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 LI E) RAR.Y 
 
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 UN 1VLR.5ITY 
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 Digitized by tine Internet Arcinive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/pairofblueeyesno01hard
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 ROBsox a:>d sons, printers, pancras road, v.w.
 
 A PAIR or BLUE EYES. 
 
 % iouti. 
 
 Br THOMAS HARDY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE,' ' DESPERATE REMEDIES,' ET 
 
 A violet in the youth of primy nature, 
 Forward, not permanent, sweet, not lasting. 
 The perfume and suppliance of a minute ; 
 No more.' 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LOXDOX: 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 8 CATHERINE ST. STRAND. 
 
 1873. 
 
 [TAe right of translation and reproduction is reserved.']
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. PACE 
 
 I. * A FAIR Vestal, throned ix the West' . i 
 
 II. *'Twas on the Evening of a Winter's 
 Day' 
 
 III. ' Melodious Birds sing ^Iadrigals' . 
 
 IV. 'Where heaves the Turf in many a 
 
 mould'ring Heap' . 
 
 V. ' Bosom'd high in tufted Trees' 
 
 VI. ' Fare thee weel a while' 
 VII. ' No more of me you knew, my Love' 
 VIII. ' Allen-a-Dale is no Baron or Lord' 
 
 IX. ' Her Father did fume' . 
 
 X. ' Beneath the Shelter of an aged Tree 
 
 XI. ' Journeys end in Lovers' Meeting' 
 
 XII. ^ Adieu ! she cries, and waved her lily 
 
 Hand' 
 
 xiir. ' He set in order many Proverbs' . 
 
 II 
 
 28 
 
 44 
 
 68 
 
 90 
 
 104 
 
 147 
 171 
 192 
 220 
 
 251 
 285
 
 NAMES OF THE PERSONS. 
 
 Elfride Swancourt, a young lady. 
 
 Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith, an architect. 
 
 Henry Knight, a reviewer and essayist. 
 
 Christopher Swancourt, a clergyman. 
 
 Spenser Hugo Luxellian, a lord. 
 
 Helen, Lady Luxellian, his wife. 
 
 Mary and Kate, two little girls. 
 
 Charlotte Troyton, a rich widow. 
 
 Gertrude Jethway, a poor widow. 
 
 Lord iMxelliavbS master-tncLSon. 
 
 The master-mason^ s wife. 
 
 A dazed man-servant. 
 
 An imperturbable factotum. 
 
 Other servants^ mechanics, a sexton, clowns, <^c. 
 
 Scene : chiefiy near the coast oj a western county 
 occasionally in London.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 'a fair yestal, throned in the west.' 
 
 It may be premised of the persons named 
 in the preceding list that the aim and mean- 
 ing of their appearance upon earth— what in 
 its highest sense they came into the world 
 to do ; if much, if httle, or whether to be 
 only lookers-on, and to do nothing at all — 
 will receive but a faint analysis. Even from 
 among their social tones and humours (in 
 the meanest cases a congeries of significant 
 phenomena) we can select but a sweet or 
 bitter here and there in hastening along. In 
 VOL. I. B
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 other words, on the subject only of some 
 nodes m the orbits of then* lives is it the 
 province of this narrative to be diffuse. 
 
 Though people and places are here be- 
 fore us in imrvo as the seed and vehicle of a 
 history, who shall put limits to the possible 
 extent of good, bad, or indifferent circum- 
 stance that, in connection with these few 
 agents and this narrow scene, may have 
 arisen, declined, and been finally deposited 
 in the Past as valuable matter for inspection 
 by eyes who know or care where to find it ? 
 If the reader has taken the trouble to look 
 down the list with anything like kindly 
 curiosity, and given a minute of his time to 
 the idle imagination of why such a company 
 was ever brought together by Fate, Chance 
 Law, or Providence, it promises well. He 
 will perceive that three or four of them are 
 capable characters, whose emotional experi- 
 ences may deserve some record. 
 
 Elfride Swancourt was a girl whose emo-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 tions lay very near the surface. Their na- 
 ture more precisely, and as modified by the 
 creeping hours of time, example will illus- 
 trate as those hours pass by. 
 
 Personally, she was the combination of 
 very interesting particulars, whose rarity, 
 however, lay in the combination itself rather 
 than in the individual elements combined. 
 Will it be necessary to thrust her forward 
 in the garish daylight, and describe her 
 points as categorically as Cleopatra's mes- 
 senger in depicting Octavia? Hardly. It 
 might vulgarise her, and rob her of some of 
 the sweetness which the stolen glimpses only 
 that will for the present be taken may serve 
 to heighten. For instance, the height of 
 her figure; the turn of her head. These 
 things may never be learnt to the very last 
 page of the commentary. 
 
 There is, however, something more than 
 the respect and love of her biographer to 
 prompt this reticence. As a matter of fact, 
 you did not see the form and substance of
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 her features when conversing with her ; and 
 this charming power of preventing a material 
 study of her externals by an interlocutor 
 originated not in the invisible cloak of a 
 well-formed manner (for her manner was 
 childish and scarcely formed), but in the 
 attractive crudeness of the remarks them- 
 selves. She had lived all her life in retire- 
 ment — the monstrari digito of idle men had 
 not flattered her, and at the age of nineteen 
 or twenty she was no farther on in social 
 consciousness than an urban young lady of 
 fifteen. 
 
 One point in her, however, you did no- 
 tice : that was her eyes. In them was seen 
 a sublimation of all of her ; it was not ne- 
 cessary to look farther : there she lived. 
 
 These eyes were blue ; heavenly blue. 
 
 At least heavenly blue in High Parnas- 
 sian.^ But at the risk of lapsing into too 
 extreme a realism for narrative art, let it be 
 said in reasonable prose that her eyes were, 
 more truly, blue as autumn distance — blue
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 as the blue we see between tlie retreating 
 mouldings of hills and woody slopes on a 
 sunny September morning. A misty and 
 shady blue, that had no beginning or sur- 
 face, and was looked into rather than at. Of 
 the two, indeed, perhaps this earthly blue is 
 the more beautiful. 
 
 As to her Presence, it was not powerful ; 
 it was weak. Some women can make their 
 personality pervade the atmosphere of a 
 whole banqueting hall; Elfride's was no 
 more pervasive than that of a kitten. 
 
 Xotice, as Elfride's own, the thoughtful- 
 ness which appears in the face of the Ma- 
 donna della Sedia, without its rapture : the 
 warmth and spirit of the type of woman's 
 feature most common to the beauties — mor- 
 tal and immortal — of Eubens, without their 
 insistent fleshliness. The characteristic ex- 
 pression of the female faces of Correggio — 
 that of the yearning human thoughts that 
 lie too deep for tears — was hers sometimes, 
 but seldom under ordinary conditions.
 
 A PAIR OP BLUE EYES. 
 
 The point in Elfride Swancourt's life at 
 whicli a deeper current may be said to have 
 permanently set in, was one winter afternoon 
 when she found herself standing, in the cha- 
 racter of hostess, face to face with a man she 
 had never seen before — moreover, looking 
 at him with a Miranda-like curiosity and 
 interest that she had never yet bestowed on 
 a mortal. 
 
 On this particular day her father, the 
 vicar of a remote country parish, and a 
 widower, was suffering from an attack of 
 gout. After finishing her household super- 
 visions, Elfride became restless, and several 
 times left the room, ascended the stair- 
 case, and knocked at her father's bed- 
 room-door. 
 
 'Come in I' was always answered in a 
 hearty farmer-like voice from the inside. 
 
 ' Papa,' she said on one occasion to the 
 fine, red-faced, handsome man of forty, who, 
 puffing and fizzing like a bursthig bottle, lay 
 on the bed wraj^ped in a dressing-gown, and
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 every now and then enunciating, in spite of 
 himself, about one letter of some word or 
 words that were almost oaths; 'papa, will 
 you not come do^\Ti-stairs this evening ?' She 
 spoke distinctly : he was rather deaf 
 
 'Afraid not — eh-h-h I — very much afraid 
 I shall not, Elfride. Piph-ph-ph I I cant 
 bear even a handkerchief upon this deuced 
 toe of mine, much less a stocking or slipper 
 — piph-ph-ph I There 'tis again I Xo, I 
 sha'n't get up till to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Then I hope this London man wont 
 come; for I don't know what I should do, 
 papa.' 
 
 'Well, it would be awkward, certainly.' 
 
 * I should hardly think he vrould come 
 to-day.' 
 
 'Why?' 
 
 ' Because the wind blows so.' 
 
 ' Wind ! What ideas you have, Elfride I 
 Who ever heard of wind stopping a man 
 from doing his business? The idea of this 
 toe of mine coming on so suddenly ! ... If
 
 8 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 he should come, you must send him up to 
 me, I suppose, and then give him some sup- 
 per and put him to bed in some way. Dear 
 me, what a nuisance all this is!' 
 
 'Must he have dinner?' 
 
 ' Too heavy for a tired man at the end of 
 a tedious journey.' 
 
 ' Tea, then ?' 
 
 ' Not substantial enough.' 
 
 'High tea, then? There is cold fowl, 
 rabbit-pie, some pasties, and things of that 
 kind.' 
 
 ' Yes, high tea.' 
 
 ' Must I pour out his tea, papa ?' 
 
 ' Of course ; you are the mistress of the 
 house.' 
 
 • What, sit there all the time with a 
 stranger, just as if I knew him, and not any- 
 body to introduce us ?' 
 
 ' Nonsense, child, about introducing ; 
 you know better than that. A practical 
 professional man, tired and hungry, who 
 has been travelling ever since daylight this
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 morning, will hardly be inclined to talk and 
 air courtesies to-night. He wants food and 
 shelter, and you must see that he has it, 
 simply because I am suddenly laid-up and 
 cannot. There is nothing so dreadful in 
 that, I hope? You get all kinds of stuff 
 into your head from reading so many of 
 those novels.' 
 
 '0, no ; there is nothing dreadful in it 
 when it becomes plainly a case of necessity 
 like this. But, you see, you are always 
 there when people come to dinner, even if 
 we know them; and this is some strange 
 London man of the world, who will think it 
 odd, perhaps.' 
 
 ' Yery well ; let him.' 
 'Is he Mr. Hewby's partner?' 
 ' I should scarcely think so : he may 
 be.' 
 
 'How old is he, I wonder?' 
 ' That I cannot tell. You will iind the 
 copy of my letter to Mr. Hewby, and his 
 answer, upon the table in the study. You
 
 10 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 may read them, and then you'll know as 
 much as I do about our visitor.' 
 
 ' I have read them.' 
 
 ^ Well, what's the use of asking questions, 
 then ? They contain all I know. Ugh-h-h ! 
 . . . Od plague you, you young scamp ! don't 
 put anything there ! I can't bear the weight 
 of a fly.' 
 
 ^ 0, 1 am sorry, papa. I forgot ; I thought 
 you might be cold,' she said, hastily remov- 
 ing the rug she had thro^vn upon the feet of 
 the sufferer ; and waiting till she saw that 
 consciousness of her offence had passed from 
 his face, she withdrew from the room, and 
 retired again down-stairs.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ' 'twas on the evening of a winter's day/ 
 
 "When two or three additional hoars had 
 merged afternoon in the evening of the same 
 day, some moving outlines might have been 
 observed against the sky on the summit of 
 a wild lone hill in this district. They cir- 
 cimiscribed two men, having at present the 
 aspect of silhouettes, sitting in a dog-cart 
 and pushing along in the teeth of the wind. 
 Scarcely a solitary house or man had been 
 visible along the whole dreary distance of 
 open country they were traversing ; and now 
 that night had begun to fall, the faint twi- 
 light, which still gave an idea of the land- 
 scape to their observation, was enlivened by 
 the quiet appearance of the planet Jupiter, 
 momentarily gleaming in intenser brilliancy
 
 12 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 in the constellation Gemini, and by Sirius 
 shedding his rays in rivalry from his posi- 
 tion over their shoulders. The only lights 
 aj)parent on earth were some spots of dull 
 red, glowing here and there upon the distant 
 hills, which, as the driver of the vehicle 
 gratuitously remarked to the hirer, were 
 smouldering fires for the consumption of 
 peat and gorse-roots, where the common 
 was being broken up for agricultural pur- 
 poses. The wind prevailed with but little 
 abatement from its daytime boisterousness, 
 three or four small clouds, delicate and pale, 
 creeping along under the sky southward to 
 the Channel. 
 
 Twelve of the fourteen miles interven- 
 ing between the railway terminus and the 
 end of their journey had been gone over, 
 when they began to pass along the brink of 
 a valley some miles in extent, wherein the 
 wintry skeletons of a more luxuriant vege- 
 tation than had hitherto surrounded them 
 proclaimed an increased richness of soil,
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 13 
 
 which showed signs of far more careful en- 
 closure and management than had any 
 slopes they had yet passed. A little far- 
 ther, and an opening in the elms stretching 
 up from this fertile valley revealed a man- 
 sion. 
 
 * That's Endelstow House, Lord Luxel- 
 lian's,' said the driver. 
 
 ' Endelstow House, Lord Luxellian's,' 
 repeated the other mechanically. He then 
 turned himself sideways, and keenly scruti- 
 nised the almost invisible house with an in- 
 terest which the indistinct picture itself 
 seemed far from adequate to create. ' Yes, 
 that's Lord Luxellian's,' he said yet again 
 after a while, as he still looked in the same 
 direction. 
 
 ' What, be we going there ?' 
 
 ' No ; Endelstow Vicarage, as I have 
 told yon.' 
 
 ^ I thought you m't have altered your 
 mind, sir, as ye have stared that way at no- 
 thing so long.*
 
 14 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' 0, no ; I am interested in the house, 
 that's all.' 
 
 ' Most people be, as the saying is.' 
 
 'Not in the sense that I am.' 
 
 '01. . Well, his family is no better than 
 my own, 'a b'lieve.' 
 
 'How is that?' 
 
 ' Hedgers and ditchers by rights. But 
 once in ancient times one of 'em, when he 
 was at work, changed clothes with King 
 Charles the Second, and saved the king's 
 life. King Charles came up to him like a 
 common man, and said off-hand, " Man in 
 the smock-frock, my name is Charles the 
 Second, and that's the truth on't. Will ye 
 lend me your clothes?" "I don't mind if 
 I do," said Hedger Luxellian ; and they 
 changed there and then. " Now, mind ye," 
 King Charles the Second said, like a com- 
 mon man, as he rode away, '' if ever I come 
 to the crown, you come to court, knock at 
 the door, and say out bold, 'Is King Charles 
 the Second at home?' Tell your name, and
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 15 
 
 they shall let you in, and you shall be made 
 a lord." Xow, that was very nice of Master 
 Charley?' 
 
 ' Very nice indeed.' 
 
 'Well, as the saying is, the king came 
 to the throne; and some years after that, 
 away went Hedger Luxellian, knocked at 
 the king's door, and asked if King Charles 
 the Second was in. ^' Xo, he isn't," they 
 said. "Then, is Charles the Third?'' said 
 Hedger Luxellian. " Yes," said a young 
 feller standing by like a common man, only 
 he had a cro^wn on, " my name is Charles 
 the Third." And—' 
 
 ' I really fancy that must be a mistake. 
 I don't recollect anything in English history 
 about Charles the Third,' said the other in 
 a tone of mild remonstrance. 
 
 ' 0, that's right enough, as the sajing 
 is ; he was rather a queer-tempered man, if 
 you remember.' 
 
 'Very well; go on.' 
 
 ' And, by hook or by crook, Hedger
 
 16 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Luxellian was made a lord, and everything 
 went on well till some time after, when he 
 got into a most terrible row with King 
 Charles the Fourth — ' 
 
 ^ I can't stand Charles the Fourth. Upon 
 my word, that's too much.' 
 
 ' AVhy ? There was a George the Fourth, 
 wasn't there?' 
 
 'Certainly.' 
 
 'Well, Charleses be as common as 
 Georges. 'Tis perfect madness to break up 
 a man's story in the way you do.' 
 
 'There isn't a man in England would 
 put up with Charles the Fourth from the 
 lips ofhis dearest friend. I only took Charles 
 the Third out of ci\dlity.' 
 
 ' Now look here : pass Charles the Third, 
 and say no more about it, and I'll knock out 
 Charles the Fourth altogether. There, that's 
 fair. . . . Ah, well, as the saying is. 'Tis 
 the funniest world ever I lived in — upon 
 my life 'tis. Ah, that such should be!' 
 
 The dusk had thickened into darkness
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 17 
 
 while they thus conversed, and the outline 
 and surface of the mansion gradually disap- 
 peared. The windows, which had before 
 been as black blots on a lighter expanse of 
 wall, became illuminated, and were trans- 
 figured into squares of light on the general 
 dark body of the night landscape as it ab- 
 sorbed the outlines of the edifice into its 
 gloomy monochrome. 
 
 Xot another word was spoken for some 
 time, and they climbed a hill, then another 
 hill piled on the summit of the first. An 
 additional mile of plateau, from which could 
 be discerned two lighthouses on the coast 
 they were nearing, reposing on the horizon 
 with a calm lustre of benignity, and another 
 oasis was reached. A little dell lay like a 
 nest at their feet, towards which the driver 
 pulled the horse at a sharp angle, and de- 
 scended a steep slope which dived under 
 the trees like a rabbits' burrow. They sank 
 lower and lower. 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'Endelstow Vicarage is inside here/ 
 continued the man with the reins. ' This 
 part about here is West Endelstow; Lord 
 Luxellian's is East Endelstow, and has a 
 church to itself. Pa'son Swancourt is the 
 pa' son of both, and bobs backward and for- 
 ward. Ah, well! ^tis a funny world. 'A 
 b'lieve there was once a quarry where this 
 house stands. The man who built it in past 
 time scraped all the glebe for earth to put 
 round the vicarage, and laid out a little 
 paradise of flowers and trees in the soil he 
 had got together in this way, whilst the 
 fields he scraped have been good for no- 
 thing ever since.' 
 
 ' How long has the present incumbent 
 been here ?' 
 
 ^ Maybe about a year, or a year and 
 half: 'tisn't two years; for they don't scan- 
 dalise him yet ; and, as a rule, a parish be- 
 gins to scandalise the pa'son at the end of 
 two years among 'em familiar. But he's a 
 very nice party. Ay, Pa'son Swancourt
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 19 
 
 d'know me pretty well from often driving 
 over; and I d'know Pa'son Swancourt.' 
 
 They emerged from tlie bower, swept 
 round in a curve, and the chimneys and 
 gables of the vicarage became darkly visi- 
 ble. Not a light showed anywhere. They 
 alio^hted; the man felt his way into the 
 porch, and rang the bell. 
 
 At the end of three or four minutes, 
 spent in patient waiting withoiii: hearing 
 any sounds of a response, the stranger ad- 
 vanced and repeated the call in a more de- 
 cided manner. He then fancied he heard 
 footsteps in the hall, and sundry movements 
 of the door-knob, but nobody appeared. 
 
 'Perhaps they beant at home,' sighed 
 the driver. ' And I promised myself a bit 
 of supper in Pa'son Swancourt's kitchen. 
 Sich lovely mate-pize and figged keakes, 
 and cider, and drops o' cordial that they do 
 keep here !' 
 
 ' All right, naibours ! Be ye rich men 
 or be ye poor men, that ye must needs come
 
 20 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 to the world's end at this time o' nio-ht ?' 
 
 o 
 
 exclaimed a voice at this instant ; and, turn- 
 ing their heads, they saw a rickety indi- 
 vidual shambling round from the back door 
 with a horn lantern dangling from his hand. 
 ' Time o' night, 'a b'lieve ! and the clock 
 only gone seven of 'em. Show a light, and 
 let us in, William Worm.' 
 
 ' 0, that you, Eobert Lickpan?' 
 ^Nobody else, William Worm.' 
 ^ And is the visiting man a- come ?' 
 ^ Yes,' said the stranger. ' Is Mr. Swan- 
 court at home ?' 
 
 ' That 'a is, sir. And would ye mind 
 coming round by the back way ? The front 
 door is got stuck wi' the wet, as he will do 
 sometimes; and the Turk can't open en. 
 I know I am only a poor wambling man 
 that 'ill never pay the Lord for my making, 
 sir; but I can show the way in, sir.' 
 
 The new arrival followed his guide 
 through a little door in a wall, and then 
 promenaded a scullery and a kitchen, along
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 21 
 
 which he passed with eyes rigidly fixed in 
 advance, an inbred horror of prying forbid- 
 ding him to gaze around apartments that 
 formed the back side of the household tap- 
 estry. Entering the hall, he was about to 
 be shown to his room, when from the inner 
 lobby of the front entrance, whither she had 
 gone to learn the cause of the delay, sailed 
 forth the form of Elfride. Her start of 
 amazement at the sight of the visitor com- 
 ing forth from under the stairs proved that 
 she had not been expecting this surprising 
 flank movement, which had been originated 
 entirely by the ingenuity of William Worm. 
 She appeared in the prettiest of all 
 feminine guises, that is to say, in demi- 
 toilette, with plenty of loose curly hair 
 tumbling down about her shoulders. An 
 expression of uneasiness pervaded her 
 countenance ; and altogether she scarcely 
 appeared woman enough for the situation. 
 The visitor removed his hat, and the first 
 words were spoken ; Elfride prelusively
 
 22 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 looking with a deal of interest not unmixed 
 with surprise at the person towards whom 
 she was to do the duties of hospitality. 
 
 ^ I am Mr. Smith,' said the stranger in a 
 musical voice. 
 
 ' I am Miss Swancourt/ said Elfride. 
 
 Her constraint was over. The great 
 contrast between the reality she beheld be- 
 fore her, and the dark, taciturn, sharp, 
 elderly man of business who had lurked in 
 her imagination — a man with clothes smell- 
 ing of city smoke, skin sallow from want of 
 sun, and talk flavoured with epigram — was 
 such a relief to her that Elfride smiled, al- 
 most laughed, in the new-comer's face. 
 
 Stephen Smith, who has hitherto been 
 hidden from us by the darkness, was at this 
 time of his life but a youth in appearance, 
 and barely a man in years. Judging from 
 his look, London was the last place in the 
 world that one would have imagined to be 
 the scene of his activities : such a face surely 
 could not be nourished amid smoke and
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 23 
 
 mud and fog and dust ; such an open coun- 
 tenance could never even have seen anything 
 of ' the weariness, the fever, and the fret' of 
 Babylon the Second. 
 
 His complexion was as fine as Elfride's 
 o^\^i; the pink of his cheeks as delicate. 
 His mouth as perfect as Cupid's bow in form, 
 and as cherry-red in colour as hers. Bright 
 curly hair ; bright sparkling blue-gray eyes ; 
 a boy's blush and manner; neither whisker 
 nor moustache, unless a little light-brown 
 fur on his upper lip deserved the latter title : 
 this composed the London professional man, 
 the prospect of whose advent had so troubled 
 Elfride. 
 
 Elfride hastened to say she was sorry to 
 tell him that Mr. Swancourt was not able 
 to receive him that evenino^, and o^ave the 
 reason why. Mr. Smith replied, in a voice 
 boyish by nature and manly by art, that he 
 was very sorry to hear this news ; but that 
 as far as his reception was concerned, it did 
 not matter in the least.
 
 24 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Stephen was shown up to his room. In 
 his absence Elfride stealthily glided into her 
 father's. 
 
 ^ He's come, papa. Such a young man 
 for a business man 1' 
 
 '0, indeed!' 
 
 'His face is — well — 'pretty; just like 
 
 mme. 
 
 'H'm! what next?' 
 
 ' Nothing ; that's all I know of him yet. 
 It is rather nice, is it not ?' 
 
 ' Well, we shall see that when we know 
 him better. Go down and give the poor 
 fellow something to eat and drink, for hea- 
 ven's sake. And when he has done eating, 
 say I should like to have a few words with 
 him, if he doesn't mind coming up here.' 
 
 The young lady glided do^vn-stairs again, 
 and whilst she awaits young Smith's entry, 
 the letters referring to his visit had better 
 be given.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 1. Mr. Swancourt to Mr. Hewhy. 
 
 ^Endelstow Vicarage, Feb. 18, 1864. 
 
 ^ Sir, — We are thinking of restoring the 
 tower and aisle of the church in this parish; 
 and Lord Luxellian, the patron of the liv- 
 ing, has mentioned your name as that of a 
 trustworthy architect whom it would be 
 desirable to ask to suj)erintend the work. 
 
 ' I am exceedingly ignorant of the neces- 
 sary preliminary steps. Probably, however, 
 the first is that (should you be, as Lord 
 Luxellian says you are, disposed to assist 
 us) yourself or some member of your staff 
 come and see the building, and report there- 
 upon for the satisfaction of parishioners and 
 others. 
 
 ^ The spot is a very remote one : we have 
 no railway within fourteen miles; and the 
 nearest place for putting up at — called a 
 town, though merely a large village — is 
 Stranton, two miles farther on; so that it 
 would be most convenient for you to stay 
 at the vicarage — which I am glad to place
 
 26 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 at your disposal — instead of pushing on to 
 the hotel at Stranton, and coming back 
 again in the morning. 
 
 ' Any day of the next week that you like 
 to name for the visit will find us quite ready 
 to receive you. — Yours very truly, 
 
 ' Christopher Swancourt.' 
 
 2. Mr. Eeichy to Mr, Swancourt 
 
 ' Percy-place, Cliaring-cross, 
 'Feb. 20, 1864. 
 
 'Eev. Sir, — Agreeably to your request 
 of the 18th instant, I have arranged to sur- 
 vey and make drawings of the aisle and 
 tower of your parish church, and of the 
 dilapidations which have been suffered to 
 accrue thereto, with a view to its restora- 
 tion. 
 
 ' My assistant, Mr. Stephen Smith, mil 
 leave London by the early train to-morrow 
 morning for the purpose. Many thanks for 
 your proposal to accommodate him. He 
 will take advantage of your offer and ^vill
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 27 
 
 probably reach your house at some hour of 
 the evening. You may put every con- 
 fidence in him, and may rely upon his 
 discernment in the matter of church archi- 
 tecture. 
 
 ^ Trusting that the plans for the restora- 
 tion ^vhich I shall prepare from the details 
 of his survey will prove satisfactory to your- 
 self and Lord Luxellian, I am, rev. sir, yours 
 faithfully, 
 
 ' Walter Hewby.'
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ' MELODIOUS BIRDS SING MADRIGALS.' 
 
 That first repast in Endelstow Yicarage 
 was a very agreeable one to young Stephen 
 Smith. The table was spread, as Elfride 
 had suggested to her father, with the ma- 
 terials for the heterogeneous meal called 
 high tea — a class of refection welcome to 
 all when away from men and towns, and 
 particularly attractive to youthful palates. 
 The table was prettily decked with winter 
 flowers and leaves, amid which the eye was 
 greeted by chops, chicken, pie, &c., and two 
 huge pasties overhanging the sides of the 
 dish with a cheerful aspect of abundance. 
 
 At the end, towards the fireplace, ap- 
 peared the tea-service, of old-fashioned 
 Worcester porcelain, and behind this arose
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 29 
 
 the slight form of Elfride, attempting to 
 add matronly dignity to the movement of 
 pouring out tea, and to have a weighty and 
 concerned look in matters of marmalade^ 
 honey, and clotted cream. Having made 
 her own meal before he arrived, she found 
 to her embarrassment that there was no- 
 thing left for her to do but talk when not 
 assisting him. She asked him if he would 
 excuse her finishing a letter she had been 
 WTiting at a side -table, and, after sitting 
 down to it, tingled with a sense of being 
 grossly rude. However, seeing that he 
 noticed nothing personally wrong in her, 
 and that he too was embarrassed when she 
 attentively watched his cup to refill it, El- 
 fride became better at ease ; and when fur- 
 thermore he accidentally kicked the leg of 
 the table, and then nearly upset his tea-cup, 
 just as schoolboys did, she felt herself mis- 
 tress of the situation, and could talk very 
 well. In a few minutes ingenuousness and 
 a common term of years obliterated all re-
 
 30 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 collection that they were strangers just 
 met. Stephen began to wax eloquent on 
 extremely slight experiences connected with 
 his professional pursuits ; and she, having no 
 experiences to fall back upon, recounted 
 with much animation stories that had been 
 related to her by her father, which would 
 have astonished him had he heard with 
 what fidelity of action and tone they were 
 rendered. Upon the whole, a very inter- 
 esting picture of Sweet -and- Twenty was 
 on view that evening in Mr. Swancourt's 
 house. 
 
 Ultimately Stephen had to go up-stairs 
 and talk loud to the vicar, receiving from 
 him between his puffs a great many apolo- 
 gies for calling him so unceremoniously to 
 a stranger's bedroom. ' But,' continued Mr. 
 Swancourt, ' I felt that I wanted to say a 
 few words to you before the morning, on the 
 business of your visit. One's patience gets 
 exhausted by staying a prisoner in bed all 
 day through a sudden freak of one's enemy
 
 A PAIIf OF BLUE EYES. 31 
 
 — new to me, though — for I have known 
 very little of gout as yet. However, he's 
 gone to my other toe in a very mild man- 
 ner, and I expect he'll slink off altogether 
 by the morning. I hope you have been well 
 attended to down-stairs?' 
 
 'Perfectly. And though it is unfor- 
 tunate, and I am sorry to see you laid 
 up, I beg you will not take the slightest 
 notice of my being in the house the while.' 
 
 'I will not. But I shall be down to- 
 morrow. My daughter is an excellent doc- 
 tor. A dose or two of her mild mixtures 
 will fetch me round quicker than all the 
 drug stuff in the world, ^"ell, now about 
 the church business. Take a seat, do. We 
 can't afford to stand upon ceremony in these 
 parts, as you see, and for this reason, that a 
 civilised human being seldom stays long 
 with us; and so we cannot waste time in 
 approaching him, or he will be gone before 
 we have had the pleasure of close acquaint- 
 ance. This tower of ours is, as you will
 
 32 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 notice, entirely gone beyond the possibility 
 of restoration ; but the churcli itself is 
 well enough. You should see some of the 
 churches in this county. Floors rotten : ivy 
 lining the walls.' 
 
 ' Dear me !' 
 
 ^ 0, that's nothing. The congregation 
 of a neighbour of mine, whenever a storm 
 of rain comes on during service, open their 
 umbrellas and hold them up till the drip- 
 ping ceases from the roof Xow, if you 
 will kindly bring me those papers and 
 letters you see lying on the table, I will 
 show you how far we have got.' 
 
 Stephen crossed the room to fetch them, 
 and the vicar seemed to notice more par- 
 ticularly the slim figure of his visitor. 
 
 'I suppose you are quite competent?' 
 he said. 
 
 ^ Quite,' said the young man, colouring 
 slightly. 
 
 ' You are very young, I fancy — I should 
 say you are not more than nineteen ?'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EIES. 38 
 
 ' I am nearly twenty-one.' 
 
 ' Exactly half my age ; I am forty-two/ 
 
 ^By the way,' said Mr. Swancourt, after 
 some conversation, ' you said your whole 
 name was Stephen Fitzmaurice, and that your 
 grandfather came originally from Caxbury. 
 Since I have been speaking, it has occurred 
 to me that I know something of you. You 
 belono; to a well-known ancient county 
 familv — not ordinarv Smiths in the least.' 
 
 ' I don't think we have anv of their 
 blood in our veins.' 
 
 ' Xonsense I you must. Hand me the 
 Lcinded Gentry. Xow, let me see. There, 
 Stephen Fitzmaurice Smith — he lies in St. 
 Mary's Church, doesn't he ? AA'ell, out of 
 that family sprang the Leaseworthy Smiths, 
 and collaterally came General Sir Stephen 
 Fitzmaurice Smith of Caxbury — ' 
 
 ' Yes; I have seen his monument there,' 
 shouted Stephen. ' But there is no connec- 
 tion between his family and mine: there 
 cannot be.' 
 
 VOL. L D
 
 34 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' There is none, possibly, to your know- 
 ledge. But look at this, my dear sir,' said 
 the vicar, striking his fist upon the bedpost 
 for emphasis. ' Here are you, Stephen Fitz- 
 maurice Smith, living in London, but spring- 
 ing from Caxbury. Here in this book is a ge- 
 nealogical tree of the Stephen Fitzmaurice 
 Smiths of Caxbury Manor. You may be 
 only a family of professional men now — 
 I am not inquisitive : I don't ask questions 
 of that kind ; it is not in me to do so — but 
 it is as plain as the nose in your face that 
 there's your origin ! And, Mr. Smith, 1 con- 
 gratulate you upon your blood; blue blood, 
 sir; and, upon my life, a very desirable 
 colour, as the world goes.' 
 
 ' I wish you could congratulate me 
 upon some more tangible quality,' said the 
 younger man, sadly no less than modestly. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! that will come with time. 
 You are young : all your life is before you. 
 Now look — see how far back in the mists 
 of antiquity my own family of Swancourt
 
 A PAIR or BLUE EYES. 35 
 
 have a root. Here, you see.' he contmued, 
 turiimg to the page, ' is Geoffrey, the one 
 anion o' rnv ancestors who lost a baron v be- 
 cause he wouki cut his joke. Ah, it's the 
 sort of us I But the story is too h^ng to tell 
 now. Ay, I'm a poor man — a poor gentle- 
 man, in fact : those I would be friends with, 
 won't be friends with me; those who are 
 wilHng to be friends with me. I am above 
 being friends with. Beyond dining ^\'ith a 
 neighbouring incumbent or two, and an 
 occasional chat — sometimes dinner — with 
 Lord Luxellian, I am in absolute solitude 
 — absolute.' 
 
 ' You have your studies, your books, 
 and vour — dauo^hter.' 
 
 ' 0, yes, yes ; and I don't complain of 
 poverty. Canto coram lair one. AVell, ^Ir. 
 Smith, don't let me detain vou anv longer 
 in a sick room. Ha I that remhids me of a 
 story I once heard in my younger days.' 
 Here the vicar began a series of small pri- 
 vate laughs, and Stephen looked inquiry.
 
 36 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' 0, no, no ! it is too bad — too bad to tell !' 
 continued Mr. Swancourt in undertones of 
 grim mirth. Well, go down-stairs; my daugh- 
 ter must do the best she can Avith you this 
 evening. Ask her to sing to you — she plays 
 and sings very nicely. Good-night ; I feel 
 as if I had known you for five or six years. 
 I'll ring for somebody to show you down.* 
 
 ' Xever mind,^ said Stephen, 'I can find 
 the wav ;' and he went do \\ti- stairs, thinkino; 
 of the delightful freedom of manner in the 
 remoter counties in comparison with the re- 
 serve of London. 
 
 ' I forgot to tell you papa was rather 
 deaf,' said Elfride anxiously, when Stephen 
 entered the little drawing-room. 
 
 ' Xever mind ; I know all about it, and 
 we are great friends,' the man of business 
 replied enthusiastically. * And, Miss Swan- 
 court, will you kindly sing to me?' 
 
 To Miss Swancourt this request seemed, 
 what in fact it was, exceptionally point-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 37 
 
 blank; though she guessed that her papa 
 had some hand in frammg it, knowing, 
 rather to her cost, of his unceremonious 
 wav of utilisins: her for the benefit of dull 
 sojourners. At the same time, as Mr. 
 Smith's manner was too frank to provoke 
 criticism, and his age too little to inspire 
 fear, she was ready — not to say pleased — 
 to accede. Selecting from the canterbury 
 some old family ditties, that in vears oone 
 by had been played and sung by her mother, 
 Elfride sat down to the pianoforte, and be- 
 gan ' 'Twas on the evening of a winter's 
 day,' in a pretty contralto voice. 
 
 ' Do you like that old thing, Mr. Smith Y 
 she said at the end. 
 
 * Yes, I do much,' said Stephen — words 
 he would have uttered, and sincerely, to any- 
 thing on earth, from glee to requiem, that 
 she might have chosen. 
 
 * You shall have a little one by De Leyre, 
 that was given me by a young French lady 
 who was staying at Endelstow House :
 
 38 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 " Je I'ai plaiite, je I'ai vu iiaitre, 
 Ce beau rosier oii les oiseaiix," &c. ; 
 
 and then I sliall want to give you my own 
 iiivourite for the very last, Shelley's " When 
 the lamp is shattered." as set to music by 
 my poor mother. I so much like singing to 
 anybody who really cares to hear me.' 
 
 Every woman who makes a permanent 
 impression on a man is afterwards recalled 
 to his mind's eye as she appeared in one 
 particular scene, which seems ordained to 
 be her special medium of manifestation 
 throughout the pages of his memory. As 
 the patron Saint has her attitude and ac- 
 cessories in mediaeval illumination, so the 
 Sweetheart may be said to have hers upon 
 the table of her true Love's fancy, without 
 which she is rarely introduced there except 
 bv effort ; and this though she mav, on 
 further acquaintance, have been observed in 
 many other phases which one would imagine 
 to be far more aj^propriate to love's young 
 dream.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 39 
 
 Miss Elfride's image chose the form in 
 which she was beheld during these minutes 
 of singing for her permanent attitude of 
 visitation to Stephen's eyes during his sleep- 
 ing and waking hours in after days. The 
 profile is seen of a young woman in a pale 
 gray silk dress with trimmings of swan's- 
 down, and opening up from a point in front, 
 like a waistcoat mthout a shirt; the cool 
 colour contrasting admirably with the warm 
 bloom of her neck and face. The further- 
 most candle on the piano comes in^medi- 
 ately in a line with her head, and half in- 
 visible itself, forms the accidentally frizzled 
 hair into a nebulous haze of light, surround- 
 ing her crown like an aureola. Her hands 
 are in their place on the keys, her lips parted, 
 and trilling forth, in a tender diminuendo^ 
 the closing words of the sad apostrophe : 
 
 ' Love, who bewailest 
 
 The frailty of all things here, 
 AVhy choose you the frailest 
 
 For your cradle, your home, and your bier !' 
 
 Her head is forward a little, and her eyes
 
 40 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 directed keenly upward to the top of the 
 page of music confronting her. Then comes 
 a rapid look into Stephen's face, and a still 
 more rapid look back again to her business, 
 her face having dropped its sadness, and 
 acquired a certain expression of mischievous 
 archness the while ; which lingered there for 
 some time, but was never developed into a 
 positive smile of flirtation. 
 
 Stephen suddenly shifted his position 
 from her right hand to her left, where 
 there was just room enough for an ottoman 
 to stand between the piano and the comer 
 of the room. Into this nook he squeezed 
 himself, and gazed wistfully up into Elfride's 
 face. So long and so earnestly gazed he, 
 that her cheek deepened to a more and 
 more crimson tint as each line was added 
 to her song. Concluding, and pausing mo- 
 tionless after the last word for a minute or 
 two, she ventured to look at him again. 
 His features wore an expression of unutter- 
 able heaviness.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 41 
 
 'You don't hear many songs, do you, 
 Mr. Smith, to take so much notice of these 
 of mine ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps it was the means and vehicle 
 of the song that I "was noticing : I mean 
 yourself,' he answered gently. 
 
 'Xow, Mr. Smith!' 
 
 ' It is perfectly true ; I don't hear much 
 singing. You mistake what I am. I fancy. 
 Because I come as a strano'er to a secluded 
 spot^ yoti think I must needs come from a 
 life of bustle, and know the latest move- 
 ments of the day. But I don't. My life is 
 as quiet as yours, and more solitary: soli- 
 tary as death.' 
 
 ' The death which comes from a plethora 
 of life ? But seriously, I can quite see that 
 3'ou are not the least what I thought you 
 would be before I saw yoti. You are not 
 critical, or experienced, or — much to mind. 
 That's why I don't mind singing airs to you 
 that I only half know.' Finding that by this 
 confession she had vexed him in a wav she
 
 42 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 did not intend to, she added naively, ' I 
 mean, Mr. Smith, that you are better, not 
 worse, for being only young and not very 
 experienced. You don't think my Kfe here 
 so very tame and dull, I know.' 
 
 ' I do not, indeed,' he said with fervour. 
 ' It must be delightfully poetical and spark- 
 ling and fresh and — ' 
 
 ' There you go, Mr. Smith! Well, men of 
 another kind, when I can get them to be 
 honest enough to own the truth, think just 
 the reverse : that my life must be a dread- 
 ful bore in its normal state, though pleasant 
 for the exceptional few days they pass here.^ 
 
 ' I could live here always !' he said, and 
 with such a tone and look of unconscious 
 revelation that Elfride was startled to find 
 that her harmonies had fired a small Troy, 
 in the shape of Stephen's heart. She said 
 quickly : 
 
 ' But you can't live here always.' 
 
 ' 0, no.' And he drew himself in with 
 the sensitiveness of a snail.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 4S 
 
 Elfride's emotions were sudden as his in 
 kindling, but tlie least of woman's lesser in- 
 firmities — love of admiration — caused an 
 inflammable disposition on his part, so 
 exactly similar to her own, to appear as 
 meritorious in him as modesty made her 
 own seem culpable in her.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 * where heaves the turf in many a 
 mould'ring heap/ 
 
 For reasons of his own, Stephen Smith was 
 stirring a short time after dawn the next 
 morning. From the window of his room he 
 €ould see, first, two bold escai-pmeiifssloping 
 down together like the letter Y. Towards 
 the bottom, like liquid in a funnel, appeared 
 the sea, gray and small. On the brow of 
 one hill, of rather greater altitude than its 
 neighbour, stood the church which was to 
 be the scene of his operations. The lonely 
 edifice was black and bare, cutting up into 
 the sky from the very tip of the hill. It had 
 a square mouldering tower, owning neither 
 battlement nor pinnacle, and seemed a mon- 
 olithic termination of one substance with
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 45 
 
 the ridge, rather than a structure raised 
 thereon. Round the church a low wall; 
 over-topping the wall, in general level, was 
 the graveyard; not as a graveyard usually 
 is, a fragment of landscape with its due 
 variety of chiaro-oscuro, but a mere profile 
 against the sky, serrated ^vith the outlines 
 of graves and a very few memorial stones. 
 Not a tree could exist up there ; nothing 
 but the monotonous gray- green grass. 
 
 /Five minutes after this casual survey 
 was made,"M3^bedroom was empty, and its 
 occupant had vanished quietly from the 
 house. 
 
 At the end of two hours he was asrain in 
 the room, looking warm and glowing. He 
 now pursued the artistic details of dressing, 
 which on his first rising had been entirely 
 omitted. And a very blooming boy he 
 looked, after that mysterious morning scam- 
 per. His mouth was a triumph of the class. 
 It was the cleanly-cut, exquisitely pursed-up 
 mouth of '^^'illiam Pitt, as represented in
 
 46 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 the well or little known bust by NoUekens, 
 — a mouth which is in itself a young man's 
 fortune, if properly exercised. His round 
 chin, where its upper part turned inward, 
 still continued its perfect and full curve, 
 seeming to press in to a point the bottom of 
 his nether lip at their place of junction. 
 
 Once he murmured the name of Elfride. 
 Ah, there she was ! On the lawn in a plain 
 dress, without hat or bonnet, running with 
 a boy's velocity, superadded to a girFs 
 lightness, after a tame rabbit she was en- 
 deavouring to caj^ture, her strategic intona- 
 tions of coaxino; words alternatino^ with 
 desperate rushes so much out of keeping 
 with them, that the hoUowness of such ex- 
 pressions was but too evident to her pet, 
 who darted and dodged in carefully-timed 
 counterpart. 
 
 The scene down there was altogether 
 different from that of the hills. A thicket 
 of shrubs and trees enclosed this favoured 
 spot from the wildness without ; even at
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 47. 
 
 this time of the year the grass ^vas luxu- 
 riant there. No mnd blew inside the pro- 
 tecting belt of evergreens, wasting its force 
 upon the higher and stronger trees forming 
 the outer margin of the grove. 
 
 Then he heard a heavy person scuffling 
 about in slippers, and calling 'Mr. Smith!' 
 Smith proceeded to the study, and found 
 Mr. Swancourt. The young man expressed 
 his gladness to see his host down-stairs. 
 
 * 0, yes ; I knew I should soon be right 
 again. I have not made the acquaintance 
 of gout for more than two years, and it 
 generally goes off the second night. Well, 
 where have you been this morning ? I saw 
 you come in just now, I think?' 
 
 'Yes; I have been for a walk.' 
 
 'Start early?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 'Very early, I think?' 
 
 ' Yes, it was rather early.' 
 
 ' Which way did you go ? To the sea, I 
 suppose. Everybody goes sea-ward.'
 
 48 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 * No ; I followed up the river as far as 
 the park wall.' 
 
 'You are different from your kind. 
 Well, I suppose such a wild place is a 
 novelty, and so tempted you out of bed T 
 
 ' Not altogether a novelty. I like it.' 
 
 The youth seemed averse to explanation. 
 
 ' You must, you must, to go cock- watch- 
 ing the morning after a journey of fourteen 
 or sixteen hours. But there's no account- 
 ing for taste, and I am glad to see that 
 yours are no meaner. After breakfast, but 
 not before, I shall be good for a ten miles' 
 walk, Master Smith.' 
 
 Certainly there seemed nothing exag- 
 gerated in that assertion. Mr. Swancourt 
 by daylight sliowed himself to be a man 
 who, in common with the other two people 
 under his roof, had really strong claims to 
 be considered handsome, — handsome, that 
 is, in the sense in which the moon is bright : 
 the ravines and valleys which, on a close 
 inspection are seen to diversify its surface
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 49 
 
 beino: left out of the aro:ument. His face 
 was of a tint that was not deepened upon his 
 cheeks nor lightened upon his forehead, but 
 uniform throughout ; the usual neutral sal- 
 mon-colour of a man who feeds well — not 
 to say too well — and does not think hard; 
 every pore being in visible working order. 
 His tout ensemble was that of a highly -im- 
 proved class of farmer, dressed up in the 
 wrong clothes ; that of a firm-standing per- 
 pendicular man, whose fall would have been 
 backwards in direction if he had ever lost 
 his balance. 
 
 The vicar's background was at present 
 what a vicars background should be, his 
 study. Here the consistency ends. All 
 along the chimneypiece were ranged bottles 
 of horse, pig, and cow medicines, and 
 against the wall was a high table, made up 
 of the fragments of an old oak lych-gate. 
 Upon this stood stuffed specimens of owls, 
 divers, and gulls, and over them bunches of 
 wheat and barley ears, labelled with the date 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 A PAIK OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 of the year that prodiicecl them. Some 
 cases and shelves, more or less laden with 
 books, the promment titles of which were 
 Dr. Brown's Notes on the Bomans^ Dr. 
 Smith's Notes on the Corinthians^ and Dr. 
 Eobinson's Notes on the Galatians^ Ephe- 
 sians^ and Pliilippians^ just saved the cha- 
 racter of the place, in. spite of a girl's 
 doll's-honse standing above them, a marine 
 aquarium in the window, and Elfride's hat 
 hanmnsr on its corner. 
 
 ' Business, business !' said Mr. Swan- 
 court after breakfast. He began to find it 
 necessary to act the part of a fly-wheel to- 
 wards the somewhat irregular forces of his 
 visitor. 
 
 They j^repared to go to the church ; the 
 vicar, on second thoughts, mounting his 
 coal-black mare to avoid exerting his foot 
 too much at starting. Stephen said he 
 should want a man to assist him. 'Worm!' 
 the vicar shouted. 
 
 A minute or two after a voice was heard
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 51 
 
 round the corner of the buikling raumbhng, 
 'Ah, I used to be strong enough, but 'tis 
 altered now ! "Well, there, I'm as inde- 
 pendent as one here and there, even if they 
 do write 'squire after their names.' 
 
 'What's the matter?' said the vicar, as 
 WilHam Worm appeared ; -when the remarks 
 were repeated to him. 
 
 'Worm says some very true things some- 
 times,' Mr. Swancourt said, turning to Ste- 
 phen. ' Xow as regards that word "esquire." 
 Why, Mr. Smitli, that word "esquire" is gone 
 to the dogs, — used on the letters of every 
 jackanapes who has a black coat. Anything 
 else, AYorm ?' 
 
 'Av, the folk have beo-un frvino- a;2:ain.' 
 ' Dear me ! I'm sorrv to hear that.' 
 'Yes,' Worm said groaningiy to Ste- 
 phen, Tve got such a noise in my head that 
 there's no living night nor day. 'Tis just 
 for all the world like people frying fish : fry, 
 fry, fry, all day long in my poor head, till 
 I don't know whe'r I'm here or vonder.
 
 52 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 There, God A'mighty will find it out sooner 
 or later, I hope, and relieve me.' 
 
 ' Xow, my deafness,' said Mr. Swancourt 
 impressively, ' is a dead silence ; but William * 
 Worm's is that of people frying fish in his 
 head. Very remarkable, isn't it?' 
 
 'I can hear the frying-pan a-fizzing as 
 naterel as life,' said Worm corroboratively. 
 
 ' Yes, it is remarkable,' said Mr. Smith. 
 
 'Very peculiar, very peculiar,' echoed 
 the vicar; and they all then followed the 
 path up the hill, bounded on each side by a 
 little stone wall, from wdiich gleamed frag- 
 ments of quartz and blood-red marbles, ap- 
 parently of inestimable value, in their set- 
 ting of brown alluvium. Stephen walked 
 with the dignity of a man close to the 
 horse's head, Worm stumbled along a stone's 
 throw in the rear, and Elfride was nowhere 
 in particular, yet everywhere ; sometimes in 
 front, sometimes behind, sometimes at the 
 sides, hovering about the procession like a 
 butterfly ; not definitely engaged in travel-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 53 
 
 ling, yet somehow chiming in at points with 
 the general progress. 
 
 The vicar explained things as he went 
 on : ' The fact is, Mr. Smith, I didn't want 
 this bother of church restoration at all, but 
 it was necessary to do something in self-de- 
 fence, on account of those d dissenters: 
 
 I use the word in its scriptural meaning, of 
 course, not as an expletive.' 
 
 'How very odd!' said Stephen, with the 
 concern demanded of serious friendliness. 
 
 ' Odd ? That's nothing to how it is in 
 the parish of Twinkley. Both the church- 
 wardens are ; there, I won't say what 
 
 they are ; and the clerk and the sexton as 
 well.' 
 
 ' How very strange !' said Stephen. 
 
 ' Strange ? My dear sir, that's nothing 
 to how it is in the parish of Sinnerton. 
 However, as to our own parish, I hope we 
 shall make some progress soon.' 
 
 ' You must trust to circumstances.' 
 
 ' There are no circumstances to trust to.
 
 54 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 We may as well trust in Providence if we 
 trust at all. But here we are. A wild 
 place, isn't it? But I like it on such days 
 as these.' 
 
 The churchyard was entered on this side 
 by a stone stile, over which having clam- 
 bered, you remained still on the wild hill, 
 the within not being so divided from the 
 without as to obliterate the sense of open 
 freedom. A delightful place to be buried 
 in, postulating that delight can accompany 
 a man to his tomb under any circumstances. 
 There was nothing horrible in this church- 
 yard, in the shape of tight mounds bonded 
 with sticks, which shout imprisonment in 
 the ears rather than whisper rest; or trim 
 garden-flowers, which only raise images of 
 people in new black crape and white hand- 
 kerchiefs coming to tend them; or wheel- 
 marks, which remind us of hearses and 
 mourning coaches ; or cypress-bushes, which 
 make a parade of sorrow ; or coflin-boards 
 and bones lying behind trees, showing that
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 55 
 
 we are only lease-holders of our graves. Xo ; 
 nothing but long, wild, untutored grass, di- 
 versifying the forms of the mounds it cov- 
 ered, — themselves irregularly shaped, with 
 no eye to effect ; the impressive presence of 
 the old mountain that all this was a part of 
 being nowhere excluded by disguising art. 
 Outside were similar slopes and similar 
 grass ; and then the serene impassive sea, 
 visible to a width of half the horizon, and 
 meeting the eye with the effect of a vast 
 concave, like the interior of a blue vessel. 
 Detached rusty rocks stood upright near 
 the shore, a collar of foam girding their 
 bases, repeating in its whiteness the plum- 
 ao^e of a countless multitude of o-ulls, rest- 
 lessly hovering about their tops. 
 
 ' Xow, AYorm I' said Mr. Swancourt 
 sharply; and Worm started into an attitude 
 of attention at once to receive orders. Ste- 
 phen and himself were then left in posses- 
 sion, and the work went on till early in the 
 afternoon, when dinner was announced by
 
 56 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Unity of the vicarage kitchen running up 
 the hill without a bonnet. 
 
 Elfride did not make her appearance in- 
 side the building till late in the afternoon, 
 and came then by special invitation from 
 Stephen during dinner. She looked so in- 
 tensely living and full of movement as she 
 came into the old silent place, that young 
 Smith's world began to be lit by 'the purple 
 light' in all its definiteness. Worm was got 
 rid of by sending him to measure the height 
 of the tower. 
 
 What could she do but come close — so 
 close that a minute arc of her skirt touched 
 his foot — and ask him hoAV he was getting 
 on with his sketches, and set herself to learn 
 the principles of practical mensuration as 
 applied to irregular buildings? Then she 
 must ascend the pulpit to re-imagine for 
 the hundredth time how it must seem to be 
 a preacher. 
 
 Has the reader ever seen a winsome
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 57 
 
 girl in a pulpit ? Perhaps not. The writer 
 knoAvs somebody who has, and who can 
 never forget that sight. 
 
 Elfride leant over the side. 
 
 ^ Don't you tell papa, will you, Mr. 
 Smith, if I tell you something?' she said 
 with a sudden imj^ulse to make a con- 
 fidence. 
 
 '0, no, that I won't,' said Mr. Smith, 
 staring up. 
 
 ^Well, I write papa's sermons for him 
 very often, and he preaches them better 
 than he does his own ; and then afterwards 
 he talks to people and to me about what he 
 said in his sermon to-day, and forgets that 
 I wrote it for him. Isn't it absurd ?' 
 
 'How clever you must be !' said Ste- 
 phen. 'I couldn't write a sermon for the 
 world.' 
 
 ' 0, it's easy enough,' she said, descend- 
 ing from the j)ulpit and coming close to 
 him to explain more vividly. ' You do it 
 like this. Did you ever play a game of for-
 
 58 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 feits called " When is it ? where is it ? what 
 IS it r 
 
 ' No, never.' 
 
 'Ah, that's a pity, because writing a 
 sermon is very much like playing that game. 
 You take the text. You think why is it ? 
 what is it ? and so on. You put that down 
 under "Collectively." Then you proceed to 
 the First, Secondly, and Thirdly. Papa 
 won't have Fourthlys— says they are all my 
 eye. Then you have a final Collectively, 
 several pages of this being put in great 
 black brackets, writing opposite, ''Leave 
 this out if the fanners are falling asleep.'' 
 Then comes your In Conclusion, then A 
 Few Words And I Have Done. Well, all 
 this time you have put on the back of each 
 page, ''Keep your voice cloicn' — I mean,' 
 she added, correcting herself, ' that's how I 
 do in papa's sermon-book, because otherwise 
 he gets louder and louder, till at last he 
 shouts like a farmer up a-field. 0, j^apa is 
 so funny in some things !'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 59 
 
 Then, after this childish burst of confi- 
 dence, she was frightened, being warned by 
 womanly mstinct, which for the moment her 
 ardour had outrun, that she. had been too 
 forward towards a comparative stranger. 
 
 Elfride saw her father then, and went 
 away into the wind, being caught by a gust 
 as she ascended the churchyard slope, in 
 which gust she had the motions, without 
 the motives, of a hoiclen ; the grace, without 
 the self-consciousness, of a pirouetter. She 
 conversed for a minute or two with her fa- 
 ther, and proceeded homeward, Mr. Swan- 
 court coming on to the church to Stephen. 
 The wind had freshened his warm com- 
 plexion as it freshens the glow of a brand. 
 He was in a mood of jollity, and watched 
 Elfride down the hill with a smile. 
 
 ' You little flyaway ! you look wild 
 enough now,' he said, and turned to Stephen. 
 ' But she's not a wild child at all, Mr. Smith. 
 As steady as you ; and that you are steady 
 I see from your dili^'ence here.'
 
 60 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'I think Miss Swancourt very clever/ 
 Stephen observed. 
 
 ^ Yes, she is; certainly she is,' said papa, 
 turning his voice as much as possible to 
 the neutral tone of disinterested criticism. 
 'Xow, Smith, I'll tell you something; but 
 she mustn't know it for the world — not for 
 the world, mind, for she insists upon keep- 
 ing it a dead secret. Why, she writes my 
 sermons for me often^ and a very good job 
 she makes of them.' 
 
 ' She can do anything.' 
 
 ' She can do that. The little rascal has 
 the very trick of the trade. But, mind you, 
 Smith, not a word about it to her, not a 
 single word !' 
 
 ' Not a word,' said Smith. 
 
 'Look there,' said Mr. Swancourt. 
 ' What do you think of my roofing ?' He 
 pointed with his walking-stick at the chan- 
 cel roof. 
 
 'Did you do that, sir?' 
 
 ' Yes, I worked in shirt-sleeves all the
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 61 
 
 time that was going on. I pulled down the 
 old rafters, fixed the new ones, put on the 
 battens, slated the roof, all with my own 
 hands. Worm being my assistant. We 
 worked like slaves, didn't we, Worm?' 
 
 ^ Ay, sure, we did ; harder than some 
 here and there — hee, hee!' said William 
 Worm, cropping up from somewhere. ' Like 
 slaves, 'a b'lieve — hee, hee ! And weren't 
 ye foaming mad, sir, when the nails wouldn't 
 go straight ! Mighty 1 ! There, 'tisn't so 
 bad to cuss and keep it in as to cuss and let 
 it out, is it, sir?' 
 
 ^ "Well— why?' 
 
 ' Because you, sir, when ye were a-put- 
 ting on the roof, only used to cuss in your 
 mind, which is, I suppose, no harm at all.' 
 
 ' I don't think you know what goes on 
 in my mind. Worm.' 
 
 ' 0, doan't I, sir — hee-hee ! Maybe I'm 
 but a poor wambling thing, sir, and can't 
 read much ; but I can spell as well as some 
 here and there. Doan't ye mind, sir, that
 
 G2 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 blusterous night when ye asked nie to hold 
 the candle to ye in yer workshop, when you 
 were making a new chair for the chancel V 
 'Yes; what of that?' 
 
 ' I stood with the candle, and you said 
 you liked company, if 'twas only a dog or 
 cat — maning me ; and the chair wouldn't 
 do no who w.' 
 
 ' Ah, I remember.' 
 
 ' Xo ; the chair wouldn't do nohow. 'A 
 was very well to look at; but Lord! — ' 
 
 'Worm, how often have I corrected you 
 for irreverent speaking !' 
 
 ' — 'A was very well to look at, but you 
 couldn't sit in the chair nohow. 'Twas all 
 a-twist wi' the chair, like the letter Z, di- 
 rectly you sat down upon the chair. "Get 
 up, AYorm," says you, when you seed the 
 chair go all a-sway wi' me. Up you took 
 the chair, and flung en like fire and brim- 
 stone to t'other end of your shop — all in a 
 passion. "Damn the chair!' says I. "Just 
 what I was thinkino- " savs vou, sir. " I
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 63 
 
 could see it in your face, sir," says I, "and 
 I hope you and God -svill forgie me for 
 saying what you wouldn't." To save your 
 life you couldn't help laughing^ sir, at a 
 poor wambler reading your thoughts so 
 plain. Ay, I'm as wise as one here and 
 there.' 
 
 ' I thought you had better have a prac- 
 tical man to go over the church and tower 
 mth you,^ Mr. Swancourt said to Stephen 
 the following morning, ' so 1 got Lord Lux- 
 ellian's permission to send for a man when 
 you came. I told him to be there at ten 
 o'clock. He's a very intelligent man, and he 
 will tell you all you want to know about the 
 state of the walls. His name is John Smith.' 
 
 Elfride did not like to be seen again at 
 the church with Stephen. ' I will watch here 
 for your appearance at the top of the tower,'" 
 she said laughingly. ' I shall see your figure 
 against the sky.' 
 
 And when I am up there I'll wave my 
 
 i
 
 64 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 handkerchief to you, Miss Swancourt,' said 
 Stephen, showing the pleasure he felt. * In 
 twelve minutes from this present moment,' 
 he said, looking at his watch, ' 111 be at the 
 summit and look out for you.' 
 
 She went round to the corner of the 
 shrubbery, whence she could watch him 
 down the slope leading to the foot of the 
 hill on which the church stood. There she 
 saw waiting for him a white spot — a mason 
 in his w^orking clothes. Stephen met this 
 man and stopped. 
 
 To her surprise, instead of their moving 
 on to the churchyard, they both leisurely 
 sat down upon a stone close by their meet- 
 ing-place, and remained as if in deep con- 
 versation. Elfride looked at the time : nine 
 of the twelve minutes had passed, and Ste- 
 phen showed no signs of moving. More 
 minutes passed — she grew cold mth waiting, 
 and shivered. It was not till the end of a 
 quarter of an hour that they began to slowly 
 wend up the hill at a snail's pace.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 65 
 
 ^ Rude and unmannerly !' she said to 
 herself, colouring with pique. 'Anybody 
 would think he was in love with that horrid 
 mason instead of with — ' 
 
 The sentence remained unspoken, though 
 not unthought. 
 
 She returned to the porch. 
 
 ' Is the man you sent for a lazy, sit-still, 
 do-nothing kind of man ?' she inquired of 
 her father. 
 
 'Xo,' he said, surprised; 'quite the re- 
 verse. He is Lord Luxellian's master-ma- 
 son, John Smith.' 
 
 ' 0,' said Elfride indifferently, and re- 
 turned towards her bleak station, and waited 
 and shivered again. It was a trifle, after all 
 — a childish thing — looking out from a tower 
 and waving a handkerchief But her new 
 friend had promised, and why should he 
 tease her so ? The effect of a blow is as 
 much in proportion to the texture of the 
 object struck as to its own momentum; 
 and she had such a superlative capacity for 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 Q6 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 being wounded tliat little hits struck her 
 hard. 
 
 It was not till the end of half an hour 
 that two figures were seen within the para- 
 pet of the dreary old pile, motionless as 
 bitterns on a ruined mosque. Even then 
 Stephen was not true enough to perform 
 -what he was so courteous to promise, and 
 he vanished without making a sign. 
 
 He returned at midday. Elfride looked 
 vexed when unconscious that his eyes were 
 upon her ; when conscious, severe. How- 
 ever, her attitude of coldness had long out- 
 lived the coldness itself, and she could no 
 longer utter feigned words of indifference. 
 
 * Ah, you weren't kind to keep me wait- 
 ing in the cold, and break your promise,' 
 she said at last reproachfully, in tones too 
 low for her father's powers of hearing. 
 
 'Forgive, forgive me!' said Stephen, 
 with dismay. ' I had forgotten — quite for- 
 gotten ! Something prevented my remem- 
 bering.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 67 
 
 'Any further explanation?' said ]\Iiss 
 Capricious, pouting. 
 
 He was silent for a few minutes, and 
 looked askance. 
 
 ' None,' lie said, with the accent of one 
 who concealed a sin.
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 ' bosom'd high in tufted trees.' 
 
 It was breakfast time. 
 
 As seen from the vicarage dining-room, 
 which took a warm tone of light from the 
 fire, the weather and scene outside seemed 
 to have stereotyped themselves in unrelieved 
 shades of gray. The long-armed trees and 
 shrubs of juniper, cedar, and pine varieties 
 were grayish - black ; those of the broad- 
 leaved sort, together with the herbage, were 
 grayish-green ; the eternal hills and tower 
 behind them were grayish-brown ; the sky 
 dropping behind all, gray of the purest 
 melancholy. 
 
 Yet in spite of this sombre artistic efi*ect, 
 the morning was not one svhich tended to 
 lower the spirits. It was even cheering.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 69 
 
 For it did not rain, nor was rain likely to 
 fall for many days to come. 
 
 When, in an English country house, our 
 different fractions of consciousness are re- 
 duced to their lowest terms, rain or no rain 
 is after all found to be the primum mobile of 
 mood, apart from great afflictions ; and men- 
 tal conclusions affecting our humours at 
 such times, which seem drawn from inde- 
 pendent incidents, are really but extreme 
 corollaries of one of those atmospheric con- 
 ditions. 
 
 Elfride had turned from the table to- 
 wards the fire, and was idly elevating a 
 hand-screen before her face, when she heard 
 the click of a little gate outside. 
 
 ' Ah, here's the postman !' she said, as a 
 shuffling, active man came through an open- 
 ing in the shrubbery and across the lawn. 
 She vanished, and met him in the porch, 
 afterwards coming in with her hands behind 
 her back. 
 
 ' How many are there ? Three for papa,
 
 70 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 one for Mr. Smith, none for Miss Swancourt. 
 And, papa, look here, one of yours is from 
 — whom do you think? — Lord Luxellian. 
 And it has something hard in it — a lump of 
 something. I've been feeling it through the 
 envelope, and can t think what it is.' 
 
 ' What does Lord Luxellian write for, I 
 wonder?' Mr. Swancourt had said simul- 
 taneously with her words. He handed Ste- 
 phen his letter, and took his own, putting 
 on his countenance a higher class of look 
 than was customary, as became a poor gen- 
 tleman who was going to read a letter from 
 a lord. 
 
 Stephen read his missive with a coun- 
 tenance quite the reverse of the vicar's. 
 
 ' Percy-place, Thursday evening. 
 
 ^Deab Smith,— Old H. is in a towering 
 rage with you for being so long about the 
 church sketches. Swears you are more 
 trouble than you are worth. He says I am 
 to write and say you are to stay no longer
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 71 
 
 on any consideration — that he would have 
 done it all in three hours very easily. I 
 told him that you were not like an experi- 
 enced hand, which he seemed to forget, but 
 it did not make much difference. However, 
 between you and me privately, if I were you 
 I would not alarm myself for a day or so, 
 if I were not inclined to return. I would 
 make out the week and finish my spree. 
 He wdll blow up just as much if you appear 
 here on Saturday as if you keep away till 
 Monday morning. — Yours very truly, 
 
 ' SiMPKiNS Jenkins.' 
 
 ^Dear me — very awkward!' said Ste- 
 phen, rather en Vaii\ and confused with the 
 kind of confusion that assails an under-strap- 
 per when he has been enlarged by accident 
 to the dimensions of a superior, and is some- 
 what rudely pared down to his original 
 size. 
 
 'What is awkward?' said Miss Swancourt. 
 
 Smith by this time recovered his equa-
 
 72 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 nimity, and -with it the professional dignity 
 of an experienced architect. 
 
 ^ Important business demands my im- 
 mediate presence in London, I regret to 
 say,' he replied. 
 
 'What! Must you go at once?' said Mr. 
 Swancourt, looking over the edge of his let- 
 ter. ' Important business ? A young fellow 
 like you to have important business !' 
 
 'The truth is,' said Stephen, blushing, and 
 rather ashamed of having pretended even so 
 slightly to a consequence which did not 
 rightly belong to him, — ' the truth is, Mr. 
 Hewby has sent to say I am to come home ; 
 and I must obey him.' 
 
 ' I see ; I see. It is politic to do so, you 
 mean. Now I can see more than you think. 
 You are to be his partner. I booked you 
 for that directly I read his letter to me the 
 other day, and the way he spoke of you. 
 He thinks a great deal of you, Mr. Smith, or 
 he wouldn't be so anxious for your return.' 
 
 Unpleasant to Stephen such remarks as
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 73 
 
 these could not sound ; to have the expect- 
 ancy of partnership with one of the largest- 
 practising architects in London thrust upon 
 him was cheering, however untenable he felt 
 the idea to be. He saw that, whatever Mr. 
 Hewby might think, Mr. Swancourt cer- 
 tainly thought much of him to entertain 
 such an idea on such slender ground as to 
 be absolutely no ground at all. And then, 
 unaccountably, his speaking face exhibited 
 a cloud of sadness, that thought of the or- 
 dinary remoteness of any such contingency 
 could hardly have sufficed to cause. 
 
 Elfride was struck with that look of his; 
 even Mr. Swancourt noticed it. 
 
 'Well,' he said cheerfully, 'never mind 
 that now. You must come again on your 
 own account : not on business. Come to 
 see me as a visitor, you know — say, in your 
 holidays — all you town men have holidays 
 like schoolboys. When are they?' 
 
 'In August, I believe.' 
 
 'Very well; come in August; and then
 
 74 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 you need not hurry away so. I am glad 
 to get somebody decent to talk to, or at, in 
 this outlandish ultima Thule, But, by the 
 bye, I have something to say — you won't go 
 to-day ?' 
 
 ' No ; I need not,' said Stephen hesi- 
 tatingly. ' I am not obliged to get back 
 before Monday morning.' 
 
 ^ Yery well, then, that brings me to what 
 I am going to propose. This is a letter from 
 Lord Luxellian. I think you heard me 
 speak of him as the resident landowner in 
 this district, and patron of this living?' 
 
 ' I — know of him.' 
 
 ' He is in London now. It seems that 
 he has run up on business for a day or two, 
 and taken Lady Luxellian with him. He 
 has written to ask me to go to his house, 
 and search for a paper among his private 
 memoranda, which he forgot to take with 
 him.' 
 
 ^What did he send in the letter?' in- 
 quires Elfride.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 75 
 
 ' The key of a private desk in wliich the 
 papers are. He doesn't like to trust such a 
 matter to anybody else. I have done such 
 things for him before. And what I propose 
 is, that we make an afternoon of it — all 
 three of us. Go for a drive to Targan Bay, 
 come home by way of Endelstow House; 
 and whilst I am looking over the documents 
 you can ramble about the rooms where you 
 like. I have the run of the house at any 
 time, you know. The building, though no- 
 thino; but a mass of enables outside, has a 
 splendid hall, staircase, and gallery within ; 
 and there are a few good pictures.' 
 
 ' Yes, there are,' said Stephen. 
 
 ' Have you seen the place, then ?' 
 
 ' I saw it as I came by,' he said hastily. 
 
 ^ 0, yes ; but I was alluding to the in- 
 terior. And the church — St. Eval's — is 
 much older than our St. Agnes's here. I 
 do duty in that and this alternately, you 
 know. The fact is, I ought to have some 
 help ; riding across that park for two miles
 
 76 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 on a wet mornino: is not at all the thincr. 
 If my constitution were not well seasoned, 
 as tliank God it is,' — here Mr. Swancourt 
 looked down his front, as if his constitution 
 were visible there, — ' I should be coughing 
 and barking all the year round. And when 
 the family goes away, there are only about 
 three servants to preach to when I get 
 there. Well, that shall be the arrangement, 
 then. Elfride, you will like to go ?' 
 
 Elfride assented; and the little break- 
 fast-party separated. Stephen rose to go 
 and take a few final measurements at the 
 church, the vicar following him to the door 
 with a mysterious expression of inquiry on 
 his face. 
 
 'You'll put up with our not having 
 family prayer this morning, I hope?' he 
 whispered. 
 
 ' Yes ; quite so,' said Stephen. 
 
 ' To tell you the truth,' he continued in 
 the same undertone, 'we don't make a regu- 
 lar thing of it ; but when we have strangers
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 77 
 
 visiting us, I am strongly of opinion that it 
 is the proper thing to do, and I always do 
 it. I am very strict on that point. But 
 you, Smith, there is something in your face 
 which makes me feel quite at home ; no 
 nonsense about you, in short. Ah, it re- 
 minds me of a splendid story I used to 
 hear when I was a helter-skelter youns: fel- 
 low — such a story! But' — here the vicar 
 shook his head self-forbiddino-ly, and grimly 
 laughed. 
 
 'Was it a good story?' said young Smith, 
 smiling too. 
 
 '•O, yes; but 'tis too bad — too bad ! 
 Couldn't tell it to you for the world!' 
 
 Stephen went across the lawn, hearing 
 the vicar chuckling privately at the recol- 
 lection as he withdrew. 
 
 They started at three o'clock. The gray 
 morning had resolved itself into an after- 
 noon bright with a pale pervasive sunlight, 
 without the sun itself being visible. Lightly
 
 78 A PAIK OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 they trotted along — the wheels nearly- 
 silent, the horse's hoofs clapping, almost 
 ringing, upon the hard white turnpike road 
 as it followed the level ridge in a perfectly 
 straight line, seeming to be absorbed ulti- 
 mately by the white of the sky. 
 
 Targan Bay — which had the merit of 
 being easily got at — was duly visited. They 
 then swept round by innumerable lanes, in 
 which not twenty consecutive yards were 
 either straight or level, to the domain of 
 Lord Luxellian. A woman with a double 
 chin and thick neck, like Queen Anne by 
 Dahl, threw open the lodge gate, a little 
 boy standing behind her. 
 
 ' I'll give him something, poor little fel- 
 low,' said Elfride, pulling out her purse 
 and hastily opening it. From the interior 
 of her purse a host of bits of paper, like a 
 flock of white birds, floated into the air, and 
 were blown about in all directions. 
 
 ^ Well, to be sure !' said Stephen, with a 
 slio^ht launch.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 79 
 
 ^ What the dickens is all that?' said Mr. 
 Swancourt. 'Never halves of bank-notes, 
 Elfride T 
 
 Elfride looked annoyed and guilty. 
 ' They are only something of mine, papa,' 
 she faltered, whilst Stephen leapt out, and, 
 assisted by the lodge-keeper's little boy, 
 crept about round the wheels and horse's 
 hoofs till the papers were all gathered to- 
 gether again. He handed them back to 
 her, and remounted. 
 
 'I suppose you are wondering what 
 those scraps were ?' she said, as they bowled 
 along up the sycamore avenue. 'And so I 
 may as well tell you. They are notes for a 
 romance I am writing.^ 
 
 She could not help colouring at the con- 
 fession, much as she tried to avoid it. 
 
 'A story, do you mean?' said Stephen, 
 Mr. Swancourt half listening, and catching 
 a word of the conversation now and then. 
 
 ' Yes ; the Court of Kellyon Castle ; a ro- 
 mance of the fifteenth century. Such writing
 
 80 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 is out of date now, I know ; but I like do- 
 ing it.' 
 
 ' A romance carried in a purse ! If a 
 highwayman were to rob you, he would be 
 taken in.' 
 
 ^ Yes ; that's my way of carrying manu- 
 script. The real reason is, that I mostly 
 write bits of it on scraps of paper when I 
 am on horseback; and I put them there for 
 convenience.' 
 
 ^What are you going to do with your 
 romance when you have written it?' said 
 Stephen. 
 
 *I don't know.' she replied, and turned 
 her head to look at the prospect. 
 
 For by this time they had reached the 
 precincts of Endelstow House. Driving 
 through an ancient gateway of dun-coloured 
 stone, spanned by the high-shouldered Tudor 
 arch, they found themselves in a spacious 
 court, closed by a fa9ade on each of its 
 three sides. The substantial portions of the 
 existing building dated from the reign of
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 81 
 
 Henry YIII. ; but the j)icturesque and shel- 
 tered spot had been the site of an erection 
 of a much earlier date. A license to cre- 
 nellate mansum infra manerium suum vras 
 granted by Edward 11. to ' Hugo Luxellen, 
 chivaler ;' but though the faint outline 
 of the ditch and mound was visible at 
 points, no sign of the original building 
 remained. 
 
 The windows on all sides were long and 
 many-muUioned ; the roof lines broken up 
 by dormer lights of the same pattern. The 
 apex stones of these dormers, together with 
 those of the gables, were surmounted by 
 grotesque figures in rampant, passant, and 
 couchant variety. Tall octagonal and twisted 
 chimneys thrust themselves high up into 
 the sky, surpassed in height, however, by 
 some poplars and sycamores at the back, 
 which showed their gently-rocking summits 
 over ridge and parapet. In the corners of 
 the court polygonal bays, whose surfaces 
 were entirely occupied by buttresses and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 -windows, broke into the squareness of the 
 enclosure; and a far-projecting oriel, spring- 
 ing from a fantastic series of mouldings, 
 overhung the archway of the chief entrance 
 to the house. 
 
 As Mr. Swancourt had remarked, he had 
 the freedom of the mansion in the absence 
 of its OA^^ier. Upon a statement of his er- 
 rand, they were all admitted to the library 
 and left entirely to themselves. Mr. Swan- 
 court was soon up to his eyes in the exami- 
 nation of a heap of papers he had taken 
 from the cabinet described by his corre- 
 spondent. Stephen and Elfride had nothing 
 to do but to wander about till her father 
 was ready. 
 
 Elfride entered the gallery, and Stephen 
 followed her without seeming to. It was a 
 long sombre apartment, enriched with fit- 
 tings a century or so later in style than the 
 walls of the mansion. Pilasters of Renais- 
 sance workmanship supported a cornice 
 from which sprang a curved ceiling, panel-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 83 
 
 led in the awkward twists and curls of the 
 period. The old Gothic quarries still re- 
 mained in the upper portion of the large 
 window at the end, though they had made 
 w^ay for a more modern form of glazing 
 elsewhere. 
 
 Stephen was at one end of the gallery 
 looking towards Elfride, who stood in the 
 midst, beginning to feel somewhat depressed 
 by the society of Luxellian shades of cada- 
 verous complexion transfixed by Holbein, 
 Kneller, and Lely, and seeming to gaze at 
 and through her in a moralising mood. 
 The silence, which was almost a spell upon 
 them, was broken by the sudden opening of 
 a door at the far end. 
 
 Out bounded a pair of little girls, lightly 
 yet warmly dressed. Their eyes were spark- 
 ling ; their hair swinging about and around ; 
 their red mouths laughing with unalloyed 
 gladness. 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Swancourt ! dearest Elfie ! we 
 heard you. Are you going to stay here?
 
 84 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 You are our little mamma, are you not — 
 our big mamma is gone to London,' said 
 ne. 
 
 ' Let me tiss you,' said the other, in ap- 
 pearance very much like the first, but to a 
 smaller pattern. 
 
 Their pink cheeks and yellow hair were 
 speedily intermingled wdth the folds of El- 
 fride's dress ; she then stooped and tenderly 
 embraced them both. 
 
 ' Such an odd thing,' said Elfride, smil- 
 ing, and turning to Stephen. ' They have 
 taken it into their heads lately to call me 
 " little mamma," because I am very fond of 
 them, and wore a dress the other day some- 
 thing like one of Lady Luxellian's.' 
 
 These two young creatures were the 
 Honourable Mary and the Honourable Kate 
 — scarcely appearing large enough as yet to 
 bear the weight of such ponderous prefixes. 
 They were the only two children of Lord 
 and Lady Luxellian, and, as it proved, had 
 been left at home during their parents' tem-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 85 
 
 porary absence in the custody of nurse and 
 governess. Lord Luxellian was dotingly 
 fond of the children : rather indifferent to- 
 wards his wife, since she had begun to show 
 an inclination not to please him by giving 
 him a boy. 
 
 All children instinctively ran after El- 
 fride, looking upon her more as an unusually 
 nice large specimen of their own tribe than 
 as a grown-up elder. It had now become 
 an established rule, that whenever she met 
 them — indoors or out-of-doors, weekdays or 
 Sundays — they were to be severally pressed 
 against her face and bosom for the space of 
 a quarter of a minute, and otherwise made 
 much of on the delightful system of cumu- 
 lative epithet and caress to which unprac- 
 tised girls will occasionally abandon them- 
 selves. 
 
 A look of misgiving by the youngsters 
 towards the door by which they had entered 
 directed attention to a maid-servant, appear- 
 ing from the same quarter to put an end to
 
 86 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 this sweet freedom of the poor Honourables 
 Mary and Kate. 
 
 ' I wish you lived here, Miss Swancourt !' 
 piped one, like a melancholy bullfinch. 
 
 ' So do I,' piped the other, like a rather 
 more melancholy bullfinch. ' Mamma can't 
 play with us so nicely as you do. I don't 
 think she ever learnt playing when she was 
 little. When shall we come to see you?' 
 
 ^ As soon as you like, dears.' 
 
 ^And sleep at your house all night? 
 That's what I mean by coming to see you. 
 I don't care to see people with hats and 
 bonnets on, and all standing up and walk- 
 ing about.' 
 
 ^As soon as we can get mamma's per- 
 mission you shall come and stay as long as 
 ever you like. Good-bye !' 
 
 The prisoners were then led off, Elfridc 
 again turning her attention to her guest^ 
 w^hom she had left standing at the remote 
 end of the gallery. On looking around for 
 him he was nowhere to be seen. Elfride
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 87 
 
 stepped down to the library, thinking he 
 might have rejoined her father there. Bui 
 Mr. Swancourt, now cheerfully illuminated 
 by a pair of candles, was still alone, untying 
 packets of letters and papers, and tying 
 them up again. 
 
 As Elfride did not stand on a sufficient- 
 ly intimate footing with the object of her 
 interest to justify her, as a proper young 
 lady, to commence the active search for him 
 that youthful impulsiveness prompted, and 
 as nevertheless, for a nascent reason con- 
 nected with the divinely- cut lips of his, she 
 did not like him to be absent from her side, 
 she wandered desultorily back to the oak 
 staircase, pouting and casting her eyes about 
 in hope of discerning his boyish figure. 
 
 Though daylight still prevailed in the 
 rooms, the corridors were in a depth of sha- 
 dow — chill, sad, and silent ; and it was only 
 by looking along them towards light spaces 
 beyond that anything or anybody could be 
 discerned therein. One of these light spots
 
 88 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 she found to be caused by a side-door -svith 
 glass panels in the upper part. Elfride 
 opened it, and found herself confronting a 
 secondary or inner lawn, separated from the 
 principal lawn front by a shrubbery. 
 
 And now she saw a perplexing sight. 
 At rio^ht-ano-les to the face of the wino^ she 
 had emerged from, and within a few feet of 
 the door, jutted out another wing of the 
 mansion, lower and with less architectural 
 character. Immediately opposite to her, 
 in the wall of this wing, was a large broad 
 window, having its blind drawn down, and 
 illuminated by a light in the room it 
 screened. 
 
 On the blind was a shadow from some- 
 body close inside it — a person in profile. 
 The profile was unmistakably that of Ste- 
 phen. It was just possible to see that his 
 arms were uplifted, and that his hands held 
 an article of some kind. Then another sha- 
 dow appeared — also in profile — and came 
 close to him. This was the shadow of a
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 89 
 
 woman. She turned lier back towards Ste- 
 phen : he lifted and held out what now 
 proved to be a shawl or mantle — placed it 
 carefully — so carefully — round the lady; 
 disappeared ; reappeared in her front — fast- 
 ened the mantle. Did he then kiss her ? 
 Surely not. Yet the motion might have 
 been a kiss. Then both shadows swelled 
 to colossal dimensions — grew distorted — 
 vanished. 
 
 Two minutes elapsed. 
 
 ' Ah, Miss Swancourt ! I am so glad to 
 find you. I was looking for you,' said a 
 voice at her elbow — Stephen's voice. She 
 stepped into the passage. 
 
 ' Do you know any of the members of 
 this estabUshment ?' said she. 
 
 ' Xot a single one : how should I ?' he 
 replied.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 'fare thee weel a while !' 
 
 Sbiultaneously with the conclusion of 
 Stephen's remark, the sound of the closing 
 of an external door in their immediate 
 neighbourhood reached Elfride's ears. It 
 came from the farther side of the wing con- 
 taining the illuminated room. She then 
 discerned, by the aid of the dusky depart- 
 ing light, a figure, whose sex was undis- 
 tinguishable, walking down the gravelled 
 path by the parterre towards the river. The 
 fio;ure 2Tew fainter, and vanished under the 
 trees. 
 
 Mr. Swancourt's voice was heard calling 
 out their names from a distant corridor in 
 the body of the building. They retraced 
 their steps, and found him with his coat
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 91 
 
 buttoned up and his hat on, awaiting their 
 advent in a mood of self-satisfaction at hav- 
 ing brought his search to a successful close. 
 The carriage was brought round, and with- 
 out farther delay the trio drove away from 
 the mansion, under the echoing gateway 
 arch, and along by the leafless sycamores, 
 as the stars bef^ran to kindle their tremblino; 
 lights behind the maze of branches and 
 twigs. 
 
 No words were spoken either by youth 
 or maiden. Her unpractised mind was com- 
 pletely occupied in fathoming its recent 
 acquisition relative to her companion. The 
 young man who had inspired her with such 
 novelty of mood in relation to himself, hav- 
 ing come directly from London on business 
 to her father, having been brought by chance 
 to Endelstow House, had, by some means or 
 other, acquired the privilege of approaching 
 some lady he had found therein, and hon- 
 ouring her by joetits soins of a marked kind, 
 — all in the space of half an hour.
 
 92 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 What room were they standing in? 
 thought Elfride. As nearly as she could 
 guess, it was Lord Luxellian's business- 
 room, or office. What people were in the 
 house? ^^one but the governess and ser- 
 vants, as far as she knew, and of these he 
 had professed a total ignorance. Had the 
 person she had indistinctly seen leaving the 
 house anything to do with the performance? 
 It was impossible to say without appealing 
 to the culprit himself, and that she would 
 never do. The more Elfride reflected, the 
 more certain did it appear that the meeting 
 was a chance rencounter, and not an ap- 
 pointment. And passing again to the ulti- 
 mate inquiry as to the individuality of the 
 female, Elfride at once assumed that she 
 could not be an inferior. Stephen Smith 
 was not the man to care about passages-at- 
 love with women beneath him. Though 
 gentle, ambition was visible in his kindling 
 eyes ; he evidently hoped for much ; hoped 
 indefinitely, but extensively. Elfride was
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 93 
 
 puzzled, and being puzzled, was, by a natu- 
 ral sequence of girlish sensations, vexed 
 with him. Xo more pleasure came in recog- 
 nisino^ that from likino; to attract him she 
 was getting on to love him, boyish as he 
 was, and innocent as he had seemed. 
 
 They reached the bridge which formed 
 a link between the eastern and western 
 halves of the parish. Situated in a valley 
 that was bounded outwardly by the sea, it 
 formed a point of depression from which the 
 road ascended with great steepness to West 
 Endelstow and the Vicarage. There was no 
 absolute necessity for either of them to 
 alight, but as it was the vicar's custom after 
 a long journey to humour the horse in mak- 
 ing this winding ascent, Elfride, moved by 
 an imitative instinct, suddenly jumped out 
 when Pleasant had just begun to adopt the 
 deliberate stalk he associated with this por- 
 tion of the road. 
 
 The young man seemed glad of any 
 excuse for breaking the silence. 'Why^
 
 94 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Miss Swancourt, what a risky thing to do !' 
 he exclaimed, immediately following her 
 example by jumping down on the other 
 side. 
 
 ^ no, not at all,' replied miss coldly ; 
 the shadow phenomenon at Endelstow House 
 still paramount within her. 
 
 Stephen walked along by himself for two 
 or three minutes, wrapped in the rigid re- 
 serve dictated by her tone. Then apparently 
 thinking that it was only for girls to pout, 
 he came serenely round to her side, and 
 offered his arm, with Castilian gallantry, to 
 assist her in ascending the remaining three- 
 quarters of the steep. 
 
 Here was a temptation : it was the first 
 time in her life that Elfride had been treated 
 as a grown-up woman in this way — offered 
 an arm in a manner implying that she had 
 a riffht to refuse it. Till to-night she had 
 never received masculine attentions beyond 
 those which might be contained in such 
 homely remarks as ^Elfride, give me your
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 95 
 
 hand;' 'Elfride, take hold of my arm,' from 
 her father. Her callow heart made an epoch 
 of the incident ; she considered her array of 
 feelings, for and against. Collectively they 
 were for taking this offered arm ; the single 
 one of pique determined her to punish Ste- 
 phen by refusing. 
 
 ^No, thank you, Mr. Smith; I can get 
 along better by myself 
 
 It was Elfride's first fragile attempt at 
 browbeating a lover. Fearing more the is- 
 sue of such an undertaking than what a gen- 
 tle young man might think of her wayward- 
 ness, she immediately afterwards determined 
 to please herself by reversing her statement. 
 
 ^On second thoughts, I will take it,' she 
 said. 
 
 They slowly wended their way up the 
 hill, a few yards behind the carriage. 
 
 ^How silent you are. Miss Swancourt!' 
 Stephen observed. 
 
 ' Perhaps I think you silent too,' she 
 returned.
 
 96 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 • I may have reason to be.' 
 
 ' Scarcely ; it is sadness that makes peo- 
 ple silent, and you can have none.' 
 
 ' You don't know : I have a trouble ; 
 though some might think it less a trouble 
 than a dilemma.' 
 
 'What is it?' she asked impulsively. 
 
 Stephen hesitated. ' I might tell,' he said ; 
 ' at the same time perhaps it is as well — ' 
 
 She let go his arm and imperatively 
 pushed it from her, tossing her head. She 
 had just learnt that a good deal of dignity 
 is lost by asking a question to which an ans- 
 wer is refused, even ever so politely; for 
 though politeness does good service in cases 
 of requisition and compromise, it but little 
 helps a direct refusal. 'I don't wish to 
 know anything of it ; I don't wish it,' she 
 went on. ' The carriage is waiting for us at 
 the top of the hill; we must get in;' and 
 Elfride flitted to the front. ' Papa, here is 
 your Elfride!' she exclaimed to the dusky 
 figure of the old gentleman, as she sprang
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 97 
 
 up and sank by his side without deigning to 
 accept aid from Stephen. 
 
 ^Ah, yes!' uttered the vicar in artificially 
 alert tones, awaking from a most profound 
 sleep, and suddenly preparing to alight. 
 
 ' Why, what are you doing, papa ! "W'e 
 are not home vet.' 
 
 ' no, no; of course not; we are not at 
 home yet,' Mr. Swancourt said very hastily, 
 endeavouring to dodge back to his original 
 position with the air of a man who had not 
 moved at all. ' The fact is I was so lost in 
 deep meditation that I forgot whereabouts 
 we were.' And in a minute the vicar was 
 snoring again. 
 
 That evening, being the last, seemed to 
 throw an exceptional shade of sadness over 
 Stephen Smith, and the repeated injunc- 
 tions of the vicar, that he was to come and 
 revisit them in the summer, apparently 
 tended less to raise his spirits than to un- 
 earth some misf^ivinor. 
 
 o c 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 He left them in the gray light of dawn, 
 whilst the colours of earth were sombre, 
 and the sun was yet hidden in the east. 
 Elfride had fidgeted all night in her little 
 bed lest none of the household should be 
 awake soon enough to start him, and also 
 lest she might miss seeing again the bright 
 eyes and curly hair, to which their owner's 
 possession of a hidden mystery added a 
 deeper tinge of romance. To some extent 
 — so soon does womanly interest take a 
 solicitous turn — she felt herself responsible 
 for his safe conduct. They breakfasted be- 
 fore daylight; Mr. Swancourt, being more 
 and more taken with his guest's ingenuous 
 appearance, having determined to rise early 
 and bid him a friendly farewell. It was, 
 however, rather to the vicar's astonishment 
 that he saw Elfride walk in to the breakfast- 
 table, candle in hand. 
 
 Whilst WiUiam Worm performed his 
 toilet (during which performance the in- 
 mates of the vicarage were always in the
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 99 
 
 lialDit of waiting with exemplary patience), 
 Elfride wandered desultorily to the summer- 
 house. Stephen followed her thither. The 
 copse-covered valley was visible from this 
 position, a mist now lying all along its 
 length, hiding the stream which trickled 
 throuo^h it, thouo^h the observers themselves 
 were in clear air. 
 
 They stood close together, leaning over 
 the rustic balustrading which bounded the 
 arbour on the outward side, and formed the 
 crest of a steep slope beneath. Elfride con- 
 strainedly pointed out some features of the 
 distant uplands rising irregularly opposite. 
 But the artistic eye was, either from nature 
 or circumstance, very faint in Stephen now, 
 and he only half attended to her description, 
 as if he spared time from some other thought 
 going on within him. 
 
 'Well, good-bye,' he said suddenly; 'I 
 must never see you again, I suppose, Miss 
 Swancourt, in spite of invitations.' 
 
 His genuine tribulation played directly
 
 100 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ujDon the delicate chords of her nature. She 
 could afford to for2:ive him for a conceal- 
 ment or two. Moreover the shyness which 
 would not allow him to look her in the face 
 lent bravery to her own eyes and tongue. 
 
 ^ do come again, Mr. Smith !' she said 
 prettily. 
 
 ' I should delight in it ; but it will be 
 better if I do not.' 
 
 ^Why? 
 
 ' Certain circumstances in connection 
 with me make it undesirable. Xot on my 
 account; on yours.' 
 
 ^ Goodness ! As if anything in connec- 
 tion with you could hurt me,' she said with 
 serene supremacy ; but seeing that this plan 
 of treatment was inappropriate, she tuned a 
 smaller note. ^ Ah, I know why you will 
 not come. You don't want to. You'll go 
 home to London and to all the stirring peo- 
 ple there, and will never want to see us any 
 more.' 
 
 ' You know I have no such reason.'
 
 A PATH OF BLUE EYES lOl 
 
 ' And go Oil Avriting letters to the lady 
 you are engaged to, just as before.' 
 
 * What does that mean? I am not en- 
 
 ' You wrote a letter to a Miss Somebody ; 
 1 saw it in the letter-rack.' 
 
 ' Pooh ! an elderly woman who keeps a 
 stationer's shop; and it was to tell her to 
 keep my newspaper till I get back.' 
 
 'You needn't have explained: it was 
 not my business at all.' Miss Elfride was 
 rather relieved to hear that statement never- 
 theless. ' And you won't come again to see 
 papa?' she insisted. 
 
 ' 1 should like to — and to see you again, 
 but—' 
 
 ' Will you reveal to me that matter you 
 hide ?' she interrupted petulantly. 
 
 ' No; not now.' 
 
 She could not but go on, graceless as it 
 might seem. 
 
 ' Tell me this,' she importuned, with a 
 trembling mouth. 'Does any meeting of
 
 102 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 yours with a lady at Endelstow House clash 
 with — any interest you may take in me?' 
 
 He started a little. ^It does not,' he 
 said emphatically; and looked into the pu- 
 pils of her eyes with the confidence that 
 only honesty can give, and even that to 
 youth alone. 
 
 The explanation had not come, but a 
 gloom left her. She could not but believe 
 that utterance. Whatever enigma might 
 He in the shadow on the blind, it was not 
 an enigma of underhand passion. 
 
 She turned towards the house, entering 
 it through the conservatory. Stephen went 
 round to the front door. Mr. Swancourt was 
 standing on the step in his slippers. Worm 
 was adjusting a buckle in the harness, and 
 murmuring about his poor head ; and every- 
 thing was ready for Stephen's departure. 
 
 ' You named August for your visit. 
 August it shall be ; that is, if you care for 
 the society of such a fossilised Tory,' said 
 Mr. Swancourt.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 103 
 
 Mr. Smith only responded hesitatingly, 
 that he should like to come again. 
 
 ' You said you would, and you must,' 
 insisted Elfride, coming to the door and 
 speaking under her father's arm. 
 
 Whatever reason the youth may have 
 had for not wishinof to enter the house as a 
 guest, it no longer predominated. He pro- 
 mised, and bade them adieu, and got into 
 the pony-carriage, which crept up the slope, 
 and bore him out of their sight. 
 
 ^ I never was so much taken with any- 
 body in my life as I am with that young 
 fellow — never ! I cannot understand it — 
 can't understand it anyhow,' said Mr. Swan- 
 court quite energetically to himself; and 
 went indoors.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 * NO MORE OF ME YOU KNEW, MY LOVE.' 
 
 The history of the first wooing of our im- 
 pressionable young heroine being to a great 
 extent preliminary to the main story, we 
 hurry through it as rapidly as possible. In 
 order, however, that the future position may 
 be adequately understood, it is necessary to 
 give the facts of the case seriatim. 
 
 Stephen Smith revisited Endelstow Vicar- 
 age, agreeably to his promise. He had a 
 genuine artistic reason for coming, though 
 no such reason seemed to be required. 
 Six-and- thirty old seat ends, of exquisite 
 fifteenth - century workmanship, were ra- 
 pidly decaying in an aisle of the church; 
 and it became politic to make drawings of 
 their worm-eaten contours ere they were
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 105 
 
 battered past recognition in the turmoil of 
 the so-called restoration. 
 
 He entered the house at sunset, and 
 the world was pleasant again to the two 
 fair-haired ones. A momentary pang of 
 disappointment had nevertheless passed 
 throuo;h Elfride when she casually dis- 
 covered that he had not come that minute 
 post-haste from London, but had reached 
 the neighbourhood the previous evening. 
 Surprise would have accompanied the feel- 
 ing, had she not remembered that several 
 tourists were haunting the coast at this 
 season, and that Stephen might have chosen 
 to do likewise. 
 
 They did little besides chat that evening, 
 Mr. Swancourt beginning to question his 
 visitor, closely yet paternally, and in good 
 part, on his hopes and prospects from the 
 profession he had embraced. Stephen gave 
 vague answers. The next day it rained. 
 In the evening, when twenty-four hours of 
 Elfride had completely rekindled her ad-
 
 106 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 mirer's ardour, a game of chess was pro- 
 posed between them. 
 
 The game had its value in helping on 
 the developments of their future. 
 
 Elfride soon perceived that her opponent 
 was but a learner. She next noticed that 
 he had a very odd way of handling the 
 pieces when castling or taking a man. Ante- 
 cedently she would have supposed that the 
 same performance must be gone through by 
 all players in the same manner; she was 
 taught by his differing action that all ordi- 
 nary players, who learn the game by sight, 
 unconsciously touch the men in a stereo- 
 typed way. This impression of indescribable 
 oddness in Stephen's touch culminated in 
 speech when she saw him, at the taking of 
 one of her bishops, push it aside with the 
 taking man instead of lifting it as a pre- 
 liminary to the move. 
 
 ' How strangely you handle the men, 
 Mr. Smith!' 
 
 'Do I? I am sorry for that.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 107 
 
 ' no — don't be sorry ; it is not a matter 
 great enough for sorrow. But who taught 
 you to play?' 
 
 ^ Nobody, Miss Swancourt,' he said re- 
 spectfully. ' I learnt from a book lent by 
 my friend Mr. Knight, the noblest man in 
 the world.' 
 
 ^ But you have seen people play ?' 
 
 ' I have never seen the playing of a single 
 game. This is the first time I ever had the 
 opportunity of playing with a living oppo- 
 nent. I have worked out many games from 
 books, and studied the reasons of the dif- 
 ferent moves, but that is all.' 
 
 This was a full explanation of his man- 
 nerism ; but the fact that a man with a 
 desire for chess should have grown up with- 
 out being able to see or engage in a game 
 astonished her not a little. She pondered 
 on the circumstance for some time, lookino; 
 into vacancy and hindering the play. 
 
 Mr. Swancourt was sitting with his eyes 
 fixed on the board, but apparently think-
 
 108 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ing of other things. Half to himself he said, 
 pending the move of Elfride : 
 
 ' " Quai finis aut quod me manet stipen- 
 dium?" 
 
 Stephen replied instantly : 
 
 ^ " Effare : jussas cum fide poenas luam." ' 
 
 ' Excellent — prompt — gratifying ! ' said 
 Mr. Swancourt with feeling, bringing down 
 his hand upon the table, and making three 
 pawns and a knight dance over their bor- 
 ders by the shaking. ' I was musing on those 
 words as applicable to a strange course I am 
 steering— but enough of that. I am delighted 
 with you, Mr. Smith, for it is so seldom in 
 this desert that I meet with a man who is 
 gentleman and scholar enough to continue 
 a quotation, however trite it may be.' 
 
 ' I also apply the words to myself,' said 
 Stephen quietly. 
 
 ' You? The last man in the world to 
 do that, I should have thought.' 
 
 'Come,' murmured Elfride poutingly, 
 and insinuating herself between them, ' tell
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 109 
 
 me all about it. Come, construe, con- 
 strue!' 
 
 Stephen looked steadfastly into lier face, " 
 and said slowly, and in a voice full of a far- 
 off meaning that seemed quaintly premature 
 in one so young : 
 
 ' Quae finis What will be the end^ aut or 
 quod stipendium what fine manet me awaits 
 me ? Effare Speah out ; luam I will pay^ 
 cum fide with fait\ jussas poenas the penalty 
 required,'' 
 
 The vicar, who had listened with a cri- 
 tical compression of the lips to this school- 
 boy recitation, and by reason of his im- 
 perfect hearing had missed the marked 
 realism of Stephen's tone in the English 
 words, now said hesitatingly : ^ By the bye, 
 Mr. Smith (I know you'll excuse my curi- 
 osity), though your translation was un- 
 exceptionably correct and close, you have 
 a way of pronouncing your Latin which to 
 me seems most peculiar. Not that the pro- 
 nunciation of a dead language is of much
 
 110 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 importance ; yet your accents and quanti- 
 ties have a grotesque sound to my ears. I 
 thought first that you had acquired your 
 •way of breathing the vowels from some of 
 the northern colleges ; but it cannot be so 
 Avith the quantities. What I was going to 
 ask was, if your instructor in the classics 
 could possibly have been an Oxford or Cam- 
 bridge man?' 
 
 'Yes; he was an Oxford man — Fellow 
 of St. Cyprian's.' 
 
 'Eeally? 
 
 ' yes ; there's no doubt about it.' 
 
 ' The oddest thing ever I heard of!' said 
 Mr. Swancourt, starting with astonishment. 
 ' That the pupil of such a man — ' 
 
 ' The best and cleverest man in England !' 
 cried Stephen enthusiastically. 
 
 ' —That the pupil of such a man should 
 pronounce Latin in the way you pronounce 
 it beats all I ever heard. How long did he 
 instruct you?' 
 
 ' Four years.' 
 
 * Four years !'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. Ill 
 
 'It is not so strange when I explain/ 
 Stephen hastened to say. ' It was done in 
 this way — by letter. I sent him exercises 
 and construing twice a week, and twice a 
 week he sent them back to me corrected, 
 with marginal notes of instruction. That 
 is how I learnt my Latin and Greek, such 
 as it is. He is not responsible for my scan- 
 ning. He has never heard me scan a line.' 
 
 ' A novel case, and a singular instance 
 of patience !' cried the vicar. 
 
 ' On his part, not on mine. Ah, Henry 
 Knight is one in a thousand ! I remember 
 his speaking to me on this very subject of 
 pronunciation. He says that, much to his 
 regret, he sees a time coming when every 
 man wiU. pronounce even the common words 
 of his own tongue as seems right in his own 
 eyes, and be thought none the worse for it ; 
 that the speaking age is passing away, to 
 make room for the writing age.' 
 
 Both Elfride and her father had waited 
 attentively to hear Stephen go on to what
 
 112 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 would have been the most interesting part 
 of the story, namely, what circumstances 
 could have necessitated such an unusual 
 method of education. But no further ex- 
 planation was volunteered; and they saw, 
 by the young man's manner of concentrating 
 himself upon the chess-board, that he was 
 anxious to drop the subject. 
 
 The game proceeded. Elfride played 
 by rote; Stephen by thought. It was the 
 cruellest thing to checkmate him after so 
 much labour, she considered. AYhat was 
 she dishonest enough to do in her compas- 
 sion? To let him checkmate her. A second 
 game followed ; and being herself absolutely 
 indifferent as to the result (her playing was 
 above the average among women, and she 
 knew it), she allowed him to give check- 
 mate ao^ain. A final o^ame, in which she 
 adopted the Muzio gambit as her opening, 
 was terminated by Elfride' s victory at the 
 twelfth move. 
 
 Stephen looked up suspiciously. His
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 113 
 
 heart was throbbing even more excitedly 
 than was hers, which itself had quickened 
 when she seriously set to work on this last 
 occasion. Mr. Swancourt had left the room. 
 
 ' You have been trifling with me till now !' 
 he exclaimed, his face flushing. ' You did 
 not play your best in the first two games ?' 
 
 Elfride's guilt showed in her face. Ste- 
 phen became the picture of vexation and 
 sadness, which, relishable for a moment, 
 caused her the next instant to regret the 
 mistake she had made. 
 
 ' Mr. Smith, forgive me!' she said sweetly. 
 ' I see now, though I did not at first, that 
 what 1 have done seems like contempt for 
 your skill. But indeed I did not mean it in 
 that sense. I could not, upon my conscience, 
 win a victory in those first and second games 
 over one who fought at such a disadvantage 
 and so manfully.' 
 
 He drew a long breath, and murmured 
 bitterly, ' Ah, you are cleverer than I. 
 You can do everything — I can do nothing ! 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 0, Miss Swancourt !' he burst out wildly, 
 his heart swelling in his throat, and tears 
 not far from his eyes, ' I must tell you how 
 I love you ! All these months of my absence 
 I have worshipped you/ 
 
 He leapt from his seat like the impulsive 
 lad that he was, slid round to her side, and 
 almost before she suspected it his arm was 
 round her waist, and the two sets of curls 
 intermingled. 
 
 So entirely new was full-blown love to 
 Elfride, that she trembled as much from the 
 novelty of the emotion as from the emotion 
 itself. 
 
 Then she suddenly withdrew herself and 
 stood upright, vexed that she had submitted 
 unresistingly even to his momentary pres- 
 sure. She resolved to consider this demon- 
 stration as premature. 
 
 'You must not begin such things as 
 those,' she said with coquettish hauteur of a 
 very transparent nature. ' And — you must 
 not do so again — and papa is coming.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 115 
 
 ' Let me kiss you — only a little one,' he 
 said, with his usual timidity, and without 
 reading the factitiousness of her manner. 
 
 'Xo; not one.' 
 
 ' Only on your cheek ?' 
 
 ' Xo.' 
 
 'Forehead?' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' You care for somebody else, then? Ah, 
 I thought so !' 
 
 ' I am sure I do not.' 
 
 ' Xor for me either?' 
 
 ' How can I tell ?' she said simply, the 
 simplicity lying merely in the broad out- 
 lines of her manner and speech. There were 
 the semitone of voice and half-hidden ex- 
 pression of eyes which tell the initiated how 
 very fragile is the ice of reserve at these 
 times. 
 
 Footsteps were heard. Mr. Swancourt 
 then entered the room, and their private 
 colloquy ended.
 
 116 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 The day after this partial revelation, Mr. 
 Swancourt proposed a drive to Tidmouth 
 Beach, a distance of three or four miles. 
 
 Half an hour before the time of departure 
 a crash was heard in the back yard, and 
 presently "Worm came in, saying partly to 
 the world in general, partly to himself, and 
 slightly to his auditors : 
 
 ' Ay, ay, sure ! That frying of fish will 
 be the end of William Worm. They be at 
 it again this morning — same as ever — fizz, 
 fizz, fizz !' 
 
 ' Your head bad again. Worm ?' said Mr. 
 Swancourt. ' What was that noise we heard 
 in the yard?' 
 
 ' Ay, sir, a weak wambling man am I ; 
 and the frying have been going on in my 
 poor head all through the long night and 
 this morning as usual ; and I was so dazed 
 wi' it that down fell a piece of leg- wood 
 across the shaft of the pony-shay, and splin- 
 tered it ofi^. " Ay," says I, " I feel it as if 
 'twas my OAvn shay; and though I've done
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 117 
 
 it, and parish-pay is my lot if I go from here, 
 perhaps I am as independent as one here 
 and there." ' 
 
 'Dear me, the shaft of the carriage 
 broken !' synthetised Elfride. She was dis- 
 appointed : Stephen doubly so. The vicar 
 showed more warmth of temper than the 
 accident seemed to demand, much to Ste- 
 phen's uneasiness and rather to his surprise. 
 He had not supposed so much latent stern- 
 ness could co-exist with Mr. Swancourt's 
 frankness and good nature. 
 
 ' You shall not be disappointed,' said 
 the vicar at length. ' It is almost too long 
 a distance for you to walk. Elfride can trot 
 down on her pony, and you shall have my 
 old nag, Smith.' 
 
 Elfride exclaimed triumphantly, ' You 
 have never seen me on horseback — 0, you 
 must!' She looked at Stephen and read 
 his thoughts in his face. ' Ah, you don't 
 ride, Mr. Smith?' 
 
 ' I am sorry to say I don't.'
 
 118 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Fancy a gentleman not able to ride !' 
 said she rather pertly. 
 
 The vicar came to his rescue. ' That's 
 common enough ; he has had other lessons 
 to learn. Xow, I recommend this plan : let 
 Elfride ride on horseback, and you, Mr. 
 Smith, walk beside her.' 
 
 The arrangement was welcomed with 
 secret delight by Stephen. It seemed to 
 combine in itself all the advantages of a 
 long slow ramble with Elfride, without 
 the contingent possibihty of the enjoyment 
 being spoilt by her becoming weary. The 
 pony was saddled and brought round. 
 
 ' Xow, Mr. Smith,' said the lady impera- 
 tively, coming down-stairs, and appearing in 
 her riding-habit, as she always did in a 
 change of dress, like a new edition of a 
 delightful volume, ^ you have a task to per- 
 form to-day. These ear-rings are my very 
 favourite darling ones ; but the worst of it 
 is that they have such short hooks that they 
 are liable to be dropped if I toss my head
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 119 
 
 about much, and when I am riding I can't 
 give my mind to them. It would be doing 
 me knight-service if you keep your eyes 
 fixed upon them and remember them every 
 minute of the day, and tell me directly I 
 drop one. They have had such hairbreadth 
 escapes, haven't they, Unity?' she continued 
 to the parlour-maid, who was standing at 
 the door. 
 
 ' Yes, miss, that they have !' said Unity, 
 with round-eyed commiseration. 
 
 ' Once 'twas in the lane that I found 
 one of them,' pursued Elfride reflectively. 
 
 ' And then 'twas by the gate into Eight- 
 een Acres,' Unity chimed in. 
 
 ^And then 'twas on the carpet in my 
 own room,' rejoined Elfride merrily. 
 
 'And then 'twas dangling on the em- 
 broidery of your petticoat, miss ; and then 
 'twas down your back, miss, wasn't it? And 
 0, what a way you was in, miss, wasn't you? 
 my! until you found it!' 
 
 Stephen took Elfride's slight foot upon
 
 120 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 his hand : ' One, two, three, and up !' she 
 said. 
 
 Unfortunately not so. He staggered 
 and lifted, and the horse eds^ed round : and 
 Elfride was ultimately deposited upon the 
 ground rather more forcibly than was plea- 
 sant. Smith looked all contrition. 
 
 ' Never mind,' said the vicar encourag- 
 ingly ; ' try again ! 'Tis a little accomplish- 
 ment that requires some practice, although 
 it looks so easy. Stand closer to the horse's 
 head, Mr. Smith.' 
 
 'Indeed I shan't let him try again,' said 
 she, with a microscopic look of indignation. 
 'Worm, come here, and assist me to mount.' 
 Worm stepped forward, and she was in the 
 saddle in a trice. 
 
 Then they moved on, going for some 
 distance in silence, the hot air of the valley 
 being occasionally brushed from their faces 
 by a cool breeze, which wended its way 
 along ravines leading up from the sea. 
 
 ' I suppose,' said Stephen, ' that a man
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 121 
 
 who can neither sit in a saddle himself nor 
 help another person into one seems a use- 
 less encumbrance ; but, Miss Swancourt, I'll 
 learn to do it all for your sake ; I will in- 
 deed.' 
 
 'What is so unusual in you,' she said, 
 in a didactic tone justifiable in a horse- 
 woman's address to a benighted walker, 
 ' is that your knowledge of certain things 
 should be combined with your ignorance of 
 certain other things.' 
 
 Stephen lifted his eyes earnestly to hers. 
 
 'You know,' he said, 'it is simply be- 
 cause there are so many other things to 
 be learnt in this wide world that I didn't 
 trouble about that particular bit of know- 
 ledo^e. I thouo;ht it would be useless to 
 me ; but I don't think so dow. I will learn 
 ridino:, and all connected with it, because 
 then you would like me better. Do you 
 like me much less for this ?' 
 
 She looked sideways at him v/ith critical 
 meditation tenderly rendered.
 
 122 A i'AlR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Do I seem like La Belle Dame sans 
 merci T she began suddenly, without reply- 
 ing to his question. ' Fancy yourself saying, 
 Mr. Smith : 
 
 " I sat her on my pacing steed, 
 
 And nothing else saw all day long, 
 For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
 A fairy's song. 
 
 She found me roots of relish sweet, 
 
 And honey wild, and manna dew j" 
 
 and that's all she did.' 
 
 'No, no,' said the young man stilly, 
 and with a rising colour. 
 
 * " And sure in language strange she said, 
 I love thee true.'" 
 
 ' Xot at all,' she rejoined quickly. ' See 
 how I can gallop. Now, Pansy, off!' And 
 Elfride started; and Stephen beheld her 
 li^rht fio-ure contracting^ to the dimensions 
 of a bird as she sank into the distance — her 
 hair flowing behind. He walked on in the 
 same direction, and for a considerable time 
 could see no signs of her returning. Dull
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 123 
 
 as a flower without the sun he sat down 
 upon a stone, and not for fifteen minutes 
 was any sound of horse or rider to be heard. 
 Then Elfride and Pansy appeared on the 
 hill in a round trot. 
 
 ' Such a delightful scamper as we have 
 had!' she said, her face flushed and her eyes 
 sparkling. She turned the horse's head, 
 Stephen arose, and they went on again. 
 
 ' Well, what have you to say to me, Mr. 
 Smith, after my long absence ?' 
 
 ' Do you remember a question you could 
 not exactly answer last night — whether I 
 w^as more to you than anybody else ?' said 
 he. 
 
 ^ I cannot exactly answer now, either.' 
 
 'Why can't you?' 
 
 ' Because I don't know if / am more to 
 you than any one else.' 
 
 'Yes, indeed, you are!' he exclaimed, 
 in a voice of intensest appreciation, at the 
 same time gliding round and looking into 
 her face.
 
 124 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Eyes in eyes/ he said playfully ; and she 
 blushingly obeyed, looking back into his. 
 
 ' And why not lips on lips ?' continued 
 Stephen daringly. 
 
 ' No, certainly not. Anybody might 
 look; and it would be the death of me. You 
 may kiss my hand if you like.' 
 
 He expressed by a look that to kiss a 
 hand through a glove, and that a riding- 
 glove, was not a great treat under the cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 ' There, then ; I'll take my glove off. 
 Isn't it a pretty white hand ? Ah, you don't 
 want to kiss it^ and you shall not now!' 
 
 ' If I do not, may I never kiss again, 
 you severe Elfride ! You know I think 
 more of you than I can tell ; that you are 
 my queen. I would die for you, Elfride !' 
 
 A rapid red again filled her cheeks, and 
 she looked at him meditatively. What a 
 proud moment it was for Elfride then ! She 
 was ruling a heart with absolute despotism 
 for the first time in her life.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 125 
 
 Stephen stealthily pounced upon her 
 hand. 
 
 ' No ; I won't, I won't,' she said intract- 
 ably ; ' and you shouldn't take me by sur- 
 prise.' 
 
 There ensued a mild form of tussle 
 for absolute possession of the much-coveted 
 hand, in which the boisterousness of boy 
 and girl was far more prominent than the 
 dignity of man and woman. Then Pansy 
 became restless. Elfride recovered her po- 
 sition and remembered herself. 
 
 ^ You make me behave in not a nice 
 way at all!' she exclaimed, in a tone neither 
 pleasure nor anger, but partaking of both. 
 ' I ought not to have allowed such a romp. 
 We are too old now for that sort of thing.' 
 
 ' I hope you don't think me too — too 
 much of a creeping-round sort of man,' said 
 he, in a penitent tone, conscious that he too 
 had lost a little dignity by the proceeding. 
 
 ' You are too familiar ; and I can't have 
 it ! Considerinof the shortness of the time
 
 126 A PAIK OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 we have known each other, Mr. Smith, you 
 take too much upon you. You thmk I am 
 a country girl, and it doesn't matter how 
 you behave to me !' 
 
 'I assure you. Miss Swancourt, that I 
 had no idea of freak in my mind. I wanted 
 to imprint a sweet serious kiss upon your 
 hand ; and that's all.' 
 
 ^ Now, that's creeping round again ! And 
 you mustn't look into my eyes so,' she said, 
 playfully shaking her head at him, and trot- 
 ting on a few paces in advance. Thus she 
 led the way out of the lane and across some 
 fields in the direction of the cliffs. At the 
 boundary of the fields nearest the sea she 
 expressed a wish to dismount. The horse 
 was tied to a post, and they both followed 
 an irregular path, which ultimately termi- 
 nated upon a flat ledge passing round the 
 face of the huge blue-black rock at a height 
 about midway between the sea and the top- 
 most verge. There, far beneath and before 
 them, lay the everlasting stretch of ocean ;
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 127 
 
 there, upon detached rocks, were the white 
 screaming gulls, seeming ever intending to 
 settle, and yet always passing on. Right 
 and left ranked the toothed and zigzag line 
 of storm-torn heights, forming the series 
 which culminated in the one beneath then- 
 feet. 
 
 Behind the youth and maiden was a 
 tempting alcove and seat, formed naturally 
 in the solid beetling mass, and wide enough 
 to admit two or three persons. Elfride sat 
 down, and Stephen sat beside her. 
 
 ^I am afraid it is hardly proper of us to 
 be here, either,' she said, half inquiringly. 
 ' We have not known each other long enough 
 for this kind of thing, have we ? ' 
 
 ^0 yes,' he replied judicially; 'quite 
 long enough.' 
 
 ' How do you know ?' 
 
 ' It is not length of time, but the man- 
 ner in which our minutes beat, that makes 
 enough or not enough in acquaintanceship.' 
 
 ' Yes, I see that. But I wish papa sus-
 
 128 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 pected or knew what a very new thing I am 
 doing. He does not think of it at all.' 
 
 ' Darling Elfie, I wish we could be mar- 
 ried ! It is wrong for me to say it — I know 
 it is — before you know more ; but I wish we 
 might be, all the same. Do you love me, 
 deeply, deeply?' 
 
 ' No,' she said, in a fluster. 
 
 At this point-blank denial, Stephen turn- 
 ed his face away decisively, and preserved 
 an ominous silence ; the only objects of in- 
 terest on earth for him being apparently the 
 three or four score sea-birds circling in the 
 air afar oiF. 
 
 ^ I didn't mean to stop you quite,' she 
 faltered, with some alarm; and seeing that 
 he still remained silent, she added, more 
 anxiously, ' If you say that again, perhaps, 
 I wiU not be quite — quite so obstinate — if 
 — if you don't like me to be.' 
 
 '0, my Elfride!' he exclaimed, and 
 kissed her. 
 
 It was Elfride's first kiss. And so awk-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 129 
 
 ward and unused was she ; full of striving 
 — no relenting. None of those apparent 
 struggles to get out of the trap which only 
 result in getting farther in. Xo final atti- 
 tude of receptivity. No easy close of shoul- 
 der to shoulder, hand upon hand, face upon 
 face, and, in spite of coyness, the lips in the 
 right place at the supreme moment. That 
 graceful though apparently accidental fall- 
 ing into position, which many have noticed 
 as precipitating the end and making sweet- 
 hearts the sweeter, was not here. Why? 
 Because experience was absent. A woman 
 must have had many kisses before she kisses 
 well. 
 
 In fact, the art of tendering the lips for 
 these amatory salutes is based upon princi- 
 ples the same with those laid down in trea- 
 tises on legerdemain for performing the trick 
 called Forcing a Card. The card is to be 
 shifted nimbly, withdrawn, edged under, 
 and withal not to be offered till the moment 
 the unsuspecting person's hand reaches the 
 
 YOL. I. K
 
 130 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 pack ; this forcing forward to be done so 
 modestly and yet so coaxingly, that the 
 person trifled with imagines he is really 
 choosing what is in fact thrust into his 
 hand. 
 
 Well, there were none of these facilities 
 now : and Stephen was conscious of it — first 
 with a momentary regret that his kiss should 
 be spoilt by her confused manner of receiv- 
 ing it, and then with the pleasant percep- 
 tion that her awkwardness was her charm. 
 
 . ' And you do care for me and love me?' 
 said he. 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ^ Very much?' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' And I mustn't ask you if you'll wait 
 for me, and be my wife some day?' 
 
 ' Why not ?' she said naively. 
 
 ' There is a reason why, my Elfride.' 
 
 ' Not any one that I know of 
 
 'Suppose there is something connected 
 with me which makes it almost impossible
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 131 
 
 for you to agree to be my wife, or for your 
 father to countenance such an idea.' 
 
 ' Nothing shall make me cease to love 
 you: no blemish can be found upon your 
 personal nature. That is pure and generous, 
 I know ; and having that, how can I be cold 
 to you?' 
 
 ^ And shall nothing else affect us— shall 
 nothing beyond my nature be a part of my 
 quality in your ejes^ Elfie ?' 
 
 ^Nothing whatever,' she said, with a 
 breath of relief ' Is that all? some outside 
 circumstance? What do I care?' 
 
 ^You can hardly judge, dear, till you 
 know what has to be judged. For that, we 
 will stop till we get home. I beheve in you, 
 but I cannot feel bright.' 
 
 'Love is new, and fresh to us as the 
 dew; and we are together. As the lovers' 
 world goes, this is a great deal. Stephen, I 
 fancy I see the difference between me and 
 you — between men and women generally, 
 perhaps. I am content to build happiness
 
 132 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 on any accidental basis that may lie near at 
 hand; you are for making a world to suit 
 your happiness.' 
 
 ' Elfride, you sometimes say things which 
 make you seem suddenly to become five 
 years older than you are, or than I am ; and 
 that remark is one. I couldn't think so old 
 as that, try how I might. . . . And no lover 
 has ever had you, or kissed you before?' 
 
 ^ Xever.' 
 
 ' I knew that ; you were so unused. 
 You ride well, but you don't kiss nicely at 
 all; and I was told once, by my friend 
 Knight, that that is an excellent fault in 
 woman.' 
 
 ' Xow, come ; I must mount again, or 
 we shall not be home by dinner-time. And 
 they returned to where Pansy stood tether- 
 ed. ^ Instead of intrusting my weight to a 
 young man's unstable palm,' she continued 
 gaily, * I prefer a surer " upping-stock" (as 
 the villagers call it), in the form of a gate. 
 There — now I am myself again.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 133 
 
 They proceeded homeward, at the same 
 walking pace. 
 
 Her blitheness won Stephen out of his 
 thoughtfulness, and each forgot everything 
 but the tone of the moment. 
 
 'Mr. Smith, what did you love me for?' 
 she said, after along musing look at a fly- 
 ing bird. 
 
 ' I don't know,' he replied idly. 
 
 ' yes, you do,' insisted Elfride. 
 
 ' Perhaps, for your eyes.' 
 
 ' What of them ? — now don't vex me by 
 a light answer. What of my eyes ?' 
 
 ' 0, nothing to be mentioned. They are 
 indifferently good.' 
 
 ' Come, Stephen, I won't have that. 
 What did you love me for?' 
 
 'It might have been for your mouth.' 
 
 ' Well, what about my mouth ?' 
 
 'I thought it was a passable mouth 
 enough — ' 
 
 ' That's not very comforting.' 
 
 ' — With a pretty pout and sweet lips;
 
 134 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 but actually, nothing more than what every- 
 body has/ 
 
 'Don't make up things out of your head 
 as you go on, there's a dear Stephen. Now 
 — what— did — you — ^love — me— for ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps, 'twas for your neck and hair; 
 though. I am not sure : or for your idle 
 blood, that did nothing but w^ander away 
 from your cheeks and back again ; but I am 
 not sure. Or your hands and arms, that 
 they eclipsed all other hands and arms ; or 
 your feet, that they played about under 
 your dress like little mice ; or your tongue, 
 that it was of a dear delicate tone. But I 
 am not altogether sure.' 
 
 'Ah, that's pretty to say; but I don't 
 care for your love, if it made a mere flat 
 picture of me in that way, and not being 
 sure, and such cold reasoning; but what 
 you felt I was, you know, Stephen' (at this 
 a stealthy laugh and frisky look into his 
 face), ' when you said to yourself, " I'll cer- 
 tainly love that young lady." '
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 135 
 
 ' I never said it.' 
 
 'When you said to yourself, then, "I 
 never will love that young lady." ' 
 
 ' I didn't say that, either.' 
 
 'Then was it, '' I suppose I must love that 
 young lady" ?' 
 
 'Xo.' 
 
 'What then?' 
 
 ' 'Twas much more fluctuating — not so 
 definite.' 
 
 'TeUme; do, do.' 
 
 ' It was that I ought not to think about 
 you if I loved you truly.' 
 
 'Ah, that I don't understand. There's 
 no getting it out of you. And I'll not ask 
 you ever any more — never more — to say out 
 of the deep reality of your heart what you 
 loved me for.' 
 
 ' Sweet tantaliser, what's the use ? It 
 comes to this sole simple thing: That at 
 one time I had never seen you, and I didn't 
 love you ; that then I saw you, and I did 
 love you. Is that enough?'
 
 136 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Yes ; I will make it do. ... I know, I 
 think, what I love you for. You are nice- 
 looking, of course ; but I didn't mean for 
 that. It is because you are so docile and 
 gentle.' 
 
 ' Those are not quite the correct qualities 
 for a man to be loved for,' said Stephen, in 
 rather a dissatisfied tone of self-criticism. 
 ' Well, never mind. I must ask your papa 
 to allow us to be engaged directly we get 
 indoors. It will be for a long time, Elfie.' 
 
 ' I like it the better. . . . Stephen, don^t 
 mention it till to-morrow.' 
 
 *Why?' 
 
 ' Because, if he should object — I don't 
 think he will ; but if he should — we shall 
 have a day longer of happiness from our 
 ignorance. . . . Well, what are you thinking 
 of so deeply ?' 
 
 ^I was thinking how my dear friend 
 Knight would enjoy this scene. I wish he 
 could come here.' 
 
 'You seem very much engrossed with
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 137 
 
 him,' she answered, with a jealous little toss. 
 ' He must be an interesting man to take up 
 up so much of your attention.' 
 
 ' Interesting !' said Stephen, his face 
 glowing with his fervour ; ' noble you ought 
 to say.' 
 
 ' yes, yes; I forgot,' she said, half sati- 
 rically. 'The noblest man in England, as 
 you told us last night.' 
 
 ' He is a fine fellow, laugh as you will, 
 Miss Elfie.' 
 
 ' I know he is your hero. But what does 
 he do? anything?' 
 
 ' He writes.' 
 
 'What does he write? I have never 
 heard of his name.' 
 
 ' Because his personality, and that of 
 several others like him, is absorbed into a 
 huge WE, namely, the impalpable entity 
 called the Present — a social and literary Re- 
 view.^ 
 
 ' Is he only a reviewer ?' 
 
 ' 0?2/y, Elfie ! Why, I can tell you it is
 
 138 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 a fine thing to be on the staff off the Pre- 
 sent Finer than being a novelist consider- 
 ably.' 
 
 ' That's a hit at me, and my poor Court 
 of Kelly on Castle' 
 
 'No, Elfride,' he whispered; 'I didn't 
 mean that. I mean that he is really a lite- 
 rary man of some eminence, and not alto- 
 gether a reviewer. He writes things of a 
 higher class than reviews, though he re- 
 views a book occasionally. His ordinary 
 productions are social and ethical essays — 
 all that the Present contains which is not 
 literary reviewing.' 
 
 ' I admit he must be talented if he writes 
 for the Present. We have it sent to us ir- 
 regularly. I want papa to be a subscriber, 
 but he's so conservative. Now the next 
 point in this Mr. Knight — I suppose he is a 
 very good man?' 
 
 'An excellent man. I shall try to be 
 his intimate friend some day.' 
 
 'But aren't you now?'
 
 A PAIK OF BLUE EYES. 139 
 
 ' Xo ; not so mucli as that/ replied Ste- 
 phen, as if such a supposition were extrava- 
 gant. ' You see, it was in this way— he 
 came originally from the same place as I, 
 and taught me things ; but I am not inti- 
 mate with him. Shan't I be glad when I 
 get richer and better educated, and hob and 
 nob with him!' Stephen's eyes sparkled. 
 
 A pout began to shape itself upon El- 
 fride's soft lips. ' You think always of him, 
 and like him better than you do me.' 
 
 ' Xo, indeed, Elfride. The feeling is dif- 
 ferent quite. But I do Kke him, and he 
 deserves even more affection from me than 
 I give.' 
 
 ' You are not nice now, and you make 
 me as jealous as possible!' she exclaimed 
 perversely. ^ I know you will never speak 
 to any third person of me so warmly as you 
 do to me of him.' 
 
 ' But you don't understand, Elfie,' he 
 said, mth an anxious movement. ' You 
 shall know him some day. He is so bril-
 
 140 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 liant — no, it isn't exactly brilliant; so 
 thoughtful — nor does thoughtful express 
 him — that it would charm you to talk to 
 him. He's a most desirable friend, and that 
 isn't half I could say.' 
 
 ' I don't care how good he is ; I don't 
 want to know him, because he comes be- 
 tween me and you. You think of him 
 night and day, ever so much more than of 
 anybody else; and when you are thinking 
 of him, I am shut out of your mind.' 
 
 'No, dear Elfride; I love you dearly.' 
 
 'And I don't like you to tell me so 
 warmly about him when you are in the 
 middle of loving me. Stephen, suppose 
 that I and this man Knight of yours were 
 both drowning, and you could only save one 
 of us — ' 
 
 'Yes — the stupid old proposition — which 
 would I save?' 
 
 'Well, which? Not me.' 
 
 ' Both of you,' he said, pressing her pen- 
 dent hand.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 141 
 
 'No, that won't do; only one of us.' 
 
 ' I cannot say ; I don't know. It is dis- 
 agreeable — quite a horrid idea to have to 
 handle.' 
 
 'A-ha, I know. You Avould save him, 
 and let me drown, drown, drown ; and I 
 don't care about your love.' 
 
 She had endeavoured to give a playful 
 tone to her words, but the latter speech 
 was rather forced in its gaiety. 
 
 At this point in the discussion she trot- 
 ted off to turn a corner which was avoided 
 by the footpath, the road and the path re- 
 uniting at a point a little farther on. On 
 again making her appearance she continu- 
 ally managed to look in a direction away 
 from him, and left him in the cool shade of 
 her displeasure. Stephen was soon beaten at 
 this game of indifference. He went round 
 and entered the range of her vision. 
 
 'Are you offended, Elfie? Why don't 
 you talk?' 
 
 ' Save me, then, and let that Mr. Clever
 
 142 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 of yours drown. I hate him. Now, which 
 would vou?' 
 
 'Really, Elfride, you should not press 
 such a hard question. It is ridiculous.' 
 
 ' Then I won't be alone with you anymore. 
 Unkind, to wound me so !' She laughed at 
 her own absurdity, but persisted. 
 
 'Come, Elfie, let's make it up and be 
 friends.' 
 
 ' Say you would save me, then, and let 
 him drown.' 
 
 ' 1 would save you — and him too.' 
 
 'And let him drown. Come, or you 
 don't love me !' she teasingly went on. 
 
 ' And let him drown,' he ejaculated de- 
 spairingly. 
 
 ' There ; now I am yours !' she said, 
 and a woman's flush of triumph lit her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' Only one ear-ring, miss, as I'm alive ! 
 said Unity on their entering the hall. 
 
 With a face expressive of wretched mis-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 143 
 
 giving, Elfride's hand flew like an arrow to 
 her ear. 
 
 ' There !' she exclaimed to Stephen, look- 
 ing at him with eyes full of reproach. 
 
 ^ I quite forgot, indeed. If I had only 
 remembered !' he answered, with a con- 
 science-stricken face. 
 
 She wheeled herself round, and turned 
 into the shrubbery. Stephen followed. 
 
 ' If you had told me to watch anything^ 
 Stephen, I should have religiously done it,' 
 she capriciously went on, as soon as she 
 heard him behind her. 
 
 ^ Forgetting is forgivable.' 
 
 ' "Well, you will find it, if you want me 
 to respect you and be engaged to you when 
 we have asked papa.' She considered a mo- 
 ment, and added more seriously, 'I know 
 now where I dropped it, Stephen. It was 
 on the clifi*. I remember a faint sensation 
 of some change about me, but I was too ab- 
 sent to think of it then. And that's where 
 it is now, and you must go and look there.'
 
 144 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES- 
 
 ^ I'll go at once.' 
 
 And he strode away up the valley, un- 
 der a broilino: sun and amid the deathlike 
 silence of early afternoon. He ascended, 
 with giddy-paced haste, the windy range of 
 rocks to where they had sat, felt and peered 
 about the stones and crannies, but Elfride's 
 stray jewel was nowhere to be seen. Next 
 Stephen slowly retraced his steps, and, paus- 
 ing at a cross-road to reflect aw^hile, he left 
 the plateau and struck downwards across 
 some fields, in the direction of Endelstow 
 House. 
 
 He walked along the path by the river 
 without the slightest hesitation as to its bear- 
 ing, apparently quite familiar with every 
 inch of the ground. As the shadows began 
 to lengthen and the sunlight to mellow, he 
 passed through two wicket-gates, and drew 
 near the outskirts of Endelstow Park. The 
 river now ran along under the park fence, 
 previous to entering the grove itself, a little 
 farther on.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 145 
 
 Here stood a cottage, between the fence 
 and the stream, on a slightly elevated spot 
 of ground, round which the river took a 
 turn. The characteristic feature of this snusr 
 habitation was its one chimney in the gable 
 end, its squareness of form disguised by a 
 huge cloak of ivy, which had grown so lux- 
 uriantly and extended so far from its base, 
 as to increase the apparent bulk of the 
 chimney to the dimensions of a tower. Some 
 Httle distance from the back of the house 
 rose the park boundary, and over this were 
 to be seen the sycamores of the grove, 
 making slow inclinations to the just-awaken- 
 
 r 
 
 ing air. 
 
 Stephen crossed the little wood bridge 
 in front, went up to the cottage door, and 
 opened it without knock or signal of any 
 kind. 
 
 Exclamations of welcome burst from 
 some person or persons when the door was 
 thrust ajar, followed by the scrape of chairs 
 on a stone floor, as if pushed back by their 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES- 
 
 occupiers in rising from a table. The door 
 was closed again, and nothing could now be 
 heard from within, save a lively chatter and 
 the rattle of plates.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ' ALLEN- A-D ALE IS NO BARON OR LORD.' 
 
 The mists were creeping out of pools 
 and swamps for their pilgrimages of the 
 night when Stephen came up to the front 
 door of the vicarage. Elfride was standing 
 on the step, illuminated by a lemon-hued 
 expanse of western sky. 
 
 ^You never have been all this time 
 looking for that ear-ring!' she said anx- 
 iously. 
 
 ' no; and I have not found it.' 
 ''Never mind. Though I am much 
 vexed; they are my prettiest. But, Stephen, 
 what ever have you been doing — where 
 have you been ? I have been so uneasy. I 
 feared for you, knowing not an inch of the 
 country. I thought, suppose he has fallen
 
 148 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 over the cliff! But now I am inclined to 
 scold you for frightening me so/ 
 
 'I must speak to your papa now,' he 
 said, rather abruptly ; ' I have so much to 
 say to him — and to you, Elfride.' 
 
 'Will what you have to say endanger 
 this nice time of ours, and is it that same 
 shadowy secret you allude to so frequently, 
 and will it make me unhappy?' 
 ' Possibly.' 
 
 She breathed heavily, and looked around 
 as if for a prompter. 
 
 ' Put it off till to-morrow,' she said. 
 He involuntarily sighed too. 
 ' No ; it must come to-night. Where is 
 your father, Elfride?' 
 
 ' Somewhere in the kitchen-garden, I 
 think,' she replied. 'That is his favouiite 
 evening retreat. I will leave you now. Say 
 all that's to be said — do all there is to be 
 done. Think of me waiting anxiously for 
 th3 end.' And she reentered the house. 
 She waited in the drawing-room, watch-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 149 
 
 iiig the lights sink to shadows, the shadows 
 sink to darkness, until her impatience to 
 know what had transpired in the garden 
 could no longer be controlled. She passed 
 round the shrubbery, unlatched the garden- 
 door, and skimmed with her keen eyes the 
 whole twilighted space that the four walls 
 enclosed and sheltered : they were not there. 
 She mounted a little ladder, which had been 
 used for gathering fruit, and looked over 
 the wall into the field. This field extended 
 to the limits of the glebe, which was enclosed 
 on that side by a privet-hedge. Under the 
 hedge was Mr. Swancourt, walking up and 
 down, and talking aloud — to himself, as it 
 sounded at first. Xo : another voice shouted 
 occasional replies ; and this interlocutor 
 seemed to be on the other side of the hedge. 
 The voice, though soft in quality, was not 
 Stephen's. 
 
 The speaker must have been in the long- 
 neglected garden of an old manor-house 
 hard by, which, together with a small estate
 
 150 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 attached, had lately been purchased by a 
 person named Troyton, whom Elfride had 
 never seen. Her father might have struck 
 up an acquaintanceship with some member 
 of that family through the privet-hedge, 
 or a stranger to the neighbourhood might 
 have wandered thither. 
 
 "Well, there was no necessity for dis- 
 turbing him. And it seemed that, after all, 
 Stephen had not yet made his desired com- 
 munication to her father. Again she went 
 indoors, wondering where Stephen could 
 be. For want of something better to do, 
 she went up-stairs to her own little room. 
 Here she sat down at the open window, 
 and, leaning with her elbow on the table 
 and her cheek upon her hand, she fell into 
 meditation. 
 
 It was a hot and still August night. 
 Every disturbance of the silence which rose 
 to the dignity of a noise could be heard for 
 miles, and the merest sound for a long dis- 
 tance. So she remained, thinking of Ste-
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. lol 
 
 phen, and wishing he had not dej^rived her 
 of his company to no purpose, as it ap- 
 peared. How delicate and sensitive he 
 was, she reflected; and yet he was man 
 enough to have a private mystery, which 
 considerably elevated him in her eyes. 
 Thus, looking at things vdth an inward 
 vision, she lost consciousness of the flight 
 of time. 
 
 Strange conjunctions of circumstances, 
 particularly those of a trivial everyday kind, 
 are so frequent in an ordinary life, that we 
 grow used to their unaccountableness, and 
 forget the question whether the very long 
 odds against such juxtaposition is not al- 
 most a disproof of it being a matter of 
 chance at all. What occurred to Elfride at 
 this moment was a case in point. She was 
 vividly imagining, for the twentieth time, 
 the kiss of the morning, and putting her 
 lips together in the position another such a 
 one would demand, when she heard the 
 identical operation completely performed
 
 152 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 on the lawn, immediately beneath her win- 
 dow. 
 
 A kiss — not of the quiet and stealthy 
 kind, but decisive, loud, and smart. 
 
 Her face flushed, and she looked out, 
 but to no purpose. The dark rim of the up- 
 land drew a keen sad line against the pale 
 glow of the sky, unbroken except where a 
 young cedar on the lawn, that had out- 
 grown its fellow trees, shot its pointed head 
 across the horizon, piercing the firmamental 
 lustre like a sting. 
 
 It was just possible that, had any per- 
 sons been standing on the grassy portions 
 of the lawn, Elfride might have seen their 
 dusky forms. But the shrubs, which once 
 had merely dotted the glade, had now gi^own 
 bushy and large, till they hid at least half 
 the enclosure containing them. The kiss- 
 ing pair might have been behind some of 
 these ; at any rate, nobody was in sight. 
 
 Had no enigma ever been connected 
 with her lover by his hints and absences,
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 153 
 
 Elfride would never have thought of ad- 
 mitting into her mind a suspicion that he 
 might be concerned in the foregoing enact- 
 ment. But the reservations he at present 
 insisted on, while they added to the mystery 
 without which perhaps she would never 
 have seriously loved him at all, were calcu- 
 lated to nourish doubts of all kinds, and 
 with a slow flush of jealousy she asked her- 
 self, might he not be the culprit ? 
 
 Elfride glided down -stairs on tiptoe, and 
 out to the precise spot on which she had 
 parted from Stephen to enable him to speak 
 privately to her father. Thence she wan- 
 dered into all the nooks around the place 
 from which the sound seemed to proceed — 
 among the huge laurestines, about the tufts 
 of pampas-grasses, amid the variegated hol- 
 lies, under the w^eeping wych-elm — nobody 
 was there. Returning indoors she called, 
 ^ Unity.' 
 
 ' She is gone to her aunt's to spend the 
 evening,' said Mr. Swancourt, thrusting his
 
 154 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 head out of his study-door, and letting the 
 light of his candles stream uj^on Elfride's 
 face — less revealing than, as it seemed to 
 herself, creating the blush of uneasy per- 
 plexity that was burning upon her cheek. 
 
 ' I didn't know you were indoors, papa,' 
 she said, with surprise. ^ Surely no light 
 was shining from the window when I was 
 on the la^vri ?' and she looked and saw that 
 the shutters were still open. 
 
 ' yes, I am in,' he said indifferently. 
 'What did you want Unity for? I think 
 she laid supper before she went out.' 
 
 'Did she? — I have not been to see — I 
 didn't want her for that.' 
 
 Elfride scarcely knew, now that a defi- 
 nite reason was required, what that reason 
 was. Her mind for a moment strayed to 
 another subject, unimportant as it seemed. 
 The red ember of a match was lying inside 
 the fender, which explained that why she 
 had seen no rays from the window was be- 
 cause the candles had only just been lighted.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 155 
 
 'I'll come directly,' said the vicar. 'I 
 thought you were out somewhere with Mr. 
 Smith.' 
 
 Even the inexperienced Elfride could 
 not help thinking that her father must be 
 wonderfully blind if he failed to perceive 
 what was the nascent consequence of her- 
 self and Stephen being so unceremoniously 
 left together; wonderfully careless, if he 
 saw it and did not think about it ; wonder- 
 fully good, if, as seemed to her by far the 
 most probable supposition, he saw it and 
 thought about it and approved of it. These 
 reflections were cut short by the appearance 
 of Stephen just outside the porch, silvered 
 about the head and shoulders with touches of 
 moonlight, that had begun to creep through 
 the trees. 
 
 ' Has your trouble anything to do with 
 a kiss on the lawn ?' she asked abruptly, al- 
 most passionately. 
 
 ' Kiss on the lawn ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she said, imperiously now.
 
 156 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ^ I didn't comprehend your meaning, nor 
 do I now exactly. I certainly have kissed 
 nobody on the lawn, if that is really what 
 you want to know, Elfride.' 
 
 ' You know nothing about such a per- 
 formance ?' 
 
 'Nothing whatever. What makes you 
 ask?' 
 
 ' Don't press me to tell ; it is nothing of 
 importance. And, Stephen, you have not 
 yet spoken to papa about our engage- 
 ment?' 
 
 'No,' he said regretfully, 'I could not 
 find him directly; and then I went on 
 thinking so much of what you said about 
 objections, refusals — bitter words possibly — 
 ending our happiness, that I resolved to put 
 it off till to-morrow ; that gives us one more 
 day of delight — delight of a tremulous 
 kind.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but it would be improper to be 
 silent too long, I think,' she said, in a de- 
 licate voice, which implied that her face
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 157 
 
 had grown warm. ' I want him to know we 
 love, Stephen. Why did you adopt as your 
 own my thought of delay ?' 
 
 ' I will explain ; but I want to tell you 
 of my secret first — ^to tell you now. It is 
 two or three hours yet to bed- time. Let us 
 walk up the hill to the church.' 
 
 Elfride passively assented, and they 
 went from the lawn by a side wicket, and 
 ascended into the open expanse of moon- 
 light which streamed around the lonely edi- 
 fice on the summit of the hill. 
 
 The door was locked. They turned from 
 the porch, and walked hand in hand to find 
 a resting-place in the churchyard. Stephen 
 chose a flat tomb, showing itself to be newer 
 and whiter than those around it, and sitting 
 down himself, gently 'drew her hand to- 
 wards him. 
 
 ' No, not there,' she said. 
 
 'Why not here?' 
 
 ' A mere fancy ; but never mind.' And 
 she sat do'svn.
 
 158 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'Elfie, will you love me, in spite of 
 everything that may be said against me ?' 
 
 ' 0, Stephen, what makes you repeat that 
 so continually and so sadly? You know I 
 will. Yes, indeed/ she said, drawing closer, 
 'whatever may be said of you — and nothing 
 bad can be — I will cling to you just the 
 same. Your ways shall be my ways until 
 Idle.' 
 
 'Did you ever think what my parents 
 might be, or what society I originally 
 moved in ?' 
 
 ' No, not particularly. I have observed 
 one or two little points in your manners 
 which are rather quaint — no more. I sup- 
 pose you have moved in the ordinary 
 society of professional people.^ 
 
 ' Supposing I have not — that none of 
 my family have a profession except me?' 
 
 ' I don't mind. What you are only 
 concerns me.' 
 
 ' Where do you think I went to school — 
 I mean, to what kind of school?'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 159 
 
 ' Dr. Somebody's academy,' she said 
 simply. 
 
 ' Xo. To a dame school originally, then 
 to a national school.' 
 
 'Only to those! Well, I love you just 
 as much, Stephen, dear Stephen,' she mur- 
 mured tenderly, ' I do indeed. And why 
 should you tell me these things so impres- 
 sively ? What do they matter to me ?' 
 
 He held her closer, and proceeded. 
 
 ' What do you think my father is — does 
 for his living, that is to say ?' 
 
 ' He practises some profession or calling, 
 I suppose.' 
 
 ' No ; he is a mason.' 
 
 'A Freemason?' 
 
 'Xo ; a cottager and journeyman mason.' 
 
 Elfride said nothing at first. After a 
 while she whispered : 
 
 'That is a strange idea to me. But 
 never mind ; what does it matter?' 
 
 ' But aren't you angry with me for not 
 telling you before?'
 
 160 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'No, not at all. Is your mother alive/ 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Is she a nice lady ?' 
 
 'Yery — the best mother in the world. 
 She was a dairymaid.' 
 
 ' 0, Stephen!' came from her in whis- 
 pered exclamation. 
 
 ' She continued to attend to a dairy 
 long after my father married her,' pursued 
 Stephen, without further hesitation. ' And 
 I remember very well how, when I was very 
 young, I used to go to the milking, look on 
 at the skimming, sleep through the churn- 
 ing, and make believe I helped her. Ah, 
 that was a happy time enough !' 
 
 'No, never — not happy.' 
 
 'Yes, it was.' 
 
 ' I don't see how happiness could be 
 where the drudgery of dairy-work had to 
 be done for a living — the hands red and 
 chapped, and the shoes clogged Ste- 
 phen, I do own that it seems odd to regard 
 you in the light of — of — having been so
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 161 
 
 rough in your youth, and done menial 
 things of that kind.' (Stephen withdrew 
 an inch or two from her side.) 'But I do 
 love you]vi^t the same,' she continued, getting 
 close under his shoulder again, • and I don't 
 care anything about the past; and I see that 
 you are all the worthier for having pushed 
 on in the world in such a way.' 
 
 ' It is not my worthmess; it is Knight's, 
 who pushed me.' 
 
 ' Ah, always he — always he !' 
 ' Yes, and properly so. Xow, Elfride, 
 you see the reason of his teaching me by 
 letter. I knew him years before he went 
 to Oxford, but I had not o^ot far enouo:h in 
 my reading for him to entertain the idea of 
 helping me in classics till he left home. 
 Then I was sent away from the tillage, and 
 we very seldom met ; but he kept up this 
 system of tuition by correspondence with 
 the greatest regularity. I will tell you all 
 the story, but not now. There is nothing 
 more to say now, beyond giving places, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 persons, and dates.' His voice became 
 timidly slow at this point. 
 
 ' No ; don't trouble to say more. You 
 are a dear honest fellow to say so much as 
 you have ; and it is not so dreadful either. 
 It has become a normal thing that million- 
 aires commence by going up to London 
 with their tools at their back, and half-a- 
 crown in their pockets. That sort of 
 origin is getting so respected,' she con- 
 tinued cheerfully, ' that it is acquiring 
 some of the odour of Norman ancestry/ 
 
 ' Ah, if I had made my fortune I shouldn't 
 mind. But I am only a possible maker of 
 it as yet.' 
 
 ' It is quite enough. And so this is what 
 your trouble was?' 
 
 ' I thought I was doing wrong in letting 
 you love me without telling my story; and 
 yet I feared to do so, Elfie. I dreaded to 
 lose you, and I was cowardly on that ac- 
 count.' 
 
 ' How plain everything about you seems
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 163 
 
 after this explanation ! Your peculiarities 
 in chess-playing, the pronunciation papa 
 noticed in your Latin, your odd mixture of 
 book-knowledge with ignorance of ordinary 
 social accomplishments, are accounted for 
 in a moment. And has this anything to do 
 with what I saw at Lord Luxellian's ?' 
 
 'What did you see?' 
 
 ' I saw the shadow of yourself putting a 
 cloak round a lady. I was at the side door ; 
 you two were in a room ^^ith the windc w 
 towards me. You came to me a moment 
 later.' 
 
 ' She was my mother.' 
 
 ' Your mother there f She withdrew her- 
 self to look at him silently in her interest. 
 
 ' Elfride,' said Stephen, ' I was going to 
 tell you the remainder to-morrow — I have 
 been keeping it back — I must tell it now, 
 after all. The remainder of my revelation 
 refers to where my parents are. Where do 
 you think they live? You know them — 
 by sight at any rate.'
 
 1G4 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' / know them !' she said, in suspended 
 amazement. 
 
 ' Yes. My father is John Smith, Lord 
 LnxeUian's master-mason, who lives under 
 the park wall by the river.' 
 
 ' 0, Stephen, can it be !' 
 
 ' He built — or assisted at the building 
 of the house you live in, years ago. He 
 .put up those stone gate piers at the lodge 
 'tentrance to Lord Luxellian's park. My 
 grandfather planted the trees that belt-in 
 your lawn ; my grandmother — who worked 
 in the fields with him — held each tree 
 upright whilst he filled in the earth : they 
 told me so when I was a child. He was the 
 sexton, too, and dug many of the graves 
 around us.' 
 
 ' And was your unaccountable vanishing 
 on the first morning of your arrival, and 
 again this afternoon, a run to see your 
 father and mother? .... I understand now; 
 no wonder you seemed to know your way 
 about the village!'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 165 
 
 ' No wonder. But remember, I have 
 not lived here since I was nine years old. 
 I then went to live with my uncle, a black- 
 smith, near Casterbridge, in order to be able 
 to attend a national school as a da^' scholar; 
 there was none in this remote part then. 
 It was there I met with my friend Knight. 
 And when I was fifteen and had been fairly 
 educated by the schoolmaster— and more 
 particularly by Knight— I was put as a pupil 
 in an architect's ofiice in that town, because 
 I was skilful in the use of the pencil. This 
 was done by the efforts of my mother, 
 rather against the wishes of Lord Luxellian, 
 who likes my father however, and thinks 
 a great deal of him. There I stayed till 
 six months ago, when I obtained a situation 
 as improver, as it is called, in a London 
 office. That's all of me.' 
 
 ' To think you, the London visitor, the 
 to^vn man, should have been born here, 
 and have known this village so many years 
 before I did. How strange — how very 
 strange it seems to me!' she murmured.
 
 166 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' My mother curtseyed to you and your 
 father last Sunday,' said Stephen, with a 
 pained smile at the thought of the incon- 
 gruit}'. ' And your papa said to her, " I am 
 glad to see you so regular at church, Jane^ ' 
 
 ' I remember it, but I have never spoken 
 to her. ^Ve have only been here eighteen 
 months, and the parish is so large.' 
 
 ' Contrast with this,' said Stephen, with 
 a miserable laugh, ' your father's belief in 
 my " blue blood," which is still prevalent in 
 his mind. The first night I came, he in- 
 sisted upon proving my descent from one of 
 the most ancient west-county families; on 
 account of my second Christian name ; 
 when the truth is, it was given me because 
 my grandfather was assistant gardener in 
 the Fitzmaurice - Smith family for thirty 
 years. Having seen your face, my darling, 
 I had not heart to contradict him, and tell 
 what would have cut me off from a friendly 
 knowledge of you.' 
 
 She sighed deeply. 'Yes, I. see now
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 167 
 
 how this inequality may be made to trouble 
 us,' she murmured, and continued in a low, 
 sad whisper, ' I wouldn't have minded if 
 they had lived far away. Papa might have 
 consented to an engagement between us if 
 your connection had been with villagers a 
 hundred miles off; remoteness softens family 
 contrasts. But he will not like — 0, Stephen, 
 Stephen! what can I do?' 
 
 ^Do?' he said tentatively, yet with 
 heaviness. ' Give me up ; let me go back 
 to London, and think no more of me.' 
 
 'Xo, no; I cannot give you up ! This 
 hopelessness in our affairs makes me care 
 more for you. ... I see what did not strike 
 me at first. Stephen, why do we trouble ? 
 Why should papa object ? An architect in 
 London is an architect in London. Who 
 inquires there? Xobody. We shall live 
 there, shall we not? Why need we be so 
 alarmed ?' 
 
 ' And, Elfie,' said Stephen, his hopes 
 kindling with hers, ' Knight thinks nothing
 
 16S A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 of my being onh^ a cottager's son. He says 
 I am as worthy of his friendship as if I were 
 a lord's. And if I am worthy of his friend- 
 ship, I am worthy of you, am I not, Elfride?' 
 
 ' I not only have never loved anybody 
 but you,' she said, instead of giving an 
 answer, 'but I have not even formed a strong 
 friendship, such as you have for Knight. 
 I wish you hadn't. It diminishes me.' 
 
 ' Now, Elfride, you know better,' he said 
 wooingly. ' And did you really never have 
 any sweetheart at all?' 
 
 ' Xone that was ever recognised by me 
 as such.' 
 
 ' But di(l nobody ever love you ?' 
 
 ' Yes — a man did once; very much, he 
 said.' 
 
 ' How long ago?' 
 
 ' 0, a long time.' 
 
 ' How long, dearest.' 
 
 ' A twelvemonth.' 
 
 'That's not vtiy long' (rather disap- 
 pointedly).
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 169 
 
 ' I said long, not very long.* 
 
 ' And did he want to marry you ?' 
 
 'I believe lie did. But I didn't see 
 anything in him. He was not good enough, 
 even if I had loved him.' 
 
 ' May I ask what he was?* 
 
 'A farmer.' 
 
 ' A farmer not ^rood enouo^h — how much 
 better than my family !' Stephen murmured. 
 
 ^ Where is he now?' he continued to 
 Elfride. 
 
 'Here: 
 
 ' Here ! what do you mean by that ?' 
 
 ' I mean that he is here.' 
 
 ^ Where here?' 
 
 ' Under us. He is under this tomb. 
 He is dead, and we are sitting on his grave.' 
 
 ' Elfie,' said the young man, standing up 
 and looking at the tomb, ' how odd and sad 
 that revelation seems! It quite depresses 
 me for the moment.' 
 
 ' Stephen, I didn't wish to sit here; but 
 you would do so.'
 
 170 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' You never encouraged him ?' 
 
 ' Never by look, word, or sign,' she said 
 solemnly. ^ He died of consumption, and 
 was buried the day you first came.' 
 
 ^ Let us go away. I don't like standing 
 by him J even if you never loved him. He 
 was before me.' 
 
 ' Worries make you unreasonable,' she 
 half pouted, following Stephen at the dis- 
 tance of a few steps. ' Perhaps I ought to 
 have told you before we sat down. Yes; 
 let us go.'
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 'HER FATHER DID FUME.' 
 
 Oppressed, in spite of themselves, by a 
 foresight of impending complications, El- 
 fride and Stephen returned doAATi the hill 
 hand in hand. At the door they paused 
 wistfully, like children late at school. 
 
 Women accept their destiny more read- 
 ily than men. Elfride had now resigned 
 herself to the overwhelming idea of her 
 lover's Sony antecedents : Stephen had not 
 forgotten the trifling grievance that Elfride 
 had known earlier admiration than his 
 own. 
 
 'What was that young man's name?' 
 he inquired. 
 
 'Felix Jethway; a mdow's only son.' 
 
 'I remember the family.'
 
 172 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' She hates me now. She says I killed 
 him.' 
 
 Stephen mused, and they entered the 
 porch. 
 
 ' Stephen, I only love you,' she tremu- 
 lously whispered. 
 
 He pressed her fingers, and the trifling 
 shadow passed away, to admit again the 
 mutual and more tangible trouble. 
 
 The study appeared to be the only room 
 lighted up. They entered each with a de- 
 meanour intended to conceal the inconceal- 
 able fact that reciprocal love was the domin- 
 ant chord. Elfride perceived a man, sitting 
 with his back towards herself, talking to her 
 father. She would have retired, but Mr. 
 Swancourt had seen her. 
 
 'Come in,' he said; 'it is only Martin 
 Cannister, come for a copy of the register 
 for poor Mrs. Jethway.' 
 
 Martin Cannister, the sexton, was rather 
 a favourite A\dth Elfride. He used to absorb 
 her attention by telling her of his strange
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 173 
 
 experiences in digging up after long years 
 the bodies of persons he had known, and 
 recognising them by some little sign 
 (though in reality he had never recognised 
 any). He had shrewd small eyes, and a 
 great wealth of double chin, which compen- 
 sated in some measure for considerable 
 poverty of nose. 
 
 The appearance of a slip of paper in 
 Cannister's hand, and a few shillings lying 
 on the table in front of him, denoted that 
 the business had been transacted, and the 
 tenor of their conversation went to show that 
 a summary of village news was no^^' engag- 
 ing the attention of parishioner and par- 
 son. 
 
 Mr. Cannister stood up and touched his 
 forehead over his eye with his finger, in re- 
 spectful salutation of Elfride, gave half as 
 much salute to Stephen (whom he, in com- 
 mon with other villagers, had never for a 
 moment recognised), then sat down again 
 and resumed his discourse.
 
 174 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Where had I got on to, sir ?' 
 'To driving the pile,' said Mr. Swan- 
 coiirt. 
 
 ^The pile 'twas. So, as I was saying, 
 Nat was driving the pile in this manner, as 
 I might say.' Here Mr. Cannister held his 
 walking-stick scrupulously vertical with his 
 left hand, and struck a blow with great 
 force on the knob of the stick with his right. 
 ' John was steadying the pile so, as I might 
 say.' Here he gave the stick a slight shake, 
 and looked firmly in the various eyes around 
 to see that before proceeding further his 
 listeners well grasped the subject at that 
 stage. ' Well, when Nat had struck some 
 half-dozen blows more upon the pile, 'a stop- 
 ped for a second or two. John, thinking he 
 had done striking, put his hand upon the 
 top o' the pile to gie en a pull, and see if 'a 
 were firm in the ground.' Mr. Cannister 
 spread his hand over the top of the stick, 
 completely covering it with his palm. ' Well, 
 so to speak, Nat hadn't nianed to stop strik-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 175 
 
 ing, and Trhen John had put his hand upon 
 the pile, the beetle — ' 
 
 '0, dreadful I' said Elfride. 
 
 ' The beetle was already coming down, 
 you see, sir. ^at just caught sight of his 
 hand, but couldn't stop the blow in time. 
 Down came the beetle upon poor John 
 Smith's hand, and squashed en to a pum- 
 my.' 
 
 'Dear me, dear me I poor fellow I' said 
 the vicar, with an intonation like the Groans 
 of the "Wounded in a pianoforte performance 
 of the ' Battle of Prague.' 
 
 ' John Smith the master-mason ?' cried 
 Stephen hurriedly. 
 
 'Ay, no other; and a better-hearted man 
 God A'mighty never made.' 
 
 'Is he so much hurt?' 
 
 ' I have heard,' said Mr. Swancourt, not 
 noticing Stephen, ' that he has a son in Lon- 
 don — a very promising young fellow — who 
 has been helped forward a little by Lord 
 Luxellian.'
 
 176 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ^ Is he really so much hurt ?' repeated 
 Stephen. 
 
 ' A beetle couldn't hurt very little. 
 Well, sir, good-night t' ye ; and ye, sir ; and 
 you, miss, I'm sure.' 
 
 Mr. Cannister had been making unno- 
 ticeable motions of withdrawal, and by the 
 time this farewell remark came from his lips 
 he was just outside the door of the room. 
 He tramped along the hall, stayed more 
 than a minute endeavouring to close the 
 door properly, and then was lost to their 
 hearing. 
 
 Stephen had meanwhile turned and said 
 to the vicar : 
 
 ' Please excuse me this evening. I must 
 leave. John Smith is my father.' 
 
 The vicar did not comprehend at first. 
 
 ^ What did you say?' he inquired. 
 
 ' John Smith is my father,' said Stephen 
 deliberately. 
 
 A surplus tinge of redness rose from Mr. 
 Swancourt's neck and came round over his
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 177 
 
 face, the lines of his features became more 
 firmly defined, and his lips seemed to get 
 thinner. It was evident that a series of 
 little circumstances, hitherto unheeded, Avere 
 now fitting themselves together, and forming 
 a lucid picture in Mr. Swancourt's mind in 
 such a manner as to render useless further 
 explanation on Stephen's part. 
 
 'Indeed,' the vicar said, in a voice dry 
 and without inflection. 
 
 This being a word which depends en- 
 tirely upon its tone for its meaning, Mr. 
 Swancourt's enunciation was equivalent to 
 no expression at all. 
 
 ^ I have to go now,' said Stephen, with 
 an agitated bearing, and a movement as if 
 he scarcely knew whether he ought to run 
 ofi* or stay longer. ' On my return, sir, will 
 you kindly grant me a few minutes' private 
 conversation ?' 
 
 ' Certainly. Though antecedently it does 
 not seem possible that there can be any- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 tiling of the nature of private business be- 
 tween us.' 
 
 Mr. Swancourt put on his straw hat, 
 crossed the drawing-room, into which the 
 moonlight was shining, and stepped out of 
 the French window into the verandah. It 
 required no, further effort to perceive what, 
 indeed, reasoning might have foretold as the 
 natural colour of a mind whose pleasures 
 were taken amid genealogies, good dinners, 
 and patrician reminiscences, that Mr. Swan- 
 court's prejudices were too strong for his 
 generosity, and that Stephen's moments as 
 his friend and equal were numbered, or had 
 even now ceased. 
 
 Stephen moved forward as if he would 
 follow the vicar, then as if he would not, 
 and in absolute perplexity whither to turn 
 himself, went awkwardly to the door. El- 
 fride followed lingeringly behind him. Be- 
 fore he had receded two yards from the 
 doorstep, Unity, and Ann the housemaid, 
 came home from their visit to the village.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 179 
 
 ' Have you heard anything about John 
 Smith ? The accident is not so bad as was 
 reported, is it?' said Elfride intuitively. 
 
 '0, no ; the doctor say it is only a bad 
 bruise.' 
 
 ^I thought so !' cried Elfride gladly. 
 
 'He say that, although Xat believe he 
 did not check the beetle as it came down, he 
 must have done so without knowing it — 
 checked it very considerable too ; for the full 
 blow would have knocked his hand abroad, 
 and in reality it is only made black-and- 
 blue like. 
 
 ' How thankful I am !' said Stephen. 
 
 The perplexed Unity looked at him with 
 her mouth rather than with her eyes. 
 
 ' That will do, Unity,' said Elfride ma- 
 gisterially ; and the two maids passed on. 
 
 'Elfride, do you forgive me?' said Ste- 
 phen, with a faint smile. ' Xo man is fair 
 in love ;' and he took her fingers lightly in 
 his own. 
 
 With her head thrown sideways in the
 
 180 A TAIK OF BLUE Ei^ES. 
 
 Greuze attitude she looked a tender re- 
 proach at his doubt and pressed his hand. 
 Stephen returned the pressure threefold, 
 then hastily went off to his father s cottage 
 by the wall of Endelstow Park. 
 
 ' Elfride, Avhat have you to say to this T 
 inquired her father, coming up immediately 
 Stephen had retired. 
 
 AVith feminine quickness she grasped 
 at any straw that would enable her to plead 
 his cause. ' He had told me of it,' she fal- 
 tered ; ^ so that it is not a discovery in spite 
 of him. He was just coming in to tell 
 you.' 
 
 ' Coming to tell ! Why hadn't he already 
 told? I object as much, if not more, to his 
 underhand concealment of this, than I do to 
 the fact itself. It looks very much like his 
 making a fool of me, and of you too. You 
 and he have been about together, and cor- 
 responding together in a way I don't at all 
 approve of — in a most unseemly way. You 
 should have known how improper such con-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 181 
 
 duct is. A woman can't be too careful not 
 to be seen alone with I-clon't-know-wlio.' 
 
 ' You saw us, papa, and have never said 
 a word.' 
 
 'My' fault, of course; my fault. AVhat 
 the deuce could I be thinking of ! He, a 
 villager's son ; and we, Swancourts. We 
 have been coming to nothing for centuries 
 and now I believe we have got there. What 
 shall I next invite here, I wonder!' 
 
 Elfride began to cry at this very unpro- 
 pitious aspect of aifairs. ' papa, papa, for- 
 give me and him. We care so much for one 
 another, papa — 0, so much ! And what he 
 was going to ask you is, if you will allow of 
 an engagement between us till he is a gen- 
 tleman as good as you. We are not in a 
 hurry, dear papa ; we don't want in the least 
 to marry now; not until he is richer. Only 
 will you let us be engaged, because I love 
 him so, and he loves me !' 
 
 Mr. Swancourt's feelings were a little 
 touched by this appeal, and he was annoyed
 
 182 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 that such should be the case. ' Certainly 
 not !' he replied. He pronounced the inhibi- 
 tion lengthily and sonorously, so that the 
 ' not' sounded like ' n-o-o-o-t !' 
 
 ' No, no, no; don't say it !' 
 
 ' Foh ! A fine story. It is not enough 
 that I have been deluded and disgraced by 
 having him here, — the son of one of my vil- 
 lage peasants — but now I am to make him 
 my son-in-law ! Heavens above ns, are you 
 mad, Elfride? 
 
 ' You have seen his letters come to me 
 ever since his first visit, papa, and you knew 
 they were a sort of — love-letters; and. since 
 he has been here you have let him be alone 
 with me almost entirely; and you guessed, 
 you must have guessed, what we were think- 
 ing of, and doing, and you didn't stop him. 
 Next to love-making comes love-winning, 
 and you knew it would come to that, papa.^ 
 ' The vicar parried this common-sense 
 thrust. ' I know — since you press me so — 
 I know I did guess some childish attachment
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 183 
 
 might arise between you ; I own I did not 
 take much trouble to prevent it ; but I have 
 not particularly countenanced it; and, El- 
 fride, how can you expect that I should 
 now? It is impossible; no father in England 
 would hear of such a thing.' 
 
 'But he is the same man, papa ; the 
 same in every particular ; and how can he 
 be less fit for me than he was before ?' 
 
 ' He appeared a young man with well- 
 to-do friends, and a little property; but 
 having neither, he is another man.' 
 
 ' You inquired nothing about him ?' 
 
 'I went by Hewby's introduction. He 
 should have told me. So should the young 
 man himself; of course he should. I con- 
 sider it a most dishonourable thing to come 
 into a man's house like a treacherous I-don't- 
 know-what.' 
 
 ' But he was afraid to tell you, and so 
 should I have been. He loved me too well 
 to like to run the risk. And as to speaking 
 of his friends on his first visit, I don't see
 
 184 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 AA'hy he should have done so at all. He 
 came here on business : it was no affair of 
 ours who his parents were. And then he 
 knew that if he told you he would never be 
 asked here, and would perhaps never see 
 me again. And he wanted to see me. Who 
 can blame him for trying, by any means, to 
 stay near me — the girl he loves ? All is fair 
 in love. I have heard you say so yourself, 
 papa ; and you yourself would have done 
 just as he has — so would any man.' 
 
 'And any man, on discovering what I 
 have discovered, would also do as I do, and 
 mend my mistake ; that is, get shot of him 
 again, as soon as the laws of hospitality will 
 allow.' But Mr. Swancourt then remem- 
 bered that he was a Christian. 'I would 
 not, for the world, seem to turn him out of 
 doors,' he added; 'but I think he will have 
 the tact to see that he cannot stay long after 
 this, with good taste.' 
 
 ' He will, because he's a gentleman. See 
 how graceful his manners are,' Elfride went
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 185 
 
 on ; though perhaps Stephen's manners, like 
 the feats of Euryalus, owed then- attractive- 
 ness in her eyes rather to the attractiveness 
 of his person than to their own excellence. 
 
 ' Ay ; anybody can be what you call 
 graceful, if he lives a little time in a city, 
 and keeps his eyes open. And he might 
 have picked up his gentlemanliness by going 
 to the galleries of theatres, and watching 
 stage drawing-room manners. He reminds 
 me of one of the worst stories I ever heard 
 in my life.' 
 
 'What story was that?' 
 
 ' no, thank you ! I wouldn't tell you 
 such an improper matter for the world !' 
 
 'If his father and mother had lived in 
 the north or east of England,' gallantly per- 
 sisted Elfride, though her sobs began to in- 
 terrupt her articulation, ' anywhere but here 
 — you — would have — only regarded — him, 
 and not them. His station — would have — 
 been what — his profession makes it, — and 
 not fixed by— his father's humble position —
 
 186 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 at all; wliojn he never lives mth — now. 
 And it is clever and — honourable — of him, 
 to be the best of his family.' 
 
 'Yes. "Let a beast be lord of beasts, 
 and his crib shall stand at the king's mess." * 
 
 ' You insult me, papa !' she burst out. 
 * You do, you do ! He is my own Stephen, 
 he is !' 
 
 ' That may or may not be true, Elfride,' 
 returned her father, again uncomfortably 
 agitated in spite of himself ' You confuse 
 future probabilities with present facts, — what 
 the young man may be with what he is. We 
 must look at what he is, not what an impro- 
 bable degree of success in his profession 
 may make him. The case is this : the son 
 of a working-man in my parish — a youth 
 who has not yet advanced so far into life as 
 to have any income of his own deserving 
 the name, and therefore of his father's de- 
 gree as regards station — wants to be engaged 
 to you. His family are living in precisely 
 the same spot in England as yours, so
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 187 
 
 throughout this county — which is the world 
 to us — you would always be known as the 
 wife of Jack Smith the mason's son, and not 
 under any circumstances as the wife of a 
 London professional man. It is the draw- 
 back, not the compensating fact, that is 
 talked of always. There, say no more. You 
 may argue all night, and prove what you 
 will; I'll stick to my words.' 
 
 Elfride looked silently and hopelessly 
 out of the window with large heavy eyes 
 and wet cheeks. 
 
 ' I call it great temerity — and long to 
 call it audacity— in Hewby,' resumed her 
 father. ' I never heard such a thing — giv- 
 ing such a hobbledehoy native of this place 
 such an introduction to me as he did. Xa- 
 turally you were deceived as well as I was. 
 I don't blame you at all, so far.' He went 
 and searched for Mr. He why's original let- 
 ter. ' Here's what he said to me : " Rev. 
 Sir, — Agreeably to your request of the 18th 
 instant, I have arranged to sun^ey and make
 
 188 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 drawings," et cetera. " My assistant, Mr. 
 Stephen Smith"— assistant, you see, he called 
 him, and naturally I imderstood it to mean 
 a sort of partner. Why didn't he say 
 ''clerk"? 
 
 'They never call them clerks in that 
 profession, because they do not write. Ste- 
 phen—Mr. Smith — told me so. So that Mr. 
 He why simply used the accepted word.' 
 
 ' Let me speak, please, Elfride ! " My 
 assistant, Mr. Stephen Smith, will leave 
 London by the early train to-morrow morn- 
 ing . . . many thanks for your proposal to ac- 
 commodate him . . . you may put every confi- 
 dence in him^ and may rely upon his discern- 
 ment in the matter of church architecture." 
 Well, I repeat that Hewby ought to be 
 ashamed of himself for making so much of 
 a poor lad of that sort.' 
 
 'Professional men in London,' Elfride 
 murmured, 'don't know anything about 
 their clerks' fathers and mothers. They 
 have assistants who come to their offices
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 189 
 
 and shops for years, and hardly even know 
 where they live. What they can do — what 
 profits they can bring the firm — that's all 
 London men care about. And that is helped 
 in him by his faculty of being uniformly 
 pleasant.' 
 
 ' Uniform pleasantness is rather a defect 
 than a faculty. It shows that a man hasn't 
 sense enough to know whom to despise.' 
 
 ' It shows that he acts by faith and not 
 by sight, as those you claim succession from 
 directed.' 
 
 'That's some more of what he's been 
 teUing you, I suppose. Yes, I was inclined 
 to suspect him, because he didn't care about 
 sauces of any kind. I always did doubt a 
 man's being a gentleman if his palate had 
 no acquired tastes. An unedified palate is 
 the irrepressible cloven foot of the upstart. 
 The idea of my bringing out a bottle of my 
 '40 Martinez— only eleven of them left now 
 — to a man who didn't know it from eight- 
 eenpenny! Then the Latin line he srave
 
 190 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 to my quotation ; it was very cut-and- dried, 
 very ; or I, wlio haven't looked into a clas- 
 sical author for the last eighteen years, 
 shouldn't have remembered it. Well, El- 
 fride, you had better go to your room; 
 you'll get over this bit of tomfoolery in 
 time.' 
 
 'No, no, nOj^apa,' she moaned. For of 
 all the miseries attaching to miserable love, 
 the worst is the misery of thinking that the 
 passion which is the cause of them all may 
 cease. 
 
 'Elfride,' said her father, with rough 
 friendliness, ' I have an excellent scheme on 
 hand, which I cannot tell you of now. A 
 scheme to benefit you and me. It has been 
 thrust upon me for some little time— yes, 
 thrust upon me — but I didn't dream of its 
 value till this afternoon, when the revelation 
 came. I should be most unwise to refuse to 
 entertain it.' 
 
 'I don't like that word,' she returned 
 wearily. ' You have lost so much already
 
 A PAIR or BLUE EYES. 191 
 
 by schemes. Is it those wretched mines 
 again?' 
 
 'Xo; not a mining scheme.' 
 
 'Eailways?' 
 
 'Xor railways. It is like those myste- 
 rious offers we see advertised, by which any 
 gentleman vdxh. no brains at all may make 
 so much a week withotit risk, trouble, or 
 soiling his fingers. However, I am intend- 
 ing to say nothing till it is settled, though I 
 will just say thus much, that you soon may 
 have other fish to fry than to think of Ste- 
 phen Smith. Remember, I wish, not to be 
 angry, but friendly, to the young man; 
 for your sake TU regard him as a friend in 
 a certain sense. But this is enough ; m a 
 few days you will be quite m}* way of think- 
 ing. There, now go to your bedroom. 
 Unity shall bring you u]) some supper. I 
 wish you not to be here when he comes 
 back.'
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 ' BENEATH THE SHELTER OF AN AGED TREE.' 
 
 Stephen retraced his steps towards the cot- 
 tage he had visited only two or three hours 
 previously. He drew near and under the 
 rich foliage growing about the outskirts of 
 Endelstow Park, the spotty lights and shades 
 from the shining moon maintaining a race 
 over his head and down his back in an end- 
 less gambol. When he crossed the plank 
 bridge and entered the garden-gate, he saw 
 an illuminated figure coming from the en- 
 closed plot towards the house on the other 
 side. It was his father, with his hand in a 
 sling, taking a general moonlight view of 
 the garden, and particularly of a plot of the 
 youngest of young turnips, previous to clos- 
 ing the cottage for the night.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 193 
 
 He saluted his son with customary force. 
 ^ Hallo, Stephen! We should ha' been in 
 bed in another ten minutes. Come to see 
 what's the matter wi' me, I suppose, my lad T 
 
 The doctor had come and gone, and the 
 hand had been pronounced as injured but 
 slightly, though it might possibly have 
 been considered a far more serious case if 
 Mr. Smith had been a richer man. Ste- 
 phen's anxious inquiry drew from his fa- 
 ther words of regret at the inconvenience 
 to the world of his doino^ nothins; for 
 the next two days, rather than of concern 
 for the pain of the accident. Together they 
 entered the house. 
 
 John Smith — brown as Autumn as to 
 skin, white as Winter as to clothes — was a 
 satisfactory specimen of the village artificer 
 in stone. In common with most rural me- 
 chanics, he had too much individuality to be 
 a typical 'working-man' — the resultant of 
 that constant pebble-like attrition with his 
 kind only to be experienced in large towns, 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 which metamorphoses the unit Self into a 
 fraction of the unit Class. 
 
 There was not the speciality in his la- 
 bour which distinguishes the handicraftsmen 
 of to^^TlS. Though only a mason, strictly 
 speaking, lie was not above handling a brick, 
 if bricks were the order of the day ; or a slate 
 or tile, if a roof had to be covered before the 
 wet weather set in, and nobod}' was near 
 who could do it better. Indeed, on one or 
 two occasions in the depth of winter, when 
 frost peremptorily forbids all use of the 
 trowel, making foundations to settle, stones 
 to fly, and mortar to crumble, he had taken 
 to felling and sawing trees. Moreover, he 
 had practised gardening in his own plot for 
 so many years, that on an emergency he 
 might have made a living by that calling. 
 
 Probably the countryman was not such 
 an accomplished artificer in a particular di- 
 rection as his town brethren in the trades. 
 But he was, in truth, like the clumsy pin- 
 maker who made the whole pin, despised by
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 195 
 
 Adam Smith and respected by Macaulay, 
 much more the artist than they. 
 
 Appearing now, indoors, by the light of 
 the candle, his stalwart healthiness was a 
 sight to see. His beard was close and knot- 
 ted as that of a chiselled Hercules ; his shirt- 
 sleeves were partly rolled up, his waistcoat 
 unbuttoned; the difference in hue between 
 the snowy linen and the ruddy arms and 
 face contrasting like the white of an egg 
 and its yolk. Mrs. Smith, on hearing theni 
 enter, advanced from the pantry. 
 
 Mrs. Smith was a matron whose coun- 
 tenance addressed itself to the mind rather 
 than to the eye, though not exclusively. 
 She retained her personal freshness even 
 now, in the prosy afternoon-time of her life ; 
 but what her features were primarily indi- 
 cative of was a brisk common sense behind 
 them ; as a whole appearing to carry with 
 them a sort of argumentative commentary 
 on the world's existence. 
 
 The details of the accident were then
 
 196 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 rehearsed by Stephen's father, in the dra- 
 matic manner also common to Martin Can- 
 nister, other individuals of the neighbour- 
 hood, and the rural world generally. Mrs. 
 Smith threw in her sentiments between the 
 acts, as Coryphaeus of the tragedy, to make 
 the description complete. The story at last 
 came to an end, as the longest will, and Ste- 
 phen directed the conversation into another 
 channel. 
 
 ' Well, mother, they know everything 
 about me now,' he said quietly. 
 
 ' Well done !' replied his father ; ' now 
 my mind's at peace.' 
 
 ' I blame myself— I never shall forgive 
 myself— for not telling them before,' con- 
 tinued the young man. 
 
 Mrs. Smith at this point abstracted her 
 mind from the former subject. ^ I don't see 
 what you have to grieve about, Stephen,' 
 she said. ' People who accidentally get thick 
 don't, as a first heat, tell the history of their 
 f^miilies.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 11)7 
 
 ' Ye've done no wrong, certainly,' said 
 his father. 
 
 ' Xo ; but I should have spoken sooner. 
 There's more in this visit of mine than you 
 think — a good deal more.' 
 
 ^Xot more than /think,' Mrs. Smith re- 
 plied, looking triumphantly at him. Ste- 
 phen blushed ; and his father looked from 
 one to the other in a state of utter incom- 
 prehension. 
 
 'She's a pretty piece enough,' Mrs. Smith 
 continued, 'and very lady-like and clever 
 too. But though she's very well fit for you 
 as far as that is, why, mercy 'pon me, what 
 ever do you want any woman at all for 
 yet?' 
 
 John made his naturally short mouth a 
 long one, and wrinkled his forehead. ' That's 
 the way the wind d'blow, is it ?' he said. 
 
 ' Mother,' exclaimed Stephen, * how ab- 
 surdly you speak ! Criticising whether she's 
 fit for me or no, as if there were room for 
 doubt on the matter ! Why, to marry her
 
 198 A TAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 would be the great blessing of my life — 
 socially and practically, as well as in other 
 respects. Xo such good fortune at that, I'm 
 afraid ; she's too far above me. Her family 
 doesn't want such country lads as I in it' 
 
 'Then if they don't want you, I'd see 
 them dead corpses before I'd jme 'em, and 
 go to better families who do want you.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes ; but I could never put up with 
 the distaste of being welcomed among such 
 people as you mean, whilst I could get in- 
 difference among such people as hers.' 
 
 ' What crazy twist o' thinking woot come 
 to next?' said his mother. ^And come to 
 that, she's not a bit too high for you, or you 
 too low for her. See how careful I be to 
 keep myself up. I'm sure I never stop for 
 more than a minute together to talk to any 
 journeyman's people; and I never invite 
 anybody to our party o' Christmases who 
 baint in business for themselves. And I 
 talk to several toppermost carriage people 
 that come to my lord's without saying mem
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 199 
 
 or sir to 'em, and they take it as quiet as 
 lambs.' 
 
 'You curtseyed to the vicar, mother; 
 and I wish you hadn't.' 
 
 ' But it was before he called me by my 
 Christian name, or he would have got very 
 little curtseying from me !' said Mrs. Smith, 
 bridling and sparkling with vexation. ' You 
 go on at me, Stephen, as if I were your worst 
 enemy ! What else could I do wi' the man 
 to get rid of him, banging it into me and 
 your father by side and by seam, about 
 what happened when he was a young feller 
 at college, and I don't know what-all ; the 
 tongue o' en flopping round his mouth like 
 a mop-rag round a dairy. That 'a did, 
 didn't he, John?' 
 
 ' That's about the size o't,' replied her 
 husband. 
 
 ' Every woman nowadays,' resumed Mrs. 
 Smith, ' if she marry at all, must expect a 
 father-in-law of a rank lower than her father. 
 The men have gone up so, and the women
 
 200 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 have stood still. Every man you meet is 
 more the dand than his father ; and you are 
 just level wi' her.' 
 
 ' That's what she thinks herself.' 
 ' It only shows her sense. I knew she 
 was after ye, Stephen — I knew^ it.' 
 
 ^ After me ! Good Lord, w^hat next!' 
 ' And I really must say again that you 
 ought not to be in such a hurry, and w^ait 
 for a few" years. You might go higher 
 still then.' 
 
 ' The fact is, mother,' said Stephen im- 
 patiently, ' you don't know anything about 
 it. I shall never go higher, because I don't 
 want to, nor should I if I lived to be a 
 hundred. As to you saying that she's after 
 me, I don't like such a remark about her, 
 for it implies a scheming woman, and a man 
 worth scheming for, both of which are not 
 only untrue, but ludicrously untrue, of this 
 case. Isn't it so, father?' 
 
 * I'm afeared I don't understand the 
 matter well enough to gie my opinion,' said
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 201 
 
 his father, in the tone of the fox who had a 
 cold and could not smell. 
 
 ' She couldn't have been very backward 
 anyhow, considering the short time you 
 have known her,' said his mother. ' Well, 
 I think that fiYe years hence you'll be plenty 
 young enough to think of such things. And 
 really she can very well afford to wait, and 
 will too, take my word. Living do^\Ti in 
 an out-step place like this, I am sure she 
 ought to be very thankful that you took 
 notice of her. She'd most likely have died 
 an old maid if you hadn't turned up.' 
 
 ' All nonsense,' said Stephen, but not 
 aloud. 
 
 ' A nice little thing she is,' Mrs. Smith 
 went on, in a more complacent tone now 
 that Stephen had been talked down ; ' there's 
 not a word to say against her, I'll o^^^l. I 
 see her sometimes decked out like a horse 
 going to Binegar fair, and I admire her 
 for't. A perfect little lady. But people 
 can't help their thoughts, and if she'd learnt
 
 202 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 to make figures instead of letters wlien she 
 was at school 'twould have been better for 
 her pocket; for as I said, there never were 
 worse times for such as she than now.' 
 
 ' Now, now, mother!' said Stej)hen, mth 
 smiling deprecation. 
 
 ^ But I will!' said his mother mth aspe- 
 rity. ' I don't read the papers for nothing, 
 and I know men all move up a stage by 
 marriage. Men of her class, that is, parsons, 
 marry squires' daughters ; squires marry 
 lords' daughters; lords marry dukes' daugh- 
 ters; dukes marry queen's daughters. All 
 stages of gentlemen mate a stage higher; 
 and the lowest stage of gentlewomen are 
 left single, or marry out of their class.' 
 
 ' But you said just now, dear mamma — ' 
 retorted Stephen, unable to resist the tempt- 
 ation of showing his mother her incon- 
 sistency. Then he paused. 
 
 'Well, what did I say?' And Mrs. 
 Smith prepared her lips for a new campaign. 
 
 Stephen, regretting that he had begun,
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 203 
 
 since a volcano might be the consequence, 
 was oblio;ed to ofo on. 
 
 'You said I wasn't out of her class just 
 before.' 
 
 ' Yes, there, there ! That's you; that's 
 my own flesh and blood. I'll warrant that 
 you'll pick holes in everything your mother 
 says if you can, Stephen. You are just like 
 your father for that; take anybody's part 
 but mine. "Whilst I am speaking and talk- 
 ing and trying and slaving away for your 
 good, you are waiting to catch me out in 
 that way. So you are in her class, but 'tis 
 what her people would call marr^^g out of 
 her class. Don't be so quarrelsome, Ste- 
 phen !' 
 
 Stephen preserved a discreet silence, in 
 which he vv'as imitated by his father, and 
 for several minutes nothing was heard but 
 the ticking of the green-faced case-clock 
 against the wall. 
 
 ' I'm sure,' added llrs. Smith, in a more 
 philosophic tone, and as a terminative speech,
 
 204 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ^ if there'd been so much trouble to get a 
 husband in my time as there is in these 
 days — when you must make a god-almighty 
 of a man to get en to hae ye — I'd have eat 
 dirt wi' a ladle before I'd ever have lowered 
 my dignity to marry, or there's no bread in 
 nine loaves.' 
 
 The discussion now dropped, and as it 
 was getting late, Stephen bade his parents 
 farewell for the evening, his mother none 
 the less warmly for their sparring ; for al- 
 though Mrs. Smith and Stephen were always 
 contending, they were never at enmity. 
 
 * And possibly,' said Stephen, 'I may 
 leave here altogether to-morrow ; I don't 
 know. So that if I shouldn't call again be- 
 fore returning to London, don't be alarmed, 
 win you?' 
 
 'But didn't you come for a fortnight?' 
 said his mother. ' And haven'tyou a month's 
 holiday altogether? They are going to 
 turn you out, then? ' 
 
 * Not at all. I may stay longer ; I may
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 205 
 
 go. If I go, you had better say nothing 
 about mv havino: been here, for her sake. 
 At what time of the morning does the carrier 
 pass Endelstow-lane?' 
 
 ' Seven o'clock.' 
 
 And then he left them. His thoughts 
 were, that shotild the vicar permit him to 
 become engaged, to hope for an engage- 
 ment, or in anv wav to think of his beloved 
 Elfride, he might stay longer. Should he 
 be forbidden to think of any such thing, he 
 resolved to go at once. And the latter, 
 even to young hopefulness, seemed the more 
 probable alternative. 
 
 Stephen walked back to the vicarage 
 through the meadows, as he had come, sur- 
 rounded by the soft musical purl of the 
 water through little weirs, the modest light 
 of the moon, the freshening smell of the 
 dews outspread around. It was a time when 
 mere seeing is meditation, and meditation 
 peace. Stephen was hardly philosopher 
 enoucfh to avail himself of Nature's offer.
 
 206 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 His constitution was made up of very simple 
 particulars ; one which, rare in the spring- 
 time of civilisations, seems to grow abundant 
 as a nation gets older, individuality fades, 
 and education spreads; that is, his brain 
 had extraordinary receptive powers, and 
 not an atom of creativeness. Quickly ac- 
 quiring any kind of knowledge he saw 
 around him, and having a plastic adapta- 
 bility more common in woman than in man, 
 he changed colour like a chameleon as the 
 society he found himself in assumed a 
 higher and more artificial tone. He had not 
 an original idea, and yet there was scarcely 
 an idea to which, under proper training, 
 he could not have added a respectable co- 
 ordinate. 
 
 He saw nothing outside himself to-night ; 
 and what he saw within was a weariness to 
 his flesh. Yet to a dispassionate observer, 
 his pretensions to Elfride, though rather 
 premature, were far from absurd as mar- 
 riages go, unless the accidental proximity
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 207 
 
 of poor but honest parents could be said to 
 make them so. 
 
 The clock struck eleven when he entered 
 the house. Elfride had been Traiting with 
 scarcely a movement since he departed. 
 Before he had spoken to her she caught 
 sight of him passing into the study with her 
 father. She saw that he had by some means 
 obtained the private interview he desired. 
 
 A nervous headache had been orrowino: 
 on the excitable girl during the absence of 
 Stephen, and now she could do nothing 
 beyond going up again to her room as she 
 had done before. Instead of lying down 
 she sat again in the darkness mthout closing 
 the door, and listened with a beating heart 
 to every sound from down-stairs. The ser- 
 vants had gone to bed. She ultimately 
 heard the two men come from the study 
 and cross to the dining-room, where supper 
 had been lingering for more than an hour. 
 The door was left open, and she found that 
 the meal, such as it was, passed off between
 
 208 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 her father and her lover without any re- 
 mark, save commonplaces as to cucumbers 
 and melons, their wholesomeness and cul- 
 ture, uttered in a stiiF and formal way. It 
 seemed to prefigure failure. 
 
 Shortly afterwards Stephen came up-stairs 
 to his bedroom, and was almost immediately 
 followed by her father, who also retired for 
 the night. Xot inclined to get a light, she 
 partly undressed and sat on the bed, where 
 she remained in pained thought for some 
 time, possibly an hour. Then rising to close 
 her door previous to fully unrobing, she 
 saw a streak of light shining across the 
 landin^:. Her father's door was shut, and 
 he could be heard snoring regularly. The 
 light came from Stephen's room, and the 
 slight sounds also coming thence emphatic- 
 ally denoted what he was doing. In the 
 perfect silence she could hear the closing of 
 a lid and the clicking of a lock, — he was 
 fastening his hat-box. Then the buckling 
 of straps and the click of another key, —
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 209 
 
 he was securing his portmanteau. AVith 
 trebled foreboding she opened her door 
 softly, and went towards his. One sensation 
 pervaded her to distraction. Stephen, her 
 handsome youth and darling, was going 
 away, and she might never see him again 
 except in secret and in sadness — perhaps 
 never more. At any rate, she could no 
 longer wait till the morning to hear the 
 result of the interview, as she had intended. 
 She flung her dressing-gown round her, 
 tapped lightly at his door, and whispered 
 ' Stephen!' He came instantly, opened the 
 door and stepped out. 
 
 ' Tell me ; are we to hope ?' 
 
 He replied in a disturbed whisper, and a 
 tear approached its outlet, though none fell. 
 
 ' I am not to think of such a prepos- 
 terous thing — that's what he said. And I 
 am going to-morrow. I should have called 
 you up to bid you good-bye.' 
 
 'But he didn't say you were to go — 
 0, Stephen, he didn't say that ?' 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' No ; not in \Yords. But I cannot stay/ 
 
 ' don't, don't go ! Do come and let us 
 talk. Let us come down to the drawing-room 
 for a few minutes ; he will hear us here.' 
 
 She preceded him down the staircase 
 with the taper light in her hand, looking 
 unnaturally tall and thin in the long dove- 
 coloured dressino:-2:own she wore. She did 
 not stop to think of the propriety or other- 
 wise of this midnight interview under such 
 circumstances. She thought that^ the tra- 
 gedy of her life was beginning, and, for the 
 first time almost, felt that her existence 
 might have a grave side, the shade of which 
 enveloped and rendered invisible the delicate 
 gradations of custom and punctilio. Elfride 
 softly opened the drawing-room door and 
 they both went in. When she had placed 
 the candle on the table, he enclosed her 
 with his arms, dried her eyes with his 
 handkerchief, and kissed their lids. 
 
 ' Stephen, it is over — happy love is over ; 
 and there is no more sunshine now !'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 211 
 
 ' I vnll make a fortune, and come to you, 
 and have you. Yes, I will.' 
 
 ^Papa will never hear of it — never, 
 never ! You don't know him. I do. He 
 is either biassed in favour of a thing, or 
 prejudiced against it. Argument is power- 
 less against either feehng.' 
 
 ' Xo ; I won't think of him so,' said 
 Stephen. 'If I appear before him some 
 time hence as a man of established name he 
 will accept me — I know he will. He is not 
 a wicked man.' 
 
 ' Xo, he is not wicked. But you say 
 '^ some time hence," as if it were no time. 
 To you, among bustle and excitement, it 
 will be comparatively a short time perhaps ; 
 to me it will be its real length trebled ! 
 Every summer vnll be a year — autumn a 
 year — winter a year! 0, Stephen; and 
 you may forget me !' 
 
 Forget : that was, and is, the real sting 
 of waiting to mimosa-hearted woman. The 
 remark awoke in Stephen the converse fear.
 
 212 A PxVIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' You, too, may be persuaded to give me 
 up, Avhen time has made me fainter in your 
 memory. For remember, your love for me 
 must be nourished in secret; there will be 
 no long visits from me to support you. 
 Circumstances will always tend to obliter- 
 ate me.' 
 
 ' Stephen,' she said, filled with her own 
 misgivings, and unheeding his last words, 
 ' there are beautiful women where you live 
 — of course I know there are — and they 
 may win you away from me.' Her tears 
 came visibly as she drew a mental picture 
 of his faithlessness. ^ And it won't be your 
 fault/ she continued, looking into the candle 
 with doleful eyes. ' Xo. You will think 
 that our family don't want you, and get to 
 include me with them. And there will be 
 a vacancy in your heart, and some others 
 will be let in.' 
 
 'I could not, I would not. Elfie, do 
 not be so full of forebodings.' 
 
 ' yes, they will,' she replied. ' And
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 2i3 
 
 you will look at them, not caring at first, 
 and then you will look and be interested, 
 and after a while you will think, '' Ah, they 
 know all about city life, and assemblies, and 
 coteries, and the manners of the titled, and 
 poor little Elfie, with all the fuss that's 
 made about her having me, doesn't know 
 about anything but a little house and a few 
 cliffs and a space of sea, far away." And 
 then you'll be more interested in them, and 
 they'll make you have them instead of me, 
 on purpose to be cruel to me because I am 
 silly, and they are clever and hate me. And 
 I hate them too; yes, I do !' 
 
 Her impulsive words had power to 
 impress him at any rate with the recog- 
 nition of the uncertainty of all that is not 
 accomplished. And, worse than that gene- 
 ral feeling, there, of course, remained the 
 sadness which arose from the special features 
 of his ovm case. However remote a desired 
 issue may be, the mere fact of ha\^ng 
 entered the groove which leads to it, cheers
 
 214 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 to some extent with a sense of accomplisli- 
 ment. Had Mr. Swan court consented to 
 an epgagement of no less length than ten 
 years, Stephen would have been comj)ara- 
 tively cheerful in waiting ; they would have 
 felt that they were somewhere on the road 
 to Cupid's garden. But, with a possibility 
 of a shorter probation, they had not as yet 
 any prospect of the beginning; the zero of 
 hope had yet to be reached. Mr. Swancourt 
 would have to revoke his formidable words 
 before the waiting for marriage could even 
 set in. And this was despair. 
 
 ' I wish we could marry now,' murmured 
 Stephen, as an impossible fancy. 
 
 ' So do I,' said she, also as if regarding 
 an idle dream. "Tis the only thing that 
 ever does sweethearts good.' 
 
 ' Secretly would do, would it not, Elfie?' 
 
 ' Yes, secretly would do ; secretly would 
 indeed be best,' she said, and went on reflec- 
 tively : * All we want is to render it abso- 
 lutely impossible for any future circum-
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 215 
 
 stance to upset our future intention of being 
 happy together; not to begin being happy 
 now.' 
 
 ' Exactly/ he murmured in a voice and 
 manner the counterpart of hers. ' To marry 
 and part secretly, and live on as we are 
 living now; merely to put it out of any- 
 body's power to force you away from me, 
 dearest.' 
 
 ' Or you away from me, Stephen.' 
 
 ' Or me from you. It is possible to con- 
 ceive a force of circumstance strong enough 
 to make any woman in the world marr}' 
 against her will: no conceivable pressm^e, 
 up to torture or starvation, can make a wo- 
 man once married to her lover anybody 
 else's wife.' 
 
 Now up to this point the idea of an im- 
 mediate secret marriage had been held by 
 both as an untenable h}^othesis wherewith 
 simply to beguile a miserable moment. 
 During a pause which followed Stephen's 
 last remark a fascinating percej)tion, then an
 
 216 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 alluring conviction, flashed along the brain 
 of both. The perception was that an imme- 
 diate marriage could be contrived ; the con- 
 viction, that such an act, in spite of its 
 daring, its fathomless results, its deceptive - 
 ness, would be preferred by each to the life 
 they must lead under any other conditions. 
 
 The youth spoke first, and his voice 
 trembled with the magnitude of the concep- 
 tion he was cherishing. ' How strong we 
 should feel, Elfride ! going on our separate 
 courses as before, without the fear of ulti- 
 mate separation ! Elfride, think of it ; 
 think of it I' 
 
 It is certain that the young girl's love 
 for Stephen received a fanning from her 
 father's opposition which made it blaze mth 
 a dozen times the intensity it would have 
 exhibited if left alone. Xever were condi- 
 tions more favourable for developing a girl's 
 first passing fancy for a handsome boyish 
 face — a fancy rooted in inexperience and 
 nourished by seclusion — into a wild unre-
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 217 
 
 fleeting passion fervid enough for anything. 
 All the elements of such a development 
 were there, the chief one being hopelessness 
 — a necessary ingredient always to perfect 
 the mixture of feelino^s united under the 
 name of loving to distraction. 
 
 'We would tell papa soon, would we 
 not?' she inquired timidly. 'Xobody else 
 need know. He would then be convinced' 
 that hearts cannot be played with ; love en- 
 couraged be ready to grow, love discouraged 
 be ready to die, at a moment's notice. Ste- 
 phen, do you not think that if marriages 
 against a parent's consent are ever justifi- 
 able, they are when young people have been 
 favoured up to a point, as we have, and then 
 have had that favour suddenly withdrawn?' 
 
 ' Yes. It is not as if we had from the 
 beginning acted in opposition to your papa's 
 wishes. Only think, Elfie, how pleasant he 
 was towards me but six hours ago ! He 
 liked me, praised me, never objected to my 
 being alone with you.'
 
 218 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' I believe he must like you now,' she 
 cried. 'And if he found that you irre- 
 mediably belonged to me, he would own it 
 and help you. Stephen, Stephen,' she 
 burst out again, as the remembrance of his 
 packing came afresh to her mind, ' I can- 
 not bear your going away like this ! It is 
 too dreadful. All I hare been expecting 
 miserably killed within me like this !' 
 
 Stephen flushed hot with impulse. ' I 
 will not be a doubt to you — thought of you 
 shall not be a misery to me !' he said. 'We 
 will be wife and husband before we part for 
 long !' 
 
 She hid her face on his shoulder. 'Any- 
 thing to make sure P she whispered. 
 
 ' I did not like to propose it imme- 
 diately,' continued Stephen. ' It seemed 
 to me — it seems to me now — like trying 
 to catch you — a girl better in the world 
 than I.' 
 
 ' Not that, indeed ! And am I better in 
 worldly station? What's the use of have
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 219 
 
 beens? We may have been something once; 
 we are nothing now.' 
 
 Then they whispered long and earnestly 
 together; Stephen hesitatingly proposing 
 this and that plan, Elfride modifying them, 
 with quick breathings, and hectic flush, and 
 unnaturally bright eyes. It was two o'clock 
 before an arrangement was finally concluded. 
 
 She then told him to leave her, giving 
 him his light to go up to his o^tl room. 
 They parted with an agreement not to meet 
 again in the morning. After his door had 
 been some time closed he heard her softly 
 gliding into her chamber.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 'journeys end in lovers' meeting.' 
 
 Stephen lay watching the Great Bear; El- 
 fride was regarding a monotonous parallelo- 
 gram of window-blind. Xeither slept that 
 night. 
 
 Early the next morning — that is to say, 
 four hours after their stolen interview, and 
 just as the earliest servant was heard mov- 
 ing about — Stephen Smith went down-stairs, 
 portmanteau in hand. Throughout the 
 nioht he had intended to see Mr. Swancourt 
 again, but the sharp rebuff of the previous 
 evening rendered such an interview particu- 
 larly distasteful. Perhaps there was another 
 and less honest reason. He decided to put 
 it off. Whatever of moral timidity or obli- 
 quity may have lain in such a decision, no
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 221 
 
 perception of it was strong enough to detain 
 him. He wrote a note in liis room, which 
 stated simply that he did not feel happv in 
 the house after Mr. Swancourt's sudden veto 
 on what he had favoured a few hours before ; 
 but that he hoped a time would come, and 
 that soon, when his original feelings of plea- 
 sure as Mr. Swancourt's guest might be re- 
 covered. 
 
 He expected to find the down-stairs 
 rooms wearing the gray and cheerless aspect 
 that early morning gives to everything out 
 of the sun. He found in the dining-room a 
 breakfast laid, of which somebody had just 
 partaken. 
 
 Stephen gave the maid-servant his note 
 of adieu. She stated that Mr. Swancourt 
 rose early that morning, and made an early 
 breakfast. He was not going away that she 
 knew of. 
 
 Stephen partook of a remnant cup of 
 coffee, left the house of his Love, and turned 
 into the lane. It was so early that the
 
 222 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 shaded places still smelt like night-time, and 
 the sunny spots had hardly felt the sun. 
 The horizontal rays made every shallow dip 
 in the ground to show as a well-marked 
 hollow. Even the channel of the path was 
 enough to throw shade, and the very stones 
 of the road cast tapering dashes of darkness 
 westward, as long as Jael's tent-nail. 
 
 At a spot not more than a hundred 
 yards from the vicar's residence, the lane 
 leading thence crossed the high-road. Ste- 
 phen reached the point of intersection, stood 
 still and listened. Nothing could be heard 
 save the lengthy murmuring-line of the sea 
 upon the adjacent shore. He looked at his 
 watch, and then mounted a gate, upon 
 which he seated himself, to await the arrival 
 of the carrier. Whilst he sat he heard 
 wheels coming in two directions. 
 
 The vehicle approaching on his right he 
 soon recognised as the carrier's. There were 
 the accompanying sounds of the owner's 
 voice and the smack of his whip, distinct
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 223 
 
 in the still morning air, by which he en- 
 couraged his horses up the hill. The other 
 set of wheels sounded from the lane Ste- 
 phen had just traversed. On closer obser- 
 vation, he perceived that they were moving 
 from the precincts of the ancient manor- 
 house adjoining the vicarage grounds. A 
 carriage then left the entrance-gates of the 
 house, and wheeling round came fully in 
 sight. It was a plain travelling- carriage, 
 with a small quantity of luggage, apparently 
 a lady's. The vehicle came to the junction 
 of the four "ways half-a-minute before the 
 carrier reached the same spot, and crossed 
 directly in his front, proceeding by the lane 
 on the other side. 
 
 Inside the carriage Stephen could just 
 discern an elderly lady with a younger 
 woman, who seemed to be her maid. The 
 road they had taken led to Stratleigh, a 
 small watering-place eighteen miles north. 
 
 He heard the manor-house gates swing 
 again, and looking up saw another person
 
 224 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 leaving them, and Avalking off in the direc- 
 tion of the parsonage. ' Ah, how much I 
 wish I were moving that way!' felt he, par- 
 enthetically. The gentleman was tall, and 
 resembled ^Ir. Swancourt in outline and 
 attire. He opened the vicarage gate and 
 went in. Mr. Swancourt, then, it certainly 
 was. Instead of remaining in bed that morn- 
 ing, Mr. Swancourt must have taken it into 
 his head to see his new neighbour off on a 
 journey. 
 
 The carrier's conveyance had pulled up, 
 and Stephen now handed in his portmanteau 
 and mounted the shafts. ' Who is that lady 
 in the carriage?' he inquired indifferently 
 of Lickpan the carrier. 
 
 ' That, sir, is Mrs. Troyton, a widder wi' 
 a mint o' money. She's the owner of all 
 that part of Endelstow that is not Lord 
 Luxellian's. Only been here a short time, 
 as the saying is : she came into it by law. 
 The owner formerly was a terrible myste- 
 rious party — never lived here — hardly ever
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 225 
 
 was seen here except in the month of 
 September, as I might say.' 
 
 The horses were started again, and noise 
 rendered further discourse a matter of too 
 great exertion. Stephen crept inside under 
 the tilt, and was soon lost in reverie. 
 
 Three hours and a half of straining up 
 hills and ioo-ainD; down brouo:ht them to 
 St. Kirrs, the market- to^\Ti and railway- 
 station nearest to Endelstow, and the place 
 from which Stephen Smith had journeyed 
 over the downs on the, to him, memorable 
 winter evening at the beginning of the same 
 year. The carrier's van was so timed as to 
 meet a starting up-train, which Stephen 
 entered. Two or three hours' railway 
 travel through vertical cuttings in meta- 
 morphic rock, through oak copses rich and 
 green, stretching over slopes and down 
 delightful valleys, glens, and ravines, spark- 
 ling with water like many-rilled Ida, and 
 he plunged amid the hundred and fifty 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 A PAIR OF BLUE ET£S. 
 
 thousand people comprising the town of 
 Plymouth. 
 
 There being some time upon his hands, 
 he left his luggage at the cloak-room, and 
 went on foot along Bedford-street to the 
 nearest church. Here Stephen wandered 
 among the multifarious tombstones and 
 looked in at the chancel ^Yindow, dreaming 
 of something that was likely to transpire by 
 the altar there in the course of the comino: 
 month. He turned away and ascended the 
 Hoe, viewed the magnificent stretch of sea . 
 and massive promontories of land, but with- 
 out particularly discerning one feature of 
 the varied perspective. He still saw that 
 inner prospect — the event he hoped for in 
 yonder church. The wide Sound, the Break- 
 water, the lighthouse on far off Eddystone, 
 the dark steam-vessels, brigs, barques, and 
 schooners, either floating stilly or gliding 
 with tiniest motion, were as the dream then ; 
 the dreamed-of event was as the reality. 
 Soon Stephen went down from the Hoe,
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 227 
 
 and returned in the direction whence he 
 had come. 
 
 That day was an irksome time at Endel- 
 stow vicarao;e. Neither father nor dauo^h- 
 ter alUided to the departure of Stephen. 
 Mr. Swancourt's manner towards her par- 
 took of the compunctious kindness that 
 arises from a misgiving as to the justice of 
 some previous act. 
 
 Either from lack of the capacity to grasp 
 the whole coup cToeil^ or from a natural 
 endowment for certain kinds of stoicism, 
 women are cooler than men in critical situa- 
 tions of the passive form. Probably, in 
 Elfride's case at least, it was blindness to 
 the greater contingencies of the future she 
 was preparing for herself, which enabled 
 her to ask her father in a quiet voice if he 
 could give her a holiday soon, to ride to St» 
 Kirrs and go on to Plymouth. 
 
 Now, she had only once before gone 
 alone to Plymouth, and that was in con-
 
 228 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 sequence of some unavoidable difficulty. 
 Being a country-girl, and a good, not to say 
 a wild horsewoman, it had been her delight 
 to canter, without the ghost of an attendant, 
 over the twelve or fourteen miles of hard 
 road intervening between their home and 
 the station at St. Kirrs, put up the horse, 
 and go on the remainder of the distance by 
 train, returning in the same manner in the 
 evening. It was then resolved that, though 
 she had successfully accomplished this jour- 
 ney once, it was not to be repeated without 
 some attendance. 
 
 But Elfride must not be confounded 
 mth ordinary young-lady equestrians. The 
 circumstances of her lonely and narrow life 
 made it imperative that in trotting about 
 the neighbourhood she must trot alone or 
 else not at all. Usage soon rendered this 
 perfectly natural to herself. Her father, 
 who had had other experiences, did not 
 much like the idea of a Swancourt, whose 
 pedigree could be as distinctly traced as a
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 229 
 
 thread in a skein of silk, scampering over 
 the hills like a farmer's daughter, even 
 though he could habitually neglect her. 
 But what ^vith his not being able to afford 
 her a regular attendant, and his inveterate 
 habit of letting anything be to save himself 
 trouble, the circumstance grew customary. 
 And so there arose a chronic notion in the 
 villagers' minds that all ladies rode without 
 an attendant, like Miss Swancourt, except 
 a few who were sometimes visiting at Lord 
 Luxellian's. 
 
 ' I don't like your going to Plymouth 
 alone, -particularly going to St. Kirrs on 
 horseback. Why not drive, and take the 
 man ?' 
 
 'It is not nice to be so overlooked.' 
 Worm's company would not seriously have 
 interfered with her plans, but it was her 
 humour to go without him. 
 
 'When do you want to go?' said her 
 father. 
 
 She only answered, ' Soon.'
 
 230 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' I will consider/ he said. 
 Only a few days elapsed before she asked 
 ao'ain. A letter had reached her from 
 
 o 
 
 Stephen. It had been timed to come on 
 that day by special arrangement between 
 them. In it he named the earliest morning 
 on which he could meet her in Plymouth. 
 Her father had been on a journey to Strat- 
 leigh, and returned in unusual buoyancy 
 of spirit. It was a good opportunity ; and 
 since the dismissal of Stephen, her father 
 had been generally in a mood to make small 
 concessions, that he might steer clear of 
 large ones connected with that outcast lover 
 of hers. 
 
 ' Next Thursday week I am going from 
 home in a different direction,' said her fa- 
 ther. ' In fact, I shall leave home the night 
 before. You might choose the same day, 
 for they wish to take up the carpets, or some 
 such thing, I think. As I said, I don't like 
 you to be seen in a town on horseback 
 alone; but go if you will.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 231 
 
 Thursday week. Her father had named 
 the very day that Stephen also had named 
 that morning as the earliest on which it 
 would be of any use to meet her ; that was, 
 about fifteen days from the day on which 
 he had left Endelstow. Fifteen days — that 
 fragment of duration which has acquired 
 such an interesting individuality from its 
 connection with the English marriage-law. 
 
 She involuntarily looked at her father so 
 strangely, that on becoming conscious of the 
 look she paled vnth. embarrassment. Her 
 father, too, looked confused. What was he 
 thinking of? 
 
 There seemed to be a special facility of- 
 fered her by a power external to herself in 
 the circumstance that Mr. Swancourt had 
 proposed to leave home the night previous 
 to her wished-for day. Her father seldom 
 took long journeys ; seldom slept from home 
 except perhaps on the night following a re- 
 mote Visitation. Well, she would not in- 
 quire too curiously into the reason of the
 
 232 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 opportunity, nor did he, as would have been 
 natural, proceed to explain it of his own ac- 
 cord. In matters of fact there had hitherto 
 been no reserve between them, though they 
 were not usually confidential in its full sense. 
 But the divergence of their emotions on Ste- 
 phen's account had produced an estrange- 
 ment which just at present went even to 
 the extent of reticence on the most ordinary 
 household topics. 
 
 Elfride was almost unconsciously re- 
 lieved, persuading herself that her father's 
 reserve on his business justified her in se- 
 crecy as regarded her own — a secrecy which 
 was necessarily a foregone decision with her. 
 So anxious is a young conscience to discover 
 a palliative, that the ex post facto nature of 
 a reason is of no account in excludinor it. 
 
 The intervening fortnight was spent by 
 her mostly in walking by herself among the 
 shrubs and trees, indulging sometimes in 
 sanguine anticipations ; more, far more, fre- 
 quently, in misgivings. All her flowers
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 233 
 
 seemed dull of hue; her pets seemed to look 
 wistfully into her eyes, as if they no longer 
 stood in the same friendly relation to her as 
 formerly. She wore melancholy jewelry, 
 gazed at sunsets, and talked to old men and 
 women. It was the first time that she had 
 had an inner and private world apart from 
 the visible one about her. She wished her 
 papa, instead of neglecting her even more 
 than usual, would make some advance— just 
 one word ; she would then tell all, and risk 
 Stephen's displeasure. Thus brought round 
 to the youth again, she saw him in her fancy, 
 standing, touching her, his eyes full of sad 
 affection, hopelessly renouncing his attempt 
 because she had renounced hers; and she 
 could not recede. 
 
 On the Wednesday she was to receive 
 another letter. She had resolved to let her 
 father see the arrival of this one, be the 
 consequences what they might : the dread 
 of losing her lover by this deed of honesty 
 prevented her acting upon the resolve. Five
 
 234 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 minutes before the postman^s expected ar- 
 rival, she slipped out, and do'wn the lane to 
 meet him. She met him immediately upon 
 turning a sharp angle, which hid her from 
 vievf in the direction of the vicarage. The 
 man smilingly handed one missive, and was 
 going on to hand another, a circular from 
 some tradesman. 
 
 ' Xo,' she said ; ' take that on to the 
 house.' 
 
 'Why, miss, you are doing what your 
 father has done for the last fortnight.' 
 
 She did not comprehend. 
 
 'Why, come to this corner, and take a 
 letter of me every morning, all writ in the 
 same handwriting, and letting any others 
 for him go on to the house.' And on the 
 postman went. 
 
 No sooner had he turned the comer be- 
 hind her back than she heard her father 
 meet and address the man. She had saved 
 her letter by two minutes. Her father audi- 
 bly went through precisely the same per-
 
 A PAIR OF BLIJE EYES. 235 
 
 formance as she had just been guilty of her- 
 self. 
 
 This stealthy conduct of his was, to say 
 the least, peculiar. 
 
 Given an impulsive inconsequent girl, 
 neglected as to her inner life by her only 
 parent, and the following forces alive within 
 her ; to determine a resultant : 
 
 First love acted upon by a deadly fear 
 of separation from its object. 
 
 Inexperience, guiding onward a frantic 
 wish to prevent the above-named issue. 
 
 Misgivings as to propriety, met by hope 
 of ultimate exoneration. 
 
 Indignation at parental inconsistency in 
 first encouraging, then forbidding. 
 
 A chilling sense of disobedience, over- 
 powered by a conscientious inabihty to 
 brook a breaking of plighted faith with a 
 man who, in essentials, had remained unal- 
 tered from the beo^innino^.
 
 236 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 A blessed hope that opposition would 
 turn an erroneous judc^ment. 
 
 A bright faith that things would mend 
 thereby, and wind up well. 
 
 Probably the result Avould, after all, have 
 been nil, had not the following few remarks 
 been made one day at breakfast. 
 
 Her father was in his old hearty spirits. 
 He smiled to himself at stories too bad to 
 tell, and called Elfride a little scamp for 
 surreptitiously preserving some blind kittens 
 that ought to have been drowned. .A.fter 
 this expression, she said to him suddenly : 
 
 * If Mr. Smith had been already in the 
 family, you would not have been made 
 wretched by discovering he had poor rela- 
 tions ?' 
 
 *Do you mean in the family by mar- 
 riage ?' he replied inattentively, and con- 
 tinuing to peel his eg^. 
 
 The accumulating scarlet told that was 
 her meaning, as much as the affirmative 
 reply.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 237 
 
 ' I should have put up with it no doubt,' 
 Mr. Swancourt observed. 
 
 ' So that you would not have been driven 
 into hopeless melancholy, but have made the 
 best of him ?' 
 
 Elfride's erratic mind had from her 
 youth upwards been constantly in the habit 
 of perplexing her father by hypothetical 
 questions, based on absurd conditions. The 
 present seemed to be cast so precisely in the 
 mould of previous ones that, not being given 
 to svntheses of circumstance, he answered it 
 with customary complacency. 
 
 ' If he were allied to us irretrievably, of 
 course I, or any sensible man, should accept 
 conditions that could not be altered ; cer- 
 tainly not be hopelessly melancholy about it. 
 I don't believe anything in the world would 
 make me hopelessly melancholy. And don't 
 let anything make you so, either.' 
 
 '■ I won't, papa,' she cried, with a serene 
 brightness that pleased him. 
 
 Certainly Mr. Swancourt must have been
 
 238 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 far from thinking that the brightness came 
 from an exhilarating intention to hold back 
 no longer from the mad actioti she had 
 planned. 
 
 In the evening he drove away towards 
 Stratleigh, quite alone. It was an unusual 
 course for him. At the door Elfride had 
 been again almost impelled by her feelings 
 to pour out all. 
 
 ' Why are you going to Stratleigh, papa?' 
 she said, and looked at him longingly. 
 
 ' I wiU tell you to-morrow when I come 
 back,' he said merrily; ^not before then, 
 Elfride. Thou wilt not utter what thou 
 dost not know, and so far will I trust thee, 
 gentle Elfride.' 
 
 She was repressed and hurt. 
 
 ' I will tell you my errand to Plymouth, 
 too, when I come back,' she murmured. 
 
 He went away. His merriment made 
 her intention seem the lighter, as his indif- 
 ference made her more resolved to do as she 
 liked.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 239 
 
 It was a familiar September sunset, dark- 
 blue fragments of cloud upon an orange- 
 yellow sky. These sunsets used to tempt 
 her to walk towards them, as any beautiful 
 thing tempts a near approach. She went 
 through the field to the privet hedge, clam- 
 bered into the middle of it, and reclined 
 upon the thick boughs. After looking west- 
 ward for a considerable time, she blamed 
 herself for not looking eastward to where 
 Stephen was, and turned round. Ultimately 
 her eyes fell upon the ground. 
 
 A peculiarity was observable beneath 
 her. A green field spread itself on each side 
 of the hedge, one belonging to the glebe, 
 the other a part of the land attached to the 
 manor-house adjoining. On the vicarage 
 side she saw a little footpath, the distinctive 
 and altogether exceptional feature of which 
 consisted in its being only about ten yards 
 long, and terminating abruptly at each 
 end. 
 
 A footpath, suddenly beginning and sud-
 
 240 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 denly ending, coming from nowhere and 
 leading nowhere, she had never seen be- 
 fore. 
 
 Yes, she had, on second thoughts. She 
 had seen exactly such a path trodden in the 
 front of barracks by the sentry. 
 
 And this recollection explained the 
 origin of the path here. Her father had 
 trodden it by passing up and down, as she 
 had once seen him doing. 
 
 Sitting on the hedge as she was, her eyes 
 commanded a view of both sides of it. And 
 a few minutes later, Elfride looked over to 
 the manor side. 
 
 Here was another sentry path. It was 
 like the first in length, and it began and 
 ended exactly opposite the beginning and 
 ending of its neighbour, but it was thinner, 
 and less distinct. 
 
 Two reasons existed for the difference. 
 This one might have been trodden by a 
 similar weight of tread to the other, exer- 
 cised a less number of times ; or it might
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 241 
 
 have been walked just as frequently, but by 
 lighter feet. 
 
 Probably a gentleman from Scotland- 
 yard, had he been passing at the time, might 
 have considered the latter alternative as the 
 more probable. Elfride thought otherwise, 
 so far as she thought at all. But her own 
 great To-Morrow was now imminent; all 
 thoughts inspired by casual sights of the 
 eye were only allowed to exercise them- 
 selves in inferior corners of her brain, pre- 
 vious to being banished altogether. 
 
 Elfride was at length compelled to rea- 
 son practically upon her undertaking. All 
 her definite perceptions thereon, when the 
 emotion accompanying them was abstracted, 
 amounted to no more than these : 
 
 ' Say an hour and three-quarters to ride 
 to St. Kirrs. 
 
 ' Say half an hour at the Falcon to change 
 my dress. 
 
 'Say two hours waiting for some train 
 and getting to Plymouth. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 242 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ' Say an hour to spare before twelve 
 o'clock. 
 
 ^ Total time from leaving Endelstow till 
 twelve o'clock, five hours. 
 
 'Therefore I shall have to start at seven.' 
 
 No surprise or sense of unwontedness 
 entered the minds of the servants at her 
 early ride. The monotony of life we asso- 
 ciate with people of small incomes in dis- 
 tricts out of the sound of the rail way- whis- 
 tle, has one exception, which puts into shade 
 the experience of dwellers about the great 
 centres of population — that is, in t?ra veiling. 
 Every journey there, is more or less an ad- 
 venture ; adventurous hours are necessarily 
 chosen for the most commonplace outing. 
 Miss Elfride had to leave early — that was 
 aU. 
 
 Elfride never went out on horseback but 
 she brought home something — something 
 found, or something bought. If she trotted 
 to town or village, her burden was books.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 243 
 
 If to hills, woods, or the seashore, it was 
 wonderful mosses, abnormal twigs, a hand- 
 kerchief of wet shells or seaweed. 
 
 Once, on a muddy day, when Pansy was 
 walking with her do^^Ti the street of Stran- 
 ton village, on a fair-day, a packet in front 
 of her and a packet under her arm, an acci- 
 dent befell the packets, and they slipped 
 dow^i. On one side of her, three volumes 
 of fiction lay kissing the mud ; on the other, 
 numerous skeins of ]3olychrome wools lay 
 absorbing it. Unpleasant females smiled 
 through windows at the mishap, the men 
 all looked round, and a boy, who was mind- 
 ing a gingerbread stall whilst the owner had 
 gone to get drunk, laughed loudly. The 
 blue eyes turned to sapphires, and the 
 cheeks crimsoned with vexation. 
 
 After that misadventure she set her wils 
 to work, and was ingenious enough to in- 
 vent an arrangement of small straps about 
 the saddle, by which a great deal could be 
 safely carried thereon, in a small compass.
 
 244 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Here she now spread out and fastened a 
 plain dark walking-dress and a few other 
 trifles of apparel, ^yorm opened the gate 
 for her, and she vanished away. 
 
 One of the brightest mornings of late 
 summer shone upon her. The heather was 
 at its purplest, the furze at its yellowest, 
 the grasshoppers chirped loud enough for 
 birds, the snakes hissed like little enorines 
 and Elfride at first felt lively. Sitting at 
 ease upon Pansy, in her orthodox riding- 
 habit and nondescript hat, she looked what 
 she felt. But the mercury of those days 
 had a trick of falling unexpectedly. First, 
 only for one minute in ten had she a sense 
 of depression. Then a large cloud, that had 
 been hancrins: in the north like a black fleece, 
 came and placed itself between herself and 
 the sun. It helped on what was already 
 inevitable, and she sank into a uniformity 
 of sadness. 
 
 She turned in the saddle and looked 
 back. They were now on an open table- 
 
 i
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 245 
 
 land, whose altitude still gave her a view of 
 the sea by Endelstow. She looked longingly 
 at that spot. 
 
 Durino^ this little revulsion of feelino^, 
 Pansy had been still advancing, and Elfride 
 felt it would be absurd to turn her little 
 mare's head the other way. ^ Still,' she 
 thought, ^ if I had a mamma at home I icoidd 
 go back!' 
 
 And making one of those stealthy move- 
 ments by which women let their hearts jug- 
 gle with their brains, she did put the horse's 
 head about, as if unconsciously, and went at 
 a hand-gallop towards home for more than 
 a mile. By this time, from the inveterate 
 habit of valuing what we have renounced 
 directly the alternative is chosen, the 
 thought of her forsaken Stephen recalled 
 her, and she turned about, and cantered on 
 to St. Kirrs again. 
 
 This miserable strife of thought now 
 began to rage in all its wildness. Over- 
 wrought and trembling, she dropped the
 
 246 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 rein upon Pansy's shoulders, and vowed she 
 would be led whither the horse would take 
 her. 
 
 Pansy slackened her pace to a walk, and 
 walked on with her aojitated burden for 
 three or four minutes. At the expiration 
 of this time they had come to a little by- 
 way on the right, leading down a slope to a 
 pool of water. The pony stopped, looked 
 towards the pool, and then advanced and 
 stooped to drink. 
 
 Elfride looked at her watch and dis- 
 covered that if she were going to reach St. 
 Kirrs early enough to change her dress at 
 the Falcon, and get a chance of some early 
 train to Plymouth — there were only two 
 available — it was necessary to proceed at 
 once. 
 
 She was impatient. It seemed as if 
 Pansy would never stop drinking; and the 
 repose of the pool, the idle motions of the 
 insects and flies wpon it, the placid wa\dng 
 of the flags, the leaf-skeletons, like Genoese
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 247 
 
 filigree, placidly sleeping at the bottom, by 
 their contrast ^\^th her own turmoil made 
 her impatience greater. 
 
 Pansy did turn at last, and went up the 
 slope again to the high-road. The pony 
 came upon it, and stood crosswise, looking 
 up and down. Elfride's heart throbbed er- 
 ratically, and she thought, ' Horses, if left 
 to themselves, make for where they are best 
 fed. Pansy will go home.' 
 
 Pansy turned and walked on towards 
 St. Kirrs. 
 
 Pansy at home, during summer, had 
 little but grass to live on. After a run to 
 St. Kirrs she always had a feed of corn to 
 support her on the return journey. There- 
 fore, being now more than half-way, she 
 preferred St. Kirrs. 
 
 But Elfride did not remember this now. 
 All she cared to recognise was a dreamy 
 fancy that to-day's rash action was not her 
 own. She was disabled by her moods, and 
 it seemed indispensable to adhere to the
 
 248 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 programme. So strangely involved are mo- 
 tives that, more than by her promise to 
 Stephen, more even than by her love, she 
 was forced on by a sense of the necessity of 
 keeping faith '^^^ith herself, as promised in 
 the inane vow of ten minutes ago. 
 
 She hesitated no longer. Pansy went, 
 like the steed of Adonis, as if she told the 
 steps. Presently the quaint gables and 
 jumbled roofs of St. Kirrs were spread be- 
 neath her, and going down the hill she en- 
 tered the courtyard of the Falcon. Mrs. 
 Buckle, the landlady, came to the door to 
 meet her. 
 
 The Swancourts were well known here. 
 The transition from equestrian to the ordi- 
 nary guise of railway travellers had been 
 more than once performed by father and 
 daughter in this establishment. 
 
 In less than a quarter of an hour El- 
 fride emerged from the door in her walking- 
 dress, and went to the railway. She had 
 not told Mrs. Buckle anything as to her
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 249 
 
 intentions, and was supposed to have gone 
 out shopping. 
 
 An hour and forty minutes later, and 
 she was in Stephen's arms at the Plymouth 
 station. I^ot upon the platform — in the 
 secret retreat of a deserted waiting-room. 
 
 Stephen's face boded ill. He was pale 
 and despondent. 
 
 ^ What is the matter?' she asked. 
 
 ' We cannot be married here to-day, my 
 Elfie ! I ought to have known it and stayed 
 here. In my ignorance I did not. I have 
 the license, but it can only be used in my 
 parish in London. I only came down last 
 night, as you know.' 
 
 ' What ever shall we do ?' she said 
 blankly. 
 
 ' There's only one thing we can do, 
 darling.' 
 
 'What's that?' 
 
 ' Go on to London by a train just start- 
 ing, and be married there to-morrow.' 
 
 'Passengers for the 11.5 up-train take
 
 250 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 their seats!' said a guard's voice on the 
 platform. 
 
 'Will you go, Elfride?' 
 
 'iTvill.' 
 
 In three minutes the train had moved 
 off, bearing away with it Stephen and El- 
 fride.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 ^ adieu! she cries, and ttaved her lily 
 
 HAND.' 
 
 The few tattered clouds of the morning 
 enlarged and united, the sun withdrew be- 
 hind them to emerofe no more that day, 
 and the evening drew to a close in drifts of 
 rain. The water-drops beat Hke duck-shot 
 against the window of the railway- carriage 
 containing Stephen and Elfride. 
 
 The journey from Pl}Tnouth to Pad- 
 dington, by even the most headlong ex- 
 press, allows quite enough leisure for passion 
 of any sort to cool. ELfride's excitement 
 had passed off, and she sat in a kind of 
 stupor during the latter half of the journey. 
 She was aroused by the clanging of the
 
 252 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 maze of rails over which they wended their 
 way at the entrance to the station. 
 
 * Is this London?' she said. 
 
 ' Yes, darling,' said Stephen, in a tone 
 of assurance he was far from feeling. To 
 him, no less than to her, the reality so 
 greatly differed from the prefiguring. 
 
 She peered out as well as the window, 
 beaded with drops, would allow her, and 
 saw only the lamps, which had just been 
 lit, blinking in the wet atmosphere, and 
 rows of hideous zinc chimney-pipes in dim 
 relief against the sky. She writhed un- 
 easily, as when a thought is swelling in the 
 mind which must cause much pain at its 
 deliverance in words. Elfride had known 
 no more about the stings of evil report 
 than the native wild-fowl knew of the ef- 
 fects of Crusoe's first shot. Now she saw a 
 little farther, and a little farther still. 
 
 The train stopped. Stephen relinquished 
 the soft hand he had held all the day, and 
 proceeded to assist her on to the platform.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 253 
 
 This act of alighting upon strange 
 ground seemed all that was wanted to com- 
 plete a resolution within her. 
 
 She looked at her betrothed ^\ith de- 
 spairing eyes. 
 
 ' Stephen,' she exclaimed.' ' I am so 
 miserable ! I must go home again — I must 
 — I must I Forgive my wretched vacilla- 
 tion. I don t like it here — nor myself — nor 
 youl' 
 
 Stephen looked bewildered, and did not 
 speak. 
 
 'Will you allow me to go home?' she 
 implored. ' I won't trouble you to go with 
 me. I will not be any weight upon you ; 
 only say you ^vill agree to my returning ; 
 that you will not hate me for it, Stephen ! 
 It is better that I should return again ; in- 
 deed it is, Stephen.' 
 
 'But we can't return now,' he said, in a 
 deprecatory tone. 
 
 'I must! I will!' 
 
 'How? When do vou want to o;o?'
 
 254 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ^!N'ow. Can we go at once?' 
 
 The lad looked hopelessly along the 
 platform. 
 
 ' If you must go, and think it wrong to 
 remain, dearest,' said he sadly, 'you shall. 
 You shall do whatever you like, my Elfride. 
 But would you in reality rather go now 
 than stay till to-morrow, and go as my 
 wife? 
 
 ' Yes, yes — much — anything to go now. 
 I must ; I must !' she cried. 
 
 'We ought to have done one of two 
 things,' he answered gloomily. 'Never to 
 have started, or not to have returned with- 
 out being married. I don't like to say it, 
 Elfride — indeed I don't ; but you must be 
 told this, that going back unmarried may 
 compromise your good name in the eyes of 
 people who may hear of it.' 
 
 ' They will not; and I must go.' 
 
 ' Elfride ; I am to blame for bringing 
 you away !' 
 
 ' Not at all. I am the elder.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 255 
 
 ^By a month; and what's that? But 
 never mind that now.' He looked around. 
 ^Is there a train for Plymouth to-night?' 
 he inquired of a guard. The guard passed 
 on and did not speak. 
 
 'Is there a train for Plymouth to-night?' 
 said Elfride to another. 
 
 'Yes, miss; the 8.10 — leaves in ten 
 minutes. You have come to the wrono; 
 platform ; it is the other side. Change at 
 Bristol into the night mail. Down that 
 staircase, and under the line.' 
 
 They ran down the staircase — Elfride 
 first — to the booking-of&ce, and into a car- 
 riage with an official standing beside the 
 door. ' Show your tickets, please' — they are 
 locked in — men about the platform accele- 
 rate their velocities till they fly up and 
 down like shuttles in a loom — a wiiistle — 
 the waving of a flag — a human cry — a steam 
 groan — and away they go to Plymouth 
 again, just catching these words, as they 
 glide off,
 
 256 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 ^ Those two youngsters had a near run 
 for it, and no mistake !' 
 
 Elfride found her breath. 
 
 ' And have you come too, Stephen ? 
 Why did you?' 
 
 ' I shall not leave you till I see you safe 
 at St. Kirrs. Do not think worse of me 
 than I am, Elfride.' 
 
 And then they rattled along through 
 the night. The weather cleared, and the 
 stars shone in upon them. Their two or 
 three fellow-passengers sat for most of the 
 time with closed eyes. Stephen sometimes 
 slept; Elfride alone was wakeful and palpi- 
 tating hour after hour. 
 
 The day began to break, and revealed 
 that they were by the sea. Red rocks over- 
 hung them, and, receding into distance, 
 grew livid in the blue-gray atmosphere. 
 The sun rose, and sent penetrating shafts 
 of light in upon their weary faces. Another 
 hour, and the world began to be busy. 
 They waited yet a little, and the train
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 257 
 
 slackened its speed in view of the platform 
 at St. Kirrs. 
 
 She shivered, and mused sadly. 
 
 ' I did not see all the consequences,' she 
 said. 'Appearances are wofuUy against me. 
 If anybody jfinds me out, I am, I suppose, 
 disgraced.' 
 
 ' Then appearances will speak falsely ; 
 and how can that matter, even if they do ? 
 I shall be your husband sooner or later, for 
 certain, and so prove your purity.' 
 
 ' Stephen, once in London I ought to 
 have married you,' she said firmly. ' It was 
 my only safe defence. I see more things 
 now than I did yesterday. My only re- 
 maining chance is not to be discovered ; and 
 that we must fight for most desperately.' 
 
 They stepped out. Elfride pulled a 
 thick veil over her face. 
 
 A woman with red and scaly eyelids and 
 glistening eyes was sitting on a bench just 
 inside the office-door. She fixed her eyes 
 upon Elfride ^vith an expression whose force 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 it was impossible to doubt, but the meaning 
 of which was not clear ; then upon the 
 carriage they had left. She seemed to 
 read a sinister story in the scene. 
 
 Elfride shrank back, and turned the 
 other way. 
 
 'Who is that woman?' said Stephen. 
 ' She looked hard at you.' 
 
 'Mrs. Jethway — a widow, and mother of 
 that young man whose tomb we sat on the 
 other night. Stephen, she is my enemy. 
 Would that God had had mercy enough 
 upon me to have hidden this from her /' 
 
 ' Do not talk so hopelessly,' he remon- 
 strated. ' I don't think she recognised us.' 
 
 ' I pray that she did not.' 
 
 He put on a more vigorous mood. 
 
 * Now we will go and get some break- 
 fast.' 
 
 'No, no!' she begged. 'I cannot eat. 
 I must ^^i back to Endelstow.' 
 
 Elfride was as if she had gro-^vn years 
 older than Stephen now.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 259 
 
 ' But you have had nothing since last 
 night but that cup of tea at Bristol.' 
 
 'I can't eat, Stephen.' 
 
 ' AVine and biscuit ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Nor tea, nor coffee ?' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' A glass of water ?' 
 
 'No. I want something that makes peo- 
 ple strong and energetic for the present, that 
 borrows the strength of to-morrow for use 
 to-day — leaving to-morrow without any at 
 all for that matter ; or even that would take 
 all life away to-morrow, so long as it en- 
 abled me to get home again now. Brandy, 
 that's what I want. That woman's eyes 
 have eaten my heart away !' 
 
 ' You are wild ; and you grieve me, dar- 
 ling. Must it be brandy?' 
 
 ' Yes, if you please.' 
 
 'How much?' 
 
 'I don't know. I have never drunk 
 more than a teaspoonful at once. All I
 
 260 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 know is that 1 want it. Don't get it at the 
 Falcon.' 
 
 He left her in the fields, and went to 
 the nearest inn in that direction. Presently 
 he returned with a small flask nearly full, 
 and some slices of bread-and-butter, thin 
 as wafers, in a paj^er-bag. Elfride took a 
 sip or two. 
 
 ' It goes into my eyes,' she said wearily. 
 ' I can't take any more. Yes, I will ; I will 
 close my eyes. Ah, it goes to them by an 
 inside route. I don't want it; throw it away.' 
 
 However, she could eat, and did eat. 
 Her chief attention was concentrated upon 
 how to get the horse from the Falcon sta- 
 bles without suspicion. Stephen was not 
 alloAved to accompany her into the town. 
 She acted now upon conclusions reached 
 mthout an}^ aid from him : his power over 
 her seemed to have departed. 
 
 'You had better not be seen with me, 
 even here where I am so little known. We 
 have begun stealthily as thieves, and we
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 261 
 
 must end stealthilj^ as thieves, at all hazards. 
 Until papa has been told by me myself, a 
 discovery would be terrible.' 
 
 Walking and gloomily talking thus they 
 waited till nearly nine o'clock, at which 
 time Elfride thought she might call at the 
 Falcon without creating much surprise. 
 Behind the railway-station was the river, 
 spanned by an old Tudor bridge, whence 
 the road diverged in two directions, one 
 skirting the suburbs of the town, and wind- 
 ing round again into the high-road to En- 
 delstow. Beside this road Stephen sat, and 
 awaited her return from the Falcon. 
 
 He sat as one sitting for a portrait, mo- 
 tionless, watching the chequered lights and 
 shades on the tree-trunks, the children play- 
 ing opposite the school previous to entering 
 for the morning lesson, the reapers in a field 
 afar off. The certainty of possession had 
 not come, and there was nothing to mitigate 
 the youth's gloom, that increased with the 
 thought of the parting now so near.
 
 2C2 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 At length she came trotting round to 
 him, in appearance much as on the roman- 
 tic morning of their visit to the cliff, but 
 shorn of the radiance which glistened about 
 her then. However, her comparative im- 
 munity from further risk and trouble had 
 considerably composed her. Elfride's capa- 
 city for being wounded was only surpassed 
 by her capacity for healing, which rightly 
 or wrongly is by some considered an index 
 of transientness of feeling in general. 
 
 ' Elfride, what did they say at the Fal- 
 con?' 
 
 ' Xothing. Xobody seemed curious 
 about me. They knew I went to Plymouth, 
 and I have stayed there a night now and 
 then with Miss Bicknell. I rather calcu- 
 lated upon that' 
 
 And now parting arose like a death to 
 these children, for it was imperative that 
 she should start at once. Stephen w^alked 
 beside her for nearly a mile. During the 
 walk he said sadly :
 
 A PAIE OF BLUE EYES. 263 
 
 ' Elfride, four -and -twenty hours have 
 passed, and the thing is not done,' 
 
 ' But you have insured that it shall be 
 done.' 
 
 ^ How have I?' 
 
 ^ Stephen, you ask how ! Do you think 
 I could marry another man on earth after 
 having gone thus far with you? Have I not 
 shown beyond porjsibility of doubt that I can 
 be nobody else's ? Have I not irretrievably 
 committed myself ? — pride has stood for no- 
 thing in the face of my great love. You 
 misunderstood my turning back, and I can- 
 not explain it. It was wrong to go with 
 3^ou at all ; and though it would have 
 been worse to go farther, it would have 
 been better policy, perhaps. Be assured of 
 this, that whenever you have a home for 
 me — however poor and humble — and come 
 and claim me, I am ready.' She added bit- 
 terly, ' When my father knows of this day^s 
 work, he may be only too glad to let me 
 
 go.'
 
 264 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 * Perhaps he may, then, insist upon our 
 marriage at once !' Stephen answered, seeing 
 a ray of hope in the very focus of her re- 
 morse. ' I hope he may, even if we had 
 still to part till I am ready for you, as we 
 intended.' 
 
 Elfride did not reply. 
 
 'You don't seem the same woman, El- 
 fie, that you were yesterday.' 
 
 'Xor am I. But good-bye. Go back 
 now.' And she reined the horse for parting* 
 '0 Stephen,' she cried, 'I feel so weak. I 
 don't know how to meet him. Cannot you, 
 after all, come back with me?' 
 
 ' Shall I come ?' 
 
 Elfride paused to think. 
 
 ' No ; it will not do. It is my utter 
 foolishness that makes me say such words. 
 But he will send for you.' 
 
 ' Say to him,' continued Stephen, ' that 
 we did this in the absolute despair of our 
 minds. Tell him we don't wish him to 
 favour us — only to deal justly with us. If
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 265 
 
 he says, marry now, so much the better. If 
 not, say that all may be put right by his 
 promise to allow me to have you when I 
 am good enough for }'ou — which may be 
 soon. Say I have nothing to offer him in 
 exchange for his treasure — the more sorry 
 I; but all the love, and all the life, and all 
 the labour of an honest man shall be yours. 
 As to when this had better be told, I leave 
 you to judge.' 
 
 His words made her cheerful enough to 
 toy with her position. 
 
 'And if ill report should come, Stephen,' 
 she said, smiling, 'why, the orange -tree 
 must save me, as it saved virgins in St. 
 George's time from the poisonous breath of 
 the dragon. There, forgive me for forward- 
 ness : I am going.' 
 
 Then the boy and girl beguiled them- 
 selves with words of half-parting only. 
 
 ' Own wifie, God bless you till we meet 
 
 again I' 
 
 Till we meet again, good-bye !'
 
 266 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 And the pony went on, and she spoke 
 to him no more. He saw her figure dimin- 
 ish and her bhie veil grow gray — saw it 
 with the agonising sensations of a slow 
 death. 
 
 After thus parting from a man than 
 whom she knew none greater as yet,. Elfride 
 rode rapidly onwards, a tear being occasion- 
 ally shaken from her eyes into the road. 
 What yesterday had seemed so desirable, so 
 promising, even trifling, had now acquired 
 the complexion of a tragedy. 
 
 She saw the rocks and sea in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Endelstow, and heaved a sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 When she passed a field behind the 
 vicarao:e she heard the voices of Unitv and 
 William Worm. They were hanging a car- 
 pet upon a line. Unity was uttering a sen- 
 tence that concluded with Svhen Miss Elfride 
 comes.' 
 
 ' When d'ye expect her ?
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 267 
 
 ' Xot till evening now. She's safe enough 
 at Miss Bicknell's, bless ye.' 
 
 Elfride went round to the door. She 
 did not knock or ring ; and seeing nobody 
 to take the horse, Elfride led her round to 
 the yard, slipped off the bridle and saddle, 
 drove her towards the paddock, and turned 
 her in. Then Elfride crept indoors, and 
 looked into all the ground-floor rooms. Her 
 father was not there. 
 
 On the mantelpiece of the drawing-room 
 stood a letter addressed to her in his hand- 
 writing. She took it and read it as she 
 went up-stairs to change her habit. 
 
 * Stratleigh, Thursday. 
 
 'Dear Elfride, — On second thoughts I 
 will not return to-day, but only come as far 
 as Wadcombe. I shall be at home by to- 
 morrow afternoon, and bring a friend with 
 me. — Yours in haste, C. S.' 
 
 After making a quick toilet she felt more
 
 2G8 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 revived, though still suffering from a head- 
 ache. On going out of the door she met 
 Unity at the top of the stairs. 
 
 ' Miss Elfride I I said' to -myself 'tis 
 her sperrit! We didn't dream o' you not 
 coming home last night. You didn't say 
 anything about staying.' 
 
 'I intended to come home the same 
 evening, but altered my plan. I wished I 
 hadn't afterwards. Papa will be angry, I 
 suppose ?' 
 
 'Better not tell him, miss,' said Unity. 
 
 ' I do fear to,' she murmured. ' Unity^ 
 would you just begin telling him when he 
 comes home?' 
 
 ' What ! and get you into trouble ?' 
 
 ' I deserve it.' 
 
 ' Xo, indeed, I won't,' said Unity. ' It is 
 not such a mighty matter, Miss Elfride. I 
 says to myself, master's taking a hollerday^ 
 and because he's not been kind lately to 
 Miss Elfride, she — ' 
 
 ' Is imitating him. AYell, do as you like.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 269 
 
 And will you now bring me some lunch- 
 eon?' 
 
 After satisfying an appetite wliich the 
 fresh marine air had given her in its victory 
 over an agitated mind, she put on her hat 
 and went to the garden and summer-house. 
 She sat down, and leant with her head in a 
 corner. Here she fell asleep. 
 
 Half-awake, she hurriedly looked at the 
 time. She had been there three hours. At 
 the same moment she heard the outer irate 
 swing together, and wheels sweep round 
 the entrance; some prior noise from the 
 same source having probably been the cause 
 of her awaking. Xext her father's voice 
 was heard calling to AVorm. 
 
 EJfride passed along a walk towards the 
 house behind a belt of shrubs. She heard 
 a ton.'iue holding converse with her father, 
 which was not that of either of the servants. 
 Her father and the stranger were laughing 
 together. Then there was a rustling of silk, 
 and ^lv. Swancourt and his companion, or
 
 270 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 companions, to all seeming entered the door 
 of the house, for nothing more of them was 
 audible. Elfride had turned back to medi- 
 tate on what friends these could be, when 
 she heard footsteps, and her father exclaim- 
 ing behind her, 
 
 • Elfride, here you are ! I hope you 
 got on well ?' 
 
 Elfride's heart smote her, and she did 
 not speak. 
 
 'Come back to the summer-house a 
 minute,' continued Mr. Swancourt ; ' I have 
 to tell you of that I promised to.' 
 
 They entered the summer-house, and 
 stood leaning over the knotty woodwork of 
 the balustrade. 
 
 ' Now,' said her father radiantly, ' guess 
 what I have to say.' He seemed to be re- 
 garding his own existence so intently, that 
 he took no interest in nor even saw the 
 complexion of hers. 
 
 ' I cannot, papa,' she said sadly. 
 
 'Try, dear.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 271 
 
 ' I would rather not, indeed.' 
 
 ^ You are tired. You look worn. The 
 ride was too much for you. Well, this is 
 what I went away for. I went to be mar- 
 ried!' 
 
 'Married !' she faltered, and could hardly 
 check an involuntary ' So did I.' A moment 
 after and her resolve to confess perished 
 like a bubble. 
 
 ' Yes ; to whom do you think ? Mrs. 
 Troyton, the new owner of the estate over the 
 hedge, and of the old manor-house. It was 
 only finally settled between us when I went 
 to Stratleigh a few days ago.' He lowered 
 his voice to a sly tone of merriment. 'Xow, 
 as to your stepmother, you'll find she is not 
 much to look at, though a good deal to lis- 
 ten to. She is twenty years older than my- 
 self, for one thing.' 
 
 ' You forget that I know her. She 
 called here once, after we had been and 
 found her away from home.' 
 
 ' Of course, of course. Well, whatever
 
 272 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 her looks are, she's as excellent a woman as 
 ever breathed. She has had lately left her 
 as absolute property two thousand five hun- 
 dred a year, besides the devise of this estate 
 — and, b}^ the way, a large legacy came to 
 her in satisfaction of dower, as it is called. 
 
 ^ Two thousand five hundred a year !' 
 
 'And a large — well, a fair-sized — man- 
 sion in to^vn, and a pedigree as long as my 
 walking-stick ; though that bears evidence 
 of being rather a raked-up affair — done since 
 the family got rich — people do those things 
 now as they build ruins on maiden estates 
 and cast antiques at Birmingham.' 
 
 Elfride merely listened and said nothing. 
 
 He continued more quietly and impres- 
 sively. 'Yes, Elfride, she is wealthy in 
 comparison with us, though with few con- 
 nections. However, she will introduce you 
 to the world a little. We are going to ex- 
 change the house in Baker-street for one at 
 South Kensington, for your sake. Every- 
 body is going there now, she says. At
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 273 
 
 Easters we shall fly to town for the usual 
 three months — I shall have a curate of 
 course by that time. Elfride, I am past 
 love, you know, and I honestly confess that 
 I married her for your sake. Why a wo- 
 man of her standing should have thrown 
 herself away upon me, God knows. But I 
 suppose her age and plainness were too pro- 
 nounced for a town man. With your good 
 looks, if you now play your cards well, you 
 may marry anybody. Of course, a little 
 contrivance will be necessary ; but there's 
 nothing to stand between you and a hus- 
 band with a title, that I can see. Lady 
 Luxellian was only a squire's daughter. 
 Xow, don't you see how foolish the old 
 fancy was ? But come, she is indoors wait- 
 ing to see you. It is as good as a play, too,' 
 continued the vicar, as they walked towards 
 the house. ^ I courted her through the pri- 
 vet hedge yonder : not entirely, you know, 
 but we used to walk there of an evening — 
 nearly every evening at last. But I needn't 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 274 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 tell you details now; everything was ter- 
 ribly matter-of-fact, I assure you. At last, 
 that clay I saw her at Stratleigh, we deter- 
 mined to settle it ofF-hand.^ 
 
 " And you never said a word to me,' re- 
 plied Elfride, not reproachfully either in 
 tone or thought. Indeed, her feeling was 
 the very reverse of reproachful. She felt 
 relieved and even thankful. Where con- 
 fidence had not been given, how could con- 
 fidence be expected ? 
 
 Her father mistook her dispassionateness 
 for a veil of politeness over a sense of ill^ 
 usage. ' I am not altogether to blame,' he 
 said. ' There were two or three reasons for 
 secrecy. One was the recent death of her 
 relative the testator, though that did not 
 apply to you. But remember, Elfride,' he 
 ontinued in a stiiFcr tone, ' you had mixed 
 yourself up so foolishly with those low peo- 
 ple, the Smiths — and it was just, too, when 
 Mrs. Troyton and myself were beginning to 
 understand each other — that I resolved to
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 27'j 
 
 say nothing even to you. Hovr did I know 
 how far you had gone with them and their 
 son? You might have made a point of 
 taking tea with them every day, for all that 
 I knew.' 
 
 Elfride swallowed her feelings as she 
 best could, and languidly though flatly 
 asked a question. 
 
 ' Did you kiss Mrs. Troyton on the lawn 
 about three weeks ago? That evening I 
 came into the study and found you had just 
 had candles in?' 
 
 Mr. Swancourt looked rather red and 
 abashed, as middle-aged lovers are apt to 
 do when caught in the tricks of younger 
 ones. 
 
 'Well, yes; I think I did,' he stam- 
 mered; 'just to please her, you know.' 
 And then recovering himself he laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 ' And was this what your Horatian quo- 
 tation referred to ?' 
 
 * It was, Elfride.'
 
 27G A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 They stepped into the drawing-room 
 from the verandah. At that moment Mrs. 
 Swancoiirt came down-stairs, and entered 
 the same room by the door. 
 
 'Here, Charlotte, is my little Elfride,* 
 said Mr. Swan court, with the increased af- 
 fection of tone often adopted towards rela- 
 tions when newly produced. 
 
 Poor Elfride, not knowing what to do, 
 did nothing at all; but stood receptive of 
 all that came to her by sight, hearing, and 
 touch. 
 
 Mrs. Swancourt moved forward, took 
 her stepdaughter's hand, then kissed her. 
 
 'Ah, darling!' she exclaimed good hu- 
 mouredly, ' you didn't think when you 
 showed a strange old woman over the con- 
 servatory a month or two ago, and ex- 
 plained the flowers to her so prettily, that 
 she Avould so soon be here in new colours. 
 Nor did she, I am sure.' 
 
 The new mother had been truthfully 
 enough described by Mr. Swancourt. She
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 1 i I 
 
 was not physically attractive. She was 
 dark — very dark — in complexion, portly in 
 figure, and with a plentiful residuum of 
 hair in the proportion of half a dozen white 
 ones to half a dozen black ones, though the 
 latter were black indeed. Xo further ob- 
 served, she was not a woman to like. But 
 there was more to see. To the most super- 
 ficial critic it was apparent that she made 
 no attempt to disguise her age. She looked 
 sixty at the first glance, and close acquaint- 
 anceship never proved her older. 
 
 Another and still more winning trait 
 was one attaching to the corners of her 
 mouth. Before she made a remark these 
 often twitched gently: not backwards and 
 forwards, the index of nervousness; not 
 do^^Ti upon the jaw, the sign of determina- 
 tion ; but palpably upwards, in precisely 
 the curve adopted to represent mirth in the 
 broad caricatures of schoolboys. Only this 
 element in her face was expressive of any- 
 thing within the woman, but it was unmis-
 
 278 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 takable. It expressed humour subjective as 
 well as objective — which could survey the 
 peculiarities of self in as whimsical a light 
 as those of other people. 
 
 This is not all of Mrs. Swancourt. She 
 had held out to Elfride hands whose fingers 
 were literally stiff with rings, signis auroque 
 rigentes^ like Helen's robe. These rows of 
 rings were not worn in vanity apparently. 
 They were mostly antique and dull, though 
 a few were the reverse. 
 
 EIGHT HAND. 
 
 •1st. Plainly set oval onyx, representing 
 a devil's head. 2nd. Green jasper intaglio, 
 with red veins. 3rd. Entirely gold, bearing 
 figure of a hideous griffin. 4th. A sea-green 
 monster diamond, with small diamonds- 
 round it. 5 th. Antique cornelian intaglio 
 of dancing figure of a satyr. 6th. An an- 
 gular band chased with dragons' heads. 7th. 
 A facetted carbuncle, accompanied by ten 
 little twinkling emeralds; &c. &c.
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 279 
 
 LEFT HAND. 
 
 1st. A reddish -yellow toadstone. 2nd. 
 A heavy ring enamelled in colours, and 
 bearing a jacynth. 3rd. An amethystine 
 sapphire. 4th. A polished ruby, surrounded 
 by diamonds. 5th. The engraved ring of an 
 abbess. 6th. A gloomy intaglio ; &c. &c. 
 
 Beyond this rather quaint array of stone 
 and metal, Mrs. Swancourt wore no orna- 
 ment whatever. 
 
 Elfride had been favourably impressed 
 with Mrs. Troy ton at their meeting about 
 two months earlier ; but to be pleased ^Yith 
 a woman as a momentary acquaintance was 
 diiFerent from being taken with her as a step- 
 mother. However, the suspension of feeling 
 was but for a moment. Elfride decided to 
 like her still. 
 
 Mrs. Swancourt was a woman, of the 
 world as to knowledge, the reverse as to 
 action, as her marriage suggested. Elfride 
 and the lady were soon inextricably involved
 
 280 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 in conversation, and Mr. Swancourt left them 
 to themselves. 
 
 ^ And what do you find to do with your- 
 self here?' Mrs. Swancourt said, after a few 
 remarks about the wedding. 'You ride, I 
 know.' 
 
 'Yes, I ride. But not much, because 
 papa doesn't like my going alone.' 
 
 ' You must have an attendant.' 
 
 ' And I read, and write a little.' 
 
 ' You should write a novel. The regular 
 resource of people who don't go enough into 
 the world to live a novel, is to write one.' 
 
 ' I have,' said Elfride, looking dubiously 
 »at Mrs. Swancourt, as if in doubt whether 
 she would meet with ridicule there. 
 
 'That's right. Xow then, what is it 
 about, dear?' 
 
 'About — well, it is a romance of the 
 Middle Ages.' 
 
 ' Knowing nothing of the present age, 
 which everybody knows about, for safety 
 you chose an age known neither to you
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 281 
 
 nor other people. That's it, eh ? Xo, no ; I 
 don't mean it, clear.' 
 
 ' Well, I have had some opportunities of 
 studying media3Yal art and manners in the 
 library and private museum at Endelstow 
 House, and I thought I should like to try 
 my hand upon a fiction. I know the time 
 for these tales is past; but I was interested 
 in it, very much interested.' 
 
 'When is it to appear?' 
 
 ' 0, never, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, my dear girl. Publish it by 
 all means. All ladies do that sort of thing 
 now ; not for profit, you know, but as a 
 guarantee of mental respectability to their 
 future husbands.' 
 
 ' An excellent idea of us ladies.' 
 
 ' Though I am afraid it rather resembles 
 the melancholv ruse of throwino: loaves 
 over castle walls at besiegers, and suggests 
 desperation rather than plenty inside.' 
 
 ' Did you ever try it ?' 
 
 ' No ; I was too far gone even for that.'
 
 282 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'Papa says no publisher will take my 
 book.' 
 
 'That remains to be proved. I'll give 
 my word, my dear, that by this time next 
 year it shall be printed.' 
 
 'Will you, indeed?' said Elfride, par- 
 tially brightening with pleasure, though she 
 was sad enough in her depths. ' I thought 
 brains were the indispensable, even if the 
 only, qualification for admission to the re- 
 public of letters. A mere commonplace 
 creature like me will soon be turned out 
 again.' 
 
 '0, no; once you are there you'll be 
 like a drop of water in a piece of rock- 
 crystal — your medium will dignify your 
 commonness.' 
 
 ' It will be a great satisfaction,' Elfride 
 murmured, and thought of Stephen, and 
 wished she could make a great fortune by 
 ^vi'iting romances, and marry him and live 
 happily. 
 
 ' And then we'll go to London, and then
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 283 
 
 to Paris,' said Mrs. Swancourt. 'I have 
 been talking to your father about it. But 
 we have first to move into the manor-house, 
 and we think of stapng at Torquay whilst 
 that is going on. Meanwhile, instead of go- 
 ing on a honeymoon scamper by ourselves, 
 we have come home to fetch you, and go 
 all together to Bath for two or three weeks.' 
 
 Elfride assented pleasantly, even gladly ; 
 but she saw that, by this marriage, her 
 father and herself had ceased for ever to be 
 the close relations they had been up to a 
 few weeks ago. It was impossible now to 
 tell him the tale of her wild elopement 
 with Stephen Smith. 
 
 He was still snugly housed in her heart. 
 His absence had regained for him much of 
 that aureola of saintship which had been 
 nearly abstracted during her reproachful 
 mood on that miserable join-ney from Lon- 
 don. Eapture is often cooled by contact 
 with its cause, especially if under awkward 
 conditions. And that last experience with
 
 284 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 Stephen had done anythmg but make him 
 shine in her eyes. His very kindness in 
 letting her return was his offence. Elfride 
 had her sex's love of sheer force in a man, 
 however ill-directed; and at that critical 
 juncture in London, Stephen's only chance 
 of retaining the ascendency over her that 
 his face and not his parts had acquired for 
 him, would have been by doing what, for 
 one thing, he was too youthful to undertake 
 — that was, dragging her by the wrist to 
 the rails of some altar, and peremptorily 
 marrying her. Decisive action is seen by 
 appreciative minds to be frequently object- 
 less, and sometimes fatal; but decision, how- 
 ever suicidal, has more charm for a woman 
 than the most unequivocal Fabian success. 
 
 However, some of the unpleasant acces- 
 sories of that occasion were now out of 
 sight again, and Stephen had resumed not a 
 few of his fancy colours.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 'he set in order many proverbs.' 
 
 It is London in October — two months 
 farther on in the story. 
 
 Bede's Inn has this peculiarity, that it 
 faces, receives from, and discharges into 
 a bustling thoroughfare speaking only of 
 wealth and respectability, whilst its postern 
 abuts on as crowded and poverty-stricken 
 a network of alleys as are to be found any- 
 where in the metropolis. The moral con- 
 sequences are, first, that those who occupy 
 chambers in the Inn may see a great deal 
 of shirtless humanity's habits and enjoy- 
 ments without doing more than look down 
 from a back window; and second, the}' may 
 hear wholesome though unpleasant social 
 reminders through the medium of a harsh 
 voice, an unequal footstep, the echo of a
 
 286 A PAIPx OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 blow or a fall, which originates in the per- 
 son of some drunkard or wife-beater, as he 
 crosses and interferes with the quiet of the 
 square. Characters of this kind frequently 
 pass through the Inn from a little foxhole 
 of an alley at the back, but they never 
 loiter there. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to state that all 
 the sights and movements proper to the Inn 
 are most orderly. On the fine October 
 evening on which we follow Stephen Smith 
 to this place, a placid porter is sitting on a 
 stool under a sycamore-tree in the midst, 
 with a little cane in his hand. We notice 
 the thick coat of soot upon the branches, 
 hanofino; underneath them in flakes, as in a 
 chimney. The blackness of these boughs 
 does not at present improve the tree — 
 nearly forsaken by its leaves as it is — but 
 in the spring their green fresh beauty is 
 made doubly beautiful by the contrast. 
 Within the railings is a flower-garden of 
 respectable dahlias and chrysanthemums,
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 287 
 
 Tvhere a man is sweeping the leaves from 
 the grass. 
 
 Stephen selects a doorway, and ascends 
 an old though wide wooden staircase, with 
 moulded balusters and handrail, which in a 
 country manor-house would be considered 
 a noteworthy specimen of Renaissance work- 
 manship. He reaches a door on the first 
 floor, over which is painted, in black let- 
 ters, 'Mr. Henry Knight' — ' Barrister-at- 
 law' being understood but not expressed. 
 The wall is thick, and there is a door at its 
 outer and inner face. The outer one hap- 
 pens to be ajar : Stephen goes to the other, 
 and taps. 
 
 ' Come in !' from distant penetralia. 
 
 First was a small ante-room, divided 
 from the inner apartment by a wainscoted 
 archway two or three yards wide. Across 
 this archway hung a pair of dark-green 
 curtains, making a mystery of all within 
 the arch, except the spasmodic scratching 
 of a quill-pen. Here was grouped a chaotic 
 assemblage of articles — mainly old framed
 
 288 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 prints and paintings — leaning edgewise 
 against the wall, like roofing-slates in a 
 builders-yard. All the books visible here 
 were folios too big to be stolen — some ly- 
 ing on a heavy oak table in one corner, 
 some on the floor among the pictures, the 
 whole intermingled with old coats, hats, 
 umbrellas, and walking-sticks. 
 
 Stephen pushed aside the curtain, and 
 before him sat a man writing away as if his 
 life depended upon it — which it did. 
 
 A man of thirty in a speckled coat, 
 with dark-brown hair, curly beard, and 
 crisp moustache : the latter running into 
 the beard on each side of the mouth, and, 
 as usual, hiding the real expression of that 
 organ under a clironic aspect of impassivity. 
 
 ' Ah, my dear fellow, I knew 'twas you,' 
 said Knight, looking up with a smile, and 
 holding out his hand. 
 
 Knight's mouth and eyes came to view 
 now. Both features were good, and had 
 the peculiarity of appearing younger and
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 289 
 
 fresher than tlie brow and face they belonged 
 to, which were getting sicklied o'er by the 
 unmistakable pale cast. The mouth had 
 not quite relinquished rotundity of curve 
 for the firm angularities of middle life ; and 
 the eyes, though keen, permeated rather 
 than penetrated : what they had lost of their, 
 boytime brightness by a dozen years of 
 hard reading lending a quietness to their, 
 gaze which suited them well. 
 
 A lady would have said there was a 
 smell of tobacco in the room : a man that 
 there was not. 
 
 Knight did not rise. He looked at a 
 timepiece on the mantelshelf, then turned 
 again to his letters, pointing to a chair. 
 
 'Well, I am glad you have come. I 
 only returned to town yesterday : now 
 don't speak, Stephen, for ten minutes; I- 
 have just that time to the late post. At 
 the eleventh minute, I'm your man.' 
 
 Stephen sat down as if this kind of 
 reception was by no means new, and away 
 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 went Knight's pen, beating up and do'svn 
 like a ship in a storm. 
 
 Cicero called the library the soul of the 
 house ; here the house was all soul. Por- 
 tions of the floor, and half the wall-space, 
 were taken up by book-shelves ordinary and 
 extraordinary; the remaining parts, toge- 
 ther with brackets, side-tables, &c., being 
 occupied by casts, statuettes, medallions, 
 and plaques of various descriptions, picked 
 up by the owner in his wanderings through 
 France and Italy. 
 
 One stream only of evening sunlight 
 came into the room from a window quite in 
 the corner, overlooking a court. An aqua- 
 rium stood in the windoAV. It was a dull 
 parallelopipedon enough for living creatures 
 at most hours of the day; but for a few 
 minutes in the evening, as now, an errant, 
 kindly ray lighted up and warmed the little 
 world therein, when the many-coloured 
 zoophytes opened and put forth their arms, 
 the weeds acquired a rich transparency, the
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 291 
 
 shells gleamed of a more golden yellow, 
 and the timid community expressed gladness 
 in ore plainly than in words. 
 
 Within the prescribed ten minutes, 
 Knight flung down his pen, rang for the 
 boy to take the letters to the post, and at 
 the closing of the door exclaimed, 'There- 
 thank God, that's done. Xow, Stephen, 
 pull your chair round, and tell me what 
 you have been doing all this time. Have 
 you kept up your Greek ?' 
 
 ' Xo.' 
 ■' 'How's that?' 
 
 ' I haven't enough spare time.' 
 
 * That's nonsense.' 
 
 ' Well, I have done a great many 
 things, if not that. And I have done one 
 extraordinary thing.' 
 
 Knight turned full upon Stephen. 
 ' Ah-ha ! Xow then, let me look into your 
 face, put two and tAvo together, and make a 
 shrewd guess.' 
 
 Stephen changed to a redder colour.
 
 202 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 'Why, Smith,' said Knight, after holding 
 him rigidly by the shoulders, and Jjeenly 
 scrutinising his countenance for a minute in 
 silence, ' you have fallen in love.' 
 
 ' Well— the flict is—' 
 
 'Now, out with it.' But seeing that 
 Stephen looked rather distressed, he changed 
 to a kindly tone. 'Now, Smith, my lad, 
 you know me well enough by this time, or 
 you ought to : and you know very well that 
 if you choose to give me a detailed account 
 of the phenomenon within you, I shall 
 listen ; if you don't, I am the last man in 
 the world to care to hear it.' 
 
 Til tell thus much: I have fallen in 
 love, and I want to be marned' 
 
 Knight looked ominous as this passed 
 Stephen's lips. 
 
 ' Don't judge me before you have heard 
 more,' cried Stephen anxiously, seeing the 
 change in his friend's countenance. 
 
 'I don't judge. Does your mother know 
 about it?'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. SQS 
 
 ' Nothing definite.' 
 
 ^Father?' 
 
 ' Xo. But I'll tell you. The young per- 
 son — ' 
 
 ^Come, that's dreadfully ungallant. But 
 perhaps I understand the frame of mind a 
 little, so go on. Your sweetheart — ' 
 
 ' She is rather higher in the world than 
 lam.' 
 
 'As it should be.' 
 
 ' And her father won't hear of it, as I 
 now stand.' 
 
 'Xot an uncommon case.' 
 
 ' And now comes what I want your ad- 
 vice upon. Something has happened at her 
 house which makes it out of the question 
 for us to ask her flither again now. So we 
 are keeping silent. In the mean time an 
 architect in India has just written to Mr. 
 He why to ask whether he can find for him 
 a young assistant willing to go over to 
 Bombay to prepare drawings for work for- 
 merly done by the engineers. The salary
 
 294 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 he offers is 350 rupees a month, or about 
 85/. He why has mentioned it to me, and I 
 have been to Dr. AVray,' who says I shall ac- 
 climatise without much illness. Xow, would 
 you go?' 
 
 'You mean to say, because it is a pos- 
 sible road to the young lady.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I was thinking I could go over 
 and make a little money, and then come 
 back and ask for her. I have the option of 
 practising for myself after a year.' 
 
 * Would she be stanch ?' 
 
 ' 0, yes ! For ever — to the end of her 
 life !' 
 
 ' How do you know ?' 
 
 ' Why, how do people know ? Of course 
 she will.' 
 
 Knight leant back in his chair. ' Now^ 
 though I know her thoroughly as she exists 
 in your heart, Stephen, I don't know her in 
 the flesh. All I want to ask is, is this idea 
 of going to India based entirely upon a be- 
 lief in her fidelity?'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 295 
 
 * Yes ; I should not go if it were not for 
 her; 
 
 'Well, Stephen, you have put me in 
 rather an awkward position. If I give my 
 true sentiments, I shall hurt your feelings ; 
 if I don't, I shall hurt my own j udgment. 
 And remember, I don't know much about 
 women.' 
 
 ' But you have had sweethearts, al- 
 though you tell me very little about them.' 
 
 'And I only hope you'll continue to 
 prosper till I tell you more.' 
 
 Stephen winced at this rap. ' I have 
 never formed a deep attachment,' continued 
 Knight. ' I never have found a woman 
 worth it. Xor have I been once enofao-ed to 
 be married.' 
 
 ' You write as if you had been engaged 
 a hundred times, if I may be allowed to 
 say so,' said Stephen in an injured tone. 
 
 ' Yes, that may be. But, my dear Ste- 
 phen, it is only those who half know a thing 
 that write about it. Those who know it
 
 296 A PAIR OF BLUE EY^S. 
 
 thoroughly don't take the trouble. All I 
 know about women, or men either, is a mass 
 of generalities. I plod along, and occasion- 
 ally lift my eyes and skim the weltering sur- 
 face of mankind lying between me and the 
 horizon, as a crow might ; no more.' 
 
 Knight stopped as if he had fallen into 
 a train of thought, and Stephen looked with 
 affectionate awe at a master whose mind he 
 believed could swallow up at one meal all 
 his own head contained. 
 
 There was affective sympathy, but no 
 great intellectual fellowship, between Knight 
 and Stephen Smith. Knight had seen his 
 young friend when the latter was a cherry- 
 cheeked happy boy, had been interested in 
 him, had kept his eye upon him, and gener- 
 ously helped the lad to books, till the mere 
 connection of patronage grew to acquaint- 
 ance, and that ripened to friendship. And 
 so, though Smith was not at all the man 
 Knight would have deliberately chosen as a 
 friend — or even for one of a group of a dozen
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 297 
 
 friends — he somehow was his friend. Cir- 
 cumstance, as usual, did it all. How many 
 of us can say of our most intimate alter ego^ 
 leaving alone friends of the outer circle, that 
 he is the man we should have chosen, as em- 
 bodying the net result after adding up all the 
 j)oints in human nature that we love, and 
 principles we hold, and subtracting all that 
 we hate ? The man is really somebody we 
 got to know by mere physical juxtaposition 
 long maintained, and was taken into our 
 confidence, and even heart, as a makeshift. 
 
 'And what do you think of her?' Ste- 
 phen ventured to say, after a silence. 
 
 ' Taking her merits on trust from you,' 
 said Knight, ' as we do those of the Roman 
 poets of whom we know nothing but that 
 they lived, I still think she will not stick to 
 you through, say, three years of absence in 
 India.' 
 
 ' But she will !' cried Stephen desper- 
 ately. ' She is a girl all delicacy and hon- 
 our. And no woman of that kind, who has
 
 298 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 committed herself so into a man's hands as 
 she has into mine, could possibly marry 
 another/ 
 
 ' How has she committed herself?' asked 
 Knight curiously. 
 
 Stephen did not answer. Knight had 
 looked on his love so sceptically that it 
 would not do to say all he had intended by 
 any means. 
 
 'Well, don't teU,' said Knight. 'But 
 you are begging the question, which is, I 
 suppose, inevitable in love.' 
 
 'And I'll tell you another thing,' the 
 younger man pleaded. ' You remember 
 what you said to me once about women re- 
 ceiving a kiss. Don't you? Why, that in- 
 stead of our being charmed by the fascina- 
 tion of their bearing at such a time, we 
 should immediately doubt them if their con- 
 fusion has any grace in it — that awk^vard 
 bungling was the true charm at such a time, 
 implying that we are the first who has 
 played such a part with them.'
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 299 
 
 ' It is true, quite,' said Knight musingly. 
 
 It often happened that the disciple thus 
 remembered the lessons of the master long 
 after the master himself had forgotten them. 
 
 ' Well, that was like her !' cried Stephen 
 triumphantly. ' She was in such a flurry 
 that she didn't know what she was doing.' 
 
 ' Splendid, sj)lendid !' said Knight sooth- 
 ingly. ' So that all I have to say is, that if 
 you see a good opening in Bombay there's 
 no reason why you should not go without 
 troubling to draw fine distinctions as to 
 reasons. Xo man fully realises what opin- 
 ions he acts upon, or what his actions- 
 mean.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I go to Bombay. I'll write a note 
 here, if you don't mind.' 
 
 ' Sleep over it — it is the best plan — and 
 write to-morrow. Meantime, go there to 
 that window and sit down, and look at my 
 Humanity ShoAV. I am going to dine out 
 this evening, and have to dress here out of 
 my portmanteau. I bring up my things
 
 300 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 like this to save the trouble of going down 
 to my place at Richmond and back again.' 
 
 Knight then went to the middle of the 
 room and flung open his portmanteau, and 
 Stephen drew near the window. The streak 
 of sunlight had crept upward, edged away, 
 and vanished ; the zoophytes slept : a dusky 
 gloom pervaded the room. And now an- 
 other volume of light shone over the win- 
 dow. 
 
 ' There !' said Knight, ' where is there 
 in England a spectacle to equal that? I sit 
 there and watch them every night before 1 
 go home. Softly open the sash.' 
 
 Beneath them was an alley running u]) 
 to the wall, and thence turning sideways and 
 passing under an arch, so that Knight's back 
 window was immediately over the angle, and 
 commanded a view of the alley lengthwise. 
 Crowds — mostly of women — were surging, 
 bustling, and pacing up and down. Gas- 
 lights glared from butchers' stalls, illumi- 
 nating the lumps of flesh to splotches of
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 301 
 
 orange and vermilion, like the wild colour- 
 ing of Turner's later pictures, whilst the 
 purl and babble of tongues of every pitch 
 and mood was to this human wild wood 
 what the ripj)le of a brook is to the natural 
 forest. 
 
 Nearly ten minutes passed. Then 
 Knight also came to the window. 
 
 'Well, now, I call a cab and vanish 
 down the street in the direction of Berkeley- 
 square,' he said, buttoning his waistcoat, and 
 kicking his morning suit into a corner. Ste- 
 phen rose to leave. 
 
 'What a heap of literature !' remarked 
 the young man, taking a final longing sur- 
 vey round the room, as if to abide there for 
 ever would be the great pleasure of his life, 
 yet feeling that he had almost outstayed his 
 welcome-while. His eyes rested upon an 
 arm-chair piled full of newspapers, maga- 
 zines, and bright new volumes in green and 
 red. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Knight, also looking at them
 
 302 A TAIR OF BLUE EYES. 
 
 and breathing a sigh of weariness; 'some- 
 thing must be done with several of them 
 soon, I suppose. Stephen, you needn't 
 hurry away for a few minutes, you know, if 
 you want to stay; T am not quite ready. 
 Overhaul those volumes whilst I put on 
 my coat, and I'll walk a little way with 
 you.' 
 
 Stephen sat down beside the arm-chair 
 and began to tumble the books about. 
 Among the rest he found a novelette in one 
 volume, Tlie Court of Kellyon Castle, By 
 Ernest Field. 
 
 ' Are you going to review this ?' inquired 
 Stephen with apparent unconcern, and hold- 
 ing up Elfride's effusion. 
 
 'Which? 0, that! I may— though I 
 don't do much light reviewing now. But 
 it is reviewable.' 
 
 ' How do you mean?' 
 
 Knight never liked to be asked what he 
 meant. 'Mean! I mean that the majority 
 of books published are neither good enough
 
 A PAIR OF BLUE EYES. 303 
 
 nor bad enough to provoke criticism, and 
 that that book does provoke it.' 
 
 *By its goodness or its badness?' Ste- 
 phen said, with some anxiety on poor little 
 Elfride's score. 
 
 ' It's badness. It seems to be written by 
 some girl in her teens.' 
 
 Stephen said not another word. He did 
 not care to speak plainly of Elfride after 
 that unfortunate slip his tongue had made 
 with regard to her having committed her- 
 self; and, apart from that, Knight's severe 
 — almost dogged and self-willed — honesty in 
 criticising was unassailable by the humble 
 wish of a youthful friend like Stephen. 
 
 Knio^ht was now read v. Turnino: off the 
 gas, and slamming together the door, they 
 vrent down-stairs and into the street. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LOMlON : PKIKTED BY KOBSOX 2Xn SO.NS, PAXCRAS KOAD, X.^
 
 Mt