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 B Y THE SAME A UTHOR. 
 
 Wych Hazel. i2mo, cloth . . . . - . $2 oo 
 
 " The whole structure of the story is symmetrical and harmonious 
 one of the best written and most entertaining recently sent us by anj> 
 of the favorites of the novel-reading public." Albany Journal. 
 
 The Gold of Chickaree. 12010, cloth . . $i 75 
 
 " We have not the faintest hesitation in placing this work among 
 the very strongest novels in character development which has been 
 written during the past two years." Boston Traveler. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS, Publishers, N. Y.
 
 DIANA 
 
 BY 
 SUSAN WARNER 
 
 AUTHOR OF "WIDE, WIDE WORLD" CO-AUTHOR OF "WYCH 
 HAZEL," "THE GOLD OF CHICKAREE," ETC. 
 
 ' Know well, my soul, God's hand controls 
 
 Whate'er thou fearest ; 
 Round Him in calmest music rolls 
 Whate'er thou hearest. 
 
 4 What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, 
 
 And the end He knoweth, 
 And not on a blind and aimless way 
 
 Thy spirit goeth." 
 
 WHITTIE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 182 FIFTH AVENUE 
 1877
 
 Copyright. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS. 
 1877.
 
 PS 
 3/55 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY i 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE NEW MINISTER 16 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE 33 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT 44 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAKING HAY 55 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH 65 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES 80 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD ... 95 
 
 1.592782
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 MRS STARLING'S OPINIONS 112 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN SUGAR 121 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER 130 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ASHES OF THE FIRE 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE 148 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD 157 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 CATECHISING 171 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Is IT WELL WITH THEE? 185 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE USE OF LIVING 199 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 A SNOWSTORM 212 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM 224
 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 
 SETTLED 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 
 UNSETTLED 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 
 NEW LIFE 
 
 
 262 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 
 SUPPER AT 
 
 HOME . 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 Miss COLLINS' WORK 295 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 THINGS UNDONE . . . . . . 306 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 BONDS 322 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 EVAN'S SISTER 333 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE 345 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 SUNSHINE 354 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 A JUNE DAY . . 367
 
 VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGB. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WIND AND TIDE . .... 384 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS 405 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 DAIRY AND PARISH WORK 423 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 BABYLON 431 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 THE PARTY 440 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 AT ONE 450
 
 DIANA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 
 
 I AM thinking of a little brown house, somewhere in the 
 wilds of New England. I wish I could make my readers 
 see it as it was, one June afternoon some years ago. Not 
 for anything very remarkable about it ; there are thou- 
 sands of such houses scattered among our hills and valleys; 
 nevertheless one understands any life story the better for 
 knowing amid what sort of scenes it was unfolded. More- 
 over, such a place is one of the pleasant things in the world 
 to look at, as I judge. This was a small house, with its 
 gable end to the road, and a lean-to at the back, over which 
 the long roof sloped down picturesquely. It was weather- 
 painted ; that was all ; of a soft dark grey now, that har- 
 monized well enough with the gayer colours of meadows 
 and trees. And two superb elms, of New England's own, 
 stood beside it an-d hung over it ; enfolding and sheltering 
 the little old house, as it were, with their arms of strength 
 and beauty. Those trees would have dignified anything. 
 One of them, of the more rare weeping variety, drooped 
 over the door of the lean-to, shading it protectingly and 
 hiding with its long pendent branches the hard and stiff 
 lines of the building. So the green draped the grey ;
 
 2 DIANA. 
 
 until in the soft mingling of hues, the light play of sun- 
 shine and shadow, it seemed as if the smartness of paint 
 upon the old weather-boarding would have been an intru- 
 sion, and not an advantage. In front of the house was a 
 little space given to flowers ; at least there were some 
 irregular patches and borders, where balsams and holly- 
 hocks and pinks and marigolds made a spot of light colour- 
 ing ; with one or two luxuriantly growing blush roses, 
 untrained and wandering, bearing a wealth of sweetness 
 on their long swaying branches. There was that spot of 
 colour ; all around and beyond lay meadows, orchards and 
 cultivated fields ; till at no great distance the ground became 
 broken and rose into a wilderness of hills, mounting high- 
 er and higher. In spots these also shewed cultivation ; for 
 the most part they were covered with green woods in the 
 depth of June foliage. The soft, varied hilly outline filled 
 the whole circuit of the horizon ; within the nearer circuit 
 of the hills the little grey house sat alone, with only one 
 single exception. At the edge of the meadow land, half 
 hid behind the spur of a hill, stood another grey farmhouse ; 
 it might have been half a mile off. People accustomed to 
 a more densely populated country would call the situation 
 lonesome ; solitary it was. But Nature had shaken down 
 her hand full of treasures over the place. Art had never 
 so much as looked that way. However, we can do with- 
 out art on a June afternoon. 
 
 The door of the lean-to looked towards the road, and 
 so made a kind of front door to the kitchen which was with- 
 in. The door-sill was raised a single step above the rough 
 old grey stone which did duty before it ; and sitting on the 
 doorstep, in the shadow and sunlight which came through 
 the elm branches and fell over her, this June afternoon, 
 was the person whose life story I am going to try to tell,
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 3 
 
 She sat there as one at home, and in the leisure of one 
 who had done her work ; with arms crossed upon her 
 bosom, and an air of almost languid quiet upon her face. 
 The afternoon was quiet-inspiring. Genial warm sunshine 
 filled the fields and grew hazy in the depth of the hills ; the 
 long hanging elm branches were still ; sunlight and shadow 
 beneath slept in each other's arms ; soft breaths of air too 
 faint to move the elms, came nevertheless with reminders 
 and suggestions of all sorts of sweetness ; from the leaf- 
 buds of the woods, from the fresh turf of the meadows, 
 from a thousand hidden flowers and ferns at work in their 
 secret laboratories, distilling a thousand perfumes, mingled* 
 and untraceable. Now and then the breath of the roses 
 was quite distinguishable ; and from fields further off the 
 delicious scent of new hay. It was just the time of day 
 when the birds do not sing ; and the watcher at the door 
 seemed to be in their condition. 
 
 She was a young woman, full grown, but young. Her 
 dress was the common print working dress of a farmer's 
 daughter, with a spot or two of wet upon her apron shew- 
 ing that she had been busy as her dress suggested. Her 
 sleeves were still rolled up above her elbows, leaving the 
 crossed arms full in view. And if there is character in 
 faces, so there is in arms ; and everybody knows there is 
 in hands. These arms were after the model of the typical 
 woman's arm ; not chubby and round and fat, but moulded 
 with beautiful contour, shewing muscular form and power, 
 with the blue veins here and there marking the clear 
 delicate skin. Only look at the arm, without even seeing 
 the face, and you would feel there was nervous energy and 
 power of will ; no weak, flabby, undecided action would 
 ever come of it. The wrist was tapering enough, and the 
 hand perfectly shaped, like the arm ; not quite so white.
 
 4 DIANA. 
 
 The face, you could not read it at once ; possibly not 
 till it had seen a few more years. It was very reposeful 
 this afternoon. Yet the brow and the head bore tokens 
 of the power you would expect ; they were very fine ; and 
 the eyes under the straight brow were full and beautiful, 
 a deep blue-grey, changing and darkening at times. But 
 the mouth and lower part of the face was as sweet and 
 mobile as three years old ; playing as innocently and readily 
 upon every occasion ; nothing had fixed those lovely lines. 
 The combination made it a singular face and of course 
 very handsome. But it looked very unconscious of that 
 ' fact. 
 
 Within the kitchen another woman was stepping about 
 actively, and now and then cast an unsatisfied look at the 
 doorway. Finally came to a stop in the middle of the 
 floor to speak. 
 
 ' What are you sittin' there for, Diana ? 
 
 ' Nothing, that I know of.' 
 
 ' If I was sittin' there for nothin', seems to me I'd 
 get up and go somewheres else.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' said the beauty languidly. 
 
 ' Anywhere. Goodness ! it makes me feel as if nothin' 
 would ever get done, to see you sittin' there so.' 
 
 ' It's all done, mother.' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' Everything.' 
 
 ' Have you got out the pink china ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Is your cake made ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, mother ; you saw me do it.' 
 
 ' I didn't see you bakin' it though.' 
 
 ' Well, it is done.' 
 
 4 Did it raise light and puffy ? '
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 5 
 
 ' Beautiful.' 
 
 ' And didn't get burned ? ' 
 
 ' Only the least bit, in the corner. No harm/ 
 
 ' Have you cut the cheese and shivered the beef ? ' 
 
 ' All done.' 
 
 ' Then I think you had better go and dress yourself.' 
 
 ' There's plenty of time. Nobody can be here for two 
 hours yet.' 
 
 1 1 wouldn't sit and do nothin', if I was you.' 
 
 * Why not, mother ? when there is really nothing to do.' 
 
 ' I don't believe in no such minutes, for my part. They 
 never come to me. Look at what I've done to-day, now. 
 There was first the lighting the fire and getting breakfast. 
 Then I washed up, and righted the kitchen and set on the 
 dinner. Then I churned and brought the butter and 
 worked that. Then there was the dairy things. Then I've 
 been in the garden and picked four quarts of ifs and ons 
 for pickles ; got 'em all down in brine too. Then I made 
 out my bread, and made biscuits for tea, and got dinner, 
 and eat it, and cleared it away, and boiled a ham.' 
 
 ' Not since dinner, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Took it out, and that ; and got all my pots and kettles 
 put away; and picked over all that lot o' berries, /think 
 I'd make preserves of 'em, Diana ; when folks come to 
 sewing meeting for the missionaries, they needn't have all 
 creation to eat, seems to me. They don't sew no better 
 for it. /believe in fasting, once in a while.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ' What for ? why, to keep down people's stomach ; 
 take off a slice of their pride.' 
 
 ' Mother ! do you think eating and people's pride have 
 anything to do with each other ? ' 
 
 ' I guess I do ! I tell you, fasting is as good as whipping
 
 6 DIANA. 
 
 to take down a child's stomach ; let 'em get real thin and 
 empty, and they'll come down and be as meek as Moses. 
 Folks ain't different from children.' 
 
 ' You never tried that with me, mother,' said Diana 
 half laughing. 
 
 'Your father always let you have your own way. I 
 could ha' managed you, I guess ; but your father and you 
 was too much at once. Come, Diana do get up and go 
 off and get dressed, or something.' 
 
 But she sat still, letting the soft June air woo her and 
 the scents of flower and field hold some subtle communion 
 with her. There was a certain hidden harmony between 
 her and them; and yet they stirred her somehow un- 
 easily. 
 
 ' I wonder,' she said after a few minutes' silence, ' what 
 a nobleman's park is like ? ' 
 
 The mother stood still again in the middle of the 
 kitchen. 
 
 1 A park ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. It must be something beautiful ; and yet I can- 
 not think how it could be prettier than this.' 
 
 ' Than what ? ' said her mother impatiently. 
 
 ' Just all this. All this country ; and the hayfields, and 
 the cornfields, and the hills.' 
 
 ' A park ! ' her mother repeated. ' I saw a " park " 
 once, when I was down to New York ; you wouldn't want 
 to see it twice. A homely little mite of a green yard, with 
 a big white house in the middle of it ; and homely enough 
 that was too. It might do very well for the city folks ; 
 but the land knows I'd be sorry enough to live there. 
 What's putting parks in your head ? ' 
 
 But the daughter did not answer, and the mother stood 
 still and looked at her, with perhaps an inscrutable bit of
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 7 
 
 pride and delight behind her hard features. It never came 
 out. 
 
 ' Diana, do you calculate to be ready for the sewin* 
 meetin' ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, mother.' 
 
 ' Since they must come, we may as well make 'em 
 welcome ; and they won't think it, if you meet 'em in your 
 kitchen dress. Is the new minister comin', do you 
 s'pose ? ' 
 
 'I don't know if anybody has told him.' 
 
 'Somebody had ought to. It won't be much of a 
 meetin' without the minister ; and it 'ud give him a good 
 chance to get acquainted. Mr. Hardenburgh used to like 
 to come.' 
 
 ' The new man doesn't look much like Mr. Harden- 
 'burgh.' 
 
 ' It'll be a savin' in biscuits, if he ain't.' 
 
 ' I used to like to see Mr. Hardenburgh eat, mother.' 
 
 ' I hain't no objection when I don't have the biscuits 
 to make. Diana, you baked a pan o' them biscuits too 
 brown. Now you must look out, when you put 'em to 
 warm up, or they'll be more'n crisp.' 
 
 ' Everybody else has them cold, mother.' 
 
 ' They won't at my house. It's just to save trouble ; 
 and there ain't a lazy hair in me, you ought to know by 
 this time.' 
 
 ' But I thought you were for taking down people's pride, 
 and keeping the sewing society low ; and here are hot bis- 
 cuits and all sorts of thing,' said Diana, getting up from 
 her seat at last. 
 
 'The cream '11 be in the little red pitcher so mind 
 you don't go and take the green one. And do be off, 
 child, and fix yourself for it'll be a while yet before I'm
 
 8 DIANA. 
 
 ready; and there'll be nobody to see folks when they 
 come.' 
 
 Diana went off slowly up stairs to her own room. 
 There were but two, one on each side of the little landing 
 place at the head of the stair ; and she and her mother 
 divided the floor between them. Diana's room was not 
 what one would have expected from the promise of all the 
 rest of the house. That was simple enough, as the dwelling 
 of a small farmer would be, and much like the other farm- 
 houses of the region. But Diana's room, a little one it 
 was, had one side rilled with bookshelves ; and on the 
 bookshelves was a dark array of solid and ponderous vol- 
 umes. A table under the front window held one or two 
 that were apparently in present use; the rest of the room 
 displayed the more usual fittings and surroundings of a 
 maiden's life. Only in their essentials however ; no luxury 
 was there. The little chest of drawers, covered with a 
 white cloth, held a brush and comb, and supported a tiny 
 looking-glass ; small paraphernalia of vanity. No essen- 
 ces or perfumes or powders ; no curling sticks or crimping 
 pins ; no rats or cats, cushions or frames, or skeletons of 
 any sort, were there for the help of the rustic beauty j and 
 neither did she need them. So you would have said if 
 you had seen her when her toilette was done. The soft 
 outlines of her figure were neither helped nor hidden by 
 any artificial contrivances. Her abundant dark hair was 
 in smooth bands and a luxuriant coil at the back of her 
 head ; woman's natural crown ; and she looked nature- 
 crowned when she had finished her work. Just because 
 nature had done so much for her, and she had let nature 
 alone ; and because, furthermore, Diana did not know or 
 at least did not think about her 'beauty. When she was 
 in order, and it did not take long, she placed herself at the
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 9 
 
 table under the window before noticed, and opening a book 
 that lay ready, forgot I dare say all about the sewing 
 meeting ; till the slow grating of wheels at the gate brought 
 her back to present realities, and she went down stairs. 
 
 There was a little old green wagon before the house, 
 with an old horse and two women, one of whom had got 
 down and was tying the horse's head to the fence. 
 
 ' Are you afraid he will run away ? ' said the voice of 
 Diana gayly from the garden. 
 
 ' Massy ! no ; but he might hitch round somewheres, 
 you know, and get himself into trouble. Thank ye I am 
 allays thankful and glad when I get safe out o' this wag- 
 gin.' 
 
 So spoke the elder lady, descending with Diana's help 
 and a great deal of circumlocution from her perch in the 
 vehicle. And then they went into the bright parlour, where 
 windows and doors stood open, and chairs had been 
 brought in, ready to accommodate all who might come. 
 
 'It's kind o' sultry,' said the same lady, wiping her 
 face. 'I declare these ellums o'.yourn do cast an elegant 
 shadder. It allays sort o' hampers me to drive, and I 
 don't feel free till I can let the reins fall ; that's how I come 
 to be so heated. Dear me, you do excel in notions ! ' she 
 exclaimed, as Diana presented some glasses of cool water 
 with raspberry vinegar. ' Ain't that wonderful coolin' ! ' 
 
 ' Will the minister come to the meeting, Diana ? ' asked 
 the other woman. 
 
 ' He'd come, if he knowed he could get anything like 
 this,' said the other, smacking her lips and sipping her glass 
 slowly. And then came in her hostess. 
 
 If Mrs. Starling was hard-favoured, it cannot be de- 
 nied that she had a certain style about her. Some ugly 
 people do. Country style no doubt ; but these things are
 
 . 
 
 TO DIANA. 
 
 relative ; and in a smart black silk, with sheer muslin 
 neckerchief and a close-fitting little cap, her natural self- 
 possession and self-assertion were very well set off. Very 
 different from Diana's calm grace and simplicity ; the 
 mother and daughter were alike in nothing beyond the 
 fact that each had character. Perhaps that is a common 
 fact in such a region and neighbourhood ; for many of the 
 ladies who now came thronging in to the meeting looked as 
 if they might justly lay claim to so much praise. The 
 room filled up ; thimbles and housewives came out of 
 pockets ; work was produced from baskets and bags ; and 
 tongues went like mill-clappers. They put the June after- 
 noon out of countenance. Mrs. Barry, the good lady who 
 had arrived first, took out her knitting, and in a corner 
 went over to her neighbour all the incidents of her drive, 
 the weather, the getting out of the wagon, the elm-tree 
 shadow, and the raspberry vinegar. Mrs. Carpenter, a 
 well-to-do farmer's wife, gave the details of her dairy mis- 
 fortunes and success to her companion on the next seat. 
 Mrs. Flandin discussed missions. Mrs. Bell told how 
 the family of Mr. Hardenburgh had got away on their 
 journey to their new place of abode. 
 
 ' I always liked Mr. Hardenburgh,' said Mrs. Car- 
 penter. 
 
 ' He had a real good wife,' remarked Miss Gunn, the 
 storekeeper's sister, 'and that goes a great ways. Mrs. 
 Hardenburgh was a right down good woman.' 
 
 ' But you was speakin' o' Mr. Hardenburgh, the domi- 
 nie,' said Mrs. Salter. ' He was a man as there warn't 
 much harm in, I've allays said. 'Tain't a man's fault if he 
 can't make his sermons interestin', I s'pose.' 
 
 ' Mr. Hardenburgh preached real good sermons, now, 
 always seemed to me* rejoined Mrs. Carpenter. ' He 
 meant right ; that's what he did.'
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. II 
 
 'That's so/' chimed in Mrs. Mansfield, a rich farmer 
 in her own person. 
 
 ' There was an owl up in one of our elm-trees one 
 night,' began Mrs. Starling . 
 
 ' Du tell ! so nigh's that ! ' said Mrs. Barry from her 
 corner. 
 
 ' And I took up Josiah's gun and meant to shoot him ; 
 but I didn't.' 
 
 ' He was awful tiresome there ! ' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Boddington. 'What's the use of pretendin' he warn't? 
 Nobody couldn't mind what his sermons was about;' I 
 don't believe as he knew himself. Now, a minister had 
 ought to know what he means, whether any one else does or 
 not, and I like a minister that makes one know what he 
 means.' 
 
 'Why Mrs. Boddington,' said Mrs. Flandin, ( I didn't 
 know as you cared anything about religion, one way or 
 another.' 
 
 ' I've got to go to church, Mrs. Flandin ; and I'd a 
 little rayther be kep' awake while I'm there without pinch- 
 ing my fingers. I'd prefer it.' 
 
 ' Why, has anybody got to go to church, that doesn't 
 want to go ? ' inquired Diana. But that was like a shell 
 let off in the midst of the sewing circle. 
 
 ' Hear that, now ! ' said Mrs. Boddington. ' Ain't that 
 a rouser ! ' Mrs. Boddington was a sort of a cousin, and 
 liked the fun ; she lived in the one farmhouse in sight of 
 Mrs. Starling's. 
 
 ' She don't mean it,' said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 ' Trust Di Starling for meaning whatever she says,' re- 
 turned the other. ' You and I mayn't understand it, but 
 that's all one, you know.' 
 
 ' But what do she mean ? ' said Mrs. Salter.
 
 12 DIANA. 
 
 ' Yes, what's the use o' havin' a church, ef folks ain't 
 goin' to it ? ' said Mrs. Carpenter. 
 
 1 No,' said Diana, laughing ; ' I only asked why any 
 one must go, if he don't want to? Where's the must 1 } ' 
 
 ' When we had good Mr. Hardenburgh, for example,' 
 chimed in Mrs. Boddington, * who was as loggy as he could 
 be ; good old soul ! and put us all to sleep, or to wishin' 
 we could. My ! hain't I eaten quarts o' dill in the course 
 o' the summer, trying to keep myself respectably awake 
 and considerin' o' what was goin' on ! Di says, why must 
 any one eat all that dill that don't want to ? ' 
 
 ' Cloves is better,' suggested Miss Gunn. 
 
 Some laughed at this ; others looked portentously 
 grave. 
 
 'It's just one o' Di's nonsense speeches,' said her 
 mother ; ' what they mean I'm sure I don't know. She 
 reads too many books to be just like other folks.' 
 
 ' But the books were written by other folks, mother.' 
 
 ' La ! some sort, child. Not our sort, I guess.' 
 
 ' Hain't Di never learned her catechism ? ' inquired Mrs. 
 Flandin. 
 
 ' Is there anything about going to church in it ? ' asked 
 the girl. 
 
 ' There's most all sorts o' good things in it,' answered 
 vaguely Mrs. Flandin, who was afraid of committing her- 
 self. ' I thought Di might ha' learned there something 
 about such a thing as we call duty. 1 
 
 'That's so,' said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 ' Just what I am asking about,' said Di. ' That's the 
 thing. Why is it duty, to go to church when one don't 
 want to go ? ' 
 
 'Well I'm sure it was time we had a new minister, 
 said Mrs Salter; 'and I'm glad he's come. If he's no
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 13 
 
 better than old Mr. Hardenburgh, it'll take us a spell 
 to find it out ; and that'll b2 so much gained. He don't 
 look like him any way.' 
 
 ' He is different, ain't he ? ' assented Mrs. Boddington. 
 ' If we wanted a change, we've got it. How did you all 
 like his sermon last Sabbath ? ' 
 
 ' He was very quiet ' said Mrs. Flandin. 
 
 ' I like that,' said Diana. ' When a man roars at me, 
 I never can tell what he is saying. ' 
 
 ' He seemed to kind o' know his own mind,' said Mrs. 
 Salter. 
 
 ' I thought he'd got an astonishin' knowledge o' things 
 in the town, for the time he's had,' said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 ' I wisht he had a family,' remarked Miss Gunn ; ' that's 
 all I've got agin him. I think a minister had allays ought 
 to have a family.' 
 
 ' He will, let him alone a while,' said Mrs. Boddington. 
 ' Time enough. Wha have we got in town that would do 
 for him ? ' 
 
 The fruitful topic of debate and discussion here started, 
 lasted the ladies for some time. Talk and business got 
 full under weigh. Scissors and speeches, clipping and 
 chattering, knitting, and the interminable yarn of small 
 talk. The affairs, sickness and health, of every family in 
 the neighbourhood, with a large discussion of character and 
 prospects by the way ; going back to former history and 
 antecedents, and forward to future probable consequences 
 and results. Nuts of society ; sweet confections of con- 
 versation ; of various and changing flavour ; suiting all 
 palates, and warranted never to cloy. Then there were 
 farm prospects and doings also, with household matters ; 
 very interesting to the good ladies who all had life interest 
 in them ; and the hours moved on prosperously. Here a
 
 14 DIANA. 
 
 rocking-chair tipped gently back and forward, in harmony 
 with the quiet business enjoyment of its occupant ; and 
 there a pair of heels, stretched out to the furthest limit of 
 their corresponding members, with toes squarely elevated 
 in the air, testified to the restful condition of another 
 individual of the party. See a pair of toes in the air 
 and the heels as nearly as possible straight under them, 
 one tucked up on the other, and you may be sure the person 
 they belong to feels comfortable physically. And Mrs. 
 Starling in a corner, in her quiet state and black-silk gown 
 was as contented as an old hen that sees all her chickens 
 prosperously scratching for themselves. And the June 
 afternoon breathed in at the window and upon all those 
 busy talkers ; and nobody knew that it was June. So 
 things went, until Diana left them to put the finishing 
 touches of readiness to the tea-table. Her going was 
 noticed by some of the assembly, and taken as a prepara- 
 tory note of the coming entertainment ; always sure to be 
 worth having and coming for in Mrs. Starling's house. 
 Needles and tongues took a fresh stir. 
 
 'Mis' Starling, are we goin' to hev' the minister?' 
 somebody asked. 
 
 ' I don't know as anybody has told him, Mis' Mans- 
 field.' 
 
 * Won't seem like a meetin', ef we don't hev' him.' 
 
 ' He's gone down to Elmfield,' said Miss Gunn. ' He 
 went down along in the forenoon some time. Gone to see 
 his cousin, I s'pose.' 
 
 ' They've got their young soldier home to Elmfield,' 
 said Miss Barry. ' I s'pect they're dreadful sot up about it.' 
 
 ' They don't want that,' said Mrs. Boddington. ' The 
 Knowltons always did carry their heads pretty well up, in 
 the best o' times ; and now Evan's got home, I s'pose
 
 THE SEWING SOCIETY. 1 5 
 
 there'll be no holding 'em in. There ain't, I guess, by the 
 looks.' 
 
 ' What'll he do now? stay to hum and help his gran'- 
 ther ? ' 
 
 ' La ! no. He's home just for a visit. He's got 
 through his education at the Military Academy, and now 
 he's an officer; out in the world; but he'll have to go 
 somewhere and do his work.' 
 
 ' I wonder what work they do hev' to do ? ' said Mrs. 
 Salter ; ' there ain't nobody to fight now, is there ? ' 
 
 ' Fight the Injuns,' said Mrs. Bodclington ; ' or the 
 Mexicans ; or the English may be ; anything that comes 
 handy.' 
 
 ' But we hain't no quarrel with the English, nor nobody, 
 hev' we ? I thought we was done fightin 1 for the present,' 
 said Miss Barry, in a disturbed tone of voice. 
 
 ' Well, suppos'n we be,' said Mrs. Boddington ; ' some- 
 body might give us a slap, you know, when we don't expect 
 it, and it's best to be ready ; and so, Evan Knowlton'll 
 be one o' them that has to stand somewhere with his musket 
 to his shoulder, and look after a lot o' powder behind him 
 all the while.' 
 
 ' Du tell ! if it takes four years to learn 'em to du that/ 
 said Miss Babbage, the doctor's sister. 
 
 ' The Knowltons is a very fine family,' remarked Miss 
 Gunn. 
 
 ' If the outside made it,' said Mrs. Boddington. ' Don't 
 they cut a shine when they come into meetin,' though ! 
 They think they do.' 
 
 ' It takes all the boys' attention off everything,' said 
 Mrs. Flandin, who was an elderly lady herself. 
 
 ' And the girls ' added Mrs. Starling. But what more 
 might have been said was cut short by Miss Barry's crying 
 out that here was the minister coming.
 
 CHAPTER It 
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 
 
 THE little stir and buzz which went round the assembly 
 at this news, was delightful. Not one but moved excitedly 
 on her seat, and then settled herself for an unwonted 
 good time. For the new minister was undiscovered 
 ground ; an unexamined possession ; unexplored treas- 
 ure. One Sunday and two sermons had done no more 
 than whet the appetite of the curious. Nobody had made 
 up his mind, or her mind, on the subject, in regard to any 
 of its points. So there were eyes enough that from Mrs. 
 Starling's windows watched the minister as he dismounted 
 and tied his horse to the fence, and then opened the little 
 gate and came up to the house. Diana had returned to 
 the room to bid the company out to supper ; but finding 
 all heads turned one way, and necks craned over, and eyes 
 on the stretch, she paused and waited for a more auspicious 
 inoment. And then came a step in the passage and the 
 door opened. 
 
 Mr. Hardenburgh, each lady remembered, used to 
 make the circuit of the company giving every one a 
 several clasp of the hand and an individual word of civility. 
 Here was a change ! The new minister came into the midst 
 of them and stood still, with a bright look and a cheery 
 ' Good afternoon ! ' It was full of good cheer and genial 
 greeting ; but what lady could respond to it ? The greeting
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. I/ 
 
 was not given to her. The silence was absolute ; though 
 eyes said they had heard, and were listening. 
 
 ' I have been down at Elmfield,' the new-comer went 
 on, not at all disturbed by his reception ; ' and some one 
 informed me I should find a large circle of friends if I 
 came here ; so I came. And I find I was told truly.' 
 
 ' I guess we'd 'most given you up,' said the mistress 
 of the house, coming out of her corner now. 
 
 ' I don't know what reason you had to expect me ! 
 Nobody asked me to come.' 
 
 ' We're real glad to see you. Take a chair,' said Mrs. 
 Starling, setting one for his acceptance as she spoke. 
 
 ' Mr. Hardenburgh allays used to come to our little 
 meetin's,' said Mrs. Mansfield. 
 
 ' Thank you ! And you expect me to do all that Mr. 
 Hardenburgh did ? ' 
 
 There was such a quaint air of good-fellowship and 
 simplicity in the new minister's manner, that the little 
 assembly began to stir anew with gratification and amuse- 
 ment. But nobody was forward to answer. In fact they 
 were a trifle shy of him. The late Mr. Hardenburgh had 
 been heavy and slow ; kind, of course, but stiff ; you knew 
 just what he would do and how he would speak before- 
 hand. There was a delightful freshness and uncertainty 
 about this man. Nothing imposing, either; a rather small, 
 slight figure ; with a face that might or might not be called 
 handsome according to the fancy of the speaker, but that 
 all would agree was wonderfully attractive and winning. 
 A fine broad brow ; an eye very sweet ; with a build of the 
 jaw and lines of the mouth speaking both strength and the 
 absolutest calm of the mental nature. 
 
 ' I was afraid I should be late,' he went on, looking at 
 his watch, 'but the roads are good. How far do you call 
 it from Elmfield ? '
 
 1 8 DIANA. 
 
 ' All of five miles,' said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Yes ; and one hill to cross. Well ! I came pretty well 
 The long June afternoon favoured me.' 
 
 ' Mr. Hardenburgh used to drive a buggy,' remarked 
 Miss Barry. 
 
 ' Yes. Is that one of the things you would like me to 
 do as he did ? ' 
 
 ' Well, none of our ministers ever went such a venture- 
 some way before," said the timid little old lady. 
 
 ' As I do ? But if /had been in a buggy, Miss Barry, 
 this afternoon, I am afraid you would have got through 
 supper and been near breaking up before I could have 
 joined your society.' 
 
 ' How long was you comin' then ? ' she asked, looking 
 startled. 
 
 * And there's another thing, Mr. Masters,' said Mrs. 
 Mansfield ; ' why do the days be so much longer in summer 
 than in winter ? I asked Mr. Hardenburgh once, but I 
 couldn't make out nothin' from what he told me ? ' 
 
 Sly looks and suppressed laughter went round the 
 room, for some of Mrs. Mansfield's neighbours were better 
 informed than she in all that lay above the level of practi- 
 cal farming; but Mr. Masters quite gravely assured her 
 he would make it all clear the first time he had a quiet 
 chance at her house. 
 
 < And will you walk out to supper, friends ? ' said Mrs. 
 Starling. ' Here's Di been standin' waitin' to call us this 
 half hour.' 
 
 The supper was laid on a long table in the lean-to, 
 which was used as a kitchen ; but now the fire was out, 
 and the tea-kettle had been boiled and was kept boiling 
 in some unknown region. Doors and windows stood open, 
 letting the sweet air pass through ; and if the floor was
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. IQ 
 
 bare and the chairs were wooden, both one and the other 
 were bright with cleanliness ; and the long board was 
 bright in another way. Yet the word is not misapplied. 
 Such piles of snowy bread and golden cake, such delicate 
 cheeses and puffy biscuits, and such transparencies of rich- 
 coloured preserves, were an undoubted adornment to Mrs. 
 Starling's deal table ; and might have been to any table 
 in the world. The deal was covered, however, with white 
 cloths. At the upper end the hostess took her place be- 
 hind a regiment of cups and saucers, officered by great tin 
 pots which held the tea and coffee. Diana waited. 
 
 Everybody had come expecting a good supper and 
 primed for enjoyment ; and now the enjoyment began. 
 Mrs. Starling might smile grimly to herself as she saw her 
 crab apples and jellies disappear, and the piles of bis- 
 cuits go down and get heaped up again by Diana's care. 
 Nobody was at leisure enough to mark her. 
 
 ' Eat when you can, Mr. Masters,' said Mrs. Bodding- 
 ton ; ' you won't get hot biscuits anywhere in Pleasant 
 Valley but here.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said Mr. Masters. 
 
 1 It ain't the fashion that's all.' 
 
 ' I s'pose you've seen the fashions to-day down at Elm- 
 field, Mr. Masters,' said Mrs. Salter. ' They don't think as 
 we hev' no fashions up here in the mountains.' 
 
 ' Their fashions is ridiculous ! ' said Mrs. Flandin. ' Do 
 you think it's becomin', Mr. Masters, for Christian women 
 to go and make sights of themselves ? ' 
 
 ' In what way, Mrs. Flandin ? ' 
 
 'Why goodness ! you've seen 'em. Describin's impos- 
 sible. Euphemie Knowlton, she came into church last Sab- 
 bath three yards in extent, ef she was a foot. It beat me, 
 how she was goin' to get in. Why there warn't room foi
 
 2O DIANA. 
 
 but three of 'em in the slip, and it took 'em somethin' like 
 half an hour to get fixed in their places. I declare I was 
 ashamed, and I had to look, for all. ' 
 
 ' So had I,' assented Miss Carpenter. ' I couldn't fairly 
 keep my eyes off of 'em.' 
 
 ' And I'm certain she couldn't go agin the wind, with 
 her bonnet ; it stuck just right up from her face, and end- 
 ed in a pint, and she had a hull garden in the brim of it, 
 /think ministers had ought to preach about such doin's.' 
 
 ' And you don't know what ministers are good for if 
 they don't ? ' said Mr. Masters. 
 
 ' Did you ever see a minister that could get the better 
 of 'em ? ' said Mrs. Boddington. 'Cos, if you did, I would 
 like to go and sit under his preachin' a spell, and see what 
 he could do for me.' 
 
 ' Does that express the mind of Pleasant Valley gen- 
 erally ? ' asked the minister, and gravely this time. 
 
 ' La ! we ain't worse than other folks,' said Mrs. Salter. 
 ' There's no harm in dressin' one's self smart now and then, 
 is there ? And we want to know how, to be sure. ' 
 
 ' I hope you don't think Euphemie Knowlton knows 
 how ? 'Tain't a quarter as becomin' as the way we dress in 
 Pleasant Valley. There ain't the least bit of prettiness or 
 gracefulness in a woman's bein' three yards round ; any- 
 how we don't think so when it's nature.' So Mrs. Salter. 
 
 ' What do you think o' lettin' your hair down over the 
 shoulders, as if you were goin' to comb it ? ' said Mrs. 
 Boddington ; ' and goin' to church so ? ' 
 
 ' But how ever did she make it stand out as it did/ 
 asked Miss Carpenter. ' It was just like spun glass, no- 
 thin' smooth or quiet about it. Such a yellow mop I 
 never did see. And it warn't a child neither. Who is she, 
 anyhow ? '
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 21 
 
 'Not she. It is a grown woman,' said Mrs. Flandin ; 
 ' and she looked like a wild savage. Don't the minister 
 agree with me, that it ain't becomin' for Christian women 
 to do such things ? ' 
 
 It was with a smile and a sigh that the minister an- 
 swered. ' Where are you going to draw the line, Mrs. 
 Flandin ? ' 
 
 ' Well ! with what's decent and comfortable.' 
 
 'And pretty? ' 
 
 ' La ! yes,' said Mrs. Salter. ' Do let us be as nice as 
 we kin.' 
 
 ' I think people had ought to make themselves as nice- 
 lookin' as they can,' echoed one of the younger ladies of 
 the party ; and there was a general chorus of agreeing voices. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said the minister, ' then comes the question, 
 what is nice-looking? I dare say the young lady with the 
 flowing tresses thought she was about right.' 
 
 ' She thought she was the only one,' said Mrs. Bodding- 
 ton. 
 
 A subject was started now which was fruitful enough to 
 keep all tongues busy ; and whether biscuits or opinions 
 had the most lively circulation for some time thereafter it 
 would be hard to say. Old and young, upon this matter of 
 town and country fashions, and fashion in general, " gave 
 tongue " in concert ; proving that Pleasant Valley knew 
 what was what as well as any place in the land ; that it 
 was doubtful what right Boston or New York had to dic- 
 tate to it ; at the same time the means of getting at the 
 earliest the mind of Boston or New York was eagerly dis- 
 cussed, and the pretensions of Elmfield to any advantage 
 in that matter as earnestly denied. The minister sat si- 
 lent, with an imperturbable face that did him credit. At 
 last there was a rush of demands upon him for his judg-
 
 22 DIANA. 
 
 ment. He declared that so much had been said upon the 
 subject he must have time to think it over ; and he prom- 
 ised to give them some at least of his thoughts before long 
 in a sermon. 
 
 With this promise, highly satisfied, the assembly broke 
 up. Mrs. Starling declared afterwards to her daughter, 
 that if there had been any more fashions to talk about they 
 would never have got done supper. But now bonnets were 
 put on, and work put up, and one after another family 
 party went off in its particular farm wagon or buggy. It 
 was but just sundown ; the golden glory of the sky was 
 giving a mellow illumination to all the land, as one after 
 another the horses were unhitched, the travellers mounted 
 into their vehicles, and the wheels went softly rolling off 
 over the smooth road. The minister stood by the gate, 
 helping the ladies to untie and mount, giving pleasant 
 words along with pleasant help, and receiving many expres- 
 sions of pleasure in return. 
 
 ' Dear me, Mr. Masters ! ' said Miss Barry, the last 
 one, ' ain't you afraid you'll catch cold, standing there with 
 no hat on ? ' 
 
 'Cold always attacks the weakest part, Miss Barry. 
 My head is safe.' 
 
 'Well, I declare !' said Miss Barry. 'I never heerd 
 that afore.' 
 
 And as she drove off in her little green wagon, the 
 minister and Diana, who had come down to the gate to see 
 the last one off, indulged in a harmless laugh. Then they 
 both stood still by the fence a moment, resting; the hush 
 was so sweet. The golden glory was fading ; the last 
 creak of Miss Barry's wheels was getting out of hearing ; 
 the air was perfumed with the scents which the dew called 
 forth.
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 23 
 
 ' Isn't it delicious ! ' said the minister, leaning on the 
 little gate, and pushing his hair back from his forehead. 
 
 ' The stillness is pleasant,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Yet you must have enough of that ? ' 
 
 ' Yes sometimes,' said the girl. She was a little shy of 
 speaking her thoughts to the minister ; indeed she was not 
 accustomed to speak them to anybody, not knowing where 
 they could meet entertainment. She wondered Mr. Mas- 
 ters did not go like the rest ; however, it was pleasant 
 enough to stand there talking to him. 
 
 'What do you do for books here ? ' he went on ; 
 
 ' O, I have all my father's books,' said Diana. ' My 
 father was a minister, Mr. Masters ; and when he died 
 his books came to me.' 
 
 ' A theological library ! ' said Mr. Masters. 
 
 ' Yes. I suppose you would call it so.' 
 
 ' Have you it here ? ' 
 
 1 yes. I have it in my room up stairs. All one end 
 of the room full.' 
 
 ' Do you read these books ? ' 
 
 'Yes. They are all I have to read. I have not read 
 the whole of them.' 
 
 'No, I suppose not. Do you not find this reading 
 rather heavy ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. Some of the books are rather heavy ; 
 I do not read those much.' 
 
 ' You must let me look at your library some day, Miss 
 Diana. It would be certain to have charms for me ; and 
 I'll exchange with you. Perhaps I have books that you 
 would not find heavy.' 
 
 Diana's full grey eyes turned on the minister with 
 a gleam of gratitude and pleasure. Her words were not 
 needed to say that she would like that kind of barter.
 
 24' DIANA. 
 
 ' So your father was a clergyman ? ' Mr. Masters went 
 on. 
 
 ' Yes. Not here though. That was when I was quite 
 little. We lived a good way from here ; and I 'remember 
 very well a great many things about all that time, till 
 father died, and then mother came back here.' 
 
 ' Came back t then your mother is at home in Pleasant 
 Valley?' 
 
 'O, we're both at home here I was so little when we 
 came ; but mother's father lived where Nick Boddington 
 does, and owned all this valley I don't mean Pleasant 
 Valley, but all this hollow ; a good large farm it was ; and 
 when he died he left mother a nice piece of it, with this 
 old house.' 
 
 ' Mr. Boddington, is he then a relation of yours ? ' 
 
 ' No, not exactly ; he's the son of grandpa's second 
 wife; we're really no relations, but we call each other 
 cousin. Grandpa left the most of his land to his wife > 
 but mother's got enough to manage, and nice land.' 
 
 ' It's a beautiful place ! ' said the minister. ' There is 
 a wagon coming ; I wonder if any of our friends have for- 
 gotten something ? That is yes, that is fanner Babbage's 
 team ; isn't it ? What is the matter ? ' 
 
 For something unusual in the arrangements of the 
 vehicle, or the occupants of it, was dimly yet surely to be 
 discerned through the distance and the light, which was now 
 turning brown rather than grey. Nothing could be seen 
 clearly, and yet it came as no wagon load had gone from 
 that door that evening. The minister took his hand from 
 the gate, and Diana stepped forward, as the horses stopped 
 in front of the lean-to ; and a voice called out : 
 
 ' Who's there to help ? Hollo ! Lend a hand.' 
 
 The minister sprang down the road, followed by Diana, 
 ' What do you want help for ? ' he asked.
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 25 
 
 ' There 's been an accident Jim Delamater's wagon 
 we found it overturned in the road ; and here's Eliza, 
 she hasn't spoke since. Have you got no more help ? ' 
 
 ' Where's Jim ? ' asked Mrs. Starling, coming herself 
 from the lean-to. 
 
 ' Staid with his team ; about all he was up to. Now 
 then, can we get her in ? Where's Josiah ? ' 
 
 But no more masculine help could be mustered than 
 what was already on hand. Brains, however, can do much 
 to supplement muscular force. The minister had a settee 
 out from the house in two minutes and by the side of the 
 wagon; with management and care, though with much 
 difficulty, the unconscious girl was lifted down and laid on 
 the settee ; and by the aid of the women carried straight 
 into the lean-to, the door of which was the nearest. There, 
 by the same energetic ordering, well seconded by Diana, a 
 mattress was brought and laid on the long table, which Mrs. 
 Starling's diligence had already cleared since supper ; and 
 there they placed the girl, who was perfectly helpless and 
 motionless in their hands. 
 
 'There is life yet,' said the minister, after an exam- 
 ination during which every one stood breathless around. 
 ' Loose everything she has on, Miss Diana; and let us have 
 some hartshorn, Mrs. Starling, if you have got any. Well, 
 brandy, then, and cold water ; and I'll go for the doctor.' 
 
 But Mr. Babbage represented that he must himself 
 * go on hum ,' and would pass by the doctor's door ; so if the 
 minister would stay and help the women folks, it would be 
 more advisable. Accordingly the farmer's wagon wheels 
 were soon heard departing, and the little group in the 
 lean-to kitchen were left alone. Too busy at first to 
 think of it, they were trying eagerly every restorative and 
 stimulant they could think of and command ; but with
 
 26 DIANA. 
 
 little effect. A little, they thought ; but consciousness 
 had not returned to the injured girl, when they had done 
 all they knew how to do and tried everything within their 
 reach. Hope began to fade towards despair ; still they 
 kept on with the use of their remedies. Mrs. Starling went 
 and came between the room where they were and the stove 
 which stood in some outside shed, fetching bottles of hot 
 water ; I think, between whiles, she was washing up her 
 cups and saucers ; the other two, in the silence of her ab- 
 sences, could feel the strange, solemn contrasts which one 
 must feel, and does, even in the midst of keener anxieties 
 than those which beset the watchers there. The girl, 
 a fair, rather pretty person, pleasant-tempered and gener- 
 ally liked, lay still and senseless on the table round which 
 she and others a little while ago had been seated at supper. 
 Very still the room was now, that had been full of voices ; 
 the smell of camphor and brandy was about ; the table was 
 wet in one great spot with the cold water which had been 
 applied to the girl's face. And through the open door 
 and windows came the stir of the sweet night air, and the 
 sound of insects, and the gurgle of a brook that ran a few 
 yards off ; peaceful, free, glad, as if all were as it had been 
 last night, or nature took no cognizance of human affairs. 
 The minister had been very active and helpful ; bringing 
 wood and drawing water and making up the fire, as well 
 as anybody, Mrs. Starling said afterwards ; he had taken 
 his part in the actual nursing, and better than anybody, 
 Diana thought. Now the two stood silent and grave by 
 the long table, while they still kept up the application of 
 brandy to the face and heat to the extremities, and rubbing 
 the hands and wrists of the patient. 
 
 ' Did you know Miss Delamater well ? ' asked the 
 minister.
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 2/ 
 
 ' Yes as I know nearly all the girls,' Diana answered. 
 
 ' Do you think she is ready for the change if she 
 must make it ? ' 
 
 Diana hesitated. ' I never heard her speak on the sub- 
 ject,' she said. ' She wasn't a member of the church.' 
 
 Silence followed, and they were two grave faces still 
 that bent over the table ; but there was the difference 
 between the shadow on a mountain lake where there is 
 not a ripple, and the dark stir of troubled waters. Diana's 
 eye every now and then glanced for an instant at the face 
 of her companion ; it was very grave, but the broad brow 
 was as quiet as if all its questions were answered, and the 
 mouth was sweet and at rest in its stillness. She wished 
 he would speak again ; there was something in him that 
 provoked her curiosity. He did speak presently. 
 
 ' This shows us what the meaning of life is,' he said. 
 
 ' No,' said Diana, ' it doesn't to me. It is just a 
 puzzle, and as much a puzzle here as ever. I don't sec 
 what the use of life is, or what we all live for ; I don't see 
 what it amounts to.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' asked her companion, but not 
 as if he were startled, and Diana went on. 
 
 ' I shouldn't say so if people were always having a good 
 time, and if they were just right and did just right. 
 But they are not, Mr. Masters ; you know they are not ; 
 even the best of them, that I see ; and things like this are 
 always happening, one way or another. If it isn't here, it 
 is somewhere else, and if it isn't one time, it is another ; and 
 it is all confusion. I don't see what it all comes to.' 
 
 ' That is the thought of a moment of pain,' said the 
 minister. 
 
 ' No, it is not,' said Diana. ' I think it often. I think it 
 all the while. Now this very afternoon I was sitting at
 
 28 DIANA. 
 
 the door here, you know what sort of a day it has been, 
 Mr. Masters ? ' 
 
 'I know. Perfect. Just June.' 
 
 ' Well, I was looking at it, and feeling how lovely it was ; 
 everything perfect ; and somehow all that perfection took a 
 kind of sharp edge and hurt me. I was thinking, why 
 nothing in the world was like it, or agreed with it ; nothing 
 in human life, I mean. This afternoon, when the company 
 was here and all the talk going on ; that was like nothing 
 out of doors all the while ; and this is not like it.' 
 
 There was a sigh, deep drawn, that came through the 
 minister's lips ; then he spoke cheerfully 'Ay ; God's 
 works have parted company somehow.' 
 
 ' Parted ? ' said Diana curiously. 
 
 ' Yes. You remember surely that when he had made 
 all things at first, he beheld them very good.' 
 
 4 Well, they are not very good now ; not all of them.' 
 
 'Whose fault is that?' 
 
 ' I know,' said Diana, 'but that does not help me with 
 my puzzle. Why does the world go on so ? what is the use 
 of my living, or anybody 's ? What does it amount to ? ' 
 
 ' That's your lesson,' the minister answered, with a 
 quick glance from his calm eyes. Not a bit of sentiment 
 or of speculative rhapsody there ; but downright, cool 
 common sense, with just a little bit of authority. Diana 
 did not know exactly how to meet it ; and before she had 
 arranged her words, they heard wheels again, and then the 
 doctor came in. 
 
 The doctor approved of what had been done, and aid- 
 ed in renewed application of the same remedies. After a 
 time, these seemed at last successful ; the girl revived ; 
 and the doctor after administering a little tea and weak 
 brandy and water, ordered that she should be kept quiet
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 29 
 
 where she was, the room be darkened when daylight came 
 on, the windows kept open, and handkerchiefs wet with 
 cold water be laid on her head. And then he took his de- 
 parture ; and Diana went to communicate to her mother 
 the orders he had left. 
 
 ' Keep her there ! ' echoed Mrs. Starling. ' In the lean- 
 to ! She'd be a deal better in her bed/ 
 
 ' We must make her bed there, mother.' 
 
 ' There ! On the table do you mean ? Diana Starling, 
 you are a baby ! ' 
 
 ' She musn't be stirred, mother, he says/ 
 
 ' That's the very thing ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Starling. ' She 
 had ought to ha' been carried into one of the bedchambers 
 at the first ; and I said so ; and the new minister, he would 
 have it all his own way/ 
 
 'But she must have all the air she could, mother, you 
 know/ 
 
 ' Air ! ' said Mrs. Starling. ' Do you s'pose she would 
 smother in one of the chambers, where many a one before 
 her has laid, sick and well, and got along too ? Air, indeed ! 
 The house ain't like a corked bottle, I guess/ 
 
 ' Not much,' said Diana ; ' but Mr. Masters said, and 
 the doctor says, that she cannot have too much air/ 
 
 ' O well ! Eggs can't be beat too much, neither ; but it 
 don't follow you're to stand beating 'em for ever. I've no 
 patience. Where am I going to do my ironing? I should 
 like the minister for to tell me ; or get meals, or anything 
 else ? I don't see what possessed Josiah to go and see his 
 folks to-night, of all nights/ 
 
 ' We have not wanted him, mother, after all, that I 
 see.' 
 
 ' I have wanted him ; ' said Mrs. Starling. ' If he had 
 been home I needn't to have had queer help, and missed
 
 3O DIANA. 
 
 knowing who was head of the house. Well, go along and fix 
 it, you and the minister.' 
 
 ' But mother, I want to get Eliza's things off, and to 
 make her bed comfortably ; and I can't do it without you.' 
 
 ' Well get rid of fhe minister then, and I'll come. Him 
 and me is too many in one house.' 
 
 The minister would not leave the two women alone and 
 go home, as Diana proposed to him ; but he went to make 
 his horse comfortable while they did the same for the sick 
 girl. And then he took up his post just outside the door, in 
 the moonlight which came fitfully through the elm branches ; 
 and he and Diana talked no more that night. He was 
 watchful and helpful ; for he kept up the fire in the s-tove 
 and once more brought wood when it was needed. Moon- 
 light melted away at last into the dawn ; cool clear outlines 
 began to take place of the soft mystery of night shadows ; 
 then the warm glow from the east, behind the house, and the 
 glint of the sunbeams on the tops of the hills and on the 
 racks of cloud lying along the horizon. Diana still kept 
 her place by the improvised bed, and the minister kept his 
 just outside the door. Mrs. Starling began to prepare for 
 breakfast ; and finally Josiah, the man of all work on the 
 little farm, came from his excursion and from the barn, 
 bringing the pails of milk. Then the minister fetched his 
 horse, and came in to shake hands with Diana. He would 
 not stay for breakfast. She watched him down to the gate, 
 where he threw himself on his grey steed and went off at 
 a smooth gallop, swift and steady, sitting as if he were 
 more at home on a horse's back than anywhere else. 
 Diana looked after him. 
 
 ' Certainly,' she thought, ' that is unlike all the other 
 ministers that ever came to Pleasant Valley.' 
 
 1 He's off, is he ? ' said Mrs. Starling as her daughter
 
 THE NEW MINISTER. 3! 
 
 came in. ' Now Diana, take notice ; don't you go and take 
 a fancy to this new man ; because I won't favour it, nor 
 have anything of the kind going on. I tell you beforehand.' 
 
 ' There is very little danger of his taking a fancy to me, 
 mother.' 
 
 ' I don't know about that. He might do worse. But 
 you couldn't ; for I'll never have anything to say to you if 
 you do.' 
 
 ' Why, mother ? ' inquired Diana in much surprise. ' I 
 should think you'd like him. I should think everybody 
 would. Why don't you like him ? ' 
 
 ' He's too masterful for me. Mind what I tell you, 
 Diana.' 
 
 ' It's absurd, mother ! Such a one as Mr. Masters never 
 would think of such a one as I am. He's a very cultivated 
 man, mother ; and has been accustomed to very different 
 society from what he'll find here. I don't seem to him 
 what I seem to you.' 
 
 ' I hope not ! ' said Mrs. Starling, 'for you seem to me a 
 goose. Cultivated ! Who is cultivated, if you are not ? 
 Weren't you a whole year at school in Boston ? I guess my 
 gentleman hasn't been to a better place. And warn't you for 
 ever reading those musty old books, that make you out of 
 kilter for all my world. If you don't fit his neither, I'm 
 sorry. Society, indeed ! There's no better society than the 
 folks of Pleasant Valley. Don't you go and set yourself up ; 
 nor him neither.' 
 
 Diana knew better than to carry on the discussion. 
 
 Meanwhile the grey horse that bore the minister home 
 kept up that long smooth gallop for a half mile or so, then 
 slackened it to walk up a hill. 
 
 ' That's a very remarkable girl ; ' the minister was say- 
 ing to himself ; ' with much more in her than she knows.'
 
 32 DIANA. 
 
 The gallop began again in a few minutes, and was 
 unbroken till he got home. It was but a piece of a home. 
 Mr. Masters had rooms in the house of Mrs. Persimmon, a 
 poor widow living among the hills. The rooms were neat ; 
 that was all that could be said for them little and dark 
 and low, with bits of windows, and with the simplest of 
 furnishing. The sitting-room was cheerful with books, 
 however ; as cheerful as books can make a room, and the 
 minister did not look uncheerful ; but very grave. If his 
 brow was neither wrinkled nor lined, the quiet eyes beneath 
 it were deep with thought. Mr. Masters' morning was spent 
 on this wise. 
 
 First of all, for a good half hour, his knees were bent 
 and his thoughts, whatever they were, gave him work to do. 
 That work done, the minister threw himself on his bed and 
 slept, as quietly as he did everything else, for an hour or 
 two more. Then he rose, shaved and dressed, took such 
 breakfast as Mrs. Persimmon could give him ; mounted 
 his grey again, and was off to a house at some distance 
 where there was a sick child, and another house where 
 there dwelt an infirm old man. Between these two the hours 
 were spent till he rode home to dinner.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 
 
 THE improvement of the sick girl was better than had 
 been hoped ; it was but a day or two before Mrs. Starling's 
 heart's desire could be effected and her kitchen cleared. 
 Eliza was moved to another room, and at the week's end 
 was taken home. 
 
 It was the next day after this had been done ; and 
 Diana was sitting again in the elm shadow at the door of the 
 lean-to. Not idly this time ; for a pan of peas was in her 
 lap and her fingers were busy with shelling them. Still her 
 eyes were very much more busy with the lovely light and 
 shade on meadow and hill ; her glances went up and down, 
 from her pan to the sunny landscape. Mrs. Starling, bustling 
 about as usual within the house and never looking out, pres- 
 ently hearing the gate latch, called out " Who's that ? " 
 
 ' Joe Bartlett, mother,' Diana answered without moving. 
 
 It was not the gate that led to the flower patch and the 
 front door. That was some distance off. Another little 
 brown gate under the elm-tree opened directly in front of 
 the lean-to door ; and the patch between was all in flecker- 
 ed sunlight and shadow, like the doorway where Diana sat. 
 
 The little gate opening now admitted a visiter who was 
 in appearance the very typical Yankee of the story books. 
 Long in the limbs, loose in the joints, angular, ungainly, he 
 came up the walk with a movement that would tempt one
 
 34 DIANA. 
 
 to think he had not got accustomed to his inches and did 
 not yet know quite what to do with them all. He had a 
 long face, red in colour ; in expression a mixture of honest 
 frankness, carelessness, and good humour. 
 
 ' Mornin' ! ' said he as he came near. 'How's your 
 folks, this forenoon ? ' 
 
 ' Quite well all there are of us, Joe,' said Diana, shell- 
 ing her peas as she looked up at him. ' How's your 
 mother ? ' 
 
 ' Well, she's pretty smart. Mother seems to be allays 
 just about so. I never see the beat of her for keepin' 
 along. You've had quite a spell o' nursin' folks, hain't you, 
 down this way ? Must ha' upset you quite considerable.' 
 'We didn't have the worst of the upsetting.' 
 ' That's a fact. Well, she's gone, ain't she ? ' 
 ' Who, Eliza Delamater ? Yes ; gone yesterday.' 
 ' And you hain't nobody else on hand, have ye ? ' 
 ' No. Why ? ' 
 
 ' Mother's took a lonesome fit. She says it's quite a 
 spell that you hain't ben down our way ; and I guess that's 
 so, ain't it ? ' 
 
 ' I couldn't help it, Joe. I have had other things to do.' 
 ' Well, don't you think to-day's a good sort for a visit ? ' 
 ' To-day ? ' said Diana, shelling her peas very fast. 
 ' You see, it's pretty silent down to our place. That is, 
 when I ain't to hum ; and I can't be there much o' the 
 time, 'cept when I'm asleep in my bed. I'm off as soon as 
 I've done the chores in the mornin' ; and I can't get hum 
 nohow sooner than to do up the chores in the evening and 
 the old lady has it pretty much her own way as to conver- 
 sation the rest o' the time. She can talk to what she likes ; 
 but there ain't nothin' as can make a remark back to her.' 
 * It's too bad, Joe ! '
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 35 
 
 ' Fact ! ' said Joe seriously ; all the rest had been said 
 with a smile ; ' but you know mother. Come ! put on your 
 bonnit and run down and set with her a spell. She's took 
 a notion to have ye ; and I know she'll be watchin' till you 
 come.' 
 
 ' Then I must go. I guess I can arrange it, Joe.' 
 
 'Well, I'll get along then where I had ought to be. 
 Mis' Starling cuttin' her hay ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, this week and more.' 
 
 ' It's turnin' out a handsome swath ; but it had ought 
 to be all down now. Well, good day \ Hurry up, now, 
 for down yonder.' 
 
 Diana brought in her pan of peas. 
 
 ' Mother, where's Josiah Davis ? ' 
 
 ' Where should he be ? He's up in the hill lot, cuttin' 
 hay. That grass is all in flower ; it had ought to been cut 
 a week ago ; but Josiah always has one of his hands be- 
 hind him.' 
 
 'And he won't be in till noon. I must harness the 
 wagon myself.' 
 
 ' If you can catch the horse,' said her mother. ' He's 
 turned out in the lot. It's a poor job, at this time o' day.' 
 
 ' I'll try and make a good job of it,' said Diana. So 
 she took her sun-bonnet and went out to the barn. The 
 old horse was not' far off, for the "lot" in this case meant 
 simply the small field in which the barn and barnyard 
 were enclosed ; but being a wary old animal, with a good 
 deal of experience of life, he had come to know that a 
 halter and a pan of corn generally meant hard work near 
 at hand ; and was won't to be shy of such allurements. 
 Diana could sometimes do better than anybody else with 
 old Prince ; they were on good terms ; and Prince had 
 sense enough to take notice that she never followed the
 
 36 DIANA. 
 
 plough, and \ps therefore a safer venture than his other 
 flatterers. With the corn and the halter Diana now sought 
 the corner where Prince was standing whisking his tail in 
 the shade of a tree. But it was a warm morning ; and 
 seeing her approach, Prince quietly walked off into the sun 
 on the other side of the tree and went on to another shady 
 resting-place some distance away. Diana followed, speak- 
 ing to him ; but Prince repeated his ungallant manoeuvre, 
 and from tree to tree across the sunny field Diana trudged 
 after him, until she was hot and tired. Perhaps Prince's 
 philosophy came in play at last, warning him that this game 
 could not go on for ever, and would certainly end in his 
 discomfiture some time ; for with no apparent reason for 
 his change of tactics, he stood still at length under the tree 
 furthest from the barn, and suffered himself to be made 
 captive. Diana got the halter on, and flushed and excited 
 with the chase, led him back over the lot and out to the 
 road, where Josiah had very culpably left the little wagon 
 standing in the shade of the elm, close by the lean-to gate. 
 Just as she got there, Diana saw a stranger who had his 
 hand on the gate, but who left it now and came forward to 
 speak to her. 
 
 Diana stood by the thills of the wagon, horse in hand, 
 but, to tell the truth, forgetting both. The stranger was 
 unlike anything often seen in Pleasant Valley. He wore 
 the dark blue uniform of an army officer ; there was a 
 stripe of gold down the seam of his pantaloons and a gold 
 bar across his shoulders, and his cap was a soldier's cap. 
 But it was not on his head just now; it had come off since 
 he quitted the gate ; and the step with which he drew near 
 was the very contrast to Joe Bartlett's lounging pace ; 
 this was measured, clean, compact and firm, withal as light 
 and even as that of an antelope. His hair shewed the
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 37 
 
 regulation cut; and Diana saw with the same glance a 
 pair of light, brilliant, hazel eyes and a finely trimmed 
 mustache. She stood flushed and still, halter in hand, 
 with her sun-bonnet pushed a little back for air. The 
 stranger smiled just a little. 
 
 ' May I ask, how far I am from a place called Elm- 
 field ? ' 
 
 ' It is ' Diana's thoughts wandered, 'it is five 
 miles.' 
 
 ' I ought not to need to ask but I have been so long 
 away. Do you know how or where I can get a horse, or 
 any conveyance, to bring me there ? I have ridden be- 
 yond this, and met with an accident.' 
 
 Diana hesitated. ' Is it Lieut. Kaowlton ? ' she said. 
 
 ' Ah, you know me ? ' said he. ' I forgot that Pleasant 
 Valley knows me better than I know Pleasant Valley. I 
 did not count on finding a friend here.' His eye glanced 
 at the little brown house. 
 
 ' Everybody knows Elmfieid,' said Diana ; ' and I 
 guessed ' 
 
 ' From my dress ? ' said Mr. Knowlton, following the 
 direction of her look. ' This was accident too. But which 
 of my friends ought I to know here, that I don't know ? 
 Pardon me, but is this horse to be put to the wagon or 
 taken away from it ? ' 
 
 ' O, I was going to put him in.' 
 
 ' Allow me ' said the young man, taking the halter 
 
 from Diana's willing hands ; ' but where is the harnessing 
 gear ? ' 
 
 ' O that is in the barn ! ' exclaimed Diana. ' I will go 
 and fetch it.' 
 
 ' Pray no ! Let me get it,' said her companion ; and 
 giving the end of the halter a turn round one of the thills,
 
 38 DIANA. 
 
 he had overtaken her before she had well taken half a 
 dozen steps. They went together through the barnyard. 
 Diana found the harness, and the young officer threw it 
 over his shoulder with a smile at her which answered 
 her deprecating words ; a smile extremely pleasant and 
 gentlemanly, if withal a little arch. Diana shrank back 
 somewhat before the glance, which to her fancy shewed 
 the power of keen observation along with the habit 
 of giving orders. They went back to the elm and Mr. 
 Knowlton harnessed the horse, Diana explaining in a 
 word or two the necessity under which she had been acting. 
 
 ' And what about my dilemma ? ' said he presently, as 
 his task was finished. 
 
 ' There is no horse or wagon you could get anywhere, 
 that I know of,' said Diana. ' The teams are apt to be in 
 use just now. But I am going down to within a mile of 
 Elmfield ; and I was going to say, if you like, I can take 
 you so far. ' 
 
 ' And who will do me such kindness ? ' 
 
 1 Who ? O Diana Starling.' 
 
 ' Is that a name I ought to know ? ' inquired Mr. 
 Knowlton. ' I shall know it from this day ; but how about 
 before to-day ? I have been gone from Pleasant Valley, 
 at school and at the Military Academy, four, five, ten 
 years.' 
 
 ' Mother came back here to live just ten years ago.' 
 
 ' My conscience is clear ! ' he said smiling. ' I was 
 beginning to whip myself. Now are we ready ? ' 
 
 Not quite, for Diana went into the house for her gloves 
 and a straw hat ; she made no other change in her dress, 
 having taken off her apron before she set out after Prince. 
 She found her new friend standing with the reins in his 
 hand, as if he were to drive and not she ; and Diana was
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 39 
 
 helped into her own wagon with a deferential courtesy 
 which up to that time she had only read of in books ; nor 
 known much even so. It silenced her at first. She sat 
 down as mute as a child ; and Mr. Knowlton handled 
 Prince and the wagon and all in the style of one that 
 knew how and had the right. 
 
 That drive however was not to be silent or stiff in any 
 degree. Mr. Knowlton, for his part, had no shyness or 
 hesitation belonging to him. He had seen the world and 
 learnt its freedom. Diana was only a simple country girl, 
 and had never seen the world ; yet she was as little troubled 
 with embarrassment of any sort. Partly this was, no doubt, 
 because of her sound, healthy New England nature ; the 
 solid self-respect which does not need nor use to put 
 itself in the balance with anything else to be assured of its 
 own quality. But part belonged to Diana's own person- 
 alty ; in a simple, large nature, too simple and too large to 
 feel small motives or to know petty issues. If her cheeks 
 and brow were flushed at first, it was because the sun had 
 been hot in the lot and Prince tiresome. She was as 
 composedly herself as ever the young officer could be. 
 But I think each of them was a little excited by the com- 
 panionship of the other. 
 
 ' Do you drive this old fellow yourself ? ' asked Mr. 
 Knowlton, after a little. ' But I need not ask ! Of course 
 you do. There's no difficulty. And not much danger,' he 
 added, with a tone so dry and comical that they both burst 
 into a laugh. 
 
 'I assure you I am very glad to have Prince,' said 
 Diana. ' He is so old now that they generally let him 
 off from the farm work. He takes mother and me to 
 church ; and stands ready for anything I want most of the 
 time.'
 
 4O DIANA. 
 
 ' Lucky for me, too,' said Mr. Knowlton. ' I am afraid 
 you will find the sun very hot ! ' 
 
 ' I ? O no, I don't mind it at all,' said Diana. ' There's 
 a nice air now. Where is your horse, Mr. Knowlton ? you 
 said you had an accident.' 
 
 ' Yes. That was a quarter of a mile or so beyond your 
 house.' 
 
 ' And is your horse there ? ' 
 
 ' Must be, I think. I shall send some people to re- 
 move him.' 
 
 'Why, is he deadV 
 
 1 1 should not have left him else, Miss Starling.' 
 
 Diana did not choose to go on with a string of ques- 
 tions ; and her companion hesitated. 
 
 ' It's my own fault,' he said with a sort of displeased 
 half laugh ; ' a piece of boyish thoughtlessness that I've 
 paid for. There was a nice red cow lying in the middle 
 of the road ' 
 
 ' Where ? ' said Diana, wondering. 
 
 ' Just ahead of me ; a few rods. She was lying quite 
 quietly, taking her morning siesta in the sun ; plunged in 
 ruminative thoughts, I supposed \ and the temptation was 
 irresistible, to go over without disturbing her.' 
 
 ' Over her ? ' said Diana, in a maze. 
 
 ' Yes. I counted on what one should never count on 
 what I didn't know.' 
 
 ' What was that ? ' 
 
 ' Whether it would occur to her to get upon her legs, 
 just at that moment.' 
 
 ' And she did ? ' inquired Diana. 
 
 ' She did.' 
 
 ' What did that do, Mr. Knowlton ? ' 
 
 ' Threw my poor steed off his legs forever ! And here,
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 41 
 
 in despite of his vexation, which was real and apparent, 
 the young man burst into a laugh. Diana had not got at 
 his meaning. 
 
 ' And where were you, Mr. Knowlton ? ' 
 
 ' On his back. I shall never forgive myself for being 
 such a boy. Don't you understand ? The creature rose 
 up just in time to be in the way of my leap, and we were 
 thrown over ; my horse and I.' 
 
 'Thrown ! You were not hurt, Mr. Knowlton ? ' 
 
 ' I deserved it, didn't I. But I was nothing the worse 
 except for losing my horse, and my self-complacency.' 
 
 'Was the horse killed ?' 
 
 ' No ; not by the fall. But he was injured ; so that I 
 saw the best thing to do would be to put him out of life at 
 once ; so I did it. I had my pistols ; I often ride with 
 them, to be ready for any sport that may offer. I am very 
 much ashamed, to have to tell you this story of myself ! ' 
 
 There was so much of earnestness in the expression of 
 the last sentence, it was said with such a deferential con- 
 trition, if I may so speak, that Diana's thoughts experi- 
 enced a diversion from the subject that had occasioned 
 them. The contrition came more home than the fault. 
 By common consent they went off to other matters of talk. 
 Diana explained and commented on the history and fea- 
 tures of Pleasant Valley, so far at least as her companion's 
 questions called for such explanation, and that was a good 
 deal. Mr. Knowlton gave her details of his own life and 
 experience, which were much more interesting, she thought. 
 The conversation ran freely ; and again and again eyes 
 met eyes full in sympathy over some grave or laughing 
 point of intelligence. 
 
 And what is there in the meeting of eyes ? What if 
 the one pair were sparkling and quick, and the brow o rer
 
 42 DIANA. 
 
 them bore the fair lines of command ? What though the 
 other pair were deep and thoughtful and sweet, and the 
 brow one that promised passion and power ? A thousand 
 other eyes might have looked on either one of them, and 
 forgotten ; these two looked and remembered. You can- 
 not tell why ; it is the old story ; the hidden, unreadable 
 affinity making itself known to its counterpart ; the sign 
 and countersign of nature. But it was only nature that 
 gave and took ; not Diana and Mr. Knowlton. 
 
 Meanwhile Prince had an easy time ; and the little 
 wagon went very gently over the smooth roads past one 
 farm after another. 
 
 ' Prince can go faster than this,' Diana confided at last 
 to her companion. 
 
 ' He doesn't want to, does he ? ' 
 
 Diana laughed, and knew in her heart she was of 
 Prince's mind. 
 
 However, even five miles will come to an end in time 
 if you keep going even slowly ; and in time the little brown 
 house of Mrs. Bartlett appeared in the distance, and Prince 
 drew the wagon up before the door. Diana alighted, and 
 Mr. Knowlton drove on, promising to send the wagon 
 back from Elmfield. 
 
 It was coming down, in more ways than one, to get out 
 of the wagon and go in to make her visit. Diana did not 
 feel just ready for it. She loosened the strings of her hat, 
 walked slowly up the path between the hollyhocks that led 
 to the door, and there stopped and turned to take a last 
 look at Mr. Knowlton in the distance. Such a ride as she 
 had had ! Such an entertainment ! People in Pleasant 
 Valley did not talk like that ; nor look like that. How 
 much difference it makes, to have education and to see 
 the world. And a military education especially, has a
 
 HARNESSING PRINCE. 43 
 
 more liberalizing and adorning effect than the course of 
 life in the colleges ; the manner of a soldier has in it a 
 charm which is wanting in the manner of a minister. As 
 for farmers, they have no manners at all. And the very 
 faces, thought Diana. 
 
 Well, she could not stand there on the door step. She 
 must go in. She turned and lifted the latch of the door. 
 
 The little room within was empty. It was a tiny 
 house ; the ground floor boasted only two rooms, and each 
 of those was small. The broad hearth of flagstones took 
 up a third of the floor of this one. A fire burned in the 
 chimney, though the day was so warm j and a straight 
 backed arm chair, with a faded cushion in it, stood by the 
 chimney corner with a bunch of knitting lying on the 
 cushion. Diana tapped at an inner door at her right, and 
 then getting no answer, went across the kitchen and opened 
 another opposite the one that had admitted her.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 
 
 THE little house, unpainted like many others, had no 
 fenced enclosure on this side. A wide field stretched away 
 from the back door, lying partly upon a hillside ; and 
 several cattle were pasturing in it. Farm fields and mea- 
 dows were all around except where this one hill rose up 
 behind the house. It was wooded at the top ; below, the 
 ranks of a cornfield sloped aspiringly up its base. A narrow 
 footpath, which only the tread of feet kept free from weeds 
 and grass, went off obliquely to a little enclosed garden, 
 which lay beyond the corner of the house in some arbitrary 
 and independent way, not adjoining it at all. It was a 
 sweet bit of country, soft and mellow under the summer 
 sun ; still as grasshoppers and the tinkle of a cowbell 
 could make it ; and very far from most pf the improve- 
 ments of the nineteenth century. But the smell of'the 
 pasture and the fragrance that came from the fresh shades 
 of the wood, and the freedom of the broad fields of pure 
 ether, made it rich with some of nature's homely wealth ; 
 which is not by any means the worst there is. Diana 
 knew the place very well ; her eyes were looking now for 
 the mistress of it. And not long. In the out-of-the-way 
 lying garden she discerned her white cap ; and at the gate 
 met her bringing a head of lettuce in her hands. 
 
 ' I knew you liked it, dear,' the said, ' and I had forgot 
 all about it ; and then it flashed on me, and I thought, 
 Diana will like to have it for her dinner ; and I guess it'll
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 45 
 
 have time to cool. Just put it in a tin pail, dear, and hang 
 it down in the well ; and it'll be fresh.' 
 
 This was done, and Diana came in and took a seat by 
 her old friend. 
 
 ' You needn't do that for me, Mother Bartlett. I don't 
 care what I have to eat.' 
 
 ' Most folks like what is good,' said the old lady ; 
 ' suppos'n they know it.' 
 
 'Yes, and so do I, but ' 
 
 ' I made a pot-pie for ye,' the old lady went on con- 
 tentedly. 
 
 ' And I suppose you have left nothing at all for me to 
 do, as usual. It is too bad, Mother Bartlett.' 
 
 ' You shall do all the rest,' said her friend ; ' and now 
 you may talk to me.' 
 
 She was a trim little old woman, not near so tall as her 
 visiter ; very wrinkled, but fresh-skinned, and with a 
 quick grey eye. Her dress was a common working dress 
 of some dark stuff ; coarse, but tidy and nice looking ; 
 her cap white and plain ; she sat in her arm chair, setting 
 her little feet to the fire, and her fingers merrily clicking 
 her needles together ; a very comfortable vision. The 
 kitchen and its furniture were as neat as a pin. 
 
 ' I don't see how you manage, Mother Bartlett,' Diana 
 went on, glancing around. ' You ought to have some one 
 to live with you and help you. It looks as if you had half 
 a dozen.' 
 
 ' Not much,' said the old lady laughing. ' A half dozen 
 would soon make a muss, of one sort or another. There's 
 nothin' like having nobody.' 
 ' But you might be sick. ' 
 
 ' I might be ; but I ain't,' said Mrs. Bartlett, running 
 one end of a knitting-needle under her cap and looking 
 placidly at Diana.
 
 46 DIANA. 
 
 1 But you might want somebody.' 
 
 ' When I do I send for 'em. I sent for you to-day, 
 child, and here you are.' 
 
 ' But you are quite well to-day ? ' said Diana a little 
 anxiously. 
 
 ' I am always well. Never better.' 
 
 ' How old are you, Mother Bartlett ? ' 
 
 ' Seventy-three years, child.' 
 
 ' Well, I do think you oughtn't to be here alone. It 
 don't seem right, and I don't think it is right.' 
 
 ' What's to do child ? There ain't nary one to come 
 and live with me. They're all gone but Joe. My Lord 
 knows I'm an old woman seventy-three years of age.' 
 
 ' What then, Mother Bartlett ? ' Diana asked curiously. 
 
 1 He'll take care of me, my dear.' 
 
 ' But then, we ought to take care of ourselves,' said 
 Diana. ' Now if Joe would marry somebody ' 
 
 ' Joe ain't lucky in that line,' said the old lady laughing 
 again. 'And maybe what he might like, I mightn't. Be- 
 fore you go to wishin' for changes, you'd better know what 
 they'll be. I'm content child. There ain't a thing on earth 
 I want that I haven't got. Now what's the news ? ' 
 
 Diana began and told her the whole story of the sewing 
 meeting and the accident and the nursing of the injured 
 girl. Mrs. Bartlett had an intense interest in every partic- 
 ular ; and what Diana failed to remember, her questions 
 brought out. 
 
 ' And how do you like the new minister ? ' 
 
 ' Haven't you seen him yet ? 
 
 ' Nay. He hain't been down my way yet. In good 
 time he will. He's had sick folks to see arter, Joe told 
 me ; old Jemmy Claflin, and Joe Simmons' boy ; and 
 Mis' Atwood, and Eliza.'
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 47 
 
 ' I think you'll like him,' said Diana slowly. ' He's not 
 like any minister ever /saw.' 
 
 ' What's the odds ? ' 
 
 ' It isn't so easy to tell. He don't look like a minister, 
 for one thing ; nor he don't talk like one ; jiot a bit.' 
 
 ' Have we got a gay parson, then ? ' said the old lady, 
 slightly raising her eyebrows. 
 
 ' Gay ? O no ! not in the way you mean. In one way 
 he is gay ; he is very pleasant ; not stiff or grum, like Mr. 
 Hardenburgh ; and he is amusing too, in a quiet way, but 
 he is amusing ; he is so cool and so quick. O no, he's 
 not gay in the way you mean. I guess he's good.' 
 
 ' Do you like him ? ' Mrs. Bartlett asked. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Diana, thinking of the night of Eliza Dela- 
 mater's accident. ' He is very queer.' 
 
 ' I don't seem to make him out by your telling, child. 
 I'll have to wait, I guess. I've got no sort of an ideji of 
 him, so far. Now, dear, if you'll set the table dinner's 
 ready ; and then we'll have some reading.' 
 
 Diana drew out a small deal table to the middle of the 
 floor and set on it the delf plates and cups and saucers, 
 the little saltcellar of the same ware, and the knives 
 and forks that were never near Sheffield ; in fact were 
 never steel. But the lettuce came out of the well crisp 
 and fresh and cool ; and Mrs. Bartlett's pot-pie crust came 
 out of the pot as spongy and light as possible ; and the 
 loaf of 'seconds ' bread was sweet as it is hard for bread 
 to be that is not made near the mill ; and if you and I had 
 been there, I promise you we would not have minded the 
 knives and forks or the cups either. Mrs. Bartlett's tea 
 was not of corresponding quality, for it came from a coun- 
 try store. However, the cream went far to mend even 
 that. The back door was open for the heat ; and the hill-
 
 48 DIANA. 
 
 side could be seen through the doorway and part of the 
 soft green meadow slope ; and the grasshopper's song 
 and the bell tinkle were not bad music. 
 
 'And who was that came with you, dear?' Mrs. Bart- 
 lett asked as they sat at table. 
 
 ' With me ? Did you see me come ? ' 
 
 ' Surely. I was in the garden. What should hinder 
 me ? Who was it druv you, dear ? ' 
 
 ' It was an accident. Young Mr. Knowlton had got 
 into some trouble with his horse, riding out our way, and 
 came to ask how he could get home. So I brought him.' 
 
 'That's Evan Knowlton? him they are making a 
 soldier of ? ' 
 
 ' He's made. He's done with his education. He is at 
 home now.' 
 
 ' Ain't goin' to be a soldier after all ? ' 
 
 |O yes ; he is a soldier"; but he. has got a leave, to be 
 home for awhile.' 
 
 ' Well, what sort is he ? I don't see what they wanted 
 to make a soldier of him for ; his grand'ther would ha' 
 been the better o' his help on the farm, seems to me ; and 
 now he'll be off to the ends o' the earth, and doin' nobody 
 knows what. It's the wisdom o' this world. But how has 
 he turned out, Die ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ; well, I should think.' 
 
 ' And his sisters at home would ha' been the better of 
 him. By-and-by Mr. Bowdoin will die ; and then who'll 
 look after the farm, or the girls ? ' 
 
 ' Still, mother, it's something more and something bet- 
 ter to be educated, as he is, and to know the world and all 
 sorts of things, as he does, than just to live on the farm 
 here in the mountains, and raise corn and eat it, and 
 nothing else ? Isn't it ? '
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 49 
 
 'Why should it be better, child ?' 
 
 ' It is nice to be educated,' said Diana softly. And 
 she thought much more than she said. 
 
 ' A man can get as much edication as he can hold, and 
 live on a farm too. I've seen sich. Some folks can't do 
 no better than hoe corn like my Joe. But there ain't no 
 necessity for that. But arter all, what does folks live for, 
 Diana ? ' 
 
 'I never could make out, Mother Bartlett' 
 
 The old lady looked at her thoughtfully and wistfully, 
 but said no more. Diana cleared the table and washed 
 the few dishes ; and when all was straight again, took out 
 a newspaper she had brought from home, and she and the 
 old lady settled themselves for an afternoon of enjoyment. 
 For it was that to both parties. At home Diana cared 
 little about the paper; here it was quite another thmg. 
 Mrs. Bartlett wanted to hear all there was in it ; public 
 doings, foreign doings, city news, editor's gossip ; and even 
 the advertisements came in for their share of pleasure- 
 giving. New inventions had an interest ; tokens of the 
 world's movements, or the world's wants, in other notices, 
 were found suggestive of thought or provocative of wonder. 
 Sitting with her feet put towards the fire, her knitting in 
 her hands, the quick grey eyes studied Diana's face as she 
 read, never needing to give their supervision to the fingers ; 
 and the coarse blue yarn stocking, which was doubtless 
 destined for Joe, grew visibly in length while the eyes and 
 thoughts of the knitter were busy elsewhere. The news- 
 paper filled a good part of the afternoon; for the reading 
 was often interrupted for talk which grew out of it. When 
 at last it was done, and Mrs. Bartlett's eyes returned to 
 the fire, there were a few minutes of stillness ; then she 
 said gently,
 
 5O DIANA. 
 
 'Now, our other reading, dear? ' 
 
 'You like this the best, Mother Bartlett, don't you?' 
 said Diana, as she rose and brought from the inner room 
 a large volume ; the book, as any one might know at a 
 glance ; carefully covered with a sewn cover of coarse 
 cloth. ' Where shall I read now ? ' 
 
 The place indicated was the beginning of the Revela- 
 tion ; a favourite book with the old lady. And as she 
 listened, the knitting grew slower ; though, true to the in- 
 stinctive habit of doing something, the fingers never ceased 
 absolutely their work. But they moved slowly ; and the 
 old lady's eyes, no longer on the fire, went out of the open 
 window, and gazed with a far-away gaze that went surely 
 beyond the visible heaven ; so rapt and steady it was. 
 Diana, sitting on a low seat at her feet, glanced up some- 
 times ; but seeing that gaze, looked down and went on 
 again with her reading and would not break the spell. At 
 last, having read several chapters without a word of inter- 
 ruption, she stopped. The old lady's eyes came back to 
 her knitting, which began to go a little faster. 
 
 ' Do you like all this so much ? ' Diana asked. ' I know 
 you do ; but I can't see why you do. You can't under- 
 stand it.' 
 
 ' I guess I do,' said the old lady. ' I seem to, anyhow. 
 It's queer if I don't.' 
 
 ' But you can't make anything of all those horses ? ' 
 
 ' Why it's just what you've been readin' about all the 
 afternoon.' 
 
 ' In the newspaper ! ' cried Diana. 
 
 ' It's many a year that I've been lookin' at it,' said the 
 old lady ; ' ever sen I heard it all explained by a good 
 minister. I've been lookin' at it ever sen.' She spoke 
 dreamily.
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 51 
 
 ' It's all words and words to me,' said Diana. 
 
 ' There's a blessin' belongs to studyin' them words, 
 though. Those horses are the works and judgments of 
 the Lord that are goin' on in all the earth, to prepare the 
 way of his cominV 
 
 ' Whose coming ? ' 
 
 ' The Lord's comin',' said the old lady solemnly. ' The 
 white horse, that's victory ; that's goin' on conquering and 
 to conquer; that's the truth and power of the Lord 
 bringin' his kingdom. The red horse, that's war ; ah, how 
 that red horse has tramped round the world ! he's left the 
 marks of his hoofs on our own ground not long sen ; and 
 now you've been readin' to me about his goin's on else- 
 where. The black horse, that's famine ; and not down- 
 right starvation, the minister said, but just want ; grindin' 
 and pressin' people down. Ain't there enough o' that in 
 the world ? not just so bad in Pleasant Valley, but all over. 
 And the pale horse what is it the book calls him ? 
 that's death ; and he comes to Pleasant Valley as he comes 
 everywhere. They 've been goin', those four, ever sen the 
 world was a world o' fallen men.' 
 
 ' But what do they do to prepare the way for the Lord's 
 coming ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' What do I know ? That '11 be known when the book 
 shall come to be read, I s'pose. I'm waitin'. I'll know 
 by and by ' 
 
 ' Only I can seem to see so much as this,' the old lady 
 went on after a pause. ' The Lord won't have folk to settle 
 down accordin' to their will into a contented forgetfulness 
 o' him ; so he won't let there be peace till the King o' Peace 
 comes. Oh I'd be glad if he 'd come ! ' 
 
 ' But that will be the end of the world,' said Diana. 
 
 1 Well,' said Mrs. Bartlett, ' it might be the end of the
 
 52 DIANA. 
 
 world for all I care ; if it would bring Him. What do I 
 live for ? ' 
 
 ' You know I don't understand you, Mother Bartlett,' 
 said Diana gently. 
 
 ' Well, what do you live for, child ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Diana slowly. ' Nothing. I help 
 mother make butter and cheese ; and I make my clothes, 
 and do the housework. And next year it '11 be the same 
 thing ; and the next year after that. It don't amount to 
 anything.' 
 
 ' And do you think the Lord made you you pretty 
 creatur ! ' said the old lady, softly passing her hand 
 down the side of Diana's face, 'for nothin' better than 
 to make cheese and butter ? ' 
 
 Diana smiled and blushed brightly at her old friend, a 
 lovely child's smile. 
 
 ' I may come to be married, you know, one of these 
 days ! But after all that don't make any difference. It 's 
 the same thing, married or not married. People all do 
 the same things, day after day, till they die.' 
 
 ' If that was all ' said the old lady meditatively, 
 looking into the fire and knitting slowly. 
 
 ' It is all ; except that here and there there is some- 
 body who knows more and can do something better ; I 
 suppose life is something more to them. But they are 
 mostly men.' 
 
 ' Edication's a fine thing,' Mrs. Bartlett went on in the 
 same manner ; ' but there's two sorts. There's two sorts, 
 Diana. I hain't got much, o' one kind ; I never had 
 no chance to get it, so I've done without it. And now 
 my life's so near done, it don't seem much matter. But 
 there's the other sort, that ain't learned at no 'cademy. 
 The Lord put me into his school forty-four years ago
 
 MOTHER BARTLETT. 53 
 
 where he puts all his children ; and if they learn their 
 lessons, he takes 'em up and up, some o' the lessons is 
 hard to learn, but he takes 'em up and up ; till life ain't 
 a puzzle no longer, and they begin to know the language o' 
 heaven, where His courts be. And that's edication that's 
 worth havin', when one's just goin' there, as I be.' 
 
 ' How do you get into that school, Mother Bartlett ? ' 
 Diana asked thoughtfully, and yet with her mind not all 
 upon what she was saying, 
 
 ' You are in it, my dear. The good Lord sends his 
 lessons and his teachers to every cne ; but it's no use to 
 most folks ; they won't take no notice.' 
 
 ' What " teachers " ? ' said Diana smiling. 
 
 ' There 's a host of them,' said Mrs. Bartlett ; ' and of 
 all sorts. Why I seem to be in the midst of 'em, Diana. 
 The sun is a teacher to me every day ; and the clouds, 
 and the air, and the colours. The hill and the pasture 
 ahint the house, I've learned a heap of lessons from 'em. 
 And I'm learnin' 'em all the time, till I seem to be rich 
 with what they're tellin' me. So rich, some days I 'most 
 wonder at myself. No doubt, to hear all them voices, one 
 must hear the voice o' the Word. And then there's many 
 other voices ; but they don't come just so to all. I could 
 tell you some o' mine ; but the ones that'll come to you'll 
 be sure to be different ; so you couldn't learn from them, 
 child. And folks thinks I'm a lonesome old woman ! ' 
 
 ' Well, how can they help it ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' It's nat'ral,' said Mrs. Bartlett. 
 
 ' I can't help your seeming so to me.' 
 
 'That ain't nat'ral, for you had ought to know better. 
 They think, folks does, I know, I'm a poor lone old 
 woman, just going to die.' 
 
 ' But isn't that nearly true ? ' said Diana gently.
 
 54 DIANA. 
 
 There was a slight glad smile on the withered lips as 
 Mrs. Bartlett turned towards her. 
 
 'You have the book there on your lap, dear. Just find 
 the eleventh chapter of the gospel of John, and read the 
 twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth verses. And when you feel 
 inclined to think that o' me agin, just wait till you know 
 what they mean.' 
 
 Diana found and read ; 
 
 ' " Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the 
 life : he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet 
 shall he live. And whoesoever liveth and believeth in me, 
 shall never die." '
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MAKING HAY. 
 
 JUNE had changed for July ; but no heats ever withered 
 the green of the Pleasant Valley hills, nor browned its pas- 
 tures ; and no droughts ever stopped the tinkling of its rills 
 and brooks which rolled down, every one of them, over 
 gravelly pebbly beds to lose themselves in lake or river. 
 Sun enough to cure the hay and ripen the grain, they had ; 
 and July was sweet with the perfume of hayfield, and 
 lovely with brown hayricks, and musical with the whetting 
 of scythes. Mrs. Starling's little farm had a good deal of 
 grass land ; and the haying was proportionally a busy sea- 
 son. For haymakers, according to the general tradition 
 of the country, in common with reapers, are expected to 
 eat more than ordinary men, or men in ordinary employ- 
 ments ; and to furnish the meals for the day kept both 
 Mrs. Starling and her daughter busy. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon, sunny, perfumed, still ; the after- 
 noon luncheon had gone out to the men, who were cutting 
 then in the meadow which surrounded the house. Diana 
 found her hands free ; and had gone up to her room, not 
 to rest, for she was not tired, but to get out of the atmos- 
 phere of the kitchen and breathe a few minutes without 
 thinking of cheese and gingerbread. She had begun to 
 change her dress ; but leisure wooed her, and she took up 
 a book and presently forgot even that care in the delight 
 of getting into a region of thought. For Diana's book was
 
 56 DIANA. 
 
 not a novel ; few such found their way to Pleasant Valley, 
 and seldom one to Mrs. Starling's house. Her father's" 
 library was quite unexhausted still, its volumes took so 
 long to read and needed so much thinking over ; and now 
 she was deep in a treatise more solid and less attractive 
 than most young women are willing to read. It carried her 
 out of the round of daily duties and took her away from 
 Pleasant Valley altogether, and so was a great refreshment. 
 Besides, Diana liked thinking. 
 
 Once or twice a creak of a farm wagon was heard along 
 the road ; it was too well known a sound to awake her at- 
 tention ; then came a sound far less common; the sharp 
 trot of a horse moving without wheels behind him. Diana 
 started instantly and went to a window that commanded 
 the road. The sound ceased, but she saw why ; the rider 
 had reined in his steed and was walking slowly past ; the 
 same rider she had expected to see, with the dark uniform 
 and the soldier's cap. He looked hard at the place ; 
 could he be stopping ? The next moment Diana had flown 
 back to her own room, had dropped the dress which was 
 half off, and was arraying herself in a fresh print ; and she 
 was down stairs almost as soon as the visiter knocked. 
 Diana opened the door. She knew Mrs. Starling was deep 
 in supper preparations, mingled with provisions for the 
 next day's lunches. 
 
 Uniforms have a great effect, to eyes unaccustomed to 
 them. How Lieut. Knowlton came to be wearing his 
 uniform in the country, so far away from any post, I don't 
 know ; perhaps he did. He said, that he had nothing else 
 he liked for riding in. But a blue frock, with gold bars 
 across the shoulders and military buttons, is more graceful 
 than a frieze coat. And it was a gracious, graceful head 
 that was bared at the sight of the door-opener.
 
 MAKING HAY. 57 
 
 * You see,' he said with a smile, ' I couldn't go by ! 
 The other day I was your pensioner, in kindness. Now I 
 want to come in my own character, if you'll let me.' 
 
 ' Is it different from the character I saw the other day ? ' 
 said Diana, as she led the way into the parlour. 
 
 ' You did not see my character the other day, did 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' I saw what you shewed me ! ' 
 
 He laughed, and then laughed again ; looking a little 
 surprised, a good deal amused. 
 
 ' I would give a great deal to know what you thought 
 of me/ 
 
 ' Why would you ? ' Diana said, quite quietly. 
 
 ' That I might correct your mistakes, of course.' 
 
 ' Suppose I made any mistakes,' said Diana, ' you could 
 only tell me that you thought differently. I don't see that 
 I should be much wiser.' 
 
 ' I find I made a mistake about you ! ' he said laughing 
 again, but shaking his head. ' But every person is like a 
 new language to those that see him for the first time ; 
 don't you think so ? One has to learn the signs of the 
 language by degrees, before one can read it off like a 
 book.' 
 
 ' I never thought about that,' said Diana. ' No ; I 
 think that is true of some people ; not everybody. All the 
 Pleasant Valley people seem to me to belong to one lan- 
 guage. All except one, perhaps.' 
 
 ' Who is the exception ? ' Mr. Knowlton asked 
 quickly. 
 
 ' I don't know whether you know him.' 
 
 ' O I know everybody here or I used to.' 
 
 ' I was thinking of somebody who didn't use to be here. 
 He has only just come. I mean Mr. Masters.'
 
 58 DIANA. 
 
 ' The parson ? ' 
 
 < Yes.' 
 
 ' I don't know him much. I suppose he belongs to the 
 parson language, to carry on our figure. They all do.' 
 
 ' He don't, said Diana. ' That is what struck me in 
 him. What are the signs of the " parson " language ? ' 
 
 ' A black coat and a white neckcloth, to begin with.' 
 
 ' He dresses in gray,' said Diana laughing, ' or in white ; 
 and wears, any sort of a cravat.' 
 
 'To go on, Generally a grave face and a manner of 
 great propriety ; with a square way of arranging words.' 
 
 ' Mr. Masters has no manner at all ; and he is one of 
 the most entertaining people I ever knew.' 
 
 ' Jolly sort, eh ? ' 
 
 ' No, I think not,' said Diana ; ' I don't know exactly 
 what you mean by jolly ; he is never silly, and he does not 
 laugh much particularly ; but he can make other people 
 laugh.' 
 
 ' Well, another sign is, they put a religious varnish over 
 common things. Do you recognize that ? ' 
 
 ' I recognize that, for I have seen it ; but it isn't true 
 of Mr. Masters.' 
 
 ' I give him up,' said young Knowlton. ' I am sure I 
 shouldn't like him.' 
 
 ' Why, do you like these common signs of the " parson 
 language," as you call it, that you have been reckoning ?' 
 
 The answer was a decided negative accompanied with 
 a laugh again ; and then Diana's visiter turned the con- 
 versation to the country, and the place, and the elm-trees ; 
 looked out of the window and observed that the haymakers 
 were at work near the house, and finally said he must go 
 out to look at them nearer ; he had not made hay since he 
 was a boy.
 
 MAKING HAY. $9 
 
 He went out, and Diana went back to her mother in 
 the lean-to. 
 
 ' Mother, young Mr. Knowlton is here.' 
 
 ' Well keep him out o' my way ; that's all I ask.' 
 
 ' Haven't you got through yet ? ' 
 
 ' Through ! There was but one single pan of ginger- 
 bread left this noon ; and there ain't more'n three loaves 
 o' bread in the pantry. What's that among a tribe o' such 
 grampuses ? I've got to make biscuits for tea, Di ; and 
 I may as well get the piecrust off my hands at the same 
 time ; it'll be so much done for to-morrow. I wish you'd 
 pick over the berries. And then I'll find you something 
 else to do. If I had six hands and two heads, I guess I 
 could about get along.' 
 
 ' But mother, it won't do for nobody to be in the 
 parlour.' 
 
 ' I thought he was gone ? ' 
 
 ' Only gone out into the field to see the haymakers.' 
 
 1 Queer company ! ' . said Mrs. Starling, leaving her 
 bowl of dough, with flowery hands, to peer out of a window. 
 You may make your mind easy, Di ; he won't come in 
 again ; I declare ! he's got his coat off and he's gone at it 
 himself ; ain't that him ? ' 
 
 Diana looked and allowed that it was. Mr. Knowlton 
 had got a rake in hand, his coat hung on the fence, and he 
 was raking hay as busily as the best of them. Diana gave 
 a little sigh, and turned to her pan of berries. This young 
 officer was a new language to her, and she would have 
 liked, she thought, to spell out a little more of its graceful 
 peculiarities. The berries took a good while. Meantime 
 Mrs. Starling's biscuit went into the oven, and a sweet 
 smell began to come thereout. Mrs. Starling bustled about 
 setting the table ; with cold pork and pickles, and cheese
 
 60 DIANA. 
 
 and berry pie, and piles of bread brown and white. Clearly, 
 the haymakers were expected to supper. 
 
 ' Mother,' said Diana doubtfully when she had washed 
 her hands from the berry stains, 'will you bring Mr. 
 Knowlton out here to tea, if he should possibly stay ? ' 
 
 ' He's gone, child, this age.' 
 
 * No, he isn't.' 
 
 ' He ain't out yonder any more.' 
 
 ' But his horse stands by the fence under the elm.' 
 
 ' I wish he was further, then ! Yes, of course he'll 
 come here, if he takes supper with me to-night. I don't 
 think he will. I don't know him, and I don't know as I 
 want to.' 
 
 But this vaguely expressed hope was disappointed. The 
 young officer came in, a little while before supper ; laugh- 
 ingly asked Diana for some water to wash his hands ; and 
 followed her out to the lean-to. There he was introduced 
 to Mrs. Starling, and informed her he had been doing her 
 work, begging to know if that did not entitle him to some 
 supper. I think Mrs. Starling was a little sorry then that 
 she had not made preparations to receive him more 
 elegantly but it was too late now ; she only rushed a 
 little nervously to fetch him a finer white towel than those 
 which usually did kitchen duty for herself and Diana ; and 
 then the biscuits were baked, and the farm hands came 
 streaming in. 
 
 There were several of them, now in haying time, head- 
 ed by Josiah Davis, Mrs. Starling's ordinary stand-by. 
 Heavy and clumsy, warm from the hay field, a little awk- 
 ward at sight of the company, they filed in and dropped 
 into their several seats round one end of the table ; and 
 Mrs. Starling could only play all her hospitable arts around 
 her guest, to make him forget if possible his unwonted
 
 MAKING HAY. 6 1 
 
 companions. She served him assiduously with the best she 
 had on the table ; she would not bring on any dainties 
 extra ; and the young officer took kindly even to the pork 
 and pickles, and declared the brown bread was worth 
 working for ; and when Mrs. Starling let fall a word of 
 regretful apology, assured her that in the times when he 
 was a cadet he would have risked getting a good many 
 marks for the sake of such a meal. 
 
 'What are the marks for?' inquired Mrs. Starling 
 curiously. 
 
 ' Bad boys,' he told her ; and then went off to a dis- 
 cussion of her hay crop, and a dissertation on the delights 
 ,of making hay and the pleasure he had had from it that 
 afternoon ; 'something he did not very often enjoy.' 
 
 ' Can't you make hay anywheres ? ' Mrs. Starling asked 
 a little dryly. 
 
 He gravely assured her it would not be considered 
 military. 
 
 ' I don't know wh'at military means,' said Mrs. Starling. 
 ' You are military, ain't you ? ' 
 
 ' Mean to be,' he answered seriously. 
 
 ' Well, you are. Then, I should think, whatever you 
 do would be military.' 
 
 But at this giving of judgment, after a min-ute of, per- 
 haps, endeavour for self-control, Mr. Knowlton broke 
 down and laughed furiously. Mrs. Starling looked stern. 
 Diana was in a state of indecision, whether to laugh with 
 her friend or frown with her mother ; but the infection of 
 fun was too much for her ; the pretty lips gave way. May- 
 be that was encouragement for the offender ; for he did 
 not show any embarrassment or express any contrition. 
 
 ' You do me too much honour,' he said as soon as he 
 could make his voice steady ; ' you do me too much honour ;
 
 62 DIAXA. 
 
 Mrs. Starling. I assure you, I have been most unmilitary 
 this afternoon ; but really I am no better than a boy when 
 the temptation takes me ; and the temptation of your 
 meadow and those long winrows was too much for me. I 
 enjoyed it hugely. I am coming again, may I ? ' 
 
 ' You'll have to be quick about it then,' said Mrs Star- 
 ling, not much mollified ; ' there ain't much more haying to 
 do on the home lot, I guess. Ain't you most done, Josiah?' 
 
 ' How ? ' said that worthy from the other end of the 
 table. Mrs. Starling had raised her voice, but Josiah's 
 wits always wanted a knock at the door before they would 
 come forth to action. 
 
 ' Hain't you 'most got through haying? ' 
 
 ' Not nigh.' 
 
 ' Why what's to do ? ' inquired the mistress, with a new 
 interest. 
 
 'There's all this here lot to finish, and all of Savin 
 hill.' 
 
 ' Savin hill ain't but half in grass.'' 
 
 ' Jes' so. There ain't a lock of it cut, though.' 
 
 ' If I was a man,' said Mrs. Starling, ' I believe I 
 could get the better o' twenty acres o' hay in less time 
 than you take for it. However I ain't. Mr. Knowlton, do 
 take one o' those cucumbers. I think there ain't a green 
 pickle equal to a cucumber when it's tender and sharp, 
 as it had ought to be.' 
 
 ' I am sure everything under your hands is as it ought 
 to be,' said the young officer, taking the cucumber. ' I 
 know these are. Your haymakers have a good time,' he 
 added, as the men rose and there was a heavy clangour 
 of boots and grating chairs at the lower end of the table. 
 
 ' They calculate to have it,' said Mrs. Starling. ' And 
 all through Pleasant Valley they do have it. There are no
 
 MAKING HAY. 63 
 
 poor folks in the place ; and there ain't many that calls 
 themselves rich ; they all expect to be comfortable ; and I 
 guess most of 'em be.' 
 
 'Just the state of society in which There's a sweet 
 little stream running through your meadow, Miss Diana,' 
 said the young officer with a sudden change of subject. 
 ' Where does it go to ? ' 
 
 ' It makes a great many turns, through different farms, 
 and then joins your river the Yellow River that runs 
 round Elmfield.' 
 
 ' That's a river ; this brook is just what I like. I got 
 tired with my labours this afternoon, and then I threw 
 myself down by the side of the water to look at it. I lay 
 there till I had almost forgotten what I was about.' 
 
 ' Not in your shirt sleeves, just as you was ? ' inquired 
 Mrs. Starling. The inquiry drew another laugh from her 
 guest ; and he then asked Diana where the brook came 
 from ? If it was pretty, followed up ? 
 
 ' Very pretty ! ' Diana said. ' As soon as you get 
 among the hills and in the woods with it, it is as pretty as 
 it can be ; not a bit like what it is here j full of rocks and 
 pools and waterfalls ; lovely ! ' 
 
 ' Any fish ? ' 
 
 ' Beautiful trout.' 
 
 'Miss Diana, can you fish ? ' 
 
 ' No. I never tried.' 
 
 ' Well, trout fishing is not exactly a thing that comes 
 by nature. I must go up that brook. I wish you would 
 go and shew me the way. When I see anything pretty, I 
 always want some one to point it out to, or I can't half 
 enjoy it.' 
 
 ' I think it would be the other way,' said Diana. ' I 
 should be the one to shew the brook to you.'
 
 64 DIANA. 
 
 1 You see if I don't make you find more pretty things 
 than you ever knew were there. Come ! is it a bargain ? 
 I'll take my line and bring Mrs. Starling some trout.' 
 
 ' When > ' said Diana. 
 
 ' Seems to me,' said Mrs. Starling, ' I could keep along 
 a brook if I could once get hold of it.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Mr. Knowlton laughing, ' you are a great 
 deal cleverer than I am. You have no idea how fast I can 
 lose myself. Miss Diana, the sooner the better, white this 
 lovely weather lasts. Shall we say to-morrow ?' 
 
 ' I'll be ready,' said Diana. 
 
 ' This weather ain't goin' to change in a hurry,' re 
 marked Mrs. Starling. 
 
 But the remark did not seem to be to the purpose. The 
 appointment was made for the following day at three 
 o'clock ; and Mr. Knowlton's visit having come to an end, 
 he mounted and galloped away. 
 
 'Three o'clock!' said Mrs. Starling. 'Just the heat 
 o' the day. And trout, indeed ! Don't you be a silly fish 
 yourself, Diana.' 
 
 ' Mother ! ' said Diana. 'I couldn't help going, when he 
 asked me.' 
 
 ' You could ha' helped it if you'd wanted to, I s'pose.' 
 
 Which was.no doubt true, and Diana made no response; 
 for she wanted to go. She watched the golden promise of 
 dawn the next morning ; she watched the cloudless vault 
 of the sky, and secretly rejoiced within herself that she 
 would be ready.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 
 
 DOUBTLESS they were ready, those two, for the brook 
 and the afternoon. The young officer came at half past 
 three ; not in regimentals this time, but in an easy grey un- 
 dress and straw hat. He came in a wagon, and he brought 
 his fishing-rod and carried a basket. Diana had been ready 
 ever since three. They lost no time ; they went out into 
 the meadow and struck the brook. 
 
 Now the brook, during its passage through the valley 
 field, was remarkable for nothing but a rare infirmity of 
 purpose which would never let it keep one course for many 
 rods together. It twisted and curled about, making many 
 little meadow promontories on one side an d the other ; 
 hurrying along with a soft sweet gurgle that sounded 
 fresh, even under the heat of the summer sun. It was a 
 hot afternoon, as Mrs. Starling had said ; and the two 
 excursionists were fain to take it gently and to make as 
 straight a course across the fields as keeping on one side 
 of the brook left possible. They could not cross it. The 
 stream was not large, yet quite too broad for a jump ; and 
 not deep, yet deep enough to cover its stony bed and 
 leave no crossing stones. So sometimes along the border 
 of the brook, where a fringe of long grass had been 
 left by the mowers' scythes, rank and tangled ; sometimes 
 striking across from bend to bend over the meadow, where
 
 66 DIANA. 
 
 no kindly trees stood to shade them, the two went ; on a 
 hunt, as Mr. Knowlton said, after pretty things. 
 
 After a mile or more of this walking, the scenery changed. 
 Mown fields, hot and fragrant, were left behind ; almost 
 suddenly they entered the hills, where the brook issued 
 from them; and then they began a slower tracking of its 
 course back among the rocks and woods of a dell which 
 soon grew close and wild. The sides of the dell became 
 higher ; the bed of the stream more steep and rough ; 
 the canopy of trees closed in overhead and shewed the 
 blue through only in broken patches. The clothing of the 
 hillsides was elegant and exquisite ; oaks and firs and 
 hemlocks, with slender birches and maples, lining the 
 ravine ; and under them a free growth of ferns, and fresh 
 beds of moss, and lovely lichens, covered the rocks and 
 dressed the ground. The stream rattled along at the bot- 
 tom; foaming over the stones and leaping down the rocks ; 
 making the still deep pools where the fish love to lie ; 
 and in its way executing a succession of cascades and tiny 
 waterfalls that wanted no picturesque element except 
 magnitude. And a good imagination can supply that. 
 
 And how went the afternoon ? How goes it with those 
 who have just received a new sense, or found a sudden doub- 
 ling of that which they had before ? Nay, it was a new sense, a 
 new power of perception, able to discern what had eluded 
 all their previous lives. The brook in the meadow had 
 been to Diana's vision until now merely running water ; 
 whence had come those delicious amber hues, where it 
 rolled over the stones, and the deep olive shadows where 
 the water was deeper ? She had never seen them before. 
 Now, they were pointed out and seen to be rich and clear, 
 a sort of dilution of sunlight, with a suggestion of sun- 
 light's other riches of possibility. The rank unmown
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 67 
 
 grass that fringed the stream, Diana had never seen it but 
 as what the scythe had missed ; now she was made to no- 
 tice what an elegant fringe it was, and how the same sun- 
 light glanced upon its curving stems and blades and set 
 off the deep brown stream. Diana's own eyes began to 
 be quickened, and her tongue loosed. The lovely outline 
 of the hills that encircled the valley had never looked just 
 so rare and lovely as this afternoon when she pointed them 
 out to her companion, and he scanned them and nodded 
 in full assent. But when they got into the ravine, it was 
 Diana's turn. Mosses, and old trees, and sharp turns of 
 the gorge, and fords, where it was necessary to cross the 
 brook and recross on stepping stones just lifting them 
 above the water, here black enough, Diana knew all these 
 things ; and with secret delight unfolded the knowledge of 
 them to her companion as they went along. And still the bits 
 of blue sky overhead had never seemed so unearthly blue ; 
 the drapery of oak and hemlock boughs had never been 
 so graceful and bright ; there_ was a presence in the old 
 gorge that afternoon, which went with them and cleared 
 their eyes from vapour and their minds from everything, it 
 seemed, but a susceptibility to beauty and delight in its in- 
 fluence. Perhaps the young officer would have said that 
 this presence was embodied in the unconscious eyes and 
 fair calm brow which went beside him ; I think he saw 
 them more distinctly than anything else. Diana did not 
 know it. Somehow she very rarely looked her companion 
 in the face ; and yet she knew very well how his face look- 
 ed too ; so well perhaps that she did not need to refresh 
 her memory. So they wandered on ; and the fords were 
 pleasant places, where she had to be helped over the 
 ^stones. Not that Diana needed such help ; her foot was 
 fearless and true ; she never had had help there before ;
 
 68 DIANA. 
 
 was that what made it so pleasant ? Certainly it did seem 
 to her that it was a prettier way of going up the brook than 
 alone and unaided. 
 
 ' I am not getting much fish at this rate,' said young 
 Knowlton at length with a light laugh. 
 
 ' No,' said Diana. ' Why don't you stop and try here ? 
 Here looks like a good place. Right in that still, deep 
 spot, I dare say there are trout.' 
 
 ' What will you do in the mean time, if I stop and fish ? 
 it will be very stupid for you.' 
 
 ' For me ? O no. I shall sit here and look on. It will 
 not be stupid. I will keep still, never fear.' 
 
 ' I don't want you to keep still ; that would be very 
 stupid for me.' 
 
 ' You can't talk while you are fishing ; it would scare 
 the trout, you know.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it.' 
 
 ' I have always heard so.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it will pay,' said Knowlton as he fitted 
 his rod ' If I am to purchase trout at the expense of all 
 that ' 
 
 All what, Diana wondered? 
 
 ' Suppose we talk very softly in whispers,' he went on 
 laughing. ' Do you suppose the trout are so observant as to 
 mind it ? If you sit here, on this mossy stone, close by 
 me, can't I enjoy two things at once ? ' 
 
 Diana made no objection to this arrangement. She 
 took the place indicated, full of a breathless kind of pleasure 
 which she did not stop to analyze ; and watched in silence the 
 progress of the fishing. In silence, for after Mr. Knowlton's 
 arrangement had been carried into effect, he too subsided 
 into stillness ; whether engrossed with the business of his 
 line, or satisfied, or with thoughts otherwise engaged, did not
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 69 
 
 appear. But as presently and again a large trout, -speckled, 
 and beautiful, was swung up out of the pool below, the two 
 faces were turned towards each other and the two pairs of 
 eyes met with a smile of so much sympathy that I rather 
 think the temporary absence of words lost nothing to the 
 growth of the understanding between them. 
 
 The place where they sat was lovely. Just there the 
 bank was high, overhanging the brook. A projecting 
 rock, brown and green and grey, with lichen and mosses of 
 various kinds, held besides a delicate young silver birch, 
 the roots of which found their way to nourishment some- 
 how through fissures in the rock. Here sat Knowlton, with 
 Diana beside him on a stone, just a little behind ; while he 
 sat on the brink to cast, or rather drop, his line into the 
 little pool below where the trout were lurking. The oppo- 
 site side of the stream was but a few yards off, thick with 
 a lovely growth of young wood, with one great hemlock 
 not far above towering up towards the sky. The view in 
 that direction went up a vista of the ravine, so wood-fringed 
 on both sides, with the stream leaping and tumbling down 
 a steep rocky bed. Overhead the narrow line of blue 
 sky. 
 
 ' Four ! ' whispered Diana, as another spotted trout 
 came up from the pool. 
 
 ' I wonder how many there are down there ? ' said 
 Knowlton as he unhooked the fish. ' It makes me hun- 
 gry-' 
 
 ' Catching the trout ? ' said Diana softly. 
 
 He nodded. ' Here comes another. I wish we could 
 make a fire somewhere hereabouts and cook them.' 
 
 ' Is that a good way ? ' 
 
 ' The best in the world,' he said adjusting his fly, and 
 then looking with a smile at her. ' There is no way that
 
 7O DIAXA. 
 
 fish taste so good. I used to do that, you see, in the hills 
 round about the Academy ; and I know all about it.' 
 
 ' We could make a fire,' said Diana ; ' but we have no 
 gridiron here.' 
 
 ' I had no gridiron there. Couldn't have carried a grid- 
 iron in my pocket if I had had one. Here's another ' 
 
 'You had not a gridiron of course.' 
 
 ' Nor a pocket either.' 
 
 ' But did you eat the trout all alone ? without bread, I 
 mean, or anything ? ' 
 
 ' No ; we took bread and salt and pepper and butter and 
 a few such things. There were generally a lot of us ; or 
 if only two or three we could manage that. The butter 
 was the worst thing to accomplish Here's another ! ' 
 
 ' Such beauties ! ' said Diana. 'Well Mr. Knowlton, if 
 you get too hungry, we'll cook you one at home, you 
 know.' 
 
 ' Will you ? ' said he. ' I wish we had salt and bread 
 here ! I should like to shew you how wood cookery goes, 
 though. But I'll tell you ! we'll get Mrs. Starling to let 
 us have it out in the meadow that won't be bad.' . 
 
 Diana thought of her mother's utter astonishment and 
 disapprobation at such a proposal ; and there was silence 
 again for a few minutes, while the line hung motionless 
 over the pool, and Diana's eyes watched it movelessly, 
 and the liquid sweetness of the water's talk with the stones 
 was heard, as one hears things when the senses are strung 
 to double keenness. Diana heard it at least, and listened to 
 something in it she had never perceived before; something 
 not only sweet and liquid and musical, but in some odd 
 sense admonitory. What did it say ? Diana hardly ques- 
 tioned, but yet she heard. " My peace never changes. 
 My song never dies. Listen, or not listen, it is all the
 
 MR. KNOWLTON S FISH. /I 
 
 same. You may be in twenty moods in a year. In my 
 depth of content I flow on forever." 
 
 A slight rustling of leaves, a slight crackling of stems 
 or branches, brought the eyes of both watchers in another 
 direction ; and before they could hear a footfall they saw, 
 above them on the course of the brook, a figure of a man 
 coming towards them, and Diana knew it was the minister. 
 Swiftly and lightly he came swinging himself along, bound- 
 ing over obstacles, with a sure foot and a strong hand ; till 
 presently he stood beside them. Just then Mr. Knowlton's 
 line was swung up with another trout. Diana introduced 
 the gentlemen to each other. 
 
 ' Fishing ? ' said the minister. 
 
 ' We have got all there are in this place, I'm thinking,' 
 said Knowlton, shutting up his rod. 
 
 ' You ^z// not, two minutes ago,' said the other. 'What 
 do you judge from? It doesn't do, to be so easily discour- 
 aged as that.' 
 
 ' Discouraged ? ' said Knowlton. ' Not exactly. Let us 
 see. Four, five, six seven, eight. Eight, out of this 
 little one pool, Mr. Masters. Do you think there are any 
 more?' 
 
 ' I always get all I can out of a thing,' said the minister. 
 And his very cheery tone, as well as his very quiet manner, 
 seemed to say he was in the habit of getting a good deal, 
 out of everything. 
 
 ' I don't know about that,' answered the young officer 
 in another tone. ' Doesn't always pay. To stay too long 
 at one pool of a brook, for instance. The brook has 
 other pools, I suppose.' 
 
 '1 suppose it has,' said the minister, with a manner 
 which would have puzzled any but one that knew him, to 
 tell whether he were in jest or earnest. ' I suppose it has.
 
 72 DIANA. 
 
 But you may not find them. Or by the time you do, you 
 may have lost your bait. Or you may be tired of fishing. 
 Or it may be time to go home.' 
 
 ' I am never tired,' said Knowlton springing up ; ' and 
 I have got a guide that will not let me miss my way.' 
 
 ' You are fortunate,' said the other. ' And I will not 
 occupy your time. Good afternoon ! I shall hope to see 
 more of you.' 
 
 With a warm grasp of the young officer's hand and 
 lifting his hat to Diana, the minister went on his way. 
 Diana looked after him wondering why he had not shaken 
 hands with her too. It was something she was a little 
 sorry to miss. 
 
 ' Who is that ? ' Knowlton asked. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters ? He's our minister.' 
 
 ' What sort of a chap is he ? Not like all the rest of them ? ' 
 
 ' How are all the rest of them ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 ' I declare, I don't know ! ' said Knowlton. ' If I was 
 to tell the truth, I should say they puzzle all my wits. See 
 'em in one place and hear ' em and you would say they 
 thought all the business of this world was of no account, 
 nor the pleasure of it either. See 'em anywhere else, and 
 they are just as much of this world as you are or as I am, 
 I' mean. They change as fast as a chameleon. In the 
 light that comes through a church window, now, they'll be 
 blue enough, and make you think blue's the only wear ; 
 or black ; but once outside, and they like the colour that 
 comes through a glass of wine or anything also that's jolly. 
 One thing or the other they don't mean that's plain.' 
 
 ' Which do you think they don't mean ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' Well, they're two or three hours in church, and the rest 
 of the week outside. I believe what they say the rest of 
 the time.'
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 73 
 
 ' I don't think Mr. Masters is like that.' 
 
 ' What is he like, then ? ' 
 
 ' I think he mean-s exactly what he says.' 
 
 ' Exactly/ said the young officer laughing ; ' but which 
 part of the time, you know ? ' 
 
 ' All times. I think he means just the same thing al- 
 ways.' 
 
 ' Must see more of him,' said Knowlton. ' You like 
 him, then, Miss Starling ? ' 
 
 Diana did like him, and it was quite her way to say 
 what she thought ; yet she did not say it. She had an un- 
 defined shadowy impression that the hearing would not be 
 grateful to her companion. Her reply was a very incon- 
 clusive remark, that she had not seen much of Mr. Masters ; 
 and an inquiry, where Mr. Knowlton meant to fish 
 next ? 
 
 So the brook had them without interruption the rest of 
 the time. They crept up the ravine, under the hemlock 
 branches and oak boughs ; picking their way along the 
 rocky banks ; catching one or two more trout and finding 
 an unending supply of things to talk about ; while the air 
 grew more delicious as the day dipped towards evening, 
 and the light flashed from the upper tree tops more clear 
 and sparkling as the rays came more slant ; and the brook's 
 running commentary on what was going on, like so many 
 other commentaries, was heard and not heeded ; until the 
 shadows deepening in the dell warned them it was time to 
 seek the lower grounds and open fields again. Which they 
 did, much more swiftly than the ascent of the brook had been 
 made ; in great spirits on both sides, though with a thought 
 on Diana's part, how her mother would receive the fish and 
 the young officer's proposition. Mrs. Starling was stand- 
 ing at the back door of the kitchen as they came up to it.
 
 74 DIANA. 
 
 ' I should think, Diana, you knew enough to remember 
 that we don't take visiters in at this end of the house,' was 
 her opening remark. 
 
 ' How about fish ? ' inquired Mr. KnowltOn, bringing 
 forward his basket. 
 
 ' What are you going to do with ' em ? ' asked Mrs. 
 Starling, standing in the door as if she meant he should not 
 come in. 
 
 'We are going to eat them with your leave ma'am, 
 and by your help ; and first we are going to cook them.' 
 
 ' Who ? ' 
 
 'Miss Starling and myself. I have promised to shew 
 her a thing. May I ask for the loan of a match ? ' 
 
 ' A match ! ' echoed Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Or two,' added Mr. Knowlton, with an indescribable 
 twinkle in his eye ; indescribable because there was nothing 
 contrary to good breeding in it. All the more, Diana felt 
 the sense of fun it expressed ; and hastened to change the 
 scene and put an end to the colloquy. She threw down 
 her bonnet and went for a handful of sticks. Mr. Knowl- 
 ton had got his match by this time. Mrs. Starling stood 
 astonished and scornful. 
 
 ' Will this be wood enough ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 Mr. Knowlton replied by taking the sticks out of her 
 hand, and led the way into the meadow. Diana followed, 
 very quiet and flushed. He had not said a word ; yet the 
 manner of that little action had a whole small volume in it. 
 4 Nobody else ever cared whether I had sticks in my hands 
 or not,' thought Diana; and she flushed more and more. 
 She turned her face away from the bright West, which 
 threw too much illumination on it; and looked down into 
 the brook. The brook's song sounded now unheard. 
 
 It was on the border of the brook that Lieut. Knowlton
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 75 
 
 made his fire. He was in a very jubilant sort of mood. 
 The fire was made and the fish were washed ; and Diana 
 stood by the column of smoke in the meadow and looked 
 on, as still as a mouse. And Mrs. Starling stood in the 
 door of the lean-to and looked on too, from a distance \ 
 and if she was still, it was because she had no one near 
 just then, to whom it was safe to open her mind. The 
 beauty of the picture was all lost upon her : the shorn 
 meadow, the soft column of ascending smoke coloured in 
 dainty hues from the glowing western sky, the two figures 
 moving about it. 
 
 ' Now, Miss Diana,' said the young officer, ' if we had 
 a little salt, and a dish I am afraid to go and ask Mrs. 
 Starling for them ! ' 
 
 Perhaps, so was she ; but Diana went, and got them 
 without asking. She smiled at the dishing of the trout, it 
 was so cleverly done ; then she was requested to sprinkle 
 salt on them herself ; and then with a satisfied air, which 
 somehow called up a flush in Diana's cheeks again, Mr. 
 Knowlton marched off to the house with the dish in his 
 hands. Mrs. Starling had given her farm labourers their 
 supper, and was clearing away relics from the board. She 
 made no move of welcome or hospitable invitation ; but 
 Diana hastened to remove the traces of disorder, and set 
 clean plates and cups, and bring fresh butter, and bread, 
 and make fresh tea. How very pleasant, and how ex- 
 tremely unpleasant, it was altogether ! 
 
 'Mother,' she said, when all was ready, 'won't you 
 come and taste Mr. Knowlton's fish ? ' 
 
 ' I guess I know how fish taste. I haven't eaten the 
 trout of that brook all my life, without.' 
 
 ' But you don't know my cookery,' said Mr. Knowlton ; 
 ' thafs something new.'
 
 76 DIANA. 
 
 ' I don't see the sense of doing things in an outlandish 
 way, when you have no need to. Nor I don't see why 
 men should cook, as long as there's women about.' 
 
 ' What is outlandish ? ' inquired Mr. Knowlton. 
 
 ' What you've been doing, I should say.' 
 
 ' Come and try my cookery, Mrs. Starling ; you will 
 never say anything against men in that capacity again.' 
 
 ' I never say anything against men anyhow ; only 
 against men cooking ; and that ain't natural.' 
 
 ' It comes quite natural to me,' said the young officer. 
 * Only taste my trout, Mrs. Starling ; and you will be quite 
 reconciled to me again.' 
 
 ' I ain't quarrelling with nobody fur's I know,' said 
 Mrs. Starling 'but I've had my supper.' 
 
 ' Well, we haven't had ours,' said the young man ; and he 
 set himself not only to supply that deficiency in his own 
 case, but to secure that Diana should enjoy and eat hers 
 in spite of all hindrances. He saw that she was wofully 
 annoyed by her mother's manner ; it brought out his own 
 more in contrast than perhaps otherwise would have been. 
 He helped her, he coaxed her, he praised the trout, and 
 the tea, and the bread, and the butter ; he peppered and 
 salted anew, when he thought it necessary, on her own 
 plate ; and he talked and told stories and laughed and 
 made her laugh, till even Mrs. Starling moving about in 
 the pantry, moved softly and set down the dishes carefully 
 that she too might hear. Diana sometimes knew that she 
 did so ; at other times was fain to forget everything but the 
 glamour of the moment. Trout were disposed of at last 
 however, and the remainder was cold ; bread and butter 
 had done its duty ; and Mr. Knowlton rose from table. 
 His adieux were gay ; quite unaffected by Mrs. Starling's 
 determined holding aloof; and involuntarily Diana stood
 
 MR. KNOWLTON S FISH. 77 
 
 by the table where she could look out of the window, till 
 she had seen him mount into his wagon and go off. 
 
 ' Have you got through ? ' said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Supper ? ' said Diana starting. ' Yes, mother.' 
 
 ' Then perhaps I can have a chance now. Do you 
 think there is anything in the world to do ? or is it all 
 done up, in the world you have got into ? ' 
 
 Diana began clearing away the relics of the trout sup- 
 per, in silence and with all haste. 
 
 ' That ain't all,' said Mrs. Starling. ' The house don't 
 stand still for nobody, nor the world, nor things generally. 
 The sponge has got to be set for the bread ; and there's 
 the beans, Diana ; to-morrow's the day for the beans ; and 
 they ain',t looked over yet, nor put in soak. And you'd 
 better get out some codfish and put that on the stove. I 
 don't know what to have for breakfast if I don't have that. 
 You'd best go and get off your dress, first thing ; that's my 
 counsel to ye; and save washing that to-morrow.' 
 
 Diana went into no reasoning, on that subject or any 
 other ; but she managed to do all that was demanded of 
 her without changing her dress, and yet without damaging 
 its fresh neatness. In silence, and in an uncomfortable 
 mute antagonism which each one felt in every movement 
 of the other. Odd it is, that when words for any reason 
 are restrained, the feeling supposed to be kept back mani- 
 fests itself in the turn of the shoulders and the set of the 
 head, in the putting down of the foot or the raising of the 
 hand, nay, in the harmless movements of pans and kettles. 
 The work was done, however, punctually, as always in that 
 house ; though Diana's feeling of mingled resentment and 
 shame, grew as the evening wore on. She was glad when 
 the last pan was lifted for the last time, the key turned in 
 the lock of the door of the lean-to, and she and her mother
 
 78 DIANA. 
 
 moved into the other part of the house, preparatory to 
 seeking their several rooms. But Mrs. Starling had not 
 done her work yet. 
 
 'When's that young man comin' again?' she asked 
 abruptly at the foot of the stairs, stopping to trim the 
 wick of her candle, and looking into the light without 
 winking. 
 
 ' I don't know ' Diana faltered. ' I don't know that 
 he is ever coming again.' 
 
 ' Don't expect him either, don't you ? ' 
 
 'I think it would be odd if he didn't,' said Diana 
 bravely, after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 'Odd? why?' 
 
 Diana hesitated longer this time, and the words did not 
 come for her waiting. 
 
 ' Why odd ? ' repeated Mrs. Starling sharply. 
 
 'When people seem to like a place they are apt to 
 come again,' said Diana, flushing a little. 
 
 ' Seem to,' said Mrs. Starling. 'Now, Diana, I have just 
 this one thing to say. Don't you go and give that young 
 fellow no encouragement.' 
 
 ' Encouragement ! mother,' repeated Diana. 
 
 ' Yes, encouragement. Don't you give him any. Mind 
 my words. 'Cause if you do, I won't ! ' 
 
 ' But mother ! ' said Diana, ' what is there to encourage? 
 I could not help going to shew the brook to him to-day.' 
 
 'You couldn't,' said Mrs. Starling, beginning to mount 
 the stairs. ' Well, it is good to practise. Suppose'n he asked 
 you to let him shew you the Mississippi or the Pacific 
 Ocean ; couldn't you help that ? ' 
 
 ' Mother, I am ashamed ! ' said poor Diana. ' Just 
 think. He is educated, and has every advantage, and is 
 an officer in the United States army now ; and what 'am I ? '
 
 MR. KNOWLTON'S FISH. 79 
 
 ' Worth three dozen of him,' said Mrs. Starling decided- 
 
 iy- 
 
 ' He wouldn't think so, mother, nor anybody else, but 
 you.' 
 
 'Well, /think so, mind, and that's enough. I ain't a 
 goin' to give you to him, not if he was fifty officers in the 
 United States army. So keep my words, Diana, and mind 
 what I say. I never will give you to him, nor to any other 
 man that calls himself a soldier and looks down upon folks 
 that are better than he is. I won't let you marry him ; so 
 don't you go and tell him you will.' 
 
 * He won't ask me, mother. You make me ashamed ! ' 
 said Diana, with her cheeks burning , 'but I am sure he 
 does not look down upon me.' 
 
 ' Nobody shall marry you that sets himself up above 
 me,' said Mrs. Starling as she closed her door. ' Mind ! ' 
 
 And Diana went into her own room, and shut her door, 
 and sat clown to breathe. ' Suppose he should ask you to 
 let him shew you the Mississippi, or the Pacific ? ' And the 
 hot flush rushed over her and she hid her face, as if even 
 from herself. ' He will not. But what if he should ? ' 
 Mrs. Starling had raised the question. Diana, in very 
 maidenly shame tried to beat it down and stamp the life 
 out of it. But that was more than she could do.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 
 
 IN the first flush of Diana's distress that night it had 
 seemed to her that the sight of Lieut. Knowlton in all time 
 to come could but give her addition-al distress. How could 
 she look at him ? But the clear morning light found her 
 nerves quiet again, and her cheeks cool ; and a certain 
 sweet self-respect in which she held herself always, for- 
 bade any such flutter of vanity or stir even of fancy, as 
 could in any wise ruffle the simple dignity of this country 
 girl's manner. She had no careful mother's training, or 
 father's watch and safeguard ; the artificial rules of pro- 
 priety were still less known to her ; but innate purity and 
 modesty, and, as I said, the poise of a true New England 
 self-respect, stood her in better stead. When Diana saw 
 Mr. Knowlton the next time, she was conscious of no dis- 
 composure ; and he was struck with the placid elegance of 
 manner, formed in no school, which was the very out- 
 growth of the truth within her. His own manner grew 
 unconsciously deferential. It is the most flattering homage 
 a man can render a woman. 
 
 Mrs. Starling had delivered her mind, and thereafter 
 she was content to be very civil to him. Further than that 
 a true record cannot go. The young officer tried to nego- 
 tiate himself into her good graces ; he was attentive and 
 respectful and made himself entertaining. And Mrs. Starl-
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 8 1 
 
 ing was entertained and entertained him also on her part ; 
 and Diana watched for a word of favourable comment or 
 better judgment of him when he was gone. None ever 
 came ; and Diana sometimes sighed when she and her 
 mother had" shut the doors, as that night, upon each other. 
 For to her mind the favourable comments rose unasked 
 for. 
 
 He came very often, on one pretext or andther. He 
 began to be very much at home. His eye used to meet 
 her's, as something he had been looking for and had just 
 found ; and the lingering clasp of his hand said the touch 
 was pleasant. Generally their interviews were in the par- 
 lour of Diana's home ; sometimes he contrived an occasion 
 to get her to drive with him, or to walk ; and Diana never 
 found that she could refuse herself the pleasure or .need 
 refuse it to him. The country was so thinly settled and 
 their excursions had as yet been in such lonely places, 
 that no village eyes or tongues had been aroused. 
 
 So the depth of August came. The two were standing 
 one moonlight night at the little front gate, lingering in 
 the moonlight. Mr. Knowlton was going, and could not 
 
 go- 
 
 ' Have you heard anything about the Bear hill party ? ' 
 he asked suddenly. 
 
 ' O yes ; Miss Delamater came here a week ago to 
 speak about it.' 
 
 ' Are you going ? ' 
 
 ' Mother said she would. So I suppose I shall.' 
 
 ' Where is it ? and what is it ? ' 
 
 ' The place ? Bear hill is a very wild, stony, bare hill,- 
 
 at least one side of it is bare ; the other side is covered 
 
 with trees. And the bare side is covered with blackberry 
 
 bushes j the largest you ever saw ; and the berries are the 
 
 6
 
 82 DIANA. 
 
 largest. We always go there every summer, a number of 
 us out of Pleasant Valley, to get blackberries.' 
 
 ' How far is it ? ' 
 
 'Fifteen miles.' 
 
 'That's a good way to go a blackberry ing/ said the 
 young man smiling. ' People hereabouts must be very 
 fond of that fruit.' 
 
 ' We want them for a great many uses, you know ; it 
 isn't just to eat them. Mother makes jam and wine for 
 the whole year, besides what we eat at once. And we go 
 for the fun too, as well as for the berries.' 
 
 ' So it is fun, is it ? ' 
 
 ' I think so. We make a day of it ; and everybody car- 
 ries provisions ; and we build a fire, and it is very pleas- 
 ant.' 
 
 ' I'll go/ said Mr. Knowlton. ' I have heard something 
 about it at home. They wanted me to drive them, but I 
 wanted to know what I was engaging myself to. Well, I'll 
 be there, and I'll take care our wagon carries its stock of 
 supplies too. Thursday, is it ? ' 
 
 ' I believe so.' 
 
 ' What time shall you go ? ' 
 
 ' About eight o'clock or half-past/ 
 
 * Eight 1* said the young officer. ' I shall have to revive 
 Academy habits. I am grown lazy.' 
 
 ' The days are so warm, you know/ D-i-ana explained ; 
 'and we have to come home early. We always have dinner 
 between twelve and one.' 
 
 'I see!' said the young man. 'I see the necessity, 
 and feel the difficulty. Well, I'll be there.' 
 
 He grasped her hand again; they had shaken hands 
 before he left the house, Diana remembered ; and this time 
 he held her fingers in a light clasp for some seconds after
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 83 
 
 it was time to let them go. Then he turned and sprang 
 upon his horse and went off at a gallop. Diana stood still 
 at the gate where he had left her, looking down the road 
 and listening to the diminishing sound of his horse's hoofs. 
 The moonlight streamed tenderly down upon her and the 
 elm trees ; it filled the empty space where Knowlton's 
 figure had been ; it flickered where the elm branches stir- 
 red lightly and cast broken shadows upon the ground ; it 
 poured its floods of effulgence over the meadows and 
 distant hills, in still moveless peace and power of everlast- 
 ing calm. It was one of the minutes of Diana's life that she 
 never forgot afterwards ; a point where her life had stood 
 still still as the moonlight ; and almost as sweet in its 
 broad restfulness. She lingered at the gate, and came 
 slowly back again into the house. 
 
 ' What are you going to take to Bear hill, mother ? ' in- 
 quired Diana the next day. 
 
 ' I don't know ! I declare, I'm 'most tired of picnics ; 
 they cost more thar they come to. If we could tackle up 
 now, and go off by ourselves, early some morning, and get 
 what we want there'd be some fun in that.' 
 
 ' It's a very lonely place, mother.' 
 
 ' That's what I say. I'm tired o' livin' forever in a crowd.' 
 
 ' But you said you'd go ? ' 
 
 'Well ; I'm goin'.' 
 
 ' Then we must take something.' 
 
 ' Well ; I'm goin' to. I calculated to take something.' 
 
 1 What ? ' 
 
 ' Somethin' 'nother nobody else'll take if I could con- 
 trive what that'd be.' 
 
 ' Well, mother, I can tell you. Somebody'll be sure to 
 carry cake ; and pies ; and cold ham and cheese ; and 
 bread and butter ; and cold chicken. All that's sure.'
 
 84 DIANA. 
 
 ' Exactly. I could have told you as much, myself, 
 Diana. What I want to know is, somethin' nobody'll take. 
 
 ' Green corn to boil, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Well ! ' said Mrs. Starling musing, ' that ts an idea. 
 How'd you boil it ? ' 
 
 ' Must take a pot or borrow one.' 
 
 'Borrow! Not I, from any o' the Bear hill folks. I 
 couldn't eat corn out o' their kettles. It's a sight o' trouble 
 anyhow, Diana.' 
 
 ' Then, mother, suppose I make a chicken-pie ? ' 
 
 ' Do what you've a mind to, child. And there must be 
 a lot o' coffee roasted. I declare, if I wasn't clean out o' 
 blackberry wine, I'd cut the whole concern. There'll be 
 churning just ready Thursday ; and Josiah had ought to be 
 sent off to mill ; we're 'most out o' flour ; and he can't go 
 to-morrow, for he's got to see to the fence round the fresh 
 pasture lot. And I want to clean the kitchen this week. 
 There's no sittin' still in this world, I do declare ! I haven't 
 set a stitch in those gowns o' mine since last Friday, neither ; 
 and Society comes here next week. And if I don't catch 
 Josiah before he goes out to work in the morning and get 
 the stove cleaned out the flues are all choked up it'll drive 
 me out o' the house or out o' my mind, with the smoke ; and 
 Bear hill won't come off then/ 
 
 Bear hill did " come off " however. Early on the morn- 
 ing of Thursday, Josiah might be seen loading up the little 
 green wagon with tin kettles and baskets, both empty and 
 full. Ears of corn went in too, for the " idee " had struck 
 Mrs. Starling favourably ; and an iron pot found its way 
 into one corner. Breakfast was despatched in haste ; the 
 house locked up and the key put under the door-stone for 
 Josiah to find at noon ; and the two ladies mounted and 
 drove away, while the morning light was yet fresh and cooi
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 85 
 
 and the shadows of the trees lay long in the meadow. 
 August mornings and evenings were seldom hotter than 
 was agreeable in Pleasant Valley. 
 
 For some miles the road lay through the region so 
 denominated. Then it entered the hills ; and soon the 
 way led over them, up and down steep ascents and pitches, 
 with a green woodland on each side and often a look-out 
 over some Tittle meadow valley of level fields and cultivation 
 bordered and encircled by more hills. The drive was a 
 silent one ; Mrs. Starling held the reins ; and perhaps they 
 gave her thoughts employment enough ; Diana was musing 
 about another wagonful and wondering whereabouts it 
 was. Till at a turn of the road she discerned behind them, 
 at some distance, a vehicle coming along, and knew with a 
 jump of her heart the colour of the horse and the figure of 
 the driver. Even so far off she was sure of them, and 
 turned her sunbonnet to look straight forward again, hoping 
 that her mother might not by any chance give a look back. 
 She did not herself again ; but Diana's ears were watching 
 all the while after that for the sound of hoofs or wheels 
 coming near ; and her eyes served her to see nothing but 
 what was out of her field of vision. The scenery grew by 
 degrees rough and wild ; cultivation and civilization seemed 
 as they went on to fall into the rear. A village, or hamlet, 
 of miserable, dirty, uncomely houses and people, was passed 
 by ; and at last, just as the morning was wakening up into 
 fervour, Mrs. Starling drew rein in a desolate rough spot at 
 the edge of a woodland. The regular road had been left 
 some time before, since when only an uncertain wheel track 
 had marked the way. Two or three farm wagons already 
 stood at the place of meeting ; nobody was in them ; the 
 last comer was just hitching his horse to a tree. 
 
 ' Here's Mis' Starling,' he called out. ' Good day !
 
 86 DIANA. 
 
 good-day to 'ye. Hold on, Mis' Starling I'll fetch him up. 
 Coin' to conquer all Bear Hill, ain't ye, with all them pails 
 and kettles. Wall blackberries ain't ripe but once in the 
 year. I've left all my business to attend upon the women 
 folks. What's blackberries good for, now, when you've got 
 'em ? ' 
 
 ' Don't you like a blackberry pie, Mr. Selden ? ' 
 
 ' Bless you !' said the farmer, 'I kin live without it; 
 ' but my folks can't live 'thout comin' once a year to Bear 
 Hill. It is a wonder to me, why things warn't so ordered 
 as that folks could get along 'thout eatin'. It'd save a 
 sight o' trouble. Why, Mis' Starlin', we're workin' all 
 the time to fill our stomachs ; come to think of it, that's 
 pretty much what life is fur. Now I'll warrant you, they'll 
 have a spread by and by, that'll be worth all they'll get 
 here to-day.' 
 
 1 Who's come, Mr. Selden ? ' 
 
 ' Wall, they ain't all here yet, I guess ; my folks is up 
 in the lot, hard to work, I s'pose. Mis' Seelye's gals is here ; 
 and Bill Howe and his wife ; and the Delamaters ; that's 
 all, I guess. He's safe now, Mis' Starlin'.' 
 
 This last remark had reference to the horse, which 
 farmer Selden had been taking out of the shafts and teth- 
 ering, after helping the ladies down. Mrs. Starling got out 
 her pails and baskets destined for the berry picking and 
 gave some of them to her daughter. 
 
 ' They'll be all flocking together, up in the thickest part 
 of the lot,' she whispered. ' Now, Diana, if you'll sheer off a 
 little, kind o', and keep out o' sight, you'll have a ventur' ; 
 and we can stand a chance to get home early after dinner. 
 I'll go along ahead and keep 'em from comin' where you 
 are if I can.' 
 
 Diana heard, with tingling ears ; for she heard at the
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 8/ 
 
 same time the sound of the approaching wagon behind her. 
 She did not look ; she caught up her pail and basket and 
 plunged into the wood path after her mother and Mr. 
 Selden ; but she had not gone three yards when she heard 
 her name called. 
 
 ' You are not going to desert us ? ' cried young Knowl- 
 ton coming up with her. ' We don't know a step of the way, 
 nor where to find blackberries or anything. I have been 
 piloting myself all the way by your wagon. Come back 
 and let me make you friends with my sister.' 
 
 Blushing and hesitating, Diana had yet no choice. She 
 followed Mr. Knovvlton back to the clearing, and looked 
 on, feeling partly pleased and partly uncomfortable, while 
 he helped from their wagon the ladies he had driven to 
 the picnic. The first one dismounted was a beautiful 
 vision to Diana's eyes. A trim little figure, robed in a 
 dress almost white, with small crimson clusters sprinkled 
 over it ; coral buckle and earrings ; a wide Leghorn hat 
 with red ribbons ; and curly, luxuriant, long, floating 
 waves of hair. She was so pretty, and her attire was so 
 graceful, and had so jaunty a style about it, that Diana 
 was struck somehow with a fresh though very undefined 
 feeling of uneasiness. She turned to the other lady. Very 
 pretty, she was too ; smaller even than the first one ; with 
 delicate, piquant features and a ready smile. Daintily she 
 also was dressed in some stuff of deep green colour, which 
 set her off as its encompassing foliage does a bunch of cher- 
 ries. Her face looked out almost like one, it was so bloom- 
 ing, from the shadow of a green silk sunbonnet ; and her 
 hands were cased in green kid gloves. Her eyes sought Diana. 
 
 ' My sister, Mrs. Reverdy, ' said young Knowlton eager- 
 ly, leading her forward. ' Miss Starling, Genevieve ; you 
 know who Miss Starling is.'
 
 88 DIANA. 
 
 The little lady's answer was most gracious ; she smiled 
 winningly and grasped Diana's hand, and was delighted to 
 know her. ' And we are so glad to meet you ; for we are 
 strangers here, you know. I never was at Bear Hill in my 
 life, but they told us of wonderful blackberries here and 
 such multitudes of them ; and we persuaded Evan to 
 drive us ; you know we don't often have him to do any- 
 thing for us ; so we came ; but I don't know what we 
 should have done if we had not met you. Gertrude and I 
 thought we would come and see what a picnic on Bear 
 Hill meant.' And she laughed again ; smiles came very 
 easily to her pretty little face. And then she introduced 
 Miss Masters. Knowlton stood by, looking on at them all. 
 
 ' These elegant women ! ' thought Diana l what must 
 I seem to him ? ' And truly her print gown was of homely 
 quality and country wear ; she did not take into the account 
 a fine figure, which health and exercise had made free and 
 supple in all its movements, and which the quiet poise of 
 her character made graceful, whether in motion or rest. 
 For grace is no gift of a dancing master or result of the 
 schools. It is the growth of the mind more than of the 
 body ; the natural and almost necessary symbolization in 
 outward lines of what is noble, simple, and free from 
 self ; and not almost but quite necessary, if the further con- 
 ditions of a well made and well jointed figure and a free and 
 unconstrained habit of life, are not wanting. The condi- 
 tions all met in Diana ; the harmony of development was, as 
 it always is, lovely to see. 
 
 But a shadow fell on her heart as she turned to lead the 
 way through the wood to the blackberry field. For in the 
 artistic elegance of the ladies beside her, she thought she 
 recognized somewhat that belonged to Mr. Knowlton's 
 sphere and not to her own ; something that removed her
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 89 
 
 from him and drew them near; she thought he could not 
 fail to find i-t so. What then ? She did not ask herself 
 what then. Indeed she had no leisure for difficult analysis 
 of her thoughts. 
 
 ' Dear me, how rough ! ' Mrs. Reverdy exclaimed. 
 ' Really, Evan, I did not know what you were bringing us 
 to. Is it much further we have to go ? ' 
 
 ' It is all rough,' said Diana. ' You ought to have 
 thick shoes.' 
 
 ' O, I have ! I put on horridly thick ones, look ! Isn't 
 that thick enough ? But I never felt anything like these 
 stones. Is the blackberry field full of them too ? Really, 
 Evan,I think I cannotget along if you don't give me your arm.' 
 
 'You have two arms, Mr. Knowlton can't I have the 
 other one ? ' cried Miss Masters dolefully. 
 
 ' I have got trees on my other arm, Gatty I don't see 
 where I should put you. Can't you help Miss Starling 
 along, till we get out of the woods ? ' 
 
 ' Isn't it very impertinent of him to call me Gatty ? ' said 
 the little beauty tossing her long locks and speaking in a 
 half aside to Diana. ' Now he would like that I should re- 
 turn the compliment and call him Evan ; but I won't. What 
 do you do, when men call you by your Christian name ? ' 
 
 She was trying to read Diana as she spoke, eyeing 
 her with sidelong glances ; and as they went, laying her 
 daintily gloved hand on Diana's arm to help herself along. 
 Diana was astounded both at her confidence and at her re- 
 quest for council ; but as to meet the request \vould be to 
 return the confidence, she was silent. She was thinking 
 too of the elegant little boot Mrs. Reverdy had displayed, 
 and contrasting it with her own coarse shoes. And how 
 very familiar these two were, that he should speak to her 
 by her first name so !
 
 9O DIANA. 
 
 ' Miss Starling ? ' cried the other lady behind her, 
 ' do you know we have been following your lead all the 
 way we were coming this morning? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Knowlton said so/ Diana replied, half turning. 
 
 ' Aren't you very much flattered ? ' 
 
 This time Diana turned quite, and faced the two. 
 
 ' My mother was driving, Mrs. Reverdy.' 
 
 ' Ah ? ' said the other with a very amused laugh. ' But 
 you could have done it just as well, I suppose.' 
 
 What does she mean ? thought Diana. 
 
 ' Can you do anything ? ' inquired the gay lady on her 
 arm. ' I am a useless creature ; I can only fire a pistol, 
 and leap a fence on horseback, and dance a polka. What 
 can you do ? I dare say you are worth a great deal more 
 than me. Can you make butter and bread and pudding 
 and pies and sweetmeats and pickles, and all that sort ot 
 thing ? I dare say you can.' 
 
 ' I can do that.' 
 
 ' And all I am good for is to eat them ! I can do that. 
 Do you make cheeses too ? ' 
 
 ' I can. My mother generally makes the cheese.' 
 
 ' O but I mean you. What do people do on a farm ? 
 women I mean. I know what the men do. You know all 
 about it. Do you have, to milk the cows and feed every- 
 thing ? chickens and pigs, you know, and all that? ' 
 
 ' The men milk,' said Diana. 
 
 ' And you have to do those other things ? Isn't it 
 horrid ? ' 
 
 ' It is not horrid to feed the chickens. I never had 
 anything to do with the pigs.' 
 
 ' O but Evan says you know how to harness horses.' 
 
 Does he ? thought Diana. 
 
 ' And you can cut wood ? '
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. QI 
 
 ' Cut wood ! ' Diana repeated. ' Did anybody say I 
 could do that ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know Yes, I think so. I forget. But you 
 can, can't you ? ' 
 
 ' I never tried, Miss Masters.' 
 
 ' Do you know my cousin, Mr. Masters ? the minister, 
 you know ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I know him a little.' 
 
 ' Do you like him ? ' 
 
 ' I like him, yes, I don't know anything against him,' 
 said Diana in great bewilderment. 
 
 ' O but I do. Don't you know he says it is wicked to 
 do a great many things that we do ? he thinks everybody 
 is wicked who don't do just as he does. Now I don t 
 think everybody is bound to be a minister. He thinks it 
 is wicked to dance ; and I don't care to live if I can't 
 dance.' 
 
 ' That is being very fond of it,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Do you dance, here in the country ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes ; not very often.' 
 
 ' Isn't it very dull here in the winter ? when you can't 
 go after blackberries ? ' 
 
 Diana smiled. ' I never found it dull,' she said. 
 Nevertheless, the contrast smote her more and more, be- 
 tween what Mr. Knowlton was accustomed to in his world, 
 and the very plain humdrum, uneventful, unadorned life 
 she led in hers. And this elegant creature, whose very 
 dress was a sort of revelation to Diana in its perfection 
 of beauty, seemed to the poor country girl to put at an 
 immense distance from Mr. Knowlton those who could 
 not be charming and refined and exquisite in the like 
 manner. Her gloves, one hand rested on Diana's arm, 
 and pulled a little too ; what gloves they were, for colour
 
 92 DIANA. 
 
 and fit and make ! Her foot was a study. Her hat 
 might have been a fairy queen's hat. And the face under 
 it, pretty and gay and wilful and sweet, how could any man 
 help being fascinated by it ? Diana made up her mind 
 that it was impossible. 
 
 The rambling path through the woods brought the party 
 out at last upon a wild barren hillside, where stones and a 
 rank growth of blackberry bushes were all that was to be 
 seen. Only far off might be had the glimpse of other hills 
 and of patches of cultivation on them ; the near landscape 
 was all barrenness and blackberries. 
 
 ' But where are the rest of the people ? ' said Mrs. 
 Reverdy with her faint laugh. ' Are we alone ? I don't see 
 anybody.' 
 
 'They are gone on they are picking,' Diana explained. 
 
 ' Hid in this scrubby forest of bushes,' said her brother. 
 
 ' Have we got to go into that forest too ? ' 
 
 ' If you want to pick berries.' 
 
 'I think we'll sit here and let the rest do the picking,' 
 said Mrs. Reverdy, looking with charming merriment at 
 Gertrude. But Gertrude was not so minded. 
 
 'No, I'm going after berries,' she said. ' Only, I don't 
 see where they are. I see bushes, and that is all.' 
 
 ' Just here they have been picked,' said Diana. ' Further 
 on there are plenty.' 
 
 ' Well, you lead and we'll follow,' said Mr. Knowlton. 
 'You lead, Miss Starling, and we will keep close to you.' 
 
 Diana plunged into the blackberry bushes, and striking 
 off from the route she guessed the other pickers had taken, 
 sought a part of the wilderness lower clown on the hill. 
 There was no lack of blackberries very soon. Every bush 
 hung black with them ; great, fat, juicy beauties, just ready 
 to fall with ripeness. Blackberry stains spotted the whole
 
 BELLES AND BLACKBERRIES. 93 
 
 party after they had gone a few yards, merely by the una- 
 voidable crushing up against the bushes. Diana went to 
 work upon this rich harvest, and occupied herself entirely 
 with it ; bu-t berry picking never was so dreary to her. The 
 very sound of the berries falling into her tin pail smote her 
 with a sense of pain ; she thought of the day's work before 
 her with revulsion. However, it was before her, and her 
 ringers flew among the bushes, from berry to berry, gather- 
 ing them with a deft skilfulness her companions could not 
 emulate. Diana knew how they were getting on, without 
 using her eyes to find out ; for all their experience was pro- 
 claimed aloud. How the ground was rough and the 
 bushes thorny, how the berries blacked their lips and the 
 prickles lacerated their fingers, and the stains of blackberry 
 juice were spoiling gloves and dresses and all they had on. 
 
 ' I never imagined,' said Mrs. Reverdy with a gay laugh, 
 'that picking blackberries was such a serious business. Oh 
 dear ! and it's only just eleven o'clock now. And I am so 
 hungry ! ' 
 
 ' Eat blackberries,' said Gertrude, who was doing it 
 diligently. 
 
 ' But I want to carry some home.' 
 
 ' You can buy 'em. We came for fun,' was the cool 
 answer. 
 
 ' Fun ? ' said Mrs. Reverdy with another echoing, softly 
 echoing, laugh ; ' it's the fun of being torn and stained and 
 scratched, and having one's hat pulled off one's hair, 
 and the hair off one's head.' 
 
 Diana heard it all, they were not far from her ; and 
 she heard too Mr. Knowlton's little remarks, half gallant, 
 half mocking, but very familiar she thought. No doubt; to 
 his sister ; but how to Miss Masters too ? Yet they were ; 
 and also, she noticed, he kept in close attendance upon
 
 94 DIANA. 
 
 the latter young lady ; picking into her basket, getting her 
 out -of her numerous entanglements with the blackberry 
 branches, flattering and laughing at her ; Gertrude was 
 having what she would call a ' good time ; ' why not ? ' And 
 why should I ? ' thought Diana to herself as she filled her 
 pail. ' It is not in my line. What a goose I was, to fan- 
 cy that this young man could take pleasure in being with 
 me. He did; but then, he was just amusing himself ; it 
 was not I ; it was the country and the fishing, and so on. 
 What a goose I have been ! ' 
 
 As fast as the blackberries dropped into the pail, so 
 fell these reflections into Diana's heart ; and when the one 
 was full so was the other. And as she set down her pail 
 and began upon a fresh empty one, so she did with her 
 thoughts ; they began all over again too. 
 
 ' Miss Starling, it is twelve o'clock,' cried Mrs. Rever- 
 cly ; ' where are all the rest of the people ? Do you work 
 all day without dinner ? I expected to see a great picnic 
 out under the trees here.' 
 
 ' This is not the picnic place,' said Diana. ' We will go 
 to it.' 
 
 She went back first to the wagons ; put her berries in 
 safe keeping and got out some of the lunch supplies. Mr. 
 Knowlton loaded himself with a basket out of his wagon ; 
 and the procession formed again in Indian file, everybody 
 carrying something, and the two ladies grumbling and 
 laughing in concert. Diana headed the line, feeling very 
 much alone, and wishing sadly it were all over and she at 
 home. How was she to play her part in the preparations 
 at hand, where she had always been so welcome and so 
 efficient ? All spring and life seemed to be taken out of 
 her, for everything but the dull mechanical picking of ber- 
 ries. However, strength comes with necessity, she found.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 
 
 THERE was quite a collection of people on Bear Hill to- 
 day, as could be seen when they were all gathered together. 
 The lunching place was high on the mountain, where there 
 was a good outlook over the surrounding country ; and 
 here in the edge of the woods the blackberry pickers were 
 scattered about, lying and sitting on the ground in groups 
 and pairs, chatting and watching the preparations going on 
 before their eyes. Pretty and wild the preparations were. 
 Under a big tree just at the border of the clearing a fire 
 was kindled ; a stout spike driven into the trunk of the tree 
 held a tea-kettle just over the blaze. Wreaths of blue 
 and grey smoke curling up above the tea-kettle made their 
 way through the tree branches into the upper air, taking 
 hues and colours and irradiations from the sunlight in their 
 way. The forest behind, the wilderness of blackberry 
 bushes in front the wide view over the hills and vales 
 without one spot of cultivation anywhere, or a trace of 
 man's habitation ; the scene was wild enough. The soft curl- 
 ing smoke, grey and embrowned, gave a curious touch of 
 homeliness to it. From two fires it went, curling up as 
 comfortably as if it had been there always. The second 
 fire was lit for the purpose of boiling green corn, which 
 two or three people were busy getting ready, stripping the 
 green husks off. Other hands were unloading baskets
 
 96 DIANA. 
 
 and distributing bread and butter and cups and unpacking 
 ham and chickens. Meanwhile, till the fires should have 
 done their work, most of the party were comfortably await- 
 ing the moment of enjoyment and taking some other mo- 
 ments, as it seemed, by the way. Mrs. Carpenter in one 
 place was surrounded by her large family of children ; all 
 come to pick blackberries, all heated with work and fun and 
 eager for the dinner. Miss Barry, quite tired out, was fan- 
 ning herself with her sunbonnet and having a nice bit of 
 chat with Miss Babbage, the schoolmaster's sister. Mrs. 
 Mansfield and farmer Carpenter were happily discussing 
 systems of agriculture. Mrs. Bodington was making a cir- 
 cle merry with her sharp speeches. Younger folks here 
 and there were carrying on their own particular lines of 
 skirmishing operations ; but there were not many of these ; 
 the company had come for business quite as much as for 
 play. Indeed Miss Gunn's array of baskets and tin pails 
 suggested that she was doing business on her brother's ac- 
 count as much as on her own ; and that preserves and 
 blackberry wine would be for sale by and by on the shelves 
 of the store at the " Corner." 
 
 The little party that came up with Diana melted away 
 as it met the rest. Mrs. Reverdy glided into the group 
 gathered about Mrs. Bodington, and slid as easily into the 
 desultory gossip that was going on. Diana had instantly 
 joined herself to the little band of workers at the camp 
 fire. Only one or two had cared to take the trouble and 
 responsibility of the feast ; it was just what Diana craved. 
 As if cooking had been the great business of life, she 
 went into it ; making coffee, watching the corn, boiling the 
 potatoes ; looking at nothing else and trying to see nobody, 
 and as far as possible contriving that nobody should see 
 her. She hid behind the column of smoke, or sheltered
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 97 
 
 herself at the further side of the great trunk of a tree ; 
 from the fire, she said to herself. But her face took on a 
 preternatural gravity at those times, whenever she knew 
 it was safe. She thought she did not look at anybody ; 
 yet she knew that Miss Masters had joined none of the 
 groups under the trees, and seemed instead to prefer a 
 solitary post in front of them all, where her pretty figure 
 and dainty appointments were displayed in full view. Was 
 she looking at the landscape ? Diana did not in the least 
 believe it. But she tried to work without thinking ; that 
 vainest of all cheateries, where the conclusions of thought, 
 independent of the processes, force themselves upon the 
 mind and lay their full weight upon it. Only one does 
 not stop anywhere to think about them, and the weight is 
 distributed. It is like driving fast over thin ice ; stay a 
 minute in any one place and you would break through. 
 But that consciousness makes unpleasant driving. 
 
 The corn gave forth its sweet smell, and Diana dished 
 it up. What was the use of taking so much trouble, she 
 thought ; as ear after ear, white and fair, came out of the 
 pot. Yet Diana had enjoyed the notion of making this 
 variety in the lunch. The coffee steamed forth its fra- 
 grance upon the air ; and Diana poured it into prepared 
 cups of cream and sugar which others brought and carried 
 away ; she was glad to stand by the fire if only she might. 
 How the people drank coffee ! Before the cups were once 
 filled the first time they began to come back for the 
 second ; and the second, Diana knew, would not satisfy 
 some of the farmers and farmers' wives there. So pot 
 after pot of the rich beverage had to be made. It wearied 
 her ; but she would rather do that than anything else. And 
 she had expected this picnic to be such a pleasant time 1 
 And it had turned out such a failure. Standing by her 
 7
 
 Qo DIANA. 
 
 camp fire, where the ascending column of grey smoke 
 veiled her from observation, Diana could look off and see 
 the wide landscape of hill and valley spead out below and 
 around. Not a house, not another wreath of smoke ; not 
 a cornfield ; hollows of beauty with nothing but their 
 own green growth and the sunshine in them ; hilltops fair 
 and lovely, but without a fence that told of human owner- 
 ship or a road that spoke of human sympathy. Was life 
 like that, Diana wondered ? Yet surely that landscape 
 had never looked dreary to her before. 
 
 ' Mrs. Starling will have another cup of, coffee, Miss 
 Diana.' 
 
 Diana started. What should bring Mr. Knowlton to 
 wait upon her mother's cups of coffee ? She sugared and 
 creamed and poured out in silence. 
 
 ' May I come presently and have some ? ' 
 
 ' Haven't you had any ? ' 
 
 'Just enough to make me want more. I never saw 
 such good coffee in my life.' 
 
 ' You are accustomed to West Point fare.' 
 
 ' It's not that, though. I know a good thing when I see 
 it.' 
 
 'When you taste it, I suppose,' said Diana; preparing 
 his cup however, she knew, with extra care. 
 
 ' I assure you,' said Mr. Knowlton expressively, as he 
 stirred it, ' I have appreciation for better things than cof- 
 fee. I always want the best, in every kind ; and I know the 
 thing when I see it.' 
 
 ' I make no doubt you can have it,' said Diana coolly, 
 turning away. 
 
 ' Hullo, Diany ! ' said Mr. Carpenter on the other side, 
 you're coming it strong to-day. Got no one to help ye ? 
 Sha'n't I fetch 'Lizy ? she's big enough to do som'thin.
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 99 
 
 I vow I want another cup. You see, it's hard work, is 
 picking blackberries. I ain't master here ; and my wife, 
 she keeps me hard at it. Can't dewolve the duty on no 
 one, neither ; she sees if I ain't got my pail filled by the 
 time she's got her'n, and I tell you ! I catch it. It makes 
 'me sweat, this kind of work ; and that makes me kind o 
 dry. I'll be obleeged to you for another cup. You needn't 
 to put no milk into it ! ' 
 
 ' It's strong, Mr. Carpenter.' 
 
 ' Want it. I tell you ! working under orders this way 
 makes a man feel kind o' feeble ? ' 
 
 ' How do you think we women get along, Mr. Carpen- 
 ter ? ' said Mrs Bodington, coming up with her cup. 
 
 ' How Mis' Bodington ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I'm asking that. A little more, Diana ; it's first 
 rate, and so's the corn. It takes you and your mother ! 
 How do you think we women feel, under orders all the 
 time ? ' 
 
 ' Under orders ! ' said Mr. Carpenter. 
 
 ' Yes, all the time. How d'you think we feel about it ? ' 
 
 ' Must be uncommon powers of reaction,' said the far- 
 mer. ' My wife ain't anywheres near killed yet.' 
 
 ' Think any one'll ever get that piece of mantua-mak- 
 ing under orders ? ' said Mrs. Bodington, looking towards 
 the place where the frills and rufflings of Miss Masters' 
 drapery stirred in the breeze, with the long light tresses 
 of her unbound hair. The breeze was partly of her 
 own making, as she stirred and turned and tossed her head 
 in talking with Mr. Knowlton ; the only one of the company 
 whom she would talk with, indeed. The farmer took a good 
 look at her. 
 
 'Wall,' said he, '/should say it was best to do with 
 that kind of article what you would do with the steam from
 
 IOO DIANA. 
 
 your tea kettle ; let it go. 'Tain't no use to try to utilize 
 everything, Mis' Bodington.' 
 
 * Evan Knowlton acts as if he thought differently.' 
 
 ' Looks is enough, with some folks,' said the farmer ; 
 ' and she's a pretty enough creatur', take the outside of her. 
 Had ought to be ; for I guess that sort o' riggin' costs some- 
 thin' don't it, Mis' Bodington ? ' 
 
 ' Cost ? ' said the lady. ' Evan Knowlton is a fool if he 
 lets himself be caught by such butterfly's wings. But men 
 are fools when women are pretty ; there's no use reasoning 
 against nature.' 
 
 'Wall, Diany,' exclaimed Joe Bartlett, now drawing 
 near with his coffee cup ' how comes you have all the 
 work and other folks all the fun ? ' 
 
 ' Want some coffee, Joe ? ' 
 
 'Fact, I do ; that is, supposin' you have got any.' 
 
 ' Plenty, Joe. That's what I am here for. Hold your 
 cup. Who are you picking for to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Wall, I ain't here for fun,' said Joe ; ' there's no mis- 
 take about that. I b'lieve in fun too ; I do sartain ; but I 
 don't b'lieve in scratchin' it into you with blackberry bram- 
 bles, nor no other. Thank'e, Diany ; maybe this'll help me 
 get along with the afternoon.' 
 
 ' I never thought you would mind blackberry thorns, 
 Joe.' 
 
 ' No more I don't, come in the way o' business,' said 
 Joe, sipping his coffee. ' Guess I kin stand a few knocks, 
 let alone scratches, when I calculate to have 'em. But I 
 don' know ! my notion of pleasure's sun'thin' soft and easy 
 like ; ain't your'n ? I expect to take scratches bless you ! 
 but I don't call 'em fun. That's all I object to.' 
 
 ' Then how come you here, Joe ? ' 
 
 'Wall, 'said Joe slowly, 'I've got an old mother hum.
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. IOI 
 
 ' And she wanted some berries.' 
 
 1 She wanted a lot. What the women does with 'em all, 
 beats me. Anyhow, the old lady'll have enough this time 
 for all her wants.' 
 
 ' How is she, Joe, to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Days don't make no difference to my mother, Diany. 
 You know that, don't ye ? There don't nothin' come wrong 
 to her. I vow, I b'lieve she kind o' likes it, when things 
 is contrairy. I never see her riled by no sorto' thing; and 
 it's not uncommon for me to be as full's I kin hold ; but 
 she's just like a May mornin', whatever the weather is. 
 There ain't no scarin' her, either ; she'd jest as lieves die 
 as live, I b'lieve, any day.' 
 
 ' I dare say she would,' said Diana, feeling at the mo- 
 ment that it was not so very wonderful. Life in this world 
 might be so dull as to be not worth livjng for. 
 
 ' It's a puzzle to me,' Joe went on, 'which is right, her 
 or the rest on us. Ef she is, we ain't. And her and the rest 
 o' the world ain't agreed on nothin'. But it is hard to say 
 she ain't right, for she's the happiest woman that ever I see.' 
 
 Diana assented absently. 
 
 ' Wall,' said Joe, ' I'm a little happier for that 'ere cup 
 o' coffee. I'll go at it agin now. Who's that 'ere little 
 bundle o' muslin ruffles, Diany ? she's a kind o' pretty 
 creatur' too. She hain't sot down this hull noonspell. Who 
 is it ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Masters.' 
 
 ' She ain't none o' the family o' our parson ? ' 
 
 ' A cousin, I believe.' 
 
 ' Cousin, eh,' said Joe. ' She hain't set down once. I 
 guess she's afeard o' gettin' the starch out somewhere. The 
 captain's sweet on her, ain't he ? I see he tuk a deal o' care 
 o' her eatin'.'
 
 IO2 DIANA. 
 
 ' Mr. Knowlton is not a captain yet, Joe ; he is only a 
 lieutenant.' 
 
 ' Want to know,' said Joe. ' Wall, I kin tell ye, she likes 
 him.' 
 
 And Joe strolled off, evidently bent on doing his best 
 with the blackberry bushes. So must Diana ; at least she 
 must seem to do it. There was a lull with the coffee cups ; 
 lunch was getting done ; here and there parties were hand- 
 ling their baskets and throwing their sunbonnets on. The 
 column of smoke had thinned now to a filmy veil of grey 
 vapour, slowly ascending, through which Diana could look 
 over to the round hill-tops, with their green leaves glitter- 
 ing in the sun ; and further still, to the blue, clear vault of 
 ether, where there was neither shine nor shadow, but the 
 changeless rest of heaven. Earth with its wildness of un- 
 trodden ways, its glitter and flutter ; heaven, how did that 
 seem ? Far off and inscrutable, though with an infinite 
 depth of repose, an infinite power of purity. The human 
 heart shrank before both. 
 
 ' And I had thought to-day would be a day of pleasure,' 
 Diana said to herself. ' If I could get into the wagon and 
 go home alone and get the fire started and the after- 
 noon work done ready for supper before mother comes ! 
 They will not need me to pilot them home at any rate.' 
 
 But things have to be faced, not run away from, in life ; 
 and trials take their time and cannot be lopped into easier 
 length. Diana did what she could. She caught up her 
 basket very quietly, carrying it and her sunbonnet in one 
 hand, and slipped away down the hill under cover of the 
 trees till she was out of sight of everybody ; then plunged 
 into the forest of high bushes and lost herself. She began 
 to pick vigorously ; if she was found, anybody should see 
 what she was there for. It was a thicket of thorns and
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 1 03 
 
 fruit; the berries, large, purple, dewy with bloom, hung in 
 quantities, almost in masses, around her. It was only 
 needful sometimes to hold her basket underneath and 
 give a touch to the fruit ; and it dropped, fast and thick, 
 into her hands. But she felt as if the cool soft berries 
 hurt her fingers. She wondered wbereaboutsfcwas pretty 
 Miss Masters now, making believe pick, and with finge-rs 
 at hand to supplement her, and looks and words to make 
 labour sweet, even if it were labour. ' But she will never 
 do any work,' said Diana to herself ; ' and he will be 
 quite willing that she should not.' A.nd then she noticed 
 her own fingers ; a little coarsened with honest usefulness 
 they were, a little ; and a little embrowned with careless 
 exposure. Not white and pearly and delicate like those of 
 that other hand. And Diana Remembered that Mr. Knowl- 
 ton's own were delicate and white; and she could under- 
 stand, she thought, tha-t a man would like in a woman he 
 loved, all daintinesses and delicacies, even although they 
 pertained to the ornamental rather than to the useful. It 
 was the first time Diana had ever wished for white hands ; 
 she did wish for them now, or rather regret the want of 
 them, with a sharp, sore point of regret. Even though it 
 would have made no difference. 
 
 Picking and thinking and fancying herself safe, Diana 
 made a plunge to get through an uncommonly tangled 
 thicket of interlacing branches, and found herself no longer 
 alone. Miss Gunn was three feet off, squatting, on the 
 ground to pick the more restfully; and on the other 
 side of her was Diana's cousin, Nick Bodington. 
 
 ' Hullo, Di ! ' was his salutation, ' where have you left 
 my wife and the rest of the folks ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Nick; I haven't left them at all.' 
 
 ' What did you come here for, then ? '
 
 IO4 DIANA. 
 
 ' What did you ? ' 
 
 ' I declare ! I came to have the better chance, me and 
 Miss Gunn. I thought where nobody was I'd have it all to 
 myself. I'll engage you are disappointed to find us now, 
 ain't you ? ' 
 
 ' The field is big enough, cousin Nick.' 
 
 ' Don't know about that. What is become of your fine 
 people ? ' 
 
 'I haven't any fine people.' 
 
 ' What's become o' them you had, then ? You brought 
 'em here ; have you deserted 'em ? ' 
 
 ' I came to do work, Nick ; and I'm doing it' 
 
 ' What did they come for ? have you any guess ? Tain't 
 likely they come to pick blackberries.' 
 
 ' I told Mis' Reverdy,' said Miss Gunn smotheredly 
 from the depths of a blackberry bush and her sunbonnet 
 'that we'd have plenty for ourselves and Elmfield too to- 
 morrow. I will, I guess.' 
 
 'They'll want 'em, Miss Gunn,' said Mr. Bodington. 
 ' They'll not carry home a pint, you may depend. Di, did 
 they come after you, or you come after them, this morn- 
 ing? ' 
 
 Diana answered something, she hardly knew what, and 
 made a plunge through the bushes in another direction. 
 Anything to get out of this neighbourhood. She went on 
 eagerly, through thicket after thicket, till she supposed she 
 was safe. And as she stopped, Mr. Knowlton came round 
 from the other side of the bush. The thrill of pain and 
 pleasure that went through the girl gave no outward sign. 
 
 'Met again,' said the gentleman. 'What has become 
 of you ? I have lost sight of you since dinner.' 
 
 ' One can't see far through these bushes,' said Diana. 
 
 ' No. What a thicket it is ! But at the same time, peo-
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. 1 05 
 
 pie can hear ; and you never know who may be a few feet 
 off. Does anybody ever come here, I wonder, when we 
 are gone ? or is this wild fruitful hill bearing its harvest 
 for us alone ? ' 
 
 ' Other parties come, I dare say,' said Diana. 
 
 She was picking diligently, and Mr. Knowlton set him- 
 self to help her. The berries were very big and ripe 
 here ; for a few minutes the two hands were silently busy 
 gathering and dropping them into Diana's pail ; then Mr. 
 Knowlton took the burden of that into his own hand. 
 Diana was not very willing, but he would have it. 
 
 ' One would think blackberries were an important con- 
 cern of life,' he said presently, ' by the way you work..' 
 
 ' I am sure, you are working too,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Ah, but I supposed you knew what it is all for. Now I 
 have not the faintest idea. I know what /am after, of 
 course ; but what you are after, is a puzzle to me.' 
 
 ' Things are very often a puzzle to me,' said Diana 
 vaguely ; and having for some reason or other a good deal 
 of difficulty in commanding herself. 
 
 ' Aren't you tired ? ' 
 
 ' No. I don't know,' said Diana. ' It does not 
 signify.' 
 
 ' I don't believe you care, any more than a soldier, what 
 you find in your way. Do you know, you said something, 
 up yonder at the camp fire, which has been running in my 
 head ever since ? I wish you would explain it.' 
 
 ' I ? ' said Diana. ' I said something ? What ? ' 
 
 ' I told you what I wanted, and you said you had no 
 doubt I could get it.' 
 
 ' I have no recollection of one thing or the other, Mr. 
 Knowlton. I think you must have been speaking to some- 
 body else at the time not me. If you please, I will try
 
 IO6 DIANA. 
 
 the bushes that way; I think somebody has been in this 
 place.' 
 
 'Don't you remember my telling you I always want the 
 best of everything?' he said as he followed her ; and Di- 
 ana went too fast for him to hold the briary branches out 
 of her way. 
 
 ' There are so many other people who are of that mind, 
 Mr. Knowlton ! ' 
 
 ' Not yourself ? ' 
 
 ' I want the best berries,' said Diana, stopping before a 
 cluster of bushes heavily laden. 
 
 ' How about other things ? ' 
 
 Diana felt a pang at her heart, an odd desire to make 
 some wild answer. But nothing could be cooler than what 
 she said. 
 
 ' I take them as I find them, Mr. Knowlton.' 
 
 He was helping her now again. 
 
 'What did you suppose I was thinking of, when I told 
 you I wanted the best I could have ? ' 
 
 ' I had no right to suppose anything. No doubt it is 
 true of all sorts of things.' 
 
 ' But I was thinking of one did you guess what ? ' 
 
 Diana hesitated. ' I don't know, Mr. Knowlton, I 
 might guess wrong.' 
 
 ' Then what made you say, " no doubt " I could have 
 it?' 
 
 'I don't know, Mr. Knowlton,' said Diana, feeling irri- 
 tated and worried almost past her power to bear. ' Don't 
 you always have what you want ? ' 
 
 ' Do you think I can ? ' he said eagerly. 
 
 ' I fancy you do.' 
 
 ' What did you think I meant by the " best " thing, then ? 
 Tell me do tell me ? '
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. IQ/ 
 
 ' I thought you meant Miss Gertrude Masters.' Diana 
 said, fairly brought to bay. 
 
 ' ' You did ! And what did you think I thought of Miss 
 Diana Starling ? ' 
 
 He had stopped picking blackberries now and was put- 
 ting his questions short and keenly. Diana's power of 
 answering had come to an end. 
 
 ' Hey ? ' said he, drawing her hand from the bush and 
 stopping her work ; ' what did you think I thought of her ? 
 I have walked with her, and driven with her, and talked 
 with her, in the house and out of the house, now all 
 summer long; I have seen what she is like at home and 
 abroad ; what do you think I think of her ? ' 
 
 Baskets and berries had, figuratively, fallen to the 
 ground ; literally too, in Mr. Knowlton's case, for certainly 
 both his hands were free, and had been employed while 
 these words were spoken in gently and slowly gathering 
 Diana into close bondage. There she stood now, hardly 
 daring to look up ; yet the tone of his questions had found 
 its way to her inmost heart. She could not refuse one 
 look, which they asked for. It gave her what she never 
 forgot to her latest day. 
 
 ' Does she know now ? ' he went on in a tone of mixed 
 tenderness and triumph, like the expression of his face. 
 'My lily ! my Camellia flower! my sweet Magnolia ! 
 whatever there is most rare, and good, and perfect. My 
 best of all things. Can I have the best, Di ? ' 
 
 Miss Gertrude Masters would have been equal to the 
 situation, and doubtless would have met it .with great 
 equanimity ; Diana was unused to most of the world's ways 
 and very new to this. She stood in quiet dignity indeed ; 
 but the stains of crimson on cheek and brow flushed and 
 paled, like the lights of a sunset. All at the bottom of
 
 IO8 DIANA. 
 
 her deep sunbonnet; was Mr. Knowlton to blame if he 
 gently pushed it back and insinuated it off, till he had a 
 full view ? 
 
 ' You know what is my " best " now,' he said. ' Can I 
 have it, Diana ? ' 
 
 She tried to break away from him. and on her lip there 
 broke that beautiful smile of hers ; withal a little tremu- 
 lous just then. It is rare on a grown woman's lip, a smile 
 so very guileless and free ; mostly it belongs to children. 
 Yet not this smile, either. 
 
 ' I should think you must know by this time ' she 
 whispered. 
 
 I suppose he did ; for he put no more questions for a 
 minute or two. 
 
 " There's one more thing,' he said. ' Now you know 
 what I think of you ; what do you think of me, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' I think you are very imprudent,' she said, freeing 
 herself resolutely and picking up her sunbonnet. ' Any- 
 body might come, Mr. Knowlton.' 
 
 ' Anybody might ! But if ever you call me " Mr. Knowl- 
 ton " again I'll do something extraordinary.' 
 
 Diana thought he would have a great many things to 
 teach her, beside that. She went at her fruit picking with 
 bewildered haste. She did not know what she was doing, 
 but mechanically her ringers flew and the berries fell. Mr. 
 Knowlton picked rather more intelligently; but between 
 them, I must say, they worked very well. Ah, the black- 
 berry field had become a wonderful place ; and while the 
 mellow purple fruit fell fast from the branches, it seemed 
 also as if years had reached their fruition and the perfected 
 harvest of life had come. Could riper or richer be, than had 
 fallen into Diana's hands now? than filled them now ? So 
 it was, she thought. And yet this was not life's harvest, only
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. IOQ 
 
 the bloom of the flower ; the fruit comes not to its maturity 
 with one sunny day, and it needs more than sunshine. But 
 let the fruit grow ; it will come in time, even if it ripens in 
 secret ; and meanwhile smell the flower. It was the frag- 
 rance of the grape blossom that filled the blackberry 
 field ; most sweet, most evanishing, most significant. 
 Oddly, many people do not know it. But it must be 
 that their life has never brought them within reach of its 
 charm. 
 
 Two people in the field never knew how the shadows 
 grew long that day. No, not even though their colloquy 
 was soon interrupted, and by Gertrude Masters herself. 
 She thenceforth claimed, and received, Mr. Knowlton's 
 whole services ; while Diana in her turn was assisted by 
 Will Flandin, a young farmer of Pleasant Valley, who gave 
 his hands and his arms to her help. It did not make much 
 difference to Diana ; it might have been an ogre and she 
 would not have cared ; so she hardly noticed that Will, 
 who had a glib enough tongue in ordinary, was now very 
 silent. Diana herself said nothing. She was listening to 
 hidden music. 
 
 ' There's a wonderful lot o' blackberries on Bear Hill,' 
 Will remarked at last. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Well, I guess we've cleaned 'em out pretty well for this 
 time,' pursued he. 
 
 ' Have we ? ' said Diana. 
 
 'Why all these folks ha' been pickin' all day ; I should 
 think they'd ha' made a hole in 'em.' 
 
 Silence fell again. 
 
 'How's the roads down your way?' began Mr. Flandin 
 again. 
 
 ' The roads ? pretty well, I believe.'
 
 I IO DIANA. 
 
 'They're awful, up this way, to Bear Hill. I say, Miss 
 Starling, how do you s'pose those people lives, in that vil- 
 lage ? ' 
 
 ' How do they ? I don't know.' 
 
 ' Beats me ! they don't raise nothin', and they don't 
 kill nothin', 'thout it's other folks's ; and what they live on 
 I would jest like to know. Mother, she thinks a minister 
 had ought to go and settle down among 'em ; but I tell her 
 I'd like to see what a sherifFd do, fust. They don't live 
 in no reg'lar good way, that's a fact.' 
 
 ' Poor people ! ' said Diana. ' They don't even know 
 enough to pick blackberries.' 
 
 ' They hadn't no need to be so poor, ef they would 
 work,' said the young man. ' But I s'pose you've got a 
 kind word for every one, ha'n't you, Miss Starling ? ' 
 
 ' Diany,' said the voice of Joe Bartlett, who was push- 
 ing his way towards her through the bushes, ' Diany ! 
 Here you be ! Here's your mother lookin' for ye. Got all 
 you want ? It's gettin' time to make tracks for hum. The 
 sun's consid'able low.' 
 
 ' I'm ready, Joe.' 
 
 ' Give me one o' them pails, then, and we'll try ef we 
 kin git through these pesky bushes. I vow ! I wouldn't 
 like to take Bear Hill for a farm, not on a long lease.' 
 
 They pushed and fought their way in the thicket for a 
 long distance, till, as Joe remarked, they had surveyed the 
 hill pretty well ; Diana conscious all the time that Mr. 
 Knowlton and Gertrude were following in their wake. That 
 was near enough. She liked it so. She liked it even that 
 in the crowd and the bustle of packing and hitching horses 
 and getting seated, there was no chance for more than a 
 far-off nod and wave of the hand from the Elmfield parly. 
 They drove off first this time. And Diana followed at a
 
 THE NEW RICHES OF THE OLD WORLD. Ill 
 
 little distance, driving Prince ; Mrs. Statling declaring her- 
 self " tuckered out." 
 
 There was no sense of weariness on Diana. Never less 
 in her life. She was glad the drive was so long; not be- 
 cause she was weary and wanted to rest, but because every 
 nerve and sense seemed strung to a fine tension, so that 
 everything that touched them sent waves of melody over 
 her being. Truly the light was sweet that evening, for any 
 eyes ; to Diana's vision the sunbeams were solid gold, 
 though refined out of all sordidness, and earth was heaped 
 up and brimming over with riches. The leaves of the trees 
 on the hillsides sparkled in the new wealth of nature ; the 
 air scintillated with it ; the water was full of it. Prince's 
 hoofs trod in measure, and the wheels of the wagon moved 
 rhythmically, and the evening breeze might have been the 
 very spirit of harmony. The way was long, and before 
 home was reached the light had faded and the sparkling 
 was gone ; but even that was welcome to Diana. She 
 was glad to have a veil fall, for a while, over the bright- 
 ness, and hide even from herself the new world into which 
 she had entered. She knew it was there, under the veil ; 
 the knowledge was enough for the present.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 MRS. STARLING'S OPINIONS. 
 
 It was well dusk when Prince stopped under the elm 
 tree. The sun had gone down behind the low distant hills, 
 leaving a white glory in all that region of the heavens ; and 
 shadows were settling upon the valleys. All household 
 wants and proprieties were disarranged ; the thing to do 
 was to bring up arrears as speedily as possible. To this 
 Mrs. Starling and her daughter addressed themselves. The 
 blackberries were put carefully away ; the table set ; sup- 
 per cooked, for the men must have a warm supper ; and 
 after supper and clearing up there came a lull. 
 
 ' If it warn't so late,' said Mrs. Starling, 'but it is too 
 late, I'd go at those berries.' 
 
 ' Mother ! Not to-night.' 
 
 ' Well, no ; it's 'most too late, as I said ; and I am tired. 
 I want to know if this is what folks call work or play? 
 'cause if it's play, I'd rather work, for my part. I believe* 
 I'd sooner stand at the wash-tub.' 
 
 'Than pick blackberries, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Well, yes,' said Mrs. Starling ; ' 'cause then I'd know 
 when my work was done. If the sun hadn't gone down, 
 we'd all be pickin' yet.' 
 
 ' I am sure, you could stop when you were tired, mother ; 
 couldn't you ? '
 
 MRS. STARLINGS OPINIONS. 113 
 
 ' I never am tired, child, while I see my work before 
 me ; don't you know that ? And it's a sin to let the ripe 
 fruit go unpicked. I wonder what it grows in such a place 
 for ! Who were you with all day ? ' 
 
 ' Different people.' 
 
 ' Did Will Flandin find you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' He was in a takin' to know where you were. So I just 
 gave him a bit of a notion.' 
 
 ' 1 don't see how you could know, mother ; I had been 
 going so roundabout among the bushes. I don't know 
 where I was, myself.' 
 
 'When ever you don't know that, Diana, stop and find out.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling was sitting before the stove in a resting 
 attitude, with her feet stretched out towards it. Diana 
 was busy with some odds and ends, but her mother's tone 
 or was it her own consciousness ? made her suddenly 
 stop and look towards her. Mrs. Starling did not see this, 
 Diana being behind her. 
 
 ' Did it ever strike you that Will was sweet on you ? ' 
 she went on. 
 
 ' Will Flandin, mother ? ' 
 
 An inarticulate note of assent. 
 
 Diana did not answer, and instead went on with what 
 she had been doing. 
 
 'Hey?' said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' I hope he'll get cured of it, mother, if he is.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know why,' said Diana, half laughing, ' except 
 that he had better be sweet on some one else.' 
 
 ' He's a nice fellow.' 
 
 ' Yes, I think he is ; as they go.' 
 
 ' And he'll be very well off, Diana.' 
 8
 
 114" DIANA. 
 
 ' He's no match for me, then, mother ; for I am well 
 off now.' 
 
 'No, you ain't, child,' said Mrs. Starling. 'We have 
 enough to live on, but that's all.' 
 
 ' What more does anybody want ? ' 
 
 ' You don't mean what you say, Diana ! ' cried her 
 mother turning upon her. ' Don't you want to have pretty 
 things, and a nice house, and furniture to suit you, and 
 maybe servants to do your work ? I wonder who's particu- 
 lar, if you ain't ! Wouldn't you like a nice carriage ? ' 
 
 ' I like all these things well enough, mother ; but they 
 are not the first thing.' 
 
 ' What is the first thing ? ' said Mrs. Starling shortly. 
 
 ' I should say, how I get them.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I thought you were going to say the man was 
 the first thing. That's the usual lingo.' 
 
 Diana was silent again. 
 
 ' Now you can have Will,' her mother went on ; ' and he 
 would be my very choice for you, Diana.' 
 
 Diana made no response. 
 
 ' He is smart ; and he is good-lookin' ; and he'll have a 
 beautiful farm and a good deal of money ready laid up to 
 begin with ; and he's the sort to make it more and not 
 make it less. And his mother is a first-rate woman. It's 
 one of the best families in all Pleasant Valley.' 
 
 ' I would rather not marry either of 'em,' said Diana, 
 with a little half laugh again. ' You know, mother, there 
 are a great many nice people in the world. I can't have 
 all of 'em.' 
 
 ' Who were you with all the forenoon ? ' Mrs. Starling 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 ' You went off and left me with the people from Elm-' 
 field. I was taking care of them.'
 
 MRS. STARLINGS OPINIONS. 1 15 
 
 ' I saw you come out of the field with them. What a 
 poppinjay that Masters girl is, to be sure ! and Mrs. 
 what's her name ? the other, is not much better. Soft as 
 oil, and as slippery. How on earth did they come to Bear 
 Hill?' 
 
 ' I suppose they thought it would be fun/ Diana said 
 with constrained voice. 
 
 ' Don't let anybody get sweet on you there, Diana Star- 
 ling ; not if you know what is good for you.' 
 
 ' Where, mother ? ' 
 
 ' There. At Elmfield. Among the Knowlton folks.' 
 
 ' What's the matter with them ? ' Diana asked ; but not 
 without a touch of amusement in her voice, which perhaps 
 turned the edge of her mother's suspicion. She went on 
 however energetically. 
 
 ' Poor and proud ! ' she said. ' Poor and proud. And 
 that's about the meanest kind of a mixture there is. I 
 don't mind if folks has something to go on why, airs come 
 nat'ral to human nature ; I can forgive 'em anyhow, for I'm 
 as proud as they be. But when they hairft anything and 
 when they pile up their pretensions so high they can't carry 
 'em steady for my part I'd rather keep out o' their way. 
 They're no pleasure to me ; and if they think they're an 
 honour, it's an opinion I don't share. Gertrude Masters 
 ain't no better than a balloon; full of gas ; she hain't 
 weight enough to keep her on her feet ; and Mrs. what's 
 her name ? Genevy she's as smooth as an eel. And 
 Evan is a monkey.' 
 
 ' Mother ! what makes you say so ? ' 
 
 ' Why don't he shave himself then, like other folks ? ' 
 
 ' Why mother, it is just the fashion in the army to wear 
 a moustache.' 
 
 ' What business has he to be in the army ? He ought
 
 1 1 6 DIANA. 
 
 to be here helping his grandfather. I have no sort 'o pa- 
 tience with him.' 
 
 ' Mother, you know they sent him to the Military Acade- 
 my ; of course he could not help being in the army. It is 
 no fault of his.' 
 
 ' He could quit it, I suppose, if he wanted to. But he 
 ain't that sort. He just likes to wear gold on his shoulders, 
 and a stripe down his leg, and fancy buttons, and go with 
 his coat flying all open to shew his white shirt. I think, 
 when folks have a^pair of such broad shoulders, they're 
 meant to do some work ; but he'll never do none. He'll 
 please himself, and hold himself up high over them that 
 does work. And he'll live to die poor. I. \von't have you 
 take after such a fellow, Diana ; mind I won't. I won't 
 have you settin' yourself up above your mother and despis- 
 in' the ways you was brought up to. And I want you to be 
 mistress o' Will Flandin's house and lands and money ; 
 and you can, if you're a mind to.' 
 
 Diana was a little uncertain between laughing and cry- 
 ing, and thought best not to trust her voice. So they went 
 up to their rooms and separated for the night. But all in- 
 clination to tears was shut out with the shutting of her 
 door. Was not the moonlight streaming full and broad 
 over all the fields, filling the whole world with quiet ra- 
 diance ? So came down the clear quiet illumination of her 
 happiness upon all Diana's soul. There was no disturb- 
 ance ; there was no shadow ; there was no wavering, of 
 that full flood of still ecstasy. All things not in harmony 
 with it were hidden by it. That's the way with moonlight. 
 
 And the daylight was sweeter. Early, Diana always 
 saw it; in those prime hours of day when strength and 
 freshness, and promise, and bright hope, are the speech and 
 the eye-glance of nature. How much help the people lose,
 
 MRS. STARLINGS OPINIONS. 1 1/ 
 
 who lose all that. When the sun's first look at the moun- 
 tains breaks into a smile ; when morning softly draws off 
 the veil from the work there is to do ; when the stir of the 
 breeze speaks courage or breathes kisses of sympathy ; 
 and the clear blue sky seems waiting for the rounded and 
 perfected day to finish its hours, now just beginning. Diana 
 often saw it so ; she did not often stop so long at her win- 
 dow to look and listen, as she did this morning. It was a 
 clear, calm, crisp morning, without a touch of frost, prom- 
 ising one of those mellow, golden, delicious days of Sep- 
 tember that are the very ripeness of the year ; just yet six 
 o'clock held only the promise of it. Like her life ! But 
 the daylight brought all the vigour of reality ; and last night 
 was moonshine. Diana sat at her window a few minutes 
 drinking it all in ; and then went to her dairy. 
 
 Alas ! one's head may be in rare ether, and one's feet 
 find bad walking spots at the same time. It wa-s Diana's 
 experience at breakfast. 
 
 ' How are those pigs getting along, Josiah ? ' Mrs. Star- 
 ling demanded. 
 
 ' Waell, I don' know,' was the somewhat unsatisfactory 
 response. ' Guess likely the little one's gettin' ahead late- 
 ly.' 
 
 1 He hadn't ought to ! ' said Mrs. Starling. ' What's 
 the reason the others ain't gettin' ahead as fast as him ? ' 
 
 ' He's a different critter that's all,' said Josiah stolid- 
 ly. ' He'll be the biggest.' 
 
 ' They're all fed alike ? ' 
 
 ' Fur's my part goes,' said Josiah ; ' but when it comes 
 to the eatin' tell you ! that little feller'll put away con 
 sid'able more'n his share. That's how he's growd so.' 
 
 ' They are not any of 'em the size they ought to be, 
 Josiah.'
 
 Il8 DIANA. 
 
 ' We ain't feedin' 'em corn yet.' 
 
 ' But they are not as big as they were last year this 
 time.' 
 
 ' Don't see how you'll help it,' said Josiah. ' I ain't 
 done nothin' to 'em.' 
 
 With which conclusion Mrs. Starling's ' help ' finished 
 his breakfast and went off. 
 
 ' There ain't the hay there had ought to be, in the mows, 
 neither,' Mrs. Starling went on to her daughter. ' I know 
 there ain't ; not by tons. And there's no sort o' a crop 
 o' rye. I wish to mercy, Diana, you'd do somethin'.' 
 
 ' Do what, mother ? ' Diana said gayly. ' You mean, 
 you wish Josiah would do something.' 
 
 ' I know what I mean,' said Mrs. Starling, ' and I com- 
 monly say it. That is, when I say anything. I dorft wish 
 anything about Josiah. I've given up wishin'. He's an 
 unaccountable boy. There's no dependin' on him. And 
 the thing is, he clon't care. All he thinks on is his own 
 victuals ; and so long's he has 'em, he don't care whether 
 the rest of the world turns round or no.' 
 
 ' I suppose it's the way with most people, mother ; to 
 care most for their own.' 
 
 ' But if I had hired myself to take care of other folks' 
 things, I'd do it,' said Mrs. Starling. That ain't my way. 
 Just see what I haven't done this morning already ! and 
 he's made out to eat his breakfast and fodder his cattle. 
 I've been out to the barn and had a good look at the hay 
 mow and calculated the grain in the bins ; and seen to the 
 pigs; and that was after I'd made my fire and ground my 
 coffee and set the potatoes on to boil and got the table 
 ready and the rooms swept out. Is that cream going to 
 get churned to-day, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' No, mother.'
 
 MRS. STARLINGS OPINIONS. 119 
 
 'It's old enough.' 
 
 ' It is not ready, though.' 
 
 ' It ought to be. I tell you what, Diana, you raust set 
 your cream pot in here o' nights ; the dairy's too cold.' 
 
 ' Warm enough yet, mother. Makes better butter.' 
 
 ' You don't get nigh so much, though. That last butter- 
 milk was all thick with floatin' bits of butter ; and that's 
 what I call wasteful.' 
 
 ' I call it good, though.' 
 
 ' There's where you make a mistake, Diana Starling ; 
 and if you ever want to be anything but a poor woman, 
 you've got to mend. It's, just those little holes in your 
 pocket that let out the money ; a penny at a time, to be 
 sure ; but by and by when you come to look for the dollars, 
 you won't find 'em ; and you'll not know where they're 
 gone. And you'll want 'em.' 
 
 ' Mother,' said Diana laughing, ' I can't feel afraid. 
 We have never wanted 'em yet.' 
 
 'You've been young, child. You will want 'em as you 
 grow older. Marry Will Flandin, and you'll have 'em ; 
 and you may churn your cream how you like. I tell you 
 what, Diana ; when your arm ain't as strong as it used to 
 be, and your back gets to aching, and you feel as if you'd 
 like to sit down and be quiet instead of delvin' anddelvin', 
 then you'll feel as if 't would be handy to put your hand in 
 your pocket and find cash somewhere. My ! I wish I had 
 all the money your father spent for books. Books just 
 makes some folks crazy. Do you know it's the afternoon 
 for Society meeting, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' I had forgotten it. I shall not go.' 
 
 ' One of us must,' said Mrs. Starling. ' I don't see how 
 in the world I can ; but I suppose I'll have to. You'll have 
 to make the bread then, Diana. Yesterday's put me all
 
 I2O DIANA. 
 
 out. And what are you going to do with all those black- 
 berries ? They're too ripe to keep.' 
 
 ' I'll do them up this afternoon, mother. I'll take care 
 of them.' 
 
 The morning went in this way, with little intermission. 
 Mrs. Starling was perhaps uneasy from an undefined fear 
 that something was going not right with Diana's affairs. 
 She could lay hold on no clue, but perhaps the secret fear 
 or doubt was the reason why she brought up as if by sheer 
 force of affinity, every small and great source of annoy- 
 ance that she knew of. All the morning Diana had to hear 
 and answer a string of suggestions and complainings like 
 the foregoing. She was not unaccustomed to this sort of 
 thing, perhaps ; and doubtless she had her own hidden anti- 
 dote to annoyance : yet it belonged still more to the large 
 sweet nature of the girl that though annoyed she was never 
 irritated. Wrinkles never lined themselves on the fair 
 smooth brow ; proper token of the depth and calm of the 
 character within.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN SUGAR. 
 
 DINNER was over, and talk ceased, for Mrs. Starling 
 went to dress herself for the sewing society and presently 
 drove off with Prince. Diana's motions then became as 
 swift as they were noiseless. Her kitchen was in a state 
 of perfected order and propriety. She went to dress her- 
 self then ; a modest dressing, for business, and kitchen 
 business too, must claim her all the afternoon ; but it is 
 possible to combine two effects in one's toilet ; and if you 
 had seen Diana that day, you would have comprehended 
 the proposition. A common print gown, clean and sum- 
 mery-looking, shewed her soft outlines at least as well as 
 a more modish affair would ; and the sleeves rolled up 
 to the elbows revealed Diana's beautiful arms. I am 
 bound to confess she had chosen a white apron in defiance 
 of possible fruit stains ; and the dark hair tucked away 
 behind her ears gave the whole fair cheek and temple to 
 view ; fair and delicate in contour, and coloured with the very 
 hues of a perfect physical condition. I think, no man bnt 
 would like to see his future wife present such a picture of 
 womanly beauty and housewifely efficiency, as Diana was 
 that day. And the best was, she did not know it. 
 
 She went about her work. Doubtless she had a sense 
 that interruptions might come that afternoon ; however, 
 that changed nothing. She had moulded her bread and 
 put it in the pans and got it out of the way ; and now the
 
 122 DIANA. 
 
 berries were brought out of the pantry, and the preserv- 
 ing kettle went on the fire, and Diana's fingers were soon 
 red with the ripe wine of the fruit. All the time she had 
 ' her ears open for the sound of a horse's hoofs upon the road ; 
 it had not come ; so that a quick step outside startled her, 
 and then the figure of Mr. Knowlton in the doorway, took 
 her by surprise. Certainly she been expecting him all the 
 afternoon ; but now, whether it were the surprise or some- 
 what else, Diana's face flushed to the most lovely rose. 
 Yet she went to meet him with simple frankness. 
 
 ' I've not a hand to give you ! ' she said. 
 
 ' Not a hand ! ' he echoed. ' What a mercy it is, that 
 I am independent of hands. Yesterday I should have 
 been in despair ; to-day ' 
 
 ' You must not abuse your privileges,' said Diana, try- 
 ing to free herself. ' And O, Mr. Knowlton, I have a great 
 deal of work to do.' 
 
 ' So have I,' said he holding her fast ; and indeed she 
 was too pretty a possession to be easily let go. ' Whole 
 loads of talking, and no end of arrangements. Di, I never 
 saw you with such a charming colour. My beauty ! Do 
 you know what a beauty you are ? ' 
 
 ' I am glad you think so ! ' she said. 
 
 ' Think so ? Wait till you are my wife, and I can dress 
 you to please myself. I think you will be a very princess 
 of loveliness.' 
 
 ' In the mean time, Mr. Knowlton, what do you think 
 of letting me finish my berries ? ' 
 
 'Berries?' he said laughing. 'Tell me first, Di, what 
 do you think of me ? ' 
 
 ' Inconvenient,' said Diana. ' And I think, presuming. 
 I must finish my berries, Mr. Knowlton.' 
 
 1 Evan,' he said.
 
 IN SUGAR. 123 
 
 Well ; but let me do my work.' 
 
 ' Do your work ? My darling ! How am I going to talk 
 to you, if you are going into your work ? However, in 
 consideration of yesterday you may.' 
 
 ' What made you come to this door ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 ' I knew you were here.' 
 
 ' You would have been much more likely to find mother, 
 most days.' 
 
 ' Ah, but I met Prince, as I came along, with Mrs. Star- 
 ling behind him ; and then I thought ' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' I remembered,' said Knowlton laughing, ' that the same 
 person cannot be in two places at once ! ' 
 
 The comfort of this fact being upon them, the two took 
 advantage of it. Mr. Knowlton drew his chair close 'to the 
 table over which Diana's fingers were so busy ; and a talk 
 began, which in the range and variety and arbitrary intro- 
 duction of its topics, it would be in vain to try to follow. 
 Through it all Diana's work went on, except now and then 
 when her fingers made an involuntary pause. The berries 
 were picked over, and weighed, and put over the fire, and 
 watched and tended there ; while the tall form of the young 
 officer stood beside Diana as she handled her skimmer, and 
 went back and forth as she went, helping her to carry her 
 jars of sweet-meat. 
 
 ' Have you told your mother ? ' Mr. Knowlton asked. 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' he asked quickly. 
 
 ' I did not think it was a good time, last night or this 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Does she not like me ? ' 
 
 ' I think she wants to put some one else in your place ; 
 Evan.'
 
 124 DIANA. 
 
 ' Who ? ' he asked instantly. 
 
 ' Nobody you need fear,' said Diana laughing. ' Nobody 
 I like.' 
 
 ' Is there anybody you do like ? ' 
 
 ' Plenty of people that I like a little.' 
 
 ' How much do you like me, Diana ? ' 
 
 She lifted her eyes and looked at him ; calm, large, 
 grey eyes, into which there had come a new depth since 
 yesterday and an added light. She looked at him a moment, 
 and dropped them in silence. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said he eagerly. ' Why don't you speak?' 
 
 * I cannot,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Why ? I can speak to you.' 
 
 ' I suppose people are different,' said Diana. ' And I 
 am a woman.' 
 
 ' Well, what then ? ' 
 
 She turned away, with the shyest, sweetest grace of re- 
 serve ; turned away to her fruit, quite naturally ; there was 
 no shadow of affectation, nor even of consciousness. But 
 her eyes did not look up again ; and Mr. Knowlton's eyes 
 had no interruption. 
 
 ' Di, where do you think we shall go when we are mar- 
 ried ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' she said simply ; and the tone of her 
 voice said that she did not care. It was as quiet as the 
 harebells when no wind is blowing. 
 
 ' And I don't know ! ' Knowlton echoed with a half- 
 sigh. ' I don't know where I am going myself. But I 
 shall know in a day or two. Can you be ready in a week, 
 do you think, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' Shall you have to go so soon as that? ' she asked with 
 a startled look up. 
 
 ' Pretty near. What of that ? You are going with me-
 
 IN SUGAR. 125 
 
 It may be to some rough out-of-the-way place ; we never 
 can tell ; you know we are a sort of foot-ball for Uncle Sam 
 to toss about as he pleases ; but you are not afraid of be- 
 ing a soldier's wife, Di ? ' 
 
 She looked at him without speaking ; a look clear and 
 quiet and glad, like her voice when she spoke. So full of 
 the thought of the reality he suggested, evidently, that she 
 never perceived the occasion for a blush. Her eyes went- 
 through him, to the rough country or the frontier post 
 where she could share-and annul-all his harsh experiences. 
 
 ' What sort of places are those where you might go, 
 Evan ? ' 
 
 ' Nearly all sorts on the face of the earth, my beauty. 
 I might be sent to the neighbourhood of one of the great 
 cities ; we should have a good time then, Di ! I would 
 wait for nothing ; I could come and fetch you just as soon 
 as I could get a furlough of a day or two. - But they are 
 apt to send us, the young officers, to the hardest places ; 
 posts beyond civilization, out west to the frontier, or south 
 to Texas, or across to the Pacific coast. 
 
 ' California ! ' Diana cried. 
 
 ' California ; or Oregon ; or Arizona. Yes ; why ? ' 
 
 ' California is very far off. 
 
 ' Rather,' said Knowlton, with a half sigh again. ' It 
 don't make any difference, if we were once there, Diana.' 
 
 Diana looked thoughtful. It had never occurred to 
 her, before this time, to wish that the country were not so 
 extended ; and certainly not to fancy that California and 
 she had any interest in common. Lo, now it might be. 
 
 ' How soon must you go, Evan ? ' she asked, as thoughts 
 of longitude and latitude began to deepen the cloud shad- 
 ow which had just touched her. 
 
 ' A few days a week or two more.'
 
 126 DIANA. 
 
 ' Is that all ? ' 
 
 ' Can you go with me ? ' he whispered, bending forward 
 to pick up a few of her berries, for the taste of which he 
 certainly did not care at that moment. 
 
 And she whispered, ' No.' 
 
 ' Can't you ? ' 
 
 1 You know it's impossible, Evan.' 
 
 ' Then I must go by myself,' he said, in the same half 
 breath, stooping his head still so near that a half breath 
 could be heard ; and his hair, quite emancipated from the 
 regulation cut, touched Diana's cheek. I don't know how 
 I can ! But Di if I can get a furlough at Christmas and 
 come for you will you be ready then ? ' 
 
 She whispered ' Yes.' 
 
 ' That is, supposing I am in any place that I can take 
 you to, he went on, after a hearty endorsement of the con- 
 tract just made. ' It is quite possible I may not be ! But 
 I won't borrow trouble. This is the first trouble I ever had 
 in my life, Di, leaving you.' 
 
 ' They say, prosperity makes people proud,' she said, 
 with an arch glance at him. 
 
 'Proud ? ' echoed Knowlton. ' Yes, I am proud. I have 
 a right to be proud. I do not think, Diana, there is such 
 a pearl in all the waters of Arabia as I shall wear on my 
 hand. ~I do not believe there is a rose to equal you in all 
 the gardens of the world. Look up, my beauty, and let 
 me see you. I sha'n't have the chance pretty soon.' 
 
 And yielding to the light touch of his fingers under her 
 chin, caressing and persuading, Diana's face was lifted to 
 view. It was like a pearl, for the childlike purity of all 
 its lines ; it was like enough a rose too ; like an opening 
 rose, for the matter of that. Her thoughts went back to 
 the elegance of Mrs. Reverdy and Gertrude Masters, and
 
 IN SUGAR. 127 
 
 she wondered in herself at Mr. Knowlton's judgment of 
 her; but there was too much of Diana ever to depreciate 
 herself unworthily. She said nothing. 
 
 ' I wonder what will become you best ? ' said Evan in a 
 very satisfied tone. 
 
 ' Become me ? ' said Diana lifting her eyes. 
 
 ' Yes. .What's your colour? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I don't know,' said Diana laughing. ' No 
 one in particular, I guess.' 
 
 ' Wear everything, can you ? I shouldn't wonder ! But I 
 think I should like you in white. That's cold for winter 
 in some regions. I think I should like you in let me 
 see shew me your eyes again, Diana. If you wear so 
 much rose in your cheeks, my darling,' said he, kissing 
 first one and then the other, ' I should be safe to get you 
 green. You will be lovely in blue. But of all, except white, 
 I think I should like you, Diana, in royal red.' 
 
 ' I thought purple was the colour of kings and queens,' 
 Diana remarked, trying to get back to her berries. 
 
 ' Purple is poetical. I am certain a dark, rich red 
 would be magnificent on you ; for it is you who will beau- 
 tify the colour, not the colour you. I shall get you the 
 first stuff of that colour I see that is of the right hue.' 
 
 ' Pray don't, Evan. Wait,' said Diana, flushing more 
 and more. 
 
 ' Wait ? I'll not wait a minute longer than till I see it. 
 My beauty ! what a delight to get things for you and with 
 you. Officers' quarters are sorry places sometimes, Diana ; 
 but won't it be fun for you and me to work transforma- 
 tions, and make our own world ; that is our own home ? 
 What does Mrs. Starling think of me ? ' 
 
 ' I have told her nothing, Evan, yet. She was so busy 
 this morning, I had not a good chance.'
 
 128 DIANA. 
 
 ' I'll confront her when she comes home this evening.' 
 
 ' O no, Evan ; leave it to me, I want to take a &<?</ time. 
 She will not like it much anyhow.' 
 
 ' I don't see really how she should. I have sympathy 
 no, I haven't ! I haven't a bit. I am so full of my own 
 side of the question, it is sheer hypocrisy to pretend I have 
 any feeling for anybody else. When will you come down 
 to Elmfield ? ' 
 
 ' To Elmfield ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' To begin to learn to know them all. I want them to 
 know you.' 
 
 ' You have not spoken to them about me ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said he laughing ; ' but I mean to.' 
 
 'Evan, don't say anything to anybody till mother has 
 been told. Promise me ! That would not do.' 
 
 'All's safe yet, Di. But make haste with your revela- 
 tions ; for I shall be here to-morrow night and every night 
 now, and astonish her; and it isn't healthy for some people 
 to be astonished. Besides, Di, my orders will be here in a 
 week or two ; and then I must go.' 
 
 ' Do you like being under orders ? ' said Diana inno- 
 cently. 
 
 Knowlton's grave face changed again ; and laughing 
 he asked if she did not like it ? and how she would do when 
 she would be a soldier's wife, and so under double orders ? 
 and he got into such a game of merriment, at her and with 
 her, that Diana did not know what to do with herself or 
 her berries either. How the berries got attended to is a 
 mystery ; but it shews that the action of the mind can grow 
 mechanical where it has been very much exercised. It can 
 scarce be said that Diana thought of the blackberries ; and 
 yet, the jam was made and the wine prepared for in a most 
 regular and faultless manner ; the jars were filled duly, and
 
 IN SUGAR. 129 
 
 nothing was burned, and all was done and cleared away 
 before Mrs. Starling came home. Literally ; for Mr. 
 Knowlton had been sent away, and Diana had gone up to 
 the sanctuary of her own room. She did not wish to en- 
 counter her mother that night. While the dew was not 
 yet off her flowers, she would smell their sweetness alone.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 
 
 DIANA was not put to the trial next day of venturing 
 her precious things to harsh handling. A very uncommon 
 thing happened. Mrs. Starling was not well, and kept her 
 bed. 
 
 She had caught cold, she confessed, by some imprudence 
 the day before ; and symptoms of pleurisy made it impos- 
 sible that she should fight sickness as she liked to fight it, 
 on foot. The doctor was not to be thought of; Mrs. 
 Starling gave her best and only confidence to her own, 
 skill ; but even that bade her lie by and "give up." 
 
 Diana had the whole house on her hands, as well as 
 the nursing. Truth to tell, this last was not much. Mrs. 
 Starling would have very little of her daughter's presence ; 
 still less of her ministrations. To be " let alone " was 
 her principal demand ; and that Diana should " keep 
 things straight below." Diana did that. The house went 
 on as well as ever ; and even the farm affairs received the 
 needful supervision. Josiah Davis was duly ordered, fed, 
 and dismissed ; and when evening came, Diana was dressed, 
 in order, bright, and ready for company. Company it 
 pleased her to receive in the lean-to kitchen ; the sound of 
 voices and laughter beneath her would have roused Mrs. 
 Starling to a degree of excitement from which it would 
 have been impossible to keep back anything j and probably
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 13! 
 
 to a degree of consequent indignation which would have 
 been capable of very informal measures of ejectment 
 regarding the intruder. No, Diana could not risk that. 
 She must wait till her mother's nerves and temper were at 
 least in their ordinary state of wholesome calm, before she 
 would shock them by the disclosures she had to make. 
 And almost by their preciousness to herself, Diana gauged 
 their unvvelcomeness to her mother. It was always so. The 
 two natures were so unlike that not even the long habit 
 of years could draw them into sympathy. They thought 
 alike about nothing except the housewifely matters of 
 practical life. So these evenings when Mrs. Starling was 
 ill, Diana had her lamp and her fire in the lean-to kitchen ; 
 and there were held the long talks with Mr. Knowlton 
 which made all the days of September so golden. Days 
 when Diana's hands were too busy to let her see him, and 
 he was told he must not come except at night ; but through 
 all the business streamed the radiant glow of the last 
 night's talk; like the September sunlight through the 
 misty air. 
 
 So the days went by ; and Mrs. Starling was kept a 
 prisoner ; pain and weakness warning her she must not 
 dare try anything else. And in their engrossment the two 
 young people hardly noticed how the time flew. People 
 in Pleasant Valley were not in the habit of paying visits 
 to one another in the evenings, unless specially invited ; 
 so nobody discovered that Evan came nightly to Mrs. 
 Starling's house ; and if his own people wondered at his 
 absence from home, they could do no more. Suspicion 
 had no ground to go upon in any particular direction. 
 
 The month had been glorious with golden leaves and 
 golden sunshine, until the middle was more than past. 
 Then came a September storm; an equinoctial; the people
 
 132 DIANA. 
 
 said ; as furious as the preceding days had been gentle. 
 Whirlwinds of tempest and floods of rain ; legions of 
 clouds, rank after rank, bringing the winds in their folds ; 
 or did the winds bring them ? All one day and night and 
 all the next day the storm continued ; and night darkened 
 early upon Pleasant Valley with no prospect of a change. 
 Diana had watched for it a little eagerly ; Evan's visit was 
 lost the night before of course ; it was much to lose, when 
 September days were growing few ; and now another night 
 he could not come. Diana stood at the lean-to door after 
 supper, looking and making her conclusions sorrowfully. 
 It was darkening fast ; very dark it would be, for there 
 was no moon. The rain came down in streams, thick and 
 grey. The branches of the elm trees swung and swayed 
 pitilessly in the wind, beating against each other ; while the 
 wind whistled and shouted its intention of keeping on so 
 all night. ' He can't come ' sighed Diana for the fifth or 
 sixth time to herself ; and she shut the door. It could be 
 borne, however, to lose two evenings, when they had en- 
 joyed so many together and had so many more to look 
 forward to ; and with that mixture in her heart of content 
 and longing, which everybody knows, Diana trimmed her 
 lamp and sat down to sew. How the wind roared ! she 
 must trim her fire too, or the room would be full of 
 smoke. She made the fire up ; and then, the snare of its 
 leaping flames and glowing coal bed drew her from her 
 work ; she sat looking and thinking, in a fulness of 
 happiness to which -all the roar of the storm only served 
 for a foil. She heard the drip, drip of the rain ; the fast- 
 running stream from the over-charged eaves trough ; then the 
 thunder of the wind sweeping over the house in a great gust ; 
 and the whistle of the elm branches as they swung through 
 the air like tremendous lithe switches, beating and writhing
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 133 
 
 and straining in the fury of the blast. Looking into the 
 clear glowing flames, Diana heard it all ; with a certain 
 sense of enjoyment ; when in the midst of it she heard 
 another sound, a little thing, but distinguishable from all 
 the rest ; the sound of a foot upon the little stone before 
 the door. Only one foot it could be in the world ; Diana 
 started up, and was standing with lips apart, facing the 
 door, when it opened and a man came in enveloped in a 
 huge cloak, dripping at every point. 
 
 ' Evan ! ' Diana's exclamation was with an utterance 
 between joy and dread. 
 
 ' Yes,' said he as he came forward into the room, ' I've 
 got orders.' 
 
 " Without another word she helped relieve him of his 
 cloak and went with it to the outer kitchen where she 
 hung it carefully to dry. As she came back, Evan was 
 standing in front of the fire, looking gravely into it. The 
 light danced and gleamed upon the gold buttons on his 
 breast and touched the gold bands on his shoulders ; it was 
 a very stately and graceful figure to Diana's eyes. He 
 turned a little, took her into his arms, and then they both 
 stood silent and still. 
 
 ' I've got my orders,' Knowlton repeated in a low tone. 
 
 ' To go soon, Evan ? ' 
 
 ' Immediately.' 
 
 ' I knew it, when I heard your foot at the door.' 
 
 They were both still again, while the storm swept over 
 the house in a fresh burst ; the wind rushing by as if it 
 was glad he was going and meant he should. Perhaps the 
 two did not hear it ; but I think Diana did. The rain 
 poured down in a kind of fury. 
 
 ' How could you get here, Evan ? ' she asked looking 
 up at him.
 
 134 DIANA. 
 
 ' I must, I had only to-night.' 
 
 ' You are not wet ? ' 
 
 1 No, darling ! Rain is nothing to me. How are you? 
 and how is your mother ? ' 
 
 ' She is better. She is getting well.' 
 
 ' And you ? You are most like a Magnolia tree, full of 
 its white magnificent blossoms ; sweet in a kind of wealth 
 of sweetness, and bountiful beauty. One blossom would 
 do for a comparison for ordinary women ; but you are like 
 the whole tree.' 
 
 ' Suppose I were to find comparisons for you ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, suppose you did. What would you liken me to ? ' 
 said he with a sparkle of the eyes, which quite indisposed 
 Diana from giving any more fuel to the fire that supplied 
 it. 
 
 ' What, Di ? You might as well give me all the com- 
 fort you can to take away with me. I shall need it. And 
 it will be long before I can come back for more. What 
 am I like ? ' 
 
 ' Would you feel any better for thinking yourself like 
 a pine tree ? or a green hemlock ? one of those up in our 
 ravine of the brook ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, our ravine of the brook ! Those days are all gone. 
 I wish I were a green hemlock anywhere, with you a mag- 
 nolia beside me ; or better, a climbing rose hanging upon 
 me ! If I could take you, Di ! ' 
 
 The pang of the wish was very keen in her ; the leap of 
 the will towards impossibilities ; but she said nothing and 
 stood quite motionless. 
 
 ' I cannot come back for you at Christmas, Di.' 
 
 ' Where are you going, Evan.' 
 
 ' Where I would not take you anyhow. I am under 
 orders to report myself at a post away off on the Indian fron
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 135 
 
 tier, a long journey from here ; and a rough, wild place never 
 fit for such as you. Of course we young officers are the 
 ones to be sent to such places ; unless we happen to have 
 influence at headquarters, which I haven't. But I shall 
 not stay there forever.' 
 
 ' Must you go just where they send you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' he said with a laugh. ' A soldier cannot 
 choose.' 
 
 'Must you stay as long as they keep you there ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, of course. But there is no use in looking at it 
 gloomily, Di. The months will pass, give them time; and 
 years are made of months. The good time will come at 
 last. I'm not the first who has had to bear this sort of 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Will you have to stay years there ? ' 
 
 ' Can't tell. I may. It depends on what is doing, and 
 how much I am wanted. Probably I may have to stay 
 two years at least ; perhaps three.' 
 
 ' But you can get a furlough and come for a little while, 
 Evan ? ' said Diana ; her voice sounded frightened. 
 
 'That's the worst of it!' said Knowlton. 'I don't 
 know whether I can or not.' 
 
 ' Why, Evan ? don't they always ? ' 
 
 ' Generally it can be done, if the distance is not too 
 great, and you are not too useful. You see, there are sel- 
 dom too many officers on hand, at those out of the way 
 posts.' 
 
 ' Is there so much to do ? ' said Diana, half mechanic- 
 ally. Her thoughts were going further; for grant the 
 facts, what did the reasons matter? 
 
 ' There's a good deal to do sometimes,' Evan answered 
 in the same way ; thinking of more than he chose to speak. 
 They stood silent again awhile. Diana was clasped in
 
 136 DIANA. 
 
 Knowlton's arms ; her cheek rested on his shoulder ; they 
 both looked to the fire for consolation. Snapping, spark- 
 ling, glowing, as it has done in the face of so many of 
 our sorrows, small and great, is there no consolation or 
 suggestion to be got out of it? Perhaps from it came the 
 suggestion at last that they should sit down. Evan brought 
 a chair for Diana and placed one for himself close beside 
 it, and they sat down, holding fast each other's hands. 
 
 Was it also the counsel of the fire that they should sit 
 there all night ? For it was what they did. The fire burned 
 gloriously ; the lamp went out ; the red lights leaped and 
 flickered all over floor and ceiling ; and in front of the 
 blaze sat the two, and talked ; enough to last t\vo years, 
 you and I might say ; but alas ! to them it was but a whet- 
 ting of the appetite that was to undergo such famine. 
 
 ' If I could only take you with me, my darling ! ' Evan 
 said for the twentieth time. And Diana was silent at 
 first ; then she said, 
 
 'It would be pleasant to go through hardships to- 
 gether.' 
 
 ' No, it wouldn't ! ' said Evan. 'Not hardships for you, 
 my beauty ! They are all very well for me ; in a soldier's 
 line ; but not for you ! ' 
 
 ' A soldier's wife ought not to be altogether unworthy 
 of him,' Diana answered. 
 
 ' Nor he of her. So I wouldn't take you if I could 
 where I am going. A soldier's wife will have hardships 
 enough, first and last, no fear ; but some places are not fit 
 for women anyhow. I wish I could have seen Mrs. Star- 
 ling, though, and had it out with her.' 
 
 ' Had it out !' repeated Diana. 
 
 ' Yes. I should have a little bit of a fight, shouldn't I ? 
 She don't like me much. I wonder why ? '
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 137 
 
 ' Evan,' said Diana after a minute's thought, ' if you are 
 to be so long away, there is no need to speak to anybody 
 about our affair just now. It is our affair ; let it stay so. It 
 is our secret. I should like it much better to keep it a 
 secret. I don't want to hear people's talk. Will you ? ' 
 
 ' But our letters, my dear ; they will tell your mother.' 
 
 ' Mother will not see mine. And she is not likely to 
 see yours ; I shall go to the post office myself. If she did, 
 and found it out, I could keep her quiet easily enough. 
 She would not want to speak, any more than I.' 
 
 Evan combated this resolution for some time. He 
 wished to have Diana friends with his sisters and at home 
 at Elmfield. But Diana had her own views, and desired 
 so strongly to keep her secret to herself during the first 
 part at least of what threatened to be a long engagement, 
 that at last he yielded. It did not matter much to him, he 
 said, away off in the wilds. 
 
 So that subject was dismissed ; and before the fantasia 
 of the flames they sat and composed a fantasia of life for 
 themselves ; as bright, as various, as bewitching, as evanish- 
 ing ; the visions of which were mingled with the leaping 
 and changing purple and flame tints, the sparkle and the 
 flash of the fire. Diana could never stand before a fire of 
 hickory logs and fail to see her life story reappear as she 
 had seen it that night. 
 
 The hours went by. 
 
 ' It's too bad to keep you up so, my darling ! ' Evan re- 
 marked. ' I am selfish.' 
 
 ' No indeed ! But you must want something, Evan ! I 
 had forgotten all about it.' 
 
 He said he wanted nothing, but her ; however, Diana's 
 energies were roused. She ran into the back kitchen, and 
 came from thence with the tea-kettle in her hands, filled
 
 138 DIANA. 
 
 She was not allowed to set it down, to be sure, but under 
 her directions it was bestowed in front of the glowing 
 coals. Then with noiseless rapid movements she brought 
 a little table to the hearth and fetched cups and plates. And 
 then she spread the board. There was a cold ham on the 
 big table ; and round white slices of bread, such as cities 
 never see ; and cake, light and fruity ; and yellow butter ; 
 and a cream pie ; another dainty that confectioners are 
 innocent of; and presently the fragrance of coffee filled the 
 old lean-to to the very roof. Evan laughed at her, but con- 
 fessed himself hungry, and Diana had it all her own 
 way. For once, this rare once, she would have the pleas- 
 ure, she and Evan alone ; many a day would come and go 
 before she might have it again. So she thought as she 
 poured coffee upon the cream in his cup. And whether 
 the pleasure or the pain were the keenest even then, I can- 
 not tell ; but it was one of those minutes when one chooses 
 the pleasure and will have it and will taste it, whatever 
 lies at the bottom of the draught. The small hours of 
 night, the fire-lit kitchen, the daintily spread table, she and 
 Evan at opposite sides of it ; the pleasure of ministering, 
 such as every woman knows ; the beauty of her bread, 
 the magnificence of her coffee, the perfection of her cook- 
 ery ; the exultation of seeing him enjoy it ; while her 
 heart was storing up its treasure of sorrow for the unfold- 
 ing by and by, and knew it, and covered it up and went on 
 enjoying the minute. The criticism is sometimes made 
 upon a writer here and there, that he talks too much 
 about eating; and in a high-finished and artificial state of 
 society it is indeed true that eating is eating, and nothing 
 more. Servants prepare the viands and servants bring 
 them ; and the result is more or less agreeable and satis- 
 factory, but can hardly be said to have much of poetry or
 
 A STORM IN SEPTEMBER. 139 
 
 sentiment about it. The case is not so with humbler 
 livers on the earth's surface. Sympathy and affection and 
 tender ministry are wrought into the very pie crust, and 
 glow in the brown loaves as they come out of the oven ; 
 and are specially seen in the shortcake for tea a-nd the 
 favourite dish at dinner and the unexpected dumpling. 
 Among the working classes too, it is true only of them ? 
 the meals are the breathing spaces of humanity, the 
 resting spots, where the members of the household come 
 together to see each other's faces for a moment at leisure, 
 and confer over matters of common interest that have no 
 chance in the rush and the whirl of the hours of toil. At 
 any rate, I know there was much more than the mere taste 
 of the coffee in the cups that Diana filled and Knowlton 
 emptied ; much more than the supply of bodily want in 
 the bread they eat. 
 
 The repast was prolonged and varied with very much 
 talk ; but it was done at last. The kettle was set on one 
 side, the table pushed back, and Evan looked at his watch. 
 Still talk went on quietly for a good while longer. 
 
 ' At what hour does your chief of staff open his barn 
 doors ? ' said Evan, looking at his watch again. 
 
 ' Early,' said Diana, not showing the heart thrust the 
 question had given her. ' Not till it is light, though.' 
 
 ' It will be desirable that I should get off before light, 
 then. It is not best to astonish him on this occasion.'. 
 
 ' It is not near light yet, Evan ? ' 
 
 He laughed and looked at her. 'Do you know, I don't 
 know when that moment comes ? I have not seen it once 
 since I have been at Elmfield. It shews how little truth 
 there is in the theories of education.' 
 
 Diana did not ask what he meant. She went to the 
 door and looked out. It was profoundly dark yet. It was
 
 I4O DIANA. 
 
 also still. The rain was not falling ; the wind had ceased ; 
 hush and darkness were abroad. She came back to the fire 
 and asked what o'clock it was ? Evan looked. They had 
 an hour yet , but it was an hour they could make little use 
 of. The night was gone. They stood side by side on the 
 hearth, Evan's arm round her ; now and then repeating 
 something which had been already spoken of ; really en- 
 deavouring to make the most of the mere fact of being to- 
 gether. But the minutes went too fast. Again and again 
 Diana went to the window ; the second time saw, with that 
 nameless pang at her heart, that the eastern horizon was 
 taking the grey, grave light of coming dawn. Mr. Knowl- 
 ton went out then presently, saddled his horse and brought 
 him out to the fence, all ready. For a few minutes they 
 waited yet and watched the grey light creeping up ; then, 
 before anything was clearly discernible through the dusky 
 gloom, the last farewell was taken ; Evan mounted, and 
 walked his horse softly away from the door.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ASHES OF THE FIRE. 
 
 DIANA sat down with her face in her hands, and was still. 
 She felt like a person stunned. It was very still all around 
 her ! The fire gently breathed and snapped ; the living 
 presence that had been there was gone. A great feeling of 
 loneliness smote her. But there was leisure for few 
 tears just then and too high wrought a state of the nerves 
 to seek much indulgence in them. A little while, and 
 j osiah would be there with his pails of rnilk ; there was 
 something to be done first. 
 
 And quick, as another look from the window assured 
 her. Things were becoming visible out of doors. Diana 
 roused herself, though every movement had to be with pain, 
 and went about her work. It was hard to move the chair 
 in which Evan had been sitting ; it was hard to move the 
 table around which they had been so happy ; even that 
 little trace of last night could not be kept. Evan's cup, 
 Evan's plate, the bit of bread he had left on it, Diana's 
 fingers were dilatory and unwilling in dealing with them. 
 But then she roused herself and dallied no longer. Table 
 and cups and eatables were safely removed ; the kitchen 
 brushed up and the table set for breakfast : the fire made 
 in the outer stove and the kettle put on ; though the touch 
 of the kettle hurt her ringers, remembering when she had 
 -touched it last. Every tell-tale circumstance was put out
 
 I4 2 DIANA. 
 
 of the way, and the night of watching locked up among the 
 most precious stores of Diana's memory. She opened the 
 lean-to door then. 
 
 The morning was rising fair. Clouds and wind had 
 wearied themselves out, as it might be ; and nature was in a 
 great hush. Racks of vapour were scattered overhead, 
 slowly moving away in some current of air that carried 
 them ; but below there was not a breath stirring. A little 
 drip, drip, from the leaves only told how heavily they 
 had been surcharged ; the long pendent branches of the 
 elm hung moveless, as if they were resting after last night's 
 threshing about. And as Diana looked, .the touches of 
 gold began to come upon the hills and then on the tree 
 tops. It was lovely and fair as ever ; but to Diana it was 
 a changed world. She was not the same, and nothing 
 would ever be just the same, as yesterday it had been. 
 She felt that, as she looked. She had lost, and she had 
 gained. Just now the loss came keenest. The world 
 seemed singularly empty. The noise of entering feet be- 
 hind her brought her back to common life. It was Josiah 
 and the milk pails. 
 
 ' Hain't set up all night, hev' ye ? ' was Josiah's startling 
 remark. ' I vow! you get the start of the old lady herself. 
 I baint ready for breakfast yet, if you be.' 
 
 ' It will be ready soon, Josiah.' 
 
 ' Mornin's is gettin' short,' Josiah went on. ' One o' 
 them pesky barn doors got loose in the night, and it's beat 
 itself 'most off the hinges, I guess. I must see and get it 
 fixed afore Mis' Starlin's round, or she'll be hoppin'. The 
 wind was enough to take the ruff off, but how it could lift 
 that 'ere heavy latch, I don't see.' 
 
 Diana went to the dairy without any discussion of the 
 subject. Coming back to the kitchen, she was equally
 
 THE ASHES OF THE FIRE. 143 
 
 startled and dismayed to see her mother entering by the 
 inner door. If there was one thing Diana longed for this 
 morning, it was, to be alone. Josiah and the farm boys 
 were hardly a hindrance. She had thought her mother 
 could not be. 
 
 ' Are you fit to be down stairs, mother? ' she exclaimed. 
 
 ' Might as well be down as up,' said Mrs. Starling. 
 ' Can't get well lying in bed. I'm tired to death with it all 
 these days ; and last night. I couldn't sleep half the night j 
 seemed to me I heard all sorts of noises. If I'd had a 
 light I'd ha' got up then. I thought the house was coming 
 down about my ears ; and if it was, I'd rather be up to 
 see.' 
 
 ' The wind blew so.' 
 
 ' You heard it too, did you ? When did you come down, 
 Diana? I hain't heard the first sound of your door. 'Twarn't 
 light, was it? ' 
 
 ' I have been up a good while. But you are not fit to do 
 the least thing, mother. I was going to bring you your 
 breakfast.' 
 
 'If there's a thing I hata it's to have my meals in bed. 
 I don't want anything, to begin with ; and I can take it 
 better here. What have you got, Diana ? You may make 
 me a cup of tea. I don't feel as though I could touch cof- 
 fee. What's the use o' your gettin' up so early ? ' 
 
 ' I've all to do, you know, mother.' 
 
 ' No use in burning wood and lights half the night, 
 though. The day's long enough. When did you bake ? ' 
 
 Diana answered this and several other similar house- 
 hold questions ; and got her mother a cup of tea. But 
 though it was accompanied with a nice bit of toast, Mrs. 
 Starling looked with a dissatisfied air at the more substan- 
 tial breakfast her daughter was setting on the table.
 
 144 DIANA. 
 
 ' I never could eat slops. Diana, you may give me 
 some o' that pork. And a potato.' 
 
 ' Mother, I do not believe it is good for you.' 
 
 1 Good for me ? And I have eat it all my life.' 
 
 ' But when you were well.' 
 
 ' I'm well enough. Put some of the gravy on, Diana. 
 I'll never get my strength back on toasted chips.' 
 
 The men came in, and Mrs. Starling held an animated 
 dialogue with her factotum about farm affairs ; while Diana 
 sat behind her big coffee pot, not the one she had used last 
 night, and wondered if that was all a dream ; more sadly, 
 if she should ever dream again. And why her mother 
 could not have staid in her room one day more. One day 
 more ! 
 
 ' He hain't begun to get his ploughing ahead,' said Mrs. 
 Starling, as the door closed on the delinquent. 
 
 ' What mother ? ' Diana asked starting. 
 
 ' Ploughing. You haven't kept things a going, as I 
 see,' returned her mother. ' Josiah's all behind, as usual. 
 If I could be a man half the time, I could get on. He 
 ought to have had the whole west field ploughed, while I've 
 been sick.' 
 
 ' I don't know so much about it as you do, mother.' 
 
 ' I know you don't. You have too much readin' to do. 
 There's a pane of glass broken in that window, Diana.' 
 
 ' Yes, mother. I know it.' 
 
 ' How did it come ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' You'll never get along, Diana, till you know everything 
 that happens in your house. You aren't fit anyhow to be 
 a poor woman. If you're rich, why you can get a new pane 
 of glass, and there's the end of it. I'm not so rich as all 
 that comes to.'
 
 THE ASHES OF THE FIRE. 145 
 
 ' Getting a pane of glass, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Without knowing what for.' 
 
 ' But how does it help the matter to know what for ? 
 The glass must be got anyway.' 
 
 ' If you know what for, it won't be to do another time. 
 You'll find a way to stop it. I'll warrant, now, Diana, you 
 haven't had the ashes cleared out of that stove fora week.' 
 
 ' Why, mother ? ' 
 
 ' It smokes. It always does smoke when it gets full of 
 ashes ; and it never smokes when it ain't.' 
 
 ' There is no smoke here, surely.' 
 
 ' I smell it. I can smell anything there is about. I 
 don't know whatever there was in the house last night that 
 smelled like coffee ; but I a'most thought there was some- 
 body makin' it down stairs. I smelled it as plain as could 
 be. If I could ha' got into my shoes, I believe I would ha' 
 come down to see, just to get rid of the notion, it worried 
 me so. It beats me now, what it could ha' been.' 
 
 Diana turned away with the cups she had been wiping, 
 that she might not shew her face. 
 
 ' Don't you never have your ashes took up, Diana ? ' 
 cried Mrs. Starling, who when much exercised on house- 
 hold matters sometimes forgot her grammar. 
 
 ' Yes, mother.' 
 
 ' When did you have 'em took up in this chimney ? ' 
 
 ' I do not remember yesterday, I guess,' said Diana 
 vaguely. 
 
 ' You never burnt all the ashes there is there since yes- 
 terday morning. You'd have had to sit up all night to do it ; 
 and burn a good lot o' wood on your fire too.' 
 
 ' Mother,' exclaimed Diana in desperation, ' I don't 
 suppose everything is just as it would be if you'd been 
 round, all these days.'
 
 146 DIANA. 
 
 ' I guess it ain't ! ' said Mrs. Starling. ' There's where 
 you are wanting, Diana. Your hands are good enough, 
 but I wouldn't give much for your eyes. There's where 
 you'd grow poor, if you weren't poor a'ready. Now you 
 didn't know when that pane o' glass was broke. You'd 
 go round and round, and a pane o' glass'd knock out here, 
 and a quart of oil 'ud leak out there, and you'd lose a 
 pound of flour between the sieve and the barrel, and you'd 
 never know how or where.' 
 
 ' Mother ! ' said Diana. ' you know I never spill flour or 
 anything else ; no more than you do.' 
 
 ' No, but it would go, I mean, and you never the wiser. 
 It ain't the way to get along ; unless you mean to marry a 
 rich man. Now look at that heap o' ashes ! I declare, it 
 t beats me to know what you have been doing to burn so 
 much wood here ; and mild weather too. Who has been 
 here to see you, since I've been laid up ? ' 
 
 1 Several people came to ask about you.' 
 
 'Who did? and who didn't ? that came at all.' 
 
 ' Joe Bartlett, and Mr. Masters and Mrs. Delamater. 
 I can't tell you all, mother ; there's been a good many.' 
 
 ' Tell me the men that have been here.' 
 
 ' Well, those I said ; and Will Flandin ; and Nick ; 
 and Mr. Knowlton.' 
 
 ' Was he here more than once ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' How much more ? ' 
 
 ' Mother, how do I know ? I didn't keep count.' 
 
 ' Didn't keep count, eh ? ' Mrs. Starling repeated. 
 ' Must have been frequent company, I judge. Diana, you 
 mind what I told you ? ' 
 
 Diana made no answer. 
 
 ' You shall have nothing to do with him,' Mrs. Starling
 
 THE ASHES OF THE FIRE. 147 
 
 went on. 'You never shall. You sha'n't take up with any 
 one that holds himself above me. I'll be glad when his 
 time's up : and I hope it'll be long before he'll have anoth- 
 er. Once he gets away, he'll think no more of you, that's 
 one comfort.' 
 
 Diana knew that was not true ; but it hurt her to have 
 it said. She could stand no more of her mother's talk ; 
 she left her and went off to the dairy, till Mrs. Starling 
 crept up stairs again. Then Diana came and opened the 
 lean-to door and looked out for a breath of refreshment. 
 The morning was going on its way in beauty. Little clouds 
 drifted over the deep blue sky ; the mellow September 
 light lay on fields and hills ; the long branches of the elm 
 swayed gently to and fro in the gentle air that drove the 
 clouds. But oh, for the wind and the storm of last 
 night, and the figure that stood beside her before the chim- 
 ney fire ! The gladsome light seemed to mock her, and the 
 soft breeze gave her touches of pain. She shut the door 
 and went back to her work.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE. 
 
 MRS. STARLING'S room was like her ; for use and not for 
 show, with some points of pride, and a general air of hum- 
 ble thrift. A patchwork quilt on the bed ; curtains and val- 
 ance of chintz ; a rag carpet covering only part of the floor, 
 the rest scrubbed clean ; rush-bottomed chairs ; and with 
 those, a secretary bureau of old mahogany, a dressing 
 glass in a dark carved frame, and a large oaken press. 
 There were corner cupboards ; a table holding work and 
 work basket ; a spinning wheel in a corner; a little iron 
 stove. But no fire. Mrs. Starling lay down on her bed, 
 simply because she was not able to sit up any longer ; but 
 she was scarcely less busy in truth than she had been down 
 stairs. Her eyes roamed restlessly from the door to the 
 window, though with never a thought of the sweet Septem- 
 ber sunlight on the brilliant blue sky. 
 
 ' Diana's queer this morning,' she mused. ' Yes, she 
 was queer. What made her so mum ? She was not like 
 herself. Sailing round with her head in the clouds. And a 
 little bit blue, too ; what Diana never is ; but she was to- 
 day. What's up? I've been lying here long enough foi 
 plenty of things to happen ; and she's had the house to 
 herself. Knowlton has been here she owned that ; well, 
 either he has been here too often, or not often enough. 
 I'll find out which. She's thinkin' about him. Then that
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE. 149 
 
 coffee was it coffee, last night ? I could have sworn to it ; 
 just the smell of fresh, steaming coffee. I didn't dream it. 
 She wasn't surprised, either ; she had nothing to say about 
 it. She would have laughed at it once. And the ashes in 
 the chimney ! There's been a sight o' wood burned there, 
 and just burned, too ; they lay light, and hadn't been swep' 
 up. There's mischief ! but Diana never shall go off with 
 that young feller ; never ; never ! Maybe she won't have 
 Will Flandin ; but she sha'n't have him ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Starling lay thinking and staring out of her win- 
 dow, till she felt she could go down stairs again. And 
 then she watched. But Diana had put every possible tell- 
 tale circumstance out of the way. The very ashes were no 
 longer where her mother could speculate upon them ; pies 
 and cakes shewed no more suspiciously cut halves or quar- 
 ters ; she had even been out to the barn, and found that 
 Josiah for reasons of his own was making the door latch 
 and hinges firm and fast. It was no time now, to tell her 
 mother her secret. Her heart was too sore to brave the 
 rasping speech she would be certain to provoke. And with 
 a widely different feeling, it was too rich in its, prize to 
 drag the treasure forth before scornful eyes. For this was 
 part of Diana's experience, she found, and the feeling grew, 
 the feeling of being rich in her secret possession ; rich as 
 she never had been before ; perhaps the richer for the 
 secresy. It was all hers, this beautiful, wonderful love 
 that had come to her ; this share in another person's heart 
 and life ; her own wholly ; no one might intermeddle with 
 her joy ; she treasured it and gloated over it in the depths 
 of her glad consciousness. 
 
 And so, as the days went by, there was no change that 
 her mother could see in the sweet lines of her daughter's 
 face. Nothing less sweet than usual j nothing less bright
 
 ISO DIANA. 
 
 and free ; if the eyes had a deeper depth at times, it was 
 not for Mrs. Starling to penetrate ; and if the childlike 
 play of .the mouth had a curve of beauty that had never 
 until then belonged to it, the archetype of such a sign did 
 not lie in Mrs. Starling's nature. Yet once or twice a 
 jealous movement of suspicion did rise in her, only because 
 Diana seemed so happy. She reasoned with herself im- 
 mediately that Evan's absence could never have such an 
 effect, if her fears were true ; and that the happiness must 
 therefore be referred to some purely innocent cause. Never- 
 theless Mrs. Starling watched. For she was pretty sure 
 that the young soldier had pushed his advances while he 
 had been in Pleasant Valley ; and he might push them 
 still, though there no longer. She would guard what could 
 be guarded. She watched both Diana and other people, 
 and kept an especial eye upon all that came from the post 
 office. 
 
 Evan had gqne to a distant frontier post ; the journey 
 would take some time ; and it would be several days more 
 still in the natural course of things before Diana could 
 have a letier. Diana reasoned out all that, and was not 
 anxious. For the present the pleasure of expecting was 
 enough. A letter from him ; it was a fairylandish, weird, 
 wonderful pleasure, to come to her. She took to studying 
 the newspaper, and covertly, the map. From the map she 
 gained a little knowledge ; but the columns of the paper 
 were barren of all allusion to the matter which was her 
 world, and Evan's. Newspapers are very partial some- 
 times. She was afraid to let her mother see how eagerly 
 she scanned them. The map and Diana had secret and more 
 satisfactory consultations. Measuring the probable route 
 of Evan's journey by the scale of miles ; calculating the 
 rate of progress by different modes of travel ; counting the
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE. !$! 
 
 nights and places where he might spend them ; she reck- 
 oned up over and over again the days that were probably 
 necessary to enable him to reach his post. Then she al- 
 lowed margins for what she did not know, and accounted 
 for the blanks she could not fill up ; and reasoned with 
 herself about the engrossments which might on his first 
 arrival hinder Evan from writing for a few hours, or a 
 night. So at last she had constructed a scheme by which 
 she proved to herself the earliest day at which it would do 
 to look for a letter, and the latest to which a letter might 
 reasonably be delayed. Women, do such things. How 
 many men are worthy of it ? 
 
 That furthest limit was reached, and no letter yet. 
 
 About that time, one morning the family at Elmfield 
 were gathered at breakfast. It was not exactly like any 
 other breakfast table in Pleasant Valley, for a certain drift 
 from the great waves of the world had reached it ; where- 
 as the others were clean from any such contact. The first 
 and the third generation were represented at the table ; 
 the second was wanting ; the old gentleman, the head of 
 the family, was surrounded by only his granddaughters. 
 Now old Mr. Bowdoin was as simple and plain-hearted a 
 man as all his country neighbours, if somewhat richer than 
 most of them j he had wrought at the same labour and 
 grown up with the same associations. He was not more 
 respectable than respected ; generous, honest, and kindly. 
 But the young ladies his grandchildren, Evan's sisters, 
 were different. They came to spend the summer with him, 
 and they brought fancies and notions from their far-away 
 city life which made a somewhat incongruous mixture with 
 the elemental simplicity of their grandfather's house. All 
 this appeared now. The old farmer's plain strong features, 
 his homespun dress and his bowl of milk, were at one end
 
 152 DIANA. 
 
 of the table, where he presided heartily over the fried ham 
 and eggs. Look where you would beside, and you saw 
 ruffled chintzes and little fly-away breakfast-caps, and fin- 
 gers with jewels on them. Miss Euphemiahad her tresses 
 of long hair unbound and unbraided, hanging down her 
 back in a style that to her grandfather savoured of barbar- 
 ism ; he could not be made to understand that it was a 
 token of the highest elegance. For these ladies there was 
 some attempt at elaborate and dainty cookery, signified by 
 sweetbreads and a puffed omelette ; and Mrs. Reverdy 
 presided over a coffee pot that was the wonder of the Elm- 
 field household and even a little matter of pride to the old 
 squire himself ; though he covered it with laughing at her 
 mimic fires and doubtful steam engines. Gertrude Masters 
 was still at Elmfield, the only one left of a tribe of visiters 
 who had made the old place gay through the summer. 
 
 ' I have had an invitation ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy as she 
 sent her grandfather his cup of coffee. And she laughed. 
 I wish I could give the impression of this little laugh of 
 hers, which, in company, was the attendant of most of her 
 speeches. A little gracious laugh, with a funny air as if 
 she were condescending, either to her subject or herself, 
 and amused at it. 
 
 ' What is it, Vevay ? what invitation ? ' inquired her 
 sister ; while Gertrude tossed her mass of tresses from her 
 neck and looked as if nothing at Pleasant Valley con- 
 cerned her. 
 
 ' An invitation to the sewing society ! ' said Mrs. Rever- 
 dy. ' We are all asked.' And the laugh grew very amused 
 indeed. 
 
 * What do they do ? ' inquired Gertrude absently. 
 
 ' O, they bring their knitting at two or three o'clock, 
 and have a good time to tell all the news till five Or six ;
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE. 153 
 
 and then they have supper, and then they put up theif 
 knitting and go home.' 
 
 ' What news can they have to tell at Pleasant Valley ? ' 
 
 ' Whose hay is in first, and whose orchard will yield the 
 most cider,' said Euphemia. 
 
 ' Yes, and how all their children are, and how many 
 eggs go in a pudding.' 
 
 ' I don't believe they make puddings with eggs very 
 often,' said the other sister again. ' Their puddings are 
 more like hasty puddings, I fancy.' 
 
 ' Some of 'em make pretty good things,' said old Mr. 
 Boudoin. ' Things you can't beat, Phemie. There's Mrs. 
 Mansfield she's a capital housekeeper ; and Mrs. Star- 
 ling. She can cook.' 
 
 ' What do they expect you to do at the sewing meeting, 
 Vevay ? ' 
 
 ' Shew myself, I suppose,' said Mrs. Reverdy. 
 
 'Well, I guess I'd go,' said her grandfather looking at 
 her. ' It would be as good a thing as you could do.' 
 
 ' Go, grandpa ? O how ridiculous ! ' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Reverdy, with her pretty face all wrinkled up with amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 ' Go ? yes. Why not ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know how to knit ; and I shouldn't know how 
 to talk orchards and puddings.' 
 
 ' I think you had better go. It is not a knitting society, 
 as I understand it ; and I am sure you can be useful.' 
 
 'Useful !' echoed Mrs. Reverdy. ' It's the last thing 
 I know how to be. And I don't belong to the society, 
 grandpa.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't like them to think that,' said the old gen- 
 tleman. ' You belong to me ; and I belong to them, my 
 dear.'
 
 154 DIANA. 
 
 ' Isn't it dreadful ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy in a low 
 aside. ' Now he's got this in his head what ever am I 
 going to do ! Suppose I invite them all to Elmfield ; how 
 would you like that, sir ? ' she added aloud. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear, yes,' said the old gentleman, pushing 
 back his chair ; for the cup of coffee was the last part of 
 his breakfast ; 'it would be well done, and I should be glad 
 of it. Ask 'em all.' 
 
 ' You are in for it now, Vevay,' said Gertrude, when the 
 ladies were left. ' How will you manage ? ' 
 
 ' O I'll give them a grand entertainment and send them 
 away delighted,' said Mrs. Reverdy. ' You see, grandpa 
 wishes it ; and I think it'll be fun.' 
 
 ' Do you suppose Evan really paid attentions to that 
 pretty girl we saw at the blackberrying ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' Mrs. Reverdy answered. ' He told me 
 nothing about it. I should think Evan was crazy to do it ; 
 but men do crazy things. However, I don't believe it of 
 him, Gerty. What nonsense ! ' 
 
 ' I can find out, if she comes,' said Miss Masters. 
 ' You'll ask her, Genevieve ? ' 
 
 So it fell out, that an invitation to hold the next meet- 
 ing of the sewing society at Elmfield was sent to the ladies 
 accustomed to be at such meetings ; and a great stir of ex- 
 pectation in consequence went through all Pleasant Val- 
 ley. For Elmfield, whether they acknowledged it or not, 
 was at the top of their social tree. The invitation came in 
 due course to Mrs. Starling's house. 
 
 It came not alone. Josiah brought it one evening on 
 his return from the Corners, where the store and the post- 
 office were, and Mrs. Reverdy's messenger had fallen in 
 with him and intrusted to him the note for Mrs. Starling. 
 He handed it out now, and with it a letter of more bulk
 
 FROM THE POST OFFICE. 1 55 
 
 and pretensions, having a double stamp and an unknown 
 postmark. Mrs. Starling received both and Josiah's ex- 
 planations in silence, for her mind was very busy. Curious 
 as she was to know upon what subject Mrs. Reverdy could 
 possibly have written to her, she lingered yet with her eyes 
 upon this other letter. It was directed to ' Miss D. Star- 
 ling.' 
 
 'That's a man's hand,' said Mrs. Starling to herself. 
 ' He's had the assurance to go and write to her, I do be- 
 lieve ! ' 
 
 She stood looking at it, doubtful, suspicious, uneasy ; 
 then turned into the dairy for fear Diana might surprise 
 her, while she opened Mrs. Reverdy's note. She had a 
 vague idea that both epistles might relate to the same sub- 
 ject. But this one was innocent enough, at least. Hiding 
 the large letter in her bosom, she came back and gave the 
 invitation to Diana, whose foot she had heard. 
 
 ' At Elmfield ! What an odd thing. Will you go, mother?' 
 
 ' I always go, don't I ? What's the reason I shouldn't 
 go now ? ' 
 
 1 1 didn't know whether you would like to go there.' 
 
 'What if I don't? No, I don't care particularly about 
 goin' to Elmfield ; they're a kind o' stuck up folks ; but 
 I'll go to let them see that I ain't.' 
 
 There was silence for a little ; then Mrs. Starling broke 
 it by inquiring if Diana had finished her chintz gown? 
 Diana had. 
 
 ' I'd wear it, if I was you.' 
 
 ' Why, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Let 'em see that other folks can dress as well as them. 
 
 ' O mother, my dresses are nothing, alongside of theirs.' 
 
 ' What's the reason they ain't ? ' inquired Mrs. Starling, 
 looking: incredulous.
 
 156 DIANA. 
 
 . 'Their things are beautiful, mother; more costly a 
 great deal ; and fashionable. We can't make things so in 
 Pleasant Valley. We don't know how.' 
 
 ' I don't see any sense in that,' rejoined Mrs. Starling. 
 ' One fashion's as good as another. Anyhow, there's better 
 lookin' folks in Pleasant Valley than ever called them- 
 selves Bowdoin, or Knowlton either. So be as smart as 
 you can, Diana. I guess you needn't be ashamed of your- 
 self.' 
 
 Diana thought of nothing less. Indeed she thought 
 little about her appearance. While she was putting on 
 her bright chintz dress, there was perhaps a movement of 
 desire that she might seem pleasant in the eyes of Evan's 
 people ; something that he need not be ashamed of ; but 
 her heart was too full of richer thoughts to have much 
 room for such as these. For Evan had chosen her ; Evan 
 loved her ; the secret bond between them nothing on earth 
 could undo ; and any day now that first letter of his might 
 arrive, which her eyes were bright only to think of looking 
 upon. Poor Diana ! that letter was jammed up within the 
 bones of Mrs. Starling's stays.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 
 
 IT was one of the royal days of a New England autumn ; 
 the air clear and bracing and spicy ; the light golden and 
 glowing, and yet softened to the dreamiest, richest, most 
 bounteous aureole of hope, by a slight impalpable haze ; 
 too slight to veil anything, but giving its tender flattery to 
 the landscape nevertheless. And through that to the 
 mind. Who can help but receive it? Suggestions of wave- 
 less peace, of endless delight, of a world-full glory that 
 must fill one's life with riches, come through such a light 
 and under such a sky. Diana's life was full already ; but 
 she took the promise for all the years that stretched out in 
 the future. The soft autumn sky where the clouds were at 
 rest, having done their work, bore no symbol of the storms 
 that might come beneath the firmament ; the purple and 
 gold and crimson of nature's gala dress seemed to fling 
 their soft luxury around the beholder, enfolding him, as it 
 were, from all the dust and the dimness and the dullness 
 of this world's working days forever more. So it was to 
 Diana ; and all the miles of that long drive, joggingly 
 pulled along by Prince, she rode in a chariot of the imagi- 
 nation, traversing fields of thought and of space, now to 
 Evan and now with him ; and in her engrossment spoke 
 never a word from the time she mounted into the wagon 
 till they came in sight of Elmfield. And Mrs. Starling hail
 
 158 DIANA. 
 
 her own subjects for thought, and was as silent on her 
 part. She was thinking all the way, what she should do 
 with that letter ? Suppose things had gone too far -to be 
 stopped ? But Diana had told her nothing ; she was not 
 bound to know by guess-work. And if this were the be- 
 ginning of serious proposals, then it were better known to 
 but herself only. She resolved finally to watch Diana and 
 the Elmfield people this afternoon ; she could find out, she 
 thought, whether there were any matter of common inter- 
 est between them. With all this, Mrs. Starling's temper 
 was not sweetened. 
 
 Elmfield was a rare place. Not by the work of art or the 
 craft of the gardener at all ; for a cunning workman had never 
 touched its turf or its plantations. Indeed it had no plan- 
 tations, other than such as were intended for pure use and 
 profit ; great fields of Indian corn, and acres of wheat and 
 rye, and a plot of garden cabbages. Mrs. Reverdy's power 
 of reform had reached only the household affairs. But the 
 corn and the rye and the cabbages were out of sight from 
 the immediate home field ; and there the grace of nature 
 had been so great that one almost forgot to wish that any- 
 thing had been added to it. A little river swept, curving 
 in sweet leisure, through a large level tract of greenest 
 meadows. In front of one of these large curves the house 
 stood, but well back, so that the meadow served instead of 
 a lawn. It had no foreign beauties of tree growth to adorn 
 it, nor needed them ; for along the bank of the river, from 
 space to space, irregularly, rose a huge New England elm, 
 giving the shelter of its canopy of branches to a wide spot 
 of turf. The house added nothing to the scene, beyond the 
 human interest ; it was just a large old farmhouse, nothing 
 more ; draped however and half covered up, by other elms 
 and a few fir trees. But in front of it lay this wide, sunny
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 159 
 
 level meadow, with the wilful little stream meandering 
 through,with the stately old trees spotting it and breaking its 
 monotony and in the distance a soft outline of hills, not too 
 far away, and varied enough to be picturesque, rounded 
 in the whole picture. A picture one would stand long to 
 look at ; thoroughly New England and characteristic gentle, 
 homelike, lovely, with just a touch of wildness intimating 
 that you were beyond the rules of conventionality. Being 
 New England folk themselves, Mrs. Starling and Diana of 
 course would not read some of these features. They only 
 thought it was a " fine place." 
 
 Long before they got there this afternoon, before any- 
 body got there, the ladies of the family gathered upon the 
 wide old piazza. 
 
 ' It's as a good as a play,' said Gertrude Masters. ' I 
 never saw such society in my life, and I am curious to know 
 what they will be like.' 
 
 ' You have seen them in church,' said Euphemia. 
 
 ' Yes, but they all feel poky there. I can't tell anything 
 by that. Besides, I don't hear them talk. There's some- 
 body now ! ' 
 
 ' Too fast for any of our good sewing friends,' said Mrs. 
 Reverdy ; ' and there is no wagon. It's Mr. Masters, 
 Gerty ! How he does ride ; and yet he sits as if he was 
 upon a rocking-horse.' 
 
 'I don't think he'd sit very quiet upon a rocking-horse,' 
 said Gerty. And then she lifted up her voice and shouted 
 musically a salutation to the approaching rider. 
 
 He alighted presently at the foot of the steps, and throw- 
 ing the bridle over his horse's head, joined the party. 
 
 ' So delighted ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy graciously. ' You 
 are come just in time to help us take care of the people.' 
 
 ' Are you going to entertain the nation ? ' asked Mr 
 Masters.
 
 l6O DIANA. 
 
 ' Only Pleasant Valley,' Mrs. Reverdy answered with 
 her little laugh ; which might mean amusement at herself 
 or condescension to Pleasant Valley. ' Do you think they 
 will be hard to entertain ? ' 
 
 ' I can answer for one ' said the minister. ' And looking 
 at what there is to see from here, I could almost answer 
 for them all.' He was considering the wide sunlit meadow, 
 where the green and the gold,yea, and the very elm shadows, 
 as well as the distant hills, were spiritualized by the slight 
 soft haze. 
 
 ' Why what is there to see, Basil ? ' inquired his cousin 
 Gertrude. 
 
 ' The sky.' 
 
 'You don't think that is entertaining, I hope? If you 
 were a polite man, you would have said something else.' 
 
 She was something to see herself, in one sense, and the 
 something was pretty too ; but very self-conscious. From 
 her flow of curly tresses down to the rosettes on her slippers, 
 every inch of her shewed it. Now the best dressing surely 
 avoids this effect ; while there is some, and not bad dress- 
 ing either, which proclaims it in every detail. The crinkles 
 of Gertrude's hair were crisp with it ; her French print 
 dress, beautiful in itself, was made with French daintiness 
 and worn with at least equal coquettishness ; her wrists 
 bore two or three bracelets both valuable and delicate ; and 
 Gertrude's eyes, pretty eyes too, were audacious with the 
 knowledge of all this. Audacious in a sweet secret way, 
 understand ; they were not bold eyes, openly. Her cousin 
 looked her over, with a glance quite recognizant of all I 
 have described, yet destitute of a shade of compliment or 
 even of admiration ; very clear and very cool. 
 
 ' Basil, you don't say all you think ! ' exclaimed the 
 young lady.
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. l6l 
 
 'Not always,' said her cousin. 'We have it on Solo- 
 mon's authority, that a " fool uttereth all his mind. A wise 
 man keepeth it till afterwards." ' 
 
 ' What are you keeping ? ' 
 
 But the answer was interrupted by Mrs. Reverdy. 
 
 ' Where shall we put them, do you think, Mr. Masters ? 
 I'm quite anxious. Here, on the verandah, do you think ? 
 or on the green, where we mean to have supper ? or 
 would it be better to go into the house ? ' 
 
 ' As a general principle, Mrs. Reverdy, I object to 
 houses. When you can, keep out of them. So I say. 
 And there comes one of your guests. I will take my horse 
 out of the road.' 
 
 Mrs. Reverdy objected and protested and ran to sum- 
 mon a servant, but the minister had his way and led his 
 horse off to the stable. While he was gone, the little old 
 green wagon which brought Miss Barry came at a soft jog 
 up the drive and stopped before the door. Mrs. Reverdy 
 came flying out and then down the steps to help her alight. 
 
 ' It's a long ways to your place, Mis' Reverdy ; I de- 
 clare, I'm kind o' stiff,' said the old lady as she mounted 
 to the piazza. There she stood still and surveyed the pros- 
 pect. And her conclusion burst forth in an unequivocal, 
 ' Ain't it elegant ! ' 
 
 ' I am delighted you like it,' said Mrs. Reverdy with 
 her running laugh. ' Won't you sit down ? ' 
 
 ' I hain't got straightened out yet, after drivin' the horse 
 so long. It does put me in a kind o' cramp, somehow, to 
 drive, 'most allays.' 
 
 ' Is the horse so hard-mouthed ? ' 
 
 ' La ! bless you, I never felt of his mouth. He don't 
 do nothin' ; I don't expect he would do nothin' ; but I 
 allays think, he's a horse, and there's no tellin'.'
 
 1 62 DIANA. 
 
 ' That's very true,' said Mrs. Reverdy, the laugh of 
 condescending acquiescence mingled with a little sense of 
 fun now. ' But do sit down ; you'll be tired standing.' 
 
 1 There's Mrs. Flandin's waggin, I guess, comin' ; 
 she was 'most ready when I come by. Is this your sister ? ' 
 looking at Gertrude. 
 
 ' No, the other is my sister. This is Miss Masters ; a 
 cousin of your minister.' 
 
 ' I thought she was, maybe, your sister, I mean, 
 because she had her hair the same way. Ain't it very 
 uncomfortable ? ' This to Gertrude. 
 
 ' It is very comfortable,' said the young lady ; ' except 
 in hot weather.' 
 
 ' Don't say it is ! ' quoth Miss Barry looking at the as- 
 tonishing hair while she got out her needles. ' Seems to me 
 I should feel as if my hair never was combed.' 
 
 ' Not if it was combed, would you ? ' said Gertrude 
 gravely. 
 
 ' Well, yes ; seems to me I should. I allays liked to 
 have my hair sleeked up as tight as I could get it ; and 
 then I knowed there warn't none of it flyin'. But la ! it's 
 a long time since I was young, and there's new fashions. 
 Is the minister your cousin ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. How do you like him ? ' 
 
 ' I hain't got accustomed to him yet,' said the little 
 old lady, clicking her needles with a considerate air. ' He 
 ain't like Mr. Hardenburgh, you see ; and Mr. Harden- 
 burgh was the minister afore him ? ' 
 
 ' What was the difference ?' 
 
 ' Well Mr. Hardenburgh, you could tell he was a 
 minister as fur as you could see him ; he had that look. 
 Now Mr. Masters hain't ; he's just like other folks ; only 
 he's more pleasant than most.'
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 163 
 
 ' Oh, he is more pleasant, is he ? ' 
 
 ' Well, seems to me he is,' said the little old lady. 
 ' It allays makes me feel kind o' good when he comes 
 alongside. He's cheerful. Mr. Hardenburgh was a good 
 man, but he made me afeard of him ; he was sort o' fierce, 
 in the pulpit and out o' the pulpit. Mr. Masters ain't nary 
 one.' 
 
 ' Do you think he's a good preacher, then ? ' said 
 Gertrude demurely, bending over to look at Miss Barry's 
 .knitting. 
 
 ' Well, I do ! ' said the old lady. ' There ! I ain't no 
 judge ; but I love to sit and hear him. 'Tain't a bit like a 
 minister, nother ; though it's in church ; he just speaks 
 like as I am speakin' to you ; but he makes the Bible kind 
 o' interestinV 
 
 It was very well for Gertrude that Mrs. Carpenter now 
 came to take her seat on the piazza, and the conversation 
 changed. She had got about as much as she could bear. 
 And after Mrs. Carpenter came a crowd ; Mrs. Flandin, 
 and Mrs. Mansfield, and Miss Gunn, and all the rest, 
 with short interval, driving up and unloading and 
 joining the circle on the piazza ; which grew a very wide 
 circle indeed, and at last broke up into divisions. Gertrude 
 was obliged to suspend operations for a while, and use her 
 eyes instead of her tongue. Most of the rest were inclined 
 to do the same ; and curious glances went about in every 
 direction, not missing Miss Masters herself. Some people 
 were absolutely tongue-tied ; others used their oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 ' Don't the wind come drefful cold over them flats in 
 winter ? ' asked one good lady who had never been at 
 Elmfield before. Mrs. Reverdy's little running laugh was 
 ready with her answer.
 
 164 DIANA. 
 
 ' I believe it does ; but we are never here in winter. 
 It's too cold.' 
 
 ' Your gran'ther's here, ain't he ? ' queried Mrs. Salter. 
 
 ' Yes ; O yes ; grandpa is here of course. I don't sup- 
 pose anything would draw him away from the old place.' 
 
 ' How big is the farm ? ' went on the first speaker. 
 
 Mrs. Reverdy did not know ; three or four hundred 
 acres, she believed. Or it might be five. She did not know 
 the difference ! 
 
 ' I guess your father misses you when you all go away,' 
 remarked Mrs. Flandin, who had hardly spoken, at least 
 aloud. 
 
 The reply was prevented, for Mrs. Starling's wagon 
 drew up at the foot of the steps, and Mrs. Reverdy hastened 
 down to give her assistance to the ladies in alighting. 
 Gertrude also suspended what she was saying, and gave 
 her undivided attention to the view of Diana. 
 
 She was only a country girl, Miss Masters said to her- 
 self. Yet what a lovely figure, as she stood there before 
 the wagon ; perfectly proportioned, light and firm in action 
 or attitude, with the grace of absolute health and strength 
 and faultless make. More ; there always is more to it ; and 
 Gertrude felt that without in the least having power to 
 reason about it ; felt in the quiet pose and soft motion those 
 spirit indications of calm and strength and gracious dignity, 
 which belonged to the fair proportions and wholesome 
 soundness of the inward character. The face said the 
 same thing, when it was turned and Diana came up the steps; 
 though it was seen under a white sunbonnet only ; the 
 straight brows, the large quiet eyes, the soft creamy colour 
 of the skin, all testified to the fine physical and menta/ 
 conditions of this creature. And Gertrude felt as she 
 looked, that it would not have been very surprising if
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 165 
 
 Evan Knowlton or any other young officer had lost his 
 heart to her. But she isn't dressed, thought Gertrude ; 
 and the next moment a shadow crossed her heart as 
 Diana's sunbonnet came off ; and a wealth of dark hair 
 was revealed, knotted into a crown of nature's devising, 
 which art could never outdo. ' I'll find out about Evan,' 
 said Miss Masters to herself. 
 
 She had to wait. The company was large no%v, and 
 the buzz of tongues considerable ; though nothing like 
 what had been in Mrs. Starling's parlour. So soon as the 
 two new comers were fairly seated and at work, Mrs. Flan- 
 din took up the broken thread of her discourse. 
 
 'Ain't your father kind o' lonesome here in the winters, 
 all by himself ? ' 
 
 ' My grandfather, you mean ? ' said Mrs. Reverdy, 
 
 ' I mean your grandfather. I forget you ain't his own ; 
 but it makes no difference. Don't he want you to hum all 
 the year round.' 
 
 ' I dare say he would like it.' 
 
 ' He's gettin' on in years now. How old is Squire Bou- 
 doin ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Mrs. Reverdy. ' He's between 
 seventy and eighty, somewhere/ 
 
 ' You won't have him long with you.' 
 
 ' O I hope so ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy lightly, and with the 
 unfailing laugh which went with everything ; ' I think 
 grandpa is stronger than I am. I shouldn't wonder if he'd 
 outlive me' 
 
 Still, don't you think it is your duty to stay with him.' 
 
 Mrs. Reverdy laughed again. ' I suppose we don't al- 
 ways do our duty,' she said. ' It's too cold here in the 
 winter after October, or September for me.' 
 
 * Then it is not your duty to be here,' said her sister
 
 l66 DIANA. 
 
 Euphemia somewhat distinctly. But Mrs. Flandin was 
 bound to ' free her mind ' of what was upon it. 
 
 ' I should think the Squire'd want Evan to hum,' she 
 went on. 
 
 ' It would be very nice if Evan could be in two places 
 at once,' Mrs. Reverdy owned conciliatingly. 
 
 ' Where is Captain Knowlton now ? ' asked Mrs. Bod- 
 dington. 
 
 'O he is not a captain yet,' said Mrs. Reverdy. He is 
 only a lieutenant. I don't know when he'll get any 
 higher than that. He's a great way off on the frontier 
 watching the Indians.' 
 
 ' I should think it was pleasanter work to watch sheep.' 
 said Mrs. Flandm. ' Don't it make you feel bad to have 
 him away so fur ? ' 
 
 ' O we're accustomed to having him away, you know ; 
 Evan has never been at home ; we really don't know him 
 as well as strangers do. We have just got a letter from 
 him at his new post.' 
 
 They had got a letter from him ! Two bounds Diana's 
 heart made : the first with a pang of pain that they should 
 have the earliest word, the next with a pang of joy, at the 
 certainty that hers must be lying in the post-office for her. 
 The blood flowed and ebbed in her veins with the violent 
 action of extreme excitement. Yet nature did for this girl 
 what only the practice and training of society do for others ; 
 she gave no outward sign. Her head was not lifted from 
 her work ; the colour of her cheek did not change ; and 
 when a moment after she found Miss Masters at her side 
 and heard her speaking, Diana looked and answered with 
 the utmost seeming composure. 
 
 ' I've been trying ever since you came to get round to 
 you,' Gertrude whispered. ' I'm so glad to see you again.''
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 1 67 
 
 But here Mrs. Flandin broke in. She was seated near 
 
 ' Ain't your hair a great trouble to you ? ' 
 
 Gertrude gave it a little toss and looked up. 
 
 ' How do you get it all flying like that ?' 
 
 ' Everybody's hair is a trouble,' said Gertrude. ' This 
 is as little as any.' 
 
 'Do you sleep with it all round your shoulders? I 
 should think you'd be in a net by morning.' 
 
 ' I suppose you would,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' Is that the fashion now ? " 
 
 ' It is one fashion,' Miss Masters responded. 
 
 ' If it warn't, I reckon you'd do it up pretty quick. 
 Dear me ! what a thing it is to be in the fashion, I do sup- 
 pose.' 
 
 ' Don't you like it yourself, ma'am ? ' queried Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 ' Never try. Pve something else to do in life.' 
 
 'Well, but there's no harm in being in the fashion, 
 Mis' Flandin,' said Miss Gunn. ' The minister said he 
 thought there warn't.' 
 
 ' The minister had better take care of himself,' Mrs. 
 Flandin retorted. 
 
 Whereupon they all opened upon her. And it could 
 be seen that for the few months during which he had 
 been among them, the minister had made swift progress in 
 the regards of the people. Scarce a tongue now but spoke 
 in his praise or his justification, or called Mrs. Flandin to 
 account for her hasty remark. 
 
 ' When you're all done, I'll speak,' said that lady coolly. 
 ' I'm not a man-worshipper ; never was ; and nobody's fit 
 to be worshipped. / should like to see the dominie put 
 down that grey horse of his.' 
 
 ' Are grey horses fashionable ? ' inquired Mrs. Reverdy 
 with her little laugh.
 
 168 DIANA. 
 
 1 What would he do without his horse ? ' said Mrs. Bod 
 dington. ' How could he fly round Pleasant Valley as he 
 does ? ' 
 
 ' He ain't bound to fly/ said Mrs. Flandin. 
 
 ' How's he to get round to folks, then ? ' said Mrs. Sal- 
 ter. ' The houses are pretty scattering in these parts ; he'd 
 be a spry man if he could walk it.' 
 
 ' Seems to me, that 'ere grey hoss is real handy,' said 
 quiet Miss Barry, who never contradicted anybody. 'When 
 Meliny was sick, Mr. Masters'd be there, to our house, early 
 in the mornin' and late at night ; and he allays had com- 
 fort with him. There ! I got to set as much by the sight 
 o' that grey hoss, you wouldn't think ! just to hear him 
 come gallopin' down the road did me good.' 
 
 ' Yes, and so it was to our house, when Liz was over- 
 turned,' said Mary Delamater. ' He'd be there every day, 
 just as punctual as could be ; and he could never have 
 walked over. It's a cruel piece of road between our house 
 and his'n.' 
 
 ' I don't want him to walk,' said Mrs. Flandin ; ' there's 
 more ways than one o' doin' most things ; but I do say, all 
 the ministers ever I see druv a team ; and it looks more 
 religious. To see the minister flyin' over the hills like a 
 racer, is altogether to gay for my likin's.' 
 
 ' But he ain't gay,' said Miss Gunn, looking appalled. 
 
 'He's mighty spry, for anybody that gets up into a pul- 
 pit on the Sabbath and tells his fellow creaturs what they 
 ought to be doin'.' 
 
 ' But he does do that, Mrs. Flandin,' said Diana. * He 
 speaks plain enough, too.' 
 
 ' I do love to hear him ! ' said Miss Barry. ' There, 
 his words seem to .go all through me and clear up my want 
 of understandin' ; for I never was smart, you know ; but
 
 A MEETING AT ELMFIELD. 169 
 
 seems to me I see things as well agin when he's been talkin' 
 to me. I say, it was a good day when he come to Pleasant 
 Valley.' 
 
 ' He ain't what you call an eloquent man,' said Miss 
 Babbage, the schoolmaster's sister. 
 
 ' What is an " eloquent " man, Lottie Babbage ? ' Mrs. 
 Boddington asked. ' It's a word, I know ; but what is the 
 thing the word means ? Come, you ought to be good at 
 definitions. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters don't pretend to be an eloquent man ! ' 
 cried Mrs. Carpenter. 
 
 'Well, tell ; come ! what do you mean by it ? I'd like 
 to know,' said Mrs. Boddington. 'I admire to get my 
 idees straight. What is it he don't pretend to be ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think he pretends to be anything,' said Diana. 
 
 'Only to have his own way wherever he goes,' added 
 Diana's mother. 
 
 ' I'd be content to let him have his own way,' said Mrs. 
 Carpenter. ' It's pretty sure to be a good way ; that's what 
 /think. I wisht he had it, for my part.' 
 
 'And yet he isn't eloquent?' said Mrs. Boddington. 
 
 ' Well,' said Miss Babbage with some difficulty, ' he just 
 says what he has got to say, and takes the handiest words he 
 can find ; but I've heard men that eloquent that they'd 
 keep you wonderin' at 'em from the beginning of their ser- 
 mon to the end; and you'd got to be smart to know what 
 they were sayin'. A child can tell what Mr. Masters 
 means.' 
 
 ' So kin I,' said Miss Barry. ' I'm thankful I kin. And 
 I don't want a man more eloquent than he is, for my 
 preachin'.' 
 
 ' It ain't movin' preachin',' said Mrs. Flandin. 
 
 ' It moves the folks,' said Mrs. Carpenter. ' I don't
 
 I/O DIANA. 
 
 know what you'd hev', Mis' Flandin ; there's Liz Delama- 
 ter, and Florry Mason, jined the church lately ; and old 
 Lupton ; and my Jim,' she added with softened voice ; ' and 
 there's several more serious.' 
 
 No more could be said, for the minister himself came 
 upon the scene at this instant. There was not an eye that 
 did not brighten at the sight of him, with the exception of 
 Mrs. Starling and Diana ; there was not a lady there who 
 was not manifestly glad to have him come near and speak to 
 her; even Airs. Flandin herself, beside whom the minister 
 presently sat down and entered into conversati on respecting 
 some new movement in parish matters, for which he wished 
 to enlist her help. General conversation returned to its 
 usual channels. 
 
 ' I can't stand this,' whispered Gertrude to Diana ; ' I 
 am tired to death. Do come down and walk over to the 
 river with me. Do ! you can work another day.' 
 
 Diana hesitated ; glanced around her. It was manifest 
 that this avas an exceptional meeting of the society, and 
 not for the purposes of work chiefly. Here and there 
 needles were suspended in lingering ringers, while their 
 owners made subdued comments to each other or used 
 their eyes for purposes of information getting. One or two 
 had even left work, and were going to the back of the house, 
 through the hall, to see the garden. Diana not very un- 
 willingly dropped her sewing and followed her conductor 
 down the steps and over the meadow.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 CATECHISING. 
 
 ' THE sun isn't hot, through all this cloud,' said Gertrude, 
 4 so I don't mind it. "We'll get into the shade under the elm 
 yonder.' 
 
 ' There is no cloud,' said Diana. 
 
 ' No cloud ? What is it then. Something has come over 
 the sun.' 
 
 ' No, it's haze.' 
 
 ' What is haze ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. We have it in Indian summer, and 
 sometimes in October, like this.' 
 
 ' Isn't it hot ? ' said Gertrude. ' And last week we were 
 having big fires. It's such queer weather. Now this shade 
 is nice.' 
 
 Under one or two of the elm canopies along the verge 
 of the little river some rustic seats had been fixed. Gertrude 
 sat down. Diana stood, looking about her. The dreamy 
 beauty through which she had ridden that afternoon was all 
 round her still ; and the meadow and the scattered elms, 
 with the distant softly rounded hills, were one of New 
 England's combinations, in which the gentlest beauty and 
 the most characteristic strength meet and mingle. But 
 what was more yet to Diana, she was among Evan's 
 haunts. Here he was at home. There seemed to her 
 fancy to be a consciousness of him in the silent trees and 
 
 171
 
 1/2 DIANA. 
 
 river ; as if they would say if they could, as if they were say- 
 ing mutely " We know him we know him ; and we are 
 old friends of his. We could tell you a great deal about him." 
 
 ' Elmfield is a pretty place,' said Gertrude. She had 
 been eyeing her companion while Diana was receiving the 
 confidences of the trees. 
 
 ' Lovely ! ' 
 
 ' If it didn't grow so cold in winter ! ' said the young 
 lady shrugging her airy shoulders. 
 
 ' I like the cold.' 
 
 ' I should like to have it always hot enough to wear 
 muslin dresses. Come, sit down. Evan put these seats 
 here.' 
 
 But Diana continued standing. 
 
 ' Did you hear that woman scolding because he don't 
 stay here and give up his army life ? ' 
 
 ' She takes her own view of it,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Do you think he ought to give up everything to take 
 care of his grandfather ?' 
 
 ' I dare say his grandfather likes to have him do as he 
 is doing.' 
 
 ' But it must be awfully hard, mustn't it, for them to 
 have him so far away, and fighting the Indians ? ' 
 
 'Is he fighting the Indians?' Diana asked quietly ; 
 though she made the words quiet, she knew, by sheer force 
 of necessity. But quiet they were ; slow, and shewing no 
 eagerness ; while her pulse had made one mad jump and 
 then seemed to stand still. 
 
 ' O the Indians are always making trouble, you know, 
 on the frontier ; that's what our men are there for, to 
 watch them. I didn't mean that Evan was fighting just at 
 this minute ; but he might be. any minute. Shouldn't you 
 feel bad if he was your brother ? '
 
 CATECHISING. 1/3 
 
 ' Mrs. Reverdy doesn't seem to be uneasy.' 
 
 ' She ? no,' said Gertrude with a laugh ; ' nothing 
 makes her uneasy. Except thinking that Evan has fallen 
 in love with somebody.' 
 
 ' She must expect that sooner or later,' said Diana, with 
 a calmness which told her companion nothing. 
 
 ' Ah, but she would rather have it later. She don't 
 want to lose Evan. She is very proud of him.' 
 
 ' Would she lose him in such a case ? ' Diana asked 
 smiling ; though she wished the talk ended. 
 
 ' Why, you know brothers are good for nothing to sis- 
 ters after they are married, worse ! they are tantalizing. 
 You are obliged to see what you used to have, in somebody 
 else's possession and much more than ever you used to 
 have; and it's tiresome. I'm glad I've no brothers. 
 Basil is a good deal like a brother, and I am jealous of 
 him? 
 
 'It must be very uncomfortable to be jealous,' said 
 Diana, 
 
 ' Horrid ! You saw a good deal of Evan, didn't you ? ' 
 
 A question that might have embarrassed Diana if she 
 had not had an instant perception of the intent of it. She 
 answered thereupon with absolute self-possession, 
 
 'I don't know what you would call a "good deal." I 
 saw what /call a good deal of him that day in the black- 
 berry field.' 
 
 ' Don't you think he is charming ? ' 
 
 Diana laughed and was vexed to feel her cheeks grow 
 warm. 
 
 ' That's a word that belongs to women.' 
 
 ' Not to many of 'em ! ' said Gertrude, with a slight 
 turning up of her pretty nose. Then, struck with the fine, 
 pure face and very lovely figure before her, she suddenly 
 added,
 
 1/4 DIANA. 
 
 ' Didn't he think you charming ? ' 
 
 ' Are you laughing at me ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' No, indeed I am not. Didn't he ? ' said Gertrude 
 caressingly. 
 
 Amusement almost carried off the temptation to be 
 provoked. Diana laughed merrily as she answered, ' Do 
 you think a person of so good taste would ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I do,' said Gertrude half sulkily, for she was baf- 
 fled, and besides, her words spoke the truth. ' I am sure he 
 did. Isn't life very stupid up here in the mountains, when 
 visiters are all gone away ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think so. We never depend upon visiters.' 
 
 1 It has been awfully slow at Elmfield since Mr. Knowl- 
 ton went away. We sha'n't stay much longer. I can't live 
 where I can't dance.' 
 
 ' What is that ? ' said a voice close at hand. A pecu- 
 liarly clear, silvery voice. 
 
 ' Cousin Basil ! ' cried Gertrude starting. ' What did you 
 come here for? I brought Miss Starling here to have a 
 good talk with her.' 
 
 ' Have you had it ? ' 
 
 ' I haven't had time. I was just beginning.' 
 
 ' What about dancing ? ' 
 
 ' I was not speaking for you to hear. I was relieving 
 myself by the confession that I can't live, happily, I mean, 
 without it.' 
 
 ' Choice of partners immaterial ? ' 
 
 ' I couldn't bear a dull life ! ' 
 
 ' Nor I.' 
 
 He looked as if he certainly did not know what dulness 
 was, Diana thought. She listened, much amused. 
 
 ' But you think it is wrong to dance, don't you ? ' Ger- 
 trude went on.
 
 CATECHISING. 1/5 
 
 ' " Better not " is wrong, to a Christian,' he replied. 
 
 ' It must be dreadful to be a Christian ! ' 
 
 ' Because ? ' he said with a quiet and good-humoured 
 glance and toae of inquiry. 
 
 ' O because it is slavery. So many things you cannot 
 do, and dresses you cannot wear.' 
 
 ' By what rule ? ' Mr. Masters asked. 
 
 ' O, people think you are dreadful if you do those 
 things ; the Church, and all that. So I think it is a great 
 deal better to keep out of it, and make no pretensions.' 
 
 'Better to keep out of what ? let me understand,' said 
 the minister. 'You are getting my ideas in a very in- 
 volved state.' 
 
 ' No, I am not I I say, it is better to make no profes- 
 sion.' 
 
 ' Better than what ? What is the alternative ? ' 
 
 ' O, you know. Now you are catechising me. It is 
 better to make no profession, than to make it and not 
 live up to it.' 
 
 ' I understand. That is to say ; it is wicked to pay your 
 debts with counterfeit notes, so it is better not to pay them 
 at all.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Basil ! I am not talking of paying debts.' 
 
 ' But I am.' 
 
 ' What have debts got to do with it ? ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon. I understood you to declare your 
 disapprobation of false money, and your preference for 
 another sort of dishonesty.' 
 
 ' Dishonest, Basil ! there is no dishonesty.' 
 
 ' By what name do you call it ? ' 
 
 He was speaking gravely, though with a surface pleas- 
 antry ; both gravity and pleasantry were of a very winning 
 kind. Diana looked on and listened, much interested, as
 
 1 76 DIANA. 
 
 well as amused ; Gertrude puzzled and impatient, though 
 unable to resist the attraction. She hesitated and surveyed 
 him. 
 
 ' There can't be dishonesty unless where one owes 
 something.' 
 
 ' Precisely ' he said, glancing at her. His hands were 
 busy at the time with a supple twig he had cut from one 
 of the trees, which he was trimming of its leaves and 
 buds. 
 
 ' What do I owe ? ' said the beauty, throwing her tresses 
 of hair off from her shoulders. 
 
 He waited a bit, the one lady looking defiant, the other 
 curious ; and then he said, with a sort of gentle simplicity 
 that was at the same time uncompromising, 
 
 ' " The Lord hath made all things for himself." ' 
 
 Gertrude's foot patted the turf ; after a minute she 
 answered, 
 
 ' Of course you say that because you are a clergyman.' 
 
 ' No, I don't. I am stating a fact ; which I thought it 
 likely you had forgotten.' 
 
 Gertrude stood up, as if she had got enough of the con- 
 versation. Diana wished for another word. 
 
 ' It is a fact,' she said ; ' but what have we to do with 
 it?' 
 
 ' Only to let the Lord have his own,' said the minister 
 with a full look at her. 
 
 ' How do you mean, Mr. Masters ? I don't under- 
 stand ? ' 
 
 Gertrude was marching over the grass, leading to the 
 house. The other two followed. 
 
 * When you have contrived and made a thing, you reck- 
 on it is your own, don't you ? and when you have bought 
 something, you think it is at your disposal ? '
 
 CATECHISING. 1 77 
 
 'Certainly; but ' 
 
 ' " You were bought with a price." ' 
 
 ' Of course, God has a right to dispose of us,' Diana 
 assented in an 'of course ' way. 
 
 ' Dots he ? ' said the minister. Then seeing her puzzled 
 expression, he went on ' He cannot dispose of you as he 
 wishes, without your consent/ 
 
 Diana stopped short, midway in the meadow. ' I do 
 not in the least understand, Mr. Masters,' she said. ' How 
 does He wish to dispose of me ? ' 
 
 ' When you are his own, he will let you know,' said the 
 minister, beginning to stroll onward again ; and no more 
 words passed till they were nearing the house, when he 
 said suddenly, ' Whom do you think you belong to now?' 
 
 Diana's thought made an instant leap at the words, 
 a leap over hundreds of miles of intervening space, and 
 alighted beside a fine officer-like figure in a dark blue mili- 
 tary coat with straps on the shoulders. That was where 
 she " belonged," she thought ; and a soft rose colour man- 
 tled on her cheek and deepened, half with happiness, halt 
 with pride. The question that had provoked it was for- 
 gotten ; and the neighbourhood of the house was now too 
 near to allow of the inquiry being pressed or repeated. 
 The minister indeed was aware that for some time he 
 and his companion-had been facing a battery ; but Diana 
 was in happy unconsciousness ; it was the thought of 
 nothing present or near which made her eyes droop and 
 her cheeks take on such a bloom of loveliness. 
 
 Among the eyes that beheld, Mrs. Starling's had not 
 been the least keen, though she watched without seeming 
 to watch. She saw how the minister and her daughter 
 came slowly over the meadow, engaged with each other's 
 conversation, while Miss Masters tripped on before them. 
 
 12
 
 1^8 DIANA. 
 
 She noticed the pause in their walk, Diana's slow, thought- 
 ful step ; and then as they came near, her flush and her 
 downcast eye. 
 
 ' The minister's talk 's very interestin',' whispered Mrs. 
 Carpenter in her ear. 
 
 'Not to me,' said Mrs. Starling, wilfully misunderstand- 
 ing. ' Some folks thinks so, I know. I can't somehow 
 never get along with him.' 
 
 ' And Diana sha'n't,' was her inward resolve ; ' but she 
 can't be thinkin' of the other feller.' 
 
 As if to try the question, at the moment, Mrs. Reverdy 
 appeared at the top of the steps, just as the minister and 
 Diana got to the foot of them. She was in high glee, for 
 her party was going off nicely, and the tables were just 
 preparing for supper. 
 
 ' We want nothing now but Evan,' she said with her 
 unfailing laugh. ' Miss Starling, don't you think he might 
 have come for this afternoon, just to see so many friends ? ' 
 
 Diana never knew where she got the .coolness to answer, 
 ' How long a journey is it, Mrs. Reverdy ? ' 
 
 ' O I don't know ! How far is it, Mr. Masters ? a 
 thousand miles? or two thousand? I declare I have no 
 idea. But love laughs at distances, they say.' 
 
 ' Is Cupid a contractor on this road ? ' inquired the 
 minister gravely. 
 
 ' A contractor ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Reverdy laughing, 
 ' Oh, dear, what a funny idea ! I never thought of putting 
 it so. But I didn't know but Miss Starling could tell us.' 
 
 ' Do you know anything about it, Miss Diana ? ' asked 
 the minister. 
 
 ' About what ? ' 
 
 'Why Lieutenant Knowlton is not here this after- 
 noon ? '
 
 CATECHISING. 1/9 
 
 Diana knew that several pair? of eyes were upon her. 
 It was a dangerous minute. But she had failed to discern 
 in Mrs. Reverdy or in Gertrude any symptom of more than 
 curiosity ; and curiosity she felt she could meet and baffle. 
 It was impertinent, and it was unkind. So, though her mind 
 was at a point which made it close steering, she managed 
 to sheer off from embarrassment and look amused. She 
 laughed in the eyes that were watching her, and answered 
 carelessly enough to Mr. Masters' question ; that she 
 ' dared say Mr. Knowlton would have come if he could.' 
 Mrs. Starling put up her work with a sigh of relief ; and 
 the rest of the persons concerned felt free to dismiss 
 the subject from their minds and pay attention to the 
 supper. 
 
 It was a great success, Mrs. Reverdy's sewing party. 
 The excellent entertainment provided was heartily enjoyed, 
 all the more for the little stimulus of curiosity which hung 
 about every article and each detail of the tea-table. Old 
 Mr. Bowcloin delighted himself in hospitable attentions to 
 his old neighbours, and was full of genial and gratified 
 talk with them. The stiffness of the afternoon departed 
 before the tea and coffee ; and when at last the assembly 
 broke up and a little file of country wagons drove away, 
 one after another, from the door, it was with highly grati- 
 fied loads of people. 
 
 Diana may be quoted as a single exception. In the 
 tremor of her spirits which followed the bit of social navi- 
 gation noticed above, she had hardly known how anything 
 tasted at the supper ; and the talk she had heard without 
 hearing. There was nothing but relief in getting away. 
 
 The drive home was as silent between her and her 
 mother as the drive out had been. Mrs. Starling was full 
 of her own cogitations. Diana's thoughts were not like
 
 ISO DIANA. 
 
 that, hard twisted and hard knotted lines of argument, 
 growing harder and more twisted towards their end ; but 
 wide flowing and soft changing visions, flowing sweet and 
 free as the clouds borne on the air currents of heaven ; 
 catching such colours, and drifting as insensibly from one 
 form into another. The evening kept up the dreamy char- 
 acter of the afternoon, the haze growing duskier as the light 
 waned ; till the tender gleam of a full moon began to sup- 
 ply here and there the glory of the lost sunlight. It was 
 a colder gleam, though ; and so far, more practical than 
 that flush of living promise which a little while ago had 
 filled the sky and the world. Diana's thoughts centred on 
 Evan's letter. Where was it ? When should she get it ? 
 Josiah, she knew, had been to the post-office that morn- 
 ing, and brought home nothing ! She wished she could go 
 to the post office herself ; she sometimes had done so ; but 
 she would not like to take Evan's letter either, from the 
 knowing hands of the postmaster. She might not be able 
 to command her looks perfectly. 
 
 ' They don't know how to make soda biscuit, down yon- 
 der,' Mrs. Starling broke out abruptly, just as their drive 
 was near ended. 
 
 ' Don't they ? ' said Diana absently. 
 
 ' All yellow ! ' said Mrs. Starling disdainfully. ' No- 
 body would ever know there was any saleratus in my bis- 
 cuit or in yours either.' 
 
 ' Except from the lightness, mother.' 
 
 'The lightness wouldn't tell what made 'em light,' said 
 Mrs. Starling logically. ' They had saleratus in their pickles 
 too.' 
 
 ' How could you tell ? ' 
 
 * Tell ? As if I couldn't tell ! Tell by the colour.' 
 
 ' Ours are green too.'
 
 CATECHISING. l8l 
 
 ' Not green like that. I would despise to make my 
 pickles green that way. I'd as soon paint 'em.' 
 
 ' It was very handsome, mother, the supper altogether.' 
 
 ' Hm ! It was a little too handsome,' said Mrs. Star- 
 ling, ' and that was what they liked about it. I'd like to 
 know what is the use o' having great clumsy forks of make- 
 believe silver ' 
 
 ' O they were real, mother.' 
 
 ' Well, the more fools if they were. I'd like to know 
 what is the use of having great clumsy forks of silver, real 
 or make-believe, when you can have nice, sharp, handy 
 steel ones, and for half or a quarter the price ? ' 
 
 Diana liked the silver forks and was silent. 
 
 ' I could hardly eat my pickles with 'em. I couldn't, if 
 they had been mine; but Genevieve's cucumbers were 
 spongy.' 
 
 To Diana's relief, their own door was gained at this 
 moment. She did not know what her mother's discourse 
 might end in, and was glad to have it stopped. Yet the 
 drive had been pretty ! 
 
 The men had had their supper, which had been left 
 ready for them ; and Josiah's care had kept up a blazing fire 
 in the lean-to kitchen. Diana went up stairs to change her 
 dress, for she had the dishes now to wash up ; and Mrs. Star- 
 ling stood in front of the fireplace, pondering. She had been 
 pondering all the time of the drive home, as well as much of 
 the time spent at Elmfield ; she believed she had come to a 
 conclusion ; and yet she delayed her purpose. It was clear, 
 she said to herself, that Diana did not care for Lieut. Knowl- 
 ton ; at least, not much ; her fancy might have been stirred. 
 But what is a girl's fancy ? Nothing worth considering. 
 Letters, if allowed, might nourish the fancy up into some- 
 thing else. She would destroy this first one. She had
 
 1 82 DIANA. 
 
 determined on that. Yet she lingered. Conscience spoke 
 uneasily. What if she were misled by appearances, and 
 Diana had more than a fancy for this young fellow ? Then 
 she would crush it! Nobody would be the wiser, and no- 
 body would die of grief ; those things were done in stories 
 only. Mrs. Starling hesitated nevertheless, with her hand 
 on the letter, till the sound of Diana's step in the house 
 decided her action. She was afraid to wait ; some accident 
 might overthrow all her arrangements ; and with a hasty 
 movement she drew the packet from her bosom and tucked 
 it under the fofestick, where a bed of glowing nut-wood 
 coals lay ready. Quick the fire caught the light tindery 
 edges, made a little jet of excitement about the large 
 wax seal, fought its way through the thick folds of paper, 
 and in a moment had left only a mock sheet of cinder, with 
 mock marks of writing still traceable vividly upon it. A 
 letter still, manifestly, sharp edged and square, it glowed at 
 Mrs. Starling from its bed of coals, with the curious im- 
 passiveness of material things ; as if the happiness of two 
 lives had not shrivelled within it. Mrs. Starling stood look- 
 ing. What had been written upon that fiery scroll ? It was 
 vain to ask now ; and hearing Diana coming down stairs, 
 she took the tongs and punched the square cinder that 
 kept its form too well. Little bits of paper, grey cinder 
 with red edges, fluttered in the draught and flew up in the 
 smoke. 
 
 ' What are you burning there, mother ? ' said Diana. 
 
 And Mrs. Starling answered a guilty, " Nothing," and 
 walked away. Diana looked at the little fluttering cinders, 
 and an uneasy sensation came over her, that yet took no 
 form of suspicion ; and passed, for the thing was impos- 
 sible. So near she came to it. 
 
 Why had Mrs. Starling not at least read the letter be-
 
 CATECHISING. 183 
 
 fore destroying it ? The answer lies in some of the 
 strange, hidden involutions of feeling and consciousness, 
 which are hard to trace out even by the person who knows 
 them best. After the thing was done, she wished she had 
 read it. It may be she feared to find what would stay her 
 hand, or make her action difficult. It may be that certain 
 stirrings of conscience warned her that delay might defeat 
 her whole purpose. She was an obstinate woman, by na- 
 ture ; obstinate to the point of wilful blindness when ne- 
 cessary ; and to do her justice, she was perfectly incapable 
 of estimating the gain or the loss of such an affection as 
 Diana's, or of sympathizing with the. suffering such a na- 
 ture may know. It was not in her ; she had no key to it ; 
 grant the utmost mischief that she supposed it even possi- 
 ble she might be doing, and it was as a summer gale to 
 the cyclone of the Indian seas. 
 
 So her conscience troubled her little, and that little 
 was soon silenced. Perhaps not quite forgotten ; for it had 
 the effect, not to make her more than usual tender of her 
 daughter and indulgent towards her, as one would expect,but 
 stern, carping and exacting beyond all her wont. She drove 
 household matters with a tighter rein than ever, and gave 
 Diana as little time for private thought or musing, as the 
 constant and engrossing occupation of her hands could leave 
 free. But however, thoughts are not chained to fingers. 
 Alas ! what troubled calculations Diana worked into her 
 butter, those weeks ; and how many heavy possibilities she 
 shook down from her fingers along with the drops of water 
 she scattered upon the clothes for the ironing. Her very 
 nights at last became filled with the anxious cogitations 
 that never ceased all the day ; and Diana awoke morning 
 after morning unrefreshed and weary from her burdened 
 sleep, and from dreams that reproduced in fantastic com-
 
 1 84 DIANA. 
 
 binations the perplexities of her waking life. Her face 
 began to grow shadowed and anxious, and her tongue was 
 still. Mrs. Starling had generally done most of the talking ; 
 she did.it all now. 
 
 Days passed on, and weeks. Mrs. Starling did not find 
 out that anything was the matter with Diana ; partly be- 
 cause she was determined that nothing should be the mat- 
 ter ; and partly because young Flandin came about the 
 house a good deal, and Mrs. Starling thought Diana to be 
 vexed, or perhaps in a state of vexed indecision about him. 
 And in addition, she was a little anxious herself, lest an- 
 other letter should come and somehow reach the hands it 
 was meant for. Having gone so far already, Mrs. Starling 
 did not mean to spoil or lose her work for want of a few 
 finishing touches. She watched the post-office as never in 
 her life, for any cause, she had watched it before.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE ? 
 
 DIANA would have written to Mr. Knowlton to get her 
 mystery solved ; she was far too simple and true to stand 
 upon needless punctilio ; but she did not know how to ad- 
 dress to him a letter. Evan himself had not known, when 
 he parted from her ; the information came in that epistle that 
 never reached her hands, that first letter. Names and di- 
 rections had all perished in the flames, and for want of them 
 Diana could do nothing. Meanwhile, what would Evan 
 think ? He would expect an answer, and a quick answer, 
 to his letter ; he was looking for it now, no doubt ; won- 
 dering why it did not come, and disappointed, and fearing 
 something wrong. That trouble, of fearing something wrong, 
 Diana was spared ; for she knew the family at Elmfield 
 had heard, and all was well ; but sometimes her other 
 troublesome thoughts made her powerless hands come to- 
 gether with a clasp of wild pain. How long must she wait 
 now ? how long would Evan wait, before in desperation he 
 wrote again ? And where was her letter ? for it had been 
 written and sent ; that she knew ; was it lost ? was it 
 stolen ? Had somebody's curiosity prevailed so far, and 
 was her precious secret town property by this time ? Every 
 day became harder to bear ; every week made the sus- 
 pense more intolerable. Mrs. Starling was far out in one 
 of her suppositions. Will Flandin came a good deal about 
 
 185
 
 1 86 DIANA. 
 
 the house, it is true ; but Diana hardly knew he was there. 
 If she thought about it at all, she was half glad, because 
 his presence might serve to mask her silence and abstrac- 
 tion. She was conscious of both, and the effort to cover 
 the one and hide the other was very painful sometimes. 
 
 October glories were passed away, and November 
 days grew shorter and shorter, colder and more dreary. It 
 seemed now and then to Diana that summer had gone to 
 a distance from which it would never revisit her. And 
 after those days of constant communication with Evan, the 
 blank cessation of it, the ignorance of all that had befallen 
 or was befalling him, the want of a word of remembrance 
 or affection, grew almost to a blank of despair. 
 
 It was late in the month. 
 
 ' What wagon's that stopping ? ' exclaimed Mrs. Starling 
 one afternoon. Mother and daughter were in the lean-to. 
 Diana looked out, and saw with a pang of various feelings 
 what wagon it was. 
 
 ' Ain't that the Elmfield folks ? ' 
 
 'I think so.' 
 
 ' I know so. I thought Mrs. Reverdy and the rest had 
 run away from the cold.' 
 
 * Didn't you know Miss Masters had been sick ? ' 
 
 ' How should I know it ? 
 
 1 1 heard so. I didn't know but you had heard it.' 
 
 ' I can't hear things without somebody tells me. Go 
 along up stairs, Diana and put on something.' 
 
 Diana obeyed, but she was very quick about it ; she was 
 nervously afraid lest while she was absent some word should 
 be said that she would not have lost for the whole world. 
 What had they come for, these people ? Was the secret out 
 perhaps, and had they come to bring her a letter ? Or to 
 say why Evan had not written? Could he have been
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE? l8/ 
 
 sick ? A feverish whirlwind of thoughts rushed through 
 Diana's head while she was fastening her dress ; and she 
 went down and came into the parlour with two beautiful 
 spots of rose-colour upon her cheeks. They were fever-spots. 
 Diana had been pale of late ; but she looked gloriously hand- 
 some as she entered the room. Bad for her. A common- 
 looking woman might have heard news from Evan ; the 
 instant resolve in the hearts of the two ladies who had 
 come to visit her, was, that this girl should hear none. 
 
 They were however exceedingly gracious and agreeable. 
 Mrs. Reverdy entered with flattering interest into all the 
 matters of household and farm detail respecting which 
 Mrs. Starling chose to be communicative ; responded with 
 details of her own. How it was impossible to get good 
 butter made, unless you made it yourself. How servants 
 were unsatisfactory, even in Pleasant Valley ; and how de- 
 lightful it was to be able to do without them, as Mrs. 
 Starling did and Diana. 
 
 ' I should like it of all things,' said Mrs. Reverdy with 
 her unfailing laugh ; a little, well-bred, low murmur of a 
 laugh. ' It must be so delightful to have your biscuits al- 
 ways light and never tasting of soda ; and your butter 
 always as if it was made of cowslips ; and your eggs always 
 fresh. We never have fresh eggs,' continued Mrs. Reverdy 
 shaking her head solemnly ; ' never. I never dare to have 
 them boiled.' 
 
 ' What becomes of them ? ' said a new voice ; and Mr. 
 Masters entered the field ; in other words, the room. 
 Diana's heart contracted with a pang; was this another 
 hindrance in the way of her hearing what she wanted ? 
 But the rest of the ladies welcomed him. 
 
 ' Charming ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy ; ' now you will go 
 home with us.'
 
 1 88 DIANA. 
 
 ' I don't see just on what you found your conclu- 
 sion.' 
 
 4 O you will have made your visit to Mrs. Starling, you 
 know; and then you will have nothing else to do.' 
 
 4 There spoke a woman of business ! ' said the min- 
 ister. 
 
 4 Yes, why not ? ' said the lady. ' I was just telling Mrs. 
 Starling how I should delight to do as she does, without 
 servants, and how pleasant I should find it ; only, you know, 
 I shouldn't know how to do anything if I tried.' Mrs. 
 Reverdy seemed to find the idea very entertaining. 
 
 4 You wouldn't like to get tip in the morning to make 
 your biscuits,' said Gertrude. 
 
 ' O yes I would ! I needn't have breakfast very early, 
 you know.' 
 
 * The good butter wouldn't be on the table if you didn't,' 
 said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 4 Wouldn't it ? why ? Does it matter when butter is 
 made, if it is only made right ? ' 
 
 4 No ; but the trouble is, it cannot be made right after 
 the sun is an hour or two high.' 
 
 ; An hour or two ! ' Mrs. Reverdy uttered a little 
 scream. 
 
 4 Not at this time of year, mother,' interposed Diana. 
 
 4 Do you get up at these fearful times ? ' inquired Miss 
 Masters languidly, turning her eyes full upon the latter 
 speaker. 
 
 Diana scarce answered. Would all the minutes of 
 their visit pass in these platitudes ? could nothing else be 
 talked of? The next instant she blessed Mr. Masters. 
 
 4 Have you heard from the soldier lately ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' O yes ! we hear frequently,' Mrs. Reverdv said. 
 
 4 He likes his post ? '
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE? 189 
 
 ' I really don't know,' said her sister laughing ; ' a 
 soldier can't choose, you know ; I fancy they, have some 
 rough times out there ; but they manage to get a good 
 deal of fun too. Evan's last letter told of buffalo hunting, 
 and said they had some very good society too. You 
 wouldn't expect it, on the outskirts of everything ; but the 
 officers' families are very pleasant. There are young ladies, 
 sometimes ; and every one is made a great deal of.' 
 
 'Where is Mr. Knowlton ? ' Diana asked. She had 
 been working up her courage to dare the question ; it was 
 hazardous ; she was afraid to trust her voice ; but the 
 daring of desperation was on her, and the words came out 
 with sufficiently cool utterance. A keen observer might 
 note a change in Mrs. Reverdy's look and tone. 
 
 ' O, he's in one of those dreadful posts out on the 
 frontier ; too near the Indians ; but I suppose if there 
 weren't Indians there wouldn't be forts, and they wouldn't 
 want officers or soldiers to be in them,' she added, looking 
 at Mr. Masters ; as if she had found a happy final cause 
 for the existence of the aborigines of the country. 
 
 ' What is the name of the place ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 ' I declare, I've forgotten. Fort I can't think of 
 
 any name but Vancouver, and it isn't that. Gertrude, 
 what is the name of that place ? Do you know, I can't tell 
 whether it is in Arizona or Wisconsin ! ' And Mrs. Reverdy 
 laughed at her geographical innocence. 
 
 Gertrude ' didn't remember.' 
 
 ' He is not so far off as Vancouver, I think,' said Mr. 
 Masters. 
 
 ' No, O no, not so far as that ; but he might just as 
 well. When you get to a certain distance, it don't signify 
 whether it is more or less ; you can't get at people, and 
 they can't get at you. You have seemed to be at that dis-
 
 IQO DIANA. 
 
 tance lately, Basil. What a dreadful name ! How came you 
 to be called such a name ? ' 
 
 ' Be thankful it is no worse,' said the minister gravely. 
 * I might have been called Lactantius.' 
 
 ' Lactantius ! Impossible. Was there ever a man 
 named Lactantius ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' 'Tain't any worse than Ichabod,' remarked Mrs. Star- 
 ling. 
 
 ' Nothing can be worse than Ichabod,' said Mr. Mas- 
 ters in the same dry way. ' It means, " The glory is de- 
 parted." ' 
 
 ' The Ichabods I knew, never had any glory to begin 
 with,' said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 But the minister laughed at this, and so gayly that it 
 was infectious. Mrs. Starling joined in. without well know- 
 ing why ; the lady visiters seemed to be very much amused. 
 Diana tried to laugh, with lips that felt rigid as steel. The 
 minister's eye came to hers, too, she knew, to see how the fun 
 went with her. And then the ladies rose, took a very 
 flattering leave and departed, carrying Mr. Masters off 
 with them. 
 
 ' I am coming to look at those books of yours soon,' 
 he said, as he shook hands with Diana. ' May I ? ' 
 
 Diana made her answer as civil as she could, with those 
 stiff lips ; how she bade good-by to the others she never 
 knew. As her mother attended them to the garden gate, she 
 went up the stairs to her room, feeling now, it was the first 
 time, that the pain could not be borne. Seeing these people had 
 brought Evan so near ; and hearing them talk had put him 
 at such an impossible distance. Diana pressed both hands 
 on her heart, and stood looking out of her window at the 
 departing carriage. What could she do ? Nothing, that she
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE ? IQI 
 
 could think of ; and to do nothing was the intolerable part 
 of it. Any, the most tedious and lingering action, yes, 
 even the least hopeful ; anything that would have been 
 action, would have made the pain supportable ; she could 
 have drawn breath then, enough for life's purposes ; now 
 she was stifling. There was some mystery ; there was 
 something wrong ; some mistake, or misapprehension, or 
 malpractice ; something, which if she could put her hand 
 on, all would be right. And it was hidden from her ; dark ; 
 it might be near or far, she could not touch it, for she could 
 not find it. There was even no place for suspicion to take 
 hold, unless the curiosity of the post office or of some pry- 
 ing neighbour ; she did not suspect Evan ; and yet there 
 was a great throb at her heart with the thought that in 
 Evan's place she would never have let things rest. Nothing 
 should have kept the silence so long unbroken ; if the first 
 letter got no answer, she would have written another. So 
 would Diana have done now, without being in Evan's place, 
 if only she had had his address. And that cruel woman to 
 day ! did she know, or did she guess, anything ? or was it 
 another of the untoward circumstances attending the whole 
 matter ? 
 
 It came to her now, a thought of regret that she had 
 not ventured the disagreeableness and told her mother 
 long ago of her interest in Evan. Mrs. Starling could take 
 measures that her daughter could not take. If she pleased, 
 that is ; and the doubt also recurred, whether she would 
 please. It was by no means certain ; and at any rate, 
 now, in her mortification and pain, Diana could not invite 
 her mother into her counsels. She felt that, as from her 
 window she watched the receding wagon and saw Mrs. Star- 
 ling turn from the gate and walk in. Uncompromising, 
 unsympathizing, even her gait and the set of her head and
 
 IQ2 DIANA. 
 
 shoulders proclaimed her to be. Diana was alone with 
 her trouble. 
 
 An hour afterwards she came down as usual, strained 
 the milk, skimmed her cream, went through the whole 
 little routine of the household evening ; her hands were 
 steady, her eye was true, her memory lost nothing. But 
 she did not speak one word, unless, which was seldom, a 
 word was spoken to her. So went on the next day, and the 
 next. November's days were trailing along, December's 
 would follow ; there was no change from one to another ; 
 no variety. Less than ever before ; for with morbid sen- 
 sitiveness Diana shrank from visiters and visiting. Every 
 contact gave her pain. 
 
 Meanwhile, where was Evan's second letter ? On its 
 way, and in the post office. 
 
 It was late in November ; Diana was sitting at the door 
 of the lean-to, where she had been sitting on that June day 
 when our story began. She was alone this time ; and her 
 look and attitude were sadly at variance with that former 
 time. The November day was not without a charm of its 
 own which might even challenge comparison with the June 
 glory ; for it was Indian summer time, and the wonder of 
 soft spiritual beauty which had settled down upon the 
 landscape, brown and bare though that was, left no room 
 to regret the full verdure and radiant sunlight of high sum- 
 mer. The indescribable loveliness of the haze and hush, 
 the winning tender colouring that was through the air and 
 wrapped round everything, softening, mellowing, harmon- 
 izing somehow even the most unsightly ; hiding where it 
 could not beautify, and beautifying where it could not hide, 
 like Christian charity ; gave a most exquisite lesson to the 
 world, of how much more mighty is spirit than matter. 
 Diana did not see it, as she had seen the June day ; her
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE ? 193 
 
 arms were folded, lying one upon another in idle fashion ; 
 her face was grave and fixed, the eyes aimless and vision- 
 less, looking at nothing and seeing nothing ; cheeks pale, 
 and the mouth parted with pain and questioning, its de- 
 licious childlike curves just now all gone. So sitting, and 
 so abstracted in her own thoughts, she never knew that 
 anybody was near ; till the little gate opened, and then 
 with a start she saw Mr. Masters coming up the walk. 
 Diana rose and stood in the doorway ; all traces of country 
 girl manners, if she had ever had any, had disappeared 
 before the dignity of a great and engrossing trouble. 
 
 ' Good evening ! ' she said quietly, as they shook hands. 
 ' Mother's gone out.' 
 
 ' Gone out, is she ? ' said Mr. Masters, but not with a 
 tone of particular disappointment. 
 
 ' Yes. I believe she has gone to the Corner to the 
 post office.' 
 
 ' The Corner is a good way off. And how do you do ? ' 
 
 Diana thought he looked at her a little meaningly. She 
 answered in the customary form, that she was well. 
 
 ' That -says a great deal or nothing at all,' the minis- 
 ter remarked. 
 
 ( What ? ' said Diana, not comprehending him. 
 
 ' That form of words, " I am well." ' 
 
 'It is very apt to mean nothing at all,' said Diana, 'for 
 people say it without thinking.' 
 
 ' As you did just now ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps. But I am well.' 
 
 'Altogether ?' said the minister. ' Soul and mind and 
 body ? ' 
 
 The word read dry enough ; his manner, his tone, half 
 gentle, half bold, with a curious inoffensive kind of bold- 
 ness, took from them their dryness and gave them a cer- 
 13
 
 194 DIANA. 
 
 tain sweet acceptableness that most persons knew who 
 knew Mr. Masters. Diana never dreamed that he was in- 
 trusive, even though she recognized the fact that he was 
 about his work. Nevertheless she waived the question. 
 
 ' Can anybody say that he is well so ? ' she asked. 
 
 'I hope he can. Do you know the old lady who is 
 called Mother Bartlett ? ' 
 
 1 O yes.' 
 
 ' Do you think she would hesitate about answering 
 that question ? Or be mistaken in the answer ? ' 
 
 ' But what do you mean by it exactly ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' Don't you know ? ' 
 
 'I suppose I do. I know what it means to be well in 
 body. I have been well all my life.' 
 
 ' How would you characterize that happy condition ? ' 
 
 ' Why,' said Diana, unused to definitions of abstractions, 
 but following Mr. Masters' lead as people always did, gen- 
 tle or simple, ' I mean, or it means, sound, and comfort- 
 able, and fit for what one has to do.' 
 
 ' Excellent,' said the minister. ' I see you understand 
 the subject. Cannot those things be true of soul and mind, 
 as well as of body ? ' 
 
 * What is the difference between soul and mind ?' said 
 Diana. 
 
 ' A clear departure ! ' said the minister laughing ; then 
 gravely, ' Do you read philosophy ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know ' said Diana. ' I read, or I used to 
 read, a good many sorts of books. I haven't read much 
 lately.' 
 
 The minister gave her another keen look, while she was 
 attending to something else, and when he spoke again it 
 was with a change of tone. 
 
 ' I had a promise once that I should see those books.'
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE? 1 95 
 
 ' Any time,' said Diana eagerly ; ' any time ! ' For it 
 would be an easy way of entertaining him, or of getting rid 
 of him. Either would do. 
 
 ' I think I proposed a plan of exchange, which might 
 be to the advantage of us both.' 
 
 ' To mine, I am sure,' said Diana. ' I don't know 
 whether there can be anything you would care for among 
 the books up stairs ; but if there should be Would you 
 like to go up and look at them ? ' 
 
 ' I should, if it would not give you too much trouble.' 
 
 It would be no trouble just to run up stairs and shew 
 him where they were ; and this Diana did, leaving him to 
 overhaul the stock at his leisure. She came down and 
 went on with her work. 
 
 Diana's heart was too sound and her head too clear, to 
 allow her to be more than to a certain degree distressed at 
 not hearing from Evan. She did not doubt him, more than 
 she doubted herself ; and not doubting him, things must 
 come out all right by and by. She was restive under the 
 present pain ; at times wild with the desire to find and re- 
 move the something, whatever it was, which had come be- 
 tween Evan and her ; for this girl's was no calm, easy-go- 
 ing nature, but one with depths of passionate reserve and 
 terrible possibilities of suffering or enjoying. She had been 
 calm all her life until now, because these powers and sus- 
 ceptibilities had been in an absolute poise ; an equilibrium 
 that nothing had shaken. Now the depths were stirred, and 
 at times she was in a storm of impatientpain ; but there came 
 revulsions of hope and quiet lulls, when the sun almost 
 shone again under the clearance made by faith and hope. 
 One of these revulsions came now, after she had set the 
 minister to work upon her books. Perhaps it was simple 
 reaction ; perhaps it was something caught from the quiet
 
 ig6 DIANA. 
 
 sunshiny manner and spirit of her visiter ; but at her work 
 in the kitchen Diana grew quite calm-hearted. She fan- 
 cied she had discerned somewhat of more than usual ear- 
 nestness in the minister's observation of her ; and she be- 
 gan to question whether her looks or behaviour had fur- 
 nished occasion. Perhaps she had not been ready enough 
 to talk ; poor Diana knew it was often tlae case now ; she 
 resolved she would try to mend that when he came down. 
 And there was besides a certain lurking impatience of 
 the bearing of his words ; they had probed a little too deep, 
 and after the manner of some morbid conditions, the pro- 
 bing irritated her. So by and by, when Mr. Masters 
 came down with a brown volume in his hand and offered 
 to borrow it if she would let him lend her another of differ- 
 ent colour, Diana met him and answered quite like herself 
 and went on. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters, how can people be always well in body 
 mind and spirit, as you say ? I am sure, people's bodies 
 get sick, without any fault of their- own ; and there are ac- 
 cidents ; and just so there are troubles. People can't help 
 troubles, and they can't be " well " in mind, I suppose, when 
 they are in pain ? ' 
 
 ' Are you sure of that ? ' the minister answered quietly 
 while he turned to the window to look at something in the 
 volume he had brought down with him. 
 
 ' Why yes ; and so are you, Mr. Masters ; are you 
 not?' 
 
 'You need to know a great deal, to be sure of anything,' 
 he answered in the same tone. 
 
 ' But you are certain of this, Mr. Masters ? ' 
 
 'I shouldn't like to expose myself to your criticism. 
 Let us look at facts. It seems to me that David was ' well ' 
 when he could say, " Thou hast delivered my soul from
 
 IS IT WELL WITH THEE? 1 97 
 
 death, mine eyes from tears, and my feet from falling." 
 Also the man described in another place "He that 
 dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide 
 under the shadow of the Almighty." ' 
 
 There came a slight quiver across Diana's face, but her 
 words were moved by another feeling. 
 
 ' Those were people of the old times ; I don't know 
 anything about them. I mean people of to-day.' 
 
 ' I think Paul was ' well,' when he could say, " I have 
 learned in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." ' 
 
 ' O, but that is-nonsense, Mr. Masters ! ' 
 
 ' It was Paul's experience.' 
 
 'Yes, but it cannot be the experience of other people. 
 Paul was inspired.' 
 
 ' To write what was true, not what was false,' said the 
 minister looking at her. ' You don't think peace and con- 
 tent come by inspiration, do you ? ' 
 
 ' I did not think about it,' said Diana. ' But I am sure 
 it is impossible to be as he said.' 
 
 ' I never heard Paul's truth questioned before,' said the 
 minister, with a dry sort of comicality. 
 
 ' No, but, Mr. Masters,' said Diana, half by way of 
 apology, ' I spoke from my own experience.' 
 
 ' And he spoke from his.' 
 
 ' But sir, Mr. Masters, seriously, do you think it is 
 possible to be contented when one is in trouble ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Diana, One greater than David or Paul said this 
 " If a man love me, he will keep my words ; and my Father 
 will love him ; and we will come unto him, and make our 
 abode with him." Where there is that indwelling, believe 
 me, there is no trouble that can overthrow content.' 
 
 ' Content and pain together ? ' said Diana. 
 
 ' Sometimes pain and very great joy.'
 
 198 DIANA. 
 
 ' You are speaking of what I do not understand in the 
 least,' said Diana. And her face looked half incredulous, 
 half sad. 
 
 ' I wish you did know it,' he said. No more ; only those 
 few words had a simplicity, a truth, an accent of sympathy 
 and affection, that reached the very depth of the heart he 
 was speaking to ; as the same things from his lips had often 
 reached other hearts. He promised to take care of the 
 book in his hand, and presently went away; with one of 
 the warm, frank, lingering grasps of the hand, that were 
 also a characteristic of Basil Masters. Diana stood at 
 the door watching him ride away. It cannot be said she 
 was soothed by his words, and perhaps he did not mean 
 she should be. She stood with a weary feeling of want in 
 her heart ; but she thought only of the want of Evan.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 
 
 IT was quite according to Diana's nature, that as the 
 winter went on, though still without news of Evan, her tu- 
 mult and agony of mind quieted down into a calm and 
 steadfast waiting. Her spirit was too healthy for suspicion, 
 too true for doubt ; and put away doubt and suspicion, 
 what was left but the assurance that there had been some 
 accident or mistake ; from the consequences of which she 
 was suffering, no doubt, but which would all be made 
 right and come out clear so soon as there could be an op- 
 portunity for explanation. For that, there was nothing to 
 do but to wait a little ; with the returning mild weather, 
 Evan would be able to procure a furlough, he would be at 
 her side, and then Nothing then but union and joy. She 
 could wait ; and even in the waiting, her healthy spirit as 
 it were sloughed off care and came back again to its usual 
 placid, strong, bright condition. 
 
 So the winter went ; a winter which was ever after a 
 blank in Diana's remembrance ; and the cold weather 
 broke up into the frosts and thaws that sugar-makers love ; 
 and in such a March day it was, the word came to Mrs. 
 Starling's house that old Squire Bowdoin was dead. The 
 like weather never failed in after years to bring back to 
 Diana that one day and its tidings and the strange shock 
 they gave her.
 
 2OO DIANA. 
 
 ' 'Twas kind o' sudden,' said the news-bringer, who was 
 Joe Bartlett ; ' he was took all to once and jes' dropped 
 like a ripe chestnut.' 
 
 ' Why, like a ripe chestnut ? ' said Mrs. Starling 
 sharply. 
 
 ' Wai, I had to say suthin', and that come first. The 
 Scripter doos speak of a shock o' corn in his season, don't 
 it, Mis' Starling ? ' 
 
 ' What's the likeness between a shock o' corn and a 
 chestnut, Joe ? I can't abide to hear folks talk nonsense. 
 Who's at Elmfield ? ' 
 
 ' Ain't nary one there that had ought to be there ; nary 
 one but the help.' 
 
 ' But they're comin' ? ' said Mrs. Starling, lifting up 
 her head for the answer. 
 
 4 Wai, I can't say. Evan, he's too fur ; and I guess men 
 in his place hain't their ch'ice. And his folks is flourishy 
 kind o' bodies ; I don't set no count on 'em, for my part.' 
 
 ' Well, everybody else '11 be there and shame 'em if 
 they ain't,' said Mrs. Starling. ' How's your mother, Joe ?' 
 
 ' Wai, I guess she's ripe,' said Joe with a slow intona- 
 tion, loving and reverent ; ' but she's goin' to hold on to 
 this state o' things yet awhile. Good day t'ye ! ' 
 
 Diana went to the old man's funeral with her mother ; 
 in a sort of tremble of spirits, looking forward to what she 
 might possibly see or hear. But no one was there ; no 
 one in whom she had any interest; none of Mr. Bowdoin's 
 grandchildren could make it convenient to come to his 
 funeral. The large gathering of friends and neighbours 
 and distant relations were but an unmeaning crowd to 
 Diana's perceptions. 
 
 What difference would this change at Elmfield make 
 in her own prospects ? Would Mrs. Reverdy and her set
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 201 
 
 come to Elmfield as usual, and so draw Evan as a matter 
 of course ? They might not, perhaps. But what difference 
 could it be to Diana ? Evan would come, at all events, and 
 under any circumstances ; even if his coming let the secret 
 out ; he would come, and nothing would keep him from it ; 
 the necessity of seeing her would be above all other except 
 military necessities. Diana thought she wished the old 
 gentlemen had not died. But it could make no difference. 
 As soon as he could, Evan would be there. 
 
 She returned to her quiet waiting. But now nature 
 began to be noisy about her. It seemed that everything 
 had a voice. Spring winds said, ' He is coming ; ' the per- 
 fume of opening buds was sweet with his far-off presence ; 
 the very gales that chased the clouds, to her fancy chased 
 the minutes as well ; the waking up of the household and 
 farm activities, said that now Diana's inner life would come 
 back to its wonted course and arrangements. 
 
 The spring winds blew themselves out ; spring buds 
 opened into full leafage ; spring activities gradually merged 
 into the steady routine of summer ; and still Diana saw 
 nothing and still she heard nothing of Evan. 
 
 She was patient now by force of will ; doggedly trust- 
 ing. She would not doubt. None of the family came to 
 Elmfield ; so there was no news by the way that could 
 reach her. Mrs. Starling watched the success of her ex- 
 periment and was satisfied. Will began to come about 
 the house more and more. 
 
 It was near the end of summer, more than a year since 
 her first introduction to Evan, that Diana found herself 
 again one day at Mother Bartlett's cottage. She always 
 made visits there from time to time ; to-day she had come 
 for no special reason but a restlessness which possessed her 
 at home. The old lady was in her usual chimney corner,
 
 2O2 DIANA. 
 
 knitting, as a year ago ; and Diana, having prepared the 
 mid-day repast and cleared away after it, was sitting on 
 the doorstep at the open door ; whence her eye went out 
 to the hillside pasture and followed the two cows which 
 were slowly moving about there. It was as quiet a bit of 
 nature as could be found anywhere ; and Diana was very 
 quiet looking at it. But Mrs. Bartlett's eye was upon her 
 much more than upon her work ; which indeed could go on 
 quite well without such supervision. She broke silence 
 at last, speaking with an imperceptible little sigh. 
 
 ' And so, dear, the minister preached his sermon about 
 the fashions last Sabbath ? ' 
 
 ' About fashion,' said Diana. ' He had promised it 
 long ago.' 
 
 ' And what did he say, dear?' 
 
 ' He said, "the fashion of this world passeth away." ' 
 
 ' But he said something more, I suppose ? / could have 
 said that.' 
 
 ' He said a great deal more,' replied Diana. ' It was 
 a very curious sermon.' 
 
 ' As I hain't heard it, and you hev', perhaps you'll oblige 
 me with some more of it.' 
 
 ' It was a very curious sermon,' Diana repeated. ' Not 
 in the least like what you would have expected. There 
 wasn't much about fashion in it; and yet, somehow it 
 seemed to be all that.' 
 
 ' What was his text ? ' 
 
 ' I can't tell ; something about " the grace of the fashion 
 of it." I don't remember how the words went.' 
 
 ' I know, I guess,' said the old lady. ' Twas in James, 
 warn't it ? Something like this ? " The sun is no sooner 
 risen with a burning heat ." ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, that was it.'
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 2O3 
 
 ' " but it withereth the grass, and the flower there- 
 of falleth, and the grace of the fashion of it perisheth." ' 
 
 ' That was it,' assented Diana. 
 
 ' So he preached about the shortness of life ? ' 
 
 ' No, not at all. He began with those words, and just 
 a sentence or two and it was beautiful, too, mother, 
 explaining them ; and then he said the Bible hadn't much 
 in it directly speaking of our fashions ; he would give us 
 what there was and let us make what we could of it ; so he 
 did.' 
 
 ' You can make a good deal of it if you try,' said Mrs. 
 Bartlett. ' And then, dear ? ' 
 
 ' Then he went off, you'd never think where ; to the 
 last chapter of Proverbs ; and he described the woman 
 described there ; and he made her out so beautiful and 
 good and clever and wise, that somehow, without saying 
 a word about fashion, he made us feel how she would 
 never have had any concern about it ; how she was above 
 it, and five times more beautiful without than she would 
 have been with, the foolish ways of people now-a-days. 
 But he didn't say that ; you only felt it. I don't much be- 
 lieve there are any such women, mother.' 
 
 ' I hope and believe you'll make just such a one, 
 Diana.' 
 
 ' I ? ' said the girl, with a curious intonation ; then 
 subsiding again immediately, she sat as she had sat at 
 her own door a year ago, with arms folded, gazing out 
 upon the summery hill pasture where the cows were leis- 
 urely feeding. But now her eyes had a steady, hard look 
 not busy with the sunshiny turf or the deep blue sky, 
 against which the line of the hill cut so soft and clear. 
 Then the vision had been all outward. 
 
 ' And that was his sermon ? ' saicl the old lady with a 
 dash of disappointment.
 
 204 DIANA. 
 
 ' No ! O no,' said Diana rousing herself. ' He went 
 
 on then how shall I tell you ? Do you remember a 
 
 verse in the Revelation about the church coming down as 
 a bride adorned for her husband ? ' 
 
 ' Ay ! ' said the old lady with a gratified change of 
 voice, ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' He went on to describe that adornment. I can't tell 
 you how he did it ; I can't repeat what he said ; hut it was 
 inner adornment, you know ; " all glorious within," I re- 
 member he said ; and without a word more about what he 
 started with, he made one feel that there is no real adorn- 
 ment but that kind, nor any other worth a thought. I 
 heard Kate Boddington telling mother as we came out of 
 church, that she felt as cheap as dirt, with all her silk dress 
 and new bonnet ; and Mrs. Carpenter, who was close by, 
 said she felt there wasn't a bit of her that would bear 
 looking at.' 
 
 'What did your mother say ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing. She didn't understand it, she said.' 
 
 ' And, Di, how did you feel ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think I felt anything, mother.' 
 
 ' How come that about ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. I believe it seems to me as if the fash- 
 ion of this world never passed away ; it's the same thing, 
 year in and year out.' 
 
 4 What ails you, Diana? her old friend asked after a 
 pause. 
 
 ' Nothing. I'm sort o' tired. I don't see how folks stand 
 it, to live a long life.' 
 
 ' But life has not been very hard to you, honey.' 
 
 ' It needn't be hard for that,' Diana answered, with a 
 kind of choke in her voice. ' Perhaps the hardest of all 
 would be to go on an unvarying jog trot, and to know it 
 would always be so all one's life.'
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 2O5 
 
 'What makes life all of a sudden so tiresome to you, 
 Di?' 
 
 ' Something I haven't got, I suppose,' said the girl drear- 
 ily. ' I have enough to eat and drink.' 
 
 ' You ain't as bright as you used to be a year ago.' 
 
 ' I have grown older, and have got more experience.' 
 
 ' If life is good for nothin' else, Di, it's good to make 
 ready for what comes after.' 
 
 ' I don't believe that doctrine, mother,' said Diana ener- 
 getically. ' Life is meant to be life, and not getting ready 
 to live. 'Tisn't meant to be all brown and sawdusty here, 
 that people may have it more fresh and pleasant by and 
 by.' 
 
 ' No ; but to drive them out o' this pasture, maybe. If 
 the cows found always the grass long in the meadow, when 
 do you think they'd go up the hill ? ' 
 
 A quick, restless change of position was the only an- 
 swer to this ; an answer most unlike the natural calm 
 grace of Diana's movements. The old lady looked at her 
 wistfully, doubtfully, two or three times up and down from 
 her knitting, before speaking again. And then speaking 
 was prevented, for the other door opened and the minister 
 came in. 
 
 Basil was always welcome, whatever house or company 
 he entered ; he could fall in with any mood, take up any 
 subject, sympathize in anybody's concerns. That was part 
 of his secret of power, but that was not all. There was 
 about him an aura of happiness, so to speak ; a steadfast- 
 ness of the inner nature, which gave a sense of calm to 
 others almost by the force of sympathy ; and the strength of 
 a quiet will, which was however inflexible. All that was 
 restless, uncertain and unsatisfied, in men's hearts and 
 lives, found something in him to which they clung as if it
 
 2O6 DIANA. 
 
 had been an anchor of hope ; and so his popularity had a 
 very wide, and at first sight very perplexing, range. 
 
 The two wom<in in Mrs. Bartlett's cottage were glad to 
 see him ; and they had reason. Perhaps, for he was very 
 quick, he discerned that the social atmosphere had been 
 somewhat hazy when he came in ; for through all his stay 
 his talk was so bright and strong that it met the needs of 
 both hearers. Even Diana laughed with him and listened 
 to him ; and when he rose to take leave she asked if he 
 came on horseback to-day ? 
 
 ' No, I am ease-loving. I borrowed Mr. Chalmers' 
 buggy.' 
 
 ' Which way are you going now, sir, if you please ? ' 
 
 He hesitated an instant, looked at her, and answered 
 quite demurely, ' I think, your way/ 
 
 ' Would you be so kind as to take me so far as home 
 with you, then ? ' 
 
 ' I don't see any objection to that,' said Basil in the 
 same cool manner. And Diana hastily took her bonnet 
 and kissed her old friend, and in another minute or two 
 she was in the buggy and they were driving off. 
 
 If the minister suspected somewhat, he would spoil 
 nothing by being in a hurry. He drove leisurely, saying 
 that it was too hot weather to ask much exertion even from 
 a horse ; and making little slight remarks, in a manner so 
 gentle and quiet as to be very reassuring. But if that was 
 what Diana wanted, she wanted a great deal of it ; for she 
 sat looking straight between the edges of her sunbonnet, 
 absolutely silent, hardly even making the replies her com- 
 panion's words called for. At last he was silent too. The 
 good grey horse went very soberly on, not urged at all ; 
 but yet even a slow rate of motion will take you to the end 
 of anything, given the time ; and every minute saw the
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 2O/ 
 
 rods of Diana's road getting behind her. I suppose she 
 felt that, and spoke at last in the desperate sense of it. 
 When a person is under that urgency he does not always 
 choose his words. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters, is there any way of making life anything 
 but a miserable failure ? ' 
 
 The lowered cadences of Diana's voice, a thread of 
 bitterness in her utterance, quite turned the minister's 
 thought from anything like a light or a gay answer. He 
 said very gravely, 
 
 ' Nobody's life need be that.' 
 
 ' How are you to get rid of it ? ' 
 
 ' Of that result, you mean? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'Will you state the difficulty, as it appears to you ?' 
 
 ' Why look at it,' said Diana more hesitatingly ; ' what 
 do most people's lives amount to ? what does mine ? To 
 dress oneself, and eat and drink, and go through a round 
 of things, which only mean that you will dress yourself and 
 eat and drink again and do the same things to-morrow, 
 and the next day ; what does it all amount to in the end ? ' 
 
 ' Is life no more than that to you ? ' 
 
 Diana hesitated, but then, with a tone still lowered, said 
 'No.' 
 
 The minister was silent now, and presently Diana went 
 on again. 
 
 'The whole world seems to me just so. People live, 
 and die ; and they might just as well not have lived, for 
 all that their being in the world has done. And yet they 
 have lived and suffered.' 
 
 More than she knew was told in the utterance of that 
 last word. The minister was still not in a hurry to speak. 
 When he did, his question came as a surprise.
 
 2O8 DIANA. 
 
 ' You believe the first chapter of Genesis, Miss Diana ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' she said ; feeling with down-cast heart, ' O, 
 now a sermon ! ' 
 
 ' You believe that God made the earth, and made man 
 to occupy it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes certainly.' 
 
 * What do you think he made him for ? ' 
 
 ' I know what the catechism says,' Diana began 
 slowly. 
 
 ' No, no ; my question has nothing to do with the cat 
 echism. Do you believe that the Creator's intention was 
 that men should live purposeless lives, like what you de- 
 scribe ? ' 
 
 ' I can't believe it.' 
 
 ' Then what purpose are we here for ? Why am I, and 
 why are you, on the earth ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Diana faintly. The talk was not 
 turning out well for her wish, she thought. 
 
 ' To find that out, and to get in harmony with the an- 
 swer, is the great secret of life.' 
 
 ' Will you help me, Mr. Masters ? ' said Diana humbly. 
 ' It is all dark and wild to me, I see no comfort in any- 
 thing. If there were nothing better than this, one would 
 rather not be on the earth.' 
 
 Mr. Masters might have pondered with a little surprise 
 on the strength of the currents that flow sometimes where 
 the water looks calm ; but he had no time, and in truth was 
 in no mood for moralizing just then. His answer was 
 somewhat abrupt, though gentle as possible. 
 
 ' What do you want, Miss Diana ? ' 
 
 But the answer to that was a choked sob, and then, 
 breaking all bounds of her habit and intention, a passion- 
 ate storm of tears. Diana was frightened at herself ; but
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 2OQ 
 
 nevertheless, the sudden probe of the question, with the 
 sympathetic gentleness of it, and the too great contrast be- 
 tween the speaker's happy, calm, strong content and her own 
 disordered, distracted life, suddenly broke her down. Nei- 
 ther, if you open the sluice-gates to such a current, can you 
 immediately get them shut again. This she found, though 
 greatly afraid of the conclusions her companion might 
 draw. For a few minutes her passion was utterly uncon- 
 trolled. 
 
 If Basil drew conclusions, he was not in a hurry to 
 make them known. He did not at that time follow the con- 
 versation any further; only remarking cheerfully, and sym- 
 pathetically too, 'We must have some more talk about 
 this, Miss Diana ; but we'll take another opportunity ; ' and 
 so presently left her at her own door, with the warm, strong 
 grasp of the hand that many a one in trouble had learned to 
 know. There is strange intelligence somehow in our fingers. 
 They can say what lips fail to say. Diana went into the 
 house feeling that her minister was a tower of strength and 
 a treasury of kindness. 
 
 She found company. Mrs. Flandin and her mother 
 were sitting together. 
 
 ' Hev' you come home to stay, Diana ? ' was her moth- 
 er's sarcastic salutation. 
 
 ' How come you and the Dominie to be a ridin' togeth- 
 er ? ' was the other lady's blunter question. 
 
 * I had the chance,' said Diana, ' and I asked him to 
 bring me. It's too hot for walking.' 
 
 'And how come he to be in a buggy, so convenient? 
 He always goes tearin' round on the back of that ere grey 
 horse, I thought. I never see a minister ride so afore ; and 
 I don't think, Mis' Starling, it's suitable. What if he was to 
 break his neck, on the way to visit some sick man ? ' 
 14
 
 2IO DIANA. 
 
 ' Jim Treadvvell broke his neck out of a wagon,' re- 
 sponded Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Ah, well ! there ain't no security, no place ; but don't 
 it strike you, now, Mis' Starling, that a minister had ought 
 to set an example of steady goin', and not turn the heads 
 of the young men, and young women, with his capers ? ' 
 
 ' He is a young man himself, Mrs. Flandin,' Diana 
 was bold to say. 
 
 'Wall I know he is,' said the lady in a disapproving 
 way. ' I know he is ; and he can't help it ; but if I had 
 my way, I'd allays have a minister as much as fifty year 
 old. It looks better,' said Mrs. Flandin complacently ; 
 ' and it is better.' 
 
 ' What is he to do all the first fifty years of his life 
 then ? ' 
 
 'Wall, my dear, I hain't got the arrangement of things ; 
 I don't know. I know Will would hitch up and carry you 
 anywheres you want t6 go, if it's a wagon you want any 
 time.' 
 
 After that, Will made good his mother's promise, so far 
 as intentions went. He was generally on hand when any- 
 thing was to be done in which himself and his smart buggy 
 could be useful. Indeed he was very often on hand at 
 other times ; dropping in after supper, and appearing with 
 baskets, which were found to contain some of the Flandin 
 pears or the fine red apples that grew in a corner of the 
 lot and were famous. Some of his own bees' honey Will 
 brought another time, and a bushel of uncommonly fine 
 nuts. Of course this was in the fall, to which the weary 
 weeks of Diana's summer had at length dragged themselves 
 out. But if Will hoped that honey would sweeten Diana's 
 reception of him and his attentions, as yet it did not seem 
 to have the desired effect. In truth, though Will could
 
 THE USE OF LIVING. 211 
 
 never suspect it, her brain was so heavy with other thoughts 
 that she was only in a vague and general way conscious of 
 his presence ; and of his officious gallantries scarcely aware. 
 So little aware, indeed, of their bearing, that on two or 
 three occasions she suffered herself to be conveyed in 
 Will's buggy to or from some gathering of the neighbours ; 
 Mrs. Starling or Mrs. Flandin had arranged it, and Diana 
 had quite blindly fallen into the trap. And then the young 
 man, not unreasonably elated and inspirited, began to make 
 his visits to Mrs. Starling's house more frequent than ever. 
 It was little he did to recommend himself when he was 
 there ; he generally set watching Diana, carrying on a 
 spasmodic and interrupted conversation with Mrs. Star- 
 ling about farm affairs, and seizing the opportunity of a 
 dropped spool or an unwound skein of yarn to draw near 
 Diana and venture some word to her. Poor Diana felt in 
 those days so much like a person whose earthly ties are all 
 broken, that it did not come into her head in what a dif- 
 ferent light she stood to other eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 
 
 As the weeks of September rolled away, they brought, 
 by the necessary force of associations, a sharp waking up to 
 Diana's torpor. These, last year, had been the weeks of 
 her happiness ; happiness had come to her dressed in 
 these robes of autumn light and colour ; and now every 
 breath of the soft atmosphere, every gleam from the chang- 
 ing foliage, the light's peculiar tone, and the soft indolence 
 of the hazy days, stole into the recesses of Diana's heart 
 and smote on the nerves that answered every touch with vi- 
 brations of pain. The yEolian harp that had sounded such 
 soft harmonies a year ago, when the notes rose and fell 
 in breathings of joy, clanged now with sharp and keen dis- 
 cords that Diana could scarcely bear. The time of black- 
 berries passed without her joining the yearly party which 
 went as usual ; she escaped that ; but there was no es- 
 caping September. And when in due course the time for 
 the equinoctial storms came, and the storms did not fail, 
 though coming this year somewhat later than the last, 
 Diana felt like a person wakened up to life to die the 
 second time. Her mood all changed. From a dull, 
 miserable apathy, which yet had somewhat of the numbness 
 of death in it, she woke up to the intense life of pain, and 
 to a corresponding but in her most unwonted irritability of 
 feeling. All of a sudden, as it were, she grew sensitive to
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 213 
 
 whatever in her life and surroundings was untoward or 
 trying. She read through Will Flandin's devotion ; she 
 saw what her mother was " driving at," as she would have 
 expressed it. And the whole reality of her relations to 
 Evan and his relations to her stood in colours as distinct as 
 those of the red and green maple leaves, and unsoftened 
 by the least haze of self-delusion. In the dash of the rain 
 and the roar of the wind, in the familiar swirl of the elm 
 branches, she read as it were her sentence of death ; be- 
 fore this she had not been dead, only stunned ; now she 
 was wakened up to die. Nature herself, which had been 
 so kind a year ago, brought her now the irrevocable mes- 
 sage. A whole year had gone by, a year of silence ; it was 
 merely impossible that Evan could be true to her. If he 
 had been true, he would have overleaped all barriers, 
 rather than let this silence last ; but indeed he had no 
 barriers to overleap ; he had only to write ; and he had 
 plenty of time for it. She might have overleaped barriers, 
 earlier in the year, if she could have known the case was 
 so desperate ; and yet, Diana reflected, she could not and 
 would not, even so. It was well she had not tried. For if 
 Evan needed to be held, she would not put out a finger to 
 hold him. 
 
 Of this change in Diana's mood it is safe to say that 
 nothing was visible. Feeling as if every nerve and sense 
 were become an avenue of living pain, dying mentally a 
 slow death, she shewed nothing of it to others. Mind and 
 body were so sound and strong, and the poise of her nature 
 was matched with such a sweet dignity, that she was able 
 to go through her usual round of duties in quite her usual 
 way ; " die and make no sign." Nothing was neglected 
 in any wise, nothing was slurred or hurried over ; thor-. 
 oughly, diligently, punctually, she did the work from which
 
 214 DIANA. 
 
 all heart was gone out, and even Mrs. Starling, keen enough 
 to see anything if only she had a clue to it, watched and 
 saw nothing. For Diana's cheek had been pale for a good 
 while now, and she had never been a talkative person, 
 lately less than ever ; so the fact that in these days she 
 never talked at all, did not strike her mother. But such 
 power of self-containing is a dangerous gift for a woman ! 
 
 No doubt the extreme bustle and variety of the autumn 
 and early winter work helped Mrs. Starling to shut her 
 eyes to what she did not want to see ; helped Diana too. 
 Fall ploughing and sowing were to be attended to ; laying 
 down the winter's butter ; storing the vegetables, disposing 
 of the grain, fatting cattle, wood cutting and hauling, and 
 repairing of fences, which Mrs. Starling always had done 
 punctually in the fall as soon as the ploughs were put up. 
 For nothing under Mrs. Starling's care was ever left at 
 loose ends ; there was not a better farmer in Pleasant 
 Valley than she. Then the winter closed in, early in those 
 rather high latitudes ; and pork -killing time came, when 
 for some time nothing was even thought of in the house 
 but pork in its various forms ; lard, sausage, bacon and 
 hams, with extras of souse and headcheese. Snow had 
 fallen already ; and winter was setting in betimes, the 
 knowing ones said. 
 
 So came one Sunday a little before Christmas. It 
 brought a lull in the midst of the pork business. Hands 
 were washed finally for the whole day, and the kitchen 
 " redd up." The weariness of Diana's nerves welcomed 
 the respite ; for business, which oftimes is a help to bearing 
 pain, in some moods aggravates it at every touch; and 
 Diana was glad to think that she might go into her own 
 room and lock the door and be alone with her misery. The 
 day was cloudy and threatening, and Mrs. Starling had
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 21$ 
 
 avowed her purpose not to go to church. She was 
 " tuckered out," she said. " And I am sure the Sabbath 
 was given us for rest." Diana made no answer ; she was 
 washing up the breakfast things. 
 
 ' I guess we ain't early, neither,' Mrs. Starling went on. 
 4 Well one day. in seven folks must sleep ; and I didn't 
 get that headcheese out of my hands till 'most eleven 
 o'clock. I guess it's first rate, Diana ; we'll try a bit this 
 noon. Who's that stoppin' ? Will Flandin, if I see straight ; 
 That's thoughtful of him ; now he'll take you to church, 
 Di.' 
 
 Will he ? thought Diana. Flandin came in. Dressed in 
 his Sunday best he always seemed to Diana specially lum- 
 bering and awkward ; and to day his hair was massed 
 into smoothness by means of I know not what bountiful 
 lubrication, which looked very greasy and smelt very strong 
 of cloves. His neck-tie was blue with yellow spots ; about 
 the right thing, Will thought ; it was strange what a disgust 
 it gave Diana. What's in a neck-tie ? 
 
 ' Coin' to snow, Will ? ' asked Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Wall guess likely. Not jes' yet, though.' 
 
 ' Your mother got through with her pork ? ' 
 
 ' Wall I guess not. Seems to me, ef she was through, 
 there wouldn't be so many pickle tubs round.' 
 
 ' Good weight ? ' 
 
 < Wall fair.' 
 
 ' Our'n's better than that. Tell you what, Will, your 
 pigs don't get the sunshine enough.' 
 
 ' Don't reckon they know the difference,' said Will 
 smiling and glancing over towards Diana, but Diana was 
 gone. ' Were you calculatin' to go to meetin' to-day, Mis' 
 Starling ? ' 
 
 ' Guess not to-day, Will. I'm gettin' too old to work 
 seven days in a week in pork-killin' time, anyhow. I'm
 
 2l6 DIANA. 
 
 calculatin' to stay home. Diana's always for goin', though ; 
 she's gone to get ready, I guess. She ain't tired.' 
 
 Silence. Diana's room was too far off for them to hear 
 her moving about, and Mrs. Starling sat down and stretched 
 out her feet towards the fire. Both parties meditating. 
 
 ' You and she hain't come to any understanding yet ? ' 
 the lady began. Will shifted his position uneasily and 
 spoke not. 
 
 ' I wouldn't wait too long, if I was you. She might take 
 a notion to somebody else, you know, and then you and 
 me'd be nowhere.' 
 
 ' Has she, Mis' Starling ? ' Will asked, terrified. 
 
 ' She hain't told me nothing of it, if she has ; and I hain't 
 seen her look sweet on anybody ; but she might, you know, 
 Will, if anybody came along that she fancied. I always like 
 to get the halter over my horse's head, and then I know 
 I've got him.' 
 
 The image suggested nothing but difficulty to Will's 
 imagination. A halter over Diana's stately neck ! 
 
 ' I allays catch a horse by cornerin' him,' he said sheep- 
 ishly, and again moving restlessly in his chair. 
 
 ' That won't answer in this chase, 1 said Mrs. Starling. 
 ' Diana'll walk up to you of her own accord, if she comes at 
 all ; but you must hold out your hand, Will.' 
 
 ' Ain't I a doin' that all the while, Mis' Starling ? ' said 
 Will, whom every one of his friend's utterances seemed to 
 put further and further away from his goal. 
 
 ' I reckon she'll come, all right,' said Mrs. Starling 
 reassuringly ; ' but you know^ girls ain't obliged to see any- 
 body's hand till they have to. You all like 'em better for 
 bein' skittish. I don't. She ain't skittish with me, neither ; 
 and she won't be with you, when you've caught her once. 
 Take your time, only I wouldn't be too long about it, as I 
 said.'
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 2 1/ 
 
 Poor Will ! The sweat stood upon his brow with the 
 prospect of what was before him, perhaps that very day ; 
 for what time could be better for " holding out his hand " 
 to Diana, than a solitary sleigh ride. Then, if he held out 
 his hand and she wouldn't see it ! 
 
 Meanwhile. Diana had, as stated, left the kitchen, 
 and mounted the stairs with a peculiarly quick light tread 
 which meant business ; for the fact was that she did discern 
 the holding out of Will's hand, and was taking a sudden 
 sheer. Nothing but the sheer was quite distinct to her 
 mind as she set her foot upon the stair ; but before she 
 reached the top landing place she knew what she would 
 do. Her mother was not going to church, Will Flandin 
 was ; and the plan, she saw, was fixed, that he should drive 
 herself. Her mother would oblige her to go ; or else, if 
 she made a determined stand, Will on the other hand 
 would not go ; and she would have to endure him, plati- 
 tudes, blue necktie, cloves and all, for the remainder of the 
 morning. Only one escape was left her. With the swift- 
 ness and accuracy of movement which is possible in a 
 moment of excitement to senses and faculties habitually 
 deft and true, Diana changed her dress, put on the grey, 
 thick, coarse wrappings, which were very necessary for any 
 one going sleigh-riding in Pleasant Valley ; took her hood in 
 her hand, and slipped down the stairs as noiselessly as she 
 had gone up. It was not needful that she should go through 
 the kitchen where her mother and her visiter were ; there 
 was a side door happily ; and without being seen or heard, 
 Diana reached the barn. 
 
 The rest was easy. Prince was fast by his halter, instead 
 of wandering at will over the sunny meadow ; and without 
 any delay or difficulty Diana got his harness on and hitched 
 him to the small cutter which was wont to convey herself
 
 21 8 DIANA. 
 
 and her mother to church and wherever else they wanted 
 to go in winter time. Only Diana carefully took the precau- 
 tion to remove the sleigh bells from the rest of Prince's 
 harness ; then she led him out of the barn where she had 
 harnessed him, closed the barn doors securely ; remember- 
 ing how they had been left on another occasion, mounted, 
 and drove slowly away. It had been a dreamy piece of 
 work to her ; for it had so fallen out that she had never 
 once harnessed Prince again since that June day, when she 
 indeed did not harness him, but had been about it, when 
 somebody else had taken the work out of her hand. It 
 was very bitter to Diana, to handle the bridle and the traces 
 that he had handled that day; she did it with fingers that 
 seemed to sting with pain at every touch ; her brain got 
 into a whirl ; and when she finally drove off, it was rather 
 instinctively that she went slowly and made no sound ; 
 for Will and his hopes and his wooing and his presence 
 had faded out of her imagination. She went slowly, until 
 she, also instinctively, knew that she was safe, and then 
 still she went slowly. Prince chose his own gait. Diana 
 with the reins slack in her hand, sat still and thought. 
 There was no need for hurry ; it was not near church time 
 not yet even church-going time Will would be quiet for a 
 while yet, before it would be necessary to make any hue 
 and cry after the runaway ; and she and Prince would be 
 far beyond ken by that time. And meanwhile there was 
 something soothing in the mere being alone under the wide 
 grey sky. Nobody to watch her, nothing to exert herself 
 about ; for a few moments in her life Diana could be still 
 and drift. 
 
 Whither ? She was beginning to feel that the chafing 
 of home, her mother's driving and Will's courting, were 
 becoming intolerable. Heart and brain were strained
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 2IQ 
 
 and sore ; if she could be still till she died, Diana felt it to 
 be the utmost limit of desirableness. She knew she was 
 not likely to die soon ; brain and nerve might be strained, 
 but they were sound and whole ; the full capacity for suf- 
 fering, the unimpaired energy for doing, were hers yet. 
 And stillness was not likely to be granted her. It was 
 inexpressibly suitable to Diana's mood to sit quiet in the 
 sleigh and let Prince walk, and feel alone, and know that 
 no one could disturb her. A few small flakes of snow were 
 beginning to flit aimlessly about j their soft wavering mo- 
 tion suggested nothing ruder than that same purposeless 
 drift towards which Diana's whole soul was going out in 
 yearning. If she had been in a German fairytale the snow- 
 flakes would have seemed to her spirits of peace. She 
 welcomed them. She put out her hand and caught two 
 or three, and then brought them close to look at them. 
 The little fair crystals lay still on her glove ; it was too 
 cold for them to melt. Oh to be like that ! thought Diana, 
 cold and alone ! But she was in no wise like that, but a 
 living human creature, warm at heart and quick in brain ; 
 in the midst of humanity, obliged to fight out or watch 
 through the life-battle and take blows and wounds as they 
 came. Ah, she would not have minded the blows or the 
 wounds ; she would have girded herself joyfully for the 
 struggle, were it twice as long or hard ; but now, there 
 was nothing left to fight for. The fight looked dreary. 
 She longed to creep into a corner, under some cover, and 
 get rid of it all. No cover was in sight. Diana knew, with 
 the subtle instinct of power, that she was one of those who 
 must stand in the front ranks and take the responsibility 
 of her own and probably of others' destinies. She could 
 not creep into a corner and be still ; there was work to do. 
 And Diana never shirked work. Vaguely, even now, as
 
 22O DIANA. 
 
 Prince walked along and she was revelling, so to speak, in 
 the loveliness and the peace of momentary immunity, she 
 began to look at the question, how and where her stand 
 must be and her work be done. Not as Will Flandin's 
 wife, she thought ! No, she could never be that. But her 
 mother would urge and press it ; how much worry of that 
 sort could she stand, when she was longing for rest? 
 Would her mother's persistence conquer in the end, just 
 because her own spirit was gone for contending ? No ; 
 never ! Not Will Flandin, if she died for it. Anything 
 else. 
 
 The truth was, the girl's life-hope was so dead within her 
 that for the time she looked upon all things in the universe 
 through a veil of unreality. What did it matter, one thing or 
 the other ? what did it signify any longer, which way she took 
 through the wilderness of this world ? Diana's senses were 
 benumbed ; she no longer recognized the forms of things 
 nor their possible hard edges, nor the perspectives of time. 
 Life seemed unending long, it is true, to look forward to ; 
 but she saw it, not in perspective, but as if in a nightmare 
 it were all in mass pressing upon her and taking away her 
 breath. So what did points here and there amount to ? 
 What did it matter ? any more than this snow which was 
 beginning to come down so fast. 
 
 Fast and thick ; the aimless scattering crystals which 
 had come fluttering about as if uncertain about reaching 
 earth at all, had given place to a dense, swift, driving storm. 
 Without much wind perceptible yet, the snowfall came with 
 a steady straight drift which spoke of an impelling force 
 somewhere, might it be only the weight of the cloud reser- 
 voirs from which it came. It came in a way that could no 
 longer be ignored. The crystals struck Diana's face and 
 hands with the force of small missiles. But just now she
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 221 
 
 had been going through a grey and brown lonely landscape ; 
 it was covered up, and nothing to see but this white downfall. 
 Even the nearest outlines were hidden ; she could barely 
 distinguish the fences on either hand of her road ; 
 nothing further ; trees and hills were all swallowed up, and 
 the road itself was not discernible at a very few paces dis- 
 tance. Indeed it was not too easy to keep her eyes open 
 to see anything, so beat the crystals, sharp and fast, into 
 her face. Diana smiled to herself, to think that she was 
 safe now from even distant pursuit ; no fear that Flandin 
 would by and by come up with her, or even make his ap- 
 pearance at the church at all that day ; the storm was vio- 
 lent enough to keep any one from venturing out of doors, 
 or to make any one turn back to his house who had already 
 left it. Diana had no thought of turning back ; the more 
 impossible the storm made other people's travelling, the 
 better it was for hers. Prince knew the way well enough, 
 and could go to church like a Christian ; she left the way 
 to him ; and enjoyed the strange joy of being alone, beyond 
 vision or pursuit, set aside as it were from her life and 
 life surroundings for a time. What did she care, how hard 
 the storm beat ? to the rough treatment of life this was as 
 the touch of a soft feather. Diana welcomed it ; loved the 
 storm ; bent her head to shield her from the blast of it, 
 and went on. The wind began to make itself known as 
 one of the forces abroad, but she did not mind that either,. 
 Gusts came by turns, sweeping the snow in what seemed a 
 solid mass upon her shoulder and side face ; and then, in 
 a little time more, there was no question of gusts, but a 
 steady wild fury which knew no intermission. The storm 
 grew tremendous, and everybody in Pleasant Valley was 
 well aware that such storms in those regions did not go as 
 soon as they came. Diana herself began to feel glad that
 
 222 DIANA. 
 
 she must be near her stopping place. No landmarks what- 
 ever were visible, but she thought she had been travelling 
 long enough, even at Prince's slow rate, to put most of 
 the three miles behind her ; and she grew a little afraid 
 lest in the white darkness she might miss the little church ; 
 once past it, though never so little, and looking back would 
 be in vain. It was a question if she would not pass it 
 even with her best endeavour. In her preoccupation it had 
 never once occurred to Diana to speculate on what she 
 would find at the church, if she reached it ; and now she 
 had but one thought, not to miss reaching it. She had 
 some anxious minutes of watching, for her rate of travel- 
 ling had been slower than she knew, and there was a good 
 piece of a mile still between her and the place when she 
 began to look for it. Now she eyed with greatest care the 
 road and the fences, when she could see the latter, and 
 indeed it is poetical to speak of her seeing the road, for 
 the tracks were all covered up. But at last Diana recog- 
 nized a break in the fence at her left ; checked Prince, 
 turned his head carefully in that direction, found he seemed 
 to think it all right, and presently saw just before her the 
 long low shed in which the country people were wont to 
 tie their horses for the time of divine service. Prince went 
 straight to his accustomed place. 
 
 Diana got out. There was no need to tie Prince to- 
 day. The usual equine sense of expediency would be 
 quite sufficient to keep any horse under cover. She left 
 the sleigh, and groped her way ; truly it was not easy to keep 
 on her feet, the wind blew so ; till she saw the little white 
 church just before her. There was not a foot track on the 
 snow which covered the steps leading to the door. But 
 the wind and the snow would cover up or blow away any 
 such tracks in very short time, she reflected ; yet, what if
 
 A SNOWSTORM. 223 
 
 the door were locked and nobody there ! One moment her 
 heart stood still. No ; things were better than that ; the 
 door yielded to her hand. Diana went in, welcomed by 
 the warm atmosphere which contrasted so pleasantly with 
 the wind and the snow flakes, shut the door, shook herself, 
 and opened one of the inner doors which led into the au- 
 dience room of the building.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 
 
 WARM, how good and warm ! but empty. Perfectly 
 empty. Perfectly still. Empty pews, and empty pulpit ; 
 nobody, not a head, visible anywhere. Not a breath to be 
 heard. The place was awful ; it was like the ghost of a 
 church ; all the life out of it. But how then came it to be 
 warm ? Somebody must have made the fires ; where was 
 somebody gone ? And had none of all the congregation 
 come to church that day ? was it too bad for everybody ? 
 Diana began to wake up to facts, as she heard the blast 
 drive against the windows and listened to the swirl of it 
 round the house. And how was she going to get home, 
 if it was so bad as that ? At any rate, here was still soli- 
 tude and quiet and freedom ; she could get warm and en- 
 joy it for awhile, and let Prince rest ; she would not be in 
 a hurry. She turned to go to one of the corners of the 
 room, where the stoves were screened off by high screens 
 in the interest of the neighbouring pews ; and then, just at 
 the corner of the screen, from where he had been watching 
 her, she saw Mr. Masters. Diana did not know whether 
 to be sorry or glad. On the whole, she rather thought she 
 was glad ; the church was eerie, all alone. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters ! I thought nobody was here.' 
 ' I thought nobody was going to be here. Good morn- 
 ing ! Who else is coming ? '
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 225 
 
 ' Who else ? Nobody, I guess.' 
 
 ' How am I to understand that ? ' 
 
 'Just so,' said Diana, coming up to the stove and 
 putting her fingers out towards the warmth. 
 
 ' Where is the other half of your family ? ' 
 
 ' I left mother at home.' 
 
 ' You came alone ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I came alone.' Diana began to wonder a little 
 at the situation in which she found herself, and to revolve 
 in her mind how she could make use of it. 
 
 ' Miss Diana, you have dared what no one else has 
 dared.' 
 
 ' It was not daring,' said the girl. * I did not think 
 much of the storm, till I was so far on the way that it was 
 as easy to "come on as to go back.' 
 
 A light rejoinder, which would have been given to any- 
 body else, was checked on Mr. Masters' lips by the ab- 
 stracted, apart air with which these words were spoken. 
 He gave one or two inquisitive glances at the speaker and 
 was silent. Diana roused herself. 
 
 ' Has nobody at all come to church ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody but Mr. St. Clair ' (he was the old sexton.) 
 ' And he has such a bad cold that I took pity on him and 
 sent him home. I promised him I would shut up the 
 church for him when it was necessary to leave it. He 
 was in no condition to be preached to.' 
 
 He half expected Diana would propose the shutting 
 up of the church at once, and the ensuing return home of 
 the two people there ; but instead of that, she drew up a 
 stool and sat down. 
 
 ' You will not be able to preach to-day,' she remarked. 
 
 ' Not to much of a congregation,' said the minister. ' I 
 will do my best with what I have.'
 
 226 DIANA. 
 
 ' Are you going to preach to me ? ' said Diana with a 
 ghost of a smile. 
 
 ' If you demand it ! You have an undoubted right.' 
 
 Diana sat silent. The warmth of the room was very 
 pleasant. Also the security. Not from the storm, which 
 howled and dashed upon the windows and raged round the 
 building and the world generally; but from that other 
 storm and whirl of life. Diana did not want just yet to be 
 at home. Furthermore she had a dim notion of using her 
 opportunity. She thought how she could do it ; and the 
 minister, standing by, watched her, with some secret anx- 
 iety but an extremely calm exterior. 
 
 ' You must give me the text, Miss Diana,' he ventured 
 presently. 
 
 Diana sat still, musing. 'Mr. Masters,' she said at 
 last, ysry slowly, in order that the composure of it might 
 be perfect, ' will you tell me, what is the good of life ? ' 
 
 ' To yourself, you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. For me or for anybody.' 
 
 ' I should say briefly, that God makes all his creatures 
 to be happy.' 
 
 ' Happy ! ' echoed Diana with more sharpness of accent 
 than she knew. 
 
 1 Yes.' 
 
 'But Mr. Masters, suppose suppose that is impos- 
 sible ? ' 
 
 'It never is impossible.' 
 
 ' That sounds like mockery,' said Diana. ' Only 
 you never do say mocking things.' 
 
 ' I do not about this.' 
 
 ' But Mr. Masters ! surely there are a great many peo- 
 ple in the world that are not happy.' 
 
 ' A sorrowful truth. How comes Diana Starling to be 
 one of them ? '
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 22/ 
 
 And saying this, the minister himself drew up a chair 
 and sat down. The question was daring, but the whole 
 way and manner of the man were so quiet and gentle, so 
 sympathizing and firm at once, that it would have lured a 
 bird off its nest ; much more the brooding reserve from a 
 heart it is not nursing but killing. Diana looked at him, 
 met the wise, kind, grave eye she had learned long ago to 
 trust, and broke down. All of a sudden ; she had not 
 dreamed she was in any danger she was as much sur- 
 prised as he was ; but that helped nothing. Diana buried 
 her face in her hands and burst into tears. 
 
 He looked very much concerned. Wisely, however, he 
 kept perfectly quiet and let the storm pass ; the little inner 
 storm which caused the outer violence of winds and clouds 
 to be for the time forgotten. Diana sobbed bitterly. 
 When after a few minutes she checked herself, the minister 
 went off and brought her a glass of water. Diana lifted 
 her flushed face and drank it, making no word of excuse or 
 apology. As he took the glass back, Mr. Masters spoke 
 in the tone of mixed sympathy and authority, it was a 
 winning kind of authority, which was peculiar to him. 
 
 ' Now, Miss Diana, what is it ? ' 
 
 But there was a long pause. Diana was regaining self- 
 command and searching for words. The minister was pa- 
 tient and waited. 
 
 ' There seems to be nothing left in life,' she said at last. 
 
 ' Except duty, you mean ? ' 
 
 ' There is enough of that ; common sort of duties. But 
 duty is very cold and bare if it is all alone, Mr. Masters.' 
 
 ' Undoubtedly true. But who has told you that your 
 life must be filled with only common sorts of duties ? ', 
 
 ' It has nothing else,' said Diana despondently. ' And 
 I look forward and see nothing else. And when I think
 
 228 DIANA. 
 
 of living on and on so my brain almost turns ; and I 
 wonder why I was made. ' 
 
 ' Not to live so. Our Maker meant none of us to live 
 a humdrum life ; don't you know, we were intended for 
 " glory, honour, and immortality ? " ' 
 
 ' How can one get out of humdrum ? ' Diana asked 
 disconsolately. 
 
 ' By living to God.' 
 
 ' I don't understand you.' 
 
 ' You understand how a woman can live to a beloved 
 human creature, doing everything in the thought and the 
 joy of her affection.' 
 
 Was he probing her secret ? Diana's breath came short ; 
 she sat with eyes cast down and a feeling of oppression ; 
 growing pale with her pain. But she said, ' Well ? 
 
 ' Let it be God, instead of a fellow creature. Your life 
 will have no humdrum then.' 
 
 ' But one can only love what one knows,' said Diana, 
 speaking carefully. 
 
 ' Precisely. And the Bible cry to men is, that they 
 would " know the Lord." For want of that knowledge, all 
 goes wild.' 
 
 ' Do you mean, that that will take the place of every- 
 thing else ? ' said Diana, lifting her weary eyes to him. 
 They were strong, beautiful eyes too, but the light of hope 
 was gone, and all sparkle of pleasure, out of them. The 
 look struck to the minister's heart. He answered however 
 with no change of tone. 
 
 ' I mean, that it more than takes the place of everything 
 else.' 
 
 ' Not replace what is lost,' said Diana sadly. 
 
 ' More than replace it, even when one has lost all.' 
 
 ' That can't be ! that must be impossible, some- 
 times,' said Diana. ' I don't believe you know.'
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 22Q 
 
 ' Yes, I do,' said the minister gravely. 
 People would not be human.' 
 
 ' Very human tenderly human. Do you really think, 
 Miss Diana, that He who made our hearts, made them 
 larger than he himself can fill ? ' 
 
 Diana sat silent a while, and the minister stood consid- 
 ering her ; his heart strained with sympathy, and longing 
 to give her help, and at the same time doubting how far 
 he might or dared venture. Diana on her part fearing to 
 shew too much, but remembering also that this chance 
 might never repeat itself. The fear of losing it began to 
 overtop all other fear. So she began again. 
 
 But, Mr Masters this that you speak of I haven't got 
 it ; and I don't understand it. What shall I do ? ' 
 
 ' Get it.' 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 * Seek it in the appointed way.' 
 1 What is that ? ' 
 
 * Jesus said, " He that hath my commandments and 
 keepeth them, he it is that loveth me ; and he that loveth 
 me shall be loved of my Father ; and I will love him, and 
 will manifest myself to him" ' 
 
 1 But I do not love him.' 
 
 1 Then pray as Moses prayed, " I beseech thee, shew 
 me thy glory ! " ' 
 
 Diana's head sank a little. ' I have no heart to give 
 to anything ! ' she confessed. 
 
 What has become of it ? ' asked the minister daringly. 
 
 'Don't people sometimes lose heart without any par 
 ticular reason ? ' 
 
 ' No ; never.' 
 
 ' I have reason, though,' said Diana. 
 
 1 I see that.'
 
 230 DIANA. 
 
 ' You do not know ? ' said Diana, facing him with 
 a startled movement. 
 
 ' No. I know nothing, Miss Diana. I guess.' 
 \ She sat with her face turned from him for a while ; then, 
 perhaps reminded by the blast of wind and snow which at 
 the moment came round the house furiously and beat on 
 the windows, she went on hastily. 
 
 ' You wonder to see me here ; but I ran away from 
 home ; and I can't bear to go back.' 
 
 1 Why ? ' 
 
 ' Mr. Masters, mother wants me to ' Diana hesitated, 
 ' marry a rich man.' 
 
 The minister was silent. 
 
 ' He is there all the while I mean, very often ; he has 
 not spoken out yet, but mother has ; and she favours him 
 all she can. 
 
 ' You do not ? ' 
 
 ' I wish I could never see him again ! ' sighed Diana. 
 
 ' You can send him away, I should think.' 
 
 ' I can't, till he asks my leave to stay. And I am so 
 tired. He came to take me to church this morning ; and 
 I ran away before it was time to go.' 
 
 % ' You cannot be disposed of against your will, Miss 
 Diana.' 
 
 ' I seem to have so little will now. Sometimes I am 
 almost ready to be afraid mother and he together will tire 
 me out. Nothing seems to matter any more.' 
 
 ' That would be a great mistake.' 
 
 ' Yes ! ' said Diana, getting up from her chair and 
 looking out towards the storm with a despairing face ; 
 ' people make mistakes sometimes. Mr. Masters, you must 
 think me very strange but I trust you and I wanted help 
 so much '
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 23! 
 
 ' And I have not given you any.' 
 
 ' You would if you could.' 
 
 ' And I will if I can. I have thought of more than I 
 have spoken. When can I see you again, to consult fur- 
 ther ? It must be alone.' 
 
 'I don't know. This is my chance. Tell me now. 
 What have you thought of ? ' 
 
 'I never speak about business on Sunday,' said the 
 minister, meeting Diana's frank eyes with a slight smile 
 which was very far from merriment. 
 
 ' Is this business ? ' 
 
 ' Partly of that character.' 
 
 ' I don't know then,' said Diana. ' We must take our 
 chance. Thank you, Mr. Masters.' 
 
 ' May I ask what for ? ' 
 
 ' For your kindness.' 
 
 ' I should like to be kind to you,' said he. ' Now, the 
 present practical question, which cannot be put off, Miss 
 Diana, is how are you going to get home ? ' 
 
 ' And you.' 
 
 ' That is a secondary matter and easily disposed of. I 
 live comparatively near by. It is out of the question that 
 you should drive three miles in this storm.' 
 
 Both stood and listened to the blast for a few minutes. 
 There was no denying the truth of his words. In fact, it 
 would be a doubtful thing for a strong man to venture 
 himself and his beast out in the fury of the whirling wind 
 and snow ; for a woman, it was not to be thought of. Mr. 
 Masters considered. For him to take Diana, supposing 
 the storm would let him. to the house of some near neigh- 
 bour, would be awkward enough and give lise to endless 
 and boundless town talk. To carry her home, three miles, 
 was as he had said, out of the question. To wait, both of
 
 232 DIANA. 
 
 them, in the church, for the storm's abating, was again 
 not a desirable measure, and would furnish even richer 
 food for the tongues of the parish than the other alterna- 
 tives would. To leave her, or for her to leave him, were 
 alike impossible. Mr. Masters was not a man who usually 
 hesitated long about any course of action ; but he was 
 puzzled to-day. He walked up and down in one of the 
 aisles, thinking ; while Diana resumed her seat by the 
 stove. Her simplicity and independence of character did 
 not allow her to greatly care about the matter ; though she 
 too knew very well what disagreeable things would be said, 
 at home and elsewhere, and what a handle would be made 
 of the affair, both against her and against the minister. 
 For his sake, she was sorry ; for herself, what did anything 
 much matter ? This storm was an exceptional one ; such 
 as comes once in a year perhaps, or perhaps not in several 
 years. The wind had risen to a tempest ; the snow drove 
 thick before it, whirling in the eddies of the gust, so as to 
 come in every possible direction and seemingly caught up 
 again before it could reach a resting place. The fury of 
 its assault upon the church windows made one thing at 
 least certain ; it would be a mad proceeding now to ven- 
 ture out into it, for a woman or a man either. And it 
 was very cold ; though happily the stoves had been so 
 effectually fired up, that the little meeting house was still 
 quite comfortable. Yet the minister walked and walked. 
 Diana almost forgot him, and sat lost in her own thoughts. 
 The lull was soothing. The solitude was comforting. The 
 storm which put a barrier between her and all the rest of 
 the world, was a temporary friend, Diana could find it in 
 her heart to wish it were more than temporary. To be out 
 of the old grooves of pain is something, until the new 
 ones are worn. To forsake scenes and surroundings which
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 233 
 
 know all our secrets, is sometimes to escape beneficially 
 their persistent reminders of everything one would like to 
 forget. Diana felt like a child that has run away from 
 school and so for the present got rid of its lessons ; and 
 sat in a quiet sort of dull content, listening now and then to 
 the roar of the blast and hugging herself that she had run 
 away in time. Half an hour more, and it would have been 
 too late, and Will and her mother would have been her 
 companions for all day. How about to-morrow ? Diana 
 shuddered. And how about all the to-morrows that 
 stretched along in dreary perspective before her ? Would 
 they also, all of them, hold nothing but those same two 
 persons ? Nothing but an endless vista of butter making 
 and pork killing on one hand, and hair-oil scented with 
 cloves on the other ? It would be better far to die, if she 
 could die ; but Diana knew she could not. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said the voice of the minister suddenly beside 
 her, ' what do you think of the prospect ? ' 
 
 Diana's eyes, as they were lifted to his face, were full 
 of so blank a life-prospect, that his own face changed 
 and a cloud came over its brightness. 
 
 ' We can't get away,' he said. ' Not at present, unless we 
 were gulls ; and gulls never fly in these regions. Do you 
 mind waiting ? ' 
 
 ' I do not mind it at all,' said Diana ; ' except, for you. 
 I am sorry for you to have to stay here with me.' 
 
 ' There isn't anybody I would rather stay with,' said 
 the minister, half humourously. ' Now can you return the 
 compliment ? ' 
 
 ' Yes indeed ! ' said Diana earnestly. * There isn't 
 anybody else I would half as lieve stay with.' 
 
 ' Apparently you have some confidence in me,' he said 
 in the same tone.
 
 234 DIANA. 
 
 ' I have confidence in nobody else,' said Diana sadly. 
 ' I know you would help me if you could.' 
 
 They were silent a few minutes after that, and when 
 Mr. Masters began to speak again it was in a different 
 tone ; a gentle grave tone of business. 
 
 ' I have been doing some hard thinking,' he said, ' while 
 I have been walking yonder ; and I have come to the con- 
 clusion that the present is an exceptional case and an ex- 
 ceptional time. Ordinarily I do not let business private 
 business come into Sunday. But we are brought here 
 together, and detained here, and I have come to the con- 
 clusion that this is the business I ought to do. I have only 
 one parishioner on my hands to-day,' he went on with a 
 slight smile, ' and I may as well attend to her. I am go- 
 ing to tell you my plan. I sh^ll not startle you ? Just now 
 you allowed that you had confidence in me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I will try to do whatever you say I ought to do.' 
 
 'That I cannot tell,' said he gravely, ' but I will unfold 
 to you my plan. You have trust in me. So have I in you, 
 Diana ; but I have more. So much more, that it would 
 make me happy to go through my life with you. I know,' 
 he said as he met her startled look up to him, ' I know 
 you do not love me ; I know that ; but you trust me ; and 
 I have love enough for two. That has been true a great 
 while. Suppose you come to me and let me take care of 
 you. Can you trust me to that extent ? ' 
 
 Diana's lips had grown white with fear and astonish- 
 ment. ' You do not know ! ' she gasped. But his an- 
 swer was steady and sweet. 
 
 ' I think I do.' 
 
 1 All ? ' 
 
 * All I need to know.' 
 
 ' It would be very, very wrong to you, Mr. Masters ! ' 
 said Diana hiding her face.
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 235 
 
 ' No,' he answered in the same gentle way. ' To give 
 me what I long for ? ' 
 
 ' But but I have nothing to give in return,' she said, 
 answering not the form of his words but the reality under 
 them. 
 
 ' I will take my risk of that. I told you, I have enough 
 for both. And I might add, to last out our lives. I only 
 want to have the privilege of taking care of you.' 
 
 ' My heart is dead ! ' cried Diana piteously. 
 
 ' Mine isn't. And yours is not. It is only sick, but 
 not unto death ; and I want to shelter and nurse it to 
 health again. May I ? ' 
 
 ' You cannot,' said Diana. ' I am not worth anybody's 
 looking at any more. There is no life left in me. I am 
 not good enough for you, Mr. Masters. You ought to 
 have a whole heart and a large one in return for your 
 own.' 
 
 ' I do not want any return,' said he. ' Not at present, 
 beyond that trust which you so kindly have given me. And 
 if I never have any more, I will be content, Diana, to be 
 allowed to do all the giving myself. You must spend your 
 life somewhere. Can you spend it any where better, than 
 at my side ? ' 
 
 ' No, ' Diana breathed rather than spoke. 
 
 'Then it's a bargain ? ' said he, taking her hand. Diana 
 did not withdraw it, and stooping down he touched his lips 
 gently to hers. This was so unlike one of Evan's kisses 
 that it did not even remind Diana of them. She sat dazed 
 and stunned, hardly knowing how she felt, only bewil- 
 dered ; yet dimly conscious that she was offered a shelter, 
 and a lot which if she had never known Evan she would 
 have esteemed the highest possible. An empty lot now, 
 as any one must be ; an unequal exchange for Mr. Mas-
 
 236 DIANA. 
 
 ters ; an unfair transaction ; at the same time, for her, a 
 hiding place from the world's buffetings. She would es- 
 cape so from her mother's exactions and rule ; from young 
 Flandin's following and pretensions ; from the pointed 
 finger of gossip. True, that finger had never been levelled 
 at her, not yet ; but every one who has a secret sore spot 
 knows the dread of its being discovered and touched. And 
 Diana had never been wont to mind her mother's exactions, 
 or to rebel against her rule ; but lately, for a year past, 
 without knowing or guessing the wrong of which her 
 mother had been guilty, Diana had been conscious of an 
 underlying want of harmony somewhere. She did not 
 know where it was ; it was in the air ; for nature's subtle 
 sympathies find their way and know their ground far be- 
 yond the sphere of sense or reason. Something adverse 
 and something sinister she had vaguely felt in her mother's 
 manner, without having the least clue to any possible cause 
 or motive. Suspicion was the last thing to occur to Diana's 
 nature ; so she suspected nothing ; nevertheless felt the 
 grating and now and then the jar of their two spirits one 
 against the other. It was dimly connected with Evan too, 
 in her mind, without knowing why ; she thought, blaming 
 herself for the thought, that Mrs. Starling would not have 
 been so determinately eager to get her married to Will 
 Flandin if Evan Knowlton had never been thought to fan- 
 cy her. This was a perfectly unreasoning conclusion in 
 Diana's mind ; she could give no account of it ; but as 
 little could she get rid of it; and it made her mother's 
 ways lately hard to bear. The minister, she knew instinct- 
 ively, would not let a rough wind blow on her face ; at his 
 side neither criticism nor any sort of human annoyance 
 could reach her ; she would have only her own deep heart 
 sorrow to bear on to the end. But what sort of justice
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 23/ 
 
 was this towards him ? Diana lifted her head, which had 
 been sunk in musing, and looked round. She had heard 
 nothing for awhile ; now the swirl and rush of the storm 
 were the first thing that struck her senses ; and the first 
 thought, that no getting away was possible yet ; then she 
 glanced at Mr. Masters. He was there near her, just as 
 usual, looking at her quietly. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters,' she burst forth, ' you are very good ! ' 
 
 ' That is right,' he said with a sort of dry comicality 
 which belonged to him, ' I hope you will never change your 
 opinion.' 
 
 ' But,' said Diana, withdrawing her eyes in some con- 
 fusion, ' I think I am not. I think I am doing wrong.' 
 
 ' In what ? ' 
 
 ' In letting you say what you said a little while ago. 
 You have a heart, and a big one. I have not any heart at 
 all. I can't give you what you would give me ; I haven't 
 got it to give. I never shall have anything to give.' 
 
 'The case being so as you put it,' said the minister 
 quite quietly, ' what then ? You cannot change the facts. I 
 cannot take back what I have given ; it was given long 
 ago, Diana, and remains yours. The least you can do, is 
 to let me have what is left of you and take care of it. 
 While I live, I will do that, and ask no reward.' 
 
 ' You will get tired of it,' said Diana with her lip trem- 
 bling. 
 
 ' Will I ? ' said he taking her hand. And he added no 
 more, but through the gentle, almost careless intonation 
 Diana felt and knew the very truth ; that he never would. 
 She left her hand in his clasp ; that too was gentle and 
 firm, like the man ; he seemed a tower of strength to Diana. 
 If only she could have loved him. Yet she thought she 
 was glad that he loved her. He was something to lean
 
 238 DIANA. 
 
 upon ; some one who would be able to give help. They 
 sat so, hand in hand, for a while, the storm roaring against 
 the windows and howling round the building. 
 
 ' Don't you think,' the minister began again, with a ten- 
 der light accent, ' it will be part of my permanent duty to 
 preach to you ? ' 
 
 ' I dare say, I am sure I want it enough/ said Diana. 
 
 ' Is not this a good opportunity ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose it is. We cannot get away.' 
 
 ' Never mind ; the wind will go down by and by. It 
 has been blowing on purpose to keep us here. Diana, do 
 you think a good God made any of his creatures to be un- 
 happy ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Mr. Masters. He lets them be unhappy.' 
 
 ' It is not his will.' 
 
 ' But he takes away what would make them happy ? ' 
 
 ' What do you think would do that ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose it is one thing with one person, and another 
 with another.' 
 
 ' True ; but take an instance.' 
 
 ' It is mother's happiness to have her farm and her 
 dairy and her house go just right.' 
 
 ' Is she happy if it does ? ' 
 
 ' She is very uncomfortable if it don't.' 
 
 ' That is not my question,' said the minister smiling. 
 ' Happiness is not a thing that comes and goes, with the 
 weather, or the crops, or the state of the market ; nor even 
 with the life and death and affection of those we love.' 
 
 ' I thought it did ' said Diana rather faintly. 
 
 ' In that case it would be a changeable, insecure thing ; 
 and being that, it would cease to be happiness.' 
 
 ' Yes. I thought human happiness was changeable and 
 uncertain.'
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 239 
 
 ' Do you not feel that such conditions would spoil it? 
 No ; God loves us better than that.' 
 
 ' But Mr. Masters,' said Dian-a in some surprise, ' no- 
 body in this world can be sure of keeping what he likes ? 
 
 ' Except one thing.' 
 
 ' What can that be?' 
 
 ' Did you never see anybody who was happy inde- 
 pendent of circumstances ? ' 
 
 Diana reflected. ' I think Mother Bartlett is.' 
 
 ' I think so too.' 
 
 ' But she is the only person of whom that is true, in all 
 Pleasant Valley.' 
 
 ' How comes she to be an exception ? ' 
 
 Diana reflected again, but this time without finding an 
 answer. 
 
 ' Isn't it, that she has set her heart on what cannot fail 
 her nor be insufficient for her ? ' 
 
 ' Religion, you mean.' 
 
 ' I do not mean religion.' 
 
 ' What then ? ' Diana asked in new surprise. 
 
 ' I mean Christ.' 
 
 'But isn't that the same thing?' 
 
 ' Not exactly. Christ is a person.' 
 
 ' Yes but ' 
 
 ' And fie it is that can make happy those who know him. 
 Do you remember, he said, " He that cometh to me shall 
 never hunger, and he that believeth on me shall never 
 thirst ? " ' 
 
 Looking up at the speaker and following his words, they 
 somehow struck Diana rather hard. Her lip suddenly 
 trembled and she looked down. 
 
 ' You do not understand it,' said the minister, ' but you 
 must believe it. Poor hungry lamb, seeking pasture where 
 there is none, where it is withered, come to Christ ! '
 
 24O DIANA. 
 
 ' Do you mean/ said Diana struggling for voice and 
 self-command, but unable to look up, for the minister's 
 hand was on her shoulder and his words had been very 
 tenderly spoken, ' do you mean, that when everything is 
 withered, he can make it green again ? ' 
 
 The minister answered in the words of David, which 
 were the words of the Lord ' " He shall be as the light of 
 the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without 
 clouds ; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by 
 clear shining after rain." ' 
 
 Diana bent her head lower. Could such refreshment 
 and renewal of her own wasted nature ever come to pass ? 
 She did not believe it ; yet perhaps there was life yet at 
 the roots of the grass which scented the rain. The words 
 swept over as the breath of the south wind. 
 
 ' " The light of a morning without clouds " she re. 
 peated when she could speak. 
 
 ' Christ is all that, to those who know him,' the minister 
 said. 
 
 ' Then I do not know him,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Did you think you did ? ' 
 
 ' But how can one know him, Mr. Masters ? ' 
 
 ' There is only one way. It is said, " God who created 
 the light out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give 
 the light of the glory of the knowledge of Christ." ' 
 
 1 How ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell. As the sun rises over the hills, and 
 suddenly the gold of it is upon everything, and the warmth 
 of it.' 
 
 < When ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know that either,' said Mr. Masters, gently 
 touching Diana's brow as one touches a child's, with cares- 
 sing fingers. ' He says, " ye shall find me when ye shall
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 24! 
 
 search for me with all your heart." " If thou criest after 
 knowledge and lif test up thy voice for understanding ; if thou 
 seekest her as silver, and searchestfor her as for hid treas- 
 ures ; then shalt thou understand the fear of the Lord, and 
 find the knowledge of God" ' 
 
 Diana sat still awhile and neither of them spoke ; then 
 she said, speaking more lightly. 
 
 'I think you have preached a beautiful sermon, Mr. 
 Masters.' 
 
 ' It's a beautiful sermon,' assented the minister ; ' but 
 how much effect will it have ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Diana. ' I don't seem to have energy 
 enough to take hold of anything.' Then after a little she 
 added ' But if anybody can help me I am sure it is you.' 
 
 ' We will stand by one another then,' said he, ' and do 
 the best we can.' 
 
 Diana did not make any denial of this conclusion ; and 
 they sat still without more words, for some time ; each busied 
 with his own separate train of musings. Then Diana felt 
 a little shiver of cold beginning to creep over her ; and 
 Mr. Masters roused himself. 
 
 ' This is getting serious ! ' said he looking at his watch. 
 < What o'clock do you think it is ? One, and after. Am I 
 to make up the fires again ? We cannot stir at present.' 
 
 Neither, it was found, could he make up the fires. For 
 the coal bin was in the cellar or underground vault, to 
 which the entrance was from the outside ; and looking from 
 the window, Mr, Masters saw that the snow had drifted on 
 that side to the height of a man, covering the low door 
 entirely. Hours of labour would be required to clear 
 away the snow enough to give access to the coal ; and the 
 minister had not even a shovel. At the same time the 
 fires were going down, and the room was beginning to get 
 chilly under the power of the searching wind which found its 
 16
 
 242 DIANA. 
 
 way in by many entrances. The only resource was to walk. 
 Mr. Masters gave Diana his arm and she accepted it, and 
 together they paced up and down the aisle. It was a 
 strange walk to Diana ; her companion was rather silent, 
 speaking only a few words now and then ; and it occurred 
 to her to wonder whether this, her first walk with him, was 
 to be a likeness of the whole ; a progress through chilly 
 and empty space. Diana was not -what may be called an 
 imaginative person, but a thought of this kind came over 
 her. It did not make her change her mind at all respect- 
 ing the agreement she had entered into; if it were to be 
 so, better she should find herself at his side, she thought, 
 than anywhere else. She was even glad, in a dull sort of 
 Avay, that Mr. Masters should be pleased ; pleasure for 
 her was gone out of the world. Honour him she could, 
 and did, from the bottom of her heart ; but that was all. 
 It was well perhaps for her composure that whatever pleas- 
 ure her companion might feel in their new relations, he did 
 not make the feeling obtrusively prominent. He was just 
 his usual self, with a slight confidence in his manner to her 
 which had not appeared before. 
 
 So they walked. 
 
 'Diana,' said Mr. Masters suddenly, ' have you brought 
 no lunch with you ? ' 
 
 ' I forgot it. At least, I was in such a hurry to get 
 out of the house without being seen, I didn't care about 
 anything else. If I had gone to the pantry they would 
 have found out what I was doing.' 
 
 ' And I brought nothing to-day, of all days. I am sorry, 
 for your sake.' 
 
 ' I don't mind it,' said Diana. ' I don't feel it.' 
 
 Nor I, but that proves nothing. This won't do. It is 
 two o'clock. We must get away. It will be growing dark 
 in a little while more. The days are just at the shortest.'
 
 OUT OF HUMDRUM. 243 
 
 ' I think the storm isn't quite so bad as it was,' said 
 Diana. 
 
 They stood still and listened. It beat and blew, and 
 the snow came thick ; still the exceeding fury of the blast 
 seemed to be lessened. 
 
 ' We'll give it a quarter of an hour more,' said the min- 
 ister. ' Diana we have had preaching, but we have had 
 no praying.' 
 
 She assented submissively, to his look as well as his 
 words, and they knelt down together in the chancel. Mr. 
 Masters prayed, not very long, but a prayer full of the 
 sweetness and the confidence and the strength, of a child 
 of God who is at home in his Father's presence ; full of 
 tenderness and sympathy for her. Diana's mind went 
 through a series of experiences in the course of that short 
 prayer. The sweetness and the confidence of it touched 
 her first, with the sense of contrast, and wrung tears from 
 her that were bitter ; then the speaker got beyond her 
 depth, into regions of feeling where she could not follow 
 him nor quite understand, but that, she knew, was only 
 because he was at home where she was so much a stranger ; 
 and her thoughts made a leap to the admiration of him, 
 and then to the useless consideration, how happy she might 
 have been with this man, had not Evan come between. 
 Why had he come, just to win her and prove himself un- 
 worthy of her ? But it was done, and not to be undone. 
 Evan had her heart, worthy or unworthy ; she could not 
 take it back ; there was nothing left for her but to be a 
 cold shadow walking beside this good man who was so 
 full of all gentle and noble affections. Well, she was glad, 
 since he wanted her, that she might lead her colourless ex- 
 istence by his side. That was the last feeling with which 
 she rose from her knees.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 SETTLED 
 
 IT was a very wild storm yet, through which Mr. Mas- 
 ters drove Diana home. Still the wind blew hard, and 
 the snow came driving and beating down upon their 
 shoulders and faces in thick white masses ; and the drifts 
 had piled up in some places very high. More than once 
 the sleigh, Prince and all, was near being lodged in a 
 snow-bank from which the getting free would have been a 
 work of time ; Mr. Masters had to get out and do some 
 rather complicated engineering ; and withal through the 
 thick and heavy snow-fall it was difficult to see what they 
 were coming to. Patience and coolness and good driving 
 got the better of dangers however, and slowly the way was 
 put behind them. They met nobody. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters,' said Diana suddenly, ' you will have to 
 stay at our house to-night. You can never get back.' 
 
 ' I don't believe Mrs. Starling will let me go,' said the 
 minister. 
 
 Diana did not know exactly how to understand this. 
 It struck a sort of chill to her, that he was intending at 
 once to proclaim their new relations to each other ; yet 
 she could find nothing to object, and indeed she did not 
 wish to object. 
 
 ' Mother will not be pleased/ she ventured after a 
 pause. 
 
 244
 
 SETTLED. 245 
 
 ' No, I do not expect it. We have got to face that. 
 But she is a wise woman, and will know how to accommo- 
 date herself to things when she knows she can't help it, 
 I will put Prince up and give him some supper, and then 
 we will see.' 
 
 Diana accordingly went in alone. But as it happened, 
 Mrs. Starling was busied with some affairs in the outer 
 kitchen ; and Diana passed through and got up to her own 
 room without any encounter. She was glad. Encounters 
 were not in her line. She was somewhat leisurely there- 
 fore in taking off her wrappings and changing her dress. 
 And as the minister was on the other hand as soon 
 done with his ministrations to Prince as circumstances and 
 the snow permitted, it fell out that they re-entered the 
 kitchen almost at the same moment, though by different 
 doors. It was the lean-to kitchen, the only place where 
 fire was kept on Sunday, and indeed that was the usual 
 winter dwelling-room ; a little outer kitchen serving for all 
 the dirty work. It was in what I should call dreary Sun- 
 day order ; which means, order without life. The very 
 chairs and tables seemed to say forlornly that they had 
 nothing to do. Not so much as an open book proclaimed 
 that the mistress of the place was any better off; however, 
 she had other resources ; for even as the minister came in 
 from the snow, and Diana from up stairs, Mrs. Starling 
 herself made her appearance from the outer kitchen with 
 a pan of potatoes in her hand. 
 
 Mrs. Starling liked neither to be surprised, nor to seem 
 so. Moreover, from the outer kitchen door she had seen 
 Prince and the sleigh going to the barn, and seen too who 
 was driving him. With the cunning of an Indian she had 
 made a sudden tremendous leap to conclusions ; how ar- 
 rived at, I cannot say ; there is a faculty in some natures
 
 246 DIANA. 
 
 that is very like a power of intuition. So she came in 
 now with a manner that was undeclarative of anything but 
 grimness ; gave no sign of either surprise or curiosity ; 
 vouchsafed the minister only a scant little nod of welcome, 
 and to Diana scarce a look ; and set her pan of potatoes 
 on the table, while she went into the pantry for a knife. 
 
 ' Do you want those peeled mother ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 ' Must have something for supper, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Shall I do it ? ' 
 
 ' No. I guess you've done enough for one day.' 
 
 ' I have,' said Mr. Masters. ' And if you had driven 
 these three miles in the snow, you would know it. May I 
 have some supper, Mrs. Starling ? ' 
 
 ' There'll be enough, I guess,' said the mistress of the 
 house, with her knife flying round the potato in hand in a 
 way that shewed both practice and energy. Then presently, 
 with a scarce perceptible glance up at her daughter, she 
 added, 
 
 ' Where have you been ? ' 
 
 ' To church, mother.' 
 
 ' To church ! ' scornfully. ' What did you do there ? ' 
 
 ' She heard preaching,' said the minister, in that very 
 quiet and composed way of his, which it was difficult to 
 fight against. Few people ever tried ; if any one could, it 
 was Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' I guess there warn't many that had the privilege ? ' 
 she said inquiringly. 
 
 ' Not many,' said the minister. ' I never had a smaller 
 audience in church to preach to.' 
 
 ' Folks had better be at home, such a day, and preach 
 to themselves.' 
 
 ' I quite agree with you. So I brought Diana back as 
 soon as I could. But we have been two hours on the way.'
 
 SETTLED. 247 
 
 Mrs. Starling's knife flew round the potatoes ; her 
 tongue was silent. Diana began to set the table. Sitting 
 by the corner of the fire to dry the wet spots on his clothes, 
 the minister watched her. And Mrs. Starling, without 
 looking, watched them both ; and at last, having finished her 
 potatoes, seized the dish and went off with it ; no doubt to 
 cook the supper, for savoury fumes soon came stealing in. 
 Diana made coffee, not without a strange back look to a 
 certain stormy September night when she had made it for 
 some one else. It was December now ; a December which 
 no spring would follow ; so what mattered anything, coffee 
 or the rest ? If there were any blessing left for her in the 
 world, she believed it would be 'under Mr. Masters' protec- 
 tion and in his goodness. She felt dull and in a dream, 
 but she believed that. 
 
 The three had supper alone. Conversation, as far as 
 Mrs. Starling was concerned, went on the pattern that has 
 been given. Mr. Masters was at the whole expense 
 of the entertainment, mentally ; and he talked with the ease 
 and pleasantness that seemed natural to him, of things that 
 could not help interesting the others ; even Diana in her 
 deadness of heart, even Mrs. Starling in her perversity, 
 pricked up their ears and listened. I don't believe either 
 he even found it a difficult effort ; nothing ever seemed diffi- 
 cult to Mr. Masters that he had to do ; it was always done 
 so graciously and as if he were enjoying it himself. So no 
 doubt he was. Certainly this evening ; though Mrs. Star- 
 ling did not speak many words and Diana spoke none. So 
 supper was finished and the mistress and her guest moved 
 their chairs to the fire, while Diana busied herself in put- 
 ting up the things, going in and out from the pantry. 
 
 'You'll have to keep me to-night, Mrs. Starling,' said 
 the minister.
 
 248 DIANA. 
 
 ' I knew that when I saw you come in,' responded the 
 lady, not over graciously. 
 
 ' I am not going to receive hospitality under false pre- 
 tences,' though said the minister. ' If I rob, I won't steal. 
 Mrs. Starling, Diana and I have come to an agreement.' 
 
 ' I knew that too,' returned the lady defiantly. 
 
 'According to which agreement,' pursued the other 
 without change of a hair, ' I am coming again some other 
 time, to take her away, out of your care into mine.' 
 
 'There go two words to that bargain,' said Mrs. 
 Starling after a half minute's pause. 
 
 ' Two words have been spoken ; mine and her's. Now 
 we want yours.' 
 
 ' Diana's got to take care of me.' 
 
 ' Does that mean that she is never to marry?' 
 
 ' It don't mean anything ridiculous,' said Mrs. Star- 
 ling ; ' so it don't mean that.' 
 
 ' I should not like to say anything ridiculous. Then, 
 if she may marry, it only remains that she and you should 
 be suited. Do you object to me as a son-in-law ? ' 
 
 It is impossible to convey the impression of the man- 
 ner, winning, half humourous, half dry, supremely careless 
 and confident, in which all this was said on the minister's 
 part. It was something almost impossible at the moment 
 to withstand, and it fidgetted Mrs. Starling to be under 
 the power of it. Her grudge against the minister was 
 even increased by it, and yet she could not give vent to the 
 feeling. 
 
 ' I'm not called upon to make objections against you 
 in any way,' she answered rather vaguely. 
 
 ' That means, of course, that you have no objections to 
 make ? ' 
 
 ' I don't make any,' said Mrs. Starling shortly.
 
 SETTLED. 249 
 
 ' I must be content with that,' said Mr. Masters smiling. 
 ' Diana, your mother makes no objections.' And rising, 
 he went and gravely kissed her. 
 
 I do not know what tied Mrs. Starling's tongue. She 
 sat before the fire with her hands in her lap, in an inward 
 fury of dull displeasure ; she had untold objections to this 
 arrangement ; and yet, though she knew she must speak 
 now or never, she could not speak. Whether it were the 
 spell of the minister's manner, which, as I said, worked its 
 charm upon her as it did upon others ; whether it were the 
 prick of conscience, warning her that she had interfered 
 once too often already in her daughter's life affairs ; or 
 whether finally she had an instinctive sense that things 
 were gone too far for her hindering hand ; she fumed in 
 secret, and did nothing. She was a woman of sense ; she 
 knew that if a man like Mr. Masters loved her daughter, 
 and had got her daughter's good-will, it would be an ill 
 waste of strength on her part to try to break the arrange- 
 ment. It might be done ; but it would not be worth the 
 scandal and the confusion. And she was not sure that it 
 could be done. 
 
 So she sat chewing the cud of her mortification and 
 ire, giving little heed to what words passed between the 
 others. It had come to this ! She had schemed, she had 
 put a violent hand upon Diana's fate, to turn it her own 
 way, and now this was the way it had gone ! All her wrong 
 deeds for nothing ! She had purposed, as she said, that 
 Diana should take care of her ; therefore Diana should not 
 marry any poor and proud young officer, nor . any officer 
 at all, to carry her away beyond reach and into a sphere 
 beyond and above the sphere of her mother. No, Diana 
 must marry a rich young farmer ; Will Flandih would just 
 do ; a man who would not dislike or be anywise averse to
 
 250 DIANA. 
 
 receive such a mother-in-law into his house, but reckon it 
 an added advantage. Then her home would be secure, 
 and her continued rule ; and ruling was as necessary to 
 Mrs. Starling as eating. She would have a larger house 
 and business to manage, and withal need not do herself 
 more than. she chose ; having Diana, she would be sure of 
 everything else she wanted. Now she had lost Diana. 
 And only to a poor parson when all was done. Would it 
 have been better to let her marry the officer ? For Mrs. 
 Starling had a shrewd guess that such would have been the 
 issue of things if she had let them alone. Diana could 
 not so have been more out of her power or out of 
 her sphere ; for Mrs. Starling had a certain assured con- 
 sciousness that she would not ' fit ' in the minister's family, 
 and that, gentle as he was, he would rule his house and 
 his wife himself. She sat brooding, hardly hearing what 
 was said by either of the others : and indeed the discourse 
 was not very lively ; till Mr. Masters rose and bade them 
 good night. And then Mrs. Starling still went on musing. 
 Why had she not interfered at the right moment, to put a 
 stop to this affair ? She had let the moment go, and the 
 thought vexed her ; and her mood was not at all sweetened 
 by the lurking doubt whether she could have stopped it if 
 she had tried. Mrs. Starling could not abide to meet with 
 her match, and sorely hated her match when she found it. 
 What if she were to tell Diana of those letters of Evan ? 
 But then Diana would be off to the ends of the earth with 
 him. Better keep her in the village perhaps. Mrs. Star- 
 ling grew more and more impatient. 
 
 ' Diana, you are a big fool ! ' she burst out. 
 
 Diana at that moment thought not. She did not answer. 
 Both were sitting before the wide fireplace, and Diana had 
 not moved since Mr. Masters left them.
 
 SETTLED. 251 
 
 ' What sort of a life do you expect you are going to 
 have ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, mother.' 
 
 ' You, who might marry the richest man in town ! And 
 live in plenty, and have just your own way, and everything 
 you want ! You are a fool I Do you know what it means, to 
 be a poor minister's wife ? ' 
 
 ' I shall know, I suppose. That is, if Mr. Masters is 
 poor. I don't know whether he is or not.' 
 
 ' He is of course ! They all are.' 
 
 'Well, mother. You have taught me how to keep 
 house on a little.' 
 
 ' Yes, you and me ; that's one thing. It's another thing 
 when you have a shiftless man hanging round, and a dozen 
 children or so, and expected to be civil to all the world. 
 They always have a house full of children, and they are all 
 shiftless.' 
 
 ' Who, mother ? ' 
 
 ' Poor ministers.' 
 
 ' Father hadn't and wasn't.' 
 
 ' He was as shiftless a man as ever wore shoe-leather ; 
 he wasn't a bit of help to a woman. All he cared for was 
 to lose his time in his books ; and that's the way this man 
 '11 do, and leave you to take the brunt of everything. Your 
 time '11 go in cookin' and mendin' and washin' up ; and 
 you'll have to be at everybody's beck and call at the end o' 
 that. If there's" anything / hate, it's to be in the kitchen 
 and parlour both at the same time.' 
 
 Diana was silent. 
 
 ' You might have lived like a queen.' 
 
 ' I don't want to live like a queen.' 
 
 ' You might have had your own way, Diana.' 
 
 ' I don't care about having my own way.'
 
 252 DIANA. 
 
 ' I wish you would care, then, or had a speck of spirit. 
 What's life good for ? ' 
 
 ' I wish I knew ' said Diana wearily, as she rose and 
 set back her chair. 
 
 ' You never will know, in that man's house. I do think, 
 ministers are the meanest lot o' folks there is ; and that 
 you should go and take one of them ! ' 
 
 ' It is the other way, mother ; he has taken me,' said 
 Diana, half laughing at what seemed to her the dispropor- 
 tion between her mother's passion and the occasion for it. 
 
 ' You were a fool to let him.' 
 
 ' I don't think so.' 
 
 ' You'll be sorry yet.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 'They're a shiftless lot,' said Mrs. Starling, rather 
 evasively, ' the whole of 'em. And this one has a way of 
 holding his own in other folks' houses, that is intolerable 
 to me ! I never liked him, not from the very first.' 
 
 ' I always liked him,' said Diana simply; and she went 
 off to her room. She had not expected that her mother 
 would favour the arrangement ; on the contrary ; and it 
 had all been settled much more easily than she had looked 
 for.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 UNSETTLED. 
 
 So things were settled, and Mrs. Starling made no at- 
 tempt to unsettle them ; on the other hand she fell into a 
 condition of permanent unrest which I do not know how to 
 characterize. It was not ill humour exactly ; it was not 
 displeasure ; or if so, it was displeasure at herself, but it was 
 contrary to all Mrs. Starling's principles to admit that, and 
 she never admitted it. Her farm servant, Josh, described 
 her as being always now in an ' aggravated ' state ; and 
 Diana found her society very uncomfortable. There was 
 never a word spoken pleasantly, by any chance, about any- 
 thing ; good was not commended and ill was* not deplored; 
 but both, good and ill, were taken up in the same sharp, 
 acrid,cynical tone, or treated with the like restless mockery. 
 Mrs. Starling found no fault with Diana, other than by 
 this bitter manner of handling every subject that came up ; 
 at the same time she made the little house where they 
 lived together a place of thunderous atmosphere where it 
 was impossible to draw breath freely and peacefully. They 
 were very much shut up to one another, too. That Sunday 
 storm in December had been followed by successive falls 
 of snow, so deep that the ways were encumbered, and 
 travelling more difficult than usual in Pleasant Valley even 
 in winter. There was very little getting about between 
 the neighbours' houses ; and the people let their social 
 qualities wait for spring and summer to develope them- 
 
 253
 
 254 DIANA. 
 
 selves. Diana and her mother scarcely saw anybody. Nick 
 Boddington at rare intervals looked in. Joe Bartlett once 
 or twice came with a message from his mother ; once Diana 
 had gone down to see her. Even Mr. Masters made his 
 appearance at the little brown farmhouse less frequently 
 than might have been supposed ; for in truth Mrs. Star- 
 ling's presence made his visits rather unsatisfactory ; and 
 beside the two kitchen fires, there was none other in the 
 house to which Diana and he could withdraw and see each 
 other alone. So he came only now and then, and generally 
 did not stay very long. 
 
 To Diana, all this while, the coming or the going, the 
 solitude or the company, even the good or ill humours of 
 her mother, seemed to be of little importance. She lived 
 her own shut-up, deadened, secret life through it all, and 
 had no nerves of sensation near enough to the surface to 
 be affected much by what went on outside of her. What 
 though her mother was all the while in a rasped sort of 
 state ? it could not rasp Diana ; she seemed to wear a coat 
 of mail. Neighbours ? no neighbours were anything to her 
 one way or another ; if she could be said to like anything, 
 it was to be quite alone and see and hear nobody. Her 
 marriage she looked at in the same dull way; with a thought, 
 so far as she gave it a thought, that in the minister's house 
 her life would be more quiet, and peace and goodwill would 
 replace the eager disquiet around her which, without 
 minding it, Diana yet perceived. More quiet and better, 
 she hoped her life would be ; her life and herself ; she 
 thought the minister was getting a bad bargain of it, but 
 since it was his pleasure she thought it was a good thing 
 for her ; every time she met the gentle kind eyes and felt 
 the warm clasp of his hand, Diana repeated the assurance 
 to herself. The girl had sunk again into mental torpor ;
 
 UNSETTLED. 255 
 
 she did not see nor hear nor feel ; she lived along a me- 
 chanical sort of life, having relapsed into her former 
 stunned condition. Not crushed ; there was too much of 
 Diana's nature for one blow or perhaps many blows to ef- 
 fect that ; not beaten down, like some other characters ; she 
 went on her way upright, alert and strong, doing and ex- 
 pecting to do the work of life to its utmost measure ; all 
 the same, walking as a ghost might walk through the scenes 
 of his former existence ; with no longer any natural condi- 
 tions to put her at one with them, and only conscious of 
 her dead heart. This state of things had given way in the 
 fall to a few months of incessant and very live pain ; with 
 her betrothal to the minister Diana had sunk again into the 
 dulness of apathy. But with a constitution mental and 
 physical like her's, so full of sound life-blood, so true and 
 strong, in the nature of things this state of apathetic sleep 
 could not last for ever. And the time of final waking 
 came. 
 
 The winter had dragged its length away. Spring had 
 come, with its renewal of all the farm and household 
 activities. Diana stood up to her work and did it, day by 
 day, with faultless accuracy, with blameless diligence. She 
 was too useful a helper not to be missed unwillingly from 
 any household that had once known her ; and Mrs. Star- 
 ling's temper did not improve. It had been arranged that 
 Diana's marriage should take place about the first of June. 
 Spring work over, and summer going on its orderly way, 
 she could be easiest spared then, she thought ; and Mrs. 
 Starling, seeing it must be, made no particular objection. 
 Beyond the time, nothing had been talked of yet concerning 
 the occasion. So it was a hitherto untouched question, 
 when Mrs. Starling asked her daughter one day, ' What 
 sort of a wedding are you calculatin' to have ? '
 
 256 DIANA. 
 
 ' What sort of a wedding ? I don't know,' said Diana. 
 ' What do you mean by a wedding ? ' 
 
 ' The thing is, what you mean by it. Don't be a baby, 
 Diana Starling ! Do you mean to ask your friends to see 
 you married ? ' 
 
 ' I don't want anybody, I am sure,' said Diana. ' And 
 I am sure Mr. Masters does not care.' 
 
 ' Are you going to be married in a black gown ? ' 
 
 ' Black ! No ; but I do not care what kind of a gown 
 it is, further than that. 
 
 ' I don't think you care much about the whole thing,' 
 said Mrs. Starling looking at her. ' If I was you, I wouldn't 
 be married just to please somebody else, without it pleased 
 myself too. That's what I think.' 
 
 Poor Diana thought of Mr. Masters' face as she had 
 seen it the last time ; and it seemed to her good to give 
 somebody else pleasure, even if pleasure were gone and 
 out of the question for her. This view of the question, 
 naturally, she did not make public. 
 
 ' What are you going to marry this man for ? ' said Mrs. 
 Starling, standing straight up (she had been bending over 
 some work) and looking hard at her daughter. 
 
 ' I hope he'll make a good woman of me,' Diana said 
 soberly. 
 
 ' If you had a little more spunk, you might make a good 
 man of him ; but you aren't the woman to do it. He wants 
 his pride taken down a bit.' 
 
 ' But what about the day, mother ? ' said Diana, who 
 preferred not to discuss this subject. 
 
 ' Well, if you haven't thought of it, I have ; and I'm 
 going to ask all the folks there are ; and we've got to make 
 a spread for em, Diana Starling, so we may as well be 
 about it.'
 
 UNSETTLED. 257 
 
 ' Already ! ' said Diana. ' It's weeks yet.' 
 ' They'll run away, you'll find ; and the cake'll be better 
 for keepin'. You may go about stonin' the fruit as soon 
 as you're a mind to.' 
 
 Diana said no more, but stoned her raisins and picked 
 over her currants and sliced her citron, with the same apa- 
 thetic want of realization which lately she had brought to 
 everything. It might have been cake for anybody else's 
 wedding that she was getting ready, so little did her fingers 
 recognize the relation of the things with herself. The 
 cake was made and baked and iced and ornamented. And 
 then Mrs. Starling's activities went on to other items of 
 preparation. Seeing Diana would be married, she meant 
 it should be done in a way the countryside would not for- 
 get ; neither should Mrs. Flandin make mental compari- 
 sons, pityingly, of the wedding that was with the wedding 
 that would have been with her son for the bridegroom. 
 Baking and boiling and roasting and jellying went on in 
 quantity, for Mrs. Starling was a great cook, and could do 
 things in style when she chose. The house was put in 
 order ; fresh curtains hung up, and the handsomest linen 
 laid out, and greens and flowers employed to cover and 
 deck the severely plain walls and furniture. One thing 
 more Mrs. Starling wished for which she was not likely to 
 have ; the presence of one of the Elmfield family on the 
 occasion. She would have liked some one of them to be 
 there, in order that sure news of the whole might go to 
 Evan and beyond possibility of doubt ; for a lurking fear 
 of his sudden appearing some time had long hidden in 
 Mrs. Starling's mind. I do not know what she feared in 
 such a case. Of the two, Evan was hardly-more distasteful 
 to her as a son-in-law than the minister was ; though it is 
 true that her action in the matter of burning the letters 
 17
 
 258 DIANA. 
 
 had made her hate the man she had injured. This feel- 
 ing was counterbalanced, I confess by another feeling of 
 the delight it would be to see Mr. Masters nonplussed ; but 
 on the whole she preferred that Evan should keep at a 
 distance. 
 
 All the work and confusion of these last few weeks 
 claimed Diana's full time and strength, as well as her 
 mother's, she had scarcely a minute to think ; and that 
 was one reason no doubt, why she went through them with 
 such unchanged composure. They were all behind her at 
 last. Everything was in order and readiness, down to the 
 smallest particular, and it was with a dull sense of this 
 that Diana went up to her room the last night before her 
 wedding day. It was all done, and the time was all gone. 
 She went in slowly went to the window, opened it and 
 sat down before it. June had come again ; one day of 
 June was passed, and to-morrow would be the second. 
 Through the bustle of May, Diana had hardly given a look 
 to the weather or a thought to the time of year ; it greeted 
 her now at her window like a dear old friend that she had 
 been forgetting. The moon about an hour high gave a 
 gentle illumination through the dewy air, revealing plainly 
 enough the level meadows, and the hills which made their 
 distant bordering. The scent of roses and honeysuckles 
 was abroad ; just under Diana's window there was a honey- 
 suckle vine in full blossom, and the rich, peculiar fragrance 
 came in heavily laden puffs of air ; the softest of breezes 
 brought them, stirring the little leaves lazily, and just 
 touched Diana's face, sweet and tender, reminding, caress- 
 ing. Reminding of what ? For it began to stir vaguely 
 and uneasily in Diana's heart. Things not thought of be- 
 fore put in a claim to be looked at. This her home and 
 sanctuary for so many years, it was to be hers no longer
 
 UNSETTLED. 259 
 
 This was the last night at her window, by her honeysuckle 
 vine. She would not have another evening the enjoyment 
 of her wonted favourite view over the fields and hills ; she 
 had done with all that. Other scenes, another home, 
 would claim her ; and then slowly rose the thought that 
 her freedom was gone ; this was the last time she would 
 belong to herself. Oddly enough, nothing of all this had 
 come under consideration before. Diana had been stunned ; 
 she had believed for a long time that she was dead, men- 
 tally ; she had been as it were in a slumber, partly of hope- 
 lessness, partly of preoccupation ; now the time of waking 
 had come ; and the hidden life in her stirred and rose 
 and shivered with the consciousness that it was alive and in 
 its full strength, and what it meant for it to be alive now. As 
 I said, Diana's nature was too sound and well balanced and 
 strong for anything to crush it or even any part of it ; and 
 now she knew that the nerves of feeling she thought Evan 
 had killed for ever, were all astir and quivering and would 
 never be fooled into slumbering again. I cannot tell how 
 all this dawned and broke to her consciousness. She had 
 sat down at her window a calm, weary-hearted girl, placid, 
 and with even a dull sort of content upon her ; so she had 
 sat and dreamed awhile ; and then, June and moonlight, 
 and her honeysuckle, and the roses, and the memory of 
 her free childish days, and the image of her lost lover, and 
 the thought of where she was standing, by degrees how 
 gently they did it, too, roused her and pricked her up to 
 the consciousness of what she going to do. What was she 
 going to do ? Marry a man who had no real place in her 
 heart. She had thought it did not matter ; she had thought 
 she was dead ; now all at once she knew that she was 
 alive in every fibre, and that it mattered fearfully. The 
 idea of Mr. Masters stung her, not as novel writers say
 
 26O DIANA. 
 
 ' almost to madness,' for there was no such irregularity 
 in Diana's round, sound, healthy nature, but to pain that 
 seemed unbearable. No confusion in her brain, and no 
 dulness now ; on the contrary, an intense consciousness 
 of all that her position involved. She had made a mistake, 
 like many another ; unlike many, she had found it out early. 
 She was going to marry a man to whom she had no love to 
 give ; and she knew now that the life she must thenceforth 
 lead would be daily torture. Almost the worse because she 
 had for Mr. Masters so deep a respect and so true an appre- 
 ciation. And he loved her ; of that there was no question ; 
 the whole affection of the best man she had ever known, 
 was bestowed upon her, and in his hopes he saw doubtless a 
 future when she would have learnt to return his love. 
 'And I never shall,' thought Diana. ' Never, as long as I live. 
 I wonder if I shall get to hate him, because I am obliged 
 to live with him ? All the heart I have is Evan's, and will 
 be Evan's ; it don't make any difference that he was not 
 worthy of me, as I suppose he wasn't ; I have given, and I 
 cannot take back. And now I must live with this other 
 man ! ' Diana shuddered already. 
 
 She shed no tears. Happy are they whose grief can 
 flow ; part of the oppression at least flows off with tears, if 
 not part of the pain. Eyes wide open, staring out into the 
 moonlight ; a rigid face, from which the colour gradually 
 ebbed and ebbed away, more and more ; so Diana kept the 
 watch of her bridal eve. As the moon got higher, and the 
 world lay clearer revealed under its light, shadows grew 
 more defined and objects more recognizable, it seemed as 
 if in due proportion the life before Diana's mental vision 
 opened and displayed itself, plainer and clearer ; as she 
 saw one she saw the other. If Diana had been a woman 
 of the world, her strength of character would have availed
 
 UNSETTLED. 26 1 
 
 to do what many a woman of the world has not the force 
 for ; she would have drawn back at the last minute and 
 declined to fulfil her engagement. But in the sphere of 
 Diana's experience, such a thing was unheard of. All the 
 proprieties, all the conditions of the social life that was 
 known to her, forbade even the thought ; and the thought 
 never came to her. She felt just as much bound, that is, 
 as irrecoverably, as she would be twenty-four hours later. 
 But she was like a caged wild animal. The view of the 
 sweet moonlit country became unbearable at last, and she 
 walked up and down her floor ; she had a vague idea of 
 tiring herself so that she could sleep. She did get tired 
 of walking, but no sleep came ; and at last she sat down 
 again before her window to watch another change that was 
 coming over the landscape. The moon was down, and a 
 cool grey light, very unlike her soft glamour, was stealing 
 into the sky and upon the world. Yes, the day was coming ; 
 the clear light of a matter-of-fact, work-a-day creation. It was 
 coming, and she must meet it, and march on in the proces- 
 sion of life, which would leave no one out. If she could go 
 alone ! But she must walk by another's side now. And to 
 that other, the light of this grey dawn, if he saw it, brought 
 only thoughts of joy. Could she help his being disappoint- 
 ed ? Would she be able to help his finding out what a dread- 
 ful mistake he had made, and she ? ' I must,' thought Diana, 
 and set her teeth mentally ; ' he must not know how I feel ; 
 he does not deserve that. He deserves nothing but good, 
 of me or of anybody. I will give him all I can, and he shall 
 not know how I do it.' 
 
 With a recoil in every fibre of her nature, Diana turned 
 to take up her life burden. She felt as if she had had none 
 till now.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 NEW LIFE. 
 
 THE first week of Diana's marriage was always a blank 
 in her memory. The one, continual, intense strain of effort 
 to hide from her husband what she was thinking and feel- 
 ing swallowed up everything else. Mr. Masters had pro- 
 cured a comfortable little light rockaway, and avoiding all 
 public thoroughfares and conveyances, had driven off with 
 Diana among the leafy wildernesses of the White mountains ; 
 going where they liked and stopping where they liked. It 
 was more endurable to Diana than any other way of spend- 
 ing those days could have been ; the constant change and 
 activity, and the variety of new things always claiming 
 attention and admiration, gave her all the help circumstances 
 could give. They offered abundance of subjects for Mr. 
 Masters to talk about ; and Diana could listen and with a 
 word or two now and then get along quite passably. But 
 of all the beauty they went through, of all the glory of those 
 June days, of all the hours of conversation that went on, 
 Diana kept in her memory but the one fact of continual 
 striving to hinder Mr. Masters from seeing her heart. She 
 supposed she succeeded ; she never could tell. For one 
 other thing forced itself upon her consciousness as the days 
 went on ; a growing appreciation of this man whom she 
 did not love. His gentleness of manner, his tender care 
 and consideration for her, the even sweetness of temper
 
 NEW LIFE. 263 
 
 w.hich nothing disturbed and which would let nothing 
 disturb her, playing with inconveniences which he could 
 not remove ; and then, beneath all that, a strength of 
 character and steady force of will which commanded her 
 utmost respect and drew forth her fullest confidence. It 
 hurt Diana's conscience terribly that she had given this 
 man a wife who, as she said to herself, was utterly unworthy 
 of him ; to make this loss good, so far as any possible 
 service or life-work could, she would have done anything 
 or submitted to anything. It was the one wish left her. 
 
 ' What do you think of going home ? ' Mr. Masters 
 asked suddenly one evening. They had come back from a 
 glorious ramble over the nearest mountain and were sitting 
 after supper in front of the small farmhouse where they had 
 found lodging, looldng out upon the view. Twilight was 
 settling down upon the green hills. Diana started and 
 repeated his word. 
 
 ' Home ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I mean, Pleasant Valley,' said the minister 
 smiling. ' Not the house where I first saw you. There are 
 one or two sick people, from whom I do not feel that I can 
 be long away.' 
 
 ' You always think of other people first ! ' said Diana, 
 almost with a sigh. 
 
 ' So do you.' 
 
 ' No, I do not. I do not think I do. It seems to me I 
 have always thought most of myself.' 
 
 ' You can begin now then to do better.' 
 
 ' In thinking of you first, you mean ? O yes, I do. I 
 will. But you think of people you do not care for.' 
 
 ' No, I don't. Never. You cannot think of people you 
 do not care for, in the way you mean. They will not come 
 into your head.'
 
 264 DIANA. 
 
 ' How can one do then, Basil ? How do you do ? ' 
 
 ' Obviously, the only way is to care for them.' 
 
 1 Who is sick in Pleasant Valley ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody you know. One is an old man who lives back 
 on the mountain ; the other is a woman near Blackberry hill.' 
 
 ' Blackberry hill ? do you go there ? ' 
 
 1 Now and then.' 
 
 ' But those are dreadful people there.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' said the minister. ' They want help so much 
 the more.' 
 
 ' Help to live, do you mean ? They do stealing enough 
 for that.' 
 
 ' Nobody lives by stealing,' said the minister. ' It is 
 one of the ways of death ; and help to live is just what 
 they want. But "how shall they believe on him of whom 
 they have not heard ? and how shall they hear without a 
 preacher " ? ' 
 
 ' And do you preach to them in that place ? ' 
 
 ' I try.' 
 
 ' But there is no church there ? ' 
 
 ' When you have got anything to do,' said the minister 
 with a dry sort of humourousness which belonged to him 
 ' it is best not be stopped by trifles.' 
 
 ' Where do you preach then, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Wherever I can find a man or a woman to listen to 
 me.' 
 
 ' In the houses ! ' exclaimed Diana. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' Well, we never had a minister in Pleasant Valley like 
 you before.' 
 
 ' Didn't you ? ' 
 
 ' I don't believe anybody ever went to those people to 
 preach to them, until you went.'
 
 NEW LIFE. 265 
 
 ' They had a good deal of that appearance,' Mr. Mas- 
 ters assented. 
 
 ' But,' Diana began again after a short pause, ' to go 
 back ; Basil, you do not care for those people ? ' 
 
 ' I think I do,' said the minister very quietly. 
 
 ' I suppose you do ! ' said Diana in a sort of admira- 
 tion. ' But how can you ? ' 
 
 ' Easy to tell,' was the answer. ' God made them, and 
 God loves them ; I love all that my Father loves. And 
 Christ died for them ; and I seek the lost whom my Mas- 
 ter came to save. And there is not one of them but has 
 in him the possibility of glory ; and I see that possibility, 
 and when I see it, Diana, it seems to me a small thing to 
 give my life, if need be, that it may be realized.' 
 
 ' I am not good enough to be your wife ! ' said Diana, 
 sinking her head. And her secret self-abasement was 
 very deep. 
 
 ' Does that mean, that you object to the cutting short 
 of our holiday ? ' the minister asked, in his former tone of 
 dry humourous suggestion. 
 
 ' I ?' said Diana looking up and meeting his eyes. 
 ' No, certainly. I am ready for whatever you wish, and 
 whenever you wish.' 
 
 ' I don't wish it at all,' said the minister, giving a 
 somewhat longing look at the green wilderness before 
 them, of which the lovely hilly outlines were all that the 
 gathering twilight left distinct. ' But the thing is, Di, I 
 cannot play when I ought to be working.' 
 
 It made little difference to Diana. Indeed she had a 
 hope that in her new home she would find, as she always 
 had found in her old home, engrossing duties that would 
 make her part easier to get through, and in some measure 
 put a check to the rush of thought and feeling. So with
 
 266 DIANA. 
 
 her full consent the very next day they set out upon their 
 journey home. It was not a great journey indeed ; a long 
 day's drive would do it ; their horse was fresh, and they 
 had time for a comfortable rest and dinner at mid-day. 
 The afternoon was very fair, and as they began to get 
 among the hills overlooking Pleasant Valley, something in 
 air or light reminded Diana of the time, two years ago, 
 when she had gone up the brook with Evan. She began 
 to talk to get rid of her thoughts. 
 
 ' What a nice, comfortable little carriage this is, Basil. 
 Where did it come from ? ' 
 
 ' From Boston.' 
 
 ' From Boston ! I thought there was nothing like it in 
 Pleasant Valley, that ever I saw. But how did you get it 
 from Boston ? ' 
 
 ' Where's the difficulty ? ' said the minister, sitting at 
 ease sideways on the front seat and looking in at her. 
 He had put Diana on the back seat that she might take a 
 more resting position than there was room for beside 
 him. 
 
 ' Why, it's so far.' 
 
 ' Railway comes to Manchester. I received it there, 
 and that is only ten miles. I rode Saladin over a few 
 days ago, and drove him back. I had ordered the set of 
 harness sent with the rockaway. Ecco ! 
 
 ' Echo ? ' said Diana. Where ? ' 
 
 ' A very sweet echo,' said the minister smiling. ' Didn't 
 you hear it ? ' 
 
 ' No. But Basil, do you mean that this carriage is yours ?' 
 
 'No ; it is yours.' 
 
 ' Mine ! then you have bought it ! Didn't it cost a 
 great deal ? '
 
 NEW LIFE. 267 
 
 1 1 thought not. If you like it, certainly not.' 
 
 ' O Basil, you are very good ! ' said Diana humbly. ' But 
 indeed I do not want you to go to any expense, ever, for 
 me.' 
 
 ' I am not a poor man, Diana.' 
 
 ' Aren't you ? I thought you were.' 
 
 ' What right had you to think anything about it ? ' 
 
 ' I thought ministers were always poor.' 
 
 ' I am an exception, then.' 
 
 ' And, Basil, you never acted like a rich man.' 
 
 ' I am not going to, Di. Do you want to act like a rich 
 woman ? ' 
 
 Spite of her desperate downheartedness, Diana could 
 not help laughing a little at his manner. 
 
 ' I do not wish anything different from you,' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 ' It is best for every reason, if you would use money to 
 advantage in a place like this, not to make a show of it. 
 And in other places, if you would use it to advantage, you 
 cannot make a show of it. So it comes to the same thing. But 
 short of that, Di, we can do what we like.' 
 
 ' I know what you like, ' she said. 
 
 ' I shall find out what you like. In the first place, where 
 do you think you are going ? ' 
 
 ' Where ? I never thought about it. I suppose to Mrs. 
 Persimmon's.' - 
 
 ' I don't think you would like that. The place was not 
 exactly pleasant ; and the house accommodations did very 
 well for me, but would not have been comfortable for you. 
 So I have set up housekeeping in another locality. Do you 
 know where a woman named Cophetua lives ? ' 
 
 'I never heard of her.' 
 
 ' Out of your beat. She lives a little off the road to the
 
 268 DIANA. 
 
 Blackberry hill. I have taken her house, and put a woman 
 in it to do whatever you want done.' 
 
 ' I ? But we never kept help, since I can remember, 
 Basil ; npt house help.' 
 
 ' Well ? That proves nothing.' 
 
 ' But I don't need anybody I can do all that we want' 
 
 ' You will find enough to do.' 
 
 Mr. Masters quickened the pace of his horse, and Diana 
 sat back in the carriage, half dismayed. She longed to 
 lose herself in work, and she wished for nothing less than 
 eyes to watch her. 
 
 It was almost evening when they got home. The place 
 was, as Mr. Masters had said, out of what had been Diana's 
 way hitherto ; in a part of Pleasant Valley which was at 
 one side of the high road. The situation was very pretty, 
 overlooking a wide sweep of the valley bottom with its rich 
 cultivation and its encircling border of green wooded hills. 
 As to the house, it was not distinguished in any way beyond 
 its compeers. It was rather low ; it was as brown as Mrs. 
 Starling's house ; it had no giant elms to hang over it and 
 veil its uncomelinesses. But just behind it rose a green hill ; 
 the house indeed stood on the lower slope of the hill, which 
 fell off more gently towards the bottom ; behind the house 
 it lifted up a very steep rocky wall, yet not so steep but 
 that it was grown with beautiful forest trees. Set off 
 against its background of wood and hill, the house looked 
 rather cosy. It had been put in nice order, and even the 
 little plot of ground in front had been cleared of thistles 
 and hollyhocks, which had held a divided reign, and trim- 
 med into neatness, though there had not been time yet for 
 grass or flowers to grow. 
 
 Within the house about this time, at one of the two 
 lower front windows, a little woman stood looking out and
 
 NEW LIFE. 269 
 
 speculating on the extreme solitariness of the situation. 
 She had nobody to communicate her sentiments to, or she 
 could have been eloquent on the subject. The golden glow 
 and shimmer of the setting sun all over the wide land- 
 scape, it may be said with truth, she did not see ; to her it 
 was nothing but " sunshine," a natural and necessary acces- 
 sory of the sun's presence, when clouds did not happen to 
 come over the sky. I think she really saw nothing but 
 the extreme emptiness of the picture before her ; just that 
 one fact, that there was nothing to see. Therefore it was 
 on various accounts an event, when the rockaway hove in 
 sight and the grey horse stopped before the gate. It did 
 not occur to Miss Collins then to go out to the carriage to 
 receive bundles or baskets or render help generally ; she 
 had got something to look at, and she looked. Only when 
 the minister, having tied Saladin's head, came leading the 
 way through the little courtyard to the front door, did it 
 occur to his ' help ' to open the same. There she stood, 
 smiling the blankest of smiles, which made Diana want to 
 get rid of her on the instant. 
 
 ' Well of all things ! ' was her salutation uttered in a 
 high key. ' If it ain't you ! I never was so beat. Why I 
 didn't look for ye this long spell yet.' 
 
 ' Won't you let us come in, Miss Collins, seeing we 
 are here ? ' 
 
 ' La ! I'm glad to see ye, fust-rate,' was the answer as 
 she stepped back; and stepping further back as Mr. Masters 
 advanced, at last she pushed open the door of her kitchen, 
 which was the front room on that side, and backed in, fol- 
 lowed by the minister and, at a little interval, by his wife. 
 Miss Collins went on talking. ' How do, Mis' Masters ? 
 I speck I can't be under no mistake as to the personality, 
 though I hain't had the pleasure o' a introduction. But
 
 2/O DIANA. 
 
 I thought honeymoon folks allays make it last as long as 
 they could ? ' she went on, turning her eyes from Diana to 
 the minister again ; ' and you hain't been no time at all.' 
 
 ' What have you got in the house, Miss Collins ? any- 
 thing for supper ? I am hungry,' said the latter. 
 
 ' Wall happiness makes some folks hungry, and some, 
 they say, it feeds 'em,' Miss Collins returned. ' Folks is so 
 unlike ! But if you're hungry, Mr. Masters, you'll have to 
 have sun'thin.' 
 
 Leaving her to prepare it, with a laughing twinkle in 
 his eye the minister led Diana out of that room and along 
 a short passage to another door. The passage was very 
 narrow, the ceiling was low, the walls whitewashed, the 
 wainscotting blue ; and yet the room which they entered, 
 though sharing in all the items of this description, was 
 homely and comfortable. It was furnished in a way that 
 made It seem elegant to Diana. A warm coloured dark 
 carpet on the floor ; two or three easy chairs, a wide lounge 
 covered with chintz, and chintz curtains at the windows. 
 On the walls here and there single shelves of dark wood 
 put up for books, and filled with them ; a pretty lamp on 
 the little leaf table, and a wide fireplace with bright brass 
 andirons. The windows looked out upon the wooded 
 mountain side. Diana uttered an exclamation of surprise 
 and admiration. 
 
 ' This is your room, Di,' said the minister. ' The kitch- 
 en has the view ; I did think of changing about and making 
 the kitchen here : but the other room has so long been 
 used in that way, I was afraid it would be a bad exchange. 
 However, we will do it yet, if you like.' 
 
 ' Change ? why this room is beautiful ! ' cried Diana. 
 
 ' Looks out into the hill. ' 
 
 ' O I like that.'
 
 NEW LIFE. 2/i 
 
 ' Don't make it a principle to like everything I do,' said 
 he smiling. 
 
 1 But I do like it, Basil ; I like it better than the other 
 side,' said Diana. ' I just love the trees and the rocks. 
 And you can hear the birds sing. And the room is most 
 beautiful.' 
 
 Mr. Masters had opened the windows, and there came 
 in a spicy breath from the woods, together with the wild 
 warble of a wood thrush. It was so wild and sweet, they 
 both were still to listen. The notes almost broke Diana's 
 heart, but she would not shew that. 
 
 ' What do you think that bird is saying? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I don't know what it may be to his mind ; I know what 
 it to mine. Pray, what does it say to yours ? ' 
 
 'It is too plaintive for the bird to know what it means,' 
 said Diana. 
 
 ' Probably. I have no doubt the ancients were right when 
 they felt certain animals to be types of good and others of 
 evil. I think it is true, in detail and variety. I have the same 
 feeling. And in like manner, carrying out the principle, I 
 hear one bird say one thing and another another, in their 
 countless varieties of song.' 
 
 ' Did the ancients think that ? ' 
 
 ' Don't you remember the distinction between clean 
 beasts and unclean ? ' 
 
 ' I thought that was ordered.' 
 
 ' It was ordered to be observed. The distinction was 
 felt before.' 
 
 They were again silent a moment, while the thrush's song 
 filled the air with liquid rejoicing. 
 
 ' That bird,' said Diana slowly, ' sings as if he had got 
 somewhere above all the sins and troubles and fights of life j 
 I mean, as if he were a human being who had got there.' 
 
 ' That will do,' said the minister.
 
 2/2 DIANA. 
 
 ' But that's impossible ; so why should he sing it ? ' 
 
 ' Take it the other way,' said the minister smiling. 
 
 ' You mean ' said Diana looking up, for she had sat 
 down before the open window and he stood by her side ; 
 ' you mean, he would not sing a false note ? ' 
 
 ' Nor God make a promise he would not fulfil. Come 
 up stairs.' 
 
 ' But Basil ! how could the bird's song be a promise 
 from God ? ' 
 
 ' Think ; he gave the song, Diana. As has been said 
 of visible things in nature, so it may be said of audible 
 things, every one of them is the expression of a thought of 
 God: 
 
 He did not wait for an answer, and Diana's mind was 
 too full to give one. Up stairs they went. The room over 
 Diana's was arranged to be Mr. Masters' study ; the other, 
 above the kitchen, looked out upon a glorious view of the 
 rich valley and its encompassing hills ; both were exceed- 
 ingly neat and pretty in their furniture and arrangements, 
 in all of which Diana's comfort had been sedulously cared 
 for. Her husband shewed her the closet for her boxes and 
 opened the huge press prepared for her clothes ; and tak- 
 ing off her bonnet, welcomed her tenderly home. But it 
 seemed to Diana as if everything stifled her, and she would 
 have liked to flee to the hills, like the wHd creatures that 
 had their home there. Her outward demeanour, for all that, 
 was dignified and sweet. Whatever she felt, she would 
 not give pain. 
 
 ' You are too good to me,' she murmured. ' I will be 
 as good as I can, Basil, to you.' 
 
 ' I know it,' said he. 
 
 ' And I think I had better begin,' she presently added 
 more lightly, ' by going down and seeing how Miss Collins 
 and supper are getting on.'
 
 NEW LIFE. 273 
 
 ' I dare say they will get on to some sort of consumma- 
 tion.' 
 
 ' It will be a better consummation, if you let me go.' 
 
 Perhaps he divined something of her feeling, for he 
 made no objection, and Diana escaped ; with a sense that 
 her only refuge was in action. To do something, no mat- 
 ter what, and stop thinking. Yet when she went down 
 stairs she went first to the back room and to the open win- 
 dow, to see if she could catch the note of the thrush once 
 more. It came to her like a voice from the other world. 
 He was still singing ; somewhere up amid the cool shades 
 of the hemlocks and oaks on the hill, from out the dusky 
 twilight of their tops ; sending his tremulous trills of 
 triumph down the hillside, he was undoubtedly having a 
 good time. Diana listened a minute ; and then went to 
 the kitchen. Miss Collins was standing in front of the 
 fire contemplating it, or the kettle she had hung over it. 
 
 ' Where is Mr. Masters' supper ? ' Diana began. 
 
 ' Don't you take none ? ' was the rejoinder. 
 
 ' I mean, what can we have ? ' 
 
 ' You can have all there is. And there ain't nothin' in 
 the house but what's no 'count. If I'd ha' knowed honey- 
 moon folks wants sun'thin' tip-top, been livin' on the fat o' 
 the land, I expect ; and now ye're come home to pork ; and 
 that's the hull on't.' 
 
 ' Pork will do,' said Diana, ' if it is good. Have you 
 no ham ? ' 
 
 ' Lots. That's pork, ain't it.' 
 
 'Eggs?' . 
 
 ' Yes, there's eggs.' 
 
 * Potatoes ? ' 
 
 * La, I didn't expect ye'd want potatoes at this time o' 
 day.' 
 
 18
 
 2/4 DIANA. 
 
 Diana informed herself of the places of things, and set 
 herself and Miss Collins vigorously to work. The hand- 
 maid looked on somewhat ungraciously at the quiet, compe- 
 tent energy of her superior, the smile on her broad mouth 
 gradually fading. ' 
 
 ' Reckon you don't know me,' she remarked presently. 
 
 ' Yes, I do,' said Diana ; ' you are Jemima Collins, that 
 used to live at the post office. How came you here ? ' 
 
 ' Wall, there's nothin' but changes in the world, I expect ; 
 that's my life. Mis' Reems, to the post office, had her 
 mother come home to live with her ; owin' to her father 
 gettin' his arm took off in some 'chinery, which was the 
 death o' him ; so the mother come home to her daughter, 
 and then they made it out as they two was equal to all 
 there was to do ; and I don't say they warn't ; but that 
 was reason enough why they didn't want me no longer. 
 And then I staid with Miss Gunn a spell, helpin' her get 
 her house cleaned ; and then the minister made out as he 
 wanted a real 'sponsible person for to take care o' his 
 house, and Miss Gunn she told him what she knowed about 
 me ; and so I moved in. La, it's a change from the post 
 office ! It was sort o' lively there ; allays comin' and goin', 
 and lots o' news.' 
 
 Diana made no answer. The very mention of the post 
 office gave her a sort of pang ; about that spot her hopes 
 had hovered for so long, and with such bitter disillusioniz- 
 ing. She sent Miss Collins to set the table in the other 
 room, and presently, having finished her cookery, followed 
 M ith it herself.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 SUPPER AT HOME. 
 
 THE windows were open still and the dusky air without 
 was full of cool freshness. In the wide fireplace the minis- 
 ter had kindled a fire ; and in a little blue teapot he was 
 just making the tea ; the kettle stood on the hearth. It 
 was as pretty and cheerful a home view as any bride need 
 wish to see for the first evening in her new house. Diana 
 knew it and took the effect, which possibly was only height- 
 ened by the consciousness that she wished herself five 
 hundred miles away. What the picture was to her husband, 
 she had no idea, nor that the crowning feature of it was her 
 own beautiful, sweet presence. Miss Collins brought in 
 the prepared dishes, and left the two alone. 
 
 ' I see I have fallen into new hands,' the minister 
 remarked presently. ' Mrs. Persimmon never cooked these 
 eggs.' 
 
 ' You must have been tired of living in that way, I 
 should think.' 
 
 ' No, I never get tired of anything.' 
 
 ' Not of bad things ? ' 
 
 1 No. I get rid of them.' 
 
 ' But how can you ? ' 
 
 ' Different ways.' 
 
 - ' Can you do everything you want to, Basil ? ' his wife 
 asked with an incredulous sort of admiration.
 
 2/6 DIANA. 
 
 ' I'll do everything you want me to do.' 
 
 ' You have already, and more,' she said with a sigh. 
 
 '* How will your helpmeet in the other room answer the 
 purpose ? ' 
 
 ' I have never been used to have anybody, you know, 
 Basil ; and I do not need any one. I can do all easily 
 myself.' 
 
 ' I know you can. I do not wish you should.' 
 
 ' Then what will you give me to do ? ' 
 
 ' Plenty.' 
 
 ' I don't care what if I can only be busy. I cannot 
 bear to be idle. What shall I do, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Is there nothing you would like to stud)', that you 
 have never had a chance to learn ? ' 
 
 ' Learn ? ' said Diana, a whole vista of possible new 
 activities opening all at once before her mind's eye ; ' O 
 yes ! I would like to learn to study. What, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' What would you like to take hold of ? ' 
 
 ' I would like Latin.' 
 
 ' Latin ! ' cried the minister. ' That's an excellent 
 choice. Greek too ? ' 
 
 ' I would like to learn Greek, very much. But I sup- 
 pose I must begin with one at once.' 
 How about modern languages ? ' 
 
 ' You know,' said Diana shyly, ' I can have no teacher 
 but you.' 
 
 ' And you stand in doubt as to my qualifications ? 
 Prudent ! ' 
 
 ' I will learn anything you like to teach me,' said 
 Diana ; and her look was both very sweet and very hum- 
 ble ; withal had something of an anxious strain in it. 
 
 ' Then there's another thing ; don't you want to help 
 me?'
 
 SUPPER AT HOME. 2/7 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 ' In my work. 
 
 ' How can I ? ' 
 
 ' I don't believe you know what my work is,' said the 
 minister dryly. ' Do you, now ? ' 
 
 ' I thought I did,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Preaching sermons, to wit ! ' said the minister. ' But 
 that is only one item. My business is to work in my Mas- 
 ter's vineyard.' 
 
 ' Yes, and I thought that was how you did it.' 
 
 ' But a man may preach many sermons, and do never a 
 bit of work, of the sort I mentioned.' 
 
 * What is the sort then, Basil ? ' 
 
 'I'll shew you, when we get away from the table. It 
 is time you knew.' 
 
 So when the supper tray and Miss Collins were gone, 
 the minister took his Bible and made Diana sit down be 
 side him where they could both look over it. 
 
 ' Your notion of a minister is, that he is a sort of ma- 
 chine to make sermons ? ' 
 
 ' I never thought you were a machine, of any sort,' said 
 Diana gently. 
 
 ' No, of course not ; but you thought that was my 
 special business, didn't you ? Now look here. " Son of 
 man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of 
 Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth and give 
 them warning from me." ' 
 
 ' A watchman ' Diana repeated. 
 
 ' It is a responsible post too, for see over here, " If 
 the watchman see the sword come, and blow not the trumpet, 
 and the people be not warned ; if the sword come, and take 
 any person from among them, he is taken away in his in- 
 iquity ; but his blood will I require at the watchman s hind"
 
 2/8 DIANA. 
 
 ' Do you mean, Basil ' 
 
 ' Yes, I mean all that. You can understand now what 
 was in Saul's mind, and what a great word it was, when he 
 said to the Ephesian elders, " I take you to record this day, 
 that I am pure from the blood of all men." He had 
 done his whole duty in that place ! ' 
 
 ' I never felt that old Mr. Hardenburgh warned us 
 against anything,' Diana remarked. 
 
 ' Did I ? ' 
 
 ' You began to make me uncomfortable almost as soon 
 as you came.' 
 
 ' That's good,' said the minister quietly. ' Now see 
 these words, Diana -" Go ye into all the world and tell 
 the good news to everybody." ' 
 
 ' " Preach the gospel " ' said Diana. 
 
 ' That is simply, telling the good news.' 
 
 'Is it?' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 'But, Basil, it never seemed so.' 
 
 ' There was a reason for that. " As cold waters to a 
 thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country." You 
 were not thirsty, that is all.' 
 
 ' Basil,' said Diana almost tremulously, ' I think I am 
 now.' 
 
 ' Well,' said her husband tenderly, ' you know who 
 could say, and did say, " If any man thirst, let him come 
 unto ME and drink." " I am the bread of life ; he that 
 cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on 
 me shall never thirst." ' 
 
 That bringing together of need and supply, while yet 
 Need does not see how it is to stretch out its hand to take 
 the supply how sharp and how pitiful it makes the sense 
 of longing! Diana drooped her head till it touched
 
 SUPPER AT HOME. 2/9 
 
 Basil's arm ; it seemed to her that her heart would fairly 
 break. 
 
 ' But that doesn't mean ' she said, bringing out her 
 words with hesitation and difficulty, 'that does not mean 
 hunger of every sort ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Of earthly sorts, Basil ? how can it ? people's desires 
 for so many things ? ' 
 
 ' Is there any limit or qualification to the promise ? ' 
 
 ' N o ; not there.' 
 
 ' Is there anywhere else ? ' 
 
 Diana was silent. 
 
 ' There is none anywhere, except the limit put by the 
 faith of the applicant. I have known a person starving to 
 death, relieved for the time even from the pangs of bodily 
 hunger by the food which Christ gave her. There is no con- 
 dition of human extremity, for which he is not sufficient' 
 
 ' But,' said Diana, still speaking with difficulty, ' that is 
 for some people.' 
 
 ' For some people and for everybody else.' 
 
 ' But he would not like to have anybody go to him 
 just for such a reason.' 
 
 ' He will never ask why you came, if you come. He 
 was in this world to relieve misery, and to save from it. 
 " Him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out," is his 
 own word. He will help you if you will let him, Diana.' 
 
 Diana's head pressed more heavily against Basil's arm ; 
 the temptation was to break out into wild weeping at this 
 contact of sympathy, but she would not. Did her husband 
 guess how much she was in want of help ? That thought 
 half frightened her. Presently she raised her head and sat 
 up. 
 
 ' Here is another verse,' said her husband, ' which tells
 
 2 SO DIANA. 
 
 of a part of my work. " Go ye into the highways, and as 
 many as ye shall find, bid to the marriage" ' 
 
 ' I don't understand ' 
 
 ' " The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king 
 which made a marriage for his son," it means rather a 
 wedding entertainment.' 
 
 ' How, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' The Bridegroom is Christ. The bride is the whole 
 company of his redeemed. The time is by and by, when 
 they shall be all gathered together, all washed from defile- 
 ment, all dressed in the white robes of the king's court 
 which are given them, and delivered from the last shadow 
 of mortal sorrow and infirmity. Then in glory begins their 
 perfected, everlasting union with Christ ; then the wedding 
 is celebrated ; and the supper signifies the fulness and 
 communion of His joy in them and their joy in Him.' 
 
 Basil's voice was a little subdued as he spoke the last 
 words, and he paused a few minutes. 
 
 ' It is my business to bid people to that supper,' he said 
 then ; ' and I bid you, Di.' 
 
 ' I will go, Basil.' 
 
 But the words were low and the tears burst forth, and 
 Diana hurried away.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 
 
 DIANA plunged herself now into business. She was 
 quite in earnest in the promise she had made at the end 
 of the conversation last recorded ; but to set about a work 
 is one thing and to carry it through is another ; and Diana 
 did not immediately see light. In the meanwhile, the pres- 
 sure of the bonds of her new existence was only to be 
 borne by forgetting it in intense occupation. Her husband 
 wanted her to study many things ; for her own sake and for 
 his own sake he wished it, knowing that her education 
 had been exceedingly orie-sided and imperfect ; he wanted 
 all sources of growth and pleasure to be open to her, and 
 he wanted full communion with his wife in his own life 
 and life-work. So he took her hands from the frying-pan 
 and the preserving kettle, and put dictionaries and philos- 
 ophies into them. On her part, besides the negative in- 
 citement of losing herself and her troubles in books, Di- 
 ana's mental nature was too sound and rich- not to take 
 kindly the new seeds dropped into the soil. She had gone 
 just far enough in her own private reading and thinking to 
 be all ready to spring forward in the wider sphere to which 
 she was invited, and in which a hand took hers to help her 
 along. The consciousness of awakening power, too, and of 
 enlarging the bounds of her world, drew her on. Some- 
 times in Basil's study, where he had arranged a place for her,
 
 282 DIANA. 
 
 sometimes down stairs in her own little parlour, Diana pored 
 over books and turned the leaves of dictionaries ; and felt 
 her way along the mazes of Latin stateliness, or wondered 
 and thrilled at the beauty of the Greek words of the New 
 Testament as her husband explained them to her. Or she 
 wrought out problems ; or she wrote abstracts ; or she dived 
 into depths of philosophical speculation. Then Diana began 
 to learn French, and very soon was delighting herself in 
 one or other of a fine collection of French classics which 
 filled certain shelves in the library. There was, besides all 
 the motives above-mentioned which quickened and stimu- 
 lated her zeal for learning, another very subtle underlying 
 cause which had not a little to do with her unflagging en- 
 ergy in pursuit of her objects. Nay, there were two. Di- 
 ana did earnestly wish to please her husband, and for his 
 sake to become, so far as cultivation would do it, a fit com- 
 panion for him. That she knew. But she scarcely knew, 
 how beneath all that and mightier than all that, was the 
 impulse to make herself worthy of the other man whose 
 companion now she would never be. Subtle, as so many 
 of our springs of action are, unrecognized, it drove her 
 with an incessant impulse. To be such a woman as Evan 
 would have been proud of ; such a one as he would have liked 
 to stand by his side anywhere ; one that he need not have 
 feared to present in any society. Diana strove for it, and 
 that although Evan would never know it and it did not in the 
 least concern him. And as she felt from time to time that 
 she was attaining her end and coming nearer and nearer 
 to what she wished to be, Diana was glad with a secret joy 
 which was not the love of knowledge, nor the pride of per- 
 sonal ambition, nor the duty of an affectionate wife. As 
 I said, she did not recognize it ; if she had, I think she 
 would have tried to banish it.
 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 283 
 
 One afternoon she was sitting by her table at the study 
 window, where she had been very busy but was not busy 
 now. The window was open ; the warm summer air came 
 in, and over the hills and the lowland the brilliance and 
 glow of the evening sunlight was just at its brightest. Diana 
 sat gazing out, while her thoughts went wandering. Sud- 
 denly she pulled them up ; and her question was rather a 
 departure, though standing in a certain negative connection 
 with them. 
 
 ' Basil, I can't make out just what faith is.' 
 
 ' Cannot you ? ' 
 
 ' No. Can you help me ? The Bible says, " believe" 
 ' believe." I believe. I believe everything it tells me, and 
 you tell me ; but I have not faith.' 
 
 ' How do you know that ? ' 
 
 ' If I had, I should be a Christian.' 
 
 ' And you think you are not ? ' 
 
 ' I am sure I am not.' 
 
 ' Are you willing ? ' 
 
 ' I think I am willing,' Diana answered slowly, look- 
 ing out into the sunlight. 
 
 ' If you are right, then faith must be something more 
 than mere belief.' 
 
 'What more is it?' she said eagerly, turning her face 
 towards him now. 
 
 ' I think, the heart has its part in it, as well as the head 
 and it is with the heart that the difficulty lies. In true 
 Bible faith, the heart gives its confidence where the intellect 
 has given its assent. " With the heart man believeth unto 
 righteousness." That is what the Lord wants ; our per 
 sonal trust in him ; unreserved and limitless trust ' 
 
 ' Trust ? ' said Diana. ' Then why cannot I give it ? 
 why don't I ? '
 
 284 DIANA. 
 
 ' That is the question to be answered. But Di, the 
 heart cannot yield that confident trust, so long as there is 
 any point in dispute between it and God ; so long as there 
 is any consciousness of holding back something from him 
 or refusing something to him. Disobedience and trust 
 cannot go together. It is not the child who is standing 
 out in rebellion, who can stretch out his hand for his 
 father's gifts and know that they will be given.' 
 
 ' Do you think I am rebelling, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot see into your heart, Di.' 
 
 ' What could I be " holding back " from God ? ' 
 
 ' Unconditional surrender.' 
 
 ' Surrender of what ? ' 
 
 'Yourself your will. When you have made that 
 surrender, there will be no difficulty about trusting. There 
 never is.' 
 
 Diana turned to the window again, and leaning her 
 head on her hand sat motionless for a long time. Sunlight 
 left the bottom lands and crept up the hills and faded out 
 of the sky. Dusk and dews of twilight fell all around, and 
 the dusk deepened till the stars began to shine out here 
 and there. Sweet summer scents came in on the dew- 
 freshened air ; sweet chirrup of insects made their gentle 
 running commentary on the silence ; Miss Collins had long 
 ago caused the little bell with which she was wont to notify 
 her employers that their meals were ready, to sound its 
 tinkling call to supper ; but Diana had not heard it, and 
 the minister would not disturb her. It was after a very 
 long time of this silence that she rose, came to the table 
 where he was sitting, and knelt down beside it. 
 
 ' I believe,' she said. ' And I trust, Basil.' 
 
 He took her hand, but said nothing otherwise. He 
 could not see her face, for she had laid it down upon some
 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 285 
 
 books, and besides the room was very dusky now. But 
 when he expected some further words which should tell of 
 relief, or joy, to his surprise he felt that Diana was weep- 
 ing, and then that her tears had grown into a storm. Most 
 strange for her, who very rarely let him or anyone see the 
 outbursts of such feeling ; indeed even by herself she was 
 very slow to come to the indulgence of tears. It was not 
 her way. Now, before she was aware, they were flowing ; 
 and as it is with some natures, if you open the sluice gates 
 at all, a flood pours forth which makes it impossible to shut 
 them again for a while. And this time I think she forgot 
 that anybody was by. He was puzzled. Was it joy or 
 sorrow ? Hard for herself to tell, there was so much of both 
 in it. For with the very first finding of a sufficient refuge 
 and help for her trouble, Diana had brought her burden 
 to His feet, and there was weeping convulsively; partly 
 from the sense of the burden, partly with the sense of lay- 
 ing it down, and with the might of that infinite sympathy 
 the apprehension of which was beginning to dawn upon 
 her now for the first time. What is it like ? O what is it 
 like ! It is the " Dayspring from on high." Basil could not 
 read all she was feeling and spell it out. But I think he 
 had a sort of instinct of it, and felt that his wife was very 
 far from him, in this her agony of joy and sorrow ; for he 
 kept motionless, and his broad brow, which never was 
 wrinkled, was very grave. One hand he laid lightly upon 
 Diana's shoulder, as if so to remind her of his presence 
 and close participation in all that concerned her ; otherwise 
 he did not interrupt her nor make any claim upon her 
 attention. 
 
 Gradually Diana's sobs ceased ; and then she grew 
 utterly still ; and the two sat so together, for neither of 
 them knew how long. At last Diana raised her head.
 
 286 DIANA. 
 
 ' You have had no supper all this while ! ' she said. 
 
 ' I have had something much better/ said he, gently 
 kissing her cheek. 
 
 ' To see me cry ? ' said Diana. ' I don't know why I 
 cried.' 
 
 ' I think I do. Don't you feel better for it ? 
 
 ' Yes. Or else, for that which made me do so. Come 
 down, Basil.' 
 
 At tea she was perfectly herself and quite as usual, 
 except for the different expression in her face. It was 
 hardly less grave than before, but something dark had gone 
 out and something light had come in. 
 
 ' I can face the Sewing Society now,' she remarked 
 towards the end of the meal. 
 
 ' The Sewing Society ! ' her husband echoed. ' Is that 
 much to face ? ' 
 
 ' I have not been once since I was married. And they 
 make so much fuss about it, I must go now. They meet 
 to-morrow at mother's.' 
 
 ' What do they sew ? ' 
 
 ' They pretend to be making up a box for some mis- 
 sionary out west.' 
 
 ' I guess there is no pretence about it.' 
 
 ' Yes, there is. They have been eight months at work 
 upon a box to go to Iowa somewhere, to a family very much 
 in want of everything ; and the children and mother are 
 almost, or quite I guess, in rags, and the ladies here are 
 comfortably doing a little once a week, and don't even 
 expect to have the box made up till Christmas time. Think 
 of the people in Iowa waiting and waiting, with hardly 
 anything to put on, while we meet once a week and sew a 
 little and talk and have supper.' 
 
 ' How would you manage it ? '
 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 287 
 
 ' I would send off the box next week, Basil.' 
 
 ' So would I. Suppose now we do ? ' 
 
 1 Send off a box ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I will give you the money you can go I will 
 drive you down to Gunn's, and you can get there what- 
 ever you think would be suitable, and we will have the fun 
 to ourselves.' 
 
 The colour flushed into Diana's face ; it was the first 
 flush of pleasure that had come there in a long while. 
 
 ' You are very good, Basil ! ' she said. ' Don't you 
 think I could drive Saladin ? ' 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' Anywhere. I mean, that I could go to places then 
 without troubling you to drive me.' 
 
 ' I can stand so much trouble. It is not good for a man 
 to live too easy.' 
 
 ' But it might be convenient for you sometimes.' 
 
 ' So it might. And pleasant for you. No, I should not 
 like to trust you to Saladin. I wonder rf your mother would 
 let me have Prince, if I offer her a better horse in exchange. 
 Perhaps I can do better than that. We will see.' 
 
 ' O Basil, you must not get another horse for me ! ' 
 
 ' I will get anything I like for you.' 
 
 ' But do you mean, and keep Saladin too ? ' 
 
 ' I mean that. Saladin is necessary to me.' 
 
 ' Then don't Basil. I can tell you, people will say you are 
 extravagant if you have two horses.' 
 
 ' I cannot help people talking scandal.' 
 
 ' No, but it will hurt your influence.' 
 
 ' Well, we will feel the pulse of the public to-morrow. 
 But I think they would stand it.' 
 
 They drove down to Mrs. Starling's the next day. Mr. 
 Masters had other business and must go further. Diana went
 
 288 DIANA. 
 
 in alone. She was early, for she had come to help her 
 mother make the preparations ; and at first these engrossed 
 them both. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mrs. Starling, when some time had passed, 
 'how do you get along with your husband? ' 
 
 Diana's eyes opened slightly. ' It would be a very strange 
 person that could not get on with Mr. Masters,' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 ' Easy, is he ? I hate easy men ! The best of 'em are 
 helpless enough ; but when you get one of the easy soft, 
 they are consented if every door hangs on one hinge.' 
 
 Diana made no answer. 
 
 ' How does your girl get along ? 
 
 ' Very well. Pretty well.' 
 
 ' What you want with a girl, I don't see.' 
 
 ' I didn't either. But Mr. Masters wants me to do other 
 things.' 
 
 ' Set you up to be a lady ! Well, the world's full o' 
 fools.' 
 
 ' I am as busy, mother, as ever I was in my life.' 
 
 ' Depends on what you call business. Making yourself 
 unfit for business, I should say. Call it what you like. I 
 suppose he is your humble servant, and just gives you your 
 own way.' 
 
 ' He is not that sort of man at all, mother. He is as 
 kind as he can be ; but he is nobody's humble servant.' 
 
 ' Then I suppose you are his. There is somebody now, 
 Diana ; it's Kate Boddington. Do go i-n and take care of 
 her you can do so much, and keep her from coming out 
 here where I am.' 
 
 ' Well, Di ! ' exclaimed her relative as Diana met her. 
 'Ain't it a sight to see. you at the sewin' meetin' ! Why 
 haven't you been before ? Seems to me, you make an un- 
 common long honeymoop of it.'
 
 THE MINISTERS WIFE. 289 
 
 Diana's natural sweetness and dignity, and further- 
 more, the great ballast of old pain and new gladness which 
 lay deep down in her heart, kept her quite steady and un- 
 ruffled under all such breezes. She had many of the like 
 to meet that day ; and the sweet calm and poise of her 
 manner through them all would have done honour to the 
 most practrsed woman of the world. Most of her friends 
 and neighbours here collected had scarce seen her since her 
 marriage, unless in church ; and they were curious to 
 know how she would carry herself, and curious in general 
 about many things. It was a sort of battery that Diana 
 had to face, and sometimes a masked battery ; but it was 
 impossible to tell whether a shot hit. 
 
 'What I want to know,' said Mrs. Boddington, 'is, 
 where the minister and you made it up, Di. You were 
 awful sly about it ! ' 
 
 ' Ain't that so ? ' chimed in Mrs. Carpenter. ' I never 
 had no notion o' what was goin' on ; not the smallest 
 idee ; and I was jest a sayin' one day to Miss Gunn, or 
 somebody I declare I don't know now who 'twas, I was 
 so dumbfounded when the news come, it took all my 
 memory away ; but I was jes' a sayin' to somebody, and 
 I remember it because I'd jes' been after dandelion greens 
 and couldn't find none ; they was jest about past by then, 
 and bitter ; and we was a settin' with our empty baskets : 
 and I was jes' tellin' somebody, I don't know who 'twas, 
 who I thought would make a good wife for the minister ; 
 when up comes Mrs. Starling's Josiah and reaches me the 
 invitation. " There ! " says I ; "if he ain't a goin' to have 
 Diana Starling! " I was beat.' 
 
 ' I dare say you could have fitted him just as well,' 
 remarked Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Wall, I don't know. I was thinkin', but I guess 
 it's as well not to say now what I was thinkin'.'
 
 ' That so ! ' assented Miss Barry. ' I don't believe he 
 thinks nobody could ha' chosen for him no better than he 
 has chosen for himself.' 
 
 ' Men never do know what is good for them,' Mrs. 
 Salter remarked, but not ill-naturedly ; on the contrary, 
 there was a gleam of fun in her face. 
 
 ' I'm thankful anyway he hain't done worse,' said an- 
 other lady. ' I used to be afraid he would go and get him- 
 self hitched to a fly-away.' 
 
 ' Euphemie Knowlton ? ' said Mrs. Salter. ' Yes, I 
 used to wonder if we shouldn't get our minister's wife 
 from Elmfield. It looked likely at one time.' 
 
 ' Those two wouldn't ha' pulled well together, ne ver,' 
 said another. 
 
 ' I should like to know how he and Di's goin' to pull 
 together ? ' said Mrs. Flandin acidly. ' He goin' one way, 
 and she another.' 
 
 ' Do you think so, Mrs. Flandin ? ' asked the lady thus, 
 in a very uncomplimentary manner, referred to. 
 
 ' Wall ain't it true ? ' said Mrs. Flandin judicially. 
 
 ' I do not think it is true.' 
 
 'Wall, I'm glad to hear it, I'm sure,' said the other ; 
 'but there's a word in the Scriptur about two walking 
 together when they ain't agreed.' 
 
 ' Mr. Masters and I are agreed, ' said Diana, while 
 her lips parted in a very slight smile and a lovely tinge of 
 rose-colour came over her cheeks. 
 
 ' But not in everything, I reckon ? ' 
 
 ' In everything I know,' said Diana steadily, while a 
 - considerable breeze of laughter went round the room. 
 Mrs. Flandin was getting the worst of it. 
 
 ' Then it'll be the worse for him ! ' she remarked with 
 a jerk at her sewing. Diana was silent now, but Mrs. 
 Boddington took it up.
 
 THE MINISTERS WIFE. 2QI 
 
 ' Do you mean to say, Mis' Flandin, you approve of 
 quarrels between man and wife ? and quarrels in high 
 places too ? ' 
 
 ' High places ! ' echoed Mrs. Flandin. ' When it says 
 that a minister is to be the servant of all ! ' 
 
 1 And ain't he ? ' said Mrs. Carpenter. ' Is there a place 
 or a thing our minister don't go to if he's wanted ? and 
 does he mind whether it's night or day, or rough or smooth, 
 and does he care how fur it is, or how long he goes with- 
 out his victuals ? I will say, I never did see a no more 
 self-forgetful man than is Mr. Masters; and I've a good 
 right to know, and I say it with feelin's of gratitude.' 
 
 'That's jes' so,' said Miss Barry, her eyes glistening 
 over her knitting, which they did not need to watch. And 
 there was a hum of assent through the room. 
 
 ' I'm not sayin' nothin' agin him,' said Mrs. Flandin in 
 an injured manner; 'but what I was hintin' I warn't 
 sayin' nothin', is that he's married a ' 
 
 ' A beauty ' said Mrs. Boddington. 
 
 ' I don't set no count on beauty,' said the other. ' I 
 allays think, ef a minister is a servant of the Lord, and I 
 hope Mr. Masters is, it's a pity his wife shouldn't be too. 
 That's all.' 
 
 ' But I am, Mrs. Flandin,' said Diana quietly. 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' A servant of the Lord.' 
 
 ' Since when ? ' demanded the other incredulously. 
 
 ' Does it matter, since when ? ' said Diana, with a calm 
 gentleness which spoke for her. ' I was not always so, 
 but I am now.' 
 
 ' Hev' you met with a change ? ' the other asked, again 
 judicially, and critically. 
 
 ' Yes.'
 
 292 DIANA. 
 
 ' Ain't that good news, now ! ' said Miss Barry dropping 
 her knitting and fairly wiping her eyes. 
 
 ' I hope your evidences is clear,' said the other lady. 
 
 ' Do you want to hear what they are ? ' said Diana. ' I 
 have come to know the Lord Jesus I have come to be- 
 lieve in him I have given myself to be his servant. As 
 truly his servant, though not so good a one, as my husband 
 is. But what he bids me, I'll do.' 
 
 The little assembly was silent, silent all round. Both 
 the news and the manner of the teller of it were impos- 
 ing. Decided, clear, calm, sweet, Diana's grey eyes as 
 well as her lips gave her testimony ; they did not shrink 
 from other eyes, nor droop in hesitation or difficulty ; as 
 little was there a line of daring or self-assertion about 
 them. The dignity of the woman struck and hushed her 
 companions. 
 
 ' Our minister '11 be a happy man, I'm thinkin',' said 
 good Mrs. Carpenter, speaking out what was the secret 
 thought of many present. 
 
 'You haven't joined the church, Diana,' said Mrs. 
 Starling harshly. 
 
 ' I will do that the first opportunity, mother.' 
 
 ' That's your husband's doing. I allays knew he'd wile 
 a bird off a bush ! ' 
 
 ' I am very thankful to him' said Diana calmly. 
 
 That calm of hers was unapproachable. It would 
 neither take offence nor give it ; although it is true it did 
 irritate some of her neighbours and companions by the very 
 distance it put between them and her. Diana was differ- 
 ent from them, and growing more different ; yet it was 
 hard to find fault. She was so handsome too ; that helped 
 the effect of superiority ; and her dress, what was there 
 about her dress ? It was a pale lilac muslin, no way re-
 
 THE MINISTER'S WIFE. 293 
 
 markable in itself ; but it fell around lines so soft and noble, 
 and about so queenly a carriage, it waved with so quiet 
 and graceful motions ; there was a temptation to think Di- 
 ana must have called in dressmaking aid that was not law- 
 ful for the minister's wife. As the like often happens, Di- 
 ana was set apart by a life-long sorrow from all their world 
 of experience, and they thought she was proud. 
 
 ' What did you pay for that muslin, Diana ? ' Mrs. Flan- 
 din asked. 
 
 ' Fifteenpence.' 
 
 ' Du tell ! well I should ha' thought it was more,' re- 
 marked Miss Gunn. ' It's made so elegant.' 
 
 ' I made it myself,' said Diana smiling. 
 
 ' Du tell ! ' said Miss Gunn again, reviewing the gown. 
 For, as I hinted, its draperies were graceful, their lovely 
 lines being unbroken by furbelows and flummery ; and the 
 sleeves were open and half long with a full ruffle which fell 
 away from Diana's beautiful arms. 
 
 ' How Phemie Knowlton used to dress ! ' Miss Gunn 
 went on, moved by some hidden association of ideas. 
 
 ' I wonder is nobody ever comin' back to Elmfield ? ' 
 said Mrs. Boddington. ' They don't do nothin' with the 
 place, and it's just waste.' 
 
 The talk wandered on ; but Diana's thoughts remained 
 fixed. They had flown back over the two years since 
 Evan and she had their explanation in the blackberry field, 
 and for a little while she sat in a dream, feeling the stings 
 of pain that seemed, she thought, to grow more lively now, 
 instead of less. The coming in of Mr. Masters roused her, 
 and with a sort of start she put away the thought of Evan 
 and of days and joys past for ever, and forcibly swung her- 
 self back to present things. People were very well-behaved! 
 after her husband came, and she did her part, she knew,
 
 294 DIANA. 
 
 satisfactorily; for she saw his eye now and then resting on 
 her or meeting her's with the hidden smile in it she had 
 learned to know. And besides, nothing was ever dull 
 or commonplace where he was ; so even in Mrs. Starling's 
 house and Mrs. Flandin's presence the rest of the evening 
 went brightly off. And then, driving home, through the 
 light of a young moon and over the quiet country, Diana 
 watched the wonderful calm line where the hill-tops met 
 the sky ; and thought, surely, with the talisman she had 
 just found, of heavenly love and sympathy and strength, 
 she could walk the rest of her way through life and bear 
 it till the end. Then, by and by, beyond that dividing 
 line of eternity, there would be bright heaven, instead of 
 the dusky earth. If only she could prevent Basil from 
 knowing how she felt and so losing all peace in life him- 
 self. But his peace was so fixed in heaven, she wondered 
 if anything on earth could destroy it ? She would not try 
 that question.
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 MISS COLLINS' WORK. 
 
 IT was well for Diana that she had got a talisman, of bet- 
 ter power than the world can manufacture. It was well for 
 her too that she followed up earnestly the clue to life which 
 had been given her. If you have a treasure house of sup- 
 plies, and are going to have to get to it in the dark by 
 and by, it is good to learn the way very well while the light 
 is there. For weeks Diana gave herself before all other 
 things to the study of her Bible and to better understanding 
 of faith's duties and privileges. In all this Basil was a great 
 help ; and daily his wife learned more and more to admire 
 and revere the mind and temper of the man she had mar- 
 ried. Reverence would have led surely to love, in such a 
 nature as Diana's ; but Diana's heart was preoccupied. 
 What love could not do, however, conscience and gratitude 
 did as far as possible. Nothing that concerned Basil's 
 comfort or honour was uncared for by his wife. So among 
 other things, she never intrusted the care of his meals 
 entirely to Miss Collins ; and quite to that lady's discom- 
 fiture, would often come into the kitchen and prepare some 
 nice dish herself, or superintend the preparation of it. Miss 
 Collins resented this. She shared the opinion of some of 
 the ladies of the sewing society, that Mrs. Masters was quite 
 proud and needed to be " taken down " a bit ; and if she got a 
 good chance, she had it in her mind to do a little of the 
 " taking down " herself. 
 
 295
 
 296 DIANA. 
 
 It was one evening late in September. Frosts had 
 hardly set in yet, and every change in the light and colour 
 carried Diana's mind back to Evan and two years ago, and 
 mornings and evenings of that time which were so filled 
 with nameless joys and hopes. Diana did not give herself 
 to these thoughts nor encourage them ; they came with the 
 suddenness and the start of lightning. Merely the colour 
 of a hill at sunset was enough to flash back her thoughts 
 to an hour when she was looking for Evan ; or a certain 
 sort of starlight night would recall a particular walk along 
 the meadow fence ; or a gust and whiff of the wind would 
 bring with it the thrill that belonged to one certain stormy 
 September night that never faded in her remembrance. Or 
 the smell of coffee sometimes, when it was just at a certain 
 stage of preparation, would turn her heart sick. These as- 
 sociations and remembrances were countless and incessant 
 always under the reminders of the September light and at- 
 mosphere ; and Diana could not escape from them, though 
 as soon as they came she put them resolutely away. 
 
 This evening Mr. Masters was out. Diana knew he 
 had gone a long ride and would be tired, that is, if he ever 
 could be tired, and would be certainly ready for his supper 
 when he came in. So she went out to make ready a cer- 
 tain dish of eggs which she knew he liked. Such service 
 as this she could do, and she did. There was no thought- 
 ful care, no smallest observance which could have been 
 rendered by the most devoted affection, which Diana did 
 not give to her husband. Except, she never offered a kiss, 
 or laid her hand in his or upon his shoulder. Happily for 
 her, Basil was not a particularly demonstrative man ; for 
 every caress from him was " as vinegar upon nitre ; " she 
 did not shew repulsion, that was all. 
 
 ' I guess I kin do that, Mis' Masters,' said her hand-
 
 MISS COLLINS WORK. 2Q/ 
 
 maid, who always preferred to keep the kitchen for her own 
 domain. Diana made no answer. She wa-s slowly and 
 delicately peeling her eggs, and probably did not notice 
 the remark. Miss Collins, however, resented the neglect. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters is gone a great deal. It's sort o' lone- 
 some up here on the hill. Dreadfully quiet, don't you 
 think it is ? ' 
 
 ' I like quiet,' Diana answered absently. 
 
 ' Du, hey ? Wall, I allays liked life. I never could git 
 too much o' that. I should like a soldier's life uncommon, 
 if I was a man.' 
 
 Diana had finished peeling her eggs, and now began to 
 wash a bunch of green parsley which she had fetched from 
 the garden, daintily dipping it up and down in a bowl of 
 spring-water. 
 
 ' It was kind o' lively down to the post office,' Miss 
 Collins remarked again, eyeing the beautiful half-bared 
 arm and the whole figure, which in its calm elegance was 
 both imposing and irritating to her. Miss Collins indeed 
 had a very undefined sense of the beautiful ; yet she vague- 
 ly knew that nobody else in Pleasant Valley looked so or 
 carried herself so ; no other woman's dress adorned her so, 
 or was so set off by the wearer ; although Diana's present 
 attire was a very simply made print gown ; not even the 
 stylish ladies of Elmfield produced an equal effect with 
 their French dresses. And was not Diana " Mis' Star- 
 ling's daughter ? " And Diana seemed not to hear or care 
 what she had to say ! 
 
 ' Everybody comes to the post office,' she went on grim- 
 ly ; ' you hev' only to watch, and you see all the folks ; and 
 you know all that is goin' on. An', that suits me 'xactly.' 
 
 'But you had nothing to do with the post office,' said 
 Diana. ' How could you see everybody ? '
 
 2Q8 DIANA. 
 
 ' You keep your eyes open, and you'll see things, most 
 places,' said Miss Collins. ' La ! I used to be in and out ; 
 why shouldn't I ? And now and then I'd say to Miss 
 Gunn " You're jest fagged out with standin' upon your 
 feet ; you jes' go in there and sit down by the fire and 
 don't let the pot bile over and put it out ; and I'll see to 
 the letters and the folks." And so she did, and so I did. It 
 was as good as a play.' 
 
 ' How? ' said Diana, feeling a vague pain at the thought 
 of the post office ; that place where her hopes had died. 
 Somehow there was a vague dread in her heart also, with- 
 out any reason. 
 
 ' Wall you git at folks' secrets if they have any,' Miss 
 Collins answered, suddenly checking her flow of words. 
 Diana did not ask again ; the subject was disagreeable. 
 She began to cut up her parsley deftly with a sharp knife ; 
 and her handmaid stood and looked at her. 
 
 ' Some folks thought, you know, at one time, that Mr. 
 Masters was courtin' Phemie Knowlton. I didn't let on, 
 but la ! I knowed it warn't so. Why there warn't never a 
 letter come from her to him, nor went from him to her.' 
 
 ' She was here herself,' said Diana ; ' why should they 
 write ? You could tell nothing by that.' 
 
 ' She warn't here after she had gone away,' said Miss 
 Collins ; ' and that was jes' the time when I knowed all 
 about it. I knowed about other people too.' 
 
 That was also the time after Evan had quitted Pleasant 
 Valley. Yet Diana did not know why she could not keep 
 herself from trembling. If Evan had written, then, this 
 Jemima Collins and her employer, Miss Gunn, would have 
 known it and drawn their conclusions. Well, they had no 
 data to go upon now. 
 
 ' Bring me a little saucepan, Jemima, will you ? '
 
 MISS COLLINS WORK. 299 
 
 Jemima brought it. Now her mistress (but she never 
 called her so) would be away and off in a minute or two 
 more, and leave her to watch the saucepan, she knew, and 
 her opportunity would be over. Still she waited to choose 
 her words. 
 
 ' You ain't so fond o' life as I be,' she observed. 
 
 'Perhaps not,' said Diana. 'I do not think I should 
 like a situation in the post office.' 
 
 ' But I should ha' thought you'd ha' liked to go all 
 over the world and see everything. Now Pleasant Valley 
 seems to me something like a corner. Why didn't you ? ' 
 
 'Why didn't I what?' said Diana, standing up. She 
 had been stooping down over her saucepan which now sat 
 upon a little bed of coals. 
 
 ' La ! you needn't look at me like that,' said Miss Col- 
 lins chuckling. ' It's no harm. You had your ch'ice, and 
 you chose it ; only / would have took the other.' 
 
 ' The other what ? What would you have taken ? ' 
 
 ' Wall, I don' know,' said Miss Collins ; ' to be sure, 
 one never doos know till one is tried, they say ; but if I 
 had, I think I should ha' took 'tother one.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you,' said Diana walking off to 
 the table, where she began to gather up the wrecks of the 
 parsley stems. She felt an odd sensation of cold about the 
 region of her heart, physically very disagreeable. 
 
 ' You are hard to make understand then,' said Miss 
 Collins. ' I suppose you know you had two sweethearts, 
 don't you ? And sure enough you had the pick of the lot. 
 'Tain't likely you've forgotten.' 
 
 ' How dare you speak so ? ' asked Diana, not passion- 
 ately, but with a sort of cold despair, eying her handmaiden. 
 
 ' Dare ? ' said the latter. ' Dare what ? I ain't saying 
 nothin'. 'Tain't no harm to have two beaux ; you chose
 
 3OO DIANA. 
 
 your ch'ice, and he hain't no cause to be uncontented, any- 
 how. About the 'tother one I don't say nothin', I should 
 think he was ; but that's nat'ral. I s'pose he's got over it 
 by now. You needn't stand and look. He's fur enough 
 off, too. Your husband wont be jealous. You knowed you 
 had two men after you.' 
 
 ' I cannot imagine why you say that,' Diana repeated, 
 standing as it were at bay. 
 
 ' How I come to know ? That's easy. Didn't I tell you 
 I was in the post office ? La, I know, I see the letters.' 
 
 ' Letters ! ' cried Diana, in a tone which forthwith made 
 Miss Collins open all the eyes she had. It was not a 
 a scream ; it was not even very loud ; yet Miss Collins 
 went into a swift calculation to find out what was in it. Be- 
 yond her ken, happily; it was a heart's death cry. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said stolidly ; ' I said letters. Ain't much 
 else goin' at the post office, 'cept letters and papers ; and I 
 ain't one o' them as sets no count by the papers. La, what 
 do I care for the news at Washington ? I don't know the 
 folks ; they may all die or get married, for what I care ; 
 but in Pleasant Valley I know where I be, and I know who 
 the folks be. And that's what made me allays like to get 
 a chance to sort the letters, or hand 'em out.' 
 
 ' You never saw many letters of mine,' said Diana, turn- 
 ing away to hide her lips which she felt were growing 
 strange. But she must speak ; she must know more. 
 
 ' N o,' said Miss Collins ; ' not letters o' your writin,' 
 ef you mean that.' 
 
 ' Letters of mine of any sort. I don't get many letters.' 
 
 ' Some of 'em's big ones, when they come, My ! didn't 
 I use to wonder what was in 'em ! Two stamps, and three 
 stamps. I s'pose feelin's makes heavy weight.' Miss Col- 
 lins laughed a little.
 
 MISS COLLINS WORK. 3OI 
 
 ' Two stamps and three stamps ? ' said Diana fiercely ; 
 ' how many were there ? ' 
 
 ' I guess I knowed of three. Two I handed out o' the 
 box myself ; and Miss Gunn, she said there was another. 
 There was no mistakin' them big letters. They was on soft 
 paper, and lots o' stamps, as I said.' 
 
 ' You gave them out ? Who to ? ' 
 
 'To Mis' Starlin' herself. I mind partic'lerly. She 
 come for 'em herself, and she got 'em. You don't mean 
 she lost 'em on her way hum ? They was postmarked some 
 queer name, but they come from Californy ; I know that. 
 You hain't never forgotten 'em ? I've heerd it's good to be 
 off with the old love before you are on with the new ; but 
 I never heerd o' folks forgettin' their love letters. La, 
 'tain't no harm to have love letters. Nobody can cast that 
 up to ye. You have chosen your ch'ice, and it's all right. 
 I reckon most folks would be proud to have somebody else 
 thrown over for them.' 
 
 Diana heard nothing of this. She was standing, deaf 
 and blind, seeming to look out of the window; then slow- 
 ly, moved by some instinct, not reason, she went out of the 
 kitchen and crept up stairs to her own room and laid her- 
 self upon her bed. Deaf and blind ; she could neither 
 think nor feel ; she only thought she knew that she was 
 dead. The consciousness of the truth pressed upon her to 
 benumbing ; but she was utterly unable to separate points 
 or look at the connection of them. She had lived and suf- 
 fered before ; now she was crushed and dead ; that was all 
 she knew. She could not even measure the full weight of 
 her misery ; she lay too prostrate beneath it. 
 
 So things were, when very shortly after the minister 
 came in. He had put up his horse, and came in with his 
 day's work behind him. Diana's little parlour was bright,
 
 3O2 DIANA. 
 
 for a smart fire was blazing ; the evenings and mornings 
 were cool now in Pleasant Valley; and the small table 
 stood ready for supper, as Diana had left it. She was up 
 stairs, probably ; and up stairs he went, to wash his hands 
 and get re-acly for the evening; for the minister was the 
 neatest man living. There he found Diana, laid upon her 
 bed, where nobody ever saw her in the day-time ; and 
 furthermore, lying with that nameless something in all the 
 lines of her figure which is the expression not of pain but 
 of despair ; and those who have never seen it before, read 
 it at first sight. How it should be despair, of course the 
 minister had no clue to guess ; so although it struck him 
 with a sort of strange chill, he supposed she must be suf- 
 fering from some bodily ailment, in spite of the fact that 
 nobody had ever known Diana to have so much as a head- 
 ache in her life until now. Her face was hid. Basil 
 went up softly and laid his hand on her shoulder, and felt 
 so the slight convulsive shiver that ran over her. But his 
 inquiries could get nothing but monosyllables in return ; 
 hardly that ; rather inarticulate utterances of assent or dis- 
 sent to his questions or proposals. Was she suffering? 
 Yes. What was the cause ? No intelligible answer. 
 Would she not come down to tea ? No. Would she have 
 anything ? No. Could he do anything for her ? No. 
 
 ' Diana,' said her husband tenderly, ' is it bad news ? ' 
 
 There was a pause, and he waited. 
 
 ' Just go down,' she managed with great difficulty to 
 say. ' There is nothing the matter with me. I'll come by 
 and by. I'll just lie still a little.' 
 
 She had not shewn her face, and the minister quietly 
 withdrew, feeling that here was more than appeared on 
 the surface. There was enough appearing on the surface 
 to make him uneasy ; and he paid no attention to Miss
 
 MISS COLLINS WORK. 303 
 
 Collins, who brought in the supper and bustled about 
 rather more than was necessary. 
 
 ' Don't ring the bell, Jemina,' Mr. Masters said. ' Mrs. 
 Masters is not coming down.' 
 
 Miss Collins went on to make the tea. That was al- 
 ways Diana's business. 
 
 ' What ails her ? she asked abruptly. 
 
 ' You ought to know,' said the minister. ' What did she 
 complain of.' 
 
 'Complain ! ' echoed the handmaiden. ' She was as well 
 as you be, not five minutes afore you come in. 
 
 ' How do you know ? ' 
 
 ' Guess I had ought to ! Why she was in the kitchen 
 talkin' and fiddle-faddlin' with them eggs ; she thinks I 
 ain't up to 'em. There warn't nothin' on earth the matter 
 with her then. She had sot the table in here and fixed up 
 the fire, and then she come in to the kitchen and went to 
 work at the supper. There ain't never nothin' the matter 
 with her.' 
 
 The minister made no sort of remark, nor put any 
 further inquiry, nor looked even curious, Miss Collins 
 however did. Her brain got into a sudden confusion of 
 possibilities. Pouring out the tea, she stood by the table 
 reflecting what she should say next. 
 
 'I guess she's mad at me,' she began slowly. 'Or 
 maybe she's afeard you'll be mad with her. La ! 'tain't 
 nothin'. I told her, you'd never be jealous. 'Tain't no 
 harm for a girl to have two beaux, is it ? ' 
 
 The minister gave her a quick look from under his 
 brows, and replied calmly that he ' supposed not.' 
 
 ' Wall, I told her so ; and now she's put out 'cause I 
 knowed o' them letters. La, folks that has the post office 
 can't help but know more o' what concerns their fellow
 
 3O4 DIANA. 
 
 creatures than other folks doos. I handled them myself 
 you see, and handed them out ; leastways two o' them j 
 that warn't no fault o' mine nor of anybody's. La, she 
 needn't to mind ! ' 
 
 ' How much tea did you put in, Jemina ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Mr. Masters. I put in a pinch. Mrs. 
 Masters had ought to ha' been here to make it herself. 
 She knows how you like it.' 
 
 ' I like more than such a pinch as this was. If you 
 will empty the tea-pot, I will make a cup for myself. That 
 will do, thank you.' 
 
 Left alone, Mr. Masters sat for a little while with his 
 head on his hand, neglecting the supper. Then he roused 
 himself and went on to make some fresh tea. And very 
 carefully and nicely he made it, poured out a cup and pre- 
 pared it, put it on a little tray then and carried it steaming 
 and fragrant up to his wife's room. Diana was lying just 
 as he had left her. Mr. Masters shut the door, and came 
 to the bedside. 
 
 ' Di,' said he gently, ' I have brought you a cup of tea.' 
 
 There was neither answer nor movement. He repeated 
 his words. She murmured an unintelligible rejection of 
 the proposal, keeping her face carefully covered. 
 
 ' No/ said he, ' I think you had better take it. Lift up 
 your head, Di, and try. It is good.' 
 
 The tone was tender and quiet, nevertheless Diana had 
 known Mr. Masters long enough to be assured that when 
 he had made up his mind to a thing, there was no bring- 
 ing him off it. She would have to take the tea ; and as 
 he put his hand under her head to lift her up, she suffered 
 him to do it. Then he saw her face. Only by the light 
 of a candle it is true ; but that revealed more than enough. 
 So wan, so deathly pale, so dark in the lines round the
 
 MISS COLLINS WORK. 305 
 
 eyes and those indescribable shadows which mental pain 
 brings into a face, that her husband's heart sank down. 
 No small matter, easy to blow away, had brought his 
 strong beautiful Diana to look like that. But his face 
 shewed nothing; though indeed she never looked at it; 
 and his voice was clear and gentle just as usual in the few 
 words he said. He held the cup to her lips, and after she 
 had drank the tea and lay down again, he passed his hand 
 once or twice with a tender touch over her brow and the 
 disordered hair. Then, with no more questions or re- 
 marks, he took away the candle and the empty cup, and 
 Diana saw him no more that night. 
 20
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 
 
 THE mischief-maker slept peacefully till morning. No- 
 body else. Diana did not keep awake, it is true ; she was 
 at that dull stage of misery when something like stupor 
 comes over the brain ; she slumbered heavily from time to 
 time. Nature does claim such a privilege sometimes. It 
 was Basil who watched the night through ; watched and 
 prayed. There was no stupor in his thoughts ; he had a 
 very full, though vague, realization of great evij that had 
 come upon them both. He was very near the truth, too, 
 after an hour or two of pondering. Putting Miss Collins' 
 hints, Diana's own former confessions, and her present con- 
 dition together, he saw, clearer than it was good to see, the 
 probable state of affairs. And yet he was glad to see it ; 
 if any help or bettering was ever to come, it was desirable 
 that his vision should be true and his wisdom have at least 
 firm data to act upon. But what action could touch the 
 case ? the most difficult that a man can have to deal with. 
 Through the night Basil alternately walked the floor and 
 knelt down, sometimes at his study table, sometimes before 
 the open window, where it seemed almost as if he could 
 read signs of that invisible sympathy he was seeking. The 
 air was a little frosty, but very still ; he kept up a fire in 
 his chimney, and Basil was not one of those ministers who 
 live in perpetual terror about draughts ; it was a comfort 
 306
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 3O/ 
 
 to him to-night to look off and away from earth, even 
 though he could not see into heaven. The stars were wit- 
 nesses to him and for him, in their eternal calmness. " He 
 calleth them all by their names ; for that he is strong in 
 power, not one faileth. Why sayest thou, O Jacob, and 
 speakest, O Israel, My way is hid from the Lord, and my 
 judgment is passed over from my God ? " And in answer 
 to the unspoken cry of appeal that burst forth as he knelt 
 there by the window " O Lord, my strength, my fortress, 
 and my refuge in the day of affliction ! " came the unspoken 
 promise. " The mountains shall depart, and the hills be re- 
 moved ; but my kindness shall not depart from thee, neither 
 shall the covenant of my peace be removed, saith the Lord 
 that hath mercy on thee." The minister had something 
 such a night of it as Jacob had before his meeting with 
 Esau : with the difference that there was no lameness left 
 the next morning. Before the dawn came up, when the 
 stars were fading, Basil threw himself on the lounge in his 
 study and went into a sleep as deep and peaceful as his 
 sleeps were wont to be. And when he rose up, after some 
 hours, he was entirely himself again ; refreshed and re- 
 stored and ready for duty. Neither could anybody, that 
 day or afterwards, see the slightest change in him from 
 what he had been before. 
 
 He went out and attended to his horse ; the minister 
 always did that himself. Then came in and changed his 
 dress and went through his morning toilet with the usual 
 dainty care. Then he went in to see Diana. 
 
 She had awaked at last out of her slumberous stupor ; 
 sorry to see the light and know that it was day again. An- 
 other day ! Why should there be another day for her ? what 
 use ? why could she not die and be out of her trouble? An- 
 other day ! and now would come, had come, the duties of
 
 308 DIANA. 
 
 it ; how was she to meet them ? how could she do them ? 
 life energy was gone. She was dead ; how was she to play 
 the part of the living, and among the living ? What mock- 
 ery ! And Basil, what would become of him ? As for Evan, 
 Diana dared not so much in her thoughts as even to glance 
 his way. She had risen half up in bed, she had not un- 
 dressed at all, and was sitting with her arms slung round 
 her knees, gazing at the daylight and wondering vaguely 
 about all these things ; when the door between the rooms 
 swung lightly open. If she had dared, Diana would have 
 crouched down and hid her face again ; she was afraid to 
 do that ; she sat stolidly still, gazing out at the window. 
 Look at Basil she could not. His approach filled her with 
 so great a feeling of repulsion that she would have liked to 
 spring from the bed and flee, anywhere, away and away, 
 where she would see him no more. No such flight was pos 
 sible. She sat motionless and stared at the window, keep- 
 ing down the internal shiver which ran over her. 
 
 Basil came with his light quick step and stood beside 
 her ; took her hand and felt her pulse. 
 
 ' You are not feeling very well, Di,' he said gravely. 
 
 'Well enough, ' said Diana. 'I will get up and be 
 down presently.' 
 
 'Will you ? ' said he. ' Now I think you had better not. 
 The best thing you can do will be to lie still here and keep 
 quiet all day. May I prescribe for you ? ' 
 
 'Yes. I will do what you please/ said Diana. She 
 never looked at him, and he knew it. 
 
 'Then this is what I think you had better do. Get up 
 and take a bath ; then put on your dressing gown and lie 
 down again. You shall have your breakfast up here and I 
 will let nobody come up to disturb you.' 
 
 ' I'm not hungry. I don't want anything.'
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 309 
 
 ' You are a little feverish but you will be better for 
 taking something. Now you get your bath, and I'll attend 
 to the breakfast.' 
 
 He kissed her brow gravely, guessing that she would 
 rather he did not, but knowing nevertheless that he might 
 and must ; for he was her husband, and however gladly she, 
 and unselfishly he, would have broken the relation between 
 them, it subsisted and could not be broken. And then he 
 went down stairs. 
 
 ' Where's Mis' Masters ? ' demanded Jemima when she 
 brought in the breakfast-tray, standing attention. 
 
 ' Not coming down.' 
 
 ' Ain't anything ails her, is there ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. But I don't know how serious. Give me the ket- 
 tle, Jemima ; I told her to lie still and that I would bring 
 her a cup of tea.' 
 
 ' I'll take it up, Mr. Masters ; and you can eat your 
 breakfast.' 
 
 ' Thank you. I always like to keep my promises. Fetch 
 in the kettle, Jemima.' 
 
 Jemima dared not but obey. So when Diana, between 
 dead and alive, had done as she was bid ; taken her bath, 
 and wrapped in her dressing-gown was laid upon her bed 
 again ; her husband made his appearance with a little tray 
 and the tea. There had been a certain bodily refreshment 
 about the bath and the change of dress, but with that little 
 touch of the everyday work of life there had come such a 
 rebellion against life in general and all that it held, that 
 Diana was nearly desperate. In place of dull despair, had 
 come a wild repulsion against everything that was left her 
 in the world ; and yet the girl knew that she would neither 
 die nor go mad, but must just live and bear. She looked 
 at Basil and his tray with a sort of impatient horror.
 
 3IO DIANA. 
 
 ' I don't want anything! ' she said. ' I don't want any- 
 thing ! ' 
 
 ' Try the tea. It is out of the green chest.' 
 
 Diana had learned, as I said, to know her husband 
 pretty well ; and she knew that though the tone in which he 
 spoke was very quiet, and for all a certain sweet insistence 
 in it could scarcely be said to be urging, nevertheless 
 there was under it something to which she must yield. 
 His will never had clashed with hers once ; nevertheless 
 Diana had seen and known that whatever Basil wanted to 
 do with anybody, he did. Everybody granted it to him, 
 somehow. So did she now. She raised herself up and 
 tasted the tea. 
 
 ' Eat a biscuit .' 
 
 ' I don't want it. I don't want anything, Basil.' 
 
 ' You must eat something, though,' said he. ' It is bad 
 enough for me to have to carry along with me all day the 
 thought of you lying here ; I cannot bear in addition the 
 thought of you starving.' 
 
 ' O no ; I am not starving,' Diana answered ; and un- 
 able to endure to look at him or talk to him, she covered 
 her face with her hands, leaning it down upon her knees- 
 Basil did not say anything, nor did he go away ; he stood 
 beside her, with an outflow of compassion in his heart, but 
 waiting patiently. At last touched her smooth hair with 
 his hand. 
 
 ' Di,' said he gently, ' look up and take something.' 
 
 She hastily removed her hands, raised her head, swal- 
 lowed the tea, and managed to swallow the biscuit with it. 
 He leaned forward and kissed her brow as he had done 
 last night. 
 
 ' Now lie down and rest,' said he. ' I must ride over to 
 Blackberry hill again and I do not know how long I may
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 311 
 
 be kept there. I will tell Jemima to let no visiters come 
 up to bother you. Lie still and rest. I will give you a pil- 
 low for your thoughts, Di. " Under the shadow of thy 
 wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be over- 
 past." ' 
 
 He went away ; and Diana covered her face again. 
 She could not bear the light. Her whole nature was in 
 uproar. The bath and dressing, the tea, her husband's 
 presence and words, his last words especially, had roused 
 her from her stupor, and given her as it were a scale with 
 which to measure the full burden of her misery. There 
 was no item wanting, Diana thought, to make it utterly 
 immeasurable and unbearable. If she had married a less 
 good man, it would have been less hard to spoil all his 
 hopes of happiness ; if he had been a weaker man she 
 would not have cared about him at all. If any hand but 
 her own mother's had dashed her cup of happiness out of 
 her hand, she would have had there a refuge to go to. 
 Most girls have their mothers. If Evan had not been sent 
 to so distant a post but when her thoughts dared turn to 
 Evan, Diana writhed upon her bed in tearless agony. Evan, 
 writing in all the freshness and strength of his love and his 
 trust in her, those letters; waiting and looking for her an- 
 swer ; writing again and again ; disappointed all the while ; 
 and at last obliged to conclude that there was no faith in 
 her and that her love had been a sham, or a fancy. What 
 had he not suffered on her account! even as she had suf- 
 fered for him. But that he should think so of her was not 
 to be borne ; she would write. Might she write ? From 
 hiding her head on her pillow, Diana sat bolt upright" now 
 and stared at the light as if it could tell her. Might she 
 write to Evan, just once, this once, to tell him how it had 
 been ? Would that be any wrong against her husband ?
 
 3 I 2 DIANA. 
 
 Would Basil have any right to forbid her ? The uneasy 
 sense of doubt here was met by a furious rebellion against 
 any authority that would interfere with her doing herself 
 as she said so much justice, and giving herself and Evan 
 so much miserable comfort. Could there be a right to 
 hinder her ? Suppose she were to ask Basil ? But what 
 disclosures that would involve ! Would he bear them, or 
 could she ? Better write without his knowledge. Then on 
 the other hand, Basil was so upright himself, so true and 
 faithful, and trusted her so completely. No, she never 
 could deceive his trust, not if she died. O that she could 
 die ! But Diana knew that she was not going to die. Sup- 
 pose she charged her mother with what she had done and get 
 her to write and confess it ? A likely thing, that Mrs. Star- 
 ling would be wrought upon to make such a humiliation of 
 herself ! She was forced to give up that thought. And 
 indeed she was not clear about the essential distinction 
 between communicating directly herself with Evan, and 
 getting another to do it for her. And what had been Mrs. 
 Starling's motive in keeping back the letters ? But Diana 
 knew her mother and that problem did not detain her long. 
 For hours and hours Diana's mind was like a stormy 
 sea, where the thunder and the lightning were not wanting 
 any more than the wind. Once in a while like the faint 
 blink of a sun-ray through the clouds, came an echo of the 
 words Basil had quoted " In the shadow of thy wings 
 will I make my refuge " but they hurt her so that she 
 fled from them. The contrast of their peace with her tur- 
 moil, of their intense sweetness with the bitter passion 
 which was wasting her heart ; the hint of that harbour for 
 the storm-tossed vessel, which could only be entered, she 
 knew, by striking sail ; all that was unbearable.* I suppose 
 there was a whisper of conscience too which said, ' Strike
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 313 
 
 sail, and go in ! ' while passion would not take down an 
 inch of canvass. Could not, she said to herself. Could 
 she submit to have things be as they were ? submit, and 
 be quiet, and accept them, and go her way accepting them, 
 and put the thought of Evan away, and live the rest of 
 her life as though he had no existence ? That was the 
 counsel Basil would give, she had an unrecognized con- 
 sciousness ; and for the present, pain was easier to bear 
 than that. And now memory flew back over the years, 
 and took up again the thread of her relations with Evan, 
 and traced them to their beginning, and went over all the 
 ground going back and forward, recalling every meeting 
 and reviewing every one of those too scanty hours. For 
 a long while she had not been able to do this, because 
 Evan, she thought, had been faithless, and in that case she 
 really never had had what she thought she had in him. 
 Now she knew he was not faithless, and she had got the 
 time and him back again, and she in a sort revelled in the 
 consciousness. And with that came then the thought, 
 ' Too late ! ' She had got him again only to see an im- 
 passable barrier set between which must keep them apart 
 forever. And that barrier was her husband. What the 
 thought of Basil, or rather what his image was to Diana 
 that day, it is difficult to tell \ she shunned it whenever it 
 appeared, with an intolerable mingling of contradictory 
 feelings. Her fate, and yet more like a good angel to 
 her than anybody that had ever crossed the line of her 
 path ; the destroyer of her hope and joy for ever, and 
 yet one to whom she was bound and to whom she owed 
 all possible duty and affection ; she wished it were possi- 
 ble never to see him again in the world, and at the same 
 time the^e was not another in the world of whom she be- 
 lieved all the good she believed of him. His image was
 
 3 14 DIANA. 
 
 dreadful to her. Basil was the very centre point of her 
 agonized struggles that day. To be parted from Evan she 
 could have borne, if she might have devoted herself to the 
 memory of him and lived in quiet sorrow ; but to put this 
 man in his place ! to belong to him, to be his wife. 
 
 In proportion to the strength and health of Diana's 
 nature was the power of her realization and the force of 
 her will. But also the possibility of endurance. The inter- 
 nal fight would have broken down a less pure and sound 
 bodily organization. It was characteristic of this natural 
 soundness and sweetness, which was mental as well as 
 physical, that her mother's part in the events which had 
 destroyed her happiness had very little of her attention 
 that day. She thought of it with a kind of sore wonder 
 and astonishment in which resentment had almost no 
 share. " O mother, mother ! " she said in her heart ; 
 but she said no more. 
 
 Miss Collins came up once or twice to see her, but 
 Diana lay quiet and was able to baffle curiosity. 
 
 ' Are ye goin' to git up and come down to supper ? ' 
 the handmaid asked in the second visit, which occurred 
 late in the afternoon. 
 
 ' I don't know. I shall do what Mr. Masters says.' 
 
 ' You don't look as ef there was much ailin' you ; and 
 yet you look kind o* queer, too. I shouldn't wonder a bit 
 ef you was a gettin' a fever. There's a red spot on one of 
 your cheeks that's like fire. ' T'other one's pale enough. 
 You must be in a fever, I guess, or you couldn't lie here 
 with the window open.' 
 
 ' Leave it open and just let me be quiet.' 
 
 Miss Collins went down, marvelling to herself. But 
 when Basil came home he found the flush spread to both 
 cheeks and a look in Diana's eyes that he did not like.
 
 THINGS UNDONE. $1$ 
 
 ' How has the day been ? ' he asked, passing his hand 
 over the flushed cheek and the disordered hair. Diana 
 shrank and shivered and did not answer. He felt her 
 pulse. 
 
 ' Diana,' said he, ' what is the matter with you ? ' 
 
 She stared at him, in the utter difficulty of answering. 
 ' Basil ' she began, and stopped, not rinding another 
 word to add. For prevarication was an accomplishment 
 Diana knew nothing of. She closed her eyes, that they 
 might not see the figure standing there. 
 
 ' Would you like me to fetch your mother to you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' she said starting. ' O no ! Don't bring her, 
 Basil ! ' 
 
 'I will not,' said he kindly. 'Why should she not 
 come ? ' 
 
 ' Mother ? never. Never, never ! Not mother. I can't 
 bear her ' said Diana strangely. 
 
 Mr. Masters went down stairs looking very grave. He 
 took his supper, for he needed it ; and then he carried up 
 a cup of tea, fresh made, to Diana. She drank it this 
 time eagerly; but there was no lightening of his grave 
 brow when he carried the cup down again. Something 
 was very much the matter, he knew now, as he had feared 
 it last night. He debated with himself whether he had 
 better try to find out just what it was. Miss Collins, by a 
 judicious system of suggestion and inquiry, might be led 
 perhaps to reveal something without knowing that she re- 
 vealed anything ; but the minister disliked that way of 
 getting information when it could be dispensed with. He 
 had enough knowledge to act upon ; for the rest he was 
 patient and could wait. 
 
 That night he knew Diana did not sleep. He himself 
 passed the night again in his study, though not in the
 
 3l6 DIANA. 
 
 struggles of the night before. He was very calm, steadfast, 
 diligent ; that is, his usual self entirely. And, watching 
 her without her knowing he watched, he knew by her 
 breathing and her changes of position that it was a night 
 of no rest on her part. Once he saw she was sitting up in 
 the bed ; once he saw that she had left it and was sitting 
 by the window. 
 
 The next day the minister did not leave home. He had 
 no more urgent business anywhere, he thought, than there. 
 And he found Diana did not make up by day what she 
 had lost by night ; she was always staring wide awake 
 whenever he went into the room ; and he went whenever 
 there was a cup of tea or a cup of broth to be taken to 
 her, for he prepared it and carried it to her himself. 
 
 It happened in the course ot the afternoon that Prince 
 and the old little green wagon came jogging along and 
 landed Mrs. Starling at the minister's door. This was a 
 very rare event ; Mrs. Starling came at long intervals to see 
 her daughter, and made then a call which nobody enjoyed. 
 To-day Miss Collins hailed the sight of her. Indeed if the 
 distance had not been too much, Miss Collins would have 
 walked down to carry the tidings of Diana's indisposition ; 
 for like a true gossip she scented mischief where she could 
 see none. The minister would let her have nothing to do 
 with his wife ; and, if he were out of the house and she 
 got a chance, she could make nothing of Diana. Noth- 
 ing certain ; but nothing either that lulled her suspicions. 
 Now, with Mrs. Starling, there was no telling what she 
 might get at. The lady dismounted and came into the 
 kitchen, looking about her, as always, with sharp eyes. 
 
 ' How d'ye do,' said she. ' Where is Diana ? ' 
 
 ' I'm glad to see ye, Mis' Starling, and that's a fact,' 
 said the handmaid. ' I was 'most a mind to walk down to 
 your place to-day.'
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 3 1/ 
 
 ' What's the matter ? Where's Diana ? ' 
 
 1 Wall, she's up stairs. She hain't been down now for 
 two days.' 
 
 ' What's the reason ? ' 
 
 ' Wall sun 'thin' ain't right ; and I don't think the min- 
 ister's clear what it is; and /ain't. She was took as sud- 
 den you never see nothin' suddener she come in here to 
 fix a dish o' eggs for supper that she's mighty particler 
 about, and don't think no one can cook eggs but herself ; 
 and I was talkin' and tellin' her about my old experiences 
 in the post office and she went up stairs and took to her 
 bed ; and she hain't left it sen. Now ain't that queer ? 
 'Cause she didn't say nothin' ailed her ; not a word ; only 
 she went up and took to her bed ; and she doos look queer 
 at you, that I will say. Mebbe it's fever a comin' on.' 
 
 There was a minute or two's silence. Mrs. Starling did 
 not immediately find her tongue. 
 
 ' What have the post office and your stories got to do 
 with it ? ' she asked harshly. ' I should like to know.' 
 
 ' Yes ' said Miss Collins, drawing out the word with 
 affable intonation, ' that's what beats me. What should 
 they ? But la ! the post office is queer ; that's what I always 
 said. Everybody gits into it ; and ef you're there, o' course 
 you can't help knowin' things.' 
 
 ' You weren't in the post office ! ' said Mrs. Starling. 
 'It was none oiyour business.' 
 
 ' Warn't I ? ' said Miss Collins. ' Don't you mind bet- 
 ter'n that, Mis' Starling ? I mind you comin', and I mind 
 givin' you your letters too ; I mind some 'ticlar big ones, 
 that had stamps enough on to set up a shop. La, 'tain't no 
 harm. Miss Gunn, she used to feel a sort o' sameness 
 about allays takin' in and givin' out, and then she'd come 
 into the kitchen and make cake mebbe, and send me to
 
 318 DIANA. 
 
 tend the letters and the folks. And then it was as good as 
 a play to me. Don't you never git tired o' trottin' a mile 
 in a bushel, Mis' Starlin' ? So I was jest a tellin' Diany ' 
 
 ' Where's the minister ? ' 
 
 ' Most likely he's where she is up stairs. He won't 
 let nobody else do a hand's turn for her. He takes up 
 every cup of tea, and he spreads every bit of bread and but- 
 ter ; and he tastes the broths ; you'd think he was anythin' 
 in the world but a minister ; he tastes the broth, and he 
 calls for the salt and pepper, and he stirs and he tastes ; 
 and then you never see a man make such a fuss, leastways 
 I never did he'll have a white napkin and spread over a 
 tray, and the cup on it, and saucer too, for he won't have 
 the cup 'thout the saucer, and then carry it off. Was your 
 husband like that, Mis' Starling ? he was a minister, I've 
 heerd tell.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling turned short about without answering and 
 went up stairs. 
 
 She found the minister there, as Miss Collins had 
 opined she would ; but she paid little attention to him. He 
 was just drawing the curtains over a window where the sun- 
 light came in too glaringly. As he had done this, and 
 turned, he was a spectator of the meeting between mother 
 and child. It was peculiar. Mrs. Starling advanced to 
 the foot of the bed, carr.e no nearer, but stood there look- 
 ing down at her daughter. And Diana's eyes fastened on 
 hers with a look of calm, cold intelligence. It was intense 
 enough, yet there was no passion in it ; I suppose there 
 was too much despair ; however, it was as I said, keen and 
 intent, and it held Mrs. Starling's eyes, like a vice. Those 
 Mr. Masters could not see ; the lady's back was towards 
 him ; but he saw how Diana's eyes pinioned her and how 
 strangely still Mrs. Starling stood.
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 319 
 
 ' What's the matter with you ? ' she said harshly at last. 
 
 ' You ought to know,' said Diana, not moving her eyes. 
 
 ' I ain't a conjuror,' Mrs. Starling returned with a sort 
 of snort. ' What makes you look at me like that ? ' 
 
 Diana gave a short sharp laugh. ' How can you look 
 at me ? ' she said. ' I know all about it, mother. 
 
 Mrs. Starling with a sudden determination went round 
 to the head of the bed and put out her hand to feel Di- 
 ana's pulse. Dian-a shrank away from her. 
 
 ' Keep off ! ' she cried. ' Basil, Basil, don't let her 
 touch me.' 
 
 ' She is out of her head,' said Mrs. Starling, turning to 
 her son-in-Law, and speaking half loud. ' I had better stay 
 and sit up with her.' 
 
 ' No,' cried Diana. ' I don't want you. Basil, don't 
 let her stay. Basil, Basil ! ' 
 
 The cry was urgent and pitiful. Her husband came 
 near, arranged the pillows, for she had started half up ; and 
 putting her gently back upon them, said in his calm tones, 
 ' Be quiet, Di ; you command here. Mrs. Starling, shall 
 we go down stairs ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Starling this time complied without making any 
 objection ; but as she reached the bottom she gave vent to 
 her opinion. 
 
 ' You are spoiling her ! ' 
 
 ' Really I should like to have the chance.' 
 
 ' What do you mean by that ? ' 
 
 ' Just the words. I should like to spoil Di. She has 
 never had much of that sort of bad influence.' 
 
 ' That sounds very weak, to me,' said Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' To whom should a man show himself weak, if not 
 toward his wife ? ' said Basil carelessly. 
 
 ' Your wife will not thank you for it.'
 
 32O DIANA. 
 
 ' I will endeavour to retain her respect,' said Basil in 
 the same way; which aggravated Mrs. Starling, beyond 
 bounds. Something about him always did try her temper, 
 she said to herself. 
 
 ' Diana is going to have a fever,' she spoke abruptly. 
 
 ' I am afraid of it.' 
 
 What's brought it on ? ' 
 
 ' I came home two evenings ago and found her on the 
 bed.' 
 
 ' You don't want me, you say. Who do you expect is 
 going to sit up with her and take care of her ? ' 
 
 ' I will try what I can do, for the present.' 
 
 ' You can't manage that and your out-door work too.' 
 
 ' I will manage that ' said Basil significantly. 
 
 ' And let your parish work go ? Well, I always thought 
 a minister was bound to attend to his people.' 
 
 ' Yes. Isn't my wife more one of my people than any- 
 body else ? Will you stay and take a cup of tea, Mrs. 
 Starling?' 
 
 ' No ; if you don't want me, I am going. What will you 
 do if Diana gets delirious ? I think she's out of her head 
 now.' 
 
 ' I'll attend to her,' said Basil composedly. 
 
 Half suspecting a double meaning in his words, Mrs. Star- 
 ling took short leave, and drove off. Not quite easy in her 
 mind, if the truth be told, and glad to be out of all patience 
 with the minister. Yes, if she had known how things would 
 turn if she had known, perhaps, she would not have 
 thrown that first letter into the fire ; which had drawn her on 
 to throw the second in, and the third. Could any son-in-law, 
 could Evan Knowlton at least, have been more untoward for 
 her wishes than the one she had got ? More unmanageable 
 he could not have been ; nor more likely to be spooney
 
 THINGS UNDONE. 321 
 
 about Diana. And now what if Diana really should have 
 a fever? People talk out in delirium. Well the min- 
 ister would keep his own counsel ; she did not care, she 
 said. But all the same, she did care ; and she would fain 
 have been the only one to receive Diana's revelations, if 
 she could have managed it. And by what devil's conjura- 
 tion had the truth come to be revealed, when only the fire 
 and she knew anything about it. Mrs. Starling chewed the 
 cud of no sweet fancy on her road home. 

 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 DIANA did become ill. A few days of such brain work 
 as she had endured that first twenty-four hours, were too 
 much even for her perfect organization. She fell into a low 
 fever which at times threatened to become violent, yet nev- 
 er did. She was delirious, often ; and Basil heard quite 
 enough of her unconscious revelations to put him in full 
 possession of the situation. In different portions, Diana 
 went over the whole ground. He knew sometimes that she 
 was walking with Evan, taking leave of him ; perhaps taking 
 counsel with him, and forming plans for life ; then wonder- 
 ing at his silence, speculating about ways and distances, 
 tracing his letters out of the post office into the wrong 
 hand. And when she was upon that strain, Diana would 
 break out into a cry of " O, mother, mother, mother ! " 
 repeating the word with an accent of such plaintive despair 
 that it tore the heart of the one who heard it. 
 
 There was only one. As long as this state of things 
 lasted, Basil gave himself up to the single task of watching 
 and nursing his wife. And amid the many varieties of 
 heart-suffering which people know in this world, that which 
 he tasted these weeks was one of refined bitterness. He 
 came to know just how things were and just how they had 
 been all along. He knew what Diana's patient or reticent 
 calm covered. He heard sometimes her fond meanings
 
 BONDS. 323 
 
 over another name ; sometimes her passionate outcries t 
 the owner of that name to come and deliver her; some- 
 times, she revealed that too, even the repulsion with which 
 she regarded himself. ' Oh, not this man ! ' she said one 
 night, when he had been sitting by her and hoping that she 
 was more quiet. ' Oh, not this man ! It was a mistake. It 
 was all a mistake. People ought to take better care at 
 the post office. Tell Evan I didn't know ; but I'll come to 
 him now just as soon as I can.' 
 
 Another time she burst out more violently. ' Don't kiss 
 me ! ' she exclaimed. ' Don't touch me. I wont bear it. Never 
 again. I belong to somebody else, don't you know ? You 
 have no business to be here.' Basil was not near her, in- 
 deed she would not have recognized him if he had been ; 
 he was sitting by the fire at a distance ; but he knew 
 whom she was addressing in her mournful ravings ; and 
 his heart and courage almost gave way. It was very 
 bitter ; and many an hour of those nights the minister 
 spent on his knees at the bed's foot, seeking for strength 
 and wisdom, seeking to keep his heart from being 
 quite broken, striving to know what to do. Should he do 
 as she said, and never kiss her again ? Should he behave 
 to her in the future as a mere stranger ? What was best 
 for him and for her ? Basil would have done that unflinch- 
 ingly, though it had led him to the stake, if he could know 
 what the best was. But he did not quite give up all hope, 
 desperate as the case looked ; his own strong cheerful na- 
 ture and his faith in God kept him up. And he resolutely 
 concluded that it would not be the best way nor the hope- 
 fulest, for him and Diana, bound to each other as they 
 were, to try to live as strangers. The bond could not be 
 broken ; it had better be acknowledged by them both. But 
 if Basil could have broken it and set her free, he would
 
 324 DIANA. 
 
 have done it at any cost to himself. So, week after week, 
 he kept his post as nurse at Diana's side. He was a capi- 
 tal nurse. Untireable as a man, and tender as a woman ; 
 quick as a woman too to read signs and answer unspoken 
 wishes ; thoughtful as many women are not ; patient with 
 an unending patience. Diana was herself at times and re- 
 cognized all this. And by degrees, as the slow days wore 
 away, her disorder wore away too or wore itself out, and she 
 came back to her normal condition in all except strength. 
 That was very failing, even after the fever was gone. And 
 still Basil kept his post. He began now, it is true, to attend 
 to some pressing outside duties, for which in the weeks just 
 past he had provided a substitute ; but morning, noon and 
 night he was at Diana's side. No hand but his own might 
 ever carry to her the meals which his own hand had no in- 
 considerable share in preparing. He knew how to serve an 
 invalid's breakfast with a refinement of care which Diana her- 
 self, before that would not have known how to give another ; 
 though she appreciated it and took her lesson. Then no- 
 body could so nicely and deftly prop up pillows and cush- 
 ions so as to make her rest comfortably for the taking of 
 the meal ; no one had such skilful strength to enable a 
 weak person to change his position. For all other things, 
 Diana saw no difference in him ; nothing told her that she 
 had betrayed herself, and she betrayed herself no more. 
 Dull and listless she might be ; that was natural enough in 
 her weak state of convalescence ; and Diana had never been 
 demonstrative towards her husband ; it was no new thing 
 that she was not demonstrative now. Neither did he be- 
 tray that he knew all she was trying, poor child, to hide 
 from him. He was just as usual. Only, in Diana's pres- 
 ent helpless condition he had opportunity to shew tender- 
 ness and care in a thousand services which in her well
 
 BONDS. 325 
 
 days she would have dispensed with. And he did it, as I 
 said, with the strength of a man and the delicacy of a wo- 
 man. He let nobody else do anything for her. 
 
 Did he guess how gladly she would have escaped from 
 all his ministrations ? did he knew what they were to Diana ? 
 Probably not ; for with all his fineness of perception he 
 was yet a man ; and I suppose, reverse the conditions, there 
 never was a man yet who would object to have one woman 
 wait upon him, because he loved another. Yet Basil did 
 know partly and partly guess ; and he went patiently on in 
 the way he had marked out for himself, upheld by principle 
 and by a great tenacity of purpose which was part of his 
 character. Nevertheless those were days of pain, great 
 and terrible even for him ; what they were to Diana he 
 could but partially divine. As health slowly came back, 
 and she looked at herself and her life again with eyes un- 
 veiled by disease, with the pitiless clearness of sound rea- 
 son, Diana wished she could die. She knew she could not ; 
 she could come no nearer to it than a passing thought ; her 
 pulses were retaking their sweet regularity ; her nerves 
 were strung again, fine and true ; only muscular strength 
 seemed to tarry. Lying there on her bed and looking out 
 over the snow-covered fields, for it was mid-winter by this 
 time, Diana sometimes felt a terrible impulse to fly to Evan ; 
 as if she could wait only till she had the power to move 
 The feeling was wild, impetuous ; it came like a hurricane 
 wind, sweeping everything before it. And then Diana would 
 feel her chains, and writhe, knowing that she could not and 
 would not break them. But how ever was life to be en- 
 dured ? life with this other man ? And how dreadful it was 
 that he was so good, and so good to her. Yes, it would be 
 easier if he did not care for her so well, far easier ; easier 
 even if he were not himself so good. The power of his
 
 326 DIANA. 
 
 goodness fettered Diana ; it was a spell upon her. Yes, 
 and she wanted to be good too ; she would not forfeit 
 heaven because she had lost earth, no, and not to gain 
 earth back again. But how was she to live ? And what 
 if she should be unable always to hide her feeling, and Basil 
 should come to know it ; how would he live ? What if she 
 had said strange things in her days and nights of illness ? 
 They were all like a confused misty landscape to her noth- 
 ing taking shape ; she could not tell how it might have 
 been. Restless and weary she was going over all these and 
 a thousand other things one day, as she did every day, when 
 Basil came in. He brought a tray in his hand. He set it 
 down, and came to the bedside. 
 
 ' Is it supper-time already ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Are you hungry ? ' 
 
 ' I ought not to be hungry. I don't think I am. 
 
 ' Why ought you not to be hungry ? ' 
 
 'I am doing nothing, lying here.' 
 
 ' I find that is what the people say who are doing too 
 much. Extremes meet, as usual.' 
 
 He lifted Diana up and piled pillows and cushions 
 at her back till she was well supported. Nobody could do 
 this so well as Basil. Then he brought the tray and ar- 
 ranged it before her. There was a bit of cold partridge, 
 and toast ; and Basil filled Diana's cup from a little teapot 
 he had set by the fire. The last degree of nicety was 
 observable in all these preparations. Diana eat her sup- 
 per. She must live, and she must eat, and she could not 
 help being hungry ; though she wondered at herself that 
 she could be so unnatural. 
 
 ' Where could you get this bird ' she asked at length, to 
 break the silence which grew painful. 
 
 ' I caught it.'
 
 BONDS. 327 
 
 ' Caught it ? You I Shot it, do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' No. I had not time to go after it with a gun. But 1 
 set snares.' 
 
 ' I never knew partridges were so good/ said Diana, 
 though something in her tone said, unconsciously to her, 
 that she cared not what was good or bad. 
 
 ' You did not use your advantages. That often hap- 
 pens.' 
 
 ' I had not the advantage of being able to get par- 
 tridges,' said Diana languidly. 
 
 ' The woods are full of them.' 
 
 ' Don't you think it is a pity to catch them ? ' 
 
 ' For you ? ' said Basil. He was removing her empty 
 plate, and putting before her another with an orange upon 
 it, so accurately prepared that it stirred her admiration. 
 
 ' Oranges ! ' cried Diana. ' How did you learn to do 
 everything, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Don't be too curious,' said he. As he spoke, he softly 
 put back of her ear a stray lock of the beautiful brown 
 hair, which fell behind her like a cloud of wavy brightness. 
 Even from that touch she inwardly shrank ; outwardly she 
 was impassive enough. 
 
 'Basil, 'said Diana suddenly, ' didn't I talk foolishly 
 sometimes ? when I was sick I mean.' 
 
 ' Don't you ever do it when you are well ? ' 
 
 <DoI?' 
 
 ' What do you think ? ' said he laughing, albeit his 
 heart was not merry at the moment, but Diana's question 
 was naive. 
 
 ' i did not think I was in the habit of talking foolishly.' 
 
 ' Your thoughts are true and just, as usual. It is so 
 far from being in your habit, that it is hardly in your 
 power,' he said tenderly. '
 
 328 DIANA. 
 
 Diana eat her orange, for she was very fond of the 
 fruit, and it gave occupation to hands and eyes while Basil 
 was standing by. She did not like his evasion of her 
 question, and pondered how she could bring it up again, 
 between wish and fear. Before she was ready to speak 
 the chance was gone. As Basil took away her plate he 
 remarked that he had to go down to see old Mrs. Barstow ; 
 and arranging her pillows anew, he stooped down and 
 kissed her. 
 
 Left alone, Diana sat still propped up in bed and 
 stared into the fire, which grew brighter as the light with- 
 out waned. How she rebelled against that kiss. ' No, he 
 has no right to me ! ' she cried in her passionate thoughts ; 
 ' he has no right to me ! I am Evan's ; every bit of me is 
 Evan's, and nobody's else. O how eame I to marry this 
 man ! and what shall I do ? I wonder if I shall go mad ? 
 for I am riot going to die. But how is it possible that I 
 can live so ? ' 
 
 She was slow in regaining strength. Yet little by little 
 it came back, like a monarch entering a country that has 
 rebelled against him. By and by she was able to sit up. 
 Her husband had a luxurious easy chair sent from Boston 
 for her and placed in her room ; and one evening, it was 
 in February now, Diana got up and put herself in it. She 
 had never known such a luxurious piece of furniture in her 
 life ; she was dressed in a warm wrapper also provided by 
 her husband and which seemed to her of extravagant 
 daintiness ; and she sank into the depths of the one and 
 the folds of the other with a helpless feeling of Basil's 
 power over her, symbolized and emphasized by these 
 things. Presently came Basil himself, again bringing her 
 supper. He placed a small table by her side and set the 
 tray there ; put the teapot down by the fire j and taking a
 
 BONDS. 329 
 
 view of his wife, gave a slight smile at the picture. He 
 might well, having so good a conscience as this man had. 
 Diana was one of those magnificent women who look well 
 always and anywhere ; with a kitchen apron on and hands 
 in flour, or in the disabille of careless undress ; but as her 
 husband saw her then she was lovely in an exquisite degree. 
 She was wrapped in a quilted dressing gown of soft grey 
 stuff, with a warm shawl about her shoulders ; her beauti- 
 ful abundant hair, which she had been too weak of hand 
 and of heart too to dress elaborately, lay piled about her 
 head in loose bright wavy masses, much more picturesque 
 than Diana would have known how to make them by 
 design. I think there is apt too to be about such women a 
 natural grace of motion or of repose ; it was her case. To 
 think of herself or the appearance she might at any time 
 be making, was foreign to Diana ; the noble grace of un- 
 consciousness, united to her perfectness of build, made 
 her always faultless in action or attitude. If she moved or 
 if she sat, it might have been a duchess, for the beautiful 
 unconscious ease with which she did it. Nature's high 
 breeding; there is such a thing; and there is such an 
 effect of it, when the constitution of mind and body are 
 alike noble. 
 
 Basil poured out her cup of tea, and divided her quail j 
 and then sat down. It was hard for her to bear. 
 
 ' You are too good to me,' said Diana humbly. 
 
 ' I should like to see you prove that.' 
 
 ' I am not sure but you are too good to everybody.' 
 
 ' Why ? how can one be too good ? ' 
 
 1 You won't get paid for it.' 
 
 ' I think I shall,' said Basil ; in a quiet confident way 
 he had, which was provoking if you were arguing with him. 
 But Diana was not arguing with him.
 
 330 DIANA. 
 
 ' Basil, /can never pay you,' she said with a voice that 
 faltered a little. 
 
 ' You are sure of that in your own mind ? ' 
 
 ' Very sure ! ' 
 
 * I am a man of a hopeful turn of nature. Shall I 
 divide that joint for you ? ' 
 
 ' My hands cannot manage a quail ! ' said Diana yielding 
 her knife and fork to him. 'What can make me so weak?' 
 
 ' You have had fever.' 
 
 ' But I have no fever now, and I do not seem to get 
 my strength back.' 
 
 ' After the unnatural tension, Nature takes her re- 
 venge.' 
 
 ' It is very hard on you ! ' 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 Diana did not answer. She had spoken that last word 
 with almost a break in her voice ; she gave her attention 
 now diligently to picking the quail bones. But when her 
 supper was done, and the tray delivered over to Miss Col- 
 lins, Basil did not as sometimes he did, go away and leave 
 her ; but sat down again and trimmed the fire. Diana lay 
 back in her chai^looking at him. 
 
 ' Basil,' she said at last after a long silence, ' do you 
 think mistakes, I mean, life-mistakes, can ever be mended 
 in this world ? ' 
 
 ' You must define what you mean by mistakes,' he said 
 without looking at her. ' There are no mistakes, love, but 
 those which we make by our own fault.' 
 
 ' O but yes there are, Basil ! ' 
 
 ' Not what /mean by mistakes.' 
 
 ' Then what do you call them ? When people's lives 
 are all spoiled bv something they have- had nothing to do 
 with by death, or sickness, or accident, or misfortune.'
 
 BONDS. 331 
 
 ' I call it,' said Basil slowly and still without looking at 
 her, ' I call it, when it touches me or you, or other of the 
 Lord's children, God's good hand.' 
 
 ' O no, Basil ! people's wickedness cannot be his hand.' 
 
 ' People's wickedness is their own. And other evil I 
 believe is wrought by the prince of this world. But God 
 will use people's wickedness and even Satan's mischief, to 
 his children's best good ; and so it becomes, in so far, his 
 blessed hand. Don't you know he has promised, " There 
 shall no evil happen to the just ? " And that " all things 
 shall work together for good to them that love God ? " 
 His promise does not fail, my child.' 
 
 ' But Basil, loads of things do happen to them which 
 cannot work for their good.' 
 
 ' Then what becomes of the Lord's promise ? ' 
 
 ' He cannot have made it, I think.' 
 
 ' He has made it, and you and I believe it.' 
 
 ' But Basil, it is impossible. I do not see how some 
 things can ever turn to people's good.' 
 
 ' If any of the Lord's children were in doubt upon that 
 point, I should recommend him to ask the Lord to enlighten 
 him. For the heavens may fall, Diana, but "the word of 
 our God shall stand forever." ' 
 
 Diana felt her lips quivering and drew back into the 
 shadow to hide them. 
 
 ' But there can be no kindness in some of these things 
 that I am thinking about,' she said as soon as she could 
 control her voice ; and it sounded harsh even then. 
 
 'There is nothing but kindness. When I would not 
 give you strong coffee a while ago, in your fever, do you 
 think I was influenced by cruel motives ? ' 
 
 ' I could never believe anything but good of you, 
 Basil.'
 
 332 DIANA. 
 
 ' Thank you. Do you mean, that of Christ you 
 could V 
 
 No ' said Diana hesitating ; ' but I thought, perhaps, 
 he might not care.' 
 
 ' He had need to be long-suffering ! ' said Basil ; ' for 
 we do try his patience, the best of us. " He has borne our 
 griefs and carried our sorrows," Diana ; down into humili- 
 ation and death ; that he might so earn the right to lift 
 them off our shoulders and hearts ; and one of his children 
 doubts if he cares ! ' 
 
 'But he does not lift them off, Basil,' said Diana; and 
 her voice trembled with the unshed tears. 
 
 ' He will ' said her husband. 
 
 ' When ? ' 
 
 ' As soon as we let him.' 
 
 'What must I do, to let him? ' 
 
 * Trust him wholly. And follow him like a child.' 
 
 The tears came, Diana could not hinder them ; she laid 
 her face against the side of her chair where Basil could not 
 see it,
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 EVAN'S SISTER. 
 
 SLOWLY from this time Diana regained strength and by 
 degrees took again her former place in the household. To 
 Miss Collins' vision she was " the same as ever." Basil 
 felt she was not. 
 
 Yet Diana did every duty of her station with all the 
 care and diligence she had ever given to it. She neglected 
 nothing. Basil's wardrobe was kept in perfect order ; his 
 linen was exquisitely got up ; his meals were looked after 
 and served with all the nice attention that was possible. 
 Diana did not in the least lose her head, or sit brooding 
 when there was something to do. She did not sit brooding 
 at any time, unless at rare intervals. Yet her husband's 
 heart was very heavy with the weight which rested on hers, 
 and truly with his own share as well. There was a line in 
 the corners of Diana's sweet mouth which told him, nobody 
 else, that she was turning to stone ; and the light of her 
 eye was as it were turned inward upon itself. Without 
 stopping to brood over things, which she did not, her mind 
 was constantly abiding in a different sphere away from 
 him, dwelling afar off, or apart in a region by itself ; he 
 had her physical presence but not her spiritual ; and who 
 cares for a body without a soul ? All this time there was 
 no confidence between them. Basil knew indeed the 
 whole facts of the case, but Diana did not know he knew. 
 
 333
 
 334 DIANA. 
 
 He wished she would speak, but believed now she never 
 would ; and he could not ask her. Truly he had his own 
 part to bear ; and withal his sorrow and yearning tender- 
 ness for her. Sometimes his heart was nigh to break. But 
 Diana's heart was broken. 
 
 Was it comfort, or was it not comfort, when near the 
 end of spring a little daughter was born to them ? Diana 
 in any circumstances was too true a woman not to enter 
 upon a mother's riches and responsibilities with a full 
 heart, not to enter thoroughly into a mother's joy and 
 dignity ; it was a beautiful something that had come into 
 her life, so far as itself was concerned ; and no young 
 mother's hands ever touched more tenderly the little pink 
 bundle committed to them, nor ever any mother's eyes 
 hung more intently over her wonderful new possession. 
 But lift the burden from Diana's heart her baby did not. 
 There was something awful about it too, for it was another 
 bond that bound her to a man she did not love. When 
 Diana was strong enough, she sometimes shed floods of 
 tears over the little unconscious face, the only human con- 
 fident she dared trust with her secret. Before this time 
 her tears had been few ; something in the baby took the 
 hardness from her, or else gave one of those inexplicable 
 touches to the spring of tears which we can neither resist 
 nor account for. But the baby's father was as fond of her 
 as her mother, and had a right to be, Diana knew ; and that 
 tried her. She grudged Basil the right. On the whole, I 
 think however the baby did Diana good As for Basil, it 
 did him good. He thanked God and took courage. 
 
 The summer had begun when Diana was able to come 
 down stairs again. One afternoon she was there, in her 
 little parlour, come down for a change. The windows were 
 open, and she sat thinking of many things. Her easy
 
 EVAN S SISTER. 335 
 
 chair had been moved down to this room ; and Diana, in 
 white, as Basil liked to see her, was lying back in it, close 
 beside the window. June was on the hills and in the air, 
 and in the garden ; for a bunch of red roses stood in a 
 glass on the table, and one was fastened at Diana's belt 
 and another stuck in her beautiful hair. Not by her own 
 hands, truly ; Basil had brought in the roses a little while 
 ago and held them to her nose, and then put one in her 
 hair and one in her belt. Diana suffered it, all careless 
 and unknowing of the exquisite effect, which her husband 
 smiled at and then went off ; for his work called him. 
 She had heard his horse's hoof beats, going away at a 
 gallop ; and the sound carried her thoughts back, away, as 
 a little thing will, to a time when Mr. Masters used to 
 come to her old home to visit her mother and her, and 
 then ride off so. Yes, and in those clays another came 
 too ; and June days were sweet then as now ; and roses 
 bloomed ; and the robins were whistling then also, she re- 
 membered ; did their fates and life courses never change ? 
 was it all June to them, every year? How the robins 
 whistled their answer " all June to them, every year ! " 
 And the smell of roses did not change, nor the colour of 
 the light ; and the fresh green of the young foliage was 
 deep and bright and glittering to-day as ever it was. Just 
 the same ! and a human life could have all sweet scents 
 and bright tints and glad sounds fall out of it, and not to 
 come back! There is nothing but duty left, thought 
 Diana ; and duty with all the sap gone out of it. Duty 
 was left a dry tree ; and more, a tree so full of thorns that 
 she could not touch it without being stung and pierced. 
 Yet even so ; to this stake of duty she was bound. 
 
 Diana sat cheerlessly gazing out into the June sunlight, 
 which laughed at her with no power to gain a smile in re-
 
 336 DIANA. 
 
 turn ; when a step came along the narrow entry, and the 
 doorway was filled with Mrs. Starling's presence. Mother 
 and daughter looked at each other in a peculiar way they 
 had now ; Diana's face cold, Mrs. Starling's face hard. 
 
 ' Well ! ' said the latter, ' how are you getting along ? ' 
 
 ' You see, I am down stairs.' 
 
 ' I see you're doing nothing.' 
 
 ' Mr. Masters wont let me.' 
 
 ' Humph ! When / had a baby four weeks old, I had 
 my own way. And so would you, if you wanted to have 
 it.' 
 
 ' My husband will not let me have it.' 
 
 ' That's fool's nonsense, Diana. If you are the girl I take 
 you for, you can do whatever you like with your husband. 
 No man that ever lived would make me sit with my hands 
 before me. Who's got the baby ? ' 
 
 ' Jemima.' 
 
 ' How's Jemima to do her work and your work too ? 
 She can't do it.' 
 
 ' No, but Mr. Masters is going to get another person to 
 help take care of baby.' 
 
 ' A nurse ! ' cried Mrs. Starling aghast. 
 
 ' No, not exactly ; but somebody to help me.' 
 
 ' Are you turned weak and sickly, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' No, mother.' 
 
 ' Then you don't want another girl, any more than a frog 
 wants an umbrella. Put your baby in the crib and teach 
 her to lie there, when you are busy. That's the way you 
 were brought up.' 
 
 ' You must talk to Mr. Masters, mother.' 
 
 ' I don't want to talk to Mr. Masters I've got something 
 else to do. But you can talk to him, Diana, and he'll do 
 what you say.'
 
 EVAN'S SISTER. 337 
 
 ' It's the other way, mother. I must do what he says.' 
 Diana's tone was peculiar. 
 
 ' Then you're turned soft.' 
 
 ' I think I am turned hard.' 
 
 ' Your husband is easy to manage for you.' 
 
 'Is he ? ' said Diana. ' I am glad it isn't true. I de- 
 spise men that are easy to manage. I am glad I can re- 
 spect him, at any rate.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter with an odd ex- 
 pression. It was curious and uncertain ; but she asked no 
 question. She seemed to change the subject ; though per- 
 haps, the connection was close. 
 
 ' Did you hear the family are coming to Elmfield again 
 this summer ? ' 
 
 Diana's lips formed the word ' no ; ' the breath of it 
 hardly got out. 
 
 'Yes, they're coming, sure enough. Phemie will be 
 here next week ; and her sister, what's her name ? Mrs. 
 Reverdy is here now.' 
 
 Silence. 
 
 ' I suppose they'll fill the house with company, as they 
 did last time, and cut up their shines as usual. Well ! they 
 don't come in my way. But you'll have to see 'em, I 
 guess.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' You know they make a great to do about your hus- 
 band in that family. And Genevieve Reverdy seems un- 
 commonly fond of you. She asked me no end of questions 
 about you on Sabbath.' 
 
 There flushed a hot colour into Diana's cheeks, which 
 faded away and left them very pale. 
 
 1 She hasn't grown old a bit,' Mrs. Starling went on, 
 talking rather uneasily ; ' nor she hain't grown wise, nei-
 
 338 DIANA. 
 
 ther. She can't ask you how you do without a giggle. 
 And she had dressed herself to come to church, as if the 
 church was a fair and she was something for sale. Flow- 
 ers, and feathers, and laces, and ribbons, a little there, and 
 a little here ; bows on her gloves, and bows on her shoes, 
 and bows on her gown. I believed she would have tucked 
 some into the corners of her mouth, if they would have 
 staid.' 
 
 Diana made no reply. She was looking out into the 
 sunlit hillside in view from her window, and had grown 
 visibly whiter since her mother came in. Mrs. Starling re- 
 viewed her for that instant with a keen, anxious, search- 
 ing gaze, which changed before Diana turned her head. 
 
 ' I can't make out, for my part, what such folks are in 
 the world for,' she went on. ' They don't do no good, to 
 themselves nor to nobody else. And fools mostly contrive 
 to do harm. Well she's coming to see you j she'll be 
 along one of these days.' 
 
 ' To see me ! ' Diana echoed. 
 
 ' So she says. Maybe it's all flummery. I dare say it 
 is ; but she talked a lot of it. You'd ha' thought there 
 warn't any one else in the world she cared about seeing.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling went up stairs at this point to see the 
 baby, and Diana sat looking out of the window with her 
 thoughts in a wild confusion of pain. Pain and fright, I 
 might say. And yet her senses took the most delicate no- 
 tice of all there was in the world outside to attract them. 
 Could it be June, once so fair and laughing, that smote 
 her now with such blows of memory's hammer ? or was it 
 Memory using June ? She saw the bright glisten of the 
 leaves upon the hillside, the rich growth of the grass, the 
 fair beams of the summer sun ; she noticed minutely the 
 stage of development which the chestnut blossoms had
 
 EVANS SISTER. 339 
 
 reached ; one or two dandelion heads ; a robin red. 
 breast that was making himself exceedingly at home on 
 the little spread of greensward behind the house. I don't 
 know if Diana's senses were trying to cheat her heart ; but 
 from one item to another her eye went and her mind fol- 
 lowed, in a maze of pain that was not cheated at all, till 
 she heard her mother's steps forsake the house. Then Di- 
 ana's head sank. And then, even at the moment, as if the 
 robin's whistle had brought them, the words came to her 
 " Call upon me in the day of trouble ; I will deliver thee, 
 and thou shalt glorify me." An absolute promise of the 
 Lord to his people. Could it be true, when trouble was be- 
 yond deliverance ? And then came Basil's faith to her help j 
 she knew how he believed every word, no matter how dif- 
 ficult or impossible ; and Diana fell on her knees and hid 
 her face, and fled to the one only last refuge of earth's de- 
 spairing children. How even God could deliver her, Di- 
 ana did not see, for the ground seemed giving away beneath 
 her feet ; but it is the man who cannot swim, who clutches the 
 rope for life and death ; and it is when we are hopeless of 
 our own strength that we throw ourselves utterly upon the 
 one hand that is strong. Diana was conscious of little else 
 but of doing that ; to form a connected prayer was beyond 
 her ; she rather held up the promise, as it were with both 
 hands, and pleaded it mutely and with the intensity of one 
 hovering between life and death. The house was still, she 
 feared no disturbance ; and she remained motionless, with- 
 out change of posture either of mind or body, for some 
 length of time. Gradually the " I will deliver thee," 
 " I will deliver thee " began to emphasize itself to her 
 consciousness, like a whisper in the storm, and Diana burst 
 into a terrible flood of tears. That touch of divine sym- 
 pathy broke her heart. She sobbed for minutes, only keep-
 
 34O DIANA. 
 
 ing her sobs too noiseless to reach and alarm Miss Collins' 
 ears ; till her agony was softened and changed at last into 
 something more like a child's exhausted and humble tears, 
 while her breast rose and fell, so pitifully. With that came 
 also a vague floating thought or two. ' My duty I'll do 
 my duty I'll do my duty.' 
 
 It was over, and she had risen and was resting in her 
 chair, feeling weaker and yet much stronger than before ; 
 waiting till she could dare shew her face to Miss Collins ; 
 when a little low tap was heard at the front door. Com- 
 pany ? But Diana had noticed no step and heard no 
 wheels. However, there was no escape for her, if it were 
 company. She waited, and the tap was repeated. I don't 
 know what about it this second time sent a thrill all down 
 Diana's nerves. The doors were open, and seeing that 
 Miss Collins did not stir, Diana uttered a soft " Come ! " 
 She was hardly surprised at what followed ; she seemed to 
 know by instinct what it would be. 
 
 ' Where shall I come ? ' asked a voice, and a pair of brisk 
 high heeled shoes tripped into the house, and a little trilling 
 laugh, equally light and meaningless, followed the words. 
 ' Where shall I come ? It's jm enchanted castle I see 
 nobody.' 
 
 But the next instant she could not say that, for Diana 
 shewed herself at the door of her room, and Mrs. Reverdy 
 hastened forward. Diana was calm now, with a possession 
 of herself which she marvelled at even then. Bringing her 
 visiter into the little parlour, she placed herself again in 
 her chair with her face turned from the light. 
 
 ' And here I find you ! O you beautiful creature ! ' 
 Mrs. Reverdy burst out. ' I declare, I don't wonder at 
 anything ! ' and she laughed. The laugh grated terribly on 
 Diana. ' I wonder if you know what a beauty you are ? ;
 
 EVAN S SISTER. 341 
 
 she went on ' I declare ! I didn't know you were half so 
 handsome. Have you changed, since three years ago ? ' 
 
 ; I think I must,' Diana said quietly. 
 
 ' But where have you been ? Living here in Pleasant 
 Valley ? ' was the next not very polite question. 
 
 ' People do live in Pleasant Valley. Did you think 
 not ? ' Diana answered. 
 
 ' O yes. No. Not what we call life, you know. And 
 you were always handsome ; but three years ago you were 
 just Diana Starling, and now you might be anybody! ' 
 
 ' I am Mr. Masters' wife,' said Diana, setting her teeth 
 as it were upon the words. 
 
 ' Yes, I heard. How happened it ? Do you know, I 
 am afraid you have done a great deal of mischief ? O you 
 handsome women ! you have a great deal to account for, 
 Did you never think you had another admirer ? in those 
 days long ago, you know ? ' 
 
 'What if I had?' Diana said almost fiercely. 
 
 ' Oh, of course,' said Mrs. Reverdy with her laugh 
 again, ' of course it is nothing to you now ; girls are hard- 
 hearted towards their old lovers, I know that. But weren't 
 you a little tender towards him once ? He hasn't forgotten 
 his part, I can tell you. You mustn't be too hard-hearted, 
 Diana.' 
 
 If the woman could have spoken without laughing ! 
 That little meaningless trill at the end of everything made 
 Diana nearly wild. She could find no answer to the last 
 speech and so remained silent. 
 
 ' Now I have seen you again, I declare I don't wonder 
 at anything. I was inclined to quarrel with him, you 
 know, thinking it was just a boyish foolish fancy that he 
 ought to get over; I was a little out of patience with him ; 
 but now I see you, I take it all back. I declare, you're a
 
 342 DIANA. 
 
 woman the men might rave about. You mustn't mind if 
 they do.' 
 
 ' There is another question whether my husband will 
 mind.' She said the words with a hard relentless force 
 upon herself. 
 
 ' Is he jealous ? ' laughing. 
 
 ' He has no reason.' 
 
 ' Reason ! O people are jealous without reason ; they 
 don't wait for that. Better without than with. How is 
 Mr. Masters ? is he one of that kind ? And how came he 
 to marry you ? ' 
 
 ' You ought not to wonder at it, with the opinion you 
 have expressed of me.' 
 
 ' O no, I don't wonder at all ! But somebody else 
 wanted to marry you too ; and somebody else thought he 
 had the best right. I am afraid you flirted with him. Or 
 was it with Mr. Masters you flirted ? I didn't think you 
 were a girl to flirt ; but I see ! You would keep just 
 quietly still, and they would flutter round you, like moths 
 round a candle, and it would be their own fault if they 
 both got burned. Has Mr. Masters got burned ? My 
 poor moth has singed his wings badljt, I can tell you. I 
 am very sorry for him.' 
 
 ' So am I,' Diana said gravely. 
 
 ' Are you ? Are you really ? Are you sorry for him ? 
 May I tell him you are sorry ? ' 
 
 ' You have not said whom you are talking about,' 
 Diana answered with a coldness which she wondered at 
 when she said it. 
 
 ' O but you know ! There is only one person I could 
 be talking about. There is only one I could care enough 
 about to be talking for him. You cannot help but know. 
 May I tell him you say you are sorry for him ? It would 
 be a sort of comfort, and he wants it.'
 
 EVAN S SISTER. 343 
 
 ' You must ask Mr. Masters.' 
 
 What ? ' 
 
 ' That.' 
 
 ' Whether I may tell Evan you are sorry for him ? ' 
 
 ' Whether you may tell that to anybody.' 
 
 ' I don't want to tell it to but one,' said Mrs. Reverdy 
 laughing. ' What has Mr. Masters to do with it ? ' 
 
 ' He is my husband.' And calmly as Diana said it, 
 she felt as if she would like to shriek out the words to the 
 birds on the hillside to the angels, if there were angels 
 in the air. Yet she said it calmly. 
 
 ' But do you ask your husband about everything you 
 do. or say ? ' 
 
 ' If I think he would not like it.' 
 
 'But that is giving him a great deal of power, too 
 much. Husband's are fallible, as well as wives,' said Mrs. 
 Reverdy laughing. 
 
 ' Mr. Masters is not fallible. At least, I never saw 
 him fail in anything. If he ever made a mistake, it was 
 when he married me.' 
 
 ' And you ? ' said Mrs. Reverdy. ' Didn't you make a 
 mistake too ? ' 
 
 ' In marrying somebody so much too good for me 
 yes,' Diana answered. 
 
 The little woman was a good deal baffled. 
 
 1 Then have you really no kind word for Evan ? must I 
 tell him so ? ' 
 
 Diana felt as if her brain would have reeled in another 
 minute. Before she could answer, came the sound of a 
 little wailing cry from the room up stairs, and she started 
 up. That movement was sudden, but the next were collected 
 and slow. ' You will excuse me,' she said, ' I hear baby,' 
 and she passed from the room like a princess. If her
 
 344 DIANA. 
 
 manner had been less discouraging, I think Mrs. Reverdy 
 would have still pursued her point and asked leave to fol- 
 low her and see the baby ; but Diana's slow languid dig- 
 nity and gracious composure imposed upon the little 
 woman, and she gave up the game ; at least for the present. 
 When Miss Collins, set free, hurried down, Mrs. Reverdy 
 was gone.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 HAD she no kind word for Evan ? Diana felt as if her 
 heart would snap some one of its cords and give over its 
 weary beating at once and forever. No kind word for 
 Evan ? her beloved, her betrayed, her life-treasure once, 
 towards whom still all the wealth of her heart longed to 
 pour itself out ; and she might not send him one kind 
 word ? And he did not know that she had been true to 
 him ; and yet he had remained true to her. Might he not 
 know so much as that, and that her heart was breaking as 
 well as his ? Only it would not break. All the pain of 
 death without its cessation of consciousness. Why not let 
 him have one word to know that she loved him still and 
 would always love him ? Truth truth and duty loyal 
 faith to her husband, the man whom in her mistake she 
 had married. O why could not such mistakes be undone ! 
 But they never could, never. It was a living death, that 
 she was condemned to die. 
 
 I cannot say that Diana really wavered at all in her truth 
 but this was an hour of storm never to be remembered without 
 shuddering. She had her baby in her arms, but the mother's 
 instincts were for the time swallowed up in the stormier 
 passions of the woman. She cared for it and ministered 
 to it, tenderly as ever, yet in a mechanical, automatic sort 
 of way, taking no comfort and finding no relief in her sweet
 
 346 DIANA. 
 
 duty. It was the roar of the storm and the howling of 
 temptation which overwhelmed every other voice in her heart. 
 Then there were practical questions to be met. Mrs. Rev- 
 erdy and her family at Elmfield, who could guaranty that 
 Evan would not get a furlough and come there too ? Mrs. 
 Reverdy's words seemed to have some ultimate design, 
 which they had not indeed declared ; they had the air of 
 somewhat different from mere aimless rattle or mischievous 
 gossip. Suppose Evan were to come ? What then ? 
 
 The baby went off to sleep, and was laid away in its 
 crib, and the mother stood alone at the window wrestling 
 with her pain. She felt helpless in the grasp of it as almost 
 never before. Danger was looming up and threatening dark 
 in the distance ; there might be a whirlwind coming out 
 of that storm quarter, and how was she going to stand in 
 the whirlwind? Beyond the wordless cry which meant 
 ' Lord help me ! ' Diana could hardly pray at all at this 
 moment ; and the feeling grew, that she must have human 
 help. 'Tell Basil ' a whisper said in her heart. She had 
 shunned that thought always, she had judged it no use ; now 
 she was driven to it. He must know the whole. Perhaps 
 then he could tell her what to do. 
 
 As soon as Diana's mind through all its tossings 
 and turnings had fixed upon this point, she went immedi- 
 ately from thought to action. It was twilight now, or almost. 
 Basil would not come home in time for a talk before sup- 
 per ; supper must be ready, so as to have no needless de- 
 lay. She could wait, now she knew what she would do ; 
 though there was a fire burning at heart and brain. She 
 went down stairs and ordered something got ready for sup- 
 per ; finished the arrangement of the tea-table, which her 
 husband liked to have very dainty; picked a rose for his 
 plate, though it seemed dreadful mockery ; and as soon as
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 347 
 
 she heard his step at the door, she made the tea. What an 
 atmosphere of sweet,calm brightness he brought in with him, 
 and always brought. It struck Diana now with the kind 
 of a shiver which a person in a fever feels at the touch of 
 fresh air. Yet she recognized the beauty of it, and it fortified 
 her in her resolve. She would be true to this man, though 
 she died for it ! There was nothing but truth in him. 
 
 She got through the meal time as she could ; swallowed 
 tea, and even eat bread, without knowing how it tasted, 
 and heard Basil talk without knowing what he said. As 
 soon as she could she went up stairs to the baby, and wait- 
 ed till her husband should come too. But when he came, 
 he came to her. and did not go to his study. 
 
 ' Basil I want to speak to you will you come into the 
 other room ? ' she said huskily. 
 
 ' Wont this room do to talk in ? ' 
 
 ' No. It is over the kitchen.' 
 
 ' Jemima knows I never quarrel ' said Basil lightly ; 
 however he led the way into the study. He set a chair for 
 Diana and took another himself, but she remained stand- 
 ing. 
 
 ' Basil is God good ? ' she said. 
 
 ' Yes. Inexpressibly good.' 
 
 ' Then why does he let such things happen ? ' 
 
 'Sit down, Di. You are not strong enough to talk 
 standing. Such things ? What things ? ' 
 
 ' Why does he let people be tempted above what they 
 can bear ? ' 
 
 ' He never does his children if that is what you 
 mean. He always provides a way of escape.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' 
 
 ' At Christ's feet.' 
 
 ' Basil, how can I get there ? ' she said with a sob.
 
 348 DIANA. 
 
 ' You are there my darling/ he said, putting her gently 
 into the easy chair she had disregarded. 'Those who 
 trust in him, his hand never lets go. They may seem to 
 themselves to lose their standing they may not feel the 
 ground under their feet but He knows ; and he will not 
 let them fall. If they hold fast to him, Diana.' 
 
 ' Basil, you don't know the whole.' 
 
 ' Do you want to tell me ? ' 
 
 Her voice was abrupt and hoarse ; his was calm and 
 cool as the fall of the dew. 
 
 ' I want to tell you if I can. But I shall hurt you.' 
 
 ' I am very willing, if it eases you. Go on.' 
 
 ' It wont ease me. But you. must know it. You ought 
 to know. O Basil, I made such a mistake when I married 
 you ! ' 
 
 She did not mean to say anything so bitter as that ; 
 she was where she could not measure her words. Perhaps 
 his face paled a little ; in the faint light she could not see 
 the change of colour. His voice did not change. 
 
 ' What new has brought that up ? ' 
 
 'Nothing new. Something old. O Basil his sister 
 has been here to-day to see me.' 
 
 ' Has she ?' His voice did change a little then. ' What 
 did she come for ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. And he will be here perhaps by and 
 by. O Basil, do you know who it is ? And what shall I 
 do?' 
 
 Diana had sprung up from her chair and dropped down 
 on the floor by her husband's side and hid her face in her 
 hands on his knee. His hand passed tenderly, sorrowfully, 
 over the beautiful hair which lay in disordered, bright, soft 
 masses over head and neck. For a moment he did not 
 speak.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 349 
 
 ' Basil do you know who it is ? ' 
 ' I know.' 
 
 'What shall I do?' 
 ' What do you want to do, Diana ? ' 
 ' Right ' she said gasping, without looking up. 
 ' I am sure of it ! ' he said tenderly. ' Well then the 
 only way is, to go on and do right, Diana.' 
 
 ' But how can I ? how shall I ? Suppose he comes ? 
 
 Basil, it was all a mistake ; he wrote, and mother kept 
 back the letters, and I never got them ; he sent them, and 
 
 1 never got them ; and I thought he was not true and it 
 did not matter what I did, and I honoured you above every- 
 thing, Basil and so and so I did what I did ' 
 
 'What cannot be undone.' 
 
 ' No ' she said shivering. 
 
 He passed his hands again over her soft hair, and bent 
 down and kissed it. 
 
 ' You honour yourself, too, Diana, as well as me.' 
 
 ' Yes ' she said under breath. 
 
 ' And you honour our God, who has let all this come 
 upon us both.' 
 
 ' But, O Basil ! how could he ? how could he ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' And yet you say he is good ? ' 
 
 ' And so you say too. The only good ; the utterly, per- 
 fectly good ; who loves his people, and keeps his promises, 
 and who has said that all things shall work together for the 
 good of those that love him.' 
 
 ' How can such a thing as this ? ' she said faintly. 
 
 ' Suppose you and I cannot see how ? Then faith comes 
 in and believes it without seeing. We shall see by and ly.' 
 
 ' But Basil suppose Evan comes ? ' 
 
 ' Well ? '
 
 350 DIANA. 
 
 ' Suppose he came here ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Diana ? ' 
 
 She was silent then, but she shook and trembled and 
 writhed. Her head was still where she had laid it ; her 
 face hidden. 
 
 ' You are going through as great a trial, my poor wife, 
 as almost ever falls to the lot of a mortal. But you will go 
 through it, and come out from it ; and then it will be found 
 to have been " unto praise and honour and glory " by 
 and by.' 
 
 ' O how can you tell ! ' 
 
 ' I trust in God. And I trust you.' 
 
 'But I think he will come here to Pleasant Valley, I 
 mean. And if he comes, here, to this house, I mean, ' 
 
 ' What then ? ' 
 
 ' What do you want me to do ? ' 
 
 ' About seeing him. ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'What you like best to do, Diana.' 
 
 ' Basil he does not know.' 
 
 ' What does he not know ? ' 
 
 ' About the letters or anything. He has never heard 
 never a word from me.' 
 
 ' There was an understanding between you before he 
 went away ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! ' 
 
 Both were silent again for a time ; silent and still. 
 Then Diana spoke timidly. 
 
 ' Do you think it would be wrong for him to know ? ' 
 
 Her husband delayed his answer a little ; truly if Diana 
 had something to suffer, so had he ; and I suppose there was 
 somewhat of a struggle in his own mind to be won through j 
 however, the answer when it came was a quiet negative.
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 351 
 
 ' May I write and tell him ? ' 
 
 He bent down and kissed her fingers as he replied ' I 
 will.' 
 
 ' O Basil,' said the woman at his feet, ' I have wished I 
 could die a thousand times ! and I am well and strong, 
 and I cannot die.' 
 
 ' No,' he said gravely ; ' we must not run away from our 
 work.' 
 
 ' Work ! ' said Diana, sitting back now and looking up at 
 him, ' what work ? ' 
 
 4 The work our Master has given us to do to glorify 
 him. To fight with evil and overcome it ; to endure temp- 
 tation, and baffle it ; to carry our banner of salvation through 
 the thick of the smoke and the fire, and never let it fall.' 
 
 ' I am so weak, I cannot fight.' 
 
 ' The fight of faith you can. The only sort of fighting 
 that can prevail. Faith lays hold of Christ's strength, and 
 so comes off more than conqueror. All you can do, is to 
 hold fast to him.' 
 
 ' O Basil ! why does he let such things happen ? why 
 does he let such things happen ? Here is my life broken 
 and yours ; both broken and ruined.' 
 
 ' No,' the minister answered quietly, ' not mine nor 
 yours. Broken, if you will, but not ruined. Neither yours 
 nor mine, Diana. With the love of Christ in our hearts, 
 that can never be. He will not let it be.' 
 
 ' It is all ruined,' said Diana ; ' it is all ruined. I am 
 full of evil thoughts, and no good left. I have wished to 
 die and I have wanted to run away I felt as if I must ' 
 
 ' But instead of dying or running away, you have stood 
 nobly and bravely to your post of suffering. Wait and 
 trust. The Lord means good to us yet.' 
 
 ' What possible good ? '
 
 352 DIANA. 
 
 ' Perhaps, that being stripped of all else, we may come 
 to know Him.' 
 
 ' Is it necessary, that people should be stripped of all, 
 before they can do that ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes.' 
 
 Diana stood still, and again there was silence in the 
 room. The soft June air, heavy with the breath of roses, 
 floated in at the open window, bringing one of those sharp 
 contrasts which make the heart sick with memory and long- 
 ing ; albeit the balsam of promise be there too. People miss 
 that. " Now men see not the bright light that is in the 
 clouds ; " and how should they ? when the darkness of night 
 seems to have fallen ; how can they even remember that be- 
 hind that screen of darkness there is a flood of glory ? 
 There came in sounds at the window too, from the garden 
 and the wood on the hillside , cherruping sounds of insects 
 mingled with the slight rustle of leaves and the trickle of 
 water from a little brook which made all the noise it could 
 over the stones in its way down the hill. The voices were 
 of tender peace ; the roses and the small life of nature all 
 really told of love and care which can as little fail for the 
 Lord's children as for the furniture of their dwelling place. 
 Yet that very unchangeableness of nature hurts, which 
 should comfort. Diana stood still, desolate, to her own 
 sense seeming a ruin already ; and her husband sat in his 
 place, also still, but he was calm. They were quiet long 
 enough to think of many things. 
 
 'You are very good, Basil ! ' Diana said at last. 
 
 It was one of those words which hurt unreasonably. 
 Not because they are not true words and heartily meant, 
 but because they are the poor substitute for those we would 
 like to hear, and give us an ugly scale to measure distances 
 and differences by. Basil made no sort of answer. Diana
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 353 
 
 stood still. In her confusion of thoughts she did not miss 
 the answer. Then she begain again. 
 
 ' Evan I mean, Basil ! ' and she started ' I wish we 
 could get away.' 
 
 ' From Pleasant Valley ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' My work is here.' 
 
 Is mine here too ? thought Diana as she slowly went 
 away into the other room. What is mine ? To die by this 
 fire that burns in me ; or to freeze stiff in the cold that 
 sometimes almost stops my heart's beating ? She came up 
 to the side of her baby's crib and stood there looking, dim- 
 ly conscious of an inner voice that said her work was not 
 death.
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SUNSHINE. 
 
 A FEW days later, the minister came home one evening 
 with a message for his wife. 
 
 ' Good old Mother Bartlett is going home, Diana, and 
 she wants to see you.' 
 
 ' Home ? Is she dying, do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' She does not mean it. To her, it is entering into life.' 
 
 ' But what's the matter ? ' 
 
 ' You know she had that bad cold. I think the treat- 
 ment was worse than the disease ; and under the effects of 
 both her strength seems to have given way. She is sinking 
 quietly.' 
 
 ' I will go down there in the morning.' 
 
 So the next day, early, Basil drove his wife down and 
 left her at the cottage. It was somehow to Diana's feeling 
 just such another day as had been that other wonderful 
 one when she had seen Evan first, and he harnessed Prince 
 and they came together over this very road. Perhaps soon 
 Evan would be riding there again, without her, as she was 
 going now without him. Never together again, ne /er to- 
 gether again ! and what was life to either of them apart ? 
 Diana went into the cottage walking as one in a dream. 
 
 The cottage was in nice order, as usual, though no wo- 
 man's hand had been about. Joe, rough as he was, could be 
 what his friends called " real handy ; " and he had put 
 
 354
 
 SUNSHINE. 355 
 
 everything in trim and taken all care for his mother's com- 
 fort before he went out. The minister had told him Diana 
 would be there ; so after he had done this he went to his 
 work. Mrs. Bartlett was lying on her bed in the inner 
 room. Diana kissed her, with a heart too full at the mo- 
 ment to speak. 
 
 ' Did the minister bring you ? ' the old lady asked. 
 
 ' Yes. Are you all alone ? ' 
 
 ' The Lord never leaves his children alone, dear. 
 They leave him sometimes. Wont you open the winders, 
 Diana. Joe forgot that, and I want to see the sun.' 
 
 , Diana rolled up the thick paper shades which hung 
 over the windows, and put up the sashes. Summer air 
 poured in, so full of warmth and brightness and sounds of 
 nature's activity, that it seemed to roll up a tide of life to 
 the very feet of the dying woman. She looked and drew a 
 deep breath or two. 
 
 ' That's good ! ' she said. ' The Lord made the sun- 
 shine. Now sit down, dear ; I want to see you. Sit down 
 there, where I can see you.' 
 
 ' Does Joe leave you here by yourself ? ' 
 
 ' He knew you was comin'. Joe's a good boy. But I 
 don't want him nor nobody hangin' round all the time, 
 Diana. There ain't nothin' to do ; only he forgot the 
 winders, and I want to look out and see all my riches.' 
 
 'Your riches, Mother Bartlett? ' And she was not go- 
 ing to live but a few days more. Diana wondered if her 
 senses were wandering. But the old lady smiled ; the wise, 
 sweet smile that Diana knew of old. 
 
 ' Whose be they, then ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' You mean, all this pretty summer day ? ' 
 
 ' Ain't it pretty ! And ain't the sunshine clear gold ? 
 And ain't the sky a kind of an elegant canopy ? And it's
 
 3$6 DIANA. 
 
 all mine, and all it covers, and He that made it too ; and 
 seein' what he makes, puts me in mind of how rich he is 
 and what more he kin do. How's the baby ? ' 
 
 For some little time the baby was talked of, in both 
 present and future relations. 
 
 ' And you're very happy, Diana ? ' the old woman asked. 
 * I hain't seen you now for quite a spell 'most all winter.' 
 
 ' I ought to be ' Diana answered, hesitating. 
 
 ' Some things folks does because they had ought to,' 
 remarked the old lady, 'but bein' happy ain't one of 'em. 
 The whole world had ought to be happy, if you put it so. 
 The Lord wants 'em to be.' 
 
 ' Not happy ' said Diana hastily. 
 
 ' Yes. 'Tain't his fault if they ain't.' 
 
 ' How can he want everybody to be happy, when he 
 makes them so unhappy ? ' 
 
 ' He ? the Lord ? He don't make nobody unhappy, 
 child. How did that git in your head ? ' 
 
 ' Well it comes to the same thing, Mother Bartlett. He 
 lets things happen.' 
 
 ' He hain't chained up Satan yet, if that's what you 
 mean. But Satan can't do no harm to the Lord's children. 
 He's tried, often enough, but the Lord wont let him.' 
 
 1 But Mother Bartlett, that's only a way of talking. I 
 don't know if it is Satan does it, but every sort of terrible 
 thing comes to them. How can you say it's not evil ? ' 
 
 1 'Cause the good Lord turns it to blessing, dear. Or 
 if he don't, it's 'cause they wont let him. O' course it is 
 Satan does it Satan and his ministers. " Every good gift 
 and every perfect gift cometh down from the Father of 
 lights, with whom is no variableness, neither shadow of 
 turning." How should he be kind to-day and unkind to- 
 morrow ? '
 
 SUNSHINE. 357 
 
 Diana could not trust her voice and was silent. The 
 old woman looked at her, and said in a changed tone pres- 
 ently, 
 
 * What's come to you, Diana Masters ? You had ought 
 to be the happiest woman there is livin'.' 
 
 Diana could not answer. 
 
 ' Ain't you, dear ? ' Mrs. Bartlett added tenderly. 
 
 ' I didn't mean to speak of myself,' Diana said, making 
 a tremendous effort to bring out her words unconcernedly ; 
 'but I get utterly puzzled sometimes, Mother Bartlett, 
 when I see such things happen such things as do happen, 
 and to good people too.' 
 
 'You ain't the fust one that's been puzzled that way,' 
 returned the old woman. ' Job was all out in his reckoning 
 once, and David was as stupid as a beast, he says. But 
 when chillen gets into the dark, they're apt to run agin 
 sun'thin' and hurt theirselves. Stay in the light, dear.' 
 
 ' How can one, always ? ' 
 
 1 O child, jes' believe the Lord's word. That'll keep 
 you near him ; and there is no darkness where he is.' 
 
 ' What is his word, that I must believe ? about this, I 
 mean.' 
 
 ' That he loves us, dear ; loves us tender and true ; 
 like you love your little baby, only a deal more ; and truer, 
 and tenderer. For a woman may forget her sucking child ; 
 but he never will forget. And all things he will make to 
 " work together for good to them that love him." ' 
 
 Diana shook and trembled with the effort to command 
 herself and not burst into a storm of weeping which would 
 have betrayed what she did not choose to betray. She sat 
 by the bedpost, clasping it, and with the same clasp as it 
 were holding herself. For a moment she had " forgotten 
 her sucking child," the words came home ; and it was
 
 358 DIANA. 
 
 only by that convulsive hold of herself that she could keep 
 from crying out. With her face turned away from the sick 
 woman, she waited till the convulsion had passed ; and then 
 said in measured, deliberate accents, 
 
 ' It is hard to see how some things can turn out for 
 good some things I have known.' 
 
 ' Well, you ain't infinite, be you ? ' said Mrs. Bartlett. 
 ' You can't see into the futur' ; and what's more, you can't 
 see into the present. You don't know what's goin' on in 
 your own heart not as he knows it. No more you ain't 
 almighty, to change things. If I was you, I would jest 
 trust him that is all-wise and knows everything, and al- 
 mighty and kin do what he likes.' 
 
 ' Then why don't he make people good ? ' 
 
 ' I said, he kin do what he likes. He don't like to do 
 people's own work for 'em. He doos make 'em good, as 
 soon as they're willin' and ask him. But the man sick with 
 the palsy had to rise and take up his bed and walk ; and 
 what's more, he had to believe fust he could do it. I know 
 the Lord gave the power, but the man had his part, you 
 see.' 
 
 ' Mother Bartlett,' said Diana rousing herself, ' you must 
 not talk so much.' 
 
 ' Don't do me no harm, Diana.' 
 
 ' But you have talked enough. Now let me give you 
 your broth.' 
 
 ' Then you must talk. I hain't so many opportunities 
 o' social converse that I kin afford to let one of 'em slip. 
 You must talk while I'm eatin'.' 
 
 But Diana seemed to have nothing to say. She watch- 
 ed the spoonfuls of broth in attentive silence. 
 
 ' What's new, Diana ? there allays is -sun'thin'.' 
 
 ' Nothing new. Only ' said Diana correcting herself,
 
 SUNSHINE. 359 
 
 ' the Knowltons are coming back to Elmfield. Mrs. Rev- 
 erdy is come.' 
 
 ' Be the hull o' them comin' ? ' 
 
 ' I believe so.' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. To enjoy the summer, I suppose.' ; 
 
 ' That's their sort,' said the old woman slowly. 'Jest to 
 get pleasure. I used for to see 'em flyin' past here in all 
 the colours o' the rSmbow last time they was in Pleasant 
 Valley.' 
 
 ' But God made the colours of the rainbow, ' said Diana. 
 
 ' So he did,' the old lady answered, laughing a little. 
 ' So he did ; and the colours of the flowers, which is the 
 same colours to be sure ; .but what then, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' I was thinking, Mother Bartlett it cannot displease 
 him that we should like them too.' 
 
 ' No, child, it don't ; nor it don't displease him to have 
 us wear 'em, nother, if we could only wear 'em as inner- 
 cently as the flowers doos. If you kin, Diana, you may be as 
 scarlet as a tulip or as bright as a marigold, for all I care.' 
 
 ' But people are not any better for putting on dark col- 
 ours,' said Diana. 
 
 ' They're some modester, though.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' They ain't expectin' that folks'll be lookin' at 'em.' 
 
 ' Mr. Masters likes me to wear bright dresses.' 
 
 ' Then do it, child. It's considerable of a pleasure to 
 have his eyes pleased. Do you know what a husband 
 you've got, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' He's most like one o' them flowers himself. He's so 
 full o' the sweetness the Lord has put into him, and he's 
 jest as unconscious that he's spreadin' it wherever he goes.'
 
 360 DIANA. 
 
 Diana was silent. She would have liked again to burst 
 into tears ; she controlled herself, as before. 
 
 ' That ain't the way with those Knowlton girls ; nor it 
 ain't the way they wear their fine colours, neither. Can't 
 you get a little sense into their heads, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' I ? They think nothing of me, Mother Bartlett.' 
 
 ' Maybe not, two years ago, but they will now. You're 
 the minister's wife, Diana. They allays sot a great deal 
 by him.' 
 
 Diana was chewing the cud of this, when Mrs. Bartlett 
 asked again, 
 
 ' Who's sick in the place ? ' 
 
 ' Quite a number. There's Mrs. Wilson at the tavern ; 
 she's sinking at last ; my husband sees her every day. 
 Then old Josh Lightfoot he's down with I don't know 
 what ; very sick. Mrs. Saddler has a child that has been 
 hurt ; he was pitched off a load of hay and fell upon a 
 fork ; his mother is distracted about him, and it is all Mr. 
 Masters can do to quiet her. And Lizzie Satterthwaite is 
 going slowly, you know, in consumption, and she expects 
 to see him every day. And that isn't all ; for over in the 
 village of Bromble there is sickness I suppose there al- 
 ways is in that miserable place.' 
 
 ' And the minister goes there too, I'll be bound ? ' 
 
 ' O yes. He goes everywhere, if people want him. It 
 takes twenty miles of riding a day, he told me, just to visit 
 all these people that he must, see.' 
 
 'Ay, ay,' said the old woman contentedly; ' enjoyment 
 ain't the end of life, but to do the will of God ; and he's 
 doin' it. And enjoyment comes that way, too ; ay, ay ! 
 " an hundred fold now, in this world, and in the world to 
 come eternal life." I hain't ever been able to do much, 
 Diana ; but it has been sweet his service all along the
 
 SUNSHINE. 361 
 
 way ; and now I'm goin' where it'll be nothin' but sweet- 
 ness for ever.' 
 
 A little tired perhaps with talking, for she had talked 
 with a good deal of energy, the old lady dozed off into a 
 nap; and Diana sat alone with the summer stillness and 
 thought over and over some of the words that had been 
 said. It was the hush of the summer stillness, and also 
 the full pulse of the summer life that she felt as she sat 
 there ; not soothing to inaction, but stirring up the loving 
 doing. A warm breath of vital energy, an odorous wit- 
 ness-bearing of life fruitfulness, a hum and a murmur of 
 harmonious forces in action, a depth of colour in the light 
 and in the shadow, which told of the richness and fullness 
 of the natural world. Nothing idle, nothing unfruitful, no- 
 thing out of harmony, nothing in vain. How about Diana 
 Masters, and her work and her part in the great plan ? 
 Again the gentle summer air which stole in, laden with 
 such scents and sweets, rich and bountiful out of the infin- 
 ite treasury, spoke of love at the heart of creation. But 
 there were cold winds too, sometimes ; icy storms ; desola- 
 tions of tempests ; they had been here not long ago. True, 
 but yet it was not those, but this which carried on the life 
 of the world ; this was the ' Yes,' and those others the 
 ' No ' of creation ; and an affirmative is stronger than a 
 negative any day, by universal acknowledgment. More- 
 over, that ' No ' was in order to this ' Yes ; ' gave way be- 
 fore it, yielded to it ; and life reigned in spite of death. 
 Vaguely Diana's mind felt and carried on the analogy and 
 the reasoning from analogy, and drew a chill, far-off hope 
 from it. For it was the time of storm and desolation with 
 her now, and the summer sun had not come yet. She sat 
 musing while the old lady slumbered. 
 
 ' Hullo, Diany ! here you be ! ' exclaimed the voice of
 
 362 DIANA. 
 
 Joe Bartlett, suddenly breaking in. ' Here's your good 
 man outside, waitin' for you, I guess ; his horse is a leetle 
 skittish. What ails your mother ? ' 
 
 ' My mother? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Josh says you see, I've bin down to mill to git 
 some rye ground, and he was there ; and what's more, he had 
 the start of me, and I had to wait for him, or I wouldn't 
 ha' stood there chatterin' while the sun was shinin' like it 
 is to-day ; that ain't my way. But Josh says she's goin' 
 round groanin' at sun'thin' and that ain't her way nother. 
 Mind you, it ain't when anybody's by ; I warrant you, she 
 don't give no sign then that anythin's botherin' her ; Josh 
 says it's when she's alone. I didn't ask him how he come 
 to know so much, and so little ; but I wisht I had,' Joe 
 finished his speech laughing. 
 
 Diana took her hat, kissed the old woman, and went out 
 to her husband who was waiting for her. And some miles 
 of the drive were made in silence. Then as the old brown 
 house came in sight, with the weeping elms over the gate, 
 Diana asked her husband to stop for a minute or two. He 
 reined up under the elm trees and helped Diana out, 
 letting her, however, go in alone. 
 
 Diana was not often here, naturally ; between her and 
 her mother, who never in the best of times had stood near 
 together or shared each other's deeper sympathies, a gulf 
 had opened. Besides, the place was painful to Diana on 
 other accounts. It was full of memories and associations ; 
 she always seemed to herself when there as a dead person 
 might on revisiting the place where once he had lived ; she 
 felt dead to all but pain, and the impression came back 
 with sharp torture that once she used to be alive. So as 
 the shadow of the elm branches fell over her now, it hurt 
 her inexpressibly. She was alive when she had dwelt
 
 SUNSHINE. 363 
 
 under them ; yes, she and Evan too. She hurried her steps 
 and went in at the lean-to door. 
 
 It was now long past mid-day. The noon meal was 
 over, apparently, and every sign of it cleared away. The 
 kitchen was in spotless order ; but beside the table sat 
 Mrs. Starling, doing nothing; an unheard-of state of affairs. 
 Diana came further in. 
 
 ' Mother ' 
 
 ' Well, Diana/ said Mrs. Starling looking up. ' What's 
 brought you now ? ' 
 
 ' I've been down to see Mrs. Bartlett she sent for me 
 and I thought I would stop in as I went by. Mr. Mas- 
 ters is outside.' 
 
 ' Well, I've no objection,' said Mrs. Starling ambigu- 
 ously. 
 
 ' How do you do ? ' 
 
 ' Middling.' 
 
 ' Is all getting on well with the farm and the dairy ? ' 
 
 ' I don't let it be no other way.' 
 
 Diana saw that something was wrong, but knew also 
 that if she were to find it out it would be by indirect ways. 
 
 ' May I go into the pantry and get some milk ? I've 
 been a good while from home, and I'm hungry.' 
 
 ' Go along,' said her mother ungraciously. ' I should 
 think likely, if you are hungry, your baby is too. That's a 
 new way of doing things. 'Twarn't ever my way. A woman 
 that's got a baby, ought to attend to it. An' if she don't, 
 her husband ought to make her.' 
 
 ' I've not been gone so long as all that comes to,' said 
 Diana ; and she went into the pantry, her old domain. The 
 pans of milk looked friendly at her ; the sweet clean smell 
 of cream carried her back it seemed ages to a time when 
 she was as sweet and clean. ' Yet it is not my fault '
 
 364 DIANA. 
 
 she said to herself, ' it is tier's all her's.' She snatched 
 a piece of bread and a glass of milk, and swallowed it has- 
 tily. Then, as she came out she saw that one of her mother's 
 hands lay bandaged up, in her lap under the table. 
 
 'Mother, what's the matter with. your hand ? ' 
 
 ' O not much.' 
 
 'But what ? It's all tied up. Have you burned it ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' What then ? Cut yourself ? ' 
 
 ' I should like to know how I should go to work to cut 
 my right hand ! Don't make a fuss about nothing, Diana. 
 It's only scalded.' 
 
 ' Scalded ! How ? ' 
 
 ' I shall never be able to tell that, to the end of my days,' 
 said Mrs. Starling. 'If pots and kettles and that could be 
 possessed, I should know what to think. I was makin* 
 strawberry preserve and the kettle was a 'most full, and 
 it was first rate preserve, and boiling and almost done, 
 and I had just set it down on the hearth ; and then, I don't 
 know how to this day, I stumbled I don't know over 
 what and my arm soused right in.' 
 
 ' Boiling sweetmeat ! ' cried Diana. ' Mother, let me 
 see. It must be dreadfully burned.' 
 
 ' It's all done up,' said Mrs. Starling coldly. ' I was 
 real put out about my preserves.' 
 
 ' Have you had dinner ? ' 
 
 ' I never found I could live 'thout eating.' 
 
 ' Who got dinner for you, and cleared away ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody. I did it myself.' 
 
 ' For the men and all ! ' 
 
 ' Well they don't count to live without eatin', no mor'n 
 I do,' said Mrs. Starling with a short laugh. 
 
 ' And you did it with one hand ! '
 
 SUNSHINE. 365 
 
 ' Did you ever know me to stop in anything I had to 
 do, for want of a hand ? ' said Mrs. Starling scornfully. 
 
 No, thought Diana to herself ; nor for want of anything 
 else, even though it were right or conscience. Aloud she 
 only said, 
 
 ' I must go home to baby' 
 
 ' You had better, I should think/ her mother broke in. 
 
 ' Can I do anything for you first ? ' 
 
 ' You can see for yourself, there is nothing to do.' 
 
 ' Shall I come back and stay with you to-night ? ' 
 
 ' You had better ask the Dominie. 
 
 1 Mother, he never wants me to do anything but jus<! 
 what is right,' Diana said seriously. Mrs. Starling lifted up 
 her head and gave a curious searching look into her daugh- 
 ter's face. What was she trying to find ? 
 
 ' That's one turtle dove,' she said. And are you an- 
 other, and always bob your head when he bobs his'n ? ' 
 
 Diana wondered at this speech ; it seemed to her her 
 mother was losing ground even in the matter of language. 
 No thought of irritation crossed her ; she was beyond trifles 
 now. She made no answer; she merely bade her mother 
 good-bye, and hurried out. And for a long while the drive 
 was again in silence. Then, when the grey horse was 
 walking up a hill, Diana spoke in a meditative sort of way. 
 
 ' Basil you said enjoyment was not the end of life ' 
 
 ' Did I ? ' he answered gravely. 
 
 ' If you didn't, it was Mother Bartlett. You do say so 
 I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. It is not the end of life.' 
 
 ' What is then ? ' 
 
 ' To do the will of God. And by and by, if not sooner, 
 enjoyment comes that way too, Diana. And when it comes 
 that way, it stays ; and lasts.'
 
 366 DIANA. 
 
 ' How long ? ' 
 
 ' For ever and ever ! ' 
 
 Diana waited a few minutes and then spoke again. 
 
 ' Basil I want to consult you.' 
 
 ' Well, do it' 
 
 ' Ought I to leave my mother to live alone, as she is ? 
 .She is not young now.' 
 
 ' What would you do ? ' 
 
 ' If I knew, Basil, I would like it to do what I ought to 
 do.' 
 
 ' Would you take her to live with you ? ' 
 
 ' If you would ? and she would.' 
 
 Basil put his arm round his wife and bent down and 
 kissed her. He would not have done it if he could have 
 guessed how she shrank. 
 
 ' If you will take life on those terms,' he said, ' then it 
 will be true for you, that " Sorrow may endure for a night, 
 but joy cometh in the morning." ' 
 
 It will be the morning of the resurrection, then, thought 
 Diana ; but she only replied, 
 
 ' What " terms," Basil, do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Doing the Lord's will. His will is always good, Diana, 
 and brings sweet fruit ; only you must wait till the fruit is 
 ripe, nay child.' 
 
 ' Then what about mother ? ' 
 
 ' I do not believe she would come to us.' 
 
 ' Nor I. Suppose she would let us come to her? ' 
 
 ' Then I would, go, if you wished it.' 
 
 ' I don't wish it, Basil. I was thinking, if I could bear 
 it ? But the thought will not out of my head, that she ought 
 not to be alone.' 
 
 ' Then do what is in thine heart,' the minister said cheer- 
 fully.'
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 A JUNE DAY. 
 
 MRS. STARLING hesitated, when Diana proposed her 
 plan ; she would think of it, she said. But when she began to 
 think of it, the attractions were found irresisible. To have 
 her grandchild in the house beside her, perhaps with a vague 
 thought of making up to her daughter in some unexplained 
 way for the wrong she had done ; at any rate, to have voices 
 and life in the house again, instead of the bare silence ; 
 voices of people that belonged to her own blood; Mrs. 
 Starling found that she could not give up the idea, once it 
 got into her head. Then she objected that the house was 
 too small. 
 
 The minister said he would put up an addition of a 
 couple of rooms for himself and Diana, and Diana's old 
 room could serve as a nursery. 
 
 Who wants a nursery ? Mrs. Starling demanded. Her 
 idea of a nursery, was the whole house and all out of doors. 
 The minister laughed and said that was not his idea ; and 
 Mrs. Starling was fain to let it pass. She was human, 
 though she was not a good woman ; and Diana's proposal 
 to come back to her had, though she would never allow it 
 even to herself, touched both her heart and her conscience. 
 Somewhere very deep down and out of sight, nevertheless 
 it was true ; and it was true that she had been very lonely ; 
 and she let the minister have his own way, undisputed, 
 about the building. 
 
 367
 
 368 DIANA. 
 
 The carpenters were set to work at once, and at home 
 Diana quietly made preparations for a removal in the 
 course of a few months. She buried herself in business as 
 much as ever she could, to still thought and keep her nerves 
 quiet; for constantly, daily and nightly now, the image of 
 Evan was before her, and the possibility that he might any 
 day present himself in very flesh and blood. No precau- 
 tions were of any avail ; if he chose to seek her out, Diana 
 could not escape him unless by leaving Pleasant Valley ; 
 and that was not possible. Would he come ? She looked 
 at that question from every possible point of the compass, 
 and from every one the view that presented itself was that 
 he would come. Nay, he ought not ; it would be worse 
 than of no use for them to see each other ; and yet, some- 
 thing in Diana's recollections of him, or, it might be, some- 
 thing in the consciousness of her own nature, made her say 
 to herself that he would come. How should she bear it ? 
 She almost wished that Basil would forbid it and take 
 measures to make it impossible ; but the minister went his 
 way unmoved and quiet as usual ; there was neither fear 
 nor doubt on his broad fair brow. Diana respected him 
 immensely ; and at times felt a great pang of grief that his 
 face should wear such a shade of gravity as was habitual 
 to it now. Knowing him so well as she did by this time, she 
 could guess that though the gravity never degenerated into 
 gloom, the reason was to be found solely and alone in the 
 fact that Basil's inner life was fed by springs which were 
 beyond the reach of earthly impoverishing or disturbing. 
 How much better she thought him than herself ! as she 
 looked at the calm, steadfast beauty of his countenance, 
 which matched his daily life and walk. No private sorrow 
 touched that. Never thinking of himself nor seeking his 
 own, he was busy from morning till night with the needs of
 
 A JUNE DAY. 369 
 
 others ; going from house to house, carrying help, shewing 
 light, bringing comfort, guiding into the way, pointing out 
 the wrong ; and at home, Diana knew with what glad re- 
 sort he went to his Bible and prayer for his own help and 
 wisdom, and wrought out the lessons that were to be given 
 openly in the little hillside church. Diana knew too what 
 flowers of blessings were springing up along hjs path ; 
 what fruits of good. The " angel of the church " in Pleas- 
 ant Valley he was, in a sense most true and lovely, although 
 that be not the original bearing of the phrase in the Reve- 
 lation, where Alford thinks and I think, no human angels 
 are intended. Nevertheless, that was Basil here ; and his 
 wife, who did not love him, honoured him to the bottom of 
 her heart. 
 
 And in her self-reproach and her humility, Diana wrote 
 bitterer things against herself than there was any need. 
 For she too was doing her daily work with a lovely truth 
 of aim and simpleness of purpose. With all the joys of life 
 crushed out, she was walking the way which had become so 
 weary with a steady foot and with hands ready and diligent 
 to do all they found to do. In another sort from her hus- 
 band, the fair, calm, grave woman was the angel of her 
 household. I can never tell you how beautiful Diana was 
 now. If the careless light glance of the girl wa gone, 
 there was now, instead, the deeper beauty of a nature that 
 has loved and suffered ; that ripening process of humanity, 
 without which it never comes to its full bloom and fruitage ; 
 though that be a very material image for the matter in 
 hand. And there was besides in Diana the dignity of 
 bearing of one who is lifted above all small considerations 
 of every kind ; that is, not above small duties, but above 
 petty interests. Therefore in this woman, who had never 
 seen and scarcely imagined courts, even in the minister's 
 24
 
 3/O DIANA. 
 
 house in Pleasant Valley, there was the calm poise and 
 grace which we associate in our speech and thoughts with the 
 highest advantages of social relations. So extremes some- 
 times meet. In Diana it was due to her inborn nobility of 
 nature and the sharp discipline of sorrow ; in aid of which 
 practically came also her perfection of physical health and 
 form. It must be remembered too, that she had been now 
 for a good while in the close companionship of a man of 
 great refinement and culture, and that both study and con- 
 versation had lifted her by this time far out of the intel- 
 lectual sphere in which the beginning of our story found 
 her. 
 
 The carpenters were going on vigorously with their 
 work on the new rooms adding to Mrs. Starling's house ; 
 and Diana was making, as she could from time to time, her 
 little preparations for the removal, which however could not 
 take place yet for some time. It was in the beginning of 
 July. Diana was up stairs one day, looking over the con- 
 tents of a trunk and cutting up pieces for patchwork. Win- 
 dows were open, of course, and the scent of new hay came 
 in with the warm air. Hay-making was going on all over 
 Pleasant Valley. By and by Miss Collins put her head in. 
 
 ' Be you fixed to see folks ? ' 
 
 ' Who wants me ? ' 
 
 'Well, there's somebody comin'; and I reckon its one 
 or other o' them fly-aways -from Elmfield.' 
 
 ' Here ? ' said Diana starting up and trembling. 
 
 ' Wall, there's one of 'em comin ' I guess I see the 
 carriage and I thought maybe you warn't ready to see no 
 one. When one gets into a trunk it's hard to get out again. 
 So I thought I'd jes' come and tell ye. There, she is 
 comin' up the walk. Hurry, now.' 
 
 Down went Miss Collins to let the visiter in, and Diana
 
 A JUNE DAY. 371 
 
 did hurry and changed her dress. What can she be coma 
 for ? she questioned with herself meanwhile ; for it was 
 Mrs. Reverdy, she had seen. No good ! no good ! But 
 nobody would have guessed that Diana had ever been in 
 a hurry, that saw her entrance the next minute upon her 
 visiter. That little lady felt a sort of imposing effect, and 
 did not quite know how to do what she had come for. 
 
 ' I always think there has come some witchery over my 
 eyes,' she said with her invariable little laugh of ingratia- 
 tion, 'when I see you. I always feel a kind of new 
 surprise. Is it the minister that has changed you so ? 
 What's he done ? ' 
 
 ' Changed me ? ' Diana repeated. 
 
 ' Why yes ; you are changed. You are not like what 
 you were two years ago three years ago how long is it. 
 
 ' It is three years ago,' said Diana trying to smile. ' I 
 am three years older.' 
 
 ' O it isn't that. /';;/ three years older. I suppose I 
 didn't see enough of you then to find you out. It was my 
 fault. But if you had married somebody belonging to me, 
 I can tell you, I should have been very proud of my sister- 
 in-law.' 
 
 She laughed at the compliment she was making, laugh- 
 ed lightly ; while Diana inwardly shook, like a person who 
 has received a sudden sharp blow and staggers in danger 
 of losing his footing. Did she waver visibly before her ad- 
 versary's eyes, she wondered ? She was sure her colour 
 did not change. She found nothing to say, in any case ; and 
 after a moment her vision cleared and she had possession 
 of herself again. 
 
 ' I am saucy,' said Mrs. Reverdy smiling, ' but nobody 
 thinks of minding anything I say. That's the good of be- 
 ing little and insignificant, as I am.'
 
 3/2 DIANA. 
 
 Diana was inclined to wish her visiter would not pre- 
 sume upon her harmlessness. 
 
 ' I should as soon think of being rude to a duchess,' 
 Mrs. Revercly went on. ' Or to a princess. I don't see how 
 Evan ever made up his mind to go away and leave you.' 
 
 ' Is it worse to be rude to a duchess than to other peo- 
 ple ? ' Diana asked, seizing the first part of this speech as 
 a means to get over the last. 
 
 ' I never tried,' said Mrs. Reverdy ; ' I never had the 
 opportunity, you know. I might have danced with the 
 Prince of Wales perhaps when he was here. I know a 
 lady who did. and she said she wasn't afraid of him. If 
 you had been there, I am sure she would not have got the 
 chance.' 
 
 ' You forget, I am not a dancer.' 
 
 ' O not now, of course but then you wouldn't have 
 been a minister's wife.' 
 
 ' Why should not a minister's wife dance as well as 
 other people ? ' 
 
 ' O, I don't know ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy lightly ; ' but 
 they never do, you know. They are obliged to set an ex- 
 ample.' 
 
 < Of what ? ' 
 
 ' Of everything that is proper, I suppose. Don't you 
 feel that everybody's eyes are upon you, always, watching 
 everything you do ? ' 
 
 A good reminder ! But Diana answered simply that 
 she never thought about it. 
 
 ' Don't you ! Isn't the minister always reminding you 
 of what people will think ? ' 
 
 ' No. It isn't his way.' 
 
 ' Doesn't he ? Why, without being a minister, that is 
 what my husband used always to be doing to me. I was
 
 A JUNE DAY. 3/3 
 
 a little giddy, you know,' said Mrs. Reverdy laughing ; ' I 
 was very young ; and I used to have plenty of admoni- 
 tions.' 
 
 ' I believe Mr. Masters thinks we should only care 
 about God's eyes,' Diana said quietly. 
 
 Mrs. Reverdy startled a little at that, and for a moment 
 looked grave. From Diana she had not expected this 
 turn. 
 
 ' I never think about anything ! ' she said then with a 
 laugh, that looked as if it were meant to be one of childlike, 
 ingenuousness. ' Don't think me very bad. Everybody 
 can't be good and discreet like you and Mr. Masters.' 
 
 ' Very few people are like Mr. Masters,' Diana as- 
 sented. 
 
 ' We all know that. And in the daily beholding of his 
 superiority, have you quite forgotten everything else? 
 your old lover and all ? ' 
 
 'Whom do you mean ? ' Diana asked, with a calm cold- 
 ness at which she wondered herself. 
 
 ' I mean Evan, to be sure. You know he was your old 
 lover. He wants to see you. He has not forgotten you, 
 at any rate. Have you entirely forgotten him ? Poor fel- 
 low ! he has had a hard time of it.' 
 
 ' I have not forgotten Mr. Knowlton at all,' Diana said 
 with difficulty, for it seemed to her that her throat was 
 suddenly paralyzed. 
 
 ' You have not forgotten him ? I may tell him that ? 
 Do you know, he raves about you. I wish you could hear 
 him once. He is Captain Knowlton now, you must under- 
 stand ; he has got his advancement early; but one or two 
 people died and somebody else was removed out of his 
 way ; and so he stepped into his captaincy. Lucky fel- 
 low ! he always has been lucky ; except just in one thing ;
 
 374 DIANA. 
 
 and he thinks that spoils all. May he come and see you, 
 Diana ? He has given me no peace until I would come 
 and ask you ; and he will never have any peace, that I can 
 see, if you refuse him. Poor fellow ! there he is out there 
 all this time, champing the bit worse than the horses.' 
 
 And the woman said it all, with her little civil smile 
 and laugh, as if she were talking about sugar plums ! 
 
 ' Is he here?' cried Diana. 
 
 ' With the horses waiting to know the success of my 
 mission ; and I have been afraid to ask you, for fear you 
 should say no ; and I cannot carry back such an answer to 
 him. May I tell him to come in ? ' 
 
 ' Why should not he come to see me, as well as any 
 other friend ? ' said Diana. But the quiver in her voice 
 gave the answer to her own question. 
 
 ' Of course ! ' said Mrs. Reverdy rising with a satisfied 
 face. ' There is no reason in the world why he should not, 
 if you have kindness enough left for him to let him come. 
 Then I'll go out and tell him to come in ; for the poor fel- 
 low is sitting on sword's points all this while.' And laugh- 
 ing at her supposed happy professional allusion, the lady 
 withdrew. 
 
 Diana flew up the stairs to her own room. She did 
 not debate much the question whether she ought to see 
 Evan ; it came to her rather as a thing that she must do ; 
 there was no question in the case. However, perhaps the 
 question only lay very deep down in her consciousness, for 
 the justification presented itself, that to refuse to see him, 
 would be to confess both to his sister and himself that there 
 was danger in it. Diana never could confess that, what- 
 ever the fact. So answering dumbly the doubt that was 
 as wordless, without stopping a moment she caught up her 
 sleeping baby out of its cradle, and drawing the cradle af-
 
 A JUNE DAY. 375 
 
 ter her went into her husband's study. Basil was there, 
 she knew, at work. He looked up as she came in. Diana 
 drew the cradle near to him, and carefully laid the still 
 sleeping, fair and fat little bundle from her arms down in 
 it again j this was done gently and deliberately enough ; 
 no hurry and no perturbation. Then she stood upright. 
 
 ' Basil, will you take care of her ? He is come.' 
 
 The minister looked up into his wife's face ; he knew 
 what she meant. And he felt as he looked at her, how far 
 she was from him. There was no smile on Diana's lips 
 indeed ; on the contrary an intensity of feelings that were 
 not pleasurable ; and yet, and yet he who has looked for 
 the light of love in an eye and missed it long, knows it 
 when he sees it, even though it be not for him. The four 
 eyes met each other steadily. 
 ' ' Shall I see him ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 Basil stretched out his hand to her. ' I can trust you, 
 Diana.' 
 
 She put her cold hand in his for a minute and hurried 
 away. Then, as she reached the other room, she heard in 
 the hall below a step, the step she had not heard for years ; 
 and her heart made one spring back over the interval. In 
 the urgency of action, Diana's colour had hardly changed 
 until now ; now she turned deadly white, and for one in- 
 stant sank on her knees by her bedside with her heart full 
 of a mute unformed prayer for help. It was fearful to go on, 
 but she must go on now ; she must see Evan ; he was there ; 
 questions were done ; and as she went down stairs, while 
 her face was white, and pain almost confused her senses, 
 there was a stir of keen joy at her heart ; fierce, like 
 that of a wild beast which has been robbed of its prey but 
 has got it again. She tried for self-command, and as one 
 mean towards it forced herself to go deliberately. No hasty
 
 376 DIANA. 
 
 steps should be heard on the stairs or in the floor. Even 
 so, the way was short ; a moment, and she had entered 
 the room, and she and Evan were face to face once more. 
 
 Face to face, and yet, neither dared look at the other. 
 He was standing, waiting for her ; she came a few paces 
 into the room and stood still opposite him ; they did not 
 touch each other's hands ; they made no show of greeting. 
 How should they ? in each other's presence indeed they 
 were, with but a small space of transparent air between, to 
 the sense ; and yet, a barrier mountains high, of impassible 
 ice, to the mind's apprehension. You could have heard a 
 pin drop in the room ; the two stood there, a few yards 
 apart, not even looking at each other, yet intensely con- 
 scious each all the while of the familiar outlines and traits 
 so long unseen, so well known by heart. Breathing the air 
 of the same room again, and nevertheless miles and miles 
 apart ; that was what they were feeling. The miles could 
 not be bridged over ; what use to tiy to bridge over the 
 yards. Diana was growing whiter, if whiter could be ; 
 Evan's head sank lower. At last the man succumbed ; sat 
 down ; buried his head in his hands, and groaned aloud. 
 Diana stood like a statue, but looking at him now. 
 
 What is it in little things which has such power over 
 us ? As Diana stood there looking, it was little things 
 which stabbed her as if each were a sharp sword. The set 
 of Evan's shoulders, the waves of his hair, the very gold 
 shoulder straps on the well remembered blue uniform un- 
 dress ; his cap which lay on her table, with its service sym- 
 bols. Is it that the sameness of these material trifles seems 
 to assert that nothing is changed, and so makes the change 
 more incredible and dreadful ? I cannot describe the 
 woeful pain which the sight of these things gave Diana. 
 With them came the fresh remembrance of all the manly
 
 A JUNE DAY. 377 
 
 beauty and grace of Evan in which she had once sunned 
 herself, and the contrast of her husband. Not that Basil's 
 personal appearance was ever to be despised, any more 
 than himself ; his figure 'was good and his face had a beauty 
 of its own, possibly a higher kind of beauty ; but it was not 
 the type of a hero of romance ; and Evan's, to Diana's fancy, 
 was ; and it had been her romance. She stood still, motion- 
 less, breathless. If anybody spoke, it must be he. But at 
 last she trembled too much to stand, and she sat down too. 
 
 ' How has it happened, Diana ? ' Evan asked without 
 looking up. 
 
 ' I don't know ' she said just above her breath. 
 
 ' How could you do so ? ' 
 
 Well, it suited him well to reproach her ! What matter ? 
 Things could not be more bitter than they were. She did 
 not try to answer. 
 
 ' You have ruined both our lives. Mine is ruined ; I 
 am ruined. I shall never be worth anything now. I don't 
 care what becomes of me.' 
 
 As she still did not answer, he looked up, and their eyes 
 met. Once meeting, they could not quit each other. 
 Diana's gaze was sad enough, but eager with the eagerness 
 of long hunger. His was sharp with pain at first, keen 
 with unreasonable anger ; one of the mind's resorts from 
 unbearable torment. Then as he looked it changed and 
 grew soft ; and finally, springing up, he went over to where 
 she sat, dropped on his knees before her, and seizing her 
 hands kissed them one after the other till tears began to 
 mingle with the kisses. She was passive ; she could not 
 drive him off ; she felt that she and he must have this one 
 moment to bury their past in ; it was only when her hands 
 were growing wet with his tears that she roused herself to 
 an effort.
 
 3/8 DIANA. 
 
 ' Evan Evan listen to me I You mustn't remember, 
 I am a man's wife.' 
 
 ' How could you ? ' 
 * 1 1 did not know what I was doing.' 
 
 ' Have you given up loving me ? ' 
 
 ' What is the use of talking of it, Evan ? I am another 
 man's wife.' 
 
 ' But there are such things as divorces.' 
 
 ' Hush ! Do not speak of such a thing.' 
 
 ' I must speak of it. Whom do you love ? tell me that first.' 
 
 ' No one has a right to ask me such a question.' 
 
 ' I have a right,' cried the young man ; 'for I have been 
 deceived, cheated, robbed of my own ; and I have a right 
 to get back my own. Diana, speak! do you love me less 
 than you used to do ? Tell me that.' 
 
 ' I do not change, Evan.' 
 
 ' Then you have no business to be anybody's wife but 
 mine. Nothing can hinder f/iaf, Diana.' 
 
 ' Stop. You are not to speak so. I will not hear it.' 
 
 'You are mine, Diana.' 
 
 ' I was yours, Evan ! ' she said tenderly, bending her 
 head over him till her lips touched his hair. 'We have 
 been parted, and it is over over for this world. You 
 must go your way, and I must go mine. And you must 
 not say, I am ruined.' 
 
 ' Do not you say it ? ' 
 
 ' I must not.' 
 
 ' It is the truth for me, if I do not have you with me.' 
 
 ' It is not the truth,' she said with infinite tenderness in 
 her manner. ' Not ruined, Evan. We can go our way and 
 do our work, even if we are not happy. That is another 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Then you are not happy ? ' he said eagerly.
 
 A JUNE DAY. 3/9 
 
 Diana did not reply. 
 
 1 Why should we not be happy ? ' he went on passion- 
 ately, looking up now into her face. ' You are mine, Diana 
 you belonged to rue first, you have been mine all along; 
 only I have been robbed of you ; pure robbery ; nothing 
 else. And has not a man a right to his own, wherever and 
 and whenever he finds it ? You had given yourself first to 
 me. That is irrevocable.' 
 
 ' No ' she said with the same gentleness, in every tone 
 of which lurked an unutterable sorrow ; it would have 
 broken her husband's heart to hear her ; and yet she was 
 quiet, so quiet that she awed the young officer a little. 
 ' No I had promised to give myself to you ; that is all.' 
 
 ' You gave me your heart, Di ? ' 
 
 She was silent, for at the moment she could not speak 
 
 ' Di ! ' he insisted. 
 
 ' Yes' 
 
 ' That is enough. That is all.' 
 
 ' It is not all. Since then I have ' 
 
 ' How could you do it, Diana ? how could you do it, 
 after your heart was mine ? while your heart was mine ! ' 
 
 ' I was dead,' she said in the same low, slow, impres- 
 sive way. ' I thought I was dead, and that it did not 
 matter any more what I did, one way or another. I thought 
 I was dead ; and when I found out that there was life in me 
 yet, it was too late.' A slight shudder ran over her shoul- 
 ders, which Evan however did not see. 
 
 ' And you doubted me ! ' said he. 
 
 ' I heard nothing ' 
 
 ' Of course ! and that was enough to make you think I 
 was nothing but a featherhead ! ' 
 
 ' I thought I was not good enough for you,' she said 
 softly. 
 
 ,..
 
 380 DIANA. 
 
 ' Not good enough ! ' cried Evan. ' When you are just 
 a pear] of perfection a diamond of loveliness more than 
 all I knew you would be like a queen rather than like a 
 common mortal. And I could have given you a place fit 
 for you ; and here you are ' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' she said softly, but it stopped him. 
 
 ' Why did you never hear from me ? I wrote, and wrote, 
 and oh Diana, hew I looked for something from you ! I 
 walked miles on the way to meet the wagon that brought 
 our mails ; I could hardly do my duty, or eat, or sleep, at 
 last. I would ride then to meet the post carrier, though it 
 did not help me, for I could not open the bags till they 
 were brought into the post ; and then I used to go and 
 gallop thirty miles to ride away from myself. Why did 
 you never write one word ? ' 
 
 ' I did not know your address,' she said faintly. 
 
 ' I gave it you, over and over.' 
 
 ' You forget, I never got the letters.' 
 
 ' What became of them ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' What was her motive ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose I don't know.' 
 
 ' What do you suppose ? ' 
 
 * What is the use of talking about it, Evan ? ' 
 
 ' My poor darling ! ' said he looking up in her face 
 again ' it has been hard on you too. Oh Di, my Di ! I 
 cannot lose you ! ' 
 
 He was still kneeling before her, and she put her two 
 hands on his head, smoothing or rather pushing back 
 the short locks from his temples on either side, looking as 
 one looks one's last on what one loves. Her eyes were 
 dry, and large with pain which did not allow the eyelids 
 their usual droop ; her mouth was in the saddest lines a 
 woman's lips can take, but they did not tremble.
 
 A JUNE DAY. 381 
 
 ' Hush,' she said again softly. ' I am lost to you. 
 That is over. Now go and do a man's work in the world, 
 and if I hear of you, let me hear good.' 
 
 ' Haven't you got one kiss for me ? ' 
 
 She bent lower down, and kissed his brow. She kissed 
 it twice ; but the manner of the woman was of such high 
 and pure dignity that the young officer, who would else 
 have had no scruple, did not dare presume upon it. He 
 took no more than she gave ; bent his head again when 
 she took her hands away and covered his face, as at first. 
 They were both still awhile. 
 
 ' Evan you must go,' she whispered. 
 
 ' Whe"n may I come again ? ' 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 ' I am coming very soon again, Di. I must see you 
 often I must see you very often, while I am here. I can- 
 not live if I do not see you. I do not see how I can live 
 any way ! ' 
 
 ' Don't speak so.' 
 
 ' How do you expect to bear it ? ' he asked jealously. 
 
 ' I don't know. We shall find, as the days come.' 
 
 ' Life looks so long ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. But we have got something to do in it.' 
 
 ' I have not. Not now.' 
 
 ' Every one has. And a brave man, or a brave woman, 
 will do what he has to do, Evan/ 
 
 ' I am not brave, except in the way every man is brave. 
 When may I come, Diana? To-morrow?' 
 
 ' O no ! ' 
 
 1 Why not? Then when? 
 
 ' Not this week.' 
 
 ' But this is Tuesday.'
 
 382 DIANA. 
 
 ' Yes. And Mrs. Reverdy is waiting for you all this 
 while.' 
 
 ' I have been waiting all these years. She don't know 
 what waiting means. Mayn't I come again before Mon- 
 day ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not. You must wait till then, and longer.' 
 ' I am not going to wait longer. Then Monday, Diana ? ' 
 He stretched out his hand to her and she laid hers 
 within it. The first time that day ; the first time since 
 so many days. Hands lingered, were slow to unclasp, 
 loath to leave the touch which was such exquisite pain and 
 pleasure at once. Then, without looking again, slowly, de. 
 liberately, as all her movements had been made, Diana 
 withdrew from the room ; not bearing perhaps to stay and 
 have him leave her, or doubting of her power to make him 
 go, or unable to endure anything more for this time. She 
 left him standing there, and slowly went up the stairs. But 
 the moment she got to her room she stopped, and stood 
 with her hands pressed upon her heart, listening ; every 
 parHcle of colour vanishing from her face and her eyes 
 taking a strained look of despair ; listening to the footsteps 
 that, also slowly, now went through the hall. When they 
 went out and had quitted the house, she flew to the win- 
 dow. She watched to see the stately figure go along the 
 little walk and out at the gate ; she had hardly dared to 
 look at him down stairs. Now her eye sought out every 
 well known line and trait with an eagerness like the mad- 
 ness of thirst. Yes, he had grown broader in the shoul- 
 ders ; his frame was developed ; he had become more 
 manly, and so, even finer in appearance than ever. With- 
 out meaning it, Diana drew comparisons. How well he 
 walked ! what a firm, sure graceful gait ! How beloved of 
 old time was the officer's undress coat, and the little cap
 
 A JUNE DAY. 383 
 
 which reminded Diana so inevitably of the time when it 
 was at home on her table or lying on a chair near. Only 
 for a minute or two she tasted the bitter-sweet pang of as- 
 sociations ; and then cap and wearer were passed from 
 her sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 
 
 How that night went by it would be useless to try to 
 tell. Some things cannot be described. A loosing of all 
 the bands of law and order in the material world we call 
 chaos ; and once in a while the mental nature of some poor 
 mortal falls for a time into a like condition. No hold 
 of anything, not even of herself; no clear sense of any- 
 thing, except of the disorder and pain ; no hope at the 
 moment that could fasten on either world, the present 
 or the future ; no will to lay hold of the unruly forces with- 
 in her and reduce them to obedience. An awful night for 
 Diana ; such as she never had spent, nor in its full measure 
 would ever spend again. Nevertheless, through all the con- 
 fusion, under all the tumult, there was one fixed point ; in- 
 deed it was the point round which all the confusion work- 
 ed, and which Diana was dimly conscious of all the while ; 
 one point of action. At the time she could not steady her- 
 self to look at it ; but when the dawn came up in the sky, 
 with its ineffable promise of victory by and by, and when 
 the rays of the sun broke over the hills with their golden 
 performance of conquest begun, strength seemed to come 
 into her heart. Certainly light has no fellowship with 
 darkness ; and the spiritual and the material are more 
 closely allied perhaps than we wot of. Diana washed her- 
 self and dressed and felt that she had done with yester- 
 day. 
 
 384
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 385 
 
 It was a worn and haggard face that was opposite Basil 
 at the breakfast table ; but she sat there, and poured out 
 his tea with not less care than usual. Except for cups of 
 tea, the meal was not much more than a pretence. After 
 it was done, Diana followed her husband to his study. 
 
 'Basil,' she said, 'I must go away.' 
 
 Mr. Masters started, and asked what she meant. 
 
 ' I mean just that,' said Diana. ' I must go away 
 Basil, help me ! ' 
 
 ' Help you, my child ? ' said he ; ' I will help you all I 
 can ; but sit down, Diana ; you are not able to stand. Why 
 do you want to go away ? ' 
 
 ' I must.' 
 
 ' Where do you wish to go ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I do not care. Anywhere.' 
 
 ' You have no plan ? ' 
 
 ' No, only to get away.' 
 
 ' Why, Diana ? ' he said very tenderly. ' Is it neces- 
 sary ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Basil. I must go.' 
 
 ' Do you know that it would be extremely difficult for 
 me to leave home just at present. There are so many 
 people wanting me.' 
 
 ' I know that. I have thought of all that. You cannot 
 go. Let me go, and baby.' 
 
 ' Where, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know,' she said with almost a sob. ' You must 
 know. You must help me, Basil.' 
 
 Basil looked at her, and took several turns up and 
 down the room, in sorrow and perplexity. 
 
 ' What is your reason, Di ? ' he asked gently. ' If I under- 
 stood your thought better, I should know better how to 
 meet it.' 
 
 2? .
 
 386 DIANA. 
 
 ' I must be away,' said Diana vaguely. ' I must not be 
 here. I musn't be where I can see anybody. Nobody 
 must know where I am, Basil do you understand ? You 
 must send me away and you must not tell anybody? 
 
 The minister walked up and down, thinking. He let 
 go entirely the thought of arguing with Diana. She had the 
 look at moments of a creature driven to bay ; and when 
 not so, the haggard, eager, appealing face rilled his inmost 
 heart with grief and pity. Nobody better than Basil could 
 manage the unreasonable and bring the disorderly to obe- 
 dience ; he had a magical way with him ; but now he only 
 meditated how Diana's wish was to be met. It was not 
 just easy, for he had few family connections in the world, 
 and she had none. 
 
 ' I can think of nobody to whom I should like to send 
 you,' he said. ' Unless' 
 
 He waited, and Diana waited ; then he finished his 
 sentence. 
 
 ' I was going to say. unless a certain old grand aunt of 
 mine. Perhaps she would do.' 
 
 ' I do not care where or who it is,' said Diana. 
 
 ' I care, though.' 
 
 ' Where does she live ? ' 
 
 ' On Staten Island.' 
 
 ' Staten Island ? ' repeated Diana. 
 
 ' Yes. It is near New York ; about an hour from the 
 city, down the bay.' 
 
 ' The bay of New York ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' May I go there ? ' said Diana. ' That would do.' 
 
 ' How soon do you wish to go ? ' 
 
 ' To-day, if I could ! ' she said with a half caught breath. 
 1 Can I, Basil ? To-day is best.' 
 
 Mr. Masters considered again.
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 387 
 
 4 Will you be ready to go by the seven o'clock train this 
 evening ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. O yes ! ' 
 
 ' Very well. We will take that.' 
 
 ' We ? ' Diana repeated. ' Must I take you, Basil, away 
 from your work ? Cannot I go alone ? ' 
 
 He looked up at her with a very sweet grave smile as 
 he answered, ' Not possibly.' 
 
 * I am a great deal of trouble' she said with a woeful 
 expression. 
 
 ' Go and make your preparations,' he said cheerfully ; 
 ' and I will tell you about aunt Sutphen when we are off.' 
 
 There was no bustle in the house that day, there was 
 no undue stir of making arrangements ; but at the time ap- 
 pointed Diana was ready. She had managed to keep Miss 
 Collins in the dark down to the very last minute, and 
 answered her questions then with, ' I can't tell you. You 
 must ask Mr. Masters.' And Diana knew anybody might 
 as well get the Great Pyramid to disclose its secrets. 
 
 That night's train took them to Boston. The next 
 morning they went on their way towards New York ; and 
 so far Mr. Masters had found no good time for his pro- 
 posed explanations. Diana was busied with the baby and 
 contrived to keep herself away from him or from communi- 
 cation with him. He saw that she was engrossed, preoc- 
 cupied^ suffering ; and that she shunned him ; and he fell 
 back and waited. In New York, he established Diana in 
 a hotel and left her, to go himself alone to the Island and 
 have an interview with his aunt. 
 
 Diana alone in a Broadway hotel, felt a little like a per- 
 son shipwrecked in mid-ocean. What was all this bustling, 
 restless, driving multitude around her like, but the waves 
 of the sea, to which Scripture likens them ? and the roar of
 
 388 DIANA. 
 
 their tumult almost bewildered her senses. Proverbially 
 there is no situation more lonely to the feeling than the 
 midst of a strange crowd ; and Diana sitting at her win- 
 dow and looking down into the busy street, felt alone and 
 cast adrift as she never had felt in her life before. Her life 
 seemed done, finished, as far as regarded hope or joy \ 
 nothing left but weary and dragging existence ; and the 
 eager hurrying hither and thither of the city crowd struck 
 on her view as aimless and fruitless and so very drear to 
 look at ? What was it all for ? seeing life was such a thing 
 as she had found it. The wrench of coining away from 
 Pleasant Valley had left her with a reaction of dull, stunned 
 and strained nerves ; she was glad she had come away, glad 
 she was no longer there ; and that was the only thing she 
 was glad of in the wide, wide world. 
 
 Some degree of rest came with the quiet of those hours 
 alone in the hotel. Basil was gone until the evening, and 
 Diana had time to recover a little from the fatigue of the 
 journey, and in the perfect solitude also from the overstrain 
 of the nerves. She began to remember Basil's part in all 
 this, and to be sensible how true and faithful and kind he 
 was ; how very unselfish, how patient with her and with 
 pain. Diana could have wept her heart out over it, if that 
 would have done any good, and indeed supposing that she 
 could have shed tears at all, which she could not just then. 
 She only felt sore and sorry for her husband ; and then she 
 tbok some pains with her toilet and refreshed herself so as 
 to look pleasant to his eyes when he came home. 
 
 He came home only to a late supper. He looked some- 
 what weary, but his eye brightened when he saw Diana and 
 he came up and kissed her. 
 
 ' Diana God is good,' he said to her. 
 
 ' Yes,' she answered looking up drearily, * I believe it.'
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 389 
 
 ' But you do not feel it yet. Well, remember, it is true, 
 and you will feel it some day. It is all right with aunt 
 Sutphen.' 
 
 ' She will let me come ? ' 
 
 ' She is glad to have you come. The old lady is very 
 much alone. And she does me the honor to say that she 
 expects my wife wiU know how to behave herself.' 
 
 ' What does she mean by that ? ' said Diana a little 
 startled. 
 
 ' I don't know ! Aunt Sutphen has her own notions re- 
 specting behaviour. I did not inquire, Diana ; knowing that 
 whatever her meaning might be, it was the same thing so 
 far as you are concerned.' 
 
 ' Basil you are very good ! ' Diana said after a pause 
 and with a trembling lip. 
 
 ' I can take compliments from aunt Sutphen,' he said 
 with a bit of his old dry humorous manner, ' but from you 
 I don't know what to do with them. Come to supper, Di ; 
 we must take the first boat for Clifton to-morrow morning, 
 if we can, to let me get back on my way to Pleasant Val- 
 ley.' 
 
 The first boat was very early. The city however had 
 long begun its accustomed roar, so that the change was 
 noticeable and pleasant as soon as the breadth of a few 
 furlongs was put between the boat and the wharf. Still- 
 ness fell, only excepting the noise made by the dash of the 
 paddle wheels and the breathing and groaning of the en- 
 gine ; and that seemed quietness to Diana in contrast with 
 the restless hum and roar of the living multitude. The 
 bay and its shores sparkled in the early sunlight ; the sultry 
 heated atmosphere of the city was most refreshingly re- 
 placed by the cool air from the salt sea. Diana breathed 
 it in, filling her lungs with it.
 
 39 DIANA. 
 
 ' How good this is ! ' she said. ' Basil, I should think 
 it was dreadful to live in such a place as that.' 
 
 ' Makes less difference than you would think, when you 
 once get accustomed to it.' 
 
 ' O do you think so ! It seems to me there is nothing 
 pleasant there to see or to hear.' 
 
 ' Ay, you are a true wood thrush,' said her husband. 
 ' But there is plenty to do in a city, Diana ; and that is the 
 main thing.' 
 
 ' So there is in the country.' 
 
 ' I sometimes think I might do more, reach more peo- 
 ple, I mean, if I were somewhere else. But yes, Di, I 
 grant you, apart from that one consideration, there is no 
 comparison. Green hills are a great deal better company 
 than hot brick walls.' 
 
 ' And how wonderful, how beautiful, this water is ! ' 
 
 ' The water is a new feature to you. Well you will have 
 plenty of it. Aunt Sutphen lives just on the edge of the 
 shore. I am very sorry I cannot stay to see you domes- 
 ticated. Do you mind it much ? beginning here alone ? ' 
 
 ' O no.' 
 
 Diana did not mind that or anything else, in her con- 
 tent at having reached a safe harbour, a place where she 
 would be both secure and free. Lesser things were of no 
 account ; and alas, the presence of her husband just now 
 with her was no pleasure. Diana felt at this time that if 
 she were to live and keep her reason she must have breath- 
 ing space. Above all things she desired to be quite alone ; 
 to have leisure to think and pray and review her ground and 
 set up her defences. Basil could not help her ; he was 
 better out of sight. So when he had put her into the little 
 carriage that was in waiting at the landing and with a last 
 gesture of greeting turned back to the boat, while Diana's
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 39! 
 
 eyes filled with tears, she was, nevertheless, nothing but 
 glad at heart. She gathered her baby closer in her arms 
 and sat back in the carnage and waited. 
 
 It was only a short drive and along the edge of the bay 
 the whole distance. The smell of the salt water was s-trange 
 and delicious. The morning was still cool. Now that she 
 had le|(: the boat behind her, or rather the boat had left 
 her, the stillness began to be like that of Pleasant Valley ; 
 for the light wheels rolled softly over a smooth road. Then 
 they stopped before a low plain-looking cottage. 
 
 It was low and plain, yet it was light and pleasant. 
 Windows opening like doors upon the piazza, and the piazza 
 running all round the house, and the pillars of the piazza 
 wreathed thick with honeysuckles, some of them, and some 
 with climbing roses. The breath of the salt air was smoth- 
 ered in perfumes. Through one of the open window doors 
 Diana went into a matted room, where everything gave her 
 the instant impression of neatness and coolness and quiet 
 and a certain sweet summer freshness, which suited her ex- 
 actly. There was no attempt at richness of furnishing. Yet 
 the old lady who stood there waiting to receive her was a 
 stately lady enough, in a spotless morning dress of white, 
 dainty and ruffled, and a little close embroidered cap above 
 her clustering grey curls. The two looked at each other. 
 
 ' So you're his wife ! ' said the elder lady. ' I declare, 
 you're handsomer than he is. Come in here, my dear ; if 
 you are as good as he is, you are welcome.' She opened 
 an inner door and led the way into a bedchamber adjoin- 
 ing, opening like the other room by window doors upon the 
 piazza, matted and cool and furnished in white. All this 
 Diana took in with the first step into the room. But she 
 answered Mrs. Sutphen's peculiar welcome. 
 
 ' Did you ever know anybody so good as he is, ma'am ?
 
 3Q2 DIANA. 
 
 < Breakfast will be on table as soon as you are 
 ready,' Mrs. Sutphen went on without heeding her words. 
 ' It is half-past seven, and I always have it at seven. I 
 waited for you, and now I want my cup of tea. How soon 
 will you be ready ? ' 
 
 ' Immediately.' 
 
 ' What will you do with the baby ? ' 
 
 ' I will lay her down. She is asleep.' 
 
 1 You'll have to have somebody to look after her. Well, 
 come then, my dear.' 
 
 Diana followed the old lady, who was half imperative 
 and half impatient. She never forgot that hour in all her 
 life, everything was so new and strange. The windows 
 open towards the water, the fresh salt air coming in, the 
 India matting under her feet, made her feel as if she had got 
 into a new world. The dishes were also in part strange to 
 her, and her only companion fully strange. The good cup 
 of tea she received was almost the only familiar thing, for 
 the very bread was like no bread she had ever seen before. 
 Diana sipped her tea gratefully ; all this novelty was the 
 most welcome thing in the world to her overstrained nerves. 
 She sipped her tea as in a dream ; the old lady studied her 
 with eyes wide awake and practical. 
 
 ' Where did Basil pick you up, my dear ? ' 
 
 Diana started a little, looked up and flushed. 
 
 ' Where did you come from ? ' 
 
 ' From the place where Mr. Masters has been settled 
 these three or four years.' 
 
 ' In the mountains ! What sort of people have you got 
 there ? More of your sort ? ' 
 
 ' They are all of my sort,' said Diana somewhat won- 
 deringly. 
 
 ' Do you know what your sort is, my dear ? '
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 393 
 
 ' I do not understand ' 
 
 ' I thought you did not. I'll change my question. What 
 sort of work is Basil doing there ? ' 
 
 ' You know his profession ? ' Diana said, not knowing 
 much better either how to take this question. 
 
 ' Yes, yes. I know his profession ; I ought to, for I 
 wanted him to be a lawyer. But don't you know, my dear, 
 there are all sorts of clergymen.. There are some make 
 sermons as other men make bricks ; and some, more like 
 the way children blow soap bubbles ; all they care for is, 
 how big they are and how high they will fly and how long 
 they will last. And I have heard people preach,' the old 
 lady went on, ' who seemed most like as if they were laying 
 out a Chinese puzzle, and you had to look sharp to see 
 where the pieces fitted. And some again preach sermons 
 as if they were a magistrate reading the riot act, only they 
 don't want the people to disperse by any means. What is 
 Basil's way ? ' 
 
 ' He has more ways than all these,' said Diana, who 
 could not help smiling. 
 
 ' These among 'em ? ' 
 
 ' I think not.' 
 
 ' Go on then, and tell me. What's he like in the pul- 
 pit?' 
 
 Diana considered how she should humour the old lady's 
 wish. 
 
 ' Sometimes he is like a shepherd leading his flock to 
 pasture,' she began. ' Sometimes he is like a life boat going 
 out to pick up drowning people. Sometimes it is rather 
 a surgeon in a hospital, going round to find out what is the 
 matter with people and make them well. Sometimes he is 
 just the messenger of the Lord Jesus Christ, and all his 
 business is to deliver his message and get people to hear it.'
 
 394 DIANA. 
 
 Mrs. Stuphen looked at Diana over the table and evi- 
 dently pricked up her ears ; but Diana spoke quite simply, 
 rather slowly ; she was thinking how Basil had often seem- 
 ed to her in his ministry, in and out of the pulpit. 
 
 ' My dear,' said the old lady, ' if your husband is like 
 that, do you know you are married to quite a remarkable 
 man ? ' 
 
 ' I thought as much a great while ago.' 
 
 ' And what sort of a pastor's wife do you make ? You 
 are a very handsome woman to be a minister's wife.' 
 
 ' Am I ? Why should not a handsome woman be the 
 wife of a minister ? ' 
 
 ' Why, she should, if she can make up her mind to 
 it. Well, my dear, if you will have no more breakfast, per- 
 haps you will like to go and rest. Do you enjoy bathing ? ' 
 
 Diana did not take the bearing of the question. 
 
 ' I go into the water every morning,' the old lady ex 
 plained. ' You had better do the same. It will strength- 
 en you.' 
 
 * Into the wa-ter ! You mean the salt water ? ' 
 
 ' Of course I mean the salt wa-ter. There isn't any 
 fresh water to go into, and no good if there was.' 
 
 ' I never tried salt water. I never saw salt water be- 
 fore.' 
 
 ' Do you good,' said the old lady. ' Well, go and sleep, 
 my dear. Basil says you want rest.' 
 
 But that way of taking it was not Diana's need, or pur- 
 pose. She withdrew into her cool green-shaded room, and 
 as the baby still slept, set open the blind doors which made 
 that pleasant green shade, and sat down on the threshold 
 to be quiet and enjoy the view. The water was within a few 
 rods of her window ; nothing but a narrow strip of grass 
 and a little picket fence intervening between the house and
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 395 
 
 the sandy bit of beach. The waves were rolling in from 
 the Narrows, which here were but a short distance to the 
 eastward ; and across the broad belt of waters she could 
 see the low shore of Long Island on the other side. Diana 
 put her head out of the door, and there, seven miles away 
 to the west and north, she could see where a low hovering 
 light smoke cloud told of the big city to which it owed its 
 origin. Over the bay sails were flitting, not swiftly, for the 
 air was only very gently stirring ; but they were many, near 
 and far, of different sizes and forms ; and the mighty tide 
 was rushing in with wonderful life and energy in its green 
 waves. Diana's senses were like those of a person en- 
 chanted. She drew in the salt, lively air ; she looked at 
 the cool lights and shadows of the rushing water, over 
 which here and there still hung bands of morning mist ; she 
 heard the lap of the waves upon the shore as they went by ; 
 and it was to her as if she had escaped from danger and 
 perplexity into another world, where sorrow might be in- 
 deed, but from which confusion and fear were banished. 
 
 The baby slept on, as if she had been broken of her 
 rest by the novelties and inconveniences of travelling, and 
 were making up for lost time ; and Diana sat on the thres- 
 hold of her door and thought. The lull was inexpressibly 
 sweet, after the storm that had tossed her hither. It gave 
 her repose, just to remember that Evan could not find her 
 out and that Basil would leave her alone. Yes, both 
 thoughts came in for a share in the deep-drawn breaths of 
 relief which from time to time wrung themselves from Di- 
 ana's breast. She knew it ; she could not help it ; and she 
 soon forgot her husband in thinking of her lover. It 
 seemed to her she might allow herself that indulgence now ; 
 now when she had put a gulf between them which he could 
 not bridge over, and she would not ; now when she had
 
 396 DIANA. 
 
 brought a separation between them which must forever be 
 final. For she would never see him again. Surely now 
 she might think of him, and let fancy taste the sweet bitter 
 drops that memory would distil for her. Diana went back 
 to the old time and lived in it for hours, till the baby awoke 
 and claimed her ; and even then she went on with her 
 dream. She dreamed all day. 
 
 Next morning early, before she was awake, there came 
 a little imperative tap at her door. Diana sprang up and 
 opened it. 
 
 'I am going to take my bath,' said her hostess. 
 ' Here's a bathing dress put it on and come along.' 
 
 ' Now ? ' said Diana doubtfully. 
 
 ' Why of course now ! Now's the time. Nobody'll see 
 you, child ; and if they do, it won't matter. Hundreds would 
 see you if you were at Long Branch or Newport. Come 
 along; you want bracing.' 
 
 I wonder if I do ? thought Diana, as she clothed her- 
 self in the loose gown of brown mohair ; then slipped out 
 after her hostess. If she did, she immediately confessed to 
 herself, this was the thing to give it. The sun was not yet 
 up ; the morning air crisp and fresh and delicious ; the 
 water rolling gently in from the Narrows again, in a mighty 
 tide, but with no wind, so sending up only little waves to 
 the beach ; however they looked somewhat formidable to 
 Diana. 
 
 ' How far do you go in ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' As far as I can. I can't swim, child, so I keep to 
 shore. Come after me, here ! ' 
 
 And she seized Diana's hand and marched in ahead of 
 her and marched on, till Diana would have stopped, but 
 the old lady's hand pulled her along. 
 
 It was never to be forgotten, that first taste of salt
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 397 
 
 water. When they were in the flood up to their necks, her 
 companion made her duck her head under ; it filled Di- 
 ana's mouth and eyes at the first gasp with salt water, but 
 what a new freshness of life seemed at the same time to 
 come into her ! How her brain cleared and her very heart 
 seemed to grow strong and her eyesight true in that lava- 
 tory ! She came out of the water for the moment almost 
 gay, and made her toilette with a vigour and energy she 
 had not brought to it in many a day. Breakfast was bet- 
 ter to her, and the old lady was contented with what she 
 said about it. 
 
 Yet Diana sat and dreamed again all day after that ; 
 watching the rolling tide of waters and letting her thoughts 
 run on in as uninterrupted a flow. She dreamed only about 
 Evan ; she went over old times and new, old impressions 
 and new ; she recalled words and looks and tones and 
 gestures, of long ago and lately ; at Pleasant Valley she 
 had not dared ; here she thought it was safe and she might 
 take the indulgence. She recalled all Evan's looks. How 
 he had improved ! More stately, more manly, more confi- 
 dent, (could that be ?) more graceful ; with the air of com- 
 mand replacing a comparative repression of manner, (only 
 comparative) even as the full thick curly moustache re- 
 placed a velvety dark line which Diana well remembered. 
 As he had been then she had fancied him perfect ; as he 
 was now he was to the eye far finer yet. Basil could not 
 compare with him. Ah why did fancy torture her by ever 
 bringing forward the comparison ! Basil never pretended 
 to wear a moustache, and the features of his face were not 
 so regular, and his eye was not so brilliant, and the inde- 
 scribable air of authority was not there, nor the regulated 
 grace of movement. True, Basil could sit a horse, and 
 ride him, she knew as well as anybody ; and true, Basil's
 
 398 DIANA. 
 
 face had a high grave sweetness which was utterly unknown 
 to the countenance of that other ; and it was also true, that 
 if Mr. Masters wore no air of command, he knew what the 
 thing meant, especially command over himself. And there 
 the comparison failed for Evan. In the contrast, Diana 
 clown deep in the bottom of her heart was not satis- 
 fied with him, not pleased, not contented. He might know 
 how to give orders to his company, he had not left off him- 
 self being under orders ; he might be strong to enforce 
 discipline among his men ; but alas, alas, he had left the 
 reins loose upon the neck of his passions. Basil never did 
 that, never. Basil never would in the like circumstances 
 have sought a weak gratification at her expense. That 
 was the word ; weak. Evan had been selfishly weak. Basil 
 was always, so far as she had known him, unselfishly strong. 
 And yet, and yet ! she loved the weak one ; although it 
 pained her that he should have been weak. 
 
 Days went by. Diana lived in dreams. 
 
 ' What is the matter with you ? ' her old friend asked 
 her abruptly one evening. 
 
 ' Nothing, I think,' said Diana looking up from her sew- 
 ing and answering in some surprise. 
 
 ' Nothing the matter ! Then what did you come here 
 for?' 
 
 ' I thought ' Diana hesitated in confusion for the mo- 
 ment, 'my husband agreed with me in thinking, that it 
 would be good for me to be away from home for awhile.' 
 
 ' Wanted change, eh ? ' Mrs. Sutphen said drily. Di- 
 ana did not know what to add to her words. 
 
 'Change and salt air ' the old lady went on. 
 
 ' Not salt air particularly,' Diana answered, feeling that 
 she must answer. ' I did not think of salt air. Though 
 no change could have been so good for me.'
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 399 
 
 l Has it been good for you ? ' 
 
 ' I have enjoyed it more than I can tell,' Diana said, 
 looking up again. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, but that isn't the thing. I know you enjoy 
 it. But do you think it is making you fat ? ' 
 
 ' I don't need that,' said Diana smiling. ' I am fat 
 enough.' 
 
 ' You won't be, if you go on losing as you have done 
 since you came. Now I agree with you that I don't think 
 that is Clifton air. What is it ? ' 
 
 Diana could not reply. She was startled and troubled. 
 She knew the fact was true. 
 
 ' Basil won't like it if I let this go on ; and I don't 
 mean it shall. Is anything the matter between you and- 
 him ? ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' Diana asked, to gain time. 
 
 'You know what I mean. I spoke plain. Have you 
 and he had any sort of a quarrel or disagreement ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not ! ' 
 
 ' Certainly not? then why aren't you happy ? ' 
 
 ' Why do you ask me ? ' said Diana. ' Why should you 
 question my being happy?' 
 
 ' I've got eyes, child ; inconvenient things, for they see. 
 You look and act like a marble woman ; only that you are 
 not cold, and that you move about Now that isn't your 
 nature. What spell has come over you ? ' 
 
 ' You know, Mrs. Sutphen,' Diana answered with calm- 
 ness, ' there are many things that come up in the world to 
 try one and trouble one ; things one cannot help, and that 
 one must bear.' 
 
 ' I know that, as well as you do. But a woman with 
 the husband you have got, ought never to be petrified by 
 anything that comes to her. In the first place, she has no 
 cause ; and in the second place, she has no right.'
 
 4OO DIANA. 
 
 There was such an instant assent of Diana's inner nature 
 to at least the latter of these assertions, that after a minute 
 or two's pause she said very simply, 
 
 ' Thank you, That is true.' 
 
 ' He's rather fond of you, isn't he ? ' the old lady asked 
 with a well-pleased look at her beautiful neighbour. 
 
 ' Yes. Too much,' said Diana sighing. 
 
 ' Can't be too much, as I see, if only you are equally 
 fond of him ; it is bad to have inequality in that matter. 
 But my dear, whatever you do, don't turn into marble. 
 There's fire at the heart of the earth, folks say, but it don't 
 do us much good in winter.' 
 
 With this oracular statement Mrs. Sutphen closed her 
 lecture. She had said enough. Diana spent half that 
 night and all the next day in a quite new set of medita- 
 tions. 
 
 And more days than one. She waked up to see 
 what she had been doing. What business had she to be 
 thinking of Evan, when she was Basil's wife ? what right 
 to, be even only in imagination, spending her life with him ? 
 She knew, now that she was called to look at it, that Mrs. 
 Sutphen had spoken true, and that a process had been go- 
 ing on in herself which might well be likened to the pro- 
 cess of petrifying. Everything had been losing taste and 
 colour lately ; even her baby was not the delight she had 
 been formerly. Her mind had been warped from its 
 healthy condition and was growing morbid. Conscience 
 roused up now fully and bade Diana stop short where she 
 was and take another course. But there she was met by a 
 difficulty ; one that many a woman has had to meet, and 
 that few have ever overcome. To take another course, 
 meant that she should cease thinking of Evan ; cease think- 
 ing of him even at all ; for it was one of those things which
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 4OI 
 
 you cannot do a little. She tried it ; and she found it to 
 be impossible. Everything and anything would set her 
 upon the track of thinking of him ; everything led to him ; 
 everything was bound up with him, either by sympathy or 
 contrast. She found that she must think of Evan, because 
 she loved him. She said that to herself, and pleaded it. 
 Then do not love him ! was the instant sharp answer o 
 conscience. And Diana saw a battle set in array. 
 
 That day, the day when she got to this point, was one 
 of those which even in summer one may know on the 
 sea shore. It was grey and cool, and a violent easterly 
 wind was driving the waters in from the Narrows. The 
 moment Diana got a sight of those battle forces opposed 
 to each other in her spiritual nature, she threw on bonnet 
 and shawl and went out. Baby was sleeping, and she left 
 her safely in charge of a good-tempered servant who asked 
 no better. 
 
 She went along the shore in the face of the wind, meet- 
 ing, breasting, overcoming it, though with the exertion of 
 determined strength and energy. The gale was rather fierce. 
 It was a sight to see, the rush of that tide of waters, mighty, 
 sweeping, rolling and tumbling in from the great sea, rest 
 less, endless. Diana did not stop to draw comparisons 
 yet I think she felt them even then ; the wild accord of the 
 unchained forces without and the unchained forces within. 
 Who could stay them, the one or the other ? ' That is Na- 
 ture,' said Diana to herself ; ' and this is Nature ; " the 
 troubled sea that cannot rest." But that is spoken of the 
 wicked ; am I wicked because I cannot help what I cannot 
 help ? As well put out my tiny hand and sweep back that 
 stormy flood of water to the ocean where it comes from ! 
 as hopefully, as practicably. What am 1, 7 but a chip or a 
 shingle tossed and chased along on the power of the waves 
 26
 
 4O2 DIANA. 
 
 The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest ; 
 that is it. it cannot rest. Look at it, and think of bidding 
 it rest ! ' 
 
 She had walked a long way in the teeth of the storm, 
 and yet unwilling even to turn her face homewards with her 
 mind still at war, she had crouched down to rest under the 
 lee of an old shed which stood near the edge of the water. 
 Diana drew her shawl closer round her and watched the 
 wild play of the waves, which grew wilder every moment ; 
 taking a sort of gloomy comfort in the thought that they 
 were not more irresistible or unopposable than the tempest 
 in her own heart. Then came in the thought it stole in 
 " There was One who could bid it be still and the sea 
 heard him and was quiet. If he could do that, could he 
 not still this other storm ? A worse storm, yes ; but could 
 not the hand that did one thing do the other ? " Diana knew 
 on the instant that it could ; but with that came another 
 consciousness that she wished it could not. She did not 
 want the storm laid. Better the raging forces than the 
 calm that would follow the death of her love for Evan 
 Knowlton. ' But it could never die ! ' was the impatient 
 objection of her heart. And then came the whisper of con- 
 science, ' It ought ; you know it ought ; and the Lord 
 never bade you do a thing he would not help you to do, or 
 do for you if you are willing.' And she remembered, " If 
 ye shall say to this mountain, Be thou removed " Could 
 she be willing ? that was all. Would she say it ? 
 
 The Lord said, there are some sorts of devils that are 
 only cast out by prayer and fasting : and I suppose that 
 means, by very great and determinate laying hold of the 
 offered strength and fullest surrender to all its disposi- 
 tions. 
 
 This was a battle before which Waterloo sinks to a
 
 WIND AND TIDE. 403 
 
 play of fire crackers and Gravelotte to a great wrestling 
 match. There was struggle on those fields, and bitter de- 
 termination, and death faced and death met ; and yet the 
 combatants there never went to the front with the agony 
 which Diana's fight cost her. And if anybody thinks I am 
 extravagant, I will remind him on what authority we have 
 it, that " He that ruleth his spirit is greater than he that 
 taketh a city." Let no one suppose the battle in Diana's 
 instance was soon fought and over. It was death to give 
 up Evan ; not the death of the body, which lived on and 
 was strong though she grew visibly thin ; but the death of 
 the will ; and that is a death harder by far than the other. 
 Diana was in the struggle of that fight for many a day, and 
 as I said, growing thin under it. She was not Mjtt|pg ; if 
 she could be delivered from this passion which was like her 
 life, she was not willing to be delivered. Yet duty was 
 plain ; conscience was inexorable. Diana struggled and 
 fought till she could fight no longer, and then she dragged 
 herself as it were to the feet of the Stiller of the waves with 
 the cry of the Syrophenician woman on her lips and in her 
 heart ; ' Lord, help me ! ' But the help, Diana knew by this 
 time, meant that he should do all the work himself, not come 
 in aid of her efforts, which were like ropes of straw in a flame. 
 Let no one think, either, that the first struggle to have faith 
 was faith itself, or that the first endeavour to submit was 
 surrender. There is a wide difference, and often a wide 
 distance. But there came a time, it was slow in coming, 
 but it came, when like a wearied child Diana ceased from 
 her own efforts and like a helpless child threw herself upon 
 strength that she knew. And then the work was done. 
 
 Let no one say, either, that what I have described is 
 an impossibility. " If ye have faith," the Master said, 
 " nothing shall be impossible to you." And nothing is.
 
 404 DIANA. 
 
 " He is a Rock ; his work is perfect." And he who over- 
 came all our enemies for us can overcome them in us. 
 They are conquered foes. Only, the Lord will not do the 
 work for those who are trusting in themselves.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 
 
 IT was the end of September. Nearing a time of storms 
 again in the air and on the sea ; but an absolute calm had 
 settled clown upon Diana. Not at all the calm of death ; 
 for after death, in this warfare, comes not only victory but 
 new life. It was very strange, even to herself. She had 
 ceased to think of Captain Knowlton ; if she thought of 
 him it was with the recognition that his power over her was 
 gone. She felt like a person delivered from helpless bondage. 
 There was some lameness, there were some bruises yet from 
 the fight gone by ; but Diana was every day recovering 
 from these, and elasticity and warmth were coming back to 
 the members that had been but lately rigid and cold. The 
 sun shone again for her, and the sky was blue, and the arch 
 of it grew every day loftier and brighter to her sense. At first 
 coming to Clifton Diana had perceived the beauties and 
 novelties of her new surroundings ; now she began to enjoy 
 them. The salt air was delicious ; the light morning mist 
 over the bay, as she saw it when she went to take her 
 morning bath, held a whole day of sunlit promise within 
 its mysterious folds ; the soft low hum of the distant city, 
 which she could hear when the waves were still, made the 
 solitude and the freshness and the purity of the island 
 seem doubly rare and sweet. And her baby began to be 
 now to Diana the most wonderful of delights ; more than 
 ever it had been at any previous time.
 
 406 DIANA. 
 
 All this while she had had letters from Basil ; not very 
 long letters, such as a man can write to a woman whose 
 whole sympathy he knows he has ; but good letters, such 
 as a man can write to a woman to whom his own heart and 
 soul have given all they have. Not that he ever spoke of 
 that fact or alluded to it. Basil was no maudlin, and no 
 fool to ask for a gift which cannot be yielded by an effort of 
 will ; and besides, he had never entirely lost hope ; so that, 
 though things were dark enough for him certainly, he could 
 write manly, strong, sensible letters, which in their very 
 lack of all allusion to his own feelings spoke whole volumes 
 to the woman who knew him and could interpret them. 
 The thought of him grieved her ; it was getting to be now 
 the only grief she had. Her own letters to him were brief 
 and rare. Diana had a nervous fear of letting the Clifton 
 postmark be seen on a letter of hers at home, knowing 
 Avhat sort of play sometimes went on in the Pleasant Val- 
 ley post office ; so she never sent a letter except when she 
 had a chance to despatch it from New York. These epis. 
 ties were very abstract ; they spoke of the baby, told of 
 Mrs. Sutphen, gave details of things seen and experienced ; 
 but of Diana's inner life, the fight and the victory, not a 
 whit. She could not write about them to Basil ; for glad 
 as he would be of what she could tell him, she could not 
 say enough. In getting deliverance from a love it was 
 wrong to indulge, in becoming able to forget Evan, she 
 had not thereby come nearer to her husband or in the least 
 fonder of thinking of him ; and so Diana shrank from the 
 whole subject when she found herself with pen in hand and 
 paper before her. 
 
 When September was gone and October had begun its 
 course, a letter came from Basil in which he desired to 
 know about Diana's plans. There were no hindrances any
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. /J.O/ 
 
 longer in the way of her coming home, he told her. Diana 
 had known that such a notification would come, must come, 
 and yet it gave her an unwelcome start. Mrs. Sutphen had 
 handed it to her as they came in from their morning dip 
 in the salt water ; the coachman had brought it late last 
 evening from the post office, she said. Diana had dressed 
 before reading it ; and when she had read it, she sat down 
 upon the threshold of her glass door to think and exam- 
 ine herself. 
 
 It was October, yet still and mild as June. Haze lay 
 lingering about the horizon, softened the shore of Long 
 Island, hid with a thick curtain the place of the busy city ; 
 the roar of which Diana could plainly enough hear in the 
 stillness, a strange, indistinct, mysterious, significant mur- 
 mur of distant unrest. All before and around her was 
 rest ; the flowing waters were too quiet to-day to suggest 
 anything disquieting, only life, without which rest is nought. 
 The air was inexpressibly sweet and fresh ; the young light 
 of the day dancing as it were upon every cloud edge and 
 sail edge, in jocund triumph beginning the work which the 
 day would see done. Diana sat down and looked out into 
 it all and tried to hold communion with herself. She was 
 sorry to leave this place. Yes, why not ? She was sorry 
 to exchange her present life for the old one. Quiet and 
 solitary it had been, this life at Clifton, for Mrs. Sutphen 
 scarcely made her feel less alone with her than without her ; 
 and she had held herself back from society. Quiet and 
 solitary, and lately healing ; and Pleasant Valley was full 
 of painful memories and associations, her mother, and her 
 husband. Diana felt as if she could have welcomed every- 
 thing else, if only Basil had not been there. The sight of 
 the lovely bay with its misty shores and its springing light 
 hurt her at last, because she must leave it ; she sank her
 
 408 DIANA. 
 
 face in her hands and began to call herself to account. 
 Duty was waiting before her ; was she not willing to take 
 it up ? She had surrendered her will utterly to God in the 
 matter of her love to Evan, and she had been delivered 
 from the torture and the bondage of it ; quite delivered ; 
 she could bear to live without Evan now, she could bear to 
 live without thinking of him ; he would always be in a cer- 
 tain sense dear, but the spell of passion was broken for 
 ever. That did not make her love her husband. No ; but 
 would not the same strength that had freed her from tempta- 
 tion on the one hand, help her to go forward and do her 
 duty on the other ? And in love and gratitude for the 
 deliverance vouchsafed her, should she not do it ? 'I will 
 do it, if I die ! ' was her inward conclusion. ' And I shall 
 not die, but by the Lord's help I shall do it.' 
 
 So she wrote to her husband that she was ready, and 
 he came to fetch her. 
 
 The Pleasant Valley maples were flaunting in orange 
 and crimson when the home journey was made. The fairest 
 month of the year was in the prime of its beauty ; the air 
 had that wonderful clearness and calm which bids the 
 spirit of the beholder be still and be glad, saying that there 
 is peace and victory somewhere, and rest, when the harvest 
 of life is gathered. Diana felt the speech, but thought 
 nevertheless that for her peace and victory were a good 
 way off. She believed they would come, when life was done ; 
 the present thing was to live, and carry the burden and do 
 the work. The great elms hung still green and sheltering 
 over the lean-to door. The house was enlarged and im- 
 proved ; and greatly beautified with a coat of paint. Diana 
 saw it all ; and she saw the marvellous beauty of the mea- 
 dows and their bordering hills ; she felt as if she were 
 coming to her prison and place of hard labour.
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 4OQ 
 
 < How do you like the looks of things ? ' her husband 
 asked. 
 
 ' Nice as can be.' 
 
 'You like it?' 
 
 ' Very much. I am glad you did not make the house 
 white.' 
 
 ' I remembered you said it ought to be brown.' 
 
 ' But would you have liked it white ? ' 
 
 ' I would have liked it no way but your way,' he said 
 with a slight smile and look at her, which Diana could not 
 answer, and which cut her sharply. She had noticed, she 
 thought, that Basil was more sober than he used to be. 
 She thought she knew why ; and she wanted to tell him part 
 of what had gone on in her mind of late and how free she 
 was of the feelings he supposed were troubling' her ; but a 
 great shyness of the subject had seized Diana. She was 
 afraid to broach it at all, lest going on from one thing to 
 another Basil might ask a question she could not answer. 
 She was very sorry for him, so much that she almost forgot 
 to be sorry for herself, as she went into the house. 
 
 Mrs. Flandin was sitting with Mrs. Starling in the lean- 
 to kitchen. 
 
 ' So you made up your mind to come home,' was her 
 mother's greeting. ' I almost wonder you did.' 
 
 ' If you knew how good the salt water was to me, you 
 might wonder,' Diana answered cheerfully. 
 
 ' Well, I never could see what there was in salt water ! ' 
 said Mrs. Flandin, ' that folks should be so crazy to go into 
 it ! If I was drownin,' 'seems to me I'd rather have my 
 mouth full o' sun'thin' sweet.' 
 
 ' But I was not drowning,' said Diana. 
 
 ' Well, I want to know what you've got by stayin' away 
 from your place all summer ' her mother went on.
 
 4IO DIANA. 
 
 ' Her place was there,' said the minister, who followed 
 Diana in. 
 
 ' Now dominie,' said Mrs. Flandin, 'you say that jes' 
 'cause she's your wife. Hain't her place been empty all 
 these months ? Where is a wife's place ? I should like to 
 hear yo.u say.' 
 
 ' Don't you think it is where her husband wants her to 
 be?' 
 
 ' And you wanted her to be away from you down there ? 
 Do you mean that ? ' 
 
 ' If he had not, I should not have gone, Mrs. Flandin,' 
 Diana said, and with a smile. 
 
 'Well now, du tell ! what good did salt water do ye? 
 The minister said you was gone to salt water somewheres.' 
 
 ' It did me more good than I could ever make you un- 
 derstand.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it ! ' said Mrs. Starling harshly. ' You 
 mean it was a clever thing to play lady and sit with your 
 hands before you all summer. It was good there was some? 
 body at home to do the work.' 
 
 ' Not your work, Di,' said her husband good humour- 
 edly, ' nor my work. I did that. Come along, and see 
 what I have done.' 
 
 He drew her off, into the little front hall or entry, from 
 there through a side door into the new part of the building. 
 There was a roomy, cool, bright room, lined with the min- 
 ister's books ; curtained and furnished, not expensively in- 
 deed, yet with a thorough air of comfort. Taking the baby 
 from her arms, Basil led the way from this room, up a short 
 stairway, to chambers above which were charmingly neat, 
 light and cheerful, all in order ; everything was done, every- 
 thing was there that ought to be there. He laid the sleep- 
 ing child down in its crib and turned to his wife with a se- 
 rious face.
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 411 
 
 ' How will you stand it, Diana ? ' 
 
 ' Basil, I was just thinking, how will you I' 
 
 ' We can do what ought to be done ? ' said he, looking 
 into her face. 
 
 ' I know you can. I think I can too, in this. And I 
 think it is right to take care of mother. I am sure it is.' 
 
 ' Diana, by the Lord's help we can do right in every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Yes, Basil ; I know it ! ' she said, meeting his eyes with 
 a steady look. 
 
 He turned away, very grave, but with a deep ejacula- 
 tion of thankfulness. Diana's eyes filled; but she too 
 turned away. She could add no more. It was not words 
 but living, that must speak for her now. 
 
 And it did. Even that same evening. Mrs. Flandin 
 would not go away, it was too good an opportunity of gath- 
 ering information about various points on which the " town " 
 had been curious and divided. She kept her place till after 
 supper. But all she could see was a fair, quiet demeanour ; 
 an unruffled beautiful face ; and an unconscious dignity of 
 carriage which was somewhat provokingly imposing. She 
 saw that Diana was at home and likely to be mistress in her 
 own sphere ; held in too much honour by her husband, and 
 holding him in too much honour, for that a pin's point of 
 malicious curiosity might find an entering place between 
 them. She reported afterwards, that the minister was a 
 fool and his wife another, and so they fitted. Mrs. Starling 
 was inclined to be of the same opinion. 
 
 The two most nearly concerned knew better. Fit they 
 did not, though they were the only ones of all the world 
 that knew it. While Diana had been away at Clifton, the 
 minister had managed to make one of the company at Elm- 
 field rather often, moved by various reasons. One effect
 
 412 DIANA. 
 
 however of this plan of action had been unfavourable to 
 his own peace of mind. He saw Evan and came to know 
 him ; he would know him, though the young man would 
 much rather have kept aloof from contact with Diana's hus- 
 band. Basil's simplicity of manner and straightforwardness 
 were too much for him. And while an unwilling and enor- 
 mous respect for the minister grew up in Captain Knowlton's 
 mind, the minister on his part saw and felt, and perhaps ex- 
 aggerated, the attractiveness of the young army officer. Basil 
 was not at all given to self-depreciation ; in fact, he did not 
 think of himself enough for such a mischievous mental trans- 
 action ; however he perceived the grace of figure and bear- 
 ing, the air of command and the beauty of feature, which he 
 thought might well take a woman's eye. ' My poor Diana ! ' 
 he said to himself ; 'her fancy has caught the stamp of all 
 this and will hold it. Naturally. She is not a woman to 
 like and unlike. What chance for me ! ' 
 
 Which meditations, unwholesome as they were, did not 
 prevent Basil's attaching himself to Captain Knowlton's 
 society, and making a friend of him, in spite of both their 
 selves, as it were. The captain's mental nature, he suspected 
 and found, was by no means in order to correspond with 
 his physical ; and if a friend could help him, he would be 
 that friend. And Basil did not see that the young officer's 
 evident respect for himself and succumbing to his friendly 
 advances, were a. very significant tribute to his own per- 
 sonal and other qualities. It was a little matter to him, in- 
 deed, such tribute, if he could not have it from his wife. 
 
 He had everything else in her that a man's heart could 
 desire ! He saw that, soon after her return from Clifton. 
 Diana's demeanour had been gracious and sweet before, al- 
 ways, although with a shadow upon it. Now the shadow 
 was gone, or changed ; he could not tell which ; she was
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 413. 
 
 not gay-spirited as he had once known her ; but she wen 
 about her house with a gentle grace which never failed. 
 Mrs. Starling was at times exceedingly trying and irritating. 
 Diana met and received it all as blandly as she would give 
 her face to the west wind ; at the same time no rough wind 
 could move her from the way of her duty. Mrs. Starling 
 was able neither to provoke her nor prevail with her. She 
 was the sweetest of ruling spirits within her house ; without 
 it, she was the most indefatigable and tender of fellow- 
 workers to her husband. Tender, not to him, that is, but 
 to all those for whom he and she ministered. A nurse to 
 the sick, a provider to the very poor, a counsellor to the 
 vexed ; for such would come to her, especially among the 
 younger women ; a comforter to those in trouble. Such a 
 comforter ! " Lips of healing " her husband said of her 
 once ; " wise, rare ; sweet as honey, but with the savour 
 of the wind blowing over wild thyme." If a little of that 
 sweetness could have come to him ! But while her life was 
 full of observance for him, gentle and submissive as a child 
 to every expressed wish of his, and watchful to meet his 
 unexpressed wish, it was the grief of Diana's life that she 
 did not love this man. In the reserve of her New England 
 nature, I think what she felt for him was hidden even from 
 herself. 
 
 That is, I mean, as days and months went on. At 
 Diana's first coming home from Clifton, no doubt her 
 opinion of her own feelings, and Basil's opinion of them, 
 was correct. If a change came, it came so imperceptibly 
 that nobody knew it. 
 
 Diana's beauty at this time had taken a new phasis. It 
 had lost the marble rigidity and calm impassiveness which 
 had characterized it during all the time of her married life 
 hitherto ; and it had not regained the careless lightness of
 
 4H DIANA. 
 
 the days before she knew Evan. It was something lovelier 
 than either ; so lovely that Basil wondered, and Mrs. Star- 
 ling sometimes stared, and every lip " in town " came to 
 have nothing but utterances of respect, more often utter- 
 ances of devotion, for the minister's wife. I am afraid I 
 cannot give you a just impression of it. For Diana's face 
 had come curiously near the expression on the face of her 
 own little child. Innocent, tender, pure, something like that. 
 Grave, but with no clouds at all ; strong and purposeful, 
 yet with an utter absence of self-will or self-conscious- 
 ness. It had always been to a certain degree, innocent 
 and pure, but that was negative ; and this was positive, 
 the refined gold that had been through the fire. And no 
 baby's face is sweeter than Diana's was now, all blossom- 
 ing as it were with love and humility. If her husband had 
 loved her before, the feeling of longing and despair that 
 came over him when he looked at this rarefied beauty 
 would be hard to tell. He had ruined her life, he re- 
 proached himself ; and she was lost to him forever. Yet, 
 as I said, though Diana's face was grave, it was a gravity 
 wholly without clouds ; the gravity of the summer dawn, 
 when the stars are shining and the light in the East tells 
 of the coming day. 
 
 But mental changes work slowly and insensibly oft- 
 times ; and day after day and week after week went by, 
 each with its fulness of business and cares ; and no one in 
 the little family knew exactly what forces were silently 
 busy. So a year rolled round, and another year began its 
 course, and ran it; and June came for the second time 
 since Diana had returned from the seaside. Elmfield in 
 all this time had not been revisited by its owners. 
 
 June had come again. Windows were open, and the 
 breath of roses filled the minister's study ; for Diana had
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 41$ 
 
 developed lately a passion for flowers and for gardening, 
 and her husband had given her with full hands all she 
 wanted, and much more. Mrs. Starling had grumbled and 
 been very sarcastic about it ; however, Basil had ordered 
 in plants and seeds and tools and books of instruction ; 
 he had become instructor himself ; and the result was, the 
 parsonage, as people began to call it, was encompassed 
 with a little wilderness of floral beauty which was growing 
 to be the wonder of Pleasant Valley. " It will do them 
 good ! " the minister said, when Diana called his attention 
 to the fact that the country farmers passing by were falling 
 into the habit of reining in their horses and stopping for a 
 good long look. For instead of the patch of marigolds 
 and hollyhocks in front of the house, all the wing inhab- 
 ited by the minister and his family was surrounded witfc 
 flowers. Roses bloomed in the beds and out of the grass 
 and climbed up on the walls of the house ; white Annunci- 
 ation lilies shone like stars here and there ; whole beds of 
 heliotrope were preparing their perfume ; geraniums held 
 up their elegant heads of every colour ; verbenas and 
 mignonette and honeysuckle and red lilies and yellow 
 lilies, and hardy gladiolus, were either just beginning or in 
 full beauty ; with many more, too many to tell ; and the old- 
 fashioned guelder rose had shaken out its white balls of 
 snow, and one or two laburnums were hung thick with 
 their clusters of " dropping gold." The garden was grow- 
 ing large, and as I said, become a wilderness of beauty. 
 Nevertheless the roses kept their own, and this afternoon 
 the breath of them rising above all the other sweet breaths 
 that were abroad, came in and filled the minister's study. 
 Diana was there alone sitting by one of the open windows, 
 busy with some work ; not so busy but that she smelt the 
 roses, and felt the glory of light and colour that was outside,
 
 4l6 DIANA. 
 
 and heard the hum of bees and the twitter of birds and the 
 soft indistinguishable chirrup of insects, which filled the 
 air. Diana sewed on, till another slight sound mingled 
 with those ; the tread of a foot on the gravel walk down 
 below ; then she lifted her head suddenly, and with that her 
 hands and her work fell into her lap. It was long past 
 mid-afternoon, and the lovely slant light striking over the 
 roses and coming through the crown of a young elm, fell 
 upon Basil, who was slowly sauntering along the garden 
 walk with his little girl in his arms. Very slowly, and often 
 standing still to exchange love passages and indulge mutual 
 admiration with her. They were partly talking of the 
 flowers, Diana could see ; but her own eyes had no vision 
 but" for those two, the baby and the baby's father. One 
 little fair fat arm was round Basil's neck ; the other tiny 
 hand was sometimes stretched out towards the lilies or the 
 laburnums, in critical or delighted notice-taking, the word- 
 accompaniament to which Diana could not hear but could 
 well guess ; at other times it was brought round ecstati- 
 cally to join its companion round her father's neck, or 
 lifted to his face with ringers of caressing, or thrust in 
 among the locks of his hair, which last seemed to be a 
 favourite pleasure. Basil would stand still at such times 
 and talk to her, or wait, Diana knew with just what a smile 
 in his eyes, to take the soft touches and return them. Di- 
 ana's work was forgotten and her eyes were rivetted ; why 
 did the scene in the garden give her such pain ? She would 
 have said, if she had been asked, that it was self-reproach 
 and sorrow for the inevitable. How came it, that she held 
 not as near a place to Basil as her child did ? she ought ; 
 but it was not so. She thought, she wished she loved him ! 
 She ought to be as free to put her hand on the soft curls 
 of Basil's hair as her baby was ; but they stood too far
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. ' 417 
 
 apart from each other, and she would as soon have dared 
 anything. And Basil never looked at her so now-a-days ; 
 he had found out how she felt, and knew she did not 
 care for his looks ; and kind and gentle and unselfish 
 as he was, yes, and strong in self-command and self re- 
 nunciation, he had resigned his life-hope and left her to 
 her life-sorrow. Yet Diana knew, with every smile and 
 kiss to the little one what a cry of Basil's heart went out 
 towards the child's mother. Only, he would never give 
 that cry utterance again. ' What can I do ? ' thought 
 Diana. ' I cannot bear it. And he thinks I am a great 
 deal more unhappy than I am. Unhappy ? I am not un- 
 happy if only he were not unhappy.' 
 
 She could not explain her feelings to herself, she had 
 no notion that she was jealous of her own child ; but the 
 pain bit .her, and she could not endure to sit up there at the 
 window and look on. Rising hastily, she dropped her work 
 out of her hand and was about to go down into the garden 
 to join them, when another glance shewed her that Basil had 
 turned and was coming back into the house. Diana lis- 
 tened to them as they mounted the stairs, Basil's feet and 
 the baby's voice sounding together, with a curious unrest 
 at her heart, and her eyes met the pair eagerly as they 
 entered the room. From what impulse she could not have 
 told, she advanced to meet them and stretched out her 
 hands to take the child ; which however, with a little con- 
 fident cry of delight turned from her and clasped both little 
 arms again round her father's neck. Basil smiled ; Diana 
 tried to follow suit. 
 
 ' She would rather be with you than with me,' she re- 
 marked however. 
 
 ' I wonder at her bad taste ! ' said Basil. But he turned 
 his face to the baby and laid it gently against her soft 
 cheek. 
 
 27
 
 41 8 DIANA. 
 
 'It is because you are stronger' Diana went en. 
 
 ' Is it ? ' 
 
 ' That is one thing. You may notice, children always 
 like strong arms.' 
 
 ' Her mother's arms are not weak.' 
 
 ' No but I am not so strong as you, Basil, bodily or 
 mentally. And I think that is more yet ; mental strength 
 I mean. Children recognize that, and love to rest on it.' 
 
 'You do not think such discrimination is confined to 
 children ? ' said Basil, with a dry, quiet humourousness at 
 which Diana could not help smiling, though she felt quite 
 as much like a very different demonstration. She watched 
 the two, as Basil walked on to his study table and sat 
 down, with the child on his knee ; she saw the upturned 
 eye of love with which the little one regarded him as he 
 did this, and then how with a long breath of satisfaction she 
 settled herself in her place, smoothed down her frock, and 
 laid the little hands contentedly together in her lap. Basil 
 drew his portfolio towards him and began to write a letter. 
 Diana went to her work again in the window, feeling rest- 
 less. She felt she must say something more, and in a dif- 
 ferent key, and as she worked she watched the two at the 
 table. This was not the way things ought to be. Her hus- 
 band must be told at least something of the change that 
 had taken place in her ; he ought to know that she was no 
 longer miserable ; he would be glad to know that. Diana 
 thought he might have seen it without her telling ; but if he 
 did not, then she must speak. He had a right to so much 
 comfort as she could give him ; and he ought to be told 
 that she was not now wishing to be in another presence 
 and society than his. If she could tell him without his 
 thinking too much She watched till the letter was written 
 and he was folding it up. And then Diana's tongue hesi- 
 tated unaccountably.
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 419 
 
 ' Basil,' she began, obliging herself to speak, ' I can 
 smell the roses again.' 
 
 He looked up instantly with keen ^ycs. 
 
 'You know, there was a long while a long while, 
 in which I could not feel that anything was sweet.' 
 
 ' And now ? ' 
 
 ' Now I can. I knew you ought to know. You would 
 be glad. I am like a person who has been in a brain fever 
 or dead and awaked to life and soundness again. You 
 cannot think what it is to me, to see the sky.' Diana's 
 eyes filled. 
 
 ' What did you use to see ? ' 
 
 'The vault of my prison. What signified whether it 
 were blue or brazen ? But now ' 
 
 'Well? 'Now,' Diana?' 
 
 ' I can see through.' 
 
 Perhaps this was not very intelligible, for manifestly it 
 was not easy for Diana to explain herself ; but Basil this 
 time did not speak, and she presently began again. 
 
 ' I mean, there is no prison vault, nor any prison any 
 more ; the walls that seemed to shut me in are dissolved, 
 and I am free again.' 
 
 ' And you can see through ? ' Basil repeated. 
 
 ' Yes. Where my eyes were met by something harder 
 than fate, it is all broken up, and light, and clear, and I 
 can see through.' 
 
 ' I never used to think you were a fanciful woman,' said 
 the minister, eyeing her intently ; ' but this time I do not 
 quite follow you, Di. I am afraid to take your words for 
 all they may mean.' 
 
 ' But you may.' 
 
 'What may I?' 
 
 ' They mean all I say.'
 
 42O DIANA. 
 
 ' I am sure of that,' said he smiling, though he looked 
 anxious ; ' but you see, there is the very point of my diffi- 
 culty.' 
 
 ' I mean, Basil, that I am out of my bondage, which I 
 thought never could be broken in this world.' 
 
 ' Out of what bondage, my love ? ' 
 
 Diana paused. 
 
 ' When I went down to Clifton, to Mrs. Sutphen's, do 
 you know, I could think of nothing but Evan Knowlton ? ' 
 
 Diana's colour stirred, but she looked her husband 
 steadily in the face. 
 
 ' I suspected it.' 
 
 ' For a long time I could not, Basil. Night and day, I 
 could think of nothing else. Wasn't that bondage ? ' 
 
 ' Depends on how you take it,' said the minister. 
 
 ' But it was wrong, Basil.' 
 
 'I found excuses for you, Diana.' 
 
 ' Did you ? ' she said humbly. ' I dare say you did. It 
 is like you. But it was wrong, and I knew it was wrong, 
 and I could not help it. Is not that bondage, of the worst 
 sort? O you don't know, Basil! you never knew such a 
 fight between wrong and right ; between your wish and your 
 will. But for a long time I did not see that it was wrong ; 
 I thought it was of necessity.' 
 
 ' How came your view to change ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. All of a sudden. Something Mrs. Sut- 
 phen said one morning started my thoughts, and I saw at 
 once that I was doing very wrong. Still it seemed as if I 
 could not help it.' 
 
 ' How did you help it ? ' 
 
 ' /didn't, Basil. I fought and fought O what a fight! 
 It seemed like death, and worse, to give up Evan ; and to 
 stop thinking of him, meant, to give him up. I could not
 
 BUDS AND BLOSSOMS. 421 
 
 gain the victory. But don't you remember telling me, often, 
 that Christ would do everything for me if I would trust 
 him ? ' 
 
 < Yes.' 
 
 ' Basil, he did. It wasn't I. At last I got utterly 
 desperate, and I threw myself at his feet and claimed the 
 promise. I was as helpless as I could be. And then Ba- 
 sil, presently, I cannot tell how, the work was done. 
 The battle was fought and the victory was won, and I was 
 free. And ever since I have been singing songs in my 
 heart.' 
 
 Basil did not flush with pleasure. Diana thought he 
 grew pale rather ; but he bowed his head upon the head of 
 the little one on his lap with a deep low utterance of 
 thanksgiving. She thought he would have shewn his pleas- 
 ure differently. She did not know how to go on. 
 
 ' It was not I, Basil ' she said after a pause. 
 
 ' It never is I, or you,' answered the minister without 
 looking up. ' It is always Christ, if anything is done.' 
 
 ' Since then, you see, I have felt like a freedwoman.' 
 
 ' Which you are.' 
 
 ' And then you cannot think what it was to me, and 
 what it is, to smell the roses again. There were not many 
 roses about Clifton at that time, in September ; but it 
 was the bay and the shores and the vessels and the sky. I 
 seemed to have got new eyes, and everything was so beau- 
 tiful.' 
 
 Basil repeated his ejaculation of thanksgiving, but he 
 said nothing more ; and Diana felt somehow disappointed. 
 Did he not understand that she was free ? He bowed his 
 head close down upon the head of his little daughter and 
 was silent.' 
 
 ' I knew you ought to know ' Diana repeated.
 
 422 DIANA. 
 
 ' Thank you ' he said. 
 
 ' And yet I couldn't tell you though I knew you would 
 be so glad for me and with me.' 
 
 ' I am unutterably glad for you.' 
 
 And not with me ? she said to herself. Why not ? Isn't 
 it enough, if I don't love anybody else ? if I give him all I 
 have to give ? even though that be not what he gives to 
 me. I wish Basil would be reasonable. 
 
 It was certainly the first time it had ever occurred to 
 her to make him the subject of such a wish. But Diana 
 did not speak out her thought, and of course her husband 
 did not answer it.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 DAIRY AND PARISH WORK. 
 
 ACCORDING to her custom, Diana was up early the 
 next morning, and down in her dairy while yet the sun 
 was only just getting above the horizon. The dairy win- 
 dow stood open night and day; and the cool dewy freshness 
 which was upon the roses and lilies outside was in there 
 too among the pans of cream ; the fragrance of those 
 mingled with the different but very pure sweetness of these. 
 Diana was skimming pan after pan ; the thick yellow 
 cream wrinkled up in rich folds under her skimmer ; the 
 skimming shelf was just before the window, and outside 
 of the window were the roses and honeysuckles. Diana's 
 sleeves were rolled up above her elbows ; her hands were 
 disposing of their business with quick skill ; yet now and 
 then, even with a pan under her hand, she paused, leaned 
 on the window sill and looked out into the garden. She 
 felt glad about something, and yet an unsatisfied query 
 was in her heart ; she was glad that she had at last told 
 her husband how the spell was broken that had bound her 
 to Evan and kept her apart from himself. ' But he did not 
 seem so glad as I expected ! ' Then she recalled the deep 
 tone of his thanksgiving for her, and Diana's eyes took a 
 yearning look which certainly saw no roses. ' It was all 
 for me ; it was not for his own share ; he did not think he 
 had any share in it. He has a notion that I hate him ; 
 
 423
 
 424 DIANA. 
 
 and I do not ; I never did.' It occurred to her here dimly 
 that she had once felt a horror of him ; and who would not 
 rather have hatred than horror ? She went on skimming 
 her cream. What should she do ? 'I cannot speak about 
 it again,' she said to herself ; ' I cannot say any more to 
 him. I cannot say I don't know what I ought to say! 
 but I wish he knew that I do not dislike him. He is keen 
 enough ; surely he will find it out.' 
 
 Pan after pan was set aside ; the churn was filled ; and 
 Diana began to churn. Presently in came Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' Hain't Josh brought the milk yet ? ' 
 
 1 Not yet.' 
 
 ' It's time he did. That fellow's got a lazy streak in 
 him somewhere.' 
 
 ' It's only just half-past five, mother.' 
 
 ' The butter ought to be come by now, I should think. ' 
 Mrs. Starling was passing in and out, setting the table in the 
 lean-to kitchen. She would have no ' help ' in her domin- 
 ions, so it was only in Diana's part of the house that the 
 little servant officiated, whom Basil insisted upon keeping 
 for his wife's ease and comfort and leisure. Diana herself 
 attended as of old to her particular sphere, the dairy. 
 ' How do you know it's just half-past five ? ' her mother 
 went on presently. 
 
 ' I looked.' 
 
 ' Watches ! ' exclaimed Mrs. Starling with much disgust. 
 'Your husband is ridiculous about you.' 
 
 But Diana could bear that. 
 
 ' In your dairy, is a queer place to wear a watch.' 
 
 ' Why mother, it's for use, not for show.' 
 
 ' Make me believe that ! There's a good deal of show 
 about it anyhow, with such a chain hanging to it.' 
 
 ' My husband gave it to me, you know, chain and all ;
 
 DAIRY AND PARISH WORK. 425 
 
 I must wear it,' Diana said with a face as sweet as the 
 roses. 
 
 ' Oh yes ! your husband ! ' Mrs. Starling answered in- 
 sultingly. ' That will do to say to other people. Much you 
 care what your husband does ! ' 
 
 Diana got up here, left her churn, came up to her mother 
 and put a hand upon her arm. The action and air of the 
 woman were so commanding, that even Mrs. Starling stood 
 still with a certain involuntary deference. Diana's face and 
 voice however were as clear and calm as they were com- 
 manding. 
 
 ' Mother,' she said, ' you are mistaken. I care with 
 all there is of me ; heart and soul and life.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling's eye shrank away. ' Since when ? ' she 
 asked incredulously. 
 
 ' It does not matter since when. Whatever I have ever 
 felt for other people, there is only one person in the world 
 that I care for now ; and that is, my husband.' 
 
 'You'd better tell him so,' sneered Mrs. Starling. 
 ' When do you expect your butter is going to come, if you 
 stand there ? ' 
 
 'The butter is come,' said Diana gently. She knew the 
 sneer was meant to cover uneasy feeling ; and if it had not, 
 still she would not have resented it. She never resented 
 anything now that was done to herself. In came Josh with 
 the foaming pails. Diana's hands were in the butter and 
 her mother came to strain the milk. 
 
 ' There had ought to be three quarts more, that ain't 
 here,' she grumbled. 
 
 ' They ain't nowheres else then,' answered her facto- 
 tum. 
 
 ' Josh, you don't strip the cows clean.' 
 
 'Who doos, then ?' said Josh grinning. 'If 'tain't me,
 
 426 DIANA. 
 
 I don' know who 'tis. That 'ere red heifer is losin' on her 
 milk, though, Mis' Starlin'. She had ought to be fed sun'- 
 thinV 
 
 ' Well, feed her then,' cried the mistress. ' You know 
 enough for that. You must keep up the milk this month, 
 Josh ; the grass is first-rate.' 
 
 Diana escaped away. 
 
 A while later the family was assembled at breakfast. 
 
 ' Where's the child ? ' inquired Mrs. Starling. 
 
 ' I believe she is out in the garden, mother.' 
 
 ' She oughtn't to be out before she has had her break- 
 fast. 'Tain't good for her.' 
 
 ' O she has had her breakfast,' said Diana. This was 
 nothing new. Diana as well as her husband was glad to 
 keep the little one from Mrs. Starling's table, where unless 
 they wanted her to be fed on pork and pickles and the like, 
 it was difficult to have a harmonious meal. It was often 
 difficult at any rate ! 
 
 ' Who's with her ? ' Mrs. Starling went on. 
 
 ' Her father was with her. Now Prudence is looking 
 after her.' 
 
 ' Prudence ! You want to keep a girl about as much as 
 I want to keep a boat. You have no use for her.' 
 
 ' She is useful just now,' put in the dominie. 
 
 * Why can't Diana take care of her own child, and feed 
 her when she takes her own meals ? as I used to do, and 
 as everybody else does.' 
 
 ' You think that is a convenient arrangement for all 
 parties? ' said the minister. 
 
 ' I hate to have danglers about ! ' said Mrs. Starling. 
 ' If there's anything I abominate, it's shiftlessness. I al- 
 ways found my ten fingers was servants enough for me ; 
 and what they couldn't do, I could go without. And I
 
 DAIRY AND PARISH WORK. 42/ 
 
 don't like to see a daughter o' mine sit with her hands be- 
 fore her and livin' off other people's strength ! ' 
 
 Diana laughed, a low, sweet laugh, that was enough to 
 smooth away the wrinkles out of anybody's mood. 
 
 ' She has to do as she's told/ said the minister senten- 
 tiously. 
 
 1 That's because she's a fool.' 
 
 'Do you think so?' Basil answered with unchanged 
 good humour. 
 
 ' /never took my lessons from anybody.' 
 
 ' Perhaps it would have been better if you had.' 
 
 ' And you are spoiling her,' Mrs. Starling added incon- 
 sistently. 
 
 ' I wonder you haven't.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling paused to consider what the minister 
 meant. Before she came to speech again, he rose from the 
 table. 
 
 ' Will you come to my study, Diana, after breakfast ? ' 
 
 ' Who's goin' to make my cake then ? ' cried the mistress 
 of the house. ' Society's to meet here again this after- 
 noon.' 
 
 ' I'll make it mother a Mountain cake, if you like,' 
 said Diana, also rising. ' Basil wont want me all the morn- 
 ing.' But she was eager to hear what he had to say to 
 her, and hurried after him. He had seemed to her more 
 than usually preoccupied. 
 
 ' I do think,' she remarked as she reached the study, 
 ' the Society eat more cake than their work is worth.' 
 
 ' Heresy ' said Basil smiling. 
 
 ' They don't do much sewing, Basil.' 
 
 ' They do something else. Never mind ; let them come 
 and have a good time. It won't hurt anybody much.' 
 
 Diana looked at him and smiled, and then waited anx-
 
 428 DIANA. 
 
 iously. She longed for some words from Basil different 
 from those he had spoken last night. Could he not see, 
 that if her passion for Evan was broken, there was nothing 
 left for him to look grave about ? And ought he not to be 
 jubilant over the confession she had just made to her 
 mother ? Diana was jubilant over it herself ; she had set 
 that matter clear at last. It is true, Basil had not heard 
 the confession, but ought he not to divine it, when it was 
 the truth ? ' If I do not just love him,' said Diana to her- 
 self, ' at least he is the only one I care for in all the world. 
 That would have made him glad once. And he don't look 
 glad. Does he expect me to speak out and tell him all 
 that ? ' 
 
 Basil did not look as if he expected her to do any such 
 thing. He was rather graver than usual, and did not at once 
 say anything. Through the open window came the air 
 still damp with dew, laden with the scent of honeysuckle 
 and roses, jocund with the shouts of birds ; and for one 
 instant Diana's thoughts swept back away to years ago, 
 with a wondering recognition of the change in herself since 
 those June days. Then her husband began to speak. 
 
 ' I have had a call, Diana.' 
 
 ' A call ? You have a good many of them always, Basil. 
 What was this ? ' 
 
 ' Of a different sort. A call for me not a call upon 
 me.' 
 
 ' Well, there have always been calls for you too, in 
 plenty, ever since I have known you. What do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 ' This is a call to me, to leave Pleasant Valley,' said 
 Basil, watching her, yet without seeming to do so. Diana 
 looked bewildered. 
 
 ' Ta leave Pleasant Valley ? Why ? And where would 
 you go, Basil ? '
 
 DAIRY AND PARISH WORK. 429 
 
 { I am called, because the people want somebody and 
 have pitched upon me. The place is a manufacturing 
 town, not very far from Boston.' 
 
 ' Are you going ? ' 
 
 ' That is the point upon which I desire to have your 
 opinion.' 
 
 'But, Basil, the people here want you too.' 
 
 'Grant that.' 
 
 ' Then what does it signify, whether other people want 
 you ? ' 
 
 'In so much, as the 'other people' are more in num- 
 bers and far^more needy in condition.' 
 
 ' Want you more ' said Diana wistfully. 
 
 ' That is the plain English of it.' 
 
 ' And will you go ? ' 
 
 ' What do you counsel ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know the people ' said Diana breathless. 
 
 ' Nor I, as yet. The church that calls me, is itself a 
 rich little church which has been accustomed, I am afraid, 
 for some time, to a dead level in religion.' 
 
 ' They must want you then, badly,' said Diana. ' That 
 was how Pleasant Valley was, five years ago.' 
 
 ' But round the church lies on every hand the mill 
 population, for whom hardly any one cares. They need 
 not one man, but many. Nothing is done for them. 
 They are almost heathen, in the midst of a land called 
 Christian.' 
 
 ' Then you will go ? ' said Diana, looking, at Mr. Mas- 
 ters and wishing that he would speak to her with a different 
 expression of face. It was calm, sweet and high, as al- 
 ways ; but she knew he thought his wife was lost to him 
 for ever. ' And yet, I told him, last night ! ' she said to 
 herself. Really, she was thinking more of that than of this 
 other subject Basil had unfolded to her.
 
 430 DIANA. 
 
 ' I do not know,' he answered. ' How would you like 
 to run over there with me and take a look at the place ? 
 I have a very friendly invitation to come and bring you, 
 for the very purpose.' 
 
 ' Run over ? Why it must be more than one day's 
 journey? ' 
 
 ' One runs by railway,' said Basil simply. ' What do 
 you think ? Will you go ? ' 
 
 ' O yes, indeed ! if you will let me. And Rosy ? ' 
 
 ' We will go nowhere without Rosy.' 
 
 Diana made her cake like one in a dream.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 THE journey to Mainbridge, the manufacturing town in 
 question, took place within a few days. With eager cordial- 
 ity the minister and his family were welcomed in the house 
 of one of the chief men of the church and of the place, and 
 made very much at home. It was a phasis of social life which 
 Diana had hardly touched ever before. Wealth was abound- 
 ing and superaboun-ding ; the house was large, the luxury 
 of furnishing and fitting, of service and equipage, was on 
 a scale she had never seen. Basil was amused to observe 
 that she did not seem to see it now ; she took it as a mat- 
 ter of course, and fitted in these new surroundings as 
 though her life had been lived in them. The dress of the 
 minister's wife was very plain, certainly ; her muslins were 
 not costly, and they were simply made ; yet nobody in the 
 room looked so much dressed as she. It was the dignity 
 of her beauty that so attired her ; it was beauty of mind 
 and body both ; and both made the grace of her movements 
 and the grace of her quiet so exquisite as it was. Basil 
 smiled and sighed. 
 
 But there was no doubt Diana saw the mill people. 
 The minister and his wife were taken to see the mills, of 
 course, divers and various. Silk mills, cotton mills, iron 
 mills. The machinery, and the work done by it, were fas- 
 cinating to Diana and delightful ; the mill people, men, 
 women and children, were more fascinating by far, though 
 
 431
 
 432 DIANA. 
 
 in a far different way. She watched them in the mills, she 
 watched them when she met them in the street, going to or 
 from work. 
 
 ' Do they go to church ? ' she asked once of Mr. Brandt, 
 their entertainer. He shook his head. 
 
 ' They are tired with their week's work when Saturday 
 night comes, and want to rest. Sunday was given for rest,' 
 he said, looking into Diana's face, which was a study to 
 him. 
 
 ' Don't you think,' she said, ' rest of body is a poor 
 thing without rest of mind ? ' 
 
 ' My mind cannot rest unless my body does,' he answered 
 laughing. 
 
 ' Take it the other way don't you know what it is to 
 have rest of mind make you forget weariness of body ? ' 
 
 ' No nor you either,' said he. 
 
 ' Then I am sorry for you ; and I wish I could get at 
 the mill people.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' To tell them what I know about it.' 
 
 ' But you could not get at them. Airs. Masters. They 
 are in the mills from seven till seven or eight ; and come 
 out tired and dirty ; and Sunday, as I told you, they like 
 to stay at home and rest and perhaps clean up.' 
 
 ' If there is no help for that,' said Diana, ' there ought 
 to be no mills.' 
 
 ' And no manufacturers ? ' 
 
 * What are silk and iron, to the bodies and souls of 
 men ? Basil, does that passage in the Revelation mean 
 that ? ' 
 
 ' What passage ? ' said Mr. Brandt. ' Here is a Bible, 
 Mrs. Masters ; perhaps you will be so good as to find the 
 place. I am afraid from your expression, it is not a flatter-
 
 BABYLON. 433 
 
 ing passage for us mill-owners. What are the words you 
 refer to ? ' 
 
 I think he wanted to draw out Diana much more than 
 the meaning of Scripture. She took the Bible a little 
 doubtfully and glanced at Basil. He was smiling at her 
 in a reassuring way, but did not at all offer to help. Di- 
 ana's thoughts wandered somewhat and she turned the 
 leaves of the Bible unsuccessfully. ' Where is it, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' You are thinking of the account of the destruction of 
 Babylon. It is in the eighteenth chapter.' 
 
 ' But Babylon ! ' said the host. ' We have nothing to 
 do with Babylon. That means Rome, doesn't it ? ' 
 
 ' Here's the chapter,' said Diana. ' No, it cannot mean 
 Rome, Mr. Brandt ; though Dean Stanley seems to assume 
 that it does, in spite of the fact which he naively points 
 out, that the description don't fit.' 
 
 'What then?' 
 
 ' Basil, won't you explain ? ' 
 
 ' It is merely an assumption of old Testament imagery,' 
 said Basil. 'At a time when lineal Israel stood for the 
 church of God upon earth, Babylon represented the head 
 and culmination of the world power, the church's deadly 
 opponent and foe. Babylon in the Apocalypse but means 
 that of which Nebuchadnezzar's old Babylon was the type.' 
 
 ' And what is that ? ' 
 
 ' The power of this world, of which Satan is said to be 
 the prince.' 
 
 ' But what do you mean by the world, Mr. Masters ? 
 We cannot get out of the world it is a pretty good world 
 too, I think, take it for all in all. People talk of being 
 worldly and not worldly ; but they do not know what they 
 are talking about.' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' Diana asked. 
 
 28
 
 434 DIANA. 
 
 ' Well now, ask my wife,' Mr. Brandt answered laughing. 
 ' She thinks it is " worldly " to have a cockade on your 
 coachman's hat ; it is not worldly to have the coachman, or 
 the carriage, and she don't object to a coat with buttons. 
 Then it is not worldly to give a party, but it is worldly to 
 dance ; it is very worldly to play cards. There's hair-split- 
 ting somewhere, and my eyes are not sharp enough to see 
 the lines.' 
 
 Diana sat with her book in her hand, looking up at the 
 speaker ; a look so fair and clear and grave that Mr. Brandt 
 was again moved by curiosity and tempted to try to make 
 her speak. 
 
 ' Can you make it out ? ' he said smiling. 
 
 ' Why yes ! ' said Diana ; ' but there is no hair-splitting. 
 It is very simple. There are just two kingdoms in the 
 world, Mr. Brandt; and whatever does not belong to the 
 one, belongs to the other. Whatever is not for God, is for 
 the world.' 
 
 ' Then your definition of the "world " is ? ' 
 
 ' All that is not God's.' 
 
 ' But I am not clear yet. I don't see how you draw 
 the line. Take my mills, for example ; they belong to this 
 profane, work-a-day world ; yet I must run them. Is that 
 worldly ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, if you do not run them for God.' 
 
 Mr. Brandt stared a little. 
 
 ' I confess, I do not see how that is to be done,' he 
 owned. 
 
 'The business that you cannot do for God, you had 
 better not do at all,' said Diana gently. 
 
 ' But spinning cotton ? ' 
 
 ' Spinning cotton, or anything else that employs men 
 and makes money.'
 
 BABYLON. 435 
 
 'How?' 
 
 ' You can do it for God, cannot you ? ' said Diana in 
 the same way. ' You can employ the men and make the 
 money for his sake, and in his service.' 
 
 'But that is coming pretty close,' said the mill-owner. 
 ' Suppose I want a little of the money for myself and my 
 family ? ' 
 
 ' I am speaking too much ! ' said Diana with a lovely 
 flush on her cheek and looking up to "her husband. ' I wish 
 you would take the word, Basil.' 
 
 ' I hope Mr. Masters is going to be a little more mer- 
 ciful to the weaknesses of ordinary humanity,' said Mr. 
 Brandt, half lightly. ' So tremendous a preacher have I 
 never heard yet.' 
 
 Basil was silent, and Diana looked down at the volume 
 in her hand. 
 
 'Won't you go on Mrs. Masters?' said her host. 
 ' What do you find for me there ? ' 
 
 ' I was looking for my quotation,' said Diana ; ' I had 
 not got it quite right.' 
 
 'How is it?' 
 
 ' Here is a list of the luxuries in which Babylon traded 
 " The merchandise of gold, and silver, and precious 
 stones, and of pearls, and fine linen, and purple, and silk 
 and scarlet, and all thyine wood, and all manner vessels of 
 ivory, and all manner vessels of most precious wood, and 
 of brass, and iron, and marble, and cinnamon, and odours, 
 and ointments, and frankincense, and wine, and oil, and 
 fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, 
 and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men." 
 
 'Sounds for all the world like an inventory of the 
 things in my house,' said Mr. Brandt. ' Pray what of all 
 that ? Don't you like all those things ? '
 
 436 DIANA. 
 
 ' " For in one hour so great riches is come to nought." ' 
 
 ' But what harm iri these things, or most of them, Mrs. 
 Masters ? ' 
 
 Diana glanced up at Basil and did not answer. He 
 answered. 
 
 ' No harm so long as business and the fruits of busi- 
 ness are kept within the line we were speaking of ; so long 
 as all is for God and to God. If it is not for him, it is for 
 the " world." ' 
 
 ' O my dear Mrs. Masters ! ' cried Mrs. Brandt running 
 in, ' here you are. I was looking for you. I came to ask 
 shall I order the landau for five o'clock, to drive to the 
 lake ? ' 
 
 Diana was glad to have the conversation broken up. 
 When the hour for the drive came, and she sank into the 
 luxurious, satiny depths of the landau, her thoughts invol- 
 untarily recurred to it. The carriage was so very comfort- 
 able ! It rolled smoothly along, over good roads, drawn 
 by well-trotting horses ; the motion was delightful. Diana's 
 thoughts rolled on too. Suddenly Mr. Brandt leaned over 
 towards her. 
 
 ' Is this carriage a "worldly" indulgence, Mrs. Masters?' 
 
 Diana started. ' I don't know,' she said. 
 
 ' Ah,' said the other laughing at her startled face, ' I 
 am glad to see that even you may have a doubt on that 
 subject. You cannot blame less etherealized persons, like 
 my wife and me, if we go on contentedly, with no doubts.' 
 
 ' But you mistake me,' said Diana. 
 
 'You said, you did not know.' 
 
 ' Because I don't know you.' 
 
 ' What has that to do with it ? ' 
 
 'If I knew you well, Mr. Brandt, I should knovtf 
 whether this carriage is the Lord's or not.'
 
 BABYLON. 437 
 
 The expression of the gentleman's face upon this was 
 hardly agreeable ; he sat back in his seat and looked at 
 the prospect ; and so Diana tried to do, but for a time the 
 landscape to her was indistinguishable. Her thoughts 
 went back to the mills and the mill people, pale, apathetic, 
 reserved, sometimes stern, they had struck her painfully as 
 a set of people who did not own kindred with other classes 
 of their fellow creatures ; apart, alone, without instruction, 
 without sympathy ; not enjoying this life, nor on the way 
 to enjoy the next. The marks of poverty were on them 
 too, abundantly. Diana's mind was too full of these people 
 to allow her leisure for the beauties of nature ; or if she 
 felt these, to let her feel them without a great sense of con- 
 trast. Then she did not know whether she had spoken 
 wisely. Alone in her room at night with Basil she began 
 to talk about it. She wished that he would begin, but he 
 did not, so she must. 
 
 ' Basil, did I say too much to Mr. Brandt to-day ? ' 
 
 ' I guess not.' 
 
 Diana knew by the tone of these words that her hus- 
 band was on this subject contented. 
 
 ' What do you think of the mill people ? ' 
 
 ' I am very curious to find out what impression they 
 make on you.' 
 
 ' Basil,' said Diana, her voice trembling, ' they break 
 my heart ! ' 
 
 ' What's to be done in that case ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. Nothing follows upon that. But how 
 do you feel ? ' 
 
 ' Very much as if I would like to prove the realizing of 
 that old prophecy " To whom he was not spoken of, they 
 shall see ; and they that have not heard shall under- 
 stand." '
 
 43^ DIANA. 
 
 ' That is just how I feel, Basil. But they do not go to 
 church, people say ; how could you get at them ? ' 
 
 ' We could look them up at their own homes ; we could 
 arrange meetings for them that they, would like ; we could 
 work ourselves into their affections, by degrees, and then 
 the door would be open for us to bring Christ in. We 
 could give them help too, where help is needed.' 
 
 ' We, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Don't you feel as I do? You said so,' he answered 
 with a grave smile. 
 
 ' O, I do ! ' said Diana. ' I cannot think of anything 
 lovelier than to see those faces change with the knowledge 
 of Christ.' 
 
 ' Then you would be willing to leave our present field 
 of work ? ' 
 
 ' It does not seem to want us as this does not by 
 manyfold.' 
 
 ' Would your mother leave Pleasant Valley ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' How then, Di, about you ? ' 
 
 ' The first question is duty, Basil.' 
 
 ' I think, mine is to come here.' 
 
 'Then it must be mine,' said Diana, with a sort of dis- 
 appointment upon her that he should speak in that way. 
 
 ' And would it be your pleasure too ?' 
 
 ' Why certainly. Basil, I cannot imagine pleasure to be 
 apart from duty.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' he said gently. ' And I thank God, who 
 has brought you so far in your lesson-learning, as to know 
 that.' 
 
 Diana said no more. She was ready to cry, with the 
 feeling that her husband thought himself to have so little 
 to do with her pleasure. Tears however were not much
 
 BABYLON. 439 
 
 in her way, and she did not shed any, but she speculated. 
 Had he really to do with her pleasure ? It was different 
 certainly once. She had craved to be at a distance from 
 him ; she could remember the time well ; but the time was 
 past. Was it reasonable to expect him to know that fact ? 
 He had thoroughly learned the bitter truth that her heart 
 was not his and could never be his ; what should tell him 
 that the conditions of things were changed. Were they 
 changed ? Diana was in great confusion. She began to 
 think she did not know herself. She did not hate Mr. 
 Masters any more ; nay, she declared to herself she never 
 had hated him ; she always had liked him ; only then she 
 had loved Evan Knowlton, and now that was gone. She 
 did not love anybody. There was no reason in the world 
 why Mr. Masters should not be contented. ' I think,' 
 said Diana to herself, ' I give him enough of my heart to 
 content him. I wonder what would content him ? I do not 
 care two straws for anybody else in all the world. He 
 would say, if I told him that, he would say it is a negative 
 proposition. Suppose I could go further ' and Diana's 
 cheeks began to burn, ' suppose I could, I could not pos- 
 sibly stand up and tell him so. I cannot. He ought to see 
 it for himself. But he does not. He ought to be con 
 tented I think he might be contented with what I give 
 him, if it isn't just ' 
 
 Diana broke off with her thoughts very much disturbed. 
 She thought she did not love her husband, but things were 
 no longer clear ; except that Basil's persistent ignorance 
 of the fact that they had changed, chafed and distressed 
 her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE PARTY. 
 
 THE morning of the next day was spent in still further 
 visits to still more mills. Mr. Brandt was much struck 
 with the direction his guests' attention seemed to take. 
 
 ' You are very fond of machinery ; ' he remarked to 
 Diana. 
 
 ' Yes I don't know much about it,' she answered. 
 
 ' Surely that is not true after these two or three days' 
 work ? ' 
 
 ' I knew nothing about it before. Yes, I do enjoy it, 
 Mr. Brandt, with you and Mr. Masters to explain things to 
 me ; but it is the people that interest me most.' 
 
 ' The people ! ' 
 
 1 The mill hands ? ' Mrs. Brandt asked. 
 
 ' Yes. The mill hands.' 
 
 'What can you find interesting in them? I am half 
 afraid of them, for my part.' 
 
 'They look as if they wanted friends so much.' 
 
 ' Friends ? ' repeated Mrs. Brandt. ' I suppose they have 
 friends among themselves. Why should not they ? Well, 
 it is time you ha-d a change of society, I think. My hus- 
 band has taken you among the mill people for two days j 
 now to-night I will introduce you to a different set ; some 
 of your church people. I want you to take rest this after- 
 noon, my dear Mrs. Masters, now wont you ! so as to be
 
 THE PARTY. 44! 
 
 able to enjoy the evening. I am sure Brandt has fatigued 
 you to death. I never can stand going up and down those 
 stairs in the mills, and standing about ; it kills me.' 
 
 ' I wonder how they bear standing at the looms or the 
 other machines all day ? ' 
 
 ' They ? O they are accustomed to it, I suppose. An 
 hour or two of it breaks me down. Now rest, will you ? 
 It's quite a great occasion to-night. One of our greatest 
 men, among the mill owners, and one of the pillars of the 
 church you and Mr. Masters are coming to take care of, 
 gives an entertainment to his daughter to-night ; a bride 
 married lately just come home and just going away again. 
 You'll see all our best people. Now please go and rest.' 
 
 Diana went to her room and rested, outwardly. In her 
 mind thoughts were very busy. And when it was time to 
 dress, they were hardly diverted from their subjects. It 
 was with a sort of unconscious instinct, that Diana threw 
 her beautiful hair into the wavy masses and coils which 
 were more graceful than she knew and crowned her so 
 royally ; and in the like manner that she put on a dress of 
 soft white muslin. It had no adornment other than the 
 lace which finished it at throat and wrists ; she looked most 
 like a bride herself. So Basil thought, when he came to 
 fetch her ; though he did not say his thought, fearing lest 
 he might graze something in her mind which would pain 
 her. He often withheld words for such a reason. 
 
 ' Will it do ? ' said Diana, seeing him look at her. 
 
 ' Too good for the occasion ! ' said Basil shaking his 
 head. 
 
 ' Too much dressed ? ' said Diana. ' I thought I must 
 dress as much as I could. Is it too much, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Nobody else will think so/ said the minister with a 
 queer smile.
 
 442 DIANA. 
 
 ' Do you think so ? ' 
 
 ' You are just as you ought to be. All the same, it is 
 beyond the company. Never mind. Come ! ' 
 
 Down stairs another sort of criticism. 
 
 1 My dear Mrs. Masters ! Not a bit of colour ! You will 
 be taken for the bride yourself. All in white, except your 
 beautiful hair ! Wait, that won't do ; let me try if I can't 
 improve things a little do you mind ? Just let me see how 
 this will look.' Diana submitted patiently, and Mrs. Brandt 
 officiously fastened a knot of blue ribband in her bright hair. 
 She was greatly pleased with the effect, which Diana 
 could not see. However, when they had reached the house 
 they were going to, and leaving the dressing-room Diana 
 took her husband's arm to go down to the company, he de- 
 tained her to let Mr. and Mrs. Brandt pass on before ; and 
 then with a quick and quiet touch of his fingers removed 
 the blue bow and put it in his pocket. 
 
 ' Basil ! ' said Diana smiling, ' She will miss it.' 
 
 ' So shall I. It commonized the whole thing.' 
 
 There was nothing common left, as every one instantly 
 recognized who saw Diana that evening. A presence of 
 such dignified grace, a face of such lofty and yet innocent 
 beauty, so sweet a movement and manner, nobody there 
 knew anything like it in Mainbridge. On the other hand, 
 it \vas Diana's first experience of a party beyond the style , 
 and degree of Pleasant Valley parties. She found imme- 
 diately that she was by much the plainest dressed woman 
 in the company ; but she forgot to think of the dresses, the 
 people struck her with so much surprise. 
 
 Of course everybody was introduced to her ; and every- 
 body said the same things. 
 
 They hoped she liked Mainbridge ; they hoped she was 
 coming to live among them ; Mr. Masters was coming to
 
 THE PARTY. 443 
 
 the church, wasn't he ? and how did he like the looks of 
 the place ? 
 
 ' You see the best part of the church here to-night,' re- 
 marked one stout elderly lady in a black silk and with 
 flowers in her cap ; a very well-to-do, puffy old lady ; ' you 
 see just the best of them, and all the best ! ' 
 
 ' What do you call the best part of a church ? ' Diana 
 asked, looking round the room. 
 
 ' Well, you see them before you. There is Mr. Waters 
 standing by the piano he's the wealthiest man in Main- 
 bridge ; a very wealthy man. The one with his head a 
 little bald, speaking just now to Mrs. Brandt, is one of our 
 elders ; he's pretty comfortable too ; a beautiful place he 
 has, have you seen it ? No ? You ought to have gone there 
 to see his flowers ; the grounds are beautiful, laid out with 
 so much taste. But if you are fond of flowers, you should 
 go to see Mr. Tillery's greenhouses. That is Mr. Tillery 
 in the corner, between the two young ladies in white. Mr. 
 Tillery's greenhouses extend half a mile, or would, if they 
 were set in a line, you know/ 
 
 ' Are there any poor people in the church ? ' 
 
 ' Poor people ? ' The article called for seemed to be 
 rare. ' Poor people ? There are a few, I believe. Not 
 many ; the poor people go to the mission chapel. O, we 
 support a mission ; that's down in the mill quarter, where 
 the hands live, I mean ' 
 
 ' And oh, Mrs. Masters,' a young lady struck in here, 
 'you are coming, arn't you? I have fallen in love with you, 
 and I want you to come. And oh, I want you to tell me 
 one thing is Mr. Masters very strict ? ' 
 
 ' About what ? ' said Diana smiling. 
 
 'About anything.' 
 
 ' Yes ; he is very strict about telling the truth.'
 
 444 DIANA. 
 
 ' O, of course ! but I mean about other things ; what one 
 may do or mayn't do. Is he strict ? ' 
 
 ' Not any stricter than his Master.' 
 
 ' His master ? who's that ? But I mean, does he make 
 a fuss about dancing ? ' 
 
 ' I never saw Mr. Masters make a fuss about anything.' 
 
 ' O delightful ! then he don't mind. You know, Mrs. 
 Masters, the Bible says David danced.' 
 
 ' The Bible tells why he danced, too,' said Diana, 
 wholly unable to keep her gravity. 
 
 'Does it? I don't recollect. And oh, Mrs. Masters, 
 I want to know another thing ; does Mr. Masters use the 
 Episcopal form in marrying people ? ' 
 
 ' You are concerned in the question ? ' 
 
 ' O yes. I might be, you know, one of these days ; and 
 I always think the Episcopal form is so dignified and grace- 
 ful ; the ring and all that ; the Presbyterian form is so tucky 
 and ugly. O Mrs. Masters, don't you like a form for every- 
 thing ? ' 
 
 Before Diana could return an answer to this somewhat 
 comprehensive question, a slight sound caused her to forget 
 both question and speaker and the place where she was, as 
 utterly as if they all had been swept from the sphere of the 
 actual. It belonged to the sweet poise and calm of her 
 heart and life, that she was able to keep still as she was 
 and make no movement and give no sign. The sound she 
 had heard was a little running laugh ; she thought it came 
 from the next room ; yet she did not turn her head to look 
 that way, though it could have been uttered, she knew, from 
 no throat but one. The young lady friend reiterated the 
 question in which she was interested, and Diana answered; 
 I do not know how, nor did she while she was at the same 
 time collecting her forces and reviewing them for the
 
 THE PARTY. 445 
 
 coming skirmish with circumstances. Evan Knowlton was 
 here at Mainbriclge. How could it possibly be ? And even 
 as the thought went through her, came that laugh again. 
 
 Diana's mind began to be in a great state of confusion, 
 which presently concentred itself upon the one point of 
 keeping a calm and unmoved exterior. And to her sur- 
 prise, this became easy. The confusion subsided, like the 
 vibrations of harp-strings which have been brushed by a 
 harsh hand ; only her heart beat a little, waiting for the 
 coming encounter. 
 
 ' Shall I take you in to see the bride ? ' Mr. Brandt 
 here presented himself, offering his services. And Diana 
 rose without hesitation and put her arm in his. She was 
 glad, however, that their progress through the company 
 was slow ; she hoped Evan would see before he had to 
 speak to her. She herself felt ready for anything. 
 
 It was. with a strange feeling nevertheless that she 
 went through the introduction to the pale lady of fashion 
 who was Evan's second choice. Beyond white silk and 
 diamonds and a rather delicate appearance, Diana could 
 in that moment discern nothing. Her senses did not seem 
 to serve her well. The lady was very much in request be- 
 sides, amid her old friends and acquaintances, and there 
 was no chance to talk to her. Then followed the introduc- 
 tion to the bridegroom. He was going to content himself 
 with a bow, but Diana stretched out her hand and gave his 
 a warm grasp. ' I have seen Captain Knowlton before,' 
 she said simply. She was perfectly quiet now, but she 
 saw that he was not ; and that he was willing to take 
 refuge with other claimants upon his attention to escape 
 any particular words with her. She stepped back, and grad- 
 ually got behind people, where the sight of her could not 
 distress him. It had distressed him, she had seen that.
 
 446 DIANA. 
 
 Was it on her account ? or on his own ? Gradually, watch- 
 ing her chances, she was able to work her way back into 
 the other room, which was comparatively empty ; and 
 there she sat down at a table covered with photographs. 
 She would go away, she thought, as soon as it could grace- 
 fully be done. And yet, she would have liked to speak a few 
 words with Evan, this last time they might ever be together. 
 What made him embarrassed in meeting her? With his 
 bride just beside him, that ought not to be, she thought. 
 
 The company had almost all crowded into the other room 
 about the bride, and were fully occupied with her ; and 
 Diana was alone. She turned over the photographs and 
 reviewed the kings and queens of Europe, with no sort of 
 intelligence as to their families or nationalities, mechani- 
 cally, just to cover her abstraction, and to seem to be do- 
 ing something. Then suddenly she knew that Evan was 
 beside her. He had come round and entered by the door 
 from the hall ; and now they both stood together for a mo- 
 ment, shielded by a corner of the partition wall between 
 the rooms. Diana had risen. 
 
 ' This is a very painful meeting ' Captain Knowlton 
 said, after a silence which would have been longer if he 
 had dared to let it be so. 
 
 ' No ' said Diana looking at him with as clear and 
 fair a brow as if she had been the moon goddess whose 
 name she bore ; and her voice was very sweet. ' Not 
 painful, Evan ; why should it be ? I am glad to see you 
 again.' 
 
 ' I didn't know you were here ' he went on hurriedly, 
 in evident great perturbation. 
 
 ' And we did not know you were here. I had no no- 
 tion of it till I heard your voice in the next room. I 
 knew it instantly.'
 
 THE PARTY. 447 
 
 ' I would have spared you this, if I could have foreseen 
 it.' 
 
 ' Spared me what ? ' 
 
 ' All this, this pain, I know it must be pain to you. 
 I did not anticipate it.' 
 
 ' Why should it be pain to me ? ' inquired Diana steadily. 
 
 ' I know your feeling I would not have brought Clara 
 into your presence ' 
 
 ' I am very glad to have seen her,' said Diana in the 
 same quiet way, looking at Evan fixedly. ' I should have 
 been glad to see more of her, and learn to know her. I 
 could scarcely speak to her for the crowd around.' 
 
 ' Yes, she is a great favourite, and everybody is eager 
 to see her before she goes.' 
 
 ' You are going away soon ? ' 
 
 1 yes ! to my post.' 
 
 ' I hope she will make you happy, Evan,' Diana said 
 gently and cordially. 
 
 ' You are very good, I am sure. I don't want you to 
 think, Diana, that I that I, in fact, have forgotten any- 
 thing ' 
 
 ' You cannot forget too soon,' she answered smiling, 
 ( everything that Clara would not wish you to remember.' 
 
 ' A fellow is so awfully lonely out there on the fron- 
 tiers ' he said mumbling his words through his moustache 
 in a peculiar way. 
 
 ' You will not be lonely now, I hope.' 
 
 ' You see, Di,' you were lost to me. If I could only 
 think of you as happy ' 
 
 ' You may.' 
 
 'Happy?' he repeated, looking at her. He had 
 avoided her eyes until now. 
 
 ( Yes.'
 
 448 DIANA. 
 
 ' Then you have forgotten ? ' 
 
 ' One does not forget,' said Diana, with again a grave 
 smile. ' But I have ceased to look back sorrowfully.' 
 
 ' But you are married ' 
 
 Then light flushed into Diana's face. She understood 
 Evan's allusion. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, ' to somebody who has my whole 
 heart.' 
 
 ' But you are married to Mr. Masters ? ' he went on 
 incredulously. 
 
 ' Certainly. And I love my husband with all the strength 
 there is in me to love. I hope your wife will love you as 
 well,' she added with another smile, a different one, which 
 was exceedingly aggravating to the young man. No 
 other lips could wreathe so with such a mingling of softness 
 and strength, love, and yes, happiness. Captain Knowl- 
 ton had seen smiles like that upon those lips once, long 
 ago, never a brighter or more confident one. He felt 
 unaccountably injured. 
 
 ' You did not speak so when I saw you last,' he re- 
 marked. 
 
 ' No. I was a fool,' said Diana with somewhat unrea- 
 sonable perverseness. ' Or, if I was not a fool, I was weak.' 
 
 ' I see you are strong now,' said the young officer bit- 
 terly. ' I was never strong; and lam weak still. I have 
 not forgotten, Diana.' 
 
 ' You ought to forget, Evan,' she said gently. 
 
 ' It's impossible ! ' said he, hastily turning over photo- 
 graphs on the table. 
 
 Diana would have answered, but the opportunity was 
 gone. Other people came near ; the two fell apart from 
 each other, and no more words were interchanged between 
 them.
 
 THE PARTY. 449 
 
 It grieved but did not astonish Basil to perceive when 
 he joined Diana in their own room that night, that she had 
 been weeping; and it only grieved him to know that the 
 weeping was renewed in the night. He gave no sign that 
 he knew it, and Diana thought he was asleep through it all. 
 Tears were by no means a favourite indulgence with her 
 this night the spring of them seemed to be suddenly 
 unsealed, and they flowed fast and free and were not to 
 be checked. Neither did Diana quite clearly know what 
 moved them. She was very sorry for Evan ; yes, but these 
 tears she was shedding were not painful tears. It came 
 home to her, all the sorrowful waiting months and years 
 that Basil had endured on her account ; but sympathy was 
 not a spring large enough to supply such a flow. She was 
 glad those months were ended ; yet they were not ended, 
 for Basil did not know the facts she had stated with so 
 much clearness tohiswhilome rival ; she had not told him- 
 self, and he did not guess them. ' He might,' said Diana 
 to herself, ' he ought ' at the same time she knew now 
 there was something for her to do. How she should do 
 it, she did not know. 
 
 29
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THEY returned to Pleasant Valley that day, and Basil 
 was immediately plunged in arrears of business. For the 
 present Diana had to attend to her mother, whose con- 
 versation was anything but agreeable after she learned that 
 her son-in-law had accepted the call to Mainbridge. 
 
 ' Ministers are made of stuff very like common people, 
 she declared. ' Every one goes where he can get the most.' 
 
 ' You know Mr. Masters has plenty already, mother ; 
 plenty of his own.' 
 
 ' Those that have most already are always the ones that 
 want more. I've seen that a thousand times. If a man's 
 property lies in an onion, he'll likely give you half of it 
 if you want it ; if he's got all Pleasant Valley, the odds are 
 he won't give you an onion.' 
 
 Diana would have turned the conversation, but Mrs. 
 Starling came back to the subject. 
 
 ' What do you suppose you are going to do with me ? ' 
 
 ' Mother, that is for you to choose. You know, where- 
 ever we are, there's a home for you if you will have it.' 
 
 ' It's a pleasure to your husband to have me too, ain't 
 it?' 
 
 ' It is always a pleasure to him to do what is right.' 
 
 ' Complimentary ! You have grown very fond of him, 
 haven't you ? all of a sudden.' 
 
 But this subject Diana would not touch. Not to her
 
 AT ONE. 451 
 
 mother Not to any one, till the person most concerned 
 knew the truth ; and most certainly after that not to any 
 one else. Evan had been told ; there had been a reason ; 
 she was glad she had told him. 
 
 ' What do you suppose I'd do in Mainbridge ? ' Mrs. 
 Starling went on. 
 
 ' There is plenty to do, mother. It is because there is 
 so much to do, that we are going.' 
 
 ' Dressing and giving parties. I always knew your hus- 
 band held himself above our folks. He'll be suited there.' 
 
 This tried Diana, it was so very far from the truth. She 
 fled the field. It was often the safest way. But she was 
 very sorry for her mother. She went to Basil's study, 
 where now no one was, and sat down by the window that 
 looked into the garden. There Rosy presently caught 
 sight of her ; came to her, and climbed up into her lap ; 
 and for a good while the two entertained one another ; the 
 child going on in wandering sweet prattle, while the 
 mother's thoughts, though she answered her, kept a deeper 
 current of their own all the while. She was pondering as 
 she sat there and smelled the roses in the garden and talked 
 to the small Rose in her lap, she was pondering what she 
 should do to let her husband know what she now knew 
 about herself. One would say, the simplest way would be, 
 to tell him ! but Diana, with all her simplicity and sweet- 
 ness, had a New England nature ; and though she could 
 speak frankly enough when spoken to, on this or any other 
 subject, she shrank from volunteering revelations that were 
 not expected of her ; revelations that were so intimate and 
 belonged to her very inner self ; and that concerned be- 
 sides so vitally her relations with another person, even 
 though that person were her husband. At the mere thought 
 of doing it, the colour stirred uneasily in Diana's face
 
 452 DIANA. 
 
 Why could not Basil divine ? Looking out into the garden, 
 both mother and child, and talking very busily one of them, 
 thinking very busily the other, neither of them heard Basil 
 come in. 
 
 ' Where's papa ? ' Rosy was at the moment asking, in 
 a tone sufficiently indicating that in her view of things he 
 had been gone long enough. 
 
 ' Not very far off ' was the answer, close behind them. 
 Rosy started and threw herself round towards her father, 
 and Diana also started and looked up ; and in her face not 
 less than in the little one there was a flash and a flush of 
 sudden pleasure. Basil stooped to put his lips to Rosy's, 
 and then, reading more than he knew in Diana's eyes, he 
 carried the kiss to her lips also. It was many a day since 
 he had done the like, and Diana's face flushed more and 
 more. But Basil had taken up Rosy into his arms and was 
 interchanging a whole harvest of caresses with her. Diana 
 turned her looks towards the garden and felt ready to burst 
 into tears. Could it be that he was proud, and intended 
 to revenge upon her the long avoidance to which in days 
 past she had treated him ? Not like what she knew of 
 Mr. Masters, and Diana was aware she was unreasonable ; 
 but it was sore and impatient at her heart and she wanted 
 to be in Rosy's place. And Basil the while was thinking, 
 whether by his unwonted caress he had grieved or dis- 
 tressed his wife ! He touched her shoulder gently and said, 
 ' Forgive me ! ' 
 
 ' Forgive you what ? ' said Diana looking round. 
 
 ' My taking an indulgence, that perhaps I should not 
 have taken.' 
 
 ' You are very much mistaken, Basil,' said Diana rising ; 
 and her voice trembled and her lips quivered. She thought 
 he was rather cruel now.
 
 AT ONE. 453 
 
 ' But I have troubled you ? ' he said looking earnestly at 
 her. 
 
 Diana hesitated and the quiver of her lips grew more 
 uncontrollable. ' Not in the way you think,' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 ' How then ? ' he asked gently. ' But I have troubled 
 you. How, Di ? ' 
 
 The last two words were spoken with a very tender, 
 gentle accentuation, and they broke Diana down. She laid 
 one hand on her husband's arm and the other, with her 
 face in it, on his shoulder, and burst into tears. 
 
 I do not know what there is in the telegraphy of touch 
 and look and tone ; but something in the grip of Diana's 
 hand and in her action altogether, wrought a sudden change 
 in BasiFand brought a great revelation. He put his little 
 girl down out of his arms and took his wife in them. And 
 for minutes there was no word spoken ; and Rosy was too 
 much astonished at the strange motionless hush they main- 
 tained to resent at first her own dispossession and the great 
 slight which had been done her. 
 
 There had come a honey bee into the room, by mistake, 
 and not finding there what he expected to find, he was fly- 
 ing about and about, trying in vain to make his way to 
 something more in his line than books ; and the soft buzz 
 of the creature was the only sound to be heard ; till Rosy 
 began to complain. She did not know what to make of 
 the utter stillness of the two figures beside her, who stood 
 like statues ; was furthermore not a little jealous of see- 
 ing what she considered her own prerogative usurped by 
 another ; and finally began an importunate petitioning to 
 be taken up again. But Rosy's voice, never neglected be- 
 fore, was not heard to-day. Neither of them heard it. 
 The consciousness that was nearest was overpowering, and 
 barred out every other.
 
 454 DIANA. 
 
 ' Diana ' said Basil at last in a whisper, and she looked 
 up, all flushed and trembling, and did not meet his eyes. 
 Neither did she take her hand from his shoulder ; they had 
 not changed their position. 
 
 ' Diana, what are you going to say to me ? ' 
 
 ' Haven't I said it ? ' she answered with a moment's 
 glance and smile ; and then between smiles and tears her 
 head sank again. 
 
 ' Why did you never tell me before ? ' he said with a 
 breath that was almost a sob, and at the same time had a 
 somewhat imperative accent of demand in it. 
 
 ' I did not know myself.' 
 
 ' And now ? ' 
 
 ' Now ? ' repeated Diana half laughing. 
 
 ' Yes, now ; what have you got to tell me ? ' 
 
 ' Do you want me to tell you what you know already? ' 
 
 ' You have told me nothing, and I do not feel that I 
 know anything till you have told me,' he said in a lighter 
 tone. ' Hallo, Rosy ! what's the matter ? ' 
 
 For Rosy, seeing herself entirely to all appearance 
 supplanted, had now broken out into open lamentations, too 
 heartfelt to be longer disregarded. Diana gently released 
 herself and stooped down and took the child up, perhaps 
 glad of a diversion ; but Rosy instantly stretched out her 
 arms imploringly to go to her father. 
 
 ' I was jealous of her, a little while ago,' Diana re- 
 marked as the exchange was made. 
 
 But at that w r ord, Basil set the child, scarcely in his 
 arms, out of them again on the floor ; and folding Diana 
 in them anew, paid her some of the long arrear of caresses 
 so many a day withheld. Ay, it was the first time he had 
 known he might without distressing her ; and no doubt lips 
 can do no more silently to reveal a passion of affection,
 
 AT ONE. 455 
 
 than these did then. If Basil had had a revelation made 
 to him, perhaps so did Diana ; but I hardly think Diana 
 was surprised. She knew something of the depths 
 and the contained strength in her husband's character ; 
 but it is safe to say, she would never be jealous of Rosy 
 again ! Not anything like these demonstrations had ever 
 fallen to Rosy's share. 
 
 Anything meanwhile prettier than Diana's face it would 
 be difficult to see. Flushing like a girl, her lips wreathing 
 with smiles, tear drops hanging on the eyelashes still, but 
 with flashes and sparkles coming and going in the usually 
 quiet grey eyes. Dispossessed Rosy on the floor mean- 
 while looked on in astonishment so great that she even 
 forgot to protest. Basil looked down at her at last and 
 laughed. 
 
 ' Rosy has had a lesson,' he said picking her up. ' She 
 will know her place henceforth. Come, Di, sit down and 
 talk to me. How came this about ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Basil,' said Diana meekly. 
 
 ' Where did it begin ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know that either. O begin ? I think the be- 
 ginning was very long ago, when I learned to honour you 
 so thoroughly.' 
 
 ' Honour is very cold work ; don't talk to me about 
 honour,' said Basil. ' I have fed and supped on honour, 
 and felt very empty ! ' 
 
 ' Well you have had it ' said Diana contentedly. 
 
 ' Go on. When did it change into something else ? ' 
 
 ' It has not changed ' said Diana mischievously. 
 
 ' When did you begin to give me something better ? ' 
 
 ' Do you know, Basil, I cannot tell ? I was not conscious 
 myself of what was going on in me. : 
 
 ' When ? '
 
 456 DIANA. 
 
 ' Perhaps since soon after I came home from Clifton. 
 It had not begun then ; how soon it began after, I cannot 
 tell. It was so gradual.' 
 
 ' When did you discover a change ? ' 
 
 ' I felt it I hardly discovered it a good while ago, I 
 think. But I did not in the least know what it was. I 
 wished, Basil, it is very odd ! ' and the colour rose in 
 Diana's cheeks, ' I wished, that I could love you.' 
 
 The minister smiled, and there was a suspicious drop in 
 his eyes, which I think to hide, he stooped and kissed Rosy. 
 
 ' Go on. When did you come to a better understand- 
 
 in: 
 
 ' I don't think I recognized it, until I told mother not 
 a great while ago, that I cared for nobody in the world but 
 you ; but that was different ; I meant something different ; 
 I do not think I recognized it fully, until you will think 
 me very strange, until I saw Evan Knowlton.' 
 
 'And then ? ' said Basil with a quick look at his wife. 
 Diana's eyes were dreamily going out of the window, and 
 her lips wore the rare smile which had vexed Evan, and 
 which he himself had never seen on them before that day. 
 
 ' Then he ventured to remind me that once it was 
 not true/ 
 
 'What?' said Basil laughing. 'Your mother makes 
 very confused statements, Rosy ? ' 
 
 ' He was mortified, I think, that I did not seem to feel 
 more at seeing him ; and then he dared to remind me that 
 I had married a man I did not ' Diana left the word un- 
 spoken. 
 
 'And then ? ' 
 
 ' Then I knew all of a sudden that he was mistaken ; 
 that if it had been true once, it was true no longer. I told 
 him so.'
 
 AT ONE. 457 
 
 ' Told him ! ' echoed her husband. 
 
 1 1 told him. He will make that mistake no more.' 
 
 ' Then pray why did you not tell the person most con- 
 cerned ? ' 
 
 ' I could not. I thought you must find it out of your- 
 self.' 
 
 ' How did he take your communication ? ' 
 
 ' Basil human nature is a very strange thing ! I think, 
 do you know, I think he was sorry ? ' 
 
 ' Poor fellow ! ' said Basil. 
 
 ' Can you understand it ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid I can.' 
 
 ' You may say ' poor fellow ! ' but I was displeased 
 with him. He had no right to care ; at least, to be anything 
 but glad. It was wrong. He had no right. 1 
 
 ' No ; but you have fought a fight, my child, which few 
 fight and come off with victory.' 
 
 ' It was not I, Basil,' said Diana softly. ' It was the 
 power that bade the sea be still. / never could have con- 
 quered. Never.' 
 
 ' Let us thank Him ! ' 
 
 ' And it was you that led me to trust in him, Basil. You 
 told rne, that anything I trusted Christ to do for me, he 
 would do it ; and I saw how you lived, and I believed first 
 because you believed.' 
 
 Basil was silent. His face was very grave and very 
 sweet. 
 
 ' I am rather disappointed in Evan,' said Diana after a 
 pause. ' I shall always feel an interest in him ; but, do you 
 know, Basil, he seems to me weak ? ' 
 
 ' I knew that a long while ago.' 
 
 ' I knew it two years ago but I would not recognize 
 it.' Then leaving her place she knelt down beside her hus-
 
 45 8 DIANA. 
 
 band and laid her head on his breast. ' O Basil, if I can 
 ever make up to you ! ' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said he. ' We will go and make things up to 
 those mill workers in Mainbridge.' 
 
 There was a long pause, and then Diana spoke again ; 
 spoke slowly. 
 
 ' Do you know, Basil, the mill owners in Mainbridge 
 seemed to me to want something done for them, quite as 
 much as the mill workers ? ' 
 
 ' I make the charge of that over to you.' 
 
 ' Me ! ' said Diana. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' What do you want me to do for them ? ' 
 
 ' What do you think they need ? ' 
 
 ' Basil, they do not seem to me to have the least idea 
 not an idea, of what true religion is.' 
 
 ' They would be very much astonished to hear you say so.' 
 
 ' But is it not true ? ' 
 
 ' You would find every wealthy community more or less 
 like Mainbridge.' 
 
 ' Would I ? That does not alter the case, Basil.' 
 
 ( No. Do you think things are different here in Pleas- 
 ant Valley ? ' 
 
 Diana pondered. ' I think they do not seem the same,' 
 she said. ' People at least would not be shocked if you 
 told them here what Christian living is. And there are 
 some who know it by experience.' 
 
 ' No doubt, so there are in the Mainbridge church ; 
 though it may be we shall find them most among the poor 
 people.' 
 
 ' But what is it you want me to do, Basil ? ' 
 
 ' Shew them what a life lived for Christ is. We will 
 both show them ; but in my case people lay it off largely on
 
 AT ONE. 459 
 
 the bond of my profession. Then, when we have shewn 
 them for awhile what it is, we can speak of it with some 
 hope of being understood. ' 
 
 ' Has anything special come to the dominie ? ' Mrs. 
 Starling asked that evening, when after prayers the minis- 
 ter had gone to his study. 
 
 ' Why, mother ? ' 
 
 ' He seems to have a great deal of thanksgiving on his 
 mind ! ' 
 
 ' That's nothing very uncommon in him,' said Diana 
 smiling. 
 
 ' What's happened to you ? ' inquired her mother next, 
 eyeing her daughter with curious eyes. 
 
 ' Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 'I don't do things commonly without a reason. When 
 folks roll their words out like butter, I like to know what's 
 to pay.' 
 
 ' I cannot imagine what manner of speech that can be, 
 said Diana, amused. 
 
 'Well it was your'n just now. And it was your hus- 
 band's half an hour ago.' 
 
 ' I suppose,' said Diana, gravely now, ' that when peo- 
 ple feel happy, it makes their speech flow smoothly. 
 
 ' And you feel happy ? ' said Mrs. Starling with a look 
 as sharp as an arrow. 
 
 ' Yes, mother. I do.' 
 
 'What about?' 
 
 Diana hesitated, and then answered with a kind of 
 sweet solemnity, ' All earth, and all heaven.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling was silenced for a minute. 
 
 ' By " all earth " I suppose you mean me to understand 
 things in the future ? '
 
 460 DIANA. 
 
 ' And things in the past. Everything that ever hap- 
 pened to me, mother, has turned out for good.' 
 
 Mrs. Starling looked at her daughter, and saw that she 
 meant it. 
 
 'The ways o' the world,' she muttered scornfully, ' are 
 too queer for anything ! ' But Diana let the imputation lie. 
 
 They went to Mainbridge. Not Mrs. Starling, but the 
 others. And you may think of them as happy, with both 
 hands full of work. They live in a house just a little bit out 
 of the town, where there is plenty of ground for gardens, 
 and the air is not poisoned with smoke or vapour. Roses 
 and honeysuckles flourish as well here as in Pleasant Val- 
 ley ; laburnums are here too, dropping fresh gold every 
 year ; and there are banks of violets and beds of lilies, and 
 in the spring time crocuses and primroses and hyacinths and 
 snowdrops ; and chrysanthemums and asters and all sorts 
 of splendours and sweetnesses in the fall. For even Diana's 
 flowers are not for herself alone, nor even for her children 
 alone, whose special pleasure in connection with them is 
 to make nosegays for sick and poor people and to cultivate 
 garden plots in order to have the more to give away. And 
 not Diana's roses and honeysuckles are sweeter than the 
 fragrance of her life which goes through all Mainbridge. 
 Rich and poor look to that house as a point of light and 
 centre of strength ; to the poor it is besides a treasury of 
 comfort. There is no telling the change that has been 
 wrought already in the place. It is as Basil meant it 
 should be and knew it would be. It is as it always is : 
 when the box is broken at Christ's feet, the house is filled 
 with the odour of the ointment. 
 
 THE END.
 
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