;.ji'sXi>5r.:iywT^ I Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/frolicscarborougOOwaldrich FROLIC NOTE. The Poems: '' 1/ Spirits cart,'' '' Gennesaret,'' ''A Dreain of Evening,'' ''The voice of God^ '' Ecce Homo;' '' Detis Cunda Regit," " The Frozen Thrush," and ''A Sea Song," are by Mrs. Eadon, of Fangfoss Hall, who has kindly permitted their use. The Song ''Oh Sigh not love," words by Miriam Ross, music by f. Mortirner Adye, is published by Ascherberg & Co., 2 11, Regent Street, London, W. ERRATA. Page 19, line 8, /or "father" read "uncle," line ii, for "son" rend nephew." In poem "Gennesaret" read 2nd line thus: "Thought in all times and tides will turn to thee." FROLIC: A SCARBOROUGH ROiMANCE. A Seciuel to " Bofuue Eclitha Copplestoiie, FRANXES HELEN WALDY, Author of SHE REIGNS ALONE," "jIM THE ROLGH UIDER," •• THE ALPERTON GHOST, "bonme editha copplestone," etc., etc. " Go work in My \-:ne}-ard I I claim thee as mine ; With blood did I buy thee and all that is thine — Thy time and thy talents, thy loftiest powers. Thy warmest affections, thy sunniest hours. I willingly yielded ^ly kingdom for thee, The song of archangels— to hang on the tree ; In pain and temptation, in anguish and shame, I paid thy full ransom : My purchase I claim." Sacred Songs and Solos. SCARBOROUGH : Ct. R. MARSHALL k SOX, BOOKSELLERS MDCCCL.VXXVI. \_All Rights Reserved.] iX)AN STACIC im TO f^Vf^;-^ SIR GEORGE RERESBY SIT WELL, Bart., RENISHAW HALL, DERBYSHIRE, AND woodend, scarborough. Dear Sir George, I have very great pleasure in dedicating this little tale to you, knowing the warm interest you feel in the watering-place whose beauties I have endeavoured to depict, although I confess it would require a more able pen than mine to do justice to its beautiful surroundings and the kind hearts of its inhabitants. Yours very truly, Frances Helen Waldy. 193 COXTEZSTTS. CHAP. PAGE I. THE REV. TREGELLES RUTH VEX ... I II. FROLIC AGAIN 25 III. EDWARD EAGLESTONE's SERMON ... 39 IV. ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE . 50 V. CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE . . . .102 VI. DR. WILFRID CARLISLE . . . .12 1 VII. frolic's CONFESSION I47 VIII. LORD NORTHSHIRE AT HOME . . .158 IX. DR. Carlisle's experiment . . .172 X. THE lady FLORENCE 219 XI. JOAN LEVITT DISTINGULSHES HERSELF . 276 FROLIC; A Sequel to Bonnie Edifha Copplesfone. BOOK I. PATIENCE LAXGTON'S STORY. CHAPTEE I. THE REV. TREGELLES RUTHVEN. "IF SPIRITS CAN." " The eve advances to its dying hours, The sunset lights come stealing o'er the flowers, A hush is on the song birds, and the wind Dies with the sun, nor leaves one breath behind." " I too shall die, my darling, ere the day Return in light, — ah ! do not bid me stay, Fain would I spread my wings and soar above To reach sweet Heaven, and my Father's love." " For earth has held its weariness and pain Closely, so closely to my fevered brain ; And dear and sweet, as thou art Love, to me, Dearer and sweeter will Christ's presence be." " Nay, — shed no bitter tears when I am gone, We shall not be divided, sweetest one ; He who hath cared for both, will doubly bless The one left lonely in her sore distress." FROLIC. " Thou canst not think that spirits freed from earth Forget, — ah no ! else what were union worth ! Here they are trained and fitted for the sky, And never aught of Heaven within can die." " And Love is all of Heaven, when high and true. If spirits can, I will return to you, And often, as the sunset glories move, Shall kiss your cheek with unforgotten love." " Ah, darling, you will know the tender touch. It will remind of Heaven and earth so much ; But chiefly for its object would I fain It should breathe ever, ' We shall meet again.' " ******* The dawn arose upon this earth of ours. The sunrise woo'd the dewdrops from the flowers ; Amongst the angels, in the world above Another spirit sang its praise and love. Over the mourners in this weary world Another sable pennon was unfurled ; In one more home. Death's Angel had come nigh. And claimed a soul for its true home on high. The old sweet refrain comes to us again. Stills the heart's beating, soothes its weary pain, He will return not, to this world of sin. But oh I dear God, she shall ascend to him. And tho' that time has passed for years away. All freshly comes its memory to-day ; Aye ! ne'er forgotten are the words that ran " I shall return and kiss you, if I can." HE snow has been falling for many weeks, falling all over England in a manner unprecedented for the last twenty years ; in the North whole districts are many feet deep in the treacherous element. It has been a terrible winter for the working THE REV. TREGEELES RUTHYEX. 6 classes — terrible indeed are the tales I hear, and I ask mvself why it is that the Tvorkins^ men and women have no forethought — lay up nothing for a rainy, to say nothing of a snoivi/ day. For the last three months, I haye daily seen hundreds of people standing for hours outside the doors of the Charity Organisation Society in Y Street, waiting for the relief that excellent Society affords them. Shabby, shiyering women, with their frozen looking hands and arms wrapped up in old print aprons, the bright colored shawls thrown oyer their heads, making a picturesque contrast to the brilliant white of the snow lying in the road, are constantly there, holdins: earnest talk together ; for hours they stand there with the patience borne of grinding poverty, waiting their turn to speak to the hardly worked, but kind manager within the rooms, who patiently takes note of each case, and lays it before the committee of management, the clergy and ministers of various denominations who meet there to discuss the best method of combating the present distress — it is to be hoped iu a friendly spirit. Judging from their grave concerned faces, I gather these gentlemen feel acutely for the sufferings of the poor. This FROLIC. afternoon two or three of the clergy are walking down the Lome Walk, and as I pass them I hear one say to the others that more funds are urgently needed to relieve the most pressing cases. The speaker is a tall, slight, high-hred looking man, whose careful attire at once proclaims him an apostle of the High Church party, and by his voice, recently heard in the dim religious light of St. Saviour's at evensong, I recognise our new curate Mr. Euthven. He is a striking looking man, with a refined expressive face illuminated by beautiful dark brown eyes, his features are aquiline, he wears a small moustache and an apology for whiskers, showing his clear cut features to advantage. The gentleman he addresses has completely hidden his face in a heavy beard. All I can see are a pair of very keen grey eyes with a humorous twinkle in them. I observe his dress, and recognise one of our clerical pillars — Canon Beverley — whose preaching generally attracts thousands of atten- tive listeners in the neighbouring beautiful old Minster; a man whose noble efforts towards evangelising the formerly half heathen population of the old fishing town, have met with great success, and endeared him to many a hardy THE REV. TREGELLES RUTHVEN. 5 sailor and fisherman and their families, while his wife and daughters are constantly seen visiting the lowest, purlieus, and out of the way courts and alleys of Scardeburge ; courts and alleys utterly unknown to the fashionable thousands frequenting the Empress of ivatermg places during the season, showing off their gorgeous apparel on the Spa, or sauntering on the beautiful Esplanade, enjoying the song of the mavis and merle in the leafy arbours of the Spa Gardens, or the distant strains of the band, while gazing at the beautiful panorama of sea and cliffs at their feet. Unknown, and unheeded to these seekers after health, are the unwearied labours of the Scardeburge clergy and other ministers who appear to be all doing their best to draw souls to Christ in their various fashions. The residents though, are better acquainted with their inde- fatigable labours. Uninfluenced bv sectarianism these Christian men are now only considering what is best for the present distress. As they pause a moment near me a slight delicate-looking man with a very grave face comes up quickly, and raises his hat to the group, who cordially acknowledge his salutation. It is Mr. Ernest, the librarian, who is apparently anxious to make 6 FROLIC. some private communication to Canon Beverley, perceiving which Mr. Piuthven and the other clergymen proceed down the road. I am about to do so also, when to my surprise the Canon and Mr. Ernest approach, the place where I have almost unconsciously paused. They both raise their hats and shake hands with me, then Canon Beverley asks me if I am willing to undertake some extra work in the town, among the poor. I am one of his district visitors. " I should not ask you to do so, Miss Langton," he says, "but we are so very busy just now, and one of my daughters is ill, and cannot go down the old cliff to the fishermen's cottages for some weeks I fear, as our doctor has forbidden exertion. She overdid herself in the autumn, and must remain a prisoner at present in consequence." " I am quite ready to go anywhere, or do anything" I eagerly exclaimed. ^'I am quite strong now and only long for more employment." " Then will you go down Monk's Entry and visit these people?" he continued. "Mr. Ernest says that help is much needed among them, and I am anxious to have a full report of their circumstances at once, in order that they may receive instant assistance, but do not overtire THE REV. TREGELLES RUTHVEN. 7 yourself, my dear girl," lie kindly adds. ''You do not look as robust as I could wish yet. My daughter Helen sent her kind love to you when I left her just before coming to the meeting, and begged me to tell you not to over exert yourself." " Work will not hurt me, dear Mr. Beverley," I replied. "It is thinking of the past that does me more harm than any amount of work," and I sigh. Mr. Ernest's kind blue eyes look sympathetic. " Miss Patience Langton is never tired of doing her duty, Sir," he remarks " delicate though she looks. She gets through more real work than many a stronger person, but it is the heart that does it." I feel uncomfortable at this quite unmerited praise, and blushingly wish my two friends good bye, then pass down the main street tovvards Monk's Entry, with the Canon's paper in my hand. * * No, Mr. Ernest is right, luork does me good. In helping the distressed, I feel I am only obey- ing my dear lost darling's wishes. "Let us work while it is day, dear Patience," these were his last written commandments to me his promised bride, "for the night will come only too quickly." 8 rPvOLic. Ah ! quickly indeed it came to him ; in a moment he received our blessed Saviour's call, ^' Come, faithful servant receive the kingdom," and I was left desolate. Oh Eobert, my own dear love, I thought the news would have broken my heart, and till the lines were placed in my hands you had written me, with your own dear right hand, the eve' before the battle of Tamanieb, I neither had sense or feeling left me to understand that life was still going on, that I had yet to live. Oh, Eobert! to live without you I Then they came to me. Alice came. I knew not how long I had been ill ; it seemed to me as if time were not ; but one awful thought kept beating in my brain. Robert, my Eobert was dead, gone from me for ever. His sunny smile I should never see again, never hear the accents of his dear voice, never hear him call me his little one, his Patience, his sweet girl bride. Alas, yet never came the bridal day I My love lies in a grave^ a grave in the burning sands of Egypt, but his memory lives for ever, not only in my heart, but in the hearts of all his men, the brave soldiers whom he loved, and who fought for, and would have died to save their beloved officer — Major Bruce. But when I read his last letter. THE REV. TREGELLES RUTH YEN. 9 then a feeling of peace came over me. "Go on darling in the path of duty, 'tis but for a short time, dear love, remember ' those who sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him.' I shall come back to you dear, dear Patience, though for a short time we shall be parted, for I feel, love, I shall fall to morrow. Eemember, love, my last request to you is, ' Take up your cross and follow after Jesus.' Work for Him, sing for Him, write for Him, write for the Lord Jesus while you have time, my own love, and in spirit I shall always be with you, helping you on your way, if spii^its are again permitted to help those they loved while on earth, as I believe they are, your lover will be with you still. Farewell dearest, my own dear Patience, farewell." This was my Robert's letter, and oh, the blessed calm and peace that came to me after reading it I The tears rained from my eyes, but they were blessed tears, they brought perfect peace with them. That night I slept, the first time I had done so, since the awful news had come. I slept for hours they tell me. And I had a dream, a dream so beautiful, so blissful. Rethought that once again Robert stood beside 10 FKOLIC. me, but no longer as mortal man he seemed, but his raiment was white and glistening as the snow, and his voice sounded as the voice of one who had passed through much tribulation, to enter into the joy of his Lord. His figure seemed like that of an angel, his out- spread wings over- shade wed me ; his hands, pressed on my shoulders, seemed guid- ing me on the straight and narrow way; on either side of us were crowds of poor starving mortals, holding up their hands in entreaty, crying to us for help. Fathers, mothers, little children, all around us, and all in want ; their pinched faces had the awful look of hunger in them, their voices rang in my ears. ^' Oh, Robert, let us help them," I cried, and lifted my hands in prayer, then I sank on my knees, and gathered the little ones into my bosom. As I spoke, he bent, and tenderly laid his lips on my forehead, and then I heard a voice, a far distant voice saying, '' Feed my lambs, Patience.'' I knew it was the Lord's voice, then my beloved faded away from my sight, and I awoke. They tell me it was only a dream, but I knew that my aching heart ceased aching any longer, that peace came to me, and I arose, determined to go on in the path of duty. Little by little I regained my THE REV. TREGELLES RUTHVEX. 11 strength, and gkcl was I to take up my cross and go on, ever looking upwards to Jesus, ever trving to do His behests, and still where I go, my Eobert's spirit seems to be with me, watching by my side. I still feel his hands gently pressing on my shoulders. I still feel his grave kiss on my brow, and I daily feel that I am a day nearer to our meeting. It is but for a little while, and then to be together again. * # ^ # Some time after my dear brother Philip's marriage, I came from home to Scardeburge with our old nurse Martha. My sister Olivia's eldest child had been ill, and they were anxious he should have change of air. Olivia's little baby girl Editha was just a month old when I brought my little godson to the Xorth. Little Robert, called after my dear lost love, and as great a pet as ever a house contained. He always called me Mumsie, for I have had him with me since his birth at the Eectory, for Olivia was not strong when her baby was born, and I took him then, and have kept him ever since, and now he and I have been in Scardeburge three months ; we came in the middle of a snow storm, and it has been snowinoj at intervals ever since. I 12 FROLIC. saw my darling getting better though ; the roses returning to his cheeks, and so the sunshine was returning to my heart once more. The dear kind Yicar of All Souls had come to see us. He had heard a stranger had come into his neigh- bourhood, and with thoughtful kindness he came to see if he could be of any use to me and my little darling nephew. He asked if I would like some parish work, and I gladly availed myself of his offer. And day by day little Robert and I went among the poor, and became friendly with them. Then Canon ]3everley returned from Ebor, and called — he is an old college friend of father's — and the girls came, and now I have many friends, but none so dear to me as my little baby nephew, Eobert, my little one year old darling. " Mumsie's 'ickle pet," as he calls himself — he cannot speak plainly jet — but here I am at the Monk's Entry, and commence my investigations. * * * * Monk's Entry is a very narrow street, really only a passage leading from Royal Street to the sea. The houses are very high, and exceedingly dilapidated. I stop at No. 150, and gently knock at the door with the handle of my umbrella. THE REV. TKEGELLES RUTHYEX. ] 8 The house is guiltless of knocker or bell. As I stand there, waiting for some one to reply to my feeble expression of a wish to make the acquaint- ance of the occupants, the sound of a grave, earnest voice reading, falls on my ear. '^ I am the resurrection and the life^ saith the Lord: he that helieveth in Me, though he iveve dead, yet shall he live : and tvhosoever liveth and helieveth in Me shall never die.'''' The solemn words strike on my soul with a feeling of awe, and the deep boom of the waves seems a fitting refrain to them. Then the sound of weeping comes through the closed door, the sorrowing cry of a sorrowful soul that will not be comforted. I am just about to slip away, feeling that my presence can only be an intrusion, when I see Mr. Euthven coming down the street towards me. He pauses as he reaches me, and gravely asks if he can be of any use. I hastily tell him my errand, and that Canon Beverley has sent me. '' Ah, the Canon does not know, in fact I only heard just now myself, poor Joseph Burns was drowned off Flamborough Head this morning; the boat was caught in a sudden squall, and the poor fellows in her all perished, in sight of land and before their wives' eyes. I fancy Mrs. Burns is in great want of 14 FROLIC. what help we can give her. They have a large family, and Burns was not a very thrifty man, though as fine a young fellow as ever stepped. He was always helping other people, a very good thing in its way, Miss Langton, but still it would be better if the men were to put something away for a rainy day. Don't you agree with me ? " ^' Yes " I say, half hesitatingly, "but times are so hard now, and I don't see how they can do it." '^ You must help me to show them the way to do so, will you?" he says, rather anxiously. "I will if I can," I say shyly. I always feel shy with Mr. Euthven, though since I had Eobert's command to work for Jesiis^ it gives me the courage I used to want so much, the courage to speak out. As we stand there, we distinctly hear the sound of weeping continue, but not so wildly do the poor young widow's sobs fall on our ears. Meanwhile the clergyman proceeded to read the words of comfort to the afflicted, till he reached the verse '''- Jesus to eptP Then there came a pause, the sobs ceased. It seemed as if the full meaning of the fact, that our Lord him- self shed tears of pity for human suffering, had suddenly entered her mind, probably for the first time. THE REV. TREGELLES RrTHYEX. 15 " It is our new curate, Mr. Eaglestone," whispered Mr. Euthven, for we both felt we were treading on Hohj Ground. " He was recently ordained at Ebor, and has come here as one of the Canon's curates ; he is a noble hearted man, but looks as if he had known trouble himself, though he is a very young man, not twenty-four yet I should think." The name thrills through my whole inner consciousness. Edward Eaglestone here ! Poor Edward. I had heard he had taken holy orders but I had no idea he had come to Scardeburo:e. Is it the irony of fate that has brouf^ht him into my neighbourhood, poor lad ? How I grieved over his sufferings, even when my heart was breaking at my own deep trial, but the very sound of his name recalls the past most vividly to my mind. I feel as if my wounds were bleeding afresh. Mr. Euthven notices how pale I have turned, and says kindly ''You are ill, Miss Langton, come in and rest here, I am sure poor Mrs. Burns will be glad to see you. These poor kindly-natured people don't think the visits of those who come to befriend them an intrusion." He lifts the latch as he speaks and we enter. 16 FROLIC. But oh, what a terribly sad scene greets our eyes as we do so. In a chair near the fire a poor young woman is seated, holding a child in her lap. Near her stand a group of wondering, frightened little children, while through the partly opened door of what appears to be a bedroom. I observe the ominous sight of a white sheet, covering, but not concealing what is evid- ently the dead form of Mary Burns's young fisherman husband. Ah, poor young mother ! Your lot is harder than mine for you have lost your all; the bread-winner of the family has been swept away from you in a moment. My eyes fill with tears of sympathy as I go forward, and kneeling down by her side, gently draw the wearied, tired head on my breast, while softly kissing her burning cheek. The young clergy- man who was sitting near her when we entered, reading from St. John, rises, and with a kind glance in our direction says in a voice whose beauty instantly strikes me, " You have a true friend come to see you now, Mrs. Burns, so I will say good bye for the present, but I will send my landlady to you, with anything you may require. Only tell her and you shall have everything you want. She is a kind-hearted THE REV. TREGELLES RUTHVEN. 17 soul, and will be only too glad to be of use to you. Good-bye, my poor, dear soul. You must take your trouble to Christ, Mary, take it to the foot of the Cross. There is One there who will never fail you. Good-bye," and, raising his hat he leaves the house. Mr. Euthven half hesitates, as if he feels inclined to follow him, then changes his mind apparently, and takes the vacant chair, when he is at once surrounded by the little fatherless children. Mr. Euthven has evidently been a frequent visitor at ISTo. 150 before. As he sits there, I cannot help thinking what a noble looking man he is. His dark eyes are full of sympathy for the little ones and the poor young widowed mother, a mere girl, whose north country type of beauty her terrible sorrow has (mly partly disfigured. Mary is, indeed, a handsome woman ; but alas her figure reveals the still more distressing fact that there will soon be another little orphan to be provided for, and I inwardly pity the poor bereaved family with all my heart. Mary seems to feel comforted by my near proximity; her sobs grow less and less, and presently the long dark lashes droop over the tired eyes, and her regular breathing tells me she sleeps. Eest indeed, much 18 FROLIC. needed. Mr. Euthveii softly lifts the little two- year-old golden haired boy from her lap ; but so gently he does not disturb her, and gives it to the eldest child, a bright handsome girl of nine. These fisherfolk marry very young, and Mary Wallis was only sixteen when she became a wife. Alas, at six-and-twenty she is a widow ! Here, I feel, is a far, far deeper sorrow than miDO, and I feel ashamed to think I have for two years given myself over to selfish grief at the loss of my beloved. I inwardly resolve to do all I can to help this stricken family. Mr. Euthven smiles kindly at me. ''Miss Langton, you are indeed an angel of goodness," he says, softly, ''but do not make yourself ill. What will my dear old friend Mr. Langton say, if we don't take care of his daughter?" '' I shall not hurt," I reply, "but, dear Mr. Ruthven, I think it would be as well if you asked Dr. Christian to call, poor Mary seems very ill." "I will go at once," he says, "Meanwhile will you stay with these poor things, till Eaglestone's housekeeper comes?" "Of course, I intend doing so," I reply. "Only, if you don't mind letting my good landlady know where I am, I shall be very glad. Little Eobert ought to be in bed by seven. Will THE REV. TEEGELLES RUTHVEN. 19 you please tell my nurse, and Mrs. Grimshaw?" Mr. Euthven assures me he will go straight from Dr. Christian's to my lodgings, and see after my darling's comfort, and, after glancing round the room to see if there is anything else he can do, departs on his errands of kindness. What a nice fellow he is, I think, and how gentle and thoughtful. His father, Col. Paithven, is colonel of my dear lost love's regiment, the — 2nd, and his son has been especially good and kind to me, ever since my arrival at Scardeburge, and many a romp has he had with little Eobert, who calls him his second Papa. * * * * Mary still sleeps, and as the calm surge of the waves is heard through the badly-fitting door, these lines suggest themselves to my mind, which I subsequently write down in my diary : "GENNESARET." " Oh fair and clear! Gennesaret's lone Lake, Though in all times and tides we turn to thee, By which soever name thy memories wake, Tiberias, or peaceful Galilee. " Is there in any thought of any time So healing or so comforting a halm, As in those three majestic words of thine Oh Saviour ? " Peace be still" — and there was calm. " Yea, calm, where but a moment since, was storm So fearful, that it bore upon its wing, 20 TROLIC. To the affrighted ones around Thy Form, Death, though Thy Life was taking out its sting. ***** '* We think of Thee, Redeemer, Jesu, Lord, As Teacher, Shepherd, Tempted One, and Priest, We contemplate Thy Life, whose every chord Was strung by Love, that never failed or ceased. *' But here, for once, and once alone, we read That after effort came the needed rest ; ' Asleep upon a pillow ' that dear Head Thy Soul was leaning on Thy Father's Breast. " Asleep ! so tired, so weary, oh, Beloved ! Might not Thy slumber for this once, remain As peaceful as the Form, Divine, unmoved. Amidst the Tempest raging all in vain ? *' No I oh most Loving, as the mosl Beloved Of all that were or ever are to be, Thy poor Disciples, by the gale are moved To terror, on this wild and tossing s^a. "And Thou? not 'wherefore wake me?' but their fears In tender pity first are soothed to sleep. The stormy Sea rebuked, its sentence hears, And lo ! a sudden calm is on the Deep. " And not till then one gently chiding word Comes to those Doubters, as the Master saith ** Oh, why so fearful; have ye vainly heard And seen so often, the results of Faith ? " *' Ah ! surely after this, a thousand storms Had ne'er affrighted with His Presence near. Safe midst all tumults, whatsoe'er their forms. Never again, those hearts could fail for fear. ***** " So — I LIFT UP MINB EYES UNTO THE HiLLS, Yes, Magdala's low hills which saw this done, And feel for ever, that no vain appeals Can ever reach Thine Ear, Oh Blessed One. *' So — I amidst the Battle, stand to hear The reassuring tones of Thy dear Voice ; Or when the waves are dashing very near. If Thou art in them may my Soul rejoice. THE REV. TREG-ELLES RUTHVEN. 21 *' Yes, ' Peace be still,' whate'er of pain or tears Lies in the Cup Thy Hand holds out for me, Or, what of Joy and Love, through Time's swift year i Be near, and bid me feel this Peace from Thee. "For jewelled Joy-cups not with gladness glow If Thy sweet Peace hath never made them bright, And Suffering's self hath beauty on her brow If Thy dear Hand hath touched it into light. "So — all my truest bliss, whate'er it be, Hath not a true life, separate from Thine ; For what is Love its very self to me, But sadness, if unlinked to Life Divine. " So — when deep waters threaten to o'erwhelm, And Rest seems most impossible to me. Oh ! let me feel Thy Hand is on the helm. And, ' Peace be still ' again be breathed by Thee. *' So — oh my King, my Saviour, and my Lord, So, like a little child I want Thy Hand, To lead me through Earth's angry, loud discord, Until I reach the Calm of Thy dear Land." I had promised my dear parents, when I came away with little Eobert, to put down everything that happened to us while away from them both, and I had done so, sending the sheets home to the Rectory every week, when a return letter of advice and counsel, and also of all the news in Blakiston, came to me. It was generally written by one of the girls, Euthie or Naomi, as the case might be. In this way I generally was well posted as to home affairs, while Editha wrote me long letters from the various ports, my dear brother Phil happened to be 22 FROLIC. stationed at, and where Editha generally man- aged to join him. The hour is growing late, but still the poor young widow sleeps in my arms, which are beginning to ache with her weight. A neigh- bour has come in, Mrs, Oak, and put the children to bed, and has tried to persuade me to weaken Mary, but I think the poor young creature wants rest so badly, I do not like to disturb her. At length, Mrs. Grimshaw^ comes to look after me. She is quite a mother to me. xlnd Mary Burns aw^akes at last, and we persuade her to take some food and go to bed. Edward Eaglestone's housekeeper has come, and brought a variety of things for the poor mother and her orphan children, and her daughter Martha has come with her, and offers to stay all night, so I feel I can now return to my little nephew, Eobert. Dr. Christian has been detained by a dangerous case, but he comes in before we leave and sees poor Mary, and says he will call again later, so Mrs. Grimshaw and I go back to Princess Victoria Square. ^ % * * THE REV. TEEGELLES RUTHYEN. Ao Before a week has passed over our heads Mary Burns has again become a mother, and she has just been rescued from the jaws of death by Dr. Christian's* unremitting care. He has had to call in Dr. Mayfield, and both these good and true-hearted men have done their best for the poor widow. They have appealed to the charitable ear of Scardeburge, and people have responded freely, so the family are provided for, for the present, as also are the other poor widows left desolate by the loss of the smack Seagull. Nor does Edward Eagles tone forget them. # * * * Some weeks have passed by, and my time is so much taken up in my district I have no chance of writing my diary, so shall invite some of my unmarried sisters to come and stay with me, and help me to take care of the poor and sick, and also write home to my dear parents. I hear the Copplestone's are coming round here in their yacht, and Sir Eeginald Lee accompanies them, with Isabel. My pretty young sister-in-law, Nellie, is with them, and her two babies. I shall get dear little Frolic to help in my district. She has plenty of spirit, and will give 24 FROLIC. the people a scolding occasionally, a thing I never could do. She is still on Major Copplestone's 3^acht, and a perfect treasure to everybody. I hear she has grown into a lovely young woman, and I fear she will soon be beset by fortune hunters, as she has a large property. She in- herits from her mother, some £10,000 a year. But she has too much sense to throw herself away. I hope some day Edward Eaglestone may learn to appreciate the affection we all know our dear little Frolic feels for him. And, if so, may our blessed Saviour bless and prosper them both. CHAPTER II. FROLIC AGAIN. " In the outer court I was singing, Was singing the whole day long ; From the inner chamber were ringing Echoes, repeating my song. " And I sang till it grew immortal ; For that very song of mine, When re-echoed "behind the portal Was filled with a life divine. * * * * " Was the chamber a silver sound, Of arches whose magical art Drew in coils of musical sound, And cast them back on my heart ? * * * * " Long I trembled and paused — then parted The curtains with heavy fringe ; And, half fearing, yet eager-hearted Turned the door on its golden hinge." Adelaide Anne Proctor. FTER the severe snubbing I received, as regards my effort to describe the beauty of Bonnie Editha Copplestone, by an otherwise friendly critic, who evidently does not agree with the poet, that "a thing of beauty is a joy for ever," I hardly dare venture 26 FROLIC. to bring before my readers a pictured represent- ation of Lady Florence Blakiston, only daughter and heiress of the Earl of Northshire. Yet I feel that some of them, who may have read my description of her as a very young girl, in '' Bonnie Editha Copplestone," may wish to know how her beauty has developed, during the time that has elapsed since she was in Portland Eoads, on board the Devoniensis^ Major Harold Copplestone's yacht. Her visit to Egypt, and subsequent travels in various lands, have by no means injured this lovely girl's complexion, which can only be described as resembling that of the wild rose. Her hair, aptly described by poor Lieut. Murdoch Brice, her sailor friend, (shot down by the side of Colonel Burnaby and Edward Jervis, Lord St. Vincent, in the now memorable battle at the Abu Klea wells, which must still be fresh in everyone's memory,) as reminding him of the aureolas round the heads of saints, has deepened in hue to the tint seen on a copper beech in September. Indeed, saA^e in bright sunlight, it appears only a rich Vandyke brown. No longer can the boys insult it by calling it carrottjj. But ''- our boys," in two years, have shot up into FROLIC AGAIN. 27 young men, and very proud they are of their quondam playfellow, who still answers to their pet name of ^' Frolic," bestowed upon her in childhood. Lady Florence's face is a perfect oval, the large dark violet eyes are of a deep purple shade, almost hidden by their long black lashes, gen- erally known as ''sweet Irish eyes." The eyebrow is long, narrow, and slightly arched; the beautiful shape of it, clearly marked against her blue veined temples, denotes the artist temperament, while the finely-cut, small, straight nose, and very short upj)er lip, slightly drawn up, show that Frolic is not altogether devoid of the family pride of the Blakiston's. The pearly teeth are just peeping through those rich red lips, which are never quite closed, while a lovely little dimpled chin completes the picture I have endeavoured to p?.int, of one of our dear Old England's fairest daughters. Two years have added as many inches to Lady Florence's stature, and she is now rather above the average height; but the perfect symmetry of her figure prevents her appearing too tall, although her proud carriage makes her seem more than ordinarily so. She walks with a free 28 FEOLIC. quick step, as one who has been brought up in a wild open heathy country. It seems as if the scent of the erica clung to her garments. Her hands are long and slender, but browner than a young lady's should be, who had any regard for her appearance. But what cares Frolic for that? She has neither changed her name or her nature, which is a distinctly healthy one. Free, open, and generous, is Frolic, though too clever to be taken in by plausible tales of distress ; and the denizens of Monk's Entry will soon find out that Patience Langton's auxiliary is not to be easily humbugged. The sister yachts have only recently anchored in the beautiful bay of Scardeburge, and Florence has come ashore with the Copplestone lads, to view the place, as our American cousins call it. She has just parted from "our boys," who have gone off to get their hair cut, and also to invest in some "bacca,"— I regret to say that they are not yet cured of the vile habit of having an ever- lasting pipe between their teeth, thus doing unheard of mischief to their brains, though they won't believe it, — and Frolic has promised to wait for them, at the edge of St. Nicholas Cliff, just beyond the Grand. As she stands there she FROLIC AGAIN. 29 is a striking figure, and more than one idle young fellow has sauntered past her, and im- pudently stared at her perfect face, unconcealed by the multiplicity of veils our young American beauties affect. But Frolic is quite unconscious of their impertinence, as she gazes on one of the most beautiful views in England, Scardeburge Bay, with the sun rising over the waters. The waves are sparkling in its rays. But let me pause, and remember that this is but a matter-of- fact world, and, to some people's eyes, devoid of beauty. But who can stand, and look at all the loveliness of the world of nature, and not feel in their hearts that the Great Mover of all hearts Himself created it, and pronounced his completed work as very good 1 Man, alas, has marred it, as he has himself by sin, but both are the work of God. Oh, that we would only remember, oftener than we do, that we have been made in His image ^ after His likeness^ and try and live up to that height, remembering that our bodies are, or ought to be the Temples of the Holy Spirit, made far more perfect if we only try and lead the life of the Spirit, and so continue to follow after Holiness. To return to Scardeburge bay. The cliffs are 30 FROLIC. just appearing above a slight raistj which has hung over them, and added to their apparent height. The pretty villas on their summits are looking less like weird castles, and more common- place^ as if modern people sojourned in them. Early as it is, people are walking and riding on the sands, for the tide is low. The old Castle frowns down on the fishermen's houses, clustered at its foot, their red roofs contrasting with the deep green of the turf on which it stands. Below, many fishing smacks are putting out to sea, before a favourable breeze, their burnt-umber sails standing out clearly against the blue sky, on which float a few fleecy clouds, betokening fine weather. As Frolic stands, gazing with rapture at the scene — (pardon me, dear critic, but as Mr. Punch, says, " I really can't help being born with artistic eyes,") — the bell of St. Jolmh begins ringing for matins, speedily caught up by the nearer and deeper tone of 8t, Saviour'^ s. And a young clergyman, prayer book in hand, quickly passes the Earl's daughter with an involuntary, but not insolent look of admiration, at the beau- tiful apparition. As he does so. Frolic recognises Edward Eaglestone, whose sick bed she watched FKOLIC AGAIN. 31 two years ago, on the Devoniensis. She blushes crimson at his gaze, and the clergyman passes on, feeling desperately annoyed with himself at what he feels has been an impertinence, however unintentional. But still he thinks he has seen that face and form before, but when and where he cannot recall to mind, for he was too ill, when Lady Florence assisted Sister Mabel to nurse him, to notice her. But it would appear that, though apparently unconscious of what passed around him, the girl's beauty had made some impression on his mind. Admiral Sir John Burns had been mistaken in thinking that Edward Eaglestone had been one of the Egyptian party. His mother had come over from Avondale, and removed her only son from the yacht to the Hall, where his health was soon completely restored, and he then re-entered his name on his College books, warmly welcomed back by the Master of University College, who had felt a deep interest in the lad ; an interest intensified by his terrible misfortunes. From Oxbridge Edward came to Ebor, the Archbishop being an old friend of his father's; and at Ebor he was ordained, and received a title from Canon Beverley, also a friend of Mr. 32 FROLIC. Eaglestone's. Thus much of Edward's history. But two years, under Egyptian and Canadian skies, have not caused Frolic to forget the poor young convict, for whom her heart had bled, and whom she had befriended. And he is still as dear to the true hearted, pure minded girl as ever. And his name has been included among the beloved ones, whom she has daily asked her Saviour to guard. Alas, one, almost as dear, has passed awa}^ from mortal eyes, Murdoch Brice. But this terrible blow^ has only endeared her more to the Brice family, who have received her as a young sister. Captain Brice has become more and more attached to the young girl, who has been his constant companion on board the Devoniensis for two years. The yacht has now arrived in the bay, accompanied by Sir Reginald Lee's beautiful boat, the ''Wild Eose." The yachts have come round to Scardeburge from Weymouth. They had been in Portland Roads some weeks, and Frolic had been staying at Avondale with old Mrs. Brice and her daughters, who are still as brisk and cheerful as ever. Sweet Alice Brice, though terribly cast down at the death of her brother Murdoch, has not lost that beautiful serenity of spirit which has FROLIC AGx^IX. 33 enabled her to bear up against the almost crush- ing blow. She has become a warm friend of Frolic's, and has promised to come and stay with her on the South Cliff, where the youthful heiress has taken a house. Her aunt, Lady Ducilla, is shortly expected from lN"orthshire, to act as chaperone to her, as the Earl wisely considers Frolic too young and lovely to live by herself. Lady Florence gives in to her father's wishes in this respect, though the independent young girl feels she can take very good care of herself. However, she has acquiesced in the Earl's arrangements, and Lady Ducilla is preparing to come and take charge of her niece. The chui'ch clocks again strike, within about two minutes of each other, in most unpleasing discord; and it crosses Frolic's mind that it would have been as well if the respective in- cumbents of St. John's and St. Saviour's had chosen bells in more harmony with each other than they are. She laughs out aloud at the quaint thought, and hopes the Yicars may agree better with each other than their clocks, when up come the boys, Major Copplestone's three eldest lads, accompanied by IS^aomi, Euth, and 4 34 FROLIC. Margery Langton, wliom they have been to ^4ook upj" three as sweet and fresh-looking maidens as it has ever been the lot of the residents of Scardeburge to see. They have come to keep Patience company. There is a blush on Euthie's cheek which may have some- thing to do with the fact that Captain Brice still commands the Devoniensis^ and still remains a widower. But I am not prepared to say it is caused by anything more than the fresh sea breeze. Her sister Margery is a very pretty girl also, with a little saucy, merry, piquante face, her saucy tongue does not belie. Margery is every- one's favourite. All the men are in love with her, go where she will. But as yet Margery remains heart-whole, and tells her swains, when they assure her she has broken their hearts, they had better get some Portland Cement and mend them again, when they will be all the more valuable as crackled China, with which impertinent advice they are fain to be content. Nine o'clock booms out on the ambient air, from those discordant clocks, when Frolic and her companions turn and leave the beautiful panorama of clijQPs, valley, and sea with regret, but it has occurred to them that breakfast must FROLIC AGAIN'. 35 be ready at Princess Victoria Square. Lady Florence and the boys have been invited there this morning. The bracing air has given them a keen appetite, and they hurry up the cliff towards home. As Frolic passes swiftly along, Ally joins her, and catches hold of her hand in boyish fashion. He is Major Copplestone's eldest son, and is growing very like him people think. '' Whom do you think we tumbled across this morning, Frolic?" he says, ''that poor young chap who swam across to our yacht from Portland, Edward Eaglestone. He has turned out a regular swell high-church parson I You know the sort, long coat, waistcoat as straight as their morals are supposed to be — of course they never look at a pretty girl — tall tile, I beg your pardon, I mean hat, in fact, he has become a downright, howling, clerical masher I" Ally's clear young voice rings out this intelligence so loudly that Frolic has to call him to order. " Hush, hush. Ally," she says, '' do you want all Scardeburge to hear you?" " Oh, never mind, but to describe what a handsome fellow he has become is more difficult than to give you the cut of his clothes. He has grown taller, but is still very slight, and 36 FROLIC. really he is one of the best looking chaps I ever saw. His eyes are simply glorious, they shine like stars, and are a rich hazel. He has beauti- fully pencilled eyebrows, a delicate aquiline nose, firm, but sensitive mouth, and well-cut chin. His hair is jet black, and so are his moustache and small whiskers ; his complexion is a clear olive, and his whole appearance is aristocratic to the last degree. I rushed up to him, without think- ing if he would remember me or not, and shook him warmly by the hand. He looked very much surprised, but when I told him I was Alfred Copplestone his face seemed to lighten up like an angel's. 'Oh! my dear boy,' he exclaimed, ' how delighted I am to see you.' And I really thought that he meant to kiss me, but I suppose I colored, for of course, a fellow of my age does not care to be kissed by another fellow, you know, so he contented himself by shaking me warmly by both hands. He asked after us all, especially the Governor, at least all except you, Frolic. Then he said he would come and see us all, and the dear old Devoniensis again, as soon as he could, but he was awfully busy just now, there was so much distress in the place. I wonder he forgot to enquire for you, Frol ! " FROLIC AGAIN. 37 ^''I don't suppose he ever saw me," says Lady Florence, though she colours as she speaks. "But come, boys, we shall never get home this morning at this rate," and she hurries her pace. " I went into Mr. Ernest's library this morning, to get some note paper, and he tells me they are trying to get the season earlier. I suggested to him he had better invest in the Aquarium, which he informed me is to be sold, and take Bertie and Athol in for the clowns. I am sure it is all the youngsters are fit for, don't you think so, Frolic?" ''Don't squabble, boys," says Lady Florence, quietly, "it is bad form "; and. as by this time they have reached their destination, the conver- sation comes to an end. But Lady Florence, though apparently uncon- cerned, is pondering on what she has heard. She had hardly dared to glance at the young clergyman, as he passed her, so shy had she felt at the sudden appearance of the young man ; and the account Ally had given of him went straight to her heart, in which she had kept a warm place for him. She felt proud yet ashamed of the love she had given to one who had never even spoken to her. And she blushed a hot blush of shame 38 FROLIC. at the thought that she had given her affectiou away unasked. Never mind, Florence, your love is well worth winning, and perhaps before long the ascetic young clergyman, who is always denying himself, and giving to others, may discover there is one treasure belonging to him he will not one day care to part with, when he has learnt it is all his own, though all the world were offered him instead — the treasure of Florence Blakiston's love. CHAPTEE III. EDWARD EAGLESTONE'S SERMON A DREAM OF EVENING. •' There was a golden glory on the moor, Oh such a sunset, in the western sky. Almost as if stood open, Heaven's door, Whilst angels entered to their Home on high. " There was a living Poem in every sigh, Soft wafted by the Breeze, as died away, Into the golden beauty of the sky. The lingering Spirit of that Summer Day. " There was a living Poem around his heart, Or sad or gav, regretful and yet sweet, There was a wondrous light that flashed apart The earthliness that gathered at his feet. " ' She had quaint fancies,' so he said, and laughed, ' With Angels in her skies and Seraphim.' And yet he watched her, as the cup she quaffed, Whereof his lips had only touched the brim. " And still,— and still, whilst melting into hues Too glorious to paint, that sky became, As if all Beauty would itself infuse Into the crimson,— ^'iolet,— and flame. " Without his will, and he unknowing why, Felt too the '^ fluttering of an Angel's wing," Realized that glory, such as lit that sky Must needs pourtray the worHng of a Kixg. - And tho' her kindling eyes and sweet flushed cheek Went past his knowledge of the things that are. He fain had shared a silence which could speak So eloquently faith in scenes afar. 40 FROLIC. " That eve has passed ; but if his memory turn The magic curtain of those hours gone by, May some fair Angel fancies pure inurn And lead his thoughts beyond this lower sky, — " Horizon, bounded by this earthly sight — And locked and barred to many a sage, beguiled, Whilst, open ever is the infinite Unto the Soul, most like * a little child.' " FEW days later Frolic makes her way towards St. Saviour^s alone, as she has not been able to persuade her friends, the Langtons, to accompany her. She finds on arriving at the church, she is very late. A pale, delicate, high-bred looking clergy- man has just mounted the stone steps of the pulpit. It is Easter Sunday, and the church is crowded. Probably it was supposed that Canon Beverley would preach, but he has invited his youngest curate, Edward Eaglestone, to do so. There is an intense look of earnestness in the young clergyman's face, which strikes every- body at once. Some whisper of his painful story has permeated Scardeburge, which, like most small country towns and watering places, gener- ally knows more about its visitors' affairs than they do themselves, and, Avhen he gives out his text, more than one subdued whisper can be heard. Then a sudden hush comes, you might EDWARD EAGLESTOXe's SEEMOX. 41 hear a pin drop, as these solemn words drop from his lips, ''But they constrained hinu^ saying^ Abide with us.^'^ Edward's voice falters as he commences his discourse, which is one of the most eloquent that ever fell from mortal lips. He gives them a true ard faithful account of his life, from early boyhood ; how he was guarded and sheltered by parental love ; how he was led far, far awav from his Saviour's side ; how he suffered, and how he repented. He tells of his former companion's awful end, of his own recovery, and how God the Holy Spirit has led him, little by little, to his present position as a preacher of the Gospel, and how he means to spend every moment of his life in serving Christ, his risen Lord, with all his heart, soul, and strength ; that he has constrained his Saviour to abide with him^ and he earnestly, eloquently, and solemnly entreats his hearers to open their hearts to the Saviour now, and let HiZvi indeed be their EiSEN Lord. For more than an hour does Edward preach, and still his corgregation listen with unflagging attention. Many a wet eye is there in St, Saviour^ s this evening ; even the men are wiping their eyes. Frolic, who is behind a pillar, fairly 42 FROLIC. breaks down, and sobs aloud. Edward hears her, he can see her from where he stands, in the richly carved stone pulpit, and, with surprise recognises the Earl's daughter. For a moment, he pauses, but recovering himself concludes his sermon with this poem — THE VOICE OF GOD. " Some thought a voice of Thunder, By Jordan's water bright, Was pealing in the distance, On Hermon's snowj' height ; Was rolling over jMagdala, And watched for flashing light. ' ' Some said it was an angel Who spake unto Him there, And brought Him Heavenly message On wings all glistening fair ; The great Archangel Michael, Who tighteth in the air. '* But just those Souls who loved Him, Who followed and adored. Knew that the great Voice speaking AVas of Jehovah — Lord, And bent in deepest reverence Before that Voice of God. '• Yea, Lord, and it is ever Adoring Souls and true. Who recognise Jehovah, When Storms the earth subdue ; Or find His Voice of beauty hid. In radiant drops of dew. " Oh blessed, blessed Kiver, Whose waters sacred shine, On thrice most blessed Saviour, That baptism of Thine ; EDWARD EAGLESTONE's SERMON. 43 Was heavenly consecration made By God's own voice divine. " Oh ! Holy Dove descending On spirit blest and true. Oh I righteousness unending, Distilling as the dew, Dwell with the ones who love Htm now, A happy flock — if few ; " Who keep an inner hearing For every tone Divine, Who feel His Love is o'er them, In shadow or in shine, His still small voice unmissing — if In lowly or sublime.'' The young Deacon pauses, and then finishes his sermon, and presently the Canon's grave and beautiful tones are heard pronouncing the bene- diction, and the congregation, after kneeling a few moments in prayer, disperse, some to hear Canon Beverley's lecture in the Schoolroom — his most devoted admirers, by no means few — the others to go home, I presume, and talk over Edward Eaglestone's sermon. Frolic passes swiftly up Lorimer Place, and then down Lome Walk to Patience Langton's lodgings, in Princess Victoria Square, where she finds the girls, who have just returned from All Souls. Mr. Euthven, who has been preaching at All Souls for the Yicar, has accompanied them home, 44 FROLIC. and is engaged in an animated discussion with Margery Langton, while Captain Brice, who has also turned up, is conversing with Ruthie. Lady Ducilla has come to look up the girls, and Mrs. Mainwaring, who is quite tired of the Wild Rose, has come to live with them, and act as their chaperone, thus preventing the scandal from spreading, which some Scardeburge gossips have already endeavoured to raise about our young people. Bless the dear old souls ! but still I will try and be charitable to them ; they must have something to talk about, we know. The Vicar of All Souls is seated at the piano, playing one of his own hymn tunes, while Mrs. Mainwaring, a passionate lover of music, is seated near him, her whole soul in her eyes, and beautiful eyes they arc, betokening her most lovely disposition, as she listens to him. The Eev. Eobert Midlothian is a true musician, and the lovely strains of harmony float through the room. What is he playing? The hymn is a great favourite at Scardeburge, where Mr. Midlothian's kind and amiable character is well known and much appreciated amongst rich and poor, but more especially among the poor, with whom he is most at home. Few are there in EDWARD EAGLESTONE S SERMOX. 4o All Souls'^ parish who have not had some kind act to thank the Rev. Eobert Midlothian for, though he is one of those who '' do good deeds by stealth, and blush to find them fame." Even the " stranger at his gate " is not neglected, as Patience Langton, and her baby nephew, Eobert, can testify. When he has finished the intro- duction Mr. Midlothian turns to the beautiful widow, and asks her if she will sing, and the others take up the chorus, and presently a noble contralto voice fills the room with song. Mr. Midlothian's hymn is called, the Voice of Faith. The commencement is recitative, and Isabel seems as if she were pouring out her whole soul in song as the beautiful words fall from her lips. " When looking, I beheld On Hope's fair brow a quick refulgent star, Whose soft yet piercing rays streamed, lucent, down, Illumining the twilight of my heart, .Shedding pure balmy healing on my soul. Then Faith's white hand in softest touch I felt, And her most gentle whisper reached my ear. " ' Oh, bright and beautiful the star of Hope, " ' Given by Him who made it very fair, " ' To scintillate its beauty, passionate, true. " ' But Faith is Hope's twin sister, and she leaves " ' The glorious 'sapphire Heaven,' and comes to earth, " ' To teach, to comfort, to direct thy soul, " ' To lead thee gently towards sweet wisdom's light ; " ' It is her voice that doth inspire thy heart, 46 FROLIC. " ' Her hand that pointeth ever to the sky, " * Clad in her own white garment, glistening, fair. " ' Where two agree on earth, it is her voice " ' That claims the promise of fulfilment sweet, " ' And draws it downward from the King of Kings." So far Isabel, then the boys and girls take up the strain. (Major Copplestone's sons have come in). " Oh Faith ! oh Hope ! oh Love ! divisible, In these most wondrous, subtle essences, "We call our Beings, may ye never be, But bear us onward on your snowy wings. Till Time has vanished in Eternity ; Oh, teach us sweetest, deepest mystery, And hand in hand, proclaim our destiny. The fruits of God's blest Spirit e'er he shed Love, Joy, and Peace on each beloved head. Yea, warm and bright, Hope's star for ever shine, Touching our life below, with light divine. Raising the drooping soul, when weary here.. To be refreshsd in that pure atmosphere ; To seek its lasting radiance from above, Its Beauty, Gentleness, — its Diadem, Love." The Eev. Eobort Midlothian, as he sits at the piano — one of Broadwood's full toned instru- ments — thinks that he never heard more fresh and lovely young voices in his life. The beautiful widow's pensive face has struck the kind vicar as being full of sorrow, and his heart bleeds for her. No news of General Mainwaring has ever come to Courtlees, but still Isabel hopes on, though her hope is daily EDWARD EAGLESTONE's SERMON. 47 becoming less and less. His name is never mentioned to lier. That General IMainwaring was foully murder- ed, all the officers in the British army believe ; and there is not the slightest doubt in any of their hearts that the brave officer has perished. But Isabel cannot forget him. Her's is a love passing the ordinary love of women, faithful beyond the grave. ♦ * * * Mr. Midlothian is a poet as well as a composer, and our young people now ask him to read them some of his compositions. A shy man, he at first refuses, but his young friends will not take "Ko" for an answer, and group themselves round him. A charming group our young people make too. The gallant bearing of "our boys,'' and the winsome beauty of "our girls,'' become more and more apparent to the good vicar, who, having no children of his own, has more room in his large warm heart for those of others. "What shall I read you?-' he asks of Mrs. Mainwaring, who softly replies "that beautiful poem you wrote, entitled, Ecce Homo:' So Mr. Midlothian takes a book from his pocket, and reads this poem in a deep clear tone : 48 FROLIC. E C C E HOMO! fB)/ Guido Reni.J " Oh ! Guido Keni ! blest in heart and eye, Blest, by this vision wondrous, awful, high ; And blessed too thine hand, oh artist saint ! If but this picture, it was thine to paint. * Behold,' we gaze with wrapt and solemn awe On Him whom radiant Angel-Hosts adore; For us this awful night of agony, He passed in lone and sad Gethsemane. " O holiest Crown of thorns ! that sacred Brow Hath borne for me and thee. Our spirits bow In lowliest adoration, tender, deep, Whilst Love and Reverence o'er our beings sweep. O crimson Tears ! on that beloved Face, Scarce can we bear their origin to trace. O loving Eyes ! uplifted from the Earth On which Thou hast been saddened since Thy birth. O suffering Saviour ! e'en on Death's dark brink No succour from the Father came. To drink That desolating cup of agony Was Thine, — ordained from Eternity. " Heart of Jksus! pierced, bleeding, torn By utmost woe, for sinners meekly borne. That Heart of deepest Love, whereon but now Thy loved Apostle leaned his weary brow. Heart of Sorrow ! Could the Angels pure Such overpowering weight of grief endure .^ No ! It is Thine alone Thou first-born Son, To suffer, sinless till the Throne is won. " O Heart of Sorrow ! Sorrow's heart to heal ; Oh Thorn-crowned Brow I before Thee crowns sliall kneel Oh crimson Tears ! Grief's tears to chase away ; Oh loving Eyes I that turn our night to day ; Oh Christ! King ! on Calvary's Cross raised high To agonize that sinners may not die. Thy death our only life, Thy grave the way Thro' which alone we gain Eternal Day. EDWARD EAGLESTONE's SERMON. 49 " Aye to thine own, how glorious Thou art, Still we can find that Rest upon Thine Heart ; Still wrapt in lowly reverence we can gaze Till all Thy Beauty shall our souls amaze. Enthroned art Thou now, and we can sing In raptured songs, the praises of our King, Can plead wiih other souls, ' oh come with me The altogether lovely One to see.' And none can see, who at a distance keep — No ! near the shadows of Thy Cross we keep, Such, such the shelter, where Thy wondrous Love Is wont to fill the Souls who gaze above. Souls filling with such tender lowliness, As Thou wilt bend e'en from Thy Throne to bless. " O Love ! Faith I Sufi'ering ! Tears ! Portals are ye to Heaven's eternal years. And if at last those golden gates we near, May it indeed be His dear Voice we hear Saying, ' Redeemed one, pardoned and forgiven. Thro' all my paixs, I bid you enter Heayex.' " Love that passeth knowledge ! sweet it is. Precious past language, infinite in bliss. That Brow, now crowned with iridescent gems, — That Head, — now raised above all Diadems, — That Heart, oh blessed truth I It changeth never, 'The same both yesterday, to-day, for ever.' " As Mr. Midlothian ceases, a low murmur of thanks is heard, and then, even as they speak, the warning voice of St. Saviourh striking ten o'clock reminds the party it is time to wish each other good night, and so they separate. CHAPTEE lY. ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. DEUS CUNCTA REGIT. " lo Triumphe ! for Truth is the Victor, Ring out the joy-bells, from hearth and from home, The voice of the Nation uniteth as Lietor To strike out the Atheist's name from its tone. *' lo Triumphe ! All voices united Liberal and Tory, who care for their land, — Care for the Altar fires, whereon were plighted Unions the strongest, of Heart and of Hand. *' lo Triumphe I Let Uniox for ever Remain firm and true, 'twixtthe Church and the State; Ne'er the ALMIGHTY'S GREAT NAME, will we sever From all that makes England so powerful and great." A BIT 0' LAND. " I hear thee speak of a bit o' land, And a cow for every labouring hand ; Tell me, dear mother, where is that shore ? Where shall I find it and work no more ? Is it at home, this unoccupied ground, "Where the acres three and a cow are found ? Is it where pheasants and partridges breed, Or in fields where the farmer is sowing his seed ? Or upon the moors, so cold and grand I shall find this bit of arable land ? " " Not there, not there, my Giles." " Is it far away on the Rio Grande, In Zululand or Basutoland ? Is it far away on forbidden shores Where Unicorns fight and the Lion roars ? ALFRED COPPLESTOXE OX TEMPERANCE. 51 Or will it in Soudan be found, Where English bones manure the ground ? Or on the banks of ancient Nile ? 'Perhaps tis on some coral isle, With dusky groves and silver strand ; Is it there, dear mother, that bit o' land r " "Xot there, not there, my Giles." " Eye hath not seen that fair land, my child. Ear hath but heard an echo wild, The nightmare of an excited brain, That dreamers have, like Chamberlain. Far, far away beyond the ken Of sober, practical business men, — Far, far away beyond the sight Of men whose heads are screwed on right, — Where castles in the air do stand, Behold the cow and the bit o' land, 'Tis there, 'tis there, my Giles." (Author Vnknoivn.J Alfred Copplestone is now a medical student at one of the London Hospitals, and has entered with o^reat zeal into his work. Whatever Ally does is always thoroughly done. He is now canying on a raid against drink, and I must say his relatives get rather tired of his constant conversation on the subject. Go where he will, Ally is always preaching total abstinence. He says the moderate drinkers do more harm than the habitual drunkard. The latter is such a disgraceful object men turn away from him in disgust, but the moderate drinker, the man who says a glass or two does him good, is the more dangerous enemy to temperance of the two. 52 FROLIC. But even he, Ally argues, is injuring his health, if he only takes a little, he is still opening the door to the insicluous thief, and "a thief it is indeed," says Ally; ^'it steals away from us all that makes life worth having — the love of our friends, the wish to do our duty, the hope of Salvation." '^Oh, Ally! do stop," cries Margery. Our boys and girls are taking an early saunter about Scardeburge. ^* Here comes Mr. Euthven ! " ''It strikes me Euthven always does turn up when you appear out of doors, Margery, but as far as Euthven is concerned he hates drink as much as I do. Look at all those bottles in that window," exclaims the young enthusiast, pointing to an hotel they are passing. " What are they labelled, brandy, whiskey, gin, rum, Hollands? Do you know their real names ? Insan- ity, suicide, murder, death, and hell ! At least so Bishop Hall, I believe, labelled them. And as for those hogsheads of beer, they are well named hogs-heads, for no one but a hog would put such stuff inside them. I should like to roll them all down Scardeburge into the sea." "Eeally, Ally, you are dreadful this morning," exclaims Frolic, " can't you forget the subject ALPRED COPPLESTOXE ON TEMPERANCE. 53 even for a moment." '^ I am not likely to do so, wlien I see such objects as those about," says Ally, as two men come lurching past them, reek- ing of spirits, with watery-looking eyes, and very red noses. "Faugh! how they smell; come away Frolic, let us go on the shore, such sights are not fit for you." So our young people turn down towards the Aquarium, and presently find themselves on the fine sands, edging Scardeburge Bay. # * * * Euthven strolls by Margery's side. There is a reverential tenderness in his manner she is not in the habit of meeting with among her many admirers, who are mostly of the masher type. Margery seems unusually thoughtful, at least for her. "Mr. Euthven, do you think it is wrong to take stimulants?" she asks, half hesitatingly, presently. "Indeed I do," the young clergy- man replies. "Not that I fear I may be led to take too much myself, but I fear to lead others wrong. There are some poor unfortunate creatures. Miss Margery, who say they cannot help taking stimulants Avhen they see others do so, and I will never do anything to make my brother ofi'end. Also, I am firmly convinced 54 FROLIC. that alcohol is perfectly unnecessary, and more than that, a direct poison taken into the system. If the barley that is used to brew beer, were used as grain, it would be of far more service to man. The beer a man pours down his throat is so much good grain wasted, which might have helped to feed his pig or his good wife's poultry, whereas he is simply poisoning himself with it." ^'I never thought it wrong, before I met you, to take a little wine or beer," remarks Margery simply, '' but, if you disapprove of it, I will leave it off," and she looks shyly in his face as she speaks, as if waiting like a j^oung child to be instructed what she ought to do. Margery's new manner is rather bewildering to her friends, she has always been so ready with a saucy reply on her lips. ^' If you are perfectly well in health, I should strongly advise you to take none. A young lady of your bright, merry temperament, needs no stimulant. I have been writing a short tale, on temperance, I intend publishing, I should like to read to you." The young girl eagerly agrees, and he pauses and takes a roll of foolscap paper out of his pocket, and suggests to Margery that they should sit down on a rock near the shore, ALFRED COPPLESTOXE ON TEMPERANCE. 55 Spreading his plaid over it. the young clergyman helps her to the summit, no great distance, where she seats herself, and he places himself beside her. Presently the others join them, and Euthven commences with a few prefatory remarks. ^^Avonfield," he says, ''is intended for my father's parish. The names are of course all fictitious, but the tale is mainly founded on fact. My father is, I must tell you, still living at our old Eectory, where I, and nine brothers and sisters, were all born. I came north and took my degree at Durham, as my father was not rich enough to send me to the Universities of Oxford or Cambridge, and as Canon Beverley offered me a title, I came to Scardeburge, and I have never regretted doing so, it is a beautiful place, and full of kind-hearted Christian people." " Now for the tale, Euthven," says Ally, im- patiently. He is as anxious to hear the opinions of a man so well-known to be dead against drink, as is a war-horse to join in the battle. "My little friend, Margery, is an authoress," Ally continues, patronisingly, " and she is en- couraged in her ambitious designs of still further bewildering the minds of an already surfeited novel- reading public by no less a person than 56 FROLIC. the celebrated Williara Black, the author of ^A Princess of Thule ' ; to my mind the most charming book that ever was written." Euthven looks surprised, and the blush on Margery's face deepens, and she shyly turns away and pretends to be looking out on the sea at a large homeward-bound steamer. '' I am very glad to hear you write," he remarks, ^' it is such a nice occupation, only don't let it get too great a hold upon you. Composition sometimes becomes such absorbing work that one is apt to forget the realities of life in dreamy selfishness." ^' Go ahead, Euthven, and do stop all that moralising," cries Bertie; '^you and Margery can moralise to your hearts content afterwards." Thus urged, Euthven proceeds to read his tale, which he calls — AVONFIELD : A Village Eomance. " Only a step to Jesus I Then why not take it now F Come, and thy sin confessing, To Him, thy Saviour, bow. " Only a step, only a step ; Come, He waits for thee ; Come and thy sin confessing, Thou shalt receive a blessing : ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 57 Do not reject the mercy He freely offers thee. " Only a step to Jesus ! Believe and thou shalt live : Lovingly now He's -waiting And ready to forgive. " Only a step to Jesus I A step from sin to grace : "What has thy heart decided ? The moments fly apace. " Only a step to Jesus I Oh ! why not come and say — Gladly to Thee, my Saviour, I give myself away." Sacred Songs and Solos. A country wedding is a pretty sight enough when the bride and bride2:room are both Youno? and prepossessing, and surely the sun never shone on a bonnier young couple than Eichard Penrose and his pretty little bride Pattie. as they left the village church arm in arm, followed by their friends, after plighting their troth at the altar, while the bells rang out a merry peal overhead. The kind white-haired Yicar, who had known them both from childhood, had spoken words of good advice to them as to their future conduct in life, and had supplemented it with a a handsome present, to commence housekeeping w^ith. What then is there to prevent their leading a God-fearing, useful, happy and con- tented life ? Nothing it seems to me. 68 FROLIC. Both have been well brought up. Eichard is the village blacksmith's only son, and as steady a young fellow as ever stepped, though, perhaps, in his bachelor days, he may have occasionally joined in a rollicking song, and an undoubtedly questionable glass of beer at the ale-house, The Cat and Fiddle. But now he is married, he has promised Pattie never to set foot in it again, for Pattie has been brought up a teetotaller by her parents. Her father is the clerk and sexton of the parish, and a very worthy old man. So long has he been accustomed to be with the Yicar, that he has copied his very walk and speech. So that being a tall fine-looking man, strangers have sometimes believed that Isaac Bevan was his Reverence himself; a mistake that very much gratified the old gentleman, who thought more of the Yicar than he did of the Queen. A God-fearing man is Isaac Bevan. Never in his life has he murmured at God's holy will. His faith is simple belief in His wisdom and mercy, without whose permission not a sj)arrow falls to the ground. And yet Isaac has had many and sad losses in his family. A long row of graves in the village churchyard tell where ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 59 seven beautiful children, the darlings of his heart, lie buried; truly a sad and sorrowful sight ! And yet, as Isaac passes those little graves Sunday after Sunday, on his way to divine worship, only a low murmured prayer escapes his lips, Thy Jiohj will he done. Carefully has Pattie, the only remaining child, been trained at home. Her mother, a brisk, cheerful, lively little woman, has taught her everything a girl should know, but the lesson the good and dutiful daughter has learnt best, is — Honour thy father and thy mother, Mrs. Bevan has taught Pattie to bake and cook, to thoroughly clean and scour the house, to make the household linen, not to speak of the father's shirts, and her own and her mother's clothes. (Mr. Bevan gets his best Sunday broad- cloth suit at the village tailor's, Henry Spicer's, a very worthy man, and a great crony of the clerk's. For more than forty years has he dealt with him, and never had cause to grumble at the fit of his coat. And every fine summer evening they smoke their pipes together and have a chat about the village politics.) To-day there has been a wedding in the tailor's family. His son Roger has married the 60 FROLIC. miller of Avonfield's daughter. Avonfield is a neighbouring village, and anyone standing on the bridge crossing the Avon which divides the two parishes, might hear the more distant sound of Avonfield church bells chiming in with those of Carlington. The wedding has taken place in Avonfield, as the millers of that village and their families have always been married in their own parish for centuries, as the register can testify. It has been agreed that the two young couples should spend their honeymoon at the neighbour- ing fishing village of Lulworth, some ten miles distant. An aimt of Pattie's keeps the Cotv Inn^ and has kindly invited them to come there for a short time, and they have gladly agreed to do so. Pattie and Rosalind have been play- mates and schoolfellows together, but Rose has been brought up to think a good deal of herself. She is not so frugal-minded as Pattie, and I fear will not make Roger so good a wife as Pattie will her husband. But let us hope for the best. They are very young those four, who have to- day entered into matrimony, and no doubt they are beginning their fresh life intending to do their duty to each other. Two pretty neigh- ALFEED COPPLESTOXE ON TEMPERANCE. 61 bouring cottages have been taken in Avonfield by the young husbands, and comfortably furnish- ed by their parents, supplemented by the vicar's useful, Avell-timed present. And here we again meet them after a fort- night's sojourn at the quaint old fishing village. And now let us take a glance at both homes. Pattie's is simply and prettily furnished. The cottage has a nice garden surrounding it. In the beds on either side the gravel path, leading from the wicket gate to the cottage door, are lovely roses, lilies, lavender, sweet-williams, and bushes of sweet-briar, making the air delicious with their fragrance ; and a scent of new mown hay comes from a freshly-mown meadow at the back of the house, where Eichard has been working since dawn, with a lad he has hired to help him to get in the crop. His young wife is sitting at her needlework at the open lattice window of the kitchen, busily plying her needle, but often she pauses in her work, to look up at her handsome young husband. Her eyes are luminous with the deepest, tenderest love for him, a love that ever grows stronger and stronger as the days fly swiftly by. Many a good and holy resolution to do her duty to him does Pattie make. Constantly 62 FROLIC. are lier prayers raised to the Mercy Seat that she may be guided to do her best to make their lives so pure on earth that they may be fitted to live for ever in heaven with the Saviour. Nor does Eichard feel less afi'ection for his sweet little wife than he did. He seems to have undergone a complete change. His thoughts are now constantly dwelling on his future life, and he determines to lay by all he can for his dear little woman, as he inwardly terms her, so that there may be something to always fall back on, should either of them be laid up. Eichard has a small farm — he is a tenant of Sir Everard Morgan's, the squire of Avonfield — aud he works hard on his land all day long. Pattie, for her part, has the house in complete order. She and her husband have consulted together and have decided to lay out the Vicar's gift in groceries and such other things as they may want from time to time, so as to avoid running up a bill at the village shop, a ruinous practice, as good Mrs. Pincher generally makes her paying customers make up the deficiency in her till occasioned by non-paying ones, who do not know from one week's end to another how much they owe her, — a fatal practice usually ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 63 ending in ruin. ^'N'eYer have a debt, Pattie, lass," her father had said to her, and Pattie deter- mined she never would. So she had taken the Yicar's ten pounds, and carefully and thoughtfully laid some of the money out at the excellent Co-operative Stores in the neighbouring county- town of Dormer. The rest she had placed in the savings bank in case of sickness. So you see the young wife was thoughtful beyond her years. Her house was neatness itself. She had a large airy kitchen, from the rafters of which hung huge sides of bacon and bags of herbs ; a pretty, cheeiiul parlour, at the open window of which now peeped the cabbage and moss roses, trained against the wall ; a good sized scullery and wash-house, dairy and larder, completed the lower storey. Upstairs were four good bedrooms, the largest of which the young couple occupied ; a second was used by the lad, William Wilson, and two of the others were let, one as a bedroom, the other as a sitting-room, to a young lady, who had come to reside in the village for her health. Miss Elizabeth Bentley by name. Her brother was the Yicar of Dormer, and she usually lived with him, but her doctor had recommended country air. With what she paid, Pattie was 64 FROLIC. enabled to keep the family in comfort, for Miss Bentley was well to do, and had brought her pony phaeton with her, and Kichard had made one of the cart horses' stalls comfoi'table for Friskey, the fat piebald pony, which the lad looked after. The family group was completed by two beautiful dogs, a fine collie belonging to Pattie, and a very handsome spaniel called Frolic^ a great pet of his mistress's. So much for Kichard and Pattie' s married life at present. Now I must turn to the other and more pretentious looking cottage which Eosalind chooses to designate TJie Lodge. Always a showy girl and fond of dress, she is now bent on associating with the well-to-do farmers, and she even aspires to knowing Dr. Phillij)'s wife, a fashionable lady, much given to dress and tennis. Poor Eosalind's one aim and object being to raise herself and her husband to a different position to what they have ever been accustomed to, her mind is constantly dwelling on the best means of doing so. Already the Vicar's present has been squandered in clothes far too fine for her position, and smart furniture, which looks entirely out of place in the cottage, for call it what she will it is nothing more. Her husband ALFRED rOPPLESTOXE ON TEMPERANCE. G5 is quite weary of hearing the grand names mentioned belonging to the county gentry she is not in the least likely to know as friends, though they may perhaps come to inquire for butter, poultry, or eggs. There is no comfort in Eose's house. There is never a meal ready for the young man, when he comes home tired and hungry from the field. Often does poor Eoger sigh from the depths of his heart at his wife's folly, and he wishes he had thought twice before marrying her, for she is no help meet for him. He looks with envy at Eichard and Pattie's happy, if humble home, where love reigns supreme. Lately, as the months pass by, there is a look of proud love in that young husband's eyes as they dwell on his wife, for his dearest wishes will, before very long, be fulfilled^ — his Pattie is likely to become a mother — and he longs for the time when he shall hold their child in his arms. The Cat and Fiddle never receives Eichard now. Everything he can save he does for the little one that is coming. But alas, Eose has made her home so wretchedly miserable, that oftener and oftener do Eoger's steps take him there out of 66 FROLIC. the miserable dirty-fine home, where there never is any comfort. Alas for the family's happiness, when the husband is constantly in the beerhouse, and the wife lying on a sofa, half- dressed, reading a fast novel. She had far better be up and about her household duties, making the cheese or churning the butter, baking the bread, or making good meat pies for her husband to take out to the field with him. Eoger, under the miserable influences of his wretched home, was rapidly becoming a drunkard ; more than once was he seen staggering home at night, the worse for liquor. The more respectable neighbours were beginning to look shy of him, while the curate, Mr. Gordon, had called more than once to re- monstrate with him and Eose too, on their foolish conduct. The curate would have lodged with them, but Eose was far too lazy to attend to him, so he went elsewhere, and she lost what would have been a nice little income for her. At the end of three years Eoger found himself involved in debt by his wife's extravagance, cursed by a slatternly, peevish wife, his only comfort his infant girl, a lovely, rosy little darling. ALFRED mpPLESTOXE OX TEMrERAXCE. 67 Poor man, he was indeed to be pitied, but who couki have supposed that the miller's smart daughter would turn out so badly. Pdchard and Pattie had now become the parents of twins, a boy and girl; two as lovely, healthy, and beauti- ful children as one often sees. Eose considered her child a burden, and almost hoped for its death; not so Eichard and Pattie, they took a pride in their fine babes, to whom Miss Bentley had consented to stand god-mother. ]\Ir. Gordon was god-father, and both took the liveliest interest in the young family. Eichard has man- aged to save a tidy sum, and after paying the rent and all other expenses, he is able to add to his account at the Savings Bank. # * * # As time passes on, the difference in the lives and conduct of the two young couples, who were married in their respective churches on the same day, is still more marked. Alas, that I should have to say it, not only Eoger but Eose has become that most deplorable and awful object on earth, the habitual drunJcard. Eose's cruel neglect of her innocent infant has caused its death, so she has now, if she has any conscience left, the fearful sin on her mind, the 68 FROLIC. murder, for I can call it nothing else, of that most precious gift of God, her babe. It met "with its death in a cruel manner. Eose had been washing, for she and her husband had gone so swiftly down the hill to ruin, they now kept no servant. Tired with the hard work — she had allowed the soiled linen to accumulate for six weeks — she had had recourse to that most danger- ous of all the Devil's weapons, Brandy. During the day she had drunk a pint and a half of it, yet, so accustomed was she to the hideous poison, she was still able to continue her work, though her flushed face and unsteady gait showed she was in imminent danger of having a seizure. Her awful condition was aggravated by the hot steam of the wash tub, over which she had been bending all the morning and afternoon. At length she was too stupid to stand upright, and, having staggered across the room after, as she thought, taking her wailing child from the cradle, she had sunk into a chair by the fireside, where she continued in a sort of half- drunken sleep for several hours. Her husband, who had been forced to give up the farm (Sir Everard Morgan would allow none of his land to remain in the hands of drunkards) ALFRED COPPLESTONK OX TEMPERANCE. 69 was now employed as a shepherd by farmer Winfrith, so the wretched woman was alone. The hours stole on, the night grew colder and colder, the fire had gone out. A spider spun his web across the wash-tub, the mice squeaked merrily in the wainscot, the cricket chirped on the hearth, and a still more ominous ''tick, tick," was heard, that of the little beetle, popularly known as the death-watch. So the hours passed on. But the infant in the cradle, who has been wailing for hours unheeded by Eose, who has become completely stupified by drink, is silent. It is a bitter night, the snow lies three feet deep on the ground; the thermometer stands at 40 in the wretched, drink-smelling den, Eose in- habits. Drunk as she is she is still holding the bundle of clothes (she lifted houi's ago from the cradle) on her knee, evidently believing it to be her child. * * * * But a white-robed seraph has been command- ed to visit that household, and he has borne away the Saviour's little lamb, to rest for ever in Our Blessed Lord's bosom. The Angel of Death has come and gone with his precious burden, a sinless soul. 70 FKOLIC. " Tender Shepherd, Thou hast stilled Now Thy little lamb's brief weeping ; Oh, how peaceful, pale and mild, In its narrow bed 'tis sleeping, And no sigh of anguish sore Heaves that little bosom more. " In a world of pain and care. Lord, Thou wouldst no longer leave it ; To Thy meadows, bright and fair. Lovingly Thou dost receive it ; Clothed in robes of spotless white. Now it dwells with Thee in light. " Ah, Lord Jesu, grant that we There may live where it is living, And the blissful pastures see. That its heavenly food are giving ; Lost awhile our treasured love, Gained for her, safe above." The wretched druukeu mother sleeps on, uu- conscious of her loss, till at dawn Roger returns from the sheep-fold and quietly opens the cottage door. He is thinking of his dear little maid, whom he hopes to find rosy and bright in her cradle, the onl}' one sunny creature in his wretched home. In fancy he lifts the little one from its cradle, kisses its soft rosy face, its cherry lips, twines one golden curl round his rough fingers, hears her lisp -^Daddie," the only word she has learnt to say. The father softly smiles at the thought of the little cherub's greeting as he lifts the latch and enters the room. But oh, God I What awful sight meets his eye? With ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TEMPERANCE. 71 one loud cry of bitterest anguish Eoger flings himself down by the cradle, where the dead child lies, and lifting it up, he vainly tries to restore it to life. Alas, alas! the little limbs are cold and stiff, the mouth is set in pain, the little lips are half parted as if a cry of anguish, her last cry, poor bairn, had been for ^^Daddie." The poor father had little thought that while he was keeping the new-born sucklings alive in the shepherd's hut, close to a warm peat fire, his own precious infant was literally dying of cold. Frozen to death, while its brutal mother (a disgrace to the name) slept in a drunken sleep, her stertorous breathing alone proclaiming she lived! Oh God, what an awakening hers will be ! But yet there may he time for repentance ! Eoger gathers his dead child in his bosom, and taking up a blanket he wraps it round little Eose, and leaves the cottage. With faltering, unsteady step, the wretched man bears his terrible burden to Pattie's neighbouring home, (a home where peace and love have their dwelling), and knocks at the door. Pattie has been up all night with one of her little girls, who is down with measles, and who has taken it rather badly. She opens the door 72 FROLIC. with a wondering expression on her face, which changes to deepest sympathy as she sees the awful grief written in plain letters on Eoger's. Without a word she lifts his burden from his arms, and carries it gently upstairs, laying it in an empty cot by the side of the bed in her own room, where one of her children generally sleeps ; but she has sent the little maid awaj^ to a neighbour's for a while, out of the way of infection. She sees poor little Eosie is dead, and, after rousing her husband, she proceeds to lay out the little corpse, while Eichard goes down stairs to see what he can do for the father. Eoger tells him the state his wife is in, and then he thoroughly breaks down, and his heavy sobs almost seem to rend the air. ^'Be a man, Eoger, be a man," says Eichard, after awhile. ^' Come, have some breakfast, you must need it badly enough, and my missis shall go and look after your wife. Poor lass, 'tis indeed a terrible curse she is suffering from, and we must try and rescue her from it." ^' Nay, lad, I'll never go near her again," says Eoger, stubbornly. ''Well, anyhow, we must do our duty, whatever you choose to do, she is your wife still, Eoger, and you should have been her guide. But 'tis no use saying ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TEMPER ANCE. 73 anything to you now, I see, but still, Eoger, you shall hear the truth. If you had given up the Cat and Fiddle as I did, when you married, this trouble would not have come to you; but bow now, with humble submission to the Hand that chastens you, in love, Eoger, believe me, and try and say '' Thy ivill he done^''^ and don't harden your heart. The babe is safe in our Lord's bosom — you canuot wish it back, for oh, my lad, I feared she had sucked in the poison with her mothers milk. You know Eose has not been sober for a long time, and probably the Lord has taken her child in His great mercy, fore- seeing she might have been a drunkard too. Whereas, now she is a white-robed angel, and perhaps her baby lips are pleading for you both at the Mercy Seat." Eoger looks up. '^Nay, Eichard, 'tis too late for me, and for Eosalind, poor lass, we are past praying for." ''^ay, Eoger, nay, do not say that, but kneel with me now, and pray the Holy Spirit, the Comforter, to come to you. 'Tis not too late, there's no such word in the Bible for the penitent; but I read, that, though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as wool, they shall never be mentioned against 74 FKOLIC. thee. Oh, Eoger, give your heart to your blessed Saviour now while he stands and knocks, and surely you will say, ^ Come in, Blessed Lord, and enter there and make it Thy dwelling place.'" The man's sobs are ceasing. The Holy Spirit has indeed entered that heart, never really hardened, but only waiting for the refreshing words to be spoken to it. Eoger is a converted man. Humbly he bows his head in prayer, then accepts Eichard's offer of a meal, and after a wash and brush-up in Eichard's near bedroom, where evidences of Pattie's Christian and refined mind are every- where apparent — in the texts on the walls, the muslin curtains, the neat chintz hangings to the bed, and simply decorated walls of lavender paper with a few scattered lilies on it, all telling of a cultured mind — the men return to Eoger' s home. Let us hope it may yet one day deserve the name. « « * « 'Tis Christmas morn, though both men have forgotten it, but alas, 'tis not the Christmas joy bells which awaken the villagers, but the muffled toll of a bell. The one solemn boom, reverberating through the frosty morning air, tells every mother ALFRED COI'PLESTUNE OX TEMPERANCE. 7o in the A'illage that some neighbour has lost her child, and sends a thrill of grief through each mother's heart, as she tenderly clasps her own babe closer to her bosom, for she does not know but her own child may be taken next. Measles are all over the village, and many an open grave has yawned for its little innocent occupant lately. But soon the truth is known, Eosalind has left her child to perish with cold while she has been sleeping a drunken sleep. The angel of death has come and taken the innocent babe away. But the horror and virtuous indignation in the village passes all bounds. ^^ Beast I wretch I murderer I " are words freely bandied about after the first shock of horror is over. It is a mob of furious women, shouting, screaming, and yelling, who have surrounded Eose's cottage, and had she been still there, would literally have torn her limb from limb, never thinking how often they themselves have gone to the ale house for a jug of beer, they are indeed ready to cast the first stone at Eose I " ^ay, neighbours, look at home," says old mother Brian, a sober Christian widow woman, as she stands at her door ; (she has fetched away Eose to her own cottage and got her to bed, and Dr. 76 FROLIC. Cumberlandj the village doctor, is now sitting by the side of the poor creature who, having stagger- ed to the cradle in search of her dead child, had fallen down in a fit on the floor, and there Pattie had found her foaming at the mouth. Calling Mrs. Brine to her help, she had loosened her clothes, dashed water in her face, and had then run for the doctor, who had just come in from visiting some of the worst cases of measles. He had Eose at once removed to widow Brine's, where he was now attending to her. The woman lies between life and death, and Dr. Cumberland cannot leave her. He hastily scribbles on a piece of paper a message for his partner, Dr. Lawson, to come, and on his arrival the two doctors consult together, and then a third physician is summoned from Dormer, and for hours they fight the angel of death who has now come for Eose). Mrs. Brine tells the cottagers' wives to go home. " Eose has enough to bear without your tongues wagging about the lass. We don't want you here. The first lass who enters my door shall feel the weight of my arm," she says quietly. And Mrs. Brine is no despicable adver- sary. She stands six feet in her stockinged feet, ALFRED COrrLESTONE OX TEMPERANCE. 77 and has an arm as strong as a man's, tliougli over seventy years of age ; and the neighbours fear her tongue, a truly biting weapon. So the women retire somewhat crest-fallen. At seven o'clock at night poor Eose lies in a fearfully exhausted condition on her couch, while two more little souls have entered on this troubled life, a boy and a girl. The doctors have saved the mother's life, but it has been a case of touch and go ; nothing but the greatest care and skill could have saved her, or the babies either. The kind and talented men have done their duty, and bestowed as much attention on poor Eose as if she had been the Queen on her throne. * * * * The children live and thrive. They are the pets of the vicarage, and also of Mr. Gordon, the curate, who has now got a pretty house of his own, where the roses peep in at the latticed window, and where the jessamine and sweet eglantine scent the air with fragrance as they climb over the rustic porch. The villagers wonder whv the curate does not bring a bride home to that pretty cottage, and with theii' accustomed frankness, have more tlian once told him so. 78 FROLIC. But the young man only laughs and shakes his head. '' I have no time to think of marrying, while I have so much work to do in the parish," he laughingly replies, when they make this remark. The twins have been named John and Mary, but are locally known as Johnnie and Poll3\ They are pretty little bairns just able to lisp their little hymns at Eosalind's knee. No longer known as Eose, the drunkard, she is now respect- ed as the neatest and nicest woman in the place, with the exception of her old schoolfellow Pattie. But this reformation was not the work of a moment. It needed all the encouragement and help her sincere old friend, the Vicar, could give her, assisted as he was by the loving offices of her true friends Pattie and Miss Bessie Bentley, (the vicar of Dormer's sister,) and by the Doctors who had saved her life, to effect the change in her, and Eoger too; assisted also by the constant Christian advice of Mr. Gordon, the once wretched home has become the abode of Holy love. The little innocent martyred babe has saved her parents from utter destruction of body and soul, and now there is not a happier couple in the village than Eoger and Eose. A ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TEMPERANCE. 79 white marble cross marks the iAa.ce where baby Eose's body lies awaiting the trumpet's sound, but her soul is in Paradise. She is now a fair angel, walking above in her Father's Courts; and often, as Kose and Eoger stand hand in hand by the little one's grave, they thank God for His mercy. The child's sad death, has opened the gates of Heaven to them. * * * * Five years have passed since the twins were born, and, on a beautiful early summer afternoon, two bonnie bairns are runnino; home from school, hand in hand, singing in their childish trebles one of the hymns their teacher has taught them. What are the wee bairns singing ? Let us listen a moment to their glad young voices. It will probably do us good. " I am so glad that our Father in Heaven, Tells of His love in the book He has given : Wonderful things in the bible I see ; This is the dearest, that Jesus loves me. I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, even me." Ah, dear children, may you long abide in your simple faith, and may we also become as little children, and so become fit for the Kingdom of Heaven. As the sweet lips pronounce the lovely 80 FROLIC. words, surely an angel is pausing to listen to tlie innocent little ones. Presently they continue. " Though I forget Him, and wander away, Still He doth love me, wherever I stray ; Back to His dear loving arms do I flee, When I remember that Jesus loves me. I am so glad that Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, even me. " Jesus loves me, and I know I love him ; Love brought Him down, my poor soul to redeem ; Yes, it was love made Him die on the tree : Oh, I am certain that Jesus loves me ! " ' I am so glad that Jesus loves me, " ' Jesuit loves me, Jesus loves me, even me. " * If one should ask of me how can I tell ; " ' Glory to Jesus, I know very well ! " * God's Holy Spirit with mine doth agree, *' ' Constantly witnessing Jesus lores me. " * I am so glad that Jesus loves me. " ' Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, even me. " * In this assurance I find sweetest rest, " ' Trusting in Jesus, 1 know I am blest ; " ' Satan dismayed, from my soul now doth flee, " ' When I just tell him that Jesus loves me. *' ' I am so glad that Jesus loves me, " ' Jesus loves me, Jesus loves me, even me.' " So sweetly the childish trebles ring on the soft summer air, the holy words pass from out their dewy lips like the song of the nightingale. Surely their Guardian Angel is close to them now, watching over the little ones. Ah, who can look at a child, and not feel some reflex of its innocence pass over his own soul. Many a hardened heart has learnt its first lesson of love ALFRED COPPLESTOXE OX TEXPERAXCE. 81 from a little child. How true our Saviour's words are, '^ Except ye become as little children ye shall in no wise enter the Kingdom of Heaven ;" and yet we read of the most awful cruelty practised on the Lord's lambs by horrid brutal women, for it is oftener they than men that are the sinners. Women, did I say? Nay, rather devils, for no true-hearted woman could injure a little child, of whom the blessed truth has been told, "Their Angels do always behold the face of my Father." These little trots are Eoger's and Eosalind's children, the twins born the evening after her first child's death. They have been carefully trained by their kind teacher. Miss Elwes, who has been schoolmistress for some years now at Avonfield. The old Yicar rejoices in the restoration of Eoger Spicer and his wife Eose to the Christian life they at one time forsook. They are now the staunchest teetotallers in the village. Eoger has endured the scofP of his former companions and the sneers of the would-be pious, who have openly declared that he would again become a backslider. But Eoger perseveres in his steady conduct, and has won a high place in the esteem 82 FROLIC. of the curate, Mr. Gordon, who has taken great pains to keep him firm to his resolve. Eose had been deeply penitent for her sin, and grateful to the kind doctors who had saved her life. And as other blossoms had come to take the place of poor little Eose, it seemed, indeed, as if the child had, by her death, led her parents to the knowledge of Christ. This fine summer evening, Miss Bentley, who has come out to give her dog, Frolic, a run, meets the little ones, and pauses to kiss theii' rosy little faces. "What are you singing, my darlings?" she asks of Johnnie. ''Teacher's new hymn, about Jesus," answers the little fellow; ''I like to sing about Jesus, don't you Miss Bentley?" ''Yes, darling," she says quietly, as she lifts the child in her arms and again kisses him. Elizabeth Bentley is fond of the little ones, and so are they of her — love begets love. Mr. Gordon now joins the group, and with a bright sunny smile shakes Bessie Bentley warmly by the hand, then lifts the little girl in his arms and kisses her sweet little face. Polly seems pleased at her exalted position, and throws one fat dimpled arm round the young ALFRED COPPLESTOXE ON TE:MPERANCE. 83 clergyman's neck. She feels, like all little children, that he loves them, and she is at once at her ease with him. Oh, blessed age of childhood, innocent as the angels, trusting implicitly in its elders' wisdom. Who would not gladly exchange the bitter ex- perience of life for its unshackled freedom ? Eeginald Gordon looks happy enough, though. Is it that the clever, scholarly man, has still kept his heart as pure as a child's, brave and manly though he is ? The group make a pretty picture as they stand there, with the sunlight quivering across them, under the shade of the trees. Bessie feels perfectly happy, and wishes she might never be obliged to bid Avonfield, and her kind counsellor, farewell. For during the last five years they have both worked together for the good of the parish, and have materially assisted the good Yicar in his ministrations. He calls them his children. The dear old man has none of his own living. His only daughter became a victim to that fell disease Consumption, at eighteen, and a white marble cross marks the spot where she rests " Asleep in Jesus." And his son. Major Richards, was shot down by the side of 84 FKOLIC. General S in that cruel Indian massacre, in 1858. But the Yicar does not grieve as one without hope. He knows his own time is near- ing its appointed end, and he is as cheerful as if his children were at his side. He still has his dear old wife, "his sweetheart" — that dear old English word — as he calls her. * * * * There is a special light on Eeginald Gordon's face to-day. This morning the Yicar has told him that he finds he is getting old, so he has placed his resignation in the hands of the Bishop, with an intimation of his wish that Gordon should be his successor ; and Gordon has by the second post received a note from Bishop Hamil- ton, an old friend both of the Vicar's and of his father's— General Eolf Gordon— that he will be presented to the living, of which the Bishop is patron, if he chooses. This is the reason Eeginald Gordon looks so happy. He has long loved Bessie, but poverty has compelled him to conceal his affection. Now he is free to disclose his passion, free to try and win her love. They make a bonnie pair indeed, as they stroll onwards into Lee Wood, celebrated for its prim- ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TEMPERANCE. 85 roses, whicli carpet the earth between the boles of the beeches, larches, oaks, and firs. The wood is one of the most beautiful in England, and is well-known to artists, who come over from Weymouth and Swanage to sketch the neighbour- hood. It is full of beautiful clips and dells, where Titania might have held her court with Oberon before they quarrelled about the little changeling boy. I can almost fancy I see Titania among her fairy elves and maids of honour, send- ing them on their various commissions, ere she falls in love with Bottom, the weaver — ass's head and all. How often have not many of us done the same, taking for our idol some very common delft, and trying to persuade ourselves it is genuine Crown Derby, with the crown and dagger burnt into it, till we discover, all of a sudden, it is full of Haws and cracks, and does not ring true. * * * * The blue-bells cover the ground like a pui'ple carpet. " It seemed the heaven uplifting through the earth," as Tennyson poetically expresses it. I think he must have seen Lee Wood when he wrote those lines. The soft deep green mosses rise in little hillocks at the base of the beeches, 86 FROLIC. looking so inviting, Eeginald suggests to Bessie that they shall seat themselves, while the bairnies run hither and thither gathering the j^rimroses, hyacinths, and wild anemonies, of which the neighbouring coppice is full. The delicate lovely blossoms of pinky-white remind Gordon of the blush on Bessie's cheek. The soft fluty note of the blackbird occasionally breaks the silence ; then the harsh jarring cry of the jay, and the more distant "coo, coo" of the wood pigeon and the "peewit's" call are heard, echoed back through the wood from the birds skimming over the bog, where the cotton grass flourishes, and bows its white downy head as the breeze, laden with the delicious perfume of the wild briar, honey-suckle, and thyme passes over it, and floats softly across to where our young lovers are seated. Gordon has not spoken a word to Bessie, but has j)laced the Bishop's letter in her hands- She reads it, with a blush of surprise and delight on her sweet face at her friend's pro- motion. She had long known the dear old Yicar intended resigning, but had not grieved about it, knowing he still intended living at the Courts an old manor house which belong- ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 87 ed to Sir Everard Morgan, and Tvhich had been for some time to let. When she had finished it she raised her frank, trusting gray eyes to his. "I am so glad," she says simply, " as no^ you will remain with us always. I feared you might have to leave if a living were offered you." '• Would you have been sorry, Miss Bentley ? " he says. And he looks in her face, as if anxious for her answer. ''But, even if I had left, would you not have come with me ? Oh, Bessie, do you not know how much I love you ? That my hope has been that you will be my own dear wife ? Will you, dear girl ? " Bessie blushes, but raises her honest eyes to his, and he reads the truth in them. Bending forward he encircles her with his arm, and presses a tender kiss on her soft blushing face. But, I think it is bad form to write about so true and beautiful a feeling as that which is in both their hearts. To those who have felt it I need not tell the tale; to those who are yet in ignorance, let them take my advice, and enter the enchanted land themselves. I only stipulate that their love should be wisely bestowed, and they will find that their life is now complete. 88 FROLIC. and wonder that they ever lived without it. The bairns are lying asleep at Bessie's feet, while hand in hand she and Gordon talk of the past, present, and future. A stranger might almost have fancied it was a family group he looked upon, if he came suddenly down one of the woodland drives towards them. Presently an aged couple are seen approach- ing, and Gordon at length removes his fine dark eyes from his sweetheart's pretty downcast face, to see that it is the Yicar and his wife. The dear old people have taken in the situation at a glance, and coming up with a kindly smile on both their withered faces, warmly congratulate theii' dear young friends. Gordon springs up and makes Mrs. Eichards take his seat. The roots of the old beech tree make quite an arm chair in which he gently places her. The Vicar sits down beside his wife, and Gordon stretches his long length at their feet, and so the group is complete. The evening draws to a close ; the stars come twinkling out, the new moon rises in her beauty, and shines down on the lovers and aged pair, and on the lovely little children. Their hearts are all equally child-like, these six mortals in the ALFRED COPPLESTOXE ON TEMPERANCE. 89 wood; and it seems as if angels were spreading their white wings over them protectingly, as a group of silver birches stand a little beyond them, on a knoll or hillock of turf, their white stems, and lace-like branches, shining in its silvery rays. Presently a nightingale begins to sing, undisturbed by the low murmur of their voices, and the summer-lamb's mysterious bleat is heard as he hovers overhead. So still is the night you can now and then hear a trout jump- ing out of the trickling brook after the May-fly. ''What a lovely night," says Mrs. Richards, presently "it seems almost like heaven." ^' Aye, indeed," responds the white-haired Yicar. "But, my dear, it is because the King- dom of Heaven is within us. A bad man would not enjoy all this beauty anymore than he would feel happy in the abode of the blessed, unless his heart were changed through Christ's all-merciful loving kindness." And the dear old man bows his white head as he speaks, on which the snows of eighty winters have rested. "Bat, I think, we should be moving. Come Gordon. Bessie, love, it is time we were all home." The young people spring up, and Gordon reverently ofl:ers his arm to the dear old lady. 00 FROLIC. while Bessie clings to the Vicar's, and so they wencl their way homeward. And, after leaving the little ones with their parents at Myrtle Cottage (the term lodge has long since been altered to the more suitable appellation, for the pretty home of Eosalind and Eoger is embow- ered in myrtle), thej^ adjourn to the Vicar's dining room and special sanctum. Bessie is staying with her old friends. Supper is laid on the snowy cloth, and our young friends are not sorry to partake of it, for they had been too absorbed in each other to remember they had not dined, though Bessie had not forgotten to give the children the milk and cake she had brought out in a basket for her own light repast. She had come out intend- ing to sketch the beautiful ferns with which Lee Wood abounds, and so a delighful evening draws to a close. # « « « A month later Gordon and Bessie are married, and, after a brief honeymoon, commence their new life at the Vicarage, and may Heaven prosper them there. Such is the wish of all their friends, and each parishioner is counted as such by Gordon and Bessie. ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 91 Mr. Euthven pauses, and our young people thank him warmly for his tale. It has taught Margery something. She begins to read between the lines, and understand her new acquaintance more thoroughly than she did. His is a nature, worth studying too, as pretty Margery has discovered. Earnest, thorough and sincere, though passionate and intense, is Tregelles Euthven' s nature. He never does things by halves. He loves Margery with all the strength of a manly character. He is not blind to her faults, but these he hopes to correct by the very force and depth of his affection for her. Her tlirting Avith the young fellows, her companions, Ally, Bertie, and Athol bring in to Mrs. Grim- shaw's house (Patience's landlady, and a chemist's widow), is a source of great and real anxiety to him. It is this which makes him hesitate to ask her to be his bride. Though, if he only knew the truth, he would learn that Margery's heart is all his own. Her unwonted shyness proves this to be the case. For who ever knew pretty Margery to be shy and bashful before. But she certainly has unconsciously added a lovely and charming embellishment to her character, and so Euthven thinks. 92 FROLIC. Alice Brice, who has arrived at Scardeburge, and is staying with Mrs. Bruce, has strolled out with the party on Herbert Bruce' s arm. Being blind, she cannot safely walk out alone, although she finds her way about the village and house at Avondale. She is now called upon for a recitatioD, and, after some slight hesitation, she recites the following lines, found- ed on an incident Patience has told her of. She and her landlady had gone for a walk in the winter, just after the heaviest fall of snow, which made Scardeburge look like a place recently subjected to a heavy siege, so strange appeared the deep trenches made by throwing up the snow on either side the road, to clear a way for traffic. Their steps unconsciously led them to the Cemetery — one of the most beautiful spots in Scardeburge — and here they sauntered among the graves and beautiful marble and red granite monuments for some time. The winter aconite was seen here and there forcing its way through the snow, its deep yellow blossoms forming a strange contrast to the pure white of the unsullied snow. On the marble crosses icicles glittered in the sun, reminding one of the tears of the mourners, congealed by the ALFRED roprLF.STOXE OX TE:>rrERANrT,. 93 hardships and unkindness of a cruel \vorkl, from Avhich their fondly loved ones have been merci- fully removed to dwell where ''sorrow and sighing shall be no more, and God shall Himself wipe awav all tears from CA'ery eye." "Ah," Patience had thought, "would she were there also, where her beloved, Eobert, had found rest in the bosom of the Blessed Saviour." The gardeners had been clipping the ivy, and a quantity of the beautiful variegated red and green leaves and tendrils lay scattered about on the grass, and gravel road. Mrs. Grimshaw, a great lover of plants and flowers, stooped to gather some, while little Eobert, delighted to be out after his enforced imprisonment in doors, ran hither and thither, unchecked by his fond aunt, who rejoiced to see his rosy cheeks kissed by the warm rays of the sun, which was shining brilliantly. Presently the child ran towards some tin crosses, which had been thrown aside on the beds under a wall near the greenhouses, which ^ stood near it, and, shortly after. Patience was surprised to find the child rushing back to her in the deepest distress. " What is it darling ? " she cried. " Oh, 'ee poor 'ickle bird, dead in 'toss," lisped the baby boy, while tears rolled 94 FROLIC. down his cheeks, and as he spoke he dragged her towards the place where the tin cross lay, and here she found a dead thrush. It had evidently taken refuge in the cross from the cold, and here the poor little creature had died. Its body was inside the tin receptacle for flowers, its head and beak just resting on the edge. Patience's eyes filled with tears, as she lifted the dead bird up and carried it to one of the gardeners, who dug a small grave, which Eobert lined with the ivy, on being convinced by his aunt that '' poor 'ickle birdie " was dead ; and the bird being placed in it, the little hole was soon filled up, and a flower planted on the grave by the good-natured young gardener, who told Patience he had several children of his own, and the '^ Missis " often brought them to run about in the Cemetery while he was at work. Patience had told Alice this little history, and the latter had written a short poem on the incid- ent she now recited to our party. THE FROZEX THRUSH. *' Oh, litUe bird, thou art an antitype, A sweet and gentle antitype of those Who soaring high, give precious notes ; And last seek here their close. ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TE:MPERANCE. 95 " Hbre, at the Cross, thy innocent small wing Quiet resteth softly still, As if surrendered to His bleeding love, His gentle will. " Eest, little bird, thy day of life is done. Thy beating heart must cease, But Our eternal life hath but begun. ** Oh I may it soar towards Him, Our life, our sun, And sing His glory, whilst its rivers run, Making earth's sunshine brighter. And its shade soft, "With His peace." While our young people are thanking the blind girl for her song, for she has given the poem in recitative, Ally, who has been for some moments looking intently towards the summit of the cliff, from which a steep flight of steps lead to the sea, suddenly exclaims, ''I believe that is Florance Copplestone, standing at the top of the cliff, on the Esplanade, just beyond the tramway incline. "Look, Bertie, I am sure it is Florance," " Yes, by Jove," cry all the other boys simult- aneously, and off they dash helter-skelter across the sands to the foot of the cliff', down which a young fellow is seen hurrying. As he reaches the foot, having sprung down with the agility of a Swiss goat, the boys join him in a breathless condition, and nearly pull the young man to pieces with their boisterous greeting. 96 FROLIC. It is, indeed, Florance Copplestone, who has come to England to see the Indian and Colonial Exhihition, after an absence of five years. Flor- ance is a handsome sun-burnt young fellow, with a frank good-tempered countenance, burnt to the colour of brick dust with constant exposure to the sun and breezes of the Eed Sea and Suez Canal, in his voyages as Mail Agent between Bombay and Aden. He has a splendid and powerful figure, stands some five feet eleven and a half inches in his stockings, and looks all there^ most decidedly. He has fine blue eyes, and beautiful white teeth, which as he is generally smiling, (or grinning like a Cheshire cat, as the boys politely inform him), he shows frequently. He is half Irish, with all the impulsiveness of the Irish character, and his friends say he is in a chronic state of love for the last pretty face he sees. But Florance declares this is a libel ; he admires every English woman, they all look charming after the washed out, not to say jaundiced-complexioned girls he has been in the habit of seeing for the last five years, in the ''Land of the Sun." Florance is warmly greeted by all the party, where surprise at his sudden appearance may be imagined. Euthven is introduced to him by ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 97 Frolic, and the two young men shake hands heartily. Euthven has heard a good deal about young Copplestone, who has recently distinguish- ed himself in Egypt, and has just obtained a Government Appointment in India, as some acknowledgment of his gallantry. This has partly brought him home to see his Chief, and also his father and the rest of his people. Our friends now saunter homewards, and Euthven and Margery, who still stroll side by side, discuss tin and the others. side, discuss the tale the former has read to her "It is an almost ideal picture of happiness you have drawn, Mr. Euthven, where two people so thoroughly become one in every thought and feeling, as both Eichard and Pattie, and your own parents. I suppose Mr. Gordon and Bessie are intended for the latter," Margery remarks presently. ''I had my parents in my thoughts when I wrote the tale, and also my dear old Dorset home," Euthven replies. "The incidents of the tale are mainly true, and the two couples whose 98 FROLIC. history I have told are still living, and have brought their children up well, I am glad to say. Poor Eosalind never relapsed into drunk- enness again. The loss of her child was an awful blow, but the lesson, though terribly severe, was for her ultimate good. She is now as worthy a woman as any in the parish." " Yours must be a charming home. These modern socialistic ideas have probably not reached Avoniield yet," says Margery, presently. "Well, I am afraid the seeds of discontent, so vigorously sown by the radical party, are penetrating even our small hamlet. The labour- ers are beginning to grumble at their lot, though if they only knew it their lives are far happier and freer from care than the artisans in a town such as Scardeburge, where house rent is so high, and rates and taxes have to be met somehow, whether the mechanic is out of work or not. Nor do the townspeople get cared for as the labouring man and his family are in a village, where the clergyman of the parish knows every individual, and is acquainted with each one's necessities, and often ministers to them liberally out of his own ALFRED COPPLESTONE ON TEMPERANCE. 99 pocket. If their wages are low, approximately they are really higher than the artisans. They have no house rent to pay, or at most a com- fortable cottage with large garden is only one shilling a week; then there are diiferent clubs for their benefit, generally subscribed to by both squire and parson. And the labourer is also well cared for in sickness, has a pig of his own, in many cases poultry; and nearly all the men can obtain a piece of allotment ground by paying two shillings and sixpence a year for it, at least it is to be had under Sir Everard Morgan, who also allows them firewood in the winter when the woods are cleared, and will often send coals to their cottages with his own waggons (if they belong to the club) from the railway station, which is four miles distant. It will be a bad day for the labourers and small holders, if the radicals get their way ultimately, and disestab- lish the Church of England. The imaginary ^' cow and three acres," so liberally provided for them by Chamberlain will, I think, prove but a poor exchange for the very tangible comforts they now have, looked after as they are by the Squire and Yicar of the parish. The livings are 100 FROLIC. often very poor, and the rich parson spending the tithes on his personal comforts is as imagin- ary a picture as the '^cow and the three acres" have been proved to be. I know my father never puts a farthing of the tithes in his pocket, they are all laid out in the parish, and it will be a bad look out for the Avonfield folk when my dear old father dies. He is indeed a kind friend to them all. I hope one day to take you to my home and introduce you to my model village, Miss Langton," Euthven con- tinues, and his voice almost unconsciously softens as he speaks, "Would you care to go there?" Margery blushes a deep rose colour, but yet answers frankly in the affirmative, as she raises her beautiful eyes to his face, and there at once reads all the true and faithful affection he feels for her. '' I should like to see Eichard and Pattie, and the other couple, very, very much, Mr. Euthven," she says, softly, '^ and make friends with the other parishioners also." " My sister Katy is coming to take charge of my bachelor establishment in Guelph Street, ALFRED COPPLESTONE OX TEMPERANCE. 101 next week, and you will, I hope, become great friends, and perhaps she may persuade you to return with us to Avonfield. I shall have my summer holidays soon, before Canon Beverley goes abroad. Do you think you would care to come ? " Margery assures the young clergyman she will be delighted to do so, and as the party have now all arrived at Garmonmaij (Frolic's house on the South Cliff), they separate and return to their various homes. CHAPTER V. CAPTAIN HP:RBERT BRUCE. " Come home I come homo I You are weary at heart, For the way has been dark, And 80 lonely and wild ; O pi'odigal child .' Come home ; oh come home I Come home I come home I For we watch and we wait, And we stand at the gate, While the shadows are piled : O prodigal child I Come home ; oh come home ! " Come home ! come home ! From the sorrow and blame, From the sin and the shame, And the tempter that smiled : prodigal child ! Come home ; oh come home I " Come home ! Come home ! There is bread and to spare, And a warm welcome there : Then to friends reconciled, O prodigal child ! Come home ; oh come home I " From " Sacred Songs and Solos. CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE. 103 HE Pearly commanded by Lieutenant, or rather Captain Herbert Bruce, has recently come into Scardeburge bay. Phil has a ship of his own now, the Valiant^ to which the Pearl is tender. Bruce has altered very much in two years. His brother's death was a fearful shock to him, and the religious principles early instilled into him by his mother, the widowed Mrs. Bruce (till Robert's death lying dormant in his heart), are now bringing forth good fruit. Herbert has become a true Christian olficer, and the crew of the Pearl are the best conducted men in the Navy, as Admii'al Jervis can testify. The Valiant is in the Forth, but is due South soon ; and the Pearl has been ordered on Coast-guard duty on the East Coast, hence her appearance in Scardeburge bay. Mrs. Bruce and her two daughters have come to Scardebiu'ge, and taken a small house to be near Herbert, and they are constantly with the young Naval officer, who comes ashore when ever he can. Alice Brice is, as I have said, staying with the Bruces, so nearly all our friends, to whom I introduced you in Bonnie Editha^ are together again. 104 FROLIC. Alas, there is a gap in the family circle which can never be filled up. Two of the noblest are gone to testify in heaven as to their work on earth, (Robert Bruce and Murdoch Brice,) to receive the Crown, to hear their Saviour^ s voice crying, '^ Come ye blessed of My Father, receive the Kingdom^'^ and terribly as their friends feel their loss, they would not call them back to this world of sorrow, anguish, and misery. * * * # 'Tis a lovely Spring night, about half-past ten o'clock, when Lieut. Bruce and his sisters and Frolic pass down Malmesbury Place on their way home to the South Cliff. They have been at a concert. As they pass ^t. Saviourh on this still night, the sound of violent sobbing is heard inside the gates, a woman's cry of anguish. ^' Oh, Herbert, someone is in distress ! " exclaims Frolic, and without pausing for a reply, the young girl hurries into the churchyard. Crouching in the shade of a marble tomb, on which the bright moonlight streams, making the night almost as light as day. Frolic perceives a figure. She goes close to it and gently addresses the woman, for such Frolic perceives the figure to be. '^ What is the matter, my poor gii'l," CAPTAIN HERBERT BRrCE. 105 she says, '^ can we help you ? '' The girl lifts up a wearied, haggard, tear-stained face, on which Frolic plainly perceives the hideous mark of a recent blow, struck by some ruffian's hand. The face might, nay, must have been beautiful once, not so long ago either, but now the marks of sin and shame are on it. Alas I alas ! — There is a streak of blood across the forehead. The great dark eyes look painfully large, there is a look in them as of some hunted wild animal, but the girl has at length found a resting place at the foot of the cross, for a marble one stands on the stone steps above her, and the shadow is cast across her figure (poor lost young creature) as she lies at the base in the pale moonlight, clinging to it as if for life. On the foot of the cross golden letters stand out glitteringly in the moon's rays. What are they ? '' Come unto me^ all ye that lahour and are heavy laden^ and I ivill give you rest^ A ball seems to rise in Frolic's throat as she kneels down by the side of the poor outcast, and taking out her handker- chief, tenderly staunches the blood which is slowly dripping from her forehead, staining the pure white marble blood-red, while her own tears fall fast on the poor prodigal's face. Herbert 106 FROLIC. Bruce hurries up to them and takes in the situation at a glance. He feels horrified beyond measure at the sight of one so pure as Lady- Florence stooping so near an abandoned woman, for such he rightly or wrongly deems her to be. ^^Oh, Lad}^ Florence, come away," he cries, ^'she is not fit for you to be near, such sights are too awful for you, pure as you are." ''Our Saviour had to see such sights, and if he could bear to see, and stop to heal, why should not I?" answers the spirited girl, placing her disengaged arm round the shrinking form of the girl. '^ He commanded us all to do what we can to bind up the broken-hearted, to save such as are about to fall. Oh, Herbert, this ruin and shame is some wicked man's work, so vou had better, for the honour of your own manhood assist me to rescue her noiv. She is one of the Saviour's lost sheep, for whom he left the ninety- and-nine to seek and to save. Shall we do less than he did?" Herbert Bruce feels the rebuke, and blushes a deep red in the moonlight. His voice assumes a gentler tone as he asks the girl her name, and how she comes there. She tells him amidst her sobs that she has been living with a man for CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE. 107 more tliaii three years; she had run away from home with him, as her parents had forbidden her to marry him. He was such a wild chap, but she loved him and he had promised to marry her. But days and weeks, and months and years had gone by and he had never fulfilled his promise. Lately the neighbours had scoffed at her, and called her vile names, and to-night Jem had come home drunk and turned her out of doors, calling her filthy names, and her unborn babe Jiis child ^ a bastard, "for I'll never marry thee, wench," he'd cried, and then he had swung out of the house and left her, after telling her to go and earn her living in the streets, ''Thy pretty face will gain thee a livelihood any day, lass,'' he had brutally said. "So out of my sight, and take thy d d children with thee." And so he had left her. At first she had felt stunned, but gathering herself together she had gone up to their bed- room, where the two eldest children lay asleep in each others arms, and calling a neighbour (one who had been kind to the poor deserted girl — a sailor's widow) to watch them, she had followed her husband (for in such light she looked upon him, though no golden circlet 108 FROLIC. surrounded her finger) out into the night. She pursued him into the Raveii^s Roost, a low public house, and here she had found him drinking with two tipsy women, as abandoned as himself. Unheeding the insulting remarks made to her by these vile creatures, she had placed her hand on his arm entreating him to come away home to his children, but he had cursed her, and with vile oaths had told her to get out of his sight or it would be worse for her. He reeked of rum as did the women, and her head reeled with the fumes of the drink the public house reeked of, and the vile tobacco, but she would not leave him till, maddened by the scoff of the women, he had struck her across the face with the empty pewter he had just before held to his lips, and with an epithet so vile even the other men at the bar cried shame on him, he took her by the shoulders and pushed her into the street, where another drunken man had come lurching up and with a leer had invited her to re-enter the Raven^s Roost, and he would treat her, but she had broken away from his detaining arm and, half giddy with the dastardly blow she had received, had staggered up Malmesbury Place till she reached St, Saviour^, the gates of which CAPTAIX HERBERT BRUCE. 109 having inadvertently been left open, she took advantage of to gain a sanctuary. Herbert Bruce listens with kindling eyes, and flushed cheek to the poor young mother's sad tale. She is not so bad as he had thought her, but what can he do with her? She should not be left where she is, that is plain, but on the other hand she is no fit companion for the three young girls. Ally who has been dining at the Cricket Club (a match has been played between Ebor and Scardeburge to-day and the Captain of the Eleven is a fiiend of his) now comes up, and Herbert hastily explains how matters stand. "I'll go and get a cab," says Ally. "Mr. Edinburgh is a steady married man, and his wife will go with the poor young woman, I'm sure, I'll run and see about it," and off he goes like a lap-wing, and presently returns with the cabman and his wife, a respectable, kind, motherly looking woman who helps poor Jeanie Hamilton, for such it seems is the girl's name, into the cab, and away they drive with her, j^i'omising to return to Frolic's house and report what they have done, and our young people presently reach Gajinomway, without further adventure. An hour afterwards Mr. and Mrs. Edinburgh 110 FROLIC. return and report what they have done. They have removed Jeanie Hamilton and her two children, to a Home founded by two kind-hearted maiden ladies for young women in distress. Mrs. Edinburgh had helped her to pack up her clothes and the childrens', and had placed her in safety with the Misses Uprights, who had promised to take charge of the poor girl and her babes, and prevent the father from molesting them further. And as poor Jeanie was very ill from the blow she had received, they had sent for Dr. Mayfield. A sufficiently anxious case it was likely to prove as poor Jeanie was already wandering in her mind. " Well, you have done all you can do, Frolic, to-night," says Herbert Bruce, ^' and she is in good hands with the Misses Uprights, and May- field. He is a clever fellow, and one of my greatest friends. I will walk up to the Home the first thing to-morrow morning, and see how the poor girl gets on," and he bids them good- night, and, lighting a cigar, strolls down to the beach with Ally, who intends sleeping on board the Pearl to-night. The two young men pufF gravely at their cheroots for some time, then, presently, Alfred flings his away with a gesture CAPTAIN HERBERT BRITE. Ill of disgust. '' I'll smoke no more," says he, " baccy is nearly as bad as drink, one pipe or cigar follows another till one does not know how much nicotine one has taken into one's system. It does not do for hospital work, I know that, so that's the last time I ever smoke." Herbert laughs. '' I suppose you'll take it out in lawn-tennis," he says presently, " what a steady youngster you are Ally I When I was your age, I was as wild as a hawk." " I do not see any object in ruining my moral and physical constitution," Ally replies with the gravity of a man of forty. "It is against the wise laws of our Maker to ruin one's health. And what pleasure, or satisfaction is there in a man making a brute of himself. I like to feel I can give a girl a true and sincere love when I marry, which I intend to do one day, Bruce, if Winnie will have me, 3'our youngest sister, I mean. Of course, you must have seen for yourself, long ago, how much I love her," he continues with great dignity, which makes Herbert Bruce laugh. "I am sure I never thought anything about it Ally. Why you are but a boy, and Winnie is just out of short frocks ; you remind me more 112 FROLIC. of the babes in the wood than anything else," says Herbert, chaffingly. Alfred colours. " i^ot such babes as we look, perhaps," he remarks quietly. " But seriously speaking, Bruce, is it not better to marry young, than to spend your best days in sowing your wild oats, as you call it? A most unprofitable proceeding, and one likely to produce eventually a nice harvest of shame and sorrow. Look at that poor girl to-night, the victim of a bad profligate fellow, who first ruins, then abandons, and ultimately half murders her. And what is at the bottom of it, Bruce, but that cursed and filthy stuff Drink ! " Ally has now mounted his favourite hobby, and off he goes at a gallop and never ceases till the gunboat is reached. The cutter has come on shore for the young officer and his companions, for another friend, Dr. Carlisle, has joined the young men. It is late when they once more stand in Bruce' s beautifully decorated cabin, where they find a comfortable meal spread for them which they do hearty justice to. Ally is pleased to see Herbert and Carlisle content themselves with a cup of the fragrant coffee steaming on the CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE. 113 the board, but he makes no remark. Presently, Bruce strikes a gong on the table and the cloth being removed, summons the crew to prayers. Bruce now seats himself at a table and opens a book of sermons, one of which he reads, in an impressive straightforward manner, as if he thoroughly enjoyed it. It is a simple, practical discourse enough, on Prayer. " Fray vnthout ceasing " is the text. As Bruce reads it all the crew seem attentive listeners. Thev. one and all, love their young officer, who interests himself in all they do, and helps to support their families and encourage them to save their wages to take home with them at the end of a voyage. All the crew are teetotallers. They have been well laughed at, and many a joke has been passed on the Pearl and her water drinkers. They generally call the gunboat The Hydropathic Estahlishment in the navy — a high compliment Bruce considers; anyhow the other commanders in the service are glad enough to ^Qi hold of one of the crew when they can, but the men are very unwilling to leave Captain Bruce, who is loved by them all. * * ■* * 9 114 FROLIC. As Bruce reads to the men, his eye more than once has rested on the face of a young sailor who has recently joined the Pearl. It is gener- ally full of sunshine, for Eichard Hamilton is as cheerful a young fellow as ever danced a sailor's hornpipe. A fine athletic youngster is Dick, and so merry he would act as a tonic for the most down-hearted. But there is some- thing wrong with the young fellow this evening. His voice trembles as he repeats the Lord's Prayer after the Captain. He does not join in the hymn, and is the first to leave the cabin. What can be the matter with him ? Herbert touches a bell at his side and recalls Hamilton, when all have left the saloon. " What is the matter, Hamilton, I see you look distressed to- night ? " he asks kindly. '' I have had some terrible bad news from home. Sir. Mother wrote to-night, leastways, both father and mother. They live at Lul worth, Sir, and when I left home there was only my two sisters and my brother Ben at home, and I never thought as how anything could have happened to either of the girls, nor yet to Ben, as mother never told me nought, but now she writes, and says as how Mary, that's the next one to me, sir, was led CAPTAIX HERBEET BRUCE. 115 astray by a sailor chap, more'n two year agone, and she ran off with him, but they never could trace her. It most broke me down, Captain Bruce, (for she and I was always partial to each other) to think as how poor Mary had come to ruin, but wherever that chap is, I'll make him know what I think of him if I scour the country for him. Ill have the life out of him, that I will. Does he think we'll have our Mary treated like that ? Xever no disgrace came to our family afore, your honour. Mary is the first, and much as I loves the lass, I'd rather see her in her coffin than leading the life she be. God help her, poor lass, my pretty little sister. Eh, she was bonnie, the bonniest lass in the country side ; and now, what, a thing of shame I Perhaps walking about the streets of this very town, shunned by all good women. Oh, God, I can't bear it, sir." And the poor young fellow fairly breaks down and sobs aloud. Bruce rises and lays his hand on Hamilton's shoulder. '' Let us pray for help and guidance, Eichard," he says, '^ in this great trouble, and don't despair. It may not be so bad as you think. Anyhow we will pray to the Lord for this poor lost lamb, who is indeed wandering afar fi'om the fold." 116 FROLTC. Surely the moon never shone on a more beautiful sight than these young men kneeling in prayer. There are four in this cabin to-night, for Bruce has a visitor besides Ally, Dr. Carlisle^ and the moon is shining in on these four, lighting up their earnest faces till they almost seem to shine with reflected light; and it is light, the light of the Spirit which has illuminated their inner life, and is shortly to shine forth in their daily conduct. # # # * Bruce has noticed in Hamilton's face, as he has told him his sad tale, a likeness to the poor girl Frolic has rescued to-night, and it has instantly crossed his mind that Mary Hamilton and the poor deserted young mother are one. His heart rejoices within him at the thought, which he feels is simply an inspiration, and his prayer almost unconsciously assumes the form of a thanksgiving, for he feels in his heart that never were words more applicable than those he has just concluded his prayer with ; a thanks- giving prayer for the recovery of one who was lost indeed, but whom he soon hopes to restore to her poor mother. She who had said, when her husband had in his anguish cursed the girl CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE. 117 who had brought his white hairs to sorrow and shame, '• Hush, hush, father, she is our daughter still." Ally and Dr. Carlisle now wish Bruce good- night and leave him with the young sailor, and Bruce tells him all that has happened since he left the Pearl this morning. ''I am sure she is your sister, Hamilton, I thought she reminded me of someone, and I could not think who, but I now remember little Polly and Jessie, your two little sisters, quite well, Eichard. Polly is but little altered, she is still a pretty lassie, but, alas, she looks terribly ill. But, now go and get some rest, you shall have leave to go on shore the first thing to-morrow morning, and Dr. Carlisle will admit you to the Home. He visits the poor patients with his partner Dr. Mayfield, and has asked me to send him on shore the first thing in the morning, so we shall want the cutter at 4-30, Hamilton. It gives us but four hours rest, so good night, my lad, and cheer up, I feel sure your sister is found and saved." With these words the young Commander dismisses the sailor and turns in for his four hours rest, and in five minutes he is sound asleep. # * * * 118 FROLIC. The next morning finds all the young men up betimes, and by six o'clock Dr. Carlisle is ready to relieve Dr. Mayfield, who has been up all night with Mary Hamilton. Exposure to the severe nights we still have in the North, though it is nearly June, has done its work, and the poor young woman is down with rheumatic fever, and tosses and turns in her delirious wanderings. Again, in fancy, she lives through the past. She is once more a child playing in the meadows, an innocent happy child, gathering the primroses and violets, buttercups and daisies, in the fields and hedgerows, chasing the butterflies hither and thither as they hover before her, ever eluding her eager grasp. Alas, poor Mary, many a weary year intervenes between that hour and the present. But now the scene changes, a handsome young sailor is wooing her, with his winning tongue, to listen to his tale of love. But he only tempts her away from her loving friends, to lead her to a life of sin and shame, and then he leaves her, and goes off on a distant voyage, forgetting the poor young woman who has now become a mother, the mother of his children, without, alas, the right to bear the honoured name of wife. And so the miserable years pass on, while Mary's CAPTAIN HERBERT BRUCE. 119 poor heartbroken parents seek for their lost child in vain. So poor Mary, in her wanderings, reveals the secret of her miserable unhappy life, a life passed in sorrow and bitter regret that she ever listened to the voice of the plausible tempter and forsook her home and her God. This poor lost sheep is indeed Hamilton's sister, and as the young sailor stands by her bedside listening to her ravings, he vows bitter vengeance against her betrayer; ^''Biit vengeance is Mine^ I ivill repay ^^^ saith the Lord, and already the fiat has gone forth. No longer will the reckless, guilty, cowardly betrayer be allowed to continue his infamous, profligate course. * * * * We must now go back some hours in our narrative and see what becomes of James Eed- ferne, the man who should have been poor Mary's husband, but who has been content to drag her name in the mire instead. But though wife only in name, Mary has always been faithful to him, her love strange to say, not utterly destroyed by his brutality. She is a handsome young woman, and miii'ht lono; ao;o have left him and had a comfortable home of her own, for the owner of one of the Scardeburo;e fishing smacks, who 120 FROLIC. admires the poor girl, would have had her desert the wretched drunken scamp, and become his wife, but Mary said "No," she could not, he was the father of her children, her husband in God's sight, if not in man's, and she will abide with him for weal or for woe. '^ 'Twould be real sin to leave him and marry you," she had said to John Griffiths in reply to his offer, '^but if you'll try and persuade him to make me his wife in reality, I'll never forget your kindness." But the honest young fisherman had shaken his head, " Nay, Polly, lass, I'll wish thee no such evil fate as to tie thyself to him for life; he is thy curse, and he'll end by murdering thee, unless thou'lt leave him. Bring thy bairns with thee, Polly, I'll be a better father to them than he is, and no one shall ever cast up ought against thee, and thou'lt marry me, lass," spoke Griffiths, nay, not once, nor twice, but every time he met her, but Mary's heart had said " No," and she had contrived to drag on her miserable existence as she best could, with James Eedferne. CHAPTER YI. DR. WILFRID CARLISLE BEHOLD HE PEAYETH." " Looking unto Jesus First of all for peace, For the bright assurance That my tears may cease ; For the happy knovrledge That I am forgiven, That God is my Father, That my home is heaven. " Looking unto Jesus For the power to serve, Glimpses of His beauty Strengthening every nerve ; Longing that each action, And each word I say, May be what He wishes. Please Him perfectly. " Looking unto Jesus In my happiness. Giving up all pleasures That he could not bless ; Finding depths of sweetness Tn what He can give, Joy, that makes one feel it Worth my while to live ! " Lookiiig unto Jesus, If some lurking sin Springs into existence, Claims to reign within : 122 FROLIC. Quick for help and counsel To my Lord I flee ; Then, fresh, armed, encouraged, March to victory ! " Looking unto Jesus Through all suffering, Laying down my thorn crown At His feet, as King ; Bearing pain or sorrow If His love command, Faith refusing nothing Offered by His hand. " Looking unto Jesus Until life is past, And Heaven's longed-for glories Light my soul at last ; When the hopes of earth life Find fruition sweet, And all hearts that love Him In one centre meet." Eva Travers Poole. HE deep tones of St. Saviour's Church clock are heard striking the hour of eleven, and the public-houses are closing. Issuing from the door of a well-known hostelry in Malmesbury Place is a man, who once might have been called the noblest work of God. Ten years ago Eoger Eldred was as handsome a j^oung specimen of a sailor as ever stepped, with his smart athletic figure, bold, dark-brown York- shire eyes, the boldness somewhat softened by the sweep of the long dark eyelashes, well- cut classic features, short curling beard and mous- DR. WILFRIT) CARLISLE. 123 tache, and ruddy complexion, tanned by sun and wind, storm and shine ; and ten years ago so thought bonnie Maggie Lauderdale, as she walk- ed down the aisle of aS'^^. Saviours on her young husband's arm, and proud of him she indeed felt that day. Xor did she think of the future, or that the one, or at most two glasses of grog he was in the habit of taking just to be thought good company, were going to hasten him towards the awful goal generally reached by those who accustom themselves to the imbibing of a hideous, filthy, and un-needed poison. For my part, though many people believe that Eve's eating the apple caused all the misery and trouble in the world, I think that Xoah, when he planted a vineyard and drank of the wine and was drunken, brought the greater curse on humanity. To return to Eoger Eldred. Little by little that one glass became two, three and four, and ever the numbers grew higher and higher, and less and less of his weekly wage did he bring home to his wife, who, from a buxom, handsome fisher lass, has already grown into a care-worn middle- aged looking woman though only twenty-eight. Alas, alas I the insidious thief has stolen into that 124 FROLIC. once happy home, taking all the sunshine out of the life of the poor young wife, now the mother of seven children. From a tender, affectionate, loving husband Eoger has become morose, and surly. His wife and children have quite forgot- ten (at least all but the eldest bairn, little Polly) the time when father used to come in whistling merrily, his week's earnings brought home to his ^'bonnie lass," as he called poor Maggie then; and it was a scramble among his bonnie little bairns who should be first to clamber on father's knee, and search his pockets for "sweeties." But for some years now Eoger's money has gone to swell the Innkeeper's pocket, and instead of it, alcohol in its ]nost abominable and filthy form has gone straight to Eoger's once clear head, eating away and destroying his brain, making his hand unsteady, causing the skippers to shake their heads when Eoger volunteers to be one of their crew. They want steady men and not drunkards on this rocky iron-bound coast, so often the scene of fatal disasters when the storm fiends are let loose on the blast. Many and many a time does Eoger make a resolution to become a teetotaller, but, alas, the hideous demon drink he has become enslaved by, is too strong DR. AVILPEID CARLISLE. 125 for him, for long imbibing adulterated trash has ruined his once strong nerves, and he continues to drink. There is one heart in Eoger's once bright, but now wretched home, more anxious about him than even his wife's (for she has grown hardened by his continued brutality,) 'tis his little daughter ]\Iary's, a child of nine. The j^oor little lass is in a decline, from which fell disease not all Dr. Carlisle's unremitting atten- tion can save her. The lovely flower is rapidly fading away, but little Mary does not grieve for herself; the little maiden wants to be with Jesus she often says, but, oh, who will love poor Daddy when she is gone! Many a prayer rises from that innocent little child's heart for poor Daddy ^ that her Heavenly Father will yet bring him to the knowledge of Hi:y: ; He to whom the little girl has given her true and faithful love. To-night, as Eoger staggers homewards, lurch- ing down the steep narrow lanes leading to the shore, another miserable sot joins him. 'Tis Mary Hamilton's false lover, James Eedferne. He has shaken off the two depraved, drunken, abandoned creatures ffor I cannot call them women) who had been encouraging him to make 126 FROLIC. a beast of himself, and James drunk as lie is, is still conscious enough to be aware that to- night he has struck a may-be death blow to the poor girl who ought to be his wife, but is, alas only his mistress ! But vengeance is nigh, aye, nearer than he thinks. He clings to Roger's arm, unsteadily enough, and the two drunken men reel clown the cliff together towards home. Eoger on reaching his cottage door pauses, and seats himself on a low bench outside the door; he feels ashamed to go in, and the quiet night appears to sober him, or is it disgust that fills him at sight of such a low brute as his old mate, even more disgustingly intoxicated than he is himself. Be that as it may he has shaken him off, and on the wretched man staggers. Roger feels a kind of consciousness that he ought to see him safe home, but he is unable to get up and follow him, for though his head is clearing, the adult- erated liquors he has been so freely imbibing have taken all his strength away and he cannot stand. He sees his late fellow shipmate stagger further and further down the cliff till he reels out of sight and then, too sleepy to think anymore about him, he lets his head drop on his breast and when next he wakes 'tis the glorious DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 127 rising sun which pours its warm beams on the lately besotted husband and father. Eoger rises and stretches himself, then be- thinks him he will go down and have a bathe. He knows of a quiet nook behind the Castle rocks on the North shore where he can have a good swim and rouse himself thoroughly from the effects of his late carouse, so down the cliff he goes, after softly stealing inside the cottage and standing for a moment by the side of little Polly's white bed, where he presses a gentle kiss on the child's pale cheek. The fresh breeze clears the remainder of the cobwebs out of Eoger' s brain and a plunge in the cool waves completely restores him to himself, and after a swim of half-an-hour in the sea, he returns to shore and dresses. As he does so the carol of a lark soaring ever higher into the blue ether, strikes a dormant chord in the sailor's heart. '^ The little bird is singing his morning hymn of thanks to his Maker, but when did I kneel and pray last ? " he says aloud. ''Ah, when indeed, Eoger ? But pray now, it is the first step towards a better life," whispers Eoger's good angel. " Eeturn, a humbled, penitent man to the home where you have so long stopped the 128 FROLIC. music, where your children's voices have long left off singing their joyous hymns of praise to Jesus, the lover of the little ones. Aye, Eoger, it is you indeed who have darkened their happy, holy young lives by reason of your hideous sin, but pray now." The lark has not sung in vain, Eoger kneels and prays for strength to resist the fatal habit which is ruining him body and soul, and also ruining those who should be dearer to him than himself, those whom he has solemnly vowed to shelter and protect, his loving and tender wife, and his sweet innocent babes. Eoger's prayer is heard, and the man returns to his home, determined to conquer and obtain the victory over his sin, drink. There is joy among the angels this glorious Spring morn, over a repentant sinner. * * * # But alas, how has it been with the other wretched drunkard? We shall soon know. As Eoger passes down the quay on his way home, he perceives coming towards him a sad group of fishermen and fisherwomen walking down the street. In their midst four policemen are bearing a stretcher, on which the almost lifeless body of a man is being carried, not quite dead as his DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 129 terrible moans testify. It is James Eedferne ! His drunken steps had led him right down on the quay leading to the lighthouse, and he had fallen oyer it, the bridge having been opened to allow some vessels from Xorway to pass into the harboui'. Had he been sober he would have seen the danger, as it was, he was too drunk to notice the bridge was unclosed, and he was only conscious he was falling when it was too late. The wretched man's fall was broken by some planks on a barque just passing through into the harbour as he lost his footing, and though terribly injured, the planks saved him from drowning, and he had been found lying on them by the skipper of the barque, in the early dawn. The police had been summoned, and he was now being taken home. Eoger is horrified. Had he still been under the influence of drink, the sight of this man cut off from his fellows in his prime would have sobered him, but his brain is clear, and he thanks God it is. He knows Mary's home is desolate, and it is by his suggestion that the man is taken to the Scardeburge Hospital, just opposite the Misses Uprights' Hoine^ where Mary is lying between life and death, uncon- scious of his near proximity, and there he remains 10 130 FROLIC. for the present. His injuries are very great, his spine being hurt in his fall, and it is doubtful, both Dr. Mayfield and Dr. Carlisle think, if he will ever recover. He may linger for a little while longer. Dr. Mayfield and the other doctors in Scarde- burge give their services gratuitously to both the Home and Hospital, after the generous fashion of our medical men, who are, generally speaking, as noble a class of men as those heroes whose services get more readily acknowledged by an undiscriminating government, in titles and medals, and other rewards of merit, not more deserving of acknowledgment than theirs in reality. Mary Hamilton has cause indeed to be grateful to them, they have saved her life and she is nearly convalescent. She has been cautiously told, after a time, of the condition in which the man who has so basely treated her is lying, although she is not permitted to see him. A month has passed by before Mary, with faltering step (so weak is she from all she has suffered) totters across from the Home on Dr. Carlisle's arm, to see the man who ought to be her husband, and who (the energetic young north-country physician has determined) shall DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 131 be made to marry her as soon as possible. 'Tis a sad and sorrowful meeting between the two who have so long lived together, and who may soon perhaps be parted by a hand stronger than theirSj the hand of death. * * % * A week later the summer sun is shining in through an open window in one of the dormit- ories at the Scardeburge Hospital on a sad sight; a man in the prime of life is lying on his bed of paiuj moaning at intervals. It is James Eedferne, the sailor. !N'ear him is seated his wife, for such she now is, wiping the beads of perspiration from his forehead which the agonising pain he is in causes to rise on his brow, while Edward Eagle- stone, Dr. Wilfrid Carlisle, the Matron (Mrs. Orlebar), Captain Bruce, Frolic, and Patience Langton are standing together at a little distance, conversing in low tones. Edward has been a daily visitor at the Hospital to see the injured man, and has persuaded him to make poor Mary his wife, believing him to be a dying man. A. special license has been procured, and the ceremony has just been per- formed. A strange wedding indeed it has been, and never shone the sun on a more melancholy 132 FROLIC. scene. Frolic, wlio has often helped Mrs. Orlebar in the Hospital, has called dailj^ to see James, and little by little her gentle ministrations, aided by Edward's earnest and constant admon- itions to the injured man to repent of his sins before it is too late, have had their effect, and he has at length become as anxious as poor Mary that the marriage ceremony should take place. But though generally conscious, his weakness has hitherto rendered it unadvisable that he should go through even so much exertion. Dr. Carlisle has visited both Mary and her husband at all hours, and Marj^ is now in a fair way to re- cover her strength though very slowly. All that ^^ our girls " can do has been done for her, and they have taken complete charge of her little children, who spend their time playing in the fields near the hospital with little Robert, during the long bright summer days. Mary's love for her husband seems to have returned, brutal though he has been to her, and all her brother Richard's efforts to persuade her to go home to their parents with her children have been fruit- less. She refuses to leave him. The young wife looks fearfully delicate and fragile, as she sits by her husband's bedside. It DR. WILFEIP CARLISLE. 133 seems doubtful if either of tliem will be long on this earth. Mary looks quite like a girl, her hair has been cut short during her illness and is now curling in little ringlets all over her head. Dr. Carlisle suggests to Frolic, whom he has become quite friendly with (meeting her as he has done day by day either at Mary's bedside or that of her husband) that it would be better if she took the poor girl back to the Home now, which is just opposite. As she is still far from strong the kind young doctor fears the excite- ment may be bad for her. Hers has been a very anxious case, and he is very desirous she should regain her strength, as it will not be very long before she will again become a mother. So Frolic leaves the group and goes over to the couple who are speaking in low tones to each other. " I have been a brutal fellow to thee, Mary, lass, but if God in His Mercy raises me up again, I'll do my best to make thee amends," Jem is saying. He speaks with difficulty in the intervals of pain. " The doctor says I may recover in time, and I pray God I may. Thou'lt never have cause to complain of me again if I be spared, lass." Mary stoops and kisses his forehead 134 FROLIC. gently. ^' ^ay, nay, Jem, I have been as mnch to blame as thee," she replies ; "I have been a careless, disobedient daughter, and had I listened to father and mother, it would have been better for us both, but you'll get well, Jem, I'll nurse thee back to health, I'll never leave thee again, and we'll both lead a better life." '^ Now, Mary, you must not talk to your husband any longer to-day, or I shall have you ill again, and that cannot be permitted," says Dr. Carlisle, as he walks up to the bedside, and quietly leads the weeping woman away, who, though most unwillingly, obeys him. She hastily kisses Jem again before she parts from him, promising to come and see him in the morning. " I won't let you do so, Mary, unless you come away at once, now," says Carlisle firmly. "Come, my good girl, I want you to get strong and well, and then you may look after him as much as you like," and he looks at Frolic who quietly places her arm round Mary and leads the poor girl out of the dormitory. " If you will only do as Dr. Carlisle and the Misses Uprights tell you, Mary, you will soon be strong enough to remain longer with your husband," Frolic says gently, as she crosses the road and enters the Home with DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 135 her ; ''we only want you to be careful, and then we hope to see you in a happy home with your husband restored to health ; and oh, Mary, let this be a warning to you and to him too, and try and lead holy and God-fearing lives, as Mr. Eaglestone and all your friends are so anxious you should do ; and then you may yet have the Saviour's blessing on you both and on your children also. Now good-bye, dear Mary, try and keep quiet the rest of to-day, and I will come for you again in the morning," and Frolic, having given her patient into the kind care of the Misses Uprights (who are as rejoiced over the recovery of the poor young mother as if she had been their own child), leaves her, and rejoins her friends. Dr. Wilfrid Carlisle and Edward Eaglestone have met Frolic day by day at the Home and Hospital, yet strange to say, while the Earl's bonnie daughter and the frank young physician have grown to be the best of friends, Frolic is on the most distant terms with Edward, whom she merely bows to when they meet, (Mrs. Orlebar having introduced them to each other, being ignorant that Edward and Lady Florence had met before.) Frolic never thinks of Edward 136 FROLIC. without a blush mounting to her fair face, the memory of his long and painful illness has become indelibly fixed in her mind. Those days when she sat by sister Mabel listening to the poor lad's delirious ravings, while almost fearing he should recover, lest the authorities should again force him back to the hideous life, (the life of a convict), he had escaped from, seem to her as near, as though the two years that have passed over both their heads since had no existence. The pity Frolic had felt for the poor lad's helpless and possibly hopeless condition^ even if he recovered, had deepened little by little into love, and yet she knew, or believed she knew, that he had been quite unconscious of her near proximity ; it was this feeling which made her shy and reserved with the young curate now, and it seemed as if they would never become friends, even though they met ever}^ day by the bedside of the sick. But fate mav will it otherwise. Wilfrid Carlisle had noticed Frolic's extreme shyness with Edward, and had often wondered at it. He felt the utmost admiration for the beautiful and generous-hearted girl himself, and openly expressed his feelings to all her friends. DR. WILFEID CARLISLE. 137 He was too busy a man to fall in love with her, he said, or he should be far from heart-whole, if he had time to do so. "But my patients absorb all my time," he often declared Avith a bright smile, when chaffed about his devotion to the Earl's fair daughter, "and I only look upon Lady Florence as a most willing almoner, ready to give to every poor patient of mine who requires her help. She is a most warm-hearted girl, and as clever as she is beautiful. There is no man worthy of her that I know of, least of all myself, for I have no time to learn to be a lady's man," so the two remain great friends. Lady Florence thinks Wilfrid Carlisle the kindest, as well as cleverest young doctor she has ever met, and as she spends much of her time with the working people, and fisher-folk, where his visits are often required, she sees a great deal of him. They are as frank with each other as if they were near relations, and Wilfrid would do anything he could for Frolic. He often puzzles his brains about her and Edward, and wonders if Frolic likes or dislikes the earnest young cleryman whom he himself is very partial to. He IS not aware that Frolic had known Edward before as a convict, and is therefore 138 FROLIC. quite in the dark as to the reason of her evident embarrassment when she meets him. But he is too busy to think much about the matter. After all it is no aifair of his. He has no idea of the truth or he might feel more anxiety about Frolic's future. But what but a happy life can be in store for one so gifted by fortune as Frolic, possessing beauty, talent, and riches, and having also so strong a desire to make her life useful to others. Dr. Carlisle thinks her too sensible a girl to make troubles for herself, and that she really is worried about Edward never once crosses his mind, being generally occupied with his pro- fessional duties. So the days pass on. The couple Frolic feels so much interested in, are both progressing towards recovery, and before Mary's baby is born her husband is able to be moved to his home, where his wife tenderly and assiduously nurses him. It is a sad thing to see the young sailor so great an invalid in the prime of his manhood, but not so bad a sight as his life had been, the life of a quarrelsome, drunken sot, caring for neither his family nor his character. Edward Eaglestone still continues to visit the family, but has not recently come in contact with Frolic, though he constantly hears of her many DK. WILFRID CARLISLE. 139 acts of kindness to the poor, amongst whom he passes much of his time. Her name is a household word among the fisher-folk, who are accustomed to seeing her bright young figure flitting about the steep, narrow streets, and in and out of their houses. There are but few who would not miss the Earl's daughter were she to leave them, but Frolic loves Scardeburge, and is making her home on the Cliff, a perfect place in its way. The poor are oftener her guests than the rich, and rarely a day passes that some hard worked wife and mother does not come to tell Frolic of her trials and troubles, and seek her advice and sympathy. Tregelles Euthven, who shares his rooms with Edward, is more observant than Wilfrid Carlisle. He has become a daily guest at Garmominaij^ where Margery Langton spends much of her time, and where he is always cordially welcomed by both young ladies, and he notices that when- ever the conversation happens to turn on matters connected with St. Saviourh^ Frolic appears unusually interested. Of course Euthven refers to his brother curate now and then, and he ob- serves that a delicate colour, like the tint on the wild rose, spreads over the young heiress's fair 140 FROLIC. complexion whenever he does so, and he comes to the conclusion that she feels an unusual inter- est in him. Eaglestone, on the other hand, care- fully avoids mentioning Frolic's name to his friend. Euthven knows that Edward leads as ascetic, self-denying a life as any of the monks of old, when they did live up to their doctrines, and he wishes he would take more interest in mundane matters. He has gathered from an occasional remark of the young curate's that he considers the terrible trouble through which he had passed has placed him beyond the pale of ordinary life ; that he ought not to seek for happiness, that the love of a true-hearted woman is not for him, that self-denial is to be his role in all that pertains to this earthly sphere. '' I am altogether unworthy of the affections of a pure- hearted girl, for what can I give her but the remnant of a sin -stained wretched life," he had once said to Euthven, in a very unusual con- fidence. " I do not deserve that any one should care for me, I hope for no happiness on this earth. It will be more than I deserve if I win Heaven at last, and the Saviour's pardon, He whom I altogether forgot in my reckless youth. And my poor parents also; I feel that my wicked DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 141 conduct killed my father, and many a time as I lie a^vake at night, I think I am no better than a murderer.'' In vain has Huthven tried to reason him out of this morbid feeling, and he only hopes that if he gets thrown into more cheerful society, he may in time become more like other people. He suspects that he thinks more of Frolic than he would allow if he were asked, and he trusts that the day may come when he will learn how dear he is to the true-hearted girl. Euthyen is a particularly high-minded man. That his friend was led away into wild excesses as a youth has grieved him deeply, but his character as a man, and as an earnest Christian clergyman has gained his respect, and his ami- able, affectionate disposition has won his love. The older man has a very strong affection for the younger one, and hopes yet to see him cheerful and happy, as happy as he feels himself. Euth- ven considers he has every blessing given him the earth can give, and he knows where to look for Heavenly ones. So the time passes quietly on. # * * * A week or two later our party, who are out walking early, meet Alfred Copplestone hurrying down the Lome Walk, and stop, of course, to 142 FROLIC. question liim. ^^ Hullo, Ally, where have you been ? " shouts Bertie, as if Alfred were half- a-mile distant, instead of close by his side. '' I have been after Carlisle, the governor is awfully bad this morning, and I persuaded my mother to let me fetch the doctor,^' Alfred replies to a quieter question from Sir Eeginald Lee, who has joined the group of young people as they stand close to the Bay- Church, '' I am very sorry to hear the ]\[ajor is not well, but I hope Carlisle will be able to put him to rights," says Sir Eeginald. He does not suppose there is much the matter with his old friend and brother officer, for whom he still feels the strongest affection, but, alas, there is; this slight attack is but the beginning of a long and serious illness, which will ultimately cause all those who love the dear and gallant Major the deepest sorrow and grief, but none suspect that such will be the case. (How often does an illness unto death steal quietly on one of our dear ones, perhaps little noticed or thought of at the time, but sub- sequently we remember trifling signs, which ought to have made us more alarmed, but which we took no notice of, and how we wonder at our short-sightedness afterwards.) DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 143 Sir Eeginalcl does not feel the least uneasy. ''By the way, Ally," he presently remarks, ''how is it you have changed your name, you used to be called Harold?" "Well, you see, Sir Eeginald, we never knew whether the governor or I was intended, when my mother called out Harold ! from the bottom of the stairs, at home, at the top of her melliflu- ous voice, and as we sometimes collided in both dashing downstairs at once, to obey her behests, it became awkward, so mother suggested my being called by my second name," Ally replies, with a shy smile. He is very fond of Sir Eeginald Lee, and a little bit afraid of him. He must, however, have a strong affection for the worthy baronet, as he always carries his photograph in his pocket-book. "I say, Lee," he presently remarks, "someone is awful 'spoons' on your photo., and tried to get it out of me last evening. She even offered to bribe me with a kiss, I told her she had better bestow it on you." Sir Eeginald Lee turns crimson, and as a tall, fair, very delicate looking girl at that moment comes up Southborough towards them, accom- panied by a beautiful lavarack setter, he looks 144 FROLIC. considerably discomposed. T^ot so the young lady, whom the boys rush to meet and greet with effusion. "Dora," they all cry, "here's Lee. Come and ask for his photo, yourself," shouts Athol, who is just at the most tiresome age, a veritable enfant terrible. "That kiss you offered Ally would fetch him, lass," the youth continues; he is fast trying to pick up the north- country idiom. "Eh, but jou look bonnie, this morning! Does she not, Lee?" The young lady only smiles quietly in reply, as she takes the baronet's proffered hand cordially. "The boys are excelling themselves, this morn- ing,'' she remarks with a smile. "Have you been after your favourite Herb Salt^ Ally ? Why don't you take some, and tone down your spirits, if you can?" "The Herb Salt is A 1," laughs Ally. "I'll give you a bottle, Dora, if you like." "No thank you, I feel so well I don't think I require it." And as the party now saunter on towards the Yalley Bridge, Sir Eeginald at once places himself at Dora Bruce's side. She is the eldest sister of poor Major Bruce, and a beautiful and charming girl. Sir Eeginald Lee has given up pining for the un- attainable, and evervone now knows that Dora DR. WILFRID CARLISLE. 145 Bruce can become Lady Lee if she likes. We presume she does like, for she and Sir Reginald presently leave the others and saunter away through the Park, by themselves, and, when they subsequently meet at lunch, Dora has a handsome diamond hoop ring on her engagement finger, she had certainly not come out with this morning. ''They are a bonnie couple,'' thinks ^Ir. Ernest as he passes them in the street an hour or two later with a polite bow, ''and I suppose it is all settled. I'm very glad; Sir Eeginald Lee is too nice a man to remain single so long." Isabel, too, is glad when Dora tells her with a blush and a smile that she has accepted her brother, and a warm kiss is pressed on the young girl's forehead, and a fervent prayer for the happi- ness of both goes up to the Mercy Seat from the widow's loving heart, as she warmly expresses her approval. So in this way Sir Eeginald Lee is at last consoled for his disappointment; a bitter one it was at the time, as the readers of Bonnie Editlia Cojjplestone will know. Dr. Carlisle, who accompanies Alfred back to the Devoniensis^ does not think there is much the matter with the Major, and that it is quite unnecessary to alarm his family and friends 146 FROLIC. about him, especially as he appears to be all right again in a few days, and is as cheerful and lively as is his wont ; and the temporary anxiety passes away again, and no more is thought of the matter. The poor boys and their mother do not dream that the husband and parent, they love so passionately, will soon be removed from them for ever by the hand of death. CHAPTER VII. FROLIC'S CONFESSION " I will not let you say a woman's part Must be to srive exclusive love alone, Dearest, although I love you so, my heart Answers a thousand claims beside your own. * * * * " I love all those who love you ; all who owe Comfort to you : and I can find regret Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, And once could love you, and can now forget." Adelaide Aske Proctor HE handsome villa which Lady Florence Blakiston has now settled down into, on the South Cliff, she has christened Garmonsway^ and the boys and girls suggest she should give a house-warming, to which idea Frolic cordially assents. But who are to be the D-uests ? The fashionable and aristocratic deni- zens of Scardeburge ? " Xot a bit of it," Frolic says; ''they get plenty of amusement all the year round, and she is not going to help to pamper them. She will invite all the fishermen, and their wives, and children ; and all the poor 148 FROLIC. working people she has made acquaintance with." The invitations are at once cordially accepted by the straightforward mariners and their fam- ilies, who have already learnt to love the Earl's bonnie daughter, so free, frank, and unaffected ; and several hundred of them sit down to a splendid dinner in the large stone hall of Gar- monsway^ and are waited upon by " our boys " and '^ our girls," with unflagging attention. Afterwards a charming entertainment has been provided for them by the ladies and gentlemen belonging to All Souls' Institute, and some of the professional artistes of Scardeburge, who have kindly ofi'ered their services. Mr. Henry Erlsmere opens the concert with a spirited rendering of the Mikado^ performed by the Spa band. This is followed by a clever recitation from that talented and charming lady. Miss Helen Mathias, who recites " Curfew must not ring to-night " with such true pathos and feeling that the hardy sailors are seen brushing their eyes with their coat sleeves. Canon Beverley then follows with an eloquent addi'ess, and then Mr. Wallace Glendower plays a selection from Patience^ in a brilliant manner, followed by Mr. Crystal singing one of his charming ballads, frolic's confession. 149 ^' The river flows." A young man belonging to Miss Helen Mat bias's class tben recites '' The Lifeboat," wbicb literally brings down the house. Miss Marie Trevor follows with a song, accom- panied by Mr. Stone on the violin, which I need not say procures an encore. Then a selection from the Sorcerer^ by the band, is followed by anothc" pupil of Miss Mathias's, reciting ^' Eugene Aram's Dream," in a manner which thrills every listener with horror, so well does she do it ; but the Svnngmg Waltz ^ spiritedly played by Mr. Glendower. causes them to brighten up again. The gem of the evening is Frolic's rendering of Mortimer Adye's song, '^ Oh ! Sigh not. Love." She is accompanied by Mr. Crystal, and the audience applaud her to the echo, as her rich, full soprano rings through the vaulted Hall. The words are as follows: ''OH I SIGH NOT LOVE." " Oh 1 sigh not, love, for golden dreams, That sped so swiftly by, That moments, bright with hope and bliss, "Were only born to die. "For visions fair that once have charmed, Can ne'er forgotten be ; And love's sweet moments ever live AVithin thv memorv. 150 FROLIC. "Oh ! smile then love, for envious time, Can never steal away, The fairy dreams of happiness That blest youth's openinj^ day. **Then sigh not love, nor sadly weep O'er winged joys long tied ; For hope still points to days as bright, As those bright days now dead." Her ladyship sings ^^Love Light" in response, and this being warmly applauded, she follows with ^^ Tit-willow," which she has to repeat throe times, after which she makes way for her uncle, the Hon. Eeginald Garmonsway, who delights the sailors with the comic song, "The charming young widow I met in the train." Mr. Gar- monsway has come down from town on purpose to assist Frolic, who is his favourite niece. No one would think, to judge from Mr. Garmonsway 's dignified and somewhat shy manner, that he had any fun in him ; but those who know him best have noticed a merry twinkle in his eyes, and a humorous expression at the corners of his mouth, which his character, when known, fully carries out. The sailors, not knowing how otherwise to give him sufficient applause, raise a hearty British cheer, which is so unexpected that Mr. Garmonsway blushes a deep red, but cheerfully responds to their continued plaudits by singing frolic's coxfessiox. 151 '^The lost Child," and finishes with '^The Silver Churn." 'Sh\ Alfred Rainey, another friend of Frolic's, now gives the company a reading, entitled, ''In the days of my youth," and this is followed by a glee, sung by the Bar Church choir most beautifuUv, ''The bells of St. Michael's Tower.'' Another song of Mr. Crystal's is sung by Frolic, accompanied by the composer, which is also encored, as is a recitation by Mr. Alfred Brown, our talented and accomplished fellow- townsman, called " The Grandmother," which is so much admired that he follows it with "The Uncle." This brings the first part of the evening to a conclusion. The Hall is now cleared for dancing while the whole company walk about the beautiful grounds of the villa ; and when they return after an hour's saunter on the 0113"$, from which you obtain a magnificent panorama of the Castle, Town, Spa and the irrepressible Grand, and, looking eastwards, the beautiful South Bay extending as far as Filey, they find the great stone Hall transformed into a fairy ball-room, the stage for the band at the upper end being completely hidden in flowers. The gentry of Scardehurge and the neighbour- hood have all been invited, and also the clergy 152 FROLIC. of Ebor, and the officers from the barracks both at Scardeburge Castle and Ebor. So the room presents a gay appearance. Frolic opens the ball with the Harbour Master, and the Member for Scardeburge leads out his handsome daughter ; other couples soon follow and presently every- one in the room is whirling round to the delicious strains of Crowe's Fairie Voices. The spirited conductor has put so much ^^go" into the music that even the old sailors and their wives feel compelled to join in the dance. ''Our boys" we may be sure are in their element; they are dancing, of course, with the prettiest girls in the room. The ball is kept up with spirit for some hours, and the excellent refreshments provided by Mr. Tempest, of the Steam Hotel, are much appreciated. His charming daughters are among the belles of the ball, and are much sought after. At last, after a most spirited speech from our good librarian, Mr. Ernest, a most enjoyable evening is brought to a close without a single contretemps^ and the sailors and their wives depart, after thanking Frolic for the pleasant day they have spent, with true old-fashioned politeness and courtesy, our fashionables might do well to follow; but no, society has decreed frolic's confession. 1-53 that thanking a person for the trouble the}- have taken is quite too cavfuUfj vulgar^ and therefore to be tabooed. For my own part. I agree with Frolic, that more true enjoyment is to be obtained in entertaining our friends, the working class, than by making an often vain effort to please the curled darlings of Society. * * * * As the company wend their way home, they naturally talk of the day's proceedings. Among them are Miss Herbert, the well-known dis- tinguished-lookinof and clever modiste, and her charming young nieces, accompanied as usual by their faithful Gordon setter "Dash," the especial property of Miss Maggie. Lillie, who might justly be termed the " Belle of Scardeburge," remarks to Maggie, as they walk by the side of theii' aunt. Miss Herbert, '' What a beautiful young creature Lady Florence is I I never saw anything more exquisite than her appearance, Maggie. You did well to persuade her to wear that deep violet velvet, she looked like a Queen in it." ''Many a Queen would envy her beauty," says Maggie, thoughtfully, patting Dash's head as she speaks. " And she is so unaifected with it all, she never seems to think she is any better 154 FROLIC. than ourselves." '^ She is a perfect lady," remarks Miss Herbert, presently, as she raises a blush rose. Frolic has given her, to her lips. So it would seem that our young heroine has gained even the hearts of her own sex, a very difficult task we are aware. But who could know Lady Florence Blakiston and not love her ? # « * « This evening Edward Eaglestone has at last been formally introduced to Frolic by her uncle, who knew him as a boy. She has received him with a blush, but has yet placed her soft white hand frankly into his. She tells him, as he saunters by her side up and down the magnificent conservatory at the end of Garmonsway^ how she recognised him at once, when he passed her on St. Nicholas Cliff. And Edward understands now why she blushed. It was at the remem- brance of his terrible affliction, from which God has most mercifully delivered him. He admires this beautiful frank young girl more and more. His deep voice trembles with emotion as he replies to her remarks. But what is this feeling that is so suddenly awakened in his heart, as he looks at her downcast, blushing face? Is it love? 1 leave my young readers to answer this question. frolic's confessiox. 155 But his beautiful sympathetic voice grows more and more tender as he addresses her. '' Lady Florence, I thought it was an angel who used to stand by my bed-side, in my delirium, placing her cool, white hand on my burning forehead," he says gently ; '' and oh ! what peace, what comfort she brouo:ht to my fevered brain. One night I was worse than usual, my brain seemed on fire, and I again went through all the agonies I had borne ; but suddenly, Lady Florence, a gentle arm was placed under my head and it was lifted on the pillow again, from which I had tossed awav in mv fever, and then I felt as if a kiss were press'd on my hot forehead. Lady Florence," he says, his voice falters so, he cun hardly proceed, '^ was it a dream? or was it reality ? " Those dark-brown eyes are looking pleadingly into her violet ones, which are raised bravely to his, as she gravely and simply replies, '' I pitied you so." Edward's heart almost stops at this confirm- ation of his belief. All in a moment the truth is revealed to him. Frolic loves him. Has loved him as the poor young convict ; loves him still, after two years absence, the earnest young clergyman. Then a rush of almost delirious joy 156 FROLIC. comes over him, and bending his head close to hers, he whispers in a voice almost stifled by emotion, '' Oh, Frolic ! My love ! My own dear love." Lady Florence quietly places her hand in his, and without another word their troth is plighted. For weal or for woe, these two young souls have become one ; henceforth to fight the battle of life side by side, to go forth bravely together, determined to do their duty to God and man. # * # # Though Edward still feels his utter unworth- inesSj he cannot dash away the cup of happiness held out to his lips. And so at last the wilful young heiress has been wooed and won, and the young couple now walking arm in arm up and down the conservator}^ between the ferns, violets, and roses, near the tinkling fountain (and a bonnie pair they make) have plighted their troth to each other, and will soon, they believe, become one, for Edward, always impetuous, is already pressing her to name an early day for their wedding, and Frolic unhesitatingly does so. She feels Edward has passed through so much trouble in his life, that she will not give him another hour's uneasiness if she can help it. She loves frolic's confession. 157 him, she is proud of her love, and she feels that as Edward's wife her earthly happiness will be complete. So man proposes, but fate with stern finger still points towards a rough and dangerous road these two young creatures have to traverse, and many and many a fall will they have by the way before they reach the distant goal. But little reck they of that this evening. Little does Edward know that his heart will yet be torn with anguish, doubt and despair, before the passionate kiss he has just pressed on her perfect lips, will be repeated. Aye, it may be that the next he gives her will be given to a beautiful corpse I Beautiful even in death. * * * * But I must not anticipate sorrow^ to my dear young couple, the handsomest young lovers that ever walked on the earth since Adam and Eve wandered hand in hand in the beautiful garden of Eden, in the cool of the evening. Let us rather leave them to the happy enjoyment of the present, trusting that He who has pre- served them so far, will continue to do so till the end. CHAPTER YIII. LORD NORTHSHIRE AT HOME. " I hold him great who, for love's sake Can give, with generous, earnest will ; Yet he who takes for love's sweet sake, I think T hold more generous still. * * * * '* Blessed are those who die for God, And earn the martyr's crown of light ; Yet he who lives for God may be A greater conqueror in His sight." Adelaide Anne Proctor. EOLIC goes to her own private sanctum, when her last guest has left, and sits down to think. It is a pretty room, half library, half studio. Books, statues, pictures, and musical instruments, fill the apartment which is a very large one. An octagon-shaped window at the further end looks across the bay, above the Spa Gardens. The moon shimmers on the waters, and causes a shadow to fall across the polished oak floor, the shadow of the stone mullions framing the diamond LORD XORTHSHIRE AT HOME. 159 panes of the windows. The house is a very good copy of one of the old Elizabethan mansions Frolic has seen and admired in Dorset, Athol Hall, not far from Dorchester, and Garmonsway''s resem- blance to it has led her to buy it. The room she is in particularly took her fancy, and she has brought a quantity of very fine old oak from Xorthridge Castle and placed it in her sanctum. Lord IS'orthshire has always allowed her to do what she likes, and she has chosen to transplant a good many family relics to Scardeburge. The Earl has never troubled himself about his daughter, he concludes his sister will take care of his girl, and is so completely absorbed in his scientific researches he never feels he has time for any other subject, even one of so much importance as his only child's future; at least his conduct has hitherto led Frolic to believe that her father has but a very cool feeling towards her. He had hoped for a son and heir, that hope having failed, he apparently forgets Lady Florence's existence, and is more interested, it would appear, in the microscopic examination of a spider's leg, or a stag-beetle's antler, than in what may befall his child. That he can, or will, object to her marrying Edward never once crosses 160 FROLIC. her mind, and the reverie she has sunk into is by no means a painful one, as she sits in the moonlight, her hands lightly crossed in her lap. In thought she is going over the events of the evening; again she sees her uncle Keginald approaching her with the high-bred, intellectual- looking, young clergyman. She hears his voice as he introduces Edward; feels Edward's hand holding hers as he looks so gently at her with his dark melancholy eyes, her heart beats faster and faster as again in fancy she listens to his passionate pleading for her love. A hot blush rises to her cheek, as she thinks of the kiss he has lately pressed so tenderly on her willing lips — the seal of his affection. She blushes, although she is alone, and then she wonders, so simple- minded is she, what he can find in her to love ; and she thinks how she will repay his affection for her by the devotion of her life. She will, by her never failing affection, make him forget all the sorrow of his past life ; she will chase away the look of trouble from his dear face; he shall never know another sorrowful hour if she can help it. She has learnt almost unconsciously to think of others before herself, from childhood. The Earl's neglect has not hardened her loving LORD NORTHSHIRE AT HOME. 161 gentle disposition, and her one thouglit has ever been to help others, expecting no reward. Her faith in her Saviour has been of the most simple, child-like kind always. She has indeed ''done what she could" in relieving the wants and sympathising with the sorrows of the poor, and has never thought of gaining any reward. But now the reward has come, in as true and faithful affection as ever was offered for woman's accept- ance. The joy seems almost so great as to amount to pain. Presently her Aunt Ducilla comes in to bid her good-night, and Frolic makes her sit down in her large carved oak arm-chaii', and places herself at her feet, nestling her head back against her knees, while Lady Ducilla fondly strokes the bonnie bright hair, and then she tells her all. Lady Ducilla is silent, when Frolic finishes her tale, and the latter, wondering presently that she does not speak, looks up in her aunt's face, and sees her soft, kind grey eyes are wet with tears. " Frolic, my darling girl, I fear your father will never consent to your marrying this young man," she says. "He spoke most severely in condemnation of Edward's conduct to his parents at the time of the trial, and had neither 12 162 FROLIC. sympathy or pity for the poor young fellow when he was found guilty. I remember it all well; I thought your father very severe on the poor lad at the time; nor did he express any pleasure at his innocence of the murder of his friend being proved. He said then, no one could ever associate with him again in his own rank of life, and he had better go out to the Colonies and take another name, instead of the one he had disgraced." '^Disgraced!" echoes Frolic, starting up im- petuously, "Edward has done nothing to disgrace his name, and I will not listen to you any longer Aunt. I thought you would be glad to hear I had gained such love as his. He is beloved and respected by everyone here. Canon Beverley cannot speak too highly of him, nor can the Archbishop. I love him, Aunt Ducilla, and I have promised to be his wife ! No one shall separate us. Papa never cared for me, or has ever shown the slightest regard for me. How can he object to my marrying whom I please?" ''Hush, hush, my darling, do not be so impetuous. You cannot marry without your father's consent. If you do, you will not only prove yourself an undutiful child, but you will LORD NORTHSHIKE AT HOME. 163 lose all your fortune. It is so left in your mother's will She had the greatest trust in the Earl, and every penny of your fortune is so tied up that you will have to go to Edward Eaglestone a portionless bride, if you marry without your father's permission." " Edward is not attracted by my money," Frolic says, quietly, but still she looks very grave and pained. " Aunt Ducilla, I have promised to be his wife. I shall never break my word ; but if my father refuses his consent, we must wait till I am of age. Perhaps, when he sees we are both in earnest, he may overcome his dislike to Edward," she says, presently. '• I will never marry anyone else ; and surely Papa will consider the happiness of his only child, although he has never shown me any of a father's love," and she sighs. '^ Your father is not a demonstrative man, Frolic ; but I do not suppose his love for you is any the less sincere. He had a great sorrow in the loss of your mother, and it broke his heart. For many years he shut himself up, and became a complete recluse ; we were glad to see him take to his old pursuits again, after a while. I thought at one time, Florence, your father 164 FROLIC. would have lost his senses ; but we were mercifully spared that trial." Frolic looks surprised ; her aunt has never told her so much before. After all, she has mis- judged the Earl, it would seem, and she has mistaken his proud reserved demeanour for cold- ness, and indifference. A more gentle feeling comes into the girl's heart for her father. He has suffered, and so has Edward. Perhaps she will be able to persuade him to look more kindly on her lover than her aunt thinks he will do. She will write to him, write as if he were her father, tell him her whole heart — his coldness and indifference had made her shy and reserved with him — but now she will tell him all she feels. Surely, for his only child's sake, he will receive Edward as a son. So thinking Frolic bids her aunt good night, more cheerfully than Lady Ducilla expected her to do after her hasty impetuous words, and the two separate. Frolic gathers her writing materials together and goes to her room, where she pours out her whole heart to her father, for the first time in her life ; and frankly owns her love. She feels happier when she has completed her task, and leaves the rest to Providence. She LORD NORTHSHIRE AT HOME. 165 has done all she could. ''If it is God's will, we shall be married. I will trust in Him, as I have always done," she thinks to herself as, after earnest prayer to the Saviour for Edward and herself, that they may be guided to do right, she retires to rest. # « # « Edward has gone to Perthshire, and had an interview with Lord Northshire. Had it not been for Frolic's letter, the Earl would have dismissed his would-be son-in-law with scant ceremony, but he has been touched by his daughter's frank confession, and young Eagle- stone obtains a hearing. He finds, on arriving at the Castle, that the Earl is willing to receive him, and he is shown into a large vaulted apartment, fitted ap more like a museum than an ordinary room, with specimens of all kinds of animals, birds, insects, weapons, (ancient and modern) ; models of ships, and machinery, etc.; while on the walls are hung fine pieces of tapestry and splendid old paintings. About the room are scattered large glass cases, containing beautiful old jewels in ancient settings of gold and silver, brass, copper, and iron. Edward, in spite of his anxiety to know how his suit will prosper, is 166 FROLIC. interested in what he sees. He almost fancies himself in the South Kensington Museum as he looks around. At one end of the large hall is an archway leading into a library, the roof of which is supported by pillars ; at the further end is a spiral staircase, apparently leading to an observ- atory, and down these stairs a dignified-looking man presently comes. In his hand he holds a large telescope, which he lays down on a table, and approaching Edward, courteously invites him to a seat, and takes one himself. A beautiful deerhound, who had been lying on a tiger skin when Edward entered the room, places himself at his master's feet, who lays his long thin white hand caressingly on the animal's head. The room, the dignified old man, the dog at his feet, combine to form a picture, almost appropriate to one of Scott's romances. Edward feels almost ashamed to intrude on the scene, but if he did but know it, his own intellectual, thoughtful face assimilates well with his surroundings. He somewhat resembles the Earl ; is it that suffering has laid its mark on both of them ? The appear- ance of the delicate-looking, high-bred young man, whose quiet, respectful demeanour is yet not wanting in dignity, has already pleased the LORD NORTHSHIRE AT HO:\IE. 167 Earl's artistic eye, in spite of his prejudice, and he understands now why it is he has taken the fancy of his fastidious, proud young daughter. He listens with patience to Edward's tale, and, when he has finished it, he gives him a more favourable verdict than he had hoped for. Edward has concealed nothing from him, nor has he spared himself in the recital ; and the old man feels, as he listens, an added respect to the young clergyman who has not tried to palliate his faults. "This newSj of your love for my daughter, has come upon me so suddenly," he remarks presently, '^ that you cannot be sui'prised that I should defer arriving at any decision in the matter at present. If you will remain here a few weeks I shall be better able to form an opinion as to the desirability of accepting you as my daughter's husband," he remarks presently. '^ The trouble that has cast a shadow on your life, was in great measure the result of your wild and unsteady youth, and any man would hesitate to give his only child to one who had passed through what you have. Though you were innocent of the death of your unfortunate com- panion, yet you were voluntarily associated with 168 FROLIC. most undesirable people, against the expressed wish of both your parents and uncle ; and your disobedience to them brought its own judgment upon you ; but you have suffered, you have repented, and regained the opinion of those whose approbation is worth having, my old friend the Archbishop, and Canon Beverley, with both of whom I was at College. I should like to see more of you, and then I shall be better able to judge if you are worthy of the affection my daughter has given yon. I have no son, and all my earthly hopes are centred in my daughter. She is heiress to an immense fortune. Should she marry and have a family, her eldest son will inherit my title and the estates ; the title de- scends in the female line, barring male heirs. It is therefore very necessary that my daughter's husband should bear an unsullied name, and a character above reproach. You must see the justice of my remarks. It is not more than two years ago since you were most un- fortunately associated with the lowest and most debased criminals ; although you were innocent, your trial, and subsequent imprisonment are still fresh in people's minds. Should my daughter's engagement to you now become announced, your LORD NOKTHSTTIRE AT HOME. 169 history would be on everyone's tongue ; you would not be too charitably judged, and it would be a painful ordeal for you and my daughter also to pass through. But if you remain with me now, and get introduced to my neighbours as a young friend, they will get used to seeing you, and in time your unfortunate story will become forgotten. Are you willing it should be so ? It involves a temporary parting from my child, but it will serve to prove the reality of your affection for each other. Under no circumstances could I allow my daughter to become engaged to you on so short an acquaintance ; and I should not consent to her marrying till she is of age. You had better think of what I have said, and I shall hope to see you again. Our dinner hour is seven o'clock," and with this remark the stately old man rises, and Edward takes his dismissal as quietly as he can, and, taking leave of his host, passes through the open windows into the beautiful deer park, where he throws himself down under a fine old oak when out of sight of the Castle, and thinks over all the Earl has said to him. After all, he has obtained a more favourable hearing than he anticipated. The greatest hard- 170 FROLIC. ship will be in being separated from Frolic for a time. To spend a few weeks, or even months, in this beautiful place with so clever and inter- esting a companion as Lord Northshire, would, under any other circumstances have been delight- ful to the young man. There will be plenty of work among tlie Blakiston fisher-folk for him to take up, for a while. He knows Mr. Langton and Mr. Lascelles, and feels his time will not be thrown away ; and though he is very partial to his poor people at Scardeburge, he can soon make fresh friends at Blakiston and Courtlees, both of which places are near to the Castle. Edward rejoins the Earl at dinner, feeling more happy and cheerful, and he gratefully accepts his invitation to remain as his guest. They soon find many topics of mutual interest. The Earl, who has been writing on scientific subjects for years, and has now completed a large volume on them, finds his young guest is also interested in the same pursuits ; and after dinner they go to the library, and spend the evening in examination of the large collection Lord ISTorth- shire has made. Before retiring to bed, Edward writes a long account of his meeting with her father, to Frolic ; LORD XORTHSHIRE AT HOME. 171 and Trliile pouring out liis unchanging affection for her in many a long page, he tries to reconcile her to the thoughts of their present parting, which is to be but for a time he tells her. So the clays pass on, and the Earl and the young clergyman become more and more friendly, and soon get to like each other extremely. The old man has found in Edward the intelligent companion he has been wanting for so many years. There is plenty to do at Xorthridge, and Edward finds both his clerical neighbours glad of his assistance in their churches and parishes ; and although he longs to be back at Scardeburge with his love, he thinks it wiser to bear their present separation as quietly as he can. The neio-hbourins: families have called on him, and appear to take his presence at the Castle as a matter of course. The sad story connected with his life is nearly forgotten, and all those who meet Edward learn to like and respect the young man ; and one and all give a verdict in his favour. CHAPTER IX. DR. CARLISLE'S EXPERLAIENT. " Brightly beams our Father's mercy From His lighthouse evermore ; But to us he gives the keeping Of the lights along the shore. " Let the lower lights be burning ; Send a gleam across the wave ! Some poor fainting, struggling seaman You may rescue, you may save. " Dark the night of sin has settled ; Loud the angry billows roar ; Eager eyes are watching, longing, For the lights along the shore. " Trim your feeble lamp, my brother : Some poor seaman tempest -tost, Trj'ing now to make tLe harbour, In the darkness may be lost." Sacred Songs and Solos. HEN Wilfrid Carlisle came to Scarde- burge, some years ago, he was very young, and only held the position of Dr. Mayfield's assistant. The latter was one of the oldest resident doctors in Scardeburge, and was much respected and esteemed, but his prac- tice became so large that he found it necesary to get someone to help him in his labours. At DR. Carlisle's experiment. 173 first, Wilfrid Carlisle had some difficulty in getting on with Dr. Xayfield's patients. They did not like an assistant coming to see them instead of Dr. ]\Iayfield himself, in spite of the high testimonials the doctor had received of his ability. But when they learnt to know him they were one and all glad of his visits ; however he had not at first liked the reception he was greeted with by some of Dr. Mayfield's regular patients. When he entered the house he was generally received with the remark, '' Oh, is not Dr. ^layfield coming, we don't care to see anyone else, he has always attended us himself," etc. But Dr. Carlisle had got accustomed to having to combat their prejudice and was now as much liked as his senior partner, for the death of an uncle had enabled him to take the position of junior partner. Dr. Carlisle is a slight, rather delicate-looking man, of middle height, with a grave, clever, kind and expressive countenance, very dark inquiring eyes, and pleasant, though somewhat reserved manner. He requires knowing, but when known is always a favourite, though his reserve has often been mistaken for either shy- ness or pride. He has now been Dr. Mayfield's 174 FROLIC. partner for some years. Lately he has been much exercised in spirit by the troubles of some of the friends he has recently made, the Major, Alice Brice, and Frolic. He feels the greatest interest in them all, although he has not known them very long. Major Copplestone he is very much attached to, and in his own mind is not so easy about, as he would like to be. He feels that there is something wrong with the gallant soldier's health, which he cannot but perceive is not what it was. Major Copplestone is sooner tired after a day's exercise, either in boating, or salmon fishing in the Dure^ than he used to be ; and this ought not to be the case, Wilfred feels, in a man only in the prime of life. Then again, his other friends also cause him disquiet : Frolic is losing her usual cheerful spirits, although her father has written very kindly to her, Edward has not again been permitted to write, the Earl has extracted a promise from him not to address her except as a friend, until three years have elapsed, when she will be of age. It has been a hard task to him to give such a promise, but he has had no choice; he must either have assented to the Earl's wishes, or have given her up altogether, and that he would never DE. Carlisle's experiment. 175 do. He intends retui'ning to Scardeburge, shortly, as Euthyen wishes to go for his holiday, and so he must return, he has explained to Lord Xorthshire. "It will be very, very hard, dearest Frolic, for ns to raeet only as friends," he had said in the letter she had received from him, ''but it is better than not seeing each other at all, and we must be patient under the trial. You know my love for you can never change, and the three years which are to be the test of whether our love is sincere or not, will soon be over." But Frolic is distressed at such an uncomfortable state of affairs, and Dr. Carlisle grieves to see the bonnie bright face of the girl he admires so much, look so grave and sad. He is always telling her to cheer up, and the time will soon pass by. He speaks to her as if he were her brother, and Frolic feels very grateful to the young doctor for his thoughtful kindness towards her. But Wilfrid's greatest trouble is Alice Brice's blindness. It seems to him so fearfully sad that one so loving and unselfish as Alice Brice should be deprived of one of the greatest earthly blessings, the blessing of sight. For some years he had made the eyes his special study, under the celebrated German oculist. 176 FROLIC. Herr B , intending to commence practising in London, but his health had broken down under the continued study, and he had come to Scardeburge to re-establish it, and Dr. Mayfield had induced him to remain with him, having taken a fancy to the clever young physician. Since Carlisle has met Alice Brice he has continued his study of diseases of the eye, and has also resumed the correspondence he had long kept up with his old master, Herr B , and had only recently dropped. Herr B comes over every summer to London, at other times he receives patients at his own house in the town of M , in Bavaria, where he has effected many wonderful cures. Wilfrid had written him a long account of Alice's blindness, and also had told him that he believed it to be curable. He had taken every opportunity he could obtain of looking at her eyes, without making a thorough examination of them. Alice had more than once referred to her loss of sight to him, and had told him that her reason for not undergoing an operation was because her mother dreaded it so much. She had had an uncle who had been blind, and whose eyes had been unsuccessfully operated on, and he had DR. Carlisle's expertment. 177 been so great a sufferer, Mrs. Brice had a great dread of her daughter's eyes being touched. But, Alice added, she had no fear herself, and would be too thankful to undergo any operation if it would only restore her lost vision. " It seems so hard not to see all the beautiful things I hear other people talk of," Alice said one day to Wilfrid, '' especially now I am here in the midst of such lovely scenery. I long to see it all myself, but I fear to make my dear old mother distressed about me, and if, after all, the operation should be unsuccessful, I should have caused her unnecessary anxiety, and I do not think it would be right." But Wilfrid Carlisle does not see why his friend is to continue a sufferer from a terrible disease (which he feels certain can be cured) because she fears to distress her mother. " This is sacrificing herself with a vengeance," thinks the practical young doctor, so he decides to talk over the matter with Captain Brice, and taking a boat, goes off to the yacht one morning to break- fast with the skipper. He finds Captain Brice alone in his cabin, and is greeted with a cheery welcome. '' I have come to breakfast with you, Captain," says Wilfrid, after shaking hands with 13 178 FROLIC. Alice's brother. " I want to have a quiet talk with you, and so I have come off early before I go my rounds." '' I am always glad to see you," Captain Brice heartily replies, as Wilfrid seats himself in a wicker rocking-chair near the cabin window, and looks out on the bright sparkling waters, which are dancing in the sun's rays. The yacht is lying near the harbour, just outside the lighthouse, which is hardly a stone's throw off. The harbour-master's daughter is standing on the quay, looking smilingly across at the yacht. She can see right into the cabin from where she stands, and Wilfrid, who attends the family, and likes the cheerful young maid, smiles, and waves his hand to her. She is a pretty girl, and her light-brown wavy hair just catches the sun's rays on it as she stands there, shading her eyes with her hand as she looks across the waters. Scardeburge looks quite distant this morning ; there is a slight haze over the town, betokening heat; boats are rowing and sailing about the bay in all directions; fishing smacks are making their way out of the harbour; steamers snorting at the wharf, waiting for excursionists, every now and then let off a hideously shrill scream to hurry the laggards, while the bands on board play a DR. CARLISLE'S EXPERIMENT. 179 lively tune. It is a gay as well as busy scene Wilfrid looks upon. He sighs as he turns away from it, and thinks of Alice, so young, so fair, gentle, and lovable, who is blind, who cannot enjoy this bright morning, and yet bears her sad affliction with Christian fortitude, and is more cheerful than many who have still the blessing of sight. " Why, Carlisle, old man, you seem down on your luck," says the Captain, " What is the matter ? I never remember to have heard you sigh before. Cheer up, my lad, you should not be sad this bright, lovely morning, and what can a young fellow like you have to make you sigh? Are you anxious about any of your patients ? " ^'We doctors see enough suffering in our daily rounds to make us so," Wilfrid replies, and there comes a very grave look into his dark eyes, as he speaks, " but I was thinking of Alice, Captain," (the name by which he always thinks of her, unconsciously slips out.) "It is about her I have come to see you this morning," and the young doctor pauses, and for one moment the colour rises over his usually pale complexion. The Captain notices it, and feels uneasy. Can Carlisle have become attached to Alice ? He knows he is often in her society, he feels a sudden fear arise 180 FROLIC. in his heart, as this idea suggests itself to him. He dearly loves his blind little sister, and his heart often aches for her, and he grieves terribly about her sad affliction. She is so much his junior she seems more like his daughter than his sister ; but Alice's being blind, has set herself apart from other girls, in the minds of her relations ; they never think of her as they do of others. That Alice, afflicted as she is, should be loved as other girls are loved, that any man should think of her as his wife, has seemed too impossible to be contemplated for a moment ; and Alice has always gone on the even tenor of her way. Always bright, cheerful, helpful, leading so holy, pure, almost saint-like a life, she seems to be lifted up above the common every-day exist- ence of others, into a far serener atmosphere. Can it be that she has learnt to love this young doctor, whose dark, grave, earnest face, so full of thought, the Captain has often admired, almost unconsciously, (not for its beauty, for of that there is little or none, save for the splendid dark eyes,) but for its depth and fulness of expression ? The Captain respects Dr. Carlisle, who he knows thoroughly, lives his life, every hour of it, lives to do others good. His profession is one DR. caelisle's expeeiment. 181 the Captain has the greatest respect for, and he has a warm corner in his heart for the young man, but that he should be thinking of Alice, is not only a revelation, but a shock to the good Captain. " I hope I am mistaken," he thinks, as he replies to Wilfrid's remark. '' There is nothing the matter with Alice, I hope, Carlisle?'' he says, and his voice almost has a falter in it as he speaks. Alas, is there not always something the matter with the poor child, — her sad, and as he believes, incurable affliction ! Wilfrid looks quickly at him, with some surprise. "I want to speak to you about your sister's blindness," he says gravely. "She has spoken to me about her sad affliction many times ; it is throwing a heavy shadow on her life. Captain Brice, though she is too unselfish to let you all know what suffering it causes her. I have thought a great deal about the matter, and have come to the conclusion that her blindness is curable, that her sight can be restored. I have made the eyes m}' study for years, under Herr B , the celebrated German oculist, and from the appearance of Alice's eyes, I judge she is suffering from cataract, w^hich is curable. Of course I have never made a proper examina- 182 FROLIC. tion of her eyes, but I have had hundreds of cases under my notice in the hospital, and your sister's eyes have a similar appearance to many I have observed. I feel convinced she can be cured, and if so, why should she be deprived of the blessing of sight?" ''My mother has such a dread of an operation," says the Captain, half hesitatingly; ''my uncle's eyes were operated on for cataract unsuccessfully, and he suffered terribly and remained totally blind after all, and we are all anxious to spare my darling sister unnecessary pain, besides raising her hopes, it might be for nothing. She is calm and resigned now, why plunge her into a turmoil of hope, doubt, fear, and perhaps disappointment? She is not strong enough to bear such anxiety." Dr. Carlisle's face lights up into an intens- ity of expression. He feels he has the very strongest prejudice to overcome here, but he is determined it shall be surmounted. "Of what use would all the hard and incessant study be of our greatest oculists, if they are hindered from doing all the good they can by the prejudice of the relations of sufferers such as Alice?" he says quietly. "Do you think our days and months, and years of study, cost us doctors DK. Carlisle's kxperiment. 183 nothing? ]\Iy old master Herr B has de- voted his life to the good of others. He only lives in order to fight against disease, that most distressing of all diseases, blindness. He has made manv and wonderful cures. Whv should not Alice have the benefit of his know- ledge? It is only right she should have her eyes carefully examined, to see if there is any hope of a cure. To neglect the means given us to cure disease is simply to set up one's judgment against that of a Higher Power, Who has given us the ability to overcome disease by making practical use of the knowledge we have gained by making one particular branch of it our constant and incessant study. Because your uncle's case was unsnccessful it does not at all follow that Alice's will be, and surely you cannot think it right that her life is to be blighted, as it now is, by so terrible a malady, when it may, and 1 believe can be cured. You, as her eldest brother. Captain, ought to advise her to submit to an operation. And if you think it necessary your mother should be told, you must persuade her that it is right it should be done. But Alice is old enough to decide for herself, and I think she ought to be allowed 184 FROLIC. to do so, without being persuaded against it. Your sister tells me she is twenty-five, though I should not have thought her so much. Is she to be condemned to perhaps a long life of suffering which can be cured, I feel convinced? / do not see the necessity of worrying your mother about the matter. But your sister has a very sensitive conscience, and I would not urge her to do what she may feel to be wrong. I have talked the matter over with Mrs. Main- waring, and have written to your sister Kate, and I have also corresponded with my old master about Alice, they all agree with me that Alice should have her eyes at all events examined; and your sister Kate is most anxious to take her to town to see Herr B , so that he may give an opinion on the subject, and decide whether your sister should undergo the opera- tion. Alice is quite willing it should be so, her only scruple arises from her anxiety not to distress her mother, and this scruple. Captain Brice, I am anxious you should overcome. You are old enough to be Alice's father; she loves you dearly, and would be influenced by your decision, and this is the reason I have come to you this morning, to ask you to use that DR. Carlisle's experiment. 185 influence for her good. The operation ought not to be deferred, I feel convinced, and I am terribly anxious about it." The young doctor's face is full of anxiety as he speaks, his voice trembles, and as he pauses he passes his hand- kerchief across his eyes for a moment. That he is desperately in earnest there can be no doubt. Captain Brice is deeply touched, he has read the young man's story in his face. The extraordinary interest he is expressing for his sister, explains itself, and the Captain feels deep pity for him. He has, it is evident, learnt to love the blind girl, as all those who have come in contact with sweet Alice Brice, learn to love her. But Carlisle is a young man, Alice is but a young woman, this is a deeper and stronger sentiment than ordinary affection, and Algernon Brice turns sick at the thought of what mav be the end of it. He only hopes Alice has not discovered the love Wilfrid bears her, will not suffer too. He holds out his hand in silence and Wilfrid clasps it firmly in his. Though not a word has been spoken the two men understand each other. For a few moments there is silence between them, while the elder man's eyes rest with kindly sympathy on the younger one's 186 FROLIC. earnest face. '^I will do what you wish, Carlisle," lie says after a few minutes, ''and may God bless the result." Wilfrid tightens his clasp on the Captain's brown hand, a hand that never failed a friend yet. "You have guessed my secret. Captain Brice," he says in a low tone. "I love your sister with all my heart, as I have never loved any woman, as I shall never love another. I believe Aliee loves me, but I know she will not listen to me now. Captain, I would marry her now, her blindness makes no difference to me, her affliction only makes me love her the more dearly. I would spend every hour of my life in watching over, and cherishing my poor darling, but I know she would not have it so. I do not know if she suspects my love for her, but I do not think she does. I do not want her to know it till she has undergone the operation, for it would perhaps increase her anxiety. IN'o, I want her to have her mind as free from care as possible. It is her best chance, and if, which I hope and pray may not be the case, it should so turn out that Alice is to remain blind, it will make no difference to me. I will devote my life to her, if she will only have me. I love her with a love a man can only feel once in his life. I DR. Carlisle's experiment. 1ST T\'oiild die for her, Brice, but I intend to live for her, please God, to make her my wife, to cherish and guard her from every ill. If it is His Holy Will that my darling is to be always afflicted she will want my love all the more, but I hope and pray it may not be so. Captain Brice, I have been plain and frank with you. I have told you the truth. If I can win, if I have won Alice's heart, will you give your consent to our marriage?^' ''With all my heart," cries the Captain. He is filled with admiration at a love so sincere and self-sacrificing as Wilfrid's evidently is. "But I think you ought to think of yourself, Carlisle. Should Alice's infirmity not be cured, she would be a great tax upon you, self-helpful though she is. Many men would think twice, nay, more than that before marrying a blind girl. They would consider they were ruining themselves." ''It will be my ruin if I have to live without her,'' the young man replies in a voice of such deep emotion, he hardly seems able to speak. "She has become 'the very life o' me,' Captain Brice, I cannot live without her; life without Alice, is not life at all, but a living death. My profession, in which I now glory, would only be gone on with from a sense 188 FROLIC. of duty — a duty I owe to my dear mother, who is a widow, and who has made many a sacrifice for me in order that I might enter it. I am now able to support her, through her former self-denial and my late uncle's subsequent liber- ality, and I can offer Alice a comfortable home. I know, Captain Brice, that my dear girl will have your prayers that her sight may be restored, and I hope and trust it will be. Now I have obtained your consent there is nothing to prevent her placing herself in Herr B 's hands at once. The sooner the operation is done the better, and I will go on shore and make all the arrange- ments. Mrs. Mainwaring and her sister Kate will accompany her to town, and I intend going also, that I may be with her, and do all I can for her through it all." "Well, Carlisle, I can only say God speed you. You are a fine fellow, and may God bless you, and my little sister too," and with a long and hearty hand-clasp the two men separate. When Captain Brice has sent Wilfrid on shore, he lights his pipe, and sits down to think. He feels Carlisle has taught him a lesson. He has plainly neglected his duty to his little sister. It has now been as plainly put before him by this DR. Carlisle's experiment. 189 young doctor, a man young enough to be his son. " A fine young fellow too," the Captain cannot but acknowledge, determined to do his duty, whether or no. ''It could not be altogether pleasant to him to come to me, a man in my position, and so much his senior, and speak as he has done. The fact is my troubles have made me selfish, and I have not thought enough about Alice, and how terrible her afiiiction must be to her. She is so unselfish, we have all been too ready to take it for granted she does not sufi'er and yet how terrible a thing it is to be blind." For a moment the Captain closes his eyes to try and realize what Alice must feel. At once the gay, busy scene outside is hidden from him — the boats dancing on the waves, the active sailors running to and fro, the excursionists hurrying down to the steamboats at the wharf, the more distant shore alive with people, some bathing, some riding or driving on the sands, the thousands of little children playing together in groups, while their parents or nurses are seated near them with their books and work, the fashionably dressed men and women sauntering on the Spa, listening to the band, the strains of which float across the water; in a moment all the gay scene is hidden 190 FROLIC. from his sight, and he realizes what Alice is suffering, and it is a suffering which Carlisle has plainly told him she need not, and ought not to be bearing, if her friends only did their duty. Aye, there lay the sting. Captain Brice, whose pride it has always been to feel he has never neglected his duty, come what might, feels he has received a just and merited rebuke. "Carlisle is a nobler man than I took him to be, he is ready to go beyond his duty, and undertake the care of Alice for both their lives, whether she remains blind or not. Many men would think it a terrible tax to have a blind wife, but he seems to think of Alice alone, and not of himself at all." In these days of supreme selfish- ness, such utter unselfishness as Wilfrid's, strikes the good Captain as something very uncommon. "I will go on shore and see Alice this afternoon," he thinks, " and find out what her feelings are towards him, if I can; I will neglect my duty no longer. God forgive me if I have done so hitherto, poor little Alice, my youngest sister, young enough to be my daughter," and with this resolve, Captain Brice joins the Major who is in his own cabin reading. He spends more time on the yacht than on shore. He has lately DR. CARLISLE'S EXPERIMENT. 1^1 seemed to shrink from society more and more, even from that of his own boys, whom he was formerly too glad to have with him, but now the noise they make, seems more than he is able to bear. * « * * When Wilfrid has finished his rounds, he strolls up the South Cliff to Garmonsway^ and finds our friends all assembled there, arranging an excursion for the afternoon. Ally suggests Forge Valley, and that they should walk there across the fields and through Lady Edith's Drive, and drive home. '' Yes, that would be very nice, but how is Alice to go ? She cannot walk so far," Frolic remarks. '' I will stay at home, I don't at all mind," says Alice quietly. '' Oh no, Alice," shout the boys, who are as usual making themselves at home at Garmonsway, " we won't leave you behind. I'll get a steady pony for you to ride, and lead it," adds Ally, " you will trust yourself to me, won't you Alice?" says the boy, as he stands beside the blind girl with one hand placed affectionately on her shoulder. Alice turns to him with a bright smile. " Of course, dear Ally, but will it not be a bother for you to take care of me." "You know it won't be, Alice, 192 FROLIC. and I'll be eyes for you, and describe all I see," says the boy, more softly. "Dear Alice, I wish I could be your eyes in reality," he adds, " I would willingly be blind that you might see," (the boys are Alice's devoted slaves). "I should be sorry to take such a sacrifice from you if I could; to spoil your bright young life," the blind girl says, as she slips her hand in Ally's. " But you shall guide the pony. Ally, I always feel safe with you, dear." " And Carlisle will help me, here he comes," says Alfred. But Alice's quick ear has detected the young doctor's foot- steps before Ally speaks, and a faint colour passes over her fair face, as he approaches her. " By Jove, he has spotted us already, Alice, from the other end of the room, with those dark, quick eyes of his," whispers Ally. '^ I believe he is in love with you, Alice. See, he is coming this way. He is a good fellow, I am awfully fond of him. Do marry him, Alice, to please me,'' the boy adds, thoughtlessly. A look of the deepest sadness just passes over the blind girl's face for one moment, then fades away as quickly, and she greets Dr. Carlisle with her usual happy smile, as he takes her hand and holds it in his. " We are going to take care of Alice, you and I, this DR. Carlisle's experiment. 193 afternoon," says the boy presently, as he shakes the doctor's hand, ''I mean to be her true knight, and do my devoir all day. I hope you are prepared to do the same." ''Yes, now and always," Wilfrid replies, with such quiet mean- ing in his voice that Ally looks at him in surprise, but the lad says nothing then, and shortly afterwards leaves Alice with Wilfrid and joins Frolic to know what he is to do. ''Shall I go and get a quiet pony for Alice," he asks her, ''and order the carriages to meet us at Forge Yalley." Frolic assents, and before long the party have started, Alice riding her pony in their midst — the most cheerful among them, apparently — with her two knights at her bridle rein; Ally leading the rough cob, and Wilfrid walking on her right side. "I am well cared for between you," the girl says, with a bright smile; "I shall not come to any harm, I think." "Not if we can help it, Alice," says Ally, and the handsome young stripling looks as if he were prepared to die for her if need be, but let us hope no such contingency will arise. Our party pass down the Lome Walk, cross the Castle road, and, going down a narrow street, soon find themselves at the Cemetery, which is 14 194 FROLIC. now looking most beautiful with its beds of white and pink roses in full bloom. Here they pause and look back at the old Castle standing up distinct and clear against the bright blue of the sky, which is flecked here and there with white clouds. To their right is the wild North shore, with the sea breaking over the rocks, and further on a lovely little wooded ravine leading down to the North Sands. Every kind of varied light and shade is cast over the hills and mea- dows by the quickly scudding clouds. In some of the fields the new-mown hay is standing in cocks, ready for carrying, leaving the grass below a pale vivid green, in strong contrast to the greyer hue of the still standing grass. At the end of the Cemetery wall they come to a lane branching off to the left towards the Eacecourse, while some steps, following the end of the wall lead into a path across the fields. Alice and her cavaliers pass down the lane, as there are stiles to be surmounted crossing the field path, and the rest of the party proceed by the fields, and presently descending a steep hill into the Scalby road, find the others waiting for them at the entrance to Lady Edith's Drive. Florance Copplestone, who makes one of the party, is loud DR. Carlisle's experiment. 195 in praise of the scenery. ''It all looks so del- iciously green and fresh after India," he says, as he sits on the gate leading into the drive, and looks all around him. "You people who have never had the pleasant experience of being baked alive, cannot imagine how delightful all this seems to me." And for a moment the young fellow's eyes rest on the pretty faces of the young girls standing near him. The carriages Ally has ordered to meet our party at the gate leading into Lady Edith's Drive now come up, and our friends (with the exception of Alice, who prefers ridingj are soon seated in them and driving through the beautiful woods towards Forge Yalley. Passing a pretty farm-house on their right, they presently leave the first wood and find themselves on a common with steep wooded hills on their left, rising to a considerable height, while the common itself is a blaze of golden furze ; here and there on the grass lies the trunk of some fallen oak, cleared of its bark. Presently they enter a second wood where the trees arch overhead, and drive beneath the shade of the fine old forest giants for some distance, till another gate bars their progress, and passing through it they find themselves in 196 FROLIC. the celebrated romantic gorge, the Forge Yalle5\ Hills, entirely covered with trees from base to summit, rise to a great height on either side the road, while the Derwent meanders beneath them on the right, its banks fringed with ferns, and with here and there a mass of the large burdock leaves clothing its sides, and throwing a deep green shadow on the river where the water is sufficiently clear to reflect them, but the recent heavy rains have coloured it a dirty brown in many places. Here our party dismount, and, after taking the hampers of edibles they have come provided with out of the carriages, send the latter on to the inn, at the entrance to the valley, while Ally ties Alice's pony up to a tree by the bridle, thinking she may want it again. Then our friends stroll through the beautiful woods by the edge of the Derwent, till they are tired of gathering the wild flowers and ferns the woods are full of, and at length sit down to rest in a pretty glen where a narrow wooden plank crosses the stream, which is considerably swollen by the recent severe rains, and here they have their lunch, while admiring the beautifully wooded heights above tliem. The bushes near them are com- DR. Carlisle's experiment. 197 pletely covered with honey- suckle, and the wild roses scent the air with their delicate fragrance. The short turf upon which the cloth has been spread is covered with purple thyme. ''It seems quite a sin to hide it," says Frolic, as she helps the boys to spread the good things they have brought with them on the grass. "But we shall none of us object to our lunch," laughs Ally, as he places a large rabbit-pie on the table cloth, and presently flanks it with cold salmon, salad, and various other edibles. ''I, for one, am fright- fully hungry, aren't you, Carlisle?" Ally asks Wilfrid, whom he sees is carefully arranging a shawl on the grass for Alice to sit on, under the shade of a spreading oak. Alice is standing, wait- ing for someone to guide her to a seat, with that patient expression on her face often seen in the blind. "I am at present thinking how I can make Miss Brice most comfortable, Ally," Wil- frid replies, as he takes Alice's hand, and guides her to the seat he has arranged for her. " [N'ow you can rest against the tree," he says, as he places her beneath it, " and you will find I have chosen you a comfortable, shady seat." Alice thanks him with a bright smile. "You are always thinking of me and my comfort. Doctor 198 FROLIC. Carlisle," she says, ''how shall 1 ever repay you for your kindness to me?" "I have done nothing deserving thanks," he rephes, while once more the colour Captain Brice has observed rise on his face, covers it for a moment, then as quickly disappears, not unnoticed however by Ally's quick eyes. " By Jove, I believe Carlisle is pretty hard hit, there," he thinks. ''What a pity poor Alice is blind, poor darling, everyone loves her, but surely Carlisle can never be dream- ing of marrying her, that is supposing Alice would have him, which I don't believe she would," and Ally proceeds to wait on Alice most assiduously, bringing her all the nicest things till she laughingly entreats him to stop. " You will kill me with kindness among you," she declares. " Nay, dear Alice, we will not do that. We could not spare you. Could we, Carlisle ? " the boy says in reply. After resting awhile, our party now suggest exploring the valley further, and, leaving the hampers in charge of a servant, they resume their rambles. Alice again mounts the stout cob, and Wilfrid leads it as before. But while they have been at lunch a storm, unobserved by the party, has been slowly gathering, and a BR. Carlisle's experiment. 199 sudden flash of lightning presently followed by a loud crash of thunder startles them, and before ^Ye minutes have elapsed, the storm bursts upon them in all its fury, causing the trees to sway to and fro on the blast, while the rain pelts down upon them through the leaves. '' We are going to have a terrible storm ; we must seek shelter as fast as we can," remarks Carlisle, as he urges the pony on at a smart trot down the woodland drive towards the farm they passed in coming, and runs at its side. '• I wish we were out of the wood, it is very dangerous to be in such near proximity to the trees, with such awful lightning flashing around us," he thinks as he hurries the pony onwards. '' If only Alice were in safety, it does not matter so much for us men." Ally has remained with them, and is now running at Alice's side on the left hand, holding the pony's bridle. Another flash, which seems to strike right across their faces, makes the young men still more anxious, and the pony increases his speed to a canter, while Wilfrid places his arm round Alice to hold her more firmly in her seat. They have left the rest of the party some distance behind. They are nearing the edge of the wood when another vivid flash maddens the pony and 200 FROLIC. off lie sets at a gallop up the hill between the trees, leaving the path they have been following. It is a miracle how Alice manages to keep her seat as the animal dashes onwards. The young men have lost all control over it, it is as much as they can do to keep up with it, but they know it will be almost certain death to the poor blind girl if they once let it escape from them. It is wonderful how it finds its way between the trees, for the wood is nearly dark save when the light- ning illuminates it. On, on they rush, but the speed they are going at is beginning to tell upon them though they are both good runners. Wilfrid's breath comes in short gasps, he feels as if a rope were being tightened round his chest, while the awful fear lest Alice should be injured by some branch in passing, causes him to hold his arm still more firmly round her ; he will save her if he can. The blind girl is the least fright- ened of the three, she knows she is in danger, yet Carlisle's sustaining arm gives her courage. But oh ! she thinks, if the pony would but stop. She cannot see where they are going, but she hears the panting breath of her companions, and entreats them to stop. ^'Do not injure your- selves for me," she cries, but Wilfrid only holds DR. Carlisle's experiment. 201 her tighter, he cannot speak. The pony is now dashing up the hill towards the summit, and he begins to slacken his pace as the steep ascent tries his wind, as his panting sides testify. And Carlisle begins to hope he is pretty well worn out, but no ! another flash of lightning and crash of thunder, and falling branches, sets him off again. "If this goes on much longer, I mast let go," Wilfrid thinks, '' and then, oh God, what will become of Alice ! " On they rush, ever higher and higher. It is getting lighter over- head, the trees are becoming more scattered. They are evidently nearing the edge of the wood, but a sudden cry from Ally startles him. In another instant Wilfrid sees the reason ; not a hundred yards further and they will have reached the summit of a steep cliff, caused by a landslip at some remote period, which stands up more than a hundred feet from the plain below. Wilfrid remembers he has often noticed the great ampitheatre of rocks from which masses of stone have at different times been quarried, standing up grey and distinct in outline above him when driving on the road which winds round their base. If he cannot stop the runaway, in a few moments more Alice will be hui'led over the 202 FROLIC. edge to certain destruction. Ally is dragging at the cob's head now with all his strength, but fear seems to have given it extraordinary power, he cannot check its mad gallop even for a minute. They are getting nearer and nearer the summit, in another instant they will be over it, for neither of the young men dream of saving themselves and letting poor Alice meet the awful fate before her alone, when a young fellow suddenly dashes out from among the rocks, almost at the edge of the quarry, runs with all his speed towards them and seizing the pony's bridle, forces the animal back on its haunches, thus effectually checking its mad gallop, while Wilfrid instantly lifts the trembling girl out of the saddle, and holds her in his arms. It is all over in a minute. Alice is safe! ''Saved, my darling, saved!" is all the young doctor can gasp out, he is trembling himself almost as much as the poor girl, with excitement. Then he turns to see who it is that has come in so timely a manner to their rescue. It is Florance Copplestone, who, after assuring himself that Alice is uninjured, explains how he has appeared on the scene just in the nick of time. *'I never had such a spurt as that in my DR. Carlisle's experiment. 203 life before," he exclaims as he wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. '' I had walked out here after lunch to have a look at this queer old quaiTV, which I noticed as we drove under it this morning, and had taken shelter from the storm among the rocks, when I caught sight of you all racing up the hill. I saw there was no time to be lost, so I dashed round the edge of the cliff as hard as I could go, and was only just in time to stop the brute of a pony; two minutes more and you would have all been dashed to pieces; see, we are not twenty feet from the edge of the cliff."' And Florance, after handing over the now completely exhausted pony to Ally, quietly proceeds to measure the distance, as if he had done nothing at all in stopping the animal. ^' Yes, it is just twenty feet from the edge ; you have had a miraculous escape, Alice," he says as he comes back. ''I am very thankful I was able to stop the pony. I never can see a queer looking place without wanting to explore it, and this old quarry struck me as looking particularly queer, as we passed it. And you see my inquisi- tiveness has been of use to you all, this time," he remarks as he lights a pipe. But Wilfrid notices his hand tremble as he does so. ''Copple- 204 FROLIC. stone is not quite so cool as he would like us to believe," thinks Wilfrid, ''but he is a plucky fellow, as well as a warm-hearted one. I shall feel grateful to him for the rest of my days, for saving my poor blind darling from an awful fate, and Ally and I owe him our lives as well, for we should certainly have gone over the cliff with her. # * * * The rain has ceased, and the sun once more shines brilliantly, making every leaflet, wet with the late heavy shower, sparkle in its rays. As the group stand on the edge of the down, the scene below them is enchantingly beautiful. Hill after hill stretches away to right and left of them, some clothed with trees to their very summits, others covered with deep purple heather. In the foreground they can see both North and South bays, with the Castle rising up grim and grey between them, dividing them from one another, on its rocky cliff*. The Cemetery, which appears to have been laid out in what must at one time have been a Eoman encampment, is about half-a-mile to the left, with its red and grey granite tombs scattered about among the hills, in the centre of which the little chapels DR. Carlisle's experiment. 205 are situated in the most picturesque manner ; while beyond again is the deep blue sea, the herring-boats sailing on it in all directions. The thunderstorm which has recently burst over their heads has been quite local, and does not appear to have affected Scardeburge at all. There is a pretty little homestead lying not more than a quarter of a mile below in the valley, and to this they now direct their steps, Alice leaning on Wilfrid's arm, who carefully guides her down the pathway which leads to it by the side of the quarry through the woods, the others following. Wilfrid looks anxiously in his companion's pale face as she rests on his arm. The poor blind girl looks worn, and very sad. She has had a terrible shock; but her fear has not been for herself, but for those who are dearer still, to one of her unselfish disposition, lest they should be injured in trying to save her. And now to add to her recent anxiety, Wilfrid's hasty passionate words have revealed his secret to the hitherto unsuspecting girl. She is terribly grieved at the knowledge that he should love one so afflicted as herself, for she feels it can bring him nothing but sorrow. Long accustomed to bear her burden alone, she has no wish another should 206 FROLIC. help her to share it. She will not allow herself to look into her own heart, and see how much of it belongs to Carlisle; she dare not do so, for she knows there can be but one result to such self- examination. No, she puts the thought far from her; she will only look upon him as a friend, as she has hitherto done. And as she walks by his side in silence she gradually recovers her serenity. And presently, in reply to his anxious enquiries, assures him she feels none the worse for her adventure. Dr. Carlisle knows he has betrayed himself, and his dark eyes rest with the utmost tenderness on the almost ethereal beauty of his companion; a beauty by no means diminished by her want of sight, for her long dark lashes so completely shade her downcast eyes they hide her blindness. Alice has, since her affliction, got into the habit of looking down, and few casual observers would detect anything the matter with her eyes, or know she was blind. She has a sweet, pure, gentle face, with a look of patiently borne suffering on it, which touches all hearts, and which has made Carlisle her devoted slave. There is nothing he would not do for her. Wilfrid feels a new life has opened to him since meeting Alice Brice. His has been DR. Carlisle's experiment. 207 such a busy life, one of unremitting study and work, lie has never had time to think of caring for any girl, enough to make her his wife. He meets fresh faces every day, for his practice is a very large one, and in a place like Scardeburge, where there is a constant influx of visitors, he never knows whom he may meet and become friendly with, but hitherto he has never been attracted by any face, however pretty. He is certainly no lady's man, and never has been; all his friends tell him he is cut out for an old bachelor, and he has always agreed with them. So reserved is his manner with ladies generally, that they all think him either very shy or unsociable, they cannot quite make out which, and therefore feel all the more interested in him, of course. ''It would be so nice to make him care for one," more than one gushing young female has said to another, in a moment of unusual confidence, but hitherto Carlisle has shewn himself indifferent to all their blandish- ments, and they have become tired of trying to make him out, and have at length let him alone. They little suspect that the shy young physician is caught at last, and by one who has never made any effort to attract him; but so it is. 208 FROLIC. Florance Copplestone, who is following Alice and Wilfrid down the woodland path with Ally and the runaway pony, which is quiet enough ow, looks thoroughly put out of his way. " In wish little Alice had never come to Scardeburge," he remarks presently, as he re-lights his pipe. ^' I am sure it w^ould have been far better if she'd re- mained quietly at home. What's going to be the end of all this, Ally? It is evident Carlisle is completely gone on her. Did you ever see a man in such a state of mind as he was in when he caught her off the pony, he seemed oblivious of our presence altogether. I only hope Alice was too frightened to understand what he was saying. I thought he would have taken leave of his senses, and it upset me awfully, for he is generally so calm and collected, you would think nothing would excite him." "But those quiet fellows are always the worst when they are roused," Ally replies. The fact is, Florance, he is awfully in love with Alice, and has been ever since he first met her. I've seen it all along." " Well, it is no business of mine, but what with one and the other, I feel a wish that I had remain- ed in Egypt. Who would have thought Frolic w^ould take up with that parson chap, Eaglestone : 9 DR. Carlisle's experiment. 209 I wish with all my heart she had never seen him, and he is coming back now, I hear. He is not fit to hold a candle to her." ^' Oh, come, I can't stand that. I am awfully fond of Eagle- stone, only he is too good for this wicked world. If he can only sacrifice himself for the benefit of other people he is thoroughly happy. But he is a fine fellow ; he has won the way to the hearts of the working men; they would do any- thing for him, and so would the fishermen and sailors. He is always down among them, and knows every inch of the old part of the town." "I don't mind how much he thinks of his work, but why he should carry off the most beautiful and nicest girl in England, I don't know!" '^Well, he has not got her yet, if that's any comfort to you," laughs Ally. '' But you have known Erolic ever since she was born, Uncle Florance ; you should have gone in and won when you had the chance." "What chance have I had out in India?" grumbles Florance; ''the best years of my life have been spent in that broiling climate, and now I come back to find everything and everybody changed. I left all you boys and girls, little kids ; I find you grown up into youug men and women, and most of you engaged. I I') 210 FROLIC. feel like the man who went to sleep for a hundred years; Peter Schlimmel wasn't it?" "You were hardly asleep when you and Winthrop carried up those boxes of shot and shell from the boats, on an oar, at the battle of C last year," says Ally, willing to turn his companion's thoughts in a more cheerful direction. "No, by Jove, my shoulder ached for weeks afterwards, and Winthrop has been seedy ever since, I would not do it again, I can tell you; but if we hadn't put our shoulders to the wheel on that occasion there would have been no battle, or rather the British forces would have sustained a signal defeat," laughs Florance, referring to the gallant deed which had made his name and Winthrop's famous. " But, to do your best to serve your country, and then come home to find all the pretty girls of your acquaintance either engaged or actually married is beyond a joke. Ally, my lad." "There are one or two left in Scardeburge yet. If you come on the Spa this evening, when the band is playing, you will see that for yourself. Uncle Florance, and I will introduce you to them. We know most of the people here now. Frolic has dozens of friends, she is awfully DE. Carlisle's experiment. 211 popular." '^Of course, such a handsome girl naturally would be, and everyone knows she has a good fortune. But here we are at the farm, Ally. See, there are all the girls standing at the door, looking as jolly as if that horrid beast of a pony had not nearly sent us all into eternity, not an hour ago." "They don't know anything about it, and I vote we don't tell them. Alice is all right. See how she is smiling, and how eagerly Carlisle is talking. I should not wonder if they'd settled it all by this time." "IS'o, Carlisle has too much sense to upset Alice again. I wish with all my heart the operation she has to go through was over. Carlisle seems so certain she will recover her sight ; I only hope he won't find he has been mistaken after all. When are they thinking of going?" "In about a week. I heard Kate Brice was coming to take Alice. Mrs. Mainwaring is going with them, and Carlisle himself, so he is doing everything he can. I feel with you I wish it was all over, poor little Alice." Our party are now greeted with various exclamations by the others who have been at the farm for some time waiting tea for them. 212 TROLIC. ^^ Where had they been while the storm was raging? Were not they very frightened, etc.?" are remarks which greet them on all sides, to which they return evasive replies. Only when Frolic has carried Alice off to rest in a bright fresh-looking bedroom, looking across the fields towards Forge Valley, does she ask her what has happened, for she feels sure that Alice looks much brighter than when she started. " Alice, you look so intensely happy, and yet startled and frightened at the same time; what does it all mean ?" she asks her, after making her sit down in an easy chair near the window round which the cabbage roses are trained. Then Alice tells her of the danger they have all been in, and how Florance rescued them from it; and then, half- laughing, half crying, the blind girl lays her head on her friend's shoulder and whispers that Wilfrid has asked her to be his dear wife; has assured her of his belief that her sight Avill be soon restored, and has absolutely refused to listen to her, when she has tried to show him how rash and foolish he is to think of burdening himself with her. ^'But he would not hear a word I tried to say; and oh. Frolic, I am happy, but I do long to see his face. I feel as if I kneiv what DE. Carlisle's experiment. 213 he must be like, and I know every tone of his voice, but oh, Frolic, it is hard, you can see him, and I can't I" and poor Alice who has been thoroughly upset by the events of the afternoon, begins to cry. ^' You will soon see him, darling, and forget all the sorrowful sad years of dark- ness you have borne so patiently," says Frolic, tenderly. ''Alice, dear, you have won the love of the best and truest-hearted man that ever lived, and I hope you will be as happy as you deserve to be. I respect and like Dr. Carlisle, and we all do, and we know our dear Alice will be in good hands," she adds, as she kisses her. ''I wonder if Alice will be disappointed in his appearance, he certainly is anything but hand- some. If it were not for his splendid dark eyes, I should think him quite ugly," Frolic thinks to herself, her own lover is so remarkably handsome. She thinks every other man is plain by com- parison, but she keeps her thoughts to herself. While Alice and Frolic are talking, Wilfrid is walking about the old-fashioned garden of the Inn, beneath the windows, thinking of the events of the dav: of his visit to the yacht in the morning, of his confession of his love for Alice to Captain Brice, and also of his determination 214 FROLIC. to keep the knowledge of his affection for her from Alice till after the operation, and of how the awful danger she was in forced him to throw his resolve to the winds, and tell her that she was all the world to him. Now he has spoken he does not feel sorry he has done so. Alice had at first refused to listen to him, but little by little, he had made her understand that her love would brighten his life, and that when her sight was restored she would no longer feel that the care of her could be a burden. ^^But it would never be a burden to me, dear Alice, even were you to be always afflicted, which God forbid. I should guard you and cherish you all the more, darling ; never tell me again you will be a burden to me, you could never be that," he had told her, in the grave quiet tones which went so far in influencing his patients, for they felt he really meant what he said, and it was this feeling of trust in him which made him so much beloved. Alice felt the same trust in him they did, and also felt compelled to obey him. ^'I cannot refuse him," she thought, '4br it is of no use if I do. I feel I must do as he wishes, but, oh, it makes me all the more anxious to regain my sight, that I may help to cheer his life.'' DK. Carlisle's experiment. 215 Presently Wilfrid looks up, and sees Frolic standing at the window with Alice, smiling down on him. The young doctor comes under the basement, which is surrounded by white jessa- mine, whose starry petals scent the air, and look- ing up enquires of Frolic how Alice is, and if they intend coming down. " Alice is much better, and we will join you directly," Frolic replies with a bright smile, which shows Dr. Carlisle he has a warm sympathiser in her, and presently they descend and saunter about the pretty garden where old-fashioned flowers are in full bloom. The landlady has set out tea for them under some spreading copper-beech trees which stand in the centre of the lawn, and they are not sorry to have it. Florance seats himself near Alice, and so Wilfrid is able to talk to Frolic about the blind girl. ''I do hope it will all end well for you both. Dr. Carlisle," says Frolic, after listening to his tale. "I love Alice so dearly, and I long to see her happy. It will be such a blessing for her to be able to see once more; but I do not think she is unhappy now. I never met anyone who bore such a trial with such quiet Christian fortitude, or who made less trouble of an affliction. Alice is always so 216 FROLIC. bright, cheerful, and ready to help other people ; she never thinks of herself. I have often met with girls who really have no real trials of any sort or kind, who deliberately sit down and grumble about nothing at all, and make one at last feel as restless and discontented as them- selves, while in their company." '^And you feel quite sure. Dr. Carlisle, that this operation will be successful?" ^'As sure as one can be in such a case. I have heard from Herr B , and he wishes us to be at his place as soon as possible; he will then examine Alice's eyes, and give his opinion, and, if it is favourable, there will be nothing to delay the operation. Alice is in good health, and Herr B never keeps his patients in unnecessary suspense," Wilfrid replies. ^' I don't feel any anxiety myself, and though there will be some pain, it will only be momentary if all goes well. Have you read Sarcy''s manual ^ Mind your eyes^ translated from the French, Lady Florence? It is an excellent little book, and gives very good advice, both as to how to preserve the sight and what to do in case it becomes affected." Lady Florence says she has not seen the book, and Wilfrid promises to lend it to her. '^I will bring it up to DR. Carlisle's experiment. 217 Garmonsway this eveniiig, if I may," he says. Florence acquiesces, and as it is getting late, our friends take leave of the landlady of the Inn, and return to Scardeburge. # # # # A day or two subsequently Alice, accompanied by Mrs. Mainwaring, her sister Kate, (who has come from Dorset on purpose), and Wilfrid, starts for London, and before long, very good news comes. Herr B has pronounced in favour of an operation, and it is to be done at once. Our friends are not kept very long in suspense as to the result. In the course of a few weeks the most favourable accounts of Alice are received. The operation has been perfectly successful, and her sight is restored. Herr B is delighted, he says he never had a more obedient, gentle patient than Miss Brice, and her calmness and wish to give as little trouble as possible have greatly assisted in restoring her sight. " Xo one but myself knows the pleasure I feel when an operation is success- ful, Miss Brice, but many people whose cases come under my care, are so fretful and restless they retard their own recovery. You must wear glasses for some time yet, and be very careful to 218 FROLIC. keep out of draughts, so that neuralgia should not set in, and you will be able to see as well in a few months, or perhaps better, than you have ever seen before. Your eyes are what is termed myopic (very short-sighted), and you ought always to have worn glasses, you would not then have strained your eyes in the effort to see more clearly, and probably never have suffered from cataract. Many people go on unconsciously straining their eyes for years, when by wearing suitable glasses, they would, on the contrary, have preserved their sight," the good doctor tells her, when wishing her good-bye. He has given her various glasses, with which to guard her eyes, both from too much light, and also from draughts, and which, he tells her she will have to wear for some time to come. CHAPTEE X. THE LADY FLORENXE. A SEA SONG. " Fair rose the morn. The merry sun Looked down on cliff and hill, The waves tossed lightly on the strand, And far away from rock and land, The deep blue sea was still. '' White sails went floating thro' delicious air All dreamily and slow, As if no hurry dwelled within that ocean, As if no tempest, and no wild commotion Could ever come and go. *' Xo weary woe, no anxious thought had place Along that shingly shore, No straining eyes endeavoured far to trace Some sign, some home returning ot a face, To ease their aching sore. ''And now 'tis night, in darkest garb arrayed, White horses toss afar, The clouds are scudding murky o'er the sky. The winds on chariots of terror fly. And wild those billows are. Supreme in power, at least to outward eye. That tempest clothed with fear Eradicates all heaven from the sk>% Only, a still small whisper like a sigh Speaks softly, ' God ib near.' 220 FROLIC. " Another morning rises on the Bay, Clouds softly blown Smile in soft wreaths of beauty, pure and fair, And dancing waves, crested with silver, bear Two wrecks alone. '* The golden Gates, stood open even then. In storm so dread, And from the waves of that tempestuous sea. Leaving two hearts to mourn all wearily ; Two souls have fled. " But in the voices of the ebb and flow Upon the shore. That still small voice of God shall whisper low, In murmuring echoes, ' It shall not be .so, No sea, shall the new earth and Heavens know. Nor parting, more.' " ^K2 J^T is a day of rejoicing for all, when Alice returns to Scardeburge, looking so bright and well with sight restored to the lately darkened eyes. Frolic drives to the Station to meet the party, and finds them all standing on the platform, the London train having just come in. Alice is leaning on Wilfrid's arm, looking supremely happy. She appears to have found something worth looking at in his dark grave face, Frolic thinks, as she comes up to the group and greets them warmly with outstretched hands. " We shall almost want a fresh introduction, Alice, dear," she says, as she kisses her, " don't you THE LADY FLORENCE. 221 think me much altered from the little girl you last saw years ago?" Alice smiles, ''You are exactly like what I pictured to myself, in fact you all are," she says. ''I seem to know every expression of all your faces. Although I did not know Dr. Carlisle before I became blind, yet he is just like what I imagined him." " How long am I to be Doctor Carlisle, Alice, dear?" the young physician says, tenderly. ''Wilfrid, then, but somehow I cannot get used to calling you by your Christian name," Alice replies with a bright smile. Somehow she looks all brightness, the beauty of her face no longer marred by sightless eyes, and intensely happy as she looks in her lover^s face. Frolic envies them, she feels that everyone is happy but herself, as one often does feel when someone we dearly love is perhaps separated from us, while one's neigh- boui's and friends are all rejoicing together, little thinking of, or pitying our solitary lives. "When am I and Edward to be together again? Perhaps never," she says to herself sadly. It is early yet ; our fi'iends left London by an early train to avoid the heat of the mid-summer day, and it is just striking one by the church clocks as they collect and send off the luggage. 222 FEOLIC. Frolic has sent her pony-phaeton away, as she thinks it will be pleasant to remain with the rest of the party, and not take a solitary drive over the Yalley Bridge to Garmonsway, There is a fresh breeze, and it is a day to make one rejoice in the very fact of living, though occasionally some rather heavy clouds hang over the sea, portending rain later on, but our friends are all too near home for that to trouble them. Wilfrid suggests their walking home, as they have been in the train so many hours, and the group move out of the Station and pass down Westborough. Wilfrid walks by Frolic's side and asks her what news she has had of her father and Edward. He notices his friend looks tired and worn. His love for Alice does not make him regardless of other people as some folk allow themselves to become, who apparently think that their affection for each other being so great it is unnecessary for them to consider those outside the charmed circle at all. Not so Wilfrid, he knows that he cannot live for himself and Alice alone, that life has its duties to be performed, and that one of his duties is to do what he can for those who have always shown themselves considerate for him and his, as Frolic has done, THE LADY FLOEENCE. 223 as well as thoughtful for all his poor patients. He notices she does not walk with her usual quick, springy step, that the smile with which she greeted Alice has died out of her face. She looks wearied and sad, and his eyes dwell kindly on her face, with some anxiety depicted in them as he waits for her reply. "Papa writes to me nearly every day; though I have not heard again from Edward, I constantly hear of him," she replies. "He is still at North- ridge, and my father says he shall never be able to live without him again, he has become so attached to him," and Frolic sighs. It certain- ly seems rather hard that Lord Northshire should take complete possession of her lover; that all the months of doubt and uncertainty should no sooner come to an end by Edward's avowal of his love for her, than he should be removed from her society altogether, and by her own father. "Never mind, Lady Florence, you must not allow yourself to be worried, it must come right before long. I know how painful uncertainty is, not only because as a doctor, I have watched by sick beds, and have had anxious cases under my care, but by what I have recently gone through. It used to make me sick at heart when I thought 224 FROLIC. Alice might never recover, that we might never be married; for I felt sure she would go on her weary way by herself if she were not cured, how- ever lonely she might find it; and though I have a strong will, I did not think I should ever persuade her to give herself to my keeping if she did not recover her sight, and as I went day by day, about my professional work, I used to feel as if I had no heart to attend to it, but I knew it had to be done, and so I went on with it. And you see my reward has come, dear Lady Florence. It is no use trying to shirk one's duty, whatever one's private sorrow may be. Alice's blindness has been my trial, and I thought for a long time it was verj^ hard, and I have been at times selfish enough to wish I had never met her, or learnt to love her. And I have asked myself sometimes if there were not one I could have learnt to love, equally well, among all the pretty and nice girls I was constantly meeting, who would be no cause of anxiety to me, that I must needs set my affec- tions on Alice, afilicted as she was. Yet blind as she was, there was a nameless charm about her which none of the others seemed to have, and I knew that for good or evil my heart was set on THE LADY FLORENCE. 225 ner, and on her only; no one else could ever take her place. And I made up my mind to win her if I could, but if I could not I deter- mined I would never marry. Often, when I have been with your merry party, apparently as cheerful as any of you, I have felt as miserable as a man could do. Surrounded as I was, and am, with blessings, and having youth, health, and strength, and enough means to live on in comfort — and to support a wife on, should I wish to marry — you would think I had nothing to be miserable about. But, Lady Florence, I have felt that if I could not have Alice, my life would simply become an intolerable burden. Now God, in His great mercy, has permitted her sight to be restored, and I seem to have every earthly blessing given me ; that is if I could manage to think of no one but myself and her, but unfortun- ately, or rather perhaps fortunately, if I do not wish to become a mass of selfishness, my friends' troubles are now making me uneasy. I don't like to see you looking so pale and delicate." "I cannot help feeling Edward's absence, it is all so uncertain. Are we to meet again, or are things to go on like this for ever, Dr. 16 226 FROLIC. Carlisle? I feel as if I could speak to you, but I cannot to anyone else, much as I love my friends; I know you will understand me, will know the heart-sickness of this unnecessary separation. Papa now knows Edward's worth, values him so highly he cannot bear to part with him; then why should he try and separate us? It seems as if his love were only given to me, and that happiness was only offered, to be snatched away from me again. I feel sometimes, Dr. Carlisle, that Edward and I shall never meet again, that fate is against us." Carlisle looks grave and concerned, he hardly knows what to say to the girl, but as they pass down the street, the sun suddenly breaks out from between some heavy clouds, which have till now obscured it, and lights up the old Castle in the distance with such brilliancy it almost seems close at hand. Wilfrid points towards it. ''See, Lady Florence, a good augury of your future happiness : the old Castle yonder was completely darkened by that black cloud just now, but there it still stands, firm and steady, and now the sun has lit up the old Keep, and shews it standing out distinct and THE LADY FLORENCE. 227 clear against the blue skies. The dark clouds are passing away, and so will those that seem to be obscuring your life, and all will be bright and clear again. You and Edward have only to be faithful to each other, and no one can ultimately part you; you are both of a steadfast nature, like the old Castle which has stood the wear and tear of centuries, and still stands firm on its cliff. I always admire the old Keep as I come down the hill from the Station, it makes Scardeburge look like some foreign town, instead of matter-of-fact old England." ''But, I don't see that we English are so matter- of-fact, though we are called so by foreigners," says Frolic, as she brightens up at Carlisle's sympathetic tones, in spite of herself. ''We are not always ready to gush forth with all our feelings and sentiments to every stranger, that is all. Englishmen are naturally reserved and adverse to what may be thought an unneces- sary display of feeling, but when they say a thing they generally mean it, and stick to it too." "Who are these gay gallants coming up the hill towards us. Lady Florence? They are looking hard at you as if they knew you, and were 228 FROLIC. anxiously waiting for you to acknowledge them," asks Wilfrid, presently, as two young men, one dressed in flannels and carrying a racket in his hand, the other in yachting dress, are seen approaching them. ''The fairest of the two, is a Captain Sylves- ter, and the young fellow is his brother. They are acquaintances of Ally's. I don't like Captain Sylvester at all, though he has tried to ingratiate himself with our party. There is something in his manner I don't think straight-forward," Frolic replies in a lower tone, for Captain Sylvester and his friend are now close by them. There is a crush in the street for a moment, the visitors are coming off the Spa, and some have paused to look in at the beautiful plaques and terra- cotta vases, in the windows of the fine art shop they are passing on their left, as they ascend the hill, which causes everyone to stop, for the pavement is not very wide, and there are several hundred people coming up the street. Captain Sylvester pushes his way through them, very unceremoniously, and rushes up to Frolic in the most efl'usive manner. "We have been looking for you on the Spa all the morning, Lady Florence, where THE LADY FLORENCE. 229 have yoTi hidden yourself? Everything seemed dull, flat, and unprofitable without your fair presence," he remarks, as he raises his cap, and then takes and holds her hand as if he never meant to let it go again. Frolic smiles some- what comically as she withdraws her hand. ''I am sorry you find Scardeburge so dull," she says, "I hear everyone saying it is becoming very gay and full now, and I am sure there are plenty of charming faces for you to admire on the Spa, if you only look for them. Captain Sylvester; and we so seldom go there, that I do not think you could have missed any of us. Herr Lutz's band is enough in itself to put life into the most dispirited person ; I at least have found it so when I have gone. You must go again this evening, and see if you cannot extract some pleasure from the place, or Scardeburge will be in despair at your want of appreciation of its far-famed Spa." Sylvester looks rather suspiciously at Frolic, as if he thought she were laughing at him, then rallies himself and returns to the charge. '^But where has your ladyship been? if it is not impertinent to ask," he says, with what he intends to be a pleasant smile. 230 FROLIC. ^'"We have been at the Station to meet our friends; allow me to introduce you to one of them, Dr. Carlisle, whose name you must have often heard since you have been here.'' The two men bow and look at each other with ill-concealed dislike. The few seconds he has been in his company have been long enough to convince Carlisle that Captain Sylvester's ac- quaintance is one he has no desire to make. Sylvester is a tall light-haired man, with a cynical expression in his half-opened eyes, not bad looking, but with an unmistakable air of conceit about him, which makes most other men dislike him at once ; his eyes are a light-grey, deep sunk in his head, he has a long thin hooked nose, the nostrils slightly drawn up as if by a perpetual sneer; a heavy sandy moustache con- ceals his mouth, which were it but seen would be found to be both cruel and cunning ; and a small imperial ornaments his chin, which is long and narrow. His complexion is a muddy white. '^ Looks as if he soaked," thinks Carlisle. " I wish Lady Florence had not introduced us. I feel inclined to kick him already, with that supercilious grin of his, and that eyeglass stuck in his eye. I am sure he does not need it, the THE LADY i'LOREXCE. 231 fellow can see as well as I do. He is evidently trying to make himself pleasant to Frolic. How could anyone have been so foolish as to introduce him. As for his yachting suit, I don't believe he was ever on a boat in his life, and could not take one out of the bay if he tried." But in this, Dr. Carlisle is mistaken. Captain Sylvester may not be and probably by no means is a desirable acquaint- ance, but he is thoroughly at home on the sea, having been in the merchant service for many years, though by no means an ornament to it. He is now at Scardeburge on the yacht Siinfloiuer; he has been to the Ionian Islands in command of it, with a gentleman, and they having put into Scardeburge Bay lately, anchored near the Devonienm^ where the Copplestones had made their acquaintance in rather an odd manner. The Sunflower had come in late in the evening, and the crew had found themselves short of oil to light the ladies' cabin, it being too late to go on shore, and so the Captain had sent to the Devoniensis to borrow some. Mr. le Marchant, the owner, being a married man, and his wife and sister being on board. Of course Captain Brice had been glad to lend them what they wanted, and so the acquaintance had begun. Ally had 232 FROLIC. gone on Mr. le Marchant's yacht, and rather liking the younger Sylvester who had just left Cambridge, and was on a visit to his brother, had brought him up to Garmonsway^ and intro- duced him to Frolic, with whom the young fellow was intensely struck, and whose beauty and charms he had spoken of on the Sunflower. Of course Captain Sylvester never rested till he got an introduction to Lady Florence, and he now tried to get invited to her home on all occasions. Some years previously he had been in charge of Lord Northshire's yacht, The Lady Florence^ but he had never met Frolic, who had been at school at the time. He had ingratiated himself with the Earl, who had had a high opinion of his seamanship during the time he was with him ; and a rumour having reached Sylvester that the Earl thought of re-fitting his yacht, and taking her out for a cruise, he had now made up his mind to obtain command of her if he could, hoping by this means to be thrown more in Frolic's compan}^, concluding the Earl would be certain to come round to Scardeburge to see his daughter, and she might probably go some short voyages with him. "And then we shall see if I can't cut out all those fellows who are THE LADY FLORENCE. 233 hanging about her, that Dr. Carlisle for one, the supercilious-looking brute ; he seems to think I am not fit to speak to Lady Florence ; how queerly he eyed me — those doctors find out every- thing. Can he have heard about the brandy that goes onboard the Sunflower^ I wonder? but if he has he cannot possibly know who consumes it. Xo one has ever seen me the worse for liquor, I take good care of that. I can put away more than most men and not show it," he thinks. Aye, so you may think, Captain Sylvester, but stand against the man who never touches alcohol in any form, and any observant man would soon tell the difference. Frolic feels that the two men have taken a dislike to each other, and, remarking it is lunch time, she slightly bows to Sylvester and passes on. She has not given him her hand a second time. Sylvester mutters a curse between his teeth, and scowls after them. " Aye, go your ways now, I'll be even with you yet, and take the pride out of you, you proud young minx," he mutters to himself. " I suppose you think I am not good enough to speak to. I'll write off to Lord Xorthshire at unce, and offer myself as 234 FROLIC. skipper for the Lady Florence again, aye, and I'll be skipper of that proud young daughter of his too, before long; I'll bring down your cursed pride before I have done," and, with an evil smile on his face, Sylvester turns in at the Club, and puts his intention of writing to the Earl in practice. After posting his letter, he lights a cigar, and calling a cab, drives off to the harbour. Standing on the pier looking towards the yacht, he notices the harbour master's pretty daughter, Joan Levitt. He saunters up to her, and nods familiarly. ^'Fine morning, Miss Levitt," he remarks with what he intends to be a pleasant smile. The young girl resents his familiar manner ; she is accustomed to be treated with respect by all the skippers of the various ships and boats which come in and out of the harbour. Joan Levitt has a spirit, and does not intend this Captain of a yacht to take up a familiar tone with her. '^Who is he, I should like to know?" she thinks to herself. ''None of the gentlemen on the yachts speak disrespectfully to me, I am sure ; neither Captain Brice, nor the Major, nor any of the young gentlemen, but this upstart coxcomb thinks he can be as familiar as he likes, THE LADY FLORENCE. 235 as I am not a lady. I'll keep my place, and let him keep his, and that I'll soon let him know," thinks pretty Joan, whom Lady Florence often comes to the Lighthouse to have a chat with, and she gives him a very short answer. " You seem in as bad a temper as the rest of the folk, Miss Levitt; that frown spoils your pretty face. Your sweetheart wouldn't care to see you now,'' Sylvester continues in an aggravating tone. He thinks the girl is only pretending to be annoyed, and really wants to draw him on. '' I have something else to do than to stay talking to you. Captain Sylvester, and so I'll wish you a good day," she remarks, and enter- ing the Lighthouse, quietly closes the door. She hears him curse her in his rage, and also mutter something about Lady Florence. "J) them, they are all alike," he says under his breath. " The devil's in all the girls, I think," and with another oath at the boat not having come from the yacht for him, he walks away to the end of the pier. "He is in a nice temper seemingly ; I should think he has been at that filthy brandy again. What fools men are who take the vile stuff. I am glad the young fellow, his brother does not. 23G TROLIC. The steward was telling me he never touches it," says Joan, to herself, as she begins to set the table for dinner, expecting her father and brothers home directly, she does not wish to be found unready for them. ''And what was that he was saying about Lady Florence, he seemed quite spiteful ? Well, I am glad neither of us are on the Sunfloiuer ; he'd be none too pleasant a fellow-passenger I'm thinking. Lady Florence has often said she and I will go a cruise together, but if Captain Sylvester com- mands the vessel, I for one would rather be excused, and I would advise her Ladyship to keep out of it too. I'd go anywhere with her, bless her, but not if that low fellow's to make one of the party," and her task completed, Joan sits down by the open cabin-like window and looks out on the bay. There are several yachts and steam launches in, besides the gunboat, and hundreds of brown-sailed fishing smacks; the beautiful bay presents quite a lively appearance. The tide is low and the sands are dry, nearly to within a few yards of the lighthouse. There has been a great catch of herrings, and they are being carted away to the Station as fast as the boats bring them in, and they can be THE LADY FLORENCE. 237 packed on the shore. There have been thousands caught the last week or two, and Joan who has seen them actually thi'own away, and carted off to the hills as manure, considers it a pity they should not be salted down, and stowed away, to be sold at a small profit to the poor in the winter, if there should be such terrible distress again, as there has been the last, when so many were starving, and yet," she thinks, "they are wasting good food now, just because it's plentiful,'' and as Joan goes on with her knitting, she feels there is something wrong somewhere, and she wishes she knew how to remedy it. She is a thoughtful girl, and ponders on various subjects when by herself, her life being a solitary one. As a child she had been thrown a good deal with Major Copplestone's boys, and Mrs. Copple- stone had often had her at the Manor Cottage to play with them. Her father, Captain Levitt, at that time being harbour master at Blakiston-on- the-Sea. The Major and he had been acquainted many years. Captain Levitt had commanded various transports, in which the Major had taken out troops, both to the Crimea and India, when in command of different detachments. He had the highest opinion of Captain Levitt, both as a 288 FROLIC. good seaman, and as an honorable, trustworthy man, and the many times they had been at sea together, had made them sincere friends. The Major always felt satisfied that every regard to their comfort would be paid to his troops when Captain Levitt was the chief officer on board any of the ships they were in. And when he found, on settling at the Manor Cottage, that his old friend was now harbour master at Blakiston Eoads, he was delighted, and smoked many a pipe at the lighthouse, talking over old days, while the children played together on the shore. Joan had grown up with a very strong feeling of afi'ection and reverence for the Major and his wife. The Major she thought the noblest man that ever stepped, with his kind sunny face and cheery voice, which Joan's quick ears could always recognise long before anyone else, when the gallant soldier came down the quay to the lighthouse, and she generally ran out to meet him with a cordial invitation to enter. The Major had made a favourite of the bright young girl, and many a day had she gone out fishing with his boys and Frolic on Blakiston estuary. For Lady Florence she had the most unbounded love — she would have willingly died for her. THE LADY FLORENCE. 239 Looking up to her as a superior being, admiring but not envying her beauty, the young girl has almost unconsciously formed her own char- acter on that of Frolic's. She is a very handsome lass, with a beautifully shaped figure. Strong and erect, and active, Joan can sail a boat, or pull an oar as well as any fisherman or sailor in the harbour. She fears no storms, and has been out with her young brothers in the wildest weather in her father's boat, the Sea Foam^ which she manages as well as any sailor of them all. She has been across the water to l^orway on more than one occasion, and she and Frolic have lately been planning a trip round the Orkney Isles, with the boys ; Mrs. Main waring having prem- ised to come with them. Frolic has become very restless lately, as she thinks Edward will before long come back to Scardeburge, and she feels that it would be better for both to be parted as much as possible till their three years' probation is over. Frolic is too genuine to meet the man she has given her heart to, as if she did not love him at all, and knows that she probably tvill meet him many times in the day, if they both remain in Scardeburge, and decides that she 240 FROLIC. will keep out of his way as mucli as possible, though sincerely longing for a sight of his dear face. But Lady Florence is no hypocrite. To meet Edward, and bow, and pass him, either in Westborough, or on the Esplanade, Spa, or Sands, as the case may be, or still worse, come across him in the fisher-folks' cottages when visiting her people in the old part of the town, and have to greet him as an ordinary acquaintance, will make Scardeburge hateful to her. The only alternative is to take a trip to sea with some of her youthful friends, who are nothing loth to accompaDy her this beautiful summer weather. And this is what she has made up her mind to do, and remain away for some weeks, if Captain Levitt will allow Joan to accompany her. The two girls have been making their plans accord- ingly^, and Joan, as she sits at the lighthouse window, is thinking how nice it will be to go for so long a time with her friend and Mrs. Main- waring, whom she also is very fond of, and the boys who seem almost like brothers to her. Presently, she sees Ally walking along the shore near the Grand. He is evidently coming to the Lighthouse. Young Sylvester is with him, and Joan blushes as she recognises the THE LADY FLOEEXCE. 241 young fellows, and quickly rising, hastens to her chamber and changes her morning print for a dark blue serge, which shows her splendid fio:ure off to adYantao:e. ''I don't like ^Master Allv to see me untidv," she thinks to herself as she smooths her glossy, wavy hair, which ripples all over her finely-shaped head. But possibly it is not Ally she is really thinking of, as he has often seen her in a gloriously untidy state when she had been fishing, or sea-weed gathering with the boys among the rocks, in former days. But, whatever her motive may have been, when the two youths reach the lighthouse they find Joan demurely seated in her pretty parlour, which looks like a ship's cabin, neatly dressed, and knitting her father's socks. A large nose- gay of carnations of all colours stands on the table, mixed with lavender, and some wild flowers she has been as far as Carnelian Bay to gather, early this morning; among them the pretty little white, starry flower, the Grass of Parnassus^ which grows in profusion on the clifl's. On the table are also scattered many curiosities Captain Levitt has brought home from various countries, at different times. Near them a beautiful cabinet photograph of Lady 242 FrvOLic. Florence, by Sarony^ rests on a velvet easel ; a splendid likeness, and one which is highly valued by Joan. Numerous other photos, by various artists lie about among curiously shaped baskets, and other pretty trifles the boys have brought her from the fine art shops in Scar deb urge, when they have come to see her. The room is as pretty as any lady's boudoir, the windows are low and wide like those in a cabin, and on the window sills lie some books and music. Through an open doorway can be seen a large canvas, while on the table near it are an artist's paraphernalia. It is evident Joan's education has by no means been neglected. On the canvas a life-sized portrait of Frolic is sketched in mezzo tint, evidently the work of a master hand. Joan rises to greet her visitors with a bright welcoming smile, and shakes hands cordially with them. '^You have caught me in a nice mess, master Ally," she says with a blush, (oh, Joan what a fib). ^'If I had known you were coming I would have tidied up the place." Ally looks round, and then sits down on a rocking chair, tossing his hat on one of the window sills as he does so. "I think you look as if you had been getting yourself up a howling THE LADY FLORENCE. 243 swell, Joan," he remarks, "so how you can look me in the face and tell me such a cracker I don't know. I believe you have just come from admiring yourself in the looking glass, lass, and a very pretty reflection you made, I am sure." ''Oh, master Ally, how can jou talk so," says Joan, quickly, glancing shyly at Sylvester as she speaks, and blushing a deep red, "I have only just put myself straight after getting Father's and the boys' dinners." Ealph Sylvester has seated himself near the south window, from which he can see Frolic's house on the Cliff. As he looks out, he wonders to himself how Ally can be so free and easy in his manner to Joan, whom he secretly admires, but being a very shy young fellow, he is horribly afraid Ally will discover the fact, or Joan either for that matter. He is a very different man from his brother, and is intending taking Holy Orders ; a sincere, earnest young fellow, hoping and trying to do all the good he can. Joan glances at him now and then, and wonders why he is so quiet. He presently rises and asks her per- mission to look at the picture on the easel. ''It is Lady Florence's likeness, is it not?" he asks. 244 FROLIC. . ^^ Yes, I have been taking lessons with Lady Florence, we have been studying with Mr. Neiimans, the talented Belgian artist, at his Studio, and I brought that home last evening. He has kindly begun it for me, but I do not know if I shall ever finish it, I so seldom can get Lady Florence to sit. Mr. Neiimans is painting a lovely portrait of her ; he says he shall send it to the Academy next year, if she will allow him to do so. I should like to be a great artist some day," she continues, as Ealph takes some sketches off the table and examines them. ''Do you think I shall ever make one?" she asks Sylvester, shyly. The sketches show considerable talent, as well as technical skill, and he tells her so, frankly. He is a clever artist himself, and taking a sketch book out of his pocket, shews her some pencil drawings he has made of the neighbourhood. " But I like this the best," he says, turning over the leaves till he comes to a water-color sketch of Carnelian Bay from the top of the cliff. The sketch represents a fairy-like shingly beach, with a rugged rock in the centre, standing far out in the sea. One point after another appears indistinctly in the distance with a violet haze THE LADY TLOREXCE. 245 cast over the whole, fading away into a pale opal tint, in the rays of the setting sun ; the tide is out, leaving dark pools and seaweed covered rocks in the fore-ground, while the hills above are covered with wild flowers, and a little brook runs down a wooded ravine between the cliffs, its banks fringed with meadow-sweet. One or two people are strolling along the shore, while others are seated on the rocks, or standing about on the cliffs. It is a wild romantic scene, and might be a hundred miles away from the populous watering-place on the other side of the hills, so quiet, and peaceful, and solitary does it look. '' Oh," says Joan, with a quick catch of her breath, as she holds it in her hands, ^'how beautiful. I was there this morning, but the tide was up, and it did not look like this, much more prcsaic. All these lovely tints on the cliffs, and the rays of light across the sea are so exqui- site, and the white sails of the distant ships, and the long trail of smoke from the funnel of the Bridlington boat look so natural, I feel as if I were there. Oh, Mr. Sylvester, didn't you feel when you were painting this as if your whole heart was full of thanksgiving to God for making His world so wondrously fair ; did you not feel as 246 FROLIC. if you must burst out into a hymn of praise, your heart was so full, as if you longed for someone to tell it all to? I did; I felt this morning as if I had just learnt what Addison meant to express in his Hymn of Praise to the Creator, you know the one I mean, it begins : ' Whea all Thy mercies, my God, My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In rapture, love, and praise.' " The girl's face is glowing with the feeling she is expressing as she looks at the drawing she holds in her hand, and then at Sylvester. "I think I understand what you mean,'' he says very softly. ''I often feel it, and also how very strange it is that we should require to be reminded of God's goodness by even a beautiful view such as this ; why are we not always acknowledging it in our hearts, and trying to show our gratitude to Him in our lives, every hour that we live? Since I have been here, I have felt more and more how, every day that passes, we are either using our opportunities or neglecting them. I have never spent so pleasant a holiday as I have had here this summer, it seems as if I had been learning something fresh every minute ; something more of God, of His THE LADY FLOUEXCE. 247 goodness, of His love, of His anxiety for us, and wish that we might become more and more like His holy Son. I never realised till this summer that God is Love, not love in the abstract, but an ever present love, always with us, encouraging us to love our neighbours as He cares for us. Have you that feeling Miss Levitt?" ''Sometimes, but not always," says Joan, half sadly, "so many things come between." ''And shut out The Father's face, you mean; but don't you miss it, don't you feel there is something wanting then?" he asks earnestly. "I often feel altogether wrong, as if nothing ever would, or could go straight, sir, as if I could not love God, or realise that He loves me," the girl replies, quietly. She does not feel shy with Ealph now. She has often had long con- versations with Ally and Frolic, and Herbert Bruce too, when forgetting their positions as young men and young women, they have simply remembered that they are, or ought to be, Christians, and she feels she can talk as openly and unrestrainedly to Ealph, whom she is glad to find such a different man from his brother, as she is accustomed to do with her older friends. 248 FROLIC. Joan is a single-hearted girl, a trifle too imagin- ative perhaps, but this comes from living so much alone; her mother has been dead some years, and her brothers and sisters are only children, so she has had few companions since she has left Blakiston to live at Scardeburge, until Major Copplestone's yacht came into the Bay. While they are still standing looking at the sketches, Ally calls to them to come and look out of the window. A splendid schooner yacht is making her way into the Bay, from the south- ward, her sails full set, glancing in the sun like the wings of a bird. ^^I believe that it is the Lady Florence, Lord Northshire's yacht; I heard she was expected," says the lad, as he looks at her through Captain Levitt's powerful glasses. '^ Yes, I can read her name on the bows; what a beautiful boat she is, as graceful as a swan upon the water. I wonder if Eaglestone is on board — she is going to anchor. Let us pull out to her Joan, and see if he is, and leave our cards on Frolic's respected pnrent, shall we?" '^Oh, Master Ally, you are joking," exclaims Joan, with a blush. '^ Lord Northshire would think us very bold, or rather think mc so ; of THE LADY FLOREXCE. 249 course you can do as you like, there's father's boat if you like to have it." ^^ Oh, come Joan, don^t tell me you have suddenly grown shy ; why you have been up at Northridge Castle hundreds of times before now. Come, let us go. Will you come, Sylvester?" ^'I don't like to do so," says the young fellow, ^'I feel like Miss Levitt, his Lordship might think it an intrusion." ^^Well, if you'll neither of you come, I shall go oflp and call by myself," says Ally, with a light laugh, and throwing on his cap, he descends the Lighthouse stairs, and loosening the rope of Captain Levitt's boat. The Bonnie Lassie^ he jumps into her and pulls away to the Lady Florence^ with a gay wave of his hand to the two young people who are still watching him from the windows of the Lighthouse. ^'It is a strange life for you here, Miss Levitt," says Sylvester, presently, '•' all alone as you might say, with no companions of your own age. Surrounded by rough sailors, and with all the noise and hurry and bustle of the different vessels and steamers coming in and going out of the harbour, all day ; I wonder you can settle down to any steady work. I see by the books 250 FROLIC. and papers lying about, you are fond of study." ^' We are often very quiet here," Joan replies. " I feel as if I were hundreds of miles away from everybody. It seems so funny to look across the water to the shore and see all the visitors ramb- ling about on the Sands and Spa grounds, and riding and driving on the Foreshore road ; I feel so distant and separated from them all, almost as if I were in a foreign country. I sometimes try and fancy I am in one, especially when we have some Norwegian and Eussian sailors on the quays ; we often have foreign vessels in." ^' It is a dreamy sort of life for you, Miss Levitt. Do you not sometimes feel you ought to be doing more than you are doing, working more for others I mean, trying to win more souls for Christ ; do you ever speak of Salvation to the sailors who come in?" ^' Father does, Sir, often, and I try and help him. My father has a service on the quay for the sailors once a week, and we all sing, and I go and see the fishermen's wives, and have their children here to teach when I can spare the time, but I have father and the boys to look to, and the home ; we only keep one servant, and I help her to bake, and in the house, and cook for THE LADY FLOREXCF. 251 father, he likes my cookiDg better than Eliza- beth's, that is our maid ; then I knit all father's and the children's socks, and the children like me to go out for a row with them, when work is over, besides I teach my sisters. I haven't much time on my hands, though perhaps you may think so. There's plenty to do, but father likes me to study when I can, he is a well-read man ; we read books together, and he explains them to me, in the winter evenings." Sylvester feels rebuked, he had fancied this pretty young girl in her sitting room as elegant as any lady's boudoir, probably did nothing but amuse herself ; he now wonders how she can find the time to do all she does, and yet look so fresh and neat. Captain Levitt now comes in from the office, and greets the young man cordially. "I thought young Copplestone was here, Joan," he says presently ; '' Where has he gone ?" ''He has gone off to Lord Northshire's yacht, father ; he wanted me to go, but I thought you would not like me to do so without you." ''Quite right my girl, I am glad j^ou remem- ber you are grown up, although his Lordship would no doubt be glad to see you. You have 252 FROLIC. been about the Castle ever since yon could toddle, with Lady Florence, still you'd best keep your own place now, and wait till they ask you on board the yacht. And so young Alfred has gone off to her, has he? Well I'm glad the Earl has come, it is about time he did. I have been thinking lately that Lady Florence is but in delicate health, she is not nearly so robust looking as she was ; I'm doubting she'll go off in a decline, like her mother before her." '^ Oh, Father, don't say so," exclaims Joan, in horror, ^' 'tis only this worry," — she pauses sud- denly remembering they are not alone, and colors. ^'Well, well, I hope so, I'm sure. I suppose Mr. Eaglestone is on the yacht with the Earl, do you know, Sir ? " he asks Ealph. " I believe Mr. Euthven had a letter from him this morning, saying that they would be here soon, and he was coming back to his work. Lord ISTorthshire has been ill, and his doctor advised his taking a sea voyage, so he had the Lady Florence^ which has been laid up in Blakiston harbour sometime, put in order and intends cruising about in her. My brother used to command her, Captain Levitt, and I shouldn't THE LADY FLORENCE. 253 wonder if lie resumed the command, he's about tired of the people he's with; he says they never know their own minds, or where they want to go, two days together." ''I sailed with your brother, several voyages; he was second officer of different ships I've been in, he is a good sailor and knows his duties as well as any man, but he is a queer customer when he's put out ; not got such a good temper as you, Sir, I should say," remarks Captain Levitt with a frank smile, which disarms his words of their apparent rudeness. Ealph colors, he does not agree with his brother on many points. Captain Sylvester is all for himself, and only cares for other people when they can be of use to him, in point of fact he does not really care for them at all. He thinks his brother a weak- minded milksop, he despises him for leading a strict life, and more than all for being a total abstainer. As far as he can he conceals from him the amount of liquor he daily consumes, as he has shame enough left in him to wish Ealph not to know how thoroughly he has sunk into a selfish drunkard and libertine; but Ealph has more than once noticed with the 254 FROLIC. greatest grief, that Ms manner is strange at timesj and he suspects he has been taking stimulants. * # * # Meanwhile, Ally has reached the yacht, and running lightly up the side has been received with open arms by its inmates. Eaglestone is delighted to see his bright, sunny face again, it makes him feel as if he would soon be among all his friends once more. His heart leaps with joy as he thinks he shall soon hold Frolic's hand in his, and look in her sweet face again. ^'Well, Ally, I am glad to see you my dear lad," he says as he shakes him by both hands, ^^ and how are they all at Scardeburge ? " " Oh, as bright and jolly as possible, Edward. Frolic is flirting her head off; there is a man called Sylvester, always after her now, I believe he intends coming to see Lord ISTortlishire about taking charge of the yacht by the way. You have not got a skipper have you ? " Edward has turned deadly pale at Ally's thoughtless speech, but whether it is at his saying that Lady Florence is flirting, the boy does not know, his remark has been carelessly made, but he wishes somehow it had not been spoken. THE LADY FLORENCE. 255 ^' Sylvester ! his name seems familiar to me," says the young clergyman, presently ; '' What is he like, Ally?" " Oh, not a bad looking chap, sandy, with rather large features ; I expect he is rather fast, though, not one of your sort Eaglestone, or mine either ; I hope he won't come on the yacht, as I am looking forward to going some jolly cruises with you. I should think Frolic will come and look after her father, but if Sylvester is going to be boss here, perhaps her young ladyship won't. I was only chaffing you, Edward, she hates the sight of the fellow ; however, I won't say any- thing against him, as his brother is a friend of mine; he is a thoroughly good fellow, and down- right religious, one of your own sort, I'm sure you'll like him.^^ While Ally has been running on, Eaglestone has been turning over in his mind why Sylves- ter's name seems one he has heard before. His terrible illness had made him partly forget all the names of the men who had been on board the Si/hil when the unfortunate man was shot, for whose murder he himself was taken up, but now it rushes through his brain that Sylvester was one of Chamber's boon companions on that awful 256 FROLIC. voyage, and one of the worst. To think that he should be in Scardeburge, and above all, allowed to be in the society of the girl he worships, has turned him quite sick with horror. Supposing Lord Northshire should select him to take charge of the yacht, what mischief may not accrue from it ; and all the good he has hoped the sea voyage may do his friend, be utterly destroyed by the companionship of such a man. But what can he do in the matter, the Earl is an obstinate man, and when once his mind is made up, he generally sticks to his purpose. Edward has, he knows, to return to his duties. Canon Beverley has written to tell him he must come back, and the thought of having to leave the yacht in charge of Sylvester, with Frolic perhaps on board, nearly drives him wild. But what can he do ? He bitterly, more bitterly than ever regrets the past ; the consequences of his youthful follies seem never ending. Had he always followed his father's advice, this new anxiety would not be his. He might openly woo and win the noble girl to whom he has given his heart, without anyone having the power to cast up his former life against him. ^'I will appeal to Lord Korthshire once more THE LADY FLORENCE. 257 before I go," he at length decides. ^'Surely he has not forgotten the time when he was young himself, and loved his wife as fondly as I love my darling ; he cannot be so cruel as to let this miserable state of affairs continue." But Lord Xorthshire sees no reason to alter his decision, though he acknowledges to himself that Edward is a man any woman would admire — his quiet, dignified though modest manner, earnest demeanour, and undoubted eloquence in the pulpit, would make him a most interesting character, especially to so single-minded a girl as his daughter, yet the Earl thinks they must wait — they are both very young, and a year or two can make little difference to them. So when Edward goes to his cabin to bid him farewell, he is deaf to all his entreaties, and while parting from him with great regret, and urging him to come on board the yacht whenever he can spare the time, he insists on his keeping his word. He and Frolic are only to meet as friends. '' Three years will soon pass, my dear lad, and you will but grow more dear to each other as you learn to understand one another better, and what may seem hard now, will, I believe, be a blessing to you both. There are too many hasty marriages 258 FROLIC. now-a-days, and people are often as ready to break the solemn vows they have made, as to make them. Do not think me harsh, or unkind, Edward, I love you as much as if you were my own son ; I only want you to do nothing rashly, you know your great fault is being over hasty in your acts, and this impetuous temper has led you into terrible trouble. Be guided now by me, I am sure I am right in wishing to prove that your love for Florence is likely to last. I must think of my only child, she is far dearer to me than you can possibly imagine, and my life is bound up in hers. I hope that she will be constantly with me now, and I shall see and know more of her. I now see my error in not looking after my child myself, but she has been in good hands, and Major and Mrs. Copple- stone have taken as much care of her as if she had been their own daughter, and I am deeply grateful to them for their kindness. I must go over to the Devoniensis and see the Major, I hear he is by no means well, so I will go with you in the gig as far as his yacht, and then it can take you on shore." Edward and Ally, after leaving Lord North- shire on the Devoniensis^ proceed to the Light- THE LADY FLOEENCE. 259 house pier, and Ally joins his friend, Ealph Sylvester again, whom he finds still in talk with Joan Levitt. Captain Levitt has returned to his duties — the fishing smacks coming into the Harbour every moment, require his attention — and has left the young people to entertain each other. Eaglestone greets her with a cordial shake of the hand. He has followed Ally into the Lighthouse. '' Oh, Mr. Eaglestone, I am glad to see you again, and are you very well. Sir?" asks Joan, with the rather countryfied accent which sounds pretty on her lips, and she blushes as she speaks. " Yes, very well indeed, and very glad to be back again, I can assure you, the sight of Scardeburge bay, and my friends' faces is quite refreshing after my absence ; I hope your father is well." ^' Yery well, thank you, Sir, he will be glad to see you ; I'll go and call him," and away she runs, while Ally introduces his friend Ealph to Edward, who does not seem particularly pleased at his doing so, which Ealph, being a sensitive young fellow, quickly perceives, and colours painfully. Then Edward feels vexed with himself at allowing his dislike of Captain 260 FROLIC. Sylvester to influence his manner towards his brother, whom he thinks a nice young fellow enough, and he throws more cordiality into his manner as he enters into conversation with him. Presently the young men take leave of Joan, and return to the town by the pier and Foreshore road, where Edward is greeted by several of the fishermen, who are cordially glad to see him again. James Eedferne's wife, who is selling fish to the excursionists who throng the shore, on seeing Edward, leaves her baskets in charge of one of her children, and comes running up to him. ^'Eh, but I am glad to see thy bonnie face again, Mr. Eaglestone, I was feared we'd never see thee more," she cries, as she seizes both his hands, and begins to laugh and cry, all in one breath. ^' Eh, but we've missed thee. Sir, my man and I." ^^ And how is James?" asks Edward, as kindly smiling on Mary's once more rosy face, he releases his hands." " Eh, but he's doin' nicely. Sir, owin' to Lady FloretLce's kindness, and all the other bonnie ladies, they have been good to us all ; and the children, they often talks of thee, and them, and oh, Mr. Eaglestone, we've a good comfortable THE LADY FLORENCE. 261 home over our heads now, in Monks' Entry, nigh to poor Mary Burns, she as lost her man in the storm when the Seagull was wrecked off Flamborough Head, and main good she is to us. She often comes in and helps me with the bairns when I'm fair pushed to get all done, sometimes; and Mrs. Beverley and the young ladies, they all look after us. God has provided. Sir, He won't let us want. 'Tis just as you told us. He lets us lack nothing, and does but ask us to thank him in return, and that we do, Mr. Eaglestone, and with grateful hearts," and the tears stream down the poor girl's cheeks, as she speaks, but they are tears of gratitude, not sorrow. ^'And how is Eoger Eldred, Sir ? I heard you had written to him to come on the yacht." " He is very well, Mary, but he won't be sorry to see his good wife again." ''Nay, I warrant he won't, and Lady Florence will be glad to see you^ Sir ; eh, but she's pined for a sight of your face, sadly, I'm thinking, many a time ; and often whiles she comes and has a chat with me, and we talk of you, Sir, and I often think she looks sad and sorry for the want of the sight of you, and many a sigh have I heard her give when she thought no one was 262 FROLIC. listenin'. Eh, she's a sweet young lady, Sir, and worth the winnin', and I do hope you'll be happy together, you'll make a bonnie[]couple." Edward's heart gives a throb of joy at this news — what lover would not feel pleased to think he was missed by the girl he loved? ^' Well, Mary, I must wish you good-bye now, and you can tell Mrs. Eldred that Eoger will be home presently. He has to bring my traps up to my lodgings from the yacht, good-bye," and on he goes, after cordially shaking her hand again. The others have got ahead of him, and as Edward sees they are making their way up towards the South Cliff he decides to go straight to his lodgings, where he finds Euthven waiting to receive him. Their rooms look cheerful and bright. Ruthven has placed a beautiful bouquet of late roses on the table, which is spread for dinner, and vases of flowers are placed in all available spaces, it is evident Edward's return is considered quite a festive occasion. He receives Edward with open arms, and is over- joyed to have him back again. "I have had Margery and Alice Brice here with my sister Katie, arranging the flowers, to THE LADY FLORE^'CE. 263 do you honour. Katie is staying with Lady Florence at Garmonsway^ and Miss Helen Mathias came with them. They are getting up some more entertainments to enable us to start a 'provident fund' for the poor, this winter." "I am very glad, indeed, you have returned, Eaglestone," he says, when dinner is over and fruit and coffee are placed on the table, and the young men draw their chairs up to the open window, from which there is a glorious view of the sea. ''There is to be a grand Fancy Fair held at the Spa shortly, and the stalls are to be kept by members of the leading families here ; Lady Florence has one, and all our fiiends are busy working for it. We want to make the under- taking a great success, in order to provide a good fund in hand, should the coming winter be as severe as the last. There is to be one day when the Spa will be thrown open to the public, gratis, by Lady Florence's wish, so that the mechanics and their families, and the fishermen and theirs, may have a holiday. They are to have a banquet given them in the Saloon, by Lady Florence, and there are to be grand doings for their amusement in the way of fireworks, etc." 264 FROLIC. "You intend to be very gay it seems," says Edward thoughtfully, "and Lady Florence will have her time completely taken up with all this business, I should think." There is a tone of pain in his voice as he speaks, Euthven is quick to notice. He looks pale too, and absorbed, as if his thoughts were of a distressing nature. "I wonder what is the matter," his friend thinks. "There is something wrong evidently; probably his sensitive temper may be leading him to think that because "Frolic is cheerful she does not really love him as much as he does her, and this idea it is which is disturbing him, but when he meets her he will soon know that Frolic's affection is unchanged. "I suppose you will go up the cliff to Garmonsway^ presently," he says aloud. "You will find all the girls there, and I will come with you, if you like. I am there most evenings. I think I have not told you Margery and I are engaged to be married." "No you did not do so, Euthven, you are more fortunate than I. You are free to marry the girl you love. I may not even speak of my love for her, to the woman I worship," and he sighs heavily. THE LADY FLORENCE. 265 ^'Why, how is that, Edward? I thought the Earl had given his consent to your being engaged to his daughter. Has he put a re- striction on your intercourse then?" '^We are not to be engaged for three years, during which time Lady Florence is to be at liberty to choose whom she pleases. We are only to meet as ordinary acquaintances. You may fancy what I feel about it, Euthven. How can I meet my darling on such terms, loviug her as I do? She will know by one look in my face, by the very tone of my voice, how much I care for her. I cannot act a part, you know I would gladly die for her, if need were." ^'You had much better live for her, to guard her from all the troubles of life as far as you can; dying for a person may not be possible, but living for them may be, and that is a very solemn responsibility, Edward, as I feel more and more every day. But, as far as you and Lady Florence are concerned, make up your mind to do your duty, and do not persuade her to fail in hers to her father. God, you may be sure, will never bless the love that casts duty aside in order to gratify its own inclina- tions. You should not permit yourself to be 266 FROLIC. so easily cast down. Lady Florence is a noble- minded woman, thoughtful far beyond her years; there is a quiet dignity about her which would never permit her to receive the attentions offered her by any other man, having given herself to you. Her manner to men, though gracious and courteous, is distant, she only unbends to in- timate friends. And though she might have had a score of admirers by this time had she so chosen, her name has never been coupled with that of any gentleman in Scardeburge. Consider- ing her position, wealth and beauty, this speaks volumes, and shows that Lady Florence con- siders herself plighted to you. She would never change, I am sure, if instead of thi^ee years, you had to wait for ten. I think you should con- sider yourself especially fortunate, Eaglestone. Not long since you told me you felt utterly unworthy of her love, now you are depressed, and wretched, because Lord Northshire wisely wishes you both to wait until you are satisfied that your love is real and sincere. This may be needed discipline for you, take care how you reject it. God is filling your cup very full of happiness ; try and be thankful for it, and do your duty. Now let us go, Lady Florence THE LADY FLORENCE. 267 wants to walk up Oliver's Mount this evening, to see the sun set behind the distant hills; the sunsets are very fine just now. I was coming through the wood, which runs down the west side of the Mount, the other evening, and turning round was struck with the beauty of the sky, as the sun disappeared behind the racecourse. The heavens were a blaze of gold, beautiful beyond description — no painter's art could have reproduced it — and on telling Lady Florence how lovely it was, she said she would go this evening. It has been a lovely day, and I think there will be a grand sunset to-night. Will you come? It is time we started," and Euthven rises as he speaks, and throws on a pilot coat, the evenings are chilly although it is only early autumn, and the leaves are only here and there commencing to turn to russet and gold. So the young men leave their lodgings, and crossing the Spa bridge, make their way up the cliff, and before long, reach Garmonsway, Edward's heart beats so wildly as he enters the doors, he almost fancies Euthven can hear it ; he turns deadly pale, and pauses a moment in the hall, then recovering himself, follows him up the broad stone staircase to the drawing room. 268 FROLIC. Euthven seems quite at home in the house, he thinks somewhat jealously, as his friend opens the drawing-room door and enters. Frolic is standing near one of the windows, talking to a group of friends ; she has her hat on, and is evidently on the point of going out. She comes towards Euthven with a bright smile as he and Edward enter the room, and shakes hands with him, then a very faint colour spreads over her face as she turns and places her cool white hand in Edward's, and tells him, in her low sweet voice, how glad she is to see him. She raises her frank, true eyes to his, and he knows that his darling's love for him is unchanged. Edward longs to set all conventiality aside and clasp her to his breast. He turns so deadly white as he holds her hand fast clasped in his. Frolic feels frightened at his intense emotion. She longs to say something loving and tender to him, but alas, she dare not. She feels the position her father is placing both her and her lover in is cruel, and still more so after all he has suffered, but the Earl has been inexorable. He has seen his daughter since parting from Edward, and has told her his mind is made up. For three years she is to remain free, she is to promise her hand THE LA.DY FLORENCE. 269 to no one, and although she feels it terribly hard she will not disobey him, she has given him her word, and she will keep it, but she cannot look otherwise than delighted to see Edward, she cannot force a false expression on her face, for there is nothing false about her. Edward and Euthven find everyone intends going up Oliver's Mount, a high conical-shaped hill, which is seen from all points of Scardebarge, somewhat resembling a sugar loaf with the top cut off, which stands up by itself a short distance from the town to the south, beyond the Valley, from which a magnificent view of Scardeburge and the coast and country for many miles, can be seen, and, as it is getting late, they start. Passing up Prince of Wales Terrace, they turn round by Oliver's Mount School, and Ally stops to speak to one of the masters, whose acquaint- ance he has made, then hurries on after Erolic, who is strolling slowly up the hill with Margery. " Edgbaston wants me to play in their eleven to-morrow," he explains as he joins them, "but I can't go, as you want me on the yacht, Frolic, and so I told him." ^']S"o, I certainly cannot spare you. Ally; my father makes a point of my going, and I shall 270 FROLIC. feel happier if you are there. He tells me Captain Sylvester has joined him as commander, having bid the people he was with good-bye in, it seems to me, rather an off-hand manner, so, as I dislike him particularly, I should like to feel you are on board. Papa says I may bring Joan, and we shall be away a few days, cruising about the coast. Mrs. Mainwaring is coming with us, as Aunt Ducilla hates the water." ^'Do you think I may bring Ealph, Frolic? I know he would like to come, awfully," asks Alfred. "I am sure you may. Ally; no need to ask Papa about such a trifle as bringing your friend ; he is far nicer than his brother." ^^Yes, a different sort altogether. Just look round here. Frolic, at the view, is it not splendid ? " ^^Yes, but we really must go on, we shall not reach the top to-night if we pause so often." They are just passing through the wood, on the right side leading up to the summit, and presently find themselves standing at the very edge of the hill, with Scardeburge lying at their feet. In the distance, bay after bay is seen along the coast, the waves breaking over THE LADY FLORENCE. 271 the rocks, jutting far out into the sea. The coast from Filey Brigg to beyond the North Bay can be seen with the naked eye, while to the west, the wooded hills stretch away, one behind another, till they melt in the distant horizon. The castle, the different church spires, and towers, public buildings, and fine houses, composing the town of Scardeburge, lie scattered about anion c^ the hills and yalleys below, makinor a most beautiful and romantic picture ; once seen never to be forgotten. Even while they all stand there the sun sinks slowly down behind the racecourse, while the clouds around and above it are lit up with a glory of color perfectly indescribable, and as it disappears beneath the hill the heavens seem like a field of gold, with rays of light stretching far away into the pale azure above. '' How beautiful," they all exclaim. Then presently the twilight begins slowly to steal down upon the hills, and with one last long lingering look, they begin the descent. Coming down from Oliver's Mount, our friends meet Patience Langton and little Eobert, accom- panied by the^Harboui'-master's* daughter, Joan Levitt, who holds the child's hand. She looks 272 FROLIC. somewhat shy, but exceedingly pretty in her broad-brimmed sailor hat, and dark-blue serge. '^ We have been at Garmonsway^ and finding you were all out, have come on," remarks Patience, as she takes Frolic's hand. '^Did you see the sun set ? was it not glorious ! " Frolic replies. Eobert has grown a fine bonnie-looking child, and most people stop to admire the handsome little fellow as he walks through the streets, or plays on the shore. Patience has, in her quiet daily visits to the poor, found the " peace which passeth all under- standing." The first terrible grief she had felt when the news of Bruce's death was brought her, has passed away, and is replaced by a beautiful serenity of spirit which seems to attract all with whom she comes in contact. To-day she has been to see Major Copplestone, and the delicacy of his appearance has been a shock and also a revelation to her. Euth, who often went on the yacht, accompanied by the Major's young- er sons, to sit an hour or two with him, while Mrs. Copplestone went to lie down, (for now he had become so great an invalid, she seldom left him,) had told Patience how quickly he was failing, although with the exception of his wife. TTIE LADY PLORENCE. 27 no one else seemed alarmed about him, and this account of her dear old friend resulted in her visiting the Devoniensis. Her sister Euth was now the promised wife of Captain Brice, the commander of the yacht. She was struck with the very great change in Major Copplestone. He told her he felt his days were numbered, though he tried to conceal his condition from his wife and his boys. " I often think what will become of my dear children when I am gone. Patience," he had said to her. "But I hope they will grow up Christian men, trying to do their duty. For Ally I have little fear, he is as grave and steady as if he were already in my place, and I think he will look after his mother and the younger boys ; but it is for them I am anxious, they are so full of life, frolic, and fun, I fear their high spirits may lead them into mischief. Still I have done my utmost and best for their future welfare. I have appointed Euthven and Carlisle joint guardians of the boys till they are of age. And, dear Patience, I want you to look after my darling wife, and be hei constant companion and friend. She will grieve terribly when I am gone, my poor darling We have never been parted a day since we were 274 FROLIC. married, but it will not be for long, and she must try and live for our children. Promise me, dear Patience, you will never fail her if she wants a friend." Patience, with tears streaming down her face, had promised she never would. It was this sad, sorrowful interview with her old friend, which was casting a shadow on her face and subduing her manner as she walked down the hill with her friends ; and presently, when she had the oppor- tunity, she asked Carlisle, who made one of the party, what he thought of Major Copplestone's state of health, telling him of her visit to the yacht. '' I was there this afternoon, and I saw a sad change in him," Wilfrid replied. "He will not be with us much longer. Miss Laugton ; and ah ! how we shall all miss him. His kind cheery voice, his true heart, his hand which never failed a friend, will not easily be replaced. I wanted him to winter in the Mediteranean, but he refuses ; he says the boys must return to school, and Ally to the hospital, and he will not go so far away from them. He knows his time is short, and he has decided to be with them all, as long as he can. And I think he is right, I THE LADY FLOKEXCE. 275 would rather have those I love round me, if I were dying, than pass away among strangers in a foreign land, would not you, Miss Langton?" Patience's eyes are full of tears, and there is a lump rising in her throat which prevents her replying. She cannot look forward to a life without the Major without a terrible heart-ache. She has known and loved him from childhood, and he was her dead lover's dearest friend, but she determines never to forget her promise to be a true friend to Georgie and her boys when the terrible time comes that they will have lost him. The good son and loving brother, tender and affectionate husband and father will never be forgotten, and his memory will live for ever in the hearts of those who are left behind, though but for a little while, to mourn his loss, but who sorrow not as those without hope, believing that they who sleep in Jesus shall God bring with him. Oh, may his sons, she prays, grow up like him, and remember always that he lived the life of a noble Christian soldier, and died as he had lived, thinking of others to the very last, and with his dying breath asking the God whom he had served so faithfully and well, to bless and watch over them to the end. CHAPTEK XI. JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. '"Never again !" vow hearts when re-nnited, Never again shall love be cast aside ; For ever now the shadow has departed ; Nor bitter sorrow, veiled in scornful pride, Shall feign indifference, or affect disdain, — Never, oh love, again, never again ! * * * * "'Never again!' so speaks the sudden silence, When round the hearth gathers each well-known face, But one is missing, and no future presence, However dear, can fill that vacant place ; For ever shall the burning thought remain, — Never beloved, again ! never again ! *" Never again ! ' so — but beyond our hearing — Ring out far voices fading up the sky ; Never again shall earthly care and sorrow Weigh down the wings that bear those souls on high ; Listen, oh earth, and hear that glorious strain, — Never, never again ! never again ! ' ' Adelaide Anne Proctor WEEK has passed away in which much has happened. Frolic has been for a cruise in the Lady Florence with her father, who has shewn great delight in the society of his only child. The weather has JOAN LEVITT DISTIXGUISIIES HERSELF. 277 been perfect, and Frolic has thoroughly enjoyed herself. They have gone ashore and pic-niced at Hayhurne Wyke, and admired the romantic beauty of the secluded spot ; have rambled about the steep streets of Eobin Hood's town, ascended the lofty Peak, and visited the grand old ruins at Whitby. Joan and Ealph have established a firm friend- ship in the many sketching expeditions they have made, and Ally has made numerous notes of the ferns and flowers of the country. The commander of the Lady Florence^ Captain Sylvester, has rendered himself partic- ularly kind and obliging to all on board, and has apparently no feeling but that of respectful admiration for the Earl's beautiful daughter, who has become convinced that she was over hasty in her judgment of him. There is no fault to be found with him now. If anything he is too reserved and formal. Eoger Eldred alone seems doubtful of him, and only shakes his head when he hears him praised. He has sailed with Sylvester in former days, and knows more of him than he lets his comrades be aware of, but still he watches and waits to see what the skipper is plotting. "I never knew him keep 278 FROLIC. sober so long before," he thinks, ''and he's after no good, I feel certain. He's set his heart, or what does duty for it, on the Earl's bonnie lass, and he'll move heaven and earth to get her if he can. I've seen him watch her, when he thought no one was looking, as a cat watches a mouse, and didn't he turn an awful color when his Lordship talked one day about his daughter marrying our young parson, God bless him! The skipper would run off with Lady Florence if he could, or I'm a Dutchman; and I'd feel easier in my mind if she was safe ashore, and Joan Levitt too. I don't like them lasses being on the boat; I feels mischief is brewing, but I'll do my best to circumvent it. I'd tell master Ally my suspicions, only he's so thick with that young Ealph, and he'd be for telling him all again. Well, never mind, I must make my own brains serve me, that's all ; and they're clear enough now, thank God, and that's all owing to Mr. Eaglestone, may God reward him, and I'll take care of Lady Florence for him in spite of the skipj)er, or twenty such as he ; I'll keep an eye on him whatever happens. He won't deceive me, however much he does my master." But nothing occurs to justify Eoger Eldred's sus- JOAN LEVITT DISTINGL'ISHF.S HERSELF. 279 picions, and the Lady Florence returns to Scardeburge with her precious freight without any mis-adventure, at the end of the week. The next few days are taken up with grand preparations for the forthcoming festivities on the Spa, and Frolic and her friends are working morning, noon, and night, to make them success- ful. Scardeburge is shortly en fefe^ and every- thing promises to go off well. Excursion trains are running into the town from all parts, the grand Fancy Fair has been advertised far and wide, and day by day the Spa is crowded with visitors. It is a gay scene, tents are pitched, and flags flying in all parts of the grounds, and the fair stall-holders are doing a brisk trade, in their smart and artistic costumes. Lady Florence and Joan Levitt are holding a stall together, dressed as Grace Darling^ and a Scardeburge Fisher Lass, and very handsome the two girls look. Sylvester and Ealph have been in attendance all day, and very useful Frolic has found them. Sylvester's quiet manner has put her completely off her guard, and she has lost all fear and dislike of him. Edward Eaglestone, who has assisted at various concerts and recitations during the Fair, 280 FROLIC. confides to his friend, Miss Mathias, his uneasi- ness at Sylvester's close attendance on the Earl's bonnie daughter, but the kind-hearted lady tries to sooth his anxiety, and says she can see nothing but ordinary politeness in Captain Syl- vester's manner to Frolic ; yet still Edward is suspicious, but keeps his thoughts to himself. So the last day comes, the '^ People's day," and all Scardeburge has assembled on the Spa. The splendid grounds are thrown open to the public, and the people seem to be enjoying themselves thoroughly. The crowd, though large, is not a disorderly one, and all is passing off well. Lady Florence is the observed of all, and the poor regard her with unqualified approval. So the day passes into evening, when thousands of coloured lamps light up the beautiful terraces and winding walks surrounding the fine buildings in which various entertainments are going on. Edward has at last found an opportunity of speaking a few words to Florence, and asks her if she is not very tired. She acknowledges she is with a little sigh as she sits down to rest a few minutes, her stall is generally surrounded, but there is a few moments lull. The tide is rising, and the waves arc softly lapping the Spa Avail. JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HEESELF. 281 'Tis a perfect night, the moon is shining and casting a long stream of light on the dancing waves ; here and there in the distance twinkles a light from some of the vessels riding at anchor. The Lady Florence is about half-a-mile distant, not far from the gunboat Pearly and other yachts, but rather further from the shore. Lady Florence presently remarks that she hoped the Earl would have come to the fete this evening, as it is the last day, but he has sent word he is not feeling very well, and she sighs as she speaks. ^^Papa is not very strong," she says, "I wish I could see him growing more so." "I think the sea air is doing him good, but he talked of sleeping on shore for a few days ; I almost thought he must be with you at Garmons- way^^'' Edward remarks presently. '' No, I thought he was coming, but Captain Sylvester told me just now that he had changed his mind, and would remain on the yacht," Frolic replies. While she is speaking, the sound of oars is heard as if a boat were being rowed towards the steps at the north entrance to the Spa, and in another moment. Captain Sylvester comes hurry- ing up to the place where Edward and Frolic are seated, looking very much distressed. 282 FROLIC. '*' I am soiTT to be the bringer of bad news, Lady Florence." he says in a voice of deep concern. '*but the Earl has suddenly been taken ill. and has sent one of the yacht's boats for you to return to him at once. There is no time to lose.'' Sylvester's voice trembles with agitation as he speaks, he is apparently quite upset with the painful intelligence he brings the young girl. "Papa ill!'' she exclaims starting up, ''I will go to him at once of course ; come Joan, let us go, do not let us lose a minute,'' and she hurriedly throws a shawl over her fancy dress, and placing her hat on her head, takes Joan's arm and is preparing to go at once to her father, when Svlvester hesitatin2:lv remarks. '•They have only brought the gig^ Lady Florence. I fear there will not be room for Miss Levitt.'' and he offers Frolic his arm, but Joan is not so easily shaken off. ''TheYe will be room enough for mc^ I can take an oar. and one of the men can remain behind," she says decidedly; ''where Lady Florence goes, / go, 'tis not fitting she should go alone. I shall not leave you my Lady,'' she remarks quietly as she slips her arm through Frolic's. Sylvester frowns, but hides his annoy- ance as best he can. JOAX LEVITT DISTTNGUISHES HERSELF. 283 •'I had better come also, La^dy Florence," says Edward, recovering himself. He has been so astonished at the appearance of one of the yacht's boats, and also at the announcement of Lord Xorthshire's illness, he has been silent for a moment or two. and he makes a move forward as if to go with the girls. ''It is not right they should s:o alone with that man," he thinks. But Sylvester instantly objects, Lord Xorth- shii'e particularly begged that no one but his daughter should be sent for, he did not wish to disturb the festivities, he quickly remarks to Edward, who hesitates on hearing this, and Svlvester hurries the girls down to the boat, and places them in it. As they are pushing off. Dr. Carlisle, who has just heard the news, comes rushins: down the steps to the gig at full speed, and sprino^s in and seats himself by Frolic. ''If your father is ill he will certainly want me. Lady Florence," he remarks quietly, without apparently noticing the scowl with which Sylvester greets him, but nevertheless he sees it and foims his own conclusions, though he holds his tongue, and ihey push off in silence. Presently Sylvester explains to Frolic that feelinoj uneasv about the Earl, who had not been 284 FROLIC. quite so well, he had returned to the yacht and found him much worse than when he had left him, and had instantly come back to fetch her. Had it been sufficiently light, Frolic would have noticed the crew of the boat look at each other with surprise as he speaks, but it is too dark, and she is quite unsuspicious ; but Joan Levitt feels that all is not right, and is truly thankful they have Dr. Carlisle with them. They soon reach the yacht, and Frolic springs on deck in a moment and hastens towards the EarPs cabin, but Sylvester stops her as she is passing through the large inner saloon. "Let me tell your father you arc here. Lady Florence, or he may be startled," he says. Dr. Carlisle and Joan have passed into the large dining saloon, feeling Frolic would prsfer seeing her father alone at first, and Sylvester, after leaving her standing a moment or two in the cabin, returns to her with a very grave expression. '^Will you come with me. Lady Florence," he says in a trembling voice, " the Earl is asking for you." Frolic starts up hastily from the chair she has taken, and follows Sylvester down a wide passage leading to the Earl's own private cabin. JO AX LEVITT DISTIXGnSHES HERSELF. 285 which is some distance from the saloon. The yacht is a very large one, and fitted up in the most splendid manner, and so arranged, to study the Earl's nervous temperament, that hardly a sound can be heard of the outside world from his apartments, xls Frolic passes down the velvet curtained lobby, she fancies she hears the click of a door being fastened behind her, but her anxiety for her father causes her to hurry forward. The lobby is dimly lighted by coloured lamps, and presently Sylvester leads her into the large cabin occupied by the Earl, and carefully closes the door, then, leaving her there, proceeds to Lord Northshire's own sleeping cabin. He does not immediately return, and Frolic begins to feel uneasy. Is it her fancy or is the yacht moving? She almost thinks she hears the distant sound of chains running down as if the anchor were being weighed. What is the mean- ing of it all? Why does not Captain Sylvester return? She will go and see for her father herself. Why does the commander of the yacht keep her waiting? The girl's pride is rising, she is about to raise the velvet curtains which separate the inner cabins from the saloon, when Sylvester returns. There is a strange light of 286 FROLIC. triumpli in his eyes, as lie comes forward towards her ; a strange, horrible familiarit}^ in his manner, and as he approaches nearer, Frolic perceives he smells strongly of brandy I In a moment the truth bursts upon her, Captain Sylvester has been drinking, and she is alone with him ! But slie will not let him see how horribly alarmed she is at her position. Should she cry out, not a soul can hear her, but her father whom she believes is close at hand — in another moment she will be with him. She passes swiftl}" through the curtains and enters her father's sleeping apartment, followed closely by Sylvester. '^ Oh, father, where are you?" she exclaims, as she hurries in ; then, in another instant, the awful truth bursts upon her — her father is not there, the cahin is empty ! Frolic's blood is up, she turns with indigna- tion to the base scoundrel who has deceived her, and exclaims, " Where is my father. Captain Sylvester? Lead me to him, I command you," and the spirited girl draws herself to her fuU height as she speaks. The indignant colour that glows in her cheek adds to her magnificent beauty, and only inflames the man's mad passion JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. 287 for her. His eyes glow like coals of fire as lie advances towards her, his voice shakes with excitement, as he addresses her. ^'You are in my power, proud girl," he cries, ''Your father is not here; he left the yacht for your own house, hours ago. He is now at Garmonsway. Not a soul is near us — I have fastened every door. You are mine ! Mine at last, and nothing can save you I 'Tis useless your calling," he exclaims, as Frolic cries out in her anguish and horror for Joan! for Wilfrid! as she springs to the cabin door, but good God, it is locked I Sylvester has spoken the truth. She is completely in his power; in the power of a man whose worst passions are inflamed by drink ; and she feels lost indeed ! The yacht, too is moving she now perceives. They have left the still waters of the bay and are going out to sea, she can tell by the motion of the vessel, which is beginning to toss in the wild waters of the Northern ocean. The wind has risen, and is commencing to howl past the cabin windows. They are indeed already steaming fast out to sea, Sylvester having given the mate private orders to do so the moment he returned with the boat's crew. 288 FROLIC. ^^Yes, every door is locked, Lady riorence, there is no escape for you," Sylvester speaks in a triumphant tone. ''I have sworn that you shall be my wife, and you shall I You are completely in my power. I have laid my plans well; a note is already placed in your father's hands, in your writing, telling him you have eloped with me; that your love is really mine, and you see no other way of escaping from your promised lover, Edward Eaglestone's unwelcome attentions. He believes that our marriage will take place to- morrow at B . Already the proud old man is cursing you for the false and treacherous part he believes you have acted. And another letter is now in Eaglestone's hands, telling the same tale — that you do not love him, and have run away from his hated presence — and he, shy and sensitive as he is, believes it. Hal proud girl, do you feel that I have won the game?" he proceeds, as he sees a look of anguish cross her face, ''that your lover is lost to you for ever. He believes the worst of you now. All your hope of being his wife is gone. You are mine!" and, as he speaks, Sylvester endeavours to throw his arms around her. She feels his hot breath on her cheek, in another instant he will have JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. 289 defiled her lips with, his hateful embrace, but with one superhuman eflfort she tears herself away from him, and springing to her father's writing table, she snatches a sharp Damascene dagger from it. The Earl's passion for ancient weapons stands her in good stead. Placing herself behind the table, she raises her arm high above her head, the sharp, gleaming dagger in her hand, and turns to him with flashing eyes, as, with a cry of horror he endeavours to reach her, on seeing her intention. "Stand back, you vile creature!" she cries, "another step towards me, and I plunge this dagger in my breast. I will trust myself to God, rather than remain in your power!" Horrified as he is, he dare not disobey her. The girl's noble, majestic appearance as she stands there, overcomes him altogether, and he implores her to give him up the deadly weapon. "Oh, God, would you kill yourself?" he exclaims. "For God's sake put it away from you!" "Dare not to profain that sacred name," she cries, "but try and remember in whose presence you are; God is with me still, even here, where you thought you had me in your power, base 20 290 FROLIC. man. Do you think your contemptible lies will deceive my father, or Edward? Do you think they would believe for one moment I would go with a vile, miserable creature such as you, and leave those whose honour is — mine? Captain Sylvester, unlock that door, and stand aside!" And, completely cowed and astonished by her courage, he does her bidding. Frolic sweeps past him through the open door, and in another instant, the strain over, falls unconscious into the arms of her faithful friend Joan Levitt, who, alarmed at her prolonged absence, has come with Dr. Carlisle to seek her. Before Wilfrid has time even to step forward and support the unconscious girl, whom Joan is forced to lay gently on the floor, a sudden and fearful crash is heard, as if the yacht were being torn asunder, and the awful cry is raised on deck, ^^Eeverse the engines, we are on the rocks!" Then Eoger Eldred rushes into the cabin with a ghastly face. ''Save yourselves," he cries, " we have run full on Filey Brigg, we are sinking fast. That fool of a mate is drunk, and the skipper's nowhere. I knew how it would be when that lubber of a mate had charge of the yacht — he knows nought of the coast. Quick! JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. 291 quick I Dr. Carlisle I to the boats, they are man- ning them now. Good God, where's the skipper, is he drunk too ? " Carlisle points to the inner cabin, then stoops, and lifting the senseless form of the Earl's daughter, carries her on deck, assisted by Eldred, and closely followed by Joan ; and she is lifted down into one of the boats, which the crew have lowered, and which is now tossing wildly up and down on the breakers. The ship is a complete wreck, and the waves are tearing wildly over her bows, as they break on the huge rocks on which she has run at full steam. In a few more moments she will go to pieces. With the exception of Sylvester, all are safely in the boats, but where is the skipper? ^' Surely you will not leave him to perish I " cries Joan to the men, as they prepare to row off from the wreck, and, seizing a rope which lies over the port side, she swings herself up by it with the agility of an athlete, and in an instant has disappeared within the ship. " For God's sake come back, Joan!" cries Wil- frid, but in vain; with difficulty he persuades the sailors to rest on their oars, while he follows the spirited young girl on her dangerous enter- 292 FROLIC. prise. Eeaching tlie deck, he clambers over the debris and hurries to the Earl's cabin, where a fearful sight meets his eyes. On the floor lies Sylvester, dead! — shot through the heart by his own hand. The blood has poured from the self-inflicted wound, and is staining the floor a deep dark crimson, while the weapon he has committed the fearful deed with, has dropped from the nerveless hand, and lies by his side on the floor. Fearing the terrible consequences of his daring attempt to abduct the Earl's daughter, he has been guilty of the coward's last act, and sought an escape from his evil deeds by a suicide's death ! Horrified beyond measure, Wilfrid, after satis- fying himself that life is quite extinct, drags Joan away from the ghastly sight, and returns to the boat ; and they are not a moment too soon, even as thej^ push off from the wreck, she gives one mighty upheaval of herself and then sinks slowly beneath the treacherous waters, carrying Sylvester's body with her down into the depths. * * * * Some weeks have passed since that night, a night never to be forgotten by those who were actors in the terrible scene just described, and JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. 293 Frolic has been lying between life and death. Bitterly does Lord Northshire regret that he ever objected to Edward's being engaged to his daughter. His refusal has nearly cost her her life and reason. For had it not been for the Earl's obstinancy, Edward would have had the right to take care of her, and she would never have gone on board the Lady Florence without him. But '^ all's well that ends well," and the Earl has at last given his consent to the marriage. ^'I have taken such bad care of my darling, Edward, I think I had better trust her to you, now she is still spared to me. I feel she is safer with you than with me, after all," he had said. But Edward is ft)o happy to utter one word of reproach to Frolic's father; for has he not just given him what he most longs for on earth, his only child. Only by degrees is Frolic recovering fi'ora the awful shock she had received, in being subjected to the insults of the drunken ruffian. Captain Sylvester. And not till he thought he was going to lose her did the young clergyman thoroughly realise all she was to him. But he knows it now. 294 FROLIC. ^N"©! for a moment did either he or Lord I^orthshire believe the letters they had received were written by Frolic; and their agony may be imagined when they saw by what a cnnning artifice the noble girl had been decoyed on the yacht. There was but one comforting thought and that was that Carlisle was with her ! The news had spread all over the Spa, not an hour after the boat's leaving the landing stage, that the intelligence Sylvester had brought of the Earl's illness was simply a ruse to enable him to obtain possession of his beautiful daughter ; and furious were all Frolic's friends, especially the sailors and fishermen, whom she had so often befriended, to think how cleverly the rascal had deceived her. In spite of the storm and the darkness of the night, every available vessel in the harbour and bay started in pursuit of the yacht. The gunboat Pearl was quickest, and actually witnessed her being wrecked on Filey Brigg, and it was the PearVs boats which came to the rescue of the shipwrecked crew. Had not Sylvester taken his own life, he would have been certainly linched by the enfuriated sailors ! Not even the knowledge that Frolic was saved JO AX LEVITT DISTIXGnSHES HERSELF. 205 calmed them down for some time. So much, is she beloved that day by day the doors of Garmonsiuay are beseiged to know how she is; and it is a day of rejoicing all over Scardeburge when she is pronounced ont of danger. * * * * 'Tis a lovely, soft October evening, the after glow is still lingering in the western sky, and the waters of the quiet, peaceful, but beautiful North Bay are an exquisite turquoise tint fading into opal. The tiny wavelets are breaking softly on the firm white sand, all nature seems as if a hush of silence were on it, awaiting the coming of night, with her trailing sombre garments to lull it to sleep. Two figures stroll hand in hand on the shore, pausing occasionally to gaze on the exquisite tints of sea and sky. They are Edward and Frolic, who have sought this solitary spot for a last walk the evening before their wedding. They are speaking of the past, present, and future. Their young hearts are full of love, but their love for each other only glows out into a nobler feeling, the longing to benefit all the human race. They are determined, these two, to do their utmost and 296 FROLIC. best for all, every hour they live. They are already one in every thought and feeling, and they will tomorrow, pray their Heavenly Father to assist them to consecrate their lives to the good of their fellow creatures, while kneeling together at the altar to ask His blessing on their marriage vows. Already, young as they are, they have had their hearts torn with anguish, they have known sorrow, and they are therefore more anxious to lighten the sorrows of others. Eecently another trial has come to make them remember how short and uncertain our time is on earth. It is the death of their best and dearest friend, Major Copplestone, who sunk so quietly and peacefully into rest at last, that his friends hardly knew at what hour the spirit had fled from its earthly tenement. Alas, this lovely autumn has brought terrible sorrow to Mrs. Copplestone and her bright lads, yet this very grief has shown her what a noble young fellow her eldest son, Ally has become. So thoughtful, and grave, and serious beyond his years ; so watchful and careful for his mother, and his young brothers. He has indeed proved by his tender thought for them, that he will become a JOAN LEVITT DISTIXGUISHES HERSELF. 297 bright example to others of how a Christian should live, and in Ally, Major Copplcstone will never be forgotten. So the evening draws in, and the voung lovers who are to become one on the morrow, stroll homewards in the bright moonlight. Edward, after holding his darling close to his heart, bids her farewell at the gates of Garmom- way^ and the young bride-elect returns to her guests, while Edward rejoins Euthven in their lodgings. On the morrow the sun shines brilliantly on three as lovely brides as ever stood at the altar, Lady Florence, Alice, and Margery, and proud indeed do their bridegrooms look, as they stand beside them. The ceremony is most impressively performed by Canon Beverley, assisted by the Eev. Eobert Midlothian. All Scardeburge is there to see the wedding; the church is beauti- fully decorated with flowers, and the road leading from Garmonsivay to St. Saviom-'s is festooned with arches, the work of those whom Frolic has so often befriended, the fisher- men's and artizans' families, who are all thronsr- ing the streets, to see her in her bridal 21 298 FROLIC. garments. The town is in gala attire, flags are flying, and triumphal arches cross the streets at every available opening. ^ * * * After a very brief honeymoon, Edward and his beautiful young bride return to Scardeburge, where they intend passing the winter, preferring it to the more fashionable resorts further south. Their friends are all settling near them, as they fully appreciate the genial, though bracing climate of the beautiful watering-place which Frolic declares would be far more largely pat- ronised as a winter resort, were it more fully known how pleasant it is during the winter months, with its warm sheltered walks in the lovely valley, where the great hills keep ofl" the cold winds, its sunny Esplanade facing the south and its fine Aquarium and winter garden. Mrs. Copplestone has decided on remaining near Frolic, having no enducement to return to the Manor Cottage, as Ally intends joining Dr. Carlisle in his practice, as soon as he has become qualified. Athol is now a middy on board Captain Bruce's gunboat Pearl, and Bertie is reading with Euthven, for holy orders. JOAN LEVITT DISTINGUISHES HERSELF. 299 There is a grand entertainment given at Garmonswaij to all her working friends by the Earl's fair daughter, on her return to Scardeburge as a bride, and cordially is she welcomed back by all who have learnt to love her as Lady Florence Blakiston, though they now greet her under a new name. Lady Florence Eaglestone. But her intimate friends still know her best by her pet title, FROLIC I THE END. Marshall & Son, Printers, Scarborou^ THE NEW POPULAR NOVEL, BONNIE EDITHA J PP ESTON E, By the Author of " S/ie Reig^ns Alone,'' " The Alperton ghost" "Jim the Rough -?ider," <5-c. Price Three Shillings. Opinio fts of the Press. "The story is full of incident of the most interesting kind."— Ladies' Pictorial. "The author has skilfully delineated the passions of the heart, and constituted what is really a pleasant and delightful story. It may be safely prophesied that it will have a good run of popularity. Some of the scenes of domestic life are pourtrayed with a great deal of talent." — Dorset County Chroiiidv. " A single-volume story which will please not a few readers." — Leeds Mercury. " The author is a bright and entertaining writer, her style is easy and fluent, her characters natural and pleasant, and the moral char- acter of her work all that could be desired. There is not a dull chapter in the book, which is written with considerable spirit and skill." — Salisbury and Winchester Journal. "The authoress has written a sympathetic tale of love and reverses, in which are many touches of nature." — Sunday Times. " The intention of the authoress is excellent." — Literary Clmrch- man. "A kindly wholesome book." — Church Times. "The story is cleverly written." — Literary World. " A distinctly readable little volume, and one which no one can peruse without feelings of jileasure. We do not know whether Bonnie Editha Copplestone is not superior to the description novel the author claims for it." — Searhorouyh Eveniag Ibexes. " Cleverly written. Brimful of interest." — Derby Gazette. " Admirably adapted for presentation to a young man just entering upon the stern realities of life, and whom the terrible suft'er- ings of Eaglestone may cause to ponder well in his choice of compan- ions." — Scarboronyh Gazette "The great charm of the story is its healthy moral tone, and it is a book which may be read by our daughters with pleasure and profit." — Scarborouyh Daily Post. "This is a healthy domestic story, touching the power of faith and love to overcome sin and indolence. The workmanshipjs good, the moral excellent, and some very graceful verses from the pen of Mr. C. R. W. Waldy are scattered here and there up and down its pa ges . — Yorlcsh ire Post. London: Simpkin, Marshall ^ Co., and all Booksellers. (tt I