GEEY AND GOLD. 
 
 PY 
 
 EMMA. JANE WOEBOISE, 
 
 Author of " Singlehurst Mary,;" " Margarai Tornngton," "Violet Vaughn*.' 
 " St. Beetha's," " Overdale," c. t <0c. 
 
 " Golden days where are thej F 
 
 Farther up the hill, 
 I can hear the echo 
 
 Faintly calling still ; 
 Faintly calling, faintly dying, 
 
 In a far-off misty haze ; 
 Where are they, then, where are they 
 Golden days?" 
 
 Adelaide Procter. 
 
 TWELFTH EDITION. 
 
 Hotftcn : 
 JAMES CLARKE & CO., 13 & 14, FLEET STREKT. 
 
 HODDEE & STOUGHTON. 27 & 31, PATEENOSTEB BOW. 
 
 1888. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I. - ?AGK 
 
 ESTHER * g -1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 THE HELLICAR HOUSEHOLD . . . 11 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER . . . .18 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 "BENEDICTUS QUI VENIT IN NOMINE DOMINL" . 25 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 MRS. HELLICAR OFFERS HER SERVICES . . 35 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 OifWALD AND CECIL . % 44 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 TO-MORROW . . . . 60 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 WHAT TO-MORROW BROUGHT FOKTH t 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD . . . $9 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 A TRUCE is AGREED To , 75 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 THROWS THE OLD SHOE . , .87 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 FOR GOOD OR FOR ILL? . . , 94, 
 
 r 527 
 
V* CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. PAGK 
 
 ESTHER MAKES AN ENEMY .... 100 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 "CAN" AND "MUST" . 109 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 PERMANENTLY ENGAGED . v , .117 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 ESTHER'S HOLIDAYS . . . , 123 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 GUISE COURT . . . 134 
 
 CHAPTER XVII J. 
 THE DRIVE HOME . . . . 141 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AT THE CHENIES . * . .147 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP . . . . 155 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 TRAGEDY OR COMEDY : . . 165 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 CECIL MAKES A PROPOSITION . . . 172 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 ESTHER'S PROMISE ..... 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 DICK ASTONISHES His FAMILY . . , 189 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 CIPHERING MORNING .... 196 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Ay UNEXPECTED VISITOR . . . 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 'LITTLE ELLIE" . . . . .221 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 AN OLD COUNTY FAMIL* ... 232 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 POETRY is NO YIELD . . 246 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. PAGF. 
 
 A POINT CARRIED . , . 216 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE OLD BARN . . . 256 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 LADY TORRISDALE .... 2titf 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 EVEXIXGTIDE . . . . 274 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 NOTHING LIKE MONEY .... 284 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 OSWALD ASTONISHES ESTBEK . , 292 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 ESTHER is MISUNDERSTOOD . . . 298 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 PROSE AND POETRY . . . 309 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 AT THE SLADE AGAIN . . . 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 "!T is ALL MY DOING.^ . . . 323 
 
 CHAPTER. XL, 
 
 CECIL'S PROGRAMME . . , 42 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 "TALKING IT OVER" , 843 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 PwF.LEASE ..... 356 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 THE TERRACE GARDEN . . . . 365 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 A NEW POEM ..... 371 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 THE TALISMAN ... 335 
 
 CHAPTER JLVI. 
 VIA BOULOGNE * 895 
 
\i CONTEXTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. PAGE 
 
 Miss TUCKER ASSERTS HERSELF 406 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 "I NEVER DID You JUSTICE" ... 411 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 CECIL'S REPENTANCE . . . .418 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 A VISIT PROJECTED .... 434 
 
 CHAPTER TJ. 
 OVER THE HILLS . . 442 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 THE GRANGE PARLOUR . 450 
 
 CHAPTER LIIL 
 OSWALD'S LAST APPEAL 460 
 
 CHAPTER LIT. 
 BUT WHAT WILL OSWALD SAY ? " > 467 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 IN THE LAMPLIGHT . 486 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 OLD SCENES REVISITED . 492 
 
 CHAPTER LVIL 
 MRS. DIGBY is APPEASED . 505 
 
 CHAPTER LYJII. 
 THE POET'S Win * . 513 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 '* Golden days where are they ? 
 
 Pilgrims east and west 
 Cry : if we could find them, 
 We would pause and rest ; 
 \Ve would pause and rest a little 
 
 From our long and weary ways : 
 Where are they, then where are they 
 Golden days ? " 
 
 A. A. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ESTHER. 
 
 if was the greyest of grey autumnal days not the sort 
 about which Keble sings so sweetly, wherein the redbreast 
 warbles a cheerful, tender strain, teaching one lessons of 
 peace and patience : " rather in all to be resigned than 
 blest!" not the grey of a tranquil landscape, with soft 
 inists falling on the lovely-tinted woodlands, and the river 
 gliding calmly through green, silent meadows, and church- 
 bells ringing pensively from some little quaint town on the 
 mountain side ; nor yet the grey of lonely moors and deso- 
 late hill-fastnesses, whence all the summer hues have faded ; 
 nor even the steely grey of the cold, wintry sea, when winds 
 are still, and heavy clouds hang low, and, gazing at the far 
 horizon, one cannot tell which is dim, grey sea, or dim, grey, 
 solemn cloud ! 
 
 It was the last week in October a cold, rainy, preter- 
 naturally hibernal October; "St. Luke's little summer" 
 had been missed altogether, and it remained only to see 
 \vhat St. Martin might do for an expectant world, that 
 
2 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 sighed and shivered as it thought of the dark days coming 
 before Christmas. On the particular day of which I speak, 
 it had rained gently, but without intermission, the whole 
 forenoon. Midday had "brought some gleams of watery 
 sunshine, but it had soon clouded over again ; and now, 
 though the rain had ceased, it was about as damp and disa- 
 greeable as a late October day can make itself and that 
 is saying a good deal ! 
 
 A late October day, too, in London ! not at the "West- 
 end, either; not in charmed Belgravian squares and cres- 
 cents, nor in favoured Tyburnian haunts, where people can 
 sometimes manage to forget the seasons, if they shut them- 
 selves indoors, with brilliant fires in shining grates, and 
 plenty of exotics blooming all about them, and a grand 
 pianoforte, and heaps of music, and all the best magazines of 
 the month, and Mudie's newest books lying on the table ! 
 No ! nor yet at breezy Hampstead or Highgate, nor in the 
 classic land of Streatham, nor at royal Richmond, nor any- 
 where in the beautiful suburbs of our own metropolis ; but 
 in London proper, almost in the city itself, where mist, and 
 rain, and mud oh, such mud ! do mostly congregate when 
 the old year is in the sere and yellow leaf. 
 
 But the yellow leaves now were mostly on the ground 
 at least they were in Queen Square, W.C. ; the branches of 
 the plane-trees were nearly bare ; the walks of the Square 
 garden were sodden with drippings and long-continued rains ; 
 the last autumnal flowers hung dead and black upon their 
 straggling, withered stalks ; and as for the poor chrysanthe- 
 mums, they were fated never to bloom at all : cold showers 
 and early frosts, and an almost total failure of sunshine, had 
 nipped their beauties in the bud, and postponed the season 
 of their triumph for another year. 
 
 Queen Square, "W.C., was, at the time of which I write, 
 scarcely what it is now ; it was not then so utterly deserted 
 and wo-begone ; and a few respectable private families still 
 lingered among its oldest inhabitants. But the days of its 
 prime were long since past ; its glories were faded ; and only 
 melancholy reminiscences of its better estate were carefully 
 preserved and handed down from father to son by a few whc 
 
GBBf AND GOLD. 3 
 
 still clung to the belief that in all London and its environs, 
 from Highgate to Denmark Hill, and from Kensington to 
 Bow, there was not a square like unto it for convenience, and 
 eligibility, and gentility, and general advantages too numer- 
 ous to be specified ! Were not the houses large and remark- 
 ably commodious, some of them very large indeed ? Was it 
 not quiet and almost rural, from May until September? Was 
 it not un profaned by vulgar traffic, there being happily " no 
 thoroughfare " at the Guildford Street end ? Had they not 
 Queen Anne perpetually in their midst a rather stout stone 
 lady, with a small crown upon her head ? Were they not 
 shut out or shut in it was difficult to say which from all 
 the turmoil of the city, which yet was so easy of access, in- 
 asmuch as you had only to take the turn by the church of 
 St. George the Martyr to get into Southampton Eow, and so, 
 by Holborn, whithersoever you pleased 1 or, better still, go 
 down Devonshire Street, and cross Eed Lion Square, and get 
 into Holborn that way, and take Chancery Lane, bringing 
 you straight upon Temple Bar ? Verily, Queen Square was 
 not to be despised; though, strange to say, few persons 
 seemed aware of its superior advantages ! 
 
 It was about four o'clock in the afternoon of that par- 
 ticular October day ; and, standing at the window of the 
 uppermost story of a large, dingy house on the church side 
 of the square, was a girl, who might be from sixteen to 
 seventeen years of age, steadfastly contemplating the heavy 
 clouds, as, in anticipation of the swiftly coming twilight, 
 they gathered over the narrow bounds of sky between Great 
 Ormond Street and Guildford Street. Looking at this girl, 
 you would, I am afraid, feel but small interest in her. No 
 one in his senses, I suppose, would go to Queen Square, 
 W.C., to hunt up a heroine, or, if he did, would choose this 
 particular girl, gaaing, with almost a scowl upon her face, at 
 the murky sky, and the chimney tops, and a few fluttering, 
 yellow leaves upon the gaunt, bare plane-trees in the garden. 
 For the face was not charming, though there was something 
 in it that distinguished it at once from a thousand other 
 faces you might call plain or ordinary. Plain I suppose it 
 w*s, but not ordinary ; having once seen it, you would not 
 
4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 easily forget it ; it would come to you in your dreams, not 
 quite pleasantly, perhaps; and iij after the lapse of years, 
 you saw the face again, you would not fail to recognise it, 
 thinking, probably, as you did so, that you had not in all 
 the interval of absence seen a face at all resembling it. 
 
 Let me try to describe it. The features were tolerably 
 regular, but hard, and far too strongly marked to be agree- 
 able in youth ; the complexion was very dark and colourless ; 
 the mouth firmly set; the lips compressed; the chin re- 
 solute, and even obstinate ; the cheek-bones showed pain- 
 fully, and there were hollows in the temples, all the more 
 visible because the dark, abundant hair was drawn, or 
 rather strained, tightly back from the forehead, and fastened 
 in a slovenly, ungraceful knot at the back of the head. 
 But the head itself was finely formed ; a phrenologist would 
 have been enraptured with it ; the intellectual organs were 
 so beautifully developed or, rather, in a state to be de- 
 veloped, if only somebody would take a little trouble with 
 them ; but up to this time certainly no one had ever given 
 himself, or herself, any trouble in the matter. Meanwhile, 
 the massiveness of the brow gave one only the idea of 
 heaviness and sullenness, which was in no wise an im- 
 provement to the singular, unprepossessing face. The eyes 
 were grey, of a soft, shadowy hue ; many persons thought 
 they were black, as they glanced out, sometimes in wrath, 
 and sometimes in weary scorn, from the fringes of long, 
 dark, curled eyelashes ; but they were not black, or brown, 
 or blue, but veritable, clear, full grey! which Byron de- 
 clared was, after all, the only really expressive colour for 
 eyes ! I think, in default of any other simile, I would call 
 this girl's eyes iron-grey. 
 
 Being rather tall, and very thin, and extremely awkward, 
 I cannot say that Esther Kendall had any sort of figure 
 that could redeem the plainness of her countenance. Her 
 hands, indeed, were shapely + but, oh ! such a colour. 
 Well ! when you come to know all she did with those long, 
 brown fingers, and all she held and grasped with those lean, 
 rough palms, you will not be astonished at their want of 
 delicacy. One cannot very well " put one's hands to any- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 thing " in a house where there are two sets of lodgers and 
 any number of children, and only one toiling, moiling maid- 
 of-all-work to cook, and wait, and wash up, and scrub ani 
 scour from the garret to the basement, and keep the sai& 
 hands soft and sleek and fair. Well ! brown, grimed hands 
 are sometimes more to be commended than dainty ones that 
 are tender and snowy from their very uselessness. 
 
 I rather think Esther had pretty slender feet, with a high 
 arched instep, and ankles that might have been favourably 
 rriticised had she been a ballet-girl ; but just now one could 
 not find that out, for she wore old, patched, stuff boots that 
 had never been made for her, and they were fastened up the 
 sides after a fashion that is, with rusty, knotted, disrepu- 
 table laces, revealing, too, coarse grey worsted stockings that 
 sadly cried out for the darning needle. Her dress was a 
 dark coburg merino of antiquated make, if, indeed, it could 
 be said to be of any make at all, seeing that it had been 
 " done up " at least half-a-dozen times, in which economical 
 processes the dressmaker's original design had been quite 
 lost by reason of patchings and clippings, and contrivances 
 more ingenious than effective. It was evidently now in its 
 last days, for it was dirty, and limp, and torn, and would 
 not bear another rifacimento ; and it was frayed in the arms,. 
 and out of the gathers in the skirt, which had a natural 
 fringe of its own all round the hem ; and ifc had been torn 
 in nearly every breadth, and cobbled up again anyhow, with 
 ^y sort of cotton, and in any sort of "way that was simply 
 expeditious. 
 
 It was a good-sized room in which Esther Kendall was 
 standing, and it held two beds and a crib, one washing-stand, 
 that had long ago been painted yellow, with brown lines by 
 way of ornamentation, displaying also a white basin, with a 
 large piece out of the rim, a green ewer without a handle, 
 and two saucers, one pink, and containing a quantity of fine 
 sand, the other blue, holding a goodly square of common 
 yellow soap. There was no towel-horse, but something 
 that did duty as a chamber napkin hung over the back of 
 one of the two broken chairs that the garret boasted. A 
 deal dressing-table, that must have been doing battle with 
 
6 GJlEr AND GOLD. 
 
 other pieces of furniture ever since it was a table ; a looking- 
 glass, six inches square, cracked right across the middle, and 
 somewhat deficient in the matter of quicksilver ; a chest of 
 drawers, supposed to be en suite with the washing-stand, 
 only its normal colour was drab, and its lines and scrolls of 
 a sickly, faded green ; and a large, purple-papered box, with 
 sundry shattered bandboxes, completed the appointments of 
 Miss Kendall's bedchamber. 
 
 Alas ! it was only her bedchamber by courtesy ; it was 
 called " Esther's room " simply because she always slept in 
 it, not because anyone, least of all herself, imagined her to 
 have any exclusive right to it at any hour of the night or 
 the day. Who slept in the two beds and the one crib 1 I 
 will tell you, for then you will the better understand her 
 position in the family of which she was a member. In tho 
 larger bed, with the checked curtains and the queer counter- 
 pane, all little yellowish-brown fuzzy knots, on a dingy 
 purple ground, slept Esther Kendall and her cousin Eliza 
 Hellicar, commonly known in the house as " Lizzie," a young 
 lady of twelve years of age, and of unpromising disposition. 
 In the second bed, with the patchwork coverlet and no hang- 
 ings, reposed Biddy, the Irish maid-of-all-work, a honest, 
 hardworking, faithful girl, but slatternly in the extreme, and 
 with no particular views on the subject of cleanliness; also 
 Fanny Hellicar, aged five, given to having bad dreams, and 
 to waking up in consequence thereof soon after midnight in 
 a state of highly demonstrative and inconsolable grief, and 
 in extreme disturbance of mind, alias temper. Last of all, 
 in the crib, slumbered Tommy Hellicar, a sturdy young 
 urchin of three, said by his ma' to be of an uncommonly 
 sensitive nature, and of highly nervous temperament, as, 
 indeed, he was if you had the temerity to thwart him in the 
 least particular. The other occupants of that chamber would 
 have rejoiced greatly if Master Tommy had gone to sleep in 
 any other quarters, and I am afraid they would not have 
 grieved very much had he gone to sleep in a bed so cold 
 and so dark that he would never have disturbed them any 
 more. 
 
 Now, Esther Kendall had come upstairs to dress ; that is, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 7 
 
 to perform certain necessary ablutions, and to change her 
 disreputable morning-frock for one more decent and a trifle 
 smarter ; but, instead of making her toilet with all speed, 
 she loitered at the open window, watching the dark wrack of 
 clouds, and listening to " The light of other days," which 
 an organ-grinder was performing on the wet pavement far 
 below. Also she was meditating, and cogitating, and wonder- 
 ing in her own peculiar, fierce, wild way ; and thus she 
 soliloquised : " Stupid square ! stupid trees ! stupid Queen 
 Anne ! stupid houses ! stupid sky, and stupid earth ! how I 
 hate you all ! Stupid, grey, dull, wearisome existence ! 
 What have / done that I should live such a life ? "Why 
 should I be a drudge, a slave, an unpaid menial, an upper 
 servant in a shabby lodging-house, with plenty to do, no time 
 of my own, and no wages ] Bed and board indeed ! well, I 
 don't care about the board : there is enough of it, and it is 
 good enough of its sort ; and the bed is all very well, I 
 should not sleep any sounder under damask hangings, and a 
 silken quilt. But I should like a bed to myself, if it were 
 only a mattress and a blanket j and a room of my very own, 
 if it were only a closet as big as a good-sized cupboard ! 
 Clothes, indeed ! cast-off things like these ; there is not a 
 girl goes to church on Sundays half as shabby as I am ! 
 Here it is almost November, and I am wearing the same 
 faded, dirty pink bonnet, that had seen all its best days 
 before it came to me ! And I suppose I shall get no winter 
 cloak or shawl ; there is still the old red thing hanging up 
 in the lower passage the parish shawl, it ought to be called, 
 for I couldn't count how many people have worn it in 
 these last six years that it has been public property ; and 
 that is good enough for me ! oh, yes, quite good enough for 
 a girl that has neither father, nor mother, nor friends, nor 
 home, nor money of her own : only her fingers, that she 
 works to the bone, and her brains, that ache with the in- 
 cessant clatter, and confusion, and quarrelling, and scolding, 
 ok dear, yes ; quite good enough ! who says it isn't ? " 
 
 There was an intense bitterness in her tone her dark grey 
 eyes were flashing out her heart's concentrated scorn; her 
 slight fingers interlaced each other, as if she suffered bodily ; 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 and, when she ceased to speak, her teeth were firmly set, aa 
 if in resolute endurance, and mute defiance of some great 
 and cruel wrong. Poor child ! for she was but a child, in 
 spite of her sixteen years and six months, and in spite of 
 her London rearing, and her hard service in a London lodging- 
 house. She was weary of her dull, grey, monotonous life 
 weary of its toil, weary of its restraint, weary of its injustice, 
 and, above all things, weary of its utter hopelessness ! If 
 there had been one break in the heavy clouds of her horizon, 
 one little streak of blue, one solitary rcy of sunshine, to tall 
 her of a good time cominr, I think she would have borne on 
 better ; for she was really a brave girl, and not at all afraid 
 of work, and she would have waited quietly, and with every 
 show of outward submission, with a stern resolve and 
 dogged patience all her own, if she had had the least idea 
 what she was to wait for ! 
 
 Wearily she took off the old brown dress, and hung it up 
 on its accustomed peg, with a glance of unmitigated disgust ; 
 slowly she washed her dirty face and hands, striving in vain 
 with the sand to scour out some of the grimes, and efface the 
 stains upon the palms and fingers ; and, with a listlessness 
 not at all in keeping with her budding womanhood, she 
 donned the nondescript coloured alpaca gown, and the 
 crochet collar, and the cheap blue ribbon, which was her 
 ordinary evening costume. As for her hair, she just gave it 
 a stroke or two with the brush, and fastened it up behind in 
 a tight thick plait, instead of a loose knot ; then she put on a 
 much worn and much darned black silk apron, trimmed with 
 cotton velvet and imitation lace, and her toilet was complete. 
 
 It was nearly dark now ; but instead of going down she 
 turned again to the open window, and again poured out her 
 complainings to herself, as she was very much in the habit of 
 doing, for lack of any other auditor. " I wouldn't care for 
 anything," she exclaimed, as she clenched the damp, dis- 
 coloured window-sill, "if only I knew something. I am 
 nearly as ignorant as Biddy. Except that I speak differently 
 and feel differently, I don't see that there is much difference 
 between us ; for she can read and write after a fashion, and 
 add up pence and shillings, and see that the milkwoman and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the baker's boy don't cheat. And what can I do mare that 
 a lady ought to do ? A lady, indeed, that is a pretty joke, 
 calling myself a lady ! I, Esther Kendall, nursing horrid 
 children and cleaning rooms, and cooking at all hours of the 
 day, and sewing, and waiting upon insolant lodgers at every- 
 body's beck and call. A pretty lady, indeed ! But I would 
 work, and never complain, if I might only learn something. 
 If I learned a little I could get on, I know ; I could learn 
 more. But there, it's of no use ; I might as well wish to 
 build a new bridge over the Tham^p as want to learn any- 
 thing that can ever do me any good. It's years and years 
 since I went to school, and I was only sixteen last April ; 
 many a girl of my age is going to school still, or taking 
 lessons, or doing something to fit her for the world ; while I 
 I 'finished,' as Lizzie calls it, just about nine years ago. I 
 suppose I was nearly seven and a half when I left Miss 
 Smithson's seminary. Fortunatel} 7 " I was a good child at my 
 book, and learned as much or more than most children of 
 that age ; for certainly if I had not learned to read and spell 
 I should never have learned since. Ah ! what hard work it 
 has been not to forget. If I were a boy, now, my way would 
 be quite clear. Oh ! if I were but my own brother only I 
 never had one I would not stop in this weary, dreary house 
 another week. I would go out and see what the world ia 
 like, and I would do any honest work, and get on, and rise, 
 and make myself a place in society ; though what society is 
 like I have not a notion, only my aunt, as I call her my 
 uncle's wife talks about it sometimes when we are alone, and 
 she is in her best temper ; and so I gather that ' society ' 
 means people, and not a place, or any set of places. To hear 
 her talk she must have been very grand indeed in her young 
 days, going about to balls, and parties, and concerts and all. 
 My uncle says she was very handsome when he first saw her. 
 Perhaps she was : I suppose she did not look so sharp and 
 sour when she was a girl. I wish she had let me be con- 
 firmed last month ; I might have learned something, and I 
 must have had a new frock. I believe it was in consideration 
 of the frock, and the time it would take going to the exami- 
 nations, that made her put me off. She said I was not steady 
 
10 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 enough ; but that was an untruth, for I am as steady as any 
 old grandmother, just because I feel no spirits to be anything 
 but steady. Even Biddy's fun and joking makes me feel 
 quite sick. Oh ! I wonder what it is to feel young, as other 
 girls do feel, I know. Again I say, I wish I were a boy. A 
 girl, poor thing, can risk nothing ; I do know just enough to 
 be aware that I should most likely lose my character if I went 
 off and tried to get my living away from my relatives. A 
 girl of sixteen can't be without a decent shelter ; she can't 
 sleep anywhere at night, and go anywhere by day, looking 
 out for work, as a boy of the same age might do. It's very 
 unfair. But sometimes, in spite of all, I think I shall run 
 away at last. One could but starve, though starving, I sup- 
 pose, is horrible. Perhaps, if I had nowhere to go to, the 
 police would take me up, and then the magistrates would 
 insist on knowing my name, and I should be sent back here 
 covered with disgrace, and be worse off than I am now. No, 
 running away won't do at least not yet. I will get some 
 learning ; I'll talk to my aunt about it this very evening ; 
 I'll speak to my uncle ; I'll get Lizzie to teach me all she 
 knows ; I'll do anything, and bear any taunts and scoldings, 
 and work harder than I've ever worked, but I will get some 
 book-learning ! I'll make myself fit for a better place than 
 this. When one is determined one can always do something. 
 Ah ! but I have been determined before, and it all came to 
 nothing. I could get no teaching from anybody, and if they 
 see me with a book in my hand how they do go on ! anybody 
 would think that I always wanted bad and wicked books, to 
 hear them talk. They allow me only my Bible on Sundays, 
 and a short time for that ; and my Prayer-book in church 
 time ; and if I do pick up a book by stealth Lizzie and 
 Fanny always tell of me. There's only Biddy I can depend 
 upon ; and Dick, oh, yes, Dick would take my part ; but 
 somehow I don't want him to, for I hate him ! " 
 
 " Esther ! " cried a sharp, shrill voice behind her, " ma* 
 says she wonders you ain't ashamed of yourself, wasting your 
 time up here. It's an hour since you came upstairs, if it's 
 five minutes. I have been home from school these five-and- 
 twenty minutes, and I've had to see to Tommy, and to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. li 
 
 help Biddy with Mr. Macgregor's dinner, and to dust the 
 drawing-room ; and you're to come down this very minute, 
 ma' says." 
 
 The speaker was a little girl, extremely diminutive for her 
 twelve years, hut looking as much like an incipient shrew as 
 it is possible to imagine. She had a very sharp chin, and a 
 very sharp nose, and little sparkling black eyes like jet beads, 
 with a decided tendency to squint. This, of course, was 
 Lizzie Hellicar Miss Hellicar, as she called herself, and as 
 she was styled by her governess and her companions ; and 
 she never failed to proclaim her superiority over her cousin, 
 and to comport herself as the eldest daughter of the house 
 on every occasion. Esther took no notice of the pert little 
 creature she did not answer her, she never even looked at 
 her j but she closed the window, and ran downstairs with 
 a terrible scowl upon her face and covert rebellion in her 
 souL 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE HELLICAR HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 MRS. HELLICAR contented herself with a fierce but brief 
 onslaught against the loiterer. The fact was, she had too 
 much in hand to be able to indulge comfortably in a 
 thorough-going temper. She had not just then the time to 
 bewail Esther's shortcomings, or to " speak her mind " her 
 favourite diversion when she had nothing else to do, or to 
 go through the catalogue of Esther's sins of omission and 
 commission, and her offences, real and imaginary, for the last 
 nine years, which was also one of her favourite pastimes 
 when poorly, or "put about," or out of spirits, from causes 
 physical or mental; or even to administer the proper amount 
 of reprimand, with reflections upon her own saintly walk 
 and conversation, and the state of perdition to which Esther 
 was evidently tending ; neither had the girl time to listen to 
 her, for her services were urgently required, and the minutes 
 were too precious to be wasted, or spent in aught but speedy 
 action. Besides, a good scolding will always keep. It 
 
12 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 evaporates, I know, with certain natures ; but with a down- 
 right sour, shrewish, miserable temper, it will keep for any 
 length of time, and be ready for use whenever a propitious 
 hour arrives. 
 
 " Here's a pretty mess, and you idling upstairs, and Eiddy 
 with the toothache and a gathered thumb, and so dirty 
 she's not fit to answer the door to a tax-collector. There, 
 read that, and bestir yourself." 
 
 Esther took from her aunt a neat-looking letter, bearing a 
 country post-mark, and addressed in a very pretty, lady-like 
 hand to Mrs. Hellicar. At the top of the sheet of Dote- 
 paper was a crest in dark blue, and round it, in a sort 
 of scroll, these words, "In te Domine speravi" Esther 
 read : 
 
 "MY DEAR MADAM, 
 
 ** We have received a letter from Mr. York, which im- 
 peratively hastens our movements. Important business requires my 
 father's presence in town several days earlier than was anticipated. 
 We shall, therefore, make our journey to-morrow, instead of on 
 Friday ; and we shall be in Queen Square as soon as possible after 
 half-past five, at which time our train will be due at Paddington. 
 May I ask you to be particular that our rooms, especially my father's 
 chamber, should be thoroughly aired ? My dear father, I grieve to 
 say, is frequently an invalid. We are very sorry to have to enter 
 upon our apartments so abruptly, and, we fear, to inconvenience 
 you ; but unless we go to a hotel, which we wish to avoid, we cannot 
 help it. Please to have some tea ready for us. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 
 "FLORENCE GUISE." 
 
 "There, don t stand staring at IMiss Guise's letter, but 
 think what's to be done. Here it is hard upon five, and 
 they'll be in the house in half an hour, and nothing ready 
 for them," cried Mrs. Hellicar, almost hysterically. Ill- 
 natured people generally lose their presence of mind in an 
 emergency. 
 
 " 2s"o, it will be near half-past six. The train very likely 
 won't be to its time. Then there's the seeing to the luggage, 
 and getting the cab, and they will be three quarters of an 
 hour upon the road. What a pretty, clear hand Miss Guise 
 writes ! " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 13 
 
 "iN'ever mind Miss Guise's writing, but go and see if 
 Biddy has lighted the fires yet ; and take off the ottoman 
 covers, and rub up things a little, and then get out the linen 
 for the beds, and have it aired. Dear, dear ! and I dare say 
 the chimney will smoke ; I meant to have it swept to-mor- 
 row. They might have stayed till Friday : very inconsido- 
 ra te very inconsiderate indeed; but then these old maids 
 never think of anybody but themselves. "We ought to have 
 had the letter this morning, too ; I dare say they forgot to 
 post it. Now do stir yourself, Esther, and try to be of some 
 use for once in your life." 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar was a faded beauty, in bad health. She had 
 really been very pretty once, though people always said that 
 a certain sharpness of feature, and a certain termagant expres- 
 sion in the eye, spoiled her ; but she had been as pretty as a 
 very lovely complexion, and eyes that were bright enough, if 
 thev were sometimes fiery, and a profusion of rich, chestnut- 
 brown, curling hair, could make her. She was a spoiled and 
 petted child, and she had been brought up to estimate her 
 own charms at a sufficiently high rate. She was one of 
 those unfortunate people who are always anxious about their 
 " position " being properly recognised \ who have constant 
 " claims " upon certain people, and upon society at large ; 
 and whom, as a rule, the world treats badly. 
 
 She had had manj* suitors, of course ; was there ever a 
 pretty girl, with expectations, and flLting propensities, who 
 had not as many leaux as she could manage ? Myra Clark- 
 son, with her long, shining curls, and her hazel eyes, and 
 her delicate rose-bloom and nmimy-pinimy features, and her 
 gay dresses, and her reputation as an heiress, and her passion 
 for admiration, was one of the last to be overlooked by the 
 unwedded ones of the superior sex. She had more lovers 
 at one time than she could count upon her fingers ; she 
 numbered among her devotees a briefless barrister, a young 
 surgeon so handsome and irresistible in his ways, that he 
 killed his young lady patients by the score that is, he killed 
 them as Cupid slays his victims ; an elderly curate, with no 
 chance of preferment, and with no particular talent for 
 preaching ; a thriving hop-grower, on whose broad bosom 
 
14 GREY ASD GOLD. 
 
 and he was forty-five Love's darts had hitherto gleamed 
 harmlessly; a Methodist baker, with so huge a trade, that 
 one could almost forgive the bread-cart, though Myra nevei 
 could ; clerks in offices, too numerous to specify ; young men 
 whose business was a mystery ; and middle-aged men and 
 widowers who urged their steadiness, and would be pleased 
 to make a settlement ! 
 
 But Myra had no idea of hastily relinquishing her liberty; 
 and the more lovers she secured, the more exalted opinion 
 she entertained of her pretensions, and the more strenuously 
 she resolved to wed only with him who should deserve her 
 beauty and her wealth ! 
 
 At last, however, the vain coquette was caught ; she dis- 
 covered, or fancied she discovered, that she had a heart ; and 
 she engaged herself, with the consent of the pair whose 
 adopted child she was, to a young man, who was not the 
 richest or the most fashionable of her admirers, but endowed 
 with a certain something effrontery, perhaps which won 
 for him the affections of the difficult Miss Clarkson. But 
 Myra, though she loved the man as much as a silly, frivolous 
 young woman could love, was by no means satisfied with his 
 position, or with his views as to what was essential to com- 
 mencing married life with suitable eclat. After a while she 
 began to miss the excitement of making conquests ; she be- 
 gan to suspect that she was throwing herself away ; she was 
 constantly sighing over what might have been had she only 
 encouraged so-and-so, and hinting even now that she might, 
 but for her engagement, marry to her carriage and pair, and 
 her own maid, and be " my lady ! " Naturally, the young 
 man resented these suggestions, and he and Myra quarrelled, 
 and made it up again, and then fell out afresh, and were 
 once more reconciled ; and Myra showed symptoms of fickle- 
 ness, till the betrothed wisely resigned his claims ; and Myra 
 found herself in the unenviable position of Bon Gaultier'a 
 heroine, who made her moan 
 
 " He said that I was proud, mother, that I looked for rank and gold ; 
 He said I did not love him he said my words were cold ; 
 He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher game, 
 And it may be that I did, mother, but who hasn't doi*e the same ? 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "1 did not know my heart, mother : I know it now too late ; 
 I thought that I, without a pang, could wed some nobler male j 
 But no nobler suitor sought me, and he has taken wing, 
 And my heart is gone, and I am left a lone and blighted tiling." 
 
 Not that Myra was so ingenuous in the case of her recu- 
 sant lover ; it was one of her maxims that you never 
 gain anything by owning yourself in the wrong, however 
 wrong you may be ; and upon this belief she acted, and 
 bewailed her cruel fate without confessing even to herself 
 that she had meant to have him, if no one more eligible 
 offered. 
 
 How Myra met with Mr. Hellicar I do not know; 
 but he was a widower with one little boy, and apparently 
 prosperous, for he had just received a considerable legacy, 
 bequeathed to him by a distant relative. He was of showy 
 exterior, and of plausible manner, but weak-minded and 
 irresolute to a proverb; and he was one of those unlucky 
 ones who never thrive, and always fail, whatever be their 
 opportunities or their advantages. Some men begin life 
 with threepence! and they buy lucifer-matches therewith, 
 and double their capital the first day ; that is the orthodox 
 manner, I believe ; and they go on doubling till the habit of 
 getting cent, per cent, for their money becomes so inveterate 
 that they cannot shake it off, and so they die millionaires, 
 and are honourably buried, and their fame is chronicled for 
 the benefit of generations yet unborn ! 
 
 But the millionaire's son, who inherits the million and 
 hates the name of lucifer-matches, manages to do the " cent, 
 per cent.' 1 inversely. Whatever he spends he spends reck- 
 lessly and foolishly ; whatever he risks he loses ; for every 
 thousand wherewith he speculates in the most paying con- 
 cern that the century has known, ho finds himself minus a 
 couple of thousands ; and so, as even a million of money 
 can be spent, or a billion either, I suppose, if you are only 
 lavish and foolish enough, the child of wealth finds himself 
 presently a needy man : and he goes on to become more 
 needy, more unlucky, more hopelessly involved, till ruin 
 conies, and, not having backbone enough to grapple with it, 
 he succumbs, and sinks and sinks till he dies, without 
 
J6 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 threepence in his pocket, and a pauper's funeral is the iast 
 act and scene before the curtain falls ! 
 
 Mr. Hellicar was in some sort a man of this calibre, only 
 he never inherited a million of money, and he came of an 
 old, respectable Somersetshire family, who had been well-to- 
 do a century before lucifer- matches were invented. But 
 various legacies fell to his share, and he enjoyed a pretty 
 liberal education, and he married a tidy little fortune in the 
 person of Jane Kendall, Esther's real aunt, her father's own 
 beloved sister. Somehow, though, money would not abide 
 with him ; the old adage about riches making to themselves 
 wings and flying away seemed literally true in his case ; for 
 his gold and his silver, and his crisp bank-notes, vanished, 
 he never knew precisely how or when ! He was credulous, 
 vain, fond of ease, given to day dreams, and lamentably 
 sanguine : and, for his sins, he married, as his second wife, 
 pretty Myra Clarkson. Myra's fortune turned out to be far 
 less than he had anticipated ; but that was really of very 
 little consequence ! Such as it was, he, with her consent, 
 invested it in a capital thing, that was to turn out a per- 
 petual gold-mine only the mine, or whatever it was, instead 
 of yielding gold, greedily swallowed it up, and Myra's 
 fortune disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Hellicar quickly found himself in uncomfortable 
 circumstances. He had no money, and little judgment ; he 
 had a wife who loudly declared her right to be a lady, and 
 who demanded a good house in cv good neighbourhood, a 
 well-replenished wardrobe, a cook, a housemaid, and a page 
 at least ! She demanded much, and contributed nothing 
 nothing except children, and of these she had any number ; 
 as years went on poor Hellicar could never count them. 
 There was Dick, his eldest poor Jane's boy ! But how 
 many there were of Myra's brood he really could not tell. 
 He only knew they were always coming, and Myra was 
 always ill and weak, and never strong enough to nurse her 
 babies; always a slattern, except on particular occasions, 
 when she would ruin him in finery and gewgaws, and 
 always as her temper grew with years and untoward cir- 
 cumstances more acid cross-grained and vixenish. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 17 
 
 She had something to complain of, perhaps ; since it is 
 the duty of husbands to keep the mill going, and thia 
 husband of hers let the wheels stand still continually for 
 want of grist. Not but what he tried many modes of 
 gaining a honourable livelihood, and some few, I am afraid, 
 that were not strictly honourable ; not but what he struggled 
 now and then, when something roused him as, for instance, 
 when twins were born, and not only had the doctor's 
 customary fee to be omitted, but the house was bare of 
 necessaries and the cash-box empty. Not but what upon 
 occasion he could and did put his shoulder to the wheel ; but 
 he soon tired of the unwonted exertion ; perhaps the wheel 
 galled or grazed his shoulder : it does serve shoulders so 
 sometimes, especially if they have been more accustomed to 
 luxurious lounging on downy cushions than to upheaving 
 heavy, clumsy wheels deep sunken in the ruts. But, as he 
 told his friends, his luck was always against him, and 
 nothing he put his hand to prospered, though other men 
 took up the very projects he had been compelled to re- 
 nounce, and carried them to a triumphant issue. Perhaps 
 these " other men " had more patience, more discrimination 
 than Mr. Hellicar. Perhaps, also, they had wives who 
 helped them and encouraged them, and did their part in 
 the solemn compact they had entered into at the marriage 
 altar. 
 
 Whatever were the reasons, these " other men " succeeded 
 and Mr. Hellicar did not; and, as the affairs of men are 
 likened to a tide, it came to pass that the tide of his affairs, 
 never tending to the flood, was always on the ebb, and a 
 very low ebb indeed it grew to be. The house in Queen 
 Square, taken in more palmy days, was still kept on, for it 
 was large, and they could let the drawing-room floor very 
 profitably. By-and-by, as means decreased and the family 
 increased, the dining and breakfast rooms were also let to 
 lodgers, and more and more bedrooms were turned to profit, 
 till at length there remained to the Hellicars only the garrets 
 and the basement story, and they stowed themselves away 
 to the best of their ability. 
 
 Esther's father had died nine years ago, and for once Mr, 
 
fc GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Hellicar had insisted on having his own way, and bringing 
 his orphan niece to form one of his household. Whatever 
 were his faults he was kind-hearted, and generous even ; but 
 then, unfortunately, he never learnt to be just before he 
 practised his favourite virtue generosity. There was a talk 
 of sending little Esther to school when first she came, and 
 she was to go as soon as baby number two could walk, for 
 she had at once been promoted to the rank of honorary 
 nursemaid. But ere baby number two could toddle from 
 3hair to chair, baby number three put in an appearance j and 
 before he had well resigned himself to the pangs of cutting 
 his teeth, baby number four was in existence. So it went 
 on, till Esther hated the bare mention of babies, and took 
 the advent of one as a positive injustice to herself. Besides, 
 as she grew older, she was useful in a hundred ways, for 
 Mrs. Hellicar only gave orders. "Brought up as she had 
 been, it was not to be expected," &c. And so Esther waited 
 an the lodgers, and helped Biddy helped her in downright 
 good earnest, and pretty extensively too, and made herself, 
 as advertisements say, "generally useful." Only, of course, 
 she had no wages. 
 
 A few days before this grey October afternoon, when my 
 story really begins, a certain lawyer, Mr. York, had engaged 
 the drawing-room floor for a client of his, who would have 
 to be in London for some months on important legal business. 
 He wanted to be near Mr. York's office and the courts of 
 law. So the rooms in Queen Square were selected in 
 preference to others more distant from Gray's Inn. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 Br dint of putting the best foot foremost, Esther and Biddy, 
 with a little meretricious assistance from Lizzie, succeeded 
 in getting the drawing-room and two bed-rooms into tolerable 
 order. Of course, it was a very makeshift sort of business 
 after all, and Biddy loudly deplord the prevention of tlie 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 1C 
 
 "thorough, claning" she had meant to bestow up<:2. *he 
 apartments before the new tenants took possession. 
 
 "To think now," she said regretfully, "that I should 
 have got in the soft soap, and a new scrubbin' brush and 
 scourin' flannel, yesterday was a fortnit. Oh, it's the un- 
 lucky woman that I always am, Miss Esther ! " It should 
 be remarked that Biddy O'Elanigan always gave Esther the 
 full benefit of the th in her name ; she never pronounced it 
 Ester or Esta after our English fashion. 
 
 " Let this teach you not to be always putting work off," 
 replied Esther, with the sagacious air of a young Mentoria. 
 *' If you had cleaned these rooms last week, when I spoke 
 about it, and when I was quite ready to help you, it would 
 have been all right now." 
 
 "Thrue for ye, Miss Esther, an it's meeself, Biddy 
 OTlanigan, that wishes I'd bin more bidable. Shure, cind 
 all the antimagarics is in the wash, worse luck j they was to 
 have corned home to-morrow. What will we do, Miss 
 Esther dear ? " 
 
 " Just do without . them, if really they are all gone to the 
 wash ; but I feel sure Mrs. Hellicar can find one or two best 
 ones. She won't mind bringing them out for these people } 
 they seem to be such first-rate folks, and if we make them 
 comfortable they will stay all the winter, and longer eight 
 or nine months, Mr. York expected." 
 
 "Yes, and they said nothin' about comin' down in the 
 price, bekase they would stay so long. Most people, when 
 they're told that these illigant and commojous apartments 
 are two guineas a week, ses, 'But if I stays for three 
 months, you'll make a difference, Misthress Hellicar ! * And 
 ses she, ' I will,' or I won't,' jest accordin' as she sees they'll 
 take it. A very knowledgeable woman I mean lady, shure 
 is tha misthress ; and it's a very purty edication she must 
 have had in her young days ; leastways, she's not to call 
 ould now ; but " 
 
 " That will do, Biddy ; you waste too much time in talk- 
 ing. Go now to my aunt, and ask if we may have the new 
 antimacassars that Miss Lizzie did at school last half. Make 
 haste, or they will be here ; it has gone the half-past." 
 
2, GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Biidy posted away. She generally obeyed Esther, though 
 she and the " misthress " had words often, and were going to 
 part at the month's end times without number, and though 
 ehe resented the smallest interference from Lizzie, even when 
 she came as a delegate from her mother. Esther, left alone, 
 went again through the rooms, giving F finishing touch here 
 and there, and lamenting that she had not worried Biddy 
 into the " great claning " as soon as ever the apartments 
 were secured. They looked pretty comfortable in the ruddy 
 firelight, with the gas just lighted, and ready to be turned 
 on. The curtains were drawn ; the tea-tray, with its best 
 china service, was on the table, and the easy chair stood in- 
 vitingly upon the hearth. Esther drew from her pocket 
 Miss Guise's letter, and, kneeling down before the blaze, 
 read it in the firelight. There was something in it that pleased 
 her amazingly whether it was the cream-tinted note-paper, 
 or the stamped crest and motto, then far from common, as it 
 is now ; or the slight delicate perfume that lingered about 
 it, or the clear, flowing writing, or all combined, that made 
 this letter seem so different from other letters, she could not 
 tell. She wished Miss Guise was not an old maid ; for her 
 aunt had succeeded in impressing upon her mind that old 
 maids were disagreeable, crusty, fidgetty people, giving all 
 the trouble they could, and bestowing no equivalent in 
 return. Mrs. Hellicar never minded how much trouble the 
 lodgers gave, provided they paid for it; for the tremble, 
 whatever it might be, never came upon her shoulders, never 
 taxed her time or temper ; for it was not to be expected that 
 the who had once been the admired Miss Clarkson, should 
 have anything to do with lodgers, except to stipulate for as 
 much money as she could hope to get from them, and to 
 receipt the bills, and send up genteel messages when any 
 it-ems were disputed. 
 
 " But," said Esther, as she folded the letter, which she 
 had appropriated to herself, though it was addressed to her 
 aunt, " that old maid, Miss Prichett, was really kind to me ; 
 and I am sure to be an old maid myself ! Of course I could 
 get married presently, but to whom? To Dick, I suppose, 
 or to somebody like him and I hate Dick I I hate the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 21 
 
 whole set of the Hellicars, except, perhaps, my uncle ; but 
 then I don't respect him poor henpecked, maudlin creature 
 that he is ! I heard it said, the other day, that womanly 
 women make manly men ; I don't believe anything could 
 make my uncle Richard a manly man ! How he does want 
 backbone ! I have backbone enough, I fancy ; but what's 
 the use of being strong when your hands and feet are tied ? 
 "What's the use of strength if you can only work the tread- 
 mill with it 'I Hark ! there's a cab turning the corner of 
 Devonshire Street ! Here they are ! " 
 
 Yes ! the new lodgers had arrived, but not in a cab ; a 
 brougham had been sent to meet them at Paddington, and 
 their' belongings came in quite a procession of cabs. Mrs. 
 Hellicar was so alarmed when she saw them, that she was 
 very nearly dropping the baby into a bucket of dirty water, 
 left in the way by careless Biddy ; and the small creature, 
 feeling itself jerked, began to scream, as only exasperated 
 babies and locomotives can scream, to the great chagrin of 
 its mamma, who had rather deceived Mr. York in respect of 
 the number of children in the house. Fortunately, some of 
 the young Hellicars had departed this mortal life ; otherwise 
 I am sure no lodger, not afflicted with deafness, would have 
 remained under the same roof with them longer than a week ! 
 
 Out of the brougham came an elderly gentleman, tall and 
 stately, but slightly bowed, as if with weakness. He was 
 singularly handsome, and had the bearing of one accustomed 
 to much deference. After him descended a lady his 
 daughter, of course, the old maid, the Miss Guise who had 
 written the letter! Yes, Miss Guise, undoubtedly, the 
 daughter and only surviving child of Walter Guise ; but not 
 exactly an old maid; for maids of nineteen may be con- 
 sidered quite young, and that was rather more than Florence 
 Guise's age. She followed her father into the house, and, 
 throwing back her veil, showed to Esther, and Dick, and 
 Biddy, and Mr. Hellicar, a fair young face, fresh and bloom- 
 ing as the May, with sweet violet eyes, coral lips, and a pro- 
 fusion of the loveliest golden-brown hair. She was simply 
 but elegantly dressed in slight mourning, and her movements 
 were singularly graceful. 
 
22 GREY AND GULD. 
 
 * Papa, dear, take my arm ! " she said, springing to hei 
 xather's side. " Oh, those cabs ! I quite forgot will you 
 pay the men, please 1 " And she put her purse into Esther's 
 hand. 
 
 " Let me ! " cried Dick, trying to take the well-filled purse 
 from his cousin. 
 
 But Esther's fingers were strong, and they closed down 
 decisively on the handsome Russia-leather purse, as she re- 
 plied, " Xo, Dick ! the money was left with me, and I am 
 responsible ; therefore I will not part with it." 
 
 " Do you think I want to steal any of it 1 " 
 
 " I don't care to say what I think ! You are not over 
 particular, you know ; and I keep the purse." 
 
 " Nonsense, Esther," interposed Mr. Hellicar ; " what can a 
 girl like you know about cab fares ? Besides, it is not 
 proper for you to be at the street-door bargaining with men. 
 Give me the purse." 
 
 " I will not," returned Esther, firmly ; " uncle, you know 
 
 you always make mistakes when you have to pay away 
 
 other people's money." 
 
 She looked so gravely and unflinchingly into Mr. Hellicar'a 
 face that his eyelids fell and his weak mouth showed symp- 
 toms of emotion ; he slunk away and began to help Dick 
 with the heavy packages the men were bringing to the door. 
 Esther tied her handkerchief over her head and went out 
 nto the open air to settle with tho cab-drivers. Something 
 told her that Miss Guise would wish these men to be paid 
 their righteous due to the utmost, and a little over; but 
 when they began to be extortionate she gave them to under- 
 stand that she knew what she was about, &id that any 
 attempt to impose upon her would lamentably fail. There 
 was nothing in the world Esther hated like imposition. So 
 the men, seeing that they had a strong-minded young woman 
 to deal with, were content to receive their outside fare, and a 
 handsome gratuity besides ; and, all the luggage being safely 
 deposited in the hall, they drove away, leaving Queen Squai 
 once more in solitude and silence. 
 
 "Tell Miss Guise we'll fetch a porter to haul up these 
 boxes," sai-1 Dick, with a knowing wink, as Esther went 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 23 
 
 upstairs to restore the purse, and give in her account, also to 
 receive orders. Esther knew that Dick and his father would 
 do the hauling, but that two porters would be charged for in 
 the bill. Well ! that was not so bad, for work of any sort 
 deserves wages ; only why not make the claim openly and 
 fairly ] Mr. Hellicar was a " commission agent " by pro- 
 fession, or by trade, whichever it may be, and a very dirty 
 trade he made, of it. He and his son Dick had the oddest 
 ideas possible about " commission " their rule was to take 
 their commission upon all transactions ; and some very 
 curious transactions they had, so curious that it is wonder 
 ful that they were not sometimes professionally investi- 
 gated. 
 
 When Esther went into the drawing-room, Mr. Guise was 
 lying back in the easy chair, and his daughter was kneeling 
 before him. She had thrown off her bonnet, and her long, 
 bright hair was hanging in rippling waves and loose curls 
 about her shoulders ; she was certainly kissing and caressing 
 her father's hand when Esther stood at the door, and her 
 sweet face was full of love and tenderness. 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " she said, in a voice that somehow made 
 Esther think of the birds, and the flowers, and the pleasant 
 summer sunshine ; " thank you for taking the trouble off my 
 nands. ' You see, I never hired a cab before, and papa was 
 so wearied with the journey I could not let him exert 
 himself. Papa had severe rheumatic fever a year ago, and 
 this list spring he had a nervous attack, so I am obliged to 
 take great care of him. Will you make us some tea, please, 
 Miss Hellicar?" 
 
 " My name is not Hellicar. I am Esther Kendall. Please 
 call me Esther." 
 
 Esther tried to speak graciously, for there was something 
 in this radiant, gentle creature that took her heart by storm ; 
 but not being used ,to graciousness, either in an active or a 
 passive form, ohe only succeeded in being stiff and blunt. 
 
 " There," said Miss Guise, taking the cup from Esther's 
 willing hands, " thank you, Esther. Drink it at once, papa 
 darling ; and see, I have some of your particular biscuits 
 remaining in my satchel. When you are rested and revived 
 
24 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 a little, you shall go to your room. Is there a nice fire in 
 papa's room, Esther 1 " 
 
 Esther went to see ; she knew the fire was all right, but 
 she wanted to get away, for there was a tightness at her 
 heart, and a choking sensation in her throat, and a mist 
 before her eyes, she would not for worlds have allowed any 
 one to perceive. Looking back as she crossed the threshold, 
 she saw the father's hand lovingly wandering among the 
 golden curls ; a sweet, sad sinile was on his pallid, handsome 
 face, and Esther heard him softly say, " My love, my child, 
 my little Flossy 1 " She ran away that she might see and 
 hear no more. 
 
 R"ot that she was envious, poor Esther ! nothing in all her 
 pale, grey life had ever interested her as this new arrival had. 
 Lodgers by the dozen had come and gone, and she had waited 
 on them, and cared nothing about them personally ; and, for 
 reasons not at all inscrutable, people seldom stayed at Mrs. 
 Hellicar's as long as they had purposed, and they never came 
 twice. Only Mr. Macgregor, the Scotchman, who lived in 
 the little back parlour, like the cobbler in his stall, was a 
 permanency, and to impose upon him would have been a case 
 of " diamond cut diamond." 
 
 But Esther felt suddenly that nobody in all the world 
 loved her, and that she loved nobody ; and the very thought 
 of what it must be to have a father a good, noble father tc 
 pet and to care for, and to feel his hands lovingly smoothing 
 her own hair, that as long as she remembered fond fingers 
 had never touched, gave her what the French call an epanclie- 
 ment du cceur, and what she herself styled " a queer, stupid, 
 choking sensation." 
 
 Later in the evening, after K>. Guise had gone to bed, 
 Miss Guise told Esther that they had brought with then? 
 many things, besides articles of clothing, and toilet requisites. 
 " You see," she said, " we shall stay iere, if we do not in- 
 convenience you, for nine months, or perhaps a year. It 
 seems very quiet for London, and Mr. York says it is quite 
 near to Gray's Inn and Chancery Lane. So I must make 
 these rooms look as homo-like as I can, for papa's sake. He 
 is so ailing and nervous sometimes, poor dear. He has a 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 21 
 
 horrible cruel pain called neuralgia every now and tlien. J 
 have brought my work-table, and there is a book-case coming. 
 and lots of books. Also, I have my own morning-room chim- 
 ney ornaments with me; and, if you don't mind, I should like 
 them instead of those vases. And I must see about a piano ; 
 it could stand there nicely. I wonder if they hire music- 
 stools and canterburies, as well as pianos. There is an 
 immense deal to unpack, and I didn't bring my maid with 
 me. Papa said I could get one in town ; but you will help 
 me till I get somebody, will you not, Esther ? I must have 
 the rooms comfortable, and nice, and pretty for papa, you 
 know." 
 
 Being naturally reserved, Esther merely said she would 
 help Miss Guise willingly ; but in her heart sho felt as if 
 some great and unexpected pleasure were in store for her. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV. 
 
 "BENEDICTUS QUI VENIT IN NOMINE DOMINI." 
 
 WHEN Esther carried the kettle in next morning, Miss Guise 
 was already busy at the breakfast table, making various little 
 alterations, which Esther's quick eye immediately detected. 
 Esther had been washing the children, and taking up her 
 aunt's breakfast, and getting Mr. Hellicar and Dick off to 
 the City ; so Biddy had been unavoidably entrusted with the 
 morning arrangements upstairs, and it must be confessed that 
 this young woman's conceptions of what is necessary to a 
 well-set table were shadowy in the extreme. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Kendall," said Florence, looking up 
 from the cups and saucers. " How bright it is after yester- 
 day's rain ! Eeally the Square looks quite nice ; I think 
 it must be almost pretty in the summer; that is, for the 
 town, you know. And papa has slept so well, and is 
 quite ready for his breakfast. What can you give us, Miss 
 Kendall ? " 
 
 " Tea or coffee, and bread and butter and toast. I am afraid 
 the eggs are not to be trusted.''' 
 
26 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " I am sorry for that, for eggs are so good fur papa, Can- 
 not one get good eggs in London 1 " 
 
 " Yes, if you send to the right place for them ; but I do 
 not know of any place about here, at least at this time of the 
 year. But please call me Esther." 
 
 " Then, Esther, could papa have a broiled kidney 1 " 
 
 " I'll send Biddy round to the butcher's ; our butcher 
 lives in Dean Street; but it is not always easy to get 
 kidneys unless they are ordered, and our butcher is not 
 obliging." 
 
 " And even if you get them, they will have to be cooked, 
 and that will take time, and papa must not wait so long. I 
 think I will take him a cup of tea, and some very nice hot 
 toast. Could you make me some very nice indeed t You 
 must not think I am fussy, but papa is such an invalid. I 
 will order things in to-day, and then he can have what he 
 likes." 
 
 Esther went down to make the toast, and did her best, but 
 succeeded indifferently ; for, during her absence, Biddy, with 
 that unlucky want of prescience common to servants of her 
 class, had just made up the fire, and instead of the nice bed 
 of glowing coals she had left, Esther found only a frontis- 
 piece of smoke and blackness. Nice toast or broiled kidneys 
 seemed equally out of the question. It was late after all 
 before Mr. Guise had his breakfast, and his daughter resolved 
 upon certain measures to be taken for the future. It was the 
 first time in her life she had ever been left to her own 
 resources; but she was not daunted, and she determined 
 that, with Esther for an ally, she would be equal to the 
 situation. 
 
 But how pretty and how bright she looked, even when 
 she was troubled about the blackened toast and the dingy 
 tray-cloth she carried into her father's room ! She wore a 
 simple morning dress of a delicate grey colour, the daintiest 
 little cuffs and collar, and her golden curls were gathered up 
 with fluttering violet ribbons. Her dress was plain as plain 
 could be ; the grey alpaca, though very good of its kind, was 
 anything but costl y ; yet she looked so neat, so fresh, so 
 altogether charming, that Esther forgot her shame at present- 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 27 
 
 ing toast that she knew ]was really unpresentable, if not 
 decidedly uneatable. She, too, made certain resolves, though 
 she knew there would be a host of adverse circumstances to 
 oppose her in the lower regions. How she hated her dirty, 
 shabby frock, and her untidy hair, as she glanced at Miss 
 Guise's graceful folds of silvery grey, and noted the smooth, 
 shining order of her luxuriant curls ! Why, it would not 
 take long to do up hair like that ; but then where were the 
 violet ribbons to come from? Under the present regime 
 they seemed nearly as unattainable as a bandeau of diamonds ; 
 and it never occurred to poor, unsophisticated Esther that 
 the lovely shade of mauve or violet that went so well with a 
 delicate complexion and golden tresses would not be at all 
 becoming with coal-black hair and a very swarthy skin. It 
 did not matter. Unless somebody gave her ribbons, she was 
 not likely to get them of any colour. But she rebelled 
 against the tattered coburg with all her heart, and was pain- 
 fully conscious of its clumsy darns, and its natural fringe all 
 round the bottom. And if she had only brushed her hair 
 half a minute longer, when she got up and dressed by candle- 
 light, Tom screaming, and Fanny fretting, and Lizzie 
 peevishly chiding all the while ! And yet yesterday morn- 
 ing she had felt comparatively content, so far, at least, as her 
 toilet was concerned. 
 
 About noon Miss Guise began to be very busy, and she 
 called upon Esther for the fulfilment of her promise of help ; 
 and Esther went to her assistance readily enough, risking tho 
 possibility of blame for neglecting other duties. Several 
 boxes and cases were in process of unpacking, and Mrs. 
 Hellicar's drawing-room was being gradually and very 
 pleasingly transmogrified. It is a question whether that 
 excellent lady would have known her own " apartment " if 
 she had been brought into it without any word of prepara- 
 tion. The gaudy vases, and the pink and gilt paper spill- 
 cups, and the shepherdess with a green crook and a yellow 
 hat, followed by a lamb with a wreath of brick-red rosea 
 round its neck kissing a sailor lad in blue under a tree 
 that seemed to produce pink and white poppies, were cleared 
 away from the chimney- Diece and a beautiful statuette, a 
 
28 GRET AXD GOLD. 
 
 pair of classic vases, and two antique candlesticks, in which 
 were rosy wax candles, figured ia their stead. Lizzie's anti- 
 macassars were neatly folded up, and some of Miss Guise's 
 own work adorned the easy chairs and the sofa, which latter 
 was accommodated with several downy, silken cushions, 
 Florence's work-table figured in the centre window; the 
 vulgar, inharmonious table-cover was laid aside, and the large 
 table was simply draped in rich claret-coloured cloth, edged 
 with palest gold embroidery. Pretty and costly things 
 figured everywhere, and nearly all were useful as well as 
 ornamental. Esther gazed with reverence on the silver ink- 
 stand and the rosewood desks and netting-boxes, and the 
 exquisite Dresden card-basket, and the elaborate envelope- 
 coffer, and the mother-of-pearl tea-caddy, and upon twenty 
 other articles of virtu, including a little old china, which 
 ehe could not help thinking rather out of place among so 
 many handsome and expensive articles. Her astonishment 
 increased as Miss Guise, after carefully arranging it on a side 
 table, said 
 
 " Will you please tell your servant not to touch this china ? 
 I am afraid of general servants in matters of this kind. I 
 would prefer to dust it myself; I shall keep one of papa's 
 old Indian silk handkerchiefs on purpose. I should never 
 forgive myself if it were broken, for I was advised not to 
 bring it ; but I thought it would make a strange room look 
 more home-like, and papa remembers it ever since he was 
 born." 
 
 " Is it worth much ? " asked Esther, bluntly. 
 
 " Worth a great deal : worth more than I can guess ; this 
 real dragon-china is always valuable look how transparent 
 it is. But this is a peculiar treasure, because it was not 
 bought that is, I mean it has been in the family for gene- 
 rations, Charles II. 's queen, Katherine of Braganza, gave it 
 to one of my ancestresses ; there is a great deal more of it at 
 Guise Court." 
 
 " Is that where you live ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I was bora there, and so was papa, and papa's 
 papa also. Guise Court is a dear old place ! Do you like 
 the country, Esther 1" 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 29 
 
 " I don't know : I never saw it. I fancy I should not 
 like it, though." 
 
 " Do you mean you have lived in Queen Square all your 
 life ? Have you really never been out of London ? " 
 
 "I have been to Hampstead Heath; I went to *Jack 
 Straw's Castle ' and the ' Spaniards ' last summer twelve- 
 months, if you call that going out of London ; and two 
 years ago I went somewhere in a boat down the river. Oh, 
 yes, I did see the country once, and I did like it, I remem- 
 ber. I was a very little girl, and somebody took me to 
 Epping Forest ; but I cannot recollect much about it. I 
 suppose you have seen a great many places, Miss Guise 1 " 
 
 " I have not travelled much in England, but I have been 
 abroad, in France, and Germany, and Switzerland ; and I 
 have been in Paris for nearly a year at one time. My 
 cousin Cecil was at school there, so I went too ; but papa 
 could not spare me, and he sent for me back, to madame's 
 extreme regret and indignation. Cecil stayed two years 
 longer, and she is very accomplished." 
 
 " Are you not accomplished ? " 
 
 "Not very. I play and sing, of course, but not bril- 
 liantly, only just enough to amuse papa and please Oswald. 
 I sketch pretty well in water-colours, I believe ; I am fond 
 of drawing : in another case, that we have not time to un- 
 pack to-day, I have some sketches framed ; I shall hang 
 them up instead of those those oil-paintings, if you do not 
 object. Of course I speak French and German, that is just 
 a matter of course." 
 
 "Miss Guise, I know nothing, absolutely nothing. I 
 would not mind so much about being accomplished, for I 
 suppose accomplishments are not suited to my station in life. 
 Aunt Myra says they are not, but I should like, oh ! so 
 much, to know common things, to be able to speak prop- 
 erly." 
 
 " You do speak properly ; your English is very tolerable. 
 Your voice might be a little softer, perhaps, but I should 
 never have found out from your way of speaking that you 
 were uneducated." 
 
 " I am "glad of that, but I speak from ear j I could not 
 
30 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 tell you why it is wrong to say ' was you f ' as some people 
 in this house do. I know it sounds badly, that is all." 
 
 " And I know little more/' replied Florence, laughing ; 
 ** they never could heat grammar into me j my governesses 
 tormented me and themselves in vain, and my last dear 
 governess, Miss Lake, had the good sense to give it up. 
 She confessed that my ear was a fine one, and that from the 
 circumstances of my birth and the associations of my child- 
 hood, I spoke properly, and that was sufficient, she declared, 
 though it would not have sufficed for her, who was required 
 to teach composition and the construction of languages, 
 And I suppose if I wanted to write a book I should quickly 
 be involved in difficulties ; but of course I never shall write 
 a book, for I am not clever, only just an ordinary woman. 
 So you see you need not trouble yourself about ignorance of 
 the rules of grammar : I dare say you know a verb from a 
 noun, and that is as much as I do." 
 
 " Indeed I do not ; at least, I could not be certain. But 
 I only mentioned my ignorance of grammar as a specimen of 
 my general deficiencies. I know no geography, no history, 
 no anything. I have read no books ; I have heard no clever 
 people talk. I can read, and write a sort of scrawl, and 
 add up pounds, shillings, and penoe if there are not too 
 many of them and I can sing hymns in church. Of course 
 I can cook dinners, and wash babies, and black grates, and 
 sweep out rooms ; but unless I am to be a servant I do not 
 see what good that will do me. Aunt Myra says she likes 
 to see girls ' domesticated. 1 I hate the word, for as she uses 
 it it means drudgery ! " 
 
 Florence looked puzzled ; she was being initiated in a new 
 phase of life. Esther spoke very much like a young lady, 
 and it had never occurred to her to treat her as an inferior ; 
 yet she was evidently quite uneducated, and did all kinds of 
 rough housework habitually ; and then she was so terribly 
 untidy ! Miss Guise was perplexed but interested in this 
 awkward, gawky girl, who discoursed so vehemently, and 
 seemed to take a sort of pleasure in heaping scorn upon 
 herself, and had a certain air of breeding about her, in spite 
 of her dilapidated raiment and neglected coiffure. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " I always thought I was domesticated," she replied pre- 
 sently, "yet I never cleaned a room or helped to cook a meal 
 in my life ; but I like to see home bright and nice and 
 pretty, and I am very anxious that papa should have every- 
 thing he can possibly want or wish for. Still, Esther, I 
 fancy I could, if it were needful, if it became a duly, you 
 know, do the sort of things you mention. I should not like 
 it, of course ; but then if a thing ought to be done, and 
 must be done, the mere liking is of little consequence. Wa 
 cannot always please ourselves ; and yet I don't know in 
 striving to please others one does somehow generally get to 
 pleasing one's self." 
 
 In which sentiment Esther could not concur ; she had 
 been plea-sing others all her life, she told herself, without 
 the accruing of the slightest satisfaction to herself. Miss 
 Guise's experiences and her own must be widely different. 
 It did not strike Esther that her pleasing of others princi- 
 pally consisted in giving up her own way because she could 
 not help it, or for the sake of peace ; for if her will ever 
 did clash with the will of any other member of the family, 
 and she persisted in struggling for what she deemed her 
 rights, there invariably resulted what Dick called " a regular 
 scrimmage," in which his cousin always got the worst of itj 
 and sooner or later had to succumb to " the powers that be." 
 
 This was not quite the "striving to please others" to 
 which Florence referred; but Esther, though she had, 
 happily for her, a good fund of sterling principle in her 
 nature, and an innate aversion to anything like chicanery, 
 deceit, or pretence, was not gifted with the finer moral 
 perceptions ;' and as to religion, she was almost as much in 
 the dark as if she had been brought up among the wild 
 Indians who reverence the " Great Spirit." She went to 
 church whenever she could ; it was a change, a sort of en- 
 tertainment, and the words of the Liturgy had a kind of 
 fascination for her. Moreover, she liked the music and the 
 Bulging ; and while she sat in the church, and listened to 
 the preacher's voice, and dreamed day-dreams all her own, 
 there was at least a cessation of sordid toil, her aunt could 
 Eot scold and lecture her, *he children could not worry hoc 
 
32 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 Lizzie could not be saucy, nor Dick obtrusive and impudent. 
 Altogether the church was a quiet, pleasant refuge, and 
 Sundays, on the whole, were to be preferred to week-days ; 
 for, if ever there came a pale, faint streak of gold into the 
 grey, cloudy firmament of her young life, it was on Sunday. 
 
 "I will lend you some books," said Florence kindly; 
 " you must have some time to yourself." 
 
 Esther shook her head : " Xot a minute, unless I take it 
 by stealth. They will not let me read. My aunt says 
 reading makes me uppish, and does me harm. I do get 
 a book sometimes, and read it by snatches ; but it always 
 brings me into trouble, for Lizzie is sure to find out all 
 about it. She has eyes all over her head, I do believe, and 
 ears that hear everything, and she loves making mischief; 
 and even little Fanny knows that she can tell tales of me. 
 Tom, who is three years old, accounts for every kind of 
 disaster by saying, * Haughty Esther did it ! ' I wonder if 
 there is a scapegoat in every house." 
 
 TC pained Florence's heart to listen to her, and to see her ; 
 for there was a world of suppressed indignation and bitter- 
 ness in her tones, and there was an expression of unwomanly 
 defiance and hate in her lustrous dark grey eyes. She had 
 suffered much, Florence was sure ; but then, with that 
 passionate, vehement nature, and that ill-taught, undisci- 
 plined mind, might she not, in the first place, have created 
 a strong prejudice against herself? Might she not thus have 
 formed impressions that were indelible with certain selfish, 
 narrow-minded characters ? " And yet," said Florence after- 
 wards in talking to her papa " yet I feel as if I must like 
 her, and be her friend. She is no ordinary person. I thought 
 at first how very plain she was, not even commonly good- 
 looking; but while she talked to me this morning, she 
 flashed up all of a sudden into a strange, grand sort of 
 beauty, such as I have seen in pictures. I found out that 
 she had magnificent eyes, and splendid eyelashes ; and you 
 should have seen the crimson on her cheeks when she 
 became excited. Oh, I know ! she was like the Cumaean 
 Sibyl we saw when we were abroad." 
 
 '* My dear, she looks very untidy," said Mr. Gu^'se gravely. 
 
GBBT AND GOLD. 33 
 
 " So she does, papa, horribly untidy and unkempt. Sbo 
 goes aoout in ' unwomanly rags.' I longed to get needle 
 and thread, and turn up a new hem round that miserable 
 dress-skirt of hers ; but I fancy she has lost heart : she hag 
 been oppressed, and she has left off caring about herself." 
 
 " What makes you think she is oppressed, my Flossy ? " 
 
 " They will not let her read or learn ; and see how' she 
 works, like any common servant. Indeed, none of our ser- 
 vants at home would consent to perform such miscellaneous 
 duties." 
 
 " My dear, you ought to hear both sides before you decide 
 how to behave to this young girl. If you can do her any 
 good, I need not say to you, do it to the utmost of your 
 power, and to the whole extent of your opportunities j but 
 I do not quite like her beginning to complain at the very 
 outset. Young people are sometimes at feud with their 
 friends, and it is purely their own fault. This Esther 
 Kendall may, by her own wayward conduct, have estranged 
 and alienated relations who, on their side, perhaps, did not 
 make sufficient allowance for a strong, vehement nature, and 
 a hasty temper." 
 
 " She did not exactly set herself to complain ; she began 
 by deploring her ignorance, and all the rest followed. I 
 think she is very honest. I do not think she would defend 
 herself at the expense of others; but I am sure she has a 
 strong sense of injustice. There is something so brave and 
 true in her face, papa, when you come to look into it, 
 especially when it lights up. Yes, I must be her friend, and 
 you must show me how, papa darling. I must be wise, or I 
 shall not really befriend her. I can quite see that a little 
 imprudence on my part may complicate her position and 
 increase her difficulties. See what a cautious, non-impulsive 
 young woman I am becoming, papa ! " 
 
 " You are my own thoughtful, considerate Florence. Oh, 
 dear!' 1 
 
 " What is it, darling 1 that cruel pain ? " 
 
 Mr. Guise drew a long breath, and became very pale. He 
 had small, beautiful hands, and the white fingers began 
 nervously interlacing each other, and a tremor passed over 
 
*** GREF AND GOLD. 
 
 hi frame. His daughter knew the signs, and she hastened 
 to administer the stimulant which sometimes prevented a 
 regular attack, or at least adjourned it. The agony was over 
 in less than a minute, but it left him pallid and exhausted ; 
 and Florence's heart sank oh, with such a sinking, as she 
 thought of what might be some day, of what probably would 
 be, if this terrible enemy pain were not conquered and 
 driven from the field. This was a mere spasm ; but there 
 had been days and nights of bitter suffering, of the ex- 
 tremity of mortal anguish such anguish that Florence 
 could have let him go without a tear. Nay, at the moment, 
 she would have given thanks that God had taken His ser- 
 vant to his rest, that he had reached at last the land where 
 there " is no more pain." 
 
 Oh, the great mystery of pain ! "Whence comes it why 
 is it permitted ? Ah ! we cannot tell ; only we know that it 
 comes not to us unsent. One who has now passed away 
 from earth, one who knew what it was to suffer, and meekly 
 to endure, beautifully wrote : 
 
 " Who is tlie angel that cometh ? 
 
 Pain! 
 Let us arise and go forth to greet him. 
 
 Not in vain 
 Is the summons come for us to meet him. 
 
 He will stay 
 And darken our sun ; 
 
 He will stay 
 
 A desolate night, a weary day. 
 Since in that shadow our work is done, 
 And in that shadow our crowns are won f . 
 Let us say, while his bitter chalice 
 Slowly into our hearts is poured, 
 * Blessed is he that cometh 
 In the name of the Lord ! ' " 
 
 Even so, pain, thou art a shrouded angel if they to whom 
 thou comest meet thee as God's messenger ! We may writhe 
 under thy stern grasp, and we may shudder as we hear thy 
 footsteps coming from afar through the darkness, for we are 
 only frail mortal clay ; but the good Lord knows our feeble 
 fiame, He remembers that we are dust ; and, like as a father 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 36 
 
 pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that fear Him. 
 And, fearing Him, let us have no other fear, let us be calm 
 and patient when God's angels visit us His Angel of Pain, 
 His Angel of Grief, or His loving, merciful Angel of Death \ 
 for His angels are His ministering servants, and " blessed is 
 he who cometh in the name of the Lord." 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 MRS. HELLICAR OFFERS HER SERVICES. 
 
 THE Guises had been nearly a fortnight in Queen Square 
 before they were visited by the mistress of the house. That 
 Mr. Hellicar should wait upon them was not to be thought of, 
 for on nearly every occasion he showed himself to be the 
 reverse of the right man in the right place ; and he had 
 such a habit of making infelicitous observations, and of 
 blurting out the most unnecessary truths, that it was judged 
 to be only safe policy to keep him in the background. If he 
 had not been continually sued for the Queen's taxes, and 
 bullied for the rent by the landlord's agent, and served with 
 summonses on the part of infuriate tradesmen, no one could 
 possibly have believed him to be the master of the house 
 and the head of the Hellicar family. 
 
 So Mr. Hellicar never once thought of presenting himself 
 to his new inmates ; but he said to Esther, a day or two after 
 their arrival, " Now, you mind and see that their weekly 
 bills are properly made out ; it's very clear that they have 
 got lots of money, and don't mind spending it freely, and 
 why shouldn't we come in for our share 1 We may as well 
 make a good thing by them as not ; somebody else will, if we 
 don't. So just see to it, there's a good girl ; and if I find 
 them paying up to my mind up to my mind, you under- 
 stand I I'll coax your aunt into buying you a new winter 
 frock out of some of the money. You do want one ; " and 
 he eyed the tattered coburg with something like shame in 
 his soul and compunction in his heart. Eor he had a little 
 bit of conscience left, and there were moments when he 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 bitterly reproached himself on account of his wife's brother's 
 child. 
 
 But Esther looked him in the face, and her lips curled 
 with contempt, and her grey eyes were lustrous with anger 
 and scorn, and she answered, " I do understand, and I prom- 
 ise you their bills shall be properly made out; nothing shall 
 be omitted ; they shall have the best articles, and they shall 
 pay the best price for them, for they can afford it. But they 
 shall be honestly dealt with, and I shall take care that they 
 do not pay up to your mind ! I have heard that phrase be- 
 fore, uncle, and I know what it means. And I will not 
 have a new dress out of the pickings and stealings of the 
 Hellicars. I do want a dress ; it is useless trying to mend 
 this ragged thing, it falls to pieces under the needle. And I 
 think I earned one long ago ; but never mind ; the disgrace 
 of my shabbiness is not my own. But I would rather go 
 like a cinder-wench than wear silks and velvets that wero 
 not come by honestly." 
 
 AVhen Esther spoke in that way, Richard Hellicar was 
 always cowed, and sometimes he began to cry, and maunder 
 about being a poor broken-down old fellow, whom nobody 
 respected, and whose own flesh and blood despised him. 
 AVhich, indeed, was terribly near the truth, for no one who 
 had dealings with Mr. Hellicar ever respected him, and as for 
 his children, they had not for him the smallest reverence or 
 esteem. " As weak as water, like the governor," Dick used 
 to say, when any eminently unsuccessful person was named ; 
 and " only pa " was Miss Lizzie's style of allusion to her 
 paternal parent. Filial piety was a virtue utterly unknown 
 among the Hellicars. 
 
 But for once Mr. Hellicar was neither weak nor lachry- 
 mose, and he swore soundly at his niece, and informed her 
 that she was a fool, and that it would be a great deal better 
 for her if she would make herself agreeable in the house. 
 And he went off in a terrible huff to the office in the City, 
 where he carried on his redoubtable commission agency. " A 
 gentlemanly calling," Mr. Hellicar would say, referring to 
 his commission business, "but sadly unprofitable come 
 down to nothing in these days ! * But then, you see, ho 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 37 
 
 undertook such very peculiar commissions, and his transac- 
 tions were nearly always sub rosd, and his agencies were 
 generally for seedy-looking individuals, who wore rough 
 coats and flashy waistcoats, who smoked short pipes of 
 villainous tobacco, who kept their large red hands in their 
 trousers-pockets, and were slangy and horsy in their common 
 talk. And there is an old saying that " birds of a feather 
 flock together," and I am afraid it could have been applied 
 to the case of Mr. Hellicar without any violation of Chris- 
 tian charity ; and that, perhaps, may account for the non- 
 success of his commission agency ! 
 
 Once or twice Dick met Miss Guise on the stairs, and her 
 presence rather subdued him, for he felt unequal to whist- 
 ling " Pop goes the weasel " till she was fairly out of hear- 
 ing ; neither had he the courage to wink his left eye as ho 
 passed, his customary salutation to pretty girls. Miss Guise 
 on her part thought him a very vulgar, unpleasant-looking 
 young man, and she was sorry for Esther, who was unavoid- 
 ably thrown into his society whenever he was in the house ; 
 though Esther had confessed that, as a rule, Dick stood by 
 her whenever there was any serious dispute ; and if she were 
 scolded and tormented by her aunt Myra, he generally gave 
 his stepmother a piece of his mind, that reduced her to at 
 least a temporary silence. 
 
 But why did not Mrs. Hellicar pay her usual introductory 
 visit to her new lodgers till a full fortnight had elapsed ] 
 It was the sad state of her health, she declared, that pre- 
 vented her from making the acquaintance of Mr. and Miss 
 Guise any sooner ; but the real cause of prevention was the 
 state of her wardrobe. Mrs. Hellicar had not a presentable 
 silk dress, and she deemed it unworthy of the late Myra 
 Clarkson to pay the visit of ceremony in a robe of any other 
 material. A bran new silk dress, that crackled and rustled, 
 and swept about imposingly, was Mrs. Hellicar's idea of per- 
 fect gentility. Satins and aristocracy went together ! 
 
 So Mrs. Hellicar, by dint of a little contrivance, found the 
 necessary coin of the realm, and she went into Bishopsgate 
 Street, where there happened to be a "selling oif," an 
 " alarming sacrifice," a " giving away of property," for the 
 
38 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 very smallest consideration ! The only wonder was that these 
 philanthropic and generous-minded tradesmen did not 
 actually offer a premium to any one who would kindly 
 relieve them of a certain portion of the " bankrupt stock " 
 which somehow came to encumber their premises. However, 
 they sold everything far below cost price, and it was rumoured 
 that you might purchase a handsome Lyons velvet mantle, 
 trimmed with real sables, for 2 19s. lid., and a set of 
 valuable ermine for fourteen shillings and odd pence ! No 
 wonder that Mrs. Hellicar, scenting the prey from afar, was 
 ready to travel from Queen Square to Bishopsgate Street 
 Without, in search of goodly raiment on such advantageous 
 terms. If the dresses were really being sold according to the 
 advertisement, she thought she might squeeze out the price 
 of an ermine muff and boa for Lizzie. " Ermine was so re 
 markably genteel ! " as she told a friend in the omnibus, as 
 they rattled down Cheapside and the Poultry, on their way 
 to the Bank. 
 
 I am sorry to say that the event fell far short of the ex- 
 pectations of Mrs. Hellicar ; the dresses were not being given 
 away or anything like it. Indeed, when I come to consider 
 the large admixture of cotton, and the amount of gummy 
 stuff used to give them a substance and a gloss, I should say 
 they were dear at any price, and would scarcely pay for mak- 
 ing up if you had them at a gift. But if women will be so 
 foolish as to give credence to the incredible, if they will per- 
 sist in cheap finery, and prefer meretricious bargains to 
 ordinary purchases at respectable shops, they deserve to be 
 disappointed, and to find out that they have thrown away 
 their money after all. 
 
 I am not going to describe the shopping of a vain, silly, 
 under-bred woman in a low-class shop. Suffice it to say 
 that, after a goodly number of the vaunted " 10,000 silk 
 dresses, wide width, full length," had been shown to her by 
 an audacious young man, who lied so well that he must 
 " have been to the manner born," she concluded a bargain 
 just as the gas was lit, a magnificent blue and green and 
 white and black and yellow plaid, which she determined to 
 have made up with imitation garnet buttons and appropriate 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 39 
 
 fringes. A lovely Honiton lace collar and pair of cuffs wero 
 all but thrown in, and a French cambric embroidered hand- 
 kerchief was offered so dirt cheap that it could not be 
 refused ; and Mrs. Hellicar returned home pretty well satis- 
 fied, though rather uncertain about the collar and cuffs being 
 of the genuine material. 
 
 In due time the plaid silk was made up in the very newest 
 fashion, and Mrs. Hellicar, after trying it on, decided that it 
 was a perfect fit, and that the red glass buttons could not 
 have looked better if they had been real garnets, such as that 
 vulgar woman Mrs. Shanks, the well-to-do butcher's wife, 
 presumed to wear. Not that Mrs. Hellicar would have cared 
 what such a person as Mrs. Shanks wore or did not wear, 
 only she sat in the pew before her in church ; and it seriously 
 interfered with her devotions when gowns, bonnets, and 
 mantles so much more costly than her own were flourished 
 under her eyes on the comely- person of a matron who knew 
 nothing about the elegancies and refinements to which she as 
 Myra Clarkson had been accustomed in her paradisiacal 
 maiden days. 
 
 The evening came, when she sent up her compliments to 
 Mr. and Miss Guise, and would be happy to make their 
 acquaintance if they were not otherwise engaged. Mr. and 
 Miss Guise, not being otherwise engaged, were quite ready to 
 see Mrs. Hellicar, and in five minutes after this message had 
 travelled from the drawing-room to the front kitchen a pro- 
 digious rustling was heard on the landing, a tapping very 
 like the last efforts of an expiring woodpecker was heard at 
 the door, and enter the lady of the house. If Miss Guise 
 had not been a veritable gentlewoman she would certainly 
 have demonstrated some of the surprise she experienced. 
 She had twice caught sight of a slip-shod, slovenly- wrappered, 
 curl-papered, woful-looking woman, hastily fleeing from sight, 
 and diving down into the darkness of the lower stairs ; and 
 she had learned that this was Mrs. Hellicar, making a sur- 
 reptitious progress from the garret to the basement story, 
 therefore she was quite unprepared for the magnificence 
 suddenly presented to her view. Florence Guise had never 
 seen so much actual finery in all her life. 
 
40 GREY AND GOTJ). 
 
 Of course the new silk dress in all its spick and spau and 
 bran newness was complacently displayed; but my fail 
 readers know that in a case of unmitigated grandeur, the 
 dress, the actual gown itself, is only the appropriate founda- 
 tion on which is built up the whole splendid edifice of the 
 complete toilette. Of course the gown is indispensable, but 
 it is only one of the countless glories of the perfect costume. 
 In this case it was supplemented to the full with ribbons, 
 and lace, and jewellery. The miraculous " Honiton set " was 
 there, of course ; a pearl buckle confined the crimson waist- 
 band, a very suspicious-looking gold chain dangled from the 
 large pendant yellow topaz brooch, and held suspended a 
 handful of cheap rubbish called " charms" among which 
 showed conspicuously a miniature gridiron, a coffin, a slipper, 
 a little jug, and Faith, Hope, and Charity, symbolised by a 
 little chipped cross and heart and a mutilated anchor. It 
 was evident that Mrs. Hellicar had a passion for bracelets, 
 and it was also pretty clear that her jeweller lived in the 
 Lowther Arcade ; as for rings, they actually stiffened her 
 fingers, and a superb gilt and green -glass solitaire clasped a 
 parti-coloured velvet round her throat. Her head-dress 
 baffles description ; it was a choice compound of lace, and 
 ribbon, and artificial flowers, and marabout feathers, and 
 mock pearls, and it gave her sadly the appearance of a crazy- 
 stage-queen on the boards of an itinerant theatre. 
 
 " Miss Guise, I presume ] " said Mrs. Hellicar, smiling 
 sweetly, and making a dancing-school curtsey. Miss Guise 
 bowed and smiled too, and Mr. Guise, as in duty bound, rose 
 and placed her a chair. Mrs. Hellicar sank into it, still 
 emiling faintly, and flourishing a scent bottle and the new 
 bargain of an embroidered pocket-handkerchief in what she 
 considered to be very imposing style. She was surprised to 
 find now " meanly " Miss Guise was dressed only a plain 
 French merino, simple collar and cuffs, and ribbon in her 
 hair, and no jewellery at all, save a little pearl brooch, and 
 one splendid ring on her engaged finger. 
 
 " You must have deemed me excessively remiss," began 
 Mrs. Hellicar, " in not calling upon you sooner " she spoke 
 as if she came from the next street to pay a friendly visit 
 
AND GOLD. 41 
 
 " but indeed I suffer so much ; my health is so extremely 
 delicate sometimes for days and days I am unequal to the 
 slightest exertion. I am a poor creature, Mr. Guise, and 
 nobody but myself knows what I have gone through. My 
 frame has been shattered, my constitution impaired, my 
 nerves torn. People used to say that I was pretty in my 
 young days ; but, oh dear me ! I am only the wreck of what 
 I was. I have seen trouble, Mr. Guise. I have known 
 reverses oh ! such reverses." 
 
 Mr. Guise expressed his sorrow for Mrs. Hellicar's reverses, 
 and she went on. 
 
 " Yes ; 1 need not tell you that I have seen better days, 
 that I was not brought up to let lodgings, nor indeed was I 
 connected with business in any way. Ah, Miss Guise, you 
 young ladies little know what you bring upon yourselves 
 when you are so anxious to get married. You little think 
 what it is to have a family, and to be obliged to bring them 
 up anyhow ; to be surrounded by your helpless children, 
 and your spiritless husband sitting opposite to you staring at 
 the fire, and a babe at your breast, crying day and night, 
 and you that weak you can scarcely crawl or stand. It's 
 all very hard to bear, Miss Guise, though you may not be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 Florence quite believed that such a wretched combination 
 of circumstances must be very hard indeed; but she 
 wondered that Mrs. Hellicar should think it necessary to 
 say all this. She hastened to reply that she hoped she was 
 feeling a little better now. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a little, Miss Guise. I am not quite as nervous 
 as usual this evening, and society is good for me. My 
 medical man, indeed two medical men, if not three, have 
 said to me, ' My dear Mrs. Hellicar, you are extremely weak 
 weakness is your malady ; you have no muscle, you are 
 all nerve. You need rest, and change of air, and a very 
 generous diet, and, above all things, society you should go 
 more into society, indeed you should ! ' But though once it 
 was believed that I was the star of the brilliant system in 
 which I revolved, that I adorned the circle in which I 
 moved, I feel now that long seclusion and suffering, and the 
 
4:2 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 cares and trials of maternity, to say nothing of most un- 
 happy conjugal experiences, have robbed me of such poor 
 charms as I once possessed, and so crushed my spirit and 
 weakened my frame that I am no longer fitted to take my 
 proper position in the fashionable world. Still, the luxury 
 of refined companionship is appreciated by me ; still I enjoy 
 the feast of reason and the flow of what is it ? my poor 
 memory has so given way of late. Don't you think, Mr. 
 Guise, that weakness of the frame impairs the memory ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar was always talking about her " frame," or 
 some particular much-to-be-condoled-with portion of her 
 frame ; till Dick would sometimes mutter, " Confound your 
 frame ; I wish to goodness you would come unframed ! " 
 
 Mr. Guise signified his assent to Mr. Hellicar's proposition ; 
 and that lady resumed : " Yes, I can taste the sweets of in- 
 tellectual society, though I shrink now from the gay throngs 
 and the halls of dazzling light of former years ; and if ever 
 you feel dull, my dear Miss Guise, you have only to say so 
 to Esther, who, I trust, waits upon you properly ; she is a 
 thoughtless girl a very thoughtless girl indeed, with a 
 violent temper and no mind ; and she gives me a great deal 
 of uneasiness. What was I saying 1 You have only to 
 desire Esther to speak to me, and I will coine up and bring 
 my netting, or iny crochet-work, any evening. Or I should 
 be so pleased to be of service to you in another way. At 
 your age you ought to be going out and seeing the world. I 
 shall be delighted to walk or drive with you at any time. I 
 could chaperone you to the Polytechnic now, or take you 
 over Westminster Abbey, or the Tower those historical 
 places are very improving to young people, Mr. Guise or, 
 best of all, I could make interest for you on a drawing-room 
 day, to see the ladies going to Court to kiss Her Majesty's 
 hand. It's an uncommonly fine sight, Miss Guise, and tends 
 to make one loyal and devoted to our Queen. I always tell 
 my children it is next to faith in God." 
 
 " You are very kind," returned Mr. Guise, a little stiff y ; 
 " but my daughter has visited the places you mention. She 
 is no stranger to London, though not familiar with this part 
 of it; and she was presented last year by her aunl> Lady 
 
GREV AND GOLD. 43 
 
 Porrisdale. A pageant in which she once bore a part will 
 scarcely interest her as a mere bystander." 
 
 " I am sure I beg your pardon," returned Mrs. Hellicar, 
 feeling very small indeed, but at the same time resolving to 
 flourish the Guises under the very nose of Mrs. Shanks, and 
 Mrs. Peppercorn, the grocer's wife, and the stylish Mrs. 
 Coffnomore, the druggist's lady, round the corner in South- 
 ampton Eow. Mrs. Hellicar had a habit of speaking of her 
 lodgers, especially if they were people to be acknowledged, 
 as " friends who were staying with her." It was a question 
 whether she imposed upon her acquaintances as thoroughly 
 as she nattered herself she did. 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar stayed some time longer, and graciously 
 accepted a glass of wine, which she sipped genteelly ; and 
 she discoursed on many subjects,- professing herself a lover 
 of music, but rather out of practice, an adorer of the fine arts 
 generally, and an anonymous poetess. A second glass of 
 Mr. Guise's excellent old port made her confidential, and 
 she deplored her unsuitable marriage, and remarked that but 
 for the consolations of religion she should have sunk years 
 ago into an early grave. She gave Florence much prudent 
 advice about young men, and again reverting to Esther, 
 shook her head, saying that Mr. Hellicar would keep her, 
 though she really had no claim in the world on him a 
 niece of his first wife, that was all. And she owed every- 
 thing to them ; they had fed her and clothed her for nine 
 years, and all she gave in return was base ingratitude. She, 
 Mrs. Hellicar, washed her hands of Esther ; she had quite 
 given her up, after having solemnly warned her of a day of 
 wrath to come. 
 
 Florence's throat ached with the words she was swallow- 
 ing down ; her papa had given her a glance which she 
 understood, and she felt herself that any injudicious inter- 
 ference now might render null and void any future attempts 
 to be of use to Esther. But when the dress had rustle* 
 downstairs again, Mr. Guise said, "That is an insufferable 
 woman. If we had seen her we should never have taken 
 these rooms. Do you think that dress of hers was made of 
 painted paper, Flossy dear 1 " 
 
44 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OSWALD AND CECIL. 
 
 CECIL UFFADYXE folded up her work when it grew too dark 
 to see any longer. Then she stirred the fire into a cheerful 
 blaze, and, sitting down in a low chair by the hearth, began 
 to tear old letters and circulars into little pieces ; for she was 
 a young lady of remarkable energy and activity, much 
 addicted to using up all her spare moments of time, and 
 counting up the exact gain thereof at the end of every 
 month with remarkable precision, and to her own infinite 
 satisfaction. " Gather up the fragments " was the grand 
 spring on which depended all the machinery of Cecil's busy 
 life. 
 
 While the fitful shadows are dancing on the walls and 
 ceiling, let us look at the drawing-room of which she is the 
 mistress. "All wise women are proud of their drawing- 
 rooms," says the experienced Anthony Trollope. I go 
 further still. I think that, as a rule, a drawing-room is 
 a pretty clear exposition of the character, and mind, and 
 style of the woman who reigns over it. Show me a 
 drawing-room, and I will tell you what kind of woman 13 
 its mistress. There are certain signs by which I shall know 
 whether she be an idle slattern, or only a passive, languid, 
 dilatory, amiable, half-lay figure, leaving her husband to 
 order the dinner, and her servants to their own sweet will ; 
 whether she be a vixenish, arbitrary matron, who, in her 
 zeal to prove that cleanliness is next to godliness, brings 
 godliness in disrepute through her temper. I am afraid all 
 VERY clean women, given to incessant scrubbing and polish- 
 ing, are more or less vixens ; acrimony of disposition and 
 distressing cleanliness seem naturally to go together. Or 
 whether the lady be only a very respectable, painstaking 
 Martha, not a worry or a fidget, but really a very useful, 
 energetic, housewifely sort of person, who looks well to the 
 ways of her household, and eats not the bread of idleness 
 There is a certain something which will tell me whether 
 Madame be a woman of taste and gentle breeding, 01 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 45 
 
 whether she be a consequential dame, who has just achieved 
 a certain position, and thinks that plenty of money will 
 surely furnish a house to " perfectest perfection." I shall 
 know whether she loves reading, whether she spoils her 
 children, whether she keeps her husband in subjection, 
 or vice versd. 
 
 I shall know a hundred things, and so will you if you 
 only make use of your eyes and your perceptive qualities; 
 and some drawing-rooms will seem to you like a plot of 
 poppies, poeonies, and tulips, all beautiful in themselves, but 
 blending inharmoniously as a whole ; and others like a garden 
 of sweet roses ; and others, again, like lilies, and roses, and 
 green foliage interwoven. 
 
 But there are some rooms that always remind me of a bed 
 of mignonette ; I can scarcely tell you why. There is about 
 them such an air of cheerfulness, such thorough comfort, 
 such brightness, such sweetness, such neatness without 
 formality. You think how pleasantly life must go in such 
 a room ; the books look as if they asked you to read them ; 
 the work-baskets make your finger-ends tingle to be busy ; 
 the sofas and lounging-chairs woo you to repose ; the piano 
 seems to keep up a pleasant tune, that only your spiritual 
 ears can hear ; there is no one conspicuous ornament, yet 
 real gems are all around 'you, and you are sure the mistress 
 of that house is kind, and good, and thoughtful, cultured in 
 her tastes, " a spirit, yet a woman too " aye, and a finished 
 gentlewoman. 
 
 So much for drawing-rooms in general ; now for Cecil 
 Uffadyne's. It was a very charming room, a cosy bower of 
 comfort and delights ; it abounded in books, it gloried in a 
 magnificent pianoforte ; its draperies were the prettiest that 
 can be imagined, its ornamentation was absolutely faultless. 
 The windows were at right angles ; one looking over a slop- 
 ing lawn, a plantation of evergreens, and the high road, and 
 the far away Mendip Hills ; the other opening on the love- 
 liest of gardens^ beyond which lay a stretch of rich meadow 
 "land ; then the village of Chilcombe, with its grey church 
 tower nestling among some of the finest trees that the west 
 country has to boast of j then more meadow land, then, a 
 
46 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 flowery vale of legendary beauty, and last of all, far otf, the 
 sea line, sometimes so grey that it mingled with the sky 
 itself; sometimes so bright that it sparkled like ten thoiv 
 sand diamonds, or shone like a setting of red gold against 
 the sapphire of the calm horizon. 
 
 This evening, however, you saw nothing of the view with- 
 out ; all your interest was concentrated in that pleasant 
 drawing-room, and specially in the bending figure on the 
 hearth, rapidly tearing up old envelopes and useless letters 
 and putting the pieces into a large bag that stood beside her. 
 Cecil Uffadyne was a fine-looking young woman tall, slim, 
 quick in her movements, rapid in her speech, which yet waa 
 remarkably distinct ; passionate in her likings and dislikings, 
 and rather extreme in her views and she had her views on 
 nearly every subject under the sun, and held to them with 
 tolerable, or, as some censorious people said, ^tolerable 
 pertinacity. You could not call her handsome, yet she had 
 a very pleasant face of her own ; it was so full of life 
 active, vigorous, healthy, girlish life ; and there was so much 
 common-sense in her olive-skinned but sunny countenance, 
 so much frankness and truth in her rather steady gaze, so 
 much freshness in her every tone and expression, that you 
 took to her, in spite of yourself, at the first interview, and 
 pronounced her to be very clever and extremely charming. 
 
 It grew darker and darker, till at last a little trill of 
 silvery chimes on the chimney-piece told the third quarter 
 after five. Then Cecil sprang up, first shaking her apron 
 into the fender, that the housemaid might have no trouble 
 with the little bits in the morning ; then she stirred the fire, 
 and rang the bell, and ordered the lamps to be brought, and 
 finally ran upstairs to her own room, where she made a very 
 speedy but effective toilet, and came back again to the 
 drawing-room in rather less time than it would have taken 
 some young ladies to think about it. 
 
 She had not long been seated with a book in her hand, 
 when, she heard a step on the gravel walk a step she knew, 
 and was waiting for; and all her face brightened up as 
 she laid down her volume, and went out into the hall to 
 meet the new arrival A tall, dark youth was there, throw- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 47 
 
 ing off his plaid, and keeping down a couple of thorough- 
 bred dogs, who were leaping upon him and testifying their 
 exuberant welcome a little too forcibly. 
 
 " Down, Hector, down ! Ee off, Scamp ! I'll thrash you 
 both directly. Ah ! Cecil, you there 1 Bless you, my child, 
 for the fine fire I see you have for me. I am half frozen 
 chilled to the very marrow. I must come and get a warm be* 
 fore I go upstairs to dress. What a nuisance these dogs are ! " 
 
 " If you speak firmly to them, they will go." 
 
 " Ah, yes, I dare say ; but I haven't the heart to cow the 
 poor brutes when they are so delighted to see me. Now 
 really, Scamp, that is too bad ! " 
 
 "Scamp ! Hector ! " said Cecil, with quiet emphasis. 
 
 The dogs sobered down at once. Hector looked as 
 ashamed of himself as a great dog could. Little Scamp 
 made a whine, half of apology, half of sorrow, and lay down 
 on the mat, with her nose between her paws, and her paws 
 in penitential attitude. 
 
 " Go ! " said Cecil, pointing to the door which led towards 
 the offices ; and the dogs, with their tails down and their 
 eyes full of regret, trotted instantly into the kitchen. 
 
 "Poor things," said the young man, as he drew up the 
 easy- chair his sister had placed for him, and prepared to 
 make himself comfortable. " You are hard upon them, 
 Cecil." 
 
 "I think not; I am displeased if they go unfed and 
 'cincared for. I like to take them with me when I walk or 
 ride, but I will not have them on this side of the house." 
 
 " Little Scamp would be in no one's way. I wonder you 
 can resist her, Cecil ; she has such winning ways." 
 
 " I never yield only to winning ways, Oswald, my dear." 
 
 "I know you don't, Cecil, my dear. If you had lived 
 some few thousand years ago King Solomon would have 
 preferred you to the Queen of Sheba, and he would have 
 described you in the Book of Proverbs. He would, indeed, 
 oh, most wise, and virtuous, and vigorous-minded sister ! 
 What have you been after to-day ? " 
 
 " After you left I ordered the dinner, and spent half an 
 in my store -room; then Jane came to know if ftiie 
 
48 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 couid \je spared to go home next week, "because her sailor 
 lover has come back from . China ; and I had a good talk 
 with her about that young man. I am not at all certain he 
 is doing her good, but she does not seem inclined to 
 give him up. Then I went to the school, and was there till 
 half-past twelve. I am afraid we shall lose our school- 
 mistress at Christmas, Oswald. Mary Jones would like to 
 go to service, and I think of having her here under Jane ; 
 she would be trained against Jane leaves, as leave she will, 
 ere long, I am convinced. She is set upon that young man, 
 eillygirl!" 
 
 " AVhy silly girl ? The young fellow is respectable, and 
 he is getting a good livelihood." 
 
 " I am not sure that he is perfectly steady. She ought to 
 try him ; I want her to put him upon several years' proba- 
 tion." 
 
 " 2s"ow, really, Cecil, I did not think I had so inhuman a 
 sister. But, forgive me, you are not qualified to give judg- 
 ment in affairs of the heart ; Jane has had experiences which 
 you cannot even faintly imagine. It is easy for you to 
 prescribe you who never had the malady." 
 
 " You own it is a malady, then 1 " 
 
 " Well, yes, to some extent. The Queens of Sheba and 
 the Martinetta-Tuppers say so, don't they? Some people 
 have it worse than others." 
 
 " I wish you would have it a little worse ; I can respect 
 love when I think it is the real thing. Yes, I can respect 
 it, if, as you say, I cannot properly sympathise with it ; and 
 I tell you, Oswald Uffadyne, your love is not of the right 
 sort." 
 
 " What is the right sort, oh ! Minerva 1 " 
 
 " A sort that will wash, that will wear, that will bear all 
 the rubs of life." 
 
 "You talk like a draper, Cecil. But what you say 
 reminds me that I had a letter from Florence this morning. 
 They are quite settled in Queen Square, and the business is 
 put into train ; Mr. York is to manage it all/' 
 
 * { Poor little Florry, shut up in a west-central square : I 
 how she likes it. I wonder that Mr. Guise thinks u 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 49 
 
 worth "while taking so much trouble, and putting himself 
 about for the sake of money. He is rich enough as it is f 
 and Florry is his only child." 
 
 "Not so very rich, Cecil, and he will be poorer if he lose this 
 law-suit. Certainly, if he gain it, he will be wealthy enough, 
 and Florry will be one of the first heiresses of the day." 
 
 " And you would consent to marry one of the first heir- 
 esses of the day ? " 
 
 " Cecil, you know our engagement was concluded before 
 there was any question of all this heap of money. You can- 
 not mean to do me such an injustice as to suppose that I am 
 seeking to marry a fortune 1 " 
 
 " No / NO ! Oswald. God forbid I should judge you so 
 wickedly ; I could not love you another hour if I thought 
 you were a contemptible money -hunter, looking upon God'o 
 holy institution of marriage as a means to an end, and such 
 an end ! But I wish I must say it, Oswald I wish you 
 had never been engaged to Florence Guise." 
 
 " Could anything be more suitable 1 Am I not the next 
 male heir, and do not some of the estates, the most valuable, 
 pass by female issue ? " 
 
 "That is it; the marriage was clearly expedient! Flor- 
 ence was trained to love you ; you were trained to love her. 
 She is very pretty, very lovely, as good and sweet a little 
 thing as ever lived, but not the wife I would have chosen for 
 you, Oswald." 
 
 "I never thought of asking you to choose me a wife, Cecil. 
 Kay, I should not have liked a wife of your choosing ; I 
 could not marry a busy, strong-minded woman with a mis- 
 sion. Florence is quite to my liking, so sweet, and pure, 
 and tender ; so perfectly refined, so good ; even you, Cecil, 
 must call her good." 
 
 " I do : she is very good too good for you." 
 
 " Thank you. Don't you think, my dear, you may carry 
 your love of plain-speaking too far ? " 
 
 " Not as regards you ; I am the elder, also I am the 
 stronger." 
 
 "I am not quite so sure of that ; but, Cecil, surely you do 
 not want to do mischief : Florence ioves me." 
 E 
 
50 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " I know she does, Oswald ; she loves you dearly, poor 
 lit tie thing ! and her love exceeds yours, and that should 
 never be. The greater love should always be with the man, 
 at least before marriage." 
 
 "And not after] Oh, Martinetta Tupperina, thou most 
 sapient philosopher in petticoats, who speakest of that which 
 thou knowest not ! But you are wrong, Cecil ; I do love 
 Florence." 
 
 " All the same, Oswald ; I wish you were not engaged to 
 marry her. I wish you had had to fight your own way in 
 the world to work, to strive, to toil. You have the making 
 of a grand man in you, brother Oswald; but all will be 
 marred, because the best part of your nature will never be 
 called forth. I hate these silken, golden lives." 
 
 "Ah, you would like an iron life iron-grey, I sup- 
 pose ? " 
 
 "Anything that gave one's energies scope, that taught one 
 patience, and endurance, and/azYTi." 
 
 "Cecil, my dear, I think that you are talking foolishly. 
 All is not gold that glitters, and the lives that seem so 
 golden are often only grey interwoven with gold. I believe 
 that grey days of pain and weariness, and golden days of joy 
 and sunshine, come to alL (Also, I believe that no life is 
 golden from beginning to end^nor any life uniformly grey. 
 And I am not sure that a shadowless life would be so very 
 fair after all. However, God knows best, and gives us the 
 grey and the gold in due proportion.^/ !N"ow I am warm, and 
 I will go and dress for dinner ; your philosophy has not 
 taken away my appetite, I am glad to say." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TO-MORROW. 
 
 ESTHER went to bed one night very weary and out of spirits. 
 She had worked hard all day ; the children had been very 
 cross and mischievous. Lizzie had been unusually pert, and 
 Dick and his father had had words, and Mrs. Hellicar had 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 51 
 
 indulged in a fit of palpitations, and subsequently, hysterics ; 
 and the baby, divorced from the maternal bosom, lifted up 
 his shrill pipes and wept mightily, refusing to be comforted 
 with the bottle, and strenuously protesting against Daffy's 
 elixir, which Esther, in all good faith, strove to administer 
 lavishly. Then Mr. Guise had had one of his terrible at- 
 tacks, and Florence had been shut up in his bed-room nearly 
 all day, and the drawing-room was deserted ; and when 
 Esther went up about eight o'clock in the evening to carry 
 down the tea-tray, she found the table undisturbed, but the 
 two cups and saucers missing, and she conjectured that Miss 
 Guise was taking her tea by her father's bedside, and would 
 not be seen any more that night. 
 
 Esther could not wait, though she wanted sorely to say a 
 few words to Florence, for there was Fanny to undress, and 
 Tommy to get to sleep for the spoilt child refused to be put 
 into bed awake, after the fashion of sensible, well-mannered 
 children of his age. Then Mr. Macgregor had come home, re- 
 porting himself on sick-leave, and demanding a basin of gruel, 
 and a foot-bath well seasoned with mustard and salt. And Mrs. 
 "Warburton, on the ground-floor, had sent out for a sweetbread, 
 which was to be delicately dressed for her supper, and to be 
 ready with stout, and double Gloucester to follow, exactly at 
 ten minutes past nine. So that it was very clear Esther could 
 not afford to waste her time in lingering on any pretext ; 
 neither had she leisure for a hearty good cry, nor for one of 
 her favourite soliloquies, which were sometimes as good as 
 meat and drink to her after a harassing day of hard toil, and 
 no thanks for her labours. She must go down and consult 
 Mrs. Rundell's " Domestic Cookery" before she could attempt 
 to fricassee the sweetbread ; and she must attend to Mr. Mac- 
 gregor's gruel, for Biddy's achievements in the way of gruels 
 and porridges were generally stupendous failures, and the 
 Scotchman, being naturally of acid temperament, became 
 doubly and trebly acidulated if his beloved oatmeal were not 
 judiciously prepared. He once told Biddy her soul was in 
 danger because she brought him his porridge burnt three 
 mornings in succession. 
 
 It was nearly twelve when Esther went upstairs to hex 
 
62 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 attic, and she was so tired that the last flight of stairs steep 
 as attic-stairs generally are were to her as the last straw on 
 the overladen camel. She sat down on the first broken chair 
 near the door, and began to sob almost as hysterically as her 
 aunt to poor Biddy's extreme consternation, for nothing 
 frightened her so much as to see " Miss Esther taking-on 
 like." Esther was, as a rule, so brave and so stoical, that 
 she never lamented, and seldom complained, except to her 
 own heart ; and it seemed to Biddy as if the world must come 
 to an end ; at any rate, as if the whole crazy piece oi 
 machinery known as the Hellicars' household must collapse 
 at once, if Miss Esther gave way and cried as if she had no 
 spirit left in her. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Esther, darlint ! " exclaimed poor Biddy, 
 pathetically ; " Oh ! what a confiusthration ye put me into I 
 Arrah now, jewel ! asthore, mavourneen ! dhry yer purty 
 eyes ! Keep up yer heart, avoumeen ; bad cess to the 
 Hellicars, one and all ! Och ! acushla ! shure and the good 
 time's a-comin' ! I see it in my tay-grounds this very night 1 
 I did, Miss Esther, by St. Pathrick, and by the Holy Virgin, 
 and by the blessed St. Bridget, I did, indeed ' It was a 
 weddin' I see cornin' on, and you was in it, jewel ! I see the 
 ring the rale gowld ring and the husban' ye'll have a 
 fine, spankin' boy, six feet and more byont in his stockin' 
 feet ; wid eyes like an aigle's, as black as sloes, and hair like 
 a raven's wing, and straight as a poplar-tree, and the way ov 
 a prince about him ! And he'll be here, Miss Esther, in no 
 time, and then it's you that'll be the lady and wear a satin 
 gownd, and feathers, and diamonds ; and it's you that'll be 
 good to poor Biddy, and take her away from the slavery, 
 and make her your own confidentional servant till she gets a 
 boy ov her own, and consints to the blessed sacrament of 
 matrimony. So cheer up, alanna ! there's more than a silver 
 lining to all these yer clouds. There's many a grey morning 
 that make's a go widen afternoon, and when the gowld comes 
 furst, thin vary often, faix ! it's more than grey before it's night 
 it's black black as purdition, to which Misther Macgregor 
 and the misthress, save her ! sez I'm hastening. Best 'av' the 
 grey furst, mavourneen, and the gowld afterwards ; best 'av' 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 53 
 
 the shower and the cowld winds early in the year, and the 
 sunshine in the summer ! Best work hard, and get the hard 
 words now, asthore, and 'av' all the love presently; 'av' 
 patience, and it will all coine out right, jest like a fairy-tale. 
 Only don't cry and sob yer heart out, for it does no good at 
 all at all ; it neither meks yer here nor there, an' it spoils yer 
 beauty, an'll mek yer heed ache reddy to split to-morrow 
 mornin/ and you've got to jug a hare for the ground floor, 
 and make white soup for the drawing-room ! " 
 
 By this time Esther had had her cry out, and felt a good 
 deal better for it ; but to cry any longer would certainly be 
 foolish, for it would, as Biddy said, make her head ache ; and 
 the morrow would be a busy day, and the prospects of the 
 hare to be jugged was oppressive, since she was not quite 
 clear how Mrs. Warburton's directions were to be carried out ; 
 and as for the white soup which Miss Guise had ordered for 
 her father, she had not the remotest idea how it was to be 
 concocted. Moreover. Mrs. Hellicar had announced her in- 
 tention of staying in bed till dinner-time in order to recruit 
 her strength, or, at least, " rest her shattered frame " ! 
 
 " What a fool I am ! " said Esther, presently, wiping her 
 eyes ; u really, Biddy, I am ashamed of myself, but I feel so 
 tired and so weak ; my knees trembled as I came upstairs. 
 And aunt was so ill-tempered ; and she had a religious fit, 
 and that always makes me feel ill ; and the children were 
 so tiresome j and I could not get a word with Miss 
 Guise." 
 
 " Did you get any supper ? " asked Biddy with sudden 
 energy. 
 
 " No ; I was too tired to eat, and I had no time. Indeed, 
 I forgot my supper." 
 
 " That's it, then ! Arrah, mavourneen ! it's the bit and 
 the dhrop ye're wantin'. Och ! now, if I had but a taste of 
 the potheen for ye, it would hearten ye up wonderful. But 
 the aitin' and drinkin' must be done, or sorra a bit of strength 
 or sinse ye've got left in you. I'll just nip down, and get ye 
 some beer and bread-and-cheese, alanna ! " 
 
 And Biddy was good as her word ; she did nip down, 
 carrying the candle with hei, leaving Esther in the darkness, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 to her own reflections ; but she soon came up agaiii, with the 
 homely refreshments she had mentioned in her hands, and 
 insisted on Esther " aitin' and drinkin'," which, for peace- 
 sake, Esther essayed to do, and was surprised to find how 
 easy it was after the first mouthful. 
 
 " There, now ! " said Biddy, triumphantly, " it's you that's 
 the lady, an' no mistake ! Now ye've got some life and 
 sperrit in ye ! Now jist put off yer clothes, and get into bed, 
 and go to sleep, and wake up in the morning like a lark. 
 
 I The throubles of to-day is all over, praise the Lord ! an' it's ov 
 no manner of use thinking about the throubles ov to-morrow 
 
 Ltill they come." 
 
 And Biddy fell on her knees and began to tell her beads 
 with sudden energy, and by dint of making extra speed she 
 soon got over her devotions, and lay down by little Fanny's 
 side, and quickly gave audible indications of being sound 
 asleep. Esther was trying to follow her example, and she 
 was just happily sinking into a state of forgetfulness, when 
 Eanny awoke with a shriek and a moan from one of her bad 
 dreams, and immediately commenced to cry as vigorously as 
 if it were noon instead of midnight. She refused to be com- 
 forted, or to listen to reason, and scolding and coaxing were 
 equally inefficacious ; and presently Tommy woke up, and 
 added his fretful wail to the general disturbance ; and then 
 Biddy was aroused, and lastly Lizzie sat up in bed and began 
 to rub her eyes, and scold with a genius worthy of her 
 mamma. Mrs. Hellicar herself could scarcely have done it 
 better. 
 
 " Why don't you make them quiet ? " urged Lizzie at last, 
 frantic at having her rest broken, and finding that a cuff and 
 a shake did nothing towards composing either child. " What 
 ma says is quite true, you're not worth your keep, and what 
 you stay here for I can't imagine to think you can't get two 
 children to sleep ; I dare say you woke them up ! Hush ! 
 you provoking little wretches ! Fanny ! I'll give you such 
 a beating in another minute ! Yes, and I'll put you up the 
 chimney, Tom, and there's a black man there, that eats up 
 naughty children that cry of nights. Hark ! I hear him 
 growling now ! he'll have you in another minute." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 55 
 
 The frightened child stifled his wail in the pillow, and 
 dared not look towards the fire-place, lest he should see the 
 head of the terrible ogre who dwelt up the chimney, and 
 supped on little boys. But he trembled and gasped till 
 Esther feared he would go into a fit, and she took him into 
 her bed and comforted him with the assurance that the ogre 
 should not touch him, for he never came near grown people, 
 and she would hold him fast. And at last Tommy fell 
 asleep in her arms ; and Fanny, finding that no one heeded 
 her cries, consented'to be pacified and settle herself off again 
 into another nap ; and Biddy and Lizzie soon followed her 
 example, and then Esther was left the sole watcher in the 
 dark and dreary attic. It was not often that she could not 
 sleep, in spite of every disturbance : generally she laid her 
 head down upon her pillow, and in the sweet repose of 
 youth and perfect health forgot the day's annoyances ; and 
 the morning found her strengthened and refreshed for the 
 toils and trials of another sixteen or eighteen hours, as the 
 case might be. 
 
 But now she heard the church-clocks in the neighbour- 
 hood strike the quarters and the hours, and the distant mur- 
 mur of the Holborn traffic ceased entirely, and she knew 
 that ere long it would be time to rise, and commence the 
 duties of another day. Her thoughts were very bitter as 
 she lay in weary wakefulness by Lizzie's side, listening to 
 Biddy's loud snoring, and to the heavy breathing of the 
 children. They were bitterer even than they were a month 
 ago, when in that very room, a few hours before the arrival 
 of the Guises, she had resolved that she would do something 
 towards bettering her condition the " something," as usual, 
 ending in miserable nothingness. Improve her condition, 
 indeed ! how was it to be done, unless she hazarded every- 
 thing, broke loose from all restraint, and cast herself upon 
 the world ? And she knew that the world was not kindly to 
 such friendless candidates for its capricious favour, and she 
 shuddered as the thought of what might befal her, if, unpro- 
 tected and alone, she adventured herself in those terrible 
 London streets. "But," she exclaimed, speaking aloud, as 
 was her wont, but in so low a tone that the sleepers around 
 
56 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 her were not disturbed "but what can I do? I cannot go 
 on staying here. My aunt asked me to-day why I kept 
 sponging yes, she called it sponging on them year after 
 year. She wondered I had not more spirit than to stop in a 
 house where I was not wanted, eating and drinking at the 
 expense of people who were hard put to it to find bread for 
 their own children. But .God knows I am not the idle crea- 
 ture she says I am. I do earn my bread, if anybody ever 
 did. I work hard, I waste nothing, I take only my needful 
 food, and submit to such clothing as any decent servant 
 would despise, and I put up with all the insolence and worry 
 of the children what more can I do ? They say I am ill 
 tempered and sulky, and go into awful passions. "Well, I 
 know I do ; but for one kind word, one real loving word, I 
 could humble myself to the dust, and be content to gerve 
 them as a slave. I had a sort of hope how foolish it was, 
 to be sure ! that something would come of the Guises being 
 in the house, as soon as I saw Miss Guise's sweet face. I 
 fancied I saw the friend I needed the one who would 
 stretch out to me a sister's hand, and lift me into another 
 and more blessed atmosphere. And she is very kind, and I 
 am always better in my mind after talking to her ; but she 
 has been nearly six weeks in the house, and I am just where 
 I was before she came. Am I discontented 1 Am I im- 
 patient ? Am I wanting to get out of the station in which 
 it has pleased Providence to place me ? Aunt says I am so 
 wicked so hardened in my sins. She warns me that I am 
 heaping up wrath for myself against the day of wrath. Am 
 I am I indeed making God angry with me ? The Bible 
 says He is merciful and pitiful, and that His loving-kind- 
 nesses are great ; and if it be so, surely He will not deal 
 harshly with me, a poor desolate girl, who knows nothing, 
 and has nobody to teach her ! I do wish I might have been 
 confirmed ; I feel sure it would have done me good somehow. 
 At any rate, I should have seen the clergyman, and have 
 heard something from him, and I could have asked him the 
 questions that trouble me so much. But she said I was not 
 nt for the ordinance of the Church, and she called me a child 
 of Satan, given up to all iniquity. I am sure I do not want 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 57 
 
 to "belong to the Evil One, and I cannot believe that God 
 will let him have those who are not his willingly. Still, if 
 aunt Hellicar's religion is the thing that God requires of me, 
 I am afraid I can never, never conform to it. What is the 
 use of reading the Bible, and quoting texts, and talking 
 piously, and going on about the end of the world, if you are 
 to be just as ill-tempered as the people that mock at God ? 
 Sometimes, 'on Sunday, I think I will try ; I will get con- 
 verted. I say I will give myself no rest or peace till I am sure 
 I am what they call a ' child of God.' And then aunt begins 
 about the solemn truths we have heard, and how this world 
 is passing away, and will soon be burnt up, or something of 
 the kind ; and the next minute she is so cross, and find such 
 fault, that we are all glad to get away and leave her. How 
 can piety and peevishness, and religion and repining, and 
 godliness and impatience and fault-finding go together ] And 
 then, giving up everything ! Religion seems to be a very 
 dismal thing at least, the sort of religion that I have seen 
 most of. I really believe its chief use is to be a cloak for all 
 sorts of wretched tempers and selfishness ; for now I come to 
 think of it, the most religious people I know are the most 
 disagreeable. I quite thought Miss Guise was religious, and 
 I hoped she was, for I should like to be like her ; but aunt 
 says she is not, for l by their fruits ye shall know them;' and 
 she does not see in Miss Guise the fruits of a regenerate 
 nature. I wonder what fruits one is to know a Christian by ? 
 Sourness, I suppose, and snappishness, and hard words, and 
 complaining of one's lot I complain, I know, but then I am 
 not a Christian and frowns, and thinking all the rest of the 
 world hopelessly wicked ; and gloominess ! Those are the 
 fruits I have witnessed ; and as for religion being a support 
 and a solace, I think one may be supported and solaced very 
 well without it, to judge from my aunt's state of mind when 
 things go contrary. Oh, dear ! the world is a dreary place, 
 though j and for one happy person there are twenty un- 
 happy ones. And things are so unequal. Why should 
 this dull, grey, col )urless life be mine ? Why should Miss 
 Guise have such a lovely, golden life why should she have 
 friends and fortune, and rank, and beauty, and education, and 
 
58 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 such a tender father while I am Icnely and penniless, and 
 ugly and ignorant, and unloved, uncared for ] Why was she 
 born to so much joy, and I to so much sorrow ; she to blessing, 
 I to a curse ? What had she done to deserve the happiness ? 
 what had I done to deserve the misery ? Why should tin 
 golden summer-sunshine, and the flowers, and the singing- 
 birds be hers, and mine the grey wintry twilight, and the leaf- 
 less trees, and the silence and the dreariness ? Oh ! my God, 
 why didst Thou create me to such an empty, loveless life ? 
 Why call me into existence only to punish me ] I could be 
 so happy if only I had something to be happy with. I could 
 be content with only a very little love, a very little bright- 
 ness ; if I could only see some prospect of better days, I 
 could be so patient ! Ah, I could thrive upon what others 
 scorned where others starved I could feed and be satisfied ! 
 It is so little that I want, so very little ! and yet, oh ! my 
 God, Thou wilt not give it to me ! I say grant me same 
 small measure of happiness, and it is not granted ! Is it in- 
 deed that Thou art so angry with me, oh ! my God, that Thou 
 wilt grant me nothing that I ask for ] Art Thou indeed an 
 angry God, watching for our shortcomings, and ready to take 
 prompt vengeance on us for our sins 1 It cannot be if Thou 
 art our Father for even earthly fathers are not hard upon 
 their children and shall the Heavenly Father be more un- 
 kind than the father of poor erring flesh and blood 1 Oh ! 
 my God, I am very weary and very dark ; give me rest, give 
 me light ; forgive me if I speak to Thee rashly, but I have 
 no friend save Thee. Oh ! be my Father and my frriend, 
 and not an angry Judge spying out my sins and taking 
 vengeance. I could love my Father and my Friend, but I 
 could only dread my Judge ! " 
 
 And a still, small voice seemed to whisper to the gill's 
 heart " My child ! my child ! be of good cheer ; all shall 
 yet be well : wait thou My time ! " 
 
 " Yes ! I will wait a little longer," she said to hersel " I 
 will try to be patient ; I think God does hear me, and I 
 think, too, He is not so wrathful against me as she says He 
 is against all unconverted people. If I could but love God, 
 it would be so easy to serve Him ; and, loving Him, my heart 
 
GREY ANI> GOLD. 59 
 
 would perhaps be satisfied, and I should be content with my 
 lot. I will try, then, to be patient, and wait ; I will try to 
 love God to-morrow- that is, to-day, for to-morrow has come. 
 Yes I will begin a new life to-morrow to-morrow." 
 
 And still thinking of " trying," and murmuring "to- 
 morrow," the poor child fell asleep at last. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHAT TO-MORROW BROUGHT FORTH. 
 
 ESTHER could scarcely believe she had slept at all, when she 
 was roused by the striking of a match, and saw Biddy at her 
 bedside, lighting the candle with more haste than good 
 speed, while she muttered, " Bad luck to yer, then, for a 
 worry this blessed morning, when we've bin and overslept 
 ourselves. Oh ! Miss Esther, dear, wake up ! it's gone seven, 
 as sure as I'm a Christian ! " 
 
 " Gone seven, Biddy 1 surely not ! it cannot be more than 
 five ! " 
 
 " Five, alanna ! Shure and mee heart wishes it were but 
 three ! But I know it's seven by the sounds outside ; and 
 the milk's bin into the airy and left itself, and we'll be hear- 
 in' the postman next, and not a fire lighted, and more break- 
 fases to get than I can count ! Hark ! there's something 
 striking ; it's the furst quarter. Oh ! Miss Esther, make 
 haste and put on ye, or the misthress '11 be rating us till we 
 don't know whether we do be Christian souls, or haythen 
 savages ! Och ! if the holy saints would but make her 
 milder, or else take her to glory. Shure there is no harm 
 in wishin' she would go to glory ! by me troth. An' it's 
 meself that wishes Biddy O'Flanigan was there at this 
 blessid moment, instead of in this cowld attic, putting on 
 me by the light o' one flarin' tallow candle. An' there's 
 millions an' millions o' waxen tapers burnin* up in glory ! an' 
 I wish we was both there, Miss Esther ! " 
 
 Esther thought it would be very pleasant, for she was cold 
 and miserable, and her head ached furiously ; and now that 
 
60 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "to-morrow " had fairly arrived it was no easy task to begin 
 the life of patience and control which she had planned to 
 herself several hours before. To-morrows that have quite an 
 inviting and even seductive aspect over-night, seem quite 
 another thing when they turn into " to-days," especially when 
 they are viewed by the light of a guttering dip-candle in a 
 dirty iron candlestick, with the certain prospect of plenty oi 
 hard work, and unlimited scolding downstairs. Meanwhile, 
 she dressed hurriedly, but though the old coburg was still " to 
 the fore," as Biddy put it, it was skilfully mended. Esther had 
 hunted up some strips of old cotton-velvet, and she had 
 bound the delapidated hem, first taking out one breadth that 
 defied the sempstress's art, and by dint of shortening, and 
 reducing generally, and careful darns, and a little fresh trim- 
 ming, she really looked almost decent, though not even the 
 cotter's thrifty dame, who, with her needle and her shears, 
 made " auld claes look amaist as weel's the new," could have 
 achieved anything like a success in the matter of the unfor- 
 tunate morning-costume of Esther Kendall. 
 
 As generally happens when one is behindhand with time, 
 everything that morning went perversely. It was very dark, 
 for a dreary fog had settled down on the "W.C. district; the 
 fires refused to be lighted, and, when lighted, objected to 
 burn freely ; the chimneys smoked, the kettles made up their 
 minds that boil they would not till the very latest moment ; 
 the cat drank the milk that had left itself in the area ; and 
 Dick came down so infuriate at not finding his breakfast 
 ready, that he took to abusing Biddy and her country un- 
 mercifully, and so exasperated the young Irishwoman that 
 Esther began to be afraid that the house was about to be 
 disgraced by an actual pugilistic encounter. 
 
 As the morning advanced a general contrariness continued 
 to prevail, and Biddy grew desperate, and slapped the 
 children, and gave her mistress warning to quit at the 
 month's end ; and this time it was to be in earnest she 
 would go, if she had to tramp back to ould Ireland on foot, 
 and swim across the sea ! But the hours wore on, and the 
 day dragged on its weary way, and the hare was jugged for 
 Mrs. Warburton, though not at all to her satisfaction, and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 61 
 
 Mr. Macgregor was served with mutton-broth that he avowed 
 was only fit for pig-wash ; but he spoke of the broth in the 
 plural number, and said they were undeserving the name of 
 human food ! 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar remained in bed, being visited again with 
 palpitations ; and the baby showed symptoms of a fit ; and 
 Lizzie came home from school in tantrums because she had 
 lost the music-prize, and she worked off her excitement a 
 little by beating Fanny and Tom, and sneering at Esther for 
 not knowing what a Mazurka was. 
 
 The white soup was the only thing that seemed likely to 
 give any satisfaction, and that was a source of infinite per- 
 plexity to the inexperienced girl, who was called away from 
 her cookery every two or three minutes, and was, besides, 
 embarrassed by the deficiency of necessary culinary imple- 
 ments and vessels. Esther scarcely knew which she craved 
 for most, new clothes, or new saucepans, or a gridiron which 
 should not be wanting in bars for the one she had in daily 
 use let the small chops and fish, and especially the kidneys, 
 tumble through into the fire, in spite of all her watchful- 
 ness ; and the frying-pan had holes in it, and the great 
 kettle leaked, and the roasting-jack was hopelessly invalided,, 
 and only performed its functions by dint of the stimulus of 
 being incessantly wound up. But every failure was Esther's 
 fault, and every spoiled dinner or breakfast-dish was added 
 to the long category of her sins, original and actual; and 
 when she felt quite well and in tolerable spirits, she took all 
 the scoldings, and warnings, and solemn denunciations with 
 remarkable equanimity, scarcely hearing and not at all heed- 
 ing the weary, pattering sentences that fell thick and sharp 
 as hail from the lips of Mrs. Hellicar. 
 
 But to-day there were many weak places in her sullen, 
 apathetic armour, and strive as she would to feel stolid and 
 stupid, she was stung to the quick by her aunt's cruel, 
 taunting speeches ; and she was sorely wounded, and trem- 
 bling in every limb, when, late in the afternoon, she went up 
 to her garret to dress. Of course the sleepless night, the 
 heavy, unceasing headache, and the fast she had kept all day, 
 from sheer want of appetite, had much to do with the 
 
62 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 unwonted sense of misery that seemed a burden greater than 
 she could bear ; but whatever might be the actual cause of 
 her suffering, she felt really ill, stunned with the hard 
 thrusts she had received, and overpoweringly fatigued. The 
 effort of changing her frock and arranging her hair so ex- 
 hausted her that she threw herself on her bed, just to rest 
 for five minutes, as she told herself, and, as might have been 
 expected, she fell fast asleep, and only woke up to see Mrs. 
 Hellicar standing by her, candle in hand, storming at her 
 with a power of lung that argued very little for the delicacy 
 of her health, or for the indisposition with which she had 
 been all day afflicted. 
 
 For a moment Esther was confused and dizzy, and the 
 torrent of petty abuse seemed to be part of a miserable 
 dream ; but ere long she was fully awake, and comprehended 
 that she had committed the unpardonable sin of lying down 
 in the day-time, and going to sleep, sundry household duties 
 being still unperformed. The first words that she clearly 
 comprehended were : " Such wicked, good-for-nothing idle- 
 ness, and the people ringing their bells as if they would pull 
 them down, and Biddy in her sulks, and me that weak with 
 my poor shattered frame, and palpitations all the morning, 
 and trembling now in every nerve ! Are you not afraid, you 
 unfeeling, cruel girl, that some dreadful judgment will over- 
 take you ? " 
 
 The foolish, unjust words, and the thin, harsh voice fairly 
 maddened Esther, and she answered bluntly, " No, I am not." 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar puffed a huge sigh, like the lingering, dying 
 exhalation of a pair of broken bellows, and appealing to the 
 washing-stand, remarked, "She has no sense of her sins ; 
 she is treading the broad way that leadeth to destruction, 
 and I've warned her, and she will not hear. She is like the 
 
 deaf adder that " But Mrs. Hellicar forgot what the 
 
 deaf adder did, or did not do ; she could never remember 
 the whole of a quotation, so she took refuge in fresh upbraid 
 ings, commanding Esther to rise before some judgment camo 
 upon her. But Esther did not stir, she was getting gradually 
 strung up to a pitch that would enable her to be far more than 
 a match for poor foolish, self-deluded, vixenish Myra Hellicar. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 03 
 
 '* Judgments ! " she exclaimed at last, " I tell you what it 
 iis, fjiunt, I am sick of all this cant. No, I am not afraid of any 
 judgment coming upon me, for I do my best, and if 1 offend 
 God through ignorance it is your fault, not mine. You keep 
 me from learning anything ; you give me no time for reading 
 or thinking, and you bewilder me with your talk about the 
 unregenerate heart, and the devil, and the sinner's doom. 
 Judgment, indeed ! could I have any worse judgment come 
 upon me than being subject to you, and obliged to bear all 
 your wicked tempers 1 Judgments ! I know in your secret 
 heart, aunt Myra, you are afraid of judgments coming on 
 yourself ; you know that your religion is all talk and such 
 talk, too ! Eepent yourself, and when I see you patient, 
 and kind, and unmurmuring, and gentle in your temper 
 maybe I will think about repenting too, and I may come to 
 believe in Christianity. As it is, / don't I flatly tell you 
 so ; at least not such Christianity as yours ; and if yours is 
 the right sort only I know in my heart it is not I had 
 rather be a heathen that never heard the sound of a church- 
 bell or saw a Bible." 
 
 " To think that I should live to be stung by this viper I 
 have nourished in my bosom ! " said Mrs. Hellicar, clasping 
 her hands after the fashion of a plaster- of-Paris "Little 
 Samuel," and this time appealing from the washing-stand to 
 the cracked ceiling right above her head. " Oh, my heart ! 
 Oh, you wicked girl, you will be the death of me ! But I 
 had better die no one cares ; my husband can do just as 
 well without me, and Dick would be glad ; I know he would 
 rejoice to put my death in the papers, and you you would 
 be delighted too ; you wish my departure." 
 
 "JS"o, I don't," returned Esther, savagely; "I would 
 rather you lived and grew better, and if you grew really 
 better and kinder I should want you to go on living. At 
 any rate, you are not fit to die now you are not at all 
 prepared, you know." 
 
 " Not prepared 1 she says I am not prepared! * shrieked 
 Mrs. Hellicar. It touched her almost as keenly as if Esther 
 nad declared her to be vulgar and uneducated. She liked 
 equally well to enact the role of the fine lady and the saint. 
 
64 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "When most amiable, that is, when nothing nappened 
 put her out, the former character prevailed; when 
 temper was in a state of fusion, the latter; and the 
 fretful and savage her state of mind, the higher were her 
 pretensions to eminent but unappreciated sanctity. "Not 
 prepared ! " she echoed again ; " I that have been so near 
 death, that I was all but measured for my coffin. Kot pre- 
 pared, indeed ! Is she prepared herself, I should very much 
 like to know ? " 
 
 This interrogation was mildly addressed to the crazy chest 
 of drawers close by, and as, under the circumstances, no 
 response to the inquiry could be reasonably expected, Mrs. 
 Hellicar proceeded to reply to her own question, giving it as 
 her opinion that Esther's cup of iniquity was almost full, 
 that the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, and of Korah, 
 Dathan, and Abiram, and of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, and 
 of the wicked Haman, and of Lot's wife, and of Ananias 
 and Sapphira, and of Judas Iscariot, would speedily overtake 
 her, so that she could never be a " brand plucked from the 
 burning," as up to that moment Mrs. Hellicar had hoped 
 and prayed she might some day be. 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," returned Esther, " you know very well, 
 aunt, that if you got to heaven, and I came in afterwards, 
 you would be horribly disappointed, and you would try to 
 prejudice the angels against me. But you will never no, 
 never get to heaven, unless you alter. Heaven is no place 
 for people who are continually losing their tempers, and 
 fretting, and grumbling, and saying the nastiest, most cutting 
 things they can think of. A pretty heaven it would be 
 the other place could not be worse ! !N~o, no, aunt, heaven 
 would never suit you, for there would be nobody to scold 
 and grumble at, and the angels and the happy spirits would 
 take no interest in your faded gentility, nor in your fine 
 dresses and ornaments that are got out of the sweat of other 
 people's brows, and wrung out of the toil of their hands and 
 the weariless of thoir bones. Don't you remember what 
 our clergyman said a Sunday or two ago the Sunday you 
 trod upon Mrs. Shank's new moire ? He said heaven would 
 be no heaven to those who had not begun to make a little 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 6^ 
 
 heaven about them here on eaith. And I am sure, aunt, you 
 make this house hell ! there, I've said it ! " 
 
 "And out of this house you go, Esther Kendall, "before you 
 are twelve hours older," shrieked Mrs. Hellicar. And, quite 
 forgetting that saints don't rave, and denounce, and call hard 
 names, and curse in their hearts if not with their tongues, 
 she proceeded to use very strong language indeed, making 
 use of most reprehensible terms, and charging Esther with 
 all manner of crimes, and even with those which she had 
 never had any opportunity of committing. Nor did she 
 confine her anger to words only ; as she gave vent to her 
 rage, it expanded and intensified itself more and more, and 
 she shook Esther as violently as her strength permitted, and 
 administered several slaps in the face which were not 
 wanting in heartiness. She had heen provoked, of course, 
 but then it was she who had given the first provocation, and 
 furnished the casus belli. 
 
 "I have often told you to go, and now you shall tramp," 
 continued Mrs. Hellicar fiercely. "I would not keep you in 
 my house another day, inciting my servant to rebellion, and 
 poisoning the minds of my innocent offspring, and laying 
 traps for Diclc. Yes, Miss, I've seen through your artifices. 
 I've been watching you for weeks and weeks, and I've seen 
 what I have seen." And Mrs. Hellicar looked as if she 
 could say a great deal more if she chose. 
 
 But Esther was roused now, verily. She had been com- 
 paratively calm, though bitter and defiant. Now she sprang 
 from the bed, and stood beside her aunt, who quailed under 
 the steady gaze of the brilliant eyes, saying, in such a tone 
 a tone that made her adversary's heart quake " What have 
 you seen 1 Speak ! You shall speak, I say ! So you can 
 tell lies about me ? Well, you have always done that, more 
 or less, for you have declared that I am idle, which you know 
 is not the case, and I have borne with it, for it did not 
 matter. But you shall not say these things ; you shall not 
 blacken my character, if you tell lies about Dick and me. I 
 will I will " 
 
 " What will you do 1 " asked Mrs. Hellicar, tauntingly. 
 
 Esther burst into tears. She knew how powerless she 
 
66 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 was. She knew that she could not silence any cruel tcnguea, 
 if once they took up a slander against her. Her aunt had 
 stabbed her now, and no mistake, and Myra Hellicar was not 
 slow to pursue her advantage, and she poured out a long, 
 wordy harangue on Esther's unworthiness, and her own pro- 
 tracted and generous forbearance, of which her hapless niece 
 scarcely heard a single sentence, so great was the disturbance 
 of her mind respecting the insinuation just thrown out 
 against her modesty and prudence ; and when at last she 
 collected her scattered senses, she was alone. 
 
 Then she began to recall all that had passed, and she felt 
 that Mrs. Hellicar was now offended past hope of reconcilia- 
 tion. She must have been mad, surely, to say what she had 
 said ! She had thought the same things a hundred times, 
 "but she had never ventured, never even thought it right, to 
 give them utterance. It would be useless to humble herself, 
 for pardon would not be accorded ; the forgiveness of a 
 fellow-creature's trespasses was not a clause in the creed o/ 
 her aunt Myra, and Esther knew it well Her aunt had said 
 she should go, and go she must, of course ; even if her uncle 
 interfered it would be a ceaseless purgatory now for the two 
 to remain sheltered by one roof ; and had she not been wish- 
 ing to go away from Queen Square go away anywhere, so that 
 she might be free to work her own way in the world ? She 
 had longed with a mighty longing to escape from the weary 
 thraldom of her youth, but she had not dared to take her fate 
 in her own hands, lest worse should possibly betide ; but now 
 it was decided for her, and the vague dream in which she had 
 so often indulged had become a reality, and she was actually 
 turned out of doors ! Leaving the Eellicars was nothing ; 
 the mere idea of quitting them was positive delight ; but 
 where could she go to, where find food and raiment? Also 
 what would the Guises think of her when she was gone ; for 
 she felt sure that her aunt Myra would tell them that she had 
 run away, or else that she had been dismissed on account of 
 extreme unworthiness, and she would give them a catalogue 
 of all her transgressions, real and imaginary, and make them 
 believe that she was truly the wicked and ungrateful girl she 
 was represented to be. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 67 
 
 "And where shall I go?" she asked herself again and 
 again. " I have no friends, and next to no money not 
 enough to pay for respectable lodgings for a single night. 
 Oh ! my God, what will become of me ? If Thou really art 
 my Father, care for m5 now, and provide for me. Yes, I will 
 commit my way to Him, and surely He will direct me." 
 
 She felt stronger after she had prayed : then it occurred to 
 her that she had done wrong in speaking so plainly to Mrs. 
 Hellicar. She had spoken only absolute truths, she knew ; 
 but they were truths spoken in anger, and hatred, and malice, 
 and all uncharitableness not in love ; and such truth-speak- 
 ing must be as displeasing to God as lying. Some people 
 make such a virtue of always telling the truth, forgetting that 
 they may sin with the tongue without one single false utter- 
 ance. So many people are ready to quote the Divine precept, 
 " speaking the truth," omitting the close of the sentence 
 " in love! " As well might they say, " be ye angry," forget- 
 ting to add the qualification which ensues " and sin 
 not!" 
 
 " Yes ! I was wrong ; I had no business to say it," was 
 Esther's final decision. " Some one ought to speak plainly 
 to her but not I. I really believe she thinks she is a very 
 religious woman, and she has no idea how mean, and vain, 
 and spiteful, and altogether hateful she is in her behaviour. 
 She has made use of a certain phraseology till she fancies it 
 is really the language of her heart. Oh ! I hope I shall 
 never be a self-deceiver, never think myself good and 
 worthy of esteem, while all the while I am wicked and 
 despicable ! " 
 
 At last she resolved to go down and tell her aunt that 
 she was sorry, and she hastened to go below before she 
 could waver in her purpose. It was not three hours since 
 she came upstairs, but it seemed as if months, or at least 
 weeks, had elapsed since last she had passed the drawing- 
 room door. In the kitchen she found not only her aunt and 
 Lizzie, but her uncle, who had just come in from his office, 
 and was waiting for his supper. Biddy was frying sausages 
 in the nearly incapacitated frying-pan, and Mrs. Hellicar 
 was genteelly sipping at a glass of something hot " a little 
 
68 GRET I.::D GOLD. 
 
 stimulant, which she disliked extremely, but took as a duty 
 when her palpitations came on ! " 
 
 Lizzie laughed a sneering laugh as Esther came in. Mr. 
 Hellicar became absorbed in Biddy's frizzling proceedings, 
 and his wife took a long draught at her gin-and-water, and 
 then folded her hands on her lap with an air of mingled 
 dignity and resignation. Esther stood before her, trembling : 
 " Aunt ! I am very sorry for what I said just now. I was 
 in a passion. I ought not to have given way to it." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we can be humble enough now," returned Mrs. 
 Hellicar, coolly. " I thought we should come down with 
 our high and mightiness before long. Very well. I am 
 glad you see your error ; but you go all the same. I wash my 
 hands of you ! I shake off the dust of my feet against 
 you go ! " And Mrs. Hellicar went through a pretence 
 of manual ablutions, and kicked her slipper under the 
 dresser in testimony of her sincerity. 
 
 " Where can I go, aunt 1 " 
 
 " Wherever you choose, Esther ; the world is all before 
 you." 
 
 "Must I go to-night?" 
 
 "The sooner you are out of my sight the better. You 
 can go as soon as ever you like. You may take all your 
 clothes." 
 
 " She can't go to-night, and she shan't," interposed Mr. 
 Hellicar. " Myra ! are you a woman, that you would turn a 
 girl out on London streets at this time of night 1 " 
 
 " Oh, very well ! " said Mrs. Hellicar hysterically ; " I 
 might have known how it would have been ! You snake ! 
 you set my own husband against me, do you ] " 
 
 "Nothing of the sort, Myra; but Esther is my niece. 
 My poor Jane loved her brother and his child." 
 
 " I am your wife, your lawful wife, Mr. Hellicar ! " 
 
 " I know you are, worse luck ! " replied the gentleman. 
 "Going to church with you, and putting a ring on your 
 finger was about the worst day's work I ever did ! I wish 
 marriages were like Parliaments, and came to an end of 
 themselves every seven years." 
 
 Myra immediately relapsed into hysterics, under cover oi 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 69 
 
 which Esther left the kitchen. Her uncla stole after her, 
 and whispered " Stop here to-night, whatever happens. I 
 suppose you must go to-morrow ; she is so enraged. Why 
 the dickens couldn't you keep a civil tongue in your head, 
 you little fool ) " 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. 
 
 '* I MUST see Miss Guise again," said Esther, as she paused on 
 the first landing. "I had better go in now before I am 
 forbidden, and perhaps there will be no opportunity to- 
 morrow morning ; perhaps she may know of some one who 
 wants a servant." 
 
 Not waiting for further reflection, Esther knocked gently 
 at the drawing-room door. Florence always knew her 
 knock ; it was as much unlike Mrs. Hellicar's pecking little 
 taps as it was different from Biddy's heavy thuds, which 
 seemed to presuppose the inmates of the room in the case of 
 the Seven Sleepers. " Come in," answered Florence's clear, 
 sweet voice. She had left the tea-table, and was sitting on a 
 stool at her father's feet, one hand resting caressingly on his 
 knee, the other holding a letter which had arrived a little 
 while before. How peaceful a scene it was after the wretched 
 tumult in the kitchen ! 
 
 " Well, Esther, we have not seen you all day , papa is so 
 much better to-night," Florence was beginning, when she 
 caught sight of the girl's woe-stricken, tear-stained face, and 
 sprang up to say, " But what is the matter 1 are you ill 1 
 Has anybody been unkind to you ? Sit down on the sofa." 
 
 As Esther sat down she saw Mr. Guise looking at her 
 very intently, and she caught Florence's gaze of tender 
 sympathy ; but the next moment their faces grew dim. the 
 gaslights and the fire seemed fast going out, and Miss Guise's 
 voice sounded low and indistinct. She felt sick and cold and 
 stupid, and then she felt nothing moid till she awoKe, as 
 she imagined, to find Florence bathing her forehead with 
 ean-de-Cologne, and Mr. Guise gently rubbing her hando. 
 
70 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she cried, starting up, but sinking 
 back again iui mediately. " How queer I feel How stupid 
 it is of me. Oh, dear ! " 
 
 " Hush, my dear," said Mr. Guise, kindly ; " do not dis- 
 tress yourself, you are with friends ; you will be better 
 directly ; you only turned faint. You have been overwrought 
 either in body or mind, I can see. Flossy, I think you 
 might give Miss Kendall a glass of wine now." 
 
 Florence brought her a glass of sherry and some biscuits, 
 and insisted on their being taken, and in a few minutes 
 Esther was able to sit up and give an account of herself. 
 She soon made Florence understand that she had come in to 
 wish her good-bye. 
 
 " But where are you going ? " asked Miss Guise. 
 
 " I do not know yet," replied Esther. " I am not to go till 
 morning, and then I thought I would go to a Register-office 
 that I know of; and oh, Miss Guise, if you would say a 
 good word for me say that I might be trusted, you know, 
 and that I am willing to work, and all that. If you would 
 help me to a place it would be as kind a thing as ever you 
 did, and I would bless you for it. f 
 
 " Do you think, then, of going out as a common servant ? " 
 asked Florence, in some surprise. 
 
 " What else can I do 1 I shall only be too thankful if 
 some one will hire me. There is no other way of getting a 
 living open to me. I could not take what is called a genteel 
 situation, for I know nothing. I could not teach, being sc 
 ignorant myself ; I could not dress-make, for I do not sew 
 well. I might serve in a shop, perhaps. Oh, I will do any- 
 thing, so that I may live honestly and uprightly, and get my 
 own living. What have I been better than a servant here 
 a servant without wages ? At least I shall earn money, and 
 not be obliged to go in slovenly rags. I don't feel that 1 
 shall lower myself by taking a servant's place." 
 
 " You will not," said Mr. Guise, quietly. " All labour is 
 honourable, and to do the work that is put into your hands 
 to do it cheerfully and to the very best of your ability, is 
 as much working for God as if you wrote a book that stirred 
 the hearts of thousands. * Whatsoever thy hand findeth to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 71 
 
 do, do it with thy might.' As soon as God puts your work 
 into your hands take it up and do it heartily, leaving all 
 issues to Him." 
 
 " Do you think God really does care for me 1 " 
 
 " Care for you, my poor child 1 indeed He does ! He 
 who feeds the ravens, and clothes the lilies of the field in 
 their beauty, surely cares for you. He loves you, Esther, and 
 He is waiting for you to give Him all your heart." 
 
 " But I am not converted, and God hates sinners." 
 
 " Oh, no ! that is a mistake ; God loves sinners. Those 
 who love Him best know that they love Him because He first 
 loved them. Miss Kendall, God in Christ speaks to you 
 now / He stands knocking at the door of your heart, that 
 has been closed too long against Him. Will you not let 
 Him in?" 
 
 " Look, Esther ! " said Florence, and she took down from 
 the wall a beautiful photograph, or engraving, of that well- 
 known picture by Holman Hunt, " The Light of the World." 
 "Look, dear ! just so is Christ waiting and watching for you 
 to let Him into your heart ! See the patient face, the tender 
 compassion in the deep, sorrowful eyes ! " 
 
 " And is that really like Christ 1 " 
 
 " It is as like Him in tenderness, and compassion, and love, 
 and longsuffering, as mortal can pourtray. But I am sure 
 the artist must have laid down his pencil with a sense of 
 failure, for no one will know how ' altogether lovely ' Christ 
 is till he sees Him face to face. Words cannot speak His 
 perfect praise, and no picture of Him can be half so fair as 
 the original. But this, you know, is allegorical ; this is the 
 Light of the World, waiting and longing for the door to 
 open, that he may go in and dispel the darkness, and shed 
 light and warmth all through the house." 
 
 " What is this written upon the back of the picture 2 " 
 
 Florence road 
 
 " I heard the voice of Jesus say, 
 I am this dark world's light ; 
 Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, 
 And all thy day be bright. 
 
72 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 I looked to Jesus, and I found 
 In Him my star, my sun ; 
 And in that light of life I'll walk 
 Till travelling days are done. " 
 
 " And all my day be "bright ! " said Esther to heiself, look- 
 ing again wistfully into the sad, sweet pictured face, noting, 
 too, the long clasped robe and the kingly crown, and the 
 lantern casting on all around its pure soft radiance. " I wish 
 I could hear His voice saying it to me, Miss Guise ! " 
 
 " You do hear His voice ; all you have to do is to listen," 
 said Mr. Guise. "Flossy, my love, put away the picture, 
 lest she think more of that than of the real Christ, who is 
 waiting even now to bless her and to give her peace." 
 
 " But I have been well not what people would call bad, 
 but I have been very proud, very hard, very careless about 
 religion. How can Christ come, or want to come, into my 
 heart ? " 
 
 " Never mind how or why, only be sure that He does ask 
 to come. Child ! how can you resist 1 How can you be 
 proof against His love, His patience, His wondrous con- 
 descension 1 " 
 
 " But I am not converted." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' converted ' ? " 
 
 " I scarcely know ; but I have been taught that I am M 
 child of wrath ; that nothing I can do will please God ; that 
 He is very angry with me. And I thought I must go 
 through some kind of process some terrible struggle of 
 alternate hope and despair that must endure for a longer or 
 shorter period, and that I must repent and live a godly life ; 
 and in time I should come to know and to feel that I was a 
 Christian. But not such a Christian as aunt Myra! I 
 would rather remain as I am ! " 
 
 " Never mind aunt Myra, she will have to answer for her- 
 self; and it will not suffice you if you plead in excuse that 
 you did not come to Christ because another person failed to 
 come, or only pretended to come. And the process of which 
 you speak some people do pass through ; but that is not con- 
 version, though it may lead to it. Conversion means simply 
 coming to God, loving Him, and serving Eim for the love 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 73 
 
 you bear Him. And, Esther, in His service there is great 
 delight. Great peace have they who keep His law, and noth- 
 ing shall offend them ; and His yoke is easy, and His burden 
 is light. It is so easy to obey when we love ; cannot you 
 understand that ] " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I could die, I think, for anyone I loved for 
 anyone who loved me ! Please don't think I am making 
 professions ; but I could do a great deal for you, sir, and for 
 Miss Guise, because you are so kind to me ! And I could 
 put myself about a good deal to serve Biddy ; for she in her 
 rough way has been my friend. But how can I get to love 
 Christ?" 
 
 "Ask Him to make you love Him ! First go and tell Him 
 all your troubles as you have told us ; tell Him more : tell 
 Him all the secrets of your heart ! " 
 
 "But He knows them all." 
 
 "Undoubtedly. And a parent often knows his child's 
 needs, but he likes the child to come and ask for what he 
 wants, nevertheless. So just pour out your heart before 
 God ; empty it of all its sorrows and fears and perplexities ; 
 say, ' Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do ? ' Then leave all 
 to Him, and an answer of peace will be given." 
 
 "I will try," said Esther, softly. "I think it will be a 
 comfort. And now I must go." 
 
 " Indeed you will not, till we have settled something for 
 you. Are you sure that you have offended past forgiveness 1 " 
 
 " Pretty sure. Aunt Myra never forgives when once she 
 speaks as she has spoken to me. It was my own fault ; I 
 provoked her. And I think it would be better for me to be 
 out of her reach ; but I shall be very, very sorry to leave 
 you, Miss Guise ; and I am afraid Biddy will not make you 
 comfortable. She is willing, but ill-taught and rough, and 
 she never can remember things. I do hope I may see you 
 again some day." 
 
 And poor Esther's voice quivered, and a new pang was at 
 her heart ; it was so hard to find friends, only to turn away 
 and leave them. 
 
 "Flossy, my love ! " And Mr. Guise looked significantly 
 at the letter in his daughter's hand. 
 
74 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " The very thing, papa ! " cried Florence, joyfully. " Only 
 I was afraid to say anything till I had consulted you. I 
 thought of it the moment Esther said she must go away, 
 Esther, my cousin Cecil, Miss Uffadyne, who lives in Somer- 
 setshire, wants a schoolmistress. Would you like to fill the 
 situation 1 " 
 
 u Oh, Miss Guise, I am not fit ! I really know nothing." 
 
 "But you would not be wanted at Chilcombe till the 
 middle of January; you would have a month to improve 
 yourself. And you would only have to teach village-girls, 
 and out of school-hours all your time would be your own, 
 and you might learn a great deal, and keep ahead of them 
 very easily. You would have to teach them reading, and 
 writing, and arithmetic, and singing, and sewing, and just 
 the rudiments of geography, and common English history, 
 and that sort of thing." 
 
 " If I only could, Miss Guise ! But indeed I do not know 
 even the rudiments. I have learnt next to nothing since I 
 was a child. I have got Lizzie's books sometimes, but I had 
 so few opportunities." 
 
 " You can learn a great deal in a month in five weeks, 
 say." 
 
 " But I must go to-morrow and get some sort of work." 
 
 " To-morrow," said Mr. Guise, " my daughter will take you 
 into her service, and she will pay you wages as she would 
 pay any other maid, and you shall wait upon her. You will 
 have abundance of time to qualify yourself for the situa 
 tion ! " 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, papa ! " cried Florence gratefully. " You 
 darling papa, you always know what I wish, and arrange it 
 for me. But, Esther, you will not mind ? " 
 
 "Mind, Miss Guise?" 
 
 " Yes ! mind being called my servant ; there is no other 
 way that I can see." 
 
 " I shall only be too happy, Miss Guise. I shall be proud 
 to 1 say you are my mistress." 
 
 " And you shall have the proper books, and I must make 
 you sew neatly, and you must have respectable clothes. The 
 email room next to min? shall be yours, and you shall sit 
 
GKEY AND GOLD. 75 
 
 there when papa wants me all to himself ! I will write to 
 Miss Uffadyne at once. Now go to bed, Esther, and to-morrow 
 morning dress yourself in your afternoon frock, and come 
 here. Papa, shall you speak to Mrs. Hellicar to-night ? " 
 
 " It will be best ; or to Mr. Hellicar. I will ring the be!' 
 as soon as Esther is fairly upstairs." 
 
 " Oh ! if she will not let me stop in the house," said 
 Esther, tremblingly. 
 
 " I think she will. Papa will manage her ; he will know 
 how to deal with her. Good night, Esther ! " 
 
 " Good night, Miss Guise. God bless you ! Now I do 
 believe God loves me, for lie has given me friends in my time 
 of sorest need. He has not deserted me in my extremity ! 
 I like to think He sent you here to be kind to me, and 
 to save me from I know not how much misery 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A TRUCE IS AGREED TO. 
 
 WHEN it might be fairly presumed that Esther had made good 
 her retreat, Mr. Guise rang the bell, which after some delay 
 was answered by Biddy, who appeared breathless and excited, 
 with a blackened toasting-fork in one hand, and her apron 
 twisted up in the other. When Biddy was perturbed in 
 mind she found great relief in twisting her apron into a rope, 
 and wringing it as if it were just fresh from an ocean of soap- 
 suds. She was proceeding in her own eccentric way to clear 
 the table when Mr. Guise desired her to leave the tea-tray for 
 a while, and go and request Mrs. Hellicar to honour him with 
 five minutes' conversation. Biddy looked up, half comically, 
 half in consternation. 
 
 " Troth, yer honour, but the misthress the heavens be her 
 bed, an* may she go to glory ! the misthress is took bad in- 
 tirely. Och ! she's bin in fits this hour an' a half, an' we've 
 given her gin an' peppermint, an' somethin' the master calls 
 i>aZZ*/-something, an' we've burnt feathers close under her 
 nose. Don't ye smell 'em, Miss Guise 1 It's a powerful 
 
76 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 odour they've got with 'em anyhow. An' we've slapped hei 
 hands aii' pinched her feet, an' dashed the cowld wathei 
 in her face ; an* she niver came to till I went' an' fetched 
 a thrifle o' holy wather that I had from Father Mulloney, an 1 
 I jist sprinkled a drop about her, an' she gave a kick, an' a 
 start, an' a sniff, an' was all right, the saints he blessed ; but 
 it's exhausted she is, she sez, an' her poor frame's all shattered. 
 By me troth, an* I wonder it don't fall all to bits, it's bin 
 ' shattered ' so very often. But them high-straikes is dread 
 ful, and puts me in ever sich a conflusthration. Och ! an' it's 
 a very unlucky day that it's bin, an' it isn't a Friday neither, 
 bad cess to it ! " 
 
 " Mrs. Hellicar, then, is too unwell for an interview to- 
 night ? " inquired Mr. Guise. 
 
 "She sez she's mortal bad, yer honour ; but I'll carry yei 
 message. Troth, an' she's bin put about; she and Miss 
 Esther have had words, an' Miss Esther's a-going to seek her 
 fortunes ; an' she'll be shure to meet with a prince, handsome 
 an' young an' rich, or my name's not Biddy O'Flanigan ! It 
 will be jist a fairy tale, as I tells the poor darlint, to comfort 
 her poor heart, that she almost sobbed out ov her with crying 
 last night, an' didn't touch her bread an' cheese, nor take to 
 her beer, till I blarneyed her like." 
 
 " What has Miss Esther done 1 " 
 
 " She's done no harm, but a great deal ov good ; an' it's a 
 rale, jewel that she is, on'y some folk don't know gowld from 
 brass when they see it, an' some folk is that dhramin' that 
 they'd rather see a bit o' broken glass sparklin' in the sun- 
 shine than a rale diamont in a dark and dirthy corner. Faix, 
 Miss Guise, an' that's as thrue as the blessid Bible. Yes, Miss 
 Esther's a good girl, an' may she get a good boy of her own, 
 an' ride in her carriage an' six, an' wear a velvet train at Queen 
 Victoria's own Court, for she desarves it, does she, or may I 
 niver spake no more. But ye see, Miss Guise and yer hon- 
 our, Miss Esther's got a spirit of her owm, an' if yo thrample 
 on a crayther continu-aZ/y it'll turn agin an' rend you, as the 
 Gospel sez ; and shure Miss Esther's bin thrampled on body 
 an' sowl mornin', noon, an night, ever since I came into this 
 misfortunate house, where everything goes wrong sisther- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 77 
 
 mathically, as Father Mulloney do say ; an' it's bad luck 
 they're shure to have, for they throw out their Sunday's cinders 
 on a Monday mornin', an' every knowledgeable body in 
 Oughterard an' Connemara knows that if ye want prosper- 
 arity an' the good luck ye shouldn't niver throw out yer Sun- 
 day's ashes till Tuesday mornin' ; an* ye should always sweep 
 yer floor from the door to the hearth ; and there's Miss 
 Esther will sweep this room on to the landin' ! Remimber 
 yerself ov that, Miss Guise, when yer get a boy ov yer own, 
 an' set up housekeepin' for yerself; an' there's a wonderful 
 vartue in a red-hot coulter if the butther won't come, an' 
 ass's shoes keeps the crame and the milk from turnin' when 
 it thunders." 
 
 " That will do, Biddy," interposed Mr. Guise ; " we will 
 talk more about that another day. It is getting late, and it 
 is important that I should see Mrs. Hellicar to-night, if she is 
 really not too much indisposed. Pray go at once, with Miss 
 Guise's compliments and mine, and I think if she came here, 
 and took a glass of wine before she went to bed, it would not 
 hurt her." 
 
 " She'll come ; I'll manage it," said Biddy, confidentially ; 
 " but remimber the gin an' peppermint an' the sally-stuff she's 
 had, an' don't offer her more nor one glass ov wine, an' it had 
 better be a small glass, I guess, an' wine an' wather would be 
 safer than wine be itself, I do be thinkin'. I'll go, but be yer 
 lave I'll carry down the kittle, for what's the sinse of goin' 
 down empty-handed ? an' if ye can say a good word for the 
 poor sowl that's cryin' her beautiful eyes out upstairs, the 
 Lord will reward yer for it. But ye must deluther the mis- 
 thress a bit. It's ov no mortal use goin' agin her. I often do 
 think that she's possessed with sivin devils, like the sinful 
 woman that Father Mulloney reads about in the holy Gospel ; 
 an' it don't do her one bit ov good goin' to her church. I wish 
 she'd thry the thrue church an' the mass. An' the blessid 
 sacrament makes her worse, by this token she's always more 
 evil-like, an' grumbles, an' finds more fault on sacrament Sun- 
 days ; but then I tell Miss Esther axing yer pardon for 
 saying it it's not the right sacrament, an' so, perhaps, it does 
 io more harm than good." 
 
78 GREY A^D GOLD. 
 
 " Biddy, will you carry my message ? " said Mr. Guise, in 
 despair. 
 
 " Wid all the playsure in the world," replied the incorrigi- 
 ble Irishwoman ; " an' if ye wanted a message carried to 
 Poplar, where I ded use to live in a grocer's family, nineteen 
 ov 'em, countin' lodgers, an' on'y me to fetch, an' carry, an' do, 
 an' the misthress given to drinkin', an' one child a cripple, an' 
 the bisness mighty bad, an' turnin' in next to nothing. Och, 
 now ! an' where was I ? Faix, an' I'd carry that message 
 there this very night before I slept, though it do rain, and 
 I've holes in my stocking-feet, an' my boots do let the wather 
 in, bad luck to 'em, an' I'm tired in my back that it's like to 
 break if it don't get rested soon." 
 
 " I shall be quite contented if you carry my message into 
 the kitchen, or wherever your mistress is ; and if you are 
 quick, perhaps Miss Guise may make you a present of a strong 
 new pair of boots. As for Poplar, I was never there, and 
 know none of its inhabitants ; " and Mr. Guise politely 
 opened the door, and bowed out Biddy and the kettle, the 
 toasting-fork remaining behind like a trophy. And then Mr. 
 Guise and Florence sat in anxious expectation, for both felt it 
 would be very awkward if something were not settled that 
 night, since Esther's sentence of exile commenced from 
 to-morrow morning, and it was not the right thing under any 
 circumstances to appear to defy Mrs. Hellicar. 
 
 Biddy found that lady considerably recovered. She was 
 better, she averred, than she had been for several days, and 
 she and her husband had come to some sort of an understand- 
 ing, and were exchanging confidences on the subject of Esther. 
 
 " You see, my love," Mr. Hellicar was saying, " the world 
 will think hardly of us if we cast off the girl entirely. Now, 
 my dear Myra, character is a great thing ; there is nothing in 
 this life like character I " 
 
 It was a pity that Mr. Hellicar had not come to this 
 conclusion earlier, as it was many a year since he had had 
 any character worth speaking off ; and even his wife knew 
 that he was very likely to come to grief some fine day, and 
 bring disgrace as well as ruin upon all connected with him. 
 The commission business was a very corrupting one, she 
 
GREY AND GOLS. 79 
 
 thought, and it was only doubtfully genteel. He should 
 have been a great contractor, and made railways in Russia, 
 and then he would have done well, she told herself, and they 
 would have been happy, and she should have continued to 
 adorn society, and Lizzie might have married a real ncble- 
 man. 
 
 All which Alnaschar-like vision floated before Mrs. 
 Hellicar when her worse half insisted on the importance of 
 " character." But having been soothed by libations of 
 "cream of the valley," adminstered hot and strong and 
 sweet, and stimulated by drops of sal volatile and red laven- 
 der, taken on sugar, and comforted by the promise of pit 
 tickets for the Holborn Theatre on the night when " The 
 Mysterious Shrieks, or the Murder of the Morena Mountains,'* 
 was to be performed in full Spanish costume, with new and 
 splendid scenery, by a remarkably talented company, and 
 oysters for supper afterwards, and probably more cream of 
 the valley, though Mr. Hellicar himself preferred " old Tom," 
 w a little smuggled whisky, which always tasted the better 
 br being contraband, having, I repeat, been thus cheered, 
 nd refreshed, and consoled, Mrs. Hellicar was in an un- 
 ; sually good temper, and did not indulge herself in any 
 sarcastic rejoinders, nor reproach her husband for his 
 deficiency in that article which he professed to value so 
 highly, whic v was highly meritorious on her part, since con- 
 stantly bringing up past offences, together with recent tres- 
 passes, was a habit of Mrs. Hellicar's evidently satisfactory 
 to herself, but exasperating to her unfortunate auditors. 
 
 " As to character," she replied, with a mild toss of her 
 head, " my character has always been above suspicion, and 
 I've always done my duty by your first wife's niece, Richard ; 
 but Esther has stung me like a snake that one warms in 
 one's bosom. She has said the most dreadful things, and 1 
 really cannot keep her any longer in my house, tearing my 
 poor nerves, and shattering my already shattered frame, and 
 setting such a bad example to my beloved offspring." 
 
 " My dear, the house is mine as well as yours, and the 
 offspring are mine also, if I do not greatly err." 
 
 *' Mr. Hellicar, I must beg that you will not interrupt me 
 
80 GREY AND GOLH. 
 
 with irrelevant remarks. When a lady marries beneath her 
 rank, she is the head of the house and of the family, and is 
 entitled to use personal pronouns in the first person, singular 
 number, case varying of course. The man whom, having 
 loved not wisely, but too well, she has honoured with her 
 hand, occupies necessarily a subservient position. I made a 
 mesalliance. I married beneath myself, therefore I am 
 exempted from the conjugal submission required from 
 women who have matched themselves equally." 
 
 "Indeed, but I don't remember any limitation of that 
 sort in St. Paul's writings, my dear," replied Mr. Hellicar, 
 drily. 
 
 " St. Paul probably never considered the subject ; he was 
 not matrimonially inclined, as you may perhaps remember, 
 as I daresay you read your Bible in your childhood." 
 
 " I remember one verse of his, my dear, and I think it 
 contains such sensible advice, that if, in the wise course of 
 Providence, future opportunity should be afforded, I mean 
 to profit by it." 
 
 "\Vhat verse?" inquired Myra, peevishly, and with & 
 puzzled air. Her husband looked so complacent, that, as 
 she asked the question, she felt as a fly may be supposed to 
 feel when he first enters the spider's parlour ; or her sensa- 
 tions might be compared to those of a mouse who knows 
 that if he touches the irresistible morsel, the trap- door will 
 fall, the iron bars will enclose him, and he will be a lost 
 mousie. 
 
 Mr. Hellicar cleared his voice, and, looking straight at the 
 warming-pan, replied pithily 
 
 "'Art thou loosed from a wife! Seek not a wife!' 
 1 Cor. vii, verse uncertain. My dear, I once disobeyed the 
 Apostle's injunction : I will never do so again," 
 
 At this point of the conversation Biddy happily appeared 
 with Mr. Guise's message, or I am afraid Mrs. Hellicar's 
 amiability would have effervesced at once. 
 
 " See Mr. Guise to-night ! " she exclaimed " what on 
 earth for ] Surely, they are not going to give notice ! i 
 shall say they took the rooms for six months, and thev 
 rannot %o till their time is up." 
 
GOLD. fcl 
 
 " That is all nonsense ! Remember you have Mr. York, 
 of .New Square, to deal with." 
 
 " I am not in the habit of talking nonsense, Mr. Hellicar. 
 On principle, I refrain my lips from idle words and foolish 
 talking. I wish ether people could say the same. However, 
 I think I had better go up eh, Mr. Hellicur? " 
 
 "To be sure. Go up and see what the row is," said Dick, 
 who had just come in from the place he called " his club," 
 and was standing unperceived in the shadow of the door. 
 " I say, you haven't been at their sherry again ? And how 
 they accounted for two pheasants having one breast between 
 them or one breast and a quarter, wasn't it] I can't 
 imagine ! " 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar was too much perturbed just then to resent 
 Dick's impertinence, but she put it all down in a certain 
 mental register of other people's sins and trespasses, which 
 she always carried about with her, and to which she referred 
 with terrible accuracy and bitter emphasis as often as occa- 
 sion furnished. Nothing keeps you so well satisfied with 
 yourself as accurately remembering other people's crimes and 
 peccadilloes ! You have no time to reflect on your own 
 shortcomings, and you naturally learn to ignore them, and 
 then to disbelieve in their very existence, and you sigh and 
 cry over the abominations of the times, and make your moan 
 over your erring friends and relations, happily forgetting that 
 you ever had occasion in your own person to exclaim, 
 " Peccavi." Have a care, though ! Nemesis will come up 
 with you some day, though she lags behind so tardily ; and, 
 in the fulness of time, she will make you wail long and 
 bitterly, and smite upon your breast, while in tears and peni- 
 tential dust and ashes you cry on your own account, Mea 
 sulpa / mea culpa ! 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar made a hasty toilet that is to say, she 
 threw a showy Paisley shawl over her soiled dress, and put 
 on all her rings, and a thing all bugles and gilt-dangles that 
 she called a head-dress, and set forth for the front drawing- 
 room. But she turned again at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 "Mr. Hellicar, I think you had better come with me; I 
 am nervous to-night. I feel shattered, and my heart beats 1 " 
 
2 GREY AND G07,D. 
 
 " I wish it didn't," muttered Dick, savagely. 
 
 Mr. Hellicar was a little surprised, for he was not at ail 
 accustomed to be taken into counsel ; but he hastily finished 
 his beer, ran his ringers through his hair, and joined hia 
 wife, and the pair went up together, and, arm-in-arm, en- 
 tered the presence of their lodgers. 
 
 "I wish to speak to you concerning Miss Kendall," said 
 Mr. Guise, mildly, but in a tone that somewhat awed Mrs. 
 Hellicar, otherwise she would have shrieked, and indulged 
 in another display of hysteria. Mr. Guise proceeded to say 
 that he was aware of Esther's offence, that she had confessed 
 it with many tears, and that he understood it was arranged 
 for her to leave Queen Square on the following day. 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar bowed her head, with what she considered a 
 very dignified motion ; and Mr. Guise resumed 
 
 " But what is to become of the poor girl 1 She tells me 
 she has no friends." 
 
 " She must go to service ! Sir, you do not know what a 
 trial Esther has been to me. She has opposed me ever since 
 she came here, a little sullen thing who would not speak to 
 any of us. I have borne much from her, and my poor 
 shattered frame can bear no more. I have not long to be 
 here. My sands are fast running out, and I wish to live tho 
 remainder of my brief days in peace and quietness." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know who will see to things ! " put in 
 Mr. Hellicar. " Biddy is but a broken crutch at the best of 
 times, and you couldn't rely upon her to cook a chop or boil 
 a potato decently. The last girl we had was quiet and 
 clever, and served up a plain dinner excellently ; but then 
 she drank, and robbed us, and got out of the house after we 
 were in bed." 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar frowned majestically on her talkative lord, 
 and he at once felt himself suppressed ; but she had some- 
 how forgotten that Biddy was very tiresome and inefficient, 
 and that Esther, in spite of all the charges brought against 
 her, did manage to get through a great deal of work, and 
 attended to all the cooking, and waited herself upon the 
 drawing-rooms. Her absence might be felt in the house, 
 uid Mrs. Hellicar was rather scared at the idea of being left 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 83 
 
 to her own resources. However, it would not do to retract 
 now ; there was nothing like sticking to one's word. 
 
 " I quite agree with you that she had better give up her 
 position in your family," said Mr. Guise, still in the same 
 mild, firm tone which provoked the mistress of the house, 
 while it quenched her spirit, and made her unnaturally meek. 
 *' And, learning that she was dismissed from your service 
 you must forgive me if I use the wrong term in speaking 
 of your relation I bethought myself of a situation which 
 would probably suit her, and it only rests with my daughter 
 and myself to recommend her, to insure her being engaged 
 immediately." 
 
 " Mr. Guise," said Mrs. Hellicar, trembling with anger, 
 and trying to be calm, "I ask you how you can, as a 
 Christian gentleman, recommend a young person who has 
 conducted herself so iniquitously, so shamefully, so ungrate- 
 fully r 
 
 " Have you anything to state against her character ? " 
 
 " A thousand things." 
 
 " Three or four things will suffice one thing will suffice : 
 is she unsteady, immodest ? " 
 
 "That she's not!" said Mr. Hellicar with heat. "The 
 Kendalls never misconducted themselves. Every woman of 
 them was better than rubies, and Esther is a true Kendall, 
 and no young lady could be better conducted. I should like 
 to see the young fellow that would take a liberty with the 
 girl ! I hope I may be able to say the same of my own 
 daughter four or five years hence." 
 
 "And / hope, Mr. Hellicar, you are not comparing my 
 Lizzie with Esther Kendall, a girl without any manners, and 
 perfectly uneducated ! " 
 
 " I think the less said about that the better. I am afraid 
 her ignorance is pretty much our fault, wife ! " 
 
 " It's no one's fault but her own, and I am ashamed of 
 you, Mr. Hellicar ! If you thought so much of Esther, why 
 did you not send her to boarding-school, and make a lady of 
 her ] Our fault, indeed ! All, one never knows what one 
 will come to when one marries ! Take warning, Miss Guise, 
 and lo^ 1 - v. A rather than down when you think of changing 
 
84 OKEY AND GOLD. 
 
 your name ! I looked down, when I might have looked up^ 
 and I have paid for my folly ever since." 
 
 Florence felt quite sorry for Mr. Hellicar. She thought it 
 must be so painful to him to sit by and listen to his wife's 
 unwifely remarks; but Mr. Guise hastened to resume the 
 conversation for which he had requested Mrs. Hellicar'a 
 company. He was rather tired of listening to so much 
 nonsense. Biddy and her mistress were quite too much 
 for him, though he infinitely preferred the maid to the 
 mistress. 
 
 " It is growing late," he said ; " let us return to business. 
 If I understand you aright, Mrs. Hellicar, Esther Kendall's 
 chief faults are those of temper ? " 
 
 " She is fiery, and sullen, and very obstinate. She does 
 not mind what she says when she is in a temper. I am sure 
 she talked to me as if I were an unregenerate person ! And 
 then, her black ingratitude ! " 
 
 " But she is truthful, Mrs. Hellicar ? And your husband 
 declares that she is maidenly. I myself think she has a 
 very nice sense of propriety. I think, too, her mind is of a 
 superior order, and will repay cultivation ; at any rate we 
 are going to try. Every young person should have a chance. 
 You must allow, my dear madam, that she ought to have 
 a chance. Even criminals should be allowed their chances 
 now and again ; how much more a pure young girl, untaught 
 and orphaned, who has had hitherto but few advantages ! 
 Besides, she wishes to be independent ; she does not want to 
 be a burden on any one, and I commend her. You have 
 intimated that you have long wished her removal." 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar had done so much more than " intimate " 
 that she could not contradict Mr. Guise's assertion. Sha 
 began to be afraid she had gone a little too far, considering 
 that she was both a fashionable lady, bred in high society, 
 and a Low-Church Christian woman with high pretensions 
 to superior piety ! She was a little ashamed, too, of the im- 
 promptu beating Esther had sustained at her hands, and 
 she fancied the Guises knew all about it which they did not, 
 Esther having wisely kept her own counsel on that humiliat- 
 ing episode of her story, though the marks of her aunt's thin, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 85 
 
 fingers were upon her face. Mrs. Hellicar simply 
 bowed her head in assent. She began to wish that she had 
 forgiven Esther, and told her that she might stop and go 
 on as usual. The idea of Esther appealing to the Guises 
 had never occurred to her. 
 
 Mr. Guise resumed : " My niece, Miss Uffadyne, is now 
 looking out for a village schoolmistress. I propose that Miss 
 Kendall shall go down to Chilcombe, and try for six months 
 whether the situation suit her, and also whether she suit the 
 situation. The school is in excellent working order, and 
 Miss Uffadyne, who is a very good and energetic person, and 
 very kind as well, superintends it herself, and takes some of 
 the higher classes ; and the girls are of a good sort, take 
 them one with another, and not too many of them." 
 
 " Esther a schoolmistress ! You do amuse me, Mr. Guise, 
 indeed you do ! " and Mrs. Hellicar giggled, and felt really 
 hysterical ; she was quite as ready to cry as to laugh. " She 
 knows nothing ; she can just read and write her name," 
 
 " She is very anxious to improve herself, and I know that 
 will just suit Miss Uffadyne. She will delight in superin- 
 tending Esther's studies after school-hours. I know she will 
 prefer Esther with her earnestness and determination to 
 learn, to a more competent person. Besides, she will not be 
 wanted till quite the middle of January ; and, in the mean- 
 time, my daughter will give her some lessons." 
 
 " I cannot have her here," replied Mrs. Hellicar, sharply ; 
 41 her impudence will pass all bounds with the prospect of 
 bettering herself before her eyes. Besides, if she did stop 
 she would have no time for lessons ; even my own Lizzie I 
 make quite useful in the holidays." 
 
 " I do not wish her to remain here as a member of your 
 family, but of mine. You know I spoke to you about a maid 
 for my daughter some days ago. She has been accustomed 
 to personal attendance, and will be glad to bo suited so easily 
 and at once. I have engaged Miss Esther to be Miss Guise's 
 maid till the Chilcombe school re-opens after Christmas. She 
 will be entirely in these apartments, and need not mix with 
 your own household any more than we do." 
 
 Mr. Hellicar gave a great sigh of relief. Weak and 
 
86 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 unprincipled as he was and I believe his lack of principle 
 was chiefly born of his lack of moral strength I must do 
 him the justice to say, that Esther's unseemly position in his 
 family had long weighed upon his mind, and tormented him 
 in his conscience, if a conscience he could be said still to 
 possess ; and he was really concerned about her at present, 
 and very glad to think she had fallen into good and capable 
 hands. Xot so Mrs. Hellicar ; she could not bear the idea 
 of Esther in the house, no longer subject to her authority, 
 no longer to be driven, and taunted, and oppressed no more 
 to be her slave and bondwoman ; and she declared that she 
 could not go from her word ; she had passed her word, and 
 she could not commit the sin of going from it, and Esther 
 must go ! 
 
 " I am sorry," replied Mr. Guise, with mild dignity, " be- 
 cause, in that case, ice shall have to go. I, too, have passed 
 my word to my daughter, to myself, and I think also to my 
 God ; and I must protect Esther, and give her the chance 
 which is her right her right, I say, Mrs. Hellicar. Since, 
 then, you are determined, Miss Guise and I will remove 
 ourselves to-morrow : it will be inconvenient, but duty is 
 duty." 
 
 This was more than Mrs. Hellicar had bargained for. 
 The Guises paid well, and gave far less trouble than the 
 average of her lodgers. Also, they spent a good deal of 
 money, and did not care what became of cold meats, nor 
 scrutinise the weekly bills too closely. " They paid royally," 
 Mrs. Hellicar had affirmed. Her husband thought they 
 paid nearly " up to his mind." Dick coarsely declared they 
 " paid through the nose," and he took his little commissions 
 out of them now and then, and would have taken more, but 
 for Esther's vigilance, and for a certain influence over him 
 which ehe possessed and exercised. ]S"o ! it would never do 
 to part with the Guises yet ! and Mr. Hellicar conveniently 
 interfering, Myra made a show of submitting to marital 
 authority, and after the proper amount of plaintive remon- 
 strance and pitiful reproach, because her own feelings were 
 disregarded, and her decision set at naught, she yielded 
 under protest, and a truce of war was concluded. Esther 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 8? 
 
 was Mr. Guise's hired servant, but she was to give Biddy now 
 and then some light assistance, and she was to go away at 
 the time appointed to her situation in Somersetshire. And 
 so the struggle ended, and Mr. and Mrs. Hellicar drank a 
 glass of Mr. Guise's fine port, and wished "Good night" 
 politely, and retired shortly after to the privacy of their own 
 sleeping quarters, the husband feeling altogether satisfied and 
 relieved, the wife feeling in her heart that things might have 
 turned out worse, though she herself, for the first time 
 since she became Myra Hellicar, found herself signally de- 
 feated. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BIDDY THROWS THE OLD SHOE. 
 
 GREAT was the astonishment of Biddy and the juvenile 
 Hellicars when they discovered that Esther had quitted both 
 kitchen and garret, and gone to reside on the first floor ; and 
 great was the consternation of Mrs. Warburton when fear- 
 fully and wonderfully cooked dinners and suppers made their 
 appearance at her table, and when, desiring that Miss Kendall 
 might be sent to her for expostulation and just reprimand, 
 she was triumphantly informed by Biddy that Miss Kendall 
 lived now with Mr. and Miss Guise, and was a great deal 
 too busy with her " book-larnin' and her purty sewin' " to 
 trouble herself about pots and frying-pans ; for she was going 
 out as governess after the holidays, and would never come 
 back to Queen Square any more, unless she came back in her 
 carriage and pair to return good for evil. 
 
 As for Lizzie Hellicar, she was more annoyed than any 
 one at Esther's advancement. It had always been her 
 pleasure to treat her cousin as vastly her inferior ; and that 
 any good fortune should accrue to her was exasperating in 
 the extreme. Esther had been humiliated all her life ; 
 humiliation was her portion, she was born to it and bred to 
 it so to speak, she ate and drank it, and lived in an 
 atmosphere of humiliation, till it became a part of her ex- 
 istence ; and, such is the force of habit, there were times 
 
88 OBEY AND GOLL. 
 
 when she grew almost reconciled to her lot, and, but for hei 
 peculiar temperament, would certainly have contented herself 
 in her weary thraldom, had it only been a little less op- 
 pressive. 
 
 And now, 8js it seemed to Lizzie, the days of her humilia- 
 tion were accomplished, and Esther was to be considered, 
 and made much of, and petted, and advanced in life " and, 
 but that she is so very ugly, ma'," said the young lady, 
 confidentially, " I shouldn't wonder if she married a gentle- 
 man. She'll get into society, see if she doesn't ! " 
 
 Miss Lizzie had caught her mother's jargon about 
 " society," her notions, however, being of the vaguest as to 
 what society really meant. It was a certain circle, she 
 believed, in which lords and ladies lived and moved, in 
 which her " ma' had once moved before she disgraced herself 
 by marrying pa' ; " in which Mrs. Shanks, for all her moires, 
 and laces, and real garnets, had never moved, and never 
 would move so long as the world should stand. It was a 
 gloried existence of balls, and parties, and picnics, and rides 
 in Eotten Row, and drives in the ring, and theatres, and 
 operas, and fine dresses, and feathers and flowers, and 
 nothing in the world to do save to enjoy one's self ; to dress 
 and flirt, and get married presently, and afterwards give 
 splendid entertainments on one's own account. Where 
 " society " begins and where it ends has puzzled wiser heads 
 than Miss Hellicar's ; but about this time her mind was 
 much exercised respecting the Coffnomores in Southampton 
 Row. Were chemists and druggists in society, or were they 
 not] The question was of moment, for Master Isaac 
 Coffnomore, aged fifteen, who was heir to his father's trade 
 in simples and poisons, had declared himself to be Miss 
 Hellicar's devoted admirer ; and Lizzie considered herself 
 engaged, clandestinely of course, and was very much in love 
 according to her own account ; only she would like to be 
 certified of the exact rank which chemists and druggists 
 teke in the world of fashion before she irrevocably pledged 
 herself. 
 
 Esther's withdrawal fell heavy on Lizzie, for she had to 
 wash and dress the little ones, and to sit by Tommy in the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 89 
 
 attic at nights till it pleased him to go to sleep ; and as no 
 one dreamed of a fire being lighted in those regions, though 
 the ice on the Serpentine bore, and the pumps and the 
 fountains were fast frozen up, Lizzie strongly objected to 
 the shivering process to which the ill- training of her little 
 brother subjected her, and she vehemently desired Esther's 
 leturn to her discarded duties. 
 
 It was found, after a short trial, that Biddy was really 
 more incompetent than had been supposed ; nobody got any- 
 thing to eat, and nobody could be attended to, and both 
 Mrs. Warburton and Mr. Macgregor gave notice. Mrs. 
 Hellicar was in despair ; it would never do to let her sources 
 of income trickle away into alien channels. At the same 
 time, it was quite out of the question that she should exert 
 herself; her shattered frame and her nerves forbade the 
 mere idea, and then " brought up as she had been, and 
 with her claims" it was not to be thought of; and Mr. 
 Hellicar, when he wished that she would bestir herself, if it 
 were only to see to things, was a brute, expecting from his 
 lady-wife all that had come naturally enough from the wif<j 
 who had really been, so Myra said', " a woman of the 
 people." So another servant was engaged, a smart Londoner, 
 who despised Biddy, and tyrannised over Mr. Hellicar. 
 She was a young woman with a sharp tongue and a fluent 
 command of the English language when she was displeased, 
 a state of things perpetually recurring ; and she kept even 
 her mistress in some degree of awe, and turned round upon 
 Lizzie, and threatened to shake the life out of her the first 
 time that young lady favoured her with a pert rejoinder. 
 But she cooked tolerably, though she "'struck" before the 
 first week was over, refusing to dress another dinner till the 
 proper culinary utensils should be forthcoming ; and Mr 
 Hellicar was actually forced to go to the ironmonger's, and 
 buy and pay for necessary articles for which it was im- 
 possible to get credit. 
 
 Meanwhile Esther was extremely happy. She insisted on 
 waiting upon the Guises entirely, and she conciliated the 
 irate Priscilla so far as to be allowed to give some attention 
 to the meals. But -when all her duties were scrupulously 
 
90 GREr AKD GOLD. 
 
 performed, much time remained for the studies for which she 
 had so longed, and which were now assuming so much 
 importance. Florence found that Esther in one way or 
 another knew a great deal that is, she had contrived, by 
 dint of eager painstaking, to pick up no small amount of 
 information of divers kinds; but being of necessity quite 
 incapable of arranging it in any way, her little heap of 
 .knowledge was like a dissected puzzle in the hands of a 
 child, no two pieces fitting into each other, unless by merest 
 chance. 
 
 But now she began to work upon a system, and she was 
 docile as a little child. She was content to go back to the 
 beginning, to take up the lowest rudiments, and she worked 
 addition sums, and wrote text-hand copies, and read " Little 
 Arthur's History of England," with all the zeal imaginable. 
 But, bringing to these exercises earnestness and industry, 
 and the mind and thought of a woman, she progressed 
 rapidly, and she began to understand the basis of many 
 points of education, and to perceive how one fact elicited 
 another, and how reason developed reason, and how events 
 resulted in consequences that, being traced to their issues, 
 changed the whole aspect of a people's history ! She learned 
 so fast, after the first fortnight, that even Mr. Guise was sur- 
 prised, and rejoiced to think that capacities so truly excellent 
 should be brought into play at last. 
 
 ^Neither had Florence any idea till now how thoroughly 
 Esther could be her companion, and at one time she asked 
 her father if sjie might not keep Esther with her a few 
 months longer, and fit her for a higher situation than that of 
 village schoolmistress. 
 
 But Mr. Guise replied, "No, Flossy. Having taken 
 Esther with a definite intention, it will be wise to carry it 
 out. We must not do too much for her." 
 
 " Oh, papa, darling ! that is not like you." 
 
 " I mean for her own sake, my dear. It is no true kind 
 ness to give too much help in cases like Esther's. She was 
 placed in a position where she could not help herseit ; she 
 needed aid, and God sent it to her by us ; we were the in- 
 etruments of His will, for the time was come Shat the 
 
GREY AlfD GOLD. 91 
 
 materials of progress should "be put into her hands. She can 
 never again be what she was when first we knew her. Her 
 mind is enlarged ; she has learned to think accurately, to 
 discriminate, to arrange the facts she has gathered together. 
 She has a power now she never had before : she must use it. 
 She will respect herself more in days to come if she can 
 remember that she always earned her own living and gained 
 her education I should rather say her scholarship by dint 
 of toil and trouble and patient perseverance. What one ac- 
 quires lightly, one values lightly ; what costs one pains and 
 labour is always deemed well worthy of estimation. No \ 
 we must not keep her now. We have given her an oppor- 
 tunity ; we have placed tools in her hands ; we have found 
 her work : it will be for her own good, for her soul's health, 
 to go and do it. God has given her a noble independence of 
 character ; let us not by any mismanagement of ours detract 
 from the value of such a gift." 
 
 "I suppose you are right, papa; but she is so lady-like, 
 she seems fitted for something better than a village school- 
 mistress's life. And though Cecil is very kind and right- 
 minded, you know I always thought her rather hard, and a 
 little overbearing. I should not like to be under her.'* 
 
 " To answer your first objection, I think the life of a vil- 
 lage schoolmistress, if she be qualified for her task, and do 
 her duty thoroughly and lovingly, is superior to that of an 
 ordinary governess in a family. The schoolmistress knows 
 her standing, the governess never does ; if accepted as a lady 
 in one situation, she may be treated as an upper servant in 
 the next ; the schoolmistress, who has more liberty and who 
 occupies no debateable position, has the best of it, I think. 
 But if, indeed, Esther is fitted for a position of more impor- 
 tance, she will come to it some day ; she has her foot on the 
 ladder now, let her take one round of it at a time. By 
 steady advance of her own she is far more liksly to attain a 
 permanent elevation, than if we lifted her at once to an airy 
 pinnacle, which might make her dizzy, and lead, perhaps, to 
 a humiliating downfall." 
 
 And so Mr. Guise's calm sense tempered Florence's girlish 
 enthusiasm, but the wise policy of the father and the warm 
 
92 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 impulsiveness of the daughter equally befriended Esther 
 Bereft of either she would not have prospered half so well 
 And so the happy Christmas-tide passed away, and the new 
 year came in full of hope and promise ; and it wa/j time to 
 see about Esther's outfit for Chilcombe, and she and Florenci 
 were very busy with the modest wardrobe that seemed to ii" 
 young possessor a most complete and magnificent providing. 
 Florence knew that Cecil would object to any approach to 
 finery, that anything like pretension in Esther's appearance 
 would at once win her new patroness's disfavour ; for Cecil 
 had instituted certain sumptuary laws, which were binding 
 upon all who came under her influence, and that it was so 
 Florence was perfectly aware. Neither did her own taste 
 lead her to bedizen Esther even in the least degree, so when 
 her trunk was packed for Chilcombe it contained only three 
 dresses, a plain, substantial grey winsey, a grey French 
 merino for Sundays, and a neatly-made black silk for grand 
 occasions. A tweed cloak, a brown straw hat, and a pretty 
 but simple bonnet, completed the outfit, all other necessary 
 garments included. Mr. Guise's presents were a nice warm 
 plaid shawl, a stout alpaca umbrella, and a beautiful Bible, 
 with marginal references and maps. It came to the last 
 night, and with tearful eyes Esther sat listening to words of 
 cheer and counsel from both her friends. She, too, would 
 fain have lingered, but she knew it was best that she should 
 go ; and she was trying to keep up her courage, and almost 
 wishing the parting were over, so keen was the pain of it ir> 
 anticipation. 
 
 " Even loving has its drawbacks, I see," she said to Florence, 
 when for the last time she had carried down the tea-things, 
 and was sitting quietly before the fire, longing yet scarcely 
 knowing how to express some of the thoughts that were 
 occupying her mind. 
 
 " Nothing is perfect here," replied Mr. Guise, smiling. He 
 quite understood Esther's little speech; "and yet," he con- 
 tinued, " we have so many rich blessings. God is so good to 
 us that even the saddest among us has cause for thanksgiving 
 We must take things as we find them, Esther." 
 
 "I do not quite understand, sir." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. ^3 
 
 e 2 do not mean that we must not try, according U the 
 talent which God has given us, to make bad good, and baUer 
 best. I mean that we must not be dissatisfied with that 
 which is given to our keeping given us in the providence of 
 God. If we have a currant-bush, let us not grumble because 
 it is not a vine, but let us cultivate and make the very best 
 of what wo have." 
 
 "The inequality of God's gifts has always puzzled me," 
 said Esther : " more in past days than now ; for then it 
 seemed to me that some people had all they wanted, and 
 more than they wanted, and I nothing." 
 
 "You had discipline, my child." 
 
 " I did not think of that ; and I suppose I needed it. I 
 did not wish for it." 
 
 "Happily it comes unwished for, or to many it would 
 never come at all. God gives us what we want, not what we 
 wish ; but if we take His will as ours, and meekly bow oui 
 heads to the chastening He sends, we shall find by-and-by 
 that what we have is what we wish." 
 
 " And it is best to have one's discipline at first ? " 
 
 " It is best whenever it comes ; but I know what you 
 mean we all like best to have a grey morning that brightens 
 gradually into a golden noon and a mellow afternoon, and 
 fades at last into a cloudless eventide." 
 
 " But some people's lives seem all grey, some all gold ! " 
 
 " We cannot tell : we cannot judge for others. We never 
 know how much those we envy have to suffer ; we cannot tell 
 what corroding cares are at their hearts ; for there are pains 
 and griefs that never can be spoken, save to God. Blessed 
 be His holy name, we may always speak to Him ! But, 
 Esther, we ourselves give very much the colouring to our 
 own lives." 
 
 "How]" 
 
 " By the spirit we nurture in our inner selves. Ah ! my 
 child, when the skies are grey above us, and the earth grey 
 around us, we may have God's sunshine in our hearts, if we 
 will Trust Him in every little thing, Esther ; hold fast to 
 His promises, and your life will never again be all grey" 
 
 w Will it ever be all gold?" 
 
AND GOLD. 
 
 " Probably not ; the grey and the gold intermingle gene- 
 rally to the end till we reach the Golden City. My dear, try 
 to make other people's lives golden ; it is more blessed to give 
 than to receive. And there are other gifts than alms ; and in 
 giving, one receives back into one's own bosom a hundredfold. 
 
 " ' Lowly hearts that lean on TIIEE 
 Are happy everywhere ! ' 
 
 Remember that the loicly heart is happy, and the helpful 
 spirit rejoices. Don't think too much of your own happiness ; 
 only strive to be a true Christian, and always hope and trust" 
 Next morning Esther went away from Queen Square. 
 Her uncle kissed her, and muttered some sort of a blessing, 
 as if he were ashamed of it. Dick would have kissed her, 
 too ; but he had to be content with shaking hands, and wish- 
 ing her all prosperity. Mrs. Hellicar was gracious for her ; 
 and Lizzie was nowhere to be seen. The Guises commended 
 her to God ; she was to write to them whenever she had 
 time. Biddy flung one of her old shoes over the cab for luck, 
 and then went up into the garret and cried long and bitterly. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 FOR GOOD OR FOR ILL? 
 
 " WHERE is the dog-cart going ? " asked Mr. Uifadyne, as he 
 met his sister in the hall. 
 
 " To the station, to meet the new schoolmistress ; I expect 
 her by the 7.15 train." 
 
 " Who is she, and what is she, and does she come here ? " 
 
 " How you forget, Oswald. She is a protegee of my uncle, 
 and of Florence, too. I do not much fancy protegees ; they 
 are nearly always upstarts, and given to over-estimation of 
 their abilities and their claims ; but if she has any nonsense 
 in her, I shall soon take it out of her ! Florence answers for 
 her principles, and that is the chief thing ; but Florence is 
 not very wise." 
 
 " Considering that Florence is my betrothed, you are 
 
GRKY AND GOLD. 96 
 
 exceedingly polite, Cecil However, she ia wise enough 
 for me," 
 
 "She is too wise for you, Oswald." 
 
 "You are more and more complimentary, Cecil." 
 
 " I never attempt to pay compliments ; I despise them too 
 much. I like the sober truth, whether it be sweet or bitter." 
 
 " You would not like it so well if the bitter truth came to 
 be your own portion. Have a care, Cecil : people may find 
 it their duty to speak plainly to you some day, and I can 
 promise you that it will not be agreeable." 
 
 " I trust ' people ' may always do their duty by me ; a 
 rough friend is better than a smooth enemy. As to things 
 being agreeable and disagreeable, it is of small consequence in 
 the end ; no one likes medicine, but everybody, except little 
 children, knows that medicine must be taken at proper times." 
 
 " Your simile is faulty, Cecil, my dear. The homceopath- 
 ists give sugar-plums, or what seems to be pure water, at 
 the most with a soupcon of brandy in it. And just because 
 there is nothing in homoeopathy to provoke a wry face, or to 
 torture your inner man, I believe you set yourself against it." 
 
 "You are very absurd, Oswald. I refuse to pin my faith 
 upon this new system of medicine simply because I cannot see 
 the sense of it. The maxim of these homoeopathists, * similia 
 swdlibiis curantur,' seems to be purely nonsensical." 
 
 " Well, I will not dispute with you, well knowing that any 
 one who disputes with you is sure to get the worst of it ; at 
 any rate you will have the last word, and I think these 
 frequent contentions do not tend to that state of amity in 
 which brethren ought to dwell. I believe a senior wrangler 
 would have small chance in an argument with you ; you 
 ought to belong to a debating society, Cecil." 
 
 Cecil laughed good-humouredly. 
 
 " I know I care nothing about senior wranglers, and " she 
 Smiled wickedly " fellows of colleges ; it seems to me that 
 they seldom come to any good." 
 
 " Do you mean morally ? In the statistics of crime do you 
 find a majority of fellows sentenced to penal servitude, or 
 hanged at the Old Bailey ? " 
 
 - Morally they do well enough, no doubt. I meant socially, 
 
96 GREY AND GO1J). 
 
 of course. "What, as a set of men, do fellows of 
 ever do for the world, for their day and generation T You 
 might have done well but for two things, your Fellowship ana 
 your engagement to Florence. But we are talking of Fellow- 
 ships and fellows : these are times when a man should make 
 his mark in the world, and he does not make it by droning 
 away his life in Oxford or Cambridge, perhaps cramming 
 other unlucky wights, who, when they have learned the 
 names of many things, and know all about the amours of 
 Jupiter and Mars, and the tactics of Agamemnon, imagine that 
 they are wonderfully learned. They get knowledge, I grant ; 
 heaps and heaps of it. A fellow of a college, I suppose, piles 
 Pelion on Ossa when he accumulates facts ; but as one far 
 wiser than I said the other day, * it is a knowledge that 
 requires no experience and very little thought, but it demands 
 much memory, and when they have loaded themselves in this 
 way they think they are instructed in all things. After all, 
 what can they do that is of real use to mankind 1 What can 
 they create ? ' The man who said this, Oswald, knows the 
 world, and it is in the world that we are to live. I think iv 
 is a great misfortune when a young fellow of four or five and 
 twenty gains a Fellowship." 
 
 " Whew ! you may say that, but no one will believe you ; 
 there are advantages." 
 
 " Some one will believe me, for I speak the thoughts of 
 some of the first men of the age ; and though they be Oxford 
 men or Cantabs by nurture, they have not spent their lives 
 in the semi-cloister of an university, drivelling away their 
 existence over quantities of Latin and Greek particles and 
 unheard-of logarithms, settling, perhaps, the pattern of 
 Ulysses* dinner-service, or the material of which Penelope's 
 under-petticoat was made, or chopping logic till they make 
 mince-meat of common sense, and wake up some fine morning 
 ;o find themselves fools ! Understand, I value scholarship, 
 out scholarship is only a means to an end. Man no more 
 lives to learn book-learning than he lives to eat. He must 
 at if he would not die ; he must study if he would not find 
 himself hors de combat in all the great arenas of life. Put we 
 know what he will be called if he is always eating, ar^l also 
 
SRET AND GOLD. 97 
 
 what reputation he will acquire in these busy, thorough-going 
 days if he be always grubbing in ancient times, and drying 
 himself up in the mummy-like, desiccating atmosphere of 
 dead languages. Let him grub ; let him read himself blind ; 
 let him pore over the dead and buried literature of Mmrod 
 and his times, if they had a literature, which really I don't 
 know, being only a woman ; let him be ' double-first ' seven 
 times over, and senior wrangler to boot, only that cannot be, 
 and fellow of a dozen colleges, only that cannot be either ; 
 but let him be so crammed with learning that he is entitled 
 to all these honours and advantages, and then cui bono ? " 
 
 "At any rate, a man is provided for when he gets a 
 Fellowship." 
 
 " Fie upon you, Oswald ! And it is not even certain that 
 he does not humiliate himself by being so provided for that 
 is, for life. Fellowships are excellent things for the young, 
 nice go-carts for the infant intellectuals while they are feeling 
 their way in the world ; but they are a shame to a middle- 
 aged man, and a disgrace to an old one. God never meant a 
 man to heap up learning and shut himself up in his college 
 for life, any more than he meant him to heap up riches, and 
 hide them in a vault among dead men's bones and the cor- 
 .ruption of past ages. What would you say to a working man 
 who spent forty or fifty years in collecting fine bricks, well- 
 quarried stones, marble shafts, and planks of oak and cedar, 
 all the material for building a glorious temple, yet contented 
 himself with ceaselessly turning over his stores, and adding 
 to them, but never putting them to their proper use going on, 
 indeed, amassing his so-called treasure till there was enough 
 for a hundred temples, yet never building one 1 " 
 . " I should say he was insane." 
 
 "And just as insane are these University grubbers, who 
 spend a whole life in conning learned trifles and toiling 
 over their heaps of solemn rubbish." 
 
 " The rubbish, as you call it, gets used." 
 
 "Yes, thank God ! To the monkisii fellows who live in 
 colleges we may say 
 
 " 'Ye build, ye build, but ye enter not in, 
 
 Like the tribes whom the desert devoured for sia.* 
 
08 GREY A XI) GOLD. 
 
 The coral worm toils and toils, and behold at last a new and 
 beauteous country, and men enter in and dwell there ai?d 
 possess the land ; but who would be the coral worm ? "Who 
 cares for him, save as we like to know his natural history I 
 Silkworms are useful creatures, but who ever envied the 
 silkworm ? Moles, I am told, have their mission ; but who 
 ever wanted to be a mole 1 You are laughing, Oswald ! " 
 
 " And well I may ! I am laughing at your vehemence, 
 Cecil, not at your remarks ; for though, woman-like, you 
 talk exaggeratedly, there is sense in what you say. Much 
 of what you say is absolute truth, and has fallen before from 
 wiser lips than yours ay, and it will fall again and again, 
 till men will be compelled to listen and to bestir themselves, 
 till the second Eeformation dawns upon the land. But I 
 am glad, Cecil, that I gained my Fellowship : it proved that 
 I had certain powers, though not of the highest kind ; it 
 was a certain goal which it did me good to reach ; it gave 
 my early manhood an aim, and that it is always good to 
 have, provided it be a lawful and lofty aim. And I con- 
 tend that a Fellowship is a lofty aim for a lad under five- 
 and-twenty : after thirty, the less a fellow says about his 
 Fellowship the better." 
 
 " Oh, Oswald ! I do so want you to be a truly great man." 
 " I fe&^ Cis, I have not the making of a great man in me." 
 " You have ! you have ! only I feared that, being fellow 
 of your college, you would think the race was run, and 
 never take your place in the world ; for it is in the world 
 you must leave your foot-prints, not in the cloister. Still 
 more I fear that, marrying Florence, you will settle down 
 into a tame country squire, and content yourself with mam- 
 moth turnips and wonderful crops of wheat. Oh ! if you 
 had no prospects, how glad I should be ! " 
 " You are kind." 
 
 " I am truly kind ! And it is because I recognise what 
 is really in you that I desire for you such a career as may 
 make men bless your name and reverence your memory. I 
 often wish I had had to work my own way up; it is not 
 good to be born to a competency : it tends to sloth. Surely 
 I heard wheels ! " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 93 
 
 " I dare say, we have talked so long ; and you have 
 never answered all the questions I asked you. "What is this 
 girl, and is she coming here 1 " 
 
 " She is coming here to-night ; but she will live at the 
 Slade Farm. Mrs. King is a nice motherly woman. As to 
 what this Esther Kendall is, I hardly know. I wonder if 
 she is related to the Kendalls of Elsworthy ! not likely, 
 though. My uncle seems to have rescued her from much 
 oppression, and from very unprincipled relatives. I hope 
 she will repay his kindness. Florence thinks very highly of 
 her, of her character, her disposition, her talents ; but 
 Florence is always ready to think the very best of anyone, 
 and I shall be on my guard." 
 
 " One word, Cecil. I do not often offer advice, but have 
 a care how you start with this young person ; do not at 
 once discourage her, and prejudice her against you ; do not 
 show her your hard side, for I have noticed that while it 
 frightens some people, it embitters others, and I think it 
 estranges all. You are very wise, I know, my dear ; but 
 wisdom may as well wear a velvet glove over her steel 
 gauntlet. Steel is hard and cold too." 
 
 At this moment Esther stood in the doorway, outwardly 
 quite composed, but inwardly sinking at the heart. Cecil 
 shook hands with her, but did not introduce her to Oswald ; 
 that, of course, was unnecessary. Then she led her to the 
 breakfast-room, where tea was prepared for her. She stayed 
 a little while, talking about the journey, and inquiring after 
 Mr. Guise and Florence, remembering all the while Oswald's 
 counsel, and being as kind and gentle in her manner as it 
 was possible for Cecil Uffadyne to be. Then she left her, 
 saying they would have their talk in the morning she 
 would send Smith, her own maid, and Smith would attend 
 to her, and show her to her bedroom. 
 
 "Well?" said Oswald, as Cecil stood thoughtfully on the 
 hearthrug. 
 
 " I like her. Stt is sincere, but terribly abrupt in her 
 tone. I fancy sh has a temper of her own there is a 
 great deal of character in her face." 
 
 " She is excessively plain" 
 
100 ORET AND GOLD. 
 
 " I do not want a pretty governess ; the last I had caused 
 me great anxiety ; but she has beautiful eyes. I feel as if 
 she would be no neutral person among us ; she has come, I 
 am sure, either for great good or for great eviL" 
 
 " One of your presentiments ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I cannot help them. I wish I could." 
 
 " May Miss Kendall's coming, then, be for unmitigated 
 good. But I never saw a worse complexion." 
 
 " What does that matter ] I fancy yes, I fancy, I feel 
 that she has come for good" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ESTHER MAKES AN ENEMY. 
 
 Miss SMITH, upon the direction of her mistress, did con- 
 descend to attend upon Esther, intending to escort her to 
 the room prepared for her ; but a very great condescension 
 she esteemed it, inasmuch as she had engaged herself to wait 
 upon ladies only, and by no means to attend upon village 
 schoolmistresses. She had not seen the " young person " on 
 her arrival, and she was prepared for any amount of assur- 
 ance and self-assertion schoolmistresses of all grades being 
 creatures towards whom she cherished a decided and un- 
 reasonable antipathy, and concerning whom, as she distinctly 
 affirmed, she always had her suspicions. "For you see, 
 Mrs. Lees," she said to the rector's housekeeper, " gover- 
 nesses is neither here nor there ; they are not fish, nor flesh, 
 nor yet fowL They are servants, only they never know 
 their places, and will never undertake anything medial IT 
 they can help it, and they have everything to gain and noth- 
 ing to lose." 
 
 " I should have thought they had their characters to lose/' 
 replied Mrs. Lees, who was also in antagonism to the gover- 
 ness-race, but compelled from conscientious scruples to 
 qualify the sweeping assertions of her friend. There was 
 a governess at the Rectory, of whom she stood in whole- 
 some awe, and whom she also cordially disliked, and at the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 101 
 
 same time respected; Miss Morrison being the one person 
 in the house whom she could not circumvent. " I should 
 think," she continued, " their characters were everything to 
 them, for a governess without a character is no better off 
 than a housemaid. She can't get any sort of place that is 
 worth having, you know." 
 
 "They call their places situations" replied Miss Smith 
 with acrimony, " and they never say a word about characters, 
 it is all testimonials, which are easily forged of course, and 
 'references exchanged,' and they have a salary instead of 
 honest wages. Oh, if they do lose one reference, they 
 manage somehow to get another ; they make out they have 
 been ill-treated, and people take their part. It's the fashion 
 now-a-days to stick up for governesses and dressmakers ; not 
 but what the latter has their grievances, as I can testify, 
 having served an apprenticeship when I was a young girl, 
 and I worked my flesh off my bones, and when I had learnt 
 my business I fell ill, and the doctor told me that if I went 
 on dressmaking I should be a corpse in six months. So, 
 having a natural aversion to corpses, especially to being one 
 myself, I gave in, and took to genteel service. But I just 
 meant to observe that governesses are extremely designing ; 
 they are given to make dreadful mischief in families, and if I 
 was a parent, I would never let such a creature come into my 
 house leastways, not live in it. * If you must have a gov- 
 erness, ma'am,' says I to my late lady, * do, for heaven s sake, 
 have a daily ; the danger wouldn't be half so much.' ' And 
 what danger is there?' said she. But I shook my head, 
 seeing by her light manner she wouldn't be warned. And I 
 was right ; if that governess that came into the house didn't 
 go and win the children's affections, to say nothing of their 
 papa's, so that when my poor lady died, which she did in 
 less than a year, the governess was kept on, and managed 
 everything, and in little more than a twelvemonth married 
 the master, and gave the poor innocent children a step- 
 mother. Of course, I left ; I was not going to serve a lady 
 that wasn't a lady." 
 
 "That's what it will come to at the Rectory," said 
 Mrs. Lees, with a groan. "But dear me, who is that 
 
102 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 a-ringing? Isn't it the breakfast-room bell? but it can't 
 be." 
 
 " It is, though. I never did ! That hussy is actually ring- 
 ing the bell. There, now ! " 
 
 "What will you do?" 
 
 " I will let Xancy answer it, and then I will go in, and 
 I'll soon show her where she ought to be. I always managed 
 that Miss Martingale, and this one is a mere chit, who has 
 never been out before." 
 
 " Well, I must be going home ; I only came in just to 
 ask about that spiced beef master had here at luncheon the 
 other day. Good bye, Miss Smith ; I wish you joy of the 
 new governess. You'll see that cook sends me up the right 
 recipe ? " 
 
 Then Smith adjusted her cap and cuffs, and prepared to 
 address herself to the task of crushing on the spot the ad- 
 venturous young woman who had presumed to ring the bell. 
 The truth was, Esther herself had regarded the act as alto- 
 gether adventurous ; but she was very tired, and longing to 
 be in bed, and in spite of Miss Uffadyne's assurance the 
 promised maid and convoy did not appear ; and the young 
 lady had said on leaving the room, " If you want anything, 
 Miss Kendall, ring." So after patiently waiting till she felt 
 herself falling into a dose, Esther did ring, timidly enough, 
 and was called a " hussy " for her pains. 
 
 Nancy, having obeyed Miss Smith's behests, returned to 
 say that the young person was extremely tired, and would be 
 so very glad if she might be shown her bedroom ; adding, 
 in a deprecating tone, lest it should please her high and 
 mightiness the lady's-maid to be offended, " she don't seem 
 at all uppish ; she spoke quite meek-like, and as if she 
 hadn't much spirit in her." 
 
 " She might have waited," was all Smith's comment j and 
 then she proceeded to the encounter. 
 
 The lamp was burning dimly, and the fire was low ; and 
 Smith, as she quietly opened the door, had a momentary view 
 of the young figure lying wearily back in the easy-chair, her 
 head bent as if in deep meditation, her hands lying listlessly 
 in her lap. 
 
GRE* AND GOLD. 103 
 
 The next minute ths scene was changed ; Esther 
 some one was intently regarding her, some one with unkindly 
 eyes and rather scornful air, and she changed her position,, 
 sitting upright, and acknowledging, without rising, the 
 presence of the new comer. 
 
 " You are the new schoolmistress ? " said Smith, eyeing 
 Esther sternly from head to foot. 
 
 Esther admitted that she came to Chilcombe in that 
 capacity, and Smith immediately answered 
 
 " You'll never do, I see ; you are quite a child, and you 
 don't know what the work is." 
 
 Esther's heart sank within her. When one is nervous, 
 and very tired, and doubtful of one's capabilities, one is 
 easily cowed by an adverse criticism ; there are states of 
 mind when the burden of the grasshopper is more than can 
 be borne, and there are times when a camel's load can be 
 sustained with bravery and cheerful patience, and a strong 
 indomitable hope that all will turn out well in the end. But 
 the faith and patience of the morning and of the eventide 
 are often quite very different affairs ; we are bu 4 " poor 
 creatures, and the material influences the spiritual, strive 
 as we will against it. 
 
 Esther looked wistfully into the severe, unfriendly face 
 that presented itself. That it was the face of a mere hire- 
 ling she knew full well ; but, somehow, she could not help 
 being depressed. At that moment the verdict of Solomon 
 himself, or the strongly pronounced opinion of the Queen of 
 Sheba, could scarcely have seemed of more importance. She 
 had quite failed to discover Cecil's opinion of her ; for Cecil, 
 though gracious, and, for her, gentle, had wrapped herself up 
 in an impenetrable garment of grave reserve, and had not 
 suffered any gleam of encouragement to shine forth. With 
 a yearning tenderness poor Esther thought of the drawing- 
 room in Queen Square, where Florence and her papa were 
 probably taking their tea, and, perhaps, talking about her. 
 Could this stately young lady who treated her kindly, yet de- 
 cidedly de havt en bas, be really Florence Guise's own cousin ? 
 
 " I should be so glad to go to bed," said Esther, quietly ; 
 " I am very tired." 
 
104 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " One is often tired, and can't go to bed," replied Smith, 
 grimly. "Miss Cecil sent me into the village twice this 
 morning, and it was slippery, and I am far from strong ; and 
 when I came back the second time I felt quite fit for bed, 
 and nothing else, I can tell you ; but there, I had to finish 
 off some work, and then it was time for Miss Cecil to dress 
 for dinner; and though she never lets me do much for her, 
 being of an independent spirit, and very stirring in her ways, 
 yet she keeps me danketting about, so that I can't rest my- 
 self ; I'd have been glad to go to bed, but I couldn't." 
 
 " All the same," replied Esther, " I do not see why I should 
 not go to bed now, since Miss Uffadyne assured me that she 
 would not require my services to-night. Are you Smith ] " 
 
 " No, I am not," was Smith's quick reply ; she was almost 
 choking with passion. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but Miss Uffadyne said she would 
 send her maid to me, and she called her Smith." 
 
 " My mistress calls me what she pleases, young woman, 
 but my equals and my inferiors call me Miss Smith." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I did not know anything about it ; I 
 thought, if I thought at all, that perhaps you were christened 
 Smith ! " 
 
 " Christened Smith, indeed ! " she replied, with huge dis- 
 dain ; " and what sort of people do you think my parents 
 were, miss ? " 
 
 "I have no doubt they were highly respectable," returned 
 Esther, half out of patience, half amused; "people have 
 strange tastes in names, you know." 
 
 " Strange tastes, indeed, to go into a church and get a 
 helpless female infant called Smith f My parents would 
 have scorned such folly, such profanity, I may say ; my 
 christened name is Amelia, I would have you know 
 Amelia Matilda, and Smith is my father's name, which I, 
 being his lawful daughter, was born to, as I may say ; and 
 there's plenty of Smiths in the world as are to be re- 
 spected, and some of them drives their carriages, and has 
 their place in the country and their house in town." 
 
 This irascible daughter of the Smiths was apt to lore hex 
 grammar along with her temper, you perceive. 
 
GREY AXD GOLD. 105 
 
 " I know the Smiths are a very large family," said Esther, 
 quietly, feeling at the same time that Amelia Matilda Smith, 
 was very nearly as provoking as Mrs. Hellicar. "Was the 
 world then full of aggravating people 1 she asked herself. If 
 so, how was it possible to keep one's temper 1 And did aggra- 
 vating people have fine names? and would the girls she 
 came to teach be, as a body, exasperating ? 
 
 How long this senseless altercation would have lasted can 
 never be known, for at that moment Miss Uffadyne aston- 
 ished Miss Amelia Matilda's weak nerves by standing 
 between her and Esther, and inquiring what all this non- 
 sense was about ? 
 
 " I desired you to show Miss Kendall to her bedroom," 
 said Cecil, in that tone which told her waiting-maid she was 
 not to be trifled with ; " and here you are gossiping and 
 chattering in your usual foolish style. I am sure Miss 
 Kendall is in no mood for conversation to-night. You may 
 go ; I will show Miss Kendall upstairs ; but next time 
 I give you an order, Smith, I shall expect it to be obeyed." 
 
 Smith retired, sulky and subdued, but vowing vengeance 
 against Esther, who had been the cause of and the witness r 
 of her humiliation. Cecil waited to make no further ob- 
 servations ; she signed to Esther to follow her, and con- 
 ducted her at once to the friendly haven where she longed 
 to be for that night at least. 
 
 " I hope you are not given to idle gossip and aimless 
 talk," said Cecil, as she turned to go away. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! I think not, ma'am ; but Miss Smith 
 would talk." 
 
 " Smith has no sense at all, but she has her good 
 qualities : she is faithful, and fidelity with me counts for 
 much. Three years ago she nursed me through a severe and 
 tedious illness, and such services are not to be forgotten ; 
 but I do not care to have my servants and the school- 
 mistress too familiar ; you will remember this ? " 
 
 " Certainly, ma'am." 
 
 " Good night ; I hope you will sleep off your fatigue. 
 We will talk further in the morning." 
 
 Left alone, Esther tried in vain to clear her ideas; 
 
106 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 whether things looked auspicious or not, she could not 
 determine, nor could she divine in the least whether Miss 
 Uffadyne thought she " would do." If she had known 
 Miss Uffadyne a little better, she would have been quite 
 sure that she was graciously approved. Cecil had unbent 
 much more than her wont, but how was Esther to know 
 that ? Her manner was so entirely different from Florence's ; 
 Cecil was so keen, and energetic, and outspoken, so ex- 
 tremely unsentimental, that some people who did not 
 understand her voted her to be unfeeling ; and Florence was 
 so sweet, so gentle, so frank, so loving ; no wonder that the 
 sudden change in patronesses rather perplexed the inex- 
 perienced Esther. She wisely determined at last that the 
 best thing she could do would be to get into bed and go to 
 sleep, letting the morrow and all the other days that were to 
 come afterwards take thought for themselves. And so, after 
 a brief but earnest prayer that she might be guided and 
 blessed in all her ways, she lay down under the pretty 
 chintz canopy, and nestled among the lavender-scented bed- 
 clothes, and listened to the wind that was moaning fitfully 
 about the house, wondering at herself, and at the changes 
 that had come to pass, till the wild song of the night breeze 
 became a lullaby, and she slept soundly, as youth, and health, 
 and innocence will ever sleep, after a day of excitement and 
 unaccustomed travel. 
 
 When she awoke, the grey wintry dawn was glimmering in 
 the room, and she made haste to rise and dress ; for though 
 nothing had been said about the matutinal habits of the 
 family, she felt sure that Miss Uffadyne must be an early riser, 
 and it was quite on the cards that a lady of so much vigour 
 might choose to converse with her before, instead of after, the 
 breakfast hour. But the expected summons did not come ; 
 and Esther stood at her window, feeling very cold and very 
 anxious, while she watched the sun rise on the beautiful 
 landscape, that was passing fair even in its dark, sterile, win- 
 try aspect. A few minutes before she had been almost 
 depressed, though her spirits had regained much of their 
 natural elasticity from the unbroken rest she had enjoyed ; 
 but now there came to her a sweet sense of confidence, a new 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 107 
 
 influx of hope, of energy, of intrepidity, and of determination 
 not to fail in the race which lay before her. She looked out 
 upon long bare fields, and naked woods, and a wavy expanse 
 of heath and hill, and all was bathed in a tender roseate glow, 
 and purple and golden lights were on the far-off sea-line ; the 
 morning mists were lifted from the uplands, and showed the 
 vast horizon circling as with a belt of crystal wide stretches 
 of woodland, and open ground, and glittering water. It was 
 very unlike the grimy prospect of roofs and chimneys which 
 for so many years Esther had seen from that well-remembered 
 window in the Queen Square house ; and the natural beauty 
 that now met her gaze seemed to pass into her soul, and gave 
 her a new life. Surely it would be easy to work and be 
 patient, to toil and be content, in this pleasant world of 
 Chilcombe ! And what would it be in the happy summer- 
 time ? To all healthy minds, bright and lovely surroundings 
 are inspiriting. 
 
 " Ah, yes," she said to herself, " I can work here ; I know 
 I can. I shall have troubles, of course ; there will be disa- 
 greeables and difficulties, but I shall not mind. I even, 
 hope," she continued, with all the rash ardour of youth, 
 " that there will be something to contend against, something 
 really to strive with and to overcome by the power of love, 
 and the strength of patience. I don't want to have an easy 
 time of it, I only want a fair field, and a clear opportunity, 
 a;nd I care not for the difficulties of the way I wonder when 
 I shall begin. Miss Guise did not know exactly when the 
 school opened." 
 
 The clanging of a great bell roused Esther from her reverie ; 
 it was evidently rung with a purpose, and she thought she had 
 better go downstairs and ascertain whether she also were 
 summoned. It was the prayer-bell, which was duly rung in 
 Cecil's household at half-past eight during the winter, and 
 eight in spring and autumn, and at half-past seven in summer. 
 It was a cardinal sin not to be seated in the dining-room 
 within three minutes at the furthest after the bell had ceased 
 to sound. The servants sat in a row, and Esther was accom- 
 modated with a chair at some little distance from them. Cecil 
 sat in state with the breakfast equipage and a prayer-book 
 
108 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 before her, and htr own little Bible in her hand. Mr. 
 Oswald did not appear. 
 
 Rather to Esther's surprise, Miss Uffadyne, after reading a 
 chapter, which evidently came in course, commenced a sort of 
 running commentary, giving a free and familiar exposition of 
 verse after verse, with an ease and glibness that evidenced her 
 own familiarity with the exercise. Then followed some of 
 the prayers from the ritual of the Established Church, and 
 then, the morning's devotions being concluded, the file of do- 
 mestics withdrew ; and Esther, uncertain whither she ought to 
 betake herself, lingered, feeling painfully awkward and 
 shamefaced. Looking up, she perceived that Cecil was scan- 
 ning her very closely, " taking the measure of her," as Dick 
 would have expressed himself; "reading her through and 
 through," as Esther told herself afterwards ; and Cecil's large, 
 dark, serious eyes did indeed seem to penetrate to your inmost 
 thoughts, and if you had a secret to keep you would doubtless 
 feel slightly uncomfortable under the calm, steady gaze that 
 appeared to divine all that you were most unwilling to 
 disclose. 
 
 I cannot say that Esther felt tranquil under the scrutiny ; 
 the hot blood rose in her cheek, and her eyes sought the 
 carpet at her feet ; but it was only for a moment, the rich 
 colour was still mantling her generally sallow face when she 
 looked up, and with her own wonderful, deep grey eyes, clear, 
 limpid, and solemn, met her patroness's gaze. Cecil was 
 startled at the transformation ; for the girl, spite of hard 
 features and dingy complexion, looked radiantly beautiful ; 
 that brilliant flush of colour, and those great shining eyes, 
 changed her entirely ; and then Cecil perceived that Florence's 
 protegee was really no common person, and her interest in her 
 was thoroughly awakened. 
 
 "You will take breakfast with me, Miss Kendall," she 
 fiaid, a f ter a minute's pause. " Mr. Uffadyne went out early." 
 
 From which speech Esther naturally inferred that she 
 would have breakfasted alone, or with the upper servants, had 
 the master of the house been at home. She had scarcely 
 caught a glimpse of Oswald the preceding evening, for Cecil 
 had hurried her away immediately; and she was extremely 
 
GREY AND GOO. 109 
 
 curious, or perhaps I ought to say desirous, of seeing him, 
 since she knew perfectly well that he was her beloved Misa 
 Guise's affianced husband. Florence had told her all about 
 ' it, finishing up with, " But you know, Esther, I could never 
 leave papa while his health is so delicate. He comes before 
 everybody, even Oswald. I shall not think of marrying till 
 I can leave him quite comfortably." 
 
 And Esther had said, " Eut could you not live together 
 still?" And Florence had shaken her head, and replied, 
 " We could, of course ; but it must not be. I should belong 
 to Oswald then, and I could not be unreservedly papa's. And 
 Oswald is quite content to wait." 
 
 No wonder that Esther felt an interest in the man with 
 whom Florence's future was so intimately blended ; no won- 
 der she wanted to behold the fortunate swain who was to 
 possess so much beauty and grace and goodness, to win the 
 one woman in all the world who in her partial judgment was 
 most worthy to be won. So she felt slightly disappointed 
 when she was advertised that for the present at least no intro- 
 duction would take place ; not that she wished for any special 
 introduction ; she did not want him to notice her at all, she 
 only wished to see what manner of man he was, and to hear 
 him speak, that she might judge whether he was worthy of 
 the great prize he had drawn in the lottery of life. For 
 somehow Esther had preconceived the notion that Mr. 
 Oswald Uffadyne was by no means a match for Miss Florence 
 Guise, and that in some way or other the marriage had been 
 arranged as a matter of expediency. 
 
 " Ah, well ! " she said to herself as she took her seat at the 
 breakfast table ; " I shall be sure to see him soon, and to see 
 him pretty often. It does not matter." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 "CAN" AND "MUST." 
 
 ESTHER had expected that over the coffee and ham a sort of 
 examination of herself and her capacities would be conducted ; 
 
110 GREI AND GOLD. 
 
 and she was right, though at tho time she believed herself to 
 be mistaken. Cecil was too able a tactician to dash at once 
 into the subject-matter of her inquiry ; she knew better than 
 to disconcert the young woman by putting her at once 
 through an elementary catechism of her acquirements, or by 
 making her confess her supposed virtues, or testify of her 
 weaknesses to her own disfavour. Cecil Uffadyne was accom- 
 plished in the art of "drawing out" any one whom it 
 concerned her to know all about ; and so judiciously did she 
 conduct the most seemingly irrelevant conversation, that 
 a complete revelation and exposure of the person thus uncon- 
 sciously tested was sure to be the result. So, instead of 
 being questioned in English History and Lindley Murray, 
 and put to her paces in all kinds of petty knowledge, Esther 
 found herself talking about the neighbourhood of Queen 
 Square, about Mr. Guise's painful neuralgic attacks, and even 
 about Dick, though how she came to speak about him at all 
 she never could divine. But w r hen breakfast was over, Cecil 
 knew a great deal about her young guest, and had decided 
 that she had " the making of a woman in her," and that she 
 might be made, and should be made, as far as she, Cecil 
 UfFadyne, was concerned. And Cecil prided herself that 
 whenever she undertook a task she performed it wisely, pains- 
 takingly, and usually with complete success. 
 
 " !N"ow, then, we must have a little business talk," said 
 Cecil, when the breakfast cloth was withdrawn, and they 
 were left alone again. Esther coloured, and moved her 
 hands restlessly. The dreaded examination was now to 
 commence, and what would Miss UfFadyne think of her 
 miserable ignorance? Would she send her back to 
 Queen Square by the next train, not even giving her a 
 trial? Esther felt as if she was a sort of impostor, to be 
 sitting there to receive directions for duties which she was 
 quite unqualified to discharge. "Whatever were Esther 
 Kendall's faults, self-esteem, and over-appreciation of her 
 own abilities were not among them. 
 
 "Then you have really learned very little?" said 
 Cecil at length. " I mean you have not much book-know- 
 ledge?" 
 
GREY AND GOLD. HI 
 
 "Very little indeed. I know it seems presumptuous, 
 but Miss Guise did say that my knowledge, so far as it 
 went, was very thorough," pleaded Esther. 
 
 "There is nothing I value so much as thoroughness," 
 returned Cecil, with emphasis. " It implies so much it 
 means not only solid attainment, but principle, truth, stead- 
 fastness of purpose. And there is nothing I more despise 
 and shrink from than pretension. Let gold he gold, and let 
 brass be brass ; one is as honest as the other in its way, but 
 I do not like gilding. I hate shams." 
 
 " I think I hate them too," aaid Esther, her grey eyes 
 lighting up as she spoke. " I am sure I hate them ! " and 
 she was thinking of Mrs. Hellicar's tinsel finery, of her 
 Lowther Arcade jewellery, her painted paper dresses, and 
 her wretched, base gentility. 
 
 "Have you been with people who shammed?" asked 
 Cecil, quickly. 
 
 " I have," was Esther's succinct answer. 
 
 "What did they sham r 
 
 " Everything, from honesty to Honiton lace," said Esther, 
 bitterly. Bub then, remembering certain counsels of Mr. 
 Guise, and some gentle words of Florence's, she added : 
 "But, if you please, Miss Uffadyne, I would rather not 
 talk about those people. Mr. and Miss Guise advised me 
 not not yet, at least; they said I had better be silent 
 about my relations while my wrongs were so fresh ; after a 
 while they would seem not so great or so bitter as they do 
 now. And Mr. Guise said to me nearly the last thing, ' It 
 is in your own hands to do well, Esther ; and the prosper- 
 ous can always afford to be generous and forgive the past.' ' 
 
 " Do you mean that you cannot forgive these people the 
 wrongs they have done you 1 " 
 
 " I do mean it ! " Esther burst out, excitedly ; " if you 
 Knew all you would not wonder, Miss Uffadyne. They 
 were so cruel to me ; they made me work so hard, and they 
 starved my mind, and degraded me in every way." 
 
 "ITo person can be really degraded who does not first 
 degrade himself or herself! But I thought you said you did 
 not mind work 1 " 
 
112 OBEY ANT) GOLD. 
 
 "No more I do; no more I*did! But it was not mew 
 work; it was hard, weary, ceaseless toil, always the same, 
 beginning every morning early, and ending only late at 
 night, when nothing more could be done. There were no 
 holidays ; the Sunday was not a day of rest ; and I was at 
 everybody's beck and call, and everybody might scold me 
 and wreak their discontent upon me. Even the children 
 were encouraged to torment me. But I would have borne 
 it all had they not been so very unjust, had they not per- 
 petually charged me with offences I never committed, and 
 refused always to take my word, treating me as a practiced 
 liar, though I scorned to say a word that was not truth, and 
 they knew it. But I said I would not talk about them ; I 
 had better not, I know ; it makes me feel wicked. I feel to 
 want to punish them, to triumph over them ; and that is 
 very bad of me ; Florence I mean Miss Guise said it 
 was." 
 
 " The Bible says so," replied Cecil, gravely, " and that is 
 of more consequence than what Florence Guise says. But 
 do you not feel that you ought to forgive your relatives ? n 
 
 " Yes, I suppose I ought, but but / cannot" 
 
 " You mean you will not. We can always do what ought 
 to be done. It may be difficult, it may be painful, but it 
 can be done; it must be done. Remember that, Esther; 
 such a word as ' cannot ' ought not to be in your vocabulary, 
 or it should only be used in reference to wrong doing. You 
 may boldly say, ' I cannot commit sin, I cannot be weak ; ' 
 but you may never say, ' I cannot obey God because it is 
 difficult to do so.'" 
 
 Cecil spoke with much harshness, and Esther felt as if it 
 would be impossible to love so stern a monitress. How un- 
 like Florence, whose words and tones were always of the 
 gentlest; and yet there was something in Cecil that she 
 felt she must admire and perforce respect, perhaps even 
 reverence. 
 
 " I will try to do what is right," she said humbly ; " but 
 I am afraid I am not always clear what the right is, and 
 besides it is best to say the truth I have not at all a 
 temper." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 113 
 
 '' That is a sad confession to make ; but it is better to 
 make it than to take credit for an amiability which you do 
 not possess. However, you are not a child, and you must 
 learn to control your temper ; it is of the first importance 
 that you should do so. Of course you cannot deal with 
 children without having your temper tried." 
 
 " Of course not," assented Esther, thinking of the little 
 Hellicars ; " but I shall have more chance with children who 
 are expected to obey me, and who are not systematically 
 taught to despise me." 
 
 " I shall always uphold your authority with the girls, if 
 fchat is what you mean. Even if I differed from you I 
 should not allow your pupils to perceive it, unless, indeed, it 
 were something that involved a point of conscience. If I 
 think you are acting wrongly or unwisely I shall not hesitate 
 to tell you so very plainly, but the matter will be between 
 you and me alone." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very kind." 
 
 " That is only common justice ; you could have no chance 
 with the village girls nor any with their parents, and you 
 will have to deal with them, too, if they could perceive any- 
 thing like a breach between us. Only be careful, for much 
 responsibility will rest in your hands, and in a rash moment 
 you may do much mischief. Now about your real and 
 regular work. Your school-hours vary according to the 
 season of the year. You will open school to-morrow morn- 
 ing at nine o'clock precisely ; I am very particular about 
 punctuality. You will dismiss the children at twelve, and 
 two hours are allowed for rest and dinner. Classes are 
 formed again at two, and at four school is over for the day. 
 As the season advances the time changes to half-past four, 
 beginning, of course, a little later in the afternoon. I take 
 all the classes in turn every week, so that I always know 
 exactly the rate of progress. The routine. of study will be 
 best explained when the time comes. You can sing ] " 
 
 "A little that is, I can join in any hymn- tune." 
 
 " You can lead the children 1 " 
 
 " I think I c-in ; I am nearly suro I can if no one else if 
 present." 
 i 
 
Ii4 GRET AlfD GOLD. 
 
 " That is a foolish feeling, and you must get rid of it. You 
 can either do a thing properly or you cannot ; if you can, h 
 does not matter who witnesses the performance ; if you can- 
 not it ought not to be attempted. What is called modesty 
 is often nothing more than a contemptible bashfulness, born 
 of miserable self-consciousness and a perverted vanity. 
 When we shrink from an action that is expected of us^ 
 it is generally because we inly know ourselves to be incom- v 
 petent, or because we fear lest we should fail to gain applause.y 
 Simply to do the thing that is required of us in the best 
 way we can, not thinking at all of the effect produced, is the 
 most comfortable to ourselves and the most satisfactory to 
 others. There is a singing class connected with the church, 
 and I will make arrangements for your joining it. They prac- 
 tise some secular music besides chants and anthems ; it will 
 be an advantage to you. As for your private studies, I shall 
 be pleased to be of use to you ; I will tell you what books to 
 read, and provide them also. Your evenings will be your 
 own after you have corrected exercises, and placed the sewing 
 work in readiness for the morrow, and, of course, you may 
 and should make good use of the early morning and of the 
 middle of the day. It is best to have no idle time." 
 
 To all this Esther could respond ; she did not wish for an> 
 idle time ; she cared not how fully she was occupied, pro- 
 vided the employment conduced to mental improvement, 
 and she felt no fear of being overworked, for her health was 
 excellent, and in this pure air it seemed quite natural to feel 
 blithe and energetic. Cecil rather relished her evident 
 enthusiasm on the subject of work, and only hoped it might 
 last. Miss Martingale and one or two others had set out 
 with the best intentions, but flagged very quickly, unable to 
 keep step with their patroness's untiring, vigorous march. It 
 was a remarkable fact that Cecil tired out all who tried to 
 work with her, and Oswald declared that " to run in harness 
 with her was just impossible, unless one wanted to die 
 of shattered nerves, and accelerated pulse." Still, Miss 
 Uffadyne felt assured, as again she gazed into Esther's clear, 
 thoughtful eyes, that she was of a different type from Miss 
 Martingale and the others, who were so speedily let and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 115 
 
 hindered in running the race that was set before them, and 
 she had good hopes that she would go on her way steadilv 
 to the end. 
 
 "It is not so much teaching the girls a quantity of 
 things," said Cecil in conclusion, " as training them to habits 
 of piety, order, punctuality, and neatness. I want them to 
 know their duty in the station to which it has pleased God 
 to call them, and to learn to do it." 
 
 Esther thought if they knew their duty, and practised it, 
 nothing more could be desired of them ; but then, would 
 such a standard of education be easily attained ? And was 
 eke of all persons qualified to bring them to so satisfactory a 
 result ? She would do her best, but oh ! how much she 
 feared that her incompetency would be perceived, and that 
 she would find herself failing in every attempt, just because 
 she was unable to perceive the right line of action. 
 
 In another hour Esther found herself walking through the 
 village, on the road to the school-house. An old woman 
 hobbled out of a cottage, and handed Miss Uffadyne the 
 keys as soon as she appeared, dropping a bob-curtsey as she 
 did so, and making a sort of compromise reverence to Esther, 
 whom she eyed very curiously. Several women and some 
 children came out to have a look at the new schoolmistress j 
 by one village matron she was voted "a mere slip of a girl, 
 fit only to go to school herself ; " while the clerk's wife re- 
 marked that she was as tall as Miss Uffadyne herself, and 
 looked quite the lady. More and more persons appeared as 
 they crossed from the almshouse porch to the school-house, 
 which was on the other side of the road, and Esther knew 
 that she was running the gauntlet of public opinion. How 
 strange to her looked the quiet village-street and the village- 
 green, where a poor idiot boy sat warming himself in the 
 bright January sunshine j how strange were the funny little 
 shops, and the unfamiliar people, and the staring children, 
 who, however, only stared furtively, lest they should bring 
 down upon themselves the anger of Miss Cecil, and be lec- 
 tured on the spot for want of manners. But the idiot boy 
 came forward with his terrible vacant smile on his poor face, 
 and put his horny hand confidentially in Cecil's gloved palm, 
 
116 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 and then he patted Esther encouragingly on the shoulder, 
 Baying, like a two-year's child, " Good ! nice ! good ! Pool 
 Jack, me ! " and he tapped his heart, and touched his fore- 
 head, and looked piteous. 
 
 There was no hardness or hauteur in Cecil's manner as she 
 talked to poor Jack; she laughed with him, and let him 
 caress her hand and stroke down her sable muff, though she 
 had to speak firmly to him before he would go away. He 
 might have been troublesome if permitted to go with them 
 to the school-house j but Cecil, even when most determined, 
 spoke kindly and soothingly, and Esther perceived that as 
 yet she had seen only one side of her patroness's character. 
 With all the rashness of youth Esther had pronounced Miss 
 Uffadyne to be good, very good, and remarkably clever and 
 strongminded, but utterly unloveable. Xow she told herself 
 it would be better to suspend judgment for a little while. 
 
 The school-house was not large, but it was pretty and 
 commodious, and the room which would be the chief scene 
 of Esther's future labours was lofty, well ventilated, and 
 thoroughly warmed. Everything was newly scrubbed, and 
 the desks and forms were in their places ; bright prints and 
 excellent maps were on the walls, also a chronological chart 
 and some diagrams, the very sight of which shook Esther's 
 nerves, because she knew nothing at all about them, and 
 could not even tell what they were. She supposed they had 
 something to do with geometry, and she might as well be 
 called upon critically to explain the differential calculus as 
 to say what geometry meant, or what was represented by the 
 lines, and cubes, and triangles, that looked so imposingly on 
 paper ! But Cecil never even glanced at the pentagons, and 
 polygons, and quadrants ; the truth being that the geometri- 
 cal illustrations had been sent in by some society or other, 
 which professed to diffuse universal knowledge, and to open 
 up a royal road to every branch of learning, and they had 
 been hung up in derision by Oswald, who pretended to argue 
 that the girls would make beds more scientifically, and set a 
 table with more mathematical precision, if they were duly in- 
 ducted in the first principles of geometry. 
 
 Esther surveyed with interest her own special seat, a little 
 
QRET AND GOLD. 117 
 
 raised above the common level of the room. She wan 
 favoured with a cushioned chair, and a table full of drawers, 
 which she might keep locked, if she pleased, and in a small 
 recess close by was a book-case, containing many well-chosen 
 volumes, all neatly covered and labelled, and arranged on 
 a system. System and neatness reigned wherever Cecil 
 Uffadyne was mistress. And to-morrow that room would 
 be resounding with the hum of voices, and Esther would be 
 launched on the voyage which she could not help fearing 
 might end in disappointment and shipwreck. She could 
 only hope, and resolve to do her very best. 
 
 CHAPTEE XV. 
 
 PERMANENTLY ENGAGED. 
 
 ESTHER went into quiet raptures about her new home. She 
 might have lived at the school-house, for there were rooms 
 there intended for the schoolmistress's occupation, but Cecil 
 thought it better that so young a girl should be under 
 matronly care, and moreover she thought the short walk four 
 times a day between the school and the farm would be bene- 
 ficial to Esther's health. Cecil was a great advocate for 
 plenty of fresh air, for regular exercise, especially for a good 
 brisk constitutional, taken every day without much regard to 
 the state of the weather ; and Esther's peripatetic powers 
 and inclinations certainly raised her in the estimation of her 
 active, practical-minded young patroness. 
 
 The Slade was rather a large farm, quite on the outskirts 
 of the village ; the house had once been a manorial resi- 
 dence ; it was very old, very picturesque, and very roomy ; 
 and Mrs. King, the farmer's wife, one day told Cecil that 
 when the summer came again she really thought she would 
 let lodgings, as so many of her rooms were entirely unoc- 
 cupied. Cecil, who had just then promised the Guises to 
 give Esther a trial, immediately bethought herself that the 
 Slade would be a comfortable and respectable home for 
 Esther, who would be solitary living alone at the 
 
ll8 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 house, particularly during the winter months. Besides, 
 Cecil was sure Florence would not like the idea of Esther 
 living entirely by herself, as she must do if she succeeded to 
 Miss Martingale's apartments as well as to her office ; and 
 Cecil felt too she was very prudent and worldly-wise for 
 her age that it was inexpeolient it should be so. Nowhere 
 could she be safer, and if she were a good girl, nowhere 
 could she be happier, than with Mrs. King, of the Slade ; 
 for Mrs. King was a kindly, sensible woman, with a sort of 
 motherly instinct about her, which attracted her towards all 
 young creatures, especially to girls who were motherless ; 
 for she had lost several daughters of her own, and the only 
 surviving one had married, and gone away to live in Aus- 
 tralia. 
 
 She caught at once at Cecil's notion, and agreed to receive 
 the young schoolmistress as her inmate; and the proper 
 arrangements were made, and a chamber selected for Esther's 
 use ; and the whole matter was concluded in less time than 
 it would have taken many people to think about it. And 
 Esther, when she saw her home, was charmed, and oh ! how 
 grateful ! She took to the great kitchen at once ; such a 
 kitchen ! it would have swallowed up the whole basement 
 story of the house in Queen Square. It was so clean, so 
 bright, so like a picture, with its wide fireplace, its broad 
 settles in the chimney corner, its air of business, and also 
 its atmosphere of mingled thrift and plenty and hospitality. 
 At one end the servants took their meals ; at the other the 
 family took theirs, and Mrs. King's eye was everywhere, for 
 she was a farmeress in doors as well as out. 
 
 She was not a widow, as you may suppose, but the wife of 
 a too easy, good-tempered, and rather lazy man, who was the 
 best of husbands so far as his affections were concerned, but 
 not so far as regarded his duties, which fell far too heavily 
 upon the faithful wife, who was most emphatically his better 
 half. Mr. King had no judgment worth speaking of; his 
 wife was always to be relied on, and her opinion was quoted 
 throughout Chilcombe. Mr. King was content to let things 
 take their course, and he disliked anything which drove him 
 out of the beaten track. Mrs. King never rested till an erroi 
 
OREY AND GOLD. 119 
 
 was amended ; and if a more excellent way presented itself, 
 she followed it out at any cost of time and trouble. She was 
 a woman of progress, yet judicious ; she went in for modern 
 improvements without being rash ; her industry was prover- 
 bial, her good plain sense was quoted by all her neighbours, 
 and anyone in trouble of mind, body, or estate generally 
 sought counsel, or comfort, or aid, as the case required, at 
 the Slade. Moreover, she had the happy tact to manage her 
 husband without his perceiving it ; true it is, he was very 
 slow to perceive anything that did not appear upon the sur- 
 face, but the outside world never saw much of the farmeress's 
 domination. She was at the helm, as everybody knew, and 
 she was the source of all frugal schemes, the very spirit and 
 life of the whole household ; but she so contrived it that all 
 great changes seemed to emanate from the male head of the 
 family, and certainly the principal orders were given by him, 
 though, by the way, if you had gone incontinently to farmer 
 King, and asked for commands, he would certainly have 
 replied, " 'Bide awhile till I ask the missus ; she knows best." 
 Besides the kitchen, which was all ruddy with firelight 
 when Esther first saw it, there was the parlour, a long, low 
 room, quaintly but well furnished, and very pleasant in the 
 summer time, and two other rooms, used only for storing 
 apples and other useful farm produce. Esther's own room 
 was large and very comfortable ; the furniture was plain 
 enough certainly, but it was solid, and exquisitely clean. 
 There was an oriel window, too, which delighted her ex- 
 tremely, and the arms of the family who had once owned 
 the house were still imperfectly blazoned in coloured glass 
 right above the opening of the casement ; and from this 
 window there was a prospect which so Mrs. King declared 
 exceeded in extent and beauty any other in the parish. 
 Cecil was fain to confess that from no window in her own 
 house could she command so fair and wide a prospect. And 
 when the summer came, this oriel window would be wreathed 
 with roses and clematis, and the garden beneath would be 
 a very paradise of flowers ; for horticulture was the one 
 recreation which Mrs. King allowed herself, and if she ever 
 indulged in an extravagance, it was in the case *>f a rara 
 
120 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 plant, or choice bulb, or wonderful seedling, cr something 
 new and exquisite, that her neighbours had never seen be- 
 fore. The rector, and the Uffadynes, and several other 
 families of note, always came to see her roses, and her holly 
 hocks ; and her chrysanthemums annually inspired several 
 head-gardeners with the spirit of envy, while her great 
 lavender-hedge was the wonder of all the country round.'. 
 
 Esther was to board with the farmer and his wife, and be 
 in all respects as one of themselves ; and Mrs. King had so 
 long been looking forward to her arrival that it was quite a 
 disappointment to her when she found that in the first place 
 she was to go to the Chenies, for such was the name of the 
 Uffadynes' abode. 
 
 It was a right motherly welcome which Esther received, 
 and she felt herself straightway at home ; and Mrs. King 
 " took to her " at first sight ; and the farmer, as a matter of 
 course, took to what his wife approved, and declared that it 
 was quite a blessing to have a comely lass in the house once 
 more, a lass whom they might make believe to be a daugh- 
 ter ; and ho really thought she featured his Rebecca, who 
 had married and gone away over the seas, and that she was 
 very much like little Elsie, who had died twelve years 
 ago of a sort of decline following upon measles ; and he was 
 sure she had a smile like poor Janie's, and Janie was in the 
 churchyard by the side of Elsie and several other children 
 who had died in infancy. 
 
 In after years, when Esther's whole life was changed, 
 when it was fairest, and sweetest, and most golden, she 
 remembered with tender affection those first days and weeks 
 at the Slade Farm. The school-work in one way was not 
 nearly so heavy or arduous as she expected ; in another way 
 she found that her energies were taxed to the very utmost. 
 She had feared most her own ignorance, lest her elder 
 scholars should be in advance of her ; lest her incompetency 
 should be suddenly disclosed, to her own shame and confu- 
 sion, and to the disappointment of the kind friends who 
 had relied upon her. But she had thought little about the 
 continual discretion, the steady judgment, the self-control, 
 and the self-possession that would be required from her; 
 
GRET AND G01J). l2l 
 
 and before the first week was over she knew that it would 
 ts her own fault if she did not keep far ahead of the most 
 advanced of all her pupils ; but she knew also, and with 
 trembling, that her powers were taxed to their very extent 
 to keep up the proper discipline, to act as arbitress in all 
 disputes, to decide all vexed and knotty questions, and, 
 above all things, to suit the training of each child to its dis- 
 position and capacities, to try to draw out the inherent good, 
 and repress the natural evil tendencies, in the wisest, 
 kindest, and most effectual way. It was hard work, far 
 harder than the working out of complicated sums in a rule 
 she had never learned herself, worse than conducting a his- 
 torical or geographical class, with Miss Uffadyne close at 
 hand, listening to every word she uttered, and far, far worse 
 than the turning down of hems, and the placing of gussets, 
 and setting of gathers, which she had dreaded so much, 
 knowing how great fault Florence had found with all her 
 needlework during the time when she had been striving to 
 qualify herself for this particular department of her office. 
 
 But here Mrs. King was invaluable ; she not only knew 
 all the mysteries of sempstress-ship, being an adept at 
 cutting out and contriving and mending in all its branches, 
 but she knew a great deal about human nature, particularly 
 about feminine juvenile nature, as it seemed to Esther ; for 
 she could always give advice, and show her exactly the 
 course she ought to take, pointing out the Scylla and 
 Charybdis on either hand, into which her own inexperience 
 and quick temper would inevitably have carried her, and 
 steering her clear of all collisions and squabbles and grand 
 mistakes, such as undermine the authority of a ruler whose 
 claims to prudence and sagacity are not as yet thoroughly 
 acknowledged. 
 
 Very soon Esther began to take a deep interest in the 
 children; and she was so anxious to do her very best for 
 them, apart from satisfying Miss Uffadyne, that Mrs. King 
 kept a keen watch over her, lest she should injure her own 
 health. Of course they were a medley, these Chilcombe 
 girls ; some were incorrigibly idle, and some stupid ; some 
 were giddy, and others saucy and defiant- j and one or two 
 
722 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 were really evilly disposed, and must necessarily be expelled 
 unless reformation should ensue ; but, as a whole, they were 
 quite as satisfactory as any number of village girls pro- 
 miscuously brought together could be expected to be ; and 
 Esther managed them so wisely and so successfully, that 
 Cecil actually thanked Florence for sending her just the 
 kind of young woman she wanted : " one who would obey 
 orders punctiliously even, and yet had plenty of sound sense 
 to act when left to her own unaided sources." 
 
 It needs not to tell how delighted Florence was ; but 
 Mrs. Hellicar turned of a yellowish green when it was 
 reported to her that Esther was filling her situation most 
 successfully, being liked by the children and their parents, 
 highly approved in the village, and valued by her patroness ; 
 and poor Myra remarked that " some people always were in 
 luck, and some people were very deep, and some people 
 would find out some day that all was not gold that glit- 
 tered ! " And she was very cross all the evening, and 
 snubbed her husband, and exasperated Dick, and roused 
 Lizzie's temper, till that young lady whipped the little ones 
 all round, and went sulky and supperless to bed. 
 
 But Lizzie's spite, and aunt Myra's aggravated state of 
 temper, mattered little now to Esther ; she went on her way 
 happily enough, and her heart bounded with thankfulness 
 when one day, early in March, Cecil told her that if she 
 liked to remain at Chilcombe they would like to keep her, 
 and she might consider herself to be permanently engaged. 
 She got on better and better with the girls now she knew 
 them intimately ; every day she found her stock of know* 
 ledge increasing. Cecil was very kind to her, and helped her 
 in a hundred ways, and Mr. and Mrs. King would have been 
 sorely grieved had she been taken away from them, for they 
 had learned to regard her with a very sincere affection. 
 Truly the lines had fallen to her in pleasant places ; God had 
 been very good to her, and she knew it, and longed to serve 
 and praise Him better. And all this time, strange to say, 
 she had never seen Oswald Uffadyne, Florence's betrothed ! 
 He had been in London, and of course he had spent much 
 of his time in Queen Square ; also ha had been in Paris on 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 123 
 
 business for Mr. Guise, and Esther leaint that the great law 
 case of the Guises was on the point of being decided. And 
 Mr. Oswald Ufiadyne would not be at home until after 
 Easter. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 ESTHER'S HOLIDAYS. 
 
 THAT year the Easter-tide fell in the second week of April. 
 It was a peculiarly forward season ; the hedges were green 
 already, and the woodlands wearing just that warm flush 
 of colour which shows that life is throbbing in all their 
 arteries, and waiting only a few more days of shower and 
 sunshine to burst forth into all the vivid verdant loveliness 
 of a perfect spring. Primroses nestled in every shady place, 
 gleaming star-like among their crinkled leaves ; by the brook 
 side the slopes were whited over with the delicate anemone, 
 dotted here and there with the golden cups of the modest 
 celandine, a carpet of gold and silver showing sumptuously 
 in the happy Easter sunshine ; violets were plentiful every- 
 where, white and purple, scented and scentless, and the 
 intense blue ground-ivy went creeping about among little 
 clusters of the humble bitter cress and tiny coronals of the 
 still humbler whitlow-grass. Also the wild narcissus was in 
 its first rich bloom, and the orchards were white with 
 blossom of pear and plum, touched here and there with faint 
 carmine streaks of the unfolded rosy buds upon the apple 
 trees ; the cuckoo had been heard calling in the lanes, the caw 
 of busy rooks was heard in the tall trees by the churchyard, 
 and morning, noon, and night, the song of the lark rang out 
 high and clear, far away in the blithe creature's own " glorious 
 privacy of light." 
 
 How Esther revelled in the moist bright spring-tide of the 
 country, words can scarcely tell. It was a new life, this 
 watching the gradual resurrection of the green things of the 
 wood and the flowers of the field. She noted how day by 
 day the broad sun sank to his rest in the distant blue waters 
 
124 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 more and more to the west, and then still onwards towards 
 the icy north, the land of the unsetting sun and the everlast 
 ing snow. She was never tired of walking up and down the 
 garden paths, or of wandering in the woods, or rambling along 
 the banks of the meandering brooklet that wound its silvery 
 way through the green lowlands about Chilcombe, soon ming- 
 ling its pure wavelets with a river at no great distance, and so 
 passing onwards to the sea. She loved to linger in these 
 pleasant haunts, revelling in each fresh beauty as it unfolded 
 itself in scaly bulb or tender bract, or delicate young leaf, or 
 sweet pale floweret ; rejoicing in the voice of birds, in the balmy 
 breezes, in the soft warm airs breathing from the south, and 
 in the brilliant April skies, now one glorious dome of stainless 
 azure, now flecked with fleecy clouds, and now shadowed with 
 piled up nimbus masses floating inland from the sea, pouring 
 down on the grateful earth the warm revivifying showers of 
 the gracious spring-tide. Sunshine and rain, cloud and rain- 
 bow, wavy hills and emerald smiling dales, morning and 
 evening all brought to Esther their own peculiar joy, ever 
 blending, ever changing, ever filling her heart with a sense of 
 pure unmingled happiness, and with innocent blisses such as 
 she never knew again in after days, when her life was made 
 up of passionate loves and weary longings, and sorrows that 
 seemed at times too heavy to be borne. 
 
 And in that fair green spring-time it was as if the girl's soul 
 were born again, and came to her all fresh and tender as a little 
 child's. There were no great throes of birth, no startling 
 transitions, no grand upheavings of her moral and spiritual 
 nature ; softly as dreams the old shadows of darkness floated 
 off, and like the beauteous dawn of day shone out the light of 
 lights that purified and gladdened all her heart, and made her 
 a new creature in very truth. She could afford now to for- 
 give the Hellicars ; it was impossible to live in such a mental 
 atmosphere and vvish them any ill nay, she yearned to do 
 them good, to be of real service to them. And the inner 
 transformation had, as a natural consequence, changed the 
 Aeavy, sullen countenance ; the harsh lines of it were softened, 
 a faint glow stole over the thin, sallow cheeks, and the won- 
 ierful deep eyes were all ablaze with soul, and beaming with 
 
GEEY AND GOLD. 125 
 
 awakened thought. A large and perfect charity had taken 
 possession of her spirit, and she loved all who came within 
 her sphere, not only Mr. and Mrs. King, her new-foun/d 
 father and mother, and Cecil, and the children she taught 
 day by day, and some humble friends in the village, but the 
 very animals that lay down under the shadow of the Chil- 
 combe trees, and the daisy-sprinkled meadows themselves, 
 and the little birds that twittered under the eaves, and 
 perched upon the rose-sprays round about her windows. 
 When she saw the sleek cattle come up from milking, or 
 heard the warble of the blackbird or the piping of the thrush,, 
 her bosom swelled with kindly, fervent emotion, and, like 
 the "Ancient Mariner," she blessed the happy creatures 
 " unaware." Indeed, at that time, her every thought towards 
 others was a silent benediction. How changed from the 
 weary, slovenly girl, who had watched the twilight clouds on 
 that dull October evening from the upper window in tha 
 dingy Queen Square house, brooding over her wrongs, longing 
 hopelessly, as it seemed then, for some break in the heavy 
 grey clouds that had gathered round her young life ever since 
 she could remember hoping against hope, struggling vainly 
 against the slavery of her lot, at feud with God and with her 
 fellow- beings a miserable, ignorant, neglected human soul, 
 uncared for by any mortal, and, as she sadly told herself, 
 forgotten by her Maker. 
 
 Of course Esther had her Easter holidays. On Thursday 
 afternoon she dismissed the school, which was not to re- 
 assemble till the following Wednesday morning nearly a 
 whole week of leisure and delightful freedom. Esther liked 
 her work nay, she was beginning to love it, but after weeks 
 of regular unintermitting toil, the season of rest was sweet, 
 and she felt an almost childish sense of relief when, the room 
 being cleared, she turned the key in the desk which con- 
 tained the registers, and knew that it need not be used again 
 for five long happy days ; for that they could be otherwise 
 than happy never once occurred to her. What walks she 
 would take, what books she would read, what a long letter 
 she would write to her beloved Miss Guise \ also one to Biddy, 
 who would be delimited t the sight of an epistle addressed 
 
126 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 entirely to herself; she was not even sure but that she would 
 write a few kind, pleasant lines to Mrs. Hellicar. And she 
 would study, of course ; Cecil had given her some lessons in 
 French, and she only wanted time to write any number of 
 exercises, and perfect herself in the regular verbs, before she 
 attempted anything beyond. Among the books which 
 Florence had given her was a charming little French book for 
 beginners, entitled, as far as I remember, the " Little Model 
 Book " ; but it is years since I saw it last, and on its title- 
 page it bore, as a motto, " Learn something perfectly, and 
 apply everything thereunto," which wise axiom Esther 
 adopted as her own, and determined to learn and comprehend 
 the on 3 subject in hand before she took a single step towards 
 another. The next day, Good Friday, would be her birthday, 
 her seventeenth ; oh ! how different from the sixteenth in the 
 year just gone by. 
 
 And when she came down to breakfast next morning she 
 found ner birthday presents awaiting her a volume of 
 Wordsworth's Poems, for which she had been longing, from 
 the farmer, and a pretty spring dress from Mrs. King. Last 
 year no one had thought it worth while to remember the 
 anniversary of her birth. Last year there had been no lovely 
 flowers and fresh-springing grass, no singing-birds ; only the 
 London sparrows twittering and hopping about on the worn 
 turf of the desolate Square garden ; only hard work, plenty of 
 it, and no one word of praise ; only the dreary days coming 
 and going in their grey monotony, with no promise of the 
 brighter hours at hand. 
 
 When breakfast was over, and she and Mrs. King were 
 busy with the tea-cups and plates, the question arose as to 
 who was going to church. The farmer stayed at home, 
 because he never thought of going to church, except on Sun- 
 days ; and, for certain domestic reasons, Mrs. King found it 
 incumbent on herself to remain also ; but there was no reason 
 why Esther should not go to join in the services of the 
 day. 
 
 " I was thinking," she said, presently, " of going as far as 
 Kelmsley ; I should so like to see the chinch that Miss Cecil 
 was talking about the other day. Would it be wrong to 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 go there tins morning I It is not quite like Sunday, you 
 know/' 
 
 "It would not be wrong at all, and it would be a nice 
 walk fcr you, and quite safe if you took Rover." 
 
 " But I mean to stay for the service." 
 
 "Rover will wait for you outside; you have only to 
 tell him so before you go into the porch, and he will under- 
 stand and obey. I should scarcely like you to be in Helms- 
 ley Wood quite alone, for there are gipsies there sometimes ; 
 but the dog will be quite guard enough.'* 
 
 " Need I go through the wood ? " 
 
 " You need not ; you 'can go all the way by the lane, and 
 a very pretty lane it is, following the course of the brook ; 
 but the wood takes off more than a mile and a half of the 
 road ; besides, it is so lovely, full of your favourite flowers, 
 the anemone and the lesser celandine ; and a little stream 
 that unites with the brook just where it joins the river runs 
 twinkling under the trees; you will like it very much. 
 Never mind those saucers, child : the walk is a long one, and 
 you will be late. Go and get ready at once." 
 
 What a pleasant walk that was! A two miles' walk 
 between the half-leaved hedgerows, and under the grand old 
 forest-trees, just arrayed in their most delicate garments of 
 palest green, and olive grey, and richest ruddy brown. The 
 bright sun brought out these vivid yet tender hues, while 
 over all slept the deep blue sky, clearer and more intensely 
 azure than is the wont of English skies, with lark-music 
 ringing out triumphantly in the dazzling golden air. 
 
 But far off Esther heard the low sweet chiming of betts 
 and she knew she must not loiter, for to be late in church 
 was one of the things she always felt ashamed of; so she 
 walked on pretty quickly through the wood, not heeding the 
 pleasant tale that the gurgling waters were telling, nor the 
 nods of welcome she thought the flowers gave her ; and just 
 as the " tolling-in " commenced, she reached the churchyard 
 gate, and passing between ancient graves up to the deep 
 porch, she bade Rover lie down and wait her coming 
 out. 
 
 " Please not to drive away iny dog," she said to the oki 
 
128 OUET AND GOIJX 
 
 beadle, who came out to meet a stranger j " lie wDJ not coma 
 into the church, or disturb anybody ; he will stay under th^ 
 great yew-tree till he sees me again." 
 
 And the old man promised that her wishes should be 
 respected, the dog should not be interfered with; and he 
 thought what a sweet young lady this was, and how 
 graciously she spoke, and he hastened to place her in one 
 of the best seats near the reading-desk. 
 
 Esther never forgot the simple service of that morning, the 
 sweet singing of the village choir, the low, deep voice of the 
 officiating clergyman, or the green gloom that filled the little 
 old Norman church, with its heavy pillars, its antique carv- 
 ing and its low-browed chancel, lit by one grand and " storied 
 window richly dight," letting in the rich spring sunshine 
 through gorgeous colouring of purple and ruby-red and gold. 
 There was one altar-tomb a warrior and his ruffled dame 
 lying side by side, with placid features and uplifted hands, 
 and a ray of richest amber and purple fell aslant the long 
 robes of the lady, and the marble mail of the knight ; and 
 Esther wondered for how many centuries the sunbeam had 
 stolen in upon them thus, and who they were, and what 
 was their history, and had they lived at quiet Helmsley, 
 that they were buried side by side in the solemn shadow 
 of the chancel? But near at hand was another monu- 
 ment, of recent date. Only a few years had elapsed since 
 she to whom it was raised had passed away from earth ; it 
 was a simple white marble tablet, supporting a plain cross, 
 wreathed with lilies. The inscription was only " Alice 
 Stapleton, died August 18, 18 , aged nineteen years. For 
 we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of 
 Heaven." 
 
 The words caught Esther's glance, for the tablet was close 
 to her, and she could not raise her eyes without seeing it. 
 " Through much tribulation / " Was it indeed so ? And this 
 young creature of nineteen, had she " entered in " through 
 anguish, and dismay, and bitterness of spirit ? Or had 
 wasting illness and cruel suffering worn her life awayl 
 Whatever it was, it was all over now j she had passed to % 
 land where there is DO more pain, or d.eath, or b 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 120 
 
 hopes, or crushed-out happiness where God Himself has 
 wiped away all tears from every eye ; and what did it 
 matter if there had been tribulation sore and bitter on this 
 side the shiny portal of the skies ] 
 
 A sudden terror came upon Esther as she knelt. Life had 
 grown to her so fair, youth was so promising, the coming vista 
 of years shone so sweetly through the dim haze of futurity 
 could it indeed be that sorrow was the portion of all who 
 would inherit the joy of the world to come 1 Was it really 
 the will of the Father that the children should go softly all 
 their days, ever dreading loss, and rinding grief, and pain, 
 and bitterness 1 Then she remembered what that day com- 
 memorated the great mystery of the Cross ; the death and 
 passion of our Lord Jesus Christ; the shameful, agonising 
 close of the one pure and perfect life ; and it seemed as if, 
 echoing through the dim low aisles of the little church, came 
 a faint whisper of the Master's words " Follow Me ! " 
 Whither ? To shame, and suffering, and loss \ to death 
 itself, if only it please Him to lead the way. That is the 
 first stage of the journey. Afterwards, when patience has 
 had its perfect work, and faith grown large and steadfast, 
 and knowledge multiplied the rest that remaineth, the 
 glory that is to be revealed, the joy unspeakable ! First the 
 cross, and then the crown ! here the hill Difficulty and 
 the valley of Humiliation ; there the land of Beulah ! The 
 sepulchre before the resurrection ; the agony in the Garden 
 before the Ascension ! 
 
 Something of this Esther dimly felt as the words of the 
 Gospel for the day fell on her ears, and she remembered some 
 verses that Florence and she had read together one Sunday 
 in Queen Square. She had often read them since, for they 
 were in Keble's " Christian Year," and after she came to 
 Chilcombe she had bought a small cheap copy for herself. 
 Now they came to her afresh, and she found herself repeat- 
 ing : 
 
 " Lovest thou praise ? The Cross is shame ; 
 Or ease ? The Cross is bitter grief ; 
 More pangs than heart or tongue can framo 
 Were suffered there without relief. 
 X 
 
130 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 We of that Altar would partake, 
 
 But cannot quit the cost. !N"o throne 
 
 Is ours to leave for Thy dear sake ; 
 
 We cannot do as Thou hast done. 
 ** We cannot part with Heaven for Thee, 
 
 Yet guide us in Thy track of love ; 
 
 Let us gaze on where light should be, 
 
 Though not a beam the clouds remove." 
 
 The sermon was a very "brief one, and it was still early 
 when the small congregation separated. The purple light 
 had passed from the altar-tomb, and the silent forms lay now 
 in shadow ; and, looking back into the green gloom that 
 filled the empty church, Esther saw again the tablet in 
 memory of the unknown Alice Stapleton, and again she 
 thought of the "great tribulation" to be endured on the 
 road to the heavenly kingdom, and her spirit sank within 
 her. She had known so much sadness in the past, and would 
 it ever be the same again ? 
 
 But when she passed out of the porch into the sunshine, 
 the brightness came back again, and she forgot the Lesson 
 of the day and Alice Stapleton's memorial text. The sun 
 was shining gloriously ; there was not a cloud in all the sky ; 
 the rich slopes of Helmsley and the fruitful, well-watered 
 valley of Chilcombe lay before her ; while in the distance 
 the silvery sea sparkled on the blue horizon, the warm wind 
 fanned her cheek, the blossoming boughs waved rustlingly, 
 and the birds sang joyously in the tender leafage of the 
 branches. Rover was waiting patiently under the yew-tree, 
 but he gave one bark of delight at perceiving that this long, 
 weary watch was over, and with a bound he prepared to set 
 out on the homeward walk. 
 
 "Good doggie," said Esther, lovingly patting his shaggy 
 head; "good, patient Rover, we will have a right bonnie 
 ramble in the wood, and gather anemones and violets if we 
 can find them, at least one of us will ; and we will sit down 
 and listen to the music of the brook, and hear what the 
 little waves are saying to the mossy stones ; and then we will 
 go home, Rover, and get our dinners, and you shall havo a 
 fine plateful, dear, good doggie." 
 
 Rover seemed to comprehend, for he gave another little 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 131 
 
 quiet bark, that might well have been taken for an assent to 
 so satisfactory a proposition, and then he trotted on gravely 
 by Esther's side as became a dog of his age and responsi- 
 bilities, only running off now and then to examine some- 
 thing in the ditch, or to snuff about suspiciously in the 
 region of possible rabbit-holes. A most exemplary dog was 
 Rover; but dogs, like men, have their especial weaknesses, 
 and Rover's great weakness and prime temptation was rab- 
 bits, though he knew full well that he had no business to 
 hunt them except under certain recognised conditions. I am 
 sorry to say Eover, conscientious as he was, too often yielded 
 to the temptation, and pursued rabbits without regard to 
 conditions ; but I believe he always repented after the deed 
 was done, and suffered from remorse. 
 
 How pleasant it was that day in Helmsley wood ! The 
 lovely wood anemone, the pale fragile wind-flower of the 
 poets and the rustics, was there by thousands ; the white 
 cups shone in silver sheen among the springing moss, and 
 here and there were patches of golden celandine and little 
 tufts of delicate blue dog-violets. Under ' the trees lay last 
 year's leaves, still crisp to the tread ; and twigs and broken 
 branches, lichen-grown already, relics of past wintry storms, 
 were scattered about among the fresh green moss, and the 
 gay flowers, and the sere foliage of the dead year. 
 
 Esther found a seat on the gnarled root of a huge old oak, 
 and there she sat with Rover lazily blinking at her side ; 
 there she sat, thinking how bright the world was, and how 
 good God was to make so much brightness and beauty for 
 His creatures ; thinking, too, of the grey days that had been 
 the grey, weary, hopeless days before she knew that such a 
 person as Florence Guise existed. There had come a rift in 
 the leaden clouds when she had least expected it, and lo ! the 
 grey cold vapours had rolled away, the sun had shone out, 
 revealing the soft azure of the summer sky ; his beams were 
 warm, and caressing, and life-giving, and all the landscape 
 was fair, and her own pathway therein a track of shining 
 gold! 
 
 And all the while the lark sang jubilate high over the tall 
 trees ; his exulting lay thrilled all the passionate heart of the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 young and happy girl ; and mingling with his clear warble 
 was the gurgling ripple of the tiny stream forcing its way 
 between the stones, singing a sort of lullaby in the quiet 
 golden noontide. And Esther lingered there till a great 
 and deep peace settled upon her heart, a blissful calm in 
 which she knew that all would be well with her now and 
 evermore ; that in her the Father's will would be accom- 
 plished, and that all that will was love pure, perfect, all- 
 pervading love, which chose ever the best way and the 
 safest way for the children of its care, though rough might be 
 the road, and dark the clouds, and arid all the land about for 
 a little while, only for a little while. 
 
 " He who made 
 
 The heart doth know its need, but what are we, 
 And whence have we our wisdom, unafraid 
 With hands unskilled to vex a mystery 
 "We cannot disentangle ?" 
 
 That evening Esther wrote in a little book in which she 
 sometimes put down her own thoughts : " Good Friday 
 evening. This has been my birthday, and I am seventeen 
 years old. Everything is changed, blissfully changed, since 
 this time last year. I am not the same ; the world around 
 me is not the same ; Heaven is not the same. All is bright, 
 and sweet, and good ! Oh, my God, how kind Thou art to 
 me ! How could I ever doubt Thee, ever believe that I was 
 forgotten by Thee? by Thee, who never for a single 
 moment forgettest the smallest of Thy creatures ! What do 
 I not owe Thee ? how great is my debt of gratitude ! Can I 
 ever pay it 1 Ah, no ! but then I can love ! she to whom 
 much is forgiven loves much ; and I feel, I know, Thou hast 
 forgiven all my waywardness, and sullenness, and dark, 
 bitter unbelief; Thou hast forgiven all my sin my pride, 
 and discontent, and wicked sense of hate ; and now I walk in 
 Thine own light, in the sunshine that Thou hast cast about 
 me like a royal garment ! And I am happy, so happy ! 
 And I will try to be happy always, even if for a time the 
 sunshine should depart, and the heavy, grey, impenetrable 
 ilouds come back again ; for Thou knowest best, my God, 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 133 
 
 Thou knowest best, and Thou hast taught me to trust Thee. 
 Oh, this sense of trust, is it not sweet ? Is it not good to feel 
 that one need not really trouble about anything ? What shall 
 I thank Thee for first, my God 1 I scarcely know, so many are 
 Thy rich gifts ! Above all things thou hast given me Thyself! 
 Thou hast taken my heart and opened it, and filled it with love 
 love to Thee first, and to Thy creatures next. How my heart 
 bounded when this morning they sang, ' Thou art the King 
 of Glory, Christ ! ' I thank Thee, then, for Thyself for 
 Thy blessed Son, who is indeed Thyself Thyself wearing our 
 mortal nature, touched with our infirmities, and knowing in 
 very deed and truth that we are but dust. I think if we forget 
 the perfect human nature of our dear Lord, we lose so much 
 of the comfort and of the joy we may draw from a union with 
 Him. And I thank Thee too, my God, for my kind friends, 
 such friends ! so true, so good, they must come from Thee ! 
 And for this pleasant home, and for regular happy work, and 
 for rest when labour is over ; and for this glorious spring-time, 
 so fresh, and fair, and sweet; and for the flowers, and the 
 young leaves and buds, and the breezes thrilling all the 
 branches ; and for the voices of the birds, and of the little 
 lambs in the green meadows ; and for the sound of waves, and 
 for all things that Thou, my Father, hast created, for Thou and 
 Thou alone givest us all things richly to enjoy. And I think 
 nay, I am sure I should not enjoy these pleasant things 
 half so much if I thought I got them for myself, or if they 
 came by chance. We may prize a costly jewel for its 
 own worth, but how much the more we count it as a treasure 
 if it is a dear friend's gift ! And now my birthday is over ; 
 I have known none like it. How, I wonder, will pass the 
 next, and the next, or will there be a next 1 Hush ! foolish 
 child, that is not your concern. Take the sweetness and the 
 goodness that God gives now, and never trouble about the 
 rest. All will be well, ail must be weV, for He r.w 
 promised it." 
 
134 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 GUISE COURT. 
 
 EITHER was busy in her room on Easter-Tuesday. All the 
 Easter-tide had been bright and happy, but this was the last 
 day of her holidays, and she was thinking which of the many 
 unaccomplished tasks she had set herself she should attempt 
 for that final afternoon and evening. At last she decided she 
 would write French exercises and do translation all the after- 
 noon ; it she had time she would read also a few pages of 
 Macaulay, and she would take a long walk in the evening, 
 with Rover for her companion again, and read her new 
 Wordsworth when she came home again, after the candles 
 were lighted ; perhaps she might read some to Mrs. King, 
 for the good farmeress loved good poetry and good prose also, 
 albeit she was great in dairy mysteries, and reared fine calres 
 and plump chickens and wonderful little sucking-pigs, that 
 were always anticipated in crackling before they entered 
 on this mundane existence. Poor unconscious things ! But 
 some kind of penalty has always to be paid in this world for 
 superior excellence. Esther, however, was not destined to 
 write exercises, or to read " The White Doe of Rylstone," 
 that day She had only just taken her books down, and 
 opened her dictionary, when she was aware of Miss Smith 
 fcoming up the gravel-walk, with her toes most elaborately 
 turned out, and her nose most celestially inclined. 
 
 The Slade, though it had a front entrance, by a deep porch 
 and a heavy oak door studded with large nails, did not boast 
 of a knocker. In summer-time this front door generally 
 stood wide open, for some one was always about, but thus 
 early in the year it was still, as a rule, closed, and as 
 most people came round by the kitchen- way, it sometimes 
 remained unopened for days together. Miss Smith, of course, 
 would not demean herself by going round to the back-door, 
 though Cecil would certainly have done so. She looked 
 round for some instrument of alarm, and seeing a small 
 dibble that had been used for sowing flower-seeds, she took 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 133 
 
 it up, and commenced a vigorous assault upon the oaken door, 
 proceeding very much as if the house were besieged, and she 
 were summoning the garrison to speedy capitulation. 
 
 Esther flew down, anxious to stop the battery, for Mrs. 
 King was proud of her oaken door, and did not like to have 
 it scratched, neither would she consent to the modern inno- 
 vation yclept a knocker. In spite of her intense practicality, 
 Mrs. King had a tinge of the mediaeval in her tastes, though 
 she had no idea of it herself, and would certainly not have 
 known how to apply the word had it been spoken in her 
 hearing. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Smith," said Esther, good humour- 
 edly, as she opened the door. She had learned now not to 
 omit the " Miss," though the waiting-maid, having never 
 forgiven the girl for the unintentional slight, generally called 
 her by her Christian name, and sometimes, when she felt 
 herself in a more exalted frame of mind than usual, addressed 
 her as "Kendall" 
 
 " Good morning," responded Smith, in a tone which 
 seemed to say she would rather, did it not sound so 
 strangely, wish " bad morning." 
 
 " No, I can't come in ; I've promised to lunch along with 
 Mrs. Lees at the Itectory, and I've come out of my way to 
 get round here. I declare it's hot enough for July." And 
 Miss Smith tried to fan herself with the dibble, but finding 
 that impracticable, resorted to her pocket-handkerchief, which 
 she flirted with a languid grace. 
 
 " You had better come in," said Esther again. She was 
 much improved in her address ; her manners had softened 
 with her character, but she was still abrupt at times, 
 especially when at all nervous ; and Miss Smith, with her 
 air of pretension and her undisguised insolence, invariably 
 made her nervous. 
 
 " I mean what I say, and I say what I mean, Kendall," 
 was the uncourteous rejoinder. 
 
 Esther coloured a little, and her fingers trembled as they 
 rested on the huge jlumsy latch, but she replied very 
 quietly 
 
 " Then, Miss Smith, perhaps you will be so good as to say 
 
136 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 what you came to say that is, I suppose, to deliver Miss 
 Ulfadyne's message. I, too, have little time to spare." 
 
 " I shall tell your mistress that you wanted to shut the 
 door in my face/' 
 
 "On the contrary, I wish you would walk in and taste 
 Mis. King's gooseberry wine, that Miss Uffadyne says is as 
 good as champagne." 
 
 " I never drink home-made wines, and I don't see what 
 right you have to be offering me your landlady's hospitality." 
 She called it horsepitality I " You are nothing but a lodgei 
 here, and Miss Uffadyne's servant, and you oughtn't to be 
 taking upon yourself. Yes, I have a message from your mis- 
 tress. She desires you will come round to the Chenies at 
 two o'clock. She is going on a expedition, and you are to 
 attend upon her. Mind and be punctual." 
 
 And without any ceremony of farewell Miss Smith walked 
 majestically away just as the watchful mistress of the house 
 came to see what " all that chaffering at the front door was 
 about." 
 
 " I wonder where Miss Uffadyne is going ? and I wonder 
 if Smith really knows ? '' was Esther's query when she had 
 jiade her explanations. 
 
 " Xever you mind, my dear," replied Mrs. King ; " you 
 may be sure Miss Cecil means something kind by you. She 
 told me only the week before last that she had never been so 
 satisfied with a schoolmistress before. You are going some 
 pleasant excursion, I dare say. I'll go and see that dinner 
 is not late ; and mind you put on your new dress and the hat 
 that we trimmed yesterday, and take your cloak, Esther, 
 child, for the evenings are cool yet, though the days are over- 
 hot for the season. I wonder if you are going by train 01 
 in the carriage." 
 
 Precisely as the church clock struck two, Esther was walk- 
 ing up the drive at the Chenies, and Cecil's pretty light 
 pony-chaise stood at the door. Cecil herself appeared in the 
 hall, already equipped. " I knew you would be punctual, 
 Esther," was her greeting. " Get in ; we shall have a lovely 
 afternoon for our drive." 
 
 Esther obeyed, and Cecil took the reins. The ponies were 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 137 
 
 spirited little creatures ; tame animals were Miss Uffadyne's 
 abhorence. But she managed them capitally, and they knew 
 the familiar hand and the accustomed voice, and discreetly 
 repressed all inclinations to undue friskiness. 
 
 " I thought you: would like to go with me this afternoon,'* 
 said Cecil presently, when they were clear of the village 
 and in a green lane which Esther had not explored further 
 than the first mile or so. " I am sure you would like to see 
 the place ; indeed, I fancy I promised to take you the first 
 time I went there myself." 
 
 " I dare say I shall like it, the afternoon is so delicious, 
 and it is charming to go so fast in this easy little carriage ; 
 but I do not know whither you are taking me, ma'am." 
 
 " Did not Smith deliver her message ? " 
 
 " She told me you wished to see me at the Chenies at 
 two o'clock, ready to accompany you in some expedition ; 
 that was all." 
 
 " The stupid woman ! I told her to say we were going to 
 Guise Court." 
 
 " To Guise Court ! " And Esther gave a little scream of 
 delight. "Oh, dear Miss Uffadyne, I have so wished to 
 go there. I wanted so to see my dear Miss Guise's OWE 
 home." 
 
 " Then you will see it by half-past four at the latest, if 
 we do not come to grief with these ponies, who seem to- 
 have had rather too much corn. It is a long drive though T 
 and we shall be late back ; but there is a moon, you know,, 
 and the roads are not bad. You will not be afraid *? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, indeed. I am not timid. Are we not going 
 towards the sea ? " 
 
 " Yes. Guise Court is only three miles from the shore, 
 but, excepting on one side which commands the Channel, it 
 is sheltered from sea-winds. The woodlands are beautiful, 
 though scarcely equal perhaps to ours ; but they have more 
 rock, the scenery is bolder, and the Guiseley Cliffs are noted 
 for their rugged grandeur. The Court itself stands gloriously, 
 looking over a wide expanse of sea and land, and the park is 
 lovely." 
 
 " How Miss Guise must miss it all this fine spring weather. 
 
138 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Queen Square is a dreary place, though there are far drearier 
 in Londen." 
 
 " I should think so, for it is not squalid, noisy, or super- 
 latively dirty. And Florence Guise being there for a purpose, 
 I hope she makes the best of it. (_There is nothing like 
 taking present circumstances cheerfully ; mend matters if 
 you can, but don't try merely to change them^ Changes are 
 not of necessity improvements, remember. Also, when you 
 cannot mend, make up your mind bravely to endure." 
 
 All of which was excellent advice, no doubt, and Esther 
 meekly took it as such; but she could not help thinking 
 rather curiously whether Miss Uffadyne had ever put her 
 principles to the test. Had she ever really known trial and 
 perplexity] Had these perfect theories of hers ever been 
 reduced to practice ? 
 
 Cecil resumed 
 
 " But Florence and my uncle will soon be home again ; 
 the law-suit was on the eve of being decided when they 
 wrote last, and there is no doubt of it being in their favour.' 1 
 
 " The suit does not concern Guise Court, I think 1 " 
 
 " Xo ; it is a question of other property, which has been 
 unjustly alienated for several generations. It had been so 
 long in one family that Mr. Guise would never have dreamed 
 of disputing the claim, though his father and his grandfather 
 disputed it before him, had not the direct issue of that 
 family failed, and only distant or indirect heirs presented 
 themselves. Moreover, he had discovered some papers, 
 which cleared up the difficulties that had always impeded 
 the cause in my grandfather's time ; and it was quite clear to 
 his mind that he could put forth his claim with equity. 
 You know, I suppose, that my brother Oswald is the next 
 heir?" 
 
 " I understood so from Miss Guise, and, of course, I have 
 heard it since I came to Chilcombe. People will talk." 
 
 " I mean to say that Oswald is heir to the family seat and 
 to the Guiseley estates. Florence will have a large fortune 
 even if this law-suit be not gained, though, by the way, the 
 expenses will be tremendous. There is so much delay, and 
 red-tape, and nonsense in these matters. Of course, my 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 139 
 
 uncle makes no claim for interest of money, nor for accumu- 
 lations of any kind." 
 
 " That is very good of him ; but then, Mr. Guise always 
 would be good." 
 
 " Yes, he would ; my uncle is a truly religious man. He 
 Hves the Christian life far more than he talks about it. Hia 
 patience and fortitude are admirable." 
 
 " Indeed they are. I have never seen him in one of those 
 fearful attacks of pain ; Miss Guise never would let me ; she 
 said I could do no good, and the sight of so much suffering 
 would haunt me afterwards. But I have been with him 
 when it was all over, and he lay quite still and white, like 
 one in a deathly swoon ; the exhaustion was terrible." 
 
 " Yes ; and I am afraid some day it will go so far that he 
 cannot rally. Every attack leaves him weaker than a previ- 
 ous one, and either he must conquer the disease, or it will 
 conquer him." 
 
 " It seems to me a very mysterious complaint." 
 
 "It is; all sorts of nervous complaints are mysterious, 
 and baffle ordinary medical skill. I think they might be 
 resisted in the first instance by the patient himself. I can 
 quite believe that when people have once given way, and 
 allowed their nerves to get the better of them, it is impos- 
 sible to rally till the physical strength is restored. I have 
 little sympathy with those people who are for ever complain- 
 ing of neuralgia, as they call all kinds of indefinite aches and 
 pains, which are induced by their own folly." 
 
 " There is something very definite in such torture as Mr. 
 Guise endures," Esther ventured to suggest. She could not 
 keep an accent of reproach out of her tone. 
 
 "Precisely," was Cecil's answer; "but then, in the first 
 place, my uncle injured his constitution by excessive sorrow [/ 
 for the death of his wife, and then he neglected his health, 
 and, if we refuse to obey the laws of health, more or less of 
 suffering is sure to result. Remember that, Esther ! it is as 
 much your duty to take a rational care of your health, as it 
 is honestly to earn your living. I really do believe that 
 more than half the illnesses in the world might be avoided 
 my own serious illness several years ago, for instance. I 
 
HO GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 pee now that it was my own fault. There are certain laws of 
 nature which I, partly through ignorance and partly through 
 rashness, violated. I know better now. Given a tolerably 
 sound constitution, and a mind of any strength, and one 
 may keep in health." 
 
 Esther thought this sounded harsh and presumptuous, but 
 of course she could not say so. She only hoped she might 
 not fall ill while under the patronage of Miss Uffadyne ; and 
 she tried to change the conversation, and reverted again to 
 Ihe subject of the contested estates. Contrary to her wont, 
 Cecil was inclined to be communicative ; besides, she knew 
 that Esther must necessarily be cognizant of much that re- 
 lated to the Guises, and there was no harm in speaking of 
 things that were already patent in certain circles. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, in answer to some question of Esther's ; 
 "the Guiseley estates are only entailed in the male line. 
 And, strange to say, though females cannot themselves in- 
 herit, their male children may do so, through them a very 
 unjust provision of our ancestors, I think. Thus Florence, 
 being of the wrong sex, loses Guise Court, and the Guiseley 
 estates thereto pertaining ; also certain lands, not so valuable, 
 in another county. She has, however, a certain fortune ; and 
 a charming estate, called Little Guise, some miles away, over 
 the hills there, belongs inalienably to her. My mother was 
 Guise, the only sister of Mr. Guise, whom you know, and 
 Oswald, her only son, inherits as the nearest of male kin. 
 Of course you know that Florence and my brother are en- 
 gaged to be married ? " 
 
 'Yes, Miss Guise told me herself, and I must confess I 
 have been disappointed at not seeing Mr. Uffadyne. I did 
 see him, I suppose, on the evening of my arrival; but I 
 scarcely noticed him, and should not know him now if I 
 met him. Everything, and of course everybody, who 
 belongs to Miss Guise interests me." 
 
 " Well, your curiosity will be satisfied soon, I imagine ; 
 for I expect Oswald home next week. I should not be sur- 
 prised to see him this week, indeed, all things considered. I 
 wonder I did not hear from him this morning. I cannot say 
 I quite approve of the engagement." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 141 
 
 " It seems to me that Mr. Uffadyno is a very fortunate 
 person," returned Esther, stiffly. No ! Miss Uffudyne might 
 carp and cavil at all the rest of the world, herself included, 
 but she was not going to criticise Florence with impunity. 
 Come what might, Esther would never tolerate that. Cecil 
 understood the blunt tone and the quick, impetuous move- 
 ment, and, being right-minded, in spite of innumerable 
 crotchets, and countless errors of judgment, she respected 
 the emotion, and replied, mildly, " I mean only that I do 
 not approve of arranged marriages, nor of marriages between 
 cousins. The engagement was really concluded while both 
 boy and girl were in the nursery. They were brought up 
 for each other, so that neither of them have enjoyed the 
 privilege of selection. It seems to me more a marriage of 
 estates than of hearts." 
 
 " Indeed, I am sure if I may say so much that Miss 
 Guise is very sincerely attached to Mr. Oswald. I feel quite 
 certain she would not marry as a mere matter of expediency. 
 
 " She would not ; you are quite right ; and my brother 
 Joves her very truly, I believe. Still, I wish each one were 
 going to marry some one else ; it was never intended that 
 cousins should wed. Besides, people should choose their 
 own partners in life. People make terrible mistakes in this 
 matter of union for life, and find out their blunder too late." 
 
 The last sentence was uttered in a low tone, and Cecil 
 seemed speaking more to herself than to her companion. 
 Esther made no answer, but she felt saddened and uneasy 
 on the account of her beloved Miss Guise. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE DRIVE HOME. 
 
 IT was half-past four, as Cecil had predicted, before they 
 reached the Court. The drive was delightful, and the 
 scenery for the last two miles beautiful beyond description. 
 The road gradually ascended, for Guise Court stood high, 
 and the village of Guiseley lay on the slope of a considerable 
 hill Behind them and around stretched all the rich 
 
14:2 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 smiling Somersetshire country ; before them were the lawns 
 and woodlands of Guise, almost shut in on two sides Ly 
 tremendous limestone crags ; and to the right, all heaving 
 and shining in the afternoon sun, the broad, blue waters of 
 the Bristol Channel ; for at the point where Guiseley rises 
 over the sea, the waves lose the muddy aspect which they 
 assume nearer the estuaries of the Severn and the Avon. 
 
 "Ah, this is beautiful ! " cried Esther, her cheeks flushing, 
 and her deep grey eyes kindling. "I never, no never, 
 fancied anything like this. It is an earthly paradise." 
 
 " Not quite," said Cecil, quietly, and yet pleased with the 
 girl's enthusiasm. 
 
 With all her philosophy she had a certain pride in Guise 
 Court, of which one day her brother would be the master ; 
 and she liked to visit it now and then, and to exhibit its 
 advantages, and hear its praises from the lips of others. If 
 she had been an actual daughter of the home, she could 
 scarcely have cared more about it. Florence herself was not 
 so proud of her beautiful, stately home, though I daresay in 
 her own sweet, quiet way she loved it better ; but then love 
 and not pride was Florence's predominant characteristic. 
 
 The carriage wound slowly up the steep, rocky road, and 
 passed though the lodge-gates, the woman a* the lodge 
 recognising one of " the family," and dropping the humblest 
 of curtsies. The park was lovely, undulating, woody, and 
 commanding delightful views. The house itself stood on a 
 gentle slope ; it was surrounded by carefully kept gardens, 
 and at some distance behind it rose up the grey limestone 
 crags, their crevices abounding in the white beam tree, the 
 graceful birch, and the vigorous mountain-ash; while the 
 most luxuriant ivy spread itself over the silvery rock, wrap- 
 ping the rugged cliff in its shining robes of vivid green, and 
 twining its graceful arms round the decaying stems of ancient 
 thorn, and hanging in gay festoons round the little caves 
 with which the hills abounded. Soon Cecil reined in her 
 ponies before the great hall-door, and the housekeeper 
 appeared in the portico, making reverential acknowledgments 
 of the young lady's presence. Clearly Miss Uffadyne was a 
 of consequence at Guise Court. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. i-J3 
 
 Well, Mrs. Maxwell," said Cecil, relinquishing the reins, 
 as a servant came round from the stable, " I am come 
 according to promise, and we shall be glad of some tea as 
 quickly as you can give it to us." Then to the groom, 
 " "Walk those ponies about a little, Sam, till they are cooler ; 
 it is a terrible pull up the hill, but it would have taken us 
 too long to go round by Guiseley. And do not let them have 
 much corn, they are too frisky even now ; they almost 
 pulled my wrists out of joint for the first five miles." 
 
 "Tea is quite ready, Miss Ufladyne, in Miss Guise's 
 boudoir," said Mrs. Maxwell. " The urn waits to be carried 
 in. I have had a chicken roasted and a tongue boiled ; for 
 I thought you would be hungry after an early luncheon and 
 such a long drive in this air, that gives every one an appetite. 
 Shall I order the urn in, ma'am ? " 
 
 "Yes, do, please. This way., Esther. We will take off 
 our hats at once ; there will be plenty of time to see the 
 gardens before it grows dark." 
 
 And Cecil led the way, while Esther followed through 
 several long carpeted passages and up a broad flight of stairs 
 to Florence's own bedroom. What a charming nest ! what; 
 comfort, what luxury, what elegance ! And to think how 
 contented its mistress had been in her dingy quarters in 
 Queen Square ! The windows opened upon a broad balcony, 
 already gay with flowers, while below lay the velvet-like 
 lawn, with its gay beds, and its antique sun-dial, and a 
 stately peacock unfolding his rich plumage in the golden 
 light of the April afternoon. Beyond were belts of shining 
 evergreens, and terraces half natural, half fashioned by art ; 
 then, far off and below, some wild heath and a stretch of 
 low meadow-land, traversed by flashing water-courses, and 
 gleaming inlets of the tide ; then a strip of red-brown sand, 
 and then the sparkling waves of the Channel, flashing from 
 blue to deep purple under the cloudless evening sky, and 
 glittering, too, as if showers of diamonds rose and fell with 
 every ripple of the sea. Within were soft carpets, fleecy 
 rugs, and delicate white draperies, with pale pink trimmings, 
 an exquisite toilet-set, a few choice books, some appropriate 
 engravings, and several costly but chaste ornament?. And 
 
144 GHEY AXD OOLB. 
 
 this was Florence Guise's maiden bower. Esther 
 with pleasure upon everything the room contained, and she 
 handled the pretty scent-bottles and touched the snowy bed- 
 curtain with an interest and tenderness that almost surprises 
 herself. Coming thus into the midst of Florence's posses- 
 sions was like being with her again, and a great gush of love 
 seemed to spring up in her heart, an overflowing love towards 
 the earthly friend to whom she owed so much so very 
 much more than she ever could repay. 
 
 Cecil and Esther had tea together in the boudoir, and then 
 they went through the house, and Cecil explained the pic- 
 tures, and showed the rare cabinets, and all the choice things 
 they contained, and the wonderful dragon-china, which 
 Esther by this time had learned to appreciate ; and she told 
 the legends concerning the armour in the hall, and went 
 through the story of a certain lord of Guise whose mar- 
 vellous deeds were commemorated in fresco and in stained 
 windows, as well as in the chronicles laid up in the family 
 muniment-room. By this time the shades of evening were 
 tailing, and small leisure remained for seeing the gardens. 
 They would hurry through the rose-garden, and the acacia- 
 plot, and come round by the great terrace, Cecil said : there 
 was not time for more ; but she wished to see the purple 
 magnolias and the double peach-blossoms, which Mrs. 
 Maxwell said were flowering so beautifully that year. But 
 one never does a thing of this kind half so quickly as one 
 anticipates, and by the time they reached the hall-door again 
 the sun had sunk below the horizon, the ruddy tint was 
 dying out from the fleecy clouds high up in the zenith, and 
 a faint streak of silver showed upon the sea. 
 
 "Quick, Esther," said Cecil, taking out her watch, and 
 straining her eyes to catch the minute hand. " It is but n, 
 young moon after all, and it will be nearly dark in those 
 shady lanes. I daresay the carriage is ready. "Where 13 
 Mrs. Maxwell, I wonder ] " 
 
 As Cecil spoke, Mrs. Maxwell's imposing figure might be 
 seen emerging from the gloom of an inner passage, and by 
 her side was a tall gentleman. A strip of moonlight lay 
 the hall, and as the housekeeper and her companion 
 
GREY AND GOLD. f 
 
 stood in it, Esther knew that the gentleman was Oswald 
 Uffadyne. She had seen him but for a single moment on 
 the night of her arrival at Chilcombe, and she had, as she 
 supposed, straightway forgotten what manner of man he 
 was ; yet in the dim, transient moonlight, catching sight 
 only of his figure and his profile, she recognised him per- 
 fectly. 
 
 Her doubts, if she had any, were quickly dispelled, for, 
 before Cecil could exclaim or ask a question, the young man 
 stepped forward with a merry greeting, asking his sister what 
 she meant by gallevanting about the country at that time oi 
 night. 
 
 " Where did you spring from, Oswald I '' 
 
 " From Mrs. Maxwell's room." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " I assure you I speak truth; ask Mrs. Maxwell." 
 
 "You were not in the house an hour ago." 
 
 " Because I was on the road to it ; a body cannot be IP 
 two places at once." 
 
 " Seriously, Oswald, where did you come from 1 ? ' 
 
 " Seriously, I arrived this afternoon from town soon after 
 you left home. They told me where you had gone, and I 
 got some dinner, and mounted old Jack, and came after you. 
 I should have been here an hour ago only Jack fell lame on 
 the other side of Dunsey Brook. We came by the ford, 
 and I fancy something got into his foot. I had to lead him 
 up this confounded hill. I must leave him here till to- 
 morrow, and I shall have the pleasure of driving your lady- 
 ship and Miss Kendall home." 
 
 *' Do you know, Oswald, I think I would rather drive 
 those ponies myself. They are mettlesome creatures, and 
 they are used to my hand." 
 
 " To think I, who can tool along Black Bess and Phos- 
 phorus, should not be able to hold in a pair of ponies not 
 much bigger than cats." 
 
 " Of course you are able, but you are a little rash, and 
 your driving sometimes frightens me ; and these creatures 
 have odd whimsies, and they are larger and stronger than 
 you imagine." 
 L 
 
146 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " I shall manage them well enough," 
 
 " Very well ; you know I am not nervous, only I warn 
 you to be careful ; it would not be agreeable to be tumbled 
 out in the middle of one of those long lanes, half way 
 between here and Chilcombe." 
 
 "I will engage to drive you into Chilcombe without i; 
 spill." 
 
 There was no more ^> be said about it : they were losing 
 time, and Cecil was anxious to get home ; she was later than 
 she had intended, and anything approaching to want of 
 punctuality in her own movements always annoyed and 
 irritated her. She hurried Esther upstairs for her hat, and 
 when she came down again the carriage was at the door. 
 Sam was holding the ponies' heads ; Cecil was seated, and 
 Mr. Uifadyne was waiting to hand her in. 
 
 The ponies evidently were in high feather ; they had had 
 a rest and a good feed, and they knew they were going home. 
 They dashed down the hill somewhat impetuously, to Esther's 
 secret terror \ but, seeing that Cecil was quite calm, she felt 
 reassured, and gave herself up to the pleasure of the moon- 
 light drive. Cecil and Oswald talked incessantly for the first 
 half of the way. The law-suit was decided, Oswald said; 
 it had been decided some days before, and he had meant to 
 write, but he had been prevented, and the Guises were 
 victorious. Mr. Guise was rather poorly, for the excitement 
 had been too much for him ; but Florence was quite well, 
 as bright and sweet as ever, and longing vehemently to be at 
 Guise Court again ; glad that the wearying, expensive suit 
 was over, but not very much rejoiced to be the mistress of so 
 many more thousands than were hers originally. 
 
 " No, Florence would never care much about mere money," 
 said Cecil ; and then the brother and sister conversed in a 
 low tone, and Esther tried not to listen. She felt very 
 nappy, for in less than a fortnight, if all went well, she 
 would see her dear Miss Guise once more. Oswald kept his 
 *rord to the letter, inasmuch as he drove safely into and 
 through Chilcombe ; but just as he reached the Chenies 
 gates, a stray sheep that had been lying down under the 
 fence jumped up, and rushed across the road, under the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 14-7 
 
 feet of the ponies, who were turning swiftly into the 
 drive. 
 
 A jerk, a quick swerve, a sudden lashing out of Oswald's 
 whip, and everybody lay upon the ground, and the chaise 
 was on its side ! Oswald and Cecil were up again directly ; 
 but Esther, when she tried to rise, felt a sharp pain in her 
 foot, that forced a cry from her : she turned sick and fainted, 
 and had to be carried into the house. 
 
 It was no great accident after all. Cecil had a slight bruise 
 on one arm ; Oswald had a scratch on his cheek, where, as he 
 said, he had kissed the gravel ; and Esther had a sprained 
 ankle, that was all. 
 
 But sprains, though not often serious, may be very trouble- 
 some ; and the doctor when he came said that Esther must 
 not attempt to stir for several days at least. So Oswald went 
 down to Mrs. King's to explain her non-appearance; and 
 early next morning Cecil hurried to the school, and pro- 
 claimed an extension of the Easter holidays. Esther's 
 ccholars professed to be very sorry for their governess's 
 accident ; but I dare say they were not quite so much 
 troubled as they might have been, had they not gained a 
 whole week's holiday through the sprained ankle and its 
 consequences. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AT THE CHENIES. 
 
 WHEN Cecil came back from the village she found Esther 
 extremely feverish and unwell; the pain she suffered from 
 her injured ankle had kept her awake nearly all the night, 
 and the prospect of being detained from her work and from 
 her home for an indefinite time weighed upon her spirits so 
 heavily as materially to affect her physical condition. She 
 had enjoyed the breathing- time which the Easter recess 
 afforded her ; but she was feeling quite ready to go back to 
 her duties, and even anxious to see some of the children 
 again; and in the interval of vacation she had planned several 
 improvements in the. classes, and she was eager to carry them 
 
148 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 ut, and try how they worked practically. Her last thoughts 
 before the accident occurred had been something like this : 
 
 " "Well, now my holiday is over ; how short it seems, and 
 yet how thoroughly I have enjoyed it. And this afternoon 
 has been grand. How kind of Miss Uffadyne to take me out 
 with her, and treat me just like a friend ! If I had been hel 
 equal she could not have been kinder. How nice it has all 
 been, and how funny that Mr. Oswald should turn up at 
 Guise Court of all places ! I think I shall like him. He 
 must be very good and clever, or Florence would not care 
 about him. Dear, sweet Florence ! and to think I shall so 
 goon see her again. And to think, too, that the mistress of 
 that beautiful place should have called me her friend ! Oh, 
 when I look back no later than last October ! Thank God ! 
 thank God ! HE did it all. He sent me Florence Guise. 
 Now, to-morrow labour begins again, and I am glad of it. 
 I really want to be at my post ; and I feel sure that way of 
 teaching geography will answer. I should like to give extra 
 lessons to Mary Murrell and Anne Culverwell, they are so 
 anxious to improve. I must talk to Miss Cecil about it. 
 She likes these girls, I know, as she always does like people 
 who try to help themselves. But what a blessing to be able 
 to help one's self. I could not help myself, strive as I 
 would, a year ago. I do not think we thank God enough for 
 opportunities, and how seldom we profit by them to the ut- 
 most. I will be more earnest than ever. I will begin to- 
 morrow, and work with redoubled zeal. I think, too, I 
 might rise half an hour earlier now that the mornings are so 
 light and so warm, and six half-hours make three whole 
 hours in a week. Three hours for real hard study. How 
 much 1 may accomplish before the dark mornings come 
 again, I will begin to-morrow ; I will ask Jem to call me 
 when he goes to the cows. I hope I shall not be too sleepy, 
 but I do feel very tired to-night." 
 
 And just then came the shock, and Esther only knew that 
 ehe was lying on the ground under the hedge, and that she 
 must get up again ; and then that getting up was out of the 
 question. And the next thing she remembered was lying on 
 the sofa in the dining-room, and feeling that water was being 
 
OREY AND GOLD. 149 
 
 dashed in her face, and that several people were around her ; 
 also that when she tried to move an almost unbearable pain 
 seemed to shoot through her whole frame, and she could only 
 be still with her eyes shut, and try to make no moan. And 
 then the doctor came, and in handling the foot he hurt her 
 very much, and but that she struggled against her weakness 
 she would have fainted again when the bandaging was over. 
 Oh ! if she could only be got home ! it would be so much 
 easier to bear it all patiently, she thought. If she were but in 
 her own room, with the rose-sprays tapping at the oriel win- 
 dow, and Mrs. King coming in and out, and Mercy, the Slada 
 Farm maid, to wait upon her ! Miss Cecil was very kind, 
 but she did not seem like a person who would have much 
 sympathy with illness of any sort. And a sprained ankle 
 was not much, though it gave so much pain, and made her 
 for the time so very helpless. And Miss Amelia Matilda 
 Smith had looked her disdain as she lay on the sofa the 
 night before, struggling for fortitude ; and she had brought 
 her her breakfast with an air, and gone out of the room with 
 a sniff, and banged the door behind her. The prospect of 
 being waited on by such an Abigail was far from agreeable, 
 and Esther only hoped her own temper would not fail her in 
 the trial. 
 
 "When Cecil came back she desired that Esther should be 
 got up and brought into her dressing-room, where was 
 a very comfortable sofa, eminently fitted for invalids, and 
 Smith was summoned to assist at her toilet. But Esther 
 pleaded " Might not Nancy come ? She only wanted a 
 helping- hand now and then, and she would rather not give 
 more trouble than was needful." 
 
 " But Nancy is clumsy-handed," replied Cecil ; " she will 
 jar your nerves terribly. It is not her business to dress 
 people ; her vocation is undoubtedly in the scullery-line ; 
 she is grand at pots, and pans, and kitchen fire-irons, and 
 when I see her polishing the dish-covers I respect her, for 
 she does it with a will, and in a certain sense scientifically. 
 But I must confess and I am no fine lady I should not 
 like Nancy's hands about me." 
 
 Esther did not reply, but her colour rose, and Cecil, feeling 
 
150 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 her pulse, was rather dismayed at its rapidity. " "What 
 is the matter, child 1 " she asked, abruptly. " You are worry- 
 ing yourself about something or somebody. You will put 
 yourself into a downright fever if you do not take care. 
 What is it ? " 
 
 " May I say just what I am thinking ? " said Esther, her 
 eyes shining more and more, and the colour still deepening 
 upon her cheek. 
 
 " Of course you may. Out with it ! n 
 
 " If Nancy is ever so clumsy she will jar my nerves less 
 than Miss Smith, who will not like the trouble of waiting 
 upon me." 
 
 " When I give orders to my servants, I expect them to be 
 obeyed, without reference to trouble," said Cecil, rather 
 haughtily. " No, child, I am not vexed with you, but 
 Smith tries my patience sorely; she is always giving her- 
 self airs, and conducting herself unpleasantly. I have a 
 great mind to send her adrift, only she was so good to mo 
 three years ago." 
 
 " Oh, pray don't ! " cried Esther, much concerned. " I 
 should never forgive myself if I did her any harm. She 
 knows no better, you see, and if you, her mistress, can put 
 up with her, I ought not to mind in the least, however disa- 
 greeable she may be. Her manner cannot really hurt me, 
 you know." 
 
 " Certainly not, and you should accustom yourself not to 
 care for that sort of conduct. Don't be sensitive, Esther. 
 Learn to take hard words, and sharp words, and sour looks, 
 even when you do not deserve them. But just now you are, 
 perhaps, not equal to Miss Smith, as I believe she calls her- 
 self downstairs and in the village; indeed, I am credibly 
 informed that she, instead of affixing her proper autograph 
 to her letters, signs herself * Yours very truly, Miss Smith.' 
 So you shall have Nancy for your lady-in-waiting; only 
 prepare yourself for some rough handling and for a little 
 stupidity. I will send her to you, for Dr. Dalton said you 
 would be better on the sofa than in bed. After all she will 
 be more efficient than Smith, for she is stronger, and you 
 will need her help in crossing to my room." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 151 
 
 Nancy camo, and was not nearly so clumsy as might have 
 been anticipated ; but when Esther, leaning on her shoulder 
 and wrinkling her brows with pain, tried to hop towards the 
 door, 2sancy caught her up in her arms, saying, " Laws, miss ! 
 I'm not going to let you go hop- scotching o* that way. 
 You're no more than a child in my arms ; I've carried many 
 a heavier weight afore now. Don't be frightened, I won't 
 let you fall ; I am as strong as Surldouise ! " 
 
 Whom Esther imagined to be some Chilcombe giant with 
 whom she was as yet unacquainted, the fact being that 
 Nancy, having once heard something of the exploits of the 
 hero of the Augean stables, remembered the story of his 
 fabulous strength, but, as was her custom upon every favour- 
 able opportunity, transposed his name. She always called 
 Judas Iscariot Judas Ixariot ; she , sometimes discoursed 
 about Ahab and Jebezel ; she came down from Cecil's Bible- 
 class on Sunday evening, and remarked that the lesson had 
 been about the family at Betsy-ny, and that next week they 
 would have the " Fallible of the Mower " ; so that it was 
 not at all remarkable that, when launched upon the unfa- 
 miliar sea of classic fable, she should pronounce Hercules in 
 a fashion peculiar to herself. 
 
 Esther had no idea what she meant, for she knew very 
 little about the son of Alcmena ; but she felt confidence in the 
 brawny arms, and in the good-will that bore her so lightly 
 to Miss Uffadyne's dressing-room, and laid her down upon the 
 sofa as deftly as if she had been a three-years child, instead 
 of a tall, slim young woman past her seventeenth birthday. 
 And presently Cecil came to her with a cup of chocolate and 
 some biscuits, and insisted upon their being taken ; and then 
 she arranged her patient as comfortable as circumstances 
 permitted, and, after providing her with a book of travels, 
 left her to the enjoyment of unaccustomed leisure. But the 
 hours wore away slowly, the time hung heavily on her hands ; 
 she soon tired of her book, her foot pained her still, her 
 head ached ; she was weary, and yet she could not sleep. 
 She heard the clock strike, and it seemed as if the day could 
 never have an end. She felt almost like a child, inclined to 
 cry for home, and then she thought that, like a fretful child, 
 
152 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 she deserved to be whipped for quarrelling with the mercies 
 of her lot. Cecil had been so kind ; the doctor had assured 
 her that if she obeyed orders her ankle would soon be well ; 
 she was waited upon and ministered to even her fancies, 
 as in the matter of Nancy, were humoured ; she lay upon a 
 luxurious couch in a pretty room, a brisk little fire was burn- 
 ing, because she had complained of feeling chilly, and Cecil 
 herself, before leaving her, had covered her with an eider- 
 down quilt. She ought to be very thankful, she told herself 
 again and again ; if the accident had happened during her 
 old Queen Square experiences, how different her surroundings 
 would have been ! how little kindness she would have re- 
 ceived ! how few allowances would have been made for her ! 
 how much she might have suffered for want of the simplest 
 attention ! And she would be thankful, and try to feel 
 <quite happy, since the same Father who had sent her the 
 ^pleasant holiday time, had sent her also this brief season of 
 ^pain and trial. 
 
 But scold and school herself as she would Esther could 
 not succeed in feeling cheerful, and as the morning passed 
 into noon she began to fear that she was more seriously in- 
 disposed than any one had imagined. Her head ached 
 fiercely; it was not easy in any position, and she was 
 alternately hot and shivering. For one five minutes she drew 
 the quilt round her, and wished she were nearer to the fire ; 
 the next she tossed oft' the coverlet, gasping and longing for 
 an open window. And yesterday she had been so well 
 and blithe, so ready, as she imagined, for anything that 
 might betid , save only going back to the old grey life in 
 London. 
 
 It seemed <d age before Cecil came back, and she was con- 
 cerned to And Esther no better. 
 
 " I know you ara worrying yourself," she said, somewhat 
 sharply, " and I am surprised at you ; I really thought you 
 were stronger-minded. The accident has happened, and we 
 must make the best of it. What is it you want ] " 
 
 Esther could have answered " I want to go home. I am 
 desolate here ; " but she only burst into tears. 
 
 " Oh, dear, dear ! " said Cecil, in audible soliloquy, " what 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 153 
 
 shall I do with her ? I am afraid to give her wine or sal 
 volatile, she is so feverish , and I hate the very name of sal 
 volatile. What a tiresome child it is ; and she would do so 
 well if only she would behave herself sensibly. Leave off 
 crying, Esther, directly." 
 
 But to obey was not in Esther's power, true it is she 
 choked down her sobs determinate^ for several minutes, 
 and kept back her tears. It was not for long ; the struggle 
 was past her strength, weakened as she was by pain and loss 
 of rest ; and just as Cecil was going to praise her for the 
 effort she was making she burst out almost with a shriek, 
 and fell into a fit of such hearty convulsive weeping that 
 Cecil stood aghast, and for once in her life felt herself 
 unequal to an emergency. 
 
 " Esther, I am ashamed of you," said Miss Uffadyne at 
 length. " Do you know that you are acting very sinfully ] 
 You are wilfully giving way to emotions that injure the 
 health. I am ready to do everything for you as if you were 
 my sister, but if you persist in this ridiculous, this very 
 naughty behaviour, I have nothing to say to you. I must 
 leave you till you come to your senses." 
 
 And she was turning away when Oswald, who had been 
 standing several minutes at the open door, came to her side, 
 saying 
 
 " What is all this, Cecil ? Is Miss Kendall worse ? " 
 
 " Miss Kendall is a simpleton ; she is making herself 
 worse as fast as she can. She will be in a high fever 
 directly. Why, she is laughing now. Esther, have you 
 gone crazy 1 " 
 
 " Do you not see that Miss Kendall is hysterical ? " said 
 Oswald, gravely. "You are adding fuel to fire, Cecil." 
 
 " Hysterical, indeed ! You know my opinion of hysterics, 
 another name for tempers and selfishness. What has 
 she got to go into hysterics about 1 The pain is not so very 
 bad, and there are no bones broken." 
 
 " It is of no use to discuss the question now ; give me the 
 eau de Cologne, and throw open the window." And gravely 
 as if he had been an M.R.C.S. he dipped a handkerchief 
 in cold water and laid it upon Esther's burning brow, whilo 
 
154 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 he poured eau de Cologne upon her palms and rubbed her 
 hands gently. 
 
 " Do try to control yourself, because it is really bad fol 
 you," said Oswald, kindly. "You make me feel miserable, 
 for it is all my fault." 
 
 ' Oh, no, no ! " sobbed Esther. 
 
 " Yes. If I had been more careful we should not have been 
 upset I was holding the reins very carelessly when the 
 ponies shied. You must forgive me, Miss Kendall, and 
 please try and get well as fast as ever you can. I shall feel like 
 i culprit till I see you running downstairs again as nimbly 
 as I saw you run last night at Guise Court, when we were 
 making haste to start. There, that is better. Do you like 
 music 1 " 
 
 " Very much indeed." 
 
 " Then I will play for your delectation ; i should not 
 wonder if I played you to sleep." 
 
 There was a small pianoforte in the room, and suiting the 
 action to the word Oswald sat down and began to extem- 
 porise a sort of song without words, through which ran a 
 strain that might have been an actual lullaby. Cecil looked 
 on, scarcely knowing whether to reprove or encourage him. 
 But certainly he had been successful where she had entirely 
 failed, and well there was no reason why Oswald should 
 not be kind to one in whose welfare Florence was very 
 deeply interested. Florence herself would approve, she wag 
 certain, so why should she interfere ? So she took up hei 
 work and sat down behind Esther's sofa, while Oswald's 
 fingers wandered softly over the piano keys in sonata and 
 reverie and symphony till Cecil herself began to feel drowsy 
 a state against which she always protested between the 
 hours of six a.m. and eleven p.m. As for Esther, she 
 listened awhile to the sweet, soothing strains with pleasure ; 
 then she began to think about yesterday's visit to Guise 
 Court, about the conversation she had had with Cecil, about 
 the sea, about Queen Square, and Biddy O'Flanigan, till her 
 thoughts became -confused and jumbled up into a strange 
 dream, in which she was watching the sunset from the 
 terrace in front of the Court, and talking earnestly to Biddy, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 155 
 
 who had forgotten to cook Mr. Oswald's dinner, while Mrs. 
 Hellicar was philosophising after Cecil's fashion, and Cecil 
 herself, in a dirty gown, was nursing the Queen Square baby, 
 and cuffing Tommy very vigorously. Then she awoke tc 
 find herself at the Chenies, Cecil busy with her accounts, and 
 the music still going on ; and again she slept, and this time 
 profoundly and dreamlessly ; and when once more she opened 
 her eyes, and began to collect her faculties, it was evening j 
 the piano was closed, the account books were put away, and 
 she was alone in the room. 
 
 She was not long alone, however ; she was no sooner wide 
 awake than Cecil glided in from her bedroom, and praised 
 her for looking so much better, and asked her if she were 
 not ready for her dinner. 
 
 " Does your head ache now 1 " she inquired, gently. 
 
 Oswald had been reading her a lecture while her patient 
 slept. 
 
 " Scarcely at all," replied Esther. " It has a light sort of 
 feeling ; but the pain is gone. A good sleep always cures 
 my headaches." 
 
 " You want something to eat, that is why your head feels 
 light. I will ring for your tray." 
 
 Miss Smith, with a subdued air, and mild resignation in 
 her countenance, appeared to answer the summons, and Cecil 
 gave the order 
 
 " Miss Kendall's dinner directly." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," sighed forth Amelia Matilda, with the 
 look of a martyr. 
 
 It was a terrible humiliation to her to have to carry that 
 small tray upstairs ; but then she was not exactly wishing 
 for a dismissal, and she knew full well that her mistress was 
 not a young lady who would be trifled with ; so, like a wise 
 woman, she swallowed the indignity with the best grace 
 she could, and submitted herself to the inevitable. 
 
 A very nice little dinner soon arrived, looking specially 
 jnviting on the snowy damask napkin ; and Esther was not 
 .toth to do justice to it. And she felt very much the better 
 for her repast, and her ankle was so easy that she thought 
 it must be nearly well, and, being alone, she rose to walk to 
 
156 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the window in order to test its powers. They were quickly 
 enough tested. At the first step the whole limb gave way, 
 and the sharp thrill of pain brought the perspiration out. 
 She could .only fall back upon the sofa, gather up the 
 injured foot, and resolve not to stir again without permission. 
 For an hour the aching was almost intolerable, and she paid 
 dearly for her venture; but towards bed-time the pain 
 abated, and she had a good night. And so passed the first 
 day at the Chenies. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 AFTER that day Esther did not suffer much, if only she 
 would content herself to lie on her sofa, and not attempt to 
 walk. Dr. Dal ton told her that no real harm was done ; in 
 a little while the ankle would be as strong as ever, and no 
 evil consequences would result from the accident ; only she 
 must implicitly obey orders, and be patient. But it was 
 hard work to Esther to be patient ; she had been used to so 
 active a life that enforced idleness was pain and misery to 
 her, and she envied jS"ancy, who stumped upstairs and down- 
 stairs, and talked about walking to Shepperton and back, 
 the nearest town, without resting and without being tired. 
 
 Thus a whole week wore away, and Esther's scholars were 
 still keeping holiday. It was a dull week, Esther thought 
 the dullest on the whole she ever remembered ; certainty 
 the dullest she had passed since coming to Chilcombe. Sha 
 had plenty of books, and Mary Murrell and Anne Culverwell, 
 her favourite pupils, were allowed to visit her. Mrs. King 
 also came to see her, and told her how much she an(f 
 " father " missed her ; and she brought news of the garden, 
 and of a brood of chickens hatched ; and the old duck was 
 sitting on twelve eggs ; and the Alderney had a calf ; and 
 Esther's special pet, the tortoise-shell cat, had kittens, two 
 of them like herself, and Mrs. King did not care to drown 
 any of the brood till Esther had seen them all and made her 
 choice, for the one saved was to be her own especial property, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 157 
 
 At the end of that week Cecil began to be uneasy about 
 Esther; she was still disabled, and Dr. Dalton said she 
 must keep to the sofa for at least ten more days, or he would 
 not answer for a perfect and permanent cure ; but the un- 
 usual confinement and want of exercise were beginning to 
 tell upon the general health, and a look of delicacy began to 
 steal over Esther's face, her hands grew thin and white, and 
 the restlessness which at first rather provoked Cecil had 
 given way to languor. 
 
 JS~ow Cecil, with all her maxims, and her store of con- 
 centrated wisdom, had one womanly weakness a weakness, 
 too, which saved her from being a really unamiable person. 
 She was impulsive in her likes and dislikes, and, if it came 
 into her head or into her heart to care for any person, she 
 cared very much indeed, and flung herself into an ardour of 
 intimacy without greatly concerning herself about its eligi- 
 bility. I must do her the justice to say, however, that she 
 was never attracted by unworthy objects, that those to whom, 
 as Oswald said, " she took," were generally well worth taking 
 to, and, to crown all, she was in no wise subject to the 
 infirmity popularly called " falling in love." Cecil Uffadyne 
 had an intense contempt for girls who troubled themselves 
 about the other sex ; she loved her brother very truly, but 
 men in general she only tolerated, or respected according to 
 the work they did in the world. She had no vocation for 
 matrimony she always said, and she intended to be a very 
 comfortable, happy, useful old maid; and if she possibly 
 missed some kinds of felicity, she would secure freedom 
 from many certain anxieties and sorrows, and from the 
 incessant worry of married life ; " for such a life," she 
 argued, " must be a worry. There is the will of another to 
 defer to ; there are his whims to be studied, his desires, 
 however unreasonable, to be complied with : liberty is lost, 
 and peace is unattainable. No, no ! let those who will 
 strive after and accept matronly dignities and prerogatives, 
 the calm, quiet, self-contained life of a spinster for me. I 
 have lived to be three-and-twenty, and never yet has my 
 heart beaten quickly because I heard a certain footstep, or 
 my pulses bounded because I listened to a voice that was to 
 
158 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 jne as sweetest music. I never yet saw the man whom I 
 could condescend to love only moderately, and if I did 
 marry it would be as well to love immoderately ; nothing else 
 could make married life tolerable, I should say. But to 
 submit myself to any man, to merge my whole being into 
 another's being, to lose my identity, as it were for a married 
 woman is only a part of her husband, and can have no 
 separate existence while he lives to give up my freedom, it 
 is not to be thought of! May I walk to the end of my 
 days ' in maiden meditation fancy free ! ' " 
 
 But meanwhile Cecil had several times been passionately 
 in love with girls and women. She had conceived a profound 
 attachment for the English governess in the French pension 
 where she had been chiefly educated ; and she had wanted to 
 bring Miss Parker to Chilcombe to live with her always, and 
 share all that she possessed, and be to her a sister and bosom 
 friend for evermore. But Miss Parker, finding that she had 
 the option, came not unnaturally to elect as her bosom 
 friend another, who also desired to assume the obligations of 
 a husband. She was tired, poor thing, of fourteen years' 
 hard teaching and a life of dependency, and she had no objec- 
 tion to a kind-hearted, middle-aged widower without children, 
 whom every one respected, and who told her that he loved 
 her and would make her as happy as the day was long, if 
 only she would become his wife. Bessie Parker wisely con- 
 sented; but Cecil Uffadyne was terribly aggrieved, and 
 accused her friend of having broken faith with her. 
 
 Cecil had had two other attachments, both of which came 
 to a premature conclusion. Helen Dalton, the doctor's young 
 sister, had been Cecil's ideal, and the very idol of her heart ; 
 but then she turned out to be somebody else's ideal, and the 
 idol of a prosperous, excellent young physician, and poor 
 Helen degraded herself by committing lawful matrimony with 
 the first man who asked her hand. And Marian Orme, who 
 seemed so high-minded that Cecil was content to kneel 
 humbly at her footstool, proved herself no better and no 
 wiser. A handsome young baronet, with an unblemished 
 reputation and large property, bore her away one morning in 
 his travelling chariot as " my lady," and Cecil began to Jt 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 159 
 
 the men, who stole from her the first affections of her friends 
 &d left her desolate and forsaken. For of course she was 
 not going to obey the injunctions of these weak-minded, 
 lickle young women, who with one voice replied to her 
 reproaches, "Dear Cecil, go thou and do likewise." 
 
 For two whole years Cecil had had no well-beloved friend, 
 and she had almost resolved never again to hamper herself 
 with a very close intimacy. From the first she had taken an 
 interest in Esther; she had found her docile, industrious, 
 insatiate in the pursuit of knowledge, possessing also much 
 independence of thought, and that vigour of mind in which 
 Cecil herself so much delighted, and which she prided herself 
 on sedulously cultivating. She had been charmed with 
 the way in which Esther took up her work, teaching so 
 thoroughly, evincing so much discretion, and striving with all 
 her powers to render herself more worthy of the confidence 
 reposed in her. And she had helped the young schoolmistress 
 very materially ; she had so spoken of her in the village as to 
 impress the minds of the parents of the children with Miss 
 Kendall's superiority and claims to respect. She had assisted 
 her also in her studies, and given her French lessons, which 
 were pleasant alike to teacher and to pupil ; and she had 
 fallen into the habit of conversing with Esther very much, as 
 if she were her equal, though Esther never forgot her position, 
 and never presumed on Miss Uffadyne's familiarity. 
 
 Still, till Esther actually came and lived a week, not only 
 in the house, but in her own dressing-room, it never occurred 
 to Cecil to put her in the place for two years vacant in her 
 affections. She was vexed at first with Esther, because at tlw 
 outset she seemed to give way, and then because she did not 
 seem quite happy in the comfortable quarters provided for Her. 
 Do what she would Cecil felt sure she pined for her regular 
 classes and for the Slade Farm. But as the week drew to 
 its close, and Esther began to look frail and worn, Cecil felt 
 a sudden gushing up of love towards her. She wanted to 
 have her all to herself; she felt jealous of Mrs. King, 
 and she longed to fold the girl in her arms, and tell her how 
 much she cared for her, and how happy they might make 
 each other. But a certain reserve or shvness in Esthers 
 
160 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 manner checked the effusion to which Cecil was prompted 
 and she contented herself with showering upon her guest all 
 kinds of gentle and loving attentions. Cecil never did any- 
 tning by halves, and Esther was fairly astonished at the con- 
 sideration with which she was treated, and the petting she 
 received. She began to imagine that she must be really very 
 ill, or that so much fuss would not be made about her. 
 
 One morning, after Dr. Dalton had gone, Cecil came to 
 Esther, her face quite radiant with pleasure. " Esther," she 
 cried, at once, " you are to come down into the drawing-room 
 Rt once ; the doctor says so." 
 
 Esther uttered an exclamation of surprise, for she knew 
 perfectly well that she could not stand without pain, and not 
 a quarter of an hour before the doctor had cautioned hei 
 against putting her foot to the ground. 
 
 " Not to walk down, of course," continued Cecil ; " you 
 must be carried. Yes, indeed, you must consent, Esther ; the 
 doctor says you will be better if you change the air and 
 change the scene a little. There will be more to amuse you 
 downstairs, and in a day or two, perhaps, you may take a drive 
 in the pony-chaise ; you will not be afraid ? " 
 
 " Not if you will drive." 
 
 " Poor Oswald ! what would he say if he heard you, Esther 1 
 He considers himself a most accomplished Jehu ; and I must 
 say I have never known him come to grief before. It was 
 scarcely his fault, the light was very uncertain, and who 
 could foresee that animal jumping up and startling the 
 ponies, just turning in at the gate, too 1 It was fortunate 
 it wa? not in one of those dark lanes, where there is not 
 a bouse of any kind for a mile together. But how was it 
 vcur foot was hurt, Esther ? I bruised my arm, and grazed 
 my right elbow, and Oswald's hands and face were 
 scratched." 
 
 " I think there was a large stone in the ditch where I fell ; 
 but I know my foot was doubled under me. I had no idea 
 I was hurt till I tried to rise." 
 
 '" Ah, well ! it was an unfortunate business, for you "f 
 mean, though it was very fortunate for n\e. keumng you hero 
 bo long." 
 
GRBY AND GOLD. 161 
 
 " I have been so afraid that I was a great trouble to you. 
 and a great nuisance, occupying your dressing-room so long." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort. I shall miss you sadly when you 
 go away ; you are a girl after my own heart, Esther, and I owe 
 Flossy a thousand thanks for sending you here." 
 
 " I am so glad ; but I am sure I vexed you very much the 
 morning after the accident occurred. I know I must have 
 seemed very weak and foolish, but I had been in so much 
 pain all night, and I was so worn out that I had no command 
 over myself. I felt very much ashamed all the time, but 
 I could no more help crying and sobbing than I could help 
 breathing." 
 
 " Of course you could not ! Esther, I am afraid you find 
 me a very stern, unlovable person. I am afraid people 
 generally take me to be hard-hearted." 
 
 " They say you are strong-minded." 
 
 " Ah, I know what that means applied to a woman ; 
 it means that you have any amount of rectitude, and forti- 
 tude, and energy ; also that you are ungentle, even unkind, 
 uncharitable in your judgments, unloving and unlovable, 
 and altogether unfeminine ! " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Cecil, no one thinks that of you." 
 
 " If they do they wrong me, though that does not matter 
 much. I care very little about the gratuitous opinions of 
 people who are no more to me than just fellow-creatures. 
 But, Esther, I hope you do not think I cannot feel affection, 
 and manifest it too, if only I find the right person to love." 
 
 " Indeed, I think nothing of the sort. I am sure you love 
 your brother and Miss Guise ; and you have been very, very 
 kind to me ever since I came here. I have been thinking, 
 since I lay here, how much I owe to you. How much you 
 have taught me ! What an amount of time you have spent 
 upon me ! If only God will give me health and strength, I 
 need never be dependent again. I can always get my own 
 living respectably." 
 
 " Always. And I think it was the indomitable perseverance 
 and spirit of independence you have displayed ever since 
 I knew you that first won my esteem, though it is only 
 of late that I have regarded you with affection." 
 
162 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Have I won your esteem and affection ? " responded 
 Esther, gratefully. And looking into the animated brown 
 eyes that were looking into hers so kindly, she felt that it was 
 indeed the truth ; Cecil Uffadyne was not the woman to make 
 insincere professions of any kind. Strange as it all seemed, 
 Esther felt that she really was cared for by this new friend 
 whom she had respected and admired and also feared; 
 she could not comprehend it, but she felt pleased and happy. 
 It is always pleasant to be appreciated, nearly always charm- 
 ing to be loved. Somehow it did not seem half so unnatural 
 to Esther to be loved by the beautiful, girlish Florence, as by 
 the brilliant, sensible, sagacious Cecil ; but she could only 
 smile gratefully, and wonder secretly how it came about. 
 Presently she said, " When will Miss Guise be here ? " 
 
 " In less than a week ; they are very busy at the Court 
 getting things in readiness. Do you want to see Florence ? " 
 
 " Oh, Miss Cecil,- yes ! My first friend the friend without 
 whom I should still have been a miserable, ignorant girl, 
 without whom I should never have had you for my friend." 
 
 " I like you for your constancy, Esther. I believe that you 
 will never forget Florence Guise, that she will have the first 
 place in your affections till " 
 
 " Till when 1 I do not think she will ever be dethroned." 
 
 " Do you not ? Then you never mean to marry ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that. Ah ! that would be a thing of 
 itself apart, of course. That would be the love I suppose, but 
 Florence would still be my dearest friend, to whom I owed 
 a life-long gratitude." 
 
 "Esther, do you ever think about love, about love as 
 connected with marriage ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do sometimes, not often. But when I do think 
 about it I think very deeply, I believe." 
 
 " And what do you think ? May I have some of youi 
 thoughts]" 
 
 " I think, Miss Uffadyne, that love, if it be of the right 
 sort, must be the most beautiful thing in the world. There 
 car be nothing like it." 
 
 " What do you mean by the right sort 1 " 
 
 "The sort that would give up everything for the snl:* 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 163 
 
 of the one it loved ; that would sacrifice self, and yet think 
 it no sacrifice ; that would resign all earth can give for the 
 one beloved one, and, if need were, go on loving faithfully 
 and silently and apart as long as life should last. It should 
 be a love perfectly constant, yet never vexing with its 
 constancy ; such a love that, if it were God's will that the 
 two who loved each other should never marry, they would 
 still love each other wholly and without change, knowing 
 that in the world to come they would still be united, though 
 the union would be purer and higher than any earthly union 
 could be. I read these lines the other day, and I copied 
 them, because they expressed so completely what I was 
 thinking : 
 
 " ' And I methinks could let all dear rights go, 
 Fond duties melt away like April snow, 
 And sweet, sweet hopes, that took a life to weave, 
 Vanish like gossamers of autumn eve." 
 Nay, sometimes seems it I could even bear 
 To lay down humbly this love-crown I wear ; 
 Steal from my palace helpless, hopeless, poor, 
 And see another queen it at the door, 
 If only that the king had done no wrong, 
 If this my palace, where I dwelt so long, 
 Were not defiled by falsehood entering in. 
 There is no loss but change, no death but sin, 
 ]STo parting save the slow, corrupting pain 
 Of murdered faith that cannot live again. ' 
 
 And it seemed to me that love, to be indeed true and of the 
 real, right kind, must be capable even of this. Do you not 
 think so 1 " 
 
 " I scarcely know, Esther ; I never loved. I never have 
 had even a passing fancy for any one. I have loved only 
 women. And yet I think I could bear anything or do 
 anything for the woman friend whom I truly loved and who 
 also loved me. But women even when they are faithful 
 to their lovers are faithless to each other." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Surely not always. You, for instance, 
 would be true, I feel assured ; so would Miss Guise." 
 
 " I should be true, Esther, if I know myself; but I should 
 not like to say for Florence. She is expecting to become 
 
164 GREY AND GOL15. 
 
 a married woman, and her husband will be first. As her 
 lover, I suppose he is first now." 
 
 " Of course he is," replied Esther, warmly ; " he ought to be. 
 No woman should have any friend even of her own sex 
 who can compare with her husband on the ground of being 
 loved." 
 
 " You would be like the rest then, Esther? If you had a 
 friend who loved you ever so dearly, and whose affection you 
 returned, you would give her up if that other love came in 
 your way ? " 
 
 " Indeed I would not ; I should not love her less, but 
 another person more. And it would be so different. If for 
 this cause a man or woman shall leave father and mother, and 
 cleave to one whom the Bible says shall be another self, 
 surely one in the same sense leaves all other loves and friend- 
 ships." 
 
 " Esther, tell me truly I have no right perhaps to question 
 you, but I ask you as a favour to tell me from the bottom of 
 your heart whether there is any one towards whom you have 
 this love you are talking about. Are you saying what you 
 have felt?" 
 
 " Oh, no ; how could it be ? I am only just growing out 
 of childhood. I only think what love ought to be as I 
 believe, and I fancy that so I should myself love if ever 
 I found any one whom I could wish to spend all my life with. 
 For the present at least I do not want to find that person ; I 
 would rather be simple Esther Kendall, free to give my whole 
 heart to the work that lies before me aHd about me. There 
 is plenty to do in the world without falling in love." 
 
 " Right, Esther, right ! To live without love would, I 
 grant, be indeed a bitter lot ; but one may be quite as happy 
 without that particular kind of love as with it, I an ^ell 
 assured. The sense of duties performed, of kindnesses ex- 
 changed, of benefits conferred, is quite enough to make any 
 reasonable person happy, even if he or she miss that exclusive 
 sentimental affection which is called par excellence ' love.' 
 But when I have said this to others I have been told, ' She 
 jests at wounds who never had a scar.' " 
 
 " Do you know, I was thinking so. But for myself " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 166 
 
 " Yes, go on ; what about yourself] " 
 
 " I would rather at present have nothing to do with love, 
 for I should be so afraid that I, being only very young, might 
 make a mistake that is, mistake a mere dream for the reality, 
 a mere fancy for the thing itself. And it must be terrible to 
 go on dreaming awhile, and then awake and know it was but 
 a dream." 
 
 " Terrible indeed, Esther ! Take my advice : be content 
 with the love of your own sex, and leave all other loves 
 alone." 
 
 " Eor the present I certainly will, Miss Uffadyne." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 TRAGEDY OR COMEDY. 
 
 AND so Esther was carried downstairs and comfortably 
 established on the sofa in the drawing-room. The first 
 day the change tired her, but she slept better that night 
 than she had slept since leaving her own room at the Slade, 
 and the next morning she rose refreshed and inspirited, 
 feeling quite herself again, save that the troublesome ankle 
 would not permit her to be moving about at will. Even 
 that, however, felt stronger, and Dr. Dalton declared it to be 
 going on so satisfactorily that in another week it might be 
 gently exercised : in the meantime she must still keep to the 
 sofa and remain obedient to rule. 
 
 Since the day when Oswald had played her to sleep she 
 had seen little of him ; he had been very much at Guise 
 Court, going early and returning late, full of business, Cecil 
 said, and seeing many people on behalf of his uncle, who 
 was only too glad to find his heir really interesting himself 
 about the estate, which would one day be his own a day 
 not very distant, Mr. Guise believed, for he felt that his 
 health was declining apace, and symptoms were disclosing 
 themselves which convinced him that the time of his depar- 
 ture was near at hand. He was anxious to be at Guise once 
 more, but he was very thankful that at last Oswald took 
 
166 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 from him much of the burden of responsibility, now grown 
 too heavy for his weak and weary frame. 
 
 On the third day of Esther's installation in the drawing 
 room Oswald left for the Court very early in the morning, 
 without leaving word at what time in the evening he might 
 be expected home, and Cecil gave orders for a late dinner, 
 believing that he would be detained till beyond his usual 
 time. She and Esther lunched quietly in the middle of 
 the day, and they were nearly ready for five-o'clock tea, 
 when Oswald rode in at the gate and turned off to the 
 stables. 
 
 " I really believe that is Oswald," cried Cecil, jumping up 
 in her surprise. She was so seated that she could not see 
 who entered the grounds, but she knew the tramp of her 
 brother's great black horse Phosphorus, and felt sure he had 
 arrived. 
 
 "Yes, it is he," said Esther. 
 
 " He is home early this evening : I wish I had not put off 
 the dinner-hour." 
 
 In two minutes Oswald entered by the window,. Hector 
 and Scamp following him as far as they dared. Hector, 
 knowing that he approached forbidden ground, turned back 
 with dignity as soon as his master reached the verandah ; 
 but little Scamp ran up the three steps and put her nose 
 into the room, as if to ascertain whether she might venture, 
 and, seeing Cecil busy at her work, at once decided to retire. 
 It was one of Cecil's specialities to be very kind to animals, 
 but "to keep them in their proper places." Esther often 
 wondered how she resisted the well-bred advances of that 
 grand old fellow Hector, or the winning little ways of pretty 
 tricksy Scamp. If Cecil had any pets they were her ponies, 
 and they, of course, never dreamed of trespassing beyond 
 due bounds, though sometimes they played truant when 
 turned into the meadow, in order to come at sweeter, fresher 
 pasture ; for horses are knowing creatures in this particular, 
 and are as well aware when their carte-de-jour pleases them 
 as any diner on the Boulevard Italien ! 
 
 " Why, Oswald, what brings you back so early 1 " was 
 Cecil's accost. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 167 
 
 " My industry for one thing, and my pleasure for another." 
 
 " I am so glad to think you are industrious ! " 
 
 " I have been industrious I have got through a world of 
 work this morning. That is how I came away so soon. I 
 really believe everything is arranged, and my uncle will have 
 no trouble when he arrives. So I made it my pleasure to 
 hasten home and spend the evening with you and Miss 
 Kendall." 
 
 Now, Miss Kendall, though she liked Oswald very well, 
 and was trying to like him better for Florence's sake, had 
 come so to enjoy her quiet afternoons with Cecil that I am 
 afraid she scarcely appreciated the favour conferred upon her. 
 Cecil was going to read to her after tea, while she got on 
 with the grounding of a piece of work that Miss Uffadyne, 
 who generally despised canvas and German wools, had been 
 deluded into commencing for a charitable fancy-fair. Esther, 
 to whom the work was a novelty, liked it, and had set her- 
 self a task for the evening, while Cecil was going to read to 
 her from Spenser's " Faerie Queene." Now she might work 
 as nimbly as she chose, but the story of " Britomart " would 
 not be forthcoming. 
 
 ' 1 1 am sorry I ordered a late dinner," began Cecil, making 
 her excuses ; " but I quite thought, from what Thomas said, 
 you would not be back till almost eight o'clock ! " 
 
 " Never mind ; give me some of your tea, and we will 
 adjourn the dinner till supper-time. In fact, I dined with 
 Eeeves at Guiseley. I went in to see him about the twenty- 
 acre lot that Marsden wants to have, and he was just sitting 
 down to stewed steak, and most respectfully requested me to 
 join him and make it my luncheon ; and I lunched so 
 heartily that I can afford to dispense with dinner yet awhile. 
 Pour me out a cup of tea, Cecil. No, not any bread-and- 
 butter, thank you. Shall I read to you, ladies, this even- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Ah, if you will How charming. I had promised to 
 read to Esther the legend of ' Britomartis,' but I can finish 
 that sketch I made the other day while you read to us 
 both." 
 
 " I will read to you both with pleasure, but ot 
 
168 GBET AND GOLD. 
 
 ' Britomart/ if you please. I always get tired of Spenser : 
 it is bad taste, I suppose." 
 
 "Very bad taste." 
 
 " Now, Cis, did you ever know any mortal creature read 
 straight through, of his or her own free will, the six mortal 
 books of the * Faerie Queene ' ? " 
 
 " I have read them, every word, Oswald ; and I intend, 
 that is I wish, Esther to do the same." 
 
 " Poor Miss Kendall ! And she will do it religiously, no 
 doubt, omt of deference to your superior judgment." 
 
 " I shall do it," interposed Esther modestly, " because I 
 like it. I think it is a very charming poem." 
 
 " So it is, no doubt, but long drawn, spun out, like a 
 sermon that lasts fifty minutes while it could have been well 
 delivered in five-and-twenty. Wait till you are going 
 through the last cantos, you are only at ' Britomart ' yet ; 
 and the legend of the Red Crosse Knight, and the story ol 
 Una, and the chronicles of Sir Guy on are exquisite I grant, 
 but the stanzas in my opinion gradually decline in powr 
 and in beauty from the close of the second book. When 
 you are wading through the sea of misadventures of Beige, 
 and the expoits of Calidore, I think you will grow a little 
 weary of the story." 
 
 " Well, you may read us what you choose, Oswald. Esther 
 and I can go on with Spenser to-morrow. Drink your tea 
 now, before it gets cold." 
 
 After tea Oswald walked to the bookcase and took down 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " Now, then," he said, " we will have the genuine article." 
 
 " You surely do not mean to infer that Spenser is not the 
 real thing ? " 
 
 " Of course not ; I only accuse Spenser of prolixity ; and 
 then he is an old-world poet, and just now I am not inclined 
 to turn back upon the age of chivalry. I want something 
 stirring, inspiriting ! * I, the heir of all the ages, in the 
 foremost files of time ' " 
 
 " Please not to give us Locksley Hall, an' you lore me, 
 Oswald. It is a fine thing, I know, and full of truths ; but 
 it is intensely bitter, and I am tired of it also : when I heai 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 169 
 
 it I cannot get the jingle of Bon Gaultier's rhymes out of my 
 head. Give us anything else; I think Tennyson will be 
 quite new to Esther." 
 
 " Let us have the Lotos-Eaters." 
 
 " That is inspiriting indeed ! It inculcates sloth to such 
 an extent that it is positively immoral. The Society for 
 the Suppression of Vice ought to come down upon it ; fo? 
 what vice is more injurious to individual and to social in- 
 terests than laziness ] It is the very root and source of vice, 
 the parent of all other vices." 
 
 " You are difficult to please, Cecil. Perhaps you would 
 prefer * How doth the little busy bee ' ] " 
 
 " No, I would not ; though, of course, I duly appreciate 
 good Dr. Watts. The poetry of the Lotos-Eaters is fine, but 
 then it inculcates, really inculcates, idleness ! " 
 
 " What a curious poem it must be," said Esther, looking up 
 from her work. 
 
 " I think I must let you hear it after all, Miss Kendall ; 
 that is, if you are not afraid of your morals being cor- 
 rupted." 
 
 " It will not hurt Esther ; no fear of her being won over 
 to declare that * slumber is more sweet than toil.' She would 
 as soon as I wish to live in a land where it is always after- 
 noon. But read it, Oswald." 
 
 Oswald read beautifully ; his reading was like his music, 
 deep-toned and sweet, with an evident predisposition to lapse 
 into the minor key. He read the Lotos-Eaters till Cecil 
 paused in her drawing and Esther let her work fall from her 
 fingers. 
 
 " There, it is taking effect already ! " he said, gaily, as he 
 closed the book. 
 
 " ' There is no joy but calm ! 
 Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things f "' 
 
 " I am glad I have heard it," said Esther, resuming her 
 needle ; " every line is beautiful, and I could fancy that one 
 might read it again and again, and find it ever beautiful, just 
 like some strains of music of which we never tire. But it is 
 not the sort of poetry to do one much good ! " 
 
170 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "Decidedly not," put in Cecil; "I knew you would say so, 
 Esther. Oswald used to be very fond of it, he was always 
 quoting it ; he was the idlest fellow in existence when he 
 came home from Oxford. If it had not been for Florence, I do 
 not know what he would have come to. It is only of late that 
 he has begun to exert himself, and taken life as something 
 to be worked out with toil and pains. ' Let us alone j what 
 is it that will last ? ' was ever upon his lips." 
 
 " After all, Cis, I am not sure but what it was the truest 
 philosophy. It sounds magniloquent, certainly, all that 
 rhapsody about the battle field of life, and * Forward ! for- 
 ward let us range ! ' But, after all, what does it come to ? 
 ' There is no joy but calm ! ' It is true, Cecil." 
 
 " Give me rather a little tempest while I am in this sub- 
 lunary sphere ; something to strive for, something to contend 
 with, something bracing, like fresh frosty air on a sunshiny 
 winter's day, or like the salt breeze upon the shore when the 
 tide is coming in. Anything but a profound calm ; I should 
 die of it." 
 
 " What a very rumbustical young woman you must be, 
 Cis ! But are you not mistaking the meaning of the word ? 
 Calmness is DIVINE true calmness, which means repose and 
 pure peace ; and I well believe it can only be attained by the 
 stern performance of duty, and through the refining processes 
 of sorrow. He who would have ' calm ' must first have faith 
 a settled, quiet, conscious faith in God. Stagnation is not 
 calmness; it is no more to be compared with it than the 
 stillness of a land-locked pool whose waters are corrupt by 
 reason of their inaction, is to be named in the same breath as 
 the comparative stillness of the sea when the tempest is over 
 and no rude breath of wind sweeps over it. There is gran- 
 deur in a stormy, dashing sea, and we know its wild raging 
 exercises a wholesome influence upon the land ; but we love 
 a placid ocean with the calm moonlight sleeping on the 
 waves." 
 
 " Still there is a joy not born of calm ! " 
 
 " Undoubtedly ; but the crown of all joy must be when it 
 grows calm and still, and it is only the highest and best kinds 
 of joy that can be so settled and intensified as to find their 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 171 
 
 climax in true calm. Mere passion, mere impulse, mere love 
 of change, dies out or else stagnates as soon as the excitement 
 of the hour is over. Well, Cis, have I proved that you aro 
 wrong ? Life is a comedy of errors." 
 
 " Say rather a tragedy of errors. It is wicked to call life a 
 comedy, though now and then it may doubtless have its 
 comic aspects. Trust me, Oswald, there is more of tragedy 
 than of comedy in this world of ours, though now it is the 
 fashion, I know, to turn everything into fun. Levity is one 
 of the sins of the age." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I am sure God never meant life to be a 
 tragedy. He never created beings that they might be 
 wretched here or in the world to come. No, I will not grant 
 that life is a tragedy." 
 
 " Neither is it a comedy." 
 
 " What then shall we call it ? " 
 
 For a minute there was silence ; then Esther lifted up her 
 head, and said, modestly 
 
 " Might we not call it a poem that should be written 
 grandly, and sweetly, and in the fairest characters ? a poem 
 that should exercise a good influence over all who read it, 
 whether it be now in its unfinished state, or presently when 
 it is completed 1 Then it would not be all sadness nor yet 
 unbroken gravity ; it would have its bright sparkles and its 
 airy, flashing stanzas ; but the great body of the poem would 
 be serious, sacred even, having a purpose, and so perfect in 
 every part that, if the book were suddenly closed, and the tale 
 left half untold, it would still be grand and good, and so 
 sweet that men would mourn because the end of it was 
 never written." 
 
 " The end of such life-poems is written in heaven, Miss 
 Kendall," said Oswald, gravely. " Thank God ! there are 
 many such." 
 
 That night, when Esther was gone up to bed, Oswald 
 said 
 
 "That is a very extraordinary girl, Cecil." 
 
 *' I found that out some time ago." 
 
 11 But she is changed since she came ; her face has altered : 
 it has refined, and grown softer and sweeter. She is a rare 
 
172 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 creature, that girl; and to think of her being a slaving, 
 household drudge, as Florry describes her to have been ! " 
 
 "She did the drudgery bravely and patiently, and God 
 released her from it." 
 
 "How glad she and Florry will be to meet. It is to 
 Plorry's honour that she so soon discovered a diamond in the 
 rough ; but then, trust her always for finding the good and 
 beautiful, and separating it from the coarse and eviL There 
 are not many like Florence Guise." 
 
 Cecil went and closed the piano, making no reply. 
 Somehow she did not like to hear her cousin Florence lauded 
 so very much, even though the praises came from her affianced 
 husband. Neither did she relish the idea that Florence came 
 lirst with Esther. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 CECIL MAKES A PROPOSITION. 
 
 A FEW quiet days followed days of rest, and of pleasant 
 readings, and of peaceful, happy talks in the gloaming of the 
 sweet May evenings ; for April with her fickle smile had 
 passed away, and May, with her vivid sunshine and her 
 wealth of fairest flowers, was gladdening all the land. It 
 was with something like rapture that Esther gazed around 
 her, when first Cecil took her for a drive through the leafy 
 lanes, where pale primroses were nestling among their 
 crinkled leaves in the bright, green, fresh-springing grass, 
 where the hedges were already white with snowy hawthorn, 
 and where one could catch glimpses of the fields beyond, 
 where banks were blue with the wild hyacinth, where the 
 lambs fed and gambolled, and where little glittering streams 
 went wandering hither and thither, their course chiefly 
 revealed by the emerald-like verdure of the sward upon 
 their brink. And then, leaving the shaded lanes, with their 
 feathery larches, and the green-tasselled sycamores, and the 
 newly-leafed limes, they passed on to the open heath, and 
 wound along the turfy roads till they saw the sea, all blue 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 173 
 
 and sparkling in the cloudless morning sunshine. And last 
 May Esther had watched from her attic window the slow 
 budding of the sooty trees, and the tardy unfolding of a 
 few puny, blighty-looking flowers in the dreary Queen 
 Square garden, and when people said, "It would soon bo 
 summer now," she had wondered why any one should caro 
 about the change of season. "What could it matter whether 
 days were long or short, whether she toiled in July heat or 
 in January frosts, whether the leaves were on the trees or 
 scattered all sere and yellow on the swampy lawns or mossy 
 walks, or around the damp stone figure of Queen Anne 
 herself? "What did anything matter?" had been the 
 hopeless question she most frequently asked herself in those 
 grey, dim days of the weary, miserable past. Only to get 
 out to church on Sundays, and listen to the singing, and 
 feel soothed with the prayers, and to seize a few minutes for 
 reading such books as came in her way, were all the 
 pleasures she ever anticipated; and even these were very 
 few and far between, since she was not always allowed to 
 attend Divine service in the church of St. George the 
 Martyr, not even once on each successive Sunday, for the 
 children were apt to have Dominical attacks of sickness 
 and naughtiness, and the lodgers would order sumptuous 
 Dominical dinners, which Biddy was utterly inadequate to 
 prepare; and Myra Hellicar, if she had a decent dress or 
 bonnet, or what she esteemed such, was always in a re- 
 ligious frame of mind on Sundays, and attended the morning 
 if not the evening service, clad in all the finery she could 
 scrape together, while on her return she severely rebuked 
 her husband and her step-son Dick for their shocking 
 heathenism. If her dress was at all shabby, or her bonnet 
 very much behind the fashion according to her notions, she 
 had an excruciating headache, and stayed in bed till dinner- 
 time, and was extremely snappish for the remainder of 
 the day. 
 
 And now all was changed ; and Esther, with renewed 
 health and invigorated spirit, felt as if her life ought to be 
 one perpetual doxology, and with increased fervour she 
 joined in the thanksgiving prayer, which says : " And w 
 
174 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 beseech. Thee give us that due sense of all Thy mercies, 
 that our hearts may be unfeignedly thankful, and that we 
 show forth Thy praise not only with our lips but in our 
 lives, by giving up ourselves to Thy service, and walking 
 before Thee in holiness and righteousness all our days." 
 Just then it seemed to Esther as if that petition included 
 all others, as if that one clause of duty involved the whole 
 Christian life, and she hoped she was 
 
 " Ready to give thanks and live 
 On the least that God may give." 
 
 It was nearly a week after that reading of the " Lotos- 
 Eaters," and Esther was feeling quite well again ; she could 
 walk round the garden several times without pain, and with 
 very little fatigue : the next day was Saturday, and in the 
 evening she was to go home to the Slade Farm, and on 
 Monday morning she was to be once more at her post among 
 her scholars. She was sitting on a garden-seat, admiring 
 the lovely prospect, and inhaling the fragrance of the lilacs, 
 and wondering how Mrs. King's pet plants had progressed 
 during her absence, when she heard herself called, and in 
 another moment she saw Cecil walking quickly towards her. 
 "Esther!" she cried; "Esther! Oh! there you are, 
 hidden behind the rockery. Do you think you could take 
 a long drive ? " 
 
 " Yes ! I am sure I could ; a drive would be delightful such 
 a day as this. I long to be somewhere out on the hills, or 
 on the heath. How bright and blue the sea-line looks this 
 morning ! I should like to be a little nearer to it." 
 
 " Your wish may speedily be gratified ; shall you be afraid 
 if Oswald take the reins ] " 
 
 " Not at all. I am not nervous now, and an accident is 
 not likely to recur. I will go and get ready as soon as you 
 like. Where are we going ? " 
 
 " To Guise Court ; you will like that. Oswald has had a 
 letter from Florence by this morning's post, and they are 
 coming home to-morrow, and we both think we ought to go 
 over, and see that everything is in readiness. You shal] 
 make up the bouquets for Flossy's rooms, if you like ? " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 175 
 
 " Like, indeed ! Nothing could give me greater pleasure ; 
 it la so good of you to let me do it." 
 
 " Then put your hat on as quickly as possible. Oswald 
 is gone round to have the ponies harnessed. I knew you 
 would choose to go with us. We must be off in about 
 twenty minutes." 
 
 What a glorious and entirely delectable drive' that was ! 
 How sweet was the air ; how pleasantly the young leaves 
 rustled in the soft spring breeze; how delicate were the 
 vivid hues of green over all the smiling landscape, and how 
 exultingly the lark poured out his lay far up in the intense 
 blue heavens ! And when that blithe carol was done the 
 cuckoo began his song, and in the hedgerows there were 
 tender twitterings, and in the woodlands skirting the lonely 
 road, low, sweet gushes and trills of melody ; and a hum of 
 insects was in the warm air ; and one or two white butter- 
 flies were disporting themselves among the wild flowers 
 which grew on both sides of a mossy fern-grown wall ; and 
 all nature seemed bright and rejoicing in the quick advent 
 of the blessed summer-time. 
 
 Esther did not talk much ; on such occasions it was hei 
 wont to be very quiet; she did not care to converse, she 
 wanted to listen to the voice of music and song that was 
 sounding all about her ; and her heart drank in the beauty of 
 the glorious arch of sky, just flecked with little fleecy clouds, 
 and of the lovely hues of emerald, and olive, and ruddy 
 brown that gleamed upon the trees, and of the hills, shining 
 purple in the distance, with here and there bare rifts of rock, 
 looking like dark, mysterious hollows, unfavoured by the 
 happy sunshine that was lighting up all the brilliant expanse 
 of country the whole horizon round. 
 
 When they came to Guiseley Hill they all got out and 
 walked up the steep ascent, and presently the grey archway 
 leading into the park showed itself, and Esther wondered 
 how it felt to be born to all this affluence of splendour and 
 wealth; and she looked at Oswald, the heir of these fair 
 broadlands, to see if any new pleasure dawned in his eyes as 
 they gazed dreamily on the hoary battlements and the ivied 
 turrets of the low square tower which served as a lodge. 
 
176 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 But his thoughts were evidently far away, and he was think- 
 ing very little about Guise Court at all, very little about the 
 Guise family ; and even Cecil thought him strangely ab- 
 stracted, and wished he would wake up from his reverie, and 
 pay some attention to the subject on which she was endeav- 
 ouring, under difficulties, to converse. Cecil had a supreme 
 contempt for " dreaming" and as for airy castle-building, 
 she professed to hold it in abhorrence ; nevertheless she built 
 castles enough upon the most aerial foundations, only the 
 architecture of them differed from the majority of those 
 " Chateaux en Espagne " which people of ordinary ambitions 
 love to raise in cloudy regions. I really believe there is not 
 a person in the world, however practical and sober-minded he 
 or she may be, who does not occasionally call into existence 
 these fairy fabrics ; only one man builds a baronial residence, 
 and another a mere cottage one man a gaudy palace, and 
 another a benevolent institution ; one a temple of science, 
 another a lonely hermitage. And Cecil's visionary erections 
 took the form of model schools, homes for working people, 
 and many a thriving work of philanthropic zeal in which she 
 and Esther were to engage through the coming years, suc- 
 cessful in their every undertaking, untiring in their efforts, 
 triumphant always in the crusade against sin and ignorance 
 and misery, to which they had pledged themselves. For in all 
 her future work Cecil now associated Esther, being resolved, 
 as she privately informed Oswald, " to make a woman of 
 her." Oswald shrugged his shoulders as suggestively as if 
 he had been a born and bred Parisian, and marvelled at his 
 sister's infatuation. If he had any discrimination Esther 
 Kendall would never grow into the sort of woman Cecil 
 Uffadyne had planned \ she would never devote herself to a 
 " mission," nor be, as Cecil herself was, honorary secretary to 
 half a dozen societies, home and foreign ; she would work, and 
 energetically too, but her views would not be Cecil's views, 
 neither would her standard of happiness be the same. These 
 were Oswald's unexpressed thoughts when his sister hinted at 
 a future in which she and Esther were to conquer, if not the 
 world, wide provinces of that wretched land which the Prince 
 of Darkness and his emissaries hold as specially their own. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 177 
 
 44 What are you dreaming of ? " asked Miss Uffadyne at 
 length, rather crossly. " I have been talking to you about 
 the Social Science Congress for the last quarter of an hour, 
 and I do not believe you have any idea what I have been 
 saying." 
 
 " I am ashamed to say I have not. I beg your pardon, 
 Cecil. I was thinking." 
 
 " I know that. What about, pray 1 " 
 
 "As you are not my confessor, I may be excused from 
 answering that question. My thoughts are my own." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," replied Cecil, with just a little pique i& 
 her air ; " and I really do not care to know, for I am sure 
 they were very foolish, aimless thoughts. No one ever 
 thinks of anything useful or wise with that dreamy, far- 
 away look in his eyes." 
 
 " Now, really I protest, Cecil ! Is it not too bad, Miss 
 Kendall]" 
 
 " I think it is. One cannot be always intent on things 
 practical and definite." 
 
 " You do not mean that, Esther ? " interposed Cecil, re- 
 proachfully. " I know no one less dreamy than yourself." 
 
 "But are not all actions dreams, as it were, before they 
 are performed 1 ? Must not one dream before one can do I 
 And I do dream a great deal ; I always did. I dreamed 
 when I was a little child, when I was a sullen, desolate girl 
 in Queen Square, and I dream now ; and I do not think it is 
 all in vain that I have these dreams, which are very sweet 
 and pleasant, and which seem to beckon me on to higher and 
 better things." 
 
 "I did not know you were so romantic," said Cecil, 
 gravely. " But when you are a few years older you will find 
 that your dreams only deceive you, and you will learn that 
 only in the sober, stern realities of life can one hope to find 
 a lasting, pure content." 
 
 " ' Methinks the lady doth profess too much ! ' " laughed 
 Oswald. " Oh, Esther, that sister of mine is the most incon- 
 sistent creature in all Christendom I don't know about the 
 Zenana women, or the Eed Indian squaws ! She repudiates 
 sweet dreams, and cultivates poetry. She preaches the most 
 
178 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 rigid, uncompromising virtue, and yet though she scolds the 
 erring and the lapsed, she holds out to them hands of sym- 
 pathy and kindly aid. She has done little else than rebuke 
 me, whenever I have been in her society, for these ten years 
 past; she has all but convinced me that I am the most 
 worthless, the weakest, silliest, wickedest fellow in existence ! 
 Yet she loves me, and pets me after her fashion, and treats 
 me as if I were not only a reasonable but an exemplary 
 individual. Cecil Uffadyne is a mass of contradictions, as 
 you will find out before very long, Miss Kendall, if you 
 have not already made the discovery. Don't look vexed, 
 Cissy." 
 
 Cecil was looking not only vexed, but pained ; there were 
 actual tears in her dark eyes, though she would not let them 
 falL Esther felt grieved, as she always was at these little tilts 
 between the brother and the sister ; she earnestly wished that 
 Cecil were not so constantly finding fault with Oswald. 
 Having an undoubted affection for each other, they yet con- 
 trived to be in perpetual antagonism about little things ; they 
 were constantly carrying on a sort of guerilla warfare ; Cecil 
 seeming always on the watch for defalcations, and ready to 
 pounce upon the young man and prove him to be utterly 
 mistaken whenever he gave his opinion. She was very much 
 like an over-anxious and earnest, but unwise mother, who 
 foolishly, and of course vainly, tries to mould to her own 
 idea of perfection the child whose temperament is entirely 
 dissimilar from her own, and whom she does not and can 
 never understand. 
 
 Cecil did not understand her brother, and, with all her love 
 for him, she worried and irritated him perpetually. Men 
 will not bear for long incessant fault-finding and continuous 
 moralising, even from the women whom they truly love ; and 
 Cecil would have been very wretched had she known how 
 much she had weakened the warm fraternal affection that had 
 once been almost enthusiastic. She knew that he was 
 changed, that he did not, as in old time, pour out his whole 
 Heart, confiding to her his beliefs, his doubts, his struggles, 
 and his failures. But she attributed this to his engagement. 
 Florence, of course, held the place that had once been hers j 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 179 
 
 it was Florence whom he now trusted and consulted, and it 
 was Florence whom both in word and action he strove to 
 please. And though Cecil often rated herself finely she could 
 not help feeling silently aggrieved ; she knew it was a petty 
 and contemptible jealousy that she entertained; she told 
 herself again and again that ail was as it should be. Florence 
 was to be Oswald's wife, and therefore even now, though 
 unwedded, she ought to be first and chief with him, and all 
 the confidence reposed in her, all the devotion she received, 
 was only her just due, and no reasonable nay, more, no 
 right-minded person, could possibly find fault with such a 
 state of things, or wish them otherwise. Still, Cecil felt that 
 she was, in her heart of hearts, jealous of Florence Guise 
 Sho quite believed that she never evinced any unworthy 
 feeling towards the fair girl who was to be her sister ; but she 
 was conscious of a certain harshness in her judgment where 
 Florence was concerned, She liked Florence to be mistaken ; 
 she did not care to be much in her society j above all things 
 she tried to convince herself that the engagement, though 
 excellent in a worldly point of view, was very bad for her 
 brother, and would hinder him in running the race which she 
 had marked out for him when he was a boy in jackets, with 
 perennially dirty hands, and torn pocket handkerchiefs, and 
 requiring constant sympathy in the matter of puppy-dogs and 
 cricket-bats* 
 
 " Oh ! I wish Oswald were wiser, nobler, stronger," sighed 
 Cecil, as her brother turned away to the stables, whistling 
 his favourite air from II Trovatore. " He either makes every- 
 thing a jest, or else he affects a lightness of sentiment that is 
 almost as distressing as if it were quite real ; indeed, one can- 
 not help fearing that it is real." 
 
 Esther said nothing, but earnestly she wished that Cecil 
 were a little less hard, a little less exacting, and Oswald a 
 little firmer, a little graver, a little more energetic, both in 
 tone and action. 
 
 " Why do you not speak ? " said Cecil, irritably ; " nothing 
 provokes me so much as that taciturn expression of yours ! 
 You must know I want you to speak, Esther. Even if you 
 disagree with me, speak say something, at all events." 
 
180 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Suppose, dear Miss Uffadyne, I do not say what you 
 like?" 
 
 " Still say it. Do you think I am unreasonable ? Is it I 
 who am to blame? Is not Oswald's tone of frivolity ap- 
 parent to you 1 Does he not take life as if it were a country 
 dance, a mere burlesque, a child's play, and nothing more 1 " 
 
 "If you ask me, I do not think he does. Miss Guise 
 would never care for him if he had no strength and depth in 
 him. But please do not ask me such questions ; it does not 
 become me, the village schoolmistress, to discuss Mr. 
 Uffadyne." 
 
 " Esther ! you doubly vex me. You know I regard you as 
 something more than the village schoolmistress. Are you 
 not my friend ? " 
 
 " I hope so ; I feel your kindness more than I can express, 
 and I trust God will give me grace to be to you a true and 
 faithful friend your grateful, humble friend. I do not aspire 
 to be your equal ; I do not wish to presume upon your good- 
 ness, or upon that of Miss Guise. I know who I am, and 
 what I am, and I am content." 
 
 c Have you no ambition ? n 
 
 M Plenty ! I want to know things ; I want to learn so 
 much ; I want oh ! I cannot tell you what I want, Miss 
 Uffadyne, for my desires are almost illimitable ; I want to be 
 brave, and true, and steadfast, and very useful, and always 
 loving ; but I do not want to be a half-and-half lady. I am 
 Esther Kendall, who six months ago was a maid-of-all-work 
 in a London lodging-house. By the providence of God, 
 through the kindness of friends, I am able to earn my own 
 livelihood. If I may do so from henceforth, and worthily, 1 
 shall be very happy." 
 
 "But, Esther, you must be aware that you are vastly 
 superior to the general run of schoolmistresses either in town 
 or country ! " 
 
 " I may have more refined tastes, though how I came by 
 *hem is more than I can tell, and I am not at all sure they are 
 a blessing ; they were a torment to me in my Queen Square 
 life." 
 
 " God gave them to you for some good purpose ; but we 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 181 
 
 will not attack that question now. I only want to convince 
 you that you are more my equal than you imagine. I was 
 born to ease and in some measure to affluence, and I can 
 choose my own work, if it be my pleasure to work at all ; 
 while you, poor child, were born to toil and penury, and your 
 work, unsuitable aa it was, was put into your hands without 
 any reference to your own will or wishes. You were 
 neglected and unjustly treated, while I was tenderly nurtured 
 and well taught. There is not actually so much difference 
 between us ; if our positions had been reversed I am not sure 
 that I should have borne on so bravely and hopefully as you 
 did. I do not know ; I have never been tried with adversity ; 
 and yet and yet, Esther, it has not been all sunshine with 
 me. > I am always looking for golden days that never come -f 
 there Is a sort of greyness about my life in spite of all the ad- 
 vantages of my lot. I daresay you think I am talking in a 
 sadly discontented strain, but I am not quite myself this morn- 
 ing. I will tell you, Esther, what I have never told any one 
 yet the great necessity of my life is love, not the trash that 
 boys and girls call love, nor yet the mingled sentiment and 
 passion of men and women, ending always in orange blossoms 
 and a wedding-ring. I want such love as you may give me, 
 such as Oswald gave me once ; I ask nothing better. I have 
 loved women who seemed to love me ; but other, and to them 
 more satisfactory loves came in their way, and I was forgotten. 
 Once I thought I had Oswald's best affections, and I was 
 more than content ; I asked no higher happiness than to be 
 permitted to devote myself to my only brother. Then this 
 phantom of * love,' as people call it, as if it were the love of 
 the universe, came in his way, and he follovred it, and clasped 
 it in his arms ; and now Florence Guise is his darling, and I 
 am only his sister. She is first and best, and I am 
 anywhere ! " 
 
 " But Florence will be his wife, and surely God meant men 
 to love their wives above all other creatures, more even than 
 their own kindred 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps He did. I cannot gainsay it. Let it be then ; 
 I may as well relinquish gracefully what I can hold no longer. 
 There is nothing more unsatisfactory, more hopeless, more 
 
182 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 pitiable, than trying to hold fast the affections that are alii> 
 ping away from you. Better resign one's self at once to the 
 pain than torture one's self with fruitless endeavours to win 
 back vanished love. I see more than ever that the old sweet, 
 ties that united Oswald and myself are broken, or so loosened 
 that all their pleasantness is gone. I resign myself to the loss, 
 but I need some kind of substitution. If you like, Esther, 
 yon may be all I require ; I think you love me." 
 
 " I do love you, Miss Uffadyne ; I should be a very heart- 
 less girl if I did not. But pray do not be vexed your 
 sphere and mine seem so different that I cannot think how 
 I can be to you all you need. I will love you and serve you 
 always, if that is what you want." 
 
 " I want that and much more. I want you to work with 
 me, to plan with me, if need be to suffer with me. As soon 
 as Oswald is married I have a scheme in my head which you 
 and I must carry out together; you must live with me. 
 Do you consent ? " 
 
 " I must think ; I could not promise all at once." 
 
 " Certainly not ! Though I cannot see why you should 
 hesitate long. You would be to me as my sister, and we 
 should be two happy, useful, honoured old maids. Cannot 
 you promise ? " 
 
 " Indeed, no ! Please do not think me ungrateful ; but it 
 would be a sort of vow, you see, and it would not be right to 
 pledge myself all in a hurry. Besides, I am afraid I could 
 not give up my independence." 
 
 " Then you do not love me. But do not imagine you 
 would live a life of idleness with me ; you would be as busy 
 as you are at present, far busier perhaps. However, we must 
 go into the house now, and we will talk the subject over 
 some other time. Perhaps when the idea is not so new it 
 may startle you less. In the meantime, do not speak of it to 
 any one else." 
 
 " Of course I will not." 
 
SRJSY AND GOLD. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ESTHER'S PROMISE. 
 
 CECIL and Esther went in by a side entrance, intending to go 
 straight to Mrs. Maxwell's room, which was in that quarter 
 of the house ; but they saw the good old lady at the end of 
 the long passage which led into the great hall, engaged in 
 conversation with a trim, jaunty young woman who had about 
 her an unmistakeably London air. 
 
 " I suppose Florence has been sending on a servant or 
 two," said Cecil ; " for that young woman is decidedly not 
 one of our Somersetshire lasses, and I never saw her at 
 Guise Court before." 
 
 The young person in question had rather a languishing 
 air ; she wore her silky black hair a la Eugenie ; her cuffs 
 and collar somehow reminded Esther of Mrs. Hellicar, and 
 her apron was a miracle of art. Just as Cecil and Esther 
 came within earshot 'they heard her say, " And my kdy 
 desires you will be as quick as possible, Mrs. Maxwell ; any 
 of the men or boys about the place can take the note, she 
 says ; and I am coming down to luncheon as soon as I have 
 finished Miss Guise's unpacking, and I should like some- 
 thing delicate and appetising, for I am not strong, and I 
 never take much breakfast; and really I feel that sinking 
 and weak " 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell cut short the young person's observations 
 by remarking that she could not stand there all day talking 
 about people's appetites ! " The bread and cheese, and 
 cold meat, and seed-cake, and good home-brewed ale, were 
 always set out at the proper time for the upper servants in 
 the housekeeper's sitting-room, and people who wanted their 
 luncheon must come when the bell rang, and take what was 
 on the table, or else go without ! " 
 
 At that moment Mrs. Maxwell perceived Miss Uffadyne, 
 and curtsied low. The young woman gathered up her skirts 
 with a gesture of scorn, and tripped mincingly upstairs. 
 
 " Who have you here, Mrs. Maxwell 2 " asked Cecil 
 
1S4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 immediately. "That young woman has rather a town- 
 bred air, I think ! And what did she say about Misa 
 Guise 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell answered Miss Uffadyne's questions a* they 
 were put : " That young person, ma'am, calls herself 
 Iklamselle Virginie, though why I don't know, since she 
 owns to being born in Lambeth ! But this I do know, that 
 she is a very stuck-up, conceited, badly-mannered little 
 minx, and the sooner our young lady gets rid of her, and 
 -takes to a sensible, well-taught Somersetshire girl the better ! 
 And you will say the same, Miss Uffadyne, when you have 
 seen what Mamselle is. And Miss Guise, ma'am, and of 
 course the master, came home last night, and took us quite 
 by surprise, as I may say, though everything was in readi- 
 ness, even to the towels in the chambers, for I am not one, 
 Miss Uffadyne, to leave things to the last minute ; if I had 
 been, the master and the mistress might have had a fine 
 house to come back to, as I told Jenny and Deborah this 
 very morning. They wanted to finish the rooms to-day, but 
 I insisted upon all being ready last night, and well I did, as 
 they own now themselves ; and I hope it will be a lesson to 
 them. But, dear me, here I am chattering, and you will be 
 wanting to go to Miss Guise." 
 
 " Where is my cousin 1 " 
 
 " She is in the morning-room, Miss Uifadyne, and the 
 master is there too. Oh, miss, you will be shocked to see 
 him ; he is not long for this world, I am sure." 
 
 " I feared my uncle was worse, but I hoped that he was 
 not really failing so fast as Miss Guise imagined. Does he 
 seem very much weaker, Mrs. Maxwell ? " 
 
 " He is so weak, ma'am, that it was a hard matter for him 
 to take the journey. It's my opinion that he felt he must 
 get home at once, or never. Oh, ma'am, he has got that 
 look in his face that belongs more to heaven than to earth, 
 It is as if he could see the glory he is going to, and wanting 
 to be there, and yet quite patient, and willing to wait God's 
 time." 
 
 A door opened, and there, fair and sweet as ever, but 
 rather paler, rather graver than when she and Esther parted, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 185 
 
 stood Florence Guise. But she welcomed them with her 
 own bright smile, saying, " This is good of you, Cissy ; and 
 so good to bring Esther. Come and see papa." 
 
 " We came to-day to be sure that all was quite ready foi 
 you ; of course, we knew Mrs. Maxwell was to be depended 
 upon in great things, but we meant to undertake the little 
 things. I was going to dust my uncle's books, and place 
 them in the order he likes best, and Esther was to arrange 
 flowers in your room and everywhere ! I have found out 
 that she has a special genius for making up all sorts of 
 bouquets." 
 
 " So kind of you both ! And to-morrow was really the 
 day fixed ; but all was arranged, an I papa was so tired of 
 London. Indeed, we were both ye^ rning for Guise, and he 
 asked if it would hurry me too much if we set off at once, 
 and I said no, and we settled our bills, and came away to 
 Paddington. We telegraphed to Mrs. Maxwell, but as there 
 was no station here the message got delayed, and only 
 reached her half an hour after we had actually arrived. Oh, 
 Cecil, what a long time it is since I saw you ! I am so glad 
 to be at home again, dear ; only only papa is so much 
 weaker." And the tears came into Florence's gentle eyes, 
 and streamed down her cheeks. But it was only for a 
 moment ; she was soon calm again. " It does not do to give 
 way," she. said, quietly; "it grieves papa if he sees that I 
 have been crying. And indeed both the London physicians 
 said that he must on no account be excited or distressed. 
 Anything like anxiety, anything that saddens him, you 
 know, tends to bring on those cruel attacks of pain ; a very 
 little thing does it, and then he suffers such dreadful agony, 
 and nothing gives relief. And now the attacks last for 
 hours, and leave him so exhausted that any one not used to 
 his illness would be quite sure he was just dying. And 
 Borne day he will sink past rallying. Dr. Milne said it 
 would be so ; but in the meantime I have to be careful to 
 avoid whatever may bring on an access of the malady. So 
 I have learnt control, Cecil, and I can generally manage to 
 seem pretty cheerful ; it is hard work to smile and talk 
 calmly when your heart is breaking, but then it is for papa' 
 
186 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 sake. It would be so selfish, to give way, and I shall have 
 time enough for weeping presently ; for it must come oh, 
 Esther, it must come before very long, and when I think 
 how much he suffers, and how great is the joy for which he 
 is waiting, I cannot ask God to prolong his life on earth. 
 My loss will be so much his gain that I can bear to lose ; it 
 will not be for always." 
 
 Mr. Guise was indeed fearfully changed since Esther had 
 bade him good-bye in Queen Square four months before. 
 He had the look of one who has suffered to the utmost, and 
 who is waiting only for the Lord's summons to rest from pain 
 and weariness for evermore. Though on the pale, worn face 
 were the traces of frequent and excessive anguish, there 
 was no look of sadness, no sign of murmuring discontent. 
 It was indeed as if, gazing beyond the short vista of agony 
 and death, his soul saw the golden gates, and beheld the Face 
 that was once more marred than any man's, and caught the 
 smile of welcome that awaited his arrival in that bright land, 
 where the inhabitant shall no more say, " I am sick," where 
 there shall be neither sorrow, nor crying, nor any more pain, 
 because the former things have passed away. 
 
 Esther touched with awe the thin hand held out to her, and 
 looked almost piteously upon the beautiful attenuated features 
 that seemed instinct with Heaven's own brightness. She 
 thought she had never seen anything so touchingly, so 
 unsurpassingly fair, as this faded, sharpened face, with its 
 lines of pain, and its aspect of swift decay, and its radiant yet 
 peaceful gladness. As she looked and forced back the tears 
 that longed to flow, she thought of that verse : " As for me, I 
 will behold Thy face in righteousness ; I shall be satisfied 
 when I awake with Thy likeness." And so close had been 
 the walk of that Christian man with his God, so pure and 
 steadfast his faith, so perfect the resignation of the will, that 
 now, with " the fulness of joy " close at hand, he was as 
 nearly " satisfied" as he could be, while yet the spirit lingered 
 in her mortal tabernacle. A very little longer, and he 
 would see the Master *' face to face," and praise Him perfectly 
 whose love had brought him in safety from the unconscious 
 hours of infancy to the very brink of Jordan ; brought him 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 187 
 
 through all the perils and temptations of youth and early 
 manhood ; brought him out of darkness into light, out of the 
 slavery of sin and death into the service of the eternal King 
 of kings ; brought him through days of sorrow and bereave- 
 ment, through hosts of foes that assailed his heavenward path, 
 through all joy and through all tribulation, till now, the same 
 Divine and ineffable love walked with him through the dark 
 valley of death, and would be with him as he crossed the 
 stream that lay between him and the land of pure delight. 
 
 " Well, my dear, I am glad to see you at Guise," said the 
 invalid, when several hours after he and Esther were alone in 
 the room, Cecil having carried off Florence for a private 
 talk, and Oswald being in the village. " And you are happy, 
 too ; I need scarcely ask you ? " 
 
 " I am very happy, Mr. Guise. God has been so good to 
 me, He is so good to me, and I hope and believe I trust Him 
 for all time to come. I think I want nothing only to serve 
 Him better." 
 
 "That is much, indeed, to crare for no more than God has 
 given you. May it be always so with you, my child ; may 
 you be always content with what He ordains, not wishing it 
 otherwise, not fretting for that which is withholden. Just 
 resting in His love, seeking that all His will may be accom- 
 plished in you, and knowing and being fully persuaded that 
 out of the most seemingly untoward and painful circumstances 
 will be wrought out the richest blessings and the greatest joy. 
 To trust, Esther, that is what is wanted to trust entirely ; 
 taking God at His word, seeking for strength to discharge the 
 simple duty of the passing hour, and leaving all the rest 
 to Him. There will come a day when all that is so perplex- 
 ing will be made clear, when there will be no more mysteries, 
 when we shall know even as we are known. It is not much 
 that God asks of us, only to wait and see His salvation" 
 
 1 But next to God, I must thank you, Mr. Guise ; but for 
 you and Miss Guise I might still have been the miserable 
 girl I wa*. when first you saw me. And now oh, when 
 I think of it, it seems too much. If I were only worthy of 
 my friends ! " 
 
 " God, your Father, sent you those friends, as much as He 
 
188 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 sends food for the young ravens when they cry for hunger. 
 He saw your need ; He pitied you. He knew that you could 
 not help yourself, and he sent us to your aid." 
 
 " I feel that ; still I may be grateful to the second cause. 
 I owe so much to Miss Guise and to yourself." 
 
 *' It is to Florence you owe the most, for it was she who was 
 first interested in your behalf, and earnest to do you good. 
 From the very first she cared for you, and longed to help you." 
 
 " I know it, and she did me good from the very earliest 
 hour of our meeting. I felt her goodness, and I longed to 
 follow in her steps, if only it were a long way off. Oh, if 
 people would think more of their unconscious influence ! 
 Lives are more than sermons ; the teaching of a holy, loving 
 life is far beyond that which we may get from books. I had 
 come to hate religion, to scoff at it, I am afraid, because 
 those who professed it so loudly were the least like what I 
 was sure Christ Himself must have been. It seemed to me 
 that our Lord must have been kind, and patient, and hopeful 
 not stern, or gloomy, or finding fault ; and yet with my 
 belief in Him for I always knew He was the Saviour, the 
 King of all the earth through my contempt for those who 
 called themselves by His name, and yet honoured Him with 
 their lips only, I was in danger of becoming something like 
 an infideL And then Florence came to be my good angel, 
 to show me that there was truth upon earth, and to show me 
 the beauty of real Christianity." 
 
 " Esther, I believe you feel grateful to my Flossy. If 
 ever it were in your power to be a help and a comfort to her 
 I might rely upon you to be to the utmost of your power' 
 that comfort and that help ] " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I think so. Indeed, I believe I may say I am 
 sure of it. I have often grieved to remember how very 
 little hope there was of my being able to recompense her 
 even in the smallest degree for all her kindness." 
 
 " My dear, in this world there are maray changes. Flossy 
 is very young ; she may have a long life before her, and 
 who shall say what may betide ? Princes born in the 
 purple have died paupers ; those who have been most loved, 
 most cherished, whose friends have been most numerous and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 9 
 
 most powerful, have been glad of cne humble, faithful heart 
 whereon to repose when nature was sinking into decay. 
 We cannot tell how it may be. My Flossy is in the spring- 
 time of her days, and I am going home. I should like co 
 think that you would be her true and faithful friend." 
 
 " God helping me I will be to Florence Guise all that you 
 desire. I will be while life lasts her true and faithful 
 friend, even though for her I must leave all other friends 
 and renounce all happiness but that of serving and loving 
 hor. I promise it." 
 
 " God bless you, my dear ; I know you will keep you? 
 promise at all costs. I wonder, though, if I am doing right 
 in asking so much. Is it selfish 1 " 
 
 "Not at all. But, Mr. Guise, there is Mr. Uffadyne, 
 Florence will be married, and then she will need no other 
 friend than her husband. He, at least, must be her closest, 
 dearest friend on earth." 
 
 " It should be so, and I hope my daughter will be happy 
 in her marriage. I respect Oswald Uffadyne ; I have a 
 strong affection for him my dear sister's only boy. But I 
 sometimes think I wonder if Flossy would have been his 
 choice had he been left quite free to choose for himself. 
 Perhaps I have made a mistake : I cannot tell I must 
 leave it all. Oh, Esther, it is so much easier to have faith 
 for yourself than for those you love best, for those you leave 
 behind you when God calls you to Himself. God bless my 
 darling and be to her a Father and a Friend when I am 
 passed away." 
 
 " He will, He will," said Esther, fervently. " Do not fear ; 
 Florence will be blessed : I am sure she will. God will bo 
 with her, and guide her, and comfort her to her life's end." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 DICK ASTONISHES HIS FAMILY. 
 
 !EANWHILE a great gloom descended upon the house of 
 Hellicar. The Guises had departed, and with them the 
 
190 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 most reliable as well as the largest source of the Hellicar'a 
 income, for the head of the family had not done well in the 
 commission line lately, while Dick had done only too well, 
 for he had been within an ace of procuring for himself 
 board and lodging free of expense in that grim-looking 
 mansion undelightfully though perhaps commodiously situ- 
 ated at the corner of Newgate Street and the Old Bailey. 
 Not only was there an end of Mr. Guise's free-handed 
 hebdomadal payments, the sum-total of which rather aston- 
 ished him occasionally, while Florence had something more 
 than a suspicion that articles were frequently entered in the 
 weekly account of which they had never enjoyed the benefit, 
 and which most certainly they had never ordered ; but toll, 
 or commission in kind, as Dick gravely called certain pecula- 
 tions, could no longer be levied on butcher's meat, poultry, 
 fruit, baker's bread, butter, vegetables, confectionery, wine 
 and spirits, and every kind of comestible, which was the 
 lawful property of the Guises, and served in many ways 
 unlawfully to enrich the larder of the Hellicars. Mrs. 
 Warburton also had departed, declaring that she had not 
 tasted food fit for human consumption since Esther had 
 ceased to reign over the pots and pans and roasting-jack, 
 and no one applied for the vacant rooms, and only Mr. 
 Macgregor remained to devour mutton-chops which he 
 brought into the house himself, and to scold about his burnt 
 porridge, the meal for which he duly measured out with his 
 own hands from a securely- padlocked box kept in a corner of 
 his room. There was nothing to be got out of the thrifty 
 Scotchman beyond the small sum which he paid for his 
 single apartment, and his temper was unpleasantly acrimo- 
 nious ; nevertheless, as he gave little trouble and paid his 
 bill regularly, the Hellicars were fain to keep him as their 
 lodger ; and now there arrived a certain Saturday evening 
 when his payment was all that could be counted upon for 
 the defraying of all household expenses, and Myra sat in the 
 untenanted front parlour making her miserable wail, regret- 
 ting that she had ever been born, and deploring the folly 
 which had led her to link her fate with that of a man who 
 hadn't a bit of sense to do any good for himself, while suo 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 191 
 
 might have married to her carriage and pair, and a footman, 
 and her own maid, if only she had not been so easily per- 
 suaded, and so led away by line words and specious ap- 
 pearances. 
 
 And thus Myra bemoaned herself, and truly not without 
 cause. Everything was going wrong " rushing to the 
 dogs," as Dick had said that very morning. No money 
 coming in from " the business in the City," and the father 
 and son had dissolved partnership. No new lodgers came 
 to fill the empty rooms ; Biddy managed worse than ever, 
 and the servant who had been engaged when Esther left had 
 departed in great anger, and subsequently summoned her 
 master for her wages. 
 
 In spite of the large sums paid by Mr. Guise, and in 
 spite of all the perquisites levied on their property, the 
 Hellicars were no better off than when we first made their 
 acquaintance except, indeed, that Mrs. Hellicar had pro- 
 vided herself and Lizzie with various articles of apparel, 
 investing largely in mock ermine, cotton velvet, imitation 
 lace, and paper silk dresses. The younger children were all 
 cross and ailing, and no one seemed to have the knack of 
 managing them as Esther had ; and there was incessant 
 crying, and scolding, and quarrelling, and whipping, in the 
 Queen Square household. Tommy had taken to have fits, 
 and little Fanny had had measles, and seemed as if she 
 never meant to get well again. The baby evidently did not 
 intend to trouble himself to get upon his feet ; he was still 
 in arms, a lumpy, dumpy, flabby, white-faced infant, with 
 staring black eyes, and a head that rolled about as if it had 
 never been securely set upon his shoulders. Also, his 
 successor was expected to arrive some time in the course of 
 the summer. " Happy is the man that hath his quiver full 
 of them " was a text that always exasperated Mr. Hellicar ; 
 it seemed a mockery, and nothing more or less. Quiverfulls 
 were all very well when people prospered, and could afford 
 to maintain a proper nursery establishment, to buy em- 
 broidered robes, and jaunty little knickerbocker suits by- 
 and-by. and pay school-bills, and defray the expenses o* 
 perambulators, and doctors' bills, and sea-side migrations; 
 
192 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 but for his part he did not mind how empty his quiver TTu. 
 and he would have been piously resigned had it pleased God 
 to take to Himself any of his miserable olive-branches, save 
 and except Lizzie, for whom he really had something like 
 paternal affection. 
 
 Sick, and full of nervous fancies, poor Myra sat that 
 wretched Saturday evening, listening to the wind rustling 
 the leaves in the poplars and the planes that beautified 
 the Square, and wondering what was to become of her, and 
 thinking, as she had thought a dozen times before, that she 
 would very likely die, and so escape any further mundane 
 troubles and anxieties. Only she knew she was not pre- 
 pared for another and a better life, and what if by going out 
 of this miserable world she should make a still more 
 miserable exchange 1 Poor Myra ! she knew quite well 
 that her grandiose professions, and her flaunting attendances 
 upon the services of St. George the Martyr, were verily as 
 sounding brass and tinkling cymbals ; and so she hoped to 
 live on, though prolonged life might bring only unmitigated 
 wretchedness. 
 
 She was trying to get the baby to sleep, feeling some mater- 
 nal compassion for the wailing little creature, with its preter- 
 naturally large bobbing head, and its shrunken features, and 
 its wide-awake black eyes, and still wondering, with a very 
 helpless wonder, poor thing ! what she would do presently 
 with two babes on her hands, and no Esther ! " No Esther I " 
 that was the burden of her melancholy song ; for she knew 
 now what Esther had been, and how little she had cost to 
 keep, and how things had gone from bad to worse ever since 
 Esther had been driven away yes, "driven away." Mrs. 
 Hellicar called it that when she communed with her own 
 sad heart, though she always spoke of "Esther's base 
 ingratitude " when she talked about her exodus to the friends 
 with whom she habitually exchanged confidence. While 
 she was musing thus she heard the latch-key in the door, and 
 then there were heavy footsteps in the hall that resounded 
 through the empty house and startled the restless child, effec- 
 tually banishing the sleep that was just beginning to steal 
 over its unearthly eyes. Dick and Mr. Hellicar came in. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 193 
 
 "Hush!" said Mrs. Hellicar, querulously. "Don't you 
 see you've woke up the child, and he was just going off? 
 and I am tired to death, and only fit to be in bed." 
 
 "Confound the child!" said Dick, savagely. "Why 
 don't you have babies like other people's? That child's 
 head has been loose ever since it was born. Can't it b 
 screwed on tighter ! If ever I have a child it won't have 
 its head waggling about in that fool's fashion, I promise 
 you; or, if it has, I'll give it an overdose of Daffy, or 
 anything to put it out of its misery." 
 
 Myra began to cry ; she had grown much afraid of her 
 step-son lately; she was half afraid that he really would 
 kill her, or some of her children, one of these days ; for he 
 was always talking about " clearing the house of some of 
 the live lumber that was in it." 
 
 " I won't have that, Dick," said Mr. Hellicar, feebly ; he 
 did not like to stand by while his wife was bullied, but he 
 too was half afraid of Dick, and preferred not to interfere. 
 I will not record Dick's explosive answer nor the conversa- 
 tion that followed. I am not writing a sensation novel ; I 
 can therefore afford very well to dispense with what might 
 perhaps be rather exciting, but at the same time far from 
 improving in any point of view. It is enough to say that 
 Dick spoke as no son should ever speak to the worst of 
 fathers, and that he was by no means choice in the language 
 he employed to convey his thoughts, which were of such a 
 nature that I do not think Myra was greatly in error when 
 she pronounced him " brutal ! " 
 
 The quarrel ended, however, as quarrels often did end in 
 the Hellicar household they made it up over a relishing 
 supper and liberal potations of hot gin-and-water ; but how 
 the spirits, and the lamb-chops, and the early spinach were 
 procured, I really do not know. I can only say that there 
 was no ready money in the family purse to pay for any of 
 these delicacies. When amiability was restored, and Myra 
 had a little recovered her spirits, Dick observed that he had 
 something particular to say, and he might as well say it at 
 once and have it over. 
 
 "The fact is," he continued, "I am tired of the life I 
 o 
 
194 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 lead. I'm tired of coming home to so much confusion and 
 noise, and to fighting children, and to crying babies with 
 waggling heads and goggle eyes. I mean to leave you all 
 to settle it among you, and I shall set up for myself." 
 
 Mr. Hellicar groaned, but secretly he felt relieved. Dick 
 was very clever certainly, and he had a fine spirit of his own, 
 and a courage that prompted him to deeds of " derring-do." 
 If he had only lived in the days of highwaymen his fortune 
 had been made that is to say, he would have become a hero 
 of the old romance school, and have shared the laurels of 
 Turpin and his compeers, and finished up with a rope and the 
 gallows-tree at last. Dick Hellicar was quite as unprincipled 
 aa his father, but he did not share his many weaknesses. 
 Hellicar pere sometimes had scruples ; Hellicar fils had none. 
 Also Hellicar fils was possessed of far more energy, persever- 
 ance, foresight, caution, and judgment than had ever dis- 
 tinguished Hellicar pere. Indeed, Dick was a very talented 
 young man, and he might in the fulness of time have ranked 
 with the merchant princes of the land if only he had been 
 endowed with anything like a conscience. If only to judg- 
 ment he had added integrity, to caution honour, and to 
 industry plain dealing if only he had discarded trickery, 
 knavery, absolute dishonesty, and the finer branches of 
 cheating, and cultivated instead those virtues which make a 
 man respected in his day and generation, there is no knowing 
 what Dick Hellicar might not have been. 
 
 But as things were Mr. Hellicar was always afraid of com- 
 ing to grief through his son. He often missed golden oppor- 
 tunities himself from sheer want of courage, while Dick 
 dashed at them and secured his prey ; only there is always a 
 Nemesis stalking somewhere in the shadows, and she is sure 
 to come up in course of time, and paralyse with her awful 
 gaze the rash adventurer who, all in vain, strives to unloose 
 himself from her piercing, unrelenting clutches. And at vhis 
 moment London, or that portion of it which knew the 
 Hellicars, was all too hot for Master Dick, and his father 
 lived in perpetual fear of being fatally compromised, and made 
 the victim of one or another of his clever son's misdeeds. 
 
 "Set up for yourself?" faintly inquired Myro,. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 195 
 
 "Yes. London is not just the place for me now. Tic 
 thinking of going into the provinces. I've heard of a capital 
 situation in Liverpool, and I know of a very first rate opening 
 in Birmingham. There are many nice, snug little trades in 
 Birmingham trades that want a cool head, and a sure hand, 
 and a daring spirit, and a world of ingenuity, and I flatter 
 myself I possess all these requisites. But I am not sure yet 
 whether I won't go to Liverpool. I should hate an inland 
 town : I've been used to shipping all my life." 
 
 Lizzie, looking out of her black- beady eyes, thought thai 
 which she dared not say, that both Liverpool and Binning- 
 ham might very well dispense with the patronage of her half- 
 brother ; that neither would be likely to compete with the 
 other for the honour and advantage of numbering him among 
 its citizens. * 
 
 "And" continued Dick, with solemn emphasis, "I mean 
 to get married ! " 
 
 " You are better as you are. Take my advice, and don't do 
 anything of the sort. Why you are only a boy ! And, Dick, 
 the women do hamper one so ! " returned Mr. Hellicar. 
 
 " I'm sure I pity the woman that Dick makes his wife ! " 
 said Myra, significantly. 
 
 " And so do I," piped Miss Lizzie, in her shrillest voice. 
 
 " She's much obliged to you both," retorted Dick ; " but, 
 if I were yau, I'd keep my pity till it was asked for. Next 
 to good advice, there isn't a more unappreciated commodity 
 in the market than pity that isn't wanted. Well, you don't 
 ask who the girl is." 
 
 " You don't mean to say you've made up your mind so far 
 as that?" said Mr. Hellicar. 
 
 " I know," sneered Lizzie. " ItVthat nasty, bold, light- 
 haired girl, Selina Simmons ! I know Dick took her to 
 Rosherville the other day." 
 
 " No, miss, it's not Selina Simmons. It's somebody you 
 know a great deal better than that silly baggage, who hasn't 
 as much sense as you have ; and I don't think much of your 
 understanding, I can toll you." 
 
 " You don't mean ?" cried Mr. Hellicar, as a sudden 
 
 light flashed upon him. 
 
196 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Yes, I do," interrupted Dick ; " and I'm going down to 
 Chilcombe to-morrow to ask Esther Kendall to marry rne out 
 of hand." 
 
 " It won't do, my lad," returned Mr. Hellicar ; " it won't do." 
 
 " I say it shall and it must do ! I love Esther Kendall ; 
 she's a girl of a thousand, and I've meant to marry her ever 
 since she was ten years old. I saw what was in her. She 
 would make a man happy and comfortable, and not sit dirty 
 and untidy over the fire dreaming away in idleness or reading 
 foolish novels and pretending to be a lady." 
 
 " She'll never have you," was Mrs. Hellicar's comment. 
 
 " I hope she will," was Lizzie's sotto voce. " I hate her, 
 and she'll soon wish she were dead if she marry Dick." 
 
 " It won't do, my lad ; I tell you it won't do." 
 
 And Mr. Hellicar shook his head lugubriously, finished hia 
 tumbler of gin and water, and went off moodily to bed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 CIPHERING MORNING. 
 
 ON the Saturday evening, as had been arranged, Esther went 
 home to the Slade Farm, where I need not say she was 
 heartily welcomed by the farmer and Mrs. King. She had 
 been away scarcely a month, and yet it seemed to her as if a 
 very long time had elapsed since last she stood in the large, 
 comfortable kitchen, that was looking its very brightest and 
 cosiest when she entered it about nine o'clock. Out of doors 
 it was by no means dark, but the kitchen did not face the 
 west, and the heavy mullioned windows, which were of no 
 great size, were overshadowed by sprays of clematis, and 
 noisette roses, and Virginian creeper so indoors there was not 
 much light, save that which came from the fire, glowing 
 ruddily on the hearth, and reflecting itself in the pewter 
 plates, and in the shiny dish-covers, on the clock-face, and on 
 all the polished furniture that came within the radius of the 
 blaze even on the dark oak beams that crossed and recrossed 
 the low and curiously-panelled ceiling. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 197 
 
 Mrs. King was laying the cloth for supper, and something 
 was sputtering on a gridiron in the hack kitchen, while a very 
 appetising odour pervaded all the lower regions of the house. 
 The farmer sat in his great arm-chair, with the weekly news- 
 paper resting on his knees ; he had been reading as long as 
 he could see, and now he laid down the County Chronicle, and 
 "began to talk to his wife, as with her usual quickness and 
 precision she set the table for the evening meal. A few 
 minutes before Esther made her appearance the farmer 
 had said, " Missus, thee doesn't think our Esther will be 
 spoilt ? " 
 
 " Nay, William ; why should she be spoilt ? " 
 
 " You see, she has been up at the Chenies so long, and all 
 as one of themselves, and their ways and our ways are pretty 
 different, I take it." 
 
 " Esther Kendall won't be the sensible girl I've taken her 
 for if she frets over fine ways and grand furniture. I daresay 
 she'll miss some things at first, it's a deal easier to take to 
 luxuries than to turn your back on them ; but I shall 
 be very much disappointed in Esther if to-morrow she isn't 
 as cheerful as ever, going about the garden and the farm 
 wanting to know how the fields and the animals have been 
 getting on while she has been away. And on Monday 
 morning she'll go to school as gay as a lark, I'll answer for it. 
 Bless you, William, she felt very lonely at first, I can tell you ; 
 and though Miss Cecil was very kind to her, and the servants 
 waited upon her all right and proper, I know she was pining 
 for home, and longing to get here to be nursed by me and 
 Patience. She out and told me so the first time I saw her 
 alone at the Chenies. Says she, 'I shall never get well 
 here, Mrs. King ; I feel like a fish out of water here in Miss 
 Uffadyne's dressing-room. I wish I might come home/ 
 And she meant it too." 
 
 " Well, I hope she'll not be discontented, but it will be a 
 great change for her after the Chenies, with the fine linen, 
 and the cut-glass, and the silver plate, and everything else 
 conformable." 
 
 " I'm sure everything is as nice here as it need be. Where 
 would you see a whiter cloth than that on any gentleman's 
 
198 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 table? And it's clean, too, though, it's Saturday night. 
 I know some people who would put up with anything because 
 it is the end of the week ; but that's not my way, and never 
 has been ; my mother brought me up to be more particular 
 than most folks in my station. And look at these knives 
 no grit on the handles, no blades all dim and smeared. And 
 the forks, though they are only steel, are the very best of 
 their kind, and not a bit of dirt in between the prongs. And 
 what silver there is is as bright as if it had just come out of 
 the Queen's plate basket. These are the spoons we bought 
 when we were married, William, and they are just as good as 
 ever. I don't let my silver get scratched and dinted like 
 some I've seen. And I've roasted a chicken, and there's a 
 nice little boiling of asparagus, and Patience is just broiling 
 a few rashers of that bacon that you say is the primest I ever 
 cured, and that's a supper fit for anybody as is reasonable. 
 And here she is ! That's Miss Cecil's pony-carriage. It has 
 stopped at the gate. I must go and meet her." 
 
 And down between her bright flower-borders ran good 
 Mrs. King, and before Esther could take three steps along 
 the gravel walk she was clasped in the motherly arms and 
 kissed as tenderly as if she were the daughter of the house 
 coming home after a long absence. How sweet and calm it 
 all looked in the shadowy gloaming ! How quiet was the 
 peaceful homestead ! How fragrant was the still evening 
 air with the breath of the lilacs and the hawthorn and other 
 lovely blossoms of the flowery May ! And in the porch 
 stood the farmer, his eyes glistening with satisfaction, for 
 Esther had crept into his heart unawares ; she had reminded 
 him so often of one of his own little lasses long since laid in 
 the churchyard, that he began to look upon her as having 
 come in the dead child's stead, to fill the place so long and 
 sadly vacant in his fatherly affections. And he bestowed 
 upon her a very fatherly kiss, first saying, with a little 
 humour in his tone, " I may ; mayn't I, missus 1 " 
 
 And the missus replied, " Thee may kiss who thee likes, 
 William, for I know thee wilt never kiss any as willingly as 
 thee kisses me. But thee'st more than welcome to kiss 
 Esther ; it makes her seem more like our own girl. Nov 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 199 
 
 get in, child, and take off thy bonnet, and come down and 
 have a bit of supper with us once more. " 
 
 And presently Esther found herself in her own bed-room, 
 with her own little properties about her, and the sweet air 
 coming in laden with perfume through the open oriel win- 
 dow. Everything was so neat and clean ; such an aspect of 
 purity and freshness was on the plainly-furnished room; 
 the bed furniture was, as Mrs. King boasted, "white as 
 the driven snow," and the fringed covers on the table 
 and on the chest of drawers were quite as spotless ; a gay 
 pincushion brightened up the toilet, and a few flowers were 
 tastefully arranged in a vase upon the mantel-piece. It 
 was a new experience to Esther ; she had never in all her 
 life known what it was to have the sense of " coming home," 
 for the very simple reason that she had never before had any 
 home to leave or to return to. Still the being once more at 
 the Slade did not afford the unmirigled satisfaction she had 
 looked for during the first week of her captivity at the 
 Chenies. Af^er the little bustle of her arrival had subsided, 
 she did feel the difference between the ways of the farm and 
 the ways of the household she had left. She missed many 
 little things that had grown in the short space of one month 
 to be as necessaries of life; involuntarily she put out her 
 hand for a table-napkin, and her nerves were somewhat 
 jarred when the farmer, according to custom, conveyed his 
 knife to his mouth and afterwards helped himself to salt 
 without the intervention of a salt-spoon. Esther had wit- 
 nessed these and worse usages among the Hellicars, though 
 she had never been tempted to conform to them herself, and 
 they had greatly annoyed her. But now she felt painfully 
 the lack of refinement which was so visible in kind, fatherly 
 farmer King, and she wondered why his wife, who was far 
 more amenable to the rules of good breeding, had never tried 
 to make him more polite. She did not know as yet that 
 every man, however good and gentle, has at least one tender 
 point on which he will brook no interference from his woman- 
 kind. Farmer King liked to indulge in certain habits 
 ignored in polite society, and those habits he held with 
 dogged pertinacity, constantly affirming that his house was 
 
200 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 Liberty Hall ; and once upon a time lie had caused to be in- 
 scribed with many a flourish, on an embossed and gilded 
 card, which he placed above the huge mantel-shelf, " Hospi- 
 tality, no formality, ever you'll find here ' " And to this 
 profession he rigidly adhered ; his hospitality was unbounded, 
 but it would have been none the less acceptable had ho 
 mingled with its exercise some trifling amount of ceremony. 
 Not that the good man was essentially vulgar, for true vul- 
 garity, like true politeness, springs rather from the heart and 
 mind than from want of knowing better or from force of life- 
 long habits and associations. Still Esther felt the change, 
 though she chid herself for every little discontent and in- 
 voluntary shrinking, and she resolved to watch herself very 
 closely lest by any inadvertent speech or look she should 
 hurt the feelings of these kind and worthy people. After 
 all, when she carne to think about it, farmer King's sins 
 against good breeding were peccadilloes when compared with 
 some of the usages of the family in Queen Square, and any- 
 thing was better than Myra's affected gentility on particular 
 occasions. Better far the homeliest grogram, whatever that 
 time-honoured material may be, or the coarsest linsey- 
 woolsey, that is what it seems to be, than the far showier 
 and seemingly more costly fabric that is not what it professes 
 to be. 
 
 On the Monday morning Esther went to her school, anr. 
 was warmly welcomed by the majority of her scholars, and 
 very soon she was as thoroughly absorbed in her work as she 
 had been before her long and unexpected holiday commenced. 
 Some of the children had gone back in their lessons, some 
 had seemingly forgotten all they had ever learned, and some 
 few of them had fallen into lazy and rebellious habits. The 
 young schoolmistress found that she had quite enough to do, 
 without indulging in vain regrets about mere trifles ; though 
 some of the girls were really thankful to get back to their 
 studies, "there were not a few who chafed at the now un- 
 accustomed restraint, and longed to get out of the weary 
 school-room into the flowery meadows, or even to be hanging 
 about at home, doing a turn of housework now and then ; 
 anything rather than the monotony of learning lessons, and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 20i 
 
 writing copies, and making shirt-sleeves, and keeping silence 
 when they longed to chatter. 
 
 Esther was very weary that Monday evening ,, she had had 
 several small encounters with obstinate children, and though 
 she had succeeded in gaining the mastery, the victory had 
 cost her something. She felt harassed and depressed ; even 
 her best pupils had lost ground ; all but Mary Murrell and 
 Anne Culverwell had to refresh their memories extensively, 
 and she felt as if her labour had been in vain, and as if the 
 proper state of things would n&ver be restored. She could not 
 help grumbling a little as she sat at her tea with Mrs. King ; 
 she had not lost her interest in her work, far from it, but the 
 zest and relish with which she had discharged her pleasant 
 duties were certainly diminished ; a sort of languor was creep- 
 ing over her energies, and she found herself continually re- 
 verting to her sojourn at the Chenies, wondering when Cecil 
 would ask her there again, and rejoicing in the prospect of 
 the Midsummer holidays, not so very far away, Mrs. King 
 said nothing, though she remarked Esther's worn, dejected 
 look ; and she noticed that every time the house-dog barked, 
 or the latch of the garden-gate clinked, she looked anxiously 
 down the gravel walk as if expecting an arrival. Neverthe- 
 less she hoped that two or three days w r ould make all the 
 difference ; Esther would be reconciled to her humble home, 
 she would fall back into her old ways, and be happy and 
 diligent again, and go to her work morning and afternoon 
 with renewed'delight and animation. 
 
 But the next day and the next slipped by, and there was 
 no improvement, and Mrs. King began to feel very sorrow- 
 ful. The bright, earnest Esther was gone, and in her stead 
 was a dreamy, sombre Esther, who seemed incessantly brood- 
 ing over difficulties or disappointments. And difficulties 
 she had, which she did not as usual bring to Mrs. King ; 
 the children were really very trying, they were continually 
 idle and contumacious, and nearly every hour of the school- 
 day was marked by some dispute or contest, that required 
 her utmost stretch of patience, and all her stock of firmness. 
 And then she was quite conscious of it herself her temper 
 was not as even as it used to be j she allowed herself to be 
 
202 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 irritated, and, what was worse, showed her irritation, and 
 children are so quick to discern the failings of those in 
 authority. These Chilcombe children were neither better 
 nor worse than others of their generation ; even their station 
 in life had little to do with it. They looked for absolute 
 perfection in their governess, and were at first surprised, 
 then pleased, and lastly stimulated to conflict, when they 
 found that she really could be cross, and hasty, and what 
 they chose to call " horridly disagreeable." 
 
 Cecil was at Guise Court, and so Esther could not tell her 
 of these troubles, and something seemed always to hinder 
 her from confiding as of old in Mrs. King. She grew more 
 and more unhappy ; even her own studies, to which she had 
 at first eagerly returned, became wearisome and dull ; list- 
 lessly she opened her French books, and listlessly she looked 
 out words for her translation, her thoughts wandering far 
 away. Carelessly even she worked the sums, which it was 
 necessary she should go through before she had to examine 
 them in the school-room; and she contented herself with 
 " keys," whereas she had till now scorned the idea of copy- 
 ing down figures which she had not duly tested. Esther 
 loved arithmetic, and she quickly comprehended every rule, 
 and hitherto she had chosen painfully to work out every 
 proposition, however complex, rather than take anything for 
 granted. She had availed herself of the " key " hitherto, 
 only to assure herself that her own solutions were perfectly 
 correct ; now it was far otherwise. 
 
 It was about ten days after the school had reopened that a 
 very untoward circumstance occurred. Matters had in no 
 wise mended, and the antagonism between teacher and 
 pupils had obviously increased. The girls were glad when 
 the hours of school were over ; the governess was scarcely 
 glad, but very much relieved, and evening by evening she 
 went home to the Slade weary, discontented, taciturn, and 
 sad. The grey cloud seemed settling down upon her life 
 once more ; the golden sunshine was withdrawn. And yet 
 the \vorld was as fair as it had been on her birthday ; friends 
 were as kind, her occupations were the same, her recreations 
 still the same. The change was in herself, and she knew 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 2 03 
 
 that it wns so, and felt the more miserable and the more 
 hopeless that she could not exactly charge any one or any- 
 *hing with the dull, vague misery that oppressed her. 
 
 It was "ciphering morning," and the children were more 
 than ordinarily trying, and Esther had pretty nearly ex- 
 hausted all her stock of patience. She had taken great 
 pains with many of the girls, trying to simplify all that 
 seemed obscure, showing them over and over again how cer- 
 tain processes must be followed out, and how the requisite 
 result might be attained. She had never refused help to any 
 one, unless convinced that she had to deal with incorrigible 
 laziness or sullen obstinacy, and generally speaking " sum 
 morning " was as bright as any in the week. This morning, 
 however, was anything but bright ; idleness, carelessness, 
 and stupidity prevailed among the scholars, while Esther felt 
 not the smallest inclination to concession. Sum after sum 
 was crossed over without a word of explanation ; tears were 
 as plentiful as figures, and everybody's slate was smeared and 
 greasy. The tears that were shed so profusely differed widely 
 in their nature ; some of them were mere foolish, childish 
 tears, showering like April rain one minute, and wiped away 
 the next. Some were tears of disappointment and regret, 
 some of anger, and some of utter weariness. Even steady, 
 persevering Mary Murrell went back to her seat with a long 
 " Rule of Three " sum ruthlessly condemned. Esther had 
 merely crossed it off, saying, " Altogether wrong," without 
 telling her where the error commenced, or how it could be 
 rectified. Mary's head ached, and one or two large drops 
 fell unseen on the neatly-figured slate as she prepared to rub 
 the whole sum out, and begin again at the beginning. She 
 cared for Esther's unkindness far more than for the trouble 
 she must take. 
 
 There was a girl in the school named Belinda Smith, a 
 niece of Miss Amelia Matilda Smith, of the Chenies, the 
 Smiths apparently, as a family, dealing in fine names. 
 Belinda was just thirteen, but, as Cecil herself frequently 
 remarked, older than her years. She was clever and 
 cunning, untruthful, and given to fits of sullen obstinacy. 
 She had always been a trouble, and several governesses who 
 
204 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 had preceded Esther found her quite unmanageable. Cecil 
 had threatened more than once that she should be expelled, 
 for her example was terribly pernicious, and in combats with 
 her teacher she was not unfrequently the victor. She had 
 never triumphed since Esther had been mistress, for Esther 
 had been warned and advised by Mrs. King, and she had 
 carefully refrained from anything that might actually pro- 
 voke hostilities. When sJie made ridiculous mistakes, 
 evidently intended to test both her teacher's knowledge and 
 her temper, Esther treated the blunder simply as a blunder, 
 giving her credit for not knowing any better, thus implying 
 that Miss Belinda was very dull indeed. 
 
 The girl was vain and ambitious, and it did not suit her 
 to be considered stupid ; so, finding that she could not bring 
 her teacher to an actual passage-at-arms, she sulkily obeyed 
 her, and at last changed her tactics, and so brilliantly thafc 
 Esther was seriously afraid at one time of not being able to 
 keep up with her eccentric pupiL 
 
 Belinda was well up in arithmetic, and her sums were 
 generally now worked with exceeding accuracy. Her 
 answers were commonly correct, even to a fraction. This 
 morning she brought up her slate as usual, pushing it rather 
 rudely before Esther, who at once desired her to stand 
 back. 
 
 Belinda retreated half an inch, and gloomily waited her 
 turn, annoying Esther all the while by beating a sort of 
 tattoo on the frame of her slate. Her turn came last of all, 
 and she stood by sullen and vindictive while her sum was 
 being examined. Esther only looked at the answer, and 
 found it differed in several particulars from the one given in 
 the key. She coolly drew the sponge across, and pro- 
 nounced the monosyllable, " Wrong." Belinda was quite as 
 much astonished as exas perated, and, out of sheer surprise 
 and curiosity, she went back quietly to her seat. She un- 
 derstood the rule so well, and she had done the sum so 
 carefully, that an error seemed impossible. However, she 
 would work it through again, she was determined, and then, 
 if still the answer were condemned, she resolved that no 
 power on earth should make her try again. She strongly 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 205 
 
 suspected that she was right, and that her governess was in 
 error. 
 
 With almost dogged perseverance she performed her task, 
 testing her calculations slowly one by one, and going over 
 the whole sum twice before she carried it up for re-examina- 
 tion. The result was precisely the same as before; the 
 same figures showed themselves at the bottom of the slate. 
 With a sullen air Belinda again presented herself at Esther's 
 desk ; this time no one else was there, and her slate was 
 taken in hand immediately. And again Esther drew her 
 pencil across the sum total, and, without vouchsafing a word 
 of inquiry or explanation, turned away to another girl who 
 came up with her slate. 
 
 Belinda walked back to her desk, and sat perfectly still, 
 not even handling her pencil. Esther perceived the state 
 she was in, but she did not interfere till the clock struck 
 twelve, and the girls began to put away their books and 
 slates before going home. Then she called her 
 
 " Belinda Smith, bring up your sum." 
 
 Belinda brought it, standing by with a fierce scowl upon 
 her brow that at another time would have unnerved Esther, 
 and made her hesitate ere she pledged herself to any course 
 of action. Now it only roused her to anger ; she knew that 
 Belinda could work the sum easily enough, and she saw that 
 she had fallen into what the girls called " one of her fits," and 
 *hat she would not make a figure unless compelled. And 
 to compel her Esther was resolved ; obstinacy should be met 
 with firmness. Belinda should find that she had met hei 
 match, and her proud, rebellious spirit should be con- 
 quered. 
 
 " Wrong again," said Miss Kendall, at a glance. 
 
 The icy coldness of her tone lashed her pupil into a rage. 
 She looked defiantly in Esther's face, and replied 
 
 " It is not wrong." 
 
 " But I tell you il is, Belinda ; the answer is glaringly 
 incorrect, there is an error somewhere." 
 
 ' No, there isn't." 
 
 " Belinda ! do you know what you are saying ? " 
 
 "Yes, I do. And I say it again ; that sum is right, every 
 
206 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 figure. I know ciphering about as well as you do, and I am 
 sure there is no mistake/ 
 
 " Go through it aloud" 
 
 / won't ! " 
 
 11 You will not I " 
 
 " No, I will not ! I shall not touch the sum s^am, or 
 my name is not Belinda Smith. Do it yourself ! " 
 
 Vainly Esther tried to be calm and dignified ; she was so 
 very angry herself, perhaps naturally so, that she did not 
 know how Best to deal with this incorrigible child. She 
 could only, in a trembling voice, reiterate her commands, 
 declaring that Belinda should not leave the school-room till 
 the sum was worked correctly. It was clearly a struggle for 
 authority, and the other girls wondered among themselves 
 how it would end. 
 
 " Linda Smith always has got the best of it," said Sarah 
 Lee to Mary Murrell. 
 
 "She has never got the best of it with Miss Kendall," 
 replied Mary, " and I don't think she will now. Of course 
 she ought to do her sum over and over again till she finds 
 out the mistake. Mine was dreadfully wrong this morning, 
 and it was only just one figure that threw all the rest out. 
 I had forgotten to carry something that was all , but it 
 made all the difference." 
 
 " Well, I don't know but what Linda will get the upper 
 hand to-day. Miss Kendall isn't herself ; she's as cross as 
 two sticks." 
 
 " She isn't herself." 
 
 " No, indeed ; she's in nearly as bad a temper as Linda, 
 and she won't give up an inch, and Linda won't. I should 
 like to stop here for the dinner-hour and see how they get on." 
 
 Presently Esther wrote a short note, and gave it to a little 
 girl who passed the Slade on her way home, and charged her 
 to deliver it to Mrs. King. The result of the note presently 
 .appeared. One of the farm boys came to the school-house 
 with a basket containing Miss Kendall's dinner, since Miss 
 Kendall could not leave her post. 
 
 Esther had not much appetite for her dinner, nor did she 
 much enjoy it ; but Belinda was very hungry, and the odour 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 207 
 
 of the stewed beef made her nearly frantic. If Esther had 
 offered her any she would certainly have been compelled to 
 take it, for she was feeling absolutely ravenous. The truth 
 was, Miss Smith had not breakfasted that morning ; she 
 had come down late, and had been scolded by her mother 
 and taunted by her brothers, and she had torn out of the 
 house in a fury, without, as Mrs. Smith said, " having had a 
 bit or sup between her lips that day." Doubtless this absti- 
 nence would not tend to soothe her spirits or to increase her 
 amiability. By dinner-time she was furiously hungry, of 
 course, and soon she began to feel very sick and faint. 
 
 Meanwhile, Esther gave the residue of her dinner to a 
 beggar, and occupied herself with a book till the girls 
 returned for the afternoon lessons. Strange to say, it never 
 occurred to her that the trusted " key " could be in error ; 
 and, after what she had said, she felt no inclination to go 
 through the sum herself, at least, while Belinda Smith was 
 present. 
 
 Afternoon school commenced, and Esther was soon very 
 busy with the girls' needlework; but ever and anon she 
 looked anxiously at the place where Belinda sat in solitary 
 disgrace leaning her elbows on the desk and her face buried 
 in her hands. She had not touched the slate since she 
 carried it away the second time, and Esther's heart misgave 
 her that she had done a foolish thing in thus publicly striv- 
 ing for the mastery. She knew that if she yielded now it 
 would be all over with her authority, and that not only as 
 regarded Belinda. To draw back now would never do ; it 
 would be injurious as well as pusillanimous; to succumb 
 would be to place herself at disadvantage for ever afterwards 
 among her scholars. And yet, what if she suffered defeat ? 
 Would not that be worse even than a drawn game ? 
 
 As the afternoon waned she became more and more uneasy. 
 She could see that Belinda had not wavered, and how was it 
 to end ? She could not keep her a prisoner in the room till 
 her obstinacy was starved out of her, and she could not force 
 the stubborn fingers to resume the pencil ; still less could she 
 force the stubborn mind to make once more the necessary 
 calculations. 
 
208 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Lessons were over, and the girls went home once nio*<; , 
 but still Esther and Belinda sat wearily in the school-room, 
 the one making an attempt at writing, the other gazing suJ- 
 lenly out of the window. 
 
 Esther made herself some tea, and after a little considera- 
 tion she took a cup to Belinda, and said 
 
 " Take some tea, you naughty girl, you must want some- 
 thing, I am sure. It is your own fault that you are here , 
 you are punishing yourself. Drink your tea and eat a piece 
 of cake, and behave like a reasonable creature. Go through 
 the sum once more, and then if it is not right I will help you." 
 
 Had Esther taken that tone hours before, the encounter 
 might never have taken place ; but the girl's worst passions 
 had been aroused, and she was not now to be cajoled with a 
 few quiet words, a cup of tea, and a piece of seed-cake. She 
 would have liked the tea very much, for she was thirsty and 
 feverish, but the strong craving for food had subsided. She 
 had kept her fast now for two-and-twenty hours. She was a 
 growing girl, and not particularly strong ; and it is not to be 
 wondered at that she was getting too sick, and faint, and 
 dizzy, to prolong the contest actively. Her resistance had 
 become passive, but it was not the less actual resistance, it 
 was insurmountable as ever. 
 
 She sullenly pushed away the cup she longed to taste, but 
 did not speak. 
 
 " Belinda," said Esther, gravely, " I did not think you 
 could be so silly. Come now, try the sum once more." 
 
 " I have said I will not ! " was the reply. 
 
 Though the girl's voice trembled from weakness, there was 
 that in its tone which seemed to say, " 2vTo ; I shall not give 
 way ; do not think it. I will die of hunger rather than 
 attempt the task." Her face was very white, her lips colour- 
 less, and dark circles were round her heavy eyes ; she looked 
 extremely ill, and the young governess began to wonder what 
 the mother would say when her daughter at last presented 
 herself at home. Mrs. Smith was a terrible vixen, unless 
 her neighbours belied her ; she was by no means a tender 
 parent, for she worried her children continually with scold- 
 ings and reprimands, and occasionally, when very much 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 20$ 
 
 provoked, she beat them unmercifully. They were the worst 
 children in the country, she frequently averred ; but then if 
 she chose to say so, no one else must make complaints. The 
 Smiths were an unpopular family in the village, and the 
 juvenile members were constantly coming to grief ; but woft 
 to the man or woman who presumed to inflict summary ven- 
 geance or to punish the offenders. All the storming and all 
 the beating Mrs. Smith preferred to do herself; and the 
 most foolish of fond mothers could not have felt herself 
 more aggrieved than did Belinda's maternal parent when any 
 kind of discipline, however needful it might be, was exer- 
 cised for the benefit of her unruly offspring. 
 
 Belinda had expected her all the afternoon, for of course 
 she would be missed at dinner time ; she did not know that 
 her mother had gone in the tax cart to the cathedral town to 
 sell her overplus of butter. She was beginning to feel de- 
 serted, and her illness increased every moment ; she longed 
 to lie down anywhere, even on the floor ; yet still she kept 
 her seat, leaning heavily, however, on her elbows. She 
 could not have done the sum now if she had been willing ;, 
 the pencil would have dropped from her fingers, and the 
 figures would have faded before her eyes. She wondered, 
 half fearfully, what ailed her. She had been poorly often 
 enough ; once or twice in her life she had been very ill, but 
 she had never felt anything like this before. Though the 
 evening was unusually warm she was cold and inclined to 
 shiver; her hands and feet tingled strangely, the room 
 seemed turning round and round, her head swam and then 
 became a dull, heavy weight. Esther's voice sounded as i 
 it came from a distance ; it was like listening to a sermon,. 
 in a half-awake condition, on a drowsy Sunday afternoon, 
 Could she be going to sleep ? or was she dying ] Could this 
 chill, and numbness, and breathlessness be really death ? 
 
 She was too far gone to speak or think ; she gasped for 
 6reath, she swayed backwards and forwards on her seat and 
 tried to call for air, for she thought she was going to be 
 suffocated. Esther caught her in her arms, or she would have 
 fallen heavily upon the floor. And Esther, who had had 
 some experience in fainting fits, though dreadfully alarmed, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 did not lose her senses ; she laid the unconscious girl on Ihe 
 floor with a cushion under her head ; then she fetched water 
 and dashed it in her face ; she loosened her dress and rubbed 
 her palms vigorously. She was just reviving, and Esther was 
 trying to administer a spoonful of tea, when Mrs. Smith 
 walked in and gave a sort of fierce howl, beholding the 
 prostrate condition of her daughter. 
 
 " "What have you done to her ] " demanded che virago, 
 menacingly. 
 
 Esther explained as well as she could. 
 
 " They tell me," pursued the angry woman, " that my lass 
 there has not been home since morning, that she hasn't 
 tasted food this day, that you've kep' her here clemming and 
 starving, and it looks as if it was true." 
 
 Esther replied that it was Belinda's own fault ; and she 
 went over the story as hurriedly as possible. 
 
 Mrs. Smith could hardly wait till it was finished; ere 
 Esther's voice had ceased she burst out with 
 
 "And a pretty schoolmistress you must be, that couldn't 
 make the girl do her sums ! There's some people as have nc 
 power about them ; they never can get obedience, but they're 
 not fit to be set over others. They'd better not be school- 
 missuses ! " 
 
 " I have always been obeyed before," said Esther, sadly ; 
 ** this is the first time a pupil has defied me." 
 
 *And then," continued Mrs. Smith, her temper getting 
 quite the better of her prudence, " in order to spite the girl 
 because she's given you trouble, you keep her starving till 
 she's a'most clemmed ; she isn't a strong lass, and I shouldn't 
 wonder if this isn't the death of her ! " 
 
 Belinda, who was now quite conscious, set up a prolonged 
 wail at hearing of her probably untimely fate, and her furious 
 mother raved on, now upbraiding her daughter, now abusing 
 Esther, and giving her, as she elegantly expressed herself in 
 after narrations, " the length of her tongue." 
 
 And a very long tongue it was, and a sharp, stinging, 
 cruel tongue ! Esther began to think it was worse ev^en than 
 being under the lash of Mrs. Hellicar's unruly member. The 
 noise Mrs. Smith made quite stunned her, the accusations she 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 21] 
 
 brought against her were confounding, and she could neither 
 defend herself nor bid the incensed woman leave the room. 
 Belinda sat upright now, looking ill and scared, but evidently 
 enjoying the fracas. Of course there was no more question 
 as to the sum being worked, or left as it was ; Belinda must 
 go home, and though she had fought hard for it, Esther felt 
 that she had lost the day. Belinda had not gained a glorious 
 victory, but she had defeated and put to shame her adversary, 
 and she was prepared to depart as triumphantly as her phy- 
 sical weakness would permit. 
 
 "Why didn't you do your sum, you obstinate little fooll" 
 asked her mother, shaking her up a little as a preparation for 
 walking home. " Couldn't you do it ? " 
 
 "I did do it; I did it twice," said the girl, as full of 
 defiance as at the outset of the quarrel; "and I said I 
 wouldn't do it again and I won't, not for nobody ! " 
 
 " If she says she won't, she won't, leastways not for you," 
 cried Mrs. Smith. "/ could make her do it; for I'd beat 
 her on her bare neck and shoulders with a good sharp switch 
 till she did do it, if I'd ever said she should ! I beat her as 
 long as I could stand over her not a fortnight since because 
 she wouldn't go and weed the strawberry-patch when I bid 
 her to ! And she wouldn't do it then, so I took a little rest, 
 and then gave it to her again, more sharply than at first ; and 
 I told her I'd beat her every hour till she did as she was bid, 
 if it was for a month to come, and if I wore out fifty switches 
 across her stubborn shoulders. So at last, after three good 
 dressings, and weals on her as big as your little fingers, she 
 went and did as she was told. That's the way I conquer her." 
 
 "If you found so much difficulty, Mrs. Smith, can you 
 wonder at my failure ? " asked Esther, quietly. " I could not 
 beat her, of course ; I would not." 
 
 " You'd better not, Miss Governess ; if you had touched 
 my girl I'd just have boxed your ears soundly. Now, Linda, 
 get up, and come home. I don't know as you won't get a 
 taste of the switch to-night before you go to bed." 
 
 " Oh, please do not," said Esther, imploringly, her heart 
 full of pity for the unhappy child. <( She has been punished 
 enough to-day." 
 
212 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " You think so, do you ] That's my look out ; I do what 
 I like with my own. Come along, Linda. I shall go and 
 see Miss Uffadyne to-morrow and let her know what sort of 
 schoolmistress she has set up. Why, you're only a child 
 yourself, and haven't a bit of judgment. I daresay as it was 
 you as was wrong, and not the sum. My lass is generally 
 pretty right in her figures ; she helps keep her father's 
 accounts very prettily, and it's very rare that she's mistaken. 
 You had better do the sum yourself, Miss Kendall." 
 
 And at last Mrs. Smith walked away, hauling her daughter 
 with her ; and after watching her out of sight, Esther locked 
 the door and sat down and wept most bitterly. How she 
 wished she had never provoked the wretched contest ! 
 "What a day it had been ! Ah, if only she had contented her- 
 self with telling Belinda that she must be very stupid, as her 
 sum was wrong the second time ! if only she had not grown 
 hard and stubborn herself, and resolved upon subjugating the 
 perverse, rebellious child ! She felt now that she too had 
 been fighting her own way to get the victory, rather than 
 firmly acting upon principle. Of course, having publicly 
 declared that the sum should be done, she felt obliged to 
 enforce her commands, but as a wise teacher she should have 
 refrained from clashing with such a temper as Belinda's was 
 well known to be ; in such a case open war never should 
 have been declared, she had acted most unwisely, and she had 
 let her temper get the better of her judgment. Cecil would 
 say she had been imprudent ; Florence would say she 
 had shown an unchristian spirit ; altogether Esther felt her 
 defeat painfully, knowing that it might involve rather serious 
 consequences. There was no knowing what would grow out 
 of to-day's failure, and this one unhappy contest might lead 
 unavoidably to many more. 
 
 But worse was yet to come. When Esther had had her 
 cry out she took up the slate on which were yet Belinda's 
 figures, and began to work the sum, in order to see for her- 
 self where the error lay. Row after row was carefully tested 
 and found correct ; she came to the bottom at last, and found 
 that her sum total and Belinda's were the same. With 
 beating heart she determined to go over it once again; 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 213 
 
 she took a fresh slate and put Belinda's out of sight, and once 
 more she made with redoubled care and precision all the 
 calculations, and with just the same result. She could not 
 doubt now; Belinda had been right all the time, and the 
 "Key," which she had trusted, was in error. Oh, how 
 vexed, how humiliated she felt, sitting there in the lonely 
 school-room, with those long arrays of figures, and that 
 unlucky "Key" before her. How Belinda would triumph 
 now, and what would Mrs. Smith say'? And yet Esther felt 
 inclined to rush off there and then to the little farm across 
 the common and confess her own mistake, and ask Belinda's 
 pardon. 
 
 While she was pondering on what she had better do, or 
 what it would be right and wise to do, she heard some 
 one knocking at the door. It was Mrs. King, who wab 
 growing alarmed at Esther's absence. 
 
 " Why, my child, where hast thee been all day 1 " asked 
 the motherly voice ; and the kind eyes saw that Esther's face 
 was stained with tears, and that she was looking very 
 miserable. " Is anything wrong, my dear ? The farmer and 
 me got so uneasy when you never came home to your tea that 
 I thought I would put on my bonnet and come and look 
 after you. I should have been here an hour ago, only Mr. 
 Blount came in to pay for the little pigs ; and he wanted the 
 brindled calf, and I had to go into the far Croft with him. 
 Xow, Esther, child, what is it ? " 
 
 With many tears Esther told her story, not sparing herself 
 by any means, and finishing up with, " What had I better 
 do what ought I to do, Mrs. King ? " 
 
 " That we'll think about, my dear ! Of course you must 
 confess your error ; but the Smiths are not people to whom 
 it would be safe to humble yourself. They are a very uncom- 
 fortable set of people, and I had rather this had happened 
 with any other girl in the village than with Belinda Smith. 
 She'll take advantage, I am afraid, if you tell her she was 
 right; and yet she must know, it would be deceitful and 
 sinful to let her suppose she was wrong after all. Wrong in 
 her conduct of course she was, but not wrong in her 
 reckoning." 
 
214 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " She knew she was right all the time. She could do tha 
 sum as -well as I ! I do not wonder, with her temper, that 
 she turned restive and obstinate. Oh, I am so sorry, !Mrs. 
 King : but there, I am not fit for the situation j I said I was 
 not ! I am too ignorant and too undisciplined. I had better 
 give it up." 
 
 " Tut ! nonsense, my dear ! "We all make mistakes. We 
 elderly people blunder and do stupid, wrong things sometimes, 
 even when we are proposing to ourselves to do well and 
 wisely. And you, a young thing of seventeen, it would be a 
 wonder indeed if you never made mistakes ! My dear, it's a 
 grand thing to know you are wrong, and to have grace to own 
 it. This fuss, which was partly of your own making, has 
 tried you sadly, and may try you yet ; but it will do you no 
 harm in the end, my love. "We all have to buy experience, 
 and this will be a lesson to you ; I learnt it with my own 
 children long ago. Never giv.e a decisive command, unless 
 you are quite sure that you will be able to enforce obedience 
 the contest in such cases does more harm than a little ; it 
 hurts the child, and it hurts the parent or teacher quite as 
 much. I remember once hastily saying to my little Bessie 
 that she should not have her dinner till she had said ' thank 
 yonT Oh ! I wished my tongue had been blistered before it 
 had uttered such a thing. She was an obstinate child now 
 and then, and she wouldn't say ' thank you ! ' And I had to 
 keep that baby of four years old without a bit of anything 
 but dry bread till quite late at night. She was conquered at 
 last, but I never T vanted such another victory ; it cost too 
 much ! I took care never to make such strenuous conditions 
 again. I don't think much good is done if you have to force 
 your child to obedience. But now, my dear, let us go home, 
 or the farmer will be here after us. I'll get you a nice bit of 
 supper, and then you must go to bed and forget your trouble 
 it won't seem half so bad to-morrow." 
 
 And finally it was arranged that, if Belinda Smith did not 
 come to school next day, Esther should write her a letter, ac- 
 knowledging the truth, with, all suitable concessions and 
 regrels. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 215 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI, 
 
 AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 
 
 CONTRARY to expectation Belinda Smith did come to school 
 next day ; and as soon as prayers were over, and the business 
 of the day about to commence, Esther rang the little bell, 
 which was used to enforce immediate silence and attention, 
 and prepared to address her scholars. Many of them 
 supposed that Belinda Smith was about to be expelled, for 
 already it was known that she had gone home after tea with 
 her mother, and that she had so far successfully resisted the 
 lawful authority as to leave her sum still untouched. It was 
 also known that Mrs. Smith had " spoken her mind," and all 
 the girls wondered whether the combat was to be renewed. 
 
 "You know," said Sarah Lee, again speaking to Mary 
 Murrell, " that as Miss Kendall said outright and positive 
 that the sum should be done, she was bound to have it done, 
 and she's bound now to have it done if Linda stops in the 
 school, or else there will never be any proper rule again. 
 But I don't think it was very sensible of Miss Kendall to do 
 such a thing with a girl like Linda ; we all know what she 
 is. I wonder whether it will all go on again to-day." 
 
 " I should think not," said Mary, sadly. She had worked 
 the sum herself early that very morning, and she, too, had 
 made the result exactly to agree with Linda's. She began to 
 suspect that the governess was in error, and if the contest 
 were to be renewed she meant humbly and privately to tell 
 Esther how she had worked the sum, and failed to find in 
 Belinda's figures one mistake. And Mary Murrell was the 
 head girl in arithmetic, and loved her teacher, to whom she 
 had never said a disrespectful word. But Esther quickly 
 solved the mystery. Her colour deepened as she glanced 
 round the room, and saw Belinda looking sullen and defiant 
 still, and all the elder girls curiously regarding her, and the 
 little ones wearing most astonished countenances. 
 
 " Girls," said Esther, in a clear, firm voice, " I am very 
 sorry for what occurred yesterday, more sorry than I can say, 
 
216 GREY AND GOLD 
 
 that Belinda Smith was punished and shamed before you al 1 
 for so far as her sum was concerned she was right. The error 
 was mine, or rather that of the " Key " to which I trusted. 
 From first to last her figures were all correct, and I blame 
 myself that, instead of relying on the printed answer, I did 
 not at once work the sum myself. Belinda, I cannot tell yon 
 how sorry I am, and I hope you will forgive me for the pain 
 I caused you. You, too, were in fault, for you were rude and 
 sullen, but I hope that will never be again. Let us begin 
 afresh to-day, and try to understand each other better. I 
 hope now we shall go on more happily." 
 
 Belinda was too astonished to reply ; no one had ever 
 asked her forgiveness before, and when Esther came round 
 and kissed her she submitted passively, though she did not 
 return the salute. But as she bent over her books a few tears 
 gathered in her eyes ; her heart was softened, for no one had 
 ever kissed her that she could remember, except now and then 
 her father when she helped him with his books, maternal 
 caresses not being at all in Mrs. Smith's way. 
 
 And so the storm blew over. Belinda gave no further 
 trouble, and it did not appear that Esther's authority had 
 suffered. Only Mrs. Smith put herself in her way on the 
 following Sunday coming out of church, and said, tauntingly, 
 " So you was wrong after all, and my lass right ! " And Esther 
 replied, " Yes, it was my mistake, Mrs. Smith ; I am very 
 sorry." 
 
 A few days passed by and it was June, and the country was 
 all one flush of beauty. Esther came in from school one 
 evening looking radiant and happy ; she had been having a 
 sort of initiatory examination, and she found that nearly all 
 the girls were very much improved. Also Belinda Smith had 
 been strangely gentle and obedient, and she had brought her 
 that morning an offering of field flowers, such as she knew 
 her governess particularly loved. Esther sat down to tea in 
 excellent spirits, ready to do justice to the nice cakes which 
 Mrs. King always made on baking-day. She was looking 
 very nice in a pretty pink and white print dress, with snowy 
 collar and neat cuffs, and her rich black hair smoothed, 
 braided, and plaited round her shapely head. It was quite a 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 217 
 
 different Esther from the one who had lived so drearily in 
 Queen Square. The table was well spread; not only were 
 there hot cakes, but brown bread and white, pats of golden 
 butter, a plate of cool, green salad, some blackberry jam, some 
 fine honey, and last, not least, a dishful of early strawberries. 
 It was the farmer's birthday, and Mrs. King kept high festi- 
 val on all such anniversaries. 
 
 Esther was giving back her cup to be replenished, and 
 talking gaily all the while, when she suddenly started and 
 ceased speaking. The garden gate swung back with a clang, 
 and up the walk came a young man with a swaggering air 
 that seemed strangely familiar to Esther Kendall. Could it 
 be Dick Hellicar? Esther's heart for a moment seemed 
 to stop breathing, and she felt sick and cold, while the morsel 
 of cake in her mouth turned at once to something little 
 better than dust and ashes. What could he possibly want 
 with her ? Had the Hellicars determined to claim her till 
 she was of age, and had they the power so to do ? And had 
 they sent Dick of all people to take her back again ? 
 
 " What is it, Esther 1 " asked the farmer, dropping a piece 
 of honeycomb upon the table-cloth. 
 
 " I think it is my cousin, Dick Hellicar, coming up the 
 walk," was the faint reply. 
 
 " Your cousin ] We must show him some hospitality, 
 then. Wife, is there plenty of tea in the pot ] Perhaps the 
 young man would prefer some cold meat or a rasher of ham 
 to these sweet things." And the farmer bustled out into the 
 porch to welcome with all due honours Esther's London 
 cousin. 
 
 Mr. Dick came in with his usual swagger, patronising the 
 farmer and greatly astonishing Mrs. King with his cool free- 
 and-easy ways. Yes, he would like a slice of cold beef 
 hugely, ii it were not too fat, and ham yes, a rasher of ham 
 as well, for he was confoundedly hungry. As for tea, he 
 didn't know ; at any rate, he would like a good pull at the 
 ale-jug first. 
 
 "And are they all quite well ] " asked Esther, trying to 
 make conversation. 
 
 " Well, no ; nobody's been well since you went away, but 
 
218 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 YOU did quite right. I wouldn't have you go oack for any 
 money. My father's about the same, and Biddy is about the 
 same, only she is going to be married to some Paddy or 
 another. But the children are bad, very bad. That wretched 
 little Tommy goes into fits like fun, and Fanny's going to 
 hook it soon, I think. As for the baby, if it is a baby, 
 it doesn't get on a bit. Its legs double up under it, and its 
 head waggles like a mandarin's, poor little urchin ! It would 
 be a mercy if the Lord would take it." 
 
 And Dick tried to look solemn and decorous. 
 
 " And aunt Myra ? th/ sick children must try her very 
 much." 
 
 " I believe you ! They do just, and Lizzie is not any help ; 
 indeed, she's a trouble, for though she's only a child, she isn't 
 as steady as a girl should be. She's a horrid, fast, mean, 
 spiteful little wretch ! And Mrs. Hellicar is in the dumps, 
 for there's going to be another baby. I wonder what she 
 means by it. I've told her I'm going to make tracks at once ; 
 I'm not going to stop in a house full of squalling children and 
 nothing else. Such women as Mrs. Hellicar ought never to 
 be allowed to be married; a man might just as well set up e 
 rag- doll by his fireside as such a poor, weak, vain, silly, 
 fibbing fool as she is ! I'm looking for a wife with sense and 
 spirit." 
 
 And he gave Mrs. King a knowing glance and a sly wink, 
 as much as to say he took her into confidence ; whereat Mrs. 
 King felt excessively disgusted. 
 
 More questions were asked and answered, and then Dick 
 condescended to admire Chilcombe, saying that it was a very 
 pretty place, but dull enough he should think. 
 
 " And you seem to 4 have a nice place here, sir," he con- 
 tinued, addressing Mr. King ; " I saw some fine ricks as I 
 was coming round the corner,' and some splendid cattle were 
 neing driven into the yard close by. I suppose they were 
 yours ] Yes ; I concluded so. I daresay you've some fine 
 fat porkers in the sty, and your good lady there her poultry 
 yard. Ah ! it's fine to be a farmer ! If I'd been brought 
 up in the country I might have been a farmer myself ; but 
 now it would be too quiet a life for me. I like stir, and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 219 
 
 bustle, and plenty of action ; and I'm in for progress, sir, 
 all for progress ! I'm in favour of manhood suffrage, and all 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 The farmer replied that he was not, he didn't think it 
 would answer; but Mr. Dick airily informed him that he 
 was quite mistaken, and he seemed anxious to commence a 
 discourse on politics, only Mr. King politely* declined to 
 continue the conversation while the ladies were present ; and 
 Dick, perceiving that Esther had finished her tea, was anxious 
 to engage her attention, and get her away into some secluded 
 spot where he might lay at her feet the magnificent prize of 
 his hand, and heart, and fortune. 
 
 When he asked her to take him round the garden she 
 could not well refuse, especially as he whispered 
 
 " I've something particular to say, you know. I've come 
 down on purpose." 
 
 She would rather not have listened, but she felt that it 
 could not be avoided; it could not be anything very 
 pleasant, but on the whole it seemed best to hear what he 
 had to say as quickly as possible, that it might be over. 
 Also, it would be best that she alone should hear what he 
 might have to tell her, for Dick could say a great deal sho 
 would not wish her friends to hear. Never before had she 
 felt so utterly ashamed of belonging to the Hellicars. 
 
 Finding himself among the rose bushes Dick lost no time. 
 
 " Esther," he began, " do you know you've grown very 
 handsome ? I should scarcely have known you. Why, you 
 look quite the lady ! " 
 
 And he tried to take her hand, but Miss Kendall coldly 
 withdrew her fingers, and daintily held up the flowing skirt 
 of her pretty pink dress. 
 
 Dick's wooing was of the most abrupt j his next speech 
 was 
 
 " I say, Hetty, give us a kiss ! " 
 
 And he would have taken one, had not his cousin drawn 
 back, like a young duchess, as he told his father afterwards, 
 and haughtily declined the salutation. 
 
 " Now but, Esther, that's too bad ! and I came all the 
 way down here on purpose," 
 
I 
 
 20 GKEY AXD GOLD. 
 
 " On purpose to kiss me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I hope I'll have you to kiss for many a day, 
 Esther, I've made up my mind to marry you." 
 
 " Have you indeed ! " 
 
 He did not perceive the satire in her tone ; he thought 
 that she meant that she could hardly helieve such blissful 
 news. 
 
 " Yes," ,he went on, getting quite sprightly, " yes ; I've 
 meant to do it ever since you went away, and before. And 
 m be honourable ; I swear my intentions are honourable. 
 We'll settle the day at once, and we'll be married in that 
 church yonder, and the old buffer in there can give you 
 away. I've got into a nice thing now ; I've given up the 
 commission line ; it dorit pay, you see ; and I'm in the 
 law, I may say now. I'm leaving London and going to 
 Birmingham ; and you shall have a fine house, Esther, and 
 plenty of good dresses, and lots of servants ; and, if I can 
 manage it, a nice little four-wheeler and a useful nag. I 
 mean to be a gentleman. I am not going to the wall like 
 my father for the want of a bit of pluck. And you shall 
 be a lady, as you've a right to be. I've heard the governor 
 say if the Kendalls were poor they'd good blood in their 
 veins. Oh, Esther, my dear, we'll be as happy as the days 
 are long, and Mrs. Hellicar may go on having weedy babies, 
 and eating her heart out with vexation and envy ; when we 
 come to a carriage and pair and a footman, we'll call upon 
 them, my love, and leave our cards. "Won't that be fine t 
 Come, I may take a kiss now surely ! "We are all but hus- 
 band and wife." 
 
 But Esther stepped back resolutely, and Dick stood 
 amazed. 
 
 " Cousin Dick, you are my cousin, and I wish you well j 
 but I can never be your wife." 
 
 " And why not ? " 
 
 " I do not love you." 
 
 " Oh ! all girls say that ; but the love will come fast 
 enough if you give it head. If that's all I don't care " 
 
 " But I do ! Dick, let me go ! or I will call those men in 
 the rick-yard. I shall never love you, never even like you, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 I would as soon nay, sooner be transported than pledge 
 myself to you." 
 
 " That's plain speaking, at all events. And what's the 
 matter with me 1 Ain't I a likely young fellow for any girl 
 especially a girl as hasn't got a stiver of her own ? " 
 
 " The matter with you is that you are not good that you 
 don't fear God that that oh ! Dick, you know that I 
 know all about you. You are not even commonly honest I 
 How could you come down here on such an errand 1 " 
 
 "And you mean to say it's a fool's errand? You will! 
 never have me ? " 
 
 Never, Dick ! " 
 
 " You'll repent some day." 
 
 "I shall never repent." 
 
 " But I'll make you ! I'll be revenged, you proud minx ! 
 you impudent jade, you ! I'm not to be despised for 
 nothing, I can tell you; neither man nor woman shall 
 thwart Dick Hellicar without paying for it dearly dearly ! 
 No ! I won't kill you. I'll do worse than that ; I'll make 
 you long for death ! You shall be humbled yet, for I'll take 
 away your character, my fine young lady ! A word here, and 
 a word there, and a significant whisper or two, and it's done , 
 it don't cost much ! Oh ! I shall see you humbled yet, .and 
 a-wishing you were konest Mrs. Eichard Hellicar, as you 
 might have been, by this day month." 
 
 And he tore away, leaping the lavender hedge, not staying 
 to bid farewell to Mr. and Mrs. King. 
 
 " I'm glad you spoke out, my dear," said Mrs. King. 
 1 Such as he want a plain answer. Don't cry, Esther ; we'll 
 hope the next lover may be more acceptable ; there's plenty of 
 time yet, and I know you are in no hurry to get a sweet- 
 heart. I am so glad he is gone." 
 
 " I thought he was a doubtful customer," said the farmer ; 
 " and I wonder what he came down here for without giving 
 us a minute's notice. I suppose that fine shain lie wow 
 across his waistcoat wasn't gold ] " 
 
222 OBEY AND GOLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 "LITTLE ELLIE." 
 
 "ESTHER, my lass, would ye mind walking to Helmsley 
 Grange this evening 1 " asked the farmer, as they sat at 
 tea one evening, just before the Midsummer vacation com- 
 menced. 
 
 " I should like the walk very much, if I may take Rover. 
 Do you wish to send any message to the Grange, Mr. King 1" 
 
 " Yes. I promised Mr. Digby that I would let him know 
 to-day whether I would take to that rick of his; indeed, 
 there were two ricks he thought of parting with, and I 
 would not close with him till I saw how the markets went 
 to-day at Stannington. I was not quite clear that he was 
 acting fairly ; at least, I demurred about the price, and now 
 I am sure that I shall just be cutting my own throat if I 
 pay him what he offers. I will write a note while you put 
 on your hat, and tell him what I think of the bargain, and 
 also what I will give him ; and if he says anything, Esther, 
 tell him that's my my what is it, Mary ? " 
 
 " Your ultimatum, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, that's it ; only people do use such grand words 
 now-a-days. How my old father would have stared if he 
 had heard a farmer talk about his ultimatum ! " 
 
 Esther went upstairs smiling, not exactly at Mr. King's 
 " ultimatum" but at the decision and self-complacency with 
 which it was announced ; for the matter had been gone into 
 on the previous Saturday evening while she was present, and 
 the farmer would certainly have agreed to Mr. Digby's terms, 
 had not his wife suggested the impolicy of making a contract 
 which might possibly be injurious to himself, Mrs. King 
 was a sensible woman, and she threw out suggestions wliere 
 one less truly wifely would have triumphed in displaying 
 her own superior tact and wisdom ; and she always con- 
 trived that all bargains should be ostensibly concluded by 
 her husband, and that he should at least have the credit of 
 conducting his business himself. And he, good man, took 
 very kindly to the notion, and adopted the ideas of hia 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 223 
 
 clever, practical wife with so much facility, that after a while 
 he quite considered them as his own, and would have been 
 extremely surprised had anyone hinted to him that he was 
 trading on borrowed sagacity and acquired pradence ! Yet 
 he always declined to give his " ultimatum " in matters of 
 the slightest importance, without first " talking to my wife 
 about it." It was his chief regret that she could not attend 
 the markets with him ; and for this privation he indemnified 
 himself as well as he could, by talking over " prices " and 
 probable offers beforehand, and by consulting her upon such 
 bargains as still remained unclosed when he returned home 
 in the evening. For Mrs. King understood a sample of wheat 
 or barley, or a bag of beans, as well as any experienced corn- 
 factor in the country. 
 
 "There is the note," said the farmer, when Esther came 
 down ready for her walk. " Thee hadst better ask to see Mr. 
 Digby, if he is in ; if not well ! I'd rather thee didst not ask 
 for that young spendthrift, Rupert : not but what he would 
 be courteous to thee ; but he is no hand at business, and I 
 prefer to have my dealings with the old man, though he is 
 rather too close-fisted for my liking." 
 
 " And if you are not at home before nine o'clock, my dear," 
 said Mrs. King, " I will send Jem to meet you, or come my- 
 self, if I've done that ironing ; but the master's shirts do 
 take a season, and I couldn't trust them to Patience fine 
 work she would make with the ruffled fronts, I trow ! You 
 had better come back by the lane ; it is dark in the wood 
 so early ; and there is Rover waiting for you : he is a 
 famous beau for you, Esther, and a trusty one and a safe 
 one, too ! " 
 
 " Indeed he is, and I am quite content with him. I only 
 hope no more beaux will come troubling me for at least five 
 years. Come, Rover, good fellow." 
 
 "You are quite right, Esther," said Mrs. King as she 
 walked with the girl down the path to the gate. " As my 
 mother used to say, matrimony is no yield if it's jumped into 
 rashly, or undertaken too soon. Be a girl as long as you can, 
 Esther ; the days will come when you must be a woman, and 
 girlhood comes but once, and is socn over ; while womanhood, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 with its cares and responsibilities, lasts as long as you live 
 it may be for half a century or more. Dear me ! when 
 I see young creatures of sixteen or eighteen so keen after a 
 husband, and what they hold to be the privileges of a matron. 
 I feel as sorry for them as I do for a child that's running 
 about so heedlessly that he is sure to tumble down and come 
 to grief ere long. They're just flinging away the happiest 
 part of their lives the part, too, that God has given them 
 for learning the ways of the world, and knowing their own 
 minds, and getting experience. The world would be a deal 
 happier and a deal better if boys and girls would not rush into 
 matrimony the moment they are free of lesson-books. My 
 master was only twenty-one when he asked me. I and my 
 sister were at his outcome, and there was a dance in that very 
 barn there ; and he took me out for a breath of air, he said, 
 and we went and sat under the old hawthorn in the long-croft, 
 and watched the moon come up from behind the Helmsley 
 woods yonder, and he asked me there and then to be his wife. 
 I was nothing loth, but I said I'd ask my mother ; I was 
 only nineteen, you see, and girls were meeker and shyer in 
 those days. But my mother, though she thought well of 
 "William, said, * Not yet awhile, my lass ; not yet. Let him 
 be his own master for a bit ; let him know his own mind. 
 He thinks he does now ; every man thinks that, till he finds 
 out his mistake; but he don't, he can't, till he has been 
 tried. If he is worth having, if he wants thee in real good 
 earnest, he will wait, and be glad too ; if he changes his 
 mind, still well and good. Twenty-five don't often pick what 
 twenty-one would take ; and if either man or woman makes 
 a mistake in marriage, it can't be undone, remember ! You 
 may make the best of it, but a mistake is a mistake for all 
 that ; and a life-long mistake yields plenty of trial and dis- 
 appointment, though, by God's great mercy, it may turn to 
 good at last.' And I hearkened to my mother, for she'd lived 
 in the world before I was born, and knew things that I 
 didn't ; and thirty years ago we didn't set up at seventeen or 
 twenty for the sense and wisdom of three-score. And I told 
 William I couldn't be his sweetheart then ; but if he stayed 
 in the taiie mind three years longer, mayle I'd listen to him. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 225 
 
 But I wouldn't make or take any promise ; we were "both to 
 be quite free. However, lie did know his own mind, it 
 seemed, for the day he was twenty-four he came again, and 
 said he had seen many a lass that a man might fancy, but 
 never a one that suited him as I did ; and so we were 
 engaged, and twelve months afterwards we were married; 
 and though we've had our trials, we've been happier than 
 most ; and if it was all to come over again, I'd marry him to- 
 morrow before all other men on earth ! And if a woman can 
 say that from her heart, when she has been nigh upon thirty 
 years a wife, she is a happy woman, Esther Kendall, in spite 
 of all the changes she may have seen ; for married life brings 
 its cares and its worries as well a its joys and comforts, I 
 can tell you ; and there's sunshine and rain in all our lives, 
 and thorns among the roses ; the good Lord orders it so, that 
 we may not get our hearts fastened to this world by too 
 many and too strong ties. Now I'll go back ; I've come 
 quite a long way without my bonnet, and I've been preach- 
 ing a regular sermon." 
 
 Esther went on her way along the flowery lane the 
 pleasant Helmsley-lane, with its bowery hedges all garlanded 
 with lovely briar-roses, and clinging briony and fragrant 
 honeysuckle. And the brook kept up its pleasant tune be- 
 side her, and the birds sang sweetly, and the aspen leaves 
 quivered and made a gentle murmur in the hush of the 
 beautiful June evening. It was all very fair, and again 
 Esther felt as if she ought to sing hymns of praise for the 
 glory of the happy summer-tide, and all the splendour of the 
 earth and. sky. The discontent that had darkened her days 
 a little while ago had passed away ; that uncomfortable little 
 affair with Belinda Smith had been like a thunderstorm, 
 clearing the atmosphere of her thoughts, scattering the lurid 
 clouds of ingratitude and gloom, and freshening and brighten- 
 ing her perception of the many blessings showered about her 
 path. 
 
 " Yes," she soliloquised, " Mr. Guise was right when he 
 said we were ourselves allowed to give the colouring to our 
 lives. 'All is not gold that glitters,' certainly, and golden 
 surroundings do not always make golden lives. Oh ! I must 
 
22G GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 be thankful ; I must never repine any more. When I reflect 
 how changed is my lot, and how much God has done for me, 
 my heart must overflow ! And yet, it was heavy enough not 
 long ago. Dear me ! what inconsistent, thankless creatures 
 we are at least I am. I suppose I ought not to pronounce 
 judgment on my fellow-mortals. I am afraid I am rather 
 fond of finding out other people's blemishes, and philoso- 
 phising about other people's faults, and I am sure Esther 
 Kendall's mistakes and shortcomings are quite enough for 
 me to attend to. Why can't we see ourselves as others see 
 us, I wonder ? Somebody of old said, * Know thyself.' 
 Excellent advice, but not very easy to follow. Then, the 
 excuses we contrive for ourselves when we do admit our- 
 selves to be in the wrong ! the allowances we make, the 
 juggling sort of game we are so apt to play with our con- 
 sciences, making a dummy, in short, of conscience ; dummy, 
 of course, always getting the worst of it ! And to think of 
 Dick wanting to marry me ! I can scarcely believe that 
 it is true he came down here courting me me of all the 
 people in the world. I could fancy I dreamt it one does 
 dream such absurdities ; or I could imagine I had read it in 
 a story-book, or been told it about some one else. Well ! I 
 shall never have reason to be proud of my first offer, that is 
 certain. Even if Dick were honest, and honourable, and 
 gave promise of a thriving future, I could not marry him. 
 How much this subject has come before me of late ! first of 
 all there was that talk about love that I had with Miss 
 Cecil ; then Dick rushes down as if he expected to ask and 
 have as a matter of course ; and then Mrs. King discourses 
 on matrimony. Well ! I suppose there is no harm in think- 
 ing about it, if one only thinks wisely and soberly. Oh ! 
 how I do hate all that silly chatter about beaux that is so 
 general with girls. They don't mean any harm by it, but 
 they do themselves no end of harm, and hurt others too, by 
 playing at love ! It is almost as bad as playing at religion ; 
 in some ways I think it is quite as bad. I suppose every- 
 body's turn comes some day ! I can't call Dick's coming my 
 turn \ I wonder when it will be ! " 
 
 And deep in thought Esther moved on in the greeu 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 227 
 
 ahadows of the trees, for she was in the wood now, and 
 Rover was improving the occasion by snuffing and routing at 
 the rabbit-holes with considerable vigour. She rested for a 
 few minutes on the gnarled oak-root where she had sat on 
 Good Friday on her way home from Helmsley church. The 
 wood looked very different from what it was three months ago. 
 The mellow light of the June evening shone through the 
 boles of the great trees ; the wild strawberry-beds, and the 
 moss carpet at her feet, wore now the true rich emerald tint ; 
 the straight stems of the tall pines stood up like bronzed 
 pillars against a background of silvery birches, and feathery 
 larches, with here and there bright gleamings of a soft, un- 
 clouded blue. And lovely green ferns were springing, some 
 only half uncurled from their winter's sleep, where before 
 was only barren rock, or last year's withered fronds. And 
 here Esther went on with her thinking ; and presently 
 Rover, feeling, perhaps, that he was not conducting himself 
 quite as discreetly as might have been expected from a dog 
 of his respectability, came and lay down at her feet, looking 
 up in her face, as if wanting to know very much why she 
 was so grave and thoughtful, and why she did not talk to 
 him as her only companion. And then he crept closer to 
 her, settling himself on the hem of her dress, and began to 
 beat his tail upon the ground, and make a little low whine, as 
 if he were out of spirits, and wanted just a little cheering, 
 a little conversation by way of passing away the time which 
 hung heavily upon his paws, and also by way of diverting 
 his attention from the rabbits, on which his mind dwelt 
 regretfully in spite of all the prickings of his canine con- 
 science. 
 
 "What is it, Rover 1 " Esther said at last. "Are you 
 very dull, poor doggie 1 Now, doggies cannot have all they 
 want any more than human creatures; so you must be 
 patient. No, I don't want to be licked. I wish you would 
 show your affection in some other way. There, lie down, 
 and be patted, and I will talk to you. Do you know, Rover, 
 that young man you ba^d and growled at you wanted to 
 have a tussle with him, didn't you 1 that young man came 
 down here, all the way from London, on purpose to ask me 
 
?28 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 to be his wife ? I should as soon have thought of you* 
 making such a proposition, Eover ! And he behaved very 
 badly when he found that he had troubled himself to no 
 r urpose. He was horribly rude and fierce, and threatened 
 *11 sorts of wicked vengeance. I don't think, however, he 
 will carry his threats into execution ; indeed, I do not think 
 he can, for I have asked God to take care of me, and hide 
 me from the strife of tongues. But I suppose the right per- 
 son will come some day, and I wonder what he will be like. 
 I think I shall make up my mind like that * little Ellie ' in 
 the poem did ; only I shall not dip my feet in the water ; 
 some one might come by, and I should look very foolish. 
 But like ' little Ellie ' I am sitting alone, 'mkl the beeches, 
 by a stream-side too ; and like her I will choose what sort of 
 person my lover shall be, though when he comes, if ever he 
 do come, which, after all is doubtful, I shall not concern my- 
 self to show him a { swan's nest among the reeds.' For one 
 reason that there is none to show, that I know of; but there 
 is a moor-hen's nest in that little pool where the trees bend 
 over, and Jem says he saw a coot flying across the stream 
 one day. Well, now for my lover ; ' little Ellie ' wanted a 
 knight on a red-roan steed of steeds, I remember, and the 
 creature was to be shod in silver, and housed in azure verj- 
 unreasonable of Ellie, I think. Then he was to ride away 
 through the world, putting away all wrong, making the 
 crooked straight, and doing all sorts of wonderful actions, 
 and he was to send her his foot-page with all sorts of tokens 
 and messages, till at last he should come back himself, and 
 kneeling at her feet proclaim 
 
 " ' I am a duke's eldest son, 
 
 Thousand serfs do call me master, 
 But, Love, I love but thee f ' 
 
 All very well in a fanciful poem, but mtfst unsatisfactory in 
 real life, and Ellie's lover will not do for me. A knight on a 
 red-roan steed, with a young foot-page und a thousand serfs, 
 would not be at all in my way ; >fld I am afraid, too, Ellie 
 was rather a silly little persc^, v-ise she would never have 
 conjured up An ideal lover, ji*st that she might show him 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 229 
 
 ' that swan's nest among the reeds ! ' Now let me choose : 
 I wonder who will be the sillier, Ellie or I ] Must my lover 
 be handsome 1 I scarcely know. I think not what is vulgarly 
 called handsome ; but his face must bear the impress of high, 
 pure thought and noble aspirations. It must be bright with 
 genius, with intellect, and with all the graces of a genuine 
 piety ; for, above and before all things, he must be a Christian 
 man. His nature must be strong, and yet tender ; he must 
 have firmness, stability of purpose, constancy and courage, yet 
 discretion. He must love beautiful things, and he must be 
 gentle as he is enthusiastic and high-minded. Also, and 
 chiefly, he must love me next to his God ; he must give me 
 all his heart; he must feel that I, and I only, am the 
 woman of his choice ; and if all the other women in the 
 world were at his disposal, he would claim me in the face of 
 them all ! Is this too much to ask to wish for ? I think 
 not, for I should give him back measure for measure. He 
 would be my king, my master, my whole world ; and every- 
 thing that I said, or did, or planned, would have primary 
 reference to him. I should rejoice in rendering to him that 
 loving obedience which must be so sweet to a true woman. 
 But then he must be wise as kind, and noble as tender, and 
 strong-hearted as pure, or I could not obey ! It must be 
 galling, indeed most horrible, to obey ONLY from duty, or. 
 worse still, from something little short of compulsion. I 
 fancy the reason why so many women protest against the 
 lawful authority of the other sex is because they make such 
 marriages as render obedience all but impossible, or at best a 
 root of bitterness. Yes ! my lover, when you come, I will 
 submit my whole soul to you ; for you will not be my lover 
 unless my soul cleaves to your soul, and unless I know you 
 for one of God's great, good men ! You will not command 
 me, for there will be nothing tyrannous, nothing despotic, in 
 your nature ; but I shall divine your wishes and your will, 
 and know by instinct what it is you would have me do, 
 and what you would like me to leave undone ; being certain, 
 all the while, that your will and your desire were grounded 
 on the truest, highest principles. I shall sit at your feet, 
 dear, and learn all wisdom and all goodness ; and I shall 
 
230 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 listen to your words, and drink in your teaching, till my 
 mind becomes the reflex of yours, and we are knit together 
 spirit to spirit, as well as heart to heart. Then, if God 
 should try us with poverty or wealth, prosperity or adversity, 
 it will be all one ! With His great love in our souls, and 
 His face shining upon us, and our own deep, unassailable 
 trust in each other, we must be happy ! With our true and 
 consecrated affection, faithful unto death, what could harm 
 us 1 Except, indeed, that parting which must come some 
 time which might come in the very summer of our days ! 
 But no ! even that would not be unmitigated pain ; for such 
 love w ould oversweep the grave. It would not be, like some 
 poor, so-called loves I have seen and heard of, all of the 
 earth, earthy. It would have in it the divine, celestial 
 element which would give it entrance into God's own heaven ; 
 and there it would be perfected and made immortal 1 
 
 " Am I longing for impossibilities, I wonder ? Am I yet 
 more foolish than ' little Ellie ' ? In one sense no, for there 
 are such men as I have pictured : I think there may even be 
 a good many such ; for I find the world, on the whole, so 
 very much better than I fancied it when I was quite shut out 
 from it. Still, they would never be in the majority ; there will 
 always be an overplus of selfishness, and untruth, and fickle- 
 ness, and base mercenary motive, while this dispensation 
 lasts ; but as the good, the very good, the BEST, does exist, I 
 will wait till it comes to me, or else I will never marry. 
 
 " So far I am not foolish in thus setting up an ideal, which 
 is often all real enough ; but, alas ! I am foolish to infatuation 
 in expecting that such goodness should ever come to me. 
 Who and what am I, that strength and sweetness, power and 
 refinement, truth and tenderness, genius and piety, should 
 single me out from among my sisters, and say, * This shall be 
 my wife 1 ' What can I give back to such a one except my 
 love) But I hav3 read somewhere that no sensible man 
 troubles himself to seek for a perfect woman, but rather seeks 
 for one who shall harmonize with him as perfectly as may be 
 for I suppose no two minds, any more than two faces, were 
 ever, in all respects, in complete unison. There must be just 
 some little shades of difference ; but still there should be the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 231 
 
 harmony which alone can set the psalm of life to a glorious 
 tune, sweet and jubilant, and full of melody. It just strikes 
 me that some of these thoughts must have been suggested by 
 a sentence or two I copied out of a book I read at the Chenies. 
 Cecil said she liked the book for its thoroughness, but she 
 almost laughed at some of its talk about love and marriage. 
 Such a standard, she said, was unreal, mythical, a mere 
 delusion, a sort of finely painted picture which could never 
 be anything but a picture. I have my note-book in my 
 pocket : I will read that extract that made her declaim 
 so fiercely against women writers : 
 
 " * . . One clear truth ; that after God and the right which 
 means all claims of justice and conscience the first duty of any two 
 who love truly is towards one another. I have thought since that if 
 this truth were plainer seen, and more firmly held by those whom 
 it concerns, many false notions about honour, pride, self-respect, would 
 slip off ; many uneasy doubts and divided duties would be set at rest 
 there would be less fear of the world, and more of God the only right- 
 eous fear. People would believe more simply in His ordinance, 
 instituted "from the beginning," not the mere outward ceremony of 
 a wedding, but the love which draws together man and woman until it 
 makes them complete in one another in the mystical marriage union, 
 which once perfect should never be disannulled. And if this union 
 begins, as I think it does, from the very hour each feels certain of the 
 other's love, surely to talk about giving one another up, whether from 
 poverty, delay, altered circumstances, or compulsion of friends 
 anything, in short, except changed love or lost honour is about 
 as foolish and wrong as attempting to annul a marriage. Indeed I 
 have seen many a marriage that might have been broken with far less 
 unholiness than a real troth-plight.' 
 
 " I am glad a woman thought that, and had the courage 
 to write it. She must be a thoroughly good, pure-minded 
 woman, I am sure. After all, I am not so very silly. 
 
 "And I am very sorry for little Ellie, for even if she 
 found her peerless lover, I do not think she would be 
 happy ; for when they had been married a few years he 
 would tire of her, however good he might be. How dread- 
 ful to have one's husband tired of one, to see that he lived a 
 life apart in which one could never share, to know he was 
 kind and true only from principle or honour. Better by far 
 be an old maid ; oh, yes 1 better a thousand times. Far 
 
232 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 happier, far more honourable the lonely woman with truth 
 and universal charity in her heart, than the married woman 
 who feels that the best part of wedded life is lost, or that 
 for her it never has existed." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AN OLD COUNTY FAMILY. 
 
 HELMSLEY GRANGE was a fine old house of the Elizabethian 
 period, standing in its own broad, well-wooded acres sucli 
 of them, at least, as were not sold or mortgaged with a 
 broad stream flowing through its demesne, a rich meadow- 
 land upon its bank, and with such covers for game as made 
 the mouth of many a sportsman water, and his fingers tremble 
 with impatience, when people made mention of the celebrated 
 Helmsley partridges. The Grange was now half farm-house 
 and half manor-house ; such of the land as could be sold had 
 been sold, and the rest was so deeply mortgaged that nothing 
 ^iiort of an El Dorado accession of wealth to the Digby 
 family could possibly redeem it. The title-deeds of 
 everything were with the lawyers ; the shooting and the 
 fishing were let, to the bitter grief and unconcealed mortifica- 
 tion of the squire's three sons, Lancelot, Rupert, and Cuthbert 
 commonly known as Cuddie ; and as for the family plate, 
 the family jewels, and the old family retainers, they had long 
 been dissipated the servants seeking other and more 
 prosperous masters, and the silver and the gems finding their 
 way by degrees to a very aristocratic metropolitan " Mont-de- 
 picte." A few silver spoons, two or three insignificant heir- 
 looms in the way of rings and brooches, and an antiquated 
 drinking-cup, which had a legend attached to it, were all that 
 remained to the Digbys of to-day of the splendid surroundings 
 and ample plenishing which had once been theirs. 
 
 The Digbys were one of the oldest families in that part of 
 the country. Their name occurred in Domesday Book, and 
 again in Magna Charta, as lords of Helmsley. A Digby had 
 fought at the battle of Cressy, and his grandson had fallen 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 233 
 
 covered with, wounds and glory on the immortal field oi 
 Agincourt. The Digbys clung long and pertinaciously to the 
 fated fortunes of the Eed Eose of Lancaster, and for nearly a 
 century they were in disgrace. But time cures all wounds, 
 and even heals deadly feuds ; and again the Digbys were 
 found in the royal favour, in the reign of that merry, jovial 
 gentleman, Henry VIII. for he was merry and jovial then, 
 not having commenced his little quarrels with the Church ; 
 nor even, in default of better kinds of amusement, taken to 
 relays of wives, whose divorce and execution seem to have 
 afforded him immense enjoyment. At the "Field of the 
 Cloth of Gold" Eeginald Digb}' disported himself, being 
 chronicled as one of the most extravagantly apparelled and 
 sumptuously surrounded of all the extravagant and sumptuous 
 actors in that brilliant pageant. In that resplendent throng 
 he was noted for the number of his retainers, the costliness of 
 his temporary appointments, the beauty of his steeds, the 
 gorgeousness of his housings, the ultra liberalty with which 
 he dispensed guerdon and largesse upon every opportunity. 
 He was the first who involved himself the first of the 
 Digbys to find out that the ample fortune of a country 
 gentleman may fall short of the demands made upon it by one 
 accustomed to a courtly expenditure. 
 
 The pitiful needs of the Eed Eose, and the fines and per- 
 secutions of the White Eose, had only for a time incon- 
 venienced the house of Digby. Its sons had stayed at homa 
 and economised, and its daughters had lived quietly in the 
 solemn old he me at Helmsley, or else married with th 
 gentry of the ne'ghbourhood ; so that Sir Eeginald, when he 
 claimed his spurs from young bluff Harry Tudor, was richer 
 than any Digby that had come before him. How he dissi- 
 pated his riches I have shown. 
 
 He died young, leaving an impoverished but still fair estate 
 to his young son Harry ; and Harry was a sober-minded 
 youth, content to pass his days in the country, far removed 
 from the turmoil and temptations of camp and court; but 
 still the star of the Digbys waned ; a fate seemed upon them, 
 for they could not, or at least did not, prosper ; and when 
 the last of the Tudors died broken-hearted, the squire of 
 
234 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Helmsley was fain to follow suit not, however, "because the 
 Virgin Queen was gathered to her fathers, but because so 
 many misfortunes came upon him and his, and because 
 his calamities were more than he could bear. It was an age 
 of enterprise just then. The New "World was just becoming 
 a reality to the people's minds, and tales were told round 
 many a winter hearth, and beneath many a summer green- 
 wood tree, of the Spanish galleons laden with silver of the 
 marvellous city of the Incas, and of its inexhaustible 
 resources. There was no Prescott in those days, so people 
 concocted a history of Peru for themselves, and a very fine 
 rctory indeed they made of it. Shrines and palaces of pure 
 gold, cornices of precious stones, draperies far exceeding the 
 exquisitely- woven textures of the East, and serfs at discretion, 
 were among the least of the wonders of that magic tale. 
 What wonder that many believed to their undoing ? 
 
 There were no flash " Companies Limited " in those days, 
 with chairmen of straw and mythical directors to delude the 
 simple and unwary ; but wholesale trickery and fraud are not 
 peculiar to the nineteenth century ; only the rail, the press, 
 the electric wires, and general progress, offer extensive 
 facilities to a man who does not hesitate to make prey of his 
 fellow-creatures ; and they also proclaim, even to the utter- 
 most parts of the earth, when the bubble bursts, and the 
 swindler comes to grief, or inexplicably disappears from 
 mortal view. And there were schemers and adventurers, who 
 were perhaps only half cheats, since they were themselves 
 partially deceived, who, two centuries and a half ago, were 
 willing to risk their own fortunes and those of their friends 
 in wonderful and unheard-of speculations beyond seas. And 
 sometimes the speculations succeeded, and men grew rich at 
 express speed, and fortunes were really created which raised 
 the admiration and envy of those who had not dared to stake 
 their substance in a throw which seemed so doubly hazardous, 
 because the game was to be played out in a realm so shadowy, 
 go ethereal as a " Xew World." To old-fashioned and sober- 
 minded people it seemed very much like casting dice with the 
 man in the moon, or with some presumed inhabitant of 
 Jupiter ! 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 235 
 
 Harry Digby and his son and heir, Lancelot Digby, both 
 made ventures which were disappointing ; they were prudent 
 enough not to stake their all, and they lost what would be 
 considered a mere "bagatelle in these days of respectable 
 commercial gambling ; still it was enough seriously to reduce 
 an already impoverished estate. Lancelot Digby died young ; 
 he was found drowned one day in the calm, clear stream 
 which meandered through his paternal acres. "Whether his 
 death were accident, or something yet more terrible, no one 
 ever knew ; but it was told abroad that he had missed his 
 way in the foggy autumn night, and fallen into the river, 
 where it was the deepest. Rupert, his brother, reigned in his 
 stead a wild, roystering cavalier, who never dreamed of 
 mending his fortunes, but seemed rather anxious to dissipate 
 the residue yet left ; and from that time to the present it ha<? 
 been a hard struggle with the Digbys of Helmsley Grange to 
 live at all. One old custom after another fell into desuetude, 
 retrenchment followed upon retrenchment, sacrifice upon 
 sacrifice, and still an inexorable fate which would not let them 
 lift their struggling heads above the water pursued them. 
 Xow they were sinking, now for a little while swimming, 
 faintly dreading every turn of the stream and every swell of 
 the current; ever fighting against wind and tide, wearily, 
 wearily, wearily, not knowing but that the next hour would 
 see them overwhelmed and all lost irretrievably. 
 
 The Digby of Helmsley, to whom Esther Kendall was 
 conveying farmer King's note, was a grave, taciturn, stern- 
 featured man of fifty, or thereabouts. To all the troubles of 
 his race one more was added in his person ; the Digbys had 
 never been plagued with large families, which seem naturally 
 to go with small incomes ; but Maurice Digby's olive-branches 
 flourished round about his table that table too often scantily 
 supplied as luxuriantly as if he had been a starveling curate 
 or an unsuccessful author. He had married early, and for 
 love ; and from this union, which was unexceptionally happy, 
 proceeded the three sons already named, and Edith an only 
 daughter. Soon after tho birth of the latter, he became 
 a widower, and most deeply he sorrowed for the gentle and 
 lovely wifo, in whose early grave seemed buried all life's 
 
236 ORZT AND GOLD. 
 
 happiness ; and it was generally believed, as years, passed on, 
 and he made no second choice, that he would continue faithful 
 to the memory of his first love, and never marry again. 
 
 He did, however, marry again ; but the second Mrs. Digby 
 never filled the place of the first. He brought her home 
 one day when Edith was about eight years old, and the three 
 lads at once raised the standard of revolt against a step- 
 mother. Edith was only frightened, and cried when the ser- 
 vants injudiciously told her that " !N"ow papa would never care 
 for her again." And " papa " was all the world to Edith ; to 
 be with him was to enjoy an earthly paradise ; to be far 
 away from him was a little less than penal banishment. 
 
 The new Mrs. Digby was handsome, showy, selfish, and 
 indolent ; and to crown all, she was, as the whole neighbour- 
 hood said, " no one in particular." The first Mrs. Digby was 
 visited because she was a Compton of Compton, and a 
 Digby was a Digby, however reduced his circumstances ; but 
 Digby or no Digby, no one paid much attention to the new 
 wife, because, as Peter, the old coachman now, alas ! cow- 
 man, gardener, bricklayer, ploughman, Jack-of-all-trades 
 remarked, the present Mrs. Digby was " nobody of nowhere." 
 It w r as she who contributed the larger number of the olive- 
 branches, for in eleven years she trebled the number of her 
 husband's offspring, and now twelve young Digbys gathered 
 round his board, counting in the baby, who was generally 
 present in some one's arms. The said baby was under twelva 
 months old. Lancelot, the eldest son, was over twenty -five. 
 
 Esther thought how charming the Grange looked as she 
 went towards it, crossing what was once the park, now 
 broken up into convenient slips and lots of meadow-land. 
 The sun shone grandly against the large windows looking to 
 the west, and it was touching with golden and ruby tints the 
 grey mellow stone and the mosses and lichens, which grew 
 on coping, battlement, and buttress. There was some pre- 
 tence at a flower-garden in the front of the house ; but it 
 was evidently a very amateur affair, carried on under diffi- 
 culties. It was evidently chiefly in feminine and childish 
 hands ; there were a few common flowers, a few shrubs, and 
 several large trees a splendid sycamore, and two or three 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 237 
 
 walnut trees giving promise of abundant fruit. Not a 
 creature was to be seen ; only a hen was doing a little com- 
 fortable scratching among the fresh-springing seedling migno- 
 nette, and a cat was sitting on the uppermost step of the 
 broad flight which led to the hall-door, blinking her green, 
 eyes in the ruddy sunlight, and seriously contemplating the 
 performances of her feathered friend. Pussy mewed a sort 
 of welcome ; but no one else was in sight, and the hall-door 
 stood wide open. There was a knocker, it was true, which 
 Esther could just reach by standing on tip-toe ; but it was 
 so huge, and looked so much as if it were never touched, 
 that she hesitated to use it. She was just going to rap with 
 her knuckles, when she heard a clear young voice singing 
 
 " Douglas ! Douglas ! tender and true ! " 
 
 Then the song broke off, and there was a sound of pattering 
 feet, and the voice said, " Come back, Hughy ; come back, 
 dear, and Sissy will sing such a pretty song ! " But Hughy, 
 with the perversity of his sex, disregarded the gentle en- 
 treaty, and came prancing and Shouting into the hall, in the 
 midst of which he presently stood, regarding Esther with 
 mingled wonder and dismay. He was a fine little fellow ot 
 two years, or rather more, and, gravely declining Esther's 
 proffered hand, he trotted back to the parlour, where she 
 heard him duly announcing her advent : "Great girl come 
 in ! Hughy see girl girl at door ! " " What girl 1 " asked 
 the voice that had been singing. But Hughy only made 
 answer : " Great girl ! big girl ! girl come in ! " 
 
 " Please to step this way ! " was the next thing Esthei 
 heard ; and, imagining this request to refer to herself, she at 
 once complied with it, and followed Hughy into a large old- 
 fashioned parlour, where sat a young lady, apparently a little 
 older than herself, with a heap of unmended stockings in 
 her lap, and a pile of dilapidated or rather worn-looking 
 garments on the- table before her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the young lady, whom Esther 
 knew to be Edith Digby, for she had seen her before, and 
 thought how fair and sweet, yet pensive, a face she had. 
 " 1 quite thought it was the girl from Dennett's about the 
 
238 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 turkey-poults ; I expected her this evening. Please to flit 
 down. Do you wish to see mamma ? " 
 
 " I have a note for Mr. Digby, from Mr. King of the 
 Slade." 
 
 " Papa is out norc ; he went to Cheston-Magna this after- 
 noon, but I expect him in directly, if you would not mind 
 waiting a little. I daresay you can see him. And will you 
 excuse my going on with my work 1 I have so much to do 
 this week." 
 
 And she looked laughingly at the heap of socks and stock- 
 ings, which she went on diligently pairing while she spoke, 
 glancing, too, at the mass of garments of all sorts and sizes 
 with which the table was littered. 
 
 " Rather let me help you," said Esther, drawing off her 
 gloves. 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! I could not think of such a thing. 
 Eest after your walk; it is a long way from Chilcombe 
 Slade." 
 
 " I am not tired, for I rested a long while in the wood ; I 
 fell to thinking, and scarcely knew how the time passed. 
 Please let me have one of those pairs of socks." 
 
 "Well, if you really would! I must confess to being 
 thankful for the smallest help. Was it not lovely in the 
 wood ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Esther, settling herself, sock in hand, with 
 a skein of cotton on her knee, and taking a darning-needle 
 from what seemed to be the family pincushion. " It is 
 almost a pity to be indoors on such an evening ; do you 
 often walk in Helmsley Wood ? n 
 
 " Not often ; I have so much to do there are so many 
 little ones, and mamma is so very often poorly. And the 
 fact is, we are not rich. I have to make and to mend, and 
 to turn and to return, and so we never come to an end of the 
 sewing. I sometimes speculate on the foot of a stocking, 
 and wonder whether there is half an inch of the original 
 fabric left in it ! One darns it first quite neatly, and then 
 one darns the darns, not quite so neatly, of course j and 
 lastly, one cobbles as well as one can the darned iarns, till 
 it becomes quite a work of art, I assure you." 
 
QBRT ANT) GOLD. 239 
 
 * And do you like so much darning ] " 
 
 " Well, no ! Candidly I do not ; only you know it is 
 wisest to make the best of what is and must be ; and there 
 is really this advantage in darning, and in very plain sewing, 
 that your fingers may be working away nimbly enough 
 while your mind is far otherwise employed. Still, there is 
 something unsatisfactory in this perpetual darning, for you 
 seem to gain so little by it. You make the thing wearable, 
 it is true ; but next time it is washed it has all to be done 
 over again. People say fashion is a tyrant I think a 
 straitened income is a tyrant of tyrants ! " 
 
 " It is indeed ! I know what it is to be very poor." 
 
 " Do you indeed 1 " And then the two girls fell into & 
 conversation, which, leading from one subject to another, 
 made them feel quite intimate and confidential together. 
 Esther told who she was, for Miss Digby was treating her as 
 an equal, and poor as Edith Digby owned to be, she was 
 really of the same class as Florence Guise and Cecil UfFadyne. 
 But it made no difference ; Edith talked on just as pleasantly, 
 and at last asked Esther if she would come to Helmsley 
 church sometimes on Sunday afternoons, and drink tea at 
 the Grange. To such an extent Edith might go in inviting 
 her friends and acquaintances. 
 
 Esther promised, and then she thought it was high time 
 to be going home. The sun had gone down, and the red 
 gleam was fading from the sky. As she rose up to depart a 
 young man entered the room. It was too dark to see what 
 he was like, but there was something in his tone which 
 reminded her of Edith. 
 
 " My brother Eupert," said Miss Digby. He will do as 
 well as papa. Eupert, here is a note from Mr. King." 
 
 " Oh ! about the barley-ricks, I suppose ? I will see Mr. 
 King to-morrow; my father will not be at home till very 
 late, if at all to-night. Have you offered the young lady a 
 glass of wine, Edith ? " 
 
 Esther hastened to say she did not take wine, except 
 medicinally, and that she must go directly, as she was TO be 
 met, and she did not want to bring either Mrs. King or the 
 servant too far on tb.e road. 
 
210 
 
 GREf AXJ> GOLD. 
 
 "Put on your hat, Edith," said Mr. Rupert. " "We might 
 as well walk to the stone bridge with Miss Kendall." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 POETRY IS NO YIELD. 
 
 THE next evening, when Esther came home from school, she 
 inquired whether Mr. Rupert Digby had been to the Slade 
 about the barley-ricks. 
 
 " Not he ! " said the farmer ; " I'll lay anything he ban 
 thought no more about it. I have no patience with that 
 young man ; no head for business, no punctuality, no any- 
 thing to get him on in the world. But they're all alike, the 
 unluckiest family in all the western counties, and they never 
 seem to rouse themselves into doing anything that might 
 change their luck. They do say a Digby was cursed by a 
 priest of some sort that he turned out of house and home 
 more than three hundred years agone ; he was cursed in his 
 house, and in his land, and in his posterity, till the end of 
 time, and so no Digby has ever prospered since. But I don't 
 believe such stories, neither does mother there. It isn't 
 likely the good Lord would let curses come in that way ! " 
 
 " No, indeed," said Esther j " I could never believe that. 
 God does not punish the innocent for the guilty ; nor would 
 He give such power to a bad man's word, for the priest can- 
 not have been good. No Christian would curse his enemy, 
 whom Christ has commanded him to love" 
 
 " Ah, my lass, but that's a hard saying. Love won't come 
 and go at will, even for friends ; I wouldn't harm my enemy, 
 but I could not love him ! " 
 
 " You could love him enough to do him good, and that is 
 what is meant, I fancy. And if one is kind to anybody, and 
 concerned for his welfare, one comes, I think, to feel a sorfc 
 of affection for him. It is not, and I should think it need 
 not be, just the same kind of love as one feels for one'e 
 liearest and best friends, for there are different kinds of love, 
 as some one explained to me a little while since, especially 
 the love that one has for near kindred and dearest ones, and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 241 
 
 the love that we are bound to render to all people according 
 to their need. I could never, I am sure, feel the same warm, 
 tender love for Mrs. Hellicar that I feel for Miss Gui. and 
 Mrs. King ; but I hope, if I could ever be a help or a com-- 
 fort to her, I should not hesitate. But you were talking 
 about the Digbys being unfortunate." 
 
 " Yes, they are unfortunate, and no mistake ; but I take 
 it, it is very much their own fault. "Why don't those young 
 men do something ? " 
 
 " Are they idle, then ? " 
 
 " They are busy-idle ; at least Rupert and Cuddle are. 
 They are about the farm all day long, doing or pretending to 
 do something ; but nothing ever seems done rightly. They 
 have no heart in their work, and the men follow suit, you 
 see. Besides, unless they set to and earn their bread by the 
 sweat of their brow, they are too thick upon the ground. 
 What is the use of so many masters ? And masters, too, who 
 don't know, or won't know, how things are to be done ? A 
 for Lancelot, he never will be worth salt to his porridge ! A\ 
 the very best, he could only earn his cheese, if some one 
 found him in bread continually. Of course he is the eldest 
 son and the heir ; but, dear me ! what is he heir to but em- 
 barrassments and debts and mortgages 1 And I've been told 
 that the Skinett mortgage is to be foreclosed, and then tha 
 old place must go ! I daresay some cotton-lord, or some 
 wealthy Birmingham manufacturer, will buy the Grange, and 
 perhaps pull it down and built up a spick-and-span new 
 mansion, all plate-glass, and conservatories, and marble 
 columns, on the old foundations. But I hope it will not be 
 in my time. I've no love for the Digbys, but I should not 
 like to see them turned out of their home. Yet it will come 
 to that ! " 
 
 " And about Mr. Lancelot ; does he not work at all ? " 
 
 " Well, he does a sort of work that is no yield. He is a 
 mighty scholar, I suppose; and he goes about the woods, 
 and over Helmsley Down there, like one demented, with his 
 hands crossed behind him, and his eyes gazing at nothing in 
 particular. I met him last week mooning along, and he 
 nearly tumbled over me. He was looking very seedy, I can 
 
242 GREY AXD'GOLD. 
 
 ieli you ; he had on an old shooting-coat that was all ljut 
 out at elbows, and his hat was a very bad one, and his beard 
 and whiskers looked ragged, and his hair was all blown 
 about. I never saw a more forlorn-looking figure. I bade 
 him good-day, and he just started as if I'd said some un- 
 accountable thing, and he nodded his head as if he wasn't 
 quite sure it belonged to him, and went on just the same. I 
 wonder he never falls into the big quarry up there ; it is un- 
 enclosed. Still, he is not a bad sort ; he doesn't drink or 
 smoke he don't even take a friendly pipe, I'm told ; and he 
 wouldn't harm an insect. He is that kind to little children 
 and dumb creatures, that people laugh at him and say he is 
 half silly ; but that can't be, for I understand that he writes 
 very grand poeinj. I'm no judge, you know, and indeed I 
 never saw any of his lines ; but them as have seen them and 
 know something about the matter, say they are wonderful, 
 and that he might be one of the first poets of the day ! But 
 then, say I, what if he is 1 That will never bring grist to 
 the mill. Poetry never was any yield that ever I heard of; 
 it will never pay off mortgages, or redeem land, or fill barns, 
 or keep up a house, as Helmsley Grange ought to be kept up 
 as it was kept up once in the old times, if all tales be true. 
 They might make him chief poet, like him as wrote the 
 ' May Queen ' that you read to me the other night and 
 very pretty, touching verses they were, I must say but 
 then what would that be? He would have the honour 
 and a cask of sherry every year. He had better by far turn 
 to some honest trade, and stick at it ; he would do far 
 better. No ; poetry never was any yield, except to people 
 born rich. Lord Byron wrote poetry ! Well, he could afford 
 to ; but Lancelot Digby can't." 
 
 " I liked Miss Digby very much ; she seemed so simple 
 and true ; I am sure she is good." 
 
 " So she is, so she is ; she is the stay of that household. 
 Laws ! such a heap of children, and she is as good as a 
 mother to them all, for their real mother is such a poor 
 thing, all nerves, and whimsies, and ailments enough to drive 
 the College of Physicians distracted. She is not unkind to 
 the first family, I believe ; folks there say she is really fond 
 
tittEY AND GOLD. 243 
 
 of Miss Edith; but she's no manner of good in the house-, 
 it would go on just as well without her. She lies on the sofa 
 all day and reads story-books, I'm told ; and she encourages 
 Lancelot in his nonsense. She was a fine woman when first 
 the squire brought her home about eleven years ago, I should 
 say ; she was large and fair, with a sleeply look in her blue 
 eyes, and an air with her as if she wanted something or 
 somebody to lean against. Some people do go through life, 
 you know, seeking for leaning-posts, and she is one of 
 them ; she is very good-tempered, if she can be at her ease. 
 If the sky was falling she would lie still or sit still, and wait 
 for somebody to come and save her, and be querulously 
 miserable if they did not come post-haste. But give her 
 what she wants, and she is not unamiable. She and Miss 
 Edith get on very well, I believe ; but then the poor girl is 
 housekeeper, and nursemaid, and governess, and sewing- 
 woman. Yes ; you may well like Miss Digby, and if she 
 should show at all friendly to you, why you can't do better. 
 Ah ! here he comes, at last. He hasn't forgotten, then." 
 
 " Who is coming ? " 
 
 " Mr. Rupert, about the barley -ricks, I reckon ; I would 
 rather do business with the old squire, though." 
 
 Esther went upstairs to her room, and she did not see the 
 farmer again till supper-time, and then he told her that the 
 Squire had come to his terms, and that the barley-ricks were to 
 be his ; " and," he said, in conclusion, turning to his wife, 
 " I like that young fellow better than I ever did before ; he 
 says he is going to try to get a situation of some sort ; he 
 is determined not to waste time at Helmsley any longer, and 
 I advised him to keep his determination, and not be be- 
 holden to any man." 
 
 " What can he do ? " asked Mrs. King. 
 
 " Ah ! that is more than I can say of course he has had 
 a good education, and he ought to be able to do something." 
 
 " I am afraid, William, he has not had a good education. 
 He has not learned enough for a gentleman, and he has 
 learned too much for a working man. The squire could 
 not afford to send his boys to Eton or to Harrow, and then 
 to college, as is the way with the real gentlefolk. They &U 
 
244 GREY AND' GOLD. 
 
 got the best they could at Thornibury Grammar School, 
 except Lancelot, and he had twelve months with a private 
 tutor. As for Cuddie, he never took to learning much ; he 
 was a sportsman born. One would think he came into the 
 world with a gun in his hand ; it seems as natural to him aa 
 the trunk is to the elephant." 
 
 " Indeed it does ! only too natural. I am sorry to say 
 Cuddie Digby is to be seen sometimes in very questionable 
 company. He and Eed Giles, the poacher, are too good 
 friends. I often wonder if his father knows it. Poor old 
 squire ! He is beginning to look old ; he stoops, and he is 
 quite grey ; and he is getting the look of a broken-hearted 
 man. He has had a hard time of it, and his poor, helpless 
 body of a wife has never been any comfort to him. He was 
 quite a different man when the mother of these young men 
 was alive. I remember her very well. She was a sweet- 
 looking, gracious young lady, sensible, too, and things went 
 better at the Grange in her day. She was a good religious 
 woman, too ; Miss Edith is very like her, only I think not 
 quite so pretty. And that reminds me, Esther, that Mr. 
 Eupert brought a message from his sister. She hoped you 
 got home safe last night, and she would be very glad if you 
 would go to Helmsley church next Sunday afternoon, and 
 then take tea with her at the Grange, and she and some one 
 else would see you back again. I told Mr. Eupert I daresay 
 you would come, but you would write a line to Miss Digby 
 yourself. I suppose you will go ? " 
 
 "Bo you think I had better, Mrs. King?" 
 
 " I see no reason, my dear, why you should refuse. Misa 
 Edith would be a very nice friend for you, and you might 
 befriend her. There is many a little kindness you could 
 show her ; and, poor girl, it is little consideration she gets. 
 She is a complete slave to those younger children ; I have 
 seen half-a-dozen of them hanging about her at once. A 
 little talk with you will be a change for her. Yes, you 
 must accept her ^vitation ; you will do each other good." 
 
 They were standing now all three just outside the porch, 
 watching the rising of the moon from behind the Helmsley 
 woods. Already it was silvering til? tree-tops in the home- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 245 
 
 copse, and Mr. King was beginning to yawn, and talk about 
 bedtime ; watching the IB oon, or the moonlit stream, was to 
 him something like poetry, "no yield." He was just 
 going, leaving the two women " to their moonshine," as he 
 told them, when the gate swung back, and a tall figure, 
 which Esther recognised in an instant as that of Oswald 
 Uffadyne, came up the walk. 
 
 "I am a late visitor, Mrs. King," he said. "Miss 
 Kendall, I beg your pardon ! No, I will not go in to-night, 
 thank you. I am on my way home, and Cecil will be 
 wondering where I am. I come from Guise Court, Miss 
 Kendall. Can you go to Florence 1 " 
 
 " Now 1 to-night ? Is anything the matter ? " 
 
 " No, not to-night. As soon as you can, though. She is 
 in great trouble, Esther, and she wants you ! She thinks 
 you would be , a comfort to her. My uncle is going at last ; 
 it will soon be over now. You will go to her 1 " 
 
 " I will go to her the moment school is over to-morrow. 
 Miss Cecil will come down with the rector, and they will 
 give the prizes in the morning ; and then the school will 
 be closed, and I shall be free for a fortnight. It would 
 have been three weeks, but I was laid by so long at 
 Easter. I will go to Miss Guise at once, when the girls are 
 gone." 
 
 " I will drive you over I will take care not to turn you 
 out this time." 
 
 *' I am not afraid. I will be ready." 
 
 " Very well. I will tell Cecil. I am not sure whether 
 she will go too. Somehow, you know, Flossy and Cecil 
 well ! they do not get on together as swimmingly as I could 
 wish. Cecil is too hard for Flossy that is it." 
 
 "And is Mr. Guise so very ill ? " 
 
 " He could not be much worse. Thank you for saying you 
 will go, Miss Kendall ; it is quite a relief to my mind. I 
 know Flossy will find so much comfort in you. My poor, 
 poor Flossy ! Good-night, Mrs. King ; I must hurry home. 
 Cecil is very anxious." 
 
 " You cannot go to Helmsley on Sunday, now," said Mrs. 
 King. 
 
246 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "Certainly not, Miss Guise comes before everybody. I 
 will get up early to-morrow morning, and put up my things, 
 BO as to be quite ready the minute school closes. Oh, my 
 dear, dear Miss Guise ! if I could but comfort you ! But 
 no one but God can do that ! " 
 
 " We will pray for her, my dear," said Mrs. King. " We 
 can help her in that way, if in no other. Poor Miss 
 Guise ! it will be hard for her, but for him a very blessed 
 change ! n 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 A POINT CARRIED. 
 
 " I'VE been thinking I had better drive thee over to Guisa 
 Court myself, Esther, my lass," said the farmer next morn- 
 ing at breakfast. " What dost say, mother ? " 
 
 " Mr. Oswald said he would take her, and I do not think 
 he will upset her again. Besides, she is not nervous." 
 
 " I didn't mean that. Esther has too much good sense to 
 be afraid of the young man's driving, which I must say ia 
 excellent, because once he had an accident that might have 
 happened to any one. What I mean is this : If Miss Cecil 
 goes too, all well and good, but if she don't, and somehow I 
 don't fancy she will, I think it would look better if I took 
 Esther in our own tidy trap, with the old mare jog- trotting 
 along, than if she were to be seen flying through the country 
 behind a pair of ponies, driven by Mr. Uffadyne. I've 
 naught to say against the young man, though I doubt if he's 
 one that always knows his own mind ; but a girl's good 
 name is like the bloom on a ripe plum if you as much as 
 touch it, it is gone." 
 
 " But Mr. Oswald is as good as a married man," replied 
 Esther. " I think of him as Miss Guise's husband ; and he 
 is so kind to me always. He might be hurt if I declined 
 his escort and gave no reason." 
 
 " Husband or no husband, he is a young man, and he ia 
 not married yet, and I never count upon a wedding till I see 
 folks going to church, for I have known some queer things 
 
OREY AND GOLD. 247 
 
 in my time. Why, there was your second cousin, mother, 
 Jessie Platt, engaged for four or five years to that young 
 Everest, and the ring bought and the wedding clothes made, 
 and he went and married a girl from Canada he had only 
 set eyes on three weeks before. So don't couple Miss Guise 
 and Mr. Oswald too surely ; besides, he is a young man, and 
 though he may be the best one going, yet people may talk if 
 they see you and him together, as he proposed last night. 
 It is such a world for talk." 
 
 "That is the worst of the country," said Esther ; "you may 
 do as you like in London ; people are too busy there to con- 
 cern themselves about other people's business But whaf 
 could I say to Mr. Oswald, Mr. King 1 " 
 
 " Nothing at all ; only tell him that I am going Guise 
 way, and will drive you myself. If he says aught to me 
 when you are not nigh, I shall say ' Mr. Oswald, it will 
 look better that a staid old married man like me, and in the 
 place of her father, as one might say, should be seen with 
 thj girl than you, a fine young fellow of another standing in 
 society ; ' and he'll understand." 
 
 " But what will he think?" pleaded Esther. All uncon- 
 sciously she had rather set her heart upon this drive to Guise 
 Court in the pony-carriage, and neither the jolting "trap," 
 nor the grey mare's heavy jog-trot, nor yet the farmer's com- 
 panionship, seemed to compensate for the disappointment. 
 Esther was only a girl, you must remember, a young and in- 
 experienced girl too ; and people of seventeen, though they 
 may, through early and severe discipline, come to years of 
 discretion somewhat sooner than those who have had no 
 hard discipline at all, are yet far from being universally wise 
 and prudent, and they sometimes cherish inexpedient wishes 
 and want to have and to show a will of their own the very 
 best and steadiest of them. It would be strangely unnatural 
 if they did not, for youth is youth, even if it had been duly 
 trained in all kinds of prudence and self-repression ; and just 
 at this moment Esther wished very much to have her owy 
 way, and go with Mr. Oswald. Surely, if Miss Cecil did not 
 object, she need not have any scruples. 
 
 " Never mind TV hat he thinks," said the farmer oracularly; 
 
48 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "men think many tilings that women don't and needn't to. 
 Leave it to me, Esther." 
 
 Esther felt she could not contend any longer, but she rose 
 from the table in no very good temper, and there was a cloud 
 upon her brow as she went up to her room to finish her pre- 
 parations before setting off for school. It was a heavy, sultry 
 morning too, cloudy, and raining at intervals, and not at all 
 calculated to raise the spirits. As she passed through the 
 kitchen Mrs. King said to her 
 
 " The farmer is right, Esther, my dear. People that don't 
 know tha circumstances might think it strange, seeing you 
 and Mr. Oswald flying across country in an open carriage, 
 only your two selves. There's nothing like being on the safe 
 side. My mother used to say to me, ' Polly, I am not afraid 
 of thee getting into mischief, but thee hast such an inde- 
 pendent spirit I am a little afraid of thee seeming to get 
 into mischief. And though the seeming is not as bad aa 
 the reality, very often there comes of it quite as much dis- 
 aster.' And my mother was a wise woman, Esther. Moreover, 
 the Bible says, * Abstain from all appearance of evil." 
 
 " But I cannot see that there could be either evil or ap- 
 pearance of evil in my going with Mr. Oswald," persisted 
 Esther, determined to battle to the last. 
 
 "Xo, child, there is no evil in the thing itself. Mr. 
 Oswald is a good young man, though an unstable one, and if 
 need were real need I would feel quite comfortable if he 
 were going to take you to Kew York. But there is no need at 
 all in the case. My husband can take you without going much 
 out of his way, for he is obliged to see the miller at Under- 
 leigh, a mile beyond Guise Court, and nobody will have 
 occasion to talk. If you were of Mr. Oswald's own class it 
 would not so much matter ; but a girl in your station of life 
 always does herself harm if she becomes intimate with a 
 gentleman, or even if she appears to be intimate with him. 
 People are almost always sure to hint, by-and-by, that perhaps 
 she is too intimate. They wouldn't say a word ; oh, no ! not 
 they. But it does not look well, and they would not let a 
 daughter of theirs, etc., etc., and all that sort of thing, my 
 dear. And as the harm is done, the snowball is set rolling 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 249 
 
 and the further it goes the bigger it gets, and the dirtier it gets. 
 Yes ! I know such scandal is abominable ; but it is the way 
 of the world, and it cannot be helped. You cannot change it ; 
 and a young woman who tries to defy the world, be she as 
 pure as a white lily, is worse than mad. Sooner or later she 
 is sure to come to grief. And I tell you what, Esther, if you 
 were my own daughter I should say positively, ' You go with 
 father, or not at all.' I don't pretend to have any authority 
 over you, my dear. I have no right, so long as you behave 
 yourself under my roof, to say you shall do this, or you shall 
 not do that ; but I hope you will let me advise you just as if I 
 were your mother. Don't be vexed with me, dear ! Neither 
 the farmer nor me means any disrespect to you or Mr. 
 Oswald. "We think you are a very good, steady girl, with the 
 sense of twice your age, and we have not a word to say 
 against Mr. Uifadyne; but we do think that it would be 
 more seemly if you went quietly in our own trap to 
 Guise." 
 
 And Mrs. King, who knew when to leave off talking, even 
 when the talking was a duty, went away into the back 
 kitchen and called Patience, . while Esther, looking at the 
 clock, found, to her dismay, that she must hurry or be late. 
 
 She walked as quickly as the hot, close air of the morning 
 would let her ; and all the way she was chafing at what Mrs. 
 King had said about her station. She knew quite well that 
 her rank in life was not that of the Uffadynes and the Guises, 
 but she did not like to be reminded of the fact ; neither 
 could she consider herself exactly of the same standing as 
 farmer King himself. And then she remembered Dick's 
 words that the Kendalls had good blood in their veins, though 
 they were poor, and she began to wonder about herself, 
 whether there were any relations of her father still living, aad 
 where they would be likely to be found, and what really waa 
 the social standing of the Kendalls. She felt very thankful, 
 to be sure, that the Hellicars were neither kith nor kin of 
 hers; only the unlucky Dick was really her relation. He 
 was the son of her aunt Jane, of whom she recollected hear- 
 ing her father speak with unfeigned pity, as having been 
 betrayed into a very foolish and unhappy marriage. Mr, 
 
250 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Hellicar was but her uncle-in-law, if indeed the second 
 alliance, with Myra Clarkson, did not put an end to the 
 relationship ; as for the rest, they could be barely called 
 " connections." 
 
 Then Esther tried to recall her father's face and manner, 
 but her memory failed her, especially as to his looks ; though 
 Mr. Hellicar had said more than once that " she featured her 
 father," and was " out and out a Kendall ! n She had a dim 
 recollection of a grave-looking, tall man, very dark, and of 
 dignified deportment, not at all demonstrative, so far as she 
 could remember, but always kind to her and gentle, though 
 not having very much to say to her. Indeed he was not 
 often at home after her mother's death, except late at night 
 and very early in the morning, when Esther was in bed. 
 A person who was half servant, half housekeeper, had taken 
 care of her, and her home was somewhere in the direction of 
 Homerton. 
 
 That was all she could recall, and it was indistinct and 
 shadowy in the extreme. There was only one point on which 
 she was positive that her father was a totally different type 
 of man from Mr. Hellicar, and that there had been a certain 
 air of respectability about her childish home which was alto- 
 gether absent from the wretched household of the Hellicars. 
 
 Esther's reverie came to an abrupt conclusion, for just then 
 ehe reached the school-house, and some of her pupils were 
 waiting for her in the porch. The usual examination had 
 taken place several days before, but the girls had not yet 
 been informed of the result, though there were many shrewd 
 guesses as to who would stand first and carry away the chief 
 prizes. Anne Culverwell and Mary Murrell were pretty sure 
 of prizes and first-class certificates of merit ; Sarah Lee was 
 certainly next to them ; and Belinda Smith was trembling 
 with hope and fear. She was quite a different creature now, 
 and would willingly have rendered even a blind obedience to 
 her young governess, but many a black mark had been 
 registered against her in the early months of the year, and it 
 was the general opinion that her reformation came too late to 
 be of much use for that term, so far as rewards and certificates 
 were in question. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 251 
 
 Of course it was a day of excitement ; the room was pret- 
 tily decorated with, green boughs and plenty of flowers, and 
 the girls were all dressed in their best, as was the custom on 
 prize-day ; and the rector, as well as Miss UfFadyne, was 
 expected, while such of the parents as chose to be present 
 were made welcome. 
 
 The elder girls gathered round Esther as she entered, and 
 for some minutes the schoolroom was a regular Babel. It 
 was Miss Kendall here, and Miss Kendall there, and Miss 
 Kendall everywhere. Then the classes were formed, and 
 Esther read the usual prayers, after which she unlocked 
 an inner room in which the prizes were stowed away, and she 
 and the two monitors arranged them to the best advantage on 
 the centre table. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the rector arrived, hot, panting, and 
 pompous. He was very stout and good-tempered, but he 
 would have made a better gentleman-farmer than a parson 
 and he certainly thought more of foxes than of some of his 
 parishioners. His love for foxes was marvellous, and woe to 
 any one in Chilcombe who was suspected of having trapped 
 one. No punishment could be too great for him. His 
 disgrace was indelible, and favour could he never expect 
 again from his " spiritual pastor and master," though haply 
 the other county magnates might overlook his enormity, and 
 though he humbled himself even down to the very depths of 
 penitence. Oswald always said that Mr. Beaufort believed in 
 an eleventh commandment to wit, "Thou shalt not kill 
 foxes except in orthodox fashion ; " and, from his preaching 
 and teaching, there might have been a twelfth " Thou shalt 
 not poach ! " Poaching, on his showing, was a sin from 
 which the culprit could scarcely ever expect to be absolved, 
 either in this world or the next ! He was a widower, with 
 one little girl a nervous, shrinking, timid child, who prob- 
 ably shared his affections with the foxes ; and this morning 
 she came, attended by Miss Morrison, her governess, to 
 "assist" at the distribution of the prizes. 
 
 Cecil came last, Miss Smith following in her wake, and 
 looking daggers at Esther, who was still unforgiven for all 
 sorts of imaginary offences, Cecil seemed fagged and worn. 
 
252 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 She was quite unlike her usual bright, energetic self, and 
 though she nodded kindly to Esther, she did not attempt to 
 enter into any kind of conversation, but straightway ad- 
 dressed herself to business. 
 
 Then the school report was read, and the names of the 
 successful candidates for prizes proclaimed. Mary Murrell 
 came first, as everybody hoped and expected ; then Anne 
 Culverwell ; then Sarah Lee ; and a prize for general im- 
 provement in lessons and behaviour was adjudged to Belinda 
 Smith, to her infinite satisfaction and delight, for she had 
 never before carried home so much as a certificate, and it was 
 the general belief of her own family that she was incorrigibly 
 naughty, and could never be expected to reform. Her father 
 said she was a " 'cute lass ; but as perverse a one as ever 
 stepped." Her mother always pronounced her "a limb" I 
 am very much afraid she meant a limb of Satan ; and the 
 neighbours generally were the very reverse of laudatory 
 whenever her name was mentioned. It seemed to her like 
 the beginning of a new and happy era when she clasped the 
 prize-book in her arms, for now people would believe she 
 was in earnest, and really meant to be good. Hitherto her 
 professions had been met with jeers and scorn, and her 
 progress had been very up-hill work indeed, and attended with 
 many a stumble. 
 
 Esther had looked forward to this morning with some im- 
 patience. She had anticipated the girls' pleasure, and Miss 
 Cecil's commendations, and the rector's congratulations quite 
 eagerly ; and now the whole afiair seemed flat, tedious, and 
 uninteresting. She longed for the scene to come to an end ; 
 she was tired of the rector's prosy common-places, which 
 made the ceremony of distribution twice as long as it need 
 have been ; and even the bright faces of her pupils grew 
 wearisome as they sat opposite to her, row after row, beaming 
 with the satisfaction inspired by success, and the prospect of 
 the holidays. At length it was over ; the last prize was 
 given j the last speech was wound up with an appropriate 
 peroration ; prayers were read by the rector ; and, after a short 
 pause, the Babel of tongues recommenced, the school was form- 
 ally dismissed, and Esther was free to speak to Miss Uffadyne. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 253 
 
 " You are going to Guise Court, of course ? " was the first 
 question. Then, without waiting for the reply, which she took 
 for granted, she continued : " It is nearly one o'clock now, 
 you had better come round home with me and have some 
 luncheon. The carriage is ordered for half-past two." 
 
 " But I have not said good-bye to Mrs. King." 
 
 " You can do that on the road, and take up your baggage at 
 the same time. Here, little Tibbs, go to Mrs. King's and 
 give her my compliments, and say I have taken Miss Kendall 
 home with me, and she will call as she goes to Guise Court." 
 Then, turning to Esther : " It is only taking the sweep of the 
 Slade; it will not make five minutes' difference in time." 
 
 " But, Miss Cecil, am I to go are you going too ? " said 
 Esther, stammering and turning very red. She knew she was 
 acting injudiciously. 
 
 " What is the matter, child ? You are like a peony. No \ 
 I am not going. I have been at Guise Court so much lately, 
 and really I am not of any use. I was scarcely admitted to> 
 my uncle's room, and as for being any comfort to Florence it 
 is out of the question. She and I seem farther and farther 
 apart every time we meet. If she wants me of course I will 
 go ; but unless she actually sends for me, I shall remain at 
 Chilcombe at least till there is a change. It is my opinion, 
 Esther, that my uncle may rally yet. Florence was never of 
 a sanguine temperament. At any rate, I quite expect that he 
 will last through the summer. "Well, what is it] do you 
 want me to go ? " 
 
 Then Esther took courage, and replied, boldly : " Tho 
 farmer and Mrs. King do not approve of my driving with Mr. 
 Uffadyne, and the farmer wishes to take me himself in hi* 
 trap." 
 
 Now, in any other case Cecil would have been the first to 
 perceive and acknowledge the wisdom of the Kings' objection. 
 Naturally she was a great stickler for propriety ; but this 
 was partly her own arrangement, and Cecil, like most people 
 who pride themselves on their superior prudence and judg- 
 ment, could not bear that any of her arrangements should be 
 set aside, or her plans traversed. It did flash through her 
 mind as Esther spoke, that the proposed drive was not tiie 
 
254 GREY AXD GOLD, 
 
 most correct thing in the world ; but then it had been agreed 
 upon, and it was a special occasion, and if one cared for all 
 the nonsense that foolish people talked, one would never be 
 able to stir at alL Besides, it was impertinent of the Kings 
 Esther was h&rprvtegSe, and she must not be interfered with. 
 
 "I am extremely obliged to Mr. and Mrs. King, :> said 
 Cecil, haughtily, " but really I think they forget themselves 
 when they take upon them to amend my plans. You are 
 under my protection here. I am answerable, not they, for 
 your general behaviour as regards society. I did not think 
 Mrs. King would be so impertinent." 
 
 " Oh, it is not that \ " replied Esther, conscience-stricken, 
 at this imputation cast on her kind, motherly Mrs. King, 
 whom in reality she loved next to Florence, and far before 
 Miss Uffadyne. " The Kings thought I thought, it was 
 Mr. Oswald's plan." 
 
 " And is not Mr. Oswald to be trusted ? Notwithstanding 
 his limpness of character in some particulars, his principles 
 are unassailable. It does not mend matters that these 
 farmer-people distrust my brother." 
 
 '' They do not, indeed I Mr. King said the 'thing was all 
 right in itself, but not expedient, because of appearances" 
 
 " Appearances, indeed \ "What next, I wonder ] A 
 farmer and his wife setting themselves up to legislate for 
 their superiors, settling les convenances as if they knew what 
 was practised in society I I shall turn strict Conservative, 
 Esther; the arrogance of the middle classes is growing 
 unendurable." 
 
 Esther felt the extreme injustice of the charge in the 
 present instance, for never could there be people more simple 
 and unassuming than the farmer and his wife ; neither of 
 them would have dreamed of questioning any decision of 
 the Uffadynes had not her own interest been concerned, and 
 they had come to look upon her as a daughter, their very 
 love and goodness giving them the rights of parents. Esther 
 felt that she was untrue to these best of friends, but Cecil's 
 vehemence and her own self-will were carrying her away 
 completely. There are moments when we are wilfully blind, 
 when we shut our eyes and stop our ears, and deliberately 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 255 
 
 go the way of inclination, all unheeding the remonstrances 
 ol our better selves. Oh, how often, in such cases, we take 
 paths that can never be retraced ! One little opening is left 
 unguarded, and lo ! the enemy cometh in like a flood. 
 
 Esther made one more effort. " They legislate only for 
 me," she said in a deprecatory tone. " They would not pre- 
 sume if it were a person of Mr. Oswald's own order. I am 
 one of themselves." 
 
 " Indeed you are not. They are very respectable people, 
 but if you had been just what they are, and no more, I 
 ahould never have kept you here at Chilcombe ; I should 
 never have made you my friend, my companion. Come, we 
 have discussed the affair quite long enough. Let us go home. 
 That Tibbs' child must have delivered her message a quarter 
 of an hour ago." 
 
 " Then I am to go with Mr. Oswald ? " 
 
 " Of course you are. I will arrange all that. Do not 
 trouble yourself ; you shall not be blamed." 
 
 They walked home quickly, and found ready the lun- 
 cheon, which was to be Esther's dinner. It was pleasant to be 
 once more in the atmosphere of refinement; the polished 
 silver, the sparkling crystal, the prettily garnished dishes, 
 the gracefully arranged flowers in their vase of Bohemian 
 glass, were all actual pleasures to Esther ; they seemed quite 
 natural, these pleasant surroundings, and they helped to 
 make her more contented with herself, and to silence the self- 
 upbraidings which the silent monitor within continued mak- 
 ing. Then Oswald came in, and he greeted her with all the 
 respect and deference due to one in his own rank, and again 
 Esther was pleased. It struck her afterwards that they were 
 all in unnaturally good spirits ; she herself was going to the 
 house of mourning, and her best friend was in extremity of 
 sorrow; she 'ought to be feeling very sad indeed, and as for 
 Oswald, surely the bitter grief and anguish of his betrothed 
 should have been his also. Their gay tone and their con- 
 verse, which, though not frivolous, was of a light nature, 
 leemed sadly incongruous when afterwards she reverted to it. 
 
 When luncheon was over Cecil said, " Oswald, Esther has 
 to go back to the Slade for her travelling-bag, and to wish 
 
256 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Mrs. King good-bye. I brought her away unexpectedly 
 from the school-house. I will drive her there, and you had 
 better join us at the gate. It is not ten minutes' walk across 
 that meadow where the hay is down." 
 
 " But why should you drive her to the Slade ? Once in 
 the carriage, it does not matter taking a slight detour. You 
 need not trouble yourself." 
 
 "I choose to trouble mysel I wish to speak to Mrs. 
 King." 
 
 "Oh, if you choose, I know it is all settled as irrevocably 
 as if it had been decreed by the Medes and Persians. But 
 why should I walk to the Slade 1 The carriage holds four." 
 
 " I choose also that you should join us at the farm. I told 
 you I wanted to speak to Mrs. King. You would be in the 
 way." 
 
 "Very well, anything for a quiet life. But I tell you 
 what, Cis, if yon were coupled with a fellow who liked his 
 own way half as well as you liked yours, it would be one in- 
 cessant skirmish and struggle from morning till night. Au 
 revoir, Miss Kendall ; we shall meet, not at Philippi, but 
 at Mrs. King's garden gate.** 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE OLD BARN 
 
 IT v/as an immense relief to Mrs. King's mind when from 
 the porch, where she was training her roses and clematis, she 
 saw Esther and Cecil drive up together. 
 
 " All right," she said to her husband, who was taking hie 
 forty after-dinner winks. "Miss Cecil is come instead of 
 Mr. Oswald; that is as it should be. So you need not 
 trouble yourself, William." 
 
 "And very glad I am, for it is of no use seeing the 
 miller till I have heard from Garnett, of Stannington, and 
 there's rain coming on, and I want to see to the Brook piece 
 being carried this afternoon. There is Miss Cecil coming up 
 tlie walk ; go you and meet her, wife." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 257 
 
 Esther's bag was standing ready in the porch, and 
 Patience was despatched to the carriage with it. Miss 
 "(Jffadyne looked as portentous as the clouds, and Mrs. King 
 knew that she was displeased. Cecil was not, come to argue 
 the matter with the farmer's wife ; she was there merely to 
 declare her intentions. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Uffadyne, I am so glad you are going to Guise," 
 said the good woman ; " the farmer did not have the letter ne 
 expected, so he has no call to go to Underleigh Mill, and he 
 wants to get some of his hay carried to-night ; there's thunder 
 in the air, and the glasses are going down. I hope you'll 
 not be overtaken with the storm, Miss Uffadyne ; it looks 
 very black over Helmsley wood, but you are going towards 
 the coast." 
 
 " I am not going, Mrs. King. I am returning home at 
 once. My brother will drive Esther to Guise Court ; I be- 
 lieve he said as much last night. Mr. King need not hav<3 
 troubled himself." 
 
 " But " Mrs. King was beginning. Cecil replied in that 
 tone which all the Chilcombe people knew how to interpret 
 ,'is signifying displeasure and a settled determination to act as 
 she chose. " Esther informed me of your scruples, Mrs. 
 King, and she is much obliged to you ; but I prefer the plan 
 first agreed upon. It is by my desire that she accepts Mr. 
 Uffadyne's escort. I see him coming beyond the stile yon- 
 der ; shall Esther get out and say good-bye ? " 
 
 " No, I will go to her." And Mrs. King went down the 
 walk, and warmly pressed Esther's hand ; but she looked 
 very grave. She wasted no more words, for she was not one 
 of those foolish women who think it incumbent on them to 
 go on delivering their testimony as long as any one will lis- 
 ten to them. She knew that her counsel was in vain, and 
 she concluded to be silent now ; but there was a sadness in 
 her face that Esther had seldom if ever seen there before, 
 and she wished she had thrown her own weight into the 
 scale, or, better still, have said nothing about the journey to 
 Cecil, leaving it to Mrs. King to settle for her. But it was 
 frrx) late now, for there was Mr. Oswald, and the ponies were 
 impatient to be off. He sprang in, and Cecil turned back to 
 
258 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 the village. As they dashed into the lar.e which led into 
 the Guiseley road, Esther looked round and saw Mrs. King 
 still standing at the gate. She kissed her hand, and the 
 salutation was returned. The next minute the trees hid her 
 from sight, and Oswald began to talk to her in his usual 
 pleasant strain. The strange appearance of the clouds 
 attracted their attention, and then Oswald hegan describing 
 some electrical phenomena he had witnessed in Calabria ; 
 thence it was easy to pass to Italy itself, to Borne, to tho 
 Campagna, to the classic wars of the Peninsula, to the 
 shadowy Etruscans, and to the cycles of barbarism and civili- 
 sation which swept alternately over the nations in the earlier 
 ages of the world. 
 
 " I read a little about the Etruscans the other day," said 
 Esther ; " but I could find nothing satisfactory respecting 
 their history, nor could Miss Uffadyne tell me where to look 
 for the information I needed." 
 
 " I can find you a book in my uncle's library that will 
 tell you as much about them as you will care to know. Little 
 is really known concerning this singular and ancient people; 
 their sepulchres chiefly attest the magnificence of their lives ; 
 and so remote is their history that one cannot find among 
 the tribes and peoples of the Italian peninsula the faintest 
 thread of tradition as to their existence. Yet that they were 
 highly civilised, luxurious, refined, and lovers of art, cannot 
 be doubted even." 
 
 " They were anterior to the Romans ] " 
 
 lc Certainly. The Eome of the early kings and of the 
 first republic was the foe and not the friend of civilisation 
 the destroyer, not the promoter of art. She proved this in 
 plundering the tombs of the Etruscans, and in destroying 
 every trace of their sway. She could only do so partially, 
 for still deep down beneath the soil of centuries the traveller 
 of to-day finds those countless sepulchres to witness to the 
 existence and grandeur of a people who lived and died in 
 ages whose history reaches us only in shadowy records of 
 fable and tradition. Did it ever strike you how in the earliei 
 iges of the world barbarism and civilisation succeeded each 
 other in cycles, and in pretty regular succession I " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 259 
 
 " No ; I did not know that it was so. You mean that the 
 barbarism of the Romans came in like a flood, and swept 
 away the refinements and luxuries of these remote people,, 
 and then that as century after century passed they became 
 luxurious lovers of art and literature till the cycles of civili- 
 sation came round again in the same region." 
 
 " Yes ; and this cycle was succeeded by another of barbar- 
 ism. There came a time when Rome sank under her weight 
 of empire, when her luxury became vicious extravagance, and 
 her refinement voluptuous fastidiousness ; and then came the 
 Goths and Vandals, the children of the frozen North, and 
 they overran and wasted the fair towns and cities of the 
 empire, till all was ruin, desolation, and barbarism once 
 more. Then, again, as centuries rolled away, these savage 
 nations grew in their turn to be polished and intelligent; 
 they, too, learned the pleasures of luxury, and cultivated the 
 fine arts, and so a third cycle of civilisation may be said to 
 have set in, extending even to this present day." 
 
 " There cannot be another 1 cycle of barbarism 1 " 
 
 "It would seem not; because the nations, east and west, 
 north and south, are now civilised, and it would be diffi- 
 cult to say whence the barbarian tide would flow. But I 
 shall tire you with this disquisition on one of my favourite 
 themes." 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed ! If you knew how I enjoy all this kind 
 of thing ! If I were a man I would travel ; I seem to have 
 learned so much already from exchanging town life for 
 country life, and yet the much is so very little." 
 
 " And when your much is more, and your more beyond the 
 most of your sex, it will still seem the merest trifle compared 
 with the vast and unexplored oceans of knowledge of which 
 the most erudite, the most gifted, catch only shadowy 
 glimpses." 
 
 "Is it not wearying to feel always so far behind? to 
 know that there is so much to which one never can 
 attain 1 " 
 
 "Sometimes it is so. You must have experienced it 
 already, I should think. Every one who truly loves know- 
 ledge, and pursues it in real earnest, feels every now and 
 
260 GKEY AND GOLD. 
 
 then sickened and disheartened. One lias toiled and panted, 
 and toiled again, and when one looks back one is still only 
 at the mountain's base. Alp upon Alp remains to be sur- 
 mounted ; and \vhen, at the close of a long life, one perhaps 
 reaches the highest visible pinnacle, lo ! there is still another 
 and another chain of hills, reaching up beyond the clouds. 
 And in this life the yearning for the Infinite is never realised. 
 Hut, Miss Kendall, we are going to have a storm I hear the 
 thunder, and the sea yonder is blackness itsel Ah ! did 
 you catch that flash upon the waves ? " 
 
 " Yes. It lightened across the Channel while you were 
 talking about the Etruscans. I am not afraid of the tem- 
 pest, unless it be very violent ; but how will the ponies like 
 it?" 
 
 " That is what I am not quite certain about. At present 
 it will not matter ; but, drive hard as we will, I am afraid 
 we shall never reach the Court before the storm is upon us. 
 It will be a heavy one it has been gathering all day." 
 
 ** Mr. King thought it would keep off till sunset." 
 
 " So did I till about ten minutes ago. What shall we do 
 we have passed the last place of shelter ] Shall we turn 
 back, and wait at the Quarry Cottages 1 The first loud peal 
 frill bring down a torrent of rain." 
 
 " Just as you please. You are sure we cannot reach Guise 
 Court?" 
 
 " It is all up-hill, you see, from this point to the lodge 
 gates, and after we turn the corner yonder we shall face tho 
 tempest. I should not mind if I were sure of the ponies ; 
 but I do not want to frighten you a second time, Miss 
 Kendall. Still, it would take us nearly as long to go back 
 to the Quarry. Shall we push on ? " 
 
 '* It will be the best way. We might have time, and we 
 ehail be prepared in case the tempest overtake us. Oh ! Mr. 
 Oswald, is not the sea grand ? " 
 
 '* It is indeed ! And that awful voice speaking out of the 
 darkness, and calling along the waves, how glorious ! And 
 did you ever see such a light 1 ? so pale, so lurid, and yet 
 so clear ! Look at those hill-tops, looming up like giants, 
 black and grim ; and those ruins yonder how spectral they 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 261 
 
 show against that leaden mass of slowly sinking cloud. 
 And if we dared to stop which we dare not we should 
 hear the roar of the tide. Ha ! the rain is beginning." 
 
 Esther folded her cloak round her, and put up her um- 
 brella. All Oswald's attention was given to his fiery little 
 steeds, which were already laying down their ears very sus- 
 piciously, as if ready to bolt at the first thing that scared 
 them ; and every peal of thunder sounded nearer and nearer, 
 and the lightning showed more vividly. At first only a few 
 drops of rain fell, large and slow ; but very soon they came 
 more thickly, and pattered on the firs and beeches that lined 
 each side of the road. One peal louder than the rest, and 
 the ponies began to plunge, and the rain to pour ! And tkaa 
 Oswald regretted he had not turned back to the Quarry 
 Cottages. Just as he became really apprehensive they came 
 up with some one standing under a large, spreading pine a 
 tall, loosely-made man, with streaming hair, and pale, thin 
 face, and clad in habiliments as shabby as untidy. The sort 
 of man, you would have said, who only wore clothes because 
 he needed covering, only ate because he must have food to 
 live, and only slept because he could not help it. At that 
 moment the heavens seemed to open, the whole landscape 
 was wrapped in white, dazzling light, that scarcely heralded 
 the tremendous crash that sounded as if it must mingle earth 
 and skies in one wild mass of ruin. They felt the heat of 
 the fierce electric flame upon their faces, and it hissed as it 
 passed them by with its awful, scorching breath, as it hisses 
 only when it is truly the fiery, deathful levin itself, and not 
 merely the more harmless flash. 
 
 The ponies, terrified and maddened, would have torn away 
 to the open side of the hill, whi3h sloped over broken rocky 
 ground to some low, marshy lands, irrigated by the tide. 
 Oswald would have been powerless to hold them in had not 
 the man under the fir-tree sprung to his assistance, and 
 standing at the heads of the frightened creatures, by main 
 force compelled them to submit. Then, after some soothing 
 and caressing, the ponies consented to stand tolerably still. 
 
 "Why, Digby, who would have thought of seeing you 
 here ? " said Oswald, holding out his hand. " A thousand 
 
' 
 
 262 GHEY AND GOLD. 
 
 thanks ! those animals were just getting the mastery ; they 
 are fed up too much, and are not sufficiently worked Is it 
 safe sheltering under those trees, think you 1 " 
 
 " No ! I am sure it is not. I was just thinking of retreat- 
 ing to the old barn when you canie up. I wanted to watch 
 the sea." . 
 
 MYhat old barn?" 
 
 " You, the heir of Guise, and not know the old barn ! It 
 is scarcely to be called a building. It is an outlying piece of 
 the ruins hard by, and somebody patched it up years ago, 
 and used it as barn, cart-hovel, bed-room, parlour, and hall. 
 That queer fellow it was who haunted these parts, and never 
 spoke to any one. He was found dead on Shalham Moor, 
 and it is believed that he had a pot of money hidden in the 
 barn where he lived, and that he haunts it still at intervals. 
 It will shelter us now, ponies and alL" 
 
 Oswald helped Esther to alight, and the person who was 
 called Digby led the way down a green opening between the 
 trees to the hilly piece, where the ruins of an ancient forti- 
 fied house still existed. At the foot of the mound on which 
 the ruins stood were some decayed out-buildings, and among 
 them the old barn, as it was called, the only part of the 
 whole that boasted of anything that could be named a roof. 
 One end, however, was waterproof, and thither the whole 
 party retreated, the carriage and the ponies being likewise 
 accommodated. 
 
 "Really, Lance," said Oswald, when they were not un- 
 comfortably seated upon a perfectly dry stone-settle, "we 
 are under no end of obligations to you. It is no great 
 hardship to stay here awhile ; and what a magnificent view 
 from that loophole. Ah ! I am really very remiss ; probably 
 Miss Kendall and you are strangers. Miss Kendall, may I 
 introduce Mr. Lancelot Digby, of Helmsley Grange ? " 
 
 So this was the " mighty scholar," who went about, 
 according to farmer King, " like one demented." The man 
 whose chief and beloved occupation was " no yield." Esther 
 and Oswald sat almost in the shadow ; but a broad streak of 
 pallid light coming in through the loophole near at hand, 
 fell full upon the face and figure of Mr. Lancelot ; and a 
 
GRE? AND GOLD. 203 
 
 Tery singular fao > it was, handsome and proud, '(but sunken 
 and full of sad thought. Beautiful eyes shone out from 
 large white lids " ray -fringed eyelids of the morn" and 
 from beneath shaggy, over-hanging brows, and a most 
 capacious forehead ; but the expression was melancholy and 
 even bitter. The features were refined though sharp, the 
 nose peculiarly straight and well shapen ; but the mouth and 
 chin were hidden from view by a ragged moustache, and an 
 immense untrimmed beard, which, however, was of the very 
 finest texture, evincing a delicate and refined nature, and a 
 sensitive disposition. Esther quite comprehended how to 
 one of Mr. King's stamp he would seem indeed " forlorn- 
 looking." But in her eyes he was every inch a poet ; and 
 she doubted not that pale, broad, pensive brow would be one 
 day crowned by bays immortal. She knew by instinct that 
 people do not have so wonderful a phrenological conforma- 
 tion for nothing. To a girl of Esther's temperament, a 
 poet is as a thing divine a marvellous something, pure 
 and ethereal, scarcely touched by taint of earth and time, 
 inheriting by birthright his Olympian privileges, and ready 
 always to plume his wings, and soar away to a more con- 
 genial and radiant atmosphere. Spite of his very shabby 
 clothes, his unkempt chevelure, his white, worn face, and his 
 rounded shoulders, Esther looked on him with reverence. 
 To her he sat there as "the heir of all the ages," as an 
 uncrowned king, whose day of triumph was to come. 
 
 Presently he turned his deep, sad gaze from the wrathful, 
 darkening sea to her face. Perhaps he saw something there 
 that brightened his own, for it was lit up by a smile of such 
 wondrous beauty that even Oswald started. The whole 
 countenance was transfigured, the whole man was changed, 
 and power and sweetness shone in every trait where only 
 weariness and sombre gloom had showed before. " Do you 
 not know my sister Edith 1 " he asked of Esther. 
 
 " I made her acquaintance only last evening," she replied, 
 colouring beneath the intensity of his look ; and colour 
 wrought a strange change in Esther's face ; with her dark 
 wreathing hair and glorious eyes, the rose flush made her 
 positively beautiful beautiful, too, with the only beauty 
 
2C4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 that Lancelot worshipped the beauty of soul ar.d inteL 
 lect. 
 
 " Only last night?" he continued. "I have not been 
 home for a week, yet I am sure I have heard her speak of 
 you," 
 
 " She may have seen me at church. "We have no evening 
 service at Chilcombe, and since the weather has been so fine 
 I have gone once or twice to Helmsley. I like the green 
 gloom of the old church, and that deep porch, and the 
 solemn arched windows and chancel ; and the walk there 
 through the wood is charming. But I never spoke to Miss 
 Digby till last night, when I went with a note from Mr. 
 King to Mr. Digby." 
 
 " I think I must have seen you at church. Your face is 
 not strange to me ; perhaps it is one of the dream-faces I 
 see sometimes. Philosophers tell us that there is nothing 
 absolutely ideal." 
 
 " I have been in all three times to Helmsley church 
 once on Good Friday and twice since on the Sunday 
 evening." 
 
 " And you always take the wood-path 1 " 
 
 " I did on Good Friday, and I went by the wood last 
 night. It is nearer, as well as so much more beautiful. 
 But the other times I went by the road ; once there had 
 been a shower in the afternoon, and once I had some one 
 with me who preferred the road." 
 
 " You say you have not been home for a week. Where 
 have you been, Lancelot ? " asked Oswald. 
 
 " Did you not know ? I have a lodging on Templemoor 
 yonder. It is not of the sort you would fancy, but it 
 suits me. I can write there in peace." 
 
 " I should have thought you could write in peace at the 
 Grange ; it is large enough, and altogether instinct with the 
 spirit of romance." 
 
 " And instinct with several other spirits, the relentless 
 enemies of romance. Also, large as it is, the children find 
 their way into every hole and corner of it. That lor.g 
 echoing gallery, Oswald, where you and I and Rupert used 
 to play at tournaments, is their favourite haunt. In our 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 261 
 
 time no one ever came near it, and the key was sup- 
 posed to be lost, only we knew where it was. The deserted 
 wing is open now, and the children run up and down, and 
 shout and scream, and quarrel and cry even the ghosts 
 must have flitted in despair. How I do hate a houseful ol 
 badly-managed children ! I like this part near the sea, it 
 suits me better than ' our own valleys and green meads. 
 Once I was belated on Templemoor, and finding a very 
 humble sort of cottage in one of those queer ravines with 
 which it abounds, I begged a night's lodging. The people, 
 a shepherd and his wife, gave me a bed not a very luxurious 
 one, you may imagine, but the room was large, though 
 meanly furnished, and commanding such a view ! They 
 were simple folk, and I liked them, and they liked me, and 
 it was agreed that I should take up my quarters there when- 
 ever I was late on Templemoor ; and at last it came to pass 
 that we made a compact respecting this room : it was to be 
 kept entirely for me ; I was to pay a fixed sum, weekly or 
 monthly, and to go and come at my own pleasure." 
 
 " How long ago was that ? " 
 
 " About a year ago ever since last summer I am really 
 at work now, Oswald." 
 
 " Upon the Epic ? " 
 
 " Yes ! I am giving all my strengtn to that.' 
 
 "I should like to see some of it. I would ask you to 
 come to the Court, only there is trouble there just now. 
 My uncle is very ill." 
 
 " Is Mr. Guise worse than usual 1 " 
 
 " Very much ; the doctors believe he is going. Cecil 
 thinks he will rally. I do not, though it is not improbable 
 that he may last longer than Miss Guise expects. I am 
 going back to the Court now, as you may have guessed, and 
 I am taking Miss Kendall, at Miss Guise's particular request. 
 I think the rain is nearly over ? " 
 
 "Yes! the storm expended itself, I -fancy, in that one 
 grand burst ; it is going away up channel. I am not sure 
 but we shall have it in style a few hours later, but for the 
 present it is over." 
 
 r \Ve had better set off at onr.e ; it scarcely rains at all 
 
266 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Shall we go, Miss Kendall? And I say, Lance, I shall 
 certainly come and beat you up in your bachelor's quarters." 
 
 "You will find the poverty, if not the genius, that ia 
 commonly supposed to be associated with the poet's lot; 
 and I can offer j ou barley -bread and buttermilk ! and I 
 think my hostess has some spruce-beer, but I have not 
 tasted it." 
 
 " You are a total-abstainer still 1 " 
 
 " Still ! But pray understand, I do not abstain on 
 orthodox abstinence principles. I drink only water because 
 it costs nothing, and all other beverages cost money, of 
 which I have always small store. When my Epic is paid 
 for and everybody is reading it, I will quaff, moderately, of 
 course, Rhenish and French wines ! Till then, aqua pura, 
 and plenty of it." 
 
 " The Digbys -seem to be very poor," said Esther, as they 
 were driving on. 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Oswald ; " poor as church mice, and I 
 am afraid they are going to be poorer still." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 LADY TORRISDALE. 
 
 IN an earlier chapter was mentioned Lady Torrisdale, the 
 aunt of Florence Guise, and the sister-in-law of Mr. Guise; 
 and now it is necessary more fully to introduce her to all 
 those who may be interested in this story of "Grey and 
 Gold." 
 
 Her ladyship was the sister of Mrs. Guise. She had 
 married for money, and had been disappointed, the 
 Torrisdale estates being almost entirely in the hands of 
 his lordship's creditors. John, Lord Torrisdale, had once 
 been rich, but the turf and billiards had been his ruin. 
 He had also lived a life of great profligacy ; and the costly 
 and unlawful pleasures he had pursued would have quickly 
 drained any exchequer, had he not likewise been addicted to 
 the excitement of gambling. At length, in his fiftieth year. 
 
GllEY AND GOLD. 207 
 
 it was proposed to him that he should mend his shattered 
 fortunes by marrying an heiress, if an heiress could be found 
 fair enough and sufficiently well born to present to the 
 world as Lady Torrisdale, and wealthy enough to flavour the 
 bitter cup of matrimony, which his necessities required him 
 at least to taste. 
 
 Two sisters, the supposed co-heiresses of a very rich old 
 uncle, were introduced to him. The eldest, Augusta, was 
 held to be the favourite, and she was handsome enough to 
 be generally admired. Lord Torrisdale would have preferred 
 the younger Miss Lascelles ; for her personal loveliness was 
 something remarkable, and her temper was proverbially 
 gentle, while at the same time the admirable qualities of her 
 mind were apparent to all who were so fortunate as to be of 
 her circle. Augusta, on the contrary, was haughty, cross- 
 grained, and, as some people averred, of " a most unbearable 
 temper." As it occasionally happens, it would have seemed 
 that Nature had delighted in producing, as the children of 
 the same parents, the most complete contrarieties. Even in 
 person there was no resemblance between the sisters. 
 Augusta was dark-skinned, raven-haired, dark- eyed, tall, 
 and stately Laura was delicately fair, blue-eyed, and golden- 
 tressed, of fairy-like proportions, and simple and graceful 
 in her manner. Augusta was proud, ambitious, and selfish ; 
 Laura was of a meek and quiet spirit, patient, forgiving, 
 with strong and deep affections. Lord Torrisdale proposed 
 to Laura, but met with no success; and finding that to 
 persevere in his suit would only be to court fresh denials 
 and disappointments, he transferred his attentions to the 
 elder sister. 
 
 As self-willed a young lady as ever lived was Miss 
 Lascelles ; and having heard of the extent of the Torrisdale 
 estates, and having no objection to become a countess, she 
 resolved to become Lady Torrisdale, in spite of all the 
 warnings she received. In vain did her friends refer to his 
 terribly involved fortunes ; in vain were stories, scarcely fit 
 to be breathed in feminine ears, whisperingly confided to her 
 by shocked matrons ; in vain was she cautioned against 
 trusting herself to so evil-minded, so dishonourable, so 
 
2(58 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 thoroughly unprincipled a man ; she had taken her resolu- 
 tion, and she was not to be deterred from carrying hei 
 cherished plans into execution. 
 
 Lord Torrisdale assured himself that Augusta Lascelles 1 
 fortune was in part, a least, inalienable that is to say, it 
 was in her own hands, and she could not be deprived of it, 
 even if she married in defiance of every friend and relative 
 she had. The uncle, too, was an old man, very infirm, and 
 not likely to alter his will, however angry he might be for 
 a little while with his disobedient niece. He -was the last 
 man in the world to be implacable ; and though he forbade 
 Lord Torrisdale to visit or to correspond with Augusta, he 
 never threatened to disinherit her in case his commands were 
 disobeyed. There were many reasons why a private marriage 
 suited Lord Torrisdale, and he easily persuaded Augusta to 
 elope from the house of a friend at Brighton ; and it was 
 not till she had been some hours his wife that her flight was 
 suspected. 
 
 Of course there were no settlements, which was exactly 
 what the elderly bridegroom desired ; but he was not quite 
 so well satisfied when he found that old General Lascelles 
 did resent his niece's undutiful conduct, and did not receive 
 with all eagerness, as had been anticipated, the overtures of a 
 speedy reconciliation. A perfect programme had been 
 arranged, and neither my lord nor my lady doubted but 
 that it would be carried to a triumphant issue ; but like 
 many other programmes of the same sort, it was found to oe 
 impossible. There was failure at the very outset ; and soon 
 it was discovered that the performance could not take place 
 at all. The general would not relent ; he would not even 
 see the offending couple. The countess of Torrisdale would 
 never be allowed to fill the place of Augusta Lascelles. 
 
 A very few years passed away and Lord Torrisdale was a 
 beggar ; his resources came to an end at last ; his clever 
 shifts were exhausted ; every trick that an aristocratic rogue 
 can play he had played once too often, and his summer-day 
 friends had flown. Also the fortune his wife had brought 
 him was gone, except a miserable pittance which he could net 
 touch. General Lascelles was dead, and Laura was married 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 263 
 
 to Mr. Guise. Disappointed, miserable, outraged as a wife, 
 without money and in failing health, Lady Torrisdale hated, 
 with a bitter, vindictive fury, the man who had brought her 
 to such straits. She scarcely remembered that she was 
 equally the author of her misfortunes ; she had only her self- 
 will and her wretched weak ambition to thank for the 
 humiliating position in which she found herself. Of all that 
 she had striven to secure by her loveless, imprudent marriage, 
 her coronet alone remained. She was Lady Torrisdale, indeed, 
 but she had neither lands, nor mansions, nor equipages, nor 
 servants, nor jewels, nor any of the common appendages of 
 rank. She had not even a husband, for Lord Torrisdale fled 
 the country, taking with him all that he could lay his hands 
 upon, and also a person whose presence had frequently in- 
 sulted his wife, and who called herself Lady Torrisdale in 
 the distant land where the wretched pair took up their 
 dwelling. So the real Lady Torrisdale was left alone, in 
 sickness and poverty, and in a foreign land. She never again 
 saw her worthless lord ; he died before he completed his 
 sixtieth year, and the entailed estates, with all their incum- 
 brances, went to a distant relative, who declined having any 
 communications with the late peer's widow. 
 
 Then Lady Torrisdale bethought herself of her sister, from 
 whom she had held aloof ever since her marriage ; she wag 
 in Paris when news of the earl's death reached her, and 
 .being reduced to nearly the last extremities, she resolved to 
 sink her pride and return to England, throwing herself on 
 the generosity of the Guises. Laura and hei husband 
 received the poor wanderer with open arms ; the long 
 estrangement was forgotten, gratuitous insults were forgiven. 
 j\Jrs. Guise saw only the sister of her youth in the forlorn, 
 deserted, haggard-looking woman who presented herself a 
 suppliant for her bounty, and she rejoiced in the opportunity 
 thus afforded of renewing, as closely as possible, the long- 
 loosened tie of consanguinity. Lady Torrisdale found her- 
 6e If indeed at home, and yet a most honoured guest, and for 
 a little while she was softened and almost happy ; but soon 
 the restlessness, the narrowness, the heartlessness of hei 
 nature betrayed itseit She could never forgive Laura for hei 
 
 - 
 
270 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 superior advantages, for the happier fate which had been 
 hers, forgetting that in great measure Laura had chosen her 
 fate very much as she had chosen hers. Laura's innocent 
 happiness was a continual reminder of her own terrible 
 matrimonial experiences; she was perpetually tormenting 
 herself by making contrasts, and in tormenting herself it 
 was only natural to her to torment others. Some people can- 
 not suffer and be content to see those around them free from 
 suffering ; if they are unhappy, their unhappiness must com- 
 municate itself to all with whom they are brought into 
 contact, and of such was Lady Torrisdale. 
 
 She soon made herself so disagreeable that Mr. Guise was 
 anxious to instal her in a home of her own. This she re- 
 sented, while she accepted the kindness, which gave her once 
 more an independent position. But was she not a countess, 
 the widow of an English peer of the realm 1 And was the 
 seclusion to which she was condemned her place in society 1 
 Was the comfortable household she could maintain such aa 
 befitted her rank ? And there was Laura, who never had an 
 ambition in her life, adored by her husband and the mistress 
 of one of the finest estates in the west of England. 
 
 Sorely she tired the patience of Mr. and Mrs. Guise, and 
 their conduct towards her at this epoch of her history is past 
 all praise. But she was too restless long to remain in the 
 pretty quiet home they had secured for her ; she chose again 
 to go abroad. Mr. Guise made a certain settlement upon 
 her, and for some years she was seen no more at Guise Court. 
 It was not till Laura was in her grave, and Florence nearly 
 grown up, that Lady Torrisdale once again presented herself; 
 and then she came urging her claims to be installed as the 
 cliaperone of her niece. Mr. Guise neither refused nor 
 assented. He would make no promises, nor listen to any 
 scheme of definite arrangement ; still, he allowed Florence 
 to go out with her aunt, who, with all her misfortunes, had 
 conducted herself reputably ; and for one season Lady 
 Torrisdale reigned paramount with her brother-in-law and 
 with his daughter. But years had not improved her ladyship. 
 She had grown more selfish than ever, more despotic, niora 
 determined to go her own way, whatever might be tile co*t 
 
GREY AND GOLD. XT1 
 
 Her temper had increased in acerbity; her egotism was a 
 thing unbearable ; her own claims and her own trials were 
 the burden of her song ; and at last she led Florence such a 
 life, and tormented Mr. Guise to such an extent, that he was 
 lain to propose a second separation, and once more Lady 
 Torrisdale returned to the Continent. 
 
 Not, however, to Paris this time. To all her other faults 
 she had now added a miserable love of hoarding not for 
 money's worth, but for money's sake. Saving was the grand 
 end of her existence ; " living within her income " was the 
 theme which occupied her all the day and kept her from 
 sleeping at night ; to add to her hoard was the only real 
 pleasure of her life. She had become dyspeptic, and she 
 disliked living alone, so she secured the services of a poor 
 relation as companion. Fanny Tucker wanted a home, and 
 she gave her a home that is, she gave her a roof to cover 
 her, a bed to lie on, food to eat, and the shabbiest of clothes 
 to wear, as well as her own august protection, which of 
 course was an advantage worth any young woman's consider- 
 ation. But oh ! the price that Fanny Tucker paid for bed 
 and board, and the privilege of residing with a countess ! 
 
 They were living now at Boulogne, Lady Torrisdale and 
 her companion; living in a cheap quarter and at a very 
 cheap rate, and seeing very little society, either French or 
 English. They occupied a small flat au-troisieme a stifling 
 drawing-room, all dirty white and tarnished gold, with 
 plenty of uncomfortable velvet couches, and the inevitable 
 showy gilt pendule on the draperied chimney-piece ; a stuffy 
 little dining-room, with a great shut-up stove in the corner ; 
 two miserably furnished bedrooms; a kitchen in which it 
 would have been quite impossible " to swing a cat," if any 
 one had wished to indulge in so strange a recreation, and a 
 closet beyond, where Babette and the pots and stewpans 
 reposed in peace together. 
 
 Lady Torrisdale and Fanny Tucker found these apparie- 
 ments meubles almost too warm for human endurance when 
 the summer heats set in. Babette, I suppose, was used to 
 it, though every now and then she did emerge from her 
 cupboard of a kitchen, looking as if the dissolving process 
 
iV2 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 wivieh was to terminate her existence had already beguj;, 
 and declaring that the potage for the dinner of Miladi and 
 oi' Mademoiselle would be the death of her ! As for the 
 draw ing- room, or salon, Lady Torrisdale made it very much 
 hotter than it need have been by giving way to her unhappy 
 temper, and Fanny Tucker's condition was worso even than 
 Babette's ! Indeed the young lady would joyfully have 
 cooked the dinner if the countess would have contented 
 herself with Babette's society. 
 
 One burning June day, Fanny, who had been into the 
 town on a superfluous errand, came back very hot and tired 
 to find Lady Torrisdale cogitating over an English letter just 
 arrived by post. For more than an hour she kept silence, 
 and Fanny, unless compelled, never disturbed her ladyship's 
 meditations. She had suffered more than once or twice for 
 presuming to speak without being spoken to, though she 
 was quite as likely to be rated for being sulky. At the end 
 of an hour my lady addressed her : " Fanny Tucker, I will 
 thank ^ou to sit there no longer, wasting your time over 
 Uiat silly tatting. I am going to England, and you had 
 better bestir yourself and see to the packing." 
 
 "Going to England!" was all that the startled Fanny 
 could reply. 
 
 " Is there anything so remarkable in that, Miss Tucker 1 
 Did you imagine, pray, that I had grown too old to travel ? 
 But people in your station of life are so very easily surprised. 
 People of rank never allow themselves to be astonished." 
 
 " Am I to attend your ladyship 1 " 
 
 "Certainly. Do you suppose a person of my condition 
 ever travels alone ? With my delicate health, too ! But 
 you have no consideration : young people now-a-daya are 
 quite absorbed in self." 
 
 Fanny wondered in what elderly people were absorbed ii 
 Lady Torrisdale were to be taken as a representative woman 
 of her age ; but she inquired meekly how soon they were to 
 net, off. 
 
 " That is for you to ascertain," replied my lady. *' Go at 
 once to the portress and inquire about the steamers ; toil 
 Babette meanwhile to get out the trunks. "When you 
 
CiREY AKD GOLD. 273 
 
 return pack immediately and with all despatch, but carefully. 
 I am not going to have niy things spoiled as they were com- 
 ing from Brussels." 
 
 Fanny hastened to make inquiries, and she found that in 
 order to he quite certain en one or two small points she must 
 cro out again in the scorching noonday heat. She accom- 
 plished her errand, and then prepared to pack, under the in- 
 spection of my lady, who lay on one of the velvet couches, 
 while Fanny emptied wardrobes, folded, unfolded, and re- 
 folded dresses, filled trunks, and emptied them again, and 
 refilled them, being vigorously scolded for stupidity and 
 laziness all the while. Then various arrangements had to be 
 made, and all these Fanny had to conduct, translating, as 
 she best could, Lady Torrisdale's impertinent English into 
 civil French, and bearing the whole brunt of her ladyship's 
 growing irritation and displeasure. It was past midnight 
 when the last trunk was strapped and labelled, and then 
 Fanny had to pack her own things, which as yet were in 
 their usual places. It was broad daylight long before she 
 lay down, and the steamer left the quay at eight o'clock 
 precisely. 
 
 On the voyage Lady Torrisdale condescended to inform 
 her companion that they were going to Guise Court, that her 
 brother-in-law was dying, and that it was highly impropei 
 that a girl like Florence Guise should be left without any 
 female relative at such a juncture of affairs. " Were they 
 expected ? " Fanny asked ; and the reply was, " Is that any 
 business of yours, Miss Tucker ? Go and fetch my grey 
 shawl, and tell the captain he is not to let the boat pitch 
 about in this style." 
 
 They had rather a rough passage, for a sudden gale sprang 
 up, and poor Fanny was ill so ill that she scarcely hearcf 
 Lady Torrisdale's upbraidings. " What business had she to 
 be sea-sick ? what next would she choose to do ? " 
 
 With joy Fanny saw the small grey town of Folkestone, 
 for she hoped for a little rest. No such luck, h wever. Lady 
 Torrisdale took third-class tickets, and pushed on for town. 
 What business had Fanny to be tired ? 
 
 T 
 
274 GSEY AND GOLD- 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 EVENIXGTIDE. 
 
 THE storm was nearly over when Oswald and Esther drove 
 up to the lodge. The heavy clouds were parting ; the hilla 
 on the opposite shore of the broad Channel gleamed out 
 ghadow-like in the ever-shifting slants of brilliant sunshine, 
 and all the hedges and trees were glistening as with an 
 infinitude of diamonds. The tempest-hour had passed, and 
 .ill was brightness and peace where so lately had been gloom 
 and strife ; and softly and sweetly fell the even-song of the 
 joyous birds, warbling out their gladness among the dewy 
 branches ; while, clear against the dark, receding thunder- 
 cloud, shone forth the radiant bow, spanning, as it seemed, 
 the still troubled waters from shore to shore, intense in its 
 rich colouring, and casting far behind it its own faint, 
 tremulous refraction. 
 
 " Lancelot will go crazy over that rainbow," said Oswald, 
 as they both turned to gaze on the splendid scene of glitter- 
 ing earth and sea, and chequered sky, and the ethereal bow of 
 promise. " A chance of this sort is meat and drink to him ; 
 he will sit down on some stile, or on the wet grass perhaps, 
 and quite forget whether he has had any dinner ; and he 
 will taink himself supremely happy, till something comes to 
 recall to him his true, luckless position." 
 
 " And is that position so very, very unfortunate ? " 
 
 Oswald shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It could scarcely be more unfortunate. He is tne eldest 
 son of an old but hopelessly ruined house ; he is a gentle- 
 man, with all the aspirations and instincts of his order, and 
 without any of the means which are required for the sustain- 
 ing of his natural position ; he is heir to nothing but debts 
 and perplexities, nor has he the energy, even if opportunity 
 presented, to carve out for himself a way to competency, to 
 say nothing of fortune." 
 
 "But he is a poet a true poet, did you not say ? " 
 
 ' Well, res, I should say there is the real stuff in him 
 
GREY AJND GOLD. 275 
 
 but theii, where is the use ? What avails it that you have 
 good store of merchandise if there is no market for your 
 goods ] " 
 
 Esther thought of the farmer's verdict that poetry was no 
 yield. She was surprised to find that Oswald seemed to be 
 very much of the same opinion, and she felt quite inclined 
 to resent the inference. JSTow that she had seen Lancelot 
 Digby she more than ever reverenced the poet's mission awl 
 his work, and fully recognised the poet himself as ono $ 
 " God's prophets of the beautiful." 
 
 " I do not think." she said, " that success is the one thing 
 in life, at least not the sort of success you are thinking of. 
 One may fail in some things, and ye* be quite happy, quite 
 satisfied." 
 
 " It is wretched disappointment if you fail in the very 
 thing in which you particularly desire to succeed." 
 
 " But need one ever utterly fail 1 Of course one's desire 
 must be right to begin with ; it must be something on which 
 one can ask God's blessing, and then one must always strive 
 and keep one's patience and hope ; and surely, surely one 
 will reap one's reward some day 1 " 
 
 " In most cases yes, decidedly. But for a moneyless, 
 landless man like Digby to make the poet's bays his object 
 in life is perfectly ridiculous." 
 
 "I wonder " began Esther; and then she stopped, 
 
 blushing crimson. 
 
 " You wonder what ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing ! At least it was something I had 
 no business to say." 
 
 " I should like to hear what it was, nevertheless. These 
 impromptu, unbidden thoughts, which 'prudence tells us to 
 suppress, are after all of the very essence of sound judgment 
 and pure wisdom. It is not invariably true that second 
 thoughts are best." 
 
 " I suppose not, though certainly it is wise to think befc ro 
 one speaks." 
 
 " Well, you have thought. Now let me hear what you 
 \vondered about ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I had rather not tell you, Mr. Uffadyne." 
 
276 OBKT AND GOLD. 
 
 "Xow, Esther, that is unkind. I really must know; 
 come now ! " and he laid his disengaged hand on both hers, 
 and held them tight. Her cheeks were glowing like the 
 French poppies that crowned a rocky bank they were slowly 
 skirting. 
 
 " Very well," she replied, suddenly yielding, yet with an 
 air of irrepressible vexation. " I was wondering what 
 would have been your first object had you not been heir of 
 Guise. Of course it was impertinence to wonder at all 
 about it, but the thought came, and I could not help it. It 
 is your own fault that it is expressed." 
 
 " Of course it is my fault, if any there be, which there is 
 not ; and I am only too pleased to find that you think me 
 worthy of wondering about. Esther, I often wish I were 
 not the heir of Guise. I should not care to be Lance Digby, 
 but I should like to be Rupert ; I should like to have to 
 make my own way in the world, to carve out my own 
 fortunes, to have only my own brains and my own hands to 
 trust to. I own to you that I am thoroughly discontented 
 with my lot." 
 
 " That is not right," she returned, gravely. "You have a 
 goodly heritage ; you ought to accept it as from God's hands, 
 taking it ia trust from Him, and making the very best use 
 of it." 
 
 " I ought," he said impulsively. " Oh, Esther, if Cecil 
 had spoken as you speak I might have run the career she 
 once marked out for me. But she irritated me when she 
 counselled ; when she would have spurred me on to noble 
 action I grew stolid and indifferent ; and even her most 
 earnest entreaties roused in me a mocking spirit of mingled 
 antagonism and self-upbraiding. If I had only been born a 
 poor lad, knowing that the world was before me, and that I 
 must either lose or win in the race ! " 
 
 " You must do that now," she answered, almost solemnly. 
 " The race has always to be run, and the conditions are 
 Essentially the same, from whatever point we start." 
 
 " Esther, you are a very wise girl." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr. Uffadyne ! But I have been a scholar in a 
 very hard school Experience teaches one many things. If 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 277 
 
 I have any true wisdom, I think I have to thank Miss Guise 
 for it ; she is very wise." 
 
 " Rather too wise sometimes," said Oswald, impatiently. 
 "Ultra-feminine wisdom is all very well till one finds ii 
 sitting down at one's own fireside." 
 
 " You seem very hard to please," returned Esther, with 
 some displeasure ; and she was not sorry that their tHe-a-tete 
 must necessarily come to a conclusion, for just then they 
 approached the side entrance of the Court, and Sam. came 
 out to take the ponies. 
 
 "Mr. Guise any better?" asked Oswald, as he assisted 
 Esther from the carriage. 
 
 Sam shook his head. 
 
 " No, Mr. Oswald, he's no better. He never will be no 
 more in this 'ere world. But he'll soon be in a better. And 
 if it wasn't for our young lady, we wouldn't be sorry to hear 
 it was all over, though he has been the best master that man 
 or woman ever served. Miss Guise will be rigM glad to see 
 you, Miss Kendall ; and here's Mrs. Maxwell coming." 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell took Esther at once to her own room. Her 
 eyes were red with weeping, and weary too with the long 
 watch she had kept. She had not been in bed for two nights, 
 
 The sight of the housekeeper's sorrow brought the tears 
 into Esther's, eyes. Suddenly she felt that she had been very 
 heartless ; so lightly as she had talked at luncheon, so 
 entirely as she had been absorbed in different topics of con- 
 versation during the drive from Chilcombe. She had been 
 tranquil, cheerful, and even gay, while her best and first 
 friend had been suffering all the anguish of an impending 
 bereavement. Now she was eager to go to Florence, and 
 weep with her over the parting close to hand. 
 
 " Can I go to Miss Guise 1 " she asked, as soon as she 
 could speak ; " is she expecting me 1 " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Kendall, I know she counts upon your coming, 
 and I hope you may be able to comfort her a little. I feel as 
 if I hadn't a word to say to her, poor dear ; and as for Miss 
 Cecil, I really think she made her worse, though Miss Cecil 
 would have it that my master was not nearly so ill as was 
 believed, and though she prophesied that he would rally 
 
278 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 again and be down-stairs in two or three weeks' time. Will 
 you come at once, Miss Kendall 1 " 
 
 Esther found Florence in the boudoir. She had just left 
 her father's chamber at the other end of the gallery. A sad 
 smile stole over her worn, weary face as she greeted her friend 
 and bade her welcome ; but there was a touching hopeless- 
 ness in her tones as she said 
 
 " It is nearly over, Esther. I came out just to give way 
 for a moment. I could not bear it any longer ; and he must 
 not be disturbed." 
 
 " Does he suffer very much 1 " 
 
 " Not so much now, thank God ! Every paroxysm of pain 
 is less acute, and lasts for a shorter time. But he is sinking 
 very fast ; he is weaker now than he was an hour ago, and oh, 
 so much weaker than yesterday ! It is very good oi ? you, 
 Esther, to sacrifice your holiday, and to come and share my 
 sorrow." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Guise, whose sorrows should I share if not 
 yours t I have been very unfeeling not to care more deeply ; 
 but things seemed different at a distance. If I could only 
 help you to bear this great grief ! " 
 
 " No one but God can do that, Esther ; but your being 
 here will be a great comfort to me. How did you come 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Oswald brought me in Miss Cecil's pony carriage." 
 
 u Then he is here now 1 " 
 
 " Yes. I left him in the side court giving directions about 
 the ponies. He does not intend going back to the Chenies 
 till to-morrow morning." 
 
 Florence sighed ; it did not seem much of a relief to know 
 that Oswald had returned. She felt extremely depressed and 
 all alone in her great grief. Had Cecil's words come true 
 the words she had uttered long ago, when the engagement was 
 first announced, when she declared that in the first real 
 emergency Florence would find out how utterly unreliable 
 was the man to whom she was betrothed ^ Poor Flossy ! she 
 looked very forlorn with her pale, careworn face, her golden 
 ringlets, without their usual gloss, gathered back rather 
 carelessly, and her dress, too, rather disordered ; for she had 
 been lying down on a sofa in her father's room while he 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 279 
 
 slept, trying to gain a little strength for the coming nigH 
 It was more than a week since Florence Guise had gone to 
 bed in the regular way. No wonder that she looked faded, 
 harassed, and even untidy. Nothing gives a woman such an 
 extinguished air as sitting up night after night, longing for 
 rest, and yet dreading that the dreary watch she is keeping 
 may be the last, that the next night may come and find her 
 patient vigil done, her loving toil all ended, her agonising 
 suspense over, and instead the dead, hopeless blank of 
 certainty ; that happened which she most dreaded : her 
 most miserable, bewildering dreams turned into reality. So 
 it came to pass that the golden hair was tarnished, and the 
 golden glory of life all dimmed and pallid. It was another 
 Florence Guise that came to bid Esther welcome and to seek 
 her sympathy. 
 
 Though there were traces of tears on Florence's white 
 cheeks she was very calm now ; she felt, poor child, as if she 
 had exhausted the source of weeping, and could never cry 
 again ; yet her voice quivered and her hand trembled, and she 
 was glad of the support of Esther's strong arm to lead her to 
 a chair. 
 
 Esther at her desire rang the bell, and Virginie was 
 desired to bring tea; but when it came Florence could 
 scarcely touch it, and she went back to the sick-room, leaving 
 her cup more than half-full, and the little strip of toast which 
 Esther buttered so daintily undiminished. Cecil would have 
 argued with her and told her she was wrong thus to neglect 
 her own health, and she would have pressed the food upon 
 her, giving her fifty cogent reasons for eating and drinking 
 without delay. But Esther judged more wisely; just then 
 it was better as well as kinder to let her alone. 
 
 Esther's own meal was a scanty one, and when it was 
 finished she sat at the open window looking out upon the 
 glittering sea, and inhaling the fragrance of the many flowers 
 below. One large expanded magnolia was so near to her that 
 she could have gathered it, and roses by the handful were 
 within reach. Except for the dark cloud that still brooded 
 heavily up Channel, and for the rain-drops still shining 
 upon the trees and upon the turf, there was no trace of tha 
 
280 GREY AND GOLO. 
 
 storm in the peaceful, lovely summer evening that seemed all 
 the calmer and purer for the strife of elements that had pre- 
 ceded it. And the morning had been so grey and sultiy, so 
 gloomy and oppressive. It was the sad grey morning turned 
 into the beauteous, golden eventide. And Esther, watching 
 the bright sea and the amber mists upon the mountains, 
 remembered how Mr. Guise had told her that the grey and 
 the gold were interwoven in all lives, till the Golden City was 
 reached and the clouds and the mists of earth dispersed for 
 ever. For all that fair home's stateliness and its broad lands 
 and the smiling landscape, there was more of the grey 
 mingled with Florence's experiences than Esther had at first 
 imagined. 
 
 Presently Virginie came to beg Esther to go to Mr. Guise's 
 room, and she went half shrinkingly, for never before had she 
 entered the chamber of death, standing face to face with the 
 awful mystery of dissolution. She need not have feared ; Mr. 
 Guise was little changed, only the pale features were more 
 spiritualised than ever, and the worn countenance shone 
 with the settled peace that passeth all understanding. 
 Heaven's own impress was on that calm face, and the 
 light that never shines on earth or sea irradiated its quiet, 
 settled expression : he was leaving behind him the rugged 
 wilderness of this world, and before him were the golden 
 hills of heaven. 
 
 " Come closer," he said, as Esther came near the bed ; 
 " my voice is very weak, and I want to speak to you, my 
 dear. I am so glad to see you once more. This morning I 
 was afraid I should not continue till you arrived. I wanted 
 to say good-bye to you. Are you well and happy nov/, 
 Esther ? " 
 
 " I am quite well, Mr. Guise, and I should be quite happy, 
 if if," and her voice choked. 
 
 " Yes, I understand. Is Florence here ? " 
 
 " No ; she went away when I came in." 
 
 "That is well I wanted to remind you of your pro- 
 mise." 
 
 " I have not forgotten it. I hope I never shall. I will 
 repeat my promise, Mr. Guise : God helping me, I will be at, 
 
OHET AND GOLD. 231 
 
 all 2osts and at all risks a faithful friend to Florence Guise. 
 May He forsake me if I forsake her." 
 
 " Thank you ; I trust you, Esther. It is very strange 
 how much I rely upon you, not only trusting your will but 
 your ability to befriend Florence should the hour of need 
 arrive and that it will arrive I cannot doubt. Then you 
 will comfort her and help her 1 " 
 
 " As far as ever I can. I will leave everything and every- 
 body to come to her side if she require me, if she wish for 
 me." 
 
 " Esther, I must tell you that more and more I distrust 
 Oswald Uffadyne. I am now almost certain that he does 
 not love my Flossy." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Guise, I think he does ! Who could help lov- 
 ing her? And indeed I believe he regards her with affec- 
 tion." 
 
 " With affection yes ! But mere affection is not enough 
 for married life. The affection that might degenerate into 
 indifference, and sink into coldness, would only be a torture 
 to Florence. She has known only tenderness, poor child. 
 She has been my treasure so long. All the love that was 
 her mother's I lavished upon her. She will never bear cold- 
 ness and neglect." 
 
 " Surely she will never find it ! Mr. Oswald must love 
 her always; and, if I may say so, I think he would always 
 love very warmly, even devotedly : it is his nature to do 
 so." 
 
 " Esther, he is unstable. His likes and his dislikes are 
 sadly ephemeral. I have feared it for long, and now I am 
 very sure of it. Those passionate temperaments, those im- 
 pulsive natures, that take our hearts by storm, and win our 
 affections by their ardent expressions and demonstrations, are 
 frequently made the instruments of our most painful dis- 
 cipline. Some persons seem born into this world to make 
 the unhappiness of others ; they are ever with ' one foot in 
 sea and one on shore ; to one thing ' they are * constant never.' 
 They have one aim to-day, another to morrow ; that which 
 they adore this month they neglect the next. They cannot 
 help it, perhaps ; it is the result of unfortunate temperament 
 
282 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 But, oh, bow much misery they are the cause of! what 
 sobs of anguish they call forth ! What bitter tears fall foi 
 them ! What hours of secret, silent pain are spent on thei? 
 account ! " 
 
 " But Mr. Oswald is not all this ; and I am sure he ia 
 sincere, and he loves his cousin." 
 
 " Yes, Esther, he loves his cousin, and there was my own 
 fatal mistake ; but my Flossy deserves something titter 
 than mere cousinly regard. And he is sincere, too, inasmuch 
 as he professes nothing but what he feels at the moment. 
 These impulsive people are always sincere in thai; sense; 
 they never mean to deceive you ; they never mean any harm : 
 they only do it, and that most fatally. But we will not 
 speak any more of this. I had not meant to say so much, 
 only I want you to be my Flossy's true friend, and you can 
 serve her and guard her more intelligently if you know the 
 quarter whence danger is to be apprehended." 
 
 " Mr. Guise, may I say one thing ? it is rather bold of 
 me though." 
 
 " Say what you wish." 
 
 " Would it not be better for Florence that the undeceiv- 
 ing, if it must come, should come now presently at least 
 than when it is too late 1 " 
 
 " It would be better ; and I have spoken to Oswald, but 
 I confess he disappointed me. He would not hear of re- 
 linquishing his engagement, yet he avoided giving me the 
 distinct assurances I longed for. I feel sure he regrets. 
 I am certain he longs for freedom, yet he will not say 
 so." 
 
 " But Florence loves him." 
 
 " Only too well ! And what she lovas once she will love 
 always. Hush ! here she comes." 
 
 " Well, papa, have you had your little talk with Esther ] " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, though I have not said half I wished to 
 eay. I meant to say many things, and I quite forget them 
 now, and my strength is gone. One thing more, Esther : 
 never despair, however dark the day may be, remember past 
 mercies and former blessings, and do not distrust God's 
 providence. Think of the grey morning we spoke of once, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 283 
 
 end of the golden eventide. At evening time there shall be 
 light." 
 
 " Is it always so, I wonder 1 " said Esther, musingly. 
 
 " Yes ! It is God's own promise ; He will never fail those 
 who trust in Him. One has only to wait in solemn patience, 
 and sooner or later the clouds will break, and God's own 
 glory will shine through." 
 
 " Some lives seem sorrowful to the end ! " said Florence. 
 
 " A sorrowful life need not be all sorrow. Oh ! dear 
 children, it is your own fault if a thread of gold do not run 
 through your whole life, whatever may be its aspect. It may 
 be at first a very slight thread, scarcely discernible amid the 
 tangle of rough grey and black strands, and sometimes all 
 but hidden by the gayer and more dazzling gossamers of 
 transient joys and pleasures ; but it is there nevertheless, 
 and it grows stronger and brighter every day, till it in- 
 corporates all the* rest into its own pure radiance and 
 beauty." 
 
 That evening Mr. Guise seemed strangely better; but for 
 the almost celestial expression of the pale, worn face, Esther 
 could have believed in Cecil's prediction : it appeared im- 
 possible that the end should be so very near. Suddenly, 
 about nine o'clock, faintness came on. It had come before, 
 often enough, but this seemed another kind of faintness ; it 
 did not pass away ; an ashen hue gathered over the features, 
 and when Florence touched his brow it was damp and cold. 
 Then she knew that he would revive no more, and one by 
 one stimulants and restoratives were laid aside : nothing 
 could avail now, and life was ebbing fast away, but so 
 quietly that but for the grey pallor they might have thought 
 that he was gently sinking into sleep. And so, indeed, he 
 was ! into the calm, sweet sleep of those who die in the 
 Lord ; the sleep that comes when God lays His finger on the 
 tired eyelids, and touches the throbbing heart, and stills the 
 weary brain ; the sleep that knows no waking till the voice 
 of the archangel, sounding over earth and sea, bids tha 
 sluinberer arise. 
 
 The crimson light was still upon the western hills, and 
 the waters were still heaving and burning in the sunset 
 
2S4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 flush, when softly as a child sinks into its repose, came th<j 
 last low sigh, the last long, quivering breath, the last faint 
 smile. There was a slight tremor in the cold fingers that 
 Florence held clasped within her own, a momentary flutter- 
 ing of the closed lids, and all was over ; the weariness and 
 the sufferings were for ever past ; the good and faithful ser- 
 vant had entered into the joy of his Lord. 
 And Oswald Uffadyne was master of Guise. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 NOTHING LIKE MONEY. 
 
 IT v/as the third day after Mr. Guise's death a day of wind 
 and drizzling rain and tempest on the sea. It rained in the 
 early morning, it rained and blew all the forenoon, and it 
 rained steadily and heavily towards the evening ; it was the 
 sort of rain which makes one feel hopeless of its ever 
 leaving off. After the first few hours Florence's grief had 
 been very quiet; but she had been herseK restless, unable 
 to remain in one place, wandering up and down the galleries, 
 and going from room to room, in a sort of silent wretched- 
 ness that was pitiful to behold. Esther was thankful when 
 towards the close of that wet afternoon she consented to lie 
 en the sofa in the boudoir and be petted and cared for. 
 Cecil had been with her the day before, but she had gone 
 home in the evening, accompanied by Oswald. Florence 
 instinctively shrank from her companionship, though she 
 forced herself to endure her consolations, and her exhorta- 
 tions on the subject of resignation to the will of God. It is 
 so very easy to say " Thy will be done," when it is on 
 another that the afflicting hand is laid ; pious maxims are 
 cheap enough, and come glibly to lips that have never paled 
 with anguish, but it is hard when lessons of submission are 
 enforced by such dry-land voyagers ; and it is especially 
 trying to those who have scarcely yet recovered from the 
 Hrst shock of their great sorrow ; such " comfort " is not the 
 most insignificant among the trials they are called to endure. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 285 
 
 Cecil was troubled because she felt that her attempts at 
 consolation were unavailing. What she said was perfectly 
 true, and she said it in the best way possible, and in a kind 
 and gentle tone ; but the spirit of sympathy was missing, 
 and her words fell without meaning on Florence's ears, or 
 else they irritated her almort beyond endurance. Cecil's 
 mission was certainly not to dry the orphan's tear, or to pour 
 balm upon the wounded heart. One pressure of Esther's 
 hand was worth more than an hour or two of Cecil's studied 
 comfort, garnished with stereotyped texts of Scripture and 
 orthodox lines of hymns. 
 
 That afternoon Esther and Florence were quite alone ; 
 Cecil was to have returned, but the weather had doubtless 
 prevented her, and poor Florence felt soothed by the abso- 
 lute quiet, and at last fell asleep while Esther read to her. 
 She had slept more than an hour, and Esther had not stirred 
 from her low chair by the sofa ; indeed, she was falling into 
 a half-doze herself, when certain sounds seemed to apprise 
 her of some arrival. Probably it was Cecil come back again 
 according to promise ; but why did she make such a bustle, 
 such a disturbance in the house ? Cecil had not very quick 
 perceptions on some points, and her strong-mindedness sadly 
 interfered with her good taste, but she had a due sense of 
 decorum, and that she should thus invade the repose which 
 seems sacred to the house where the unburied dead are lying 
 was altogether inexplicable. 
 
 Louder and louder grew the sounds, and presently Esther 
 heard Virginie speaking evidently in distress. Florence's 
 sleep was heavy ; she had fallen at last into a profound and 
 natural slumber, and she was looking more like herself than 
 Esther had seen her for some weeks. No, it could not be 
 Cecil ! Esther began to feel quite wrathful, and she rose 
 very quietly and glided to the door, which she opened gently 
 without waking the sleeper. Then she heard Virginie in a 
 loud whisper declare that Miss Guise could not be seen by 
 Any one ; that she had refused to receive the rector of the 
 parish that very morning ; that she could not and would not 
 announce anybody contrary to expressed orders. Then 
 something was said about Miss Kendall, and Esther, hearing 
 
28 G 6REY AND GOLD. 
 
 herself appealed to, thought it was high time to inquire ths 
 cause of the disturbance. So, softly closing the door behind 
 her, she stepped out into the gallery, and perceived two 
 strangers advancing from the great landing, and Virginie do* 
 ing her very best to bar the way. A tall, dark, stern, middle- 
 aged lady, and a gentle, sweet-looking young lady, with & 
 subdued expression, were the visitors who came in such 
 untimely fashion. 
 
 "Oh, Miss Kendall," began Virginie, the moment she 
 perceived Esther, " will you tell these ladies that niy young 
 lady cannot see any one ? " 
 
 Esther came forward, and the elder lady demanded im- 
 periously, and at the same time with a singular abruptness 
 
 " Who are you?" 
 
 " I am Esther Kendall ; I am here at present to be of 
 service to Miss Guise, who is in great affliction." 
 
 " I know all about it ; I wrote to Miss Guise a month 
 ago, and her answer to my letter brought me here. Be good 
 enough to announce me ; I am Lady Torrisdale ! " 
 
 " Miss Guise has only just fallen asleep, and it would be a 
 pity to wake her. Shall I show your ladyship into the 
 drawing-room ? " 
 
 " You will show my ladyship into the boudoir, where I 
 understand Miss Guise is to be found. Fanny Tucker, get 
 out of my way ! " 
 
 " Do not let us disturb Miss Guise," said the person called 
 Fanny Tucker, in an imploring tone. But her patroness 
 merely replied, " Don't be a simpleton ! " and pushed on to 
 the door of the boudoir in spite of remonstrance and even 
 some show of resistance from Esther. 
 
 But meanwhile Florence had wakened up ; indeed, Lady 
 Torrisdale's elevated tones might have roused the seven 
 sleepers ; and she was sitting upright on the sofa when her 
 aunt opened the door and exclaimed, "Ah, Florence, my 
 dear, they told me you wished to see no one, but of course I 
 knew you would be only too glad to have me with you. I 
 made up my mind to come the moment I received your let- 
 ter, and I came at very great inconvenience and with the 
 utmost speed, as Fanny Tucker can testify. I have not 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 28T 
 
 brought a maid with me ; indeed, with Fanny Tucker for 
 (game de compagnie I do not require one, though she is fai 
 from as attentive as I could wish. And so your poor father 
 is gone 1 " 
 
 Florence could not reply, and Lady Torrisdale settled her- 
 self comfortably in the arm-chair. " Well, well, it is of no 
 use to fret, my dear. No regrets will bring him back again, 
 you know. There would be some sense in crying and wail- 
 ing if it did the slightest good, but it don't. And really, 
 when any one has suffered as much as your father, I think it 
 is a great rnercy when God calls him to Himself. I am sure 
 you have been a very dutiful daughter, not sparing yourself, 
 and waiting upon him day and night to the last, and all that 
 sort of thing ; and that must be your consolation, my dear, 
 so pray don't begin to cry again. I am come to take charge 
 of you, and that will be a great comfort to you. And now I 
 wish you would order some dinner, or tea, or something. I 
 am quite exhausted, I assure you. I was coming on yester- 
 day, but I broke down in London, and had to rest, and that 
 stupid, inconsiderate Fanny Tucker chose to be sick coining 
 over. Such affectation in a young person ! I am never sick 
 making the short passage, and I am convinced it is nothing 
 but giving way that does it. Of course I do not like the 
 rolling and tossing, and I think it is a great shame there are 
 not better boats and more efficient captains in the service ; 
 but I do not care to make a spectacle of myself either on 
 deck or in the ladies' cabin. Indeed, I think it is highly 
 indecent, as well as disgusting, a most unladylike exhibition. 
 And though I scolded her the whole time, she never seemed 
 to heed, but went on before all the sailors ugh I " 
 
 *' Probably she could not help it," said Florence, mildly. 
 " No one would be sea-sick if it could be avoided. It is a 
 most distressing malady. Where is Miss Tucker ? " 
 
 " I left her in the gallery. Of course I do not wish to in- 
 trude my companion upon you. I daresay she will take care 
 of herself." 
 
 u Esther," said Florence, " would you take charge of Miss 
 Tucker ? She must be very tired and unwell. And please 
 tell Virginie to prepare the blue room for Lady Torrisdale. 
 
288 OREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Would you Hke to go to my room, aunt, to take oil y 
 things ] Virginie will soon see that all is ready for you." 
 
 " Who is that young person ? " inquired Lady Torrisdaie 
 when Esther had left the room. " She had the impertinence 
 to deny you to me. I (}o not at all like her manner." 
 
 " Miss Kendall is my friend. My dear father thought very 
 highly of her, and he wished her to remain with me as long 
 RS she could." 
 
 " Where does she come from ] " 
 
 " From Chilcombe. I had told her that I could not see 
 imy one. She was only carrying out my own instructions, so 
 you must not find fault with her on that score, please, aunt." 
 
 " Oh, I thought she was some sort of maid, or humble 
 companion. She is so very plainly dressed, though I must 
 say she has a certain air about her. She had better give that 
 absurd Fanny Tucker a cup of strong tea. She has imagined 
 herself ill till she has really made herself squeamish. I 
 have a great mind to get rid of her, and get some one 
 stronger and better tempered. These young people in subor- 
 dinate stations do give themselves such airs in these radical, 
 shockingly democratic days, when all sorts of people set 
 themselves up against their betters." 
 
 " Shall I take you to my room, aunt 1 " 
 
 "No, I thank you. I will rest here awhile. I do not 
 care to move just yet ; that horrible conveyance jolted mo 
 nearly to death, and they charged shamefully, and the driver 
 had the conscience to ask for a pourloire. Of course I did 
 not give it to him. I never enourage drinking among the 
 lower classes. But I will have a cup of tea here, if you will 
 tell your people to bring it, and then I shall do till dinner. 
 Of course you dine at eight ? " 
 
 " No ; we have given up the late dinner a long time. 
 Early hours suited, and to-day we made our luncheon serve 
 for dinner ; but I will ring, and send word to Mrs. Maxwell 
 that you have n)t dined." 
 
 Florence rang and gave her orders ; and then Lady Toms- 
 dale recommenced her catechism. 
 
 " Where is Mr. Oswald Uffadyne ? " 
 
 " At his own home at the Chenie ,V 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 285 
 
 * Guise Court is his home now, and of course you will 
 have to move as soon as it is possible. You cannot stay in 
 another person's house, and that person your own betrothed 
 husband. It is extremely indecorous, let me assure you, and 
 I know what society demands." 
 
 " Of course I shall leave in a few weeks ; but Oswald 
 would be distressed at the thought of hurrying me ; and 
 there will be many things to attend to as soon as I can give 
 my attention to them." 
 
 "No doubt; a death always makes no end of work and 
 turmoil, and it is not decorous to stir into anything till after 
 the funeral. I am a great advocate for decorum ; in these 
 degenerate days it is not properly observed. But you need 
 not trouble yourself about matters. I will attend to your 
 affairs. I will take everything into my own hands, and save 
 you all the trouble." 
 
 " Thank you, aunt," said Florence, with some hesitation ; 
 " you are very good, but I think Oswald will have to act." 
 
 " Of course, of course ; but I will protect your interests. 
 Some one ought to look after your interests certainly." 
 
 " Oswald would do that if they needed looking after. 
 But everything is extremely simple, and no fresh arrange- 
 ments are required. Besides, his interests and mine are 
 identical." 
 
 " That is all nonsense ! He is not your husband yet, and 
 he is the next heir, and therefore your natural enemy." 
 
 " Aunt, I wish you would not say such things ; but you do 
 not mean them ! " 
 
 " I do indeed. And I am not sure that a contemplated 
 marriage improves your position." 
 
 " Dear aunt, if you would only let these things alone just 
 now ! I am not equal to them ', and indeed you must not 
 speak so of Oswald." 
 
 " Tush ! I am not so sure about Oswald TJffadyne. Of 
 course he wanted the heiress as well as the estates, and of 
 course he will take care of himself." 
 
 " Mr. York comes down on Monday, and he will take due 
 :are of me. I am sure I wish I were not an heiress." 
 
 " Absurd nonsense ! If you were to try being as poor as I 
 
290 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 am, I can tell you you would soon want your heiress-ship 
 back again. There is nothing like money for giving one real, 
 solid comfort and satisfaction. Of course good birth is to be 
 valued. It would be shocking to be connected with horrid 
 tradespeople ; but still, if I could not have both money and 
 pedigree, I should choose the former. It is such an unspeak- 
 able comfort to think you have money in hand, money that 
 you need not spend, money that you can look at, and feel 
 with your fingers, and go to your drawer and count ! I am 
 afraid you have never been taught to save." 
 
 " I never thought of saving money. Why should II" 
 
 " It is the duty of every one to save something, be his 
 income large or small. It gives one confidence, and one feels 
 etronger, abler, and more satisfied with one's self, when one 
 has a little store to fall back upon." 
 
 " But why should you save, aunt 1 Would it not be better 
 to live up to your income, and be comfortable ? " 
 
 " I could not be comfortable if I spent all my income. 1 
 must put by something for old age. But, Florence, you 
 might make my income larger. You will have your money 
 in your own hands now, and I am your mother's own sister, 
 you know the nearest relative you have in the world." 
 
 " Nothing will be in my power at present. Everything is 
 in the hands of executors, and the property is tied up, 
 I know ', but what I can do I will. I do not care for money, 
 and if you like it I will try to give you some." 
 
 "You are a good girl, and I will do all I can for you. 
 You may count upon my protection. I will live with you at 
 Little Guise, and be a mother to you. Of course Mi. 
 Uffadyne cannot visit you unless you have a chaperone. 
 When are you to be married ? " 
 
 4< We do not speak of such a thing at present. 
 
 "Indeed! Why not?" 
 
 "How can you ask, aunt? Is this a time to talk of 
 wedding festivities 1 It was always understood that I could 
 not leave my dear father, and Oswald was good enough never 
 to press it. All such affairs can be considered when I am 
 settled at Little Guise." 
 
 * Well, I shall not want to hurry you. I daresay we shaU 
 
<3BEY AND GOLD. 291 
 
 be very happy together ; hut what shall I do with Fanny 
 Tucker 1 What a fool I was ever to saddle myself with that 
 girl I And of course she will never marry ; I shall have her 
 on my hands till she is a vinegary, shrewish, sour old maid. 
 I hate old maids ! " 
 
 If Florence had not been very amiable, she might have 
 thought she hated ill-mannered, money-loving widows. She 
 knew perfectly well that her father had chosen for her chap- 
 erone an elderly lady whom he held in great respect, and that 
 it was his expressed wish that Lady Torrisdale should not 
 reside at Little Guise. He had added to her settlement on 
 the express understanding that she did not interfere with her 
 niece. 
 
 Florence knew all this, and much more ; out she Kept 
 silence. Mr. York would say all that was necessary ; and in 
 the meantime she need not concern herself about the future 
 of the luckless Fanny Tucker, whom, however, she pitied very 
 heartily, whatever might be her deserts, resolving to show her 
 every kindness so long as she remained at Guise Court. 
 
 So when Lady Torrisdale once more took up the subject, 
 proposing that Fanny should turn nursery-governess, or learn 
 millinery, Florence would not give her opinion, only remark- 
 ing that she would be happy to entertain Miss Tucker as her 
 guest as long as Lady Torrisdale remained in England. 
 
 " Oh ! as for that," replied her ladyship, " I do not think 
 I shall go back to Boulogne at all ; I am sick of foreigners 
 and foreign ways, and disreputable English professing to be 
 residing abroad for the benefit of their families. I always 
 keep my affairs so that they can be wound up at any 
 moment : and I left everything in ship-shape behind me, 
 and I could make all arrangements by letter. Babette is on 
 board wages, of course. I might send Fanny Tucker over, 
 but that would be an expense ; and she has no more idea of 
 economising than that Persian cat. I hate cats \ Oh, dear ! 
 how that omnibus thing did shake me ! * 
 
 " You surely did not come from Chilcombe in tiio Turk's 
 Head omnibus ? It is altogether springless ! " 
 
 " What else had I to come in, pray ? " 
 
 -' There are post-chaises to be had, and flies ; and there is 
 
292 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 a very nice little brougham on hire at the Uffadyne Arms, 
 but of course you would not know about that ; and they 
 would not tell you at the railway, for they are all for the 
 Turk's Head people there." 
 
 " I should not have used it if I had known it. I have no 
 spare cash to lavish on broughams, and flies, and chaises. A 
 fool and his money are soon parted ! The drive, or the jolt 
 rather, is over now, and I am some shillings in pocket. But 
 my bones do ache, and it brought back Fanny's sickness. 
 Still I saved the money, and shillings are shillings, you 
 know. So many shillings saved are so many shillings 
 gained, and what I economise I put by. There is nothing 
 like money, take my word for it ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 OSWALD ASTONISHE* ESTHER 
 
 ESTHER would have gone back to Chilcombe now that Lady 
 Torrisdale seemed domesticated at the Court, only Florence 
 begged her to remain, and she agreed to stay till the very 
 last day of her holidays, which, after all, were extended 
 from a fortnight to three weeks. 
 
 Lady Torrisdale quickly discovered her position, and 
 immediately commenced a sort of guerilla warfare, which 
 involved in its issues both Esther and Florence. The latter 
 she rated severely for forming so unsuitable a friendship, and 
 the former she treated with a disdain that would have been 
 simply ridiculous had it not been sometimes very hard to 
 bear with anything like common patience. Fanny Tucker, 
 on the whole, had rather a better time of it than usual, her 
 august patroness being too much taken up with correcting 
 the follies of her niece and impressing upon Esther her true 
 position in society to have much leisure for spying out the 
 small faults of her own companion. Her ladyship also was 
 enlightened upon the subject of Miss Guise's chaperonage. 
 "Mrs. Lester was expressly named in Mr. Guise's will ; and 
 as expressly it was stated that in default of Mrs, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 293 
 
 Lester, Miss Guise was to choose any lady she pleased, 
 except her aunt, Lady Torrisdale. But her own settlement 
 was increased by a hundred and fifty pounds per annum 
 and that circumstance reconciled her to the destruction oi 
 the airy castle she had been building ever since she had 
 received the letter which brought her so expeditiously to 
 England. Nothing would have pleased her so much as 
 reigning lady paramount at Little Guise, for, of course, she 
 would have saved her whole income, and made very pretty 
 pickings out of Florence besides. It would have been more 
 than a hundred and fifty pounds extra in her pocket, she 
 calculated ; but then it would probably have been but for a 
 short time only, since Florence would be married at the 
 expiration of her mourning for her father, and Lady 
 Torrisdale scarcely saw in what capacity she could establish 
 herself in the household of Mrs. Uffadyne-Guise. So, after 
 all she was not very much disappointed ; " things might have 
 been worse," she affirmed, and she signified her intention of 
 returning to Eoulogne with Fanny and her augmented 
 income, and all the odds and ends she was accumulating 
 during her visit, as soon as ever the estimable Mrs. Lester 
 should appear. But Mrs. Lester was in Ireland, welcoming 
 her first grandchild, and it would be the end of August, or 
 perhaps September, before she arrived. After all, some 
 small difficulties were smoothed away by Lady JTorrisd ale's 
 presence at the Court, and when Florence signified her 
 intention of paying her travelling expenses both ways she 
 became quite gracious, and purred her satisfaction very 
 much as if she were an elderly, complacent pussy-cat. 
 
 "But don't suppose," she said to Fanny Tucker when she 
 announced to her the good news, "don't suppose I am 
 going first-class, or any of that nonsense. I may, perhaps, 
 go back second-class, for third-class is inconvenient to K 
 person of my rank, and the horrid people smell oi. unions, 
 and gin, and strong tobacco. Of course it is only Miss 
 Guise's duty to pay our expenses, since I came purely on her 
 behalf, and she, of course, never thinks anybody can travel 
 by any other class than first ; but that is no reason why I 
 should be extravagant, and throw my money away on 
 
294 GREY AND GOLD 
 
 cushions and mock gentility. A draper's wife could not 
 travel third-class without putting herself on the level with 
 all sorts of miserable plebeians ; but a countess may go bt 
 j^ggage-van if she choose, and she is just as much a lady G 
 distinction as if she travelled in hei own coach-and-four 
 with all her people in attendance. 11 
 
 But for all these charming and fortuitous circumstances she 
 continued to snub Esther Kendall. In vain Florence placed 
 in her hand a fifty-pound note for travelling expenses ; in 
 vain she gave her yards of silk, pieces of linen and calico, 
 breadths of fine cambric, remnants of lace, quires of writing- 
 paper, lengths of velvet, lots of embroidery, huckaback and 
 diaper at discretion, two or three gold chains, a gold eye-glass, 
 an opera glass, a Dent's chronometer, and a diamond ring ; 
 her ladyship was implacable, and so evidently deemed it her 
 duty to insult " that young woman " that Florence, since she 
 could not turn her mother's sister out of the house, was re- 
 joiced as the time drew near for Esther's return to Chilcombe. 
 
 It came to the last evening of Esther's stay at Guise, and 
 she and Fanny, who had become good friends, had planned 
 a walk to the ruins, where she had been sheltered with 
 Lancelot and Oswald three weeks before. But Lady Torris- 
 dale, getting scent oi the project, immediately put her veto 
 upon it, so far as Fanny was concerned. She wanted Miss 
 Tucker at home that evening ; besides, she did not approve 
 of young ladies wandering about the country at all hours of 
 the evening ; it might do very well for an under-bred village 
 schoolmistress, but it was highly improper for Miss Tucker, 
 a gentlewoman by birth, and well known to be under the 
 protection of the Countess Dowager of Torrisdale. Also, 
 Fanny showed very low taste in wishing to associate with a 
 young person of the inferior classes. 
 
 Poor Fanny ! She heartily wished sometimes that she be- 
 longed to the inferior classes herself; she was tired of paying 
 go dearly for her aristocratic privileges, and she had serious 
 thoughts of turning schoolmistress or lady's-maid, or learn- 
 ing the dressmaking, or anything else that would enable her 
 to free herself from the hard and bitter bondage under which 
 ahe groaned. So Fanny, being forbidden to walk with " that 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 295 
 
 young woman," was constrained to obedience, but Esther, 
 being her own mistress, concluded to make the expedition by 
 herself, at least in part. Florence wanted a message taken 
 to the village, and she volunteered to carry it, intending to 
 return home by way of the ruins. The roads were perfectly 
 safe, and the locality was so retired that there could be no 
 impropriety in Esther walking about unaccompanied, pro- 
 vided she returned in reasonable time. 
 
 It was about half-past seven when she reached the ruins ; 
 not a creature was to be seen, and she sat down and mused 
 as she had mused in Helmsley wood, her thoughts taking 
 rather a different direction. She was wondering what it 
 must be to be a poet ; wondering, too, whether Lancelot 
 Digby was still staying at the lone cottage on Templemoor, 
 and wishing she could see some of the verses he had com- 
 posed. Only that afternoon i^e had been turning over a 
 " Tennyson," which lay about in the morning-room, and 
 reading with avidity " The Poet's Mind " 
 
 " Bright as light and clear as wind ! ' 
 
 How pure a transcript of such a mind was written in 
 Lancelot Digby's face ! How plainly it showed that the 
 soul, looking through it 
 
 " Saw through life and death, through good and ill." 
 and even through its own unfathomed self. 
 
 " With echoing feet he threaded 
 The secretest walks of fame , 
 The viewless arrows of his thoughts were heaaeil 
 And winged with flame." 
 
 That he would one day succeed, and prove to farmer King 
 and to Oswald Uffadyne that poetry was some "yield," sho 
 never doubted, but she longed for the day to arrive, and sho 
 wished he knew how entirely he had her sympathy. A dis- 
 tant church clock struck eight, and Esther felt that it was 
 high time to be turning her face homewards ; she had pro- 
 mised Florence she would not be late, and it would take her 
 exactly three-quarters of an hour to reach Guise Court, go- 
 ing by the shortest way through the park. As sho reached 
 
296 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the green lane which led up-hill to the high road where she 
 had first seen the poet sheltering under the trees, she satf 
 some one coming towards her in the full light of the setting 
 sun. It was Oswald Uffadyne. 
 
 " You here ! " he said, eagerly taking her hand. " I hail 
 this as a good omen. I 'want to speak to you, Esther; would 
 you mind turning back to the ruins 1 " 
 
 She immediately consented, thinking he wished to say 
 something about Florence ; he had not been to Guise Court 
 for some days : he and Lady Torrisdale could not keep the 
 peace. 
 
 " How is that old harridan 1 " was his first question. 
 
 " Do you mean Lady Torrisdale ? " 
 
 " Of course I do ! Is she still at the Court, and as ven- 
 omous as ever ? " 
 
 "Yes ; she remains some time longer, I believe. I cannot 
 say she is more amiable. I really think Miss Tucker's life ia 
 harder than mine used to be with Mrs. Hellicar." 
 
 "If I were Miss Tucker I would sooner turn washer- 
 woman than be in thraldom to such a dragon, Cecil says 
 you return to Chilcombe to-morrow." 
 
 "Yes; I return to-morrow morning, immediately after 
 breakfast. Mrs. Maxwell is going to Chilcombe, and we 
 are to drive together." 
 
 Then there was a long silence, and Esther wondered what 
 was upon Mr. Uffadyne's mind. Whatever it was of course 
 it concerned Florence ; and by way of saying something she 
 remarked that Florence was much better, and in quite as 
 good spirits as could be expected. But Oswald scarcely 
 seemed to hear ; he stood leaning against the lichen-stained 
 buttress of a grey battlemented wall, his hat slouched over 
 his eyes to defend them from the dazzling westering sun, and 
 his hands nervously twisting a long piece of clematis he had 
 gathered in the lane. More and more Esther marvelled at 
 his strange absorption and at his singular and evident con- 
 straint. 
 
 She had not to wonder long, or, rather, she soon had cause 
 for redoubled wonder, for Oswald burst out into a strain that 
 for several minutes made her stand dumbfounded and aghast 
 
GKEY AND OOLIX 297 
 
 before him. He was telling her that he had made a grand 
 mistake ; that he had never loved Florence ; that he was the 
 victim of family expediency; that he was resolved at all 
 costs to free himself from an engagement in which his heart 
 had no share ; that he loved her, Esther Kendall ; that she 
 only was the queen of his affections, and none but she 
 should ever be his wife ! How long he would have continued 
 speaking thus it is difficult to say ; but Esther's look of 
 scared horror silenced him at last, and then came her quea- 
 tion 
 
 " Are you mad, Mr. Uffadyne 1 " 
 
 *' No. You think it is a sudden resolve. Esther, I al- 
 ways knew that there were depths in my heart that Florence 
 had never sounded, that with all her sweetness and goodness 
 she could never touch, for there were no affinities between 
 us. The moment I saw you I cared for you, though I did 
 not even guess it ; I often thought of you when I was away 
 in London and in Paris then came your accident, which I 
 caused, and while you stayed at the Chenies I learned to love 
 you as I never loved any woman ; but I did not know how 
 much I loved you, how entirely I was bound to you, till I 
 drove you to Guise three weeks ago. Will you be my wife ? 
 If you refuse me, I shall never marry. I will not give my 
 hand where my heart cannot follow. Will you give yourself 
 to me, Esther ? " 
 
 * No /" burst from Esther's pale lips almost in a shriek : 
 " a thousand times, no I How dare you speak so to me, Mr. 
 Uffadyne 1 How dare you tell me that you love me ? " 
 
 " I would dare tell a princess I loved he* if, at the same 
 time, I could ask her to be my wife." 
 
 Esther burst into tears. Oswald would have taken her in 
 his arms, but she shrank back, exclaiming 
 
 " No, no ! you are wicked, shameful ! You cannot mean 
 it ; you should not insult me so ; it is unmanly, unkind." 
 
 " Not mean it, Esther ? Hear me. I vow " 
 
 " You shall make no vows to me ; pay them where 
 they are due. Did you think so badly of me as to count 
 upon my being false to Florence, to Florence to her whom 
 of all people on earth I love, and honour, and revere 1 Mr. 
 
298 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Ufl'udyne, you must be dreaming, or delirious ; even if you 
 were freo I should be no suitable match for you : I am not of 
 your order." 
 
 " I do not care for such vain distinctions, and I say you 
 are of my order, of Cecil's order, only Providence placed you 
 in an humbler sphere, and " 
 
 " We will not discuss the question, please, because you are 
 not free. I will not listen to you any more than if you were 
 already the husband of Miss Guise." 
 
 " One word, Esther ; if it were not for this engagement, 
 which, at all events, I cannot now fulfil, could you love me 1 " 
 
 " No ; I could not, not in the way you mean ; you would 
 not suit me." 
 
 " That is plain-speaking ; but I have thought, Esther 
 I thought three weeks ago, when we drove over together " 
 
 " Do not tell me what you thought ; but forget all this, 
 Mr. Uffadyne. I will keep your secret, and Florence shall 
 never be pained with the knowledge of to-night's brief mad- 
 ness. I am going home ; please not to accompany me." 
 
 " Must I not 1 I am going to Lancelot Digby, on Temple- 
 moor. I will take the road by the cliffs But, Esther, one 
 word more " 
 
 "Not one ! I have heard too much already. "When I see 
 Florence I shall feel miserably guilty, though I am not to 
 blame. Good night, Mr. Uffadyne." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 ESTHER IS MISUNDERSTOOD. 
 
 ESTHER went home to Guise Court with wildly beating 
 heart. How changed were the summer landscape and the 
 sunset sea since she had climbed the rocky road from the 
 village scarcely an hour before ! What was the thunder- 
 otorin to this 1 JS T o convulsion of nature could have smoto 
 her with greater terror and confusion than had this strange 
 aad undesired revelation of Oswald Uffadyne. 
 
 ** He loves me ! " she said scornfully to herself, as with 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 299 
 
 trembling lips and burning cheeks she slowly crossed the 
 park. " He is mead; he is deceived ; he does not know what 
 he is saying. I, his wife ! I, the only woman whom Jie will 
 ever marry ! Have I gone to sleep, and dreamed it all 1 or 
 am I crazy myself, and have I fancied the whole conversation 1 
 It is so astonishing, so utterly incredible. I should quite as 
 soon have expected a declaration of affection from farmer 
 King. Why did I go to those luckless ruins to-night ? oh, 
 miserable fatality ! And how shall I meet Florence 1 " 
 
 It was time to calm herself, for the house was now in sight, 
 and walking on the flowery terrace were Miss Guise and 
 Lady Torrisdale. Esther would have avoided them by going 
 in at the side entrance ; but Florence beckoned to her, and 
 she had no alternative but to obey. Lady Torrisdale was 
 looking grim as ever, and she regarded Esther with haughty 
 disdain as she watched her ascending the broad steps from 
 the lawn. Florence was very pale, and the traces of tears 
 were still on her face. She looked sad and weary as she 
 stood in the red sunset light, which fell with ruddy gleam on 
 the rich masses of her rippling golden hair. Certainly Lady 
 Torrisdale was by no means an inspiriting companion ; and 
 her liveliest conversation was depressing to any one situated 
 as was Florence Guise. But as Esther stood on the topmost 
 step between the huge grey vases filled with scarlet geran- 
 iums and dazzling blue lobelia, it flashed upon her like an 
 inspiration that Florence had other causes for grief than 
 those she openly avowed. She had felt Oswald's indifference ; 
 his coldness at a time when she needed his utmost tenderness 
 had struck to her heart. The last three weeks had been 
 replete with repressed anxiety and unconfessed misgivings. 
 All at once Esther understood many little things which had 
 sorely perplexed her ; and other things that had passed 
 unnoticed at the time wore a new and startling aspect, a 
 strange significance, seen in the light which had suddenly 
 burst upon her senses. Ah, that light ! it was like the flash 
 which dazzles and bewilders the night wanderer in an un- 
 known country, showing him lurking dangers all around, 
 fatal precipices, deep pools of silent water, treacherous 
 marshes, and perhaps wild beasts glaring at their defenceless 
 
300 GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 prey. One moment the lurid blinding fiame, the next impene- 
 trable daikness, its terrors augmented by the brief illumination, 
 
 "Esther, you are not well," said Florence the moment, she 
 came close to her ; for Esther's colour had faded, and when 
 she tried to speak in her accustomed tone her tongue seemed 
 to cleave to the roof of her mouth. " You have walked too 
 fast ; you are out of breath," pursued Florence. " Rest in 
 that garden-chair awhile." 
 
 " Yes, I have walked too fast," said Esther at length. It 
 seemed the best solution of her evident fatigue and breath- 
 lessness. She accepted with positive thankfulness the inter- 
 pretation which Florence gave to her pallor and distress ; it 
 saved her from a present difficulty, at least. But my Lady 
 Torrisdale was not so easily satisfied ; suspicion was a part of 
 her nature, and she had nourished that amiable quality till it 
 had acquired such large dimensions as to overtop and over- 
 grow every other quality, save indeed that of money-hoarding, 
 with which it seemed intimately associated. People who 
 love money and hoard it are, as a rule, the most suspicious 
 creatures under the sun, attributing to those with whom 
 they are in any way associated the worst and oftentimes the 
 most impossible motives. Lady Torrisdale was a remarkable 
 exemplification of this rule, and as she mistook hoarding for 
 prudence, so she also confounded caution and suspicion. She 
 might have been brought up a Jesuit, so complete was her 
 belief in casuistry, and so rarely did she give any person the 
 credit of speaking the simple truth in singleness of heart. 
 She fixed her dark, stern eyes on Esther's altered face, and 
 observed that in her humble estimation Miss Kendall seemed 
 rather flurried than tired ; for her part, she did not approve 
 of young women taking solitary evening rambles, and if 
 they met with adventures which they did not like to 
 confess, they had only to thank their own self-will and 
 imprudence. 
 
 " Has any one frightened you 1 " asked Florence, earnestly. 
 " I heard there were gipsies at the end of Templemoor lane 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, no, I was not frightened ; I saw no gipsies," replied 
 Esther, wh<?se dry tongue and parched lips would scarcely let 
 
OBEY AND GOLD. 301 
 
 her speak intelligibly. " Only I am so very tired, and my 
 head aches. I had better go to bed at once." 
 
 ' Headaches are very convenient/' sneered Lady Torrisda A e. 
 " When people do not choose to give a proper explanation of 
 their conduct they generally take refuge in a headache. 
 Florence, this young woman ought to be made to give an ac- 
 count of herself. Appearances are very suspicious, I can tell 
 you. Yes, you may look calmly incredulous, but I am older 
 than you, and I know the world. When a girl leaves the 
 house well and cheerful and perfectly composed, and comes 
 back two hours afterwards as white as a sheet and as scared 
 as a hunted hare, it does not require much penetration to dis- 
 cover that something has transpired in the interval. I don't 
 suppose it would be of any use questioning her, for she would 
 only tell a pack of lies ; but if it were Miss Fanny Tucker " 
 
 "Aunt," said Florence, with spirit, "Esther never tells 
 lies, and I will not have her troubled." 
 
 " Oh, very well. But every one tell lies when it suits 
 their purpose, as you will find out before you are half a dozen 
 years older, Miss Guise. Why, I caught your fine Mr. 
 Oswald in a lie the other day." 
 
 "Hush, aunt!" 
 
 At Oswald's name Esther's colour came back inconveniently, 
 and when she perceived Lady Torrisdale gazing at her with 
 the cunning, peering eyes of an inquisitor, the blush deepened 
 into a fiery glow that seemed to scorch her from head to foot. 
 Brow, and cheek, and neck, and even the tips of her fingers, 
 were of a burning scarlet, and not only had she to meet her 
 tormentor's malicious scrutiny but the mute, innocent surprise 
 of Florence herself. 
 
 " What is the matter, Esther ? ' she asked. ' Something 
 must have happened. You look so so " 
 
 "She looks guilty? interrupted Lady Torrisdale, "and 
 guilty she is. No wonder she cannot meet your eye. Young 
 women don't turn that colour at the mention of a young 
 man's name for nothing. There's something clandestine going 
 on between this girl and your lover, Miss Guise, or I am not 
 Countess Dowager of Torrisdale. Have it out with her at 
 once. Don't be a coward or a fool on the score of fals6 
 
302 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 delicacy. Sift the whole affair to the very bottom. 'i*?l help 
 you ; I aia used to ferreting out the truth, i rather l\ke tha 
 excitement." 
 
 But Florence replied steadily 
 
 " JST o, thank you, aunt. If Esther has anything to telJ *ne 
 that I ought to know she will tell it presently without being 
 questioned, and I do not see why Oswald should be supposed 
 to be implicated in the imagined mystery." 
 
 " Oli, yes, you do, my dear," sneered Lady Torrisdale again. 
 " You know you don't trust him. Why, if he went and fell 
 in love with a Patagonian giantess or an Esquimaux dwarfess 
 you would not be astonished. Ah, I never had any opinion 
 of the Uffadyne-Guise alliance. I always told your poor 
 father it was a mistake, but he never would listen to counsel. 
 He was a good man, my dear, but weak, very weak in judg- 
 ment. When the engagement was announced I knew how it 
 would end, I always said how it would be \ and you must do 
 me the justice to own that I warned you." 
 
 But Florence could bear no more. She turned and fled as 
 if she were the accused person, and when Lady Torrisdale 
 again reverted to Esther she also had left the terrace, and 
 was following Florence into the house. 
 
 At the drawing-room door Florence paused, expecting 
 Esther to come in. 
 
 " Xever mind that disagreeable woman, Esther, dear," she 
 said. "I can't help calling her so, though she is my aunt. 
 She is always trying to make mischief. She was wicked 
 enough once to interfere between dear papa and mamma, and 
 that set papa against her and made him insist on her ceasing 
 to reside with us. Never mind her, Esther ; come to my 
 room and tell me all about it, for I cannot but perceive that 
 something has occurred." 
 
 " I have nothing to tell, Miss Guise ! " 
 
 Esther would have given the world to speak naturally; 
 but all her old ungraciousness came back upon her, as it 
 always did when she was actually troubled, and ker tones 
 were hard and abrupt, her face gloomy and repelling. It was 
 the old Esther of Queen Square, not the blithe young mistress 
 of Chilcombe school. Florence regarded her mournfully 
 
GRF.Y AVT) GOLD. 303 
 
 " Oh. Esther, I thoueht yo^ would be open with me. I I 
 fTt sure you would speak unreservedly when once we were 
 alorv> ! " 
 
 11 I have nothing to speak about. 1 wibh I might go to 
 bed/' 
 
 " You shall go. I will not keep you ; only tell me did 
 you speak to any one while you were away this evening ? " 
 
 " Please to excuse me ; indeed I cannot answer any ques- 
 tions now, I must have time to think." 
 
 " Truth and sincerity, in so simple a [matter, may speak 
 without thinking," said Florence, gravely. "But I see you 
 will not be frank, Esther." 
 
 " Let me go now ; my head aches so much, that I hardly 
 know what I am saying." 
 
 " Well, go ; it is not kind of me to keep you ; I can see 
 your headache is no excuse. Only one thing, dear do not 
 fancy that I give any weight to Lady Torrisdale's wild, 
 foolish words about Oswald : whatever has transpired, he 
 can have nothing to do with it. I know you are aa true as 
 gold, for all this sudden mystery." 
 
 But, in spite of herself, Florence could not help some in- 
 terrogation in her tones : the sentence which referred to 
 Oswald was more of a question than an assertion. It was 
 too dark now to see Esther's face, but she answered quietly, 
 " I am true to you, Miss Guise ! I think to you I always 
 shall be true ! You may trust me. Good night ! " 
 
 And while slowly she went to her own room, she said to 
 herself, " Oh, that I knew how best to show my truth ! If 
 there were any person in the world in whom I could confide ! 
 I am so inexperienced ; I am so bewildered ! Oh ! what shall 
 I do 1 Oh, cruel, wicked Oswald, how I am suffering from 
 your fault ! " 
 
 Esther Lad intended to bolt her door at once, and refuse 
 admission to whomsoever came, unless it were one of the 
 servants with her supper, which she resolved to take in that 
 she might not provoke remark. But in the deep window- 
 seat, where that very afternoon she had been herself sitting 
 lost in sweet and tranquil musings, eat Fanny Tucker, de- 
 molisning a rose. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 *' Oh ! I beg yonr pardon/' sne suid, as Estner entered. 
 M But I did so want to speak to you, and coming nere to wait 
 for you seemed my on 1 y change. How late you are 1 It is 
 well I did not accompany you ; 1 should nave had an hour's 
 scolding at the least, and another sin would have been added 
 to the black catalogue of my offences ! Happy Esther, to be 
 free and untrammelled, if only you do what is right ! But 
 may I stay and speak to you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Esther, absently ; " only I cannot talk much. 
 I am come to bed ; my head aches intolerably." 
 
 " I would not trouble you, if you were not going back to 
 Chilcombe to-morrow morning, and there is no saying when 
 I may see you again ; for I am not a free agent. I wish I 
 had thought of it before." 
 
 " Thought of what before ? " and Esther as she spoke was 
 conscious of excessive ungraciousness in tone and manner. 
 The old feeling of wrong and misery and confusion was 
 strong upon her. She was not at all the self-controlled and 
 happy Esther of the Slade. Fanny, of course, noticed the 
 difference, but she knew that headaches did not tend to 
 make people amiable, and she supposed that Esther was 
 suffering. She replied apologetically, " I am very sorry I 
 troubled you to-night. I only wanted to ask you whether 
 you thought there would be any chance of my obtaining such 
 a situation as yours, if I tried. Lady Torrisdale is talking 
 of going back to France, and, oh, I should so much rather 
 remain in my own country. It is not as if she were 
 really poor, or an actual invalid. She can afford to hire a 
 companion, and I am so weary of the life I lead I would 
 rather go out as nursery-governess nay, I think I would 
 sooner get a place as kitchen-maid, than remain the slave and 
 drudge I am. You cannot imagine how hard it is to bear ; 
 and it is making me impatien 4 -, fretful, rebellious. If it were 
 my duty to remain, I think I would, cost what it might ; but 
 I cannot see that because my mother was the late Lord 
 Torrisdale's second cousin, I am bound to accept this lot as 
 iny only alternative; besides, she is always threatening to 
 dismiss me, and she would not scruple to do so at an hour's 
 notice could she thereby further her own ends, or in any 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 305 
 
 way better herself as she imagined. I have been thinking of 
 ft for months ; shall I not dismiss myself ] " 
 
 Esther was roused to interest ; also the glimmering of an 
 idea came into her mind as Fanny spoke an idea which 
 seemed like a sudden inspiration. "Take a situation like 
 mine ? " she said earnestly. " Ah, Fanny, you could do far 
 better than that. You are educated, well-bred, accomplished. 
 If you made up your mind to turn to teaching, you might 
 secure something far better than such an appointment as 
 mine. My stipend is only 40 a-year, and I have to board 
 myself. I am not complaining, mind, oh, no ! I have ample 
 for every want, and both Cecil and Miss Guise have been 
 very generous; I scarcely need spend anything on dress. 
 But with your qualifications you might enter a nobleman's 
 family, and earn 100 a-year. Why, the governess at the 
 rectory has sixty guineas." 
 
 " Forty pounds a year and my freedom would be like a 
 fortune. I have not anything like that sum at my disposal 
 now. Lady Torrisdale buys me cheap clothes, or gives me 
 her cast-off raiment. This old lustreless blue-black satip 
 figured in West-end drawing-rooms when William IY. was 
 king. Now and then I get a few shillings by way of pocket 
 money; once in a moment of unwonted expansion sne 
 actually gave me a golden sovereign ! the only one I ever 
 had of my very own. I took it because I knew I had earned 
 it, and much more besides." 
 
 " I should think so indeed. You save her all the expense 
 of a maid. Fancy Yirginie, or any other of her guild, being 
 satisfied with shabby old dresses and a stray sovereign. A 
 properly hired lady-companion would want at least thirty or 
 forty pounds as stipend, and privileges ; and a regular maid 
 would not be content with an annual wage under twenty 
 pounds. But even if you deemed my salary sufficient, 
 Fanny, you would not like the position. I need not tell you 
 I do not take rank as a lady." 
 
 " I should not care about that. I was born a gentle- 
 woman, I suppose, and nothing can alter that. If I had 
 to take in clear starching, or do plain sewing I do plenty 
 of that now by the way I should still b# just the same 
 
306 GREY AND QOiJ). 
 
 Francis Alice Tucker, supposing always I did not conduct 
 myself unworthily. I am tired of an artificial life, and I 
 hate pretension, and there is so much of it in ordinary 
 governess life. I am weary of making sacrifices to gen- 
 tility. Such a life as yours would suit me exactly if I 
 could only find another Cecil Uffadyne. I have half a 
 mind to consult her. I think she does not object to pat- 
 ronage." 
 
 " You are not taking into account your pupils ; they would 
 be mere village-girls. The daughters of small farmers and 
 little shop-keepers would be your most select scholars, and 
 their manners are very rough ; and then their mothers ! Oh, 
 dear me ! " said Esther, remembering that passage-at-arms 
 with the mother of Belinda Smith. 
 
 "Neither they nor their mothers could surpass Lady 
 Torrisdale in down-right roughness. An insult now and 
 then from a person who knew no better would be as nothing 
 compared with the daily and hourly insults received from a 
 woman of my own class, and one who acknowledges me as 
 her relative. I am no coward, Esther, no fine lady, and that 
 stupid bugbear yclept gentility will never be an ' Old Man 
 of the Sea' on my shoulders. I want to work to get my 
 living honestly and respectably. I must be respectable if I 
 am not genteel, you know ; but I want to earn and to eat 
 my daily bread in peace and quietness, and it is time I had 
 a little leisure I could fairly call my own. My dear Esther, 
 I should feel like a princess if I had only your advantages. 
 I could positively save out of my forty pounds a year, I 
 believe. Perhaps, being older, and, therefore, more experi- 
 enced than you are, I might command a rather higher salary 
 who knows ? Anyhow, I could certainly save something, 
 for I have lived with Lady Torrisdale till I have learnt all 
 sorts of shifts, and contrivances, and economies, and thrift ; 
 what is mere sordid stinginess with her, would be only 
 rational prudence on my part. As I am all alone in the 
 World I surely ought to save something against a rainy day. 
 My * keep,' as I hear it continually called, would not be 
 much, and the plainer my dress the more consistent it would 
 ItQ with my situation. Oh, I could do very well. Would 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 307 
 
 you mind opening the subject with Miss Uffadyne? She 
 might object to help me j but I think not." 
 
 " Fanny ! " 
 
 " Well ? How strangely you look, Esther ! or is it the 
 flickering candlelight on your face ? " 
 
 "Will you would you like to take my place at Chil- 
 combe ? " 
 
 " What can you mean ? No, indeed ; I would not for the 
 world take you from so happy and suitable a home, and from 
 good and tried friends. But I would take a similar place if 
 one presented itself if I could -find one, that is to say. 
 Take your place, indeed ! " 
 
 " Suppose I wished to give it up ? " 
 
 " I cannot suppose anything so impossible. You would be 
 wild if you threw up such a situation." 
 
 " What if I took yours?" 
 
 " Esther Kendall, you are crazy ! You have lost your 
 senses. Give up the green pastures and the still waters that 
 God has assigned you for a crazy tenement on the crater of 
 Vesuvius ! Resign obscurity and happiness for mere variety 
 and wretchedness ! You cannot be in earnest 1 " 
 
 " But I am. I wish to go abroad j I should like a 
 change." 
 
 " That is not your true reason. You have too much good 
 sense, too much stability of character, to rush at a most 
 uncertain good and a most certain evil in this offhand, incon- 
 siderate style. What will you gain by going abroad 1 " 
 
 "Much. I shall gain a knowledge of other languages 
 than my own j I shall gain fresh experiences and new ideas ; 
 I shall infinitely enlarge my sphere of observation. I have 
 always heard that a residence abroad is an education in 
 itself." 
 
 "To some extent that is true. There is always muck 
 benefit to be derived from foreign travel, but English home- 
 Ufe has its advantages also, and very great advantages too. 
 Besides forgive me, you say it yourself you are still hard 
 at work on the very elements of education. Why not rest 
 quietly at Chilcombe for two or three years, adding to your 
 mental stores, laying securely the foundations that were 
 
308 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 neglected in your childhood, and awaiting some better op- 
 portunity of seeing the world and enlarging your experi- 
 ences ? " 
 
 " Fanny, I think I can trust you ] " 
 
 " You may. Any confidence you may repose in me shall 
 be sacred." 
 
 " I can only give you the fragments of a confidence. I 
 cannot explain. I shall have to resign myself to being mis- 
 understood, even by Miss Guise. I can only say so much, 
 Fanny : I want, for reasons powerful reasons, of course 
 to get quite away from Chilcombe. It is a sense of duty 
 that urges me to go not, as my words may have led you to 
 suppose, the mere desire for excitement and a restless love of 
 change. Only to you I say this. If I go, other people must 
 believe that I go of my own pleasure and free will. Fanny, 
 will you not help me 1 It seems to me that we may 
 mutually help each other." 
 
 "Esther, I think I divine your secret, but I will not 
 breathe it even to you." 
 
 " Pray do not ! " 
 
 "I will not. Still I cannot yet feel assured you are 
 doing the best thing by running away. This is no step to 
 be taken at haphazard." 
 
 " I think, nay I am almost sure, it is best that I should 
 put the sea between me and Chilcombe and Guise." 
 
 " But you must not decide in a hurry. We must reflect 
 as calmly as we can, and, Esther, we must tell God all about 
 it, and ask Him to direct us." 
 
 " Ah, yes, thank you, Fanny ; I have been forgetting 
 God. I will try to put it into His hands. If it be good for 
 me to go He will put it into Lady Torrisdale's heart to 
 accept me in your place ; if not, some other way will be 
 opened, or I shall have strength and wisdom given me to 
 stay at Chilcombe in honour and right doing. Shall we saj 
 ' good-night ' now 1 " 
 
 The two girls kissed each other, and Fanny Tucker went 
 away wondering if it were written in the decrees of Provi- 
 dence that she should be the mistress of Cecil's school. 
 
 .Esther remained a long time at the open window, looking 
 
QRET AND GOLD. 309 
 
 out on the calm, starlit, summer night, and thought and 
 prayer went on together till the rosy flush of early dawn 
 was on the glimmering sea. Then she slept heavily, and 
 woke to find that she must rise instantly and dress with all 
 speed if she would be in time to accompany the housekeepei 
 to Chilcomhe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 PROSE AND POETRY. 
 
 WHILE Esther was wending her way sorrowfully through the 
 park, Oswald was making great strides towards the lone 
 cottage on Templemoor. He found his friend at home, bus} 
 with the Epic which was some day to give him wealth and 
 fame, and to carry down his name to the latest posterity ; 
 but he was tired in spite of the pleasure which he took in 
 the beloved and self-appointed task, and it was a relief to 
 throw aside the roughly scribbled sheets and enter into con- 
 versation with the lord of Guise. 
 
 A true poet's chamber was Lancelot Digby's. It was, aa 
 he had declared, " meanly furnished," and extremely bare as 
 regarded not only luxuries but such things as Oswald held to 
 be the positive necessaries of life. It was uncarpeted, save 
 by one small, dingy strip of drugget by the bed, which was 
 a queer, rickety, old-fashioned four-poster, covered with a 
 patchwork quilt, the only merit of which was its cleanliness. 
 Bed and windows for there were two casements were alike 
 curtainless. An antiquated chest of drawers, a few rush- 
 bottomed chairs, and a sturdy table of oak in the middle of 
 the room, constituted the whole of the furniture, if we except 
 a huge bath which was rolled away into a corner and half 
 full of manuscripts and shabby books. 
 
 But the view of which Lancelot had boasted that indeed 
 made amends for interior deficiencies, and to the occupant of 
 the chamber at least atoned for all that was missing in the 
 way of carpets, draperies, and cushioned couches. It com- 
 manded all the country round for many a mile, the broad, 
 glittering Channel, and the low purple hills, faintly defined 
 
310 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 along the opposite line of coast. It was a glorious com* 
 mingling of wild rocky heath, grey cliffs, green wooded 
 slopes, soft hazy distances, and shining sea ; and now hill 
 and dale, sea and shore, earth and sky, were flooded with the 
 rich sunset-light of the lovely July day; and in contem- 
 plating the magnificent prospect even Oswald forgot for the 
 moment his annoyance. Nature had sown her riches broad- 
 cast around the poet's humble domicile, and granted him a 
 full supply of such wealth as made him, according to his 
 own account, " luxuriously poor." 
 
 They contrasted rather strangely, those two friends : 
 Oswald, well dressed, graceful, and extremely handsome ; 
 Lancelot, in a shabby dressing-gown, awkward in his move- 
 ments, and what people generally would call hard featured, 
 if not extremely plain. But then such people had never 
 seen his smile a smile of such exceeding and radiant 
 beauty that it often fairly startled its beholders, and sent 
 them away wondering how they could ever have thought its 
 owner lacking in good looks. In spite of countless outward 
 advantages, Oswald always felt a certain sense of inferiority 
 when he lingered for any length of time in Lance's presence. 
 
 " Welcome ! " said Lancelot, as he grasped his friend's 
 hand. " It is so late, I scarcely expected you. I wish I 
 had a bed to offer you, but I am afraid that couch of mine 
 would scarcely suit you ; there would be something more 
 than doubled rose-leaves to complain of. How fast you 
 have walked ! you look heated." 
 
 " I have walked rather quickly, very quickly I suppose, 
 and and I may as well say it at once I am troubled, 
 vexed, stung to the quick ! " 
 
 "What is the matter? " 
 
 " I am sick of everything, weary of my life." 
 
 " Heigho ! That means, Oswald Uffadyne, that you want 
 something you cannot get. You lucky fellows, favourites of 
 fortune, always pout and grumble if the capricious dame 
 withholds the smallest of her fairy gifts ; while we whom she 
 snubs on principle thankfully receive the slightest token of 
 her grace. Is it a true Sybarite case of crumpled rose-leaves, 
 or do the nightingales make too much din, or is it that some 
 
GRET AND GOLD. 311 
 
 bright particular star refuses to come down out of its sphere 
 for the sake of Oswald Uffadyne 1 " 
 
 11 Don't jest, Lance ! I am not in a mood to bear it. You 
 think my destiny one of the fairest ; you count me as an en- 
 viable man 1 " 
 
 " I think your destiny is a fair one, though of course you 
 may make it a foul one if you choose ; many of us are per- 
 mitted to give the colouring to our lives. God puts certain 
 materials into our hands, and we use them or misuse them at 
 will. Yes ; and many people would count your lot as 
 enviable. I do not ; but then I would rather be Lance 
 Digby with an empty purse, and the barren honour of an old 
 name, than I would be any prince or magnate of the 
 land ! " 
 
 " I believe you. Lancelot, I have a case to put to you." 
 
 "Not a legal one I hope, for I know nothing of law 
 beyond the Decalogue." 
 
 " It is nothing legal, though it may tour.h legal obligations. 
 Listen, Lance : suppose you were rich " 
 
 " I really can't. I could as soon imagine myself an Esqui- 
 maux or Haroun al Easchid. I never had a sovereign to 
 spare in all my life. It must be a queer sensation to feel 
 your pockets full of money, and know that you can draw at 
 will upon your banker. I wonder what it is like, though I 
 had the faintest foreshadowing of it this very morning. J 
 just caught a glimpse of El Dorado, that was all." 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " I received from the editor of the Grosvenor Magazine a 
 very polite letter, and a cheque for ten guineas. I say, 
 Oswald, what capital fellows editors are." 
 
 "Especially when they enclose cheques." 
 
 " Ah ! but you who never earned a sixpence, and neve* 
 wanted one, cannot appreciate the luxury which I had all to 
 myself this morning. I have so often been disappointed 
 Over and over again my best things, things which I feel in my 
 heart are good for I believe in myself, spite of rebuffs and 
 failures manifold have been returned, sometimes declined 
 'with thanks,' sometimes without. Editors might just as 
 well be courteous always, and give us poor authorlings the 
 
312 KY AND GOLD. 
 
 augar-plum of a kind word ; and the sensation I experienced 
 when I read this letter ia it not a horrid scrawl? was 
 Something so superlative that I am afraid it never can occur 
 again. I looked after the old postman to see if he had not 
 turned into a fairy prince; and as for the cheque, I would 
 frame it and hang it up for contemplation if the cash it 
 represents were not so very useful, and my requirements so 
 very numerous." 
 
 " Most heartily I congratulate you, Lance ; and I congratu- 
 late the editor of the Grosvenor on his superior discrimination, 
 and we will drink his health in Johannisberger if you will 
 come with me to-morrow to the Chenies." 
 
 " I cannot say about that ; but your case 1 you are forget- 
 ting to put it. Well, I will try to suppose that I am rich, 
 What then ? " 
 
 " And lucky, in the estimation of your fellows, and while 
 you are still -young, and care for nothing and nobody in 
 particular, though you are in universal charity with mankind, 
 circumstances drift you into an engagement with an amiable 
 and beautiful girl, who is also an heiress, and with whom for 
 family reasons it is highly expedient that you should ally 
 yourself." 
 
 "There ia no supposing about it. Of course you are 
 referring to yourself, and to your engagement with Miss 
 Guise. Better drop the supposing, and put the case quite 
 plainly. We all know that you inherit the broad lands of 
 Guise, and that you are betrothed to that beautiful Florence, 
 who is heiress enough, in spite of the entail which excludes 
 her from the full succession, and gives you the inheritance as 
 next male of kin. The estates are yours. You are lord of 
 Guise. The lady is won, and a sweeter and fairer lady-love 
 could never man desire. What is the hitch? Why, you 
 look as glum aa if another heir had appeared to dispossess 
 you." 
 
 " I wish there had ! I wish Guise were at the bottom of 
 the sea, or that Florence herself were sole mistress of the 
 place. Bother the entail which so stupidly excludes the 
 female line, and yet permits the issue of such line to succeed ! 
 Why, Florence herself, though cut off by this accursed entail. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 313 
 
 may have a son who will inherit it in virtue of being his 
 mother's son." 
 
 " Very probably, since her son and yours promise to be 
 identical." 
 
 " I am not going to marry Florence Guise." 
 
 " Oswald, you astonish me ! Is this a lover's quarrel, 
 pray ? Have you changed your mind 1 " 
 
 " It is no quarrel ; the poor child has no notion of what I 
 have been going through. The fact is this, I love my cousin 
 right cousinly, but I do not love her as I should love the 
 woman who is to be my wife. I never loved her. I liked 
 her as boys will like a pretty cousin, and my uncle took 
 advantage of this youthful attachment, and proposed the 
 joining of the estates, and the large fortune which he would 
 leave his child. I had seen no one for whom I could possibly 
 care. My uncle hinted that I had already won Flossy's 
 aifections, as indeed I had, and I began to think I could not 
 do better. Florence was as sweet and good as she was 
 beautiful, and there was no barrier in her heiress-ship, since 
 I was heir of Guise. I began to fancy myself really in love, 
 and the very next day I proposed, and was accepted." 
 
 " That was almost three years ago ? " 
 
 "Yes, Florence was in her seventeenth year only just 
 leaving the schoolroom ; I was barely of age." 
 
 " Is not the discovery of your mere cousinly regard for 
 Miss Guise quite recent, and very sudden ? " asked Lancelot 
 gravely. 
 
 " Long ago I suspected that my attachment was not of the 
 right sort ; but then I thought it would do well enough for 
 every-day wear. I believed that the luxury of a grande 
 passion belonged exclusively to sentimental poet-fellows like 
 yourself. Now I know that we are all vulnerable ; now I 
 believe in 
 
 " ' Love at first sight, first-born and heir to all* " 
 
 "Which simply means that you have fallen in love with 
 some other young lady, and wish to break off your engage- 
 ment with Miss Guise 1 " 
 
 " Presuming that you are right in your surmise, would it 
 
3! I OREf AND GOLD. 
 
 be for her happiness that for honour's sake, for my word'a 
 sake, I kept seeming faith \vith her ? " 
 
 "Seeming faith ? No. Faith, pure and true, is sterling 
 gold; seeming, fahe faith if I may use such a strange 
 term is of the basest metal, and it tarnishes and corrodes 
 directly you begin to use it. At any cost be what you seem, 
 and that which you cannot be do not seem." 
 
 "But there are the estates. I take Florence's ancestral 
 home and refuse to take her with it. I enter in and enjoy 
 the inheritance, and absolutely drive her from it. What will 
 the world say ] " 
 
 " Xever mind the world ; what does your own heart say ? " 
 
 " It says nothing definitely. I only know that I do not 
 love Florence Guise, and that I love another." 
 
 "And does that other know it? " 
 
 " She does ; I spoke to her about an hour ago. I told her 
 that if she were not my wife I must live and die unwedded." 
 
 " Oswald Uffadyne, you have been most unwise. I am 
 afraid you have been almost dishonourable. And this new 
 love of yours, does she return the sentiment ? " 
 
 " Confound it, no ! At least she pretends to be indiffer- 
 ent, though I must say her scorn, her indignation, seemed 
 very real. But having confessed so much I will tell you all." 
 And there and then Oswald entered into fullest detail, giving 
 Esther's history as far as he knew it, with all her obligations 
 to Florence. It was dark when he finished speaking, and 
 Lancelot kept solemn silence. "Well," said Oswald, impa- 
 tiently, " I have told you all now ; you know as much of the 
 matter as I do myself. What have you to say ? " 
 
 " I have to say, Oswald Uifadyne, that you have acted a 
 most unworthy part. I have to say that you have not been 
 honourable : that you have been selfish, cruel ; that you have 
 caused the unhappiness of two very estimable young women. 
 I am ashamed of you." 
 
 " Thank you ; I came for sympathy, and I get hard 
 words." 
 
 " Sympathy I cannot give you ; but I pity you." 
 
 " And you would have me keep my old engagement 1 " 
 
 " No, not as things are A man cannot do a woman a 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 315 
 
 greater injustice than to marry her as a point of honour. If 
 she be such a woman as I believe Florence Guise to be, she 
 would sooner die than accept all a man has to give save his 
 heart If I were a woman, I think, even though I stood at 
 the altar, I should be thankful to be undeceived before it 
 was too late. If I knew that in the smallest degree my 
 lover swerved from the faith he had pledged, if in the least 
 I doubted his loyalty, if I did not know that his heart was 
 absolutely mine, all mine without reserve that next to his 
 God he loved and worshipped me, I would resign him. I 
 would not permit him to pronounce irrevocable vows. But, 
 Oswald, it is a fearful thing to trifle with a woman's happi- 
 ness. Are you sure that your passion for Miss Kendall is 
 not a mere fancy ] May not the old love be the real thing 
 after all] " 
 
 " I tell you there never was any love. Xow, for the first 
 time, I know what a true affection is. And the girl spurns 
 me!" 
 
 " I honour her for it. She must be a rare creature. I 
 never knew my sister Edith so taken with any one." 
 
 "And what am I to do ?" 
 
 " I really cannot tell you," said Lancelot, coldly. 
 
 He had no notion of such unmanly behaviour ; he could 
 not help despising Oswald for his boyishness, his want of 
 steadfastness, and for his weakness in seeking to lean upon 
 another's counsel ; thus striving to dissemble with his con- 
 science and to lift the weight of responsibility from him- 
 self. 
 
 " I must do something, or I shall go wild ! " exclaimed 
 Oswald, lashed into frenzy by Lancelot's calm displeasure. 
 " I deserve your pity rather than your blame. Fate has been 
 unkind to me." 
 
 " Do not accuse fate. You have been very unkind to 
 yourself and to others, and I do pity you, I pity you from 
 my heart." 
 
 " Yes, as you pity the poor wretch who must undergo the 
 p^tremity of the law next Monday morning for killing his 
 wife in an access of jealous fury. I thank you, Lancelot 
 Digby ! I counted upon a kindly sympathy from you, and 
 
?*f GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 I find cold pity, contempt, reproach ! You are not a real 
 poet after all. Where is the bard whose heart is not touched 
 by the sorrows of a lever 7 " 
 
 " There is no poetry in untruth, no pure romance in 
 fickleness. I am sorry for you, but I cannot feel with 
 you. I>on't look so furious. You are behaving like an 
 angry school-boy. You have done wrong, and you know 
 it." 
 
 " You contradict yourself. You said a minute ago that I 
 ought not to marry Florence on the strength of mere cousinly 
 regard and only for honour's sake." 
 
 " And I still say so. I do not blame you for not loving 
 Florence or for loving Miss Kendall. I do not even blame 
 you for allowing yourself to be led into an unsatisfactory 
 engagement, for you were very young you did not know 
 your own feelings at the time, and a strong persuasive power 
 was brought to bear upon you. But I do blame you that 
 you yield straightway to passionate impulse. It was hard 
 not to speak, I know ; but hard things have been done and 
 can be done again. You should have waited, you should 
 have watched yourself; you should have done anything 
 and borne anything rather than throw yourself at that 
 girl's feet, situated as she is and as you are with regard to 
 Florence Guise. You cannot be too thankful that you had 
 a sensible, virtuous, high-minded young woman to deal 
 with." 
 
 " I believe you are in love with her yourselfl" 
 
 " I am not But if I were I should not rush to tell her so 
 to-morrow morning, for I have no right to marry, and for a 
 long time to come mine must be a solitary, hard-working life. 
 You are going 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I shall sleep at Underleigh Mill, and fish up the 
 mill-stream to-morrow. I am very miserable, and thoroughly 
 disappointed in you, Lancelot Digby. So much for prose and 
 poetry 1 " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 3i> 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII- 
 
 AT THE BLADE AGAIN. 
 
 Iff the grey gloom of a lowering morning Esther left Guise 
 Court. She had breakfasted early with Mrs. Maxwell, bufc 
 Florence came and sat with her for a quarter of an hour, 
 while the good lady was making up her list of orders for 
 Stannington. There was a constraint on both as they sat 
 on opposite sides of the table ; Esther doing her best to dis- 
 pose of an egg and some coffee, and Florence playing 
 nervously with her watch-chain and pencil-case, uttering 
 short, disconnected common-places in a voice which did 
 not seem to belong to her. 
 
 For the first time Esther longed to get away from Florence. 
 A cloud between true friends is felt more painfully than a 
 very tempest of wrath between those who care little com- 
 paratively for each other ; and in such cases separation is 
 sometimes an immense relief. 
 
 Both girls were glad when the form of breakfast was over, 
 and Yirginie looked in to say that the carriage was coming 
 round, and yet Florence could have wept with sadness and 
 from her sense of isolation, while Esther, as the parting 
 moment came, felt as if her heart was breaking. She 
 almost hated Oswald for the misery he had brought upon 
 her. 
 
 As they stood in the hall Florence drew Esther into the 
 little waiting-room and shut the door. 
 
 " One moment, dear," she said. " There is something you 
 have to tell me ; will you not write it ] " 
 
 "I cannot promise. Oh, Miss Guise, why will you not 
 trust me ? You would if Lady Torrisdale were not here to 
 insinuate her unkind opinions." 
 
 " I do not regard my aunt, but your reserve pains me ; and 
 yet I have no right to inquire into your concerns. Don't 
 think, because I was the means of bringing you here, I am 
 wanting to act the lady-patroness. I wish that we should be 
 friends j papa wished it you know ; but friendship has it* 
 
18 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 rignfs, and one of them is frankness ! Mystery has slain 
 iL-tsy * ^vc-rni friendship, many a happy love, and it is the 
 fruitful parent of deceit and treachery." 
 
 " Dear Florence, there is neither treachery nor deceit in 
 my heart. I cannot open it to you just now ; the time may 
 come when you vill confess that, if I was not quite right, I 
 acted for the best. But 1 am not afraid for God and all His 
 holy angels to look into its most secret depths. If your 
 father sees us now, he is not chiding me ! if dead eyes can 
 see, his see only love and truth and tenderness in my conduct 
 towards you, singular as it may appear." 
 
 And the colour came back to poor Esther's pale cheeks as 
 she spoke ; not the blush of shame and of conscious guilt, but 
 the glow of trusting innocence, appealing to the Righteous 
 Judge of all the earth, and a rapturous light flashed into her 
 dark eyes as she added : " I cannot speak now, the time 
 will come, I daresay, when I may say all that is in my heart, 
 and you will not be ashamed of me. I am content to wait ! 
 Good bye, dearest and best friend ; God bless you, and make 
 you as happy as you deserve to be ! " 
 
 And, with an embrace that was almost fierce in its strength 
 and ardour, Esther tore herself away from the gentle arms 
 that would have detained her. Another moment, and she 
 felt she might have been betrayed into the most perfect un- 
 reserve ; she might have been tempted to relieve herself of 
 the weary burden of secrecy, at the expense of inflicting upon 
 Florence the most cruel pangs of suffering. She did not 
 know how much Florence had suffered already. 
 
 She was not to get away without a parting thrust from 
 the Countess. Her ladyship was among the flower-beds, 
 sniffing loudly at the heliotropes, and taking a sort of con- 
 stitutional before breakfast. She managed to cross Esther's 
 path, as if by accident. " Good-bye, Miss Governess," she 
 eaid, standing so that Esther could not pass her without 
 actual rudeness. " I hope you have learned a lesson from 
 last night's adventure, I know all about it ! Yes ! you 
 may start and crimson up ! and there is that scared look in 
 your eyes again, the look that a wild creature has when it is 
 brought to bay I But I happen to know, Miss Esther, that 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 you met a young man at the ruins last night met LLc. ty 
 appointment ! " 
 
 " I met no one by appointment, Lady Torrisdale ! " 
 
 " Oh, no ! of course not ! Such interviews are always 
 the result of accident. But if you go on in this way, you 
 will lose every shred of character you have, young woman ! 
 I speak for your good ; and I shall have a word with Miss 
 Uffadyne; she ought to keep a sharp eye upon your pro- 
 ceedings. Yes ! I do speak for your good ; you are a clever 
 girl, and if I had you in my hands I would make something 
 of you. I would soon cure you of danketihg after young 
 men ! Fanny Tucker dares not speak to a gentleman : I 
 never allow followers in my household ; not the ghost of a 
 lover comes near the young women who have the honour to 
 be under my protection. A little discipline would do you 
 all the good in the world." 
 
 " If your ladyship thinks so/' replied Esther, gravely, 
 " perhaps you would try me, in case of Miss Tucker's 
 removal. I should like to go abroad, and I would serve your 
 ladyship faithfully. And as for young men, I should be 
 very glad to have nothing to say to them." 
 
 And perceiving that she could pass, she did so, and ran 
 round to where the pony-carriage and Mrs. Maxwell were 
 awaiting her. It is difficult to say which was the more 
 astonished, Lady Torrisdale at Esther's unexpected appeal, 
 or Esther herself at her own impromptu boldness. 
 
 The cloudy morning turned into a wet day before Esther 
 was put down at the well-known gate. Mrs. Maxwell had 
 prepared for a nice confidential chat, but her companion had 
 been unwontedly silent, and she could only suppose that she 
 was sorry, and naturally too, at leaving Guise, and loth to go 
 back to her monotonous every- day work of school- teaching. 
 She thought it was a hard trial for a girl in Esther's position 
 to lead the sort of mixed life she did one day a lady at 
 Guise or at the Chenies, the next dining in the farmer's 
 kitchen, and earning her living as the village schoolmistress. 
 If she had only been " a governess in a family " it would 
 have been so much better, thought the good housekeeper, 
 " and so much more genteel I " For. unlike Fanny Tucker, 
 
GREY AND GOLD, 
 
 Mrs. Maxwell worshipped at the shrine of that stupid 
 Bagon, " gentility." 
 
 " Well, child ! " was Mrs. King's remark, after she had 
 kissed Esther, and taken away her wet cloak, and brought 
 her a glass of ginger-wine ; " Guise has not improved you ; 
 it has washed all the colour out of your cheeks, and made 
 your eyes as dim and heavy as if you had been sitting up at 
 nights ever since you went away. And you are thinner, 
 unless I am deceived." 
 
 " It has been a very trying time," said Esther, the tears 
 rising hot and fast now that the stern necessity for control 
 was over. " It has been very hard for Miss Guise." 
 
 " I suppose so ; they were so wrapped up in each other, 
 father and daughter. Poor thing ! poor thing ! IS'ot all 
 the wealth and rank in the world, you see, can comfort one, 
 when the hand of God is laid upon one in chastening. 
 These great folks feel the anguish at parting with those they 
 love best, just as much as the humble cottagers there, or tho 
 hardworking tradespeople and artizans in the town yonder. 
 And, 80 fond of Miss Guise as you are, I don't wonder that 
 her sorrow fell heavy upon you; and there is something 
 about a house where death is, that lies like a weight upon 
 you grief and dread and solemnity all mixed together, as 
 one may say. I should not have liked to see you coming 
 back gay and lively and full of spirits; but I don't like 
 your looking so thin and pale and peaky ! I am glad you 
 are back ; you will soon get up your roses again. I shall 
 make you drink a cup of new milk every morning the first 
 thing. It's a fine remedy for any sort of ailment ; it's good 
 for the old and for the young, and it will make you pick up 
 your flesh and get comely and blooming again in no time. 
 I was so proud of your improved looks. That swaggering 
 cousin of yours, he says, 'Well, Mrs. King, Esther has 
 turned out a regular fine girl upon your hands ; I think I 
 must try Chilcombe air myself when I want to get hand- 
 some.' And Mr. Oswald but I won't tell you what Mr. 
 Oswald said ; it might make you conceited. Dear me, child, 
 how nervous you've grown ; you've spilt half your wine on 
 that nice black dress. There, wipe it off; it will spoil the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. S2'V 
 
 crape trimming, I suppose Miss Guise gave you your 
 mourning ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she insisted on my having two nice dresses to 
 begin with this one, and a pretty neat black and grey 
 gingham for mornings. And then she would give me a 
 handsome black silk she had lying by her, not made up. 
 It must be my company-dress for many and many a day, 
 And Yirginie made me a neat black bonnet." 
 
 " Very generous of Miss Guise ! There, the crape won't 
 hurt now ! "What were we talking about ? Oh, Mr. Oswald 
 I was saying " 
 
 " Tell me how the farmer is. And where is my Kitty ? 
 And have you seen Miss Cecil this last day or two 1 And 
 did Miss Digby call ? " 
 
 "Bless me, child ! you are putting me through my Cate- 
 chism. "Well, the farmer is pretty well but for a touch of 
 lumbago, and very busy too ; and Kitty is quite well, only 
 dreadfully mischievous. If she hear your voice she'll soon 
 come prancing in. I daresay she is in the great barn ; she 
 is learning to mouse as well as her mother. And the new 
 yellow rose is in splendid flower. I never did see such a 
 bloom, Esther ; there will be such fine trusses in about ten 
 days that I am not sure whether I will not send one or two 
 of the best to Stannington flower-show. And the foliage 
 plants are doing well too ; that thing like a fine crimson 
 nettle is grand, and so is that large silvery leaf, so deeply 
 cut, and so like pearl-grey velvet ; only I cannot remember 
 their names. I will get you to ask the gardener at the 
 Chenies, and then we will write them down." 
 
 " I know the names of them all. I found them out at 
 Guise, and the names of many more, and I wrote them down 
 for you. And I begged buddings of the finest rose you ever 
 saw, you are to graft them on a Manetti stock, Pearson 
 says ; and I have brought you some seedling China asters, 
 or German asters, I am not clear which, and a new kind of 
 tropceolum that is nasturtium, with very handsome little 
 flowers and blue-greea leaves. But have you seen Miss 
 Cecil r 
 
 " To be sure I havo ; she was here yesterday, and sfo 
 
322 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 wants you back ever so. ' I don't know how it is,' says the 
 fanner to me, ' hut the girl is a favourite everywhere ; she 
 gets the liking of all the gentlefolks.' And the farmer was 
 right pleased, I can tell you ; he has got to feel as if you 
 were one of our own girls come hack again. You've always 
 reminded me of that little one we "buried twelve years ago. 
 She would have been a fine young woman by this time, and 
 a great comfort, no doubt. But God's will be done. She is 
 better off where she is now, and I often think the Lord sent 
 you partly to make up for her. I hope you'll stop with us 
 for many a year yet till you get a goodman and a comfortable 
 home of your own, and it will be time enough to think about 
 that in five or six years to come. Boys and girls don't know 
 their own minds nor each other's ; how should they ? They 
 had far better bide awhile, and come to a sound judgment. 
 So I hope we'll keep you, my dear, till the new creeper I 
 planted this spring has climbed up to the chimney-tops, as 
 they tell me it will if it flourishes, in less than seven years' 
 time." 
 
 Poor Esther ! she was nearly choking. She had never so 
 fully realised how safe, and sweet, and happy a home this 
 was, nor how motherly and fatherly were the true hearts of 
 these kind people towards her. And she must go away go. 
 far away where she would not see them for years and years, 
 perhaps never again. And the more she thought about it the 
 more she felt that she must leave the neighbourhood. For 
 Florence's sake, for everybody's sake, she must exile herself ! 
 Oh ! what would Mrs. King think of her ? what would the 
 farmer say ? And what could she say herself to Cecil ? She 
 almost hoped that Oswald would repose full confidence in 
 his sister, though how Cecil would take it she could not at 
 all imagine. She hoped, too, that Mr. Uffadyne had not 
 confided in Mr. Lancelot Digby, to whom he said he was 
 going when they parted at the ruins. Though it *fould not 
 matter, for if che went away out of the country she would 
 probably neysr see Lancelot again, though she would be sure 
 some day to read his poetry, and hear how famous he had 
 become. She did not know that his poetry was some little 
 w yield" already. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 323 
 
 " And," continued Mrs. King, " Miss Cecil begs you will 
 go up and take tea with her at seven o'clock. She is quite 
 alone, and dines early to-day, and she wants to see you par- 
 ticularly. And Miss Digby did call, and I made bold to ask 
 her if she would condescend to come and see my bees and 
 flowers as soon as you came home ; and she said she would so 
 prettily, such a perfect lady as she is, in her poor cotton 
 gown, not so good as our Patience wears on Sundays ; only 
 she wears it, does Miss Digby, as a duchess might wear her 
 silks and satins on a royal birth-night party. Now, my dear, 
 I must go and see about the dinner. Patience always 
 scorches the joint, you know, and she'll boil the peas mar- 
 rowfats they are, such beauties ! all to a smash." 
 
 And Esther went upstairs to her own pretty room, and lay 
 down on her bed, hoping to get some rest that might do her 
 head good, and wishing, also, that she knew what she ought 
 to say to Cecil about going away from Chilcombe. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ALL the afternoon Esther was revolving in her own mind 
 what she could say to Cecil about leaving Chilcombe. Her 
 greatest fear was that Miss Uffadyne would extract a full if 
 not a free confession; she would never be content with a 
 partial or unsatisfactory explanation, the whole truth and 
 nothing but the trtith being Cecil's usual requirement ; and 
 she was rather famous for forcing people into a candour which 
 was quite contrary to their own wills and judgments, and 
 which they afterwards bitterly repented. Not that Cecil be- 
 trayed trust, or took undue advantage of confidence either 
 reposed or extorted ; it was simply t that she was inconsiderate, 
 and, with, the best intentions in the world, too frequently 
 allowed her impulses to outrun her discretion. And at that 
 moment Esther heartily wished she had to deal with a person 
 of slower perceptions and less emphatic enunciations, to say 
 nothing of the persistency which always carried Cecil to the 
 
324 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 exact point she desired, either sooner or later, according to 
 the difficulties or opposition to be encountered. 
 
 To be quite ingenuous was or seemed to be out of the ques- 
 tion ; Cecil was the last person to whom she could speak 
 openly. She supposed that honour required her to keep 
 Oswald's secret ; certainly it was necessary that it should be 
 sacredly kept for Florence's sake above all things, she 
 must never know what had transpired, nor must she even 
 guess at it, which perhaps would be, on the whole, worse than 
 knowing all about it. For Florence's dear sake, then, if not 
 for Oswald's, she felt that she must submit to the displeasure 
 of her best friends, and to misconstruction by all. She did 
 not even like to think of what the village gossips would say 
 about her, when they found her career as schoolmistress 
 so abruptly terminated; there would be suppositions and 
 oblique hints, and all sorts of opinions would be current 
 respecting her sudden and unlooked-for exodus. Esther 
 would have felt much more uncomfortable on this point if 
 che had known that Belinda Smith's mother had seen her 
 turn down the green lane towards the ruins with Mr. 
 ITffadyne ! 
 
 " Ah ! " thought Esther, as she was dressing to go to the 
 Chenies, " I little thought how soon my promise would be 
 required of me ! I promised and, oh ! how willingly- 
 that I would be while life lasted Florence Guise's true and 
 faithful friend, even though for her I must leave all other 
 friends, and renounce all other happiness, save that of serving 
 and loving her. Yes, I promised that it should be so, at all 
 risks, and at all costs ; but I did not think that one of the 
 costs would be leaving Florence herself ! that in order to 
 ensure her happiness I must renounce her precious friend- 
 ship, a friendship hallowed too by the sanction of one gone 
 from among us. How little things turn out as we expect. I 
 fancied myself devoted to Florence, ministering to her, and 
 caressing her when all the rest of the world had deserted her, 
 giving up everything and everybody to be with her ; and 
 now I must give up all I care for to go away from her ! Oh, 
 cruel, cruel Mr. Uffadyne ! Men are selfish ! if they can 
 gratify their OTTO, feelings, they think nothing of the suffer- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 325 
 
 ing they may cause ! But there are some good men, I am 
 sure quite good, as Mr. Guise was. I do not believe that 
 Mr. Digby would ever have acted as Mr. Oswald has. If he 
 had ever loved a girl, such a girl as Miss Guise, I know he 
 would never have changed. Love for Lancelot Digby will 
 be love for life ! I saw it in his face ! I wonder, though, 
 if he do love any one ! Is there any one he always thinks 
 of not in a boyish, mawkish sort of way, but lovingly, 
 reverently, most tenderly, as of the woman who will one 
 day be his wife 1 If there be such an one and there must 
 be, of course, for he is quite old, five-and-twenty, Mr. King 
 said she must be a very happy girl ! She will not mind 
 waiting for him any number of years, she will not mind so 
 much if they never can be married she would rather be his 
 betrothed to her life's end than give so much as her little 
 finger to another man. Besides, she will be always his wife 
 in heart ; he will write to her all his beautiful thoughts, and 
 he will read his poems to her ; and, oh, how she will glory 
 in his success ! and, oh, how proud she will be of him ! It 
 must be such an intense joy to be proud of one's husband, 
 justly proud of him before all the world ; also, in the deepest 
 recesses of one's soul, to be able to say, ' O God, I thank 
 Thee for this man whom Thou hast given me this king 
 among his fellows ! ' ' : 
 
 The air was very sweet after the soft morning rain, as 
 Esther took her way through the lanes to the Chenies. 
 There was a beautiful greenness and leanness everywhere; 
 the Midsummer foliage was yet in all its undimmed splen- 
 dour, and the warm, fresh showers had washed away the dust 
 and brightened up every little twig and spray on the bowery 
 hedges, while the flowers sent forth their richest odours the 
 wild rose its own delicate, pure scent, and the honeysuckle 
 flinging far and wide its blooming branches, its rich and 
 luscious jfragrance ; and the mosses wore again their vivid 
 tints, and the graceful ferns bending low over the sweet 
 white campions, and the young fronds just uncurling from 
 their lowly nests were glittering as with diamond-drops in 
 the golden sunshine that glinted through the trees and turned 
 every rain-sparkle into dropping gold or quivering light lika 
 
326 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 gems. And then she came out upon a remota corner of the 
 village-green, which ran into all sorts of queer nooks and 
 shapes, like some map one sees of the shore of a curiously in- 
 dented hay; and there was another scene quite as sweet, 
 quite as poetic, though not perhaps so spiritually fair. It was 
 bordered hy wood and homesteads and crossed "by a clear 
 brook which near the high road expanded into a rush-fringed 
 pool, and a flock of geese, snowy as swans, if not as majestic, 
 were just taking to the water. Farmer Dobbs' sleek cattle 
 were being driven to their pasture ; two or three fat sheep 
 bearing tinkling bells were feeding among the furze where the 
 green sloped away into open common-land; and a flock 
 of pigeons were wheeling about the old red-tiled roof of a 
 venerable timbered barn, their silvery and pearl-grey wings 
 shifting and shimmering like vanishing islets of pale brilliance 
 against the soft, blue summer sky ; and there were farmer 
 Dobbs' ricks shapely, substantial, and time-honoured ricks 
 ruddy in the sunshine, and representing so many hundreds 
 of pounds ready to drop into the farmer's pockets whenever he 
 should choose to open them for that purpose. 
 
 Behind lay the village, with its white cottages and its one 
 " street," so called by sundry ambitious natives, its ivy-clad 
 chimneys and thatched roofs gay with yellow stone-crop and 
 crowns of flowering pink house-leek, and towering above them, 
 and showing between the tall patriarchal elms, stood the grey 
 tower of the church. 
 
 It had never seemed so fair to Esther as now when she felt 
 that she must leave it. Leave it ! Could it be ? Why, yester- 
 day at this hour she had thought, if she thought at all about 
 it, that Chilcombe would be her home for many years, if God 
 should spare her life. Leaving it, going away out of the 
 country, had been the farthest idea from her imagination. 
 Ah, how little we know what a day may bring forth ! How 
 little we reck when we greet its morning sunshine what joy 
 or what grief may come to us ere its close ! When earth is 
 singing her early matins we are gay and careless as the birds 
 that warble in her leafy choirs, and it may be that ere the 
 even-song 
 
 " That which we have been can we be no more." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 327 
 
 For a great joy or a great sorrow alike changes our inner 
 selves, and be it brightness, or be it darkness, the world is 
 never the same again. A few brief words, a trivial incident, 
 a stranger's face coming and going, like the blossom of an 
 hour, so often gives a colouring to one's whole life, casting 
 one's existence as it were in an entirely new mould ; and the 
 past and the future, though bridged over by the wonderful 
 arch of circumstance, are as dissimilar as though they belonged 
 to separate individuals. 
 
 Esther might have reached the Cheniee more quickly if she 
 had crossed the little brook, and skirted the pool ; but she 
 wished to prolong her walk, for the more she thought about 
 it the more she dreaded her coming interview, and the 
 tete-a-tete which was inevitable. So she wandered on to the 
 common, following a meandering path among the furze-bushes, 
 which, however, brought her at last to the end of the lane 
 that would take her to her destination ; but it was 
 past seven when she walked up the drive and saw Cecil 
 standing in the verandah in a perfect dazzle of scarlet 
 geraniums. 
 
 " Come at last ! " she cried, extending her hand. " Naughty 
 girl, I did not know you could be unpunctual ; and I quite 
 intended to ask Mrs. King to tell you to be sure to be here 
 by six. What a magnificent evening after the rain ! We 
 shall have fine weather now, the glass is going up ; it went 
 up steadily all through the rain, which came just in time to 
 save my transplanted Zinnias. What do you think of my 
 Tom Thumbs and Stellas'? And here is Kate Anderson, 
 rather a new thing, I believe. Are not the petals of a 
 glorious, intense flame-colour 1 I must have Mrs. King up to 
 see my show ; but I cannot beat her at roses. It must be a 
 case of soil rather than of culture, for I never saw such a 
 Jules Margottin as she has in full bloom, and she confesses to 
 taking small pains with it, except that she watches very 
 closely for vermin, and that may be the cause of her success. 
 Our things are not half syringed enough. Batson gets lazy, 
 and does not care for my scoldings ; and as for Oswald, he 
 always finds fault as if he did not mean it. Take off 
 your hat at once, and do justice to our strawberries and 
 
328 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 cream, and then tell me all about Guise and my Lady 
 Torrisdale." 
 
 It was not till tea was half over that Cecil said : " Esther, 
 what is the matter with you] I fancied you looked grave 
 and tired when you came in. "Well, you have been in a grave 
 house of late ; but you are absent and preoccupied as well as 
 grave. I ask you if I shall come down and help you open 
 school to-morrow morning, and you say, * Yes, she told me so.' 
 What is it all about ? " 
 
 Esther was silent. She had expected just such a question ; 
 it was in the programme she had arranged as she walked up 
 from the Slade. But now it came she found herself unpro- 
 vided with a suitable rejoinder. How could she begin to tell 
 the story that must be told before she and Cecil parted? 
 
 "Esther, child !" said Cecil, quite nervously for her, "do 
 you know you are frightening me ? Do you know how you 
 look hot, and cold, and pale, and red, and miserable, 
 and foolish? Has my Lady Torrisdale been scaring away 
 your senses, or has she vexed you with any of her sharp 
 sayings? I know what a tongue she has. Why Fanny 
 Tucker does not take her conge I cannot think. I would 
 sooner sew my fingers to the bone, or wear out my kneea 
 scrubbing kitchen floors, than I would be a white nigger to 
 an elderly, irrational, stupid, venomous Countess Dowager. 
 I am glad she is no relation of mine." 
 
 " Fanny Tucker is tired of the life she leads," said Esther, 
 quietly. "Besides, she wants to live in England, she is 
 tired of France and Germany ; and Lady Torrisdale is going 
 back, not to Boulogne, but to Paris, as soon as ever Mrs. 
 Lester can be with Florence, and that will be sooner than 
 was at first expected." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, I must say Fanny has shown wonder- 
 ful patience. How she has ever endured her patroness's 
 whims and tempers so long is more than I can divine. That 
 spiteful woman's greatest happiness is to humiliate people, 
 to sting them, to see them pained ; she is a sort of human 
 nettle, as I daresay you have found out ; and if from 
 common prudence you try not to touch her, she touches you, 
 and thrusts herself in your face whether you will or not. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 323 
 
 I know her of old. Even aunt Laura, the meekest and 
 most patient soul on earth, could not get on with her. There 
 are some people who ought to have little Patmoses of their 
 own. No. Patmos seems to imply celestial apocalypse ; 
 they ought rather to be made to live the life of Robinson 
 Crusoe, without any Man Friday upon whom to vent 
 their little spites. So Fanny Tucker really meditates a 
 change ? " 
 
 " She does indeed. She came to my room only last night 
 to beg me to speak to you about it ; she thought you might 
 not object to help her." 
 
 " Of course I will help her to the best of my ability. I 
 would do anything to help a girl to get away'from such a 
 dragon, and Fanny Tucker is really very nice. She is clever 
 and very sensible, and she has shown what strength of mind 
 she possesses, and what are her powers of patient endur- 
 ance, by having borne so long a yoke that most girls would 
 have flung aside impulsively as I should have done, I must 
 confess, even though I had had to take to selling lucifer- 
 matches as a consequence. What does Fanny think of 
 doing ? " 
 
 Esther faltered a little, she could not state the naked fact 
 at once, so she replied, it must be owned with a very sus- 
 picious appearance of hesitancy, "She said she would like 
 to take such a situation as mine." 
 
 " Now, that is positive nonsense ! Without any dis- 
 respect to you, my dear Esther, Fanny Tucker would be 
 throwing herself away were she to undertake duties similar to 
 your own. Why, she speaks French and German as well as 
 English, and she is an elegant Italian scholar, and she paints 
 and sketches like an artist. And that quiet grace of hers, 
 that peculiar tone, so indicative of birth and breeding, fancy 
 it brought into contact with our village mothers, to say 
 nothing of their daughters, who are rather more boisterous 
 upon occasion than we could wish them to be, even taking 
 into account their station and its requirements." 
 
 " I told her all that ; I pointed out to her the difference 
 between her and myself. I spoke of the difficulties and 
 annoyances of my position ; I made the very worst of them. 
 
330 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 but it was all in vain, Miss Tucker was immoveable ; sha 
 intends to be a village schoolmistress." 
 
 " "Well, if she is set upon it, I suppose she must have her 
 way; but I shall put before her very plainly all she will 
 have to contend with, and if she continue in the same mind 
 I suppose I must see what I can do for her. They want 
 somebody at Frumpington, I know : but that is a British 
 school, and there is a ladies' committee, with which I would 
 advise no sensible young woman to connect herself." 
 
 " Is it a very a very disagreeable committee ? " 
 
 "No worse than other committees, which are always 
 mistakes and nuisances. Be thankful, Esther, that you have 
 to do with a private institution and not with a committee- 
 governed school. !N"o ; Frumpington will never do. I will 
 write to my friend Mrs. Garden, she is always being mixed 
 up with schools and schoolmistresses ; but I must talk 
 to Fanny first. Lady Torrisdale drove her nearly crazy, 
 I suspect, before she decided upon such a plan. Esther, 
 what is it 1 You keep turning pale, and gulping down some 
 kind of emotion instead of your tea. Your fingers tremble 
 and twitch there ! You are emptying your strawberry- 
 hulls into the cream jug ! Never mind, cream is plentiful 
 enough at the Chenies, and little Scamp may have a treat 
 to celebrate your return. But say in plain English what 
 you are wanting to say; there is some difficulty about 
 something or somebody. Does it concern yourself or 
 Fanny Tucker?" 
 
 "It concerns us both." 
 
 " That is strange ; one would think you had been getting 
 into mischief together. Well, tell me at once what it is, 
 and I will do my best to help you both." 
 
 " Fanny and I wish to exchange situations." 
 
 " Fanny and you ? I don't understand," said Miss 
 Uffadyne, really nonplussed. " What is it you wish to 
 exchange ] " 
 
 " Situations places ! She wants to come here, and I 
 wish to go with Lady Torrisdale." 
 
 For once in her life Cecil Uffadyne was silent because she 
 liad really nothing to say. She was too much astonished to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 331 
 
 speak, and vulgar expletives, to which an under-bred person 
 would have resorted, were not in her way. Some spell 
 seemed to have turned her into stone, for she sat with the 
 teapot in her hand half-poised above her cup, her gaze 
 riveted upon Esther, who looked pale and sad, but resolute 
 and uncompromising as a fate. It was several minutes 
 before she found breath or words. She finished pouring 
 out her tea ; she sweetened it and tasted it leisurely before 
 she said, "Esther Kendall, I can only conclude that you are 
 in a state of temporary insanity ; you would not be so ill- 
 mannered as to joke with me in this way ? " 
 
 " Joke ! Oh ! no, indeed, Miss Uffadyne. Please let me 
 go, and please take Fanny Tucker in my place." 
 
 " Please talk a little more rationally. Please to remember 
 that you are a young woman and not a little child. If Miss 
 Tucker has lost her senses, as she evidently has, that is no 
 reason why you should follow her example. 7 * 
 
 " If you only would believe that I am quite in earnest ! '' 
 
 11 In earnest to leave Chilcombe ? In earnest to go nobody 
 knows whither, with such a person as Lady Torrisdale 1 " 
 
 11 Yes, I wish to go." 
 
 Esther's tone was getting dogged, and the dark look was 
 coming over her face a look that Cecil had never seen. Sho 
 was being tried, and had been tried beyond her strength. 
 
 " Your reasons 1 " said Cecil, coldly and proudly. 
 
 " I wish for a change ; I want to see the world. I should 
 learn French then perfectly. I shall never speak it doing 
 exercises and translations, and getting by heart scraps of 
 dialogue and pages of vocabulary." 
 
 " You wish to leave tried friends, a happy home, prospects 
 as safe as they can be in this world, to be the miserable white 
 slave, the down-trodden bondswoman of a woman who is 
 equally unfeeling and unprincipled, a selfish, ungenerous, 
 what I call a cruel person, who will make you serve her turn, 
 and demand from you every sacrifice, and probably leave you 
 at last without money and without protection in some 
 wretched hole or corner, where you may die and be buried 
 among strangers, no one even knowing who you are. Sha 
 will tax your strength to the utmost; she will ruin you* 
 
SC2 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 health and break your spirit, and then you will naturally fall 
 ill, and she will straightway wash her hands of you. She is 
 heartless enough for anything ; ask Florence. And all this 
 you will brave for the sake of perfectly acquiring the French 
 language, and seeing what French manners and fashions 
 are like, and walking about on soil and among scenes 
 not English. Child, you will do nothing so absurd, so 
 completely suicidal ! The woman would be the death of 
 you." 
 
 " No, she would not. If I could be tortured and trampled 
 to death it would have happened long ago ; I had enough of 
 that in Queen Square. Lady Torrisdale could not be worse 
 than Mrs. Hellicar." 
 
 "Yes, she could, and she would too. Mrs. Hellicar, I 
 should say, was excessively silly and weak as well as im- 
 perious and insulting, and one might manage her. Lady 
 Torrisdale is not weak in the common acceptation of the 
 word. Rank, position, and education, abused, make people 
 worse instead of better." 
 
 " I should hold my own ; I am not Fanny Tucker." 
 
 " You would not do half as well as Fanny Tucker, and 
 you are not going to try. Now, my dear Esther, whatever 
 you may wish, and whatever you may say or think, I am not 
 going to let you throw yourself away in this mad fashion. I 
 cannot understand you in the least ; you are not at all like 
 yourself. But go to France as my Lady Torrisdale's maid 
 she would never own you as dame-de-compognie you will 
 not ! If you are set on a trip to Paris, why, I will take 
 you myself. I rather think I should enjoy it. I should like 
 to see the old Pension again, and Madame Brillac. You shall 
 have a holiday in September. Little Miss Chubb shall come 
 for a fortnight and teach the girls. It will not be good for 
 them to be dismissed, and you and I will be off to La Idle 
 France by way of Boulogne and Amiens, and we will even 
 brave the long passage and come back by way of Dieppe, for 
 dear old Eouen's sake. Even I cease to be practical, and grow 
 mediaeval, in Eouen. There, that will do, will it not, you 
 perverse, tiresome thing ] " 
 
 " That would not be like living in France ! n 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 333 
 
 "Esther, what does all this mean? You no more care 
 about living in France than I do. I do not believe you 
 really care to cross the Channel. You dare not look me in 
 the face and tell me such a lie as that you are absolutely 
 longing to leave Chilcombe and go abroad with Lady 
 Torrisdale 1 " 
 
 And she took hold of both Esther's hands and drew her 
 towards her, looking straight into her eyes with an honest, 
 piercing, and reproachful gaze. 
 
 " Esther, I do not deserve to be so treated. Tell me the 
 whole truth. What is it you really want to do, and why do 
 you want to do it T' 
 
 "I have told you," said Esther, trying to release herself; 
 but Cecil's grasp was firm though light, and Esther felt 
 tremulous and weak, poor child, as well she might. " Oh, 
 let me go," was all that she could say ; " please let me go ! 
 I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " Have you asked Lady Torrisdale to take you in Miss 
 Tucker's stead 1 " 
 
 "No, not yet; but I think she will." 
 
 " Fanny Tucker and you are a precious pair of simpletons, 
 counting your chickens not only before they are hatched but 
 before the eggs are laid ! You must have a perfect genius for 
 deductions. Why, you stupid girl ! Lady Torrisdale will 
 never consent to part with Fanny, in the first place. Fanny 
 is experienced and well-seasoned, and takes to tyranny and 
 insult as ducks take to water ; and my lady knows it, and she 
 will never let her victim go ; by hook or by crook she will 
 keep her, and if Fanny died to-night I am not at all sure 
 that you would be the person chosen to replace her. It 
 seemed to me and Oswald thought the same thing that 
 she had taken a dislike to you. She seemed quite inclined 
 to persecute you, I fancied, and also, to some extent, to per- 
 secute Florence for your sake. Only, grasping dowagers who 
 love money can hardly afford to quarrel with nieces who 
 boast such a rent-roll as does Miss Guise, of Little Guise, 
 and the future wife of Mr. Uffadyne-Guise, of Guise Court ! 
 No. Lady Torrisdale will never quarrel with her own bread 
 and butter, though she may long to bite the hands that 
 
334 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 butter the dry crust. That, however, is not to the joint, 
 My own opinion is that nothing save a large bribe and she 
 would sell her soul for sovereigns and bank-notes would 
 induce her to take you to Paris in any capacity whatever. 
 So if you are set upon Gallic experiences you had better 
 advertise in the Times, for you will never go with Lady 
 Torrisdale ! " 
 
 Esther was unequal to replying, and Cecil still held her 
 hands. She began to feel desperate to wish an earthquake 
 would happen, to wish somebody would come in, to wish she 
 could faint away and become quite insensible anything to 
 relieve her from the searching rays of those clear brown 
 eyes, and to free her wrists from that gentle yet relentless 
 clasp. 
 
 " Oh, Oswald, Oswald ! " she said to herself, " how cruel 
 and thoughtless you have been ; how selfish, how dishonour- 
 able ! I fear I shall hate you. Ah, why did I let him drive 
 me to Guise that day ? " 
 
 Esther was so absorbed in her own momentarily increasing 
 difficulties, and Cecil was so intently watching Esther, that 
 neither of them heard footsteps without on the lawn ; but 
 the next minute two tall figures darkened the verandah, and, 
 looking up, the two women saw Oswald Uffadyne and Lance- 
 lot Digby. Esther could not tell whether she felt the more 
 relieved or frightened ; at any rate, Cecil must cease her in- 
 quisition, and she would have time to collect her scattered 
 senses, and think how it would be best to proceed. Would 
 she ever be able to go without owning the truth to Miss 
 Uffadyne 1 And was she not the last person, except Florence 
 herself, in whom she would wish to confide? As Oswald 
 entered, stepping through the French window, Esther felt 
 inclined to jump up and run away as from her evil genius ; 
 but, somehow, she could not tell why, Lancelot's presence 
 secured a solace and a protection, a kind of omen of good, 
 that would come some time or other out of all this miserable 
 tangle of perplexit}'. 
 
 " Dear me, Cecil, have you turned policeman ? " was 
 Oswald's greeting. Cecil let go Esther's hands, and turned 
 to her brother and her guest with her most unamiable 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 33** 
 
 expression ; just now she could have well dispensed with 
 visitors ; she had not much patience, and suspense was very 
 trying to a nature like hers ; she wanted to come to a con- 
 clusion with Esther at once, to solve the mystery, to read the 
 riddle for that both mystery and riddle existed she was 
 positively certain and any sort of interruption would have 
 been unwelcome. Oswald resumed: "I could not take so 
 much as a minnow. I had scarcely a bite, though the 
 weather was fine for fishing ; so I left the Undeiieigh waters 
 and came back to Digby at Templemoor ; and I persuaded 
 him to come in and ask you for a cup of tea ; he is on his 
 way to Helmsley, of course. Sit down, Lanoe ; if you are 
 not tired I am ; it is a long walk, even by the moor and the 
 lanes, from Underleigh to Chilcombe." 
 
 Cecil, feeling a little ashamed of her crossness, exerted 
 herself to perform the duties of hospitality ; and she looked 
 at Lancelot with her own frank expression, and gave him a 
 cordial welcome. 
 
 " It is all Oswald's fault," said Mr. Digby. " I fear we 
 that is I, am an intruder." 
 
 " Not at all," replied Cecil, earnestly \ " I am always glad 
 to see any of my brother's friends ; but the truth was Miss 
 Kendall and I were occupied deeply absorbed in an affair 
 that interested us both, and I at least felt a moment's im- 
 patience at our tete-a-tete being interrupted. Upon second 
 thoughts I am glad you did arrive we were both getting too 
 much excited and I really do not believe we should have 
 reached any satisfactory conclusion had we talked till mid- 
 night." 
 
 " No t nothing but dinner or a thunderstorm can stop 
 women's tongues when once they begin to argue," repHed 
 Oswald himself, feeling a little uneasy. Cecil and Esther were 
 certainly not on their usual terms, and his heart misgave him 
 that he had something to do with the clearly unwonted state 
 of affairs at the Chenies. Also the sight of Esther, whom he 
 had scarcely hoped to see, set his impetuous heart beating ; 
 he scarcely knew with what emotion, only he supposed it 
 must be love, for he wanted to throw himself a^; her feet, to 
 implore her to reconsider her decision, and to promise that 
 
336 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 at least she would believe in his devotion to her and to her 
 alone. He must tell her that his feeling for her was not, aa 
 she had declared, " a brief madness," but an abiding reality, 
 a deep-seated principle of his heart, and that he would be 
 faithful to her for ever and ever, even though she should 
 continually spurn him. But when he looked round again 
 the pale face, with its dark braids of hair, and its deep, 
 lustrous eyes, had vanished. Esther had seized the first 
 favourable moment to retire. She scarcely knew what she 
 did ; she only felt that she must get away, and, though con- 
 scious that her abrupt departure would appear singular, she 
 thought it better to provoke remarks than to run the risk of 
 finding herself altogether worsted. So she slipped out 
 through the conservatory, and gained the kitchen garden, 
 where was a door opening into a narrow lane or path leading 
 straightway to the green. But Cecil saw her enter the con- 
 servatory, and comprehended that she had made her escape. 
 
 " Esther is gone home, I suppose," said Miss Uffadyne, a 
 few minutes afterwards, when fresh tea was made, and the 
 table generally rehabilitated. 
 
 " I hope we have not driven her away," replied Oswald, 
 anxiously. " I supposed you were quite alone, Cecil." 
 
 " I should have been alone had I not sent for Esther to 
 come up to tea ; I knew she was coming back from Guise to- 
 day. And really, Oswald, I wish I had not sent for her ; 
 only I suppose it would all have come out to-morrow, and 
 when a thing has to be it had better be, and so get done 
 with. What do you suppose Esther has been talking 
 about]" 
 
 " How can I tell I " was Oswald's answer, gulping down a 
 cup of very hot tea and scalding his throat. 
 
 If it had not been so dusk Cecil would have seen how 
 guilty he looked. Lancelot cut his bread-and-butter into 
 squares with the gravest expression of countenance. What 
 was it that " must have come out to-morrow " if not to-day ? 
 both the young men wondered. Oswald had had some vague 
 idea of flinging himself on his sister's compassion and winning 
 her over to his side, taking her sympathies by storm, as it 
 wsre ; for Cecil he knew was very fond of Esther, " absurdly 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 337 
 
 fond ! " had once been his own comment on the intimacy, and 
 not so very fond of Florence as might have been expected. 
 
 In fact, Oswald knew that she had never cordially approved 
 the engagement; he remembered how, long ago, she had 
 plainly told him that she wished he were not betrothed to 
 Florence Guise. But, then, she had also frequently declared 
 her horror of anything approaching to a mesalliance ; unequal 
 marriages, she protested, never came to any good, and 
 involved all concerned in them in continual dilemmas and 
 annoyances. And much as she liked Esther, unwisely as she 
 petted her, it was a question whether she would accept her 
 as a sister ; and Cecil was not a person easily to be influenced 
 or swayed, she would take her own stand, and nothing would 
 dislodge her ; if she decided in Esther's favour, she would 
 go through fire and water for her, she would despise all 
 comments, and do precisely the thing she chose ; but if, on 
 the contrary, she were displeased and it was fir more 
 likely than unlikely, Oswald felt, since a mesalliance in the 
 way of friendship and a mesalliance which involves holy 
 matrimony are essentially different then she would immedi- 
 ately take most strenuous measures, and Esther would be 
 whisked away to the ends of the earth, sent as a female 
 missionary to China, or persuaded to emigrate to New Zea- 
 land. It never occurred to Mr. Oswald that Esther might 
 whisk herself away, not only without Cecil's interference, 
 but in despite of that young lady's authority. He was soon, 
 however, taught better. As Oswald could not at all guess 
 what his beloved one had been talking about, unless it had 
 been about himself, a supposition he did not dare to hazard, 
 Cecil considerately told him. 
 
 " She is talking about going away." 
 
 " Going away from Chilcombe ? " And in his consternation 
 Oswald scalded himself again. Cecil should not have made 
 her tea so hot ; it was as bad as the filthy, boiling stuff at 
 the railway-stations, her brother affirmed ; but then people 
 should not tumble into tea at all hours, or they may get 
 " pot-luck " more literally than is quite agreeable ! " You 
 don't mean that she is going back to those dreadful people 
 in Queen Square 1 " 
 I 
 
33?' GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "No; she is going out of the country to Franco, to 
 Germany anywhere ! She is bent upon getting away, I 
 can see. Why is the mystery that puzzles me ; she ha? her 
 reasons of course. She wishes to make me believe that she 
 wants a change ! Now, that is all nonsense ; she is not that 
 kinrt of girl. I never knew any one of her age so steady 
 and so steadfast. She no more wants a change than I do ; 
 yet she is wild to go to Paris with that ill-tempered, miserly 
 Lady Torrisdale. I confess I cannot in the least understand 
 it. It was the feeling of being baffled that made me so 
 irritable, and I am afraid almost rude, when you came in, 
 Mr. Digby. I beg your pardon sincerely ! " 
 
 Mr, Digby quite understood, if his hostess did not. 
 Oswald understood only too well : Esther was escaping from 
 him. But that must not be ; she must not be suffered to 
 take flight, though, silly girl ! did she think the English 
 Channel a barrier that could not be overleaped ? Did she 
 think going to Paris, or to Berlin, or to Yeddo even, would 
 put her out of his reach 1 Why, if she set off to help 
 Bishop Colenso enlighten the Zulus, or join an expedition to 
 explore the Xorth-western passage, he would quickly follow 
 her, and be at her feet ten times more devoted, and ten times 
 more resolved than ever ! He wished Lancelot would finish 
 his tea, and go away, that he might at once press Cecil into 
 his service, and swear her to be faithful to his interests 
 his interests, that is, as he interpreted them, the lawful pos- 
 session of Esther Kendall being the primary object on which 
 indeed his whole future career would depend. 
 
 " Of course you will not let her go ? " he said eagerly. 
 " Go with that she-dragon, too ! It is not to be thought of ! " 
 
 " Certainly it is not ! I cannot think what put it into her 
 head. I could beat that Fanny Tucker ! " 
 
 " What has Miss Tucker to do with it ? " 
 
 '* Cannot you see 1 " and Cecil told how the two girls had 
 schemed to make an exchange of situations. " Fanny wants 
 a change, and I do not wonder at it. So she persuades 
 Esther that she too needs variety, and the simplest way to 
 secure it is by taking each other's place. There is one 
 comfort. Lady Torrisdale has not been spoken to yet, and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 339 
 
 though she cannot prevent Fanny from leaving her, 'she 
 cannot he forced into accepting Esther as a companion. 
 And I suppose Esther would not he crazy enough to go 
 alone to France, and run the risk of finding a situation." 
 
 Oswald was hy no means convinced hut that she might he 
 so mad. Lancelot was pretty sure that she would go at all 
 costs, if she felt it her duty to put the sea between her and 
 her unsanctioned lover. He soon fulfilled his friend's in- 
 hospitahle wishes, and got up to leave, and Oswald did not 
 press him to remain. He was longing to be alone with 
 Cecil, for though Lancelot was in the secret, it would nevet 
 answer to disclose it to her in the presence of another 
 person. All depended upon the prima-facie view of the 
 affair which Cecil would seize upon. She would either he 
 sure, trusty, and fast ally, or else open, settled, uncompro- 
 mising foe. And, again, all depended upon the way in 
 which he put his case. He was nervously anxious to begin, 
 burning to pour out his heart to Cecil ; for he felt sure of 
 winning her to his side, if only he could tell the tale at 
 once. He scarcely waited for Lancelot to be gone. While 
 the gate was yet on the swing, he burst out : " Cecil, you 
 say you cannot understand Esther's sudden change of mood. 
 I can enlighten you. I can tell you all about it now Digby 
 is gone, though he knows : I told him last night." 
 
 Cecil listened like one in a dream ; something had hap- 
 pened, that was clear. Esther was transformed into some- 
 body else, and Oswald and young Digby knew all about it. 
 V/hat could it mean 1 
 
 " Cecil, it is all my doing." 
 
 " Your doing 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; do not look so black, there's a dear. Cecil, you 
 have been my best friend ever since my mother told you on 
 her death-bed to take care of your little brother a couple 
 of babies that we were, left alone in the world. If I had 
 always allowed you to guide me, I should have been a 
 happier as well as a better man. Now, I want you more 
 than ever to befriend me, to help me, to be all that one's 
 own and only sister alone can be." 
 
 " Dear Oswald, of course I will help you, if I can, if I 
 
340 GREY ANT) GOLD. 
 
 ought to help you ; and I am sure you would never ask me 
 to countenance you in aught that was unworthy of our 
 name ; hut what has all this to do with Esther ? " 
 
 " Everything ! I love her. I have told her so." 
 
 Cecil drew a long breath, and kept silence. Oswald 
 waited almost in an agony for her reply. " Well 1 " he said, 
 sharply, when no answer came. " Well, Cecil ] " 
 
 " I am afraid it is not well, Oswald. You are engaged to 
 Florence : all hut married to her." 
 
 " I find now that I never loved her." 
 
 " I always knew that you never did. I told you so at the 
 first. It was my uncle's doing; he wished the marriage, 
 and he exaggerated the cousinly affection between you and 
 "Flossy into downright love, such as leads, or ought to lead, 
 to matrimony. You were willing to accept the shadow for 
 the substance. You agreed to his proposals, and you fancied 
 yourself a lover. Tow you have found out your mistake." 
 
 " I have, long ago. I knew all that ; but I was content, 
 for honour's sake, for the sake of Florence herself, and for 
 the true cousinly regard I bear her, to be faithful to the con- 
 tract. I thought a man might be very happy with so fair and 
 good a wife. I meant never to say a harsh word to her, to pet 
 her always ; she was her poor father's idol, you know. In 
 short, I meant to marry her, and be to her the best of 
 husbands." 
 
 "That you never could be. The best of husbands must 
 have his wife in his very heart of hearts. She and she only 
 must be essential to his happiness. I would not thank you 
 for & husband who indulged me and caressed me, and 
 lavished upon me all that I could desire, or imagine that I 
 wanted, if, at the same time, he did not feel that I was the 
 very sunshine of his life, his second self ; that without me 
 all would be joyless and dark, the world itself a void and 
 nothingness. If he had one thought he wished to keep 
 from me, if he had one joy or one sorrow into which I 
 could not enter, if I might not see down into the very 
 depths of his soul as he should see into mine, I would 
 rather he left me alone. There are very few true marriages 
 in the world, I am afraid." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 341 
 
 "Mine with Florence Guise would be most untrue, for 
 now I not only know how much was wanting in the affection 
 I entertained, and still do entertain for her, but I feel for 
 another all that I never felt for her. I love Esther Kendall 
 more than life." 
 
 " And you have told her this ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I met her last night at the ruins, and I felt that I 
 must speak. There are moments in one's life when one 
 cannot be master of one's self." 
 
 " I do not know about that ; but what did Esther say 1 " 
 
 " She said, and I really think she believed it, that I was 
 mad. She called me unmanly, unkind, and asked with tears 
 why I insulted her. She did not realise that I was in earnest. 
 Cecil, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " I do not know ; I must think ; you confound me. And 
 Florence knows nothing of this 1 " 
 
 " No. Our engagement still stands, inasmuch as neither of 
 us has said a word about dissolving it. But there has been 
 an unexplained coldness between us for several months." 
 
 " Oswald, you have done very wrong. You should have 
 broken with Florence entirely before you thought of exchang- 
 ing vows with another girl. You were not free to propose to 
 Esther. I do not wonder that she thought herself insulted ; 
 she always looked upon you as a married man. Poor girl ! I 
 quite understand her wanting to get away now. All her 
 iseeming obstinacy, her strangeness of behaviour, and her 
 evident misery are explained. My poor, true-hearted Esther ! 
 How could you, Oswald ? " 
 
 " How could I love such a girl, do you mean ] " 
 
 " No ; but how could you tell her that you loved her, cir- 
 cumstanced as you are and as she is as regards Florence 1 " 
 
 " But you will help me, Cecil ] Say you will help me, and 
 half my anxiety will be gone. You will receive Esther aa 
 your sister, your brother's beloved and honoured wife ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell what I ought to say ; I must think abouf 
 it ; I dare not be rash in so important a matter. And really 
 you are in a most awkward position, Oswald. But this I 
 promise you I will do my very best to help you to be happy 
 the moment I see the surest way to go about it." 
 
342 GREY ANT) GOLD. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 CECIL'S PROGRAMME. 
 
 THE next day Esther opened her school in due form, but Cecil 
 did not come to help her, as she had proposed, and as had heen 
 the case previously, and Esther took this as a sign that Cecil 
 was seriously displeased. And she could neither wonder nor 
 olame, for she knew that her conduct was inexplicable, and 
 liable to all sorts of miserable interpretations ; looking at her 
 behaviour in the most favourable light, it seemed to her that 
 to every person in the world, except perhaps Fanny Tucker, 
 she must appear guilty of ingratitude, fickleness, and way- 
 ward folly. Sacrifice would stand for love of change ; duty 
 would be counted as simple restlessness and instability ; 
 firmness would be taken for mere inconsiderate, head-long self- 
 will. Oh, the lesson of life was very hard to Esther just 
 now. 
 
 Moreover, as she knew Oswald to be at the Chenies, she 
 vrent backwards and forwards that day in the greatest appre- 
 hension of meeting him. And when afternoon school was 
 over, she made one of her little pupils who lived near trot by 
 her side all the way home, rewarding her with a slice of bread 
 well spread with the fresh preserve with which Mrs. King 
 was at that moment busy. Perhaps the good lady's absorp- 
 tion in her red currants and raspberries, and her anxiety about 
 her missing jelly-bag, which Patience declared must have 
 been eaten by the pigs the day it was hung out to dry after 
 washing, prevented her from noticing Esther's pale cheeks 
 and heavy eyes, and the weary, hopeless expression of her 
 countenance. But the farmer had remarked that she was dull, 
 and that Guise air evidently did not suit her, and she replied 
 that she had not slept well, and that her head was aching 
 terribly. "Which statement was no exaggeration, for she had 
 w:arcely closed her eyes all night, and had slept but poorly 
 the night before, and the noise of the school seemed almost 
 more than she could bear with equanimity. 
 
 After tea she went upstairs to her own room, and tried to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 343 
 
 occupy herself with a French exercise; it was high time 
 to get on with the language, when she was so soon going 
 where nothing else would be spoken, and with almost 
 feverish determination she drew her little writing-table to the 
 open window, and set her books in order, and commenced to 
 study the exercise which was next in order. How long it 
 seemed since she had written that last one on the compound 
 tenses ! A whole lifetime seemed to have interposed between 
 the last neatly written page, corrected by Cecil, and the next, 
 blank, unwritten, and to be corrected by whom ? Surely 
 Cecil was too angry to correct any more French exercises for 
 her. Surely a young person who acted in so unaccountable 
 a way, and refused to give any credible reasons for her 
 actions, could not expect the slightest favour from her 
 friends ! 
 
 "Ah," said Esther to herself, as she leaned listlessly 
 against the window-sill, " but this will teach me charity. I 
 think I shall never again condemn any one from appearances ; 
 when people seem to be going all wrong, and when all the 
 world is crying shame upon them, I shall say, Perhaps it is 
 not as it seems ; the motive may be quite pure though the 
 action displeases. Only God sees the heart, only He knows 
 all ; and what a comfort that He does know it ! And Ho 
 takes into account everything, /jle knows, when we fall or 
 fail, how strong was the temptation, how hard the struggle, 
 and he looks pityingly not wrathfully on the poor, weak 
 stumbler, and lifts him up again, and sets him on his fee^ 
 and tells him to go forward again in hope and with courage 
 in a strength that is not his own.i Oh, how good God is! 
 Whatever may betide let me always remember that, and feel 
 it too. The other day I read, the tenderest hearts have 
 limits to their mercy, ' God has none.' Oh, my God, let me 
 be content to rest in Thy goodness, ia Thy loving-kindness, 
 which is better than life. Whatever may be the pain and 
 trial in store for me, let me still trust in Thee, still rejoice in 
 Thee, and praise Thee in the shadows as well as in the 
 sunshine. Only let me do that which is right ; show me 
 the straight path, and give me grace to tread in it ! " 
 
 The gate clicked; Esther looked down the garden-walk 
 
344 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 and "beheld Cecil coming up between the flowers. She, too, 
 saw Esther at the window, and she called to her not to 
 come down; they would have their talk upstairs. Esther 
 thought she did not look at all angry grave, certainly, 
 even anxious, but no ! not angry. Only was she come to 
 torture her with fresh questions to which no adequate 
 answers could be returned to breathe, perhaps, suspicions 
 which could not be dispelled, to give warnings which ap- 
 parently would be despised ] " Oh, my Father, bring me 
 safe through it," was her fervent prayer, as she opened her 
 room door and stood at the stair-head to welcome Cecil. 
 
 An interview, especially a momentous one, is never what 
 we suppose it will be ; anticipated events always occur 
 differently from that which we had planned and pictured to 
 ourselves ; and Esther now was not in the least prepared for 
 the drama which was going to be played out between Cecil 
 and herself. To her infinite surprise, Cecil kissed her 
 affectionately as soon as ever they were shut up together 
 in the bedroom, and, drawing Esther closely to her, she said, 
 " My poor Esther ! my dear child, I know all about it ! 
 You were quite right to keep the secret even from me ; but 
 you have been sadly tried. I tried you myself last night ; 
 but I am come this evening to make amends if I can." 
 
 Esther almost doubted the testimony of her senses ; did 
 Cecil know ] Had Mr. Oswald told her, and did he tell her 
 all the truth the exact truth ] AVhat had he said ? 
 
 "Mr. Oswald has told you that " 
 
 " That he loves you, Esther ; that no other woman can 
 ever be his wife ; and he has told me also that he has said 
 as much to you." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss Cecil, I could not help it. I was aston- 
 ished almost to stupefaction ; but when I quite understood 
 what he was saying I refused to hear him any farther. I 
 told him that I would never speak of it, that I would try to 
 forget it, for of course I know it was only in a moment of 
 infatuation that he spoke. But I am not a good one to keep 
 secrets, and when I got back to the Court both Lady 
 Torrisdale and Miss Guise perceived by my looks that 
 something unusual had occurred, and I am afraid to think 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 545 
 
 what they thought about me. Miss Guise asked me to 
 explain, but of course I could not. I could as soon have 
 struck her on the spot as have told her the miserable, 
 shameful truth." 
 
 " No ; that is for Oswald to do. He must tell her ; he 
 must write to her." 
 
 " You do not mean that he persists in what he said? " 
 asked Esther, aghast. 
 
 " Certainly he does. Surely, Esther, you did not think 
 xny brother meant to trifle with you 1 You could not im- 
 agine that he would so insult you ] " 
 
 " He did insult me. He is as good as Florence's husband, 
 and he made love to me." 
 
 " But he is not Florence's husband, or I grant you you 
 might well feel insulted. But betrothal such as theirs has 
 been is not marriage. The affair was arranged, you know, 
 Esther. They were a couple of children together, Flossy 
 and Oswald, and it pleased my uncle that the estates and 
 property should not be disunited at his death. But it ia 
 over now ; Oswald will never marry his cousin." 
 
 " Miss Uffadyne, I do not understand you." 
 
 " You know that I never cared about the engagement, but 
 I could not urge Oswald to break it off contrary to his own 
 judgment, and as it appeared contrary to his wishes. But 
 now, when he feels and deplores his mistake, when he seeks 
 his freedom, I am bound to do all I can to help him in the 
 matter. Nay, I know what you would plead; you would 
 Bay honour should bind him to his long-plighted word ; but 
 that is quite a mistake, Esther. VA man cannot more deeply 
 wrong a woman than by marry mg her just because he will 
 keep the word too rashly pledged, it may be. It is not 
 honour but dishonour the standing at the altar and utter- 
 ing vows which he knows it will be difficult if not impossible 
 to accomplish. A man has no right to barter himself even 
 for his word's sake, and if it were my own case I would 
 rather a thousand times he failed me on my marriage morn 
 than made me his wife regretfully, as a mere matter of duty, 
 a point of cold honour, or what the world calls such.V*I 
 would rather suffc* one sharp pang that might even Tend 
 
346 QREY AND GOLD. 
 
 body and soul asunder than endure the long, dull years of 
 enforced affection, unloving fidelity, and painstaking kind- 
 nesses, meant to stand for something deeper and more 
 satisfying." 
 
 " You are quite right, I suppose. It must be much better 
 to discover that you have made such a mistake befora 
 marriage than after. But, oh, men should be careful ; they 
 should not go about breaking girls' hearts. I am very, very 
 sorry for Mr. Oswald. I think he who commits the wrong 
 is more to be pitied than she who is wronged. But is he 
 not deceiving himself? It is my firm conviction that he 
 does really love Miss Guise. Let him be silent, and I will 
 be secret as the grave. I will even try to forget that he 
 ever spoke such words to me." 
 
 "But, my dear, we neither of us wish you to forget. 
 Oswald knows his own mind now, and you may depend 
 upon it his love for you is no transitory, no mere ordinary 
 passion. You must not be unkind to him, Esther." 
 
 " Miss Uffadyne / " 
 
 " You are naturally surprised ; you did not suppose that I 
 should sanction my brother's choice. But, my dear, I know 
 him and I know you, and I think you will make him happy. 
 Some people will call it a mesalliance, an unsuitable marriage 
 let them. There is no unsuitableness like utter diversity 
 of mind and purpose, want of sympathy, and, still worse, 
 want of love. Those marriages which to the world appear 
 to fit in so nicely, to be so exactly suitable, are nearly always 
 as unsuitable as they can be. It matters little what people 
 say." 
 
 "Very little; but I am unsuitable, Miss Cecil, and it 
 matters very much what I feel about myself. IsTothing 
 should make me marry a man who would be ashamed of 
 me or of my connexions. I want to make the very best of 
 my station in life, but I do not want to go out of it." 
 
 " Silly child ! Oswald would never be ashamed of you; 
 neither should I ; and, as for your connections, you do not 
 seem to have any besides the Hellicars, who would be easily 
 kept at arm's length, since they' are no blood relations and 
 have no claim of any kind upon you. Of course I do not 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 347 
 
 want you to say you will marry Oswald immediately ; in a 
 year or two will be quite time enough : he only wants your 
 promise that presently, when it is decorous, when all things 
 are duly arranged, you will listen to him." 
 
 " Only ? He wants all that I have to give ! But it never 
 can be ; for, to begin, I do not love him, and you say your- 
 self that love is essential to a true, heaven-blessed marriago. 
 No ! I do not love Mr. Oswald in the least, and if I did 
 love him, I should think it my duty never willingly to see 
 him again. I am thankful that I arn spared that torture ; he 
 is nothing to me, save as the brother of one kind friend and 
 the affianced husband of another." 
 
 " Nonsense, child ! you do not know your own heart. I 
 thought you liked Oswald very much." 
 
 " So I did till he wounded me so sorely. Who could help 
 liking him so pleasant and so kind, so polished and so full 
 of charming information ? I always delighted in his con- 
 versation till the other night. But liking is not loving ; one 
 may like, even love a man in a certain sense, yet know noth 
 ing of that sentiment that deep feeling for him which 
 would be likely to end in marriage. I repeat it, Miss Cecil, 
 I do not love Mr. Oswald ! " 
 
 " Esther, your heroism does you honour ; but you have no 
 light to sacrifice Oswald if you choose to sacrifice yourself. 
 You refuse to love him because you think he belongs to 
 Florence ; you will not even admit to yourself that you care 
 for him because you feel it to be your duty, at all costs, and 
 at all events, to put him out of your heart." 
 
 " He never was there ; I cannot put out what never was 
 in. I liked him, as I tell you yes, liked him very much 
 but I never loved him, and I never can." 
 
 " I did not think you could be so hard, Esther. See, now, 
 I ask you to make no promise to me, save that you will stay 
 quietly here, and let events take their course. You wish 
 to go abroad, well, Oswald and I have talked it over, and 
 we think it an excellent plan ; I should like to see Paris 
 again, and I have friends in Berlin. We will say nothing at 
 present ; but I will look out for your successor in the school, 
 and Oswald shall not annoy you, you shall never see him 
 
S48 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 unless with your own consent. Then we will spend the 
 winter in Paris, and afterwards go up the Rhine ; you will 
 be able to explore your favourite Heidelberg, and perhaps 
 we may get into Switzerland ; and I have always had a notion 
 of seeing Rome and the Appenines. Then we shall come 
 back to find Flossy happily married ; and then we will not 
 say what may happen ! What do you say to my programme, 
 Esther 1 " 
 
 " I thank you with all my heart ; I shall always love you 
 for your wonderful goodness and kindness, but I cannot accept 
 them under false prentences. You would take me abroad as 
 your future or possible sister, and I could only go as plain 
 Esther Kendall, who could never be Esther Uffadyne." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 "TALKING IT OVER.'' 
 
 MRS. KING came to the end of that day's preserving, and 
 then it occurred to her to take a little walk, and to ask 
 Esther to accompany her. Cecil had been gone some time, as 
 Mrs. King well knew ; for Patience, coming out of the apple- 
 room with a fresh cargo of jars, met Miss Uffadyne in the 
 passage, and opened the door for her, and immediately after- 
 wards notified her departure to her mistress. So, about half- 
 past eight, Mrs. King took off her great cooking-apron and 
 washed her hands, and after giving Patience orders to attend 
 at once to the men's supper, she went upstairs to look for 
 Esther, and to persuade her to put aside laer books and take 
 half an hour's stroll along the Helmsley road. She tapped 
 at Esther's door, and entered, to find the girl sitting, as usual, 
 before the little table strewn with books, but with hands 
 lying listlessly in her lap, and her whole attitude bespeaking 
 weariness and dejection. "Ah ! " thought the good woman 
 to herself, " she feels dull coming back to the school and 
 to our homely ways. It is rather hard upon her, poor 
 thing, sitting in the Guise Court drawing-room, or teaing 
 with Miss Uffadyne one day, and in our kitchen which is 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 3^9 
 
 only a kitchen, comfortable as it is the next ! I wish the 
 gentry would leave her alone ; they try her too hardly, and 
 it's thoughtless of them. It's always a trouble and a tempta- 
 tion living two separate lives. I remember how she was 
 when she came home from the Chenies in May. The best 
 thing I can do is to take no notice ; she has plenty of good 
 sense, and she will soon come round again, as she did before. 
 She must feel the difference, and I don't blame her j I blame 
 those who are inconsiderate enough to expose her to the trial.'* 
 
 " Esther, my dear, I am so tired with standing over that 
 hot fire all day that I think I must have a little walk before 
 supper, to get cool, and to get an appetite, you know. And 
 I think a little fresh air will not do you any harm ; you 
 should not try your eyes poring over books when the twi- 
 light comes. Suppose we go together ; the farmer has gone 
 over to Mr. Clay's, and will not be back this hour. He's 
 sure to get his bread and cheese there, so we need not hurry. 
 What do you say, my dear ? " 
 
 Esther rose at once, but she seemed to be groping her way 
 to the chest of drawers, on which lay her hat and mantle. 
 And yet it was not at all dark, only a little dusk ; it was 
 quite light still out of doors. She moved as if she were 
 blind and were feeling her way. 
 
 " My dear, you are ill ! " said Mrs. King, quickly. 
 
 " No I thank you only stupid ! " But the voice was so 
 hoarse and strange that it could be scarcely recognised for 
 Esther's. Mrs. King was at her side in a moment, with her 
 arms round her, pressing her to say what was the matter. 
 
 " Nothing," murmured Esther, wearily ; " at least, nothing 
 that can be helped ! Oh, do let me sit down ! I do noi 
 think I can go out : I am so sorry." And she sank down on 
 the side of the bed, trembling as she spoke. 
 
 Mrs. King made her lie down ; then she took a chair be- 
 side her, and, holding the girl's limp, cold hand in her own 
 warm, kindly clasp, said, " Now, my dear, what is it ? Think 
 i. am your motherland tell me all your trouble j mayoe I 
 can help you out of it." 
 
 u J\o one can help me out of it ! There is a way out of 
 some troubles, but none out of mine." 
 
350 ORKT Aw,, 
 
 " Bless me, child ! you are talking like one of the trastiy 
 romances I used to read when I was a girL You have not 
 been falling in love, have you ? " 
 
 " !N"o, indeed ! " replied Esther, with strong emphasis. 
 " Not that ! I have not, indeed ! " 
 
 " "Well, my dear, falling in love may be a weakness, but it 
 is scarcely a crime. You need not speak in that indignant 
 tone. Why we all of us fall in love once in our lives ; it 
 comes as naturally as the measles, and it's better to have it 
 young, I'm told. But perhaps some one has been falling in. 
 love with you? That's awkward sometimes, and puts one into 
 a fine quandary when one isn't used to it. I remember when 
 Mark Burton him that's the great grazier at Stannington 
 now went half crazy about me ; and I couldn't like him, 
 because I'd got, without knowing it, to care for William, you 
 see. Well, it troubled me very much, especially at first, and 
 William had not spoken out then, though I knew pretty 
 well how the land lay ; and love that isn't welcome is always 
 a bore, if not a grief; but still, one need not be utterly 
 miserable about it, if one hasn't to reproach one's self for 
 trying to win, out of vanity or coquetry, what one never 
 really wanted. And I am sure that would never be your 
 case, my dear ; so cheer up and tell me all about it. When 
 one's got anything on one's mind telling is a wonderful relief ; 
 it's medicine and cordial all in one. It's the troubles we 
 can't tell that go nigh to kill us or make us mad. Well, my 
 dear?" 
 
 " I wish I knew if I ought to tell you. It would be such 
 a comfort. I thought if Miss Uffadyne knew, she would 
 advise me ; and now she knows, though I did not tell her, I 
 am in greater difficulties than ever. Oh ! I wish I knew 
 what to do I but I am afraid I do know, and it is very, very 
 card ! " 
 
 " Does this matter chiefly concern yourself or others ? * 
 
 "It concerns several others, but myself more than any 
 one, I think ; I think I will tell yo^ Miss Cecil knows,, 
 and I am afraid Miss Guise will know ; why should I not 
 tell you ? I should tell my mother if I had one/' 
 
 " Try to think I am your mother Your secret, what-evei 
 
GK2Y AND GOLD. 351 
 
 It is, or whomsoever it may concern, is safe with me. 
 am not sure that I do not guess it." 
 
 '* Oh, I am sure you cannot ! It is the most unlikely 
 thing in the world that has happened." 
 
 "Still, unlikely events casts their shadows before them. 
 There is a preface to most stories in real life, and some people 
 are quick at catching hold of an idea. My dear, I think Mr. 
 Oswald has been breaking faith with Miss Guise, and talking 
 nonsense to you." 
 
 "If it were but nonsense ! But how came you to guess 
 anything of the kind 1 " 
 
 " I saw how he looked at you the other night, even while 
 he was talking about Miss Guise \ I had seen it once before, 
 and that is why we wanted you not to be driven to Guise by 
 him ; we could trust you, the farmer and I ; but we could 
 not trust him, though it did not become us to say so." 
 
 " Oh ! I wish I had done as you said. I wish the farmer 
 had taken me ! " 
 
 " Did that drive do the mischief, then ? " 
 
 " It could not have done all the mischief ; but I remember 
 we talked very freely that day of course, I do not mean un- 
 becomingly. Mr. Oswald did not say one word that sounded 
 wrong ; but we talked familiarly, as if we were equals, and it 
 was very pleasant till just before we reached the Court. He 
 laid old of my hands, and made me tell him something, 
 and I thought that was going too far. Also he spoke : per- 
 haps not exactly with disrespect, but in a way I did not like 
 of Miss Guise. And I was glad when the journey was 
 ended. I had a sort of instinct that things were going wrong. 
 Still, when I met him at the ruins the night before last, and 
 he asked to speak to me, it never occurred to me that he was 
 going to say anything about myself. I thought he had some 
 message to send Miss Guise. I knew that dear Mr. Guise 
 mistrusted him, and I must say I mistruste'd him myself on 
 Florence's account. But that he would turn to me say that 
 I was his love ! his queen ! that I must be his wife, or ho 
 would die a bachelor ! I never dreamed of such a thing ! " 
 
 "What did you say to Mr. Oswald 1 " 
 
 *i cannot remember now the exact words, but I told biai 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 as well as I could how shocked and grieved I was. I would 
 not listen to any explanation. I asked him how he dared to 
 tell me that he loved me. And 1 told him that I did not 
 love him, and never, never could ! " 
 
 " And was that quite true, Esther ? " 
 
 " Quite ! Why, how could I love him in that way, Mrs. 
 King, when I knew he was as good as married to Miss 
 Guise?" 
 
 " Thank God ! That simplifies matters very much. Mr. 
 Oswald is a very taking young man, and I was sadly afraid ; 
 and you are sure he is nothing to you ? Let me know the 
 very truth, my dear, then I shall be able to help you, or at 
 least to counsel you so much more effectually." 
 
 " He never was anything to me but Miss Guise's betrothed 
 lover. I cared for him because he was so very dear to her, 
 and because I thought she was equally dear to him ; but 
 now ! I am afraid it is wicked but it is all I can do to 
 keep from hating him. I cannot help despising him ! " 
 
 " If you had loved him it would have been very terrible ! " 
 
 "Indeed, yes ! And I might, I suppose, though I cannot 
 imagine it. Such things do occur. But, Mrs. King, if it 
 had been so if he had been dearer than my life to me, I 
 hope I should still have repelled him. I think I should 
 have run away directly gone back even to Queen Square 
 rather than break my promise, rather than be treacherous to 
 her, my first and best earthly friend. Of course, as it is, I 
 must leave Chilcombe I must get away as soon as possible." 
 
 *' My dear child ! " exclaimed Mrs. King, in unconcealed 
 dismay, " you must not think of such a thing ! Is Miss 
 Uffadyne very angry, then ? " 
 
 " No ! that is the worst of it. I had rather she were ever 
 so angry ! " And then Esther went into particulars, and told 
 her friend exactly what had transpired ; and she finished up 
 with a despairing " Oh, what am I to do ? " 
 
 " As concerns Mr. Oswald, my dear, you have only to be 
 firm. Three people would be bitterly wronged did you 
 agree to Miss Uffadyne's proposition yourself, your lover, 
 ard Miss Guise. But I do not see why you should be driven 
 away-, the farmer will never hear of it, I am certain." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 33 
 
 rt Oil ! you will not tell Mr. King ? '' 
 
 " Certainly not, without your consent ; but if you talk of 
 going away, he will have to know, surely. No, my dear, I 
 should not think of telling him ; for, though there should 
 be perfect confidence between man and wife, there are what 
 I call * woman's secrets,' which must pass between woman 
 and woman, and which I have no right to divulge even to 
 him, as long as I am not myself in any way compromised. 
 Some women have such a way of saying ' only my husband ' 
 where other women are concerned, forgetting that he is not 
 husband to any one else, and that he is a mere man to every- 
 body besides. No, my dear ; I shall not tell the farmer one 
 word till you say I may, for I do not see how eventually it can 
 be kept from him. And if Mr. Oswald should go to Miss 
 Guise and tell her the truth, and the engagement should be 
 broken, I am afraid a good many people will get to know. I 
 have no patience with the young man, that I have not ! 
 Really, men except just one here and there, like the farmer 
 are abominably selfish, thinking only of their own gratifica- 
 tion, though it may be at the expense of the comfort and 
 happiness of all around them, as in the present case. You see, 
 Mr. Oswald ought to have held his tongue to you, whatever it 
 might have cost him. I don't say he ought to have married 
 Miss Guise ; after he found out his mistake he couldn't do 
 her a greater wrong. But he was old enough to know his 
 own mind when he entered into the engagement ; and there. 
 I have no patience with him ! To relieve his own feelings 
 he has done a fine heap of mischief, and made ever so many 
 people miserable." 
 
 " He is selfish," cried Esther, vehemently, " cruel ! 
 wicked ! " 
 
 " No, my dear, we must not say he is wicked ; but he is 
 lamentably weak, and really I think weakness on the whole 
 works more evil than actual wickedness. One is naturally 
 on one's guard against a bad man, whilst against a merely 
 weak man one does not think it necessary to be on the> 
 defence ; and the harm is done before one has time to think 
 about it. To tell you the truth, I never thought the match 
 come to anything, for I've known Mr. Oswald ruau 
 
CAT-4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 and boy, and long ago I paw it would not do. I do not 
 blame him so much that he found out the true state of his 
 feelings, nor even that he took it into his head to fancy you. 
 But I do blame him that he tried to be on with the new 
 love before he was off with the old. It was unmanly, 
 dishonourable, unprincipled. What he ought to have done 
 is this he should have gone straight to Miss Guise, and 
 had it out with her, and come to a proper understanding. 
 He should not have mentioned your name, or come near 
 you ; and as soon as he was free he should have gone quite 
 away for several years at least. Then when time had proved 
 the sincerity of his attachment, and made it respectable, he 
 might perhaps have been justified in speaking to you 
 though he is no great catch in my eyes, for all his handsome 
 face and his fine fortune ! And then I don't think much 
 good ever comes of marrying out of your proper station. 
 Unequal matches seldom turn out well ; there are sure to be 
 all sorts of annoyances and disappointments, and no end of 
 cruel mortifications. I saw something of it in a young 
 friend of my own ; very pretty she was, and quite the lady 
 to look at, and she married well, as people say that is, she 
 married a man who claimed to be a gentleman by birth and 
 position, and who had plenty of this world's goods. And 
 for a while she was very happy, and looked down upon her 
 old friends and on her own kindred poor, foolish Maggie ! 
 But her husband's people looked down upon her, and by- 
 and-bye, when she was yearning for fyer own folk and her 
 old home, she found that she was separated from them for 
 ever ; she was not allowed to visit her relatives or to receive 
 them in her own fine house ; and somehow her husband did 
 not make allowances for her, and things went contrary, and 
 ne grew ashamed of her I suppose when her beauty faded, 
 aa it did very early, for he neglected her, and she lived a 
 sad, solitary life, I am told, cut off from her rightful station 
 and denied admission into that which, in virtue of her 
 husband's rights, she claimed. She had children, but she 
 was not allowed to educate them ; she became very unhappy, 
 and her spirits were so crushed she did not care to make any 
 struggle to obtain her proper position, and soon she fell into 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 355 
 
 delicate health, and she was lost sight of long before she 
 died for she died young, poor Maggie, which was perhaps 
 well for her. And very soon her husband made a second 
 choice, and married a lady of his own rank, and poor, loving, 
 underbred Maggie was forgotten. That is what an unequal 
 match comes to, my dear, in nine cases out of ten, so that if 
 you were free to accept Mr. Oswald's offer I should say, 
 * Look before you leap ! ' ' 
 
 " Indeed, I should not be tempted were I morally free to 
 listen to Mr. Oswald ; I should refuse him under any 
 circumstances. But do you think a girl may never marry 
 a little above her station ? " 
 
 " I do not say that. There is no rule without an excep- 
 tion ; only one should be cautious, and not give way to 
 foolish ambitions. And I don't say a young woman should 
 not look up rather than look down, and I have heard it said 
 it is good for the husband to be a step higher than the wife 
 in mind, and stature, and position; but there is a wide 
 difference between a step or even two, and half a dozen 
 or more grades. Rather let us mate with our own kind, my 
 dear ; it will be all the better, and all the happier for us." 
 
 " But what am I to do now, Mrs. King ] It seems to me 
 that I must not, cannot stay here ! " 
 
 " It seems to me that if anybody must go away, it should 
 be Mr. Oswald. At any rate, Esther, you must do nothing 
 rashly ; put your trust in God, and wait and see what He 
 will do for you. What was it you were saying about Lady 
 TorrisdaleT' 
 
 Esther explained, and Mrs. King grew quite angry, 
 " No, no ! " she answered, " I know something of my Lady 
 Torrisdale, and if only half that is said about her be true, 
 she is enough to drive a saint to desperation ! I couldn't 
 put up with her I know, and with all my heart I pity poor 
 Miss Tucker, but I am not going to countenance her release 
 at your expense. No ! if the worst come to the worst we 
 will find some better way than that ; you are not going to 
 be Lady Torrisdale's slave while I am Mary King, of the 
 Slade Farm ! And now come down and have a mouthful of 
 supper, and try to forget Mr. Oswald and all his vagaries, 
 
35 G GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 And as for Miss Cecil, I am surprised at her making the 
 matter ten times worse for you than it was before though I 
 am not so very much surprised either. You can never count 
 upon Miss Cecil doing as other people would do ; when 
 they go right she is sure to go left ; if they toil up-hill it 
 pleases her to run down ; it's just the way of her. She has 
 often, I know, gone against Mr. Oswald when she had no 
 call to, and now it pleases her to encourage him in what he 
 ought to be mad^ ashamed of. Come, let us go down and 
 forget all about UrFadynes and Guises till to-morrow, then 
 we'll see what is to be done." 
 
 But forgetting is not quite snch easy work, it is just one 
 of the things that cannot be done at will, and, of course, 
 Esther was not likely to forget at present, while she kept 
 full possession of her senses ; but the talk with Mrs. King 
 had done her a world of good, and she felt comforted, sho 
 scarcely knew why, since things remained exactly as they 
 were before. And she ate some supper, very much to Mrs. 
 King's satisfaction, and was still downstairs when the farmer 
 came home. Feeling unequal to general conversation she 
 went away then, and after she was gone away Mr. King 
 said, " I tell 'e what, mother, I don't like our Esther's 
 looks ! I'm sure Guise air don't agree with her." 
 
 " No \ I do not think it does," replied his wife, demurely. 
 
 " NOT the Chenies neither 1 She is best at the Slade, to 
 pay thinking." 
 
 " And to mine too, William. And we like to keep her, 
 don't we ? " 
 
 "That we do ! The Lord sent her to us in the place of 
 Elsie and Janie, I say. I wish we had a son for her to 
 
 marry 
 
 " And so do I with all my heart." 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 RELEASE. 
 
 " WHERE is Mr. Uffadyne 1 " was Cecil's first question when 
 she reached her home that evening, and Miss Amelia Matilda, 
 
GRST AND GOLD. 357 
 
 who happened to be the" person interrogated, replied, " He ia 
 preambulating in the culinary department of the grounds, 
 ma'am, observing the progress of vegetation." 
 
 " Why can't you say he is in the kitchen-garden looking 
 at the cabbages 1 " snapped Cecil. " I wish you would not 
 talk so much like an idiot, Smith ! Fine words go no farther 
 towards making a fine lady than line clothes, remember that ; 
 and speak plain English to your mistress at least ; you can 
 do as you like with your fellow-servants, if indeed they will 
 put up with your folly." 
 
 Miss Smith retired discomfited. It was very hard upon 
 her when she was trying to improve her mind and form her 
 taste, having lately, as she informed her friend Mrs. Lees, 
 " taken to a course of elegant literature," to say nothing of 
 having altered her patronymic from Smith to Smyth, cherish- 
 ing, of course, the vulgar delusion that ijs are more aristo- 
 cratic than i's. About a final e she had not made up her 
 mind, she had doubts as to whether its adoption would not 
 entail a change of pronunciation, to her sensitive ears far 
 from euphonious. 
 
 Cecil, indeed, found Oswald pacing the garden walks, 
 smoking a cigar, and now and then switching at the espaliers, 
 as if he had designs upon the unripened fruit. " Well 1 " 
 he exclaimed, when his sister came within six yards of him. 
 
 " Take your cigar out of your mouth, Oswald. You know 
 I never will talk to you while you smoke." 
 
 " Surely a man may smoke in the open air, in a kitchen- 
 garden too ! " replied Oswald, rather sulkily. To say the 
 truth this was one of the several points on which Cecil was 
 foolishly tyrannical ; she never tolerated tobacco in any shape, 
 not even under the blue vault of heaven. Woe to gardeners 
 and grooms who indulged in surreptitious pipes, vainly 
 hoping to lose the odour thereof before they were summoned 
 by their imperious young mistress ! But Oswald at once 
 flung away his half-smoked cigar ; he sent it flying into the 
 midst of a little forest of gooseberry bushes, to the manifest 
 disturbance of a huge brindled cat, which was doubtless 
 composing the serenade he would presently address to his 
 lady-love. " JS"ow then," said the young gentleman, with a 
 
358 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 certain savageness of tone and manner which seemed to 
 indicate that he would not be trifled with, " out with it, 
 Cecil ! I am not in the niood for preamble to-night." 
 
 " Neither shall you have it. It is all of no use, Oswald. 
 Esther cares no more for you than do those raspberry canes. 
 You had better be reasonable, and think 110 more about it. 
 You have made it awkward for us all, and I really do not 
 know what we are to do." 
 
 " Give it up ? Think no more about it? I tell you what 
 it is, Cecil, you do not understand me ; you think because I 
 was cool in the other affair I shall be equally indifferent in 
 the present case. Nothing of the kind ! I love Esther 
 Kendall, and I am determined to have her in spite of every 
 obstacle; I will wait for her any length of time, I will 
 endure any amount of opposition; though all the world 
 puts itself in array against me, and derides me, and tries 
 to circumvent me, I will triumph ! In a matter so mo- 
 mentous, and which concerns myself alone, surely I have 
 a right to make my own election ? " 
 
 " "NYho said you had not 1 Do not be absurd, Oswald ; 
 raving like a silly boy will not do you any good. Of course 
 you are free to marry whom you please when you have once 
 freed yourself from your primary engagement. The world 
 will not trouble itself about you ; you are not King 
 Cophetua, nor is Esther exactly a beggar-maid. I daresay if 
 you chose to wed with a costermonger's daughter you might do 
 it without provoking more than passing criticism ; the world 
 is far too busy at this juncture to concern itself for even the 
 orthodox nine days about the erratic proceedings of private 
 individuals. No one has a right to oppose you, and no one 
 will not even Florence, I am sure ; but what is to be done 
 when the girl says she does not love you in the least not 
 even like you now ? You do not wish to marry her contrary 
 to her own inclinations ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. But cannot you see, Cecil, that Esther ia 
 bent on sacrificing herself for the sake of Florence 1 Her 
 sense of honour, her generosity will not permit her to 
 acknowledge even a prepossession in my favour. I admire 
 her constancy, her heroism it is all in keeping with her 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 359 
 
 delicate and noble nature, though. I find it rather tantalizing 
 at present ! " 
 
 "Oswald, do not be angry with me, but I am almost 
 certain there is neither constancy nor heroism in her con- 
 duct that is, not in the way you mean for I am convinced 
 she would behave in just the same way if her affections had 
 been involved. As it is, I fear she has no love whatever for 
 you, never had, and never will have any ! And she is 
 grieved for Florence, horrified at what she considers your 
 perfidy, and outraged at being addressed by another woman's 
 affianced husband." 
 
 " That was my stupid mistake ; I ought to have freed my- 
 self before I spoke to her. I ought to have gone to her 
 a disengaged man, and then then I might have had another 
 answer." 
 
 " I feel by no means assured of that. If you had heard 
 her words, and looked into her face, you would not cherish 
 much hope of ever being dear to her." 
 
 " I do not expect her to fall into my arms as a ripe cherry 
 might drop into my mouth. I like her all the better for her 
 proud reticence, for her standing on her high prerogative of 
 maidenhood." 
 
 " High prerogative of fiddlesticks ! " quoth Cecil, im- 
 patiently ; she always lost her temper when people indulged 
 in sentiment. " Oswald ! you have not the perceptions of a 
 gander and ganders know less than geese, let me tell you ! 
 If your affection had been returned Esther would have said, 
 * Miss Cecil, I love your brother, but I will never see him 
 again ; I will go quite away, and he must marry Florence. 
 She is the most straightforward creature, and she would speak 
 plainly, I am sure." 
 
 " But she might feel that if she admitted her regard that 
 alone would bind me to her. The best women will tell lies 
 even to mask their love, when they feel they have no other 
 Resource." 
 
 " I very much doubt whether the best women ever tell lies, 
 especially on such a subject ; and as to your being bound to 
 her by the mere admission of her own feelings why, look at 
 your position with Florence at this moment." 
 
360 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 - " Cecil, don't be a Tartar ! " 
 
 " I will not, if I can help it. I want you to marry Esther, 
 and I never wanted you to marry Florence ; but I do not 
 want you to be boyish and unreasonable, and I cannot 
 but acknowledge that your behaviour to both has not been 
 without reproach. Florence and Esther should never have 
 been placed, even involuntarily, in the attitude of rivals." 
 
 " I know it ; I confess my error. Cecil, what ought I to 
 do 1 !N"ot, surely, as Esther says, keep silence, and continue 
 my relations with Florence, as if nothing had happened ] " 
 
 " Oh, no ; you cannot do that. Esther will have it that 
 you do not know your own mind that this is a brief 
 insanity ; that presently, if you be not encouraged, you will 
 return to your old allegiance; the delusion, the fever will 
 pass away, and all will be as it was before." 
 
 " Never ! and now that I know the reality from the vision, 
 the substance from the shadow, could I possibly return to the 
 mere convenances of the past 1 Could I content myself with 
 a placid, passionless regard a cold, calm, cousinly love, not 
 so strong as the brotherly love I bear to you, Cecil ? " 
 
 " Xo, no ! And Esther may be won. But the first thing 
 is to set yourself straight with Florence; go to her and 
 demand your freedom." 
 
 " There will be no demand the slightest hint will suffice. 
 Florence would no more keep me against my own will than- 
 she would steal the Crown jewels. But, Cecil, it is not a 
 pleasant task to undertake." 
 
 " Certainly not ; but being necessary, the pleasantness or 
 the unpleasantness becomes of very secondary importance. 
 If you do not wish to be a traitor, a very dastard, you must 
 see Florence, and that without delay." 
 
 " I will see her to-morrow, and I would give more than 
 half my possessions if it were to-morrow night, and the inter- 
 view were over.** 
 
 And next day Oswald went to Guise Court, and found 
 Florence alone in her own morning-room, where it was 
 understood that Lady Torrisdale did not intrude. But 
 Oswald was shown there without hesitation ; he had not seen 
 Florence for nearly a fortnight, and he thought her looking 
 
GREY AND GOLD. S61 
 
 pale and delicate, and his heart smote him when he reflected 
 that his neglect might have been the cause. Florence was 
 cold in her manner, and though she took his hand and 
 smiled, and said she was glad to see him, there was no lover's 
 kiss exchanged between them. She manifestly held back, 
 and Oswald had an uncomfortable reminiscence of Judas. 
 
 Very ill at ease they sat together, exchanging meaningless 
 sentences on the beauty of the weather, on the abundant hay- 
 narvest, and on the fragrance of stock, heliotrope, and sweet 
 alyssum, which were all in bloom upon the balcony. How 
 could he say it? How could he begin the conversation? 
 He began to think that he must leave it unsaid, that he 
 must go his way, and leave it to Florence to ask an explana- 
 tion of his coolness, or proudly sentence him to dismissal. 
 The latter would be best, since it would involve only a ready 
 acquiescence ; for Oswald, though muscularly brave, was 
 morally a coward, and Florence, with right on her side, and 
 her serene self-possession, held him sadly at disadvantage. 
 Moreover, she was no coward herself; with all her gentleness 
 and sweetness, that might be mistaken by indiscriminating 
 souls for timidity and amiable passivity, she instinctively 
 faced an evil the instant she perceived it. She saw that 
 something was wrong ; she had long felt the change in 
 Oswald ; ay ! she had discerned it long before he suspected it 
 himself ; she knew that a crisis was impending, and she re- 
 solved that it should arrive without any loss of time. 
 Anything was preferable to wearing suspense, and hateful, 
 degrading suspicions ; so, while Oswald was looking out 
 gloomily seawards, she gave him one searching glance, then 
 dropped her needlework and abruptly inquired, "what was 
 the matter 1 " 
 
 "Do I look as if anything were the matter!" he asked, 
 trying to feel collected. 
 
 " Looks are not of much consequence, Oswald j something 
 is the matter, will you tell me what it is ? " 
 
 He almost hated her for her plain spokenness and calmness ; 
 hastily he said to himself that she was heartless and apa- 
 thetic probably herself longing for freedom. .But how to 
 answer the question, for which she so quietly waited ] how 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 put into words winch should neither he unkind noi offensive 
 the announcement he had expressly come to make? He 
 commenced 'with a sort of preface relative to their childish 
 days, and to "boy and girl fancies," and to Mr. Guise's 
 influence. She heard him without any signs of disapproba- 
 tion, till he spoke of her father, questioning, as it seemed to 
 her, the soundness of his judgment and the wisdom of his 
 arrangements. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, quietly, hut almost sternly, " say what 
 you will touching ourselves alone, but spare my father. I 
 think I understand you, Oswald, you regret the engagement 
 formed between you and myself three years ago, and you 
 would wish it broken ? " 
 
 " Florence, I have always loved you ; you have been 
 always my very dear cousin, and I would not for the world 
 pain you. Still, for your own sake, we ought clearly to 
 understand each other." 
 
 " I do understand you perfectly, and I have no intention 
 of speaking in enigmas ; you wish your freedom, and I 
 restore it to you. Henceforth we are merely cousins." 
 
 Man like, Oswald was inclined to quarrel, not with the 
 boon itself, but with the manner in which it was conceded. 
 He was disappointed, he had expected reproaches, mute 
 despair, and utter abandonment of sorrow. She had nevei 
 really loved him then ! Strange to say, this supposition, 
 which ought to have been an immense relief, vexed him 
 exceedingly. How little he knew Florence Guise ! How 
 could he dream that gentlest creatures can be the proudest, 
 that the softest and most yielding of women can stand upon 
 their dignity, nor waver for an instant ! How could he 
 guess what it cost Florence to sit calmly there, facing 
 him, showing by no gesture, telling by no faltering tone, 
 how much she suffered ! He thought her cold and hard, 
 and he congratulated himself upon the discovery of his 
 mistake ere it was too late. 
 
 "It is so much better," continued Oswald, "that we 
 should know now we have only loved as cousins. What 
 would it have been had we only known it when release waa 
 impossible I " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 363 
 
 " Oswald !'" She was deadly pale, and her hands trembled 
 a little, but her voice was clear and distinct. " I will not 
 lend myself to a falsehood; I have not loved you as my 
 cousin only, I have loved you as the man to whom I owed 
 all tenderness, all devotion, all fidelity ! But that is past. 
 Still I wish you to know that the love icas there; it was 
 there in all its force and vitality till you killed it." 
 
 " That sounds reproachful, Florence." 
 
 "I do not mean to reproach you, though some might 
 think I had full right to do so. Only, next time you ask a 
 woman to marry you, to give you all the treasures of her 
 maiden heart, be sure that you really wish for what you ask. 
 Uncertainty on such points is neither desirable nor manly /" 
 
 "You speak bitterly, Florence, but I do not wonder. I 
 see I have lost not only your love, but your esteem." 
 
 " You have ! Worlds would not tempt me to marry you 
 now ! I could not be the wife of a man whom I could 
 never reverence ; besides, I could never trust you. Oswald, 
 I know what has occurred ! " 
 
 He started. Had Esther changed her mind, and told all 
 to Florence ? " You know 2 " he said, hesitatingly. " What 
 do you know ? " 
 
 " I know that you love, or that you think you love, Esther 
 Kendall." 
 
 " She has told you so ? " 
 
 " She has told me nothing, but I know you met her at 
 the ruins that last evening she was at Guise ; and she came 
 home from her walk in a perfect agony of distress. I ques- 
 tioned her next morning, but all I could gain from her was 
 an assurance that she was true to me steadfast to some 
 promise she had given my dear father." 
 
 "And she is true to you," burst out Oswald. "She re- 
 pelled me with scorn ; she would not listen to one word I 
 had to say. In short, she resented my expressions as fully 
 as if I had been indeed your husband." 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Florence, almost passionately. " One 
 load is taken from my mind ; there is one creature in the 
 world who will still be true to me. Treachery from Esther 
 would have been very hard to bear. I was wrong to doubi 
 
ORET AND GOLD. 
 
 her even for a moment ; but I did not doubt her, I was only 
 vexed at her want of candour, as I considered her reserve. I 
 was terribly perplexed ; I see now that she could not have 
 acted otherwise." 
 
 " Her conduct has 4been beyond all praise," interrupted 
 Oswald : " I must say it, though it has mortified and humili- 
 ated me, and sorely disappointed me too. I did not expect 
 that she would consent to any engagement while ours still 
 steed, but I thought she might have owned that she cared a 
 little that she might, if things were otherwise, have received 
 my proposals favourably. Of course I did not seek any 
 pledge from her. I should not have really engaged myself 
 while you still held my promise." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very kind. "Well, now the barrier 
 of the old engagement is no more ; you are as free as if such a 
 person as Florence Guise had never existed, and you can 
 propose to any girl you please. I cannot say I wish you 
 success with Esther, for I do not think you would ever make 
 her happy." 
 
 " Florence, tell me one thing, that you do not despise me." 
 
 " I will try not, for my own sake, for it must be a bitter 
 pain to despise what one has dearly loved and I did lovo 
 you, or I had never promised to become your wife." 
 
 " And you do not suffer ? I have not made life 
 
 wretched to you ] " 
 
 "You have no right to ask me such a question," she 
 replied, rising indignantly. " Confidence between us two i" 
 over. Be assured that I can bear my lot, bravely and con- 
 tentedly. Our love is dead quite cold and dead. I will 
 bury it out of my sight, and presently green grass and flowers 
 will spring over its grave, and I shall never regret the course 
 that things have taken. Now you will please excuse me. I 
 do not think we have any more to say." 
 
 " She does not care," said Oswald confidently to himself as 
 he stood alone before the open window. "I thought she 
 would not ! I always knew it would be so, and of course I 
 am very glad ; some day we shall all be very happy together " 
 
 But Oswald's heart did not say this, only his lips. He 
 had seen the white face and the one lock of mute anguish 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 365 
 
 ere she left the room, and in spite of every endeavour he felt 
 guilty and ashamed. That he had cut a very sorry figure 
 during the interview he could not but perceive. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 THE TERRACE GARDEN. 
 
 SUNDAY came and Esther had seen nothing of Cecil, though, 
 one or two questions had arisen that ought to have been 
 referred to her. In a former aspect of affairs Esther would 
 at once have gone up to the Chenies to consult her, but 
 now such a course was altogether impossible ; the Chenies 
 might have been as distant as the Land's End as far as 
 Esther was concerned, though she wondered that in some 
 way, either personally or by letter, Cecil had not communi- 
 cated with her since her momentous visit to the Slade. All 
 the Saturday afternoon and evening she had expected her, 
 and she had sat in her own room, alternately busy with her 
 books and with her needlework, yet all the while anxiously 
 watching the gate, and straining her eyes along the lane 
 towards the turning which led off to the common. She 
 began to assure herself that Cecil was seriously offended and 
 resented her rejection of Oswald's suit and of her own kind 
 though imprudent proposals. She was getting impatient to 
 decide something, and she had made up her mind to write 
 to Fanny Tucker without further delay, when, happening to 
 declare her intention to Mrs. King, she was begged not to 
 take any steps in the matter till after the Sabbath was passed. 
 ' Let the day of rest go by," said Mrs. King ; " let us put 
 it all aside till the new working week comes in, we shall get 
 strength and perhaps wisdom, and surely God will guide us 
 and show us what to do if we humbly ask His help. Let 
 us above all things avoid rash haste and impulsive actions ; 
 people so often do things in the heat of the moment that 
 they bitterly repent at their leisure. So do not write to Miss 
 Tucker, do not come to any conclusion ; just tell the good 
 Lord all about it, and wait His pleasure." 
 
366 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 But -when Sunday morning came sunny and beautiful, 
 Esther felt too unwell to go to church ; she had one of her 
 bad headaches, and instead of worshipping in the great con^ 
 gregation she was fain to sit quietly in her own chamber, and 
 after the bells had ceased ringing read the service over by 
 herself. She did not read much of it, however ; her eyes 
 were too heavy and her thoughts too busy, and doubtless her 
 time was spent quite as profitably as if she had followed the 
 morning service from its commencement to its close, for she 
 remembered her friend's counsel and " told the Lord all 
 about it," and she was strengthened and comforted, and her 
 heart was lighter than it had been since the miserable even- 
 ing of Oswald's declaration, though her load of care, and 
 regret,- and anxiety was really just as heavy as before. But 
 Esther, like many another Christian, learned in her hour of 
 trouble the fulness of the promise, " Cast thy burden upon 
 the Lord, and he shall sustain tbee." 
 
 "When Mr. and Mrs. King came home her headache was 
 nearly gone, and after dinner she proposed walking to 
 Helmsley church, for the afternoon was lovely and it was 
 yet quite early, and the service at Helmsley did not begin till 
 three o'clock. Mrs. King was glad that she should go, for 
 she thought the little change of scene would do her good ; 
 " And you know," she said, " it will only be the fulfilment of 
 your promise to Miss Digby. If she meet you coming out 
 of church and ask you to go with her to the Manor House, 
 I hope you will not refuse." 
 
 "Indeed," said Esther, "I quite appreciate Miss Digby's 
 kindness, but I am not in spirits just now to talk to strangers." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear. There is nothing more unwise than 
 nursing up your griefs petting them, as it were, and making 
 the most of them. Brooding over your unhappiness will not 
 do one atom of good, else I would say, ' Brood away, and I 
 will help you.' But the calmer your mind gets the moro 
 likely you will be to decide prudently when the time for 
 decision comes." 
 
 " It must come very soon. I cannot go on in this strange 
 way, not knowing my own footing nor in the least foreseeing 
 my destiny." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 367 
 
 "My dear, God tries us sometimes, especially by suspense. 
 He will have us wait patiently till He pleases to show us the 
 riglit way. Do you not remember what you read to me in 
 that little poetry book of Miss Cecil's ?< Well waited is 
 well done.' Perhaps the Lord is giving you the very kind 
 of discipline you most need. Such as you would rather do 
 battle with the raging tempest than lie becalmed upon any 
 sea ; but it must be as God wills, not as we wish. Try to 
 give up all your wishes to His will, my dear. Keep quiet, 
 and when you feel inclined to despond just lift your heart 
 and say, 'Behold the handmaid of the Lord.' And now go 
 and get ready. It will be very good for you to go among 
 people who are quite unconnected with your trouble." 
 
 So once more Esther took her way through Helmsley 
 wood, and once more she sat on the gnarled oak-root by the 
 rippling, chattering brooklet. It was only a month, scarcely 
 so long, since she had been there last, indulging in her *' little 
 Ellie " meditations, and choosing for herself the lover who 
 some day should come to woo and win and claim her for his 
 own. And a lover had appeared a lover with gold and 
 broad lands of his own, handsome and gifted, and, as it 
 would seem, passionately devoted to her, but the last man 
 in the world whom she would have wished to come forward 
 suing for her hand and heart. The proposals of ten Dick 
 Hellicars would have been preferable, since she had only 
 firmly to reject them. She scarcely felt like the same Esther 
 Kendall who had gone to the Manor House so light-hearted, so 
 contented, so thankful for her lot only four little weeks before. 
 The golden radiance had faded again, and all was grey and 
 sad. The bright afternoon seemed almost to mock her dull 
 and weary pain. Mr. Guise had told her that we colour our 
 lives very much as we choose, that our own self- will and wrong- 
 doing turn the gold to grey oftentimes, and that by patience 
 and love, and calm trust and perseverance in the right, the 
 grey may be changed to gold, purer and more effulgent than 
 that of the careless days of prosperity. And in her mind 
 rang the words Mrs. King had spoken "Well waited is 
 well done," and " Cast thy burden upon the Lord." And so 
 ehe said to herself : " The prey times, perhaps, may do us 
 
36$ GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the most good after all. Too much sunshine is liurtful to 
 souls as well as to trees and flowers. I have heard t'lia 
 farmer rejoice over some grey days when the sun never caniu 
 out and there were continual droppings of rain ' a gracious 
 rain,' I remember he called it. Ah, one may learn a great 
 deal from nature. The grey time may he the growing time 
 in every way. Both mind and soul may progress in stature 
 without the brightness that was so enjoyable. Then there 
 is the clear shining after the rain. God does not will tho 
 unhappiness of any of His creatures, though in His love and 
 wisdom He may try them, yes, try them in the fire of afflic- 
 tion, in order that the grey dross may be consumed and only 
 the pure gold be left. Ah, that is a new way of putting 
 it a new interpretation of my favourite grey and gold 
 theory." 
 
 The tinkling of the little bell in the mossy turret warned 
 Esther that she must not loiter, so she rose and went on her 
 way, and soon found herself in the old Gorman church, with 
 its low-browed chancel, and its green gloom deeper now 
 than in the bright April morning. She looked towards the 
 squire's pew, and saw that Edith was there, with several of 
 her little brothers and sisters ; then she tried to compose her 
 mind and forget all but the sacred service in which she was 
 about to join. The Psalm for " Evening Prayer " was the 
 27th; and Esther felt as if it had been chosen on her ac- 
 count, though she knew, of course, that it came in the regular 
 order. In the homely Prayer-book version she read : " Put 
 thou thy trust in the Lord, and be doing good ; " " Delight 
 fchou in the Lord, and He shall give thee thy heart's desire ; " 
 " Commit thy way unto the Lord, and put thy trust in Him, 
 and He shall bring it to pass ; He shall make thy righteous- 
 ness as clear as the light and thy just dealing as the noon- 
 day. Hold thou still on the Lord, and abide patiently upon 
 Him." 
 
 The sermon was short and simple, but it went home to 
 Esther's heart ; the text was taken from the Psalm they had 
 already read, only it was now repeated in the Bible words : 
 ' Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him." Though 
 \\ was rather the text than the sermon that impressed her 30 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 3G9 
 
 deeply, it seemed the answer to all her anx'icras questionings, 
 the reply to all her doubts, the command which she must 
 unhesitatingly obey. It was the rest she needed, rest in the 
 Lord ! No other rest was safe ; it might be delusive, or the 
 result of apathy or mere slothfulness, but the " rest in the 
 Lord " was joy and peace, and through the grey veil of out- 
 ward circumstance shone out the golden radiance of heaven's 
 own sunshine. The concluding hymn was sung, "Sun of 
 my soul," and then the Benediction was pronounced, and the 
 small congregation separated ; not, however, before Esther 
 had once more read the inscription on Alice Stapleton's 
 tablet, " We must through much tribulation enter into the 
 kingdom of God." 
 
 In the porch Edith joined her, evidently well pleased to 
 see her, and she at once claimed the fulfilment of the promise. 
 Esther must come and take tea, and sing some hymns with 
 them, and some of them would see her through the wood 
 before it grew dark, or rather dusk, for there was no real 
 darkness now in the short sweet summer nights. 
 
 Tea was not quite ready when they reached the house, 
 and Hughy made some demands upon his sister, so Edith 
 said : 
 
 " Would you like to see what flowers we have, Miss 
 Kendall 1 We have nothing to boast of, only some very rare 
 Dulbs that my brother had sent to him from the Cape. He 
 is fond of horticulture, or rather he would be if he had money 
 to spend upon it. Lettice, will you take Miss Kendall to 
 the old Terrace-garden 1 and be sure to show her the view." 
 Lettice, a small grave maiden of seven, put out her chubby 
 hand, and willingly promised to do the honours. ' Children 
 were never shy with Esther ; they came to her under almost 
 any circumstances. 
 
 The old " Terrace-garden " had once been most sedulously 
 kept ; it was now sadly neglected, though there were patches 
 here and there that told of careful cultivation. Esther 
 wondered which of Edith's brothers was "fond of horti- 
 culture." The view was indeed splendid, and the afternoon 
 was peculiarly clear, all the foreground being flowers and 
 Wafy green, then slopes of wood, with a purple light upon 
 
 IB 
 
370 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 them, then rocky heights, and between them the bright 
 shining sea and the wet, golden sands glittering in the 
 sunlight. 
 
 "Is it not pretty?" said Lettice, waiting for evidently 
 expected praise. " We went to the sea-side once : I wish we 
 might go again, but it costs money, Edie says. I should 
 like to have heaps and heaps of money, wouldn't you ? 
 Have you a great deal of money ? " 
 
 " I have very little, dear ; and what I have I work for." 
 
 " I wouldn't mind working if I might have money for my 
 own. I would take all of us to the sea-side to-morrow, and 
 mamma should go to London to see the great doctor who 
 lives there, and cures everybody only he charges so much ! 
 And Edie should have a new silk dress, just the colour of 
 that nemophila; and Rupert should have the chestnut 
 horse he wanted last winter ; and Cuddie should have a 
 gun, and Lance oh ! Lance should have hundreds of 
 books, all he would like to have, and a room to put them in, 
 where he could write and make his fine poetry. It is real 
 poetry, Edie says so, Miss Kendall." 
 
 " What is that you are saying, puss ? " said a voice close 
 at hand, and there stood Lancelot Digby ; and gravely, but 
 with a certain welcome cordiality, he put out his hand. 
 Yes, he looked very grave a little stern, Esther thought, but 
 even as she thought so there was the beautiful smile again, 
 and all the sadness and the look of weariness passed away. 
 
 " I am so glad you are come, Miss Kendall," he said, after 
 they had walked the length of one of the grassy terraces in 
 silence. "I think you and Edith will understand each 
 other ; but I heard from Miss Uifadyne the other evening 
 that you were thinking of going abroad ? " 
 
 Esther murmured some kind of assent. She felt herself 
 turning scarlet to the tips of her fingers. How much did he 
 know of what had been transpiring ? She feared he knew 
 ail, and perhaps, as Oswald's friend, he would plead his 
 cause. Strange to say, she dreaded that as the climax of 
 her misfortunes. 
 
 " I have something to say to you, please, if I may pre- 
 sume," continued Lancelot. " I had a letter yesterday from 
 
GREY AND GOLD, 371 
 
 an old friend in Paris, and and I think in short she would 
 be kinder to you, and suit you better, than Lady Torrisdale. 
 Ah ! there is the tea-bell." 
 
 So then he was not going to take Oswald's part, and she 
 felt comforted at once. How very kind he was ! 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 A NEW POEM. 
 
 THE Digby family were assembled in full force that Sunday 
 evening; they were every one present when Esther and 
 Lancelot and little Lettice came in to tea. The squire nodded 
 her a careless (t How d'ye do ? " without having the smallest 
 idea who she really was; Eupert claimed her as an old 
 acquaintance, and Cuddie scowled at her from under dark, 
 overhanging brows, with a half-contemptuous, half-defiant 
 expression. The young man was not amiable in the bosom 
 of his family ; he reserved all his brilliance and all his good 
 temper for his friend Eed Giles, for Mr. Euggles, a Stanning- 
 ton horse-trainer, or for anybody who loafed about, gun in 
 hand, or fishing-rod on shoulder, with all sorts of dogs fol- 
 lowing at his heels provided he was allowed always the post 
 of honour as Mr. Cuthbert Digby of the Grange. 
 
 Esther did not like the large full eyes that stared at her so 
 rudely ; the long, gaunt face, the high cheek-bones, the lank, 
 dark hair, and the spider-like arms placed at a most undue 
 angle from his shoulders, did not impress her favourably. 
 There was nothing of the gentleman in his appearance, 
 neither were his habits such as graced the ancient name of 
 Digby ; the neighbourhood did not like him, and though 
 familiar with his inferiors, as Lancelot and Eupert never 
 were and never could be, he was the least popular of the 
 squire's three eldest sons. The truth is, Cuddie was a bully, 
 a braggart, and a sneak ! he was an adept at lying ; he 
 despised women ; and he drank more strong ale than was 
 good for his constitution. There was no time in Cuddie'a 
 life, from sixteen and upwards, when a course of treatment 
 
372 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 in a hydropathic establishment would not have been highly 
 beneficial 
 
 Edith made tea from a large battered teapot that had evi- 
 dently done good service in its day. Bose, a stout girl of 
 ten, the first copy of the second edition of current Digbys, 
 nursed the year-old baby in right motherly fashion, keeping 
 it on her left arm, and dandling it judiciously, while she took 
 her own tea under difficulties. Lettice presided over Alfy 
 and Eddy, the twins, and Charley and Hughy. who were all 
 that small maiden's juniors; while Eoley, the next in age to 
 Kose, swallowed huge blocks of thick bread-and-butter, and 
 gulped down weak, sugarless tea, with a surprising celerity, 
 not speaking a single word, but regarding Esther with a 
 stupid, unflinching stare, as if she were some marvellous 
 phenomenon. 
 
 Upon a sofa near the head of the table languidly reclinetl 
 Mrs. Digby. She had once been handsome, and it was said 
 that she had had fascinating manners in the days of her 
 youth, when the squire succumbed to her attractions; but 
 the trials of maternity, indolent habits, and self-indulgence, 
 had robbed her of pretty nearly all the beauty and quite all 
 the graces that she had ever boasted. Her health was her 
 favourite topic of conversation, and to question her extreme 
 delicacy, or to hint at any possibility of exertion, was to 
 offend her immediately. A slight upon her family, an ad- 
 verse criticism on her children, a satire on her husband, 
 might be forgiven, but never the smallest infringement of her 
 privileges and attributes as a person in weak health. That 
 was the unpardonable sin at Helmsley Grange, and every one 
 in the house had committed it, save Lancelot, Edith, and 
 the baby, who, however, was only waiting his opportunity. 
 Even Hughy had contributed his mite to the general impres- 
 sions ; for one day, when Mrs. Digby came down to dinner, 
 declaring that she could not touch the boiled beef and suet 
 dumplings and cabbages which were that day's menu she 
 had had a bad night, and she had not the least appetite, and 
 she really felt worse than usual Master Hughy hastily set 
 down his mug, and in a loud voice asserted, " 'Oo not worse, 
 mamma ! 'oo velly well ! 'oo eat all the bixits, and the gapes> 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 373 
 
 and drinl all the seny in the 'canter ! 'Oo not hungry 
 now I " 
 
 This evening Mrs. Digby was very poorly indeed, and 
 though rather inclined to resent Esther's appearance at the 
 family board, she was secretly gratified, because she would 
 have an opportunity of giving a catalogue raisonee of her 
 ailments to one to whom the story would come with at least 
 the charm of freshness. Esther was seated at Edith's right 
 hand, so that she was not very far removed from Mrs. Digby 
 and her sofa ; Lancelot sat exactly opposite Esther, minister- 
 ing to the creature comforts of his stepmother with a most 
 commendable patience. 
 
 Mrs. Digby languidly sipped her tea, and nibbled like a 
 mouse at a tiny strip of delicate cake ; her hands were very 
 white and sleek, but they had not the wasted and diaphanous 
 appearance which so generally accompanies confirmed indis- 
 position, and her face, though pale, did not convey the idea 
 of suffering or decay. For a while there was nothing like 
 conversation, for all Edith's energies were concentrated on 
 the teapot, while the children kept up constant demands 
 for more tea, more milk, more bread-and-butter, and more 
 plum-loaf ! The squire read his Field diligently, Eupert 
 was absorbed in yesterday's Times, and Cuddie was in his 
 normal condition that is to say, in a state of chronic sulks. 
 As for Lancelot he had enough to do, presiding over the 
 plum-loaf, and responding to the requirements of Mrs. Digby. 
 
 At last that lady's voice was heard, saying, " I hope some 
 one is taking care of Miss Kendall. Really, Edith, you 
 might pay a little more attention to your guest. Why, she 
 absolutely has on her plate a piece of the children's plum- 
 loaf. Don't eat it, Miss Kendall ; it is horribly coarse and 
 indigestible ; but everybody here devours like an ostrich." 
 
 The cake was perfectly plain, but, of its kind, good ; it waa 
 only ordinary dough, made up with a few raisins, a little 
 coarse sugar, and a few, a very few, strips of candied peel ; it 
 was emphatically a plum-foa/y but it suited the palates of 
 the hungry young Digbys, and was among the most popular 
 of their Sunday institutions. Esther was going to reply, and 
 eay something civil about the cake, when Cuddie dropped his 
 
374 GfcEY AND GOLD. 
 
 spoon, which he was trying to balance on his thumb, and it 
 fell with a tremendous clatter upon his cup and saucer, set- 
 ting even Esther's nerves ajar, but startling Mrs. Digby into 
 a mild attack of hysterics. 
 
 Mr. Digby looked up as he heard some one sobbing and 
 gasping, but he only gave his broad shoulders an impatient 
 shrug, and buried his head again in the folds of his paper. 
 Eupert rose abruptly, and carried himself off, cup and Times 
 in hand, on to the lawn, and the children began to quarr? 1 
 over a handful of salad, which one of them had grown in 
 his own garden. It was some time before order was restored, 
 and then the juveniles were hastily dismissed, each one with 
 a goodly slice of the plum-loaf, and an injunction to be quiet 
 and not disturb mamma. Without a word, or a look at his 
 wife, Mr. Digby walked away, and Cuddie sat still, glowering 
 at the group round the sofa, and brooding apparently over 
 his wrongs, which, according to his own account, were in- 
 numerable and unbearable. 
 
 At last Mrs. Digby wiped her eyes, sighed deeply, smiled 
 faintly, settled hb.^elf on her cushions, and demanded a 
 fresh cup of tea. 
 
 " I am such a poor creature ! " she said, apologetically, to 
 Esther. " Pray excuse me ; I have spoilt your tea ! " 
 
 " A poor fool ! " muttered Cuddie, savagely, his undertone 
 being, however, quite audible. 
 
 No one took any notice of this polite remark, and after 
 awhile he sauntered away to the stables to enjoy the con- 
 genial society of Bill Scattergood, a young gentleman who 
 had somehow come to be a sort of hanger-on at the Grange, 
 professing to help Peter with the cattle, or to do anything 
 that there was for him to do. He did not live in the house, 
 and he had no wages, and it was generally believed that he 
 was a son of Red Giles, who on his part, however, claimed 
 with him a more distant consanguinity, and spoke of him as 
 '* a sort o' newy." 
 
 " You are better now, mamma ? " said Edith, as she 
 handed the cup, and found that only herself, with Esther 
 and Lancelot, remained. 
 
 " Yes, I am better ; but these attacks do me so much 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 37C 
 
 harm, and I slull not get over it for hours, and I shall have 
 no sleep to-niglit again. Ah ! you young people in ruda 
 health, and in all the flush of youth, little think what it ia 
 to he laid aside year after year, having no enjoyment in life, 
 and continually wishing it were over. I am in that weak 
 state, Miss Kendall, that I think every summer will he my 
 last ; my heart is affected, and so are my lungs, I am sure, 
 though Dr. Dixon says it is no such thing, as if one were not 
 the best judge of one's own feelings, and couldn't tell all 
 about one's own lungs, and heart, and all the rest of it. But 
 I suffer most with my nerves, Miss Kendall ; tongue cannot 
 tell what I endure when my nerves are really shaken, and I 
 assure you a very little thing does shake them throws them 
 off the balance, you know. JSTow that dreadful noise a little 
 while ago only startled the others, but it thrilled my whole 
 system ; it is such a poor, tried, shattered, undermined 
 system, Miss Kendall. Are you nervous ? " 
 
 " Not often, I am thankful to say ; I know just enough 
 of nervousness to dread knowing more about it, and enough 
 to sympathise with people who really suffer from nervous 
 malady." 
 
 This was the right way to Mrs. Digby's heart, and she 
 took to Esther amazingly, and forthwith favoured her with a 
 long and detailed history of all the illnesses she had had 
 since her marriage, viz., seven confinements, one scarlet fever 
 of the most malignant kind, a quinsy, two attacks of acute 
 bronchitis, and neuralgia ad libitum. No wonder the " sys- 
 tem " was shaken considerably. Esther began to think that 
 Mrs. Digby's " system " was about equivalent to Mrs. Helli- 
 car's " frame," and she was actually constrained in her own. 
 mind to compare the experiences of the two, and came very 
 quickly to the conclusion that Mrs. Digby was only a more 
 refined and elegant edition of the type of woman which. 
 Mrs. Hellicar represented. She went on so long that Esther 
 almost forgot to listen, and Edith, who knew when every 
 symptom was due, and the precise period when a crisis might 
 be expected, stole away, and left Esther to dream and medi- 
 tate, with that soft, plaintive voice murmuring in her ears, 
 like the quiet ripple of a stream which, means nothing till 
 
376 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 you begin to thinV. what it is saying. Lancelot had gone off, 
 as in duty bound, as soon as ever his step-mother commenced 
 her narration. She had told the same story so often that she 
 forgot her audience was not commonly composed of doctors 
 and nurses, neither did it strike her that what might pro- 
 bably interest matrons was not so interesting to young girls 
 the very reverse, indeed, if a young man happened to be 
 within ear-shot ; and Mrs. Digby was not too particular 
 when it was only her step-sons who were concerned. Ladies 
 who talk much about their ailments are certain to have their 
 sense of delicacy blunted in course of time. With perfect 
 innocence in their heart they say things which are embar- 
 rassing" and painful even to bystanders, while they disgust 
 people with their stupid egotism, and weary even relations 
 and sympathising friends. Talking about one's self, except 
 upon occasion, is always a grand mistake ; but such talking 
 assumes its most objectionable form when it degenerates into 
 long details of " symptoms," highly coloured descriptions of 
 "sensations," and lucid sketches of attacks and remedies. 
 And the worst of it is that such people are always repeating 
 themselves, and have no idea of their own incessant and 
 most burdensome tautology. 
 
 If Mrs. Digby had once before told the story she was tell- 
 ing now to Esther I suppose she had told it five hundred 
 times, only that of course it grew and grew as her experiences 
 were augmented. Rupert used to say she would repeat the 
 tale to the first beggar-woman she encountered rather than 
 keep utter silence on the subject ; and I believe he was so far 
 right, inasmuch as it would have been a struggle to speak 
 five words to a beggar-woman without a passing allusion to 
 her own infirmities. When Esther woke up to consciousness 
 Mrs. Digby was asking her had she ever tried homoeopathy, 
 and Esther could not say that she had, though she had 
 known people who had tried it with satisfactory results. 
 
 "]t is almost the only system I have not tried," Mrs. 
 Digby w r ent on. "I have been under the water-cure, and 
 that didn't suit me at all ; the worse I was the more they 
 worried me. Galvanism is worse than hydropathy, and as 
 for mesmerism, I don't believe there is anything in it. Then 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 377 
 
 I pursued Di. Coffin's system, and I should soon have been 
 in my coffin if I had gone on with it. Then I was under a 
 very clever man whose skill lay in the administration of 
 active poisons. But that did not suit me ; he said the 
 system required a more vigorous constitution, and so I got 
 frightened, for I was taking arsenic enough to kill an army 
 of rats. I really must get homoeopathic advice, and I have 
 never tried the earth or mud baths in Switzerland, and I 
 read about a miraculous cure at Assisi the other day : I 
 wonder now whether there was anything in it ; it sounded 
 dreadfully like imposition." 
 
 Esther was getting sadly wearied, and was just wondering 
 how a person so weak as Mrs. Digby could talk so in- 
 cessantly, when Lancelot returned. "Mother, we want 
 Miss Kendall, please. We are going to sing some hymns 
 with the children, and she must help us. We will leave the 
 door open, and then you can hear ; let me put this shawl 
 over you, then you will not 'feel any chill." 
 
 Esther thankfully consented to be carried off, and the next 
 hour was spent very pleasantly at the old piano, which still, 
 however, retained much of its original depth and brilliance of 
 tone, and was, perhaps, as good as a newer one for sacred 
 music. Edith's longing was for a harmonium, and Lancelot 
 promised her one as soon as ever his ship came in ! The 
 children sang several hymns very sweetly to their sister's 
 accompaniment, Lancelot leading the little choir; and then 
 they sat still and listened quietly while Lancelot, Edith, and 
 Esther went through a Te Deum, and tried their voices 
 together in a Kyrie and in an Agnus Dei. Rupert joined 
 them too with his tenor, which blended finely with Lance's 
 bass, while it was a marvel how well the two girls sang 
 together in first and second parts. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock when Edith said she must go 
 Mid put some of the children to bed, then they would have 
 one more hymn, and she and Lancelot would go with Esther 
 through the wood on her way home. 
 
 " And in the meantime let us take a turn in the garden> 
 Miss Kendall ; there will be a marvellous sunset to-night," 
 said Lancelot, gravely onering his arm. 
 
378 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 As gravely Esther accepted it, and the two went alone to 
 the highest grassy terrace which commanded the view Lettice 
 had shown Esther in the afternoon. If it was fair then, it 
 was fairer now in the rich sunset light. A deepening purple 
 flush lay on the stately woods ; the creeping ivy mantling 
 the grey cliffs shone like emeralds set in rose-touched silver ; 
 the golden sands were all too bright to look upon; and 
 beyond, like one large ruby, burned the heaving sea. 
 
 " Oh ! " said Esther, drawing a deep breath, and shading 
 her eyes from the dazzling glory of the sea and sky and 
 glittering golden sands. Lancelot did not speak; he too 
 atood still, slouching down his hat, and looking from be- 
 neath its broad brim on the landscape he knew so well, but 
 which he had never seen in more beautiful array. " It is 
 only too beautiful," he said at length, turning to his silent 
 companion ; and then he saw that tears were in her dark 
 eyes, her hands were clasped, her head was slightly bowed, 
 and her whole face was instinct with reverential love and 
 awe. 
 
 " The sea of glass mingled with fire ! " she said presently. 
 " I could not have conceived of it ! It has more of heaven 
 than of earth in it ! " 
 
 "A reflection of the heavenly beauty, perhaps, but no 
 more, for it will not last. All that gorgeous colouring will 
 quickly fade ; a few minutes more and the rosy flush will be 
 paler, the golden radiance will be dim, that crimson lake 
 yonder will be a dark, wild waste of restless waters ; earth 
 will put off these robes of imperial purple, and lay aside her 
 golden diadem, and array herself in the grey, hueless gar- 
 ments of the eventide." 
 
 " Grey and gold ! it meets one at every turn." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Then Esther told him her own fancies, if fancies they 
 were, and she ended by saying, " Mr. Guise always told me 
 that it lay very much with ourselves whether our lives were 
 grey or golden, that much of our happiness was of our own 
 making, and that, even in the greyest glooms, there might 
 be golden gleams if only we would ask God to grant them, 
 and if we looked for them." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 379 
 
 "He was right. It is so easy to ' forge a life-long trouble* 
 for one's self ! I like your thought, Miss Kendall ; the 
 grey is good for us, no doubt. See ! that gold yonder is so 
 dazzling that we cannot look at it ; even that transcendant 
 colouring of rose, and violet, and amber hurts our weak 
 sight. It is very lovely for a while, but we could not bear 
 it long even now one turns with a sense of relief to the 
 soberer tints upon the woodlands. Still, one does love the 
 sunshiny days ! It is a pity there are so few of them." 
 
 "Are they so few?" 
 
 " Have you found it otherwise 1 " 
 
 " No ! I have known far more of the grey than of the 
 gold hitherto ; but then my experiences have been peculiar, 
 also they have been very limited." 
 
 " They have been peculiar ! " said Lancelot, with some 
 emphasis. 
 
 Esther blushed. When she spoke she had been thinking 
 only of the old joyless days in Queen Square, and of the 
 great change which had come to her with the advent of 
 Florence Guise. She was sure that Mr. Digby's thoughts 
 were on the events of the last few days ; she felt quite 
 certain that he knew all about them, and would he not 
 think her bold and presuming in thus openly adverting to 
 affairs which ought to be approached with the utmost 
 delicacy ? She was vexed with herself, and though she told 
 herself that it did not matter she was conscious of a strong 
 desire to stand well with Lancelot. 
 
 "Yes," she went on, in a rather ill-assured way, "my 
 childhood was a very strange one, and I grew up amid sur- 
 roundings that seem to me now almost as grotesque as they 
 were painful. But I beg your pardon, it is not right that I 
 should be intruding my private experiences on an utter 
 stranger ; we women are too apt to forget, I am afraid, that 
 what is interesting to ourselves is not necessarily so to 
 others." 
 
 "But you do not count me an 'utter stranger* surely, 
 Miss Kendall ? " 
 
 " It is not quite a month since I first saw you, and till 
 this evening we had not exchanged half a dozen sentences," 
 
380 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 "Friendships are not always to be estimated by time. 
 There are some people whom we know intuitively at first 
 sight ; a look, a word, puts us en rapport with them, and 
 our affiniti3s flash together almost unconsciously ; while, on 
 the other hand, there are persons whom we may have known 
 for years, whom we respect, whom in some sort we like, and 
 in one sense love, yet in whom we never dream of confiding. 
 One may live on terms of closest intimacy with such, and 
 share with them all one's common life, and there may be 
 mutual kindnesses and mutual forbearances, but the heart is 
 a sealed book, its chronicles are written in unknown charac- 
 ters, and it would be folly to unveil one's secret hopes and 
 fears, to disclose one's visions, to try to interpret one's-self, 
 in fact, to a perfectly non-comprehending and non-answer- 
 ing mind so that we are * strangers yet,' though from 
 outward appearances it might be concluded that our two 
 lives were * bound fast in one with golden ease.' But I did 
 not mean to make so long a preface ; I was going to say, 
 Miss Kendall, that I hope you will not treat me as a 
 stranger. It may seem presumptuous to say so, but it is 
 best to be candid I believe I do understand you, though 
 our acquaintance is of the briefest and the slightest, and I 
 know I have no right to offer my help. Still, I think you 
 will not mistake me, and I may be of service to you if you 
 will let me." 
 
 " You are very kind. You spoke a littla while ago of 
 some friend in Paris who wanted you did not say what she 
 wanted, did you, Mr. Digby 1 " 
 
 "I did not. Let me tell you all about it. Some years 
 ago, when I was at school in Paris, I made acquaintance 
 with a French Protestant family of the name of Bethune ; 
 they were very kind to me, they paid me all those little 
 attentions which are so consoling to a schoolboy in a foreign 
 country, and for the first few months of my residence at the 
 Pension Baudet I was as miserable as a lad could be, and I 
 was moreover a prey to as genuine a mal du pays as if I 
 had been a middle-aged expatriated Swiss. How good these 
 people were to me I can never tell you. Madame Bethune 
 could not have been kinder to me had I been her own son, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 351 
 
 and whenever I could absent myself from the Pension I 
 spent my time with her. Her children were all older than 
 myself our intimacy came about through a nephew of hers r 
 who was one of M. Baudot's ext ernes but the youngest 
 Mademoiselle Bethune and I became great friends, though 
 she, Adele, was almost ten years my senior. Before I 
 quitted Paris Adele married her cousin, Eugene Bethune, 
 with whom I speedily became intimate. Eight years have 
 passed since then, but our friendly relations remain the 
 same, though during the interval we have met but twice : 
 once I paid them a visit, and once I saw them in London, 
 where they were spending a few weeks. Eugene, Adele, 
 and I have carried on a regular correspondence, and only 
 yesterday came a letter from Adele asking me to find her an 
 English governess for her three little girls, I must tell you 
 that I had heard of your desire of your resolve, I may say 
 to leave Chilcombe, and I thought of you immediately, 
 and felt myself very lucky in finding the required article so 
 promptly and so ready to hand." 
 
 " But, Mr. Digby, I am afraid I am not fit. I must tell 
 you I have had absolutely no education. I have not been to 
 school since I was seven years old." 
 
 " So much the better ! I should never have sent Adele 
 Bethune a boarding-school miss. 1 have no opinion of 
 boarding-schools for girls." 
 
 " But I have to work hard to keep up with my elder pupils 
 now, I assure you, and they are only village girls the 
 highest in rank among them is a well-to-do farmer's daughter, 
 and these are young ladies." 
 
 "Very young ladies ! The petite Melanie is scarcely four 
 years old, Helene is not six, and Marie, the eldest, is just 
 turned seven. My little nieces they always call me * man 
 oncle ' are, I should say, tolerably good thildren ; they arf 
 neither prodigies of cleverness nor miracles of virtue, so far a'3 
 I can judge, but they are certainly amiable, docile, and 
 affectionate, and they would not, I feel assured, be difficult to 
 manage. Besides, you would have every assistance in the 
 parents. Eugene, though an indulgent father, has clear good 
 sense; and Adele, though one of the tenderest of mothers, is 
 
882 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 reasonable, and does not believe her children to be faultless, 
 and she is extremely anxious to bring them up judiciously. 
 I think you would work well together." 
 
 " If I could only be sure that I was competent ! " 
 
 " You will not be incompetent, I am certain. You will 
 have to teach three little girls to read and speak English ; 
 you will have to walk out with them, and keep them with 
 you for certain hours every day, but they will not be your 
 sole companions. You will find that Madame Eugene 
 Bethune will treat you as a friend, as a sister, if you and she 
 assimilate, as I am sure you will. It struck me from the 
 first that you and Adele would suit each other. I suppose I 
 may assume that you do not really care to go with Lady 
 Torrisdale 1 " 
 
 " No ! oh, no ! only I wanted to go to France, and that 
 seemed the only way. But poor Fanny Tucker, she thought 
 so much of getting away ! " 
 
 " She may get away quite as easily as before. There is no 
 obligation, either legal or moral, which binds her to Lady 
 Torrisdale, and a thorough gentlewoman as Miss Tucker is, 
 graceful and accomplished, with the advantage of foreign 
 travel, can always secure a superior situation. It is only 
 with inferior governesses that the market is overstocked." 
 
 "Such as I am, or rather such as I should make," said 
 Esther, with a smile half sad. 
 
 " No, indeed ! You are too genuine and too thorough to 
 be inferior. It is not the quantity so much as the quality 
 of our attainments that regulates our mental value. Believe 
 me I w r ould not send any one whom I thought inferior to 
 such dear old friends as are the Bethunes. If I did not think 
 you would be quite in the right place, I would not propose 
 the plan, however I might wish to serve you ; and I do wish 
 to be of use to you, because " 
 
 " Because why ? " 
 
 "You must not think me very impertinent. Because I 
 think you are placed in very painful circumstances, and also 
 because I think you have behaved honourably nobly ! as I 
 should wish Edith to behave had she been in the same 
 situation. I am afraid I have offended you. I ought not to 
 
dREY AND GOLD. 353 
 
 have spoken of your trouble. I am. as you say, an acquain- 
 tance of yesterday; bur if you could know how I admired 
 your fortitude, your truth, you would not be surprised. You 
 see Oswald came and told me all about it; he has always 
 told me things ever since we were boys together, and old 
 habits are difficult to break. Do not be distressed ! " for 
 Esther's cheeks were burning, and her face was troubled; 
 " he told me nothing that was not altogether to your honour. 
 Of course I do not flatter myself that my opinion is of any 
 value to you, but I must say I think you have acted rightly ; 
 I do not see how you could have done otherwise." 
 
 " Oh ! thank you," said Esther, catching her breath ; " it is 
 a great comfort to hear you say so. I felt sure I was right, 
 and yet it seemed wrong to go against everybody." 
 
 " Against everybody ? " 
 
 " Well, I expressed myself foolishly. I should have said 
 exactly what I meant. The 'everybody' comprises Miss 
 Uffadyne and Mrs. King ; they both thought I was acting 
 unadvisedly." 
 
 " I know Miss Uffadyne has espoused her brother's cause, 
 and is anxious that he should succeed ; and she naturally 
 wishes to win you over. In some sort it is much to her 
 honour that she feels so ; but I am surprised at Mrs. King, 
 a woman of prudence and principle, endeavouring to dissuade 
 you from a course which, however painful, is undubitably 
 the only one you can take with comfort and honour to 
 yourself." 
 
 " I am so glad you think so ; but Mrs. King did not 
 object to my refusing to listen to Miss Cecil's plans. She 
 encouraged me to be firm ; but she said I must not think of 
 going away. When I had said I went against everybody I 
 meant that all to whom I had spoken opposed my leaving 
 Chilcombe." 
 
 ' ' I see. I thought you meant that Mrs. King as well aa 
 Miss Uffadyne urged you to consider your decision the 
 decision I mean which Oswald reported to me the same even- 
 ing he met you at the ruins. There are not many girls who 
 V/ould have been strong enough to resist the temptation." 
 
 4J It was not a temptation, Mr. Digby - 3 it was only a great 
 
S4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 trouble a misery ! 1 \vas so happy at (.ftilcombe ; I hoped 
 the Slade would be my home lor many and many a yeai, 
 and then came all this FUSS ! I really do not know what 
 else to call it this wretched, stupid fuss ! " 
 
 "And you really look upon it in this light ? You were 
 not tempted ? " 
 
 " What could tempt me ? A man who belonged to 
 another woman, and for whom I could never feel the 
 smallest affection for whom I have now lost all respect ? I 
 speak the simple truth when I say that, putting Miss Guise 
 entirely out of the question, I never could have cared for 
 Mr. Ufkdyne that is, not in the way he wished. So th^re 
 is not so much merit in my conduct as some people might 
 suppose. Please don't fancy there is any self-sacrifice about 
 it except, indeed, the sacrifice of going away from the place 
 I love so well and from friends from whom I would not 
 willingly be separated. And you think I ought to 
 go?" 
 
 " For the present I do think you are better away. 
 Oswald would not indeed, just now he could not leave 
 Somersetshire, and while he is here and you are here you 
 will never be free of him. He will press his suit till it 
 becomes persecution. He has no idea of not having his own 
 way, and your refusal he persists in attributing to coyness, 
 He is like a spoiled child, unable to comprehend that what 
 he so ardently desires can be withheld." 
 
 " He is very selfish ! I do not believe in his love. If I 
 loved anybody I am sure I would do anything rather than 
 bring him into the trouble he has brought upon me. I 
 would conquer myself, whatever it might cost ; in his place 
 I would have died before I would have spoken." 
 
 " You think love can be conquered 1 " 
 
 " I am not sure. I suppose if it were right to conquer it 
 it could be conquered ; but I meant that I would never 
 permit its expres-si m if I knew that it would cost the person 
 I loved one h,->ur of suffering. It cannot be true love that 
 which calls iicelf so and yet cannot practise self-abnegation. 
 I felt this when I resolved to go quite away, and leave Mis.* 
 Guise to doubt and misunderstand me, rather than let he* 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 385 
 
 know the truth, at the expense of her own happiness. 
 The bitterest drop in the cup that Mr. Oswald has forced 
 noon me is the certainty that I shall grieve and dis- 
 appoint my best friend ; that she cannot but distrust me 
 and count me heartless and ungrateful. I think I could 
 go to France quite happily if I knew that Florence did 
 not condemn me ; yet I would rather she despised and 
 loathed me than that she should know what must make her 
 miserable for life." 
 
 " Miss Kendall ! what if I tell you that she does know ? " 
 
 "Oh! is it possible 1 ? Who could be so cruel?" cried 
 Esther, turning very pale, and sinking on the grassy bank. 
 " Surely you did not let her know, Mr. Digby 1 " 
 
 " Indeed I did not ! Oswald came to me last night, and 
 told me that all was over between his cousin and himself. 
 Florence herself cancelled the engagement ; she dismissed 
 him quite coolly, quite calmly, he says, though I can see that 
 he scarcely believes his own interpretations of her behaviour. 
 He is convinced that she loved him no more than he loved 
 her, and that she too is thankful to be free." 
 
 " He knows nothing about love ! " said Esther, warmly ; 
 "he loves himself too much. To please himself, to gratify 
 his own fickle caprices, he does not care how he tortures the 
 girl who has loved him so fully and so faithfully. He takes 
 her womanly pride for coldness, her modesty for indifference ; 
 he is only too glad to attain his ends at any price. Cruel, 
 cruel man, and poor unhappy Florence ! " 
 
 "I am very sorry for Miss Guise, and I think Oswald's 
 conduct indefensible ; but, Miss Kendall, since his love was 
 not the real thing it is better that she should know it with- 
 out delay. He was not worthy of Florence Guise ; still less 
 is he worthy of you ! " 
 
 "He is not worthy of me," replied Esther, quietly; "all 
 his wealth and high breeding, all his learning, and all his 
 position as lord of Guise, cannot make him worthy of me, 
 poor girl as I am ! I do not aspire to mate with one of his 
 degree, but the man I marry if I ever do marry must be 
 one of whom I can never be ashamed. It must be dreadfo] 
 to belong to one whom you cannot reverence." 
 cc 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Most dreadful, I should imagine. And what will yon 
 decMe about Madame Eugene Bethune ? 1f 
 
 " Is it necessary to decide immediately ? " 
 
 " I should like to answer my friend's letter to-morro\v ; 
 but if you feel any hesitation " 
 
 1 ' It is not that, but I suppose I ought to weigh the matter 
 a little, and to consult Mrs. King ; it would be of no use to 
 epeak to Miss Cecil." 
 
 " !N~ot the slightest ; she would only oppose you, and with- 
 out really affecting your judgment, make you feel uncomfort- 
 able and doubtful about yourself. Say what you like to Mis. 
 King ; she is sensible, and she is your friend. I will call at 
 the Slade to-morrow evening ; that will give you plenty of 
 time to know your own mind, and to take such counsel as 
 you deem expedient." 
 
 " Thank you I You are most kind, Mr. Digby. How 
 things are * ordered I ' I met you the other day by chance, as 
 it were, and now you are my friend, raised up for me, by 
 <j}od, it seems to me, in this emergency." 
 
 " You believe, then, that all the odds and ends of our lives 
 are guided by Providence ? " 
 
 "To be sure Idol I, of all people, should be most wicked 
 if I doubted it. And, after all, it is upon the little incidents, 
 the small, apparently unimportant changes, that our fate 
 principally depends." 
 
 " You are right ; and even when violent alterations occur 
 they can generally be traced to very trivial sources. Life is 
 composed of one unbroken chain of events, wrought and 
 fashioned by the Great and All-wise Artificer ; the links are 
 various in size and shape, and some can scarcely be discerned, 
 they are so nearly hidden among the heavier and more 
 elaborate workmanship \ yet if one were missing the chain 
 would be incomplete." 
 
 " But I do not quite understand about Miss Guise. Can 
 you tell me what she knows 1 I hope she does not think 
 that for one moment I was false to her I " 
 
 " She knows the truth, and it is a great comfort to her to 
 think that there has been no treachery on your part. Sho 
 had learned, I do not know how, that Oswald met you that 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 587 
 
 night at the ruins, and she quite understands now what at 
 the time seemed rather unsatisfactory. She thoroughly ap- 
 preciates your considerate silence, and thanks you for it." 
 
 " I am so glad ! so thankful ! Shall I tell you, Mr. Digby ? 
 I felt so naughty and impatient this morning ; my burden 
 seemed greater than I could bear ; I did not know which 
 way to turn all was perplexity and gloom. I could have 
 hated Mr. Uifadyne ; I was angry with Miss Cecil ; I was 
 vexed even with good, kind Mrs. King. And now, only 
 a few hours later, and the clouds break, and there is once 
 more a gleam of sunshine. As I walked here this afternoon. 
 I felt so sad ; the waving trees, and the singing birds, and 
 the glittering waters, seemed to mock me with their joy 
 and brightness. Ah ! I was very faithless, and yet I ought 
 not to have doubted ; God has been so very good to me in 
 the time that is past." 
 
 " I know just what you mean ; I have felt exactly so " 
 
 " Have you indeed ? " 
 
 "Yes; for things have seemed going all wrong with me 
 ever since I was a boy. You know we Digbys are very poor, 
 Miss Kendall poor and proud ; and it goes sadly against 
 the grain that any Digby should work for his living. Never- 
 theless, Rupert and I both believe in the dignity of honest 
 labour, and in the degradation of idleness and poverty ; and 
 we have both resolved to put shoulder to the wheel, and try 
 if we cannot do something to redeem this old inheritance of 
 ours from its terrible involvements. Rupert goes in for com- 
 merce ; I aspire to join the noble army of authors." 
 
 "But, 'forgive me I am really very ignorant does 
 writing poetry ever bring in money ? " 
 
 " Not often, perhaps ; but it does sometimes ; and I feel 
 that I have the stuff in me. Hitherto I have been content 
 to dream and plan, to build castles in the air. Now, please 
 God, I mean to work in real earnest to go in for the prize 
 which awaits the successful aspirant for literary honours 
 and win it. I will tell you a secret, Miss Kendall ; last 
 week I received the first payment for my numerous con- 
 tributions, and a request for more. Look ! here is a cheque 
 ibr 10 from the editor of the Grosvenor. This I thankfully 
 
388 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 receive as the first fruits. I shall have to work hard, I have 
 lost so much time, yet do not think I have been quite idle ; 
 only I have wanted an inducement." 
 
 The last words Lancelot spoke as if to himself, and Esther 
 wondered he had not thought sooner of clearing his father's 
 estate from its manifold embarrassments, if indeed his literary 
 efforts could so far avail. Esther herself had some notion 
 that poetry was not any such great " yield," so far as pecu- 
 niary results were concerned. They turned now to go back 
 to the house ; the soft, fragrant twilight was around them, 
 and the woods lay calm and grand in the solemn hush of 
 evening. 
 
 " The golden glory is gone," said Lancelot, looking where 
 the shining sands had given place to gray stretches, crossed 
 here and there by slants of sombre violet. 
 
 " Gone from earth ; but we find it again in heaven ! " said 
 Esther, with a radiant smile, as she pointed upwards to the 
 bright pink clouds floating high in the zenith, and then to 
 the clear rose flush high up between the hills. 
 
 " Miss Kendall, I shall write a poem and call it ' Grey and 
 Gold.' It will make my fortune, and it will be to you that 
 I owe the inspiration." 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 THE TALISMAN. 
 
 " WELL, my child, if you must go, I suppose you cannot do 
 better than go to this madame whom Mr. Lancelot knows," 
 said Mrs. King, wiping her eyes, when she and Esther had 
 quietly talked the matter over. " But it does seem very hard, 
 just as we had got to be so fond of you the farmer and me 
 feeling just as if you were a daughter of our own ! And 
 it is no fault of j^ours or of ours that we must part. That 
 makes it so very hard ! " 
 
 "Dear Mrs. King, I think it would be far harder if it 
 were any fault of ours that separated us. And, indeed, I 
 cannot feel that I am quite free from blame ; I ought to have 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 389 
 
 heeded you that day I went to Guise, when you wished Mr. 
 King to drive me over. I can see now how very wise you 
 were, and I was so foolish and headstrong." 
 
 " Tut, tut, child ! I don't mean to say but that it would 
 have been better if you had gone over with the farmer, but 
 the mischief would have been done, I suppose, just the same. 
 It was all in Mr. Oswald's mind, I should say, long before he 
 came here that evening when we were out in the porch 
 watching the moon rise. It would have come out sooner or 
 later." 
 
 " How long ago that evening seems," said Esther thought- 
 fully ; " the old, sweet life was ending then, only I did not 
 know it." 
 
 "A good thing you did not ! A good thing that the future 
 is hidden from our eyes ; and such a comfort to think that 
 what we don't know God does know ! It is so good to feel 
 just like a child who is trustful and happy because his father 
 knows all about everything. I remember, some years ago, 
 my soul got into strange trouble. A gentleman came here to 
 lodge ; he was a great scholar, and he brought heaps of books 
 with him, and sometimes he talked to me and read pages out 
 of his clever books. I learned what I had never learned 
 before, for I learned to doubt pretty nearly everything except 
 God Himself. The worst of it was, that there seemed to be 
 a great deal of truth in what Mr. Elvas urged, and some 
 truth there was, I daresay ; for though I do not believe less 
 than in earlier days, I believe differently. But while it 
 lasted the perplexity was wretched and the gloom was dread- 
 ful ; I felt as if the solid ground I had stood upon all my 
 life was sinking and crumbling beneath me. Especially I 
 was exercised in my mind about the life of the world to 
 wine ; all my old, comfortable ideas about dying and going 
 tc heaven were put to flight, and looking beyond the grave 
 was just reaching out into the dark. And one day I was 
 v/alking up and down, haunted by the evil spirit, and telling 
 myself that I knew nothing, and never could know anything 
 certainly, when, all of a sudden, a voice spoke to me I 
 don't mean I heard any sound the voice that spoke was in 
 my heart, and I know now it was the Blessed Spirit Himself, 
 
390 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 comforting me and calming away my fears, and it said, ' GOB 
 KNOWS.' Just that no more. I was in the filbert walk 
 oh, dear ! how well I recollect it and I sat down on the 
 little green bench and cried for joy, and I kept saying to 
 myself over and over again, * God knows ; my Father knows, 
 He loves me ; nothing can harm me.' I have never troubled 
 myself about difficult questions since; when the puzzles 
 came again, I just smiled and said, God knows ; what does 
 it matter if I do not know 1 Some day He will show me 
 what now I cannot see ; some day all mysteries will be maue 
 plain.' And ever since then that has been my talisman 
 those two simple words, that seem at first to have so little in 
 them beyond a common, bare assertion that one hears con- 
 tinually from careless lips. All sorts of troubles have come 
 since then money troubles, which, though really of no 
 great weight, are of all others the most worrying and har- 
 assing ; vexations, disappointments, wrongs, illness, death, 
 all sorts of trials, and my one comfort has always been, ' God 
 knows.' He knows why the trouble comes, and how it will 
 work, and how long it will last. I cannot see my way, I do 
 not know my path ; but Thou, my God, knowest its every 
 step, its every turning, and its every difficulty ! This morn- 
 ing your way seemed all edged up with thorns, but God 
 knew all the time how it would be ; and see, my dear, He 
 has cleared your road He makes it plain ; He knows just 
 what He will have you to be, and what He will have you to 
 do, and He will lead you by a way you know not, according 
 to His good will, for He doeth all things well. Ah ! the joy 
 of resting on the everlasting arms ! Some people think that 
 is only an experience for a dying hour ; but I am sure the 
 dear Lord means us to honour him in life as well as in death. 
 A Christian that does not trust God and rest in Him must, 
 I think, be more unhappy than one who does not think 
 about God at all." 
 
 " Such a Christianity must be a very maimed, incomplete 
 sort of an affair, if, indeed, it can be called Christianity at 
 all. Can a person be a Christian, and not trust ? " 
 
 "The rash judgment of youth would say, 'Xo.' Larger 
 experiences say, 'Yes.' People's temperaments are not 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 391 
 
 altered by Christianity, and their temptations come chiefly 
 from their temperament. Some are naturally fearful and 
 apprehensive, and given to look on the dark side ; they can't 
 help it, and the Lord knows that, and makes allowances. 
 He doesn't expect to make a silver trumpet out of a ram's 
 horn, nor does He look for the finest wheaten bread from rye 
 or barley-meal. Every man in his own order. There again 
 is the comfort God knows ! Man thinks he knows, and he 
 is speedy to condemn ; he cannot think the work to be a good 
 work if it be not wrought according to his own pattern. But 
 then he does not see the workings of the heart and brain, 
 which in God's pure light may look far other than they seem 
 to man's poor, dim, uncertain vision." 
 
 " Ah ! that reminds me of what I was reading last Sunday 
 at Guise Court Fanny Tucker and I were reading it to- 
 gether a poem called < Judge Not.' Let me tell you the 
 last two verses. I read them over till I knew them by 
 heart : 
 
 " 'The fall thon darest to despise- 
 Maybe the angel's slackened hand 
 Has suffered it, that he may rise, 
 And take a firmer, surer stand ; 
 Or, trusting less to earthly things, 
 May henceforth learn to use his wings. 
 
 ' And judge none lost, but wait and see, 
 
 With hopeful pity, not disdain ; 
 The depth of the abyss may be 
 
 The measure of the height of pain, 
 And love and glory that may raise 
 This soul to God in after-days.' " 
 
 " Ah, that is very beautiful ! I shall miss you so, Esther, 
 in all sorts of ways, and I shall feel the lack of the choice 
 little bits you are so often bringing to me out of fine books. 
 You see, I am no great reader, and some kinds of books 
 never come in my way. I cannot be a busy bee, and go into 
 every flower sucking out the sweets ; I want my honey ready- 
 made, as you have brought it to me many and many a time. 
 Ah, child, I shall miss you ! But if it is for your good it 
 must be for your good, it comes about so I cannot complain. 
 Only remember this is always your home, and while either 
 
302 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the fanner or I live you never need feel there is no place 
 you can call your own." 
 
 " I shall always call the Slade home," said Esther, tear- 
 fully. " When I am far, far away, I shall think of you as if 
 you were my very own mother. You say God sent me to 
 you instead of the little girls whom He took to Himself. I 
 am sure He has given you to me instead of the mother I 
 never knew ; and I shall write to you as often as ever I can, 
 and come to see you, if it may be, in my holidays ; and I 
 shall always call coming back to the Slade coming home ! 
 Yes, God is very good to me in giving me a home on earth 
 such as I never thought to have. Even though I must leave 
 it, its memory will be very sweet and comforting ; besides, I 
 shall hope to come back to Chilcombe some day, and be a 
 real daughter to you, dear Mrs. King." 
 
 On Monday evening Lancelot came, and received Esther's 
 final decision, which was fortified by the counsel of Mrs. 
 King, and the next day he wrote to Madame Eugene 
 Bethune, giving her some account of Esther, and so much 
 of her history as he thought it was right to communicate. 
 The result was a letter from Madame Befchune on the Friday 
 morning, addressed to Esther herself, requesting her to hold 
 herself in readiness for the journey as soon as might be con- 
 venient. " It is all settled," said Madame in conclusion, " if 
 you will have it so. It only remains that you make the con- 
 clusions with the lady to whom you are attached to-day, and 
 set out as soon as you may prepare yourself. I shall have 
 sentiments of pleasure in welcoming to my abode one who is 
 known and esteemed by my ancient and dear friend, M. 
 Digby, and I have the most lively hopes that we shall be good 
 companions. If you can find any one to place you on board 
 the steamboat at Folkestone, I will have care that you are 
 met at Boulogne, and placed id the train for Paris. You 
 shall have no trouble ; have no fear." 
 
 When Cecil heard of Esther's arrangements she -was 
 extremely angry, and she thought at first that she would 
 let her go without any further notice; but Cecil with all 
 her faults was true and just at heart, and she could not but 
 blame Oswald and applaud Esther ; besides, she really loved 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 393 
 
 the girl. As for Oswald he was nearly frantic, and vowed 
 that he would pursue her to the ends of the earth. He had 
 never believed that she would actually and of her own free 
 will leave Chilcomhe. But Esther's greatest trouble was con- 
 cerning Florence. It was dreadful to leave her without one 
 word of farewell, and yet she dared not present herself at 
 Guise Court ; for, as she said to Mrs. King, " though I am 
 not to blame, the very sight of me must hurt her ! " 
 
 Esther resolved to write a loving, humble note, bidding 
 good-bye to Miss Guise, and she had even written out one 
 rough copy which did not satisfy her, it expressed her real 
 feelings so inadequately, when one evening, as she was busy 
 with her needlework, Florence was announced. All doubt, 
 all constraint vanished as the two girls met face to face, and 
 Esther knew that though, through her, Oswald had struck at 
 Florence's heart, she was not to lose her friend. It was 
 some minutes before either could speak calmly, and then 
 Florence said : '* And it is true that you are going away 
 going to Paris 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; I go as soon as Miss Cecil can find iny successor ; 
 Madame Bethune is anxious that I should not delay. It was 
 best to go, was it not ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. When I heard of it I felt that I was 
 driving you away." 
 
 " No, indeed ; I could not be happy here as things are 
 now. Dear Miss Guise, it is hard to leave you, whom I 
 promised never to desert, but this seems the only way to 
 keep my promise. I could not stay where I must con- 
 tinually meet " 
 
 "Mr. Uffadyne. But, Esther, I have a question to ask 
 you it is a very delicate question, I know, but I think I 
 have a right to ask it, and. I beseech you to answer me 
 without reserve and as in God's sight : do you love Oswald 
 Uffadyne 1" 
 
 "No, Miss Guise, I do not. If he had never been en- 
 gaged to you, if you and he were strangers, nothing would 
 induce me to marry him." 
 
 " Because, Esther, if you did love him it were a pity to 
 eacriiice yourself as well a him. I can never many him, 
 
394: GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 now, for I do not love him any more ; as the husband of 
 another woman he could not be more lost to me than he is 
 at this moment. Therefore I conjure you do not deceive 
 yourself, do not for my sake renounce the happiness that is 
 within your reach. I acquit you of all blame, whatever may 
 betide ; you could not help it if Oswald loved you me ho 
 never loved. I feel it now, and I have felt it for months 
 past. Even when we first talked about him in Queen 
 Square, I felt dimly, though I put the feeling away, that I 
 was not to him what he was to me. But I did not love the 
 Oswald that loved you; I loved an ideal of my own a 
 beautiful myth that had no actual existence. Ah, me ! wo 
 women are given to creating ideals for ourselves, and then 
 worshipping them with a vain worship. Esther, if I 
 thought you truly cared for Oswald, I would say, marry him, 
 and God's blessing be with you ; but if " 
 
 ** I do not care, and I do not believe he properly cares for 
 me. It is a wild, foolish passion, that will die out for want 
 of sustenance. I firmly believe that after all it is you whom 
 he truly loves ; I think he will come back to you." 
 
 " I hope not, Esther, for I cannot take him back : one 
 cannot love and unlove at will. He has killed the deep love 
 I bore him, but he cannot bring it to life again any moro 
 than you could restore that gay butterfly to animation if you 
 crushed it.'' 
 
 " But if he came back to you changed and purified and 
 strengthened, another yet the same ? If the ideal Oswald 
 became reality 1 " 
 
 " Do not speak of it. Ah ! he has been- very cruel 
 to us both. He has made me suffer, God only knows 
 how bitterly, and he is banishing you. What will it all 
 come to 1 ?" 
 
 " God knows," said Esther gravely. " Miss Guise, that is 
 to be my talisman. When I fear any evil, when I doubt, 
 when I cannot see my way, I shall think that God knows 
 all, and He loves me with a love as perfectly wise as it is 
 strong and tender." 
 
 The friends talked till it grew late, and then good-byes 
 were said with many tears. Two days afterwards came a 
 
GRKY AND GOLD. 395 
 
 travelling trunk well filled with such things as Esther might 
 need to recruit her wardrobe for her new position, also a 
 gold chain and an enamelled locket containing Florence's 
 portrait. Then it was announced that Cecil and Fanny 
 Tucker had come to terms, so that Esther need delay no 
 longer. A few more days, and she took her departure, 
 bearing with her the good-will and affection of many friends, 
 also the talisman that was to shield her from all real harm ; 
 and in her note-book which she always carried with her she? 
 wrote, the night before she left the Slade " God knows" 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 VIA. BOULOGNE. 
 
 IT must be confessed that Esther's heart died within her 
 when she saw receding in the far blue hazy distance the 
 white cliffs of old England. I think till that moment she 
 had not realised the true bitterness of her self-expatriation ; 
 the excitement of her explanations with Florence, the bustle 
 of preparation, and the agitation of leave-takings, had kept 
 her too much occupied to have leisure for many painful 
 regrets. Up to the moment of setting out there was always- 
 something to be said or to be done, some message to be sent 
 to some one, or some parting injunction to be remembered ; 
 and no sooner did she give way to a rush of feeling than she 
 was roused by some urgent application, some demand on her 
 time or attention or sympathy, so that she really had no 
 leisure for the indulgence of sorrowful meditations. 
 
 But now that there was nothing to do but to sit still and 
 watch the pale green waves rising and falling, and the long 
 line of silvery cliffs fading along the blue horizon, she felt 
 that she was indeed leaving all the brightness of her life 
 behind her. She envied even the poorest day labourer, who 
 might stay on year after year at Chilcombe; she thought 
 sadly and lovingly of the fair green Helmsley wood, of the 
 old JSTorman church, and of the lovely terraced garden of the 
 Grange. She had just learned to care for them so much, oh, 
 
396 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 so very much, and now she was torn away from them, not 
 knowing how long it might be ere she could revisit them. 
 And Florence, too, near whom she had hoped to be always, 
 and the kind, good Kings, not to speak of the Digbys and 
 Cecil, how hard it was to leave all these behind, and go to 
 live with strangers in a strange land it might be for long 
 years of weary exile. 
 
 " If I did but know for how long," she said to herself, 
 almost impatiently, " if there were but some limit to my term 
 of banishment ; how do I know but what I never, never may 
 come back again to my own dear country 1 " 
 
 And instantly the answer came, " God knows. Why dis 
 quiet thyself, oh, foolish, faithless soul ? Is it not enough 
 that the good Lord knows all thy way before thee, the Lord 
 of heaven and earth, thy Father ? " 
 
 And the soft murmur of the waves, as in measured cadence 
 they rose and fell and sparkled in the sweet September sun- 
 light, seemed to say, or rather to sing, again and again, " Why 
 art thou cast down, oh, my soul, and why art thou disquieted 
 within me ? Hope thou in God, for I shall yet praise Him, 
 who is the health of my countenance and my God." 
 
 And once more Esther was comforted, and the spirit of 
 hope grew strong again within her, because, instead of listen- 
 ing to echoes of her own complainings, she hearkened to 
 God's voice in her soul, bidding her be of good cheer, and 
 wait patiently and trustfully for that which as yet was hidden 
 from her sight. 
 
 And here I would say most earnestly and seriously Esther's 
 experience was no exceptional case, no rare instance of Divine 
 consolation. God always speaks tenderly and hopefully to 
 His children in their day of distress, but they will not hear, 
 or hearing will not heed the gentle whispers which bid them 
 not despair. They choose rather to abide in their sadness, to 
 commune with their own dreary thoughts, to murmur at 
 their trials and vexations, to bewail that which is past, and 
 to shrink pitifully from that which is to come. They have 
 no true faith ; they are in their hearts angry because their 
 gourd has withered away ; they absolutely refuse to be com- 
 forted. Oh ! what wonderful patience God has with us Hia 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 39 T 
 
 wayward, fretful, rebellious creatures. How again and again, 
 though, often disdained and repelled, He comes and says, 
 " My child, why these fears ? Am I not thy Father 1 Shall 
 I refuse thee any good thing 1 Do I not know the way thou 
 shouldst go the best way, the only safe way for thy poor 
 tripping feet and blind unwisdom 1 Am I not leading thee 
 to the eternal habitations ? " 
 
 Blessed yea, thrice blessed are they who can reply, " Evei? 
 so, Father, lead me whithersoever Thou wiliest, for all Thy 
 will is goodness and kindness ; only let me feel Thy hand, 
 what time the darkness gathers round me, and I am afraid." 
 
 And Esther wiped away her tears, and after one long, 
 tender gaze she bravely turned her head towards the French 
 coast, which was every moment growing clearer and more 
 distinct ; they had had a most favourable passage, and to all 
 her other misfortunes had not been added the inexpressible 
 miseries of sea-sickness. 
 
 "No," she said, firmly holding her hands, "I will look 
 back no more ; I will set my face towards the land whither I 
 am going, for there my life must be, there I am to live and 
 grow in goodness and wisdom, to be a blessing and to be 
 blessed. Yes, I am sure a blessing is awaiting me ; God has 
 sent me hither, and I must do what He bids me, and wait till 
 He chooses to give me a new supply of happiness. But am I 
 unhappy now 1 ? "Well, I really believe / am not. I have 
 suffered much, it is true, but. it might well have been more ; 
 there have been no end of mercies in the trial. I am young 
 and strong, and all my days are before me. Why should I 
 be unhappy when I am so sure that it will all turn out well 
 at last ? Now then, good bye, dear old England ; good bye, 
 beloved friends ! Most lovingly will I think of you, and I 
 will pray for you continually ; bub I will not, God helping 
 flae, waste the life that He has given me in vain regrets. 
 Welcome, la belle France ! I will try to 3 ike you, and get 
 good from you, and make the very best of you. I do believe 
 that one's happiness and success depend not so much upon 
 the circumstances of one's lot as upon the way in which one 
 treats the circumstances. It must be a Christian's duty to 
 make the very best of every charts, of every iresh opening, of 
 
308 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 all new experiences ; and as for accepting the inevitable, about 
 which philosophers talk so wisely, it is just giving one's self up 
 to God's will, instead of striving for one's own will. Any sort 
 of grumbling must but be displeasing to God, and even if it 
 w r ere not it is the silliest thing imaginable. I have heard 
 Mrs. King say nothing is ever to be gained by discontent and 
 vapouring ; even if a thing can't be mended fretting and 
 worrying about it only make it worse to bear. And I ain 
 sure a person who is always making his or her moan over 
 trials and crosses is one of the greatest nuisances on earth. 
 It would be better to dwell in the meanest hut and live on a 
 crust with a cheerful, sensible person who looked on the 
 bright side of things, than in a palace, and fare sumptuously 
 every day, with one who was ever complaining and describing 
 grievances. God grant that I may keep a cheerful, patient 
 heart, whatever may betide ! " 
 
 And while Esther mused thus, and did her very utmost to 
 brace herself for all possible encounters, the steamer was 
 gliding swiftly towards the pier. In a few minutes arose a 
 mighty gabbling, a confusion of tongues worthy of Babel 
 itself ; then the boat came to and there ensued great pullings 
 and haulings of heavy luggage, and while Esther was looking 
 after her especial baggage a gentleman stretched out a hand, 
 while at the same time he took off his hat, and bowed as only 
 a Frenchman can bow, and said, interrogatively, "Made- 
 moiselle Kendall ] " 
 
 Esther at once owned to the name, but how strange it 
 sounded to be accosted as mademoiselle ! The speaker was a 
 Monsieur Yeron, a man of middle age and courtly bearing, 
 and twenty years before he had married Valerie, eldest 
 daughter of Madame Bethune, so that he was brother-in-law 
 to Adele and Eugene, Lancelot's friends in Paris. 
 
 M. Veron spoke perfectly good English, and thus Esther 
 was spared all difficulties in landing difficulties which she 
 owned to herself would have been rather embarrassing, since 
 her quick ear instantly detected the difference between 
 the French which every one was pattering so glibly about her 
 and the French which she had so laboriously acquired. 
 Therefore it was excellent to find some one who could both 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 339 
 
 speafc for her and speak to her, and at the same time under- 
 take all her affairs. 
 
 "Rather reserved in manner, but perfectly kind, and even 
 fatherly was M. Veron in his conduct to the young girl con- 
 fided to his care, and under his guidance Esther felt quite 
 comfortable and assured. But she wondered greatly whither 
 he was taking her ; his own carriage and his servants were in 
 attendance, and she was being borne away through the 
 unfamiliar streets, past tall white houses with high roofs and 
 Venetian-shuttered windows, while foreign-looking men and 
 women walked up and down the pavement, and there was a 
 jingle of bells round the horses' necks, and the air was 
 wonderfully clear and soft, and everything was strangely new 
 and un-English-looking, though Boulogne is perhaps the 
 most English of all French towns. 
 
 " You will be our guest to-night, Mademoiselle," said M. 
 Veron, presently. "My wife and I are going to Paris to- 
 morrow, and we shall have the pleasure of taking charge of 
 you. It has been so arranged by Madame Eugene Bethune. 
 "We design to stop for a few hours at Amiens, in order to 
 show our daughter, Justine, the cathedral. You will prob- 
 ably not object to the delay ? You, too, will be a stranger to 
 the town." 
 
 Shortly afterwards the carriage turned under a broad 
 archway, and they alighted in a square, paved courtyard, 
 around which were ranged .orange-trees in great green tubs. 
 Madame Veron, with her youngest child, a bronze-com- 
 plexioned boy of five or six, was standing at what Esther 
 supposed must be the back door, so different was it from all 
 principal entrances to which she had been accustomed. 
 Madame received her very kindly, and with all the volubility 
 of her country she condoled with her on the fatigue she 
 must be suffering after her voyage, and congratulated her on 
 her arrival in the most charming country in the universe, 
 and on her excellent fortune in being located in Paris, the 
 most eligible and delightful residence that a young; lady 
 could possible desire. Madame's English was scarcely so 
 good as her husband's, and she expressed herself very eddly, 
 while her French was so incomprehensible to her listener tnat 
 
400 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 it was only by dint of painful attention she could here and 
 there recognise a familiar word. The boy whom Madame 
 introduced as " her little last one," thus literally translating 
 "petit dernier" prattled away in his native language, vehe- 
 mently gesticulating, while he described to his clier papa 
 some event that had taken place in his absence. It was all 
 very natural of course; but it seemed strange enough to 
 Esther. 
 
 It seemed stranger still when she was escorted up two 
 flights of wide, uncarpeted, dirty stairs, up to a broad land- 
 ing on a second floor, where there was a pair of folding 
 doors, which led to an inner passage, dark, and long, and 
 narrow, into which opened the doors of a handsome suite of 
 rooms. There was the grande salon, all white and gold, 
 with yellow silk hangings, and plenty of ormolu, the floor 
 only partly covered with carpet, and on the chimney-piece, 
 hung with rich blue velvet and gold fringe, the inevitable 
 timepiece, without which no French apartment can be con- 
 sidered furnished. It looked sadly unhome-like, Esther 
 thought. How different from the drawing-rooms at Guise 
 and at the Chenies ! Could she ever feel at home in such 
 fine, tricked-out rooms, which seemed rather for show than 
 for actual living in ? Instinctively she remembered a couplet 
 she had heard in childhood, the refrain of a jaunty little 
 poem, supposed to describe the habits and manners of our 
 Gallic neighbours : 
 
 " Fond of living out of doors, 
 They've no carpets on their floors." 
 
 The chamber into which Esther was shown wa8, after its 
 kind, magnificent. Her bed, all white muslin and rose- 
 coloured bows, was in a recess ; velvet-covered chairs were 
 ranged round the room, mirrors were everywhere, and the 
 washing accommodations, which were on the very smallest 
 scale, were stowed away into a little closet, with a tiled 
 floor, and a second door in it, leading apparently into 
 another room. 
 
 Dinner was soon announced, and the salle-a-manger in- 
 ?reased Esther's astonishment. It was quite uncarpeted, 
 tnti iw contained no furniture save a long oval table, and a 
 
GRET AND GOLD. 401 
 
 certain number of shabby chairs, an ugly unpolished ma- 
 hogany waggon for dishes, etc., and a large tiled stove in a 
 corner of the apartment. But the dinner was excellent, 
 commencing of course with the potage, and ending with a 
 wonderful dessert of bloomy grapes and plums, melting 
 peaches, and sunny apricots. How many courses came 
 between the first and last acts of the performance Esther 
 strove in vain to remember, for everything was handed round 
 separately, and the salad, which was mixed at table, and the 
 vegetables, all curiously dressed, were certainly distinct 
 courses, and not mere accompaniments as with us. 
 
 And everybody talked gaily. Justine Veron was prettj 
 and gentle, and she chatted with Esther in piquant broken 
 English, and encouraged her to stumble out a f\3W Erench 
 sentences, to which the- Erench girl listened as serenely as if 
 they had been of purely Parisian accent and idiom. There 
 was little time for thought, it was all so strange and so ex- 
 citing ; and presently coffee was served, and everybody was 
 pressed to take a demi-tasse, and then Madame Veron 
 proposed a walk on the jetty, as the night was brilliantly 
 clear and very warm. And when at last Esther found 
 herself shut in with the mirrors and the velvet chairs, she 
 was too tired to remember ; she had not lain five minutes 
 beneath the cloud-like muslin curtains, with their bright 
 pink bows, before she was fast asleep ; and so sound were 
 her slumbers that she had no dreams as far as she could 
 recollect, neither was she conscious of sight or sound, till 
 the chiming of some church-bells near at hand awoke her ; 
 and while she was rubbing her eyes, and trying to recall the 
 events of yesterday, some one tapped at her door, and there 
 entered a stout, rosy young woman, in a short blue petticoat 
 and gay jacket, and a stiff white cap a very smiling, cheery 
 damsel, extremely vivacious and quite inclined to converse 
 with the demoiselle Anglaise. had any interchange of senti- 
 ment been possible ; but Celine's English was more limited 
 even than Esther's Erench, so that nothing could be ac- 
 complished in the way of conversation, and Celine, still 
 smiling and gesticulating, took her departure, leaving behind 
 her a cup of fragrant coffee and a buttered roll. 
 
 J> D 
 
402 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Esther opened her window \eii-l looked down; her chamber 
 was au troisieme, but there were four, if not five, storeys 
 above her. She wondered what any one could possibly 
 want with so vast a house, and the Yeron family was not 
 extensive. And down below there was a tremendous clatter 
 tongues going at a pace incredible, strange cries, and bells 
 tinkling and jingling on every horse's collar nay, some of 
 these creatures wore a perfect necklace of little bells, and 
 were decorated with tufts and fringes of blue and red 
 worsted. 
 
 While she studied the unfamiliar scene, Mademoiselle 
 Justine came to ask her if she would like a walk upon the 
 beach before breakfast, which was not till ten o'clock ; and 
 Esther gladly accepted the invitation. Soon they were in the 
 Place, and the soft morning air came up with invigorating 
 freshness from the sea; and that, when reached, was all 
 clear and green, dashing about and flinging up its feathery 
 spray all sparkling in the sunshine, for the morning was 
 beautiful and the sky purely blue, almost without a cloud. 
 On one part of the beach bathing was going on energetically, 
 and there was also a fair show of pedestrians, many of them, 
 evidently English, taking their matitudinal exercise and in- 
 haling the sea-breezes. In the town itself they had not met 
 many persons, save those intent on business, and certainly 
 all the cooks in Boulogne-sur-Mer were a- gate buying in the 
 day's provisions ; for it is not considered en regie in France 
 that a lady should do her own marketing. There wero also 
 people going to or returning from early mass, and sailors and 
 fishermen sauntering idly about at the water's edge, the rest 
 of the population, save the bathers and the promenaders, 
 were safely ensconced behind the Venetian shutters, which 
 were the regular appendages of every house. 
 
 It was not very far from Folkestone to Boulogne, but the 
 nationalities wore an entirely different aspect on either side 
 of the Channel : the tall white houses, with their high roofs 
 and long rows of shuttered windows, the busy hum of 
 voices, and the bonnetless women bearing away slices of 
 huge melons, and bargaining volubly for vegetables for the 
 day's potage, were so unlike anything Esther had seen, before 
 
GREY AND GOLB. 403 
 
 that she felt she had indeed come "out of England into 
 France ; " and many were the tender, wistful glances she 
 threw across the silvery green waves, which were courtesying 
 and dancing at her feet as lightly and gaily as if they knew 
 that they were rippling on the shores of pleasure-loving 
 France. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Justine, sympathetically ; " it is that you are 
 home-seek already, is it not, chore mees 1 " 
 
 "No," said Esther, slowly, "I think not; but I feel that 
 there, across that water, is my own country, and there are 
 my friends ; and only yesterday I was there too." And in 
 spite of every effort her voice faltered a little, and as she 
 looked across the waves a very suspicious mistiness dimmed 
 the view. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Justine, " but it is triste to make the adieux 
 always. I have never in all my life left my dear mamma 
 and my papa, who are so good to me. I think I should die 
 if I had to go far from them where I could not see them 
 each morning. I shall never leave them till I marry of 
 course I must be married ! " 
 
 " Is there any ' must ' in the case 1 " asked Esther, with a 
 smile ; but Justine did not understand her, and she had to 
 repeat the question differently " You are not obliged to be 
 married, are you ? " 
 
 " Every girl must be established if she have not the reli- 
 gious vocation that is our French rule. It gives us no 
 trouble : le bon papa or la chere maman, or all the two, per- 
 haps, arrange it. Some clay very soon, I know my 
 maman will come to me, and she will say, * Ma fille, we must 
 marry you ; it is the time, and M. de Quelqu'un has spoken 
 to your papa about his son. He will give him so many 
 francs, and it is all decided about your dot ' what you call 
 dowerie. And it will be settled, and I shall courtesy and 
 kiss my maman, and the two papas will meet, and there wilL 
 be signing and all that, and the young man will conie, and I 
 shall be fiancee." 
 
 " But suppose you do not like him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! pour cela" replied Justine, shrugging her shoulders, 
 " I shall be sure to like him when I know he is to be my 
 
404 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 husband. I have heard, been told that the young ladies in 
 England have choice, but here it is not expected that a girl 
 of any rank should show the preference we think it not 
 quite modeste, you understand. It is not right to care for 
 one jeune homme, nor even to regard him or converse with 
 him alone till he become your futur. Then you may talk 
 with him, and he will give you bouquets and all sorts of 
 pretty things, and the trousseau will be ordered, and pres- 
 ently there will be the corbeille and then the mariage. 
 Apres cela you may love as much as you like, metis before les 
 noces it is not respectable, and no well-brought-up demoiselle 
 would think of such a thing." 
 
 Esther was about to make some rejoinder, but prudence 
 bade her be silent. She felt quite inclined to inveigh 
 strongly against such a state of things as Justine Yeron 
 described, but in good time it occurred to her that she had 
 no right to shock the prejudices of this French girl, whose 
 parents would certainly not expect her to evince any prefer- 
 ence of her own, but take obediently the fiance their wisdom 
 should select. If she said anything to Justine, and Justine 
 afterwards should have the audacity to refuse the offer of her 
 sanctioned pretendu, or to think of choosing for herself, she 
 might be accused of having corrupted the girl's principles. 
 By this time it was requisite to think about breakfast. The 
 sea air had made both the girls hungry, and they were quite 
 ready for the very substantial and extensive dejeuner which 
 awaited their return. A very composite sort of meal it 
 seemed to Esther, with its made dishes, and hot vegetables, 
 and decanters of red wine a queer medley of dinner and 
 breakfast, having also a decided reference to luncheon. But 
 it was all very good, though some dishes were dark mysteries, 
 and she felt that if she could not all at once adopt French 
 customs, she was certainly taking to French cookery as natu- 
 rally as ducks take to water. 
 
 Another hour and they were all on the road to Amiens, 
 not a particularly interesting journey, as every one who has 
 made it will testify ; but they had taken the express train, 
 and were not very long upon the way, and ere any one had 
 time to grow weary there was the railway-station and the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 405 
 
 city on the Somme was before them. I am 'not going to 
 write about the cathedral, because all that can be found in 
 guide books and tourists' journals, and will only tell you 
 that Esther was very glad she had been brought to Amiens ; 
 she would not on any account have missed that hour in the 
 glorious old church, the most stupendous and magnificent 
 she had ever seen. Only if she could have cleared away 
 from its many altars their fripperies of tawdry artificial 
 flowers in gilt vases, and their flimsy lace draperies and 
 vulgar knick-knackeries, to say nothing of the countless 
 ends of candles lighted and unlighted before every shrine, 
 and the very greasy stands on which they were arranged, 
 which would have been a disgrace to any decent kitchen. 
 But the chapel of the Virgin was simply decorated with 
 lilies, chaste and beautiful, unmixed with any other flowers. 
 And of course the wonderful tomb of St. Eirmin, the patron 
 saint of Amiens, was duly inspected and admired, and the 
 tomb of St. John the Baptist was devoutly exhibited, though 
 Esther never quite made out how the saint could have con- 
 trived to be buried at Amiens, which is certainly a long way 
 from Jerusalem. 
 
 A little while and they were once more en route, Esther 
 protesting with truly insular spirit against being shut up in 
 the horrible salle-d' 'attente a protest in which I unfeignedly 
 join, since it is certainly very unpleasant to be locked up 
 like a criminal or a lunatic while the train by which you 
 purpose travelling stands waiting on the platform, and you 
 know that finally you will have to rush out and scramble 
 for seats in a fashion as undignified as it is uncomfortable. 
 Whatever advantages foreign travel may boast, the incarce- 
 ration of the salle-ff attente is certainly not one of them 
 very far from it indeed, as I think all Englishmen will 
 confess. 
 
 But on they sped through the pleasant but unromantio 
 country, and just as the sun was setting they stopped at the 
 ugly little station of St. Denis, and then came the heights of 
 Montmartre, and then the station or Embarcadere da Nord, 
 and Paris was fairly reached. 
 
 Monsieur Eugene Bethune met the travellers, and soon 
 
406 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 they were rolling along the lighted, crowded Boulevards, 
 and past the Madeleine, across the Place du Carousel, over 
 the Seine, and so into the Faubourg St. Germain, where the 
 Bethunes lived. Once more under a ponderous gateway, 
 opened by the concierge, and into a large paved quadrangle, 
 and upstairs into a suite of brilliantly lighted rooms, and 
 the long, exciting journey was over. Esther found herself 
 under the roof which was to shelter her for she knew not 
 for how long or how short a time, and the new life was 
 all before her. But these Bethunes were the friends of 
 Lancelot Digby ; the Verons he had never mentioned. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII, 
 
 JIISS TUCKER ASSERTS HERSELF. 
 
 BUT before Esther left Chilcombe there had been a regular 
 battle at Guise. Fanny Tucker had emancipated herself, 
 and my Lady Torrisdale was furious as a wronged pan- 
 theress. It all happened in this wise : 
 
 The three ladies were sitting one morning in the conser- 
 vatory, when Lady Torrisdale abruptly exclaimed, "Take 
 yourself away, Fanny Tucker ; I wish to speak with Miss 
 Guise alone." 
 
 Of course Fanny could do nothing less than obey, though 
 Florence's imploring looks entreated her to remain. She 
 lingered as she went to pluck some heliotrope, and her 
 patroness called out sharply, " Take yourself away a little 
 more quickly, Fanny Tucker ! Impertinent minx ! And no 
 eavesdropping, if you please? 
 
 " Oh, aunt ! " pleaded Florence, " you forgot that Fanny 
 is a gentlewoman. And need she go away ? We have not 
 any secrets from her, I think." 
 
 " I know what I am about, Miss Guise ; I have something 
 particular to say to you. If you don't go quickly, Fanny 
 Tucker, I shall come and shake you, you provoking girl ! " 
 
 Exit Fanny, who considered that she was quite twenty 
 years too old to be submitted to the indignity of shaking, 
 
GREY AND GOLD. *07 
 
 while Lady Torrisdale muttered " She grows worse and 
 worse ; she is not half as docile as she was ! She shows a 
 spirit of her own, forsooth ! and pretends to have an 
 opinion ! Guise has ruined her, that's a fact ; but I'll soon 
 bring her under again when I have her to myself! Now, 
 Florence, sit down, my dear, and tell me all about it." 
 
 " All about what, aunt 1 " 
 
 " Why, all about young Uffadyne, to be sure. There's a 
 screw loose there ! Do you think I do not see it, and 
 haven't seen it, ever since I came here 1 What's he going 
 to do ? I've a right to ask, for I am your mother's sister." 
 
 " I meant to tell you, but I did not wish just now to 
 reopen the subject, which of course must be a very painful 
 one. I have dismissed Mr. Uffadyne ; the engagement is at 
 an end." 
 
 " Mercy, child ! you look as white as a ghost, and as grand 
 as a tragedy queen ! So you've given him his cange, have 
 you ? But what did you do that for ? " 
 
 "He wished it. He had made a mistake, or we were both 
 mistaken ; to continue such an engagement was not to be 
 thought of. It is all over, and I am making arrangements for 
 going as quickly as possible to my own house at Little Guise. 
 If you please, we will not talk about it ; there are some 
 things better not explained." 
 
 " I do not want any explaining ; I understand it only too 
 well. The young traitor ! the heartless, black ingrate ! Eut 
 Florence, you are not really in earnest 1 you only mean to 
 punish him 1 You never intend that the engagement should 
 be truly and altogether ended 1 " 
 
 " It is truly and altogether ended. I should be so glad, 
 aunt, if you would not discuss it." 
 
 Lady Torrisdale lifted up her hands and her voice also. 
 
 " I. never heard of such a thing ! " she wailed out. " Ended ! 
 and he is the heir, and this place is his, and all the large 
 estates, and goodness knows how much of your father's 
 money ! Why, in giving up Oswald Uffadyne you give up 
 your own rights, you foolish child ! You relinquish one of the 
 finest fortunes in the country. I tell you he must not be 
 given up ; I shall go to him and tell him that he must and 
 
408 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 shall stand to his word. It is enough to make your pool 
 father turn in his grave ! " 
 
 Florence turned very pale ; she had been hardly tried, and 
 her aunt's foolish, provoking loquacity was just a little more 
 than she could bear. She drew herself up haughtily, and 
 replied : " Aunt, I must beg you to drop this conversation. 
 And, remember, I will not brook any interference in this 
 
 matter. If you go to Os , to Mr. Uffadyne, as you 
 
 threatened, it will put an end to anything like intimacy 
 between you and me. I have dismissed him, and he is not 
 to be recalled. In fact, he would not be recalled ; this is no 
 mere lovers' quarrel; we have both of us been utterly 
 mistaken, and happily we have seen our error ere it was too 
 late. Oswald does not wish to be my husband any more 
 than I desire, or would consent, to be his wife. We are free 
 both as free as if there had never been any such covenant 
 between us." 
 
 " It is all that wretched girl, that base viper that you have 
 Warmed in your bosom that impudent Esther Kendall ! 
 She is a cunning young lady, and a very daring one too. 
 She has everything to gain and nothing to lose, and she is 
 content to risk everything in order to win the prize of a rich 
 husband. I don't so much blame a girl for trying to do the 
 best she can for herself; but to think of her having the 
 audacity to cast her eyes on Oswald Uffadyne, your betrothed 
 lover, and you have been so good to her ! The impostor, the 
 thief she is nothing better the wicked, brazen hussy ! " 
 
 "Aunt, once more I declare that I will not continue this 
 conversation. Only let me remark that in this matter Esther 
 is quite blameless." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! Just as blameless as if she crept 
 upstairs to your jewel-box and abstracted your most valuable 
 diamonds. You dare not look me in the face and affirm that 
 this Esther Kendall, who is nobody knows who, has not 
 been the cause of all this flare-up between you and your 
 cousin. She met him at the ruins that night. Ah, I know ! " 
 
 " I know she did ; but I am weary of it, and I will not 
 talk further ; and since you will not drop the subject I must 
 leave you." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 409 
 
 Lady Torrisdale felt furiously angry, as she always did 
 when she was baffled ; so, after a few minutes' reflection, she 
 bounced out of the conservatory in search of Miss Tucker, 
 resolved to indemnify herself for all disappointments and 
 mortifications by worrying and bullying that unfortunate 
 young woman to the last pitch of mortal endurance. She 
 found Fanny upstairs, putting away some muslins just 
 returned from the laundry. 
 
 " What did you mean, Miss Tucker," she began, scarcely 
 waiting to regain her breath, " by setting me at defiance just 
 now 1 What new impertinence, I wonder ! " 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, Lady Torrisdale. I did 
 not set you or any one at defiance ; but but " 
 
 " But what ? Don't gasp like a fish out of water. And 
 aow dare you contradict me ? " 
 
 "I may as well tell you at once, Lady Torrisdale, that 
 I have decided to leave you. The duties of the situation are 
 heavier than I can sustain ; my health and my spirits alike 
 sink under the treatment I have so long received at your 
 hands. Besides, you give me no salary, and it is quite time 
 that I began to do something for myself." 
 
 " Oh, you wicked, ungrateful girl ! Oh, what a wicked, 
 ungrateful world it is ! No salary, and I have spent pounds 
 and pounds on you far more than you were ever worth. I 
 only kept you out of respect to my late lord, he being your 
 mother's cousin. Salary indeed ! who do you think will gi\f 
 you a salary, you good-for-nothing, shameful, most indecent 
 
 girir 
 
 " I think I can secure one, though it may be only a small one. 
 The truth is, Lady Torrisdale, I have borne my life till I can 
 bear it no longer. I want my freedom, and I will have it." 
 
 " Hear her," cried her ladyship, appealing to a Turk's-head 
 broom, which the housemaid had left in the chamber, 
 " Freedom, indeed ! what next 1 I suppose she wants to 
 roam the country over with a set of strolling players go on 
 the stage, I daresay ; act in a barn to gaping rustics, and 
 play the castenets in a tight-fitting jacket and short petti- 
 coats. Oh, dear me, what is this world coming to ! It 
 grows wickeder and wickeder every day. I wonder you ara 
 
410 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 not afraid of some judgment coming upon you, Fanny 
 Tucker. I should not be surprised if showers of thunder- 
 bolts came down the chimney. I wonder these oak boards 
 don't open and swallow you up." 
 
 " We should fall into the library," said Fanny, calmly ; 
 " and the air does not feel at all like thunder to-day. But 
 you quite understand, Lady Torrisdale ; I leave you as soon 
 as you can engage a young person in my place, and in no 
 case do I return with you to France." 
 
 " I will engage no young person ! A pretty thing, indeed, 
 to be pestered with a strange young person at my time of 
 life ! No, no, Fanny Tucker ! I'm not going to let you dis- 
 grace yourself. I know what is due to my lord's family. 
 Salary indeed ! It is because I have had so much considera- 
 tion for your feelings as a gentlewoman that I have never 
 given you a hateful, vulgar salary, which is only another 
 name for wages. I would not insult you, a lady bom and 
 bred, with salary ! I had too much delicacy, and this is my 
 reward ! Oh, you wicked, cruel girl ! " 
 
 And Lady Torrisdale sat down, held her hand to her side, 
 shook her head plaintively at the Turk's-head broom, panted 
 for breath, drank some water with eau de Cologne in it, and 
 then began again : " You'll be ready to go to Paris with me 
 this day week, and, if you must have a salary, why, I'll give 
 you one." But she groaned as she uttered the words; it 
 would be dreadful to have to open her purse for an addi- 
 tional expense, only if Fanny did go and she seemed 
 strangely and terribly in earnest she would never get any 
 one so cheap again ; and would she ever be able to find a 
 lady-companion who would also discharge the duties of wait- 
 ing-woman ] It was most improbable ; and she had no more 
 poor relations who might be in need of protection and a home. 
 
 But Fanny answered, steadily, " I thank you, Lady Torris- 
 dale, but I have quite made up my mind ; I need a change, 
 and, indeed, my arrangements are pretty nearly concluded." 
 
 " They shall be uncon eluded, then ! " screamed the angry 
 dowager. '* I will not permit you to go ; I will exercise my 
 authority I will have you legally detained; you shall not 
 go trapesing about the country by yourself, like a vulgar 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 411 
 
 shopkeeper's daughter or a washerwoman. I won't have it, I 
 tell you ! 1 won't ! Do you hear me, Fanny Tucker 1 1 
 won't, I say I I swear it ! There now ! Don't look at me in 
 that way ! I shall go mad ! Oh, you abominable creature ! * 
 
 " Lady Torrisdale, I am very sorry to cause you so much 
 uneasiness, but be assured I am not going to roam about by 
 myself. Miss Uffadyne has procured me a situation, so I 
 shall be under proper protection. I have no desire to in- 
 dulge in any freaks, nor do I wish to cast aside any of the 
 rational restraints which society imposes." 
 
 "But I tell you I am going to keep you. You are my 
 relation my dependent my property; if you run away 
 I'll send a policeman after you ! " 
 
 " It would be all in vain, Lady Torrisdale. I am not your 
 relation ; and, if I were, I am of age, and free of control. 
 If I choose to go to America to-morrow, I may go ; no one 
 living has any right to forbid me. Do not be afraid ; 1 be- 
 lieve I shall conduct myself respectably. Only understand 
 it is all settled, and there can be no alteration." 
 
 Lady Torrisdale proceeded to go into violent hysterics, 
 which quickly alarmed the house. Virginie kindly admin- 
 istered copious external applications of cold water, and spoilt 
 her ladyship's new crape and bugle pelerine. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLVIII. 
 
 LADY TORRISDALE took herself off a very few days after- 
 wards. She " washed her hands of Fanny Tucker," she 
 declared ; arid she required every one to register her remark- 
 able previsions concerning that emancipated young lady. 
 She alternately prophesied shame and beggary as the result 
 of Fanny's escapade. Sometimes she was to end her days in 
 Millbank Penitentiary, or in some parish workhouse. One 
 hour she was informed that she would certainly " die on the 
 tramp," and the next she was solemnly warned to conceal 
 her true name if ever she were taken up by the police 
 
412 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 authorities, or carried to any "home" or "refuge" for desti- 
 tute and unfortunate women ! Fanny could bear all this 
 cheerfully, since the time of her deliverance was at hand 
 it even amused her to hear of the diverse fates preparing for 
 her ; but Florence could scarcely restrain her impatience, and 
 if anything could alleviate the sharpness of the misery she 
 was enduring it was the departure of the dowager, who one 
 evening suddenly signified her intention of quitting Guise 
 next day. 
 
 She went up early to her room, and was supposed to be 
 occupied till deep into the night in packing her properties 
 and the spoils she had accumulated. Fanny Tucker was not 
 permitted to assist. 
 
 And next morning she actually left the house, with many 
 more packages, the servants remarked, than had come with 
 her from Boulogne ; and, grimly saluting her niece, she 
 whispered very audibly, " Good-bye, my love ; I'm very 
 sorry for you, but I really think you've brought it upon 
 yourself I do indeed ; still I am very sorry that you should 
 be jilted ! Never mind, my dear, better luck next time, I 
 dare say. Look out for snakes in the grass next time, eh ! 
 And you know the proverb, ' There's as good fish in the sea 
 as ever came out of it.' " 
 
 Florence extricated herself from the unwelcome embrace as 
 fast as she could ; her cheeks were glowing, and her soft 
 blue eyes flashing, but she made no rejoinder. "What could 
 she say to so insufferable a woman 1 
 
 Then she denounced Fanny once more, " all but cussed 
 her outright, mum," said a little eavesdropping kitchen-maid, 
 when describing the scene to Mrs. Maxwell, who had held 
 herself aloof from the exodus of Lady Torrisdale. Mrs. 
 Maxwell hated her ladyship ; " coming always for what she 
 could get, and going about just like a cat on the prowl," said 
 the housekeeper afterwards to her old friend and adviser the 
 butler ; " and I hope, Mr. Soarnes, you looked well after your 
 forks and spoons, for she'd no more mind putting a salt- 
 spoon or even a cream jug in her pocket than I mind taking 
 up this bit of bread. I've kept a sharp eye on. the old china 
 and those little bits of things that Miss Guise sets such store 
 
GRET AND GOLD. 413 
 
 by. Bless yon, Mr. Soames, she's capable of anything ; and 
 if she had happened to be a poor woman instead of a countess 
 she'd have been before the magistrates long ago. People who 
 are so keen after getting are never over particular as to how 
 they get." 
 
 "That is to say, Mrs. Maxwell," said the butler, who waa 
 a phrenologist, " that persons having acquisitiveness largely 
 developed are usually deficient in the organ of conscientious- 
 ness. I quite agree with you \ and between you and me, 
 ma'am, the love of gain is a snare, whether it be in a peeress 
 or a pauper." 
 
 " And not one of the servants, from myself down to the 
 least kitchen-maid, has seen the colour of her money ! " 
 
 No wonder that my Lady Torrisdale was unpopular at 
 Guise Court, especially in the housekeeper's room and in the 
 servants' hall. But now she was gone, and great was the 
 peace of those who remained, although anxieties and deepest 
 grief overshadowed them. 
 
 And now Florence began to find out that Fanny was a 
 comfort, and to dread the day when they must separate. She 
 had thought that nothing, after her aunt had left her, could 
 either annoy or console her, but there was certainly some- 
 thing in Fanny's gentle ways and calm hopefulness and un- 
 expressed .sympathy that she could ill afford to lose, and that 
 she did not like to miss. 
 
 "I wish you had never made the compact with Cecil," 
 said Florence, a few hours after Lady Torrisdale's departure. 
 " I really know very little about Mrs. Lester. She is very 
 good I am sure, or my father would never have selected her 
 to reside with me ; but she is almost a stranger to me. I 
 have not seen her since I was quite a little girl ; besides, 
 everything has changed since arrangements were made with 
 her, and I am not at all sure she will like to find her office 
 become permanent. She quite thought she would be at 
 liberty next summer, and she is not by any means in needy 
 circumstances, and will wish to return to her own family." 
 
 " But, dear Miss Guise, I am not old enough to be of any 
 use to you in that capacity. If I went into society I should 
 need a chaperone myself." 
 
414 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " I tell you what it is, Fanny, I begin to be quite tired of 
 a great deal of the nonsense imposed on us by merely con- 
 ventional laws. I do not mean I would overleap established 
 barriers. No good ever comes of a woman rashly braving 
 what is called ' society '; for 'society,' if seriously outraged, 
 is apt to become maliciously vindictive, and to occasion 
 one much inconvenience. Besides, it is obviously a Christian 
 duty not to give unnecessary offence. But I cannot see why 
 two perfectly steady-going young women should not live to- 
 gether in the country. Such a life as I must needs live at 
 Little Guise must be a very secluded one. I shall receive 
 few visitors ; certainly only those of my own sex, except in- 
 deed the clergyman of the parish, who is a married man, and 
 with whom I hope to work happily ; and I shall not go out 
 at all, not for a long while at least, if ever ; and why cannot 
 it be that you and I manage our affairs together, and go on 
 our way in peace, no man daring to make us afraid ? " 
 
 <: It might be. I would not be afraid if you were not. 
 But then I have promised Miss Uffadyne, and I cannot go 
 back." 
 
 "No, no; you cannot. Cecil has been quite troubled 
 enough about Esther's resignation. But I am sorry never- 
 theless; I wish you had spoken to me first. Say what 
 you will, you are too good for the place ; neither am I sure 
 that you and Cecil will work together harmoniously. Cecil 
 is very good ; nobody in Chilcombe is half so useful as she is, 
 and her school and her Bible-classes are and have been most 
 undoubted blessings. She thinks nothing of her own trouble, 
 and she never consults her own convenience. If she were 
 required to level a stone wall, she would batter at it, or peck 
 patiently at it, till she had it down to the very foundations. 
 She is hasty, but she tries to be just, and if she demands 
 much from those about her she requires no less or rather 
 more from herself. And she is very warm-hearted, and takes 
 amazingly when she does take to any one. Oh, yes, she is 
 very good and nice truly excellent, you know but peculiar. 
 Nevertheless one is bound by one's treaty ; you must cer- 
 tainly keep faith with Cecil ; and if after a time you feel that 
 the work does not suit you, nor you the work, it will be 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 4(f* 
 
 nuite easy to change. Little Guise is only sixteen miles 
 from Chilcombe, though, it is quite across country." 
 
 The next day came Miss Uffadyne, driving herself in the 
 little pony chaise. She and Florence had not met since the 
 rupture with Oswald, and both felt that they trod upon very 
 delicate ground. Cecil wondered whether Florence knew to 
 what extent she had countenanced her brother in his pro- 
 posals to Esther, and Florence wondered whether Cecil would 
 not openly blame her for encouraging Esther to leave Chil- 
 combe. Both cousins felt very uncomfortable when they 
 were left alone together. Strive as she would against it, 
 there was a sense of guilt on Cecil's mind which did not 
 tend to set her at her ease. To be discomposed was a new 
 experience to Miss Uffadyne, and she confessed to herself 
 that she did not relish it at all. 
 
 " So Lady Torrisdale is gone ] " began Cecil, when she was 
 fairly seated. 
 
 " Yes ; she went away yesterday morning. She is gone to 
 London for the present." 
 
 " How glad you must be to be quit of her." 
 
 " Well, I must confess I am, though it sounds very bad to 
 be glad of the absence of one's relations." 
 
 " I do not see that. If people do not assimilate they are 
 oest apart, whether related or not. Miss Tucker is here still, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. Are you wanting her at once 1 " 
 
 " Well, Alice Chubb is not competent, that is a fact, and 
 the girls do not take to her. Still, I may tell you, Florence, 
 I am not ac all confident about Miss Tucker ; it came round 
 somehow, but I felt that more or less I was going against 
 my own judgment, and I never do that but I repent of it 
 sooner or later. I cannot feel sure that this Fanny will be 
 the right woman in the right place ; she is too much of a 
 fine lady." 
 
 " You mistake. Fanny Tucker is not at all a fine lady ; 
 she is unmistakeably a lady, far too much so to give herself 
 ftj.is, or to shirk her work because it is uncongenial. She 
 will do her duty in the school, and her grace and high-bred 
 tone and her general culture will do the girls no harm.'' 
 
4lf GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 41 1 am not so certain of that. She cannot understand 
 them nor they her." 
 
 "If you feel so much douht, had you not better tell 
 Fanny ? Would it not be wiser to keep on Alice Chubb till 
 you hear of some one really suitable ? " 
 
 " 3To, no ; I must stand by the engagement I have made. 
 Miss Tucker would have every reason to complain of me if 
 now that she is left without a home I hesitated about 
 settling her in her post. Still I wish I had not been so 
 premature, for I have heard from Mrs. Garden, asking me to 
 look out for a young person in whom she takes great interest. 
 She has been five years mistress of the British School at 
 Frumpington, and is leaving for certain good reasons, which 
 Mrs. Garden fully explains. She is anxious to get away 
 from Frumpington, and she does not wish to be out of 
 employment. She would be the very woman for Chil- 
 cornbe." 
 
 " I think it may be arranged. Fanny Tucker will not 
 mind if the present appointment be cancelled." 
 
 " If she were not who and what she is I would offer her a 
 quarter's salary to be off the bargain, but of course that is 
 out of the question. She is of our own order, and that is 
 the mischief of it." 
 
 " Uot at all ; you will be obliging me by giving Fanny 
 up. I want to keep her myself, at least for some time to 
 come ; and she would like to stay with me to go with me 
 to Little Guise, only she felt bound to you." 
 
 " If that really is the case but you are sure that you are 
 not proposing it in order to accommodate me 1 " 
 
 " Quite sure ! It has been one great trouble that I must 
 be alone with Mrs. Lester, whom I really do not know. I 
 have a nervous shrinking from strangers, and it would bo 
 such a comfort to keep Fanny, whom I have learned to know 
 and appreciate." 
 
 " Then I am sure you shall keep her. Even if the Frump- 
 ington woman should fail I would rub on with Alice Chubb, 
 and Mary Murrell as pupil-teacher, till some one eligible 
 turned up. I would do more than that for you, Florence ; X 
 feel as if I had wronged YOU and yet " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 41 T 
 
 44 You have not wronged me, Cecil not in the least." 
 
 " Do you know that I tried to persuade Esther to listen to 
 Oswald ? " 
 
 " Yes, I know. I do not blame you if you thought it 
 would be good for both. I told Esther myself that if she 
 
 loved him " Florence always avoided Oswald's name 
 
 when she could, it gave her a choking pain in the throat 
 "there was no reason why she should not in due time 
 marry him. He never really loved me; he says so, you 
 know ; and now, of course, all is as much over between ua 
 as if it had never been." 
 
 " Esther will have it that it will all come right again." 
 
 " It never will ; it cannot ! Cecil, let me speak plainly 
 to you once, and then we never need revert to the subject 
 again. I did love your brother dearly God knows how 
 dearly. I thought he was to be my own husband, and I 
 gave myself up to love him. And I love him still, for ' love 
 is love for evermore ; ' but it is quite another sort of love I 
 have for him now a sort of solemn, compassionate love, 
 into which no thought of self intrudes. I pray God to 
 lead him and strengthen him, and make him happy ; but 
 the current of our two lives has divided never to mingle 
 again. This new love is something sacred ; I should feel it 
 just the same if he had a wife. But the old love is killed ; 
 it wa3 just as if it had been a living creature, which 
 some one stabbed, and it died, and now it lives again in 
 quite another form. I do not know if you understand 
 me." 
 
 "I think I do, Florence. I have never done you justice. 
 I am afraid I have encouraged Oswald to be unloyal all 
 along. I did not like the engagement, because it was an 
 affair arranged for you, so to speak. I should have liked 
 Oswald to choose spontaneously the woman whom he would 
 marry. But I never dreamed that Esther would attract 
 him ; her want of birth, and beauty, and culture, I should 
 have thought would have been enough." 
 
 " Either will be very beautiful one of these days ; and, 
 though not highly educated, she is not deficient in culture.. 
 
 All her tastes are refined; she has great innate force ol 
 Kl 
 
41 H GRET AND GOLD. 
 
 character, and remarkably vivid perceptions. I am not sur- 
 prised that she should attract him." 
 
 " And you can forgive us all I " 
 
 "I had only him to forgive, and I have forgiven him, 
 quite" 
 
 " And you do not suffer much ? " 
 
 " Of that we will not speak. One cannot endure such a 
 wrench and not feel the anguish of it ; but I am not going 
 to be miserable if I can help it. I seem now to be walking 
 in a grey, sunless world ; but the brightness will come back 
 again in time. At any rate, there is the sure joy of the life 
 of the world to come." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 CECIL'S REPENTANCE. 
 
 THE week after Lady Torrisdale's departure, Miss Guise 
 effected her own removal to Little Guise, and she and Fanny 
 took up their residence in the new home, which was almost 
 as strange to Florence as to Fanny, since in all her life she 
 had but seen it twice, and that in her childhood, and each 
 time for a few hours only. Guise Court had always been 
 her happy home, and she had supposed until lately that it 
 would be her home as long as she should live. " And now," 
 she said to Fanny on the evening of their arrival, " I may 
 never be there any more ! " 
 
 No one guessed what it had cost Florence to leave the 
 Court. Apart from all the sorrow inflicted by her faithless 
 lover, it had given her the keenest pain to bid farewell to 
 the house where she had been mistress so many years. 
 There was the room in which she was born, and in which 
 her mother died, and a little further on another room, in 
 which she had listened to her father's last words, and 
 pressed her last kiss on the lips that would never answer to 
 hers again, however great her yearning or her need "the 
 mouth that kissed last kissed alone / " 
 
 The pictures, tne cabinets, the very chairs and tables, 
 
on?.r AXD GOLD. 419 
 
 were as so many dear friends ; all had borne their part in 
 the hallowed history of the past, and not one could be left 
 \vithout a pang that had in it some of the bitterness of 
 death itself. And it was a sort of death which had come to 
 Florence, for the life which had been hers was ended as 
 entirely as if she had ceased to be. Behind her lay the 
 warm sunshine, and the fragrant roses, the green pastures, 
 and the still translucent. waters giving back the golden rays 
 of noon, and the pure silvery beams of night's celestial 
 queen. Eefore her stretched one grey expanse of sea, and 
 sky, and land ! She had come into a desert world, where 
 all was dark, and drear, and cold, and comfortless. That 
 which had been could never be again ; the hopes and joys 
 of last year had melted away with the winter's snows, and 
 could return no more than they. Her life's thread was 
 broken short off; would it ever again be interwoven with 
 happy thoughts, and love, and joy, and trust ? 
 
 Little Guise, in comparison with the Court, was scarcely 
 more than a roomy cottage. Still it was a good house, and 
 might have comfortably accommodated a large family. It 
 had been put in excellent repair when let to a wealthy 
 Bristol merchant several years before, and the gardens and 
 conservatories had been carefully kept up. Had Mr. Guise 
 any previsions of a day when this would be his darling 
 daughter's only and permanent home 1 Surely it was so ; 
 /or he had had the vinery repaired, and an orchard-house 
 built. Two fine rooms had been added to the west wing, and 
 a small paddock and a flourishing young spinney thrown 
 into the. ornamental grounds ; and it could scarcely be sup- 
 posed that all this was done for the benefit of the Bristol 
 merchant whom Mr. Guise never saw, and who became his 
 tenant for a few months only, or for Florence's comfort for 
 the one year which must elapse before her marriage. 
 
 Florence had received through Cecil a message from 
 Oswald, a very humble and earnest entreaty that she would 
 take with her to Little Guise whatever furniture, or plate, 
 or household property she fancied. He did not intend to 
 live at the Court himself, he sent word, and things would be 
 shut up with strange servants; for Mrs. Maxwell and 
 
420 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Soames declined remaining after Miss Guise's departure, and 
 moth and rust would naturally corrupt, and very likely 
 thieves would break through and steal, and the beautiful old 
 house, with all its fine appointments, would sink into decay. 
 He knew it was vain to ask her to stay there, in Ids house. 
 He would give all he had if it were still hers and not his I 
 But would she not take the furniture, and the pictures, the 
 plate, the valuable collection of antiques and articles of 
 virtu, the stores of linen, which would be given over to 
 mildew if left at Guise, the carved cedar chests, the old oak 
 presses, the dragon china, and a host of other things old 
 and new, which were set forth in a list given in extenso by 
 Mrs. Maxwell and Mr. Soames conjointly. A perfect cata- 
 logue raisonnee it came to be, when fairly completed ; and it 
 was handed over to the new master in due form, who, 
 without reading a page of it, flung it into Cecil's lap, saying 
 it was nothing to him, the things were none of his, save by 
 legal fiction ; and Florence, if she would not stay at the 
 Court, must take them away with her to Little Guise. 
 
 " You talk more like a child than a man," replied Cecil, 
 gravely, as she turned over the numbered sheets of the 
 bulky manuscript. " Of course she cannot stay on living in 
 your house. You would insult her by asking it. A woman, 
 even if she have small self-respect, must defer somewhat to 
 the world's dictum on such delicate points, or be ostracised by 
 society." 
 
 " It is my house, certainly ; but I am not going to live 
 in it." 
 
 " It will seem very strange if you still make the Chenies 
 your home ; it will look very much as if you had too evil a 
 conscience to live at your ease at the Court." 
 
 " I was not thinking of the Chenies. I mean to go abroad 
 almost immediately." 
 
 "Now, Oswald, I will not have you go persecuting my 
 poor Esther. I wish you would understand that you have 
 not the smallest chance with her. She has to thank you for 
 "banishment and expatriation. She never loved you, and now 
 she regards you with something approaching to repulsion. I 
 leg you will not molest her any further." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 421 
 
 " Really, Cecil, you take a high tone ; and, besides, did 
 you not promise me your advocacy, your whole-hearted 
 adherence in the matter ? " 
 
 " I did. Whether in so promising I was right or wrong is 
 mot now of much consequence, for the case is hopeless. If I 
 had seen that Esther really returned your affection, if I could 
 have believed that her happiness depended at all upon 
 becoming your wife, I would never have rested till every 
 obstacle was removed, and the marriage honourably arranged. 
 I would have openly acknowledged her as my future sister- 
 in-law, caring nothing for the world's approbation or depre- 
 cation of my conduct ; but when I find that Esther firmly 
 refuses you, shrinks from you even, what is the use of 
 persisting in my advocacy ? And as for your still pursuing 
 her, I cannot think of anything more shameful, more 
 cruel." 
 
 " Shameful ! when I would make her my dear and honoured 
 wife ? Cruel ! when I go to pour out my heart's love before 
 her?" 
 
 " But she does not want your heart's love. Such love as 
 yours is an awful infliction when it is not wanted. Any 
 woman who is not a vain coquette must feel pain instead of 
 pleasure when addresses which she can never entertain are 
 pressed upon her. And can you not see that you may be 
 doing her a real injury, without at all intending it? You 
 may so easily compromise her. "What will the friends with 
 whom she now is say, when they find that a lover follows in 
 her train ? Would you deprive her of every friend she has % 
 You have separated her from Florence, and from myself, and 
 from Mrs. King, who was as good as a mother to her. What 
 more would you have ? Have you no compassion for a girl 
 who is left alone in the world, with no defence against its 
 -slanders and censures but her own principle, and prudence, 
 *md innate delicacy ? " 
 
 " Cecil, I beg you will drop this tone. I have borne much 
 from you; but I declare to you I cannot, will not, bear 
 much more. You speak to me as if I were a destroyer of 
 innocence, as if I were one of those foul fiends in man's 
 ehape, who go about seeking whom they may devour among 
 
422 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 the young and beautiful. What have I done to merit such 
 vile aspersions 1 " 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense. / asperse you, indeed ! If I 
 thought you harboured any wicked designs against Esther, I 
 would not contaminate myself by conversing with you. No, 
 I acquit you of any such abominable villainy. I believe that 
 Esther would be as safe with you as she would be with me, 
 were she thrown on your protection." 
 
 " You do me no more than justice. If Esther were in my 
 power I should only evince my appreciation of the fact by 
 treating her with increased respect. A queen would not 
 command more humble deference." 
 
 " I do believe you, Oswald ; but cannot you see how, ia 
 spite of the absolute purity of your own intentions, you may 
 expose a girl, situated as Esther is, to most injurious com- 
 ment ? Do you know you have done it already 1 People 
 in this village are coupling your name and hers. Mrs. King 
 came to me this morning, blazing with indignation, to say 
 that Belinda Smith's mother had been setting it afloat that 
 Esther was gone away in disgrace dismissed, in fact, from 
 the school for light conduct." 
 
 " The infamous woman ! I will make her prove her 
 words." 
 
 " You will do nothing of the kind. You would only make 
 matters worse. I will see Mrs. Smith myself, and Esther 
 shall be righted as far as possible." 
 
 "As far as possible? She must be fully and publicly 
 righted, and at once too." 
 
 " I am not sure that it can be. It seems Mrs. Smith saw- 
 Esther and you at the ruins that night, and she affirms, and 
 the neighbourhood I am afraid believes it, that you have 
 "been in the habit of meeting clandestinely for months. Mrs. 
 Smith has some spite against Esther, it seems, on account of 
 some punishment inflicted on Belinda. Mrs. Smith is one of 
 those mothers who, though harsh themselves, almost to 
 brutality, grow furious if any one presumes to exercise 
 discipline upon their offspring. She beats the girl herself 
 shamefully, but she was ready to beat Esther because she 
 kept Belinda without iier dinner one day in a case ol' 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 423 
 
 insubordination. Linda Smith, however, is very fond of 
 Esther, and takes her part fearlessly ; but that does not 
 restrain her mother's tongue, and now it is all about tho 
 village that Esther left Guise in disgrace, having been ' found 
 out ' by Lady Torrisdale, and that I at once dismissed her 
 and sent her abroad to prevent further unpleasantness." 
 
 "That Mrs. Smith deserves ducking on the green. I 
 should like to toss her into the muddiest pool." 
 
 " I dare say you would. Eut as that is out of the question, 
 the best thing you can do is to keep silence, and leave me to 
 iight Esther's battles. It is a sad thing when a girl's name 
 is bandied about in this way ; it is like handling the bloom 
 on the fresh ripe fruit, or brushing the down from the butter- 
 fly's wing. The plum is just as good as it was before, but it 
 does not seem the same ; and the butterfly is not hurt, per- 
 haps, but its beauty is dimmed, and its brilliant hues are for 
 ever tarnished. You have caused sad mischief, Oswald 
 Ulfadyne , you have wrought much evil among us, and all 
 for want of a little prudence and self-control. Eut let by- 
 gones be bygones ; I do not want to distress you ; only let 
 it all end here as far as you are concerned. Keep tho 
 Channel between yourself and Esther Kendall ; do not 
 breathe her name, and, if possible, do not think of her." 
 
 " ]S T ot think of the only girl I ever loved ! Oh, Cecil ! " 
 
 "You do not love Esther Kendall. Love may consist of 
 passion and self-sacrifice, but of passion and selfishness 
 never. Such love as yours is a curse to the woman on whom 
 it is bestowed. It is almost as fatal to her as that other foul 
 and hateful thing that sometimes wears love's semblance, 
 and of which we will not speak. Now I have no more time 
 to waste in aimless conversation. "What am I do with this 
 inventory 1 " 
 
 " I wish it to be given to Florence. If she would take 
 all and every article set down in it I would thank her iron* 
 my heart. I should feel less like a supplanter less like a 
 thief." 
 
 " It is not likely that she will take even a stick which ia 
 not indubitably her own. Eesides, what could she do with 
 such a heap of goods? Little Guise is already furnished, 
 
424 ORF,Y AND GOLD. 
 
 from drawing-room settees and ottomans down to nutmeg- 
 graters. I really believe my uncle thought it possible that 
 Florence might have to live there altogether ; he never would 
 have taken such pains with a place which she was only to 
 occupy for the one year of retirement which must elapse 
 "before she could return to the Court as your wife. And if 
 Little Guise were empty and bare, it would not hold a tithe 
 of all these goods and chattels. I will have nothing to do 
 with it. Oswald ; I will not be a go-between in this matter. 
 Take back your schedule inventory, whatever you may call 
 it." 
 
 " You are extremely unsisterly ; you are unkind.'* 
 
 " Am I ? I do not wish to be so. Oh, Oswald, you are 
 all I have in the world, and I am so bitterly disappointed in 
 you/' And she burst into an agony of weeping which seemed 
 irrepressible. 
 
 Oswald was fairly aghast ; he had not seen Cecil shed tears 
 more than twice since he could remember, and once was when 
 their mother died. Cecil was not a crying young lady ; at 
 any rate people did not see her cry, and Oswald would rather 
 have had her in a flaming passion or sulking for a week than 
 weeping and sobbing thus like the weakest of her sex. 
 
 The end of it all was that Cecil had to go and lie down 
 with severe nervous headache, and Oswald wandered about 
 the house and grounds all the evening, disconsolately wonder- 
 ing what was to become of him. One moment he thought 
 he would go back to Oxford and " rust " there, as Cecil would 
 call it ; for, if he must rust, there could be no more respect- 
 able way of doing it. Then again he resolved to set out at 
 once for Paris, find Esther, and plead his cause with such 
 power that she must yield. Their marriage would effectually 
 silence all the stupid tongues that that venomous Mrs. Smith 
 had set a-going. And then he concluded to go to America, 
 to Australia, to China, or to Palestine : a sort of " anywhere, 
 anywhere out of the world " spirit fell upon him, and ho 
 cared not what became of him. Yet here he was, a young 
 man of good family, with an unsullied name and a fair in- 
 heritance, lately betrothed to the loveliest heiress in the 
 cumty a scholar, a genius, West with health and a hand- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 425 
 
 ome person, and with, a balance at his bankers that made 
 men's mouths water when they only guessed at it ! All this ! 
 and a wretchedness as profound as if he were old, and poverty- 
 stricken, and all alone in the world. There could scarcely 
 be a more miserable man within twenty miles of Chilcombe, 
 unless it were Cuddie Digby, who had always some bitter 
 wrong to revenge, and who looked generally something be- 
 tween a muzzled puma and a rated hound. To think that 
 the rich, handsome, clever, gifted Oswald Uffadyne, the young 
 lord of lordly Guise, w r as in a position to bear comparison 
 with such as he, the bosom friend of Bed Giles and of the 
 unpopular Mr. Fuggles ! 
 
 But next morning, Cecil, looking very pale, informed him 
 that she would go to Florence, and speak to her on the 
 subject of the inventory. Cecil always felt humiliated before 
 Florence now, and this errand would humiliate her still fur- 
 ther, in her own eyes at least ; but she accepted it as a part 
 of the punishment due to her for her own unworthy con- 
 duct. For slowly the scales were falling from Cecil's eyes, and 
 she saw herself in her true colours. Unwittingly she had 
 been both traitor and mischief-maker ! She could see now 
 how first she had begun to be jealous of Florence, how she 
 had always depreciated her, sometimes wilfully misinterpret- 
 ing her, and never doing her justice ; how, while she thought 
 herself only doing her duty, only acting fairly, she had been 
 quietly undermining her brother's affection for his betrothed ; 
 how she had striven to maintain to the full her long- 
 established influence over Oswald, and how all that in- 
 iluence had really been antagonistic to tho happiness of 
 Florence Guise. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Cecil to herself, as she was driving through 
 the lanes to Little Guise, "what would I not give now to 
 retrace the past to undo some of the mischief I have done ! 
 For I shall always feel that I have been Oswald's enemy ; it 
 was I who first taught him to undervalue Florence, who first 
 insinuated that the attachment between them was not of the 
 light sort. If I had openly found fault with Florence it 
 would not have been so harmful. I struck at her covertly ; 
 I made myself believe that I was most just and honourable, 
 
426 GREY AND GOLD 
 
 giving her always her just mead of praise ; but faint and 
 qualified praise is often more hurtful than, open censure. 
 That I had not in view the separation of Florence and 
 Oswald, I am sure, and yet and yet there never was a time 
 since the engagement began when I should not have been 
 pleased to hear of its dissolution. And now it has come, and 
 I am grieved to the very soul. Cecil Uffadyne, you thought 
 yourself the most sensible and practical young woman in the 
 country, and you are a fool ! You did not know yourself ; 
 you persuaded yourself that you were acting for the best, 
 looking at things in a plain, common-sense light, and feeling 
 always your great superiority over weaker and more senti- 
 mental natures. "Well, I have found out that weakness does 
 not always consist in talking nonsense, or in giving way to 
 others ; and one may be very sentimental without falling in 
 love, as people call it, and making one's-self ridiculous. I 
 really don't know but that any amount of spooniness would 
 be better than this intolerable conceit and arrogance which 
 lias led me into such a heap of mistakes, that I hardly know 
 true from false, or right from wrong. My great sin has been 
 the love of power, the love of rule, and the strong desire to 
 be first with everybody with whom I was associated, and in 
 everything in which I was concerned. I thought I reasoned 
 so well ; I fancied my judgment was so excellent, so calm, 
 and so dispassionate ; I felt that I was born to influence 
 others for their good. It was I who was to be Oswald's 
 guiding star, his truest friend and mentor ; and now I find 
 that I have influenced him only for evil, and that I am 
 powerless when I would turn him back into a safer path. 
 One should well count the cost before one begins to urge 
 another into any special track ; it is only God who can say, 
 ' Hitherto shalt thou come, and no farther ! ' ' 
 
 And so Cecil went on reviling herself as the ponies took 
 their way, without much guidance of hers, over the solitary 
 hills to Little Guise. Cecil waa just one of those ardent 
 people who can neither praise noi blame by halves, and the 
 measure she gave others she fully meted out to herself ; she 
 had relied so much upon herself, she had scarcely ever ques- 
 tioned the wisdom of her opinions ; she had lived in an 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 427 
 
 atmosphere of delightful self-complacency and self-applause ; 
 and now she had fallen down, as it were, from a seventh 
 heaven of internal satisfaction into the nethermost depths ol 
 self-accusation and self-distrust. Accordingly she gave her- 
 self credit for having done more mischief than she could be 
 reasonably charged with. Oswald's want of stability would 
 probably have manifested itself sooner or later, even had 
 Florence been Cecil's idol and paragon from the beginning ; 
 though at the same time it is quite possible that Florence's 
 influence, if it had not been stealthily undermined, might 
 have kept him steadfast on points where Cecil was power- 
 less. 
 
 As once the tortoise distanced the hare, slow and steady 
 winning the race, so also the gentler, softer nature sometimes 
 reaches first the goal, and triumphs over the stronger, nioro 
 impetuous temperament. 
 
 Cecil reached Little Guise at last. It looked pleasantly 
 enough in the autumn sunshine, nestling among the grey 
 hills, and half embosomed in its woodland screen, which 
 showed now of all brilliant and vivid hues ; for there had 
 been one or two biting night frosts, and the lime-trees were 
 almost bare. But russet-brown, and orange, and ruddy tints 
 were on thf 'iher trees ; the birch-treo drooped its long 
 tresses of ricn gold, and the mountain-ash was glowing with 
 its clusters of pure coral berries. The clematis was still 
 flowering, though its branches flaunted rather untidily ; the* 
 noisettes were yet in bloom, and the Virginian creeper flamed 
 like a royal banner in the mellow, softened sunshine. 
 
 Florence, though no longer mistress of Guise Court an<J 
 lady of Guiseley, was by no means poor; that was one 
 comfort. Even now, she was more wealthy than Cecil 
 herself, for Cecil's fortune, though ample, was nothing like 
 so large as it was reported to be, though the Chenies 
 was her own, settled upon her when it became evident 
 that Oswald was to inherit Guise Court and the estates of 
 Guiseley. 
 
 She was rather startled when she saw Florence she was 
 looking so exceedingly ill ; she seemed languid and shivery, 
 and inclined to lie down by the lire, with the AfFghan 
 
428 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 wrapped about lier. And for once Cecil did not think it hef 
 duty to chide, or to invite her to an effort which was evi- 
 dently painful. ]\lrs. Lester had arrived, and she was greatly 
 concerned to find her charge in such weak health, and she 
 had proposed an immediate journey to town, but Florence 
 refused to leave the country. She was too tired, she said ; 
 -she must " rest " she only needed rest : medical advice 
 was altogether needless. She could not make a second 
 change while she was still suffering from the effects of the 
 first ; she would rally if left quietly to herself, and the more 
 quickly the less she was disturbed. 
 
 " My dear Florence, you never told us you were ill," said 
 Cecil, when she was left alone with her cousin. 
 
 " I'm not ill, only so dreadfully tired, and so miserably 
 chilly. I think Little Guise must be very cold, though 
 Fanny will have it that it is warmer here among the hills, 
 and sheltered as we are, than it was on the high ground at 
 Guise Court. I do not know how it is, but I am never 
 comfortably warm unless I am snug in bed, with the eider- 
 down quilt tucked round me." 
 
 " You are not cold now ; your hands are burning." 
 
 "Oh, that is because I am a little feverish; I have a 
 cold upon me. I feel shivery in mysel Do stir the fire, 
 please." 
 
 "Flossy, you are ill! you must have advice. Mrs. 
 Lester had better go up to town with you." 
 
 " She has already proposed that, and I have refused. 
 And I mean to be firm I am going to be obstinate indeed ; 
 nothing shall take me away from Little Guise this winter. 
 Why, I am only just settled here." 
 
 " What does that matter when your health is at stake ? " 
 
 " My health will be all right after a time, Cecil, but not 
 just yet. Nature is taking a little revenge, I suppose : she 
 always does in such cases. After any extraordinary trial of 
 one's strength and nerves there is sure to come a period of 
 reaction. I am not well, I know, but I only want quiet and 
 ie?t. I cannot talk much, nor think much. If I can omy 
 iie here undisturbed I shall soon get better." 
 
 " I am not sure of that. Florence, it is your duty to see 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 42 & 
 
 ft medical man," said Cecil, falling into her old preaching 
 tone ; then, catching herself up ' I mean that it would ba 
 euch a relief to us who care about you to know certainly 
 that there are no grounds of fear." 
 
 " Fear of what 1 " 
 
 'Tear of serious malady, which, if neglected too long, 
 might fasten upon you, and and prove dangerous, you 
 know." 
 
 " And end fatally ! That is what you mean, is it not ? 
 Well, I think life is a gift to be cherished, and I shall do all 
 I can to prolong mine ; but I see nothing so terrible in. 
 death. Who dreads the quiet, cool evening, after the sultry,, 
 busy noon ? Who fears the shadows and the silence of the 
 night, after the glare and turmoil of the day 1 ? If it be 
 God's will, I am not afraid to go to Him. If he will com- 
 fort me, and give me rest so, why need I fear ? ' For so He 
 giveth His beloved sleep.' " 
 
 " Florence, don't ; I cannot bear it. We yes, we, for I 
 have helped we have made life a burden to you, and you 
 arc glad to lay it down. We have taken all your sunshine, 
 and you are glad to close your eyes on a grey world, from, 
 which all the brightness has vanished." 
 
 And Cecil gave way again to violent weeping ; she was- 
 thoroughly unhinged, and her vehement self-reproach was 
 almost more than she could endure. Patiently and calmly 
 she could not endure it. After all, it was a question which, 
 was the stronger hearted, she or Florence. 
 
 But her weeping disquieted Florence, as it had disquieted 
 Oswald ; and Florence had little strength to bear excitement. 
 She lay back on her cushions, with her cheeks very pink, 
 but gasping for breath ; while Cecil knelt by her side, 
 clasping one hand tightly, and burying her face in the 
 Affghan, and sobbing as in unutterable anguish. 
 
 "Don't Cecil !" said poor Florence, faintly ; "it is more 
 than I can bear now, and and I really cannot understand 
 you." 
 
 But Cecil wept on unrestrainedly, and Florence grew more 
 and more excited, till Fanny Tucker, quietly entering the 
 room, and seeing the state of affairs,, interfere*! 
 
430 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Fanny saw further than most peoplo. She had lately put 
 a few things together, which led her to a tolerably clear 
 comprehension of Cecil's feelings towards Florence. She 
 did not quite understand this utter abandonment of grief, 
 but she knew that Miss Uffadyne was remorseful now that 
 her brother and her cousin were finally separated, and she 
 could see that Cecil was giving way to her feelings, to 
 Florence's great detriment. For several days she had been 
 keeping her as quiet as possible, guarding her from Mrs. 
 Lester's rather officious kindness, and trying to divert her 
 mind in every way that she could think of. And here was 
 Cecil undoing in five minutes the thoughtful consideration 
 of a week ! 
 
 Fanny had learned to resist Lady Torrisdale, and she was 
 not afraid of the clever, patronising Miss Uffadyne. She 
 went up to her and touched her shoulder, saying, in a tone 
 of peculiar, quiet firmness, " Miss Uffadyne, come away ; 
 you are doing Florence harm. Rise, if you please, and 
 come away." 
 
 The light but steady touch, and the gentle yet command- 
 ing voice, roused Cecil ; and she rose, feeling more humili- 
 ated than ever. Florence had not even understood her 
 penitence, and she repelled her sympathy. 
 
 Fanny stood uncompromisingly waiting till Cecil should 
 quit the room, and Cecil, weakened and hysterical herself, 
 and terrified at Florence's closed eyes and paled cheeks from 
 which all the pink had faded, was fain humbly to obey. 
 ^Never had she felt so beaten as when she followed Miss 
 Tucker into the library, and sat down in the easy chair, and 
 took the port wine which was offered her, and in all respects 
 obeyed as simple as a child. It was Cecil's first experience of 
 submission for many and many a day ; it seemed so strange 
 to yield, and yet she knew she had no choice ; besides, was it 
 not right that her new humility should be tested ? What 
 were words without action 1 And of what avail were peni- 
 tential tears unless self-discipline ensued? So it came to 
 pass that Cecil humbled herself, and acknowledged to Fanny 
 how thoughtless she had been, and begged to be, allowed to 
 see Florence again before she leifc. 
 
GREY AND GOLI/. 61 
 
 Fanny would willingly have kept the two apart, btit 
 Florence herself desired that Cecil might return to her ; and 
 so there was no alternative. And then Cecil bethought 
 herself of the business upon which she had come to Little 
 Guise. How now could she introduce it ? for she perceived 
 that Oswald's name was a sound interdicted in that house. 
 
 But she held the inventory in her hand, and presently 
 Florence asked her what it was. A little the wiser for her 
 recent experience, Cecil guardedly explained. Florence's 
 colour rose again, and her fingers played nervously with the 
 fringe of the Affghan. 
 
 After nearly a minute's silence, she said, " Am I to under- 
 stand that your brother sends it to me 1 " 
 
 " Yes; he begged me to bring it. At first I refused, but 
 he pleaded hard, and so I relented. And now, Florence, let 
 me say it at once : I know that you owe us nothing that you 
 should yield your wish to ours or consult our happiness, but 
 if you would do what we ask as a favour, as a very great 
 and undeserved favour we should be so very much the 
 happier ! " 
 
 " Do not ask me, Cecil ; I cannot ! Could you yourself, 
 were you in my case 1 " 
 
 "Candidly, perhaps not; but you are better than I am, 
 Florence. You have not my pride and self-esteem to combat 
 with. And poor Oswald has not lost all sense of honour ; 
 he cannot bear Guise he fells himself an usurper, a sup- 
 planter, almost a thief ! If you would only take as many 
 of the things as you care for, if you would only select ! I 
 know it is foolish to ask you to take all, but there must be 
 some things you would like." 
 
 " I have everything that I care for specially. I did bring 
 away much that is not included in this list, all that I felt 
 was personally mine ; also everything that was in my own 
 bedroom and my boudoir papa said I was to count as abso- 
 lutely my own, as well as certain articles of plate, china, and 
 jewellery. I remember he said to me one day, half in fun, 
 as it seemed, and half in earnest, 1 1 have mentioned these 
 things in case you chose to run away from Guise ; and eveu 
 it you. do not, I should like them to be your separate 
 
432 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 property, to do with exactly as you please.' So about these 
 things, which were all distinctly specified in papa's will, you 
 know I could feel no hesitation." 
 
 " Nor need you feel any hesitation ahout anything else 
 not thus specified." 
 
 " Thank you, Cecil, hut I must ! I cannot take the 
 smallest thing that by law belongs to your brother. Nay, I 
 do not want anything : this place is beautifully furnished, 
 everything has been thought of, apparently. It is as perfect 
 as the Court in its way, and I really believe I have brought 
 with me all I could not bear to leave behind me." 
 
 " It must have been a cruel trial, leaving Guise ! n 
 
 *'' Yes ! but we never know what we can bear till we are 
 tried," said Florence in rather a hard voice. Every now and 
 then there was a ring, a sort of jar in her tones, naturally so 
 sweet and soft, that Cecil never remembered to have re- 
 marked before. Certainly Florence was much altered since 
 her father's death. 
 
 " Then you will not look through the Inventory ? " said 
 Cecil once more. She felt the indelicacy of urging the 
 question, but she was so unwilling to go back to Oswald and 
 tell him that she had been entirely unsuccessful. 
 
 "Please not to say any more about it," said Florence, 
 moving restlessly. " Oh, Cecil, if you knew how weary I 
 am, how I want to put aside all regretful thoughts of my old 
 life, you would spare me any further reference to it. If you 
 care at all about me, please say no more." 
 
 "I do care for you very much, Flossy. I care for you 
 now as I never did before, for I see how good you are, and 
 also how strong." 
 
 " No, no. I am not strong ; I am too tired to be any- 
 thing but weak. After a little while it will be otherwise, I 
 hope. I am not going to be an idler because the work that 
 I have been used to is taken from me. But I am glad you 
 care for me, Cecil ; I once thought you did not." 
 
 " You might well think so, Florence ! I have learnt a 
 lesson. 1 will never trust myself again. I will never more 
 put my opinion before all other people's, as I have done. I 
 meant to do right. You must see that I am naturally 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 of managing and patronising, and I thought I must help in 
 the arrangement of everybody's business ; and I did mean to 
 be of use, but I have done only mischief." 
 
 " Cecil, what have you done 1 You speak as if you 
 had done me some great wrong, of which I know noth- 
 
 ing." 
 
 Then Cecil made full and free confession. She had not 
 done anything, and she had said little ; but her silence had 
 been meant for disapproval. Her faint praise she knew had 
 been worse than hearty blame ; it was her tone, rather than 
 her words, which suggested censure. " You see," she said at 
 last, "I was jealous of you. I had had Oswald all to 
 myself, and when I found you came first, I am afraid I 
 began to entertain all sorts of petty spites against you. 
 And at the same time I told myself that I was superior to 
 any such unworthy sentiments. I did not like the engage- 
 ment, so I made believe to myself that for both your sakes 
 I could not wish it fulfilled ! I put down everything to the 
 score of duty. Now I see that what I called sound dis- 
 cretion and sisterly anxiety was nothing but spite and 
 jealousy and wicked temper. Oh, Flossy, there is no de- 
 ceiver like a self-deceiver ! " 
 
 " Cecil, my dear, I am glad you have said all this ; but 
 you need not reproach yourself so bitterly. If he had 
 truly loved me, all you could have said or left unsaid would 
 have been ineffectual to part us. He never loved me, and I 
 loved an ideal that never existed. Your brother, as I now 
 know him, is a person whom I could not marry, if he came 
 back to me to-morrow. My friend of old time, the myth I 
 called Oswald Uffadyne, is dead and buried ! Let us not 
 revive his memory, nor vex his ghost to haunt me. There, 
 dear, do not look so sad ; it will all be for the best ; ' it will 
 all come out right at last,' as that American book says ; 
 only, please, when we meet let us talk of other things. How 
 does the Frumpington young woman suit you 1 " 
 
 "The Frumpington woman is not young. I should say she 
 is almost forty. And I cannot tell what to make of her. 
 She has strong opinions, which she expresses strongly, and 
 sne has a ' system ' of her own. I am going to let her try it 
 
434 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 I shall not interfere unless I sea that thing 4 ? are sroing wrong 
 Her religious views, too, are queer." 
 
 " Is she not of the Church of England 1 " 
 
 " She is of no church at all, it seems to me. I charged 
 her with being a Plymouth Sister, but she denied it wit** 
 some indignation." 
 
 " Dear me ! I hope she is not a female Jesuit." 
 
 " She looks a little like one, in her scanty petticoats and 
 spectacles. I shall watch closely but quietly." 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 A VISIT PRO JE CTED. 
 
 BUT Florence did not get better, although she was left quiet 
 and undisturbed at Little Guise, and though Fanny watched 
 over her and nursed her with all the tenderness of a sister. 
 The autumn was passing into winter, and the alternations of 
 \veather from sharp and windy to damp and mild were more 
 than usually trying to any one in delicate health. Florence 
 took cold perpetually, in spite of every precaution, and cold 
 upon cold, though not severally severe, reduced her strength, 
 and depressed her spirits greatly. 
 
 One grey November day she seemed worse than usual ; she 
 complained of head ache and increased lassitude, and she 
 was evidently disinclined for reading or conversing. 
 
 Fanny began to feel extremely anxious on her account. It 
 was not a day to improve one's spirits ; it had rained aii 
 night, and everything was dripping with moisture ; the grey 
 sea melted away into the greyer sky, and the grey hiils, 
 cloud-vsiled and misty, seemed lost in the deeper shadows of 
 the woods and valleys. The garden itself looked wretched 
 and forlorn ; the lawn was soaking, the evergreens hung with 
 rain-drops, and the chrysanthemums and asters that were 
 to have brightened the borders till Christmas drooped on 
 withered and unsightly stems. An unexpected frost had 
 shrivelled and blackened all the late autumnal flowers, and 
 robbed the parterre of every lingering grace oi the swees 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 435 
 
 \ T anislied summertide. It had been a very lovely summer, 
 but a most sad one for nearly all the persons with whose 
 concerns this story has to do. 
 
 Florence sat gazing out on the cheerless prospect ; Fanny 
 suggested that they should go on with the book they had in 
 reading ; it belonged to Mudie's set, and would soon have to 
 be exchanged. 
 
 " I do not think I can read to-day," said Florence, wearily. 
 " Finish the story yourself, Fanny, and tell me about it after- 
 wards ; you are the most successful conteuse, you know." 
 
 " But you will grow so weary, looking out on that grey sea 
 and heavy sky, and those wet, miserable woods. It is not 
 good for you, dear ; it will give you sad thoughts." 
 
 " I don't know that it can make them sadder than they 
 are. Fanny, I am afraid I am what is called giving way. I 
 know I am wrong, and yet I cannot help it ; I believe a 
 downright scolding would do me good." 
 
 "And I do not believe in scolding under any circum- 
 stances ; perhaps because I have had so much of it, and it 
 has failed to benefit me in the smallest degree. Lady Torris- 
 dale used to say at the end of one of her orations, ' But you 
 are incorrigible, Fanny.' ]N"o ! you must not be scolded, 
 neither must you sit there brooding over your own sad 
 thoughts. .Bather tell them, if you do not mind; it is 
 often good to speak out, and I think you trust me." 
 
 " To be sure I do, Fras. But what right have I to burden 
 you with my sorrowful spirit 1 It is only the old story over 
 again. I am thinking how this grey, sad day is in accord- 
 ance with my life, cold, and colourless, and desolate. I, too, 
 can say 
 
 " ' Yet rose my morn divinely bright, 
 
 Birds, dews, and blossoms cheered my way.* 
 
 Will there be no light till evening time, think you, Fanny ? *' 
 "Florence, dearest, there should be light now in your own 
 
 heart. Wait and trust, and sunshine will break out once 
 
 more." 
 
 " It seems now as if it could not be." 
 
 " And it seems now as if that sea could never glitter again 
 
436 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 beneath any cloudless sky ; as if those woods could nevei 
 rustle their .leaves any more in soft, balmy southern breezes ; 
 as if flowers could never spring afresh from those bare, naked 
 stems. Yet it will be, though not yet awhile. As surely as 
 there is a sun behind those leaden clouds there will come -<\ 
 time of brightness, and beauty, and melody. The waves will 
 dance and glitter, the lark will sing, the woods will be green- 
 again, and flowers will bloom about us. So, Florence, dear, 
 your summer will return ; only be patient and trust God. 
 He knows what He is doing, and how you are feeling, and 
 He loves you." 
 
 "Fanny, I am afraid I have been losing faith in God, 
 quitting my hold of Him, and that is why I am so desolate." 
 
 " I think we all lose faith sometimes, or rather we seem to 
 lose it ; but I have found that those very seasons of apparent 
 distrust have really deepened and strengthened my faith. I 
 have found always that God is faithful and true to Hi & 
 promises, though I am weak and faithless, and it ends in 
 my looking less to myself and clasping His hand more? 
 closely." 
 
 " Ah ! I have been letting go that clasp." 
 
 " And if you have, He has not." 
 
 " I feel so like a tired child who has been naughty, Fras." 
 
 " I know that feeling, Florence ; the ofnly thing is just tc* 
 give one's-self up like a child, and say, ' My Father, here I 
 am, way-worn and weary ; do with me as Thou wilt.' The 
 very act of faith gives patience, and of patience is born joy 
 and renewed hope." 
 
 "Fanny, forgive my asking you, have you ever had a 
 trouble of this sort ? " 
 
 " I have indeed, and very sore trouble it was. Even now 
 I could not talk about it, and there are some things that are 
 better never talked of. But I have known the very extremity 
 of this sort of sorrow." 
 
 " I thought so, because you seemed to understand it so 
 vrelL You have been so tender, and yours is the only 
 sympathy which has never wounded me. I was sure you 
 knew how it felt. Fras, can it never come right 1 " 
 
 "I think never. I try not to think of it. I ought not to 
 
GHEY AXD GOLD. 437 
 
 rapine at anything now ; all is so changed since you took mo 
 to live with you. The old life was so very, very wretched, 
 that I cannot think how I bore it so long." 
 " And you are really happy now 1 " 
 
 "As far as myself is concerned; I cannot be altogether 
 happy, you know, when you are not. Flossy, dear, won't 
 you try to take all the joys that are left to you, and be 
 quietly, calmly happy ? See what a blessing you may be to 
 all about you." 
 
 " I have thought of that. That work is an excellent tonic 
 I am sure, but I scarcely see what to do ; I cannot work 
 merely to pass away time. I might paint a little, perhaps, 
 but I am tired of books just now, and the piano gives me the 
 3ieart-ache worse than ever the moment I touch the keys. 
 Then among the poor there seems so little to be done here. 
 In the first place, there are scarcely any that are really poor 
 only a few labourers' families, that are well looked after, I 
 am told. We have a working clergyman, and his wife is a 
 regular busy bee in the parish. She has excellent health, 
 and she has no children and plenty of money, and evidently 
 likes doing most things single-handed. I am afraid there is 
 no opening here, and I am sorry for it, for I like to visit 
 among the poor, and we always get on well together." 
 
 " But, Florence, il y a des pauvres et des pauvres, you 
 know. I feel as if it were your mission, perhaps, to help the 
 poor of our own order." 
 
 " Of our own order ? Poor ladies and gentlemen, do you 
 mean]" 
 
 "Exactly. I sometimes think what we call ' genteel 
 poverty ' is harder to endure than that absolute want which 
 sends people out to tell their piteous tale. The very poor are 
 used to poverty I do not mean it unfeelingly and they are 
 not ashamed of it ; neither is it any pain or humiliation to 
 them to take alms, especially if kindly tendered. It is the 
 poverty that hides itself, that toils and toils in vain, to keep 
 up a little decency, and to maintain a few of the old observ- 
 ances, which seem all that link it to past time ; the poverty 
 that shrinks from notice, that will, if need be, wear a smiling 
 (ace, though, the wardrobe be threadbare and the cupboard 
 
438 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 all but empty ; that finds fewest helpers, and yet neds help 
 most sorely. I speak feelingly; I have known such 
 poverty." 
 
 "Dear, dear Fras, I know that Lady Torrisdale treated 
 you most unkindly, but I never knew that you were really 
 poor" 
 
 "All my childish recollections are of bitter, stinging 
 poverty, and of weary struggles to conceal it. My poor 
 mother, you know, married without the sanction of her 
 family, and they never forgave her. My father died and left 
 us in Paris all but penniless. Oh ! how bravely my poor 
 mother bore on. She did fine needlework ; she arranged 
 artificial wreaths, or mounted real flowers for the florists ; sha 
 sketched and she painted ; she coloured printed engravings 
 for illustrated books ; she did everything and anything to 
 keep me from want, and to supply me with a few comforts. 
 But it was hard work, and sometimes she could not get pay- 
 ment in ready money ; she was told to send in her bill next 
 week or next month, when perhaps we were at our wits' end 
 to keep the pot-au-feu going for one day longer. But that 
 a neighbour taught us all the mysteries of cheap French 
 cookery we should certainly have come very near to starva- 
 tion. Thank God, we never were tried with that grim 
 phantom at our doors, but many a time when I was a grow- 
 ing girl I have longed in vain for a nice sufficient meal, 
 and I have had to stay indoors because I had no shoes, 
 and to keep in the miserable rjrenier, au sixieme, in which 
 we lived lest people should guess how very poor we were. I 
 suppose it was pride, and yet I hardly know. No one 
 knows what it is to be of gentle birth and breeding, and yet 
 to be short of actual necessaries ; to be conscious of shabby 
 dress, and of making shabby bargains, and to be mixed up 
 with people who are good enough, perhaps, but vulgar and 
 ignorant, and generally inquisitive and rude, according to our 
 code of politeness, of which they can know nothing. Only 
 they know who have experienced it." 
 
 " But it must be very difficult to help people so sadly 
 Biluatedr 
 
 " So difficult that not one person in five hundred is fitted 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 439 
 
 for the task. ]S"ow it seems to me that God has given you 
 rare gifts, which specially qualify you to be the helper of such 
 unfortunates. You have a natural delicacy which would pre- 
 vent you from outraging or wounding other people's feelings ; 
 you have great sweetness and frankness of manner, and you 
 have such a nice way of putting things. I feel your exceed- 
 ing kindness to myself, yet you never make me feel under 
 rbligations ; you do not remind me of your favours ; I am 
 aware of them, and I am most grateful, but they are never a 
 burden to me. I never feel constrained to say, ' Oh, that I 
 could do without them ! ' " 
 
 " My dear Fras, I do you no particular kindnesses; and as 
 for favours, I am sure there are none except what I receive 
 from you. We are more than quits ; for if you have a plea- 
 sant home with me, you make that home to me endurable* 
 You are all the sunshine I have, and when I reckon up my 
 mercies I do sometimes, though I am so repining and rebel- 
 lious I place your coming to me just when I needed you, 
 foremost among them." 
 
 " That is it ; you do kindnesses to people naturally and un- 
 consciously. But to cease speaking of myself, there is Esther 
 Kendall ; you have made her quite a different creature." 
 
 " Ah, poor Esther ! I think I see her now in her old 
 tattered alpaca dress, her hands grimed with hard work, her 
 face sullen and heavy from oppression and insult, and her 
 splendid dark eyes that were always beautiful and beaming 
 with intelligence, though sometimes she has come to mo 
 nearly desperate, and looking like a hunted animal that is not 
 sure whether it will lie down and die, or turn and stand 
 savagely at bay." 
 
 "Who is Esther Kendall?" 
 
 " Just Esther Kendall, I suppose ; I know no more. 
 I never imagined there was any mystery about her ; her own 
 people must have been of the better sort. In all her dirt and 
 rags yes, comparative dirt and rags, of course, for she was 
 shockingly untidy in all her ignorance and self-abandonment, 
 *here was something in her which surprised me. She spoke 
 like a lady, and while doing the tasks of a common servant 
 she never looked like one ; she was naturally refined and 
 
440 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 intellectual in her tastes ; she needed but the merest touch of 
 a helping hand to set her on her feet. But it was my dear 
 father who first really learned to know Esther ; her debt of 
 gratitude, if there be one, is to him, not to me." 
 
 " The Hellicars must be dreadful people." 
 
 " They are indeed ; we should have come away after Esther 
 left, but dear papa wanted to be often at Lincoln's Inn, and 
 about the Courts of Law, and we were expecting continually 
 to get home. Once we did give notice, for our patience was 
 just exhausted, so much neglect and carelessness, and so much 
 vulgar pretence, and absolute dishonesty. But Mrs. Hellicar 
 came and cried and pleaded, and said if we left a distress 
 would be put into the house ; so we stayed on till papa's 
 business was concluded. I often wonder how Mr. York 
 could have taken such lodgings for us. But the neighbour- 
 hood suited, dingy as it was ; even then papa could not bear 
 much locomotion, so it would never have done to go to the 
 "West-end, as was at first intended. Besides, we found 
 Esther." 
 
 " And do you still think that was a blessing ? " 
 
 " I do. Good must come out of it ; good has come out of 
 it. We were so manifestly sent to her assistance, I feel so 
 sure it was on her account that God directed our steps to 
 Queen Square, that I am certain we are still, if we both live, 
 to be a blessing to each other. Esther is as true as gold - 
 she has been proved, and the proving has nearly broken my 
 heart ; but I cannot blame her, for no blame attaches to her. 
 Even Cecil can find nothing against her ; no one could have 
 behaved more nobly." 
 
 " No, indeed, nor more delicately. Who would think she 
 was related to the Hellicars ] " 
 
 " She is not ; it is only a connection by marriage. But 
 Mr. Hellicar himself comes of a good family, I believe. 
 Want of straightforwardness has been his ruin, I fancy. 
 Papa used to say he was a man without a moral backbone, 
 and Esther says he has no bones in his character at all." 
 
 " I know precisely the sort of man you mean : be he the 
 son of a peer or of a rag and bone dealer, the end is pretty 
 nearly the same. But what is he to Esther 2 " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 441 
 
 " Her uncle-in-law merely. His first wife was a Miss 
 Kendall, and that dreadful Dick is really her cousin. The 
 children by the second marriage are in truth no relations of 
 hers, and Mrs. Hellicar is her aunt simply by courtesy." 
 
 " I understand. And I understand too what it must have 
 been to her to escape from so much vulgarity and moral con- 
 tagion into a purer atmosphere. And now, apropos of all 
 this talk about genteel poverty and its victims, I want you 
 to help somebody. I know I may ask you." 
 
 " Of course you may. It -will do me all the good in the 
 world to be of use to somebody, though that is surely a 
 selfish motive. "Who is it I am to help 1 " 
 
 "The Digbys of Helmsley Grange." 
 
 " My dear Fanny, impossible ! I know they are poor, 
 worse than poor they are in debt. But they are very 
 proud, and I have no more right to offer aid to them than 
 they have to press it upon me. The Digbys and the Guises 
 always stood side by side ; and if you come to ancient 
 family and le sang pur, and all that sort of thing, I am 
 afraid the Digbys stand first. I am very sorry for them, but 
 what could I do ? " 
 
 "You visit them?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, occasionally. That is, I call on Mrs. Digby and 
 Edith now and then ; they have not been here I mean to 
 Guise Court for years, because they have no carriage, poor 
 things ! I saw Lancelot, though, frequently in the summer 
 he was lodging on Templemoor ; and I saw Rupert once or 
 twice. I have never seen Cuddie since he was a shocking, 
 ill-favoured lout of a boy, with a most sullen and malicious 
 temper." 
 
 " You have not seen Edith lately, I think ? " 
 
 " It is some months since I saw her ; I met her once in 
 Chilcombe village soon after our return. Esther told me a 
 great deal about her how she worked for the family, and 
 tended all those wearifu' bairns, and nursed her rather silly 
 stepniamma, and was always bright and cheerful Esther 
 found her charming." 
 
 "So she must be, if half that is said about her be true. 
 But she is extremely unwell now over-worked, no doubt. 
 
442 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 I heard about her the other day when I was at Chilcombe. 
 She has no actual malady, they say, but she has lost hei 
 appetite and cannot sleep ; she is very nervous, and, what is 
 worst of all, she is taken with sudden fainting fits." 
 
 " Oh, that is serious. Could we get her here for a little 
 while, do you think 1 " 
 
 " That is just what I was wishing. That would be a kind- 
 ness indeed a help they could not resent. It is not always 
 with money, or with gifts of any sort, that people especially 
 such people are most fully helped. You will only propose 
 a visit between equals. It stands to sense that the poor girl 
 needs rest and quiet and a little nursing, which she cannot 
 have in that noisy, busy, and poor household." 
 
 "We will go to-morrow, Fanny, and try if we cannot 
 bring her away with us. Oh, I am so glad you thought of 
 it ! I fancy a little nursing would do me good now ; I am 
 tired of being nursed, and I could not ask you or Mrs 
 Lester to fall ill for my benefit. Change of air and scene, 
 and perfect rest and quiet and generous living, must be what 
 she wants poor, good, uncomplaining Edith ! Yes, we will 
 go to-morrow, if the weather be at all propitious ; it does 
 not matter about my cold, for it is all one whether I sit at 
 home or go abroad." 
 
 " Mr. Maurice said driving on a inild day would do you 
 good." 
 
 "And I will wrap up well. And, Fanny, perhaps we 
 might go to the Grange and settle about Edith's visit, and 
 then go on to Chilcombe and stay with Cecil all night ; she 
 is quite alone now. And next day we could take up Edith 
 it would not be so sudden and come back here again." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 OVER THE HILLS. 
 
 THE next day was propitious ; and when Florence looked out 
 on the grey morning, wondering whether it would be within 
 the limits of prudence to take the proposed journey to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 443 
 
 Helmsley, she saw that the wind had changed, and though 
 a soft haze hung upon the hills, and brooded over the sea, 
 there was every prospect of an unusually fine November day. 
 
 At ten o'clock Florence was up and dressed, and Fanny 
 and she were settling at what hour the carriage should be 
 ordered round. 
 
 " In an hour's time, I say," said Fanny j " thus we shall 
 have the very finest portion of the day, and all the sunshine, 
 if there should be any ; it will take us the best part of three 
 hours to get over the hills to Helmsley, for your horses, 
 though in excellent condition, are certainly a little lazy. 
 Tnen there is the drive to Chilcombe. I suppose there is no 
 question about our being able to remain at the Chenies all 
 night 1 ? for I r really think the double journey is what you 
 ought not to undertake." 
 
 " We can certainly stay. Cecil is sure to be at home, and 
 quite alone, and she will be very glad to have us." 
 
 " Her brother has set out then ? " 
 
 " Surely ! or I should never have dreamed of going near 
 Chilcombe. I heard from Cecil several days ago, and she 
 told me that Mr. TJffadyne was already at Marseilles." 
 
 " He makes some stay at Alexandria, does he not 1 " 
 
 " Yes, I think so ; he will wait for some of his old 
 Oxford friends either there or at Cairo, and then they are 
 going up the Nile together, visiting the Pyramids and Philse, 
 of course intending to penetrate as far as Nubia. After- 
 wards they will cross into the Desert, stop at Sinai, and! 
 diverge to Petra ; and finally explore the Holy Land, the 
 Valley of the Jordan, Damascus, Lebanon, etc. Then I 
 believe they return home by way of Bey rout." 
 
 " What a magnificent programme ! I wonder Miss 
 Uffadyne did not go too. She is so thoroughly a woman of 
 resources, and so entirely self-reliant, that she could not be 
 afraid of possible dangers or discomforts. And it must be 
 very dull for her, all alone at the Chenies at this dreary 
 time of the year." 
 
 " I believe she thought it her duty to stay at home because 
 of her school ; at least that is the reason she gave when 
 refusing her brother's entreaties that she would join th 
 
444 GREY AND GOLD 
 
 party, which, includes two or more married ladies. I am not 
 sure but that she had other reasons." 
 
 By eleven o'clock the carriage was at the door, and the 
 friends drove away, the opal-tinted haze lifting itself from 
 the hills as they approached them. By the time they 
 reached the high downs only a few snowy, fleecy clouds 
 flecked the clear blue sky, and the sea sparkled in the glad- 
 some sunshine, every little dancing wave rising and falling 
 in a shower of brilliants. And beneath, nestling among its 
 beautiful shrubberies, and sheltered by the friendly woods, 
 lay the fair homestead of Little Guise. 
 
 "Ah, what a joy the sunshine is ! " said Florence, looking 
 forth on the wide, lovely prospect. " And all this breadth 
 of view gives one a delicious sense of freedom. I feel 
 Letter already, Fanny." 
 
 11 1 knew you did. I saw it in your eyes, and there is a 
 healthy rlow on your cheeks quite unlike the pink flush 
 that has troubled us so much of late. Yes, the sunshine 
 does make a great difference ! " 
 
 " Still, I can fancy how one would weary of the glare and 
 the heat in those sunny lands, where there is scarcely ever 
 either mist or cloud. Even in our own hot summers one 
 rejoices sometimes in a calm grey day. Extremes of con- 
 dition are not good in the natural world any more than in 
 the spiritual." 
 
 " And we never have them for long together. God gives 
 us in our lives summer and winter, sunshine and shadow, 
 according to His good pleasure." 
 
 "And it is His pleasure always to do us good ? " 
 
 " Always, always. "We both feel that I think. We both, 
 feel quite sure of our Heavenly Father's love and care. 
 However we may fail and lose faith, and so of necessity lose 
 peace, He never fails us, never changes, never quits His hold 
 on us. Florence, don't you feel sometimes as if your heart 
 would burst with gratitude, with love and praise to our 
 Father who is in heaven ? " 
 
 "I have felt so, but of late it has been far otherwise. It 
 is so easy to praise when one has all one wants ; even the 
 birds sing in the golden day. But it is in the grey day, 
 
GflEY AND GOLD. 443 
 
 \vhen the world is cold and dim, and one's life to como 
 eeems all one colourless waste, and the heavy hours drag en, 
 and the evening, dark and lowering, is at hand, that one's 
 Christian character is truly tested. If you give the child, 
 who says he loves you, all he wants, and if you yield to all 
 his wishes, he will doubtless be obedient and docile ; but 
 take away his favourite playthings, thwart him ever so 
 gently, and see how it will be then. And we are children to 
 our lives' end ; I feel myself to be a very child. And I 
 have murmured because my Father saw fit to reserve some 
 precious things which once He let me keep. I have fretted, 
 Fanny, more than you know ; I have repined, and struggled, 
 and rebelled. And so my Father has hidden His face, and 
 I can feel the darkness that has gathered round me." 
 
 " I do not think in such cases God does hide His face, 
 though I know that is the orthodox way of putting it. I 
 believe that His face shines on us, always serene and pitiful 
 as ever, whithersoever we may wander. It is we who encom- 
 pass ourselves with the thick cloud of our sins and doubts, 
 end weak unfaith ; its darkness gathers round us, and so we 
 cannot see the Divine countenance." 
 
 " What can one do 1 how can one penetrate that terrible 
 obscurity ? " 
 
 " I do not think one can penetrate it. But when we are, 
 as it were, walled in with doubts and fears, we must stretch 
 out our arms, feeble though they be, through the thickening 
 gloom, and grope and seek to find our .Father's hand. When 
 once we feel that clasp all is well. Ah ! how often, in striv- 
 ing to find that hand, we suddenly behold our Father's face. 
 Its glory pierces the shadows ; its ineffable love beams out 
 upon us, all the brighter and all the sweeter for the veil that 
 has shrouded it so long ; and once more we see and rejoice. 
 One is * face to face ' in faith sometimes, just for a little 
 wlnle. Ah ! how good God is always." 
 
 " And yet you have been sorely tried 1 " 
 
 " I needed it all. But for sorrow, for privation, and loneli- 
 ness, and the very shadow of earthly despair, I should never 
 have known God my God. There is something in tbat 
 little word my that gives cne inexpressible comfort, and 
 
446 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 courage. Not only the God of the universe, but my GocL 
 As much mine as if no other creature existed iri all the 
 spheres. What pathos is there in the Psalmist's appeal, * O 
 my God, my soul is cast down within me.' And again, 1 1 
 will go unto the altar of God, my exceeding joy yea, upon 
 the harp will I praise Thee, God, my God ! ' And in 
 all his trouble David says, * I shall yet praise Him who 
 is the health of my countenance and my God.' And as it 
 was then it is now, and ever shall be. God is always ready 
 to lift us up from darkness and despair, and to give us light 
 once more, and joy unspeakable, and full of glory. Only we 
 must trust Him, and wait for Him, and He must be our God, 
 not merely the great benevolent Spirit who rules all matter 
 and is good and kind to all creatures that His hands have 
 made, but our own God and Father whom we love, and 
 strive to serve, and yearn to know more perfectly our con- 
 fidence and strength, and our peculiar joy, whose loving 
 kindness is better than life." 
 
 " Fanny, I think the darkness is passing away. I think I 
 see my Father's face once more, smiling through the cloud ; 
 and it says, ' My child, trust Me ; give thyself into My kind 
 care. I love thee ! I am thy God, thy Father ! No evil 
 shall come nigh thee ; thou shalt abide in My shadow, and 
 be at rest.' " 
 
 " Do not fear to take it so. Oh, my darling, we are so 
 foolish, so blind ; we do not know the good from the evil ; 
 that which seems our worst misfortune often works out for 
 us a blessing we had long looked for, yet despaired of attain- 
 ing. 
 
 " ' For us, whatever's undergone 
 
 Thou knowest, wiliest what is done. 
 
 Grief may be joy misunderstood ; 
 
 Only the good discerns the good. 
 
 I trust Thee while my days go on.' 
 
 Shall it not be so with us, Florence ? " 
 
 <; I will try ; I hope so. I will rest more on God Himself. 
 I do hope the brightness is returning not the old radiance, 
 you know, which was just like those sparkling spring morn- 
 ings which are so often clouded over, and end in storm antf 
 
OKEY AND GOLD. 447 
 
 tarn before the noon "hut the clear shining after the rain, 
 fche calm chastened light of the maturer cLoy. But, oh ! 
 Fanny, it is so hard to have one's idols taken down and 
 crumbled to dust." 
 
 "I know it is ; and one struggles and feels almost in a 
 frenzy at first ; but the voice that bade the midnight sea 
 cease from its raging speaks presently out of the thick dark- 
 ness, and immediately there is a great calm. The storm is 
 stilled, and the restless heart is at peace, and breathes out 
 once more that prayer divinely taught, * Thy will be done.' " 
 
 " Fanny, will you think me very wicked when I teM you I 
 never could sing that hymn that is to say, all of it 1 I 
 wonder if anybody ever meant it all ? " 
 
 " Yes, two sets of people. First of all, the young and 
 untried, to whom life is as yet only a poem, which they 
 think would lack more than half its beauty if it had no sad 
 cadences ; they sing sueh hymns with effusion, or quite 
 calmly, little dreaming of the agonies of soul and the con- 
 vulsion of spirit that awaits them ere they can truly and 
 soberly say, ' Thy will be done.' And the other set is com- 
 posed of those whose earthly treasures are all reft away, who 
 have little or nothing more that can be taken from, them; 
 they have nothing to fear, because they have lost all, and, 
 though they are willing to stay as long as Gcd pleases, and 
 do the work assigned them, they are really waiting and long- 
 ing for the summons which shall call them from an empty 
 world. They have been tried in the fire, and their dross has 
 been consumed. God has Himself filled the void in their 
 hearts, and His will either in doing or suffering has become 
 their will. But as for saying, * Thy will be done ' in antici- 
 pation, I do not believe that God ever requires it of us." 
 
 " Not that we as Christians should yield our wills always 
 to His ] " 
 
 "JSTot that we should be doing it beforehand, torturing 
 ourselves with the pangs of a sacrifice which not yet is 
 demanded. Our strength is according to our day. God has 
 promised that, but He does not tell us that He will all at 
 once give us strength for many days. The faith we derivn 
 trom Him flows to us from a never-failing fountain, trcnia 
 
445 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 perennial spring ; we have no reservoir of our own that \T 
 can fill with living water, and draw from it at pleasure. 
 JSfo ; daily and hourly we must go for the strength we need , 
 we must take it as the Israelites took their manna, knowing 
 that we have a sufficient portion, and confident too that on 
 the morrow all our need will again be abundantly supplied. 
 And don't you think that when our dear Lord said, * Take 
 no thought for the morrow/ He meant it in spiritual as well 
 as in temporal concerns ? Was it not as if He said, ' Day 
 by day ye shall be fed and clothed if only ye trust to Me ; 
 and day by day I will give you what help you need in the 
 hidden life if only ye come to Me for all supplies, and take 
 joyfully that which is given 1 ' I really do believe that 
 people create all sorts of miseries for themselves and all 
 sorts of perplexities, and they disquiet their souls in vain, 
 and place stumblingblocks in their own and other people's 
 Christian course, by continually trying to realise to them 
 selves situations that may never occur. They are not con- 
 tent to be saying cheerfully, * Thy will be done ' to-day, but 
 they are striving to say it for some day next month or next 
 year, when perhaps it will have to be said with a very 
 different meaning from that which they now attach to it." 
 
 " The right way then is just to go on with to-day's tasks, 
 to bear to-day's burdens and to-day's crosses, in the strength 
 which God gives to-day, and not to concern one's-self about 
 what an unknown future may bring forth ] " 
 
 " I do think we never live so near to God, our true life is 
 never so hid with Christ in God, as when we simply trust 
 Him for everything, when we are content with the day's 
 mercies and the day's strength, when we can heartily say 
 
 " ' I do not ask to see the distant scene ; 
 One step's enough for me.' 
 
 For certainly the power and love that has so far bles?e<l ua 
 will lead us on to the end yes, till the night is gone. 
 
 " ' And \vith the morn those angel faces smile, 
 "NVhich we have loved long since and lost awhiJe.' 
 
 Ana then we shall see ' face to face/ and know even as w 
 
3REY AND GOLD. 44.9 
 
 or-; known. Now we take.it all on trust, for His word has 
 spoken it." 
 
 " Ah ! we are climbing the rugged steps of time, while 
 those whose days of mourning are over are joining in the 
 everlasting song on the golden hills of heaven." 
 
 " It is ours to labour and to wait still. We have still 
 work to do, while they too have their work doubtless. 
 Courage, Florence ; it is not for very long ; the longest 
 night ends in dawn, and the dawn brightens to the perfect 
 day. Only let His will be ours now ; let us cheerfully do 
 His work and wait His pleasure, trusting Him in things 
 great and small, till the light that never shines on earth or 
 sea shines in our eyes that are closing to this world, and we 
 go to be ' for ever with the Lord ' and with all His holy 
 dead, who live for evermore in Him and with Him." 
 
 " If I could only see my work ! " 
 
 "I think you are doing it now. You are young, and I 
 quite think you will soon be strong again. You are rich, 
 and God has gifted you with winning ways, with a rare 
 gentleness of spirit, and sweetness of manners, especially in 
 your intercourse with those who are poor as regards this 
 world's substance. It seems to me that in serving others 
 and blessing those who sorely need a little human kindness 
 you may yourself be very happy yet. You have no new 
 career to seek ; you have only to go on as you commenced 
 long ago, and in the joy and gratitude of others you will 
 find a sweet and full content which God Himself will own 
 and bless." 
 
 "God is good indeed, Fanny. In little things and in 
 great things He is alike bountiful and kind. He sent you to 
 me just when I needed you, when I could no longer keep 
 Esther, and when the two in whom my life was bound up 
 were taken from me the one by death, the other by a 
 stroke even worse than death. And God has made you very 
 helpful to me, and I believe I shall always thank Him for 
 the providence which brought you so timely to my side." 
 
 " Ah ! I little thought when Lady Torrisdale drove me 
 nearly wild over our hasty packing and our miserable jour- 
 ney what was in store for me." 
 
 6 G 
 
450 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " It is just this, that God is entirely our Father, and He 
 takes thought for us even when we are taking no tnuuiiht 
 for ourselves." 
 
 " And He leads us by a way that we know not till in His 
 own good time He brings us to the abiding city." 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 THE GRANGE PARLOUR. 
 
 THE day had clouded over again, when, the last hill-top being 
 surmounted, they saw before them the peaceful valley of 
 Helmsley, with its deep woods, on which some late autumnal 
 foliage still lingered; its broad green meadow-lands and its 
 clear, shining river winding away in curves of silver to the 
 sea. They came down the rocky slope into the little village, 
 which was scattered round the old Norman church, where 
 Esther had sometimes worshipped. Florence thought of her 
 as they skirted the low mossy churchyard wall, encircling the 
 ancient tombstones, and the quiet grey church itself, with its 
 round arched windows and its deep porch, with many a 
 zigzagged border ; but she said nothing till they came to the 
 humble hostelry yclept the " Digby Arms," where a defaced 
 sign-board, faded and even shattered by the weather, creaked 
 from a venerable gable, and was supposed to display the 
 heraldic honours of " the family." 
 
 Then Florence said, "Fanny, I propose that we put up 
 here; there are stables enow at the Grange, I know, to 
 accommodate a regiment of cavalry ; but I suspect they are in 
 most dilapidated condition ; and Peter, who is an old friend 
 of mine, is farm-servant as well as coachman and groom, and 
 is very likely to be away in the fields yonder. Besides, John 
 will want his dinner, and there is never an overplus in the 
 Grange larder. We can walk on easily to the house ; it is 
 not a hundred yards to a side gate I know of that is more 
 used than the grand entrance. Do you mind ? " 
 
 " Of course not. It would be far better than driving up in 
 Btyle, and then sending away the carriage. What a nice 
 place this Helmsley is ! " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 451 
 
 " Yes, it is a right bonnie place. In summer it is lovely 
 beyond compare ; and the Helmsley woods yonder, on the 
 other side of the river, are a sylvan Paradise. Ah ! what 
 days Cecil and I used to spend there when we were children ! 
 What cosy little pic-nics of our own we had ; how we used to 
 scamper over the dead leaves, and climb the rocky mounds 
 and gather wild flowers, and pretend to lose ourselves in the 
 mazes of the * forest/ as we loved to call it. It was a glorious 
 and mysterious world to us. This way, Fanny ; that path 
 leads to the kitchen-court behind; you see I know my 
 ground." 
 
 " You used to be often here ? " 
 
 " Yes, in dear mamma's time, when I was quite a child, 
 you know. I used to come to play with Edith, who is about 
 my own age ; and I was very fond of Lancelot and Rupert. 
 I had always an uncontrollable horror of Cuddie ; and I 
 remember once when he caught me, and told me that unless 
 I kissed him and promised to be his little wife, he would 
 hang me up to the great chestnut-tree yonder. And he had 
 a piece of cord in his hand, and we were quite alone, and 
 he began making a noose, and I quite believed he was in 
 earnest." 
 
 " And did you kiss him 1 " 
 
 " Not I ! But I shrieked till some one came to my aid. 
 I was almost in convulsions, I fancy. At any rate I was ill 
 for days ; and Cuddie, who is only about three years my senior, 
 got a good horsewhipping from his .father. I believe he has 
 hated me ever since. Ah, there he is ! " 
 
 Fanny looked, and beheld an immensely tall and most un- 
 gainly youth, with spindle-like legs and arms, a slouching 
 gait, and a most ferocious expression. 
 
 "Papa used to say he had a brutal frontal development, 
 and seemed nearly, if not quite, devoid of moral faculties. 
 His whole nature is grovelling ; to hunt, and shoot, and fish, 
 and drink, and keep low company, is all he cares about. I 
 am afraid he is a terrible burden to them all. There ! he is 
 meeting some low fellow now, and they are slouching off into 
 the coppice. Why ! it cannot be, it surely cannot be ! and 
 yet that short, stout young man, swaggering along with his 
 
452 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 hands in his pockets, and his shabby hat over his eyes, is just 
 like Dick Hellicar ! " 
 
 " Esther's cousin ! What can he want here 1 " 
 
 " What indeed ! He came down early in the summer, I 
 know, and wanted Esther to marry him, and he went away 
 in high dudgeon, vowing to be revenged on her because she 
 very naturally refused him. His being here, if it be he, 
 bodes no good to any one. A fine pair he and Cuddie Digby 
 would make ! though I really believe that, on the whole, Dick 
 is the less evilly disposed of the two." 
 
 The next turn brought them in front of the house, and 
 three or four stout children, who were playing on the broad 
 steps, in roundabout cotton pinafores, took sudden flight, and 
 undoubtedly announced their arrival to the family. 
 
 Lettice came to meet them and shily asked them into tho 
 dining-room, where were Mrs. Digby, and Edith, and the 
 large-eyed, open-mouthed children, who had heralded their 
 approach. 
 
 Mrs Digby was evidently in a fluster. She was not so 
 self-possessed as was Edith, and she was painfully conscious 
 of the shabbiness of the furniture, and of being herself not 
 only shabby but untidy. As usual she lay upon the old, 
 faded, chintz-covered sofa, with a book in her white, listless 
 hands , while Edith as usual plied her needle, with a basket 
 before her full to overflowing with all kinds of juvenile 
 habiliments in all stages of disrepair. She was looking very 
 pale and wan, and was evidently much more the invalid than 
 Mrs. Digby, though the bare supposition of this fact would 
 have extremely offended that worthy lady. 
 
 " Eeally, Miss Guise, I did not at first know you," said 
 Mrs. Digby, rising awkwardly, and looking at herself rue- 
 fully, as she strove in vain to shake her crumpled, ill-put-on 
 old dress into something like decent order. She knew, too,, 
 that her slippers were down at heel, and that her skirts were 
 deficient in length, while a glance at the mirror opposite 
 showed her fair hair all rough and tangled. JS'o wonder that 
 tAe mistress of Helmsley Grange was mortified at being 
 caught in such a plight, but that morning she had been en- 
 grossed with an exciting novel, and haji put off dressing till 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 453 
 
 after the early dinner ; besides, visitors of their own degree 
 were now extremely rare at Helmsley Grange, and it was 
 long since any lady had called on Mrs. Digby. 
 
 " I am such, a sad invalid, you know, that really you must 
 excuse all my shortcomings. I know I ought to have called 
 upon you ! All the summer I kept saying to Edith, Eeally, 
 my dear, we must get to Guise somehow; what will Miss 
 Guise think of us? But I sympathised with you all the 
 same, and Edith and I talked about you ; and once I gave, 
 or else I meant to give, Lancelot a kind message for you, for 
 it was so easy for him to go round by the Court on his way 
 to Templemoor. Bat I am not sure that I ever did give him 
 the message ; ray memory is sadly impaired ; constant and 
 serious illnesses have shattered my constitution, and increas- 
 ing weakness warns me that my time here will not be long. 
 Ah ! my dear Miss Guise, what a blessing health is ! " 
 
 " It is, indeed, Mrs. Digby; I have been far from well 
 myself since the summer, so I am quite prepared to sym- 
 pathise with invalids." 
 
 "Ah ! " said Mrs. Digby, putting her hand to her forehead, 
 *' somebody did say that you were quite seriously unwell; 
 and I really meant to send you some of the pills which have 
 done me so much good. I got the advice of a really cele- 
 brated man who was staying at Stannington, at the Deanery, 
 and he took quite an interest in my case. I told him all iny 
 symptoms in detail, and, after a very careful examination, he 
 decided that my liver was affected ; my own doctor always 
 said it was not, you see, and I felt sure he was wrong in his 
 diagnosis, as well as in his treatment. He insisted on my 
 taking exercise, when he might have known that it was alto- 
 gether out of the question; and he was not sympathising 
 either ; and I think want of sympathy is a very serious de- 
 fect in a medical man, don't you, Miss Guise ? But this Dr. 
 Drew is the nicest, kindest, cleverest young man I ever met 
 with. When he had carefully examined me, and heard my 
 statements, and listened attentively to all I had to say 
 about former illnesses, especially that confinement when 
 Hughy was born, and the terrible relapse I had seven weeks 
 and three days and a half after the birth of the twins, 
 
454 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 and the virulent and most remarkable scarlet typhoid fever, 
 when they quite thought my spirit had forsaken her tene- 
 ment of clay he said, emphatically, ' My dear madam, 
 your liver is affected, there is not a doubt of it. But 
 your grand defect, the source of all your suffering, is -weak- 
 ness. You are so pitifully -weak that your constitution can- 
 not stand the inroads of even minor and ordinary mala- 
 dies ; you cannot even take advantage of the remedies which 
 are commonly prescribed in cases like yours. The medicines 
 I should unhesitatingly order for any one less sensitively 
 organised would act as baneful irritants, or even as absolute 
 poisons, on a system sensitive as yours. My dear madam, 1 
 dare not subject you to the treatment which would suit 
 almost any other woman. You are rarely, I may say excep- 
 tionally, delicate. You should live well generously. You 
 want choice food and fine old wines, perfect rest, no cares, 
 plenty of repose, and frequent change of scene without 
 fatigue.' I felt that he understood my mournfully singular 
 case as no one had ever understood it before. I could only 
 reply : ' Doctor, your talents are unrivalled : at one interview 
 you comprehend symptoms which have hitherto puzzled the 
 profession ; rest I cannot have ; I have a large family, and 
 my cares are manifold and incessant. Our resources are not 
 what they once were, and greatly I fear that a prolonged 
 tour, such as I know would give me fresh life, is not within 
 my reach.' * Then, madam,' said he, * I will give you some 
 valuable prescriptions, which, from their mildness, an infant 
 might adopt.' And he wrote me out two prescriptions, re- 
 commending that I should have them made up in London, 
 rather than in Stannington, where drugs can scarcely be de- 
 pended on as unadulterated and fresh. 'Pants' was the chief 
 ingredient in the pills, I recollect ; and the principal thing 
 in the alterative, or tonic I am not sure which he called it 
 was * aqua pura.' And really those pills have done me 
 more good than anything I have taken for years. If only I 
 could go to Italy, or say to Cannes, for the winter ! But it 
 cannot be, and I cheerfully resign myself to the inevitable 
 rather, I should say, to Providence ; there is nothing like a 
 spirit of resignation, is there, Miss Guise 1 " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 455 
 
 " It is sometimes a greater blessing than the enjoyment of 
 those things which we desire but which it pleases our Father 
 in Heaven to withhold." 
 
 "Just what I frequently observe myself, when I am so 
 tried. And indeed, my dear Miss Guise, you are looking 
 extremely delicate. Do you take cod-liver oil ? " 
 
 " I have taken it, and I think it has done me good ; but I 
 feel so much better that I hope to dispense with it in future : 
 it is horrible stuff ! " 
 
 " Ah ! do you know I rather like it ? I have taken so 
 much of it ; and one can acquire a taste for anything, you 
 know. I believe it is the cod-liver oil that keeps me alive ; 
 I should be in a frightful state of emaciation if I did not 
 take it continually." 
 
 Anything plumper than Mrs. Digby was at present could 
 scarcely be imagined ; her fingers were as sleek as they were 
 fair ; her whole form, though far from disagreeably stout, was 
 beautifully full and rounded ; though her complexion was 
 unhealthy, and she reclined with a languid grace, supposed 
 to be indicative of her chronic invalidism. All this time 
 Edith was diligently stitching away at one of the blue cotton 
 roundabout pinafores which had come from the wash in a 
 frightful state of tatter. But both Florence and Fanny 
 noticed how she stooped, how her fingers trembled as she 
 threaded her needle, and how very thin and pale she was. 
 Her dress appeared to hang upon her, her cheeks were 
 sunken, her eyes heavy, and there were hollows in her 
 temples which showed how thorough was the attenuation she 
 suffered. All the brightness seemed to have faded out of 
 her sweet face ; and though she worked away as if she had 
 not a minute to lose, there was no energy in her movements, 
 no animation in her looks. 
 
 " But," said Florence, as soon as she could find an oppor- 
 tunity for Mrs. Digby had again embarked full sail on the 
 Black Sea of her ceaseless and mysterious ailments, and was 
 descanting largely on her " want of power," of which slw 
 seemed vastly proud "but, Mrs. Digby, we all look well 
 compared with Edith. I am grieved to see her so altered ; 
 she must be very ill.' 
 
456 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Oh ! as to that," replied Mrs. Digby, sharply, " she has 
 had nothing particular the matter with her ; she has been a 
 little out of health lately ; no one can be quite well always, 
 I tell her. But she gives way. People who are constitu- 
 tionally strong think so much of a little common indisposi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Edith is more than commonly unwell, Mrs. Digby ; you 
 see her every day and do not remark so much the change 
 that has come over her. Has she had advice 1 " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; our own doctor saw her, and so did my friend 
 Dr. Drew. He said, as I say, she is out of health, simply 
 out of health ; and he prescribed change ; and my husband 
 men are so thoughtless, so foolish indeed, Miss Guise 
 proposed that she should go up to her brothers in London, 
 and spend a few weeks with them. Such nonsense ! as if 
 country air must not be better for any sort of complaint 
 than a close London atmosphere, in which the lungs must 
 inhale so much that is pernicious ! Besides, she could not 
 be spared. I said to papa, 'My dear, how can you be so 
 cruel as to think of my being left alone, with all your romp- 
 ing children 1 How can I, a poor invalid, struggle with the 
 cares of a family 1 It is heartless of you, it is indeed ; and 
 I feel it acutely ! ' So, of course, the idea was given up. I 
 am sorry to say that Edith was so selfish as to wish to leave 
 me, though no one knows better than herself that any over- 
 exertion may be my death." 
 
 " But suppose she is quite laid aside 1 " said Fanny. " I 
 have had some experience with invalids, and I can see quite 
 plainly that Miss Digby is keeping up only by the most 
 strenuous efforts, only just keeping up : it is an unnatural 
 strain, which cannot continue. She will succumb at last, 
 and not be able to leave her bed, and that will be worse than 
 having her from home." 
 
 " Pray do not put such depressing notions into her head," 
 cried Mrs. Digby, almost in tears ; " you will make her 
 think that she is really ill, and then she will give way, and 
 Heaven knows when she will rouse herself again. If she 
 would only persevere with Dr. Drew's medicines ! " 
 
 Something like a smile played across Edith's pale, weaned 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 457 
 
 face. She knew a little Latin, and Mrs Digby's bathos of 
 ignorance amused her in spite of her feeling feebler and more 
 languid than ever. The good lady cherished the delusion 
 that "panis " and " aqua pura " were rare drugs of most 
 undoubted efficacy. Edith knew better, and could not 
 perceive the utility of adding to the family expenses by the 
 useless purchase of bread pills rolled in a little rhubarb ; 
 and coloured water, just flavoured with something nauseous ! 
 But the effort to keep down the smile made her slightly 
 hysterical, and Florence, perceiving her distress, carried her off 
 into another room, very much to Mrs. Digby's amazement, 
 and by no means to her satisfaction. Women of her type 
 that is, women who love to discourse on their maladies and 
 general debility are invariably annoyed and jealous at the 
 smallest manifestation of the like symptoms in those about 
 them. No one less brook a rival, however involuntary, than 
 la malade imaginaire ! 
 
 Meanwhile Fanny remained, listening to that oft-told tale 
 of the scarlet fever, the acute bronchitis, and the severe 
 confinements. When just as Mrs. Digby was laid up with 
 the neuralgia, and prostrate with influenza, and suffering 
 agonies of dyspepsia, previous to the birth of the twins, the 
 squire, who had heard of the advent of the ladies from 
 Little Guise, made his appearance. After talking awhile with 
 Fanny he asked for Florence, and was told with some asperity 
 that Edith had had one of her stupid fits, and that Miss Guise 
 had gone away with her somewhere, " just to quiet her." 
 
 " I am greatly obliged to Miss Guise," said the squire 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " The truth is," continued Fanny, thinking she would take 
 advantage of Mr. Digby's presence and countenance, " we 
 came here, Miss Guise and I, in the hope of taking Misa 
 Digby back with us for a few weeks' change of air and scene, 
 and for the perfect rest and quiet she cannot possibly secure 
 among so many children." 
 
 Mrs. Digby shrieked out a little ejaculation of dismay. 
 Mr. Digby, who seemed to take no more heed of shrill 
 interjections than of the twitter of birds, replied, " And you 
 shall take her, Miss Miss " 
 
458 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " Tucker," suggested Fanny, quietly. 
 
 " You shall take her, Miss Tucker, and a thousand thanka 
 to you and to Miss Guise. Lettie ! go and tell your sister 
 to get ready." 
 
 " No ! no ! NO ! " protested Mrs. Digby. " What is to 
 become of me ? Who will look after the children ? " 
 
 " Since you are their mother I think you had better do it 
 yourself, my dear ; and I know Eose will be quite a steady 
 elder sister." 
 
 " Yes, papa, I will" eagerly put in Eose. " Edith haa 
 taught me how to manage. I always help her wash baby, 
 and put the little ones to bed. I could manage, I know ; 
 only please send dear Edith away to be taken care of, else I 
 am sure she will die ! " 
 
 " She shall go ! " returned the squire, still more decidedly. 
 " Eose, go and pack up her things." 
 
 But at this juncture Florence returned without Edith, and 
 Mr. Digby at once took up his parable, and made quite a 
 long speech, at the end of which it was settled that without 
 any further discussion, and to Mr. Digby 's everlasting obli- 
 gation, Edith should accept Miss Guise's invitation ! Mrs. 
 Digby lay back on the sofa, with closed eyes and clenched 
 hands she very probably supposed herself to have fainted ; 
 but no one else supposing it, and it being one of those facts 
 difficult of personal announcement, she had to content her- 
 self with heaving piteous sighs and casting meek, upbraiding 
 glances at all around her. 
 
 " Ah ! " she murmured presently, looking pathetically at 
 the squire, " it will not last much longer ! I know I am a 
 sad burden, an invalid wife must be a burden always ; but 
 the sense of being regarded as a burden adds tenfold to one's 
 trials." 
 
 " My dear," returned the squire, " please to understand 
 distinctly that I repudiate the idea of your being a burden," 
 and he evidently meant it, which Fanny thought was very 
 good of him. " Neither do I think your demise at all likely 
 to occur at present. You have been making post-mortem 
 arrangements ever since Eose was born, and they have not 
 been carried into effect yet, It will come some time you 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 459 
 
 pay t To be sure it will ; we must all die, and a very good 
 thing too. Who wants to live for ever in this troublesome 
 world ] But I really think, Letitia, that your lease of life 
 is as good or better than any of ours who are in this room 
 now, except perhaps the children, who may naturally expect 
 to outlive their mother ! " 
 
 The children looked as if they had no objection. 
 
 But Mrs. Digby answered mournfully, " You will see, Mr. 
 -Uigby, you will see ! I feel myself failing day by day." 
 
 " My dear, you have been failing ever since I knew you, 
 and you have not failed yet." 
 
 " Every medical man whom I have consulted tells me how 
 weak I am." 
 
 " I am sorry to say medical men are in the habit of telling 
 white lies to their lady patients. But be assured when a 
 doctor persists in telling a woman who is not absolutely 
 the victim of disease that she is * wecJc,' he means quite as 
 much in mind as in body ! And if you would just rouso 
 yourself, my dear, and come down to breakfast, and take a 
 good walk every day with the children, and forswear trashy 
 novels and rubbishing medicine, you would soon be a very 
 hearty and healthy woman." 
 
 Mrs. Digby made no rejoinder. She knew her ground 
 very well. - She was quite aware that nothing she could say 
 would operate on her husband in his present frame of mind. 
 She therefore preserved a dejected silence, and reserved her 
 defence till such time as reproaches and tears, and probably 
 hysteria, would produce the desired effect. In the meantime- 
 she knew that Edith must go ; but she secretly resolved that 
 everything at home should go wrong in consequence of her 
 step-daughter's absence. It was so inconsiderate of Edith to 
 be ill when she was so essential to the household comfort, so 
 selfish of her to give way, and want to accept Miss Guise's 
 invitation ; and it was extremely thoughtless, not to say 
 impertinent, in Miss Guise to invite a girl without previous 
 reference to the wishes of her parents. As for the squire, he 
 was downright unfeeling ; it was brutal of him to say what 
 he did when he knew how much she suffered and the ex- 
 treme debility of her nervous system ! She did not perhaps 
 
460 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 deliberately determine within herself that she would be worse 
 than usual next day, but she did assure herself that of neces- 
 sity she must have an alarming access of illness after being 
 eo cruelly tried ! 
 
 "Women of Mrs. Digby's type are essentially untruthful ; 
 they cannot even be truthful to themselves. 
 
 Florence explained that she was thinking of passing the 
 night at Chilcombe, and that she would call next day for 
 Edith ; but the squire whispered, " Couldn't you take her 
 with you now ? To-morrow there may be some hindrance I 
 cannot overcome. I am sure Miss Uffadyne would put her 
 somewhere." 
 
 So Edith was muffled up and went off to the Chenies, and 
 Cecil was delighted with her guests. The next day the two 
 ladies returned to Little Guise, and Edith was borne away 
 in triumph, to be nursed and petted to their hearts' content. 
 Poor Edith ! it was entirely a new sensation to be waited 
 upon and to have nothing to do ; but she was too weak at 
 present to enjoy the novelty of her position. Florence had 
 only come to the rescue just in time. 
 
 CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 LAST APPEAL. 
 
 I HAVE not time to tell the story of Edith's gradual improve- 
 ment and Florence's decided restoration to health ; but the 
 journey to Helmsley and to Chilcombe seemed to do for 
 Florence what the rest and luxuries of Little Guiso did for 
 Edith. As for Fanny, she throve and prospered, and became 
 quite a fine, blooming young w r oman, now that she had 
 found a congenial home, and was no longer exposed to the 
 elow torture of Lady Torrisdale's temper. Her ladyship had 
 cheap lodgings in Paris, and had hired as her companion the 
 orphan daughter of a poor clergyman a girl of eighteen, 
 who was expected to make herself " generally useful," and 
 to be always in the most angelic state of mind, under every 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 461 
 
 provocation ! How heartily both Fanny and Florence pitied 
 this luckless Miss Dampier needs not to be recorded. 
 
 And in spite of Mrs. Digby's neuralgia, and her hysteria 
 and extreme exhaustion, Edith remained at Little Guise till 
 the end of the winter, and the Digby household got on as 
 well as it could with Rose at the head of the nursery de- 
 partment. Not much was heard of Lancelot and Rupert, 
 till one January morning a letter came with news that 
 excited Edith and interested her friends. Rupert was going 
 out to Australia for several years on most advantageous 
 terms, and he was coming back to the Grange to say good- 
 bye. As for Lancelot, he was working hard, and slowly but 
 steadily acquiring a literary reputation. Already he had / 
 published a volume of poems which had attracted favourable/ 
 notice in high quarters, and he had made certain engage- 
 ments, which resulted in a settled and very comfortable 
 little income. A small income undoubtedly for the heir of 
 the Digbys, but by much the largest he had ever known. 
 He owed no man anything, he told Edith ; and he could 
 afford to belong to a club, and to buy books to a certain 
 extent; and when the spring came he meant to make many 
 little journeys out of town, for the refreshment alike of 
 niind and body. He was delighted to hear of her prolonged 
 visit at Little Guise, and he sent Edith a five-pound note, 
 and a handsome blue silk dress. Moreover, the new poem, 
 " Grey and Gold," was successfully advancing to completion, 
 only that was a secret. And speaking of " Grey and 
 Gold," had Edith heard anything of Miss Kendall ? 
 
 Yes ! Edith had heard several times from Esther, and she 
 was well and happy, though longing sometimes, as she con- 
 fessed, with a sick, weary longing, for her dear old Chilcombe 
 home, which grew all the dearer the longer she remained 
 away from it. If she had only known how Oswald would 
 take himself off to African wilds and Arabian deserts she 
 might have remained a little longer in her old quartersu 
 But her new experiences were doing her good ; she was 
 beginning to speak French quite fluently, and she was just 
 beginning to study German with a young lady whose mother 
 Was Madame Bethune's most intimate friend. The Bethunes 
 
462 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 -were exceedingly kind, and the children were dear, atieo- 
 tionate little things. She was introduced to all Madame'a 
 friends ; she was even obliged to refuse invitations lest she 
 should neglect her duties and her studies, which, of course, 
 were so important ! And when the summer came they were 
 all going to Switzerland, and oh ! what happiness it would 
 be if any of the dear Chilcombe friends should find their 
 way to Geneva, or Lucerne, or Interlachen, at the same 
 time ! 
 
 It was a brilliant morning towards the end of April, 
 when Esther, who was sitting alone, in the absence of her 
 little pupils, with their mamma, and busy with the German 
 grammar, was told that a gentleman wished to see her in the 
 salon. 
 
 " It is some mistake," said Esther ; " no one here would 
 inquire for me ! " But her heart gave a great bound, never- 
 theless, for might it not be Lancelot ? Madame had said 
 she thought he would be in Paris that spring, or before they 
 left for Switzerland. And Esther longed to tell him how 
 more and more she felt his kindness in providing her with 
 so safe and happy a home. " Go and ask the gentleman's 
 name, Julie," said Esther, at length ; and the girl went, and 
 in less than a minute returned, announcing Mr. Oswald 
 Uffadyne ! He had discovered that Esther was at home, 
 and alone, and he slipped a napoleon into Julie's hand with 
 the understanding that he should be ushered at once into 
 Esther's presence. But the Esther of Chilcombe, the 
 Esther he had seen last in his sister's drawing-room, was not 
 the Esther of the Hue St. Dominique ! Even in looks she 
 was greatly altered ; she was much taller and much hand- 
 somer ; her once sallow complexion was becoming a clear 
 olive ; her figure had lost its angularities, and her carriage 
 was at once graceful and dignified. She was dressed, too, 
 as Oswald had never seen her dressed before. She was in 
 simple but elegant morning costume, for Madame Eugene 
 Bethune took a deep interest in Lancelot's protegee, and 
 insisted on superintending her toilet, and teaching her the 
 art of dressing herself an art in which Madame, as a truf 
 Frenchwoman, was a proficient. 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 Esther rose and stood before her unwelcome visitor with a 
 superb hauteur, which greatly astonished and rather dis- 
 comfited him. He had expected her to be frightened and 
 to look angry, if indeed the weary months of exile had not 
 taught her how much she had thrown away in dismissing 
 him so cavalierly. But this cool self-possession, this prac- 
 tised air of a young lady in society, rather staggered him ; 
 nor was he consoled when he heard her say coldly, " Julie, 
 you have made a mistake ; this gentleman is no friend of 
 mine. Show him back again to the salon, and tell Madame 
 as soon as she arrives that a visitor is awaiting her." 
 
 But Julie, at once conscience-stricken and fearing for her 
 napoleon, and thinking too that there might be more where 
 that came from, was gone before Esther could finish her 
 sentence. Julie was a good girl in the main, but she could 
 be conveniently deaf, blind, or dumb as occasions required. 
 Besides, she was going to be married, and there was her 
 trousseau to be thought of, and stray napoleons did not come 
 to her every day. Clearly it was her duty to render the 
 service that was expected of her for that bright piece of 
 gold ; it was only right that the handsome young English- 
 man should have value returned for his little investment. 
 
 " Esther," began Oswald, the moment the door had closed 
 on the accommodating Julie, " Esther ! " 
 
 " I am Miss Kendall here ! " was the unexpected reply. 
 
 " I cannot, will not call you that ! Nay ; do not look so 
 cold and proud, do not turn away ! Will you not listen to 
 me?" 
 
 " I suppose I must," replied Esther, quietly, taking her 
 seat ; " but if you are come to renew the solicitations of last 
 summer, let me tell you that you will spare yourself some 
 mortification and me some pain if you do not say that which 
 you are intending." 
 
 "Esther, you are very hard; you are cruel. I begin to 
 think you have no heart ! " 
 
 " Did you come here on purpose to tell me what you think 
 of me?" 
 
 " I came here, Esther, to tell you that I love you more 
 tnan ever. I have tried to forget you ; I have striven hard 
 
464 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 to banish, you from my memory ; but go where I will, occupy 
 myself as I may, your image is always before me, your voice 
 is for ever ringing in my ears. Once more I entreat you to 
 tell me that I may hope ; that some day, when I have con- 
 vinced you of the steadfastness of my attachment, when you 
 perceive that no one will be rendered miserable by our union, 
 you will relent, and make me the happiest man al) ve. And, 
 Esther, I think I could make you a very happy woman. 
 There could be no worthier lady of Guise." 
 
 "Xevei', Mr. Uffadyne. Kever no, never, come what 
 may will I reign at Guise ! And I should not make you 
 happy, even though I yielded to your wishes, for I should be 
 an unloving wife." 
 
 " You do not understand yourself, Esther ; but once give 
 yourself to me, that is all I ask. Once my wife, or even my 
 betrothed, you would let your affections have free course. 
 You have strong and deep affections, Esther; there is a 
 wonderful mingling of strength and tenderness in your 
 nature. Once consent to love, and you will love passion- 
 ately." 
 
 " Do you think I do not know that 1 i. understand my- 
 self better than you imagine, Mr. Uffadyne. I know that 
 my love once given would be given in fullest measure ; it 
 would be passionate as enduring, strong and deep as tender. 
 The man I love must be my king, my master, my teacher ; at 
 his feet I will sit, and learn all goodness and all wisdom. 
 He will be all the world to me, and he must give me all his 
 heirt. Only God must stand before me." 
 
 " And such love you will not give to me ? " 
 
 " I cannot. One cannot bestow one's love at pleasure, aa 
 one can bequeath money or lands, because it is a duty, or 
 because it is expected, or because one does not care very 
 much which way such possessions go. There is a mystery 
 in true, pure, holy love of which you know nothing, of which 
 you cannot dream." 
 
 '' Esther, what shall I do to make you believe in me, to 
 make you trust me, to convince you that I love you better 
 than my life 1 " 
 
 - Leave me, and do not persecute me with addresses which 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 4G5 
 
 are painful and altogether unwelcome. If you love ine as 
 you say, do not press upon me a suit I can never attend. Do 
 you think it is any pleasure to me to give you pain you whom 
 I once esteemed my friend, and for whom, as Florence's hus- 
 band and Cecil's brother, I entertain a most sisterly regard ? 
 I am but a poor, ignorant girl, full of faults, but I am no 
 coquette ! You make me very wretched indeed you do. 
 I was reconciled to live away from Chilcombe ; I was feeling 
 how good and kind the friends here were to me ; I was 
 entering into the new life and enjoying it. And now you 
 come to unsettle me, to revive the bitterness of the past. 
 How could you be so unkind ? It is you who are cruel, 
 not I. It is you who have no compassion on me a poor, 
 lonely girl, who has no real claim on any of the dear people 
 who are so good to me." 
 
 " I will go away, Esther, and never see you again. You 
 may go back to Chilcombe if you will. I intended this for 
 my last appeal, and if I failed I settled with myself what I 
 would do. By midsummer I shall be in America ; I will go 
 there j I will seek a home in a new world, where nothing 
 can remind me of the woman I so vainly loved, and who has 
 blighted all my life." 
 
 Esther drew herself up indignantly; her cheeks were 
 burning, and her lustrous dark eyes flashing with the in- 
 tensity of her feelings. Slowly she said, " It is false, Oswald 
 Uffadyne. I have not blighted your life, though you have 
 done your very best to blight mine. By God's mercy you 
 were not permitted to hurt me, for God has turned all my 
 trials into blessings. All that I went through last autumn 
 was good for me ; but you were not the less to blame that 
 you exposed me to a trouble that might have been my loss r 
 my ruin. But even if you had had a right to love me and 
 to address me, which you know you never had, I had an. 
 equal right to refuse you. We women have not the privilege 
 of choice ; we too sometimes love unrequitedly, and we have 
 to guard our secret jealously, and in silence to bear the pain 
 as bravely as we may ; but, lacking the prerogatives of your 
 cex, it would be hard indeed if we were obliged to listen 
 yield to the first man who came a-wooing, whether we 
 
 HH 3 
 
466 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 cared for him or not. And no man and equally of course 
 no woman has any right to say his or her life is blighted 
 because one coveted possession is withheld. God did not 
 send us into the world solely to marry or to be given in 
 marriage. True love between man and woman is very beauti- 
 ful and most sacred, but it is not the one thing in life. It is 
 God's will that some some whom He loves best, I think 
 should never know the greatest joy which this world can 
 give ; but we need not be all unhappy or blighted, as you call 
 it, for that. God will help in the first great anguish, which 
 must be borne ; then come rest and peace, a new strength, 
 and presently joy in 'the work we have to do. Our hearts 
 are filled with a quiet content ; we labour in faith and in 
 hope ; but for the fulness "of bliss we wait for the life to 
 come." 
 
 " Esther, I will think of what you say, and if I had any 
 
 work " 
 
 " And have you not, you who are master of Guise ? " 
 " I cannot endure the place ; I will not go near it." 
 " You must. If you love me do as I bid you ; go home 
 to Guise, to your goodly inheritance; do your duty there 
 among your own people, and seek their welfare. Serve 
 jour country ; be a man. Be a blessing in your day and 
 generation, so that your children's children shall be proud 
 to bear your name. Make yourself worthy of Florence, 
 and then go to her once more, and implore her to pardon 
 the brief madness of your youth, and to receive you as of 
 oli" 
 
 " Florence would never take me back again. She is 
 proud." 
 
 " Not too proud for a wronged TV .man. But she loved 
 you, and love will master pride. She would not take you 
 now, I know, not if you went to her on bended knee pro- 
 testing a thousand times your repentance. You are not what 
 she loved, for she loved a high-souled, tender-spirited, brave- 
 hearted Oswald, who existed only in her own imagination. 
 Make yourself that, Oswald ; it is in you. Oh ! indeed you 
 are too good to be wasted. Make yourself what you well 
 might be. God will aid you, if you strive humbly and 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 4(57 
 
 earnestly to retrieve the past. Good-bye; do not let me see 
 you again till you are worthy to go back to her whom really 
 you love. You will be so thankful some day that I sent you 
 away." 
 
 "I think not; but I will go, Esther. I will do your 
 bidding. I will go straight home to Guise ; I will try to do 
 my duty." 
 
 " I am so glad ! Then we shall meet again, you, and I, 
 and Florence happily. But will you not give up your 
 fellowship ? " 
 
 " I am going to do so." 
 
 " That is well ! Get out of leading-strings before you 
 begin the career of a man. Start free, and take for your 
 watchword the old chivalric motto, Tor God and for my 
 lady.'" 
 
 " And my lady ? " 
 
 " Is Florence Guise, no other ! God bless you ; good- 
 bye." 
 
 CHAPTEK LIV. 
 
 "BUT WHAT WILL OSWALD SAY 1 ?" 
 
 BUT before Oswald saw Esther in the Eue St. Dominique 
 events which he had little foreseen were transpiring at home. 
 Rupert did come down to Helmsley, and spent a fortnight in 
 the neighbourhood prior to his departure for Australia. Of 
 course he found Edith absent when he returned to the Grange, 
 and Mrs. Digby immediately suggested that she should bo 
 sent for, that she might spend with her brother the few days 
 which intervened before his departure. But this proposal 
 was at once and firmly negatived by the squire ; he had 
 been at Little Guise only the week before, and he had 
 promised Miss Guise that Edith should continue her guest for 
 at least two months longer. Edith had not had any holiday, 
 he declared, for seven years ; as soon as ever she was old 
 enough to be trusted she was pressed into the service of the 
 nursery; and the continued supply of babies, and thoir 
 
468 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 mother's invalidism, had kept her as laboriously and inces- 
 santly occupied as if she had been actually in the ranks ol 
 servitude. 
 
 Mr. Digby was beginning to be awake to the fact that his 
 eldest daughter had been rather ruthlessly sacrificed ; as long 
 as she looked well and happy he had not considered the 
 cruelty of her position. But when her health declined he 
 began to reflect that he was not doing his duty by her, and 
 he had begun to be very uneasy, and to feel terribly puzzled, 
 when Florence came, like a good fairy, and carried the 
 neglected and overwrought girl away from the scene of her 
 manifold duties and incessant worries to a region of peace and 
 rest and happy change. And then the squire had covenanted 
 with himself, at all risks and at any cost, to make certain 
 alterations in his household; and he resolved that Edith, 
 when she came home again, should not resume the position 
 which had been hers so long. Another servant should be 
 kept, and Mrs. Digby should endeavour to be more than the 
 nominal mistress of her family. 
 
 So, when Florence begged for an extension of Edith's 
 furlough, it had been most willingly granted, and the squire 
 had said : " My dear Miss Guise, I am under eternal obliga- 
 tions to you ! I do not know what would have become of 
 my poor girl if you had not thought of her. I could not have 
 sent her away by herself, and though her brothers would 
 have been glad to have her with them, it would not have 
 been quite the thing, would it 1 Now you have nursed her 
 up, and petted her, till she begins to look quite herself again." 
 
 " Indeed, papa," said Edith, " I am feeling quite recovered : 
 it is delightful being here, but I am afraid I must be very 
 much wanted." 
 
 " Of course you are wanted j there is a pretty ado some- 
 times, when everything goes sixes and sevens for the want of 
 a little forethought and common sense ; but Eosie does very 
 well for her age, and I found your mamma actually dressing 
 "baby with her own hands only yesterday ; and though she 
 assured me that she should faint afterwards, she didn't, Edith. 
 I do not mean you to be nurse-maid and sempstress and 
 housekeeper any longer." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 469 
 
 "But, papa, are you sure you are comfortable yourself 1 ?" 
 
 " Well, my dear, I am not more uncomfortable than usual. 
 A man who is always under the weather as I am, and as 
 I have always been, is not generally very comfortable, unless 
 he happens to be a vagabond, which I believe I am not. 
 But I am rubbing on, and really things are looking up a 
 little. I have thrashed out that rick and sold it to advan- 
 tage ; and if we have a good lambing season I shall be a little 
 in pocket, which will be quite a novel experience for me. I 
 mean to look after things rather more than I have done. 
 Peter is getting too old for his work, and he dislikes progress ; 
 and Lancelot and Eupert are off my hands, and promising to 
 do well. Yes, I really do think things are looking up." 
 
 "I am so thankful, papa ; we have had a long, dreary 
 time. I always thought the sunshine would come some day." 
 
 " What made you think so ? " 
 
 " God is good. I knew He was only permitting the 
 trouble for our good. And I had a talk once with Esther 
 Kendall, and she told me how she believed all lives were 
 intermingled grey and gold ; now sunshine and now shadow ; 
 now the clear summer sky, and now mists and rain. Also, 
 she said, that if we wait patiently and take lovingly whatever 
 God sees fit to give, light will always arise out of darkness ; 
 and while we calmly do our duty through the grey and cloudy 
 hours the sun is still shining, and by-and-bye, almost without 
 our knowing it, will scatter the shades and break through the 
 clouds, and it will all be bright and fair again." 
 
 " But, my child, some lives are all grey ; they are sad and 
 clouded to the last." 
 
 " Oh, papa, I think not ; it only seems so. Every dark 
 cloud they say has a silver lining, and every grey life has an. 
 inner golden beauty of its own even if the world do not see it. 
 At least it may be so if people will not despond, and cherish 
 their griefs, and rebel against what they call their fate. And 
 Florence says the same ; we colour our own lives very much 
 for ourselves, and the grey and the gold is often of our own 
 choosing. It is not so much events themselves as the way in 
 which we take them that makes them either happy or 
 unhappy. People who do not trust God, who always dread 
 
470 GflEY AND GOLD. 
 
 the future, and go out to meet trouble beforehand, must 
 inevitably be wretched, and their lives will be grey, though 
 the golden radiance of blessings and mercies stream all about 
 their path." 
 
 " Of course it is the right thing to make the very best of 
 what comes to us." 
 
 "It is the common-sense way of looking at life as well as 
 the Christian way. Indeed, since I have known Florence 
 and Fanny Tucker I have been astonished to discover how 
 very much plain good sense and sound rationality there is in 
 Christianity. I am afraid, papa, I used to have the very 
 haziest notions about religion. I thought going to church, 
 and reading the Bible and good books, and private prayer 
 made up religion. It never occurred to me that these things 
 were only a small part of the whole, and that they were of 
 little or of no value unless we lived them out daily in faith, 
 and patience, and cheerfulness. Oh, papa, I have learnt a 
 great deal since I came to Little Guise." 
 
 " I have been learning too, Edith, of late, though not pre- 
 cisely the same lessons. My boys' steady purpose to work 
 and to retrieve the past has not been without significance. 
 But, Edie, I am in a sad trouble about Cuddie ; he is always 
 in the stable with that young scamp Bill Scattergood, or off 
 with Euggles, who is known to be one of the worst charac- 
 ters in the neighbourhood. And then there is that new 
 friend of his, the young man from London no, from 
 Birmingham, I think. A more villainous-looking fellow I 
 never encountered." 
 
 " What is his name 1 " 
 
 " I am not sure that I ever heard it ; yes, I have heard it 
 though Dick. Let me see, was it Dick Harrison or Dick 
 Hellier ? I really cannot recollect ; it was Dick I am cer- 
 tain, and if it was not Hellier it was something remarkably 
 like it." 
 
 "Do you not think, papa, you ought I mean would it 
 not ^)e better to find out exactly who this young man is 1 I 
 saw him once, and I did not like him at all. He might get 
 Cuddie into trouble." 
 
 "And his friends, if they saw Cuddie, might return the 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 471 
 
 compliment. Cuddle takes after his scampering great-uncle 
 I am afraid. "Well, we will not talk any more on so dis- 
 agreeable a subject. I must have a little serious conversation 
 with Cuddie, and insist upon his working if he stay at home." 
 
 Eupert soon found his way to Little Guise. He went on 
 the Friday and remained till the following Tuesday, and it 
 BO happened that Cecil was there, for of late she had found 
 the Chenies intolerably dull, and she was glad of an excuse 
 to visit her cousin and Fanny, and of late she had taken a 
 great interest in Edith Digby. 
 
 Cecil had always liked Lancelot, though at the same time 
 she denounced him as a foolish, dreaming, unpractical-young 
 man ; but against Eupert she had professed herself some- 
 what prejudiced. She scarcely knew why, but she charged 
 him with all Lance's foibles and shortcomings without giving 
 him the credit for any of Lance's virtues. Only in the pre- 
 ceding summer she had spoken to Esther of Eupert most 
 bitterly, bidding her be aware of so idle and worthless a 
 young man, and keep out of his way if he came to the Slade; 
 "for," as she sententiously remarked, "idleness and mischief 
 generally go together, and a girl had always better keep 
 clear of a young man who has so little occupation that he is 
 almost sure to do the devil's work for want of any other." 
 
 Esther had simply replied, " I do not think he looks like 
 that sort of young man, Miss Uffadyne, and he is very kind 
 to his sister; but I will take your advice ; I will keep out of 
 his way if come on business to Mr. King." 
 
 ISTow Cecil had judged Eupert Digby hastily. He was 
 certainly not at work, as it behoved a young man of his 
 ability, and with his unsatisfactory prospects to work. If 
 he worked at all it was without a definite purpose, and to be 
 purposeless was to be vicious in Cecil's eyes. When he went 
 away with Lancelot to London she hoped better things of 
 him, but scarcely expected that he would "get on." Hia 
 unbusiness-like habits must be against him, she argued, and 
 then laziness was a family attribute of the Digby s at ^ least 
 of the masculine portion of it, for no one could say that 
 Edith or her little sister Eose was lazy. And Cecil confi- 
 dently predicted that he would be back again by Christmas, 
 
472 GREY AND GOID. 
 
 talking over the farm with, his v hands in his pockets, 01 
 galloping ahout on the roan mare he had trained himself. 
 Cecil, however, learned to think rather differently of Rupert 
 as time passed on, and his home letters breathed more and 
 more the language of energy, perseverance, and steadfast 
 purpose. Edith always read her letters aloud when they 
 came to her, so that her friends were pretty well posted up 
 in all news appertaining to her brothers. 
 
 The rector had been asked to meet Rupert Digby, but just 
 before dinner he had sent a note excusing himself on the plea 
 of indisposition, so Rupert was the only gentleman present. 
 He did not sit over his wine at all, but went at once with the 
 ladies to the drawing-room, when it was proposed on all 
 hands to have a musical evening. 
 
 " How well you play ! " said Rupert to Cecil, as she took 
 her fingers from the keys. " Some people think that any 
 tyro can play an accompaniment. Now, I think that it 
 requires the highest musical talent to render effectively such 
 an accompaniment as the one we have just had. It needs a 
 delicate ear, a perfect taste, a fine touch, most thorough time, 
 and no small powers of execution. I should like you to 
 accompany me always, Miss Uffadyne." 
 
 " And I should like you to sing frequently to my accom- 
 paniment. It is not with every voice that my fingers move 
 so easily in unison. You are a musical family, you Digbys. 
 I remember our concerts of old, when we were all children." 
 
 " So do I. How proud we were when we could achieve 
 ' The Chough and Crow ! ' Lancelot used to play the accom- 
 paniment. There was nothing I missed so much in leaving 
 home as our little musical entertainments, for we kept it up 
 long after you, and Oswald, and Miss Guise deserted us we 
 three, Lancelot, and Edie, and I and by-and-bye the little 
 ones joined in. Rosie really has a very nice voice, and she 
 learned her notes by instinct, I believe." 
 
 " Do you like your new life ? " 
 
 "Yes, I like it thoroughly. I had no idea how much 
 there was in business requiring absolute talent as well as the 
 more substantial qualities of industry and energy. I declare 
 to you, Miss Uffadyne, there is in business, as it is now, in 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 473 
 
 these go-a-liead, competitive days, an immense scope for 
 powers of every kind. Business has become an art and 
 science combined, and every day commercial enterprise seeks 
 some new field or builds up marvellous fresh edifices on the 
 old foundations. I assure you I begin to feel proud of being 
 a business man ! " 
 
 " I know no greater absurdity than that which votes busi- 
 ness to be derogatory. But you were a brave man, Mr. 
 Eupert. You were the first of your name who ever pursued 
 a commercial calling." 
 
 " Yes, and my poor father was fairly aghast when first I 
 told him my intentions. I believe he thought my dead 
 ancestors would get up out of their graves to protest against 
 them ; but I talked him over. I should not have liked to 
 begin my new career under his disapprobation. But iny 
 father, like many other country gentlemen of ancient family, 
 had very shadowy notions on the subject of business. Trade 
 was dirty, he averred, abounding in fraud, trickery, and all 
 sorts of miserable pettinesses, and one could not touch pitch 
 and not be defiled, etc., etc. I promised him, on my honour 
 as a Digby, that if I found it impracticable to follow out my 
 proposed schemes without condescending to meanness, with- 
 out being implicated in that which a Christian gentleman 
 ought to shun, I would relinquish them without hesitation. 
 But I have found that a man of business may be an earnest 
 Christian and a refined gentleman, also that he may be of 
 the highest type as regards intelligence and culture. Of 
 course there are shams in every vocation, and there are vaga- 
 bonds in every calling, even in the Church ; but that is no 
 reason why I should compromise my own self-respect, in the 
 name of commerce, or even hold intercourse with those 
 whom I know to be unworthy. What did you think your- 
 self, Miss UfFadyne, when you heard of a Digby going into 
 a merchant's office to earn his bread ? " 
 
 " I honoured you," said Cecil, with emphasis. " For the 
 first time I began to do you justice. But I will be quite 
 candid, and confess that I scarcely imagined that you would 
 succeed. All your previous life, your old habits, seemed to 
 tell against you. I felt how brave it was of you to address 
 
474 GREY -AND GOLD. 
 
 yourself to the encounter, tut I was prepared to find you 
 worsted in the melee" 
 
 " You doubted my perseverance 1 " 
 
 " t l doubted more than that; I am ashamed of myself, 
 "but, since you ask me, I cannot be disingenuous. But, Mr. 
 Rupert, I have made so] many mistakes within the last two 
 or three years that I begin to think my own judgment of 
 very little value. You are not the only person whom I have 
 under-estimated, and I have learned to distrust myself." 
 
 " I never gave you any cause to think highly of me. I 
 only played at work, you know ; I scorned the idea of being 
 fettered by regulations. I was never in earnest." 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " Now I am indeed in earnest. I have chosen my work, 
 and I am proud of it, and I mean to stick to it and to de- 
 vote to it my best energies and all my powers. God helping 
 me, / will succeed" 
 
 And the young man drew himself up, and looked as if he 
 were ready to brave every hardship and every peril, and to 
 surmount every obstacle. His handsome face looked hand- 
 somer than ever, all a-glow with the enthusiasm of his feel- 
 ings, and every feature speaking of ardent hope and strong 
 determination. He seemed to Cecil quite as gallant a gentle- 
 man as if he were going out to fight his country's battles. 
 
 Then, subsiding a little, he laughed at his own eagerness, 
 and began to talk of the life before him, and to sketch prob- 
 able experiences in Australia. Cecil was quite surprised 
 when the old butler came in with the wine and water and 
 bed-candles, and she looked incredulously at her watch, and 
 then at the time-piece; but both agreed to tell her that it 
 was eleven o'clock. All the others had been deep in a game 
 of " Poets," so that she and Eupert had had their talk at the 
 piano entirely to themselves. 
 
 The next day, when Edith and Eupert were going to the 
 village, he asked her what she thought of Miss Uffadyne. 
 
 " I think she is very true and conscientious ; but I do not 
 like her so well as Florence." 
 
 " I had no idea there was so much real good stuff in her." 
 
 " la Florence, do you mean " 
 
GREY AND -GOLD. 475 
 
 " No ; in Cecil Uffadyne. I used to think her intolerably 
 airogant and self-opinionated. I always admired her energy, 
 and her determination to do good j but after she grew up I 
 rather avoided her, because she always seemed to be making 
 a parade of her practicality, and to be forcing upon one some 
 of her numerous crotchets, as I rather impertinently es- 
 teemed her philanthropic schemes 'and her intensely utili- 
 tarian propositions." 
 
 " I used to think her rather hard, though I could not but 
 acknowledge her superiority, and I felt in my secret soul 
 rather afraid of her. Frequently it seemed to me that her 
 judgments were harsh, and that to satisfy her requirements 
 would be an impossibility." 
 
 " And you feel different now ? " 
 
 " Yes ; either I misunderstood her, or she is softened con- 
 siderably. Perhaps it is a little of both. I think she feels 
 her brother's conduct very keenly." 
 
 " She well may ; he has behaved shamefully. Whether 
 his conduct was worse as regards Miss Guise or Esther 
 Kendall it is difficult to say ; and now he keeps away from 
 his duties, neglecting his property. I do believe it is very 
 bad for us young men of good families being brought up in 
 the country with nothing to do." 
 
 " And yet you have never been idle." 
 
 " That is more than I dare affirm, Edie ; but my business 
 had certainly no definite object in view. I think in order to 
 succeed in life one ought to have an aim. How much I 
 regret the years I have wasted in mere purposeless, fruitless 
 occupation. How much further on my road should I be if I 
 had only set out earlier. But better late than never. I am 
 only four-and-twenty now. I wish you were going out with 
 me, Edith ; yours is a hard and a dull life at home." 
 
 "I do not so much mind it when I am well, and I am 
 getting quite strong again. I really was very ill when Miss 
 Guise took compassion on me j but, Eupert, it was Fanny 
 Tucker who first suggested my visit." 
 
 "Bless her, then, for she did you a really good turn. 
 What a remarkably nice girl she is ! " 
 
 " }Jice ? Oh, Eupert, she is infinitely more than thai I 
 
476 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 She is so good, the best of everything seems to be in her ; 
 but she has had dreadful troubles, though she seldom speaks 
 of them." 
 
 "The school of adversity generally produces the finest 
 characters. I hope our own hard training may be of use to 
 us. We have not by any means been reared in the lap of 
 luxury." 
 
 " Indeed, no ; but it might have been far worse. Rupert, 
 Fanny Tucker seems born to be everybody's comfort. I wish 
 somebody would be a comfort to her." 
 
 " Is not Miss Guise a comfort to her ? After my Lady 
 Torrisdale I should say her present experiences are celestial." 
 " So they are, of course. Florence would make any one 
 happy. But I should like some one to fall in love with 
 Fanny and marry her. She is far too good to be left to old- 
 maidism." 
 
 " My dear Edith, I believe some of the very choicest 
 specimens of womanhood continue to their dying day as un- 
 appropriated blessings." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I want Fanny to be appropriated." 
 " By whom, my dear Edith ? Positively, little sister, you 
 are turning into a match-maker. It's a bad trade, my dear ; 
 better give it up." 
 
 "Don't be exasperating, Ru. I am only wishing that 
 some people had discrimination enough to estimate a jewel at 
 its true value." 
 
 " Do not you see, my dear, that one may acknowledge the 
 costliness of a gem without desiring to wear it 1 I saw a 
 matchless rose diamond the other day, but it never occurred 
 to me to become the possessor." 
 
 " Because you could not ; that is quite a different affair." 
 " ]S"ot so much so as you think. Depend upon it Fanny 
 Tucker is not to be had for the asking. That girl has a 
 history ; it is written in her face. She has suffered terribly, 
 and she has no more heart to bestow than if she were an 
 old married woman. But, Edith, Fanny Tucker, good and 
 sweet and noble as I am sure she is, would not be my 
 choice." 
 
 " Ah ! you do not appreciate her as Florence and I do." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 4.7? 
 
 '" Probably not, you very silly young woman. Why, I 
 never saw her in my life till last evening. But I will tell 
 you, Edith, it is of no use ; Fanny Tucker is not fated to 
 be your sister-in-law, unless indeed she wait for Rowley, 
 whose affections at present are concentrated on lollypops 
 and puppies. I suppose you would not have her take up 
 with Cuddle?" 
 
 11 No, indeed ; poor Cuddie ! " 
 
 " Then I suppose you wished it to be either Lancelot or 
 myself?" 
 
 " I am not sure but that Lancelot thinks of somebody." 
 
 " And I am tolerably certain that he does, though there 
 have been nothing like confidences, mind you. And you are 
 not to say a word, you understand." 
 
 " Of course not. That is understood. "Whatever passes 
 between you and me, or between Lance and me, never goes 
 any farther, though on this point Lance has told me no 
 secrets." 
 
 " Suppose I tell you a secret 1 " 
 
 " That sort of secret do you mean ? " 
 
 "Yes, that sort, Miss Digby. Suppose I too have 
 thought of some one whom I should like to make Mrs. 
 Rupert Digby 1 " 
 
 " Oh, Ru, have you 1 Yes, you have ; I see it in your face. 
 Is it is it Cecil 1 " 
 
 " What made you think of Cecil 1 " 
 
 " Why, years ago people called her your little sweetheart, 
 and somehow I always fancied you liked her even when you 
 stigmatised her as ' that strong-minded and disagreeable 
 young woman.' And you were talking with her a long 
 time last night while we were absorbed in our quartettes. 
 Don't tantalise me, Ru. It is Cecil, is it not 1 " 
 
 "Yes. I am a greater fool than you supposed, Edith." 
 
 " I do not see why that makes you a fool. If I were a 
 young man I should prefer Fanny Tucker, though she is 
 poor, and certainly not so handsome as Cecil ; but then, as 
 Mrs Browning says, f women cannot choose for men,' and 
 well, I will not grumble * cliacun a son gout.'" 
 
 And my 'gout* is Cecil most decidedly. I believe 1 
 
478 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 have cared for her these eight years. I as good as told hei 
 so once ; it was the day I was seventeen I remember. She 
 had just come home from Paris, and I ventured to make a 
 small statement of my sentiments in true boyish fashion ; 
 but she snubbed me so viciously at the outset that I turned 
 and fled, leaving my tale half untold. My pride was so 
 mortified, she wounded me so cruelly, she treated me so 
 thoroughly as a blundering schoolboy, that I did my very 
 best to hate her, and for a long time I thought I had 
 succeeded. Afterwards you know there was little intercourse 
 between the Grange and the Chenies, though Oswald and 
 Lancelot still continued fast friends. I thought I had 
 quite forgotten my boyish folly, and that Cecil Uifadyne was 
 no more to me than one of the village girls ; but last night 
 I found out my mistake that is, it dawned upon me last 
 night such things dawn at all times, Edie that I did care 
 for her still, and that somehow I always had cared. And 
 now I come to the conclusion that I shall never care for 
 anybody else." 
 
 " Have you told her so ? " 
 
 " Not I ! I may be a fool, but I am not a madman." 
 
 " If you are not to tell her, what is the use of caring for 
 her ? " 
 
 " Cannot you see, Edith ? I am a poor fellow going out 
 to Australia to make my fortune if I can. Cecil has a 
 handsome fortune of her own, and the Chenies is settled 
 upon her. I am not the man to go and hang up my hat ; I 
 could not do it, Edith ; I could not be dependent on my wife." 
 
 " Because you spoke to Cecil it would not follow that you 
 should at once marry her, relinquishing your Australian 
 journey, and straightway hangiug up your hat, as you say, 
 at the Chenies ! " 
 
 " No, indeed ; Cecil would be the first to despise me, if I 
 thought of such a thing. If I come back in two or three 
 years' time, with means of my own, then I might venture to 
 speak. At least she would be constrained to respect my 
 silence, and to appreciate the constancy which kept hers, 
 without any intercourse, and at the distance 01 so many 
 thousand miles." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 479 
 
 11 If I were Cecil I should not like it at all. Rupert, if 
 you really do care for her, I think you ought to tell her 
 before you go. Besides, she very likely guesses ; we women 
 have a sort of intuition on these subjects that generally 
 reveals the truth ; and if you go away without speaking she 
 will conclude that she is mistaken; and to make such a 
 mistake, or suppose you make it, is intolerably humiliating." 
 
 " Eeally, Edith, you speak with authority ; have you had 
 experiences of your own ? " 
 
 " Not the smallest ; but I am a woman, and I know what 
 it must be to have to convict one's self of so wretched a 
 blunder." 
 
 " But Cecil cannot guess. I have not said a word that 
 could mean anything beyond mere friendship ; and we have 
 known each other all our lives. On the contrary, I am con- 
 vinced that she would be excessively astonished if I were to 
 go to her and finish the story which was so inauspiciously 
 interrupted seven years ago." 
 
 " It would not be the same story, Eu ; it would be some- 
 thing altogether different. You were a boy then, and Cecil 
 was a girl ; and you were for ever quarrelling. What you 
 have to tell her now is quite another thing." 
 
 " It may be ; it is, I know. Still I feel that I must post- 
 pone the telling till I return from Australia. I cannot have 
 the presumption ; I must leave her free. But what folly I 
 am talking ! As if there were any probability of her ac- 
 cepting and I know how much she has despised me." 
 
 " Well ! I will say no more, only I think you ought to 
 .speak. If I were in Cecil's place, I should feel myself 
 greatly wronged." 
 
 " How can she feel herself wronged if she guesses nothing, 
 und if, as is most probable, she would contemptuously reject 
 my suit ? " 
 
 " She would not be contemptuous ; I do not know what 
 it is, but something has crushed Cecil's pride. She is so 
 .gentle now with Florence ; as for Fanny Tucker, she defers 
 to her continually." 
 
 " Lance used to say that if Cecil once learned humility 
 iift would be the finest creature in the world. If only her 
 
460 
 
 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 indomitable pride and her tiresome self-assertion could b 
 got rid of, there would be few to equal her." 
 
 "So, you perceive, there is no danger of incurring her 
 contempt ; if she say, ' no,' it will be because she must say 
 it ; and it will be said kindly, though firmly, as becomes a 
 right-minded, true-hearted woman." 
 
 You do think it would be ' no ' ?" 
 
 "I cannot tell j only she has said 'no' several times, I 
 believe. She has frequently declared that she never intends 
 to marry ; she told me, not six weeks ago, that though she 
 respects matrimony, she has herself no vocation for it. She 
 said quite passionately that she could never relinquish her 
 freedom j and she did say that she had never seen the man 
 for whom she could make such terrible sacrifices, nor could 
 she conceive of the existence of any such person." 
 
 " That is conclusive ; I will keep silence. I shall go away 
 on Monday, I think, instead of Tuesday." 
 
 Sunday passed quietly away, and Eupert held no more long 
 conversations with Cecil, and yet Edith felt sure that nearly 
 all he said in the family circle was meant for her. And she 
 said to herself, " She must guess ; I should, I am sure." 
 And once she saw Eupert wistfully and covertly regarding 
 Cecil, who was bending with rather a sad countenance over 
 her volume of Eobertson's sermons. And Cecil happened to 
 look up and catch the glance, and her own dark eyes fell, and 
 for a minute or more her cheeks were crimson ; but she did 
 not look haughty or displeased, and Edith noticed that though 
 she continued to pore over her book, not another page was 
 turned till the bells struck out and it was time to get ready 
 for afternoon church. 
 
 " She does guess," said Edie to herself, " and it will hurt 
 her very much if Eu go away without a word." All that 
 evening Cecil appeared restless, but she talked fast with 
 Florence about some scheme for reading with the younger 
 servants on Sunday evenings, and she took great pains to 
 make out a list of such books as she had found suitable on 
 similar occasions at the Chenies. But the old dictatorial tone 
 was dropped, and advice was tendered modestly, and almost 
 limidiy. Florence asked her counsel, and it was cainuy 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 481 
 
 given ; but there was no self-assumption, no arrogant laying 
 down of laws self-framed and self-endorsed. Florence herself 
 could hardly believe that this was the same Cecil from whose 
 self-sufficiency and love of command she had once endured so 
 mucli. 
 
 " Oh, if only Oswald could be changed," she said to her- 
 self ; "if he could lay aside the baser parts of his nature, 
 giving free scope to those nobler qualities which old habits 
 keep suppressed." Though he could be nothing now to her, 
 it would make her happier to know that he was living 
 worthily, and doing a man's nay, a Christian's duty by 
 his fair inheritance of Guise, which was now suffering all 
 the evils of absenteeism. But she put the thought away, for 
 whenever she allowed her mind to dwell upon the past, with 
 its mingled sweets and bitters, there was an unuttered moan, 
 and her heart cried mutely once more, "Oh, Oswald! my 
 Oswald ! " 
 
 Rupert read and talked to Fanny Tucker, chiefly about the 
 Reformation in France, and Edith listened or joined in the 
 conversation, while Mrs. Lester dozed in her chair by the fire, 
 and woke up every now and then and diligently resumed the 
 perusal of her Sunday at Home, which was supposed to be 
 her staple literature. 
 
 Every one seemed very tired, and glad when the evening 
 came to a close. It was something new for Cecil to seem 
 wearied, and Florence feared she was not well. Oswald's 
 sister had become strangely dear to her since Oswald himself 
 had left her ; and before putting out her own candle she went 
 to Cecil's room to see if she was quite comfortable. Cecil sat 
 half undressed before the fire, and she started up and laughed 
 when Florence came in. 
 
 " I do believe I was dreaming," she said. " I want Miss 
 Smith to keep mo in order : she would have brushed my 
 hair and put it up half an hour ago;" and Cecil began 
 tugging unmercifully at her wealth of long, glossy raven hair, 
 and grumbling at the trouble it gave her. She declined con- 
 versation, however, and pleaded sleepiness, so Florence was 
 fain to retire, feeling not at all easy respecting her cousin. 
 She called on Fanny as she made her way along the gallery 
 ii 
 
482 GREF AND GOLD. 
 
 to her own room, and Fanny was already in "bed, but not 
 at all sleepy ; and to her Florence confided her apprehensions. 
 There was something so unwonted about Cecil that she was 
 really frightened. " Could she be going to have an illness ] '' 
 asked Florence. "Well, if she were, better she should be 
 laid up at Little Guise than at the Chenies, left to the tender 
 mercies of Miss Smith I beg her pardon, Miss Sm?/th ; " 
 of whom Miss Guise had not a high opinion. 
 
 Fanny roused herself a little and sat up in bed. u I do 
 not think Cecil is quite well,'' she said, distinctly. 
 
 " Ah, I thought not," replied Florence, anxiously. " Should 
 ehe have advice, do you think ? Ought I to send for Mr. 
 Milsom to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 " My dear Flossy, Mr. Milsom would be of no more service 
 to her than that smart little page of his. Cecil's complaint 
 is mental." 
 
 " Fanny, you do not mean " 
 
 " Yes, I do mean. Cecil is in love Flossy ! I know the 
 symptoms woe is me ! You had better leave her alone ; no 
 good ever comes of interfering in such cases. I sometimes 
 think if we had been left alone ; pshaw, what nonsense I am 
 talking ! But leave her alone, Florence. Cecil is quite 
 capable of managing her own affairs." 
 
 " Can it be Eupert Digby 1 " 
 
 "Of course it is Eupert Digby; and there have been 
 passages before, or I am greatly mistaken." 
 
 " I do believe you are right. Ah, Fanny, nothing would 
 do Cecil so much good as to be honestly, rationally, yet at 
 the same time thoroughly l in love!' It would complete the 
 softening and mellowing process that has been going on all 
 this winter. It would make a splendid icoman of her. 
 What can I do?" 
 
 " Nothing, emphatically nothing ! People like Cecil and 
 Eupert do not bear meddling with. Only, if they try to get 
 alone together, let them. I wouldn't make an opportunity, 
 but if they took one I would take care that no one should 
 disturb them. And you can pray for them, Flossy pray for 
 God's blessing on Oswald's sister. And now good-night, for 
 T am veritably sleepy, and you look as if you ought to havG 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 483 
 
 been wrapt in downy slumbers an hour ago. Do you know 
 that it is upon the stroke of one ? Good-night ! " 
 
 All Monday morning Eupert was very serious and pre- 
 occupied, and Cecil worked as if for dear life at a gorgeous 
 purse she was producing. Her whole soul seemed to be 
 absorbed in deep blue purse-silk and steel beads, and yet she 
 had by no means a feminine weakness for such busy-idle 
 trifles, as all present knew very well. Just after luncheon 
 she found herself left alone, and then she flung down her 
 silk and her beads, and resigned herself to meditations. 
 Not very pleasant ones either, apparently, for soon she struck 
 one shapely white hand angrily upon the other, and then she 
 bit her full red lips vindictively, and lastly she murmured to 
 herself, " Oh, Cecil Uffadyne ! It only needed this. You 
 are the veriest dolt, the weakest idiot who ever drew breath ! 
 And you thought yourself such a sensible young woman, did 
 you not, you simpleton ? Alas, ' how is the mighty fallen ! ' 
 Well, I shall come to know myself in time, and a very 
 delightful and soothing study it promises to be. I will go 
 home this evening." 
 
 Then Eupert came into the room, and Cecil rashly seized 
 her crotchet-hook and her silk, and ran the hook into her 
 finger. 
 
 " You cannot work any more," he said, presently, " because 
 your finger bleeds. You had better wrap your handkerchief 
 round your hand, and put on your seal-skin, and take your 
 muff, and come with me to the river-side." 
 
 And Cecil obeyed, as if submission had been the rule of 
 her life ; and again they talked of Australia, of the long 
 voyage, of the new life over there, and of the hopes that 
 Kupert cherished. 
 
 " It will be a hard life doubtless," said Cecil ; " but I envy 
 you. I often wish I had to work for my living ; but that is 
 wrong of course, the thing is to do one's very utmost in the 
 station in which it has pleased God to place you." 
 
 " You do not mean that no one should ever try to alter his 
 station, to take a better position ? " 
 
 " Of course not. We ought always to do the very best for 
 ourselves that we can. c That station of life in which it has 
 
484 GllEY AND GOLD. 
 
 pleased God to place me,' as the Catechism says, does nob 
 always mean that station in which I or any other person was 
 born, but that station to which by the leadings of Hia 
 Providence, He manifestly directs me. If the stupid doc- 
 trine which some people preach had been fully carried out, 
 your station and mine at this moment would be that of bar- 
 barians. We should be attired in undressed skins, our faces 
 and hands would be grotesquely painted, and our respective 
 residences would be wattled or clay huts, boasting of heather 
 beds, and unhewn stumps of trees by w r ay of seats." 
 
 " And if you had had to work, what would you have done, 
 I wonder ? " 
 
 " I would not have turned governess or made dresses or 
 bonnets. I would far rather have been housemaid or wash- 
 erwoman. But I would have gone into business. I would 
 have tried to save a little capital, supposing I had none, and 
 I would have worked it to the best of my ability. I flatter 
 myself I should make an excellent business woman. I like 
 to hear talk about invoices, and bills of lading, and consign- 
 ments." 
 
 " Cecil, I wish you were not rich." 
 
 "I am not;. I have the Chenies, and sufficient income to 
 keep it up comfortably. If I were at all extravagant I 
 should soon be in difficulties. But it is not kind of you to 
 wish I had nothing, if that is what you mean. On tho 
 whole I daresay it is best that my bread and cheese is found 
 for me. Earning one's living in perspective and in reality 
 are widely different things, I fancy." 
 
 " Cecil, I had resolved not to speak before I went away ; 
 but I feel that I must. If you were not as rich as you are, 
 I should ask you to give me a promise before I left Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " And being as rich as I am you will not ? ' 
 
 "I scarcely dare, it is too presumptuous and yet I am. 
 sorely tempted. There is no scorn in your eyes, Cecil, and 
 you do not look displeased ; yet I think you must know 
 what it is I want you to promise me." 
 
 "Perhaps I do; but you must tell me outright, Rupert* 
 I am not going to help you." 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 485 
 
 "And you are not angry, not confounded at my impu- 
 dence ? " 
 
 " That depends upon what you want. If you wish me to 
 go out to Australia with you, and do your washing, and 
 superintend a dairy-farm, I think I must decline." 
 
 " I only want you to promise to think kindly of me while 
 I am away, to write to me occasionally, and, lastly here 
 comes the rub, Cecil to marry me when I come back, with 
 an income equal to your own. Now then, say yes, or bid me 
 go away and see your face no more." 
 
 " Must I say either of these things ? " 
 
 " Cecil, don't play with me. I cannot bear suspense just 
 now." 
 
 " Well then yes." 
 
 "You don't mean it, Cecil ? " 
 
 "I did mean it ; but I will retract if you like. It might 
 be better for you that you should go away a disengaged 
 young man. There are heiresses to be had in Australia, and 
 you have a handsome face, and a good ancient name in the 
 old country." 
 
 " All the heiresses in Australia may die old maids for me, 
 Cecil. I only want you. Do you know, though we were 
 always apparently at feud, I believe I have .been caring for 
 you these seven years. Cecil, you have made me very happy." 
 
 " I hope I shall make you happy your life through, Kupert ; 
 but I am not sure that you have done a good thing for your- 
 self. Do you know that I am naturally vain, imperious, 
 self-satisfied, and not too sweet tempered 1 " 
 
 " I know you are the only woman in the world I care to 
 marry. I will run the risk, and take you, temper and all." 
 
 The lovers lingered so long by the river side that it was 
 dark before they reached home. Florence met Cecil at the 
 top of the stairs ; both were carrying candles, and the light 
 fell full on Cecil's face ; it looked guilty, but demure and, 
 oh, so quietly content. 
 
 " What have you been doing ? " asked Florence. 
 
 " I have secured you a new cousin, my dear ; and I have 
 promised to be Edie's sister, that is all. Am I not a moat 
 considerate young woman 1 But what will Oswald say ] " 
 
486 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 CHAPTER LY. 
 
 IN THE LAMPLIGHT. 
 
 AGAIN the Helmsley woods were leafed in all their fresh 
 summer beauty and bright with summer flowers, and again 
 the glorious tints of autumn fell on their umbrageous 
 growth, and again the sere leaves rustled on the damp, cold 
 earth, and the brambles purpled in the early frosts, and 
 winter once more asserted his icy sway. It was a year and 
 more since Eupert had sailed to Australia, and Cecil and 
 Edith received letters by every mail letters almost exulting 
 in their tone, for he was succeeding beyond his most san- 
 guine expectations. It was nearly a year too since Oswald 
 came back to Guise and took up the duties of his position. 
 He made no protestations and registered no vows, which 
 Cecil interpreted as a hopeful sign, but he quietly took in 
 hand the tasks he had so long neglected. He listened 
 patiently to all complaints, examined all accounts, and re- 
 dressed grievances, which rather abounded on the estate, 
 partly owing to the interregnum occasioned by his own 
 avoidance of the place, and partly through the lapse of 
 lawful authority consequent on Mr. Guise's absence and long 
 illness. He began to be talked about as a landlord and to 
 be extolled as a magistrate, some of his neighbours remark- 
 ing that wealth and position were really doing young 
 Uffadyne good. He seemed at last to comprehend that 
 life was not a boy's game, nor the world a playground, but 
 a vast area on wKich must be fought out the never-ending 
 battle of right and wrong ; also, he was convinced that a 
 fair inheritance like Guise involved serious and manifold 
 responsibilities, which he dare no longer hesitate to assume. 
 
 Florence and Fanny were abroad with Mrs. Lester. As 
 Boon as Edith returned to the Grange they had arranged for 
 a tour in Germany, and through the Tyrol to Venice. Un- 
 fortunately the Eugene Bethunes were already at Geneva 
 when they reached Paris, so the yearning desire of Esther's 
 heart could not be gratified. But she heard constantly from 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 487 
 
 Cecil, who had developed since her engagement into a very 
 charming correspondent, and Esther knew pretty well what 
 was passing at the Grange -and at Chilcombe, and how 
 Oswald was gladdening his sister's heart, and how wonder- 
 fully Eupert was getting on at Brisbane. Mrs. King, too r 
 sent her one lengthy epistle, homely in its composition, but 
 racy in its style, overflowing with motherly kindness, and 
 brimming full of news about everybody in whom Esther was 
 supposed to be interested. Linda Smith had become pupil 
 teacher, Anne Culverwell was apprenticed to a first-class 
 milliner at Stannington, and Mary Murrell had gone as 
 assistant teacher into a large school in Midlandshire, with a 
 view to becoming in due time mistress at Chilcombe, the 
 Frumpington woman being decidedly ineligible and "very 
 hard to put up with." Esther knew that Cecil had parted 
 with Miss Smith, and that she had taken in her place one of 
 the elder school-girls ; but she did not know that the 
 amiable Amelia Matilda had been dismissed for backbiting, 
 and general and particular infraction of the ninth command- 
 ment. With all the venom of a malicious, envious temper, 
 and all the spite of a low, vulgar mind, she had circulated 
 terrible reports to Esther's disadvantage. Her sister-in-law, 
 Belinda's mother, gave such help as she could, and at last 
 the slanders came to Cecil's ears, and her wrath was stirred 
 up, and she set herself to investigate the whole affair, and 
 o trace to their source the unfounded rumours which per- 
 vaded not only Chilcombe, but Helmsley and Guise and 
 Little Guise as well. 
 
 They all resolved themselves into two or three astounding 
 declarations of Smith's mere gratuitous lies which she 
 seemed to have invented purely to gratify her own hatred of 
 Esther, whom she simply detested as her mistress's favourite. 
 It had gone the round of the neighbourhood that Esther 
 was living in Paris under Mr. Oswald's proterifion, and that 
 such an arrangement had been contemplated before she laft 
 England. It was proved that Smith had originated the 
 report, repeating to several people in confidence the mon- 
 strous untruth. Cecil compelled her to unsay all that she 
 had said, and she made her write a full confession of her 
 
488 URET AND GOLD. 
 
 own guilt. When Oswald learned how Esther's fair name 
 had been for a while blurred by his selfishness and folly he 
 "bitterly regretted the part he had taken ; and the humilia- 
 tion he experienced in finding himself sometimes compelled 
 to testify to the honour of one whom he deeply reverenced 
 was by no means the least part of the discipline which was 
 slowly but surely correcting the worst traits of his character. 
 His only hope was that Esther might never hear of the 
 causeless shame to which, by his former persecution of her, 
 she had been subjected. Moreover, he did not, as he would 
 once have done, rush madly and blindly to her defence, 
 perhaps in very rashness injuring irremediably the cause he 
 defended ; but he took counsel with Mr. and Mrs. King, 
 and with the rector, and contented himself with a simple, 
 sober, outspoken refutation of the charges laid to his door. 
 The affair quickly came to an end ; the Smiths, threatened 
 with punishment, fully retracted their statements ; Esther's 
 character was fully vindicated, and more than vindicated, 
 for the nobleness and quiet strength of her conduct under so 
 strong a test came fully to light, and as the way of the 
 world is, the very people who had been busiest in spreading 
 abroad the false and cruel reports were now most anxious to 
 sing her praises and to proclaim their enthusiastic admira- 
 tion of her virtues ! 
 
 Esther never knew how she had been slandered, nor how 
 fully she was acquitted ; it was never disclosed to her that 
 she had been for awhile the heroine of Chilcombe and the 
 adjacent villages, while she, all unconscious, explored with 
 her friends the beauties of Interlachen. It was well for her 
 that she was kept in ignorance ; the bitter accusations would 
 have well-nigh broken her heart, and the applause which 
 came afterwards would scarcely have made amends. For 
 once, it happened that the person who was solely to blame 
 had to bear the punishment ; for Oswald really suffered when 
 he found how great a mischief he had caused, while Esther 
 went peacefully on her way, growing continually stronger 
 and happier, and winning fresh love and deeper esteem as 
 weeks and months passed on. 
 
 Florence and Fanny spent the winter at Montauban, for 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 489 
 
 Florence -was not quite strong, and it was thought wiser 
 that she should not return to England just before the cold 
 weather set in. Little Guise was therefore still shut up. 
 
 Again it was a bright April day, and the Bethunes wero 
 once more in Paris. Esther had been driven in the Boia 
 with some young cousins of Madame and with her two elder 
 pupils ; and when she returned she was met by her little pet, 
 Melanie, who told her that her maman was talking with an 
 English monsieur just arrived from England, and that he 
 would stay to dinner. Esther took little notice of the 
 information, for she was hurrying to her room, there being 
 only a short time to dress ; the drive on the Bois had been 
 just too far. A very few minutes afterwards Madame herself 
 appeared, desiring to know what Esther intended to wear. 
 
 It was no unusual thing for Madame Adele to superintend 
 Esther's toilet, for she was a thorough Frenchwoman, and 
 looked upon la toilette as a solemn institution, even as 
 Monsieur her husband looked upon the daily dinner as an 
 event not to be slighted or trifled with, but to be duly 
 considered and carefully assisted at, as the profoundest of 
 social duties. But Esther had improved so much under 
 Madame's tuition of a whole year and a half that she rarely 
 interfered, except upon occasions of importance. 
 
 "Esther, mon enfant" said Madame, as she entered, 
 lierself attired perfectly comme ilfaut, " what are you wear- 
 ing this evening ? " 
 
 "I thought of my new white muslin with the rose- 
 coloured ribbons," said Esther, who was rapidly braiding her 
 hair; "but as you have company, Madame, I will, if you 
 prefer it, wear the silver-grey poplin, your own kind birtt 
 day present." 
 
 " I hardly know," replied Madame, surveying her critically . 
 *' Mais, oui. you are in very good looks to-night, the drivo 
 ihas given you a fine colour, and you have an air brilliant ; 
 wear your pretty white muslin and the rose ribbons ; I will 
 send Marie with a flower for your hair. I wish you to look 
 well at dinner, mon enfant /" 
 
 Esther dressed tranquilly ; she was quite accustomed to re- 
 ceive such intimations from Madame, whom she endeavoured 
 
490 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 on this point to please, as far as in her lay, though som- 
 times Esther was altogether weary of ringing the changea 
 on black and white and grey, and the few colours which 
 Madame permitted as " becoming ; " on flowers in the hair, 
 and flowers in the sash, and on braids and plaits and ringlets. 
 It was a positive relief when Madame herself told her what 
 to wear ; it saved an immensity of trouble. Ah ! if Madams 
 Eugene Bethune had only seen the torn alpaca, the shabby 
 little black apron, and the ungraceful coiffure of those sad 
 Queen Square days, which seemed now to have faded away 
 like a miserable dream ! 
 
 Madame had told her to make haste, so she lost no time ; 
 but when she descended she found the drawing-room, as she 
 imagined, empty. No ; not quite empty ! One gentleman 
 was standing in the recess formed by the bay-window, look- 
 ing out upon Madame's orangery ; and hearing the rustle of 
 Esther's muslin skirts, he turned. It was Lancelot Digby. 
 
 If Esther had known whom she was going to encounter, 
 she would probably have felt shy and constrained; but 
 meeting thus suddenly the bright, keen glance, and the 
 radiant smile she remembered so well, she involuntarily put 
 out both her hands, exclaiming, " Is it possible Mr. Digby] " 
 The next moment she blushed deeply, and would have 
 retreated ; but her hands were held fast, and the poet's face 
 she had first seen under the pine-tree on Guiseley Hill was 
 bent over hers. 
 
 Madame and Monsieur soon entered the room, and very 
 soon dinner was announced, and Lancelot was taking her 
 into the salle-a-manger, and she -was sitting by his side, 
 seemingly quite at ease, but in reality trifling with her soup- 
 plate, without much cognizance of what it contained. 
 
 " ' Grey and Gold ' is written, and, what i$ more, it ia 
 published," said Lancelot, later in the evening, when, Mon- 
 sieur having gone oif to smoke his nightly cigar in the gar- 
 den, and Madame having gone no one exactly knew whither, 
 nor on what errand, he and Esther were left alone in the 
 .lamplight, among the myrtles and the vases of spring- 
 flowers. 
 
 "Keally?" she said, dropping her work in her lap; "1 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 491 
 
 remember so well what you said about it that Sunday even- 
 ing in the garden at Helmsley, and I have so often wondered 
 whether you would really think it worth while to work the 
 idea into a poem." 
 
 " I thought it exceedingly worth while ; but it was some 
 time before I could at all satisfy myself with the lines I pro- 
 duced. I succeeded at last, however, and sent them forth 
 half reluctantly though ; and popular opinion has taken 
 them up and pronounced them ' the thing ! ' " 
 
 "I am very glad. And you are well known now? I 
 heard some English people talking of you last summer as 
 we came down from the Eigi that is, they were talking of 
 you as an author; the real Mr. Lancelot Digby they evi- 
 dently did not know." 
 
 " Yes, I have made myself a name at last ; it has been a 
 great struggle and a long struggle, for I have been writing 
 and treating the public to my private thoughts these eight 
 years and more. Thank God, it is over; my claim to be 
 one of the privileged circle whose books are read is at last 
 fully allowed. Two years ago I could not find any one to 
 print my MSS., either prose or verse ; now I may choose my 
 publisher and make my own terms. So much for a name." 
 
 And Esther could only say she was glad. He must think 
 her very stupid, she feared ; but still a deep content filled 
 her heart, and she thought how pleasant it was to sit there 
 in the soft, silvery lamplight, among the fragrant flowers, 
 talking with the friend to whom she owed so much, and of 
 whom she had thought so frequently during the year and 
 eight months which had elapsed since they parted at Helms- 
 ley. Then they discussed Cecil's engagement, and Lancelot 
 mentioned that a literary friend of his was much attached to 
 Edith. Mrs. Digby was still an invalid, but rather more 
 energetic than of old, and Eosie was growing into quite a 
 capable elder sister. 
 
 And then there was a pause, and Esther wondered when 
 Madame would return, and whether she ought not to go and 
 seek her. She was half rising, and folding her strip of em- 
 broidery, when Lancelot begged her to stay a little longer to 
 listen to something he had come to Paris expressly to say to 
 
492 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 her, and for the saying of which Madame Eugene had 
 kindly left them together, having deliberately turned out 
 her submissive husband to fumigate the shrubs in her little 
 bosquet. 
 
 I need not tell you what it was that Lancelot had to say. 
 He was in a position now to marry, and with his father's full 
 consent, and with Cecil and Edith's best wishes, he had 
 come to ask Esther to be his wife. 
 
 "Taking her away just as I had made an eldest daughter 
 of her. It is cruel ! " said Madame, smilingly, when she came 
 in an hour later, and saw from Esther's face that Lancelot's 
 wooing had not been in vain. 
 
 "Marie will soon be growing up," said Lancelot, consol- 
 ingly ; " and then you will have Helene and Melanie in turn 
 to settle. Ah, Madame, what trials are before you ! But I 
 thank you heartily for taking care of my Esther." 
 
 CIIAPTEE LYI. 
 
 OLD SCENES REVISITED. 
 
 THOUGH Lancelot declared himself to be in a position to 
 marry, Madame Bethune and Cecil both advised Esther to 
 plead for a year's engagement. Esther was quite young, 
 only nineteen, and she had not begun life very early; it 
 would be good for her to gain a little more of the world's 
 experiences before she became Mrs. Lancelot Digby. Also 
 it would be well that Lancelot should see his way clearly, 
 and strengthen and widen his literary foundations before he 
 entered upon the manifold responsibilities which the wedded 
 state involves. Of course the young man resisted vehemently. 
 He was making quite enough to justify him in marrying at 
 once, he told his friend Adele ; and Esther was quite old 
 enough, and if he were satisfied with her exactly as she was, 
 why should he not take her to himself without more ado ? 
 " Besides," he argued, " I am not nineteen. In a few weeks I 
 shall be twenty-seven, and I do not M T ish to waste the best 
 years of my -life in single blessedness, or unblessednesa 
 
GREY AXD GOLD. 493 
 
 rather ; for I must confess that I am heartily tired of living 
 en garqon in London." 
 
 "And very right you should be," pertinently replied 
 Madame; "it is only your mauvais svjet who heartily en- 
 joys a bachelor's life. Gocd young men always want to bo 
 married." 
 
 "And I, being a good young man, want to be married, 
 Madame Adele." 
 
 " Ah ! but you must wait, mon enfant. It is not that the 
 good young men get married the moment they wish it. It is 
 that they desire to marry ; but it does them good to wait. 
 What is worth having is worth waiting for, and you will 
 have to wait for Esther just one leetel year." 
 
 " And I had quite decided to be married in June." 
 
 " Bah ! and now it is almost May. I tell you young ladies 
 cannot be married in so great haste. Esther must have her 
 trousseau." 
 
 " That is always the way," replied Lancelot, it must be 
 confessed a little testily. " The moment you propose mar- 
 riage to a girl she, on her friends for her, begin to talk about 
 her clothes. Of course a bride should have several new 
 dresses and a wreath and a veil. I am sure Esther has some 
 very pretty dresses now ; but if new ones are required, where 
 in the world can they be procured so speedily as in Paris ? 
 Your modiste ought to furnish a complete trousseau in three 
 
 " I shall not ask my modiste to do anything of the kind. 
 If you were going out to India it would be quite another 
 affair ; and Miss Uffadyne and Miss Guise think as I do, so 
 you will not have your Esther till next spring, perhaps not 
 till next summer, and it is of no use frowning and looking 
 like an animal infuriate, for I shall rule in this leetel 
 matter/' 
 
 And as Esther was content that Madame should rule, and 
 eeemed rather relieved than otherwise to leave the disposal 
 of herself in other hands, Lancelot was obliged to submit, 
 and was actually compelled to own to the wisdom of these 
 arrangements before the time came when he had intended to 
 take possession of his bride. 
 
494 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 For there was trouble at Helmsley Grange, a worse 
 trouble than had hitherto visited the old manor house. The 
 Digbys had struggled with grim care and hard, grinding 
 poverty for many a weary year ; but now they were called to 
 stand face to face with shame. Cuddie had left home for 
 nearly a year, and nothing had been heard of him or from 
 him ; his friend Mr. Hellier and he had disappeared one 
 fine morning, Cuddie taking with him not only every scrap 
 of property to which he could lay any possible claim, but a 
 cum of money belonging to his father, which had unfortu- 
 nately fallen into his hands. Of course Mr. Digby kept 
 this circumstance to himself ; his neighbours only knew that 
 Master Cuthbert had taken himself off without saying good 
 bye, and that he had not gone in any respectable company ; 
 but they were not slow to predicate that he would come to 
 grief before he was many months older. 
 
 And, indeed, ere many months had flown, their predica- 
 tions were most unpleasantly verified. News came of 
 Cuddie's arrest at Liverpool on a charge of forgery, he being 
 also suspected of sundry frauds and conspiracies connected 
 with a certain swindling company, got up chiefly by that 
 very clever young man, Mr. Hellier, the principal office 
 being, as it was affirmed, in London, with " branch associa- 
 tions " in the principal towns throughout the country. Mr. 
 Hellier was " wanted," but was not forthcoming ; he was an 
 adept in evasions as well as in many other small speci- 
 alities connected with the profession of adventurer; and 
 certain lynx-eyed detectives, both in London and in Bir- 
 mingham, were taxing all their ingenuity to discover his 
 whereabouts. In Birmingham he had last been seen, and it 
 was pretty nearly certain that he had not left the country. 
 
 The fraudulent firm had called itself " Hellier, Cuthbert- 
 son, and Co.," Cuddie signing himself Stephen Cuthbertson, 
 the other man figuring always as Josiah Hellier. The police 
 at once understood that these gentlemen were carrying on 
 business under an alias. Cuddie, who was an ingrain liar, 
 had not however much skill in lying ; he liked lying so well 
 that he often told falsehoods when truth would have been 
 equally easy, and have served his purpose quite as well ; but 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 he had a bad memory a serious defect in a liar -and he 
 had also a bad temper, and was apt, when displeased, to 
 sputter out half-truths, without any regard to probable con- 
 sequences. Cuddie could be cunning enough upon such 
 occasions as suited his capacity ; but sagacity he had none, 
 and so he speedily verified the evil auguries of his Helms! ey 
 neighbours, and *' came to grief ! " It was ascertained that 
 Stephen Cuthbertson and Cuthbert Digby were one and the 
 same person. When called to account he began, as " it 
 was his nature to," to bluster, and use strong language, and 
 in his foolish, unjustifiable rage he said what, for his own 
 sake, had better have been left unsaid, and so lifted the 
 flimsy veil of concealment. 
 
 Mr. Digby at once went to Liverpool, and, luckily, the 
 gentleman with whose name the liberty had been taken had 
 married into the family of the first Mrs. Digby ; he was, 
 therefore, easily prevailed upon to relinquish legal proceed- 
 ings, on the condition that Cuddie should immediately leave 
 the country, and not return to it for a stipulated period. 
 And,"accordingly, Mr. Cuthbert sailed away for somewhere in 
 the far Mexican territories, where he is to this day ex- 
 patiating among buffalo herds, and running away whenever 
 a skirmish with Indians seems impending. But this 
 trouble was keenly felt at Helmsley, and Lancelot was well 
 content that his wedding should not take place in the midst 
 of so much sorrow, and humiliation, and disgrace. 
 
 And in the autumn the Eugene Bethunes came to London, 
 so that the separation was not so entire as had been antici- 
 pated, and Lancelot and Esther could frequently enjoy each 
 other's society. The Bethunes rented a house in Eaton 
 Square, and some weeks passed before it occurred to Esther 
 to visit her former haunts in the west-central district. But 
 one day, having a few hours at her disposal, she suddenly 
 determined to set off by herself, and inspect at least the 
 outside of the house where she had known so much misery, 
 and where first a vision of hope, a foreshadowing of better 
 things to come, had visited her in the person of Florence 
 Guise. She walked up into Oxford Street and took a Bank 
 omnibus, which put her down at the bottom of Southampsou 
 
- GREY AN'D GOLD. 
 
 Row. How strange it seemed to be once more on tira's 
 familiar ground, to see the well-known steps, to catch thau 
 well-remembered glimpse of Bloomsbury Square, to be 
 actually taking the turning which led straight up to tne 
 griin, dark, ugly church of St. George the Martyr. And 
 there was the dull, dreary square, with its nearly leafless 
 plane trees, its mossy walks, and its damp-stained statue 
 of the good Queen Anne ; and yes, there was the house, 
 looking dirtier and more untidy than ever, with an organ 
 grinder and white mice in front, and two wretched little 
 children sitting on the doorstep, and quarrelling over a small 
 handful of broken victuals. 
 
 But the house itself was to let. Great bills stared upon 
 Esther from the windows and from the walls. Some of them 
 announced that " this desirable tenement " was vacant, and 
 that particulars might be ascertained at the offices of an agent 
 near at hand, or within ! Other of the bills stated that a 
 sale of household furniture, "the effects of a gentleman 
 leaving the neighbourhood," would take place on a certain 
 day specified. And below the name of the auctioneer, and 
 swelled into a list of some importance, was a catalogue of 
 Mr. Hellicar's household goods, beginning with the shattered 
 chairs and tables in the garrets, and ending with incompre- 
 hensible and mysterious "sundries" in the back kitchen. 
 The windows of the dining-room and drawing-room were 
 curtainless. There was a look of non-habitation about the 
 desolate house, though a pail of dirty water and a tub of 
 cinders standing in the area, and a pewter pot hung upon the 
 rails, seemed to testify to the existence of some one who burnt 
 coals, and had beer from the public-house round the corner. 
 Where were the Hellicars ? Esther felt strongly inclined to 
 pull the bell and make a few inquiries respecting them. 
 
 While she hesitated a door was opened below ; a black, 
 touzied head, adorned with something green and red, and a 
 round, rosy, shining face, appeared suddenly on the area steps, 
 and then there was a shout that echoed round the Square, 
 and a voice crying, " Blessid saints, and it is she ! She's own 
 blessid self, growed into a lady, a rale, beautiful, spanking 
 lady, with a rale silk gownd, and a muff, and the purtiest 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 497 
 
 little boots upon her purty feet ! Good luck to the day ! 
 Och ! but it's rale good to see you with these eyes, Miss 
 Esther, darlint ! Come yeay in ! come yeay in ! The praties 
 are just done, and there's a nate rasher all reddy to be fried ! " 
 
 " But, Biddy/' said Esther, delighted to see her old friend, 
 " how can I come in if you don't open the door ? And tho 
 area gate is fastened too, OP I would run down to you this 
 minute." 
 
 "Hear her, the jewel!" cried Biddy, in ecstasy. "She's 
 come back a rale lady, and she'd run down thim steep airy 
 steps to the likes ov' me Biddy O'Elanigan that was Biddy 
 Mulloney that is ! " 
 
 And then the red ribbons and the green gown fluttered 
 away, and in less time than Biddy used to take to think 
 about it in the old period, when lodgers and their callers rang 
 and thundered the door was opened, and Esther was almost 
 dragged into the hall, from which the lamp, the hat-stand, 
 and the floorcloth had disappeared; and her hands for 
 Biddy took both in her horny grasp were nearly wrung off; 
 while tears of joy ran down the blooming cheeks of the stout 
 young Irishwoman, who kept declaring that she had never 
 seen anything like it, " no, niver ! since the day when they 
 waked mee father rest his sovvl ! and I haven't had a mass 
 said for him these nine months, bad cess to me for that 
 same ! when they waked him in the ould counthry, and 
 Dick Bryan, a lad that was friendly like, went an' lept into 
 the grave, and swor' he'd be berrid too \ and the folks did 
 say it was the grief ov' his true Irish heart but I knowed it 
 wor the whisky, Miss Esther, for he'd bin takin' sups ov' the 
 crathur out ov' a broken teacup from the moment they straked 
 the corpse, and began ho\ylin' I " Which characteristic little 
 story Esther had heard before, but she failed to perceive 
 Biddy's association of ideas in the present instance. 
 
 The upstair rooms were all empty, so Biddy led the way 
 into the kitchen, in which some remnants of furniture 
 remained. There was a small fire in a very dirty grate, and 
 some potatoes, lying in a heap of hot ashes ; also Esther per- 
 ceived a strong smell of tobacco-smoke, which caused her to 
 remember that Biddy had alluded to a change of name. 
 
498 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 " And are you married, Biddy ? " she inquired, when she had 
 Saken the seat of honour, and refused her hostess's offer of a 
 pot of stout, which could he fetched from the public round 
 the corner, "mighty convanient." 
 
 Esther thought it was a pity that public-houses, with their 
 temptations, should be so convenient. 
 
 " Shure, an' I'm marrid ! " replied the delighted Biddy ; 
 " that is to say, I've entered into the holy and blessid estata 
 of matter 'omo?iey, and a vary holy and blessid estate I do find 
 it, Miss Esther." 
 
 "I am very glad to hear it," Esther answered; "but, 
 Biddy, you said your new name was Mulloney, did you not ? 
 Have you married your minister ? I remember how fond you 
 were of talking about Father Mulloney." 
 
 "Now, Miss Esther, yer jist puttin' yer jests upon me. 
 But asthore, mavourneerij ye shouldn't jest about sacrid things, 
 and a preast is about the most sacridest thing in creation ! 
 Why, Miss Esther, agra, the blessed Father Mulloney is 
 above all carnal thowts ; he's like the angils ov' heaven ; and 
 he'd as soon jump from the top ov' the tall quare thing they 
 call the Moniment as commit matteromoney. There's tin 
 commandments for the layerty, sez he ; but there's eliven for 
 the holy preasthood, and the elivinth is thou shalt not 
 commit matteromoney. So matteromoney with a preast isn't 
 lawful ; it 'ud be a deadly sin, Miss Esther, a sin past pray- 
 ing for ; and Father Mulloney, bless him, he looks at women 
 jest as other men looks at Queen Anne done in stone out 
 yonder. Sez he, sez the father, I know two sorts ov' women, 
 and I know no other ; and them two sorts is pinnitents and 
 saints ! Xo, Miss Esther, I'm marrid to Larry Mulloney, a 
 boy from the ould counthry ; there's many a Mulloney out 
 there. Look at me rale gold weddin' ring ! " and crossing her 
 large, rough, red hands, she proudly displayed the badge of 
 her subservience. She had worn it about two months. Then 
 she wanted to know if Esther were not going to be married, 
 and was charmed to hear that such really was the case, and 
 *he insisted upon knowing all about it ; but was rather 
 disappointed to hear that the gentleman was not a lord, and 
 that he did no* ride about London streets in a carriage of his 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 4:90 
 
 own. Biddy had always pictured Esther coming hack to 
 Queen Square in a glorified chariot resembling the Lord 
 Mayor's state coach, drawn by four milk-white horses, with 
 two tall, hewigged footmen hanging on behind. If Esther 
 had announced herself as betrothed or married to the Crown 
 Prince of Grim Tartary, Biddy would have implicitly believed 
 her, and thought it only the right sort of thing, and just 
 what she had always expected. 
 
 But Esther wanted to know about the Hellicars, and 
 Biddy told all she knew. Things had gone from bad to 
 worse with them ; Dick was gone nobody knew where ; Mr. 
 Hellicar's commission business came to nothing, and lodgers 
 refused to come, or coming refused to remain, " which was 
 no wonder," said Biddy, emphatically ; "for what wid the 
 pranks that was played upon 'em, on their wines and on 
 their mate, and on their ivrythink, and the private keys the 
 misthress did keep to all the drawers and cupboards, and the 
 bad cookin', and the childer always a howlin' like mad, 
 and the nasty animals as did walk about the beds, I just 
 don't wonder that none ov' them stayed a day longer than 
 their week ! " 
 
 Esther did not wonder either ; the Hellicars had certainly 
 gone down hill at express speed since her departure. So 
 Biddy went on to relate how they got too poor to keep a 
 church mouse, much less a servant, and how she left them. 
 And directly afterwards she heard that there was an execu- 
 tion in the house, and very soon all their things were sold, 
 and at this present moment Mr. Hellicar was in Whitecross 
 prison, and Mrs. Hellicar and the children were in lodgings 
 *' up a three-pair back," in a street behind Red Lion Square. 
 
 Esther did not hesitate, though the dull autumn day was 
 drawing to its close ; she knew the neighbourhood too well 
 to be afraid of invading any part of it, and greatly to 
 Bridget's dismay she departed in search of the luckless 
 Hellicars, after accepting at her hands a steaming hot cup of 
 boiling and utterly undrinkable tea without milk. Esther was 
 vainly trying to take little sips, while Biddy recommended " a 
 drap o' the cray thur " as being better to keep the cowld out, 
 and she was at her wits' ends as to the disposal of the 
 
000 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 draught when luckily the door-bell rang, and, Biddy's back 
 once turned, her visitor quietly emptied her cup into the coal- 
 cellar, to which of course she knew the road; 
 
 "With no small difficulty she found Mrs. Hellicar. She 
 was living with her children in one wretchedly close and 
 meanly furnished room. Lizzie had shot up into a tall slip 
 of a girl ; she was very pale and thin, looking indeed half- 
 starved, and she was distressingly untidy. Her face wore a 
 most unpleasant expression, and her bold airs and un- 
 maidenly tone inexpressibly shocked Esther. She talked 
 strangely too ; Esther was afraid thai she was coolly resolving 
 to " go to the bad," and she determined to consult Madame 
 Bethune and implore her to help her to save the miserable 
 child from the fate on which she seemed about to rush ; for 
 Lizzie was but a child she had scarcely passed her fifteenth 
 birthday. Fanny was weak and ill ; something had come to 
 her spine, her mother said, and us proper doctoring could not 
 be had for her, she would probably be humpbacked and a 
 cripple for life. The little girl looked wistfully at Esther as 
 she heard her doom pronounced with a conclusive " Please 
 God to take her, it would be a mercy." The old baby and the 
 new baby were fretful, pining little things, suffering from 
 naturally feeble constitutions, and further injured by bad air, 
 want of sufficient and wholesome food, and occasional doses 
 of soothing syrup, as made up from the prescription of a 
 disreputable local chemist. Poor little Tommy's fits had 
 been too much for him, and he was quietly sleeping in the 
 nearest cemetery. Happy little Tommy ! thought Esther, as 
 she looked at the three miserable little ones, and at their 
 still more miserable elder sister. 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar was full of complaints, upbraiding and 
 almost cursing her unlucky husband, bewailing her own 
 hapless lot, and loudly declaring her inability to pay her 
 week's rent, or to buy another loaf for the children, if Provi- 
 dence did not somehow befriend her. Esther at once gave 
 her all she had in her purse, only leaving herself a shilling 
 for omnibus fare. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Hellicar, sourly, pocketing with alacrity, 
 however the one golden sovereign and the half-crowns that 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 501 
 
 Esther poured into her hand ; " it's a fine thing that I should 
 come to be beholden to you, Esther Kendall to you that 
 hadn't a halfpenny to bless yourself with, nor a friend in 
 the world till those fine stuck-up Guises took a fancy to 
 you ! And now you come here with your silk dress trailing, 
 and your purse full of money, and your ermine muff. Yes, 
 I see it's real ermine, not rabbit-skin ; and that dress never 
 cost less than seven or eight shillings the yard ; and Balmoral 
 boots too ! Well, I never ! but some folks go up and some 
 go down, only it's all been going down with me ever since i 
 married your poor, foolish, unlucky uncle, and I might have 
 married to my carriage and pair, and my own maid ! You've 
 had luck, you have ; but it won't last always ; you'll find 
 fortune's the ficklest thing under the sun, and you'll see 
 trouble some day, I don't doubt, for all your present grandeur. 
 I hope it's honestly come by, that's all ! " 
 
 Esther's face flushed, and Lizzie laughed a wicked little 
 laugh, and winked at her, as much as to say she understood 
 it all. She paused for a moment to restrain her anger and 
 disgust, and then she said " I have nothing in the world, 
 thank God, that is not honestly come by. Everything I 
 possess has been bought with money lawfully earned, or it 
 has been the gift of dear and generous friends, whom I pray 
 God to bless and reward for all their goodness to me. I 
 have found friends everywhere the Guises, as you know, 
 Miss Cecil Uffadyne, kind, motherly, sensible Mrs. King; 
 and as for Madame Bethune, with whom I am now living, 
 teaching her little girls, she treats me rather as an indulge^ 
 eldest daughter, or a petted younger sister, than a men 
 governess. She is almost too indulgent, too lavish and 
 liberal in her gifts to me, who can only repay her with love 
 and gratitude." 
 
 "And you haven't got a sweetheart, I suppose? Why 
 Lizzie there has had three already." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say so, for such a child ought not 
 to be troubled with sweethearts. For myself, I am going to 
 be married in the spring, all being well." 
 
 Mrs. Hellicar's sallow face grew yellow with bitter spleen 
 and envy, and angry Lizzie would have liked to beat the 
 
502 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 well-dressed, handsome young lady, who so quietly announced 
 her engagement. 
 
 "Is he a gentleman 1 ?" asked Lizzie, with her most exa- 
 perating sneer. 
 
 " He is. As true a gentleman as ever lived." 
 
 " And will you have your carriage, and men-servants, and 
 your feathers and diamonds, and go to court ? " 
 
 Esther smiled ; she was feeling quite calm again, and full 
 of pity for those unhappy creatures who were persistently 
 putting from them all that could truly comfort and relieve 
 them in their dire necessity. 
 
 " No," she replied, " I shall have no carriage at present. I 
 am not going to marry a rich man that is, not rich as the 
 world counts richness but oh, thank my God, who has 
 given me all that heart can desire, that he is rich, very rich 
 in goodness, and nobility of nature, and genius yes, genius- ! 
 I shall be the wife of a great man, Mrs. Hellicar, and in his 
 love I am rich indeed." 
 
 " May I ask his name ? I suppose it is no secret ? " 
 
 " No, I have no secrets ; I need not have any. I have 
 nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of. Eut I have much 
 to be proud of, and I confess I am proud of my lover, 
 Lancelot Digby." 
 
 " The poet 2 You don't mean to say it's him ! " cried 
 Lizzie, in extreme astonisment. 
 
 "I do say so, Lizzie. Why not] "What do you mean ? " 
 
 " "Why he is somebody / I've been out doing a little work 
 lately for ladies, and I heard them talking about this Digby 
 man and his wonderful poems, and saying how popular he 
 was ; and they spoke of meeting him at some evening party, 
 as if it would be the greatest event of their lives. Why 
 they said the leading magazines, the Grosvenor, the Fleet 
 Street, and the Month by MontJi, were all but quarrelling to 
 secure him to themselves, and were outbidding each other like 
 people at an auction. Is that the same man your beau ? " 
 
 "Yes; Mr. Digby writes for two of the magazines you 
 mention, but he publishes independently of magazines, and 
 the publishers are only too glad to secure him on his own 
 terms." 
 
GREf AND GOLD. 503 
 
 " Oh, my ! " said Lizzie, almost respectfully. " Well, I 
 should not mind marrying an author myself, but I'd rather 
 have a play actor ; I've some thought of going on the stage. 
 I hate stitching at other people's clothes. "What brought 
 you such luck, I wonder 1 " 
 
 " It isn't luck, Lizzie ; it is God's goodness. I was taught 
 to trust in Him, to make Him my first and my all ; I have 
 trusted in Him, and all is well. I daresay He will try me 
 from time to time, sending trouble as He knows I need it ; 
 but the trial will be sent in love, and strength will be freely 
 given. This I know : in Him I have and do trust j therefore 
 I shall never be confounded." 
 
 Lizzie looked mystified, and Mrs. Hellicar remarked that 
 Esther had no right to God's promises if she were not con- 
 verted. "The unregenerate nature," said Mrs. Hellicar, sigh- 
 ing deeply, " has no part in God's covenant." 
 
 Esther would not argue the point, it was of no use ; and 
 the old, cant phrases could not hurt her now. 
 
 Presently she got up to go away, promising to come again. 
 or send before long, and inquiring also when she could see 
 Mr. Hellicar. It was nearly a week before she did see him, 
 and then she found him dying I 
 
 " You are come to heap coals of fire upon my head," he 
 said, gloomily, when Esther sat down on his bed, and gave 
 him grapes, and bathed his forehead with water and eau-de- 
 Cologne. 
 
 " No, no," she said, gently, almost tenderly, " I am so glad 
 to come to you, uncle. You were always kind to me ; you 
 stood my friend in the old time, you know, often and often." 
 
 " Child," he returned and his breath came gaspingly, and 
 he held her hand tightly " I never was your friend ; I was 
 your enemy the enemy of the fatherless, the orphan, the 
 friendless. You were not quite destitute, Esther ; your 
 father left you nearly a hundred a year, and I promised him 
 when he was on his deathbed to take care of you and of your 
 little income, and to do the best I could for you, as in God's 
 sight, and as I should answer to him before God when we 
 met again in the world beyond the grave. Now I am going 
 to meet him, and what shall I say ? I have broken every 
 
504 GREY AXD GOLD. 
 
 promise. I wanted money for some of my schemes, I wanted 
 it badly, and I took yours ; it was so left that, with a little 
 management,, I could do it. I took it all, child, and I soon 
 lost it all. For ever so long I meant to replace it as soon aa 
 I could, but I never had half the money in my hands. God 
 punished me for wronging the orphan, for breaking faith 
 with the dead, and I could not thrive. Perhaps I was a fool, 
 perhaps I overreached myself, but I too was defrauded, and 
 every venture I made proved a failure. Dick was worse 
 than I, and his was the stronger nature ; he bullied me, and 
 we were soon in deep waters. Then he left me alone to 
 breast the storm, to sink or swim, as it might be. Of course 
 I sank, and now I am sinking deeper still sinking into the 
 world of lost spirits." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, uncle ! Never mind my money ; I don't 
 care one bit about it. It was wrong of course, yes, very 
 wrong, and God must have been angry with you ; but He 
 forgives. He sent His Son to save. Go to Him now ; it is 
 not too late." 
 
 " Too late ! too late ! " was all he answered. All that 
 night and all the next day Esther watched by the unhappy 
 man ; she read to him words of peace and hope ; she told 
 him of the dying thief ; she prayed with him and for him ; 
 and the prison-nurse, a good, kind, Christian woman, joined 
 her prayers with Esther's. But the pulse grew weaker, and 
 the faint voice fainter, and all through the chill November 
 night, and through the dreary dawn, and through the short, 
 cold, foggy, dismal day, he could only moan at intervals, 
 "Too late! too late!" 
 
 "Oh, no!" Esther responded to the last. "Too late 
 for this life, uncle, but not too late for the new life that is 
 coming ! " Once he said, very slowly and with difficulty, for 
 his breath now came in only painful gasps, " Perhaps so ! 
 God be merciful to me a sinner." 
 
 And so he died the man who chose evil instead of good, 
 who turned from angel's food that he might feast on dust 
 and ashes. And they had to be content with that poor glim- 
 mer of hope, and leave him to the good God, who hears and 
 heeds the lowest penitential moan of the truly contrite heart 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 505 
 
 After her husband's death Mrs. Hellicar took to dress- 
 making of an inferior sort, and managed to earn a bare 
 subsistence. Esther often helped her ; and to this day the 
 Hellicars, mother and children, are a trouble to her, and a 
 burden from which she cannot entirely free herself. She is 
 very kind to them, very pitiful, and very generous ; but she 
 is obliged to be firm, and limit her aid within certain bounds, 
 else would Mrs. Hellicar run ceaselessly and wildly into 
 debt, confidently appealing to Esther whenever she became 
 embarrassed, which would be on an average about twice in 
 the twelvemonths. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 MRS. DIGBY IS APPEASED. 
 
 THAT winter was a period of reunion and happiness, for 
 Florence and Fanny were in London, and living within a few 
 doors of the Bethunes; they saw each other continually, 
 and there was no cloud between Florence and Esther, they 
 were all the firmer friends for the fierce ordeal through which 
 as friends or rivals they had passed. And Edith, too, was in. 
 town, keeping house for her brother, and helping him in 
 furnishing, and other necessary preparations. Also she was 
 contemplating marriage on her own account. She was 
 engaged to a literary friend of Lancelot's, and the friend was 
 not only literary, but rich. His name was Philip Auriol, 
 and he was the brother though younger by many years of 
 the Dean of St. Beetha's. And the goodly estate of Arne, 
 near that fair cathedral city, was his own, left him as a 
 legacy of love by one to whom he had been for four long sad 
 years betrothed. Helen de Torre, wealthy, young, beautiful, 
 and beloved, had passed from earth ere the Bummer of her 
 days was reached. Philip was to have been her husband, 
 and they loved one another dearly ; but it was God's will 
 that as husband and wife they should never rule at Arne. 
 Helen suffered much ; but for many months she hoped and 
 believed that her illness, the result of a serious accident, 
 would come to an end, and that health, if not bodily vigour, 
 
506 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 would be restored, and that she would be justified in giving 
 herself wholly to the man she loved and honoured. 
 
 But it was not to be : long confinement to her couch 
 produced fatal disease, and Helen died, leaving her beautiful 
 estate to Philip, and bidding him carry out her cherished 
 plans for the good of the people now committed to his care. 
 .Also she begged him to marry when in the fulness of time 
 the anguish of his loss should be assuaged. And so the 
 sweet saint went to heaven, and Philip mourned her long 
 and bitterly. 
 
 So deep, so abiding was his grief for her in whom every 
 hope and joy had centred, that it seemed to him as if his 
 widowed heart would never cling anew to any earthly object 
 of affection. But Time heals many a wound that Death has 
 made, and, as years passed on, Philip grew calm and even 
 happy, and learned to hope once again ; and in carrying out 
 and perfecting with all his powers his lost Helen's liberal 
 schemes, he awoke once more to the interests of the outside 
 world, and entered into pursuits which befitted his age and 
 his position. The duties he had assumed, and which he 
 discharged most faithfully, occupied his time very fully ; but 
 his leisure, when he had any, was given to literature, to 
 which he had once intended to devote himself. He knew 
 and greatly admired Lancelot Digby, and he soon learned to 
 know and esteem his sister Edith, and the three were on 
 very friendly terms. By-and-bye, it came to pass that Mr. 
 Auriol found himself lonely and dispirited, Edith having 
 returned to Helmsley, and then it occurred to him that he 
 was regarding her with an interest far exceeding that of 
 ordinary friendship ; she was more to him than any woman 
 had been since Helen's death, five years ago, the only woman 
 who had at all occupied his thoughts. 
 
 Edith was fair, and good, and gentle, though she had not 
 Helen's imperial loveliness, nor her lofty strength of charac- 
 ter ; but she was sensible as well as " sweet looking," which 
 Oswald had always said was the epithet which suited her. 
 The discipline of her youth had taught her patience, and 
 given her the energy which might otherwise have been 
 wanting ; while all even her selfish, unreasonable step- 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 507 
 
 mother recognised the sunny brightness of her disposition. 
 And the younger family declared the Grange would be the 
 dullest place on earth when that tiresome Mr. Auriol took 
 Edith away for good and all. 
 
 " What he wants her for," said Eowley, " I can't think ! 
 There must be plenty of nice ladies at St. Beetha's and in 
 London, where he lives now part of the year. "Why should 
 he come and take our sister from us 1 " 
 
 And Edith promised to have them very often at Arne and 
 in Brook street, where Mr. Auriol's town house was. Of 
 course Mrs. Digby lamented Edith's departure ; indeed, she 
 resented the affair so much that she refused to speak to 
 Edith when her engagement was announced; and was "just 
 leading her a life," as the boys said, when the squire inter- 
 fered, and desired his foolish wife to behave herself more 
 rationally, on pain of his lasting displeasure. 
 
 Money was more plentiful at Helmsley than it had been 
 for many a day, for the squire gave his attention to the 
 farming, and for two years running he had the most splendid 
 crops in all the county. His grown-up sons were no longer 
 dependent upon him ; Cuddie could draw upon the paternal 
 supplies no more ; Lancelot had paid all Edith's expenses in 
 town, and sent her home suitably arrayed as Miss Digby, of 
 Helmsley; while Rupert wrote frequent glowing accounts, 
 not only of his prospects, but of hopes already realised. 
 He had taken the tide of fortune at the turn ; he had gone 
 out to Australia under an unprecedented combination of 
 favourable circumstances, and golden, opportunities such an 
 rarely present themselves such as never perhaps present 
 themselves to any man or woman more than once in a life- 
 time, had fallen to his share. And of every advantage he 
 had fully availed himself, giving to his work that energy 
 tiud self-denying, patient toil and personal attention without 
 which no assured and lasting success can be attained. He 
 was coming home in two years' time ; Cecil would wait for 
 him. He was coming home, he hoped and believed, with 
 sufficient money to clear a goodly portion of the family 
 estate, and to work the land, which he knew now had ex- 
 cellent capacities, as it had never been worked before. And 
 
508 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 I may as well add here that Rupert did fulfil all his 
 promises. He came back richer even than any one had 
 expected, and ho and Cecil married at once and lived at the 
 Chenies, and the squire grew young again as his pockets 
 grew heavier and his heart lighter, and he held up his head 
 in the county at last as became the master of Helmsley 
 Grange. And Mrs. Digby's health improved, though she 
 still prides herself on her delicate health, and treats her 
 friends to a catalogue raisonee of her maladies and their 
 treatment whenever they can be prevailed upon to listen. 
 
 But all this came to pass later than the limits of my 
 story, for it was only last year, indeed, that Cecil and 
 Rupert married, and it was only during this last summer 
 that Mr. Digby began to act as magistrate and to take upon 
 himself the duties of his position as lord of the soil As 
 for entering into society, that is not to be thought of for 
 manifold reasons ; Mrs. Digby would be sadly deficient as 
 lady of the Grange, and the squire has grown to feel 
 ashamed of her laziness, and bad taste, and her want of 
 tone. He cannot disguise from himself that his second 
 marriage has been a mistake. Mrs. Digby is not exactly a 
 lady, and, what is worse still, she is a selfish, self-absorbed 
 woman, not overburdened with common sense, and not 
 likely to improve as she grows older. Rose is not to be 
 sacrificed as Edith was for so many years ; her father has 
 said it, and his wife knows now that his word must be 
 respected. She has come to the conclusion that he is per- 
 fectly heartless, for neither hysterics nor sulks, fainting fits, 
 palpitations, nor perpetual tears and reproaches, avail to turn 
 him from his purpose. So Rose has just been sent to an 
 excellent school near London, and when the right time 
 comes she will be brought out with all the honours due to 
 Miss Digby, by her sister, Mrs. Philip Auriol. 
 
 But now to revert to Esther and Florence, in whom I hope 
 you are still interested. They saw very much of each other 
 during the winter, and in February, when Florence found 
 that some small matters of her own called her to Little 
 Guise, Esther accompanied her, and Fanny Tucker remained 
 with Madame Bethune. Esther had never visited Little 
 
GREY AND GOLD. v09 
 
 Guise, but she thought it now, even in its winter array, one 
 of the fairest spots she had ever seen. "What would it be in 
 all its spring brightness, in its summer glory, and with its 
 brilliant autumnal colouring ! Fanny had absolutely raved 
 about those woods, sweeping over the low hills, and about 
 those lovely glimpses of sea upon which, roaming through 
 the beautiful grounds, one came continually. Fanny was not 
 to return to Paris with Madame Bethune, oh, no ! She was 
 coming back to Florence and to Little Guise, where she 
 meant to stay all her life; "for," as she argued, "even if 
 Flossy marry she will want some one to be housekeeper 
 at Little Guise ; she will always like it kept up, I am 
 sure." And Madame replied, "But my dear Miss Tuckaire, 
 whoever marries Florence will probably live at Little Guise." 
 " I think not," said Fanny, with one of her peculiar smiles, 
 which were often as puzzling as they were charming to be- 
 holders. And then the conversation ended. 
 
 But oh, the joy of being at Chilcombe once more ! Cecil 
 came and fetched both her cousin and Esther to the Chenies 
 before they had been a week at Little Guise, and Esther 
 almost cried with happiness when they drove by the Slade 
 Farm, and saw Mrs. King stooping over her borders, busy 
 among her earliest spring flowers. And Esther had her old 
 room at the Chenies, though many luxuries and many pretty 
 things were added that had not been there when she had 
 slept in it for the first time, on the night of her arrival at 
 Chilcombe. How like a dream it was ! how real, and yet 
 how unreal, all that had passed since that coming to the 
 Chenies. She remembered taking her solitary supper in the 
 breakfast-room ; she remembered the impertinence of Miss 
 Amelia Matilda, and her own extreme depression thereat ; 
 and when in the morning she drew up her blind, she saw 
 just the same broad expanse of bare fields and leafless woods, 
 and wavy heath and hills, with the golden light shining on 
 the far-off line of glittering sea, as she had seen when, with 
 sinking heart, she had for the first time looked on that wide, 
 lovely landscape. How often and how vividly she had re- 
 called that scene, and other scenes still fairer and still 
 dearer, during the first long months of her Paris exile. And 
 
010 QRBT AND GOLD. 
 
 011 i that terrace-garden at Helmsley ! how often and how 
 often she had pictured it to herself just as she had seen it in 
 the roseate glow of the August Sunday evening. And now 
 Lancelot was her own, and she was to he his wife in ahout 
 three months time. Truly God had heen very gracious to 
 her. He had given her a goodly inheritance, and he had led 
 her into pleasant places. 
 
 " Oh ! to he worthy of the least of all these gifts," she 
 said to herself, as she stood at her window, thinking of the 
 past and of the present gratefully, and hopefully and trust- 
 fully of the time to come. " Oh ! the agony of that going 
 away ! that terrible pain of parting ! Only God knew what 
 suffering it was ! But He did know, and that was all the 
 comfort ; for I was sure He would not let me feel one pang 
 too many, or add one drop of needless bitterness to the cup 
 He gave me to drink. God's discipline is perfect ; man's 
 chastening often does more harm than good, unless as God 
 uses it as a means to an end. Yes ! the grey time was the 
 growing time ; the rain was a gracious rain ! And now that 
 the golden days are come again ay, more golden than I 
 ever imagined ! may I be as humble and as grateful, and 
 live as near to God as when the dull grey clouds and the 
 heavy mists were about my path." 
 
 Esther did not let the day pass without seeing the Kings. 
 She found the farmer and his wife both at home, and they 
 received her literally with open arms. 
 
 " And you will stop and have tea, my dear," said Mrs. 
 King, when they had had a good long talk about everything 
 and everybody, as the good woman said. 
 
 " Yes, if you will give me an early tea. There is a lata 
 dinner at the Chenies to-day ; the rector and his sister-m 
 law, Lady Maria, and some more people are coming. The 
 engagement was made some time ago, and they could not ba 
 put off. It will do very well if I get home by seven," 
 
 *' And so you are really going to be married 1 " said the 
 farmer, when he had disposed of two mighty cups of tea, and 
 of any quantity of thick buttered toast, and home-made 
 muffins. "And to think you will be Mrs. Digby, oi the 
 Grange ! Deary me ! deary me 1 " 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 5U 
 
 "William," said Mrs. King, "you are making Ectiior 
 think you don't like it." 
 
 " Ah, but I do ! only it's wonderful how things do turn 
 up. The Lord exalteth whom He will, and casteth down 
 whom He will ! " 
 
 "To be sure He does!" interposed Mrs. King; "but, 
 whatever people may say, the Lord exalts those who best 
 deserve it, and can best bear it. And He humbles those who 
 want humbling. The good Lord likes to see people rejoice 
 in what we call good fortune ; but He don't like to see 
 people stuck-up and proud and disdainful." 
 
 "And yet, my dear, some very stuck-up people do get 
 exalted ! Look at the Flashmans, of Stannington, with 
 their carriages and horses, and all their grandeur ! " 
 
 "That is not to be truly exalted," said Mrs. King; "I 
 don't call carnages, and jewels, and fine dinners, and such, 
 like, true exaltation : they are stuck-up-ed-ness, if there ia 
 such a word, Esther, which I suppose there isn't." 
 
 " No, there is not ; but I quite know what you mean. 
 The best things are not those which show before the world ; 
 and I do think I have the best things. And, oh ! Mr. 
 King, do you remember telling me that poetry was 'no 
 yield'?" 
 
 " No more I never thought it was ! Why, the man that 
 made ' The May Queen,' the Queen's own poet, gets but 200^. 
 a year or thereabouts, and a cask of sherry." 
 
 " Ah ! but his books are always selling, and they bring 
 him in thousands a year." 
 
 " Thousands now ! Do they really ? And does Mr. 
 Lancelot get thousands ? " 
 
 " Not yet ! but he is very glad to get hundreds. And he 
 will be thought more and more of every year." 
 
 " Ah ! perhaps the sherry will come to him some day ! 
 It's sherry out of the Queen's own cellar, I'm told I Who 
 knows 1 " 
 
 " Who knows ? " 
 
 " God Mows" put in Mrs. King, with peculiar emphasis. 
 
 " Ah. yes ! Oh, Mrs. King, that talisman ! It went with 
 me everywhere ; it lifted me up when I sank down oppressed 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 with my burden ; it comforted me in every sorrow ; when, 
 things seemed as contrary as they could be I said to myself; 
 'God knows, I do not know; but that is no matter, HE 
 knows, and He will order it all for my good, for He is my 
 Father ! ' The child need not know ; it is quite enough that 
 the father knows. I shall try to keep my talisman always ; 
 for of course the grey days will come again. And I think 
 one needs the talisman as a check in prosperity, just as one 
 needs it as a comfort in adversity." 
 
 Mrs. Digby received Esther rather stiffly; she was not 
 pleased with Lancelot's choice. So popular and so courted 
 as he was, she said, he might have married more eligibly. 
 He ought to have secured good birth and a good fortune; 
 indeed, his duty to his family required him to marry money ! 
 But she supposed it was of no use her speaking ; no one ever 
 listened to her ; she was despised in her own house, and she 
 might as well hold her peace. 
 
 " Just as well, and better, my dear," answered the squire, 
 to whom sundry jerky little repinings had been addressed. 
 "For my part, I think Lancelot has chosen very well ; I did 
 not marry money with either of my wives, you know, so I 
 can't scold Lance for following my example. Esther is a 
 splendid young woman, with the air and style of a young 
 duchess, and she is as good as she is handsome ; and, what 
 is more, she loves our Lancelot, and he loves her, and that is 
 the great thing, all the rest being equal." 
 
 " The great thing in novels, not in real life ; and the rest 
 is not equal," said Mrs. Digby, fretfully. " Esther Kendall 
 was once the village schoolmistress." 
 
 " And Louis Philippe was once a village schoolmaster ! " 
 
 And the squire went off feeling rather huffy ; for, though 
 Mrs. Digby in her maiden days had never condescended to 
 earn a sixpence for herself, she was, as old Peter emphati- 
 cally declared, "nobody of nowhere," whereas his former 
 mistress, Lancelot's mother, was a " Compton of Compton ; " 
 and it ill became her to find fault with Esther's antecedents. 
 
 But presently, to the surprise of everybody, Esther herself 
 'included, the Elsworthy Kendalls " as out-and-out sort of 
 people as any in the county," Peter said came forward to 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 513 
 
 claim her as their cousin. It was quite true, incredulous aa 
 Esther was, and a little disdainful, which was only natural ; 
 it was soon proved beyond a doubt that the father of the 
 present possessor of Elsworthy a really fine old place and 
 Esther's father were second cousins ; therefore, the present 
 Dossessor and Esther herself were actually fourth or fifth 
 cousins it did not much matter which ; though Mrs. Digby 
 declared it quite altered the case, and took at once to her 
 stepdanghter-in-law elect, and made much of her as a well- 
 born Kendall. They let her do it, and Esther meekly en- 
 dured her patronage, and her wishy-washy caresses and ex- 
 pressions of attachment. The likes and dislikes of such 
 weak creatures are about equally valuable. 
 
 But why did not Esther's kinsfolk claim her before! 
 Well, who would care to count cousins with the village 
 schoolmistress 1 It was quite another thing when she turned 
 out to be the bride-elect of the heir of the Digbys. And 
 "men will praise thee when tlwu doest well unto thyself" 
 
 CHAPTEE LVIII. 
 
 THE POET'S WIFE. 
 
 ESTHER divided that spring between Chilcombe, Helmsley, 
 ,and Little Guise. The days and weeks flew swiftly by, and 
 the May bloom was on the trees again. It wanted only a 
 fortnight to the 7th of June, which was fixed for her wedding, 
 and she was spending a day or two quietly with Mrs. King, 
 for Florence had gone up to town to bring Fanny home again, 
 and Cecil had decided to accompany her, having herself, as she 
 mysteriously observed, " business in London." 
 
 Esther had been to the school to see Mary Murrell, who 
 was now fairly installed as mistress, the troublesome 
 " Erumpington woman " having taken her departure, and, 
 knowing that Mrs. King would be busy in her dairy till quite 
 half an hour later, she determined to take a circuit through 
 the fields, a favourite walk of hers during her residence at 
 Chilcombe. She turned, however, out of the path sh had 
 L L 
 
M4 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 intended to follow, in order to gather some wild hyacinths, 
 or English bluebells, with which a bank adjoining a little 
 wood was covered, and seeing other flowers beyond which she 
 wished to add to her bouquet, she went farther than she had 
 intended, till at length, feeling rather tired, she sat down to 
 est on a fallen tree and began to arrange her pretty floral 
 spoils. While thus occupied she heard a footstep on the soft, 
 mossy path ; she looked up quickly, and there, standing 
 before her, was Oswald Uffadyne ! Her first impulse was to 
 rise and walk away, but a glance at Oswald's face reassured 
 her; she saw nothing there but the old friendliness which 
 had been so pleasant in the first days of their acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 "I thought it was you," he said, colouring a little, yet 
 stretching out his hand with a frankness which was not in 
 the least lover-like. " I saw you turn into the wood, and I 
 ventured to follow you ; for I had something I wished so 
 very much to say. But first, may I ask, as an old friend, 
 when your wedding-day is ? " 
 
 "This day fortnight." said Esther, blushing, but relieved 
 that he asked so naturally. 
 
 M I am very glad of it," he replied ; " I need not say I 
 wish you happiness. I know what you are, and Lance, dear 
 old fellow, is without his peer ; two such people must make 
 each other happy ! And now let me once more revert to 
 the past a past which I heartily regret because I gave you 
 so much pain, and also because I wronged the one whom of 
 all others on earth I ought to have shielded from insult and 
 distress. Can you forgive me ? " 
 
 " A thousand times yes, Mr. UfFadyne ; I am too happy to 
 be at feud with any one. All the trouble has worked out 
 good for me, and for you some good I trust? " 
 
 ' ' The greatest, Esther. 1 was not worthy of Florence 
 Guise. Had I married her three years ago she would have 
 had an unstable, foolish, self-satisfied puppy of a husband ! 
 I did not know her, and she, sweet soul, invested me with 
 all sorts of ideal virtues and excellences, till I ruthlessly 
 tore away the delusion, and showed myself to her as I 
 really was. Esther, I have learned many a lesson since I 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 515 
 
 saw you two years since in the Hue St. Dominique, and 
 they have been humbling lessons and painful lessons ; but I 
 needed them, and I believe they have made me quite 
 another man. And now I want to ask you is there, do you 
 think, any hope for me 1 Could Florence ever be induced 
 to listen to me again 1 " 
 
 11 1 do not know," said Esther, gravely. " One woman 
 ought not to presume to speak for another on such a point. 
 You might try ; I do not say you would succeed, neither 
 could I assure you of failure. Only I must tell you your 
 name is never mentioned among us." 
 
 " D-^es Florence know that I followed you to Paris 1 " 
 
 " She does not ; I never told her. No one but Lancelot 
 knows, except, of course, Madame Bethune, who would 
 never speak. But if you go to her again I think you ought 
 to tell her everything without reserve." 
 
 " I will. And you wish me God-speed 1 " 
 
 " Most heartily. My cup of happiness would brim right 
 over, I think, if Florence were as happy as myself." 
 
 For Esther knew how dearly Florence still loved 
 Oswald, in spite of all his faithlessness and their entire 
 separation. 
 
 And two days afterwards Oswald humbly renewed his 
 suit, and it was gently but firmly declined. In vain ho 
 pleaded. "I dare not risk all again, Oswald," she said, so 
 quietly that his heart died within him. " I dare not do it ; 
 it is all over between us two, and it cannot, it must not, bo 
 renewed ! " 
 
 " Cannot we be dear friends 1 " 
 
 "Not as you would have it. Friends I trust we shall 
 ever be, for there is nothing but kindness in my thoughts 
 towards you ; but we must be friends apart." 
 
 And for a few days Florence was paler and quieter, and 
 then Esther's wedding-day came, and no one was brighter or 
 seemed more calmly content than Florence. And Esther 
 and Lancelot went away up the Ehine, followed by the good 
 \vishes of all Chilcombe and Helmsley, 'and by the fervent 
 prayers of many. Esther's presents were manifold; and 
 when in July they reached their home in London, they 
 
610 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 found a magnificent pianoforte a first-rate BroadwoocCs in 
 their front drawing-room, with a letter from Oswald to his 
 " dear friends Lancelot and Esther Digby," begging their 
 acceptance of the instrument, and hoping some day to be re- 
 ceived among their guests. 
 
 Esther had been married several months when Florence 
 and Fanny came to stay a few days with her on their road 
 home from Scarborough. It was to be a very quiet visit, 
 and so to some extent it was, but it proved a very momen- 
 tous one. 
 
 They arrived a day earlier than they were expected. 
 " I knew we might take a liberty with you, Esther," said 
 Florence ; " and our hostess was taken so ill I thought it best 
 to leave at once ; we could do no good, and we were mani- 
 festly in the way." 
 
 11 1 am so glad you came," was Esther's prompt reply ; 
 " there are two or three people coming to-night friends of 
 my husband, Philip Auriol, and the editor of Christendom 
 and his wife, and some one else, whom I do not know. You 
 do not mind, I suppose ? " 
 
 " My dear Esther, I shall be delighted to hear the lions 
 roar, and Fanny is wild to see the editor, Mr. Gray. I 
 remember, he married Ermengarde Liebrecht." 
 
 The evening came, and the guests. The Grays were the 
 last arrival, and they brought with them a gentleman who 
 was their visitor the person whom Esther said she did not 
 know. He was introduced as Mr. Edward Trevor. He waa 
 a tall, melancholy man of thirty or thereabouts, and in. deep 
 mourning. He started when he saw Fanny standing by Mr. 
 Digby, and Fanny, hearing the name, looked up from the 
 photograph which occupied her, and turned deadly pale. A 
 minute afterwards she was quite composed. "Mr. Trevor 
 and I have met before ; we are old acquaintances," she said 
 calmly, as she took the proffered hand. But both Florence 
 and Esther knew that her serenity and forced cheerfulness ail 
 he evening cost her very dearly. 
 
 " My darling Fms ! " said Florence, when she gave her 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 517 
 
 friend her good-night kiss. And Fanny was profoundly 
 grateful that she asked no questions. 
 
 But next morning at breakfast Esther remarked that Mrs. 
 Gray had told her about Mr. Trevor. She liked him very 
 much ; he had married unhappily, but now his wife was 
 dead ; it was for her that he was wearing the deep band on 
 his hat. No more was said, but later in the day Mr. Trevor 
 came again, and boldly asked for Miss Tucker. An hour or 
 two afterwards Fanny told Florence all the story of the 
 unfortunate attachment. Of course it was to Mr. Trevor, 
 and neither had been to blame, for unjustifiable interference 
 and indeed absolute treachery had been at work to effect their 
 separation. Trevor, believing that Fanny was lost to him 
 for ever, suffered himself to be drawn into an engagement 
 with a woman whom he knew loved him ; " at least he might 
 make her happy," he told himself. But Mrs. Trevor was 
 never happy. She had shared in the deceit which had 
 broken off what she called " the old affair," and she alwaya 
 dreaded the detection that might ensue. 
 
 And it did ensue. In due course her punishment came. 
 All was disclosed to her injured husband, and she felt that 
 she had lost the slight hold on his affections which as his 
 wife she had possessed. He pitied her, and he was kind to 
 her; but she knew she was unloved. And she could not 
 reproach him, for she had gained him by treachery, and now 
 he knew it all her want of honour, of common principle, 
 and her selfish cruelty to himself. 
 
 "And now you will make him happy?" said Florence, 
 when Fanny had ended. 
 
 "Could I do otherwise?" answered Fanny, weeping 
 in her friend's arms. " Am I not the most ungrateful 
 creature ? " 
 
 "You would be if you refused him. Fras, dear, you shall 
 have the most splendid wedding- veil that any bride has worn 
 for ages, excepting, of course, the Princess's. Heigho ! 
 everybody is getting married ! I did think I might rely on 
 Cecil, and there she is, only waiting till Eupert comes 
 home to be joined together in the house of bondage, as 
 that delightful Captain Cuttle has it. I really think I 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 shall adopt some nice little girl and train her up to volun- 
 tary old-maidism, so that I may insure an agreeable com- 
 panion." 
 
 "And before she is five-and-twenty she will implore your 
 blessing upon her union with the curate. ]So, Flossy, you 
 must do letter than that." 
 
 Whether Florence would have done better, if something 
 had not happened something which at the time seemed 
 very terrible I really dare not affirm. But Oswald had an 
 accident ; he was in a certain railway-train when it ran off 
 the line, and tumbled the passengers down a steep embank- 
 ment, some of them into a rapid river ! Several were killed, 
 some injured for life, and many cruelly hurt ; only a few 
 escaped with " simple bruises and contusions ! " Oswald 
 had an arm broken and a shoulder dislocated, and for a long 
 time his recovery seemed doubtful, fever having set in almost 
 immediately. 
 
 Sometimes he was wildly delirious, sometimes unconscious ; 
 and Cecil wrote heart-rending letters to Florence, which 
 made her so intensely wretched that Fanny proposed they 
 should both go down to the scene of action and help Cecil 
 to nurse the invalid. Florence did not need much persuasion ; 
 she went, and nearly lost all hope when she saw the patient, 
 so sadly was he altered, so alarming were the symptoms, the 
 physicians fearing injury to the brain. But Oswald was not 
 to die ; he was to live and be happy. The cares of his 
 tender nurses and their earnest prayers prevailed, and at 
 length he rose up from that bed of suffering weak, wan, 
 and emaciated, but fairly on the road to recovery. And 
 no one was surprised when, several days after his con- 
 valescence seemed assured, Florence announced herself as 
 once more engaged to Oswald Uffadyne ! 
 
 " Thank God! now I can forgive myself!" cried Cecil, 
 when she heard the happy tidings. 
 
 " And now I can leave you with a clear conscience ! n 
 said Fanny. " JSTow I will not plague Edward any longer ; 
 I will name the day next time he urges it I But he must 
 wait till April" 
 
 And Oswald and Florence waited till April, and no longer ; 
 
GREY AND GOLD. 519 
 
 so that Fanny and Florence were both brides on the same 
 day. Mr. Digby gave both brides away, and Lancelot cam* 
 down for the wedding, stopping at Helmsley only one night, 
 for Esther could not leave London, she had to ptay at home 
 and take care of her baby boy, whom his papa unpoeticaUy 
 declared to be "the funniest little customer he ever saw." 
 Esther sent word that he was a beauty, and so strong and 
 intelligent for a fortnight old. 
 
 " After that I give her up," said Cecil. " I wonder if I 
 ehall ever think a baby of two weeks old anything but an 
 ugly, troublesome, unmeaning little thing. Why, even 
 Lancelot said he had ne^er heard a baby cry so musically. 
 Heaven help these silly young papas and mammas, and 
 preserve them in their senses ! " 
 
 And Lancelot went back home to his treasures, and told 
 his wife what Cecil had said. 
 
 " Ah, she will tell another tale some day," said the happy 
 young mother. " I never thought a baby could be such a 
 r-omfort till this darling came to me. Oh, Lancelot, while 
 ou have been away I have been thinking over the last five 
 years, beginning with the nnai summer I spent in Queen 
 Square and ending with your good-bye kisses and the feel of 
 my baby sleeping on my arm ; and I said over nice little 
 pieces of your poems to myself/' 
 
 " Ah, ' Grey and Gold ' is going into another edition, the 
 publishers tell me. Do you remember that evening in the 
 Terrace-garden, my dear ] " 
 
 " Do I not ? I can see it now, the rich, purpling woods 
 the dazzling, golden sands, and the pink clouds, floating from 
 the west." 
 
 " God has been very good to us, Esther." 
 
 " Indeed He has. If we can but praise Him as we ought, 
 with our lips and with our lives ! " 
 
 " And we must try to teach others the blessed lessons we 
 have learned, and our key-note ought to be, ' Commit thy 
 way unto the Lord ; trust also in Him, and He shall bring 
 it to pass.' " 
 
 " And He will guide us, so that we rest in Him and wa ; t 
 
520 GREY AND GOLD. 
 
 patiently for Him in all trials and all perplexities, till the 
 last grey day declines, and we see before UB the golden hills 
 of heaven. * 
 
 TUK 
 
 W. Speaight & Sons, Printers, Fetter Lane, London. 
 
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