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DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
Digitized by the Internet Arciiive 
 in 2013 
 
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 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 OR 
 
 THE CLUE OF LIFE 
 CHARLOTTE M.^YONGE '-^9 
 
 » /W 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY ADRIAN STOKES 
 
 JTonbon 
 ^ACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YOEK 
 
 1888 
 
 The Right of Translation is Reserved 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 ''She filled his cap, and bathed his face, apparently to his 
 
 great relief" ........ Farjc 50 
 
 * ' ' There is no harm done, you see, ' as she cracked away the 
 cooled wax — * not even a mark to remind me of this 
 happy Christmas.' " . . . . . . . ,,174 
 
 "* Bring the other lamp ' " „ 471 
 
 C9 y^^dtJ 
 
 
DYNEYOE TEREACE 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 CHARLOTTE 
 
 Farewell rewards and fairies, 
 
 Good housewives now may say, 
 For now foul sluts in dairies 
 
 May fare as well as tliey. — Bp. Corbet 
 
 An ancient leafless stump of a horse-chestnut stood in the 
 middle of a dusty field, bordered on the south side by a row of 
 houses of some pretension. 
 
 Against this stump, a pretty delicate fair girl of seventeen, 
 whose short lilac sleeves revealed slender white arms, and her 
 tight, plain cap tresses of flaxen hair that many a beauty might 
 liave envied, was banging a cocoa-nut mat, chanting by way of 
 accompaniment, in a sort of cadence — 
 
 *I have found out a gift for my fair, 
 I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; 
 But let me the plunder forbear, 
 She will say ' 
 
 ^ Hollo, I'll give you a shilling for 'em ! ' was the unlooked-for 
 conclusion, causing her to start aside with a slight scream, as 
 there stood beside her a stout, black-eyed, round-faced lad, his 
 ruddy cheeks and loutish air showing more rusticity than 
 agreed with his keen, saucy expression, and mechanic's dress. 
 
 ' So that's what you call beating a mat,' said he, catching it 
 from her hands, and mimicking the tender clasp of her little 
 fingers. *D'ye think it's alive, that you use it so gingerly? 
 Look here ! Give it him well ! ' as he made it resound against 
 the tree, and emit a wliirlwind of dust. ^ Lay it into him with 
 some jolly good song fit to fetch a stroke home with ! Why, I 
 heard my young lord say, when Shakspeare was a butcher, he 
 used to make speeclies at the calves, as if they was for a sacrifice, 
 or ever he could lift a knife to 'em.' 
 6 B 
 
 ( ; 
 
2 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * Shakspeare ! He as wrote Romeo and Juliet, and all 
 that ! He a butcher ? Wliy, he was a poet ! ' cried the girl, 
 indignantly. 
 
 'If you know better than Lord Fitzjocelyn, you may ! ' said 
 the boy. 
 
 * I couldn't have thought it ! ' sighed the maiden. 
 
 'It's the best of it ! ' cried the lad, eagerly. 'Why, Charlotte, 
 don't ye see, he rose hisself. Anybody may rise hisself as has a 
 mind to it ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, IVe read that in books,' said Charlotte. ' You can, men 
 can, Tom, if you would but educate yourself like Edmund in the 
 Old English Baron. But then, you know whose son you are. 
 There can't be no catastrophe — ' 
 
 ' I don't want none,' said Tom. ' We are all equal by birth, 
 so the orator proves without a doubt, and we'll show it one 
 of these days. A rare lady I'll make of you yet, Charlotte 
 Arnold.' 
 
 ' O hush, Tom, I can never be a lady — and I can't stand dawd- 
 ling here — nor you neither. 'Tisn't right to want to be out of 
 our station ; though I do wish I lived in an old castle, where 
 the maidens worked tapestry, and heard minstrels, and iiever 
 had no stairs to scour. Come, give me my mats, and thank you 
 kindly!' 
 
 ' I'll take 'em in,' said Tom, shouldering them, ' 'Tis break- 
 fast-hour, so I thought I'd just run up and ax you when my 
 young lord goes up to Oxford.' 
 
 ' He is gone,' said Charlotte ; ' he was here yesterday to take 
 leave of missus. Mr. James goes later — ' 
 
 ' Gone ! ' cried Tom. ' If he didn't say he'd come and see me 
 at Mr. Smith's ! ' 
 
 ' Did you want to speak to him ? ' 
 
 ' I wanted to see him particular. There's a thing lays heavy 
 on my mind. You see that place down in Ferny dell — there's a 
 steep bank down to the water. Well, my young lord was very 
 keen about building a kind of steps there in the summer, and he 
 and I settled the stones, and I was to cement 'em. By comes 
 Mr. Frost, and finds faults, what I thought he'd no call to ; so I 
 flings down my trowel, and wouldn't go on for he ! I was so 
 mortal angry, I would not go back to the work ; and I believe 
 my lord forgot it — and then he went back to college ; and 
 Frampton and Gervas, they put on me ; and you know how 
 ^twas I come away from Ormersfield. I was not going to say a 
 word to one of that lot ! but if I could see Lord Fitzjocelyn, I'd 
 tell him they stones arn't flxed ; and if the frost gets into 'em, 
 there'll be a pretty go next time there's a tolerablish weight ! 
 But there— it is his own look-out ! If he never thought it 
 worth his while to keep his promise, and come and see me — ' 
 
 ' O Tom ! that isn't right ! He only forgot— I heard Mrs. 
 Beckett telling him he'd forget his own head if it wasn't fixed 
 on, and Mr. James is always at him.' 
 
CHARLOTTE 3 
 
 ' Forget ! Aye, there's nothing gentlefolks forget like poor 
 folks. But I've done with he ! Let him look out — I kept my 
 joromises to him long enough ; but if he don't keep his'n — ' 
 
 ^ For shame, for shame, Tom ! you don't mean it ! ' cried 
 Charlotte. ' But, oh ! ' with a different tone, ' give me the 
 mat ! There's the old lord and Mr. Poynings riding down the 
 terrace ! ' 
 
 ' I ain't ashamed of nothing ! ' said the lad, proudly ; and as 
 Charlotte snatched away the mats, and vanished like a fright- 
 ened liare, he stalked along like a village Hampden, muttering, 
 ' The old tyrant shall see whether I'm to be trampled on ! ' 
 and with both hands in his pockets, he gazed straight up into 
 the face of the grave elderly gentleman, who never even per- 
 ceived him. He could merely bandy glances with Poynings the 
 groom, who was so far from indifferent that he significantly 
 lifted up the end of his whip. Nothing could more have gratified 
 Tom, who retorted with a grimace and murmur, 'Don't you 
 wish you may catch me ? You jealous syc — what is the word, 
 sick of uncles or aunts, was it, that the orator called 'em ? He'd 
 say I'd a good miss of being one of that sort, and that my 
 young lord there opened my eyes in time. No better than the 
 rest of 'em — ' 
 
 And the clock striking eight, he quickened his pace to return 
 to his work. He had for the two or three previous years been 
 nominally under the gardener at Ormersfield, but really a sort 
 of follower and favourite to the young heir, Lord Fitzjocelyn — 
 a position which had brought on him dislike from the superior 
 servants, Avho were not propitiated by his independent and 
 insubordinate temper. Faults on every side had led to his 
 dismissal ; but Lord Fitzjocelyn had placed him at an iron- 
 monger's shop in the town of North wold, where he had been 
 just long enough to become accessible to the various tempta- 
 tions of a lad in such a situation. 
 
 Charlotte sped hastily round the end of the block of buildings, 
 hurried down the little back garden, and flew breathlessly into 
 her own kitchen, as a haven of refuge ; but she found a tall, 
 stiff, starched, elderly woman standing just within the door, 
 and heard her last words. 
 
 ' Well ! as I said, 'tis no concern of mine ; only I thought it 
 the part of a friend to give you a warning, when I seen it with 
 my own eyes ! — Ah ! here she is ! ' as Charlotte dropped into a 
 chair. ' Yes, yes, Miss, you need not think to deceive me ; I saw 
 you from Miss Mercy's window — ' 
 
 * Saw what ? ' faintly exclaimed Charlotte. 
 
 * You know well enough,' was the return. ' You may think 
 to blind Mrs. Beckett here, but I know what over good-nature 
 to young girls comes to. Pretty use to make of your fine 
 scholarship, to be encouraging followers and sweethearts, at that 
 time in the morning too ! ' 
 
 ' Speak up, Charlotte,' said the other occupant of the room, 
 
 B 2 
 
4 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 a pleasant little brisk woman, with soft brown eyes, a clear pale 
 skin, and a face smootli, in spite of nearly sixty years ; ' speak 
 up, and tell Mrs. Martlia the truth, that you never encouraged 
 no one.' 
 
 The girl's face was all one flame ; but she rose up, and clasp- 
 ing her hands together, exclaimed — ' Me encourage ! I never 
 thought of what Mrs. Martha says ! I don't know what it is 
 all about ! ' 
 
 ' Here, Jane Beckett,' cried Mrs. Martha ; ' d'ye see what 'tis 
 to vindicate her ! Will you take her word against mine, that 
 she's been gossiping this half-hour with that young rogue as 
 was turned off at Ormersfield *? ' 
 
 ' Tom Madison ! ' cried the girl, in utter amaze. ' Oh ! Mrs. 
 Martha ! ' 
 
 'Well ! I can't stop ! ' said Martha. 'I must get Miss Faith- 
 ful's breakfast ; but if you was under me, Miss Charlotte, I can 
 tell you it would be better for you ! You'll sup sorrow yet, 
 and you'll both recollect my advice, both of you.' 
 
 Wherewith the Cassandra departed, and Charlotte, throwing 
 her apron over her face, began to cry and sob piteously. 
 
 ' My dear ! what is it now 1 ' exclaimed her kind companion, 
 pulling down her apron, and trying to draw down first one, 
 then the other of the arms which persisted in veiling the crim- 
 son face. * Surely you don't think missus or I would mistrust 
 you, or think you'd take up with the likes of him ! ' 
 
 'How could she be so cruel — so spiteful,' sobbed Charlotte, 
 'when he only came to ask one question, and did a good turn 
 for me with the mats. I never thought of such a thing. Sweet- 
 heart, indeed ! So cruel of her ! ' 
 
 ' Bless me ! ' said Jane, ' girls used to think it only civility to 
 say they had a sweetheart ! ' 
 
 ' Don't, Mrs. Beckett ! I hate the word ! I don't want no 
 such thing ! I won't never speak to Tom Madison again, if sucli 
 constructions is to be put on it ! ' 
 
 'Well, after all, Charlotte dear, that will be the safest way. 
 You are young yet, and best not to think of settling, special if 
 you aren't sure of one that is steady and religious ;*and you'd 
 better keep yourself up, and not get a name for gossiping— 
 though there's no harm done yet, so don't make such a work. 
 Bless me, if I don't hear his lordship's voice ! He ain't never 
 come so early ! ' 
 
 'Yes, he is,' said Charlotte, recovering from her sobs; 'he 
 rode up as I came in.' 
 
 'Well, to be sure, he is come to breakfast ! I hope nothing's 
 amiss with my young lord ! I must run up with a cup a.nd 
 plate ; and you, make the place tidy, in case Mr. Poynings 
 comes in. You'd better run into the scullery and wash your 
 face ; 'tis all tears ! You're a terrible one to cry, Charlotte ! ' 
 and with a kind, cheering smile and caress, Mrs. Beckett bustled 
 off, leaving Charlotte to restore herself to the little handy piece 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTKESS 5 
 
 of household mechanism which kind, patient, motherly training 
 had rendered her. 
 
 Charlotte Arnold had been fairly educated at a village school, 
 and tenderly brought up at home till left an orphan, when 
 she had been taken into her present place. She had much 
 native refinement and imagination, which, half cultivated, 
 produced a curious mixture of romance and simplicity. Her 
 insatiable taste for reading was meritorious in the eyes of 
 Mrs. Beckett, who, unlearned herself, thought any book better 
 than ' gadding about,' and, after hearing her daily portion of the 
 Bible, listened to the most adventurous romances, with a sense 
 of pleasure and duty in keeping the girl to her book. She 
 loved the little fragile orphan, taught her, and had patience 
 with her, and trusted the true high sound principle which 
 she recognized in Charlotte, amid much that she could not 
 fathom, and set down alternately to the score of scholarship 
 and of youth. 
 
 Taste, modesty, and timidity were guards to Charlotte. A 
 broad stare was terror to her, and she had many a fictitious 
 horror, as well as better-founded ones. Truly she said, she hated 
 the broad words Martha had used. One who craved a true 
 knight to be twitted with a sweetheart ! Martha and Tom 
 Madison were almost equally distasteful, as connected with such 
 a reproach ; and the little maiden drew into herself, promenaded 
 her fancy in castles and tournaments, kept under Jane's wing, 
 and was upheld by her as a sensible, prudent girl. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 
 
 I praise thee, matron, and thy due 
 
 Is praise, heroic praise and true ; 
 
 With admiration I behold 
 
 Thy gladness unsubdued and bold. 
 
 Thy looks and gestures all present 
 
 The picture of a life well spent ; 
 
 Our human nature throws away 
 
 Its second twilight and looks gay. — Wordsworth 
 
 Unconscious of Charlotte's flight and Tom's afiront, the Earl 
 of Ormersfield rode along Dynevor Terrace — a row of houses 
 with handsome cemented fronts, tragic and comic masks alter- 
 nating over the downstairs windows, and the centre of the block 
 adorned with a pediment and colonnade ; but there was an air 
 as if something ailed the place : the gardens were weedy, the 
 glass doors hazy, the cement stained and scarred, and many of 
 the windows closed and dark, like eyes wanting speculation, or 
 with merely the dreary words ' To be let ' enlivening their blank 
 gloom. At the house where Charlotte had vanished, he drew 
 his rein, and opened the gate — not one of the rusty ones — he 
 
6 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 entered the garden, where all was trim and fresh, the shadow of 
 the house lying across the sward, and preserving the hoar frost, 
 which, in the sunshine, was melting into diamond drops on the 
 lingering China roses. 
 
 Without ring or knock, he passed into a narrow, carpetless 
 vestibule, unadorned except by a beautiful blue Wedgewood 
 vase, and laying down hat and whip, mounted the bare stair- 
 case, long since divested of all paint or polish. Avoiding the 
 door of the principal room, he opened another at the side, and 
 stood in a flood of sunshine, pouring in from the window, which 
 looked over all the roofs of the town, to the coppices and moor- 
 lands of Ormersfield. On the bright fire sung a kettle, a white 
 cat purred on the hearth, a canary twittered merrily in the 
 window, and the light smiled on a languishing Dresden shep- 
 herdess and her lover on the mantelpiece, and danced on the 
 ceiling, reflected from a beautifully chased silver cream -jug — an 
 inconsistent companion for the homely black teapot and willow- 
 patterned plates, though the two cups of rare Indian porcelain 
 were not unworthy of it. The furniture was the same mixture 
 of the ordinary and the choice, either worn and shabby, or such 
 as would suit a virtuoso, but the whole arranged with taste and 
 care that made the effect bright, pleasant, and comfortable. 
 Lord Ormersfield stood on the hearthrug waiting. His face 
 was that of one who had learnt to wait, more considerate than 
 acute, and bearing the stamp both of toil and suffering, as if 
 grief had taken away all mobility of expression, and left a stern, 
 thoughtful steadfastness. 
 
 Presently a lady entered the room. Her hair w^as white as 
 snow, and she could not have seen less than seventy-seven 
 years ; but beauty was not gone from her features — smiles were 
 still on her lips, brightness in her clear hazel eyes, buoyancy in 
 her tread, and alertness and dignity in her tall, slender, unbent 
 figure. There was nothing so remarkable about her as the 
 elasticity as well as sweetness of her wliole look and bearing, 
 as if, while she had something to love, nothing could be capable 
 of crushing her. 
 
 ' You here ! ' she exclaimed, holding out her hand to her 
 guest. ' You are come to breakfast.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; I wished to see you without interrupting your 
 day's work. Have you many scholars at present ? ' 
 
 ' Only seven, and three go into school at Easter. Jem and 
 Clara wish me to undertake no more, but I should sorely 
 miss the little fellows. I wisli they may do me as much 
 credit as Sydney Calcott. He wrote himself to tell me of his 
 success.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it. He is a very promising young 
 man,' 
 
 ' I tell him I shall come to honour, as the old dame who taught 
 him to spell. My scholars may make a Dr. Busby of me in 
 history.' 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 7 
 
 * I am afraid your preferment will depend chiefly on James 
 and young Calcott.' 
 
 ' Nay, Louis tells me that he is going to read wonderfully hard ; 
 and if he chooses, he can do more than even Sydney Calcott.' 
 
 ^If I'saidtheEarL 
 
 Jane here entered with another cup and plate, and Lord 
 Ormersfield sat down to the breakfast-table. After some 
 minutes' pause he said, ' Have you heard from Peru ? ' 
 
 ' Not by this mail. Have you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I have. Mary is coming home.' 
 
 ' Mary ! ' she cried, almost springing up — ' Mary Ponsonby ? 
 This is good news — unless,' as she watched his grave face, ' it is 
 her health that brings her.' 
 
 'It is. She has consulted the surgeon of the Lihra^ a very 
 able man, who tells her that there is absolute need of good 
 advice and a colder climate ; and Ponsonby has consented to let 
 her and her daughter come home in the Libra. I expect them 
 in February.' 
 
 ' My poor Mary ! But she will get better away from him. I 
 trust he is not coming ! ' 
 
 * Not he,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 * Dear, dear Mary ! I had scarcely dared to hope to see her 
 again,' cried the old lady, with tears in her eyes. ' I hope she 
 will be allowed to be with us, not kept in London with his 
 sister. London does her no good.' 
 
 'The very purport of my visit,' said Lord Ormersfield, 'was 
 to ask whether you could do me the favour to set aside your 
 scholars, and enable me to receive Mrs. Ponsonby at home.' 
 
 ' Thank you — oh, thank you. There is nothing I should like 
 better, but I must consider — ' 
 
 'Clara would find a companion in the younger Mary in the 
 holidays ; and if James would make Fitzjocelyn his charge, it 
 would complete the obligation. It would be by far the best 
 arrangement for Mary's comfort, and it would be the greatest 
 satisfaction to me to see her with you at Ormersfield.' 
 
 ' I believe it would indeed,' said the old lady, more touched 
 than the outward manner of the Earl seemed to warrant. 'I 
 would — you know I would do my very best that you and Mary 
 should be comfortable together ' — and her voice trembled — ' but 
 you see I cannot promise all at once. I must see about these 
 little boys. I must talk to Jem. In short, you must not be 
 disappointed ' — and she put her hands before her face, trying to 
 laugh, but almost overcome. 
 
 'Nay, I did not mean to press you,' said Lord Ormersfield, 
 gently ; ' but I thought, since James has had the fellowship 
 and Clara has been at school, that you wished to give up your 
 pupils.' 
 
 ' So I do,' said the lady, but still not yielding absolutely. 
 
 'For the rest, I am very anxious that James should accept 
 
8 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Fitzjocelyn as his pupil. I have always considered their friend- 
 ship as the best hope ; and other plans have had so little success, 
 that—' 
 
 ' I'm not going to hear Louis abused ! ' she exclaimed, gaily. 
 
 ' Yes/ said Lord Ormersfield, with a look nearly approaching 
 a smile, ' you are the last person I ought to invite, if I wish to 
 keep your nephew unspoiled.' 
 
 ' I wish there were any one else to spoil him ! ' 
 
 ' For his sake, then, come and make Ormersfield cheerful. It 
 will be far better for him.' 
 
 'And for you, to see more of Jem,' she added. 'If he were 
 yours, what would you say to such hours ? ' 
 
 The last words were aimed at a young man who came briskly 
 into the room, and as he kissed her, and shook hands with the 
 Earl, answered in a quick, bright tone, 'Shocking, aye. All 
 owing to sitting up till one ! ' 
 
 ' Reading ? ' said the Earl. 
 
 'Reading,' he answered, with a sort of laughing satisfaction 
 in dashing aside the approval expressed in the query, ' but not 
 quite as you suppose. See here,' as he held up maliciously a 
 railway novel. 
 
 ' I am afraid I know where it came from,' said Lord Ormers- 
 field. 
 
 ' Exactly so,' said James. 'It was Fitzjocelyn's desertion of 
 it that excited my curiosity.' 
 
 ' Indeed. I should have thoLight his desertions far too com- 
 mon to excite any curiosity.' 
 
 ' By no means. He always has a reason.^ 
 
 ' A plausible one.' 
 
 ' More than plausible,' cried James, excitement sparkling in 
 his vivid black eyes. 'It happens that this is the very book 
 that you would most rejoice to see distasteful to him — low 
 morality, false principles, morbid excitement, not a line that 
 ought to please a healthy mind.' 
 
 ' Yet it has interest enough for you.' 
 
 *I am not Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 ' You know how to plead for him.' 
 
 'I speak simple truth,' bluntly answered James, running 
 his hand through his black hair, to the ruin of the morning 
 smoothness, so that it, as well as the whole of his quick, dark 
 countenance, seemed to have undergone a change from sunny 
 south to stormy north in the few moments since his first 
 appearance. 
 
 After a short silence, Lord Ormersfield turned to him, saying, 
 'I have been begging a favour of my aunt, and I have another 
 to ask of you,' and repeating his explanation, begged him to 
 undertake the tutorship of his son. 
 
 'I shall not be at liberty at Easter,' said James ; ' I have all 
 but undertaken some men at Oxford.' 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 9 
 
 * Oh, my dear Jem ! ' exclaimed the old lady, * is that settled 
 beyond alteration 1 ' 
 
 ' I am not going to throw them over.' 
 
 ' Then I shall hope for you at Midsummer,' said the EarL 
 
 * We shall see how things stand,' he returned, ungraciously. 
 
 * I shall write to you,' said Lord Ormersfield, still undaunted, 
 and soon after taking his leave. 
 
 ' Cool ! ' cried James, as soon as he was gone. * To expect you 
 to give up your school at his beck, to come and keep house for 
 him as long as it may suit him ! ' 
 
 ' Nay, Jem, he knew how few boys I have, and that I intended 
 to give them up. You don't mean to refuse Louis ? ' she said, 
 imploringly. 
 
 ' I shall certainly not take him at Easter. It would be a mere 
 farce intended to compensate to us for giving up the school, and 
 I'll not lend myself to it while I can have real work.' 
 
 *At Midsummer, then. You know he will never let Louis 
 spend a long vacation without a tutor.' 
 
 ' I hate to be at Ormersfield,' proceeded James, vehemently, 
 *to see Fitzjocelyn browbeaten and contradicted every moment, 
 and myself set up for a model. I may steal a horse, while he 
 may not look over the wall ! Did you observe the inconsist- 
 ency ? — angry with the poor fellow first for having the book, 
 and then for not reading the whole, while it became amiable 
 and praiseworthy in me to burn out a candle over it ! ' 
 
 ^ Ah ! that was my concern. I tell him he would sing another 
 note if you were his son.' 
 
 ' I'd soon make him ! I would not stand what Louis does. 
 The more he is set down and sneered at, the more dehonnaire he 
 looks, till I could rave at him for taking it so easily.' 
 
 * I hoped you might have liindered them from fretting each 
 other, as they do so often.' 
 
 ' I should only be a fresh element of discord, while his lord- 
 ship will persist in making me his pattern young man. It 
 makes me hate myself, especially as Louis is such an unaccount- 
 able fellow that he won't.' 
 
 ' I am sorry you dislike the plan so much.' 
 
 ^ Do you mean that you wish for it, grandmamma ? ' cried he, 
 turning full round on her with an air of extreme amazement. 
 ' If you do, there's an end of it ; but I thought you valued 
 nothing more than an independent home.' 
 
 ' Nor would I give it up on any account,' said she. * I do not 
 imagine this could possibly last for more than a few months, or 
 a year at the utmost. But you know, dear Jem, I would do 
 nothing you did not like.' 
 
 'That's nothing to the purpose,' replied James. 'Though 
 it is to be considered whether Ormersfield is likely to be the 
 best preparation for Clara's future life. However, I see you 
 wish it — ' 
 
10 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^I confess that I do, for a few months at least, which need 
 interfere neither with Clara nor with you. I have not seen 
 Lord Ormersfield so eager for many years, and I should be very 
 sorry to prevent those two from being comfortably together in 
 the old home — ' 
 
 ' And can't that be without a chaperon ? ^ exclaimed James, 
 laughing. ' Why,^ his lordship is fifty-five ; and she can't be 
 much less. That is a good joke.' 
 
 ' It is not punctilio,' said his grandmother, looking distressed. 
 ' It is needful to be on the safe side with such a man as Mr. 
 Ponsonby. My fear is that he may send lier home witli orders 
 not to come near us.' 
 
 ' She used to be always at Ormersfield in the old times.^ 
 
 ' Yes, when my sister was alive. Ah ! you were too young 
 to know about those matters then. The fact was, that things 
 had come to such a pass from Mr. Ponsonby's neglect and un- 
 kindness, that Lord Ormersfield, standing in the i3lace of her 
 brother, thought it right to interfere. His mother went to 
 London with him, to bring poor Mary and her little girl back 
 to Ormersfield, and there they were till my sister's death, when 
 of course they could not remain. Mr. Ponsonby had just got 
 his appointment as British envoy in Peru, and wished her to go 
 with him. It was much against Lord Ormersfield's advice ; but 
 she thought it her duty, poor dear. I believe he positively hates 
 Lord Ormersfield ; and as if for a parting unkindness, he left 
 his little girl at school with orders to spend her holidays with 
 his sister, and never to be with us.' 
 
 ^ That accounts for it ! ' said James. ' I never knew all this, 
 nor why we were so entirely cut off from Mary Ponsonby. I 
 wonder what she is now ! She was a droll sturdy child in those 
 days ! We used to call her Downright Dunstable ! She was 
 almost of the same age as Louis, and a great deal stouter, and 
 used to fight for him and herself too. Has not she been out in 
 PeruT 
 
 ^ Yes, she went out at seventeen. I believe she is an infinite 
 comfort to her mother.' 
 
 ' Poor Mary ! Well, we children lived in the middle of a 
 tragedy, and little suspected it ! By the bye, what relation are 
 the Ponsonby s to us ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ponsonby is my niece. My dear sister, Mary — ' 
 
 ' Married Mr. Raymond — yes, I know ! I'll make the whole 
 lucid ; I'll draw up a pedigree, and Louis shall learn it.' And 
 with elaborate neatness he wrote as follows, filling in the dates 
 from the first leaf of an old Bible, after his grandmother had 
 left the room. The task, lightly undertaken, became a mourn- 
 ful one ; and as he read over his performance, liis countenance 
 varied from the gentleness of regret to a look of sarcastic pride, 
 as though he felt that the world had dealt hardly by him, and 
 yet he disdained to complain. 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 
 
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12 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * Since 1816/ muttered James, as he finished. * Thirty years 
 of drudgery ! When shall I be able to relieve her ? Ha ! 
 O. J. F. Dy never, Esquire ; if it were you who were coming 
 from Peru, you would find a score to settle ! ' 
 
 He ran down-stairs to assist his grandmother in the Latin 
 lessons of her little school, the usual employment of his 
 vacations. 
 
 Catharine Dynevor had begun life witli little prospect of 
 spending nearly half of it as mistress of a school. 
 
 Her father was the last male of the Dynevors of Cheveleigh 
 — a family mounting up to the days of the Pendragons— and 
 she had been made to take the place of an eldest son, inheriting 
 the extensive landed property on condition that her name and 
 arms should be assumed in case of her marriage. Her choice 
 was one of the instances in which her affections liad the mas- 
 tery over her next strongest characteristic, family pride. Slie 
 married a highly-educated and wealthy gentleman, of good 
 family, but of mercantile connections, such as her father, if 
 living, would have disdained. Her married life was, however, 
 perfectly unclouded ; her ample means gave her the power of 
 dispensing joy, and her temperament was so blithe and unselfish 
 that no pleasure ever palled upon her. Cheveleigh was a 
 proverb for hospitality, affording unfailing fetes for all ages, full 
 of graceful ease and freedom that inspired enjoyment. 
 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor was a man of refined taste, open-handed 
 even to extravagance, liberal in all his appointments, and grati- 
 fying to the utmost his love of art and decoration ; while his 
 charities and generous actions were hearty and lavish enough to 
 satisfy even his warm-hearted wife. 
 
 Joined with all this was a strong turn for speculations. When 
 the mind has once become absorbed in earthly visions of wealth 
 and prosperity, the excitement exercises such a fascination over 
 the senses that the judgment loses balance. Bold assumptions 
 are taken as certainties, and made the foundation of fresh fabrics 
 — the very power of discerning between fact and possibility 
 departs, and, in mere good-will, men, honest and honourable at 
 heart, risk their own and their neighbours' property, and I'uin 
 their character and good name, by the very actions most foreign 
 to their nature, ere it had fallen under the strong delusion. 
 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor had the misfortune to live in a country 
 rich in mineral wealth, and to have a brother-in-law easily 
 guided, and with more love of figures than power of investi- 
 gating estimates on a large scale. Mines were set on foot, com- 
 panies established, and buildings commenced, and the results 
 were only to be paralleled by those of the chalybeate springs 
 discovered by Mr. Dynevor at the little town of North wold, 
 which were pronounced by his favourite hanger-on to be destined 
 literally to cut the throat of Bath and Cheltenham.' 
 
 Some towns are said to liave required the life of a child ere 
 their foundations could be laid. Many a speculation lias swal- 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 13 
 
 lowed a life and fortune before its time for thriving has come. 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor and Lord Ormersfield were the foremost 
 victims to the Cheveleigh iron foundries and the Northwold 
 baths. The close of the war brought a commercial crisis that 
 their companies could not stand ; and Mr. Dynevor's death spared 
 him from the sight of the crash, which his talent and sagacity 
 might possibly liave averted. He had shown no misgivings ; 
 but, no sooner was he removed from the helm, than the vessel 
 was found on the brink of destruction. Enormous sums had 
 been sunk without tangible return, and the liabilities of the 
 companies far surpassed anything that they had realized. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield was stunned and helpless. Mrs. Dynevor 
 had but one idea — namely, to sacrifice everything to clear her 
 husband's name. Her sons were mere boys, and the only person 
 who proved himself able to act or judge was tlie heir of Ormers- 
 field, then about four-and-twenty, who came forward with sound 
 judgment and upright dispassionate sense of justice to cope with 
 the difficulties and clear away the involvements. 
 
 He joined his father in mortgaging land, sacrificing timber, 
 and reducing the establishment ; so as to set the estate in the 
 way of finally becoming free, though at the expense of rigid 
 economy and self-denial. 
 
 ' Cheveleigh could not have been saved, even had the heiress 
 not been willing to yield everything to satisfy the just claims of 
 the creditors. Slie was happy when she heard that it would 
 suffice, and that no one would be able to accuse her husband of 
 having wronged him. But for this, she would hardly have sub- 
 mitted to retain what her nephew succeeded in securing for her 
 — namely, an income of about 150/. per annum, and the row of 
 houses called Dynevor Terrace, one of the building ventures at 
 Northwold. This was the sole dependence with which she and 
 her sons quitted the home of their forefathers. ' Never mind, 
 mother,' said Henry, kissing her, to prevent the tears from 
 springing, 'home is wherever we are together ! ' 'Never fear, 
 mother,' echoed Oliver, with knitted brow and clenched hands, 
 ' I will win it back.' 
 
 Oliver was a quiet lad, of diligent, methodical habits, and 
 he willingly accepted a clerkship in a mercantile house, which 
 owed some obligations to his father. At the end of a couple of 
 years he was sent to reside in South America ; and his parting 
 words to his mother were — ' When you see me again, Cheveleigh 
 shall be yours.' 
 
 ^ ' Oh, my boy, take care. Remember, " They that haste to be 
 rich shall not be innocent. ' 
 
 That was the last time she had seen Oliver. 
 
 Her great object was to maintain herself independently and 
 to complete Henry's education as a gentleman. W'itli this view 
 she took up her abode in the least eligible of her houses at 
 Northwold, and, dropping the aristocratic name which alone 
 remained of her heiress-ship, opened a school for little boys, 
 
14 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 declaring that she was rejoiced to recall the days when Henry 
 and Oliver wore frocks and learnt to spell. If any human 
 being could sweeten the Latin Grammar, it was Mrs. Frost ; 
 with the motherliness of a dame, and the refinement of a lady, 
 unfailing sympathy and buoyant spirits ; she loved each urchin, 
 and eacli urchin loved her, till she ]iad become a sort of adopted 
 grandmamma to all Northwold and the neiglibourhood. 
 
 Henry went to Oxford. He gained no scliolarship, took no 
 honours, but lie fell neither into debt nor disgrace ; he led a 
 good-natured easy life, and made a vast number of friends ; and 
 when he was not staying with them, he and his motlier were 
 supremely haj^py together. He walked witli her, read to her, 
 sang to her, and played with her pupils. He had always been 
 brought up as the heir — petted, Immoured, and waited on — a 
 post which he filled with good-humoured easy grace, and which 
 he continued to fill in the same manner, though he had no one 
 to wait on him but his mother and her faitliful servant Jane 
 Beckett. Years passed on, and they seemed perfectly satisfied 
 with their division of labour, — Mrs. Frost kept school, and 
 Henry played the flute, or shot over the Ormersfield property. 
 
 If any one remonstrated, Henry was always said to be 
 waiting for a government appointment, which was to be pro- 
 cured by the Ormersfield interest. More for tlie sake of his 
 mother than of himself, the Ormersfield interest was at length 
 exerted, and the appointment was conferred on him. The 
 immediate consequence was his marriage with the first pretty 
 girl he met, poorer than himself, and all the Ormersfield interest 
 failed to make his mother angry with him. 
 
 The cholera of 1832 put an end to poor Henry's desultory 
 life. His house, in a crowded part of London, was especially 
 doomed by the deadly sickness ; and out of the whole family 
 the sole survivors were a little girl of ten months old, and a boy 
 of seven years, the latter of whom was with his grandmother at 
 Northwold. 
 
 Mrs. Frost was one of the women of whom affection makes 
 unconscious heroines. She could never sink, as long as there 
 was aught to need her love and care ; and though Henry had 
 been her darling, the very knowledge that his orphans had no 
 one but herself to depend on, seemed to brace her energies with 
 fresh life. They were left entirely on her hands, her son Oliver 
 made no offers of assistance. He had risen, so as to be a 2oros- 
 perous merchant at Lima, and he wrote with regularity and 
 dutifulness, but he had never proposed coming to England, and 
 did not proffer any aid in the charge of his brother's children. 
 If she had expected anything from him, she did not say so ; she 
 seldom spoke of him, but never without tenderness, and usually 
 as her 'poor Oliver,' and she abstained from teaching her 
 grandchildren either to look to their rich uncle or to mouT'n 
 over their lost inheritance. CheA^eleigh was a winter evening's 
 romance with no one but Jane Beckett ; and the grandmother 
 
- LOUIS LE DEBONNAmE 15 
 
 always answered the children's inquiries by bidding them prove 
 their ancient blood by resolute independence, and by that true 
 dignity wliich wealth could neither give nor take away. 
 
 Of that dignity, Mrs. Frost was a perfect model. A singular 
 compound of the gentle and the lofty, of tenderness and inde- 
 pendence, she had never ceased to be the North wold standard 
 of the 'real lady'; too mild and gracious to be regarded as 
 proud and poor, and yet too dignified for any liberty to be 
 attempted, her only fault, that touch of pride, so ladylike and 
 refined that it was kept out of sight, and never offended ; and 
 everything else so sweet and winning that there was scarcely a 
 being who did not love, as well as honour her, for the cheerful- 
 ness and resignation that had borne her through her many 
 trials. Her trustful spirit and warm heart had been an elixir 
 of youth, and had preserved her freshness and elasticity long 
 after her sister and brother-in-law at Ormersfield had grown 
 aged and sunk into the grave, and even her nephew was fast 
 verging upon more than middle age. 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE 
 
 I walked by his garden and saw the wild briar, 
 
 The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher.— Isaac Watts 
 
 Ormersfield Park was extensive, ranging into fine broken 
 ground, rocky and overgrown with brushwood ; but it bore the 
 marks of retrenchment ; there was hardly a large timber tree 
 on the estate, enclosures had been begun and deserted, and the 
 deer had been sold off to make room for farmers' cattle, which 
 grazed up to the very front door. 
 
 ^ The house was of the stately era of Anne, with a heavy por- 
 tico and clumsy pediment on the garden side, all the windows 
 of the suite of rooms opening on a broad stone terrace, whence 
 steps descended to the lawn, neatly kejot, but sombre, for want 
 of openings in the surrounding evergreens. 
 
 It was early March, and a lady wrapped in a shawl was seated 
 on the terrace, enjoying the mild gleam of spring, and the fresh- 
 ness of the sun- warmed air, which awoke a smile of welcome as 
 it breathed on her faded cheek, and her eyes gazed on the scene, 
 in fond recognition. 
 
 It had been the home of Mrs. Ponsonby's childhood ; and the 
 slopes of turf and belts of dark ilex were fraught with many a 
 recollection of girlish musings, youthful visions, and later, inter- 
 vals of tranquillity and repose. After fourteen years spent in 
 South America, how many threads she had to take up again ! 
 
 She had been as a sister to her cousin. Lord Ormersfield, and 
 had shared more of his confidence than any other person during 
 
16 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 their earlier years, but afterwards their intercourse had neces- 
 sarily been confined to brief and guarded letters. She had 
 found him unchanged in his kindness to herself, and she was 
 the more led to ponder on the grave, stern impassiveness of 
 his manner to others, and to try to understand the tone of mind 
 that it indicated. 
 
 She recalled him as he had been in his first youth — reserved, 
 sensible, thoughtful, but with the fire of ambition burning 
 strongly within, and ever and anon flashing fortli vividly, re- 
 pressed at once as too demonstrative, but filling her with 
 enthusiastic admiration. She remembered him calmly and 
 manfully meeting the shock of the failure, that would, he 
 knew, fetter and encumber him through life — how resolutely 
 he had faced the difficulties, how unselfishly he liad put himself 
 out of the question, how uprightly he had dealt by the credi- 
 tors, how considerately by his father and aunt, liow wise and 
 moderate his proceedings had been throughout. She recollected 
 how she had shared his aspirations, and gloried in his consistent 
 and prudent course, without perceiving what sorrow had since 
 taught her — that ambition was to him what pleasure was to 
 other young men. What had it not been to her when that 
 ambition began to be gratified ! when he had become a leading 
 man in Parliament, and by and by held office. 
 
 There, a change came over the spirit of her dream ; and 
 though she siglied, she could not but smile at the fair picture 
 that rose before her, of a young girl of radiant loveliness, lier 
 golden curls drooping over her neck, and her eyes blue as the 
 starry veronica by the hedge-side, smiling in the sunshine. She 
 thought of the glances of proud delight that her cousin liad 
 stolen at. her, to read in her face, tliat his Louisa Avas more than 
 all he had told her. Little was needed to make her love the 
 sweet, caressing young creature who had thrown her arms 
 round her, and told her that she saw it was all nonsense to tell 
 her she w^as such a good, grave, dreadful Cousin Mary ! Yet 
 there had been some few misgivings ! So short an acquaint- 
 ance ! Her cousin too busy for more than being bewitched by 
 the lovely face ! The Villiers family, so gay and fasliionable ! 
 Might not all have been foreseen ? And yet, of what use would 
 foresight have been 1 The gentleman was deeply attached, and 
 the lady's family courted the match, the distinction he had won 
 atoning for his encumbered fortune. 
 
 Other scenes arose on her memory — Louisa, a triumphant 
 beauty, living on the homage she received, all brilliance, grace, 
 and enjoyment. But there was a darkening background which 
 grew more prominent. Poor Louisa had little wisdom by 
 nature, and her education had been solely directed to enable 
 her to shine in the world, not to render her fit for the com- 
 panionship of a man of domestic tastes, accustomed to the society 
 of superior women. There was nothing to fall back upon, 
 nothing to make a home ; she was listless and weary whenever 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIKE 17 
 
 gaiety failed her — and he, disappointed and baffled, too un- 
 bending to draw her out, too much occupied to watch over her, 
 yielded to her tastes, and let her pursue her favourite enjoy- 
 ments unchecked. 
 
 A time had come when childish vanity and frivolity were 
 verging on levity and imprudence. Expostulations fell power- 
 less on her shallowness. Painful was the remembrance of the 
 deprecating roguish glance of the beautiful eyes, and the coax- 
 ing caresses with which she kissed away the lecture, and made 
 promises, only to forget them. She was like tlie soulless Undine, 
 with her reckless gaiety and sweetness, so loving and childish 
 that there was no being displeased with her, so innocent and 
 devoid of all art or guile in her wilfulness, that her faults could 
 hardly bear a liarsher name than follies. 
 
 Again, Mrs. Ponsonby thought of the days when she lierself 
 had been left to stay with her old uncle and aunt in this very 
 liouse while her husband was absent abroad, when she had 
 assisted them to receive the poor young wife, sent home in 
 failing health. She thought of the sad weeks, so melanclioly in 
 the impossibility of making an impression, or of leading poor 
 Louisa from her frivolities ; she recalled the sorrow of hearing 
 her build on future schemes of pleasure, the dead blank when 
 her prattle on them failed, the tedium of deeper subjects, and 
 yet the bewitching sweetness overpowering all vexation at her 
 exceeding silliness. Though full one-and-twenty years had 
 passed, still the tears thrilled warm into Mrs. Ponsonby 's eyes 
 at the tliought of Louisa's fond clinging to her, in spite of many 
 an admonition and even exertion of authority, for she alone 
 dared to control the spoilt child's self-will ; and had far more 
 power than the husband, who seemed to act as a check and 
 restraint, and whose presence rendered lier no longer easy and 
 natural. One confidence had explained tlie whole. 
 
 ' You know, Mary dear, I always was so much afraid of liim ! 
 If I had had my own way, I know who it would have been ; 
 but there were mamma and Anna Maria always saying how 
 fortunate I was, and that he would be Prime Minister, and all 
 the rest. Oh ! I was far too young and foolish for liim. He 
 should have married a sober body, such as you, Mary ! Why 
 did he not ? ' She wished she liad never teased him by going 
 out so much, and letting people talk nonsense ; he had been 
 very kind, and she was not lialf good enough for him. That 
 confession, made to liim, would have been balm for e^^er ; but 
 she had not resolution for the effort, and the days slid away till 
 the worst fears were fulfilled. Nay, were they the woi'st fears ? 
 Was there not an unavowed sense that it was safer that she 
 should die, while innocent of all but wayward folly, than be 
 left to perils which she was so little able to resist ? 
 
 The iron expression of grief on her husband's face had for- 
 bidden all sympathy, all attempt at consolation. He had 
 returned at once to his business in London, there to find that 
 
 c 
 
18 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 poor Louisa's extravagance had equalled her folly, and that he, 
 whose pride it had been to redeem his paternal property, was 
 thrown back by heavy debts on his own account. This had 
 been known to Mrs. Ponsonby, but by no word from liim ; he 
 had never permitted tlie most distant reference to liis wife, and 
 yet, with inconsistency betraying his passionate love, he had 
 ordered one of the most beautiful and costly monuments that 
 art could execute, for lier grave at Ormersfield, and had sent 
 brief but explicit orders that, contrary to all family precedent, 
 his infant should bear no name but Louis. 
 
 On this child Mrs. Ponsonby had founded all her hopes of a 
 renewal of happiness for her cousin ; but when she had left 
 England there had been little amalgamation between the vola- 
 tile animated boy, and his grave unbending father. She could 
 not conjure up any more comfortable picture of them than 
 the cliild uneasily perched on his papa's knee, looking wistfully 
 for a way of escape, and his father with an air of having lifted 
 him up as a duty, without knowing what to do with him or to 
 say to him. 
 
 At her earnest advice, the little fellow had been placed as 
 a boarder with his great-aunt, Mrs. Frost, when his grand- 
 mother's death had deprived him of all that was homelike at 
 Ormersfield. He had been with her till he was old enough for 
 a public school, and she spoke of him as if he were no less dear 
 to her than her own grandchildren ; but she was one who saw 
 no fault in those whom she loved, and Mrs. Ponsonby had. been 
 rendered a little anxious by a certain tone of dissatisfaction in 
 Lord Ormersfield's curt mention of his son, and above all by 
 his cold manner of announcing that this was the day when he 
 would return from Oxford for the Easter vacation. 
 
 Could it be that the son was unworthy, or had the father's 
 feelings been too much chilled ever to warm again, and all 
 home affections lost in the strife of politics ? These had ever 
 since engaged him, whether in or out of office, leaving little 
 time for society or for any domestic pursuit. 
 
 Her reflections were interrupted by a call of ' Mamma ! ' and 
 her daughter came running up the steps. Mary Ponsonby had 
 too wide a face for beauty, and not slightness enough for 
 symmetry, but nothing could be more pleasing and trustworthy 
 tjfian the open countenance, the steady, clear, greenish -brown 
 eyes, the kind, sensible mouth, the firm chin, broad though 
 rather short forehead, and healthy though not highly-coloured 
 cheek ; and the voice— full, soft, and cheerful — well agreed 
 with tlie expression, and always brought gladness and promise 
 of sympathy. 
 
 * See, mamma, what we have found for you.' 
 
 * Violets ! The very purple ones that used to grow on the 
 orchard bank ! ' 
 
 ' So they did. Mary knew exactly where to look for them,' 
 said Mrs. Frost, who had followed her up the steps. 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE 19 
 
 * And there is Gervas,' continued Mary ; ' so charmed to hear 
 of you, that we had ahuost brought him to see you.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby declared herself so much invigorated by 
 Ormersfield air, that she would go to see her old friend the 
 gardener. Mary hurried to fetch her bonnet, and returned 
 while a panegyric was going on upon }ier abilities as maid-of- 
 all-work, in her mother's difficulties with male housemaids — • 
 black and brown — and washerwomen who rode on horseback in 
 white satin shoes. She looked as if it were hardly natural that 
 any one but herself should support her mother, when Mrs. Frost 
 tenderly drew Mrs. Ponsonby 's arm into her own ; and it was 
 indeed strange to see the younger lady so frail and broken, and 
 the elder so strong, vigorous, and active ; as they moved along 
 in the sunshine, pausing to note each spring blossom that 
 bordered the gravel, and entered the walled kitchen-garden, 
 where espaliers ran parallel with the walks, dividing the vege- 
 tables from the narrow ilower-beds, illuminated by crocuses 
 opening the depths of their golden hearts to the sunbeams and 
 the revelling bees. Old Gervas, in a patriarchal red waistcoat, 
 welcomed Mrs. Ponsonby with more warmth than flattery. 
 'Bless me, ma'am, I'm right glad to see you ; but how old you be ! ' 
 ' I must come home to learn how to grow young, Gervas,' said 
 she, smiling ; ' I hear Betty is as youthful as my aunt here.' 
 
 ' Ay, ma'am, Betty do fight it out tolerablish,' was the reply 
 to this compliment. 
 ' Why, Gervas, what's all that wilderness ? Surely those used 
 
 to be strawberry beds.' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am, the earliest hautboys ; don't ye mind ? My 
 
 young lord came and begged it of me, and, bless the lad, I can't 
 
 refuse him nothing.' 
 
 * He seems to be no gardener ! ' 
 
 ' He said he wanted to make a Botany Bay sort of garden,' 
 said the old man ; ' and sure enough 'tis a garden of weeds he's 
 made of it, and mine into the bargain ! He has a great big 
 thistle here, and the down blows right over my beds, thick as 
 snow, so that it is three women's work to be a match for the 
 weeds ; but speak to him of pulling it up, ye'd think 'twas the 
 heart out of him.' 
 
 * Does he ever work here ? ' 
 
 * At first it was nought else ; he and that young chap, Madison, 
 always bringing docks and darnel out of the hedges, and plants 
 from the nursery gardens, and bringing rockwork, and letting 
 water in to make a swamp. There's no saying what's in the 
 lad's head ! But, of late, he's not done much but by times lying 
 on the bank, reading or speaking verses out loud to himself, or 
 getting young Madison off* his work to listen to him. Once he 
 got me to hear ; but, ma'am, 'twas all about fairies and such 
 like, putting an ass's head on an honest body as had lost his 
 way. I told him 'twas no good for him or the boy to read such 
 stuff", and I'd ha' none of it ; but, if he chose to read me some 
 
 C 2 
 
20 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 good book, he'd be welcome — for the candles bain't so good as 
 they used, and I can't get no spectacles to suit me.' 
 
 ' And did he read to you "? ' 
 
 * A bit or two, ma'am, if the humour took him. But he's young, 
 you see, ma'am. I'm right glad he'll find you here. My old 
 woman says he do want a lady about the place to make liim 
 comfortable like.' 
 
 'And who is this young Madison?' asked Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 when they had turned from tlie old gardener. 
 
 'To hear Jem, you would believe tliat lie is the most pro- 
 mising plant rearing for Botany Bay ! ' said Mrs. Frost. ' He 
 is a boy from that wild place Marksedge, whom Louis took 
 interest in, and made more familiar than Jem liked, or than, 
 perhaps, was good for him. It did not answer ; the servants 
 did not like it, and it ended in his being sent to work with 
 Smitli, the ironmonger. Poor Louis ! he took it sadly to heart, 
 for he had taken great pains with the boy.' 
 
 ' I like to hear the old name, Louis ! ' 
 
 ' I can't help it,' said Mrs. Frost. ' He must be his old Aunt 
 Kitty's Louis le Debonnaire ! Don't you remember your calling 
 him so when he was a baby ? ' 
 
 'Oh yes, it has exactly recalled to me the sort of gracious 
 look that he used to have — half sly, half sweet — and so very 
 pretty ! ' 
 
 ' It suits him as well now. He is the kind of being who must 
 have a pet name ; ' and Mrs. Frost, hoping he might be already 
 arrived, could hardly slacken her eager step so as to keep pace 
 with her niece's feeble movements. She was disappointed ; the 
 carriage had returned without Lord Fitzjocelyn. His hat and 
 luggage were come, but he himself was missing. Mrs. Frost 
 was very uneasy, but his father silenced conjectures by saying, 
 that it was his usual way, and he would make his appearance 
 before the evening. He would not send to meet another train, 
 saying, that the penalty of irregularity must be borne, and the 
 horses sliould not suffer for such freaks ; and he would fain 
 have been utterly indifferent, but he was evidently listening to 
 every sound, and betrayed his anxiety by the decision witli 
 which he checked all exx^ression of his aunt's fears. 
 
 There was no arrival all that evening, no explanation in the 
 morning ; and Betty Gervas, whom Mary went to visit in the 
 course of the day, began to wonder whether the young lord 
 could be gone for a soldier — the usual fate of all missing village 
 lads. 
 
 Mary was on her way home, through the park, along a path 
 skirting the top of a wooded ravine, a dashing rivulet making 
 a pleasant murmur among the rocks below, and glancing here 
 and there through the brushwood that clothed the precipitous 
 banks, when, with a sudden rustling and crackling, a man leaped 
 upon the patli with a stone in each hand. 
 
 Mary started, but she did not lose her presence of mind, and 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE 21 
 
 her next glance showed her that the apparition was not alarm- 
 ing, and was nearly as much amazed as herself. It was a tall 
 slight young man, in a suit of shepherd's plaid, with a fair face 
 and graceful agile form, recalling the word dehonnaire as she 
 had yesterday heard it applied. In instant conviction that this 
 was the truant, she put out her hand by the same impulse that 
 lighted his features with a smile of welcome, and the years of 
 separation seemed annihilated as he exclaimed, *My cousin 
 Mary ! ' and grasped her hand, adding, ' I hope I did not 
 frighten you — ' 
 
 * Oh no ; but where did you come from ? ' 
 
 *Up a hill perpendicular, like Hotspur,' he replied, in soft 
 low quiet tones, which were a strange contrast to the words. 
 'No, see here,' and parting the bushes he showed some rude 
 steps, half nature, half art, leading between the ferns and 
 mountain-ash, and looking very inviting. 
 
 * How delightful ! ' cried Mary. 
 
 * I am glad you appreciate it,' he exclaimed ; * I will finish it 
 off now, and put a rail. I did not care to go on when I had 
 lost the poor fellow who helped me, but it saves a world of 
 distance.' 
 
 ' It must be very pretty amongst those beautiful ferns ! ' 
 
 * You can't conceive anything more charming,' he continued, 
 with the same low distinct utterance, but an earnestness that 
 almost took away her breatli. 'There are nine ferns on this 
 bank — that is, if we have the Scoloi^endrmm Icevigatum^ as I 
 am persuaded. Do you know anything of ferns ? Ah ! you 
 come from the land of tree ferns.' 
 
 'Oh ! I am so glad to exchange them for our home flowers. 
 Primroses look so friendly and natural.' 
 
 ' These rocks are perfect nests for them, and they even over- 
 hang the river. This is the best bit of the stream, so rapid and 
 foaming that I must throw a bridge across for Aunt Catharine. 
 Which would be most appropriate? I was weighing it as I 
 came up — a simple stone, or a rustic performance in wood ? ' 
 
 ' I should like stone,' said Mary, amused by his eagerness. 
 
 'A rough Druidical stone! That's it! The idea of rude 
 negligent strength accords with such places, and this is a stone 
 country. I know the very stone ! Do come down and see ! ' 
 
 ' To-morrow, if you please,' said Mary. ' Mamma must want 
 me, and — but I suppose they know of your return at home.' 
 
 'No, they don't. They have learnt by experience that the 
 right time is the one never to expect me.' 
 
 Mary's eyes were all astonishment, as she said, between 
 wonder and reproof, ' Is that on purpose ? ' 
 
 ' Adventures are thrust on some people,' was the nonchalant 
 reply, witli shoulders depressed, and a twinkle of the eye, as if 
 he purposed amazing his auditor. 
 
 ' I hope you have had an adventure, for nothing else could 
 justify you,' said Mary, with some humour, but more gravity. 
 
22 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^ ' Only a stray infant-errant, cast on my mercy at the junc- 
 tion station. Nurse, between eating and gossiping left behind 
 —bell rings — engine squeaks — train starts — Fitzjocelyn and 
 infant vis-d-vis.^ 
 
 ' You don't mean a baby ? ' 
 
 * A child of five years old, who soon ceased howling, and con- 
 fided ]iis history to me. He had been visiting grandmamma 
 in London, and was going home to Illershall ; so I found the 
 best plan would be to leave the train at the next station, and 
 take liim home.' 
 
 ^ Oh, that was quite another thing,' exclaimed Mary, gratified 
 at being able to like him. ' Could you find his home ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; he knew his name and address too well to be lost or 
 mislaid. I would have come home as soon as I had seen him 
 in at the door ; but the whole family rushed out on me, and 
 conjured me first to dine and then to sleep. They are capital 
 people. Dobbs is superintendent of the copper and tin works 
 — a thoroughly riglit-minded man, witli a nice, ladylike wife, 
 the right sort of sound stufi* that old England's heart is made of. 
 It was worth anything to have seen it ! They do incalculable 
 good with their work-people. I saw the whole concern.' 
 
 He launched into an explanation of the process, producing 
 from his pocket, papers of the ore, in every stage of manufac- 
 ture, and twisting them up so carelessly, that they would have 
 become a mass of confusion, had not Mary undertaken the 
 repacking. 
 
 As they approached the house, the library window was 
 thrown up, and Mrs. Frost came hurrying down with out- 
 stretched arms. SJie was met by her young nephew with an 
 overflow of fond afiection, before he looked up and beheld liis 
 father standing upright and motionless on the highest step. 
 His excuses were made more lightly and easily than seemed to 
 suit such rigid looks ; but Lord Ormersfield bent his head as if 
 resigning himself perforce to the explanation, and, with the 
 softened voice in which he always spoke to Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 said, ' Here he is — Louis, you remember your cousin.'^ 
 
 She was positively startled ; for it was as if his mother's 
 deep blue eyes were raised to hers, and there were the same 
 regular, delicate features, fair, transparent complexion, and 
 glossy light-brown hair tinted with gold— the same careless yet 
 deprecating glance, the same engaging smile that warmed her 
 heart to him at once, in spite of an air which was not that of 
 wisdom. 
 
 ' How little altered you are ! ' she exclaimed. ' If you were 
 not taller than your father, I should say you were the same 
 Louis that I left fourteen years ago.' 
 
 ' I fear that is the chief change,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 * A boy that would be a boy all his life, like Sir Thomas More's 
 son ! ' said Louis, coolly and simply, but with a twinkle in tlie 
 corner of his eye, as if he said it on purpose to be provoking ; 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE 23 
 
 and Mrs. Frost interposed by asking where the cousins had met, 
 and whether they liad known each other. 
 
 ' I knew him by what you said yesterday/ said Mary. 
 
 * Louis le Debonnaire ? ' asked Mrs. Frost, smiling. 
 
 ' No, Mary ; not that name ! ' he exclaimed. ' It is what Jem 
 calls me, when he has nothing more cutting to say — ' 
 
 * Aye, because it is exactly what you look when you know you 
 deserve a scolding — with your shoulders pulled down, and your 
 face made up ! ' said his aunt, patting him. 
 
 When Mrs. Ponsonby and Mary had left the room to dress, 
 Louis exclaimed, ' And that is Mrs. Ponsonby ! How ill she 
 does look ! Her very voice has broken down, though it still has 
 the sweet sound that I could never forget ! Has she had advice ? ' 
 
 ' Dr. Hastings saw lier in London,' said his father. ' He sent 
 her into the country at once, and thinks that there is fair hope 
 that complete rest of spirits may check the disease.' 
 
 *Will she stay liereT said Louis, eagerly. 'That would be 
 like old times, and we could make her very comfortable. I 
 would train those two ponies for her drives — ' 
 
 ' I wish she would remain here,' said his father ; ' but she is 
 bent on becoming my aunt's tenant.' 
 
 ' Ha ! That is next best ! They could do nothing more com- 
 mendable. Will they be a windfall for tlie House Beautiful ? ' 
 
 'No,' said Mrs. Frost. 'They wish to have a house of their 
 own, in case Mr. Ponsonby should come home, or Miss Ponsonby 
 to stay with them.' 
 
 ' The respected aunt who brought Mary up ? How long has 
 she been at Lima ? ' 
 
 ' Four years.' 
 
 ' Four years ! She has not made use of her opportunities ! 
 Alas for the illusion dispelled ! T]ie Spanish walk and mantilla 
 melt away ; and beliold ! the primitive wide-mouthed body of 
 fourteen years since ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Frost laughed, but it seemed to be a serious matter with 
 Lord Ormersheld. ' If you could appreciate sterling worth,' he 
 said, ' you would be ashamed to speak of your cousin with such 
 conceited disrespect.' 
 
 All the effect was to make Louis walk quietly out of the 
 room ; but his shoulder and eyebrow made a secret telegraph of 
 amazement to Mrs. Frost. 
 
 The new arrival seemed to have put the Earl into a state of 
 constant restless anxiety, subdued and concealed with a high 
 hand, but still visible to one who knew him so intimately as 
 did Mrs. Ponsonby. She saw that he watched each word and 
 gesture, and studied her looks to judge of the opinion they 
 might create in her. Now the process was much like weighing 
 and balancing the down of Fitzjocelyn's own favourite thistle ; 
 the profusion, the unsubstantiality, and the volatility being far 
 too similar ; and there was something positively sad in the 
 solicitous heed taken of such utter heedlessness. 
 
24 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 The reigning idea was the expedition to Illershall, and the 
 excellent condition of the work-people under his new friend, 
 the superintendent. Forgetful that mines were a tender subject, 
 the eager speaker became certain that copper must exist in the 
 neighbourliood, and what an employment it would afford to all 
 the country round. ' Marksedge must be the very place ; the 
 soil promises metallic veins, the discovery would be the utmost 
 boon to the people. It would lead to industry and civilization, 
 and counteract all the evils we have brought on them. Mary, 
 do you remember Marksedge, the place of exile ? ' 
 
 'Not that I know of.' 
 
 ' No ; we were too young to understand the iniquity. In the 
 last generation, it was not the plan to stone Naboth, but to 
 remove him. Great people could not endure little people ; so, 
 by way of kindness, our whole population of Ormersfield, except 
 a few necessary retainers, were transported bodily from betwixt 
 the wind and our nobility, located on a moor beyond our confines, 
 a generous gift to the poor-rates of Bletchynden, away from 
 church, away from work, away from superintendence, away 
 from all amenities of the poor man's life 1 ' 
 
 This was one of the improvements to which Mr. Dynevor had 
 prompted the late Earl ; but Louis did not know whom he was 
 cutting as he uttered this tirade, with a glow on his cheek and 
 eye, but with his usual soft, modulated intonation and polished 
 language, the distinctness and deliberation taking off all air of 
 rattle, and rendering his words more impressive. 
 
 ' Indeed ! is there much distress at Marksedge ? ' said Mrs. 
 Ponsonby. 
 
 ' They have gifts with our own poor at Christmas,' said Lord 
 Ormersfield ; 'but they are a defiant, ungrateful sef:, always in 
 distress by their own fault.' 
 
 ' What cause have they for gratitude ? ' exclaimed his son. 
 'For being turned out of house and home ? for the three miles' 
 walk to their daily work ? Yes, it is the fact. The dozen 
 families left here, with edicts against lodgers, cannot suffice for 
 the farmer's work ; and all Norris's and Beecher's men have to 
 walk six miles every day of their lives, besides the hard day's 
 work. They are still farther from their parish, they are no 
 one's charge, they have neither church nor school, and whom 
 should we blame for their being lawless V 
 
 ' It used to be thought a very good thing for tlie parish,' said 
 Mrs. Frost, looking at her niece. ' I remember being sorry for 
 the poor people, but we did not see things in the light in which 
 Louis puts it.' 
 
 ' Young men like to find fault with the doings of their elders,' 
 said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 'Nothing can make me regard it otherwise than as a wicked 
 sin ! ' said Louis. 
 
 'Nay, my dear,' mildly said Aunt Catharine, ' if it were mis- 
 taken, I am sure it was not intentionally cruel.' 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE 25 
 
 * What I call wicked, is to sacrifice the welfare of dependents 
 to our own selfish convenience ! And you would call it cruel 
 too, Aunt Catharine, if you could hear the poor creatures beg as 
 a favour of Mr. Holdsworth to be buried among their kin, and 
 know how it has preyed on the minds of the dying that they 
 might not lie here among their own people/ 
 
 'Change the subject, Fitzjocelyn,' said his father : Hhe thing 
 is done, and cannot be undone/ 
 
 'The undoing is my daily thought,' sa>id Louis. 'If I could 
 have tried my plan of weaving cordage out of cotton-grass and 
 thistle-down, I think I could have contrived for them.' 
 
 Mary looked up, and met his merry blue eye. Was he saying 
 it so gravely to try whether he could take her in ? ''If you 
 could — ' she said, and he went off into a hearty laugh, and 
 finished by saying, so that no one could guess whether it was 
 sport or earnest, ' Even taking into account the depredations of 
 the goldfinches, it would be an admirable speculation, and 
 would confer immeasurable benefits on the owners of waste 
 lands. I mean to take out a patent when I have succeeded in 
 the spinning.' 
 
 'A patent for a donkey,' whispered Aunt Catharine. He 
 responded with a deferential bow, and the conversation was 
 changed by the Earl ; but copper was still the subject upper- 
 most with Louis, and no sooner was dinner over than he fol- 
 lowed the ladies to the library, and began searching every book 
 on metals and minerals, till he had heaped up a pile of volumes, 
 whence he rang the changes on oxide, pyrites, and carbonate, 
 and octohedron crystals — names which poor Mrs. Frost had 
 heard but too often. At last it came to certainty that he had 
 seen the very masses containing ore ; he would send one to- 
 morrow to Illershall to be analyzed, and bring his friend Dobbs 
 down to view the spot. 
 
 ' Not in my time,' interposed Lord Ormersfield. ' I would 
 not wish for a greater misfortune than the discovery of a mine 
 on my property.' 
 
 ' No wonder,' thought Mrs. Ponsonby, as she recollected 
 Wheal Salamanca and Wheal Catharine, and Wheal Dynevor, 
 and all the other wheals that had wheeled away all Cheveleigh 
 and half Ormersfield, till the last unfortunate wheal failed when 
 the rope broke, and there were no funds to buy a new one. No 
 wonder Lord Ormersfield trembled when he heard his son launch 
 out into those easily-ascending conjectural calculations, freely 
 working sums in his head, so exactly like the old Earl, his 
 grandfather, that she could have laughed, but for sympathy 
 with the father, and anxiety to see how the son would take the 
 damp so vexatiously cast on his projects. 
 
 He made the gesture that Mrs. Frost called dehonnaire — read 
 on for j^YQ minutes in silence, insisted on teaching his aunt the 
 cause of the colours in peacock ores, compared them to a 
 pigeon's neck, and talked of old Betty Gervas's tame pigeons ; 
 
26 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 whence he proceeded to memories of the days that he and Mary 
 had spent together, and asked which of their old haunts she 
 had revisited. Had she been into the nursery ? 
 
 ' Oh yes ! but I wondered you had sent the old walnut press 
 into that lumber-room.' 
 
 ' Is that satire ? ' said Louis, starting and looking in her face. 
 
 ^I don't know what you mean.' 
 
 * I have a better right to ask what you mean by stigmatizing 
 my apartment as a lumber-room ? ' 
 
 ' It was only wlmt I saw from the door,' said Mary, a little 
 confused, but rallying and answering with spirit ; ' and I must 
 maintain that, if you mean the room over the garden entrance, 
 it is very like a lumber-room.' 
 
 ' Ah, Mary ! you have not outgrown the delusions of your sex. 
 Is an Englishman's house his castle while housemaids maraud over 
 it, ransacking his possessions, irritating poor peaceful dust that 
 only wants to be let alone, sweeping away cherished cobwebs ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, if you cherish cobwebs ! ' said Mary. 
 
 * Did not the fortunes of Scotland hang on a spider's thread ? 
 Did not a cobweb save the life of Mahomet, or Ali, or a medi- 
 aeval saint — no matter which ? Was not a spider the solace of 
 the Bastille ? Have not I lain for hours on a summer morn- 
 ing watching the tremulous lines of the beautiful geometrical 
 composition ? ' 
 
 ' More shame for you ! ' said Mary, with a sort of dry humorous 
 bluntness. 
 
 ' The very answer you would have made in old times,' cried 
 Louis, delighted. ' O Mary, you bring me back the days of my 
 youth ! You never would see the giant who used to live in that 
 press ! ' 
 
 ' I remember our great fall from the top of it.' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! ' cried Louis ; ' Jem Frost had set us up there bolt 
 upright for sentries, and I saw the enemies too soon, when you 
 would not allow that they were there. I was going to fire my 
 musket at them ; but you used violence to keep me steady to 
 my duty — pulled my hair, did not you ? ' 
 
 ^I know you scratched me, and we both rolled off together! 
 I wonder we were not both killed ! ' 
 
 ' That did not trouble Jem ! He picked us up, and ordered us 
 into arrest under the bed for breach of discipline.' 
 
 ^I fear Jem was a martinet,' said Mrs. Frost. 
 
 'That he was ! A general formed on the model of him who, 
 not contented with assaulting a demi-lune, had taken une lune 
 toide entiere. We had a siege of the Fort Bombadero, inacces- 
 sible, and with mortars firing double-liand grenades. They 
 were dandelion clocks, and there were nettles to act the part of 
 poisoned spikes on the breach.' 
 
 ' I remember the nettles,' said Mary, ' and Jem's driving you to 
 gather them ; you standing with your bare legs in the nettle-bed, 
 when he would make me dig, and I could not come to help you 1 ' 
 
THISTLE-DOWN 27 
 
 On duty in the trenches. Your sense of duty was exemplary. 
 I remember your digging on, like a very Casablanca, all alone, 
 in the midst of a thunderstorm, because Jem had forgotten to 
 call you in, crying all the time with fear of the lightning ! ' 
 
 ' You came to help me,' said Mary. ' You came rushing out 
 from the nursery to my rescue ! ' 
 
 ' I could not make you stir. We were taken prisoners by a 
 sally from the nursery. For once in your life^ you were in 
 disgrace ! ' 
 
 'I quite thought I ought to mind Jem,' said Mary, 'and never 
 knew whether it was play or earnest.' 
 
 'Only so could you trangress,' said Louis, — 'you who never 
 cried, except as my amateur Mungo Malagrowther. Poor 
 Mary ! what an amazement it was to me to find you breaking 
 your heart over the utmost penalties of the nursery law, when 
 to me they only afforded agreeable occasions of showing that I 
 did not care ! I must have been intolerable till you and Mrs. 
 Ponsonby took me in hand ! ' 
 
 ' I am glad you own your obligations,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 ' I own myself as much obliged to Mary for making me wise, 
 as to Jem for making me foolish.' 
 
 'It is not the cause of gratitude I should have expected,' said 
 his father. 
 
 'Alas! if he and Clara were but here!' sighed Louis. 'I 
 entreated him in terms that might have moved a pyramid from 
 its base, but the Frost was arctic. An iceberg will move, but 
 he is past all melting ! ' 
 
 ' I respect his steadiness of purpose,' said the Earl ; ' I know 
 no young man whom I honour more than James.' 
 
 His aunt and his son were looking towards each other with 
 glistening eyes of triumph and congratulation, and Mrs. Frost 
 cleared her voice to say that he was making far too much of 
 her Jemmy ; a very good boy, to be sure, but if he said so 
 much of him, the Marys would be disappointed to see nothing 
 but a little fiery Welshman. 
 
 CHAPTEPv IV 
 
 THISTLE-DOWN 
 
 Lightly soars the thistle-down, 
 
 Lightly does it float — 
 Lightly seeds of care are sown, 
 
 Little do we note. 
 Watch life's thistles bud and blow, 
 
 Oh, 'tis pleasant folly ; 
 But when all life's paths they strew, 
 
 Then comes melancholy. — Mary Howitt 
 
 Maey Ponsonby had led a life of change and wandering that 
 had given her few local attachments. The period she had spent 
 at Ormersfield, wlien she was from five to seven years old, had 
 
28 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 been the most joyous part of her life, and had given her a strong 
 feeling for the place where she had lived with her mother, and 
 in an atmosphere of affection, free from the shadow of that 
 skeleton in the house, which had darkened her childhood more 
 than she understood. 
 
 The great weakness of Mrs. Ponsonby's life had been her over- 
 hasty acceptance of a man whom she did not thoroughly know, 
 because her delicacy had taken alarm at foolish gossip about 
 herself and her cousin. It was a folly that had been severely 
 visited. Irreligious himself, Mr. Ponsonby disliked his wife's 
 strictness ; he resented her affection for her own family, gave 
 way to dissipated habits, and made lier miserable both by 
 violence and neglect. Born late of this unhappy marriage, 
 little Mary was his only substantial link to his wife, and he had 
 never been wanting in tenderness to her : but many a storm had 
 raged over the poor child's head ; and, though she did not know 
 why the kind old Countess had come to remove her and her 
 mother, and 'papa' was still a loved and honoured title, she 
 was fully sensible of the calm security at Ormersfield. 
 
 When Mr. Ponsonby had recalled his wife on his appointment 
 at Lima, Mary had been left in England for education, under the 
 charge of his sister in London. Miss Ponsonby was good and 
 kind, but of narrow views, thinking all titled people fasliionable, 
 and all fashionable people reprobate, jealous of her sister-in- 
 law's love for her own family, and, though unable to believe her 
 brother blameless, holding it as an axiom that married people 
 could not fall out without faults on both sides, and charging a 
 large share of their unhappiness on the house of Fitzjocelyn. 
 Principle had prevented her from endeavouring to weaken the 
 little girl's affection to her mother ; but it had been her great 
 object to train her up in habits of sober judgment, and freedom 
 from all the romance, poetry, and enthusiasm which she fancied 
 had been injurious to Mrs. Ponsonby. The soil was of the very 
 kind that she would have chosen. Mary was intelligent, but 
 with more sense than fancy, more practical than intellectual, 
 and preferring the homely to the tasteful. At school, study and 
 accomplishments were mere tasks ; her recreation was found in 
 acts of kindness to her companions, and her hop^s were all fixed 
 on the going out to Peru, to be useful to her father and mother. 
 At seventeen she went ; full of active, housewifely habits, with 
 a clear head, sound heart, and cramped mind ; her spirits even 
 and cheerful, but not high nor mirthful, after ten years of 
 evenings spent in needlework beside a dry maiden aunt. 
 
 Nor was the home she found at Lima likely to foster the 
 joyousness of early girlhood. Mr. Ponsonby was excessively 
 fond of her ; but his affection to her only marked, by contrast, 
 the gulf between him and her mother. There was no longer any 
 open misconduct on his part, and Mrs. Ponsonby was almost 
 tremblingly attentive to his wishes ; but he was chill and sar- 
 castic in his manner towards her, and her nervous attacks often 
 
THISTLE-DOWN 29 
 
 betrayed that she had been made to suffer in private for differ- 
 ences of opinion. Health and spirits were breaking down ; and, 
 though she never uttered a word of complaint, the sight of her 
 sufferings was trying for a warm-hearted young girl. 
 
 Mary's refuge was hearty affection to both parents. She would 
 not reason nor notice where filial tact taught her that it was 
 best to be ignorant ; she charged all tracasseries on the Peruvian 
 republic, and set herself simply to ameliorate each vexation as 
 it arose, and divert attention from it without generalizing, even 
 to herself, on the state of the family. The English comfort which 
 she brought into the Limenian household was one element of 
 peace ; and her brisk, energetic habits produced an air of ease 
 and pleasantness that did much to make home agreeable to her 
 father, and removed many cares which oppressed her mother. 
 To her, Mary was all the world — ^daughter, comforter, friend, 
 and nurse, unfailing in deeds of love or words of cheer, and 
 removing all sense of dreariness and solitude. And Mary had 
 found her mother all, and more than all slie remembered, and 
 admired and loved her with a deep, quiet glow of intense 
 affection. There was so much call for Mary's actual exertion of 
 various kinds, that there was little opportunity for cultivating 
 or enlarging her mind by books, though the scenes and circum- 
 stances around her could not but take some effect. Still, at 
 twenty-one she was so mucli what she had been at seventeen — 
 so staid, sensible, and practical — that Miss Ponsonby gladly pro- 
 nounced her not in the least spoilt. 
 
 Fain would her aunt have kept both her and her mother as 
 her guests ; but Mrs. Ponsonby had permission to choose what- 
 ever residence best suited her, and felt that Bryanston-square 
 and Miss Ponsonby would be fatal to her liarassed spirits. She 
 yearned after tlie home and companions of her youth, and Miss 
 Ponsonby could only look severe, talk of London doctors, and 
 take- Mary aside to warn her against temptations from fashion- 
 able people. 
 
 Mary liad been looking for the fashionable people ever since, 
 and the first sign of them she had seen, was the air and figure 
 of her cousin Fitzjocelyn. Probably good Aunt Melicent would 
 distrust him ; and yet his odd startling talk, and the arch look 
 of mischief in the corners of his mouth and eyes, had so much 
 likeness to the little Louis of old times, that she could not look 
 on him as a stranger nor as a formidable being ; but was always 
 recurring to the almost monitorial sense of protection, with which 
 she formerly used to regard him, when she sliared his nursery. 
 
 Her mother had cultivated her love for Ormersfield, and she 
 was charmed by her visits to old haunts, well remembering 
 everything. She gladly recognized the little low-browed church, 
 the dumpy tower, and graveyard rising so high that it seemed 
 to intend to bury the church itself, and permitted many a view, 
 through the lattices, of the seats, and the Fitzjocelyn hatchments 
 and monuments. 
 
30 DYNEVOPv TERRACE 
 
 She lingered after church on Sunday afternoon with Mrs. 
 Frost to look at Lady Fitzjocelyn's monument. It was in the 
 chancel, a recumbent figure in white marble, as if newly fallen 
 asleep, and with the lovely features chiselled from a cast taken 
 after death had fixed and ennobled their beauty. 
 
 'It is just like Louis's profile ! ' said Mrs. Frost, as they came 
 out. 
 
 ' Well,' said Louis, who was nearer than she was aware, ' I hope 
 at least no one will make me the occasion of a lion when I am 
 dead.' 
 
 ' It is very beautiful,' said Mary. 
 
 ' May be so ; but the sentiment is destroyed by its having 
 been six months in the Royal Academy, number 16,136, and by 
 seeing it down among the excursions in the Northivold Guided 
 
 'Louis, my dear, you should not be satirical on this,' said Mrs. 
 Frost. 
 
 'I never meant it,' said Louis ; 'but I never could love that 
 monument. It used to oppress me with a sense of having a 
 white marble mother ! And, seriously, it fills up the chancel as 
 if it were its show-room, according to our family tradition that 
 the church is dedicated to the Fitzjocelyns. Living or dead, 
 we have taken it all to ourselves.' 
 
 ' It was a very fair, respectable congregation,' said his aunt. 
 
 ' Exactly so. That is my complaint. Everything belonging 
 to his lordship is respectable — except his son.' 
 
 'Take care, Louis ; here is Mary looking as if she would take 
 you at your word.' 
 
 ' Pray, Mary, do they let no one who is not respectable go to 
 church in Peru % ' 
 
 ' I do not think you would change your congregation for the 
 wretched crowds of brown beggars,' said Mary. 
 
 ' Would I not ?' cried Louis. ' Oh ! if the analogous class here 
 in England could but feel that the church was for them ! — not 
 driven out and thrust aside, by our respectability ! ' 
 
 ' Marksedge to wit ! ' said a good-humoured voice, as Mr. 
 Holdsworth, the young Vicar, appeared at his own wicket, with 
 a hearty greeting. ' I never hear those words without knowing 
 where you are, Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 ' I hope to be there literally some day this week,' said Louis. 
 ' Will you walk with me % I want to ask old Madison how his 
 grandson goes on. I missed going to see after the boy last time 
 I was at home, and have been sorry for it ever since.' 
 
 ' I fear he has not been going on well,' said the Vicar. ' His 
 master told me that he found him very idle and saucy.' 
 
 ' People of that sort never know how to speak to a lad,' said 
 Louis. ' It is their own rating that they ought to blame.' 
 
 'Not Tom Madison, I know,' said Mr. Holdsworth, laughing 
 ' But I did not come out to combat that point, but to inquire 
 after the commissions you kindly undertook.' 
 
 'I have brought you such a set of prizes ! Red rubrics, red 
 
THISTLE-DOWN 31 
 
 margins ; and for the apparatus, I have brought a globe with 
 all the mountains in high relief ; — yes, and an admirable physical 
 atlas, and a box of instruments and models for applying mathe-- 
 matics to mechanics. We might give evening lectures, and 
 interest the young farmers.' 
 
 ^ Pray,' said the Vicar, with a sound of dismay, ' where may 
 the bill be ? I thought the limits were two pounds eighteen.' 
 
 * Oh ! I take all that on myself.' 
 
 *We shall see,' said Mr. Holdsworth, not gratefully. *Was 
 Origen sent home in time for you to bring ? ' 
 
 ' There ! ' cried Louis, starting, ' Origen is lying on the very 
 chair where I put him last January. I will write to Jem Frost 
 to-morrow to send liim to the binder.' 
 
 ' Is it of any use to ask for the music ? ' 
 
 * I assure you, Mr. Holdsworth, I am very sorry. I'll write at 
 once to Frost.' 
 
 *Then I am afraid the parish will not be reformed as you 
 promised last Christmas,' said the Vicar, turning, with a smile, 
 to Mrs. Frost. ' We were to be civilized by weekly concerts in 
 the school' 
 
 'What were you to play, Louis ? ' said Mrs. Frost, laughing. 
 
 * I was to imitate all the birds in the air at once,' said Louis, 
 beginning to chirp like a mUee of sparrows, turning it into the 
 croak of a raven, and breaking off suddenly with, ' I beg your 
 pardon — I forgot it was Sunday ! Indeed, Mr. Holdsworth, I 
 can say no more than that I was a wretch not to remember. 
 Next time I'll write it all down in the top of my hat, with a 
 pathetic entreaty that if my hat be stolen, the thief shall fulfil 
 the commissions, and punctually send in the bill to the Hev. W. 
 B. Holdsworth ! ' 
 
 'I shall hardly run the risk,' said Mr. Holdsworth, smiling, 
 as he parted with them, and disappeared within his clipped yew 
 hedges. 
 
 ' Poor, ill-used Mr. Holdsworth ! ' cried Aunt Catharine. 
 
 'Yes, it was base to forget the binding of that book,' said 
 Louis, gravely. 'I wish I knew what amends to make.' 
 
 ' You owe amends far more for making a present of a com- 
 mission. I used to do the like, to save myself trouble, till I 
 came down in the world, and then I found it had been a mere 
 air de grand seigneur.^ 
 
 ' I should not dare to serve you or Jem so ; but I thought 
 the school was impersonal, and could receive a favour.' 
 
 ' It is no favour, unless you clearly define where tlie commis- 
 sion ended and the gift began. Careless benefits oblige no one.' 
 
 Fitzjocelyn received his aunt's scoldings very prettily. His 
 manner to her was a becoming mixture of the chivalrous, the 
 filial, and the playful. Mary watched it as a new and pretty 
 picture. All his confidence, too, seemed to be hers ; but who 
 could help pouring out his heart to the ever-indulgent, sympa- 
 thizing Aunt Catharine? It was evidently the greatest treat 
 
32 DYNEVOR TEKRACE 
 
 to liim to have her for his guest, and his attention to her ex- 
 tended even to the reading a sermon to lier in the evening, 
 to spare her eyes ; a measure so entirely after Aunt Melicent's 
 heart, that Mary decided that even she would not think her 
 cousin so hopelessly fashionable. 
 
 Good-natured he was, without doubt ; for as the three ladies 
 were sitting down to a sociable morning of work and reading 
 aloud, he came in to say he was going to see after Tom Madison, 
 and to ask if there were any commands for Northwold, with 
 his checked shooting-jacket pockets so puffed out tliat his aunt 
 began patting and inquiring. ' Provisions for the House Beau- 
 tiful,' he said, as forth came on the one side a long rough brown 
 yam. 'I saw it at a shop in. London,' he said, ^and thought 
 the FaithfuU sisters would like to be reminded of their West 
 Indian feasts.' And, 'to make the balance true,' he had in 
 the other pocket a lambswool shawl of gorgeous dyes, with 
 wools to make the like, and the receipt, in what he called 
 * female algebra,' the long knitting-pins under his arm like a 
 riding-whip. He explained that he thought it would be a 
 winter's work for Miss Salome to imitate it, and that she would 
 succour half-a-dozen families with the proceeds ; and Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby was pleased to hear him speak so affectionately of the 
 two old maiden sisters. They were the nieces of an old gentle- 
 man to whom the central and handsomest house of Dynevor 
 Terrace had been let. He had an annuity which had died witli 
 him, and they inherited very little but the furniture with whicli 
 they had lived on in the same house, in hopes of lodgers, and 
 paying rent to Mrs. Frost when they had any. There was a 
 close friendship and perfect understanding between her and 
 them, and, as she truly assured them, full and constant rent 
 could hardly have done her as much good as their neigh- 
 bourhood. Miss Mercy was the Sister of Charity of all North- 
 wold ; Miss Salome, who was confined to her chair by a com- 
 plaint in her knee, knitted and made fancy-works, the sale of 
 which furnished funds for her charities. She was highly edu- 
 cated, and had a great knowledge of natural history. Fitz- 
 jocelyn had given their abode the name of the House Beau- 
 tiful, as being redolent of the essence of the Pilgrim^ s Progress; 
 and the title was so fully accepted by their friends, that the 
 very postman would soon know it. He lingered, discoursing on 
 this topic, while Mary repacked his parcels, and his aunt gave 
 him a message to Jane Beckett, to send the carpenter to No. 7 
 before Mary's visit of inspection ; but she prophesied that he 
 would forget ; and, in fact, it was no good augury that he left 
 the knitting-pins behind him on the table, and Mary was only 
 just in time to catch him with them at the front door. 
 
 ' Thank you, Mary — you are the universal memory,' he said. 
 'What rest you must give my father's methodical spirit! I 
 saw you pile up all those Blaclcwoods of mine this morning, 
 just as he was going to fall upon them.' 
 
THISTLE DOWN 3^ 
 
 *l£ you saw it, I should have expected you to do it yourself,' 
 6aid Mary, in her quaint downright manner. 
 
 ' Never expect me to do what is expected,' answered he. 
 
 ' Do you do that because it is not expected ? ' said Mary^ 
 feeling almost as if he were beyond the pale of reason, as she 
 saw him adjusting a plant of groundsel in his cap. 
 
 'It is for the dicky-bird at my aunt's. There's no lack of 
 it at the Terrace ; but it is an old habit, and there always was 
 an illusion that Ormersfield groundsel is a superior article.' 
 
 'I suppose that is why you grow so much.' 
 
 * Are you a gardener ? Some day we will go to work, clear 
 the place, and separate the botanical from the intrusive ! ' 
 
 * I should like it, of all things ! ' 
 
 * I'll send the horse round to the stable, and begin at once ! ' 
 exclaimed Louis, all eagerness ; but Mary demurred, as she had 
 promised to read to her mother and aunt some of their old 
 favourites, Madame de Sevigne's letters, and his attention flew 
 off to his restless steed, which he wanted her to admire. 
 
 ' My Yeomanry charger,' he said. ' We turn out five troopers. 
 I hope you will be here when we go out, for going round to 
 Northwold brought me into a direful scrape when I went to 
 exhibit myself to the dear old Terrace world. My father said it 
 was an unworthy ambition. What would he have thought, if he 
 had seen Jane stroking me down with the brush on the plea of 
 dust, but really on the principle of stroking a dog ! Good old 
 Jane ! Have you seen her yet ? Has she talked to you about 
 Master Oliver ? ' 
 
 The horse became so impatient, that Mary had no time for 
 more than a monosyllable, before Louis was obliged to mount 
 and ride off; and he was seen no more till just before dinner, 
 when, with a shade of French malice^ Mrs. Frost inquired about 
 Jane and the carpenter : she had seen the cap, still decorated 
 with groundsel, lying in the hall, and had a shrewd suspicion, 
 but the answer went beyond her expectations — ' Ah 1 ' he said, 
 * it is all the effect of the Norman mania ! ' 
 
 'What have you been doing? What is the matter?' she 
 cried, alarmed. 
 
 ' The matter is not with me, but with the magistrates.' 
 
 'My dear Louis, don't look so very wise and capable, or I 
 shall think it a very bad scrape indeed ! Pray tell me what 
 you have been about.' 
 
 ' You know Sir Gilbert Brewster and Mr. Shoreland are rabid 
 about the little brook between their estates, of which each 
 wishes to arrogate to himself the exclusive fishing. Their 
 keepers watch like the Austrian guard on the Danube, in a life 
 of perpetual assault and battery. Last Saturday, March 3rd, 
 1847, one Benjamin Hodgekin, aged fifteen, had the misfortune 
 to wash his feet in the debatable water ; the belligerent powers 
 made common cause, and haled the wretch before the Petty 
 Sessions. His mother met me. She lived in service here till 
 
 D 
 
S4 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 she married a man at Marksedge, now dead. This poor boy is 
 an admirable son, tlie main stay of the family, who must starve 
 if he were imprisoned, and she declared, with tears in her eyes, 
 that she could not bear for a child of hers to be sent to gaol, 
 and begged me to speak to the gentlemen.' He started up 
 with kindling eyes and vehement manner. 'I went to the 
 Justice-room ! ' 
 
 ' My dear ! with the groundsel *? ' 
 
 ' And the knitting-needles ! ' 
 
 On rushed the narration, unheeding trifles. * There was the 
 array : — Mr. Calcott in the chair, and old Freeman, and 
 Captain Shaw, and fat Sir Gilbert, and all the rest, met to 
 condemn this wretched widow's son for washing his feet in a 
 gutter ! ' 
 
 ' Pray what said the indictment 1 ' asked Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' Oh, that he had killed an infant trout of the value of three 
 farthings ! Three giant keepers made oatli to it, but I had his 
 own mother's word that he was washing his feet ! ' 
 
 No one could help laughing, but Fitzjocelyn was far past per- 
 ceiving any such thing. ' Urge what I would, they fined him. 
 I talked to old Brewster ! I appealed to his generosity, if there 
 be room for generosity about a trout no bigger than a gudgeon ! 
 I talked to Mr. Calcott, who, I thought, had more sense, but 
 Justice Shallow would have iDeen more practicable ! No one 
 took a rational view but Ramsbotham of the factory, a very 
 sensible man, with excellent feeling. When it is recorded in 
 history, who will believe that seven moral, well-meaning men 
 agreed in condemning a poor lad of fifteen to a fine of five 
 shillings, costs three-and-sixpence — a sum he could no more pay 
 than I the National Debt, and with the alternative of three 
 months' imprisonment, branding and contaminating for life, 
 and destroying all self-respect ? I paid the fine, so there is 
 one act of destruction the less on the heads of the English 
 squirearchy.' 
 
 ' Act of destruction ! ' 
 
 ' The worst destruction is to blast a man's character because 
 the love of adventure is strong within him — ! 
 
 He was at this point when Lord Ormersfield entered, and 
 after his daily civil ceremonious inquiries of the ladies whether 
 they had walked or driven out, he turned to his son, saying, ' I 
 met Mr. Calcott just now, and lieard from him that he had 
 been sorry to convict a person in whom you took interest ; a lad 
 from Marksedge. What did you know of him ? ' 
 
 *I was prompted by common justice and humanity,' said 
 Louis. 'My protection was claimed for tlie poor* boy, as the 
 son of an old servant of ours.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I think you must have been imposed on, Mr. 
 Calcott spoke of the family as notorious poachers.' 
 
 ' Find a poor fellow on the wong side of a hedge, and not a 
 squire but will swear that he is a hardened ruffian 1 ' 
 
l^HISTLE DOWN 35 
 
 * Usually with reason/ said the Earl. ' Pray when did this 
 person's parents allege that they had been in my service ? ' 
 
 ' It was his mother. Her name was Blackett, and she left 
 us on her marriage with one of the Hodgekins.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield rang the bell, and Frampton, the butler 
 and confidential servant, formed on his own model, made his 
 appearance. 
 
 ^Do you know whether a woman of the name of Blackett 
 ever lived in service here 1 ' 
 
 ^Not that I am aware of, my lord. I will ascertain the fact.' 
 
 In a few moments Frampton returned. ' Yes, my lord, a girl 
 named Blackett was once engaged to help in the scullery, but 
 was discharged for dishonesty at the end of a month.' 
 
 ' Did not Frampton know that that related to me ? ' said Louis, 
 sotto voce, to his aunt. ^ Did he not trust that he was reducing 
 me from a sea-anemone to a lump of quaking jelly ? ' 
 
 So far from this consummation. Lord Fitzjocelyn looked as 
 triu^iphant as Don Quixote liberating Gines de Pasamonte. 
 He and his father might have sat for illustrations of 
 
 'Youth is full of j)leasance, 
 Age is full of care,' 
 
 as they occupied the two ends of the dinner-table ; the Earl 
 concealing anxiety and vexation under more than ordinary 
 punctilious politeness ; the Viscount doing his share of the 
 honours with easy, winning grace and attention, and rattling on 
 in an undertone of lively conversation with Aunt Catharine. 
 Mary was silently amazed at her encouraging him ; but perhaps 
 she could not help spoiling him the more, because there was a 
 storm impending. At least, as soon as she was in the drawing- 
 room, she became restless and nervous, and said that she wished 
 his father could see that speaking sternly to him never did any 
 good ; besides, it was mere inconsiderateness, the excess of 
 chivalrous compassion. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby said she thought young men's ardour more apt 
 to be against than for the poacher. 
 
 ' I must confess,' said Aunt Catharine, with all the reluctance 
 of a high-spirited Dynevor, — ' I must confess that Louis is no 
 sportsman ! He was eager about it once, till he had become a 
 good shot ; and then it lost all zest for him, and he prefers his 
 own vagaries. He never takes a gun unless James drives him 
 out ; and, oddly enough, his father is quite vexed at his indif- 
 ference, as if it were not manly. If his father would only 
 understand him ! ' 
 
 The specimen of that day had almost made Mrs. Ponsonby 
 fear that there was nothing to understand, and that only dear 
 Aunt Kitty's affection could perceive anything but amiable 
 folly ; and it was not much better when the young gentleman 
 reappeared, looking very debonnaire, and sitting down beside 
 Mrs. Frost, said in^a voice meant for her alone — ''Henry IV., 
 
 D 2 
 
36 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Part II., the insult to Chief Justice Gascoigne. My father will 
 presently enter and address you : 
 
 "0, that it could be proved 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
 In cradle-cloths our children as they lay, — ■ 
 Call'd yours Fitzjocelyn— mine, Frost Dynevor!"' 
 
 'For shame, Louis! I shall Jiave to call you Fitzjocelyn! 
 You are behaving very ill.' 
 
 * Insulting the English constitution in the person of seven 
 squires.' 
 
 ^ Don't, my dear ! It was the very tiling to vex your father 
 that you should have put yourself in such a position.' 
 
 ' Bearding the Northwold bench with a groundsel plume and 
 a knitting-needle : 
 
 "With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, 
 Wilt thou figlit a traverse with the Castle cat?" 
 
 The proper chamjoion in such a cause, since " What cat's averse 
 to fish?"' 
 
 ' No, Louis, dear,' said his aunt, struggling like a girl to keep 
 her countenance ; ^ this is no time for nonsense. One would 
 think you had no feeling for your father.' 
 
 ' My dear aunt, I can't go to gaol like Prince Hal. I do assure 
 you, I did not assault the bench with the knitting-pins. What 
 am I to do *? ' 
 
 ' Not set at nought your father's displeasure.' 
 
 ^ I can't help it,' said he, almost sadly, though half smiling. 
 ' What would become of me if I tried to support the full weight ? 
 Interfering with institutions, ruining reputation, blasting bul- 
 warks, patronizing poachers, vituperating venerated — ' 
 
 * Quite true,' cried Aunt Catharine, with spirit. ' You know 
 you had no business there, lecturing a set of men old enough to 
 be your grandfathers, and talking them all to death, no doubt.' 
 
 'Well, Aunt Kitty, if oppression maddens the wise, what 
 must it do to the foolish ? ' 
 
 ' If you only allow that it was foolish—' 
 
 ' No ; I had rather know whether it was wrong. I believe I 
 was too eager, and not respectful enough to the old squire : and, 
 on reflection, it might have been a matter of obedience to my 
 father, not to interfere with the prejudices of true-born English 
 magistrates. Yes, I was wrong : I would have owned it sooner, 
 but for the shell he fired over my head. And for the rest, I 
 don't know how to repent of having protested against tyranny.' 
 
 There was something redeeming in the conclusion, and it was 
 a comfort, for it was impossible to retain anger with one so 
 gently, good-humouredly polite and attentive. 
 
 A practical answer to the champion was not long in coming. 
 He volunteered the next day to walk to Northwold with Mrs. 
 Frost and Mary, who wanted to spend the morning in selecting 
 a house in Dynevor Terrace, and to be fetched home by and by, 
 
thistle-down 37 
 
 when Mrs. Ponsonby took her airing. Two miles seemed nothing 
 to Aunt Catharine, who accepted her nephew's arm for love, 
 and not for need, as he discoursed of all the animals that might 
 be naturalized in England, obtained from Mary an account of 
 the llamas of the Andes, and rode off upon a scheme of an 
 importation to make the fortune of Marksedge by a manufac- 
 ture of alpaca umbrellas. 
 
 Meantime, he must show the beautiful American ducks wliich 
 he hoped to naturalize on the pond near the keeper's lodge : 
 but, whistle and call as he would, nothing showed itself but 
 screaming Canada geese. He ran round, pulled out a boat half 
 full of water, and, with a foot on each side, paddled across to a 
 bushy island in the centre, — but in vain. The keeper's wife, 
 who had tlie charge over them, came out : ' Oh, my lord, I am 
 so sorry ! They pretty ducks ! ' 
 
 'Ha! the foxes r 
 
 ' I wish it was, my lord ; but it is they poachers out at 
 Marksedge that are so daring, they would come anywlieres — 
 and you see the ducks would roost up in the trees, and you 
 said I was not to shut 'em up at night. My master was out 
 up by Beech hollow ; I heerd a gun, and looked out ; I seen a 
 man and a boy — I'd take my oath it was young Hodgekin. 
 They do say Nanny Hodgekin, she as was one of the Blacketts, 
 whose husband was transported, took in two ducks next morn- 
 ing to North wold. Warren couldn't make nothing of it ; but 
 if ever he meets that Hodgekin again, he says he shall catch it ! ' 
 
 ' Well, Mrs. Warren, it can't be helped — thank you for the 
 good care you took of the poor ducks,' said Louis, kindly ; and 
 as he walked on through the gate, he gave a long sigh, and 
 said, * My dainty ducks ! So there's an end of them, and all 
 their tameness ! ' But the smile could not but return. ' It is 
 lucky the case does not come before the bench ! but really that 
 woman deserves a medal for coolness ! ' 
 
 'I suppose,' said Mary, 'she could have paid the fiwQ with the 
 price of the ducks.' 
 
 ' All ! the beauties ! I wish Mr. Hodgekin liad fallen on the 
 pheasants instead ! However, I am thankful he and Warren 
 did not come to a collision about them. I am always expecting 
 that, having made those Marksedge people thieves, murder will 
 be the next consequence.' 
 
 A few seconds sufficed to bring the ludicrous back. ' How pat 
 it comes ! Mary, did you prime Mrs. Warren, or did Frampton ? ' 
 
 ' I believe you had rather laugh at yourself than at any one 
 else,' exclaimed his aunt, who felt baffled at having thrown 
 away her compassion. 
 
 'Of course. One knows how much can be borne. Why, 
 Mary, has that set you studying — do you dissent ? ' 
 
 ' I was thinking whether it is the best thing to be always 
 ready to laugh at oneself,' said Mary. ' Does it always help in 
 m^uding?' 
 
38 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' " Don't care " came to a bad end/ said Louis ; ' but on the other 
 hand, care killed a cat — so there are two sides to the question.' 
 
 While Mary was feeling disappointed at his light tone, he 
 changed it to one that was almost mournful. ' The worst of it 
 is, that " don't care " is my refuge. Whatever I do care about is 
 always thwarted by Frampton or somebody, and being for ever 
 thrown over, I have only to fall as softly as I can.' 
 
 ' You know, my dear,' said Mrs. Frost, ' that your father has 
 no command of means to gratify you.' 
 
 'There are means enough for ourselves,' said Louis ; Hhat is 
 the needful duty. What merely personal indulgence did I ever 
 ask for that was refused me '? ' 
 
 ' If that is all you have to complain of, I can't pity you,' said 
 Mary. 
 
 ' Listen, Mary. Let me wish for a horse, there it is ! Let 
 me wish for a painted window, we can't afford it, though, after 
 all, it would not eat ; but horses are an adjunct of state and 
 propriety. So again, the parish feasted last 18th of January, 
 because I came of age, and it was j^^^op^^^ / while if I ask that 
 our people may be released from work on Good Friday or 
 Ascension Day, it is thought outrageous.' 
 
 ' If I remember right, my dear,' interposed his aunt, ' you 
 wanted no work to be done on any saint's-day. Was there not 
 a scheme that Mr. Holdsworth called the cricket cure ? ' 
 
 ' That may yet be. No one knows the good a few free days 
 would do the poor. But I developed my plan too rapidly I 
 I'll try again for their church-going on Good Friday.' 
 
 * I think you ought to succeed there.' 
 
 'I know how it will be. My father will ring, propound the 
 matter to Frampton ; the answer will be, " Quite impracticable, 
 my lord ; " and there will be an end of it.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not. At least it will have been considered,' said Mary. 
 
 ' True,' said Louis ; ' but you little know what it ig to have 
 a Frampton ! If he be a fair sample of prime ministers, no 
 wonder Princes of Wales go into the opposition ! ' 
 
 ' I thought Frampton was a very valuable superior servant.' 
 
 ' Exactly so. That is the worst of it. He is supreme autho- 
 rity, and well deserves it. When la Grande Mademoiselle stood 
 before the gates of Orleans, calling to the sentinel to open them, 
 he never stirred a step, but replied merely Avith profound bows. 
 That is my case. I make a request, am answered, "Yes, my 
 lord ; " find no results, repeat the process, and at the fourth 
 time am silenced witli, "Quite impracticable, my lord."' 
 
 ' Surely Frampton is respectable 1 ' 
 
 *It is his very essence. He is a thorough aristocrat, respect- 
 ing himself, and therefore respecting all others, as they deserve. 
 He respects a Viscount Fitzjocelyn as an appendage nearly as 
 needful as the wyverns on each side of the shield ; but as to the 
 individual holding that office, he regards him nmch as he would 
 one of the wyverns with a fool's-cap on.' 
 
THISTLE DOWN 39 
 
 And with those words, Fitzjocelyn had sprung into the hedge 
 to gather the earliest willow-catkins, and came down dilating 
 on their silvery, downy buds and golden blossoms, and on the 
 pleasure they would give Miss Faithfull ; till Mary, who had 
 been beginning to compassionate him, was almost vexed to 
 think her pity wasted on grievances of mere random talk. 
 
 Warm and kindly was his greeting of his aunt's good old 
 servant, Jane Beckett, wliom Mary was well pleased to meet as 
 one of the kind friends of her childhood. The refinement that 
 was like an atmosphere around Mrs. Frost, seemed to have ex- 
 tended even to her servants ;- for Jane, though she could hardly 
 read, and carried her accounts in lier head, had manners of a 
 gentle warmth and propriety that had a grace of their own, 
 even in her racy, bad grammar ; and there was no withstanding 
 the merry smile that twitched up one side of her mouth, while 
 lier eyes twinkled in the varied moods prompted by an inex- 
 liaustible fund of good temper, sympathy, and affection ; but the 
 fulness of her love was for the distant ^ Master Oliver,' whose 
 young nursery-maid she had been. Her eyes winked between 
 tears and smiles when she heard that Miss Mary had seen liim 
 but five months ago, and slie inquired after him, gloried in his 
 prosperity, and talked of his coming home, with far less reserve 
 than his mother had done. 
 
 Mary was struck, also, with the pretty, modest looks of the 
 little underling, and remarked on them as they proceeded to 
 the inspection of the next house. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis, ' Charlotte is something between a wood- 
 sorrel and a five-plume moth. Tom Madison, as usual, shows 
 exquisite taste. She is a perfect Lady of Eschalott.' 
 
 ' Now, Louis ! ' said liis aunt, standing still, and really looking 
 annoyed ; ' you know I cannot encourage any such thing. Poor 
 little Charlotte is an orphaiL, and I am all the more responsible 
 for her.' 
 
 'There's a chivalry in poor Tom — ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! ' said his aunt, as if resolved not to hear him out, 
 because afraid of herself. ' Don't say any more about it. I 
 wish I had never allowed of his bringing your messages.' 
 
 ' Who set him down in the kitchen to drink a cup of beer ? ' 
 said Louis, mischievously. 
 
 ' Ah ! well ! one comfort is, that girls never care for boys of 
 the same age,' replied Aunt Catharine, as she turned the key, 
 and admitted them into No. 7 ; when Fitzjocelyn confused 
 Mary's judgment with his recommendations, till Aunt Catharine, 
 pointing out the broken shutter, and asking if he would not 
 ]iave been better employed in fetching the carpenter, than in 
 hectoring the magistrates, he promised to make up for it, fetched 
 a piece of wood and James's tools, and was quickly at work, 
 his aunt only warning him, that if he lost Jem's tools she would 
 not say it was her fault. 
 
 By the^ time Mary's imagination had portrayed what paper, 
 
40 DYNEVOR TERRACE - 
 
 paint, furniture, and habitation might make the house, and had 
 discerned how to arrange a pretty little study in case of her 
 father's return, he liad completed the repair in a workmanlike 
 manner, and putting two fingers to his cap, asked, ' Any other 
 little job for me, ma'am ? ' 
 
 Of course, he forgot the tools, till sliamed by Mary's turning 
 back for them, and after a merry luncheon, served up in haste 
 by Jane, tliey betook themselves to No. 8, where the Miss 
 Faithf ulls were seated at a dessert of ]iard biscuits and water, of 
 neither of which they ever partook : they only adhered to tlie 
 hereditary institution of sitting for twenty minutes after dinner 
 with their red and purple doileys before them. 
 
 Mary seemed to herself carried back fourteen years, and to 
 understand why her childish fancy had always believed Chris- 
 tiana's Mercy a living character, when she found herself in the 
 calm, happy little household. The chief change was that she 
 must now bend down, instead of reaching up, to receive the kind 
 embraces. Even the garments seemed unchanged, the dark 
 merino gowns, black silk aprons, white cap-ribbons, the soft little 
 Indian shawl worn by the elder sister, the ribbon bow by the 
 younger, distinctions that used to puzzle her infant speculation, 
 not aware that the coloured bow was Miss Mercy's ensign of 
 youth, and that its absence would have made Miss Salome feel 
 aged indeed. The two sisters were much alike — but the younger 
 was the more spare, shrivelled up into a cheery nonpareil, her 
 bloom changed into something quite as fresh and healthful, and 
 lier blithe tripping step always active, except when her fingers 
 were nimbly taking their turn. Miss Salome had become more 
 plump, her cheek was smoother and paler, her eye more placid, 
 her air that of a patient invalid, and her countenance more 
 intellectual than her sister's. She said less about their extreme 
 enjoyment of the yam, and while Mrs. Frost and Mary held 
 counsel with Miss Mercy on servants and furniture, there was a 
 talk on entomology going on between her and Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 It was very pretty to see him with the old ladies, so gently 
 attentive, without patronizing, and they, though evidently 
 doting on him, laughing at him, and treating him like a spoilt 
 child. He insisted on Mary's seeing their ordinary sitting-room, 
 whicli nature had intended for a housekeeper's room, but which 
 ladylike inhabitants had rendered what he called the very 
 'kernel of the House Beautiful.' There were the stands of 
 flowers in the window ; the bullfinch scolding in his cage, the 
 rare old shells and china on the old-fashioned cabinets that 
 Mary so well remembered ; and the silk patchwork sofa-cover, 
 the old piano, and Miss Faithfull's arm-chair by the fire, her 
 little table with her beautiful knitting, and often a flower or 
 insect that she was copying, for she still drew nicely : and she 
 smiled and consented, as Louis pulled out her portfolios, life- 
 long collections of portraits of birds, flowers, or insects. Her 
 knitting found a sale at the workshop, where the object was well 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS 41 
 
 known, and the proceeds were diffused by her sister, and whether 
 she deserved her name might be guessed by the basket of poor 
 people's stores beside her chair. 
 
 Miss Mercy was well known in every dusky Northwold lane 
 or alley, where she always found or made a welcome for herself. 
 The kindly counsel and ready hand were more potent than far 
 larger means without them. 
 
 Such neighbours were in themselves a host, and Mary and her 
 mother both felt as if they had attained a region of unwonted 
 tranquillity and repose, Avhen they had agreed to rent No. 7, 
 Dynevor Terrace, from the ensuing Lady-day, and to take 
 possession when carpenters and upholsterers should have worked 
 their will. 
 
 Louis was half-way home when he exclaimed, * There ! I 
 have missed Tom Madison a second time. When shall I ever 
 remember him at the right time ? ' 
 
 Little did Louis guess the effect his neglect was taking ! 
 Charlotte Arnold might have told, for Mrs. Martha had brought 
 in stories of his unsteadiness and idle habits that confirmed her 
 in her obedience to Jane. She never went out alone in his 
 leisure hours ; never looked for liim in returning from church — 
 alas ! that was not the place to look for him now. And yet she 
 could not believe him such a very bad boy as she was told he 
 had become. 
 
 CHAPTER 1 
 
 THE TWO MINISTERS 
 
 *The creature's neither one nor t'other. 
 I caught the animal last night, 
 And viewed him o'er by candle-light ; 
 I marked him well, 'twas black as jet. 
 You stare, but, sirs, I've got him yet. 
 And can produce him.* 'Pray, sir, do; 
 -^ I'll lay my life the thing is blue.' 
 
 'And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen 
 
 The reptile, you'll pronounce hhn green.' 
 
 'Well, then, at once to end the doubt,' 
 
 Replies the man, ' I'll turn him out ; 
 
 And when before your eyes I've set him, 
 
 If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.' 
 
 He said — then, full before their sight 
 
 Produced the beast, and lo ! 'twas white !— Merrick 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby had seen in the tropics birds of brilliant hues, 
 that even, whilst the gazer pronounced them all one beaming 
 tint of gorgeous purple, would give one ilutter, and in another 
 light would flash with golden green or fiery scarlet. No less 
 startling and unexpected were the aspects of Lord Fitzjocelyn, 
 ' Everything by starts, and nothing long ; ' sometimes absorbed 
 in study, sometimes equally ardent over a childish game; wild 
 about philanthropic plans, and apparently forgetting them the 
 instant a cold word had fallen on them ; attempting everything, 
 
42 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 finishing nothing ; dipping into every kind of book, and forsaking 
 it after a cursory glance ; ever busy, yet ever idle ; full of 
 desultory knowledge, ranging through all kinds of reading and 
 natural history, and still more full of talk. This last was per- 
 haps his most decided gift. To any one, of whatever degree, he 
 would talk ; he could hardly have been silent ten minutes with 
 any human being, except Frampton or his father ; and whether 
 deep reflections or arrant nonsense came out of his mouth, 
 seemed an even chance, though both alike were in the same 
 soft low voice, and with the same air of quaint pensive sim- 
 plicity. He was exceedingly provoking, and yet there was no 
 being provoked with him ! 
 
 He was so sincere, aflectionate, and obliging, that not to love 
 him was impossible ; yet that love only made ]iis faults more 
 annoying, and Mrs. Ponsonby could well understand his father's 
 perpetual restless anxiety, for his foibles were exactly of the 
 sort most likely to tease such a man as the Earl ; and the most 
 positively unsatisfactory part of his character was the insouciance 
 that he displayed when his trifling or his wild projects had given 
 umbrage. Yet, even here, she could not but feel a liope, such 
 as it was, that tlie carelessness might be the eftect of want of 
 sympathy and visible aflection from his fatlier, whose very 
 anxiety made him the more unbending ; and that, what a worse 
 temper might have resented, rendered a good one gaily reckless 
 and unheeding. 
 
 She often wondered whether she should try to give a hint — 
 but Lord Ormersfleld seemed to dread leading to the subject, 
 although on all else that interested him lie came to her as in 
 old times, and seemed greatly refreshed and softened by her 
 companionship. 
 
 An old friend and former fellow-minister had proposed spend- 
 ing a night at Ormersfleld. He was the person whom the Earl 
 most highly esteemed, and, in his own dignifled way, he was 
 solicitous that the household should be in more than usually 
 perfect order, holding a long conference with the man of whom 
 he was sure, Frampton. Would that he could have been equally 
 sure of his son ! He looked at him almost wistfully several 
 times during breakfast, and at last, as they rose, gave an 
 exhortation ' that he would be punctual to dinner at half-past 
 seven, which would give him ample time, and he hoped he would 
 be — ' He paused for a word, and his son supplied it. ' On my 
 good behaviour, I understand.' With that he walked ofl*, leaving 
 Lord Ormersfleld telling Mrs. Ponsonby that it was the first 
 introduction, as he had ' for various reasons ' thought it undesir- 
 able to bring Fitzjocelyn early to London, and betraying liis 
 own anxiety as to the impression he might produce on Sir 
 Miles Oakstead. His own perplexity and despondency showed 
 themselves in his desire to view his son with the eyes of others, 
 and he also thought the tenor of Fitzjocelyn's future life might 
 be coloured by his friend's opinion, 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS 43 
 
 Evening brought tlie guest. Mrs, Ponsonby was not well 
 enough to appear at dinner ; but Mary and Mrs. Frost, pleased 
 to see an historical character, were in the drawing-room, enjoy- 
 ing Sir Miles's agreeable conversation, until they caught certain 
 misgivings reflected in each other's looks, as time wore on and 
 nothing had been seen or heard of Louis. The half-liour struck ; 
 the Earl waited five minutes, then rang the bell. 'Is Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn come in?' 
 
 * No, my lord.' 
 
 * Bring in the dinner.' 
 
 Mary longed to fly in search of him, and spare further vex- 
 ation. She had assumed all an elder sister's feelings, and suffered 
 for him as she used to do, when he was in disgrace and would 
 not heed it. She heard no more of the conversation, and was 
 insensible to the honour of going in to dinner with the late 
 Secretary of State, as she saw the empty place at the table. 
 
 The soup was over, when she was aware of a step in the hall, 
 and beside her stood a gray figure, bespattered with mud, shad- 
 ing his eyes with his hand, as if dazzled by the lights. ' I beg 
 your pardon,' were the words, 'but I was obliged to go to 
 North wold. I have shot a rose-coloured pastor ! ' 
 
 ' Shot him ! ' cried Mary. ' Was he much hurt ? ' 
 
 ' Killed ! I took him to Miss Faithfull, to be sketched before 
 he is stuffed — ' 
 
 A clearer view of the company, a wave of the hand from the 
 Earl, and the young gentleman was gone. Next he opened the 
 library door, saying, ' Here's my pretty behaviour ! ' 
 
 ' Louis ! what is the matter ? ' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' I entirely forgot the right honourable, and marched into the 
 dining-room to tell Aunt Catharine that I have killed a rose- 
 coloured pastor.' 
 
 'Killed what r 
 
 ' A bird, hardly ever seen in England. I spied him in the fir- 
 wood, went to Warren for a gun, brought him down, and walked 
 on to the House Beautiful, where Miss Faithfull was enchanted. 
 She will copy him,, and send him to the bird-stuffer. I looked 
 in to give directions, and old Jenyns was amazed ; he never 
 knew one shot here before, so early in the year too. He says 
 we must send the account to the Ornithological — ' 
 
 ' Do you know how wet you are *? ' exclaimed Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 seeing rivulets dropping from his coat. 
 
 ' I see. It rained all the way home, and was so dark, I could 
 not see the footpath ; and when I came in, my eyes were blinded 
 by the light, and my head so full of the pastor, that the other 
 minister never occurred to me, and remains under the impression 
 that I have confessed a sacrilegious murder.' 
 
 ' You reallj are incorrigible ! ' cried Mrs. Ponsonby. ' Why 
 are you not dressing for dinner 1 ' 
 
 ' Because you are going to give me a cup of your tea.' 
 
 'Certainly not. I shall begin to think you purposely 
 
44 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 mortified your father, when you know he wanted you to be 
 reasonable/ 
 
 *The lower species never sliow off well to strangers/ said 
 Fitzjocelyn, coolly ; but, as he lighted his candle, he added, with 
 more candour, ' I beg your pardon — indeed I did not do this on 
 purpose ; but don't say anything about appearances — there's 
 something in me that is sure to revolt.' 
 
 So noiselessly that the moment was unknown, the vacant 
 chair was filled by a gentleman irreproachably attired, his face 
 glowing with exercise, or with what made him very dehonnaire 
 and really silent, dining rapidly and unobtrusively, and never 
 raising his eyes even to his aunt, probably intending thus to 
 remain all the evening ; but presently Sir Miles turned to him 
 and said, 'Pray satisfy my curiosity. Who is the rose-coloured 
 pastor ? ' 
 
 Louis raised his eyes, and meeting a pleasing, sensible face, 
 out beamed his arch look of suppressed fun as he answered, ' He 
 is not at all clerical. He is otherwise called the rose-coloured 
 ouzel or starling/ 
 
 ' Whence is that other startling name 1 ' 
 
 'From his attending flocks of sheep, on the same mission 
 as jackdaws fulfil here — which likewise have an ecclesiastical 
 reputation — 
 
 "A grccat frequenter of the church."' 
 
 Fearing alike nonsense and ornithology, Lord Ormersfield 
 changed the subject, and Louis subsided ; but when the gentle- 
 men came into the drawing-room, Mrs. Ponsonby was surprised 
 to see him taking a fair share, and no more, of the conversation. 
 Some information had been wanted about the terms of labour 
 in the mining districts, and Louis's visit to Illershall enabled 
 him to throw light on the subject, with much clearness and 
 accuracy. Sir Miles had more literature than Lord Ormersfield, 
 and was more used to young men ; and he began to draw 
 Fitzjocelyn out, with complete success. Louis fully responded 
 to the touch, and without a notion that he was showing himself 
 to the best advantage, he yielded to the pleasure, and for once 
 proved of what he was capable — revealing unawares an unusual 
 amount of intelligence and observation, and great jDOwer of 
 expression. Not even his aunt had ever seen him appear so 
 much like a superior man, and the only alloy was his father's 
 ill-repressed dread lest he should fall on dangerous ground, and 
 commit himself either to his wildly philanthropical or extra- 
 vagantly monarchical views, whichever might happen to be in 
 the ascendant. However, such shoals were not approached, nor 
 did Louis ever plunge out of his depth. The whole of his 
 manner and demeanour were proofs that, in his case, much talk 
 sprang from exuberance of ideas, not from self-conceit. 
 
 He was equally good in the morning ; he had risen early to 
 hunt up some information which Sir Miles wanted, and the 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS 45 
 
 •clearness and readiness with which he had found it were won- 
 derful. The guest was delighted with him ; gave him a warm 
 invitation to Oakstead, and on being left alone with Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby, whom he had formerly known, expressed liis admiration 
 of his friend's son — as a fine, promising young man, of great 
 ability and orginality, and, what was still more remarkable, of 
 most simple, natural manners, perfectly free from conceit. He 
 seemed the more amazed, when he found, what he would hardly 
 believe, that Fitzjocelyn was twenty-one, and had nearly 
 finished his university education. 
 
 The liking was mutual. No sooner had Sir Miles departed, 
 than Louis came to the library in a rapture, declaring that here 
 was the refreshing sight of a man unspoilt by political life, 
 which usually ate out the liearts of people. 
 
 Mary smiled at this, and told him that he was talking * like 
 an old statesman weary of tlie world.' 
 
 * One may be weary of the world beforehand as well as after,' 
 said he. 
 
 * That does not seem worth while,' said Mary. 
 
 ' No,' he said, ^ but one's own immediate look-out may not be 
 flattering, whatever the next turn may bring ; ' and he took up 
 the newspaper, and began to turn it over. '"As butler — as 
 single-handed man — as clerk and accountant." There, those 
 are the lucky men, with downright work, and some one to work 
 for. Or, just listen to this ! ' and he plunged into a story of 
 some heroic conduct during a shipwreck. While he was read- 
 ing it aloud, with kindling eyes and enthusiastic interest, his 
 father opened the door. ' Louis,' he said, ' if you are doing 
 nothing, I should be obliged if you would make two copies of 
 this letter.' 
 
 Louis glanced at the end of what he was reading, laid the 
 paper down, and opened a blotting-book. 
 
 ' You had better come into the study, or you will not write 
 correctly.' 
 
 * I can write, whatever goes on.' 
 
 ' I particularly wish this to be legible and accurate. You 
 have begun too low down.' 
 Louis took another sheet. 
 
 * That pen is not fit to write with.' 
 
 * The pens are delusions,' said Louis, trying them round, in 
 an easy, idle way ; ' I never could mend a quill. How is this 
 steel one*? Refuses to recognize the purpose of his existence. 
 Aunt Catharine, do you still forbid steel pens in your school ? 
 If so, it must be the solitary instance. How geese must cackle 
 blessings on the inventor ! He should have a testimonial — a 
 silver inkstand representing the goose that laid the golden 
 eggs, — and all writing-masters should subscribe. Ha ! where 
 did this pen come from ? Mary, were you the bounteous 
 mender ? ^ A thousand thanks.' 
 
 If Louis fretted his father by loitering and nonsense, his 
 
46 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 father was no less trying by standing over liim with advice and 
 criticisms which would have driven most youths beyond 
 patience, but which he bore with constant good-humour, till his 
 father returned to the study, when he exclaimed, ' Now, Mary, 
 if you like to hnish the wreck, it will not interrupt me. This is 
 mere machine-work.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mary ; ' I should like it better afterwards. 
 Do you think I might do one copy for you ? Or would it not 
 suit Lord Ormersfield ! ' 
 
 Louis made polite demurs, but she overruled them and began. 
 
 He stretched himself, took up his Times, and skimmed the 
 remaining incidents of the shipwreck, till he was sliamed by 
 seeing Mary half-way down the first page, when lie resumed 
 his pen, overtook her, and then relapsed into talk, till Mrs. 
 Frost fairly left the room, to silence him. 
 
 As the two copies were completed. Lord Ormersfield re- 
 turned ; and Mary, with many apologies, presented her copy, 
 and received most gracious thanks and compliments on lier 
 firm, clear writing ; a vexation to her rather than otherwise, 
 since ' Fitzjocelyn ' was called to account for dubious scrawls, 
 errors, and erasures. 
 
 He meekly took another sheet, consoling himself, however, by 
 saying, ' I warn you that pains will only make it Miss Fanny.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 As if glad to be instigated, he replied, ' Did you never hear 
 of my signature being mistaken by an ingenious person, who 
 addressed his answer to " Miss Fanny Jocelyn " 1 Why, Fanny 
 has been one of Jem's regular names for me ever since ! I 
 have the envelope somewhere as a curiosity. I'll show it to 
 you, Mary.' 
 
 ^ You seem to be proud of it ! ' exclaimed his father, nearly 
 out of patience. ' Pray tell me whether you intend to copy this 
 creditably or not.' 
 
 ' I will endeavour, but the Fates must decide. I ccm scrawl, 
 or, with pains, I ccm imitate Miss Fanny ; but the other alterna- 
 tive only comes in happy moments.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you cannot write well if you choose ? ' 
 
 'It is like other arts — an inspiration. Dogberry was deep 
 when he said it came by nature.' 
 
 ' Then make no more attempts. No. That school-girl's niggle 
 is worse than the first.' 
 
 ' Fanny, as I told you,' said Louis, looking vacantly up in 
 resigned despair, yet not without the lurking expression of 
 amusement ; ' I will try again.' 
 
 ' No, I thank you, I will have no more time wasted.' 
 
 Louis passively moved to the window, where he exclaimed 
 that he saw Aunt Catharine sunning herself in the garden, and 
 must go and help her. 
 
 ' Did you ever see anything like that 1 ' cried Lord Ormers- 
 field, thoroughly moved to displeasure. 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS 47 
 
 'There was at least good-humour,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 'Pardon me, there was ahiiost as much to try his temper as 
 yours/ 
 
 ' He is insensible ! ' 
 
 ' I think not. A word from Aunt Catharine rules him.' 
 
 ' Though you counselled it, Mary, I doubt whether her 
 training has answered. Henry Frost should have been a 
 warning.' 
 
 Mary found herself blundering in her new copy, and retreated 
 with it to the study, while her, mother made answer : 'I do not 
 repent of my ad\dce. The affection between liim and Aunt 
 Catharine is the greatest blessing to him.' 
 
 ' Poor boy ! ' said his father, forgetting his letters as he stood 
 pondering. Mrs. Ponsonby seized the moment for reporting 
 8ir Miles's opinion, but the Earl did not betray his gratification. 
 ' First sight ! ' he said. ' Last night and this afternoon he is as 
 unlike as these are ; ' and he placed before her Louis's unlucky 
 copies, together with a letter written in a bold, manly hand. 
 ' Three different men might have written these ! And he 
 pretends he cannot write like this, if he please ! ' 
 
 'I ha\e no doubt it is to a certain extent true. Yes, abso- 
 lutely true. You do not conceive the inflLience that 7nood has 
 on some characters before they have learnt to master themselves. 
 I do not mean temper, but the mere frame of spirits. Even 
 sense of restraint will often take away the actual power from a 
 child, or where there is not a strong will.' 
 
 ' You are right ! ' said he, becoming rigid as if with pain. 
 ' He is a child ! You have not yet told me what you think of 
 him. You need not hesitate. No one sees the likeness more 
 plainly than I do.' 
 
 ' It is strong externally,' she said ; ' but I think it is more 
 external than real, more temperament than character.' 
 
 ' You are too metaphysical for me, Mary ; ' and he would fain 
 have smiled. 
 
 ' I want you to be hopeful. Half the object would be attained 
 if you. were, and he really deserves that you should.' 
 
 ' He will not let me. If I hope at one moment, I am disap» 
 pointed the next.' 
 
 'And how? By nothing worse than boyishness. You con- 
 firm what my aunt tells me, that there has never been a serious 
 complaint of him.' 
 
 ' Never. His conduct has always been blameless ; but every 
 tutor has said the same — that he has no application, and allows 
 himself to be surpassed by any one of moderate energy ! ' 
 
 ' Blameless conduct ! How many fathers would give worlds 
 to be able to give such a character of a son ! ' 
 
 ' There are faults that are the very indications of a manly 
 spirit,' began the Earl, impatiently. 'Not that I mean that I 
 wish — he has never given me any trouble— but just look at James 
 Frost, and you would see what I mean ! There's energy in him 
 
48 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 —fire— independence ; you feel there is substance in him, and 
 like him the better for having a will and way of his own.' 
 
 ' So, I think, has Louis ; but it is so often thwarted, that it 
 sinks away under the sense of duty and submission/ 
 
 ' If there were any consistency or reason in his fancies, they 
 
 would not give way so easily ; but it is all talk, all extravagant 
 
 notions — here one day, gone the next. Not a spark of ambition ! ' 
 
 ^ ' Ambition is not so safe a spark that we should wish to see it 
 
 lighted.' 
 
 ^ ' A man must wish to see his son hold his proper station, and 
 aim high ! No one can be satisfied to see him a trifler.' 
 
 ' I have been trying to find out why he trifles. As far as I 
 can see, he has no ambition, and I do not think liis turn will be 
 for a life like yours. His bent is towards what is to do good to 
 others. He would make an admirable country gentleman.' 
 
 'A mere farmer, idling away his time in liis fields.' 
 
 ' No ; doing infinite good by example and influence, and com- 
 ing forward whenever duty required it. Depend upon it, the 
 benefit to others is the impulse which can work on Louis, not 
 personal ambition. Birth has already given him more than he 
 values.' 
 
 ' You may be right,' said Lord Ormersfield ; ' but it is hard to 
 see so many advantages thrown away, and what sometimes 
 seems like so much ability wasted. But who can tell? he is 
 never the same for an hour together.' 
 
 ' May it not be for want of a sphere of wliolesome action ? ' 
 
 'He is not fit for it, Mary. You know I resolved that the 
 whole burthen of our losses should fall on me ; I made it my 
 object that he should not suffer, and sliould freely have whatever 
 I had at the same age. Everything is cleared at last. I could 
 give him the same income as I started in life with ; but he is so 
 reckless of money, that I cannot feel justified in putting it into 
 his hands. Say what I will, not a vacation occurs but he comes 
 to tell me of some paltry debt of ten or fifteen pounds.' 
 
 * He comes to tell you ! Nay, never say he has no resolution ! 
 Such debts as those, what are they compared with other young 
 men's, of which they do not tell their fathers ? ' 
 
 * If he were like other youths, I should know how to deal witli 
 him. But you agree with me, he is not fit to have a larger sum 
 in his hands.'' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; he is too impulsive and inexperienced. If you 
 were to ask me how to make it conduce to his happiness, I 
 should say, lay out more on the estate, so as to employ more 
 men, and make improvements in which he would take interest.' 
 
 ' I cannot make him care for the estate. Last winter, when 
 he came of age, I tried to explain the state of affairs ; but he 
 was utterly indifferent — would not trouble himself to understand 
 the papers he was to sign, and made me quite ashamed of such 
 an exhibition before Richardson.' 
 
 ' I wish I could defend him ! And yet— you will think me 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS 49 
 
 unreasonable, but I do believe that if he had thought the welfare 
 of others was concerned, he would have attended more.' 
 *Umph!' 
 
 * I am not sure that it is not his good qualities that make him 
 so hard to deal with. The want of selfishness and vanity seem 
 to take away two common springs of action, but I do believe 
 that patience will bring out something much higher when you 
 have found the way to reach it.' 
 
 ' That I certainly have not, if it be there.' 
 ' To cultivate his sympathies with you,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 hesitating, and not venturing to look into his face. 
 
 * Enough, Mary,' he said, hastily. 'You said the like to me 
 once before.' 
 
 *But,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, firmly, ^here there is a foundation 
 to work on. There are affections that only need to be drawn 
 out to make you happy, and him — not, perhaps, Avhat you now 
 wish, but better than you wish.' 
 
 His face had become hard as he answered, ' Thank you, Mary ; 
 you have always meant the best. You have always been kind 
 to me, and to all belonging to me.' 
 
 Her heart ached for the father and son, understanding each 
 other so little, and paining each other so much ; and she feared 
 that the Earl's mind had been too much cramped, and his feelings 
 too much chilled, for such softening on his part as could alone, 
 as it seemed, prevent Louis from being estranged, and left to 
 his naturally fickle and indolent disposition. 
 
 Mary had in the meantime completed her copies, and left 
 them on the Earl's table ; and washing neither to be thanked 
 nor contrasted with Louis, she put on her bonnet, to go in 
 search of Aunt Catharine. Not finding her in the garden, she 
 decided on visiting old Gervas and liis wife, who had gladly 
 caught at her offer of reading to them. The visit over, she 
 returned by the favourite path above Ferny dell, gathering 
 primroses, and meditating liow to stir up Louis to finish off* his 
 rocky steps, and make one piece of work complete. She paused 
 at the summit of them, and was much inclined to descend and 
 examine what was wanting, when she started at hearing a 
 rustling beneath, then a low moan and an attempt at a call. 
 The bushes and a projecting rock cut off her view ; but, in 
 some trepidation, she called out, 'Is any one there?' Little 
 did she expect the answer — 
 
 ' It is I — Fitzjocelyn. Come ! I have had a fall.' 
 
 ' I'm coming — are you hurt 1 ' she cried, as with shaking 
 limbs she prepared to begin the descent. 
 
 * Not that way,' he called ; ' it gave way — go to the left.' 
 
 She was almost disobeying ; but, recalling herself to thought, 
 she hurried along the top till the bank became practicable, and 
 tore her way through brake and brier, till she could return 
 along the side of the stream. 
 
 Horror-struck, she perceived that a heavy stone had given 
 
50 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 way and rolled down, bearing Louis with it, to the bottom, 
 where he lay, ghastly and helpless. She called to him ; and he 
 tried to raise himself, but sank back. ' Mary ! is it you ? I 
 thought I should have died here,' he said ; as she knelt by liim, 
 exclaiming, ' Oh, Louis ! Louis ! what a dreadful fall ! ' 
 
 ' It is my fault,' he eagerly interrupted. ' I am glad it has 
 happened to no one else.' 
 
 ' And you are terribly hurt ! I must go for lielp : but Avhat 
 can I do for you ? Would you like some water 1 ' 
 
 * Water ! Oh ! I have heard it all this time gurgling there ! ' 
 She filled his cap, and bathed his face, apparently to his great 
 
 relief ; and she ventured to ask if he had been long there. 
 
 * Very long ! ' he said. ' I must have fainted after I got the 
 stone off my foot, so I missed Gervas going by. I thought no 
 one else would come near. Thank God ! ' 
 
 Mary almost grew sick as she saw how dreadfully his left 
 ankle had been crushed by a heavy stone ; and her very turn- 
 ing towards it made him shudder, and say^ ' Don't touch me ! 
 I am shattered all over.' 
 
 'I am afraid I should only hurt you,' she said, with difficulty 
 controlling herself. 'I had better fetch some one.' 
 
 He did not know how to be left again ; but the damp chilli- 
 ness of his hands made her the more anxious to procure assist- 
 ance, and, after spreading her shawl over him, she made the 
 utmost speed out of the thicket. As she emerged, she saw 
 Lord Ormersfield riding with his groom, and her scream and 
 sign arrested him ; but, by the time they met, she could utter 
 nothing but ' Louis ! ' 
 
 ' Another accident ! ' was the almost impatient answer. 
 
 'He is dreadfully hurt!' she said, sobbing and breathless. 
 'His foot is crushed ! He has been there this hour ! ' 
 
 The alarm was indeed given. The Earl seemed about to 
 rush away without knowing whither ; and she had absolutely 
 to withhold him, while, summoning her faculties, she gave 
 directions to Poynings. Then she let him draw her on, too 
 fast for speaking, until they reached the spot where Louis lay, 
 so spent with pain and cold, that he barely opened his eyes at 
 their voices, made no distinct answers as to his hurts, and 
 shrank and moaned when his father would have raised him. 
 
 Mary contrived to place his head on her lap, bathed his fore- 
 head and chafed his hands, while Lord Ormersfield stood watch- 
 ing him with looks of misery, or paced about, anxiously looking- 
 for the servants. 
 
 They came at last, all too soon for poor Louis, who suffered 
 terribly in the transport, and gave few tokens of consciousness, 
 except a cry now and then extorted by a rougher movement. 
 
 None of the household, scarcely even Mrs. Frost, seemed at 
 first to be able to believe that Lord Fitzjocelyn could really 
 have hurt himself seriously. ' Again ! ' was the first word of 
 every one, for his many slight accidents were treated like 
 
FAREWELLS §1 
 
 crying * Wolf ' ; but Frampton himself looked perfectly pale and 
 shocked when he perceived how the matter really stood ; and 
 neither he nor Lord Ormersiield was half so helpful as Mrs. 
 Frost. The shock only called out her energy in behalf of her 
 darling, and, tender as her nature was, she shrank from nothing 
 that could soothe and alleviate his suffering ; and it did infi- 
 nitely comfort him, as he held her hand and looked with 
 affection into her face, even in the extremity of pain. 
 
 Fain would others have been the same support ; but his 
 father, though not leaving him, was completely unnerved, and 
 unable to do anything ; and Mrs: Ponsonby was suffering under 
 one of the attacks that were brought on by any sudden agita- 
 tion. Mary, though giddy and throbbing in every pulse, was 
 forced to put a resolute check on herself — brace her limbs, steady 
 her voice, and keep her face comioosed, while every faculty was 
 absorbed in listening for sounds from her cousin's room, and 
 her heart was quivering with an anguish of prayer and suspense. 
 Could she but hide her burning cheeks for one moment, let out 
 one of the sobs that seemed to be rending her breast, throw 
 herself on her knees and burst into tears, what an infinite relief 
 it would be ! But Mary had learnt to spend her life in having 
 no self. 
 
 CHAPTER yi 
 
 FAREWELLS 
 
 What yet is there that I shoiikl do, 
 
 Lingering in this darksome vale?. 
 Proud and mighty, fair to view. 
 
 Are our schemes, and yet they fail, 
 Like the sand before the wind, 
 That no power of man can bind. — Arndt, Lyra Germanica 
 
 Dynevor Terrace was said to have dark, damp kitchens, but 
 by none who had ever been in No. 5, when the little compact 
 fire was compressed to one glowing red crater of cinders, their 
 smile laughing ruddily back from the bright array on the dresser, 
 the drugget laid down, the round oaken table brought forward, 
 and Jane Beckett, in afternoon trim, tending her geraniums, 
 the offspring of the parting Cheveleigh nosegay, or gauffering 
 her mistress's caps. No wonder that on raw evenings, Master 
 James, Miss Clara, or my young lord, had often been found 
 gossiping with Jane, toasting their own cheeks as well as the 
 bread, or pinching their fingers in her 'gauffering machine." 
 
 Yet, poor little Charlotte Arnold learnt that the kitchen could 
 be dreary, when Mrs. Beckett had been summoned to nurse 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn, and she remained in sole charge, under Mrs. 
 Martha's occasional supervision. She found herself, her house- 
 hold cares over all too soon, on a cold light March afternoon, 
 with the clock ticking loud enough for midnight, the smoke- 
 jack indulging in supernatural groans, and the whole lonely 
 
 E 2 
 
52 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 house full of undefined terrors, with an unlimited space of the 
 like solitude before lier. Slie would even have been glad to be 
 sure of an evening of Mrs. Martha'.s good advice, and of darning 
 stockings ! She sat down by the round table to Mr. James's 
 wristbands ; but every creak or crack of the furniture made 
 her start, and think of death-watches. She might have learnt 
 to contemn superstition, but that did not prevent it from affect- 
 ing her nerves. 
 
 She spread her favourite study, The Old English Baron^ on 
 the table before her ; but tlie hero had some connection in her 
 mind with Tom Madison, for whom she had always coveted a 
 battle-field in France. What would he feel when he heard how 
 he had filled up his course of evil, being well-nigh the death 
 of his benefactor ! If any one ought to be haunted, it would 
 assuredly be no other than Tom ! 
 
 Chills running over her at the thought, she turned to the fire 
 as the thing nearest life, but at the moment started at a hollow 
 call of her own name. A face was looking in at her througli 
 the geraniums ! She shrieked aloud, and clasped her hands 
 over her eyes. 
 
 ' Don't make a row. Open the door ! ' 
 
 It was such a relief to hear something unghostly, that she 
 sprang to the door ; but as she undid it, all her scruples seized 
 her, and she tried to hold it, saying, * Don't come in ! You 
 unfortunate boy, do you know what you have done ? ' 
 
 But Tom Madison was in a mood before which her female 
 nature cowered. He pushed the door open, saying authorita- 
 tively, ' Tell me how he is ! ' 
 
 * He is as ill as he can be to be alive,' said Charlotte, actuated 
 at once by the importance of being the repository of such tidings, 
 and by the excitement of communicating them to one so deeply 
 concerned. 'Mr. Poynings came in to fetch Mrs. Beckett — he 
 would have no one else to nurse him — and he says the old lord 
 and missus have never had their clothes off these two nights.' 
 
 * Tlien, was it along of them stones 1 ' asked the lad, hoarsely. 
 
 * Yourself should know best!' returned Charlotte. *Mr. 
 Poynings says 'twas a piece of rock as big as that warming-pan 
 as crushed his ankle ! and you know — ' 
 
 'I know nothing,' said Tom. 'Master kept me in all day 
 yesterday, and I only heard just now at Little North wold, where 
 I've been to take home some knives of Squire Calcott's. Master 
 may blow me up if he likes, but I couldn't come till I'd heard 
 the rights of it. Is he so very bad ? ' 
 
 ' They've sent up to London for a doctor,' pursued Charlotte. 
 'Mr. Walby don't give but little hope of him. Poor young 
 gentleman, I'm sure he had a good word from high and low ! ' 
 
 'Well! I'm gone !' cried Tom, vehemently. ' Good-bye to you, 
 Charlotte Arnold ! You'll never see me in these parts more ! ' 
 
 ' Gone ! Oh, Tom ! what do you mean '? ' 
 
 ' D'ye think I'll stay here to have this here cast in my face ? 
 
FAREWELLS 53 
 
 Such a one as won't never walk the earth again ! ' and he burst 
 into passionate tears. ' I wish I was dead I ' 
 
 ' Oh, hush, Tom !— that is wicked ! ' 
 
 ' May be so ! I am all that's wicked, and you all turn against 
 me!' 
 
 *I don't turn against you,' sobbed Charlotte, moved to the 
 bottom of her gentle heart. 
 
 * You ! you turned against me long ago. You've been too 
 proud to cast one look at me these three months ; and he forgot 
 me ; and that's what drew me on, ,when who cared what became 
 of me — nor I neither now.' 
 
 ^ Don't speak that way ! Don't say 'twas pride. Oh no ! but 
 I had to behave proper, and how should I keep up acquaintance 
 when they said you went on — unsteady — ' 
 
 * Aye, aye ! I know how it is,' said poor Tom, with broken- 
 down humility : ' I was not fit for you tlien, and I'm next thing 
 to a murderer now ; and you're like a white dove that the very 
 fingers of me would grime. I'll take myself out of your way ; 
 but, let what will come of me, I'll never forget you, Charlotte.' 
 
 ' Oh, wait, Tom ! If I could but say it right ! — Oh ! I know 
 there's something about biding patiently, and getting a blessing 
 — if you'd only stop while I recollect it.' 
 
 ' I thought I heard voices ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Martha, suddenly 
 descending on them. ' I wonder you aren't ashamed of yourselves, 
 and the family in such trouble ! Downright owdacious ! ' 
 
 ' Be this your house ? ' said Tom, stepping before Charlotte, 
 his dejection giving way instantly to rude independence. 
 
 * Oh, very well,' said Martha, with dignity. ' I know what to 
 expect from such sort of people. The house and young woman 
 is in my charge, sir ; and if you don't be off, I'll call the police.' 
 
 ' Never trouble your old bones ! ' retorted Tom. ' Good-bye 
 to you, Charlotte ; and, as in defiance of Martha, he took her 
 passive hand, 'You'll remember one as loved you true and 
 faithful, but was drove desperate ! Good-bye ! I'll not trouble 
 no one no more ! ' 
 
 The three concluding negatives with which he dashed out of 
 the house utterly overwhelmed Charlotte, and made her per- 
 fectly insensible to Mrs. Martha's objurgations. She believed 
 in the most horrible and desperate intentions, and sobbed her- 
 self into such violent hysterics that Miss Mercy came in to 
 assist — imagined that the rude boy had terrified her, misunder- 
 stood her shamefaced attempts at explanation, and left her 
 lying on her bed, crying quietly over her secret terrors, and 
 over that first, strangely-made declaration of love. The Avhite 
 dove ! she did not deserve it, but it was so poetical ! and poor 
 Tom was so unhappy ! She had not time even to think what 
 was become of her own character for wisdom and prudence. 
 
 The next morning, between monition and triumph, Martha 
 announced that the good-for-nothing chap was off with a 
 valuable parcel of Mr. Calcott's, and the police were after him ; 
 
54 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 with much more about his former idle habits, — frequenting of 
 democratic oratory, public-houses, and fondness for bad company 
 and strolling actors. Meek and easily cowed, Charlotte only 
 opened her lips to say she knew that he had taken home Mr. 
 Calcott's parcel. But this brought down a storm on her for 
 being impertinent enough to defend him, and she sat trembling 
 till it had subsided ; and Martha retreating, left her to weep 
 unrestrainedly over her wild fancies, and the world's cruelty 
 and injustice towards one whom, as she was now ready to 
 declare, she loved with her whole heart. 
 
 The bell rang sharply, knocks rattled at the front door ! She 
 was sure that Tom had been just taken out of the river ! But 
 instinct to answer the bell awoke at the second furious clattering 
 and double pealing, which allowed no time for her to compose 
 her tear-streaked, swollen face, especially as the hasty sounds 
 suggested ' Mr. James.' 
 
 Mr. James it was, but the expected rebuke for keeping liim 
 waiting was not spoken. As he saw her sorrowful looks, he 
 only said, low and softly, 'Is it so, Charlotte*?' In his eyes, 
 there could be but one cause for grief, and Charlotte's heart 
 smote her for hypocrisy, when she could barely command her 
 voice to reply, ' No, sir ; my lord has had a little better night.' 
 He spoke with unusual gentleness, as he made more inquiries 
 than she could answer ; and when, after a few minutes, he turned 
 to walk on to Ormersfield, he said, kindly, * Good-bye, Charlotte ; 
 I'll send you word if I find him better : ' and the tears rose in 
 his eyes at the thought how every one loved the patient. 
 
 He was not wrong. There was everywhere great affection 
 and sympathy for the bright, fantastic being whom all lauglied 
 at a^id liked, and North wold and the neighbourhood felt that 
 they could have better spared something more valuable. 
 
 Tlie danger was hardly exaggerated even by Charlotte. The 
 chill of the long exposure had brought on high fever ; and be- 
 sides the crushed ankle, there had been severe contusions, which 
 had resulted in an acute pain in the side, hitherto untouched 
 by remedies, and beyond the comprehension of the old North - 
 wold surgeon, Mr. Walby. As yet, however, the idea of peril 
 had not presented itself to Louis, thougli he was perfectly 
 sensible. Severe pain and illness were new to him ; and though 
 not fretful nor impatient, he had not the stoicism either of pride 
 or of physical indifference, put little restraint on the expression 
 of suffering, and was to an almost childish degree absorbed in 
 the present. He was always considerate and grateful ; and his 
 fond affection for his Aunt Catharine, and for good old Jane, 
 never failed to show itself whenever they did anything for his 
 relief ; and they were the best of nurses. 
 
 Poor Lord Ormersfield longed to be equally effective ; but he 
 was neither handy nor ready, and could only sit hour after hour 
 beside his son, never moving except to help the nurses, or to try 
 to catch the slightest accent of the sufferer. Look up when 
 
FAREWELLS 55 
 
 Louis would, lie always saw the same bowed head, and earnest 
 eyes, which, as Mrs. Ponsonby told her daughter, looked as they 
 did w^hen Louisa was dying. 
 
 The coming of the London surgeon was an era to which 
 Louis evidently looked anxiously ; with the iteration of sickness, 
 often reckoning the hours till he could arrive ; and when at last 
 he came, there was an evident effort to command attention. 
 
 When the visit was over, and the surgeon was taking leave 
 after the consultation, Fitzjocelyn calmly desired to know his 
 opinion, and kej)t his eyes steadily fixed on his face, weighing 
 tlie import of each word. All depended on the subduing the 
 inflammatory action in the side ; and there was every reason to 
 hope that he would have strengtli for the severe treatment 
 necessary. There was no reason to despond. 
 
 ' I understand — thank you,' said Louis. 
 
 He shut his eyes, and lay so still tliat Mrs. Frost trusted that 
 he slept ; but wlien his father came in, they were open, and 
 Lord Ormersfield, bending over him, hoped he was in less pain, 
 
 ' Thank you, there is not much difference.' But the plaintive 
 sound was gone ; the suffering was not the sole thought. 
 
 ' Walby is coming with the leeches at two o'clock,' said Lord 
 Ormersfield ; ^ I reckon much on them.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' Silence again ; but his face spoke a wish, and 
 his Aunt Catharine said, ' What, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' I should like to see Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, with eyes 
 appealing to his father. 
 
 ' He has been here to inquire every day,' said the Earl, 
 choosing neither to refuse nor understand. * Whenever it is 
 not too much for you — ' 
 
 ' It must be quickly, before I am weaker,' said Louis. * Let 
 it be before Walby returns, father.' 
 
 ' Whatever you wish, my dear — ' and Lord Ormersfield, turn- 
 ing towards the table, wrote a note, which Mrs. Frost offered 
 to despatch, thinking that her presence oppressed her elder 
 nephew, who looked bowed down by the intensity of grief, 
 which, unexpressed, seemed to pervade the whole man, and 
 weigh him to the earth : and perliaps this also struck Louis for 
 the first time, for, after having lain silent for some minutes, he 
 softly said, ' Father ! ' 
 
 The Earl was instantly beside him ; but, instead of speaking, 
 Louis gazed in his face, and sighed, as he murmured, ' I was 
 meant to have been a comfort to you.' 
 
 ' My dear boy — ' began Lord Ormersfield, but he could not 
 trust his voice, as he saw Louis's eyes moist with tears. 
 
 * I wish I had ! ' he continued ; ' but I have never been any- 
 thing but a care and vexation, and I see it all too late.' 
 
 ' Nay, Louis,' said his father, trying to assume his usual tone 
 of authority, as if to prove his security, *you must not give 
 way to feelings of illness. It is weak to despond.' 
 
 ' It is best to face it,' said the young man, with slow and 
 
56 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 feeble utterance, but with no quailing of eye or voice. *But 
 oh, father ! I did not think you would feel it so much. I am 
 not worth it.' 
 
 For the Earl could neither speak nor breathe, as if smothered 
 by one mighty unuttered sob, and holding his son's hand between 
 both his own, pressed it convulsively. 
 
 ' I am glad Mrs. Ponsonby is here,' said Louis ; ' and you will 
 soon find what a nice fellow Edward Fitzjocelyn is, whom you 
 may make just what—' 
 
 ' Louis, my own boy, hush ! I cannot bear this,' cried his 
 father, in an accent wrung from him by excess of grief. 
 
 ' I ma^ recover,' said Louis, finding it his turn to comfort ; 
 'and I should like to be longer with you, to try to make up — ' 
 
 ^ You will. The leeches must relieve you. Only keep up 
 your spirits : you have many years before you of happiness and 
 success.' 
 
 The words brought a look of oppression over Louis's face, but it 
 cleared as he said, ' I am more willing to be spared those years ! ' 
 
 His father positively started. * Louis, my poor boy,' lie said, 
 ' is it really so ? I know I have seemed a cold, severe father.' 
 
 ' Oh, do not say so ! ' exclaimed Louis ; ' I have deserved far 
 less — idle, ungrateful, careless of your wishes. I did not know 
 I could pain you so much, or I would not have done it. You 
 have forgiven often ; say you forgive now.' 
 
 * You have far more to forgive than I,' said the Earl. 
 
 'If I could tell you the half — waywardness, discontent, 
 neglect, levity, wasted time — my treatment of you only three 
 days back. Everything purposed — nothing done ! Oh ! what 
 a life to bring before the Judge ! ' And he covered his face, 
 but his father heard long-drawn sobs. 
 
 ' Compose yourself, my dear boy,' he exclaimed, exceedingly 
 grieved and perplexed. 'You know there is no cause to de- 
 spond ; and even — even if there were, you have no reason to 
 distress yourself. I can say, from the bottom of my heart, 
 that you have never given me cause for real anxiety ; your 
 conduct has been exemplary, and I never saw sucli attention to 
 religion in any young man. These are mere trifles — ' 
 
 ' Oh, hush, father ! exclaimed Louis. ' You are only making 
 it worse ; you little know what I am ! If Mr. Holds worth 
 would come ! ' 
 
 ' He could only tell you the same,' said his fathei\ * You may 
 take every comfort in thinking how blameless you have been, 
 keeping so clear of all the faults of your age. I may not have 
 esteemed you as you deserved, my poor Louis ; but, be assured 
 that very few can have so little to reproach themselves with as 
 you have.' 
 
 Louis almost smiled. 'Poor comfort that,' he said, 'even if 
 it were true ; but oh, father ! ' and there was a light in his eye, 
 'I had thouglit of "He hath blotted out like a cloud thy 
 transgressions." ' 
 
FAREWELLS 57 
 
 * That is right. One like you must find comfort in thinking,' 
 
 'There is comfort ineffable/ said Louis ; 'but if I knew what 
 I may dare to take home to myself ! It is all so dim and 
 confused. This pain will not let anything come connectedly. 
 Would you give me that little manuscript book ? ' 
 
 It was given ; and as the many loose leaves fell under Louis's 
 weak hand, his father was amazed at the mass of copies of 
 prayers, texts, and meditations tliat he had brought together ; 
 the earlier pages containing childish prayers written in Aunt 
 Catharine's hand. Louis's cheeks coloured at the revelation 
 of liis hidden life, as his father put them together for liim. 
 
 ' It is of no use,' he said, sadly ;' ' I cannot read. Perhaps my 
 aunt would come and read this to me.' 
 
 ' Let me,' said his father ; and Louis looked pleased. Lord 
 Ormersfield read what was pointed out. To him it was a glimpse 
 of a very new world of contrition, faith, hope, and prayer ; but 
 lie saw the uneasy expression on Louis's face give place to 
 serenity, as one already at home in that spliere. 
 
 'Thank you,' he said. 'That was what I Avanted. Mr. 
 Holds worth will soon come, and then I don't want to say much 
 more. Only don't take this too much to heart — I am not 
 worth it : and but for you and the dear Terrace home, I can be 
 very glaa. If I map hope, the hope is so bright ! Here there 
 are so many ways of going wrong, and all I do always fails ; 
 and yet I always tried to do Him service. Oh, to have all 
 perfect ! — no failure —no inconsistency — no self ! Can it be ? ' 
 
 ' I always tried to do Him service ! ' Sadly and dejectedly as 
 the words were spoken, mournful as was the contrast between 
 the will and the result, this was the true cause that there was 
 peace with Louis. Unstable, negligent, impetuous, and weak 
 as he liad been, the one earnest purpose had been his, guard- 
 ing the heart, though not yet controlling the judgment. His 
 soul was awake to the unseen, and thus the sense of the reality 
 of bliss ineffable, and power to take comfort in tlie one great 
 Sacrifice, came with no novelty nor strangeness. It was a 
 more solemn, more painful preparation, but such as he had 
 habitually made, only now it was for a more perfect Festival. 
 
 ^ His father, as much awestruck by his hopes as distressed by 
 liis penitence, still gave himself credit for having soothed him, 
 and went to meet and forewarn the Vicar that poor Fitzjocelyn 
 was inclined to despond, and was attaching such importance to 
 the merest foibles in a most innocent life, that he required the 
 most tender and careful encouragement. He spoke in his usual 
 tone of authoritative courtesy ; and then, finding that his son 
 wished to be left alone with Mr. Holdsworth, he went to the 
 library to seek the only person to whom he could bear to talk. 
 
 'Mary,' he said, 'you were right. I have done so little to 
 make that poor boy of mine happy, that he does not wish 
 for life.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby looked up surprised. ' Are you sure of what 
 
bS DYNEVOK TERRACEi 
 
 he meant?' she said. ^Was it not that this life has nothing 
 to compare with that wliich is to come ? ' 
 
 ' But what can be more unnatural 1 ' said the Earl. ^ At his 
 .age, with everything before him, notliing but what he felt as 
 my harshness could so have checked hope and enjoyment. My 
 poor Louis ! ' And, though eye and voice were steady and 
 tearless, no words could express the anguish of his undertone. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby adduced instances showing that, to early youth, 
 with a heart still untainted by the world, the joys of the Life 
 Everlasting have often so beamed out as to efface all that eartli 
 could promise ; but he could not be argued out of self-reproacli 
 for his own want of sympathy, and spoke mournfully of his cold 
 manner, sternness to small faults, and denial of gratifications. 
 
 Mary the younger could not lielp rising from her corner to 
 say, ' Indeed, Louis said the otlier day that you never had denied 
 him any personal indulgence.' 
 
 ' My dear, he never asked for personal indulgences,' said the 
 Earl. His further speech was interrupted by a quick step, 
 a slow opening of tlie door, and the entrance of James Frost, 
 who grasped his outstretched hand with a breathless inquiry. 
 
 ' He is very ill — ' Lord Ormersfield paused, too much oppressed 
 to say more. 
 
 ' No better ? What did the London surgeon say 1 what ? ' 
 
 ' He says there is no time to be lost in attacking the inflam- 
 mation. If we can subdue that, he may recover ; but the state 
 of the ankle weakens him severely. I believe myself that lie is 
 going fast,' said the Earl, with the same despairing calmness • 
 and James, after gazing at him to collect his meaning, dropped 
 into a chair, covered his face witli his hands, and sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield looked on as if he almost envied the relief of 
 the outburst ; but James's first movement was to turn on liim, as 
 if he were neglecting his son, sharply demanding, ' WJio is with 
 himr 
 
 ' He wished to be left with Mr. Holds worth.' 
 
 ' Is it come to this ! ' cried James. ' Oh, why did I not come 
 down with liim ? I niiglit have prevented all this ! ' 
 
 ' You could not have acted otherwise,' said the Earl, kindly. 
 ^ Your engagement was already formed.' 
 
 'I could!' said James. 'I would not. I thought it one of 
 your excuses for helping us.' 
 
 'It is vain to lament these things now,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 ' It is very kind in you to have come down, and it will give liim 
 great pleasure if he be able to see you.' 
 
 ' If ! ' James stammered between consternation and anger at 
 the doubt, and treated the Earl with a kind of implied resent- 
 ment as if for injustice suffered by Louis ; but it was affecting 
 to see his petulance received with patience, almost with grati- 
 tude, as a proof of his affection for Louis. The Earl stood 
 upright and motionless before the fire, answering steadily, but 
 
FAREWELLS 59 
 
 in an almost inward voice, all the detailed questions put by James, 
 who, seated on one chair, with his hands locked on the back 
 of the other, looked keenly up to ]iim with his sharp black eyes, 
 often overflowing with tears, and his voice broken by grief. When 
 he had elicited that Louis had been much excited and distressed 
 by the thought of his failings, he burst out, * Whatever you may 
 think. Lord Ormersfield, no one ever had less on his conscience ! ' 
 
 ' I am sure of it/ 
 
 *I know of no one who would have given up his own way 
 again and again without a murmur, only to be-ealled fickle.' 
 
 * Yes, it has often been so,' meekly said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 ' Fickle ! ' repeated James, warming with the topic, and pour- 
 ing out what had been boiling within for years. ' He was only 
 fickle because his standard was too high to be reached ! Jou 
 thought him weak ! ' 
 
 * There may be weakness by nature strengthened by principle,' 
 said Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 * True,' cried Jem, who, having taken no previous notice of 
 her, had at first on her speaking benb liis brows on her as if to 
 extend to her the storm he was inflicting on poor, defenceless 
 Lord Ormersfield, ' he is thou gl it soft because of his easy way ; 
 but come to the point where liarm displays itself, you can't 
 move him a step farther — though he hangs back in such a quiet, 
 careless fashion, that it seems as if he was only tired of the 
 whole concern, and so it goes down again as changeableness.' 
 
 'You always did him justice,' said Lord Ormersfield, laying his 
 hand on his cousin's shoulder ; but James retreated ungraciously. 
 
 ' I suppose, where he saw evil, lie actually took a dislike,' said 
 Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' It is an absolute repugnance to anything bad. You,' turning 
 again on the Earl, ' had an idea of his being too ready to run 
 into all sorts of company ; but I told you there was no danger.' 
 
 ' You told me I might trust to his disgust to anything un- 
 refined or dissipated. You knew him best.' 
 
 * There is that about him which men, not otherwise particular, 
 respect as they might a woman or child. They never show 
 themselves in their true colours, and I have known him uphold 
 them because he has never seen their worst side ! ' 
 
 'I have always thought he learnt that peculiar refinement 
 from your grandmother.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, softly, * tliat it is purity of 
 heart which makes him see heaven so bright.' 
 
 ' Sydney Calcott walked part of the way with me,' continued 
 Jem, ' and showed more feeling than I thought was in him. He 
 said just what I do, that he never saw any one to whom evil 
 seemed so unable to cling. He spoke of him at school — said he 
 was the friend of all the juniors, but too dreamy and uncertain 
 for fellows of his own standing. He said, at first they did not 
 know what to make of him, with his soft looks and cool ways — 
 they could not make him understand bullying, for he could 
 
60 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 not be friglitened nor put in a passion. Only once, one great 
 lout tried forcing bad language on him ; and then Fitzjocelyn 
 struck him, fought him, and was thoroughly licked to be sure : but 
 Calcott said it was a moral victory — no one tried the like again — ' 
 
 James was interrupted by Mr. Holdsworth's entrance. He 
 said a few words apart to the Earl, who answered, with alarm, 
 'Not now ; he has gone through enough.' 
 
 ' I told him so ; but he is very anxious, and begged me to 
 return in the evening.' 
 
 ' Thank you. You had better join us at dinner.' 
 
 The Vicar understood Lord Ormersfield better tlian did James, 
 and said, pressing his hand, ' My lord, it is lieart-breaking ; 
 but the blessedness is more than we can feel.' 
 
 ^rs. Ponsonby and Mary were left to try to pacify James, 
 who was half mad at his exclusion from the sick-room, and very 
 angry with every hint of resignation — abusing the treatment of 
 the doctors, calling Mr. Walby an old woman, and vehemently 
 bent on prophesying the well-doing of the patient. Keenly 
 sensitive, grief and suspense made him unusually irritable ; and 
 he seemed to have no power of waiting patiently, and trusting 
 the event to wiser Hands. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby dared not entertain any sucli ardent wishes. 
 Life had not afforded her so much joy that she should deem it 
 the greatest good, and all that she had lieard gave lier the im- 
 pression that Louis was too soft and gentle for the world's hard 
 encounter, — most pure and innocent, sincere and loving at pre- 
 sent, but rather with the qualities of childhood than of manhood, 
 with little strength or perseverance, so that the very dread of 
 taint or wear made it ahnost a relief to think of his freshness 
 and sweetness being secured for ever. Even wlien she thouglit 
 of his father, and slu-ank from such grief for him, she could not 
 but see a hope that tliis affliction might soften the heart closed 
 up by the first and far worse sorrow, and detach it from the 
 interests that had absorbed it too exclusively. All this was her 
 food for silent meditation. Mary sat reading or working beside 
 her, paler perhaps than her wont, and betraying that lier ear 
 caught every sound on the stairs, but venturing no word except 
 the most matter-of-fact remark, quietly giving force to tlie 
 more favourable symptoms. 
 
 Not till after Mr. Walby's second visit, when there Avas a 
 little respite in the hard life-and-death contest between the 
 remedies and the inflammation, could Mrs. Frost spare a few 
 moments for her grandson. She met him on the stairs — threw 
 her arms round his neck, called him her poor Jemmy, and liastily 
 told liim that he must not make her cry. He looked anxiously 
 in her face, and told lier that he must take her place, for she 
 was worn out. 
 
 'No, thank you, my dear ; I can rest by and by.' 
 
 It sounded very hopeless. 
 
 ' Come, granny, you always take the bright side.' 
 
FAREWELLS 61 
 
 *Who knows which is the bright side?' she said. 'Such 
 as he are always the first. But there, dear Jem, I told you not 
 to make too much of granny — ' and hastily withdrawing her 
 hand, she gave a parting caress to his hair as he stood on the 
 step below her, and returned to her charge. 
 
 It would have been an inexpressible comfort to James to 
 have had some one to reproach. His own wretchedness was 
 like a personal injury, and an offence that he could resent would 
 have been a positive relief. He was forced to get out of the 
 way of Frampton coming up with a tray of lemonade, and 
 glared at liim, as if even a station on the stairs were denied, 
 then dashed out of doors, and paced the garden, goaded by 
 every association the scene recalled. It seemed mere barbarity 
 to deprive him of what he now esteemed as the charm of his 
 life — the cousin who had been as a brother, ever seeking his 
 sympathy, never offended by his sharp, imperious temper, and 
 though often slighted or tyrannized over, meeting ^\l in his own 
 dehonnaire fashion, and never forsaking the poor, hard-working 
 student, so that he might well feel that the world could not offer 
 him aught like Louis Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 He stood in the midst of the botanical garden, and, with 
 almost triumphant satisfaction, prognosticated that noiu there 
 would be regret that Louis's schemes had been neglected or 
 sneered at, and when too late, his father might feel as much 
 sorrow as he had time for. It was the bitterness, not the soft- 
 ness of grief, in which he looked forth into the dull blue east- 
 windy haze deepening in the twilight, and presently beheld 
 something dark moving along under the orchard bank beneath. 
 * Hollo ! who's there ? ' he exclaimed, and the form, rearing 
 itself, disclosed young Madison, never a favourite with him, and 
 though, as a persecuted protege, of Louis, having claims which 
 at another time might liave softened him, coming forward at 
 an unlucky moment, when his irritation only wanted an object 
 on which to discharge itself. It was plain that one who came 
 skulking in the private grounds could intend no good, and James 
 greeted him, harshly, with ' You've no business here ! ' 
 
 * I'm doing no harm,' said the boy, doggedly, for his temper 
 was as stubborn as James's was excitable. 
 
 ' No harm ! lurking here in that fashion in the dark ! You'll 
 not make me believe that 1 Let me hear what brings you here ! 
 The truth, mind ! ' 
 
 'I came to hear how Lord Fitzjocelyn is,' said Tom, with brief 
 bluntness and defiance. 
 
 ' A likely story ! What, you came to ask the apple-trees % ' 
 and James scornfully laughed. 'There was no back-door, I 
 suppose ! I could forgive you anything but such a barefaced 
 falsehood, when you know it was your own intolerable careless- 
 ness that was the only cause of the accident ! ' 
 
 ' Better say 'twas yourself ! ' cried Tom, hoarse with passion, 
 and shaking all over. 
 
m DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 The provocation was intense enough to bring back James's 
 real principle and self-i'estraint, and he spoke with more dignity. 
 * You seem to be beside yourself, Madison,' he said ; ' you had 
 better go at once, before any one finds you here. Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn cared for you so much, that I should not wish for you 
 to meet your deserts under present circumstances. Go ! I wish 
 to have no more of your tongue ! ' 
 
 The boy was bounding off, while James walked slowly after 
 to see him beyond the grounds, and finding Warren tlie keeper, 
 desired him to be on the look-out. Warren replied with the 
 tidings that Madison had run away from his place, and that the 
 police were looking out for him on the suspicion of having 
 stolen Mr. Calcott's parcel, moralizing further on the depravity 
 of such doings when my young lord was so ill, but accounting 
 for the whole by pronouncing poaching to be bred in the bone 
 of the Marksedge people. 
 
 This little scene had done Jem a great deal of good, both by 
 the exhalation of bitterness and by the final exertion of forbear- 
 ance. He had, indeed, been under two great fallacies on this 
 day, — soothing Charlotte for the grief that was not caused by 
 Fitzjocelyn's illness, and driving to extremity the lad brimming 
 over with sorrow not inferior to his own. Little did he know 
 what a gentle word miglit have done for that poor, wild, tempest- 
 uous spirit ! 
 
 Yet, James's heart smote him that evening, when, according 
 to Louis's earnest wish, Mr. Holdsworth came again, and they 
 all were admitted to the room, and he saw the feeble sign and 
 summons to the Vicar to bend down and listen. 'Tell poor 
 Madison it was wrong in me not to go to see him. Give him 
 one of my books, and tell him to go on well ! ' 
 
 That day had been one of rapid change, and the remedies 
 and suffering had so exhausted Louis that he could scarcely 
 speak, and seemed hardly conscious who was present. All his 
 faculties were absorbed in the one wish, which late in the even- 
 ing was granted. The scene was like an epitome of his life — 
 the large irregular room, cumbered with the disorderly apparatus 
 of all his multifarious pursuits, while there he lay on his little 
 narrow iron bed, his features so fair and colourless as to be 
 strangely like his mother's marble efiigy — his eyes closed, and 
 his brows often contracted with pain, so that there was a doubt 
 how far his attention was free ; but still with a calm, pure 
 sweetness, that settled down more and more, as if he were being 
 lulled into a sleep. 
 
 ' He is asleep,' Mrs. Frost said, as they all rose up. 
 
 Tliey felt what that sleep might become. 
 
 *We might as well wish to detain a snow-wreath/ thought 
 Mr, Holdsworth. 
 
GOSSAMER 63 
 
 ^ CHAPl^EE VII 
 
 GOSSAMER 
 
 Chaos is come again. — Othello 
 
 That sleep was not unto death. When James and Mary came 
 simultaneously creeping to the door in the gray twilight of the 
 morning, they heard that there had been less pain and more 
 rest ; and gradually throughout the day, there was a diminution 
 of the dangerous symptoms, till the trembling hope revived that 
 the patient miglit be given back again to life. 
 
 James was still sadly aggrieved at being forbidden the sick- 
 room, and exceedingly envied Lord OrmersHeld's seat there. He 
 declared, so that Mary doubted whether it were jest or earnest, 
 that the Earl only remained there because society expected it 
 from their relative positions, and that it must retard poor Fitz- 
 jocelyn's recovery to be perpetually basilisked by those cold 
 gray eyes. Mary stood up gallantly for the Earl, who had 
 always been so kind to her, and, on her mother's authority, 
 vouched for his strong though hidden feelings ; to which Jem 
 replied, ' Aye ! he was hiding a strong fear of being too late for 
 the beginning of the Session.' 
 
 ' I do not think it right to impute motives,' said Mary. 
 
 ' I would not, Mary, if I could help it,' said James ; ' but 
 tlirough the whole course of my life I have never seen a token 
 that his lordship is worthy of his son. If he were an ordi- 
 nary, practical, commonplace block, apt to support his dignity, 
 he might value liim ; but all the grace, peculiarity, and uncon- 
 ventionality is a mere burthen and vexation, utterly wasted.' 
 
 Mary knew that she was a commonplace block, and did not 
 wonder at herself for not agreeing with James, but cherishing a 
 strong conviction that the father and son would now leave off 
 rubbing against each other ; since no unprejudiced person could 
 doubt of the strong affection of the father, nor of the warm 
 gratitude of the son. In spite of the asperity with which James 
 spoke of the Earl, she was beginning to like him almost as much 
 as she esteemed him. This had not been the case in their child- 
 hood, when he used to be praised by the elders for his obedience 
 to his grandmother and his progress in the North wold Grammar 
 School ; but was terribly overbearing with his juniors, and whe- 
 ther he cuffed Louis or led him into mischief, equally distressed 
 her. Grown up he was peculiarly vif^ quick and ready, unselfish 
 in all his ways, and warmly affectionate — a very agreeable com- 
 panion where his sensitiveness was not wounded, and meriting 
 high honour by his deeper qualities. Young as he was, he had 
 already relieved his grandmother from his own maintenance : he 
 had turned to the utmost account his education at the endowed 
 school at Northwold ; by sheer diligence, had obtained, first a 
 
U DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 scliolarship and then a fellowship at Oxford ; and now, by prac- 
 tising rigid economy, and spending his vacations in tuition, he 
 was enabled to send his sister to a boarding-school. He had 
 stolen a few days from his pupils on hearing of Fitzjocelyn's 
 danger, but was forced to return as soon as the improvement 
 became confirmed. On the previous day, he asked Mary to walk 
 with him to the scene of the accident ; and they discussed the 
 cause with more coolness than they really felt, as they shuddered 
 at the depth of the fall, and the size of the stones. 
 
 James declared it all the fault of that runaway scamp, young 
 Madison, in whom Louis had always been deceived, and who 
 had never been seen since the night of his apparition in the 
 garden. 
 
 ' Poor boy ! I suppose that was the reason he ran away,' said 
 Mary. 
 
 'A very good thing too. He would never have been any- 
 thing but a torment to Louis. I remember telling him he was 
 setting the stones so as to break the neck of some one ! ' 
 
 'I think it would be of more use to build them up than to 
 settle how they broke down,' said Mary. *Do you think we 
 could manage it safely ? ' 
 
 ' A capital thought ! ' cried James, eagerly, and no sooner said 
 than done. The two cousins set to work — procured some 
 cement from the bricklayer in the village, and toiled at their 
 masonry with right good-wdll as long as light and time served 
 them ; then made an appointment to meet at half-past six next 
 morning, and finish their work. 
 
 When the rendezvous took place, they were rejoicing over 
 Mrs. Frost's report of an excellent night, and over her own 
 happy looks, from which James prognosticated that all her 
 fatigue and watching had done no harm to her vigorous frame, 
 for which gladness was always the best cordial. It was a jovous 
 beginning on that spring morning, and seemed to add fresh 
 sparkles to the dazzling dewdrops, and double merriment to the 
 blackbirds and thrushes answering each other far and wide, 
 around, as the sun drew up the gray veil of morning mist. 
 ' They all seem holding a feast for his recovery ! ' exclaimed 
 Mary, warming for once into poetry, as she trudged along, 
 leaving green footmarks in the silver dew. 
 
 ^ Well they may,' said James ; ' for who loves them better than 
 he? I grudge myself this lovely morning, when lie is lying 
 there, and my poor Clara is caged up at that place— the two 
 who would the most enjoy it.' 
 
 * Your going to see her will be as good as the spring morning.' 
 
 * Poor child ! I dread it ! ' sighed Jem. 
 
 It was his first voluntary mention of his sister. He had 
 always turned the conversation when Mrs. Ponsonby or Mary 
 had tried to inquire for her, and Mary was glad to lead him on 
 to say more. 
 
 'I remember her last when you were teaching her to run 
 
GOSSAMEK 65 
 
 alone, and letting none of us touch her, because you said she 
 was your child, and belonged to no one else.' 
 
 * I should not be so ungrateful, now that I am come to the 
 sense of my responsibility in teaching her to go alone.' 
 
 ' But she has Aunt Catharine,' said Mary, thinking that he 
 was putting the natural guardian out of the question as much 
 now as in the days referred to. 
 
 ' My grandmother never had to do with any girl before, and 
 does not profess to understand them. She let Clara be regu- 
 larly a boy in school, at first learning the same lessons, and then 
 teaching ; and whatever I tried to impress in the feminine line, 
 naturally, all went for nothing. She is as wild as a hare, and 
 has not a particle of a girl about, her ! ' 
 
 * But she is very young.' 
 
 * There it is again ! She grows so outrageously. She is not 
 sixteen, and there she is taller than granny already. It is 
 getting quite absurd.' 
 
 ' What advice do you want on that head ? ' 
 
 * Seriously, it is a disadvantage, especially to that sort of girl, 
 who can't afford to look like a woman before her time. Well, 
 as she must probably depend on herself, I looked out for as good 
 a school as could be had for the means, and thought I had suc- 
 ceeded, and that she would be brought into some sort of shape. 
 Granny was ready to break her heart, but thought it quite right.' 
 
 ' Then, does it not answer 1 ' 
 
 * That is just what I can't tell. You have been used to 
 schools : I wish you could tell me whether it is a necessary evil, 
 or Clara's own idiosyncrasy, or peculiar to the place.' 
 
 ' Whether what is ? ' 
 ' Her misery ! ' • 
 
 * Misery ! Why, there is nothing of that in her letters to my 
 aunt. There is not a complaint.' 
 
 ^ She is a brave girl, who spares granny, when she knows it 
 would be of no use to distress her. Judge now ; there's the sort 
 of letter that I get from her.' 
 
 Mary read. 
 
 'Dearest Jemmy, — Write to me as quick as ever you can, 
 and tell me how Louis is ; and let me come home, or I shall run 
 mad. It is no good telling me to command my feelings ; I am 
 sure I would if I could, for the girls are more detestable than 
 ever ; but what can one do when one cannot sleep nor eat ? All 
 the screaming and crying has got into one lump in my throat, 
 because I can't get it out in peace. If I could only shy the 
 inkstand at the English teacher's head ! or get one moment 
 alone and out of sight ! Let me come home. I could at least 
 run messages ; and it is of no use for me to stay here, for I 
 can't learn, and all the girls are looking at me. ^ If they were 
 but boys, they would have sense ! or if I could but kick them ! 
 This will make you angry, but do forgive me ; I can't help it, 
 
 F 
 
66 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 for I am so very unhappy. Louis is as much to me as you are, 
 and no one ever was so kind ; but I know he will get well — I 
 know he will ; only if I knew the pain was better, and could 
 but hear every minute. You need not come to fetch me ; only 
 send me a telegraph, and one to Miss Brigham. I have money 
 enough for a second-class ticket, and would come that instant. 
 If you saw the eyes and heard the whispers of these girls, I am 
 sure you would. I should laugh at such nonsense any other 
 time, but now I only ask to be wretched quietly in a corner. 
 ' Your affectionate, nearly crazy, sister, 
 
 'Clara Frost Dynevor/ 
 
 Mary might well say that there was nothing more expedient 
 than going to see Clara, and ' much,' said poor James, ' he should 
 gain by that,' especially on the head that made him most un- 
 easy, and on which he could only hint lightly — namely, whether 
 the girls were ' putting nonsense in her head.' 
 
 ' If they had done her any harm, she would never have 
 written such a letter,' said Mary. 
 
 ' True,' said Jem. 'She is a mere child, and never got that 
 notion into her head for a moment ; but if they put it in, 
 we are done for ! Or if the place were ever so bad, I can't 
 remove her now, when granny is thus occupied. One reason 
 why I made a point of her going to school was, that I thought 
 doing everything that Fitzjocelyn did was no preparation for 
 being a governess.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I hope it will not come to that ! Mr. Oliver Dynevor 
 talks of coming home in a very few years.' 
 
 ' So few, that we shall be gray before he comes. No ; Clara 
 and I are not going to be bound to him for the wealth heaped 
 up while my grandmother was left in poverty. We mean to be 
 independent.' 
 
 Mary was glad to revert to Clara. 
 
 ' I must do the best I can for her for the present,' said Jem, 
 — 'try to harden her against the girls, and leave her to bear it. 
 Poor dear ! it makes one's heart ache ! And to have done it 
 oneself, too ! Then, in the holidays, perhaps, you Avill help me 
 to judge. You will be her friend, Mary ; there's nothing she 
 needs so much. I thought she would have found one at school, 
 but they are not the right stamp of animal. She has been too 
 much thrown on Louis ; and though he has made a noble thing 
 of her, that must come to an end, and the sooner the better.' 
 
 Certainly, it was a perplexity for a young elder brother ; but 
 there could not but remain some simple wonder in Mary's mind 
 whether the obvious person, Mrs. Frost, had not better have 
 been left to decide for her granddaughter. 
 
 The building operations gave full occupation to the powers of 
 the two cousins, and in good time before breakfast, all was suc- 
 cessfully completed, — a hand-rail affixed, and the passage cleared 
 out, till it looked so creditable, as well as solid, that there was 
 
GOSSAMER 67 
 
 no more to wish for but that Louis should be able to see their 
 handiwork. 
 
 James went away in the better spirits for having been allowed 
 to shake Louis by the hand and exchange a few words with 
 him. Mary augured that it would be the better for Clara and 
 for the pupils. 
 
 All that further transpired from him was a cheerful letter to 
 Mrs. Frost, speaking of Clara as perfectly well, and beginning 
 to accommodate herself to her situation ; and from this Mary 
 gathered that he was better satisfied. 
 
 The days brought gradual improvement to the patient, under 
 Mrs. Frost's tender nursing, and his father's constant assiduity ; 
 both of w^hich, as he revived, seemed to afford him the greatest 
 pleasure, and were requited with the utmost warmth and 
 caressing sweetness towards his aunt, and towards his father 
 with ever-fresh gratitude and delight. Lord Ormersfield was 
 like another man, in the sick-room, whence he never willingly 
 absented himself for an hour. 
 
 One day, liowever, when he was forced to go to North wold on 
 business, Louis put on a fit of coaxing importunity. Nothing 
 would serve him but some of Jane Beckett's choice dried pears, 
 in the corner of the oaken cupboard, the key of which was in 
 Aunt Kitty's pocket, and no one must fetch them for him but 
 Aunt Kitty herself. He was so absurdly earnest and grave 
 about them, that Jane scolded him, and Mrs. Frost saw recovery 
 in his arch eyes ; understanding all the time that it was all an 
 excuse for complimenting Jane, and sending her to air herself, 
 visit the Faithfull sisters, and inspect the Lady of Eschalott. 
 So she consented to accompany Lord Ormersfield, and leave 
 their charge to Mrs. Ponsonby, who found Louis quite elated at 
 the success of his manoeuvre — so much disposed to talk, and so 
 solicitous for the good of his nurses, that she ventured on a bold 
 stroke. 
 
 His chamber was nearly as much like a lumber-room as ever ; 
 for any attempt to clear away or disturb his possessions had 
 seemed, in his half-conscious condition, to excite and tease him 
 so much, that it had been at once relinquished. Although the 
 room was large, it was always too much crowded with his 
 goods ; and the tables and chairs that had been brought in 
 during his illness, had added to the accumulation which was the 
 despair of Mrs. Beckett and Mr. Frampton. Mrs. Ponsonby 
 thought it was time for Louis to make a sacrifice in his turn, 
 and ventured to suggest that he was well enough to say where 
 some of his things might be bestowed ; and though he winced, 
 she persevered in representing how unpleasant it must be to his 
 father to live in the midst of so much confusion. The dehon- 
 naire expression passed over his face, as he glanced around, 
 saying, 'You are right. I never reflected on the stretch of 
 kindness it must have been. It shall be done. If I lose every- 
 thing, it will not be soon that I find it out.' 
 
 F 2 
 
68 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 It evidently cost him a good deal, and Mvs>. Ponsonby pro- 
 posed that Mary should come and deal with his treasures ; a 
 plan at which he caught so eagerly, that it was decided that 
 no time was like the present, and Mary was called. He could 
 move nothing but his hands ; but they were eagerly held out in 
 welcome : and his' eyes glittered with the bright smile that 
 once she had feared never to see again. She felt a moisture in 
 her own which made her glad to turn aside to her task even 
 while he complimented her with an allusion to the labours of 
 Hercules. It did not seem uncalled-for, when slie began by 
 raising a huge sheet of paper that had been thrown in despera- 
 tion to veil the confusion upon the table, and whicli proved to 
 be the Ordnance map of the county, embellished with numerous 
 streaks of paint. ' The outlines of the old Saxon wappentakes,^ 
 said Louis : ' I was trying to make them out in blue, and the 
 Roman roads in red. That mark is spontaneous ; it has been 
 against some paint.' 
 
 Whicli paint was found in dried swamps in saucers, while 
 cakes of lake and Prussian blue adhered to the drawing-board. 
 
 ' The colour-box is probably in the walnut-press ; but I advise 
 you not to irritate that yet. Let me see that drawing, the design 
 for the cottages that Frampton nipped in the bud — ' 
 
 * How pretty and comfortable they do look ! ' exclaimed Mary, 
 pleased to come to something that was within her sphere of 
 comprehension. ' If they were but finished ? ' 
 
 'Ah ! I thought of them when I was lying there in the dell ! 
 Had they been allowed to stand where I wanted them, there 
 would have been no lack of people going home from work ; but, 
 " Quite impracticable " came in my way, and I had no heart to 
 finish the drawing.' 
 
 ' What a pity ! ' exclaimed Mary. 
 
 ' This was Richardson's veto, two degrees worse than Framp- 
 ton's ; and I shall never be able to abuse Frampton again. I 
 have seen him in his true light now, and never was any one 
 more kind and considerate. Ha, Mary, what's that ? ' 
 
 * It looks like a rainbow in convulsions.' 
 
 'Now, Mary, did not I tell you that I could not laugh? It is 
 a diagram to illustrate the theory of light for Clara.' 
 
 ' Does she understand that ? ' cried Mary. 
 
 'Clara? She understands anything but going to school — 
 poor child ! Yes, burn that map of the strata ! — not that — it 
 is to be a painted window whenever I can afford one, but I 
 never could make money stay with me. I never could think 
 why — ' 
 
 The loht/ was evident enough in the heterogeneous mass — 
 crumpled prints, blank drawing-paper, and maps heaped ruin- 
 ously over and under books, stuffed birds, geological specimens, 
 dislocated microscopes, pieces of Roman pavement, curiosities 
 innumerable and indescribable ; among which roamed blotting- 
 books, memorandum-books, four pieces of India-rubber, three 
 
GOSSAMER 69 
 
 pair of compasses, seven paper-knives, ten knives, thirteen odd 
 gloves, fifteen pencils, pens beyond reckoning, a purse, a key, 
 half a poem on the Siege of Granada,' three parts of an essay 
 upon Spade Husbandry, the dramatis personce of a tragedy on 
 Queen Brunehault, scores of old letters, and the dust of three 
 years and a half. 
 
 Louis owned that the arrangements conduced to finding 
 rather than losing, and rejoiced at the disinterment of his 
 long-lost treasures ; but either he grew weary, or the many 
 fragments, the ghosts of departed fancies, made him thoughtful ; 
 for he became silent, and only watched and smiled as Mary 
 quietly and noiselessly completed her reforms, and arranged 
 table and chairs for the comfort of his father and aunt. He 
 thanked her warmly, and hoped that she would pursue her 
 kind task another day, — a permission which she justly esteemed 
 a great testimony to her having avoided annoying him. .It 
 was a great amusement to him to watch the surprised and 
 pleased looks of his various nurses as each came in, and a real 
 gratification to see his father settle himself with an air of 
 comfort, observing that ^ they were under great obligations to 
 Mary.' Still, the sight of the arrangements had left a dreary, 
 dissatisfied feeling with Louis : it might have been caught from 
 Mary's involuntary look of disappointment at each incomplete 
 commencement that she encountered, — the multitude of under- 
 takings hastily begun, laid aside and neglected— nothing pro- 
 perly carried out. It seemed a mere waste of life, and dwelt 
 on his spirits, with a weariness of himself and his own want 
 of steadfastness — a sense of having disappointed her and dis- 
 appointed himself ; and he sighed so heavily several times, 
 that his aunt anxiously asked whether he were in pain. He 
 was, however, so much better, that no one was to sit up with 
 him at night — only his father would sleep on a bed on the 
 floor. As he bade him good night, Louis, for the first time, 
 made the request that he might have his Bible given to him, 
 as well as his little book ; and on his father advising him not to 
 attempt the effort of reading, he said, ' Thank you ; I think I 
 can read my two verses : I want to take up my old habits.' 
 
 ' Have you really kept up this habit constantly ? ' asked his 
 father, with wonder which Louis did not understand. 
 
 *Aunt Catharine taught it to us,' he said. *I neglected it one 
 half-year at school ; but I grew so uncomfortable, that I began 
 again.' 
 
 The Earl gave the little worn volume, saying, *Yes, Louis, 
 there has been a thread running through your life.' 
 
 * Has there been one thread ? ' sadly mused Louis, as he found 
 the weight of the thick book too much for his weak hands, and 
 his eyes and head too dizzy and confused for more than one 
 verse : — 
 
 'I am come that they might liave life, 
 And that they might have it more abundantly.' 
 
70 DYNEVOR TERRACK 
 
 The Bible sank in his hands, and he fell into a slumber so 
 sound and refreshing, that when he opened his eyes in early 
 morning, he did not at first realize that he was not awakening 
 to health and activity, nor why he had an instinctive dread of 
 moving. He turned his eyes towards the window, uncurtained, 
 so tliat he could see the breaking dawn. The sky, deep blue 
 above, faded and glowed towards the horizon into gold, redder 
 and more radiant below ; and in the midst, fast becoming 
 merged in the increasing light, shone the planet Venus in her 
 pale, calm brilliance. 
 
 There was repose and delight in dwelling on that fair morn- 
 ing sky, and Louis lay dreamily gazing, while thoughts passed 
 over his mind, more defined and connected than pain and weak- 
 ness had as yet permitted. Since those hours in which he had 
 roused his faculties to meet with approaching death, he had 
 been seldom awake to aught but the sensations of the moment, 
 and had only just become either strong enough, or sufficiently 
 at leisure for anything like reflection. As ho watched the 
 eastern reddening, he could not but revert to the feelings with 
 which he had believed himself at the gate of the City that needs 
 neither sun nor moon to lighten it ; and, for the first time, he 
 consciously realized that he was restored to this world of life. 
 
 The sensation was not unmixed. His youthful spirit bounded 
 at the prospect of returning vigour, his warm heart clung 
 round those whom he loved, and the perception of his numerous 
 faults made him grateful for a longer probation ; but still he 
 had a sense of having been at the borders of the glorious Land, 
 and thence turned back to a tedious, doubtful pilgrimage. 
 
 There was much to occasion this state of mind. His life had 
 been without great troubles, but with many mortifications ; he 
 had never been long satisfied with himself or his pursuits, his 
 ardour had only been the prelude to vexation and self-abase- 
 ment, and in his station in the world there was little incentive 
 to exertion. He had a strong sense of responsibility, with a 
 temperament made up of tenderness, refinement, and inertness, 
 such as shrank from the career set before him. He had seen 
 just enough of political life to destroy any romance of patriotism, 
 and to make him regard it as little more than party spirit, and 
 dread the hardening and deadening process on the mind. He 
 had a dismal experience of his own philanthropy ; and he had 
 a conscience that would not sit down satisfied with selfish ease, 
 pleasure, or intellectual pursuits. His smooth, bright, loving 
 temper had made him happy ; but the past was all melancholy, 
 neglect, and futile enterprise ; he had no attaching liome — no 
 future Adsions ; and, on the outskirts of manhood, he shrank 
 back from the turmoil, the temptations, and the roughness that 
 awaited him — nay, from the mere effort of perseverance, and 
 could almost have sighed to think how nearly the death-pang 
 had been over, and the home of Lo\'e, Life, and Light had been 
 won for ever : — 
 
GOSSAMER 71 
 
 * I am come that they might have life, 
 And that they might liave it more abundantly: 
 
 The words returned on him, and with them what his father 
 had said, ^ You have had a thread running through your life.' 
 He was in a state between sleeping and waking, when the corf- 
 fines of reflection and dreaming came very near together, and 
 when vague impressions, hardly noticed at the time they were 
 made, began to tell on him without his own conscious volition. 
 It was to him as if from that brightening eastern heaven, mul- 
 titudes of threads of light were floating hither and thither, as 
 he had often watched the gossamer undulating in the sunshine. 
 Some were firm, purely white, and glistening here and there 
 with rainbow tints as they tended straight upwards, shining 
 more and more into the perfect day ; but for the most part they 
 were tangled together in inextricable confusion, intermingled 
 with many a broken end, like fleeces of cobweb driven together 
 by the autumn wind, — some sailing aimlessly, or with shattered 
 tangled strands — some white, some dark, some anchored to mere 
 leaves or sprays, some tending down to the abyss, but all in 
 such a perplexed maze that the eye could seldom trace which 
 were directed up, which downwards, which were of pure texture, 
 which defiled and stained. 
 
 In the abortive, unsatisfactory attempt to follow out one 
 fluctuating clue, not without whiteness, and heaving often up- 
 wards, but frail, wavering, ravelled, and tangled, so that scarcely 
 could he find one line that held together, Louis awoke to find 
 his father wondering that he could sleep with the sun shining 
 full on his face. 
 
 ' It was hardly quite a dream,' said Louis, as he related it to 
 Mrs. Frost. 
 
 * It would make a very pretty allegory.' 
 
 'It is too real for that just now,' he said. 'It was the moral 
 of all my broken strands that Mary held up to me yesterday.' 
 
 ' I hope you are going to do more than point your moral, my 
 dear. You always were good at that.' 
 
 ' I mean it,' said Louis, earnestly. ' I do not believe such an 
 illness — ay, or such a dream — can come for nothing.' 
 
 So back went his thoughts to the flaws in his own course ; 
 and chiefly he bewailed his want of sympathy for his father. 
 Material obedience and submission had been yielded ; but, having 
 little cause to believe himself beloved, his heart had never been 
 called into action so as to soften the clashings of two essentially 
 dissimilar characters. Instead of rebelling, or e^en of murmur- 
 ing, he had hid disappointment in indiflerence, taken refuge in 
 levity and versatility, and even consoled himself by sporting 
 with what he regarded as prejudice or unjust displeasure. All 
 this cost liim much regret and self-reproach at each proof of 
 the aflection so long veiled by reserve. Never would he have 
 given pain, had he guessed that his father could feel ; but he 
 had grown up to imagine the whole man made up of politics and 
 
72 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 conventionalities, and his new discoveries gave him at least as 
 much contrition as pleasure. 
 
 After long study of tlie debates, that morning, his father pre- 
 pared to write. Louis asked for the paper, saying his senses 
 would just serve for the advertisements, but presently he made 
 an exclamation of surprise at beholding, in full progress, the 
 measure Avhich had brought Sir Miles Oakstead to Ormersfield, 
 one of peculiar interest to the Earl. His blank look of wonder 
 amused Mrs. Ponsonby, but seemed somewhat to hurt his father. 
 
 ' You did not suppose I could attend to such matters now ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 ' But I am so much better ! ' 
 
 Fearing that the habit of reserve would check any exchange 
 of feeling, Mrs. Ponsonby said, ' Did you fancy your father could 
 not think of you except upon compulsion '? ' 
 
 * I beg your pardon, father,' said Louis, smiling, wliile a tear 
 rose to his eyes ; 'I little thought I was obstructing the busi- 
 ness of the nation. What will Sir Miles do to me ? ' 
 
 'Sir Miles has written a most kind and gratifying letter,' 
 said Lord Ormersfield, ' expressing great anxiety for you, and a 
 high opinion of your powers.' 
 
 Louis had never heard of his own powers, except for mischief, 
 and the colour returned to his cheeks, as he listened to the 
 kind and cordial letter, written in the first shock of the tidings 
 of the accident. He enjoyed the pleasure it gave his father far 
 more than the commendation to himself ; for he well knew, as 
 he said, that ' there is something embellishing in a catastroiDhe,' 
 and he supposed ' that had driven out the rose-coloured pastor.' 
 
 ' There is always indulgence at your age,' said the Earl. ' You 
 have created an impression which may be of great importance 
 to you by and by.' 
 
 Louis recurred to politics. The measure was one which 
 approved itself to his mind, and he showed all the interest 
 which was usually stifled, by such subjects being forced on him. 
 He was distressed at detaining his father Avhen liis presence 
 might be essential to the success of his party, and tlie Earl 
 could not bear to leave him while still confined to his bed. The 
 little scene, so calm, and apparently so cold, seemed to cement 
 the attachment of father and son, l)y convincing Louis of 
 the full extent of his father's love ; his enthusiasm began to 
 invest the Earl's gray head witli a perfect halo of wisdom 
 slighted and affection injured ; and the tenor of his thread of 
 life shone out bright and silvery before him, spun out of projects 
 of devoting heart and soul to his father's haj)piness, and 
 meriting his fondness. 
 
 The grave Earl was looking through a magnifying-glass no 
 less powerful. He had not been so happy since his marriage ; 
 the consciousness of his own cold manner made him grateful for 
 any demonstration from his son, and the many little graces of 
 look and manner which Louis liad inlierited from his mother 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION 73 
 
 added to the charm. Tlie sense of previous injustice enhanced 
 all his good qualities, and it was easy to believe him perfect, 
 while nothing was required of him but to lie still. ^ Day and 
 night did Lord Ormersfield wait upon him, grudging every 
 moment spent away from him, and trying to forestall each wish, 
 till he became almost afraid to express a desire, on account of the 
 trouble it would cause. Mary found the Earl one day wander- 
 ing among the vines in the old hothouse, in search of a flower, 
 when, to her amusement, he selected a stiff pert double hyacinth, 
 the special aversion of his son, who nevertheless received it 
 most graciously, and would fain have concealed the hea lache 
 caused by the scent, until Mrs Frost privately abstracted it. 
 Another day, he went, unasked, to hasten the bird-stuffer in 
 finishing the rose-coloured pastor ; and when it came, himself 
 brought it up-stairs, unpacked it, and set it up where Louis 
 could best admire its black nodding crest and pink wings ; un- 
 aware that to his son it seemed a memento of his own misdeeds 
 — a perpetual lesson against wayward carelessness. 
 
 ' It is like a new love,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' but oh ! how 
 much depends upon Louis after his recovery ! ' 
 ' You don't mistrust his goodness 7ioiv, mamma ! ' 
 *I could not bear to do so. I believe I was thinking of his 
 father more than of himself. After having been so much struck 
 by his religious feeling, I dread nothing so much as his father 
 finding him deficient in manliness or strength of character.' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 A TKXJANT DISPOSITION 
 
 Gathering up each broken thread — Wiiytehead 
 
 ' Tom Madison is come back,' said tlie Vicar, as he sat 
 beside Fitzjocelyn's couch, a day or two after Lord Ormersfield 
 had gone to London. 
 
 ' Come back — where has he been ? ' exclaimed Louis. 
 
 ' There ! ' said the Vicar, with a gesture of dismay ; ' I forgot 
 that you were to hear nothing of it ! However, I should think 
 you were well enough to support the communication.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' cried Louis, the blood rushing into his cheeks 
 so suddenly, that Mr. Holdsworth felt guilty of having disre- 
 garded the precautions that he had fancied exaggerated by the 
 fond aunt. ' Poor fellow— he has not—' but, checking himself, 
 he added, ' I am particularly anxious to hear of him.' 
 
 ' I wish there were anything more gratifying to tell you ; but 
 he took the opportunity of the height of your illness to run 
 away from his place, and has just been passed home to his parisli. 
 After all your pains, it is very mortifying ; but — ' 
 
 ' Pains ! Don't you know how I neglected him latterly ! ' 
 
74 JDYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 said Louis. 'Poor fellow — then — ' but he stopped himself 
 again, and added, ' You heard nothing of the grounds ? ' 
 
 ' They were not difficult to find,' said Mr. Holdsworth. ' It 
 is the old story. He was, as Mrs. Smith told me, "a great 
 trial," — more and more disposed to be saucy and disobedient, 
 taking up with the most good-for-nothing boys in the town, 
 haunting those Chartist lectures, and never coming home in 
 proper time at night. The very last evening, he had come in 
 at eleven o'clock, and when his master rebuked liim, came out 
 with something about the riglits of man. He was sent to Little 
 Northwold, about the middle of the day, to carry liome some 
 silver-handled knives of Mr. Calcott's, and returned no more. 
 Smith fancied, at first, tliat he had made off with the plate, and 
 set the police after him ; but that proved to be an over-hasty 
 measure, for the parcel had been safely left. However, Miss 
 Faithfull's servant found him frightening Mrs. Frost's poor 
 little kitchen-maid into fits ; and the next day James Frost 
 detected him lurking suspiciously about the garden here, and 
 set Warren to warn him off — ' 
 
 Louis gave a kind of groan, and struck his hand against the 
 couch in despair ; then said, anxiously, 'What then?' 
 
 'No more was heard of him, till yesterday the police passed 
 him home to the L^nion as a vagabond. He looks very i^l and 
 ragged ; but he is in one of those sullen moods, when no one can 
 get a word out of him. Smith decHnes prosecuting for running 
 away, being only too glad of the riddance on any terms ; so 
 there he is at his grandfather's, ready for any sort of mischief.' 
 
 'Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, raising himself on his elbow, 
 'you are judging, like every one else, from appearances. If I 
 were at liberty to tell the whole, you would see what a noble 
 nature it was that I trifled witli ; and they have been hound- 
 ing — Poor Tom ! would it have been better for him that I 
 had never seen him ? It is a fearful thing, tliis blind treading 
 about- among souls, not knowing whether one does good or 
 harm ! ' 
 
 'If you feel so,' said Mr. Holdsworth, hoping to lead him from 
 the unfortunate subject, ' what must ive do 1 ' 
 
 'My position, if I live, seems to have as much power for evil, 
 without the supernatural power for good. Doing hastily, or 
 leaving undone, are equally fatal ! ' 
 
 'Nay, what hope can there be but in fear, and sense of 
 responsibility ? ' 
 
 ' I think not. I do more mischief than those who do not go 
 out of their way to think of the matter at all ! ' 
 
 ' Do you 1 ' said the Vicar, smiling. ' At least, I know, for my 
 own part, I prefer all the trouble and perplexity you give 
 me, to a squire who would let me and my parish jog on our 
 own way.' 
 
 ' I dare say young Brewster never spoilt a Tom Madison.' 
 
 'The sight of self-indulgence spoils more than injudicious 
 
A TKU ANT ' DISPOSITION 75 
 
 care does. Besides, I look on these experiments as giving 
 experience/ 
 
 * Nice experience of my best efforts ! ' 
 
 /Pardon me, Fitzjocelyn, have we seen your bestT 
 
 * I hope you will ! ' said Louis, vigorously. * And to begin, 
 will you tell this poor boy to come to me ? ' 
 
 Mr. Holdsworth had an unmitigated sense of his own indis- 
 cretion, and not such a high one of Fitzjocelyn's discretion as to 
 make him think the interview sufficiently desirable for the 
 culprit, to justify the possible mischief to the adviser, whose 
 wisdom and folly were equally perplexing, and who would 
 surely be either disappointed or deceived. Dissuasions and 
 arguments, however, failed ; and Mrs. Frost, who was appealed 
 to as a last resource, no sooner found that her patient's heart 
 was set on the meeting, than she consented, and persuaded Mr. 
 Holdsworth that no harm would ensue equal to the evil of her 
 boy lying there distressing himself. 
 
 Accordingly, in due time, Mr. Holdsworth admitted the lad, 
 and, on a sign from Louis, shut himself out, leaving the run- 
 away standing within the door, a monument of surly embar- 
 rassment. Raising himself, Louis said, affectionately, 'Never 
 mind, Tom ; don't you see how fast I am getting over it ? ' 
 
 The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such assurance 
 in the thin pale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent form ; for his 
 face twitched all over, resumed the same sullen stolidity, and 
 was bent down again. 
 
 ' Come near, Tom,' continued Louis, with unabated kindness 
 — ' come and sit down here. I am afraid you have suffered a 
 great deal,' as the boy shambled with an awkward footsore gait. 
 * It was a great pity you ran away.' 
 
 * I couldn't stay ! ' burst out Tom, half crying. 
 'Whynotr 
 
 ' Not to have that there cast in my teeth ! ' he exclaimed, 
 with blunt incivility. 
 
 ' Did any one reproach you ? ' said Louis, anxiously. * I 
 thought no one knew it but ourselves.' 
 
 'You knew it, then, my lord ? ' asked Tom, staring. 
 
 ' I found out directly that there was no cement,' said Louis. 
 ' I had suspected it before, and intended to examine whenever 
 I had time.' 
 
 ' Well ! I thought when I came back, no one did seem to 
 guess as 'twas all along of me ! ' cried Tom. ' So sure I thought 
 you hadn't known it, my lord. And you never said nothing, 
 my lord ! ' 
 
 'I trust not. I would not consciously have accused you of 
 what was quite as much my fault as yours. That would not 
 have been fair play.' 
 
 ' If I won't give it to Bill Bettesworth ! ' cried Tom. 
 
 ' What has he done r 
 
 ' Always telling me that gentlefolks hadn't got no notion of 
 
76 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 fair play with tlie like of us, but held us like the dirt to be 
 
 trampled on ! But there— I'll let him know—' 
 'Who is her 
 ^ * A young man what works with Mr. Smith/ returned Tom, 
 
 his sullenness having given place to a frank, open manner, such 
 
 as any one but Louis would have deemed too free and ready. 
 ' Was he your great friend at Northwold ? ' 
 ' A chap must speak to some one,' was Tom's answer. 
 
 * And what kind of a some one was he ? ' 
 
 ' Why, he comes down Illershall way. He knows a thing or 
 two, and can go on like an orator or a playbook — or like your- 
 self, my lord.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I hope the thing or two Avere of the right sort.' 
 
 Tom looked sheepish. 
 
 ' I heard something about bad companions. I hope he was 
 not one. I ought to have come and visited you, Tom ; I have 
 been very sorry I did not. You'd better let me hear all about 
 it, for I fear there must have been worse scrapes than this of 
 the stones.' 
 
 * Worse ! ' cried Tom — ' sure nothing could be worserer ! ' 
 
 * I wish there were no evils worse than careless f orgetfulness/ 
 said Louis. 
 
 ' I didn't forget ! ' said Tom. * I meant to have told you 
 whenever you came to see me, but' — his eyes filled and his 
 voice began to alter — ' you never came ; and she at the Terrace 
 wouldn't look at me ! And Bill and the rest of them was always 
 at me, asking when I expected my aristocrat, and jeering me 
 'cause I'd said you wasn't like the rest of 'em. So then I tJiought 
 I'd have my liberty too, and show I didn't care no more than 
 they, and spite you all.' 
 
 ' How little one thinks of the grievous harm a little selfish 
 heedlessness may do ! ' sighed Louis, half aloud. ' If vou had 
 only looked to something better than me, Tom ! And so you 
 ran into mischief ? ' 
 
 Half confession, half vindication ensued, and the poor fellow's 
 story was manifest enough. His faults had been unsteadiness 
 and misplaced independence rather than any of the more 
 degrading stamp of evils. The public-house had not been 
 souglit for liquor's sake, but for that of tlie orator who inflamed 
 the crude imaginations and aspirations that effervesced in the 
 youth's mind ; and the rudely-exercised authority of master and 
 foreman had only driven his fierce temper further astray. 
 With sense of right sufiicient to be dissatisfied with himself, 
 and taste and principle just enough developed to loathe the 
 evils round him, hardened and soured by Louis's neglect, and 
 rendered discontented by Chartist preachers, he had come to 
 long for any sort of change or break ; and the tidings of the 
 accident, coupled with the hard words which he knew himself 
 to deserve but too well, had put the finishing stroke. 
 
 Hearing that the police were in pursuit of him, he had 
 
A TRUANT 'DISPOSITION 77 
 
 fancied it was on account of the harm done by his negligence. 
 ' I hid ^bout for a day,' he said : ' somehow I felt as if I could 
 not go far off, till I heard how you were, my lord ; and I'd 
 made up my mind that as soon as ever I heard the first stroke 
 of the bell, I'd go and find the police, and his lordship might 
 hang me, and glad ! ' 
 
 Louis was nearer a tear than a smile. 
 
 ^ Then, Mr. Frost finds me, and was mad at me. Nothing 
 wasn't bad enough for me ; and he sets Mr. Warren to see me 
 off, so I had nothing for it but to cut.' 
 
 ' What did you think of doing ? ' sighed Louis. 
 
 * I made for the sea. If I could have got to them places in 
 the Indies, such as that Philip went to, as you reads about in 
 the verse-book — he as killed his wife and lost his son, and made 
 friends with that there big rascal, and had tlie chest of gold — ' 
 
 * Philip Mortham ! Were you going in search of buccaneers ? ' 
 
 * I don't know, my lord. Once you told me of some English 
 sir, as kills the pirates, and is some sort of a king. I thought, 
 maybe, now you'd tell me where they goes to dig for gold.' 
 
 ' Oh, Tom, Tom, what a mess I have made of your notions ! ' 
 
 ' Isn't there no such place ? ' 
 
 ' It's a bad business, and what can you want of it ? ' 
 
 *I want to get shut of them as orders one about here and 
 there, with never a civil word. Besides,' looking down, ' there's 
 one I'd like to see live like a lady.' 
 
 ' Would that make her happier ? ' 
 
 * I'll never see her put about, and slave and drudge, as poor 
 mother did ! ' exclaimed Tom. 
 
 ' That's a better spirit than the mere dislike to a master,' said 
 Louis. * What is life but obedience ? ' 
 
 ' I'd obey fast enough, if folk would only speak like you do 
 — not drive one about like a dog, when one knows one is every 
 bit as good as they.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I never knew that ! ' 
 
 Tom stared broadly. 
 
 * I never saw the person who was not my superior,' repeated 
 Louis, quietly, and in full earnest. ' Not that this would make 
 rough words pleasanter, I suppose. The only cure I could ever 
 see for the ills of the world is, that each should heartily respect 
 his neighbour.' 
 
 Paradoxes musingly uttered, and flying over his head, were to 
 Tom a natural and comfortable atmosphere ; and the convers- 
 ation proceeded. Louis found that geography had been as 
 much at fault as chronology, and that the runaway had found 
 himself not at the sea, but at Illershall, where lie had applied 
 for work, and had taken a great fancy to Mr. Dobbs, but had 
 been rejected for want of a character, since the good superin- 
 tendent made it his rule to keep up a high standard among his 
 men. Wandering had succeeded, in which, moneyless, forlorn, 
 and unable to find employment, he had been.obligedjo part 
 
■78 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 with portions of his clothing to procure food ; liis strength 
 began to give way, and he had been found by the police sleeping 
 under a hedge ; he was questioned, and sent home, crestfallen, 
 sullen, and miserable, unwilling to stay at Marksedge, yet not 
 knowing where to go. 
 
 His hankering was for Illershall ; and Louis, thinking of the 
 judicious care, the evening school, and the openings for promo- 
 tion decided at once that the experiment should be tried with- 
 out loss of time. He desired Tom to bring him ink and paper, 
 and hastily wrote :— 
 
 'Dear Me. Dobbs, — You would do me a great kindness by 
 employing this poor fellow, and bearing with liim. I have 
 managed him very ill, but he would reward any care. Have an 
 eye to him, and put him in communication with the chaplain. 
 If you can take him, I will write more at length. If you have 
 heard of my accident, you will excuse more at present. 
 
 ' Yours very truly, 
 
 * Fitzjocelyn/ 
 
 Then arose the question, how Tom was to get to Illershall. 
 He did not know ; and Louis directed his search into the places 
 where the loose money in his pocket might have been put. 
 When it was found, Tom scrupled at the proposed half-sovereign. 
 Three-and-fourpence would pay for his ticket. ' You will want 
 a supper and a bed. Go respectably, Tom, and keep so. It will 
 be some consolation for the mischief I have done you ! ' 
 
 ' You done me harm ! ' cried Tom. 'Why, 'tis all along of you 
 that I ain't a regularly-built scamp ! ' 
 
 ' Very irregularly built, whatever you are ! ' said Louis. 
 ' But I'll tell you what you shall do for me,' continued he, with 
 anxious earnestness. ' Do you know the hollow ash-tree that 
 shades over Inglewood stile ? It has a stout sucker, with a 
 honeysuckle grown into it — coming up among the moss, where 
 the great white vase-shaped funguses grew up in the autumn.' 
 
 ' I know him, my lord,' said Tom, brightening at the detail, 
 given with all a sick man's vivid remembrance of the out-of- 
 doors world. 
 
 ' I have fixed my mind on that stick ! I think it has a bend 
 at the root. Will you cut it for me, and trim it up for a walk- 
 ing-stick ? ' 
 
 ' That I will, my lord ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you. Bring it up to me between seven and eight in 
 the morning, if you please ; and so I shall see you again — ' 
 
 Mr. Holdsworth was entering to close the conversation, whicli 
 had been already over-long and exciting ; for Louis, sinking 
 back, mournfully exclaimed, ' The medley of that poor boy's 
 mind is the worst of my pieces of work. I have made him too 
 refined for one class, and left him too rough for another — 
 discontented with his station, and too desultory and insub- 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION 79 
 
 ordinate to rise ; nobleness of nature turning to arrogance, fact 
 and fiction all mixed up together. It would be a study, if one 
 was not so sorry ! ' 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Holdsworth could not understand how 
 even Fitzjocelyn could have given the lad a recommendation, 
 and he would have remonstrated, but that the long interview 
 had already been sufficiently trying ; so he did his best to have 
 faith in his eccentric friend's good intentions. 
 
 In the early morning, Tom Madison made his appearance, in 
 liis best clothes, erect and open-faced, a strong contrast to the 
 jaded, downcast being who had yesterday presented himself. 
 The stick was prepared to perfection, and Louis acknowledged 
 it with gratitude proportioned to the fancies that he had spent 
 on it, poising it, feeling the cool gray bark, and raising himself in 
 bed to try how he should lean on it. ' Hang it up there, Tom, 
 within my reach. It seems like a beginning of independence.' 
 
 ' I wish, my lord,' blurted out Tom, in agitation, ' you'd tell 
 me if you're to go lame for life, and then I should know the 
 worst of it.' 
 
 'I suspect no one knows either the worst or the best,' said 
 Louis, kindly. ' Since the pain has gone off, I have been con- 
 tent, and asked no questions. Mr. Walby says my ankle is 
 going on so well, that it is a real picture, and a pleasure to touch 
 it ; and though I can't say the pleasure is mutual, I ought to be 
 satisfied.' 
 
 ' You'll only laugh at me ! ' half sobbed Tom ; ' and if there 
 was but anything I could do ! I've wished my own legs was cut 
 off — and serve me right — ever since I seen you lying there.' 
 
 * Thank you ; I'm afraid they would have been no use to me ! 
 But, seriously, if I had been moderately prudent, it would not 
 have happened. And as it is, I hopo I shall be glad of that 
 roll in Ferny dell to the end of my life.' 
 
 ' I did go to see after mending them stones ! ' cried Tom, as 
 if injured by losing this one compensation ; ' but they are all 
 done up, and there ain't nothing to do to them.' 
 
 * Look here, Tom : if you want to do anything for me, it is 
 easily told what would be the greatest boon to me. They tell 
 me I've spoilt you, and I partly believe it ; for I put more of 
 my own fancies into you than of real good, and the way I treated 
 you made you impatient of control : and then, because I could 
 not keep you on as I should have wished, — as, unluckily, you 
 and I were not made to live together on a desert island, — I left 
 you without the little help I might have given. Now, Tom, if 
 you go to the bad, I shall know it is all my fault — ' 
 
 ' That it ain't,' the boy tried to say, eagerly ; but Louis went on. 
 
 ' Don't let my bad management be the ruin of you. Take a 
 turn from this moment. You know Who can help you, and Who, 
 if you had thought of Him, would have kept you straight when 
 I forgot you. Put all the stuff out of your head about one man 
 being equal to another. ^ Equal they are ; but some have the 
 
80 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 trial of ruling, others of obeying, and the last are the lucky- 
 ones. If we could only see their souls, we should know it. 
 You'll find evening schools and lectures at Illershall ; you'd 
 better take to them, for you've more real liking for that sort of 
 thing than for mischief ; and if you finished up your education, 
 you'd get into a line that would make you happier, and where 
 you might do much good. There — promise me that you'll think 
 of these things, and take heed to your Sundays/ 
 
 'I promise,' said Tom. 
 
 'And mind you write to me, Tom, and tell how you get on. 
 I'll write, and let you know about your grandfather, and Marks- 
 edge news and all — ' 
 
 The ' Thank you, my lord,' came with great pleasure and 
 alacrity. 
 
 'Some day, when you are a foreman, perhaps I may bring 
 Miss Clara to see copper-smelting. Only mind, that you'll never 
 go on soundly, nor even be fit to make your pretty tidy nest for 
 any gentle bird, unless you mind one thing most of all ; and 
 that is, that we have had a new Life given us, and we have to 
 begin now, and live it for ever and ever.' 
 
 As he raised himself, holding out his pale, slender hand from 
 his white sleeve, his clear blue eyes earnestly fixed on the sky, 
 his face all one onward look, something of that sense of the un- 
 seen passed into the confused, turbulent spirit of the boy, very 
 susceptible of poetical impressions, and his young lord's counte- 
 nance connected itself with all the floating notions left in his 
 mind by parable or allegory. He did not speak as Louis heartily 
 shook his hardy red hand, and bade him good speed ; but his 
 bow and pulled forelock at the door had in them more of real 
 reverence than of conventional courtesy. 
 
 Of tastes and perceptions above his breeding, the very sense 
 of his own deficiencies had made him still more rugged and 
 clownish, and removed him from the sympathies of his own 
 class ; while he almost idolized the two most refined beings 
 whom he knew, Lord Fitzjocelyn and Charlotte Arnold. On 
 an interview with her, his heart was set. He had taken leave of 
 his half -childish grandfather, made up his bundle, and marched 
 into Northwold, with three hours still to spare ere tlie starting 
 of the parliamentary train. Sympathy, hope, resolution, and 
 the sense of respectability, had made another man of him ; and, 
 above all, he dwelt on the prospect held out of repairing the 
 deficiencies of his learning. The consciousness of ignorance and 
 awkwardness was very painful, and he longed to rub it ofi*, and 
 take the place for which he felt his powers. ' I will work ! ' 
 thought he ; ' I have a will to it, and, please God, when I come . 
 back next, it won't be as a rough, ignorant lout that I'll stand 
 before Charlotte ! ' 
 
 'Louis,^ said Mary Ponsonby, as she sat at work beside him 
 that afternoon, after an expedition to the new house at Dynevor 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION gl 
 
 Terrace, ' I want to know, if you please, how you have been 
 
 acting like a gentleman/ 
 
 ' I did not know that I had been acting at all of late.' 
 
 'I could not help hearing something in Aunt Catharine's 
 
 garden that has made me very curious.' 
 
 * Ha ! ' cried Louis, eagerly. 
 
 * I was sowing some annuals in our back garden, and heard 
 voices through the trellis. Presently I heard quite loud, " My 
 young lord has behaved like a real gentleman, as he is, and no 
 mistake, or I'd never have been here now." And presently, 
 " I've promised him, and I promise you, Charlotte, to keep my 
 Church, and have no more to do with them things. I'll keep 
 it as sacred as they keeps the Temperance pledge ; for sure I'm 
 bound to him, as he forgave me, and kept my secret as if I'd 
 been his own brother : and when I've proved it, won't that 
 satisfy you, Charlotte ? " ' 
 
 * And what did Charlotte say ? ' 
 
 ' I think she was crying ; but I thought listening any more 
 would be unfair, so I ran up-stairs and threw up the drawing- 
 room window to warn them.' 
 
 * Oil, Mary, how unfeeling ? ' 
 
 ' I thought it could be doing no good ! ' 
 
 * That is so like prudent people, who can allow no true love 
 under five hundred pounds a year ! Did you see them ? How 
 did they look r 
 
 'Charlotte was standing in an attitude, her hands clasped 
 over her broom. The gentleman was a country-looking boy — ' 
 
 * Bearing himself like a sensible, pugnacious cock-robin ? Poor 
 fellow, so you marred their parting.' 
 
 ' Charlotte flew into the house, and the boy walked off up the 
 garden. Was he your Madison, Louis ? for I thought my aunt 
 did not think it right to encourage him about her house.' 
 
 * And so he is to be thwarted in what would best raise and 
 refine him. That great, bright leading star of a well-placed 
 afiection is not to be allowed to help him through all the storms 
 and quicksands in his way.' 
 
 Good Mary might well open her eyes ; but, pondering a 
 little, she said, ' He need not leave off liking Charlotte, if that 
 is to do hinvgood ; but I suppose the question is, what is safest 
 for her?' 
 
 ' Well, he is safe enough. He is gone to Illershall to earn her.' 
 
 * Oh ! then I don't care ! But you have not answered me, 
 and I think I can guess the boy's secret that you have been 
 keeping. Did you not once tell me that you trusted those 
 stones in Ferny dell to him ? ' 
 
 * Now, Mary, you must keep his secret ! ' ^ 
 
 * But why was it made one ? Did you think it unkind to say 
 that it was- his fault ? ' 
 
 * Of course I did. When I thought it was ull over with me, 
 I could not go and charge the poor fellow with it, so as to make 
 
 G 
 
g2 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 him a marked man. I was only afraid that thinking so often of 
 stopping myself, I should bring it out by mistake.' 
 
 Mary looked down, and tliouglit ; tlien raised her eyes sud- 
 denly, and said, as if surprised, ' That was really very noble in 
 you, Louis ! ' Then, thinking on, she said, ' But how few people 
 Avould think it wortli while ! ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis ; ' but I liad a real I'egard for this poor 
 fellow, and an instinct, perhaps perverse, of shielding liim ; so I 
 could not accuse him on my own account. Besides, I believe I 
 am far more guilty towards liim. His neglect only hurt my 
 ankle — my neglect left him to fall into temptation.' 
 
 ^ Yet, by the Avay he talks of you — ' 
 
 ' Yes, he has the sort of generous disposition on wliich a little 
 delicacy makes a thousand times more impression than a whole 
 pile of benefits. I hope and trust that lie is going to repair all 
 that is past. I wish I could make out whether good intentions 
 overrule errors in detail, or only make them more fatal.' 
 
 Mary was glad to reason out the question. Abstract prac- 
 tical views interested her, and she had much depth and observ- 
 ation, more original than if she had read more and tliought 
 less. Of course, no conclusion was arrived at ; but the two 
 cousins had an argument of much enjoyment and some advan- 
 tage to both. 
 
 Affairs glided on quietly till the Saturday, when Lord Ormers- 
 field returned.. Never had lie so truly known what it was to 
 come home as when he mounted tlie stairs, Avith steps unlike liis 
 usual measured tread, and beheld his son's look of animated 
 welcome, and eager outstretched hands. 
 
 * I was afraid,' said the Earl, presently, ' that you had not 
 felt so well ; ' and he touched his own upper lip to indicate that 
 the same feature in his son was covered with dow^n like a 
 young bird. 
 
 Louis blushed a little, but spoke indifferently. ' I thought it 
 a pity not to leave it for the regulation moustache for the 
 Yeomanry.' 
 
 ' I wish I could think you likely to be fit to go out with the 
 Yeomanry.' 
 
 ' Every effort must be made,' cried Louis. * What do they say 
 in London about the invasion ? ' 
 
 It was the year 1847, when a French invasion was in every 
 one's mouth, and Sydney Calcott had been retailing all sorts of 
 facts about war-steamers and artillery, in a \dsit to Fitzjocelyn, 
 whose patriotism had forthwith run mad, so that he looked 
 quite baffled when his father coolly set the whole down as ' the 
 regular ten years' panic' There was a fervid glow within him 
 of awe, courage, and enterprise, the i outward symbol of which 
 was that infant yellow moustache. He was obliged, however, 
 to allow the subject to be dismissed, while his father told him 
 of Sir Miles Oak stead's kind inquiries, and gave a message of 
 greeting from his aunt, Lady Conway, delivering himself of it 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION 8^ 
 
 Sis an unpleasant duty, and adding, as he turned to Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby, ' She desired to be remembered to you, Mary.' 
 
 ' I have not seen lier for many years. Is Sir Walter alive 1 ' 
 
 *No ; he died about three years ago.' 
 
 ' I suppose her daughters are not come out yet ? ' 
 
 * Her own are in the schoolroom ; but there is a step-daughter 
 who is much admired.' 
 
 ' Those cousins of mine,' exclaimed Louis ; 4t is strange that I 
 have never seen them. I think I had better employ some of 
 my spare time this summer in making their acquaintance.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby perceived that the Earl had become inspired 
 with a deadly terror of the handsome step-daughter ; for he 
 turned aside and began to unpack a parcel. It was M'Culloch's 
 Natural Theology^ into w^hich Louis had once dipped at Mr. 
 Calcott's, and had expressed a wish to read it. His father had 
 taken some pains to procure this too-scarce book for him, and 
 he seized on it with delighted and surprised gratitude, plunging 
 at once into the middle, and reading aloud a most eloquent 
 passage upon electricity. No beauty, however, could atone to 
 Lord Ormersfield for the outrage upon method. ' If you would 
 oblige me, Louis,' he said, ' you would read that book consecu- 
 tively.' 
 
 ' To oblige you, certainly,' said Louis, smiling, and turning to 
 the hrst page ; but his vivacious eagerness was extinguished. 
 
 M'Culloch is not an author to be thoroughly read without a 
 strong effort. His gems are of the purest ray, but they lie em- 
 bedded in a hard crust of reasoning and disquisition ; and on 
 the first morning, Louis, barely strong enough yet for a battle 
 with his own volatility, looked, and owned himself, dead beat 
 by the first chapter. 
 
 Mary took pitv on him. She had been much interested by 
 his account or the work, and would be delighted if he would 
 read it with her. He brightened at once, and the regular habit 
 began, greatly to their mutual enjoyment. Mary liked the 
 argument, Louis liked exiolaining it ; and the flood of allusions 
 was delightful to both, with his richness of illustration, and 
 Mary's actual experience of ocean and mountains. She brought 
 him whatever books he wanted, and from the benevolent view 
 of entertaining him while a prisoner, came to be more interested 
 than her mother had ever expected to see her in anything literary. 
 It was amusing to see the two cousins unconsciously educating 
 each other — the one learning expansion, the other concentration, 
 of mind. Mary could now thoroughly trust Louis's goodness, 
 and therefore began by bearing with his vagaries, and gradually 
 tracing the grain of wisdom that was usually at their root ; and 
 her eyes were open to new worlds, where all was not evil or 
 uninteresting that Aunt Melicent distrusted. Louis made her 
 teach him Spanish ; and his insight into grammar and keen 
 delight in the majestic language and rich literature infected 
 her, while he was amused by her positive distaste to anything 
 
 G 2 
 
84 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 incomplete, and playfully, though half-murmuringly, submitted 
 to his ' good governess,' and let her keep him in excellent order. 
 She knew where all his property was, and, in her quaint, straiglit- 
 forward way, would refuse to give him whatever Svas not good 
 for him.' 
 
 It was all to oblige Mary that, when he could sit up and use 
 pen and pencil, he set to work to finish his cottage plans, and 
 soon drew and talked himself into a vehement condition about 
 Marksedge. Mary's patronage drew on the work, e\^en to liasty 
 learning of perspective enough for a pretty elevation intelligible 
 to the unlearned, and a hopeless calculation of the expense. 
 
 The plans lay on the table when next his father came home, 
 and their interest was explained. 
 
 ' Did you draw all these yourself 1 ' exclaimed the Earl. * Where 
 did you learn architectural drawing? I should have thought 
 them done by a professional hand.' 
 
 ' It is easy enough to get it up from books,' said Louis ; ' and 
 Mary kept me to the point, in case you should be willing to 
 consider the matter. I would have written out tlie estimate ; 
 but this book allows for bricks, and we could use the stone at 
 Ingle wood more cheaply, to say nothiaig of beauty.' 
 
 'Well,' said Lord Ormersfield, considering, 'you have every 
 right to have a voice in the management of the property. I 
 should like to hear your views with regard to these cottages.' 
 
 Colouring deeply, and with earnest thanks, Fitzjocelyn stated 
 the injury both to labourers and employers, caused by their 
 distance from their work ; he explained where he thouglit the 
 buildings ought to stand, and was even guarded enough to show 
 that the rents would justify the outlay. He had considered the 
 matter so much, that he could even have encountered Richard- 
 son ; and his father was only afraid that what was so plausible 
 must be insecure. Caution contended with a real desire to gratify 
 his son, and to find him in the right. He must know the wishes 
 of tlie farmer, be sure of the cost, and be certain of the spot 
 intended. His crippled means had estranged him from duties 
 that he could not fulfil according to his wishes ; and, though 
 not a hard landlord, he had no intercourse with his tenants, 
 took little interest in his estate, and was such a stranger to tlie 
 localities, that Louis could not make him understand the nook 
 selected for the buildings. He had seen the arable field called 
 'Great Courtiers,' and the farm called 'Small Profits,' on the 
 map, but did not know their ups and downs much better than 
 the coast of China. 
 
 ' Mary knows them ! ' said Louis. ' She made all my measure- 
 ments there, before I planned the gardens.' 
 
 ' Mary seems to be a good friend to your designs,' said the 
 Earl, looking kindly at her. 
 
 'The best ! ' said Louis. ' I begin to have some hope of my 
 doings when I see her take them in hand.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield thanked Mary, and asked whether it would 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION 85 
 
 be trespassing too much on her kindness to ask her to show hini 
 the place in question. She was delighted, and they set out at 
 once, the Earl almost overpowering her by his exceeding gracious- 
 ness, so that she was nearly ready to laugh when he compli- 
 mented her on knowing her way through the by-paths of his 
 own park so much better than he did. 'It is a great pleasure 
 to me that you can feel it something like home,' he said. 
 
 ' I was so happy here as a child,' said Mary, heartily, ' that it 
 must seem to me more of a home than any other place.' 
 
 * I hope it may always be so, my dear.' 
 
 He checked himself, as if he had been about to speak even 
 more warmly ; and Mary did the honours of the proposed site 
 for the cottages, a waste strip fronting a parish lane, open to 
 the south, and looking full of capabilities, all of which she 
 pointed out after Louis's well-learned lesson, as eagerly as if it 
 had been her own affair. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield gave due force to all, but still was prudent. 
 * I must find out,' he said, ' whether this place be in my hands, 
 or included in Norris's lease. You see, Mary, this is an encum- 
 bered property, with every disadvantage, so that I cannot always 
 act as you and Louis would wish ; but we so far see our way 
 out of our difficulties, that, if guided by good sense, he will be 
 able to effect far more than I have ever done.' 
 
 ' I believe,' was Mary's answer, ' this green is in the farmer's 
 hands, but that he has no use for it.' 
 
 *I should like to be certain of his wishes. Farmers are so 
 unwilling to increase the rates, tliat I should not like to consent 
 till I know that it would be really a convenience to him.' 
 
 Mary suggested that there stood the farmhouse ; and the Earl 
 apologetically asked if she would dislike their proceeding thither, 
 as he would not detain her long. She eagerly declared that 
 Louis would be ' so glad,' and Lord Ormersfield turned his steps 
 to the door, where he had only been once in his life, when he 
 was a very young man, trying to like shooting. 
 
 The round-eyed little maid would say nothing but ' Walk in, 
 sir,' in answer to inquiries if Mr. Norris were at home ; and 
 they walked into a parlour, chill with closed windows, and as 
 stiff and fine as the lilac streamers of the cap that Mrs. Norris 
 had just put on for their reception. Nevertheless, she was a 
 sensible, well-mannered woman, and after explaining that her 
 husband was close at hand, showed genuine warmth and interest 
 in inquiring for Lord Fitzjocelyn. As the conversation began 
 to flag, Mary had recourse to admiring a handsome silver tankard 
 on a side table. It was the prize of a ploughing-match eight 
 years ago, and brought out a story that evidently always went 
 with it, how Mrs. Norris had been unwell and stayed at home, 
 and had first heard of her husband's triumph by seeing the 
 young lord galloping headlong up the home field, hurraing, and 
 waving his cap. He had taken his pony the instant he heard 
 the decision, and rushed off to be the first to bring the news to 
 
86 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Mrs. Norris, wild with the honour of Small Profits. * And/ said 
 the farmer's wife, 'I always say Norris was as pleased with 
 what I told him, as I was with the tankard ! ' 
 
 Norris here came in, an unpretending, quiet man, of the 
 modern, intelligent race of farmers. There was anxiety at first 
 in his eye, but it cleared off as he heard tlie cause of his landlord's 
 visit, and he was as propitious as any cautious farmer could be. 
 He was strong on the present inconveniences, and agreed that 
 it would be a great boon to have a few families brought back, 
 such as were steady, and would not burden tlie rates ; but the 
 feiv recurred so often as to show that he was afraid of a general 
 migration of Marksedge. Lord Ormerslield thereupon promised 
 that he should be consulted as to the individuals. 
 
 ' Thank you, my lord. There are some families at Marksedge 
 that one would not wish to see nearer here ; and I'll not say but 
 I should like to have a voice in the matter, for they are apt to 
 take advantage of Lord Fitzjocelyn's kindness.' 
 
 ' I quite understand you. Nothing can be more reasonable, 
 I only acted because my son was persuaded it was your wish.' 
 
 ^It is so, my lord. I am greatly obliged. He has often 
 talked of it with me, and I had mentioned the matter to Mr. 
 Richardson, but he thought your lordship would be averse to 
 doing anything.' 
 
 ' I have not been able to do all I could have wished,' said the 
 Earl. ' My son will have it in his power to turn more attention 
 to the property.' 
 
 'And he is a thorough farmer's friend, as they all say/ 
 earnestly exclaimed Norris, with warmth breaking through the 
 civil formal manner. 
 
 ' True,' said Lord Ormerslield, gratified ; ' he is very much 
 attached to the place, and all connected with it.' 
 
 ' I'm sure they're the same to him,' replied the farmer. ' As 
 an instance, my lord, you'll excuse it — do you see that boy 
 driving in the cows ? You would not look for much from him. 
 Well, the morning the doctor from London came down, that boy 
 came to his work, crying so that I thought he was ilL " No, 
 master," said he, ''but what'll ever become of us when we've lost 
 my young lord ? " And he burst out again, fit to break his heart. 
 I told him I was sorry enough myself, but to go to his work, for 
 crying would do no good. " I can't help it, master," says he, 
 " when I looks at the pigs. Didn't he find 'em all in the park, 
 and me nutting — and helped me his own self to drive 'em out 
 before Mr. Warren see 'em, and lifted the little pigs over the 
 gap as tender as if they were Christians ? " ' 
 
 ' Yes, that's the way with them all,' interposed Mrs. Norris : 
 ' he has the good word of high and low ! ' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield smiled — he smiled better than he used to 
 do — and took leave. 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn will be a popular man,' he said. 
 
 Mary could not help being diverted at this moral deduced 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 87 
 
 from the pig-story. ' Every one is fond of him/ was all 
 she said. 
 
 'Talent and popularity/ continued the Earl. 'He will have 
 great influence. The free, prepossessing manner is a great 
 advantage, where it is so natural and devoid of effort.' 
 
 'It comes of his loving every one,' said' Mary, almost in- 
 dignantly. 
 
 ' It is a decided advantage,' continued the Earl, complacently. 
 ' I liave no doubt but that he has every endowment requisite 
 for success. You and your mother have done much in develop- 
 ing his character, my dear ; and I see every reason to hope that 
 the same influence continued will produce the most beneficial 
 results.' 
 
 Mary thought this a magnificent compliment, even considering 
 that no one but her mamma had succeeded in teaching Louis to 
 read when a little boy, or in making him persevere in anything 
 now : but then, when Lord Ormersfield did pay a compliment, 
 it was always in the style of Louis XIY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT 
 
 Who, nurst with tender care, 
 And to domestic bounds confined, 
 Was still a wild Jack-hare.— Cowper 
 
 ' Mary,' said Mrs. Frost. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby was sitting by the open window of the library, 
 inhaling the pleasant scents of July. Raising her eyes, she saw 
 her aunt gazing at her with a look somewhat perplexed, but 
 brimful of mischievous frolic. However, the question was only, 
 ' Where is that boy ? ' 
 
 ' He is gone down with Mary to his cottage-building.' 
 
 ' Oh ! if Mary is with him, I don't care,' said Aunt Catharine, 
 sitting down to her knitting ; but her ball seemed restless, and 
 while she pursued it, she broke out into a little laugh, and ex- 
 claimed, 'I beg your pardon, my dear, but I cannot help it. I 
 never heard anything so funny ! ' 
 
 ' As this scheme,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, with a little hesitation. 
 
 ' Then you have the other side of it in your letter,' cried Mrs. 
 Frost, giving way to her merriment. 'The Arabian Nights 
 themselves ; the two viziers laying their heads together, and 
 sending home orders to us to make up the match ! ' 
 
 ' My letter does not go so far,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, amused, 
 but anxious. 
 
 ' Yours is the lady's side. My orders are precise. Oliver has 
 talked it over with Mr. Ponsonby, and finds the connection 
 would be agreeable ; so he issues a decree that his nephew, 
 Roland Dynevor — (poor Jem — he would not know himself !) — 
 
88 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 should enter on no profession, but forthwith pay his addresses 
 to Miss Ponsonby, since he will shortly be in a position befitting 
 the heir of our family ! ' 
 
 'You leave Prince Roland in happy ignorance,' said Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, blushing a little. 
 
 ' Certainly — or he would fly ofi' like a sky-rocket at the first 
 symptom of the princess.' 
 
 ' Then I think we need not alter our plans. All that Mary's 
 father tells me is, that he does not intend to return home as 
 yet, though his successor is appointed, since lie is much occupied 
 by this new partnersliip with Oliver, and expects that the 
 investment will be successful. He quite approves of our living 
 at the Terrace, especially as he thinks I ought to be informed 
 that Oliver has declared his intentions with regard to his 
 nephew ; and so if anything should arise between the young 
 people, I am not to discourage it.' 
 
 'Mary is in request,' said Mrs. Frost, slyly ; and as she met 
 Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes full of uneasy inquiry, ' You don't mean 
 that you have not observed at least his elder lordship's most 
 decided courtship ? Don't be too innocent, my dear.' 
 
 ' Pray don't say so, Aunt Kitty, or you will make me uncom- 
 fortable in staying here. If the like ever crossed liis mind, he 
 must perceive that the two are just what we were together 
 ourselves.' 
 
 ' That might make him wish it the more,' Aunt Catharine liad 
 almost said ; but she restrained it half-way, and said, ' Louis is 
 hardly come to the time of life for a grande passionJ 
 
 ' True. He is wonderfully young ; and Mary not only seems 
 much older, but is by no means the girl to attract a mere youth. 
 I rather suspect she will have no courtship but from the 
 elders.' 
 
 ' In spite of her opportunities. What would some mammas 
 — Lord Ormersfield's bugbear, for instance. Lady Conway — give 
 for such a chance ! Three months of a lame young lord, and 
 such a lame young lord as my Louis ! ' 
 
 ' I might have feared,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, ' if Mary were not 
 so perfectly simple. Aunt Melicent managed to abstract all 
 romance, and I never regretted it so little. She lias looked 
 after him merely because it came in her way as a form of 
 kindness, and is too much his governess for anything of the 
 other sort.' 
 
 ' So you really do not wish for the other sort 1 ' said Mrs. 
 Frost, half mortified, as if it Avere a slight to her boy. 
 
 'I don't know how her father might take it,' said Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, eager to disarm her. ' With his grand expectations, 
 and his view of the state of this property, he might make diffi- 
 culties. He is fond of expressing his contempt for needy 
 nobility ; and I am afraid, after all that has passed, that this 
 would be the last case in which he would make an exception.' 
 
 ' Yet you say he is fond of Mary.' 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 89 
 
 ' Very fond. If anything would triumph over his dislike, it 
 would be his affection for her ; but I had rather my poor Mary 
 had not to put it to the proof. And, after all, I don't think it 
 the safest way for a marriage, that the man should be the most 
 attractive, and the woman the most — ' 
 
 ' Sensible ! Say it, Mary— that is the charm in my nephew's 
 eyes.' 
 
 * Your gr^eat-nephew is the point ! No, no. Aunt Kitty ; 
 you are under a delusion. The kindness to Mary is no more 
 than"auld lang-syne," and because bethinks her too impossible. 
 He cannot afford for his son to marry anything but a grand 
 unquestionable heiress. Mary's fortune, besides, depending on 
 speculations, would be nothing to what Lady Fitzjocelyn ought 
 to have.' 
 
 ' For shame ! I think better of him. I believe he would be 
 unworldly when Louis's happiness was concerned.' 
 
 * To return to James,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly : ' I am 
 glad that his uncle should have declared his intentions.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, we are quite used to that. I am only glad 
 that Jem takes no heed. We have had enough of that !— For 
 my own part,' and the tears arose, ' I never expect that poor 
 Oliver will think he has done enough in my lifetime. These 
 things do so grow on a man ! If I had but kept him at home ! ' 
 
 ' It might have been the same.' 
 
 ' There would have been something to divide his attention. 
 His brother used to be a sort of idol ; he seemed to love him 
 the more for his quiet, easy ways, and to delight in waiting on 
 him. I do believe he delays because he cannot bear to come 
 home without Henry ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby preferred most topics to that of Mrs. Frost's 
 sons, and was relieved by the sight of the young people return- 
 ing across the lawn — Fitzjocelyn with his ash stick, but owing a 
 good deal of support to Mary's firm, Avell-knit arm. They showed 
 well together : even lameness could not disfigure the grace of 
 his leisurely movements ; and the briglit changefulness and 
 delicacy of his face contrasted well with the placid nobleness of 
 her composed expression, while her complexion was heightened 
 and her eyes lighted by exercise, so that she was almost hand- 
 some. She certainly had been looking uncommonly well lately. 
 Was this the way they were to walk together through life ? 
 
 But Mrs. Ponsonby had known little of married life save the 
 troubles, and she was doubly anxious for her daughter's sake. 
 She exceedingly feared unformed characters, and natures that 
 had no root in themselves. Mary's husband must not lean on 
 her for strength. 
 
 She was glad, as, with new meaning, she watched their pro- 
 ceedings, to see liow easily, and as a matter of course, Louis let 
 Mary bring his footstool and his slippers, fetch his books, each 
 at the proper time, read Spanish with him, and make him 
 look out the words in the dictionary when he knew theni by 
 
90 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 intuition, remind him of orders to be written for his buildings, 
 and manage him as her pupil. If she ruled, it was with per- 
 fect calmness and simplicity, and the playfulness was that of 
 brother and sister, not even with the coquettish intimacy of 
 cousinhood. 
 
 The field was decidedly open to Roland Dynevor, alias James 
 Frost. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby was loth to contemplate that contingency, 
 though, in all obedience, slie exposed her daughter to the infec- 
 tion. He was expected on that afternoon, bringing his sister 
 with him, for lie had not withstood the united voices that 
 entreated him to become Fitzjocelyn's tutor during the vacation, 
 and the whole party had promised to remain for the present as 
 guests at Ormersfield. 
 
 Louis, in high spirits, offered to drive Mrs. Ponsonby to meet 
 the travellers at the station ; and much did he inflict on her 
 poor shattered nerves by the way. He took no servant, that 
 there might be the more room, and perched aloft on the driving 
 seat, he could only use his indefatigable tongue by leaning back 
 with his head turned round to her. She kept a sharp look-out 
 ahead ; but all her warnings of coming perils only caused him 
 to give a moment's attention to the horses and the reins, before 
 he again turned backwards to resume his discourse. In the 
 town, his head was more in the right direction, for he was 
 nodding and returning greetings every moment ; he seemed to 
 liaA^e a bowing acquaintance with all the world, and when he 
 drew up at the station, reached down several times to shake 
 hands with figures whom his fatlier would barely have acknow- 
 ledged ; exchanging good-humoured inquiries or congratulations 
 with almost every third person. 
 
 Scarcely had the train dashed up before Mrs. Ponsonby was 
 startled by a shout of ' He's there himself ! Louis ! Louis ! ' and 
 felt, as well as saw, the springing ascent to the box of a tall 
 apparition, in a scanty lilac cotton dress, an outgrown black 
 mantle, and a brown straw bonnet, scarcely confining an over- 
 profusion of fair hair. Louis let go the reins to catch hold of 
 both hands, and cvty, 'Well, old Girafte ! what have you done 
 with Jem ? ' 
 
 ' Seeing to the luggage ! You won't let him turn me out ! I 
 must sit here ! ' 
 
 ' You must have manners,' said Louis ; ' look round, and speak 
 rationally to Mrs. Ponsonby.' 
 
 ' I never saw she was there ! ' and slightly colouring, the 
 * Giraffe' erected her length, turned round a small insignificant 
 face slightly freckled, with hazel eyes, as light as if they had 
 been gray, and stretched down a hand to be shaken by her new 
 i^elation ; but she was chiefly bent on retaining her elevation. 
 
 ' There, Jem ! ' she cried exultingly, as he came forth, followed 
 by the trunks and portmanteaus. 
 
 * Madcap ! ' he said ; ' but I suppose the first day of the lioli- 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 91 
 
 days must be privileged. Ha ! Fitzjocelyn, you're the right 
 man in the right place, whatever Clara is/ 
 
 So they drove off, James sitting by Mrs. Ponsonby, and 
 taking care to inform her that, in spite of her preposterous 
 height, Clara was only sixteen, he began to ask anxious ques- 
 tions as to Fitzjocelyn's recovery ; while she looked up at the 
 pair in front, and thought, from the appearance of things, that 
 even Louis's tongue was more than rivalled, for the new-comer 
 seemed to say a sentence in the time he took in saying a word. 
 Poor Mrs. Ponsonby ! she would not have been happier had 
 she known in which pair of liands the reins were ! 
 
 * And Louis ! how are you ? ' cried Clara, as soon as this point 
 had been gained ; ' are you able to walk ? ' 
 
 ' After a fashion.' 
 
 * And does your ankle hurt you ? ' 
 
 * Only if I work it too hard. One would think that loung- 
 ing had become a virtue instead of a vice, to hear the way I am 
 treated.' 
 
 ' You look — ' began Clara. * But oh, Louis ! ' cried she in a 
 sort of hesitating wonder, ' what ! a moustache ? ' 
 
 * Don't say a word : ' he lowered his voice. ' Riding is against 
 orders ; but I cannot miss the Yeomanry, under the present 
 aspect of affairs.' 
 
 ' The invasion ! A man in the train was talking of the war 
 steamers, but Jem laughed. Do you believe in it T 
 
 'It is a time when a display of loyalty and national spirit 
 may turn the scale. I am resolved to let no trifle prevent me 
 from doing my part,' he said, colouring with enthusiasm. 
 
 ' You are quite right,' cried Clara. ' You ought to take your 
 vassals, like a feudal chief ! I am sure the defence of one's 
 country ought to outweigh everything.' 
 
 'Exactly so. Our volunteer forces are our strength and 
 glory, and are a happy meeting of all classes in the common 
 cause. But say nothing, Clara, or granny will take alarm, and 
 get an edict from Walby against me.' 
 
 ' Dear granny ! But I wish we were going home to the* 
 Terrace.' 
 
 ' Thank you. How flattering ! ' 
 
 ' You would be always in and out, and it would be so much 
 more comfortable. Is Lord Ormersfield at home ? ' 
 
 ' No, he will not come till legislation can bear London no 
 longer.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' — with a sound of great relief. 
 
 ' You don't know how kind he has been,' said Louis, eagerly. 
 ' You will find it out when you are in the house with him.' 
 
 Clara laughed, but sighed. ' I think we should have had 
 more fun at home.' 
 
 ' What ! than with me for your host ? Try what I can do, 
 Besides, you overlook Mary.' 
 
 ' But she has been at school ! ' 
 
92 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'Well!' 
 
 ' I didn't bargain for school-girls at home ! ' 
 
 * I should not have classed Mary in that category/ 
 
 * Don't ask me to endure any one wljo has been at school ! 
 Oh, Louis ! if you could only guess — if you would only speak 
 to Jem not to send me back to that place — ' 
 
 ' Aunt Kitty will not consent, I am sure, if you are really 
 unhappy there, my poor Clara.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! I am ordered not to tell granny. It would only vex 
 her, and Jem says it must be. I don't want her to be vexed, 
 and if I tell you, I may be able to keep it in ! ' 
 
 Out poured the whole flood of troubles, unequal in magni- 
 tude, but most trying to the high-spirited girl. Formal walks, 
 silent meals, set manners, perpetual French, were a severe trial, 
 but far worse was the companionship. Petty A^anities, small 
 disputes, fretful jealousies, insincere tricks, and sentimental 
 secrets, seemed to Clara a great deal more contemptible tlian 
 the ignorance, indolence, abrupt manners, and boyish tastes 
 which brought her into constant disgrace — and there seemed to 
 be one iDerpetual chafing and contradiction, whicli made her 
 miserable. And a further confidence could not help following, 
 though with a warning that Jem must not liear it, for she did 
 not mind, and he spent every farthing on her that he could afford. 
 She had been teased about her dress, told that her friends were 
 mean and shabby, and rejected as a walking companion, because 
 she had no parasol, and that was vulgar. 
 
 ' I am sure I wanted to walk with none of them,' said Clara, 
 * and when our English governess advised me to get one, I told 
 her I would give in to no such nonsense, for only vulgar people 
 cared about them. Such a scrape I got into ! Well, tlien Miss 
 Salter, whose father is a kniglit, and who thinks herself the great 
 lady of the school, always bridled whenever she saw me, and, 
 at last, Lucy Raynor came whispering up, to beg that I would 
 contradict that my grandmamma kept a school, for Miss Salter 
 was so very particular.' 
 , ' I should like to have heard your contradiction.' 
 
 'I never would whisper, least of all to Lucy Raynor, so I 
 stood up in the midst, and said, as clear as I could, that my 
 grandmother had always earned an honest livelihood by teach- 
 ing little boys, and that I meant to do the same, for nothing- 
 would ever make me have anything to do with girls.' 
 
 'That spoilt it,' said Louis — 'the first half was dignified.' 
 
 ' What was the second ? ' 
 
 ' Human nature,' said Louis. 
 
 ' I see,' said Clara. ' Well, they were famously scandalized, 
 and that was all very nice, for they let me alone. But you 
 brought far worse on me, Louis.' 
 
 'I!' 
 
 ' Ay ! 'Twas my own fault, though, but I couldn't help it. 
 You must know, they all are ready to bow down to the ninety 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 93 
 
 ninth part of a lord's little finger ; and Miss Brown — that's the 
 teacher — always reads all the fashionable intelligence as if it 
 were the Arabian Nights^ and imparts little bits to Miss Salter 
 and her pets ; and so it was that I heard, whispered across the 
 table, the dreadful accident to Yiscount Fitzjocelyn ! ' 
 
 * Did nobody write to you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — I had a letter from granny, and another from Jem by 
 the next morning's post, or I don't know what I should have 
 done. Granny was too busy to write at first ; I didn't three 
 parts believe it before, but there was no keeping in at that first 
 moment/ 
 
 ' What did you do r 
 
 *I gave one great scream, and flew at the newspaper. The 
 worst was, that I had to explain, and then — oh ! it was enough 
 to make one sick. Why had I not said I was Lord Ormers- 
 field's cousin ? I turned into a fine aristocratic-looking girl on 
 the spot ! Miss Salter came and fondled, and wanted me to 
 walk with her ! ' 
 
 * Of course ; she had compassion on your distress— amiable 
 feeling ! ' 
 
 * She only v/anted to ask ridiculous questions, whether you 
 were handsome.' 
 
 'What did you reply r 
 
 * I told them not a word, except that my brother was going 
 to be your tutor. When I saw Miss Salter setting off by this 
 line, I made Jem take second-class tickets, that she might be 
 ashamed of me.* 
 
 * My dear Giraffe, bend down your neck, and don't take such 
 a commonplace, conventional view of your schoolfellows.' 
 
 * Conventional ! ay, all agree because they know it by experi- 
 ence,' said Clara — ' I'm sure I do ! ' 
 
 * Then take the other side—see the best.' 
 
 * Jem says you go too far, and are unreasonable with your 
 theory of making the best of every one.' 
 
 * By no means. I always made the worst of Frampton, and 
 now I know what injustice I did him. I never saw greater 
 kindness and unselfishness than he has shown me.' 
 
 ^ * I should like to know what best you would make of these 
 girls ! ' 
 
 ' You have to try that ! ' 
 
 * Can I get any possible good by staying ? ' 
 'A vast deal.' 
 
 * I'm sure ^ Italian, and music, and drawing are not a good 
 compared with truth, and honour, and kindness.' 
 
 'All those things only grow by staying wherever we may 
 happen to be, unless it is by our own fault. 
 
 ' Tell me what good you mean ! ' 
 
 ' Learning not to hate, learning to mend your gloves. Don't 
 jerk the reins, Clara, or you'll get me into a scrape.' 
 
 Clara could extract no more, nor did she wish it ; for having 
 
94 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 relieved lier mind by the overflow, she only wanted to forget 
 her misfortunes. Her cousin Louis was her chief companion ; 
 they had always felt themselves on the same level of nonsense, 
 and had unreservedly shared each other's confidences and pro- 
 jects ; and ten thousand bits of intelligence were discussed with 
 mutual ardour, while Clara's ecstasy became uncontrollable as 
 she felt herself coming nearer to her grandmother. She finally 
 descended with a bound almost as distressing to her brother as 
 her ascent had been, and leapt at once to the embrace of Mrs. 
 Frost, who stood there, petting, kissing her, and playfully 
 threatening all sorts of means to stop her growth. Clara reared 
 up her giraffe figure, boasting of having overtopped all the 
 world present, except Louis ! She made but a cold, abrupt 
 response to her cousin Mary's greeting, and presently rushed 
 up-stairs in search of dear old Jane, with an impetus that made 
 Mrs. Frost sigh, and say, ' Poor child ! how happy she is ; ' and 
 follow her, smiling, while James looked annoyed. 
 
 * Never mind, Jem,' said Louis, who had thrown himself at 
 full length on the sofa, * she deserves compensation. Let it fizz.' 
 
 ^ And undo everything ! What do you say to that, Mary ?' 
 ' Mary is to say nothing,' said Louis ; ' I mean that poor child 
 to have her swing.' 
 
 * I shall leave you and James to settle that,' said Mary, 
 quitting them. 
 
 ' I am very anxious that Clara should form a friendship with 
 Mary,' said James, gravely. 
 
 ' Friendships can't be crammed down joeople's throats,' said 
 Louis, in a weary indifferent tone. 
 
 ' You who have been three months with Mary ! ' 
 
 ' Mary and I did not meet with labels round our necks that 
 here were a pair of friends. Pray do you mean to send that 
 victim of yours back to school ? ' 
 
 ' Don't set her against it. I have been telling her of the 
 necessity all the way home.' 
 
 ' Is it not to be taken into consideration that a bad — not to 
 say a base — style of girl seems to prevail there ? ' 
 
 'L can't help it, Fitzjocelyn,' cried Jem, ruffling up his hair, 
 as he always did when vexed. ' Girls fit to be her companions 
 don't go to school — or to no school within my means. This 
 place has sound superiors, and she must be provided with a 
 marketable stock of accomplishments, so there's no choice. I 
 can trust her not to forget that she is a Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Query as to the benefit of that recollection.' 
 
 ' What do you mean 1 ' 
 
 * That I never saw evils lessened by private self-exaltation.' 
 'Very philosophical ! but as a matter of fact, what was it 
 
 but the sense of my birth that kept me out of all the mischief I 
 was exposed to at the Grammar School *? ' 
 
 * I always thought it had been something more respectable,' 
 said Louis, his voice growing more sleepy. 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 95 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Primary motives being understood, secondary 
 stand common wear the best/ 
 
 ' As long as they don't eat into the primary/ 
 
 ' The long and short of it is,' exclaimed James, impatiently, 
 ' that we must have no nonsense about Clara. It is pain enough 
 to me to inflict all this on her, but I would not do it if I 
 thought it were more than mere discomfort. Her principles 
 are fixed, she is above these trumperies. But you have the 
 sense to see that her whole welfare may depend on whether she 
 gets fitted to be a valuable accomplished governess or a mere 
 bonne, tossed about among nursery-maids. There's where 
 poverty galls ! Don't go and set my grandmother on ! If she 
 grew wretched and took Clara away, it would be mere con- 
 demning of her to rudeness and struggling ! ' 
 
 'Very well,' said Louis, as James concluded the brief sen- 
 tences, uttered in the bitterness of his heart, ' one bargain I 
 make. If I am to hold my tongue about school, I will have my 
 own way with her in the holidays.' 
 
 *I tell you, Louis, that it is time to have done with child- 
 ishness. Clara is growing up — I wonH have you encourage her 
 in all that wild flightiness — I didn't want to have had lier here 
 at all ! If she is ever to be a reasonable, conformable woman, 
 it is high time to begin. I can't have you undoing the work of 
 six months ! when Mary might make some hand of her too ' 
 
 James stopped. Louis's eyes were shut, and he appeared to 
 be completely asleep. If silence were acquiescence, it was at 
 least gained ; and so he went away, and on returning, intended 
 to impress his lessons of reserve on Clara and her grandmother, 
 but was prevented by finding Mrs. Ponsonby and her daughter 
 already in the library, consulting over some letters, while Clara 
 sat at her grandmother's knee in the full felicity of hearing all 
 the North wold news. 
 
 The tea was brought in, and there was an inquiry for Louis. 
 He came slowly forward from the sofa at the dark end of tlie 
 room, but disclaimed, of course, the accusation of fatigue. 
 
 ' A very bad sign,' said James, ' that you have been there all 
 this time without our finding it out. Decidedly, you have 
 taken me in. You don't look half as well as you promised. 
 You are not the same colour ten minutes together ; just now 
 white, and now — how you redden ! ' 
 
 * Don't, Jem ! ' cried Louis, as each observation renewed the 
 tide of burning crimson in his cheek. ' It is like whistling to 
 a turkey-cock. If I had but the blue variety, it might be more 
 comfortable, as well as more interesting.' 
 
 Clara went into a choking paroxysm of laughter, which her 
 brother tried to moderate by a look, and Louis rendered more 
 convulsive by quoting 
 
 * Marked you his cheek of heavenly blue/ 
 
 -and looked with a mischievous amusement at James's ill-sup- 
 
96 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 pressed displeasure at the merriment that knew no bounds, till 
 even Mrs. Frost, who had laughed at first as much at James's 
 distress as at Louis's travesty or Clara's fun, thought it time to 
 check it by saying, ' You are right, Jem, he is not half so 
 strong as he thinks liimself. You must keep him in good order.* 
 
 ' Take care. Aunt Kitty,' said Louis ; ' you'll make me restive. 
 A tutor and governess both ! I appeal ! Sliall we endure it, 
 Clara r 
 
 'Britons never shall be slaves ! ' was the eager response. 
 
 'Worthy of the daughter of the Pendragons,' said Louis; 
 'but it lost half its effect from being stifled witli laughing. 
 You should command yourself, Clara, when you utter a senti- 
 ment. I beg to repeat Miss Frost Dynevor's novel and striking 
 speech, and declare my adhesion, "Britons never shall be 
 slaves ! " Liberty, fraternity, and equality ! Tyrants, beware ! ' 
 
 ' You ungrateful boy ! ' said Mrs. Frost ; ' that's the way you 
 use your good governess ! ' 
 
 ' Only the way the nineteenth century treats all its good 
 governesses,' said Louis. 
 
 'When it gets past them,' said Mary, smiling. 'I hope you 
 did not think I was not ready to give you up to your tutor ? ' 
 
 Mary found the renunciation more comj^lete than perhaps she 
 had expected. The return of his cousins had made Fitzjocelyn 
 a different creature. He did indeed read with James for two 
 hours every morning, but this was his wliole concession to dis- 
 cipline ; otherwise he was more wayward and desultory than 
 ever, and seemed bent on teasing James, and amusing himself 
 by making Clara extravagantly wild and idle. Tired of his 
 long confinement, he threw off all prudence with regard to 
 health, as well as all struggle with his volatile habits ; and the 
 more he was scolded, the more he seemed to delight in making 
 meekly ridiculous answers and going his own way. Sometimes 
 he and Clara would make an appointment, at some unearthly 
 hour, to see Mrs. Norris make cheese, or to find the sun-dew 
 blossom open, or to sketch some effect of morning sun. Louis 
 would afterwards be tired and unhinged the whole day, but 
 never convinced, only capable of promoting Clara's chatter ; and 
 ready the next day to stand about with her in the sun at tlie 
 cottages, to the increase of her freckles, and the detriment of 
 his ankle. Their frolics would have been more comprehensible 
 had she been more attractive ; but her boisterous spirits were 
 not engaging to any one but Louis, who seemed to enjoy them 
 in proportion to her brother's annoyance, and to let himself 
 down into nearly equal folly. 
 
 He gave some slight explanation to Mary, one day when he 
 had been reminded of one of their former occupations — ' Ah ! 
 I have no time for that now. You see there's nobody else to 
 protect that poor Giraffe from being too rational.' 
 
 ' Is that her great danger ? ' said Mary. 
 
 'Tal^ my advice, Mary, let her alone. Follow your own 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT 97 
 
 judgment, and not poor Jem's fidgets. He wants to be "father, 
 mother both, and uncle, all in one,' and so he misses his natural 
 vocation of elder brother. He wants to make a wom.an of lier 
 before her time ; and now he has liis way with lier at school, he 
 shall let her have a little compensation at home.' 
 
 ' Is this good for her ? Is it the only way slie can be happy *? ' 
 
 ' It is her way, at least ; and if you knew the penance she 
 undergoes at school, you would not r^rudge it to her. She i^ 
 under his orders not to disclose tlie secrets of her prison-house, 
 lest they should disquiet Aunt Catharine ; and she will not 
 turn to you, because — I beg your pardon, Mary — she has im- 
 bibed a distrust of all school-girls ; and besides, Jem has gone 
 and insisted on your being her friend more tlian liuman nature 
 can stand.' 
 
 ^ It is a great pity,' said Mary, smiling, but grieved ; ' I 
 should not have been able to do her much good — but if I could 
 only try ! ' 
 
 ' I'll tell you,' said Louis, comiiig near, witli a look betweezi 
 confidence and embarrassment; 'is it in the power of woman 
 to make her dress look rather more like other people's without 
 inflaming tlie blood of the Dynevors — cautiously, you know ? 
 E\ en my father does not dare to give her half-a-sovereign for 
 pocket-money ; but do ask your mother if she could not be made 
 such that those girls should not make her their laughing-stock.' 
 
 ' You don't mean it 1 ' 
 
 'Aye, I do ; and she has not even told James, lest he should 
 wish to spend more upon her. Slie glories in it, but that is 
 hardly wholesome.' 
 
 ' Then she told you r 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! We always were brothers ! It is great fun to 
 have her here. I always wished it, and I'm glad it has come 
 before they have made her get out of the boy. He will be 
 father to the woman some day ; and that will be soon enough, 
 Avithout teasing her.' 
 
 Mary wished to ask whether all this were for Clara's good, but 
 she could not very well put such a question to him ; and, after 
 all, it was noticeable that, noisy and unguarded as Clara's chatter 
 was, there never was anything that in itself should not have 
 been said : though her manner with Louis was unceremonious, 
 it was never flirting ; and refinement of mind was as evident 
 in her rough-and-ready manner as in liis high-bred quietness. 
 This seemed to account for Mrs. Frost's iion-interference, which 
 at first amazed her niece ; but Aunt Catharine's element was 
 chiefly with boys, and her love for Clara, though \ ery great, 
 showed itself chiefly in still regarding her as a mere child, 
 petting her to atone for the privations of school, and while she 
 might assent to the propriety of James's restrictions, always 
 laughing or looking aside when they were eluded. 
 
 James argued and remonstrated. He said a great deal, always 
 had the advantage in vehemence, and appeared to reduce Louis 
 
 11 
 
98 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 to a condition of quaint debonnaire indifierence ; and warfare 
 seemed the normal state of the cousins, tlie one fiery and 
 sensitive, the other cool and impassive, and yet as appropriate 
 to each other as the pepper and the cucumber, to borrow a ban 
 mot from their neighbour, Sydney Calcott. 
 
 If Jem came to Mary brimful of annoyance with Louis's 
 folly, a mild word of assent was sufficient to make him turn 
 round and do battle with the imaginary enemy Avho was always 
 depreciating Fitzjocelyn. To make up for Clara's avoidance of 
 ]\rary, he rendered her his prime counsellor, and many an hour 
 was spent in pacing up and down the garden in the sunnnei' 
 twilight ; while she did her best to pacify him by suggesting 
 tliat thorougli relaxation would give spirits and patience for 
 Clara's next half-year, and that it might bv^ wiser not to over- 
 strain his own undefined authority, while the lawful power, 
 Aunt Catherine, did not interfere. Surely slie might safely be 
 trusted to watch over her own granddaughter ; and while Clara 
 was so perfectly simple, and Louis such as he was, more evil 
 than good might result from inculcating reserve. At any rate, 
 it was hard to meddle witli the poor child's few weeks of 
 liappiness, and to this James always agreed ; and then he came 
 the next day to relieve himself by lighting the battle over 
 again. So constantly did this occur, that Aunt Kitty, in her 
 love of mischief, whispered to Mrs. Ponsonby that she only 
 hoped the two viziers would not quarrel about the three thou- 
 sand sequins, three landed estates, and three slaves. 
 
 Still, Louis's desertion had left unoccupied so many of the 
 hours of Mary's time that he had previously absorbed, that her 
 mother watched anxiously to see whether bhe would feel thv^ 
 blank. But she treated it as a matter of course. She had 
 attended to her cousin when he needed her, and now that he 
 had regained his former companion, Clara, she resigned him 
 without effort or mortification, as far as could be seen. She 
 was forced to fall back on other duties, furnishing the house, 
 working for every one, and reading some books that Louis had 
 brought before her. The impulse of self-improvement had not 
 expired with his attention, and without any shadow of pique 
 she was always ready to play the friend and elder sister when- 
 ever he needed her, and to be grateful when he shared her 
 interests or pursuits. So the world went till Lord Ormersfield\s 
 return caused Clara's noise to subside so entirely, that her 
 brother was sufficiently at ease to be exceedingly vivacious and 
 entertaining, and ^L^s. Ponsonby hoped for a great improvement 
 in the state of affiiirs. 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 99 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 
 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enriched 
 
 With one ai)i)earing liair, that will not follow 
 
 These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers 'gainst France ? 
 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege. — King Henry V. 
 
 The next forenoon, Mary met James in the park, wandering 
 in search of his pupil, whom lie had not seen since they had 
 finished their morning's work in the study. Some wild freak 
 with Clara was apprehended, but while they were conferring, 
 Mary exclaimed, 'What's that?' as a clatter and clank met 
 her ear. 
 
 ' Only the men going out to join old' Brewster's ridiculous 
 yeomanry,' said Jem. 
 
 ' Oh, I should like to see them,' cried Mary, running to the 
 top of a bank, whence she could see into tlie hollow road lead- 
 ing from the stables to the lodge. Four horsemen, the sun 
 glancing on their helmets, were descending the road, and a fifth, 
 at some distance ahead, was nearly out of sight. ' Ah,' she said, 
 ' Louis must have been seeing them off. How disappointed he 
 must be not to go ! ' 
 
 ' I wish I was sure — ' said James, with a start. ' I declare his 
 folly is capable of anything ! Why did I not tliink of it sooner *? ' 
 
 Clara here rushed upon them with her camelopard gallop, 
 sending her voice before her — ' Can you see them ? ' 
 
 ' Scarcely,' said Mary, making room for her. 
 
 ' Where's Louis ? ' hastily demanded her brother. 
 
 ' Gone to the yeomanry meeting,' said Clara, looking in their 
 faces in the exultation of producing a sensation. 
 
 James w^as setting off with a run to intercept him, but it was 
 too late ; and Clara loudly laughed as she said, 'You can't catch 
 him.' 
 
 ' I've done with him ! ' cried James. ' Can madness go further ? ' 
 
 'James! I am ashamed of you,' cried the Giraffe, with great 
 stateliness. ' Here are the enemy threatening our coasts, and 
 our towns full of disaffection and sedition ; and when our 
 yeomanry are lukewarm enough to go off grouse-shooting instead 
 of attending to their duty, what is to become of the wliole 
 . country if somebody does not make an exertion 1 The tranquil- 
 lity of all England may depend on tlie face our yeomanry show.' 
 
 'On Lieutenant Fitzjocelyn's yellow moustache ! Pray how 
 long have you been in the secret of these heroic intentions ? ' 
 
 ' Ever since I came home.' 
 
 ' We all knew that he meant to go out if he could,' said Mary, 
 in a tone calculated to soothe Jem, and diminish Clara's glory 
 in being sole confidante, ' but we did not think him well enough. 
 I hope it will do him no harm.' 
 
 H 2 
 
100 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^ Exertions in a good cause can do no liarm ! ' boldly declared 
 Clara ; tlien, with sudden loss of confidence, ' do you really 
 think it will?' 
 
 'Just cripple him for life/ said James. 
 
 ' Mr. Walby wished him not to attempt riding/ said Mary. 
 'He thinks any strain on the ankle just now miglit liurt him 
 very much ; but it may be over caution/ 
 
 ' Mr. Walby is an old woman/ said Clara. ' Now, Jem, you 
 said so yourself. Besides, it is all for liis duty ! Of course, Jie 
 would risk anything for the good of his country.' 
 
 ' Don't say another word, Clara,' exclaimed James, * or you 
 w411 drive me distracted with your folly. One grain of sense, 
 and even you would have stojDped it ; but neither you nor ho 
 could miss a chance of his figuring in that masquerade dress ! 
 Look at the sun ! exactly like a red-hot oven ! We shall have 
 him come home as ill as ever ! ' 
 
 Clara had another milder and more sorrowful version of the 
 scolding from her grandmother ; but Lord Ormersfield escaped 
 the day's anxiety by being so busy with Richardson, that he 
 nev^er emerged from the study, and did not miss his son. 
 
 It was an exceedingly sultry day, and the hopeful trusted 
 that Louis would be forced to give in, before much liarm could 
 be done ; but it was not till five o'clock that the hoofs were 
 heard on the gravel ; and Jem went out to revenge himself 
 with irony for his uneasiness. 
 
 ' I hope you are satisfied,' he said ; * didce est pro patria mori.^ 
 
 Louis was slowly dismounting, and as he touched tlie ground 
 gave a slight cry of pain, and caught at the servant's arm for 
 support. 
 
 'No more than I expected,' said James, coming to help him ; and 
 at the same moment Lord Ormersfield was heard exclaiming — 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn ! what imprudence ! ' 
 
 ' Take care,' hastily interrupted James, finding Louis leaning 
 helplessly against him, unable to speak or stand, and his 
 flushed cheek rapidly changing to deadly Avhite. 
 
 They lifted him up the steps into the hall, where he signed 
 to be laid down on the seat of the cool north window ; and try- 
 ing to smile, said, ' it was only the hot sun, and his foot aching 
 rather ; it would soon go off.' And when, with much pain and 
 difficulty, Frampton had released his swollen foot from the 
 regulation boot, into which he had foolishly thrust it, he went 
 on more fluently. ' He had thought it his duty, especially when 
 ^Ir. Shaw, the captain of his troop, had chosen to go away — he 
 had believed it could do no harm — he was sure it was only a 
 little present discomfort, and in the present crisis — ' 
 
 He addressed his aunt, but his eyes were on his father ; and 
 when he heard not a single word from him, he suddenly ceased, 
 and presently, laying his head down on the window-sill, he 
 begged that no one would stand and watch him ; he should come 
 into the library in a few minutes. 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 101 
 
 Tlie few minutes lasted, however, till near dinner-time, when 
 he called to Mary, as she was coming down-stairs, and asked lier 
 to help him into the library ; he could remain no longer exposed 
 to Frampton's pity, as dinner went in. 
 
 He dragged hiniself along with more difficulty than he had 
 found for weeks, and sank down on the sofa with a sigli of ex- 
 haustion ; while Clara, who was alone in the room, reared her- 
 self up from an easy-chair, where she had been sitting in an 
 attitude that would have been despair to her mistress. 
 
 ' Ha, Clara 1 ' said Louis, presently ; ' you look as if you liad 
 been the object of in^'ective ! ' 
 
 ^I don't care,' exclaimed Clara; 'I know you were in the 
 good old cause.' 
 
 ' Conde at Jarnac, Cliarles XTL at Pultowa — which ? ' said 
 Louis. 'I thought of both myself — only, unluckily, I made such 
 frightful blunders. I Avas thankful to my men for bringing me 
 off, like other great commanders.' 
 
 ' Oh, Louis 1 but at least you were in your place — you set the 
 example.' 
 
 ' Unluckily, these things descend from the sublime to the 
 other thing, wlien one is done up, and beginning to doubt 
 whether self-will cannot sometimes wear a mask.' 
 
 ^ I'm sure they are all quite cross enougli to you already, with- 
 out your being cross to yourself.' 
 
 * An ingenious and elegant impersonal,' said Louis. 
 
 Clara rushed out into the garden to tell the stilt* old rose-trees 
 that if Lord Ormersfield were savage now, he would be more 
 horrid than ever. 
 
 Meanwhile Louis drew a long sigh, murmuring, ' Have I gone 
 and vexed him again ? Mary, have I been very silly ? ' 
 
 The half -piteous doubt and compunction had something 
 childish, which made her smile as she answered : ' You had 
 better have done as you were told.' 
 
 ' The surest road to silliness,' said Louis, whose tendency was 
 to moralize the more, the more tired he was, ' is to think one is 
 going to do something fine ! It is dismal work to come out at 
 the other end of an illusion.' 
 
 ' With a foot aching as, I am afraid, yours does.' 
 
 ' I should not mind that, but that I made such horrid mistakes ! ' 
 
 These weighed upon his mind so much, that he went on, half 
 aloud, rehearsing the manoeuvres and orders in which he had 
 failed, from the difficulty of taking the command of his troop for 
 the first time, when bewildered with pain and discomfort. The 
 others came in, and James looked rabid ; Louis stole a glance 
 now and then at his father, who preserved a grave silence ; 
 while Clara stood aloof, comparing the prostrate figure in blue 
 and silver to all the wounded knights in history or fiction. 
 
 He was past going in to dinner, and the party were ' civil and 
 melancholy,' Mrs. Frost casting beseeching looks at her grand- 
 son, who sat visibly chafing at the gloom that rested on the 
 
102 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Earl's brow, and which increased at each message of refusal of 
 everything but iced water. At last Mrs. Frost carried off some 
 grapes from the dessert to tempt him, and as slie passed tlirougli 
 the open window — her readiest way to the library — the Earl's 
 thanks concluded with a disconsolate murmur 'quite ill,' and 
 'abominable folly' ; a mere soliloquy and nearly inaudible, but 
 sufficient spark to i)roduce the explosion. 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn's motives deserve no such name as folly,' James 
 cried, with stammering eagerness. 
 
 'I know you did not encourage him,' said Lord Ormersheld. 
 
 ' I did,' said a young, clear voice, raised in alarm at her own 
 boldness ; 'Jem knew nothing of it, but I thought it right.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield made a little courteous inclination with his 
 head, which annihilated Clara upon the spot. 
 
 'I doubt whether I should have done right in striving to pre- 
 vent him,' said James. 'Who can appreciate the moral effect 
 of heroism ? ' 
 
 ' Heroism in the cause of a silver jacket ! ' 
 
 ' Now, that is the most unfair thing in the world ! ' cried 
 James, always most "Violent when he launched out with liis 
 majestic cousin. ' There is not a man living more careless of his 
 appearance. You do him justice, Mrs. Ponsonby V 
 
 'Yes, I do not believe that vanity had anything to do with 
 it. A man who would bear what he has done to-day would do 
 far more.' 
 
 'If it had been for any reasonable cause,' said the Earl. 
 
 ' You may not understand it. Lord Ormerstield,' exclaimed 
 James, 'but I do. In these times of disaffection, a sound lieart, 
 and whole spirit, in our volunteer corps may be the sa\ing of 
 the country ; and who can tell what may be the benefit of such 
 an exhibition of self-saci'ificing zeal. The time demands every 
 man's utmost, and neither risk nor suffering can make him 
 flinch from his duty.' 
 
 'My dear Jem,' said a voice behind liim at the window, *I 
 never see my follies so plainly as when you are defending them. 
 Come and help me up-stairs ; granny is ordering me up ; a 
 night's rest will set all smooth.' 
 
 It was not a night's rest, neither did it set things smooth. 
 In vain did Louis assume a sprightly countenance, and liold his 
 liead and shoulders erect and stately ; there was no concealing 
 that he was very pale, and winced at every step. His ankle had 
 been much hurt by the pressure of the stirrup, and he was not 
 strong enough to bear with impunity severe pain, exertion, and 
 fatigue on a burning summer day. It was evident that liis 
 recovery had been thrown back for weeks. 
 
 His father made no reproaches, but was grievously disap- 
 pointed. His exaggerated estimate of his son's discretion had 
 given place to a no less misplaced despondency, quite inacces- 
 sible to Mrs. Ponsonby's consolations as to the spirit that had 
 prompted the performance. He could have better understood 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 103 
 
 a youth being unable to forego the exhibition of a handsome 
 person and dress, than imagine that any one of moderate sense 
 could either expect the invasion, or use these means of averting 
 it. If imagination was to be allowed for, so much the \rorse. 
 A certain resemblance to the childish wilfulness with which 
 his wife had trifled with her health, occurred to him, increasing 
 his vexation hy gloomy shadows of tlie past. 
 
 His silent mortification and kind anxiety went to his son's 
 heart. Louis was no less disappointed in himself, in finding 
 his own judgment as untrustworthy as ever, since the exploit 
 that had been a perpetual, feast to his chivalrous fancy had 
 turned out a mere piece of self-willed imprudence, destroying 
 all the newly-bestowed and highly- valued good opinion of his 
 fatlier; and even in itself, incompetently executed. 'He had 
 made a fool of himself every way.' That had been James's flrst 
 dictum^ and he adopted it from conviction. 
 
 In the course of the day, good-natured, fat Sir Gilbert 
 Brewster, the colonel of the yeomanry, who had been seriously 
 uneasy at his looks, and had tried to send him home, rode over 
 to inquire for him, complimenting him on being 'thorough 
 game to the last.' Louis relieved his mind by apologies for his 
 blunders, whereupon he learnt tliat his good colonel liad never 
 discovered them, and now only laughed at them, and declared 
 that they were mere trifles to what the whole corps, oflicers 
 and men, committed whenever they met, and no one cared 
 except one old sergeant who had been in the Light Dragoons. 
 Louis's very repentance for them was another piece of absurdity. 
 He smiled; indeed, but seemed to give himself up as a hopeless 
 subject. His spirits flagged as they had not done throughout 
 his illness, and, unw^ell, languid, and depressed, he spent his 
 days without an attempt to rally. He was only too conscious 
 of his own inconsistency, but he had not energy enough to 
 resume any of the habits that Mary had so diligently nursed ; 
 neglected even his cottage-building, would not trouble himself 
 to consider the carpenter's questions, forgot messages, put ofl* 
 engagements, and seemed to liave only just vigour enough to 
 be desultory, tease James, and spoil Clara. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield became alarmed, and called in doctors, who 
 recommended sea air ; and James suggested a secluded village 
 on the Yorkshire coast, where some friends had been reading 
 in the last long vacation. This was to be the break-up of the 
 party ; Mrs. Frost and the two Marys would resort to Dynevor 
 Terrace, Clara would return to school, and James undertook 
 the charge of Louis, who took such exceedingly little heed to 
 the arrangements, that Jem indignantly told him that he cared 
 neither for himself nor anybody else. 
 
104 DYNEYOR TERIIACE 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 A HALTING PEOPOSAL 
 
 Shnllou'. Will you, upon good dowry, marry her? 
 Slender. I will do a greater thing t'.ian that, U])on your request. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor 
 
 The first thing that Louis did appear to care for was a letter 
 that arrived about three days previous to tlieir departure, 
 addressed to ' Lord Fitsgosling, Hawmsfield Park, Northwold.' 
 Ratlier too personal, as he observed ; he must tell his corre- 
 spondent that it hurt his feelings. The correspondent was Tom 
 ]\Iadison, whose orthography lagged beliind Lis other attain- 
 ments, if his account might be trusted of ' they lectures on 
 Kemistry.' His penmanship was much improved, and he was 
 l^rospering, with hopes of promotion and higher w^ages, when 
 lie should have learnt to keep accounts. He liked Mr. Dobbs 
 and the chaplain, and wished to know how to send a crown per 
 post to 'old granfer up at Marksedge ; because he is too igno- 
 rant to get a border sinned. Please, my lord, give my duty to 
 him and all inquiring friends, and to Schirlt, up at the Teras.' 
 
 Highly amused, Louis lay on the uppermost step from the 
 library window, in the cool summer e\'ening, laughing over the 
 letter. 'There, Aunt Kitty,' he said, 'I commit that tender 
 greeting to your charge,' and as she looked doubtful, ' Yes, do, 
 there's a good aunt and mistress.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I should not be a good mistress ; I ought not to 
 sanction it.' 
 
 ' Better sanction it above-board than let it go on by stealth,' 
 said Louis. ' You are her natural protector.' 
 
 ' So much the more reason against it ! I ought to wish her to 
 forget this poor boy of yours.' 
 
 'Ay, and light Hymen's torch with some thriving tallow- 
 chandler, who w^ould marry a domestic slave as a good specula- 
 tion, without one spark of the respectful chivalrous love that — ' 
 
 ' Hush ! you absurd boy.' 
 
 ' Well, then, if you won't, I shall go to Jane. The young ladies 
 are all too cold and too prudent, but Jane has a soft spot in her 
 heart, and will not think true love is confined within the rank 
 that keeps a gig. I did think Aunt Kitty had been above 
 vulgar prejudices.' 
 
 ' Not above being coaxed by you, you gosling, you,' said Aunt 
 Kitty ; ' only you must come out of the dew, the sun is quite gone.' 
 
 'Presently,' said Louis, as she retreated by the window. 
 
 ' I would not have been too cold or too prudent ! ' said Clara. 
 
 ' T well believe it ! ' 
 
 'You will be one if you are not the otlier,' said jVfary, gather- 
 ing her work up, with the dread of one used to tropical dews. 
 'Are not you coming in ? ' 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL 105 
 
 * AYhen I can persuade myself to write a letter of good advice, 
 a tiling I hate.' 
 
 ' Which,' asked Mary ; ' giving or receiving it ? ' 
 'Keceiving, of course.' — 'Giving, of course,' said Clara and 
 Louis at the same instant. 
 
 ' Take mine, then,' said Mary, ' and come out of the damp.' 
 
 * Mary is so tiresome about these things ! ' cried Clara, as their 
 cousin retreated. 'Such fidgeting nonsense.' 
 
 'I once argued it with her,' said Louis, without stirring; 
 'and she had the right side, that it is often more self-denying 
 to take care of one's healtli, than to risk it for mere pleasure or 
 heedlessness.' 
 
 ' There's no dew ! ' said Clara ; ' and if there was, it would not 
 hurt ; and if it did, I should be too glad to catch a cold, or some- 
 tliing to keep me at home. Oh, if I could only get into a nice 
 precarious state of health ! ' 
 
 'You would soon wish yourself at school, or anywhere else, 
 so that you could feel some life in your limbs,' half sighed 
 Louis. 
 
 ' I've more than enough ! Oh ! how my feet ache to run ! 
 and my throat feels stifled for want of making a noise ; and the 
 hatefulness of always sitting upright, with my shoulders even ! 
 Come, you might pity me a little this one night, Louis : I knoAv 
 you do, for Jem is always telling me not to let you set me 
 against it.' 
 
 ' No, I don't pity you. Pity is next akin to contempt.' 
 
 'Nonsense, Louis. Do be in earnest.' 
 
 ' I have seldom seen the human being whom I could presume 
 to pity : certainly not you, bravely resisting folly and temptation, 
 and with so dear and noble a cause for working.' 
 
 ' You mean, the hope of helping to maintain grandmamma.' 
 
 ' Which you will never be able to do, unless you pass through 
 this ordeal, and qualify yourself for skilled labour.' 
 
 ' I know that,' said Clara ; ' but the atmosphere there seems 
 to poison, and take the vigour out of, all they teach. Oh, so 
 different from granny teaching me my notes, or Jem teaching 
 me French — ' 
 
 ' Growling at you — ' 
 
 ' He never growled half as much as I deserved. I cared to 
 learn of him ; but I don't care for anything now, — no, not for 
 drawing, which you taught me ! There's no heart in it ! The 
 whole purpose is to get amazing numbers of marks and pass 
 each otiier. All dates and words, and gabble gabble ! ' 
 
 'Aye ! there's an epitome of the whole world : all ambition, 
 and vanity, and gabble gabble,' said Louis, sadly. ' And what 
 is a gosling, that he should complain ? ' 
 
 ' You don't mean that in reality. You are always merry.' 
 
 ' Some mirth is because one does not always think, Clara ; and 
 when one does think deeply enough, there is better cheerfulness.' 
 
 ' Deeply enough,' said Clara. ' Ah ! I see. Knowing that 
 
106 DYNEVOR TEKRACE 
 
 tlie world of gabble is not wliat we belong to, only a preparation ? 
 Is that it ? ' 
 
 'It is wliat I meant.' 
 
 * Ah ! but how to make that knowledge help us/ 
 
 * There's the point. Now and then I think I see ; but then I 
 go off on a wrong tack : I get a silly fit, and a liopeless one, 
 and lose my clue. And yet, after all, there is a liighway ; and 
 wayfaring men, though fools, sliall not err therein,' murmured 
 Louis, as he gazed on the first star of evening. 
 
 ' Oh ! tell me how to see my highway at school ! ' 
 
 ' If I only kept my own at home, I might. But you liave the • 
 advantage — you have a fixed duty, and you always have kept 
 liold of your purposes much better than I.' 
 
 ' My purpose ! ' said Clara. ' I suppose that is to learn as 
 fast as I can, tliat I may get away from that i3lace, and not be 
 a burthen to granny and Jem. Perhaps Jem will marry and 
 be poor, and then I shall send liis sons to school and college.' 
 
 'And pray what are your social duties till that time comes? ' 
 
 'That's plain enough,' said Clara: 'to keep my tone from 
 being deteriorated by tkese girls. Why, Louis, what's that for ? ' 
 as, with a bow and air of alarm, he hastily moved aside from lier. 
 
 'If you are so much afraid of being" deteriorated — ' 
 
 'Nonsense! If you only once saw their trumpery cabals, 
 and A-anities, and mean equivocations, you would understand 
 that the only thing to be done is to keep clear of them ; take 
 tlie learning I am sent for, but avoid them ! ' . 
 
 ' And where is the golden rule all this time ? ' said Louis, Aery 
 low. 
 
 ' But ought not one to keep out of what is wrong ? ' 
 
 'Yes, but not to stand aloof from what is not wrong. Look 
 out, not for what is inferior to yourself, but what is superior. 
 Ah ! you despair ; but, my Girafie, will you promise me this ? 
 Tell me, next Christmas, a good quality for every bad one you 
 have found in them. You shake your head. Nay, you must, 
 for the Credit of your sex. I never found the man in whom 
 there was not something to admire, and I had rather not suppose 
 tiiat women are not better than men. Will you x)romise ? ' 
 
 'I'll try, but—' 
 
 'But mind, it takes kind offices to bring the blossoms out. 
 There — that's pretty well, considering our mutual sentiments as 
 to good advice.' 
 
 ' Have you been giving me good advice ? ' 
 
 ' Not bad, I hope.' 
 
 'I thought only people like — like Mary — could give advice.' 
 
 'Ah ! your blindness about Mary invalidates your opinion of 
 your schoolfellows. It shows that you do not deserve a good 
 friend.' 
 
 ' I've got you ; I want no other.' 
 
 'Quite wrong. Not only is she full of clear, kind, solid sense, 
 like a jillar to lean on, but she could go into detail with you in 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL 107 
 
 your troubles. You have thrown away a great opportunity, 
 and I am afraid I helped you. I shall hold you in some esteem 
 when you are — to conclude sententiously — worthy of her friend- 
 ship.' 
 
 Clara's laugh was loud enough to bring out the Earl, to sum- 
 mon them authoritatively out of the dew. Louis sat apart, 
 writing his- letter ; Clara, now and then, hovering near, curious 
 to hear how he had corrected Tom's spelling. He had not 
 finished when the ladies bade him good night ; and, as he 
 proceeded with it, liis father said, 'What is that engrossing 
 correspondence, Louis ? ' 
 
 'Such a sensible letter, that I am quite ashamed of it,' said 
 Louis. 
 
 ' I wonder at the time you chose for writing, when you are so 
 soon to part witli our guests.' 
 
 ' I have no excuse, if you think it uncivil; I never have spirit 
 to set about anything till the sun is down.' 
 
 His father began at once to speak softly : ' No, I intended no 
 blame ; I only cannot but worider to see you so much engrossed 
 with Clara Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Poor child 1 she wants some comp'eilsationh.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt of your kind intentions ; but it would be 
 safer to consider what construction may be placed on attentions 
 so exclusive.' 
 
 Louis looked up in blank, incredulous amazement, and tlien 
 almost laughingly exclaimed, 'Is that what^ou mean ^ Why, 
 she is an infant, a baby — ' 
 
 ' Not in appearance—' 
 
 ' You don't know her, father,' said Louis.- ' I love her with 
 all my heart, and could not do more. Why, she is, and always 
 has been, my she-younget-brother ! ' 
 
 ' I am aware,' said the Earl, without acknowledging this pecu- 
 liar relationship, ' that this may appear Aery ridiculous ; but ex- 
 perience has shown the need of caution. I should be concerned 
 that your heedless good-nature should be misconstrued, so as to 
 cause pain and disappointment to her, or to lead you to neglect 
 one wlio has every claim to your esteem and gratitude.' 
 
 Louis was bewildered. ' I have been a Avretch lately,' he said, 
 ' but I did not know I had been a bear.' 
 
 'I did not mean that you could be deficient in ordinary 
 courtesy ; but I had hoped for more than m^ere indifferent 
 civility towards one eminently calculated — ' Lord Ormersiield 
 for once failed in his periodv 
 
 'Are we talking at cross purposes?' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn. 
 'What have I been doing, or not doing V 
 
 ' If my meaning require explanation^ it is needless to attempt 
 any. — Is your ankle parinful to-night ?' 
 
 Not a word more, except about his health, could Louis 
 extract, and he went to his room in extreme perpkxity. 
 
 Again and again did he revohe those v/Ordsr 'Qurick as were 
 
108 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 his perceptions on most points, they were slow wliere self-con- 
 sciousness or personal vanity might liave sharpened them ; and 
 it was new light to him that lie had come to a time of life that 
 could attach meaning to his attentions. 
 
 ' Whom liad he been neglecting ? What had his father been 
 lioping ? Who was eminently calculated, and for wliat ? ' 
 
 It flashed upon him all at once. ' I see ! I see ! ' lie cried, and 
 burst into a laugh. 
 
 Then came consternation, or something A^ery like it. He did 
 not want to feel embarked in manhood. And then liis far-away 
 dream of a lady-love had been so transcendently fair, so un- 
 equalled in grace, so perfect in accomplishments, so entliusiastic 
 in self-devoted charity, all undefined, floating on liis imagination 
 in misty tints of glory ! That all tliis sliould be suddenly brouglit 
 down from cloudland, to sink into Mary Ponsonby, with the 
 honest face and downriglit manner, for whom romance and 
 rapture would be positively ridiculous ! 
 
 Yet the notion would not be at once dismissed. His declara- 
 tion that he would do anything to gratify liis father liad been 
 too sincere for him lightly to turn from his suggestion, especi- 
 ally at a moment when he was full of shame at liis own folly, 
 and eagerness to retain the ground he had lost in his father's 
 opinion ; and, above all, to make him happy. His heart thrilled 
 and glowed as he thought of giving his father real joy, and 
 permanently brightening and enlivening that lonely, solitary 
 life. Besides, who could so well keep the peace between him 
 and his father, and save him by hints and by helpfulness from 
 giving annoyance ? He had already learnt to depend on her ; 
 she entered into all his interests, and was a most pleasant 
 companion — so wise and good, that the most satisfactory days 
 of his life had been passed under her management, and he had 
 only broken from it to ' play the fool.' He was sick of his own 
 volatile Quixotism, and could believe it a relief to be kept in 
 order without trusting to his own judgment. She had every 
 right to his esteem and aflection, and the warm feeling he had 
 for her could only be strengthened by closer ties. The un- 
 worldliness of the project likewise weighed with him. Had she 
 been a millionaire or a Duke's daughter, he would not have 
 spent one thought on the matter : but he was touched by 
 seeing how his father's better feelings had conquered all desire 
 for fortune or connection. 
 
 And then Mary could always find everything he wanted ! 
 
 ' I will do it ! ' he determined. ' Never was son more bound 
 to consider his father. Of course, she will make a much better 
 wife than I deserve. Most likely, my fancies would never have 
 been fulfilled. She will save me from my own foolishness. 
 What ought a man to wish for more than a person sure to make 
 him good ? And — well, after all, it cannot be for a long time. 
 They must write to Lima. Perhaps they will wait till lier 
 father's return, or at least till I ha^'e taken my degree.' 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL 109 
 
 This last encouraging reflection always wound up the series 
 that perpetually recurred throughout that night of broken sleep ; 
 and when he rose in the morning, he felt as if each waking had 
 added a year to his life, and looked at the glass to see whether 
 he had not grown quite elderly. 
 
 ' No, indeed ! I am ridiculously youthful, especially since I 
 shaved off my moustache in my rage at the yeomanry mania ! 
 I must systematically burn my cheeks, to look anything near 
 her age ! ' And he laughed at himself, but ended with a long- 
 drawn sigh. 
 
 He was in no state of mind to pause : he was tired of self- 
 debate, and was in haste to render the step irrevocable, and 
 then fit himself to it ; and he betook liimself at once to the 
 study, where he astonished his father by his commencement, 
 with crimson cheeks — ' I wished to speak to you. Last night 
 I did not catch your meaning at once.' 
 
 * We will say no more about it,' was the kind answer. * If 
 you cannot turn your thoughts in that direction, there is an 
 end of the matter. 
 
 ' I think,' said Louis, * that I could.' 
 
 * My dear boy,' said the Earl, with more eagerness than he 
 could quite control, *you must not imagine tliat I wish to 
 influence your inclinations unduly ; but I must confess that 
 what I have seen for the last few months, has convinced me 
 that nothing could better secure your happiness.' 
 
 ' I believe so,' said Louis, gazing from the window. 
 
 'Right,' cried the Earl, with more gladness and warmth than 
 his son had ever seen in him ; ' I am delighted tliat you appre- 
 ciate such sterling excellence ! Yes, Louis,' and his voice grew 
 thick, ' there is nothing else to trust to.' 
 
 * I know it,' said Louis. ' She is very good. She made me 
 very happy when I was ill.' 
 
 'You have seen her under the most favourable circum- 
 stances. It is the oidy sort of acquaintance to be relied on. 
 You have consulted your own happiness far moie than if you 
 had allowed yourself to be attracted by mere showy gifts.' 
 
 ' I am sure she will do me a great deal of good,' said Louis, 
 still keeping his eyes fixed on the evergreens. 
 
 'You could have done nothing to give me more pleasure!' 
 said tlie Earl, with heartfelt earnestness. ' I know what she is, 
 and what her mother has been to me. That aunt of hers is a 
 stiff*, wrongheaded person ; but she has brought her up well — 
 very well, and her mother has done the rest. As to her father, 
 this is a disadvantage ; but, from what I hear, he is never 
 likely to come home ; and that is not to be weighed against 
 what she is herself. Poor Mary ! how rejoiced she will be, that 
 her daughter at least should no longer be under that man's 
 power ! It is well you have not been extravagant, like some 
 young men, Louis. If you had been running into debt, I 
 should not have been able to gratify your Wishes now ; but the 
 
110 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 property is so nearly disencumbered, that you can perfectly 
 afford to marry lier, with the very fair fortune she must have, 
 unless her father should gamble it away in Peru.' 
 
 This was for Lord Ormersfield the incoherency of joy, and 
 Louis was quite carried along by his deliglit. The breakfast - 
 bell rang, and tlie Earl rising and drawing his son's arm within 
 liis own, pressed it, saying, 'Bless you, Louis ! ' It was extreme 
 surprise and pleasure to Fitzjocelyn, and yet the next moment 
 he recollected that he stood committed. 
 
 How silent he was — how unusually gentle and gracious liis 
 father to the whole party ! quite affectionate to Mary, and not 
 awful even to Clara. There was far too much meaning in it, 
 and Louis feared Mrs. Ponsonby was seeing througli all. 
 
 ' A morning of Greek would be insupportable,' thought lie ; 
 and yet he felt as if the fetters of fate were being fast bound 
 around him, when he heard his father inviting James to ride 
 with him. 
 
 He wandered and he watched, he spoke absently to Clara, 
 but felt as if robbed of a jDrotector, when she was summoned 
 up-stairs to attend to her packing, and Mary remained alone, 
 writing one of her long letters to Lima. 
 
 'Now or never,' thought he, 'before my courage cools. I 
 never saw my father in such spirits ! ' 
 
 He sat down on an ottoman opposite to her, and turned over 
 some newspapers with a restless rustling. 
 
 ' Can I fetch anything for you *? ' asked Mary, looking up. 
 
 'No, thank you. You are a great deal too good to me, 
 Mary.' 
 
 ' I am glad,' said Mary, absently, anxious to go on with her 
 letter ; but, looking up again at him — ' I am sure you want 
 something.' 
 
 'No — nothing — but that>you should be still more good to me.' 
 
 'What is the matter?' said Mary, suspecting that he was 
 beginning to repent of his lazy ht, and wanted her to hear his 
 confession. 
 
 ' I mean, Mary,' said he, rising, and speaking faster, ' if you— 
 if you would take cliarge of me altogether. If you would have 
 me, I would do all I could to make you happy ; and it would 
 be such joy to my father, and — ' (rather like an after-thought) 
 ' to me.' 
 
 Her clear, sensible eyes were raised, and her colour deepened ; 
 but the confusion was on the gentleman's side — she was too 
 much amazed to feel embarrassment, and there was a pause, till 
 he added, ' I know better than to think myself worthy of you ; 
 but you will take me in hand — and, indeed, Mary, there is no 
 one whom I like half so well.' 
 
 Poor Louis ! was this his romantic and poetical wooing ? ^ 
 
 ' Stop, if you please, Louis ! ' exclaimed Mary. ' This is so 
 very strange ! ' And she seemed ready to laugh. 
 
 ' And — what do you say, Mary ? ' 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL 111 
 
 'I do not know. I cannot tell what I ought to say,' she 
 returned, rising. ' Will you let me go to mamma ? ' 
 
 She went ; and Louis roamed about restlessly, till, on the 
 stairs, he encountered Mrs. Frost, who instantly exclaimed, 
 ' Whyi my dear, what is tlie matter with you ? ' 
 
 ' I have been proposing to Mary,' said he, in a very low 
 murmur, his eyes downcast, but raised the next moment, to see 
 tlie effect, as if it had been a piece of mischief. 
 
 ' Well — proposing what ? ' 
 
 * Myself ; ' most innocently whispered. 
 
 ' You ! — you ! — Mary ! — And — ' Aunt Catharine was scarcely 
 able to speak, in the extremity of her astonishment. ' You are 
 not in earnest 1 ' 
 
 ' She is gone to her mother,' said Louis, hanging over the 
 baluster, so as to look straight down into tlie hall ; and both 
 were silent, till Mrs. Frost exclaimed, ' My dear, dear child, it 
 is an excellent choice ! You must be very happy with her ! ' 
 
 'Yes, I found my father was bent on it.' 
 
 ' That was clear enough,' said his aunt, laughing, but resuming 
 a tone of some perplexity. ' Yet it takes me by surprise : I had 
 not guessed that you were so much attracted.' 
 ■ ' I do like her better than any one. No one is so thoroughly 
 good ; no one is likely to make me so good, nor my father so 
 Iiappy.' 
 
 There was some misgiving in Mrs. Frost's tone, as she said, 
 ' Dear Louis, you are acting on the best of motives, but — ' 
 
 ' Don't, pray don't. Aunt Kitty,' cried Louis, rearing himself 
 for an instant to look her in the face, but again throwing half 
 his body over the rail, and speaking low. ' I could not meet 
 any one half so good, or whom I know as w^ell. I look up to 
 her, and — yes — I do love her heartily — I would not have done 
 it otherwise. I don't care for beauty and trash, and my father 
 lias set his heart on it.' 
 
 'Yes, but — ' she hesitated. ' My dear, I don't think it safe to 
 marry because one's father has set his heart on it.' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Louis, straightening himself, ' I do think I am 
 giving myself the best chance of being made rational and con- 
 sistent. I never did so well as when I was under her.' 
 
 ' N— n— no— but— -' 
 
 'And think how my father will unbend in a homelike home, 
 where all should be made up to him,' he continued, deep emotion 
 swelling his voice. 
 
 ' My dear boy ! And you are sure of your own feeling ? ' 
 
 ' Quite sure. Why, I never saw any one,' said he, smiling— 
 ' I never cared for any one half so much, except you. Aunt 
 Kitty ; no, I didn't. Won't that do ? ' 
 
 ' I know I should not have liked your grandpapa — your uncle, 
 I mean — to make such comparisons.' 
 
 'Perhaps he had not got an Aunt Kitty,' said Louis. 'No, 
 no ! I can't have you so like a novel. No, don't be anxious. 
 
112 . DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 It can't be for ever so long ; and, of course, the more I am witli 
 her, the better I must like lier. It will be all right.' 
 
 ' I don't think you know anything about it,' said Mrs. Frost ; 
 ' but there, that's the last I shall say. You'll forgive your old 
 aunt.' 
 
 He smiled, and playfully pressed her hand, adding, ' But we 
 don't know whether she will have me.' 
 
 Mary had meantime entered lier mother's room, wdtli a look 
 that revealed the whole to Mrs. Ponsonby, wlio liad already 
 been somewhat startled by the demeanour of the father and son 
 at breakfast. 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, what is to be done ? ' 
 
 ' What do you wish, my child ? ' asked her mother, putting 
 lier arm round her waist. 
 
 ' I don't know yet,' said Mary. ' It is so odd ! ' And the 
 disposition to laugh returned for a moment. 
 
 ' You were not at all prepared.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! He seems so young. And,' she added, blushing, ' I 
 cannot tell, but I should not have thouglit his ways were like 
 the kind of thing.' 
 
 'Nor I, and the less since Clara has been here.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Mary, without a shade on her calm, sincere brow, 
 ^ he has Clara so much with him because he is her only friend.' 
 
 The total absence of jealousy convinced Mrs. Ponsonby that 
 the heart could hardly have been deeply touched ; but Mary 
 continued, in a slightly trembling voice, ' I do not see w^hy he 
 should have done this, unless — ' 
 
 ' Unless that his father washed it.' 
 
 'Oh,' said Mary, somewhat disappointed, 'but how could Lord 
 Ormersfield possibly — ' 
 
 'He has an exceeding dread of Louis's making as great a 
 mistake as he did,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' and perhaps he thinks 
 you the best security.' 
 
 'And you think Louis only meant to please him V 
 
 ' My dear, I am afraid it may be so. Louis is very fond of 
 jiim, and easily led by a strong character.' 
 
 She pressed her daughter closer, and felt rather tlian heard a 
 little sigh ; but all that Mary said was, 'Then I had better not 
 think about it.' 
 
 'Nay, my dear, tell me first what you think of liis manner.' 
 
 ' It was strange, and a little dehonnaire^ I think,' said Mary, 
 smiling, but teai's gathering in her eyes. ' He said I was too 
 good for him. He said he would make me happy, and that he 
 and his father would be very happy.' A great tear fell. ' Some- 
 thing about not being worthy.' Mary shed a few more tears, 
 while her mother silently caressed her ; and, recovering lier 
 composure, she hrmly said, 'Yes, mamma, I see it is not the 
 real thing. It will be kinder to him to tell him to put it out of 
 his head.' 
 
 ' And you, my dear ] ' 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL HS 
 
 * Oh, mamma, you know you could not spare me/ 
 
 'If this were the realthing^ dearest—' 
 
 ' No,' whispered Mary; ' I could not leave you alone with papa.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby went on as if she had not heard : 'As it is, I 
 own I am relieved that you should not wish to accept him. I 
 cannot be sure it would be for your happiness.' 
 
 ' I do not think it would be right/ said Mary, as if that were 
 lier strength. 
 
 ' He is a dear, noble fellow, and has the highest, purest prin- 
 ciples and feelings. I can't but love him almost as if he were 
 my own child : I never saw so much sweetness and prettiness 
 about any one, except his mother ; and, oh ! liow far superior 
 he is to her ! But, then, he is boyish, he is weak — I am afraid 
 he is changeable.' 
 
 'Not in his affections,' said Mary, re]3roachfully. 
 
 'No; but in purposes. An impulse leads liim he does not 
 know where ; and now, I think, he is acting on excellent 
 motives, without knowing what he is doing. There's no security 
 that lie might not meet tlie person who — ' 
 
 'Oh, mamma ! ' 
 
 ' He would strive against temptation, but we have no right 
 to expose him to it. To accept him now, it seems to me, would 
 be taking too mucli advantage of liis having been left so long to 
 our mercy ; and it might be, that he would become restless and 
 discontented, find out that he had not chosen for himself — 
 regret — and liave his tone of mind lowered — ' 
 
 ' Oh, stop, mamma ; I would not let it be, on any account.' 
 
 'No, my dear, I could not part with you where we were not 
 sure the ' real thing' was felt for you. If he had been strongly 
 bent on it, he would have conducted matters differently ; but 
 he knowi^ no better.' 
 
 'You and I don't part,' said Mary. 
 
 Neither spoke till she renewed her first question, ' What is 
 to be done ? ' 
 
 'Shall I go and speak to him, my dear % ' 
 
 'Perhaps I had better, if you will come with me.' Then, 
 hesitating — ' I will go to my room for a moment, and then I 
 shall be able to do it more steadily.' 
 
 Mrs, Ponsonby's thoughts were anxious during the five 
 minutes of Mary's absence ; but she returned composed, ac- 
 cording to her promise, whatever might be the throbbings be- 
 neath. As Mrs. Ponsonby opened the door, she saw Louis and 
 his aunt together, and was almost amused at their conscious 
 start, the youthful speed with which the one darted into the 
 further end of the corridor, and the undignified haste with 
 which the other hopped down-stairs. 
 
 By the time they reached the drawing-room, he had recovered 
 himself so as to come forward in a very suitable, simple mannei; : 
 and Mary said, at once, 'Louis, thank you ; but we think it 
 would be better not — ' 
 
lU DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Not ! ' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 ' Not,' repeated Mary ; ' I do not think there is that between 
 us Avliicli would make it right.' 
 
 'There would be !' cried Louis, gaining ardour by the diffi- 
 culty, 'if you would only try. Mrs. Ponsonby, tell lier we would 
 make her happy.' 
 
 'You would try,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, kindly ; 'but I think 
 she is right. Indeed, Louis, you must forgive me for saying that 
 you are Jiardly old enough to make up your mind — ' 
 
 ' Madison is younger,' said Louis, boyishly enough to make 
 lier smile, but earnestly proceeding, ' Won't you try me ? Will 
 you not say that if I can be steady and persevering — ' 
 
 'No,' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 'it would not be fair towards 
 either of you to make any conditions.' 
 
 ' But if without them, I should do better — Mary, will you say 
 nothing ? ' 
 
 ' We had better not think of it,' said Mary, her eyes on the 
 ground. 
 
 ' Why 1 is it that I am too foolish, too unworttiy ? ' 
 
 She made a great effort. ' Not that, Louis. Do not ask any 
 more ; it is better not ; you have done as your father wished-— 
 now let us be as we were before.' 
 
 ' My father will be very much disappointed,' said Louis, with 
 chagrin. 
 
 ' I will take care of your father,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; and 
 as Mary took the moment for escaping, she proceeded to say 
 some affectionate words of her own tender feeling towards 
 Louis ; to which he only replied by saying, sadly, and with 
 some mortification, 'Nevermind; I know it is quite right. I 
 am not worthy of her.' 
 
 'That is not the point ; but I do not think you understand 
 your own feelings, or how far you were actuated by the wish to 
 gratify your father.' 
 
 'I assure you,' cried Louis, 'you do not guess how I look up 
 to Mary ; her unfailing kindness, her entering into all my non- 
 sense — her firm, sound judgment, that would keep me right— 
 and all she did for me when I was laid up. Oh ! why cannot 
 you believe how dear she is to me ? ' 
 
 'How dear is just what I do believe; but still this is not 
 enough.' 
 
 ' Just what Aunt Kitty says,' said Louis, pei'plexed, yet amused 
 at his own perplexity. 
 
 ' You will know better by and by,' she answered, smiling : 
 'in the meantime, believe that j^ou are our very dear cousin, 
 as ever.' And she shook hands with him, detecting in his 
 answering smile a little relief, although a great deal of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Mary had taken refuge in her room, where a great shower of 
 tears would have their course, though she scolded herself all the^, 
 time. 'Have done! have done! It is best ais it is. He does 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL 115 
 
 not really wish it, and I could not leave mamma. We will never 
 think of it again, and we will be as happy as A\e were before.' 
 
 Her mother, meanwhile, was waiting below-stairs, thinking 
 that she should spare Louis something, by taking the initiati\ c; 
 in speaking to his father ; and she was sorry to see the alacrity 
 with which the Earl came up to her, with a congratulatory 
 ' Well, Mary ! ' She could hardly make liim comprehend the 
 real state of the case ; and then his resignation was far more 
 trying than that of the party chiefly concerned. Her praise of 
 Fitzjocelyn had little power to comfort. 'I see how it is,' lie 
 said, calmly: 'do not try to explain it away; I acquiesce- I 
 have no doubt you acted wisely for your daughter.' 
 
 'Nothing would have delighted me more, if he w*ere but a 
 few years older.' 
 
 ' You need not tell me the poor boy's failings,' said liis father, 
 sadly. 
 
 ' It is on account of no failing ; but would it not be a great 
 mistake to risk their happiness to fulfil our own sclieme ? ' 
 
 ' I hoped to secure their happiness.' 
 
 'Aye, Ijut is there not something too capricious to find liappi- 
 ness without its own free will and choice 1 Did you never hear 
 of the heart 1 ' 
 
 'Oh ! if she be attached elsewhere' — and lie seemed so much 
 relieved, that Mrs. Ponsonby was sorry to be obliged to con- 
 tradict him in liaste, and explain that she did not believe 
 Fitzjocelyn's heart to be yet developed ; whereupon lie was 
 again greatly vexed. 'So he has offered himself without 
 attachment. I beg your pardon, Mary ; I am sorry your 
 daughter should have been so treated.' 
 
 ' Do not misunderstand me. He is strangely youthful and 
 simple, bent on pleasing you, and fancying his warm, brotherly 
 feeling to be what you desire.' 
 
 'It would be the safest foundation.' 
 
 'Yes, if he were ten years older, and had seen the world ; but 
 in these things he is like a child, and it would be dangerous to 
 influence him. Do not take it to heart ; you ought to 1k' 
 contented, for I saw nothing so plainly as that he loves nobody 
 half so well as you. Only be j)atient with him.' 
 
 ' You are the same Mary a^ ever,' he said, softened ; and she 
 left him, hoping that she had secured a favourable audience foi- 
 liis son, who soon appeared at the window, somewhat like u 
 culprit. 
 
 ' I could not help it ! ' he said. 
 
 'No; but you may set a noble aim before you — you may 
 render yourself worthy of her esteem and confidence, and in so 
 doing you will fulfil my fondest hopes.' 
 
 'I asked her to try me, but they would make no conditions. 
 I am sorry this could not be, since you wished it.' 
 
 'If you are not sorry on your own account, there are no 
 regrets to be wasted on mine.' 
 
116 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * Candidly, father,' said Louis, ' much as I like her, 1 cannot 
 be sorry to keep my youth and liberty a little longer.' 
 
 ' Then you should never have entered on the subject at all/ 
 said Lord Ormersfield, beginning to write a letter ; and poor 
 Louis, in his praiseworthy effort not to be reserved with him, 
 found he had been confessing that he had not only been again 
 making a fool of himself, but, what was less frequent and less 
 pardonable, of his father likewise. He limped out at the window, 
 and was presently found by his great-aunt, reading wliat he 
 called a raving novel, to see how he ought to have done it. She 
 shook her head at him, and told him that he was not even 
 decently concerned. 
 
 'Indeed I am,' he replied. 'I wished my father to have had 
 some peace of mind about me, and it does not flatter one's vanity.' 
 
 Dear, soft-hearted Aunt Kitty, with all her stores of comfort 
 ready prepared, and unable to forgive, or even credit, the rejec- 
 tion of her Louis, without a prior attachment, gave a hint that 
 this might be liis consolation. He caught eagerly at tlie idea. 
 ' I had never once thought of that ! It can't be any Spaniard 
 out in Peru — she has too much sense. What are you looking so 
 funny about ? What ! is it nearer liome ? That's it, then ! 
 Famous ! It would be a capital arrangement, if that terrible 
 old fatlier is conformable. What an escape I have had of him ! 
 I am sure it is a most natural and proper preference — ' 
 
 ' Stop ! stop, Louis ; you are going too fast. I know nothing. 
 Don't say a word to Jem, on any account : indeed, you must not. 
 It is all going on very well now ; but the least notion that he 
 was observed, or that it was his Uncle Oliver's particular wish, 
 and there would be an end of it.' 
 
 She was just wise enough to keep back the wishes of the 
 other vizier ; but she had said enough to set Louis quite at his 
 ease, and put him in the highest spirits. He seemed to have 
 taken out a new lease of boyishness, and, though constrained 
 before Mary, laughed, talked, and played pranks, so a;i uncon- 
 sciously to fret his father exceedingly. 
 
 Clara's alert wits perceived that so many private interviews 
 had some signification ; and Mrs. Frost found her talking it 
 over with her brother, and conjecturing so much, that granny 
 thought it best to supply tlie key, thinking, perhaps, that a 
 little jealousy would do Jem no harm. But the effect on him 
 was to produce a lit of hearty laughter, as he remembered poor 
 Lord Ormersfield's unaccountable urbanity and suppressed 
 exultation in the morning's ride. *I honour the Ponsonbys,' 
 he said, ' for not choosing to second iiis lordsliip's endeavours to 
 tyrannize over that poor fellow, body and soul. Poor Louis ! 
 lie is fabulously dutiful.' 
 
 But Clara, recovering from lier first stupor of wonder, began 
 scolding him for presuming to laugh at anything so cruel to 
 Louis. It was not the part of a friend ! And with tears of 
 indignation and sympathy starting from her eyes, slie was pathe- 
 
CHILDE ROLAND 117 
 
 tically certain that, though granny and Jem were so unfeeling 
 as to laugh, his higli spirits were only assumed to hide his suf- 
 fering. ' Poor Louis ! what had he not said to lier about Mary 
 last night ! Now she knew what lie meant ! And as to Mary, 
 she was glad she had never liked lier ; she liad no patience witli 
 lier : of course, she was far too prosy and stupid to care for 
 anything like Louis ; it was a great escape for him. It would 
 serve her right to marry a horrid little crooked clerk in lier 
 father's office : and poor dear, dear Louis must get over it, and 
 have the most beautiful wife in the world. Don't you remem- 
 ber, Jem, the lady with the splendid dark eyes on the platform 
 at Euston Square, when you so nearly made us miss the train, 
 with the brow that you said — ' 
 
 ' Hush, Clara ; don't talk nonsense.' 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 CHILDE EOLAND 
 
 A house there is, and that's enough, 
 
 From whence one fatal morning issues 
 
 A lirace of warriors, not in butf, 
 
 But rustling in their silks and tissues. 
 
 The lieroines undertook the task ; 
 
 Thro' lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, — 
 
 lia])])ed at the door, nor stayed t(^ ask, 
 
 But bounce into the parlour entered. ^ — Gray's J^ong Story 
 
 ^ No carmine ? Nor scarlet lake in powder ? ' 
 
 * Could procure some, my lord.' 
 
 ' Thank you, the actinia would not live. I must take what 
 I can find. A lump of gamboge — ' 
 
 'If you stay much longer, he will not retain his senses,' 
 muttered James Frost, who was leaning backwards against the 
 counter, where the bewildered bookseller of the little coast- 
 town of Bickleypool was bustling, in the vain endeavour to 
 understand and fulfil tlie demands of that perplexing customer, 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 ' Some drawing-paper. This is hardly absorbent enough. If 
 you ha^•e any l)lock sketch-books ? — ' 
 
 ' Could procure some, my lord.' 
 
 James looked at his watch, while the man dived into his 
 innermost recesses. ' The tide ! ' he said. 
 
 'Never luind ; v/e shall only stick in the mud.' 
 
 'How could you expect to find anything here? A half- 
 crown paint-box is their wildest dream.' 
 
 ' Keep quiet, Jem ; go and look out some of those library 
 books, like a wise man.' 
 
 'A wise man would be at a loss here,' said James, casting 
 his eye along the battered purple backs of the circulating- 
 library books. 
 
118 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Wisdom won't condescend ! Ah ; thank you ; this will do 
 nicely. Those colours — yes ; and the Sea-side Book. Ill choose 
 one or two. What is most popular here 1 ' 
 
 James began to whistle ; but Louis, taking up a volume, 
 became engrossed beyond the power of hints, and hardly 
 stepped aside to make way for some ladies who entered the shop. 
 A peremptory touch of the arm at length roused him, and 
 liolding up the book to the shopman, he put it into his pocket, 
 seized his ash stick, put his arm into his cousin's, and hastened 
 into the street. 
 
 '' Did you ever see — ' began Jem. 
 
 ' Most striking. I did not know you had met with her. 
 What an idea — tlie false self conjuring up phantoms — ' 
 
 ' What are you talking of ? Did you not see her ? ' 
 
 ' Elizabeth Barrett. Was she there 1 ' 
 
 ' Is that her name ? Do you know her ? ' 
 
 ' I had heard of her, but never — ' 
 
 ' How ?— where ? Who is she \ ' 
 
 ' I only saw her name in the title-page.' 
 
 ' What's all this ? You did not see her 1 ' 
 
 ' Who ? Did not some ladies come into the shop ? ' 
 
 ' Some ladies ! Is it possible 1 Why, I touched you to make 
 you look.' 
 
 ' I thought it was your frenzy about the tide. What now 1 — ' 
 
 James made a gesture of despair. 'The loveliest creature I 
 ever saw. You may see her yet, as she comes out. Come back ! ' 
 
 ' Don't be so absurd,' said Fitzjocelyn, laughing, and with 
 instinctive dislike of staring, resisting his cousin's effort to 
 wheel him round. ' What, you will ? ' withdrawing his arm. ' I 
 shall put off without you, if you don't take care.' 
 
 And, laughing, he watched Jem hurry up the sloping street 
 and turn the corner, then turned to pursue his own way, his 
 steps much less lame and his looks far more liealthful than tliey 
 had been a month before. He reached tho quay — narrow, 
 slippery, and hshy, but not without beauty, as the gr-een water 
 japped against the hewn stones, and rocked the little boats 
 moored in the wide bay, sheltered by a richly- wooded pro- 
 montory. ' Jem in a fit of romance ! Well, whose fault will 
 it be if we miss the tide ? I'll sit in the l)oat, and read that 
 poem again. — Oh ! here he comes, out of breath. Well, Jem, 
 did the heroine drop glove or handkerchief? Or, on a second 
 view, was she minus an eye V 
 
 'You were,' said James, hurrying breathlessly to unmoor the 
 boat. 
 
 'Let me row,' said Louis; 'your breath and senses are botli 
 lost in the fair vision.' 
 
 'It is of no use to talk to you — ' 
 
 ' I shall ask no questions till we are out of the harbour, or 
 you will be running foul of one of those colliers — a tribute witli 
 which the Fair Unknown may dispense.' 
 
CHILDE KOLAND 119 
 
 Tlie numerous black colliers and lighters showed tliat precau- 
 tions were needful till they had pushed out far enough to make 
 the little fishy town look graceful and romantic ; and the tide 
 was ebbing so fast, that Louis deemed it prudent to spend his 
 strength on rowing rather than on talking. 
 
 James first broke silence by exclaiming — ' Do you know where 
 l>eauchastel is ? ' 
 
 ' On the other side of the promontory. Don't you remember 
 the spire rising among the trees, as we see it from the water? ' 
 
 'That church must be worth seeing. I declare I'll go there 
 next Sunday.' 
 
 Another silence, and Louis said — ' I am curious to know 
 wliether you saw lier.' 
 
 ' She was getting into the carriage as I turned the corner ; so 
 I went back and asked Bull who they were.' 
 
 'I hope she was the greengrocer's third cousin.' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! I tell you it was Mrs. Mansell and her visitors.' 
 
 ' Oho ! No wonder Beauchastel architecture is so grand. 
 What an impudent fellow you are, Jem ! ' 
 
 ' The odd thing is,' said James, a little ashamed of Louis 
 liaving put Mansell and Beauchastel together, as he had not 
 intended, ' that it seems they asked Bull who we were. I 
 thought one old lady was staring hard at you, as if she meant 
 to claim acquaintance ; but you shot out of the shop like a sky- 
 rocket.' 
 
 ' Luckily there's no danger of that. No one will come to 
 molest us here.' 
 
 ' Depend on it, they are meditating a descent on his lordship.' 
 
 ' You shall appear in my name, then.' 
 
 'Too like a bad novel: besides, you don't look respectable 
 enough for my tutor. And, now I think of it, no doubt she 
 was asking Bull how he came to let such a disreputable old 
 shooting-jacket into his shop.' 
 
 The young men worked up an absurd romance between 
 them, as merrily they crossed the estuary, and rowed up a 
 narrow creek, with a whitewashed village on one side, and on 
 the other a solitary house, the garden sloping to the water, and 
 very nautical — the vane, a union- jack waved by a brilliant little 
 sailor on the top of a mast, and the arbour, half a boat set on 
 end ; whence, as James steered up to the stone steps that were 
 one by one appearing, there emerged an old, grizzly, weather- 
 beaten sailor, who took his pipe from his mouth, and caught 
 liold of the boat. 
 
 'Thank you. Captain!' cried Fitzjocelyn. 'I've brought 
 home the boat safe, you see, by my own superhuman exertions 
 — no thanks to Mr. Frost, there ! ' 
 
 ' That's his way. Captain,' retorted Jem, leaping out, and 
 helping his cousin : ' you may thank me for getting him home 
 at all ! But for me, he would have his back against the counter, 
 and his liead in a book, this very moment.' 
 
120 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Ask luDi wliat he was after,' returned Louis. 
 
 ' Wliicli of us d'ye think most likely to lag, Captain Hanna- 
 ford ? ' cried Jem, preventing the question. ' Wliicli would you 
 cl loose to have on board 1 ' 
 
 ' Ye'd both of ye make more mischief than work,' said the 
 old seaman, who had been looking from one to the other of 
 the young men, as if they were performing a comedy for liis 
 special diversion. 
 
 ' So you would not enter us on board the Eliza Friscilla ? ' 
 cried Louis. 
 
 'No, no,' said the old man, shrewdly, and witli an air of 
 Iiolding something back ; whereupon tliey botli jDressed liim, 
 and obtained for answer, 'No, no ; I wouldn't sail with you '^ — 
 signing towards Fitzjocelyn — 'in my crew: you'd be more 
 trouble than ye're worth. And as to you, sir, if I wouldn't sail 
 with ye, I'd like still less to sail under you.' 
 
 He finished with a droll, deprecating glance, and Louis 
 laughed lieartily ; but James was silent, and as soon as they 
 ]iad entered the little parlour, declared that it Avould not do to 
 encourage that old skipper — he was waylaying them like the 
 Ancient Mariner, and was actually growing impudent. 
 
 'An old man's opinion of two youngsters is not what / call 
 impudence,' began Louis, with an emphasis that made Jem divert 
 his attack. 
 
 Those two cousins had never spent a happier month than in 
 tliese small lodgings, built by the old retired merchant-seaman 
 evidently on the model of that pride of his heart, the Eliza 
 Priscilla^ his little coasting trader, now the charge of his only 
 surviving son ; for this was a family where drowning was like 
 a natural death, and old Captain Hannaford looked on the pro- 
 bability of sleeping in Ebbscreek churchvard, much as Bayard 
 did at the prospect of dying in his bed. His old deaf wife 
 kept the little cabin-like rooms most exquisitely neat ; and 
 the twelve-years-old Priscilla, the orphan of one of the lost 
 sons, waited on the gentlemen with an old-fashioned, womanly 
 deportment and staid countenance that, in the absence of all 
 other grounds of distress, Louis declared was quite a pain 
 to him. 
 
 The novelty of the place, the absence of restraint, the easy 
 life, and, above all, the freshness of returning health, rendered 
 his spirits exceedingly high, and he had never been more light- 
 hearted and full of mirth. James, elated at his rapid impro^e- 
 ment, was scarcely less full of liveliness and frolic, enjoying 
 to the utmost the holiday, which perhaps both secretly felt 
 might be the farewell to the perfect carelessness of boyish re- 
 laxation. Bathing, boating, fishing, dabbling, were the order 
 of the day, and withal just enough quarrelling and teasing to 
 add a little spice to their j^leasures. Louis was over head and 
 ears in maritime natural history ; but Jem, backed by Mrs. 
 Hannaford, prohibited his ' messes ' from making a permanent 
 
CHILDE KOLAND 121 
 
 settlement in the parlour ; though festoons of sea-weed trellised 
 the porch, ammonites lieaped the grass-plat, tubs of sea-water 
 Hanked the approach to the front door ; and more than one 
 bowl, with inmates of a suspicious nature, was often deposited 
 even on the parlour table. 
 
 On tlie afternoon following the expedition to Bickleypool, 
 Louis was seated, with an earthenware pan before him, coaxing 
 an actinia with raw beef to expand her blossom, to be copied 
 for Miss Faithfull. Another bowl stood near, containing some 
 feathery serpulas ; and the weeds were heaped on the locker of 
 the window behind him, and on the back of the chair whicli 
 supported his lame foot. The third and only remaining chair 
 accommodated James, with a book placed on the table ; and a 
 semicircle swept round it, within which nothing marine might 
 extend. 
 
 Louis was by turns drawing, enticing his refractory sitter, 
 exhorting her to bloom, and complimenting her delicate beauty, 
 until James, with a groan, exclaimed — ' Is silence impossible 
 to you, Fitzjocelyn ? I would go into the garden, but that I 
 should be beset by the intolerable old skipper.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon — I thought you never heard nor heeded 
 me.' 
 
 ' I don't in general, but this requires attention ; and it is past 
 all bearing to hear how you go on to that jelly.' 
 
 'Read aloud, then : it will answer two purposes.' 
 
 ' This is Divinity — Hooker,' said James, sighing wearily. 
 
 ' So much the better. I read some once ; I wish I had been 
 obliged to go on.' 
 
 ' You are the oddest fellow ! — After all, I believe you have a 
 craving after my profession.' 
 
 ' Is that a discovery ? ' said Louis, washing the colour out of 
 his brush. ' The only person I envy is a country curate — except 
 a town one.' 
 
 ' Don't talk like affectation ! ' growled James. 
 
 ' Do you know, Jem,' said Louis, leaning back, and drawing 
 the brush between his lips, ' I am persuaded that something will 
 turn up to prevent it from being your profession.' 
 
 ' Your persuasions are wrong, then ! ' 
 
 ' That fabulous uncle in the Indies — ' 
 
 'You know I am determined to accept nothing from my 
 uncle, were he to lay it at my feet — which he never will.' 
 
 ' Literally or metaphorically ? ' asked Louis, softly. 
 
 ' Pshaw ! ' 
 
 'You Dynevors don't resemble my sea-pink. See how she 
 stretches her elegant fringes for this very unpleasant bit of 
 meat ? There ! I won't torment you any more ; read, and 
 stop my mouth ! ' 
 
 ' You are in earnest ? ' 
 
 'You seem to think that if a man cannot be a clergyman, he 
 is not to be a Christian.' 
 
l'2-2 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Then don't break in with your actinias and stuff! ' 
 
 ' Certainly not,' said Louis, gravely. 
 
 Tlie first interruption came from James himself. Leaping to 
 his feet with a sudden bound, he exclaimed, 'There they are ! ' 
 nd stood transfixed in a gaze of ecstasy. 
 
 ' You have made me smudge my lake,' said Louis, in the mild 
 tone of ' Diamond, Diamond ! ' 
 
 ' I tell you, there they are ! ' cried James, rushing into wild 
 activity. 
 
 ' One would think it the Fair Unknown,' said Louis, not 
 troubling himself to look round, nor desisting from washing out 
 his smudge. 
 
 ' It is ! it is ! — it is all of them ! Here they come, I tell you, 
 and the place is a very merman's cave ! ' 
 
 ' Take care — the serpula — don't ! ' as James hurriedly opened 
 the door leading to the stairs — disposed of the raw meat on one 
 step and the serpulas on another, and hurled after them the 
 lieap of sea- weed, all but one trailing festoon of 'Luckie 
 Minnie's lines,' which, while his back was turned, Louis by one 
 dexterous motion wreathed round the crown of his straw hat ; 
 otherwise never stirring, but washing quietly on, until he rose 
 as little Priscilla opened the door, and stood aside, mutely over- 
 awed at the stream of flounced ladies that flowed past, and 
 seemed to fill up the entire room. It was almost a surprise to 
 find that, after all, there were only three of them ! 
 
 ' I knew I was not mistaken,' said a very engaging, affectionate 
 voice. ' It is quite shocking to have to introduce myself to you 
 — Lady Conway — ' 
 
 ' My aunt ! ' cried Louis, with eager delight — ' and my cousin ! ' 
 lie added, turning with a slight blush towards the maiden, whom 
 he felt, rather than saw, to be the worthy object of yesterday's 
 i-apture. 
 
 ' Not quite,' she answered, not avoiding the grasp of his hand, 
 but returning it with calm, distant politeness. 
 
 ' Not quite,' repeated Lady Conway. ' Your real cousins are 
 no farther off than Beauchastel — ' 
 
 ' Where you must come and see them,' added the third lady 
 -a portly, cordial, good-natured dame, whom Lady Conway 
 introduced as Mrs. Mansell, who had known his mother well ; 
 and Louis making a kind of presentation of his cousin James, 
 the two elder ladies were located on two of the chairs : the 
 younger one, as if trying to be out of the way, placed herself 
 on the locker. Jem stood leaning on the back of the other 
 chair ; and Louis stood over his aunt, in an ecstasy at the 
 meeting — at the kind, warm manner and pleasant face of his 
 aunt — and above all, at the indescribable pleasure imparted by 
 tlie mere presence of the beautiful girl, though he hardly dared 
 even to look at her ; and she was the only person whose voice 
 was silent in the chorus of congratulation, on the wonderful 
 chance that had brought the aunt and nephew together. The 
 
CHILDE ROLAND 123 
 
 one bad been a fortnight at Beauchastel, the other a month at 
 Ebbscreek, without guessing at each otlier's neighbourhood, 
 until Lady Conway's attention had been attracted at the library 
 by Louis's remarkable resemblance to her sister, and making 
 inquiries, she had learnt that he was no other than Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn. She was enchanted with the likeness, declaring that 
 all she wished was to see him look less delicate, and adding her 
 entreaties to those of Mrs. Mansell, that the two young men 
 would come at once to Beauchastel. 
 
 Louis looked with wistful doubt at James, who, he knew, 
 could not brook going to fine places in the character of tutor ; 
 but, to his surprise and pleasure, James was willing and eager, 
 and made no demur, except that Fitzjocelyn could not walk so 
 far, and the boat was gone out. Mrs. Mansell then proposed 
 the ensuing Monday, when, she said, she and Mr. Mansell 
 should be delighted to have them to meet a party of shooting 
 gentlemen — of course they were sportsmen. Louis answered 
 at once for James ; but for himself, he could not walk, nor even 
 I'ide the offered shooting-pony ; and thereupon ensued more 
 minute questions whether his ankle were still painful. 
 
 ' Not more than so as to be a useful barometer. I have been 
 testing it by the sea-weeds. If I am good for nothing else, I 
 shall be a walking weather-glass, as well as a standing warning 
 against man-traps.' 
 
 ' You don't mean that you fell into a man-trap ! ' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Mansell, in liorror. 'That will be a warning for Mr. 
 Mansell ! I have such a dread of the frightful things ! ' 
 
 ' A trap ingeniously set by myself,' said Louis. ' I was only 
 too glad no poor poacher fell into it.' 
 
 'Your father told me that it was a fall down a steep bank,' 
 exclaimed Lady Conway. 
 
 ' Exactly so ; but I suppose he thought it for my credit to 
 conceal that my trap consisted of a flight of stone steps, very 
 solid and permanent, with the trifling exception of cement.' 
 
 'If ttie truth were known,' said James, 'I believe that a 
 certain scamp of a boy was at the bottom of those steps.' 
 
 ' I'm the last person to deny it,' said Louis, quietly, though 
 not without rising colour ; ' there was a scamp of a boy at the 
 bottom of the steps, and very unpleasant he found it — thougli 
 not without the best consequences, and among them the pre- 
 sent—' And he turned to Lady Conway with a pretty mixture 
 of gracefulness and affection, enough to win the heart of any aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Mansell presently fell into raptures at the sight of the 
 drawing materials, which must, she was sure, deliglit Isabel ; 
 but she was rather discomfited by the sight of the 'subject,' — 
 called it an odious creature, then good-humouredly laughed at 
 herself, but would not sit down again, evidently wishing to 
 escape from close quarters with such monsters. Lady Conway 
 likewise rose, and looked into the basin, exclaiming, in her 
 turn, 'Ah! I see you understand these things! Yes, they are 
 
124 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 very interesting ! Virginia will be delighted; she has been 
 begging me for an aquarium wherever we go. You must tell 
 her how to manage it. Look, Isabel ; would not she be in 
 ecstasies ? ' 
 
 Miss Conway looked, but did not seem to partake in the 
 admiration. ' I am perverse enough never to like what is the 
 fashion,' she said. 
 
 'I tried to disgust Fitzjocelyn witli his pets on that ^ery 
 ground,' said James ; 'but their charms were too strong for him.' 
 
 'Fashion is the very testimony to tliem,' said Louis. 'I think 
 I could convince you.' 
 
 He would perl laps have produced liis lovely serpula blossoms ; 
 but he was forced to pass on to his aunt and Mrs. Man sell, who 
 liad found something safer for their admiration, in the shape of 
 a great Cornu ammonis in the garden. 
 
 ' He can throw liimself into any pursuit,' said James, as he 
 paused at the door with Miss Conway ; but suddenly becoming 
 aware of the sUmy entanglement round his hat, he exclaimed, 
 'Absurd fellow!' and pulled it off rather petulantly, adding, 
 with a little constraint, 'Recovery does put people into mad 
 spirits ! I fancy the honest folks here look on in amaze.' 
 
 Miss Conway gave a very pretty smile of sympathy and con- 
 solation, that shone like a sunbeam on her beautiful pensive 
 features and dark, soft eyes. Then she began to admire the 
 view, as they stood on the turf, beside Captain Hannaford's two 
 small cannon, overlooking the water towards Bickleypool, with 
 a purple hill rising behind it. A yacht was sailing into the 
 harbour, and James ran indoors to fetch a spy-glass, while 
 Lady Conway seized the occasion of asking lier nephew his 
 tutor's name. 
 
 Louis, who had fancied she must necessarily understand all 
 ]iis kindred, was glad to guard against shocks to Jem's sensitive 
 pride, and eagerly explained the disproportion between liis 
 birth and fortune, and his gallant efforts to relieve Iris grand- 
 mother from her burthens. He was pleased to find that he had 
 touched all his auditors, and to hear kind-hearted Mrs. Man sell 
 repeat her special invitation to Mr. Frost Dynevor with double 
 cordiality. 
 
 ' If you must play practical jokes,' said James, as they watched 
 the carriage drive off, 'I wish you would choose better momejits 
 for them.' 
 
 I thought you would be ]nore in character as a merman 
 brave,' said Louis. 
 
 'I wonder what character you thought you appeared in ! ' 
 
 'I never meant you to discover it while they were here, noj* 
 would you, if you were not so carefu4 of your complexion. 
 Come, throw it at my head now, as you would liave done 
 naturally, and we shall have fair weather again ! ' 
 
 ' I am only concerned at the impression you have made.' 
 
 ' Too late now, is it ? You don't mean to be bad company for 
 
CHILDE ROLAND 125 
 
 the rest of the clay. It is too bad, after such a presence as has 
 been here. She is a poem in herself. It is like a vision to see 
 her move in that calm, gliding way. Such eyes, so deep, so 
 tranquil, revealing the sphere apart where she dwells ! An 
 ideal ! How can you be savage after sitting in the same room, 
 and hearing that sweet, low voice 1 ' 
 
 Meantime the young lady sat back in the carriage, dreamily 
 hearing, and sometimes answering, the conversation of her two 
 elders, as they returned through pretty forest-drives into the 
 park of Beauchastel, and up to the handsome, well-kept house ; 
 where, after a few words from Mrs. Mansell, she ascended the 
 stairs. 
 
 " Isabel ! ' cried a bright voice, and a girl of fourteen came 
 skating along the polished oak corridor. ' Come and have 
 some tea in the schoolroom, and tell us your adventures ! ' And 
 so saying, she dragged the dignified Isabel into an old-fashioned 
 sitting-room, where a little pale child, two years younger, sprang 
 up, and, with a cry of joy, clung round the elder sister. 
 
 ' My white bind- weed,' said Isabel, fondly caressing her, ' have 
 you been out on the pony 1 ' 
 
 'Oh! yes; we wanted only you. Sit down there.' And 
 as Isabel obeyed, the little Louisa placed herself on her lap, 
 with one arm round her neck, and looked with proud glee at the 
 kind, sensible-faced governess who was pouring out the tea. 
 
 ' The reconnoitring party ! ' eagerly cried Virginia. ' Did 
 you find the cousin ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, we did.' 
 
 'Oh! Then what is he like r 
 
 ' You will see when he comes on Monday.' 
 
 ' Coming — oh ! And is he so very handsome ? ' 
 
 ' I can see how pretty a woman your Aunt Louisa must have 
 been.' 
 
 ' News ! ' laughed Virginia ; ' when mamma is always preach- 
 ing to me to be like her ! ' 
 
 ' Is he good-natured ^ ' asked Louisa. 
 
 'I had not full means of judging,' said Isabel, more thought- 
 fully than seemed justified by the childish question. 'His 
 cousin is coming, too,' she added ; ' Mr. Frost Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Another cousin ! ' exclaimed Virginia. 
 
 'No; a relation of Lord Ormersfield — a person to be much 
 respected. He is heir to a lost estate, and of a very grand old 
 family. Lord Fitzjocelyn says that he is exerting himself to 
 the very utmost for his grandmother and orphan sister ; deny- 
 ing himself everything. He is to be a clergyman. There was a 
 book of divinity open on the table.' 
 
 ' He must be very good ! ' said Louisa, in a low, impressed 
 voice, and fondling her sister's hand. ' Will he be as good as 
 Sir Roland?' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am glad he is coming ! ' cried Virginia. ' We have 
 so wished to see somebody very good 1 ' 
 
126 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 A bell rang — a signal that Lady Conway would be in hei- 
 room, where she liked lier two girls to come to her while slie 
 was dressing. Louisa reluctantly detached herself from her 
 sister, and Virginia lingered to say, 'Dress quickly, please, 
 please^ Isabel. I know there is a new bit of Sir Roland done ! 
 Oh ! I hope Mr. Dynevor is like him ! ' 
 
 *Not quite,' said Isabel, smiling as they ran away. *Poor 
 children, I am afraid they will be disappointed ; but long may 
 their craving be to see " somebody very good ! " ' 
 
 ' I am very glad they should meet any one answering the 
 description,' said the governess. 'I don't gather that you ai'e 
 much delighted with the object of the expedition.' 
 
 ' A pretty boy — very pretty. It quite explains all I have e^er 
 heard of his mother.' 
 
 ' As you told the children.' 
 
 * More than I told the children. Their aunt never by descrip- 
 tion seemed to me my ideal, as you know. I would ratlier 
 have seen a likeness to Lord Ormersfield, who — though I doivt 
 like him — has something striking in the curt, dry, melancholy 
 dignity of his manner.' 
 
 *And how has Lord Fitzjocelyn displeased you?' 
 
 * Perhaps there is no harm in him— he may not have chai'- 
 acter enough for that ; but talk, attitudes, everything betrays 
 that he is used to be worshipped — takes it as a matter of course, 
 and believes nothing so interesting as himself.' 
 
 ' Don't you think you may have gone with your mind made up i ' 
 
 'If you mean that I thought myself uncalled for, and heartily 
 detested the expedition, you are right ; but I saAv what I did 
 not expect.' 
 
 ' Was it very bad T ^ 
 
 *A very idle practical joke, such as I dislike particularly. 
 A quantity of wet sea-weed wound round Mr. Dynevor's hat.' 
 
 Miss King laughed. 'Really, my dear, I don't think you 
 know what young men like from each other.' 
 
 'Mr. Dynevor did not like it,' said Isabel, 'though he tried 
 to pass it off' lightly as the spirits of recovery. Those spirits- 
 I am afraid he has too much to suffer from them. There is 
 something so ungenerous in practical wit, especially from a 
 prosperous man to one unprosperous ! ' 
 
 ' Well, Isabel, I won't contradict, but I should imagine that 
 such things often showed people to be on the best of terms.' 
 
 Isabel shook her head, and left the room, to have her dark 
 hair braided, with little heed from herself, as she sat dreamily 
 over a book. Before the last bracelet was clasped, she was 
 claimed by her two little sisters, who gave her no peace till her 
 desk was opened, and a manuscript drawn forth, that they*might 
 hear the two new pages of her morning's work. It was a Fouque 
 like tale, relieving and giving expression to the yearnings for 
 holiness and loftiness that had grown up within Isabel Conway 
 in the cramped round of her existence. The story went back to 
 
CHILDE ROLAND 127 
 
 the troubadour days of Provence, where a knight, the heir of a 
 line of sliattered fortunes, was betrothed to the heiress of the 
 oppressors, that thus all wrongs might be redressed. They had 
 learnt to love, when Sir Roland discovered that the lands in 
 dispute had been won by sacrilege. He met Adeline at a chapel 
 in a little valley, to tell the whole. They agreed to sacrifice 
 themselves, that restitution should be made ; the knight to go 
 as a crusader to the Holy Land ; the lady, after waiting awhile 
 to tend her aged father, to enter a convent, and restore her 
 dower to the church. Twice had Isabel written that parting, 
 pouring out her heart in the high-souled tender devotion of ■ 
 Roland and his Adeline ; and both feeling and description were 
 beautiful and poetical, though unequal. Louisa used to cry 
 whenever she heard it, yet only wished to hear it again and 
 again ; and when Virginia insisted on reading it to Miss King, 
 tears had actually been surprised in the governess's eyes. Yet 
 she liked still better Adeline's meek and patient temper, where 
 breathed the feeling Isabel herself would fain cherish — the deep, 
 earnest, spiritual life and high consecrated purpose that were 
 with the Provencal maiden through all her enforced round of 
 gay festivals, light minstrelsy, tourneys, and Courts of Love. 
 Thus far had the story gone. Isabel had been writing a wild, 
 mysterious ballad, reverting to that higher love and the true 
 spirit of self-sacrifice, which was to thrill strangely on the ears 
 of the thoughtless at a contention for the Golden Violet, and 
 which she had adapted to a favourite air, to the extreme delight 
 of the two girls. To them the ChaiKl in the valley^ Roland and 
 liis Adeline, were very nearly real, and were the hidden joy of 
 their hearts, — all the more because their existence was a precious 
 secret between the three sisters and Miss King, who viewed it 
 as such an influence on the young ones, that, with more meaning 
 than she could have explained, she called it their Telemaque. 
 The following-up of the teaching of Isabel and Miss King might 
 lead to results as little suspected by Lady Conway as Fenelon's 
 philosophy was by Louis XIV. 
 
 Lady Conway was several years older than her beautiful 
 sister, and had married much later. Perhaps she had ainied 
 too high, and had met with disappointments unavowed ; for she 
 had finally contented herself with becoming the second wife of 
 Sir Walter Conway, and was now his serene, good-natured, 
 prosperous widow. Disliking his estate and neighbourhood, and 
 tliinking the daughters wanted London society and London 
 masters, she shut up the house until her son should be of age, 
 and spent the season in Lowndes-square, the autumn either 
 abroad, in visits, or at watering-places. 
 
 Beauchastel was an annual resort of the family. Isabel was 
 more slenderly portioned than her half-sisters ; and she was one 
 of the nearest surviving relations of her mother's cousin. Mi-. 
 Mansell, whose large comfortable house was always hospitable ; 
 and whose wife, a great dealer in good-natured confidential 
 
128 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 gossip, used to tlirow out hints to her great friend, Lady Conway, 
 tliat much depended on Isabel's marriage — tliat Mr. Mansell 
 had been annoyed at connections formed by others of his rehx- 
 tions — but thougli he had decided on nothing, tlie dear girl's 
 choice might make a great difference. 
 
 Nothing could be more passive than Miss Conway. She could 
 not remember her mother, but her childliood had been passed 
 under an admirable governess ; and though her own Miss Long- 
 man had left her. Miss King, the successor, was a person worthy 
 of her chief confidence. At two-and-twenty, the schoolroom 
 'was still the home of her affections, and her ardent love was 
 lavished on her little sisters and her brother Walter. 
 
 Going out with Lady Conway was mere matter of duty and 
 submission. She had not such high animal spirits as to lind 
 enjoyment in her gaieties, and her grave, pensive character only 
 attained to walking through her part ; she had seen little but 
 the more frivolous samples of society, scorned and disliked all 
 that was worldly and manoeuvring, and hung back from levity 
 and coquetry with utter distaste. Removed from her natural 
 home, where she would have found duties and seen various 
 aspects of life, she had little to interest or occupy her in her 
 unsettled wanderings ; and to her the sap of life was in books, 
 in dreams, in the love of her brother and sisters, and in discus- 
 sions with Miss King ; her favourite vision for the future, the 
 going to live with Walter at Thornton Conway when he should 
 be of age. But Walter was younger than Louisa, and it was a 
 very distant prospect. 
 
 Her characteristic was a calm, serene indifference, in which 
 her stepmother acquiesced, as lovers of peace do in what they 
 cannot help ; and the more willingly, that her tranquil dignity 
 and pensive grace exactly suited the style of her tall queenly 
 figure, delicate features, dark soft languid eyes, and clear olive 
 complexion, just tinged with rosebud pink. 
 
 What Louis said of her to his tutor on the Monday night of 
 their arrival was beyond the bounds of all reason ; and it was 
 even more memorable that Jem was neither satirical nor dis- 
 putatious, assented to all, and if he sighed, it was after his door 
 was shut. 
 
 A felicitous day ensued, spent by James in shooting, by Fitz 
 jocelyn in the drawing-room ; whither Mrs. Mansell had 
 requested Isabel's presence, as a favour to herself. The young 
 lady sat at work, seldom raising her eyes, but this was enougli 
 for him ; his intense admiration and pleasure in her presence so 
 exhilarated him, that he rattled away to the utmost. Louisa 
 was at first the excuse. In no further doubt of his good-nature, 
 she spent an hour in the morning in giving him anagrams to 
 guess ; and after she had repaired to the schoolroom, he went 
 on inventing fresh ones, and transposing the ivory letters, 
 i-ambling on in his usual style of pensive drollery. Happiness 
 never set him otT to advantage, and either there was more froth 
 
CHILDE KOLAND 1*29 
 
 than ordinary, or it appeared unusually ridiculous to an audience 
 who did not detect the under-current of reflection. His father 
 would have been in despair, Mrs. Ponsonby or Mary would ha\ e 
 interposed ; but the ladies of Beauchastel laughed and encouraged 
 him, — all but Isabel, who sat in the window, and thought of 
 Adeline, ' spighted and angered both,' by a Navarrese coxcomb, 
 with sleeves down to his heels, and shoes turned up to his 
 knees. She gave herself great credit for having already created 
 him a Viscount. 
 
 In the afternoon, Louis drove out lionizing with his aunt ; 
 but though the ponies stopped of themselves at all the notable 
 views ; sea, hill, and river were lost on him. Lady Conway 
 could have drawn out a far less accessible person, and her out- 
 pouring of his own sentiments made him regard her as perfect. 
 
 She consulted him about her winter's resort. Louisa required 
 peculiar care, and she had thought of trying mineral baths — 
 what was thought of North wold"? what kind of houses were 
 there ? The Northwold faculty themselves might have taken a 
 lesson from Fitzjocelyn's eloquent analysis of the chemical pro- 
 perties of tlie waters, and all old Mr. Frost's spirit would seem to 
 have descended on him when he dilated on the House Beautiful. 
 Lodgers for Miss Faithfull ! what jubilee they would cause ! 
 And such lodgers ! No wonder he was in ecstasy. All the 
 evening the sound of his low, deliberate voice was unceasing, 
 and his calm announcements to his two little cousins were each 
 one more startling than the last ; while James, to wliom it was 
 likewise all sunshine, was full of vivacity, and a shrewd piquancy 
 of manner that gave zest to all he said, and wonderfully enlivened 
 the often rather dull circle at Beauchastel. 
 
 Morning came ; and when the ladies descended to breakfast, 
 it was found that Lord Fitzjocelyn had gone out with the sports- 
 men. ,The children lamented, and their elders pronounced a 
 young gentleman's passion for shooting to be quite incalculable. 
 When, late in the d^y, the party returned, it was reported that 
 he did not appear to care much for the sport ; but had walked 
 beside Mr. Mansell's shooting-pony, and had finally gone with 
 liim to see his model farm. This was a sure road to the old 
 squire's heart, and no one was more delighted with the guest. 
 For Aunt Catharine's sake, Louis Avas always attracted by old 
 age, and his attentive manners had won Mr. Mansell's heart, 
 even before his inquiries about his liobby had completed the 
 charm. To expound and to listen to histories of agricultural 
 experiments that really answered, was highly satisfactory to 
 both, and all the evening tliey were eager over the great ac- 
 count-book which was the pride of the squire's heart ; while 
 Virginia and Louisa grumbled or looked imploring, and Isabel 
 marvelled at there being any interest for any one in old Mr. 
 Mansell's conversation. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of this *? ' asked James, as tliey went 
 up-stairs. 
 
 K 
 
130 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Louis shrugged like a Frenchman, looked deboRuain^ and 
 said 'Good niglit.' 
 
 Again lie came down ; prepared for shooting, though both 
 pale and lame ; but he quietly put aside all expostulations, 
 walking on until, about iifty yards from the house, a pebble, 
 turning under tlie injured foot, caused such severe pain tliat he 
 could but just stagger to a tree and sit down. 
 
 There was much battling before Mr. Mansell would consent 
 to leave him, or he to allow James to help liim back to the 
 house, before going on to overtake the party. 
 
 Very irate was Jem, at folly that seemed to have undone the 
 benefits of tlie last month, and at changeableness that was a 
 desertion of the queen to wliom all homage was due. He was 
 astonished that Louis turned into the study, a room little 
 inhabited in general, and said, ' Make haste — you will catch the 
 others ; don't fall in with the ladies.' 
 
 ' I mean to send your aunt to you.' 
 
 ' Pray don't. Can't you suppose that peace is grateful after 
 having counted every mortal hour last night ? ' 
 
 ' Was that the reason you were going to walk ten miles with- 
 out a leg to stand upon 1 Fitzjocelyn ! is this systematic ? ' 
 
 ' What is ? ' said Louis, wearily. 
 
 ' Your treatment of — your aunt.' 
 
 ' On what system should aunts be treated ? ' 
 
 ' Of all moments to choose for caprice ! Exactly when I 
 thought even you were fixed ! ' 
 
 'Fur troppo^^ sighed Louis. 
 
 ' Ha ! ' cried Jem, ' you have not gone and precipitated 
 matters ! I thought you could never amaze me again ; but 
 even you might have felt she was a being to merit rather more 
 time and respect ! ' 
 
 'Even I am not devoid of the organ of veneration.' 
 
 His meek tone was a further provocation ; and Avith uplifted 
 chin, hair ruffled like the crest of a Shetland pony, flashing eyes, 
 and distinct enunciation, James exclaimed, ' You will excuse 
 me for not understanding you. You come here ; you devote 
 yourself to your aunt and cousins — you seem strongly attracted ; 
 then, all on a sudden, you rush out shooting— an exercise for 
 which you don't care, and when you can't walk : you show the 
 most pointed neglect. And after being done-up yesterday, you 
 repeat the experiment to-day, as if for the mere object of iLiiijing 
 yourself for life. I could understand pique or temijer, but you 
 have not the — ' 
 
 ' The sense,' said Louis ; 'no, nor anything to be piqued at.' 
 
 ' If there be a motive,' said James, ' I have a right to demand 
 not to be trifled with any longer.' 
 
 'I wish you could be content to shoot your birds, and leave 
 me in peace : you will only have your fun spoilt, like mine, and 
 go into a fury. The fact is, that my father writes in a state of 
 perturbation. He says, I might have understood, from the 
 
CHILBE EOLAND 131 
 
 tenor of his conduct, that he did not wish me to be intimate 
 with my aunt's family ! He cannot know anything about them, 
 for it is all one warning against fashion and frivolity. He does 
 not blame ns — especially not you,' 
 
 ^ I wish he did.' 
 
 ^ But he desires that our intercourse should be no more than 
 propriety demands, and plunges into a discourse against first 
 impressions, beauty, and the like.' 
 
 ' So that's the counterblast.' 
 
 ^ You ought to help me, Jem,' said Louis, dejectedly. 
 
 * I'll help you with all my heart to combat your father's 
 prejudices.' 
 
 ' An hour's unrestrained intercourse with these people would 
 best destroy them,' said Louis ; but, in the meantime — I wonder 
 what he means.' 
 
 ' He means that he is in terror for his darling scheme.' 
 
 ' Mrs Ponsonby was very right,' siglied Louis. 
 
 * Ay ! A pretty condition you would be in, if she had not 
 had too much principle to let you be a victim to submission. 
 That's what you'll come to, though ! You will never know the 
 meaning of passion ; you will escape something by it, though 
 you wdll be twisted round his lordship's finger, and marry his 
 choice. I hope she will have red hair ! ' 
 
 ^* N'egative and positive obedience stand on different grounds,' 
 said Louis, with such calmness as often fretted James, but 
 saved their friendship. ^ Besides, till I had this letter, I had no 
 notion of any such thing.' 
 
 James's indignation resulted in fierce stammering ; while 
 Louis deliberately continued a viva voce self-examination, with 
 his own quaint naivete, betraying emotion only by the burning 
 colour of cheek and brow. 
 
 *No'; I had no such notion. I only felt that her presence 
 had the gladdening, inspiriting, calming effect of moonlight or 
 starlight. I reverenced her as a dream of poetry walking the 
 earth. Ha ! now one hears the sound of it — that is like it ! I 
 did not think it was such a confirmed case. I should have gone 
 on in peace but for this letter, and never thought about it at all.' 
 
 * So much the better for you ! ' 
 
 * My father is too just and candid not to own his error, and 
 be thankful.' 
 
 'And you expect her to bear with your alternations in the 
 meantime 1 ' 
 
 'Towards her I have not alternated. When I have made 
 giggle with Clara under the influence of the starry sky, did you 
 suppose me giggling with Lyra or tlie Pleiades 1 I should dread 
 to see the statue descend ; it seemed irreverence even to gaze. 
 The lofty serenity keeps me aloof. I like to believe in a crea- 
 ture too bright and good for human nature's daily food. Our 
 profane squinting through telescopes at the Lady Moon reveals 
 nothing but worn-out volcanoes and dry oceans, black gulfs and 
 
 K 2 
 
132 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 scorched desolation ; but verily that may not be Lady Moon's 
 fault — only tliat of our base inventions. So I would be content 
 to mark her — Isabel, I mean — queenly, moonlike name ! — walk 
 in beauty and tranquillity unruffled, without distorting my 
 vision by personal aims at bringing her down to my level. 
 There — don't laugh at me, Jem.' 
 
 'No, I am too sorry for you.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' he exclaimed, impatient of compassion ; ' do you 
 think it desperate ^ ' 
 
 'I see your affection given to a most worthy object, and I 
 know what your notions of submission will end in.' 
 
 'Once for all, Jem,' said Fitzjocelyn, 'do you know how you 
 are using my father^ No; Isabel Conway may be the happi- 
 ness or the disapointment of my life — I cannot tell. I am sure 
 my father is mistaken, and I believe he may be convinced ; but 
 I am bound not to fly in the face of his direct commands, and, 
 till we can come to an understanding, I must do the best I can, 
 and trust to — ' 
 
 The last word was lost, as he turned to nurse his ankle, and 
 presently to entreat James to join tlie sportsmen ; but Jem was 
 in a mood to do nothing pleasing to himself nor to any one else. 
 A sacrifice is usually irritating to the spectators, who remon- 
 strate rather than listen to self-reproach ; and Louis had been 
 guilty of three great offences — being in the right, making him- 
 self ridiculous, and submitting tamely — besides the higli-treason 
 to Isabel's beauty. It was well that the Earl was safe out of 
 the way of the son of the Pendragons ! 
 
 Fitzjocelyn was in pain and discomfort enough to make James 
 unwilling to leave him ; though his good -will did not prevent 
 him from keeping up such a stream of carpings and sinister 
 auguries, that it Avas almost the climax of good-temper tliat 
 enabled Louis to lie still, trying to read a great quarto Park's 
 Travels, and abstaining from any reply that could aggravate 
 matters. As the one would not go to luncheon, the other would 
 not ; and after watching the sound of the ladies' setting out for 
 their drive, Louis said that he would go and lie on the turf ; 
 but at that moment the door was thrown open, and in ran Vir- 
 ginia. Explanations were quickly exchanged — liow she had 
 come to find Yertot's Malta for Isabel, and how he had been 
 sent in by hurting his foot. 
 
 'Were you going to stay in all day?' said Virginia. 'Oh, 
 come with us ! We have the pony-carriage ; and we are going 
 to a dear old ruin, walking and driving by turns. Do, pray, 
 come ; there's plenty of room.' 
 
 There could be no objection to the schoolroom party, and it 
 was no sma-ll relief to escape from James and hope he was 
 amused ; so Fitzjocelyn allowed himself to be dragged ofi' in 
 triumph, and James M^as acceding to his entreaty that he would 
 go in search of the shooting-party, when, as they reached the 
 hall-door, they beheld Miss Conway waiting on the steps. 
 
CHILDE ROLAND 133 
 
 There was no receding for her any more than for Louis, so 
 she could only make a private resolution against the pony-car- 
 riage, and dedicate herself to the unexceptionable company of 
 little sister, governess and tutor ; for James had resigned the 
 shooting, and attached himself to the expedition. It was an 
 excellent opportunity of smoothing his cousin's way, and show- 
 ing that all was not caprice that might so appear : so he began 
 to tell of his most advantageous traits of character, and to 
 explain away liis whimsical conduct, with great ardour and 
 ingenuity. He thought he should be perfectly satisfied if ho 
 could win but one smile of approbation from that gravely beau- 
 tiful mouth ; and it came at last, when he told of Fitzjocelyn's 
 devoted affection to Mrs. Frost and his unceasing kindness to 
 the old ladies of Dynevor Terrace. Thus gratified, he let him- 
 self be led into abstract questions of principle, — a style of dis- 
 cussion frequent between Miss King and Isabel, but on whicli 
 the latter had never seen tlie light of a man's mind thrown 
 except through books. The gentlemen whom she had met were 
 seldom either deep or earnest, except those too much beyond 
 her reach ; and she had avoided anything like confidence or 
 intimacy: but Mr. Dynevor could enlighten and vivify her 
 perplexed reflections, answer lier inquiries, confirm her opinion 
 of books, and enter into all that she ventured with diffidence to 
 express. He was enchanted to find that no closer approacli 
 could dim the lustre of Louis's moon, and honoured her doubly 
 for what she liad made herself in frivolous society. He felt 
 sure that liis testimony would gain credit wliere Fitzjocelyn's 
 would be regarded as love-blinded, and already beheld himself 
 forcing full proof of her merits on the reluctant Earl, beholding 
 Louis happy, and Isabel emancipated from constraint. 
 
 A five miles' walk gave full time for such blissful discoveries ; 
 for Miss Conway was resolute against entering the pony-car- 
 riage, and walked on, protesting against ever being fatigued ; 
 while Louis was obliged to occupy his seat in the carriage, with 
 a constant change of companions. 
 
 ' I think, my dear,' said Miss King, when the younger girls had 
 gone to their mother's toilette, ' that you will have to forgive me.' 
 
 ' Meaning,^ said Isabel, ' that you are bitten too ! Ah ! Miss King, 
 you could not withstand the smile with which he handed you in ! ' 
 
 'Could you withstand such an affectionate account of your 
 cruel, tyrannical practical joker?' 
 
 ' Facts are stubborn things. Do you know what Mr. Dynevor 
 is doing at this moment 1 I met him in the gallery, hurrying 
 off to Ebbscreek for some lotion for Lord Fitzjocelyn's ankle. 
 I begged him to let Mrs. Mansell send ; but no — no one but 
 himself could find it, and his cousin could not bear strangers to 
 disarrange his room. If anything were wanting, it would be 
 enough to see how simply and earnestly such a man has been 
 brought to pamper — nay, to justify, almost to adore, the whims 
 and follies of this youth.' 
 
184 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' If anything were wanting to wliat ? To your dislike/ 
 
 'It would not be so active as dislike, unless — ' Isabel spoke 
 with drooping head, and Miss King did not ask her to finish, 
 but said, ' He has not given you much cause for alarm.' 
 
 'No; he is at least a thorough gentleman. It may be con- 
 ceit, or wrong self-consciousness, but from the moment tlie jDoor 
 boy was spied in the slioj), I liad a perception that mamma and 
 Mrs. Mansell marked him down. Personally he would be 
 innocent ; but, through all his chatter, I cannot shake otf the 
 fancy that I am watched, or that decided indifference is not 
 needed to keep him at a distance.' 
 
 ' I wish you could have seen him without knowing him ! ' 
 
 ' In vain, dear Miss King ! I can't bear handsome men. I 
 see his frivolity and sliallowness ; and for amiability, what do 
 you think of keeping his cousin all tlie morning from shooting 
 for such a mere nothing, and then sending liim off for a ten 
 miles' walk ? ' 
 
 ' For my joart, I confess that I was struck witli tlie good sense 
 and kindness he showed in our tete-d-tele—1 thought it justified 
 Mr. Dynevor's description.' 
 
 ' Yes, I haA'e no doubt that there is some good in him. He 
 might have done very well, if he had not always been an idol.' 
 
 Isabel was the more provoked with Lord Fitzjocelyn, when, 
 by and by, he appeared in the drawing-room, and related the 
 result of his cousin's mission. Jem, who ivould know better 
 than himself where to find his property, had not chosen to 
 believe* his description of the spot where he had left the lotion ; 
 and, in the twilight, Louis had found his foot coiled about by 
 the feelers and claws of a formidable monster— no other than 
 a bottled scorpion, a recent present from Captain Hannaford. 
 He did not say how emblematic the scorpion lotion was of that 
 which Jem had been administering to his wounded spirit all the 
 morning, but he put the story in so ludicrous a light that Isabel 
 decided that Mr. Dynevor was ungenerously and ungratefully 
 treated as a butt ; and she turned away in displeasure from the 
 group whom the recital was amusing, to offer her sympathy to 
 the tutor, and renew the morning's conversation. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 FROSTY, BUT KINDLY 
 
 Go not eastward, go not westward, 
 
 For a stranger whom we know not. 
 
 LHvc a fire npon the hearthstone, 
 
 Is a neighbour's homely daughter; 
 
 Like the moonlight or the starlight. 
 
 Is the handsomest of strangers. — Legend of nkiwatha 
 
 What a laboured production had the letter been ! How many 
 copies had the statesman written ! how late had lie sat over it 
 
FEOSTY, BUT KINDLY 135 
 
 at night ! liow much more consideration had he spent on it than 
 on papers involving the success o£ his life ! A word too much 
 or too little might precipitate tlie catastrophe, and the bare 
 notion of his son's marriage with a pupil of Lady Conway 
 renewed and gave fresh poignancy to the past. 
 
 At first his anxieties were past mention ; but he grew restless 
 under them, and the instinct of going to Mrs. Ponsonby pre- 
 vailed. At least, slie would know what had transpired from 
 James, or from Fitzjocelyn to Mrs. Frost. 
 
 She had heard of ecstatic letters from both the cousins, and 
 Mary had been delighted to identify Miss Conway with the 
 Isabel of whom one of her school friends spoke rapturously ; 
 but the last letter had been from James to his grandmother, 
 declaring that Lord Ormersfield was destroying the happiness 
 of the most dutiful of sons, who was obedient even to tameness, 
 and so absurd that there was no bearing him. His lordship must 
 hear reason, and learn that he was rejecting the most admirable 
 creature in existence, her superiority of mind exceeding even 
 her loveliness of person. He had better beware of tyranny ; it 
 was possible to abuse submission, and who could answer for the 
 consequences of thwarting strong affections? All the ground 
 Fitzjocelyn had gained in tlie last six weeks had been lost ; 
 and for the future, James would not predict. 
 
 'An uncomfortable matter,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, chiefly for 
 the sake of reading her daughter's feelings. ' If it were not in 
 poor Louis's mind already, his father and James would plant it 
 there by their contrary efforts.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I hope it will come right,' said Mary. ' Louis is too 
 good, and his father too kind, for it not to end well. And then, 
 mamma, he will be able to prove, what nobody will believe — 
 tliat he is constant.' 
 
 'You think so, do you?' said her mother, smiling. 
 
 Mary blushed, but answered, ' Where he really cared, he would 
 be constant. His fancy might be taken, and he might rave, but 
 he would never really like what was not good. — If he does think 
 about Miss Conway, we may trust she is worthy of him. Oh ! 
 I should like to see her ! ' 
 
 Mary's eyes lighted up with an enthusiasm that used to be a 
 stranger to them. It was not tlie over-acted indifference nor 
 the tender generosity of disappointment : it seemed more to 
 partake of the fond, unselfish, elder-sisterly affection that she 
 had always shown towards Louis, and it set her mother quite 
 at ease. 
 
 Seeing Lord Ormersfield riding into the terrace, Mary set out 
 for a walk, that he might have his tete-a-tete freely with her 
 mother. On coming home, she met him on the stairs ; and he 
 spoke with a sad softness and tone of pardon that alarmed her 
 so much, that she hastened to ask her mother whether Louis 
 had really avowed an attachment. 
 
 ' Oh no,' said Mrs. Ponsonby i ' he has written a very right- 
 
136 DYNEYOR TERRACE 
 
 minded letter, on the whole, poor boy ! though he is sure the 
 CoiTways have only to be known to be appreciated. Rather 
 too true ! It is in his Miss Fanny hand, stiff and dispirited ; 
 and his father has worked himself into such a state of uneasi- 
 ness, that I think it will end in his going to Ebbscreek at once.' 
 ' O mamma, you won't let liim go and torment Louis *? ' 
 ' Why, Mary, have you been learning of James ? Perhaps 
 he would torment him more from a distance ; and besides, I 
 doubt what sort of counsellor James is likely to make in liis 
 present mood.' 
 
 ' I never could see that James made any difference to Louis,' 
 said Mary. ' I know people think he does, because Louis gives 
 up wishes and plans to him ; but he is not led in opinions or 
 principles, as far as I can see.' 
 
 ' Not unless his own wishes went the same way.' 
 ' At least, Lord Ormersfield will see Miss Conway ! ' 
 * I am afraid that will do no good. It will not be for the 
 first time. Lady Conway has been his dread from tlie time of 
 his own marriage ; and if she should come to North wold, he 
 will be in despair. I do think he must be right ; she must be 
 making a dead set at Louis.' 
 
 ' Not Miss Conway,' said Mary. ' I know she must be good, 
 or he would not endure her for a moment.' 
 
 ' Mary, you not do know the power of beauty.' 
 ' I have heard of it,' said Mary ; ' I have seen how Doiia 
 Guadalupe was followed. But those people were not like 
 Louis. No, mamma ; I think James might be taken in, I 
 don't think Louis could be— unless he had a very grand dream 
 of his own before his eyes ; and then it would be his own 
 dream, not the lady that he saw ; and by and by he would find 
 it out, and be so vexed ! ' 
 
 ' And, I trust, before he had committed himself ! ' 
 ' Mamma, I won't have you think Miss Conway anything but 
 up to his dreams ! I know she is. Only think wiiat Jane 
 Drummond says of her ! ' 
 
 When the idea of going to see how matters stood had once 
 occurred to the Earl, he could not stay at home : the ankle and 
 the affections preyed on him by turns, and he wrote to Sir 
 Miles Oakstead to fix an earlier day for the promised visit, as 
 well as to his son, to announce liis speedy arrival. Then he 
 forgot the tardiness of cross-country posts, and outran liis 
 letter, so that he found no one to meet him at Bickleypool ; and 
 on driving up to the gate at Ebbscreek, found all looking de- 
 serted. After much knocking, Priscilla appeared, round-eyed 
 and gasping, and verified his worst fears with ' Gone to Bo- 
 chattle.' However, she explained that only one gentleman was 
 gone to dine there ; the other was rowing him round the point, 
 witli grandfather ; — tliey would soon be back — indeed they 
 ought, for the tide was so low, they would have to land down 
 by the shingle bar. 
 
FROSTY, BUT KINDLY 137 
 
 She pointed out where the boat must come in ; and thither 
 the Earl directed his steps, feeling as if he were going to place 
 himself under a nutmeg-grater, as he thought how James Frost 
 would receive the implied distrust of his guardianship. 
 
 The sunset gleam was fading on the sleepy Avaves that made 
 but a feint of breaking, along the shining expanse of moist un- 
 covered sand, when two figures were seen progressing from the 
 projecting rocks, casting long shadows before them. Lord Or- 
 mersfield began to prepare a mollifying address — but, behold ! 
 Was it the effect of light so much to lengthen Jem's form ^ 
 nay, was it making him walk with a stick ^ A sudden, un- 
 looked-for liope seized the Earl. The next minute he had been 
 recognized ; and in the grasping hands and meeting eyes, all 
 was forgotten, save the true, fond affection of father and son. 
 
 ' I did not expect this pleasure. They told me you were 
 dining out.' 
 
 * Only rowing Jem to the landing-place. I told him to make 
 my excuses. It is a dinner to half the neighbourhood, and my 
 foot is always troublesome if I do not lay it up in the evening.' 
 
 ^ I am glad you are prudent,' said his father, dismissing his 
 fears in his gratification, and proceeding to lay his coming to 
 the score of the foot. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn did not wish to see through the plea — he was 
 much too happy in his father's unusual warmth and tenderness, 
 and in the delights of hospitality. Mrs. Hannaford was gone 
 out, and eatables were scarce ; but a tea dinner was prepared 
 merrily between Priscilla, the Captain, and Louis, who gloried 
 in displaying his school-fagging accomplishments with toast, 
 eggs, and rashers — hobbled between parlour and kitchen, help- 
 ing Priscilla, joking with the Captain, and waiting on his^ 
 father so eagerly and joyously as to awaken a sense of adventiire 
 and enjoyment in the Earl himself. No meal, with Frampton 
 behind his chair, had ever equalled Fitzjocelyn's cookery or 
 attendance; and Louis's reminiscences of the penalties he had 
 suffered from his seniors for burnt toast, awoke like recollections 
 of schoolboy days, hitherto in utter oblivion, and instead of the 
 intended delicate conversatioiij father and son found themselves 
 laughing over a ' twocinium or review of schools.' 
 
 Still, the subject must be entered on ; and when Lord Ormers- 
 field had mentioned the engagement to go to Oakstead, he added, 
 ^ All is well, since I have found you here. Let me tell you that 
 I never felt more grateful nor more relieved than by this in- 
 stance of regard for my wishes.' 
 
 Though knowing tlie fitful nature of Louis's colour, he would 
 have been better satisfied not to have called up such an inten- 
 sity of red, and to have had some other answer than, ' I wish you 
 saw more of them.' 
 
 'I see them every year in London.' 
 
 * London gives so little scojje for real acquaintance,' ventured 
 Louis again, with downcast eyes, 
 
138 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' You forget that Lady Conway is my sister-in-law.' Louis 
 would have spoken, but his father added, ' Before you were born, 
 I had full experience of her. You must take it on trust that her 
 soft, prepossessing manners belong to her as a woman of the 
 world who cannot see you without designs on you.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Louis, ' I yield to your expressed wishes ; but 
 my aunt has been very kind to me : and,' he added, after trying 
 to mould the words to their gentlest form, 'you could not see 
 my cousins without being convinced that it is the utmost 
 injustice—' 
 
 'I do not censure them,' said his father, as he liesitated 
 between indignation and respect ; ' I only tell you, Louis, that 
 notl]ing could grieve me more than to see your liappiness in the 
 keeping of a pupil of Lady Conway.' 
 
 He met a look full of consternation, and of struggles between 
 filial deference and the sense of injustice. All Louis allowed 
 himself to say was, however, 'Surely, when I am her own 
 nephew ! when our poverty is a flagrant fact — she may be ac- 
 quitted of anything but caring for me for — for my mother's sake.' 
 
 There Avas a silence that alarmed Louis, who had never before 
 named his mother to the Earl. At last. Lord Ormersfield spoke 
 clearly and sternly, in characteristic succinct sentences, but 
 taking breath between each. 'You shall have no reason to 
 think me prejudiced. I will tell you facts. There was a match 
 which she desired for such causes as lead her to seek you. The 
 poverty was greater, and she knew it. On one side there was 
 strong affection ; on that which she influenced there was — none 
 whatever. If there were scruples, she smothered them. She 
 worked on a young innocent mind to act out her deceit, and 
 without a misgiving on — on his part that his feelings were not 
 returned, the marriage took place.' 
 
 'It could not have been all her own fault,' cried Louis. 'It 
 must have been a willing instrument — much to blame — ' 
 
 His father cut him short with sudden severity, such as startled 
 him. ' Never say so, Louis. She was a mere child, educated for 
 that sole purpose ; her most sweet and docile nature wasted 
 and perverted.' 
 
 ' And you know this of your own knowledge ? ' said Fitz- 
 jocelyn, still striving to find some loophole to escape from such 
 testimony. 
 
 The Earl paused, as if to collect himself, then repeated the 
 words, slowly and decidedly, ' Of my own knowledge. I could 
 not have spoken thus otherwise.' 
 
 ' May I ask how it ended ? ' 
 
 ' As those who marry for beauty alone have a right to expect. 
 There was neither confidence nor sympathy. She died early. 
 I — we — those who loved her as their own life — were thankful.' 
 
 Louis perceived the strong effort and great distress with 
 which these words were uttered, and ventured no answer, glanc- 
 ing hastily through all his connections to guess whose history 
 
FROSTY, BUT KINDLY 139 
 
 could thus deepl;/ affect his father ; but lie was entirely at a 
 loss ; and Lord Ormersfield, recovering himself, added, ' Say no 
 more of this ; but, believe me, it v^as to spare you from her 
 manoeuvres that I kept you apart from that family/ 
 
 'The North wold baths have been recommended for Louisa,' 
 said Fitzjocelyn. ^Before we knew of your objections, we 
 mentioned Miss Faithfull's lodgings.' 
 
 What tlie Earl was about to utter, he suppressed. 
 
 ' You cannot look at those girls and name manoeuvring ! ' 
 cried Louis. 
 
 ' Poor tilings.' 
 
 After a silence, Lord Ormersfield added, with more anxiety 
 than prudence, ' Set my mind at rest, Louis. There can have 
 been no harm done yet, in so short a time.' 
 
 ' I — don't — know — ' said Louis, slowly. ' I have seldom spoken 
 to her, to be sure. She actually makes me shy ! I never saw 
 anything half so lovely. I cannot help her reigning over my 
 thoughts. I shall never believe a word against her, though I 
 cannot dispute what you say of my aunt. She is of another 
 mould. I wish you could let me hope that — ' 
 
 A gesture of desi^air from his father cut him short. 
 
 ' I will do whatever you please,' he concluded. 
 
 ' You will find that time conquers the fancy,' said the Earl, 
 quickly. ' I am relieved to find that you have at least not com- 
 mitted yourself : it would be no compliment to Mary Ponsonby.' 
 
 Louis's lip curled somewhat ; but he said no more, and made 
 no objections to the arrangements Avhich his father proceeded to 
 detail. Doubtful of the accommodations of Ebbscreek, Lord 
 Ormersfield had prudently retained his fly ; and though Louis, 
 intending to sleep on the floor, protested that there was plenty 
 of room, he chose to return to the inn at Bickleypool. He 
 would call for Louis to-morrow, to take him for a formal call at 
 Beauchastel ; and the day after they would go together to 
 Oakstead, leaving James to return home, about ten days sooner 
 than had been previously concerted. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield had not been gone ten minutes, before 
 James's quick bounding tread was heard far along the dry 
 woodland paths. He vaulted over the gate, and entered by the 
 open window, exclaiming, as he did so, ' Hurrah ! The deed is 
 done ; the letter is off to engage the House Beautiful.' 
 
 ' Doom is doom ! ' were the first words that occurred to Louis. 
 ' The lion and the lorince.' 
 
 'What's that r 
 
 ' There was once a king,' began Louis, as if the tale were the 
 newest in the world, ' whose son was predestined to be killed by 
 a lion. After much consideration, his Majesty enclosed his 
 royal highness in a tower, warranted wild-beast proof, and for- 
 bade the chase to be mentioned in his hearing. The result was, 
 that the locked-up prince died of lock-jaw in consequence of 
 tearing his hand with a nail in the picture of the lion,' 
 
140 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * I shall send that apologue straight to Ormersfield/ 
 
 ' You may spare that trouble. My father has been with me 
 all the evening/ 
 
 ' Oh ! his double-ganger visits you. That accounts for your 
 freaks.' 
 
 ' Double-gangers seldom come in yellow-bodied flies.' 
 
 ' His lordship m 2)roprid pei'sond. You don't mean it.' 
 
 ' He is sleeping at the " George " at Bickleypool. There is a 
 letter coming to-morrow by the post, to say he is coming to-day, 
 with every imaginable civility to you ; but I am to go to the 
 rose-coloured pastor's with him on Wednesday.' 
 
 ' So tliere's an end of our peace and comfort ! ' 
 
 ' I am afraid we have sadly discomposed his peace.' 
 
 'Did you discover whether his warnings have the slightest 
 foundation 1 ' 
 
 ' He told me a history that somewhat accounts for his distrust 
 of my aunt. I think there must be another side to it, and 
 nothing can be more unjust than to condemn all the family ; 
 but it affected him so exceedingly that I do not wonder at his 
 doing so. He gave no names, but I am sure it touched him very 
 nearly. Can you tell who it could have been ? ' And he narrated 
 enough to make James exclaim — ' It ought to touch him nearly. 
 He was talking of himself.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! — my mother ! ' cried Louis, leajoing up. 
 
 ' Yes — his own version of his married life.' 
 
 ' How do you know ^ You cannot remember it,' said Louis, 
 though too well convinced, as he recollected the suppressed 
 anguish, and the horror with which all blame of the young wife 
 had been silenced. 
 
 ' I have heard of it again and again. It was an unhappy, ill- 
 assorted marriage : she was gay, he was cold.' 
 
 ' My Aunt Catharine says so ? ' 
 
 ' As far as she can blame anything. Your mother was a sweet 
 blossom in a cold wind. She loved and pitied her with all lier 
 heart. Your aunt was talking, this very evening, of your father 
 having carried her sister to Ormersfield, away from all her 
 family ; and one reason of her desire to go to North wold is to 
 see those who were witli her at last.' 
 
 Louis was confounded. ' Yes ! I see,' he said. ' How obtuse 
 not to read it in his own manner ! How much it explains ! ' 
 and he silently rested his brow on his hands. 
 
 ' Depend upon it, there are two sides to the story. I would 
 not be a pretty, petted, admired girl in his keeping.' 
 
 'Do you think it mends matters with me to fasten blame on 
 either i ' said Louis, sadly. ' No ; I was realizing the perception 
 of such a thread of misery woven into his life, and thinking how 
 little I have felt for him.' 
 
 ' Endowing him with your own feelings, and then feeling for 
 him ! ' 
 
 ' No. I cannot estimate his feeling. He is of harder, firmei;' 
 
FROSTY, BUT KINDLY 141 
 
 stuff than I ; and for that very reason, I suspect, suffering is a 
 more terrific tiling. I heard the doctors say, when I bore pain 
 badly, that it would probably do the less future harm : a bad 
 moral, but I believe it is true of the mental as of the physical 
 constitution/ Answering sometliing between a look and a shrug 
 of James, he mused on, aloud — ' I understand better what the 
 Avreck of affection must have been.' 
 
 ' For my part,' said James, ' I do not believe in the affection 
 that can tyrannize over and blight a woman.' 
 
 'Nay, James ! I cannot doubt. My very name — my having 
 been called by it, are the more striking in one so fond of usage 
 and precedent. .Things that passed between him and Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, while I was ill — much that I little regarded and 
 ill requited — show what force of love and grief there must have 
 been. The cold, grave manner is the broken, inaccessible edge 
 of the cliff rent asunder.' 
 
 ' If romance softens the rough edge, you are welcome to it ! 
 I may as well go to bed ! ' 
 
 * Not romance — the sad reality of my poor father's history. 
 I trust I shall never treat his wishes so lightly — ' 
 
 Impatient of one-sided sympathy, James exclaimed, 'As if 
 you did not give way to him like a slave ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, like a slave,' said Louis, gravely. ' I wish to give way 
 like a son who would try to comfort him for what he has 
 undergone.' 
 
 'Now, I should have thought your feeling would have been 
 for your mother ? ' 
 
 'If my mother could speak to me,' said Louis, with trem- 
 bling lips, ' she would surely bid me to try my utmost, as far 
 as in me lies, to bring peace and happiness to my father. I 
 cannot tell where the errors may have been, and I will never 
 ask. If she was as like to me as they say, I could understand 
 some of them ! At least, I know that I am doubly bound to 
 give as little vexation to him as possible ; and I trust that you 
 - will not make it harder to me. You lost your father so early, 
 that you can hardly estimate — ' 
 
 'The- trial V said James, willing to give what had passed the 
 air of a joke. 
 
 ' Exactly so. Good night.' 
 
142 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 NEW INHABITANTS 
 
 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad — 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, 
 Or long-haired page in crimson clad, 
 
 Goes by to towered Camelot ; 
 And sometimes, through the mirror bliic, 
 Tlie knights come riding two and two. 
 She hath no loyal knight and true— 
 
 The Lady of Shalott.— Tennyson 
 
 'Oakstead, Oct. 14th, 1S47. 
 
 ^My DEAR Aunt, — I find that Fitzjocelyn is writing to you ; 
 but I think you will wish for a fuller account of him tlian 
 can be obtained from his own letters. Indeed, I should be 
 much obliged if you would kindly exercise your influence to 
 persuade him that he is not in a condition to be imprudent with 
 impunity. Sir Miles Oakstead was absolutely shocked to see 
 the alteration in his appearance, as well as in his spirits ; and 
 although both our kind host and hostess are most solicitous on 
 his account, it happens unfortunately that they are at this 
 juncture quite alone, so that he is without companions of his 
 own age. I must not, however, alarm you. The fact is, that 
 circumstances have occurred which, though he has acted in the 
 most exemplary manner, have harassed and distressed him a 
 good deal ; and his health suffers from the difficulty of taking 
 sufficient exercise. James will triumph when he hears that I 
 regret having shortened his stay by the sea-side ; for neither 
 the place nor the weather seems to agree with him : he lias had 
 a recurrence of wakeful nights, and is very languid. Poor boy ! 
 yesterday he wandered out alone in the rain, lost liis Avay, and 
 came home so fatigued that he slept for three hours on the 
 sofa ; but to-day he seems better — has more colour-, and has 
 been less silent. We go to Leffingham Castle from Monday till 
 Thursday, when I shall take him to London for Hastings to 
 decide whether it be fit for him to return to Christcliurch after 
 the vacation, according to his own most anxious wish. With 
 my love to Mary Ponsonby and her daughter, and best remem- 
 brances to James, 
 
 ' Your affectionate nephew, 
 
 ' Ormersfield.' 
 
 Tlie same envelope contained another letter of many sheets, 
 beginning in a scrawl :— 
 
 'Scene — Eose-coloured Pastor's Nest. Tables, chairs, books, 
 papers, despatcli-boxes. The two ex-ministers writing and 
 consulting. Viscount F. looking on like a colt running beside 
 its parent at plougli, thinking that harness leaves deep marks, 
 and that he does not like the furrow. 
 
NEW INHABITANTS 143 
 
 ' October 13th, 1847. — That correct date must be a sign that 
 he is getting into harness. 
 
 ' Well, dear Aunt Kitty, to make a transition from the third 
 to the first person, like Mrs. Norris, you have in this short 
 scene an epitome of tlie last fortnight. Lady Oakstead is an 
 honourable matron, whom I pity for having me in her way ; a 
 man unable to be got rid of by the lawful exercises of shooting 
 and riding, and with a father always consulting her about him, 
 and watching every look and movement, till the blood comes 
 throbbing to my temples by the mere attraction of his eyes. 
 To be watched into a sense of impatience and ingratitude, is a 
 trial of life for which one is not prepared. My father and Sir 
 Miles are very busy ; I hang here an anomaly, sitting with 
 them as being less in their way than in Lady Oakstead's, and 
 wondering what I shall be twenty years hence. I am sick of 
 the only course of life that will content my father, and I can 
 see no sunshine likely to brighten it. But, at least, no one's 
 happiness is at stake but my own. Here is a kind, cordial 
 letter from Lady Conway, pressing me to join her at Scar- 
 borough, make expeditions, he. My father is in such a state 
 about me, that I believe I could get his consent to anytliing ; 
 but I suppose it would not be fair, and I have said nothing to 
 him as yet. On Monday we go to Leffingham, which, I hear, 
 is formality itself. After that, more state visits, unless I can 
 escape to Oxford. My father fancies me not well enough ; but 
 pray unite all the forces of the Terrace to impress that nothing 
 else will do me any good. Dragging about in this dreary, 
 heartless way is all that ails me, and reading for my degree 
 would be the best cure. I mean to work hard for honours, 
 and, if possible, delude myself with hopes of success. Work 
 is the need. Here, there is this one comfort. There is no one 
 to talk to, " no birds in last year's nest," sons absent, daughters 
 disposed of ; but, unluckily, the Pastoress, under a mistaken 
 sense of kindness, has asked the Vicar's son to walk with me, 
 and he is always lying in wait, — an Ensign in a transition state 
 between the sheepish schoolboy and the fast man, with an 
 experience of three months of depot. Having roused him from 
 the pristine form, I regret the alternative. 
 
 ' Did I ever write so savage a letter ? Don't let it vex you, or 
 I won't send it. What a bull ! There is such a delectable 
 Scotch mist, that no one will suspect me of going out ; and I 
 shall actually cheat the Ensign, and get a walk in solitude to 
 hearten me for the dismal state dinner-party of the evening. 
 
 ' October 14th. — Is it in the book of fate that I should 
 always treat this rose-coloured pastor like a carrion crow ? I 
 have done it again ! And it has but brought out more of my 
 father's marvellous kindness and patience. 
 
 ' I plunged into the Scotch mist unsuspected and unpursued. 
 The visible ebullition of discontent had so much disgusted me 
 that I must needs see whether anything could be done with it, 
 
144 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 and fairly face the matter, as I can only do in a walk. Pillow 
 counsel is feverisli and tumultuous ; one is hardly master of 
 oneself. The soft, cool, mist-laden air, heavy but incense- 
 breathing, was a far more friendly adj unct in the quiet decay of 
 nature — mournful, but not foul nor corrupt, because man had 
 not spoilt it. It suited me better than a sunny, glaring day, 
 such as I used to^ revel in, and the brightness of which, last 
 spring, made ]ne pine to be in the free air. Such days are past 
 with me ; I liad better know that they are, and not strive after 
 them. Personal happiness is the lure, not the object, in this 
 world. I have my Northwold home, and I am beginning to 
 see that my father's comfort depends on me as I little imagined, 
 and sufficiently to sweeten any sacrifice. So I have written to 
 refuse Scarborough, for there is no use in trying to combine 
 two things, pleasing my father and myself. I wish tlie deter- 
 mination may last ; but mine liave never been good for much, 
 and you must help me. 
 
 ' Neither thinking nor fog conduced to seeing where I was 
 going ; and when my ankle began to give out, and I was going 
 to turn, I ran into a hedge, which, looming througli the mist, 
 I had been taking for a fine range of distant mountains — rather 
 my way of dealing with other objects. Being witliout a horse 
 on whose neck to lay the reins, I could only coast tlie hedge, 
 hoping it miglit lead me back to Oakstead Park, which I had 
 abandoned in my craving for space and dread of being dogged 
 by the Ensign. But the treacherous hedge led me nowhere but 
 to a horse-pond ; and when I had struggled out of the adjacent 
 mire, and attained a rising ground, I could only see about four 
 yards square of bare down, all the rest being gvixy fog. Alto- 
 gether, the scene was worth something. I heard what I thought 
 the tinkling of a sheep bell through the cloud, whicli dulled the 
 sound like cotton wool ; I pursued the call, when anon, the veil 
 began to grow thin, and revealed, looking just like a trans- 
 parency, a glimpse of a little village in a valley almost under 
 my feet, trees, river, church-spire and all, and the bell became 
 clearer, and showed me what kind of flock it was meant for. 
 I turned that way, and had just found a path leading down the 
 steep, when down closed the cloud — a natural dissolving view 
 — leaving me wondering whether it had been mirage or imagin- 
 ation, till presently, the curtain drew up in earnest. Out 
 came, not merely form, but colour, as I have seen a camera clear 
 itself — blue sky, purple hills, russet and orange woods, a great 
 elm green picked out with yellow, a mass of brown oaks, a 
 scarlet maple, a beech grove, skirting a brilliant water meadow, 
 with a most reflective stream running througli it, and giving 
 occasion for a single-arched bridge, and a water-mill, with a 
 wheel draperied with white foam ; two swans disporting on the 
 water (I would not declare they were not geese), a few cottony 
 flakes of mist hanging over damp corners, the hill rising green 
 with the bright whitewashed cottages of this district, on the 
 
NEW INHABITANTS 145 
 
 side a rich, red, sandstone-coloured church, late architecture, 
 tower rather mouldering — all the more picturesque ; church- 
 yard, all white headstones and ochreous sheep, surmounted by 
 a mushroom-shaped dark yew-tree, railed in with intensely 
 wliite rails, the whole glowing in the parting coup-de-soleil of 
 a wet day, every tear of every leaf glistening, and everything 
 indescribably lustrous. It is a picture that one's mental photo- 
 graph ought to stamp for life, and the cheering and interest it 
 gave, no one but you can understand. I wished for you, I 
 know. It looks so poor in words. 
 
 * After the service, I laid hold of the urchin whose hearty 
 stare had most. reminded me of Tom Madison, and gave him a 
 shilling to guide me back to Oakstead, a wise measure, for down 
 came the cloud, blotting all out like the Castle of St. John ; 
 and by the time I came home, it was pitch dark and raining 
 hard, and my poor father was imagining me at the foot of 
 another precipice. I was hoping to creep up in secret, but they 
 all^ came out, fell upon me. Lady Oakstead sent me tea, and 
 ordered me to rest ; and so handsomely did I obey, that when 
 next I opened my eyes, and saw my father waiting, as I thought, 
 for me to go down to dinner with him, I found he had just 
 come up after the ladies had quitted the dining-room. So kind 
 and so little annoyed did he seem, that I shook myself, to be 
 certified that I had broken no more bones, but it was all sheet* 
 forbearance and consideration — enough to go to one's heart- 
 when it was the very thing to vex liim most. With great peni- 
 tence, I went down, and the first person I encountered was the 
 very curate I had seen in my m^5^^erious village, much as if he 
 had walked out of a story book. On fraternizing, I found liim 
 to be a friend of Holdsworth. Lady Oakstead is going to take 
 me, this afternoon, to see his church, &c., thoroughly ; and be- 
 hold, I learn from him that she is a notable woman for doing 
 good in her parish, never so happy as in trotting to cottages, 
 thougli her good deeds are always in the background. There- 
 upon, I ventured to attack her this morning on cottage garni- 
 ture, and obtained the very counsel I wanted about ovens and 
 piggeries ; we began to get on together, and she is to put me 
 up to all manner of information that I want particula^rly. I 
 must go now, not to keep her waiting ; never mind the first 
 half of my letter — I have no time to cancel it now. I find my 
 father wants to put in a note ; don't believe a word that he 
 says, for I am much better to-day, body and mind. 
 
 Goosey, goosey gander, 
 Where shall we wander, 
 
 ' Anywhere, everywhere, to remain still 
 
 ' Your most affectionate, 
 
 'Fits Gosling/ 
 
 Dear Aunt Kitty ! One of her failings was never to be able 
 to keep a letter to herself. She fairly cried over her boy's 
 
 L 
 
146 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 troubles ; and Mrs. Ponsonby wouki not have known wliether 
 to laugh or cry but for James's doleful predictions, which were 
 so sentimental as to turn even his grandmother to the laughino* 
 party, and left him no sympathizer but Mary, who thought it 
 very hard and cruel to deride Louis when he was trying so 
 earnestly to be good and suffering so much. Why shoukl they 
 all — Aunt Catharine herself— be merry over his thinking tlie 
 spring-days of his life passed away, and trying so nobly and 
 patiently to resign himself ? 
 
 ' It is the way of the world, Mary,' said James. ' People think 
 they are laughing at the mistaking a flock of sheep for the 
 army of Pentapolin of the naked arm, when they are really 
 sneering at the lofty spirit taking the weaker side. They in- 
 volve the sublime temper in the ridiculous accident, and laugli 
 both alike to scorn.' 
 
 ' Not mamma and Aunt Catharine,' said Mary. * Besides, is 
 not half the harm in the world done by not seeing where the 
 sublime is invaded by the ridiculous ? ' 
 
 ' I see nothing ridiculous in the matter,' said James. ' His 
 father has demanded an unjustifiable sacrifice. Fitzjocelyn 
 yields and sufiPers.' 
 
 *I do believe Lord Ormersfield must relent; you see how 
 pleased he is, saying that Louis's oonduct is exemplary.' 
 
 'He would sacrifice a dozen sons to one prejudice ! ' 
 
 * Perhaps Miss Conway will overcome the prejudice. I am 
 sure, if he thinks Louis's conduct exemplary, Louis must have 
 the sort of happiness he used to wish for most, and his father 
 would do his very best to gratify him.' 
 
 That sentence w^as Mary's cheval de hataille in her discussions 
 with James, who could never be alone with her without broach- 
 ing the subject. The two cousins often walked together during 
 James's month at North wold. The town cliurch was not very 
 efficiently served, and was only opened in the morning and late 
 evening on Sundays, without any afternoon prayers, and James 
 was often in the habit of walking to Ormersfield church for the 
 three o'clock service, and asking Mary to join him. Their re- 
 turn was almost always occupied in descriiDtions of Miss Con- 
 way's perfections, and Mary learnt to believe that two beings, 
 evidently compounded of every creature's best, must be destined 
 for each other. 
 
 'How well it is,' she thought, 'that I did not stand in tlie 
 way. Oh ! how unhappy and puzzled I should be now. How 
 thankful I am that dear mamma understood all for us so well ! 
 How glad I am that Louis is waiting patiently, not doing any- 
 thing self-willed. As long as his father says he is exemplary, it 
 must make one happy ; and mamma will convince Lord Ormers- 
 field. It will all turn out well ; and how deliglitful it will be to 
 see him quite happy and settled ! ' 
 
 Mary and her mother had by this time taken root at Dynevor 
 Terrace, and formed an integral part of the inhabitants. Their 
 
NEW INHABITANTS 147 
 
 newspaper went the round of the houses, their name was sent 
 to the Northwold book-club and enrolled among the subscribers 
 to local charities, and Miss Mercy Faithfull found that their 
 j)urse and kitchen would bear deeper hauls than she could in 
 general venture upon. Mary was very happy, working under 
 her, and was a welcome and cheerful visitor to the many sick, 
 aged, and sorrowful to whom she introduced her. 
 
 If Mary could only have induced Aunt Melicent to come and 
 see with her own eyes, to know Mrs. Frost and the Faithfull 
 sisters, and, above all, to see mamma in her own house, she 
 thought one ofher most eager wishes would have been fulfilled. 
 But invite as she and her mother might, they could not move 
 Miss Ponsonby from Bryanstone-square. Railroads and country 
 were both her dread ; and she was not inclined to overcome her 
 fears on behalf of a sister-in-law whom she forgave, but could 
 not love. 
 
 ' You must give it up, my dear,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. ' I let the 
 time for our amalgamation pass. Melicent and I were not tole- 
 rant of each other. Since she has given you back to me, I can 
 love and respect her as I never did before ; but a little breach 
 in youth becomes too wide in age for either repentance or your 
 affection, my dear, to be able to span it.' 
 
 Mary saw what a relief it was that the invitations were not 
 accepted, and though she was disappointed, she blamed herself 
 for having wished otherwise. Tranquillity was such a boon to 
 that wearied spirit, each day was so much gain that went by 
 without the painful, fluttered look of distress ; and never had 
 Mrs. Ponsonby had so much quiet enjoyment with her daughter 
 and her aunt. Mary was perfectly contented in seeing her better, 
 and had no aims beyond the present trivial, commonplace life, 
 with so many to help by little ordinary services, and her mother 
 serene and comfortable. Placid, and yet active, she went busily 
 through the day, and did not forget the new pleasures to which 
 Louis had opened her mind. She took up his books without a 
 pang, and would say, briskly and unblushingly, to her mother, 
 how strange it was that before she had been with him, she had 
 never liked at all what she now cared for so much. 
 
 The winter portended no lack of excitement. Miss Faithfull's 
 rooms were engaged. When Miss Mercy ran in breathless to 
 Mrs. Frost with the tidings, she little knew what feelings were 
 excited ; the hope and fear ; the doubt and curiosity ; the sense 
 of guilt towards the elder nephew, in not preventing what she 
 could not prevent ; the rejoicing on behalf of the younger 
 nephew ; tfie ladylike scorn of the motives that brought the 
 lodgers ; yet the warm feeling towards what was dear to Louis 
 and admired by Jem. 
 
 What a flapping and battering of carpets on the much-endur- 
 ing stump ! What furious activity of Martha ! What eager 
 help of little Charlotte, who was in a perfect trepidation of 
 delight at the rumour that a real beauty, fit for a heroine, was 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 coming ! What trotting hither and thitlier of Miss Mercy ! 
 Wlaat netting of blinds and stitching of chintz by Miss Salome ! 
 Wliat envy and contempt on the part of otlier landladies on 
 hearing that Miss Faithfiill's apartments were engaged for the 
 wliole winter ! What an anxious progress was Miss Mercy's, 
 when she conducted Mrs. Frost and Mary to a final insj^ection ! 
 and what was her triumph when Mary, sitting down on tlie 
 well-stuffed arm-chair, pronounced that people who would not 
 come there did not understand what comfort was. 
 
 Every living creature gazed — -Mrs. Frost tln-ougli her blind, 
 Mary behind her hydrangea in the balcony, Cliarlotte from lier 
 attic window,— when the lodgers disembarked in full force — two 
 ladies, two children, one governess, three maids, two men, two 
 horses, one King Charles's spaniel ! Let it be what it might, it 
 was a grand windfall for the Miss Faithfulls. 
 
 Mary's heart throbbed as the first carriage thundered upon 
 the gravel, and a sudden swelling checked her voice as she was 
 about to exclaim, ' There she is ! ' when the second lady emerged, 
 and moved up the garden path. She was veiled and mantled ; 
 but accustomed as was Mary's eye to the Spanish figure and 
 walk, the wonderful grace of movement and deportment struck 
 her as the very thing her eye had missed ever since she left 
 Peru. What the rest of the strangers were like, she knew not ; 
 she had only eyes for the creature who had won Louis's affec- 
 tion, and doubtless deserved it as all else that was precious. 
 
 * So they are come, Charlotte,' said Mrs. Frost, as the maiden 
 demurely brought in the kettle. 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am ; ' and stooping to put the kettle on, and growing 
 carnation-coloured over the fire. * Oh, ma'am, I never saw such 
 a young lady. She is all one as the Idng's sister in The Lord 
 of the Isles ! ' 
 
 While the object of all this enthusiasm was arriving at the 
 Terrace, she was chiefly conscious that Sir Roland was sinking 
 down on the ramparts of Acre, desperatelv wounded in the last 
 terrible siege ; and she was considering whether palmer or min- 
 strel should carry the tidings of his death to Adeline. It was 
 her refuge from the unpleasant feelings with which she viewed 
 the experiment of the Northwold baths upon Louisa's health. 
 As the carriage stopped, she cast one glance at the row of 
 houses ; they struck her as dreary and dilapidated ; she drew 
 her mantle closer, shivered, and walked into the house. ' Small 
 rooms, dingy furniture — that is mamma's affair,' passed through 
 her mind, as she made a courteous acknowledgment of Miss 
 Mercy's greeting, and stood by the drawing-room fire. 'Roland 
 slowly awoke from his swoon ; a white-robed old man, with a 
 red eight-pointed cross on his breast, was bending over him. 
 
 He knew himself to be in 1 can't remember which tower the 
 
 Hospitallers defended. I wonder whether Marianne can find 
 the volume of Yertot.' 
 
 ' Isabel, Isabel ! ' shrieked Virginia, who, with Louisa, had 
 
NEW INHABITANTS U^ 
 
 been roaming everywhere ; ' here is a discovery in the school- 
 room ! "Come ! ' 
 
 It was an old framed print of a large house, as much of a sham 
 castle as the nature of things would permit ; and beneath were 
 the words * Cheveleigh, the seat of Holand Dynevor, Esquire.' 
 
 ' There ! ' cried Virginia : * you see it is a castle, a dear old 
 feudal castle ! Think of that, Isabel ! Why, it is as good as 
 seeing Sir Roland himself, to have seen Mr. Dynevor Frost dis- 
 inherited. Oh ! if his name were only Roland, instead of that 
 horrid James ! ' 
 
 ' His initials are J. R.,' said Isabel. ' It is a curious coincidence.^ 
 
 * It only wants an Adeline to have the castle now,' said Louisa. 
 ' Oh ! there shall be an heiress, and she shall be beautiful, and 
 he sha'n't go crusading — he shall marry her.' 
 
 The sisters had not been aware that the schoolroom maid, 
 who had been sent on to prepare, was busy unpacking in a 
 corner of the room. ' They say. Miss Louisa,' she interposed, 
 ' that Mr. Frost is going to be married to a great heiress — his 
 cousin. Miss Ponsonby, at No. 7.' 
 
 Isabel requited the forwardness by silently leaving the room 
 with the sisters, and Virginia apologized for not having been 
 more cautious than to lead to such subjects. 'It is all gossip,' 
 she said, angrily ; ' Mr. Dynevor would never marry for money.' 
 
 ' Nay, let us find in her an Adeline,' said Isabel. 
 
 The next day. Miss Mercy had hurried into No. V, to declare 
 that the ladies were all that was charming, but that their ser- 
 vants gave themselves airs beyond credence, especially the 
 butler, who played the guitar, and insisted on a second table ; 
 when there was a peal of the bell, and Mary from her post of 
 observation ' really believed it was Lady Conway herself ; ' 
 whereupon Miss Mercy, without listening to persuasions, popped 
 into the back drawing-room to effect her retreat. 
 
 Lady Conway was all eagerness and cordiality, enchanted to 
 renew her acquaintance, venturing so early a call in hopes of 
 prevailing on Mrs. Ponsonby to come out with her to take a 
 drive. She conjured up recollections of Mary's childhood, de- 
 clared that she looked to her for drawing Isabel out, and was 
 extremely kind and agreeable. Mary thought her delightful, 
 with something of Louis's charm of manner ; and Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby believed it no acting, for Lady Conv/ay was sincerely 
 affable and affectionate, with great warmth and kindness, and 
 might have been all that was excellent, had she started into life 
 with a different code of duty. 
 
 So there was to be an intimacy. For Fitzjocelyn's sake, as 
 well as for the real good-nature of the advances, Mrs. Ponsonby 
 would not shrink back more than befitted her self-respect. Of 
 that quality she had less than Mrs. Frost, who, with her innate 
 punctilious spirit, avoided all favours or patronage. It was 
 curious to see the gentle old lady fire up with all the dignity of 
 the Pendragons, at the least peril of incurring an obligation ; 
 
150 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 and, though perfectly courteous, easy, and obliging, she contriA^ed 
 to keep at a greater distance than if she had been mistress of 
 Cheveleigh. There, she would have remembered that both she 
 and Lady Conway were aunts to Louis ; at North wold, her care 
 was to become beholden for nothing that she could not repay. 
 
 Lady Conway did her best, when driving out with Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby, to draw her into confidence. There were tender remi- 
 niscences from her heart of poor sweet Louisa, tearful inquiries 
 respecting her last weeks, certainties that Mrs. Ponsonby had 
 been of great use to her ; for, poor darling, slie had been thought- 
 less — so much to turn her head. Thei'e was cause for regret 
 in their own education — there was then so much less attention 
 to essentials. Lady Conway could not have borne to bring up 
 her own girls as she herself and her sisters had grown up ; she 
 liad chosen a governess who made religion the first object, and 
 she was delighted to see them all so attached to her ; she had 
 never had any fears of their being too serious — people had 
 learnt to be reasonable now, did not insist on the impracticable, 
 did not denounce moderate gaieties, as had once been done to 
 the alarm of poor Louisa. 
 
 Sweetest Louisa's son ! She could not speak too warmly of 
 him, and she declared herself highly gratified by Mr. Mansell's 
 opinion of his modesty, attention, and good sense. Mr. Mansell 
 was an excellent judge, he had such an opinion of Lord Ormers- 
 field's public character. 
 
 And, at a safe interval, she mentioned the probability that 
 Beauchastel might be settled on Isabel, if she should marry so 
 as to please Mr. Mansell : he cared for connection more than for 
 wealth ; if he had a weakness, it was for rank. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby thought it fair that the Earl should be aware 
 of these facts. He smiled ironically. 
 
 He left liis card with his sister-in-law, and, to have it over 
 while Louis was safe at Oxford, invited the party to spend a 
 day at Ormersfield, with Mrs. Frost to entertain them. He 
 was far too considerate of the feelings that he attributed to the 
 Ponsonbys to ask them to come ; and as three out of the six in 
 company were more or less in a state of haughtiness and cool- 
 ness. Lady Conway's graces failed entirely ; and poor innocent 
 Virginia and Louisa protested that they had never spent so 
 dull a day, and that they could not believe their cousin Fitz- 
 jocelyn could belong to such a tiresome place. 
 
 Isabel, who had undergone more dull days than they had, 
 contrived to get through it by torturing Adeline with utter 
 silence of all tidings from the East, and by a swarm of suitors, 
 with the fantastic Viscount foremost. She never was awake 
 from her dream until Mr. Holdsworth came to dinner, and was 
 so straightforward and easy that he thawed every one. 
 
 Afterwards, he never failed to return an enthusiastic reply 
 to the question that all the neighbourhood were asking each 
 other — namely, whether they had seen Miss Conway. 
 
NEW INHABITANTS 151 
 
 No one was a more devoted admirer than the Lady of 
 Eschalott, whose webs had a bad chance when there was one 
 glimpse of Miss Conway to be obtained from the window, and 
 the vision of whose heart was that Mrs. Martha might some 
 day let her stand in the housemaid's closet, to behold her idol 
 issue forth in the full glory of an evening dress — a thing 
 Charlotte had read of, but never seen anything nearer to it 
 than Miss Walby coming to tea, and her own Miss Clara in the 
 scantiest of all white muslins. 
 
 But Mrs. Martha was in an unexampled state of vixenish 
 crossness, and snapped venomously at mild Mrs. Beckett for 
 the kindest offers of sparing Charlotte to assist her in her mul- 
 tiplied labours. She seemed to be running after time all day 
 long, with five dinners and teas upon her hands, poor woman, 
 and allowing herself not the slightest relaxation, except to rush 
 in for a few seconds to No. 7, to indulge herself by inveighing 
 against the whole of the fine servants ; and yet she was so 
 proud of having lodgers at all, that she hated them for nothing 
 so much as for threatening to go away. 
 
 The object of her bitterest invectives was the fastidious butler, 
 Mr. Delaford, who by her account could do nothing for himself, 
 grudged her mistresses their very sitting-room, drank wine with 
 the ladies' maids like a gentleman, and ordered .fish for tlie 
 second table ; talked of having quitted a duke, and* submitting 
 to live with Lady Conway because he compassionated unpro- 
 tected females, and my lady was dependent on him for the 
 care of Sir Walter in the holidays. To crown his ofiences, he 
 never cleaned his own plate, but drew sketches and ]3layed the 
 guitar ! Moreover, Mrs. Martha had her notions that he was 
 making that sickly Frenchified maid of Miss Conway's mucli 
 too fond of him ; and as to his calling himself Mr. Delaford — 
 why, Mrs. Martha had a shrewd suspicion that he was some 
 kin to her first cousin's brother-in-law's shopman's v/ife in 
 Tottenham-court-road, v/hose name she knew was Ford, and 
 who had been picked out of a gutter ! The establishment of 
 such a fact appeared as if it would be the triumph of Mrs. 
 Marth-a's life. In the meantime, she more than hinted that 
 she would wear herself to the bone rather than let Charlotte 
 Arnold into the house ; and Jane, generally assenting, though 
 seldom going all lengths, used to divert the conversation by 
 comparisons with Mr. Frampton's politeness and consideration. 
 He never came to No. 5 to give trouble, only to help. 
 
 The invectives produced on Cha^rlotte's mind an efiect the 
 reverse of what was intended. Mr. Delaford, a finer gentle- 
 man than Mr. Frampton and Mr. Poynings, must be a wonder 
 of nature. The guitar — redolent of serenades and Spanish 
 cloaks — oh ! but once to see and hear it ! The very rudeness 
 of Mrs. Martha's words, so often repeated, gave her a feeling in 
 favour of their object. She had known Mrs. Martha unjust 
 ])efore. Poor Tom ! if he had only been a Spaniard, he would 
 have sung about the white dove — his pretty thought — in a 
 
152 DYNEVOR TERKACE 
 
 serenade ; but then he might have poniarded Mr. James in 
 his passion, which would nave been less agreeable — she sup- 
 posed he had forgotten her long ago— and so much the 
 better ! 
 
 It was a Sunday evening. Every one was gone to church 
 except Cliarlotte, who was left to keep house. Though No- 
 vember, it was not cold ; the day ]iad been warm and 
 showery, and the full moon had risen in the most glorious 
 brightness, riding in a sky tlie blue of which looked almost 
 black by contrast with her brilliancy. Charlotte stood at the 
 back door, gazing at the moon walking in brightness, and wan- 
 dered into the garden, to enjoy what to her was beyond all 
 other delights, reading Gessner's Death of Abel by moonlight. 
 There was quite sufficient light, even if she liad not known the 
 idyll almost by heart ; and in a trance of dreamy, undefined 
 delight, she stood beside the dark ivy-covered wall, each leaf 
 glistening in the moonbeams, which shed a subdued pearliness 
 over her white apron and collar, paled but gave a shadowy 
 refinement to her features, and imparted a loeculiar soft golden 
 gloss to the fair braids of hair on her modest brow. 
 
 A sound of opening the back gate made her give one of her 
 violent starts ; but before she could spring into tlie slielter of 
 the house, she was checked by the civil words, 'I beg your 
 pardon, I was mistaken — I took this for No. 8.' 
 
 'Three doors off — ' began Charlotte, discovering, with a sliy 
 thrill of surprise and pleasure, that slie liad been actually 
 accosted by the great Mr. Delaford ; and the moonlight, quite 
 as becoming to him as to her, made him an absolute Italian 
 count, tall, dark, pale, and whiskered. He did not go away at 
 once ; he lingered, and said softly, ' I perceive that you partake 
 my own predilection for the moonlight hour.' 
 
 Charlotte would have been delighted, liad it not been a great 
 deal harder to find an answer than if the old lord had asked 
 her a question ; but she simpered and blushed, which probably 
 did just as well. 
 
 Mr. Delaford supposed she knew the poet's lines — 
 
 'How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder bank — ' 
 
 'Oh yes, sir— so sweet!' exclaimed the Lady of Eschalott, 
 under her breath, though yonder bank was only represented by 
 the chequer-work of Mrs. Ponsonby's latticed trellis ; and Mr. 
 Delaford proceeded to quote tlie whole passage, in a deep mellow 
 voice, but with a great deal of affectation ; and Cliarlotte gasped, 
 ' So beautiful ! ' 
 
 'I perceive that you have a fine taste for poetry,' said Mr. 
 Delaford, so graciously, that Charlotte presumed to say, ' Oh, 
 sir ! is it true that you can play the guitar 1 ' 
 
 He smiled upon her tone of veneration, and replied, 'A trifle 
 — a little instrumental melody was a great resource. If his 
 poor performance would afford her any gratification, he would 
 fetch his guitar.' 
 
NEW INHABITANTS 153 
 
 * Oh, sir — thank you — a psalm-tune, perhaps. It is Sunday — 
 if you would be so kind.' 
 
 He smiled superciliously as he regretted that his music was 
 not of that description, and Charlotte felt ready to sink into 
 the earth at the indignity she had done the guitar in forgetting 
 that it could accompany anything but such songs as Valancourt 
 sang to Emily. She begged his pardon humbly ; and he declared 
 that he had a great respect for a lady's scruples, and should be 
 happy to meet her another evening. ' If Mrs. Beckett -would 
 allow her,' said Charlotte, overpowered with gratitude : ' there 
 would be the moon full to-morrow — how delightful ! ' He could 
 spare a short interval between the dinner and the tea ; and 
 with this promise he took leave. 
 
 Honest little Charlotte told Mrs. Beckett the whole story, 
 and all her eager wishes for to-morrow evening ; and Jane 
 sighed and puzzled herself, and knew it would make Martha 
 very angry, but could not help being good-natured. Jane had 
 a great deference for Martha's strong, rough character ; but 
 then Martha had never lived in a great house, and did not 
 know 'what was what,' nor the difference between 'low people' 
 and upper servants. So Jane acted chaperon as far as her easy 
 discretion went, and had it to say to her own conscience, and 
 to the angry Martha, that he never said one word that need 
 offend any young woman. 
 
 There v>^as a terrible storm below-stairs in the House Beauti- 
 ful at the idea of Delaford taking up with Mrs. Frost's little 
 kitchen-maid — Delaford, the lady's-maid killer jxir excellence, 
 wherever Lady Conway went, and whose coquetries whitened 
 the cheeks of Miss Conway's poor Marianne, tlie object of his 
 attentions whenever lie had no one else in view. He had not 
 known Charlotte to be a kitchen-maid when he first beheld her, 
 and her fair beauty and retiring grace had had full scope, assisted 
 by her veneration for himself ; and now the scorn of the grand 
 Mrs. Fanshawe, and the amusement of teasing Marianne, only 
 made him the more bent on patronizing the ' little rustic,' as he 
 called her. He was deferential to Mrs. Beckett, who felt herself 
 in her element in discussing plate, china, and large establish- 
 ments with him ; and he lent books, talked poetry, and played 
 the guitar to Charlotte, and even began to take her portrait, 
 with her mouth all on one side. 
 
 Delaford was an admirable servant, said the whole Conway 
 family ; he was trusted as entirely as he represented, and Lady 
 Conway often gave him charge over her son in sports and expe- 
 ditions beyond ladies' management : he was, in effect, nearly the 
 ruler of the household, and never allowed his lady to go any- 
 where if he did not approve. If it had not been for the ' little 
 rustic's ' attractions, perhaps he might have made strong demon- 
 strations against the House Beautiful. Little did Miss Faithfull 
 know the real cause of her receiving or retaining her lodgers. 
 
154 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER Xy 
 
 MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 
 
 For better far tlian passion's glow, 
 
 Or anght of worldly choice, 
 To listen His own will to know, 
 
 And, listening, hear His voice. 
 
 The Angel of Marriage — Rev. I. Williams 
 
 The friendships that grew up out of sight were far more 
 effective than anything that Lady Conway could accompHsh 
 on the stage. Miss King and the Miss Faithfulls found each 
 other out at once, and the governess was entreated to knock at 
 the door at the bottom of the stairs whenever her pupils could 
 spare her. 
 
 Then came eager wishes from her pupils, to be admitted to 
 the snuggery, and they were invited to see the curiosities. 
 Isabel believed the ' very good ' was found, and came with her 
 sisters. She begged to be allowed to help in their parish work, 
 under Miss Mercy Faithfull's guidance ; and Sir Roland stood 
 still, while she fancied she was learning to make little frocks, 
 but really listening to their revelations of so new a world. She 
 went out with Miss Mercy — she undertook a class and a dis- 
 trict, and began to be happier than ever before; though how 
 much of the absolute harder toil devolved on Miss King, neither 
 she nor the governess understood. 
 
 This led to intercourse with Mary Ponsonby ; and Isabel 
 was a very different person in that homely, friendly parlour, 
 from the lofty, frigid Miss Conway of the drawing-room. Cold 
 hauteur melted before Mary's frank simi3licity, and they became 
 friends as fast as two ladies could beyond the age of romantic 
 plunges, where on one side there was good-will without enthu- 
 siasm, on the other enthusiasm and reserve. They called eacli 
 other ' Miss Conway ' and ' Miss Ponsonby,' and exchanged no 
 family secrets ; but they were, for all that, faster friends than 
 young ladies under twenty might imagine. 
 
 One winter's day, the crisp, exhilarating frost had lured tliem 
 far along the high road beyond Mr. Calcott's park palings, talk- 
 ing over Isabel's favourite theme, what to wish for her little 
 brother, when the sound of a large clock striking three made 
 Isabel ask where she was. 
 
 ' It was the stable clock at Ormersfield,' said Mary ; ' did you 
 not know we were on that road 1 ' 
 
 'No, I did not.' And Isabel would liave turned, but Mary 
 begged her to take a few steps up the lane, that they might see 
 how Lord Fitzjocelyn's new cottages looked. Isabel complied, 
 and added, after a pause, ' Are you one of Lord Fitzjocelyn's 
 worshippers ? ' 
 
 'I should not like to worship any one,' said Mary, looking 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 155 
 
 straightforward. ' I am very fond of him, because I have known 
 him all my life. And he is so good ! ' 
 
 * Then I think I may consider you exempt ! It is the only 
 fault I have to find with Northwold. You are the only person 
 who does not rave about him — the only person who has not 
 mentioned his name.' 
 
 ' Have I not ? I think that was very unkind of me — ' 
 'Very kind to me/ said Isabel. 
 
 * I meant, to him,' said Mary, blushing ; ' if you thought that 
 I did not think most highly of him — ' 
 
 * Don't go on ! I was just going to trust to you for a calm, 
 dispassionate statement of his merits, and I shall soon lose all 
 my faith in you.' 
 
 ' My mother — ' began Mary ; but just then Lord Ormers- 
 fieid came forth from one of the cottages, and encountered the 
 young ladies. He explained that Fitzjocelyn was coming home 
 next week, and he had come to see how his last orders had 
 been executed, since Frampton and the carpenter had some- 
 times chosen to think for themselves. He was very anxious 
 that all should be right, and, after a few words, revealed a per- 
 plexity about ovens and boilers, in which Mary's counsel would 
 be invaluable. So, with apologies and ceremonies to Miss Con- 
 way, they entered, and Isabel stood waiting in the dull kitchen, 
 smelling of raw plaster, wondering at the extreme eagerness of 
 the discussion with the mason over the yawning boiler, the 
 Earl referring to his son's letter, holding it half a yard off, and 
 at last giving it to Mary to decipher by the waning light. 
 
 So far had it waned, that when the fixtures had all been 
 inspected. Lord Ormersfield declared that the young ladies must 
 not return alone, and insisted on escorting them home. Every 
 five minutes some one thought of something to say : there was 
 an answer, and by good luck a rejoinder ; then all died away, 
 and Mary pondered how her mother would in her place have 
 done something to draw the two together, but she could not. 
 She feared the walk had made Isabel more adverse to all con- 
 nected with Ormersfield than even previously ; for the Ormers- 
 field road was avoided, and the question as to Fitzjocelyn's 
 merits was never renewed. 
 
 Mary jihought his cause would be safest in the hands of his 
 great champion, who was coming home from Oxford with him, 
 and was to occupy his vacation in acting tutor to little Sir 
 \Yalter Conway. Louis came, the day after his return, with 
 his father, to make visits in the Terrace, and was as well-be- 
 haved and uninteresting as morning calling could make him. 
 He was looking very well — his general health quite restored, 
 and his ankle much better ; though he was still forbidden to 
 ride, and could not walk far. 
 
 ' You must come and see me. Aunt Kitty,' he said ; ' I am not 
 available for coming in to see you. I'm reading, and I've made 
 a resignation of myself,' he added, with a slight blush, and 
 
156 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 dehonnaire shrug, glancing to see that his father was occupied 
 with James. 
 
 They were to dine with Lady Conway on tlie following 
 Tuesday. In the interim, no one beheld them except Jem, who 
 walked to Ormersfield once or twice for some skating for his 
 little pupil Walter, and came back reporting that Louis had 
 sold himself, body and soul, to his father. 
 
 Clara came home, a degree more civilized, and burning to 
 confide to Louis that she had thought of his advice, had been 
 the less miserable for it, and had much more on which to consult 
 him. She could not conceive why even grandmamma would not 
 consent to her accompanying the skaters ; though she was giving 
 herself credit for protesting that she was not going on the ice, 
 only to keep poor Louis company, while the others were skating. 
 
 She was obliged to defer her hopes of seeing him until 
 Tuesday, when she had been asked to drink tea in the school- 
 room, and appear in the evening. Mrs. Frost had consented, 
 as a means of exempting herself from the party. And Clara's 
 incipient feminine nature began to flutter at her first gaiety. 
 The event was magnified by a present from Jem, of a broad 
 rose-coloured sash and white muslin dress, witli a caution that 
 she was not to consider the tucks up to the waist as a provision 
 for future growth. 
 
 She flew to exhibit the finery to the Miss Faithfulls, and to 
 consult on the m_aking-up, and, to her consternation, was caught 
 by Miss Conw^ay kneeling on the floor, being measured by Miss 
 Salome. To Isabel, there was a sort of touching novelty in the 
 simplicity that could glory in pink ribbon when embellished by 
 being a brother's gift ; she looked on with calm pleasure at such 
 homely excitement, and even fetched some bows of her own, for 
 examples, and offered to send Marianne down with patterns. 
 
 Clara was enchanted to recognize in Miss Conway the vision 
 of tlie Euston-square platform. The grand, quiet style of beauty 
 was exactly fitted to impress a mind like hers, so strongly imbued 
 with sentiments like those of Louis, and regarding Isabel as 
 necessarily Louis's destiny, she began to adore her accordingly 
 with a girl-reverence, quite as profound, far more unselfish, and 
 little less ardent than that of man for woman. That a female 
 vision of perfection should engross Clara's imagination, was 
 a step towards softening her ; but, poor child ! the dawn of 
 womanhood was to come in a joainful burst. 
 
 Surprised at her own aspect, with her light liair dressed by 
 Jane and wreathed with ivy leaves by grandmamma, and lier 
 skirts so full that she could not refrain from making a gigantic 
 cheese, she was inspected and admired by granny and Jane, 
 almost approved by Jem himself ; and, exalted by the conscious- 
 ness of being well-dressed, she repaired to the schoolroom tea 
 at the House Beautiful. 
 
 Virginia and Louisa were, she thouglit, very poor imitations 
 of Louis's countenance —the one too round, the other too thin 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 157 
 
 and sallow ; but both they, their brother, and Miss King were 
 so utterly unlike anything at school, that she was at once at 
 ease, and began talking with Walter over schoolboy fun, in 
 which he could not be a greater proficient than herself. Walter 
 struck up a violent friendship for her on the spot, and took to 
 calling her ' a fellow,' in oblivion of her sex ; and Virginia and 
 Louisa fell into ecstasies of laughter, which encouraged Clara 
 and Walter to compete with each other which should most 
 astonish their weak minds. 
 
 In the drawing-room. Lady Conway spoke so graciously, that 
 Clara was quite distressed at looking over lier head. Mary 
 looked somewhat oppressed, saying her mother had not been so 
 well that day ; g^nd she was disposed to keep in the background, 
 and occupy herself with Clara ; but it was quite contrary to 
 the Giraffe's notions to be engrossed by any one when Louis was 
 coming. As if she had divined Mary's intentions of keeping 
 her from importuning him, she was continually gazing at the 
 door, ready at once to claim his attention. 
 
 At first, the gentlemen only appeared in a black herd at the 
 door, where Mr. Calcott had stopped Lord Ormersfield short, 
 in his eagerness to impress on him the views of the county on 
 a police-bill in course of preparation for the next session. The 
 other magistrates congregated round ; but James Frost and 
 Sydney Calcott had slipped past, to the piano where Lady 
 Conway had sent Miss Calcott and Isabel. * Why did not Fitz- 
 jocelyn come too V was murmured by the young group in the 
 recess opposite the door ; and when at last he became visible, 
 leaning against the wall, listening to the Squire, Virginia de- 
 clared he was going to serve them just as he used at Beauchastel. 
 
 ' Oh, no ! he shan't — I'll rescue him ! ' exclaimed Clara ; and 
 lea]3ing up to her camelopard altitude, she sprang forward, 
 and, with a voice audible in an unlucky lull of the music, she 
 exclaimed, ' Louis 1 Louis ! don't you see that I am here ? ' 
 
 As he turned, with a look of surprise and almost rebuke, her 
 own words came back to her ears as they must have sounded to 
 others ; her face became poppy-coloured, nothing light but her 
 flaxen eyebrows ; and she scarcely gave her hand to be shaken. 
 * No, I did not know you were coming,' he said ; and almost 
 partaking her confusion, as he felt all eyes upon her, he looked 
 in vain for a refuge for her. 
 
 How welcome was Mary's kind face and quiet gesture, cover- 
 ing poor Clara's retreat as she sank into a dark nook, sheltered 
 by the old black cabinet ! Louis thanked Mary by a look, as 
 much as to say, ' Just like you,' and was glad to perceive that 
 James had not been present. He had gone to ask Miss Faithfull 
 to supply the missing stanzas of a Jacobite song, and just then 
 returned, saying that she knew them, but could not remember 
 them. 
 
 Fitz jocelyn, however, capped the fragment, and illustrated it 
 with some anecdotes that interested Miss Conway. James had 
 
158 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 great hopes that she was going to see him to the best advantage, 
 but still there was a great drawback in the presence of Sydney 
 Calcott. Idolized at home, successful abroad, young Calcott had 
 enough of the prig to be a perpetual irritation to Jem Frost, all 
 the more because he could never make Louis resent, nor accept, 
 as other than natural, the good-natured supercilious patronage 
 of the steady distinguished senior towards the idle junior. 
 
 Jacobite legends and Stuart relics would have made Miss 
 Conway oblivious of everything else ; but Sydney Calcott must 
 needs divert the conversation from that channel by saying, ' Ah ! 
 there Fitzjocelyn is in his element. He is a perfect handbook 
 to the by-ways of history.' 
 
 ' For the diffusion of useless knowledge ? ' said Louis. 
 
 ' Illustrated by the examination, when the only fact you could 
 adduce about the Argonauts was that Charles Y. founded the 
 order of the Golden Fleece.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ; it was his great-grandfather. I had 
 read my Quentin Durward too well for that.' 
 
 ' I suspect,' said Isabel, ' that we had all rather be examined 
 in our Quentin Durward than our Charles F.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said young Calcott, ' I had all my dates at my fingers' 
 ends when I went up for the modern history jorize. Now my 
 sister could beat me.' 
 
 'A proof of what I always say,' observed Louis, 'that it is 
 lost labour to read for an examination.' 
 
 ' From personal experience 1 ' asked Sydney. 
 
 'A Strasburg goose nailed down and crammed before a fire, 
 becomes a Strasburg pie,' said Louis. 
 
 Never did Isabel look more bewildered, and Sydney did not 
 seem at once to catch the meaning. James added, ' A goose 
 destined to fulfil the term of existence is not crammed, but the 
 pie stimulus is not required to prevent it from starving.' 
 
 'Is your curious and complimentary culinary fable aimed 
 against reading or against examinations ? ' asked Sydney. 
 
 ' Against neither ; only against the connecting preposition.' 
 
 ' Then you mean to find a superhuman set of students ? ' 
 
 * No ; I'm jDast that. Men and examinations will go on as 
 they are ; the goose will run wild, the requirements will be 
 increased, he will nail himself down in his despair ; and he who 
 crams hardest, and has the hottest jolace, will gain.' 
 
 ' Then how is the labour lost ? ' asked Isabel. 
 
 'You are new to Fitzjocelyn's paradoxes,' said Sydney, as if 
 glorying in having made Louis contradict himself. 
 
 ' The question is, what is lost labour ? ' said Louis. 
 
 Both Sydney Calcott and Miss Conway looked as if they 
 thought he was arguing on after a defeat. ' Calcott is teaching 
 her his own obtuseness ! ' thought James, in a pet ; and he 
 exclaimed, ' Is the aim to make men or winners of prizes ? ' 
 
 ' The aim of prizes is commonly supposed to be to make men,' 
 loftily observed Sydney. 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 159 
 
 * Exactly so ; and, therefore, I would not make them too ana- 
 logous to the Strasburg system,' said Louis. ' I would have them 
 close, searching, but not admitting of immediate cramming.' 
 
 ' Pray how would you bring that about ? ' 
 
 ^ By having no subject on which superficial knowledge could 
 make a show.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I see wliither you are working round ! That won't do 
 now, my dear fellow ; we must enlarge our field, or we shall lay 
 ourselves open to the charge of being narrow-minded.' 
 
 ' You have not strength of mind to be narrow-minded ! ' said 
 Louis, shaking his head. ' Ah ! well, I have no more to say ; 
 my trust is in the narrow mind, the only expansive one — ' 
 
 He was at that moment called away ; Lord Ormersfield's 
 carriage had been announced, and his son was not in a quarter 
 of the room where he wished to detain him. James could wil- 
 lingly have bitten Sydney Calcott for the observation, 'Poor 
 Fitzjocelyn ! he came out strong to-night.' 
 
 ' Very clever,' said Isabel, wishing to gratify James. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, very ; if he had ever taken pains,' said Sydney. 
 ' There is often something in his paradoxes. After all, I believe 
 he is reading hard for his degree, is he not, Jem ? His feelings 
 would not be hurt by the question, for he never piqued himself 
 upon his consistency.' 
 
 Luckily for the general peace, the Calcott household was on 
 the move, and Jem solaced himself on their departure by 
 exclaiming, ' Well done, Strasburg system ! A high-power 
 Greek-imbibing machine, he may be ; but as to comprehending 
 Fitzjocelyn — ' 
 
 'Nay,' said Isabel, 'I think Lord Fitzjocelyn ought to carry 
 about a j^ocket ex^Dositor, if he will be so very startling. He 
 did not stay to tell ns what to understand by narrow minds.' 
 
 ' Did you ever hear of any one good for anything, that was 
 not accused of a narrow mind V exclaimed James. 
 
 ' If that Avere what he meant,' said Isabel ; — ' but he said his 
 trust was in the narrow mind — ' 
 
 ' In what is popularly so called,' said James. 
 
 'I think,' said Mary, leaning forward, and speaking low, 'that 
 he did hot mean it to be explained away. I think he was going 
 to say that the heart may be wide, but the mind must be so far 
 narrow, that it will accept only the one right, not the many 
 wrong.' 
 
 'I thought narrowness of mind consisted in thinking your 
 own way the only right one,' said Isabel. 
 
 ' Every one says so,' said Mary ; ' and that is why he says it 
 takes strength of mind to be narrow-minded. Is not the real 
 evil, the judging people harshly, because their ways are not 
 the same ; not the being sure that the one way is the only 
 right ! Others may be better than ourselves, and may be led 
 right in spite of their error, but surely we are not to think all 
 paths alike — ' 
 
160 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'And is that Lord Fitzjocelyn's definition of a narrow mind?' 
 said Isabel. ' It sounds like faith and love. Are you sure you 
 did not make it yourself, Miss Ponsonby 1 ' 
 
 'I co2dd not/ said Mary, blushing, as she remembered one 
 Sunday evening when he had said something to that effect, which 
 liad insensibly overthrown the theory in which slie had been 
 bred up ; namely, that all the sincere were riglit, and yet that, 
 practically, every one was to be censured, who did not act 
 exactly like Aunt Melicent. 
 
 She rose to take leave, and Clara clung to lier, emerging from 
 the shade of her cabinet witli colour little mitigated since her 
 disappearance. James would have come with them, but was 
 detained by Lady Conway for a few moments longer than it 
 took them to put on their shawls ; and Clara would not wait. 
 She dragged Mary down the steps into the darkness, and groaned 
 out, ' O Mary, he can never speak to me again ! ' 
 
 'My dear, he will not recollect it. It was very awkward, 
 but new places and new people often do make us forget 
 ourselves.' 
 
 ' Everybody saw, everybody heard ! O, I shall never bear to 
 meet one of them again ! ' 
 
 ' I think very few saw or heard — ' began Mary. 
 
 ' He did ! I did ! That's enough ! The rest is nothing ! I 
 have been as bad as any one at school ! I shall never hold up 
 my head there again as I have done ; and Louis ! Oh ! ' 
 
 ' Dear child, it will not be remembered. You only forgot how 
 tall you were, and that you were not at home. He knows you 
 too well to care.' 
 
 James shouted from behind to know why they had not been 
 let into the house ; and as Clara rushed in at the door and he 
 walked on with Mary to leave her at home and fetch his grand- 
 mother, who had been spending the evening with Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 he muttered, ' I don't know which is most intolerable ! He 
 neglects her, talks what, if it be not nonsense, might as well 
 be ; and as if she were not ready enough to misunderstand, 
 Sydney Calcott must needs thrust in his wits to embroil her 
 understanding. Mary ! can't you get her to see the stuff* he is 
 made of ? ' 
 
 ' If she cannot do that for herself, no persuasion of mine will 
 make her,' said Mary.' 
 
 ' No ! you do not half appreciate him either ! No one does ! 
 And yet you could, if you tried, do something with her ! I see 
 she does not think you prejudiced. You made an impression 
 to-night.' 
 
 Mary felt some consternation. Could it depend on her ? 
 She could speak naturally and from her heart in defence" of 
 Louis when occasion served ; but something within her forbade 
 the thought of doing so on a system. Was that something 
 wrong ? She could not answer ; but contented herseilf with the 
 womanly intuition that showed her that anything of persuasion 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAK 161 
 
 in the present state of affairs would be ineffectual and un- 
 becoming. 
 
 Meantime, Clara had fled to her little room, to bid her child- 
 hood farewell in a flood of bitter tears. 
 
 Exaggerated shame, past disdain of the foibles of others, 
 the fancy that she was publicly disgraced and had forfeited 
 Louis's good opinion, each thought renewed her sobs ; but the 
 true pang was the perception that old times were passed for 
 ever. He might forgive, he would still be friend and cousin ; 
 but womanhood had broken on her, and showed that perfect 
 freedom was at an end. Happy for her that she wept but for 
 the parting from a playfellow ! Happy that her feelings were 
 young and undeveloped, free from all the cruel permanence 
 that earlier vanity or self-consciousness might have given ; 
 liappy that it could be so freely washed away ! When she had 
 spent her sobs, she could resolve to be wise and steady, so as to 
 be a fit governess to his children ; and the tears flowed at the 
 notion of being so distant and respectful to his lordship. But 
 what stories she could tell them of his boyhood ! And in the 
 midst of—' Now, my dears, I will tell you about your papa when 
 he was a little boy,' she fell asleep. 
 
 That party was a thing to be remembered with tingling 
 cheeks for life, and Clara dreaded her next meeting with Louis ; 
 but the days passed on without his coming to the Terrace, and 
 the terror began to wear off, especially as she did not And that 
 any one else remembered her outbreak. Mary guarded against 
 any unfavourable impression by a few simple words to Isabel 
 and Miss King as to the brotherly terms that had hitherto 
 prevailed, and poor Clara's subsequent distress. Clara came in 
 for some of the bright tints in which her brother was viewed at 
 the House Beautiful ; Walter was very fond of her, and she had 
 been drawn into a friendship for Virginia, cemented in the 
 course of long walks ; when the sclioolroom party always 
 begged for Mr. and Miss Dynevor, because no one else could 
 keep Walter from disturbing Louisa's nerves by teasing her 
 pony or sliding on dubious ice. 
 
 As Mrs. Ponsonby often joined in Lady Conway's drive, Mary 
 and Isabel were generally among the walkers ; and Mary was 
 considered by Louisa as an inestimable pony-leader, and an 
 inexhaustible magazine of stories about sharks, earthquakes, 
 llamas, and icebergs. 
 
 James and Miss Conway generally had either book or prin- 
 ciple to discuss, and were usually to be found somewhat in the 
 rear, either with or without Miss King. One day, however, 
 James gave notice that he should not be at their service that 
 afternoon ; and as soon as Walter's lessons had been despatched, 
 he set out with rapid steps for Ormersfield Park, clenching his 
 teeth together every now and then, with his determinate resolu- 
 tion that he would make Louis know his own mind, and would 
 stand ' no nonsense/ 
 
1G2 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Ah ! James, good morning,' said the Earl, as he presented 
 liimself in the study. ' You will find Louis in his room. I 
 wish you would make him come out with you. He is working 
 harder than is good for him.' 
 
 He spoke of his son far differently from former times ; but 
 Jem only returned a judiciously intoned 'Poor fellow.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield looked at him anxiously, and, hesitating, 
 said, ' You do not think him out of spirits ^ ' 
 
 ' Oh, he carries it off very well. I know no one with so strong 
 a sense of duty,' replied Jem, never compassionate to the father. 
 
 Again the Earl paused, then said, 'He may probably speak 
 more unreservedly to you than to me.' 
 
 ' He shuns the topic. He says there is no use in aggravating 
 the feelings by discussion. He would fain submit in heart as 
 well as in will.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield sighed, but did not appear disposed to say 
 more ; and, charitably hoping that a dagger had been implanted 
 in him, Jem ran up-stairs, and found Louis sitting writing at a 
 table which looked as if Mary had never been near it. 
 
 'Jem ! That's right ! I've not seen you this age.' 
 
 * What are you about ? ' 
 
 ' I wanted particularly some one to listen. It is an essay on 
 the Police—' 
 
 ' Is this earnest 1 ' 
 
 * Sober earnest. Sir Miles and all that set are anxious to bring 
 the matter forward, and my father has been getting it up, as 
 he does whatever he may have to speak upon. His eyes are 
 rather failing for candle-light work, so I have been helping him 
 in the evening, till it struck me that it was a curious subject to 
 trace in history, — the Censors, the attempts in Germany and 
 Spain to supply the defective law, the Spanish and Italian dread 
 of justice. I became enamoured of the notion, and when I 
 have thrown all the hints together, I shall try to take in my 
 father by reading them to him as an article in the Quarterly.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well. If your soul is there, that is an end of the 
 matter.' 
 
 ' Of what matter r 
 
 'Things cannot run on in this way. It is not a thing to lay 
 upon me to go on working in your cause with lier when you 
 will not stir a step in your own behalf.' 
 
 ' I am very much obliged to you, but I never asked you to 
 work in my cause. I beg your pardon, Jem, don't fly into a 
 Welsh explosion. No one ever meant more kindly and gener- 
 ously — ' He checked himself in amaze at the demonstration 
 he had elicited ; but, as it was not accompanied witli words, he 
 continued, — ' No one can be more grateful to you than I ; but, 
 as far as I can see, there is nothing for it but to be thankful 
 that no more harm has been done, and to let the matter drop ; ' 
 and he dropped his hand with just so much despondency as to 
 make Jem think him worth storming at. instead of giving him 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 163 
 
 up ; and he went over the whole ground of Louis being inca- 
 pable of true passion, and unworthy of such a being, if he could 
 yield her without an effort, merely for the sake of peace. 
 
 *I say, Jem,' raid Louis, quietly, 'all this was bad enough on 
 neutral ground ; it is mere treason under my father's own roof, 
 and I will have no more of it.' 
 
 * Then,' cried James, with a strange light in bis eyes, *you 
 henceforth renounce all hopes — all pretensions ? ' 
 
 ' I never had either hope or pretension. I do not cease to 
 think her, as I always did, the loveliest creature I ever beheld. 
 I cannot help that ; and the state I fell into after being with 
 her on Tuesday, convinced me that it is safest to stay here, and 
 fill up time and thought as best I may.' 
 
 * For once, Fitzjocelyn,' said James, with a gravity not 
 natural to him, ' I think better of your father than you do. I 
 would neither treat him as so tyrannical nor so prejudiced as 
 your conduct supposes him.' 
 
 ' How ? He is as kind as possible. We never had so much 
 in common.' 
 
 * Yes. Your submission so far, and the united testimony of 
 the Terrace, will soften him. Show your true sentiments. A 
 little steadiness and perseverance, and you will prevail.' 
 
 ^ Don't make me feverish, Jem.' 
 
 A summons to Lord Fitzjocelyn to come down to a visitor in 
 the library cut short the discussion, and James took leave at 
 once, neither cousin wishing to resume the conversation. 
 
 The darts had not been injudiciously aimed. The father and 
 son were both rendered uneasy. They had hitherto been un- 
 usually comfortable together, and though the life w^as unex- 
 citing, Louis's desire to be useful to his father, and the pressing 
 need of working for his degree, kept his mind fairly occupied. 
 Though wistful looks might sometimes be turned along the 
 North wold road, when he sallied forth in the twilight for his 
 constitutional walk, he did not analyze which number of the 
 Terrace was the magnet, and he avoided testing to the utmost 
 the powders of his foot. The affection and solicitude shown for 
 him at home claimed a full return ; nor had James been greatly 
 mistaken in ascribing something to the facility of nature that 
 yielded to force of character. But Jem had stirred up much that 
 Louis would have been contented to leave dormant ; and the 
 hope that he had striven to excite came almost teasingly to 
 interfere with the passive acquiescence of an indolent will. 
 Perturbed and doubtful, he was going to seek counsel as usual 
 of the open air, as soon as the visitor was gone, but his father 
 followed him into the hall, asking whither he was going. 
 
 ^ I do not know. I had been thinking of trying whether I 
 can get as far as Marksedge.' 
 
 Marksedge would be fatal to the ankle, solitude to the spirits, 
 thought the Earl ; and he at once declared his intention of 
 walking with his son as far as he should let him go. 
 
 M 2 
 
164 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Louis was half vexed, half flattered, and they proceeded in 
 silence, till conscious of being ruffled, and afraid of being un- 
 gracious, he made a remark on the farm that they were ap- 
 proaching, and learnt in return that the lease was nearly out, 
 the tenant did not want a renewal, and that Richardson intended 
 to advertise. 
 
 He breathed a wish that it were in their own hands, and this 
 led to a statement of the condition of affairs, the same to which 
 a year before he had been wilfully deaf, and to which he now 
 attended chiefly for the sake of gratifying his father, though 
 he better understood what depended on it. At least, it was 
 making the Earl insensible to the space they were traversing, 
 and the black outlines of Marksedge were rising on him before 
 he was aware. Then he would have turned, but Louis pleaded 
 that having come so far, he should be glad to speak to Madison's 
 grandfather, and one or two other old people, and he prevailed. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield was not prepared for the real aspect of the 
 hamlet. 
 
 ' Richardson always declared that the cottages were kept in 
 repair,' he said. 
 
 ' Richardson never sees them. He trusts to Reeves.' 
 
 ' The people might do something themselves to keep the place 
 decent.' 
 
 ' They might ; but they lose heart out of sight of respect- 
 ability. I will just knock at this door — I will not detain you a 
 moment.' 
 
 The dark smoky room, damp, ill-paved floor, and cracked 
 walls produced their eftect ; and the name and voice of the 
 inmate did more. Lord Ormersfield recognized a man who had 
 once worked in the garden, and came forward and spoke, aston- 
 ished and shocked to find him prematurely old. The story 
 was soon told ; there had been a seasoning fever as a welcome 
 to the half-reclaimed moorland ; ague and typhus were frequent 
 visitors, and disabling rheumatism a more permanent com- 
 panion to labourers exhausted by long wet walks in addition to 
 the daily toil. At an age less than that of the Earl himself, he 
 beheld a bowed and broken cripple. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn perceived his victory, and forbore to press it 
 too hastily, lest he should hurt his father's feelings ; and walked 
 on silently, thinking how glad Mary would be to hear of this 
 expedition, and what a pity it was that the unlucky passage of 
 last August should have interfered with their comfortable 
 friendship. At last the Earl broke silence by saying, 'It is 
 very unfortunate ;' and Louis echoed, 'Very.' 
 
 ' My poor Uncle Dynevor ! He was, without exception, the 
 most wrong-headed person I ever came in contact with, yet so 
 excessively plausible and eager, that he carried my poor father 
 entirely along with him. Louis ! nothing is so ruinous as to 
 surrender the judgment.' 
 
 Fully assenting, Louis wondered whether Marksedge would 
 
MOTLEY THE- ONLY WEAR 165 
 
 serve no purpose save the elucidation of this truism, and 
 presently another ensued. 
 
 * Mischief is sooner done than repaired. As I have been 
 showing you, there has never been ready money at command.' 
 
 'I thought there were no more mortgages to be paid off. 
 The rents of the Fitzjocelyn estate and the houses in the lower 
 town must come to something.' 
 
 He was then told how these, with his mother's fortune, had 
 been set apart to form a fund for his establishment, and for the 
 first time he was shown the object of arrangements against 
 which he had often in heart rebelled. His first impulse was to 
 exclaim that it was a great pity, and that he could not bear that 
 his father should have denied himself on his account. 
 
 ^ Do you think these things are sacrifices to me ? ' said the 
 Earl. ^ My habits were formed long ago.' 
 
 ' Mine have been formed on yours,' said Louis. ' I should be 
 encumbered by such an income as you propose, unless you would 
 let me lay it out in making work for the men and improving 
 the estate, and that I had rather you undertook, for I should be 
 certain to do something preposterous, and then be sorry.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Pansonby judged rightly. It was her very advice.' 
 
 * Then ! ' cried Louis, as if the deed were done. 
 
 ' You would not find the income too large in the event of 
 your marriage.' 
 
 * A most unlikely event ! ' 
 
 His father glanced towards him. If there had been a 
 symptom of unhappiness, relenting was near, but it so chanced 
 that Marksedge was reigning supreme, and he was chiefly con- 
 cerned to set aside the supposition as an obstacle to his views. 
 The same notion as James Frost's occurred to the Earl, that it 
 could not be a tenacious character which could so easily set 
 aside an attachment apparently so fervent, but the resignation 
 was too much in accordance with his desires to render him 
 otherwise than gratified, and he listened with complacency to 
 Louis's plans. Nothing was fixed, but there was an under- 
 standing that all should have due consideration. 
 
 This settled, Louis's mind recurred to the hint which his 
 father' had thrown out, and he wondered whether it meant 
 that the present compliance might be further stretched, but he 
 thought it more likely to be merely a reference to ordinary 
 contingencies. Things were far too comfortable between him 
 and his father to be disturbed by discussion, and he might ulti- 
 mately succeed better by submitting, and leaving facts and 
 candour to remove prejudice. 
 
 To forget perplexity in the amusement of a mystification, he 
 brought down his essay, concealing it ingeniously within a 
 review flanked by blue-books, and, when Lord Ormersfield was 
 taking out a pair of spectacles with the reluctance of a man 
 not yet accustomed to them, he asked him if he would like to 
 hear an article on the Police question. 
 
1G6 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 At first the Earl showed signs of nodding, and said there 
 was nothing to the purpose in all the historical curiosities at 
 the outset, so that Louis, alarmed lest he should absolutely drop 
 asleep, skipped all his favourite passages, and came at once to 
 the results of the recent inquiries. The Earl was roused. 
 Who could have learnt those facts ? That was telling — well 
 put, but how did he get hold of it. The very thing he had 
 said himself — What Quarterly was it ? Surely the Christmas 
 number was not out. Hitherto Louis had kept his countenance 
 and voice, but in an hiatus, where he was trying to extemporize, 
 his father came to look over his shoulder to see what ailed the 
 book, and, glancing upwards with a merry debonnaire face, he 
 made a gesture as if convicted. 
 
 ' Do you mean that this is your own composition ? ' 
 
 * I beg your pardon for the pious fraud ! ' 
 
 ' It is very good 1 Excellently done ! ' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 * There are redundancies — much to betray an unpractised hand 
 ' — but — stay, let me hear the rest — ' 
 
 Very differently did he listen now, broad awake, attacking 
 the logic of every third sentence, or else double shotting it witli 
 some ponderous word, and shaking his head at Utopian views 
 of crime to be dried up at the fountain head. Next, he must 
 liear the beginning, and ruthlessly picked it to pieces, demolish- 
 ing all the Vehme Gericht and Santissima Hermandad as irrele- 
 vant, and, when he had made Louis ashamed and vexed witli 
 the whole production, astonishing him by declaring that it 
 would tell, and advising him to copy it out fair with these little 
 alterations. 
 
 These little alterations would, as he was well aware, evaporate 
 all the spirit, and though glad to have pleased his father, his 
 perseverance quailed before the task ; but he said no more than 
 thank you. The next day, before he had settled to anything. 
 Lord Ormersfield came to his room, saying, ' You will be engaged 
 with your more important studies for the next few hours. Can 
 you spare the paper you read to me last night V 
 
 ' I can spare it better than you can read it, I fear,^ said Louis, 
 producing a mass of blotted MS. in all his varieties of penman- 
 ship, and feeling a sort of despair at the prospect of being 
 brought to book on all his details. 
 
 His father carried it off, and they did not meet again till late 
 in the day, when the first thing Louis heard was, ' I thought it 
 worth while to have another opinion on your manuscript before 
 re-writing it. I tried to read it to Mrs. Ponsonby, but we were 
 interrupted, and I left it with her.' 
 
 Presently after : * I have made an engagement for you. Lady 
 Conway wishes that you should go to luncheon with her to- 
 morrow. I believe she wants to consult you about some birth- 
 day celebration.' 
 
 Louis was much surprised, and somewhat entertained. 
 
 * When will you have the carriage ? ' pursued the Earl. 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 1G7 
 
 ^ Will not you come ? ' 
 
 ' No, I am not wanted. In fact, I do not see how you can be 
 required, but anything will serve as an excuse. In justice, 
 however, I should add that our friends at the Terrace are dis- 
 posed to think well of the younger part of the family.' 
 
 Except for the cold constraint of the tone, Louis could have 
 thought much ground gained, but he was sure that his holiday 
 would be damped by knowing that it was conceded at the cost 
 of much distress and uneasiness. 
 
 Going to Northwold early enough for a call at No. 5, he was 
 greeted by Mrs. Frost with, ' My dear ! what have you been 
 about ? I never saw your father so much pleased in his life ! 
 He came in on purpose to tell me, and I thought it. exceedingly 
 kind. So you took him in completely. What an impudent 
 rogue you always were ! ' 
 
 ' I never meant it to go beyond the study. I was obliged to 
 write it down in self-defence, that I might know what he was 
 talking of.' • 
 
 ' I believe he expects you to be even with Sydney Calcott 
 after all. It is really very clever. Where did you get all those 
 funny stories 1 ' 
 
 ' What ! you have gone and read it. 
 
 * Ah, ha ! Mrs. Ponsonby gave us a pretty little literary 
 soiree. Don't be too proud, it was only ourselves, except that 
 Mary brought in Miss Conway. Jem tried to read it, but after 
 be had made that Spanish Society into " Hammer men dead," 
 Mary got it away from him, and read through as if it had been 
 in print.' 
 
 * What an infliction ! ' 
 
 * It is very disrespectful to think us so frivolous. We only 
 wished all reviews were as entertaining.' 
 
 ' It is too bad, when I only wanted to mystify my father.' 
 
 * It serves you right for playing tricks. What have you been 
 doing to him, Louis ? You will turn him into a doting father 
 before long.' 
 
 ' What have you done with Clara ? ' 
 
 ' She goes every day to read Italian with Miss Conway, and 
 the governess is so kind as to give her drawing lessons. She is 
 learning far more than at school, and they are so kind ! I 
 should hardly know how to accept it, but Jem does not object ; 
 and he is really very useful there, spends a great deal of time 
 on the boy, and is teaching the young ladies Latin.' 
 
 * They are leaving you lonely in the holidays ! You ought to 
 come to Ormersfield, your nephews would take better care of you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I have my Marys. If I were only better satisfied about 
 the dear old one. She is far less well than when she came.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? Is Mary uneasy ? ' 
 
 ' She says nothing, but you know how her eye is always on 
 her, and she never seems to have her out of her thoughts. I am 
 afraid they are worried about Lima. From what Oliver says, I 
 
1G8 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 fear Mr. Ponsonby goes on worse than ever without either his 
 family or his appointment to be a restraint.' 
 
 ' I hope they do not know all ! Mary would not believe it, 
 that is one comfort ! ' 
 
 'Ah, Louis ! there are things that the heart will not believe, 
 but which cut it deeply ! However, if that could be any comfort 
 to them, he wishes them to spare nothing here. He tells them 
 they may live at the rate of live thousand pounds a year, poor 
 dears. Indeed, he and Oliver are in such glory over their Equa- 
 torial steam navigation, that I expect next to hear of a crash.' 
 
 ' You don't look as if it would be a very dreadful sound.' 
 
 ' If it would only bring my poor Oliver back to me ! ' 
 
 ' Yes — nothing would make Jem so civil to him as his coming- 
 floated in on a plank, wet through, with a little bundle in one 
 hand and a parrot in the other.' 
 
 Mrs. Frost gave one of her tender laughs, and filled up the 
 picture. Jane would open the door, Jane would know Master 
 Oliver's black eyes in a moment — *No, no. / must see him 
 lirst ! If he once looked up I could not miss him, what- 
 ever colour he may have turned. I wonder whether he would 
 know me ! ' 
 
 ' Don't you know that you grow handsomer every year, Aunt 
 Kitty?' 
 
 ' Don't flatter, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, I must go to my aunt.' 
 
 He tarried to hear the welcome recital of all tlie kind deeds 
 of the house of Conway. He presently found Lady Conway 
 awaiting him in the drawing-room, and was greeted with great 
 joy. ' That is well ! I hoped to work on your father by telling 
 him I did not approve of young men carrying industry too far — ' 
 
 ' That is not my habit.' 
 
 ' Then it is your excuse for avoiding troublesome relations ! 
 No, not a word ! I know nothing about the secret that occupied 
 Isabel at Mrs. Ponsonby's select party. But I really wanted 
 you. You are more an fait as to the society here than the 
 Ponsonbys and Dynevors. Ah ! when does that come off?' 
 
 ' What is to come off? ' 
 
 ' Miss Ponsonby and Mr. Dynevor. Wliat a good creature 
 he is!' 
 
 ' I cannot see much likelihood of it, but you are more on tlie 
 scene of action.' 
 
 ' She could do much better, with such expectations, but on 
 lus account I could not be sorry. It is shocking to think of 
 that nice young sister being a governess. I think it a duty to 
 give her every advantage that may tend to form her. With 
 her connections and education, I can have no objection to her 
 as a companion to your cousins, and with a few advantages, 
 though she will never be handsome, she m.ight marry well. 
 They are a most interesting family. Isabel and I are most 
 anxious to do all in our power for them.' 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 1G9 
 
 'Clara is obliged/ said Louis, with undetected irony, but 
 secret wonder at the dexterity with which the patronage must 
 jiave been administered so as not to have made the interesting 
 family fly off at a tangent. 
 
 Isabel made her appearance in her almost constant morning 
 dress of soft dove-coloured merino entirely unadorned, and look- 
 ing more like a maiden in a romance than ever. She had just 
 left Adeline standing on the steps of a stone cross, exhorting 
 the Provengals to arm against a descent of Moorish corsairs, and 
 she held out her hand to Fitzjocelynmuch as Adeline did, when 
 the fantastic Viscount professed his intention of flying instead 
 of fighting, and wanted her to sit behind him on his courser. 
 
 Lady Conway pronounced her counsel complete, and pro- 
 pounded the fete which she wished to give on the 12th of Janu- 
 ary in honour of Louisa's birthday. Isabel took up a pencil, 
 and was lost in sketching way-side crosses, and vessels with 
 lateen sails, only throwing in a word or two here and there 
 when necessary. Dancing was still, Lady Conway feared, out 
 of the question with Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 'And always will l)e, I suspect. So much for my bargain 
 with Clara to dance with her at her first ball ! ' 
 
 ' You like dancing ? ' exclaimed Isabel, rejoiced to find another 
 resemblance to the fantastic Viscount. 
 
 ' Last year's Yeomanry ball was the best fun in the world ! ' 
 
 ' There, Isabel,' said Lady Conway ' you ought to be gratified 
 to find a young man candid enough to allow that he likes it ! 
 But since that cannot be, I must find some other plan — ' 
 
 ' What cannot be ? ' exclaimed Louis. ' You don't mean to 
 omit the dancing — ' 
 
 'It could not be enjoyed without you. Your cousins and 
 friends could not bear to see you sitting down — ' 
 
 Isabel's lips were compressed, and the foam of her waves 
 laughed scornfully under her pencil. 
 
 ' They must get accustomed to the melancholy spectacle,' said 
 Louis. 'I do not mean to intermit the Yeomanry ball, if it 
 take place while I am at home. The chaperons are the best 
 company, after all. Eeconsider it, my dear aunt, or you will 
 keep me from coming at all.' 
 
 Lady Conway was only considering of tableaux, and Louis 
 took fire at the notion : he already beheld Waverley in his be- 
 loved Yeomanry suit, Isabel as Flora, Clara as Davie Gellatley 
 — the character she would most appreciate. Isabel roused her- 
 self to say that tableaux were very dull work to all save the 
 actors, and soon were mere weariness to them. Her step- 
 mother told her she had once been of a different mind, when 
 she had been Isabel Bruce, kneeling in her cell, the ring before 
 her. 'I was young enough then to think myself Isabel,' was 
 her answer ; and she drew the more diligently because Fitz- 
 jocelyn could not restrain an interjection, and a look which 
 meant, ' Yf hat an Isabel she must have been ! ' 
 
170 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 She sat passive while Lady Conway and Louis decked up a 
 scene for Flora Maclvor ; but presently it appeared that the 
 Waverley of the piece was to be, according to Louis, not the 
 proper owner of the Yeomanry uniform, but James Frost. His 
 aunt exclaimed, and the rehearsals were strong temptation ; but 
 he made answer, ' Xo — you must not reckon on me : my father 
 would not like it ! ' 
 
 The manful childishness, the childish manfulness of such a 
 reply, were impenetrable. If his two-and-twenty years did not 
 make him ashamed of saying so, nothing else could, and it 
 covered a good deal. He knew that his father's fastidious pride 
 would dislike his making a spectacle of himself, and thought 
 that it would be presuming unkindly on to-day's liberty to 
 involve himself in what would necessitate terms more intimate 
 than were desired. 
 
 The luncheon silenced the consultation, which was to be a 
 great secret from the children ; but afterwards, when it was 
 resumed, with the addition of James Frost, Fitzjocelyn was 
 vexed to find the tableaux discarded ; not avowedly because he 
 excluded himself from a share, but because the style of people 
 might not understand them. The entertainment was to be a 
 Christmas-tree— not so hackneyed a spectacle in the year 1 848 
 as in 1857— and Louis launched into a world of couplets for 
 mottoes. Next came the question of guests, wlien Lady Con- 
 way read out names from the card-basket, and Fitzjocelyn was 
 in favour of everybody, till Jem, after many counter-statements, 
 assured Lady Conway that he was trying to fill her rooms with 
 the most intolerable people in the world. 
 
 ' My aunt said she wanted to give pleasure.' 
 
 ' Ah ! there's nothing so inconvenient to one's friends as good- 
 nature. Who cares for what is shared indiscriminately ? ' 
 
 *I don't think I can trust Fitzjocelyn with my visiting-list 
 just yet,' said Lady Conway. *You are too far above to be 
 sensible of the grades beneath, with your place made for you.' 
 
 'Not at all,' said Louis. 'Northwold tea-parties were my 
 earliest, most natural dissipation ; and I spoke for these good 
 people for my own personal gratification.' 
 
 'Nay, I can't consent to your deluding Lady Conway into 
 Mrs. Walby.' 
 
 'If there be any one you wish me to ask, my dear Fitz- 
 jocelyn — ' began Lady Conway. 
 
 ' Oh, no, thank you ; Jem is quite right. I might have been 
 playing on your unguarded innocence ; but I am the worst per- 
 son in the world to consult ; for all the county and all the town 
 are so kind to me, that I don't know whom I could leave out. 
 Now, the Pendragon there will help you to the degree of 
 gentility that may safely be set to consort together.' 
 
 ' What an unkind thing ! ' thought Isabel. 
 
 Louis took leave, exclaiming to himself on the stairs, ' There ! 
 if comporting oneself like a donkey before the object be a token, 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 171 
 
 I've done it effectually. Didn't I know the exclusiveness of the 
 woman? Yet, how could I help saying a word for the poor 
 little Walbys 1 and, after all, if they were there, no one would 
 speak to them but Aunt Kitty and me. And Isabel, I am sure she 
 scorned the fastidious nonsense ; I saw it in her eye and lip.^ 
 
 After a quarter of an hour spent in hearing her praises from 
 Miss Faithfull, he betook himself to Mrs. Ponsonby's, not quite 
 without embarrassment, for he had not been alone with the 
 mother and daughter since August. 
 
 ' I am glad you did not come before,' said Mary, heartily ; 
 ' I have just done ; ' and she returned to her writing-table, while 
 her mother was saying, 
 
 ' We like it very much/ 
 
 'You have not been copying that wretched concern!' ex- 
 claimed Louis. 'Why, Mary, you must have been at it all 
 night. It is a week's work.' 
 
 ' Copying is not composing,' said Mary. 
 
 ' But you have mended it, made it consecutive ! If I had 
 guessed that my father meant to trouble any one with it ! ' 
 
 ' If you take pains with it, it may be very valuable,' said Mrs. 
 Ponsonby. ' We have marked a few things that you had better 
 revise before it goes to Oakstead.' 
 
 ' Goes to Oakstead ! ' said Louis, faintly. 
 
 ' Your father talks of sending it, to see if Sir Miles does not 
 think it might tell well in one of the Reviews.' 
 
 ' 1 hope not. I should lose all my faith in anonymous criti- 
 cism, if they admitted such a crude undergraduate's omnium 
 gatherum ! Basides, what an immense task to make it pre- 
 sentable ! ' 
 
 ' Is that the root of your humility 1 ' 
 
 * Possibly. But for very shame I must doctor it, if Mary has 
 wasted so much time over it. It does not look so bad in your 
 hand ! ' 
 
 ' It struck me whether you had rendered this Spanish story 
 right.' 
 
 ' Of course not. I never stuck to my dictionary.' 
 
 A sound dose of criticism ensued, tempered by repetitions of 
 his father's pleasure ; and next came some sympathy and dis- 
 cussion about the farm and Marksedge, in which the ladies took 
 their usual earnest part, and Mary was as happy as ever in 
 hearing of his progress. He said no word of their neighbours ; 
 but he could not help colouring when Mary said, as he wished 
 her good-bye, 'We like the party in the House Beautiful so 
 much ! Miss Conway is such an acquisition to me ! and they 
 are doing all you could ever have wished for Clara.' 
 
 Mary was glad that she had said it. 
 
 Louis was not so glad. He thought it must have been an 
 effort, then derided his vanity for the supposition. 
 
172 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE FHUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 
 
 Age, twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, 
 
 And call a train of laughing hours ; 
 
 And bid them dance, and bid them sing : 
 
 And thou, too, mingle in the ring. — Wordsworth 
 
 The 12th of January v/as the last day before James and Louis 
 meant to return to Oxford, Jem taking Clara on from thence to 
 school. It was to be the farewell to Christmas — one much 
 enjoyed in Dynevor Terrace. Fitzjocelyn's absence w^as almost 
 a relief to Clara ; she could not make up her mind to see him 
 till she could hope their last encounter had been forgotten ; and 
 in the meantime, her anticipations were fixed on the great 12th. 
 She was aware of wliat the entertainment would consist, but 
 was in honour bound to conceal her knowledge from Virginia 
 and Louisa, who on their side affected great excitement and 
 curiosity, and made every ostentation of guessing and peeping. 
 Gifts w^ere smuggled into the house from every quarter—some 
 to take their chance, some directed with mottoes droll or affec- 
 tionate. Clara prepared a few trifles, in which she showed that 
 school had done something for her fingers, and committed her 
 little parcels to her brother's care ; and Miss Mercy was the 
 liappiest of all, continually knocking at the locked door of the 
 back drawing-room with gilded fir-cones, painted banners, or 
 moss birds'-nests, from Miss Salome. 
 
 Miss King and Isabel had undertaken the main business. 
 When roused from her pensive stillness, Isabel could be very 
 eager, active, and animated ; and she worked with the exhilar- 
 ation that she could freely enjoy, when unrestrained by per- 
 ceiving that she was wanted to produce an effect. What woman's 
 height and hand could not perform fell to the share of James, 
 who, with his step-ladder and dexterous hands, was invaluable. 
 Merrily, merrily did the three work, laughing over their sus- 
 pended bonbons^ their droll contrivances, or predicting the adap- 
 tations of their gifts ; and more and more gay was the laugh, 
 the tutor more piquant, the governess more keen and clever, 
 the young lady more vivacious, as the twilight darkened, and 
 the tree became more laden, and the streamers and glass balls 
 produced a more brilliant effect. 
 
 Proudly, when the task w^as accomplished, did they contem- 
 plate their work, and predict the aspect of their tinsel and 
 frippery when duly lighted up. Then, as they dispersed to dress, 
 James ran home, and hastily tapped at his sister's door. 
 
 ^ What is the matter 1 ' she cried. ^ Have the tassels come off 
 my purse?' 
 
 ' Nothing of the kind, but — ' he came quite in, and looked 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 173 
 
 round restlessly, then hastily said, ' You gave me nothing for 
 Miss Conway/ 
 
 * I wished it very much,' said Clara, * but I could not bear to 
 do anything trumpery for her. Oh, if one could give her any- 
 thing worth having ! ' 
 
 * Clara, I had thought — but I did not know if you would like 
 to part with it — ' 
 
 ' I had thought of it too,' said Clara ; ' but I thought you 
 would not like it to be given away.' 
 
 Pulling out a drawer, she opened an odd little box of queer 
 curiosities^ whence she took a case containing an exquisite ivory 
 carving, a copy of the ' Madonna della Sedia,' so fine that a 
 magnifier alone could fully reveal the delicacy and accuracy 
 of the features and expression. It was mounted as a bracelet 
 clasp, and was a remnant of poor Mr. Dynevor's treasures. It 
 had been given to Mrs. Henry Frost, and had descended to her 
 daughter. 
 
 ' Should you be willing 1 ' wistfully asked James. 
 
 * That I should ! I have longed to give her what she would 
 really care for. She has been so very kind — and her kindness 
 is so very sweet in its graciousness ! I shall always be the 
 happier for the very thinking of it.' 
 
 ' I am glad — ' began Jem, warmly ; but, breaking off, he 
 added — ' This would make us all more comfortable. It would 
 lessen the weight of obligation, and that would be satisfactory 
 to you.' 
 
 ' I don't know. I like people to be so kind, that I can't feel 
 as if I would pay them off, but as if I could do nothing but love 
 them.' 
 
 ^ You did not imagine that I rate this as repayment ! ' 
 
 'Oh! no, no!' 
 
 * No ! it is rather that nothing can be too precious — ' then 
 pausing — ' You are sure you are willing, Clary ? ' 
 
 ' Only too glad. I like it to be something valuable to us as 
 well as in itself. If I only had a bit of black velvet, I could 
 set it up.' 
 
 In ten minutes, Jem had sped to a shop and back again, and 
 stood by as Clara stitched the clasp to the ribbon velvet ; while 
 there was an amicable dispute, he insisting that the envelope 
 should bear only the initials of the true donor, and she main- 
 taining that ' he gave the black velvet.' She had her way, and 
 wrote, ' From her grateful C. F. D. and J. R. F. D. ; ' and as 
 James took the little packet, he thanked her with an affectionate 
 kiss — a thing so unprecedented at an irregular hour, that Clara's 
 heart leapt up, and she felt rewarded for any semblance of sacrifice. 
 
 He told his grandmother that he had agreed with his sister 
 that they could do no otherwise than present the ivory clasp ; 
 and Mrs. Frost, who had no specially tender associations with 
 it, was satisfied to find that they had anything worth offering 
 on equal terms. 
 
174 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 She was to be of the party, and setting forth, they found the 
 House Beautiful upside down — even the Faithfull parlour de- 
 voted to shawls and bonnets, and the two good old sisters in 
 the drawing-room ; Miss Salome, under the protection of littler 
 Louisa, in an easy-chair, opposite tlie folding-doors. Small 
 children were clustered in shy groups round their respective 
 keepers. Lady Conway was receiving her guests with the smile 
 so engaging at first sight ; Isabel moving from one to the other 
 with stately grace and courtesy ; Virginia watching for Clara, 
 and both becoming merged in a mass of white skirts and glossy 
 heads, occupying a wide area. Mrs. Frost was rapturously sur- 
 rounded by half-a-dozen young men, Sydney Calcott foremost, 
 former pupils enchanted to see her, and keeping possession of 
 her all the rest of the evening. She was a dangerous person to 
 invite, for the North wold youth had no eyes but for her. 
 
 The children were presently taken down to tea in the dining- 
 room by Miss King and Miss Mercy ; and presently a chorus of 
 little voices and peals of laughter broke out, confirming the fact, 
 whispered by Delaford to his lady, that Lord Fitzjocelyn had 
 arrived, and had joined the down-stairs party. 
 
 While coffee went round in the drawing-room, Isabel glided 
 out to perform the lighting process. 
 
 * Oh, Mr. Dynevor ! ' she exclaimed, finding him at her side, 
 * I did not mean to call you away.' 
 
 'Alere unreason to think of the performance alone,' said 
 James, setting up his trusty ladder. 'What would become of 
 that black lace ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, it may be safer and quicker.' 
 
 'So far the evening is most successful,' said Jem, lighting- 
 above as she lighted below. 
 
 ' That it is ! I like North wold better than any place I have 
 been in since I left Thornton Conway. There is so much more 
 heartiness and friendliness here than in ordinary society.' 
 
 'I think Fitzjocelyn's open sympathies have conduced — ' 
 
 Isabel laughed, and he checked himself, disconcerted. 
 
 'I beg your pardon,' she said ; 'I was amused at the force of 
 habit. If I were to say the Terrace chimneys did not smoke, 
 you would say it was Lord Fitzjocelyn's doing.' 
 
 ' Do not bid me do otherwise than keep him in mind.' 
 
 Down fell the highest candle : the hot wax dropping on 
 Isabel's arm caused her to exclaim, bringing Jem down in 
 horror, crying, ' I have hurt you ! you are burnt ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, only startled. There is no harm done, you see,' as 
 she cracked away the cooled wax — ' not even a mark to remind 
 me of this happy Christmas.' 
 
 'And it has been a happy Christmas to you, 'he said, remounting. 
 
 ' Most happy. Nothing has been so peaceful or satisfactory 
 in my wandering life.' 
 
 ' Shall I find you here at Easter ? ' 
 
 * I fear not Mamma likes to be in London early ; iTut 
 
i#vi:iiiOsi^.^iIiiifei 
 
 li 1 I iln'A'i., 1' MI™l[lilJiUtoliK/ ^ <-?...< J ' "'ill' .?^-,J 
 
 
 "'There is no harm done, j'ou see,' as she cracked away the cooled wax — ' not even a 
 mark to remind me of this happy Christmas.' "—Page 174. 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 175 
 
 perhaps she may leave the schooh'oom party here, as Louisa 
 is gaining so much ground, and that would be a pledge of out- 
 return.' 
 
 *Too much joy,' said James, almost inaudibly. 
 
 ' I hope Walter may spend his holidays here,' she pursued. 
 ' It is a great thing for him to be with any one who can put a 
 few right notions into his head.' 
 
 Jem abstained from, as usual, proposing Fitzjocelyn for his 
 example, but only said that Walter was very susceptible of 
 good impressions. 
 
 * And most heartily we thank you for all you have done for 
 him,' said Isabel, doubting whether Walter's mother appreciated 
 the full extent of it ; 'indeed, we have all a great deal to thank 
 3^ou for. I hope my sisters and I may be the better all our 
 lives for the helps and explanations you have given to us. Is 
 that the last candle ? How beautiful ! We must open — ' 
 
 ' Miss Conway — ' 
 
 ' Yes ' — she paused with her hand on the key. 
 
 'No, no — do not wait,' taking the key himself. 'Yet — yes, 
 I must — I must thank you for such words — ' 
 
 'My words?' said Isabel, smiling. 'For thanking you, or 
 being happy here % ' 
 
 ' Both ! both ! Those words will be my never- failing charm. 
 You little guess how I shall live on the remembrance. Oh, if 
 I could only convey to you what feelings you have excited — ' 
 
 The words broke from him as if beyond his control ; and 
 under the pressing need of not wasting the tapers, he instinc- 
 tively unlocked the door as he spoke, and cut himself short by 
 turning the handle, perhaps without knowing what he was about. 
 
 Instantly Lady Conway and Miss King each pushed a fold- 
 ing leaf, Isabel and James drew back on either side, and the 
 spectators beheld the tall glistening evergreen, illuminated 
 with countless little spires of light, glancing out among the 
 dark leaves, and reflected from the gilt fir-cones, glass balls, and 
 brilliant toyg. 
 
 ' Sister ! sister ! ' cried Miss Mercy, standing by Miss I'aith- 
 full's chair, in the rear of the throng, and seizing her hand in 
 ecstasy ; 'it is like a dream ! like what we have read of ! Oh, 
 the dear little children ! So very kind of Lady Conway ! 
 Could you have imagined — ? ' She quite gasped. 
 
 ' It is very pretty ; but it was a nicer Christmas-tree last year 
 at Lady Runnymede's,' said Louisa, with the air of a critic. 
 ' There we had coloured lamps.' 
 
 ' Little fastidious puss ! ' said Louis, ' I thought you keeping 
 in the background out of politeness ; but I see you are only 
 blasee with Christmas-trees. I pity you ! I could no more be 
 critical at such a moment than I could analyze the jewels in 
 Aladdin's cave.' 
 
 ' Oh, if you and Miss Faithfull talk, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, you 
 will make it seem quite new.' 
 
176 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' You will deride the freshness of our simplicity/ said Louis, 
 but presently added, 'Miss Salome, haA^e we not awakened to 
 the enchanted land ? Did ever mortal tree bear stars of living 
 flame ? Here are realized the fabled apples of gold — nay, the 
 flr-cones of Nineveh, the jewel-fruits of Eastern story, depend 
 from the same bougli. Yonder lamps shine by fairy spell' 
 
 *Now, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, do you think I suppose you so 
 silly— 
 
 ' Soft ! The Dryad of the Enchanted Bower advances. Her 
 floating robes, her holly crown, beseem her queenly charms.' 
 
 * As if you did not know that it is only Isabel ! ' 
 
 ' Only ! May the word be forgiven to a sister ? Isabel ! The 
 name is all-expressive.' 
 
 *She is looking even more lovely than usual,' said Miss 
 Faithf ull. ' I never saw such a countenance.' 
 
 ' She has a colour to-night,' added Miss Mercy, ' which does, 
 as you say, make her handsomer than ever. Dear ! dear ! I 
 hope she is not tired. I am so sorry I did not help her to liglit 
 the tree ! ' 
 
 'I do not think it is fatigue,' said her sister. 'I hope it is 
 animation and enjoyment — all I have ever thouglit wanting to 
 that sweet face.' 
 
 'You are as bad as my prosaic cousin,' said Louis, 'disen- 
 chanting the magic bower and the wood-nymph into flr, wax, 
 and modern young ladyhood.' 
 
 ' There, cousin, it is you who have called her a modern young 
 lady.' 
 
 Before Louisa had expressed her indignation, there was a call 
 for her. 
 
 ' The Sovereign of the Bower beckons,' said Louis. ' Favoured 
 damsel, know how to deserve her smiles. Fairy gifts remain 
 not with the unworthy.' 
 
 As he put her forward, some one made way for lier. It was 
 Mary, and he blushed at perceiving that she must have heard 
 all his rodomontade. As if to make amends, he paused, and 
 asked for Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' Much more comfortable to-night, thank you ; ' and the 
 pleasant, honest look of her friendly eyes relieved Iiim by not 
 reproaching him. 
 
 ' I wish she were here. It is a prettier, more visionary sight 
 than I could have conceived.' 
 
 ' I wish she could see it ; but she feared the crowd. Many 
 people in a room seem to stifle her. Is Lord Ormersfield here ? ' 
 
 'No, it would not be his element. But imagine his having 
 taken to walking with me ! I really think he will miss me.' 
 
 ' Really ? ' said Mary, amused. 
 
 ' It is presumptuous ; but he does not see well at night, and 
 is not quite broken in to his spectacles. Mary, I hope you will 
 walk over to see after him. Nothing would be so good for him 
 as walking you back, and staying to dinner with you. Go right 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 177 
 
 into the library ; he would be greatly pleased. Can't you make 
 some book excuse? And you have the cottages to see. The 
 people inaugurated the boilers with Christmas puddings.' 
 
 'Mr. Holdsworth told us how pleased they were. And the 
 Norris's ? ' , 
 
 ' Mrs. Norris is deliglited ; she has found a woman to wash, 
 and says it will save her a maid. Tlie people can get milk now : 
 I assure you they look more wholesome already ! And Beecher 
 has actually asked for two more houses in emulation. And 
 Richardson found himself turned over to me ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, that's right.' 
 
 ' I've been at the plans all the afternoon. I see how to con- 
 trive the fireplace in the back room, that we could not have in 
 the first set, and make them cheajoer, too. My father has really 
 made a point of that old decrepit Hailes being moved from 
 Marksedge ; and, Mary, he and Richardson mean Ingiewood to 
 be made over to me for good. I am to put in a bailiff', and do 
 as I can with it — have the profits or bear the losses. I think 
 I have an idea — ' 
 
 In spite of her willingness to hear the idea, Mary could not 
 help asking, ' Have you sent off the Police article ? ' 
 
 ' Hush, Mary ; it is my prime object to have it well forgotten.' 
 
 ' Oh ! did not Sir Miles like it ? ' 
 
 VHe said it wanted liveliness and anecdote. So the Santi- 
 sima Hermandad, and all tlie extraneous history, were sent to 
 liim ; and then he was well content, and only wanted me to 
 leave out all tlie Christian chivalry — all I cared to say — ' 
 
 ' You don't mean not to finish ? Your father was so pleased, 
 Isabel so much struck ! It is a pity — ' 
 
 ' No, no ; you may forgive me, Mary — it is not pure laziness. 
 It was mere rubbish without the point, which was too strong 
 for the two politicians ; rubbish, any way. Don't tell me to 
 go on with it ; it was a mere trial, much better let it die away. 
 I really have no time ; if I don't mind my own business, I shall 
 be a plucked gosling ; and that would go to his lordship's heart. 
 Besides, I must get these plans done. Do you remember wliere 
 we got the fire-bricks for the ovens'?' 
 
 Mary was answering, when Walter came bursting through 
 the crowd. ' Where is he 1 Fitzjocelyn, it is your turn.' 
 
 'Here is a curious specimen for our great naturalist,' said 
 Mrs. Frost, a glow in her cheeks, and her voice all stifled mirth 
 and miscliief . 
 
 It was a large nest of moss and horse-hair, partly concealed 
 under the lower branches, and containing two huge eggs 
 streaked and spotted with azure and vermilion, and a purple 
 and yellow feather, labelled, ' Dropped by the parent animal in 
 her flight, on the discovery of the nest by the crew of H.M.S. 
 Flyinq Dutchman. North Greenland, April 1st, 1847. Qu. ? 
 Female of Equus Pegasus, Respectfully dedicated to the Right 
 Honourable Viscount Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
178 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^ A fine specimen,' said the Viscount at once, with the air of a 
 connoisseur, by no means taken by surprise. ' They are not very 
 uncommon ; I found one myself about the same date in the 
 justice-room. I dare say Mr. Calcott recollects the circumstance.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear fellow,' exclaimed Sydney, instead of liis 
 father ; ' you need not particularize. You always were a dis- 
 coverer in that line.' 
 
 ' True,' said Louis, ' but this is unique. North Greenland — 
 ah ! I thought it was from a Frosty country. Ha, Clara ? ' 
 
 ' Not I ; I know nothing of it,' cried Clara, in hurry and 
 confusion, not yet able to be suspected of taking liberties 
 with him. 
 
 ' No ? ' said Louis, turning about his inquisition ; ' I thought 
 I knew the female that laid these eggs. The proper name is, I 
 fancy, Glacies Dynevorensis — var. Catkarina — perhaps — ' 
 
 Walter and Louisa had brought their mother to see the nest, 
 the point of which she comprehended as little as they ; and not 
 understanding how much amusement was betokened by her 
 nephew's gravity, she protested that none of her party had 
 devised it, nor even been privy to it, and that Mr. Dynevor 
 must bear the blame ; but he was very busy detaching the 
 prizes from the tree, and hastily denied any concern with it. 
 Aunt Catharine was obliged to console Lady Conway, and 
 enchant Louis by owning herself the sole culprit, with no aid 
 but Miss Mercy's. Together they had disposed the nest in its 
 right locality, as soon as the Earl's absence was secure. 
 
 ' I had not courage for it before him,' she laughed. 'As for 
 this fellow, I knew he would esteem it a compliment.' 
 
 ' As a tribute to his imagination ? ' said Isabel, who, in her 
 mood of benevolence, could be struck with the happy under- 
 standing between aunt and nephew revealed by such a joke, so 
 received. 
 
 ' It would be a curious research,' said Louis, ' whether more 
 of these nidifications result from over-imagination or the want 
 of it.' 
 
 ^ Often from want of imagination, and no want of cowardice,' 
 said Isabel. 
 
 'That sort of nest has not illuminated eggs like these,' said 
 Louis. ' They are generally extremely full of gunpowder, and 
 might be painted with a skull and cross-bones. I say, Clara, 
 has Aunt Kitty considered the consequences^ She has sacri- 
 ficed her ostrich eggs ! I can never part with these original 
 productions of her genius.' 
 
 He exhibited his mare's nest with his own gay honhommie to 
 all who were curious ; and presently, when every one's atten- 
 tion had been again recalled to the wonders which Isabel was 
 distributing, and he had turned aside to dispose of his treasure, 
 he heard a sound of soliloquy half aloud, ' I wonder whether 
 she has it ! ' from Clara, who stood a little apart. 
 
 ' What ? ' asked Louis. 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE 179 
 
 *My ivory clasp with the Madonna/ said Clara. ^Jem and 
 I thought it the only thing worthy of Miss Conway/ 
 
 ' Hem ! ' said Louis ; ^ it is not your fault, Clara ; but it 
 would be graceful to learn to receive a favour/ 
 
 * A favour, but not a grand thing like this,' said Clara, show- 
 ing a beautiful little case of working implements. 
 
 'Hardly worth, even intrinsically, your mother's bracelet,' 
 said Louis. ' But I am not going to talk treason to the family 
 doctrine, though it is very inconvenient to your friends.' 
 
 ' Then you think we ought not to have done it ? ' 
 
 ' That depends on wliat I can't decide.' 
 
 ^ What's that r ^ 
 
 * Whether you give it out of love or out of pride.' 
 
 ' I think we gave it out of one, and excused it by the other. 
 
 'Very satisfactory. To reward you, here is something for 
 you to do. I shall never get at Aunt Kitty to-night. I see the 
 midshipman, young Brewster, will not relinquish her ; so will 
 you or will she administer this letter to the Lady of Eschalott ? ' 
 
 ' You don't mean that is Tom Madison ! ' exclaimed Clara. 
 ' Why, it is like copper-plate. No more Fitsgoslings ! ' 
 
 ' No, indeed ! Is he not a clever fellow ? He has just reached 
 the stage of civilization that breaks out in dictionary words. 
 I have been, in return, telling him the story of the Irish school- 
 master who puzzled the magistrate's bench by a petition about 
 a small cornuted animal, meaning a kid. But I should think it 
 would be very edifying to Charlotte to see herself commemor- 
 ated as the " individual at the Terrace," and his grandfather as 
 "his aged relative." He sends the old man ten shillings this 
 time, for he is promoted. Don't you think I may be proud of 
 him ? Is Mary gone home ? She must hear about him.' 
 
 As he turned away in search of Mary, Clara felt a soft hand 
 on her shoulder ; and Isabel beckoned her to follow into the 
 back drawing-room, where the tree was burnt out and deserted. 
 
 ' I may thank you,^ said Isabel, in a low, sweet voice, pressing 
 her hand. 
 
 ' And Jem,' said Clara ; ' lie thought of it first.' 
 
 'It is the most beautiful Christmas gift; but I do not like 
 for you to part with it, my dear.' 
 
 'We both wished it, and grandmamma gave leave. We 
 longed for you to have something we prized like this, for it 
 belonged to my mamma. It is Jem's present too, for he went 
 out and bought the black velvet.' 
 
 * Clasp it on for me, dear Clara. There ! ' and Isabel kissed 
 the fingers which obeyed. ' It shall never leave my arm.' 
 
 Clara's face burnt with surprise and pleasure amounting to 
 embarrassment, as Isabel expressed hopes of meeting again, and 
 engaged her to write from school. She looked for her brother 
 ' to take his share of thanks ; but he was determinately doing his 
 duty in cutting chicken and cake for those who desired supper, 
 and he did not come in their way again till all the guests 
 
 N 2 
 
180 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 were gone, and good night and good-bye were to be said at 
 once. 
 
 Lady Conway was warm in expressing lier hopes that Walter 
 would enjoy the same advantages another holiday, and told Mr. 
 Dynevor she should write to him. But Jem made little answer, 
 nothing like a promise. Clara thought he had become stiff 
 from some unknown affront, perhaps some oppressive present, 
 for he seemed to intend to include all the young ladies in one 
 farewell bow. But Isabel advanced with outstretched hand 
 and flushing cheek, and her murmured ' Thank you ' and con- 
 fiding pressure drew from him such a grasp as could not easily 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Clara's heart was all the lighter because she was sure that 
 Fitzjocelyn had forgiven, and, what was more, forgotten. She 
 had spoken naturally to Jiim once more, and was ready for 
 anything now — even though they had missed all confidential 
 discussions upon school. 
 
 She gave Charlotte Tom Madison's letter. The little maiden 
 took it, and twirled it about rather superciliously. 'What 
 business has my young lord,' she thought, ' to fancy she cared 
 for that poor fellow? Very likely he was improved, and she 
 was glad of it ; but she knew what was genteel now. Yes, she 
 would read it at once ; there was no fear that it would make her 
 soft and foolish — she had got above that ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 'Which king, Bezonian?* — Henry IV. 
 
 Sm Roland of Provence remained in suspense whether 
 to be a novice or an irrevocably pledged Hospitaller. The 
 latter was most probable ; and when Adeline's feelings had been 
 minutely analyzed, Miss Conway discovered that she had better 
 not show her morning's work to her sisters. 
 
 Clara and Louis pronounced Jem to be as savage as a bear all 
 through the journey. Clara declared it was revenge for having 
 been civil and amiable all through the vacation ; and Louis 
 uttered a theatrical aside, that even that could not have been 
 maintained if he had not occasionally come to Ormersfield to 
 relieve himself a little upon their two lordships. 
 
 Laugh as he might, Fitzjocelyn was much concerned and 
 perplexed by his cousin's ill-humour, when it appeared more 
 permanent than could be puffed off in a few ebullitions. 
 Attempts to penetrate the gloom made it lieavier, and Louis 
 resolved to give it time to subside. He waited some days 
 before going near James, and when he next walked fo his 
 college found him engaged with pupils. He was himself very 
 
THE KIVALS 181 
 
 busy, and had missed his cousin several times before lie at 
 length found him alone. 
 
 'Why, Jem, old fellow, what are you about? You've not 
 been near my rooms this term. Are you renouncing me in 
 anticipation of my plucking ? ' 
 
 ' You won't be plucked unless you go out of your senses for 
 the occasion.' 
 
 ' No thanks to your advice and assistance if I am not. But 
 it would conduce to my equanimity, Jem, to know whether 
 we are quarrelling, as in that case I should know how to demean 
 myself.' 
 
 'I've no quarrel with you. You have far more reason — 
 But,' added Jem, catching himself up, ' don't you know I've no 
 leisure for trifling? The Ordination is the second week in 
 March.' 
 
 ' The Ordination ! ' 
 
 ' Ay — you know it ! My fellowship depends on it.' 
 
 ' I never liked to contemplate it.' He sat down and mused, 
 while James continued his occupation. Presently he said, 
 ' Look here. Sir Miles Oakstead asked me if I had any clever 
 Oxford friend to recommend. If he comes into oflice, he — ' 
 
 ' I'll be no great man's hanger-on.' 
 
 'This matter is not imminent. You are barely four-and- 
 twenty. Wait a year or two ; even a few months would — ' 
 
 ' You have tried my forbearance often enough,' broke in 
 James; 'my object is — as you very well know — to maintain 
 myself and mine without being liable to obnoxious patronage. 
 If you think" I should disgrace the oflice, speak out ! ' 
 
 Louis, without raising his eyes, only answered with a smile. 
 
 ' Then, what do you mean ? As to your notions of a voca- 
 tion, ninety-nine out of a hundred are in my case. I have 
 been bred up to this — nothing else is open — I mean to do my 
 duty ; and surely that is vocation — no one has a riglit to 
 object — ' 
 
 ' No one ; I beg your pardon,' meekly said Louis, taking up 
 his stick to go ; but both knew it was only a feint, and James, 
 whose vehemence was exhausting itself, resumed, in an injured 
 tone, ' What disturbs you ? what is this scruple of yours ? — you, 
 who sometimes fancy you would have been a curate yourself.' 
 
 ' I have just inclination enough that way to be able to per- 
 ceive that you have none.' 
 
 ' And is every one to follow his bent ? ' 
 
 ' This is not a step to be taken against the grain, even for the 
 best earthly motives. Jem ! I only beg you to ask advice. 
 For the very reason that you are irreproachable, you will never 
 have it ofiered.' 
 
 ' The present time, for instance ! ' said James, laughing as best 
 he might. 
 
 ' That is nothing. I have no faith in my own judgment ; 
 but, thinking as I do of the profession and of you, I cannot 
 
182 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 help believing that my distaste for seeing you in it must be an 
 instinct.' 
 
 ' Give me your true opinion and its grounds candidly, knowing 
 that I would not ask another man living.' 
 
 ' Nor me, if I did not thrust it on you.' 
 
 'Now for it ! Let us hear your objection.' 
 
 ' Simply this. I do not see that anything impels you to take 
 Holy Orders immediately, except your wish to be independent, 
 and irrevocably fixed before your uncle can come home. This 
 seems to me to have a savour of something inconsistent with 
 what you profess. It might be fine anywhere else, but it will 
 not bear being brought into the light of the sanctuary. No, I 
 cannot like it. I have no doubt many go up for Ordination far 
 less fit than you ; but — Jem, I wish you would not. If you would 
 but wait a year ! ' 
 
 'No, Fitzjocelyn, my mind is made up. I own that I might 
 have preferred another course, and Heaven knows it is not that 
 I think myself worthy of this ; but I have been brought up to 
 this, and I will not waver. It is marked out for me as plainly 
 as your earldom for you, and I will do my duty in it as my 
 appointed calling. There lies my course of lionest independence : 
 you call it pride — see what those are who are devoid of it : 
 there lie my means of educating my sister, providing for my 
 grandmother. I can see no scruple that should deter me.' 
 
 Fitzjocelyn having said his say, it was his turn and his nature 
 to be talked down. 
 
 ' In short,' concluded James, walking about the room, ' there 
 is no alternative. Waiting for a College living is bad enough, 
 but nothing else can make happiness even possible.' 
 
 'One would think you meant one sort of liappiness,' said 
 Louis, with a calm considering tone, and look of inquiry which 
 James could not brook. 
 
 'What else?' he cried. Tool and madman that I am to 
 dwell on the hopeless — ' 
 
 ' WJiy should it be hopeless ? — ' began Louis. 
 
 ' Hush ! you are the last person with whom I could discuss 
 this subject,' he said, trying to be fierce, but with more sorrow 
 than anger. 'I must bear my burden alone. Believe me, I 
 struggled hard. If you and I be destined to clash, one comfort 
 is, that even I could never quarrel with you.' ^ 
 
 ' I have not the remotest idea of your meaning.' 
 
 'So much the better. No, so much the worse. You are 
 not capable of feeling what I do for her, or you would have 
 hated me long ago. Do not stay here ! I do not know tliat I 
 can quite bear the sight of you — But don't let me lose you, Louis.' 
 
 James wrung the hand of liis cousin ; and no sooner was he 
 alone, than he began to pace the room distractedly. 
 
 'Poor Jem!' soliloquized Fitzjocelyn. 'At least, I am glad 
 the trouble is love, not the Ordination. But as to his mean- 
 ing ! He gives me to understand that we are rivals — It is 
 
THE RIVALS 183 
 
 the most absurd thing I ever knew— I declare I don't know 
 whether he means Mary or Isabel. I suppose he would con- 
 sider Mary's fortune a barrier — No, she is too serene for his 
 storms — worthy, most worthy — but she would hate to be wor- 
 shipped in that wild way. Besides, I am done for in that 
 quarter. No clashing there — ! Nay, the other it can never 
 be — after all his efforts to lash me up at Christmas. Yet, he was 
 much with her ; he made Clara sacrifice the clasp to her. Hm ! 
 She is an embodied romance, deserving to be raved about ; while 
 for poor dear Mary, it would be simply ridiculous. I wish I 
 could guess — it is too absurd to doubt, and worse to ask ; and, 
 what's more, he would not stand it. If I did but know ! I'm 
 not so far gone yet, but that I could leave the field to him, if 
 that would do him any good. Heigh ho ! it would be en regie to 
 begin to hate him, and be as jealous as Bluebeard ; but there ! 
 I don't know which it is to be about, and one can't be lealous for 
 two ladies at once, luckily, for it would be immensely trouble- 
 some, unless a good, hearty quarrel would be wholesome to 
 revive his spirits. It is a bad time for it, though ! Well, I hope 
 he does not mean Mary — I could not bear for her to be tormented 
 by him. That other creature might reign over him like the full 
 moon dispersing clouds. Well ! this is the queerest predicament 
 I ever heard of ! ' And on lie wandered, almost as much diverted 
 by the humour of the doubt, as annoyed by the dilemma. 
 
 He had no opportunity for farther investigation : James 
 removed liimself so entirely from his society, that he was obliged 
 to conclude that the prevailing mood was that of not being 
 quite able to bear the sight of him. His consolation was the 
 hope of an opening for some generous proceeding, though 
 how this should be accomplished was not visible, since it was 
 quite as hard to be generous with other people's hearts as to 
 confer a benefit on a Pendragon. At any rate, he was so con- 
 fident of Jem's superiority, as to have no fear of carrying oif the 
 afiection of any one whom his cousin wished to win. 
 
 James was ordained, and shortly after went to some pupils for 
 the Easter vacation, which was spent by Louis at Christchurch, 
 in studying hard. The preparation for going up for his degree 
 ended by absorbing him entirely, as did every other pursuit to 
 which he once fairly devoted himself, and for the first time he 
 gave his abilities full scope in the field that ought long ago to 
 have occupied them. When, finally, a third class was awarded 
 to him, he was conscious that it might have been a first, but for 
 his past waste of time. 
 
 He was sorry to leave Oxford : he had been happy there 
 in his own desultory fashion ; and the additional time that 
 his illness had kept him an undergraduate, had been welcome 
 as deferring the dreaded moment of considering what was to 
 come next. He had reached man's estate almost against his will. 
 
 He was to go to join his father in London ; and he carried 
 thither humiliation for having, by his own fault, missed the 
 
184 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 honours that, too late, he had begun to value as a means of 
 gratifying his father. 
 
 The Earl, however, could hardly have taken anything amiss 
 from Louis. After having for so many years withheld all the 
 laissez-aller of paternal affection, when the right chord had once 
 been touched, his fondness for his grown-up son had the fresh 
 exulting pride, and almost blindness, that would ordinarily have 
 been lavished on his infancy. Lord Ormersfield's sentiments 
 Vv^ere fev/ and slowly adopted, but they had all the permanence 
 and force of his strong character ; and his affection for Fitz- 
 jocelyn partook both of parental glory in a promising only son, 
 and of that tenderness, at once protecting and dependent, that 
 fathers feel for daughters. This was owing partly to Louis's 
 gentle and assiduous attentions during the last vacation, and 
 also to his long illness, and remarkable resemblance to his 
 mother, which rendered fondness of him a sort of tribute to 
 her, and restored to the Earl some of the transient haj)i)iness 
 of his life. 
 
 It was a second youth of the affections, but it was purchased 
 by a step towards age. The anxiety, fatigue, and various emo- 
 tions of the past year had told on the Earl ; and though still 
 strong, vigorous, and healthy, the first touch of autumn had 
 fallen on him — he did not find his solitary life so self-sufficing 
 as formerly, and craved the home feeling of the past Christmas. 
 So the welcome was twice as warm as Louis had expected ; and 
 as he saw the melancholy chased away, the stern gray eyes 
 lighted up, and the thin, comjDressed lips relaxed into a smile, 
 he forgot his aversion to the well-appointed rooms in Jermyn 
 Street, and sincerely apologized that he had not brought home 
 more credit to satisfy his father. 
 
 ' Oakstead was talking it over with me,' was the answer ; 
 * and we reckoned up many more third-class men than first who 
 have distinguished themselves.' 
 
 ' Many thanks to Sir Miles,' said Louis, laughing. ' My weak 
 mind would never have devised such consolation.' 
 
 ' Perhaps the exclusive devotion to study which attains liigher 
 honours may not be the best introduction to practical life.' 
 
 ' It is doing the immediate work with the whole might.' 
 
 'You do work with all your might.' 
 
 ' Ay ! but too many irons in the fire, and none of them red- 
 hot through, have been my bane.' 
 
 ' You do not set out in life without experience ; I am glad 
 your education is finished, Louis ! ' said his father, turning to 
 contemplate him, as if the sight filled up some void. 
 
 'Are you?' said Louis, wearily. 'I don't think I am. It 
 becomes my duty — or yours, which is a relief — to find out the 
 next stage.' 
 
 ' Have you no wislies *? ' 
 
 ' Not at the present speaking, thank you. If I went out and 
 talked to any one, I might \iix\Q too many.' 
 
THE RIVALS • 185 
 
 ^ No views for your future life ? ' 
 
 ' Thus far : to do as little harm as may be — to be of some use 
 at home — and to make turnips grow in the upland at Ingle wood. 
 I have some vague fancy to see foreign parts, especially now 
 they are all in such a row — it would be such fun — but I suppose 
 you would not trust me there now. Here I am for you to do as 
 you please with me — a gracious permission, considering that you 
 did not wajit it. Only the first practical question is liow to get 
 this money from Jem to Clara. I should like to call on her, but 
 I suppose that would hardly be according to the proprieties.' 
 
 ' I would walk to the school with you, if you wish to see her. 
 My aunt will be glad to hear of her, if we go home to-morrow.' 
 
 'Are you thinking of going home ?' exclaimed Louis, joyfully 
 coming to life. 
 
 ' Yes ; but for a cause that will grieve you. Mrs. Ponsonby is 
 worse, and has written to ask me to come down.' 
 
 ' Materially worse ? ' 
 
 * I fear so. I showed my aunt's letter to Hastings, who said 
 it was the natural course of the disease, but that he thought it 
 would have been less speedy. I fear it has been hastened by 
 reports from Peru. She had decided on going out again ; but 
 tlie agitation overthrew her, and she has been sinking ever 
 since,' said Lord Ormersfield, mournfully. 
 
 ' Poor Mary ! ' 
 
 ' For her sake I must be on the spot, if for no other cause. If 
 I had but a home to offer her ! ' 
 
 Louis gave a deep sigh, and presently asked for more details 
 of Mrs. Ponsonby's state. 
 
 ' I believe she is still able to sit up and employ herself at times, 
 but she often suffers dreadfully. They are both wonderfully 
 cheerful. She has little to regret.' 
 
 ' What a loss she will be ! Oh, father ! what wall you do 
 without her 1 ' 
 
 'I am glad that you have known her. She has been more 
 than a sister to me. Things might have been very different, if 
 that miserable marriage had not separated us for so many years.' 
 
 ' How could it have happened ? How was it that she — so good 
 and wise — did not see through the man ? ' 
 
 ' She would, if she had been left to herself ; but she was not. 
 My mother discovered, when too late, that there had been foolish, 
 impertinent jokes of that unfortunate trifler, poor Henry Frost, 
 that made her imagine herself suspected of designs on me.' 
 
 * Mary would never have attended to such folly 1 ' cried Louis. 
 ' Mary is older. Besides, she loved the man, or thought she 
 
 did. I believe she thinks herself attached to him still. But 
 for Mary's birth, there would have been a separation long ago. 
 There ought to have been ; but, after my father's death, there 
 was no one to interfere ! What would I not have given to have 
 been her brother? Well! I never could see wliy one like her 
 was so visited — !' Then rousing himself, as though tender 
 
186 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 reminiscences were waste of time, he added, 'There you see the 
 cause of the caution I gave you with regard to Clara Dynevor. 
 It is not fair to expose a young woman to misconstructions and 
 idle comments, which may goad her to vindicate her dignity by 
 acting in a manner fatal to her happiness. Now,' he added, 
 having drawn his moral, ' if we are to call on Clara, this would 
 be the fittest time. I have engaged for us both to dine at Lady 
 Conway's this evening : I thought you would not object.' 
 
 * Thank you ; but I am sure you cannot wish to go out after 
 such news.' 
 
 'There is not sufficient excuse for refusing. There is to be 
 no party, and it would be a marked thing to avoid it.' 
 
 Louis hazarded a suggestion that the meeting with Clara 
 would be to little purpose if they were all to sit in state in the 
 drawing-room ; and she was asked for on the plea of going to 
 see the new Houses of Parliament. The Earl of Ormersfield's 
 card and compliments went up-stairs, and Miss Frost Dynevor 
 appeared, with a demure and astonished countenance, which 
 changed instantly to ecstasy when she saw that the Earl was 
 not alone. Not at all afraid of love, but only of misconstruc- 
 tions, he good-naturedly kept aloof, while Clara, clinging to 
 Louis' arm, was guided through the streets, and in and out 
 among the blocks of carved stone on the banks of the Thames, 
 interspersing her notes of admiration and his notes on heraldry 
 with more comfortable confidences than had fallen to their lot 
 through the holidays. 
 
 His first hope was that Clara might reveal some fact to throw 
 light on the object of her brother's affections, but her remarks 
 only added to his perplexity. Once, when they had been talk- 
 ing of poor Mary, and lamenting her fate in having to return 
 to her father, Louis hazarded the conjecture that she might find 
 an English home. 
 
 ' There is her aunt in Bryanston Square,' said Clara. ' Or if 
 she would only live with us ! You see I am growing wise, as 
 you call it : I like her now.' 
 
 ' That may be fortunate,' said Louis. ' You know her destin- 
 ation according to Northwold gossip.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Jem would scorn an heiress if she were ten times 
 prettier. He will never have an escutcheon of pretence like the 
 one on the old soup-tureen that the Lady of Eschalott broke, 
 and Jane was so sorry for because it was the last of the old 
 Cheveleigh china.' 
 
 Louis made another experiment. ' Have you repented yet of 
 giving away your clasp ? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed ! Miss Conway always wears it. She should be 
 richly welcome to anything I have in the world.' 
 
 ' You and Jem saw much more of them than I did.' 
 
 ' Whose fault was that ? Jem was always raving about your 
 stupidity in staying at home.' 
 
 He began to question whether his interview with James had 
 
THE RIVALS 187 
 
 been a dream. As they were walking back towards the school, 
 Clara went on to tell him that Lady Conway had called and 
 taken her to a rehearsal of a concert of ancient music, and that 
 Isabel had taken her for one or two drives into the country. 
 ' This must conduce to make school endurable,' said Louis. 
 
 * I think I hate it more because I hate it less.' 
 ' Translate, if you please.' 
 
 ' The first half-year, I scorned them all, and they scorned me ; 
 and that was comfortable — ' 
 ' And consistent. Well ? ' 
 
 * The next, you had disturbed me ; I could not go on being 
 savage with the same satisfaction ; and their tuft-hunting 
 temper began to discharge itself in such civility to me, that I 
 could not give myself airs with any peace.' 
 
 ' Have you made no friends 1 ' 
 
 * One and a half. The whole one is a good, rough, stupid girl, 
 who comes to school because she can't learn, and is worth all 
 the rest put together. The half is Caroline Salter, who is openly 
 and honestly purse-proud, has no toad-eating in her nature, and 
 straightforwardly contemns high-blood and no money. We 
 fought ourselves into respect for one another ; and now, I verily 
 believe, we are fighting ourselves into friendship. She is the 
 only one that is proud, not vain ; so we understand each other. 
 As to the rest, they adore Caroline Salter's enamelled watch 
 one day ; and the next I should be their " dearest " if I would 
 but tell them what we have for dinner at Ormersfield, and what 
 colour your -eyes are ! ' 
 
 ' The encounters have made you so epigrammatic and satirical, 
 that there is no coming near you.' 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! if you knew all, you would despise me as I do 
 myself ! I do sometimes get drawn into talking grandly about 
 Ormersfield ; and though I always say what I am to be, I know 
 that I am as vain and proud as any of them : I am proud of 
 being poor, and of the Pendragons, and of not being silly ! I 
 don't know which is self-respect, and which is pride ! ' 
 
 ' I have always had my doubts about that quality of self- 
 respect. I never could make out what one was to respect.' 
 
 ^ Oh, dear ! les voild ! ' cried Clara, as, entering Hanover Square, 
 they beheld about twenty damsels coming out of the garden in 
 couples. ' I would not have had it happen for the whole world ! ' 
 she added, abruptly withdrawing the arm that had clung to 
 him so trustfully across many a perilous crossing. 
 
 She seemed to intend to slip into the ranks without any fare- 
 wells ; but the Earl, with politeness that almost confounded the 
 little elderly governess, returned thanks for having been per- 
 mitted the pleasure of her company ; and Louis, between mis- 
 chief and good-nature, would not submit to anything but a 
 liearty, cousinly squeeze of the hand, nor relinquish it till he 
 had forced her to utter articulately the message to grandmamma 
 that she had been muttering with her head averted. At last it 
 
188 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 was spoken sharply, and her hand drawn petulantly away , and, 
 without looking back at him, her high, stiff head vanished into 
 the house, towering above the bright rainbow of ribbons, veils, 
 and parasols. 
 
 The evening would have been very happy, had not Lord Or- 
 mersfield looked imperturbably grave and inaccessible to his 
 sister-in-law's blandishments. She did not use the most likely 
 means of disarming him when she spoke of making a tour in 
 the summer. It had been a long promise that Isabel and Vir- 
 ginia should go to see their old governess at Paris ; but if France 
 still were in too disturbed a state, they might enjoy themselves 
 in Belgium, and perhaps her dear Fitzjocelyn would accompany 
 them as their escort. 
 
 His eyes had glittered at the proposal before he recollected 
 the sorrow that threatened his father, and began to decline, 
 protesting that he should be the worst escort in the world, since 
 he always attracted accidents and adventures. But his aunt, 
 discovering that he had never been abroad, became doubly 
 urgent, and even appealed to his father. 
 
 'As far as I am concerned, Fitzjocelyn may freely consult his 
 own inclinations,' said the Earl, so gravely, that Lady Conway 
 could only turn aside the subject by a laugh, and assurance 
 that she did not mean to give him up. She began to talk of 
 James Frost, and her wishes to secure him a second time as 
 Walter's tutor in the holidays. 
 
 ' You had better take him with you,' said Louis ; ' he would 
 really be of use to you, and how he would enjoy the sight of 
 foreign ]Darts ! ' 
 
 Isabel raised her head with a look of approbation, such as en- 
 couraged him to come a little nearer, and speak of the pleasure 
 that her kindness had given to Clara. 
 
 'There is a high spirit and originality about Clara, which 
 make her a most amusing companion.' 
 
 Isabel replied, ' I am very glad of an hour witli her, especially 
 now that I am without my sisters.' 
 
 ' She must be such a riddle to her respectable schoolfellows, 
 that intercourse beyond them must be doubly valuable.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! Is there no hope for her but going out as a 
 governess 1 ' 
 
 ' Unluckily, we have no Church patronage for her brother ; 
 the only likely escape — unless, indeed, the uncle in Peru, whom 
 I begin to regard as rather mythical, should send an unavoidable 
 shower of gold on them.' 
 
 ' I hope not,' said Isabel ; ' I could almost call their noble 
 poverty a sacred thing. I never saw anything so beautiful as 
 the reverent affection shown to Mrs. Dynevor on Louisa's birtli- 
 day, when she was the Queen of the Night, and looked it, and 
 her old pupils vied with each other in doing her honour. I 
 have remembered the scene so often in looking at our faded 
 dowagers here.' 
 
THE RIVALS 189 
 
 'I would defy Midas to make my Aunt Catharine a faded 
 dowager,' said Louis. 
 
 ' No ; but he could have robbed their homage of half — nay, 
 all its grace.' 
 
 They talked of North wold, and Isabel mentioned various de- 
 tails of Mrs. Ponsonby, which she had learnt from Miss King, 
 and talked of Mary with great feeling and affection. Never 
 liad Louis had anything so like a conversation with Isabel, and 
 he was more bewitched than ever by the enthusiasm and depth 
 of sensibilities which she no longer concealed by coldness and 
 reserve. In fact, she had come to regard him as an accessory 
 of Northwold, and was delighted to enjoy some exchange of 
 sympathy upon Terrace subjects — above all, when separated 
 from the schoolroom party. Time had brought her to perceive 
 that the fantastic Viscount did not always wear motley ; and 
 it was almost as refreshing as meeting with Clara, to have some 
 change from the two worlds in which she lived. In her imagin- 
 ary world, Adeline had just been rescued from the Corsairs by 
 a knight hospitaller, with his vizor down, and was being con- 
 ducted home by him, with equal probabilities of his dying at 
 lier feet of a concealed mortal wound, or conducting her to 
 her convent gate, and going off to be killed by the Moors. 
 The world of gaiety was more hollow and wearisome than 
 ever ; and the summons was as unwelcome to her as to Fitz- 
 jocelyn, when Lord Ormersfield reminded him that the ladies 
 were going to an evening party, and that it was time to take 
 leave. 
 
 'Come with us, Fitzjocelyn,' said his aunt. 'They would be 
 charmed to have you ; ' and she mentioned some lions, whose 
 names made Louis look at his father. 
 
 ' I will send the carriage for you,' said the Earl ; but Louis 
 ]iad learnt to detect the tone of melanoholy reluctance in that 
 apparently unalterable voice, and at once refused. Perhaps it 
 Avas for that reason that Isabel let him put on her opera-cloak 
 and hand her down-stairs. ' I don't wonder at you,' she said ; 
 'I wish I could do the same.' 
 
 ' I wished it at first,' he answered ; ' but I could not have gone 
 without a heavy heart.' 
 
 'Are you young enough to expect to go to any gaieties 
 without a heavy heart 1 ' 
 
 ' I am. sorry for you,' said he, in his peculiar tone : ' I suppose 
 I am your elder.' 
 
 ' I am almost twenty-/o2^r,' she said, with emphasis. 
 
 ' Indeed ! That must be the age for care, to judge by the 
 change it has worked in Jem Frost.' 
 
 The words were prompted by a keen, sudden desire to mark 
 their effect ; but he failed to perceive any, for they were in a 
 dark part of the entry, and her face was turned away. 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn,' said the Earl, on the way home, 'do not think 
 it necessary to look at me whenever you receive an invitation. 
 
190 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 It makes us both appear ridiculous, and you are in every 
 
 respect your own master.' 
 
 ' I had rather not, thank you,' said Louis, in an almost 
 
 provokingly indifferent tone. 
 
 ^ It is full time you should assume your own guidance.' 
 
 ' How little he knows how little that would suit him ! ' 
 
 thought Louis, sighing despondingly. ' Am I called on to 
 
 sacrifice myself in everything, and never even satisfy him ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 REST FOR THE WEARY 
 
 Therefore, arm thee for the strife 
 
 All throughout this mortal life, 
 
 Soldier now and servant true. 
 
 Earth behind, and heaven in view. — Rbv. I. Williams 
 
 The first impression on arriving at Northwold was, that the 
 danger had been magnified. Mrs. Frost's buoyant spirits had 
 risen at the first respite ; and though there was a weight on 
 Mary's brow, she spoke cheerfully, and as if able to attend to 
 other interests, telling Louis of her father's wish for some good 
 workman to superintend the mines, and asking him to consult 
 his friends at Illershall on the subject. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield came down encouraged by his visit to the 
 invalid, whom he had found dressed and able to converse nearly 
 as usual. She begged him to come to dinner the next day, and 
 spend the evening with her, promising with a smile that if he 
 would bring Louis, their aunt should chaperon Mary. 
 
 When the Earl went up-stairs after dinner, the other three 
 closed round the fire, and talked in a tranquil, subdued strain, 
 on various topics, sometimes grave, sometimes enlivened by the 
 playfulness inherent in two of the party. Aunt Kitty spoke of 
 her earlier days, and Louis and Mary ventured questions that 
 they would have ordinarily deemed intrusive. Yet it was less 
 the matter than the manner of their dialogue — the deep, un- 
 avowed fellow-feeling and mutual reliance — which rendered it 
 so refreshing and full of a kind of repose. Louis felt it like the 
 strange bright stillness, when birds sing their clearest, fullest 
 notes and the horizon reach of sky beams with the softest, 
 brightest radiance, just ere it be closed out by the thunder- 
 cloud, whose first drops are pausing to descend ; and to Mary it 
 was peace — peace which she was willing gratefully to taste to the 
 utmost, from the instinctive perception that the call had come 
 for her to brace all her powers of self-control and fortitude ; 
 while to the dear old aunt, besides her enjoyment of her dar- 
 ling's presence, each hour was a boon that she could believe the 
 patient or the daughter relieved and happy. 
 
 Louis -was admitted for a few minutes' visit to the sick 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY ^ 191 
 
 chamber, and went up believing that he ought to be playful 
 and cheerful ; but he was nearly overcome by Mrs. Ponsonby's 
 own brightness, as she hoped that her daughter and aunt had 
 made themselves agreeable. 
 
 ' Thank you, I was never so comfortable, not even when my 
 foot was bad.' 
 
 ' I believe you consider that a great compliment.' 
 
 ' Yes, I never was so much off my own mind, nor on other 
 people's : ' and the recollection of all he owed to Mrs. Ponsonby's 
 kindness rushing over him, he looked so much affected, that 
 Mary was afraid of his giving way, and spoke of other matters ; 
 her mother responded, and he came away quite reassured, and 
 believing Mrs. Frost's augury, that at the next call the invalid 
 would be in the drawing-room. 
 
 On the way home, liowever, his father overthrew such hopes, 
 and made him aware of the true state of the case, — namely, that 
 this was but the lull before another attack, which, whether it 
 came within weeks or days, would probably be the last. 
 
 ' Does Mary know ? ' 
 
 * She does. She bears up nobly.' 
 
 ' And what is to become of her V ^ 
 
 The Earl sighed deeply. * Lima is her destiny. Her mother 
 is bent on it, and says that she wishes it herself ; but on one 
 thing I am resolved : she shall not go alone ! I have told her 
 mother that I will go with her, and not leave her without seeing 
 what kind of home that man has for her. Mary — the mother, 
 I mean — persists in declaring that he has real affection for his 
 child, and that her presence will save him.' 
 
 ' If anything could — ' broke out Louis. 
 
 ^ It should ! it ought ; but I do not trust him. I know Robert 
 Ponsonby as his wife has never chosen to know him. This was 
 not a time for disguise, and I told her plainly what I thought 
 of risking her daughter out there. But she called it Mary's 
 duty — said that he was fully to be trusted where his child was 
 concerned, and that Mary was no stranger at Lima, but could 
 take care of herself, and had many friends besides Oliver 
 Dynevor there. But I told her that go with her I would ! ' 
 
 ' You to take the voyage ! Was not she glad 1 ' 
 
 ' I think she was relieved ; but she was over-grateful and 
 distressed, and entreating me to be patient with him. She need 
 not fear. I never was a hasty man ; and I shall only remember 
 that she bears his name, and that he is Mary's father — provided 
 always that it is fit Mary should remain with him. Miserable ! 
 I can understand that death may well come as a friend — But 
 her daughter ! ' he exclaimed, giving way more than he might 
 have done anywhere but in the dark ; ' how can she endure to 
 leave her to such a father — to such prospects ! ' 
 
 ' She knows it is not only to such a father that she leaves her,' 
 murmured Louis. 
 
 ' Her words — almost her words,' said the Earl, between earnest- 
 
192 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ness and imiDatience ; 'but when these things come to pressing 
 I'ealities, it is past me how such sayings are a consolation.' 
 
 ' Not if they were no more than sayings.' 
 
 There was silence. Louis heard an occasional groaning sigh 
 from his father, and sat still, with feelings strongly moved, and 
 impelled to one of his sudden and impetuous resolutions. 
 
 The next morning, he ordered his horse, saying he would 
 bring the last report from the Terrace. 
 
 That afternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby observed a tremulousness in 
 Mary's hand, and a willingness to keep her face turned away ; 
 and, on more minute glances, a swelling of the eyelids was 
 detected. 
 
 ' My dear,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, ' you should take a walk to- 
 day. Pray go out with the Conway s.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, thank you, mamma.' 
 
 ' If the cousins come in from Ormersfield, I shall tell Louis to 
 take you to look at his farm. It would be very good for you — 
 My dear, what is it?' for Mary's ears and neck, all that she 
 could see were crimson. 
 
 ' Oh, mamma ! he has been doing it again. I did not mean 
 to have told you — ' said Mary, the strong will to be calm forcing 
 back the tears and even the flush. 
 
 ' Nay, dear child, nothing can hurt me now. You rrntst let me 
 share all with you to the last. Y/hat did you say to him 1 ' 
 
 ' I told him that I could not think of such things now,' said 
 Mary, almost indignantly. 
 
 'And her 
 
 ' He begged my pardon, and said he only did it because he 
 thought it might be a relief to you.' 
 
 'Only; did he say " only " T 
 
 'I am not sure. At least,' she added, with a deep sigh, 'I 
 thought he meant only — ' 
 
 ' And you, my dearest ; if you had not thought he meant only ? ' 
 
 ' Don't ask me, mamma ; I cannot think about it ! ' 
 
 ' Mary, dearest, I do wish to understand you.' 
 
 * Is it of any use for me to ask myself % ' said Mary. 
 
 ' I think it is. I do not say that there might not be insuper- 
 able obstacles ; but I believe we ought to know whether you 
 are still indifferent to Louis.' 
 
 ' Oh, that I never was ! Nobody could be ! ' 
 
 ' You know what I mean,' said her mother, slightly smiling. 
 
 ' Mamma, I don't know wliat to say,' replied Mary, after a 
 pause. ' I had thought it wrong to let my thouglits take that 
 course ; but wlien he spoke in his own soft, gentle voice, I felt, 
 and I can't help it, that — he — could— comfort — me — better — 
 than — any one.' 
 
 Not hesitating, but slowly, almost inaudibly, she brought out 
 the words ; and, as the tears gushed out irrepressibly with the 
 last, she hastened from tlie room and was seen no more till she liad 
 recovered composure, and seemed to have dismissed the subject. 
 
REST FOR THE ^yEARY 193 
 
 • Louis kept this second attempt a secret ; he was not quite 
 sure how he felt, and did not wish to discuss liis rejection. At 
 breakfast he received a note from Mrs. Ponsonby, begging him 
 to come to the Terrace at three o'clock ; and the hope thus 
 revived made him more conversational than he had been all 
 the former day. 
 
 He found that Mary was out walking, and he was at once 
 conducted to Mrs. Ponsonby's room, where he looked exceed- 
 ingly rosy and confused, till she began by holding out her hand, 
 and saying, 'I wish to thank you.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I vexed Mary,' said Louis, with more than his 
 usual simplicity ; 'but do you think there is no hope ? I knew 
 it was a bad time, but I thought it might make you more at 
 ease on her account.' 
 
 'You meant all that was most kind.' 
 
 'I thouglit I might just try,' pursued lie, disconsolately, 
 ' whether she did think me any steadier. I hope she did not 
 think me very troublesome. I tried not to liarass hev much.' 
 
 ' My dear Louis, it is not a question of what you call steadi- 
 ness. It is the old story of last summer, wlien you thought us 
 old ones so much more romantic than yourself.' 
 
 ' You arc thinking of Miss Conway,' said Louis, blushing, but 
 wdth curious naivete. 'Well, I have been thinking of tliat, and 
 I really do not believe there was anytliing in it. I did make 
 myself rather a fool at Beauchastel, and Jem would have made 
 me a greater one ; but you know my father put a stop to it. 
 Thinking her handsomer than other people can't be love, can it ? ' 
 
 ' Not alone, certainly.' 
 
 'And actually,' he pursued, 'I don't believe I ever think of 
 her when I am out of the way of her ! No, indeed ! if I had 
 not believed that was all over, do you think I could have said 
 wliat I did yesterday 1 ' 
 
 ' Not unless you believed so.' 
 
 'Well, but really you don't consider liow little I have seen of 
 her. I was in awe of her at first, and since, I have kept away 
 on purpose. I never got on with her at all till the other evening. 
 I don't believe I care for her one bit. Then,' suddenly pausing, 
 and changing Ids tone, ' you don't trust me after all.' 
 
 ' I do. I trust your principle and kindness implicitly ; but I 
 think the very innocence of your heart prevents you from 
 knowing what you are about.' 
 
 ' It is very hard,' said Louis ; ' every one will have it that 
 I must be in love, till I shall have to believe so myself, and 
 when I know it cannot come to good.' 
 
 'You are making yourself more simple than you really are,' 
 said Mrs. Ponsonby, half provoked. 
 
 Louis shut his eyes, and seemed to be rousing his faculties ; 
 then, taking a new turn, he earnestly said, 'You know that the 
 promises must settle the question, and keep my affections fast.' 
 
 'Ah, Louis! there is the point. Others, true and sincere as 
 
 o 
 
194 DYNEVOIl TERRACE 
 
 yourself, have broken their own hearts, and tliose of others, 
 from having made vows in wilful ignorance of latent feelings. 
 It would be a sin in me to allow you to bind yourself to Mary, 
 witli so little comprehension as you liave of your own senti- 
 ments.' 
 
 'Then I have done wrong in proposing it.' 
 
 'What would have been wrong in some cases, was more of 
 blindness — ay, and kindness — in you. Louis, I cannot tell you 
 my gratitude for your wish to take care of my dear girl,' she 
 said, with tears in lier eyes. 'I hope you fully understand me.' 
 
 ' I see I have made a fool of myself again, and that you liavo 
 a right to be very angry with me.' 
 
 ' Not quite,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, smiling ; 'but I am going to 
 give you some advice. Settle your mind as to Miss Conway. 
 Your father is beginning to perceive tliat Ins distrust was un- 
 deserved ; he has promised me not to object in case it should 
 be for your true happiness ; and I do believe, for my own part, 
 that, in some respects, she is better fitted for liis daugliter-in-law 
 than my poor Mary.' 
 
 ' No one was ever half as good as Mary ! ' cried Louis. 'And 
 this is what you tell me ! ' 
 
 ' Mind, I don't tell you to propose to her, nor to commit your- 
 self in any way: I only tell you to put yourself in a position to 
 form a reasonable judgment of your own feelings. That is due 
 to her, to yourself, and to your wife, be she who she may.' 
 
 Louis sighed, and presently added, smiling, 'I am not going 
 to rave about preferences for another ; but I do want to know 
 whether anything can be done for poor Jem Frost.' 
 
 ' Ha ! has he anything of this kind on his mind ? ' 
 
 ' He does it in grand style — disconsolate, frantic, and frosty ; 
 but he puzzles me completely by disclosing notliing but that he 
 has no hope, and thinks me his rival. Can nothing be done ? ' 
 
 ' No, Louis,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly ; ' I have no idea 
 that there is anything in that quarter. What may be on liis 
 mind I cannot tell : I am sure that he is not on Mary's.' 
 
 Louis rose. ' I have tired you,' he said, ' and you are veiy 
 patient with my fooleries.' 
 
 . 'You have been very patient with many a lecture of mint^, 
 Louis.' 
 
 ■ 'There are very few who would have thought me worth 
 lecturing.' 
 
 'Ah, Louis! if I did not like you so well for what you are, 
 r should still feel the right to lecture you, when I remember 
 the night I carried you to your father, and tried to make him 
 believe that you would be his comfort and blessing. I think 
 you have taught him tlie lesson at last ! ' 
 
 ' You have done it all,' said Louis, with deep feeling. 
 
 'And now, may I say what- more I want to see in you? If 
 you could acquire more resolution, more manliness — will you 
 pardon my saying so ? ' 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY 195 
 
 ' 'Ah ! I have always found myself the identical weak man 
 tliat all books give up as a hopeless case/ said Louis, accepting 
 the imputation more easily than she could have supposed possible. 
 ' No,' she said, vigorously, ' you have not come to your time 
 of life without openings to evil that you could not have resisted 
 if you had been really weak.' 
 
 ' Distaste— and rather a taste for being quizzed,' said Louis. 
 'Those are not weakness. Your will is indolent, and you 
 take refuge in fancying that you want strength. Rouse your- 
 self, not to be drifted about— make a line for yourself.' 
 ' My father will liave me walk in no line but his own.' 
 ' You have sense not to make duty to him an excuse for in- 
 dolence and dislike of responsibility. You have often disap- 
 pointed yourself by acting precipitately ; and now you are 
 throwing yourself prone upon him, in a way that is unwise for 
 you both.' 
 
 ' I don't know what to do ! ' said Louis. ' When I thought 
 the aim of my life was to be to devote myself to his wishes, you 
 — ay, and he too — tell me to stand alone.' 
 
 'It will be a disappointment to him, if you do not act and 
 decide for yourself — yes, and worse than disappointment. He 
 knows w^hat your devotional habits are ; and if he see you 
 wanting in firmness or energy, he will set down all the rest as 
 belonging to the softer parts of your nature.' 
 
 'On the contrary,' exclaimed Louis, indignantly^, 'all the 
 resolution I ever showed came from nothing else ! ' 
 
 ' I kno-w it. Let him see that these things make a man of 
 you ; and, Louis — you feel what a difference it might make ! ' 
 Louis bowed his head thoughtfully. 
 
 ' You, who are both son and daughter to him, may give up 
 schemes and pleasures for his sake, and may undertake work 
 for which you have no natural turn ; but, however you may 
 cross your inclinations, never be led contrary to your judgment. 
 Then, and with perseverance, I tliink you will be safe.' 
 ' Perseverance— your old lesson.' 
 
 'Yes; you must learn to work over the moment when 
 novelty is gone and failure begins, even though your father 
 should treat the matter as a crotcliet of your own. If you 
 know it is worth doing, go on, and he will esteem you and it.' 
 
 'My poor j)rivate judgment ! you work it hard ! when it has 
 generally only run me full-drive into some egregious blunder ! ' 
 ' Not your true deliberate judgment, exercised with a sense 
 of responsibility. Humility must not cover your laziness. 
 You have such qualities and such talents as must be intended 
 to do good to others, not to be trifled away in htful exertions. 
 Make it your great effort to see clearly, and then to proceed 
 steadfastly, without slackening either from weariness or the 
 persuasions of others.' 
 
 'And you won't let me have the one person who can see 
 clearly, and keep me steady ? ' 
 
 o 2 
 
106 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'To be your husband, instead of your wife? No, Louis: 
 you must learn to take yourself in your own hands, and lean 
 neither on your father, nor on any one else on earth, before you 
 can be fit for Mary, or — ' 
 
 ' And if I did ? ' began Louis. 
 
 ' You would make a man of yourself,' she said, interrupting 
 him. 'That is the first thing — not a reed shaken with the 
 wdnd. You can do it ; there is nothing that Grace cannot do.' 
 
 'I know" there is not,' said Louis, reverently. 
 
 ' And, oh ! the blessing that you would so bring on yourself 
 and on your dear fatlier ! You have already learnt to make him 
 happier than I ever looked to see him ; and you must be ener- 
 getic and consistent, that so lie may respect, not you, but the 
 Powder wliich can give you the strength.' 
 
 Louis's heart was too full to make any answ^er. Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby lay back in her chair, as though exhausted by the energy 
 with which she had spoken the last words ; and there was a 
 long silence. He thought he ought to go, and yet could not 
 resolve to move. At last she spoke — 'Good-bye, Louis. Come 
 Avhat may, I know Mary will find in you the— all that I have 
 found your father.' 
 
 'Thank you, at least, for saying that,' said Louis. 'If you 
 would only hold out a hope — I wish it more than e\'er now ! 
 [ do not believe that I should ever do as well with any one else. 
 Will you not give me any prospect 1 ' 
 
 ' Be certain of your own heart, Louis ! Nay,' as she saw his 
 face brighten, 'do not take that as a joromise. Let me give 
 you a few parting words, as the motto I should like to leave 
 Avith you — " Quit yourselves like men ; be strong." And so, 
 Louis, whatever be your fixed and resolute purpose, so it be 
 accordant with the Will of Heaven, you would surely, I believe, 
 attain it ; and well do you know how I should rejoice to see — ' 
 She broke ofi', and said more feebly, 'I must not go on any 
 longer. Let me wish you good-bye, Louis : I have loved you 
 only less than my own child ! ' 
 
 Louis knelt on one knee beside her, held her hand, and 
 bowed down his face to hide the shower of tears that fell, 
 while a mother's kiss and a mother's blessing were on his 
 brow. 
 
 He went down-stairs and out of the house, and took his horse 
 from the inn stables, without one word to any one. The ostlers 
 said to each other that the young lord was in great trouble 
 about the lady at the Terrace. 
 
 Mary came home ; and if she knew why that long walk had 
 been urged on her, she gave no sign. She saw her mother worn 
 Mild tired, and she restrained all perception that she was con- 
 scious that there had been agitation. She spoke quietly of the 
 spring flowers that she had seen, and of the people whom she 
 had met ; she gave her mother her tea, and moved about with 
 almost an increase of the studied quietness of the sick-room. 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY 107 
 
 Only, when Mrs. Frost came in for an hour, Mary drew back 
 into a corner with her knitting, and did not speak. 
 
 *Mary,' said her mother, when she came back from lighting 
 her aunt down-stairs, ' come to me, my child.' 
 
 Mary came, and her mother took both her hands. They were 
 cJiilly ; and there was a little pulse on Mary's temple that visibly 
 throbbed, and almost seemed to leap, with fearful rapidity. 
 
 * Dear child, I had no power to talk before, or I would not 
 have kept you in suspense. I am afraid it will not do.' 
 
 ' I was sure of it,' said Mary, almost in a whisper. ' Deai- 
 mamma, you should not have vexed and tired yourself.' 
 
 ' I comforted myself,' said Mrs. Ponsonby : ' I said things to 
 him that I had longed to say, and how beautifully he took 
 them ! But I could not feel that he knew what he was about 
 much better than he did the first time.' 
 
 ' It would not be right,' said Mary, in her old tone. 
 
 * I think your father might have been persuaded. I would 
 have written, and done my utmost — ' 
 
 * Oh, mamma, anything rather than you should have that 
 worry ! ' 
 
 *And I think things will be different — he is softened, and 
 will be more so. But it is foolish to talk in this way, and it 
 may be well that the trial should not be made ; though that 
 was not the reason I answered Louis as I did.' 
 
 ' I suppose it will be Miss Conway,' said Mary, trying to smile. 
 
 ^ At least, it ought to be no one else till he has seen enough 
 of her to form a judgment without the charm of prohibition ; 
 and this he may do without committing himself, as they are so 
 nearly connected. I must ask his father to give him distinct 
 permission, and then I shall have done with these things.' 
 
 Mary would not break the silence, nor recall her to earthly 
 interests ; but she returned to the subject, saying, wistfully, 
 * Can you tell me that you are content, dear child ? ' 
 
 * Quite content, thank you, mamma — I am certain it is right,' said 
 Mary. ' It would be taking a wrong advantage of his compassion. 
 I fall too far short of what would be wanted to make him happy.' 
 
 She spoke firmly, but her eyes were full of tears. Her mother 
 felt as if no one could fail of happiness with Mary, but, con- 
 trolling the impulse, said, 'It is best, dearest; for you could 
 not bear to feel yourself unable to make him happy or to fancy 
 he might have more peace without you. My dear, your prospect 
 is not all I could have wished or planned, but this Would be 
 too cruel.' 
 
 ' It is my duty to go to papa,' said Mary. ' What would be 
 selfish could not turn out well.' 
 
 'If you could be sure of his feelings — if he were only less 
 strangely youthful — No,' she added, breaking oft* as if rebuk- 
 ing herself, 4t is not to be thought of ; but I do not wonder at 
 you, my poor Mary — I never saw any one so engaging, nor in 
 whom I could place such confidence.' 
 
198 DYNE V OK TERRACE 
 
 ' I am so glad ! ' said Mary, gratefully. ' You used not to 
 liave that confidence.' 
 
 'I feared his being led. Now I feel as sure as any one can 
 dare of his goodness. But I have been talking to him about 
 self-reliance and consistency. He is so devoid of ambition, and 
 so inert and difiident wlien not in an impetuous fit, that I 
 dread liis doing no good as well as no evil.' 
 
 Mary shook her liead. Did she repress the expression of tlie 
 sense that lier arm had sometimes given him steadiness and 
 fixed his aim ? 
 
 'The resemblance to his mother struck me more than ever,' 
 continued Mrs. Ponsonby. ' There is far more mind and soul, but 
 almost tlie same nature — all bright, indolent sweetness, craving 
 for something to lean on ; but he shows what she might liave 
 been with the same principles. Dear boy ! may he do well ! ' 
 
 'He will be very happy with Miss Conway,' said Mary. ' She 
 will learn to appreciate all he says and does — her enthusiasm 
 Avill spur him on. I shall hear of them.' 
 
 The unbreathed sigh seemed to be added to the weight of 
 oppression on Mary's patient breast ; but she kept her eye 
 steady, her brow unrufiled. 
 
 All the joys did indeed appear to be passing from lier with 
 her mother, and she felt as if she should never know anotlier 
 hour of gladness, nor of rest in full free open-hearted confidence ; 
 but she could not dwell either on herself or on the future, and 
 each hour that her mother was spared to her was too precious 
 to be wasted or profaned by auglit that was personal. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby herself realized tlie weary soon to be at rest, 
 the liarassed v/ell-nigh beyond the reach of troubling. She 
 treated each earthly care and interest as though there were 
 l^eace in laying it down for the last time. At intervals, as she 
 was able, she wrote a long letter to lier husband, to accompany 
 the tidings of her death ; and she held several conversations 
 witli Mary on her conduct for the future. She hoped much 
 from Mary's influence, for Mr. Ponsonby was fond of his 
 daughter, and would not willingly display himself in his worst 
 colours before her ; and Mary's steadiness of spirits and nerves 
 might succeed, where her own liability to tears and trembling- 
 had always been a provocation. Her want of judgment in 
 openly preferring her own relations to his uncongenial sister, 
 liad sown seeds of estrangement and discord which had given 
 Mrs. Ponsonby some cause for self-reproach, and she felt great 
 Jiope that her daughter would prevail where she had failed. 
 Thei'e was little danger that he would not show Mary afiection 
 enough to make her home-duties labours of love ; and at her 
 age, and with her disposition, she could both take care of herself 
 and be an unconscious restraint on her father. The trust and 
 liope that she would be the means of weaning her father from evil, 
 and bringing him home a changed man, was l^Irs. Ponsonby 's 
 last bri/rht vision. 
 
MOONSHINE 199 
 
 As to scruples on Lord Ormersfield becoming Mary's escort 
 on the voyage, Mrs. PonsonV)y perceived liis determination to 
 be fixed beyond remonstrance. Perhaps she could neither regret 
 that her daughter should have such a protector, nor bear to 
 reject liis last kindness ; and she might have lingering hopes 
 of the consequences of liis meeting her husband, at a time when 
 the hearts of both would ba softened. 
 
 These matters arranged, she closed out the world. Louis 
 saw her but once again, when other words than their own were 
 spoken, and when the scene brought back to him a like one 
 which had seemed liis own farewell to this earth. His thread 
 of life had been lengthened — liere was the moment to pray that 
 it might be strengthened. Firm purpose was wakening within 
 liim, and the battle-cry rang again in his ears — ' Quit yourselves 
 like men ; be strong ! ' 
 
 His eye sought Mary. She looked, indeed, like one who 
 could ' suffer and be strong.' Her brow was calm, though as if 
 a load sat on her, borne too patiently to mar her peace. The 
 end shone upon her, though the path might be hid in gloom : one 
 step at a time was enough, and she was blest above all in her 
 mother's good hope. 
 
 A hush was on them all, as though they were watching while 
 a tired, overtasked child sank to rest. 
 
 There was a space of suffering, when Mary and Miss Mercy 
 did all that love could do, and kept Mrs. Frost from the sight 
 of what she could neither cheer nor alleviate, and when all she 
 could do was to talk over the past with Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 Then came a brief interval of relief and consciousness, pre- 
 cious for ever to Mary's recollection. The last words of aught 
 beneath were — 'My dearest love to your father. Tell him 1 
 know now how much he has to forgive.' 
 
 The tender, impulsive, over-hasty spirit had wrought for itself 
 some of the trials that had chastened and perfected it, even 
 while breaking down the earthly tabernacle, so as to set free 
 the weary soul, to enter into Eest ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 MOONSHINE 
 
 •He talked of daggers and of darts, 
 
 Of passions and of i)ains, 
 Of weeping eyes and wounded lieaits, 
 
 Of k.sses and of chains: 
 Biit sfJl tlie lady sliook her head, 
 ^ And swore by yea and nay, 
 
 My whole was all that lie had said, 
 
 And all that he could say. — W. Mackworth Praed 
 
 Maey's strength gave way. She was calm and self-possessed 
 as ever ; she saw Lord Ormersfield, wrote to her aunt, made all 
 necessary arrangements, and, after the funeral, moved to Mrs. 
 
200 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Frost's house. But, though not actually ill, she was incapable 
 of exertion, could not walk up-stairs without fatigue ; and after 
 writing a letter, or looking over papers. Aunt Catharine would 
 lind her leaning back, so wan and exhausted, that she could not 
 resist being laid down to rest on the sofa. 
 
 She shrank from seeing any fresh face, and the effort of talk 
 ing to the Earl resulted in such weariness and quiet depression 
 that Mrs. Frost dared not press her to admit any one else, 
 except Louis, who rode to the Terrace almost every day ; but 
 when the kind aunt, believing there must be solace in the sight 
 of her boy, begged to bring him in, Mary answered, with unusual 
 vehemence, ' Pray don't : tell him I cannot see any one.' And 
 when Mrs. Frost returned from a sorrowful talk with Louis, she 
 believed that Mary had been weeping. 
 
 Louis was sad enough. Out of the few friend of his child- 
 hood he could ill afford to lose one, and he grieved much for his 
 father, to whom the loss was very great. The Earl strove, in 
 his old fashion, to stifle sorrow in letters of business, but could 
 not succeed : the result was, that he would discuss the one 
 Mary's past, and the other Mary's future, till time waxed so 
 • short that he gladly accepted his son's assistance. Conversations 
 with Richardson and orders to Frampton devolved on Louis, and 
 the desire to do no mischief caused him to employ his intellect 
 in acquiring a new habit of attention and accuracy. 
 
 His reverence for Mary was doubled, and ho was much con- 
 cerned at his exclusion, attributing it to his mistimed proposals, 
 and becoming sensible that he had acted boyishly and without 
 due respect. With a longing desire to do anything for her, he 
 dared not even send her a greeting, a flower, or a book, lest it 
 should appear an intrusion ; and but for his mournful looks, 
 his aunt would have been almost vexed at his so often prevent- 
 ing her from going to make another attempt to induce his 
 cousin to see him. 
 
 Mary first roused herself on flnding that Lord Ormersfield 
 was taking it for granted that she would wait to hear from her 
 father before sailing for Peru. The correspondence which had 
 passed since her mother had begun to decline, had convinced 
 her that he expected and wished for her without loss of time, 
 and the vessel whose captain he chiefly trusted was to sail at 
 the end of May. She entreated to be allowed to go alone, declar- 
 ing that she had no fears, and would not endure that the Earl 
 should double Cape Horn on her account ; but he stood fast — he 
 would not be deprived of the last service that he could render 
 to her mother, and he had not reliance enough on her father to 
 let her go out without any guardian or friend. 
 
 Recent letters from Mr. Ponsonby and from Oliver Dynevor 
 reiterated requests for an intelligent man conversant with 
 mining operations, and 01i\er had indicated a person whom he 
 remembered at Cheveleigh ; but, as his mother said, he forgot 
 that people grew old in the Eastern hemisphere, and the appli- 
 
MOONSHINE 201 
 
 cation was a failure. Finding that Mary regarded it as her 
 charge, Fitzjocelyn volunteered to go to Illershali to consult his 
 friend Mr. Dobbs ; and his first meeting with Mary was spent 
 in receiving business-like instructions as to the person for whom 
 he should inquire. 
 
 There were some who felt dubious w^hen he was seen walking- 
 back from the station with a young man who, in spite of broad- 
 cloth and growth, was evidently Tom Madison. 
 
 ' I could not help it, Mary,' said Louis ; ' it was not my fault 
 that Dobbs would recommend him.' 
 
 Mr. Dobbs had looked this way and that, and concluded witli, 
 'Well, Lord Fitzjocelyn, I do not know who would answer your 
 purpose better than the young fellow you sent here a year ago.' 
 
 It appeared that Tom had striven assiduously both to learn 
 his business and to improve himself ; and, having considerable 
 abilities, already brightened and sharpened by Louis, his pro- 
 gress had been surprising. He had no low tastes, and was per- 
 fectly to be relied on for all essential points ; but Mr. Dobbs 
 owned that he should be relieved by parting with him, as he was 
 not liked by his fellows, and was thought by the foremen to give 
 himself airs. Quarrels and misunderstandings had arisen so 
 often, that he himself had been obliged to exert an influence on 
 liis behalf, which he feared might make him obnoxious to the 
 accusation of partiality. He considered that the lad had worth, 
 substance, and promise far beyond his fellows ; but his blunt, 
 haughty, manners, impatience of rough jokes, and rude avoid- 
 ance of the unrefined, made him the object of their dislike, so 
 that it was probable that he would thrive much better abroad 
 and in authority ; and at his age, he was more likely to adapt 
 himself to circumstances, and learn a new language, than an 
 older man, more used to routine. 
 
 The vision of the land for digging gold and silver seemed 
 about to be realized, just as Tom had been growing learned 
 enough to despise it. Enterprise and hopes of fortune made 
 him wild to go ; and Mary, after reading Dobbs's letter, and 
 laying before Louis the various temptations of Lima, found that 
 he thought England to the full as dangerous for his ^^ro^eV/e. 
 She, therefore, sent for the young man, and decided as dispas- 
 sionately as she could, upon taking him. 
 
 The Ormersfield world was extremely indignant ; Frampton 
 and Gervas prophesied that no good would come of such a 
 choice, and marvelled at the Vicar, who gave the lad lodging 
 in his house, and spent the evenings in giving him such mathe- 
 matical instruction and teaching* of other kinds, as he thought 
 most likely to be useful to him. 
 
 To his surprise, liowever, Tom was much more grave and 
 sober-minded under his promotion than could have been ex- 
 pected. Louis, who had undertaken his outfit, was almost 
 disappointed to find him so much out of heart, and so little 
 responsive to cheerful auguries ; and at last a little hint at 
 
202 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 bantering about the indi\iclual at the Terrace explained his 
 despondence. 
 
 It was all over. Charlotte had hardly spoken to him while 
 lie was waiting at No. 5, and Miss FaithfulFs Martha had told 
 liim there had been nothing but walking and talking with Lady 
 Conway's line butler, and that Charlotte would never have 
 nothing more to say to him ! Now ! Just as he might have 
 spoken ! Was it not enough to knock tlie heart out of it all? 
 He never wished to go near No. 5 again. 
 
 Louis strongly advised him at least to know his fate, and 
 declared that, for his part, he would never take any Mrs. 
 Martha's word, rather than that of the lady herself. Speak 
 out, and, of course, Montrose's famous motto came in, and was 
 liighly appreciated by Tom, though he still shook his liead rue- 
 fully, as he recollected Avhat a lout he liad been at his last 
 meeting with Charlotte, and how little he could compare witli 
 such a fine gentleman as had been described, ' And she always 
 liad a taste for gentility.' 
 
 ' Well, Tom, I would not wish to see a better gentleman any 
 day, than you have stuff enough in you to make ; and, if Char- 
 lotte be a girl worth having, she'll value that more than French 
 polish. You're getting polished, too, Tom, and will more as 
 you get better and sounder, and that polish will be true and 
 not French.' 
 
 Meantime Charlotte had been in twenty states of mind. Had 
 Tom striven at once to return to the former terms, the Lady of 
 Eschalott might have treated it as mere natural homage, com- 
 pared him with Delaford's delicate flatteries, and disclaimed him. 
 She had been chilling and shy at the first meeting, expecting 
 him to presume on liis promotion ; but when he was gone, came 
 no more, except for necessary interviews with Miss Ponsonby, 
 and then merely spoke civilly, and went away directly, her heart 
 began to fail her. Neglect mortified her ; she was first affronted, 
 sure she did not cai-e, and resolved to show that she did not ; 
 but then the vexation became stronger ; she Avondered if he 
 liad heard of Delaford, was angry at her intercourse with the 
 butler being deemed an offence, and finally arrived at a hearty 
 longing for a return to old times. Vanity or affection, one or 
 the other, demanded Tom's allegiance. 
 
 And Tom came at last. He did not come by moonlight — lie 
 did not come at all romantically ; but as she was washing- 
 vegetables, he stood by the scullery door, and made no elegant 
 circumlocutions. Would she be his wife, some time or other ? 
 and he would try to be worthy of her. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn had judged her rightly ! Sound true love had 
 force enough to dispel every illusion of sentimental flattery. 
 Charlotte burst into a flood of tears, and, sobbing behind her 
 apron, confessed that she never liked nobody like Tom ; but 
 she was afraid he would think she had been false to him, for 
 s!ie did lika Mr. Delaford's talk, all about j^oatry andsereaa-deo ; 
 
MOONSHINE 203 
 
 but she never would heed him no more, not if lie went down 
 on his knees to her. 
 
 Tom was a great deal more likely to perform that feat. 
 
 He stood his ground when Mrs. Beckett came in, and told 
 lier all about it, and the good old soul mingled her tears with 
 Charlotte's, wished them joy, and finished washing the greens. 
 Nevertheless Mrs. Frost thought the kitchen-clock was very slow. 
 
 Their 'walking together 'was recognized. Martha was very 
 angry with Jane, and predicted that the young vagabone would 
 never be heard of more ; and that the only benefit would be, 
 that it would settle the girl's mind, and hinder her from en- 
 couraging any more followers. And even Mrs. Frost had her 
 doubts. Her prudent counsel interfered with Tom's wish to 
 carry out poor little Charlotte as his wife ; and they had to con- 
 tent themselves with a betrothal until they should have 'saved 
 something,' exchanging brooches, each with a memorial lock of 
 liair. During the remaining week, the Lady of Eschalott neither 
 ate nor slept, and though she did her work, her tears never 
 seemed to cease. She defended herself by averring that Miss 
 Ponsonby's pillow was soaked every morning ; but if Mary's 
 lieavy eyelids corroborated her, her demeanour did not. Mary 
 was busy in dismantling the house and in packing up ; speaking- 
 little, but always considerate and self-possessed, and resolute 
 in avoiding all excitement of feeling. She would not go to 
 Ormersfield, as the Earl proposed, even for one day ; and a few 
 books connected with the happy lessons of last summer, were 
 giveil into Mrs. Frost's keeping, with the steady, calm words, ' I 
 had better not take them.' She made no outpouring even to 
 that universal, loving confidante. Aunt Catharine ; and the 
 final parting did not break down her self-restraint, though, as 
 the last bend of her head was given, the last chimney of North- 
 wold disappeared, her sensation of heartache almost amounted 
 to sickening. 
 
 She was going to Bryanston Square. Her aunt had been as 
 kind as possible, and had even offered to come to North wold to 
 fetch her home ; but Mary had been too considerate to allow 
 her to think of so dreadful a journey, and had, in fact, been glad 
 to be left only to lier own Aunt Catharine. The last letters 
 which had passed between Mrs. Ponsonby and Aunt Melicent 
 liad been such as two sincere Christian women could not fail to 
 write in such circumstances as must soften down all asperities, 
 alleviate prejudice and variance, and be a prelude to that perfect 
 unity when all misunderstandings shall end for ever ; and thus 
 Mary had the comfort of knowing that the two whom she loved 
 so fondly, had parted with all mutual affection and cordial honour. 
 
 She really loved the little prim stiff figure Avho stood on the 
 stairs to welcome her. The house had been her home for ten 
 of the most home-forming years of her life, and felt familiar 
 and kindly ; it was very quiet, and it was an unspeakable 
 comfort to be with one who tcilkod freely of her father with 
 
204 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 blind partiality and love, and did not oppress her with implied 
 compassion for her return to him. 
 
 Yet Mary could not help now and then being sensible that 
 good Aunt Melicent was not the fountain of wisdom which she 
 used to esteem her. Now and then a dictum would sound 
 narrow and questionable, objections to books seemed mistaken, 
 judgments of people hard, and without sufficient foundation ; 
 and when Mary tried to argue, she found herself decidedly set 
 down, with as much confident superiority as if she had been 
 still sixteen years old. Six years spent in going to the other 
 side of the world, and in seeing so many varieties of people, did 
 not seem to Aunt Melicent to have conferred half so mucli 
 experience as sleeping every niglit in Bryanston Square, daily 
 reading the Morning Post, and holding intercourse with a London 
 world of a dozen old ladies, three curates, and a doctor. 
 
 The worst of it was, that a hurt and angry tenderness was 
 always excited in Mary's mind by the manner of any reference 
 to Northwold or Ormerslield. It seemed to be fixed, beyond a 
 doubt, that everything there must have been wrong and fashion- 
 able ; and even poor dear Aunt Kitty was only spoken of witli 
 a charitable hope that affliction had taught her to see the error 
 of her days of worldly display. 
 
 It was allowed that there was nothing objectionable in Clara 
 Frost, who was subdued by the sight of Mary's deep mourning, 
 and in silent formal company could be grave and formal too. 
 But there was a severe shock in a call from Lady Conway and 
 Isabel ; and on their departure Mary was cross-examined, in the 
 hope that they had been outrageously gay at Nortliwold, and foi* 
 want of any such depositions, was regaled with histories of poor 
 Lady Fitzjocelyn's vanities, which had not lost by their trans- 
 mission through twenty-two years and twice as many mouths. 
 
 Still more unpleasant was the result of a visit from the Earl 
 and his son to appoint the day of starting for Liverpool. Louis 
 was in no mood to startle any one ; he was very sad at heart, 
 and only anxious to be inoffensive ; but his air was quite 
 enough to give umbrage, and cause the instant remark, ' I never 
 saw such a puppy ! ' 
 
 Nothing but such angry incoherency occurred to Mary, that 
 she forcibly held her peace, but could not prevent a burning 
 crimson from spreading over her face. She went and stood at 
 the window, glad that Miss Ponsonby had just taken up the 
 newspaper, which she daily read from end to end, and then 
 posted for Lima. 
 
 By and by came a little dry cough, as she went through the 
 presentations at the levee, and read out 'Viscount Fitzjocelyn, 
 by the Earl of Ormersfield.' 
 
 Mary's mind made an excursion to the dear Yeomanry suit, 
 till her aunt, having further hunted them out among the Earls 
 and Viscounts summed up at the end, severely demanded 
 wliether she had known of their intention. 
 
MOONSHINE 205 
 
 ' I knew he was to l)e presented.' 
 
 ' Quite the young man of fashion. No doubt beginning that 
 course, as if the estate were not sufficiently impoverished already. 
 I am not surprised at the report that Lord Ormersfield was A^ery 
 anxious to secure your fortune for his son.' 
 
 This was too much, and Mary exclaimed, ' He never believes 
 in any fortune that depends on speculation.' 
 
 ' Oh, so there was nothing in it ! ' said Miss Ponsonby, who 
 would have liked the satisfaction of knowing that her niece had 
 refused to be a countess ; and, while Mary was debating whether 
 lier silence were untruthful, her bent head and glowing cheeks 
 bett^ayed her. 'Ah ! my dear, I will ask no questions; I see 
 you have been annoyed. It always happens when a girl with 
 expectations goes among needy nobility.' 
 
 * You would not say that, if you knew the circumstances,' 
 said Mary, looking down. 
 
 'I won't distress you, my dear ; I know you are too wise a 
 girl to be dazzled with worldly splendours, and that is enough 
 for me.' 
 
 The poor old furniture at Ormersfield ! 
 
 Mary held her tongue, though reproaching lierself for cruel 
 injustice to all that was dearest to her ; but how deny her 
 refusal, or explain the motives ? 
 
 Not that her aunt wanted any explanation, except her own 
 excellent training, which had saved her niece from partaking 
 her mother's infatuation for great people. She had a grand 
 secret to pour into the bosom of her inmates in some tete-a-tete 
 tea-party by and by ; and poor Mary little guessed at the glori- 
 fication of lier prudence which was flowing from her aunt's 
 well-mended pen, in a long letter to Mr. Ponsonby. She 
 thought it right that he should be informed, she said, that their 
 dear Mary had conducted lierself according to their fondest 
 wishes ; that the relations, among whom she had unfortunately 
 been thrown, had formed designs on her fortune, such as they 
 liad every reason to expect ; that every solicitation had been 
 employed, but that Mary had withstood all that would have 
 been most alluring to girls brought up to esteem mere worldly 
 advantages. It was extremely gratifying, the more so as the 
 young gentleman in question might be considered as strikingly 
 handsome to the mere outward eye, which did not detect the 
 stamp of frivolity, and the effect of an early introduction to the 
 world of fasliion and dissipation. She trusted that their dear 
 young heiress would have a better fate, owing to her own 
 wisdom, than being chosen to support the extravagance of a 
 young titled adventurer. 
 
 Having worked herself up into enthusiastic admiration of her 
 own work, Miss Ponsonby was kinder than ever to her niece, 
 and pitied her for being harassed with Lord Fitzjocelyn's com- 
 pany to Liverpool. 
 
 Mary was not as much relieved as she had expected, when 
 
206 DYNEVOll TERRACE 
 
 lier band h.ad been released from liis pressure, and slie had seen 
 the last glimpse of liis returning boat. 
 
 Hencefortli her imagination was to picture him only with 
 Isabel Conway. 
 
 And so Viscount Fitzjocelyn was left with more liberty than 
 lie knew what to do with. He was disinclined to begin tlie 
 pursuit of Miss Conway, as if this would involve a want of deli- 
 cacy and feeling, and he had no other object. The world was 
 before him, but when he drove to the Liverpool Station, he was 
 unwilling to exert his mind to decide for what ticket to ask. 
 
 The bias was given by the recollection of a message from his 
 father to Frampton. It would be less trouble to go home than 
 to write, and, besides. Aunt Catharine was alone. She was 
 his unfailing friend, and it would be a great treat to have her 
 to himself. 
 
 Home then he went, where he spent the long summer daj^s 
 in listless, desultory, busy idleness ; often alone, dreaming over 
 last year ; often passing his evenings with his aunt, or bringing 
 her to see his designs ; dining out whenever he was invited, and 
 returning odd uncertain answers when Mr. Calcott asked liim 
 what he was going to do. 
 
 Mr. Holdsworth was going to leave James in charge of his 
 parish, and take a walking tour in Cornwall, and perversely 
 enough, Louis's fancy tixed on joining him ; and was much dis- 
 appointed when Mrs. Frost proved, beyond dispute, that an 
 ankle which a little over-haste or fatigue always rendered lame, 
 would be an unfair drag upon a companion, and that if he went 
 at all, it must not be o:i his own feet. 
 
 At last. Lady Ccnway made a descent upon iNorthwold. 
 Paris had become so tranquil that she had no hesitation in 
 taking her two elder daughters to make their promised visit ; 
 and such appeals were made to Louis to join tliem, that it 
 became more troublesome to refuse than to comply, and, at tlie 
 shortest notice, he prepared to set out as the escort of the 
 Conway family. 
 
 ' Now for it ! ' he thought. ' If she be the woman, I cannot 
 fail to tind it out, between the inns and the sights ! ' 
 
 Short as the notice was, the Lady of Eschalott could have 
 wished it shorter. No sooner had Mr. Delaford set foot in the 
 House Beautiful, than Mrs. Martha announced to him that he 
 would be happy to hear that Charlotte Arnold was going to be 
 married to a very respectable young man, whom she had known 
 all his life, and to whom Mr. Dyne\'or and Miss Ponsonby had 
 given an appointment to the gold mines, out of respect for Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn. Mr. Delaford gravely declared himself glad to 
 hear it. 
 
 But Delaford's purpose in life was, that no maiden should fail 
 of being snutten with his charms ; and he took Charlotte's 
 defection seriously to heart. His first free moment was devoted 
 to a call in No. 5, but Charlotte was scouring in the upper 
 
MOONSHINE 207 ' 
 
 regions, and Mrs. Ceckett only treated liim to another edition 
 of the gold mines, in which, if they became silver, the power 
 and grandeur of Mr. Oliver were mightily magnified. Mr. 
 Delaford thrummed his most doleful tunes on tlie guitar that 
 evening, but though the June sun was sinking beauteously, 
 Charlotte never put her head out. However, the third time, ho 
 found her, and then she was coy and blushing, reserved and dis- 
 tant, and so much prettier, and more genuine than all his former 
 conquests, that something beyond vanity became interested. 
 
 He courted the Muses, and walked in with a pathetic copy of 
 verses, which, some day or other, might serve to figure in the 
 county newspaper, complaining of desertion and cruelty. 
 
 Charlotte sat at tlie little round table ; Jane was up-stairs, and 
 without her guardian, she felt that she must guard herself. Ho 
 laid the verses down before her with a most piteous countenance. 
 
 ' Please don't, Mr. Delaford,' she said ; ' I asked Mrs. Beckett 
 to tell you ' 
 
 ' She has transfixed njy breast,' was the commencement, and 
 out poured a speech worthy of any liero of Charlotte's imagina- 
 tion, but it was not lialf so pleasant to hear as to dream of, and 
 the utmost slie could say was a reiteration of her ' please don't ! ' 
 
 At last she mustered courage to say, 'I can't listen, sir. I 
 never ought to have done it. I am promised now, and I can't.' 
 
 A melodramatic burst of indignation friglitened her nearly out 
 of her senses, and happily brought Jane down. He was going 
 the next day, but he returned once more to the charge, very 
 dolorous and ill-used ; but Charlotte had collected herself and 
 taken counsel by that time. ' I never promised you anything, 
 sir,' she said. 'I never knew you meant nothing.' 
 
 'Ah ! Miss Arnold, you cannot interpret the heart ! ' and lie 
 put his hand upon it. 
 
 ' Nor I don't l^elieve you meant it, neither ! ' continued 
 Charlotte, with spirit. ' They tell me 'tis the way you goes on 
 with all young women as have the ill-luck to believe you ; and 
 that 'tis all along of your hard-heartedness that i30or Miss 
 Marianne looks so dwining.' 
 
 'When ladies will throw themselves at a gentleman's head, 
 what can a poor man do ? Courtesy to the sex is my motto ; 
 but never, never did I love as I love you ! ' said Delaford — 
 'never have I spoken as I do now! My heart and hand are 
 yours, fairest Charlotte ! ' 
 
 'For shame, Mr. Delaford ; don't you know I am promised V 
 
 He went on, disregarding — ' My family is above my present 
 situation, confidential though it be ; but I would at once quit 
 my present post — I would open an extensive establishment for 
 refreshment at some fashionable watering-place. My con- 
 nections could not fail to make it succeed. You should merely 
 superintend —have a large establishment under you — and enjoy 
 the society and amusements for which you are eminently fitted. 
 We would have a library of romance and poetry — attend the 
 
•208 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 theatre weekly — «ind,' — (finishing as if to clench the whole) 
 'Charlotte, do yon know what my property consists of? I 
 have four hundred pounds and expectations ! ' 
 
 If Charlotte had not been guarded, what would have been 
 the effect of the library of poetry and romance ? 
 
 But her own poetry, romance, and honest heart, all went the 
 same way, and she cried out — ' I don't care what you have, not 
 I. I've promised, and I'll be true — get along with you ! ' 
 
 The village girl, hard pressed, was breaking out. 
 
 ' You bid me go. Cruel girl ! your commands shall be 
 obeyed. I go abroad ! You know the disturbed state of the 
 Continent. -^In some conflict for liberty, where the desperate 
 poniard is uplifted — there — ' 
 
 ' Oh ! don't talk so dreadful. Pray — ' 
 
 ' Do you bid me pause 1 At a word from you. You are the 
 arbitress of my destiny.' 
 
 ' No ; I've nothing to do — do go ! Only promise you'll not 
 do nothing dangerous — ' 
 
 'Reject me, and life is intolerable. Where the maddened 
 crowd rise upon their tyrants, there in thickest of the fray — ' 
 
 'You'll be the first to take to your heels, I'll be bound! 
 Ain't you ashamed of yourself, to be ranting and frightening 
 a poor girl that fashion?' cried the friendly dragon Martha, 
 descending on them. 
 
 ' Do you apply that language to me, ma'am ? ' 
 
 ' That I do ! and richly you deserve it, too, sir ! See if your 
 missus doesn't hear of your tricks, if I find you at this again.' 
 
 The ' sex ' fairly scolded the courteous Delaford off the field ; 
 and though she turned her wrath on Charlotte for having en- 
 couraged him, and wondered what the poor young man over 
 the seas would think of it, her interposition had never been so 
 welcome. Charlotte cried herself into tranquillity, and was only 
 farther disturbed by a dismal epistle, conveyed by the shoe-boy 
 on the morning of departure, breathing the language of despair, 
 and yet announcing that she had better think twice of the four 
 Imndred pounds and expectations, for that it was her destiny 
 that she and no other should be the bride of Delaford. 
 
 'If I could only know he would do nothing rash!' sighed 
 Charlotte. 
 
 Jane comforted her ; Martha held that he was the last man 
 in the world who would do anything rash. Miss Conway's 
 Marianne, who was left behind, treated Charlotte as something- 
 ignominious, but looked so ill, miserable, and pining, that Miss 
 Mercy was persuaded she was going into a decline, and treatec* 
 her with greater kindness than she had met since slie was a child. 
 
 In the meantime, Fitzjocelyn had begun with a fit of bashful 
 ness. Tlie knowledge that this was the crisis, and that all his 
 friends looked to the result of the expedition, made him feel as if 
 he were committing himself whenever he handed Isabel in or out 
 of a carriage, and find no comfort except in Virginia's chattering. 
 
MOONSHINE 209 
 
 This wore off quickly ; the new scene took effect on his im- 
 pressible mind, and the actual sights and sounds drove out all 
 the rest. His high spirits came back, he freely hazarded Mrs. 
 Frost's old boarding-school French, and laughed at the infinite 
 blunders for which Virginia took him to task, was excessively 
 amused at Delaford's numerous adventures, and enjoyed every- 
 thing to the utmost. To Miss Conway he turned naturally as 
 the person best able to enter into the countless associations of 
 every scene ; and Isabel, becoming aware of his amount of 
 knowledge, and tone of deep thought, perceived that she had 
 done Mr. Frost Dynevor injustice in believing his friendship 
 blind or unmerited. 
 
 They were on most comfortable terms. They had walked 
 all over Versailles together, and talked under their breath of 
 the murdered Queen ; they had been through the Louvre, and 
 Isabel, knowing it well of old, found all made vivid and new by 
 his enthusiastic delight ; they had marvelled together at the 
 poor withered 'popular trees,' whose name had conferred on 
 them the fatal distinction of trees of liberty ; they had viewed, 
 like earnest people, the scenes of republican Paris, and discussed 
 them with the same principles, but with sufficient difference in 
 detail for amicable argument. They had thought much of things 
 and peoj)le, and not at all of each other. 
 
 Only Isabel thought she would make the Viscount into a 
 Vidame, both as more quaint and less personal, and involving 
 but slight erasures, and Louis was surprised to find what was 
 the true current of his thoughts. With Isabel propitious, witli- 
 out compunction in addressing her, with all the novelty and 
 amusement before him, he found himself always recurring to 
 Mary, trying all things by Mary's judgment, wondering whether 
 he should need approval of his theories in Mary's eyes, craving 
 Mary's sympathies, following her on her voyage, and imagining 
 her arrival. Was it the perverse spirit of longing after the most 
 unattainable ? 
 
 He demanded of himself whether it were a fatal sign that he 
 I'egretted the loss of Isabel, when she went to spend a few days 
 with her old governess. Miss Longman had left the Conway 
 family in order to take care of the motherless children of a good- 
 for-nothing brother, who had run too deeply into debt to be able 
 to return to England. He was now dead, but she was teaching 
 English, and obtaining advantages of education for her nieces, 
 which detained her at Paris ; and as she had a bed to offer her 
 former pupil, Isabel set her heart on spending her last three days 
 in the unrestrained intercourse afforded by a visit to her. Louis 
 found that though their party had lost the most agreeable 
 member, yet it was not the loss of the sun ; and that he was 
 quite as ready to tease his aunt and make Virginia laugh, as if 
 Isabel had been looking on with a smile of wonder and com- 
 miseration for their nonsense. 
 
210 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 
 
 Search for a jewel tliat too casually 
 
 Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's. Shrew ine 
 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 
 Of any king's in Europe ! — Cymbellne. 
 
 ' My dear Fitzjocelyn, wliat is to be done ? Have you heard 1 
 Delaford says these horrid creatures are rising ! There was an 
 attack on the Hotel de Yille last night ! A thousand people 
 killed, at least ! — The National Guard called out ! ' 
 
 ' One of the lions of Paris, my dear aunt ; Virginia is seeing it 
 in style.' 
 
 ' Seeing it ! We must go at once. Tliey will raise those 
 liorrid barricades ; — we shall be closed in. And Isabel gone to 
 that governess ! I wisli I had never consented ! How could I 
 come here at all ? Fitzjocelyn, what is to be done ? ' 
 
 ' Drive round that way, if you are bent on going,' said Louis, 
 coolly. ^Meantime, Virginia, my dear, I will thank you for 
 some coffee.' 
 
 ' How can you talk of such things ? ' cried his aunt. ' It is all 
 those savage wretches, mad because the national workshops are 
 closed. Delaford declares they will massacre all the English.' 
 
 ' Poor wretches, I believe they are starving. I think your 
 making yourself ill the most pressing danger. Come, Virginia, 
 persuade your mamma to sit down to breakfast, while I go to 
 i-econnoitre. Where are the passports '? ' 
 
 Virginia had lost all terror in excitement, but neither she nor 
 lier mother could bear to let him go out, to return they knew 
 not when. The carriage had already been ordered, but Lady 
 Cbnway was exceedingly frightened at the notion of driving 
 anywhere but direct to the railway station ; she was sure that 
 they should encounter something frightful if tliey went along 
 the Boulevards. 
 
 ' Could not Delaford go to fetch Isabel ? ' suggested Virginia ; 
 'he might take a carriage belonging to the hotel.' 
 
 Delaford was summoned, and desired to go to fetch Miss 
 Conway, but though he said, ' Yes, my lady,' he looked yellow 
 and white, and loitered to suggest whether the young lady 
 would not be alarmed. 
 
 'I will go with you,' said Louis. 'Order the carriage, and I 
 shall be ready.' 
 
 Lady Conway, to whom his presence seemed protection^ was 
 almost remonstrating, but he said, 'Delaford is in no state to 
 he of use. He would take hon-jour for a challenge. Let me go 
 with him, or he will take care the young lady is alarmed. When 
 ^ve are all together, we can do as may seem best, and I shall be 
 a])le better to judge whether we are to fight or fly.' 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 211 
 
 Outside the door he found Delaford, who begged to suggest 
 to his lordship that my lady would be alarmed if she were left 
 without either of them ; he could hardly answer it to himself 
 that slie should remain without any male protector. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, pray remain to defend her,' said Louis, much amused, 
 and hastening down-stairs he ordered the carriage to drive to 
 Rue , off the Boulevard St. Martin. 
 
 He thought there were signs boding tempest. Shops were 
 closed, and men in blouses were beginning to assemble in knots 
 — here and there the red-cap loomed ominously in the far end 
 of narrow alleys, and in the wider streets the only passengers 
 either seemed in liaste like himself, or else were National Guards 
 hurrying to their alarm-post. 
 
 He came safely to Miss Longman's apartments, where he 
 found all on the alert — tlie governess and her nieces recounting 
 their experiences of February, which convinced them that there 
 was more danger in returning than in remaining. Miss Long- 
 man was urgent to keep Isabel and Lord Fitzjocelyn for at least 
 a few hours, which she declared would probably be the duration 
 of any emeiite, but they knew this would cause dreadful anxiety, 
 and when Fitzjocelyn proposed returning alone, Isabel insisted 
 on accompanying him, declaring that she had no fears, and that 
 her mother would be miserable if her absence should detain 
 them. Perhaps she was somewhat deceived by the cool, almost 
 ludicrous, light in which he placed the revolution, as a sort of 
 periodical spasm ; and Miss Longman's predictions that the 
 railway would be closed, only quickened her preparations. 
 
 After receiving many entreaties to return in case of alarm, 
 tliey took leave, Louis seating himself beside the driver, as well 
 to keep a look-out, as to free Miss Conway from fears of a 
 fete-d-tefe. Except for such a charge of ladies, he would have 
 l^een delighted at the excitement of an emeute ; but lie was far 
 from guessing how serious a turn affairs were taking. 
 
 The dark blue groups were thickening into crowds ; muskets 
 and pikes were liere and there seen, and once he recognized the 
 sinister red flag. A few distant shots were heard, and the driver 
 would gladly have liastened his speed, but swarms of haggard- 
 looking men began to impede their progress, and strains of 
 Mourir pour la patrie now and then reached their ears. 
 
 Close to the Porte St. Denis they were brought to a full stop 
 by a dense throng, above whose heads were seen a line of car- 
 riages, the red flag planted on the top. Many hands were seizing 
 the horses' heads, and Louis leapt down, but not before the dooi- 
 had been opened, and voices were exclaiming, Descendez^ citoyenne ; 
 au nam de la nation^ descendez. The mob were not uncivil ; they 
 made way for Louis, and bade him reassure her that no harm 
 was intended, but the carriage was required for the service of 
 the nation. 
 
 Isabel had retreated as far as she could from their hands, but 
 she showed no signs of quailing ; her eyes were bright, her 
 
 P 2 
 
212 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 colour high, and tlie hand was firm wliich she gave to Louis as 
 she stepped out. There was a murmur of admiration, and more 
 than one bow and muttered apology about necessity and the 
 nation, as the crowd beheld the nTaiden in all her innate noble- 
 ness and dignity. 
 
 ' Whicli way *? ' asked Louis, finding that the crowd were 
 Avilling to let them choose their course. 
 
 ' Home/ said Isabel^ decidedly ; ' there is no use in turning back.' 
 
 They pressed on past the barricade for which their carriage 
 had been required, a structure of confiscated vehicles, the inter- 
 stices filled up with earth and paving-stones, which men and 
 boys were busily tearing up from the trottoirs, and others 
 carrying to their destination. They were a gaunt, hungry, 
 wolfish-looking race ; and the first words that Isabel spoke w^ere 
 words of pity, wdien they had passed them, and continued their 
 course along the Boulevards, liere in desolate tranquillity. ' Poor 
 creatures, they look as if misery made them furious ; and yet 
 ]iow civil they were.' 
 
 ' Were you much alarmed 1 I wish I could have come to you 
 sooner.' 
 
 'Thank you; I knew that you were at hand, and their 
 address was not very terrific, poor things. I do not imagine 
 there was any real danger.' 
 
 ' I wish I knew whether we are within or without the bar- 
 ricades. If within, we shall have to cross another. We are 
 actually becoming historical ! ' 
 
 He broke off, amazed by Isabel's change of countenance, as 
 she put her hand to the arm he held, hastily withdrew it, and 
 exclaimed, ' My bracelet ! oh, my bracelet ! ' turning round to 
 seek it on the pavement. 
 
 ' The ivory clasp V asked Louis, perceiving its absence. 
 
 ' Oh yes ! ' she cried, in much distress, ' I would not have lost 
 it for all the world.' 
 
 ' You may have left it at Miss Longman's.' 
 
 ' IS^o, no, I was never without it ! ' 
 
 She turned, and made a few retrograde steps, searching on tlie 
 ground, as if conscious only of her loss ; shaking off his hand 
 when lie touched her arm to detain her. 
 
 A discovery broke on him. Well that he could bear it ! 
 
 ' Hark ! ' he said, ' there is cannon firing ! Miss Conway, you 
 cannot go back. I will do my utmost to recover your clasp, 
 but we must not stay here.' 
 
 ' I had forgotten. I beg your pardon, I did not think ! ' said 
 Isabel, with a species of rebuked submission, as if impressed by 
 the calmness that gave authority to his manner ; and she mad(3 
 no remark as he made her resume his arm, and liurried her on 
 past houses with closed doors and windows. 
 
 Suddenly tliere was the sound of a volley of musketry far 
 behind. ' Heaven help the poor wretches, said Louis ; and 
 Isabel's grasp tightened on his arm. 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 213 
 
 Again, again — the dropping sound of shot became continual. 
 And now it was in front as well as in the rear ; and the 
 booming of cannon resounded from the heart of the city. They 
 were again on the outskirts of a crowd. 
 
 ^ It is as I thought/ said Louis, ' we are between both. There 
 is nothing for it but to push on, and see whether we can cross 
 the barricades ; are you afraid to encounter it ? ' 
 
 * No,' said Isabel. 
 
 * There is a convent not far oiF, I think. We might find 
 shelter for you there. Yet they might break in. It might not 
 V)e easy to meet. I believe you are safer with me. Will you 
 trust in me 1 ' 
 
 ' I will not have you endanger yourself for me. Dispose of 
 me as you will — in a convent, or anywhere. Your life is 
 precious ; your safety is the first thing.' 
 
 ' You are speaking in irony.' 
 
 ' I did not mean it : I beg your pardon.' But she coloured and 
 faltered. ' You must distinctly understand that this is only as 
 Englishman to Englishwoman.' 
 
 ' As Englishman to Englishwoman,' repeated Louis, in her 
 own formula. ' Or rather,' he added, lowering his voice, * trust 
 me, for the sake of those who gave the clasp.' 
 
 He was answered by her involuntary pressure of his arm, 
 and finally, to set her at ease, he said, hurriedly, ' If it went 
 wrong with me, it would be to Lima that I should ask you to 
 send my love.' 
 
 There was no time for more. They were again on the 
 freshly-torn ground, whence the pavement had been wrenched. 
 The throng had thickened behind them, and seemed to be 
 involving them in the vortex. Above their heads Louis could 
 see in front, between the tall houses, the summit of another 
 barricade complete, surmounted with the red flag, and guarded 
 by a fierce party of ruffians. 
 
 All at once, tremendous yells broke out on all sides. The 
 rattle of a drum, now and then, might be distinguished ; shouts 
 and shrieks resounded, and there was a sharp fire of musketry 
 from the barricade, and from the adjoining windows ; there was 
 a general rush to the front, and Louis could only guard Isabel by 
 pressing her into the recess of the closed doorway of one of the 
 houses, and standing before her, preventing himself from being- 
 swept away only by exerting all his English strength against the 
 lean, wild beings who struggled past him, howling and scream- 
 ing. The defenders sprang upon the barricade, and thrust back 
 and hurled down the National Guards, whose heads were now 
 and then seen as they vainly endeavoured to gain the summit. 
 This desperate struggle lasted for a few minutes, then cries of 
 victory broke out, . and there was sharp firing on both sides, 
 which, however, soon ceased ; the red flag and the blouses re- 
 maining still in possession. Isabel had stood perfectly silent 
 and motionless through the whole crisis, and though she clung 
 
2U DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 to her protector's arm, it was not with nervous disabling terror, 
 even in the frightful tumult of the multitude. TJiere was some 
 otlier strength with her ! 
 
 ' You are not hurt ? ' said Louis, as the pressure relaxed. 
 
 ' Oh no ! thank God ! You are not ? ' 
 
 ' Are you ready ? We must make a rush before the next 
 assault.' 
 
 A lane opened in the throng to afford passage for the wounded. 
 Isabel shrank back, but Louis drew her on hastily, till they had 
 attained the very foot of the barricade, where a space was kept 
 clear, and there was a cry, ' A a larrje, or we shall fire.' 
 
 ' Let us pass, citizens,' said Louis, hastily rehearsing the 
 French he liad been composing. ' You make not Avar on 
 women. Let me take tliis young lady to her mother.' 
 
 Grim looks were levelled at them by the fierce black-bearded 
 men, and their mutterings of belle made her cling the closer to 
 her guardian. 
 
 ' Let her pass, the poor child ! ' said more than one voice. 
 
 ' llein ! — they are English, who take the bread out of our 
 mouths.' 
 
 ' If you were a political economist,' said Louis, gravely, fixing 
 Ids eyes on the shrewd-looking, sallow speaker, 'I would prove 
 to you your mistake ; but I have no time, and you are too good 
 fellows to wish to keep this lady here, a mark for the Garde 
 Nationale.' 
 
 ' He is right there,' said several of the council of chiefs, and 
 a poissarde, with brawny arms and a tall wliite cap, thrusting 
 forward, cried out, ^Let them go, the poor children. What are 
 they doing here ? They look fit to be set up in the church for 
 waxen images ? ' 
 
 ' Take care you do not break us,' exclaimed Louis, whose fair 
 cheek had won this tribute ; and his smile, and the readiness of 
 his reply, won his admission to the first of the steps up the 
 barricade. 
 
 ' Halte Id ! ' cried a large-limbed, formidable-looking ruffian 
 on the summit, pointing his musket towards them ; ' none 
 passes here who does not bring a stone to raise our barricade 
 for the rights of the Red Republic, and cry La lihertf'^ H<jalite, et 
 lafraternite^ let it fit his perfidious tongue as it may.' 
 
 ' There's my answer,' said Louis, raising his right arm, whicli 
 was dripping with blood, ' you have made me mount the red flag ! ' 
 
 'Ha ! ' cried the friendly fishwife, 'wounded in the cause of 
 the nation ! Let him go.' 
 
 ' He has not uttered the cry ! ' shouted the rest. 
 
 Louis looked round with his cool, pensive smile. ' Liberty ! ' 
 he said, ' what i(je mean by liberty is freedom to go where we 
 will, and say what we will. I wish you had it, my poor fellows. 
 Fraternity — it is not shooting our brother. Equality — I preacli 
 that too, but in my own fashion, not yours. Let me pass — 81 
 celd vous est erjalJ 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 215 
 
 His nonchaiant intrepidity — a quality never lost on the 
 French — raised an acclamation of le brave Anglais. No one 
 stirred to hinder their mounting to the banquette, and several 
 hands were held out to assist in surmounting the parapet 
 of this extemporary fortification. Isabel bowed her thanks, and 
 Louis spoke them with gestures of courtesy ; and shouts of higli 
 applause folio wed , them as they sped along the blood-stained 
 street. 
 
 The troops were re-forming after the repulse, and the point 
 was to pass before tlie attack could l)e renewed, as well as not 
 to be mistaken for the insurgents. 
 
 They were at once challenged, but a short explanation to tlie 
 officer was sufficient, and they were suffered to turn into the 
 Rue Richelieu, where they were only pursued by the distant 
 sounds of warfare. 
 
 'Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn ! ' cried Isabel, as he slackened his pace, 
 and gasped for breath. 
 
 ' You are sure you are not hurt 1 ' he said. 
 
 ' Oh no, no ; but you — ' 
 
 * It is very little,' he said — ' a stray shot — only enough to 
 work on their feelings. What good-natured rogues they were, 
 I will only twist my handkerchief round to stop the blood. 
 Thank you.' 
 
 Isabel tried to help him, but she was too much afraid of hurt- 
 ing him to draw the bandage tight. 
 
 They daslied on, finding people on the watch for tidings, and 
 meeting bodies of the National Guard ; and when at lengtli 
 they reached the Place Vendome, they found the whole estab- 
 lishment watching for them, and Virginia flew to meet them on 
 the stairs, throwing her arms round her sister, while Lady 
 Conway started forward with the agitated joy, and almost anger, 
 of one who felt injured by the fright they had made her suffer. 
 
 ' There you are ! What has kept you ? Delaford said they 
 were slaughtering every one on the Boulevards ! ' 
 
 'I warned you of the consequeoices of taking me,' said Louis, 
 dropping into a chair. 
 
 ' Mamma ! he is all over blood ! ' screamed Virginia. 
 
 Lady Conway recoiled, with a slight shriek. 
 
 * It is a trifle,' said Louis ; ' Isabel is safe. There is all cause 
 for thankfulness. We could never have got through if she had 
 not been every inch a heroine.' 
 
 ' Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn, if I could thank you ! ' 
 
 ' Don't,' said Louis, with so exactly his peculiar droll look and 
 smile, that all were reassured. 
 
 Isabel began to recount their adventure. 
 
 ' In the midst of those horrid wretches ! and the firing ! ' cried 
 Lady Conway. ' My dear, how could you bear it ? I should have 
 died of fright ! ' 
 
 'There was no time for fear,' said Isabel, with a sort of 
 scorn ; ' I sliould have been ashamed to be frightened when Lord 
 
216 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Fitzjocelyn took it so quietly. I was only afraid lest you should 
 repeat their horrid war-cry. I honour your refusal. 
 
 ' Of course one would not in tlieir sense, poor things, and on 
 compulsion/ said Louis, his words coming the slower from the 
 exhaustion which made him philosophize, rather than exert 
 himself. ' In a true sense, it is the war-cry of our life.' 
 
 ' How can you talk so ! ' cried Lady Conway. ' Delaford says 
 the ruiiians are certain to overpower the Guard. We must go 
 directly. Very likely this delay of yours may prevent us from 
 getting off at all.' 
 
 'I will find out whether the way be open,' said Louis, 'when 
 I have — ' 
 
 His words failed him, for as he rose, the handkerchief slipped 
 off', a gush of blood came with it, and he was so faint that he 
 could hardly reach the sofa. 
 
 Lady Conway screamed, Virginia rang the bells, Isabel gave 
 orders that a surgeon should be called. 
 
 'Spirits from the vasty deep,' muttered Louis, in the midst 
 of his faintness ; ' the surgeons have graver work on hand.' 
 
 ' For heaven's sake, don't talk so ! ' cried his aunt, without 
 daring to look at him ; 'I know your arm is broken 1 ' 
 
 ' Broken bones are a very different matter, experto crede. This 
 will be all right when I can stop the bleeding,' and steadying 
 himself with difficulty, he reached the door, and slowly repaired 
 to his own room, while the girls sent Fanshawe and Delaford to 
 liis assistance. 
 
 Lady Conway, unable to bear the sight of blood, was in a 
 state of nervous sobbing, which Virginia's excited restlessness 
 did not tend to compose ; and Isabel walked up and down tlie 
 room, wishing that she could do anything, looking reproachfully 
 at her mother, and exalting to the skies the courage, presence 
 of mind, and fortitude of the wounded knight. 
 
 Presently, Delaford came down with a message from Lord 
 b'itzjocelyn that it was of no use to wait for him, for, as tlie 
 butler expressed it, ' the haemorrhage w^as pertinacious,' and ho 
 ]>egged that the ladies would depart without regard to him. ' In 
 fact,' said Delaford, ' it was a serious crisis, and there was no 
 time to be lost ; an English gentleman, Captain Lonsdale, who 
 had already offered his services, would take care of his lordship, 
 and my lady had better secure herself and the young ladies.' 
 
 'Leave Fitzjocelyn ! ' cried Virginia. 
 
 ' Is it very dangerous, Delaford 1 ' asked Lady Conway. 
 
 ' I would not be responsible for the cons^ quences of remaining, 
 my lady,' was the answer. 'Shall I order the horses to be 
 brought out 1 ' 
 
 ' I don't know. Is the street full of people ! Oh ! there is 
 firing ! What shall I do ? Isabel, what do you say 1 ' 
 
 Isabel was sitting still and upriglit ; she hardly raised her 
 eyelids, as she tranquilly said, ' Nothing shall induce me to go 
 till he is better.' 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 217 
 
 * Isabel ! this is most extraordinary ! Do jou know what you 
 are saying?' 
 
 Isabel did not weaken Iier words by repetition, but signed to 
 Delaford to leave them, and he never ventured to disregard 
 Miss Conway. Virginia hung about her, and declared that she 
 was quite right ; and Lady Conway, in restless despair, pre- 
 dicted that they would all be m.assacred, and that her nephew 
 w^ouid bleed to death, and appealed to every one on the iniquity 
 of all tlie doctors in Paris for not coming near him. 
 
 Poor Louis, himself was finding it very forlorn to be left to 
 Fansliawe, whose one idea was essences, and Delaford, who sug- 
 gested nothing but brandy. Some aunts and cousins he had, 
 Avho would not have left him to their tender mercies. He was 
 growing confused and feeble, speculating upon arteries, and then 
 starting from a delusion of Mary's voice to realize his condition, 
 and tr}^ to awaken his benumbed faculties. 
 
 At last, a decided step was heard, and he saw standing by him 
 a vigorous, practical-looking Englishman, and a black-eyed, 
 wl lite-hooded little AS'ce^^r tie Charite. 
 
 Captain Lonsdale, on hearing the calls for surgical aid, had, 
 without a word, hurried out and secured the brisk little Sister, 
 who, with much gesticulation, took possession of the arm, and 
 pronounced it a mere trifle, which would have been nothing but 
 for tlie loss of blood, the ball having simply passed through the 
 fleshy part of the arm, avoiding the bone. Louis, pleased with 
 this encounter as a result of the adventure, was soon in condi- 
 tion to rise, though with white cheeks and tottering step, and 
 to present to Lady Conway her new defender. 
 
 The sight of a bold, lively English soldier was a grand con- 
 solation, even though he entirely destroyed all plans of escape 
 by assuring her that there was a tremendous disturbance in the 
 direction of the Northern Railway, and that the oidy safe place 
 for ladies was, just where she was. He made various expedi- 
 tions to procure intelligence, and his tidings were cheerful 
 enough to counteract the horrible stories that Delaford was 
 constantly bringing in throughout that Saturday, the dreadful 
 i>4th of June, 1848. 
 
 It was late before any one ventured to go to bed ; and Louis, 
 weak and weary, had wakened many times from dreamy per- 
 ceptions that some wonderful discovery had been made, always 
 iixing it upon Mary, and then flnding himself infinitely relieved 
 by recollecting that it did not regard her.. He was in the full 
 discomfort of the earlier stage of this oft-repeated vision, when 
 his door was pushed open, and Delaford's trembling voice ex- 
 claimed, ' My lord, I beg your pardon, tlie massacre is beginning.' 
 
 'Let me know when it is over,' said Louis, nearly in his sleep. 
 
 Delaford reiterated that the city was bombarded, thousands 
 of armed men were marching on the hotel, and my lady ought 
 to be informed. A distant cannonade, the trampling^ of many 
 feet, and terrified voices on the stairs, finally roused Louis, 
 
218 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 and hastily rising, he quitted his room, and found all the ladies 
 on the alert. Lady Conway was holding back Virginia from 
 the window, and by turns summoning Isabel to leave it, and 
 volubly entreating the master of tlie hotel to secure it Avith 
 feather-beds to defend them from the shot. 
 
 'Oh, Fitzjocelyn ! ' she screamed, 'tell him so — tell liim to 
 take us to the cellars. Why will he not put the mattresses 
 against the windows before they fire ? ' 
 
 'I should prefer a different relative position for ourselves 
 and the beds,' said Louis, in his leisurely manner, as he ad- 
 vanced to look out. 'These are the friends of order, my dear 
 aunt ; you should welcome your protectors. Their beards and 
 their bayonets by gaslight are a grand military spectacle.' 
 
 'They will fire i There will be fighting here! They will 
 force their way in. Don't, Virginia — I desire you will not go 
 near the window.' 
 
 ' We are all right. You are as safe as if you were in your 
 own drawing-room,' said Captain Lonsdale, walking in, and 
 with his loud voice drowing the panic that Louis's cool, gentle 
 tones only irritated. - 
 
 Isabel looked up and smiled, as Louis stood by her, leaving 
 his aunt and Virginia to the martial tones of tlieir consoler. 
 
 ' I could get no one to believe me when I said it was only the 
 soldiers,' she observed, with some secret amusement. 
 
 ' The feather-bed fortress was the leading idea,' said Louis. 
 ' Some ladies have a curious pseudo presence of mind.' 
 
 * Generally, I believe,' said Isabel, 'a woman's presence of 
 mind should be to do as she is told, and not to think for herself, 
 unless she be obliged.' 
 
 ' Thinking for themselves has been fatal to a good many,' said 
 Louis, relapsing into meditation — 'this poor Paris among tlie 
 rest, I fancy. What a dawn for a Sunday morning ! How cold 
 the lights look, and how yellow the gas burns. We may think of 
 liome, and be thankful ! ' and kneeling with one knee on a chair, 
 he leant against the shutter, gazing out and musing aloud. 
 
 ' Thankful, indeed ! ' said Isabel, thoughtfully. 
 
 * Yes — first it was thinking not at all, and then thinking not 
 in the right way.' 
 
 Isabel readily fell into the same strain. 'They turned from 
 daylight and followed the glare of their own gas,' said she. 
 
 So they began a backward tracing of the calamities of France ; 
 and, as Louis's words came with more than usual slowness and 
 deliberation, they had only arrived at Cardinal de Richelieu, 
 when Captain Lonsdale exclaimed, ' I am sorry to interrupt you. 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn, but may I ask whether you can afford to lose 
 any more blood ? ' 
 
 'Thank you; yes, the bandage is loosened, but I was too 
 comfortable to move,' said Louis, sleepily, and he reeled as he 
 made the attempt, so that he could not have reached his room 
 without support. 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 219 
 
 The Captain had profited sufficiently by the Sister's example 
 to be able to stanch the blood, but not till the effusion had ex- 
 hausted Louis so much that all the next day it mattered little 
 to him that the city was in a state of siege, and no one allowed 
 to go out or come in. Even a constant traveller like Captain 
 Lonsdale, fertile in resource, and undaunted in search of all that 
 was to be seen, was obliged to submit, the more willingly that 
 Fitzjocelyn needed his care, and the ladies' terror was only kept 
 at bay by his protection. He sat beside the bed where lay 
 Louis in a torpid state, greatly disinclined to be roused to attend 
 wlien his aunt would hasten into the room, full of some horrible 
 rumour brought in by Delaford, and almost petulant because 
 he would not be alarmed. All he asked of the Tricolor or of 
 the Drapeau Houge for the present was to let him alone, and 
 lie would drop into a doze again, while the Captain was still 
 arguing away her terror. 
 
 More was true than he would allow her to credit ; and when 
 the little Soeur de Charite found a few minutes for visiting her 
 patient's wound, her bright face was pale with horror and Jier 
 eyes red with weeping. 
 
 ' Our good Archbishop ! ' she sobbed, when she allowed herself 
 to speak, and to give way to a burst of tears. ' Ah, the martyr ! 
 Ah, the good pastor 1 The miserable — but no — my poor people, 
 they knew not what they did ! ' 
 
 And as Louis, completely awakened, questioned lier, she told 
 Jiow the good Archbishop A fFre had begun that Sunday of strife 
 and bloodshed by offering his intercessions at the altar for the 
 unhappy people, and then offering his own life. 'The good 
 shepherd giveth his life for the sheep,' were his words, as he 
 went forth to stand between the hostile parties, and endeavour 
 to check their fury against one another. She herself had seen 
 him, followed by a few priests, and preceded by a brave and 
 faitliiul oiivrier^ who insisted on carrying before him a green 
 branch, as an emblem of his peaceful mission. She described 
 how, at the sight of his violet robes, and the white cross on his 
 breast, the brave boy gardes mobiles came crowding round him, 
 all black with powder, begging for his blessing ; some reminding 
 him that he liad confirmed them, while others cried, 'Your 
 blessing on our muskets, and we shall be invincible,' while some 
 of the women asked him to carry the bandages and lint which 
 they washed to send to the wounded. 
 
 On he went, comforting the wounded, absolving the dying, 
 and exhorting the living, and at more than one scene of conflict 
 the combatants paused, and yielded to his persuasions ; but at 
 the barricade at the Faubourg St. Antoine, while he was signing 
 to the mob to give him a moment to speak, a ball struck him, 
 and followed by the weeping and horror-struck insurgents, he 
 was borne into the curate's house, severely wounded, while the 
 populace laid down their weapons, to sign a declaration that 
 they knew not wlio had fired the fatal shot. 
 
220 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'No, no ; it was none of our people ! ' repeated the little mm. 
 ' Not one of them, poor lost creatures as too many are, would 
 have committed the act — so sacrilegious, so ungrateful ! Ah ! 
 3^ou must not believe them wicked. It is misery that drove 
 them to rise. Hold ! I met a young man — alas ! I knew him 
 well when he was a child — I said to him, " All ! my son, you 
 are on the bad train.'' " Bread, mother — it is bread we must 
 have," he answered. "Why would you speak to one who has 
 not eaten for twenty-four hours ? " I told him he knew the way 
 to our kitchen. " No, mother," he said, " I shall not eat ; I shall 
 get myself killed." ' 
 
 Many a lamentable detail of this description did she narrate, 
 as she busied herself with the wound ; and Louis listened, as he 
 liad listened to nothing else that day, and nearly emptied his 
 travelling purse for the sufferers. Isabel and Virginia waylaid 
 her on the stairs to admire and ask questions, but she firmly, 
 though politely, put them aside, unable to waste any time away 
 from her children — her poor wounded ! 
 
 On Monday forenoon tranquillity was restored, the rabble had 
 been crushed, and the organized force was triumphant. Still 
 the state of siege continued, and no one was allowed free egress 
 or ingress, but the Captain pronounced this all nonsense, and 
 resolutely set out for a walk, taking the passports with him, 
 and promising Lady Conway to arrange for her departure. 
 
 By and by he came in, subdued and affected by the procession 
 which he had encountered — the dying Archbishop borne home 
 to his palace on a litter, carried by workmen and soldiers, while 
 the troops, who lined the streets, paid him their military salutes, 
 and the people crowded to their doors and windows — one voice 
 of weeping and mourning running along Paris — as the good 
 prelate lay before their eyes, pale, suffering, peaceful, and ever 
 and anon lifting his feeble hand for a last blessing to the flock 
 for whom he had devoted himself. 
 
 The Captain was so much impressed that, as he said, he could 
 not get over it, and stayed for some time talking over the scene 
 with the young ladies, before starting up, as if wondering at his 
 own emotion, he declared that he must go and see what they 
 would do next. 
 
 Presently afterwards, Fitzjocelyn came down-stairs. His aunt 
 was judiciously lying down in her own apartment to recruit her 
 nerves after her agitation, and had called Virginia to read to her, 
 and Isabel was writing her journal, alone, in the sitting-room. 
 Lady Conway would have been gratified at her eager recei3tion 
 of him ; but, as he seemed very languid, and indisposed for 
 conversation, she continued her occupation, while he rested 
 in an arm-chair. 
 
 ' Presently he said, ' Is it possible that you could have left that 
 bracelet at Miss Longman's ^ ' 
 
 ' Pray do not think about it,' exclaimed Isabel ; ' I am ashamed 
 of my childishness ! Perhaps, but for that delay, you would not 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 221 
 
 have been hurt/ and lier eyes filled with tears, as her fingers 
 encircled the place wliere the bracelet should have been. 
 
 ' Perhaps, but for that delay, we might both have been shot,' 
 said Louis. ' No, indeed ; I could not wonder at your prizing 
 it so much.' 
 
 ' I little thought that would be the end of it,' said Isabel. 
 * I am glad you know its history, so that I may have some 
 excuse ;' and she tried to smile, but she blushed deeply as she 
 dried her eyes. 
 
 ' Excuse ? more than excuse ! ' said Louis, remembering liis 
 fears that it would be thrown away upon her. ^ I know — ' 
 
 ' He has told you ! ' cried Isabel, starting with bashful eager- 
 ness. 
 
 ' He has told me what I understand noio,^ said Louis, coming 
 near in a glow of grateful delight. ' Oh, I am so glad you 
 appreciate him. Thank you.' 
 
 'You are inferring too much,' said Isabel, turning away in 
 confusion. 
 
 * Don't you mean it ! ' exclaimed Louis. ' I thought — ' 
 
 'We must not mistake each other,' said Isabel, recovering lier 
 self-possession. 'Nothing amounting to what you mean ever 
 passed, except a few words the last evening, and I may have dwelt 
 on them more than I ought,' faltered she, with averted head. 
 
 ' Not more than he has done, I feel certain,' said Louis ; ' I 
 see it all ! Dear old Jem ! there's no such fellow in existence.' 
 But here perceiving that he was going too far, he added, almost 
 timidly, ' I beg your pardon.' 
 
 'You have no occasion,' she said, smiling in the midst of her 
 blushes. * I feared I had said what I ought not. I little 
 expected such kind sympathy.' 
 
 She hastily left him, and Lady Conway soon after found him 
 so full of bright, half- veiled satisfaction, that she held herself in 
 readiness for a confession from one or both every minute, and, 
 now that the panic was over, gave great credit to the Red 
 Kepublicans for lia\'ing served her so effectually, and forgave 
 the young people for having been so provoking in their coolness 
 in the time of danger, since it proved how well they were suited 
 to each other. She greatly enjoyed the universally-implied 
 conviction with regard to the handsome young pair. Nor did 
 they struggle against it ; neither of them made any secret of 
 their admiration for the conduct of the other, and the scrupulous 
 appellations of Miss Conway and Lord Fitzjocelyn were dis- 
 carded for more cousinly titles. 
 
 The young hero fell somewhat in his aunt's favour when he 
 was missing at the travellers' early breakfast, although Delaford 
 reported him much better and gone out. 'What if he should 
 be late for the train ? — what if he should be taken up by the 
 police ? ' Virginia scolded her sister for not being equally restless, 
 and had almost hunted the Captain into going in search of him ; 
 when at last, ten minutes before the moment of departure, in 
 
222 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 he came, white, lame, and breathless, but his eyes dancing with 
 glee, and his lips archly grave, as he dropped something into 
 Isabel's lap. 
 
 ' Her bracelet ! ' exclaimed Virginia, as Isabel looked up with 
 swimming eyes, unable to speak. ' Where did you find it ? ' 
 
 ' In the carriage, in the heart of the barricade at the Porte 
 St. Denis.' 
 
 *It is too much ! ' cried Isabel, recovering her utterance, and 
 rising with her hands locked together in her emotion. ' You 
 make me repent my having lamented for it ! ' 
 
 ' 1 had an old respect for Clara's clasp.' 
 
 'I never saw a prettier attention,' said his aunt. 'It is only 
 a pity that you cannot fasten it on for her.' 
 
 ' That could only be done by the right hand,' muttered Louis, 
 under his breath, enjoying her blush. 
 
 ' You have not told us how you got it ? ' said Virginia. 
 
 ^ It struck me that there was a chance, and I had promised 
 to lose none. I found the soldiers in the act of pulling down 
 the barricade. What an astonishing construction it is ! I spoke 
 to the officer, who was very civil, and caused me to depose that 
 I had hired the carriage, and belonged to the young lady. I 
 believed my sling had a great effect ; for they set up a shout of 
 acclamation when tlie bracelet appeared, lying on the cushion 
 as quietly as if it were in its own drawer.' 
 
 ' The value will be greater than ever now, Isabel,' said Lady 
 Conway. ' You will never lose it again ! ' 
 
 Isabel did not gainsay her. 
 
 The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked sagacious at 
 Ids patient's preparation for the journey before him. 
 
 Louis gravely looked into his face as he took leave of him, 
 and said, ' You are wrong.' 
 
 The Captain raised his eyebrows incredulously. 
 
 As they left the city, the bells of all the churches were tolling 
 for the martyred Archbishop. And not for liim alone was there 
 mourning and lamentation througli the city : death and agony 
 were everywhere ; in some of the streets, eacli house was a 
 liospital, and many a groan and cry of mortal pain was uttered 
 til rough that fair summer day. Louis, in a low voice, reminded 
 Isabel that, on this same day, the English primate was conse- 
 crating the abbey newly restored for a missionary college ; and 
 liis eyes glistened as he dwelt with thanksgiving upon the 
 contrast, and thought of the 'peace within our walls, and 
 plenteousness within our palaces.' 
 
 He lay back in his corner of the carriage, too much tired 
 to talk ; though, by and by, he began to smile over his own 
 musings, or to make some lazily ludicrous remark to amuse 
 Virginia. His aunt caressed her wounded hero, and promoted 
 liis intercourse with Isabel, to his exquisite amusement, in his 
 passive, dehonnaire condition, especially as Isabel was perfectly 
 insensible to all these manoeuvres. 
 
THE HEliO OF THE BARRICADES 223 
 
 There she sat, gazing out of window, musing first on the 
 meeting with the live Sir Roland, secondly on the amends to 
 be made in the ' Chapel in the valley.' The Cloten of the piece 
 must not even be a Vidame, nothing distantly connected with 
 a V ; even though this prototype was comporting himself much 
 more like the nonchalant^ fantastic Viscount, than like her 
 resolute, high-minded Knight of the Porte St. Denis. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 
 
 The page slew the boar, 
 
 The peer had the gloire. — Quentbi Durward 
 
 Great uneasiness was excited at Dynevor Terrace by the 
 tidings of the insurrection at Paris. After extracting all 
 possible alarm from her third-hand news]3aper, Mrs. Frost put 
 on her bonnet to set off on a quest for a sight of the last day's 
 Times. James had offered to go, but she was too restless to 
 remain at home ; and when he had demonstrated that the 
 rumour must be exaggerated, and that there was no need for 
 alarm, he let her depart, and as soon as she was out of sight, 
 caught up the paper to recur to the terrible reports of the first 
 day's warfare. He paced about the little parlour, reviling him- 
 self for not having joined the party, to infuse a little common 
 sense ; Fitzjocelyn, no more lit to take care of himself than a 
 baby, probably running into the fray from mere rash indiffer- 
 ence ! Isabel exposed to every peril and terror ! Why had 
 he refused to join them 1 The answer was maddening. He 
 liated himself, as lie found his love for his cousin melting under 
 the influence of jealousy, and of indignation that his own 
 vehement passion must be sacrificed to the tardy, uncertain love 
 which seemed almost an insult to such charms. 
 
 'What needs dwelling on it?' he muttered; ' doubtless they 
 are engaged by this time ! I shall surely do something desperate 
 if they come here, under my very eye. Would that I could go 
 to the Antipodes, ere I forfeit Louis's love ! But my grand- 
 mother, Clara ! Was ever man so miserably circumstanced ? ' 
 
 A hand was on tlie door ; and he strove to compose his face, 
 lest he should shock his grandmother. 
 
 It was not Mrs. Frost. 
 
 ' Louis ! for Heaven's sake, where are they 1 ' 
 
 ' In the House Beautiful.' 
 
 James breathed — ' And you ! what makes you so pale ? What 
 have you done to your arm ? ' 
 
 ' A little affair of the barricades. I have been watering the 
 French Republic with my blood.' 
 
 ' Rushing into the thickest of the row, of course.' 
 
224 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Only escorting Miss Conway through an assault of the 
 Garde Naiionale^ said Louis, in a tone as if he had been saying 
 'walking up the High Street.' How could he help teasing, 
 when he could make such amends % 
 
 James began to pace up and down again, muttering some- 
 thing about madness and frenzy. 
 
 ' It was not voluntary,' said Louis. ' When the carriage was 
 confiscated for the service of the nation, what could we do ? — I 
 can tell you, Jem,' he added, fervently, ' what a gallant being 
 she is ! It was the glorious perfection of gentle, lofty feminine 
 courage, walking through the raging multitude — through shots, 
 through dreadful sights, like Una through the forest, in 
 Christian maidenly fearlessness.' 
 
 James had flung himself into a chair, hiding his face, and 
 steadying his whole person, by resting his elbov»^ on his knee 
 and his brow on his hand, as he put a strong force on himself 
 that he might hear Louis out without betraying himself. Louis 
 paused in ardent contemplation of the image he had called up, 
 and poor James gruffly whispered, ' Go on : you were happy.' 
 
 ' V ery happy, in knowing what cause I have to rejoice for you.' 
 
 James gave a great start, and trembled visibly. 
 
 ' I did not tell you,' pursued Louis, ' that the single moment 
 when she lost her firmness, was when she thought she had lost 
 a certain ivory clasp.' 
 
 James could endure no more : * Louis,' he said, ' you must try 
 me no longer. What do you mean % ' 
 
 Louis affectionately put his hand on his shoulder : ^ I mean, 
 dear Jem, that I understand it now ; and it is a noble heart 
 tliat you have won, and that can value you as you deserve.' 
 
 James wrung his hand, and looked bewildered, inquiring, and 
 liappy ; but his quivering lips could form no words. 
 
 ' It was a time to reveal the depths of the heart,' said Louis. 
 'A few words and the loss of tlie bracelet betrayed much ; and 
 after'wards, as far as a lady could, she confessed that something 
 wliich passed between you the last evening — ' 
 
 'Louis!' cried James, 'I could not help it! I had been 
 striving against it all along ; but if you could imagine how I 
 v/as tried ! You never Avould come to plead your own cause, 
 and I thought to work for you ; but my words are too near the 
 surface. I cut myself short. I have bitterly reproached myself 
 ever since, but I did not know the harm I had done you. Can 
 you forgive me ? Can you — No, it is vain to ask ; you never 
 can be happy.' 
 
 ' My dear Jem, you go on at such a pace, there is no answer- 
 ing you. There is no forgiveness in the case. Further ac- 
 quaintance had already convinced me that she was lovely and 
 perfect, but that " she is na mine ain lassie." Yes, she caught 
 my imagination ; and you and my father would have it that I 
 was in love, and I supposed you knew best : but when I was let 
 alone to a rational consideration, I found that to me she is 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 225 
 
 rather the embodied Isabel of romance, a beauteous vision, than 
 the — the — in short, that there is another who has all that I am 
 wanting in. No, no, dear Jem ; it was you who made the 
 generous sacrifice. Have no scruples about me ; I am content 
 with the part of Una's Lion, only thankful that Sans-Loy and 
 Sans-Foy had not quite demolished him before he had seen her 
 restored to the Red Cross Knight.' 
 
 It was too much for James ; he hid his face in his hands, and 
 burst into tears. Such joy dawning on him, without having 
 either offended or injured his cousin, produced a revulsion of 
 feeling which he could not control, and hearing the street-door 
 opened, he ran out of the room, just before his grandmother 
 came hurrying in, on the wings of the intelligence heard below. 
 
 ' Yes ! I knew my own boy would come to me ! ' she cried. 
 'Even Miss Conway has not begun to keep him from me yet.' 
 
 ' Nor ever will, Aunt Kitty. There are obstacles in the way. 
 You must be granny, and mother, and sister and wife, and all 
 my womankind, a little longer, if you please.' And he sat 
 down fondly at her feet, on a footstool which had been liis 
 childish perch. 
 
 ' Not distressed, you insensible boy ? ' 
 
 'Very happy about Isabel,' said he, turning to look at her 
 with eyes dancing with merry mystification. 
 
 ' A foolish girl not to like my Louis ! I thought better of 
 her ; but I suppose my lady has taught her to aim higher ! ' 
 
 ' So she does,' said Louis, earnestly. 
 
 ' Ungrateful girl ! Why, Charlotte tells me you led her straight 
 over the barricades, with cannon firing on you all the time ! ' 
 
 'But not Cupid.' 
 
 ' Then, it is true ! and you have really hurt yourself ! And 
 so pale ! My poor boy ! — what is it ? I must nurse you.' 
 
 'I had so little blood left, that a gnat of tolerable appetite 
 could have made an end of me on Sunday, without more ado. 
 But, instead of that, I had a good little Sister of Charity ; and 
 wasn't that alone worth getting a bullet through one's arm ^ ' 
 
 Aunt Catharine was shuddering thankfully through the 
 narration, when James came down, his brow unclouded, but 
 his manner still agitated, as if a burthen had been taken away, 
 and he hardly knew how to realize his freedom from the weight. 
 
 Mrs. Frost could not part with her boy, and Jane Beckett 
 evidently had a spite against ' they French bandages ; ' so that 
 Louis only talked of going home enough to get himself flattered 
 and coaxed into remaining at No. 5, as their patient. 
 
 The two young men went in the afternoon to inquire after 
 the Conway party, when they found that her ladyship was 
 lying down ; but Isabel, who had been summoned from a 
 wholesale conflagration of all the MS. relating to the fantastic 
 Viscount, brought down Miss King, apparently to converse for 
 her ; for she did little except blush, and seemed unable to look 
 at either of the friends. 
 
 Q 
 
226 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 As they took leave, Louisa came into the room with a message 
 that mamma hoped to see Mr. Frost Dynevor to-morrow, and 
 trusted that he had made no engagements for the holidays. 
 
 James murmured something inaudible, and ran down-stairs, 
 snarling at Louis as he turned to the Miss Faithfulls' door, and 
 telling him he wanted to obtain a little more petting and 
 commiseration. 
 
 'I could not waste such an opportunity of looking interesting ! ^ 
 said Louis, laughing, as he tapped at the door. 
 
 Delaford marshalled out the poor tutor with a sense of 
 triumph. ' His hopes, at least, were destroyed ! ' thought the 
 butler ; and he proceeded to regale Marianne with the romance 
 of the barricades, — how he had himself offered to be Miss Con- 
 way's escort, but Lord Fitzjocelyn had declared that not a living 
 soul but himself should be the young lady's champion ; and, 
 seeing the young nobleman so bent on it, Mr. Delaford knew 
 that the force of true affection was not to be stayed, no more 
 than the current of the limpid stream, and had yielded the 
 point ; and though, perhaps, his experience might have spared 
 her the contaminating propinquity of the low rabble, yet, con- 
 sidering the circumstances, he did not regret his absence, since 
 he was required for my lady's protection, and, no doubt, two 
 fond hearts had been made happy. Then, in the midnight 
 alarm, when the young nobleman had been disabled, Delaford 
 had been the grand champion : — he had roused the establish- 
 ment ; he had calmed every one's fears ; he had suggested 
 arming all tlie waiters, and fortifying the windows ; he had 
 been the only undaunted representative of the British Lion, 
 when the environs swarmed with deadly foes, with pikes and 
 muskets flashing in the darkness. 
 
 Fanshawe had been much too busy with her ladyship's nerves, 
 and too ignorant of French, to gather enough for his refutation, 
 had she wished for it ; and, in fact, she had regarded him as 
 the only safeguard of the party, devoutly believing all his 
 reports, and now she was equally willing to magnify her own 
 adventures. What a hero Delaford was all over the Terrace 
 and its vicinity ! People looked out to see the defender of the 
 British name ; and Charlotte Arnold mended stockings, and 
 wondered whether her cruelty had made him so desperately 
 courageous. 
 
 She could almost have been sorry that tlie various arrivals 
 kept the domestic establishments of both houses so fully occu- 
 pied ! Poor Tom ! she had been a long time without hearing of 
 him ! and a hero was turning up on her hands ! 
 
 The world was not tranquil above-stairs. The removal of 
 the one great obstacle to James's attachment had only made a 
 thousand others visible ; and he relapsed into ill-suppressed 
 irritability, to the disappointment of Louis, who did not perceive 
 the cause. At night, however, when Mrs. Frost had gone^up, 
 after receiving a promise, meant sincerely, however it might be 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 227 
 
 kept, that ' poor Louis ' should not be kept up late, James began 
 with a groan : 
 
 ^ Now that you are here to attend to my grandmother, I am 
 going to answer this advertisement for a curate near the Land's 
 End" 
 
 ' Heyday ! ' 
 
 * It is beyond human endurance to see her daily and not to 
 speak ! I should run wild ! It would be using Lady Conway 
 shamefully/ 
 
 ' And some one else. What should hinder you from speaking ? ' 
 ' You talk as if every one was heir to a peerage.' 
 
 * I know what I am saying. I do not see the way to your 
 marriage just yet ; but it would be mere trifling with her feel- 
 ings, after what has passed already, not to give her the option 
 of engaging herself.' 
 
 * I'm sure I don't know what I said ! I was out of myself. I 
 was ashamed to remember that I had betrayed myself, and 
 dared not guess what construction she put on it.' 
 
 ' Such a construction as could only come from her own heart ! ' 
 
 After some raptures, James added, attempting to be cool, 
 * You candidly think I have gone so far, that I am bound in 
 honour to make explanation.' 
 
 ' I am sure it would make her very unhappy if you went off 
 in magnanimous silence to the Land's End ; and remaining as 
 the boy's tutor, without confession, would be a mere delusion 
 and treachery towards my aunt.' 
 
 ' That woman ! * 
 
 * She is not her mother.' 
 
 * Who knows how far she will think herself bound to obedi- 
 ence ? With that sort of relationship, nobody knows what to 
 be at.' 
 
 *I don't think Isabel wishes to make her duty to Lady 
 Conway more stringent than necessary. They live in utterly 
 different spheres ; and, at least, you can be no worse off than 
 you are already.' 
 
 ^*I may be exposing her to annoyance. Women have ten 
 million ways of persecuting each other.' 
 
 *Had you seen Isabel's eye when she looked on the wild 
 crowd, you would know^ how little she would heed worse perse- 
 cution than my poor aunt could practise. It will soon be my 
 turn to say you don't deserve her.' 
 
 James was arguing against his own impulse, and his scruples 
 only desired to be talked down ; Louis's generous and incon- 
 siderate ardour prevailed, and, after interminable discussion, it 
 was agreed that, after some communication with the young 
 lady herself, an interview should be sought with Lady Conway, 
 for which James was already bristling, prepared to resent scorn 
 with scorn. 
 
 In the morning, he was savage with shamefacedness, could 
 not endure any spectator, arid fairly hunted his cousin home to 
 
 Q2 
 
228 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Ormersfield, where Louis prowled about in suspense — gave con- 
 tradictory orders to Frampton, talked as if he was asleep, made 
 Frampton conclude that lie had left his heart behind him, and 
 was ever roaming towards the Northwold turnpike. 
 
 At about four o'clock, a black figure was seen posting along 
 the centre of the road, and, heated, panting, and glowing, James 
 came up — made a decided and vehement nod with his head, but 
 did not speak till they had turned into the park, when he threw 
 himself flat on the grass under an old thorn, and Louis followed 
 ]iis example, while Farmer Norris's respectable cows stared at 
 the invasion of their privacy. 
 
 ' Tout va hien ? ' asked Louis. 
 
 ' As well as a man in my position can expect ! She is the 
 most noble of created beings, Louis ! ' 
 
 ' And what is her mother 1 ' 
 
 ' Don't call her her mother ! You shall hear. I could not 
 stay at home ! I went to the Faithfulls' room : I found Miss 
 Mercy waiting for her, to join in a walk to some poor person. 
 I went with them. I checked her when she was going into the 
 cottage. We have been walking round Brackley's fields — ' 
 
 ' And poor Miss Mercy ? ' 
 
 'Never remembered her till this moment ! ' 
 
 * She will forgive ! And her ladyship ? ' 
 
 'That's the worst of it. She was nearly as bad as you could 
 have been ! — so intensely civil and amiable, that I began to 
 tliink her all on my side. I really could be taken in to suppose 
 she felt for us ! ' 
 
 ' I have no doubt she did. My good aunt is very sincerely 
 loth to hurt people's feelings.' 
 
 ' She talked oi her duty ! She sympathized ! It was hot till 
 I was out of the house that I saw it was all by way of letting 
 me down easy — trapping me into binding myself on honour not 
 to correspond.' 
 
 ' Not correspond ! ' cried Louis, in consternation. ' Are you 
 not engaged 1 ' 
 
 ' As far as understanding each other goes. But who knows 
 Avhat may be her machinations, or Isabel's sense of obedience ! ' 
 
 ' Does she forbid it '? ' 
 
 ' No. She went to speak to Isabel. I fancy she found it un- 
 wise to test her power too far ; so she came down and palavered 
 me, — -assured me that I was personally all that heart could wish 
 — she loved her dear child the better for valuing solid merit. 
 Faugh ! how could I stand such gammon 1 But I must per- 
 ceive that she was peculiarly circumstanced with regard to 
 Isabel's family ; she must not seem to sanction an engagement 
 till I could offer a home suited to her expectations. She said 
 something of my Uncle Oliver ; but I disposed of that. How- 
 ever, I dare say it made her less willing to throw me overboard ! 
 Any way, she smoothed me and flattered me, till I ended by 
 agreeing that she has no choice but to remove instanter from 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 229 
 
 the Terrace, and forbid me her abode ! And, as I said, she 
 wormed a promise from me not to correspond.' 
 
 ' You have no great loss tliere. Depend upon it that Isabel 
 would neither brave her openly by receiving your letters, nor 
 submit to do anything underhand.' 
 
 ^ Nor would I ask her ! — but it is intolerable to have been 
 tricked into complacent consent.' 
 
 ' I am glad your belle-mere knows how to manage you.' 
 
 ' I told you she was only less unbearable than yourself. You 
 have it from tlie same stock.' 
 
 ' The better for your future peace. I honour her. If she had 
 let the Welsh dragon show' his teeth in style, he would only have 
 had to make unpleasant apologies when the good time comes.' 
 
 'When ! ' sighed James. 
 
 'If Isabel be the woman I take her for, she will be easily 
 content.' 
 
 ' She is sick of parade ; she has tried how little it can do for 
 a mind like hers : she desires nothing but a home like our own 
 — but what prospect have I of any such thing ? Even if the loss 
 of my fellowship were compensated, how could I marry and let 
 Clara be a governess^ Clara must be my first consideration. 
 But, I say, we ought to be going home.' 
 
 ' I thought I was at home.' 
 
 'My grandmother and Jane won't be pacified till tliey see 
 you. They think you are not fit to be in a house by yourself. 
 They both fell on me for having let you go. You must come 
 back, or my grandmother will think you gone off in despair, as 
 you ought to be, and I shall never dare to speak to her.' 
 
 'At your service,' said the duteous Fitzjocelyn. 'I'll leave 
 word at the lodge.' 
 
 ' By the bye, are you up to walking 1 ' 
 
 ' Candidly, now I think of it, I doubt whether I am. Come, 
 and let us order the carriage.' 
 
 ' No — no ; — I can't stand waiting — I'll go home and get over 
 the first with granny — you come after. Yes ; that's right.' 
 
 So the hunted Louis waited, contentedly, while James marched 
 back, chary of his precious secret, and unwilling to reveal it even 
 to her, and yet wanting her sympathy. 
 
 The disclosure was a greater shock than he had expected from 
 her keen and playful interest in matters of love and matrimony. 
 It was a revival of the mournful past, and^she shed tears as she 
 besought him not to be imprudent, to remember his poor father, 
 and not rush into a hasty marriage. He and his sister had been 
 used to poverty, but it was different with Miss Conway. 
 
 He bitterly replied, that Lady Conway would take care they 
 were not imprudent ; and that instant the granny's heart melted 
 at the thought of his uncertain prospect, and at hearing of the 
 struggles and sufferings that he had undergone. They had not 
 talked half-an-hour, before she had taken home Isabel Conway 
 to her heart as a daughter, and flown in the face of all her 
 
230 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 wisdom, but assuring him that she well knew tlmt riches had 
 little to do with happiness ; auguring an excellent living, and, 
 with great sagacity, promising to settle the Terrace on his wife, 
 and repeating, in perfect good faith, all the wonderful proba- 
 bilities which her liusband had seen in it forty years ago. 
 
 When Louis arrived, he found her alone, and divided between 
 pride in her grandson's conquest, and some anxiety on his own 
 account, which took the form of asking him what he meant by 
 saying that Isabel aimed higher than himself. 
 
 ' Did she not ? ' said Louis ; and with a sort of compunction 
 for a playful allusion to the sacred calling, he turned it off with, 
 ' Why, what do you think of Roland ap Dynasvawr ap Roland 
 ap Grutfydd ap Rhys ap Morgan ap Llywellwyn ap Roderic ap 
 Caradoc ap Arthur ap Uther ap Pendragon '? ' running this oif 
 with calm, slow, impressive deliberation. 
 
 ^ Certify me, Louis dear, before I can quite rejoice, that this 
 fun is not put on.' 
 
 ' Did you think me an arrant dissembler 1 No, indeed : be- 
 fore I guessed how it was with them, I had found out — Oh ! 
 Aunt Kitty, shall I ever get Mary to believe in me, after the 
 ridiculous way in which I have behaved to her 1 ' 
 
 ' Is this what you really mean *? ' 
 
 ' Indeed it is. The very presence of Isabel could not keep me 
 from recurring to her ; and at home, not a room, not a scene, 
 but is replete with recollections of all that she was to me last 
 year ! And that I should only understand it when half the 
 world is between us ! How mad I was ! How shall I ever per- 
 suade her to forget my past folly ? Past ! Nay, folly and in- 
 consistency are blended in all I do, and now they have lost me 
 the only person who could help me to conquer them ! And now 
 she is beyond my reach, and I shall never be worthy of her.' 
 
 He was much agitated. The sight of James's success, and 
 the return to his solitary home, had stirred up his feelings very 
 strongly ; and he needed his aunt's fond soothing and sympathy 
 — but it was not difficult to comfort and cheer him. His dispo- 
 sition was formed more for affection than passion, and his attach- 
 ment to Mary was of a calmer nature than his fiery cousin would 
 have allowed to be love. It took a good deal of working-up to 
 make it outwardly affect his spirits or demeanour ; in general, 
 it served only as an ingredient in the pensiveness that pervaded 
 all his moods, even his most arrant nonsense. 
 
 The building of castles for James, and the narration of the 
 pleasing delusion in which he had brought home his aunt, were 
 sufficient to enliven him. He was to go the next morning to 
 call upon Lady Conway, and see whether he could persuade her 
 into any concessions : James was very anxious that Isabel and 
 his grandmother should meet, and was beginning to propose that 
 Louis sliould arrange an interview for them in Miss FaithfuU's 
 room, before the departure, which was fixed for Monday. 
 
 'I intend to call upon Lady Conway,' said Mrs. Frost, with 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 231 
 
 dignity that made him feel as if he had been proposing some- 
 thing contraband. 
 
 Louis went first, and was highly entertained by the air of apo- 
 logy and condolence w^ith which his aunt received him. She told 
 him how excessively concerned she was, and how guilty she felt 
 towards him — a score on which, he assured her, she had no need 
 to reproach herself. She had heard enough from Isabel to lead 
 to so much admiration of his generosity, that he was obliged to 
 put a stop to it, without being skilful enough to render sincerity 
 amiable ; but slie seemed satisfied, eagerly assured him of her 
 approval, and declared that she fully understood him. 
 
 Had she explained, he would have thought her understanding 
 went too far. She entirely forgave him. After all, he was 
 her own sister's son, and Isabel only a step-daughter ; and 
 though she had done her duty by putting Isabel in the way of 
 the connection, she secretly commended his prudence in with- 
 standing beauty, and repairing the dilapidated estate with Peru- 
 vian gold. She sounded him, as a very wise man, on the chances 
 of Oliver Dynevor doing something for his nephew, but did not 
 receive much encouragement ; though he prophesied that James 
 was certain to get on, and uttered a rhapsody that nearly de- 
 stroyed his new reputation for judgment. Lady Conway gave 
 him an affectionate invitation to visit her whenever he could, 
 and summoned the young ladies to wish him good-bye. The 
 mute, blushing gratitude of Isabel's look was beautiful beyond 
 description ; and Virginia's countenance was exceedingly arch 
 and keen, though she was supposed to know nothing of the state 
 of affairs. 
 
 Lady Conway was alone when Mrs. Frost was seen approach- 
 ing the house. The lady at once prepared to be affably gracious 
 to her apologies and deprecations of displeasure ; but she was 
 quite disconcerted by the dignified manner of her entrance : — 
 tall, noble-looking, in all the simple majesty of age, and of a 
 high though gentle spirit. Lady Conway was surprised into abso- 
 lute respect, and had to rally her ideas before, with a slight laugh, 
 she could say, ' I see you are come to condole with me on the 
 folly of our two young people.' 
 
 ' I think too highly of them to call it folly,' said the heiress of 
 the Dynevors. 
 
 ' Why, in one way, to be sure,' hesitated Lady Conway, ' we 
 cannot call it folly to be sensible of each other's merits ; and if 
 — if Mr. Dynevor have any expectations — I think your son is 
 unmarried ? ' 
 
 * He is ; ' but she added, smiling, * you will not expect me to 
 allow that my youngest child is old enough to warrant any cal- 
 culations on that score.' 
 
 ' It is very unfortunate ; I pity them from my heart. An 
 engagement of this kind is a wretched beginning for life.' 
 
 * Oh, do not say so ! ' cried the old lady ; ' it may often be the 
 greatest blessing, the best incentive to both parties.' 
 
232 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Lady Conway was too much surprised to make a direct 
 answer, but she continued, ' If my brother could exert his in- 
 terest — and I know that he has so high an opinion of dear Mr. 
 Dynevor — and you have so much influence. That dear, generous 
 Fitzjocelyn, too — ' 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Frost understood whom Lady Conway desig- 
 nated as her brother, she drew herself up, and said, coldly, that 
 Lord Ormersfield had no church patronage, and no interest that 
 he could exert on behalf of her grandson. 
 
 Again, ' it was most unlucky ; ' and Lady Conway proceeded 
 to say that she was the more bound to act in opposition to her 
 own feelings, because Mr. Mansell was resolved against be- 
 queathing Beauchastel to any of his cousinhood who might 
 marry a clergyman ; disliking that the place should fall to a 
 man who ought not to reside. It was a most unfortunate 
 scruple ; but in order to avoid offending him, and losing any 
 chance, the engagement must remain a secret. 
 
 Mrs. Frost replied, that Mr. Mansell was perfectly right ; and 
 seemed in nowise discomfited or conscious that there was any 
 condescension on her ladyship's part in winking at an attach- 
 ment between Miss Conway and a Dynevor of Cheveleigh. She 
 made neither complaint nor apology ; there was nothing for 
 Lady Conway to be gracious about ; and when the request was 
 made to see Miss Conway, her superiority was so fully estab- 
 lished that there was no demur, and the favour seemed to be on 
 her side. 
 
 The noble old matron had long been a subject of almost 
 timid veneration to the maiden, and she obeyed the summons 
 with more bashful awe than she had ever felt before ; and with 
 much fear lest the two elders might have been combining to 
 make an appeal to her to give up her betrothal for James's 
 sake. 
 
 As she entered, the old lady came to meet her, held out both 
 arms, and drew her into her bosom, with tlie fond words, ' My 
 dear child ! ^ 
 
 Isabel rested in her embrace, as if she had found her own 
 mother again. 
 
 ' My dear child,' again said Mrs. Frost, ' I am glad you like 
 my Jem, for he has always been a good boy to his granny.^ 
 
 The homeliness of the words made tJiem particularly endear- 
 ing, and Isabel ventured to put her arm round the slender 
 waist. 
 
 ' Yes, darling,' continued the grandmother ; ' you will make 
 him good and happy, and you must teach him to be patient, for 
 I am afraid you will both want a great deal of patience and 
 submission.' 
 
 ' He will teach me,' whispered Isabel. 
 
 Lady Conway was fairly crying. 
 
 ' I am glad to know that he has you to look to, when his old 
 grandmother is gone.' 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 233 
 
 ' Oh, don't say—' 
 
 ' I shall make way for you some day,' said Mrs. Ftost, caress- 
 ing her. ' You are leaving us, my dear. It is quite right, and 
 we will not murmur ; but would not your mamma spare you to 
 us for one evening 1 Could you not come and drink tea with us, 
 that we may know each other a little better 1 ' 
 
 The stepmother's affectionate assent, and even emotion, were 
 a great surprise to Isabel ; and James began to imagine that 
 nothing was beyond Mrs. Frost's power. 
 
 Louis saved James the trouble of driving him away by going 
 to dine with Mr. Calcott, and the evening was happy, even be- 
 yond anticipation ; the grandmother all affection, James all 
 restless bliss, Isabel serene amid her blushes ; and yet the con- 
 versation would not thrive, till Mrs. Frost took them out walk- 
 ing, and, when in the loneliest lane, conceived a wish to inquire 
 the price of poultry at the nearest farm, and sent the others to 
 walk on. Long did she talk of the crops, discourse of the 
 French and Bohemian enormities, and smilingly contradict re- 
 ports that the young lord was to marry the young lady, before 
 the lovers reappeared, without the most distant idea where they 
 had been. 
 
 After that, they could not leave off talking ; they took 
 granny into their counsels ; and she lieard Isabel confess how 
 the day-dream of her life had been to live among the ' very 
 good.' She smiled with humble self-conviction of falling far 
 beneath the standard, as she discovered that the enthusiastic 
 girl had found all lier aspirations for ' goodness ' realized by 
 Dynevor Terrace ; and regarding it as peace, joy, and honour 
 to be linked with it. The newly-found happiness, and the effort 
 to be worthy of it, were to bear her through all uncongenial 
 scenes ; she had such a secret of joy that she should never repine 
 again. 
 
 ' Ah ! Isabel, and what am I to do ? ' said James. 
 
 ' You ask ? ' she said, smiling. ' You, who have Northwold for 
 your home, and live in the atmosphere I only breathe now and 
 then?' 
 
 * Your presence is my atmosphere of life.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Frost, tell him he must not talk so wrongly, so extrava- 
 gantly, I mean.' 
 
 'It may be wrong ; it is not extravagant. It falls only 
 too far short of my feeling ! What will the Terrace be without 
 you?' 
 
 ' It will not be without my thoughts. How often I shall 
 think I see the broad road, and the wide field, and the moun- 
 tain-ash berries, that were reddening when we came ; and the 
 canary in the window ! How little my first glance at the houses 
 took in what they would be to me ! ' 
 
 And then they had to settle the haunts she was to revisit at 
 Beauchastel. An invitation thither was tlie ostensible cause of 
 the rapid break-up from the House Beautiful ; but the truth 
 
234 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 was not so veiled but that there were many surmises among the 
 uninitiated. Jane had caught something from my young lord's 
 demeanour which certified her, and made her so exceedingly 
 proud and grand, that though she was too honourable to breathe 
 a word of her discovery, she walked with her kind old head 
 three inches higher ; and, as a great favour, showed Cliarlotte 
 a piece of poor dear Master Henry's bridecake, kept for luck, 
 and a little roll of treasured real Brussels lace, that she had 
 saved to adorn her cap whenever Mr. James should marry. 
 
 Charlotte was not as attentive as she might have been to 
 such interesting curiosities. She had one eye towards the win- 
 dow all the time ; she wanted to be certified how deeply she 
 had wounded the hero of the barricade, and she had absolutely 
 not seen him since his return ! The little damsel missed 
 homage ! 
 
 ' You are not heeding me ! ' exclaimed Jane at last. 
 
 ' Yes ; I beg your pardon, ma'am — ' 
 
 ' Charlotte, take care. Mind me, one thing at a time,' said 
 Jane, oracularly. ' Not one eye here, the other there ! ' 
 
 * I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Beckett. 
 
 ' Come, don't colour up, and say you don't know nothing ! 
 Why did you water your lemon plant three times over, but that 
 you wanted to be looking out of window 1 Why did you never 
 top nor tail the gooseberries for the pudding, but sent them up 
 fit to choke my poor missus ? If Master Jem hadn't — Bless 
 me ! what was I going to say 1 — but we should soon have heard 
 of it ! No, no, Charlotte ; I've been a mother to you ever 
 since you came here, a little starveling thing, and I'll speak 
 plain for your good. If you fancy that genteel butler in there, 
 say so downright ; but first sit down, and write away a letter 
 to give up the other young man ! ' 
 
 Charlotte's cheeks were in a flame, and something vehement 
 at the end of her tongue, when, with a gentle knock, and ' By 
 your favour, ladies,' in walked Mr. Delaford. 
 
 Jane was very civil, but very stiff at first, till he thawed her 
 by great praise of Lord Fitzjocelyn, the mere prelude to his 
 own magnificent exploits. 
 
 Charlotte listened like a very Desdemona. He was very 
 pathetic, and all that was not self -exaltation was aimed at her. 
 Nothing could have been more welcome than the bullets to 
 penetrate his heart, and he turned up his eyes in a feeling 
 manner. 
 
 Charlotte's heart was exceedingly touched, and she had tears 
 in her eyes when she moved forward in the attitude of the por- 
 celain shepherdess in the parlour, to return a little volume of 
 selections of tender poetry, bound in crimson silk, that he had 
 lent to her some time since. 'Would she not honour him by 
 accepting a trifling gift V 
 
 She blushed, slie accepted ; and with needle-like pen, in char- 
 acters fine as hair, upon a scroll garlanded with forget-me-nots, 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS 235 
 
 cand borne in mid air by two portly doves, was Charlotte 
 Arnold's name inscribed by the hero of the barricades. 
 
 Oh, vanity ! vanity ! how many garbs dost thou wear ! 
 
 Delaford went away, satisfied that he had produced an impres- 
 sion such as he could improve if they should ever be thrown 
 together again. 
 
 The Lady of Eschalott remained anything but satisfied. She 
 was touchy and fretful, found everything a grievance, left cob- 
 webs in tlie corners, and finally went into hysterics because the 
 cat jumped at the canary-bird's cage. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS 
 
 When full upon his ardent soul 
 
 The champion feels the influence roll, 
 
 He swims the lake, he leajis the wall. 
 
 Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall. 
 
 Unshielded, mailless, on he goes, 
 
 Singly against a host of foes ! — Harold the Dauntless 
 
 * Jem ! Jem ! have you heard ? ' 
 ' What should I hear r 
 
 ' Mr. Lester is going to retire at Christmas ! ' 
 
 * Does that account for your irrational excitement ? ' 
 
 'And it has not occurred to you that the grammar-school 
 would be the making of you ! Endowment, 150/. — thirty, forty 
 boys at 10/. per annum, 400/. at least. That is 550/. — say 600/. 
 for certain ; and it would be doubled under a scholar and a 
 gentleman — 1200/. a year ! And you might throw it open to 
 boarders ; set up the houses in the Terrace, and let them at — 
 say 40/. Nine houses, nine times forty — ' 
 
 'Well done, Fitzjocelyn ! At this rate one need not go out 
 to Peru.' 
 
 ' Exactly so ; you would be doubling the value of your own 
 property as a secondary consideration, and doing incalculable 
 good — ' 
 
 'As if there were any more chance of my getting the school 
 than of the rest of it ! ' 
 
 ' So you really had not thought of standing ? ' 
 
 ' I would, most gladly, if there were the least hope of success. 
 I can't afford to miss any chance ; but it is mere folly to talk 
 of it. One-half of the trustees detest my principles ; the others 
 would think themselves insulted by a young man in deacon's 
 orders offering himself.' 
 
 ' It is evident that you are the only man on whom they can 
 combine who can save the school, and do any good to all those 
 boys — mind you, the important middle class, whom I would do 
 anything to train in sound principles.' 
 
236 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' So far, it is in my favour that I am one of the few University 
 men educated here.' 
 
 ' You are your grandmother's grandson — that is everything ; 
 and you have more experience of teaching tlian most men twice 
 your age.' 
 
 James made a face at his experience ; but little stimulus was 
 needed to make him attempt to avail himself of so fair an open- 
 ing, coming so much sooner than he could have dared to expect. 
 It was now September, and the two months of waiting and 
 separation seemed already like so many years. By the time Mrs. 
 Frost came in from her walk, she found the two young gentlemen 
 devising a circular, and composing applications for testimonials. 
 
 After the first start of surprise, and telling James he ought 
 to go to school himself, Mrs. Frost was easily persuaded to 
 enter heartily into the project ; but she insisted on the first 
 measure being to consult Mr. Calcott. He was the head of the 
 old sound and respectable party — the chairman of everything, 
 both in county and borough — and had the casting vote among 
 the eight trustees of King Edward's School, who, by old custom, 
 nominated each other from the landholders within the town. 
 She strongly deprecated attempting anything without first 
 ascertaining his views ; and, as the young men had lashed them- 
 selves into great ardour, the three walked ofi* at once to lay the 
 proposal before the Squire. 
 
 But Mr. Calcott was not at home. He had set ofi* yesterday, 
 with Miss Calcott and Miss Caroline, for a tour in Wales, and 
 would not return for a week or ten days. 
 
 To the imaginations of Lord Fitzjocelyn and Mr. Frost, this 
 was fatal delay. Besides, he would be sure to linger ! — He 
 would not come home for a month — nay, six weeks at least ! — 
 What candidates might not start — what pledges might not be 
 given in the meantime ! 
 
 James, vehement and disappointed, went home to spend the 
 evening on the concoction of what his grandmother approved 
 as 'a very proper letter,' to be despatched to meet the Squire at 
 the post-office at Caernarvon, and resigned himself to grumble 
 away the period of his absence, secretly relieved at the postpone- 
 ment of the evil day of the canvass, at which all the Pendragon 
 blood was in a state of revolt. 
 
 But Louis, in his solitude at Ormersfield, had nothing to dis- 
 tract his thoughts, or prevent him from lasping into one of his 
 most single-eyed fits of impetuosity. He had come to regard 
 James as the sole hope for North wold school, and Northwold 
 school as the sole hope for James ; and had created an indefinite 
 host of dangerous applicants, only to be forestalled by the most 
 vigorous measures. Evening, night, and morning did but in- 
 crease the conviction, till he ordered his horse, and galloped to 
 the Terrace, as though the speed of his charger would decide 
 the contest. 
 
 Eloquently and piteously did he protest against James's pro- 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS 237 
 
 mise to take no steps until the Squire's opinion should be known. 
 He convinced his cousin, talked over his aunt, and prevailed to 
 have the letter re-written, and sent off to the post with the 
 applications for testimonials. 
 
 Then the rough draft of the circular was revised and cor- 
 rected, till it appeared so admirable to Louis, that he snatched 
 it up, and ran away with it to read it to old Mr. Walby, who 
 was one of the trustees, and very fond of his last year's patient. 
 His promise, good easy man, was pretty sure to be the prize of 
 the first applicant ; but this did not render it less valuable to 
 his young lordship, who came back all glorious with an eighth 
 part of the victory, and highly delighted with the excellent 
 apothecary's most judicious and gratifying sentiments, — namely, 
 all his own eager rhetoric, to which the good man had cordially 
 given his meek puzzle-headed assent. Thenceforth Mr. Walby 
 was to 'think 'all Fitzjocelyn's strongest recommendations of 
 his cousin. 
 
 There was no use in holding back now. James was com- 
 mitted ; and, besides, there was a vision looming in the distance 
 of a scholar from a foreign University with less than half a 
 creed. Thenceforth prompt measures were a mere duty to the 
 rising generation ; and Louis dragged his Coriolanus into the 
 town, to call upon certain substantial tradesmen who had voices 
 among the eight. 
 
 Civility was great ; but the portly grocer and gentlemanly 
 bookseller had both learned prudence in many an election ; 
 neither would make any immediate reply — the one because he 
 never did anything but what Mr. Calcott directed, and the 
 other never pledged himself till all the candidates were in the 
 field, and he had impartially printed all their addresses. 
 
 Richardson, the solicitor, and man-of -business to the Ormersr 
 field estate, appeared so sure a card, that James declared that he 
 was ashamed of the farce of calling upon him ; but they ob- 
 tained no decided reply. Louis was proud that Richardson 
 should display an independent conscience, and disdained his 
 cousin's sneering comment, that he liad forgotten that there 
 were no other clients in the county besides tlie Fitzjocelyns. 
 
 No power could drag Mr. Frost a step further. He would not 
 hear of canvassing that 'very intelligent' Mr. Ramsbotham-, 
 of the Factory, who had been chosen at unawares by the trustees 
 before his principles had developed themselves ; far less on his 
 nominee, the wealthy butcher, always more demonstratively of 
 the same mind. 
 
 James declared, first, that he would have nothing to do with 
 them ; secondly, that he could not answer it, to the Earl to let 
 Louis ask a favour of them ; thirdly, that he had rather fail 
 than owe/ his election to them ; fourthly, that it would be most 
 improper usage of Mr. Calcott to curry favour with men who 
 systematically opposed him ; and, fifthly, that they could^ only 
 vote for him on a misunderstanding of his intentions. 
 
238 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 The eighth trustee was a dead letter, — an old gentleman long 
 retired from business at his bank to a cottage at the Lakes, 
 where he was written to, but without much hope of liis taking 
 the' trouble even to reply. However, if the choice lay only 
 between James and the representative of the new lights, there 
 could be little reasonable fear. 
 
 Much fretting and fuming was expended on the non-arrival 
 of a letter from Mr. Calcott ; but on the appointed tenth day 
 he came home, and the next morning James was at Ormersfield 
 in an agony of disappointment. The Squire had sent him a 
 note, kind in expression, regretting his inability to give his 
 interest to one for whom he had always so much regard, and 
 whose family he so highly respected ; but that he had already 
 promised his support to a Mr. Powell, the under-master of a 
 large classical school, whom he thought calculated for the situa- 
 tion, both by experience and acquirements. 
 
 James had been making sure enough of the school to growl 
 at his intended duties ; but he had built so entirely on success, 
 and formed so many projects, that the disappointment was 
 extreme ; it appeared a cruel injury in so old a friend to have 
 overlooked him. He had been much vexed with his grand- 
 mother for regarding the veto as decisive ; and he viewed all 
 his hopes of happiness with Isabel as overthrown. 
 
 Louis partook and exaggerated his sentiments. They railed — 
 the one fiercely, the other philosophically — against the Squire's 
 domineering ; they proved him narrow and prejudiced — afraid 
 of youth, afraid of salutary reform, bent on prolonging the dull 
 old system, and on bringing in a mere usher. They recollected 
 a mauvais suJet from the said classical school ; argued that it 
 never turned out good scholars, nor good men ; and that they 
 should be conferring the greatest benetit on North wold burghers 
 yet unborn, by recalling the old Squire to a better mind, or by 
 bringing in James Frost in spite of him. 
 
 Not without hopes of the first, though, as James told him, 
 no one would have nourished them save himself, Louis set forth 
 for Little Northwold, with the same valour which had made 
 him the champion of the Marksedge poacher. He found the 
 old gentleman good-natured and sympathizing, for he liked the 
 warm f riendsliip of ' the two boys, and had not the most remote 
 idea of their disputing his verdict. 
 
 ' It is very unlucky that I was from home,' he said. * I am 
 afraid the disappointment will be the greater from its having 
 gone so far.' 
 
 ' May I ask whether you are absolutely pledged to Mr. Powell 1 ' 
 
 * Why, yes, I may say so. Considering all things, it is best as 
 it is. I should have been unwilling to vex my good old friend, 
 Mrs. Frost ; and yet,' smiling benignantly on his fretted auditor, 
 * I have to look out for the school first of all, you know.' 
 
 * Perhaps I shall not allow that Mr. Powell is the best look- 
 out for the school, sir.' 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS 239 
 
 ' Eh ? The best under the circumstances. Such a place as 
 this wants experience and discipline more than scholarship. 
 Powell is the very man, and has been waiting for it long ; and 
 young Frost could do much better for himself if he will only 
 have patience.' 
 
 * Then his age is all that is against him ? The only inferiority 
 to Mr. Powell r 
 
 * H'm ! yes, I may say so. Inferior ? No, he is superior 
 enough ; it is a mere joke to compare them ; but this is not a 
 post for one of your young unmarried men.' 
 
 *If that be all,' cried Louis, 'the objection would be soon 
 removed. It may be an inducement to hear that you would be 
 making two people happy instead of one.' 
 
 * Now, don't tell me so ! ' almost angrily exclaimed the Squire. 
 * Jem Frost marry ! He has no business to think of it these ten 
 years ! He ought to be minding his grandmother and sister. 
 To marry on that school would be serving poor Mrs. Frost 
 exactly as his poor absurd father did before him, and she is too 
 old to have all that over again. I thought he was of a different 
 sort of stamp.' 
 
 * My aunt gives her full consent.' 
 
 ^I've no doubt of it! just like her! But he ought to be 
 ashamed to ask her, at her age, when she should have every 
 comfort he could give her. Pray, who is the lady ? There was 
 some nonsense afloat about Miss Conway ; but I never believed 
 him so foolish ! ' 
 
 * It is perfectly true, but I must beg you not to mention it ; 
 I ought not to have been betrayed into mentioning it.' 
 
 * You need not caution me. It is not news I should be 
 forward to spread. What does your father say to it ? ' 
 
 ' The engagement took place since he left England.' 
 ' I should think so ! ' Then pausing, he added, with conde- 
 scending good-nature, 'Well, Fitzjocelyn, I seem to you a 
 terrible old flint-stone, but I can't help that. There are consider- 
 ations besides true love, you know ; and for these young people, 
 they can't have pined out their hearts yet, as, by your own 
 showing, they have not been engaged three months. If it were 
 Sydney himself, I should tell him that love is all the better for 
 keeping — if it is good for anything ; and where there is such a 
 disparity, it ought, above all, to be tested by waiting. So tell 
 Master Jem, with my best wishes, to take care of his grand- 
 mother. I shall think myself doing him a kindness in keeping 
 him out of the school, if it is to hinder him from marrying at 
 four-and-twenty, and a girl brought up as she has been ! ' 
 
 ' And, Mr. Calcott,' said Louis, rising, ' you will excuse my 
 viewing my cousin's engagement as an additional motive for 
 doing my utmost to promote his success in obtaining a situ- 
 ation for which I consider him as eminently fitted. Good 
 morning, sir.' 
 
 * Good morning, my lord.' 
 
-240 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn departed so grave, so courteous, so dignified, 
 so resolute, so comically like his father, that the old Squire 
 threw himself back in his chair and laughed heartily. The 
 magnificent challenge of war to the knife was no more to him 
 than the adjuration he had heard last year in the justice-room ; 
 and he no more expected these two lads to make any efiectual 
 opposition than he did to see them repeal the game-laws. 
 
 The Viscount meanwhile rode ofi* thoroughly roused to indig- 
 nation. The good sense of sixty naturally fell hard and cold on 
 the ears of twenty-two, and it was one of the moments wlien 
 counsel inflamed instead of checking him. Never angry on his 
 own account, he could be exceedingly wrathful for others ; and 
 the unlucky word, disparity, drove him especially wild. In 
 mere charity, he thought it right to withhold this insult to the 
 Pendragons from his cousin's ears ; but this very reserve seemed 
 to bind him to resent it in James's stead ; and he was far more 
 blindly impetuous than if, as usual, he had seen James so vehe- 
 ment that he was obliged to try to curb and restrain him. 
 
 He would not hear of giving in ! When the Ramsbotham 
 candidate appeared, and James scrupled to divide the contrary 
 interest, Louis laid the whole blame of the split upon Mr. 
 Calcott ; while, as to poor Mr. Powell, no words were compas- 
 sionate enough for his dull, slouching, ungentlemanly air ; and 
 he was pronounced to be an old writing-master, fit for nothing 
 but to mend pens. 
 
 But Mr. Walby's was still their sole promise. The grocer 
 followed the Squire ; the bookseller was liberal, and had in- 
 vited the Ramsbotham candidate to dinner. On this alarming 
 symptom, Fitzjocelyn fell upon Richardson, and talked, and 
 talked, and talked till the solicitor c'ould either bear it no 
 longer, or feared for the Ormersfield agency ; and his vote was 
 carried off as a captive. 
 
 This triumph alarmed Mrs. Frost and James, who knew how 
 scrupulously the Earl abstained from seeking anything like 
 a favour at !Northw^old; and they tried to impress this on 
 Louis, but he was exalted far above even understanding the 
 remonstrance. It was all their disinterestedness ; he had no 
 notion of that guarded pride which would incur no obligation. 
 *No, no ; if Jem would be beholden to no one, he would accept 
 all as personal kindness to himself. Expect a return ! he 
 returned good-will- -of course he would do any one a kindness. 
 Claims, involving himself ! he would take care of that ; and off 
 he went laughing. 
 
 He came in the next day, announcing a still grander and 
 more formidable encounter. He had met Mr. Ramsbotham 
 himself, and secured his promise that, in case he failed in carry- 
 ing his own man, he and the butcher would support Mr. Frost. 
 
 The fact was, that Lord Fitzjocelvn's advocacy of the poacher, 
 his free address, his sympathy for the masses,.' and his careless 
 words, had inspired expectations of his liberal views; Mr. 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS 241 
 
 Ramsbotham was not sorry to establish a claim, and was like- 
 wise gratified by the frank engaging manners, which increased 
 tlie pleasure of being solicited by a nobleman — a distinction of 
 which he thought more than did all the opposite party. 
 
 To put James beyond the perils of the casting vote was next 
 the point. Without divulging his tactics, Louis flew ofl* one 
 morning by the train, made a sudden descent on the recluse 
 banker at Ambleside, barbarously used his gift of the ceaseless 
 tongue, till the poor old man was nearly distracted, touched his 
 wife's tender heart with good old Mrs. Frost and the two lovers, 
 and made her promise to bring him comfortably and quietly 
 down to stay at Ormersfleld and give his vote. 
 
 And so, when the election finally came on, Mr. Calcott found 
 himself left with only his faithful grocer to support hh protege. 
 Three votes were given at once for the Reverend James Roland 
 Frost Dynevor ; the bookseller followed as soon as he saw how 
 the land lay ; and Ramsbotham and Co. swelled the majority as 
 soon as they saw that their friend had no chance. 
 
 Poor Mr. Powell went home to his drudgery with his wrinkles 
 deeper than ever ; and his wife sighed as she resigned her last 
 hope of sending her son to the University. 
 
 Mr. Calcott had, for the first time in his life, been over-ridden 
 by an unscrupulous use of his neighbour's rank ; and of the 
 youthfulness that inspired hopes of fixing a claim on an untried, 
 inexperienced man. 
 
 The old Squire was severely hurt and mortified ; but he was 
 very magnanimous — generously wished James joy, and congratu- 
 lated Mrs. Frost with all his heart. He was less cordial with 
 Louis ; but the worst he said of him was, that he was but a 
 lad, his father was out of the way, and he wished he might not 
 find that he had got himself into a scrape. He could not think 
 why a man of old Ormersfield's age should go figuring round 
 Cape Horn, instead of staying to keep his own son in order. 
 
 Sydney was absent ; but the rest of the family and their 
 friends were less forbearing than the person chiefly concerned. 
 They talked furiously, and made a strong exertion of forgiveness 
 in order not to cut Fitzjocelyn. Sir Gilbert Brewster vowed 
 that it would serve him right to be turned out of the troop, and 
 that he must keep a sharp look out lest he should sow disaflec- 
 tion among the Yeomanry. Making friends with Ramsbotham ! 
 never taking out a gun ! The country was going to the dogs 
 when sucli as he was to be a peer ! 
 
242 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE TRYSTE 
 
 One single flash of glad surprise 
 
 Just glanced from Isabel's dark e5"es, 
 
 Then vanished in the blush of shame 
 
 That as its penance instant came — 
 
 'O thought unworthy of my race!' — The Lord of the JsUs 
 
 As little recked Fitzjocelyn of the murmurs which he had pro- 
 voked, as he guessed the true secret of his victory. In his 
 eyes, it was the triumph of merit over prejudice ; and Mrs. 
 Frost espoused the same gratifying view, though ascribing much 
 to her nephew's activity ; and James himself, flushed with hope 
 and success, was not likely to dissent. 
 
 Next they had to make their conquest available. Apart from 
 Louis's magnificent prognostications, at the lowest computation, 
 the head-master's income amounted to a sum which to James 
 appeared affluence ; and though there was no house provided, it 
 mattered the less since there were five to choose from in the 
 Terrace, even if his grandmother had not wished that their 
 household should be still the same. With Miss Conway's own 
 fortune and the Terrace settled on herself, where could be 
 any risk ? 
 
 Would Lady Conway think so ? and how should the commu- 
 nication be made? James at first proposed writing to her, en- 
 closing a letter to Isabel ; but he changed his mind, unable to 
 satisfy himself that, when absent from restraint, she might not 
 send a refusal without afibrding her daughter the option. He 
 begged his grandmother to write to Isabel ; but she thought 
 her letter might carry too much weight, and, whatever might 
 be her hopes, it was not for her to tell the young lady that such 
 means were sufficient. 
 
 Louis bagged to be the bearer of the letter. His aunt would 
 certainly keep terms with him, and he could insure that the 
 case was properly laid before Isabel ; and, as there could be no 
 doubt at present of his persuasive powers, James caught at the 
 ofier. The party were still at Beauchastel, and he devised going 
 to his old quarters at Ebbscreek, and making a descent upon 
 them from thence. 
 
 When he came to take up his credentials, he found James and 
 his little black leathern bag determined to come at least to 
 Ebbscreek with him, and declaring it made him frantic to stay 
 at home and leave his cause in other hands, and that he could 
 not exist anywhere but close to the scene of action. 
 
 Captain Hannaford was smoking in his demi-boat, and gave 
 his former lodgers a hearty welcome ; but he twinkled know- 
 ingly with his eye, and so significantly volunteered to inform 
 them that the ladies were still at Beauchastel, that James's 
 
THE TRYSTE 243 
 
 wrath at the old skipper's impudence began to revive, and he 
 walked off to the remotest end of the garden. 
 
 The Captain, remaining with Louis, with whom he was always 
 on far more easy terms, looked after the other gentleman, 
 winked again, and confessed that he had suspected one or other 
 of them might be coming that way this summer, though he could 
 not say he had expected to see them both together. 
 
 ' Mind, Captain,' said Louis, ' it wasn't / that made the boat 
 late this time last year.' 
 
 * Well ! I might be wrong ; I fancied you cast an eye that way. 
 Then maybe it ain't true what's all over the place here.' 
 
 Louis pressed to hear what. ' Why, that when the French 
 were going on like Eobert Spear and them old times, he had 
 convoyed the young lady right through the midst of them ; and 
 they would both have been shot, if my lady's butler hadn't 
 come down with a revolver, killed half-a-dozen of the mob, and 
 rescued them out of it ; but that Lord Fitzjocelyn had been 
 desperately wounded in going back to fetch her bracelet, and 
 Mr. Delaford had carried him out in his arms.' 
 
 ' Well ! ' said Louis, coolly, without altering a muscle of his 
 face, as the Captain looked for an angry negative. 
 
 'And when they got home, — so the story went, — Mr. Frost, 
 the tutor, was so mad with jealousy and rage, that my lady 
 declared those moorings would not suit her no longer, but had 
 let go, and laid her head right for Beauchastel.' 
 
 'Pray what was the young lady supposed to think of the 
 matter ? ' 
 
 Reports appeared to vary. One version said that Mr. Delaford 
 had found him on his knees to her ; and that my lady had 
 snatched her cruelly away, because she would not have her 
 married before her own daughters, and looked over all the post, 
 for fear there should be a letter for her. Another declared that 
 Miss Conway would not have him at any price, and was set 
 upon the poor tutor, and that he was lying dangerously ill of a 
 low fever. — 'The women will have it so,' observed the Captain ; 
 'the story's everywhere, except maybe in the parlour at Beau- 
 chastel, and I wouldn't wonder if Mrs. Mansell knew it all her- 
 self, for her maid has a tongue a yard long. I won't say but I 
 thought there might be some grain of truth at the bottom ' 
 
 ' And you shall hear it by and by, when I know what it is 
 myself.' 
 
 'I'd not say I would have believed it the more if that fine 
 gentleman had taken his oath of it — a fellow that ain't to be 
 trusted,' observed the Captain. 
 
 This might have led to a revelation, if Louis had had time to 
 attend to it ; but he had pity on James's impatient misery, and 
 proceeded to ask the loan of the boat. The tide would not, 
 however, serve ; and as waiting till it would was not to be en- 
 dured, the two cousins set off to walk together through the 
 woods, Louis beguiling the way by chaffing James, as far as he 
 
 R 2 
 
244 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 would bear, with the idea of Isabel's name being trifled with by 
 the profane crowd. 
 
 He left James at the gate of the park, prowling about like a 
 panther to try for a glimpse of Isabel's window, and feeding his 
 despair and jealousy that Louis should boldly walk up to the 
 door, while he, with so much better a right, was excluded by his 
 unguarded promise to Lady Conway. 
 
 All the tumultuary emotions of his mind were endlessly re- 
 peated, and many a slow and pealing note of the church-clock 
 liad added fuel to his impatience, and spurred him to rush up 
 to the door and claim his rights, before Louis came bounding 
 past the lodge-gates, flourishing his cap, and crying, ' Hurrah, 
 Jem! All right!' 
 
 ' I'm going to her at once ! ' cried Jem, beginning to rush off ; 
 but Louis caught and imprisoned his arm. 
 
 ' Not so fast, sir ! You are to see her. I promise you shall 
 see her if you wish it, but it must be in my aunt's way.' 
 
 ' Let me go, I say ! ' 
 
 'When I have walked five miles in your service, you won't 
 afford me an arm to help me back. I am not a horse with 
 wings, and I won't be Cupid's post except on my own terms. 
 Come back.' 
 
 ' I don't stir till I have heard the state of the case.' 
 
 ' Yes, you do ; for all the sportsmen will be coming home, 
 and my aunt would not for all the world that Mr. Mansell 
 caught you on the forbidden ground.' 
 
 ' How can you give in to such shuffling nonsense ! If I am to 
 claim Isabel openly, why am I not to visit her openly ? You have 
 yielded to that woman's crooked policy. I don't trust you ! ' 
 
 ' When you are her son, you may manage her as you please. 
 Just now she has us in her power, and can impose conditions. 
 Come on ; and if you are good, you shall hear.' 
 
 Drawing James along with him through the beechwood 
 glades, he began, ' You would have been more insane still if you 
 had guessed at my luck. I found Isabel alone. Mrs. Mansell 
 had taken tJie girls to some juvenile fete, and Delaford was 
 discreet enough not to rouse my aunt from her letters. I 
 augured well from the happy conjunction.' 
 
 ' Go on ; don't waste time in stuff.' 
 
 ' Barkis is willing, then. Is that enough to the point ? ' 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn, you never had any feelings yourself, and there- 
 fore you trifle with those of others.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon. It was a shame ! Jem, you may be 
 proud. She trusts you completely ; and whatever you think 
 sufficient, she regards as ample.' 
 
 'Like her! Only too like her. Such confidence makes one 
 feel a redoubled responsibility.' 
 
 ' I thought I had found something at which you could not 
 grumble.' 
 
 ' How does she look ? How do they treat her ? ' 
 
THE TKYSTE 245 
 
 ^ Apparently they have not yet fed lier on bread and water. 
 No ; seriously, T must confess that she looked uncommonly well 
 and lovely ! Never mind, Jem ; I verily believe tliat, in spite of 
 absence and all that, she had never been so happy in her life. 
 If any description could convey the sweetness of voice and 
 manner when she spoke of you I I could not look in her face. 
 Those looks can only be for you. We talked it over, but she 
 heeded no ways and means ; it was enough that you were satis- 
 fied. Slie says the subject has never been broached since the 
 flight from Northwold, and that Lady Conway's kindness never 
 varies ; and she told me she liad little fear but that her dear 
 mamma would be prevailed on to give sanction enough to hinder 
 he-r from feeling as if she were doing wrong, or setting a bad 
 example to her sisters. They know nothing of it ; but Walter, 
 who learnt it no one knows how, draws the exemplary moral, 
 that it serves his mother right for inflicting a tutor on him.' 
 
 * Has she had my letter ? Does she know I am here ? ' 
 
 ' Wait ! All this settled, and luncheon being ready, down 
 came my lady, and we played unconsciousness to our best 
 ability. I must confess my aunt beat us hollow ! Isabel 
 then left us to our conference, which we conducted with the 
 gravity of a tailor and an old woman making a match in 
 Brittany.' 
 
 ' You came out with that valuable improvable freehold, the 
 Terrace, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' I told the mere facts ! My aunt was rather grand about a 
 grammar-school ; she said even a curacy would sound better, 
 and she must talk it over with Isabel. I gave your letter, con- 
 juring her to let Isabel have it ; and though she declared that 
 it was no kindness, and would put the poor darling into needless 
 perplexity, she was touched with my forbearance, in not having 
 given it before, when I had such an opportunity. So she went 
 away, and stayed a weary while ; but when she came, it was 
 worth the waiting. She said Isabel was old enough to know 
 her own mind, and the attachment being so strong, and you so 
 unexceptionable, she did not think it possible to object : she 
 had great delight in seeing you made happy, and fulfilling the 
 dictates of her own heart, now that it could be done with 
 moderate prudence. They go to Scarborough in a fortnight, 
 and you will be welcome there. There's for you ! ' 
 
 ' Louis, you are the best fellow living ! But you said I was to 
 see her at once.' 
 
 * I asked, why wait for Scarborough ? and depicted you hover- 
 ing disconsolately round the precincts. Never mind, Jem, I did 
 not make you more ridiculous than human nature must needs 
 paint a lover, and it was all to melt her heart. I was starting 
 off to fetch you, when I found she was in great terror. She had 
 never told the Mansells of the matter, and they must be prepared. 
 She cannot have it transpire while she is in their house, and, in 
 fact, is excessively afraid of Mr Mansell, and wants to tell her 
 
246 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 story by letter. Now, I think, considering all things, she has a 
 right to take her own way.' 
 
 ' You said I was not to go without meeting her ! ' 
 
 'I had assented, and was devising how to march off my 
 lunatic quietly, when the feminine good-natured heart that is 
 in her began to relent, and she looked up in my face with a 
 smile, and said the poor dears were really exemplary, and if 
 Isabel should walk to the beach and should meet any one there, 
 she need know nothing about it.' 
 
 ' What says Isabel % ' 
 
 'She held up her stately head, and thought it would be a 
 better return for Mr. Mansell's kindness to tell him herself 
 before leaving Beauchastel ; but Lady Conway entreated her not 
 to be hasty, and protested that her fears were of Mr. Mansell's dis- 
 pleasure with her for not having taken better care of her — she 
 dreaded a break, and so on, — till the end of it was, that though 
 we agree that prudence would carry us off to-morrow morning, 
 yet her ladyship will look the other way, if you liappen to be 
 on the southern beach at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. 
 I suppose you were very headlong and peremptory in your 
 note, for I could not imagine Isabel consenting to a secret tryste 
 even so authorized.' 
 
 ' I never asked for any such thing. I would not for worlds 
 see her led to do anything underhand.' 
 
 ' She will honour you ! That's right, Jem ! ' 
 
 ' Neither as a clergyman, nor as a Dynevor, can I consent to 
 trick even those who have no claim to her duty ! ' 
 
 'Neither as a gentleman, nor as a human creature,' added 
 Louis, in the same tone. 'Shall I go back and give your 
 answer ? ' 
 
 'No ; you are walking lame enough already.' 
 
 ' No matter for that.' 
 
 'To tell you the truth, I can't stand your being with her 
 again, while I am made a fool of by that woman. If I'm not 
 to see her, I'll be off. I'll send her a note ; we will cross to 
 Bickleypool, and start by the mail train this very night.' 
 
 Louis made no objection, and James hurried him into the 
 little parlour, where in ten minutes the note was dashed off : — 
 
 'My own most precious one !— (as, thanks to my most un- 
 selfish of cousins, I may dare to call you,) — I regret my fervency 
 and urgency for an interview, since it led you to think I could 
 purchase even such liappiness by a subterfuge unworthy of my 
 calling, and an ill return of the hospitality to which we owed 
 our first meeting. We will meet when I claim you in the face 
 of day, without the sense of stolen felicity, which is a charm to 
 commonplace minds. My glory is in the assurance that you 
 understand my letter, approve, and are relieved. With such 
 sanction, and with ardour before you like mine, I see that you 
 could do no other than consent, and there is not a shadow of 
 
THE TKYSTE 247 
 
 censure in my mind ; but if, without compromising your sense 
 of obedience, you could openly avow our engagement to Mr. 
 Mansell, I own that I should feel that we were not drawn into 
 a compromise of sincerity. What this costs me I will not say ; 
 it will be bare existence till we meet at Scarborough. 
 
 'Your own, J. R. F. D.' 
 
 Having written this and deposited it in the Ebbscreek post- 
 office, James bethought himself that his submissive cousin had 
 thrown himself on the floor, with his bag for a pillow, trying to 
 make the most of the few moments of rest before the midnight 
 journey. Seized with compunction, James exclaimed, — ' There, 
 old fellow, we will stay to-night.' 
 
 ' Thank you — ' He was too sleepy for more. 
 
 The delay was recompensed. James was trying to persuade 
 Louis to rouse himself to be revived by bread-and-cheese and 
 beer, and could extort nothing but a drowsy repetition of the 
 rhyme, in old days the war-cry of the Grammar-school against 
 the present head-master, — 
 
 'The Welshman had liked to be choked by a mouse, 
 But he pulled him out by the tail,' — 
 
 when an alarum came in the shape of a little grinning boy from 
 Beauchastel, with a note on which James had nearly laid hands^ 
 as he saw the writing, though the address was to the Viscount 
 Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 ' You may have it,' said Louis. * If anything were wanting, 
 the coincidence proves that you were cut out for one another. 
 I rejoice that the moon does not stoop from her sphere.' 
 
 ' My dear Cousin, — I trust to you to prevent Mr. F. Dynevor 
 from being hurt or disappointed ; and, indeed, I scarcely think 
 he will, though I should not avail myself of the permission for 
 meeting him so kindly intended. I saw at once that you felt 
 as I did, and as I know he will. He would not like me to have 
 cause to blush before my kind friends — to know that I had 
 acted a deceit, nor to set an example to my sisters for which 
 they might not understand the justification. I know that you 
 will obtain my pardon, if needed ; and to be assured of it, 
 would be all that would be required to complete the grateful 
 liappiness of 
 
 ^Isabel.' 
 
 The boy had orders not to wait ; and these being seconded by 
 fears of something that ' walked ' in Ebbscreek wood after dark, 
 he was gone before an answer could be thought of. It mattered 
 tlie less, since Isabel must receive James's note early in the 
 morning ; and so, in fact, she did — and she was blushing over 
 it, and feeling as if she could never have borne to meet his eye 
 but for the part she had fortunately taken, when Louisa tapped 
 
248 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 at her door, with a message that Mr. Mansell wished to speak 
 with her, if she were ready. 
 
 She went down-stairs still in a glow, and her old friend's first 
 words were a compliment on her roses, so pointed, that she 
 doubted for a moment whether he did not think them suspicious, 
 especially as he put his hands behind his back, and paced up 
 and down the room for some moments. He then came towards 
 her, and said, in a very kind tone, ' Isabel, my dear, I sent for 
 you first, because I knew your own mother very well, my dear ; 
 and though Lady Conway is very kind, and has always done 
 you justice, — that I will always say for her, — yet there are times 
 when it may make a difference to a young woman whether she 
 has her own mother or not.' 
 
 Isabel's heart was beating. She was certain that some dis- 
 covery had been made, and longed to explain ; but she was wise 
 enough not to speak in haste, and waited to see how the old 
 gentleman would finally break it to her. He blundered on a 
 little longer, becoming more confused and distressed every 
 minute, and at last came to the point abruptly. ' In short, Isabel, 
 my dear, what can you have done to set people saying that you 
 have been corresponding with the young men at Ebbscreek 1 ' 
 
 ' I sent a note to my Cousin Fitzjocelyn last night,' said Isabel, 
 with such calmness, that the old gentleman fairly stood with 
 his mouth open, looking at her aghast. 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn! Then it is Fitzjocelyn, is it?' he exclaimed. 
 'Then, why could he not set about it openly and honourably? 
 Does his father object? I would not have thought it of you, 
 Isabel, nor of the lad neither ! ' 
 
 ' You need not think it, dear Mr. Mansell. There is nothing 
 between Lord Fitzjocelyn and myself but the warmest friendship.' 
 
 ' Isabel ! Isabel ! why are you making mysteries ? I do not 
 wish to pry into your affairs. I would have trusted you any- 
 where ; but when it comes round to me that you liave been 
 sending a private messenger to one of the young gentlemen 
 there, I don't know wliat to be at ! I would not believe Mrs. 
 Mansell at first ; but I saw the boy, and he said you had sent 
 him yourself. My dear, you may mean very rightly — I am 
 sure you do ; but you must not set people talking ! It is not 
 acting rightly by me, Isabel ; but I would not care for that, if 
 it were acting rightly by yourself.' And he gazed at her with 
 a piteous, perplexed expression. 
 
 ' Let me call mamma,' said Isabel. 
 
 ' As you will, my dear ; but cannot you let the simple trutli 
 come out between you and your own blood-relation, without all 
 her words to come between ? Can't you, Isabel ? I am sure 
 you and I shall understand eacli other.' 
 
 ' That we shall,' replied Isabel, warmly. ' I have given lier 
 no promise. Dear Mr. Mansell, I have wished all along that 
 you should know that I am engaged, with her full consent, to 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor.' 
 
THE TRY8TE 249 
 
 ' To the little black tutor ! ' cried Mr. Mansell, recoiling, but 
 recollecting himself. ' I beg your pardon, my dear ; he may be 
 a very good man ; but what becomes of all this scrambling over 
 barricades with the young lord ? ' 
 
 Isabel described the true history of her engagement ; and it 
 was received with a long, low whistle, by no means too compli- 
 mentary. 
 
 ' And what makes him come and hide in holes and corners, 
 if this is all with your mamma's good-will ? ' 
 
 ' Mamma thought you would be displeased ; she insisted on 
 taking her own time for breaking it to you,' said Isabel. 
 
 'Was there ever a woman but must have her mystery! 
 Well, I should have liked him better if he had not given, 
 in to it ! ' 
 
 ' He never did ! ' said Isabel, indignant enough to disclose in 
 full the whole arrangement made by Lady Conway's manoeuvres 
 and lax good-nature. ' I knew it would never do,' she added, 
 Hhough I could not say so before her and Fitzjocelyn. My 
 note was to tell them to : and look here, Mr. Mansell, this is what 
 Mr. Dynevor had already written before receiving mine.' 
 
 She held it out proudly ; and Mr. Mansell, making an un- 
 willing sound between his teeth, took it from her ; but, as he 
 read, his countenance changed, and he exclaimed, ' Ha ! very 
 well ! This is sometliing like ! So that's it, is it 1 You and he 
 would not combine to cheat the old man, like a pair of lovers in 
 a trumpery novel ! ' 
 
 ' No, indeed ! ' said Isabel ; ' that would be a bad way of be- 
 ginning.' 
 
 ' Wliere is the young fellow ?— at Ebbscreek, did you say ? 
 I'll tell you what, Isabel,' with his hand on the bell, ' 1 11 have 
 out the dog-cart this minute, and fetch him home to breakfast, 
 to meet my lady when she comes down-stairs, if it be only for 
 the sake of showing tliat I like plain dealing ! ' 
 
 Isabel could only blush, smile, look doubtful, and yet so very 
 happy and grateful, that Mr. Mansell became cautious, lest his 
 impulse should have carried him too far ; and, after having 
 ordered the vehicle to be prepared, he caught her by the hand, 
 and detained her, saying, ' Mind you. Miss, you are not to take 
 this for over-much. I'm afraid it is a silly business, and I did 
 not want you to throw yourself away on a schoolmaster. I 
 must see and talk to the man myself ; but I won't have anything 
 that's not open and above-board, and that my lady shall see for 
 once in her life ! ' 
 
 ' I'm not afraid,' said Isabel, smiling. ' James will make his 
 own way with you.' 
 
 Isabel ran away to excuse and explain her confession to Lady 
 Conway ; while Mr. Mansell indulged in another whistle, and 
 til en went to inform his wife that he was afraid the girl had 
 been making a fool of herself ; but it was not Lady Conway's 
 fault that she was nothing worse, and he was resolved, whatever 
 
250 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 he did, to show that honesty was the only thing that would 
 go down with him. 
 
 The boat was rocking on the green waves, and Louis was in 
 the act of waving an adieu to deaf Mrs. Hannaford, when a 
 huntsman's halloo caused James to look round and behold Mr. 
 Mansell standing up in his dog-cart, making energetic signals 
 with his whip. 
 
 He had meant to be very guarded, and wait to judge of James 
 before showing that he approved ; but the excitement of the ohase 
 betrayed him into a glow of cordiality, and he shook hands with 
 vehemence. 
 
 'That's right! — Justin time! Jump in, and come home to 
 breakfast. So you wouldn't be a party to my lady's tricks !-- 
 just like her — just as she wheedled poor Conway. I will let 
 her see how I esteem plain dealing ! I don't say that I see my 
 way through this business ; but we'll talk it over together, and 
 settle matters without my lady.' 
 
 James hardly knew where he was, between joy and surprise. 
 The invitation was extended to his companion ; but Fitzjocelyn 
 discerned that both James and Mr. Mansell would prefer being 
 left to themselves ; he had a repugnance to an immediate dis- 
 cussion with the one aunt, and was in haste to carry the tidings 
 to the other : and besides, it was becoming possible that letters 
 might arrive from the travellers. Actuated by all these motives, 
 he declined the offer of hospitality, and rowed across to Bickley- 
 pool, enlightening the Captain on the state of affairs as far as 
 he desired. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY 
 
 THE THIRD TIME 
 
 Tho* this was fair, and tliat was braw, 
 
 And yon tlie toast of all the town, 
 I sighed and said, amang them a'. 
 
 Ye are not Mary Morison. — Burns 
 
 Mrs. Frost and Louis were very merry over the result of 
 Lady Conway's stratagems, and sat up indulging in bright 
 anticipations until so late an hour, that Louis was compelled to 
 relinquish his purpose of going home that night, but he per- 
 sisted in walking to Ormersfield before breakfast, that lie might 
 satisfy himself whether there were any letters. 
 
 It was a brisk October morning, the sportsman's gun and 
 whistle re-echoing from the hill-sides ; where here and there 
 appeared the dogs careering along over green turnip-fields or 
 across amber stubble. The little Northwold trees, in dark, 
 sober tints of brown and purple, hung over the gray wall, tinted 
 by hoary lichen ; and as Louis entered the Ormersfield field - 
 paths, and plunged into his own Ferny dell, the long grass and 
 brackens liung over the path, weighed down with silvery dew, 
 
THE THIRD TIME 251 
 
 and the large cavernous web of the autumnal spider was all one 
 thick flake of wet. 
 
 If he could not enter the ravine without thankfulness for his 
 past escape, neither could he forget gratitude to her who had 
 come to his relief from hopeless agony ! He quickened his pace, 
 in the earnest longing for tidings, which had seized him, even 
 to heart-sickness. 
 
 It was the reaction of the ardour and excitement that had so 
 long possessed him. The victory had been gained — he had been 
 obliged to leave James to work in his own cause, and would be 
 no longer wanted in the same manner by his cousin. The sense 
 of loneliness, and of the want of an object, came strongly upon 
 him as he walked through the prim old solitary garden, and 
 looked up at the dreary windows of the house, almost reluctant 
 to enter, as long as it was without Mary's own serene atmo- 
 sphere of sympathy and good sense, her precious offices of 
 love, her clear steady eyes, even in babyhood his trustworthy 
 counsellors. 
 
 Was it a delusion of fancy, acting on reflections in the glass, 
 that, as he mounted the steps from the lawn, depicted Mary's 
 figure through the dining-room windows ? Nay, the table was 
 really laid for breakfast — a female figure was actually standing 
 over the tea-chest. 
 
 ' A scene from the Vica?^ of Wakefield deluding me,' decided 
 Louis, advancing to the third window, which was open. 
 
 It was Mary Ponsonby. 
 
 ' Mary ! ' 
 
 ' You here ? — They said you were not at home ! ' 
 
 ' My father?— Where r 
 
 ' He is not come down. He is as well as possible. We came 
 at eleven last night. I found I was not wanted,' added Mary, 
 with a degree of agitation, that made him conclude that she 
 had lost her father. 
 
 One step he made to find the Earl, but too much excited to 
 move away or to stand still, he came towards her, wrung her 
 hand in a more real way than in his first bewildered surprise, 
 and exclaimed in transport, ' O Mary ! Mary ! to have you back 
 again ! ' then, remembering his inference, added, low and gravely, 
 ' It makes me selfish — I was not thinking of your grief.' 
 
 'Never mind,' said Mary, smiling, though her eyes over- 
 flowed, ' I must be glad to be at liome again, and such a 
 welcome as this — ' 
 
 ' O Mary ! Mary ! ' he cried, nearly beside himself, ' I have 
 not known what to do without you ! You will believe it now, 
 Avon't you ? — oh, won't you ? ' 
 
 Mary would have been a wonderful person had she not in- 
 stantly and utterly forgotten all her conclusions from Framp- 
 ton's having declared him gone to Beauchastel for an unlimited 
 time ; but all she did was to turn away her crimson tearful face, 
 and reply, ' Your father would not wish it now.' 
 
252 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Then the speculations have failed ? So much the better ! ' 
 
 ' No, no ! he must tell you — ' 
 
 She was trying to withdraw her hand, when Lord Ormers- 
 field opened the door, and in the moment of his amazed ' Louis ! ' 
 Mary had fled. 
 
 ' What is it ? oh ! what is it, father 1 ' cried Louis for all 
 greeting ; ' why can she say you would not wish it now 1 ' 
 
 ' Wish it ? wish what ? ' asked the Earl, witliout the intuitive 
 perception of the meaning of tlie pronoun. 
 
 ' What you have always wished — Mary and me — what is the 
 only happiness that life can offer me ! ' 
 
 ' If I wished it a year ago, I could only wisli it the more 
 now,' said the Earl. 'But how is this? — I fully believed you 
 committed to Miss Conway.' 
 
 ' Miss Conway ! Miss Conway ! ' burst out Louis, in a frenzy. 
 'Because Jem Frost was in love with her liimself, he fancied 
 every one else must be the same, and now lie will be married 
 to her before Christmas, so tkafs disposed of. As to my feeling 
 for her a particle, a shred of what I do for Mary, it was a 
 mere fiction — a romance, an impossibility.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you, Louis. Why did you not find 
 this out before *? ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ponsonby called it my duty to test my feelings, and I 
 have tested them. That one is a beautiful poet's dream. Mary 
 is a woman, the only woman I can ever love. Not an hour 
 but I have felt it ; and now, fatlier, what does she mean ? ' 
 
 ' She means, poor girl, what only her own scrupulous delicacy 
 could regard as an objection, but what renders me still more 
 desirous to have a right to protect her. The cause of our 
 return—' 
 
 ' How 1 I thought her father was dead.' 
 
 ' Far worse. At Valparaiso we met Robson, the confidential 
 agent. I learnt from him that Mr. Ponsonby had hardly 
 waited for her mother's death to marry a Limenian, a person 
 whom everything pointed out as unfit to associate with his 
 daughter. Even Robson, cautious as he was, said he could not 
 undertake to recommend Miss Ponsonby to continue her journey.' 
 
 ' And this was all ? ' exclaimed Louis, too intent on his OAvn 
 views for anything but relief. 
 
 ' All ? Is it not enough to set her free ? She acquiesced in 
 my judgment that she could do no otherwise than return. She 
 wrote to her father, and I sent three lines to inform him that, 
 under the circumstances, I fulfilled my promise to her mother 
 by taking her home. I had nearly made her promise that, 
 should we find you about to form an establishment of your 
 own, she would consider herself as my child ; but — ' 
 
 ' Oh, father ! how shall we make her believe you care nothing 
 for her scruple ? The wretched man ! But — oh ! where is she ? ' 
 
 'It does not amount to a scruple in her case,' deliberately re- 
 sumed the Earl. 'I always knew what Ponsonby was, and 
 
THE THIRD TIME 253 
 
 nothing from him could surprise me — even such an outrage on 
 feeling and decency. Besides, he has effectually shut himself 
 out of society, and degraded himself beyond the power of inter- 
 fering with you. For the rest, Mary is already, in feeling, so 
 entirely my child, that to have the right to call her so has 
 always been my fondest wish. And, Louis, the months I have 
 spent with her have not diminished my regard. My Mary ! 
 she will have a happier lot than her mother ! ' 
 
 The end of the speech rewarded Louis for the conflict l)y 
 which he had kept himself still to listen to the beginning. 
 Lord Ormersfield had pity on him, and went in search of Mary ; 
 while he, remembering former passages, felt that his father 
 might be less startling and more persuasive, but began to 
 understand what James must have suffered in committing his 
 affairs to another. 
 
 The Earl found Mary in what had been her mother's sitting- 
 room, striving to brace her resolution by recalling the conver- 
 sation that had taken place there on a like occasion. But alas ! 
 how much more the heart had now to say ! How much it felt 
 as if the only shelter or rest in the desolate world was in the 
 light of tlie blue eyes whose tender sunshine had been on her 
 for one instant ! 
 
 Yet she began firmly — ' If you please, would you be so kind 
 as to let me go to Aunt Melicent ? ' 
 
 ' By and by, my dear, when you think fit.' 
 
 ' Oh, then, at once, and without seeing any one, please ! ' 
 
 ^Nay, Mary,' with redoubled gentleness, 'there is one who 
 cannot let you go without seeing him. Mary, you will not dis- 
 appoint my poor boy again. You will let him be an amendment 
 in my scheme.' 
 
 'You have been always most kind to me, but you cannot 
 really like this.' 
 
 'You forget that it has been my most ardent wish from the 
 moment I saw you what only your mother's child could be.' 
 
 ' That was before — No, I ought not ! Yours is not a family 
 to bring disgrace into.' 
 
 'I cannot allow you to speak thus. I knew your trials at 
 home when first I wished you to be my son's wife, and my 
 opinion is unchanged, except by my increased wish to have the 
 first claim to you.' 
 
 'Lord Ormersfield,' said Mary, collecting herself, 'only one 
 thing. Tell me, as if we were indifferent persons, is this a 
 connection such as would do Louis any harm ? I trust you to 
 answer.' 
 
 He paced along the room, and she tried to control her trem- 
 bling. He came back and spoke : ' No, Mary. If he were a 
 stranger, I should give the same advice. Your father's own 
 family is unexceptionable ; and those kind of things, so far off — 
 few will ever hear of them, and no one will attach consequence 
 to them. If that be your only scruple, it does you infinite 
 
254 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 credit ; but I can entirely remove it. What might be an injury 
 to you, single, would be of comparatively little importance to him.' 
 
 'Miss Conway,' faltered Mary, who could never remember 
 her when in Louis's presence. 
 
 'A mere delusion of our own. There was nothing in it. He 
 calls you the only woman who can make him happy, as I always 
 knew you were. He must explain all. You will come to him, 
 my dear child.' 
 
 Mary resisted no more ; he led her down-stairs, and left lier 
 within the dining-room door. 
 
 ' Mary, you will now — ' was all Louis said ; but slie let him 
 draw her into his arms, and she rested against his breast, as 
 when he had come to comfort her in the great thunderstorm in 
 auld lang-syne. She felt herself come at length to the shelter 
 and repose for which her heart had so long yearned, in spite of 
 her efforts, and as if the world had nothing more to offer of 
 peace or joy. 
 
 ' Oh, Mary, how I have wanted you ! You believe in me now ! ' 
 
 ^I am sure mamma would ! ' murmured Mary. 
 
 He could have poured forth a torrent of aifection, but the 
 suspicion of a footstep made her start from him ; and the next 
 moment she was herself, glowing, indeed, and half crying with 
 happiness, but alarmed at her own agitation, and struggling to 
 resume her commonplace manner. 
 
 ' There's your father not had a morsel of breakfast ! ' she ex- 
 claimed, hurrying back to her tea-cups, whose ringing betrayed 
 her trembling hand. ' Call him, Louis.' 
 
 ' Must 1 goV said Louis, coming to assist in a manner that 
 threatened deluge and destruction. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, go ! I shall be able to speak to you when you come 
 back.' 
 
 He had only to go into the verandah. His father was watch- 
 ing at the library window, and they wrung each other's hand in 
 gladness beyond utterance. 
 
 Mary had seated herself in the solid stately chair, with the 
 whole entrenchment of tea equipage before her. They knew it 
 signified that she was to be unmolested ; they took their places, 
 and tlie Earl carved ham, and Louis cut bread, and Mary poured 
 out tea in the most matter-of-fact manner, hazarding nothing 
 beyond such questions as, ' May I give you an egg ? ' 
 
 Then curiosity began to revive : Louis ventured, 'Where did 
 you land *? ' and his father made answer, ' At Liverpool, yester- 
 day,' and how the Custom-house had detained them, and he had, 
 therefore, brought Mary straight home, instead of stopping 
 with her at Northwold, at eleven o'clock, to disturb Mrs. Frost. 
 
 ' You would have found us up,' said Louis. 
 
 ' You were sleeping at the Terrace t ' 
 
 ' Yes, I walked here this morning.' 
 
 'Then your ankle must be pretty well,' was Mary's first con- 
 tribution to the conversation. 
 
THE THIRD TIME 255 
 
 ' Quite well enough for all useful purposes,' said Louis, avail- 
 ing himself of the implied permission to turn towards her. 
 
 ' But, Louis,' suddenly exclaimed the Earl, ' did you not tell 
 me something extraordinary about James Frost? Whom did 
 you say he was going to marry *? ' 
 
 ^Isabel Conway.' 
 
 Never was his love of electrifying more fully gratified ! Lord 
 Ormersfield was surprised into an emphatic interjection, and 
 inquiry whether they were all gone mad. 
 
 'Not that I am aware of,' said Louis. 'Perhaps you hav^e 
 not heard that Mr. Lester is going to retire, and Jem has the 
 school r 
 
 'Then, it must be Calcott and the trustees who are out of 
 their senses.' 
 
 ' Do you not consider it an excellent appointment 1 ' 
 
 ' It miglit be so some years hence,' said the Earl. ' I am afraid 
 it will tie him down to a second-rate affair, when he might be 
 doing better ; and the choice is the last thing I should have 
 expected from Calcott.' 
 
 ' He opposed it. He wanted to bring in a very ordinary 
 
 style of person from School, but Jem's superiority and the 
 
 general esteem for my aunt carried the day.' 
 
 ' What did Ramsbotham and his set do ? ' 
 
 'They were better than could have been hoped ; they gave us 
 their votes when they found their man could not get in.' 
 
 ' Ha ! As long as that fellow is against Calcott, be cares little 
 Avhom he supports. I am sorry that Calcott should be defeated, 
 even for James's sake. How did Richardson vote ? ' 
 
 ' He was doubtful at first, but I brought him over.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield gave a quick, searching glance as he said, 
 * James Frost did not make use of our interest in this matter.' 
 
 ' Jem never did. He and my aunt held back, and were un- 
 Avilling to oppose the Squire. They would have given it up, but 
 for me. Father, I never supposed you could be averse to my 
 doing my utmost for Jem, when all his prospects were at stake.' 
 
 ' I should have imagined that James was too well aware of 
 my sentiments to allow it.' 
 
 What a cloud on the happy morning ! 
 
 Louis eagerly exclaimed : ' James is the last person to be 
 blamed ! He and my aunt were always trying to stop me, but 
 I would not listen to their scruples. I knew his happiness 
 depended on his success, and I worked for him in spite of himself. 
 If I did wrong, I can only be very sorry ; but I cannot readily 
 believe that I transgressed by setting the question before 
 people in a right light. Only, whose fault soever it was, it 
 was not Jem's.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield had not the heart to see one error in his 
 son on such a day as this, more especially as Mary peeped out 
 behind the urn to judge of his countenance, and he met her 
 pleading eyes, swimming in tears. 
 
256 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' No, I find no fault,' he kindly said. ^ Young ardent spirits 
 may be excused for outrunning the bounds that their elders 
 might impose. But you have not removed my amazement. 
 James intending to marry on the grammar-school ! — it cannot 
 be worth 300/. a year.' 
 
 ' Isabel is satisfied. She never desired anything but a quiet, 
 simple, useful life.' 
 
 ' Your Aunt Catharine delighted, of course ? No doubt of 
 that ; but what has come to Lady Conway ? ' 
 
 ' She cannot help it, and makes the best of it. She gave us 
 very little trouble.' 
 
 ' Ah ! her own daughter is growing up,' said the Earl, 
 significantly. 
 
 ' Isabel is very fond of North wold,' said Mary, feeling that 
 Louis was wanting her sympatliy. ' She used to wish she could 
 settle there — with how little consciousness ! ' 
 
 ^ If I had to judge in such a case,' said Lord Ormersfield, 
 thoughtfully, ' I should hesitate to risk a woman's happiness 
 with a temper such as that of James Frost.' 
 
 ' Oh, father ! ' cried Louis, indignantly. 
 
 ' I suspect,' said Lord Ormersfield, smiling, 'that of late years, 
 James's temper has been more often displayed towards me than 
 towards you.' 
 
 'A certain proof how safe his wife will be,' returned Louis. 
 
 His father shook his head, and looking from one to the other 
 of the young people, congratulated himself that liere, at least, 
 there were no perils of that description. He asked how long 
 the attachment had existed. 
 
 ' From the moment of first sight,' said Louis : ' the fine spark 
 was lighted on the Euston Square platform ; and it was not much 
 later with her. He filled up her heau ideal of goodness — ' 
 
 ' And, in effect, all Lady Conway's pursuit of you threw them 
 together,' said Lord Ormersfield, much entertained. 
 
 'Lady Conway has been their very best friend, without 
 intending it. It would not have come to a crisis by this time, 
 if she had not taken me to Paris. It would have been a 
 pity if the catastrophe of the barricades had been all for 
 nothing.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield and Mary here broke out in amazement at 
 themselves, for having hitherto been oblivious of the intelligence 
 that had greeted them on their first arrival, when Frampton had 
 informed them of Lord Fitzjocelyn's wound and gallant conduct, 
 and his father had listened to the story like the fastening of a 
 rivet in Miss Conway's chains, and Mary with a fiush of un- 
 selfish pride that Isabel had been taught to value her hero. 
 They both claimed the true and detailed account, as if they 
 had hitherto been defrauded of it, and insisted on hearing what 
 had happened to him. 
 
 ' I dare say you know best,' said Louis, lazily. ' I have heard 
 so many different accounts of late, that I really am beginning 
 
THE THIRD TIME 257 
 
 to forget which is the right one, and rather incline to the belief 
 that Belaford brought a rescue or two with his revolver, and 
 carried us into a fortress where my aunt had secured the 
 windows with feather-beds — ' 
 
 *You had better make haste and tell, that the true edition 
 may be preserved,' said Mary, rallying her spirits in her 
 eagerness. 
 
 ' I have begun to understand why there never yet has been 
 an authentic account of a great battle,' said Louis. ' Life would 
 make me coincide with Sir Robert Walpole's judgment on 
 history. All I am clear about is, that even a Red Republican 
 is less red than he is painted ; that Isabel Conway is fit to visit 
 the sentinels in a beleaguered castle — a noble being — But oli, 
 Mary ! did I not long sorely after you when it came to the 
 wounded knight part of the affair ! I am more sure of that 
 than of anything else ! ' 
 
 Mary blushed, but her tender heart was chiefly caring to 
 know how much he had been hurt, and so the whole story was 
 unfolded by due questioning ; and the Earl had full and secret 
 enjoyment of the signal defeat of his dear sister-in-law, the one 
 satisfaction on which every one seemed agreed. 
 
 It was a melancholy certainty that Mary must go to Mrs. 
 Frost, but the Earl deferred the moment by sending the carriage 
 with an entreaty that she would come herself to fetch her guest. 
 Mary talked of writing a note ; but the autumn sun shone 
 cheerily on the steps, and Louis wiled her into seating herself 
 on the upper step, while he reclined on the lower ones, as they 
 had so often been placed when this was his only way of enjoy- 
 ing the air. The sky was clear, the air had the still calm of 
 autumn ; the evergreens and the yellow-fringed elms did not stir 
 a leaf-^only a large heavy yellow plane leaf now and then 
 detached itself by its own weight, and silently floated down- 
 wards. Mary sat, without wishing to utter a word to disturb 
 the unwonted tranquillity, the rest so precious after her months 
 of sea-voyage, her journey, and her agitations. But Louis 
 wanted her seal of approval to all his past doings, and soon 
 began on their inner and deeper story, ending with, ' Tell me 
 whether you think I was right, my own dear governess — ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, you must never call me that any more.' 
 
 ^ It is a name belonging to my happiest days.' 
 
 'It was only in play. It reverses the order of things. I 
 must look up to you.' 
 
 ' If you can ! ' said Louis, playfully, slipping down to a lower 
 step. 
 
 A tear burst out as Mary said, ' Mamma said it must never 
 be that way.' Then recovering, she added, ' I beg your pardon, 
 Louis ; I was treating it as earnest. I think I am not quite 
 myself to-day ; I will go to my room ! ' 
 
 ' No, no, don't,' he said ; ' I will not harass you with my glad- 
 ness, dearest.' He stepped indoors, brought out a book, and 
 
258 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 when Mrs. Frost arrived to congratulate and be congratulated, 
 she found Mary still on the step, gazing on without seeing the 
 trees and flowers, listening without attending to the rich, sooth- 
 ing flow of Lope de Vega's beautiful devotional sonnets, in 
 majestic Spanish, in Louis's low, sweet voice. 
 
 CHAPTER XXY 
 
 MISTS 
 
 Therefore thine eye through mist of many days 
 Shines bright ; and beauty, like a lingering rose, 
 
 Sits on thy cheek, and in thy laughter plays; 
 While wintry frosts have fallen on thy foes, 
 
 And, like a vale that breathes the western sky, 
 
 Thy heart is green, though summer is gone by.— F. Tennyson 
 
 Happy Aunt Kitty !-— the centre, the confidante of so much 
 love ! Perhaps her enjoyment was the most keen and pure of 
 all, because the most free from self — the most devoid of those 
 cares for the morrow, which, after besetting middle life, often 
 so desert old age as to render it as free and fresh as childhood. 
 She had known the worst : she had been borne through by 
 heart-whole faith and love ; she had seen how often frettingsfor 
 the future were vain, and experienced that anticipation is worse 
 than reality. Where there was true aflection and sound trust, 
 she could not, would not, and did not fear for those she loved. 
 
 James went backwards and forwards in stormy happiness. 
 He had come to a comfortable understanding with old Mr. 
 Man sell, who had treated him with respect and cordiality from 
 the first, giving him to understand that Isabel's further expect- 
 ations only amounted to a legacy of a couple of thousands on 
 his own death, and that meantime he had little or no hope of 
 helping him in his profession. He spoke of Isabel's expensive 
 habits, and the danger of her finding it diflicult to adapt herself 
 to a small income ; and though, of course, he might as well have 
 talked to the wind as to either of the lovers, his remonstrance 
 was so evidently conscientious as not to be in the least oflensiA^e, 
 and Mr. Frost Dynevor was graciously pleased to accept him as 
 a worthy relation. 
 
 All was smooth likewise with Lady Conway. She and Mr. 
 Mansell outwardly appeared utterly unconscious of each other's 
 proceedings, remained on the most civil terms, and committed 
 their comments and explanations to Mrs. Mansell, who admin- 
 istered them according to her own good-natured, gossiping 
 humour, and sided with whichever was speaking to her. There 
 was in Lady Conway much kindness and good-humour, always 
 ready to find satisfaction in what was inevitable, and willing to 
 see all at ease and happy around her — a quality which she 
 shared with Louis, and which rendered her as warm and even 
 
MISTS 259 
 
 caressing to 'our dear James' as if he had been the most wel- 
 come suitor in the world ; and she often sincerely congratulated 
 herself on the acquisition of a sensible gentleman to consult 
 on business, and so excellent a brother for Walter. It was 
 not falsehood, it was real amiability ; and it was an infinite 
 comfort in the courtship, especially the courtship of a Pen- 
 dragon. As to the two young sisters, their ecstasy was beyond 
 description, only alloyed by the grief of losing Isabel, and this 
 greatly mitigated by schemes of visits to Northwold. 
 
 The marriage was fixed for the end of November, so as to 
 give time for a little tranquillity before the commencement of 
 James's new duties. As soon as this intelligence arrived, Mrs. 
 Frost removed herself, Mary, and her goods into the House 
 Beautiful, that No. 5 might undergo the renovations which, 
 poor thing ! had been planned twenty years since, when poor 
 Henry's increasing family and growing difficulties had decided 
 her that she could ' do without them ' one year more. 
 
 ' Even should Miss Conway not like to keep house with the 
 old woman,' said she, by way of persuading herself she had no 
 such expectation, 'it was her duty to keep the place in repair.' 
 
 That question was soon at rest : Isabel would be but too 
 happy to be allowed to share her home, and truly James would 
 hardly have attached himself to a woman who could not regard 
 it as a privilege to be with the noble old lady. Clara was like- 
 wise to be taken home ; Isabel undertook to complete her 
 education, and school and tuition were both to be removed from 
 the contemplation of the happy girl, whose letters had become 
 an unintelligible rhapsody of joy and affection. 
 
 Isabel had three thousand pounds of her own, which, with 
 that valuable freehold, Dynevor Terrace, James resolved should 
 be settled on herself, speaking of it with such solemn import- 
 ance as to provoke the gravity of those accustomed to deal with 
 larger sums. With the interest of her fortune he meant to 
 insure his life, that, as he told Louis, with gratified prudence, 
 there might be no repetition of his own case, and his family 
 might never be a burden on any one. 
 
 The income of the school, with their former well-husbanded 
 means, was affluence for the style to which he aspired ; and his 
 grandmother, though her menus plaisirs had once doubled her 
 present revenue, regarded it as the same magnificent advance, 
 and was ready to launch into the extravagance of an additional 
 servant, and of fitting up the long-disused drawing-room, and 
 the dining-parlour, hitherto called the schoolroom, kicked and 
 hacked by thirty years of boys. She and Clara would betake 
 themselves to their present little sitting-room, and make the 
 drawing-room pleasant and beautiful for the bride. 
 
 And in what a world of upholstery did not the dear old lady 
 spend the autumn months ! How surpassingly happy was 
 Jane, and how communicative about Cheveleigh ! and how 
 pleased and delighted in little Charlotte's promotion !. 
 
 S 2 
 
260 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 And Charlotte ! She ought to have been happy, with her 
 higher wages and emancipation from the more unpleasant work, 
 with the expectation of one whom she admired so enthusiasti- 
 cally as Miss Conway, and, above all, with the long, open- 
 hearted, affectionate letter which Miss Ponsonby had put into 
 her hand with so kind a smile. Somehow, it made her do 
 nothing but cry ; she felt unwilling to sit down and answer it ; 
 and, as if it were out of perverseness, when she was in Mrs. 
 Martha's very house, and when there was so much to be done, 
 she took the most violent fit of novel-reading that had ever 
 been known ; and when engaged in working or cleaning alone, 
 chanted dismal ballads of the type of ' Alonzo the brave and 
 the fair Imogene,' till Mrs. Martha declared that she was just 
 as bad as an old dumbledore, and not worth half so much. 
 
 One day, however. Miss Ponsonby called her into her room, 
 
 to tell her that a parcel was going to Lima, in case she wished 
 
 to send anything by it. Miss Ponsonby spoke so kindly, and 
 
 yet so delicately, and Charlotte blushed and faltered, and felt 
 
 - that she must write now ! 
 
 ' I ]iave been wishing to tell you, Charlotte,' added Mary, 
 kindly, ' how much we like Mr. Madison. There were some 
 very undersirable people among the passengers, who might easily 
 have led him astray ; but the captain and mate both spoke to 
 Lord Ormersfield in the highest terms of his behaviour. He 
 never missed attending prayers on the Sundays ; and, from all I 
 could see, I do fully believe that he is a sincerely good, religious 
 man ; and, if he keeps on as he has begun, I think you are very 
 happy in belonging to him.' 
 
 Charlotte only curtsied and thanked ; but it was wonderful 
 Row those kind, sympathizing words blew off at once the whole 
 mists of nonsense and fancy. Tom was the sound, good, reli- 
 gious man to whom her heart and her troth were given ; the 
 other was no such thing, a mere flatterer, and she had known 
 it all along. She would never think of him again, and she was 
 sure he would not think of her. Truth had dispelled all the 
 fancied sense of hypocrisy and double-dealing : she sat down 
 and wrote to Tom as if Delaford had never existed, and forth- 
 with returned to be herself again, at least for the present. 
 
 Poor Mary ! she might speak cheerfully, but her despatches 
 were made up with a trembling heart. Louis and Mary missed 
 the security and felicity that seemed so perfect with James and 
 Isabel. In the first place, nothing could be fixed without 
 further letters, altliough the Earl had tried to persuade Mary 
 that her father had virtually forfeited all claim to her obedience, 
 and that she ought to proceed as if in fact an orphan, and 
 secure herself from being harassed by him, by hastening her 
 marriage. Of this she would not hear, and she was exceedingly 
 grateful to Louis for abstaining from pressing her, as well^ as 
 for writing to Mr. Ponsonby in terms against which no excej)tion 
 could be taken. 
 
MISTS 261 
 
 Till secure of his consent, she would not consider her engage- 
 ment as more than conditional, nor consent to its being men- 
 tioned to any one. If Isabel knew it, that was James's fault. 
 Even the Faithf ull sisters were kept in ignorance ; and she 
 trusted thus to diminish the wrong that she felt her secrecy to 
 be doing to Aunt Melicent, who was so much vexed and 
 annoyed at her return, that she (beaded exceedingly the effect 
 of the knowledge of her engagement. Miss Ponsonby was con- 
 vinced that the news had been exaggerated, and insisted that 
 but for Lord Ormersfield's dislike, it would have been further 
 sifted ; and she wrote to Mary to urge her coming to her to await 
 the full tidings, instead of delaying among her father's avowed 
 enemies. 
 
 Mary settled this point by mentioning her promise to Mrs. 
 Frost to remain with her until her grandchildren should be 
 with her ; and Miss Ponsonby's correspondence ceased after a 
 dry, tliough still kind letter, which did not make Mary more 
 willing to bestow her confidence, but left her feeling in her 
 honest heart as if she were dealing insincerely by Aunt 
 Melicent. 
 
 The discretion and reserve rendered requisite by the conceal- 
 ment were such as to be very tormenting even to so gentle a 
 temper as that of Louis, since they took from him all the privi- 
 leges openly granted to the cousin, and scarcely left him those 
 of the friend. She, on whose arm he had leant all last summer, 
 would not now walk with him without an escort ; and, even 
 with Mrs. Frost beside her, shrank from Ormersfield like for- 
 bidden ground. Her lively, frank tone of playful command 
 had passed away ; nay, she almost shrank from his confi- 
 dence, .withheld her counsel, and discouraged his constant visits. 
 He could not win from her one of her broad fearless comments 
 on his past doings ; and in his present business, the taking pos- 
 session of Inglewood, the choice of stock, and the appointment 
 of a bailifi", though she listened and sympathized, and answered 
 questions, she volunteered no opinions, she expressed no wishes, 
 she would not come to see. 
 
 Poor Louis was often mortified into doubts of his own ability 
 to interest or make her happy ; but he was very patient. If 
 disappointed one day, he was equally eager the next ; he sub- 
 mitted obediently to her restrictions, and was remorseful when 
 he forgot or transgressed ; and they had real, sootliing, com- 
 forting talks just often enough to be tantalizing, and yet to 
 convince him that all the other unsatisfactory meetings and 
 partings were either his own fault, or that of some untoward 
 circumstance. 
 
 He saw, as did the rest, that Mary's spirits had received a 
 shock not easily to be recovered. The loss of her mother was 
 weighing on her more painfully than in the first excitement ; 
 and the step her father had taken, insulting her mother, de- 
 grading himself, and rending away her veil of filial honour* had 
 
262 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 exceedingly overwhelmed and depressed her ; while sorrow 
 hung upon her with the greater permanence and oppression 
 from her strong self-control, and dislike to manifestation. 
 
 All this he well understood ; and, reverent towards her feeling, 
 he laid aside all trifling, and waited on her mood with the ten- 
 dere&t watchfulness. When she could bear it, they would dwell 
 together on the precious recollections of her mother ; and some- 
 times she could even speak of her father, and relate instances 
 of his affection for herself, and all his other redeeming traits of 
 character ; most thankful to Louis for accepting him on her 
 word, and never uttering one word of him which she could wish 
 unsaid. 
 
 What Louis did not see, was that the very force of her own 
 affection was what alarmed Mary, and caused her reserve. To 
 a mind used to balance and regulation, any sensation so mighty 
 and engrossing appeared wrong ; and repressed as her attach- 
 ment had been, it was the more absorbing now that he was all 
 that was left to her. Admiration, honour, gratitude, old childish 
 affection, and caressing elder-sisterly protection, all flowed in 
 one deep, strong current ; but the very depth made her diffi- 
 dent. She could not imagine the whole reciprocated, and she 
 feared to be importunate. If the day was no better than a 
 weary turmoil, save when his voice was in her ear^ his eyes 
 wistfully bent on her ; the more carefully did she restrain all 
 expression of hope of seeing him to-morrow, lest she should be 
 exacting and detain him from projects of his own. If it was 
 pride and delight to her to watch his graceful, agile figure spring 
 on horseback, she would keep herself from the window, lest he 
 should feel oppressed by her pursuing him ; and when she found 
 her advice-sought after as his law, she did not venture to proffer 
 it. She was uncomfortable in finding the rule committed to 
 her, and all the more because Lord Ormersfield, who had learnt 
 to talk to her so openly that she thought he sometimes con- 
 founded her with her mother, used in all his schemes to appear 
 to take it for granted that she should share with him in the 
 managing, consulting headship of the house, leaving Louis as 
 something to be petted and cared for as a child, without a voice 
 in their decisions. These conversations used to make her almost 
 jealous on Louis's account, and painfully recall some of her 
 mother's apprehensions. 
 
 That was the real secret source of all her discomfort — namely, 
 the misgiving lest she had been too ready to follow the dictates 
 of her own heart. Would her mother have been satisfied ? 
 Had not her fondness and her desolation prevailed, where, for 
 Louis's own sake she should have held back ? Every time she felt 
 herself the elder in heart, every time she feared to have disap- 
 pointed him, every time she saw that his liveliness was re- 
 pressed by her mournfulness, she feared that she was letting 
 him sacrifice himself. And still more did she question her 
 conduct towards her father. She had only gradually become 
 
MISTS 263 
 
 aware of the extent of the mutual aversion between him and 
 the Earl ; and Miss Ponsonby's reproaches awakened her to the 
 fear that she had too lightly given credence to hostile evidence. 
 Her affection would fain have justified him ; and, forgetting 
 the difficulties of personal investigation in such a case, she 
 blamed herself for having omitted herself to question the con- 
 fidential clerk, and having left all to Lord Ormersfield, who, 
 cool and wary as he ordinarily was, would be less likely to 
 palliate Mr. Ponsonby's errors than those of any other person. 
 Her heart grew sick as she counted the weeks ere she could 
 hear from Lima. 
 
 None of her troubles were allowed to interfere with Mrs. 
 Frost's peace. Outwardly, she was cheerful and helpful ; equable, 
 though less lively. Those carpets and curtains, tables and chairs, 
 which were the grand topics at the House Beautiful, were neither 
 neglected nor treated with resigned impatience. Mary's taste, 
 counsel, and needle did good service ; her hearty interest and 
 consideration were given to the often-turned volume of designs 
 for bedsteads, sofas, and window-curtains ; and Miss Mercy 
 herself had hardly so many resources for making old furniture 
 new. Many of her happiest half -hours with Louis were spent 
 as she sewed the stiff slippery chintz, and he held the curtain 
 rings, while Aunt Catharine went to inspect the workmen ; and 
 many a time were her cares forgotten, and her active spirits 
 resumed, while Louis acted carpenter under her directions, and 
 rectified errors of the workmen. It might not be poetical, but 
 the French sky-blue paper, covered with silvery fern-leaves, that 
 Louis took such pains to procure, and the china door-handles that 
 he brought over in his pockets, and the great map which Mary 
 pasted over the obstinate spot of damp in the vestibule, were 
 the occasions of the greatest blitheness and merriment that 
 they shared together. Much did they enjoy the prediction that 
 James would not know his own house ; greatly did they delight 
 in sowing surprises, and in obtaining Aunt Catharine's never- 
 failing start of well-pleased astonishment. Each wedding 
 present was an event : — Mr. Mansell's piano, which disconcerted 
 all previous designs ; Lord Ormersfield's handsome plate ; and 
 many a minor gift from old scholars, delighted to find an occa- 
 sion when an offering would not be an offence. Even Mr. 
 Calcott gave a valuable inkstand, in which Mrs. Frost and Louis 
 beheld something of forgiveness. 
 
 Isabel had expressed a wish that Mary should be one of her 
 bridesmaids. A wedding was not the scene which poor Mary 
 wished to witness at present ; but she saw Louis bent on having 
 her with him, and would not vex him by reluctance. He had 
 •also prevailed on his father to be present, thougli the Earl was 
 much afraid of establishing a precedent, and being asked to act 
 the part of father on future contingencies. There was only one 
 bride, as he told Louis, whom he could ever ivish to give away. 
 However, that trouble was spared him by Mr. Mansell : but 
 
264 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 still Louis would not let him off, on the plea that James's side 
 of the house should make as imposing a demonstration as 
 possible. 
 
 Mrs. Frost was less manageable. Though warmly invited by 
 the Conways, and fondly entreated by her grandson, she shook 
 her head, and said she was past those things, and that the old 
 mother always stayed at home to cook the wedding dinner. 
 She should hear all when Clara came home the next day, and 
 '^ihould be ready for the happy pair when they would return 
 for Christmas, after a brief stay at Thornton Conway, which 
 Isabel wished James to see, that he might share in all her old 
 associations. 
 
 All the rest of the party journeyed to London on a November 
 day ; and, in gaslight and gloom, they deposited Mary at her 
 aunt's house in Bryanston Square. 
 
 Gaslight Avas the staple of Hymen's torch the next morning. 
 London w^as under one of the fogs, of which it is popularly said 
 you may cut them with a knife. The clmrch was in dim twi- 
 light ; the bride and bridegroom loomed through the haze, and 
 the indistinctness made Clara's fine tall figure appear quite 
 majestic above the heads of the other bridesmaids. 
 
 The breakfast was by lamp-light, and the mist looked lurid 
 and grim over the white cake, and no one talked of anything 
 but the comparative density of fogs ; and Mr. Mansell's asthma 
 had come on, and his speech was devolved upon Lord Ormers- 
 field, to whom Louis had imprudently promised exemption. 
 
 What was worse. Lady Conway had paired them ofi* in the 
 order of precedence ; and Louis was a victim to two dowagers, 
 between wliom he could neither see nor speak to Mary. He 
 was the more concerned, because he had thought her looking 
 depressed and avoiding liis eye. 
 
 He tried to believe this caution, but he thought she was also 
 eluding his father, and her whole air gave him a vague uneasiness. 
 The whole party were to dine with Lady Conway ; and, trusting 
 in the meantime to discover wliat was on her spirits, he tried to 
 resign himself to the order of the day, without a farther glimpse 
 of her. 
 
 When the married pair took leave, Walter gave his sister a 
 great hug, but liad no perception of his office of handing her 
 down-stairs ; and it was Eitzjocelyn who gave her his arm, and 
 put her into the carriage, with an augury that the weather 
 would be beautiful when once they had left the fog in London. 
 
 She smiled dreamily, and repeated ' beautiful,' as though all 
 were so beautiful already to her that slie did not so much as 
 perceive the fog. 
 
 James pressed his hand, saying, 'I am glad you are to be the 
 one to be happy next.' 
 
 ' You do not look so,' said Clara, earnestly. 
 
 The two sisters had come partly down-stairs, but their London 
 habits had restrained them from following to the street-door, as 
 
MISTS 265 
 
 Clara had done ; and now they had rushed up again, while 
 Clara, with one foot on the staircase, looked in her cousin's face, 
 as he tried to smile in answer, and repeated, ' Louis, I hoped 
 you were quite happy.' 
 
 ' I am,' said Louis, quickly. 
 
 ' Then why do you look so grave and uneasy ? ' 
 
 ' Louis ! ' said an entreating voice above, and there stood Mary 
 — ' Pray say nothing, but call a cab for me, please. No, I am 
 not ill — indeed I am not — but I cannot stay ! ' 
 
 * You look ill ! It has been too much for you ! Clara, take 
 her — let her lie down quietly,' cried Louis, springing to her side. 
 
 ' Oh, no, thank you — no,' said Mary, decidedly, thougli very 
 low ; 'I told Lady Conway that I could not stay. I settled it 
 with Aunt Melicent.' 
 
 ' That aunt of yours — ' 
 
 ' Hush ! No, it is for my own sake — my own doing. I cannot 
 bear it any longer ! Please let me go ! ' 
 
 'Then I will take you. I saw the brougham waiting. We 
 will go quietly together.' 
 
 ' No, that must not be.' 
 
 ' I was thoughtless in urging you to come. The turmoil has 
 been too much. My poor Mary ! That is what comes of doing 
 what I like instead of what you like. Why don't you always 
 liave your own way 1 Let me come ; nay, if you will not, at 
 least let Clara go with you, and come back.' 
 
 Mary roused herself at last to speak, as she moved down-stairs 
 — ' You need not think of me ; there is nothing the matter with 
 me. I promised Aunt Melicent to come home. She is very 
 kind — it is not that.' 
 
 ' You must not tell me not to think. I shall come to inquire. 
 I shall be with you the first thing to-morrow.' 
 
 'Yes, you must come to-morrow,' said Mary, in a tone he 
 could not interpret, and a tight lingering grasp on his hand, as 
 he put her into his father's carriage. 
 
 He stood hesitating for a moment as it drove off; then, in- 
 stead of entering the house, walked off quickly in the same 
 direction. 
 
 Clara had stood all the time like a statue on the stairs, wait- 
 ing to see if she were wanted, and gazing intently, with her 
 fingers clasped. When both were gone she drew a long breath, 
 and nodded with her head, whispering to herself, in a grave and 
 critical voice — ' That is love ! ' 
 
 She did not see Fitzjocelyn again till nearly dinner-time ; and, 
 as he caught her anxious interrogating eye, he came to her and 
 said, very low, ' I was not let in ; Miss Ponsonby was engaged, 
 Miss Mary lying down — I believe they never told lier I was there.' 
 
 ' It is all that aunt — horrid woman ! ' 
 
 ' Don't talk of it now. I zvill see her to-morrow.' 
 
 Clara grieved for him whenever she saw him called on to 
 exert himself to talk ; and she even guarded him from the sallies 
 
266 DYNEYOR TERRACE 
 
 of his young cousins. Once, when much music and talk was 
 going on, he came and sat by her, and made her tell him how 
 fondly and affectionately she had parted with her schoolfellows ; 
 and how some of her old foes liad become, as she hoped, friends 
 for life ; but she saw his eye fixed and absent even while she 
 spoke, and she left off suddenly. ' Go on,' he said, ' I like to 
 hear ; ' and with a manifest effort he bent his mind to attend. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' thought Clara, as she went up that niglit — ' why will 
 the days one most expects to be happy turn out so much other- 
 wise 1 However, he will manage to tell me all about it when he 
 and his father take me home to-morrow.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXYI 
 
 OUTWARD BOUND 
 
 The voice which I did more esteem 
 
 Than music in her sweetest key — 
 Those eyes whicli unto me did seem 
 
 More comfortable than the day — 
 Those now by me, as they have been, 
 Shall never more be heard or seen. — George Wither 
 
 In suspense and impatience, Fitzjocelyn awaited the end of 
 his father's breakfast, that he might hasten to learn what ailed 
 Mary. The post came in, vexing him at first merely as an addi- 
 tional delay, but presently a sound of dissatisfaction attracted 
 his notice to the foreign air of two envelopes which had been 
 forwarded from home. 
 
 ' Hem ! ' said the Earl, gravely, ' I am afraid this fellow Pon- 
 sonby will give us some trouble.' 
 
 ' Then Mary had heard from him ! ' cried Louis. ' She was 
 keeping it from me, not to spoil the day. I must go to her this 
 moment — ' but pausing again, ' What is it ? He cannot have 
 had my letter ! ' 
 
 ' No, but he seems to have anticipated it. Puffed up as they 
 are about these speculations, he imagines me to have brought 
 Mary home for no purpose but to repair our fortunes ; and in- 
 forms me that, in the event of your marriage, she will receive 
 not a farthing beyond her mother's settlements. I am much 
 obliged ! It is all I ever thought you would receive ; and but 
 for me, it would liave been in the bottom of some mine long 
 ago ! Do you wish to see what he says ? ' 
 
 Louis caught up the missive. It was the letter of a very 
 angry man, too violent to retain the cold formality which he 
 tried to assume. ' He was beholden to his lordsliip for his solici- 
 tude about his daughter. It was of a piece with other assistance 
 formerly rendered to him in his domestic arrangements, for 
 which he was equally obliged. He was happy to inform his 
 lordship that, in this instance, his precautions had been uncalled 
 
OUTWAED BOUND 207 
 
 for ; and referred him to a letter which he would receive from 
 Mr. Dynevor by the same mail, for an explanation of the cir- 
 cumstances to which he referred. He had been informed, by un- 
 doubted authority, that Lord Fitzjocelyn had done his daughter 
 the honour of soliciting her hand. It might console his lord- 
 ship to learn that, should the union take place, the whole of his 
 property would be secured to Mrs. Ponsonby, and his daughter's 
 sole fortune would be that which she inlierited by her mother's 
 marriage settlements. Possibly this intelligence might lead to 
 a cessation of these flattering attentions.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ponsonby ! he can mention her in the same sentence 
 with Mary's mother ! ' said the Earl. 
 
 Louis turned pale as he read, and scarcely breathed as he 
 looked up at his father, dreading that he might so resent the 
 studied affronts as to wish to break off the connection, and that 
 he might have him likewise to contend with ; but on that score 
 he was set at rest. The Earl replied to his exclamation of angry 
 dismay, ' It is little more than I looked for. It is not the first 
 letter I have had from him. I find he has some just cause for 
 offence. The marriage is less disgraceful than I had been led 
 to believe. Here is Oliver Dynevor's testimony.' 
 
 Oliver Dynevor's was a succinct business-like letter, certify- 
 ing his cousin that he had been mistaken in his view of the 
 marriage. Dona Posa de Lima de Guzman was an orphan of a 
 very respectable family, who had come to spend the year before 
 her intended noviciate at the house of an uncle. She was very 
 young, and Mr. Dynevor believed that the marriage had been 
 hastened by her relations making her feel herself unwelcome, 
 and her own reluctance to return to her convent, and that she 
 might not be aware how very recently Mr. Ponsonby had be- 
 come a widower. For his own part, he was little used to ladies' 
 society, and could form no judgment of the bride ; but he could 
 assure Lord Ormersfield that she had been guilty of no impro- 
 priety ; she was visited by every one ; and that there was no 
 reason against Mary Ponsonby associating with her. 
 
 ' What could the clerk be thinking of 1 ' exclaimed Louis. 
 
 ' My first impression was not taken from the clerk. What I 
 heard first, and in the strongest terms, was from the captain of 
 a ship at Valparaiso. In fact, it was in the mouth of all who 
 had known the family. Robson neither confirmed nor contra- 
 dicted, and gave me the notion of withholding much from regard 
 for his employer. He lamented the precipitation, but seemed 
 willing to make excuses. He distinctly said, he would not take 
 it on himself to recommend Miss Ponsonby's continuing her 
 journey. He was right. If I had known all this, I should still 
 have brought her home. I must write an apology, as far as 
 her character is concerned ; but, be that as it may, the marriage 
 is atrocious — an insult — a disgrace ! He could not have waited 
 six weeks — ' 
 
 ' But I must go to Mary ! ' cried Louis, as though reproaching 
 
268 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 himself for tlie delay. ' Oh ! that she should have forced herself 
 to that wedding, and spared me ! ' 
 
 ^ I am coming with you,' said the Earl. * She will require my 
 personal assurance that all this makes no difference to me.' 
 
 ' I am more afraid of the difference it may make to her,' said 
 Louis. ' You have never believed how fond she is of her father.' 
 
 On arriving, they were ushered into the room where Miss 
 Ponsonby was at breakfast, and a cup of tea and untasted roll 
 sliowed where lier niece had been. She received them with stiff, 
 upright chillness ; and to their hope that Mary was not unwell, 
 replied — ' Not very well. She had been over-fatigued yesterday, 
 and had followed her advice in going to lie down.' 
 
 Louis began to imagine a determination to exclude him, and 
 was eagerly beginning to say that she had asked him to come 
 that morning — could she not see him ? when the lady continued, 
 witli the same severity — ' Until yesterday, I was not aware how 
 much concern Lord Fitzjocelyn had taken in what related to 
 my niece.' 
 
 At that moment, when Louis's face was crimson with confusion 
 and impatience, the door was softly pushed ajar, and lie heard 
 himself called in low, hoarse tones. Miss Ponsonby was rising 
 with an air of vexed surprise, but he never saw her ; and, hastily 
 crossing the room, he shut the door behind him, and followed 
 the form that flitted up the stairs so fast, that he did not come 
 up with her till she had entered the drawing-room, and stood 
 leaning against a chair to gather breath. She was very pale, 
 and her eyes looked as if she had cried all night ; but she con- 
 trolled her voice to say, ' I could not bear that you should hear 
 it from Aunt Melicent.' 
 
 ' We had letters this morning, dearest. Always thinking for 
 me ! But I must think for you. You can hardly stand — ' 
 
 He would have supported her to the sofa, but she shrank 
 from liim ; and, leaning more heavily on the chair, said — ' Do 
 you not know, Louis, all that must be at an end ? ' 
 
 'I know no such thing. My father is here on purpose to 
 assure you that it makes not the slightest difference to him.' 
 
 * Yours ! Yes ! But oh, Louis ! ' with a voice that, in its 
 faintness and steadiness, had a sound of anguish — ' only think 
 wliat I allowed him to make me do ! To insult my father and 
 liis choice ! It was a mistake, I know,' she continued, fearing 
 to be unjust and to grieve Louis ; ' but a most dreadful one ! ' 
 
 ^ He says he should have brought you home all the same — ' 
 began Louis. ' Mary, you must sit down ! ' he cried, interrupt- 
 ing himself to come nearer ; and she obeyed, sinking into the 
 chair. ' What a state you are in ! How could you go through 
 yesterday ! How could you be distressed, and not let me 
 know?' 
 
 ' I could not spoil their wedding-day, that we had wished for 
 so long.' 
 
 ' Then you had the letter ? ' 
 
OUTWARD BOUND 269 
 
 ' In the morning. Oh, that I had examined farther ! Oh, 
 that I had never come home ! ' 
 
 ' Mary ! I cannot hear you say so.' 
 
 * You would have been spared all this. You were doing very 
 well without me — as you will — ' 
 
 He cried out with deprecating horror. 
 
 * Louis ! ' she said, imploringly. ' Oh, Louis ! do not make it 
 harder for me to do right.' 
 
 ' Why — what ? I don't understand ! Your father has not so 
 much as heard how we stand together. He cannot be desiring 
 you to give me up.' 
 
 * He — he forbids me to enter on anything of the sort with 
 you. I don't know what made him think it possible, but he 
 does. And — ' again Mary waited for the power of utterance, 
 ' he orders me to come out with Mrs. Willis, in the Valdivia, 
 and it sails on the 12th of December.' 
 
 ' But Mary, Mary ! you cannot be bound by this. It is only 
 fair towards him, towards all of us, to give him time to answer 
 our letters.' 
 
 Mary shook her head. ' The only condition, he says, on . 
 which he could allow me to remain, would be if I were engaged 
 to James Frost.' 
 
 ' Too late for that, certainly,' said Louis ; and the smile was 
 a relief to both. 'At any rate, it shows that he can spare you. 
 Only give him time. When he has my father's explanation — 
 and my father is certain to be so concerned at having cast any 
 imputation on a lady. His first thought was to apologize — ' 
 
 * That is not all. I remember now that dear mamma always 
 said she did not know whether he would consent. Oh ! how 
 weak I was ever to listen — ' 
 
 ' No, Mary, that must not be said. It was my presumptuous, 
 inveterate folly that prevented you from trusting my affection 
 when she might have helped us.' 
 
 ' I don't know. It would have caused her anxiety and dis- 
 tress when she was in no state for them. I don't think it did,' 
 said Mary, considering; 'I don't think she ever knew how 
 much I cared.' 
 
 The admission could only do Louis's heart good, and he 
 recurred to his arguments that her father could be persuaded 
 by such a letter as he felt it in him to write. 
 
 ' You do not know all,' said Mary. ' I could not show you 
 his letter ; but, from it and from my aunt, I better understand 
 what impressions he has of you all, and how hopeless it is.' 
 
 'Tell me!' 
 
 She could not help giving herself the relief, when. that most 
 loving, sympathizing face was pleading with her to let him com- 
 fort her. She knew there was no fiery nor rancorous temper 
 to take unbrage, and it was best for him to know the complete- 
 ness of the death-blow. 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! he fancies that my dear mother's fondness for 
 
270 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 her own family destroyed his domestic peace. He says their 
 pride and narrow notions poisoned — yes, that is the word — 
 poisoned her mind against him ; and that was the reason he 
 insisted on my being brought up here, and kept from you all.' 
 
 ' But I don't understand why he let you come straight home 
 to us, and live in Dynevor Terrace.' 
 
 ' Then he was really sorry mamma was so ill ; and — and for 
 all that was past ; I am sure he felt it was the last parting, and 
 only wished to do anything that could make up to her. He 
 freely gave her leave to go wherever she pleased, and said not a 
 word against Northwold. It was one of her great comforts 
 that he never seemed in the least vexed at anything she had 
 done since we went home. Besides, my aunt says that he and 
 Mr. Dynevor had some plans about James and me.' 
 
 ' He will have that out of his head. He will come to reason. 
 Fond of you, and sorry for the past, he will listen. No wonder 
 he was in a passion ; but just imagine what it would be to heed 
 half Jem Frost says when he is well worked up ! ' 
 
 'Papa is not like James,' said Mary ; 'things go deeper with 
 him. He never forgets ! I shall never forgive myself for not 
 having spoken to Robson ! I know his manner, seeming to 
 assent, and never committing himself, and I ought to have gone 
 through anything rather than have taken such an accusation 
 for granted.' 
 
 To hinder his pleading against her self-conviction, she re- 
 opened her letter to prove the cruelty of the injustice. Mr. 
 Ponsonby professed to have been unwilling to enter so speedily 
 on the new tie ; but to have been compelled, by the species of 
 persecution which was exercised on Rosita, in order to make 
 her return to her nunnery. He dwelt on her timid affection 
 and simplicity, and her exceeding mortification at the slur 
 which Mary had been induced to cast upon her ; though, he 
 said, her innocent mind could not comprehend the full extent 
 of the injury ; since the step his daughter had taken would, 
 when known, seriously affect the lady's reception into society, 
 in a manner only to be repaired by Mary's immediately joining 
 them at Lima. He peremptorily indicated the ship and the 
 escort^a merchant's wife, well known to her — and charged 
 her, on her duty, as the only proof of obedience or affection 
 which could remedy the past, to allow no influence nor con- 
 sideration whatever to detain her. ' You see,' said Mary. 
 
 'I see ! ' was the answer. ' Mary, you are right ; you 
 must go.' 
 
 The words restored her confiding look, and her face lost 
 almost all the restless wretchedness which had so transformed 
 it. ' Thank you,' she said, with a long breath ; ' I knew you 
 would see it so.' 
 
 'It will be a very pretty new style of wedding tour. Andes 
 for Alps ! No, Mary, you need not suspect me of trifling now ! 
 I really mean it ; and, seriously, our going in that way would 
 
OUTWARD BOUND 271 
 
 set this Rosita straight with society much more handsomely 
 and effectually. Don't doubt my father— I will fetch him.' 
 
 ' Stop, Louis ! You forget ! Did I not tell you that he ex- 
 pressly warns me against you? He must have heard of what 
 happened before : he says I had prudence once to withstand, 
 and he trusts to my spirit and discretion to—-' Mary stopped 
 short of the phrase before her eyes— to resist the interested 
 solicitations of necessitous nobility, and the allurements of a 
 beggarly coronet. ' No,' she concluded ; ' he says that you are 
 the last person whom he could think of allowing me to accept.' 
 She hid her face in her hands, and her voice died away. 
 
 'Happily that is done,' said Louis, not yet disconcerted ; 
 ^ but if you go, as I own you must, it shall be with a letter of 
 mine, explaining all. You will plead for me — I think you 
 will ; and when he is satisfied that we are no rebels, then the 
 first ship that sails for Peru — Say that will do, Mary.' 
 
 'No, Louis, I know my father.' She roused herself, and sat 
 upright, speaking resolutely, but not daring to look at him— 
 'I made up my mind last night. It was weak and selfish in 
 me to enter into this engagement, and it must be broken off. 
 You must be left free^not bound for years and years.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mary ! Mary ! this is too much. I deserved distrust 
 by my wretched folly and fickleness last year, but I did not 
 know what you were to me then — my most precious one ! Can 
 you not trust me ? Do you not know how I would wait 1 ' 
 
 'You would wait,' said poor Mary, striving with choking 
 tears, ' and be sorry you had waited.' 
 
 ' Are you talking madness, Mary 1 I should live for the 
 moment to compensate for all.' 
 
 ' You would waste your best years, and when the time came, 
 you would still be young, and I grown into an old careworn 
 woman. You would find you had waited for what was nothing 
 worth ! ' 
 
 'How can you talk so,' cried Louis, wounded, 'when you 
 know that to cherish and make up to you would be my dearest, 
 fondest wish ! No, don't shake your head ! You know it is 
 not a young rose and lily beauty that I love, — it is the honest, 
 earnest glance in my Mary's eyes ; the rest, and trust, and peace, 
 whenever I do but come near her. Time can't take that away ! ' 
 
 'Pray,' said Mary, feebly, 'don't let us discuss it now. I 
 know it is right. I was determined to say it to-day, that the 
 worst might be over ; but I can't argue, nor bear your kindness 
 now. Please let it wait.' 
 
 'Yes, let it wait. It is depression. You will see it in a 
 true light when you have recovered the shock, and don't fancy 
 all must be given up together. Lie down and rest ; I am sure 
 you have been awake all night.' 
 
 ' I may rest now I have told you, and seen you are not angry 
 with poor papa, nor with me. Oh ! Louis — the gratitude to 
 you, the weight off my mind ! ' 
 
272 DYNEYOR TERRACE 
 
 'I don't think any one could help taking the same view/ 
 said Louis. ^ ' It seems to me one of the cases where the imme- 
 diate duty is the more clear because it is so very painf uh Mary, 
 I think that you are committing your way unto the Lord, and 
 you know " He shall bring it to pass."' 
 
 As he spoke there was a tap at the door, and Miss Ponsonby, 
 stiffly entering, said, ' Excuse my interruption, but I hope Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn will be considerate enough not to harass you any 
 longer with solicitations to act against your conscience.' 
 
 'He is not persuading me,' said Mary, turning towards her 
 aunt a face which, through all her dejection, proved her peace 
 in his support and approval ; ' he is helping me.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis to the astonished aunt ; ' since I have heard 
 the true state of the case, I have been convinced that there is 
 no choice for her but to go out, to repair the injustice so un- 
 fortunately done to this poor lady. It is a noble resolution, 
 and I perfectly concur with her.' 
 
 'I am glad you think so properly, sir,' returned Miss Pon- 
 sonby. ' Lord Ormersfield seeras quite of another opinion. He 
 was desirous of seeing you, Mary ; but I have been telling him 
 I could permit no more interviews to-day.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' said Mary, putting her hand to her head, as if it 
 could bear no more: 'not to-day! Louis, tell him how it is. 
 Make him forgive me ; but do not let me see him yet.' 
 
 ' You shall see no one,' said Louis, tenderly ; ' you shall rest. 
 There — ' and as if he had the sole right to her, he arranged the 
 cushions, placed her on the sofa, and hung over her to chafe her 
 hands, and bathe her forehead with eaii de Cologne ; while, as he 
 detected signs of hasty preparations about the room, he added, 
 ' Don't trouble yourself with your arrangements ; I will see 
 about all I can to help you. Only rest, and cure your head.' 
 
 ' Say that one thing to me again,' whispered Mary, ere letting 
 his hand go. 
 
 Again he murmured the words, ' Commit thy way unto the 
 Lord, and He shall bring it to pass.' 
 
 Then Mary felt her hand pressed to his lips, but she would 
 not unclose her burning eyes ; she would fain sleep beneath the 
 impress of that spell of patient confidence. 
 
 The gentle authority of his manner had deprived Miss Pon- 
 sonby of all notion of interfering. This 'odious, frivolous 
 young man of fashion ' so entirely disconcerted her ideas of 
 ardent lovers, or of self-interested puppies, that she gazed at 
 him, surprised and softened ; and when he looked at her 
 anxiously, to judge whether Mary would find in her a kind 
 comforter, her eyes were full of tears, and she said as they left 
 the room, ' It must be a great relief to my looor Mary that you 
 see it so sensibly. She has been suffering much in anticipation 
 of this meeting.' 
 
 ' Her unselfishness goes to one's heart ! ' said Louis, almost 
 overcome. ' If she would but have spared ^lerself yesterday ! ' 
 
OUTWARD BOUND 273 
 
 ' Ah ! she said she could not bear that you should be pained 
 on your friend's wedding-day. I am much comforted to find 
 that you appreciate the efibrt.' 
 
 This was not what Miss Ponsonby had intended to say, but 
 there was something about the young man that touched her 
 exceedingly ; even when fresh from a very civil and decorous 
 combat with his father, and a ripping-up of all the ancient 
 grievances of the married life of their two relations, rendering 
 wider than ever the breach between the houses of Ponsonby 
 and Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield came forward to learn whether he might 
 see Mary, and was met by assurances that she must be kept as 
 quiet as possible ; upon whicli he took leave, making a stately 
 bend of the head, while Louis shook Miss Ponsonby's hand, and 
 said he should come to the door to inquire before the day was over. 
 
 ' I never saw her so broken down,' he said, in answer to his 
 father's compassionate but indignant exclamation as they walked 
 ]iome. ' Yesterday was a terrible strain on her.' 
 
 ' I wish we had never brought her here,' said Lord Ormers- 
 field. 'The aunt is your enemy, as she always was that of 
 Mary's mother. She nearly avowed that she set her brother on 
 making this premature prohibition.' 
 
 ' I do not think she is unkind to Mary,' said Louis ; ' I could 
 be almost glad that the dear Aunt Kitty is spared all this 
 worry. It would make her so very miserable.' 
 
 'Her influence. would be in your favour, whereas this woman 
 is perfectly unreasonable. She justifies her brother in every- 
 thing, and is actually working on that poor girl's scruples of 
 conscience to send her out by this ship.' 
 
 ' Nay,' said Louis, ' after hearing her father's letter, I do not 
 see that it is possible for her to do otherwise.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield hastily turned to look at his son's counten- 
 ance, — it was flushed and melancholy, but fully in earnest ; 
 nevertheless the Earl would not believe his ears, and made a 
 sound as if he had missed the words. 
 
 ' I am grieved enough to say so,' repeated Louis ; ' but, as he 
 puts it, I do not see how Mary can refuse. to obey him.' 
 
 'I declare, Fitzjocelyn,' exclaimed his father, with some anger, 
 ' any one who takes the trouble, may talk you into anything 
 imaginable ! ' 
 
 ' Not into believing her wrong.' 
 
 ' I did not think you so weak ! ' continued his father. ' It is 
 the very case where a woman's exaggerated notions of right 
 may be wrought on to do her infinite harm ! They become 
 quite ridiculous without some one to show that such things 
 may be carried too far ! I must say, I did expect strength of 
 mind and common sense for your own interest. I esteem it a 
 mere matter of duty to put an end to such nonsense.' 
 
 'My dear father,' said Louis, 'it was Mary and her mother 
 who first taught me my own obligations. I should never dare 
 
 T 
 
274 DYNEYOK TERRACE 
 
 to interfere with any one's filial duty — above all, where my own 
 happiness is so deeply concerned.' 
 
 ' Yours ! I am not talking of yours. What is to become of 
 Mary with such a man as that, and this Spanish woman, who, 
 if she does not deserve all that has been said of her, no doubt 
 soon will? — no education, no principles, breaking out of her^ 
 convent ! And you let yourself be drawn into calling it Mary's 
 duty to run into such company as that ! You are not fit to 
 protect her.' 
 
 ' From all I have heard of Mr. Ponsonby, I am convinced he 
 has too much regard for his daughter to summon her into any 
 improper society. I do not hear that he has been to blame as 
 a father. I wish I could see it as you do ; but not only do I 
 know that Mary could not have an instant's peace under the 
 sense of his displeasure, but it seems to me that this is one of 
 the express commands which could not be disobeyed without 
 setting aside the law of Heaven. If I gave my voice against 
 it, I should fear to bring on us a curse, and not a blessing,' 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn, I always knew how it would be if you took to 
 being one of those very good people. Nothing is so weak, and 
 yet so unmanageable. Any rational being would look on it as 
 a duty to rescue her from such a man as that ; but that is too 
 ordinary a virtue for you. You must go higher.' 
 
 Louis made no answer. Never had his father pained him so 
 much, and he could ill brook additional suffering. 
 
 ' However,' said the Earl, recovering, * I shall see her. I 
 shall put the matter in a just light. She is a sensible girl, and 
 will understand me when she lias recovered the shock. On one 
 head I shall give warning. She must choose between us and 
 her father. If she persist in going out to join this establisli- 
 ment, I will have your engagement given up.' 
 
 ' Father ! father ! you would not be so cruel ! ' 
 
 ' I know what I am saying. Am I to allow you to be encum- 
 bered all the time she is on the other side of the world, waiting 
 Ponsonby's pleasure, to come home at last, in ten or fifteen 
 years' time, worried and fretted to death, like her poor mother ? 
 No, Louis ; it must be- now or never.' 
 
 ' You are only saying what I would not hear from her. She 
 has been insisting on breaking off", and all my hope was in you.' 
 
 * She has ? That is like her ! The only reasonable thing I 
 have heard yet.' 
 
 ' Then you will not help me ? You, who I thought loved her 
 like your own daughter, and wished for nothing so much ! ' 
 
 ' So I might ; but that is a different thing from allowing you 
 to wear out your life in a hopeless engagement. If she cast off 
 her family, nothing could be better ; otherwise, I would never 
 connect you with them.' 
 
 It did not occur to his lordship that he was straining pretty 
 hard the filial duty of his own son, while he was arguing that 
 Mary should snap asunder the same towards her father. 
 
OUTWARD BOUND 275 
 
 Tlie fresh discomfiture made poor Louis feel utterly dejected 
 and almost hopeless ; but lest silence should seem to consent, 
 he said, ' When you see Mary, you will be willing for me to do 
 anything rather than lose what is so dear and so noble.' 
 
 ' Yes, I will see Mary. We will settle it between us, and 
 have it right yet ; but we must give her to-day to think it 
 over, and get over the first shock. When she has had a little 
 time for reflection, a few cool arguments from me will bring 
 her to reason.' 
 
 So it was all to be settled over Louis's passive head ; and 
 thus satisfied, his father, who was exceedingly sorry for him, 
 forgot his anger, and offered to go home alone as Clara's escort, 
 promising to return on the Monday, to bring the full force of 
 his remonstrances to bear down Mary's scruples. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield believed Clara too much of a child to have 
 any ideas on what was passing ; and had it depended on him, 
 she must have gone home in an agony of ignorance on the cause 
 of her cousin's trouble ; but Louis came with them to the station, 
 and contrived to say to her while walking up and down the 
 platform, ' Her father is bitter against me. He has sent for 
 her, and she is going ! ' 
 
 Clara looked mutely in his face, with a sort of inquiring 
 dismay. 
 
 'You'll hear all about it when my father has told Aunt 
 Kitty,' said Louis. ' Clara,' — he paused, and spoke lower — 
 ' tell her I see what is right nowj tell her to — to pray for me, 
 that I may not be talked into tampering with my conscience or 
 with hers. Don't let it dwell on you or on my aunt,' he added, 
 cheerfully. ' No, it won't ; you will be thinking of Jem and 
 Isabel.' And as his father came up, his last words were, in his 
 own bright tone, ' Tell granny from me that giraffes ought 
 always to be seen by gaslight.' 
 
 Clara's countenance returned him a look of sorrowful re- 
 proach, for thinking her capable of ])eing amused when he was 
 in distress ; and she sat in silent musings all the way home — 
 pondering over his words, speculating on his future, wondering 
 what Mary felt, and becoming blunt and almost angry, when 
 her grave escort in the opposite corner consulted civility by 
 addressing some indifferent remark to her, as if, she said to 
 herself, ' she were no better than a stuffed giraffe, and knew 
 and cared nothing about anybody ! ' 
 
 He might have guessed that she understood something by the 
 sudden way in which she curtailed her grandmother's rapturous 
 and affectionate inquiries about the wedding, ran up-stairs on the 
 plea of taking off her bonnet, and appeared no more till he had 
 gone home ; when, coming down, she found granny, with tearful 
 eyes, lamenting that Mr. Ponsonby was so harsh and unkind, 
 and fully possessed with the rational view which her nephew 
 had been impressing on her. 
 
 * Ha ! ' said Clara, ' that is what Louis meant. I'll tell you 
 
 T 2 
 
276 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 what, granny, Lord Ormersfield never knew in his life what 
 was riglit, half as well as Louis does. I wish he would let him 
 alone. If Mary is good enough for him, she will go out and 
 wait till her father comes round. If she is not, she won't ; and 
 Lord Ormersfield has no business to tease her.' 
 
 ' Then you would like her to go out ? ' said Mrs. Frost. 
 
 ' I like anything that makes Louis happy. I thought it would 
 have been delightful to have him married — one could be so much 
 more at Ormersfield, and Mary would be so nice ; but as to 
 their beins: over-persuaded, and thinking themselves half wrong ! 
 why, they would never be happy in their lives ; and Louis 
 would be n.lways half-asleep or half -mad, to save himself the 
 trouble of thinking. But he'll never do it ! ' 
 
 On the Saturday morning Mary's healthy and vigorous spirit 
 had quite resumed its tone. The worst was over when she had 
 inflicted the stroke on Louis, and seen him ready to support 
 instead of adding to her distress. He found her pale and sor- 
 rowful, but calm, collected, and ready for exertion. By tacit 
 consent, they avoided all discussion of the terms on which 
 they were to stand. Greatly touched by her consideration for 
 him on the wedding-day, he would not torture her with plead- 
 ings, and was only too grateful for every service that he was 
 allowed to render her without protest, as still her chief and 
 most natural dependence. 
 
 She did not scruple to allow him to assist her ; she under- 
 stood the gratification to him, and it was only too sweet to her 
 to be still his object. She could trust him not to presume ; his 
 approval made her almost happy ; and yet it was hard that his 
 very patience and acquiescence should endear him so much as to 
 render the parting so much the more painful. The day was 
 spent in business. He facilitated much that would have been 
 arduous for two solitary women, and did little all day but go 
 about for Mary, fulfilling the commissions which her father had 
 sent home ; and though he did it with a sore heart, it was still 
 a privilege to be at work for Mary. 
 
 Rigid as Miss Ponsonby was, she began to be touched. There 
 was a doubt as to his admission when he came on Sunday morn- 
 ing — ' Mistress saw no one on Sunday ; ' but when his name was 
 carried in. Miss Ponsonby could not withstand Mary's face. 
 She took care to tell him her rule ; but that, considering the 
 circumstances, she had made an exception in his favour, on the 
 understanding that nothing was to break in upon the observ- 
 ance of the Sabbath. 
 
 Louis bent his head, with the heartfelt answer that he was 
 but too glad to be permitted to goto church once more with Mary. 
 
 Aunt Melicent's Sunday was not quite their own Sunday, but 
 all that they could desire was to be quietly together, and re- 
 stricted from all those agitating topics and arrangements. It 
 was a day of rest, and they valued it accordingly. In fact, 
 Miss Ponsonby found the young lord so good and inoffensive, 
 
OUTWARD BOUND 277 
 
 that she broke her morning's resolution, invited him to partake 
 of the cold dinner, let him go to church with them again in the 
 evening, and remain to tea ; and when he took leave, she ex- 
 pressed such surprised admiration at his having come and gone 
 on his own feet, his church-going, and his conduct generally, 
 that Mary could not help suspecting that her good aunt had 
 supposed that he had never heard of the Fourth Commandment 
 
 Miss Ponsonby was one of the many good women given to 
 hard judgments on slight grounds, and to sudden reactions still 
 more violent ; and the sight of Lord Fitzjocelyn spending a 
 quiet, respectable Sunday, had such an effect on her, that she 
 transgressed her own mandate, and broached ' the distressing 
 subject.' 
 
 ' Mary, my dear, I suppose this young gentleman is an im- 
 proved character ? ' 
 
 * He is always improving,' said Mary. 
 
 *I mean, that an important change must have taken place 
 since I understood you to say you had refused him. I thought 
 you acted most properly then ; and, as I see him now, I think 
 you equally right in accepting him.' 
 
 ' He was very much what he is now,' said Mary. 
 
 ' Then it was from no doubt of his being a serious character ? ' 
 
 * None whatever,' said Mary, emphatically. 
 
 * Well, my dear, I must confess his appearance, his family, 
 and your refusal, misled me. I fear I did him great injustice.' 
 
 A silence, and then Miss Ponsonby said, * After all, my dear, 
 though I thought quite otherwise at first, I do believe that, 
 considering what the youth is, and how much attached he 
 seems, you might safely continue the engagement.' 
 
 Mary's heart glowed to her aunt for having been thus con- 
 quered by Louis — she who, three nights back, had been so 
 severely incredulous, so deeply disappointed in her niece for 
 having been deluded into endurance of him. But her resolution 
 was fixed. ' It would not be right,' she said ; ' his father would 
 not allow it. There is so little chance of papa's relenting, or of 
 my coming home, that it would be wrong to keep him in sus- 
 pense. He had better turn his thoughts elsewhere while he is 
 young enough to begin again.' 
 
 ' It might save him from marrying some mere fine lady.' 
 
 * That will never be ; whatever woman he chooses will — ' 
 She could not go on, but presently cleared her voice — ' No ; I 
 should like to leave him quite free. I was less his choice than 
 his father's ; and, though I thought we should have been very 
 happy, it does not seem to be the leading of Heaven. I am so 
 far his inferior in cleverness, and everything attractive, and have 
 been made so like his elder sister, that it might not have been 
 best for him. I want him to feel that, in beginning afresh, he 
 is doing me no injury ; and then in time, whenever I come 
 home, it may be such a friendship as there was between our 
 elders. That is what I try to look forward to, — no, I don't 
 
278 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 think I look forward to any tiling. Good niglit, Aunt Melicent 
 — I am so glad you like him ! ' 
 
 In this mind Mary met Lord Ormersfield. The delay had 
 been an advantage, for he was less irritated, and she had re- 
 gained self-possession. Her passage had been taken, and this 
 was an argument that told on the Earl, though he refused to 
 call it irrevocable. He found that there was no staggering her 
 on the score of the life that awaited her ; she know more on 
 tliat subject than he did, had confidence in her father, and no 
 dread of Rosita ; and she was too much ashamed and grieved 
 at the former effect of his persuasions to attend to any more of 
 a like description. He found her sense of duty more stubborn 
 than he had anticipated, and soon had no more to say. She 
 might carry it too far ; but the principle was sound, and a 
 father could not well controvert it. He had designed the rup- 
 ture with Louis as a penalty to drive her into his measures ; but 
 he could not so propound it, and was wondering how to bring it 
 in, when Mary relieved him by beginning herself, and stating 
 the grounds with such sensible, unselfish, almost motherly care 
 of Louis's happiness, that he was more unwilling than ever to 
 let him resign her, and was on the point of begging her to recon- 
 sider, and let Louis wait for ever rather than lose her. But he 
 knew they ought not to be bound, under such uncertainties, and 
 his conviction was too strong to give way to emotion. He 
 thanked her, and praised her with unwonted agitation, and re- 
 gretted more than ever ; and so they closed the conference by 
 deciding that, unless Mr. Ponsonby should be induced to relent 
 by his daughter's representations on her arrival, Mary and 
 Louis must consider themselves as mutually released. 
 
 That loophole — forlorn, most forlorn hope, as they knew it to 
 be — was an infinite solace to the young people, by sparing them 
 a formal parting, and permitting tliem still to feel that they be- 
 longed to each other. If he began declaring that nothing 
 would ever make him feel disconnected with Mary, he was told 
 that it was not time to think of tliat, and they must not waste 
 their time. And once Mary reminded him how much worse it 
 would be if they had been separated by a quarrel. ^ Anger 
 might give one spirits,' he said, smiling mournfully. 
 
 ' At the time ; but think what it would be not to be able to 
 remember happy times without remorse.' 
 
 ' Then you do mean to recollect, Mary ? '^ 
 
 ' I trust to bring myself to remember rightly and wisely. ^ I 
 shall try to set it for a reward for myself to cure me of repin- 
 ings,' said Mary, looking into his face, as if the remembrance of 
 it must bring cheerfulness and refreshment. 
 
 'And when shall I not think, Mary? When I leave off 
 work I shall want you for a companion ; when I go to work, 
 the thouglit must stir me up. Your judgment must try my 
 own.' 
 
 '^Oli, hush, Louis ! this is not good. Be yourself, and be more 
 
THE NEW WOKLD 2^9 
 
 than yourself, and only think of the past as a time when we had 
 a great deal of pleasantness, and you did me much good.' 
 
 'Didir 
 
 ' Yes ; I see it now I am with Aunt Melicent. You put so 
 many more thoughts in my head, and showed me that so much 
 more was good and wholesome than I used to fancy. Dear 
 mamma once said you were educating me ; and I hope to go 
 on, and not let your lessons waste away.' 
 
 'Nay, Mary, you won good everywhere. If you had not 
 been Mary, I might have made you a great goose. But you 
 taught me all the perseverance I ever had. And, oh ! Mary, I 
 don't wonder you do not trust it.' 
 
 * There is the forbidden subject,' said Mary, firmly. 
 
 That was the sort of conversation into which they fell now 
 and then during tliose last days of busy sadness. 
 
 Truly it could have been worse. Suffering by their own 
 fault would have rent them asunder more harshly, and Louis's 
 freedom from all fierceness and violence softened all ineffably 
 to Mary. James Frost's letter of fiery indignation, almost of 
 denunciation, made her thankful that he was not the party 
 concerned ; and Louis made her smile at Isabel's copy of all 
 his sentiments in ladylike phrases. 
 
 The last day came. Louis would not be denied seeing Mary 
 on board the Valdivia ; and, in spite of all Miss Ponsonby's 
 horror of railways, he persuaded her to trust herself under his 
 care to Liverpool. She augured great things from the letter 
 which she had intrusted to Mary, and in which she had spoken 
 of Lord Fitzjocelyn in the highest terms her vocabulary could 
 furnish. 
 
 They parted bravely. Spectators hindered all display of 
 feeling, and no One cried, except Miss Ponsonby. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Louis ; I will not forget your messages to Tom 
 Madison. My love to your father and Aunt Catharine.' 
 
 ' Good-bye, Mary ; I shall see Tom and Chimborazo yet.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE NEW WORLD 
 
 Still onward, as to southern skies 
 
 We spread our sails, new stars arise, 
 
 New lights upon the glancing tide. 
 
 Fresh hues where pearl and coral hide : 
 
 What are they all but tokens true 
 
 Of grace for ever fresh and new ! — Prayers for Emigrants 
 
 Theee are some days in. the early year, devoid indeed of 
 spring brilliance, but full of soft, heavy, steaming fragrance, 
 pervading the gray air with sweet odours, and fostering the 
 growth of tender bud and fragile stem with an unseen influence, 
 more mild and kindly than even the smiling sunbeam or the 
 
280 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 gushing shower. 'A growing day/ as the country people 
 term such genial, gentle weather, might not be without analogy 
 to the brief betrothal of Louis and Mary. 
 
 ^ Subdued and anxious, there had been little of the ordinary 
 light of joy, hope or gaiety, and their pleasures had been less 
 their own than in preparing the happiness of their two friends. 
 It was a time such as to be more sweet in memory than it was 
 in the present ; and the shade which had hung over it, the self- 
 restraint and the forbearance which it had elicited, had uncon- 
 sciously conduced to the development of the characters of both, 
 preparing them to endure the parting far more effectually than 
 unmixed enjoyment could have done. The check upon Louis's 
 love of trifling, the restraint on his spirits, the being thrown 
 back on his own judgment when he wanted to lean upon Mary, 
 had given him a habit of controlling his boyish ways. It 
 was a call to train himself in manliness and self-reliance. It 
 changed him from the unstable reed he once had been, and 
 lielped him to take one steady and consistent view of the trial 
 required of him and of Mary, and then to act upon it resolutely 
 and submissively. 
 
 With Mary gone, he cared little what became of him until 
 her letters could arrive ; and his father, with more attention to 
 his supposed benefit than to his wishes, carried him at once, 
 without returning home, to a round of visits among all his 
 acquaintance most likely to furnish a distracting amount of 
 Christmas gaieties. In the midst of these, there occurred a 
 vacancy in the representation of a borough chiefly under the 
 influence of Sir Miles Oakstead ; and, as it was considered 
 expedient that he should be brought into Parliament, his father 
 repaired with him at once to Oakstead, and involved him in all 
 the business of the election. On his success, he went with his 
 father to London for the session, and this was all that his 
 friends at Northwold knew of him. He wrote hurried notes 
 to James or to Mr. Holdsworth on necessary affairs connected 
 with his farm and improvements, mentioning facts instead of 
 feelings, and promising to write to Aunt Catharine when he 
 should have time ; but the time did not seem to come, and it 
 was easy to believe that his passiveness of will, increased by 
 the recent stroke, had caused him to be hurried into a condition 
 of involuntary practical activity. 
 
 Mary, meanwhile, was retracing her voyage, in the lull of 
 spirits which, after long straining, had nothing to do but to 
 wait in patience, bracing themselves for a fresh trial. Never 
 suffering herself, at sea, her first feelings, after the final wrench 
 of parting, were interrupted by the necessity of attending to 
 her friend, a young mother, with children enough to require all 
 the services that the indefatigable Mary could perform. If 
 Mrs. Willis always averred tiiat she never could have gone 
 through the voyage without Miss Ponsonby, Mary felt, in 
 return, that the little fretful boy and girl, who would never let 
 
THE NEW WORLD 281 
 
 her sit and think, except when both were asleep, had been no 
 small blessing to her. 
 
 Yet Mary was not so much absorbed and satisfied with tlie 
 visible and practical as had once been the case. The growth 
 had not been all on Louis's side. If her steadfast spirit had 
 strengthened his wavering resolution, the intercourse and sym- 
 patliy with him had opened and unfolded many a perception 
 and quality in her, which had been as tightly and hardly cased 
 up as leaf-buds in their gummy envelopes. A wider range had 
 been given to her thoughts ; there w^as a swelling of heart, a 
 vividness of sensation, such as she had not known in earlier 
 times ; she had been taught the mystery of creation, the strange 
 connection with the Unseen, and even with her fellow-men. 
 Beyond the ordinary practical kind offices, for which she had 
 been always ready, there was now mingled something of 
 Louis's more comprehensive spirit of questioning what would 
 do them good, and drawing food for reflection from their 
 diverse ways. 
 
 She was sensible of the change again and again, when sights 
 recurred which once had only spoken to her eye. That lumi- 
 nous sea, sparkling like floods of stars, had been little more 
 than 'How pretty ! how funny ! ' at her first voyage. Now, it 
 was not only ' How Louis would admire it ! ' but ' How pro- 
 fusely, how gloriously has the Creator spread the globe with 
 mysterious beauty ! how marvellously has He caused His 
 creatures to hold forth this light, to attract others to their 
 needful food ! ' And the furrow of fire left by their vessel's 
 wake spoke to her of that path ' like a shining light, shining 
 more and more unto the perfect day.' If with it came the re- 
 membrance of his vision of the threads of light, it was not a 
 recollection which would lead to repining. 
 
 At Cape Horn, a mighty ice mountain drifted within view, 
 spired, pinnacled, encrusted with whiteness, rivalled only by 
 the glory of the summer cloud, caverned here and there into 
 hollows of sapphire blue, too deeply dazzling to behold, or rising 
 into peaks of clear, hard, chill green ; the wild fantastic points 
 sometimes glimmering with fragments of the rainbow arch ; 
 the rich variety, endless beyond measure in form and colouring, 
 and not only magnificent and terrible in the whole mass, but 
 lovely beyond imagination in each crystal too minute for the 
 eye. Mary had once, on a like occasion, only said, 'it was 
 very cold ; ' and looked to see whether the captain expected the 
 monster to bear down on the ship. But the present iceberg put 
 lier in mind of the sublime aspirations which Gothic cathedrals 
 seem as if they would fain embody. And then, she thought of 
 the marvellous interminable waste of beauty of those untrodden 
 regions, whence yonder enormous iceberg was but a small frag- 
 ment — a petty messenger — regions unseen by human eye — 
 beauty untouched by human hand — the glory, the sameness, 
 yet the infinite variety of perfect purity. Did it not seem, 
 
282 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 with all the associations of cold, of peril, of dreariness, to be 
 a visible token that indeed He who fashioned it can prepare 
 * good things past man's understanding ' ? 
 
 It was well for Mary that southern constellations, snowy, 
 white-winged albatross, leaping flying-fish, and white-capped 
 mountain-coast had been joined in her mind with something 
 higher, deeper, and less personal, or their recurrence would 
 have brouglit her nothing but pain unmitigated in the contrast 
 with the time when first she had beheld them six years ago. 
 
 Then she had been full of hope and eager ardour to arrive, 
 longing for the parental presence of which she had so long been 
 deprived, hailing every novel scene as a proof that she was nearer 
 home, and without the anticipation of one cloud, only expecting 
 to be loved, to love and to be useful. And now all fond illusions 
 as to her father had been snatched away, her very love for liim 
 rendering the perception doubly cruel ; her mother, her precious 
 mother, far away in Ormersfield churchyard — her life probably 
 shortened by his harshness — her place occupied by a young girl, 
 differing in language, in Church, in everything — Mary's own 
 pardon uncertain, after all her sacrifices. A sense of having 
 deeply ofiended, hung upon lier ; and her heart was so entirely 
 in England, that had her home been perfect, her voyage must 
 still have been a cruel effort. That one anticipation of being 
 set at rest by her father's forgiveness, and the forlorn despairing 
 hope of his relenting towards Louis, were all she dared to dwell 
 on ; and when Mrs. Willis counted the days till she could arrive 
 and meet her husband, poor Mary felt as if, but for these two 
 chances of comfort, she could gladly have prolonged the voyage 
 for the rest of her life. 
 
 But one burning tropical noon, the Valdivia was entering 
 Callao harbour, and Mary, sick and faint at heart, was arraying 
 herself in a coloured dress, lest her mourning should seem to 
 upbraid her father. The voyage was over, the ship was anchored, 
 boats were coming off* shore, the luggage was being hoisted out 
 of the hold, the passengers were congregated on deck, eager to 
 land, some gazing with curious and enterprising eyes on the 
 new country, others scanning every boat in hopes of meeting a 
 familiar face. Mrs. Willis stood trembling with hope, excitement, 
 and the strange dread often rushing in upon the last moment 
 of expectation. She clung to Mary for support, and once said — 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Ponsonby, how composed you are ! ' 
 
 Mary's feelings were too deep — too much concentrated for 
 trembling. She calmed and soothed the wife's sudden fright, 
 lest ' something should have happened to George ; ' and she 
 even smiled when the children's scream of ecstasy infected their 
 mother, when the papa and uncle they had been watching for 
 with straining eyes proved to be standing on deck close beside 
 them. 
 
 Mary cast her eyes round, and saw nothing of her own. She 
 stood apart, while the Willis family were in all the rapture of 
 
THE NEW WORLD 283 
 
 the meeting ; slie saw them moving off, too happy and sufficient 
 for themselves even to remember her. She had a dull, heavy 
 sensation that she must bear all, and that this was the begin- 
 ning ; and she was about to begin her arrangements for her 
 dreary landing, when Mrs. Willis's brother, Mr. Ward, turned 
 back. He was a middle-aged merchant, whom her mother had 
 much liked and esteemed, and there was something cheering in 
 his frank, hearty greeting, and satisfaction in seeing her. It 
 was more like a welcome, and it brought the Willises back, 
 shocked at having forgotten her in the selfishness of their own 
 joy ; but they had made sure that she had been met. Mr. Ward 
 did not think that she was expected by the Valdivia ; Mr. 
 Ponsonby had not mentioned it as likely. So they were all 
 seated in the boat, with the black rowers ; and while the Willises 
 fondled their children, and exchanged home-news, Mr. Ward 
 sat by Mary, and spoke to her kindly, not openly referring to 
 the state of her home, but showing a warmth and consideration 
 which evinced much delicate sympathy. 
 
 They all drove together in the Willises' carriage up the 
 sloping road from Callao to Lima, and Mary heard astonishment, 
 such as she had once felt, breaking out in screams from the 
 children at the sight of omnibuses filled with gaily-dressed 
 negroes, and brown horsewomen in Panama hats and lace-edged 
 trousers careering down the road. But then, her father had 
 come and fetched her from on board, and that dear mamma was 
 waiting in the carriage ! 
 
 They entered the old walled town when twilight had already 
 closed in, and Mrs. Willis was anxious to take her tired little 
 ones home at once. They were set down at their own door ; 
 but Mr. Ward, with protecting anxious kindness, insisted on 
 seeing Miss Ponsonby safely home before he would join them. 
 As they drove through the dark streets, Mary heard a little 
 restless movement, betraying some embarrassment ; and at last, 
 with an evident desire of reassuring her, he said, ' Seiiora Pon- 
 sonby is thought very pleasing and engaging ; ' and then, as if 
 willing to change the subject, he hastily added, 'I suppose you 
 did not speak the Fizarro ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 * She has sailed about three weeks. She takes home your 
 cousin, Mr. Dy never.' 
 
 Mary cried out with surprise. 
 
 ' I thought him a complete fixture, but he is gone home for a 
 year. It seems his family property was in the market, and lie 
 was anxious to secure it.' 
 
 ' How glad his mother will be ! ' was all Mary could say, as 
 there rushed over her the thought of the wonderful changes 
 this would make in Dynevor Terrace. Her first feeling was 
 that she must tell Louis ; her second, that two oceans were be- 
 tween them ; and then she thought of Aunt Catharine having 
 lived, after all, to see her son. 
 
284 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 She had forgotten to expect the turn when the carriage 
 wheeled under the arched entry of her father's house. All was 
 gloom and stillness, except where a little light shone in a sort 
 of porter's lodge upon the eager negro features of two blacks, 
 with much gesticulation, playing at dice. They came out 
 hastily at the sound of the carriage ; and as Mr. Ward handed 
 out Mary, and inquired for Mr. Ponsonby, she recognized and 
 addressed the white-woolled old Xavier, the mayor domo. Poor 
 old Xavier ! Often had she hunted and teased him, and tried 
 to make him understand ' cosas de Inglaterra,^ and to make him 
 cease from his beloved dice ; but no sooner did he see her face 
 than, with a cry of joy, 'La Seiiorita Maria ! la Senorita 
 Maria ! ' down he went upon his knees, and began kissing tlie 
 hem of her dress. 
 
 All tlie rest of the negro establishment came round, capering 
 and chattering Spanish ; and, in the confusion, Mary could not 
 get her question heard — Wliere was her father? and Xavier's 
 vehement tlireats and commands to the others to be silent, did 
 not produce a calm. At last, bearing a light, there came for- 
 Avard a faded, sallow dame, with a candle in her hand, who 
 might have sat for the picture of the Dueiia Rodriguez, and at 
 her appearance the negroes subsided. She was an addition to 
 the establishment since Mary's departure ; but in her might be 
 easily recognized the Tia, the individual who in Limenian house- 
 holds holds a position between companion and housekeeper. 
 She introduced herself by the lugubrious appellation' of Seiiora 
 Dolores, and, receiving Mary with obsequious courtesy, ex- 
 plained that the Senor and Seiiora were at a te7-tulia, or evening- 
 party. She lighted Mary and Mr. Ward into the quadra ; and 
 there Mr. Ward, shaking hands with her as if he would thereby 
 compensate for all that was wanting in lier welcome, promised 
 to go and inform her father of her arrival. 
 
 Mary stood in the larg€ dark room, with the soft matted floor, 
 and the windows high up near the carved timbered ceiling, the 
 single lamp, burning in rum, casting a dim gleam over the Avell- 
 known furniture, by wliich her mother had striven to give an 
 English appearance to the room. It was very dreary, and she 
 would have given the world to be alone with her throbbing 
 head, her dull heartache, and the weariness of spirits over-long 
 wound up for the meeting ; but her own apartment could be no 
 refuge until it had been cleansed and made ready, and Dolores 
 and Xavier were persecuting her every moment with their hos- 
 pitality and their inquiries. Then came a quick, manly tread, 
 and for a moment her heart almost seemed to stand still, in the 
 belief that it was her father ; but it was only Ptobson, Imrrying 
 in to offer his services and apologies. Perhaps he was the very 
 last person she could bear to see, feeling, as she did, that if he 
 had been more explicit, all the offence would have been spared. 
 He was so much aware of aJl family matters, and was accustomed 
 to so much confidence from her father, that she could not believe 
 
THE NEW WORLD 285 
 
 him unconscious ; and there was something hateful to her in tlie 
 plausible frankness and deferential familiarity of his manners, 
 as, brushing up his sandy hair upon his forehead, he poured 
 forth explanations that Mr. Ponsonby Avould be delighted, but 
 grieved that no one had met her — Valdivia not expected so soon 
 — not anticipated the pleasure — if they liad imagined that Miss 
 Ponsonby was a passenger — 
 
 ' My father desired that I would come out by her,' said Mary. 
 ^ Ay, true — so he informed me ; but since later intelligence ' — 
 and he cast a glance at Mary, to judge how much further to go ; 
 but meeting with nothing but severity, he covered the imperti- 
 nence by saying, ' In fact, though the Valdivia was mentioned, 
 and Mrs. Willis, Mr. Ponsonby had reason to suppose you would 
 not receive his letters in time to avail yourself of the escort.' 
 ' I did so, however,' said Mary, coldly. 
 
 'Most gratifying. Mr. and Mrs. Ponsonby will be highly 
 gratified. In fact, Miss Ponsonby, I must confess that was a 
 most unfortunate blunder of mine last August, I should not 
 have fallen into the error had I not been so long absent at 
 Guayaquil that I had had no opportunity of judging of the 
 amiable lady ; and I will own to much natural surprise and 
 some indignation, before I had had the pleasure of personal 
 acquaintance with the charms and the graces — Hem ! In effect, 
 it was a step that no one could have recommended ; and wlien 
 your noble relative put it to me in so many words whether I 
 would counsel your continuing your journey, I could not take it 
 on me to urge a measure so painful to your feelings, unaware as 
 I was then of the amiable qualities of the lady who occupies the 
 situation of tho' highly beloved and esteemed — ' 
 
 Mary could not bear to hear her mother's name in his mouth, 
 so she cut him short by saying, 'I suppose you thought you 
 acted for the best, Mr. Eobson ; it was very unfortunate, but it 
 cannot be helped. Pray can you tell me where the lad Madison 
 is ? ' she added, resolved to show him that she would not discuss 
 these matters with him ; 'I have a parcel for him.' 
 ' He is at the San Benito mine, Miss Ponsonby.' 
 * How does he go on ? ' 
 
 ' Well — I may say very well, allowing for inexperience. He 
 appears a steady, intelligent lad, and I have no doubt will 
 answer the purpose well.' 
 
 There was one gratification for Mary, at least, in the pleasure 
 this would afford at home ; but Robson continued making con- 
 versation about Mr. Dynevor's visit to England, and the quan- 
 tity of work this temporary absence entailed on him ; and then 
 on the surprise it would be to his patron to find her, and Dofia 
 Rosa's interest in her, and the numerous gaieties of the bride, 
 and the admiration she excited, and his own desire to be useful. 
 This afforded Mary an opportunity for getting rid of him at 
 last, by sending him to make arrangements for her baggage to 
 be sent from Callao the next morning. 
 
286 DYNEYOK TERRACE 
 
 Ten minutes more, half spent in conquering her disgust, half 
 in sick anticipation, and other feet were crossing the matted 
 sala^ the curtain over the doorway was drawn aside, and 
 there stood her father, and a lady, all white and diamonds, 
 by his side. He held out his arms, Mary fell into them, 
 and it was the same kind rough kiss which had greeted 
 lier six years back It seemed to be forgiveness, consolation, 
 strength, all at once ; and their words mingled — ' Papa, you 
 forgive me ' — ^ Mary, my good girl, I did not think they would 
 have let you come back to me. This was but a dreary coming 
 home for you, my dear.' And then, instantly changing his 
 language to Spanish, he added, appealing to his wife, that 
 had they guessed she was on board, they would have come to 
 meet her. 
 
 Rosita replied earnestly to that effect, and warmly embraced 
 Mary, pitying her for such an arrival, and hoping that Dolores 
 had made her comfortable. The rest of the conversation was 
 carried on in the same tongue. Rosita was much what Mary 
 had expected — of a beautiful figure, with fine eyes, and splendid 
 raven hair, but without much feature or expression. She looked 
 almost like a dream to-night, however, with her snowy robes, 
 and the diamonds sparkling with their dew-drop flashes in her 
 hair and on her arms, with the fitful light caught from the in- 
 sufficient candles. All she ventured to say had a timid grace- 
 fulness and simplicity that were very winning ; and her husband 
 glanced more than once to see if she were not gaining upon his 
 daughter ; and so in truth she was, personally, though it was 
 exceedingly painful to see her where Mary had been used to see 
 that dear suffering face ; and it was impossible not to feel the 
 contrast with her father as painfully incongruous. Mr. Pon- 
 sonby was a large man, with the jovial manner of one never 
 accustomed to self-restraint ; good birth and breeding making 
 him still a gentleman,' in spite of his loud voice and the traces 
 of self-indulgence. He was ruddy and bronzed, and his eye- 
 brows and hair looked as if touched by hoar frost ; altogether 
 as dissimilar a partner as could be devised for the slender girlish 
 being by his side. 
 
 After a little Spanish conversation, all kind on his side, and 
 thus infinitely relieving Mary, they parted for the night. She 
 laid before him the packet of letters, which she had held all this 
 time as the last link to Louis, and sought his eye as she did so 
 with a look of appeal ; but he carefully averted his glance, and 
 she could read nothing. 
 
 Weary as she was, Mary heard again and again, through her 
 unglazed windows, the watchman's musical cry of ^ Ave Maria 
 purisima^ las — es temblado ! Viva Peru y sereno ! ' and chid her- 
 self for foolish anticipations that Louis would hear and admire 
 all the strange sounds of the New World. The kindness of her 
 welcome gave her a little hope ; and she went over and over 
 again her own part of the discussion which she expected, almost 
 
THE NEW WORLD 287 
 
 persuading herself tliat Louis's own conduct and her aunt's 
 testimony must win the day. 
 
 She need not have spent so many hours in preparation for 
 the morning. She was up early, in hopes of seeing her father 
 before he went to his office ; but he was gone for a ride. The 
 English breakfast, which had been established, much to his con- 
 tent, by her own exertions, had quite vanished ; each of the 
 family had a cup of chocolate in private, and there was no 
 meeting till, late in the morning, Rosita sauntered into her 
 room, embraced her, made inquiries as to her rest, informed her 
 that she was going to the Opera that night, and begged her to 
 accompany her. To appear in public with Rosita was the tri- 
 bute for which Mary had come out, so she readily agreed ; and 
 thereupon the Seiiora digressed into the subject of dress, and 
 required of Mary a display of all her robes, and an account of 
 the newest fashions of the English ladies. It was all with such 
 innocent, earnest pleasure, that Mary could not be annoyed, and 
 good-naturedly made all her disappointing display. 
 
 The midday meal brought her father — still kind and affec- 
 tionate, but never dropping the Spanish, nor manifesting any 
 consciousness of her letters. She had hopes of the period allotted 
 to the siesta, to which custom, in old days, she had never acceded, 
 but had always spent the interval on any special occupation — 
 above all, to writing for him ; but he went off without any 
 notice of her, and she was in no condition to dispense with the 
 repose, for her frame was tired out, though her hopes and fears 
 could not even let her dreams rest. 
 
 Then came a drive with Rosita, resplendent in French milli- 
 nery ; then supper ; then the Opera, to which her father accom- 
 panied them, still without a word. Another day was nearly the 
 same, only that this time she had to do her best to explain the 
 newest fashions in behalf of a dress of Rosita's, then being made, 
 and in the evening to go to a party at the Consul's, where she 
 met Mr. Ward, and had some talk which she might have enjoyed 
 but for her suspense. 
 
 On the third, Rosita was made happy by unpacking an elegant 
 little black papier macM table, a present from Miss Ponsonby. 
 Good Melicent ! were ever two sisters-in-law more unlike ? 
 But Lord Ormersfield had done Rosita and her husband good 
 service. If Aunt Melicent had first learned the real facts, her 
 wrath would have been extreme — a mere child, a foreigner, a 
 Roman Catholic, a nun ! Her horror would have known no 
 bounds, and she would, perhaps, have broken with her brother 
 for ever. But by making the newly-married pair victims of 
 injustice, the Earl had made the reality a relief, and Melicent 
 had written civilly to her brother, and a sisterly sort of stiff 
 letter to the bride — of which the Limenian could not understand 
 one word ; so that Mary had to render it all into Spanish, even 
 to her good aunt's hopes that Rosita would be kind to her, and 
 use all her influence in favour of her happiness. 
 
288 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 Whether Rosita would have comprehended tliis without Mary's 
 blushes might be questioned, but she did say, 'Ah! yes! you 
 were to have married the Visconde, were you not ? El KSeiior 
 was so angry ! Did his father forbid when your father refused 
 your portion ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; he would receive me if I brought nothing/ 
 
 ' And you wish to marry ? ' said Rosita. 
 
 ' If my father would only consent.' 
 
 ' But why did you come here, then ? ' said Rosita, opening her 
 large eyes. 
 
 ' My father commanded me.' 
 
 ' England is a long way off,' said Rosita, languidly ; ' he 
 could not have reached you there. You would have been a 
 great lady and noble ! How could you come away, if he would 
 still have you ? ' 
 
 ' Because it would have been wrong. We could not have been 
 happy in disobeying my father.' 
 
 ' Ah ! but you could have done penance. I had many 
 penances to do for quitting my convent ; Padre Ifiigo was very 
 severe ; but they are over at last, and I am free for giving alms 
 twice a week, and the Sisters ha^ e forgiven me, and send me so 
 many silver flowers and didcesj I will show them to you some 
 day. Could you not have done penance ? ' 
 
 * I am afraid not.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I forgot you were a heretic, poor thing ! How incon- 
 venient ! And so you will not come with me to tlie bull-fight 
 next Sunday ? ' 
 
 Such being Rosita's ideas on the point, Mary gave up much 
 hope in her influence, and tried wliat a good-humoured announce- 
 ment of her re-establishment of the English breakfast would 
 effect towards bringing her father to a tete-d-tete^ but he never 
 came near it. The waiting in silence was miserable enough for 
 herself, but she would have continued to bear it except for the 
 injustice to Louis, who must not be kept in suspense. Tlie 
 departure of the next English mail should be the limit of her 
 endurance ; and after a day of watching, she finally went up to 
 her father when he would have bidden her good night, and said, 
 in English, ' Papa, if you please, I must speak to you.' 
 
 ' So you shall, my dear, but we are all tired ; we must have 
 our night's rest.' 
 
 ' No, papa, it must be to-night, if you please. It is necessary 
 for me to know before to-morrow how I am to write to Lord 
 Eitzjocelyn.' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Mary, I've settled that young fellow ! ' 
 
 ' Papa, I don't think you know — ' 
 
 ' I've written him a civil answer, if that's what you mean, 
 much civiller than he or his father deserve,' he said, speaking 
 loud, and trying to fling away from her ; but she stood her 
 ground, and spoke calmly and steadily, though her lieart beat 
 violently. 
 
THE NEW WORLD 289 
 
 * You do not understand the true state of the case, papa ; and 
 without doing so, you cannot write such an answer as they 
 deserve.' 
 
 * I know this, that old Ormersfield has been the curse of my 
 life ! ' and out poured one of those torrents of fierce passion 
 which had been slowly but surely the death of his wife. Mary 
 had never heard one in the full tide before, but she stood firm ; 
 there were none of the tears such as, in her mother, had been 
 wont to exasperate him further, but with pale cheeks, com- 
 pressed lips, and hands locked together, her heart was one silent 
 entreaty that it might be forgiven him above. Thus she stood 
 while the storm of anger raged, and when at last it had ex- 
 hausted itself, he said, in a lower voice, * And so you are still 
 taken with this fellow's son, this young puppy ! I thought you 
 had more spirit and sense, Mary, or I never would have trusted 
 you among them.' 
 
 * There are very few people in this world half so good or so 
 right-minded as Fitzjocelyn,' said Mary, earnestly and deliber- 
 ately. 'It was he who bade me come to you, well knowing 
 that we could never be happy without your consent.' 
 
 * Oh ! he did so, did he ? He is deeper than I thought ; 
 would not risk your fortune. Why, Mary, I did not think a 
 girl of your sense could be so taken in ! It is transparent, I 
 tell you. They get you there, flatter you up with their atten- 
 tions, but when they find you too wise for them the first time, 
 off goes this youth to Miss Conway, finds her a bad speculation, 
 no heiress at all, .and disposes of her to his cousin. I wonder if 
 he'll find old Dynevor grateful. Meanwhile the old lord must 
 needs come out here, finds our gains a better prize than he 
 expected, trumps up this story at Valparaiso, takes you in, and 
 brings you home to this precious youth. And you, and your 
 aunt too, are ready to believe it all ! I always knew that women 
 were fools whenever a title came in their way ; I see it more than 
 ever now, since you and Melicent are both like the rest of 'em.' 
 
 ' Papa,' said Mary, again rallying her firmness, ' we have 
 found sadly how easy it is to be deceived when one is not on 
 the spot. Will you listen to me, who saw it all ? ' 
 
 ' No, Mary, I will not hear the nonsense they have put into 
 your head, my poor girl. No ! I tell you it is of no use ! It 
 is my resolute purpose that not one farthing of mine shall go 
 to patch up the broken-down Ormersfield property ! The man 
 is my enemy, and has sown dissension in my family from the 
 first moment I connected myself with him. I'll never see my 
 daughter his son's wife. I wonder he had the impudence to 
 propose it ! I shall think you lost to all feeling for your father, 
 if you say another word about it.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Mary, with steady submission. ' Then I 
 will only write one more letter to Fitzjocelyn, and tell him that 
 your objections are insuperable, and that he must think of it no 
 more.' 
 
290 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * That's right, Mary ! you are a good girl, after all ! You'll 
 stand by your father, in spite of all the House of Peers ! I'm 
 glad to see you hold up your head so bravely. So you did fancy 
 being a Viscountess, did you 1 but it is not a heart-breaking 
 matter either, my girl ! ' 
 
 This was too much for Mary, and when her father would have 
 kissed her, she laid her head on his shoulder and wept silently 
 but bitterly. 
 
 ' Ha ! what's all this ? Why, you don't pretend to care for a 
 young mercenary scamp like that 1 ' 
 
 * He is the j;^noblest, most generous, most disinterested man I 
 ever knew ! ' said Mary, standing apart, and speaking clearly. 
 ^ I give him up because you command me, father, but I will not 
 hear him spoken of unjustly.' 
 
 ' Ha ! ha ! so long as you give him up, we won't quarrel. 
 He shall be all that, and more too, if you like ; and we'll never 
 fight over the matter again, since I have you safe back, my 
 child.' 
 
 ' I do not mean to mention him again,' said Mary ; ' I wish to 
 obey you.' 
 
 ' Then there's an end of the matter. You'll get over it, my 
 girl, and we'll find some honest man worth two of your nig- 
 gardly, proud-spirited earls. There, I know you are a reason- 
 able girl that can be silent, and not go on teasing. So, Mary, 
 you may have a cup of tea for me to-morrow in the sala^ like 
 old times. Good night, my dear.' 
 
 Waiting upon himself ! That was the reward that Mr. 
 Ponsonby held out to Piis daughter for crushing her first love. 
 
 But it was a reward. Anything that drew her father nearer 
 to her was received with gratitude by Mary, and the words of 
 kindness in some degree softened the blow. She had never had 
 much hope, though now she [found it had been more than she 
 had been willing to believe ; and even now she could not abso- 
 lutely cease to entertain some hopes of the results of Oliver's 
 return, nor silence one lingering fancy that Louis might yet 
 wait unbound ; although she told herself of his vacillation be- 
 tween herself and Isabel, of his father's influence, and of the 
 certainty that he would see many more worthy of his love than 
 herself. Not any one who could love him so well — oh, no ! 
 But when Mary found her thoughts taking this turn, she rose 
 up as she lay, clasped her hands together, and repeated half 
 aloud again and again, ' Be Thou my all ! ' 
 
 And by the morning, though Mary's cheek was very white, 
 and her eyes sunken for want of sleep, she had a cheerful word 
 for her father, and a smile, the very sight of which would have 
 gone to the heart of any one of those from whom he had cut 
 her off. 
 
 Then she wrote her letters. It was not so hard to make this 
 final severance as it had been to watch Louis's face, and think 
 of the pain she had to inflict. Many a time had she weighed 
 
THE NEW WOKLD 291 
 
 each phrase she set down, so that it might offend neither against 
 sincerity nor resignation, and yet be soothing and consoling. 
 Some would have thought her letter stiff and laboured, but she 
 had learned to believe that a grave and careful style befitted a 
 serious occasion, and would have thought incoherency childish 
 or affected. 
 
 She released him entirely from his engagement, entreating 
 him not to rebel against the decision, but to join her in thank- 
 fulness that no shade need be cast over the remembrance of the 
 happy hours spent together ; and begging him not to grieve, 
 since she had, after the first pain, been able to acquiesce in the 
 belief that the separation might conduce to his happiness ; and 
 she should always regard him as one of those most near and 
 dear to her, and rejoice in whatever was for his welfare, glad 
 that his heart was still young enough to form new ties. ' For- 
 give me for speaking thus,' she added ; ' I know that it may 
 wound you now, but there may come a time when it may make 
 you feel more at ease and unfettered ; and I could not endure 
 to imagine that the affection which you brought yourself to 
 lavish on one so unworthy, should stand in the way of your 
 happiness for life.' She desired him to make no answer, but to 
 consider this as the final dissolution ; and she concluded by all 
 that she thought would prove most consoling, as to the present 
 state of affairs with her ; and with a few affectionate words, to 
 show that he was still a great deal to her, though everything he 
 might not be. 
 
 This done, Mary faced her life in the New World. She had 
 to form her habits for herself, for her importance in the house 
 was gone ; but she went to work resolutely, and, lonely as she 
 was, she had far more resources than if she had never been at 
 Ormerstield. She had many hours to herself, and she unpacked 
 her books, and set herself courses of study, to which Louis had 
 opened the door. She unveiled her eyes to natural history, 
 and did not find flower or butterfly unsoothing. She under- 
 took the not very hopeful task of teaching a tiny negro imp, 
 who answered the purpose of a bell, to read and work ; and she 
 was persevering in her efforts to get Xavier and Dolores to 
 make her father comfortable. 
 
 Her father was decidedly glad of her company. He liked 
 conversation, and enjoyed the morning meeting, to which Mr. 
 Ward was often a welcome addition, delighting in anything so 
 English, and finding Miss Ponsonby much improved by her 
 introduction to English society. Sometimes Mary wrote for her 
 father, and now and then was consulted ; and she was always 
 grateful for whatever made her feel herself of use. She was on 
 kind and friendly terms with Rosita, but they did not become 
 more intimate than at first. The Senora was swinging in a 
 hammock half -asleep, with a cigarette between her lips, all the 
 morning ; and when she emerged from this torpid state, in a 
 splendid toilette, she had too many more congenial friends often 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 to need her step-daughter in her visits, her expeditions to lot- 
 teries, and her calls on her old friends the nuns. On a fast- 
 day, or any other occasion that kept her at home, she either 
 arranged her jewels, discussed her dresses, or had some lively 
 chatter, which she called learning English. She coaxed, fondled, 
 and domineered prettily over Mr. Ponsonby ; and he looked on 
 amused, gratified her caprices, caressed her, and seemed to 
 regard her as a pretty pet and plaything. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII 
 
 THE TWO PENDRAGONS 
 
 The red dragon and the white, 
 
 Hard together gan they smite, 
 
 With mouth, paw, and tail, 
 
 Between hem was full hard batail.— TAg History of Merlin 
 
 Spring was on the borders of summer, when one afternoon, 
 as Clara sat writing a note in the drawing-room, she heard a 
 tap at the door of the little sitting-room, and springing to open 
 it, she beheld a welcome sight. 
 
 ^ Louis ! How glad I am ! Where do you come from ? ^ 
 
 * Last from the station,' said Louis. 
 
 'What makes you knock at that door, now the drawing-room 
 is alive 1 ' 
 
 *I could not venture on an unceremonious invasion of Mrs. 
 James Frost's territory.' 
 
 * You'll find no distinction of territory here,' laughed Clara. 
 ' It was a fiction that we were to live in separate rooms, like 
 naughty children. Does not the drawing-room look nice ? ' 
 
 * As much improved as the inhabitant. Where are the other 
 natives ? ' 
 
 ' Granny and Isabel are walking, and will end by picking up 
 Jem coming out of school. We used to wait for him so often, 
 that at last he said we should be laughed at ; so there's a law 
 against it which no one dares to transgress but granny.' 
 
 ' So I conclude that you are a happy family.' 
 
 'After all, it was worth spending two years at school to enjoy 
 properly the having it over.' 
 
 ' I give Jem credit for having secured a first-rate governess 
 for you.' 
 
 ' That she is ! Why, with her I really do like reading and 
 drawing all the morning ! I almost believe that some day I 
 shall wake up and find myself an accomplished young lady ! 
 And, Louis, have you read the last Western Magazine ? ' 
 
 ' I have read very little for sport lately.' 
 
 ' Then I must tell you. Jem was bemoaning himself about 
 having nothing to give to the new Blind Asylum ; and the 
 next evening Isabel brought out the prettiest little manuscript 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 293 
 
 book, tied with blue ribbon, and told him to do as he pleased 
 with it. It was a charming account of her expedition to the 
 Hebrides, written out for her sisters, without a notion of any- 
 thing further ; but Jem sent it to this Magazine, and it is 
 accepted, and the first part is out. She will have quite a sum 
 for it, and all is to go to the Blind Asylum ! ' 
 
 * Capital ! — Let me take it home to-night, Clara, and I will 
 stand an examination on it to-morrow 1 ' 
 
 'We ask her whether she projects a sketch of the Paris Revo- 
 lution,' said Clara, laughing. 'She has a famous heap of manu- 
 scripts in her desk, and one long story about a Sir Roland, who 
 had his name before she knew Jem, but it is all unfinished ; she 
 tore out a great many pages, and has to make a new finish ; and 
 I am afraid the poor knight is going to die of a mortal wound 
 at his lady's feet. Isabel likes sad things best ; — but oh ! here 
 they come, and I'm talking dreadful treason.' 
 
 Three more joyous-looking people could hardly have been 
 found than those who entered the room, welcoming Louis with 
 delight, and asking what good wind had brought him. 
 
 'Partly that Inglewood is crying out for the master's eye,' 
 said Louis ; ' and partly that my father fancied I looked fagged, 
 and kindly let me run down for a holiday.' 
 
 ' I am of his mind,' said Mrs. Frost, tenderly ; ' there is an 
 M.P. expression gathering on your brows, Louis.' 
 
 Tor you to dispel. Aunt Kitty. I told him you were the 
 best dissipation, and Virginia was of the same mind. Isabel, 
 she says Dynevor Terrace is the only place she ever wishes to 
 see again.' 
 
 ' Do you often see Virginia 1 ' asked Isabel. 
 
 ' Not unless I go early, and beg for her ; and then she gener- 
 ally has some master. That last onset of accomplishments is 
 serious ! ' 
 
 'Yes,' said Isabel, 'the sense of leisure and tranquillity here 
 is marvellous ! ' 
 
 ' Not leisure in the sense of idleness,' said James. 
 
 ' No,' said Isabel ; ' but formerly idle requirements thronged 
 my time, and for nothing worth doing could I find leisure.' 
 
 'There is nothing more exacting than idle requirements,' 
 said James. ' Pray is Clara accepting that invitation ? Come 
 to dinner, Louis, and give us an excuse.' 
 
 ' No, he won't,' said Mrs. Frost, ' he will take my side. These 
 young people want to cast ofi" all their neiglibours.' 
 
 'Now, granny,' exclaimed James, 'have we not dutifully 
 dined all round ? Did not Isabel conduct Clara to that ball ? 
 Is it not hard to reproach us with sighing at an evening immo- 
 lated at the shrine of the Richardsons 1 ' 
 
 'Well, my dears, you must judge.' 
 
 ' I am ready to do whatever you think right ; I leave you to 
 settle it,' said Isabel, moving out of the room, that Louis might 
 be free for a more intimate conversation. 
 
294 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'Now/ cried James, 'is it in the nature of things that she 
 should live in such society as Mrs. Walby's and Mrs. Richard- 
 son's 1 People who call her Mrs. James ! ' 
 
 ' Such a queen as she looks among them ! ' said Clara. 
 
 'One comfort is, they don't like that,' said James. *Even 
 Mrs. Calcott is not flattered by her precedence. I hope we 
 shall soon be dropped out of their parties. As long as I do my 
 duty by their sons, what right have they to impose the penance 
 of their society on my wife 1 All the irksomeness of what she 
 has left, and none of the compensations ! ' 
 
 'Blissful solitude ! ' said Louis, 'thereto I leave you.' 
 
 ' You are not going yet ! You mean to dine here ? ' was 
 the cry. 
 
 ' My dear friends,' he said, holding up his hands, ' if you only 
 knew how I long to have no one to speak to 1 ' 
 
 ' You crying out for silence ! ' exclaimed James. 
 
 ' I am panting for what I have not had these five months — 
 space for my thoughts to turn round.' 
 
 ' Surely you are at liberty to form your own habits ! ' said 
 James. 
 
 'I am told so whenever my father sees me receive a note,' 
 said Louis, wearily ; ' but I see that, habituated as he is to 
 living alone, he is never really at ease unless I am in the v/ay ; 
 so I make our hours agree as far as our respective treadmills 
 permit ; and though we do not speak much, I can never think 
 in company.' 
 
 ' Don't you have your rides to yourself ? ' 
 
 ' Why, no. My father will never ride enough to do him good, 
 unless he wants to do me good. People are all surprised to 
 see him looking so well : the country lanes make him quite 
 blooming.' 
 
 ' But not you, my poor boy,' said his aunt ; ' I am afraid it is 
 a sad strain.' 
 
 ' There now. Aunt Kitty, I am gone. I must have the pleasure 
 of looking natural sometimes, without causing any vituperation 
 of any one beyond seas.' 
 
 ' You shall look just as you please if you will only stay. We 
 are just going to dinner.' 
 
 'Thank you, let me come to-morrow. I shall be better com- 
 pany when I have had my sulk out.' 
 
 His aunt followed him to the stairs ; and he turned to her, 
 saying, anxiously, ' No letter ? ' She shook her head. ' It would 
 be barely possible,' he said ; ' but if it would only come while I 
 am at home in peace ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! this is sadly trying ! ' said she, parting his hair on his 
 brow as he stood some steps below her, and winning a sweet 
 smile from him. 
 
 ' All for the best,' he said. ' One thing may mitigate another. 
 That political whirlpool might suck me in, if I had any heart 
 or hopes for it. And, on the other hand, it would be very 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 295 
 
 unwholesome to be left to my own inertness — to be as good for 
 nothing as I feel.' 
 
 ' My poor dear boy, you are very good about it. I wish you 
 could have been spared.' 
 
 ' I did not come to make you sad, Aunt Kitty,' he replied, 
 smiling ; * no ; I get some energy back when I remember that 
 this may be a probation. Her mother would not have thought 
 me man enough, and that is what I have to work for. Whether 
 this end well or not, she is the leading star of my life.' And, 
 with the renewal of spirit with which he had spoken, he pressed 
 his aunt's hand, and ran down-stairs. 
 
 When he rode to North wold, the following afternoon, having 
 spent the morning in walking over his fields, he overtook a 
 most comfortable couple— James and Isabel, returning from 
 their holiday stroll ; and Louis, leaving his horse at the inn, 
 and joining them, began to hear all their school affairs. James 
 had thrown his whole heart into his work, had been making 
 various reforms, introducing new studies, making a point of 
 religious instruction, and meditating on a course of lectures on 
 history, to be given in the evenings, the attendance to be volun- 
 tary, but a prize held out for proficiency. Louis took up the 
 subject eagerly, and Isabel entered into the discussion with all 
 her soul, and the grammar-school did indeed seem to be in a 
 way to become something very superior in tone to anything 
 North wold had formerly seen, engrossing as it did all the powers 
 of a man of such ability, in the full vigour of youth. 
 
 Talking earne'stly, the trio had reached the Terrace, and 
 James was unlatching the iron gate, when he interrupted him- 
 self in the midst of detailing his views on modern languages to 
 say, ' No, I have nothing for you.' 
 
 ' Sir, I beg your pardon ! ' was the quick reply from a 
 withered, small, but not ill-dressed old man ; ' 1 only asked — ' 
 
 ^ * Let the lady pass,' said James, peremptorily, wishing to save 
 his ^ wife from annoyance ; 'it is of no use, I never look at 
 petitions.' 
 
 * Surely he is not a beggar ! ' said Isabel, as he drew her on. 
 *You may be easy about him, my dear,' said James. * He 
 
 has hold of Louis, who would swallow the whole Spanish legion 
 of impostors. He will be after us directly with a piteous story.' 
 Louis was after him, with a face more than half arch fun — 
 ' Jem, Jem, it is your uncle ! ' 
 
 ^ ' Nonsense ! How can ycu be so taken in ! Don't go and 
 disappoint granny— I'll settle him.' 
 
 * Take care, Jem— it is Oliver, and no mistake ! Why, he is 
 as like you as Pendragon blood can make him ! Go and beg 
 his pardon.' 
 
 James hastened down-stairs, as Louis bounded up — sought 
 Mrs. Frost in the sitting-rooms, and, without ceremony, rushed 
 up and^ knocked at the bedroom door. Jane opened it. 
 
 ' He is come ! ' cried Louis — ' Oliver is come.' 
 
296 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 Old Jane gave a shriek, and ran back wildly, clapping her 
 hands. Her mistress started forward — ' Come ! — where ? ' 
 
 ' Here ! — in the hall with Jem.' 
 
 He feared that he had been too precipitate, for she hid her 
 face in her hands ; but it was the intensity of thanksgiving ; and 
 though her whole frame was in a tremor, she flew rather than 
 ran forward, never even seeing Louis's proffered arm. He had 
 only reached the landing-place, when beneath he heard the 
 greeting — ' Mother, I can take you home — Cheveleigh is yours.' 
 But to her the words were drowned in her own breathless cry — 
 ' My boy ! my boy ! ' She saw, knew, heard nothing, save that 
 the son, missed and mourned for thirty-four years, was safe 
 within her arms, the longing void filled up. She saw not that 
 the stripling had become a worn and elderly man, — she recked 
 not how he came. He was Oliver, and she had him again ! 
 What was the rest to her ? 
 
 Those words'? They might be out of taste, but Fitzjocelyn 
 guessed that to speak them at the first meeting had been the 
 vision of Oliver's life — the object to which he had sacrificed 
 evet-y thing. And yet how chill and unheeded they fell ! 
 
 Louis could have stood moralizing, but his heart had begun 
 to throb at the chance that Oliver brought tidings of Mary. 
 He felt himself an intrusive spectator, and hastened into tlie 
 drawing-room, when Clara nearly ran against him, but stood 
 still. ' I beg your pardon, but what is Isabel telling me 1 Is 
 it really ? ' * 
 
 ' Really ! Kindred blood signally failed to speak.' 
 
 Clara took a turn up and down the room. ' I say, Louis, 
 ought I to go down V 
 
 ' No ; leave him and granny to their happiness,' said Louis ; 
 and James, at the same moment running up, threw himself into 
 a chair, with an emphatic ' There ! ' 
 
 ' Dear grandmamma ! ' said Isabel ; ' I hope it is not too mucli 
 for her.' 
 
 James made no answer. 
 
 'Are you disappointed in him, dear James ? ' she continued. 
 
 ' I could not be disappointed,' he answered, shortly. 
 
 ' Poor man — he has a poor welcome among you,' said Louis. 
 
 'Welcome is not to be bought,' said James. 'I could not 
 stand hearing him reply to poor granny's heartfelt rapture w^ith 
 ]iis riches and his Cheveleigh, as if that were all she could prize.' 
 
 Steps were mounting the stairs, and the alert, sharp tones of 
 Oliver were heard— ' Married then ^ Should have waited— 
 done it in style.' 
 
 James and Isabel glanced at each other in amused indigna- 
 tion ; and Mrs. Frost entered, tremulous with joy, and her 
 bright hazel eyes lustrous with tears, as she leant on the arm of 
 her recovered son. He was a little, spare, shrivelled man, drolly 
 like his nephew, but with all the youthfulness dried out of him, 
 the freckles multiplied by scores, and the keen black eyes 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 297 
 
 sunken, sharpened, and surrounded with innumerable shrewd 
 puckers. The movements were even more brisk, as if time 
 were money ; and in speech, the small change of particles was 
 omitted, and every word seemed bitten off short at the end ; 
 the whole man, in gesture, manner and voice, an almost grotesque 
 caricature of all James's peculiarities. 
 
 ' Mrs. Roland Dynevor, I presume ? ' said Oliver, as Isabel 
 came forward to meet him. 
 
 'Never so known hitherto,' returned her husband. 'My wife 
 is Mrs. James Frost, if you please.' 
 
 ' That is over now,' said Oliver, consequentially ; and as his 
 mother presented to him ' poor Henry's little Clara,' he kissed 
 her affectionately, saying, 'Well-grown young lady, upon my 
 word ! Like her father — that's right.' 
 
 ' Here is almost another grandchild,' said Mrs. Frost — ' Louis 
 Fitzjocelyn — not much like the Fitzjocelyn you remember, but 
 a new M.P. as he was then.' 
 
 ' Humph ! ' said Oliver, with a dry sound, apparently ex- 
 pressing. So that is what our Parliament is made of. ' Father 
 well ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Quite well, thank you, sir.' 
 
 Oliver levelled his keen eyes on him, as though noting down 
 observations, while he was burning for tidings of Mary, yet 
 held back by reserve and sense of the uncongeniality of the 
 man. His aunt, however, in the midst of her own joy, marked 
 his restless eye, and put the question, whether Mary Ponsonby 
 had arrived ? 
 
 ' Ha ! you let her go, did you ? ' said Oliver, turning on Louis. 
 ' I told her father you'd be no such fool. He was in a proper 
 rage at your letter, but it would have blown over if you had 
 stuck by her, and he is worth enough to set you all on your legs.' 
 
 Louis could not bring himself to make any answer, and his 
 mother interrupted by a question as to Dona Rosa. 
 
 ' Like all the rest. Eyes and feet, that's all. Foolish business ! 
 But what possessed Ormersfield to make such a blunder? I 
 never saw Ponsonby in such a tantrum, and his are no trifles.' 
 
 ' It was all the fault of your clerk, Robson,' said James ; ' he 
 would not refute the story.' 
 
 ' Sharp fellow, Robson,' ^chuckled Oliver ; ' couldn't refute it. 
 No ; as he told me, he knew the way Ponsonby had gone on 
 ever since his wife went home, and of late he had sent him to 
 Guayaquil, about the Equatorial Navigation — so he had seen 
 nothing ; — and, says he to me, he had no notion of bringing out 
 poor Miss Ponsonby — did not know whether her father would 
 thank him ; and yet the best of it is, that he pacifies Ponsonby 
 with talking of difficulty of dealing with preconceived notions. 
 Knows how to get hold of him — marriage would never have 
 been if he had been there, but it was the less damage. Mary 
 would have had more reason to have turned about if she had 
 not found him married.' 
 
298 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 ' But, Oliver/ said his mother, ' I thought this Robson was an 
 honest man, in whom you had entire confidence ! ^ 
 
 ^ Ha ! ha ! d'ye think I'd put that in any man % No, no ; 
 he knows how far to go with me. I've plenty of checks on him. 
 Can't get business done but by a wide-awake chap like that.' 
 
 ' Is Madison under him % ' asked Louis, feeling as if he had 
 been apprenticing the boy to a chief of banditti. 
 
 'The lad you sent out? Ay. Left him up at the mines. 
 Sharp fellow, but too raw for the office yet.' 
 
 ' Too scrupulous ! ' said James, in an undertone, while his 
 uncle was explaining to his mother that he could not have come 
 away without leaving Robson to manage his affairs, and Mr. 
 Ponsonby, telling exultingly some stories of the favourite clerk's 
 sharp practice. 
 
 The party went down together in a not very congenial state. 
 
 Next to Mrs. Frost's unalloyed gladness, the most pleasant 
 spectacle was old Jane, who volunteered her services in helping 
 to wait, that she might have the delight of hovering about 
 Master Oliver, to whom she attended exclusively, and would not 
 let Charlotte so much as offer him the potatoes. And Charlotte 
 was in rather an excited state at the presence of a Peruvian 
 production, and the flutter of expecting a letter which would 
 make her repent of the smiles and blushes she had expended 
 over an elaborate valentine, admired as an original production, 
 and valued the more, alas ! because poor Marianne had received 
 none. Charlotte was just beginning to repent of her ungenerous 
 triumph ; and agitation made her waiting less deft and pretty 
 than usual ; but this mattered the less, since to Oliver any 
 attendance by women-servants was a shock, as were the small 
 table and plain fare ; and he looked round uneasily. 
 
 ' Here is an old friend, Oliver,' said his mother, taking up a 
 curious old soup-ladle. 
 
 * I see. It will take some time to get up the stock of plate. 
 I shall give an order as I pass through London. To be engraved 
 with the Dynevor crest as before, or would you prefer the 
 lozenge, ma'am % ' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, don't talk of it now ! I am only sorry this is 
 nothing but mutton-broth ; but that's what comes of sudden 
 arrivals, Oliver.' 
 
 ' It shall be remedied at home,' said Oliver, as if he considered 
 mutton-broth as one degree from famine. 
 
 ' I know you had it for me,' said Louis. ' If Jane excels in 
 one art before all others, it is in mutton-broth.' 
 
 Oliver darted a glance as if lie imagined this compliment to 
 be mere derision of his mother and Jane. 
 
 Things went on in this style all the evening. Oliver had two 
 ideas — Cheveleigh, and the Equatorial Steam Navigation Com- 
 pany — and on these he rang the changes. 
 
 There was something striking in his devotion of a lifetime to 
 redeem his mother's fortunes, but the grandeur was not easily 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 299 
 
 visible in the detail. He came down on Dynevor I'errace as a 
 consequential, moneyed man, contemptuous of the poverty which 
 he might have alleviated, and obtruding tardy and oppressive 
 patronage. He rubbed against the new generation in too many 
 places for charity or gratitude to be easy. He was utterly at 
 variance with taste, and openly broached unworthy sentiments 
 and opinions, and his kindness and his displeasure were equally 
 irksome. If such repugnance to him were felt even by Louis, 
 the least personally affected, and the best able to sympathize 
 with his aunt ; it was far stronger in James, abhorring patron- 
 age, sensible that, happen what might, his present perfect felicity 
 must be disturbed, and devoid of any sentiment for Cheveleigh 
 that could make the restoration compensate for the obligation 
 so unpleasantly enforced ; and Isabel's fastidious taste made 
 her willing to hold aloof as far as might be without vexing the 
 old lady. 
 
 There was no amalgamation, Fitzjocelyn and Isabel were 
 near the window, talking over her former home and her sisters, 
 and all the particulars of the society which she had left, and he 
 had entered ; highly interesting to themselves and to the listen- 
 ing Clara, but to the uninitiated sounding ratlier like ' taste, 
 Shakspeare, and the musical glasses.' 
 
 Oliver and his mother, sitting close together, were living in 
 an old world ; asking and answering many a melancholy ques- 
 tion on friends, dead or lost sight of, and yet these last they 
 always made sure that they should find when they went home 
 to Cheveleigh — ^that home to which the son reverted with 
 unbroken allegiance ; while the whole was interspersed with 
 accounts of his plans, and explanations of his vast designs for 
 the renovation of the old place. 
 
 James hovered on the outskirts of both parties, too little at 
 ease to attach himself to either ; fretted by his wife's interest 
 in a world to which he was a stranger, impatient of his uncle's 
 plans, and trebly angered by observing the shrewd curious 
 glances which the old man cast from time to time towards the 
 pair by the window. Fortunately, Mrs. Frost was still too 
 absolutely wrapped in maternal transport to mark the clouds 
 that were gathering over her peace. To look at her son, wait on 
 him, and hear his voice, so fully satisfied her, that as yet it made 
 little difference what that voice said, and it never entered her 
 mind to suppose that all her dear ones were not sharing her 
 bliss. 
 
 ' You were the first to tell me,' she said, as she bade Louis 
 good night with fondness additional to her messenger of good 
 news ; but, as he pressed her dear old trembling hand, his heart 
 misgave him whether her joy might not be turned to pain ; and 
 when he congratulated Jane, and heard her call it a blessed 
 day, he longed to be certain that it would prove so. 
 
 And, before he could sleep that night, he wrote a letter to 
 Tom Madison, warning him to let no temptation nor bad 
 
300 DYNEYOR TERRACE 
 
 example lead him aside from strict justice and fair dealing ; 
 and advising him rather to come home, and give up all prospects 
 of rising, than not preserve his integrity. 
 
 James and Isabel were not merciful to their uncle when they 
 could speak of him without restraint, and began to conjecture 
 his intentions with regard to them. 
 
 ' You don't wish to become an appendage to Cheveleigh ? ' 
 said James, fondly. 
 
 ' I ! who never knew happiness till I came here ! ' 
 
 ^I do not know what my uncle may propose,' said James, 
 'but I know you coincide in my determination that he shall 
 never interfere with the duties of my office.' 
 
 ' You do not imagine that he wishes it 1 ' 
 
 *I know he wishes I were not in Holy Orders. I knew he 
 disliked it at the time of my ordination ; but if he wished me 
 to act according to his views, he should have given himself the 
 right to dictate.' 
 
 ' By not neglecting you all your youth.' 
 
 * Not that I regret or resent what concerns myself ; but it 
 was his leaving me a burden on my grandmother that drove me 
 to become a clergyman, and a consistent one I will be, not an 
 idle heir-apparent to this estate, receiving it as his gift, not my 
 own birthright.' 
 
 ' An idle clergyman ! Never ! never ! ' cried Isabel. * I 
 should not believe it was you ! And the school — you could 
 not leave it just as your plans are working, and tlie boys 
 improving ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not ; it would be fatal to abandon it to that stick, 
 Powell. Ah ! Isabel,' as he looked at her beautiful countenance, 
 * how I pity the man who has not a high-minded wife ! Sup- 
 pose you came begging and imploring me not to give any 
 umbrage to the man, because you so doted upon diamonds.' 
 
 ' The less merit when one has learnt that they are very cold 
 hard stones,' said Isabel, smiling. 
 
 Isabel was a high-minded wife, but she would have been a 
 still better one if her loving admiration had allowed her to 
 soften James, or to question whether pride and rancour did not 
 lurk unperceived in the midst of the really high and sound 
 motives that prompted him. 
 
 While their grandmother could only see Oliver on the best 
 side, James and Isabel could only see him on the worst, and 
 lost the greatness of the design in the mercenary habits that 
 exclusive perseverance in it had produced. It had been a false 
 greatness, but they could not grant the elevation of mind that 
 had originally conceived it. 
 
 The following day was Sunday, and nothing worse took place 
 than little skirmishes, in which the uncle and nephew's retort 
 and rejoinder were so drolly similar, that Clara found herself 
 thinking of Miss Faithfull's two sandy cats over a mouse ; but 
 she kept her simile to herself, finding that Isabel regarded the 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 301 
 
 faintest, gentlest comparison of the two gentlemen almost as 
 an affront. All actual debate was staved off by Mrs. Frost's 
 entreaty that business discussion should be deferred. ' Humph ! ' 
 said Oliver, ' you reign here, ma'am, but that's not the way we 
 get on at Lima.' 
 
 ' I dare say,' said James. 
 
 Mrs. Frost's joy was still undimmed. It was almost a trance 
 of gladness, trembling in her smile, and overflowing in her 
 eye, at every congratulation and squeeze of the hand from her 
 friends. 
 
 ' Dear Jemmy,' said she, taking his arm as they went home 
 in the evening, ' did not that psalm seem meant for us ? — " If 
 riches increase, set not your heart upon them." ' 
 
 James had been thinking it was meant for some one ; but, as 
 he said, ' certainly not for you, dear granny.' 
 
 ' Ah ! snares of wealth were set far enough from me for a 
 time ! I never felt so covetous as when there was a report that 
 there was to be an opposition school. But now your dear uncle 
 is bringing prosperity back, I must take care not to set my 
 heart even on what he has gained for me.' 
 . ' I defy riches to hurt you,' said James, smiling. 
 
 ' Ah ! Jemmy, you didn't know me as a county grandee,' she 
 said, with a bright sad look, ' when your poor grandpapa used 
 to dress me up. I'm an old woman now, past vanities, but I 
 never could sit as loose to them as your own dear wife does. 
 I never tried. Well, it will be changed enough ; but I shall be 
 glad to see poor old Cheveleigh. It does me good to hear poor 
 Oliver call it home. If only we had your dear father ! ' 
 
 ' To me, Dynevor Terrace is home,' said James. 
 
 * A happy home it has been,' said the old lady. ' " Goodness 
 and mercy have followed me all the days of my life ! " And 
 now, Oliver, whom I never thought to see again — oh ! what 
 can I do to he thankful enough ! I knew what he was doing ! 
 I knew he was not what you all thought him ! And roughing 
 it has been no harm to you or Clara, and it is all over now ! 
 And the dear old place comes back to the old name. Oh, 
 James, I can sometimes hardly contain myself — that my poor 
 boy has done it, and all for me, and his brother's children ! ' 
 
 James could scarcely find it in his heart to say a single word 
 to damp her joy, and all his resolution enabled him to do was 
 to say gently, * You know, dear granny, we must not forget 
 that I am a clergyman.' 
 
 ' I know. I have been telling your uncle so ; but we can do 
 something. You might take the curacy, and do a great deal of 
 good. There used to be wild places sadly neglected in my time. 
 I hope that, since it has been given back to us, we may feel it 
 more as a stewardship than I did when it was mine.' 
 
 James sighed, and looked softened and thoughtful. 
 
 ' Your uncle means to purchase an annuity for Jane,' she added ; 
 ' and if we could only think what to do for the Faithfulls ! I 
 
302 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 wonder whether they would come and stay with us. At least 
 they can never vex themselves again at not paying rent ! ' 
 
 After a pause — ' Jem, my dear, could you manage to give 
 your uncle the true account of your marriage ? He admires 
 Isabel very much, I can tell you, and is pleased at the con- 
 nection. But I fancy, though he will not say so, that Mr. Pon- 
 sonby has desired him to find out all he can about Louis ; and 
 unluckily they have persuaded themselves that poor Louis 
 courted Isabel, supposing that she was to have Beauchastel, 
 and, finding his error, betook himself to Mary.' 
 
 ' Turning Isabel over to me ! Extremely flattering.' 
 
 *Now, Jem, don't be angry. It is only foolish talk ! But 
 unluckily I can't persuade your uncle not to think the real story 
 all my partiality ; and you might do much more, if it be not 
 too unpleasant to you.' 
 
 * Thank you, granny ; it is out of the question. If it were as 
 he does us the honour to imagine, I should be the last person to 
 confess it. My evidence could be of no service to Fitzjocelyn, 
 when my uncle's maxim is to place confidence in no one. The 
 sole refutation in my power is the terms on which we meet.' 
 
 ' Now, I have vexed you. I wish I had said nothing about it ; 
 but when dear Louis's happiness may depend on his report — ' 
 
 ' If I were base enough to have acted as he supposes, I should 
 be base enough to deny it. There is not enough to be hoped 
 to make me speak with unreserve on such a subject.' 
 
 He saved himself from saying — to such a man ; but the shrewd, 
 suspicious old bachelor was not an inviting confidant for the 
 vicissitudes of delicate and tender feelings of such recent date, 
 and Mrs. Frost reproached herself with asking too much of her 
 proud, sensitive grandson. 
 
 The black gown and trencher cap by no means gratified 
 Oliver, when James set off to school on Monday morning ; but 
 he consoled himself with observing, ^ We shall soon put an end 
 to that.' 
 
 'James is quite devoted to the school,' said Isabel ; and she 
 was answered by the dry growl. 
 
 ' It will be a hard thing to transplant our young people,' said 
 Mrs. Frost ; 'they have managed to be very happy here.' 
 
 ' So hard of transplantation, that I doubt the possibility,' 
 said Isabel. ' You have made us take very deep root here.' 
 
 'Have you ever seen Cheveleigh, Mrs Dynevor 1 ' 
 
 ' Never.' 
 
 ' Poor Oliver ! you and I think no place equal to our birth- 
 place,' said Mrs, Frost. 
 
 'I should think Mrs. Roland Dynevor would find it com- 
 pensation. How many beds did we make up, mother, the year 
 my father was sheriff ? ' 
 
 ' You must go to Jane for that,' said his mother, laughing. 
 ' I'm sure I never knew.' 
 
 ' I believe it was twenty-seven,' said Oliver gravely. ' I know 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 303 
 
 there were one hundred and eighty-five persons at the ball, and 
 that the room was hung with blue brocade, mother ; and you 
 opened the ball with Lord Francis. I remember you had violet 
 satin and white blonde.' 
 
 ' My dear, how can you remember such things ? You were 
 a little bit of a schoolboy.' 
 
 'I was fourteen,' said Oliver. ^ It was the year '13. I will 
 have the drawing-room hung with blue brocade, and I think 
 Mrs. Roland Dynevor will own that nothing can exceed it.' 
 
 ' Very likely,' said Isabel, indifferently ; and she escaped, 
 beckoning with her Clara, who was rather entertained with the 
 reminiscences over which granny and Uncle Oliver seemed 
 ready to linger for ever ; and yet she was rather ashamed of her 
 amusement and interest, when she heard her sister-in-law say, 
 'If he did but know how weary I am of that hateful thing, 
 a great house ! ' 
 
 *I hope Cheveleigh is not grander than Ormersfield,' said 
 Clara, in an odd sort of voice. 
 
 The ladies, for the first time, did not sit together this morning. 
 Clara practised, and Isabel took the Chapel in the Valley out of 
 her desk, and began a process of turning the Sir Roland into 
 Sir Hubert. 
 
 Oliver and his mother were in the sitting-room, and, on 
 James's return from school in the middle of the day, he was 
 summoned thither. Mrs. Frost was sitting by the fire, rather 
 tearful and nervous, and her son stood full in the front, as dig- 
 nified and magnanimous as size and features would permit, and 
 the same demeanour was instantly and unconsciously assumed 
 by his nephew, who was beyond measure chafed by the attempt 
 at a grand coup. 
 
 ' I have requested your presence,' began Oliver, ' as the eldest 
 son of my elder brother, and thus, after my mother, the head 
 of our family. You are aware that when unfortunate circum- 
 stances involved my mother's property, it was my determination 
 to restore the inheritance to her, and to my dear brother Henry. 
 For this object I have worked for the last thirty-four years, and 
 a fortunate accident having brought our family estate into the 
 market, I have been enabled to secure it. I am now ready to 
 make it over to my mother, with entail to yourself and your 
 heirs, as representatives of my brother Henry, and settling five 
 thousand pounds on your sister, as the portion to which the 
 younger children of our family have always been entitled. If 
 you are willing to reside at our family seat with my mother, I 
 will assure you of a suitable allowance during her lifetime, 
 and — ' 
 
 Nothing was more intolerable to a man like James than a 
 shower of obligations ; and his spirit, angered at the very length 
 of the address, caught at the first opening for avoiding gratitude, 
 and beheld in the last proposal an absolute bribe to make him 
 sacrifice his sacred ministry, and he burst forth, * Sir, I am much 
 
304 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 obliged to you, but no offers shall induce me to forsake the 
 duties of my calling.' 
 
 ' You mistake, if you think I want anything unclerical. No 
 occasion to hunt — Mr. Tresham used in my day — no one thought 
 the worse of him — unlucky your taking Orders.' 
 
 ' There is no use in entering on that point,' said James. ' No 
 other course was left open to me, and my profession cannot be 
 taken up nor laid down as a matter of convenience.' 
 
 ' Young men are taught to think more seriously than they 
 were in our day,' said Mrs. Frost. *I told you that you must 
 not try to make him turn squire.' 
 
 ' Well ! well ! good living may be had perhaps. Move to 
 Cheveleigh, and look out for it at leisure, if nothing else will 
 content him. But we'll have this drudgery given up. I'll not 
 go home and show my nephew, heir of the Dynevors, keeping a 
 third-rate grammar-school,' said Oliver, with his one remaining 
 Eton quality of contempt for provincial schools. 
 
 The Northwold scholar and master were both roused to arms 
 in James. 
 
 ' Sir,' he said, ' you should have thought of that when you left 
 this heir of the Dynevors to be educated by the charity of this 
 third-rate grammar-school.' 
 
 ' Is this your gratitude, sir ? ' passionately exclaimed Oliver ; 
 ' I, who have toiled my whole life for your benefit, might look 
 for another return.' 
 
 ' It was not for me,' said James. ' It was for family pride. 
 Had it been from the affection that claims gratitude, you would 
 not have left your mother, in her old age, to labour unaided for 
 the support of your brother's orphans. For ourselves, I tliank 
 you ; the habits nurtured by poverty are the best education ; 
 but I cannot let you suppose that a grand theatrical restoration 
 can atone to me for thirty years' neglect of my grandmother, or 
 that my gratitude can be extorted by benefactions at the expense 
 of her past suffering.' 
 
 ' Jem ! dear Jem ! what are you saying ? ' cried Mrs. Frost. 
 ' Don't you know how kindly your uncle meant ? Don't you 
 know how happy we have been ? ' 
 
 ' You may forgive. You are his mother, and you were injured ; 
 but I can never forget what I have seen you undergo.' 
 
 ^ You foolish boy, to forget all our happiness — ' 
 
 ' Nor,' proceeded James, * can I consent to forego the career of 
 usefulness that has been opened to me.' 
 
 ' But, Jem, you could be so useful in the parish ! and your uncle 
 could not wish you to do anything unhandsome by the trustees — ' 
 
 'I wish him to do nothing, ma'am,' said Oliver. 'If he is 
 too high and mighty to accept a favour, it is his own loss. We 
 can do without him, if he prefers the Fitzjocelyn patronage. 
 Much good may it do him ! ' 
 
 James deigned no answer ; looked at his watch, and found it 
 time to return to the school. 
 
THE TWO PENDRAGONS 305 
 
 Oliver broke out into angry exclamations, and his mother did 
 lier utmost to soothe him. He had no turn for being a country 
 gentleman ; he was fit for nothing but his counting-house, 
 and he intended to return thither as soon as he had installed his 
 mother at Cheveleigh ; and so entirely did all his plans hinge 
 upon his nephew, that even now he was persuaded to hold out 
 liis forgiveness, on condition that James would apologize, resign 
 the school, and call himself Dynevor. 
 
 Mrs. Frost hoped that Isabel would prevail on her husband 
 to listen favourably ; but Isabel gloried in his impracticability, 
 and would have regarded any attempt at mediation as an un- 
 worthy effort to turn him aside from the path of duty. She 
 replied, that she would never say a word to change his notions 
 of right, and she treated poor Oliver with all the lofty reserve 
 that she had formerly practised upon possible suitors. 
 
 When Fitzjocelj^n came in the afternoon to take leave, before 
 liis return to London, Mrs. Frost begged him to use his influ- 
 ence with James, *Who would have thought it would have 
 so turned out ? ' she said. ^ My poor Oliver ! to be so met 
 after all his generous plans ! and yet Jem does want to do 
 right ! ' 
 
 Unfortunately, Louis felt that, to own Oliver's generosity, it 
 was necessary to be out of sight of him ; and finding that there 
 Avas silence and constraint in the drawing-room, he asked Isabel 
 to walk with him to meet James. 
 
 * One breathes freely ! ' said she, as they left the house. ' Was 
 there ever a more intolerable man ? ' 
 
 'Never was a man who made a more unlucky error in judg- 
 ment.' 
 
 ' And that is all you call it ? ' 
 
 *The spurious object warped the mind aside,' said Louis. 
 ' The grand idea was too exclusive, and now he suffers for the 
 exclusiveness. It is melancholy to see the cinder of a burnt- 
 offering to Mammon, especially when the offering was meant for 
 better things.' 
 
 In this strain he chose to talk, without coming to particulars, 
 till, near the corner of the old square, they met the shouting 
 throng of boys, and presently James himself, descending the 
 steps of the grim old gray building. 
 
 * I thought you would forgive me for coming to meet you under 
 such an escort,' said Isabel, ' especially as it was to escape from 
 our Peruvian relative.' 
 
 * Poor man ! it was a great pity he did not come last year ! ' 
 said Louis. 
 
 ' I am glad I have no temptation to bend to his will,' returned 
 James. 
 
 * Ha ! I like the true core of the quarrel to display itself.' 
 
 * Fitzjocelyn, you do not mean that you do not fully approve 
 of the course 1 have taken ! ' 
 
 * Extremely magnanimous, but not quite unprecedented. 
 
306 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Witness St. Ronans Well, where the younger Scrogie abjures 
 the name of Mowbray/ 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Louis, can't you understand 1 Frost is a glorious 
 name to me, recording my grandmother's noble exertions on our 
 behalf ; but I can imagine it to be hateful to him, recalling the 
 neglect that made her slaving necessary.' 
 
 *For which amiable reason you insist on obtruding it. 
 Pray, are the houses henceforth to be Frost Terrace or Arctic 
 Row ? ' 
 
 ' Are you come to laugh or to remonstrate ? ' exclaimed James, 
 stopping. 
 
 ' Oh ! you want to put on your armour ! Certainly, I sliould 
 never tell if I were come to remonstrate, nor should I venture in 
 such a case — ' 
 
 ' Then you are come to approve,' said Isabel. ' I knew it ! ' 
 
 * Little you two care — each of you sure of an admiring double.' 
 
 * I care for your opinion as mucli as ever I did,' said James. 
 ' Exactly so,' said Louis, laughing. 
 
 ' I desire to have your judgment in this matter.' 
 *If I could judge, I would,' said Louis. 'I see you riglit 
 in principle, but are you right in spirit? I own my lieart 
 bleeds for Aunt Kitty, regaining her son to battle with her 
 grandson.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry for lier,' said James ; ' but it can't be 
 helped. I cannot resign my duties here for the sake of living- 
 dependent on a suitable allowance.' 
 
 * Ah I Jem ! Jem ! Oliver little knew the damage his neglect 
 did you.' 
 
 ^What damage?' 
 
 *The fostering an ugly little imp of independence.' 
 
 * Aye ! you grandees have naturally a distaste for independ- 
 ence, and make common cause against it.' 
 
 ' Especially when in a rabid state. Take care, Jem. Inde- 
 pedence never was a Christian duty yet — ' 
 
 ' Then, you want me to go and live on the lioards for the 
 sake of which my grandmother was left to toil. You would 
 like to see me loitering about, pensioned to swell the vanity of 
 Cheveleigh, neglecting my vows, forsaking my duties — ' 
 
 ' You unreasonable man ! Is there no way in this whole 
 world for you to do your duty as a clergyman, but hearing 
 Northwold boys the Latin granmiar ? ' 
 
 ' Then, what do you want me to do ? ' 
 
 'I don't want you to do anything. You are the man to 
 know what is right ; only, Isabel, don't help him to hate 
 people more than can possibly be avoided ; and don't break 
 dear Aunt Kitty's heart amongst you. That's what I care most 
 about ! ' 
 
 When Louis bade his aunt farewell, he threw his arm round 
 her neck, looked fondly at her, and said, ' Dear aunt, you won't 
 let them tease you ? ' 
 
ROLAND AND OLIVER 307 
 
 'No, my dear, I am getting past being teased/ she said. 
 ' Vexations don't hurt me as much as love does me good, and 
 they'll not forget their affection. It is all goodness in Jem, and 
 poor Oliver will understand it when I have got him into our 
 home ways again ; but he has been so long away from home, 
 poor fellow ! ' 
 
 ' That's right. I won't be uneasy for you. Squabble as they 
 will, they won't hurt you. But, oh ! Dynevor Terrace wdthout 
 
 you 
 
 ' Ah ! you must come to me at liome I ' 
 ' Home ! I'm like Jem, jealous for this old house.' 
 ' It is odd how little I feel these things,' said his aunt. ' If 
 any one had told me, when I tore myself away from Cheve- 
 leigh, that I should ha^'e it back, how little I should have 
 thought that I could take it so easily ! I wonder at myself 
 when I wake in the morning that I am not more moved by it, 
 nor by leaving this dear old place. I suppose it is because I 
 have not long to stay anywhere. I can keep nothing in my 
 head, but that I have got my Oliver ! ' 
 
 ' I believe it is the peace that is not of this world ! ' said 
 Louis. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 ROLAND AND OLIVER 
 
 'Twas old ancestral pride, 
 'Twas liope to raise a fallen housa 
 
 From penury's disgrace, 
 To purchase back from usurers 
 
 'The birthright of his race. 
 
 The, Lump of Gold. — C. Mackay 
 
 Mary's letter arrived not long after Louis's return to London ; 
 and her calm, serious, beautifully-expressed farewell came upon 
 him at last like a blow which had been long impending, but of 
 Avhich preparation had failed to lessen the weight. 
 
 * Ah ! ' said the Earl, when the cliief part had been read to 
 him, ' she is admirable and excellent as ever. It is a great dis- 
 appointment that she is unattainable ; but I am glad she writes 
 so sensibly, and sees that it is right you should think no more 
 about her. After all, the connection with that fellow Ponsonby 
 might have been very troublesome, and it is well, as she says, 
 that it was all over while you are so young.' 
 
 'Young or old, there is no other Mary in the world,' said 
 Louis, sadly. 
 
 * We will say no more about it now. I understand you, but 
 you will think differently by and by.' 
 
 Louis did not answer. He knew that others might have been 
 deceived by the tardiness and uncertainty of his attachment ; 
 hut that it had taken such deep root, that he believed he could 
 
 X 2 
 
308 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 no more detach himself from Mary than if. she were his wife. 
 His heart fainted as he thought of years without the strength 
 and soothing which her very letter breathed forth ; as he pic- 
 tured to himself alternations between his chill and stately home 
 and the weary maze of London, foresaw persuasions from his 
 father to induce him to form some new attachment, and dreaded 
 to think of the facility with which, perhaps, he might still be led 
 out of his own convictions. Yet he still believed that patience 
 and perseverance would win the day, and tried to derive encour- 
 agement and energy from the thou gl it that this might be a trial 
 sent for the very purpose of training him in steadfastness. 
 
 A strong impulse drew him to Bryanston Square, where Miss 
 Ponsonby was very kind and warm, the more so because she 
 had discovered liow much easier it had been to say than to un- 
 say, and strongly regretted the injustice she had done him. He 
 had the satisfaction of talking for a good hour about Mary, and 
 of sending a message, that he did not write because he wished 
 to be guided by her in everything, and that he was striving to 
 work so as to please her. The conversation ended with some 
 good auguries as to the effect of Oliver's return to Peru ; and 
 Louis went away cheered, bearing the final dismissal better than 
 his father had expected. Lord Ormersfield attributed his tran- 
 quillity to having his mind settled ; and so it was, though not 
 quite as his lordship imagined. 
 
 Meantime, there was a lull at Dynevor Terrace. Oliver was 
 gone to take possession and furnish the mansion, and Mrs. 
 Frost's great object was to keep the subject from irritating. her 
 grandson, so as to save him from binding himself by any rash 
 vows. Cheveleigh was treated in the domestic circle with judi- 
 cious silence : Oliver's letters were read by his mother in pri- 
 vate, and their contents communicated to Jane alone, whose 
 happiness was surpassing, and her contempt for Dynevor Terrace 
 quite provoking to poor Mrs. Martha. 
 
 ' Really,' said Charlotte, one day, ' I don't think a catastrophe 
 is half so pretty as it ought to be. Mr. Oliver is but a poor 
 little puny man, and I never knew Mr. James so hard to please.' 
 
 Charlotte and Mariainie had begun to merge their rivalry in 
 honest friendship, cemented by Marianne's increasing weakness, 
 and difficulty in getting through even the light work her mis- 
 tress required. Jane petted her now still more than Chariutte, 
 and was always promising her the delightful air and the luxuries 
 of Cheveleigh. 
 
 'See here, Charlotte,' said Marianne, one afternoon when 
 they sat down together to their sewing ; Marianne's eyes were 
 brighter, and her cheeks pinker, than for many days, — *see 
 here ; it is for your good I show it you, that you mayn't build 
 on no false expectations. It was marked private ; but I think 
 it but fair you should see.' 
 
 ' Mine was marked private, too,' said Charlotte, slowly, as she 
 fixed her eyes on the envelope Marianne held out to her, and 
 
ROLAND AND OLIVER 309 
 
 putting her hand into her pocket, pulled out a similar one, 
 directed to Miss Arnold. 
 
 Marianne scarcely suppressed a shriek, gasped, and turned 
 pale. Each lady then proceeded to unfold a pink sheet of note- 
 paper, containing an original copy of verses, each labelled, ' On 
 
 a hair of J Then came a scented shining note, requesting 
 
 to be informed whether the right construction had been put on 
 some words that had dropped from the Miss Con ways, and if it 
 were true that the reverend and respected Mr. F. Dynevor had 
 come into a large fortune. In that case, Mr. Delaford, merce- 
 nary considerations apart, would take the earliest opportunity 
 of resigning his present position, and entering the family which 
 contained his charmer. 
 
 The Merry Wives were parodied by the hysterical maids ; 
 Charlotte might afford to laugh, but Marianne's heart was more 
 in the matter, and they struck up such a chorus that Jane broke 
 upon them, declaring that they would frighten Mrs. James 
 Frost out of her senses. When Charlotte told her what was the 
 matter, her comment was, ' And a very good thing, too, that 
 you should find him out in time ! A pair of silly girls, you ! I 
 always was thankful I never could write, to be deluded with 
 nonsense by the post ; and I am more so than ever now ! Come, 
 leave off crying, Marianne ; he ain't worth it.' 
 
 ' But how shall we answer him, Mrs. Beckett ? ' said Cliarlotte. 
 
 ' Never demean yourself to answer him,' said Jane ; ' let him 
 never hear nought about you — that's the best for the like of ' 
 him. I can tell him he need not be in no hurry about giving 
 warning to Lady Conway. At Cheveleigh we'll have a solemn, 
 steady butler, with tio nonsense, nor verses, nor guitars — forty 
 years old — and a married man.' 
 
 Charlotte took the advice, and acted with dignified contempt 
 and silence, relieved to imagine that Tom had never been in 
 danger from such a rival. Marianne did not divulge the tender 
 and melancholy letter of reproach that she posted privately ; 
 but she grew paler, and coughed more, all that bright summer. 
 
 Mrs. Frost had refused to let any cause remove her from 
 North wold, until after an event which it was hoped would ren- 
 der James less disdainful of his inheritance. But — * Was there 
 ever anything more contrdnj ? ' exclaimed Jane, as she prepared 
 to set out the table for a grand tea. ' There's Master James as 
 pleased and proud of that there little brown girl, as if she was 
 as fine a boy as Master Henry himself. I do believe, upon my 
 word, it is all to spite poor dear Master Oliver.' 
 
 Poor Jane ! slie was almost growing tart in her partisanship 
 of Oliver. 
 
 The little brown girl was no dove of peace. Her fathei* 
 decidedly triumphed in the mortification that her sex was to 
 others of the family ; and though he averred that the birth of 
 a son would not have made him change his mind, he was well 
 satisfied to be spared the attack which would have ensued. 
 
310 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Oliver, like Jane, appeared to regard the poor child as a wilful 
 offence, and revenged himself by a letter announcing that Clara 
 would be his heiress ; information which Mrs. Frost kindly 
 witheld from her granddaughter, in the hope of a reconcilation. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield took James in hand, undertaking to make him 
 hear common sense ; but the sense was unfortunately too common, 
 and the authoritative manner was irritating, above all when a 
 stately warning was given that no Church preferment was to be 
 expected from his influence ; whereupon James considered him- 
 self insulted, and they parted very stiff and grand, the Earl after- 
 wards pronouncing that nothing was so wrong-headed as a con- 
 scientious man. But they were too much accustomed to be on 
 respectfully quarrelsome terms to alter their regard for one retort 
 more or less ; and after all, there were very few men whom Lord 
 Ormersfield liked or esteemed half so much as the fearless and 
 uncompromising James Frost — James Frost, as he curtly signed 
 himself, in spite of all Louis's wit on Rolands and Olivers — 
 and yet those soft satirical speeches did more than all direct 
 attacks to shake his confidence in his own magnanimity ; more 
 especially because Fitzjocelyn always declared himself incompe- 
 tent to judge, and never failed to uphold that he was so far right, 
 that his ministry must stand above all worldly considerations. 
 
 The breach had become so wide, that Oliver would not have 
 accepted the terms he had formerly offered. His object seemed 
 to be to pique his nephew and niece, by showing them what they 
 had lost. He wrote the most magnificent descriptions of Cheve- 
 leigh, and insisted that his mother and Clara should come and 
 take possession on the eightieth birthday of the former, the 
 14th of September ; and Isabel was recovering so rapidly, that 
 there was nothing to oppose to his project, although the nev/ 
 Catharine would be scarcely three weeks old by that time. 
 
 Thereupon came down, addressed to Clara, a case of Peruvian 
 jewels, newly set in London — intended doubtless to excite great 
 jealousy in her sister-in-law. Poor Oliver ! could he but have 
 known that Isabel only glanced at them to tell Clara the names 
 of the ornaments, and to relieve her mind by assurances that 
 the whole of a set need not be worn at once ! Next arrived 
 an exceedingly smart French milliner, who, by the help of Jane 
 and Marianne, got Clara into her toils, and pinned and measured 
 her for a whole mortal morning ; and even grandmamma ordered 
 a black velvet gown and accompaniments. 
 
 Lastly, there descended on Clara's devoted head a cheque for a 
 sum which terrified her imagination, and orders to equip herself 
 suitably as Miss Dynevor of Cheveleigh, who was to enjoy 
 the same allowance half-yearly. Her first idea was what de- 
 lightful presents could be made to every one ; but as she was 
 devising showers of gifts for her niece, James cut her short — ' I 
 am sorry to give you pain, Clara, but it must be understood that 
 neither directly nor indirectly can I nor mine receive anything 
 bought with my uncle's money.' 
 
ROLAND AND OLIVER 311 
 
 ^ That was the only thing to make me not hate it/ 
 
 ' It is best you should liate it.' 
 
 ' I do ! Why did he come home to bother us ? Oh, Jem, can't 
 I still live here, and only visit there ? ' 
 
 * No, Clara. The care of granny is your first duty ; and during 
 her life, so long as you are single, her home must be yours.' 
 
 The edict was given in stern self-abnegation ; but James was 
 very kind to her, treating her as a victim, and spending his 
 leisure in walking about with her, that she might take leave of 
 every favourite haunt. He was indulgent enough even to make 
 no objection to going with her to Ormersfield, where she wan- 
 dered about the park, visited old scenes with Louis, and went 
 over all his improvements. His cottages had as yet the sole 
 fault of looking too new, and one of his tenants would not shut 
 up his pigs ; but otherwise all was going on well, and Ingle- 
 wood was in the excitement of Louis's first harvest. He walked 
 about with ears of wheat in his hand, talked knowingly of loads 
 and acres, and had almost taught his father to watch the 
 barometer. It added to Clara's regrets that she should miss the 
 harvest-supper, for which he and Mr. Holdsworth had wonder- 
 ful designs ; but it was not to take place until Fitzjocelyn's 
 return from Cheveleigh. Oliver had invited him and his father 
 to conduct Mrs. Frost thither, and add eclat to her reception ; 
 and this, as Clara said, ' was the only comfort in the business.' 
 
 James had efiectually destroyed all pleasure on her part, and 
 had made the change appear an unmitigated misfortune, even 
 though she did not know what she would have thought the 
 worst. Congratulations were dreadful to her, and it was all 
 that Isabel could do to persuade her to repress her dislike so as 
 not to distress lier grandmother. 
 
 To Mrs. Frost it was pain to leave what she owned, with 
 thankful tears, to have been a happy, peaceful refuge for her 
 widowhood and poverty ; she grieved over each parting, clung 
 to the Faithfulls, reiterated fond counsels to Isabel, and could 
 hardly bear to detach herself from the great-grandchild. But 
 still it was lier own son, and her own liome, and Oliver and 
 Cheveleigh were more to her than even James and Dynevor 
 Terrace ; so that, though she was sorry, it was not with a melan- 
 choly sorrow, and she could still hope against hope, that uncle 
 and nephew might be brought together at last, and that a son 
 of Jaraes would yet reign in the dear old place. 
 
 Besides, she had not time to be unhappy. She was fully 
 employed in nursing Isabel, doing honour to the little one, 
 answering Oliver's letters, superintending Clara's wardrobe ; 
 choosing parting gifts for innumerable friends, high and low; 
 and making arrangements for the inexperienced household. 
 
 Jane's place was to be — not exactly supplied, but occupied 
 by a cook. Miss Dynevor was to have ' a personal attendant ; ' 
 and Mrs. Beckett begged that Marianne might be chosen, since 
 she could not bear to see the poor thing sent away, when in so 
 
312 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 mucli need of care. The diamonds, the French millinery, and 
 elane's motherly care, came in strong contrast to the miserable 
 lodging, or the consumptive .^hospital, which poor Marianne had 
 begun to anticipate ; and weeping with gratitude, she declared 
 that she had never seen nor thought of such ki-ndness since her 
 mother died. 
 
 Isabel seldom roused herself to understand anything about 
 her servants ; but she liked Marianne, and was glad Clara 
 should have her, since she was not strong enough to undertake 
 nursery cares. She believed it had not agreed with her to sit 
 up late. Compunction for having been the cause had never 
 dawned on Isabel's mind. 
 
 Charlotte was to remain at Dynevor Terrace ; James and 
 Isabel wished to keep her, and Mrs. Beckett thought her suffi- 
 ciently indoctrinated with her ways to have some chance of 
 going on well. ' Besides,^ as Jane said, ' I can't be accountable 
 for taking her into that large family, until I see what company 
 there may be. She's a well-behaved girl enough, but she's too 
 pretty and too simple-like for me to have heramong the common 
 run of servants. 1 11 see what I can do for her, when I see what 
 sort of a housekeeper it is.' 
 
 And Jane gave Charlotte infinite injunctions, varying from 
 due care of the ^chaney images' to reserve with mankind. 
 'Because you see, Charlotte,' she said, 'you'll be terribly for- 
 saken. Mrs. James, poor dear ! — she would not know if the 
 furniture weren't rubbed once in ten years ; but you must make 
 it a pride to yourself to be faithful.' 
 
 ' I am faithful ! ' cried Charlotte. ' I never cared for that 
 traitor, Delaford, and his guitar * but I could not get rid of him. 
 And I'll tell you what — I'll seal up his fine red book, and all 
 his verses ; and you shall leave them in London as you go 
 through, with my comjpliments. I think that will be proper 
 and scornful.' 
 
 ' Hoity-toity ! That's what she's at ! The best thing you 
 can do too, Charlotte ; and I'm glad that you've too much spirit 
 to pine like poor Marianne. I'd take my affidavit that if the 
 crowner could sit upon her when she dies, — and die she will — 
 that there fin.e gentleman and his guitar will be found at the 
 bottom of her chest. But don't go off about that noAV — though 
 'tis the reason I won't part from the poor thing till I can help 
 — the better luck for you that you'd got more in your head than 
 vanities and furbelows. What I meant was not being faithful 
 to him out in Peru — that's your OAvn affair ; but the being 
 faithful to your duty to your mistress, whether she's after you 
 or not. You know what a good servant is, and you've got to 
 show it ain't all eye-service.' 
 
 Cliarlotte cried heartily. No one else was allowed that 
 privilege when the 13th came, excepting Mrs. Frost herself. 
 James, afraid that a scene would hurt his wife, severely forbade 
 Clara to give w^y ; and the poor girl, mute and white, did as 
 
THE RESTORATION 313 
 
 she was told, and ventured not a word of farewell, though her 
 embraces were convulsive, and when she went down-stairs she 
 could not help kissing Charlotte. 
 
 James handed his grandmother to her seat in the carriage 
 which was to take her to the station. 
 
 ' Good-bye, my dear,' she said ; ' I know the day will come when 
 all this will be made up. You know how I have loved you both.' 
 
 * I wish my uncle all good.' 
 
 * I see it now,' she said, holding his hand between both of 
 hers. * It is my fault. I fostered our family pride. May God 
 take away the sin from us both ! ' 
 
 Tlie words were hardly articulate through tears, and perhaps 
 James did not hear. He hurried Clara down the garden and 
 into the carriage, and she had her last nod from Miss Faithful! 
 at the open window. Miss Mercy was at the station, whither 
 school-hours had hindered James from accompanying them, but 
 where they found Lord Ormersfield and Louis. 
 
 The warm-hearted little woman was all tears and smiles. 
 ' Oh ! dear Mrs. Frost, I am so sorry, and yet it is selfish. I am 
 so happy ! but where shall we find such another neighbour ? ' 
 
 ' Come and see us. You know you are to persuade your sister.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' She shook her head. ' Salome is hard to move. But 
 you — you are such a traveller — you v/ill come to see Mr. James 1 ' 
 
 ' I'm eighty to-morrow : I little expect to make any more 
 journeys except one, Mercy. I never look to see poor North- 
 wold more ; but it has been a place of blessings to me, and you 
 have been one of them. Don't think I'm too glad to go away ; 
 but I cannot but be thankful that my dear boy is bringing me 
 home to lay me down where my father and his father lie.' 
 
 It was said with that peculiar cheerfulness with which happy 
 old age can contemplate the end of the pilgrimage ; and slie 
 looked at Louis with a sunny smile. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 THE RESTORATION 
 
 When silent time, wi' lightly foot, 
 
 Had trod on thirty years, 
 I sought again my native land 
 
 Wi' mony hopes and fears. 
 As I drew near my ancient pile 
 
 My heart beat a' the way ; 
 The place I passed seemed yet to speak 
 
 Of some dear former day. 
 Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race, 
 
 Wad next their welcome pay ; 
 ♦ »*»*« 
 
 But sair on ilka well-kenned face 
 
 I missed the youthful bloom. — Miss Blamire 
 
 Oliver had sent orders to his mother to sleep in London, 
 and proceed the next morning by a train which would arrive 
 at about two o'clock. 
 
314 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 On that eventful morning, Clara was the prey of Mrs. Beckett, 
 Marianne, and the French milliner ; and in such a flounced glace 
 silk, such a lace mantle, and such a flowery bonnet was slie 
 arrayed, that Lord Ormersfield bowed to her as a stranger, and 
 Louis talked of the transformations of the Girafie. ' Is it not 
 liumiliating,' she said, 'to be so altered by finery ? You might 
 dress Isabel for ever, and her nobleness would surmount it all.' 
 
 * If you are not the rose, at least you have lived near the 
 rose,' said Louis. ' You don't fall quite short of the character 
 of Miss Dynevor.' 
 
 'I wish I were going to school,' said Clara, as they passed 
 along familiar streets ; 'then, at least, some one would pity me.' 
 
 After two hours spent on the railroad, the train entered a 
 district with the bleakness, but not the beauty, of the neigh- 
 bourhood of mountains ; the fresh September breeze was laden 
 with smoke, and stations stood thick upon the line. As the 
 train dashed up to one of these, a flag was seen waving, and the 
 shout of ' Cheveleigh, Cheveleigh road ! ' greeted them. 
 
 On the platform stood a tall footman, in the most crimson of 
 coats, powdered hair, and a stupendous crimson and white 
 shoulder-knot, such as Clara had only seen going to St. James's. 
 She would never have imagined that she had any concern with 
 such splendour ; but her grandmother asked him if the carriage 
 were there, as a mere matter of course, and Jane devolved on 
 him all luggage cares, as coolly as if she had been ruling over 
 him all his life. 
 
 As tliey issued from the station, a thin, uncertain, boyisli 
 cheer rang out, and before them stood a handsome open carriage 
 and four chestnut horses, with crimson postilions, and huge 
 crimson-and-white satin rosettes. 
 
 ' Won't they all turn to rats and pumpkins 1 ' whispered Clara 
 to Louis. 
 
 ' Bless the poor boy ! ' cried Mrs. Frost, between laughing 
 and crying ; ' what lias he been about ? Does he think I am tlie 
 Sherifi'-'s lady still r 
 
 The party entered the carriage, and the crowd of little boys 
 and girls, flymen and porters, got up another ' hurrah ! ' as the 
 four horses went thundering off, with Mrs. Frost apologizing — 
 ' Poor Oliver's notions were on such a grand scale ! — He had 
 been so long absent, that he did not know how much these 
 things had been disused.' But no one could look at her bright 
 tearful eyes, and quivering mouth, without seeing that she ex- 
 ulted in her son's affection and his victory ; and after all it was 
 natural to her, and a resumption of old habits. 
 
 They drove through two miles of brown flat heath, with far- 
 away mountain outlines, which she greeted as dear friends. 
 Here and there the engine-house of a mine rose up among 
 shabby buildings, and by and by was seen a square church - 
 tower, with lofty pinnacles, among which floated forth a flag. 
 The old lady caught hold convulsively of Clara's hand — ' The 
 
THE RESTORATION 315 
 
 old church !— My old church ! — See, Clara, that is where your 
 dear grandfather lies ! — My last home ! ' 
 
 With brimming eyes Mrs. Frost gazed on it as it came forth 
 more distinctly, and Clara looked with a sense of awe ; but 
 rending her away from grave thoughts, shouts burst upon her 
 ears, and above them the pealing crash of all the bells, as they 
 dashed under a splendid triumphal arch, all evergreens and 
 dahlias, forming the word ' Welcome ! ' and were met by a party 
 on horseback waving their hats, while a great hurrah burst out 
 from the numbers who lined the street. Mrs. Frost bowed her 
 thanks and waved her hand. ' But oh ! ' she said, almost sobbing, 
 * where am I ? This is not Cheveleigh.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield showed her a few old houses that they botli 
 recognized, looking antiquated in the midst of a modern growth 
 of narrow, conceited new tenements. The shouting crowd had, 
 to Fitzjocelyn's eyes, more the aspect of a rabble than of a 
 genuine rejoicing peasantry. What men there were looked 
 beer-attracted rather than reputable, and the main body were 
 whooping boys, women, nurse-girls, and babies. The suspicion 
 crossed him that it was a new generation, without memories of 
 forty years since, wondering rather than welcoming, in spite of 
 arclies, bells, and shouts. 
 
 After another half-mile, a gate swung wide beneath another 
 arch, all over C. D. , the F. studiously omitted ; and the carriage 
 wheeled in amid a shower of tight little nosegays from a squa- 
 dron of school-children. They drove up the long approach, 
 through fir plantations, which drew from Mrs. Frost a cry of 
 friendly recognition — for her husband had planted them ; but 
 they had not taken kindly to the soil, and fifty years had produced 
 but a starveling growth. Beyond lay an expanse of parched 
 brown turf, here and there an enclosure of unprosperous trees, 
 and full in front stood the wide space of stuccoed wall, with 
 a great Gothic window full in the midst, and battlements in 
 the castellated style of the early years of the nineteenth 
 century. 
 
 No one spoke. After the first glance, Mrs. Frost shut her 
 eyes to restrain the hot tears that arose at the thought of the 
 wintry morning, when ice-drops hung hoary on the fir-trees, as 
 she had driven away from the portal, whence music was now 
 pealing forth a greeting, and where Oliver was standing on the 
 very spot where, with clenched hand, he had vowed that all 
 should be restored. 
 
 Alas ! how much was in his power to restore ! 
 
 Gaily-dressed people surrounded the entrance, and, amid tri- 
 umphant strains from the band, the carriage stopped, and Oliver 
 held out his hand, saying, ' Welcome home, mother ! ' 
 
 She leant forward, kissed his brow, and suffered him to lead 
 her up the steps to the hall-door. Lord Ormersfield conducting 
 Clara. At the door Mrs. Frost paused, to turn, curtsey, and 
 sign her thanks to the throng who had followed. Her noble 
 
31S DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 aspect and demeanour, so full of dignity and feeling, obtained 
 a fresh and more genuine acclamation ; but throughout there 
 was a strange sense of unreality ; she seemed like one perform- 
 ing a part to gratify her son. Clara asked her cousin if it were 
 not like acting a play ; and it was plain to him that the spec- 
 tators beheld it with more curiosity than sympathy. 
 
 They were a new race. Property had changed hands rapidly 
 in a region of trade and manufacture, and the old Dynevor 
 name had been forgotten past recall, amid the very population 
 who were thriving upon the identical speculations which had 
 swamped Mr. Frost's fortune. If the crowd without looked 
 like a mob, the assembly within had a ^>ar^d;^?^?^ appearance ; 
 and as Oliver handed his mother across the hall, he muttered 
 something, as if he were disappointed both in the number and 
 consequence of his guests. 
 
 He led her into a magnificent apartment, all gilding, blue 
 brocade, and mirrors, as far as might be after the model of the 
 days of the Shrievalty ; but the bare splendour could ill recall 
 the grace and elegance that had then reigned there without 
 effort. Peru had not taught Oliver taste either of the eye or of 
 the mind, and his indefatigable introductions — ' My mother, Mrs. 
 Dynevor, my niece. Miss Dynevor, Lord Ormersfield, Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn,' came so repeatedly as quite to jingle in their ears. 
 
 Sir Andrew Britton, a burly cotton lord, with a wife in all 
 the colours of the rainbow, seemed to be the grand guest. His 
 lady seated herself beside Mrs. Frost, and began to tell her, 
 with a tone of patronage, how good a neighbourhood it was, 
 and how much pleasure she should have in introducing Miss 
 Dynevor. 
 
 In vain did Mrs. Frost look for a face she knew, and inquire 
 from her new acquaintance after familiar old names of places 
 and people. The places were either become factories, or some 
 charming new family lived there ; and for the people, it seemed 
 as if she might as well ask for antediluvians ; Lady Britton had 
 seldom heard their names, or if any trace survived, they had 
 never been on her visiting list. 
 
 At last Oliver came up to her, saying, 'Here, ma'am, Mr. 
 Henderson claims an early acquaintance with you.' 
 
 * Mr. Henderson ! ' and she eagerly started up, but looked baffled. 
 
 'Little George Henderson,' said the gray-headed gentleman — 
 for once a real gentleman — ' I assure you I have not forgotten 
 the happy days I have spent here.' 
 
 ' Little George ! ' as she took him by both hands — ' who would 
 have thought it ! You were little George with the apple cheeks. 
 And are no more of you here ? ' 
 
 He shook his head sadly. ' They would have been even more 
 glad than I am to welcome you home ; they were older, and 
 knew you better.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I must learn to ask no questions. And yet, that dear 
 sister Fanny of yours — ' 
 
THE RESTORATION 317 
 
 ' Gone many years since, ma'am. She died in India. I hope 
 my daughter Fanny may put you a little in mind of her.' 
 
 ' Is she not here V 
 
 * Why, no. I wished to bring her, but she is but fifteen, and 
 mamma will not trust her out without herself. We are quiet 
 people, and the world is growing too gay for us.' 
 
 'Clara and I must come to find you out. Can you believe 
 this tall creature is poor dear Henry's daughter?' as Clara 
 hastened to greet lier father's playfellow, with an alacrity which 
 piqued Lady Britton into a supercilious aside to Lord Fitzjocelyn 
 that the Hendersons were in poor circumstances, and no one 
 visited them. 
 
 ' And is no one here whom I know ? Not one of the old set, 
 George ? ' asked the old lady, mournfully. 
 
 'I fear there is hardly any one,' said Mr. Henderson. *A11 
 seem even to me new people. Stay, do you recollect old Mrs. 
 Golding?' 
 
 After a little confusion, Mr. Henderson's old Mrs. Golding 
 proved to be Mrs. Frost's young Mrs. Golding ; and, on the 
 eager inquiry whether she were present, ensued the melancholy 
 answer that she was deaf and infirm, only just able to smile 
 with pleasure at the tidings of her old friend's restoration ; and 
 the daughter, whom she could only just believe to be grown up, 
 was a worn, elderly woman. Not even the one heartfelt greet- 
 ing was without sadness ; and Clara likewise met with one soli- 
 tary satisfaction, and that a very mixed one. Mr. Dan vers, the 
 young curate, whom Oliver had not thought worth presenting, 
 was hailed by Fitzjocelyn as if their slight Oxford acquaintance 
 had been an intimacy, and was by him introduced to Clara as 
 belonging to James's college. She frankly held out her hand, 
 but was discomfited by his inquiry for her brother, whom he 
 had hoped to meet. Louis said something about not expecting 
 the schoolmaster abroad in the half-year, and Clara was not at 
 all grateful to him for relieving her from the embarrassment, 
 but regarded the reply as a shabby prevarication, and was much 
 inclined to speak out ; but Louis was drawing the curate into 
 conversation about the population, and hearing but a despond- 
 ing history. It was interrupted when Oliver, after waiting in 
 vain for more distinguished company, began to marshal his 
 guests to the grand hall, paved with black and white marble, 
 and with a vast extent of wall and window, decked with ever- 
 greens, flags, and mottoes. Here a cold collation was prepared, 
 with a band in a music-gallery above, and all the et ceteras dear 
 to county papers. Oliver himself handed in Lady Britton, his 
 mother fell to the lot of the Earl, and Fitzjocelyn received 
 orders to conduct a handsome, young, giggling Mrs. Smithers, 
 who, never having been in contact with a live lord, wanted to 
 make the most of him, and, before she had arrived at her place, 
 was declaring that it was a most interesting occasion, just like 
 a scene at the Opera. 
 
318 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Louis glanced back to see what became of Clara, and, finding 
 her following with Sir Andrew Britton, contrived to sit imme- 
 diately opposite to her, at the long, narrow table, with notliing 
 between them but a couple of cold chickens and a tongue gar- 
 nished with transfixed crayfish. His eyes were, perhaps, a 
 greater support to her than even conversation ; for she gathered 
 a little philosophy and charity from their cheering smile and 
 arch twinkling, and she managed to listen civilly to her neigh- 
 bour, while she saw that her cousin was being very polite to 
 Mrs. Smithers. She Avas a great way from all other friends, 
 for the table had been spread for a more numerous assembly, 
 and the company sat in little clusters, with dreary gaps between, 
 where moulds of jelly quaked in vain, and lobster-salads 
 wasted their sweetness on the desert air. Her uncle could just 
 be seen in the far perspective at the head of the table ; and, 
 between him and the Earl, Louis descried his Aunt Catharine, 
 looking bright, with a little embellishing flush on her withered 
 cheek. 
 
 Sir Andrew was not a lady's man ; and, after he had heard 
 how far Miss Dynevor had come to-day, that she had never 
 ridden, and had not seen the Menai tubular bridge, he discon- 
 tinued the difiicult task ; and she, finding that he had not even 
 seen the cathedral, which she had passed only fifteen miles off, 
 gave him up, and occupied herself with watching the infinite 
 variety of affectations which Mrs. Smithers was playing off, and 
 the grave diversion with which Louis received them. The lady 
 was evidently trying to discover what had been the intermediate 
 history of Mrs. and Miss Dynevor ; and Louis was taking plea- 
 sure in bafiling her, with cool, quiet answers, especially when 
 she came to the question whether Miss Dynevor had not a 
 brother, and why he was not present. It appeared that Oliver 
 had made almost as if his mother had been buried and dug up 
 again ; involving the thirty-four years of her exile in such utter 
 mystery, that people had begun to make all sorts of wild stories 
 to account for her proceedings ; and Lord Fitzjocelyn's explana- 
 tion that she had lived in her own house in Northwold, and 
 taught him the Latin grammar, seemed quite a disappointment 
 from the simplicity and want of romance. 
 
 The weary banquet had arrived at ices, and Clara hoped the 
 end was near, when the worse trial of speeches began. Mr. 
 Henderson was declaring how strongly he felt the honour which 
 had been devolved on him, of expressing the universal joy in 
 having so excellent and much-beloved a neighbour restored by 
 the noble exertions of her son. He said all that the rest of the 
 world ought to have felt, and so heartily and sincerely as to 
 make every one imagine the whole the general sentiment, and 
 the welcoming hurrah was cordial and joyous. Mrs. Frost was 
 deeply touched and gratified, and Lord Ormersfield congratu- 
 lated himself on having instigated Oliver to give this toast to 
 Mr. Henderson. If Clara could have driven James from her 
 
THE RESTORATION 319 
 
 mind, she would have been delighted ; but there could be no 
 triumph for her where he was excluded. 
 
 The Earl returned thanks on behalf of his aunt, and said a 
 great deal that could have come from the mouth of no one 
 * unaccustomed to public speaking,' ending by proposing the 
 health of 'Mr. Oliver Frost Dynevor.' In the midst of 'The 
 Fine Old English Gentleman,' while Louis was suppressing a 
 smile at the incongruity, a note was brought to him, wliich he 
 tossed to Clara, purporting that he was to return thanks for 
 her. She bent over the table to say, ' You will say nothing I 
 cannot bear to hear,' folded her hands, and shut her eyes, as if 
 she had been going to stand fire. 
 
 Oliver's clear, harsh tones, incapable of slowness or solemnity, 
 began to return thanks for himself, and pronounce this to be 
 the happy day to which he had been looking throughout his 
 life — the day of restoring the family inheritance to his mother, 
 and the child of his elder brother ; he faltered— he never could 
 calmly speak of Henry. Failing the presence of one so dear, 
 he rejoiced, however, to be able to introduce to them his only 
 daughter, and he begged that his friends would drink the health 
 of the heiress of Cheveleigh, Miss Dynevor. 
 
 Never did toast apparently conduce so little to the health of 
 the subject. Unprepared as Clara was for such a declaration, 
 it was to her as if she had been publicly denounced as the sup- 
 planter of her brother. She became deadly white, and sat bolt 
 upright, stiff and motionless, barely stifling a scream, and hei- 
 eyes fixed between command and entreaty on her cousin, without 
 seeing, far less acknowledging, the bows levelled at her. Louis, 
 alarmed by her looks, saw that no time was to be lost, and 
 rising hastily before any one was ready, perilled his fame for 
 eloquence, by rapidly assuring the gentlemen and ladies that 
 Miss Dynevor was truly sensible of the kindness of their wel- 
 come, and the manner of receiving the toajst. Then pushing 
 back his chair, with 'never mind,' to Mrs. Smithers and her 
 scent-bottle, he was at the back of Clara's chair almost before 
 her confused eyes had missed him in her gasps for breath, and 
 impulse to do something desperate ; and so she might, if his 
 voice had not been in her ear, his hand grasping hers, both to 
 console and raise her. ' Clara, come, take care.' She obeyed, 
 but trembling so much that he was obliged to support her. 
 Others would have risen in alarm, but he silenced them by 
 signs, and entreaties that no one would frighten her grand- 
 mother. There was a large glass door standing open under the 
 Gothic window, and through it he led her out upon a wide 
 green lawn. She drew her breath in sobs, but could not speak. 
 Louis asked her to untie her bonnet, and touched the string, 
 which was merely a streamer. This brought a kind of laugh, 
 but she unfastened the bonnet herself, and the first use she 
 made of her breath was fiercely to exclaim^ How could you ! 
 Why did you not tell them I never will — ' 
 
320 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Sit down,' said Louis, gently. ' Let me fetch some water/ 
 ' No — no — let me get away from this place ! ' and she almost 
 dragged him along, as fresh cheers and peals of music broke 
 out, till they had entered a lonely walk in a sort of wilderness 
 of shrubs. Still she hurried on, till they came out on a quiet 
 little garden, where the tinkling of a little fountain was the 
 only sound ; the water looked clear and fresh with the gold-fish 
 darting in it, and the sun shone calmly on the bright flowers 
 and wavy ferns adorning the rockwork. 
 
 ' What are you doing, Clara ? You must rest here,' said lie, 
 drawing her down on a rustic bench, intended to represent a 
 crocodile. 
 
 * I can't rest here ! I must go home ! I'm going home to 
 Jem ! ' she exclaimed, obeying, however, because, though slie 
 could run, she could not stand. 
 
 * Dear Clara,' he said, affectionately, ' it was much worse than 
 I expected. I never l)elieved he could have committed himself 
 to such an open declaration, especially without warning.' 
 
 ' I'll not stay ! ' cried Clara, with all the vehemence of her 
 Dynevor nature. ' I'll go straight home to North wold to-morrow 
 morning — to-night if I could. Yes, I will ! I never came here 
 for this ! ' 
 
 ' And what is to become of my poor Aunt Kitty ? ' 
 
 * She has her Oliver ! She would not have me put Jem out 
 of his birthright.' 
 
 ' James will not be put into it.' 
 
 She wrenched away her hand, and looked at him with all her 
 brother's fierceness. 'And you ! ' she cried ; ' why could not you 
 speak up like a man, and tell them that I thank none of them, 
 and will have nothing to say to any of them ; and that if this 
 is to belong to any one, it must be to my noble, my glorious, 
 generous brother ; and, if he hasn't it, it may go to the Queen, 
 for what I care ! I'll never have one stone of it. Why could 
 you not say so, instead of all that humbug ? ' 
 
 * I thought the family had afforded quite spectacles enou£ . 
 for one day,' said Louis ; ' and besides, I had some pity upon youi 
 grandmother, and on your uncle, too.' 
 
 ' Jem told me grandmamma claimed my first duty ; but he 
 never knew of this wicked plan.' 
 
 ' Yes, he did.' 
 
 ' Knew that I was to supplant him ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; we all knew it was a threat of your uncle ; but we 
 spared you the knowledge, thinking that all might yet be accom- 
 modated, and never expecting it would come on you in this 
 sudden way.^ 
 
 ' Then I think I have been unfairly used,' cried Clara ; * I have 
 been brought here on false pretences. As if I would have come 
 near the place if I had known it ! ' 
 
 *A very false pretence that your grandmother must not be 
 left alone at eighty, by the child whom she brought up.' 
 
THE EESTORATION 321 
 
 * Oh, Louis ! you want to tear me to pieces ! ' 
 
 * I have pity on my aunt ; I have far more pity on your uncle.' 
 Clara stared at him. * Here is a man who started with a grand 
 heroic purpose to redeem the estate, not for himself, but for her 
 and his brother ; he exiles himself, he perseveres, till this one 
 pursuit, for which he denies himself home, kindred, wife or child, 
 absorbs and withers him up. He returns to find his brother 
 dead ; and the children, for whom he sacTrificed all, set against 
 him, and rejecting his favours.' 
 
 This was quite a new point of view to Clara. * It is his own 
 fault,' she said. 
 
 ' That a misfortune is by our own fault is no comfort,' said 
 Louis. * His apparent neglect, after all, arose from his absorp- 
 tion in the one object.' 
 
 * Yes ; but how shameful to wish James to forget his Ordination.' 
 
 * A strong way of putting it. He asked too much ; but lie 
 would have been, and may yet be, contented with concessions 
 involving nothing wrong. His way of life can liardly have 
 taught him to appreciate James's scruples, as we do ; and even 
 if right and wrong were more neatly partitioned between them 
 than I think they are, it would still be hard on him to find this 
 destined heir spurning his benefits.' 
 
 * What are you coming to, Louis ? You think James right ? ' 
 *I would give the world to think so, Clara. One motive is 
 
 too high for praise, the other — no, I will say nothing of it. 
 But I could wish I had not precipitated matters last year.' 
 
 ' What ! would you have robbed us of our few happy 
 months 1 ' 
 
 'It was your uncle whom I robbed; he would otherwise 
 have come home like a good genius ; but he found you all 
 happy without him, and with no gratitude to spare for him. 
 And there he sits at the head of that long melancholy table, 
 trying to bring back days that have gone too far ever to be 
 recalled, and only raising their spectres in this mocking finery ; 
 scarcely one man present whose welcome comes from his heart ; 
 his mother past the days of heeding the display, except for his 
 sake ; his nephew rejecting him ; you indignant and miserable. 
 Oh, Clara ! I never saw more plainly money given for that 
 which is not bread, and labour for that which satisfieth not. 
 Empty and hollow as the pageant was, I could better bear to 
 take my part in it, so far as truth would let me, than tell that 
 poor man that the last of his brother's children rejects him and 
 his benefits.' 
 
 ' At this rate, you will make a hero of Uncle Oliver.' 
 
 * It is because he is one of this world's heroes that he is dis- 
 tasteful to you.' 
 
 ' I don't understand.' 
 
 'Exclusive devotion to one object, grand though it was, has 
 made him the man he appears to us. Think what the spirit 
 must have been that conceived and carried out such a design 1 
 
 Y 
 
S22 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Depend upon it there is a greatness in him, which may sliow, 
 when, as dear granny says, she has cured him of all he learnt 
 away from home. I think that must be the work for which you 
 are all brought together here.' 
 
 'But I can't thrust out Jem. I won't stay here on those 
 terms. I shall protest — ' 
 
 ' It is not graceful to make an uproar about your own mag- 
 nanimity, nor to talk of what is to happen after a man's death. 
 You don't come here to be heiress, but to take care of your 
 grandmother. There is no need to disturb the future, unless, 
 to be sure, you were obliged to explain your expectations.' 
 
 'Ah ! to be sure, any way I could restore it all to James.' 
 
 ' Or, better still, you may yet be able to draw the uncle and 
 nephew together, and bring back peace and union.' 
 
 ' Then I must stay and bear all this, you think ? ' 
 
 ' As a mere matter of obedience, certainly.' 
 
 Clara's countenance fell. 
 
 ' That may deprive it of the brilliance of a voluntary sacrifice ; 
 but, after all, it is what makes your course safe and plain.' 
 
 'And very dismal, just because no one will believe so.' 
 
 ' So the safer for humility,' said Louis. ' Perhaps the dear old 
 Terrace did not offer training and trial enough. I try to be- 
 lieve something of tlie kind in my own case. If choice had been 
 mine, I should hardly have been exactly what I am ; and you 
 know how my chief happiness has been put far from me ; but 
 I can imagine that to be at the summit of my wishes might 
 foster my sluggishness, and that I might rest too much on better 
 judgment than my own, if it were beside me. Probation may 
 be safer than joy ; and you may do more good to yourself and 
 others than even under Isabel's wing. Only think of tlie means 
 in your hands, and all the wretched population round ! There 
 will be some hope of help for the curate now — besides, I shall 
 know where to come for subscriptions next time I run crazy 
 about any wonderful charity.' 
 
 Clara smiled. ' I suppose I must bear it,' slie said. 
 
 ' For shame, Clara ! With Aunt Kitty, who would make a 
 palace of a dungeon, in the glorious glow of such a sunset, 
 turning each cloud to red and purple radiance by the very force 
 of love and faith, who could regret the being beside her ? My 
 own dear and precious aunt, to see her so happy, with bliss and 
 peace so undisturbed, so far above these toys, and these dis- 
 tresses, gives me a sort of fear — ' 
 
 ' Oh, don't, Louis — ' 
 
 They were interrupted by approaching voices. Clara hastily 
 started up, as her uncle and Lady Britton appeared in the green 
 alley. 
 
 ' Oh, must I go back to them all ? My head does ache ! ' 
 
 Louis gave her his arm, pursued the path in the opposite 
 direction, and emerged at the lower end of the bowling-green, 
 with the battlemented front of the house rising before them. 
 
THE RESTORATION 323 
 
 Presently, he met his father searching for him. ' Poor Clara 
 has been overcome,' he said, in explanation. ' The speechifying 
 has been too much for her.' 
 
 It was the first time that Clara had appeared to the Earl in 
 any light but that of an idle school-girl, and he said, kindly, 
 ' It must have been very trying. There should have been more 
 preparation. Your uncle would have shown better taste in 
 sparing your grandmamma so obtrusive a reception, and I was 
 much pained both for her and for you during some of the 
 speeches.' 
 
 Sympathy from Lord Ormersfield nearly overthrew Clara 
 again, and she involuntarily squeezed Louis's arm. He asked 
 for his aunt, and was told, ' She is in the house, entertaining 
 these people. They do not know when to go away. How could 
 Oliver inflict such a party on her ? and such a style of people ! ' 
 
 ' I must go and help her,' said Louis. 
 
 Clara was in no condition to appear, but Louis caused Mrs. 
 Beckett to be summoned, and committed her to her care. Her 
 transport was one of the few pleasant things of that day. 'Oh, 
 Miss Clara 1 Oh, my lord ! Was there ever the like ? Isn't 
 Master Oliver the most blessed boy 1 Missus in her own home 
 again ! Eight men, and a French man-cook ! If ever I 
 thought to see the day ! Her old room just as it was, only 
 grander ! Oh, if poor Mr. James was but here ! ' 
 
 'Ay, Jane, and here's Clara thinking herself ill about Mr. 
 James. Take her up and give her some tea, and make her fit 
 to behave prettily by and by, that granny may not be vexed.' 
 
 Having seen her safe under Jane's fondling care and infectious 
 exultation, he betook himself to the drawing-room, relieved 
 his aunt's anxiety by a whisper, and won golden opinions from 
 the whole company, before they were fairly got rid of ; and 
 Oliver begged to conduct his mother to her apartment. * Yes, 
 my dear, I must go to poor little Clara.' 
 
 ' I've no fears for Clara,' said Oliver, as he led her up-stairs. 
 ' Knowing young fellow to wait for my announcement ! I can 
 give her near double what Ponsonby could. I'd not object — 
 old Dynevor blood — ' 
 
 ' My poor Oliver, you have so learnt to think of money, that 
 you can't believe others live for anything else. You'll learn 
 your mistake.' 
 
 ' You think the young chap meant nothing ? I shall look sharp 
 after him, then. I look on Clara as my own. I'll have no trifling.' 
 
 'You may save yourself the trouble,' said his mother. 'They 
 understand each other — they have always been like brother and 
 sister, and I cannot have the children teased, or things put into 
 their heads.' 
 
 Oliver laughed his scornful chuckle, and said he did not under- 
 stand that sort of brother and sister ; but happily he became 
 absorbed in showing his mother the fittings of her splendid 
 bedroom. 
 
 ¥2 
 
324 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Clara had the comfort o5 clinging round her grandmother^s 
 neck, and being told that it was all nonsense. Jem should have 
 his rights, and Uncle Oliver would learn to love and honour him 
 at last ; and she was a good child, and ought to have been pre- 
 pared, if granny could have guessed he would do it so publicly 
 and suddenly ; but she must forgive him, for he was beside him- 
 self at having got them home again, and he could not make 
 enough of her because she was poor Henry's child. So she saw 
 granny must not be grieved, and she let herself be dressed for a 
 constrained dinner in the vast dining-room, where the servants 
 outnumbered the diners, and the silver covers bore the Dy never 
 dragon as a handle, looking as spiteful as some of the race 
 could do. 
 
 Oliver was obliged to conclude that no offer had passed be- 
 tween the two young people ; but on the way home next morn- 
 ing the Earl observed, ' Clara Frost has a fine figure, and is much 
 improved by dress. She shows excellent feeling, and does credit 
 to her education.^ 
 
 'Tl^ie Pendragon blood never had a finer development,* said 
 Louis. 
 
 'Even supposing justice done to poor James, she will have a 
 handsome portion. Oliver will have far more to dispose of than 
 the five thousand pounds guaranteed to her.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! ' said Louis. 
 
 * Yes, I pity her for being exposed to his parading. He forgot 
 the gentleman in his merchant's office. If you should ever have 
 any thoughts of rescuing her from him, my approval would not 
 be wanting, and it would be the easiest way of restoring her 
 brother.' 
 
 * My dear father, if Clara and I were always sister and brother 
 when she was poor, we certainly shall be no more now.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield mentally execrated Mr. Ponsonby, and felt 
 that he had spoken too soon. 
 
 Jane's felicity was complete when, a few days after, she re- 
 ceived, addressed in Lord Fitzjocelyn's handwriting, an Illus- 
 trated News, with a whole page containing Hhe reception of 
 Mrs. Dynevor of Cheveleigli,' with grand portraits of all the 
 flounces and veils, many gratuitous moustaches, something pass- 
 ing for Oliver standing up with a wine-glass in his hand, a puppy 
 that would have perfectly justified Mr. Ponsonby 's aversion 
 representing Lord Fitzjocelyn, and no gaps at tlie banquet-table. 
 
 That picture Mrs. Beckett caused to be framed and glazed, 
 kept it as her treasure for life, and put it into her will as a 
 legacy to Charlotte Arnold. 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 
 
 Come, let us range the subterranean vast, 
 Dark catacombs of ages, twilight dells, 
 And footmarks of the centuries long past, 
 Which look on us from their sepulchral cells. 
 
 Then glad emerge we to the cheering day, 
 
 Some sun-ranged height, or Alpine snowy crovn, 
 
 Or Chimborazo towering far away 
 
 O'er the great Andes chain, and, looking dov/n, 
 
 On flaming Cordilleras, mountain thrown 
 
 O'er mountain, vast new realms. 
 
 The Creation. — Rev. I. Williams 
 
 The same impression of the Illustrated London News which 
 delighted Jane Beckett's simple heart in England, caused no 
 small sensation at Lima. 
 
 La Sefiora Ponsonby cast one glance at El Visconde there 
 portrayed, and then became absorbed in Clara's bonnet ; Mr. 
 Kobson pronounced Lord Ormersiield as good a likeness as Mr. 
 Dynevor ; Mr. Ponsonby cast a scornful look and smile at the 
 unlucky figure representing Fitzjocelyn ; and not a critical voice 
 was heard, excepting Tom Madison's, who indignantly declared 
 that they had made the young lord look as if he had stood 
 beliind a counter all his life. 
 
 The juxtaposition of Lord Fitzjocelyn and Mr. Dynevor's 
 niece was not by any means forgotten. It looked very like a 
 graceful conclusion to Oliver's exertions that he should crown 
 their union ; and the county paper, which had likewise been 
 forwarded, very nearly hinted as much. Mr. Ponsonby took 
 care that the paragraph should be laid in his daughter's w^ay, 
 and he offered lier the sight of Oliver Dynevor's own letter. 
 
 Mary suspected that he regarded it as something conclusive, 
 and took care to read it when there were no eyes to mark her 
 emotions. * Ormersfield and his son were there,' wrote Oliver. 
 ' The young man is not so soft as he looks. They tell me he is 
 going to work sensibly at the estate, and he has a sharp eye for 
 the main chance. I hear he played fast and loose till he found 
 your daughter had better prospects than Miss Conway, Avhom 
 my fool of a nephew chose to marry, and now he is making up 
 to my niece. My mother dotes on him, and I shall make no 
 objection — no extravagance that I can see, and he will take 
 care of the property. You will take no offence, since you 
 refuse the tender altogether.' 
 
 Of this Mary believed two sentences — namely, that Aunt 
 Catharine doted on Fitzjocelyn, and that he was not so soft as 
 he looked, which she took as an admission that he was not 
 comporting himself foolishly. She was quite aware that the 
 friendship between him and Clara might deceive an uninitiated 
 spectator ; and, though she commanded herself to think that an 
 
326 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 attachment between them would be equally natural and desir- 
 able, she could not but look with great satisfaction at the easy, 
 unsuspicious tone of Mrs. Frost's letter, which, after mentioning 
 with much affection and gratitude all Oliver's attempts to make 
 her happy, in spite of the many sad changes around, ended by 
 saying that poor Clara felt the separation from her brother so 
 much, that without dear Louis she did not know how she 
 would have gone through the festivities. ' You can guess how 
 he is everything to us all,' said Aunt Kitty, ' and I brightened 
 up his looks with giving him your last letter to read. I dare 
 say. Miss Mary, you would like to scold me.' 
 
 Aunt Kitty ! Aunt Kitty ! you dearly loved a little kindly 
 mischief ! Let that be as it might, Mr. Ponsonby thought that 
 Mr. Dynevor's letter had certainly not had much effect, for 
 Mary was more lively and cheerful than he had seen her since 
 her first arrival. 
 
 Mary's cheerfulness was becoming the more necessary to him, 
 since he was beginning a little to weary of the childish charms 
 of his young Limenian wife. Rosita had neither education nor 
 conversation ; and when all her pretty ways had been tried on 
 him in succession, they began to grow tedious. Moreover, the 
 playful submission which she had brought from her convent 
 was beginning to turn into wilfulness. Her extravagances in 
 dress were appalling. She refused to wear the same dresses 
 twice ; and cried, stamped her graceful foot, and pouted when 
 he remonstrated. She managed to spend every evening in 
 amusement, either at the Opera, or at evening parties, where 
 her splendid eyes, and scraps of broken English, made great 
 havoc among young lieutenants and midshipmen visiting Lima. 
 Mr. Ponsonby was growing tired of these constant gaieties, and 
 generally remained at home, sending Mary in his stead, as a sort 
 of guard over her ; and Mary, always the same in her white 
 muslin, followed Rosita through all the salas of Lima — listened 
 to the confidences of Limenian beauties — talked of England to 
 little naval cadets, more home-sick than they would have chosen 
 to avow — and felt sure of some pleasure and interest for the 
 evening, when Mr. Ward came to stand by her chair. 
 
 One afternoon, as Mary sat in her window reading, a gay 
 voice exclaimed, ' Beso las manos a listed ; ' and looking up, she 
 saw one of tlie prettiest figures imaginable. A full dark purple 
 satin skirt just revealed the point of a dainty wliite satin shoe. 
 It was plaited low on the hips, and girded loosely with a 
 brightly striped scarf. The head and upper part of the person 
 were shrouded in a close hood of elastic black silk webbing, 
 fastened behind at the waist, and held over the face by the 
 hand, which just allowed one be-ringed finger and one glancing 
 dark eye to appear, while the otlier hand held a fan and a 
 laced pocket-handkerchief. So perfectly did the costume suit 
 the air and shape of the lady, that, as she stood among Mary's 
 orange-trees, it was like an illusion of the fancy ; but conster- 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 327 
 
 nation took away all the charm from Mary's eyes. ' Taioada^ 
 she cried ; ' you surely are not going out, tapada / ' ^ 
 
 ' All, you have found me out,' cried Rosita. ' Yes, indeed I 
 am ; and I have the like saya y manto ready for you. Come, 
 we will be on the Alameda ; Xavier waits to attends us. Your 
 Senor Guard will be at his evening walk.' 
 
 But Mary drew back. This pretty disguise was a freak, such 
 as only the most gay ladies permitted themselves ; and she had 
 little doubt that her father would be extremely displeased at 
 his wife and daugliter so appearing, although danger there was 
 none ; since, though any one might accost a female thus veiled, 
 not the slightest impertinence was ever allowed. Mary im- 
 plored Rosita to wait till Mr. Ponsonby's views should be known ; 
 but she was only laughed at for her English precision, and the 
 pretty creature danced away to her stolen pleasure. 
 
 She came in, all glory and delight at the perplexity in which 
 she had involved the English officers, the guesses and courtesies 
 of her own countrymen, and her mystification of Mr. Robson, 
 who had evidently recognized her, though pretending to treat 
 her as a charming stranger. 
 
 The triumph was of short duration. For the first time, she 
 had aroused one of Mr. Ponsonby's gusts of passion ; she 
 quailed under it, wept bitterly, and made innumerable pro- 
 mises ; and then she put on her black mantilla, and, with 
 Xavier behind her, went to her convent chapel, and returned, 
 half crying over the amount of repetitions of her rosary by 
 which her penance was to be performed, and thereby all sense 
 of the fault put away. Responsibility and reflection never 
 seemed to be impressed on that childish mind. 
 
 Mary had come in for some of the anger, for not having pre- 
 vented Rosita's expedition ; but they were both speedily for- 
 given, and Mary never was informed again of her using the 
 saya y manto. 
 
 Their minds were diverted by the eager desire of one of the 
 young officers to visit the silver mines. It had been an old 
 promise to Mary from her father to take her to see tJiem ; but 
 in her former residence in Peru, it had never been fulfilled. 
 He now wished to inspect matters himself, in order to answer 
 the numerous questions sent by Oliver ; and Rosita eagerly 
 catching at any proposal which promised a variety, a party was 
 made up for ascending to the San Benito mines, some days' 
 journey from Lima. Mary and Rosita were the only ladies ; 
 but there were several gentlemen, three naval officers, and Mr. 
 Ward, who was delighted to have an opportunity of visiting 
 the wonders which had been, for many years, within his reach 
 without his rousing himself from his business to see them. 
 Tents, bedding, and provisions were to be carried with them, 
 and Mary had full occupation in stimulating Dolores to bring 
 together the requisite preparations ; while Mr. Ward and Rob- 
 son collected guides, muleteers, and litters. 
 
328 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 It was a merry party, seated on the gaily-trapped mules, with 
 an idle young midshipman to make mischief, and all in spirits to 
 enjoy his nonsense, in the exhilaration of the mountain air 
 blowing freshly from the snowy summits which seemed to rise 
 like walls before them. The steaming, misty, relaxing atmo- 
 sphere of Lima was left behind, and with it many a care and 
 vexation. Mr. Ponsonby brought his mule to the side of his 
 wife's litter, and exchanged many a joke in Anglo-Spanish with 
 her and the lieutenant ; and Mr. Ward, his brow unfurrowed 
 from counting-house cares, walked beside Mary's mule, gathered 
 each new flower for her, and listened to her narrative of some 
 of the causes for which she was glad, with her own eyes, to see 
 Tom Madison in his scene of action. 
 
 The first day of adventure they slept at a hacienda, surrounded 
 with fields where numerous llamas were pasturing. The next 
 began the real mountain work ; the rock looked like a wall be- 
 fore them, and the white summits were sharply defined against 
 the blue sky. The sharper air made Rosita shiver ; but the 
 English travellers congratulated themselves on something like a 
 breeze, consoling them for the glow with which the sunbeams 
 beat upon the rocks. The palms and huge ferns had given place 
 to pines, and these were growing more scanty. Once or twice 
 they met a brown Indian, robed in a coloured blanket, with a 
 huge straw hat, from beneath which he gazed with curious, 
 though gentle eyes, upon the cavalcade. By and by, looking 
 like a string of ants descending a perpendicular wall, Mary be- 
 held a row of black specks slowly moving. She was told that 
 these were the mules bringing down the metal in panniers — the 
 only means of communication, until, as the lieutenant promised, 
 a perpendicular railway should be invented. The electricity of 
 the atmosphere made jokes easily pass current. The mountain 
 was ' only ' one of the spurs of the Andes, a mere infant among 
 the giants ; but, had it been set down in Europe, Mont Blanc 
 must have hidden his diminished head ; and the view was better 
 than on some of the more enormous neighbours, which were 
 both further inland, and of such height, that to gaze from them 
 was ' like looking from an air-balloon into vacancy.' Whereas 
 here Mary had but to turn her head, as her mule steadily crept 
 round the causeway — a legacy of the Incas — to behold the ex- 
 panse of the Pacific, a sheet of glittering light in the sunshine, 
 the horizon line raised so high, that the first moment it gave her 
 a sense of there being something wrong with her eye, before the 
 feeling of infinity rushed upon her. 
 
 They were turning the flank of the mountain, and losing the 
 sunshine. The evening air was almost chill, and the clearness 
 such that they already saw the ragged height whither they were 
 bound rising in craggy shattered grandeur, every flat space or 
 gentler declivity covered witfi sheds and huts for the work- 
 people, and cavernous mouths opening on the clifl*-side. Dark 
 figures could be distinctly seen moving about ; and as to the 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 329 
 
 descending mules, they seemed to be close on the other side of 
 a narrow ravine. Rosita, who, now it came to the point, was 
 not without fears of sleeping on the bare mountain-side, wanted 
 to push on ; she was sure they could arrive before night, but 
 she was told that she knew nothing of mountain atmosphere ; 
 and she was not discontented with the bright fire and comfort- 
 able arrangements on which they suddenly came, after turning 
 round a great shoulder of rock. Mr. Robson and the sumpter- 
 mules had quietly preceded them, and the gipsying on the Andes 
 was likely to be not much less luxurious than an English pic- 
 nic. The negro cook had done his best ; Mary made her father's 
 coffee, and Rosita was waited on to her satisfaction. And when 
 darkness came on, too early for English associations with warm 
 days, the lights of the village at the mine glittered merrily, and, 
 apparently, close at hand ; and the stars above shone as Mary 
 had never seen them, so marvellously large and bright, and the 
 Magellan clouds so white and mysterious. Mr. Ward came and 
 told her some of the observations made on them by distinguished 
 travellers ; and after an earnest conversation, she sought her 
 matted bed, Avith a pleasant feeling on her mind, as if she had 
 been unusually near Louis's world. 
 
 Clear, sharp, and cold was the air next day ; the snow-fields 
 glistened gloriously in the rising sun, and a rose-coloured mist 
 seemed to rise from them. Rosita was shown the unusual spec- 
 tacle of hoar frost, and shiveringly profited by Mary's ample 
 provision of wraps. The hill-sides were beyond conception de- 
 solate and bare. Birds were an almost unknown race in Peru ; 
 and here even green things had departed, scarcely a tuft of 
 blossom looking out on the face of the red and purple rock ; and 
 the exceeding stillness so awful, that even the boy-sailor scarce 
 dared to speak above his breath. Rosita began to repent of 
 having come near so horrible a place ; and when she put her 
 head out of her litter, and beheld herself winding along a ledge 
 projecting from the face of a sheer precipice, she would have 
 begged to go back instantly ; but her husband spoke in a voice 
 of authority which subdued her ; she drew in her head into her 
 basket-work contrivance, and had recourse to vows to Sta Rosa 
 of Lima of a chaplet of diamond roses, if she ever came safely 
 down again. 
 
 Mary had made up her mind that they should not have been 
 taken thither if there were any real danger ; and so, though 
 she could have preferred her mule taking the inner side of tYie 
 ledge, and was not too happy when it climbed like a cat, she 
 smiled, and answered all inquiries that she did not think she 
 ought to be frightened. The region was in general more stern 
 than beautiful, the clefts between the hills looking so deep, that 
 it seemed as if an overthrown mountain could hardly fill tliem ; 
 but now and then came sudden peeps of that wonderful ocean ; 
 or almost under lier feet, as if she could throw a stone into it, 
 there would lie an intensely green valley, shut in with feathering 
 
330 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 pines, and the hacienda and grazing llamas dwindled, so that 
 they could liave been taken for a Swiss farm and flocks of sheep. 
 
 Not till the middle of the day did they meet the line of mules, 
 and not until the sunset did they find themselves close before 
 the wonderful perforated San Benito summit. It was, unlike 
 many other metalliferous hills, an isolated, sharply-defined mass 
 of rock, breaking into sudden pinnacles and points, traversed 
 with veins of silver. These veins had been worked with galle- 
 ries, which, even before the Spanish conquest, had honeycombed 
 the solid rock, and had been thought to have exhausted its 
 riches ; but it had been part of Oliver Dynevor's bold specula- 
 tions to bring modern science to profit by the leavings of the 
 Peruvians and their destroyers. It was a marvellous work, but 
 it might still be a question whether the profit would bear out 
 the expense. 
 
 However, that was not the present consideration. No one 
 could feel anything but admiring astonishment at the fantastic 
 craggy height of peaks and spires, rising against the darkening 
 sky, like the very stronghold of the Giant of the Western Star ; 
 and, with the black openings of the galleries, here and there 
 showing the lights of the workmen within. Mary remembered 
 the tales, in which Louis used vainly to try to interest her, of 
 metal- working Dwarfs within the mountains ; and would have 
 been glad to tell him that, after all, reality was quite as strange 
 as his legends. 
 
 The miners, Indians and negroes, might truly have been 
 Trollds, as, with their brown and black countenances, and wild 
 bright attire, they came thronging out of their rude houses, 
 built of piled stones on every tolerably level spot. Three or 
 four stout, hearty Cornish miners, with picks on their shoulders, 
 made the contrast stranger ; and among them stood a young 
 man, whose ruddy open face carried Mary home to Ormersfield 
 in one moment ; and she could not but blush almost as if it had 
 been Louis, when she bent her head in acknowledgment of his 
 bow. 
 
 He started towards her as if to help her off* her mule ; but 
 Mr. Ponsonby was detaining him by questions, and Mr. Ward, 
 as usual, was at her rein. In a wonderfully brief time, as it 
 seemed to her, all the animals were led off* to their quarters ; 
 and liobson, coming up, explained that Madison's hut, the only 
 habitable place, had been prepared for the ladies — the gentlemen 
 must be content to sleep in their tent. 
 
 ' The hut was at least clean,' said Robson, as he ushered them 
 in ; and Mary felt as if it were a great deal more. It was rudely 
 built, and only the part near the hearth was lined with mat- 
 ting ; the table and the few stools and chairs were rough car- 
 pentry, chiefly made out of boxes ; but upon the wall hung a 
 beautiful print from Raffaelle, of which she knew the giver as 
 surely as if his name had been written on it ; and the small 
 bookcase suspended near contained, compressed together, an 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTEEN STAR 331 
 
 epitome of Louis's tastes — the choicest of all his favourites, in 
 each class of book. Mary stood by it, reading tlie names, and 
 trying to perceive Louis's principle of selection in each case. It 
 jarred upon her when, as the gentlemen loitered about, waiting 
 for the evening meal, they came and looked at the titles, 
 with careless remarks that the superintendent was a youth of 
 taste ; and a laugh at the odd medley — Spenser, Shakspeare, 
 'Don Quixote,' Calderon, Fouque, and selections from Jeremy 
 Taylor, &c. 
 
 Mary would hear no more comments. She went to the fire, 
 and tried to persuade Rosita they would come safe down again ; 
 and then, on the apology for a mantelshelf, she saw some fossils 
 and some dried grasses, looking almost as if Fitzjocelyn had put 
 them there. 
 
 She did not see Madison that night ; but the next morning 
 he presented himself to act as their guide through the wonders 
 of the extraordinary region where his lot had been cast. She 
 found that this was only the first floor of the wondrous castle. 
 Above and above, rose galleries, whence the ore was lowered 
 down to the buildings here placed, where it underwent the first 
 process of separation. The paths above were fit for none, save 
 a chamois, or a barefooted Indian, or a sailor — for the midship- 
 man was climbing aloft in such places, that Tom's chief work 
 was to summon him back, in horror lest he should involve him- 
 self in endless galleries, excavated before the days of Atahualpa. 
 
 Much of the desperate scrambling which Madison recom- 
 mended as plain sailing, was beyond Mr. Ponsonby ; but where 
 he went, Mary went ; and when he stopped, she, though she 
 had not drawn since the master at her school had resigned her 
 as a hopeless case, applied herself to the perpetration of an out- 
 line of tlie rocks, tlmt, as she said, ' her aunts might see what 
 sort of place it was.' Her steady head, and firm, enterprising 
 hand and foot, enabled her to see the crowning wonder of the 
 mountain, one of the ventanillas or windows. Mr. Ward, having 
 visited it, came back bent on taking her thither ; there was no 
 danger, if she were not afraid. So between him and Tom Madi- 
 son, she was dragged up a steep path, and conducted into a 
 gallery cut out in the living rock, growing gloomier and gloomier, 
 till suddenly there was a spot of light on the sparkling floor, 
 and Mary found herself beneath an opening through the moun- 
 tain crown, right up into the sky, which, through the wild 
 opening, looked of the deepest, most ultra-marine, almost purple 
 blue, utterly beyond conception in the glory of intense colour, 
 bringing only to her mind those most expressive, yet most in- 
 expressive words, Hhe body of heaven in His clearness,' She 
 felt, what she had often heard said, that to all mountain -tops is 
 given somewhat of the glory that dwelt on Sinai. That ineffable 
 blue was more dazzling than even the fields beyond fields of 
 marvellous white that met her eye on emerging from the dark 
 gallery. 
 
332 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * I never wish so much that Lord Fitzjocelyn should see any- 
 thing as that,' said Tom Madison, when Mary, in her gratitude, 
 was trying to say something adequate to the trouble she had 
 given, though the beauty was beyond any word of admiration. 
 
 ' He would — ' she began to answer, but the rest died away, 
 only answered by Tom with an emphatic ' He ivould!' and then 
 began the difficulties of getting down. 
 
 But Mary had the pleasure at the next pause of hearing Mr. 
 Ward say, ' That is a very fine intelligent young fellow, wortliy 
 of his library. I think your father has a prize in him ! ' 
 
 Mary's eyes thanked Mr. Ward, with all her heart in them. 
 It was worth going up the Andes for such a sentence to put into 
 a letter that Aunt Kitty would show to Louis. 
 
 Robson seemed anxious to monopolize the attention of the 
 gentlemen, to tlie exclusion of Madison ; and while Tom was 
 thus thrust aside, Mary succeeded in having a conversation 
 with him, such as she felt was a sort of duty to Louis. She 
 asked him the names of the various mountain-peaks in sight, 
 whose bare crags, too steep to support the snow, here and there 
 stood out dark in salient contrast to the white scenery ; and as 
 he gave them to her, mentioning the few facts tliat he had been 
 able to gather respecting them, she was able to ask him whether 
 he was in the habit of seeing anything approaching to society. 
 He smiled, saying that his nearest neighbours were many miles 
 off — an engineer conducting some far more extensive mining 
 operations, whom he sometimes met on business, and an old 
 Spanish gentleman, who lived in a valley far down the moun- 
 tain side, with whom he sometimes smoked his cigar on a Sun- 
 day, if he felt inclined for a perpendicular promenade on a 
 Peruvian causeway for nearly four miles. Mary asked whether 
 he often did feel inclined. No, he thought not often ; lie had 
 generally worked hard enough in the week to make his book the 
 best company ; but he liked now and then to see something 
 green for a change after these bare mountains and rocks, and 
 the old Don Manrique was very civil and agreeable. Then, 
 after a few minutes' conversation of this kind, something of tlie 
 old conscious abruptness of tone seemed to come over the young 
 man, and looking down, he said bluntly, ' Miss Ponsonby, do 
 you think there would be any objection to my coming into 
 Lima just for Christmas 1 ' 
 
 ' I suppose not ; I cannot tell.' 
 
 Tom explained that all the miners would be making holiday, 
 and the senior Cornishman might safely be left in charge of the 
 works, while he only wished to spend Christmas-day itself in 
 the city, and would be a very short time absent. He blushed a 
 little as he spoke, and Mary ventured to reply to what she 
 gathered of his thought, ' No other day would suit you as well ? ' 
 
 ^ No, ma'am, it hardly would,' he answered, gravely. 
 
 ' I will try what can be done,' said Mary, ' unless you would 
 speak to Mr. Ponsonby yourself.' 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 333 
 
 He looked inquiringly at Mr. Ponsonby's figure some paces 
 distant, and shook his head. 
 
 ' I will try/ repeated Mary ; and then she added, ' These 
 grand hill-tops and blue sky almost make a church — ' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am,' said Tom, his black eyes lighting at the thought ; 
 ' I've felt so sometimes, but 'tis a mighty lonely one after a time. 
 I've taken my book, and got out of earshot of the noise the 
 blacks make ; and I do assure you, Miss Ponsonby, the stillness 
 was enough to drive one wild, with nothing but savage rocks to 
 look at either ! Not a green plant, nor a voice to answer, 
 unless one got to the mountain echoes, and they are worse — ' 
 
 ' But surely you have the Cornishmen 1 What do they do on 
 a Sunday ? ^ 
 
 'They lie about, and smoke and sleep, or go down to the 
 valley,' said Tom. ' I never thought of them.' 
 
 ' I think you should,' said Mary, gravely. ' If you are in any 
 authority over them, it must give you a charge over their souls. 
 I think you should, at least, give them the choice of reading the 
 service with you.' 
 
 ' I'll think about it,' said Madison, gruffly. 
 
 ' I will send up some books for them to make an opening,' 
 said Mary. ' I should not like to think of men living in such 
 scenes, without being the better for them.' 
 
 Robson was here obliged to call Madison to refer some ques- 
 tion to him ; but Mary had another talk with him, when he 
 begged to know if there were likely soon to be an opportunity 
 of sending to England. He had some fossils which he wislied 
 to send to Lord Fitzjocelyn ; and he fetched them, and explained 
 his theories with regard to them as if he had almost forgotten 
 that she was not his young lord. 
 
 She carried his request to her father, and was answered that 
 of course he might take a holiday if lie could leave the works 
 with safety ; he had better spend a few days in the town when 
 he did come. With this answer she made him happy ; and 
 they set off, to the extreme joy of Rosita, who had engrossed 
 much less attention than she had expected, and declared she 
 would never have come into these horrible places if she could 
 have imagined what they were like. Certainly, no one wished 
 to have her company there again. 
 
 When Mr. Ponsonby mentioned the permission which he had 
 accorded to Madison, Robson coughed and looked annoyed. 
 Mary could not help suspecting that this was because the re- 
 quest had not been preferred through himself. ' So the young 
 fellow wants to be coming down, does he ? I thought his 
 ardour was too hot to last long.' 
 
 * Very natural that the poor lad should want a holiday,' said 
 Mr. Ponsonby. 'It must take a tolerable flow of spirits to 
 stand long, being so many feet above the level of tlie sea, in 
 caves fit for a robber's den at the theatre.' 
 
 'Oh, I am making no objection, sir,' returned Robson; 'the 
 
334 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 young man may take his pleasure for what I eare, so he can be 
 trusted not to neglect his business.' 
 
 Here the path narrowed, and ^lary had to fall back out of 
 hearing ; but she had an unpleasant suspicion that Robson was 
 telling her father something to Tom's disadvantage, and she had 
 to^ consider how to avoid rousing a jealousy, which she knew 
 might be dangerous. 
 
 Mr. Ward, however, came up to interrupt her thoughts and 
 watch the steps of her mule. The worst difficulties of the 
 descent had precluded all conversation ; and the party were just 
 beginning to breathe freely, think of terra jirma as not far off, 
 and gaze witli easier minds on the marvellous ocean. Mary 
 went on in very comfortable discussion of the wonders they had 
 seen, and of Madison's remark that the performances of the 
 Incas made one quite ashamed of the achievements of modern 
 science — a saying in which Mr. Ward perfectly agreed ; and 
 then he began to say something rather long, and a little discon- 
 nected, and Mary's mind took an excursion to Aunt Kitty, and 
 the reading of the letter that she was going to write, when sud- 
 denly something in Mr. Ward's voice startled her, and recalling 
 her attention, she discovered, to her dismay, that lie was actually 
 making her an offer ! An offer ! She would as soon have ex- 
 pected one from her father ! And oh ! how well expressed — 
 how entirely what it ought to be ! How unlike every one of 
 those three of her past experience ! 
 
 In great distress she exclaimed, ' Oh, Mr. Ward, pray do not 
 — indeed, I cannot ! ' 
 
 'I feared that I was but too likely to meet with such an 
 answer,' said Mr. Ward ; ' and yet your father encouraged me to 
 hope, that in course of time — ' 
 
 ' Then papa has told you what he thinks % ' said Mary. 
 
 'I applied to him before I could venture to join this party. 
 Mary, I am aware that I can bring none of the advantages 
 which have ' — his voice faltered — ' which have forestalled me ; 
 but the most true and earnest affection is already yours.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry for it, Mr. Ward,' said Mary, gravely, though 
 much touched. * It is very kind of you, but it is only fair and 
 candid to tell you that papa has probably led you into a mis- 
 take. He thinks that the — the object was weak and unworthy, 
 and that my feelings could be easily overcome. He does not 
 know — ' 
 
 ' He assured me that all was at an end — ' 
 
 ' It is,' said Mary ; ' but I am certain that I shall never feel 
 for any one else the same as ' — and the tears were coming fast. 
 ' You are very kind, Mr. Ward, but it is of no use to think that 
 this can ever be.' 
 
 'Forgive me for having harassed you,' said Mr. Ward, and 
 they went on so long in silence that Mary hoped it was over, 
 and yet he did not go away from her. She was sorry to see the 
 grieved, dejected expression on his good, sensible, though some- 
 
THE GIANT OF THE WESTERN STAR 335 
 
 what worn countenance ; and she esteemed him highly ; but 
 who could have thought of so unlucky a fancy coming into his 
 head ? When, at length, he spoke again, it was to say that he 
 begged that she would forget what was past, and allow him to 
 continue on his former footing. Mary was glad to have some- 
 thing grateful to say, and answered that she should have been 
 very sorry to lose him as a friend ; whereupon his face cheered 
 up, he thanked her, and fell back from her rein. In spite of her 
 past trials of the futility of the attempt to live with a rejected 
 suitor as if nothing had happened, she had hopes of the possi- 
 bility when her own heart was untouched, and the gentleman 
 nearly doubled her years ; but when she talked to her father, 
 she gathered that it was considered by both gentlemen that the 
 proposal had been premature, and that her final detachment 
 from Louis was reckoned on as so certain that Mr. Ward was 
 willing to wait, as if it were only a matter of time. He was 
 so wealthy and prosperous, and a connection with him would 
 have been so useful to the firm, that Mary was grateful to her 
 father for forbearing to press her on what he evidently wished 
 so earnestly. Mr. Ward had exactly the excellent, well-balanced 
 character which seemed made to suit her, and she could have 
 imagined being very happy with him, if — • No, no — Mr. Ward 
 could not be thought of at the same moment. 
 
 Yet, whatever she might say, no one would believe her ; so 
 she held her peace, and wrote her history of the silver mines ; 
 and Mr. Ward haunted the house, and was most kindly forbear- 
 ing and patient, and Mary found at every turn how good a man 
 he was, and how cruel and mistaken his sister thought her. 
 
 And Christmas came, when the churches were perfect orange- 
 groves, and the scene of the wanderers of Bethlehem was acted 
 from house to house in the twilight. The scanty English con- 
 gregation met in tlie room that served as a chapel in the Con- 
 sul's house — poor Mary alone of all her household there to keep 
 tlie feast ; and Mr. Ward was there, and Madison had come 
 down from his mountain. There were hearts at home that 
 would rejoice to hear that. 
 
 Mary saw him afterwards, and he thanked her for her sug- 
 gestion respecting the miners. Two had been only as shy as 
 Tom himself ; they had been reading alone, and were glad to 
 join company ; a third was beginning to come, and it had led to 
 a more friendly intercourse. Mary sent him away, very happy 
 with some books for them, some new Spanish reading for him- 
 self, an astronomical book, and her little celestial globe — for the 
 whole firmament of stars had been by no means lost on him. 
 That interview was her Christmas treat. Well for her that she 
 did not hear Robson say, ' That young man knows how to come 
 over the ladies. I shall keep a sharper look-out after him. I 
 know no harm of him, but if there's one man I trust less than 
 another, it is one that tries the serious dodge.' 
 
336 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE WRONG WOMAN IN THE WRONG PLACE 
 
 Give me again my hollow tree, 
 My crust of bread, and libert3\ 
 
 The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse. — Pope 
 
 The new cook's first compliment to Charlotte was, 'Upon 
 my word, you are a genteel young woman ; I dare say you 
 have a lot of sweethearts.' 
 
 The indignant denial of the Lady of Eschalott was construed 
 into her being 'sly,' and Mrs. Cook promised herself to find 
 her out. 
 
 Those were not happy days with the little maiden. The 
 nurse looked down on her, and the cook filled the kitchen with 
 idlers, whose looks and speeches were abliorrent to her. Some- 
 times the woman took offence at her for being high ; at others, 
 she forced on her advice upon her dress, or tried to draw out 
 confidences either on lovers or the affairs of the family. Cliar- 
 lotte was sadly forlorn, and shut herself up in her pantry, or in 
 her own little attic with Jane's verbenas which cook had 
 banished from the kitchen, and lost her sorrows in books hired 
 at the library. She read, and dreamt, created leisure for 
 reading, lived in a trance, and awoke from it to see her work 
 neglected, reproach herself, and strain her powers to make up 
 for what was left undone. Then, finding her efforts failing, slie 
 would be distressed and melancholy, until a fresh novel engrossed 
 her for a time, and the whole scene was enacted over again. 
 
 Still, it was not all idleness nor lost ground. The sense of 
 responsibility was doing her good ; she withstood the cook's 
 follies, and magnanimously returned unopened a shining en- 
 velope of Mr. Delaford's. At Christmas, when Mr. and Mrs. 
 Frost went to pay a visit at Beauchastel, and the cook enjoyed 
 a course of gaieties, the only use she made of her liberty was to 
 drink tea once with Mrs. Martha, and to walk over to Marks - 
 edge to see old Madison, who was fast breaking, and who 
 dictated to her his last messages to his grandson. 
 
 James and Isabel spent a pleasant, lively Christmas with their 
 hospitable old friends, and James returned full of fresh vigour 
 and new projects. His tirst was to offer his assistance to the 
 Vicar, so as to have a third service on the Sunday ; but there 
 were differences of opinion between them, and his proposal was 
 received so ungraciously, that a coolness arose, which cut him 
 off from any openings for usefulness. 
 
 However, he had enough to occupy him in his own depart- 
 ment, the school. He was astonished at his boys' deficiency in 
 religious instruction, and started a plan for collecting them for 
 some teaching for an hour before morning service. Mr. Calcott 
 
THE WRONG WOMAN IN THE WRONG PLACE 337 
 
 agreed with him that nothing could be more desirable, but 
 doubted wliether the parents would compel their sons to attend, 
 and advised James to count the cost, doubting whether, in the 
 long run, he would be able to dispense with one day of entire 
 rest. This was the more to be considered, since James ex- 
 pended a wonderful amount of energy in his teaching, did his 
 utmost to force the boys on, in class and in private, drilled his 
 usher, joined in the games, and gave evening lectures on subjects 
 of general information. 
 
 Some responded to his training, and these he strenuously 
 encouraged, asking them to dinner, and taking them to walk ; 
 and these were enthusiastically fond of him, and regarded his 
 beautiful wife as a being of a superior order. Fitzjocelyn and 
 James used to agree that intercourse witli her was a very im- 
 portant element in their training, and the invitations were made 
 as impartial as possible, including the intelligent and well- 
 conducted, irrespective of station. Isabel's favourite guest was 
 a good, well-mannered lad, son to Mr. Ramsbotham's follower, 
 the butcher ; but, unluckily, Mrs. Richardson and lier friends 
 did not esteem it a compliment when their sons were asked to 
 meet him ; and, on the other hand, James did not always dis- 
 tinguish real merit from mere responsiveness to his own mind. 
 Dull boys, or such as had a half-sullen, half-conservative dislike 
 to change, did not gain notice of an agreeable kind ; and while 
 intending to show strict justice, he did not know how far he 
 was affected by his prepossessions. 
 
 His lectures had emancipated him from evening parties ; and, 
 after Mrs. Frost's departure, visiting gave Isabel little trouble. 
 Thecalm, lofty manners that had been admired in Miss Conway, 
 were thought pride in Mrs. James Frost ; and none of the ladies 
 of Northwold even wished to do more than exchange morning 
 calls with her, and talk among themselves of her fine-ladyism. 
 She recked nothing of their keeping aloof ; her book and her 
 pen were far pleasanter companions on her alternate evenings 
 of solitude, and in them she tried to lose her wishes for the 
 merry days spent with granny and Clara, and her occasional 
 perceptions that all was not as in their time. James would 
 sometimes bring this fact more palpably before her. 
 
 The separation of the families had not diminished the income 
 of the household, but the difference in comfort was great. 
 Isabel knew nothing of management, and did not care to learn. 
 She had been willing to live on a small scale, but she did not 
 understand personal superintendence ; she was careless of dis- 
 play, and perfectly happy as long as she was the guest of the 
 grandmother, but she had no comprehension of petty tidinesses 
 or small economies. Now James, brought up on a very different 
 scale, knew in detail how the household ought to live, and 
 made it a duty not to exceed a fixed sum. He had the eye for 
 neatness that she wanted ; he could not believe it a hardship 
 to go without indulgences to which his grandmother and sister 
 
 z 
 
338 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Imd not been accustomed. Thus, he protested against unneces- 
 sary fires ; Isabel sliivered and wore sliawls ; he was hurt at 
 seeming to misuse her, resigned liis study fire, and still found 
 the coals ever requiring to be renewed, insisted that his wife 
 should speak to the cook, and mystified her by talking about 
 the regulation of the draught of the kitchen fire ; and when 
 Isabel understood, she forgot the lecture. 
 
 He was a devoted and admiring husband, but he could not 
 coolly discover innumerable petty neglects and wasteful habits. 
 Impatient words broke out, and Isabel always received them so 
 meekly that he repented and apologized ; and in the reconcilia- 
 tion the subject was forgotten, but only to be revived another 
 time. Isabel was always ready to give warm aid and sympathy 
 in all his higher cares and purposes, and her mild tranquillity 
 was repose and soothing to him, but she was like one in a 
 dream. She had married a vision of perfection, and entered on 
 a romance of happy poverty, and she had no desire to awaken ; 
 so she never exerted her mind upon the world around her, when 
 it seemed oppressive ; and kept the visionary James Frost before 
 her, in company with Adeline and the transfoniied Sir Hubert. 
 It was much easier to line his tent with a tapestry of Maltese 
 crosses, than to consider whether the hall should be covered 
 with cocoa-nut matting. 
 
 How Christmas passed with Clara, may be seen in the 
 following letter : — 
 
 'Clieveleigh, Jan. ISol. 
 
 'Dearest Jem, — I can write a long letter to-night, for a 
 fortunate cold has spared me from one of Sir Andrew's dinner- 
 parties. It is a reminiscence of the last ball, partly brought on 
 by compunction at having dragged poor granny thither, in 
 consideration of my unguarded declaration of intense dislike to 
 being chaperoned by Lady Britton. Granny looks glorious in 
 black velvet and diamonds, and I do trust that lier universal 
 goodwill rendered the ball more tolerable to her than it was to 
 me. She, at least, is all she seems ; whereas I am so infested with 
 civilities, that I long to proclaim myself little Clara Frost, bred 
 up for a governess, and the laughing-stock of her school. Oh ! 
 for that first ball where no one danced with me but Mr. 
 Richardson, and I was not a mere peg for the display of Uncle 
 Oliver's Peruvian jewels ! I have all the trouble in the world 
 to be allowed to go about fit to be seen, and only by means of 
 great fighting and coaxing did I prevail to have my dress only 
 from London instead of Paris. 
 
 'And no wonder I shivered all the way to the ball. Fancy 
 Jane insisting on my going to display my dress to that poor 
 dying Marianne ; I was shocked at the notion of carrying my 
 frivolities into such a scene, but Jane said her mind ran on it, 
 and it was "anything to take ofi* her thoughts from that man." 
 So I went into her room, and oh ! if you could have seen the 
 poor thing, with her short breath and racking cough, her cheeks 
 
THE WRONG WOMAN IN THE WRONG PLACE 339 
 
 burning and her eyes glistening at that flimsy trumpery. One 
 bunch of the silver flowers on my skirt was wrong ; she spied 
 it, and they would not thwart her, so she would have tlie needle, 
 and the skeleton trembling fingers set them right. They said 
 she would sleep the easier for it, and she thanked me as if it 
 had really set her more at rest ; but hoAv sad, how strange it 
 seems, when she knows that sh€ is sinking fast, and has had 
 Mr. Danvers with her every day. He thinks all is well with 
 her ; but it was a melancholy, blank, untaught mind, to begin 
 to work on. Louis would call her life a mournful picture of 
 our civilization. She has told it all to Jane : she was of the 
 mechanic class, just above the rank that goes to Sunday-schools ; 
 she went to a genteel weekly school, and was taken out plea- 
 suring on Sunday — no ground-work at all. An orphan at 
 fifteen, she never again knew tenderness. Then came dress- 
 making till her health failed, and she tried service. She says, 
 Isabel's soft tones made a paradise for her ; but late hours, 
 which she did not feel at the time, wore her out, and Delaford 
 trifled with her. Always when alone he pretended devotion 
 to her, then flirted with any other who came in his way ; and 
 worry and fretting put the finish to her failing health. She 
 had no spirit to break entirely with him, and even now is pining 
 for one kind word, which he seems to be too hard and selfish to 
 send to her, in answer to a letter of forgiveness that she wrote 
 a fortnight back. What a wretch he must be ! Jane says, he 
 tried flirting with poor little Charlotte, and that she was a 
 little " took up " with his guitar and his verses ; but then, Jane 
 says, " Charlotte has somewhat at the bottom, and knows iDetter 
 than to heed a man as wasn't real religious." I suppose that is 
 the true difference between Charlotte and Marianne ; and even 
 if we looked into Delaford's history, most likely we should find 
 him another nineteenth -century victim to an artificial life. 
 At least, I trust that Jane has been the greatest blessing ; 
 Marianne herself speaks of her as more than a mother to her ; 
 and I believe I told you of the poor girl's overpowering gratitude, 
 when she found we would not turn her out to die homeless. 
 We read, and we talk, and Mr. Danvers comes ; but I believe 
 dear old Jane does more for her than all. 
 
 * Poor Jane ! when her task of nursing is over, I do not know 
 what she will turn to. The grand servants only keep terms 
 with her because Uncle Oliver gave notice that no one should 
 stay in the house who did not show respect to his friend Mrs. 
 Beckett. It takes all her love for Missus and Master Oliver 
 to make her bear it ; and her chief solace is in putting me to 
 bed, and in airing Master Oliver's shirt and slippers. You would 
 laugh to hear her compassionating the home minced-pies ! and 
 she tells me she would give fifty pounds rather than bring 
 Charlotte here. My uncle wished grandmamma to manage the 
 house, and she did so at first ; but she and the servants did not 
 get on well together : and she said, wdiat I never knew her say 
 
 Z 2 
 
340 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 before, that she is too old, and so we liave an awful dame who 
 rules with a liigh hand. 
 
 'You ask whether the dear granny is happy. You know slie 
 is all elasticity, and things are pleasanter here to her than to 
 me ; but I do not think she enjoys life as she did at home. It 
 is hard to have her whole mission reduced to airing those four 
 liorses. We have tormented my uncle out of making us use 
 more than two at a time, by begging for six and the Lord 
 Mayor's coach ; but aired alternately they must be, and we 
 must do it, and by no road but wliat the coaclmian cliooses ; 
 and this does not seem to me to agree with her like trotting 
 about the town on her errands. There is no walking here, 
 excepting in the pleasure-ground, where all my grandfather's 
 landscape-gardening has been cut up so as to be a mere vexation 
 to her. The people round are said to be savage and disaffected, 
 and the quarter of a mile between the park and the village is 
 subject to miners going home. They did once holloa at me, and 
 orders were issued that I should walk no more. I believe that 
 if they saw me fearless, and coming among them for friendly 
 purposes, they would leaA^ e off hooting ; but the notion frightens 
 granny, so I am a prisoner. They are the people to think it a 
 mockery to be visited by a lady bedizened as I am, and stuck up 
 in a carriage ; so we can do very little except through 'Mr. 
 Dan vers, and my uncle is always discontented at the sight of him, 
 and fancies he is always begging. A little sauciness on my part 
 has the best effect when anything is wanted, for my uncle is 
 very kind to me in his own fashion, which is not mine. 
 
 ' We have made something of a nest in the last of the suite of 
 rooms, the only one habitably small ; but it is wonderful where 
 all the time in the day goes. My uncle likes me to ride with 
 him in the morning, and I have to help granny air tiie horses 
 in the afternoon ; and in the evening, when we are lucky enough 
 to dine alone, I play them both asleep, unless they go to back- 
 gammon. Think of granny reduced to that ! We should be 
 very happy when he is detained in his study, but that granny 
 thinks it is bad for him. Dear granny ! I see the object of her 
 life is to win him back to serious thoughts. She seems to think 
 of him like a schoolboy who must be lured to find home pleasanter 
 than idle ways ; and she begs me quite sadly to bear with him, 
 and make him happy, to prevent him from longing after his 
 counting-house at Lima. She tried to make him promise never 
 to go back, but he has only promised never to go while she lives, 
 and she seems to think it would be fatal, and to charge all his 
 disregard of religious matters upon herself for having sent him 
 out.. If you could see her pleased smile when we extort a 
 subscription, or when she gets him to church ; but when those 
 South American mails come in on Sundays — alas ! Those 
 accounts are his real element, and his moments of bliss are ov^er 
 the " Money-market and City intelligence," or in discussing rail- 
 way shares with Sir Andrew. All the rest is an obstinate and 
 
AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME 341 
 
 dismal allegiance to the days of Shrievalty, about as easy to 
 recall as the days when the Pendragons wore golden collars and 
 armlets. Imitated hospitality turns into ostentation ; and the 
 people who seek after silver covers and French cookery are no 
 more to my taste than they are, in good earnest, to Uncle 
 Oliver's. The nice people, if there are any, won't come in our 
 way, except Mr. Henderson ; and when we do pluck up courage 
 to disgust Mr. Coachman by calling on Mrs. Henderson, we are 
 very happy. But she is a wise woman, and will not bring her 
 pretty Fanny into our world ; and when I press her, behold ! I 
 remember what I used to think of patronage. 
 
 'But Louis has promised to come at Easter, and he will teach 
 me a little more charity, I hope ; and, what is better (no, I don't 
 mean that), will tell me about the dear, dear, trebly dear Terrace 
 and all the doings. I hope you will begin your Sunday scheme ; 
 but granny fears the bad set will not care, and the good will 
 prefer having their families together. It is worse than I 
 expected even of Mr. Purvis to refuse the afternoon service, 
 when you offered to take all the trouble off his hands ; granny 
 hopes you will take care what you are about with him. Tell 
 Louis we have a famous letter from Mary to show him if he will 
 bring us news of every one, and especially of his godchild. Con- 
 trary to custom, you tell us more about her than her mamma does. 
 * Your m ost affectionate Sister, 
 
 * Claea,' 
 
 Before Easter, Charlotte's poor rival was lying at rest in 
 Cheveleigh ckurchyard, and Jane's task of love was at an end. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 AUNT Catharine's home 
 
 The lady sleeps— O may her sleep, 
 As it is lasting, so be cleep ! 
 Heaven have her in its sacred keep ! 
 This bed being changed for one more holy, 
 This room for one more melancholy, 
 Some tomb, that oft hath flung its black 
 And wing-like panels fluttering back, 
 Triumpliant o'er the fluttering palls 
 Of her grand family funerals. — E. A. Poe 
 
 The summer was nearly over, when, one morning at breakfast, 
 Louis surprised his father by a sound, half consternation, half 
 amusement ; and handed him a note containing these words : — 
 
 *DearF., — There were three of us last night ; there are five 
 this morning. Isabel and the twins are doing well. Heaven 
 knows what is to become of us ! 
 
 * Yours, J. F.' 
 
342 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' What would you have ? ' said Lord Orniersfield, calmly. 
 ' The poorer people are, the more children they have 1 ' 
 
 He went on with liis own letters, wliile Louis laughed at the 
 enunciation of this inverse ratio ; and then took up the note 
 again, to wonder at the tone of anxiety and distress, so unlike 
 James. He went to call on Lady Conway, and was better satis- 
 fied to iind that James had written in a lively strain to her, as 
 if proud of his little daughters, and resolved not to be pitied. 
 Of this he was in no danger from his sisters-in-law, who looked 
 upon twin-girls as the only blessing needed to complete Isabel's 
 felicity, had devised three dozen names for them, and longed to 
 be invited to Northwold to see them. 
 
 Nothing was heard of James for more than a week ; and, as 
 London grew hotter, dustier, and drearier than ever, Fitzjocelyn 
 longed, more than he thought wholesome to confess, after Or- 
 mersfield turf, deep ravines, and rushing brooks. Tlie sun 
 shone almost through the blind of the open window on the large 
 library table, where sat Louis at his own end, writing to his 
 Inglewood bailiff, and now and then solacing himself by lifting 
 with the feather of his pen one of tho bells of a delicate lily in 
 a glass before him — a new spectacle on the Earl's writing-table ; 
 and so was a strip of vellum, with illuminations rich and rare — 
 Louis's indulgence when he felt he had earned an Jiour's leisure. 
 There was a ring at the door, a step on the stairs, and before the 
 father and son stood James, his little black bag in his hand, like 
 himself, all dust, and his face worn, heated, and tired. 
 
 'Then you have not heard from Cheveleigh ? ' he said, in 
 answer to their astonished greetings, producing a note, which 
 was eagerly read : — 
 
 ' Dearest Jem, — My uncle says I may write to you, in case 
 you can leave Isabel, that he will be glad to see you. I told 
 you that dear grandmamma had a cold, and so we would not let 
 her come to Isabel ; but I little guessed what was coming. It 
 only seemed a feverish cold, and Jane and I almost laughed at 
 my uncle for choosing to send for a doctor. He was not alarmed 
 at first, but yesterday she was inert and sleepy, and he asked 
 for more advice. Dr. Hastings came to-day, and oh ! Jem, he 
 calls it a breaking up of the constitution, and does not think 
 she will rally. She knows us, but she is almost always drowsy, 
 and very hard to rouse. If you can come without hurting 
 Isabel, I know you will. We want you all the more, because 
 n^y uncle will not let me send for Mr. Dan vers. Poor Uncle 
 Oliver is dreadfully troubled. 
 
 'Your most affectionate Clara.' 
 
 ' Transplantation has killed her — I knew it would ! ' said 
 James, as Louis stood, with the note in his hand, as if not yet 
 understanding the blow. 
 
 ' Nay,' said the Earl, ' it is an age at which we could hardly 
 
AUNT CATHARINE S HOME 343 
 
 hope she would long be spared. You could leave Mrs. James 
 Frost with comfort ? ' 
 
 *Yes, Miss Mercy undertakes her — she is doing well — she 
 would not hear of my staying. I must go on, the train starts 
 at two/ he added, hastily, looking at the time-piece. 
 
 'We will send you,' said Lord Ormersfield. 'Take time to 
 rest. You look very ill ! You should have some luncheon.' 
 
 'No, thank you!' said James, at first with the instinct of 
 resistance ; but yielding and confessing, ' Charlotte went into 
 liysterics, and I had nothing to eat before I came away.' 
 
 Louis came forward from the window where he had been 
 standing as in a dream ; he laid his hand on James's shoulder, 
 and said, 'I will go ! ' His voice was hardly audible, but clear- 
 ing it, and striving to recall his thoughts, he added, ' Father, I 
 can be spared. The division is not coming on to-night, or you 
 could get me a pair.' 
 
 The Earl looked doubtfully at James. 
 
 ' Yes, let me go,' said Louis. ' I must see her again. It has 
 been mother and son between us.' And, hiding his face in his 
 hands, he hurried out of the room. 
 
 'Let him come,' said James. 'If duty and affection claim a 
 right, none have such as he.' 
 
 'I hesitate only as to acting unceremoniously by your uncle.' 
 
 ' This is no moment for ceremony — no time to deprive her of 
 whatever she loves best.' 
 
 ' Be it so, then. His own feelings are his best passport, and 
 well has she deserved all that he can ever feel ! And, James, 
 if she should express any desire to see me, if I can be of any 
 use in settling matters, or could promote any better understand- 
 ing with your uncle, I am ready at a moment's notice. I would 
 come at once, but t'hat many might be burdensome to your 
 uncle and sister.' 
 
 The two cousins were quickly on their way. James took a 
 second-class ticket, the first time he had ever done so in travel- 
 ling with his cousin. Fitzjocelyn placed himself beside him 
 without remark. 
 
 James dozed as well as the narrow seat would permit, and 
 only woke to chafe at each halt ; and Louis mused over the 
 associations of tliose scenes, and last year's triumphant return. 
 Flad the change of habits truly hastened the decay of her 
 powers ? liad her son's toil and success been merely to bring her 
 home to the grave of her fathers, at the expense of so many 
 heartburnings, separations, and dissensions ? At least, he trusted 
 that her last hours might be crowned by the peacemaker's joy, 
 and that she might see strife and bitterness laid aside between 
 Oliver, and Henry's only surviving son. 
 
 Alas ! it was not to be. The shutters and blinds were closed, 
 and Clara met them at the door, her pale face and streaming 
 eyes forestalling the tidings. The frame, hitherto so vigorous 
 and active, had been spared long or weary decay ; and tranquil 
 
344 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 torpor had mildly conducted tlie happy, gentle spirit to full 
 repose. She had slumbered away without revival or suffering, 
 as one who did ' rest from her labours/ and her eyes had been 
 closed on the previous night. 
 
 Clara wept as she spoke ; but slie had been alone with her 
 sorrow long enough to face it, and endure calmly. 
 
 N~ot so her brotlier. It was anguish to liave come too late, 
 and to ha^e missed the last word and look ; and he strode 
 madly up and down the room, almost raving at the separation 
 and removal which he declared had killed her. 
 
 ' Oh, speak to him, Louis ! ' cried Clara. ' Oh, what shall I 
 dor 
 
 As she spoke, the door was opened, and Mr. Dynevor came in, 
 with a grief-stricken look and quieter manner ; but his entrance 
 instantly silenced all James's demonstrations, and changed them 
 into a haughty, compressed bitterness, as though he actually 
 looked on him in the light of his grandmother's destroyer. 
 
 'Ah ! James,' began his uncle, gently, 'I wish you had been 
 here earlier ! ' 
 
 ' I left home by the first train after hearing. I ought to have 
 heard sooner.' 
 
 *I could not suppose you would choose to come here without 
 serious reason,' said Oliver, witli more dignity than usual. 
 * However, I would willingly forget, and you will remain here 
 for the present.' 
 
 * I must apologize for having thrust myself on you, sir,' said 
 Louis, ' but, indeed, I could not stay away. After what she has 
 been to me, ever since I can remember her — ' and tears cut him 
 short. 
 
 * Sir, it does you honour ! ' returned Oliver. ' She was attached 
 to you. I hope you will not leave us as yet.' 
 
 Louis felt as if he could not leave the house where what was 
 mortal of his dear old aunt yet remained, and he likewise had 
 a perception that he might be a support and assistance to Clara 
 in keeping the peace between her brother and uncle ; so he 
 gratefully accepted the invitation. 
 
 Mr. Dynevor presently explained that he intended the funeral 
 to take place at the end of the week. 
 
 *I ca7i not be so long from home,' said James, in a quick, low 
 voice. 
 
 Clara ran up to her uncle, laid her hand on his arm, and drew 
 him into a window, whence he presently turned, saying, ' Your 
 sister tells me that you cannot be so long absent in the present 
 state of y.our family. If possible, the day shall be hastened.' 
 
 James was obliged to say, ' Thank you ! ' but any concession 
 seemed to affect him like an injury. 
 
 Grievous work was it to remain at Cheveleigh, under the 
 constant dread of some unbecoming outbreak between uncle 
 and nephew. Fortunately, Oliver had too much on his hands 
 to have much time to spend with the others ; but when they 
 
AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME 345 
 
 were together, there was scarcely a safe subject, not even the 
 intended names of the twins. James made hasty answer that 
 they had already received their names, Mercy and Salome. 
 Louis and Clara both cried out incredulously, 
 'Yes,' said James. * We don't like family names.' 
 
 * But such as those I ' 
 
 * I wish nothing better for them than to be such another pair 
 of faithful sisters. May they only do as well, poor children ! ' 
 
 The end was softer than the beginning, and there was a tight 
 short sigh, that seemed to burst upward from a whole world of 
 suppressed anxiety and despondence. 
 
 It was not easy to understand him ; he would not talk of 
 home, was brief about his little Catharine ; and when Clara 
 said something of Isabel's writings, formerly his great pride, 
 and feared that she would have no more time for them, his 
 blunt answer waSj * She ouglit not.' 
 
 These comparatively indifferent topics were the only resource ; 
 for he treated allusions to his grandmother as if they were 
 rending open a wound, and it was only in his absence that 
 Louis and Clara could hold the conversations respecting her, 
 which were their chief comfort and relief. If they were certain 
 that Oliver was busy, and James writing letters, they would 
 walk up and down the sheltered alley, where Louis had last 
 year comforted Clara. The green twilight and chequered shade 
 well accorded with the state of their minds, darkened, indeed, 
 by one of the severest losses that could ever befall either of them, 
 though it was a sorrow full of thankfulness and blessed hope. 
 
 Louis spoke of his regret that scenes of uncongenial gaiety 
 should have been forced upon her last year. 
 
 ' I believe it made very little difference to her,' said Clara. 
 'She did just what Uncle Oliver wished, but only as she used 
 to play with us, no more ; nay, rather less for her own amuse- 
 ment than as she would play at battledore, or at thread-paper 
 verses.' 
 
 ' And she was not teased nor harassed 1 ' 
 
 ' I think not. She was grieved if I were set against Uncle 
 Oliver's plans, and really liurt if she could not make him think 
 as she did about right and wrong, but otherwise she was always 
 bright. She never found people tiresome ; she could find some- 
 thing kind to say to and for the silliest • and when my uncle's 
 display was most provoking, she would only laugh at " poor 
 Oliver's " odd notions of doing her honour. I used to be quite 
 ashamed of the fuss I would make when I thought a thing 
 vulgar ; when I saw that sort of vanity by the side of her real 
 indifference, springing from unworldliness.' 
 
 ' And then her mornings were quiet 1 ' 
 
 ' More quiet than at home^ While we were riding, she used 
 to sit with her dear old big Bible, and the two or three old 
 books she was so fond of* You remember her Sutton and her 
 Bishop Home. And often she would show me some passage that 
 
346 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 had struck her as prettier than ever, well as she had always 
 known it. Once she said she was very thankful for the leisure 
 time, free from household cares, and even from friendly gossip ; 
 for she said first she had been gay, then she had been busy, and 
 had never had time to meditate quietly.' 
 
 'So she made a cloister of this grand house. Ah ! I trusted 
 she was past being hurt by external things. That grand old 
 age was like a pure glad air where worldly fumes could not 
 mount up. My only fear would have been this unlucky estrange- 
 ment making her unhappy.' 
 
 ' I think I may tell you how she felt it,' said Clara ; ' I am 
 trying to tell James, but I don't know whether I can. She said 
 she had come to perceive that she had confounded pride with 
 independence. She blamed herself, so that I could not bear to 
 hear it, for the grand fine things in her life. She said pride 
 had made her stand alone, and unkindly spurn much that was 
 kindly meant. I don't mean that she repented of the actions, 
 but of the motives ; she said the glory of being beholden to no 
 one had run through everything ; and had been very hurtful 
 even to Uncle Oliver. She never let him know all her straits, 
 and was too proud, she said, to ask, when she was hurt at his 
 not offering help, and so she made him seem more hard-hearted, 
 and let us become set against him. She said she had fostered 
 the same temper in poor Jem, who had it strongly enough 
 by inheritance, and tliat she had never know^n the evil, nor 
 understood it as pride, till she saw the effects.' 
 
 ' Did they make her unhappy 1 ' 
 
 * She cried when she spoke of it, and I have seen her in tears 
 at church, and found her eyes red when she had been alone, but 
 I don't think it was a hard, cruel sorrow ; I think the sunshine 
 of her nature managed to beam through it.' 
 
 ' The sunshine was surely love,' said Louis, ' making the rain- 
 bow of hope on the tears of repentance. Perhaps it is a blessing 
 vouchsafed to the true of heart to become aware of such a 
 liidden constitutional infirmity in time to wash it out with 
 blessed tears like those.' 
 
 'Hidden,' said Clara, 'yes, indeed it w^as, even from herself, 
 because it never showed in manner, like my pride ; she was 
 gracious and affable to all the world. I heard the weeding- 
 women saying, " she had not one bit of pride," and when I told 
 her of it, she shook her head, and laughed sadly, and said that 
 was the kind of thing which had taken her in.' 
 
 ' Common parlance is a deceitful thing,' said Louis, sighing ; 
 ' people can't even be sincere without doing harm ! Well, I had 
 looked to see her made happy by harmony between those two ! ' 
 
 ' She gave up the hope of seeing it,' said Clara, 'but she looked 
 to it all the same. She said meekly one day that it might be 
 her penalty to see them at variance in her own lifetime, but 
 over her grave perhaps they would be reconciled, and her 
 prayers be answered. How she did love L^ncle Oliver ! Do 
 
AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME 347 
 
 you know, Louis, what she was to him showed me what the 
 mother's love must be, which we never missed, because — because 
 we had her ! ' 
 
 ' Don't talk of it, Clara,' said Louis, hastily ; ' we cannot dwell 
 on ourselves, and bear it patiently ! ' 
 
 It was truly the loss of a most tender mother to them both ; 
 bringing for the first time the sense of orphanhood on the girl, 
 left between the uncongenial though doting uncle, and the irri- 
 table though affectionate brother ; and Louis, though his home 
 was not broken up, suffered scarcely less^ His aunt's playful 
 sweetness had peculiarly accorded with his disposition, and the 
 affection and confidence of his fond, clinging nature had fastened 
 tliemselves upon her, all the more in the absence of his own 
 Mary. Each loss seemed to make the other more painful. Aunt 
 Kitty's correspondence was another link cut away between him 
 and Peru, and he had never known such a sense of dreariness in 
 his whole life. Clara was going patiently and quietly through 
 those trying days, with womanly considerateness ; believing 
 herself supported by her brother, and being so in fact by the 
 mere sisterly gratification of his presence, though she was far 
 more really sustained and assisted by Fitzjocelyn. How much 
 happier was the sorrow of Louis and Clara than that of James 
 or Oliver ! Tempers such as those in which the uncle and 
 nephew but too closely resembled each other were soured, not 
 softened by grief, and every arrangement raised discussions 
 which did not tend to bring them nearer together. 
 
 Oliver designed a stately funeral. Nothing was too mucli for 
 him to lavish on his mother, and he was profuse in orders for 
 hangings, velvet, blazonry, mutes, and hired mourners, greedy 
 of offers of the dreary, state of empty carriages, demanding that 
 of Lord Ormersfield, and wanting James to write to Lady 
 Conway for the same purpose. 
 
 Nothing could be more adverse to the feelings of the grand- 
 children ; but Clara had been schooled into letting her uncle 
 have his way, and knew that dear granny would have said 
 Oliver might do as he pleased with her in death as in life, 
 owning the affection so unpleasantly manifested ; James, on the 
 other hand, could see no affection, nothing but disgusting 
 parade, as abhorrent to his grandmother's taste as to his own. 
 He thought he had a right to be consulted, for he by no means 
 believed himself to have abdicated his headship of the family ; 
 and he made his voice heard entirely without effect, except the 
 indignation of his uncle, and the absence of the Conway carriage ; 
 although Lord Ormersfield wrote that he should bring Sir 
 Walter in his own person, thus leaving James divided between 
 satisfaction in any real token of respect to his grandmother, 
 and dislike to gratifying Oliver's ostentation by the production 
 of his baronet kin. 
 
 Sydney Calcott wrote to him in the name of various, former 
 scholars of Mrs. Frost, anxious to do her the last honours by 
 
348 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 attending the funeral. Homage to her days of gallant exertion 
 in poverty was most welcome and toucliing to the young people ; 
 but tlieir uncle, without taste to understand it, wishing to 
 forget her labours, and fancying them discreditable to a daughter 
 of the Dynevors, received the proposal like an indignity ; and 
 but for Fitzjocelyn's mediation and expostulations, it would 
 have been most -unsuitably rejected. He was obliged to take 
 the answer into his own hands, since Oliver insisted that Jiis 
 mother was to be regarded in no light save that of Mrs. Dynevor, 
 of Cheveleigh ; and James was equally resolved that she should 
 be only Mrs. Frost, of Dynevor Terrace. 
 
 It was heart-sickening to see these bickerings over the grave 
 of one so loving and so beloved ; and very trying to be always 
 on the alert to obviate the snappings that might at any time 
 become a sharp dissension ; but nothing very distressing actually 
 arose until the last day before the funeral, when the three 
 cousins were sitting together in the morning-room ; James 
 writing letters. 
 
 ^I am asking Lady Conway to give you a bed to-morrow 
 night, Clara ' he said. 'We shall be at home by three o'clock.' 
 
 ' Oh, Jem i ' said Clara, clasping her hands to keep them from 
 trembling ; ' I never thought of that.' 
 
 'You are not ready ! That is unlucky, for I cannot come to 
 fetch you ; but I suppose you can travel down with Jane. 
 Only I should have thought it easier to do the thing at once.' 
 
 ' But, Jem ! has my uncle said anything ? Does he wish me 
 togo?' ^ 
 
 James laid down his pen, and stood upright, as if he did not 
 understand her words. 
 
 Clara came up to him, saying, * I believe I ought to do what 
 he may wish.' 
 
 ' I told you,' said James, as if her words were not worth con- 
 sidering, 'that you need only remain here on her account, who 
 no longer needs you.' 
 
 Louis would have left them to themselves, but Clara's glance 
 sued for his protection, and, as he settled himself in his chair, 
 she spoke with more decision. — 'Dear James, nothing would 
 make me so happy as to go to dear home ; but I do not think 
 grandmamma would like me to leave Uncle Oliver.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well,' said James, sitting down to his writing, as if 
 he had done with her ; ' I understand.' 
 
 'Dear James ! O tell me you are not angry with me ! Tell 
 me you think I am right ! ' cried Clara, alarmed by his manner*. 
 
 * Quite right in 07ie point of view,' he said, with acrimony. 
 
 * James,' said Louis, very low, but so as to make them both 
 start, ' that is not the way to treat your sister ! ' 
 
 ' We will renew the discussion another time, if you wish it, 
 Clara,' said James. 
 
 ' No,' said Clara, ' I wish Louis to be here. He will judge for 
 me.' and she spoke clearly, her face colouring. 'It was gr^:nd- 
 
AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME 349 
 
 mamma's great wish that I should love my uncle. She used to 
 beg me to be patient with him, and rejoiced to see us together. 
 She often said he must not be left with no one to make a home 
 for him, and to go out to Lima again.' 
 
 ' Did slie ever desire you to remain here ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Clara, ' she never did ; but I am convinced that if 
 she had known how soon she was to leave us, she would have 
 done so. I feel as much bound as if she had. I have heard 
 her call him my charge. And not only so, but my uncle has 
 never varied in his kindness to me ; and when he worked all 
 liis life for grandmamma, and my father, it would be wicked 
 and cruel in me — if he does care for me — to forsake him, now 
 he has lost them all, and is growing old.' 
 
 * You need not scruple on that score,' said James. ^ He has 
 attained his object, and made the most of it. He is free now, 
 and he will soon find a Rosita, if his mines are not sufficient 
 for him.' 
 
 ' James, you should not say wrong things,' said Clara. 
 
 ' I am not likely to think it wrong, whatever you may. I 
 have no expectations. Do not rise up in arms against me, Fitz- 
 jocelyn ; I do not accuse her. I might have foreseen it. She 
 meant well at first, but the Terrace cannot bear competition 
 with a place like this. Where two so-called duties clash, she is 
 at perfect liberty to make her choice. It would not be easy to 
 come down to what I have to offer. I understand. The world 
 will call it a wise choice. Say no more, Clara, I feel no anger.' 
 
 She attempted no words ; she clasped her hands over her face, 
 and ran out of the room. 
 
 'James,' said Louis, rising, indignation rendering his voice 
 more low and clearly distinct than ever, *I little thought to 
 hear you insult that orphan sister of yours in her grief. No ! 
 I shall not defend her ; I shall go to give her what comfort I 
 can. Heaven help her, poor lonely child ! ' 
 
 He was gone. James paced about in desperation, raving 
 against Louis for maintaining what he thought Clara's self- 
 deception ; and, in the blindness of anger, imagining that their 
 ultra-generosity would conduct them to the repair of Ormersfield 
 with the revenues of Cheveleigh ; and, disdainful as he was, it 
 seemed another cruel outrage that his rightful inheritance 
 should be in the hands of another, and his children portionless. 
 He was far too wratlif ul to have any consistency or discrimina- 
 tion in his anger, and he was cruelly wounded at finding that 
 his sister deserted him, as he thought, for her uncle's riches, and 
 that his own closest friend was ready to share the spoil. 
 
 In the stillness of the house, the sound of a door had revealed 
 to Louis where to seek his cousin. It was in the grand saloon, 
 where the closed shutters availed not to exclude the solid beams 
 of slanting sunlight falling through the crevices, and glancii\g on 
 the gilding, velvet, and blazonry upon the costly coffin, that shut 
 her out from the dear tender hands and lips that had never 
 
350 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 failed to caress away her childish griefs. At first, the strange 
 broad lines of shadowy light in the gloom were all he could see, 
 but one ray tinged with paly light a plaited tress, which could 
 only be Clara's flaxen hair. 
 
 She had flung herself, crouching in a heap, on the floor, never 
 stirring, so that he almost feared she had fainted ; and, kneeling 
 on one knee beside her, spoke soothingly : ' My poor little dear 
 Clary, this is the worst of all ; but you know it was not Jem 
 who spoke. It was only prejudice and temper. He is not 
 himself.' 
 
 The dim light seemed to encourage Clara to lift lier head to 
 listen to the kind words. 'Was I so very wrong?' she mui*- 
 mured ; 'you know I never thought of that! Will he forgive 
 me, and let me come liome ? But, oh, granny ! and what is to 
 become of my uncle V she ended, with a sound of misery. 
 
 ' Not here, not now, Clara — ' said Louis. ' She is in perfect 
 peace ; unhurt by our unhappy dissensions ; she is with Him 
 who looks at hearts, who can take away all variance.' 
 
 There was a short space of silence, as the two cousins knelt 
 in the darkened room, in the sunbeams, which seemed as if they 
 could not yet forsake her who had lived in the light of love. 
 
 Presently Louis gave Clara his liand to raise her, and led her 
 into the adjoining room, also dim, but full of sweet fragrant 
 breezes from the garden. He seated her on a low couch, and 
 stood by, anxiously watching her. 
 
 ' If he had only told me I was wrong ! ' slie sighed. 
 
 'He could not tell you so, Clara, for it is not wrong, and lie 
 knows it is not. He will thank you by and by for not attending 
 to him, now that he does not know what he says. He is fairly 
 distracted with this grief coming upon his home cares.' 
 
 ' Cares at dear, dear happy home ! ' cried Clara. ' Never ! ' 
 
 'Ah, Clara ! I fear that much comfort went away with dear 
 granny. I think he is overtasking himself at the school ; and 
 three children within a year may well make a man anxious and 
 oppressed.' 
 
 ' And I have vexed and disappointed him more,' exclaimed slie. 
 'No wonder he was angry, and ready to impute anything! 
 But he will believe me, he will forgive me, he will take me 
 home.' 
 
 'It is my belief,' said Fitzjocelyn, in his peculiar way, 'that 
 the worst injury you could do to James would be to give way to 
 tlie spirit that has possessed him.' 
 
 ' But, Louis,' cried Clara, wildly astonished, ' I must go ; I 
 can't have Jem saying these things of me.' 
 
 ' His saying them does not make them true.' 
 
 ' He is my brother. He has the only right to me. If I must 
 choose between him and my uncle, he must be mine — mine.' 
 
 ' You have not to choose between him and your uncle. You 
 have to choose between riglit and wrong — between his frenzy 
 and his true good.' 
 
AUNT CATHARINE'S HOME 351 
 
 *My brother ! my brother ! I go with my brother ! ' was still 
 her vehement cry. Without listening to her cousin's last words, 
 she made a gesture to put him aside, and rose to liurry to her 
 brother. 
 
 But Louis stood before her, and spoke gravely. ' Very well. 
 Yield yourself to his management. Go back to be another 
 burden upon a household poor enough already to sour him witli 
 cares. Let him tell your uncle that both his brother's children 
 loathe the fruit of the self-sacrifice of a lifetime. Transgress 
 your grandmother's wishes ; condemn that poor man to a desolate, 
 objectless, covetous old age ; make the breach irreconcilable for 
 ever ; and will James be the better or the happier for your 
 allowing his evil temper the full swing ? ' 
 
 Clara wrung her hands. ' My uncle ! Yes, what shall I do 
 with my uncle ? If I could only have them both ? ' 
 
 ' This way you would have neither. Keep the straight path, 
 and you may end in having both.^ 
 
 * Straight — I don't know wliat straight is ! It must be right 
 to cling to my own brother in his noble poverty. Oh ! that 
 he should imagine me caring for this horrid, horrid state and 
 grandeur 1 ' 
 
 Louis recurred to the old argument, that James did not know 
 what he was saying, and recalled her to the remembrance of 
 what she had felt to be the right course before James's ebul- 
 lition. She owned it most reluctantly ; but oh ! she said, would 
 James still forgive her, and not believe such dreadful things, 
 but trust and be patient with her, and perhaps Uncle Oliver 
 might after all be set on going to Peru, and beyond remonstrance. 
 Then it would all come right — no, not right, for granny had 
 dreaded his going. Confused and distressed by the conflicting 
 claims, Clara was thankful for the present respite given to her 
 by Louis's promise that his father should sound her uncle as to 
 Ids wishes and intentions. Lord Ormersfield's upright, unim- 
 passioned judgment appeared like a sort of refuge from the 
 conflict of the various claims, and he was besides, in a degree, 
 her gtiardian, being the sole executor of the only will w^hich 
 Mrs. Frost had ever made, soon after the orphans came under 
 her charge, giving the Terrace to James, and dividing the money 
 in the Funds between the two. 
 
 Weeping, but not unhopeful — convinced, though not acknow- 
 ledging it — inly praying for strength and patience, and hunger- 
 ing for one kind word from James — Clara quitted that almost 
 brother, in whose counsel he had constrained her to seek relief, 
 and went to her own chamber, there to throw herself on the 
 guidance of that Friend who sticketh closer than a brother. 
 
 The remaining part of the day passed quietly. James did 
 not consciously make any diflerence in his manner, meaning 
 to be still affectionate, though disappointed, and pitying her 
 mistake, both as to her present happiness and future good. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield and Walter arrived in the evening, and 
 
352 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 James applied liimself to finding occupation for his brother-in 
 law, whom he kept out of the way in the garden very satisfac- 
 torily. The Earl was so softened and sorrowful, that Clara 
 hardly knew him. He deeply felt the loss of the kind, gentle 
 aunt, whose sympathy had been more to him than he had known 
 at the time ; the last remnant of the previous generation, the last 
 link with his youth, and he was even more grieved for the blank 
 she left with Louis than for himself. By Louis's desire, he in- 
 quired into Oliver's intentions. ' Must stay here,' was the answer. 
 ' Can't leave that child alone with the property. I can look 
 to the Equatorial Company here — must do without me out there. 
 No, no, I can't leave the girl to her brother ; he'd teach her his 
 own nasty, spiteful temper, and waste the property on all those 
 brats. No, I'm fixed here ; I must look after Henry's child, 
 fine* girl, good-tempered girl ; takes after Henry ; don't you 
 think so?' 
 
 That Clara took after her father in anything but being tall 
 and fair, would hardly have been granted by any one who knew 
 her better than the Earl, but he readily allowed it, and Oliver 
 proceeded : — ' As long as she does not marry, here I am ; but I 
 trust some one will soon take the care of her off my hands — a 
 man who would look after the property well. She's a good girl 
 too, and the finest figure in the whole county ; lucky him v/ho 
 gets her. I shall be sorry to part with the child, too, but I 
 shall be working for her, and there's nothing left that cares a 
 rush for me now, so I might as well be out of the way of the 
 young things. I know the old place at Lima, and the place 
 knows me ; and what do I care for this now my mother is gone ? 
 If I could only see Clara safe settled here, then I should care as 
 little wJiat became of me as I suppose she would.' 
 
 The Earl was touched by the dreary, desponding tone of the 
 reply, and reported it to Louis and Clara in such terms, that 
 Clara's decision was made at once, namely, that it would bo 
 wrong and cruel to cast away her uncle, and be swayed by James's 
 prejudice ; and Lord Ormersfield told her with grave approval 
 that she was quite right, and that he hoped that James would 
 recover fi'om his unreasonable folly. 
 
 ' Make Jem forgive me,' said Clara, faintly, as lier announce- 
 ment of her purpose, when she finally sought her room, obliged 
 to be thought meanly of, rather than do ill ; denying her fond- 
 •est affections, cutting lierself off from all she loved, and with 
 l)ut this consolation, that she was doing as grandmamma would 
 liave bidden her. Oh, how her heart yearned after home ! 
 
 On the morrow, Clara sorrowed in lier solitary chamber alone 
 with faithful Jane, who, amid her burst of tears, felt the one 
 satisfaction, that her dear mistress had lived to be buried like 
 the stock slie came of, and who counted the carriages and 
 numbered the scarfs, like so many additional tributes from the 
 affection of her dear Master Oliver. 
 
 Once on that day James was visibly startled from his hea\y, 
 
THE FROST HOUSEHOLD 353 
 
 stern mood of compressed, indignant sorrow. It was as he 
 advanced to the entrance of the vault, and his eye was struck 
 by a new and very handsome tablet on tlie wall. It was to the 
 father, mother, and young brother and sisters, whose graves had 
 been hastily made far away in the time of the pestilence, the 
 only Dynevors who did not lie in the tombs of their fathers. 
 For one moment James moved nearer to his uncle. Could he 
 have spoken then, what might not have followed*? but it was 
 impossible, and the impulse passed away. 
 
 But he was kind when he hurried up-stairs for a last embrace 
 to Clara. He still felt fond, brotherly, and compassionate ; and 
 all the more, because she had proved more weak against tempta- 
 tion than he had expected. His farewell was, ' Good-bye, my 
 poor Clara, God bless you.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you ! ' cried Clara, from the bottom of her heart. 
 ' You forgive me, James ? ' 
 
 ' I forgive ; I am sorry for you, my poor child. Mind, 
 Dynevor Terrace is still your home, if you do not find the 
 happiness you expect in your chosen lot.' 
 
 ' Happiness ! ' but he had no time to hear. He was gone, 
 while she sobbed out her message of love for Isabel, and Louis 
 ran up, pale with repressed suffering, and speaking with diffi- 
 culty, as he wrung her hand, and murmured, ' Oh, Clara ! may 
 we but abide patiently.' 
 
 After his good-bye, he turned back again to say, ' I'm selfish ; 
 but let me put you in mind not to let the Lima correspondence 
 drop.' 
 
 ^ Oh, no, no ; you know I won't.' 
 
 ' Thank you ! And let me leave you Mary's key-note of 
 comfort, " Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will bring it 
 to pass." ' 
 
 'Thank you,' said Clara, in her turn, and she was left alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 THE FROST HOUSEHOLD 
 
 The wind of late breathed gently forth, 
 Now shifted east, and east by north. 
 Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, 
 Could shelter them from rain or snow; 
 Stepping into their nests they paddled, 
 Themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled ; 
 Soon every father bird and mother 
 Grew quarrelsome, and pecked each other. 
 
 Pairing Time Anticipated. — Cowper 
 
 Three weeks longer did the session drag on, but on the joyful 
 day when release was given. Lord Ormersfield was surprised to 
 find Mr. Dynevor's card upon his table, with an address at 
 Farrance's hotel. 
 
 Louis alone was at leisure to repair. thither, He found Clara, 
 
 A A 
 
354 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 alone, looking as if her grief were still very fresh, and, though 
 striving to speak gaily, the tears near the surface. 
 
 ' We are going abroad,' she said ; ' Uncle Oliver thinks it a 
 part of my education, and declares he will not have me behind 
 the Miss Brittons. We are bound straight for Switzerland.' 
 
 ' Lucky girl,' said Louis. 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't care for it,' said Clara ; ' mountains and 
 pictures are not a bit in my line, unless I liad Isabel and you, 
 Louis, to make me care.' 
 
 ' Learn, then,' said Louis ; ' it shows tliat your education is 
 defective. Yes, I see,' he continued, as Clara sighed heavily, 
 ' but you don't know the good it will do you to have your mind 
 forcibly turned aside.' 
 
 * If I could only sit quiet in a corner,' said Clara. 
 
 * So you will, in many a corner of a railway-carriage.' 
 
 She smiled a little. ' The truth is,' she said, ' that poor LTncle 
 Oliver cannot be quiet. I can't see what pleasure Italy will be 
 to him, but he is too miserable at home. I never saw such rest- 
 less unhappiness ! ' and her eyes filled with tears. ' Oh, Louis ! 
 I am glad you would not let me say anything about leaving him. 
 Sometimes when he bids me good night, he puts his arm round 
 me, and says so pitifully that I do not care for him. Do you 
 know, I think mine is the little spar of love that he tries to cling 
 to in the great shipwreck ; and I feel quite sorry and hypocritical 
 because it is such a poor, miserable shred.' 
 
 ' It will grow,' said Louis, smiling. 
 
 ' I don't know ; he is terribly provoking sometimes — and with- 
 out dear granny to hinder the rubs. O, Louis ! it ^'.s- true that 
 there is no bearing to stay at home in those great empty rooms ! ' 
 
 'And Jane?' 
 
 'Oh, she goes,' said Clara, recovering a smile ; 'she is firmly 
 persuaded that we shall run into another revolution, and as she 
 could not frigliten us by the description of your wounds, she 
 decides to come and dress ours when we get any. Dear old 
 Jenny, I am glad she goes ; she is the only creature I can talk 
 to ; but, Louis, before my uncle comes in, I have something to 
 give you.' 
 
 It was the letters that Mary had written to her aunt since the 
 parting, and the Spanish books which she had left in her charge. 
 
 ' It is very kind in you, Clara,' said Louis, fervently. 
 
 They talked of Mary, and a little of James, from whom Clara 
 had once heard ; but it had been a stiff letter, as if a barrier 
 were between them, and then Mr. Dynevor came in, and seemed 
 pleased to find Louis there ; even asking him whether he could 
 not join them on their tour, and help Clara to speak French. 
 
 ' No, thank you, sir,' said Louis ; ' I am afraid my company 
 brought no good luck last time.' 
 
 ' Never mind that — manage better now — ha, Clara ! ' 
 
 ' It would be very nice ; but he has a great deal too much to 
 do at home,' said Clara. 
 
THE FROST HOUSEHOLD 355 
 
 Oliver would not be persuaded that Fitzjocelyn would not 
 meet them abroad, and began magniloquently talking of his 
 courier, and his route ; and while he was looking for the map, 
 the two cousins smiled, and Clara said, — ' Lucky you to liave 
 work at home, and to stay with it/ 
 
 ' Only I say, Clara, when you break down anywhere, send me 
 a telegraph.' 
 
 'No such good luck,' sighed Clara. 
 
 ' So he won't come,' said her uncle, when he was gone ; ' but we 
 sliall have him following us yet — Ha ! ha ! Never mind, Clara.' 
 
 Clara laughed. She knew what her uncle meant, but the 
 notion was to her too impossible and ridiculous even to need 
 a blush. She did not think the world contained Louis's equal ; 
 but she had always known that his love was disposed of, and 
 she no more thought of wishing for it than for any other impos- 
 sible thing. His affection for Mary gave her no more pain than 
 did that of James for Isabel ; and she would have treated with 
 scorn and anger anything that impeached his constancy. The 
 pleasure witli which he received Mary's letters was the single 
 satisfaction that she carried away with her. 
 
 And so she was borne away, and her sad heart could not 
 choose but be somewhat enlivened by change and novelty, 
 while her uncle made it his business to show her everything as 
 rapidly as it could be seen, apparently with no relish himself 
 for aught but perpetual movement. 
 
 So passed the autumn with Clara. It was not much brighter 
 at Dynevor Terrace. Clara, being still under age, had it not in 
 her power to resign her half of her grandmother's income, even 
 if her brother would have accepted it ; and 70/. made a differ- 
 ence in such an income as James's, more especially as his 
 innovations did not tend to fill the school. 
 
 Murmurs were going about that Mr. Frost was severe, or 
 that he was partial. Some censured his old opinions, others 
 his new studies ; one had been affronted by being almost told 
 his boy was a dunce, another hated all this new-fangled nonsense. 
 The ladies were all, to a woman, up against his wife, her airs, 
 her poverty, her twins, and her housekeeping ; and seldom 
 spoke of her save to contrast her with good old Mrs. Frost. 
 And then it was plain that something was wrong between him 
 and his uncle, and no one could believe but that his temper had 
 been the cause. The good Miss Faithfulls struggled in vain to 
 silence scandal, and keep it from ' coming round ' ; and luckily 
 Isabel was the last person likely either to hear or resent. 
 
 The boys met with decreased numbers after the holidays ; 
 and James received them with undiminished energy, but with 
 failing patience, and a temper not improved by the late trans- 
 actions at Cheveleigh, and fretted, as Louis had divined, by 
 home cares. 
 
 Of all living women, Isabel was one of the least formed by 
 habits or education to be an economical housewife and the 
 
 A A 2 
 
356 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 mother of twins. Maternal love did not develop into unwearied 
 delight in infant companionship, nor exclusive interest in baby 
 smiles ; and wliile she had great visions for the future educa- 
 tion of her little maidens, she was not desirous to prolong the 
 time spent in their society, but in general preferred peace and 
 Sir Hubert. On the other hand, James was an unusually caress- 
 ing father. After hours among rough inattentive boys, nothing- 
 rested him so much as to fondle those tender creatures ; his 
 eldest girl knew him, and was in ecstasy whenever he ap- 
 proached ; and the little pair of babies, by their mere soft 
 helplessness, gave him an indescribable sense of fondness and 
 refreshment. His little ones were all the world to him, and he 
 could not see how a pattern mother should ever be so happy as 
 with them around her. He forgot the difference between the 
 pastime of an hour and the employment of a day. The need 
 of such care on her part was the greater since the nursery estab- 
 lishment was deficient. The grand nurse had almost abdicated 
 on the double addition to her charge, and had only been bribed 
 to stay by an ill-spared increase in wages, and a share in an 
 underling, who was also to help Charlotte in her housemaid's 
 department. Nevertheless, the nurse was always complaining ; 
 the children, though healthy, always crying ; and their father 
 always certain it was somebody's fault. Nor did the family 
 expenses diminish, retrench his own indulgences as he might. 
 It was the mistress's eye that was wanting, and Isabel did not 
 know how to use it. The few domestic cares that slie perceived 
 to be her duty were gone through as weary tasks, and her mind 
 continued involved in her own romantic world, where she was 
 oblivious of all that was troublesome or vexatious. Now and 
 then she was aware of a sluggish dullness that seemed to be 
 creeping over her higher aspirations — a want of glow and feeling 
 on religious subjects, even in the most sacred moments ; and slie 
 wondered and grieved at a condition, such as she had never ex- 
 perienced in what she had thought far more untoward circum- 
 stances. She did not see the difference between doing her best 
 when her will was thwarted, and her present life of neglect and 
 indulgence. Nothing roused her ; she did not perceive omis- 
 sions that would have fretted women of housewifely instincts, 
 and her soft dignity and smooth temper felt few annoyances ; 
 and though James could sometimes be petulant, he was always 
 withheld from reproving her both by his enthusiastic fondness, 
 and his sense that for him she had quitted her natural station 
 of ease and prosperity. 
 
 On a dark hazy November afternoon, when the boys had been 
 unusually obtuse and mischievous, and James, worn-out, wearied, 
 and uncertain whether his cuts had alighted on the most guilty 
 heads, strode home with his arm full of Latin exercises, launched 
 them into the study, and was running up to the drawing-room, 
 when he almost fell over Charlotte, who was scouring the stairs. 
 
 She gave a little start and scream, and stood up to let him 
 
THE FKOST HOUSEHOLD S5l 
 
 pass. He was about to rebuke her for doing such work at such 
 an hour ; but he saw her flushed, panting, and evidently very 
 tired, and his wrath was averted. Hurrying on to the drawing- 
 room, he found Isabel eagerly writing. She looked up with a 
 pretty smile of greeting ; but he only ran his hand tlirough his 
 already disordered hair, and exclaimed — 
 
 * Our stairs are like the Captain of Knockdunder's. You 
 never know they are cleaned, except by tumbling over the 
 bucket and the maid.' 
 
 * Are they being done ? ' said Isabel, quietly. ^ I suppose the 
 maids were busy this morning.' 
 
 'And Charlotte, too ! She looks half dead.^ I thought Ellen 
 was to do such work, and ought to have done it in proper time.' 
 
 'Little Catharine is so fretful, that Ellen cannot be spared 
 from the nursery.' 
 
 ' I suppose she might be, if you were not absorbed in that 
 writing.' 
 
 'I had the children witli me while the servants were at 
 dinner ; but Kitty was so troublesome, that I could not keep 
 her. I am particularly anxious to finish this.' 
 
 ' Some people would think a sick child more engrossing than 
 that — ' He liad very nearly said trash, but he broke off short. 
 
 ' There is nothing really the matter with her,' began Isabel, 
 composedly ; but James did not wait to listen, and muttering, 
 ' That girl will be killed if she goes on,' he ran up to the 
 nursery, whence he already heard a sound of low fretting. 
 
 The child was sitting on the nurse's lap, with a hot red spot 
 on one cheek, teased and disturbed by the noises that the lesser 
 ones were constantly making, as one lay in her cot, and the 
 other was carried about by the girl. As he entered, she shrieked 
 joyously, and stretched out her arms ; and Kitty was at once 
 clinging, hugging round his neck. Sending Ellen down to finish 
 the stairs, he carried off the little girl, fondling and talking to 
 her, and happy in her perfect content. But he did not go to 
 the drawing-room. ' No, no, mamma must not be interrupted,' 
 he bitterly thought, as he carried her down to the fireless study, 
 hung his plaid round himself and her, and walked up and down 
 the room with her, amusing her till she fell into a slumber on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Isabel could not at once resume her pen. Her even temper 
 was for once ruffled, and her bosom swelled at the thouglit that 
 his reproach was unjust ; she was willing to do what was fitting, 
 and h^ ought not to expect her to be an absolute nursery-maid. 
 Women must keep up the tone of their own minds, and she 
 might be being useful to the world as well as to her own family. 
 If he wanted a mere household drudge, why had he not looked 
 elsew^here*? Up went her queenly head, as she believed her 
 powers were meant for other things ; but her heart gave a 
 painful throb at the recollection that poverty had been her 
 voluntary choice, and had seemed perfect felicity with James. 
 
358 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Alas ! she loved, honoured, and admired him,' as her upriglit, 
 unselfish, uncompromising liusband ; but worries and rebukes, 
 and tart answers, had made many a rent in tlie veil in whicli 
 her fancy had enfolded liim. Sir Roland had disappeared, and 
 James and Sir Hubert were falling farther and farther asunder. 
 
 And Isabel sighed, partly at the memory of the imaginary 
 being for whom she had taken James, and partly at the future 
 prospect, the narrow sphere, the choice between solitude and 
 dull society, the liomely toils tliat must increase, worn-out gar- 
 ments, perpetual alphabets, children always wjiining, and James 
 always irritated, thinking her remiss, and coming in with tliat 
 furrow on his forehead, and liis hair standing up wildly. Slie 
 shrank from the contemplation, took her letter-case on her knee, 
 moved close to the fire to protit by the light, stirred up a clear 
 flame, and proceeded with the benevolent hermit, who came to 
 the rescue when Sir Hubert was at the last gasp. Adeline 
 had received his beautiful resigned words, the hermit had 
 transported him into his hut, and comforted Adeline, and was 
 beginning a consolatory harangue, making revelations that were 
 to set everything right ; when just as he had gone as far as 
 ' My son, know that I did not always wear this amice,' there 
 was a tap at the door, and she saw Fitzjocelyn, who had been 
 at Oakstead for the last few weeks, attending' to some matters 
 connected Mdth his constituency. 
 
 ' Ah ! is it you 1 ' she said, her lap too full of papers for her 
 to rise. ' I did not know you were come home.' 
 
 ' I came yesterday ; and wdiat company do you think I had in 
 the train as far as Estminster ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, I can guess ! How does Louisa look ? ' 
 
 ' Rather languid ; but Estminster is to work woiiders. She 
 declares that North wold is her best cure, and I am speculating 
 whether she will prevail. I think Lady Conway dreads your 
 example.' 
 
 'Mamma does not allow for the force of imagination,' said 
 Isabel, not exactly knowing what prompted either the words 
 or the sigh. 
 
 ' I am come to ask if you will kindly give me a dinner. ^ly 
 father is gone to the book-club meeting, so I thought we would 
 try to revive old times,' he said, smiling, but sadly, for the 
 present scene was little like the No. 5 of old times. 
 
 ' We shall be delighted,' said Isabel, with alacrity, relieved at 
 avoiding a tete-d-tete with her liusband at present, and refreshed 
 by the sight of one belonging to her former life, and ext^nial to 
 her present round of monotonous detail. 'Fortunately, it is 
 not a lecture night, and James will be very glad.' 
 
 ' I suppose he is not come in from sclioon' 
 
 ' Yes, he is. I think he is in the study. I will let him 
 know,' she said, with her hand on the bell. 
 
 ' I will go to him,' said Louis, departing out of consideration 
 that she might wish for space to attend to dinner, room, and 
 
THE FROST HOUSEHOLD 359 
 
 dress. The two last were scarcely in such a state as he had 
 been used to see at No. 5 : books were on the sofa, the table- 
 cover hung awry ; tlie Dresden Shepherd's hat was grimed, and 
 his damsel's sprigged gown hemmed with dust ; there were no 
 flowers in the vases, whicli his aunt had never left unsupplied ; 
 and Isabel, though she could not be otherwise than handsome 
 and refined, liad her crape rumpled, and the heavy folds of her 
 dark hair looking quite ready for the evening toilette ; and, as 
 she sat on her low seat by the fire, the whole had an inde- 
 scribable air of comfort passing into listless indulgence. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn politely apologized to Ellen for a second time 
 stepping over her soapy deluge, and, as he opened the study 
 door with a preliminary knock, a voice, as sharp and petulant 
 as it was low, called out, ^ Hollo ! Be quiet there, can't you ! 
 You've no business here yet, and I have no time to waste on 
 your idleness.^ 
 
 ^ I am sorry to hear it,' said Louis, advancing into the dim 
 light of the single bedroom candle, which only served to make 
 visible the dusky, unshuttered windows, and the black gulf of 
 empty grate. James was sitting by the table, with his child 
 wrapped in the plaid, asleep on his breast, and his disengaged 
 hand employed in correcting exercises. Without moving, he 
 held it out, purple and chilled, exclaiming, 'Ha! Fitzjocelyn, 
 I took you for that lout of a Garett.' 
 
 'Is this an average specimen of your reception of your 
 scholars ? ' 
 
 ' I was afraid of his waking the child. She has been unwell 
 all day, and I have scarcely persuaded her to go to sleep.' 
 
 ' Emulating Hooker 1 ' 
 
 'As little in patience as in judgment,' sighed James. 
 
 'And which of them is it wlio is lulled by the strains of As 
 in iJTcesenti ? ' 
 
 ^ ' Winch 1 ' said James, somewhat affronted. ' Can't you tell 
 sixteen months from five ? ' 
 
 ' I beg her pardon ; but I can't construct a whole child from 
 an inch of mottled leg — as Professor Owen would a megalo- 
 saurus from a tooth. Does she walk "l ' 
 
 ' Poor child, she must ! ' said James. ' She thinks it very 
 liard to liave two sisters so little younger than herself,' — and he 
 peeped under the plaid at tlie little brown liead, and drew it 
 closer round, with a look of almost melancholy tenderness, 
 guarding carefully against touching her with his cold hands. 
 
 ' Slie will think it all tlie better by and by,' said Louis. 
 
 'You had better not stay here in the cold. I'll come when 
 I have heard tliat boy's imposition and looked over these 
 exercises.' And he ran liis hand through his hair again. 
 
 'Don't! You look like enough to a lion looking out of a 
 busli to frighten ten boys already,' said Louis. ' I'll do the 
 exercises,' pulling the copy-books away. -'What, you don't 
 trust me?' as James detained them. 
 
360 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'No, I don't,' said James, his cousin's brightness awakening 
 his livelier manner. 'It needs an apprenticeship to be up to 
 their blunders.' 
 
 ' Let me read them to you. I gave notice to Isabel that I am 
 come to dinner, and no doubt she had rather I were disposed of.' 
 
 James objected no farther, and the dry labour was illumin- 
 ated by the discursive remarks and moralizings which Louis 
 allowed to flow in their natural idle course, both to divert his 
 dispirited cousin, and to conceal from himself how much cause 
 there was for depression. When the victim of the imposition 
 approached, Louis prevented the dreaded clumsy entrance, seized 
 on a Virgil, and himself heard the fifty lines, scarcely making 
 them serve their purpose as a punishment, but sending the 
 culprit away in an unusually amiable temper. 
 
 Services from Louis were too natural to James to be requited 
 with thanks ; but he was not uncivil in his notice of a wrong 
 tense that had been allowed to pass, and the question was 
 argued with an eagerness which showed that he was much en- 
 livened. On the principle that Louis must care for all that was 
 his, as he rose to take the still sleeping child up-stairs, he 
 insisted that his cousin should come with him, if only for the 
 curiosity of looking at the other two little animals, and learning 
 the difference between them and Kitty, at whom he still looked 
 as if her godfather had insulted her. 
 
 It was pretty to see his tenderness, as he detached the little 
 girl from her hold, and laid her in the cot, making a little mur- 
 muring sound ; and boasted how she would have shown oft' if 
 awake, and laughed over her droll little jealousies of his even 
 touching the twins. As she was asleep, he might venture ; and 
 it was comical to hear him declaring that no one need mistake 
 tliem for each other, and to see him trying to lay them side by 
 side on his knees to be compared, when they would roll over, 
 and interlace their little scratching fingers ; and Louis stood by 
 teasing him, and making him defend their beauty in terms that 
 became extravagant. He was really happy here ; the careworn 
 •look smoothed away, the sharpness left his tones, and there was 
 nothing but joyous exultation and fondness in liis whole manner. 
 
 The smile did not last long, for Louis was well-nigh thrown 
 down-stairs by a dustpan in a dark corner, and James was heard 
 muttering that nothing in that house was ever in its right 
 place ; and while Louis was suggesting that it was only liimself 
 who was not in the right place, they entered the drawing-room, 
 which, like the lady, was in the same condition as that in which 
 he had left it. Since Isabel had lost Marianne and other appli- 
 ances, she had thought it not worth wliile to dress for dinner ; 
 so nothing had happened, except that the hermit had proved to 
 be Adeline's great uncle, and had begun to clear up the affair of 
 the sacrilege. 
 
 He was reluctant to leave off' when the gentlemen appeared ; 
 but Isabel shut him up, and quietly held out tlie portfolio to 
 
THE FKOST HOt^SEHOLD 36l 
 
 James, who put it on the side-table, and began to clear the 
 books away and restore some sort of order ; but it was a task 
 beyond his efforts. 
 
 Dinner was announced by Charlotte, as usual, all neat grace 
 and simplicity, in her black dress and white apron, but flushed 
 and heated by exertions beyond her strength. All that depended 
 on her had been well done ; but it would not seem to have 
 occurred to her mistress that three people ate more than two ; 
 and to Louis, who had been too busy to take any luncheon, the 
 two dishes seemed alarmingly small. One was of haricot mutton, 
 the other of potatoes ; and Charlotte might be seen to blush 
 as she carried Lord Fitzjocelyn the plate containing a chop 
 resembling India-rubber, decorated with grease and with two 
 balls of nearly raw carrot, and followed it up with potatoes 
 apparently all bruises. 
 
 Louis talked vigorously of Virginia and Louisa — secretly 
 marvelling how his hosts had brought themselves down to such 
 fare. Isabel was dining without apparently seeing anything 
 amiss, and James attempted nothing but a despairing toss of his 
 chin, as he pronounced the carrots underdone. After the first 
 course there was a long interval, during which Isabel and Louis 
 composedly talked about tlie public meeting which he had been 
 attending, and James fidgeted in the nervousness of hardly- 
 restrained displeasure ; but suddenly a frightful shrieking arose, 
 and he indignantly cried, ' That girl ! ' 
 
 ' Poor Charlotte in her hysterics again,' said Isabel, moving off 
 quickly for her, with the purple scent-bottle at her chatelaine. 
 
 ' Isabel makes her twice as bad,' exclaimed James ; ' to pet 
 her with eaii-de-C'ologne is mere nonsense. Some day I shall 
 throw a bucket of cold water over her.' 
 
 Isabel had left the door open, and they heard her softly com- 
 forting Charlotte with 'Never mind,' and 'Lord Fitzjocelyn 
 would not care,' till the storm lulled, Charlotte crept off to her 
 room, and Isabel returned to the dinner-table. 
 
 ' Well, what's the matter now ? ' said James. 
 
 'Poor Charlotte!' said Isabel, smiling; 'it seems that she 
 trusted to making a grand appearance with the remains of yes- 
 terday's pudding, and that she was quite overset by the discovery 
 that Ellen and Miss Catharine had been marauding on them.' 
 
 'You don't mean that Kitty has been eating that heavy 
 pudding at this time of night ? ' cried James. 
 
 'Kitty eats everything,' was the placid answer, 'and I do not 
 think we can blame Ellen, for she often comes down after our 
 dinner to find something for the nursery supper.' 
 
 ' Things go on in the most extraordinary manner,' muttered 
 James. 
 
 ' I suppose Charlotte misses Jane,' said Louis. ' She looks ill.' 
 
 ' No wonder,' said James, ' she is not strong enough for such 
 work. She has no method, and yet she is the only person who 
 ever thinks of doing a thing properly. I wish your friend 
 
36^ DYNEVOR TERKACE 
 
 ]\Iadison ^>youlcl come home and take her off our hands, for she is 
 always alternating between fits of novel-reading and of remorse, 
 in which she nearly works herself to death with running after 
 lost time.' 
 
 ' I should be sorry to part with her,' said Isabel ; ' slie is so 
 quiet, and so fond of the children.' 
 
 ' She will break down some day,' said James ; ' if not before, 
 certainly when she hears that Madison has a Peruvian wife.' 
 
 ' There is no more to come,' said Isabel, rising ; ' shall we come 
 up-stairs *? ' 
 
 James took up the candles, and Louis followed, considerably 
 hungry, and for once provoked by Isabel's serene certainty that 
 nobody cared whether there were anything to eat. However, 
 he had forgotten all by the time he came up-stairs, and began to 
 deliver a message from Lady Conway, that she was going to 
 write in a day or two to beg for a visit from Isabel during her 
 sojourn at Estminster, a watering-place about tliirty miles 
 distant. Isabel's face lighted with pleasure. ' I could go ? ' she 
 said, eagerly turning towards James. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, if you wisli it,' he answered, gruffly, as if vexed at 
 her gratification. 
 
 ' I mean, of course, if you can spare me,' she said, with an air 
 of more reserve. 
 
 'If you wish it, go by all means. I hope you Avill.' 
 
 *T]ie Christmas holidays are so near, that we may both go/ 
 said Isabel ; but James still had not recovered liis equanimity, 
 and Louis thought it best to begin talking of other things ; and, 
 turning to James, launched into the results of his Inglewoocl 
 crops, and the grand draining plan which was to aiibrd Marks- 
 edge work for the winter, and in which his father had become 
 much interested. But he did not find that ready heed to all 
 that occupied him of which he used to be certain at the Terrace. 
 Isabel cared not at all for farming, and took no part in ' mere 
 country squire's talk ; ' and James was too much overburthened 
 with troubles and anxieties to enter warmly into tliose of others. 
 Of those to whom Louis's concerns had been as their own, one 
 had been taken from him, the other two were far away ; and 
 the cold ' yes,' ' very good,' fell coldly on his ear. 
 
 The conversation reverted to the school ; and here it appeared 
 that two years' experience had taken away the freshness of 
 novelty, and the cycle of disappointment had begun. More boys 
 were quitting the school than the new-comers could balance ; 
 and James spoke with acute vexation of the impracticability of 
 the boys, and the folly of the parents. The attendance at his 
 evening lectures had fallen off; and lie declared that there was 
 a spirit of opposition to whatever he did. The boys disobeyed, 
 knowing that they should be favoured at home, and if they were 
 punished, the parents talked of complaints to tlie trustees. The 
 Sunday teacliing was treated as especially obnoxious ; the genteel 
 mothers talked ridiculously about its resembling a charity- 
 
THE FROST HOUSEHOLD 863 
 
 school ; the fathers did not care whether their sons went or not, 
 and he had scarcely five boys who appeared there regularly ; 
 and of them one was the butcher's son, who came rather in spite 
 of his parents than with their consent. Attendance at church 
 was more slack than ever ; and when he lectured the defaulters, 
 and gave them additional tasks in the week, it was resented as 
 an injustice. To crown all, Mr. Ramsbotham had called, and 
 had been extremely insolent about a boy whose ears had been 
 boxed for reading Pickwick in school, under cover of his Latin 
 grammar ; and Isabel was almost indignant with Miss Faitlifull 
 for having ventured to hint to her that she wished Mr. Frost 
 would be a little more gentle with the boys. 
 
 Isabel was fully alive now, and almost as vehement as her 
 husband, in her complaints against his many foes. There was 
 no lack of sympathy here ; indeed, there might be rather too 
 much, for she did not afford the softening influence that James 
 had hitherto found at home. 
 
 ' Well, Jem,' said Louis, at last, ' I think you should keep 
 your hands off the boys.' 
 
 'You are not bitten with the nonsense about personal dignity 
 and corporal punishment ? ' said James. 
 
 ' By no means. I have an infinite respect for the great 
 institution of flogging ; but a solemn execution is one thing, a 
 random stroke another.' 
 
 ' Theories are very good things till you come to manage two 
 score dunces without sense or honour. There is only one sort 
 of appeal to their feelings that tells.' 
 
 ' Maybe so ; but 1 have my doubts whether you are the man 
 to make it.' 
 
 Louis was sorry he had so spoken, for a flush of pain came 
 up in James's face at the remembrance of what Fitzjocelyn had 
 long ago forgotten — a passionate blow given to deter him from 
 a piece of wilful mischief, in which he was persisting for the 
 mere amusement of provoking. It stood out among all other 
 varieties of cufl', stroke, and knock, by the traces it had left, by 
 Mrs. Frost's grief at it, and the forgiveness from the Earl ; and 
 it had been the most humiliating distress of James's childhood. 
 It humbled him OAen now, and he answered — 
 
 'You may be right, Louis ; I may be not sufficiently altered 
 since I was a boy. I liave struck harder than I intended more 
 than once, and I have told the boys so.' 
 
 'I am sure, if they had any generosity, they would have 
 been touched with your amends,' cried Isabel. 
 
 'After all, a sclioolmaster's life does not tend to mend the 
 temper,' concluded James, sighing, and passing his hand over 
 his forehead. 
 
 No,' thought Louis ; ' nor does Isabel's mutton ! ' 
 
364 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 CHAPTER XXXY 
 
 THE CONWAY HOUSEHOLD 
 
 And ye shall walk in silk attire, 
 
 And siller hae to spare, 
 Gin ye'll consent to be his bride. 
 
 Nor think of Donald mair.— Miss Blamire 
 
 ' What makes you so lame to-day ? ' asked Lord Ormersfiekl, 
 as Louis crossed the library, on returning from an interview to 
 which he had been summoned in another room. 
 
 ' I only stumbled over an obstruction on the Frost staircase 
 yesterday/ said Louis. 'Poor Jem chose to have me up to the 
 nursery ; and to see him in the paternal character is the funniest 
 as well as the pleasantest spectacle the house affords.' 
 
 'Ah ! it is not what it was/ said the Earl. 'I suppose I must 
 call there before the holidays, though,' he added, reluctantly, 
 ' But what did that man, Ramsbotham, want with you ? ' 
 
 ' To asl^ our interest for that appointment for his friend Grant.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! what could bring him here ? ' 
 
 'Why, unluckily, he fancied he had some claim .on me, on 
 the score of Jem Frost's election. I was too innocent then to 
 know what those things go for.' 
 
 ' You may say so ! ' ejaculated the Earl. ' So he was insolent 
 enough to bring that up, was he ? ' 
 
 ' Wor;se,' said Fitzjocelyn ; ' he wanted to threaten that, unless 
 I would oblige him now, there were matters which it was his 
 duty to lay before the trustees. I told him he would do, of 
 course, whatever was his duty ; whereupon he thought my 
 lordship was interested in Mr. Frost.' 
 
 ' Intolerably impertinent ! I hope you set him down ? ' 
 
 ' I told him tliat neither Mr. Frost nor I should wish him to 
 pretermit his duty on any consideration whatever. Then he 
 harked back to what he did for us at the election ; and I was 
 forced to tell him that if he considered that he had thereby 
 established a claim on me, I must own myself in his debt ; but 
 as to reciprocating it by putting in a person like Grant, that 
 was against my conscience. He flew into a passion, informed 
 me that Mr. Frost would take the consequences, mounted 
 the British Lion, and I bowed him out upon that majestic 
 quadruped, talking grandly of illiberal jorejudices and the 
 rising generation.' 
 
 ' You acknowledged that he had a claim on you 1 ' 
 
 ' As things go in this world, I suppose it is true.' 
 
 ' Louis ! you will never know how to deal with those people.' 
 
 ' I am afraid not. I could not, either boldly or diplomatically, 
 get rid of the charge ; so there was nothing for it but to confess. 
 That's not the worst of it. I am afraid he really will be able to 
 
THE CONWAY HOUSEHOLD 365 
 
 take revenge on poor Jem, and Tm sure he can't afford to lose 
 any more scholars/ 
 
 ^Such a fellow as that will not have much in his power 
 against James,' said Lord Ormersfield. ' Wliat I am afraid of 
 is, that you 'have cut the ground from under your feet. I 
 cannot see how you are ever to stand for North wold.' 
 
 ^ Nor I,' said Louis. ' In fact, father, I have always thought 
 it most wonderfully kind forbearance that you never reproached 
 me more for my doings on that occasion. I believe we were all 
 too happy,' he presently added, with a sigh, which was re-echoed 
 by his father, at the same time trying to say something about 
 youthfulness, to which Louis, who had been leaning thought- 
 fully on the mantelpiece, presently answered — ' How much 
 wiser old people are than young ! An original axiom, is not 
 it ? but it is the last whicli one learns ! ' 
 
 ' You would hardly act in the same way now ? ' said his father. 
 
 ' I wonder when it ever answers to interfere with the natural 
 course of events ! ' responded Louis, musingly. ' There were 
 two things tliat Mr. Calcott told me once upon a time.' Those 
 two things he left unuttered. They were — that the gentleman 
 would be wasted on the school, and that the lady was not made 
 for a poor man's wife. No wonder they made him sigh ; but 
 he concluded by exclaiming aloud — 'Well, I hope they will 
 both go to Estminster, and come back with fresh life ! ' 
 
 The Estminster invitation was already on the road ; but, 
 unfortunately. Lady Conway ]iad been unable to secure lodgings 
 large enough to receive the children. She was urgent, however, 
 that Isabel should* come as soon as possible, since Louisa had 
 been more unwell than usual, and was pining for her eldest 
 sister ; and she hoped that James would join her there as soon 
 as the holidays should set him free. 
 
 James was hurt to find Isabel so much delighted to go, but 
 resolved that she should not be deprived of the pleasure, and 
 petulantly denied the offers, which became even entreaties, that 
 she might wait till lie could accompany her. He arranged, 
 therefore, that he should follow her in a fortnight's time, the 
 Miss Faithfulls undertaking the charge of their small name- 
 sakes ; and Lady Conway wrote to fix a day when Delaford 
 should come to take care of Isabel on her journey. 
 
 James and Isabel laughed at this measure. Mrs. James 
 Frost was certainly not in circumstances to carry such a hero 
 of the buttery in her suite ; and Lady Conway herself had 
 more sense than to liave proposed it, but for Delaford's own 
 representations. In fact, there was a pretty face at Dynevor 
 Terrace, and he had been piqued enough by the return of his 
 letters to be resolved on re-establishing his influence. There- 
 fore did he demonstrate to my lady that the only appropriate 
 trains would bring him to North wold at seven in the evening, 
 and take him and Mrs. James Frost Dynevor away at eleven 
 next morning ; and therefore did Isabel look up in a sudden 
 
m\ DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 lit of recollection, as the breakfast was being removed, and say, 
 'Charlotte, Delaford is coming on Tuesday to fetch me to 
 Estminster, and will sleep here that night.' 
 
 Isabel little guessed that in the days when she viewed the 
 fantastic Viscount as her greatest enemy, the announcement of 
 his apjD roach would have been far less appalling to her. 
 
 ' The wretch ! the traitor ! the vile deceiver ! ' tliought Char- 
 lotte, not chary of her epithets, and almost ready to wreak her 
 vengeance on the silver spoons. ' He has gone and broken poor 
 Marianne's heart, and now he wants to treat me the same, and 
 make me faitldess to })oor Tom, tliat is up in the mountain- 
 tops and trusts to me ! O me, what shall I do ? Mrs. Beckett 
 is gone, and there's no one to give me an advice ! If I speak 
 to him or scorn him, he'll take his advantage all alike — and his 
 words are so fine and so soft, that do what I will to hate him 
 when I'm away, he is sure to wind round me when he's there ; 
 and I can't get away, and I'm a poor, lonely, fatherless and 
 motherless orphan, and a vain girl, that lias listened already to 
 liis treacherous suit more than poor Tom would think for.' 
 Charlotte worked on in much grief and perplexity for some 
 minutes, revolving the vanity that had led to ]ier follies, and 
 humbling herself in her own eyes. Suddenly, a flash of thought 
 crossed her, and woke a smile upon her face, almost a look of 
 mischief. She tied on a clean apron, and running up-stairs, opened 
 the drawing-room door, and said, ' If you please, ma'am, might 
 I ask Miss Faithfull's Martha to tea on Tuesday night ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes, if you like,' said Isabel, never raisiiig lier eyes from 
 the rebuilding of the ruined chapel in the valley. 
 
 Away skipped Charlotte, and in two minutes was at the back 
 door of the House Beautiful. Mrs. Marti la had been grimly 
 kind to her ever since she had been afllicued witli the cook for a 
 fellow-servant, and received her only with a reproof for coming 
 gadding out, when she ought to be hard at work ; but when she 
 heard the invitation she became wrathful — she had rather go 
 ten miles out of her way than even look at 'tliat there Ford.' 
 
 But Charlotte explained her purpose, and implored, and put 
 her in mind that Mrs. Beckett was gone, and she had no i:>ro- 
 tector ; and Martha relented, told her that if she had minded 
 her she would never have been in tlie scrape at all, but agreed, 
 not without satisfaction, to afford Mr. Delaford the society of 
 liis old acquaintance. 
 
 And so when Mr. Delaford, witli his whiskers freshly curled 
 and his boots in a state of fascinating polish, walked upDynevor 
 Terrace, the door was opened by Ellen, and the red-faced cook 
 and the upright Mrs. Martha sat on either side the fire. Daintily 
 did he greet them, and stand warming himself before the fire, 
 adapting his conversation to them for the next ten minutes, 
 before he ventured to ask whether Miss Arnold were still an 
 inmate. ' Taking out dinner — taking in tea,' gruffly replied 
 Martha. 
 
THE CONWAY HOUSEHOLD 367 
 
 Mr. Delaford waited, but Ellen only ran in for one moment 
 to fetch the kettle, and Martha discoursed as usual on the gold 
 mines in Peru. By and by, when the parlour tea could by no 
 possibility be supposed to be farther prolonged, there swept 
 into the kitchen the stately nurse. Charlotte had run up to 
 the nursery, and begged as a favour that she might be left to 
 watch the children, while Mrs. Nurse entertained Mr. Delaford 
 below-stairs ; and in pity to so grand a gentleman, constrained 
 to mix with such 'low servants,' tlie nurse had yielded, and 
 Charlotte sat safe and sound by the nursery fire, smiling at his 
 discomfiture, and reading over Tom's letters with an easier 
 conscience than for many a day. 
 
 Mr. Delaford was too much of a gentleman to be uncivil to 
 the three clames by the kitchen fire, but he watched every step 
 and every creaking door. He even went the length of coming 
 up to family prayers, in liopes of there meeting Charlotte ; but 
 she only joined the i^rocession at the parlour door, and had 
 flown up-stairs, like a little bird, before he was out again. 
 
 The. gentleman was affronted, and resolved to make her feel 
 it. They could not but meet at the kitchen breakfast, and he 
 barely acknowledged her. This was the most trying stroke of 
 all, for it set her, in the eyes of the cook and nurse, on a level 
 with the inferior servants, to whom he would not have deigned 
 a look, and it was not easy to resist showing that she was on 
 more familiar terms with him than all. But the instinct of self- 
 protection and the wisdom of sincerity came to her aid. She 
 abstained from raising her eyes to his face, from one conscious 
 word or glance ; she locked herself into her jDantry when she 
 took down the breakfast things, and avoided every encounter, 
 even when she had begun to feel that it would have been more 
 flattering had he made more efforts. At last, dire necessity 
 obliged her to accept his aid in carrying her mistress's box down 
 the stairs. He Avalked backwards, she forwards. She would not 
 meet his eye, and he was too well-bred for one word on the stairs ; 
 but in the garden he exclaimed, ' Miss Arnold, what have I done ? ' 
 
 ' I never ought to have listened to you,' said Charlotte. ' It 
 was not right by neither of us ; so please say no more.' 
 
 ' If you could understand — ' 
 
 ^ I don't want to understand nothing.' 
 
 Charlotte drove him on with the box till they were close to 
 the fly, and then, leaving him and the man to adjust the packing, 
 flew back to announce that all was ready for her mistress. The 
 last kisses were given to the children, and a message left with 
 Charlotte for her master, who was in school ; then she stood 
 with Miss Catharine in her arms, and saw the fly drive off. 
 
 'Well,' said Mrs. Cook, 'that butler thinks himself a great 
 beau, no doubt ! I asked him whether he thought you pretty, 
 Charlotte, and he said you hadn't no air nor no complexion. 
 It's as I tells you— nobody will never take no notice of you 
 while you goes about so dowdy,' 
 
368 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Charlotte did not know whether she was glad that the cook 
 could not tease her about Delaford, or mortified to be supposed 
 beneath his notice. No air, forsooth ! She who had often heard 
 it said that she looked like any lady ! 
 
 ' But oh,' said Charlotte to herself, as she spent her daily five 
 minutes at noonday in quiet thought, 'am I not a poor silly 
 thing not to be thankful that care has been round me this time, 
 and that I have not been let to do nothing giddy nor false by 
 Tom, whatever I may have thought ! ' 
 
 Meanwhile, Isabel had found it much harder to part witli her 
 babies for three weeks than it had seemed at the first proposal ; 
 and til ere were tears in her eyes as she gazed at the peaked, red- 
 tiled roof of the old grammar-school, and reckoned the days and 
 hours before her husband would join lier. 
 
 Other associations revived when she found herself at Estmin- 
 ster, and was received with shrieks of joy, caresses, and exclam- 
 ations too fond and foolish to bear repetition ; and then the 
 pale Louisa rested against her, stroking her hand, and Lady 
 Conway fondled her, and Virginia, looking formed and hand- 
 some, retreated a little way to study her and declare that she 
 was the same Isabel, neither altered nor grown older — it was 
 all a dream that she had ever left them. 
 
 She almost felt it so herself, so entirely did she fit into the 
 old habits, the little quiet dinner (only it seemed unusually 
 good), the subsequent closing round the fire with the addition 
 of Miss King and Louisa, the easy desultory chat, the books 
 with Mudie's stamp lying about, the music which must be prac- 
 tised. It was very like being Miss Conway still ; and when 
 she awoke the next morning to find it late, and to the impulse 
 of hurrying up, or not hurrying, expecting to find James making 
 breakfast himself, and cross at being made late for school, she 
 turned on her pillow, half doubting whether she had dreamt 
 these two years in one long night, and remembering that cap- 
 tive mermaid, who had but to resume her maritime headgear 
 and return to her native element, to forget the very existence 
 of her fisherman husband and children. No ! Isabel was not 
 come to that ! but she was almost ashamed to enjoy her extra 
 hour's repose ; and then the leisurely breakfast — nay, even the 
 hot rolls and clear coffee were appreciated ; and she sighed as 
 she called up the image of the breakfast over an hour ago, the 
 grim kettle, the bad butter, the worse fire, ttnd James, cold and 
 hurried, with Kitty on his knee gnawing a lump of crust. It 
 was a contrast to Lady Conway reading her letters and discuss- 
 ing engagements with comfortable complacency, and Virginia 
 making suggestions, and Louisa's grave bright eyes consult- 
 ing hers, and Miss King quietly putting in a remark, and the 
 anticipation of Walter's return, as if he were the only person 
 wanting. 
 
 The sisters always I'esented their mother's habit of talking of 
 ' poor Isabel,' regarding her as the happiest of women ; and they 
 
THE CONWAY HOUSEHOLD 369 
 
 were confirmed in their belief by seeing her looking exceedingly 
 well and handsome, with perhaps a little more dignity and a 
 sweeter smile. Virginia loved to snatch private interviews 
 with Miss King, to express her confidence in dear Isabel's 
 felicity, in the infallibility and other perfections of James, and 
 in the surpassing cleverness of little Catharine ; and Louisa 
 was always sighing to behold the twins. But, to the delight 
 of the schoolroom, tlie Chapel in the valley was produced in a 
 complete form, and a very pretty romance it was ; but the 
 hermit and the brilliant denouement were quite a shock to the 
 young ladies, just when their tears were prepared, and Virginia 
 was almost angry. 
 
 * Oh, my dear, there is trouble enough in the world ! ' said 
 Isabel ; ^ Hubert and Adeline have been my companions so long, 
 that at least I must leave them happy.' 
 
 'Indeed,' said Miss King, 'I am almost surprised that you 
 have been able to finish them at all, with so much re-writing.' 
 
 To her surprise, Isabel blushed, and her answer partook of 
 self-defence. 'James is so busy, and the children so young, 
 that this has been my great resource. When my little girls are 
 older, I must begin educating in earnest. I want to talk over 
 Madame Neckar's book with you. Miss King.' 
 
 'All systems begin alike from infant obedience, I believe,' 
 said the governess. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Isabel, ' little Catharine is obedience itself with us. 
 It is curious to see how well she knows the difference between 
 us and the nurses. There are great tempests up-stairs, and lier 
 papa takes them very nmch to heart. He always has her down- 
 stairs when he is at home ; and he has accustomed her to so 
 much attention, that there is no doing anything while she is by, 
 or I would have her more with me.' 
 
 The self -justifying tone rather puzzled Miss King. She noted 
 likewise that Isabel was backward in entering into details of 
 her home life, and that she never said a word to encourage her 
 sister's wishes to visit her at Northwold. Knowing Isabel as 
 the governess did, slie was sure that she would not merely talk 
 of things on the surface, if her spirit were fully content. Only 
 once did she go any deeper, and that was as she took up a little 
 book of religious poetry of which she liad been very fond. ' Ah ! ' 
 she said, ' I don't feel these things as I used. I think practical 
 life dulls one.' 
 
 ' I should have said, practical life made things real,' said Miss 
 King. 
 
 Isabel had not found out that having duties and not doing 
 them was less practical than having no particular task. 
 
 Another cloud of mystery was over the relations with Mr. 
 Dynevor and Clara. Isabel baffled all Lady Conway's inquiries 
 and advice by entering into no particulars, but adhering to her 
 own version of the matter, ' that Mr. Dynevor had required of 
 James conditions incompatible with his duty ; ' and not deigning 
 
 B B 
 
S70 BYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 to explain either duty or conditions, as beyond the capacity of 
 her hearer. 
 
 Of Clara no account was vouchsafed, except that Isabel be- 
 lieved she was abroad ; ' they had been very much disappointed 
 in her,' and Isabel was afraid that she was a good deal altered ; 
 and the subject seemed so painful, that Virginia did not venture 
 to push her inquiries any farther. 
 
 The great subject of interest in the Conway family was that 
 Virginia and Louisa were going to lose their maid ; and the 
 suggestion somehow arose that Charlotte should be her suc- 
 cessor. It was agreed on all hands that nature had formed her 
 for a lady's-maid, and a few lessons from a hairdresser would 
 make her perfection ; and she would be invaluable in reading 
 to Louisa when restless and unable to sleep. 
 
 Isabel gave herself credit for the most notable arrangement 
 she had ever made — promoting the little maiden, whom she 
 really liked, and relieA^ng herself from the constant annoyance 
 about sparing Ellen from the nursery by obtaining a stronger 
 housemaid. She had only a few scruples, or rather she knew 
 that James would have some, as to exposing Charlotte to 
 Delaford's attentions after what she had heard in Clara's letter ; 
 but the least hint on this score led to a panegyric upon Dela- 
 ford's perfections — his steadiness, his prudence, his cleverness 
 on journeys, his usefulness in taking care of Walter. 'I know 
 that Walter is safe when he is with Delaford,' said Lady Conway. 
 And even the sensible Miss King observed, smiling, 'that there 
 always ivoidd be nonsense between men and maid-servants ; 
 and there were many more dangerous places than the present. 
 She would watch over Charlotte, and Fanshawe was quite to be 
 trusted.' 
 
 The Conway family knew rather less about their own servants' 
 hall than they did of feudal establishments five hundred years ago. 
 
 Still, Isabel, in her superior prudence, resolved to consult 
 Fanshawe on the true state of affairs. Fanshawe was a com- 
 fortable portly personage, chiefly absorbed in her caps and her 
 good cheer, and faring smoothly through life, on the principle 
 of always saying what was expected of her, and never seeing 
 anything to anybody's disadvantage. 
 
 She assured Mrs. James Frost that she did not think Delaford 
 to blame ; many girls would be foolish about a man with per- 
 sonal advantages, but she could not see it was his fault. Poor 
 Marianne had been always weakly; and, 'After all, ma'am, 
 some young women will put constructions upon anything,' said . 
 Mrs. Fanshawe, deciding that at least she should make no 
 mischief by sacrificing poor Marianne. ^ , ^ 
 
 Isabel did not like to come to more individual inquiries, lest 
 she should prepare discomfort for Charlotte ; but she easily 
 satisfied herself that all was as right as convenient, and having 
 occasion to write some orders to Charlotte, communicated the 
 proposal, saying that all should be settled on her return. 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 37i 
 
 There was wild work in the brain of the poor little Lady of 
 Eschalott. No more stairs to scrub ! No more mats to shake ! 
 No more hurrying after lost time, and an uneasy remembrance 
 of undone duties ! No more hardening of fingers, no more 
 short-sleeved lilac, no more vulgarities from the cook ! Lady- 
 like dress, high wages, work among flowers and gauzes, reading 
 to Miss Louisa, housekeeper 's-room society, rank as ' Arnold ' or 
 ' Miss Arnold ! ' How much more suitable to the betrothed of 
 the Superintendent at San Benito ! To be sure, she was aware 
 that a serpent lurked among the flowers ; but she had shown 
 him a bit of her mind once, and she found she could take care 
 of herself, and keep him at a distance. 
 
 With her eyes shut, she already beheld Jane Beckett meeting 
 her, when seated at the back of a carriage, with a veil and a 
 parasol, addressing her as a grand lady, and kissing and praising 
 her when she found her little Charlotte after all. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 THE trustees' MEETING 
 
 Ivnow you not, master, to some kind of men 
 
 Their graces serve them but as enemies? — As You Like It 
 
 'My lord,' said Frarapton, entering the library late one 
 evening, in visible perturbation, and addressing himself to 
 Fitzjocelyn, 'there is a person wishing to see you.' 
 
 ' What person at this time of night 1 ' said Louis. 
 
 ' In fact, my lord,' said the butler, hesitating, ' it is the young- 
 person at Mr. Frost's.' 
 
 ' Something must be the matter ! ' cried Louis, starting up. 
 
 ' She would explain nothing to me, she insisted on seeing your 
 lordship ; and — in fact — she was in such a state of agitation 
 that I left her with Mrs. Bowles.' 
 
 Louis lost no time in hurrying into the hall. Charlotte must 
 have followed Frampton without his knowledge, for she was 
 already there ; and, springing with clasped hands towards Fitz- 
 jocelyn, she cried, sobbing, 'My lord, my lord, come to master ! ' 
 
 ' Is he ill 1 or the children ? ' 
 
 ' No, no ! but he'll be off"— he'll be ofl*like poor Tom ! ' exclaimed 
 Charlotte, between her gasps ; ' but I've locked it ! ' and she 
 waved a door-key, and seemed about to laugh hysterically. 
 
 ' Sit down, Charlotte,' said Louis, authoritatively, bringing a 
 chair. 'If you do not explain yourself reasonably at once, I 
 shall call Mrs. Bowles, and desire her to put you to bed.' 
 
 She made an imploring gesture, sank trembling into the 
 chair, and, after a few incoherent efforts, managed to speak — 
 'If you would but come to master, my lord— I know it is 
 something bad.' 
 
 B B 2 
 
372 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Louis thought it wisest to desjoatch Frampton at once to 
 order the carriage to be brought out immediately ; and this so 
 far pacified Charlotte, that she could speak comprehensibly on 
 the cause of her alarm. ' He is in such a way ! ' she began. 
 ' He went out to the school-examination, I believe, in his cap 
 and gown, this morning ; he was gone all day, but just at dusk 
 I heard him slam-to the front door, fit to shake the house down, 
 like he does when he is put out. I'd a thought nothing of that ; 
 but by and by I heard him stamping up and down the study, 
 like one in a frenzy, and I found his cap and gown lying all of 
 a heap in a corner of the hall. Then, Mr. Calcott came to call ; 
 and when I went into the study, master had his head down on 
 the table, and wouldn't see no one ; he fairly stamped to me 
 to be gone, and bring him no more messages. Mr. Calcott, he 
 looked so sorry and concerned, and sent in again. I was to say 
 that he hoped some arrangement might be made, if Mr. Frost 
 would only see him ; but master had locked the door, and 
 hallooed out that I was to say he was obliged, but couldn't see 
 nobody. So Mr. Calcott was forced to go ; and there was poor 
 master. Not one morsel of dinner has he had. I knocked, but 
 he would not open, only said he did not want for nothing. No, 
 not even when 'twas time for Miss Catharine to come down. 
 She thumped at the door, and called " Papa " so pretty ; but he 
 never heeded, except to call out, " Take her away ! " ' Charlotte 
 was crying so much, that she could hardly proceed. ' Then I knew 
 it must be something very melancholy indeed. But by and by 
 he opens the door with a great jerk, and runs right up to the 
 lumber-room. I saw his face, and 'twas like a corpse, my lord ; 
 and he brings down his portmanteau into his dressing-room, 
 and I hears him pulling out all his drawers. " He'll be gone ! " 
 I thinks, *' he'll be off to America, too ! And my poor mistress 1 '' 
 So I went up quietly, and in secret, unbeknown to them all, and 
 got my bonnet ; and I've run every step of the way — for you 
 are the only one, my lord, as can soothe his wounded spirit ; 
 and I've locked both the doors, and here's the key, so he can't 
 be gone till you come.' 
 
 ^ Locked the doors ! ' cried Louis. ' What have you done ? 
 Suppose your mistress or Miss Clara were ill ? ' 
 
 ' (Dh, no — no, it is not that,' said Charlotte ; ' or why should 
 he flee from the face of his children*? Why, I took Miss 
 Salome up to the top of the stairs, when she was screaming and 
 crying with all her might, and you would not have thought he 
 was within a mile of her. No, my lord, no one can't do nothing 
 but you.' 
 
 ' I'll come at once,' said Louis. ' You did quite right to fetch 
 me ; but it was a frightful thing to lock the door.' 
 
 Sending Charlotte to the housekeeper, he went to commu- 
 nicate her strange intelligence to his father, who shared his 
 dismay so much as almost to wish to come with him to North- 
 wold : but Louis felt he could deal better alone with James. 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 37,*^ 
 
 His fears took the direction of the Italian travellers, knowing 
 that any misfortune to them must recoil on James witli double 
 agony after such a parting. 
 
 In very brief space the carriage was at Northwold, and de- 
 siring that it should wait at the corner of the Terrace, Louis 
 followed Charlotte, who had jumped clown from the box, and 
 hastened forward to unlock the door ; and he was in time to 
 hear the angry, though suppressed, greeting that received her. 
 ' Pretty doings, ma'am ! So I have caught you out at last, 
 though you did think to lock me in ! He shan't come in ! I 
 wonder at your impudence ! The very front door ! ' 
 
 ' Oh, cook, don't ! ' The poor breathless voice managed at last 
 to be heard. ' Tliis is Lord Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 Cook liad vanished out of sight or hearing before Louis's foot 
 was within the threshold. 
 
 The study door was open, the fire expiring, the books and 
 papers pushed back ; and James's fierce, restless tread was 
 heard pacing vehemently about his own room. Louis ran 
 hastily up, and entered at once. His cousin stood staring with 
 wild eyes ; his hair was tossed and tangled, his face lividly pale, 
 and the table was strewn with fragments of letters, begun and 
 torn up again ; his clothes lay tumbled in disorder on the floor, 
 where his portmanteau lay open and partly packed. All Louis's 
 worst alarm seemed fulfilled at once. ' What has happened ? ' 
 he cried, catching liold of both James's hands, as if to help him 
 to speak. ' Who is ill ? — not Clara ? ' 
 
 ' No — no one is ill,' said James, withdrawing his hands, and 
 kneeling down by his box, with an air of feigned indifference ; 
 ' I am only going to London.' 
 
 'To London?' • ^ 
 
 'Aye, to see what is to be done, — ship-chaplaincy, curacy, 
 literature, selling sermons at five shillings each, — what not. I 
 am no longer master of Northwold school ! ' He strove to speak 
 carelessly, but bending over his packet, thrust down the clothes 
 Avith desperate blows. 
 
 Louis sat down, too much dismayed to utter a word. 
 
 ' One morning's work in the conclave,' said James, with tlie 
 same assumed ease. ' Here's their polite reprimand, which they 
 expected me to put up with, — censuring all my labour, forbid- 
 ding Sunday-classes, accusing me of partiality and cruelty, with 
 a lot of nonsense about corporal punishment and dignity. I 
 made answer, that if I were master at all, I must be at liberty 
 to follow my own views, otherwise I would resign ; and, would 
 you believe it, they snapped at the offer — they thought it highly 
 desirable ! There's an end of it.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! ' cried Louis, casting his eye over the reprimand, 
 and finding that the expressions scarcely warranted James's 
 abstract of them. ' You must have mistaken ! ' 
 
 ' Do you doubt that ? ' and James threw to him a sheet where, 
 in Richardson's clerkly handwriting, the trustees of King 
 
374 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Edward's Northwold Grammar School formally accepted the 
 resignation of the Reverend James Roland Frost Dynevor. 
 
 ' They cannot be so hasty ! Did not Mr. Calcott call to see 
 your 
 
 'An old humbug ! ' 
 
 Til go and see him this instant. Something may be done.' 
 'No,' said James, holding him down by the shoulder, 'I will 
 not be degraded by vain solicitations.' 
 
 ' This must be that wretched Ramsbotham ! ' exclaimed Louis. 
 ' Oh, Jem ! I little thought lie had so much power to injure you.' 
 ' It is as well you did not,' said James. ' It would have made 
 no difference, except in the pain it would have cost you ; and 
 the only gratification in this business is, that I suffer because 
 neither you nor I would deny our principles. I thank you, 
 Fitzjocelyn ! ' and he straightened himself in the satisfaction of 
 persecuted rectitude. 
 
 ' You have very little to thank me for,' said Louis, wringing 
 his hand, and turning aside, as if unable yet to face the full 
 extent of the evil. 
 
 ' Never fear for us,' continued James, boldly ; ' we shall struggle 
 on. Mens conscia, — you see I can't forget to be a schoolmaster.' 
 ' But what are you about ? Where are you going 1 ' 
 ' To London. You spoke to a publisher about my lectures on 
 history ; they will serve for introduction. He may make me 
 his hack — a willing one, while I advertise — apply for anything. 
 I must be gone ! ' 
 
 'You do not look fit for a night journey. You would be too 
 early at Estminster to see Isabel.' 
 
 ' Don't name her ! ' cried James, starting round as if the word 
 were a dart. ' Thank Heaven that she is away ! I must write 
 to her. Maybe, Lady Conway will keep her till I am settled 
 — till I have found some lodging in London where no one will 
 know us.' 
 
 ' And where you may run up a comfortable doctor's bill.' 
 With a gesture — half passion, half despair— James reiterated, 
 'There's no staying here. I must begone. I must be among- 
 st rangers.' 
 
 'Your 7)16718 co7iscia would better prove that it lias no cause 
 for shame by staying here, instead of rushing out of sight into 
 the human wilderness, and sacrificing those poor little — ' 
 
 James struck his foot on the floor, as though to intercept the 
 word ; but Louis continued, apparently unmoved by his anger 
 — ' Those poor little children. If misfortune and injury be no 
 disgrace to the injured, I call it cowardly pride to fly off by 
 night to hide yourself, instead of living in your own house, like 
 an honest man.' 
 
 ' Live !— pray what am I to live on?' cried James, laughing 
 hoarsely. 
 
 ' You will not find out by whirling to London in your present 
 state.' 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 375 
 
 In fact, Louis's most immediate care was to detain him for 
 that one night. There was a look of coming illness about him, 
 and his desperate, maddened state of mind might obscure his 
 judgment, and urge him into some precipitate measure, such as 
 lie might afterwards rue bitterly for the sake of the wife and 
 children, the bare thought of whom seemed at present to sting 
 liim so intolerably. Moreover, Louis had a vague hope that so 
 harsh a proceeding would be abandoned by the trustees ; his 
 father would remonstrate, and James might be able to think 
 and to apologize. He was hardly a rational being to-night, 
 and probably would have driven away any other companion ; 
 but long habit, and external coolness, enabled Louis to stand his 
 ground, and to protract matters, till the clock, striking eleven, 
 relieved him, as much as it exasperated James, by proving it so 
 late that the last train would have already passed. 
 
 He x)ersisted in declaring that he should go by the first in 
 the morning, and Louis persuaded him to go to bed, after 
 Charlotte had brouglit them some tea, which, he said, choked 
 him. Deciding on sleeping at No. 5, Louis sent home the car- 
 riage, with a note to his father ; and Charlotte pressed her hands 
 together in a transport of gratitude when she found that he was 
 not going to abandon her master. She did her best to make 
 the forlorn house conifortable ; but it was but cold comfort, 
 with all the Hres gone out, and he was too sad and anxious to 
 heed it. 
 
 She was at his door early the next morning, with a summons 
 more alarming than surprising. She was sure that master was 
 very ill. 
 
 There was James lying across his bed, half -dressed, turned 
 away from the dim morning light, and more frightfully pale 
 than ever. He started angrily at Louis's entrance, and sprang 
 up, but fell back, insisting with all his might that nothing ailed 
 him but a common headache, which needed only to be left quiet 
 for an hour or two. He said it venomously. 
 
 *A very uncommon headache,' thought Louis. 'My belief 
 is, that it is little short of brain fever ! If I could only feel his 
 pulse ! But it would be very like taking a mad dog's hand. 
 There's nothing for it but to fetch old Walby. He may haxe 
 some experience of refractory patients.' 
 
 ' Go home, Louis,' reiterated James, savagely, on opening his 
 eyes and finding him not gone. ' I tell you I want nobody. I 
 shall be in London before night.' 
 
 And starting up, he tried to draw the curtain at his feet, to 
 shut out the tardy dawn ; but too giddy to persevere, he sank 
 back after one noisy pull. 
 
 Louis drew it completely, shaded the window, and would 
 have settled the pillows, but was not allowed ; and obtaining 
 an impatient grunt by way of dismissal, he ran down-stairs, 
 caught up hat and stick, and set off to summon Mr. Walby from 
 his comfortable family breakfast-table. 
 
376 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 The good old doctor was more concerned than amazed. He 
 could hardly surmount the shock to his trustee conscience, on 
 hearing of the consequence of yesterday's proceedings. 
 
 'I was much grieved at the time/ he said, as they walked 
 to the Terrace together. ' You will believe me that I was no 
 willing party, my lord.' 
 
 'I could never believe that you would do anything hard 
 towards any one, Mr. Walby,' said Louis, kindly ; and a few 
 more like assurances led the old man to volunteer the history 
 of the case in confidence. 
 
 Ramsbotham had brought before the meeting of tlie trustees 
 a serious mass of charges, on which he founded a motion that 
 Mr. Frost should be requested to resign. Every one rejected 
 such a measure, and the complaints were sifted. Some were 
 palpably false, others exaggerated, others related to matters 
 of principle ; but deducting these, it still was proved that the 
 Sunday attendance and evening lectures were too visibly the 
 test of his favour, and that the boys were sometimes treated 
 with undue severity, savouring of violent temper. ' I must 
 confess, my lord,' said Mr. Walby, sinking his voice, ' I am afraid 
 Mr. Frost is too prompt with his hand. A man does not know 
 how hard he hits, when he knocks a boy over the ears with a 
 book. Mrs. Barker's little boy really had a gathering under 
 the ear in consequence ; — I saw it myself.' 
 
 Louis was confounded; he had nothing to say to this* he 
 knew the force that irritation gave to James's hand too well to 
 refuse his credence, and he could only feel shame and dismay, as 
 if himself guilty by his misjudged patronage. 
 
 Mr. Walby proceeded to say that, under the circumstances, 
 the trustees had decided on remonstrating by letter, after the 
 examination ; and it was easy to perceive that the reprimand, 
 which might have been wise and moderate from the Squire, had 
 gained a colour from every one concerned, so as to censure what 
 was right and aggravate what was wrong. Mr. Frost's reply had 
 been utterly unexpected ; Ramsbotham and the bookseller liad 
 caught at the resignation, and so did the butcher, who hated 
 the schoolmaster for having instilled inconveniently high prin- 
 ciples into his son. Richardson abstained from voting ; Mr. 
 Calcott fought hard for Mr. Frost, but the grocer was ill, and 
 only poor old Mr. Walby supported him, and even they felt that 
 their letter had not deserved such treatment. Alas ! had not 
 Fitzjocelyn himself taught North wold that the Squire was not 
 a dictator ? Even then, Mr. Calcott, still lioping that an 
 apology might retrieve the day, had set forth to argue the 
 matter with James Frost, whom he could not suppose serious in 
 his intentions, but thought he meant to threaten the trustees 
 into acquiescence. The doors had been closed against him, and 
 Mr. Walby feared that now the step was known, it was too late 
 to retract it. ' The ladies would never allow it,' he declared ; 
 ' there was no saying how virulent they were against Mr. Frost ; 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 377 
 
 and as to consideration for his family, that rather inflamed their 
 dislike. They had rich relations enough ! It would be only 
 too good for so fine a lady to be brought down.' Every one had 
 some story of her pride, neglect, or bad housewifery.^ 'And 
 I can tell you,' said Mr. Walby, ' that I am not in their good 
 books for declaring that I never saw anything from her but very 
 pretty, aflable manners.' 
 
 With these words they reached the house ; and with sighs and 
 murmurs of ' Ah ! poor young man ! ' Mr. Walby followed Louis 
 to. the landing-place, where they both paused, looking at each 
 other in doubt how to effect an entrance, Louis suddenly re- 
 membering that no presence would be more intolerable to the 
 l^atient than that of a trustee. However, there was nothing for 
 it but to walk in, and announce, as a matter of course, that he 
 had thought it right to call in Mr. Walby. 
 
 The extremity of displeasure brought James to his feet, and 
 out into the passage, saying, with grave formality, that he was 
 much obliged, and glad to see Mr. Walby as a friend, but 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn was mistaken in thinking him in need of his 
 advice. Many thanks, he would trouble him no further ; and 
 affecting a laugli, he said that Fitzjocelyn seemed never to have 
 heard of a bad headache. 
 
 ' Acting does not mend matters, Jem,' said Louis. ' You 
 had much better confess how really ill you are.' 
 
 Excessive giddiness made James stagger against his cousin, 
 and Louis, throwing his arms round him, looked in great alarm 
 to the doctor for help, but was answered by something very like 
 a smile. ' Aye, aye, sir, there's nothing for it but to go to bed. 
 If his lordship there liad seen as many cases of jaundice as I 
 have, he would not look so frightened. Very wholesome disorder ! 
 Yes, lie down, and I'll send you a thing or two to take. 
 
 So saying, Mr. Walby helped Louis to lay their unwilling 
 invalid on tlie bed without much resistance or reply, and pre- 
 sently departed, so infinitely relieved that he could not help 
 indulging in a little chuckle at the young Viscount's mistake. 
 As soon as he was gone, James revived enough to protest that 
 it was all nonsense, doctors must needs give a name to every- 
 thing ; if they would only let him alone, he should be himself 
 and off to London in two hours ; and that it was Fitzjocelyn him- 
 self who was looking excessively ill, and as yellow as a guinea. 
 He would not hear of undressing and going absolutely to bed, 
 and fairly scolded every one out of sight. Good Miss Mercy, 
 who had trotted in at the tidings of illness, stood at the 
 nursery-door, telegraphing signs of commiseration in answer 
 to Louis's looks of perplexity. 
 
 'At least,' she said, 'you had better come to breakfast with 
 us, and hear what my sister says — Salome always knows what 
 is best.' 
 
 He soon found himself in the snug parlour, where the small 
 round breakfast-table, drawn close to Miss Faithfull's fireside 
 
378 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 chair, liad a sort of doll's-liouse air of cheerful comfort, with 
 the tiny plates, tea-cups, and the miniature loaf, and tlie com- 
 plicated spider-legs, among Avhich it was not easy to dispose 
 of his own length of limb. 
 
 The meal jDassed in anxious consultation. There might be 
 no danger, but the disorder was severe and increasing. James's 
 health had long been suffering from harass of mind, want of 
 exercise, and unwholesome diet ; and the blow of the pre\'ious 
 day had brought things to a crisis. There he lay, perfectly 
 unmanageable, permitting neither aid nor consolation, unable 
 to endure the sight of any one, and too mucli stupefied by 
 illness to perceive the impracticability of his wild scheme of 
 seeking employment in London. 
 
 Miss Faithfull pronounced that either Mercy or Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn must go and fetch Mrs. James Frost home. 
 
 'I was only thinking how long we could keep lier away,' 
 said Louis. ' Pray don't be shocked, dear Miss Mercy, but I 
 thought I could nurse poor Jem much better alone than with 
 another dead weight on our hands.' 
 
 ' They would neither of them thank you,' said Miss Faithfull, 
 laughing. ' Depend upon it, she will know best how to deal 
 with him.' 
 
 'Well, you see more of their household than I do, but I 
 have never dared to think of her ! Do you remember the 
 words, "if thou hast run with the footmen and they have 
 wearied thee — " ' 
 
 ' There are some people who can run with the horsemen better 
 than with the footmen,' said Miss Salome. 'You know we are 
 very fond of young Mrs. Frost. We cannot forget her sweet- 
 ness when she lived in this house, and she has always been most 
 kind and friendly. I do believe that to display the most 
 admirable qualities, she only needs to be roused.' 
 
 'To live in the house with Jem, and Jem's three babies, 
 and yet want rousing ! ' 
 
 'I have thought,' said Salome, diffidently, 'that he was only 
 too gentle with her.' 
 
 ' Do you know how very severe you are growing, Miss 
 Faithfull ? ' said Louis, looking her in the face, in the gravity 
 of amusement 
 
 'I mean,' said Miss Faithfull, blushing, 'though of course I 
 do not know, that I have fancied it might be better for both if 
 he could have gone to the root of the matter, and set fairly 
 before her the prime duties requisite in the mistress of such a 
 family. He may have done so.' 
 
 'I think not,' said Louis; 'it would be awkward when a 
 woman fancied she embraced poverty voluntarily for his sake. 
 Poverty ! It was riches compared with their present condition. 
 Isabel on 150/. a year ! It may well make poor Jem ill to 
 think about it ! I only wonder it is not a brain-fever ! ' 
 
 ' Lord Fitzjocelyn regrets that brain-fever,' said Miss Faithfull. 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 379 
 
 'Probably my ideas on the subject are derived from the pre- 
 valence of the complaint in light literature/ said Louis, smiling. 
 ' It would be more dignified, and suit Isabel better. Poor 
 Isabel ! I hope I have done her inj ustice. She behaved gloriously 
 at the barricades, and has a great soul after all ; but I had begun 
 to think heroines not calculated for moderate circumstances. 
 May they do better in no circumstances at all ! Heighho ! 
 how a heavy heart makes one talk nonsense ! So I am to 
 fetch the poor thing home, Miss FaithfulL' 
 
 This was determined on, whether with or without James's 
 consent ; Miss Mercy undertaking that she and Martha would 
 help Charlotte, and dispose of the children in the House Beau- 
 tiful ; and she went back witli Louis to fetch them, when little 
 Catharine was found peeping through the bars of her prison-gate 
 at the top of the nursery-stairs, shouting lustily for papa. She 
 graciously accepted her godfather as a substitute, and was 
 carried by him to her kind neighbour's house, already a supple- 
 mentary home. As to her father, Louis found him more refrac- 
 tory than ever. His only greeting was, ' Why are not you gone 
 home ? ' He scorned Mr. Walby's prescriptions, and made such 
 confident assertions that he should be off to London in the even- 
 ing, that Fitzjocelyn almost reverted to the brain-fever tlieory, 
 and did not venture to hint his intention to any one but Char- 
 lotte, telling her that he should now almost think her justified 
 in locking the doors. 
 
 Sending information to liis father, he started for Estminster, 
 very disconsolate, and full of self-reproach for the hasty pro- 
 ceedings which had borne such bitter fruits. The man and the 
 situation had been an injustice to each other ; a sensitive irritable 
 person was the very last to be fit for a position requiring unusual 
 judgment and temper, where his energy had preyed upon itself. 
 His being placed there had been the work of Louis's own im- 
 petuous scorn of the wisdom of elder and graver heads. Such 
 regrets derived additional poignancy from the impossibility of 
 conferring direct assistance upon James, and from the degree 
 of justice in the hard measure wliich had been dealt to him, 
 would make it for ever difiicult to recommend him ; and yet 
 the devising future schemes for his welfare was the refuge which 
 Louis's mind most willingly sought from the present perjolexity 
 of the communication in store for poor Isabel. 
 
 As he put out his head at tho Estminster station, a familiar 
 voice shouted, 'Hollo! Fitzjocelyn, how jolly! Have you got 
 James there 1 I told Isabel it would be no use ; but when she 
 did not get a letter this morning, she would have it that he was 
 coming, and got me to walk up with her.' 
 
 'Where is she?' asked Louis, as he jumped out and shook 
 hands with Walter. 
 
 ' Walking up and down the esplanade. She would not come 
 into the station, so I said I would run up to satisfy her. I don't 
 know what she will say to you for not being Frost.' 
 
380 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Do you mean that she is anxious *? ' 
 
 ' It is the correct tiling, isn't it, when wives get away from 
 their husbands, and have not the fragment of a letter for twenty- 
 four whole liours ? But what do you mean, Fitzjocelyn 1 ' asked 
 the boy, suddenly sobering. ' Is anything really the matter '? ' 
 
 'Yes, Walter,' said Louis ; ' we must tell your sisters as best 
 we can. James is ill, and I am come for her.' 
 
 Walter was silent for a few minutes, then drew a sigli, saying, 
 ' Poor Isabel, I wish it had not been ! These were the only com- 
 fortable holidays I have had since she cliose to marry.' 
 
 Isabel here came in sight, quickening her pace as she first 
 saw that her brother had a companion, but slackening in dis- 
 appointment when she perceived that it was not her husband ; 
 tlien the next moment hurrying on, and as she met them, 
 exclaiming, ' Tell me at once ! What is it "? ' 
 
 ' Nothing serious,' said Louis. ' The children are all well, but 
 I left James very uncomfortable, though with nothing worse 
 than a fit of jaundice.' 
 
 The inexperienced Isabel hardly knew whether this were not 
 as formidable as even the cherished brain-fever ; and becoming 
 very pale, she said, ' I am ready at once — Walter will let mamma 
 know.' 
 
 ' There will be no train for two hours,' said Louis. ' You will 
 have plenty of time to prepare.' 
 
 ' You should have telegraphed,' said Isabel ; ' I could have 
 come by the first train.' 
 
 Trembling, she grasped Walter's arm, and began hastening 
 home, impatient to be doing something. 'I knew something- 
 was wrong,' she exclaimed ; 'I ought to have gone home yester- 
 day, when there was no letter.' 
 
 'Indeed, there was nothing the matter yesterday, at least with 
 his health,' said Louis. 'You are alarming yourself far too 
 much — ' 
 
 ' To be sure, Isabel,' chimed in Walter. ^ A fellow at my tutor's 
 had it, and did nothing but wind silkworm's silk all the time. 
 We shall have James yet to spend Christmas with us. Every- 
 body laughs at the jaundice, though Fitzjocelyn does look so 
 lugubrious that he had almost frightened me J 
 
 ' Is this true ? ' said Isabel, looking from one to the other, as 
 if slie had been frightened in vain. 
 
 'Quite true, Isabel,' said Walter. 'Never mind Fitzjocelyn's 
 long face ; I wouldn't go if I were you ! Don't spoil the 
 holidays.' 
 
 ' I must go, Walter dear,' said Isabel, ' but I do not think 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn would play with my fears. Either he is 
 very ill, or something else is wrong.' 
 
 'You have guessed it, Isabel,' said Louis. 'This illness is 
 partly the effect of distress of mind.' 
 
 ' That horrid meeting of trustees ! ' cried Isabel. ' I am sure 
 they have been impertinent.' 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 381 
 
 'They objected to some of his doings; he answered by- 
 threatening to resign, and I am sorry to say that the oppo- 
 sition set prevailed to have his resignation accepted.' 
 
 'A very good thing too,' cried Sir Walter. *I always 
 thought that school a shabby concern. To be under a lot of 
 butchers and bakers, and nothing but cads among the boys ! 
 He ought to be heartily glad to be rid of the crew.' 
 
 Isabel's indignation was checked by a sort of melancholy 
 amusement at her brother's view ; but Louis doubted whether 
 she realized the weight of her own words as she answered — 
 * Unfortunately, Walter, it is nearly all we have to live upon.' 
 
 ' So much the better,' continued Walter. ' I'll tell you — you 
 shall all go to Thornton Conway, and I'll come and spend my 
 holidays there, instead of kicking my heels at these stupid 
 places. I shan't mind your babies a bit, and Frost may call 
 himself my tutor if he likes. I don't care if you take me away 
 from Eton.' 
 
 'A kind scheme, Walter,' said Isabel, 'but wanting in two 
 important points, mamma's consent and James's.' 
 
 ' Oh, I'll take care of mamma ! ' 
 
 ' I'm afraid I can't promise the same as to James.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I see. Delaford was quite right when he said Mr. 
 Frost was a gentleman who never knew what was for his own 
 advantage.' 
 
 As they arrived at the house, Isabel desired to know how soon 
 she must be ready, and went up-stairs. Walter detained his 
 cousin — 'I say, Fitzjocelyn, liave they really got nothing to 
 live on 1 ' 
 
 *No more than will keep them from absolute want.' 
 
 ' I shall take th'em home,' said Walter, with much satisfaction. 
 'I shall write to tell James that there is nothing else to be 
 done. I cannot do without Isabel, and I'll make my mother 
 consent.' 
 
 Fitzjocelyn was glad to be freed from the boy on any terms, 
 and to see him go off to write his letter. 
 
 Walter was at least sincere and warm-hearted in his selfish- 
 ness, and so more agreeable than his mother, whom Louis found 
 much distressed, under the secret conviction that something 
 might be expected of lier. ' Poor Isabel ! I wish she could come 
 to me ; but so many of them — and we without a settled home. 
 If there were no children — but London houses are so small ; 
 and, indeed, it would be no true kindness to let them live in our 
 style for a little while. They must run to expenses in dress ; 
 it would be much more economical at home, and I could send 
 Walter to them if he is very troublesome.' 
 
 * Thank you,' said Louis. ' I think James will be able to ride 
 out the storm independently.' 
 
 ' I know that would be his wish. And I think I heard that 
 Mr. Dynevor objected to the school. That might be one obstacle 
 removed.' 
 
^8^ DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Lady Conway comforted herself by flourishing on into pre- 
 dictions that all would now be right, and that poor dear Isabel 
 would soon be a much richer woman than herself ; while Louis 
 listened to the castle-building, not thinking it worth while to 
 make useless counter-prophecies. 
 
 The sisters were up-stairs, assisting Isabel, and they all came 
 down together. The girls were crying ; but Isabel's dark, soft 
 eyes, and noble head, had an air of calm, resolute eleA^ ation, which 
 drove all Louis's misgivings away, and which seemed quite 
 beyond and above the region of Lady Conway's caresses and 
 affectionate speeches. Walter and Virginia came up to the 
 station, and parted with their sister with fondness that was 
 much more refreshing, Walter reiterating that his was the only 
 plan. 
 
 'Now, Fitzjocelyn,' said Isabel, when they were shut into a 
 coupe ^ ' tell me what you said about distress of mind. It has 
 haunted me whether you used those words.' 
 
 ' Could you doubt his distress at such a state of affairs 1 ' 
 
 'I thought there could be no distress of mind \vhere the 
 suffering is for the truth.' 
 
 * Ah ! if he could quite feel it so ! ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? There has been a cabal against James 
 from the first to make him lay aside his principles, and I 
 cannot regret his refusal to submit to improper dictation, at 
 whatever cost to myself.' 
 
 ' I am afraid he better knows than you do what that cost is 
 likely to be.' 
 
 ' Does he think I cannot bear poverty V exclaimed Isabel. 
 
 ' He had not said so — ' began Louis ; ' but — ' 
 
 'You both think me a poor, helpless creature,' said Isabel, 
 her eyes kindling as they had done in the midst of danger. 
 ' I can do better than you think. I may be able myself to do 
 something towards our maintenance.' 
 
 He could not help answering, in the tone that gave courtesy 
 to almost any words, ' I am afraid it does not answer for the 
 wife to be the bread-winner.' 
 
 ' Then you doubt my writing being worth anything ? ' she 
 asked, in a hurt tone of humility. 'Tell me candidly, for 
 it would be the greatest kindness ; ' and her eye unconsciously 
 sought the bag where lay Sir Hubert, whom all this time 
 her imagination was exalting, as the hero who would free 
 them from their distresses. 
 
 'Worth much pleasure to me, to the world at large,' said 
 Louis ; ' but — you told me to speak plainly — to your liome, 
 would ani/ remuneration be worth your own personal careT 
 
 Isabel coloured, but did not speak. 
 
 Louis ventured another sentence — 'It is a delicate subject, 
 but you must know better than I how far James would 
 be likely to bear that another, even you, should work for his 
 livelihood.' 
 
THE TRUSTEES' MEETING 383 
 
 When Isabel spoke again, it was to ask further particulars ; 
 and when he had told all, she found solace in exclaiming at the 
 folly and injustice of James's enemies, until the sense of fair- 
 ness obliged him to say, ' I wish the right and the wrong ever 
 were fairly divided in this world ; and yet perhaps it is best 
 as it is : the grain of right on either side may save the sin 
 from being a presumptuous one.' 
 
 ' It would be hard to find the one grain of right on the part 
 of the Eamsbotham cabal.' 
 
 ^Perhaps you Avould not think so, if you were a boy's mother.' 
 
 ^ Oh ! ' cried Isabel, with tears in her eyes, ' if he thought 
 he had been too hasty, he always made such reparation that 
 only cowards could help being touched. I'm sure they deserved 
 it, and much more.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' said Louis ; ' but, alas ! if all had their deserts—' 
 
 ' Then you really think he was too severe ? ' 
 
 'I think his constitutional character was hardly fit for so 
 trying a post, and that his family and school troubles reacted 
 upon each other.' 
 
 'You mean Clara's conduct ; and dear grandmamma — oh ! if 
 she could but have stayed with us ! If you could have seen how 
 haggard and grieved he came home from Cheveleigh ! I do 
 not think he has been quite the same ever since.' 
 
 ' And No. 5 has never been the same,' said Louis. 
 
 ' Tell me,' said Isabel, suddenly, 'are we very poor indeed T 
 
 ' I fear so, Isabel. Till James can find some employment, I 
 fear there is a stern struggle with poverty before you.' 
 
 ' Does that mean living as the Faithfulls do ? ' 
 
 'Yes, I think yo.ur means will be nearly the same as theirs.' 
 
 'Fitzjocelyn,' said Isabel, after a long pause, 'I see what you 
 have been implying all this time, and I have been feeling it too. 
 I have been absorbed in my own pursuits, and not paid atten- 
 tion enough to details of management, and so I have helped 
 to fret and vex my husband. You all think my habits an 
 additional evil in this trial.' 
 
 ' James has never said a word of the kind,' cried Louis. 
 
 'I know he has not; but I ought to have opened my eyes 
 to it long ago, and I thank you for helping me. There — will„ 
 you take that manuscript, and keep it out of my way 1 It has 
 been a great tempter to me. It is finished now, and it might 
 bring in something. But I can have only one thought now — 
 how to make James happier and more at ease.' 
 
 ' Then, Isabel, I don't think your misfortunes will be misfor- 
 tunes. 
 
 ' To sufi'er for right principles sliould give strength for any- 
 thing,' said Isabel. 'Think what many better women than I 
 have had to endure, when they have had to be ashamed of 
 their husband, not proud of him ! Now, I do hope and trust 
 that God will help us, and carry us and the children through 
 with it ! ' 
 
384 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Louis felt that in this frame she was truly fit to cheer and 
 sustain James. How she might endure the actual struggle 
 with penury, he dared not imagine ; at jiresent he could only 
 be carried along by Jier lofty composure. 
 
 James still lay on his tossed, uncomfortable bed in tlie even- 
 ing twilight. The long, lonely hours, when he imagined Louis 
 to have taken him at his v/ord and gone home, Jiad given him 
 a miserable sense of desertion ; and as increasing sensations of 
 illness took from him the hopes of moving on that day, lie 
 became distracted at the thought of the anxiety liis silence 
 would cause Isabel, and, after vainly attempting to write, had 
 been lying with the door open, watching for some approaching 
 step. 
 
 There was the familiar sound of a soft, gliding step on the 
 stairs, tlien a pause, and the sweet soft voice, ' My poor James, 
 how sadly uncomfortable you are ! ' 
 
 'My dear !' he cried, hastily raising himself, 'who has been 
 frightening you 1 ' 
 
 ' No one ; Fitzjocelyn was so kind as to come for me.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I wislied you to have been spared this unpleasant 
 business.' 
 
 ' Do you think I could bear to stay away 1 Oh, James ! have 
 I been too useless and helpless for you even to be glad to 
 see me ? ' 
 
 'It was for your own sake,' he murmured, pressing her hand. 
 ' Has Fitzjocelyn told you ? ' 
 
 'Yes,' said Isabel, looking up, as she sat beside him. 'Never 
 mind, James. It is better to suffer wrong than to do it. I do 
 not fear but that, if we strive to do our duty, God will help us, 
 and make it turn out for the best for our children and ourselves.' 
 
 He grasped her hand in intense emotion. 
 
 ' I know you are anxious about me,' added Isabel. ' My ways 
 have been too self -indulgent for you to think I can bear hard- 
 ness. I made too many professions at first ; I will make no more 
 now, but only tell you that I trust to do my utmost, and not 
 shrink from my duties. And now, not a word more about it till 
 you are better.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 
 
 One furnace many times the good and bad will hold ; 
 Yet what consumes the chaff will only cleanse the gold. 
 
 R. C. Trench 
 
 During the succeeding days, James had little will or power 
 to consider his affairs ; and Isabel, while attending on him, had 
 time to think over her plans. Happily, they had not a debt. 
 Mrs. Frost had so entirely impressed her grandson's mind with 
 her own invariable rule of paying her way, that it had been one 
 
SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 385 
 
 of his grounds for pride that he had never owed anything to 
 any man. 
 
 They were thus free to choose their own course, but Lord 
 Ormersfield urged their remaining at North wold for the present. 
 He saw Mr. Calcott, who had been exceedingly concerned at the 
 turn affairs had taken, and very far from wishing to depose 
 James, though thinking that he needed an exhortation to take 
 heed to his ways. It had been an improper reprimand, im- 
 properly received ; but the Earl and the squire agreed that 
 nothing but morbid fancy could conjure up disgrace, such as 
 need prevent James Frost from remaining in his own house 
 until he could obtain employment, provided he and his wife 
 had the resolution to contract their style of living under the eye 
 of their neighbours. 
 
 This gave neither of them a moment's uneasiness. It was 
 not the direction of their pride ; and even before James's aching 
 liead was troubled with deliberation, Isabel had discussed her 
 plan with the Miss Faithfulls. She would imagine herself in 
 a colony, and be troubled with no more scruples about the 
 conventional tasks of a lady than if she were in the back-woods. 
 They would shut up some of the rooms, take one servant-of -all- 
 work, and Isabel woLild be nursery-maid herself. ' We may do 
 quite as well as the carpenter's wife,' she said ; ' she has more 
 children and less income, and yet always seems to me the richest 
 person whom I know.' 
 
 James groaned, and turned his face away. He could not forbid 
 it, for even Isabel's exertion must be permitted rather than the 
 dishonour of living beyond their means ; and he consoled him- 
 self with thinking that when the deadening inertness of his 
 illness should leave him, he should see some means of finding 
 employment for himself, which would save her from toil and 
 exertion ; and, in the meantime, with all his keen self-reproach, 
 it was a blessed thing to have been brought back to his enthu- 
 siastic admiration for her, all discontents and drawbacks utterly 
 forgotten in her assiduous affection and gallant cheerfulness. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield had readily ac'ceded to his son's wish to bring 
 the party to spend Christmas at Ormersfield, as soon as James 
 could be moved. During their visit the changes were to be 
 made, and before setting out Isabel had to speak to the servants. 
 Charlotte's alacrity and usefulness had made her doubly esteemed 
 during her master's illness ; and when he heard how she was to 
 1)0 disposed of, he seemed much vexed. He said that she was a 
 legacy from his grandmother, and too innocent and pretty to be 
 cast about among strange servants in all the places where the 
 Con ways visited ; and that he would not have consented to the 
 transfer, but that, under their present circumstances, it was im- 
 possible to keep her. If any evil came to her, it would be another 
 miserable effect of his own temper. 
 
 Isabel thought he exaggerated the dangers, and she spoke 
 brightly to Charlotte about fixing the day of her going to 
 
 c c 
 
S86 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Estminster, so as to be put into the ways of the place before her 
 predecessor departed. The tears at once came into Charlotte's 
 eyes, and she answered, * If you please, ma'am, I should be very 
 sorry to leave, unless I did not give satisfaction/ 
 
 ' That is far from being the reason, Charlotte ; but we cannot 
 keep so good a servant — Mr. Frost has given up — ' 
 
 ' I have been put out of the school,' said James, from his sofa, 
 in his stern sense of truth. 'We must live on as little as 
 possible, and therefore must part with you, Charlotte, though 
 from no fault of yours. You must look on us as your friends, 
 and in any difficulty apply to us ; for, as Mrs. Frost says, we 
 look on you as a charge from my grandmother.' 
 
 Charlotte escaped to hide her tears ; and when, a few minutes 
 after, the Ormersfield carriage arrived, and nurses and babies 
 were packed in, and her master walked feebly and languidly 
 down-stairs, and her mistress turned round to say, kindly, ' You 
 will let me know, Charlotte?' she just articulated, 'Thank you, 
 ma'am, I will write.' 
 
 Mr. Frost's words had not been news to Charlotte. His 
 affairs had been already pretty well understood and discussed ; 
 and the hard, rude, grasping comments of the vulgar cook — nay, 
 even of the genteel nurse — had been so many wounds to the little 
 maiden, bred up by Jane in the simplicity of feudal reverence 
 and affection for all that bore the name of Frost Dynevor. 
 
 Her mistress left to the tender mercies of some servant such 
 as these, some one who might only care for her own ease and 
 profit, and not once think of who and what she had been ! The 
 little children knocked about by some careless girl ! Never, 
 never ! All the doubts and scruples about putting her own weak 
 head and vain heart in the way of being made faithless to Tom 
 revived, reinforced by her strong and generous affection. A 
 romantic purpose suddenly occurred to her, flushing her cheek 
 and brightening her eye. In that one impulse, scrubbing, wash- 
 ing dishes, short lilac sleeves were either forgotten, or acquired 
 a positive glory ; and while the cook was issuing her invitations 
 for a jollification and gossip at the expense of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Frost, Charlotte sat in her attic, amid Jane's verbenas, which 
 she had cherished there ever since their expulsion from the 
 kitchen, and wrote and cried, and left off, to read over, and feel 
 satisfied at, the felicity of her phrases, and the sentiment of her 
 project. 
 
 'Dear and Honoured Madam, — Pardon the liberty I am 
 taking but I am sure that you and my reverend and redoubted 
 master would not willingly have inflicted so much pain as 
 yesterday on a poor young female which was brought up from 
 an orphan child by my dear late lamented mistress and owes 
 everything to her and would never realize the touching lines of 
 the sublime poet 
 
 Deserted in his utmost need 
 By those his former bounty fed. 
 
SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 387 
 
 As to higher wages and a situation offering superior advantages 
 such as might prove attractive to other minds it has none to 
 me. My turn is for fidelity in obscurity and dear and honoured 
 lady I am a poor unprotected girl which has read in many 
 volumes of the dangers of going forth into the snares of a 
 wealthy and powerful family and begs you not to deprive her 
 of the shelter of the peaceful roof which has been her haven 
 and has been the seen of the joys and sorrows of her career. 
 Dear lady pardon the liberty that I have taken but it would 
 brake my heart to leave you and master and the dear children 
 espesbilly in the present winter of adversity which I have 
 hands to help in to the best of my poor abilities. Dear and 
 honoured lady I have often been idle but I will be so no more 
 I love the dear little ladies with all my heart and I can cook 
 and act in any capacity and wages is no object I will not take 
 none nor beer neither — and the parlour tea-leaves will be suffi- 
 cient. Dear and honoured master and mistress forgive the 
 liberty a poor girl has taken and lend a favourable ear to my 
 request for if you persist in parting with me I know I shall not 
 survive it. 
 
 ' Your humble and faithful Servant, 
 
 'Charlotte Arnold.' 
 
 ^ Isabel received this letter while she was at breakfast with 
 Lord Ormersfield and Louis, and it was, of course, impossible 
 to keep it to herself. ' Talking of no wages ! ' said the Earl. 
 ' Send her off at once.' 
 
 'You will despise me,' said Isabel, with tears in her eyes; 
 'but there is something very touching in it, in spite of the 
 affectation. I believe she really means it. 
 
 ' Affectation is only matter of taste,' said Louis. ' Half the 
 simplicity of our day is only fashion ; and Charlotte's letter, 
 with a few stops, and signed Chloe, would have figured hand- 
 somely in Mrs. Eadclitfe's time.' 
 
 ' It does not depend on me,' said Isabel ; ' James could not 
 bear her going before, and I am sure he will not now.' 
 
 ' I think he ought not,' said Louis. ' Poor girl ! I do believe 
 the snares of wealthy families and fidelity in obscurity, really 
 mean with her the pomps and vanities versus duty and affection.' 
 
 ' I am sure I would not drive her back to them,' said Isabel ; 
 ' but I am only afraid the work will be too much for her strength.' 
 
 ' The willing heart goes all the way,' said Louis ; ' and maybe 
 it will be more wholesome than London, and sitting up.' 
 
 Isabel coloured and sighed ; but added, that it would be 
 infinite relief on the children's account to keep some one so 
 gentle-handed, and so entirely to be trusted. 
 
 James's decision was immediate. He called the letter a farrago, 
 but his laugh was mixed with tears at the faithful affection it 
 displayed. ' It was mere folly,' he said, ' to think of keeping 
 her without wages ; but, if she would accept such as could be 
 
 c c 2 
 
388 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 afforded after taking a rough village girl for her food to do the 
 hard work, the experiment should be made, in the hope that 
 the present straits would only endure for a short time/ 
 
 This little event seemed to have done him much good, and 
 put him more at peace with the world. He was grateful for 
 Lord Ormersfield's kindness and forbearance, and tlie enforced 
 rest from work was refreshing him ; Avhile Isabel had never 
 been so cheerful and lively in her life as now, when braced 
 manfully for her work, full of energy, and feeling that she must 
 show herself happy and courageous to support his depressed 
 spirits. She was making a beginning — she was practising her- 
 self in her nursery duties, and, to her surprise, finding them 
 quite charming ; and little Kitty so delighted with all slie did 
 for her, that all the hitherto unsounded deptlis of the motherly 
 heart were stirred up, and she could not tliink why she had 
 never found out her true happiness. She looked so bright and 
 so beautiful, that even Lord Ormersfield remarked it, pitying 
 her for trials which he thought she little realized ; but Louis 
 augured better, believing that it was not ignorance but resolu- 
 tion which gave animation and brilliancy to her dark eye, and 
 cheerfulness to her smile. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn took her to Dynevor Terrace in tlie afternoon 
 to settle the matter with Charlotte ; and, on the way, lie took 
 the opportunity of telling her that he had been reading Sir 
 Hubert, and admired him very much, discussing him and 
 Adeline with the same vivid interest as her own sisters showed 
 in them as persons, not mere personages. Isabel said they 
 already seemed to her to belong to a world much farther back 
 than the last fortnight. 
 
 ' There is some puzzle in the middle,' said Louis. ' I can't make 
 out the hero whose addresses were so inconvenient to Adeline, 
 and who ran away from the pirates. He began as a crabbed 
 old troubadour, who made bad verses ; and then he went on as 
 a fantastic young Viscount, skipping and talking nonsense.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Isabel, much discomposed. ' Did I leave that 
 piece there ? I took it to Estminster by mistake, and they told 
 me of it. I should have taken it out.' 
 
 ' That would have been a pity,' said Louis, ' for the Viscount 
 is a much more living man than the old troubadour. When 
 he had so many plans of poems for the golden violet that he 
 made none at all, I was quite taken with him. I began to 
 think I was going to have a lesson.' 
 
 Isabel blushed and tried to laugh, but it was so unsuccessful 
 that Louis exclaimed in high glee — ' There ! I do believe I was 
 the fantastic Viscount ! Oh ! Isabel, it was too bad ! I can 
 fairly acquit myself of skipping ever since I had the honour of 
 your acquaintance.' 
 
 ' Or of running away from the pirates,' said Isabel. *No, it 
 was a great deal too bad, and very wrong indeed. It was when 
 you did not run away that I was so much ashamed, that I 
 
SAVEET USES OF ADVERSITY 389 
 
 thought I had torn out every atom. I never told any one — 
 not even Virginia ! ' 
 
 Louis had a very liearty laugh, and, wlien Isabel saw him so 
 excessively amused, she ventured to laugh too at her ancient 
 prejudice, and the strange chance which had made the fantastic 
 Viscount, Sir Eoland's critic. 
 
 'You must restore him,' said Louis, returning to business. 
 'That old troubadour is the one inconsistency in the story, 
 evidently not fitting into the original plot. I shall be delighted 
 to sit for the portrait.' 
 
 ' I don't think you could now,' said Isabel. ' I think the motley 
 must have been in the spectacles with which I looked at you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! it is a true poem,' said Louis ; ' it must have been a 
 great relief to your feelings ! Shall I give it back to you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I can't touch it now ! ' cried Isabel. ' You may give 
 it to me ; and if ever I have time to think again of it, I may 
 touch it up, but certainly not now.' 
 
 'And when you do, pray don't omit the Viscount. I can't 
 lose my chance of going down to posterity.' 
 
 He went his way, while Isabel repaired to the Terrace, and 
 found Charlotte awaiting her answer in much trepidation. 
 
 The low wages, instead of none at all, were a great dis- 
 appointment, doing away with all the honour and sentiment, 
 and merely degrading her in the eyes of her companions ; but 
 her attachment conquered this objection, and face to face with 
 her mistress, the affectation departed, and left remaining such 
 honest and sincere faitlifulness and affection, that Isabel felt 
 as if a valuable and noble-hearted friend had suddenly been 
 • made known to her. It was a silly little fanciful heart, but it 
 was sound to the core ; and when Isabel said, ' There will be 
 very hard work, Charlotte, but we will try to do our best for 
 Mr. Frost and the children, and we will help each other,' 
 Charlotte felt as if no task could be too hard if it were to be 
 met with such a look and smile. 
 
 ' Is it settled ?' asked Lord Fitzjocelyn, as Charlotte opened 
 the door for him. 
 
 ' Oh, yes, thank you, my lord — ' 
 
 ' But, Charlotte, one thing is decided. Mrs. Frost can afford 
 no more eau-de-Cologne. The first hysterics, and you go ! ' 
 
 He passed up-stairs, and found Isabel beginning to dismantle 
 the drawing-room — ' Which you arranged for us ! ' she said. 
 
 A long, deep sigh was tlie answer, and Louis mused for some 
 moments ere he said — ' It is hard work to say good-bye to trifles 
 with which departed hai3piness seems connected.' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' cried Isabel, eagerly. ' With such a home, the 
 happiness cannot be departed.' 
 
 ' No, not with such a home ! ' said Louis, with a melancholy 
 smile ; ' but I was selfish enough to be thinking who hung that 
 picture — ' 
 
 ' I don't think you were the selfish person,' said Isabel. 
 
390 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^Patience and work!' said Louis, rousing himself. 'Some 
 sort of good time must come/ — and he quickly put his hand to 
 assist in putting the Dresden shepherd and sheplierdess into 
 retirement, observing that they seemed the genii of the place, 
 and he set his mind on their restoration. 
 
 ' I do not think,' said Isabel, as she afterwards iiarrated this 
 scene to lier Jiusband, ' that I ever idealized liis being so much 
 attached to Mary Ponsonby ; I tliouglit it was a con^^enient 
 suitable thing in which he followed his fatlier's vvisiies ; and I 
 imagined he had quite recovered it.' 
 
 ' He did not look interesting enough 1 Yes ! lie was slow in 
 knowing his own mind ; but his heart once given there is no 
 recalling it, whatever his father may wish.' 
 
 * Or my mother,' said Isabel, smiling. 
 
 ' Ah ! I have never asked you what your party say of him in 
 the London world.' 
 
 ' They say he quite provokes them by being such a diligent 
 member ; and that people debate as to whether he will distin- 
 guish himself. Some say he does not care enough ; and others, 
 that he has too many crotchets.' 
 
 ' Just so ! Public men are not made of that soft, scrupulous 
 stuff, which only hardens and toughens when principle is clear 
 before him. Well, as to society — ' 
 
 ' Virginia says he is hardly ever to be had ; he is either at 
 the House, or he has something to do for his father ; he slips 
 out of parties, and they never catch him unless they are in 
 great want of a gentleman to take them somewhere, and then 
 no one is so useful. Mamma has been setting innumerable 
 little traps for him, but he marches straight through them all, 
 and only a little tone of irony betrays that he sees through 
 them. Every one likes him, and the only complaint is, that 
 he is so seldom to be seen, keeping almost entirely to his father's 
 set, always with his father — ' 
 
 ' Ay ! I can bear to watch his submission better than formerly. 
 His attentions are in such perfect good taste that they are quite 
 beautiful ; and his lordship has quite ceased snubbing, and 
 begins to have a glinmaering that when Louis says something 
 never dreamt of in his philosophy, the defect may be in his 
 understanding, and not in Fitzjocelyn's.' 
 
 ' I could excuse him for not always understanding Fitz- 
 jocelyn ! But there never were two kinder jDeople in the world ; 
 and I could not have imagined that I should ever like Lord 
 Ormersiield half so much.' 
 
 ' He is improved. Louis's exclusive devotion has not been 
 lost on him. Holdsworth has been sitting with me, and talking 
 of the great change in the parish. He told me that at his first 
 arrival here, seven years ago, when he was A'ery young, he found 
 himself quite disheartened and disgusted by the respectability 
 of the place. Every one was cold, distant, correct, and self- 
 esteeming ; so perfectly contented with themselves and the 
 
SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 391 
 
 routine, that he felt all his ardour thrown away, and it seemed 
 to him that he was pastor to a steam-engine — a mere item in 
 the proprieties of Ormersfield. He was almost ready to exchange, 
 out of weariness and impatience, when Fitzjocelyn came home, 
 and awoke fresh life and interest by his absurdities, his wonder- 
 ful philanthropies, and extraordinary schemes. His sympathy 
 and earnestness were the first refreshment and encouragement ; 
 and Holdsworth declares that no one can guess the benefit that 
 he was to him even when he was most ridiculous. Since that, 
 he says, the change has been striking, though so gradual. Louis 
 has all the same freshness and energy, but without the fluctua- 
 tion and impetuosity. And his example of humility and sincerity 
 has worked, not only in reclaiming the wild outlying people, 
 but even awakening the comfortable dependents from their 
 self-satisfaction. Even Frampton is far from the impenetrable 
 person he used to be.' 
 
 'And I suppose they have done infinite good to the wild 
 Marksedge people ? ' 
 
 'Some are better, some are worse. I believe that people 
 always are worse when they reject good. I am glad to find, 
 too, that the improvements answer in a pecuniary point of 
 view. His lordship is amazed at his son's sagacity, and they 
 have never been so much at ease in money matters.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! Well, I must own that I have always been struck 
 with the very small scale on which things are done here. Just 
 the mere margin of what is required by their station, barely an 
 indulgence ! ' 
 
 'I fancy you must look into subscriptions for Fitzjocelyn's 
 means,' said James ; ' and for the rest, they have no heart for 
 new furniture till he marries.' 
 
 ' Well ! I wonder if Mary is worth so much heart ! It might 
 be the best thing for him if she would find some worthy mer- 
 chant. He is very young still, and looks younger. I should 
 like him to begin the world again.' 
 
 ' Ha ! Isabel, you want to cook up a romance of your own 
 for him.' 
 
 James was recovering cheerfulness. He thought he was 
 bracing himself to bear bravely with an unmerited wrong. The 
 injustice of his sentence hid from him the degree of justice ; 
 and with regard to his own temper, he knew better what he 
 restrained than what he expressed, and habitually gave himself 
 credit for what he did not say or do. There was much that was 
 really good in his present spirit, and it was on the way to be 
 better ; but his was not the character to be materially altered 
 by the first brunt of a sudden shock. It was a step that he had 
 brought himself to forgive the trustees. He did not yet see 
 that he had any need to be forgiven. 
 
 At the end of three weeks James and Isabel returned to their 
 home, and to their new way of life ; and Fitzjocelyn had only 
 time to see that they were beginning their struggle with good 
 
392 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 courage, before the meeting of Parliament summoned him to 
 London. 
 
 Isabel fully justified Miss Faithfull's prediction. She was too 
 truly high-minded to think any task beneath her ; and witli 
 her heart in, not out of her immediate work, she could not fail 
 to be a happier woman. Success gave as much pleasure in 
 a household duty as in an accomplishment — nay far more when 
 it was a victory over herself, and an increase to the comfort of 
 her husband. Her strength was much tried, and the children 
 often fatigued and harassed her ; but there was unspeakable 
 compensation in their fondness and dependence on her, and 
 even in the actual services themselves. Tlie only wonder began 
 to be how she could have ever trusted them in any hands but 
 her own. Her husband's affection and consideration were 
 sources of joy ever renewed ; and though natural irritability and 
 pressing anxieties might now and then betray him into a hasty 
 word, his penitence so far surpassed the momentary pain it 
 might have cost her, that she was obliged to do her utmost to 
 comfort him. She sometimes found herself awkward or ignor- 
 ant, and sometimes flagged from over-exertion ; yet througTiout, 
 James's approval, and her own sense that she was striAdng to 
 do her best, kept her mind at rest. Abo^e all, the secret of her 
 happiness was, that the shock of adversity had awakened her 
 from her previous deadness and sluggishness of soul, and made 
 her alive to a feeling of trust and support, a frame of mind ever 
 repenting, ever striving onwards. Thus she went bravely 
 through the very class of trials that she would once have thought 
 merely lowering, inglorious, and devoid of poetry. What would 
 have been in itself sordid, gained a sweetness from the light of 
 love and duty, and never in all her dreamy ease had she been 
 as cheerful and liglit-hearted as in the midst of hardship and 
 rigid economy. Her equable temper and calm composure came 
 to her aid ; and where a more nervous and excitable woman 
 would have preyed upon herself, and sunk under imaginary 
 troubles, she was always ready to soothe and sustain the anxious 
 and sensitive nature of her husband. After all, hers was the 
 lightest share of the trial. To her, the call was to act, and to 
 undergo misfortunes occasioned by no fault of hers ; to him, the 
 call was the one most galling to an active and eager man — 
 namely, to endure, and worse, to see endured, the penalty of his 
 own errors. In vain did he seek for employment. A curacy, 
 without a fair emolument, would have been greater poverty than 
 their present condition, as long as the house was unlet ; and 
 though he answered advertisements and made applications, the 
 only eligible situations failed ; and he knew, among so many 
 candidates, the last to be chosen would be a person of violent 
 temper, unable to bear rebuke. Disappointment came upon 
 disappointment, and the literary work with which, through 
 Louis's exertions, he had been supplied, was not likely to bring 
 in any sDeedjr return. 
 
SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 393 
 
 All that lie could do was to take more than his part in 
 domestic trifles, such as most men would have scorned, and 
 to relieve his wife as far as possible of the children, often at the 
 cost of his writing. He bore the brunt of many a trial of which 
 she was scarcely aware — slights from the harsh vulgar, and com- 
 passion from the kind vulgar ; and the proud self-assertion was 
 gone which had hardened liim to all such stings. To his lot 
 fell tlie misery of weigliing and balancing what comforts could 
 best be cut ofl* without positive injury to his wife and little ones. 
 To consider whether an empty house should be repaired for a 
 doubtful tenant, to make the venture, and have it rejected, was 
 a severe vexation, when the expense trenched on absolute neces- 
 saries ; and hardly less trying was it to be forced to accept the 
 rent of the House Beautiful, knowing how ill it could be spared ; 
 and yet, that without it he must lapse into the hopeless abyss of 
 debt. Moreover, there was 
 
 The terrible heart thrill 
 To have no power of giving 
 
 to some of the poor who had learnt to look to the Terrace in his 
 grandmother's time ; and meals were curtailed, that those in 
 greater need might not be left quite unaided. 
 
 Nor was this the only cause for which James underwent actual 
 stern privation. The reign of bad cookery was over. Charlotte, 
 if unmethodical, was delicately neat ; and though she kept them 
 waiting for their dinner, always served it up with the precision 
 of past prosperity. Cheap cookery and cottage economy were 
 the study, and the results were pronounced admirable ; but the 
 master was the dispenser ; and when a modicum of meat was to 
 make nourishing a mountain of rice, or an ocean of broth, it 
 would occur to 'him, as he helped Isabel, that the piece de 
 resistance would hardly hold out for the kitchen devourers. He 
 would take the recipe at its word, and dine on the surrounding 
 structure ; and in spite of the cottage economy, he was nearly 
 as hungry after dinner as before it, and people began to say that 
 he had never recovered his looks since his illness. These daily 
 petty acts of self-denial and self-restraint had begun to tame his 
 spirit and open his eyes in a manner that neither precept nor 
 example had yet effected. 
 
 Charlotte had imbibed to the full the spirit of patient exertion 
 which pervaded the house. Mrs. Martha had told her she was 
 a foolish girl, and would be tired of the place in a fortnight ; but 
 when she did not see her tired, she would often rush in after her 
 two mistresses were shut up for the evening, scold Charlotte for 
 her want of method, and finish all that was left undone, while 
 Charlotte went up to the nursery to release her mistress. As to 
 novels and sentiment, they had gone after Sir Hubert ; and 
 though Charlotte was what Martha expressively called 'fairly 
 run off her feet,' she had never looked better nor happier. Her 
 mistress treated her like a friend ; she doted on the children, 
 
394 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 and the cook was out of the kitchen ; Dektford was oiFher mind, 
 and neither stairs nor even knife-cleaning could hurt her feel- 
 ings. To be sure, her subordinate, a raw girl from Marksedge, 
 devoured all that was set before her, and what was not eatable 
 she broke ; but as she had been sent from home with no injunc- 
 tions but to 'look sharp and get stout,' so slie was only ful- 
 filling lier vocation ; and on some question of beer, her mother 
 came and raved at Cliarlotte, and v/ould lia^^e raved at Mrs. 
 Frost, if her dignified presence had not overawed lier. Bo she 
 only took the girl a\yay in offence, and Charlotte was much 
 happier with an occasional charwoman to share her labours. 
 
 There was much happiness in No. 5, notwithstanding that the 
 spring and summer of 1851 were very hard times ; and perhaps 
 felt the more, because the sunny presence of Louis Fitzjocelyn 
 did not shine there as usual. 
 
 He was detained in London all the Easter recess by his 
 father's illness. Lord Ormersfield was bound hand and foot by 
 a severe attack of rheumatism, caught almost immediately after 
 his going to London. It seemed to have taken a strong hold of 
 his constitution, and lingered on for Aveeks, so that he could 
 barely move from his arm-chair by the fire, and began to give 
 himself up as henceforth to be a crippled old man — a view out 
 of which Louis and Sir Miles Oakstead tried by turns to laugh 
 him ; indeed, Sir Miles accused him of wanting to continue his 
 monopoly of his son — and of that doubly-devoted attention by 
 which Louis enlivened his convalescence. 
 
 Society had very little chance with Fitzjocelyn now, unless 
 he was fairly hunted out by the Earl, who was always haunted 
 by ungrounded alarms for his health and spirits, and never 
 allowed him to fail in the morning rides, which were in fact his 
 great refreshment, as much from the quiet and the change of 
 scene, as from the mere air and exercise. 
 
 ' Father,' said he, coming in one day a little after Easter, ^ you 
 are a very wise man ! ' 
 
 ' Eh ! ' said the Earl, looking up in wonder and expectation 
 excited by this prelude, hoping for the fulfilment of some 
 political prediction. 
 
 ' He is a wise man,' proceeded Louis, ' who does not put faith 
 in treasures, especially butlers ; also, who does not bring a 
 school-boy to London with nothing to do ! ' 
 
 ' What now ? ' said the Earl. ' Is young Conway in a scrape ? ' 
 
 * I am,' said Fitzjocelyn ; ' I have made a discovery, and I don't 
 exactly see what to do with it. You see I have been taking the 
 boy out riding with me, as the only thing I could well do for 
 him these holidays. You must know he is very good and patron- 
 izing ; I believe he thinks he could put me up to a few things 
 in time. Well, to-day, as we passed a questionable-looking 
 individual, Walter bowed, as if highly elated by the honour of 
 his acquaintance, and explained to me that he was the celebrated 
 — I forget who, but t^hat's owing to my defective education, 
 
SWEET USES OF ADVERSITY 395 
 
 The fact is, that this Delaford, to whom my aunt implicitly 
 trusts, has been introducing this unlucky boy to a practical 
 course of BeWs Z^^— things that I went through Eton, and 
 never even heard of/ And he detailed some of them. 
 
 'No more than she might have expected,' said Lord Ormers- 
 lield. 
 
 ' And what is to be done ? ' 
 
 ' I should say, never interfere between people and their ser- 
 vants, still less between them and their sons. You will do no 
 good.' 
 
 ' I cannot see this go on ! ' cried Louis. ' The boy told me all, 
 by way of showing me his superiority. I believe he wants to 
 introduce me to some of his distinguished friends. They flatter 
 him, and make him a great man ; and as to any scruples about 
 his mother, Delaford has disposed of her objections as delicate 
 weaknesses. When I began to look grave, the poor boy set it 
 down to my neglected training, always spending my holidays 
 in the country, and not knowing what fast men are up to.' 
 
 'And so he goes to destruction — just the sort of boy that 
 does,' said the Earl, with due acquiescence in the course of the 
 world. 
 
 ' He need not,' exclaimed Louis. ' He is a nice boy, a very 
 nice boy, if only he cared for his mother, or knew right from 
 wrong.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield smiled at these slight exceptions. 
 
 ' He is heartily fond of Isabel,' said Louis. ' If I thought Jem 
 could do any good, I would send for him ; but he has made my 
 aunt so much afraid of unworldliness just now, that I only 
 wonder she lets Miss King stay on.' 
 
 'You had better leave it alone,' said the Earl, ' unless you can 
 do anything with the boy. I am glad that I am not his guardian ! ' 
 
 ' I wish I was,' 'sighed Louis. 
 
 ' I suppose you will grow older some day,' said Lord Ormers- 
 field. ' However, I see you will not be contented without going 
 your own way to work.' 
 
 When the Earl saw his son the next day, Louis looked radiant 
 at having taken one step. He had seen his aunt, and she had 
 endured the revelation with more equanimity than lie could 
 have supposed possible. ' It was a house where they took things 
 easily,' as he said ; a house where nothing was more feared than 
 a scene ; and Lady Conway had thanked her nephew greatly 
 for his communication ; promised what he did not ask, that he 
 should not be betrayed to Walter ; assured him that the butler 
 should be dismissed, without giving any reason, before the 
 summer holidays ; and for the few remaining days before Walter 
 returned to Eton, she thought she might reckon on her dear 
 Fitzjocelyn for keeping his eye upon him : no doubt all would 
 be right when Delaford was once gone. 
 
 It was the old want of a high standard — the love of ease rather 
 than the love of right. . The Earl laughed at her short-sighted 
 
396 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 policy, and resented her saddling Louis with the care of her son ; 
 while Louis philosophized upon good-nature, and its use and 
 abuse. 
 
 Whether Mr. Delaford learnt that Sir Walter had betrayed 
 him to Lord Fitzjocelyn, or whether he took alarm from the 
 young gentleman being kept under surveillance, he scented 
 danger ; and took the initiative, by announcing to my lady that 
 he intended to retire from his situation into private life at the 
 month's end. 
 
 Lady Conway rejoiced in being spared the fabrication by 
 which she had intended to dismiss her paragon without liurting 
 his feelings, thanked Fitzjocelyn more than ever, and was sure 
 tliat dear Walter would do very well. 
 
 But no sooner had Delaford departed than a series of dis- 
 coveries began to be made. Lady Conway's bills readied back 
 to dates far beyond those of the cheques whicli she had put into 
 Delaford's hands to pay them ; and a tissue of peculation began 
 to reveal itself, so alarming and bewildering to her, that she 
 implored her nephew to investigate it for her. 
 
 Louis, rather against the will of his father, who was jealous 
 of any additional tasks thrown on him, entered into the matter 
 with the head of an accountant, and the zeal of a pursuer of 
 justice ; and stirred up a frightful mass of petty and unblushing- 
 fraud, long practised as a mere matter of course upon tlie mis- 
 tress, who had set the example of easy-going, insincere self-seek- 
 ing. It involved the vvhole household so completely, that there 
 was no alternative but a clearance of every servant, whether 
 innocent or guilty, and a fresh beginning. Indeed, so great had 
 been the debts which had accumulated, that there was no doubt 
 that the treacherous butler must have been gambling to a great 
 extent with his mistress's money ; and the loss was so heavy 
 that Lady Conway found she should be obliged to retrench, 
 'just when she should have been so glad to have helped poor 
 Isabel ! ' She must even give up a season in London, but dear 
 Virginia was far too good and sensible to repine. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield, who had become much interested in the 
 investigation, and assisted much by his advice, wanted her to 
 go to Thornton Conway ; and Louis urged the step warmly as 
 the best hope for Walter. But she could not live there, she said, 
 without far too heavy an expenditure ; and she would make 
 visits for the present, and find some cheai^ place abroad, where 
 the girls could have masters. 
 
 And so her establishment was broken up, and Louis wrote 
 warm congratulations to James that poor little Charlotte had 
 not been tempted into the robber's den. Isabel could not help 
 reading the whole history to Charlotte, who turned white 
 at the notion of such wickedness, and could hardly utter a 
 word ; though afterwards, as she sat rocking little Mercy to 
 sleep, she bestowed a great deal of good advice on her, 'never 
 to mind what nobody said to her, above all, when they talked 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 397 
 
 like a book, for there were a great many snakes and vipers in 
 the grass, and 'twas best to know good friends when one had 
 them.' And coupled with her moralizing, there was no small 
 degree of humble thankfulness for the impulse that had directed 
 her away from the evil. How could she ever have met Tom 
 again if she had shared in the stigma on the dishonest house- 
 hold ? Simple-hearted loyalty had been a guard against more 
 perils than she had even imagined ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXYIII 
 
 THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 
 
 This Valley is that from whence also the King will give to His their Vineyards ; and 
 they that go through it shall sing, as Christian did, for all he met with Apollyon. 
 
 Pilgrim's Progress 
 
 The close of the session still found Lord Ormersfield so stiff, 
 bent, and suffering, that Louis with some difficulty persuaded 
 him into trying the experiment of foreign baths, and in a few 
 weeks' time they were both established at the Hotel du Grand 
 Monarque at Aix-la-Chapelle. 
 
 The removing his son to a dull watering-place, when he had 
 so many avocations at home, had been a great vexation to the 
 Earl ; but he was delighted at the versatile spirits which made 
 a holiday and delight of the whole, and found an endless fund 
 of interest and occupation even in his attendance on the weari- 
 some routine of health-seeking. German books, natural his- 
 tory, the associations of the place, and the ever-fresh study of 
 the inhabitants and the visitors, were food enough for his lively 
 conversation ] and the Earl, inspirited by improving health, 
 thought he had never enjoyed liis son so much. 
 
 They were already old inhabitants of their hotel, when one 
 afternoon they were much amused by finding a consequential 
 courier gesticulating vehemently to the whole establishment on 
 the apartments he was to secure for a superb Milord Anglais, 
 who seemed to require half the hotel. Their sitting-room, 
 overlooking the court, was especially coveted ; and the landlord 
 even followed them up-stairs with many excuses to ask if they 
 could exchange it for another for only two days. Lord Or- 
 mersfield's negative had all the exceeding politeness of offended 
 dignity ; and Louis was much amused at the surmises, with 
 which he consoled himself, that this was nothing but some 
 trumpery speculator, most likely a successful quack doctor — no 
 one else went about in such a style. 
 
 In a grave, grand v/ay, he was not a little curious, and took 
 care to place himself where he could command a view of the 
 court ; while Louis, making no secret of his own amusement, 
 worked up an excitement to entertain his father, and stood 
 watching at the window. 
 
398 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Crack ! crack ! tliere are the postilions's whips ! Now for 
 the Grand Monarque hmiself — thundering under the archway ! 
 Why, there are only two of them, after all ! — a lady and a 
 little yellow old man ! Father, you are right after all — he is 
 the very pattern of a successful quack ! How tall the lady is ! 
 Halloo ! ' and he stood transfixed for a moment, then sprang to 
 the door, replying to his father's astonislied question — ' Clara ! 
 Clara Dynevor ! ' 
 
 The party were in course of proceeding up the principal 
 staircase — the tall figure of a young lady in mourning moving 
 on with so stately, so quiet, and almost weary a manner, that 
 Louis for a moment drew back, doubting whether the remark- 
 able height had not deceived him. Her head was turned away, 
 and she was following the host, scarcely exerting herself to 
 gaze round, when she came close to the open door, where Louis 
 moved slightly forwards. There was a little ecstatic shriek, and 
 both her hands were clasped in his, while her face was glowing 
 with animation and delight. 
 
 ' I don't know how to believe it ! ' she said ; ' can you be here ? ' 
 
 ' We are curing my father. Had you not heard of his illness 1 ' 
 
 ' I hear nothing,' said Clara, sadly, as she held out her hand 
 to Lord Ormersfield, who had also come to meet her ; and her 
 uncle, who followed close behind, was full of cordial rejoicings 
 on the encounter. 
 
 There was Jane Becket also, whom Louis next intercepted 
 on her way to the bedrooms, laden with bags, and smiling most 
 joyously to see him. ' To be sure, my young lord ! And your 
 papa here too, my lord ? Well ! who'll be coming abroad next, 
 I wonder ? ' 
 
 ' I wonder at nothing since I have met you here, Jane.' 
 
 ' And I am right glad of it, my lord. You'll cheer up poor 
 Miss Clara a bit, I hope — for — ■ Bless me ! won't those French- 
 men never learn to carry that box right side up ? ' 
 
 And off rushed Jane to a never-ending war of many tongues 
 in defence of Clara's finery ; while Louis, following into the 
 sitting-room, found Mr. Dynevor inviting his father to the 
 private dinner which he liad ordered for greater dignity. 
 
 The proposal was accepted for the sake of spending the 
 evening together, but little was thus gained ; for, excepting for 
 that one little scream, Louis would hardly liave felt himself in 
 the company of his Giraffe. She had become a very fine-look- 
 ing person, not quite handsome, but not many degrees from it, 
 and set off* by profuse hair, and every advantage of figure and 
 dress ; while her manner was self-possessed and formal, indiffer- 
 ent towards ordinary people, but Avarm and coaxing towards 
 her uncle. Blunt — almost morose to others — he was fondling 
 and affectionate towards her ; continually looking at the others 
 as if to claim admiration of her, appealing to her every moment, 
 and even when talking himself, his keen eye still seeming to 
 watch every word or gesture. 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 399 
 
 The talk was all Switzerland and Italy — routes and pictures, 
 mountains and cathedrals — all by rote, and with no spirit nor 
 heart in the discussion — not a single word coming near home, 
 nothing to show that Dynevor Terrace had any existence. 
 Louis bade Clara good night, mortified at the absence of all 
 token of feeling for her brother, and more than half repenting 
 his advice to remain with her uncle. How could the warm- 
 hearted girl have become this cold, haughty being, speaking by 
 mechanism ? He scarcely felt inclined to see her again ; but 
 early the n^xt morning, as he was at breakfast with his father, 
 there was a knock at the door, and a voice said, ' May I come 
 in ? ' and as Louis opened, there stood the true Clara, all blushes 
 and abruptness. ' I beg your pardon if it is wrong,' she said, 
 ! but I could not help it. I must hear of him — of James.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield welcomed her in an almost fatherly manner, 
 and made her sit down, telling her that she had come at a good 
 moment, since Louis had just received a letter ; but he feared 
 that it was not a very good account of Isabel. 
 
 * Isabel ! Is anything the matter ? ' 
 
 ' You are behindhand. Had you not heard of the arrival of 
 number four ? ' 
 
 ' I never hear anything,' said Clara, her eyes overflowing. 
 
 * Ha ! not since we last met ? ' asked the Earl. 
 
 ' They wrote once or twice ; but you know they thought me 
 wrong, and it has all died away since I went abroad. The last 
 letter I had was dated in November.' 
 
 ' You know nothing since that time ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I often thought of writing to Miss Faithf ull, but I could 
 not bear to show how it was, since they would not answer me. 
 So I made bold to come to you, for I cannot ask before my uncle. 
 He is quite passionate at the very name.' 
 
 ' He is kind to you 1 ' asked Lord Ormersfield, hastily. 
 
 * Most kind, except for that, the only thing I care about. 
 But you have a letter ! Oh ! I am famishing to hear of 
 them ! ' 
 
 She did not even know of the loss of the school ; and her 
 distress was extreme as she heard of their straits. ' It must be 
 killing Isabel,' she said ; ' if I could but be at home to work for 
 her ! ' 
 
 * Isabel has come out beyond all praise,' said Louis. ' I am 
 afraid there is much for them to undergo ; l3ut I do believe they 
 are much happier in the midst of it.' 
 
 ' Everybody must be happy in Dynevor Terrace,' said Clara. 
 
 Louis shook his head and smiled, adding, * But, Clara, I do 
 believe, if it were to come over again, Jem would hardly act in 
 the same way.' 
 
 * Do you think he has forgiven me 1 ' 
 
 * Judge for yourself.' 
 
 Her hand trembling, she caught at the well-known hand- 
 writing that to her seemed as if it could hardly be the property 
 
400 BYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 of any one else ; and it was well for her that Louis had partly 
 l^repared her for the tone of depression, and the heavy trials it 
 revealed, wlien she had been figuring to herself the writer enjoy- 
 ing all the felicity from which she was banished. 
 
 ' No. 5, Dynevor Terrace, Sept, 14t]i, 1851. 
 
 ' Dear Fitzjocelyn, — I ought to have written yesterday ; 
 but I took the whole duty at Ormersfield on Sunday, and was 
 too lazy tlie next day to do more than keep the children out of 
 the way, and look after Isabel ; for, though I am told not to be 
 uneasy, she does not regain strength as she has done before. 
 Over-exertion, or bad nursing, one or both, tell upon her ; and 
 I wish we may not have too dear a bargain in the nurse whom 
 she chose for cheapness' sake. My lectures were to have paid 
 the expenses, but the author's need is not always the first con- 
 sideration ; the money will not be forthcoming till Christmas, 
 and meantime we cannot launch out. However, Ormersfield 
 partridges are excellent fare for Isabel, and I could return 
 thanks for the abundant supply that would almost seem dispro- 
 portionate ; but you can guess the value as substantial com- 
 forts. A box of uneatable grouse from Beauchastel, carriage 
 twelve shillings, was a cruel subject of gratitude ; but those 
 good people mean more kindly than I deserve ; and when 
 Isabel is well again, we shall rub on. This little one promises 
 more resemblance to her than the others. We propose to call 
 her Frances, after my poor mother and sister. Do you remem- 
 ber the thrill of meeting their names in Cheveleigh church 1 
 That memorial was well done of my uncle. If these children 
 were to be left as we were, you would, I know, be their best 
 friend ; but I have a certain desire to see your own assurance 
 to that effect. Don't fancy this any foreboding, but four 
 daughters bind a man to life, and I sometimes feel as if I hardly 
 deserved to see good days. If I am spared to bring up these 
 children, I hope to make them understand the difierence between 
 independence and pride. 
 
 * I have been looking back on my life ; I have had plenty of 
 time during these months of inaction, which I begin to see were 
 fit discipline. Till Holdsworth left his parish under my charge 
 the other day for six weeks, I have exercised no ofiice of my 
 ministry, as you know that Mr. Purvis's tone with me cut me 
 ofi* from anything that could seem like meddling witli him. I 
 never felt more grateful to any man than I did when Holds- 
 worth made the proposal. It was as if my penance were 
 accepted for the spirit against which you too justly warned me 
 before my Ordination. Sunday was something between a very 
 sorrowful and a very happy day. 
 
 * I did not see the whole truth at first. I was only aware of 
 my unhappy temper, which had provoked the immediate punish- 
 ment ; but the effort (generally a failure) to prevent my irrita- 
 bility from adding to the distresses I had brought on my poor 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 401 
 
 wife, opened my eyes to much that I had never understood. 
 Yet I had presumed to become an instructor — I deemed myself 
 irreproachable ! 
 
 ' I believe the origin of the whole was, that I never distin- 
 guished a fierce spirit of self-exaltation from my grandmother's 
 noble resolution to be independent. It was a demon which 
 took the semblance of good, and left no room for demons of a 
 baser sort. Even as a boy at the grammar-school, I kept out 
 of evil from the pride of proving myself gentlemanly under any 
 circumstances ; the motive was not a bit better than that which 
 made me bully you. I can never remember being without an 
 angry and injured feeling that my uncle's neglect left my grand- 
 mother burdened, and obliged me to receive an inferior educa- 
 tion ; and with this, a certain hope that he would never put 
 himself in the right, nor lay me under obligations. You saw 
 how this motive actuated me, when I never discerned it. I 
 trust that I was not insincere, though presumptuous and self- 
 deceiving I was to an extent which I can only remember with 
 horror. If it approached to sacrilege, may the wilful blindness 
 be forgiven ! At least, I knew it not ; and with all my heart I 
 meant to fulfil the vows I had taken on me. Thus, when my 
 uncle actually returned, there was a species of revengeful satis- 
 faction in making my profession interfere with his views, when 
 he had made it the only one eligible for me. How ill I be- 
 haved — how obstinately I set myself against all mediation — how 
 I wrapped myself in self -approval — you know better than I do. 
 My conceit, and absurdity, and thanklessness have risen up 
 before me ; and I remember ofiers that would have involved 
 no sacrifice of my clerical obligations — ofiers that I would not 
 even consider — classing them all as " mere truckling with my 
 conscience." What did I take for a conscience ? 
 
 * Ever since, things have gone from bad to worse, grieving my 
 dear grandmother's last year, and estranging me from my poor 
 little sister because she would not follow my dictation. At last 
 my sins brought down the penalty, and I would not grieve 
 except for the innocent who suffer with me. Perhaps, but for 
 them, I should never have felt it. Nor do I feel tempted to 
 murmur ; for there is a strange peace with us throughout, in 
 spite of a sad heart and too many explosions of my miserable 
 temper, and the sight of tlie hardships so bravely met by my 
 dear wife. But for all this, I should never have known what 
 she is ! She whispered to me last evening, when she saw me 
 looking tired and depressed, that she had no fears for the future, 
 for this had been the happiest year of her life. Nothing can 
 make her forget to soothe me ! 
 
 *I have written a long rigmarole all about myself; but an 
 outpouring is sometimes a relief, and you have borne with me 
 often enough to do so now. My poor Clara's pardon, and some 
 kind of clerical duty, are my chief wishes ; but my failures in 
 the early part of the year have taught me how unworthy I am 
 
 D D 
 
102 DYNE \ OR TERRACE 
 
 to stir a step in soliciting anything of the kind. Did I tell you 
 how some ten of the boys continue to touch their hats to me 1 
 and Smith, the butcher's son, often comes to borrow a book, 
 and consult me on some of the difficulties that his father throws 
 in his way. He is a fine fellow, and at least I liope that my two 
 3^ears at the school did him no harm. I was much impressed 
 with the orderliness at Ormersfield Sunday-scliool. I wish I 
 could have got half as much religious knowledge into my poor 
 boys. I walked through your turnips in the South field, and 
 thought they wanted rain. Frampton tells me the Inglewood 
 liarvest is in very good condition ; but I will see the bailiff, and 
 give you more particulars, when I can be better spared from 
 liome for a few hours. Kitty's assistance in writing has discom- 
 l^osed these last few lines. 
 
 ^ Yours ever, 
 
 ' J. R. F. D.' 
 
 Clara turned away and groaned aloud several times as she 
 read ; but all she said, as she gave it back to Louis, was, ' What 
 is to be done ? You must talk to my uncle.' 
 
 'Ah, Clara! young gentlemen of the nineteenth century 
 make but a bad hand of the part of benevolent fairy.' 
 
 ' I don't think my speaking would be of any use,' said Clara. 
 ' Oh, if this only would have been a boy ! ' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield undertook to sound Mr. Dynevor, and found 
 an early opportunity of asking whether he had heard of poor 
 James's misfortune. Yes, he had known it long ago. No 
 wonder, with such a temper. Kept it from the child, though. 
 Would not have her always hankering after them. 
 
 Was he aware of his great distress and difficulties ? 
 
 Ha, ha ! thought so ! Fine lady wife ! No end of children — 
 served him right ! — to bring down his pride. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield hazarded a hint that James had seen his 
 errors, and the school was no longer in the way. 
 
 ' No, no ! ' said Oliver. ' Too late now. Drink as he has 
 brewed. He should have thought twice before he broke my 
 poor mother's heart with his cantankerous ways. Cheveleigh 
 beneath him, forsooth ! I'm not going to have it cut up for a 
 lot of trumpery girls ! I've settled the property and whatever 
 other pickings there may be upon my little Clara — grateful, 
 and worthy of it ! Her husband shall take Dynevor name and 
 arms — unless, to be sure, he had a title of his own. The girl 
 was much admired at Rome last winter ; had a fair offer or two, 
 but not a word will she say to any of them. I can't tell what's 
 in her head, not I ! ' 
 
 And he looked knowingly at Lord Ormersfield, and willingly 
 extended his stay at Aix-la-Chapelle, letting Fitzjocelyn orga- 
 nize expeditions from thence to Liege and other places in the 
 neighbourhood. 
 
 The two cousins were so glad to be together, and the Earl so 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 403 
 
 much pleased that Louis sliould have anything which gave him 
 so much delight as this meeting with his old playfellow, that he 
 did all in his power to facilitate and prolong their intercourse. 
 He often sacrificed himself to Oliver's prosings on the Equa- 
 torial navigation, that the two young people might be at liberty ; 
 and he invited Clara to their early breakfast and walk before 
 her uncle wanted her in the morning. These were Clara's times 
 of greatest happiness, except that it gave her a new and strange 
 sensation to be talked to by his lordship like a grown-up — nay, 
 a sensible woman. Once she said to herself, laughing, *He 
 really treats me almost as if I were poor Mary herself.' And 
 then came another flash : ' Perhaps he would even like me on 
 th.e same terms ! ' And then she laughed again, and shook her 
 liead :> ' No, no, my lord, your son is much too good for that ! 
 Uncle Oliver would not have looked so benignant at us when 
 we were sitting in the gardens last night, if he had known that 
 I was giving Louis all my Lima letters. I wish they were more 
 worth having ! It was very stupid of me not to know Mary 
 better, so that we write like two old almanacs. However, my 
 letter from hence will be worth its journey to Peru.' 
 
 Clara's heart was several degrees lighter, both from the plea- 
 sure of the meeting and a suggestion of the Earl's, upon which 
 she had at once acted, and which seemed, even as she laid pen 
 to paper, to bring her somewhat nearer to her brother. 
 
 Her letter arrived at No. 5 on the next Monday morning at 
 breakfast-time. It did not at first attract the attention of 
 James. The Sunday exertions had again left a mental and 
 physical lassitude, showing how mucli care and privation had 
 told upon his strength ; and Isabel's still tardy convalescence 
 weighed him down with anxiety for the future, and almost with 
 despair, as he thought of the comforts for want of which she 
 suffered, though so patiently and silently dispensing with them. 
 To his further vexation, he had, on the previous Saturday, seen 
 Charlotte receiving at the back-door an amount of meat beyond 
 her orders ; and, having checked himself because too angry and 
 too much grieved to speak at once, had reserved the reproof for 
 the Monday, when Charlotte brought in her book of petty 
 disbursements. 
 
 Failing to detect the obnoxious item, he said, 'Where's the 
 account of the meat that came in on Saturday ? ' 
 
 ' There, sir ! ' said Charlotte, indicating the legitimate amount, 
 but blushing violently. 
 
 ' That was not all ? ' he said, with a look of stern interrogation. 
 
 * Oh ! if you please, sir, that was nothing ! ' 
 
 * This will not do, Charlotte ! I can have nothing taken into 
 my house without being paid for. I insist on knowing what 
 you could mean ? ' 
 
 'Oh, sir!' tearfully exclaimed the girl, 'it is paid for — 111 
 show you the account, if you will — with my own money. I'd 
 not have had you hear of it for the world ; but I could not bear 
 
 D D 2 
 
404 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 that nurse's insinuations about her meat five times a day — she 
 that never nursed nothing like a real lady before ! But I meant 
 no harm, sir ; and I hope you'll excuse the liberty, for I did not 
 mean to take none ; and I'm sure I'm quite contented for my 
 own part, nor never meant to complain.' 
 
 ' I know you did not, Charlotte ! You are only too patient 
 and kind — ' But his voice broke down, and he was forced 
 silently to sign to her to leave him. 
 
 ' Can humiliation go farther ! ' he thouglit. ' My boasted 
 independence ending in this poor, faithful servant being stung, 
 by the sneers of this hired woman, into eking out lier scanty 
 meals witli her own insufficient wages ! ' 
 
 Little Catharine, who had been gazing with dilated black 
 eyes, came scrambling on his knee to caress him, perceiving 
 that he was grieved. 
 
 'Ah! Kitty, Kitty ! ' he said, 'it is well that you are too 
 young to feel these troubles ! ' 
 
 ' Papa ! letter ! ' cried Kitty, waving the unregarded letter in 
 the triumph of discovery. 
 
 ' The Reverend James Frost.' It was the writing formed by 
 his own copies, which he could not see without a sharp pang of 
 self-reproach for cruel injustice and unkindness. 
 
 Kitty slid down with the empty envelope to act reading to 
 the twins, v/hom she caught by turns as they crawled away, 
 and set up straight before her. Her operations and their re- 
 monstrances, though as loud as they were inarticulate, passed 
 utterly unheard and unheeded by their father, as he read — 
 
 'Hdtel du Grand Monarque, Aix-la-Chapelle, Sept. 18th. 
 
 'My dearest James, — As a mere matter of honesty and 
 justice, I may venture to write to you. You always accepted 
 from dear grandmamma the income from the money in the 
 Stocks. I did not know that half of it has since come to me, 
 till Lord Ormersfield paid me this last year's dividend ; and if 
 you will not have his enclosed cheque for it, iDut it in the fire, 
 for I will never have it in any form. It is not my uncle's, but 
 my own ; and if you would make me very happy, write to me 
 here. You must not suppose that I am trying to buy a letter ; 
 but I look on this as yours, and I thought you had it till Lord 
 Ormersfield told me about it. We met him and Louis quite 
 unexpectedly — the best thing tliat has liappened to me for 
 years ; though they told me much that grieves me exceedingly 
 — but I cannot write about it till I know that I may. Tell 
 me of dear Isabel and the babes. My lieart yearns after them ! 
 it would leap ujo at the sight of a stone from the Terrace ! 
 
 ' Your ever affectionate Clara.' 
 
 His first impulse was, as though he feared to repent, to turn 
 to his desk, the tears of feeling still in his eyes, and dash off 
 these words : — 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 405 
 
 'Your bounty, my dearest sister, is scarcely less welcome 
 than the forgiving spirit which prompted it* I will not conceal 
 that I was sorely in need of means to supply Isabel with the 
 comforts that she requires. That your affection can survive my 
 treatment last year, makes me equally grateful to you and 
 ashamed of what then took place.' 
 
 He scarcely dared to look upon those phrases. Great as were 
 his needs, and kindly as the proffer was made, it was new and 
 painful to him to lie under any such obligation, and he could 
 hardly bend his spirit to know that never again should he be 
 able to feel that he had never been beholden for money to a 
 living creature. And while he felt it due to his sister to own 
 tJie full extent of the benefit, he weighed his words as he wrote 
 on, lest the simplest facts should look like a craving for further 
 assistance. 
 
 Charlotte came up to remove the breakfast, and he looked 
 up to give an order for some nourishing dainty for her mistress, 
 adding, ' What did that mutton come to ^ No, I am not 
 displeased with you, but Miss Clara has sent me some money.' 
 
 His assurance was needed, for Charlotte went down thinking 
 slie had never seen master look so stern. He had spoken 
 from a sense that the truth was due to the generous girl ; but 
 each word had been intense pain. He wrote on, often inter- 
 rupted by little riots among the children, and finally by a 
 sharp contention, the twins having possessed themselves of a 
 paper-knife, which Kitty, with precocious notions of discipline, 
 considered as forbidden ; and little Mercy was rapped over 
 the fingers in the struggle. The roar brought down interference, 
 and Kitty fell into disgrace ; but when, after long persuasion, 
 she was induced to yield the paper-cutter, kiss and make 
 friends, Mercy, instead of embracing, locked her fingers into 
 her dark curls, and tugged at them in a way so opposite to her 
 name, that all Kitty's offence was forgotten in her merit for 
 stopping her scream half-way at the sight of her father's 
 uplifted finger, and his whisper of ' Poor mamma ! ' 
 
 That life of worry and baby squabbles, the reflection of his 
 own faults, was hard to bear ; and with a feeling of seeking a 
 refuge, when the two little ones had fallen into their noonday 
 sleep, and were left with their motlier to the care of good Miss 
 Mercy, he set out for some parisli work at Ormersfield, still 
 taking with him little Kitty, whose quicksilver nature would 
 never relieve her elders by a siesta. 
 
 He was afraid to speak to Isabel until he should have com- 
 posed himself ; and, harassed and weary in spirits and in frame, 
 he walked slowly, very sore at the domestic discovery, and 
 scarcely feeling the diminution of the immediate pressure in 
 the new sense oi degradation. He could own that it was 
 merited, and was arguing with himself that patience and grati- 
 tude were the needful proofs that the evil temper had been ex- 
 pelled. He called back his thankfulness for his wife's safety, 
 
406 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 his children's health, the constancy of his kind friend's, and the 
 undeserved ardour of his young sister's affection, as well as poor 
 little Charlotte's unselfishness. The hard exasperated feeling 
 that had once envenomed every favour, and barbed every dart 
 that wounded him, was gone ; he could own the loving kindness 
 bestowed on him, both from Heaven and by man, and began to 
 find peace and repose in culling the low fragrant blossoms which 
 cheered even the Valley of Humiliation. 
 
 He turned down the shady lane, overhung by the beech-trees 
 of Mr. Calcott's park ; and as he lifted Kitty in his arms to 
 show her the robin-redbreast, he did not feel out of tune with 
 the bird's sweet autumnal notes, nor with the child's merry little 
 voice, but each refreshed his worn and contrite spirit. 
 
 The sound of hoofs approaching made him turn his head ; 
 and while Kitty announced ' horse ! ' and ' man ! ' he recognized 
 Mr. Calcott, and felt abashed, and willing to find a retreat from 
 the meeting ] but there was no avoiding it, and he expected, as 
 usual, to be passed with a bow ; but the Squire slackened his 
 pace as he overtook him, and called out, good-humouredly, ' Ha, 
 Mr. Frost, good morning' (once it would have been Jem). 'I 
 always know you by the little lady on your shoulder. I was 
 intending to call on you this afternoon on a little business ; but 
 if you will step up to the house with me, I shall be much obliged.' 
 
 James's heart beat thick with undefined hope ; but, after all, 
 it might be only to witness some paper. After what had oc- 
 curred, and Mrs. Calcott considering herself affronted by Isabel, 
 bare civility was forgiveness ; and he walked up the drive with 
 the Squire, who had dismounted, and was inquiring with cordial 
 kindness for Mrs. Frost, yet with a little awkwardness, as if 
 uncertain on what terms they stood, more as if he himself were 
 to blame than the young clergyman. 
 
 Arriving at the house, James answered for his little girl's 
 absence of shyness, and she was turned over to the Miss Calcotts, 
 while the Squire conducted him to the study, and began with 
 hesitation and something of apology — 'It had struck him — it 
 was not worth much — he hardly liked to propose it, and yet 
 till something better should turn up — anything was better than 
 doing nothing.' To which poor James heartily agreed. The 
 board of guardians, where Mr. Calcott presided, were about to 
 elect a chaplain to the union workhouse ; the salary would be 
 only fifty pounds, but if Mr. Frost would be willing to offer 
 himself, it would be a great blessing to the inmates, and there 
 would be no opposition. 
 
 Mr. Calcott, making the jDroposal from sincere good-will, but 
 with some dread how the Pendragon blood would receive it, 
 Avas absolutely astounded by the effect. 
 
 Fifty pounds additional per annum was a boon only to be 
 appreciated after such a pinching year as the past ; the grati- 
 tude for the old Squire's kind pardon was so strong, and the 
 blessing of re-admission to pastoral work touched him so deeply, 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 407 
 
 iliat, in his weakened and dejected state, he could not restrain 
 his tears, nor for some moments utter a word. At last he said, 
 ' Oh, Mr. Calcott, I have not deserved this at your hands.' 
 
 ' There, there,' said the Squire, trying to laugh it off, though 
 he too became husky, * say no more about it. It is a poor thing, 
 and can't be made better ; but it will be a real kindness to us 
 to look after the place.' 
 
 ' Let me say thus much,' said James, ' for I cannot be at peace 
 till I have done so — I am aware that I acted unjustifiably in 
 that whole affair, both when elected and dismissed.' 
 
 * No, no, don't let's go over that again ! ' said Mr. Calcott, in 
 dread of a scene. ' An over-ardent friend may be a misfortune, 
 and you were very young. Not that I would have taken your 
 resignation if it had been left to me, but the world has grown 
 mighty tender. I dare say you never flogged a boy like what 
 I underwent fifty years ago, and was the better for it ; ' and he 
 launched into some frightful old-world stories of the like inflic- 
 tions, hoping to lead away from personalities ; but James was 
 resolved to say what was on his mind. 'It was not severity,' he 
 said, 'it was temper. I richly deserved some portion of the 
 rebuke, and it would have been well for me if that same temper 
 had allowed me to listen to you, sir, or to reason.' 
 
 'Well,' said Mr. Calcott, kindly, 'you think very rightly 
 about the matter, and a man of six-and-twenty has time to be 
 wiser, as I tell Mrs. Calcott, when Sydney treats us to some of 
 his theories. And now you have said your say, you must let 
 me say mine, and that is, that there are very few young couples 
 — aye, or old ones — who would have had the sense to go on as 
 you are doing, fighting it out in your own neighbourhood 
 without nonsense or false shame. I honour you and Mrs. Frost 
 for it, both of you ! ' 
 
 James coloured deeply. He could have found commendation 
 an impertinence, but the old Squire was a sort of patriarch in 
 the county, and appreciation of Isabel's conduct must give him 
 pleasure. He stammered something about her having held up 
 wonderfully, and the salary being an immense relief, and then 
 took refuge in matter-of-fact inquiries on his intended functions. 
 
 This lasted till nearly half -past one, and Mr. Calcott insisted 
 on his staying to luncheon. He found the ladies greatly amused 
 with their little guest — a very small, but extremely forward 
 and spirited child ; not at all pretty, with her brown skin and 
 womanly eyes, but looking most thoroughly a lady, even in her 
 little broMii-holland frock, and white sun-bonnet, her mamma's 
 great achievement. Neither shy nor sociable, she had allowed no 
 one to touch her, but had entrenched herself in a corner behind a 
 chair, through the back of which she answered all civilities, with 
 more self-possession than distinctness, and convulsed the party 
 with laughing, when they asked if she could play at bo-peep, 
 by replying that ' the children did.' She sprang from her place 
 of refuge to his knee as soon as he entered, and occupied that 
 
408 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 post all luncheon time, comporting herself with great discretion. 
 There was something touching in the sight of the tenderness of 
 the young father, taking off her bonnet, and settling her strag- 
 gling curls with no unaccustomed hands ; and Mrs. Calcott's 
 heart was moved, as she remarked his worn, almost hollow 
 cheeks, his eyes still quick, but sunk and softened, his figure 
 spare and thin, and even his dress not without signs of poverty ; 
 and she began making kind volunteers of calling on Mrs. Frost, 
 nor were these received as once they would have been. 
 
 * He is the only young man,' said Mr. Calcott, standing before 
 the fire, with his hands behind him, as soon as the guest had 
 departed, ' except his cousin at Ormersfield, whom I ever knew 
 to confess that he had been mistaken. That's the difierence 
 between them and the rest, not excepting your son Sydney, 
 Mrs. Calcott.' 
 
 Mamma and sisters cried in chorus that Sydney had no 
 occasion for such confessions. 
 
 The Squire gave his short, dry laugh, and repeated that 
 'Jem Frost and young Fitzjocelyn differed from other youtlis, 
 not in being right but in being wrong.' 
 
 On which topic Mrs. Calcott enlarged, compassionating poor 
 Mr. Frost with a double quantity of pity for his helpless beauty 
 of a fine lady-wife ; charitably owning, however, that she really 
 seemed improved by her troubles. She should have thought 
 better of her if she had not kept that smart housemaid, who 
 looked so much above her station, and whom the housekeeper 
 had met running about the lanes in the dark, the very night 
 when Mr. Frost was so ill. 
 
 ' Pshaw ! my dear,' said her husband, ' cannot you let people 
 be judges of their own affairs 1 ' 
 
 It was what he had said on the like occasions for the last 
 thirty years ; but Mrs. Calcott was as wise as ever in other 
 folks' matters. 
 
 The fine lady-wife had meanwhile been arranging a little sur- 
 prise for her husband. She was too composed to harass herself 
 at his not returning at midday ; she knew him and Kitty to 
 be quite capable of taking care of each other, and could imagine 
 him detained by parish work, and disposing of the little 
 maiden with Betty Gervas, or some other Ormersfield friend ; 
 but she had thought him looking fagged and worried ; she 
 feared his being as tired as he had been on the Sunday, and 
 she could not bear that he should drink tea uncomfortably in 
 the study, tormented by the children. So she had repaired 
 to the parlour ; and Miss Mercy, after many remonstrances, 
 had settled her there ; and wlien the good little lady had gone 
 home to her sister's tea, Isabel lay on the sofa, wrapped in her 
 large soft shawl, languidly attempting a little work, and feeling 
 the room dreary, and herself very weak, and forlorn, and 
 desponding, as she thought of James's haggard face, and the 
 fresh anxieties that would be entailed on him if she should 
 
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION 409 
 
 become sickly and ailing. The tear gathered on her eyelash as 
 she said to herself, ' I would not exert myself when I could ; 
 perhaps now I shall not be able, when I would give worlds to 
 lighten one of his cares ! ' And then she saw one little bit of 
 furniture standing awry, in the manner that used so often to 
 worry his fastidious eye ; and, in the spirit of doing anything 
 to please him, she moved across the room to rectify it, and then 
 sat down in the large easy-chair, wearied by the slight exertion, 
 and becoming even more depressed and hopeless ; ' though,' as 
 she told herself, 'all is sure to be ordered well. The past 
 struggle has been good — the future will be good if we can but 
 treat it rightly.' 
 
 Just as the last gleams were fading on the tops of the 
 Ormersfield coppice, she heard the hall-door, and James's foot- 
 step ; and it was more than the ordinary music of his ' coming 
 up the stair ; ' there was a spring and life in it that thrilled into 
 her heart, and glanced in her eye, as she sat up in her chair, to 
 welcome him with no forced smile. 
 
 And as he came in with a pleased exclamation, his voice had 
 no longer the thin, worn sound, as if only resolute resignation 
 prevented peevishness ; there was a cheerfulness and solidity in 
 the tone, as he came fondly to her side, regretted having missed 
 her first appearance, and feared she had been long alone. 
 
 ' Oh, no ; but I was afraid you would be so tired ! Carrying 
 Kitty all the way, too ! But you look so much brighter.' 
 
 * I am brighter,' said James. ' Two things have happened 
 for which I ought to be very thankful. My dear, can you bear 
 to be wife to the chaplain of the Union at fifty pounds a year 1 ' 
 
 * Oh ! have you something to do ? ' cried Isabel ; ' I am so 
 glad ! Now we shall be a little more off" your mind. And you 
 will do so much good ! I have heard Miss Mercy say how much 
 she wished there were some one to put those poor people in the 
 right way.' 
 
 * Yes ; I hope that concentrated earnestness of attention may 
 do something to make up for my deficiency in almost every other 
 qualification,' said James. 'At least, I feel some of the import- 
 ance of the charge, and never was anything more welcome.' 
 
 ' And how did it happen ? ' 
 
 'People are more forgiving than I could have hoped. Mr. 
 Calcott has ofiered me this, in the kindest way ; and as if that 
 were not enough, see what poor little Clara says.' 
 
 ' Poor little Clara ! ' said Isabel, reading the letter ; ' you 
 don't mean to disappoint her ? ' 
 
 'I should be a brute if I did. No; I wrote to her this 
 morning to thank her for her pardoning spirit.' 
 
 'You should have told me ; I should like to send her my love. 
 I am glad she has not quite forgotten us, though she mistook 
 the way to her own happiness.' 
 
 'Isabel ! unless I were to transport you to Cheveleigh a year 
 ago, nothing would persuade you of my utter wrong-headedness.' 
 
410 bYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ^ Nor that, perhaps,' said Isabel, with a cahn smile. 
 
 ' Not my having brought you to be grateful for the Unioil 
 chaplaincy ? ' 
 
 'Not if you had brought me to the Union literally,' said 
 Isabel, smiling. 'Indeed, dear James, I think we have botli 
 been so much the better and happier for this last year, that I 
 would not have been without it for any consideration ; and 
 if any mistakes on your part led to it, they were mistakes on 
 the right side. Don't shake your head, for you know they 
 were what only a good man could have made.' 
 
 ' That may be all very well for a wife to believe ! ' And 
 the rest of the little dispute was concluded, as Charlotte came 
 smiling up with the tea. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 'bide a wee' 
 
 Come "unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands ! — Tempest 
 
 The Ponsonby family were spending the hot season at Chorillos, 
 the Peruvian watering-place, an irregular assembly of cane- 
 built, mud-besmeared ranchos, close on the shore of the Pacific, 
 with the mountains seeming to rise immediately in the rear. 
 
 They had gone for Mr. Ponsonby's health, and Rosita's amuse- 
 ment ; and in the latter object they had completely succeeded. 
 In her bathing-dress, full trousers, and a beautifully-embroidered 
 blouse, belted at the waist, a broad-brimmed straw hat, and 
 her raven hair braided in two long tresses, she wandered on the 
 shore with many another fair Limenian, or entered the sea 
 under the protection of a brown Indian ; and, supported by 
 mates or gourds, would float for hours together among her com- 
 panions, splashing about, and playing all sorts of frolics, like 
 so many mermaids. 
 
 In the evening she returned to more terrestrial joys, and 
 arraying herself in some of her infinite varieties of ball-dresses, 
 with flowers and jewels in her hair, a tiny Panama hat cocked 
 jauntily on the top of her head, and a ricli shawl with one 
 end thrown over the shoulder, she would step daintily out in 
 her black satin shoes, with old Xavier in attendance, or some- 
 times with Robson as her cavalier, to meet her friends on the 
 beach, or make a call in the lamp-lit corridor of some other 
 rancho. There were innumerable balls, dances, and picnics 
 to the rich and fertile villages and haciendas around, and 
 fetes of every description almost every evening ; visits to the 
 tombs of the old Peruvians, whose graves were often rudely 
 and lightly searched for the sake of their curious images and 
 golden ornaments. The Senora declared it was the most lovely 
 
'BIDE A WEE' 41 i 
 
 summer she had ever spent, and that nothing should induce 
 her to return to Lima while her friends remained there. 
 
 The other object, of re-invigorating Mr. Ponsonby, had not 
 been attained. He had been ailing for some time past, and, 
 instead of deriving benefit from the sea-breezes, only missed 
 the comforts of home. He was so testy and exacting that 
 Mary would have seldom liked to leave him to himself, even 
 if she had been disposed to lead the life of a fish ; and she 
 was seldom away from him, unless Kobson came down from 
 Lima to transact business with him. 
 
 Mary dreaded these interviews, for her father always emerged 
 from them doubly irritable and dispirited ; and when Eosita 
 claimed the Senor Robson as her knight for her evening pro- 
 menade, and the father and daughter were left alone together, 
 he would blame the one lady for going, the other for staying — 
 then draw out his papers again, and attempt to go over them, 
 with a head already aching and confused — be angry at Mary's 
 entreaties that he would lay them aside, or allow her to help 
 him — and presently be obliged with a sigh to desist, and lie 
 back in his chair, while she fanned him, or cooled his forehead 
 with iced water. Yet he was always eager and excited for 
 Robson to come ; and a delay of a day would put his temper 
 in such a state that his wife kept out of his sight, leaving 
 Mary to soothe him as she might. 
 
 * Mary,' said her father one evening, when she was standing 
 at the window of the corridor, refreshing her eye with gazing 
 at the glorious sunset in the midst of a pile of crimson and 
 purple clouds, reflected in the ocean — ' Mary, Ward is going to 
 New York next week.' 
 
 ' So soon ? ' said Mary. 
 
 * Aye, and he is coming here to-morrow to see you.' 
 
 Mary still looked out with a sort of interest to see a little 
 gold flake change its form as it traversed a grand violet tower. 
 
 * I hope you will make him a more reasonable answer than 
 you did last time,' said her father ; 'it is too bad to keep the 
 poor man dangling on at this rate ! And such a man ! ' 
 
 ' I am very sorry for it, but I cannot help it,' said Mary ; 
 * no one can be kinder or more forbearing than he has been, but 
 I wish he would look elsewhere.' 
 
 * So you have not got that nonsense out of your head ! ' 
 exclaimed Mr. Ponsonby, with nuittered words that Mary 
 would not hear. 'All my fault for ever sending you among 
 that crew ! Coming between you and the best match in Lima 
 — the best fellow in the world — strict enough to content Meli- 
 cent or your mother either ! What have you to say against 
 him, Mary ? I desire to know that.' 
 
 'Nothing, papa,' said Mary, 'except that I wish he could 
 make a better choice.' 
 
 ' I tell you, you and he were made for each other. It is the 
 most provoking thing in the world that you will go on in this 
 
412 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 obstinate way ! I can't even ask the man to do me a kindness, 
 with having an eye to these abominable affairs, that are all 
 going to the dogs. There's old Dynevor left his senses behind 
 him when he went off to play the great man in England, writing 
 every post for remittances, when he knows what an outlay 
 we've been at for machinery ; and there's the Equatorial Com- 
 pany cutting its own throat at Guayaquil, and that young fellow 
 up at the San Benito not half to be trusted — Robson can't make 
 out his accounts ; and here am I such a wretch that I can 
 hardly tell what two and two make ; and liere's Ward, the very 
 fellow to come in and set all straight in the nick of time ; 
 and I can't ask him so much as to look at a paper for me, be- 
 cause I'm not to lay myself under an obligation.' 
 
 * But, papa, if our affairs are not prosperous, it would not be 
 fair to connect Mr. Ward or any one with them.' 
 
 'Never you trouble yourself about that! You'll come in 
 for a pretty fortune of your own, whatever happens to that 
 abominable cheat of a Company ; and that might be sa\ ^ i if 
 only I was the man I w^as, or Dynevor w^as here. If \\ ard 
 woukl give us a loan, and turn his mind to it, we should be on 
 our legs in an instant. It is touch and go just now ! — I declare, 
 Mary,' he broke out again after an interval, ' I never saw any- 
 thing so selfish as you are ! Lingering and pining on about 
 this foolish young man, who has never taken any notice of you 
 since you have been out here, and whom you hear is in love 
 with another woman — married to her very likely by this time — 
 or, maybe, only wishing you were married and out of his way.' 
 
 ' I do not believe so,' answered Mary, stoutly. 
 
 ' What ! you did not see Oliver's letter from that German 
 placer 
 
 ' Yes, I did,' said Mary ; ' but I know liis manner to Clara.' 
 
 ' You do ? You take things coolly, upon my word ! ' 
 
 ' No,' said Mary. ' I know they are like brother and sister, 
 and Clara could never have written to me as she has done, 
 had there been any such notion. But that is not the point, 
 papa. What I know is, that while my feelings are what they 
 are at present, it would not be right of me to accept any one ; 
 and so I shall tell Mr. Ward, if he is still determined to see me. 
 Pray forgive me, dear papa. I do admire and honour him very 
 much, but I cannot do any more ; and I am sorry I have seemed 
 pining or discontented, for I tried not to be so.' 
 
 A grim grunt was all the answer that Mr. Ponsonby vouch- 
 safed. His conscience, though not his lips, acquitted poor 
 Mary of discontent or pining, as indeed it was the uniform 
 cheerfulness of her demeanour that had misled him into think- 
 ing the unfortunate affair forgotten. 
 
 He show^ed no symptoms of speaking again ; and Mary, leaning 
 back in her chair, had leisure to recover herself after the many 
 severe strokes that had been made at her. There was one 
 which slie had rebutted valiantly at the moment, but which 
 
BIDE A WEE, 413 
 
 proved to have been a poisoned dart — that suggestion that it 
 might be selfish in her not to set Louis even more free, by her 
 own marriage ! 
 
 She revolved the probabilities : Clara, formed, guided, sup- 
 ported by himself, the companion of his earlier youth, pre- 
 ferred to all others, and by this time, no doubt, developed into 
 all that was admirable. What would be more probable than 
 their mutual love ? And when Mary went over all the circum- 
 stances of her own strange courtship, she could not but recur 
 to her mother's original impression, that Louis had not known 
 what he was doing. Those last weeks had made her feel rather 
 than believe otherwise, but they were far in the distance now, 
 and he had been so young ! It was not unlikely that even 
 yet, while believing himself faithful to her, his heart was in 
 Clara's keeping, and that the news of her marriage would 
 reveal to them both, in one rush of happiness, that they were 
 destined for each other from the first. 
 
 Mary felt intense pain, and yet a strange thrill of joy, to 
 think that Louis might at last be happy. 
 
 She drew Clara's last letter out of her basket, and re-read 
 it, in hopes of some contradiction. Clara's letters had all 
 hitherto been stiff. She had not been acknowledged to be in 
 the secret of Mary's engagement while it subsisted, and this 
 occasioned a delicacy in writing to her on any subject connected 
 with it ; and so the mention of the meeting at the ' Grand Mo- 
 narque ' came in tamely, and went ofi* quickly into Lord Ormers- 
 field's rheumatism and Charlemagne's tomb. But the remark- 
 able thing in the letter was the unusual perfume of happiness 
 that pervaded [it ; the conventional itinerary was abandoned, 
 and there was a tendency to droll sayings — nay, some shafts from 
 a quiver at which Mary could guess. She had set all down as 
 the exhilaration of Louis's presence, but perhaps that exhilara- 
 tion was to a degree in which she alone could sympathize. 
 
 Mary was no day-dreamer ; and yet, ere Eosita's satin shoe 
 was on the threshold, she had indulged in the melancholy fabric 
 of a castle at Ormersfield, in whicli she had no share, except the 
 consciousness that it had been her self-sacrifice that had given 
 Louis at last the felicity for which he was so well fitted. 
 
 But at night, in her strange little room, lying in her hammock, 
 and looking up through her one unglazed *vindow, high up in 
 the roof, to the stars that slowly travelled across the space, she 
 came back to a more collected opinion. She had no right to 
 sacrifice Mr. Ward as well as herself. Louis could not be more 
 free than she had made him already ; and it would be doing evil 
 that good might come, to accept the addresses of one man while 
 she could not detach her heart from another. ' Have I ever really 
 tried yet ? ' she thought. ' Perhaps I am punishing him and 
 poor Mr. Ward, because, as papa says, I have languished, and 
 have never tried in earnest to wean my thoughts from him. He 
 was the one precious memory, besides my dear mother, and she 
 
4M DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 never thought it would come to good. He will turn out to have 
 been constant to Clara all the time, though he did not know it/ 
 
 Even if Mr. Ponsonby had been in full health, he w^ould 
 liave had no inclination to spare Mary the conversation w^ith 
 Mr. Ward, wlio took his liot nine miles' ride from Lima in the 
 early morning, before the shadow of the mountains had been 
 drawn up from the arid barren slope leading to Chorillos. 
 
 He came in time for the late breakfast, when the table was 
 loaded with various beautiful tropical fruits, tempting after his 
 ride, and in his state of suspense. He talked of his journey, 
 and of his intended absence, and his regret, in a manner half 
 mechanical, half dreamy, which made Mary quite sorry for him ; 
 it was melancholy for a man of his age to have fixed so many 
 fond hopes where disappointment was in store for him. She 
 wished to deal as kindly with him as she could, and did not 
 shrink away when her father left them, muttering something 
 about a letter, and Rosita went to take her siesta. 
 
 With anxious diffidence lie ventured to ask whether she re- 
 membered what had passed between them on the San Benito 
 mountain. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Ward ; but I am afraid I do not think differently 
 now, in spite of all your kindness.' 
 
 Poor Mr. Ward's countenance underwent a change, as if he 
 had hoped more. ' Your father had given me reason to trust,' 
 he said, ' that you had recovered your spirits ; otherwise I 
 should hardly have presumed to intrude on you. And yet, 
 before so long an absence, you cannot wonder that I longed to 
 hear something decisive.' 
 
 'Indeed I wished what I said before to be decisive. I am 
 very sorry to give pain to one so much kinder than I deserve, 
 and to whom I look up so much ; but you see, Mr. Ward, I 
 cannot say what is untrue.' 
 
 ' Miss Ponsonby,' said Mr. Ward, ' I think you may be acting 
 on a most noble but mistaken view. I can well believe that 
 what you have once experienced you can never feel again. 
 That would be more than I should dare to ask. My own feeling 
 for you is such that I believe I should be able to rejoice in hearing 
 of the fulfilment of your happiness, in your own way ; but since 
 there seems no such probability, cannot you grant me what you 
 can still give, which would be enough to cause me the greatest 
 joy to which I have ever aspired ; and if my most devoted affec- 
 tion could be any sufficient return, you know that it is yours 
 already.' 
 
 The grave earnestness with which he spoke went to Mary's 
 heart, and the tears came into her eyes. She felt it almost 
 wrong to withstand a man of so much weight and worth ; but 
 she spoke steadilv — ' This is very kind — very kind indeed ; but 
 I do not feel as if it would be right.' 
 
 'Will you not let me be the judge of what will satisfy me "? ' 
 
 'You cannot judge of my feelings, Mr. Ward. You must 
 
'BIDE A WEE' 415 
 
 believe me that, with all my esteem and gratitude, I do not yet 
 feel as if I should be acting rightly by you or by any one else, 
 under my present sentiments.' 
 
 ' You do not yet feel ? ' 
 
 Mary felt that the word was a mistake. ' I do not think I 
 ever shall,' she added. 
 
 ' You will not call it persecution, if I answer that perhaps I 
 may make the venture once more,' he said. ' I shall live on that 
 word " yet " while I am at New York. I will tease you no more 
 now ; but remember that, though I am too old to expect to be a 
 young lady's first choice, I never saw the woman whom I could 
 so love, or of whom I could feel so sure that she would bring a 
 blessing with her ; and I do believe that, if you would trust me, 
 I could make you happy. There ! I ask no answer. I only 
 shall think of my return next year, and not reckon on that. I 
 know you will tell me whatever is true.' He pressed her hand, 
 and would fain have smiled reassuringly. 
 
 He took leave much more kindly than Mary thought she 
 deserved, and did not appear to be in low spirits. She feared 
 that she had raised unwarrantable hopes ; but the truth was, 
 that Mr. Ponsonby had privately assured him that, though she 
 could not yet believe it, poor girl ! the young man in England 
 would be married before many months were over to old Dyne- 
 vor's niece. There would be no more difficulty by the time he 
 came back, for she liked him heartily already, and was a sensible 
 girl. 
 
 So Mr. Ward departed, and Mary was relieved, although she 
 missed his honest manly homage, and sound wise tone of thought, 
 where she had so few to love or lean on. She thought that she 
 ought to try to put herself out of the way of her cousins at home 
 as much as possible, and so she did not try to make time to 
 write to Clara ; and time did not come unsought, for her father's 
 health did not imjorove ; and when they returned to Lima, he 
 engrossed her care almost entirely, while his young wife con- 
 tinued her gaieties, and Mary had reason to think the sapa y 
 manto disguise was frequently donned ; but it was so much the 
 custom of ladies of the same degree, that Mary thought it 
 neither desirable nor likely to be effectual to inform her father, 
 and incite him to interfere. She devoted herself to his comfort, 
 and endeavoured to think as little as she heard of English 
 cousins. 
 
 There was not much to hear. After returning home quite 
 well, Lord Ormersfield was laid up again by the first cold winds, 
 and another summer of German brunnens was in store for him 
 and Louis. Lady Conway had taken a cottage in the Isle of 
 Wight, where Walter found the Christmas holidays very dull, 
 and showed that he could get into mischief as well without Dela- 
 f ord as with him, and finally was sent off in a sort of honourable 
 captivity to James and Isabel, expecting that he would find it a 
 great punishment. Instead of this^ the chang© from, luxury to 
 
416 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 their hard life seemed to him a sort of picnic. He enjoyed the 
 * fun ' of the waiting on themselves ; had the freedom of Ormers- 
 field park for sport, and at home, his sister, whom he had always 
 loved and respected more than any one else. James had time 
 to attend to him, and to promote all his better tastes and 
 feelings ; and above all, he lost his heart to his twin nieces. It 
 was exceedingly droll to see the half quarrelsome coquetries 
 between the three, and to hear Walter's grand views for the two 
 little maidens as soon as he should be of age. James and Louis 
 agreed that there could not be much harm in him, while he 
 could conform so happily to such a way of life. Everything is 
 comparative, and the small increase to James's income had been 
 sufficient to relieve him from present pinching and anxiety in 
 the scale of life to which he and Isabel had become habituated. 
 His chaplaincy gave full employment for heart and head to a 
 man so energetic and earnest ; he felt himself useful there, and 
 threw himself into it with all his soul ; and, what was more 
 wonderful, he had never yet quarrelled with the guardians ; 
 and the master told Mr. Calcott that he had heard Mr. Frost 
 was a fiery gentleman, but he had always seen him particularly 
 gentle, especially with the children in school. The old women 
 could never say enough in his praise, and doted on the little 
 brown fairy who often accompanied him. 
 
 There was plenty to be done at home — little luxury, and not 
 much rest ; but Isabel's strength and spirits seemed a match 
 for all, in her own serene quiet way, and the days passed very 
 happily. 
 
 Charlotte had a workhouse girl under her, who neither ate 
 nor broke so vehemently as her predecessor. One night, when 
 Charlotte sat mending and singing in the nursery, the girl came 
 plodding up in her heavy shoes, saying, ' There's one wanting 
 to see ye below.' 
 
 ' One ! Who can it be ? ' cried Charlotte, her heart bounding 
 at the thought of a denouement to her own romance. 
 
 ' He looks like a gentleman,' said the girl, ' and he wanted not 
 to see master, but Miss Arnold most particular.' More hopes 
 for Charlotte. She had nearly made one bound down-stairs, 
 but waited to lay awful commands on the girl not to leave the 
 children on no account ; then flew down, pausing at the foot of 
 the stairs to draw herself up, and remember dignity and maiden- 
 liness. Alas for her hopes ! It was Delaford ! His whiskers still 
 were sleek and curly ; he still had a grand air ; but his boots 
 were less polished — his hat had lost the gloss — and he looked 
 somewhat the worse for wear. 
 
 Poor Charlotte started back as if she had seen a wild beast in 
 her kitchen. She had heard of his dishonesty, and her thoughts 
 flew distractedly to her spoons, murder, and the children. And 
 here he was advancing gracefully to take her hand. She jumped 
 back, and exclaimed, faintly, ' Mr. Delaford, please go av/ay ! 
 I can't think v/hat you come here for ! ' 
 
'BIDE A WEE' 417 
 
 ' Ah ! I see, you have listened to the voice of unkind scandal,' 
 said Mr. Delaford. 'I have been unfortunate, Miss Arnold — 
 unfortunate and misunderstood — guilty never. On the brink 
 of quitting for ever an ungrateful country, I could not deny 
 myself the last sad satisfaction of visiting the spot where my 
 brightest hours have been passed; ' and he looked so pathetic, that 
 Charlotte felt her better sense melting, and spoke in a hurry — 
 
 ' Please don't, Mr. Delaford, I've had enough of all that. Please 
 go, and take my best wishes, as long as you don't come here, for 
 I know all about you.' 
 
 But the intruder only put his hand upon his heart, and de- 
 clared that he had been misrepresented ] and let a cruel world 
 think of him as it might, there was one breast in which he could 
 not bear that a false opinion of him should prevail. And there- 
 with he reached a chair, and Charlotte found herself seated and 
 listening to him, neither believing, nor wishing to believe him, 
 longing that he would take himself away, but bewildered by 
 his rhetoric. In the first place, he had been hastily judged ; he 
 had perhaps yielded too much to Sir Walter — but youth, &c. ; 
 and when Lady Conway's means were in his hands, it had seemed 
 better — he knew now that it had been a weakness, but so he had 
 judged at the time— to supply the young gentleman's little 
 occasions, than to make an eclat. Moreover, if he had not been 
 the most unfortunate wretch in the world, a few lucky hits 
 would have enabled him to restore the whole before Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn hurried on the inquiry ; but the young gentleman 
 thought he acted for the best, and Mr. Delaford magnanimously 
 forgave liim. 
 
 Cliarlotte could not follow through half the labyrinth, and 
 sat pinching tlie corner of her apron, with a vague idea that 
 perhaps he was not so bad as was supposed ; but what would 
 happen if her master should find him there 1 She never looked 
 up, nor made any answer, till he began to give her a piteous 
 account of his condition ; how he did not know where to turn 
 nor what to do ; and was gradually beginning to sell off his 
 4ittle wardrobe to purchase the necessaries of life.' Then the 
 contrast began to tell on her soft heart, and she looked up with 
 a sound of compassion. 
 
 In the wreck of his fortunes and hopes, he had thought of her ; 
 he knew she had too generous a spirit to crush a wretch trodden 
 down by adversity, who had loved her truly, and who had once 
 had some few hopes of requital. Those were, alas ! at an end ; 
 yet still he saw that 'woman, lovely woman, in our hours of 
 ease—' And here he stumbled in his quotation ; but the fact 
 was, that his hopes being blasted in England, he had decided on 
 trying his fortune in another hemisphere ; but, unfortunately, 
 he liad not even sufficient means to pay for a passage of the 
 humblest description, and if he could venture to entreat for a — 
 in fact, a loan — it should be most faithfully and gratefully re- 
 stored the moment the fickle goddess should smile on him. 
 
 E E 
 
418 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Charlotte felt a gleam of joy at the prospect of getting rid of 
 him on any terms. She belonged to a class who seldom find 
 the golden mean in money matters, being either exceedingly 
 close and saving, or else lavish either on themselves or other 
 people. Good old Jane had never succeeded in saving ; all lier 
 halfpence went to tlie beggars, and all her silver melted into 
 halfpence, or into little presents ; and on the receipt of lier 
 wages, she always rushed off to the shop like a child Avith a new 
 shilling. Reading ]iad given Charlotte a few theories on the 
 subject, but her practice had not gone far. She always meant 
 to put into the savings bank ; but hiring books, and daintiness, 
 though not finery, in dress, had prevented her means from ever 
 amounting to a sum, in her opinion, worth securing. The spirit 
 of economy in the household had so far infected her that she 
 had, in spite of her small wages, more in hand than ever before ; 
 and when she found what Mr. Delaford wanted, a strange 
 mixture of feelings actuated her. She pitied the change in his 
 fortunes ; she could not but be softened by his flattering say- 
 ings, — she could not bear that he should not have another chance 
 of retrieving his character, — she knew she had trifled unjusti- 
 fiably with his feelings, if he had any,— and she had a sense of 
 being in fault. And so the little maiden ran up- stairs, peeped 
 into her red-leather work-box, pulled out her bead-purse, and 
 extracted therefrom three bright gold sovereigns, and ran down- 
 stairs again, trembling at her own venturesomeness, afraid that 
 their voices might be heard. She put the whole before Dela- 
 ford, saying— 
 
 ' There — that is all that lays in my power. Don't mention it, 
 pray. Now, please go, and a happy journey to you.' 
 
 How she wished his acknowledgments and faithful promises 
 were over ! He did hint something about refreshment, bread- 
 and-cheese and beer, fare which he used to despise as ' decidedly 
 low ;' but Charlotte was obdurate here, and at last he took his 
 leave. There stood the poor, foolish, generous little thing, raking 
 out the last embers of the kitchen fire, conscious that she had 
 probably done the silliest action of her life, very much ashamed, 
 and afraid of any one knowing it ; and yet strangely light of 
 heart, as if she had done something to atone for the past per- 
 mission that she had granted him to play with her vanity. 
 
 ' Some day she might tell Tom all about it, and she did not 
 think he would be angry, for he knew what it was to have 
 nowhere to go, and to want to try for one more chance.' 
 
THE CRASH 41d 
 
 CHAPTEE XL 
 
 THE CKASH 
 
 Late and early at employ'; 
 Still on thy golden stores intent J 
 Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent, 
 
 What thy winter will never enjoy. — Southey 
 
 ' Stitch ! stitch ! ' said James Frost, entering the nursery 
 on a fine August evening, and finding his wife with the 
 last beams of sunshine glistening on her black braids of hair, as 
 she sat singing and working beside the cot where slept, all 
 tossed and rosy, the yearling child. ' Stitch ! stitch ! If I could 
 but do needlework ! ' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' said Isabel, playfully, lifting up a sweeter face than 
 had ever been admired in Miss Conway ; ' if you will make your 
 kittens such little romps, what would you have but mending?' 
 
 ' Is it my fault ? I am very sorry I entailed such a business 
 on you. You were at that frock when I went to evening- 
 prayers at the Union, and it is not mended yet.' 
 
 ' Almost ; and see what a perfect performance it is, all the 
 spots joining as if they had never been rent. I never was so 
 proud of anything as of my mending capabilities. Besides, I 
 have not been doing it all the time : this naughty little Fanny 
 was in such a laughing mood, that she would neither sleep her- 
 self nor let the rest do so ; and Kitty rose up out of her crib, 
 and lectured us all. Now, don't wake them — no, you must not 
 even kiss the twin cherries ; for if they have one of papa's riots, 
 they will hardly sleep all night.' 
 
 ' Then you must take me away ; it is like going into a flower- 
 garden, and being told not to gather.' 
 
 ' Charlotte is almost ready to come to them, and in the 
 meantime here is something for you to criticize,' said she, 
 taking from the recess of her matronly work-basket a paper 
 with a pencilled poem, on the Martyrs of Carthage, far more 
 terse and expressive than anything she used to write when 
 composition was the object of the day. James read and com- 
 mented, and was disappointed when they broke off short — ■ 
 
 ' Ah ! there baby woke.' 
 
 ' Some day I shall give you a subject. Do you know how Sta. 
 Francesca Komana found in letters of gold the verse of the 
 Psalm she had been reading, and from which she had been five 
 times called away to attend to her household duties ? ' 
 
 ' I thought you were never to pity me again—' 
 
 ' Do you call that pitying you ? ' 
 
 ' Worse,' said Isabel, smiling. 
 
 ' Well, then, what I came for was to ask if you can put on 
 your bonnet, and take a walk in the lanes this lovely evening.' 
 
 A walk was a rare treat to the busy mother, and with a 
 
 E E 2 
 
420 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 look of delight, she consented to leave her mending and her 
 children to Charlotte. There seldom were two happier beings 
 than that pair, as they wandered slowly, arm-in-arm, in the deep 
 green lanes, in the summer twilight, talking sometimes of the 
 present, sometimes of the future, but with the desultory, vague 
 speculation of those who feared little because they knew how 
 little there was to fear. 
 
 ' It is well they are all girls*' said James, speaking of that 
 constant topic, the children ; ' we can manage their education 
 pretty well, I flatter myself, by the help of poor Clara's finish- 
 ing governess, as Louis used to call you.' 
 
 ' If the edge of my attainments be not quite rusted off. 
 Meantime, you teach Kitty, and I teach nothing.' 
 
 ' You don't lose your singing. Your voice never used to be so 
 sweet.' 
 
 *It keeps the children good. But you should have seen 
 Kitty chaunting Ediuin and Angelina to the twins this morn- 
 ing, and getting up an imitation of crying at " turn Angelina, 
 ever dear," because, she said, Charlotte always did.' 
 
 ' That is worth writing to tell Fitzjocelyn ! It will be a great 
 disappointment if they have to stay abroad all this winter ; 
 but he seems to think it the only chance of his father getting 
 thoroughly well, so I suppose there is little hope of him. I 
 should like for him to see Kitty as she is now, she is so exces- 
 sively droll ! ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and it must be a great deprivation to have to leave all 
 his farm to itself, just as it is looking so well ; only lie makes 
 himself happy with whatever he is doing.' 
 
 ' How he would enjoy this evening ! I never saw more perfect 
 rest ! ' 
 
 'Yes; — the sounds of the town come through the air in a 
 hush ! and the very star seems to twinkle quietly ! ' 
 
 They stood still without speaking to enjoy that sense of 
 stillness and refreshment, looking up through the chestnut 
 boughs that overshadowed the deep dewy lane, where there 
 was not air enough even to waft down the detached petals of 
 the wild rose. 
 
 ' Such moments as these must be meant to help one on,' said 
 James, ' to hinder daily life from running into drudgery.' 
 
 'And it is so delightful to have a holiday given, now and then, 
 instead of having a life all lioliday. Ah ! there's a glow-worm — 
 look at the wonder of that green lamp ! ' 
 
 'I must show it to Kitty,' said James, taking it up on a 
 cushion of moss. 
 
 ' Her acquaintance will begin earlier than mine. Do you 
 remember showing me my first glow-worm at Beauchastel ? I 
 used to think that the gem of my walks, before I knew better. 
 It is a great treat to have poor Walter here in the holidays, so 
 good and pleasant ; but I must say one charm is the pleasure of 
 being alone together afterwards.' 
 
THE CRASH 421 
 
 * A pleasure it is well you do not get tired of, my dear, and 
 I am afraid it will soon be over for the present. I do believe 
 that is Richardson behind us ! An attorney among the glow- 
 worms is more than I expected.' 
 
 ' Good evening, sir,' said the attorney, coming up with them ; 
 ' is Mrs. Frost braving the dew ? ' And then, after some 
 moments, ' Have you heard from your sister lately, Mr. Frost ? ' 
 
 ' About three weeks ago.' 
 
 ' She did not mention then,' said Mr. Richardson, hesitating, 
 ' Mr. Dynevor's health V 
 
 ' No ! Have you heard anything ? ' 
 
 'I thought you might wish to be aware of what I learnt 
 from, I fear, too good authority. It appears that Mr. Dynevor 
 paid only a part of the purchase-money of the estate, giving 
 security for the rest on his property in Peru ; and now, owing 
 to the failure of the Equatorial Steam Navigation Company, 
 Mr. Dynevor is, I fear, actually insolvent.' 
 
 ' Did you say he was ilH ' 
 
 * I heard mentioned severe illness — paralytic affection ; but 
 as you have not heard from Miss Clara, I hope it may be of no 
 importance.' 
 
 After a few more inquiries, and additional information being- 
 elicited, good nights were exchanged, and Mr. Richardson passed 
 on. At Srst neither spoke, till Isabel said — 
 
 ' And Clara never wrote ! ' 
 
 ' She would identify herself too much with her uncle in 
 his misfortune. Poor dear child ! what may she not be under- 
 going ! ' 
 
 ' You will go to her ? ' 
 
 ' I must. Whether my uncle will forgive me or not, to Clara 
 I must go. Shall I write first ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ; it will only make a delay, and your uncle might 
 say " don't come." ' 
 
 * Right ; delay would prolong her perplexities. I will go to- 
 morrow, and Mr. Holdsworth will see to the workhouse people.' 
 
 His alert air showed how grateful was any excuse that could 
 take him to Clara, the impulse of brotherly love coming upper- 
 most of all his sensations. Then came pity for the poor old 
 man whose cherished design had thus crumbled, and the anxious 
 wonder whether he would forgive, and deign to accept sympathy 
 from his nephew. 
 
 ' My dear,' said James, doubtfully ; ' supposing, what I hardly 
 dare to imagine, that he should consent, what should you say 
 to my bringing him here ? ' 
 
 'I believe it would make you happy,' said Isabel. 'Oh ! yes, 
 pray do — and then we should have Clara.' 
 
 'I should rejoice to offer anything like reparation, though 
 I do not dare to hope it will be granted ; and I do not know 
 how to ask you to bi'eak up the home comfort we liave prized 
 so much.' 
 
422 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' It will be all the better comfort for your mind being fully 
 at ease ; and I am sure we should deserve none at all, if we 
 shut our door against him now that he is in distress. You must 
 bring him, poor old man, and I will try with all my might to 
 behave well to him.' 
 
 'It is a mere chance; but I am glad to take your consent 
 with me. As to our affording it, I suppose he may have, 
 at the worst, an allowance from the creditors ; so you will not 
 have to retrench anything.' 
 
 ' Don't talk of that, dearest. We never knew how little we 
 could live on till we tried ; and if No. 12 is taken, and you are 
 paid for the new edition of the lectures, and Walter's pay 
 besides — ' 
 
 ' And Sir Hubert,' added James. 
 
 'Of course we shall get on,' said Isabel. 'I am not in the 
 least afraid that the little girls will suffer, if they do live a little 
 harder for the sake of their old uncle. I only wish you had had 
 your new black coat first, for I am afraid you won't now.' 
 
 ' You need not reckon on that. I don't expect tliat I shall be 
 allowed the comfort of doing anything for him. But see about 
 them I must. Oh, may I not be too late ! ' 
 
 Early the next morning James was on ]iis way, travelling 
 through the long bright summer clay ; and when, after the close, 
 stifling railway carriage, full of rough, loud-voiced passengers, 
 he found himself in the cool of the evening on the bare heath, 
 where the slanting sunbeams cast a red light, he was reminded 
 by every object that met his eye of the liarsh and rebellious 
 sensations that he had allowed to reign over him at his last 
 arrival there, which had made him wrangle over tlie bier of one 
 so loving and beloved, and exaggerate the right till it wore the 
 semblance of the wrong. 
 
 By the time he came to the village, the parting light was 
 shining on the lofty church tower, rising abo^'e the turmoil and 
 whirl of the darkening world below, almost as sacred old age 
 had lifted his grandmother into perpetual peace and joy, above 
 the fret and ^^exation of earthly cares and dissensions. The re- 
 collection of her confident trust that reconciliation was in store, 
 came to cheer him as he crossed the jDark, and the aspect of the 
 house assured him that at least he was not again too late. 
 
 The servant who answered the bell said that Mr. Dynevor 
 was very ill, and Miss Dynevor could see no one. James sent 
 in his card, and stood in an agony of impatience, imagining all 
 and more than all he deserved to have taken place — his uncle 
 either dying, or else forcibly withholding his sister from him. 
 
 At last there was a hurried step, and the brother and sister 
 were clasping each other in speechless joy. 
 
 ' O Jem ! dear Jem ! tliis is so kind ! ' cried Clara, as witli 
 arms round each other they crossed the hall. 'Now I don't 
 care for anything ! ' 
 
 ' My uncle 1 ' 
 
THE CRASH 423 
 
 ^ Much better,' said Clara ; ' he speaks quite well again, and 
 his foot is less numb.' 
 
 ' Was it paralysis ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; brought on by trouble and worry of mind. But how 
 did you know, Jem ? ' 
 
 'Richardson told me. Oh, Clara, had I offended too deeply 
 for you to summon me ? ' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' said Clara, pressing his arm, ' I knew you would 
 help us as far as you could ; but to throw ourselves on you 
 would be robbing the children, so I wanted to have something 
 fixed before you heard.' 
 
 ' My poor child, what could be fixed ? ' 
 
 ' You gave me what is better than house and land,' said Clara. 
 ' I wrote to Miss Brigham ; she will give me employment in the 
 school till I can find a place as daily governess, and she is to 
 take lodgings for us.' 
 
 ' And is this what it has come to, my poor Clara ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, don't pity me ! my heart has felt like an India-rubber 
 ball ever since the crash. Even poor Uncle Oliver being so 
 ill could not keep me from feeling as if the burthen were off my 
 back, and I were little Clara Frost again. It seemed to take 
 away the bar between us ; and so it has ! O, Jem ! this is 
 happiness. Tell me of Isabel and the babies.' 
 
 ' You will come home to them. Do you think my uncle would 
 consent ? ' 
 
 She answered with an embrace, a look of rapture and of 
 doubt, and then a negative. ' Oh, no, we cannot be a burthen 
 on you. You have quite enough on your hands. And, oh ! 
 you have grown so spare and thin. I mean to maintain my 
 uncle, if — ' and her spirited bearing softened into thoughtful- 
 ness, as if the little word conveyed that she meant not to be 
 self-confident. 
 
 ' But, Clara, is this actual ruin ? I know only what Richardson 
 could tell me.' 
 
 ' I do not fully understand,' said Clara. ' It had been plain 
 for a long time that something was on Uncle Oliver's mind ; 
 he was so restless all the winter at Paris, and at last arranged - 
 our coming home very suddenly. I think he was disappointed 
 in London, for he went out at once, and came back very much 
 discomposed. He even scolded me for not having married ; 
 and when I tried to coax liim out of it, he said it was for my 
 good, and he wanted to see after his business in Peru. I put 
 him in mind how dear granny had begged him to stay at home ; 
 but lie told me I knew nothing about it, and that he would 
 have gone long ago if I had not been an obstinate girl, and had 
 known how to play my cards. I said something about going 
 home, but that made him more furious than ever. But, after 
 all, it is not fair to tell all about the last few months. Dr. 
 Hastings says his attack had been a long time coming on, and 
 he must have been previously harassed.' 
 
424 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 ' And you had to bear with it all 1 ' 
 
 ' He was never unkind. Oh, no ; but it was sad to see him 
 so miserable, and not to know why —and so uncertain, too ! 
 Sometimes he would insist on giving grand parties, and yet lie 
 was angry Avith the expense of my poor little pony-carriage. 
 I don't tliink he always quite knew wliat he was about ; and 
 while he hoped to pull through, I suppose lie was afraid of any 
 one guessing at his embarrassments. On this day fortnight he 
 was reading his letters at breakfast — I saw there was something 
 amiss, and said something stupid about the liot rolls, because 
 he could not bear me to notice. I think that roused him, for 
 he got up, but he tottered, and by the time I came to him. he 
 seemed to slip down into my arms, quite insensible. The 
 surgeon in the village bled him, and he came to liimself, but 
 could not speak. I liad almost sent for you then, but Dr. 
 Hastings canje, and thought he would recover, and I did not 
 venture. Indeed, Jane forbade me ; she is a sort of lioness and 
 her whelps. Well, the next day came Mr. Morrison, who is the 
 Mr. Richardson to this concern, and by and by he asked to see 
 me. He kept the doctor in the next room. I believe he thought 
 I should faint or make some such performance, for lie began 
 about his painful duty, and frightened me lest my poor uncle 
 should be worse, only he was not the right man to tell me. So 
 at last it came out that we were ruined, and I was not an 
 heiress at all, at all ! If it had not been for poor Uncle Oliver, 
 I should have cried " Hurrah ! " I did nearly laugh to liear him 
 complimenting my firmness. I believe the liistory is this : — 
 Hearing that this place was for sale, brought Uncle Oliver 
 home before his affairs could well do without him. He paid 
 half the price, and promised to pay the rest in tliree years, 
 giving security on the mines and the other property in Peru • 
 but somehow the remittances have never come i3roperly, ancl 
 he trusted to some great success with the Equatorial Company 
 to set things straight ; but it seems that it lias totally failed, 
 and that was the news that overthrew him. Then the creditors, 
 who had been put off* with hopes, all came down on him together, 
 . and there seems to be nothing to be done but to give up every- 
 thing to them. Poor Uncle Oliver ! — I sat watching him that 
 evening, and thinking how Louis would say the sea liad swept 
 away his whole sand castle with one wave.' 
 
 ' Does he know it ? Have any steps been taken ? ' 
 
 'Mr. Morrison showed me what my poor uncle had done. He 
 had really executed a deed giving me the whole estate ; he 
 w^ould have borne all the disgrace and persecution himself — for 
 you know it would have been a most horrible scrape, as he had 
 given them security on property that was not really secure. 
 Mr. Morrison said the deed would hold, and that lie would 
 ])ring me counsel's opinion if I liked. But, oh, Jem ! I was so 
 thankful that my birthday was over, and I v/as my own woman ! 
 I made him dmw up a paper, and I signed it, undertaking that 
 
THE CRASH 425 
 
 they shall have quiet possession provided they will come to an 
 amicable settlement, and not torment my uncle.' 
 
 '1 hope he is a man of sense, who will make the best terms-?' 
 
 * You may see to that now. I'm sure he is a man of compli- 
 ments. He tells me grand things about my disinterestedness 
 and the creditors ; and they have promised to let us stay un- 
 molested as long as I please, which mil be only till my uncle can 
 move, for I must get rid of all these servants and paraphernalia ; 
 and in the meantime they are concocting the amicable adjust- 
 ment, and Mr. Morrison said he should try to stipulate for a 
 maintenance for my uncle ; but he was not sure of it, without 
 giving up what may yet come from Peru. Jane's annuity is safe 
 — ^^that is a comfort ! What work I had to make her believe it ! 
 and now she wants us all to live upon it.' 
 
 ' That was a rare and beautiful power by which my grand- 
 mother infused such faithful love into all her dependents. But 
 now for the person really to be pitied.' 
 
 ' It was only three days ago that it was safe to speak of it, but 
 then he liad grown so anxious that the doctors said I must begin. 
 So I begged and prayed him to forgive me, and then told what 
 I had done, and he was not so very angry. He only called me 
 a silly child, and said I did not know what I had done in those 
 few days that I had been left to myself. So I told him dear 
 granny had had it, and that Avas all that signified, and that I 
 never had any right here. Then,' said Clara, tearfully, ' he 
 began to cry like a cliild, and said at least she had died in her 
 own home ; and he called me Henry's child : and then Jane 
 came and turned me out, and won't let me go near him unless 
 I promise to be good and say nothing. But I must soon ; for 
 liowever she pats him, and says, " Don't, Master Oliver," I see his 
 mind runs on nothing else ; and the doctor says he may soon 
 liear the plans, and be moved.' 
 
 ' Can you venture to tell him that I am here ? ' 
 
 Before Clara could answer, Jane opened the door — 'Miss 
 Clara, your uncle ; ' and there she stopped, at the unexpected 
 sight of the brother and sister still hand in hand. ' Here, Jane, 
 do you see him ? ' cried Clara ; and James came forward with 
 outstretched hand, but he was not graciously received. 
 
 ' Now, Master James, you ain't coming here to worrit your 
 poor uncle 1 ' 
 
 ^ISTo, indeed, Jane. I am come in the hope of being of some 
 use to him.' 
 
 'I'd rather by half it had been Lord Fitzjocelyn,' muttered 
 Jane ; ' he was always quieter.' 
 
 '_ ISTow, Jane, you should not be so cross,' cried Clara, ' when 
 it is your own Jemmy, come on purpose to help and comfort us 
 all ! ^ You are going to tell Uncle Oliver, and make him glad to 
 see him, as you know you are.' 
 
 ' I know,' said James, ' that last time I was here, I behaved ill 
 enough to make you dread my presence^ Jane ; but J have 
 
426 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 learnt and suffered a good deal since that time, and I wish for 
 nothing so much as for my uncle's pardon,' 
 
 Mrs. Beckett would liave been more impressed, liad she ever 
 ceased to think of Master Jemmy otherwise than as a self-willed 
 but candid boy ; and she answered as if he had been throwing 
 himself on lier mercy after breaking a window, or knocking 
 down Lord Fitzjocelyn — 
 
 * Well, sir, tliat is all you can say. I'm glad you are sorry. 
 I'll see if I can mention it to your uncle.' 
 
 Off trotted Jane, while Clara's indignation and excited spirits 
 relieved themselves by a burst of merry laughter, as she hung 
 about her brother, and begged to hear of tlie dear old home. 
 
 The old servant, in lier simplicity, went straight up-stairs, 
 and up to her nursling, as he had again become. ' Master 
 Oliver,' said slie, ' lie is come. Master Jem is come back, and 
 'twould do your lieart good to see liow happy the children are 
 together — just like you and poor Master Henry.' 
 
 ' Did slie ask him here "? ' said Mr. Dynevor, uneasily. 
 
 ' No, sir ; he came right out of his own head, because he 
 thought she would feel lost.' 
 
 Oliver vouchsafed no reply, and Jane pressed no farther. 
 He never alluded to his guest ; but when Clara came into 
 the room, his eye dwelt on her countenance of bright content 
 and animation, and the smiles that played round her lips as she 
 sat silent. Her voice was hushed in the sick-room, but he heard 
 it about the house with the blithe, lively ring that had been 
 absent from it since he carried her away from Northwold ; and 
 her steps danced up-stairs, and along the galleries, with the light, 
 bounding tread unknown to the constrained, dignified Miss 
 Dynevor. All the notice he took that night was to say, petu- 
 lantly, when Clara was sitting with him, ' Doii't stay here ; you 
 want to be down-stairs.' 
 
 ^ Oh, no, dear uncle, I am come to stay with you. I don't 
 want, in the least, to be anywhere but here.' 
 
 He seemed pleased, although he growled ; and next morning 
 Jane reported that he had been asking for how long his nephew 
 had come, and saying he was glad that Miss Dynevor had some 
 one to look after her — a sufferance beyond expectation. In his 
 helpless state, Jane had resumed her nursery relations with him ; 
 and he talked matters over with her so freely that it was well 
 that the two young people were scarcely less her children, and 
 had almost an equal share of her affection, so that Clara felt 
 that matters might be safely trusted in her hands. 
 
 Clara's felicity could hardly be described, with her fond affec- 
 tions satisfied by her brother's presence, and her fears of manag- 
 ing ill removed by reliance on him ; and many as v/ere the 
 remaining cares, and great as was the suspense lest her uncle 
 should still nourish resentment, nothing could overcome the sense 
 of restored joy ever bubbling up, not even the dread that James 
 might not bear patiently with continued rebuffs, But James 
 
THE tJRASH 427 
 
 was so much more gentle and tolerant than she had ever known 
 him, that at first she could not understand missing the retort, 
 the satire, the censure which had seemed an essential part of 
 her brother. She was always instinctively guarding against 
 what never happened ; or if some slight demonstration flashed 
 out, he caught himself up, and asked pardon before she had 
 perceived anything, till she began to think marriage had altered 
 him wonderfully, and almost to owe Isabel a grudge for having 
 cowed his spirit. She could hardly believe that he was waiting 
 so patiently in the guise of a suppliant, when she thought him 
 in the right from the first ; though she could perceive that the 
 task was easier now that the old man was in adversity, and she 
 saw that he regarded his exclusion from his uncle's room in the 
 light of a just punishment, to be endured with humility. 
 
 James, on his side, was highly pleased with his sister. Having 
 only seen her as the wild, untamed Giraffe, he was by no means 
 prepared for the dignity and decision with which Miss Dynevor 
 reigned over the establishment. Her tall figure, and the 
 simple, straightforward ease of her movements and manners, 
 seemed made to grace those large, lofty rooms ; and as he 
 watched her jjlaying the part of mistress of the house so 
 naturally in the midst of the state, the servants, the silver 
 covers, and the trappings, he felt that heiress-ship became her 
 so well, tliat he could hardly believe that her tenure there was 
 over, and unregretted. ' Even Isabel could not do it better,' he 
 said, smiling ; and she made a low curtsey for the compliment, 
 and laughed back, ' I'm glad you have come to see my perform- 
 ance. It has been a very long, dull pageant ; and here comes 
 Mr. Morrison, I hope with the last act.' 
 
 Morrison was evidently much relieved that Miss Dynevor 
 should have some relative to advise with, since he did not like 
 the responsibility of her renunciation, though owning that it 
 was the only thing that could save her uncle from disgraceful 
 ruin, and perhaps from prosecution ; whereas now the gratitude 
 and forbearance of the creditors were secured, and he hoped 
 that Mr. Dynevor might be set free from the numerous English 
 involvements, without sacrificing his remaining property in 
 Peru. The lawyer seemed to have no words to express to James 
 his sense of Miss Dynevor's conduct in the matter, her jorompti- 
 tude and good sense having apparently struck him as much as 
 her generosity, and there was no getting him to believe, as Clara 
 wished, that the sacrifice was no sacrifice at all — nothing, as she 
 said, but 'common honesty and a great riddance.' He promised 
 to take steps in earnest for the final settlement with the 
 creditors ; and though still far from the last act, Clara began to 
 consider of hastening her plans. It was exceedingly doubtful 
 whether Oliver would hear of living at Dynevor Terrace, and 
 Clara could not be separated from him ; besides which, she was 
 resolved that her brother should not be burthened, and she 
 would give James no promises, conditional or otherwise. 
 
428 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Mr. Dynevor liacl discovered thcat Morrison had been in the 
 house, and was obviously restless to know what had taken place. 
 By and by he said to Jane, with an air of inquiry, ' Why does 
 not the young man come near me ? ' 
 
 Mrs Beckett was too liappy to report the invitation, telling 
 ' Master Jem ' at the same time that ' he was not to rake up 
 nothing gone and past ; there was quite troubles enougli for one 
 while.' Clara thought the same, and besides was secretly sure 
 that if he admitted that he had been wrong in i)art, his uncle 
 would imagine him to mean that he had been wrong in the 
 whole. Their instructions and precautions were trying to James, 
 whose chaplaincy had given him more experience of the sick 
 and the feeble than tliey gave him credit for ; and he was 
 patient enough to amaze Clara and i3acify Jane, who ushered 
 him into the sick-chamber. There, e\en in liis worst days, lie 
 must have laid aside ill-feeling at the aspect of the slirunken, 
 broken figure in the pillowed arm-chair, prematurely aged, liis 
 hair thin and white, his face shrivelled, his eyelid drooping, 
 and mouth contracted. He was still some years under sixty ; 
 but this was the result of toil and climate — of the labour gener- 
 ously designed, but how conducted, how resulting ? 
 
 He had not learned to put out his left hand — he only made 
 a sharp nod, as James, with tender and humble respect, ap- 
 proached, feeling that, now his grandmother was gone, this frail 
 old man, his father's brother, was the last who chiimed by right 
 his filial love and gratitude. How different from the rancour 
 and animosity witli which he had met liis former advances ! 
 
 He ventured gently on kindly hopes that his uncle was better, 
 and they were not ill taken, though not without fretfulness. 
 Presently Oliver said, ' Come to look after your sister ? that's 
 right — good girl, good girl ! ' 
 
 ' That she is ! ' exclaimed James, heartily. 
 
 ' Too hasty ! too great hurry,' resumed Oliver ; ^ she had 
 better have waited, saved the old place, — never mind what 
 became of tlie old man, one-half dead already.' 
 
 ' She would not have been a Clara good for much if she had 
 treated you after that fashion, sir,' said James, smiling. 
 
 He gave his accustomed snort. ' The mischief a girl let alone 
 can do in three days, when once she's of age, and one can't stop 
 her ! Women ought never to come of age ; ain't fit for it ; 
 undo all the work of my lifetime with a stroke of her i3en ! ' 
 
 ' For your sake, sir ! ' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Pity but she'd been safe married — tied it up well 
 with settlements then out of her power. Can't think what that 
 young Fitzjocelyn was after — it ain't the old affair. Ponsonby 
 writes me that things are to be settled as soon as Ward comes 
 back.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! ' 
 
 ^Aye, good sort of fellow — no harm to have lum in our con- 
 cerns—I hope he'll look into the accounts, and find out what 
 
THE CRASH 429 
 
 Robson is at. After all, I shall soon be out there myself, and 
 make Master Robson look about him. Mad to allow myself to 
 stay — but I'll wait no longer. Morrison may put the fellows 
 off'^I'll give him a hint ; we'll save the place, after all, when 1 
 once get out to Lima. If only I knew what to do with that 
 
 James could not look at him without a conAaction that he 
 would never recover the use of his hand and foot ; but this was 
 no time to discourage his spirits, and the answer was — ' My 
 sister's natural home would be with me.' 
 
 ' Ha ! the child would like it, I suppose. I'd make a hand- 
 some allowance for her. I shall manage that when my affairs 
 are in my own hands ; but I may as well write to the moun- 
 tains as to Ponsonby. Aye, aye ! Clara might go to you. 
 She'll have enough any way to be quite worth young Fitz- 
 jocelyn's while, you may tell him. That mine in the San 
 Benito would retrieve all, and I'll not forget — pray, how many 
 children have you by this time ? ' 
 
 Tour little girls, sir,' said James, restraining the feeling 
 which was rising in the contact with liis uncle, revealing that 
 both were still the same men. 
 
 ' H'm ! No time lost, however ! Well, we shall see ! Any 
 way, an allowance for Clara's board won't hurt. What's your 
 notion ? ' 
 
 James's notion was profound pity for the poor old man. 
 * Indeed, sir/ he said, ' Clara is sure to be welcome. All we 
 wish is, that you would kindly bring her to us at once. Per- 
 haps you would find the baths of service ; we would do our 
 utmost to make you comfortable, and we are not inhabiting half 
 the house, so that there would be ample space to keep the 
 children from inconveniencing you.' 
 
 ' Clara is set on it, I'll warrant.' 
 
 ' Clara waits to be guided by your wishes ; but my wife and 
 I should esteem it as the greatest favour you could do us.' 
 
 ' Ha ! we'll see what I can manage. I must see Morrison ' — 
 and he fell into meditation, presently breaking from it to say 
 fretfully, ' I say, Roland, would you reach me that tumbler ? ' 
 
 Never had James thought to be grateful for that name ! 
 He would gladly have been Roland Dynevor for the rest of his 
 days, if he could have left behind him the transgressions of 
 James Frost ! But the poor man's shattered thoughts had been 
 too long on the stretch ; and, without furtlier ceremony, Jane 
 came in and dismissed his nephew. 
 
 Clara hardly trusted her ears when she was told shortly after, 
 by her uncle, that they were to go to Nortliwold. Roland 
 wished it ; and, poor fellow ! the board and lodging were a 
 great object to him. He seemed to have come to his senses 
 now it was too late ; and if Clara wished it, and did not think 
 it dull, there she might stay while he himself was gone to 
 Lima. 
 
430 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' A great object the other way,' Clara had nearly cried, in her' 
 indigjiation that James could not be supposed disinterested in 
 an invitation to an old man, who probably was destitute. 
 
 Brother and uncle appeared to have left her out of the con- 
 sultation ; but she was resolved not to let him be a burthen on 
 those who had so little already, and she called her old friend 
 Jane to take counsel with her, whether it would not be doing 
 them an injury to carry him thither at all. So much of Jane's 
 heart as was not at Cheveleigh was at Dynevor Terrace, and 
 her answer was decided. 
 
 ' To be sure. Miss Clara, nothing couldn't be more natural.' 
 
 ' ]S"othing, indeed ; but I can't put them to trouble and expense.' 
 
 ' I'll Avarrant,' said Jane, ' that I'll make whatever they have 
 go twice as far as Charlotte ever will. Why, you know I keeps 
 myself ; and for the rest, it will be a mere saving to have me 
 in the kitchen ! There's no air so good for Master Oliver.' 
 
 ' I see you mean to go, Jane,' said Clara. ' Now, I have to 
 look out for myself.' 
 
 ' Bless me. Miss Clara, don't you do nothing in a hurry. Go 
 home quiet and look about you.' 
 
 Jane had begun to call Northwold home ; and, in spite of 
 her mournings over the old place, Clara thought she had never 
 been so happy there as in her present dominion over Master 
 Oliver, and her prospects of her saucepans and verbenas at 
 No. 5. 
 
 Poor Oliver ! what a scanty measure of happiness had his 
 lifelong exertions produced ! Many a human sacrifice has been 
 made to a grim and hollow idol, failing his devotees in time of 
 extremity 1 Had it not been thus with Oliver Dynevor's self- 
 devotion to the honour of his family ? 
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 FAREWELL TO GREATNESS 
 
 Soon from the halls my fathers reared 
 -Their scutcheons must descend— Scott 
 
 •Mr. Holdsworth contrived to set James at liberty for 
 a fortnight, and he was thus enabled to watch over the negotia- 
 tion, and expedite matters for the removal. The result was, 
 that the resignation of the estate, furniture, and of Claras 
 jewels, honourably cleared off the debts contracted in poor Mr. 
 Dynevor's eagerness to reinstate the family in all its pristine 
 grandeur, and left him totally dependent on whatever might be 
 rescued in Peru. He believed this to be considerable, but the 
 brother and sister founded little hopes on the chance ; as, what- 
 ever there might be had been entangled in the JEquatorial 
 Company, and nothing could be less comprehensible than Mr. 
 Robson's statements. 
 
FAREWELL TO GREATNESS 4^1 
 
 Clara retained her own seventy pounds per annum, which, 
 thrown into the common stock, would, James assured her, satisfy 
 him, in a pecuniary point of view, that he was doing no wrong 
 to his children ; though he added, that even if there had been 
 nothing, he did not believe they would ever be the worse for 
 what might be spent on their infirm old uncle. 
 
 Notice was sent to Isabel to prepare, and she made cordial 
 reply that the two rooms on the ground-iloor were being made 
 ready for Mr. Dynevor, and Clara's own little room being set 
 in order ; Miss Mercy Faithfull helping with all her might, and 
 little Kitty stamping about, thinking her services equally 
 effectual. 
 
 Oliver was in haste to leave a place replete with disappoint- 
 ment and failure, and was so helpless and dependent as to wish 
 for his nephew's assistance on the journey ; and it was, there- 
 fore, fixed for the end of James's second week. No one called 
 to take leave, except the curate and good Mr. Henderson, who 
 showed Clara much warm, kind feeling, and praised her to her 
 brother. 
 
 She begged James to walk with her for a farewell visit to her 
 grandmother's other old friend. Great was her enjoyment of 
 this expedition ; she said she had not had a walk worth having 
 since she was at Aix-la-Chapelle, and liberty and companionship 
 compensated for all the heat and dust in the dreary tract, full 
 of uncomfortable shabby-genteel abodes, and an unpromising 
 population. 
 
 ' One cannot regret such a tenantry,' said Clara. 
 Poor creatures ! ' said James. ' I wonder into whose hands 
 they will fall. Your heart may be free, Clara ; you have 
 followed the clear path of duty ; but it is a painful thought for 
 me, that to strive to amend these festering evils, caused very 
 likely by my grandfather's speculations, might have been my 
 appointed task. I should not have had far to seek for occupa- 
 tion. When I was talking to the curate yesterday, my heart 
 smote me to think what I might have done to help him.' 
 
 'It would all have been over now.' 
 
 ' It ought not. Nay, perhaps my presence might have left my 
 uncle free to attend to his own concerns.' 
 
 ' I really believe you are going to regret the place ! ^ 
 
 * After all, Clara, I was a Dynevor before my uncle came home. 
 It might have been my birthright. But, as Isabel says, what 
 we are now is far more likely to be safe for the children. I 
 was bad enough as I was, but what should I have been as a 
 pampered heir ? Let it go.' 
 
 * Yes, let it go,' said Clara ; ' it has been little but pain to 
 me. We shall teach my poor uncle that home love is better 
 than old family estates. I almost wish he may recover nothing 
 in Peru, that he may learn that you receive him for his own 
 sake.' 
 
 ' That is more than I can wish,' said James. ' A hundred or 
 
432 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 two a year would come in handily. Besides, I am afraid that 
 Mary Ponsonby may be suffering in this crash.' 
 
 ' She seems to Iiave taken care of herself,' said Clara. ' She 
 does not write to me, and I am almost ready to believe her 
 father at last. I could not have thouglit it of lier ! ' 
 
 ^Isabel has always said it was the best thing that could 
 happen to Louis.' 
 
 ^Isabel never liad any notion of Louis. I don't mean any 
 offence, but if she had known what he was made of, she would 
 never have had you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Clara ! I always tliought it an odd predilec- 
 tion, but no one can noAv esteem Fitzjocelyn more highly tlian 
 slie does.' 
 
 ' Very likely ; but if she thinks Louis can stand Mary's de- 
 serting him — ' 
 
 ' It will be great pain, no doubt ; but once over, he will be free.' 
 
 ' It never will be over.' 
 
 ' That is young-ladyism.' 
 
 ' I never was a young lady, and I know what I mean. Mary 
 may not be all he thinks her, and she may be dull enougli to 
 let her affection wear out ; but I do not believe he will ever look 
 at any one again as he did after Mary on your wedding-day.' 
 
 ' So you forbid him to be ever happy again ! ' 
 
 ' Not at all, only in that one way. There are many others of 
 being happy.' 
 
 ' That one way meaning marriage 1 ' 
 
 ' I mean that sort of perfect marriage that, according to the 
 saying, is made in heaven. Whether that could have been 
 with Mary, I do not know her well enough to guess ; but I am 
 convinced that he will always have the same kind of memory of 
 her that a man has of a first love, or first wife.' 
 
 ' It may have been a mistake to drive him into the attach- 
 ment, which Isabel thinks has been favoured by absence, leaving 
 scope for imagination ; but I cannot give up the hope that his 
 days of happiness are yet to come.' 
 
 ^Nor do I give up Mary, yet,' said Clara. 'Till she announces 
 her defection I shall not believe it, for it would be common 
 honesty to inform poor Louis, and in that she never was deficient.' 
 
 ' It is not a plant that seems to thrive on the Peruvian soil.' 
 
 * No ; and I am dreadfully afraid for Tom Madison. There 
 were hints about him in Mr. Ponsonby's letters, which make 
 me very anxious ; and from what my uncle says, it seems that 
 there is such an atmosphere of gambling and trickery about his 
 office, that he thinks it a matter of course that no one should 
 be really true and honest.' 
 
 ' That would be a terrible affair indeed ! I don't know for 
 which I should be most concerned, Louis or our poor little 
 Charlotte. But after all, Clara, we have known too many 
 falsehoods come across the Atlantic, to concern ourselves about 
 anything witliout good reason.' 
 
FAREWELL TO GREATNESS 433 
 
 So they talked, enjoying the leisure the walk gave them for 
 conversation, and then paying the painful visit, when Clara 
 tried in vain to make it understood by the poor old lady that 
 slie was going away, and that James was her brother. They 
 felt thankful that such decay had been spared their grand- 
 mother, and Clara sighed to think that her uncle might be on 
 the brink of a like loss of faculties, and then felt herself more 
 than ever bound to him. 
 
 On the way home they went together to the church, and 
 pondered over the tombs of their ancestry, — ranging from the 
 grim, defaced old knight, through tlie polished brass, the kneel- 
 ing courtier, and the dishevelled Grief embracing an urn, down 
 to the mural arch enshrining the dear revered name of 
 Catharine, daughter of Roland, and wife of James Frost Dynevor, 
 the last of her line whose bones would rest there. Her grave 
 had truly been the sole possession that her son's labours had 
 secured for her ; that grave was the only spot at Cheveleigh 
 that claimed a pang from Clara's heart. She stood beside it 
 with deep, fond, clinging love and reverence, but with no 
 painful recollections to come between her and that fair, bright 
 vision of happy old age. Alas ! for the memories that her 
 brother had sown to spring up round him now ! 
 
 Apart from all these vipers of his own creating, James after 
 all felt more in the cession of Clieveleigh than did his sister. 
 Tliese were days of change and of feudal feeling wearing out ; 
 but James, long as he had pretended to scorn 'being senti- 
 mental about his forefathers,' was strongly susceptible of such 
 impressions ; and he was painfully conscious of being disin- 
 herited. He might have felt thus, without any restoration or 
 loss, as the mere etiect of visiting his birthright as a stranger ; 
 but, as lie received all humbly instead of proudly, the feeling 
 did him no harm. It softened him into sympathy with his 
 uncle, and tardy appreciation of his single-minded devotion to 
 the estate, which he had won not for himself, but for others, only 
 to see it first ungratefully rejected, and then snatched away. 
 Then, with a thrill of humiliation at his own unworthiness, 
 came the earnest prayer that it might yet be vouchsafed to him 
 to tend the exhausted body, and train the contracted mind to 
 dwell on that inheritance whence there could be no casting out. 
 Poor Oliver was fretful and restless, insisting on being 
 brought down to his study to watch over the packing of his 
 papers, and miserable at being unable to arrange them himself. 
 Even the tenderest pity for him could not prevent him from 
 being an exceeding trial ; and James could hardly yet have 
 endured it, but for pleasure and interest in watching his sister's 
 lively good-humour, saucy and determined when the old man 
 was unreasonable, and caressing and affectionate when he was 
 violent in his impotence i never seeming to hear, see, or regard 
 anything unkind or unpleasant ; and absolutely pleased and grati- 
 fied when her uncle, in his petulance, sometimes ungraciously 
 
 F F 
 
434 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 rejected hei^ services in favour of those of 'Roland,' who, he 
 took it for granted, must, as a man, have more sense. It 
 would sometimes cross James, how Avould Isaljel and tlie children 
 fare witli this ill-humour ; but lie liad much confidence in his 
 wife's sweet calm temper, and more in the obvious duty ; and, 
 on the whole, he believed it was better not to think about it. 
 
 The suffering tliat tlie surrender cost Oliver was only shown 
 in tliis species of petty fractiousness, until tlie last morning, 
 when his nephew was helping him across the hall, and Clara 
 close at his side, he made them stand still beside one of the 
 pillars, and groaned as he said, ' Here I waited for the carriage 
 last time ! Here I promised to get it back again ! ' 
 
 ' I wish every one kept promises as you did,' said James, 
 looking about for something cheerful to say. 
 
 ' I had hope then,' said Oliver ; and well might he feel the 
 contrast between the youth, with such hopes, energies, and 
 determination mighty within him, and the broken and disap- 
 pointed man. 
 
 ' Hope yet, and better hope ! ' James could not help saying. 
 
 ' Not while there's such a rascal in the office at Lima,' cried 
 Oliver, testily. 
 
 ' Oh ! Uncle Oliver, he did not mean that ! ' exclaimed Clara. 
 
 Mr. Dynevor grumbled something about parsons, wdiich 
 neither of them chose to hear ; and Clara cut it short by 
 saying, 'After all. Uncle Oliver, you have done it all! Dear 
 grandmamma came back and was happy here, and that was all 
 that signified. You never wanted it for yourself, you know, 
 and my dear father was not here to have it. And for you, 
 what could you have more than your nephew and niece to — 
 to try to be like your children ! And hadn't you rather have 
 them without purchase than with V And as she saw him smile 
 in answer to her bright caress, she added merrily, ' There's 
 nothing else to pity but the fir-trees and gold-fish ; and as they 
 have done very happily before without the Pendragon reign, I 
 dare say they will again ; so I can't be very sorry for them ! ' 
 
 This was Clara's farewell to her greatness, and cheerily she 
 enlivened her uncle all the way to London, and tried to solace 
 him after the interviews that he insisted on with various men 
 of business, and which did not tend to make him stronger in 
 health or spirits through the next day's journey. 
 
 The engine whistled its arriving shriek at Northwold. Happy 
 Clara ! What was the summer rain to her ? Every house, every 
 passenger, were tokens of home ; and the damp, rain-mottled 
 face of the Terrace, looking like a child that had been crying, 
 was more welcome to her longing eyes than ever had been lake 
 or mountain. 
 
 Isabel and little Catharine stood on the step ; but as Mr. 
 Dynevor was lifted out, the little girl shrank out of sight with 
 a childish awe of infirmity. The dining-room had been made a 
 very comfortable sitting-room for him, and till he was settled 
 
FAREWELL TO GREATNESS 435 
 
 there, nothing else could be attended to ; but he was so much 
 fatigued, that it was found best to leave him entirely to Jane ; and 
 Clara, after a few moments, followed her brother from the room. 
 
 As she slmt the door, she stood for some seconds unobserved, 
 and unwilling to interfere with the scene before her. Half-way 
 up-stairs, James had been pulled down to sit on the steps, 
 surrounded by his delighted flock. The baby was in his arms, 
 flourishing her hands as he danced her ; Kitty, from above, had 
 clasped him tightly round the neck, chattering and kissing with 
 breathless velocity ; one twin in front was drumming on his knee, 
 and shrieking in accordance with every shout of the baby ; and 
 below, leaning on the balusters, stood their mother's graceful 
 figure, looking up at them with a lovely smiling face of perfect 
 gladness. She was the first to perceive Clara ; and, with a pretty 
 gesture to be silent, she pointed to the stand of the Wedgwood 
 jar, under which sat the other little maid, her two fat arms 
 clasped tight round her papa's umbrella, and the ivory handle 
 indenting her rosy cheek, as she fondled it in silent transport. 
 
 ' My little Salome,' whispered Isabel, squeezing Clara's hand, 
 'our quiet one. She could not sleep for expecting papa, and 
 now she is in a fit of shy delight ', she can't shout with the 
 others ; she can only nurse his umbrella.' 
 
 Just then James made a desperate demonstration, amid peals 
 of laughter from his daughters. ' We are stopping the way ! 
 Get out, you unruly monsters ! Let go, Kitty — Mercy, I shall 
 kick ! Mamma, catch this ball ; ' making a feint of tossing the 
 crowing Fanny at her. 
 
 Assuredly, thought Clara, pity was wasted ; there was not 
 one too many. And then began the happy exulting introduc- 
 tions, and a laugh at little Mercy, who stood blank and open- 
 mouthed, gazing up and up her tall aunt, as if there were no 
 coming to the top of her. Clara sat down on the stairs, to 
 bring her face to a level, and struck up a friendship with her 
 on the spot, while James lifted up his little Salome, her joy 
 still too deep and reserved for manifestation ; only without a 
 word she nestled close to him, laid her head on his shoulder, 
 and closed her eyes, as if languid with excess of rapture — a 
 pretty contrast to her sisters' frantic delight, which presently 
 alarmed James lest it should disturb his uncle, and he called 
 them up-stairs. 
 
 But Clara must first run to the House Beautiful, and little 
 Mercy must needs come to show her the way, and trotted up 
 before her, consequentially announcing 'Aunt Cara.' Miss 
 Faithfull alone was present ; and, without speaking, Clara 
 dropped on the ground, laid her head on her dear old friend's 
 lap, and little Mercy exclaimed, in wondering alarm, 'Aunt 
 Cara naughty — Aunt Cara crying ! ' 
 
 ' My darling,' said Miss Faithfull, as she kissed Clara's brow 
 and stroked her long flaxen hair, ' you have gone through a great 
 deal. We must try to make you happy in your poor old home.' 
 
 F F 2 
 
436 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' Oh, no ! oh, no ! It is happiness ! Oh ! such happiness ! 
 but I don't know what to do with it, and I want granny ! ' 
 
 She was ahnost like little Salome ; the flood of bliss in 
 returning home, joined with the missing of the one dearest 
 welcome, had come on her so suddenly tliat she was almost 
 stifled, till she had been calmed and soothed l)y the brief 
 interval of quiet with her dear old friend. She returned to 
 No. 5, there to find that her uncle was going to bed, and Char- 
 lotte, pink and beautiful with delight, was running about in 
 attendance on Jane. Slie went up straight to her own little 
 room, which had been set out exactly as in former times, so 
 that she could feel as if slie had been not a day absent ; and 
 she lost not a moment in adding to it all the other little trea- 
 sures which made it fully like her own. She looked out at the 
 Ormersfield trees, and smiled to think how well Louis's advice 
 had turned out ; and then she sighed in the fear that it might 
 yet be her duty to leave home. If her uncle could live without 
 her, sh e must tear herself away, and work for his maintenance. 
 
 However, for the present, she might enjoy to the utmost, 
 and she proceeded to the little parlour, which, to her extreme 
 surprise, she found only occupied by the four children — 
 Kitty holding the youngest upon her feet, till, at the new 
 apparition, Fanny suddenly seated herself for the convenience 
 of staring. 
 
 ' Are you all alone here ? ' exclaimed Clara. 
 
 ' I am taking care of the little ones,' replied Kitty, with dignity. 
 
 ' Where's mamma ^ ' 
 
 ' Slie is gone down to get tea. Papa is gone to the Union ; 
 but we do not mean to wait for him,' answered the little per- 
 sonage, with an air capable, the more droll because she was on the 
 smallest scale, of much less substance than the round fat twins, 
 and indeed chiefly distinguishable from them by her slender 
 neat shape ; for the faces were at first sight all alike, brown, 
 small-featured, with large dark eyes, and dark curly hair — 
 Mercy with the largest and most impetuous eyes, and Salome 
 with a dreamy look, more like her mother. Fanny was in a 
 diflerent style, and much i3rettier ; but her comtemplation 
 ended in alarm and inclination to cry, whereupon Kitty em- 
 braced her, and consoled her like a most eflicient guardian ; 
 then seeing Mercy becoming rather rude in her familiarities 
 with her aunt, held up her small forefinger, and called out 
 gravely, ' Mercy, recollect yourself ! ' 
 
 Wonders would never cease ! Here was Isabel coming up 
 with the tea-tray in her own hands ! 
 
 ' My dear, do you always do that *? ' 
 
 'No, only when Charlotte is busy; and,' as she picked up 
 the baby, 'now Kitty may bring the rest.' 
 
 So, in various little journeys, the miniature woman's curly 
 head rose above the loaf, and the butter-dish, and even the 
 milk-jug, held without spilling ; while Isabel would have set out 
 
FAREWELL TO GREATNESS 437 
 
 the tea-things with one hand, if Clara had not done it for her ; 
 and the workhouse girl finally appeared with the kettle. 
 
 Was this the same Isabel whom Clara last remembered with 
 her baby in her lap, beautiful and almost as inanimate as a 
 statue 1 There was scarcely more change from the long-f rocked 
 infant to the bustling important sprite, than from that fair piece 
 of still life to the active house-mother. Unruffled grace was 
 innate ; every movement had a lofty, placid deliberation and 
 simplicity, that made her like a disguised princess ; and though 
 her beauty was a little worn, what it had lost in youth was far 
 more than compensated by sweetness and animation. The pen- 
 sive cast remained, but the dreaminess had sobered into thought 
 and true hope. Her dress was an old handsome silk, frayed 
 and worn, but so becoming to her, that the fading was unno- 
 ticed in the delicate neatness of the accompaniments. And 
 the dear old room ! It looked like a cheerful habitation ; but 
 Clara's almost instant inquiry was for the porcelain Arcadians, 
 and she could not think it quite as tidy and orderly as it used to 
 be in old times, when she had been the only fairy Disorder. 
 * However, I'll see to that,' quoth she to herself. And she gave 
 herself up to the happy tea-drinking, when James was wel- 
 comed by another tumult, and was pinned down by Kitty and 
 Salome on either side — mamma making tea in spite of Fanny 
 on her lap — Mercy adhering to the new-comer — the eager con- 
 versation — Kitty thrusting in her little oar, and being hushed 
 by mamma — the grand final game at romps, ending with Isabel 
 carrying off her little victims one by one to bed, and James 
 taking tlie tea-tray down-stairs. Clara followed with other 
 parts of the equipage, and then both stood together warming 
 themselves, and gossiping over tlie dear old kitchen fire, till 
 Isabel came down and found them there. And then, before 
 any of the grand news was discussed, all the infant marvels 
 of the last fortnight had to be detailed ; and the young parents 
 required Clara's opinion whether they were spoiling Kitty. 
 
 Next, Clara found her way to the cupboard, brought the 
 shepherd and shepherdess to light, looked them well over, and 
 satisfied herself that there was not one scar or wound on either 
 — ^nay, it is not absolutely certain that she did not kiss the 
 damsel's delicate pink cheek — set them upon tlie mantelj)iece, 
 promised to keep them in order, and stood gazing at them till 
 James accused her of regarding them as her penates ! 
 
 ' Why, Jem ! ' she said, turning on him, ' you are a mere 
 recreant if you can feel it like home without them ! ' 
 
 ' I have other j^orcelain figures to depend on for a home ! ' 
 said James. 
 
 ' Take care, James ! ' said his wife, with the fond sadness of 
 one whose cup overflowed with happiness ; ' Clara's shepherdess 
 may look fragile, but she has kept her youth and seen many a 
 generation pass by of such as you depend on ! ' 
 
 ^She once was turned out of Cheveleigh, too, and has borne 
 
438 DYNEVOK TERRACE! 
 
 it as easily as Clara,' said James, smiling. ' I suspect her worst 
 danger is from Fanny. There's a lady who, I warn you, can 
 never withstand Fanny ! ' 
 
 Isabel took up her own defence, and they laughed on. 
 
 Poor Uncle Oliver ! could he but have known how little all 
 this had to do with Cheveleigh ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 WESTERN TIDINGS 
 
 O'lady! worthy of earth's proudest throne! 
 Nor less, by excellence of nature, fit 
 Beside an unambitious hearth to sit 
 Domestic queen, where grandeur is unknown — 
 Queen and handmaid lowly. — Wordsworth 
 
 A HOUSE in the Terrace was let, and the rent was welcome, 
 and shortly after, Clara had an affectionate letter from her old 
 school enemy. Miss Salter, begging her to come as governess to 
 her little brother, promising that she should be treated like one 
 of the family, and offering a large salary. 
 
 Clara was much afraid that it was her duty to accept the 
 proposal, since her uncle seemed very fairly contented, and was 
 growing very fond of ' Roland,' and the payment would be so 
 great an assistance ; but James and Isabel were strongly averse 
 to it ; and her conscience was satisfied by Miss Mercy Faithf ull's 
 discovery of a family at the Baths in search of a daily governess. 
 
 Miss Frost was not a person to be rejected, and in another 
 week she found herself setting out to breakfast with a girl and 
 three boys, infusing Latin, French, and geography all the fore- 
 noon, dining with them, sometimes walking with them, and 
 then returning to the merry evening of Dynevor Terrace. 
 
 Mr. Dynevor endured the step pretty Avell. She had ascend- 
 ancy enough over him always to take her own way, and he was 
 still buoyed up by the hope of recovering enough to rectify his 
 affairs in Peru. He was better, though his right side remained 
 paralyzed, and Mr. Walby saw little chance of restoration. 
 Rising late, and breakfasting slowly, the newspaper and visits 
 from James wiled away the morning. He preferred taking his 
 meals alone ; and after dinner was wheeled out in a chair on fine 
 days. Clara came to him as soon as her day's work was over ; 
 and, when he was well enough to bear it, the whole party were 
 with him_ from the children's bed-time till his own. Altogether, 
 the invalid-life passed off pretty well. He did not dislike the 
 children, and Kitty liked anything that needed to be waited 
 on. He took Clara's services as a right, but was a little afraid 
 of ' Mrs. Dynevor,' and highly flattered by any attention from 
 her ; and with James his moods were exceedingly variable, and 
 often very trying, but, in general, very well endured. 
 
WESTERN TIDINGS 439 
 
 Peruvian mails were anticipated in the family with a feeling 
 most akin to dread. The notice of a vessel coming in was the 
 signal for growlings at everything, from tlie post-office down to 
 his dinner ; and the arrival of letters made things only worse. 
 As Clara said, the galleons were taken by the pirates ; the 
 Equatorial Company seemed to be doing the work of Caleb 
 Balderston's thunderstorm, and to be bearing the blame of a 
 deficit such as Oliver could not charge on it. The whole state- 
 ment was backed by Mr. Ponsonby, whose short notes spoke of 
 indisposition making him more indebted than ever to the 
 exertions of Robson. This last was gone to Guayaquil to 
 attempt to clear up the accounts of the Equatorial Company, 
 leaving the office at Lima in the charge of Madison and the 
 new clerk, Ford ; and Mr. Dynevor was promised something 
 decisive and satisfactory on his return. Of Mary there was 
 no mention, except what might be inferred in a postscript : — 
 ' Ward is expected in a few weeks.' 
 
 Mr. Dynevor was obliged to resign himself ; and so exceed- 
 ingly fractious was he, that Clara had been feeling quite dis- 
 pirited, when her brother called her to tell her joyously that 
 Lord Ormersfield and Louis were coming home, and would call 
 in 'on their way the next evening. Those wretched children 
 must not take her for a walk. 
 
 Nevertheless, the wretched children did want to walk, and 
 Clara could not get home till half-an-hour after she knew the 
 train must have come in ; and she found the visitors in her 
 uncle's room. Louis came forward to the door to meet her, and 
 shook her hand with all his heart, saying, under his breath, 
 
 ' I congratulate you ! ' 
 
 ' Thank you ! ' she said, in the same hearty tone. 
 
 * And now look at him ! look at my father ! Have not we 
 made a good piece of work of keeping him abroad all the winter 1 
 Does not he look as well as ever he did in his life ^ ' 
 
 This was rather strong, for Lord Ormersfield was somewhat 
 gray, and a little bent ; but he had resumed all his look of health 
 and vigour, and was a great contrast to his younger, but far 
 older-looking, cousin. He welcomed Clara with his tone of 
 courteous respect, and smiled at his son's exultation, saying, 
 Fitzjocelyn deserved all the credit, for he himself had never 
 thought to be so patched up again ; and poor Oliver was evi- 
 dently deriving as much encouragement as if rheumatism had 
 been paralysis. 
 
 ' I must look in at the House Beautiful,' said Louis, presently. 
 ' Clara, I can't lose your company. Won't you come with me ? ' 
 
 Of course she came ; and she divined why, instead of at once 
 entering the next house, he took a turn along the Terrace, 
 and, after a pause, asked, ' Clara, when did you last hear from 
 Lima?' 
 
 'Not for a long time. I suppose she is taken up by her 
 father's illness.' 
 
440 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 He paused, collected himself, and asked again, 'Have you 
 heard nothing from your uncle ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Clara, sadly ; ' but, Louis,' she added, with a lively 
 tone, * what does not come from herself I would not believe.' 
 
 'I do not/ 
 
 ' That's right ; don't be vexed when it may be nothing.' 
 
 ' No ; if she had found any one more wortliy of her, she would 
 not hesitate in making me aware of it. I ought to be satisfied, 
 if she does what is best for her own happiness. Miss Ponsonby 
 believes that this is a man of sterling worth, prol^ably suiting 
 her better than I might have done. She was a good deal driven 
 on by circumstances before, and, perhaps, it was all a mistake 
 on her side.' And he tried to smile. 
 
 Clara exclaimed that 'Mary could not have been all he liad 
 believed, if — ' 
 
 'No,' he said, 'she is all, and more than all. I comprehend 
 her better now, and could have shown her that I do. She has 
 been the blessing of my life so far, and her influence always will 
 be so. I shall always be grateful to her, be the rest as it may, 
 and I mean to live on hope to the last. Now for the good old 
 ladies. Really, Clara, the old Dynevor Terrace atmosphere has 
 come back, and there seems to be the same sort of rest and 
 cheering in coming into these old iron gates ! After all, Isabel 
 is growing almost worthy to be called Mrs. Frost.' And in 
 this manner he talked on, up to the very door of the House 
 Beautiful, as if to cheat himself out of despondency. 
 
 ' That was a very pretty meeting,' said Isabel to her husband, 
 when no witness was present but little Fanny. 
 
 ' What, between his lordship and my uncle 1 ' 
 
 ' You know better.' 
 
 ' My dear, your mother once tried match-making for Fitz- 
 jocelyn. Be warned by her example.' 
 
 ' I am doing no such thing. I am only observing what every 
 one sees.' 
 
 ' Don't be so commonplace.' 
 
 'That's all disdain — you must condescend. I have been hear- 
 ing from Mr. Dynevor of the excellent offers that Clara refused.' 
 
 'Do you think Uncle Oliver and Clara agree as to excel- 
 lence?' 
 
 ' Still,' continued Isabel, ' considering how uncomfortable she 
 was, it does not seem improbable that she would have married, 
 unless some attachment had steeled her heart and raised her 
 standard. I know she was unconscious, but it was Fitzjocelyn 
 who formed her.' 
 
 'He has been a better brother to her than I have been ; but 
 look only at their perfect ease.' 
 
 ' Now it is my belief that they were made for each other, and 
 can venture to find it out, since she is no longer an heiress, and 
 he is free from his Peruvian entanglement.' 
 
 ' Fanny, do you hear what a scheming mamma you have ? I 
 
WESTERN TIDINGS 441 
 
 hope she will have used it all upon Sir Hubert before you come 
 out as the beauty of the Terrace ! ' 
 
 * Well, I mean to sound Clara.' 
 
 * You had better leave it alone/ 
 
 * Do you forbid me ? ' 
 
 ' Why, no ; for I don't think you have the face to say any- 
 thing that would distress her, or disturb the friendship which 
 has been her greatest benefit.' 
 
 * Thank you. All I intend is, that if it should be as I suppose, 
 the poor things should not miss coming to an understanding for 
 want — ' 
 
 'Of a Christmas-tree,' said James, laughing. 'You may 
 have your own way. I have too much confidence in your dis- 
 cretion and in theirs to imagine that you will produce the least 
 effect.' 
 
 Isabel's imagination was busily at work, and she was in haste 
 to make use of her husband's permission ; but it was so diffi- 
 cult to see Clara alone, that some days passed before the two 
 sisters were left together in the sitting-room, while James was 
 writing a letter for his uncle. Isabel's courage began to waver, 
 but she ventured a commencement. 
 
 ' Mr. Dynevor entertains me with fine stories of your conquests, 
 Clara.' 
 
 Clara laughed, blushed, and answered bluntly, ' What a bother 
 it was ! ' 
 
 ' You are very hard-hearted.' 
 
 'You ought to remember the troubles of young ladyhood 
 enough not to wonder.' 
 
 ' I never let things run to that length ; but then I had no 
 fortune. But seriously, Clara, were all these people objection- 
 able?' 
 
 ' Do you think one could marry any man, only because he was 
 not objectionable ? There was no harm in one or two ; but I 
 was not going to have anything to say to them.' 
 
 'Really, Clara, you make me curious. Had you made any 
 resolution ? ' 
 
 ' I know only two men whom I could have trusted to fulfil my 
 conditions,' said Clara. 
 
 ' Conditions ? ' 
 
 ' Of course ! that if Cheveleigh was to belong to any of us, it 
 should be to the rightful heir.' 
 
 ' My dear, noble Clara ! was that what kept you from think- 
 ing of marriage 1 ' 
 
 ' Wasn't it a fine thing to have such a test ? Not that I ever 
 came to trying it. Simple 7io answered my purpose. I met no 
 one who tempted me to make the experiment.' 
 
 ' Two men ! ' said Isabel ; ' if you had said one, it would have 
 been marked.' 
 
 ' Jem and Louis, of course,' said Clara 
 
 * Oh ! that is as good as saying one>^ 
 
442 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 * As good as saying none^^ said Clara, with empliasis. 
 
 ' There may be different opinions on that point/ returned 
 Isabel, not daring to lift her eyes from her work, though longing 
 to study Clara's face, and feeling herself crimsoning. 
 
 ' Extremely unfounded opinions, and rather — ' 
 
 'Rather what r 
 
 ' Impertinent, I was going to say, begging your pardon, dear 
 Isabel.' 
 
 ' Nay, I think it is I who should beg yours, Clara.' 
 
 'No, no,' said Clara, laughing, but speaking gravely imme- 
 diately after ; ' lookers-on do not always see most of the game. 
 I have always known his mind so well that I could never 
 possibly have fallen into any such nonsense. I respect him far 
 too much.' 
 
 Isabel felt as if she must hazard a few words more — ' Can 
 you guess what he will do if Mr. Ponsonby's reports prove 
 truer 
 
 ' I do not mean to anticipate misfortunes,' said Clara. 
 
 Isabel could say no more ; and wlien Clara next spoke, it 
 was to ask for another of James's v/ristbands to stitch. Then 
 Isabel ventured to peep at her face, and saw it quite calm, and 
 not at all rosy ; if it had been, the colour was gone. 
 
 Thus it was, and there are happily many such friendships 
 existing as that between Louis and Clara. Many a woman has 
 seen the man whom she might have married, and yet has not 
 been made miserable. If there be neither vanity nor weak 
 self-contemplation on her side, nor trifling on his part, nor un- 
 wise suggestions forced on her by spectators, the honest, 
 genuine affection need never become passion. If intimacy is 
 sometimes dangerous, it is because vanity, folly, and mistakes 
 are too frequent ; but in spite of all these, where women are 
 truly refined, and exalted into companions and friends, there 
 has been much more happy, frank intercourse and real friend- 
 ship than either the romantic or the sagacious would readily 
 allow. The spark is never lighted ; there is no consciousness, 
 no repining, and all is well. 
 
 Fresh despatches from Lima arrived ; and after a day, when 
 Oliver had been so busy overlooking the statement from Guay- 
 aquil that he would not even take his usual airing, he received 
 Clara with orders to write and secure his passage by the next 
 packet for Callao. 
 
 ' Dear uncle, you would never dream of it ! You could not 
 bear the journey ! ' she cried, aghast. 
 
 ' It would do me good. Do not try to cross me, Clara. No 
 one else can deal with this pack of rascals. Your brother has 
 not been bred to it, and is a parson besides, and there's not a 
 soul that I can trust. I'll go. What ! d'ye think I can live on 
 hmi and on you, when there is a competence of my own out 
 there, embezzled among those ragamuflins 1 ' 
 
 ' I am sure we had much rather — ' 
 
WESTERN TIDINGS 443 
 
 ' No stuff and nonsense. Here is Roland with four children 
 already — very likely to have a dozen more. If you and he are 
 fools, I'm not, and I wov^t take the bread out of their mouths. 
 I'll leave my will behind, bequeathing whatever I may get out 
 of the fire evenly between you two, as the only way to content 
 you ; and if I never turn up again, why you're rid of the old 
 man.' 
 
 ' Very welt, uncle ; I shall take my own passage at the same 
 time.' 
 
 ' You don't know what you are talking of. You are a silly 
 child, and your brother would be a worse if he let you go.' 
 
 ' If Jem lets you go, he will let me. He shall let me. 
 Don't you know that you are never to have me off your hands, 
 uncle % No, no, I shall stick to you like a burr. You may go 
 up to the tip-top of Chimborazo if you please, but you'll not 
 shake me off.' 
 
 It was her fixed purpose to accompany him, and she was not 
 solicitous to dissuade him from going, for she could be ava- 
 ricious for James's children, and had a decided wish for justice 
 on the guilty party ; and, besides, Clara had a private vision of 
 her own, which made her dance in her little room. Mary had 
 written in her father's stead — there was not a word of Mr. 
 Ward — indeed, Mr. Ponsonby was evidently so ill that his 
 daughter could think of nothing else. Might not Clara come in 
 time to clear up any misunderstanding — convince Mr. Ponsonby 
 — describe Louis's single-hearted constancy during all these five 
 years, and bring Mary home to him in triumph ? She could 
 have laughed aloud witli delight at the possibility ; and when 
 the other alternative occurred to her, she knit her brows with 
 childish vehemence, as she promised Miss Mary that she would 
 never be her bridesmaid. 
 
 Presently she heard Fitzjocelyn's voice in the parlour, and, 
 going down, found him in consultation over a letter which 
 Charlotte had brought to her master. It was so well written 
 and expressed, that Louis turned to the signature before he 
 could quite believe that it was from his old pupil. Tom wrote 
 to communicate his perplexity at the detection of the frauds 
 practised on his employers. He had lately been employed in 
 the office at Lima, where much had excited his suspicion ; and, 
 finally, from having 'opened a letter addressed by mistake to 
 tiie firm, but destined for an individual, he had discovered that 
 large sums, su^^posed to be required by the works, or lost in the 
 Equatorial failure, had been, in fact, invested in America in the 
 name of that party.' The secret was a grievous burthen. Mr. 
 Ponsonby was far too ill to be informed ; besides that, he 
 should only bring suspicion on himself ; and Miss Ponsonby 
 Avas so much occupied as to be almost equally inaccessible. Tom 
 liad likewise reason to believe that his own movements were 
 watched, and that any attempt to communicate with her or her 
 father would be baffled ; and, above all, he could not endure 
 
444 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 liimself to act the spy and informer. He only wished that, if 
 possible, without mentioning names, Charlotte could give a hint 
 that Mr. Dynevor must not implicitly trust to all he heard. 
 
 James was inclined to suppress such vague information, 
 which lie thought would only render his uncle more restless 
 and wretched in his helplessness^ and was only questioning 
 whether secrecy would not amount to deceit. 
 
 ' The obvious thing for me is to go to Peru,' said Louis. 
 
 ' My uncle and I were intending to go,' said Clara. 
 
 * How many more of you *? ' exclaimed James. 
 
 * I woiild not change my native land 
 For rich Peru and all her gold ; ' 
 
 chanted little Kitty from the corner, where she was building 
 houses for the ' little ones.' 
 
 'Extremely to the purpose,' said Louis, laughing. 'Follow 
 her example, Clara. Make your uncle appoint me his pleni- 
 potentiary, and I will try what I can to find out what these 
 rogues are about.' 
 
 ' Are you in earnest ? ' 
 
 ' Never more so in my life.' 
 
 James beckoned him to the window, and showed him a sen- 
 tence where Tom said that tlie best chance for the firm was in 
 Miss Ponsonby's marriage with Mr. Ward, but that the engage- 
 ment was not yet declared on account of her father's illness. 
 
 ' The very reason,' said Louis, ' I cannot go on in this way. I 
 must know the truth.' 
 
 ' And your father ? ' 
 
 ' It would be much better for him that the thing were settled. 
 He will miss me less during the session, when he is in London 
 with all his old friends about him. It would not take long, 
 going by the Isthmus. I'll ride back at once, and see liow he 
 bears the notion. Say nothing to Mr. Dynevor till you hear 
 from me ; but I think he will consent. He will not endure that 
 she should be left unprotected ; her father perhaps dying, left 
 to the mercy of these rascals.' 
 
 'And — forgive me, Louis — if you found her not needing you ? ' 
 
 'If she be happy, I should honour the man who made her so. 
 At least, I might be of use to you. I should see after poor 
 Madison. I have sent him to the buccaneers indeed ! Good- 
 bye ! I cannot rest till I see how^ my father takes it ! ' 
 
 It was long since Louis had been under an excess of impetu- 
 osity ; but he rode home as fast as he had ridden to Northwold 
 to canvass for James, and had not long been at Ormersfield 
 before his proposition was laid before his father. 
 
 It was no small thing to ask of the Earl, necessary as his son 
 had become to him ; and the project at first appeared to him 
 senseless. He thought Mary had not shown herself suflfiiciently 
 sensible of his son's merits to deserve so much trouble ; and if 
 she were engaged to Mr. Ward, Fitzjocelyn would find himself 
 
WESTERN TIDINGS 445 
 
 in an unpleasant and undignified position. Besides, there was 
 the ensuing session of Parliament ! No ! Oliver must send out 
 some trustworthy man of business, with full powers. 
 
 Louis only answered, that of course it depended entirely on 
 his father's consent ; and by and by his submission began to 
 work. Lord Ormersfield could not refuse him anything, and 
 took care, on parting for the night, to observe that the point 
 was not settled, only under consideration. 
 
 And consideration was more favourable than might have been 
 expected. The Earl was growing anxious to see his son married, 
 and of that there was no hope till his mind should be settled 
 with regard to Mary. It would be more for his peace to extin- 
 guish the hope, if it were never to be fulfilled. Moreover, the 
 image of Mary had awakened the Earl's own fatherly fondness 
 for her, and his desire to rescue her from her wretched home. 
 Even Mr. Ponsonby could hardly withstand Louis in person, he 
 thought, and must be touched by so many years of constancy. 
 Tlie rest might be only a misunderstanding which would be 
 cleared up by a personal interview. Added to this. Lord Ormers- 
 field knew that Clara would not let her uncle go alone, and did 
 not think it fit to see her go out in charge of an infirm paralytic ; 
 James could not leave his wife or his chaplaincy, and the affair 
 was unsuited to his profession ; a mere accountant would not 
 carry sufficient authority, nor gain Madison's confidence ; in 
 fact, Fitzjocelyn, and no other, was the trustworthy man of 
 business ; and so his lordship allowed when Louis ventured to 
 recur to the subject the next morning, and urge some of his 
 arguments. 
 
 The bright clearing of Louis's face spoke his tlianks, and he 
 began at once to detail his plans for his father's comfort, Lord 
 Ormersfield listening as if pleased by his solicitude, though 
 caring for little until the light of his eyes should return. 
 
 ' The next point is that you should give me a testimonial that 
 I am a trustworthy man of business.' 
 
 ' I will ride into Northwold with you, and talk it over with 
 Oliver.' 
 
 Here lay the knotty point ; but the last five years had con- 
 siderably cultivated Fitzjocelyn's natural aptitude for figures, 
 by his attention to statistics, his own farming-books, and the 
 complicated accounts of the Ormersfield estate, — so that both 
 his father and Pichardson could testify to his being an excellent 
 man of business ; and his coolness and mildness of temper made 
 him better calculated to deal with a rogue than a more hasty 
 man would have been. 
 
 They found, on arriving, that James had been talking to Mr. 
 Walby, who pronounced that the expedition to Lima would be 
 mere madness for Mr. Dynevor, since application to business 
 would assuredly cause another attack, and eA^en the calculations 
 of the previous day had made him very unwell, and so petulant 
 and snappish, that he could be pleased with nothing, and treated 
 
440 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 as mere insult the proposal that he should intrust his affairs to 
 * such a lad.' 
 
 Even James liesitated to influence him to accept the offer. ' I 
 scruple,' he said, drawing the Earl aside, ' because I thought you 
 liad a particular objection to Fitzjocelyn's being thrown in tlie 
 way of speculations. I thought you dreaded the fascination.' 
 
 ' Thank you, James ; I once did so,' said the Earl. ' I used to 
 l3elieve it a family mania ; I only kept it down in myself by 
 strong resolution, in t'he very sight of the consequences, but I 
 can trust Fitzjocelyn. He is too indifferent to everything apart 
 from duty to be caught by flattering projects, and you may fully 
 confide in his right judgment. I believe it is tlie absence of 
 selfishness or conceit that makes him so clear-sighted.' 
 
 'What a change ! what a testimony ! ' triumphantly thought 
 James. It might be partial, but he was not the man to believe so. 
 
 That day was one of defeat ; but on the following, a note from 
 James advised Fitzjocelyn to come and try his fortune again ; 
 Mr. Dynevor would give no one any rest till he had seen him. 
 
 Thereupon Louis was closeted with the old merchant, who 
 watched him keenly, and noted every question or remark he 
 made on the accounts ; then twinkled his eyes with satisfaction 
 as he hit more than one of the very blots over which Oliver had 
 already perplexed himself. So, clear-headed and accurate did 
 he show himself, that he soon perceived that Mr. Dynevor looked 
 at him as a good clerk thrown away ; and he finally obtained 
 from him full powers to act, to bring the villain to condign 
 punishment, and even, if possible, to dispose of his share in 
 the firm. 
 
 Miss Ponsonby was much relieved to learn that Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn was going out, though fearing that he might meet with 
 disappointment ; but, at least, her brother would be undeceived 
 as to the traitor in whom he was confiding. ISTo letters were to 
 announce Louis's intentions, lest the enemy should take warn- 
 ing ; but he carried several with him, to be given or not, accord- 
 ing to the state of affairs ; and when, on his way through 
 London, he went to receive Miss Ponsonby's commissions, she 
 gave him a large packet, addressed to Mary. 
 
 ' Am I to give her this at all events 1 ' he asked, faltering. ! 
 
 ' It would serve her right.' 
 
 ' Then I should not give it to her. Pray write another, for 
 she does not deserve to be wounded, however she may liave 
 decided.' 
 
 ' I do not know how I shall ever forgive her,' sighed Aunt 
 Melicent. 
 
 ' People are never so unforgiving as when they have nothing 
 to forgive.' 
 
 'Ah! Lord Fitzjocelyn, that is not your case. This might 
 have been far otherwise, had I not misjudged you at first.' 
 
 ' Do not believe so. It would have been hard to think me 
 more foolish than I. was. ^ This probation has been the best 
 
WESTERN TIDINGS 447 
 
 schooling for me ; and, let it end as it may, I shall be thankful 
 for what has been/ 
 
 And in this spirit did he sail, and many an anxious thought 
 followed Jiim, no heart beating higher than did that of little 
 Charlotte, who founded a great many hopes on the crisis that 
 liis coming would produce. Seven years was a terrible time to 
 liave been engaged, and the little Avorkhouse girl thought her 
 getting almost as old as Mrs. Beckett. She wondered whether 
 Tom tliought so too ! She did not want t*6 think about Martha's 
 first cousin, wlio was engaged for thirty-two years to a journey- 
 man tailor, and when they married at last, they were both so 
 cross that slie went out to service again at the end of a month, 
 Charlotte set up all her caps with Tom's favourite colour, and 
 ' turned Angelina ' twenty times a day. 
 
 Then came the well-known Peruvian letters, and a thin one 
 for Charlotte. Without recollecting that it must have crossed 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn on the road, she tore it open the instant she 
 had carried in the parlour letters. Alas ! poor Charlotte ! 
 
 * I write to you for the last time, lest you should consider 
 yourself any longer bound by the engagements which must long- 
 have been distasteful. When I say that Mr. Ford has for some 
 months been my colleague, you will know to what I allude, 
 without my expressing any further. I am already embarked 
 for the U. S. My enemies have succeeded in destroying my 
 character and blighting my hopes. I am at present a fugitive 
 from the hands of so-called justice ; but I could have borne all 
 with a cheerful heart if you had not j^layed me false. You will 
 never hear more of one who loved you faithfully. 
 
 'Th. Madison.' 
 
 Poor Charlotte ! The wound was a great deal too deep for 
 her usual childish tears, or even for a single word. She stood 
 still, cold, and almost unconscious till she heard a step, then she 
 put the cruel letter away in her bosom, and went about her 
 work as usual. 
 
 They thought her looking very pale, and Jane now and then 
 reproached her with eating no more than a sparrow, and told 
 her she was getting into a dwining way ; but she made no 
 answer, except that she ' could do her work.' At last, one 
 Sunday evening, when she had been left alone with the chil- 
 dren, her mistress found her sitting at the foot of her bed, 
 among tlie sleeping little ones, weeping bitterly but silently. 
 Isabel's kindness at length opened her heart, and she put the 
 letter into her hand. Poor little thing, it was very meekly 
 borne : ' Please don't tell no one, ma'am,' she said ; ' I couldn't 
 hear him blamed ! ' 
 
 * But what does he mean ? He must be under some terrible 
 error. Who is this Ford *? ' 
 
 ' It is Delaf ord, ma'am, I make no doubt, though however he 
 
448 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 could have got there ! And, oh, dear me ! if I had only told 
 poor Tom the whole, that I was a silly girl, and liked his flat- 
 teries now and then ; but constant in my heart I always was 1 ' 
 
 Isabel could not but suppose tliat Delaford, if it were he, 
 might have exaggerated poor Charlotte's little flirtation ; but 
 there was small comfort here, since contradiction was impossible. 
 The U. S., over which the poor cliild had puzzled in vain, were 
 no field in which to follow him up — he liad not even dated his 
 letter ; and it was a very, very faint hope that Lord Eitzjocelyn 
 might trace him out, especially as he had evidently fled in dis- 
 grace ; and poor Charlotte sobbed bitterly over his troubles, as 
 well as her own. 
 
 She was better after she had told her mistress, tliough still 
 she shrank from any other sympathy. Even Jane's pity would 
 have been too much for her, and her tender spirit was afraid 
 of the tongues that would have discussed her grief. Perhaps 
 the high-toned nature of Isabel was the very best to be brought 
 into contact with the poor girl's character, which was of the same 
 order ; and many an evening did Isabel sit in the twilight, 
 beside the children's beds, talking to her, or sometimes reading 
 a few lines to show her how others had suffered in the same 
 way. ' It is my own fault,' said poor Charlotte ; ' it all came 
 of my liking to be treated like one above the common ; and it 
 serves me right. Yes, ma'am, that was a beautiful text you 
 showed me last night ; I thought of it all day, and I'll try to 
 believe that good will come out of it. I am sure you are very 
 good to let me love the children ! I'm certain sure Miss Salome 
 knows that I'm in trouble, for she never fails to run and kiss 
 me the minute she comes in sight ; and she'll sit so quiet in my 
 lap, the little dear, and look at me as much as to say, " Charlotte, 
 I wish I could comfort you." But it was all my own fault, 
 ma'am, and I think I could feel as if I was punished right, so I 
 knew poor Tom was happy.' 
 
 ' Alas ! ' thought Isabel, after hearing Charlotte's reminis- 
 cences ; 'how close I have lived to a world of which I was in 
 utter ignorance ! How little did we guess that, by the careless 
 ease and inattention of our household, we were carrying about 
 a firebrand, endangering not only poor Walter, but doing fear- 
 ful harm wherever we went ! ' ♦ 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII 
 
 STEPPING WESTWARD 
 
 On Darien's sands and deadly dew.—Rokeby 
 
 Enterprise and speed both alike directed Fitzjocelyn's 
 course across the Isthmus of Panama, which in 1853 had newly 
 become practicable for adventurous travellers. A canal con- 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 449 
 
 ducted him as far as Cruces, after which he had to push on 
 through wild forest and swamp, under the escort of the mule- 
 teers who took charge of the various travellers who had arrived 
 by the same packet. 
 
 It was a very novel and amusing journey, even in the very 
 discomforts and the strange characters with whom he was 
 thrown ; and more discontented travellers used to declare that 
 Don Luis, as he told the muleteers to call him, always seemed to 
 have the best success with the surly hotel-keepers, though when 
 lie resigned his acquisitions to any resolute grumbler, it used to 
 be discovered that he had been putting up with the worst share. 
 
 A place called Guallaval seemed to be the most squalid and 
 forlorn of all the stations — outside, an atmosphere of mosqui- 
 toes ; inside, an atmosphere of brandy and smoke ; the master 
 an ague-stricken Yankee, who sat with his bare feet high against 
 the wall, and only deigned to jerk with his head to show in 
 what quarter was the drink and food, and to 'guess that 
 strangers must sleep on the ground, for first-comers had all the 
 beds' — hammocks slung up in a barn, or unwholesome cup- 
 boards in the wall. 
 
 At the dirty board sat several of the party first arrived, 
 washing down tough, stringy beef with brandy. Louis was 
 about to take his place near a very black-bearded young man, 
 who appeared more civilized than the rest, and who surprised 
 him by at once making room for him, leaving the table with an 
 air of courtesy ; and when, in his halting Spanish, he begged 
 ' his Grace ' not to disturb himself, he was answered, in the same 
 tongue, ' I have finished.' 
 
 After the meal, such as it was, he wandered out of the hut, 
 to escape the fumes and the company within ; but he was 
 presently accosted by the same stranger, who, touching his 
 slouched Panama hat, made him a speech in Spanish, too long 
 and fluent for his comprehension, at the same time offering him 
 a cigar. He was civilly refusing, when, to his surprise, the man 
 interrupted him in good English. ' These swamps breed fever, 
 to a certainty. A cigar is the only protection ; and even then 
 there is nothing more dangerous than to be out at sunset.' 
 
 ' Thank you, I am much obliged,' said Louis, turning towards 
 the hut. ' Have you been long out here ? ' 
 
 ' The first time on the Isthmus ; but I know these sort of 
 places. Pray go in, my lord.' 
 
 The title and the accent startled Louis, and he exclaimed, ' You 
 must be from the Northwold country "l ' 
 
 He drew back, and said bluntly, ' Never mind me, only keejD 
 put of this pestiferous air.' 
 
 But the abrupt surliness completed the recognition, and, seiz- 
 ing his hand, Louis cried, ' Tom ! how are you ? You have 
 turned into a thorough Spaniard, and taken me in entirely.' 
 
 ' Only come in, my lord ; I would never have spoken to you, 
 but that I could not see you catching your death/ 
 
450 DYNEVOR TEHRACK ^'^ 5 
 
 ' I am coming : but what's the matter ? Why avoid me, when 
 you are the very man I most wished to see ? ' 
 
 ' I'm done for,' said Tom. ' The fellows up there have saddled 
 their rogueries on me, and I'm off to the States. I — ' 
 
 ' What do you say ? There, I am coming in. Be satisfied, 
 Tom ; I am come out with a commission from Mr. Dynevor, to 
 see what can be arranged.' 
 
 ' That's right,' cried Tom ; ' now poor Miss Ponsonby will have 
 one friend.' 
 
 'Your letter to Charlotte brought me out—' began Louis ; 
 but Madison broke in with an expression of dismay and self- 
 reproach at seeing him walking somewhat lame. 
 
 'It is only when I am tired, and not thinking of it,' said 
 Louis ; ' do you know that old ash stick, Tom, my constant 
 friend? See, here are the names of all the places 1 have seen 
 cut out on it.^ 
 
 'I knew it, and you, the moment you sat down by the table,' 
 said Tom, in a tone of the utmost feeling, as Louis took his arm. 
 ' You are not one to forget.' 
 
 ' And yet you were going to pass me without making yourself 
 known.' 
 
 ' A disgraced man has no business to be known,' said Tom, 
 low and hoarsely. 'No, I wish hone of them ever to liear my 
 name again ; and but for the slip of the tongue that came so 
 naturally, you should not ; but I was drawn to you, and could 
 not help it. I am glad I have seen you once more, my lord — ' 
 
 He would have left him at the entrance, but Lous held him fast. 
 
 ' You are the very man I depend on for unravelling the busi- 
 ness. A man cannot be disgraced by any one but himself, and 
 that is not the case with you, Tom.' 
 
 ' No, thank Heaven,' said Tom, fervently ; ' I've kept my 
 honesty, if I have lost all the rest.' 
 
 Little more was needed to bring Madison to a seat on a 
 wooden bench beside Fitzjocelyn, answering his anxious inqui- 
 ries. The first tidings were a shock — Mr. Ponsonby was dead. 
 He had long been declining, and the last thing Tom had heard 
 from Lima was, that he was dead ; but of the daughter there 
 was no intelligence ; Tom had been too much occupied with his 
 own affairs to know anything of her. Robson had returned 
 from Guayaquil some weeks previously, and in the settlement 
 of accounts consequent on Mr. Ponsonby 's death, Tom had 
 demurred giving up all the valuable property at the mines under 
 his charge, until he should have direct orders from Mr. Dynevor 
 or Miss Ponsonby. A hot dispute ensued, and Robson became 
 aware that Tom was informed of his nefarious practices, and 
 had threatened him violently ; but a few hours after he had 
 returned, affecting to have learnt from the new clerk, Ford, that 
 Madison's peculations required to be winked at with equal for- 
 bearance, and giving him the alternative of sharing the spoil, or 
 of being denounced to the authorities. He liad taken a night 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 451 
 
 to consider ; and, as Louis started at hearing of any deliberation, 
 lie said, sadly, ' You would not believe me, my lord, but I had 
 almost a mind. They would take away my character, any way ; 
 and what advantage was my honesty M^thout that 1 And as to 
 hurting my employers, they would only take what I did not ; 
 and such as that is thought nothing of by very many. I'd got no 
 faith in man nor woman left, and I'd got nothing but suspicion 
 by my honesty ; so why should I not give in to the way of the 
 world, and try if it would serve me? But then, my lord, it 
 struck me that if I had nothing else, I had still my God left.' 
 
 Louis grasped his hand. 
 
 ' Yes, I'm thankful that Miss Ponsonby asked me to read to 
 the Cornish miners,' said Madison. ' One gets soon heathenish 
 in a heathenish place ; and but for that I don't believe I should 
 ever have stood it out. But Joseph's words, " How can I do this 
 great wickedness, and sin against God 1 " kept ringing in my ears 
 like a peal of bells, all night, and by morning I sent in a note to 
 Mr. Robson, to say No to what he proposed.' 
 
 Every other principle would have cracked in such a conflict, 
 and Louis looked up at Tom with intense admiration, while the 
 young man spoke on, not conscious that it had been noble, but 
 ashamed of owning himself to have been brought to a pass where 
 mere integrity had been an effort. 
 
 He had gone back at once to his mines, in some hopes that 
 the threats might yet prove nothing but blustering ; but he 
 had scarcely arrived there when an Indian muleteer, to whom 
 he had shown some kindness, brought him intelligence that la 
 justicici was in quest of him, but in difliculties how to get up 
 the mountains. The poor Indians guided his escape, conducting 
 him down wonderful paths only known to themselves, hiding 
 him in strange sequestered huts, and finally guiding him safely 
 to Callao, where he had secretly embarked on board an Ameri- 
 can vessel bound for Panama. Louis asked why he had fled, 
 instead of taking his trial, and confuting Robson ; but he smiled, 
 and said my lord knew little of foreign justice ; besides, Forcl 
 was ready to bear any witness that Robson might put into his 
 mouth ; — and his face grew dark. Who was this Ford ? He 
 could not tell ; Mr. Robson had picked him up a few months 
 back, when there was a want of a clerk ; like loved like, he 
 supposed, but it was no concern of his. Would it be safe for 
 him to venture back to Peru, under Fitzjocelyn's protection, and 
 assist him in unmasking the treacherous Robson ? To this he 
 readily agreed, catching at the hope of establishing his innocence, 
 but declaring that he should then go at once to the States. — 
 ' What, not even go home to see Charlotte ! I've got a letter for 
 you, when I can get at it.' 
 
 Tom made no answer, and Fitzjocelyn feared that, in spite 
 of all liis good qualities, his fidelity in love had not equalled 
 his fidelity to his employers. He could not understand his 
 protege diViviiig the few days of their journey. , He was a great 
 
 G G 2 
 
452 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 acquisition to his comfort, with his knowledge of the language 
 and people, and his affectionate deference. At home, where all 
 were courtly, he had been almost rude ; but here, in the land 
 of ill manners, his attentions were so assiduous that Louis was 
 obliged to beg him to moderate them, lest they should both be 
 ridiculous. He had become a fine-looking young man, with a 
 foreign air and dress agreeing well with his dark complexion ; 
 and he had acquired much practical ability and information. 
 Mountains, authority, and a good selection of books had been 
 excellent educators ; he was a very superior and intelligent 
 person, and, without much polish, had laid aside his peasant 
 rusticities, and developed some of the best qualities of a gentle- 
 man. But though open and warm-hearted on many jDoints 
 with his early friend, there was a gloom and moodiness about 
 him, which Louis could only explain by thinking that his un- 
 merited disgrace preyed on liim more than was quite manly. 
 To this cause, likewise, Louis at first attributed his never 
 choosing to hear a word about Charlotte ; but as the distaste — 
 nay, almost sullenness, evoked by any allusion to her, became 
 more apparent, Louis began unwillingly to balance his sus- 
 picions between some fresh attachment, or unworthy shame at 
 an engagement to a maid-servant. 
 
 The poor little damsel's sweet blushing face and shy courtesy, 
 and all her long and steady faithfulness, made him feel indignant 
 at such a suspicion, and he resolved to bring Madison to some 
 explanation ; but he did not find the opportunity till after they 
 liad embarked at the beautiful little islet of Toboga for Callao. 
 On board, he had time to find in his portmanteau the letter with 
 which she had intrusted him, and, seeking Madison on deck, 
 gave it to him. He held it in liis hand without opening it ; but 
 the sparkle in his dark eye did not betoken the bash fulness of 
 fondness, and Louis, taking a turn along the deck to watch 
 him unperceived, saw him raise his hand as if to throw the poor 
 letter overboard at once. A few long steps, and Louis was 
 beside him, exclaiming, ' What now, Tom — is that the way you 
 treat your letters ? ^ 
 
 ' The little hypocrite ! I don't want no more of her false 
 words,' muttered Tom, returning, in his emotion, to his peasant's 
 emphatic double negative. 
 
 ' Hypocrite ! Do you know how nobly and generously she 
 has been helping Mr. and Mrs. Frost through their straits'? 
 how faithfully — ' 
 
 ' I know better,' said Tom, hoarsely ; ' don't excuse her, my 
 lord ; you know little of what passes in your own kitchens.' 
 
 * Too true, I fear, in many cases,' said Louis ; ' but I have 
 seen this poor child in circumstances that make me feel sure 
 that she is an admirable creature. What misunderstanding can 
 have arisen ? ' 
 
 'No misunderstanding, my lord. I saw, as plain as I see 
 you, her name and her writing in the book that she gave to 
 
STEPPING WESTWARD 453 
 
 Ford — her copying out of liis love-poems, my lord, in the blank 
 pages, — if I had wanted any proof of what he alleged.' 
 
 And he had nearly thrown the letter into the Pacific ; but 
 Louis caught his arm. 
 
 * Did you ever read Cymheline^ Tom ? ' 
 
 * Yes, to be sure I have,' growled Tom, in surprise. 
 
 *Then remember lachimo, and spare that letter. What did 
 he tell your 
 
 With some difficulty Fitzjocelyn drew from Madison tliat he 
 had for some time been surprised at Ford's knowledge of North- 
 wold and the neighbourhood ; but had indulged in no suspi- 
 cions till about the epoch of Robson's return from Guayaquil. 
 Chancing to be waiting in his fellow-clerk's room, he had looked 
 at his books, and, always attracted by poetry as the rough 
 fellow was, had lighted on a crimson watered-silk volume, on 
 the first page of which he had, to his horror, found the name of 
 Charlotte Arnold borne aloft by the two doves, and in the blank 
 leaves, several extremely flowery poems in her own hand- 
 writing. 
 
 With ill-suppressed rage he liad demanded an explanation, 
 and had been met with provokingly indifferent innuendoes. Tlie 
 book was the gift of a young lady with whom Ford had the 
 pleasure to be acquainted ; the little efiusions were trifles of 
 his own, inscribed by her own fair hands. Oh, yes ! lie knew 
 Miss Arnold very well — very pretty, very complaisant ! Ah ! 
 he was afraid there were some broken hearts at home ! Poor 
 little thing ! he should never forget how she took leave of him, 
 after forcing upon him her little savings ! He was sorry for 
 her, too ; but a man cannot haA'e com]passion on all the pretty 
 girls he sees. 
 
 * And you could be deceived by such shallow coxcombry as 
 this ! ' said Louis. 
 
 ' I tell you there was the book,' returned Tom. 
 
 *Well, Tom, if Mr. Ford prove to be the Ford I take him to 
 be, I'll undertake that you shall see through him, and be heartily 
 asliamed of yourself. Give me back the letter,— you do not 
 deserve to have it.' 
 
 ' I don't want it,' said Tom, moodily ; ' she has not been as 
 true to me as I've been to her, and if she isn't what I took her 
 for, I do not care to hear of her again. I used to look at the 
 mountain-tops, and think she was as pure as they : and that she 
 should have been making herself the talk of a fellow like that, 
 and writing so sweet to me all the time ! — No, my lord, there's 
 no excusing it ; and 'twas her being gone after the rest that 
 made it so bitter hard to me ! If she had been true, I would 
 have gone through fire and water to be an honest man worthy 
 of her ; but when I found how she had deceived me, it went 
 liard with me to cut myself ofl* from the wild mountain life that 
 I'd got to love, and my poor niggers, that will hardly have so 
 kind a master set over them.' 
 
454 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' You liave stood the fiery ordeal well/ said Louis ; ' and I verily 
 believe that you will soon find that it was only an ordeal.' 
 
 The care of Tom was a wholesome distraction to the suspense 
 that became almost agony as Louis approached Peru, and 
 beheld the gigantic summits of the more northern Andes, which 
 sunset revealed shining out white and fitfully, like the Pilgrim's 
 vision of the Celestial City, although, owing to their extreme 
 distance, even on a bright noonday, nothing was visible but 
 clear deep-blue sky. They seemed to make him realize that tlie 
 decisive moment was near, when he should tread the same soil 
 with Mary ; and yet, as he stood silently watching those glorious 
 heights, human hopes and cares seemed to shrink into nothing 
 before the eternity and Infinite Greatness of which the depth 
 and the height spoke. Yet He remembereth the hairs of our 
 heads. Who weigheth the mountains in the balance, and 
 counteth the isles as a very little thing. Louis took comfort, 
 but nerved himself for resignation ; his prayer was more that 
 he might bear rightly whatever might be in store, than that 
 he should succeed. He could hardly have made the latter 
 petition with that submissiveness and reserve befitting all 
 entreaty for blessings of this passing world. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 EATHER SUDDEN 
 
 O ! would you hear of a Spanish lady, 
 
 How she woo'd an Englishman? 
 Garments gay, as rich as may be, 
 
 Decked with jewels she had on. — Old Ballad 
 
 The white buildings of Callao looked out of the palm gardens, 
 and, with throbbing heart, Fitzjocelyn was set on shore, leaving 
 Madison on board until he should hear from him that evening 
 or the next morning. 
 
 Hiring a calesa, he drove at once to Lima, to the house of 
 the late Mr. Ponsonby. The heavy folding-gates admitted him 
 to the archway, where various negroes were loitering ; and as 
 he inquired for the ladies, one of them raised a curtain, and 
 admitted him into the large cool twilight hall, so dark that, 
 witli eyes dazzled by the full glare of day, he could hardly 
 discern at the opposite end of the hall, where a little more light 
 was admitted from one of the teatina windows, two figures 
 seated at a table covered with ledgers and papers. As if 
 dreaming, he followed his barefooted guide across tlie soft 
 India matting, and heard his Spanisli announcement, that, 
 might it please her Grace, here was a Sefior from England. 
 
 Both rose ; the one a well-dressed man, the otlier— it was the 
 well-known action 'Mary ! ' it was all that he had the power 
 
ilATHER SUDDEN 455 
 
 to say ; he was hardly visible, but what tone was ever like that 
 low, distinct, earnest voice ^ ; 
 
 Mary clasped her hands together as if in bewilderment. 
 
 ' Xavier should not — I will speak,' whispered her companion 
 to her, and beginning, ' Address yourself to me, sir ! ' 
 
 But Mary sprang forward, signing him back with her hand. 
 
 *It is my cousin. Lord Fitzjocelyn ! ' she said, as if breath and 
 effort would serve no more, and she laid her hand in that of 
 Louis. 
 
 ' Mr. Ward ? ' said Louis, barely able to frame the question, 
 yet striving for a manner that might leave no thorns behind. 
 
 ' No ; oh, no ! Mr. Eobson.' 
 
 The very sound of the 'No' made his heart bound up again, 
 and his hand closed fast on that which lay within it, while a 
 bow passed between him and Robson. 
 
 ' And you are come V as if it were too incredible. 
 
 ' I told you I should,' he answered. 
 
 'I will leave you. Miss Ponsonby,' said Robson ; 'we will 
 continue our little business wdien you are less agreeably en- 
 gaged.' 
 
 He began to gatlier the papers together, an action which 
 suddenly recalled Louis to the recollection of Tom's cautions as 
 to prudence aud alertness, and he forced himself to a prompt 
 tone of business. 
 
 'L hope to be able to be of use,' he said, turning to Mary. 
 'Mr. Dynevor has given me a commission to look into his 
 affairs,' and lie put into Robson's hands the letter written by 
 James, and signed by Oliver. 
 
 'Thank you. Lord Fitzjocelyn, I shall be very happy to give 
 any explanations you may wish,' said Robson, measuring with 
 his eye his youthful figure and features, and piling up the 
 books. 
 
 ' I should prefer having these left with me,' said Louis ; ' I 
 have but little time before me, and if I could look them over 
 to-niglit, I should be prepared for you to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Allow me. You would find it impossible to understand these 
 entries. There is much to be set in order before they would be 
 ready for the honour of your lordship's inspection.' 
 
 ' I particularly wish to have them at once. You give me 
 authority to act for you, Miss Ponsonby '? ' he added, looking at 
 her, as she stood holding by the table, as one half awake. 
 
 'Oh! yes, I put the whole into your hands,' she answered, 
 mechanically, obeying liis eye. 
 
 'Allow me, my lord,' said Robson, as Fitzjocelyn laid the firm 
 liand of detention on tlie hea^y ledgers, and great leathern 
 pocket-book. 
 
 ' Yes ; we had better know exactly what you leave in my 
 charge, Mr. Robson,' said Louis, beginning to suspect that the 
 clerk fancied that the weight and number of the books and 
 bundles of bills might satisfy his unpractised eye, and that the 
 
456 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 essential was to be found in the pocket-book, on which he 
 therefore retained a special hold ; asking, as Robson held out 
 his hand for it, ' Is this private property ? ' 
 
 ' Why, yes ; no ; it is and it is not,' said Robson, looking 
 at the lady, as though to judge whether she were attending. 
 ' I only brought it here that Miss Ponsonby might have before 
 her — always a satisfaction to a lady, you know, sir — though 
 Miss Ponsonby's superior talents for business quite enable her 
 to comprehend. But our affairs are not what I could wish. 
 The Equatorial bubble was most unfortunate ; and that unfor- 
 tunate young man, who has absconded after a long course of 
 embezzlement, has carried off much valuable property. I was 
 laying the case before Miss Ponsonby, and showing her what 
 amount had been fortunately secured.' 
 
 ^ What is in the pocket-book ? ' asked Louis of Mary ; and, 
 though she was apparently conscious of nothing around her, he 
 obtained a direct reply. 
 
 * The vouchers for the shares.' 
 
 'In the Equatorial. Unlucky speculation— so much waste 
 paper,' interrupted Robson. ' Your lordship had better let me 
 clear away the trash, which will only complicate the matter, and 
 distract your understanding.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; as you say there has been fraud, I should be 
 better satisfied to be able to tell Mr. Dynevor that the papers 
 have never been out of my hands. I will call on you early 
 to-morrow.' 
 
 Mr. Robson waited to make many inquiries for Mr. Dynevor's 
 health, and to offer every attention to Lord Fitzjocelyn, pro- 
 posing to introduce him to the Consul, to find apartments for 
 him, &c. ; but at last he took leave, and Louis was free to turn 
 to the motionless Mary, who had done nothing all this time but 
 follow him with her eyes. 
 
 All his doubts had returned, and, in the crisis of his fate, he 
 stood irresolute, daring neither to speak nor ask, lest feelings 
 should be betrayed which might poison her happiness. 
 
 'Is it you ? ' were her first words, as though slowly awakening. 
 
 *It is I, come to be whatever you will let me be,' he answered, 
 as best he could. 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! ' she said, ' this is too much ! ' And she hid her 
 face in her hands. 
 
 'Tell me — one word, Mary, and I shall know what to do, 
 and will not harass nor grieve you.' 
 
 ' Grieve me ! You ! ' exclaimed Mary, in an inexpressibly 
 incredulous tone. 
 
 'Enough ! It is as it was before ! ' and he drew her into his 
 arms, as unresistingly as five years ago, and his- voice sank with 
 intense thankfulness, as he said, ' My Mary — my Mary ! lias 
 He not brought it to pass 1 ' 
 
 The tears came dropping from her eyes, and then she could 
 speak. 
 
RATHER SUDDEN 457 
 
 * Louis, my dear father withdrew his anger. He gave full 
 consent and blessing, if you still — ' 
 
 ' Then nothing is wanting— all is peace ! ' said Louis. ' You 
 know how you are longed for at home — ' 
 
 ' That you should have come — come all this way ! That Lord 
 Ormersfield should have spared you ! ' exclaimed Mary, break- 
 ing out into happy little sentences, as her tears relieved her. 
 ' Oh, how far off all my distress and perplexity seem now ! How 
 foolish to have been so unhappy when there you were close by ! 
 But you must see Dona Rosa,' cried she, recollecting herself, 
 after an interval ; ' I must tell her.' 
 
 Mary hurried into another room by a glass door, and Louis 
 heard her speaking Spanish, and a languid reply ; then return- 
 ing, she beckoned to him to advance, whispering, 'Don't be 
 surprised, these are the usual habits. We can talk before her, 
 she never follows English.' 
 
 He could at first see no one, but presently was aw^are of a 
 grass hammock swung from the richly-carved beams, and in it 
 something white ; then of a large pair of black eyes gazing full 
 at him with a liquid soft stare. He made his bow, and sum- 
 moned his best Spanish, and she made an answ^er which he 
 understood, by the help of Mary, to be a welcome ; then she 
 smiled and signed with her head towards him and Mary, and said 
 wdiat Mary only interpreted by colouring, as did Louis, for such 
 looks and smiles were of all languages. Then it was explained 
 that only as a relation did she admit his Excellency el Yisconde, 
 before her evening toilette in her ditelos was made — Mary would 
 take care of him. And dismissing them with a graceful bend 
 of her head, she returned to her doze and her cigarito. 
 
 Mary conducted Louis to the cool, shaded, arched doorw^ay, 
 opening under the rich marble cloister of the court-yard, where 
 a fountain made a delicious bubbling in the centre. She clapped 
 her hands — a little negro girl appeared, to whom she gave an 
 order, and presently two more negroes came in, bringing mag- 
 nificent oranges and pomegranates, and iced wine and water, on 
 a silver tray, covered with a richly-embroidered napkin. He 
 would have felt himself in the Alhambra, if he could have felt 
 anything but that he was beside Mary. 
 
 ' Sit down, sit down ; you liave proved yourself Mary enough 
 already by waiting on me. I want to look at you, and to hear 
 you. You are not altered !' he cried joyfully, as he drew her 
 into the full light. ' You have your own eyes, and that's your 
 very smile ! only grown handsomer. That's all ! ' 
 
 She really w^as. She was a woman to be handsomer at twenty- 
 seven than at twenty-one ; and with the glow of unexpected 
 bliss over her fine countenance, it did not need a lover's eye to 
 behold her as something better than beautiful. 
 
 And for her ! who shall tell the marvel of scarcely-credited 
 joy, every time she heard the music of his softly-dropped dis- 
 tinct words, and looked up at the beloved face, perhaps a little 
 
458 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 less fair, with rather less of the boyish delicacy of feature, but 
 more noble, more defined — as soft and sweet as ever, but with 
 all the indecision gone ; all that expression that had at times 
 seemed like weakness. He was not the mere lad she had loved 
 with a guiding motherly love, but a man to respect and rely 
 on — ready, collected, dealing with easy coolness with the person 
 who had domineered over that house for years. He was all, and 
 more than all, her fondest fancy liad framed ; and coming to her 
 aid at the moment of her utmost difficulty, l^rought to her by 
 the love which she liad not dared to confide in nor encourage ! 
 No wonder that she feared to move, lest she sliould find lierself 
 awakened from a dream too happy to last. 
 
 ' But oh, Louis,' said she, as if it were almost a pledge of 
 reality to recollect a vexation, ' I must tell you first, for it will 
 grieve you, and we did not take pains enough to keep him out 
 of temptation. That unhappy runaway clerk — ■' 
 
 ' Is safe at Callao,' said Louis, ' and is to help me to release 
 you from the meshes they have woven round you. Save for the 
 warning he sent home, I could never have shown cause for 
 coming to you, Mary, while you would not summon me. That 
 was too bad, you know, since you had the consent.' 
 
 ^That was only just at last,' faltered Mary. 'It was so kind 
 of him, for I had disa^ppointed him so much ! ' 
 
 'What? I know, Mary; his letters kept me in a perpetual 
 fright for the last year ; and ]iot one did you write to poor little 
 Clara to comfort us.' 
 
 ' It was not right in mo,' said Mary ; ' but I thought it might 
 be so much better for you if you were never put in mind of me. 
 I beg your pardon, Louis.' 
 
 ' We should have trusted each other l3etter, if people would 
 have let us alone,' said Louis. ' In fact, it was trust after all. 
 It always came back again, if it were scared away for a moment.' 
 
 'Till I began to doubt if I were doing what Avas kind by you,' 
 said Mary. 'Oh, that was the most distressing time of all ; I 
 thought if I were out of the way, you might begin to be happy, 
 and I tried to leave off thinking about you.' 
 
 ' Am I to thank you ? ' 
 
 'I could not, — that is the truth of it,' said Mary. ' I was able 
 to keep you out of my mind enough, I hope, for it not to be 
 wrong ; but as to putting any one else there — I was forced at last 
 to tell i30or papa so, when he wanted to send for Mr. Ward ; and 
 then — he said that if you had been as constant, he supposed it 
 must be, and he hoped we should be happy ; and he said you 
 had been a pet of my mother, and that Lord Ormersfield had 
 1)een a real friend to her. It was so kind of him, for I know it 
 would have been the greatest relief to his mind to leave things 
 in Mr. Ward's charge.' 
 
 Mary had been so much obliged to be continually mentioning 
 her father, that, though the loss was still very recent, she was 
 habituated to sp3ak of him with firmness : and it was an extreme 
 
KATHER SUDDEN 459 
 
 satisfaction to tell all her sorrows, and all the little softening 
 incidents, to Louis. Mr. Ponsonby had shown much affection 
 and gratitude to her during the few closing days of his illness, 
 and had manifested some tokens of repentance for his past life ; 
 but there had been so much pain and torpor, that there had 
 been little space for reflection, and the long previous decline 
 had not been accepted as a warning. Perhaps the intensity of 
 Mary's prayers had been returned into her bosom, in the strong 
 blindness of filial love ; for as slie dwelt fondly on the few signs 
 of better things, the narration fell mournfully on Louis's ears, 
 as that of an unhopeful deathbed. 
 
 An exceeding unwillingness to contemplate death, had pre- 
 vented Mr. Ponsonby from making a new will. By one made 
 many years back, he had left the whole of his property, without 
 exception, to his daughter, his first wife having been provided 
 for by her marriage settlements ; and now, with characteristic 
 indolence and selfishness, he had deferred till too late the 
 securing any provision for his Limenian wife ; and only when 
 he found himself dying, had he said to Mary, 'You will take 
 care to provide for poor Rosita ! ' 
 
 So Mary had found herself heiress to a share in the miserably- 
 involved afiairs of Dynevor and Ponsonby ; and as soon as she 
 could think of the future at all, had formed the design of settling 
 Rosita in a convent with a pension, and going herself to 
 England. 
 
 But Rosita was not easily to be induced to give up her gaieties 
 for a convent life ; and, moreover, there was absolutely such a 
 want of ready money, that Mary did not see how to get home, 
 though Robson assured her there was quite enough to live upon 
 as they were at present. Nor was it possible to dispose of the 
 mines and other property without Mr. Dynevor's consent, and 
 he might not be in a state to give it. 
 
 The next stroke was young Madison's sudden disappearance, 
 and the declaration by Robson that he had carried off a great 
 deal of property— a disappointment to her even greater than 
 the loss. Robson was profuse in compliments and attentions, 
 but continually deferred the statement of affairs that he had 
 promised ; and Mary could not bear to accept the help of Mr. 
 Ward, the only person at hand able and willing to assist her. 
 She had at last growifi desperate, and, resolved to have some- 
 thing positive to write to Mr. Dynevor, as well rts not to go on 
 living without knowing her means, she had insisted on Robson 
 bringing his accounts. 
 
 She knew just enough to be dissatisfied with his vague state- 
 ments ; and the more he praised her sagacity, the more she saw 
 that he was taking advantage of her ignorance, whicli he pre- 
 sumed to be far greater than it really was. At the very moment 
 when she was most persuaded of his treachery, and felt the 
 most lonely and desolate — when he was talking fluently, and 
 she was seeking to rally her spirits, and discover the path of 
 
460 DYNEVOK TERRACK 
 
 right judgment, wliere the welfare of so many was concerned — 
 it was then tliat Fitzjocelyn's voice was in her ear. 
 
 She liad scarcely explained to Louis why his coming was, if 
 possible, doubly and trebly welcome, when the negro admitted 
 another guest, whom Rosita received much as she had done his 
 predecessor, only w4th less curiosity. Mary rose, blushing 
 deeply, and crossing the room held out her hand, and said 
 simply, but with something of apology, ' Mr. Ward, this is Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 Mr. Ward raised liis eyes to her face for one moment. ' I 
 understand,' he said, in a low, not quite steady voice. ' It is 
 well. Will you present me?' he added, as thougli collecting 
 himself like a brave man after a blow. 
 
 ' Here is my kindest friend,' she said, as she conducted him to 
 Louis, and they shook hands in the very manner she wished to 
 see, learning mutual esteem from her tone and each other's aspect. 
 
 'I am sorry to have intruded,' said Mr. Ward. 'I came in 
 the hope that you might find some means of making me of use 
 to you ; and, perhaps, I may yet be of some assistance to Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 He enforced the proposal with so much cordiality, and sliowed 
 so plainly that it would be his chief pleasure and consolation to 
 do anything for Miss Ponsonby, that they did not scruple to 
 take him into their counsels ; and Mary looked on with exulting 
 wonder at the ability and readiness displayed by Louis in the* 
 discussion of business details, even with a man whose profession 
 they were. In remote space, almost beyond memory, save to 
 enhance the present joy of full reliance, was the old uncomfort- 
 able sense of his leaning too much upon her. To have him 
 acting and thinking for her, and with one touch carrying off 
 lier whole burthen of care, was comfort and gladness beyond 
 what she had even devised in imagination. The only drawback, 
 besides compassion for Mr. Ward, was the shock of hearing of 
 the extent of the treachery of Robson, in whom lier father had 
 trusted so implicitly, and to whom he had shown so much favour. 
 
 They agreed that they would go to the Consul, and concert 
 measures ; Mary only begging that Robson miglit not be liardly 
 dealt witli ; and they went away, leaving her to lier overwhelm- 
 ing happiness, which began to become incredible as soon as 
 Louis was out of sight. 
 
 By and by, he came back to the evening meal, when Rosita 
 appeared, with her uncovered hair in two long, unadorned 
 tresses, plaited, and hanging down on each shoulder, and arrayed 
 in black robes, which, by their weight and coarseness, recalled 
 Eastern fashions of mourning, which Spain derived from the 
 Moors, She attempted a little Spanish talk with El Visconde, 
 much to his inconvenience, though he was too joyous not to be 
 doubly good-natured, especially as he pitied her, and regarded 
 her as a very perplexing charge newly laid on him. 
 
 He had time to tell Mary that he was to sleep at the Consul's, 
 
KATHER SUDDEN 461 
 
 whence he had sent a note and a messenger to fetch Tom 
 Madison, since it appeared that the prosecution, the rumour of 
 which had frightened the poor fellow away, had not been actu- 
 ally set on foot before he decamped ; and even if it had been, 
 there were many under worse imputations at large in the 
 Peruvian Kepublic. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn had apjDointed £hat Robson should call on him 
 early in the morning, and, if he failed to detect him, intended 
 to confront him with Madison before the Consul, when there 
 could be little doubt that his guilt would be brought home to 
 him. He found that the Consul and Mr. Ward had both con- 
 ceived a bad opinion of Robson, and had wondered at the 
 amount of confidence reposed in liim ; wliereas Madison had 
 been remarked as a young man of more than average intelli- 
 gence and steadiness, entirely free from that vice of gambling 
 which was the bane of all classes in Spanish South America, 
 Mary sighed as she heard Louis speak so innocently of 'all 
 classes ' — it was too true, as he would hnd to his cost, when he 
 came to look into their affairs, and learn what Rosita had 
 squandered. Next, he asked about the other clerk. Ford, of 
 whom Mary knew very little, except that she liad heard Robson 
 mention to her father, when preparing to set out for Guayaquil, 
 that in the consequent press of business he had engaged a new 
 assistant, who had come from Rio as servant to a traveller. She 
 ' had sometimes heard Robson speak in praise of his acquisition, 
 and exalt him above Madison ; and once or twice she had seen 
 him, and fancied him like some one whom she had known some- 
 where ; but she had for many months seldom left her father's 
 room, and knew little of what pass-ed beyond it. 
 
 Louis took his leave early, as he had to examine his prize, the 
 pocket-book, and make up his case before confronting Robson ; 
 and he told Mary that he should refrain from seeing her on the 
 morrow until the 'tug of war should be over.' 'Mr. Ward pro- 
 mises to come to help me,' he added. 'Really, Mary, I never 
 saw a more generous or considerate x^erson. I am constantly 
 on the point of begging his pardon.' 
 
 'I must thank him some way or other,' said Mary ; 'liis for- 
 bearance has been beautiful. I only wish he would have be- 
 lieved me, for I always told him the j)lain truth. It would 
 have spared him something ; but nobody would trust my account 
 of you.' 
 
 The morning came, and with it Madison ; but patient as Fitz- 
 jocelyn usually was, he was extremely annoyed at finding his 
 precious time wasted by Robson's delay in keeping his appoint- 
 ment. After allowing for differing clocks, for tropical habits, 
 and every other imaginable excuse for unpunctuality, he decided 
 that there must have been some mistake, and set off to call at 
 the counting-house. 
 
 A black porter opened the door, and he stepped forward into 
 the inner i-oom, where, leaning lazily back before a desk, smoking 
 
462 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 a cigar over liis newspaper, arrayed in a loose wliite jacket, 
 with open throat and slippered feet, reposed a gentleman, much 
 transformed from the spruce butler, but not difficult of recog- 
 nition. He started to his feet with equal alacrity and conster- 
 nation, and bowed, not committing himself until he should see 
 whether he were actually known to his lordshij). Fitzjocelyn 
 was in too great haste to pause on this matter, and quickly ac- 
 knowledging the salutation, as if that of a stranger, demanded 
 where Mr. Eobson Avas. 
 
 In genuine surprise and alarm, Ford exclaimed that he had 
 not seen him ; he thought he was gone to meet his lordship at 
 the Consular residence. No ! could he be at his own house ? 
 It was close by, and the question was asked, but the Seiior 
 Ilobson had gone out in the very early morning. Ford looked 
 paler and paler ; and while Louis said he would go and inquire 
 for him at Miss Ponsonby's, offered to go down to the Consul's 
 to see if he had arrived there in the meantime. 
 
 Mary came to meet Louis in the sala^ saying that she was 
 afraid that they had not shown sufficient consideration for poor 
 Dona Rosa, who really had feeling ; she had gone early to her 
 convent, and had not yet returned, though she had been absent 
 two hours. 
 
 Louis had but just explained his perplexity and vexation, 
 when the old negro Xavier came in with looks of alarm, begging 
 to know whether La Seiiora were come in, and excusing himself 
 for having lost sight of her. She had not gone to the convent, 
 but to the cathedral ; and he, kneeling in the crowded nave 
 while she passed on to one of the side chapels, had not seen her 
 again, and, after waiting far beyond the usual duration of her 
 devotions, had supposed that she had gone home unattended. 
 
 As he finished his story, there was a summons to Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn to speak to Mr. Ford ; and on Mary's desiring that he 
 should be admitted, he came forward, exclaiming, ' My lord, he 
 has not been at the Consul's ! I beg to state that he has the 
 keys of all the valuables at the office ; nothing is in my charge.' 
 
 Louis turned to consult Mary ; but, as if a horrible idea had 
 come over her, she was already speeding through the door of 
 the quadra^ and appearing there again in a few seconds, she 
 beckoned him, with a countenance of intense dismay, and 
 whispered under her breath, 'Louis! Louis! her jewels are 
 gone ! Poor thing ! poor thing ! what will become of her ? ' 
 
 Mary had more reasons for her frightful suspicion than she 
 would detain him to hear. Robson, ahvays polite, had been 
 especially so to the young Limenian ; she had been much left to 
 his society, and Mary had more than once fancied that they 
 were more at ease in her own absence. She was certain that 
 the saya y manto had been frequently employed to enable Rosita 
 to enjoy dissipation, when her husband's condition would have 
 rendered her public appearance impossible ; and at the Opera 
 or on the Alameda, Robson might have had every opportunity 
 
RATHER SUDDEN 463 
 
 of paying lier attention, and forwarding her amusements. 
 There could be no doubt tliat she had uiiderstood more of their 
 plans than had been supposed, had warned him, and shared his 
 Hight. 
 
 • Pursuit, capture, and a nunnery would be far greater kind- 
 ness to the i3oor childish being than leaving^ her to the mercy 
 of a runaway swindler ; and all measures were promptly taken, 
 Ford throwing himself into the chase with greater ardour and 
 indignation than even Madison ; for he had trusted to Robson's 
 grand professions that he could easily throw dust into the young 
 lord's inexperienced eyes, come off with flying colours, and 
 protect his subordinate. If he had changed his mind since the 
 Seilora's warning, he had not thought it necessary to inform his 
 confederate ; and Ford was not only furious at the desertion, 
 but anxious to make a merit of his zeal, and encouraged by 
 having as yet seen no sign that he was recognized. 
 
 Regardless of heat and fatigue, Fitzjocelyn, Mr. Ward, and 
 the two clerks, were indefatigable throughout the day ; but it 
 was not till near sunset. that a Spanish agent of Mr. Ward's 
 brought back evidence that a Limenian lady and English 
 gentleman had been hastily married by a village jxtdre in the 
 early morning ; and Madison shortly after came from Callao, 
 having traced such a pair to an American vessel, whicli was 
 long since out of harbour. It was well that the pocket-book 
 had been saved, for it contained securities to a large amount, 
 which Robson, after showing to Mary to satisfy her, doubtless 
 intended to keep in hand for such a start as the present. With- 
 out it, he had contrived, as Madison knew, to secure quite 
 sufficient to remove any anxieties as to Doiia Rosa owning a fair 
 share of her late husband's property. 
 
 The day of terrible anxiety made it a I'elief to Mary to have 
 any certainty, though she was infinitely shocked at the tidings, 
 which Louis conveyed to her at once. Mrs. Willis, whom Mr. 
 Ward had sent to be her companion, went to her brother in the 
 outer room, and left the lovers alone in the quadra^ where 
 Mary could freely express her grief and disappointment, her 
 sorrow for the insult to her father, and her apprehensions for 
 the poor fugitive herself, whom she loved enougli to lament for 
 exceedingly, and to recall every excuse that could be found in a 
 wretched education, a miserable state of society, a childish mind, 
 and religion presented to her in a form that did nothing to 
 make it less childish. 
 
 Mary's first recovery from the blow was shown bylier remem- 
 bering how fatigued and heated Louis must be ; and when she 
 had given orders for refreshment for him, and had thus resumed 
 something of her ordinary frame, he sat looking at her anxiously, 
 and presently said, ' And what will you do next, Mary ? ' 
 
 'I cannot tell. Mrs. Willis and Mrs. have both been 
 
 asking me very kindly to come to them, but I cannot let Mrs. 
 Willis stay with me away from her children. Yet it seems 
 
464 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 hard on Mr, Ward tliat you should be coming to me there. I 
 
 suppose I must go to Mrs. ; but I waited to consult you. 
 
 I had rather be at home, if it were right.' 
 
 ' It may easily be made right,' quietly said Louis. 
 
 'Howf' asked Mary. 
 
 'I lind,' he continued, Hhat the whole affair may be easily 
 settled, if you will give me authority.' 
 
 ' I thought I had given you authority to act in my name.' 
 
 ' It might be simplified.' 
 
 ' Shall I sign my name ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — once — to make mine yours. If your claims are mine, 
 I can take much better care of the Dynevor interest.' 
 
 Mary rested her cheek on her hand, and looked at him with 
 her grave steady face, not very much discomposed after the 
 first glimpse of his meaning. 
 
 ' Will you, Mary r 
 
 ' You know I will,' she said. 
 
 ' Then there is no time to be lost. Let it be to-morrow. 
 Y^es' — going on in the quiet deliberate tone that made it so 
 difficult to interrupt him — ' then I could, in my own person, 
 negotiate for the sale of the mines. I find there is an offer 
 that Robson kept secret. I could wind up the accounts, see 
 what can be saved for the North wold people, and take you 
 safe home by the end of a fortnight.' 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! ' cried Mary, almost sobbing, ' this will not do. 
 I cannot entangle you in our ruinous affairs,' 
 
 'Insufficient objections are consent,' said Louis, smiling. 
 ' Do you trust me, Mary 1 ' 
 
 ' It is of no use to ask.' 
 
 ' Y"ou think I am not to be trusted with affairs that have 
 become my own ? I believe I am, Mary. You know I must do 
 my utmost for the Dynevors ; and I assure you I see my way. 
 I have no reasonable doubt of clearing off all future liabilities. 
 You mean to let me arrange ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but—' 
 
 'Then why not obviate all awkward situations at once?' 
 
 ' My father ! You should not ask it, Louis.' 
 
 ' I would not hasten you, but for the sake of my own father, 
 Mary. He is growing old, and I could not have left him for 
 anything but the hope of bringing him his own chosen daughter. 
 I want you to help me take care of him, and we must not leave 
 him alone to the long evenings and cold winds.' 
 
 Mary was yielding — 'I must not keep you from him,' she 
 said, ' but to-morrow — a Sunday, too — ' 
 
 ' Ah ! Mary, do you want gaiety 1 No ; if we cannot have 
 it in a holy jDlace, let it at least have the consecration of the 
 day — let us have fifty-two wedding-days a year instead of one. 
 Indeed, 1 v/ould not press you, but that I could take care of 
 you so much better ; and it is not as if our acquaintance bad 
 not begun— how long ago — twenty-seven years, I think ?' 
 
KATHER SUDDEN 465 
 
 ' Settle it as you like/ she managed to say, with a great flood 
 of tears — but what soft bright tears ! ' I trust you/ 
 
 He saw she wanted solitude ; he only stayed for a few words 
 of earnest thanks, and the assurance that secrecy and quietness 
 would be best assured by speed. ' I will come back,' he said, 
 ' when I have seen to the arrangement. And there is one thing 
 I must do first — one poor fellow who must not be left in 
 suspense any longer.' 
 
 Tired as he ought to have been, he lightly crossed the sala to 
 the room appropriated to business, where he had desired the two 
 clerks to wait for him, and where Tom Madison stood against 
 the wall, with folded arms, while Ford lounged in a disen- 
 gaged attitude on a chair, but rose alert and respectful at his 
 appearance. 
 
 Louis asked one or two necessary questions on the custody 
 of the office for tlie night and ensuing day, and Ford made 
 repeated assurances that nothing would be found missing that 
 had been left in his charge. ' I believe you, Mr. Delaford,' said 
 Fitzjocelyn, quietly. *I do not think the lower species of 
 fraud was ever in your style.' 
 
 Delaford tried to open his lips, but visibly shook. Louis 
 answered, what he had not yet said, ' I do not intend to expose 
 you. I think you had what excuse neglect can give, and unless 
 I should be called on conscientiously to speak to your character, 
 I shall leave you to make a new one.' 
 
 Delaford began to stammer out thanks, and promises of 
 explaining the whole of Eobson's peculations (little he knew 
 the whole of them). 
 
 * There is one earnest of your return to sincerity that I 
 require,' said Louis. 'Explain at once the degree of your 
 acquaintance with Charlotte Arnold.' 
 
 Tom Madison still stood moody — affecting not to hear. 
 
 ' Oh ! my lord, I did not know that you were interested in 
 that young person.' 
 
 'I am interested where innocence has been maligned,' said 
 Louis, sternly. 
 
 'I am sure, my lord, nothing has ever passed at which the 
 most particular need take umbrage,' exclaimed Delaford. 'If 
 Mr. Madison will recollect, I mentioned nothing as the most 
 fastidious need — ' 
 
 Mr. Madison would not hear. 
 
 ' You only inferred that she had not been insensible to your 
 attractions 1 ' 
 
 'Why, indeed, my lord, I flatter myself that in my time I 
 have had the happiness of not being unpleasing to the sex,' said 
 Delaford, with a sigh and, a simper. 
 
 'It is a mortifying question, but you owe it to the young- 
 woman to answer, whether she gave you any encouragement.' 
 
 'No, my lord. I must confess that she always spoke of a 
 previous attachment, and dashed my earlier hopes to.the ground.' 
 
 H H 
 
466 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 'And the book of poems! How came that to be in youi* 
 possession ? ' 
 
 Delaford confessed that it had been a little tribute, returned 
 upon his hands by the young lady in question. 
 
 ' One question more, Mr. Delaford : what was the fact as to 
 her lending you means for your voyage ? ' 
 
 Delaford was not easily brought to confession on this head ; 
 but he did at length own that he had gone in great distress to 
 Charlotte, and had appealed to her bounty, and distinctly 
 acknowledged that it was not in the capacity of suitor ; in 
 fact, as he ended by declaring, he had the pleasure of saying 
 that there was no young person whom he esteemed more highly 
 than Miss Arnold, and that she had never given him the least 
 encouragement, such as need distress the happy man who had 
 secured her affections. 
 
 The happy man did not move till Delaford had left the room, 
 when Louis walked up to him and said, ' I can further tell you, 
 of my own knowledge, that that good girl refused large wages, 
 and a lady's-maid's place, partly because she would not live in 
 the same house with that man ; and she lias worked on with a 
 faithful affection and constancy, beyond all praise, as the single 
 servant of Mr. and Mrs. Frost in their distress.' 
 
 'Don't talk to me, my lord,' cried Tom, turning away ; 'I'm 
 the most unliappy man in the world ! ' 
 
 ' I did not ask you to shake hands with Delaford to-night. 
 You will another day. He is only a vain coxcomb, and treated 
 you to a little of his conceit, with, perhaps, a taste of spite at a 
 successful rival ; but he has only shown you what a possession 
 you have in her.' 
 
 'You don't know what I've done, my lord. I have written 
 her a letter that she can never forgive ! ' 
 
 ' You don't know what I've done, Tom. I posted a letter by 
 the mail just starting from Callao — a letter to Mr. Frost, with a 
 hint to Charlotte that you were labouring under a little delusion ; 
 I knew, from your first narration, that Ford could be no other 
 than my old friend, shorn of his beams.' 
 
 ' That letter—' still muttered Tom. 
 
 ' She'll forgive, and like you all the better for having afforded 
 her a catastrophe, Tom. You may write by the next mail ; 
 unless, what is better still, you come home with us by the same, 
 and speak for yourself. If I am your master then, I'll give you 
 the holiday. Yes, Tom, it was important to me to clear up your 
 countenance, for I want to bespeak your services to-morrow as 
 my friend.' 
 
 ' My lord ! ' cried Tom, aghast. ' If you do require any such 
 service, though I should not have thought it, there are many 
 nearer your own rank, officers and gentlemen, fitter for an aff^iir 
 of the kind. I never knew anything about fire-arms, since I 
 gave up poaching.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Tom, I am very far from intending to dispense with 
 
RATHER SUDDEN 467 
 
 your services. I want you to guide me to procure the required 
 
 weapon 
 
 'Surely/ said Tom, with a deep, reluctant sigh, 'you never 
 crossed the Isthmus without one T 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, I did ; I never saw the party there whom I 
 should have liked to challenge in this way. Why, Tom, did you 
 really think I had come out to Peru to fight a duel on a Sunday 
 morning *? ' 
 
 ' That's what comes of living in this sort of place. Duels are 
 meat and drink to the people here,' said Tom, ashamed and re- 
 lieved, 'and there have been those who told me it was all that 
 was wanting to make me a gentleman. But in what capacity 
 am I to serve you, my lord ? ' 
 
 ' In the first place, tell me where I may procure a wedding- 
 ring ! Yes, Tom, that's the weapon ! You've no objection to 
 being my friend in that capacity 1 ' 
 
 Tom's astonished delight went beyond the bounds of expres- 
 sion, and therefore was compressed into an almost grim ' What- 
 ever you will, my lord ; ' but two hot tears were gushing from 
 his eyes. He dashed them away, and added, 'What a fool I 
 am ! You'll believe me, my lord, though I can't speak, that, 
 though there may be many nearer and more your equals, there's 
 none on earth more glad and happy to see you so than myself.' 
 
 'I believe it, indeed, Tom ; shake hands, to wish me joy ; I 
 am right glad to have one here from Ormersfield, to make it 
 more home-like. For, though it is a hurry at last, you can 
 guess what she has been to me from the first. Knowing her 
 thoroughly has been one of the many, many benefits that Ferny 
 dell conferred on me.' 
 
 There was no time for more than to enjoin silence. Louis 
 had to hurry to the Consul and the chaplain, and to overcome 
 their astonishment. 
 
 On the other hand, Mary was, as usual, seeking and recover- 
 ing the balance of her startled spirits in her own chamber. She 
 saw the matter wisely and simply, and had full confidence in 
 Louis, with such a yearning for his protection that, it may be, 
 the strange suddenness of the proposal cost her the less. She 
 came forth and announced her intention to Mrs. Willis, who 
 was inclined to resent it as derogatory to the dignity of woman- 
 hood, and the privileges of a bride ; but Mary smiled and an- 
 swered that, ' wlien he had taken so much trouble for lier, she 
 could not give liim any more by things of that sort. She must 
 be as little in his way as possible.' 
 
 And Mrs. Willis sighed, and pitied her, but was glad that 
 she should be off her poor brother's mind as soon as might be, 
 and was glad to resign her task of chaperoning lier. 
 
 Only three persons beyond the Consul's family knew wliat 
 ^ was about to happen, when Miss Ponsonby, in her deep mourn- 
 ing, attended the morning service in the large hall at the Con- 
 sul-house ; and such eyes as were directed towards the handsome 
 
 H H 2 
 
468 DYNEVOK TERRACE 
 
 stranger, only gazed at the unwonted spectacle of an English 
 nobleman, not with the more eager curiosity that would have 
 been attached to him had all been known. 
 
 Mr. Ward lingered a few moments, and begged for one word 
 with Miss Ponsonby. She could not but comply, and came to 
 meet him, blushing, but composed, in that simple, frank kindness 
 which only wished to soften the disappointment. 
 
 ' Mary,' he said, ' I am not come to harass you. I have done 
 so long enough, and I would not have tormented you, but on 
 that one head I did not do justice to your judgment. I see 
 now how vain my hope was. I am glad to have met him — I am 
 glad to know how worthy of you he is, and to have seen you in 
 such hands.' 
 
 ' You are very kind to speak so,' said Mary. 
 ' ' Yes, Mary, I could not have borne to part with you, if I 
 were not convinced that he is a good man as well as an able 
 man. I might have known that you would not choose other- 
 wise. I shall see your name among the great ladies of the land. 
 I came to say something else. I wished to thank you for the 
 many happy hours I have spent with you, though you never for 
 a moment trifled with me. It was I wlio deceived myself. 
 Good-bye, Mary. Perhaps you will write to my sister, and let 
 her know of your arrival.' 
 
 ' I will write to you, if you please,' said Mary. 
 
 * It will be a great pleasure,' he said, earnestly. ^ And will 
 you let me be of any use in my power to you and Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, we shall be most grateful. You have been a most 
 kind and forbearing friend. I should like to know that you 
 were happy,' said Mary, lingering, and hardly knowing what to 
 
 ' My little nieces are fond enough of their uncle. My sister 
 wants me. In short, you need not vex yourself about me. 
 Some day, when I am an old man, I may come and bring you 
 news of Lima. Meanwhile, you will sometimes wear this 
 bracelet, and remember that you have an old friend. I shall 
 call on Lord Fitzjocelyn at the office to-morrow, and see if we 
 can find any clue to Robson's retreat. Good-bye, and blessings 
 on you, Mary.' 
 
 Mary rejoined Louis, to speak to him of the kind and noble 
 man who so generously and resolutely bore the wreck of his 
 hopes. They walked up and down together in the cool shade 
 of the trees in the Consul's garden, and they talked of the unsel- 
 fishness which seemed to take away the smart from the wound 
 of disappointment. They spoke sometimes, but the day was 
 for the most part spent in the sweetness of pensive, happy 
 silence, musing with full hearts over this crowning of their long- 
 deferred hopes, and not without prayer that the same protecting 
 Hand might guide them, as they should walk together through 
 life. 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 469 
 
 By and by Mary disappeared. She would perhaps have pre- 
 ferred her ordinary dress — but the bridal white seemed to her 
 to be due both to Louis, and to the solemn rite and mystery ; 
 and when the time came, she met liim, in her plain white 
 muslin and long veil, confined by a few sprays of real orange 
 flowers, beneath which her calmly noble face was seen, simple 
 and collected as ever, forgetting in her earnestness all adjuncts 
 that might have been embarrassing or distressing. 
 
 The large hall was xlarkening with twilight, and the flowers 
 and branches that decked it showed gracefully in the subdued 
 light. Prayer and praise had lately echoed there, and Louis 
 and Mary could feel that He was with them who blessed the 
 pair at Cana, far distant as they were from their own church — 
 their own home. Yes, the Church, their mother, their home, 
 was with them in her sacred ritual and her choice blessings, and 
 their consciences v/ere free from self-will, or self -pleasing, such 
 as would have put far from them the precious gifts promised in 
 the name of their Lord. 
 
 When it was over, and they first raised their eyes to one an- 
 other's faces, each beheld in the other a look of entire thankful 
 content, not the less perfect because it was grave and peaceful. 
 
 ' I think mamma would be quite happy,' said Mary. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 THE MARVEL OF PERU 
 
 Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 
 
 My charmer, turn to see 
 Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here. 
 
 Restored to love and thee. — Goldsmith 
 
 Lord Ormersfield sat alone in the library, where the 
 fire burnt more for the sake of cheerfulness than of warmth. 
 His eyes were weary with reading, and, taking off his spectacles, 
 he turned his chair away from the table, and sat gazing into 
 the fire, giving audience to dreamy thoughts. 
 
 He missed the sunny face ever prompt to watch his moods, 
 and find or make time for the cheerful word or desultory chat 
 which often broke and refreshed drier occupation. He remem- 
 bered when he had hardly tolerated the glass of flowers, the 
 scraps of drawing, the unbusiness-like books at his son's end of the 
 table ; but the room looked dull without them now. and he was 
 ready to own the value of the grace and finish of lire, hindering 
 the daily task from absorbing the whole man, as had been the 
 case with himself in middle life. 
 
 Somewhat of the calm of old age had begun to fall on the 
 Earl, and he had latterly been wont to think more deeply. 
 These trifles could not have spoken to his heart save for their 
 connection with his son ; and even Louis's tastes would have 
 
470 BYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 worn out with habit, had it not been for the radiance perma- 
 nent in his own mind, namely, the thankful, adorino- love that 
 finds the true brightness in ' whatsoever things are are, what- 
 soever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of ^ )d report/ 
 This spirit it was which liad kept his heart fresi his spirit 
 youthful, and changed constitutional versatility into a power of 
 hearty adaptation to the least congenial tastes. 
 
 Gentleness, affection, liumility, and refinement were in liis 
 nature. Mrs. Frost had trained these qualities into tlie beauty 
 of Cliristian graces ; and Mrs. Ponsonby and her daughter had 
 taught him to bring liis high principles to supply that which 
 was wanting. Indolence of will, facility of disposition, un- 
 steadiness of purpose, inconsiderate impulses without persever- 
 ance, had all betokened an inherent weakness, which the Earl's 
 cure, ambition, had been powerless to remedy; but duty had 
 been effectual in drawing strength out of what had been feeble 
 by nature. It was religion that had made a man of Louis ; 
 and his father saw and owned it, no longer as merely the 
 woman's guide in life, and the man's resource chiefly in death, 
 to be respected and moderately attended to, but never so as to 
 interfere unreasonably with the world. No ; he had learnt 
 that it was the only sure and sound moving-spring : he knew it 
 as his son's strengthening, brightening thread of life ; and began 
 to perceive that his own course might have been less gloomy 
 and less harsh, devoid of such dark strands, had he held the 
 right clue. The contrast brou^' t back some lines which, with- 
 out marking, he had heard Louis and his aunt reading together ; 
 and, albeit little wont to look into his son's books, he was so 
 much haunted by the rhythm that he rose and searched them 
 out- 
 Yes, mark him well, ye cold and proud, 
 Bewildered in a heartless crowd. 
 Starting and turning pale 
 At rumour's angry din : 
 No storm can now assail 
 Tlie charm he bears within, 
 Bejoicing still, and doing good, 
 And with the thought of God imbued, 
 No glare of high estate, 
 
 No gloom of woe or want, 
 The radiance may abate. 
 Where Heaven delights to haunt. 
 
 The description went to his heart, so well did it agree with 
 Louis. Yet there was a sad feeling, for the South American 
 mail liad been some days due, and he had not heard of his son 
 since he Avas about to land at Callao. Five months was a long 
 absence ; and as the chances of failure, disappointment, climate, 
 disease, and shipwreck arose before him, he marvelled at him- 
 self for having consented to peril his sole treasure, and even 
 fancied that a solitary, childless old age might be the penalty in 
 store for having waited to be led heavenward by his son. 
 
 It was seldom that the Earl gave way ; and, reproaching him- 
 self for his weakness, he roused himself and rang the bell for 
 
30| 
 4 
 
 d\ 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 471 
 
 better light. There was a movement in the house, and for some 
 moments the bell was not answered ; but presently the door 
 was opened. 
 
 ' Bring the other lamp.' 
 
 'Yes, my lord.' 
 
 The slow, soft voice did not belong to Frampton. He started 
 up, and there stood Louis ! 
 
 ' My dear father,' he said ; and Lord Ormersfield grasped his 
 son's hand, and laid the other hand on his shoulder, but durst 
 ask no questions, for the speedy return seemed to bespeak 
 that he had failed. He looked in Louis's face, and saw it full 
 of emotion, with dew on the eyelashes ; but suddenly a sweet 
 archness gleamed in the eyes, and he steadied his trembling 
 lip to say with a smile, 
 
 ' Lady Fitzjocelyn ! ' 
 
 And that verj^ moment Mary was in Lord Ormersfield's arms. 
 
 ' My children ! my dear children, happy at last ! God bless 
 you ! This is all I ever wished ! ' 
 
 He held a hand of each, and looked from one to the other till 
 Mary turned away to hide her tears of joy ; and Louis, with 
 his eyes still moist, began talking, to give her time to recover. 
 
 'You will forgive our not writing? We landed this morn- 
 ing, found the last mail was not come in, and could not help 
 coming on. We knew you would be anxious, and thought you 
 would not mind the suddenness.' 
 
 ' No, indeed,' said his father ; ' if all surprises were like this 
 one ! But you are the loser, Mary. I am afraid this is not the 
 reception for a bride ! ' 
 
 ' Mary has dispensed with much that belongs to a bride,' said 
 Louis. ' See here ! ' and, seizing her hand, he began pulling off 
 her glove, till she did it for him ; ' did you ever see sucli a 
 wedding-ring? — a great, solid thing of Peruvian gold, with a 
 Spanish posy inside ! ' 
 
 ' I like it,' said Mary ; ' it shows — ' 
 
 ^ What you are worth, eh, Mary? Well! here we are! It 
 seems real at last ! And you, father, have you been well ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, well indeed, now I have you both ! But how came you 
 so quickly ? You never brought her across the Isthmus ?' 
 
 'Indeed I did. She would come. It Avas her first act of 
 rebellion ; for we were not going to let you meet the frosts 
 alone — the October frosts, I mean ; I hope the Dynevor Frosts 
 are all right ? ' 
 
 Frampton was here seen at the open door, doubtful whether 
 to intrude ; yet, impelled by necessity, as he caught Fitzjocelyn's 
 eye, he, hesitating, said — 
 
 ' My lord, the Spanish gentleman ! ' 
 
 ' The greatest triumph of my life ! ' cried Louis, actually clap- 
 ping his hands together with ecstasy, to the butler's extreme 
 astonishment. 
 
 ' Why, Frampton, don't you know him ? ' 
 
472 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 ' My lord ! ! ! ' 
 
 ' Let me introduce you, then, to — Mr. Thomas Madison ! ' 
 and,^ as Frampton still stood perplexed, looking at the fine, 
 foreign-looking man, who was keeping in the background, 
 busied with the luggage, Louis continued, ' You cannot credit 
 such a marvel of Peru ! ' 
 
 ' Young Madison, my lord ! ' repeated Frampton, slowly coming 
 to his senses. 
 
 'No other. He has done Lady Fitzjocelyn and all of us in- 
 finite service,' continued Louis, quickly, to prevent Madison's 
 reception from receiving a fall in proportion to the grandeur of 
 the first impression. ' He is to stay here for a short time be- 
 fore going to his appointment at Bristol, in Mr. Ward's counting- 
 house, with a salary of £180. I shall be much obliged if you 
 will make him welcome.' 
 
 And, returning in his glee to the library, Louis found Mary 
 explaining how ' a gentleman at Lima,' who had long professed 
 to covet so good a clerk as Madison, had, on the break-up of 
 their firm, offered a confidential post, for which he was well 
 fitted by his knowledge of the Spanish language and the South 
 American trade, to receive the cargoes sent home. 'In truth,' 
 said Louis, coming in, 'I had reason to be proud of my pupil. 
 We could never have found our way through the accounts 
 without him ; and the old Cornish man, whom we sent for from 
 the mines, gave testimony to him such as will do Mr. Holds- 
 worth's heart good. But nothing is equal to Frampton's taking 
 him for a Spanish Don ! ' 
 
 ' And poor Delaford's witness was quite as much to his credit,' 
 said Mary. 
 
 'Ay ! if Delaford had not been equally willing to depose 
 against him when he Avas the apparent Catiline !' said Louis. 
 ' Poor Delaford ! he was very useful to us, after all ; and I 
 should be glad to know he had a better fate than going ofl* to 
 the diggings with a year's salary in his pocket ! ' ^ 
 
 ' Then everything is settled ? ' asked his father. 
 
 'Almost everything. The mines are off our hands, and the 
 transfer will be completed as soon as Oliver has sent his sig- 
 nature ; and there's quite enough saved to make them very 
 comfortable. You have told me nothing of them yet.' 
 
 ' They are all very well. James has been coming here twice 
 a week since I have been at home, and has been very attentive 
 and pleasant ; but I have not been at the Terrace much. TJiere 
 never was such a houseful of children. Oliver's room is the 
 only place where one is safe from falling over two or three. 
 However, they seem to like it, and to think, the more the better. 
 James came over here the morning after the boy was born, as 
 much delighted as if he had had any prospects.' 
 
 1 A recent writer relates that he found the near relation of a nobleman f^aining 
 a scanty livelihood as shoe-black at the diggings, Query. Miglit not this be Mr. 
 
 Delaford ? 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 473 
 
 * A boy at last ! Poor Mr. Dynevor ! Does he take it as an 
 insult to his misfortunes ? ' 
 
 'He seems as well pleased as they ; and, in fact, I hope the 
 boy may not, after all, be unprovided for. Mr. Mansell wrote 
 to offer to be godfather, and I thought I could not do otherwise 
 than ask him to stay here. I am glad I did so, for he told me 
 that now he has seen for himself the noble way they are going 
 on in, he has made up his mind. He has no relation nearer than 
 Isabel, and he means to make his will in favour of her son. He 
 asked whether I would be a trustee ; but I said I was ^growing 
 old, and had little doubt you would be glad enough. You will 
 ]iave plenty of such work, Louis. It is very dangerous to be 
 known as a good man-of -business, and good-natured.' 
 
 ' Pray, how does Jem bear it ? ' 
 
 ' With tolerable equanimity. It may be many years before 
 the child is affected by it, if Mrs. Mansell has it for her life. 
 Besides, James is a wiser man than he used to be.' 
 
 ' He has been somewhat like Robinson Crusoe's old goat,' said 
 Louis. ' Poor Jem ! the fall and the scanty fare tamed him. I 
 liked him so well before, that I did not know how much better 
 I was yet to like him. Mary, you must see his workhouse. 
 Giving up his time to it as he does, he does infinite good there.' 
 
 'Yes, Mr. Calcott says that lie lives in fear of some one 
 offering him a living,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 ' And the dear old Giraffe ? ' said Louis. 
 
 ' Clara ? She is looking almost liandsome. I wish some good 
 man would marry her. She would make an excellent wife.' 
 
 ' I am not ready to spare her yet,' said Mary ; ' I must make 
 acquaintance with her before any excellent man carries her off.' 
 
 ' JBut there is a marriage that will surprise you,' said the Earl ; 
 ' your eldest cousin, whose name I can never remember — ' 
 
 ' Virginia,' cried Louis. ' Captain Lonsdale, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' What could have made you ^x on him ? ' 
 
 ' Because the barricades could not have been in vain, and he 
 was an excellent fellow, to whom I owe a great deal of gratitude. 
 He kept my aunt's terrors in abeyance most gallantly ; and 
 little Virginia drank in his words, and built up a hero ! But 
 how was it ? ' 
 
 ' You remember that Lady Conway would not take our advice, 
 and stay quietly at home. On the first steamer she fell in with 
 this captain, and it seems that she was helpless enough, without 
 her former butler, to be very grateful to him for managing her 
 passports and conducting her through Germany. And the con- 
 clusion was, that she herself had encouraged him so far, that 
 she really had not any justification in refusing when he proposed 
 for the young lady, as he is fairly provided for.' 
 
 ' My poor aunt ! No one ever pities lier when she is " hoist 
 with her own petard ! " I am glad poor Virginia is to be happy 
 in her own way.' 
 
 'I shall send my congratulations to-morrow,' said the Earl, 
 
474 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 smiling triumphantly, ' and a piece of intelligence of my ov/n. 
 At H. B. M. Consul's, Lima — what day was it, Louis ? ' 
 
 Mary ran away to take off her bonnet, as mucli surprised by 
 the Eai'l's mirth as if she had seen primroses in December. Yet 
 such blossoms are sometimes tempted forth ; and affection A\^as 
 breathing something like a second spring on the life so long 
 unnaturally cliilled and bliglited. If liis slioulders were bowed, 
 his figure had lost much of its rigidity ; and though liis locks 
 were thinned and whitened, and his countenance sliglitly aged, 
 yet the softened look and the more frequent smile had smoothed 
 away the sternness, and given gentleness to his dignity. 
 
 No sooner was she out of the room than Lord Ormersfield 
 asked, ' And what have you done with the Spanish woman ^ ' 
 
 The answer excited a peal of laugliter, which made Louis 
 stand aghast, both at such unprecedented merriment and at the 
 cause ; for hitherto he had so entirely felt with Mary, as never 
 to have seen the ludicrous aspect of the elopement. Presently, 
 however, he was amused by perceiving that his father not 
 merely regarded it as a relief from an embarrassing charge, but 
 as an entire acquittal for his own conscience for any slanders 
 he had formerly believed of Dona Rosa. 
 
 Louis briefly explained that, the poor lady being provided for 
 by Robson's investments in America, he liad thought it right 
 that the Ponsonby share of the firm should bear the loss through 
 these embezzlements ; and he had found that her extravagance 
 had made such inroads on the property, that while the Dynevor 
 share (always the largest) resulted in a fair competence, Louis 
 had saved nothing out of the wreck of the Ponsonby affairs but 
 Mary herself. 'Can you excuse it, father?' he said, with all the 
 old debonnaire manner. 
 
 ' You will never be a rich man, Louis. You and slie will 
 have some cares, but' — and his voice grew thick — 'you are 
 rich in what makes life happy. You have left me nothing more 
 to ask or wish for ! ' 
 
 'Except that I may be worthy of her, father. You first 
 taught me how she ought to be loved. You have been very 
 patient with me all this time. I feel as if I must thank you 
 for her — ' and then, changing his tone as she opened the door — 
 ' Look at her now she has her bonnet off— does not she look 
 natural ? ' 
 
 'I am sure I feel so,' said Mary. 'You know this always 
 seemed more like home than anything else.' 
 
 ' Yes, and now I do feel sure that I have you at last, Mary. 
 That Moorish castle of yours used to make me afraid of waken- 
 ing : it was so much fitter for Isabel's fantastic Viscount. 
 By the bye, has she brought that book out % ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; and James is nearly as proud of it as he is of his 
 son. He actually wanted me to read it ! He tells me it is 
 selling very well, and I hope it may really bring them in 
 something.' 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 475 
 
 'Xow, then— there's the tea. Sit down, Mary, and look 
 exactly as you did the morning I came home and found you.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid I cannot,' said Mary, looking up in his face with 
 an arch, deprecating expression. 
 
 'Wliynotr 
 
 ' Don't you know that I am so much happier ? ' 
 
 Before breakfast next morning Fitzjocelyn must visit liis 
 farm, and Mary must come with liim. 
 
 How delicious v/as that English morning after their voyage ; 
 the slant rays of the sun silvering the turf, and casting rainbows 
 across the gossamer threads from one brown bent to another ; 
 the harvest fields on the slopes dotted with rich sheaves of 
 wheat ; the coppices, in their summer glory, here and there 
 touched with the gold of early autumn, and the slopes and 
 meadows bright with lively green, a pleasant change for eyes 
 fresh from the bare, rugged mountain-side and the rank un- 
 wholesome vegetation of Panama. Shaggy little Scottish oxen 
 were feeding on the dewy grass, their black coats looking sleek 
 in the sun beyond the long shadows of tlie thorns ; but as Mary 
 said, laughing, 'Only Farmer Fitzjocelyn's cattle came here 
 now ; ' and she stopped more than once to be introduced to some 
 notable animal, or to hear the history of experiments in fatting 
 beasts. 
 
 ' There ! they have found you out ! That's for you,' said 
 Louis, as a merry peal of bells broke out from the church tower, 
 and came joyously up througli the tranquil air. 'Yes, Ormers- 
 field, you are greeting a friend ! You may be very glad, old 
 place ! I wisli Mr. Holdswortli would come up to breakfast ! 
 Is it too wet for you this way, Mary '^ ' 
 
 This way was into Ferny dell, and Mary answered, ' Oh, no — 
 no ; it is where I most wanted to go with you. We have never 
 been tliere together since — ' 
 
 ' No, you never would walk with me after I could go alone ! ' 
 said Louis, with a playful tone of reproach, veiling deep feeling. 
 
 In silence he handed her down the rocky steps, plunging 
 deeper among the hazels and rowan-trees ; then pausing, he 
 turned aside the luxuriant leaves of a tuft of hart's-tongue, and 
 showed her, cut on a stone, veiled both by the verdure and the 
 form of the rock, the letters — 
 
 Deo Gratias, 
 L. F. 184T. 
 
 ' I like that ! ' was all that Mary's full heart allowed her to say. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis, ' I feel quite as thankful for tlie accident as 
 for the preservation.' 
 
 ' And that dear mamma was with us,' added Mary. ' Between 
 her and you, it wns a blessing to us all. I see these letters are 
 not new ; you must have cut them out long ago.' 
 
 ' As soon as I could get here Avithout help,' he answered. ' I 
 thought I should be able to find the very spot where I lay, by 
 remembering the cross which the bare mountain-ash boughs 
 
476 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 made against the sky ; but by that time they were all leaf and 
 flower ; and now, do you see, there they are, with the fruit just 
 formed and blushing.' 
 
 ' Like other things,' said Mary, reaching after the spray ; 
 ' once all blossom, now — ' 
 
 ' Fruit very unripe,' as he said, between a smile and a sigh ; 
 'but there is some encouragement in the world after all, and 
 every project of mine has not turned out like my two speci- 
 mens of copper ore. You remember them, Mary, and our first 
 encounter.' 
 
 ' Remember it ! ' said Mary. ' I don't think I forget a day of 
 that summer.' 
 
 ' What I brought you here for,' said Louis, * was to ask you 
 to let me do what I have long wished — to let me put the letter 
 M here.' 
 
 ' I think you might have done it without leave,' said Mary. 
 
 'So I might at first, but by the time I came here again, 
 Mary, you had become in my estimation " a little more than 
 kin," and less than — no, I won't say that, but one could not 
 treat you as comfortably as Clara. I lost a cousin one August 
 day, and never found her again ! ' 
 
 'Never?' 
 
 'Never — but the odd thing is, that I cannot believe that 
 what I did find has been away these seven years.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is very strange,' said Mary ; ' I have felt it so. 
 We do seem to understand and guess each other's thoughts as 
 if we had been going on together all this time. I believe it is 
 because you gave me the first impulse to think, and taught me 
 the w^ay.' 
 
 ' And I know wdio first taught me to think to any purpose,' 
 said Louis, smiling. ' But who is this descending on us ? ' 
 
 It was the Spanish gentleman, reddening all over at such an 
 encounter, in mid-career towards 'her at the Terrace,' and mutter- 
 ing something, breathless and almost surly, about begging pardon. 
 
 'Look here, Tom,' said Louis, lifting the leaves to show the 
 letters. ' That is all I ever could feel on that matter, and so 
 should you. There, no more about it, — you want to be on your 
 way ; and tell Mr. Frost that we shall be at Northwold in the 
 afternoon/ 
 
 About half an hour after, Clara was delicately blowing the 
 dust out of the wreath of forget-me-nots on the porcelain 
 shepherdess's hat, when a shriek resounded through the house, 
 and, barely saving the Arcadian in her start, she rushed down- 
 stairs. James, in his shirt-sleeves, was already on his way to 
 the kitchen. There Kitty was found, too much frightened to 
 run away, making lunges with the toasting-fork at a black- 
 l)earded figure, who held in his arms Charlotte Arnold, in a fit 
 of the almost forgotten hysterics. The workhouse girl shrieked 
 for the police ; Jane was at Master Oliver's door, prepared for 
 flight or defence ; Isabel stood on the stairs, with lier baby in 
 
THE MAKVEL OF PERU 477 
 
 her arms, and her little flock clinging to her skirts, when Clara 
 darted back, laughing too much to speak distinctly, as she tried 
 to explain who the ruffian really was. ' And Louis is coming, 
 and Mary ! Oh ! Isabel, he has her at last ! Oh ! Jem ! Jem ! 
 did we ever want dear granny so much ! I always knew it would 
 come right at last ! Jane, Jane, do you hear. Lord Fitzjocelyn 
 is married ! Let me in ; I must go and tell Uncle Oliver ! ' 
 
 James looked at Isabel, and read in her smile Clara's final 
 acquittal from all suspicions beneath the dignity of both. 
 Uncle Oliver would have damped her joy, had it been in his 
 power. He gave up his affairs as hopeless, as soon as he found 
 that young Fitzjocelyn had only made them an excuse for 
 getting married, and he was so excessively angry with her for 
 being happy, that she found she must carry her joyous face out 
 of his sight. 
 
 It was not easy to be a dignified steady governess that 
 morning, and when the lessons were finished, she could have 
 danced home all the way. She had scarcely reached the Terrace 
 gate, when the well-known sound of the wheels was heard, and 
 in another moment she was between the two dear cousins ; 
 Fitzjocelyn's eyes dancing with gladsomeness, and Mary's 
 broad tranquil brow and frank kindly smile free from the 
 shadow of a single cloud ! Clara's heart leapt up with joy, joy 
 full and unmixed, the guerdon of the spirit untouched by vanity 
 or selfishness, without one taint that could have mortified into 
 jealous, disappointed pain. It was bliss to one of those whom 
 she loved best ; it was the winning of a brother and sister, and 
 perhaps Clara's life had never had a happier moment. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield could have thanked her for that joyous, 
 innocent welcome. He had paid her attentions for his son's 
 sake, of wliich he had become rather ashamed ; and as Louis 
 and Mary hastened on to meet James and Isabel, he detained 
 her for a moment, to say some special words of kindness. 
 Clara, perhaps, had an intuitive perception of his meaning, and 
 reference to her past heiress estate, for she laughed gaily, and 
 said, ' Yes, I never was more glad of anything ! He w^as so 
 patient that I was sure he deserved it ! I always trusted to 
 such a time as this, when he used to talk to me for want of 
 dear grandmamma.' 
 
 Mary was led up-stairs to be introduced to the five children, 
 while the gentlemen went over the accounts in Oliver's room. 
 Enough had been rescued from the ruin to secure, not wealth, 
 but fair competence ; the mines were disposed of to a company 
 which would pay the value by instalments, and all the re- 
 mainder of the business was in train to be easily wound up by 
 Mr. Ward. Mr. Dynevor's gratitude was not overpowering : 
 he was short and dry, privately convinced that he could have 
 managed matters much better himself, and charging all the loss 
 on Fitzjocelyn's folly in letting Eobson escape. But, though 
 James was hurt at his unthankfulness, and Lord Ormersfield 
 
478 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 could have been very angry, the party most concerned did not 
 take it much to heart ; he believed he had done his best, but an 
 experienced eye might detect blunders, and he knew it was 
 hard to trust affairs out of one's own hands. 
 
 Even the Earl was glad to escape to the sitting-room, though 
 every one was talking at once, and Mercy the loudest ; and 
 Louis, as the children would call him in spite of their mamma, 
 was at once seized on by Kitty to be introduced to ' our brother.' 
 
 ' And what is his name, Kitty ? ' 
 
 ^ Woland ! ' shouted all the young ladies in cliorus. 
 
 ' Sir Woland is in the book that mamma did make,' said Kitty. 
 
 Louis looked at Isabel with laughing eyes. 
 
 ' It was Uncle Oliver's great wish,' she said, ' and we did not 
 wisli to remember the days of Sir Hubert.' 
 
 Before Lord Ormersfield was quite deafened, Louis recollected 
 that they must show Mary at the House Beautiful ; and they 
 took leave. The Earl begged James to come back to dinner 
 with them, and Louis asked if Clara could not find room in the 
 carriage too. It was the earnest of what Ormersfield was to be 
 to her henceforth, and she was all delight, and earnestness to 
 be allowed to walk home with James by starlight. And the 
 evening realized all she could wish. The gentlemen had their 
 conversation in the dining-room, and Mary and Clara sat on the 
 steps together in the warm twilight, and talked of granny ; and 
 Clara poured out all that Mary did not yet know of Louis. 
 
 'I hear you have been in hysterics again,' had been Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn's greeting to Charlotte. ',You are prepared for the 
 consequences.' 
 
 Charlotte was prepared. The mutual pardon liad not been 
 very hard to gain, and Tom had only to combat her declarations 
 that it was downright presumptuous for her to have more than 
 master had a year, and her protests that she could not leave her 
 mistress and the dear children in their poverty. The tidings 
 that they were relieved from their present straits answered this 
 scruple, and Charlotte was a pretty picture of shrinking exult- 
 ation when she conducted her betrothed to Mrs. Martha, who, 
 however, declared that she would not take his hundred and 
 eighty pounds a year— no, nor twice that, — to marry him in 
 that there black beard. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett made him exceedingly welcome, and he spent 
 the chief part of his time at No. 5, where he was much more at 
 ease than at Ormersfield. He confessed that, though not given 
 to bashfulness before any man, there was something in Mr. 
 Frampton's excessive civility that quite overcame him, and 
 made him always expect to be kicked out of doors the next 
 minute for sauciness. 
 
 Charlotte's whirlwinds of feeling had nearly expended them- 
 selves in that one shock of meeting. The years of cheerful toil, 
 and the weeks of grief and suspense, had been good training for 
 that silly little heart, and the prospect of her new duties brought 
 
The marvel of peru 479 
 
 on her a sobering sense of responsibility. She would always be 
 tender and clinging, but the fragrant woodbine would be trained 
 round a sound, sturdy oak, and her modesty, gentleness, and 
 sincerity gave every promise of her being an excellent wife. 
 
 Tom had little time to spare before undertaking his new 
 office, and it was better that the parting should be speedy, for 
 it was a grievous one, both to the little bride and to Isabel and 
 the cliildren. Friend rather tlian servant, her place could be 
 ill supplied by the two maids who were coming in her room, 
 and Isabel could have found it in her heart to sympathize with 
 Mercy and Salome in their detestation of the black man who 
 was coming to take away their dear Charlotte. 
 
 Clara's- first outlay, on her restoration to comparative wealth, 
 was on Charlotte's wedding-dress. It was a commission given 
 to Mary, when, v/ith Fitzjocelyn, she went to London for one 
 day, to put the final stroke to tlie dissolution of the unfortun- 
 ate firm, and to rejoice Aunt Melicent with the sight of her 
 happiness. 
 
 Good old Miss Ponsonby's heart was some degrees softer and 
 less narrow than formerly. She had a good many prejudices 
 left, but she did not venture on such sweeping censures as in 
 old times, and she would have welcomed Lord Ormersfield with 
 real cordiality, for the sake of his love to her Mary. Indeed, 
 Louis's fascinations and Mary's bright face had almost persuaded 
 her into coming home with them ; but the confirmed Londoner 
 prevailed, and she had a tyrant maid-servant, who would not let 
 her go, even to the festival at Ormersfield in honour of her niece. 
 
 The Earl was bent on rejoicings for his son's marriage, and 
 Louis dexterously managed that tlie banquet should take place 
 on the day fixed for Tom's wedding, thus casting off all oppres- 
 sive sense of display, by regarding it as Madison's feast instead 
 of his own. Clara, who seemed to have been set free from gover- 
 ness tasks solely to be the willing slave of all the world, worked 
 as hard as Mary and Louis at all the joyous arrangements ; nor 
 was the festival itself, like many such events, less bright than 
 the previous toils. 
 
 The wedding took place in Ormersfield Church, on a bright 
 September morning ; James Frost performed the marriage. Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn gave the bride away, and little Kitty was the brides- 
 maid. The ring was of Peruvian gold, and the brooch that 
 clasped the bride's lace collar was of silver from the San Benito 
 mine. In her white bonnet and dove-coloured silk, she looked 
 as simple and ladylike as she was pretty, and a very graceful 
 contrast to her Spanish gentleman bridegroom. 
 
 The Ormersfield bowling-green, which was wont to be so still 
 and deserted, hemmed in by the dark ilex belt, beheld such a 
 scene as had not taken place there since its present master was a 
 boy. There were long tables spread for guests of all ranks and 
 degrees. Louis had his own way with the invitations, and had 
 gathered a miscellaneous host. .. Sir Miles Oakstead had come 
 
480 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 to see his old friend made happy, and to smile as he was intro- 
 duced to the rose-coloured pastor in his glass case. Mr. Calcott 
 was there, and Mrs. Calcott, all feuds with Mrs. James Frost 
 long since forgotten ; and Sir Gilbert Brewster shone in his 
 colonel's uniform, — for Lady Fitzjocelyn had intimated a special 
 desire that all the members of the Yeomanry should appear in 
 costume ; and many a young farmer's wife and sister came all 
 the more proudly, in the fond belief that her own peculiar hero 
 looked in his blue and silver 'as well as Lord Fitzjocelyn 
 himself.' And Miss Mercy Faitlifull was there, watching over 
 Oliver, to make up for the want of her sister. And old Mr. 
 Walby was bowing and gossiping with many a patient ; and 
 James, with his little brown woman in his hand, was looking 
 after the party of paupers for whom he had obtained a holiday ; 
 and Mr. Holdsworth was keeping guard over his village boys, 
 whose respectable parents remained in two separate throngs, 
 male and female ; and Clara Frost was here, there, and every- 
 where — now setting Mrs. Richardson at ease, now carrying 
 little Mercy to look at the band, now conveying away Salome 
 wlien frightened, now finding a mother for a village child taken 
 with a sobbing fit of shyness, now conducting a stray schoolboy 
 to his companions, now running up for a few gay words to her 
 old uncle, to make sure that he was neither chilly nor tired. 
 How pleasant it was to her to mingle with group after group 
 of people, and hear from one and another how handsome and 
 how happy Lord Fitzjocelyn looked, and Lady Fitzjocelyn quite 
 beautiful ; and then, as they walked from party to party, 
 setting all at ease and leaving pleased looks wherever they 
 went, to cross them now and then, and exchange a blithe smile 
 or merry remark. 
 
 No melancholy gaps here ! thought she, as she helped her 
 uncle to the easy-chair prepared for him at the dinner-table ; 
 no spiritless curiosity, no forced attempts to display what no 
 one felt ! 
 
 There must needs be toasts, and such as thought themselves 
 assembled for the sake of the ' marriage in high life,' were taken 
 by surprise when Lord Fitzjocelyn rose, and began by thanking 
 those assembled for assisting in doing honour to the event of 
 the day — the marriage of two persons, for each of whom he 
 himself as well as those most dear to him felt the warmest 
 respect and gratitude for essential services and disinterested 
 attachment, alike in adversity and in prosperity. Unpleasant 
 as he knew it was to have such truths spoken to one's face, he 
 could not deny himself the satisfaction of expressing a portion 
 of the esteem and reverence he felt for such noble conduct as 
 had been displayed by those whose health he had the pleasure 
 to propose — Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Madison. 
 
 ' There,' was his aside, as he sat down, ' I only hope I have not 
 made him surly ; poor fellow, I have put him in a predicament, 
 but it could not be otherwise ! ' 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 481 
 
 Clara had tears in her eyes, but not like those she had shed 
 at Cheveleigh ; James gave Louis a look of heart-felt gratitude, 
 bowed the lowest to the happy pair, and held up little Kitty 
 that her imitative nod and sip might not be lost upon them. 
 
 Mrs. Beckett said, ' Well, I never ! If ever a girl deserved 
 it,' choked, and flourished her white handkerchief ; Frampton 
 saluted like my lord and Louis XIY. rolled into one ; and 
 Warren and Gervas privately agreed that they did not know 
 what was coming of the world, since Marksedge poachers had 
 only to go to foreign parts to be coined goold in the silver 
 mines. Mrs. Madison's pretty face was all blushes, smiles, and 
 tears. Mr. Madison rose to reply with unexpected alacrity, and 
 Louis was soon relieved from anxiety, at least, as far as regarded 
 his eloquence, for he thought in the majestic Spanish idiom, 
 and translated as he went. 
 
 ^ My lords,' he began, ' gentlemen and ladies and neighbours, 
 my Lord Fitzjocelyn has done my wife and myself an honour as 
 unlooked-for as undeserved ; and the manner of the favour is 
 such that we shall carry tlie grateful remembrance to the end 
 of our lives. He has been so condescending as to speak of such 
 services as it was in our power to render ; but he has passed 
 over in silence that which gives him a claim to the utmost that 
 I could place at his feet. He will forgive me for speaking 
 openly ; for I cannot refrain from disburthening my mind, and 
 letting you know, even more than you are at present aware of, 
 what your Sefior — what your lord truly is. Most of you have 
 known me but too well. It is not ten years since I was a rude, 
 untaught boy upon the heath, such as a large proportion of 
 those present would deem beneath their notice : Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn did not think so. His kindness of manner and encourag- 
 ing words awakened in me new life and energy. He gave 
 me his time and his teaching, and, what was far more, he gave 
 me his sympathy and his example. It was these which gave 
 vitality to lessons dimly understood, or which had fallen dead 
 on my ear-s, when only heard in my irregular attendance at 
 school. But the work in me was tardy, and at first I requited 
 his kindness with presumption, insubordination, and careless- 
 ness. Then, when I had been dismissed, and when my wilful 
 neglect had occasioned the accident of which the traces are still 
 only too visible, then, did I not merit to be exposed and cast off 
 for ever? I knew it, and I fled, as if I could leave behind me 
 my grief and my shame. Little did I dare to guess that he was 
 dealing with me as though I had been his own brother, and 
 scrupulously concealing my share in the misfortune. When I 
 returned, sullen and overwhelmed, he alone, — yes ! and while 
 still suflering severely — spoke a kind word to me, and exerted 
 himself to rescue me from the utter ruin and degradation to 
 which despair would have led me. He placed me in the situ- 
 ation which conducted me to my present position ; he gave me 
 the impulse to improve myself; and, above all, he infused into 
 
 II 
 
482 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 me the principles without which the rest would have been mere 
 temptations. If I have been blest beyond my deserts — if I 
 have been prosperous beyond reasonable expectation — if, among 
 numerous failures, I have withstood some evils — all, under the 
 greatest and highest Benefactor, is owing to the kindness, and, 
 above all, to the generous forbearance, of Lord Fitzjocelyn. I 
 wish I could testify my gratitude in any better manner than 
 by speaking of him to his face ; but I am sure you will all 
 drink his health more heartily, if possible, for knowing one 
 more trait in addition to your own personal experience of his 
 character ! ' 
 
 Alas ! that all things hidden, and yet to be proclaimed on the 
 house-tops, would bear the light as well as Fitzjocelyn's secret ! 
 The revelation of this unobtrusive act of patience and forbearance 
 excited a perfect tumult of enthusiasm among persons already 
 worked up to great ardour for one so beloved ; and shouts, and 
 even tears, on every side strove in vain to express the response 
 to Madison's words. 
 
 ' Too bad, Tom ! ' was Louis's muttered comment. 
 
 * You are paid in your own coin,' retorted Mary, raising her 
 glistening eyes, full of archness. 
 
 ' I perceive it is no surprise to you, Lady Fitzjocelyn ! ' said 
 Sir Miles Oakstead ; ' and, I own, nothing from that quarter ' 
 (nodding at Louis) ' surprises me greatly.' 
 
 'She practised eavesdropping,' said Louis, 'when the poor 
 fellow was relieving liis mind by a confession to the present 
 Mrs. Madison.' 
 
 'And I think Mrs. Madison and I deserve credit for having' 
 kept the secret so long,' said Mary. 
 
 'It explains,' observed Mr. Holdsworth. 'I did not under- 
 stand your power over Madison.' 
 
 'It was the making of us both,' said Louis ; 'and a very fine 
 specimen of the grandeur of that rough diamond. It elucidates 
 what I have always said, that if you can but find the one vulner- 
 able place, there is a wonderful fund of nobleness in some of 
 these people.' 
 
 ' Do you take this gentleman as an average specimen ? ' 
 
 'Every ploughboy is not an undeveloped Madison ; but in 
 every parish there may be some one with either the thinking or 
 the rising element in his composition ; and if the right ingre- 
 dient be not added, the fermentation will turn sour, as my 
 neglect had very nearly made it do with him. He would have 
 been a fine demagogue by this time, if he had not had a generous 
 temper and Sunday-school foundation.' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Mary, smiling — ' you must not moralize. I 
 believe you are doing it that poor Farmer Norris may not catch 
 your eye.' 
 
 Louis gave a dehonnaire glance of resignation ; and the farmer, 
 rising in the full current of feeling caused by Madison's speech, 
 said, with thorough downright emotion, that he knew it was of no 
 
THE MARVEL OF PERU 483 
 
 use to try to enchance Avhat had been already so well expressed ; 
 but he believed there was scarcely a jDerson present who did 
 not feel, equally with Mr. Madison, the right to claim Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn as a personal friend, — and an irrepressible hum of 
 fervent assent proved how truly the farmer spoke. ' Yes, — each 
 had in turn experienced so much of his friendly kindness, and, 
 what was more, of his sympathy, that he could confidently affirm 
 that there was scarcely one in the neighbourhood who had not 
 learnt the news of his happiness as if some good thing had 
 happened to himself individually. They all as one man were 
 delighted to have him at home again, and to wish him joy of the 
 lady, whom many of them knew already well enough to rejoice 
 in welcoming him for her own sake, as well as for that of Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 Again and again did the cheers break forth — hearty, homely, 
 and sincere ; and such were the bright, tearful, loving eyes, 
 which sought those of Fitzjocelyn on every side, that his own 
 filled so fast that all seemed dazzled and misty, and he hastily 
 strove to clear them as he arose ; but the swelling of his heart 
 brought the happy dew again, and would scarcely let him find 
 voice. ' My friends, my good friends, you are all very kind to 
 me. It is of no use to tell you how little I deserve it, but you 
 know how much I wish to do so, and here is one who has helped 
 me, and who will help me. We thank you with all our hearts. 
 You may well wish my father and me joy, and yourselves too. 
 Thank you ; you should not look at me so kindly if you wish 
 me to say more.' 
 
 The Earl, who had studied popularity as a useful engine, 
 but had never prized love beyond his own family, was exceed- 
 ingly touched by the ardour of enthusiastic affection that his 
 son had obtained, — not by courting suffrages, not by gifts, not 
 by promises, but simply by real open-hearted love to every one. 
 Lord Ormersheld himself came in for a demonstration of warm 
 feeling which he would certainly never have sought nor obtained 
 ten years ago, when he was respected and looked up to as an 
 upright representative of certain opinions; but personally, 
 either disliked or regarded with coldness. 
 
 He knew what these cheers were worth, and that even Fitz- 
 jocelyn might not long be the popular hero ; but lie was not the 
 less gratified and triumpliant, and felt that no success of his 
 whole life had been worth the present. 
 
 'After all, Clara,' said Oliver Dynevor, as his nephew and 
 niece were assisting him to the carriage, ' they have managed 
 these things better tlmn we did, though they did not have 
 Gunter.' 
 
 * Gunter can't bring heart's love down from town in a box,' 
 said Clara, in a flash of indignation. ' No, dear uncle, there are 
 things that can't be got unless by living for them.' 
 
 Nor even by living for them, Clara,' said James ; ' you must 
 live for something else.' 
 
 T I 2 
 
484 DYNEVOR TERRACE 
 
 Lord Ormersfield had heard these few last words, and there 
 was deep thought in his eye as he bade his cousin farewell at 
 the hall door. 
 
 Clara was the last to take her place ; and, as she turned round 
 with a merry smile to wish him good-bye, he said, ' You have 
 been making yourself very useful, Clara ; I am afraid you have 
 had no time to enjoy yourself.' 
 
 ' That's a contradiction,' said Clara, laughing ; ' here's busy 
 little Kitty, who never is thoroughly happy but when she 
 thinks she is useful, and I am child enough to be of the same 
 mind. I never was unhappy but when I was set to enjoy 
 myself. It has been the most beautiful day of my life. Thank 
 you for it. Good-bye ! ' 
 
 The Earl crossed the hall, and found Mary standing alone on 
 the Terrace steps, looked out at the curling smoke from the 
 cottage chimneys, and on the coppices and hedge-rows. 
 
 ' Are you tired my dear ? ' he said. 
 
 ' Oh, no ! I was only thinking of dear mamma's persuading 
 Louis to go on with the crumpled plans of those cottages. How 
 happy she would be.' 
 
 'I was thinking of her likewise,' said the Earl. ' She spoke 
 truly when she told me that he might not be what I then wished 
 to make him, but something far better.' 
 
 Mary looked up with a satisfied smile of approval, saying, ^ I 
 am so glad you think so.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lord Ormersfield, ' I have thought a good deal 
 since. I have been alone here, and I think I see why Louis 
 has done better than some of ]iis elders. It seems to me that 
 some of us have not known the duties that lay by the wayside, 
 so to speak, from the main purpose of life. I wish I could talk 
 it over with your mother, my dear ; what do you think she 
 would say ? ' 
 
 Mary thought of Louis's vision of the threads. ' I think,' she 
 said, 'that I have heard her say something like it. The real 
 aim of life is out of siglit, and even good people are too apt to 
 attach themselves to what is tangible, like friendship, or family 
 affection, or usefulness, or public spirit ; but these are like the 
 paths of glory which lead but to the grave, and no farther. It 
 is the single-hearted, faithful aim towards the one thing need- 
 ful, to which all other things may be added as mere accessories. 
 It brings down strength and wisdom. It brings the life ever- 
 lasting already to begin in this life, and so makes the path shine 
 more and more unto the perfect day ! ' 
 
 THE END 
 
 Richard Clay ci- Sons, Limited, London d- Bungay. 
 
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 38 HOW AMYAS CAME HOME [CHAP. il. 
 
 erudite, as well as prettily conceived — and, saving for a certain 
 rustical simplicity and monosyllabic baldness, smacks rather of 
 the forests of Castaly than those of Torridge." 
 
 So spake my Lady Bath; whom Sir Kichard wisely answered 
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 also the exceeding smoothness of those delicate cheeks). The 
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 shamed with its whiteness that of all fair ladies round, save 
 where open on each cheek a bright red spot gave warning, as 
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 and why should I be more discourteous to him than I permit 
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