seur in " roba." He had bought some rare 
 Milan iron- work from the shop at Greneva. 
 
 Putting M. Duval aside with a slightly 
 imperative gesture, she went to Mrs. Eden,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 25 
 
 and put her room at the English lady's 
 disposal. There was a grace and dignity 
 about Alphonsine's beauty which made 
 way for her. Mr. Dene, and Sir Ernest 
 Harlay both bowed, M. Duval muttered 
 " Bien." 
 
 It would be at least three hours before 
 the doctor could arrive. Mr. Eden seemed 
 better and had been revived by the hot 
 wine. Mrs. Eden accepted Mademoiselle 
 Cheneviere's offer for him without quite 
 comprehending its kindness or indeed look- 
 ing at the girl, so overwrought was she by 
 fatigue and anxiety. 
 
 Yet Alphonsine was helpful, and knew^ 
 how to get some service from the flurried 
 girl-of -all- work. She did not again appear 
 in the salon, where Sir Ernest Harlay, Mr. 
 Dene, and M. Duval were making the 
 best of their night by the fire. 
 
 Sir Ernest Harlay restlessly walked to 
 and fro, until a remonstrance from his 
 fellow-traveller brought him to a stand by
 
 26 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 the window. The night had cleared. He 
 looked out into its dark gulfs of sky beyond 
 the clearing cloud wrack with wistful eyes. 
 He took a little book out of his breast- 
 pocket, and noting a sentence in it, he 
 turned and lay down to rest, making a pil- 
 low of his knapsack. 
 
 There was little in common between Mr. 
 Dene and M. Henry Duval ; but both had 
 seen much of men and places, and a cigar 
 or two filled the pauses of the politico- 
 geographical talk. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Eden opened the door 
 with hesitation. " The lady who was good 
 enough to help me is gone, I suppose." 
 
 M. Duval jumped up, profuse in offers 
 of service ; but she did not look at him. 
 She said to Mr. Dene, — 
 
 " I should be very grateful if you would 
 help me to raise my husband's shoulders 
 somewhat. He is breathing heavily. I 
 want not to awake him, but his head is too 
 low. I see your friend is asleep," she
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 27 
 
 glanced at Sir Ernest Harlay. '' You must 
 be very tired too." 
 
 Again M. Duval put himself forward to 
 help, but Mr. Dene left him quietly on one 
 side, and shut the door on him, as Mrs. 
 Eden turned into her husband's room. In 
 the strangeness and solitude of her situa- 
 tion the young wife had grown frightened, 
 and she was very grateful for Mr. Dene's 
 assurances, after he had felt Mr. Eden's 
 pulse, that it was better than he had hoped. 
 The "Englishman of the Dru" seemed to her 
 an oracle, and infinitely kind, as he looked 
 gravely and with earnest goodwill into her 
 deep-set grey eyes. They were eagerly 
 anxious, but very childlike, and he took her 
 hand and stroked it as he might have done 
 to a child. 
 
 " I find by the address on your luncheon- 
 basket," he said, " that we are both from 
 Sussex. Have you heard of one Rudolf Dene, 
 who has been an absentee from Dene these 
 three years ? "
 
 28 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Yes, I have. I am very glad ; my lius- 
 band has told me about Dene. Do you 
 think him really better ? " 
 
 '' Certainly. I wish you would rest your- 
 self. You don't know how treacherous 
 the sort of strength is which one gets on 
 the glacier." 
 
 "It's a fine night," said Mrs. Eden, 
 looking out, " after all, and I suppose they 
 will soon come up from Chamouni." 
 
 They both looked through the little 
 casement. To the right rose the sharp 
 outline of the Aiguille de Charmoz. The 
 moon was behind it and its awful form was 
 in shadow, but pale and glimmering beyond 
 the ice valley were the Grandes Jorasses 
 and the Tacul headland. The air was full 
 of serene light, and only a sigh of wind now 
 and again remained of the afternoon's 
 anger. 
 
 Mr. Dene looked at the pale calm face 
 beside him, and saw in it an expression 
 and force of character new to him in
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 29 
 
 his experience of nineteentli century 
 women. 
 
 It was beautiful, but of the beauty Luini 
 idealized, not classical, still less romantic, 
 but with the power of fascination in it that 
 exists where form is the expression of the 
 mind and nature, and when these are en- 
 tirely womanly. It was a silencing beauty, 
 and puzzling, for it did not invite common- 
 place talk, and yet only the merest common- 
 places occurred to Mr. Dene. Mrs. Eden 
 was childlike, ingenuous, inexperienced, and 
 in a trying position, yet he was half- shy 
 and disinclined to advise her as he would 
 have done any other acquaintance. 
 
 " There they are ! " he said, after a 
 moment's observation of the tired hand 
 that rested on the window-sill. The 
 doctor presently appeared, with some diffi- 
 culty roused his patient, but ultimately 
 looking wise he pronounced that rest was 
 the best cure, and, leaving Mr. Eden's 
 servant in charge, retired to the land-
 
 30 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 lord's own sa"Qctum for the rest of the 
 night. 
 
 '' Shall I see jou to thank you to-mor- 
 row ?" asked Mrs. Eden, as she wished Mr. 
 Dene good night. " We are in to-morrow 
 already, however, for it's two o'clock." 
 
 " I don't know what Ernest Harlay is 
 going to do ; he is another Sussex man, you 
 know, just come from India. He turned up 
 at Courmayeur, and so we crossed together. 
 But if you let will me, as a Sussex neigh- 
 bour, I will see vou to Chamouni to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 Mrs. Eden hated "picking up" friends, 
 but she was glad of Mr. Dene's offer, for 
 she was not the least able to keep guides, 
 Swiss landlords, and doctors in their fitting 
 places on fitting terms. 
 
 It was ten o'clock before the chaise a 
 porteur, carrying Mr. Eden, was well off 
 next morning, and the Chenevieres had 
 already started for the valley, and Sir 
 Ernest Harlay, though an officer on sick
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 31 
 
 leave, was incurably restless, and liad dis- 
 appeared at daybreak. The squire, for 
 even abroad he remained, as some English- 
 men do, a visible squire, was as well 
 apparently as usual. He was impatient of 
 being carried, but the doctor had firmly 
 resisted remonstrance; and Mr. Dene being 
 there, it was useless to make a scene. Not 
 that Mr. Eden ever was guilty of that 
 weakness, but for all his fresh colour and 
 talkativeness, his nerves were excitable. 
 He was captious and contradictory, so, out 
 of consideration for him, Mrs. Eden loitered 
 behind. Mr. Dene walked down with her, 
 and taking some short cuts here and there, 
 they easily kept within hail of the chaise a 
 porteur on the zigzag path to Chamouni. 
 It was better that the squire should not 
 talk, as he would naturally have discussed 
 county affairs with his neighbour Dene if 
 he had had the chance. At first Mrs. Eden 
 was very silent, but anything of difficult 
 walking thaws reserve, and a stumble or
 
 32 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 two did mucli to release her from the 
 formahties of new acquaintanceship. 
 
 But as she became conversational, Rudolf 
 Dene fell into one of his cross-grained 
 rather rough moods, which sometimes, but 
 very rarely, nipped his natural courtesy. 
 
 There is no accounting, speculate as we 
 may on atoms and molecules, for the in- 
 fluence which in some special hour one 
 person may, without knowing it, exercise on 
 another. A look or a phrase haunts us 
 henceforth. A particular scene is painted 
 on the memory while a dozen more inte- 
 resting are forgotten. 
 
 Rudolf Dene said nothing witty or wise. 
 His few remarks were bald and common- 
 place, and spoken as if he disliked speaking 
 at all. Yet, though he did not deal in oracles, 
 there was to Mrs. Eden a curious authori- 
 tativeness in his short, dry sentences. 
 
 She was of some consideration in her home 
 world ; well born, well read, well satisfied, 
 and of the ripe age of twenty-five; yet
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 33 
 
 further ripened by corapanionsliip with 
 an elderly husband. Yet she remained 
 meek when Mr. Dene chuckled openly 
 over one or two stock phrases current in 
 her usual society. An uneasy feeling 
 grew on her that he meant exactly what 
 he said; ''and how is one to meet that 
 sort of thing?" she said to herself, "up 
 here, when we can't talk English gossip. 
 One can say what one likes about railway 
 accidents, and murders, and flower-shows, 
 but about other things one says what 
 everybody else does of course, and he 
 contradicts me flatly." 
 
 It is two hours' walk through pine 
 woods and down steep slopes, which open 
 on vistas of indescribable loveliness, from 
 the Montanvert to the village of Chamouni, 
 and during the two hours friendship began 
 and grew in spite of silence and contra- 
 dictions ; by " unconscious cerebration " 
 if the reader like to have it so. Halfway 
 down Mrs. Eden stopped to gather some 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 o4 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 beecli fern. Mr. Dene looked at her, 
 and the firm, beautiful lines of her cheek 
 and chin, and shook himself into his usual 
 temper, and kindly, even tenderly, began 
 to talk of Edenhurst and Sussex, and 
 even of Guise Court, her father's place in 
 Gloucestershire, which, as it happened, 
 he had seen during a day with the Berkeley 
 hunt. 
 
 " I have a sort of idea that I saw you 
 too. It's years since, please to remember, 
 before you were — " Mr. Dene turned with 
 a smile as he raised his hat, '^ a member 
 of ' society.' Two or three of us were 
 riding towards the house, when some one 
 — if I may mention the fact — in short petti- 
 coats, swarmed up an old yew-tree, and 
 somehow quite disappeared into it, the 
 head was so thick. One of us said, I 
 remember, ' That's the heiress of Guise 
 Court.' Was it you ? " 
 
 *' Very likely, I remember the yew, I 
 was as wild as a squirrel."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 85 
 
 '^ And what do you do with the grand 
 old place, do you live there, or at Eden- 
 hurst ?" 
 
 " Guise Court had to be sold at my 
 father's death. We live at Edenhurst, 
 which I like extremely," said Mrs. Eden, 
 with a slight reserve in her voice, which 
 left it as she eagerly went on. 
 
 " The old place was nice, wasn't it ? Did 
 you notice the great chestnut by the ter- 
 race ? Was my father at home ? " 
 
 " Of course, I was shown the Domesday 
 book chestnut. Your father didn't appear, 
 but he sent us out some wonderful Curagoa. 
 Since that I have been all round the world, 
 which took me the last three years. How 
 long have you been in Sussex ? " 
 
 " It's nearly three years since my father 
 died. I've been married two years." 
 
 It was a great bond that Mr. Dene had 
 
 known Guise Court, and Mrs. Eden would 
 
 have talked more, but glancing at Rudolf she 
 
 noticed a slight change in his face, and in a, 
 
 D 2
 
 36 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 second she resumed her Edenhurst man- 
 ner, whicli was a little stiff. 
 
 " You are not a very near neighbour/' she 
 Baid ; " but I suppose you have always 
 known my husband." 
 
 " Oh yes, but I have not been much at 
 Dene. I am not enthusiastic about Eng- 
 land and the English." 
 
 " I hate foreign parts and foreigners," 
 said Mrs. Eden, suddenly vexed by his 
 manner. 
 
 '' Because you don't know them ; some 
 day you will be less insular; unless, indeed, 
 you grow quite rusty in your Sussex home." 
 
 " Rust is better than pinchbeck." 
 
 " I. don't think so." 
 
 " Anyhow it's genuine, and what it 
 pretends to be." 
 
 " So much the worse. Pretences are 
 necessary and agreeable very often, and 
 there is no greater sham than your English 
 sham honesty." 
 
 Mrs. Eden's eyes were bright with cold,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 37 
 
 grey light. There was a short cut across 
 the fields just there, by which she turned 
 to join the chaise a porteur. 
 
 *' You do not agree with me ; you will 
 some day," said Mr. Dene. " I am not 
 often wrong in my guesses. Social shams 
 will wear out for you, and others with 
 them. May I come and judge for myself 
 when I am in England ? " 
 
 " As you like. Do you know, I think 
 those are our fellow-guests last night who 
 are before us in the turn down there — half 
 an hour before us." Mr. Dene felt 
 snubbed by her abrupt change of conversa- 
 tion, and said no more. 
 
 She walked the rest of the way by her 
 husband's side very silently, but she could 
 not help feeling obliged as she heard Mr. 
 Dene talking quietly just the sort of chit- 
 chat that would suit the squire. 
 
 All the same she settled that she would 
 avoid coming across her new acquaintance 
 for the rest of the afternoon. His manner
 
 §8 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 was too cool to suit her. Yet, when she 
 heard after she was settled in her hotel, 
 that r Anglais du Dru had gone up again 
 to the Montanvert to fetch a sketch-book 
 he had forgotten, she wished he was some- 
 where nearer, to help them to get an easy- 
 carriage for the journey to Geneva next 
 morning.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 39 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mes. Eden was right. The Cheneviere 
 party were about half-an-hour in advance 
 of her, visible to her, as she was to them, 
 when the zigzags of the path suited. 
 
 M. Duval walked as much as he could 
 by Alphonsine's side, and profited by a 
 chance not often given to him of paying 
 court to her. For all his cleverness he could 
 not conceal a certain consciousness of power 
 which irritated her pride irretrievably. She 
 was driven to plan desperately her father's 
 rescue from ruin, and her own release from 
 obligations of which she was uneasily 
 conscious, though without definite know- 
 ledge of her position.
 
 40 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Half way down the descent tliej came 
 on Sir Ernest Harlay, who was sketching. 
 He slightly raised his hat to M. Duval, 
 but he did not remember Mademoiselle 
 Ciieneviere. 
 
 " How detestable English manner is," 
 observed M. Duval. 
 
 " I do not agree with you. It is at least 
 not hypocritical," she said. 
 
 " They have not the wit to hide their 
 evil deeds — if that be sincerity — but, with- 
 out quarrelhng, we may agree to think that 
 individual grotesque. He is idiotically 
 insular. I saw him on his knees this 
 morning !" 
 
 Mademoiselle Cheneviere did not reply. 
 
 " Ah ! you are thinking of your English 
 ancestors. Well, in their favour I am 
 ready to adore the English. Confide your 
 thoughts to me. Perhaps I might help you 
 — I guess many things. I guess that you 
 want to trace your mother's, your grand- 
 father's history. It is so? Listen to me.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 41 
 
 I respect your powers, I wisli to help you. 
 I will lay your position before you. Tlien 
 your dreams may become coherent, and 
 you will be able at least to face bravely 
 your anxieties." 
 
 Alphonsine listened ; from time to time 
 she cross-questioned M. Duval about 
 minute facts with which he had, in years 
 of intimate association with her family, be- 
 come acquainted, and she constructed, at 
 least in her mind, a story such as the 
 following. 
 
 Her grandmother, Julie, was the orphan 
 niece of a skilled engraver of gold, Ami 
 Lullin, who brought her up with austere 
 severity. She had ambitious hopes of 
 securing a rise in social position by the help 
 of very remarkable beauty, and determined 
 to try her chance as a governess in England, 
 where she was well placed, by the recom- 
 mendation of one of the many distinguished 
 Genevese who made England their home 
 during the French occupation of their
 
 42 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 country. Mademoiselle Lullin reached her 
 Yorkshire home in excellent spirits and 
 abundant beauty, and, for various reasons, 
 the '' foreigner " was admitted to an 
 intimacy not enjoyed by the ordinary 
 governesses of commerce. 
 
 She had not been a year in England 
 when her disappearance coincided with 
 that of a young Sussex squire who had 
 been a guest of her employers. There 
 were immediately guesses sufficiently near 
 the truth, if they did not hit it in the eye. 
 But no one cared to communicate them to 
 old Lullin, and the first he heard of his 
 niece's flio^ht was from a smart and im- 
 portant courier, who came to his workshop 
 in Geneva, and, with infinite difficulty, 
 made him understand that there had been 
 an accident on the lake that morning, in 
 which an English milor had lost his life ; 
 that the lady who travelled with the milor 
 had been saved with bare life in her ; that 
 a hasty examination of the contents of her
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 43 
 
 writing-case had proved Iter to be Lullin's 
 niece. Lullin happened to be known to 
 the inn-keeper at Versoix, where the 
 Englishman had put up. The courier, 
 Tessinese by birth, was a man of the world, 
 and, his milor dead, he thought it advisable 
 to hand over the half-dead lady to her 
 relations. 
 
 He had been engaged at Rotterdam, 
 and knew and cared little about his em- 
 ployers ; but his shrewd tact had not 
 accepted as that of a well-born lady the 
 imperious manner of the questionable per- 
 son who ordered him about, and who now 
 appeared to be but the niece of an artisan. 
 When he saw the sordid stinginess in 
 which Lullm lived, he resolved to leave her 
 service at once, though he helped in the 
 search for his employer's body. It was 
 ineffectual; the beautiful Leman has under- 
 currents greedy of their prey. 
 
 When Lullin, as nearest relation, took 
 the management of affairs into his hands,
 
 44 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 backed by his friend the Versoix inn- 
 keeper, Morandi, the courier, found that 
 the old man was chiefly preoccupied by 
 the condition and prospects of his niece, 
 and disincHned to do more than curse the 
 memory of Francis Eden, the drowned 
 milor. The conviction in the uncle's mind 
 that there had been no marriage, did not 
 horrify him as much as might have been 
 expected, for morals had been relaxed 
 during the French occupation of Calvin's 
 city. His niece had, whether left-handedly 
 or not, allied herself with wealth, for Mr. 
 Eden's dressing-case was fitted in silver 
 gilt, and the crests on its bottles were 
 admirably engraved. Many consolatory 
 trifles were noted by the old man as he 
 waited for the half -drowned woman's 
 return to her senses. Meantime he was 
 watchful of the courier, and wrangled over 
 the pay he claimed ; and if they had been 
 in any considerable town, or within hear- 
 ing of recognized authorities, Morandi
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 45 
 
 would hardly have accepted Lullin's dis- 
 missal. 
 
 As it was, tlie courier declared that he 
 would go to Mr. Eden's family in England 
 and say how much spoil Lullin had appro- 
 priated ; but his threats were unnoticed. 
 
 ''Be off, bag and baggage!" exclaimed 
 the old engraver"; and Morandi, snatching 
 up a small black trayelling-bag, on which 
 were neither name nor crest, and his port- 
 manteau, hastily flung himself and them 
 into the char-a-banc at the door, with an 
 oath. 
 
 It was long before any member of the 
 Lullin family heard again of the courier's 
 existence. 
 
 '' Madame " meantime remained in a 
 strange, unconscious state on her bed. 
 Her eyes were open and seemed percipient, 
 yet she took no notice of what was said to 
 her. The shock, it was supposed, had 
 temporarily paralyzed her, so it was found 
 better not to remove her that day or the
 
 46 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 next. Lullin, finding among his niece's 
 effects a sum of money wliicli, in his esti- 
 mate, was enormous, fetched good medical 
 advice from Geneva. Her life might prove, 
 even in a financial way, valuable ; and, 
 he was fond of her, and probably fonder 
 than ever now, in spite of his misgivings, 
 as she lay silently beautiful in what seemed 
 to him luxurious surroundings. 
 
 The doctor warned him that " madame's " 
 reason might never recover if her dreamy 
 state were disturbed, so, with more than 
 one groan, the old man hired the apart- 
 ment she lay in by the week, and com- 
 mended her to the care of his friends, the 
 owners of the inn. Lullin understood 
 little English, but he carefully collected 
 every paper in his niece's luggage, and 
 from a diary and some letters he gathered 
 that she had eloped from her English home 
 with this drowned Francis Eden. He 
 resolved to be silent until he could have 
 trustworthy advice in the matter.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 47 
 
 The friend who had placed the girl in 
 Yorkshire was duly expected at Geneva, 
 and he would best say what communica- 
 tions should be made to the English 
 families concerned in Julie's disappearance, 
 or in her assumed marriage. 
 
 '' Madame " herself could give him no 
 help in his perplexity. Her mental state 
 remained little changed, though her bodily 
 health improved. The doctor grew less 
 and less hopeful of her return to reason, 
 and, after some months had passed, he 
 announced to LuUin that if, on the birth 
 of her child, which might be expected 
 before long, she did not recover, there was 
 little hope of relief from her obstinate 
 melancholy. 
 
 When the influential friend from Eng- 
 land arrived, the old engraver waited on 
 him with the tale of his griefs, but the 
 great man could say little to moderate 
 them. He did not know the Eden family, 
 but he had heard of the elopement. He
 
 48 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 endeavoured to spare Lullin the bald 
 knowledge that his niece was severely and 
 justly blamed, and that the idea of her 
 marriage was scouted by her Yorkshire 
 employers. He shook his head over the 
 papers Lullin submitted to him. They 
 proved nothing, or if anything that the 
 wild young Eden had never meant to push 
 his boyish flirtation as far as he had done. 
 
 So M. Dumont, Lullin' s patron and 
 adviser, recommended that no immediate 
 steps should be taken to ascertain Julie's 
 rights. On her recovery, and on the birth 
 of her child, particularly should it prove a 
 boy, they could be better asserted and 
 communications made to the Eden family, 
 which he rather wondered had not been 
 already invited. 
 
 But families do not always move in the 
 groove expected. Francis had no other 
 near relations than a mother in somewhat 
 infirm health, and of querulous and over- 
 bearing temper, and a brother at Eton,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 49 
 
 who was Mrs. Eden's idol, and mucli pre- 
 ferred to her eldest son. Francis had been 
 troublesome to her, he had resented her 
 interference as his guardian, and, on 
 coming of age, he had taken a line which 
 was neither filial nor wise. When the news 
 of his death was communicated to her by 
 the courier Morandi, who, as he said he 
 should, had gone to his late master's 
 family for farther recompense than Lullin 
 would allow, she gave her chief care to 
 having the event verified by the clergyman 
 and maire of Versoix. 
 
 Mrs. Eden had received a shock, but she 
 never spoke of Francis Eden again if she 
 could help it. A persistent pallor settled 
 on her face, the lines of which were 
 deepened by her will that it should remain 
 calm and fixed. What was strictly just 
 and proper under the assumed circum- 
 stances was done in the arrangement of 
 her eldest son's affairs. The existence of 
 that companion in his travels of whom she 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 heard incidentally rather than officially 
 was steadily ignored. 
 
 A leaf was turned in the annals of the 
 Eden family. Once more she was guardian 
 of the young Squire of Edenhurst, and the 
 gap made by the accident at Yersoix was 
 rapidly overgrown by the new interest 
 attaching to her favourite son. 
 
 "Madame " did not long interfere with 
 Eden plans. In February, 1817, she gave 
 birth to a girl. The baby was perfectly 
 healthy, though its mother had never 
 recovered memory or spirits, and only 
 lived for a few hours after delivery. Lul- 
 lin was not with his niece when the end 
 came, but the people in charge of her told 
 him that she had become conscious of the 
 events that happened before the accident 
 on the lake. She had asked for her 
 " husband," and said enough to convince 
 the women with her that she had been cer- 
 tainly a lawful wife. 
 
 But how was LuUin to prove it when
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 61 
 
 M. Diimont had pooh-poohed the only 
 proofs forthcoming. It was a day of bitter 
 north wind that he was hastily summoned 
 to Yersoix, and the old man's thoughts grew 
 bitter and confused. Anyhow his niece 
 must be buried at Yersoix, and the child 
 had better remain with its friends there 
 until he could consult his patron, M. Du- 
 mont, now a leading citizen in the newly 
 organized republic of Geneva. M. Dumont 
 was kind but cautious. Advice was sought 
 in London and unsatisfactory opinions got 
 from lawyers, the expense of which sorely 
 alarmed Lullin, and ate seriously into the 
 little store of money he had found in Julie's 
 trunk. 
 
 Unknown to the Genevese concerned, 
 Mrs. Eden and her advisers were also un- 
 easy since the birth of the child, of which 
 they had information. She never betrayed a 
 fear, but the marriage law was complicated 
 and Gretna Green was in vogue. The 
 Eden estates were not entailed, and Mrs. 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF laiNOIS
 
 52 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Eden shuddered to tliink of Swiss " Jews 
 and adventurers" as slie called them, even 
 threatening the inheritance of her Philip. 
 Though the burden of proof lay with them, 
 she had seen enough of the world to dread 
 the scandal and the always possible mis- 
 carriasre of a law-suit. She therefore em- 
 ployed a friend, who was acquainted with 
 M. Dumont, cautiously to inquire if an 
 annuity or any money compromise would 
 be accepted by Julie's friends. With some 
 equivocation she professed to deal liberally 
 by the child, even though illegitimate, of 
 her eldest son. In truth she only dealt 
 liberally with her fears and her conscience 
 when she proposed to provide handsomely 
 for the little girl's education. In short it 
 was suggested that two hundred pounds a 
 •year should be allowed for her support as 
 long as no annoyance was given to the 
 Eden family by any assertion of her rela- 
 tionship. 
 
 M. Dumont considering the circum-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 53 
 
 stances recommended Lullin to agree to 
 these terms. To the old engraver, five 
 thousand francs a year appeared a fortune 
 sufficient to gild his great-niece's youth and 
 his own old age. A law-suit if unsuccess- 
 ful would have ruined him, so he readily 
 accepted the Eden offer. Twenty pounds 
 a year would supply the infant's present 
 wants for he would leave her at nurse in 
 some country village, a worthy Savoisienne 
 could be found to take charge of the mar- 
 mot until she could be endured under his 
 own roof, and be able to shift for her- 
 self. 
 
 So years crept on, the little Julie grew 
 up in the Genevese atmosphere with so 
 Genevese a temperament, that it was easy to 
 forget that her father had been English. 
 When her great uncle died she was twenty- 
 one; her little fortune well invested had 
 accumulated to over a hundred and fifty 
 thousand francs, and Lullin had bequeathed 
 her another fifty thousand of his own
 
 54 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 savings. He had not left her ignorant of 
 how to speculate; the pursuit of most 
 Genevese who are possessed of spare capital. 
 Mademoiselle Julie managed her affairs so 
 as to show a clear twenty thousand francs 
 a year of income wherewith to tempt quite 
 a superior bourgeois into marriage. One 
 was readily found who did not look too 
 closely into her birth or the source of her 
 English annuity. She was promptly 
 secured by M. Alphonse Gautier Chene- 
 yiere acting partner in a hric a hrac busi- 
 ness, that had ramifications in most of the 
 cities of Europe. With a wealth continu- 
 ally swelled by large and fortunate specu- 
 lations in all manner of ventures the 
 Chenevieres did not depart from the tra- 
 dition of unigeniture. Their one child was 
 a daughter called after her father Alphon- 
 sine. She was elaborately instructed in 
 the accomplishments which in the decade 
 1850 — 1860 were thought becoming for 
 young ladies. At the same time she
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 55 
 
 acquired the feelings and ideas prevalent in 
 the Cheneviere household. She had her 
 own little gambling on the Bourse, and 
 could calculate her profit and loss with 
 surprising skill. With true Genevese pru- 
 dence she was made useful in the conduct 
 of her father's business and could drive a 
 bargain in pictures, lace or gems^ all the 
 better that she had considerable personal 
 attraction. But her financial accomplish- 
 ments did not prevent her from ' reciting ' 
 on the piano a sonata of Beethoven's or a 
 study of Bach's, with a precision unknown 
 to her contemporaries who had lost them- 
 selves in such v^agaries of Thalberg's or 
 Dohler's as were then fashionable in 
 England. Various foreign languages were 
 of course useful to the merchant in old 
 curiosities, and a finished dealer, whether in 
 Moorish faience, Russian book-covers, Li- 
 moges enamels, or Milan iron-work, should 
 be versed in the tongues of slippery Jews 
 or rich " milors." Good looks, though of a
 
 56 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Genevese rather tlian English type, and 
 brains also of the Genevese sort were Al- 
 phonsine's portion, and for both she was 
 admired in her native city, where women 
 have always had much influence.' She was 
 not admitted to hold by even the hem of the 
 " societe d'en haut " as the elder gentry are 
 called, but she was a personage in the S. 
 Gervais world which asserted itself under the 
 leadership of the radical chief James Fazy. 
 Before she was twenty she had abundant 
 suitors for her hand, but she was wary and 
 hard to please, and craved for alliance with 
 one of " ces messieurs " of good birth who 
 came to see the hric a brae, and whom as a 
 Genevese radical she naturally loved the 
 better because she was bound to hate 
 them. 
 
 It is time to mention the Cheneviere 
 profession of religion. Never led away by 
 Evangelical revivalists {mdmiers as they 
 were called by the ungodly), the Chenevieres 
 were orthodox holders of the new creed of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 57 
 
 Geneva which was summed in one propo- 
 sition, " I believe in the ' organic forms ' 
 settled by M. Fazy, and in the Consistory 
 chosen by universal suffrage." 
 
 The " patois de Canaan " had never 
 offered particular inducements to the Chene- 
 vieres, who were above making profit of 
 their religious leanings. As Sundays came 
 round they honoured the nearest church, 
 and on fine afternoons took a " voiture " 
 for Yeyrier, and mounted the pas de 
 I'Echelle for Monnetier in family procession, 
 following the classical and beloved diver- 
 sion of the cosmopolitan yet mountain- 
 loving Genevese. 
 
 Over a bock of beer or a bottle of Crepy 
 could be discussed with refreshed spirit the 
 large speculations and methodical gambling 
 in which the family delighted. But can- 
 dour seldom goes with a serious cult of 
 Fortune. Neither Monsieur, Madame, nor 
 Mademoiselle Cheneviere confided the full 
 extent of their operations to one another.
 
 58 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Though Alphonsine had known of some 
 heavy losses which had been incurred 
 by her father, shortly before the doctors 
 had ordered him a little tour in the moun- 
 tains, the thought of his ruin, that M. 
 Duval half hinted as they discussed their 
 relations with the Edens, was a blow to 
 her. 
 
 *' And now, mademoiselle," said M. Duval, 
 " I will tell you something that is at least 
 a strange coincidence. The old gentleman 
 who arrived last nis^ht with his vnie is 
 Mr. Philip Eden. Remember it is from 
 him that your mother receives her join- 
 ture." 
 
 " And he is her uncle ! " 
 
 ^' He might not allow the fact, but here 
 we are arrived at Chamouni." 
 
 " How do you know who he is ?" 
 
 "Mrs. Eden wrote their names this 
 morning in the visitors' book — but collect 
 yourself, nothing in all that is pressing, 
 but to-morrow morning ^^our father must
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 59 
 
 meet Krebs and — perhaps ruin— -I know 
 not." 
 
 He looked after her as she went quickly 
 into the hotel salon where were pens and 
 ink. " She may not always be so haughty," 
 he said to himself. 
 
 Before the Edens had arrived the Chene- 
 yiere carriage was hired and packed. M. 
 and Madame Cheneviere were eating a 
 hurried breakfast. Their daughter had 
 refused any. She was as pale now as she 
 had been flushed. She held a note in her 
 hand, and watched the road from the Mon- 
 tanvert. The opportunity she desired came. 
 She stood aside to let Mrs. Eden pass up- 
 stairs, then as Mr. Eden got up from the 
 chair in which he had been carried down, 
 she laid her hand on his arm gently, and 
 giving him the note, she said in a low 
 voice, — 
 
 " The granddaughter of your brother 
 implores you to see her." 
 
 There was a grip at Mr. Eden's heart as
 
 60 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 he felt lier grey eyes question him. He 
 sank back threatened by another fit of 
 dizziness. " Some troublesome mistake," 
 he muttered to Mr. Dene, who came up at 
 the moment. 
 
 "You will not listen to me, then," said 
 Mademoiselle Cheneviere. 
 
 " Write what you have to say. My law- 
 yer will answer." 
 
 Mr. Eden's servant rather roughly inter- 
 posed. He offered his arm to his master, 
 who shuffled away to his room, and locked 
 the door of it. 
 
 A storm lowered on the face of Mademoi- 
 selle Cheneviere, but it did not break. She 
 tore the note in her hand slowly into small 
 pieces. Then M. Duval came and told her 
 that all was ready for their journey to 
 Geneva. 
 
 " Poor dear soul, you did not gain much 
 by that move," he whispered; ''you want 
 my help." 
 
 "Never!" she said with infinite scorn.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 61 
 
 '' Your help lias not prospered us. Wliat 
 is to be done I will do alone." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 
 She was so very handsome that he could 
 not lielp humouring her. They drove 
 away just as Sir Ernest Harlay walked up. 
 '' I am going up the Brevent/' he said 
 to Mr. Dene ; " will you come ?" 
 
 " You are no better than a locomotive 
 on two legs that always has its steam up "• 
 said Mr. Dene. " Is it a dogma of yours 
 never to take life easy ?" 
 
 " How can any one take life easy who is 
 alive at all? " 
 
 " I suppose you compose your sermons 
 my dear fellow, as you go along. Have 
 you preached any more since the one I 
 heard at Umballa?" 
 
 " You talk as if I were a humbug, Dene. 
 I don't set myself up to preach, but some- 
 times I can't stand the indifference and 
 idiocy of the people who won't look up and 
 see heaven and hell before them."
 
 62 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " I don't think you a humbug, my good 
 fellow; if you make mistakes, you make 
 them in the best faith. There are pro- 
 bably more points we agree on than you 
 think. But we've no time to go into that. 
 Some day we shall both turn up in Sus- 
 sex, and have a controversy. I haven't 
 been at Dene these three years. I expect, 
 from all I hear, to find our little com- 
 forts there threatened — 'rocks ahead' — no 
 pheasants — the reading of penny papers 
 made compulsory, and public worship by 
 machinery." 
 
 " There is Mrs. Eden," said Sir Ernest, 
 "looking as if she wanted something. Well, 
 I'll just finish my cigar over the way and 
 go on to Planpras. I want to see the 
 range at sunrise." 
 
 Mr. Dene went back to Mrs. Eden, who 
 told him with some discomfiture that their 
 route had been changed. Mules and a 
 chair for Martigny must be ordered ready 
 to start at seven next day.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 63 
 
 "Why do you go by the Tete l^oire ? 
 Your husband will be knocked up." 
 
 " I don't know why. I am anxious, I con- 
 fess. I wish we had not come abroad, and 
 I don't think it a bit worth the trouble ! " 
 
 " I dare say not," said Rudolf, thinking 
 of her invalid husband. '' One must be 
 educated to these enjoyments, and, you 
 are very uneducated, my dear Mrs. Eden." 
 
 She thought of being affronted, but she 
 changed her mind. 
 
 '' I don't think I am uneducated." 
 
 •'' But still you don't know how to start 
 for Martigny by seven to-morrow. Leave 
 it to me : you are mere babes in the wood. 
 You will ride, of course." 
 
 " I hate mules." 
 
 " All consistent Britishers like doing 
 what they hate. It belongs to the race." 
 
 " Your neio^hbour Mr. Dene is srood- 
 natured," observed Mrs. Eden to her hus- 
 band as she wished him good night. 
 
 " I know him very slightly. Yes ; I
 
 64 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 believe lie is no fool. He only makes 
 fools," said Mr. Eden sourly. 
 
 "He knows all sorts of people and things ; 
 lie was telling me about some Milan armour 
 lie bought from those people who were at 
 the Montanvert last night." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said the squire, 
 raising himself on his elbow to look at his 
 wife's face. 
 
 " The people who had a handsome girl 
 with them — was she not speaking to you 
 when we arrived ? I only saw her in- 
 distinctly, but Mr. Dene says she was 
 beautiful." 
 
 Mr. Eden was silent for a moment, then 
 he said dehberately, — 
 
 " Do not forget, they are impostors. 
 Has Dene spoken to you about the 
 thing ? " 
 
 Notwithstanding two years of married 
 life Mrs. Eden knew her husband but little ; 
 she thought his manner odd, but then his 
 nerves were doubtless still shaken.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 65 
 
 " Dene is a good fellow and all that, 
 particularly so in a velvet coat as he was 
 this evening, but I wish to hear no more 
 about the Montanvert. Now go to your 
 room, my dear. Alpine tours are delight- 
 ful, are they not ? You will see enough 
 fine views to-morrow to give us the horrors. 
 Be easy about everything, as is natural to 
 your age and sex." 
 
 Acurious smile, not unkindly, but satirical 
 and contemptuous, twitched the squire's 
 mouth as he raised his wife's hand to his 
 lips with elderly politeness, and Mrs. Eden 
 left him, for the kiss meant that she should 
 go away. 
 
 VOL. L
 
 66 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DREARY bit of straight road leads out of 
 Chamouni, on the Argentieres side, and 
 Ehzabeth Eden felt dejjressed and cross as 
 her mule swung her along in the chilly 
 morning air. A silent but despotic guide 
 trudged bj her side sulkily, and now and 
 then twitched at her rein when her mule, 
 his head well poked out, made objections to 
 the Tete Noire journey, which he guessed 
 was before him. What shall be said of the 
 fact that she was not much interested 
 whether in the gloom or the glory of the 
 scenery. She was not in this of her age, 
 or sympathetic with its literature. Yet 
 she had a keen sense of the charm of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 67 
 
 pastoral landscape, of the beauty of broad 
 meads and winding streams, and such 
 cultivated prospects as are had from Rich- 
 mond or Box Hill. She loved the red- 
 brown plough lands, the hedged and 
 trim glebes which beget consciousness of 
 human skill and admiration of that human 
 labour which sanctifies and gives new 
 meaning to the play of natural forces. 
 
 Where were no traces that man had 
 controlled and crowned the powers that are 
 revealed in their ultimate conflict within 
 the great laboratory of the snowy ranges, 
 Elizabeth felt surprise rather than pleasure. 
 She had preserved the courage of her 
 taste, and not having been brought up to 
 modish raptures over the poets and 
 painters in vogue, she was not afraid to 
 feel as artists in elder centuries felt. Her 
 imagination had been fed by scholars and 
 creators of the Italian renaissance. In- 
 tensely human and careless of all outside 
 the human drama, as it was enacted in 
 E 2
 
 68 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 those times of dancing death, of heroism 
 and crime, of sharp oppositions of light 
 and darkness, the culture of mediaeval 
 Italian society had fascinated her. In its 
 pictures every man's life seemed to have a 
 significance, tragic or grotesque, which she 
 could not attach to the people she knew. 
 Yet in her inexperience she had never 
 doubted the stability and reality of the 
 civilized appearances among which she had 
 hitherto passed on her moijotonous way. 
 
 The shining summits dazzled her, but 
 they did not quicken her pulse as did a 
 wayside cross or shabby shrine among 
 those solitudes. She did not care to walk 
 with death and mourning on the silver hills, 
 but a clipped garden peopled with memo- 
 ries was pleasant to her ; its secular posies 
 were more delightful than edelweiss or 
 alpine rose. 
 
 And now Mrs. Eden was anxious about 
 her husband, who was on in front. Unless 
 he encouraged her to talk she seldom, at any
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 69 
 
 time, volunteered remarks, whicli he called 
 " chatter." For all her unsociableness it 
 was a satisfaction when, about halfway to 
 the Tete Noire inn, Mr. Dene came striding 
 up the long ascent, and at once changed for 
 her the rugged and harsh landscape from 
 sadness to good cheer. 
 
 " All has gone well so far," he said. 
 
 " Things always go well when one is 
 specially bored." 
 
 '' You ought not to be bored here, you 
 ought to be at least 'ravished and en- 
 chanted.'" 
 
 " I think it is because there is so much 
 I ought to admire and I don't," said Mrs. 
 Eden, looking half defiantly at the grey 
 rocks. 
 
 " There is no obligation, but I wonder 
 what you do care about ? " 
 
 After a little pause Mrs. Eden said, slowly 
 and gravely, — 
 
 '' I don't think there is anything in the 
 world I care for particularly, except, of
 
 70 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 course, the things I am bound to care about. 
 I'm ' very uneducated ' you know." 
 
 "Yes, jou are wonderfully, for your age 
 and standing. And what are the things 
 you are bound to care about ? " 
 
 " Oh, one's duties you know and one's 
 principles — serious things — " 
 
 " I don't think you have made up your 
 mind what are serious things, as you call 
 them." 
 
 Mrs. Eden looked a little startled, then 
 she laughed as she said, — 
 
 '' If you wore the dress of the period, 
 I should take you for a grand inquisitor 
 after Velasquez, but as you are merely Eng- 
 lish, like myself, I suppose we are in the 
 same respectability boat, and you have no 
 right to ask questions touching ' serious 
 things' " 
 
 " Oh, of course not. Bad form, isn't it ? 
 to think any one ever is serious. I beg your 
 pardon. The scenery is to blame, and then 
 you are so very uneducated, you know."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 71 
 
 " I think you are as rough as the road 
 IS. I'm not a bit uneducated ; I wish you'd 
 ask me questions, and see if I can't pass 
 an examination in whatever a young 
 woman is expected to know. 
 
 Mr. Dene looked down, that Mrs. Eden 
 might not see him smile. 
 
 " I thought you were much more of a 
 British matron," he said. '' Yesterday you 
 asserted your dignity till you made me 
 quite cross with your English airs : I think 
 it must be ennui which tames you to-day." 
 
 '' You have been very goodnatured, you 
 know." 
 
 " No, I don't know. I happen to like to 
 be of use to Mr. Eden and you, or I should 
 not be here now, which is on the whole 
 inconvenient, as I had business in Paris 
 to-morrow." 
 
 The mule stumbled, also from ennui. 
 Mr. Dene pulled up its head and passed 
 his arm through the bridle, resting his 
 hand on the beast's mane. Mrs. Eden did
 
 72 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 not afflict herself about his not being in 
 Paris next day. It seemed to suit him 
 very well to walk by her side. 
 
 " It's curious how one's neighbours crop 
 up," Mr. Dene said presently. '* Curious 
 au other East Sussex man, Ernest Harlay, 
 should have turned up on the Col du Geant. 
 Harlay Abbot can't be very far from 
 you." 
 
 " About twelve miles. I suppose you 
 mean Sir Salvation Harlay' s son." 
 
 " What a name ! and a Puritan nature, 
 too, I believe." 
 
 " I have never seen Sir Salvation. He 
 lived quite out of the world, but he had a 
 world of his own ; all sorts of unorthodox 
 people made their head-quarters at Harlay 
 Abbot, and went preaching about. Lord 
 Stockbridge came to Edenhurst, and our 
 rector, Mr. Harlay, was rather cross. He 
 is a brother of Sir Salvation." 
 
 "Ernest Harlay has the fanatic tempera- 
 ment," said Mr. Dene. '' In England it
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 73 
 
 is a great entanglement. One must live by 
 compromise there." 
 
 " Mr. Eden would agree with you ; he 
 hates enthusiasms. I think I do too." 
 
 " I don't think he would agree with me. 
 But I don't hke women to hate enthusiasms. 
 You know, it's as well, perhaps, for men 
 to do so just now, lest they catch a 
 spurious one." 
 
 " We have souls to be saved, and you 
 haven't, I suppose. That's what men seem 
 to think." 
 
 ''My dear Mrs. Eden, it is not often 
 given to you to know what men really 
 think. There is something feminine in the 
 fanatic temperament. Ernest Harlay is a 
 marked example. It hasn't often come 
 in my way to meet a real live Puritan 
 going about, seeking whom he may devour ; 
 but I liked him. I don't know why I talk 
 of him to you, except that you are both 
 Sussex, and I made both your acquaint- 
 ances among mountains."
 
 74 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 '* Is it true that you nearly lost your life 
 on the Aiguille du Dru ?" 
 
 " Quite true." 
 
 ''What was it like?" 
 
 " Nothing very terrifying. The minute 
 after 1 knew what I had escaped was the 
 worst. If I had been Sir Ernest Harlay, I 
 should have gushed into thanksgiving. As 
 it was, I lighted a cigar." 
 
 Mrs. Eden did not look surprised, but 
 she did not speak for a few minutes. 
 
 Then she said, " So you don't believe in 
 another world." 
 
 " It's all the same, whichever side of 
 the fence we're on. I might have lighted 
 a cigar in heaven." 
 
 " I don't understand you." 
 
 " Extremes meet. Don't suppose a person 
 fed on compromises could believe there 
 might be cigars in Hades. 1 can." 
 
 There was a halt in front. It was ex- 
 ceedingly hot, and one of Mr. Eden's bearers 
 was knocked up. Mrs. Eden's guide, for
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 75 
 
 a good bonnemain, took his place. She 
 could manage her mule, she said, and 
 doubtless she could, for Rudolph Dene was 
 at her bridle-rein. 
 
 There were mountain crests, and water- 
 falls and pines to be admired as they went, 
 but these things only quickened the interest 
 taken in one another by these casual friends. 
 They talked more of themselves than of the 
 scenery. Guise Court and Edenhurst were 
 better than the finest views in Savoy. 
 Why she did not know, but, for the first 
 time in her life, Elizabeth Eden could talk 
 freely and confidently of her life, and the 
 sense of trust that grew on her was pleasant 
 to her. She made a comrade, a brother 
 of Rudolf. He seemed brotherly, and 
 drew her out of her reserve as she had 
 never been drawn before. She told him 
 how her father had sent for his old 
 schoolfellow, Phihp Eden, and entrusted 
 her to his guardianship. How it was 
 necessary to sell Guise Court, and how
 
 7b ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 good Mr. Eden had been to the orphaned 
 and almost relationless girl. 
 
 Elizabeth had been brought up in a 
 strange fashion. She was twenty-two 
 when Sir William Guise died, an age when 
 inexperienced women are apt to think 
 themselves old and past the emotional 
 period of life, and that there are, for them, 
 no possible illusions. In her excessive 
 social ignorance. Miss Guise thought her- 
 self socially omniscient. But wisdom comes 
 of action, and her life at Guise Court had 
 not given much opportunity for action to 
 the shy daughter of an arrogant invalid, 
 whose tastes and embarrassed circum- 
 stances kept visitors at a distance. Ex- 
 treme reserve was imposed on her, and 
 such early self-restraint, that her nature had 
 remained dormant and uncultivated. She 
 had spent her energy in that idle play of 
 the brain which is the result of purposeless 
 intellectual curiosity. 
 
 Nearly all she knew she had learned by
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 11 
 
 herself from books. She had tried such 
 pursuits as were open to her, with all the 
 drawbacks of lonely effort. If she had not 
 been quite disheartened by ill-success in 
 her attempts to " do something," it was 
 because she knew so little what might be 
 achieved. Yet instinctively she refused ta 
 be one of the contented souls who play, 
 draw, carve, study " a little," and rejoice 
 in that little. 
 
 A sort of contempt of herself and dis- 
 content, not in the poverty of her circum- 
 stances, but in the poverty of her powers, 
 had become chronic in her. It was not a 
 definite feeling, for there was as yet but 
 little definite in her ; but it left her indif- 
 ferent to any success she might have. 
 Vanity was hardly alive in her, and she 
 honestly believed herself wanting in at- 
 traction of any kind. The weight of 
 money troubles which constantly oppressed 
 her, and her father's temper, had hindered 
 her from receiving with any cordiality one
 
 78 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 or two attempts at acquaintance made by 
 neighbouring Corjdons. 
 
 But it is needless to dwell on the traits 
 of Elizabeth Guise as she was in her girl- 
 hood. During her father's lifetime she had 
 remained like the neglected garden that 
 fronted her sitting-room at Guise Court. 
 Crowded with flowers, fruits, and herbs, in 
 the disorder that only exists where man's 
 civilizing hand has been, there were there 
 accumulations of past care and taste, and 
 fragments of artifice that jostled the fresh 
 growth of the year, just as the lumber of 
 ages, the systems, discoveries, and creeds 
 of the heaped centuries mixed themselves 
 confusedly with the young, strong nature 
 of the ignorant girl. It is doubtful that, 
 in ordinary circumstances, she would have 
 pleased Squire Eden any more than that 
 she should have accepted him as her 
 husband. 
 
 He was the younger brother of Francis 
 Eden, who had been drowned at Versoix,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 79 
 
 and of a different temperament. He liad 
 accepted his mother's government in- 
 dolently, and had had no more extensive 
 tastes than to collect books, and to imitate, 
 as far as his lesser brain allowed, the easy 
 egotism of his favourite teacher, Montaigne, 
 whose essays were, to him, a text-book. 
 
 Without much preoccupation on his 
 part, Squire Philip found that an outlying 
 corner of his property near the pantiles of 
 Tunbridge Wells was wanted by rich 
 Londoners for villa purposes. A railway 
 paid him heavy compensation for injuries 
 among which one seemed to be the con- 
 venience of London within easy distance. 
 Gravel near the line was discovered, and 
 was valuable in a neighbourhood where 
 " Kentish rag " had hitherto been the only 
 resource for road-makers and gardeners, 
 in a hundred new parks and "places." 
 In short, Edenhurst was a rising property, 
 worth in 1863 quite 9000/. a year. 
 
 In that year he became a widower, with-
 
 80 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 out cliildren, but with the training and 
 experience tliat a hot-tempered and worldly 
 wife bestows on an easy-going and refined 
 but selfish husband. The first Mrs. Eden 
 had secured more " progress " at Edenhurst 
 than a more kindly woman might have 
 obtained. Indeed the world is under great 
 obligations to the violent and pushing, 
 however much their near relations may 
 suffer. The admirable order of Edenhurst 
 had been mainly her work. She had planted 
 Deodars, levelled ditches, and opened vistas 
 of purple distance to the southern downs, 
 and to the north where the blue ridge of 
 chalk shut out London smoke. 
 
 The lawns would never have been so per- 
 fect but for her fussing, but she knew how 
 to keep her home rather in advance of than 
 behind the taste of the day, — the scarlet 
 of her Tom Thumb geranium beds exceeded 
 all others. The flowers of her stoves and 
 green-houses grew always in the symmetri- 
 cal perfection to be seen in prize azalias at
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 81 
 
 horticultural shows. But Mrs. Eden died 
 of a cold when she was in the full flush of 
 her squirearchical energy. 
 
 Mr. Eden missed her so much in the 
 sustenance of his home, and was so bored 
 by having to direct the machinery she had 
 set going, that he found a little absence de- 
 sirable. It suited his deep mourning and 
 depressed spirits to interest himself in the 
 illness of his old friend and college com- 
 panion, who wrote to him from Gloucester- 
 shire to ask him to be guardian to his 
 daughter. Had Mr. Eden foreseen all the 
 consequences of his visit to Guise Court he 
 might have been less ready to obey his 
 friend's wish. He little anticipated finding 
 a dilapidated estate and a somewhat singular 
 young woman on his hands, when a week 
 after his coming Sir William Guise shuffled 
 off the coil of a historical name, an inherit- 
 ance irretrievably mortgaged, and a house 
 and demesne in such disorder as comes of 
 ten years' struggle with swamping Debt. 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Philip Eden was a gentleman, and tte 
 very difficulties of the circumstances roused 
 his loyal friendship. He had not ever sus- 
 pected himself of Quixotism, but the blank 
 of his own bereavement, the strangeness 
 to him of the ruinous yet still noble old 
 Gloucestershire place took him for the time 
 out of the groove his wife had made for him. 
 Almost without special calculation he 
 found himself after her father's funeral in 
 legal charge of Elizabeth Guise, and ad- 
 ministrator of her nominal estate, large in 
 reputation, but that after all outgoings 
 barely brought the owner of it eight hun- 
 dred a year. 
 
 During a second visit two months later 
 to Guise Court, Mr. Eden found it expedient 
 to explain fully to his ward her position, 
 and to advise the sale of an estate that could 
 hardly be called hers. 
 
 During his friend's illness, and while his 
 own loss was fresh, Mr. Eden had paid little 
 attention to Miss Guise, her looks or her
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 83 
 
 manner, except to grumble at every token 
 of future trouble with a sby and awkward 
 young woman, wlio had not the excuse of 
 extreme youth for her pecuHarities. But 
 when he came on his second visit to 
 confer with her as a disinherited heiress, 
 an impression was made on him different 
 from any he had yet known. Elizabeth sat 
 by the open bay window of the old library 
 as he came in, according to his habit, very 
 quietly. She did not hear him announced, 
 and so maintained her absorbed and still 
 attitude while he paused and looked at her 
 more observantly than he had yet done. 
 
 She was turned with a set, wistful look 
 towards the sloping lawn, on which the mild 
 English sun and the great English trees 
 made light and shade. The tender grey of 
 the horizon dim with the smoke of a distant 
 city, the silver glimmer of the Severn 
 winding far off, and the pinnacles of a 
 cathedral tower dark against the pale haze, 
 were purely English. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Not at once, however, would a stranger 
 have guessed that the girl who sat in some 
 sort reflecting the beauty of the landscape 
 was English. Leech would not have put 
 her in a group of Folkestone or Wimbledon 
 syrens, nor would she have shone in the 
 light hterature of the day as possessed of 
 chic much less of chien. But who shall 
 limit English beauty, diverse as the races 
 that have made the nation ? 
 
 If true to northern lineage in her figure 
 somewhat taller than the average, and in 
 the character that had to a certain degree 
 moulded it, it was to an earlier manifesta- 
 tion of the Northmen* s power and beauty 
 than is now common. Miss Guise miofht 
 have been Chriemhild of the '' Xibelungen- 
 hed," or that Irish Gormley of whom the 
 Nyal Saga declares that she was the fairest 
 of women and " gifted in everything that 
 was not in her own power," that is to 
 say, in all physical and natural endow- 
 ments.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 85 
 
 There was in lier an antithesis to Mr. 
 Eden's late wife which startled the com- 
 fortable student of Montaigne. His first 
 impression was of disapproval and cautious 
 mistrust. It ripened into curiosity, for 
 there was something in her deep-set, grey 
 eyes that was new to him in his experience 
 of mankind. Interest felt by an elderly 
 widower, however sceptical by profession, 
 when he is still conscious of bereavement, 
 is seldom unkindly, when the object of it 
 is a young lady. As her guardian he 
 must befriend her, and though he was 
 within a year of sixty, friendship presently 
 turned to love, though the elderly lover 
 scouted the thought. Miss Guise, lonely 
 and inexperienced, was conscious of a 
 pleasure and trust in Mr. Eden's goodwill, 
 which she easily mistook for a deeper 
 affection. 
 
 With complete contentment — sure of 
 herself, and her finished wisdom — she left 
 Guise Court to be her guardian's wife, a
 
 86 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 few days before its transfer to a new pro- 
 prietor. Extremely capable of adaptation 
 and of thorough sincerity in her work, 
 whatever for the time it might be, she wore 
 her predecessor's mantle, and laboriously 
 trod in her footsteps. Mistress and deity 
 of the spick-and-span home of the Edens, 
 she moved cheerfully in the groove of local 
 duties, performed the charities bequeathed 
 to her, and fulfilled all social engagements 
 as the late Mrs. Eden had invented them. 
 Elizabeth was for two years an excellent 
 and willing but quite unconscious per- 
 former of a part. Bound by ties which 
 she fully recognized to a husband trained 
 by his first wife alike to quiescence, obsti- 
 nacy, and a habit of repeating que sais-je, 
 she ignorantly, but with a fortunate in- 
 stinct, set up a creed that for her all was 
 for the best. Probably so it was, as long 
 as she so believed, nor did any shock seem 
 likely to disturb her faith in the serene and 
 perfectly civilized existence of Edenhurst.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 87 
 
 Mistress of herself though orchids died, 
 though cooks were careless, and her ponies 
 ran away, sweet when her husband sneered, 
 and just suflQ.ciently ritualistic to taste the 
 pleasures of that slight asceticism which so 
 well complements luxury, what should mar 
 her optimistic views of life ? She did not 
 even definitely regret her childlessness. 
 Sometimes she was uneasily conscious of 
 not participating in the deeper joys and 
 sorrows of which she read in books and of 
 which she sometimes saw the traces in her 
 acquaintance, but in her ignorance she was 
 half disposed to congratulate herself on 
 her serene freedom from anxiety. Passion 
 of any sort she only understood on the 
 stage where Eistori had once revealed 
 emotions to her that left the smiling 
 Englishwoman pale and shivering, scared 
 yet entranced in a curious rapture of de- 
 light. That she could take part herself in 
 such feelings did not cross her thoughts. 
 It had not occurred to her hitherto to
 
 88 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 meet any person sufficiently equal to her 
 in force of character, yet tolerant of her 
 ignorances as of her unusual acquirements 
 of whom she could make a friend. Mr. Dene 
 liked and was not afraid of her somewhat 
 over-keen intellect. He understood that 
 if it were as yet insufficiently balanced by 
 other qualities, they were latent. He per- 
 ceived that she was little more than a wise, 
 well-bred cliild, unconscious of her gifts, 
 but proud of her experience.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 89 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 It is Hard to say whether curiosity be 
 virtue or vice. That must depend on its 
 object. Mrs. Eden was curious, and pro- 
 bably curiosity had more to do with her 
 actions up to that time than any other 
 motive. 
 
 But before she met Mr. Dene she had 
 not been curious about persons. At first 
 she was interested in him, much as if he 
 had been a book. She liked to \now his 
 opinions and sentiments. That the book 
 was well bound and handsomely illustrated 
 was in its favour. She was glad to know 
 she had likes and dislikes in common with 
 his, and the truth dawned on her that
 
 90 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 book-learning was inferior to practical 
 experience of mankind, as Mr. Dene pos- 
 sessed it, for he was a finished gentleman 
 of the world. 
 
 They came to the inn of the Tete Noire 
 sooner than they expected, and found Mr. 
 Eden infinitely disgusted by its short- 
 comings. Rudolf Dene had a Hungarian 
 servant who could cook, and out of sheer 
 charity master and man waited to see the 
 English folk through dinner. 
 
 It was so good that the squire resumed 
 his cheerful scepticism and relaxed in his 
 careful politeness. All dissonances were 
 hushed under the influence of a pleasant 
 potage, and a dish of little birds lifted the 
 weight of dyspeptic care, and some caramel 
 and cream compound made every one 
 duly thankful " for what they had re- 
 ceived." 
 
 The men were rather stiff to one another, 
 and no mention was made of the Mer de 
 Glace.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 91 
 
 Soon after liis coffee Mr. Eden went to 
 bed ; but it was not nine o'clock, and seeing 
 a chess board, Elizabeth suggested a game 
 to Mr. Dene. 
 
 " No," he said, " I mightn't play well 
 enough to win, and I can't let you beat me, 
 you know." 
 
 " Let me try." 
 
 " Ah ! but I am certain you don't keep 
 to any known rules of the game." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " You are so uneducated you know ! I 
 won't play." 
 
 He looked with kind, grave eyes at her, 
 so, though she was surprised, she gave up 
 her first impulse of affront. 
 
 " Good-night then, Mr. Dene. Oh, what 
 a dog ! " she exclaimed, as a broad-headed, 
 tawny Alpine mastiff walked gravely 
 into the room and stared straight into 
 the eyes of Mr. Dene first, and then 
 examined Mrs. Eden's face. With a long 
 breath he flung himself down contentedly
 
 92 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 on the floor ; for tie belonged to tlie land- 
 lord. 
 
 " You should have seen Torm, my deer- 
 hound," said Mrs. Eden, sitting down 
 again. For dogs were an interesting 
 subject. 
 
 *' So you like big dogs ? " 
 
 " I have always had one till now ; but 
 seriously, why won't you play chess ? " 
 
 " I have a prejudice about it since Me- 
 phistophiles beat Faust. That moon look- 
 ing in there would look grave like the angel 
 in Retzsch's drawing." 
 
 ''Do you go into raptures about the 
 moon ? " said Mrs. Eden, rather puzzled ; 
 " like people in books ? " 
 
 '' I haven't such an acquaintance with 
 people in books as you have. But I avoid 
 raptures of all sorts — at least, since I have 
 come to years of discretion." 
 
 Elizabeth had turned to the window. 
 She need not say good-night just yet. 
 Impossible to sleep while that flood of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 93 
 
 white light was breaking into curtainless 
 windows, and gleaming on the pine- wood 
 floors and furniture. 
 
 She had never looked to Mr. Dene so 
 lovely. There was in her beauty some 
 quality of unexpressed power, some undeci- 
 pherable meaning that went with the sharp 
 lights and puzzling shadows of moonlight. 
 He stooped down and played with the 
 dog's shaggy ears as he said half roughly — 
 
 " I think you have hardly come to years 
 of discretion, or you would not sit by that 
 window with the moon full on your 
 face." 
 
 " Why, you don't believe in moon-blind- 
 ness, do you ? or that I am likely to be 
 moonstruck." 
 
 *' If you were not, others might be 
 blinded," he said, in a very low voice; 
 " moonstruck, if you like." 
 
 Mrs. Eden turned quickly, for she 
 noticed a subtle change in his manner, a 
 slight impatience and even anger. She
 
 94 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 thouglit lie was offended, and slie leant 
 towards him, putting her hand on his sleeve, 
 as she said, — 
 
 " I ho|)e it won't really put you out. not 
 being in Paris to-morrow." 
 
 " I am like yourself, more or less of a 
 fatalist. It may make a very great dif- 
 ference to me being here to-night instead of 
 in the express for Paris." 
 
 The dogged look came over his face which 
 sometimes made it too stern for beauty. 
 
 " How can one help being a fatalist ? " 
 Mrs. Eden said, looking out again so that 
 the moonlight fell on her face. " I have 
 never had much to do with the events in 
 my life, but always obeyed circumstances. 
 There is no help for it. Sometimes I think 
 I should like to will my own future, but it 
 is always cut and dried for me. I suppose 
 it's better so ; but, as my husband says, ' que 
 sais-je I 
 
 *' If you had the willing of it now, how 
 would it be ? Ah, but you couldn't and
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 95 
 
 wouldn't say how to a mere acquaintance 
 of course." 
 
 " You were more than a mere acquaintance 
 when you picked me up on the Mer de Glace. 
 I have never had any other vision of life but 
 just my own, with perhaps a friend or two 
 more in it. I used at Guise Court to settle 
 what I should do with heaps of money 
 because we had so little : but, after all, 
 money matters more to men than to 
 women ; we haven't the same ambitions to 
 satisfy." 
 
 " So you are a contented squiress. It is 
 easy to be a fatalist on those terms." 
 
 " I couldn't be otherwise than contented, 
 you know. It would be very unreasonable 
 and silly, and I am quite contented — quite 
 — of course." 
 
 " Oh quite, of course, and so am I of 
 course; and the other name of Fate is 
 not Sorrow but cakes and ale, and our 
 little comforts regularly and respectably 
 enjoyed, — and you never have to do a dis- 
 agreeable thing, I suppose ? "
 
 96 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Of course I have ; I shall not like your 
 Central Asia journey if you really are 
 going as you say. I should like you to be 
 in Sussex. There is hardly any one I really 
 like about Edenhurst." 
 
 " And you are sure you like me ? " said 
 Mr. Dene, smiling with a better face than 
 he had before. 
 
 " Yes, very much, very much indeed. I 
 mean you to be a regular good friend of 
 mine, and Philip's." 
 
 " Oh yes, Eden and I are old friends, 
 and if I go to Kashgar, will you sometimes 
 think of your ' regular good friend ' ? " 
 
 " That's hard on me, it's so far off. I 
 should think of you more if you were in 
 England, you know." 
 
 Eudolf got up very leisurely and went 
 over to look at a chamois head that was 
 nailed against the wall. 
 
 " I want to shoot some of these sort of 
 beasts in the Steppes," he said, and there 
 was a little huskiness in his voice. " I am
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 97 
 
 glad we made friends, Mrs. Eden, before I 
 start. I fear I shall not see much more of 
 you, but Eden is much better, and will get 
 home all right." 
 
 " You have helped us immensely. You 
 have been very kind." The words were 
 conventional, but Mrs. Eden held out her 
 hand with a shy, frank grace which made a 
 difference in them. 
 
 Mr. Dene hesitated a second, then gravely 
 and a little stiffly he took her hand and 
 kissed it after his foreign fashion and said, — 
 
 '■We will be friends indeed. Wherever 
 I am, count on my services if you should 
 ever want a friend." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 She did not know how his heart beat 
 as he took his hat and wished her good 
 night, with a remark that she must be tired 
 and he would go out for a smoke. 
 
 Next morning there was a note for Mr. 
 Eden, to say that Mr. Dene had gone on to 
 catch an early train at Martigny. 
 
 VOL. 1. H
 
 98 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 The squire was aggrieved, but he was in 
 the mood for grievances. His wife found 
 the road rough and dull ; the mountains 
 were monotonous ; the pine-woods damp 
 and gloomy; the mules odious, and 
 Martignj a purgatory, of which the tor- 
 menting demons were gnats, grasshoppers, 
 and insects of many varieties, all the more 
 vicious for autumn drowsiness. 
 
 Mrs. Eden had never before been so dis- 
 contented, so irritable, so bored. She was 
 at last ashamed of herself, for she could 
 not tell what ailed her except that bore had 
 beset her. She had a clever novel to read, 
 but it seemed insufferably prosy. The 
 moon was blurred by the evening mists of 
 the valley, the food was nasty and spoiled 
 her appetite. She was impatient to get 
 home away from the grey detritus and dust 
 and colourless vegetation of the trough of 
 the Rhone — away from the ugly Yaudois 
 and from the Yevej tobacco which haunted 
 all those parts with ill odours.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 99 
 
 Thej went by Pontarlier to Paris, turn- 
 ing sedulously away from Yersoix and 
 Geneva. 
 
 With two days' rest in Paris Mr. Eden 
 bore the journey well, but both he and his 
 wife were well pleased to have done their 
 aimless bit of foreign travel. 
 
 The blue roan cobs and brougham 
 looked comfortable at Edenhurst station, 
 and ten minutes after they were at home. 
 
 There were several servants in the hall 
 to welcome them, and a little behind was 
 Eudolf Dene's Hungarian valet, holding 
 the tawny Alpine mastiff of the Tete Noire 
 by a short strap. 
 
 The squire stared, only half pleased, but 
 he always had allowed his wife a pet 
 monster, and this was a very creditable 
 beast indeed. Still its presence needed 
 explanation. 
 
 Mr. Dene had sent it straight to England, 
 and begged Mrs. Eden's acceptance of it 
 as she had admired it. 
 H 2
 
 100 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 '' Where is your master ? " 
 
 " I am to join him at Yienna, sir. He 
 is going to the east for some time." 
 
 " Ah ! Well, my dear, as you like brutes, 
 it's a fine brute. You can write and thank 
 Dene, since we shan't see him again." 
 
 The note of thanks was written three 
 times over, and at last was stiff and dull. 
 But Elizabeth grew fond of Eigher, as she 
 called her yellow giant. He was a dog of 
 much reflection . Not a universal favourite, 
 for he had his rule of polite respect, and 
 required introduction to strangers. No 
 eyes could be more loving than his grew to 
 be for his mistress, as he sleepily watched 
 her in her daily labours of letters, flower- 
 settling, house-keeper interviews, and 
 small talk. Eigher thought her frivolous, 
 it was plain, when she did not go out. 
 Frowns and sighs showed his sense of her 
 bad taste. But he could be reconciled 
 even to a room full of neighbours, if he 
 were suflBiciently admired. Gross flattery
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 101 
 
 could be very sweet to liim, and even affect 
 his judgment of visitors. He was as 
 conscious as a child if any one told him 
 how handsome and good he was. Alto- 
 gether he was satisfactory. 
 
 The squire was very constantly occupied 
 after his return. Mrs. Eden saw less than 
 ever of him. He disliked inquiries about 
 his health, and indeed seemed so much as 
 he had always been that his wife was not 
 uneasy. 
 
 As October opened in warm mellowness 
 on the broad woods of their horizon, both 
 had well-nigh forgotten their Swiss adven- 
 tures. 
 
 No English county is more characteristic 
 in its features than Sussex, but the popular 
 traits of down and sea did not make the 
 beauty of Edenhurst. It was situated 
 about five miles from the Kentish frontier, 
 and within a short drive of Tunbridge 
 Wells, yet its horizons were of moorland 
 and heath, and dark stretches of fir-woods
 
 102 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 that might have bounded a landscape 
 north of Inverness. 
 
 Eeligion had always been to the Edens 
 a social duty, and one of the first class of 
 duties, and Elizabeth maintained creditably 
 the customs of her predecessor and of her 
 husband's mother. She paid all due 
 attention to the rector, and to the rector's 
 wife and daughters, but the Rev. Chris- 
 topher Harlay, Mrs. and the Misses Harlay 
 were disagreeable to her sense of fitness. 
 Their home was, however, close to her gate, 
 and to preserve an armed intimacy, of 
 strictly defined, but extreme cordiality, 
 was a recognized part of Elizabeth Eden's 
 daily labour. 
 
 Mrs. Harlay lived in continuous asser- 
 tion of her family importance, her clear 
 superiority to the uncultured and shallow 
 Mrs. Eden, and the Harlay eminence in 
 neighbouring society. "Visitors came and 
 went at the rectory, where there was a 
 constant flutter of company. Curates and
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 103 
 
 croquet; scions of county families in 
 a raw state. City youths when double 
 plated, and young women attracted by the 
 stir and bustle of the rectory, were 
 generally prevalent in the Harlay atmo- 
 sphere. It would be curious to calculate 
 how much of the rectorial tithes was 
 spent on the claret cup, and even on the 
 humbler shandygaff of the rectorial garden 
 parties. When the hounds met near, the 
 reverendissima Harlay was even lavish of 
 Chartreuse and sherry for her *' dear young 
 friends." 
 
 While the rector's wife was ultra aristo- 
 cratic in her leanings, a worshipper of all 
 white flags, even when the bearers of them 
 showed the white feather, so long as she 
 recognized in them the ensigns of royalty 
 and nobility, her husband was given to 
 "advanced ideas." Advanced ideas, in 
 these latter days, crop up in the most un- 
 expected and out-of-the-way rural parishes. 
 
 His bodily presence was not imposing,
 
 104 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 he was small and colourless, and even by 
 brushing his hair out in a sandy glory 
 round his head he could not give himself 
 an appearance of strength. But he re- 
 medied the insignificance of his outer man 
 by remarkable breadth in his opinions. A 
 great reader of " articles," he was not only 
 Pan-Anglican in Christian charity, but he 
 loved to claim all revelations from that of 
 Sakya Muni to the Koran as germane and 
 admirable. At one form of faith onlv he 
 looked askance. Ready to admit the 
 purity of Parsees, the social virtues of 
 Thibet, he yet encouraged the bonfires 
 and uncouth follies of the 5th of Novem- 
 ber, and found no fault with Mr. Whalley's 
 attitude or the zeal of hcensed victuallers. 
 
 Perhaps nearest to the Roman Church 
 in his antipathies came the Low Church 
 school in his own Establishment, and it 
 was no small vexation to him that his 
 nephew, Sir Ernest Harlay, was inclined to 
 serve publicly in Protestant AlHances, and
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 105 
 
 was privately possessed of a very pretty 
 gift of preacliing that might any day air 
 itself in the Polytechnic or other con- 
 venient place. He earnestly wished that 
 the head of his family would give what 
 faculties he possessed to retrieving the 
 Harlay estates, which were seriously en- 
 cumbered. Puritanism in the nineteenth 
 century had no sort of career before it. It 
 must hamper a man hopelessly, and even 
 prove him wilfully ignorant and narrow- 
 minded. Now it was of urgent importance 
 to the rector that the Harlay affairs should 
 at least not fall into further decay, and he 
 could have tolerated a good deal of other 
 eccentricity if it were suited to the day, 
 and not detrimental to his nephew's worldly 
 success. But the eccentricities of Puritan 
 fanaticism must be mere waste of energy 
 or worse. He had not seen much of Sir 
 Ernest, who had but lately left the army 
 and returned from India, and what he had 
 seen disturbed and annoyed him. He
 
 106 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 seemed destined to family disappointments, 
 and who can say how far that circumstance 
 colom^ed his views of the Pentateuch and 
 of the fourth Gospel? 
 
 Mrs. Harlay was not what might be ex- 
 pected of a mother in Israel ex officio. She 
 was like most of us — a compound of incon- 
 sistencies. Unpleasant qualities predomi- 
 nated in the compound, but they were 
 veiled when a picnic had to be planned 
 or a little music or other impromptu 
 gathering that required social generalship. 
 She could launch such entertainments ad- 
 mirably. The glees and part songs at the 
 rectory accompanied and conducted by her 
 were delightful, and the late luncheons and 
 Badminton were inimitable. Indefatigable 
 energy had borne her brilliantly through so 
 many a social fray that she had become 
 one of the chief county powers of the 
 second class. She was near-sighted, and 
 the occasional obtuseness secured by that 
 defect is not without advantage in the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 107 
 
 battle of life. Hostile or critical looks 
 were wasted on her as she shepherded her 
 family in county meetings, and by a dozen 
 little Artifices of dress and manner secured 
 for her party that murmur of remark that 
 proved at least they were not nobodies. 
 She played games suited to her age with 
 grace and skill. If society had required it 
 of her for the advancement of her girls, she 
 would have gone out riding or shooting or 
 fishing, and would not have been ridicu- 
 lous. 
 
 Yet with her undeniable powers Mrs. 
 Harlay lived in a hand-to-mouth way, with 
 little profit or praise and less dignity. She 
 did not sufficiently conceal her social strug- 
 gles, or soften the fierceness of her mater- 
 nal ambition. Which of us, however, 
 exactly chooses the line we follow in the 
 world ? Her insignificant if reverend lord 
 was hardly fitted to rouse deeper thought 
 in her had such existed, nor was it to be 
 expected that she should refuse the chance
 
 108 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 successes that her sweet voice, hvely man- 
 ner, and pretty figure, had secured to her 
 from time to time. Her husband was a 
 Harlay of Harlay Abbot, and such junket- 
 tings and singings and carpet dancings as 
 were within the tether of a Broad Church 
 rector's wife were freely offered to her. 
 Then came daughters and maternal ambi- 
 tion, and of late years ambition had been 
 sharpened by want of money. The social 
 game becomes with each year more expen- 
 sive, and yet evidently, at least to herself, 
 the world could not go on if Mrs. Harlay 
 were not of the first flight among the South 
 Saxons. 
 
 Her daughters. Well, the Miss Harlays 
 were docile in principle if sometimes skit- 
 tish in practice. The eldest was, the two 
 younger ones promised to be, fair specimens 
 of those young women who are beloved by 
 Mr. Punch. Isolda or " Oily " was in- 
 clined to assume fast airs, but this did 
 not seriously annoy the prudent mother.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 109 
 
 For those among their acquaintance who 
 disapproved the last thing out in girls 
 of fashion, the gentle Alice was in useful 
 contrast. Alice had not yet, however, left 
 the school-room, except for croquet and five 
 o'clock tea, when her Raphael face and 
 demure manner checked any ill-natured 
 thought that the rectory was over mundane 
 in its gaieties. 
 
 She and the wild young Audrey were 
 yet in the hands of a distinguished gover- 
 ness, who had perfected a variety of suc- 
 cessful young ladies. She was supposed 
 to replace M. Roche, and in pianoforte 
 teaching to rival Halle, and surpass 
 Pauer. 
 
 Audrey was more tolerable to Mrs. Eden 
 than were the elder girls, with whom, not- 
 withstanding near neighbourhood, the 
 squire's wife had Httle in common. Isolda 
 knew so much more of the world and its 
 ways, its scandals and hypocrisies, that 
 Elizabeth grew shy and reserved before her.
 
 110 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 In lier turn slie was a constant restraint 
 on the Harlays. She had never taken her 
 degree in the world, and her frequent and 
 awkward exhibitions of ingenuous igno- 
 rance puzzled Mrs. Harlaj and provoked 
 Isolda. That young lady was a well- 
 marked specimen of the British syren. 
 She was a " bright young Thing," not a 
 " Being." Beings were the idols of our 
 grandfathers. The bright young thing 
 was undeniably bouncing in several ways. 
 Feet and hands, gesture and voice bounced. 
 Her dress was showy, and of what fashion 
 was newest and most eccentric. Her man- 
 ner at first was wildly shy, but now it was 
 wildly forward. With great flow of spirits 
 she frisked and gambolled, but the foot- 
 prints she left were clumsy. Her heavy 
 cheeks, dull eyes, and large joints foretold 
 a future of many stone. She and the more 
 refined Alice were almost ostensibly anta- 
 gonistic, but she often towed Audrey in her 
 wake. She liked ordering the child about.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. Ill 
 
 and the child helped her to keep up that 
 noise and turmoil that prevailed where 
 Oily happened to be. Even in church 
 she rustled and responded more loudly 
 than any other member of the congrega- 
 tion. 
 
 When he returned from India via Swit- 
 zerland they were all delighted to welcome 
 their cousin Ernest, though he was cer- 
 tainly disappointing. Still all such draw- 
 backs must be ignored. He was Sir 
 Ernest Harlay, of Harlay Abbot, and must 
 be socially '' charming " " nice " and " so 
 good-natured." Labelled thus Mrs. Har- 
 lay and Isolda took him to " the Place," 
 as the squire's house was always called, the 
 day after he arrived at the rectory. Talk 
 never languished where the Harlays were, 
 and they were in a flutter of amiability, 
 but the young Indian soldier was very 
 silent, once the adventure of the Mer de 
 Glace had been discussed ; and Mrs. Eden 
 listened benignly to news of . the curate
 
 112 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 just installed, and his evident ritualistic 
 tendencies. 
 
 She was just going to ask Sir Ernest i£ 
 he had met Mr. Dene again at Chamouni, 
 when it happened that a servant brought 
 in the afternoon letters. Glancing at them, 
 she saw that they were all for her husband, 
 and she sent them at once to him on the 
 terrace, where he was, as usual, reading the 
 " Times" and smoking, for they had not long 
 finished luncheon. The servant dropped a 
 letter, which Sir Ernest presently observed, 
 on the gravel outside, and he volunteered 
 to take it to Mr. Eden. 
 
 Almost immediately he came back, and 
 said quietly, — 
 
 '' Mr. Eden has been seized with severe 
 illness. Will you ring for help, and we will 
 carry him in, and it would be well to send at 
 once for a doctor." 
 
 No one acts consciously at such moments 
 of vague alarm. No one can predict what 
 will be said or done. The Harlay party
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 113 
 
 stood up frightened and instinctively 
 anxious to get away from the fact outside, 
 of which the shadow seemed to have crossed 
 the threshold and of which, without words, 
 every one was conscious. Mrs. Eden had 
 never thought it possible that she could 
 suffer the sudden physical emotion that 
 beset her as she looked in Sir Ernest's face 
 for some knowledge of what had happened 
 before she went to her husband. 
 
 There is a curious instinct of order, 
 which serves distracted souls in good stead 
 when they cannot form their own judg- 
 ments. Mrs. Eden asked Mrs. Harlay to 
 ring the bell as she stood near it, and to 
 send the servant who answered out to her ; 
 then with her hand on Ernest Ilarlay's arm 
 she went out and found her husband leaning 
 against the steep slope of a grass bank, as 
 the young man had propped him. But he 
 was scarcely conscious when his wife bent 
 over him. In a sort of dream she did and 
 ordered what was right and judicious, and 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 almost as soon as tlie squire had been 
 carried to his study, which was on the 
 ground floor, the doctor and soon after 
 Mr. Harlay arrived. The visitors in the 
 drawing-room waited to hear the me- 
 dical report, and then discreetly left the 
 house. 
 
 There was little question of the physical 
 cause of death. Fatty degeneration of the 
 heart had killed Mr. Eden. The rector 
 looked pale, startled, and thoroughly nn- 
 comfortable, but he busied himself to help 
 in all the material alleviations attempted, 
 and felt the dying man's pulse, and sighed, 
 and even a little sob broke from him as 
 he laid the inert hand down. Breadth 
 of views is not supporting at such crises, 
 and Mr. Harlay's was not a strong cha- 
 racter, however bravely he dared to specu- 
 late. 
 
 Seeing the inaction of the rector. Sir 
 Ernest knelt by the sofa on which Mr. Eden 
 lay, and murmured some prayers at his ear.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 115 
 
 Mrs. Eden looked on vacantly. She had 
 little conception of prayer unless official 
 and in church. Mr. Harlay looked another 
 way. The doctor busied himself with a 
 case of instruments that he had brought. 
 He put them down on a vellum quarto that 
 happened to be just in the line of the dying 
 man's sight; and so it chanced that the 
 last visible token of his conscious will was a 
 frown and a little twitch of the hand towards 
 his best copy of Montaigne's essays thus 
 ill-used. Soon after his eyes were glazed 
 in death and the last long breath and snap- 
 ping of the vital chain came, and Philip Eden 
 had gone to seek solution of the riddle 
 which he had affected to believe insoluble 
 for living men. 
 
 There was a pause, for Mrs. Eden knelt 
 silently by him keeping his hand warm in 
 her's. Sir Ernest had no more place there, 
 indeed his title to have ministered even so 
 far was doubtful, but he lived so much in a 
 spiritual world that he seemed familiar and 
 I 2
 
 110 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 at home with Death. In India he had had 
 a more conscious sense of its hourly im- 
 minence than is ever felt in England, and 
 he had busied himself much with the welfare 
 of his men and seen more than one epidemic 
 of cholera ; but to console or even intrude 
 on Mrs. Eden a moment further was im- 
 possible. He left the room without a word. 
 The distress of the event was on her, and 
 nothing said or done had meaning for her, 
 though afterwards each detail was re- 
 called. 
 
 On his nephew's departure there was 
 evident relief in the rector's manner. He 
 reasserted his position, quoted the choicest 
 texts, and with a nice assumption of fatherly 
 care he drew the new-made vridow to 
 another room. In clear cases for which 
 there was abundant precedent, suchasdeath- 
 beds, bereavals, and calamities mentioned in 
 the Rubric the average Anglican pastor is 
 generally equal to his task, and whatever his 
 private views, habit and training keep him
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 117 
 
 in the proper groove. He had just begun a 
 quotation always exhibited on these occa- 
 sions of spiritual perturbation, when he was 
 startled and annoyed by Mrs. Eden's abrupt 
 question, — 
 
 '' Is Sir Ernest Harlay staying at the 
 Rectory ? " 
 
 " Ernest ! — Oh, he leaves us to-day. He 
 is an enthusiast, poor fellow. You must not 
 ' sorrow as those that have no hope, ' " &c. 
 &c. 
 
 " I should like to thank him." 
 
 The rector did not like these interrup- 
 tions ; really the widow should not have 
 thought just then about that blundering 
 methodistical fellow. It was unsuitable, 
 not her cue. He said drily, — 
 
 " He is a strange fellow. He is going 
 to some evangelical business in the Unitec^ 
 States, short of Utah, I trust. You musv 
 remember, my dear friend, "&c. &c. 
 
 But Mrs. Eden disliked the drone of sacred 
 words used mechanically, and with brief
 
 118 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 thanks she went to her own room. Widow- 
 hood is a change and a sorrow that may 
 well draw to the curtains and shut out 
 prying eyes and the too jocund day.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 119 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 At no time do the wheels of custom run 
 more smoothly in England than on the 
 occasion of a death. There is a special 
 alacrity in those who have charge of 
 funeral arrangements. Their sympathies 
 are engaged in the work. The hearse is 
 as well appointed as the price of its hire 
 will allow, and there are fewer hitches in 
 mortuary ceremonial than in any other, for 
 the amateur interest is sincere even in 
 those liot officially engaged. 
 
 After Mr. Eden's funeral, his will was 
 formally read, and found to leave Eden- 
 hurst estate and all the personalty abso- 
 lutely to Elizabeth his "beloved wife."
 
 120 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 No one could grumble, for no Edens were 
 forthcoming as representatives of the family. 
 Mr. Winthrop E-avenscroft, of the firm of 
 Lush and Ravenscroft, solicitors, was joint- 
 executor with Mrs. Eden. He had not 
 been until after his father's death, a partner 
 in the firm of which old Mr. Ravenscroft 
 had been the head, but in the share of work 
 which came to him, as it were, by inherit- 
 ance was all the Eden business. Occa- 
 sionally he had come down to Edenhurst, 
 and being well educated and a gentleman, 
 the squire liked his visits, but he had not 
 seen much of Mrs. Eden, for her husband 
 never talked before her of business, and 
 retreated for the purpose to his study. 
 
 Before he returned to London the day 
 after the funeral, and after some pressing 
 business had been discussed, for which it 
 was necessary that widow as she was Mrs. 
 Eden should receive him, Mr. Ravenscroft 
 hesitatingly inquired, emboldened by the 
 calm of her manner, if she had seen a letter
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 121 
 
 written by him to her husband, which must 
 have arrived the day of Mr. Eden's death, 
 and which had perhaps been overlooked. 
 EHzabeth at once recalled the letter which 
 had been among those she sent out to the 
 terrace a few minutes before Mr. Eden's 
 seizure. Though she had not probably 
 been moved to strong afPection for any one 
 hitherto, however docile and grateful as a 
 wife, yet the strain of the week's duties 
 and cares, the loneliness and altered aspects 
 of life had shaken her habitual quietude. 
 She turned of such transparent paleness 
 when thus brought face to face with the 
 circumstances of her bereavement, that 
 Mr. Ravens croft would have rung the bell, 
 thinking a fainting fit near, but that her 
 lips remained of their natural colour. 
 There was nothing of illness in her pallor, 
 but feeling had begun to stir in her, roused 
 by the shock of her husband's death, 
 and her calm was never Hkely to be again 
 as complete. But her will and the
 
 122 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 modest reserve whicTi always endeavoured 
 to control tlie visible signs of passion, even 
 when in after-montlis passion Lad larger 
 sway in her, restored in a second her usual 
 manner. 
 
 She and Mr. Eavenscroft were sitting in 
 the squire's study, which had been swept 
 and garnished by careful housemaids, and 
 Mrs. Eden looked in the blotting-book and 
 letter-rack in vain. The quarto Montaigne, 
 however, still lay on the table, and a line 
 of paper beyond the red edges showed her 
 where the missing letter had been hidden. 
 By a curious irony of circumstance, it 
 marked the eighteenth chapter, " QuHl ne 
 faut juger de notre heur qu^ajjres la mort.^^ 
 
 " You have not read the letter?" asked 
 Mr. Ravenscroft. 
 
 " Is it better that I should not ? " 
 
 " Oh, it is, perhaps, as well that you 
 should — but there is no hurry about the 
 subject of it." 
 
 So it was read, while Mr. Eavenscroft
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 123 
 
 rather curiously watched Mrs. Eden's 
 
 face. 
 
 ''My dear Mr. Eden, 
 
 "We have received as your solicitors 
 an extraordinary proposal from the repre- 
 sentatives of LuUin, to whom, as you know, 
 we pay on your behalf an annuity of two 
 hundred pounds. The letter says, that for 
 particular reasons, which can be explained 
 if desired, the writer, who appears to be 
 the daughter of a niece of Lullin's, wishes 
 to exchange the annuity for a sum of ready 
 money. There would be nothing un- 
 reasonable in this, but the writer uses a 
 singular and half-threatening tone, and 
 mentions terms that are quite out of pro- 
 portion with the marketable value of the 
 annuity. However, as I do not know any 
 of the circumstances under which it was 
 granted by your mother, and as you have, 
 to the best of my recollection, the papers 
 explaining them, it would be well that I 
 should see you, if possible, and talk the
 
 124 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 whole affair over, and you can instruct us 
 as to our answer. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 " W. Eavenscroft." 
 
 The letter did not affect Elizabeth, as 
 Mr. Eavenscroft expected it would. So 
 far from its rousing curiosity or anxiety, 
 she hardly appeared interested in it. 
 
 " Who are these people ? " she asked, 
 chiefly because Mr. Eavenscroft waited for 
 a question. 
 
 "Ah," he thought, "she knows nothing; 
 less than I do." "I hardly know," he said 
 aloud. " I imagine that there are in this 
 house some papers which will explain why 
 in 1815, an annuity was settled on one 
 Ami Lullin of Geneva. My father, I know, 
 made the arrangement, whatever it was, 
 but I have never gone into it. We paid 
 the money half-yearly, and got receipts 
 regularly. I fancied it might have to do 
 with services rendered to Mr. Francis 
 Eden, though it seemed a good deal to pay
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 125 
 
 for that. He was drowned, as you probably 
 know, near Geneva." 
 
 " No, I knew very little about tlie family. 
 My husband talked of his mother, but not 
 that I remember of a brother." 
 
 "You have now the authority to in struct us 
 what answer we shall send to this proposal. 
 It is a preposterous one. They ask six 
 thousand pounds for an annuity held on 
 certain conditions of two hundred a year. 
 There is something behind such an idea, 
 or they must be mad." 
 
 " Settle it as you think best, Mr. Ravens- 
 croft." 
 
 '' May I look through Mr. Eden's papers 
 for information, as I am very much in the 
 dark?" 
 
 It was only an hour's work to look 
 through the squire's pigeon-holes. He 
 was orderly, and his papers were as few as 
 need be, for he kept no useless letters or 
 documents. There was among them no- 
 thing concerning the Lullin annuity.
 
 126 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " So," said Mr. Eavenscroft, taking leave, 
 " I shall have a careful letter written ask- 
 ing further information. It cannot be of 
 much consequence after all. Meantime I 
 will get the will proved, and in six weeks 
 or so, as jou wish, you will be free of 
 business that need detain you in England." 
 
 A certain largeness with which Mrs. 
 Eden had treated the questions he had been 
 obliged to put before her, had thawed the 
 lawyer. Her simplicity had nothing of 
 weakness or want of mental power. Her 
 absence of curiosity and ready acquies- 
 cence in his advice were not because of 
 incapacity to understand. He was be- 
 ginning to accept her as one of those 
 women set apart from her class in his 
 estimate. 
 
 Up to that time she had dwelt and acted 
 so within conventional forms that her feel- 
 ings had been hardly of natural growth, 
 but the expression of custom and duty. 
 They came and went, and little pleasures
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 127 
 
 and little pains took tlieir turn, but they 
 chiefly affected her as she was Mrs. Eden 
 of Edenhurst, not as she was an individual 
 spirit poised between light and darkness, 
 capable of immeasurable suffering, and if 
 the phrase be permitted, jet more immea- 
 surable joy. She had hitherto lived as so 
 many do in the twilight of borrowed habit 
 assumed mechanically. 
 
 " I like to be lonely," she said to Mr. 
 Eavenscroft, when he suggested that tra- 
 velling alone might be dull work. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Harlay spread wide her 
 social nets, and caught for Elizabeth a 
 treasure of a courier. She almost forced on 
 Mrs. Eden letters of introduction at Eome 
 and Naples, where in an unwary moment 
 Elizabeth had said she hoped to spend some 
 time. To be sponsor for so handsome, 
 well-born, and rich a personage, even by 
 double proxy in this way, was delightful to 
 the rector's wife. Various letters to 
 princes and prelates of the Roman obedience
 
 128 ELIZABETH EDEiS. 
 
 were thrust into the recesses of Mrs. Eden's 
 writing-case, where they remained. 
 
 To travel in Italy had been a wish of 
 her's since the old days when she had read 
 with the interest and faith of youth such 
 Italian writers as were in her father's 
 library, where there were four shelves con- 
 spicuous by the white vellum bindings of 
 their load. And, together with her Italian 
 dreams, she breathed more freely in the 
 consciousness that she need not pay or 
 receive morning visits, except by free choice, 
 once she was out of England. Perhaps 
 the first realized change in her position 
 was her emancipation from county duties. 
 She was not sociable, and she made her 
 widow's dress an armour within which she 
 was safe from casual acquaintances. She 
 heartily and faithfully grieved for the 
 squire, but she preferred to grieve with- 
 out a chorus of neighbours to repeat 
 ai ! ai ! 
 
 It was towards the end of November
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 129 
 
 when she got away from Edenhurst, fully 
 escorted by a grave and reverend man and 
 maid and by a courier of the true bustle 
 and importance. She meant to linger in 
 North Italy, and by the way of St. Gothard 
 she crossed the Alps. 
 
 The transition from the Four Cantons' 
 Lake to Milan gave her a new existence. 
 She kept no count of the changes in her 
 long dormant character, and it was at 
 first with but blind sympathy that the 
 social and political instincts stirred in her 
 as she slowly and thoughtfully travelled, 
 vetturino fashion, by Bergamo, Brescia, 
 Vicenza, and Verona to Padua. 
 
 But the reader is not to think that in 
 politics, as the word is now used, still 
 less in sociology did Mrs. Eden either 
 then or afterwards dabble. Had she lived 
 when the Italian aristocracies had life, and 
 when their cities were the nurseries of the 
 world's wit and wisdom, Elizabeth might 
 have played a notable part, and energies 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 IBO ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 miglit have been evoked which in her 
 chiefly found outlet in assiduous study of 
 all belonging to those times of active social 
 evolution. She loved the painting and 
 architecture which were manifestations 
 of the cinque-cento temper. She uncon- 
 sciously acknowledged the greater human 
 vitality which, if it copied and reproduced 
 elder work, swept whether Byzantine or 
 Greek styles with it in the strong current 
 of its actual life. 
 
 Perhaps nothing more amazed her than 
 the frescoes of the Arena Chapel at Padua. 
 Not because she had education or training 
 sufficient to judge them fairly, but she re- 
 cognized in them the stir of those strong 
 emotions and intense convictions that there 
 took form by help of Giotto's hand. Leav- 
 ing the deserted chapel Elizabeth was in 
 full sympathy with the mood of those 
 Florentines who, according to the legend, 
 kept such festival when Cimabue's Madonna 
 was given to public gaze, that ever since
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 131 
 
 the neighbourhood of his workshop has 
 been known as the jojful quarter. 
 
 Yet there was little if any religious awe 
 in her appreciation even of Era Angelico's 
 heavenly citizens crowding in blissful 
 colour the spiritual places. The aspects of 
 Christian faith that had been hitherto pre- 
 sented to her had not touched her deeper 
 nature. It was a part of that formal life 
 which had been habitually respected in all 
 its social observances by her. But she had 
 not thought of religion as a real, much less 
 a powerful agent in human affairs. 
 
 She afterwards confessed to a friend 
 that she had in those years never dared to 
 form any conception of the Unknowable 
 she had decorously worshipped. If any, she 
 thought of Him as an intensely luminous 
 triangle ! 
 
 Raphael's canvas-gospel, the " Man of 
 
 Sorrows," at Brescia, did not affect her, but 
 
 she was spell -bound and almost stupefied 
 
 by the Venetians of the sixteenth century. 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Their magnificence of human strength and 
 luxury, their exaltation of material beauty, 
 the splendid arrogance o£ the race, intoxi- 
 cated this unmatured Englishwoman, who, 
 hardly accepting the fact, yet felt that here 
 were her fellows for at least one side of her 
 character. Again, as in the Arena Chapel, 
 the sense that these artists were sincere 
 and true to their creed, be it Christian or 
 Pagan, whether they gave honour to Our 
 Lady or to Yenus Victrix, touched her 
 with renewed feeling that her life hitherto 
 had been empty and formal. 
 
 These thoughts belonged, however, in 
 great part to w^hat has been called " uncon- 
 scious cerebration." Whatever the mode 
 by which such unperceived mental growth is 
 carried on it was in full activity, as having 
 spent a week of hurried surprise at Venice, 
 Mrs. Eden travelled by Ferrara and Bologna 
 to Florence. The culture of the benign 
 slopes and fertile plains delighted her. 
 Even the autumn traces of the threefold
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 133 
 
 harvest of olives, corn, and wine, seemed 
 a reconciliation of labour with bounteous 
 nature. There was not on the Apennines 
 the frown and terror of the St. Gothard 
 pass, while they made a background of 
 purple and red gold when seen through 
 the vine trelhces below. Their exquisite 
 crests were fringed with silver as winter 
 drew on, for it was Christmas when 
 Elizabeth drove across the Ponte Molle and 
 entered Rome by the Flaminian Way. 
 Her courier, for personal but not the 
 less good reasons, had taken rooms for 
 her at the Hotel d'Angleterre. It was 
 dusk when she arrived, and so she slept 
 without consciousness that she had left the 
 Italy she had begun to comprehend for 
 another world. Indeed her first experience 
 of existence in the Eternal City was a fit of 
 hysterics performed by her maid which 
 promised to be equally eternal. That true- 
 blue person had been put in a room with- 
 out a fireplace, but in which a scaldino had
 
 134 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 been left for her. Before long she con- 
 ceived a suspicion that she was being 
 asphyxiated as a preliminary to Jesuit 
 designs on her mistress — hence the jjassio 
 hysterica. 
 
 So much description ol Elizabeth's 
 wander-year would not have been inflicted 
 on the reader, but that her dormant facul- 
 ties were warmed to life during its experi- 
 ences. She made a beginning of that strife 
 of good and evil which must be in every 
 fully developed soul, and which perhaps is 
 most fierce when the character is noblest 
 and most sincere. 
 
 E/Ome at first confused and almost stunned 
 her. At Venice she had been amazed 
 by the records of its liberal life, and in 
 all North Italy she had keenly sympathized 
 with the human energy of which each city, 
 and even each field, showed marks. But 
 Rome has none but ruined forums, and 
 her Triumphal Way is but a road haunted 
 by funeral processions. She is the tomb
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 135 
 
 of many civilizations. Human energy sees 
 written on her brow, and even on the 
 trailing robe of her Campagna that is 
 folded around her, the Mene Mene of an 
 adverse judgment. The squalor of the 
 mediaeval village that has grown up among 
 her ruins hardly offends, for in the shadow of 
 the omnipresent Death, none but a Hauss- 
 man and those who speculate in boulevards 
 could desire to whitewash the vast sepulchre. 
 
 Within its gloom there is one sign of 
 life, however, that is tolerable^and suitable. 
 It is the worship that in the multiplicity 
 of its forms and dogmas gathers round 
 the unity of the Resurrection. On the 
 day when the Pasqua di Resurrezione is 
 celebrated, is given to the world the solu- 
 tion of that mystery which at Rome is more 
 present than elsewhere. The Church that 
 proclaims Life in Death has well enthroned 
 itself where Death seems Lord to the dis- 
 couraged human soul. 
 
 But of this good news Elizabeth knew
 
 136 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 and thouglit little. She loved visible tokens 
 of intellectual power, and the galleries of 
 the Vatican and the Capitol, the palaces 
 beautified by art, were pleasanter to her 
 than the churches. . She honoured the Greek 
 ideals and the traces of Roman power, but 
 she had small interest in the festivals com- 
 memorative of humility and resignation. 
 The wolf of the Capitol she understood 
 better than the lambs of St. Agnes. 
 
 She was too uneducated, and had too 
 shallow a conception of complex humanity, 
 to perceive that corresponding to it were 
 the complex ceremonies of Catholic wor- 
 ship, while the all-pervasive leaven of 
 Catholic practice was referable to a faith 
 as simple as the melody of the old Hun- 
 dredth Psalm. But the melody is arranged 
 for fullest orchestra where every instru- 
 ment and every voice has its place. 
 
 One or two of the habitual English 
 residents left cards for her, but it was 
 soon understood that her widowhood was
 
 ELIZABETH EDEX. 137 
 
 to be respected in social matters. Slie 
 was discussed now and then on Sundays, 
 for she went to church regularly, and the 
 Anglicans walking home by the Via del 
 Babuino had sometimes little bits of gossip 
 about her to repeat. 
 
 What they knew was mostly picked up 
 at the French Embassy ; for it chanced 
 that in a former generation a Comte de 
 Kerhuon of the emigration had married a 
 Miss Guise. Their son and his wife were 
 permanently attached to the Ambassadorial 
 staff at Eome. Elderly, and of large ex- 
 perience, M. de Kerhuon was too useful to 
 be dismissed, whether Louis Philippe or 
 Louis Napoleon were chief. They had, true 
 to national custom, respect for ties of blood, 
 and they showed extreme kindness, cordial, 
 and not socially oppressive to their kins- 
 woman. She recognized its worth, and by 
 the end of four months M. and Madame de 
 Kerhuon were almost her friends. Having 
 made an English alliance in their exile the
 
 138 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Breton prejudices were necessarily some- 
 what abated. They forgave "Mistress" 
 Eden her taste for bread-sauce, for pepper, 
 and for driving in an open carriage ; they 
 pitied but condoned her widow's cap, but 
 they could not learn to spell her name 
 otherwise than Iden ; so restoring the old 
 orthography by which it was known to 
 Jack Cade, supposing Jack Cade could 
 spell. 
 
 They understood her wish to keep clear 
 of English and American civilities, but 
 through them she made acquaintance with 
 three or four distinguished archeologists 
 and artists ; among whom was the director 
 of the French academy, by whose leave the 
 gardens of the Villa Medici were open to 
 her. No social aids were thus wanting to 
 her Roman culture. They introduced to her 
 the kind Englishman who was then officially 
 charged with the presentation of his coun- 
 trymen to the Pope. Elizabeth's mourn- 
 ing was no excuse when it was a question
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 139 
 
 of her being granted an audience at the 
 Yatican, and when a dragoon orderly left 
 the summons to court for her, she had to 
 collect her wits for her interview, confused 
 as they were by the strangeness of her 
 Eoman impressions. 
 
 Every one knew the sovereign charm of 
 St. Peter's representative. Mrs. Eden's 
 momentary embarrassment at entering his 
 presence was soon changed to respect 
 that was half filial, though his words were 
 simple, and in another mouth would have 
 seemed sufficiently mundane. He talked 
 of the advantages of railways, and of 
 English enterprise ; but the manliness and 
 energy of the person who so spoke 
 were instinctively felt by Elizabeth, and 
 stirred again in her the sympathies roused 
 so often in Northern Italy. 
 
 She spoke excellent Italian, such as the 
 Holy Father loved to hear, and all the 
 braver for his smile she asked him to 
 write his name on a photograph she had
 
 140 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 brought witli her. That he would not do, 
 but he wrote on the back of the card, 
 " Quia acceptus erat Deo, necesse fuit ut 
 tentatio probavet te." The sentence is to 
 be found in the book of Tobit, and may 
 be rendered, " Because thou wert accept- 
 able, it was necessary that temptation 
 should prove thee." Was it an act of 
 second sight? Who shall say ? But the 
 passage seemed at the time little interest- 
 ing or suitable to the occasion. 
 
 When Lent was well advanced, and Mrs. 
 Eden had been sufficiently long at Rome 
 to feel that she knew nothing of it, a 
 letter from Mrs. Harlay announced that an 
 attack of " clergyman's throat " had made 
 it prudent for her husband to leave Eng- 
 land during the spring winds. She wrote 
 from Nice, and hoped to be at Eome for 
 Holy Week. As the hotels were likely to 
 be crowded, she begged her dearest Mrs. 
 Eden to engage rooms for the rector, 
 herself, and Oily. And Elizabeth saw no
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 141 
 
 way out of tlie discomfort ; M. Gendre, the 
 landlord, was ready to do " anything for 
 Madame," and would find or make room 
 for her friends. 
 
 The Harlays arrived ten days before 
 Easter, and by the time the ceremonies 
 of Palm Sunday were over they had dis- 
 covered at least two dozen acquaintances, 
 and several dear friends, in the reserved 
 pen for ladies at St. Peter's, and in the 
 crowd that swayed to and fro, from nave 
 to transept. Mrs. Harlay had meant to 
 utilize for social purposes her dearest 
 Mrs. Eden, but she found a different 
 woman from what she had expected. In- 
 credible as it seemed to the Sussex matron, 
 Mrs. Eden showed no readiness to profit 
 by her worldly advantages. Before the 
 dissipations of Holy Week had well begun, 
 for they do not set in with severity until 
 Wednesday before Easter, there was in 
 the Harlay sitting-room an ebb and flow 
 of company, which effectually kept Eliza-
 
 142 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 beth out of it. The spare places in her 
 carriage, on whicli the rectorial party had 
 conceived designs, were reserved for the 
 nse of the Kerhuons. Nor could Mrs. 
 Harlay entrap Elizabeth by showering on 
 her tickets for admission to every possible 
 function. Of course that experienced per- 
 sonage knew how to secure all such ad- 
 vantages, and indeed how to persuade the 
 Major Domo of the Vatican Court that she 
 was a peculiarly-distinguished member of 
 English society. Mrs. Eden, however, 
 guided by the Kerhuons, only went where 
 something of the deeper sentiment and 
 truer emotion was likely to be roused. 
 The ceremonies did not particularly im- 
 press her, but she liked to be undisturbed 
 by the incongruous mob of reserved-place- 
 holders. Safe on the diplomatic bench she 
 escaped Isolda's chatter during the '' Song 
 of the Passion " in the Sistine Chapel, 
 nor was her soul vexed by the conversa- 
 tion of that plain-spoken young woman
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 143 
 
 who, when the silver trumpets filled the 
 dome with something more than music, 
 declared to an American neighbour that 
 the Engineer band played the " thing " 
 much better. 
 
 '' We shall stay, I think, till after Ascen- 
 sion Day," said Mrs. Harlay, when the 
 excitements of Easter were sufficiently 
 calmed to let her discuss plans in Mrs. 
 Eden's drawing-room ; " Christopher is 
 quite in his element here." 
 
 *' And Oily is too," observed Elizabeth. 
 " She seems to have plenty to do in the 
 way of picnics and riding parties." 
 
 " Yes, she is pretty well amused," said 
 Mrs. Harlay, with a smile meant to convey 
 a meaning aside. " Young Count Savelli 
 has found her a charming horse. Really 
 these Italians are very good-natured — well- 
 dressed too." 
 
 " Poole dresses the best of them," ob- 
 served Oily, "Mr. Skeggs told me." 
 
 " Skeggs ! my dear."
 
 144 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Never mind tlie name, mother, lie is 
 tliat jolly American, brother of the girl 
 who told you the Kerhuons were a scaly 
 lot." 
 
 " My love, don't," remonstrated Mrs. 
 Harlay feebly. She suddenly remembered 
 that Skeggs father had " struck oil" to a 
 fabulous amount, and oil of that sort would 
 be very acceptable on the troubled waters 
 at the rectory, where tradesmen's duns 
 were frequent. 
 
 " Is there no chance of your joining our 
 party to Ostia next week, my dear Mrs. 
 Eden," she went on smoothly, for Elizabeth 
 looked stiff at hearing such criticism of her 
 French friends. 
 
 " I think not ; Oily tells me that there 
 are to be four omnibusfulls of people." 
 
 " Big bugs, Erminia Skeggs calls 
 them ; extensive flies, in short," observed 
 Isolda. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Harlay, with a little 
 good-humoured sigh and shrug, " I suppose
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 145 
 
 our young people must be of their age, and 
 it is sadly American. Perhaps all the 
 better. Everything is for the best," she 
 added airily. 
 
 "And the artists' fete at Cervara? 
 That's surely in your line, Mrs. Eden," said 
 Oily, " picturesque and all that." 
 
 "And," added Mrs. Harlay, "carefully 
 correct in giving him his right title, Signor 
 Filippo, of the Princes Corsini, says that 
 the Neapolitan Royalties and everybody 
 who is anybody will go." 
 
 "Well," said Elizabeth, amused at the 
 mixture of English ideas and Roman cus- 
 toms. " I am going where the Neapolitan 
 Royalties can't go. I think of Naples next 
 week." 
 
 "Ah," said Isolda, with one of those 
 knowing looks which roused special anta- 
 gonism in Mrs. Eden, " I heard the De 
 Kerhuons were going ; their son Bertrand 
 is a chum of Signor Filippo' s." 
 
 "And, dearest friend," said Mrs. Harlay 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 pathetically, and really vexed, for she had 
 not given up hope of making Elizabeth 
 useful, " there is that horrid fever there, 
 and I shall be so dreadfully sorry if you 
 are not here on Wednesday. It would be 
 such support, and really Oily is very wild 
 and wilful about it." 
 Mrs. Harlay was quite incoherent in her fuss. 
 " What is to be on Wednesday ? " 
 " Just what I want to explain. It seems 
 a charitable collection is to be got up for 
 the wife of the huntsman, and some girls 
 who like riding are to have a little hurdle 
 race, and after that the Duke of Velletri is 
 to hand round the hat. Prince Aldobran- 
 dini's son, you know." 
 
 "Bonnet; it's to be a regular gampish 
 tile. But really, Mrs. Eden," added Oily, 
 " it will be very jolly ; a lot of us rode out 
 this morning and settled the course. The 
 two Skeggs, Countess Simor the Hungarian, 
 Lottie St. Leger, and myself, will be in the 
 first flight, I think."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 147 
 
 '' Only that Charlotte St. Leger is so 
 old a friend and so nice in every way," 
 said Mrs. Harlay nervously, " I should not 
 have allowed Oily to ride." 
 
 " Lady Charlotte is a good guide over 
 hurdles, but — " began Elizabeth. 
 
 " Oh, I assure you, Lottie is a regular 
 brick," broke in Oily; "she isn't slow, if 
 you mean that." 
 
 " Charlotte is everything that is excel- 
 lent, everything," asserted Mrs. Harlay; 
 " her mother is guarantee for that. She 
 is outspoken, and is very superior, and 
 people misunderstand her about the rights 
 of women. I'm sure I can't imagine what 
 they want, but anyhow this is quite a 
 proper charity, and they won't let Oily out 
 of it : she is, I hear, the best of the riders." 
 
 Mrs. Eden was certainly amused by the 
 notion of such a race, but she did not ao-ree 
 to go until she found the Kerhuons wanted 
 to see ces Mees Anglaises, as phenomena 
 worthy of international observation. With- 
 L 2
 
 148 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 out Elizabeth's elucidations they could not 
 have thoroughly appreciated the chari- 
 table performance ; so she offered them 
 her carriage, and was herself persuaded 
 to go. 
 
 All Rome except its ecclesiastical element 
 was in the field by the Appian Way, where 
 Lady Lottie and her squad were to exhibit. 
 Most of the crowd went with that ever- 
 unsatisfied wish to grasp the mysteries of 
 Albion and its blond daughters which besets 
 other than Englishmen. Six of the com- 
 peting fair were of the United Kingdom 
 and two American. There was lively 
 betting on every possible event connected 
 with the race and the intrepid " sports- 
 mans," as the riders were persistently called 
 by their French backers, were critically eyed 
 in respect of their weight, looks, and dress. 
 Oily was " dark," as she explained, for few 
 of the regular hunting set knew her eques- 
 trian skill, but J. B. W. Skeggs, Utopia 
 City, Missouri, and Filippo dei Principi
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 149 
 
 Corsini and Count Sayelli stood to lose 
 heavily if she were not first or second. 
 
 "There are your reverends," said 
 Madame de Kerhuon, as the Harlay car- 
 riage hired for the day drew up near Mrs. 
 Eden's, which was in a good place, and as 
 close to the railed-in course as the crowd 
 leaning against them allowed. " You tell 
 me that he is the Anglican cure of your 
 parish, dear mistress ! "
 
 150 ELIZABETH EDEN, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Me. Haelay was dressed according to ad- 
 vanced Pan- Anglicanism, in a grey morning 
 suit, violet tie, and billycock hat. But if 
 his clothes were of a sporting sort, he did 
 not like his daughter's doings much. He 
 was the kindest father possible however, 
 and he hardly wished to contradict her 
 when she was not certainly wrong. Some- 
 how he was conscious that he had lost 
 social anchorage since he had come to Rome. 
 He no longer felt rectorial, and he readily 
 drifted as chance took him. True Catho- 
 licism of thought he called his mood, and 
 his equal interest in Pompeian graffiti and 
 the altars of the Christian catacombs he
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 151 
 
 really believed to be liberal recognition of 
 human growth under varying aspects but 
 ever upwards, of course ! 
 
 "And the reverend Mistress Harlay, 
 why does she wear such a mixture of 
 colours?" asked M. de Kerhuon; " Meess 
 is perfectly well-dressed as Amazon, and 
 is very well." 
 
 There was plenty of time for observa- 
 tion, as it was hard to start the charity 
 ockeys. At last the thud of horses 
 galloping swept up the field, and the eight 
 horsewomen came up the course well 
 together. It was narrow, and on each side 
 the Campagna swelled into low hills. Mrs. 
 Eden's carriage was opposite the hurdle 
 which would be taken last, and where the 
 struggle would be greatest. It had to be 
 jumped three times in the three rounds, 
 and Madame de Kerhuon became really 
 excited by the strange sight of young 
 women so entirely different from her 
 French ideal. Blowsy Lady Lottie's hair
 
 152 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 floated wildly on tlie breeze before she had 
 taken her third hurdle, and somebody's 
 chignon, to remain for ever unclaimed, 
 lay on the course; but Oily was neat, and 
 really looked well as she steered her power- 
 ful English thoroughbred with perfect self- 
 possession. 
 
 Mrs. Harlay was anxious, but with a 
 speculative anxiety that had little to do 
 with Isolda's personal safety. She hoped 
 much from the enthusiasm of the young 
 men who made Olly's little court. Surely 
 some solid result would come of the frantic 
 applause that greeted her daughter as she 
 lifted her horse to each leap and sat him 
 like a bird. 
 
 " There is to be a ' desperation ball ' 
 to-night, w^here all these ladies will shine. 
 The 'madre disperate' will flock there. 
 Has the reverend Meess a large fortune?" 
 asked M. de Kerhuon. 
 
 " None, I should think," said Mrs. 
 Eden.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 153 
 
 " All ! that is wliy her motber looks 
 anxious, poor thing. But those young 
 fellows will not marry without money." 
 
 As he spoke a sudden fear was on the 
 faces of all who were within sight of the 
 final hurdle. Silence and paralyzed horror 
 fell on the motley picnickers, for a three- 
 years' toddling child had crept under the 
 bars of the railing, and with a little shout 
 of joy it had fluttered to the spot just 
 under the hurdle where Lady Lottie had 
 dropped a bright red feather from her 
 Louis Treize hat. 
 
 The horses still in the race were coming 
 up at their best pace for the finish. They 
 were five in number now, for two had been 
 distanced, and one lady had been thrown. 
 Even if the little figure stooping behind 
 the hurdle was visible, the riders could not 
 well have pulled up. So all the lookers- 
 on held their breath in a hush of suspense, 
 for every one hoped against hope that the 
 horses might so clear the fence and so
 
 154 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 shape their course as to leave the child 
 untouched. 
 
 Before there was time for most of the 
 lookers-on to think why every countenance 
 was drawn and pale in the instinct of 
 danger and to see the situation, a slight 
 young Englishman vaulted over the rail 
 with a spring that nearly took him to 
 where the child knelt playing with her 
 prize. Snatching at her sash he flung her 
 forward before him, clear of the line the 
 horses would take. Then came the riders 
 in a rush, Oily first, and close by her 
 Erminia Skeggs, but active as a lizard 
 the Englishman crouched low, and so 
 close to the hurdle that the horses cleared 
 him. 
 
 The emotion of the crowd was intense 
 until, when the race had swept by, he 
 quickly got on his feet, and lifting the 
 frightened and screaming child, he carried 
 her back to her people. Half the Italians 
 came swarming over the rail in frantic
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN". 155 
 
 welcome of him ; and though Oily had won 
 the race, the honours of the day were for 
 him. 
 
 If the crowd had not been chiefly of the 
 well-bred sort he might not have escaped 
 a troublesome chairing into Rome or 
 some equally disagreeable testimony to his 
 prowess. As it was, however, the Duke of 
 Yelletri quenched the spirit of the assembly 
 by handing round a venerable bonnet of 
 grandmotherly appearance for contribu- 
 tions to the huntsman's wife. 
 
 Elizabeth had said nothing ; she had not 
 joined in the bravis or in the ensuing 
 murmur of inquiry who the hero was. 
 But his courage and coolness had appealed 
 to her instinctive love of what shows 
 strength and manliness. For the first 
 time there was a stir of spontaneous 
 admiration in her, and there was in her 
 some of that nature which took the Eoman 
 women to the arena where courage even 
 to death was shown, and the athlete
 
 156 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 who played tlie man best could bind the 
 haughtiest of the noble ladies as in a 
 spell. 
 
 Mrs. Eden might have found abundance 
 to criticize in the English stranger, but 
 she forgot to do so. Ten minutes after- 
 wards, when Mrs. Harlaj brought him up 
 in triumph and reminded her that he was 
 her old acquaintance Sir Ernest Harlay, 
 Elizabeth, still under the impression of the 
 scene of the hurdle, visibly started and 
 coloured. The afternoon storm on the 
 Mer de Glace and the day of her husband's 
 death came before her as the shadows of a 
 dream sometimes haunt us, and seem more 
 present than real circumstance. The past 
 and present jarred discordantly, but from 
 the discord some indefinite new harmony 
 trembled into life, unheard as yet, but one 
 day to master her by its strength and 
 sweetness. 
 
 She recovered herself instantly, and 
 though unusually embarrassed for her, she
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 157 
 
 said some commonplaces about his presence 
 of mind. 
 
 Sir Ernest so obviously disliked any- 
 special congratulation on what after all 
 had been no effort to him, that Mrs. Eden 
 was silenced, and, as a change of subject, 
 introduced him to the Kerhuons. 
 
 "Only fancy," said Mrs. Harlay, '^ Ernest 
 arrived yesterday, and never made us out. 
 How did you find your way here to-day, 
 my dear boy ?" 
 
 " I was at the tomb of Cecilia Metella, 
 and I asked where all your carriages were 
 going to. You made some dust," he said, 
 looking at his rather shabby tourist clothes. 
 " I did not expect to see you, but I was 
 not sorry to have a stretch on the 
 Campagna; I like it better than the 
 city." 
 
 " Well, Oily," said Mrs. Harlay to her 
 daughter, who joined them with a train of 
 admiring " sportmans," rather flushed, but 
 certainly handsome, '* where is your
 
 158 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 crown? and when shall we get off? You 
 
 musn't forget Mrs. M 's at home ; and 
 
 yon will be knocked up before the ball." 
 
 "We both of us behaved well, didn't 
 we, old fellow?" said Oily to her cousin; 
 ''rather astonished the natives. Erminia 
 Skeggs took a deal of beating. T say, 
 mother, she and her brother, J. B. W., 
 want seats home, so I offered them room 
 in our trap." 
 
 " Five of us, my dear ?" but Mrs. Harlay 
 soon relented ; Mr. Skeggs was quite first 
 of the American prize " partis " on their 
 European tour. 
 
 "Mrs. Eden will give Ernest a seat," 
 went on Oily, who had acquired great social 
 coolness, and was, besides, in her hour of 
 triumph. 
 
 Sir Ernest Harlay spoke as well as read 
 his French, and the Kerhuons were pleased 
 with him and his slightly ceremonious 
 manner. 
 
 " Very English, dear mistress," said
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 159 
 
 Madame de Kerhuon aside, '' but not 
 Englisli of the new scliool. I can under- 
 stand wliat lie says even in his own 
 language." 
 
 As Ernest said he had very few days to 
 spend in Rome, M. de Kerhuon proposed 
 that they should turn off from the Appian 
 Way, and taking a grass lane across some 
 fields, get on the new Albano Road, and 
 enter Rome by the gate of St. John. 
 
 There was plenty to talk about as the 
 carriage plunged up and down the grass 
 way across the Campagna. The lights on 
 the Alban hills, the cattle, the lines of 
 aqueduct, supplied subjects, so that they 
 had passed the walls of Rome almost with- 
 out perceiving them. 
 
 Madame de Kerhuon wished to go into 
 the great Lateran Basilica hard by, and so 
 the carriage drew up before it and all got 
 out; but to Mrs. Eden's surprise. Sir 
 Ernest excused himself from going in. 
 He took a note-book and a little box of
 
 160 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 four water-colours from liis pocket, and 
 said lie should try to catch the lines and 
 ever so little of the colour of the landscape. 
 Its remarkable beauty partly excused him, 
 but Mrs. Eden had noticed a grave look, 
 almost of concern, as she followed her friends 
 under the leathern curtain of the door. 
 
 They went afterwards to the Wolkonski 
 villa, to see the views thence and the cycla- 
 mens and other wild flowers, then in the 
 full beauty of their tender grace. A 
 moment separated from her French friends, 
 Elizabeth asked Ernest why he had not 
 cared to see one of the great churches of 
 Eome. 
 
 " The inscription on the front hindered 
 me," he said quietly. " I would not for 
 idle curiosity accept by my slightest action 
 the assumption that there is the Mother 
 and Mistress of all Churches." 
 
 Elizabeth had nothing to say. In her 
 ordinary perception the protest of this stiff 
 young soldier would have seemed absurd ;
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 161 
 
 but just then she was not disposed to think 
 him absurd. So she was simply surprised, 
 and even impressed by, his singularity, and 
 the individuality which, without ostenta- 
 tion, kept him from doing and thinking at 
 Rome like every one else. 
 
 The day following Mrs. Eden left Rome 
 for Na23les with M. and Madame deKerhuon, 
 who had many friends there. By the time 
 that, having slowly and thoroughly tasted 
 the delights of the Campanian shore and 
 sea, Elizabeth arrived at La Cava, the 
 loveliest season of the year had come. 
 She and her friends had been invited by a 
 Tyrrhene magnate to his villa in the 
 mountain valley, whence they could visit 
 luxuriously the Salernian sights. There, 
 in her repose, Elizabeth's impressions of 
 the plain took form. The spell of its lush 
 growth, and plenteous life was on her, and 
 existence seemed of a different texture 
 to the grey warp and woof of Edenhurst. 
 When, by the dim glow which came up 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 beliind the crest of rugged mountains after 
 sunset, the purple sea below was myste- 
 riously lighted, while the verandah where 
 she stood was fringed with fire-flies, the 
 intoxication of natural beauty made her 
 intellect reel. For days she had been 
 steeped in its magic, and now the May 
 perfumes, the power of lusty spring just 
 perfected to fruitful summer wrought in 
 her, while in opposition was almost passio- 
 nate impatience of what she thought the 
 discordant and Manichsean teaching of 
 Christians. 
 
 The whole country had been in mediaeval 
 times colonized by ascetics, but in spite of 
 anchorites and convent-bells, the cult of 
 Isis and Dionysos, and of the lesser 
 personifications of natural forces, after all 
 survived the Christian exorcisms. It 
 seemed, perhaps, the fittest in presence of 
 the living Vesuvius, rent by living Titans. 
 The sea-grottoes, in their opaline loveli- 
 ness, could not be altogether deserted by
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 163 
 
 their Nereids. In that enchanted land the 
 fabled links which drew earth and sky 
 together seemed to Elizabeth less broken 
 than elsewhere. Airy messengers and 
 sentient echoes still syllabled in her ears 
 the name of Pan and his fellows. 
 
 Decidedly Mrs. Eden ought to have been 
 a citizen of Pompeii or under the care of 
 Dr. Forbes Winslow, during some of the 
 hours spent at Cava de Tirreni ! Nor was 
 she restored to English and Edenhurst 
 sanity by an expedition of two days to 
 Amalfi. 
 
 There had been talk of brigands, but in 
 the clatter of six fast horses galloping with 
 their two light carriages down the gorge 
 of Vietri towards the laughing sea, the 
 Kerhuon party forgot their fears. If there 
 were Era Diavolos in the purple yet luminous 
 folds of the turreted mountains, they must 
 be distanced. Village after village streamed 
 down the course of each of the mountain 
 torrents they passed, and nestled in the 
 M 2
 
 164 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 cove below, so fhat the road was not solitary. 
 And wherever the torrents had brought with 
 them earth enough were lemon and orange 
 orchards, some perched on crags, some 
 sloping to the beach where bronzed Masa- 
 niellos and their nets reddened the line of 
 silvery surf. Never before had Elizabeth 
 felt such exultant life. The rapid pace of 
 the horses, which, fed on carouba pods, 
 never turned a hair though the sun blazed 
 down on them, the fresh sea breeze on the 
 myrtle-clothed headlands made her feel 
 younger than ever she had felt in her girl- 
 hood. Never had she known the keen en- 
 joyment which her two days at the little 
 inn on the shore at Amalfi gave her. On 
 the quay just under her balcony were laid 
 out heaps of red corn to dry, rich in colour, 
 against the dark-blue, breezy sea. Boys 
 were about, playing, bathing, wrestling ; 
 boats were being launched and lateen sails 
 hoisted in the sun for the anchovy fishing 
 off P^stum ; towards the long levels of the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 165 
 
 distant coast some were already fleeing fast. 
 On shore in the crowded antique lanes were 
 women in yellow silk shawls and slippers, 
 with pointed toes as in Pompeian frescoes ; 
 few girls, but tangles of men and boys 
 chattering and screaming like wild fowl. 
 The glimmer of clear depths, divined rather 
 than seen under the shadow of the cliffs, 
 made Elizabeth long for a boat before she 
 had half appreciated the land scene ; but the 
 De Kerhuons were not seafaring people, and 
 though the padrone of the inn offered to take 
 her, they persuaded her instead to go with 
 them in search of the relics of St. Andrew, 
 once the chief hope of the Amalfians, when 
 the Saracen sails hovered like hawks in 
 the bay of Salerno. Fortified by a luncheon 
 of quails netted in their mountain passes, 
 and red mullet, the Kerhuons were next 
 prepared to go in quest of the macaroni 
 and paper-factories which are the pride of 
 the place. The vision of dough and its 
 kneaders they agreed to forget, but the
 
 166 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 valley of paper-mills enticed tliem up its 
 fern-draped ravine, till, coming out of one of 
 the arches that span the turbid stream, two 
 evident Englishmen appeared suddenly. 
 The dignity with which we greet our fellow 
 islanders was instantly assumed by Mrs. 
 Eden, but as quickly mitigated when she 
 knew them to be her rector and his nephew. 
 They were on a little tour independent of Mrs. 
 Harlay and Oily, whom they had left still 
 in Rome achieving conquests. They were 
 to stay that night at Amalfi and go next 
 morning to Capri, thence in all haste they 
 must return to Rome, for the rector's leave 
 of absence had nearly expired, and he was 
 not sorry to detach his women-kind from 
 the too picnicking society they were in. 
 
 When they got back to the quay it was 
 still early afternoon. The luck of Mr. 
 Harlay' s presence made boating easy for 
 Elizabeth, and when Sir Ernest proposed a 
 sail she could not well refuse what she had 
 been wishing for, though she was not now
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 167 
 
 frankly eager as before. To amuse his guests 
 tlie landlord took with liim fisliing-lines and 
 serpula for bait, but first the breeze served 
 them for a sail towards Passtum. The boat 
 seemed to leap and dance in time as the 
 sailors sung barcarolles with well-marked 
 rhythm. Then the breeze fell and they 
 rowed in and out the deep grottoes in the 
 twisted cliffs, and so along the coast towards 
 Scaricatojo among the lines of buoys that 
 marked the nets. The sea made thunder 
 along the caverned shore like the trampling 
 of horses on a hollow place, and when they 
 stationed themselves near the cliffs to fish, 
 Elizabeth would have liked complete silence, 
 the better to listen, but Sir Ernest was eager 
 as a boy about the green and blue and 
 red fish, like those in the Arabian story, 
 which he pulled out of the water. One, a 
 silvery riband with a velvety black snout, 
 she could not but herself admire, and she 
 asked its name, which in English may be 
 rendered " die in the sun." The rector was
 
 168 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 eloquent on Aryan mytliology, and lectured 
 on Dyaus and the gods of early Greece and 
 the Solar myths until Elizabeth vaguely 
 wondered if the simple faith in personal 
 divinities, masters of the visible phenomena 
 of life, were not better than the subtleties 
 of a creed outworn. She was conscious 
 of a sudden change of voice and manner 
 that showed embarrassment rather than 
 reverence, when a question from Sir Ernest 
 threw his uncle back on his Bible and 
 Prayer-Book. A thought forced itself 
 almost involuntarily into utterance; and 
 " Has Christianity really spent its force ? " 
 she said to herself as she leant low over the 
 stern of the boat, not thinking that either 
 Englishman would hear her. 
 
 The rector's talk had saddened her. The 
 exultation she had felt in the last few days 
 died away as he discoursed of lost faiths, and 
 so reminded her of the mysteries underly- 
 ing the material world which she had half 
 forgotten. And her instinct told her, that
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 169 
 
 worthy English gentleman as he was, her 
 pastor had himself no personal grasp of the 
 dogmas he taught officially. They did not 
 interest him as did the early myths ; the 
 science of religion rather than religion it- 
 self was important in his thoughts. 
 
 The moment when the untrained but eager 
 intellect, the winged but imprisoned soul, 
 first seriously asks, '' What is Truth ? " 
 doubtful of its habitual belief, is a terible 
 one to sincere and honest people. To many 
 it may not occur, but for those who are noble 
 in their aims, yet unaided by authoritative 
 teaching, it is a necessary baptism. Sitting 
 in that boat under the Tyrrhene coast, it 
 came to Elizabeth. The light grew dim on 
 the cliffs, the smile left the sea. The old 
 voice sounded in her ears, '' Pan is dead;" 
 and was He of Nazareth the more alive ? 
 Which of us does not know how such a 
 shadow can suddenly enfold us, and all our 
 circumstances seem unreal, and a sickening 
 dread lest after all we should be mere high-
 
 170 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 way dust, the fools of faith and hope, checks 
 in us the throb of hfe. 
 
 Both her companions heard her half 
 sigh, half question. The rector spoke at 
 some length to show that of course it was 
 not allowable for a member of the English 
 Church to think so, but that still it must 
 be conceded that the evolution of society 
 might require a new revelation of the 
 mediaeval divinity. Elizabeth knew pretty 
 well what he had to say and she hardly 
 listened to him, but an impulse caused her 
 to look straight into Ernest Harlay's face. 
 He had said nothing, but his blue eyes were 
 rather dreamily fixed on a distant line 
 where some dolphins at play disturbed the 
 shining calm of the afternoon sea. A slight 
 smile was on his lips ; he did not turn when 
 she looked at him ; he was evidently for the 
 moment absent in spirit. In her sharp 
 pang of scepticism Mrs. Eden, quick to such 
 a perception, knew him to have faith in the 
 unknown God whom in her heart she had
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 171 
 
 just denied. When Mr. Harlay had 
 finished his official answer no one spoke 
 for some time. Sir Ernest fished, and to 
 the sailors seemed a sufficiently uninterest- 
 ing and morose Milor, to his uncle a rather 
 wrong-headed young fellow ; but Elizabeth 
 recognized instinctively in him that power 
 which is in proportion greatest of all human 
 powers, and can make of an inferior man 
 in certain circumstances a hero. Little 
 was said as the sailors pulled slowly home- 
 wards, and little definitely thought out. 
 Elizabeth belonged to that species of woman 
 not so nearly extinct as it might seem, 
 which though well endowed of brain and 
 heart yet gropes for help, and clings pas- 
 sionately to what seems stronger than her- 
 self in any difficulty. She had not paid 
 special attention to Mr. Eden's quotations 
 from Montaigne, or exactly caught his trick 
 of applying the solvent que sais-je to what- 
 ever case of conscience occurred, but habits 
 grow imperceptibly, and particularly habits
 
 172 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 of thouglit. Besides, now-a-days, there 
 is in the air a catching belief that we are 
 outgrowing old creeds and on the verge of 
 new revelations, so that without scruple we 
 may loosen the antique garments, however 
 venerable their warp and woof. The 
 religion that had no other foundation than 
 an infallible book was not one to serve 
 Elizabeth She knew no other, and so, as 
 she was well read in current literature, a 
 well-bred unobtrusive and indiflPerent scep- 
 ticism had reduced her in rehgious questions 
 to the '' how can I tell ? " shrug. Yet this 
 mood had been socially imposed and was 
 not natural to her, and she almost morbidly 
 desired evidences of a reverse temper in 
 others. Her doubts confused her, for 
 while they commended themselves to her 
 hair-educated reason, the emotional part of 
 her character, which was the most power- 
 ful, instinctively delighted in enthusiastic 
 action, and in that energy which is born of 
 faith, in whatever noble cause.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 173 
 
 Elizabeth, moving in the grooves of 
 English life, marked out bj mediaeval 
 Christians, it is true, but from which the 
 original meaning has long disappeared, had 
 never come across the illumination of 
 spiritual possession on any face, until by 
 her murmured question she had roused in 
 Ernest Harlay his demon. What table- 
 turning wonders are stranger than those 
 which daily happen when the powers we 
 call spirits come and go in our companions, 
 sometimes suddenly incarnate in the eye, or 
 sensible in the voice of some one of whom 
 we have henceforth a new perception? 
 
 Sir Ernest Harlay was certainly no hero, 
 though in a fair way of becoming one to 
 Mrs. Eden's imagination because he had a 
 quality she lacked. It is no doubt a 
 quality that has served humanity well, and 
 saved millions from relapse to savagery, but 
 Elizabeth, captivated by its presence, never 
 looked to see if Ernest's enthusiasm was 
 not of that narrow sort which runs into
 
 174 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 fanaticism. Probably in her mood of 
 vague craving for more life and fuller she 
 would still have preferred fanaticism to 
 formalism. Liberal compromises had 
 become altogether distasteful, but she 
 would have idolized St. Dominic or John 
 Bunyan, conscious of a power in them 
 unaccountable, but all the more attractive. 
 Ernest was the only son of the rector's 
 elder brother, Sir Salvation Harlay, and 
 his early years had been controlled by 
 an excellent Bible- Christian mother. If 
 there had not been Puritan blood in the 
 boy, such training would probably have 
 roused in him antagonism. A sensitive 
 pride of birth and that singleness of pur- 
 pose which working in a narrow brain and 
 animating a will susceptible of inspiration 
 but in itself weak, were his prominent 
 characteristics. The type is not so com- 
 mon as it might have been when faith was 
 epidemic, but it still exists. Sir Ernest 
 represented a family that had been for
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 175 
 
 generations tlie chief squires in tlieir dis- 
 trict. It had contributed to the county 
 annals men of liiark who were, however, 
 seldom courtiers, and who had suffered 
 much snubbing as a rule from the powers 
 of the day. For ten years of the Restora- 
 tion orgy Sir Zachary Harlay showed him- 
 self as fanatical in dicing and drinking as 
 his father had been in the conduct of the 
 Irish war under Ireton. Sir Zachary 
 might have won his peerage, but the family 
 narrowness hindered him from due civility 
 to Lady Castlemain, and since the day that 
 was given by him the first mortgage which 
 encumbered Harlay Abbot the Harlays had 
 made little figure in the world. The name, 
 however, now and then appears in memoirs 
 of the last-century mystics, and since then in 
 " No Popery " associations and Evangelical 
 Alliances. Family types are everywhere 
 assuming teints degrades, and Sir Ernest was 
 but an oiled and curled Puritan and pocket 
 prophet. Still the temperament was there.
 
 176 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 He had gone with his regiment to India 
 soon after joining, and since his return to 
 Europe he had lounged and dreamt unso- 
 cially about the world, except when called 
 on by the managers of his party to appear, 
 as at New York the other day — so baiting 
 the entrance to the ''narrow way" by a 
 believing baronet. The fanatic temper 
 looks everywhere for Ahriman. He fiercely 
 scorned the ancient faiths he had met in 
 the east, and yet more angrily recoiled from 
 the Amalfian cult of St. Andrew. Had he 
 discovered that errors of faith are rare, but 
 corruptions of fcruths very general, he might 
 have been more patient. As men, however, 
 generally find what they passionately 
 believe to exist, Ahriman has a ghastly 
 pre-eminence in Puritan notions of life. 
 
 The Harlay estates were so heavily en- 
 cumbered that Ernest's interest in them 
 was nearly nominal. A bad tenant or bad 
 harvest might any year bring them to the 
 hammer ; such a position is likely to make
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 177 
 
 a young man of tlie melancholic variety 
 bitter, and unequal to the wear and tear of 
 good fellowship. His cousin Oily was 
 almost more than he could bear, but his 
 uncle's company interested him. Con- 
 temptuous of the Prayer-Book, he enjoyed 
 the rector's gymnastics on the Articles. 
 Instinctively he avoided men of his own 
 type, the friction of correspondent fana- 
 ticism would have been too great, but he 
 felt all the more '' assurance " when hear- 
 ing Darwin and divinity reconciled. 
 
 Apart from his hereditary Puritanism he 
 was a steady, hard-working young man, 
 ready to do what he could to right his 
 affairs. He had been a willing if ratfier 
 crotchety oflBcer, but the difficulty of 
 steering the Harlay Abbot estate made it 
 expedient for him on his father's death to 
 sell his commission. Since then he had 
 suffered chronic perplexity, for family pride 
 and common sense were at war about the 
 sale of the old property. He was much 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 troubled bj scruples, and was seldom clear 
 about riglit and wrong in ordinary affairs. 
 When they could not be referred to the 
 decision of Scripture he was more than 
 most men at sea, for fanaticism singularly 
 demoralizes, and men of that temper are 
 apt to be astray in their ethics in propor- 
 tion as they believe themselves spiritually 
 illumined. 
 
 He was tall, rather narrow- shouldered, 
 but certainly good-looking. A full mouth, 
 not firmly cut, was shadowed by moustache, 
 and beard of the brown, that is, reddish 
 at the tips. It was redeemed by clear, 
 soft, rather visionary eyes. There was 
 nothing remarkable in his ap|)earance ; he 
 was well-dressed, and his belongings were 
 in good taste and simple, from his travelling- 
 rug to his writing-paper. A soft low voice 
 set off his gift of persuasiveness, and knock- 
 ing about in the army had taught him 
 reticence, which singularly increased his 
 influence. He was credited with qualities
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 179 
 
 that were not really part of his character. 
 To a certain point he could act up to them, 
 in good faith that they were natural, and 
 they had never been severely tested. Cir- 
 cumstances had been favourable to him, as 
 in the hurdle race at Rome. He had a 
 pretty taste in music and drawing, and 
 enough social veneration to please his elders; 
 of course such a man was extremely polite 
 to ladies, but he did not specially seek their 
 society, for it would have been inconve- 
 nient to him to marry without money; 
 and he would never have gone a fortune - 
 hunting. 
 
 There was something of protection in his 
 manner as he helped Mrs. Eden out of the 
 boat which was not altogether disagreeable 
 to her. Since her spiritual uncertainties 
 had become known to him he assumed a 
 certain superiority, and, woman-like, she 
 accepted the assumption. Conscious how 
 unattainable was to her complex nature his 
 particular solution of life's problems, she 
 N 2
 
 180 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 wondered at him, and believed lie had 
 valiantly fonght his doubts and laid their 
 spectres. That he was a gentleman, and 
 of a goodly presence, doubtless enhanced 
 an approval which she had never before 
 accorded to the professional believers, 
 fervent curates, and girls with a '' voca- 
 tion," whom she had hitherto come across. 
 And who can estimate the share that 
 buoyant health but dissatisfied mood, the 
 Italian May, and the loneliness which it 
 intensified, had in preparing for this suf- 
 ficiently insignificant Englishman a niche 
 in Elizabeth's very exclusive Walhalla. 
 Her idol to be was not, however, yet 
 unveiled. As he lifted her from the boat 
 to the quay she certainly thought him 
 stronger and more attractive than most 
 men, but if M. de Kerhuon had asked what 
 the attraction was, she would have truly 
 said that she was barely acquainted with 
 her countryman, and probably had little 
 sympathy with his ideas.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 181 
 
 Dissimilarity rather than sympathy was 
 the tie that fate had begun to spin round 
 these differing souls. Meeting each other 
 abroad, the divergence of their thoughts on 
 many subjects was less evident than it 
 would have been in the common round of 
 home-life. 
 
 " I half wish I were going by Capri to 
 Naples, like you. You will have fine 
 weather, I think, for all the boats nearly 
 are gone to the Pesto fishing," said Mrs. 
 Eden, as they turned up the paved street 
 to the inn. 
 
 " I wish you were. The rector and I 
 would take care of you," said Sir Ernest, 
 with some reflection in his eyes of the 
 visionary fire that had before drawn 
 Elizabeth to it as a moth to a flame. 
 
 The sight of her courier and a packet of 
 letters, the sound of her maid rating an 
 Amalfian syren about damp sheets, checked 
 any wild scheme nascent in Mrs. Eden's 
 head. Letters were always a weariness to
 
 182 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 her, and she took hers to her room and 
 left them there unread. The De Kerhuons 
 were exceedingly hungry and even cross, 
 haying had nothing to eat since their 
 eleven o'clock breakfast. Xo one could 
 have dared mention to them Capri and a 
 sail there in a curtseying boat, nor were 
 their spirits raised by a dish of striped red 
 and green fish of Elizabeth's catching, 
 which the landlord thought would interest 
 her and her friends as Mediterranean 
 curiosities. Fortunately quails and anchovy 
 toast replaced the offensive jplat, and 
 presently it was agreed to profit by the 
 perfect evening. The whole party strolled 
 up the rough road to the disestablished 
 Capuchin convent. Mr. Harlay found a 
 proprietor who had been a year at Mar- 
 seilles and could discourse intelligibly of 
 the Indian corn — lush by the irrigation from 
 a village perched on the cliff many hundred 
 feet above — of the trellised vines that roofed 
 the terrace, of the sleek and well-groomed
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 183 
 
 COWS and handsome pigs, conscious of 
 daily tubbing. Madame de Kerbuon 
 gathered oranges that had fallen, and with 
 little shrieks helped her husband to feed 
 the petted beasts. Sir Ernest and Eliza- 
 beth, less pastoral, looked out over the 
 purple sea or down at the long ripple, 
 tortoise-shell in its shadows, that murmur- 
 ing crept in and out the caves below. A 
 lemon-garden lined the cliflP behind them, 
 and its golden fringe of fruit bent down to 
 them with cool, fresh touches. The per« 
 fume of the flowers made them slow to 
 talk. The banks and trees below in the 
 valley to the left sparkled with fiery 
 dew. 
 
 At last Sir Ernest said with half a sigh, 
 " It is very well for a few days, but it is no 
 wonder that the people are what they are. 
 It is enervating." 
 
 " North Italy might be better to hve in," 
 said Elizabeth doubtfully. She was in- 
 ternally questioning the worth of energy,
 
 184 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 as she habitually questioned everything. 
 Then, ashamed of the jDassing languor, 
 she added, " The cities and citizens of 
 North Italy have been energetic enough, if 
 we are to believe history and their monu- 
 ments." 
 
 Sir Ernest had but a vague notion of 
 Italian annals. He had chiefly thought of 
 Italy as a scene of Papal aggression, an 
 arena where faithful Protestants should be 
 ever ready for battle. 
 
 '' I liked Florence," he said ; '' there 
 were some good horses in the Park of an 
 evening, and the people seemed less be- 
 sotted." 
 
 Mrs. Eden had acquired enough regard 
 for her companion to avoid any question 
 or discussion in which he might betray the 
 ignorance she suspected. Though her 
 liking for him was not based on intellectual 
 sympathy, she did not wish to have her 
 embryo ideal defaced by even trifling flaws. 
 So she cautiously found out that he had
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 185 
 
 read a translation of tlie " Divina Comme- 
 dia" before she ventured to say, — 
 
 " Talking of Florence, I suppose we both 
 of us admire the energy of Savonarola and 
 the faith of Dante ; but you can, perhaps, 
 enter into their thoughts. You can follow 
 Dante into his spiritual worlds." 
 
 Elizabeth's curiosity gained nothing by 
 her venture beyond commonplace. The 
 oracle of the visionary outlook only said 
 something controversial about Purgatory, 
 quite wide of her inquiry. If Mrs. Eden 
 had mentioned the most minor of the 
 minor prophets he might have followed 
 her lead, but no man's faith which did not 
 date eighteen centuries back had power to 
 interest him, except as it protested against 
 Popery. Dante's or St. Francis Xavier's 
 were equal delusions. 
 
 " But," he said, " I should have been 
 content to share Savonarola's fate. He 
 is the morning- star of the Reforma- 
 tion."
 
 186 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Had any one else said it, Mrs. Eden 
 would have questioned the historical ac- 
 curacy of the speech, but her attention 
 rested on the first part of it. 
 
 " Is there a cause left in the world worth 
 dying for ?" she said softly, eager for the 
 reply. 
 
 "I know of one," he answered gravely 
 and quietly ; and in good faith, sooner 
 than renounce his particular creed, he 
 would have endured martyrdom. 
 
 It was a reply that Elizabeth wished for, 
 but that she could not have given herself. 
 So this ex-captain of foot could die for an 
 idea, for a creed that is falling into dis- 
 repute, and ultimately inconsistent with 
 the evolution of society ! And he was not 
 a historical personage in antique costume, 
 but an English officer who, no doubt, knew 
 how to lounge against the railings of Rotten 
 Row, and steer in a waltz and ride to 
 hounds, as well as his fellows. 
 
 Here was a vara avis I and something
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 187 
 
 truer tlian words told lier that lie was 
 certainly sincere. 
 
 Mrs. Eden was more tlian ever pre- 
 occupied as they filed down the covered 
 lane of many steps that led through fishy 
 and ancient odours to the main street. 
 
 The woman of considerable intellectual 
 power, of sceptical temper and dormant 
 imagination, spent ten minutes of reverie, 
 begotten by the uncultured fanaticism of 
 Sir Ernest Harlay, hitherto chiefly respected 
 as a military martinet. 
 
 But women love what is phenomenal and 
 quite other to themselves. A young man 
 of the period who would draw his sword in 
 defence of the verbal infallibility of Genesis 
 was exceedingly phenomenal. Sir Ernest 
 had not felt equally attracted by her. He did 
 not understand her, and was surprised at 
 her tone. Her hinted scepticism, yet a 
 certain fine humility and wish to draw him 
 on to talk of his faith, puzzled him. He 
 had gone through the regulation allowance
 
 188 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 of small-talk and cliafE in his time, as was 
 part of his military duty, but this inscrut- 
 able, beautiful woman had twice touched a 
 chord of which the vibrations had hitherto 
 been only for his own and not for another 
 perception. 
 
 However, he would very likely have not 
 thought more about her if, as he and his 
 uncle smoked in the balcony after the ladies 
 had gonetobed,Mr.Harlayhad not observed 
 that he wished something might come of the 
 acquaintance. " She is as hard to please 
 as any woman I know," he went on, " but 
 she seems to like you, my boy. Not in her 
 girlish youth and beauty perhaps, but if 
 Harlay Abbot were backed up by Eden- 
 hurst you would see your way better." 
 
 Sir Ernest puffed on, a little frown on 
 his face. He did not like the way his 
 uncle put the thing, but still the idea took 
 root in his thoughts. " Harlay Abbot must 
 bear its own burdens," he said stiffly. 
 *' By the way, sir, about that mortgage of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 189 
 
 Jarratt's ? I had a letter this afternoon, 
 saying that he wants to be paid off, unless 
 you will agree to let him have priority of 
 your charge." 
 
 '' My dear fellow, I've had to borrow on 
 it; the deed is no longer in my hands." 
 
 Both men were annoyed, they both clung 
 to the glories o£ Harlay Abbot. 
 
 " If Jarratt forecloses, I suppose it must 
 come to a sale. I won't cut down another 
 tree." 
 
 " Not to save the estate ? " 
 
 " It would only pay the interest for a 
 few years if I cut down every stick." 
 
 The *' few years " might last the rector's 
 time, but the younger Harlay did not drift 
 down the stream of debt as easily as his 
 uncle. He was equal to sacrifice by tem- 
 perament, but the sale of Harlay Abbot 
 would be a bitter grief to him. 
 
 "I can't do a thing for you, Ernest," 
 said the rector, and there was a little sob 
 in his voice ; " I am so hampered myself
 
 190 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 that I don't know where to turn, and 
 Mrs. Harlaj and the girls won't see it. 
 This Roman season has nearly done for 
 us." 
 
 He was unjust ; they did see it, and were, 
 poor souls, working their hardest at very 
 up-hill work. 
 
 " We shall get to Naples the day after 
 to-morrow," said Sii' Ernest ; "I had 
 better get home as soon as I can." 
 
 " I shall pick up my people, and I think 
 I shall be at Edenhurst by Sunday week." 
 
 During the sail to Capri the rector 
 more than once recurred to the wealth and 
 prosperity of Mrs. Eden. " She could sell 
 Edenhurst to-morrow and invest the money 
 as she likes;" which meant that she could 
 buy up the Harlay mortgages and pay off 
 the rector with a bonus, perhaps, if he 
 were her uncle by marriage. 
 
 By the same post which had brought 
 news of Mr. Jarratt's threat Elizabeth 
 received a letter from Mr. Ravenscroft,
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 191 
 
 that had been forwarded from Eome with 
 Mr. de Kerhuon's official correspondence. 
 It said, — 
 
 " My dear Madam, 
 
 " I have been in the neighbour- 
 hood of Edenhurst, and I rode over to find 
 out from Waghorn if a letter to your 
 address at Rome would be sure to find 
 you with little delay. 
 
 " You remember, I doubt not, my men- 
 tioning to you when I saw you last that 
 we had received an odd application from 
 your Swiss annuitants. I was in no 
 hurry to answer it, and I had no informa- 
 tion to go on in treating their claim. But 
 I wrote about Christmas, saying that the 
 price they asked for the annuity was out 
 of the question. 
 
 " A week ago we received a formal notice 
 from Messrs. Dupuis, Favre, and Co., a 
 very respectable firm, that certain proceed- 
 ings, which I need not here ex^Dlain to you, 
 will be begun if the amount asked for —
 
 192 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 indeed a larger sum is now named — be not 
 immediately paid to them. 
 
 " I liave requested to be informed of the 
 original consideration for the annuity, and 
 to have a copy of the deed by which it is 
 secured. 
 
 " I think the proceeding is an attempt at 
 extortion, but it is my duty to tell you that 
 the action threatened means an attack on 
 your title to Edenhurst estate. 
 
 '' Pray do not be over uneasy. The place 
 was looking very well, and I shall be glad 
 if it falls within your plans to return there 
 before long. 
 
 '^ Believe me sincerely yours, 
 
 " W. Ravensceoet." 
 
 Mrs. Eden was not much concerned by 
 the evident anxiety of her law agent. Her 
 youth had been spent in an atmosphere of 
 lawsuits and threatened ruin, which when 
 it came, and Guise Court was sold, left her 
 better off than before. 
 
 A flash of anger crossed her at the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEX. 193 
 
 tlioTiglit of extortion, and slie just con- 
 sidered the affair enough to determine, 
 that, if she could, she would resist the 
 whole claim — stop the annuity, and leave 
 these people to their remedy if they had 
 any. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 June had come on nortliern loiterers in 
 Italy, and there was a rush chiefly of 
 Americans and English towards the Alpine 
 passes from the heated plains ofLombardy, 
 where the silkworms were beginning to 
 feel comfortable. Stresa and its new hotel 
 on the shore of Lake Maggiore, was 
 overflowing, for it is nearly the last 
 comfortable stage on the Simplon road. 
 But Mrs. Eden's courier never allowed of 
 excuses. His telegrams were obeyed, and 
 when she drove to the door of the Hotel 
 des lies Borromees in the vast travelling- 
 carriage which was to convey her to Sion, 
 she was shown to an apartment out of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 195 
 
 wliicli a family liad been moved to make 
 room for her. They were to leave by the 
 diligence that night, and bore their bivouac 
 in the salon pretty well after the landlord 
 had observed that a day's logement should 
 naturally be deducted from their bill. 
 
 Chancing to go into the public sitting- 
 room in search of an English paper not more 
 than a week old, Mrs. Eden found the evicted 
 family encamped in a cool corner, and pro- 
 ducing that cackle and undistinguishable 
 medley of words that betokens awful jollity. 
 
 She had fallen among the Harlay- 
 Skegg set. An instinct of sudden retreat 
 beset her, but recovering nerve she made 
 herself known. The American ladies were 
 gorgeously apparelled, and J. B. W. Skeggs, 
 Utopia City, Miss., was little less gaudy in 
 green velvet and a feathered Tyrolean hat, 
 which perhaps from picturesque motives he 
 had not taken off when he came in. 
 
 Mrs. Harlay ran with a pretty elderly 
 grace to meet Elizabeth. The rector and 
 2
 
 196 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 his nepliew were from mixed motives glad 
 to see her, but Isolda and her friends 
 drawled cool words of surprise, and as a 
 fine piece of breeding resumed their talk 
 at once. 
 
 " We hope to get places in to-night's 
 diligence," said Mrs. Harlay pathetically. 
 "It is an odious way of travelling, but 
 Christopher must be at home for Sunday. 
 Really it is quite a wrench to leave our 
 dear friends," she added, looking benignly 
 round, but with no great love in her glance 
 as it fell on the unsecured J. B. W. "How 
 soon do you follow, dear Mrs. Eden ? " 
 
 " To-morrow I hope," said Elizabeth 
 heartily. The Skeggs' party disturbed her 
 peace. 
 
 " How comfortable you are in your 
 vetturino carriage ! But it is really almost 
 too large. We saw it arrive, but never 
 guessed it to be yours." 
 
 " You will want a strong team up the 
 Gondo," observed Oily, in her rough, "no
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 197 
 
 nonsense" style, "honest and straight- 
 forward, yon know," and assumed partly in 
 protest against her mother's, suavity. 
 
 Soon after the dinner-bell rang. ' Ladies 
 with the oddest scraps of finery pinned on 
 their ordinary gowns, generally defiant, and 
 disposed to snort at their neighbours, bored 
 men longing for dinner as something to do, 
 streamed down stairs and corridors, but 
 Elizabeth retreated to her sitting-room and 
 to the uncomfortable meal apart which 
 is the lot of exclusive travellers under the 
 international hotel regime. Her apartment 
 was on the ground floor. She threw the 
 "wdndow open when she had dismissed the 
 last of the long series of dishes provided 
 for her greater ennui. The weather was 
 oppressively hot, and of that feverish, 
 electric heat which makes us restless. 
 
 Sir Ernest Harlay stood outside smoking. 
 He looked almost haggard as he switched 
 away impatiently some half -burned blades of 
 grass. An irresistible wish to know more of
 
 198 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 him came over Mrs. Eden. Out of spirits as 
 he was lie was perhaps all the better-looking. 
 Fat and prosperous, the spiritual beauty 
 would have left his well-cut, mobile features, 
 at least for her fancy. The Harlay and 
 Skeggs' society had streamed on by the lake 
 side, making gay little eddies of smart clothes 
 and airy graces for the ravishment of all 
 beholders. 
 
 "It is not as bright as Amalfi," said 
 Mrs. Eden tentatively. 
 
 " There is a storm somewhere near," 
 replied Sir Ernest, looking up at the sound 
 of her voice with his quick, eager frown, that 
 meant no displeasure when his lips smiled 
 as now. 
 
 " We are talking just as that young lady 
 said, about the weather," said Elizabeth. 
 
 " She told me just now it would be skeery 
 travelling to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Eden was not ill-natured, but she 
 felt singularly pleased at the tone of Sir 
 Ernest's voice.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 199 
 
 " I think I should like to stroll along the 
 beach, the other way," she said; " one never 
 can judge of scenery out of a window." 
 
 " That curtain of storm-cloud is worth 
 seeing, but you have not half an hour to be 
 out." 
 
 In a minute or two Elizabeth appeared 
 in the porch, wrapped in a white Indian 
 shawl, and so well dressed that one or two 
 French ladies inquired if it were possible 
 she were English. " The style is not Ame- 
 rican either," they said ; " not too much Rue 
 de la Paix in it." There was a lurid light 
 abroad not unbecoming to her noble order 
 of beauty, and Ernest Harlay was for the 
 first time under the spell of it as she joined 
 him. 
 
 Better used to the slowly-advancing 
 clouds of English, than to the passionful 
 Italian storms, they walked on, confident 
 that they could return before rain fell. 
 
 *' You go on with the Harlays to-night ? " 
 asked Mrs. Eden half shyly, for she found
 
 200 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 herself unreasonably interested in her com- 
 panion's doings. 
 
 " Yes ; I have pressing business in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 '* I too am ordered home by my men of 
 business sooner than I meant to go. With 
 all our improved locomotion I think we are 
 more hampered by home ties than people 
 used to be. Telegraphs are shackles on our 
 feet." 
 
 "You at least, I trust, have not very real 
 pain before you as I think I have." 
 
 He could not stop himself in time. It 
 was unlike him to complain, but this gra- 
 cious, kindly woman drew the sentence out 
 of him. 
 
 " Pain ! " said Ehzabeth, startled. She 
 hardly knew what pain he meant, and 
 it is rarely proper to mention our suffer- 
 ings. 
 
 But Ernest was excited, the society ot 
 the day had strained his temper ; he went 
 on quickly, —
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 201 
 
 " Sliould you not think it pain to aban- 
 don tlie object for wliicb you bad long 
 worked ? " 
 
 " You have not worked very long yet," 
 said Elizabeth softly. 
 
 *' To cut yourself adrift from a past in 
 which you have lived a good deal, from 
 which you have inherited your character 
 and ideas, bid good-bye to a hundred people 
 who care for you as no others ever will — 
 have nothing very definite left for you to 
 do in the world. That is all before me, 
 Mrs. Eden. I am going home to sell Harlay 
 Abbot." 
 
 To Elizabeth this did not sound hopeless 
 ruin as to the owner of it. Her life was 
 planned on altogether broader bases than 
 his, but she was very much touched by his 
 agitation, and she felt ready to do what in 
 her lay to comfort him. Yet she could 
 only find the common words to say, — 
 
 " I am very sorry — must it go ? " 
 
 " I can't do my duty by it, the people
 
 202 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 suffer because I can't lielp tliem as I ought 
 to keep up witb. the times. It must go, and 
 I mean to spend the httle there may be left 
 in a Canadian venture ; but I have no right 
 to bother you about my affairs ; fortunately 
 I am alone in the world, and shall hurt 
 nobody but myself. Every one else will 
 be the better. I'm afraid that is half the 
 sting." 
 
 A very bright, violet stream of lightning 
 zigzagged over their heads, and there fol- 
 lowed a deafening roar from the grisly cloud 
 caves it had lighted up. " Are you not 
 afraid, Mrs. Eden?" 
 
 "No," she said absently, for she was 
 troubled by his trouble. " I know there is 
 a certain amount of danger, but the chances 
 are very few of any one being struck." 
 
 " Chances, — you trust in statistics I 
 see ! " 
 
 " Certainly ; they help us to face things, 
 you know. I suppose when we know 
 enough we shall almost be able to foretell
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 203 
 
 what will happen. Science is relieving us 
 of a host of superstitions." 
 
 " Don't, don't talk like that, not to-night 
 any way." 
 
 "Why shouldn't I?" 
 
 " Because you make me more unhappy 
 than I am ; because I believe either that 
 God directs that spark to its goal, or He 
 has no existence at all. As I am to-night, 
 I think I could hardly face life if I had a 
 doubt of that." 
 
 " A doubt !" repeated Elizabeth, " when 
 we are beset on every side with doubt. 
 But if you have no doubt that we are only 
 puppets, why are you anxious about any- 
 thing, why are you going home to look 
 after Harlay Abbot ? " 
 
 " Why indeed ? " said Ernest ; then with 
 dreamy irrelevance he added, " but there 
 is not the less call to do one's duty, though 
 every bush burn with fire, and every sod of 
 earth be instinct with life, which is Deity." 
 
 A gust of wind eddied round them as
 
 204 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 lie spoke, tlie waves of tlie lake were lifted 
 at their crests in long pennants of scud 
 that whitened the road before them. The 
 rain seemed shaken from the ragged cloud 
 skirts in plunging falls. Fortunately Sir 
 Ernest and Elizabeth could turn into a 
 rough shed hard by. 
 
 Mrs. Eden was not inclined to reopen 
 the talk. 
 
 " I have heard you do all you can for 
 your people," she said at last ; " I hope you 
 will not have to give them up." 
 
 " It depends on the good will of one 
 Jonas Jarratt, but I will not speak any 
 more about that to you. I don't know 
 how I came to say so much. I think the 
 storm is nearly over." 
 
 "Harlay Abbot is about fifteen miles 
 from Edenhursfc, I think?" 
 
 " Perhaps you would forgive my cow- 
 ardice about it if you saw the old place. 
 If it is still mine, will you come over some 
 day this summer ? "
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 205 
 
 " I should like to see it, and I sliould 
 tliink you cowardly if you did not hold to 
 it. But one or two things you have said 
 make me think you could find compensa- 
 tions for your annoyance that others have 
 not got." 
 
 Ernest did not understand her. 
 
 " I have not many compensations," he 
 said. " I usn't to think I was likely to find 
 them in society, so I did not look for them. 
 It is very good of you to care about Harlay 
 Abbot." 
 
 The moon suddenly flooded them with 
 splendour from a ragged rift in the storm, 
 and they turned towards the yellow hghts 
 of the hotel. 
 
 And Elizabeth did care singularly about 
 Harlay Abbot, perhaps even more at that 
 moment than about Edenhurst. She had 
 a great wish to offer Sir Ernest help, to 
 take up that mortgage so that he should 
 never see her hand in the transaction, but 
 there was that working in them both
 
 206 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 wMcli made sucli a transaction impossible. 
 Not a word expressing otlier than friendly 
 interest had been spoken between them, 
 yet they had become a great deal nearer 
 to one another than mere county neigh- 
 bourhood and acquaintance implied. 
 
 '' Any how Harlay Abbot will not be 
 sold before I am at home," said Elizabeth. 
 
 '' Oh, not for months, years, perhaps, and 
 you will be home soon, I suppose." 
 
 " In about three weeks." 
 
 They came as she spoke within the glare 
 of the hotel porch. Within it the Harlay 
 and Skeggs party lounged conspicuously 
 in more or less noticeable attitudes, which 
 were a little reformed as Mrs. Eden passed 
 through. 
 
 " It is nearly time for the diligence, isn't 
 it ? " she asked. 
 
 It drove up at the instant, reeking and 
 crowded, and presently it was discovered 
 that there were but two places to be had, 
 and those impossibly uncomfortable for
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 207 
 
 ladies. It had been expected that some 
 of the passengers would have got out at 
 Stresa, but the hot daj had determined all 
 who could to push for the mountains. 
 
 " You're up a gum-tree," observed Miss 
 Skeggs ; " I say, try Magadiuo to-morrow." 
 The familiarity of American travellers 
 with routes and all that has to do with 
 travelling is extraordinary. They are at 
 home with all the passes, and on nodding 
 terms with mountains of which we are 
 accustomed to speak with distant respect. 
 
 But the rector after a hurried aside 
 from his wife followed Mrs. Eden to the 
 salon, where she stood out of the crowd. 
 
 " I must go," he said ; '' may I ask your 
 courier to do what he can for my wife and 
 Oily to-morrow ? " 
 
 " I can give them seats to Sion. I 
 believe there is room in my carriage," said 
 Mrs. Eden, for * she never refused a fair 
 claim to her kindness. 
 
 " Ernest, my boy, what will you do ?
 
 208 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Stay and finish tlie affair. Eb. ! " added the 
 rector, in a whisper. "It's all right, I hope." 
 
 But his nephew looked intolerably cross 
 at the suggestion that he who had just 
 professed himself a bankrupt should ask 
 EHzabeth to be his wife. He had half 
 divined her pity and wish to help him, and 
 here was his uncle coarsely speculating on 
 her interest in him. He flung his port- 
 manteau up to the roof of the diligence as 
 he said dryly, — 
 
 "I'm glad my aunt and Oily are so 
 lucky. Of course I go on with you." 
 
 Fortunately the two men were in dif- 
 ferent compartments of the machine. 
 
 For all his " good-boy " respect. Sir 
 Ernest was in no temper to endure his 
 uncle's advice and rallying on his success 
 with the " monstrous handsome " owner of 
 nine thousand a year. 
 
 At Domo d'Ossola the last ultramontane 
 frittura was eaten by Mrs. Eden's party, 
 the horses rested two hours, and the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 209 
 
 travellers were acutely bored and with 
 one consent hated the place. At last, 
 when the delay in starting began to seem 
 mysterious, Mrs. Eden's maid announced 
 that Mr. Cesare, the courier, was not to be 
 found, and that the vetturino declared 
 they should not get beds at Isella, and ces 
 dames would suffer, not he indeed. 
 
 In the middle of the excitement M. 
 Cesare came up, looking fagged and pale. 
 
 " My people live here, madame," he said, 
 " and I have been to see my uncle, who is 
 dying. He is weak of mind, and tried to 
 keep me there." 
 
 " I could wait for you a day here, if you 
 like to stay." 
 
 Mrs. Harlay and Isolda exchanged 
 horrified glances at such Quixotism. 
 
 " I should not think of such a thinof, or 
 abuse Madame's kindness. For years he 
 has been half-witted. He has forgotten 
 me by this time." 
 
 The horses Avere fussily put to, spare 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 ropes, looked over, and tlie upward tug 
 among the spurs of the Alps was begun. 
 
 They are so vast and incoherent in their 
 rugged chaos that little sense of beauty or 
 fitness cheers the traveller among the 
 shattered crags and the dark slopes of 
 oozy detritus tbat stream down from the 
 ruined crests among the clouds. As 
 the carriage turned each new bluff, and 
 wound for hours by grisly torrents, it 
 seemed a helpless speck in the battle- 
 field of elementary powers. To cheer the 
 gloom and relieve the feeling of isolation 
 which besets man in presence of unbridled 
 natural forces, here and there some tremu- 
 lous flower gleamed in a niche of purple 
 rock, and long June grasses fringed the 
 moist terraces where, if sheltered from 
 storm and frost, the sun seldom shone. 
 
 Isolda had the sketcher's jargon ready 
 for each change of prospect, and had caught 
 the trick of that minute observation of 
 cleavage in rocks, mica on the road, mosses
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 211 
 
 and lichens which is a fashion now. She 
 had also the modern restlessness, and 
 plumped rather than jumped in and out 
 of the carriage at every opportunity. It 
 became strewed with parsley fern and green 
 spleenwort, with " delicious " lycopods and 
 "ducks" of lihes as the afternoon wore on. 
 Warm and luscious bits were pointed out in 
 the landscape, and everywhere there were 
 discovered as many passages of form and 
 colour as at an Academy Exhibition. 
 
 The scarred and riven gorges, the 
 shrouding clouds that crept up and clung 
 like sad, slow ghosts about the mountain 
 fortresses, were for her subjects for that 
 pseudo-artistic discussion which has 
 vulgarized modern impressions of nature. 
 For Miss Harlay was exceedingly cultivated. 
 Her slang and advanced manners were 
 part of the comedy she, like so many girls, 
 thought fit to play. Alone with her 
 mother and Mrs. Eden she could talk 
 Tennyson and Ruskin very fairly. But 
 p 2
 
 212 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 at Isella slie found two curates of her 
 flock someliow dropped there, perhaps 
 literally from the clouds in course of a 
 holiday rampage. They had not long 
 left Oxford, and were delighted with her 
 new stock of Americanisms and reminis- 
 cences of the Piazza di Spagna. They 
 literally roared in unison when she pro- 
 posed to get her " rubbers " and " rigs," 
 and "flop around" to the tunnel before 
 dinner. 
 
 Mrs. Eden disengaged herself from the 
 fast and furious fan, and retreating to her 
 room she found her maid in tears and 
 sitting in stiff'ened depression on an un- 
 packed portmanteau. 
 
 " It's that courier, m'm. He has been 
 that disagreeable this whole day that my 
 nerves are shaken, m'm, and then to hear 
 that we have to sleep in this awful hole 
 among the cataracks ! Oh, m'm, I didn't 
 think has you'd have put up with it." 
 
 Some of the old-fashioned terror of the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 213 
 
 mountains had certainly fallen on Tomp- 
 kins. Mrs. Eden saw tliat slie was near 
 hysterics, and having suffered from a 
 similar outburst at Rome, she tried what a 
 little friendly talk would do to avert it. 
 " So Cesare has been disagreeable." 
 " Law, m'm, since we lunched at that 
 dirty village he has never said a civil word. 
 Sulking like a bear, and giving me the 
 horrors about his uncle. A pretty uncle 
 to live in such an outragious country ! " 
 " He looked unhappy, poor man." 
 " Yes, 'm, but I consider it was his 
 bounden duty to cheer every one up after 
 bringing them here, and not to be down- 
 right rude when I said my bedstead was a 
 walking family — if you'll excuse me, m'm. 
 It is old wood and full of 'em. — Partick- 
 lerly as his uncle has left him such riches, 
 which he never expected, nor no one else, 
 I'm sure, from one of these mountaineering 
 creatures." 
 
 Mrs. Eden saw that the flow of words
 
 214 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 had relieved Tompkins, whose nerves had 
 probably chiefly suffered from the new 
 indifference of Cesare to her merits since 
 his accession of wealth. 
 
 *'His uncle was a courier, I think he 
 said. I suppose he put by his wages. 
 Tell Cesare I should hke to speak to him 
 for a moment, and try not to be foohsh." 
 
 This was said so Idndly and cheerily 
 that Tompkins wiped her eyes, and even 
 smiled a wintry smile, when she found 
 the rich man making tea for her special 
 comfort. 
 
 He told Mrs. Eden that though his 
 uncle was not actually dead when he left 
 Domo d'Ossola, he could not linger long; 
 that a lawyer had thought it his duty to 
 let the nephew know of a considerable sum 
 which had been invested many years ago 
 in Cesare's name. It had been kept 
 secret, and the interest on it had accumu- 
 lated, but on his uncle's death the owner 
 of it would have to claim it formally and
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 215 
 
 not let it fall into the family claws. He 
 would, he feared, have to return to Domo 
 d'Ossola, but he would *' see Madame safe 
 home," he added, with honest good will. 
 
 " Had he any idea," Mrs. Eden asked, 
 " how his uncle had saved so much?" 
 
 " No, his uncle had never talked of his 
 past even before his illness, and that was as 
 long ago as Cesare could remember. The 
 paralysis and brain affection were conse- 
 quences of an accident on the road just a 
 kilometre further. He would show the 
 spot to Madame." 
 
 " No, don't mind doing that ; but I am 
 glad you are going to be rich." 
 
 *' Ah ! madame, who knows ? I have 
 been fortunate in my work, when I have 
 found employers such as madame. But 
 with a legacy may come new cares." 
 
 Sir Ernest Harlay was at the Geneva 
 station when Mrs. Eden and her com- 
 panions arrived. By the rector's request 
 he had waited to give a message and a
 
 216 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 letter to Mrs. Harlay, wMcli liad been 
 lying at the Post Eestante until lier hus- 
 band called there. 
 
 " He had not time to write what he 
 wanted you to do, and asked me to see 
 you," said Sir Ernest. " Can I come after 
 dinner ? " 
 
 So it came to pass that Elizabeth was 
 again brought face to face with her growing 
 desire to help and comfort this disinherited 
 knight. 
 
 " How vexatious ! " complained Mrs. 
 Harlay, in her pathetic way, after reading 
 the letter left for her. '' It is from Miss 
 Fazackerly, my dear Oily. She is leaving 
 us, — only waits my return to go, — so un- 
 grateful." Miss Fazackerly was the finish- 
 ing machine who had been at work on 
 Alice and Audrey, and certain facts con- 
 nected with her employer's affairs deter- 
 mined that very intelligent person to seek 
 fresh fields and pastures new for cul- 
 ture.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 217 
 
 " Your father tliinks you mi^lit go on 
 with Audrey now," observed Mrs. Harlay, 
 with a feeble look at her daughter. 
 
 " There he is wrong then. I have what 
 he calls the worst influence on Audrey. 
 The blind would lead the blind, and we 
 should tumble up nicely against the pro- 
 prieties. I decline — merci." 
 
 '' Oily ! " almost wailed her mother. 
 *' Then your father says if I think we 
 can't do without one of those inflictions, 
 I had better inquire here for one at a 
 reasonable salary. Miss Fazackerly was 
 
 ruinous." 
 
 " So much sweetness and light at the 
 price was not dear." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Eden, forgive me for talking 
 of such an afiair before you," said Mrs. 
 Harlay, still affected. " But it has quite 
 crushed me ; what am I to do ? where am I 
 to look ? I can't leave to-morrow, can I ? 
 Do advise me ; you have such good sense." 
 
 "My uncle thought," said Sir Ernest, —
 
 218 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 tliey were together after dinner, and as 
 coffee was ordered Elizabeth could not 
 get away from the family discussion, — 
 "My uncle thought you could ask the 
 pasteurs here, and perhaps find a good 
 registry office." 
 
 " Heavens ! who are the pasteurs ! Am I 
 to hunt up pasteurs among their flocks ? 
 creatures in Geneva bands like pictures of 
 Calvin." 
 
 " I daresay the hotel-keeper will be able 
 to help you," observed Mrs. Eden. 
 
 Of course Mrs. Harlay adopted the sug- 
 gestion, and being really a practical woman 
 in spite of her affectation, she heard that 
 very evening of one or two likely places to 
 find what she wanted, a cheap foreign 
 guide, philosopher, and humble companion 
 for her girls.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 219 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Elizabeth did not mucli like Geneva, though 
 the rush of the blue river between the old- 
 world buildings of the island and the 
 mainland had a charm for her that kept 
 her staring at changing eddies of the un- 
 tamable stream. 
 
 The Harlaj party came on her unawares 
 as she stood on the bridge near the Place 
 Belair the forenoon after her arrival. Of 
 course the aunt and cousin had secured 
 Sir Ernest's company. 
 
 " Such creatures, my dear Mrs. Eden ! 
 rejected kitchen maids, I should tliink, and 
 all evidently believing themselves our 
 superiors. And the pasteurs I have seen
 
 220 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 were quite plain people, excellent, no doubt, 
 but unconscious of wliat Engiisli girls 
 require. What am I to do ? Cliristopher 
 should not have left me in such a di- 
 lemma." 
 
 " I have heard there was plenty of cul- 
 ture here. The first who offered were sure 
 to be the least good; wait till to-morrow," 
 said Elizabeth kindly, for Mrs. Harlay was 
 hot and vexed, and Isolda sulky and sneer- 
 ing. 
 
 " To-morrow at ten I am to see two 
 paragons of perfection. If they fail I 
 really must give it up ; London agents are 
 better, and I'm sure cheaper in the end." 
 
 " Suppose," said Sir Ernest, *' that we 
 hire a boat this afternoon ; I hear Mont 
 Blanc is clear to-day. Would you come, 
 Mrs. Eden? we shall see the range very well 
 when we get a mile or two to the north." 
 
 The Leman, as Voltaire maintained, is 
 probably the most beautiful lake in the 
 world ; but Elizabeth's nerves were strained
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 221 
 
 by the slight hise that curled the water. 
 They pulled slowly, and the boy in a blouse, 
 square and ugly, had no rhythmic song in 
 him like the Tyrrhene fishermen. Before 
 they reached the first of the stiff, stately 
 villas on the northern shore the breeze 
 had sunk, and the long undulations were 
 setthng into perfect calm. The reflec- 
 tion of the glimmering range of peaks 
 from the Aiguille Yerte to the Aiguille de 
 Miage came and went on the smooth, 
 slow waves in opaline visions. Sir Ernest 
 took an oar. Oily tugged at another, 
 with frequent splashes, and a choice of 
 attitudes that did not suit her clumsy 
 figure. Mrs. Harlay chattered small 
 gossips and unreal complaints, carefully 
 concealing her true anxieties. In spite of 
 the awning, the sun scorched them, for it 
 was afternoon, and the rays struck slant- 
 ingly. When they came abreast of the 
 village of Versoix, it looked invitingly 
 shady and neat, and it was unanimously
 
 222 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 agreed to run the boat up by the little 
 landing-pier, and go on shore. 
 
 It was a coincidence that the day hap- 
 pened to be the anniversary of that day 
 fifty years before when Francis Eden, of 
 Edenhurst, had been drowned, and Julie, 
 his companion in the boat, had escaped with 
 the doubtful advantage of shattered wits 
 and broken health. 
 
 " Let's have tea, no cofifee," exclaimed 
 Isolda. " Look at the old woman roasting it 
 over there." They asked for the best inn, 
 and went into the house where Julie 
 Lullin had dragged out the concluding 
 months of her hfe. If not the same, very 
 similar oleander plants grew in similar 
 green tubs, which had been just put out for 
 summer ornament in front of the chalet. 
 The little sitting-room for all decent comers 
 was hardly altered since the body of the 
 English Milor had been brought in there. 
 The print of Napoleon crossing the Alps, 
 which Julie had stared at in vacant melan-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 223 
 
 choly, still hung over the hearth. Outside 
 was a verandah where on Sundays hocks 
 and petit hlanc were consumed by the 
 blouses, while the ping of rifles and the 
 rattle of ninepins went on round the corner, 
 where there was a sort of shrubbery and 
 a shooting-gallery. But that day the place 
 was quiet. The room was a good deal 
 shaded by a Virginian creeper which hung 
 from the verandah, and the Harlay party 
 did not at once see two well-dressed women 
 and a very good imitation of a gentleman 
 having afternoon cofiee and zwiebacks at 
 a table in the corner. Presently, when she 
 had grown used to the green filtered light, 
 Isolda honoured the younger of the ladies 
 with a prolonged stare, to which the stranger 
 responded with calm curiosity. Her look was 
 quiet and inofi'ensive, but the intrepid Oily 
 dropped her eyes under it, and observed 
 that there was too much fraternity and 
 equality for her taste in the Genevan air. 
 Her English was understood, for the
 
 224 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Swiss ladies smiled, but the English party 
 did not for a moment check their talk. Mrs. 
 Harlay recommenced her lamentations over 
 Miss Fazackerly's ingratitude, her unavail- 
 ing search for a Swiss governess, her hurry 
 and forlorn abandonment by Christopher, 
 who had left her to struggle home, perhaps 
 encumbered by some clumsy lorotegee of 
 the pasteurs. 
 
 ''Imagine us to-morrow night in the train," 
 said Oily, " ' Compartiment des Dames,' 
 the pious protegee of the pasteurs pro- 
 ducing her nightcap and slippers. She is 
 certain to smell of creosote. They all have 
 toothache, I remark." 
 
 " Oily ! " said Mrs. Harlay, in her usual 
 appealing way ; " I really do think you are a 
 most enviable person, my dear Mrs. Eden. 
 Everything that earth can give, and not a 
 care." 
 
 "Ernest, old fellow," said Oily, ''this 
 tea is a caution. I'm dying to taste 
 absinthe, and this is nearly my last chance.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 225 
 
 I seem to want a pick-me-up after mention- 
 ing the compartiment des dames." But 
 Sir Ernest did not get up, so the young 
 charmer rattled on, "Mrs. Eden, let's have 
 a petit verre. It's pleasant and wrong, but 
 we shall soon be at Edenhurst, doing our 
 tricks prettily. Let's be Bohemians and 
 smile." 
 
 " Smiling comes easy when you talk," 
 said Mrs. Eden. 
 
 " Ah ! but my smiling means having a 
 drink, in the language of the future as 
 spoken in Utopia City, Miss. I propose 
 and second absinthe. There seems so 
 much wormwood about that it will be 
 homoeopathic treatment, excellent for your 
 complaint, mamma." 
 
 " Thank you, but I don't like any of 
 those things," said Mrs. Eden. 
 
 " There you're wrong ; and if you only 
 knew it, you have the best Curagoa in the 
 country at Edenhurst ; old Jack Lowther 
 told me so. It's been there since the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 days of Squire Francis Edeu, who was 
 drowned." 
 
 " Isolda ! " said Mrs. Harlay, witli real 
 anger, for she feared Mrs. Eden would not 
 tolerate the young lady mucli longer, and 
 Mrs. Eden was counted as one of Mrs. 
 Harlay's good cards. 
 
 Oily saw her mother's look, and sulked, 
 but she said aside to Sir Ernest, " I sup- 
 pose you know we clerical Harlays are 
 called rector, director and mis -director. 
 The last post is not inefficiently filled by 
 this child who addresses you. If an educa- 
 tional slavey isn't caught for Audrey, I 
 shall religiously misdirect her. I warn all 
 concerned." 
 
 All this time the Swiss ladies had re- 
 mained silent and observant, but having 
 eaten nearly all their squares of starchy 
 sugar they got up to go. It was impossi- 
 ble not to be struck by the good looks of 
 the younger woman. Both were handsome, 
 but age and an uneasy, grasping disposition
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 227 
 
 had lined and sharpened the face of the 
 elder. The nimble Genevan air had made 
 havoc of her hair and teeth, and for all her 
 well-cut features she was on the verge of 
 haghood. But her daughter was in her 
 prime. She was tall, and her figure might 
 have been rather square and massive, if 
 she had not been dressed in excellent 
 taste. 
 
 Her hands and feet were large but shapely, 
 and there was strength under the smooth 
 white roundness of her arms. What was 
 perhaps too masculine and visibly powerful 
 in her development was forgotten ui the 
 cahn sweetness of her face ; her hair was of 
 an even brown, not fine, but very well set 
 on her broad, white brow. Her eyes were 
 of a darker shade, rather sleepy, and slow 
 of glance. They were often bent down- 
 wards under their long lashes, but she 
 would suddenly raise them and flash a de- 
 precating look at her critic. Her nose 
 was broad at the bridge, but whatever of 
 Q 2
 
 228 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 refinement was wanted in it was compen- 
 sated by tlie firm yet mobile curves of her 
 month. For an unmarried woman, her 
 manner was singularly dignified ; she never 
 was awkward. With the self-possession of 
 worldly experience she had kept, perhaps 
 acquired, the sweet modesty and reserve of 
 girlhood. And yet her gentle ways and 
 unobtrusive tact and quiet were learned in 
 the school of a hric-a-hrac shop, where she 
 had been used to deal successfully with the 
 motley tribe of customers that passes yearly 
 through Geneva. 
 
 For these bourgeoises were Julie Chene- 
 viere and her daughter Alphonsine, come 
 down to Yersoix for further catechism of 
 the two or three surviving witnesses of 
 lulie Lullin's residence and death at the 
 little inn some forty-nine years before. 
 Their companion was M. Duval, whose 
 arrival at the Montanvert had hurried 
 Madame Cheneviere's return to Chamouni 
 just nine months since.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 229 
 
 When tliey left their table Sir Ernest 
 Harlay and Elizabeth got up, for their 
 chairs were in the way of the Swiss 
 strangers. Elizabeth and Mademoiselle 
 Alphonsine looked in each other's eyes for 
 a second. Mrs. Eden admired and was 
 touched by the air of sadness on the girl's 
 face, but neither she nor Sir Ernest re- 
 membered her in the least. 
 
 "She is handsome, is she not?" said 
 Mrs. Eden, when the ladies had disappeared 
 in the inner room, where the old inn- 
 keeper and his wife were sitting over their 
 gouter. 
 
 " Is she ? yes, she is certainly hand- 
 some," said Sir Ernest, vaguely, for he 
 had hardly looked at the young woman. 
 
 " Rather," observed Oily, " but good 
 looks are so rare hereabouts that they 
 surprise you, and so you don't judge fairly. 
 She has plenty of chic, though !" 
 
 Meantime Madame Cheneviere and her 
 daughter were talking eagerly, but in a
 
 230 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 low voice, together in the inner room, wliere 
 they seemed at home. 
 
 " It must be her. Eden of Edenhurst. 
 1 saw her, you know, at Chamouni, but 
 who are the others ? That near-sighted 
 woman in search of a governess, an aunt ?" 
 
 "No : she said, 'My dear Mrs. Eden ;' 
 a neighbour, however, evidently." 
 
 Alphonsine, as she spoke, thoughtfully 
 traced the lines of the parquet floor with 
 her parasol, while M. Duval frowned at her 
 in dissatisfied admiration. 
 
 '^ Petite maman, I have an idea." 
 
 "You have had too many ideas lately," 
 said her mother, with a shrug. At least I 
 thought that hundred thousand francs of 
 yours was safe, and you were mad enough to 
 put it in Milan gas. I mistrust your ideas, 
 my daughter." 
 
 " Just as petit pere and I equally dis- 
 trust yours, belle maman." And Alphon- 
 sine glanced at M. Duval, who presently 
 got up and moved to the door. "How-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 231 
 
 ever, it is weak to recriminate. We have 
 lost, good ; now, instead of disputing over 
 our respective metliods of loss, suppose 
 you help me in my plans." 
 
 The quiet smile of Alphonsine brought 
 a scowl on Madame Cheneviere's face ; but 
 she recognized her daughter's social talent 
 as superior to her own, and she checked a 
 retort to say — 
 
 " Your plan, meantime, of extorting an 
 absurd price for my English annuity is not 
 an example of success, my angel. That 
 move of yours is indeed gambling, and you 
 might as well go to Saxon les Bains at 
 once. Because, forsooth, your imagina- 
 tion was lively, you made us stake a solid 
 income on the chance of your guesses 
 proving correct. I do not like that Ravens- 
 croft's letter. There is no weakness or 
 yielding in it. He may put us to the 
 ruinous expense and scandal of a lawsuit to 
 prove our right even to that last crumb of 
 our fortune ; and this is your strategy !"
 
 232 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Well," said Alphonsine, unmoyed, 
 thougli her mother's taunts were given in 
 a bitter and unpleasant way. '' I see 
 weakness in the very arrogance of that 
 letter. We are playing at brag. But it 
 is a curious chance which brings these 
 Enghsh of Edenhurst to this very house 
 while we are here." 
 
 " Heh ! my good friends," she said, 
 going over to the bench on which the old 
 couple of the inn sat and munched their 
 dark, wine-fermented bread. " Think of 
 it all again. Tell me exactly what Julie 
 LuUin, my grandmother, said when she was 
 dying. Tell M. Duval here." 
 
 " Look you, my pretty young lady, if I 
 am made to tell that story so often, I shall 
 tell lies at last. It gives me the shivers." 
 
 " Nonsense, papa Yautier, and here is for 
 our coffee; never mind the change." 
 
 The old wife brightened up at the 
 sight of the napoleon in her husband's 
 fingers.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 233 
 
 '' I can tell mademoiselle better tlian my 
 husband; and wben mademoiselle stands 
 before me, she brings it all to mind. The 
 poor young widow of the drowned milor 
 had the same elegance and noble air ; 
 not at all like her uncle, gossip Lullin, the 
 old fox. He never paid us for half our 
 trouble, but he would have given, eh ! a 
 thousand francs to have heard her last 
 words. She had been out of her mind, 
 you know, after her accident in the lake." 
 
 " Yes, out of her mind. I know all 
 that." 
 
 " If mademoiselle knows, I need waste 
 no words." 
 
 Alphonsine at once poured oil on 
 Madame Vautier. 
 
 " Forgive me, madam, but I have urgent 
 reasons for asking you to repeat once again 
 every detail of her death. She became 
 reasonable at the end?" 
 
 " Excuse me, she never was reasonable ; 
 she always had a weak head. If made-
 
 234 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 moiselle would condescend to listen, but 
 mademoiselle is such a great lady, slie 
 despises tlie old friends of her family." 
 
 "Ela\^e, thou art a chatterbox," broke 
 in the old man. '' The poor thing was as 
 sensible as we are before the end." 
 
 " Go, my poor Jean, thou wert not 
 there ! She woke up out of a trance, as 
 it were — " 
 
 " And asked for Francis, her — " 
 
 '' Husband—" 
 
 '' And desired to know where her wed- 
 ding-ring was — " 
 
 " As if any one in this house would steal 
 it!" 
 
 " And then she seemed to devour her 
 baby—" 
 
 *' With her eyes — well understood." 
 
 " And she said, ' If there is a God, He will 
 protect the little one and see to her rights.' " 
 
 At this point M. Duval turned with 
 his sweetest but still unpleasant smile 
 towards Alphonsine.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 235 
 
 " And then she spoke no more, ex- 
 cept to ask now and then for her hus- 
 band." 
 
 *' And no one dared tell her ; and then 
 she lay back, for death was on her, and 
 she kept fingering the place where her 
 wedding-ring should have been, and 
 Father LuUin came in but she did not 
 know him." 
 
 " And he refused to pay us our just 
 charge for washing and the wear and tear 
 that comes with a death." 
 
 " Madame is good and just," saidFlavie, 
 looking to Madame Cheneviere. 
 
 *' And mademoiselle is lovely and rich as 
 an angel," mumbled Jean, at the end of 
 their croaking duet, spoken fast lest either 
 should distance the other. 
 
 " My good souls, I should be better and 
 more just if you could get that ring for me ; 
 but you see it's no use," added Madame 
 Cheneviere to her daughter, " it is so long 
 ago. You are wasting time and money,
 
 236 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 and will miss your coujp. Come, do not 
 let us miss the train as well." 
 
 But Alphonsine remained thoughtfully 
 looking at the old couple who had seen 
 and known the English milor and the 
 beautiful wrecked woman, who were her 
 grandfather and grandmother. 
 
 " That tall, fair woman in mourning is 
 certainly your English uncle's widow," 
 she said slowly, as they walked to 
 the railway- station. M. Duval loitered 
 behind. 
 
 " My dear, take my advice, and drop the 
 affair. It is dangerous. I shall lose my 
 annuity ; and you had better think how to 
 earn your bread if you offend M. Duval, 
 for your father has played ducks and drakes 
 with his fortune and mine." 
 
 '' Perhaps T am earning my bread by my 
 brains ; but meantime do you feel no anger 
 at those Edens?" 
 
 " Ah, the pigs ! yes ! but anger is 
 an unprofitable virtue, my dear ; anger
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 237 
 
 is expensive, botli to the purse and to 
 beauty." 
 
 "For weak souls, possibly; but, little 
 mother, I am not working for myself or 
 for you or against tbat blonde usurper of 
 our property so mucb as for my father and 
 my liberty. My poor father ! Speak to 
 me no more of Duval, I hate him ; and 
 promise that you will not thwart me, 
 promise ! You know we are ruined, 
 more than ruined, that is finished ; so let 
 me act. I think I can earn my bread, and 
 something more, but for the first step I 
 shall want your support. Chut !" 
 
 They had reached the station, where was 
 the Enghsh party, waiting for the train. 
 Tea had cheered Mrs. Eden, and she was 
 tolerant of Isolda's gambols. Within the 
 last few days a brighter look was on her 
 face, a softness had veiled the light of her 
 clear, grey eyes, and the sunshine played 
 more lingeringly in her wavy hair. Her 
 straight features and proud, pale face had
 
 238 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 been over-still in their calm, and over- 
 grave in their intelligence, and the change 
 singularly enhanced her beauty. 
 
 " I did not think I should be glad to go 
 home," she said to Sir Ernest Harlay as 
 they walked and waited; " but I am glad," 
 she went on quickly. " One good of tra- 
 velling is that you make friends that you 
 might altogether miss at home." 
 
 '' But are travelhng friendships kept up ? 
 When I come to see you, shall I be one 
 of those county ' necessities ' I have heard 
 you abuse ?" 
 
 " Come and see, but then you must 
 please not be exactly like the people who 
 all say the same things, and haven't a 
 notion what they mean to say. I'm like 
 Tennyson's spinner, ' sick of shadows.'" 
 
 " They need not be shadows." 
 
 '' But they are, and if one gets past the 
 shadows one comes to mean and ugly facts 
 generally." 
 
 " That is, if you will forgive my saying
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 239 
 
 SO, a cant of the day ; notliing is mean or 
 ngly if you throw the right Hght on it." 
 
 " I shouldn't have thought you were an 
 optimist. Isn't wrong ugly ?" 
 
 '' But to conquer wrong is beautiful, and 
 all things make for good to the person who 
 looks for good." 
 
 " St. Michael spearing the Evil One, in 
 short, makes a beautiful picture, though the 
 Evil One is very ugly." 
 
 " There is that handsome girl again. 
 What can she be saying to Mrs. Harlay ? 
 But here is the train at last." 
 
 " Only think," said Mrs. Harlay, when 
 they were settled in their places, "that 
 girl heard what I said about governesses. 
 She asked me if I had apphed to Pasteur 
 Martin, because he knows of some one 
 Hkely to suit. It's quite providential, but 
 this is the sort of place for odd events." 
 
 " I think the Providential party means 
 herself," said Oily, " and if she does, you'll 
 find her too great a swell. I wouldn't
 
 240 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 warrant her quiet in harness, and she's too 
 high a stepper for schoolroom work." 
 
 "If by that extraordinary stable jargon 
 you mean that she is too handsome, I don't 
 think that's an objection. It groups well ; 
 sets off one's parties. Anyhow I can inquire 
 about her as your father has left me the 
 odious task." 
 
 Meantime the Chenevieres wrangled in 
 their compartment in suppressed shrillness 
 over Alphonsine's sudden proposition. 
 
 ''Go as a menial to those English pigs ! 
 Leave your father who is already dying, 
 and all to play a comedy that can have but 
 shame and ridicule as its finish. Ridicu- 
 lous ! But I wash my hands of you. You 
 will probably end like that poor victim my 
 mother. Do you know what these stuck- 
 up English are ? They will not treat you 
 as a lady when they hear that your father 
 has been in commerce. Do they under- 
 stand, those retrograde Chinois, that com- 
 merce is nobler than their fox-hunting !
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 241 
 
 I won't have it, my daugliter. I have my 
 pride too. I hate those people." 
 
 " That hinders nothing, Uttle mother. 
 Listen to me. We beheve that your poor 
 mother was the wife of that Eden who 
 killed her . we can find no proofs here, but 
 they may exist where his bad mother lived. 
 If I can find them we will forgive the 
 English, and my poor father will be saved. 
 He is sinking now in his discouragement. 
 I, his daughter, will do what I can to restore 
 him. It is a good cause, and if I have to 
 use crooked weapons it is not my fault 
 but that of the respectable milor my grand- 
 father." 
 
 " These measures are quite unnecessary," 
 said Duval, with a look towards Madame 
 Cheneviere. *' Accept me, mademoiselle, 
 and there shall be no exposure of your 
 father's affairs." 
 
 " Sooner than that I will be a kitchen- 
 maid," said Alphonsine. 
 
 " Your mother counts for nothing then," 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 said Madame Cheneviere, " and our friend 
 here." 
 
 " Perhaps for too much in our ruin," 
 said the girl, looking at M. Duval so that 
 he turned angrily away. 
 
 Madame Cheneviere was not convinced, 
 but she was silenced. She made no fur- 
 ther remark, and when Alphonsine went 
 out that evening she rightly guessed that 
 her daughter was going to explain her 
 wishes to their pasteur, M. Martin, and to 
 lay the train for her engagement by Mrs. 
 Harlay. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Eden and Sir Ernest 
 leisurely followed Mrs. and Miss Harlay 
 down the Kue du Mont Blanc. Before 
 them an outline clearly defiued, yet of 
 colour and form that no painter could have 
 truly expressed in their delicacy, appeared 
 as a vision of some quite other world. 
 Neither spoke, but to see a beautiful thing 
 together is often better than talk as a link. 
 When they had reached the wooden bridge
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 243 
 
 des Bergues the gas-lights had begun to 
 flicker restlessly along the rushing river, 
 and in the mild evening light people were 
 changing their business step to slower 
 strolHng by the He Rousseau. Elizabeth's 
 heel caught in a chink of the boarded path- 
 way, and she might have fallen if Ernest 
 had not caught her hand. He offered her 
 his arm for the rest of the way, and hers 
 trembled a little as it lay within his. Her 
 stumble had certainly startled her. 
 
 '* I must say good-bye to you to-night," 
 he said ; "I am going by the early train 
 to-morrow to Mulhouse. When do you 
 leave?" 
 
 " I rather want to see the other end of 
 the Lake Chillon and Clarens, ' the birth- 
 place of deep love,' you know, according to 
 Lord Byron." 
 
 " I shall envy you the vision of the Dent 
 du Midi when I am well in the smoke of 
 the Mulhouse factories." 
 
 " Why do you stop there ?" 
 E 2
 
 244 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 '' I am to meet Mr. David Bromley there, 
 he is going round the French workshops 
 to get ideas. I daresay you know of him 
 as a leader of the Nonconformists — a 
 preacher?" 
 
 " Yes, of course." 
 
 '' I think he may buy Harlay Abbot." 
 
 *' And you would like that ! " 
 
 "If it must be — yes. Better he than 
 another." 
 
 '' But isn't he a dreadful radical, attack- 
 ing the Church continually?" Mrs. Eden 
 had stopped to look at the swans, and ob- 
 served them very attentively. 
 
 " Is it wrong to attack the make- shifts 
 and compromises of the sixteenth century ? 
 I think we are coming out of our bondage, 
 Mrs. Eden. If I sell Harlay Abbot to a 
 believer likely to play the man in the com- 
 ing controversy, it will be something gained 
 out of my loss. And he is rich." 
 
 '' What is the coming controversy ? " 
 asked Elizabeth, half stirred by his man-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 245 
 
 Tier to wish that she shared his inte- 
 rest. 
 
 " Can you ask ! Everywhere there are 
 signs of social break-up. And all sorts of 
 people are uneasy and restless, and don't 
 know what to think. It is because there 
 is new wine, and the old bottles are burst- 
 ing. ' Breadth ' it is called when the 
 spirit has evaporated, and we are offered 
 such dregs as science allows to the un- 
 scientific." 
 
 " I should have thought for new wine, if 
 there is such fermenting just now, 'breadth' 
 was just the thing. A wide enthusiasm 
 that could take in all that is being dis- 
 covered and taught." 
 
 *' Then you have never known the deeper 
 needs of human nature. That sort of 
 thing is only good in the smooth shallows 
 of society. It is failing miserably every- 
 where before the wave of sin and suffering. 
 It fails in every soul that is in earnest, and 
 not drugged by moral opiates."
 
 246 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 Elizabetli listened in surprise, and too 
 mucli impressed by the man's vehement 
 sincerity to think of discussion. 
 
 " David Bromley," he went on, '' is one 
 of the men likely to save faith in England." 
 
 *' And he is rich?" Mrs. Eden was 
 unaccountably, irritated by Mr. Bromley's 
 wealth. " Yes, and I suppose the fact 
 must be accepted, only capital can govern 
 properly nowadays." 
 
 "But Mr. Bromley will build chapels all 
 over the estate ! " 
 
 " If he does I ought to be glad. He 
 will choose good preachers." 
 
 " Ought to be ! I really believe you 
 would be. Perhaps preach yourself like 
 Lord X. and Captain Y." 
 
 *' If we have a message, must we not 
 declare it ? — but of that I am unworthy — 
 pray do not talk more about it." The as- 
 sured tone left his voice as he added, 
 almost irritably, " When I begin to look 
 for compromises I grow puzzled."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 247 
 
 " I suppose that is the way witli every 
 one, only most people are pleased to com- 
 promise, very proud of steering middle 
 courses." 
 
 '' Would you be ? " 
 
 " Everything seems to me many-sided. 
 If I were sure of anything I might hold by 
 it. At least I admire people who can. 
 For all that, however, I don't hope you will 
 set your prophet, Mr. Bromley, down among 
 us as a new broom. I see Mrs. Harlay and 
 Oily have gone in; good bye. Sir Ernest." 
 
 As the young man walked up and down 
 by the river, smoking, two currents of 
 thought, differing, and almost contradictory, 
 made eddies in his brain so confusing, that 
 at last he gave up thinking as an idle 
 waste of thought. 
 
 He had travelled with his friend Mr. 
 Bromley — friend by that freemasonry which 
 unites enthusiasts of the same colour in 
 bonds incomprehensible to outsiders — 
 over the Simplon. They had agreed about
 
 248 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 most things, and it was improbable tliat 
 Sir Ernest would find a purchaser to please 
 him so well. Yet while he was calculating 
 rents and acreage, and rights to be reserved, 
 an under-thought more potent if less 
 defined, kept assuring him that Harlay 
 Abbot need not and would not be sold, and 
 that it would be wrong to act hastily, and 
 that nine thousand a year as bulwark and 
 defence would make the united estates of 
 Edenhurst and Harlay Abbot a really noble 
 field for Christian revival and social ex- 
 periment. Harlay Abbot was much the 
 more extensive and important property of 
 the two, and capable of indefinite develop- 
 ment as old leases fell in and the landlord 
 got the reins better in hand. Meantime 
 Edenhurst was enough to float it by mere 
 support. 
 
 This train of thought would fairly have 
 pushed Mr. Bromley off the rails, but that 
 all its combinations were blotted out when 
 with a thrill almost of pain the memory of
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 249 
 
 Mrs. Eden crossed his anxious plans. 
 She was becoming more to him than the 
 friendly and gracious owner of Edenhurst, 
 so much more that to connect her with his 
 calculations jarred on him. In proportion 
 as he was attracted by the clear soul in her 
 grey eyes, by her noble womanhood, her 
 culture yet simplicity, and her serene 
 beauty, so he recoiled from the money 
 benefit that she could confer on him. 
 He felt that he should betray his rapidly- 
 increasing regard for her, if he spent 
 another day at Geneva ; and he could not 
 make up his mind that it was honest to use 
 her fortune in propping his own. One 
 hope, however, nearly dispelled his doubts 
 and scruples. With all her intelligence, 
 her power, she had not found the treasure 
 of treasures. The enthusiast believed that 
 his might be the hand to guide her in the 
 search. Strong in the thought he let his 
 love flame high, but then to fall again when 
 he remembered mortgages and embarrass-
 
 250 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 ments. Day by day besides, bis estimate 
 of her rose, and a certain quiet scorn and 
 indifference be bad seen in ber face at 
 times baunted bim. Altogether, Sir Ernest 
 was falling into tbe whirlpool of love ; but 
 falling in tbe considerate and prudent 
 fashion, which becomes those who have 
 known tbe stronger and less mixed passion 
 of fanaticism. 
 
 And Elizabeth leant by her open window, 
 risking thereby a sore throat, and listened 
 to the rush and gurgle of tbe river, and 
 watched tbe flashing reflections of the city 
 lights. She wondered under what pre- 
 tence of friendship she could stay the sale 
 of Harlay Abbot to David Bromley. She 
 thought of consulting Mr. Ravenscroft, 
 which was a sufficient proof that tbe con- 
 tingency of falling in love and marriage 
 had not occurred to her. Yet, perhaps, 
 when tbe thoughts are least awake to such 
 a fact, it most quickly assumes coherence. 
 The confidence and ofratitude she had felt
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 251 
 
 toAvards Mr. Eden were not reawakened 
 by Sir Ernest; rather an uneasy wish to 
 please and serve him, and to be approved 
 and understood by him which she had not 
 known before. She had been a contented 
 and seemly divinity in the old squire's 
 household, but now that instincts of idolatry 
 began to stir in her she ascribed them to 
 other than the true cause. Sceptical by 
 habit as was her intelligence, she sincerely 
 believed her interest in Sir Ernest to come 
 of respect for his religious fervour. She 
 thought it was the objects of his enthusiasm 
 when it was the enthusiast himself who had 
 attracted her. 'New hopes and ambitions, 
 though vague and fleeting, made her 
 horizon indistinct, as in a landscape the 
 distance is blurred when summer gleams 
 and summer frowns sweep across it.
 
 252 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 July was nearly spent, and the summer 
 garden at Edenhurst was blazing with 
 colour. A few hot days had given blue 
 haziness to the shadows of the great clump 
 of pines beyond the broad level of the 
 croquet lawn. The red-brown branches 
 glowed Hke fiery bars where the sun fell 
 on them, and the hot, resinous perfume 
 came and went in little puffs like incense 
 in a church. 
 
 Mrs. Eden had grown very civil to the 
 Harlay family. The croquet ground at 
 Edenhurst had merits, and Elizabeth allowed 
 frequent invasion of it by Oily and her 
 followers. Whatever financial troubles
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 253 
 
 weighed on tlie rector, they did not appear 
 on the surface of life. He looked thin and 
 anxious, but his friends knew that he had 
 lately contributed an essay on '' The Chal- 
 dean and Mosaic Myths," which had been 
 unpleasantly mentioned by several clerical 
 papers. He had not danced the double 
 shuffle with sufficient agility among the 
 Articles. Besides, his supposed prosperity 
 and high standing made him a likely object 
 for the attentions of the " Friends of Faith 
 Association." Mrs. Eden had interested 
 herself in the peccant essay, and was his 
 champion in morning visits when ladies 
 asked if it were not " most dangerous." 
 His little word of adhesion to the Chimera 
 Evolution had raised a tea- cup storm 
 among the extra orthodox of his neighbour- 
 hood, though his own parishioners made it 
 a matter of loyalty to become Evolutionists 
 with more or less intrepid ignorance. 
 
 He and his wife, Mrs. Eden, and Sir 
 Ernest, sat under the pines, looking at the
 
 254 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 many-coloured Harlay girls, who were 
 coaching their new governess, Mademoi- 
 selle Gautier, in the niceties of croquet. 
 Gautier had been the name of her father's 
 mother, and Alphonsine had adopted it for 
 her English expedition. 
 
 " I think you were lucky about her," 
 remarked Mrs. Eden, '' I like her, there is 
 something original about her ; I found her 
 a very pleasant companion on my journey 
 home." 
 
 '' So good of you to let her travel with 
 you. We couldn't wait for her, she seems 
 a perfect treasure," gushed Mrs. Harley. 
 '' Such tact. She put me right about my 
 Chelsea vase. I never knew its value ; and 
 she has immense influence over the girls." 
 
 " I wish she would influence Audrey's 
 skirt to hang right," growled the rector, 
 in the bass voice which came oddly from 
 his withered figure. " You are all spoiling 
 the young woman, fortunately she seems 
 to have some sense."
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 255 
 
 '* Oh," said Mrs. Harley, surveying 
 Audrey's offending garment througli her 
 eye-glasses, " she is not one of your nursery 
 creatures, but in her way she is ready to do 
 anything, anything, my dear Mrs. Eden." 
 
 " I daresay," growled the rector, " and it 
 is agreeable to hear you sing her praises." 
 
 "And you heard what was thought of 
 her interpretation of Chopin at Lady 
 Horsham's concert last week." 
 
 " Well, my dear, time will tell ; perhaps 
 your cygnet will turn out an ugly duck ; I 
 think you are all rather wild about her. — 
 Ernest, my boy, I hear Mr. Bromley has 
 bought Ashdene. Given forty years' pur- 
 chase. Well, Kent is just the place for 
 him, full of new men. I suppose he will 
 turn the place inside out. I'm all for 
 progress, of course, but he'll prove a bitter 
 pill to his neighbours." 
 
 A slight colour rose in Elizabeth's face. 
 
 '' Sir Ernest says we all want a course of 
 Bromley reform. When are we to be
 
 256 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 asked to Harlaj Abbot ? I want to see the 
 venerable Capucliin carps. It was a Capu- 
 cliin house, wasn't it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Harlay snnfied the battle of a pic- 
 nic and rose to the occasion, for by right 
 of auntship she would be prima donna 
 assoluta. At least five combinations at 
 once occurred to her that might ''lead to 
 something." 
 
 " What a charming thought ! Who shall 
 we be, Ernest ? Just ourselves ? " 
 
 " Secure a fine day," he said, " or the 
 house will give you rheumatism, not to 
 mention that it is fully occupied by spiders 
 and cockroaches." 
 
 " What's ' just ourselves ?' " asked Oily, 
 who had got bored and came to the shade ; 
 " that sounds deadly convivial: what's up?" 
 
 "I'm going to let you behind the scenes 
 at Harlay Abbot, show you the rags and 
 tatters, before — " but Ernest was inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "I say," exclaimed Oily, as Audrey
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 257 
 
 rushed toward sthem, "be calm, my 
 child ! " 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Eden, Eigher has got hold of 
 Mademoiselle Gautier, and if she moves, 
 he growls fearfully, fearfully ! " 
 
 Eigher was a great deal too independent 
 in his judgments for the comfort of Mrs. 
 Eden's acquaintance. 
 
 He now came slowly over to explain him- 
 self, his head down and a good deal of red 
 about his eyes. After due scolding he 
 flung his nine stone down with a long sigh 
 in one of the leonine attitudes of his race. 
 Mrs. Eden went over to Mademoiselle 
 Gautier to explain the dog's whims which 
 in this case rather surprised her, for he had 
 borne hitherto the young lady's advances 
 with magnanimity, and they were by way 
 of being compatriots and having a mutual 
 understanding. 
 
 " So Eigher wanted to play too," said 
 Elizabeth; "you did not mind his growling, 
 I hope." 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 But Eigher had not been in play by any 
 means ; lie liad beld firm hold of Mademoi- 
 selle Gantier, and she remained sufficiently 
 frightened, and indeed looked so pale that 
 Elizabeth drew her arm through hers and 
 led her to the shade with even more than 
 her usual kindness. Sir Ernest came to 
 meet them, and as mademoiselle's pale- 
 ness increased, he too offered her sup- 
 port. 
 
 There are women to whom the sight of 
 another being pitied is as a red petticoat to 
 a cow. 
 
 " Dear me, mademoiselle, how silly ! " 
 said Mrs. Harlay, " I suppose you hurt the 
 dog with your mallet. Scenes are so tire- 
 some." But the others did not follow her 
 Spartan lead. The rector placed an easy 
 chair, and Oily suggested a glass of water, 
 for which Audrey and Sir Ernest immedi- 
 ately set off in emulative benevolence. 
 
 "Now, chirk up," exhorted Oily, "I 
 never thought you were a muff. I'm
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 259 
 
 sure it's in geography that the Swiss are 
 strong-minded and able-bodied." 
 
 " It's very absurd to be so self-conscious," 
 said Mrs. Harlay, telegraphing to Oily that 
 she was not to coddle mademoiselle any 
 more. Sir Ernest came back with as much 
 water as Audrey's playful gambols had 
 allowed him to secure. Mrs. Eden, spurred 
 by Mrs. Harlay' s snubs, was almost tender 
 in her goodnature. The languor of her 
 slight indisposition gave soft brilliance to 
 Alphonsine's mild eyes. The patience of 
 her mouth was touching, though its mobile 
 corners redeemed it from dulness, just as 
 now and then a slight inflation of the 
 nostril betrayed a spirit not always yielding. 
 
 " We were settling about our day at 
 Harlay Abbot," said Mrs. Harlay. 
 
 '' I only make one condition. Bring 
 Alice and Audrey," said Ernest. 
 
 '' How about traps if the whole boiling 
 is to go ? " asked Oily. " You include 
 mademoiselle, Ernest, eh ? " 
 s 2
 
 260 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 " Oh, really," began Mrs. Harley ; but 
 Elizabeth said she had t^o or three seats 
 to spare in her carnage, and one should 
 be at Mademoiselle Gautier's disposal. 
 
 " Here's Eavenscroft I " exclaimed the 
 rector. " "What ill wind brines him here ? " 
 
 *' I'm the ill wind," said Mrs. Eden, as she 
 welcomed her ao^ent. He knew every one 
 there perhaps rather better than they wished, 
 except the Swiss stranger, to whom it seemed 
 scarcely worth while introducing him. 
 
 " I am glad you are so well," Mr. Eavens- 
 croft said, when he and Mrs. Eden had sat 
 down for business talk in the study. He 
 looked half surprised at the increased beauty 
 that was on her. 
 
 " I have been anxious to see you since 
 your last letter. Am I to have a lawsuit and 
 lose it?" 
 
 " After all, I believe I exaggerated the 
 meaning of those Geneva people's letters. 
 There seems nothing in it. I have had no 
 answer to my last inquiry. I asked for
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 261 
 
 further particulars of tlie claim. No doubt 
 they found they had better be cautious. 
 It was probably an attempt to extort." 
 
 " I should like, if that is so, to cut them 
 off altogether." 
 
 " We'll see. But I would not advise that. 
 Never try to punish people. Be content to 
 keep clear of unfriendly persons. Mean- 
 time I don't know how I could have given 
 myself a conscientious holiday to-day but 
 that it so happened, curiously enough, that 
 I wanted to go on from here to Harlay 
 Abbot. I suppose you know that it is in 
 the market, and a chent of mine is thinking 
 of it." 
 
 " Ah ! do you happen to know how much 
 it owes ? " 
 
 " As much as it will fetch in any case. 
 Why, Mrs. Eden, you are not thinking — 
 Why—!" 
 
 '' I am only thinking that I shall be sorry 
 to lose Sir Ernest Harlay as a neighbour." 
 
 Reserve came to Mr. Ravenscrofb's help,
 
 2(^2 
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN, 
 
 but lie cleared his throat before he said 
 drily, "It is a pity that Harlay Abbot is 
 hopelessly encumbered." 
 
 AVlien the conflicting claims and interests 
 of all concerned were finally adjusted, it 
 was settled that Oily and Ahce shoidd ride 
 to Harlay Abbot with a cenain useful 
 neighbour of all work commonly known as 
 Crumpets. Mr. and^Mrs. Harlay and a curate 
 filled the rectory phaeton. Mrs. Eden 
 offered seats in her landau to Mr. Ravens- 
 croft, Audrey, and Mademoiselle Gautier. 
 
 It was a big carriage of the late squire's 
 epoch and rather noisy, so that when its 
 occupants were well thrown back in their 
 comers general talk was an effort . Audrey 
 kept the London lawyer amused by her 
 imitations of Oily, and Mrs. Eden and 
 Mademoiselle Alphonsine found plenty to 
 talk about on their side of the roomy vehicle. 
 Some bits of their conversation which he 
 caught rather astonished Mr. Ravenscroft.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN'. 263 
 
 It Tvas contrary to tds theories that women 
 should for a whole hour be interested in 
 one another, discuss a dozen subjects with- 
 out gossip, and found almost a friendship 
 on intellectual sympathy. 
 
 Alphonsine was resolved to please. She 
 might not have another equally fair chance 
 of securing Mrs. Eden's good-will and even 
 confidence. Though she spoke English 
 well, the slight differences in idiom covered 
 any mistakes she made in her tentative talk. 
 Her slow, soft eyes watched the least change 
 in Mrs. Eden's face, and with excellent skill 
 she set herself to express thoughts and feel- 
 ings which before Ehzabeth had hardly 
 defined to herself, but which she recognized 
 as long famihar. They were not her best 
 thoughts, not those lately stirred in her, but 
 a farrago of sHghtly cynical criticism on life 
 and art. Sceptical yet restless and weari- 
 somely encyclopedic, still it interested Mrs. 
 Eden and at first dazzled her, for enthusiast 
 as she was, in recognition of intellectual
 
 264 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 superiority slae over readily accepted wliat 
 glittered gaudily as gold. Mademoiselle 
 Gautier solved several urgent social pro- 
 blems, with the superior wisdom of a 
 second-hand Genevan prophet, and echoed 
 discreetly some of that advanced thought 
 and unbridled speculation which had a 
 charm for Mrs. Eden, and of which she 
 seldom heard in her ordinary world. 
 
 Geneva is a centre of uneasy intelli- 
 gence. Every intellectual forlorn hope 
 is represented there, and Alphonsine, 
 an only daughter and the pillar of the 
 Cheneviere house, had been petted as a 
 miniature Madame Eoland by the leaders 
 of the St. Gervais quarter. Her trade 
 experience had given her a more real ac- 
 quaintance with objects of art, including 
 bronzes and pictures, than most amateur 
 cognoscenti possess. Every one knows the 
 power that is given by thorough knowledge 
 on almost any subject. It is a solid basis 
 for accomplishments, and Alphonsine' s were
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 265 
 
 many. She had an inferior intelligence to 
 Mrs. Eden's, but it was readj, trained to 
 practical purpose in the struggle of life, and 
 not hampered by a sensitive conscience, 
 though quite ready to acknowledge and 
 accept the important supports of conscience 
 in her dealings with others and in her own 
 course of action. Mrs. Eden constantly 
 lost herself in intellectual labyrinths. Curi- 
 osity led her without definite aim into a 
 hundred puzzles. She was so sincere in 
 wishing to know and do rightly, that half 
 discouraged by these puzzles she drifted 
 hither and thither, and both did and was 
 far less than her natural gifts warranted the 
 looker-on to expect. 
 
 On the other hand, Alphonsine, unweak- 
 ened by a like intellectual craving for 
 knowledge and aspiration towards com- 
 plete truth, gave her mind and energy to 
 the work she had in hand. By practice 
 she had acquired skill in reading faces and 
 grouping character, and in turning to
 
 266 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 account passing incidents. Bold as was 
 the scheme of her English campaign, she 
 was probably justified by her talents in 
 her plan of action. The importance to 
 her family on the verge of disgrace, that 
 the true history of its connexion with the 
 Edens should be ascertained, easily recon- 
 ciled her to such intrigue and deception as 
 was necessary to her end. Besides her 
 filial love, which was sincere and strong, 
 readily covered a multitude of sins ; and if 
 she had troubled herself with examination 
 of conscience, they could soon have been 
 transmuted in the crucible of self-love to 
 even heroic virtues. 
 
 The salient points in her character 
 were those likely to attract Elizabeth, who 
 was over-pleased to find in man or woman 
 capacity for action and rapid decision. 
 The drive had not lasted an hour when 
 Mademoiselle Gautier had offered to 
 examine and catalogue some rarities at 
 Edenhurst, of which no one well knew the
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 267 
 
 value, as they had been picked up liere and 
 there by travelled Edens each according 
 to his fancy. 
 
 " There is a cabinet, I am sure Italian, 
 where my husband's mother kept some 
 things she valued. Her eldest son went 
 abroad just at the time bargains were to be 
 picked up. He was drowned near Geneva." 
 
 " Have you never looked through it ? 
 There may be treasures in it ; suppose we 
 came on a bit of Henri Deux ware ! " 
 
 "And find ourselves famous!" said 
 Mrs. Eden; "but look, mademoiselle, do 
 you appreciate the charm of this English 
 \allage, the green of the ' green,' and the 
 friendly oaks and old red cottages, and 
 over all the grey bloom of our misty air. 
 I suppose you are longing for your terrible 
 mountains, and think all this prosy." 
 
 " Ah, madame, you do not know how 
 English my taste is. I could even admire 
 your grey mists and your red wafer of a 
 sun if they were mine."
 
 268 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 "We'll hand those last over to you," 
 put in Audrey, "'likewise them rheumatics, 
 and fever and ager and lumbager too,' as 
 the poet says. I say, did you know that 
 your pet hag. Widow Cripps, has got fever ; 
 she has been talking a lot of rubbish about 
 you too." 
 
 " Has she ! but how did you hear, my 
 child ? " 
 
 ^' As if I didn't hear everything, and 
 how you had been coddling the old soul. 
 Dick Cripps set our cook's back up by 
 saying you told him to ask for beef -tea." 
 
 "It is well that your English tongue is 
 to be spoken presently by all the world, for 
 truly no one shall soon be able to under- 
 stand it," observed Mademoiselle. She had 
 been picking Widow Cripps' brain as one 
 of the elder inhabitants of Edenhurst, and 
 her sweet face was for a second less 
 serene than usual, but she rallied at once, 
 conscious that Mr. Ravenscroft's eyes 
 were very frequently fixed on her. He
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 269 
 
 liad not tlie slightest suspicion that slie 
 
 was one of the " Lullin annuitants," but 
 
 he thought her attractive, perhaps more 
 
 attractive i£ less beautiful than Mrs. Eden. 
 
 But arts of pleasing were sorely taxed 
 
 as the landau lumbered along the Sussex 
 
 lane. Now and then a wheel sunk into 
 
 a sandj pit ignorant of " Kentish rag," 
 
 and ineffectually mended with curious 
 
 rubbish, from blacking bottles to old-world 
 
 bricks. Quite sketchable scaurs, fringed 
 
 with heather, and bracken, rose at each 
 
 side. The sun beat down fiercely on the 
 
 baked road, and a sense of wishing "it 
 
 were over " pervaded the society that was 
 
 on its way to Harlay Abbot, though now 
 
 and then a glimpse of a squirrel peeping, 
 
 or the scut of a leaping rabbit, revived 
 
 their spirits. 
 
 " There's a moral," observed Audrey, 
 as one of them sat up and looked at 
 her from under a straggling gorse-bush. 
 " Some day you'll all see what a shot I
 
 270 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 am, and when one does a thing well every 
 muff approves. I'll get Ernest to have 
 out his ferrets, and lend me his little single 
 barrel, this blessed afternoon." 
 
 '' Though my will is made," observed 
 Mr. Ravenscoft, " I'll keep clear of that 
 weapon." 
 
 " Do you think I'd shoot you ? " 
 
 " Don't put such disdain in your voice. 
 I should make a heavy bag." 
 
 " I beg of you not to encourage her wild 
 talk, monsieur," interposed mademoiselle. 
 
 " What do you know about English girls' 
 talk ?" said Audrey in high ruffle ; " I'll say 
 more, and come out strong. I'm in Harlay 
 Abbot now, and Ernest won't have me 
 bullied into learning French-poodle man- 
 ners." 
 
 The heat and her place in the lurching 
 landau had irritated Audrey's temper, but 
 a look without words from her governess, 
 reduced her to inarticulate defiance of the 
 other wayfarers, who had smiled. 
 
 '' There is a singular idea among English
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 271 
 
 girls," observed Mademoiselle Gautier, 
 " that rough language and gestures mean 
 frankness." 
 
 " Much you know about frankness," 
 growled Audrey to herself. 
 
 The curve of Mademoiselle Gautier' s 
 lips, which was remarkably well cut, was 
 for a second altered. She took no farther 
 notice of her pupil's insurrection, and 
 Audrey began seriously and instinctively 
 to dislike her governess, whom at first she 
 had been disposed to idolize. 
 
 Every one was bored, and the assertion 
 was more than three times made, that 
 Harlay Abbot was out of the way and 
 over-wooded. But their weariness left 
 them, as passing out of the frame of high 
 banks and coppice they saw below a 
 watered vale as pleasant to the pastoral 
 eye as the shaggy woodland had been 
 monotonously wild. In the island formed 
 by three still and full streams that softly 
 met and softly separated, was the house 
 of Harlay Abbot, of which the kernel was
 
 272 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 built in Elizabeth's time, tbougli it bad 
 since been from time to time enlarged. 
 Materials lay bandy in tbe ruined convent 
 bard by, and tbe Harlays bad added 
 nurseries, bow-windowed sitting-rooms, 
 and stables, eacb after bis own fancy and 
 necessities. Great walnut and cbestnut 
 trees, well grown from tbeir youtb upwards, 
 spread tbemselves in easy dignity of broad 
 bougb, and caverned sbade on tbe flat 
 lawns. Cattle could not but be calm and 
 sleek in tbe ricb pastures. Tbe carp in 
 tbe ancient ponds were examples of serene 
 luxury and indolence. In tbe clear, quiet 
 brooks between deep fringes of water- 
 grasses, tbe trout but lazily sbowed tbeir 
 silver sides, for tbe most part lying 
 in pleasant pools, and undulating witb 
 tbe current, as if tbey were anchored 
 weeds. 
 
 An old-fasbioned garden lay in warm 
 content to tbe south of the ruins, and there 
 apricots and figs ripened to a mellow
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 273 
 
 perfection unusual in England. There 
 had been little change in the place for 
 many years, and beds of such flowers as 
 Lord Bacon might have chosen, to secure 
 his " ver perpetuum," lay formally delight- 
 ful along the main alleys. Almost over- 
 shadowing these immortals were the tall, 
 buttressed ruins of the Abbey Church. 
 The chancel arches and tracery of the east 
 window, beautiful though blank in their 
 present uselessness, threw a grace of 
 sanctity on the enchanting vale. Mrs. 
 Eden's taste was gratified. Traces of wise 
 and skilful human culture were on all she 
 saw. Not the feverish and mechanical 
 marks of superabundant wealth that makes 
 a park within a year, not the spick-and- 
 span niceties and elaborate comforts of 
 Edenhurst, but tokens of the accumulated 
 labour and taste of many centuries were 
 on the place, and with priceless results. 
 
 Sir Ernest met his guests at a bridge 
 which spanned in a single high arch one 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 of the streams. Tlie rectory party had 
 already arrived, Crumpets in charge, and 
 had disappeared within the house in search 
 of shade and shandy-gaff. Ernest looked 
 flushed, and was flurried by very varying 
 currents of feeling. Mr. Ravenscroft was 
 a reminder of the thread by which he 
 held this fair inheritance, while he could 
 not but feel, under the spell of Elizabeth's 
 kind eyes and gentle manner, that he 
 might have deliverance if he sought it. 
 
 The landscape was eloquent of wealth 
 and calm content, but the owner of it was 
 in curious contrast. Slight, nervous, apt 
 to visionary thought, by temperament 
 impelled to contemplation of spiritual 
 mysteries, an hereditary Puritan and un- 
 conscious lyrist, a scorner of all enchant- 
 ments, he was as little congruous in that 
 summer-steeped vale, as Abd-el-Kader in 
 Touraine. Yet he loved it tenaciously, 
 and in his very dissimilarity of type to 
 the '' Knight of the Flower," who might
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 275 
 
 have been expected there, he seemed in 
 the rich abbey precincts stronger and 
 nobler than elsewhere. 
 
 Not that he was specially strong or 
 noble ajDart from his creed, but so far as 
 he was inspired by it, and as he acted on its 
 dictates, he doubtless stood on a higher 
 level than men whose religion was as a 
 formal frock coat for Sunday wear. 
 
 And it is not a moment to criticize 
 over-severely the shortcomings of religious 
 enthusiasts, it is well rather to recognize 
 frankly the work so much needed that they 
 can do and have done as witnesses to the 
 power of faith in social evolution. It is 
 an agent the processes of which are little 
 understood, but which has from time to 
 time been the one saving stimulant to a 
 weary and exhausted world. 
 
 However "advanced" existing society, 
 
 the enthusiastic temperament remains in 
 
 considerable proportions among our people, 
 
 and hitherto no teaching has so well 
 
 T 2
 
 276 ELIZABETH EDE^\ 
 
 suited its requirements as that of the 
 Nazarene. 
 
 In a critical and analyzing age enthu- 
 siasm supplies the creative energy that is 
 somewhat wanting. In Ernest Harlay 
 it excused shortcomings that elsewhere 
 Elizabeth would have severely judged. 
 But since her return she had not been in 
 a judging mood. All things had grown 
 brighter to her, and good was evident in 
 every chance. By the happy light in her 
 eyes Mademoiselle Gautier guessed how 
 Mrs. Eden had entered the unreal world, 
 and conscious of the coming contest for 
 wealth and position, the thought of possi- 
 ble rivalry in love occurred to her as she 
 glanced with frequent interest at Sir Ernest. 
 She was surprised and impressed by him, 
 because she had seen ' and dealt with so 
 many men, and recognized his dissimilarity 
 from the common sort. His visionary 
 eyes and grave softness attracted her, and, 
 indeed, often attracted women. A look of 
 command and consciousness of good birth
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 277 
 
 was idealized but not weakened by his 
 habitual reference of liis actions to a 
 Biblical standard. He bad welcomed her 
 with exactly the same courtesy as the 
 others, and she liked him for that ; and so 
 the spark of fancy grew, and before the 
 long summer's day was out Alphonsine 
 had definitely considered her position in 
 this matter, for it is to be remembered 
 that she had confidence in her right to 
 rival the owner of Edenhurst. Not 
 Elizabeth, but Alphonsine might redeem 
 the mortgages on Harlay Abbot when the 
 play was played out. 
 
 Sir Ernest did not intend to play show- 
 man to any of the party but Elizabeth. 
 He begged the others, after they had had 
 luncheon, to wander about as they liked best. 
 To Audrey he suggested fishing in the chief 
 pond, assisted by an old keeper, who would 
 impale her worms, and if she took any, give 
 her perch their quietus. Oily had already 
 lassoed her Crumpets, and meant to teach 
 him the poetry of repose for the present in a
 
 278 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 cool corner of the library. Mrs. Harlaj 
 had at once asserted herself as mistress of 
 the revels, such as she could make them. 
 With the Caleb Balderstone of the house 
 she was already settling how six wine- 
 glasses could be supplemented by tumblers 
 from the bedrooms, and how an Indian 
 bowl in which had been preserved the 
 pot jpourri of generations could be used for 
 salad, once its population of earwigs and 
 its fluffy nests of grubs had been cleared 
 out. Sir Ernest was not the man to spend 
 his last guinea on a jpdte de foie gras. 
 Except one or two big blocks of ice, he 
 had ordered no luxuries, and Mrs. Harlay's 
 generalship was usefal in marshalling the 
 cold fowl, rabbit pie, tart, and garden 
 stuff, that Harlay Abbot had pro^4ded. 
 She hoped '' something would come " of 
 the day, and knowing how enterprise fails 
 unless it be fed, she had brought with her 
 some portable good things, provocative of 
 appetite and harmony. The local cellar 
 contained good wine, not of the modern
 
 ELIZABETH EDEX. 279 
 
 sort, and indeed too good for luncheon. 
 Oil J professed a wide knowledge on the 
 subject, but slie was all abroad wlien some 
 white Burgundy was brought to her, it 
 was so exceedingly unlike the Chablis of 
 the period. 
 
 The prospects of meat and drink and 
 the heat had kept the party more or less 
 together in the library. It was felt that 
 sauntering and small talk were not yet 
 appropriate, indeed a certain aggressive 
 self-assertion showed itself among the free 
 and independent members not engaged in 
 love-making or its preliminaries. The 
 rector was no inconsiderable personage 
 among them as he threw back his head 
 and struck an imposing attitude before the 
 great open chimney. He was inclined to 
 perorate, but as yet, until after luncheon, 
 only in an acid way, on the advantages of 
 strikes or other popular annoyances. He 
 was so conscious of his Harlayhood by 
 divine grace, that his "views " were over- 
 flowing. Mixed anxiety and hope that his
 
 280 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 nepliew miglit yet bolster up his fortunes 
 by alliance with Edenhurst a little carried 
 him off his feet. If his mouth had not 
 presently been filled by truites au bleu, 
 Mr. Caleb's culinary triumph, he might have 
 held forth on comparative religion, on the 
 likeness between Isaiah and Mr. Tennyson. 
 Indeed, he had just begun to patronize the 
 Franciscan order, with only Mr. Ravens- 
 croft and Mademoiselle Gautier as audi- 
 ence, when the fortunate interruption of 
 luncheon stirred all lagging spirits, and 
 comforted all ruffled tempers. 
 
 After luncheon. Sir Ernest had taken 
 Mrs. Eden to a sitting-room beyond, which 
 had been my lady's for two centuries. 
 There yet hung about it the faint perfume 
 of cedar and sandal-wood, marechal, and 
 old-fashioned scents, grown, if one may say 
 so, sensibly dusty from age. IN'ow and 
 then from without puffs of summer sweet- 
 ness curled through the eld-laden atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 The middle window of the bar opened on
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 281 
 
 a tiled slope a cordoni, from wliicli a walk 
 equally paved with red tiles passed on be- 
 tween yew liedge ten feet high. As they 
 looked, a couple of peacocks disputing 
 some prize pursued one another down the 
 shady path, and where the sun fell on 
 them their lambent necks flashed with all 
 the glory of the sky-colouring epitomized 
 on them, from the gloom of thunder-clouds 
 to the golden red of sunset. At the further 
 end of the tiled alley was a wicket, to 
 which its lines converged in unbroken 
 accuracy of perspectives. To the right 
 was a brick wall, parallel to the yew hedges, 
 well covered by jessamines, musk, and 
 white roses, and such old favourites, and 
 in front of it a border of hollyhocks just 
 tipped with some early colour at the lower 
 part of their spires. Beyond the whole fore- 
 ground rose the amphitheatre of wooded 
 upland, but so far off as to be soft in haze, 
 and suggestive rather of distance than of 
 too close a shelter. 
 
 " You like these traces of lonof culture,
 
 282 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 I think," said Sir Ernest, after a minute's 
 silence. " I am fond of this room myself, 
 and I have been very happy here. Can 
 you fancy any one really enjoying the sound 
 of this old piano? " he asked, opening an 
 old six-octave instrument, elaborately in- 
 laid, but so spindle-legged and slight of case, 
 that a man could have carried it under his 
 arm. 
 
 " My mother used to play long sonatas 
 and fugues, and involved variations on 
 sweet rococo airs, and when I was a little 
 boy I sat in the window corner, and the 
 people I had read or heard of mixed 
 themselves up with the music. Tbat 
 garden gate down there seems to me 
 still the very wicket for which Chris- 
 tian made, in the ' Pilgrim's Progress,' 
 wlien he came out of the Slough of 
 Despond." 
 
 " I can easily fancy some old sonatas 
 representing the Slough of Despond." 
 
 " There were bits in Mozart's last 
 Eequiem Service which I always connected
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 283 
 
 with Apollyon straddling across tlie way, 
 and some of the Dies Irce did for the 
 Valley of the Shadow of Death and its 
 noises." 
 
 " And you think of selling all this/' said 
 Elizabeth abruptly, " and to a David 
 Bromley, who will probably plough these 
 lawns by steam, and stick an iron roof on 
 the abbey church, and turn it into a 
 ranting conventicle." 
 
 " That might be the one prospect that 
 could help me to give it up willingly," said 
 Ernest. A shadow of doubt and pain 
 crossed his face, and Mrs. Eden felt that 
 by ever so little he had drawn away from 
 her. The enthusiasm she could reverence 
 in him she was not prepared to admire in 
 the abstract, for she had not herself been 
 hitherto touched by the fine passion and 
 knew little of its foolishness, though its 
 presence in Ernest strangely attracted her.
 
 284 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 It is time to confess that Elizabeth was 
 falling in love, and that she had advanced 
 further on the delicious road than had 
 Ernest. But the reader must not antici- 
 pate in her those unrestrained declarations 
 and shows of affection in which, according 
 to some authorities, modern women have 
 become skilled. Guarding her slightest 
 word or gesture was the proud modesty 
 that has chief power when womanly feel- 
 ing is most intense. 
 
 She was quick to repair her mistake in 
 speaking of "ranting conventicles." With 
 the meekness born of love she thought 
 that, if such illustrations of faith pleased 
 Ernest, why, it proved he had some keener
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 285 
 
 insigtit than slie had. She was anxious to 
 please him. Her tenderness was stirred 
 by seeing the old home he could not keep. 
 His reticence towards herself, the rich 
 woman, who could and would preserve it 
 to him if he would let her, pleased her, 
 while it vexed her heart. All good im- 
 pulses in her worked with her love. 
 Generosity, the desire to use well her life, 
 and a craving for initiation into mysteries 
 with which Ernest was familiar, were ac- 
 cessory to it. Nor did there seem impedi- 
 ment to it if Ernest returned it. Of this 
 she painfully doubted, with a pain propor- 
 tionate to her wish that he should love her. 
 If she had had a lesser soul, she would 
 more than once that day have shown 
 fretfulness or impatient scorn of the 
 position when his silences checked her. 
 But Elizabeth was very generous, both to 
 herself and to him, and trustful and 
 patient in her large conception of life and 
 its intricacies.
 
 . J. rtare 
 sdk the
 
 x-r?. 287 
 
 and tLeT r: - : _ ' 
 
 Mrs.E 
 
 Zilr. n:ir tT r 
 
 :t; 
 
 horarr. Onir ElizaJb^li - . :: se^ 
 
 Ernest's fevonred luuiiits. 
 
 Finding every oue else s.,:*^ri^ 
 ing to their hncj, Mr. Ravens 
 Alphonsme agreed to take tlie ^rst 
 walk they foimd thai) ~ 
 lawyer to fiNmi a nolicm :: : 
 its ability or disability : three per 
 
 cent, on the money 
 
 pared to offer. He bx ed 
 
 Sir Ernest's track > - - rev 
 
 beeches, bnt he Tr:„_ :,: — 
 
 if he had disturbed his : ■ -
 
 288 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 the crisis of a proposal, had such been 
 imminent. 
 
 Mademoiselle Gautier interested him, as 
 she did most men, but they would hardly 
 have strolled together in this pastoral 
 fashion, if each had not wished to get some 
 information from the other. Mr. Ravens- 
 croft was her adversaries' lawyer, and 
 human, therefore a probable mine of 
 knowledge, in which Alphonsine might 
 sink her shafts. She in her turn was 
 Genevese, and so might tell him something 
 of the " Lullin annuitants," their threats, 
 and the cause of their present silence. 
 Such sudden thunder in a clear sky and 
 subsequent lull would have startled him 
 more if he had thought there was more 
 than 200^. a year at stake. 
 
 " Do you by chance, mademoiselle, know 
 people of the name of Lullin at Geneva?" 
 
 '' There are many Lullins, from him of 
 the Rue de la Grange to the engraver 
 Prosper — one of the best hands at a barri-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 289 
 
 cade, and the best tongues at a civic 
 banquet. I know some of them slightly." 
 
 " There was an old Ami Lullin, some 
 time dead, who left a daughter. She 
 married, I believe, a person of the name of 
 Cheneviere. Do you know such people?" 
 
 "Yes," said Alphonsine, who, in her 
 first studied answer, had collected herself. 
 " I saw the family you mention before 
 I left Geneva. There exist monsieur, 
 madame, and mademoiselle their daugh- 
 ter." 
 
 " Are they rich or poor, gentle or 
 simple ?" 
 
 " Monsieur, pardon me if I ask you your 
 motive in these questions. If it be for 
 good to these people, well ; but if not, you 
 will excuse my silence." The girl had 
 slightly lost colour in the sudden summons 
 of her brains to action, but Mr. Ravens- 
 croft admired her all the more, and of 
 course, manlike, set down any change of 
 face to the heat. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Are you, then, so interested in them, 
 and why ?" 
 
 " Here, in your England, monsieur, you 
 seem unable to comprehend love of your 
 fellow-citizens ; not so with us. These 
 people are Genevese, and that explains my 
 hesitation. But," she added after a second's 
 pause, "I know I may trust you. I will tell 
 you what I know of them, which is little." 
 
 " It is not a matter of much importance, 
 so you shall not say a word more than you 
 like." 
 
 " Then if it be of Httle importance, it 
 cannot hurt my friends to tell you that 
 they are just now in trouble about money. 
 They have been well-to-do, but they have 
 suffered losses." 
 
 '' Ah ! they have sufiPered losses ?" 
 
 " Yes, nearly to ruin them." 
 
 "You are intimate with their affairs ?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle Cheneviere was at school 
 with me : her parents have been good to me 
 in their prosperity, and I know something
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 291 
 
 of their life, but very little of their 
 affairs." 
 
 " I suppose, having been rich and now 
 poor, they want money urgently ?*' 
 
 " I imagine so.*' 
 
 " Have they ever alluded to an English 
 annuity they are paid ?** 
 
 " Monsieur, I know so little ! " 
 
 " I fancy — am I right ? — that they know 
 little of business." 
 
 " M. Cheneviere is in weak health — tired 
 — what you call knocked-up." 
 
 "Weak health of the brain, I should 
 say, to have made the proposition he did to 
 me ; but do excuse me, mademoiselle, you 
 have no interest in all this. I was curious to 
 know what sort of people these were ; but 
 from what you say, I gather that they are 
 broken-down by trouble, not versed in 
 affairs, so I need not puzzle myself over 
 their proceedings. As they are friends of 
 yours, I will even see what I can do to 
 meet their wishes." 
 
 u 2
 
 292 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " Wliat are their wishes, monsieur ?" 
 
 " Oh, absurd ! they want an unheard-of 
 price for an annuity very oddly secured, 
 very oddly granted ; I don't know the con- 
 sideration for it to this day." 
 
 " I have heard that they had English 
 connexions." 
 
 '' Do they speak of them ? " 
 
 '* It was long ago, I believe, but I know 
 nothing exact; I am sorry for them, M. 
 Cheneviere is so ill and broken." 
 
 Mr. Ravenscroft did not say more; he had, 
 as he thought, detected one or two useful 
 facts. The '' Lullin representatives " had 
 been incited to their demand by poverty, 
 which partly explained it. The husband 
 and father, of course the prime mover in 
 the affair, was feeble ; hence, probably, the 
 silence lately preserved. It ought not to be 
 hard to make terms, even generous terms, 
 with the two women remaining. Stroking 
 his whiskers, he " saw his way." 
 
 Alphonsine had learnt little from his
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 293 
 
 words, but she had watched his face and 
 seen the vexed perplexity of it when he 
 confessed he did not thoroughly know why 
 the annuity had been granted. '* From 
 what I hear of my great grandmother," 
 thought Mademoiselle Gautier, " she was 
 not likely to have settled a secret pension 
 without other motive than philanthropy or 
 regard for her son Francis. Widow Cripps, 
 as her maid, understood her, I doubt not." 
 
 *' Ajid you like teaching ? " asked Mr. 
 E/avenscroft when the silence of the summer 
 wood had grown a little oppressive, only 
 broken as it was by the swish of his com- 
 panion's skirts against the mast-strewn 
 edges of the path. 
 
 *' According to the children I teach. Are 
 all English young people as unmannerly 
 as these ? We hold different traditions in 
 Switzerland. Take care, monsieur," she 
 added, smiling; "you have had great trouble 
 to climb out of barbarism, and it seems to 
 me you are fast slipping back."
 
 294 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " All, I daresay ; now you are, I doubt 
 not, an excellent daughter." 
 
 " Wliat is coming ? " wondered Alplion- 
 sine uneasily ; but, looking straight at him 
 with her thoughtful sweet face, she said, — 
 
 '' I am, I hope, entirely devoted to my 
 parents. It is for their sake chiefly that I 
 do some things I dislike." Mr. Ravenscroft 
 had, however, only spoken vaguely, and he 
 said no more. There was no love of decep- 
 tion and intrigue for its own sake in her. 
 She had courage and coolness to be as honest 
 as might be consistent with success. It 
 was the best policy and the boldest and 
 most agreeable to her pride, both then and 
 when she should stand confessed, as might 
 yet be, the rightful owner of Edenhurst. 
 She was notably a woman of action, and 
 not of objectless thought. Her action was 
 to secure chiefly material ends, but her 
 instincts inchned her in the direction of 
 truth and good. She had a conscience, but 
 she was not perplexed by it, for she had
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 295 
 
 educated it to some different conclusions 
 from those of severer casuists. She was 
 not an unfavourable specimen of a well- 
 trained, and therefore self-controlled utili- 
 tarian. A high law of expediency no doubt 
 governed her, and lifted her out of vulgar 
 wrong- doing, except when she judged cer- 
 tain economies of truth to be useful to her. 
 
 Because she candidly and without emo- 
 tion professed her inability to believe the 
 Apostle's creed, she was not the more likely 
 to commit any grievous error in the conduct 
 of life — perhaps less so — for Christianity 
 is a confusing and disturbing power in the 
 conscience when imperfectly accepted or 
 hypocritically confessed. 
 
 After her conversation with Mr. Ravens- 
 croft, Mademoiselle Cheneviere felt that she 
 had passed from observation to action in 
 her campaign, and that she must not fail to 
 use time and opportunity vigorously, if 
 she would condone her implicit deception. 
 Very truly had she said that chiefly for her
 
 296 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 parents did siie do these things. She 
 had the tender devotion to her father which 
 is so strong in most French girls ; but she 
 also wished to escape from the importunities 
 of her mother's friend, M. Duval, whom she 
 equally disliked and feared. 
 
 " That must be the great chestnut they 
 spoke of," said Mr. Kavenscroft as a turn 
 brought them within a hundred yards of a 
 gnarled torso, round which was an open 
 space, while a railing protected the little life 
 that lingered in some small branches half- 
 way to the top. 
 
 Meantime Mrs. Harlay, having arisen 
 from a siesta, feverish and irritable, had, after 
 some conflict of intention, roused herself to 
 social duties. It was with a pinched smile 
 and generally crumpled air that she came 
 into the library, and the smile disappeared 
 when she found there only a drowsy rector 
 and Audrey foraging among the books. 
 
 " Christopher," she said, shaking his 
 shoulder, "it's bad for you to sleep in the 
 daytime. Where are they all ? Wake up ! "
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 297 
 
 '' My dear, you have interrupted an in- 
 teresting train of thought. I suppose 
 every one's all right — eh ? — paired off as is 
 desirable ? " 
 
 " Where's mademoiselle ? See how she 
 neglects that child ! I wonder at your 
 allowing it." 
 
 " I follow suit. You all set the young 
 woman up, and now for some whim you 
 want her down. As we are, for a wonder, 
 alone, I may as well tell you, my dear, that I 
 can't reconcile it to my conscience having 
 such an expense. I've been talking to Ra- 
 venscroft, and he is mighty discouraging 
 about those shares you made me buy." 
 
 " Nonsense, Christopher ! Sleeping after 
 luncheon has put you out of sorts. We 
 must get on a little longer without any 
 serious breaking up. The girls must be 
 settled, and then, heaven knows, I shall 
 rejoice to live on a crust — sell apples at a 
 stall if Providence requires it of me ! Why, 
 rector, is not all going well to-day ? " she 
 went on with a rally. " Ernest will be in
 
 298 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 a position to give you time about that 
 loan." 
 
 " There you're wrong, my dear. 
 Ernest told me to-day he must sell; 
 Eavenseroft is here about it." 
 
 '' I'm sure, then, you somehow blundered, 
 Mr. Harlay. It's always so if I give my 
 racked head five minutes' rest. Eeally, you 
 literary men have no common sense. I'm 
 sure I wish you'd turn your genius to some 
 account." 
 
 " I do not think you can judge whether 
 I do or not, my dear, supposing I have 
 genius, which is only another word for 
 health." 
 
 " I can judge of results, I suppose ? " said 
 Mrs. Harlay in high ruffle. " When I 
 married you, every one thought you would 
 have been a bishop by this ; but you wrote 
 that silly thing about Korah as a reformer, 
 and there you are — rector of a miserable 
 country living, buried alive to the tune of 
 a paltry three hundred a year from your
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 299 
 
 profession — lost, if it were not for mj 
 social efforts ! " 
 
 Mr. Harlay frowned, but said notlnng; 
 being " literary," lie had a score of maxims 
 touching women at his fingers' ends, and 
 he inwardly applied them with more or 
 less ill-success. He was about to rattle 
 the keys in his pocket, and hum a tune, 
 when his wife startled him from so ill- 
 advised a demonstration by the solemnity 
 with which she said, — 
 
 " Christopher ! I've been talking, too, to 
 Mr. Ravenscroft. There are great openings 
 now in London. From what he says, I 
 feel sure that if you were to preach there 
 in the season, and come out strongly about 
 Korah and Cain and Zoroaster, you know, 
 you would become known as you ought, 
 made chaplain to the Queen, and most 
 likely a dean. Think what that would be 
 for the girls ! " 
 
 *' I think the London field is occupied," 
 said Mr. Harlay, who felt bound to snub
 
 300 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 his wife ; " and I have no mind to make 
 sensational capital out of my method of 
 Biblical criticism," he added with dignity. 
 
 *' The truth is, you won't exert yourself 
 for your family; and as for your method, it 
 couldn't be better employed than in filling 
 a London church. Is that no object? 
 Why shouldn't you have music and vest- 
 ments as well as your Biblical criticism ? 
 Mr. Eavenscroft thinks that will be the 
 most taking form of worship in the future, 
 if there is to be any at all ; and I'm sure, 
 Christopher, you don't wish to discourage 
 any kind of religion." 
 
 " My dear, don't worry me with all the 
 nonsense you hear. There is something in 
 what you say about my preaching in Lon- 
 don, but for other ends than you propose to 
 yourself." 
 
 So with great emphasis Mr. Harlay 
 rebuked his Eve, but he secretly dwelt on 
 her suggestion, planned a possible exchange 
 of duty, and even sketched, before many
 
 ELIZABETH EDEX. 301 
 
 days were out, some tlirilling discourses. 
 Being reserved for Piccadilly, they were 
 not delivered at Edenliurst, and so tlie 
 villagers were, for the present, at least, left 
 in undisturbed conviction that the Sermon 
 on the Mount was original, and not 
 plagiarized from Zoroaster. No doubts of 
 Abel's excellence were suggested to them, 
 nor were they warned that there never had 
 been such a person as David. 
 
 " Dad," said Audrey pathetically from 
 her arm-chair, " Ernest said I was to have 
 some fishing. I wish you would see about 
 it for me when you and the mother are 
 serene. I heard you, and if you don't 
 look out I'll tell mademoiselle that she is 
 to get the sack." 
 
 The child put her arms round her 
 father's neck, and gave him a resonant 
 kiss which belied her threats. 
 
 Oily and Audrey were good girls in their 
 way. Both longed to achieve glory, and to 
 create sensations in their career and speech
 
 302 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 was their principal means as yet. Alice 
 had more brains, and had seen enough to 
 know that graceful contrast with prevail- 
 ing modes can be very attractive. In the 
 main, a longing to astonish was the key- 
 note of both the elder girls' method. Yet, 
 after all, they seldom had favourable 
 chances to try these systems. Who could 
 find serious fault if, in the race for which 
 they found themselves entered, they wore 
 the cap and bells de rigueur ? The fashion 
 was at fault, and who can put a hook in 
 the nose of fashion that no longer comes 
 on us from the upper but from the middle 
 and lower social strata ? It would be hard 
 to say how far the "penny dreadfuls," 
 T'rench and English, which certainly she 
 had never seen, helped to promote the 
 swagger of Oily as she reappeared with 
 Crumpets. She was in open ill-temper, 
 and sparring snappishly with that hardened 
 swain, who held his own. One or two 
 expletives relieved her spirits, which always
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 303 
 
 rallied when she had successfully shocked 
 her society. They had gone out a-fishing 
 in a lovely pea -green punt, and had caught 
 two roach. Mrs. Harlay had put aside Olly's 
 fluster, and set to arrange a gipsy tea, to 
 which it was hoped the wanderers would 
 return. The fish might be cooked at the 
 proposed al-fresco fire in the nearest wood. 
 
 "Eeasonin roasting of roach,'* attempted 
 Crumpets, but Oily turned on him and 
 growled. " I expect, dreadful, you had 
 better shut up ;" which he did, crushed by 
 the echo of a Skegg's idiom. 
 
 " Now slope around, Audrey, my child, 
 and get sticks. Where are the swells ? 
 Some one mention — " 
 
 "Let's have a seance and ask the spirits," 
 suggested Crumpets. 
 
 " There are too many ancestors about. 
 No, we'll divine ourselves. Every one 
 shall give their opinion, like consequences. 
 Sir Ernest and Mrs. Eden — go on, dad. 
 Where are they ? "
 
 304 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " In the seventli heaven." 
 
 " In the garden of Eden,'* suggested 
 Crumpets, whose wit was small. 
 
 '' In the beech -wood, for I saw them," said 
 Audrey, who had not risen to the occasion. 
 
 "What doing?" asked Flo. "Quick, 
 dad!" 
 
 " Singing hymns to the tune of To son 
 hello e tu sei ricca/' said Mr. Harlaj, who 
 liked to show himself of unexpected culture. 
 
 " How will it end ? Audrey, it's your 
 turn." 
 
 " In considerable back-chat." 
 
 " My child, that is an obsolete flower of 
 the language. What will the world say, 
 mother, of the unseemly altercation to 
 which my sister has alluded ? I beg you 
 to observe my beautiful expressions, ladies 
 and gentlemen." 
 
 " That they were admirably suited to 
 each other." 
 
 " With all due deference, that's very dull. 
 We may as well all conjugate the verb * to
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 30^5 
 
 be stupid.' I wisii I'd known Ernest was 
 going to throw us over like tliis. Where 
 are Mr. Ravenscroft and mademoiselle ? 
 Oh, my prophetic soul ! " 
 
 '' I think that is enough, Oily," said her 
 mother, who felt very cross with Alphon- 
 sine. She ought to have been there to 
 hew wood and draw water for the pro- 
 posed gipsying. 
 
 There was reason for Sir Ernest's laches 
 towards his guests. Time had sped 
 quickly as he walked by Mrs. Eden's side 
 down the yew-hedged walk, and through 
 the wicket-gate across the crisp, pale 
 meadow-land, just cleared of hay, to the 
 beech-wood. It lay for nearlj^ half a mile 
 along a square-cut pond that was hardly 
 more than a broad canal in width. One 
 of the three brooks that watered the vale 
 ran through it, keeping it pure, though the 
 shadow of the trees made its depths dark 
 green to blackness in the bays of the wood. 
 Curve met curve in pleasant medley of 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 feathered boughs and their reflections. 
 From the brown path under the forest 
 cloisters were to be had glimpses of sunny 
 lawns and gold-tipped reeds and flash- 
 ing dragon-flies. Between the tremulous 
 fringes of the beeches, the outer life looked 
 jewelled in the sunshine. 
 
 Who can gauge the action of circum- 
 stance or say how it can influence thought 
 and feeling ? An hour before, Ernest had 
 been desponding and irritable. Ready to 
 caU evil good, and good evil, with all the 
 perversity of religious conceit, he was, while 
 more possessed than usual by his faith, 
 Manichean in his recognition of the An- 
 tagonist. An hour ago, the sacrifices de- 
 manded by duty were grimly present ; now 
 the happiness consistent with duty smiled on 
 him from every pleasant vista of his woods. 
 
 That luncheon had much to do with 
 these brighter aspects of life is possible. 
 Thought and sentiment largely depend on 
 beef and bread. Abuse has degraded use
 
 ELIZABETH EDEX. 307 
 
 of the social luncheon and the delightful 
 dinner, but only foolish and dyspeptic 
 moralists have failed to recognize the power 
 of food, the leverage it supplies for the 
 government of human nature, the spiritual 
 action promoted by wise eating, and the 
 vast range of phenomena induced by 
 fasting. 
 
 Ernest had not seldom brooded on dis- 
 inheritance until it seemed almost a good 
 in disguise, leaving him freer for *' the 
 work " to which he believed himself called. 
 He had doubted whether marriage with 
 Mrs. Eden would give him the power for 
 good which he desired; but a mirage of 
 happy home-life blotted out these doubts 
 as he walked by her side, and in its turn 
 that mirage grew dim as other and pas- 
 sionate feelings flooded his brain, and the 
 spell was on him of her low voice, and the 
 light was on him of her deep-set grey eyes, 
 and her indescribable charm enwrapped 
 him. He was by temperament susceptible 
 X 2
 
 308 ELIZABETH EDEK. 
 
 to woman's influence, tlioiigh by circum- 
 stance hitherto ignorant of its intoxication. 
 
 It was w4th a tremulous hand that he 
 bent back a broken bough to let her pass. 
 He would not trust himself to speak. 
 
 And so they came, quiet, well-dressed 
 English people, obeying every little social 
 ceremony with minute courtesy, till they 
 reached the chestnut-tree. They looked 
 at it from various points of view. They 
 talked with interest of the shrine in a hollow 
 of it that had once held a miraculous image, 
 and of the well once esteemed miraculous 
 too. Voices and gestures were measured, 
 for both knew that a chance might betray 
 emotion both knew to exist. 
 
 But a small voice wailed pitifully out of 
 the hollow that had once been the heart of 
 a main branch. 
 
 ''It's a child somewhere ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Eden. 
 
 Not very far fi^om where they were, there 
 was a nest of old cottages. They were
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. B09 
 
 thoroughly unhealthy, and it was among 
 Ernest Harlay's griefs that he could not 
 afford to rebuild them. Two families em- 
 ployed in his woods occupied them, but did 
 not thrive on their work. Their wages 
 were fair, but the sickliness, now of one 
 member, now of another, kept them de- 
 pressed and behind the world. So it fell 
 out that a little fellow belonging to the 
 '^ Dell," as the place was called, having just 
 then no upper-leathers to his shoes, and so 
 being unfit to appear at school, had strayed 
 off to the big chestnufc-tree in vague hope 
 of late nests or early nuts. He had worked 
 himself up by the twigs of the decrepit 
 tree to the gap whence he could see the 
 mysteries of the hollow trunk. His nerves 
 had been shaken by a vision of owls' eyes 
 when the further shock befell them of Sir 
 Ernest's approach. He tumbled, with much 
 fright and some damage, into a lower but 
 equally hollow arm of the tree. 
 
 In reply to the proprietor's energetic
 
 310 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 observations, for no one was allowed to 
 play tricks with the historical chestnut, a 
 shock-head came up like Jack-in-the-box. 
 
 " Come down out of that, boy ! How 
 dare you go inside the paling? What's 
 the matter ?" 
 
 " Don't be angry," said Elizabeth, " his 
 lips are very white. Oh, Mr. Ravens- 
 croft ! " she exclaimed, as the lawyer and 
 Mademoiselle Gautier joined them, " you 
 have missed a miracle ! A voice came from 
 the desecrated shrine; but there is the 
 sinner, not the saint. We must help him 
 out. Sir Ernest ; he is frightened." 
 
 " He is hurt," said Alphonsine, who had 
 watched the crumpled face grow sicklier. 
 
 *' We'll see," said Ernest, a little sur- 
 prised by Mademoiselle Gautier' s decided 
 manner. He lifted the child out, and set 
 him outside the railing for inspection. In 
 a second, Alphonsine had tested his bones, 
 and looked him over, both tenderly and 
 carefully. It was Mrs. Eden's way to hold
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 311 
 
 back, uncertain wliat was best to do ; but 
 she appreciated Mademoiselle Gau tier's 
 skill, and all the more when, finding a 
 splinter had gone into the little fellow's 
 leg, the strong Swiss girl took him deftly 
 in her arms, and said she would carry him 
 home. 
 
 Both gentlemen offered help, much fear- 
 ing lest it should be accepted. 
 
 '' Look at him," said Mademoiselle Gau- 
 tier, "he is not very heavy." 
 
 The little limbs were indeed puny. 
 
 " I suppose you're from the Dell, boy ? " 
 Sir Ernest said. " It's close by. I'll show 
 you the way, mademoiselle." He went on 
 in front, pulling his moustaches, as was his 
 habit when discomposed. These wretched 
 cottages awoke him from his pleasant fore- 
 casting of prosperous life. 
 
 Mrs. Eden and Mr. Ravenscroft followed 
 mechanically. 
 
 " That is a singular person," she said. 
 " I like her; she is unaffected and ready."
 
 312 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 " She has a head on her shoulders, and 
 that is uncommon," said Mr. Ravenscroft 
 irritably. He was annoyed at Mrs. Eden's 
 prospects of marriage. 
 
 "Curiously enough, she knows your 
 G-eneva annuitants. I hope I was unduly 
 alarmed about them. It appears they are 
 hard up, and that would account for fcheir 
 proceedings. The man is dying, I gather, 
 and there are only two women left, with 
 whom I suppose we can settle." 
 
 " But you thought there was extortion. 
 I would not give in to that." 
 
 " It looked like it ; but now that I know 
 more of the people, I fancy ignorance and 
 poverty were chiefly to blame. You can 
 afford to make an easy bargain with them." 
 
 They had reached the damp cleft in the 
 wood where was the little marauder's 
 home, as was proved by his vigorous strug- 
 gles to get free. 
 
 "I'm taking you to your mother," ob- 
 served Alphonsine, tightening her hold.
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 313 
 
 " She's sick, and da's gone for tlie black 
 man, and I won't go in, I won't." 
 
 Bnt Mademoiselle Gau tier seldom changed 
 her mind. She was already stepping from 
 the higher level of the soil outside to the 
 kitchen, when a puff of fetid air met her, 
 and made Sir Ernest, who was behind her, 
 put his hand to his mouth. 
 
 " She is ill, no doubt, and I think it is 
 fever," said Alphonsine. 
 
 ** Don't go in, I beg ; take the child to 
 the other cottage ; I'm afraid it's typhoid." 
 
 " Some one may be wanted in there," 
 said Alphonsine ; and, without a second's 
 hesitation, she passed in. 
 
 A girl of twelve stared at her from the 
 fireplace. She stood stirring a pot of herb 
 tea, which indeed had helped to sharpen 
 the effluvium. She opened and shut her 
 mouth in voiceless surprise till her little 
 brother, being set on a table, began to 
 howl. 
 
 *' 'Sh, Lisha ! stop that — ma's asleep —
 
 314 ELIZABETH EDEN. 
 
 and oh dear ! what ever have you been doing 
 of to be in such a pickle ? " 
 
 From the inner room, close and dark 
 with ivy that overhung the nailed-up 
 lattices, came mutterings and sighs ; but 
 Sir Ernest looked after Alphonsine no 
 more ; he hurriedly turned to keep back 
 Mrs. Eden from coming nearer. 
 
 "Am I to be of no use?" she asked 
 in real vexation. 
 
 " I don't suppose there is much to be 
 done," said Mr. Ravenscroft, " and there is 
 no merit in foolhardiness." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Gautier has earned all 
 the merit to-day. She was quite right to 
 go in. For my part, I don't believe such 
 fevers are catching." 
 
 " I wish you would not stay near," ex- 
 claimed Sir Ernest, remembering the com- 
 plaint made to him of the drainage of the 
 Dell. "I will see Mademoiselle Gautier 
 back." 
 
 " Come, Mrs. Eden ! " — and Mr. Ravens-
 
 ELIZABETH EDEN. 315 
 
 croft drew her arm within his, good- 
 naturedlj and firmly — " he is right.'* 
 
 " I implore you to go," said Ernest ; and 
 she slowly turned away, many thoughts in 
 her mind. Slight disappointment, anxiety 
 for him, and an eager wish to do good at 
 any cost to these poor cottagers, were 
 mixed in confusion; but harmonizing, 
 sweetening all her trouble, was the voice 
 and manner of Sir Ernest as he urged her 
 away. If he had not spoken other than 
 that sentence, she would have been sure he 
 loved her, and to be sure of that was just 
 then her chief desire and a delight never 
 before guessed at for all her " experience.'* 
 She had indeed little, or she would not put 
 so high a value on his evident emotion. 
 
 She listened absently while Mr. Ravens- 
 croft prosed, with sense and even wit, 
 until he spoke with disparagement of land- 
 lords who, to gratify vanity, could leave 
 their people so neglected as these cottagers. 
 Then she looked at him with a fine smile on
 
 316 ELIZABETH EDEX. 
 
 her lips, a slight colour in lier cheeks, and 
 a light in her eyes, which caused him 
 abruptly to speak of other things. But 
 Edenhurst appeared to have lost its 
 interest for her, and neither lady nor lawyer 
 were sorry to find themselves a-gipsying 
 with the rectorial Harlays. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 GILBERT AND RIVINGTOX, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE, LOXPON.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041406304